'Now These Records Are Ancient': Studies in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History, Language and Culture in Honor of K. Lawson Younger, Jr. (Agypten Und Altes Testament, 114) 3963271906, 9783963271908

Citation preview

Ägypten und altes TestamenT 114 ÄAT 114 “Now These Records are Ancient”

AeAT-114-FS-Lawson-Younger.indd 1

Studies in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History, Language and Culture in Honor of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

www.zaphon.de

“Now These Records are Ancient” Studies in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History, Language and Culture in Honor of K. Lawson Younger, Jr. Edited by James K. Hoffmeier, Richard E. Averbeck, J. Caleb Howard and Wolfgang Zwickel Zaphon

02.09.2022 11:14:58

“Now These Records are Ancient” Studies in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History, Language and Culture in Honor of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

Edited by James K. Hoffmeier, Richard E. Averbeck, J. Caleb Howard and Wolfgang Zwickel

ÄGYPTEN UND ALTES TESTAMENT Studien zu Geschichte, Kultur und Religion Ägyptens und des Alten Testaments

Band 114

Gegründet von Manfred Görg Herausgegeben von Stefan Jakob Wimmer und Wolfgang Zwickel

“Now These Records are Ancient” Studies in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History, Language and Culture in Honor of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

Edited by James K. Hoffmeier, Richard E. Averbeck, J. Caleb Howard and Wolfgang Zwickel

Zaphon Münster 2022

Illustration auf dem Einband: Relief mit Darstellung König Barrākib und seines Schreibers, Sam’al (Sendschirli), Basalt, letztes Viertel 8. Jhd. v.Chr., Vorderasiatisches Museum Berlin, VA 2817, © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Vorderasiatisches Museum, Foto: Olaf M. Teßmer.

Ägypten und Altes Testament, Band 114 “Now These Records are Ancient”. Studies in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History, Language and Culture in Honor of K. Lawson Younger, Jr. Edited by James K. Hoffmeier, Richard E. Averbeck, J. Caleb Howard and Wolfgang Zwickel

© 2022 Zaphon, Enkingweg 36, Münster (www.zaphon.de) All rights reserved. Printed in Germany. Printed on acid-free paper. ISBN 978-3-96327-190-8 (Buch) ISBN 978-3-96327-191-5 (E-Book) ISSN 0720-9061

List of Contributions K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

IX

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

XI

Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon: A Fresh Investigation Bill T. Arnold and Brian T. Shockey

1

The Meaning and Importance of “subdue” (kābaš) in Genesis 1:28 Richard E. Averbeck

15

An Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf in the Early History of Translation Barry J. Beitzel

33

Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” between Epigraphy and Literary Criticism Koert van Bekkum

53

Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due: Rethinking the Exiled Prophet’s Final Word in Ezekiel 29:17–21 Daniel I. Block

61

The Buck Stops Here: Deer Antlers in Iron Age I Cultic Contexts at Tel Abel Beth Maacah and Their Implications Scott Booth, Ariel Shatil, Nava Panitz-Cohen, Naama Yahalom-Mack, Carroll Kobs and Robert A. Mullins

79

“Attribution Displacement” and its Implications for Biblical Historiography: A Methodological Discussion Caleb T. Chow

109

Why Did Emar’s Diviner Hold Documents for the Sale of City-Owned Land? Daniel E. Fleming

119

Mari’s ARM 1 6: A New Translation and Commentary Walter E. Foster

131

Ekron of the Philistines: A Response to Issues Raised in the Literature (3) Seymour Gitin

139

On the Origin and Meaning of ḥānīḵ in Genesis 14:14 Holger Gzella

151

Genesis 1:6–8 and Ancient Near Eastern Celestial Perspectives Oliver A. Hersey

159

Deities in the Ammonite Personal Names Richard S. Hess

177

The Contextual Method through the Lens of Relevance Theory John W. Hilber

183

VI

List of Contributions

Towards a Diplomatic, Contextual Reading of the Encounter Between Jacob and Esau in Genesis 33 James K. Hoffmeier and Mark Janzen

201

Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite J. Caleb Howard

213

Deposit and Read! A Discursive Explanation of Peripheral Akkadian Treaty Traditions and their Implications for Deuteronomy Neal A. Huddleston

243

The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages: A Multiperspective Approach Sara Kipfer and Wolfgang Zwickel

267

Geometry and Psalmody: Characterization and the Role of Deborah’s Song (Judges 5) Michelle Knight

287

East as Symbolic Space Jens Bruun Kofoed

299

The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God from Middle Bronze Age / Old Babylonian Alalah (AlT 366 [40.05]) Jacob Lauinger

313

Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq? Revisited Within its Ancient Near Eastern Context André Lemaire

333

A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11: A Performative Sociolinguistic Solution Theodore J. Lewis

341

“The priests, the Levites, and all the tribe of Levi, shall have no part nor inheritance with Israel” (Deut 18:1): Is there Archaeological Evidence of Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah? Aren M. Maeir

359

Celebrating Victory in Poetry and Prose Alan Millard

371

The “Priests” of Ugarit: The Textual Evidence Dennis Pardee

379

Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8) Jillian L. Ross

421

On Aramaean Identity or What is Aramaean in the Culture of Iron Age Syria? Hélène Sader

435

Sightless in Gaza: On the Fate of Samson Jack M. Sasson

443

List of Contributions

VII

Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible? Jeroboam ben Nebat and Jehu ben Nimshi in the Tale of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal JoAnn Scurlock

453

Northern Prophets and Nazirites Karel van der Toorn

473

The Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant for Singling out Rebekah (Genesis 24:21) David S. Vanderhooft and Luiz Gustavo Assis

479

Contributors

489

Abbreviations

491

K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

Lawson Younger is a respected scholar and colleague, esteemed teacher and mentor, and a faithful friend to many. With his retirement in sight, a number of us resolved to publish a Festschrift as a tangible expression of our appreciation for Lawson and to call attention to his monumental achievements. See his full bibliography which follows below. This has been quite a feat for a scholar/teacher who has borne decades of heavy teaching loads while also supervising and reading many MA theses and PhD dissertations. In response to the invitation to contribute to this Festschrift, a European colleague responded affirmatively, expressing his friendship with Lawson, then added that he “is likely the best scholar worldwide to combine archaeology, neighboring countries and history. A really great scholar!” We agree. The path Lawson took to get to this point is an interesting one. He was born in 1953 in Richmond, VA, to Kenneth and Doris Younger. His sister, Janet Younger Soden, is married to John Soden, also an Old Testament scholar with whom Lawson was a classmate at Dallas Theological Seminary. Lawson early on developed a keen interest in history as his family frequently visited historic sites and Civil War battle fields. During high school, he took 4 years of Latin hoping that he would never again need to learn another language! Although he loved history, math was Lawson’s intended college major. During his freshman year at Catawba College in North Carolina, he experienced a deep, personal renewal of his Christian faith and thus an interest in serious study of the Bible was born. Even at this early-stage, Lawson realized that to truly understand the Bible, he needed to learn the original languages and study its historical setting. This priority led him to transfer to Florida Bible College to complete his undergraduate work. Clearly his conviction to rigorously study the Bible has stayed with him throughout his career, and that helps explain his commitment to the contextual method for investigating the Bible, especially the Hebrew Scriptures, which became his passion. Lawson studied at Dallas Theological Seminary, focusing on Old Testament along with biblical and cognate languages. He was awarded his Master of Theology in 1982 from Dallas Theological Seminary with

X

K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

honor. He then received a Rotary grant to study at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem for the 1982–83 academic year. This further expanded Lawson’s horizons by exposing him to top Israeli scholars of Near Eastern history, languages, and archaeology, not to mention the first-hand exploration of the geography of Israel. PhD studies took Lawson to Sheffield University from 1984–87, followed by writing his dissertation the remainder of 1987 and 1988. Historiography was a major topic of discussion of biblical studies in the 1980s, it might be recalled, and Lawson’s dissertation, published as Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study of Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing, JSOT.SS 98 (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1990) was a cutting-edge contribution to that debate. Not surprisingly, this monograph investigates the conquests accounts in Joshua alongside those from Mesopotamia, Anatolia, and Egypt. Here Lawson’s rigorous methodology, command of Near Eastern texts, and his proficiency in historiography are on full display! Lawson landed his first full-time teaching job at Le Tourneau University in Longview, Texas where he taught for a decade (1988–98). While at LeTourneau, he spent the summer of 1990 at an National Endowment for the Humanities summer seminar taught by the late Professor William Hallo. This association began their relationship which led to the collaboration that produced the three volumes of The Context of Scripture published by Brill. The fourth volume, published in 2016, was a solo effort by Lawson. In 1998, he accepted a position at Trinity International University, Divinity School as Professor of Old Testament, Semitic Languages and Ancient Near Eastern History where he has been ever since. As a recipient of the Seymour Gitin Distinguished Professorship Award, he was able to spend the Fall semester of 2013 doing research in Jerusalem at the Albright Institute. During this time, he worked on his massive tome, A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities published in 2016. It won the Biblical Archaeology Society’s Best Scholarly Book on Archaeology Award in 2017. He is now well on his way to completing the sequel, Aramean Religion: Models of Flexibility and Adaptability. In recognition of his significant contributions to Biblical Studies over the years, Lawson was invited to join the prestigious Biblical Colloquium in 2016 where he continues to be an active member. The contributors to this volume, and other colleagues too, recognize Lawson to be an outstanding scholar who has flourished in the world of Near Eastern Studies, Assyriology, and Old Testament Studies, but they also consider him a friend. He has fostered friendships with scholars who may disagree strenuously with his understanding of the Hebrew Bible and he with theirs, nevertheless, he has maintained convivial relations with them. This quality in the man is what has endeared him to so many. All these accolades and achievements notwithstanding, Lawson Younger is first and foremost a family man. He and Patti have been married since 1978 and together have three grown children. Kenny, their eldest, is a software developer and operations engineer and is married to Shannon. They have two daughters, Eliza and Daphne. Their second son, Andrew, and his wife, Melissa have a newborn son named William Andrew, Jr. Andrew is following in his father’s footsteps in pursuing Assyriology, specializing in Sumerian at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Lawson’s and Patti’s daughter Rebecca is a trademark attorney and is married to Trevor McCurry. They have a daughter, Sienna. Over the years, the Youngers have offered gracious hospitality to friends, colleagues, and students in their home. When retirement comes, Lawson and Patti are moving to the Austin, Texas area to be closer to their children and grandchildren. It is our wish that in the coming years Lawson will delight in his additional time for and propinquity with his family. Also, we hope that he will continue to produce scholarly works to benefit colleagues and students of the Bible and the ancient Near East. The title of this volume, “Now These Records are Ancient,” comes from 1 Chronicles 4:22 in which the Chronicler is claiming that the sources used to compile the genealogical records are indeed old ones. So too in honoring our friend and colleague, the writers of this volume are likewise working with ancient documents from the Near East and Hebrew Bible to advance our understanding of the histories and cultures that Lawson Younger has devoted his career to investigating.

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr. Books 2023 2021 2016 2002 1990

K. L. Younger, Jr., Aramean Religion: Models of Flexibility and Adaptability. (in preparation). K. L. Younger, Jr., Judges and Ruth. The Application Bible Commentary. 2nd Edition. Grand Rapids: Zondervan. K. L. Younger, Jr., A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities. ABS 13. Atlanta: SBL Press. K. L. Younger, Jr., Judges and Ruth. The Application Bible Commentary. Grand Rapids: Zondervan. K. L. Younger, Jr., Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study of Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing. JSOT.SS 98. Sheffield: Sheffield University Press.

Edited Volumes 2020

R. E. Averbeck and K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editors). “An Excellent Fortress for his Armies, a Refuge for the People”: Egyptological, Archaeological and Biblical Studies in Honor of James K. Hoffmeier. University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns/Pennsylvania State University Press. 2016 K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editor). The Context of Scripture. Volume 4: Supplements. Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill. 2007 K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editor). Ugarit at Seventy-Five. Its Environs and the Bible. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2002a M. W. Chavalas and K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editors). Mesopotamia and the Bible. Comparative Explorations. JSOT.SS 341. Sheffield/Edinburgh/Grand Rapids: Sheffield Academic Press / T&T Clark / Baker Books. 2002b W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editors). The Context of Scripture. Volume 3: Archival Documents from the Biblical World. Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill. 2000 W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editors). The Context of Scripture. Volume 2: Monumental Compositions from the Biblical World. Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill. 1997 W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger, Jr. (Editor). The Context of Scripture. Volume 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World. Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill. 1991 K. L. Younger, Jr., W. W. Hallo, and B. F. Batto (Editors). The Canon in Comparative Perspective. Scripture in Context IV. ANETS 11; Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press.

Articles 2022a “Aramean Gods and Religion,” in The Religions around the Old Testament. Edited by Brent A. Strawn, Richard Purcell and Jeffrey G. Audirsch. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (in preparation). 2022b “Historical Contacts between Assyria and Israel. From the Earliest Interactions to the Destruction of Samaria,” in Handbook on Mesopotamia and the Bible. Edited by Tammi Schneider. Oxford University Press Handbook. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. 2022c “The Identification of the Deity Aramiš and the Location of the City and Land of Qarnē,” in “See the Whole Land is before you”: New Directions in the Historical Geography of the Ancient Near East. Edited by Chris McKinny, Kyle Keimer and Aharon Tavger. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press / Eisenbrauns (forthcoming). 2022d James F. Osborne and K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “Chapter XX: Ostraca,” Tell Tayinat: Final Report. Edited by Heather Snow. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (forthcoming). 2022e “Phoenician and Phoenicians in North Syria,” Between Israel, Aram and Phoenicia: Archaeological and Historical Perspectives. Edited by A. Berlejung and A. M. Maeir. The Minerva Center for the Relations between Israel and Aram in Biblical Times (in preparation).

XII

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

2021a “A Study of the Preposition b- in Samʾalian Aramaic: A Cognitive Linguistic Approach with Ramifications for the Interpretation of the Katumuwa Stele,” in “Like ʾIlu Are You Wise”: Studies in Northwest Semitic Languages and Literatures in Honor of Dennis G. Pardee. Edited by H. H. Hardy II, Joseph Lam, and Eric D. Reymond. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (in press). 2021b “Arameans in the Zagros: The Cuneiform and Aramaic Evidence.” Pp. 479ff. in Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of P. Kyle McCarter. Edited by R. Byrne, S. Garfein, C. A. Rollston, and N. Walls. ANEM. Atlanta, GA: SBL Press. (in press). 2020a “The Katumuwa and Ördekburnu Steles: Some Reflections on Two Grabdenkmäler.” BASOR 384: 1–19. 2020b “The God ʾEl of the Ramesses II’s Stela from Sheikh Saʿd (the ‘Job Stone’),” pp. 407–21 in “An Excellent Fortress for his Armies, a Refuge for the People”: Egyptological, Archaeological and Biblical Studies in Honor of James K. Hoffmeier. Edited by R. E. Averbeck and K. L. Younger, Jr. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press / Eisenbrauns. 2020c “Reflections on Hazael’s Empire in Light of Recent Study in the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Texts.” Pp. 79–102 in Writing and Rewriting History in Ancient Israel and Near Eastern Cultures. Edited by Isaac Kalimi. Conference at Johannes Gutenberg Universität, Mainz, Germany. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. 2020d “Aubin’s The Rescue of Jerusalem: An Assyriological Assessment.” Pp. 221–46 in Jerusalem’s Survival, Sennacherib’s Departure, and the Kushite Role in 701 BCE: An Examination of Henry Aubin’s Rescue of Jerusalem. Edited by A. O. Bellis. JHebS Supplement. Swiss French Institute for Biblical Studies of the University of Lausanne. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. 2019a “Another Look at ‘Early’ Ideologies of the ‘Land’ in the Hebrew Bible in Light of Recent Study.” Ex Auditu 35: 39–75. 2019b “Aubin’s The Rescue of Jerusalem: An Assyriological Assessment,” in Jerusalem’s Survival, Sennacherib’s Departure, and the Kushite Role in 701 BCE: An Examination of Henry Aubin’s Rescue of Jerusalem. Edited by A. O. Bellis. JHebS 19: 179–98. [online: jhsonline.org]. 2019c “Gods at the Gates: A Study of the Identification of the Deities Represented at the Gates of Ancient Samʾal with Possible Historical Implications.” ARAM 31: 317–48. 2018a “The Aramean Ancestor Cult at Tell Ḥalaf (Gōzān) during the Kapara Period: Tomb 1 and the Tempelpalast.” Pp. 506–32 in Tell it in Gath: Studies in the History and Archaeology of Israel. Essays in Honor of A. M. Maeir on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday. Edited by Itzhaq Shai, Jeffrey R. Chadwick, Louise Hitchock, Amit Dagan, Chris McKinny and Joe Uziel. ÄAT 90. Münster: Zaphon. 2018b “The Tel Dan Inscription and the Deaths of Jehoram of Israel and Ahaziah of Judah.” Pp. 293–98 in Behind the Scenes of the Old Testament: Historical, Cultural, and Social Contexts of Ancient Israel. Edited by J. S. Greer, J. W. Hilber, and J. H. Walton. Grand Rapids: Baker. 2018c “Assyria’s Expansion West of the Euphrates (ca. 870–701 BCE). Pp. 17–33 in Archaeology and History of Eighth-Century Judah. Edited by Zev I. Faber and Jacob L. Wright. ANEM 23. Atlanta: SBL Press. 2018d “Joshua.” In The New Oxford Annotated Bible. New Revised Standard Version with the Apocrypha. 5th Edition. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2017a “Tiglath-pileser I and the Initial Conflict with the Arameans.” Pp. 193–226 in Wandering Arameans. Arameans Outside Syria: Textual and Archaeological Perspectives. Edited by A. Berlejung, A. M. Maeir and A. Schüle. LAOS 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. 2017b Younger, K. L., Jr., and Neal A. Huddleston.“Challenges to the Use of Ancient Near Eastern Treaty Forms for Dating and Interpreting Deuteronomy.” Pp. 78–109 in Sepher Torath Mošeh. Edited by Daniel I. Block. Peabody: Hendrickson. 2017c “Adad-nērārī II and the Aramean Temanites: The Beginnings of Neo-Assyrian Recovery.” Pp. 323– 39 in “Now It happened in those days”: Studies in Biblical, Assyrian and other Ancient Near Eastern Historiography presented to Mordecai Cogan on his 75th Birthday. Edited by S. Aḥituv, A. Baruchi-Unna, I. Ephʿal, T. Forti and J. H. Tigay. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

XIII

2016a “The Arameans.” Pp. 229–65 in The World Around the Old Testament. Edited by B. T. Arnold and B. A. Strawn. Grand Rapids: Baker. 2016b “Ninurta-bēlu-uṣur.” Pp. 97–98 in The Context of Scripture. Volume 4: Supplements. Edited by K. L. Younger, Jr. Leiden and Boston: Brill. 2016c “Recent Developments in Understanding the Origins of the Arameans: Possible Contributions and Implications to Understanding Israelite Origins.” Pp. 199–222 in “Did I Not Bring Israel Out of Egypt?” Biblical, Archaeological, and Egyptological Perspectives on the Exodus Narratives. Edited by J. K. Hoffmeier, A. R. Millard and G. A. Rendsburg. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2016d “Why the Arameans?” Ancient Near East Today December 2016: Vol. IV, No. 12. 2015a “Another Look at the Nomadic Tribal Arameans in the Inscriptions of Ninurta-kudurrī-uṣur of Suḫu.” Pp. 605–31 in Marbeh Ḥokmah: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East in Loving Memory of Victor Avigdor Hurowitz. Edited by S. Yona, E. L. Greenstein, M. I. Gruber, P. Machinist and S. M. Paul. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2015b “The Assyrian Impact on the West: The Assyriological Perspective.” IEJ 65: 179–204. 2015c “Notes on the Book of Judges.” Pp. 423–69 in The New International Version Study Bible. Edited by D. A. Carson. Grand Rapids: Zondervan. 2014a “The Scripts of North Syria in the Early First Millennium: The Inscription of Yariri (KARKAMIŠ A15b) Once Again.” Transeuphratène 46: 169–83 (= Volume d’hommages pour André Lemaire), eds. Jean-Marie Durand and Josette Elayi. Paris: Gabalda. 2014b “‘War and Peace’ in the Origins of the Arameans.” Pp. 861–74 in Krieg und Frieden im Alten Vorderasien. 52e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale International Congress of Assyriology and Near Eastern Archaeology Münster, 17.–21. Juli 2006, eds. Hans Neumann, Reinhard Dittmann, Susanne Paulus, Georg Neumann and Anais Schuster-Brandis. AOAT 401. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. 2013a “Aram-Damascus.” Pp. 1:42–49 in Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Archaeology. Edited by Daniel M. Master. 2 volumes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2013b “Aram, Aramaeans.” Pp. 605–6 in The Encyclopedia of Ancient History. Edited by R. Bagnall, K. Brodersen, C. B. Champion, A. Erskine, and S. R. Hübner. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 2012a “Another Look at an Aramaic Astral Bowl.” JNES 71.2: 209–30. 2012b “The Ḥerem in Light of Recent Study.” Pp. 151–65 in Far From Minimal. Celebrating the Work and Influence of Philip R. Davies. Edited by Duncan Burns and John W. Rogerson. LHB/OTS 484. Edinburgh: T & T Clark International / Continuum. 2011a{2009} “Two Epigraphic Notes on the New Katumuwa Inscription from Zincirli.” MAARAV 16: 159– 79. 2011b “The Old Testament in its Cultural Context: Implications of ‘Contextual Criticism’ for Chinese and North American Christian Identity.” Pp. 73–95 in After Imperialism. Edited by R. R. Cook and D. W. Pao. Eugene, OR: Pickwick (Wipf and Stock). 2009a “Joshua.” In The New Oxford Annotated Bible. New Revised Standard Version with the Apocrypha. 4th Edition. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2009b “The Deity Kur(r)a in the First Millennium Sources.” JANER 9: 1–23. 2008a “The Rhetorical Structuring of the Joshua Conquest Narratives.” Pp. 3–32 in Critical Issues in Early Israelite History. Edited by R. S. Hess, G. A. Klingbeil and P. J. Ray, Jr. BBR.Sup 3. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2008b “Shalmaneser III and Israel.” Pp. 225–56 In Israel: Ancient Kingdom or Late Invention. Edited by D. I. Block. Nashville: Holman. 2007a “Some of What’s New in Old Aramaic Epigraphy.” NEA 70.3: 138–46. 2007b “Neo-Assyrian and Israelite History in the Ninth Century: The Role of Shalmaneser III.” Pp. 237– 71 in Understanding the History of Israel. Edited by H. G. M. Williamson. Proceedings of the British Academy 143. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2007c “The Late Bronze Age / Iron Age Transition and the Origins of the Arameans.” Pp. 131–74 in Ugarit at Seventy-Five. Its Environs and the Bible. Edited by K. L. Younger, Jr. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

XIV

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

2006–09 “Chronology of the Ancient Near East,” “Erech,” “Esarhaddon,” “Hoshea,” “Sargon,” and “Sennacherib.” In The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by K. D. Sakenfeld. Nashville: Abingdon Press. 2006 “The Production of Ancient Near Eastern Text Anthologies from the Earliest to the Latest.” Pp. 199–219 in Orientalism, Assyriology and the Bible. Edited by S. W. Holloway. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. 2005 “‘Hazaʾel, Son of a Nobody’: Some Reflections in Light of Recent Study.” Pp. 245–70 in Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society. Papers in Honour of Alan R. Millard. Edited by P. Bienkowski, C. Mee, and E. Slater. LHB/OTS 426. New York and London: T & T Clark International / Continuum. 2004 “The Repopulation of Samaria (2 Kings 17:24, 27–31) in Light of Recent Study.” Pp. 242–68 in The Future of Biblical Archaeology. Edited by J. K. Hoffmeier and A. R. Millard. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2003a “Israelites in Exile. Their Names Appear at All Levels of Assyrian Society.” BAR 29/6: 36–45, 65– 66. 2003b “Assyrian Involvement in the Southern Levant at the End of the Eighth Century BCE.” Pp. 235–63 in Jerusalem in Bible and Archaeology. The First Temple Period. Edited by A. G. Vaughan and A. E. Killebrew. SBL Symposium Series 18. Atlanta: SBL. 2003c “Joshua.” Pp. 174–89 in Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible. Edited by J. D. G. Dunn and J. W. Rogerson. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2003d “‘Give Us Our Daily Bread’ – Everyday Life for the Israelite Deportees.” Pp. 271–80 in Life and Culture in the Ancient Near East. Edited by R. E. Averbeck, M. W. Chavalas and D. S. Weisberg. Bethesda, MD: CDL. 2002a “Recent Study on the Inscriptions of Sargon II. Implications for Biblical Studies.” Pp. 288–329 in Mesopotamia and the Bible. Comparative Explorations. JSOT.SS 341. Edited by M. W. Chavalas and K. L. Younger. Sheffield / Grand Rapids: Sheffield Academic Press / Baker. 2002b “Yahweh at Ashkelon and Calaḫ? Yahwistic Names in Neo-Assyrian.” VT 52: 207–18. 2002c “The ‘Contextual Method’: Some West Semitic Reflections.” Pp. xxxv–xlii in The Context of Scripture. Volume 3. 2002d “Cebel Ires Dağı (3.55),” “Barley Loan from Assur (AECT 47) (3.56),” “Loan of Silver from Assur (AECT 50) (3.57),” “Barley Loan from Guzana (AECT 54) (3.58),” “The Ophel Ostracon (3.86),” “The Bukān Inscription (3.89),” “A Letter Reporting Matters in Kalaḫ (Kalḫu) (Nimrud 16; SAA 1.110) (3.96),” “Samarian Grain Tax (SAA 1.220) (3.97),” “A Report on Work on Dūr-Šarrukin (SAA 15.280) (3.98),” “Sale of Three Slaves (SAA 6.34) (3.111),” “Sale of a Slave Woman (ZA 1979.11) (3.112),” “A Slave Redemption (SAA 6.61) (3.113),” “Sale of a Slave (Tel Aḫmar Tablet 13) (3.114),” “Land Sale (Tel Hadid G-117/95) (3.115),” “A Debt Note (Tel Hadid G/1696) (3.116),” “Sale of an Estate (Gezer 1) (3.117),” “Land Sale (Gezer 2) (3.118),” “A Court Order (Samaria 1825/Fi 16) (3.122),” “An Assyrian Wine List (NWL 8) (3.127),” “An Assyrian Horse List (TFS 99) (3.128),” in The Context of Scripture. Volume 3. 2000a “Joshua, Judges.” In The New Oxford Annotated Bible. New Revised Standard Version with the Apocrypha. 3rd Edition. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2000b “Epic of Gilgamesh,” “Hyksos,” and “Joshua.” In Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by David N. Freedman, et al. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2000c “The Siloam Tunnel Inscription (2.28),” “Kulamuwa (2.30),” “Azatiwada (2.31),” “Hadad (2.36),” “Panamuwa (2.37),” “Bar-Rakib (2.38),” “The Ekron Inscription of Akhayus (2.42),” “The Jerusalem Pomegranate (2.48),” “The Temple of the Lord Ostracon (2.50),” “Shalmaneser III (2.113a–i),” “Adad-nirari III (2.114a–h),” “Officials’ Inscriptions (2.115a–d),” “Shalmaneser IV – Pazarcık/ Maraş Stela (2.116),” “Tiglath-Pileser III (2.117a–g),” and “Sargon II (2.118a–j).” In The Context of Scripture. Volume 2. 1999a “The Fall of Samaria in Light of Recent Research.” CBQ 61: 461–82. 1999b “Early Israel in Recent Biblical Scholarship.” Pp. 176–206 in The Face of Old Testament Studies. Edited by D. W. Baker and B. T. Arnold. Grand Rapids: Baker.

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

1998a 1998b 1998c 1997a 1997b 1996 1995a 1995b 1994a 1994b

1991

1990

1986

XV

“Two Comparative Notes on the Book of Ruth.” JANES 26:121–32. “The Deportations of the Israelites.” JBL 117/2: 201–27. “The Phoenician Inscription of Azatiwada – An Integrated Reading.” JSS 43/1: 11–47. “Bow;” “Arrow;” “Thorn.” In New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis (NIDOTTE). Edited by W. A. VanGemeren. Grand Rapids: Zondervan. “The Ugaritic King List (1.104),” in The Context of Scripture. Volume 1. “Sargon’s Campaign Against Jerusalem – A Further Note.” Bib 77: 108–10. “The Configuring of Judicial Preliminaries: Judges 1:1–2:5 and its Dependence on the Book of Joshua.” JSOT 68: 75–92. “The ‘Conquest’ of the South (Joshua 10:28–39).” BZ 17/2: 255–64. “The Siloam Tunnel Inscription – An Integrated Reading.” UF 26: 543–56. “Judges 1 in its Near Eastern Literary Context.” Pp. 207–27 in Faith, Tradition, History: Essays on Old Testament Historiography in its Near Eastern Context. Edited by A. R. Millard, J. K. Hoffmeier, and A. Baker. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. “Heads! Tails! or the Whole Coin?! Contextual Method & Intertextual Analysis: Judges 4 and 5.” Pp. 109–45 in The Canon in Comparative Perspective. Scripture in Context IV. Edited by K. L. Younger, W. W. Hallo, and B. F. Batto. Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press. “The Figurative Aspect and Contextual Method in the Evaluation of the Solomonic Empire (1 Kings 1–11).” Pp. 157–75 in The Bible in Three Dimensions. Edited by D. Clines, S. Fowl, and S. Porter. Sheffield: Sheffield University Press. “Panammuwa and Bar-Rakib: Two Structural Analyses.” JANES 18: 91–103.

Book Reviews 2021

2004 2003a

2003b 2003c 2002

1998a 1997a 1997b 1997c 1997d

1995a

“Review of Jens Kamlah, Rolf Schäfer and Markus Witte (eds.), Zauber und Magie im antiken Palästina und in seiner Umwelt. Kolloquium des Deutschen Vereins zur Erforschung Palästinas vom 14. bis 16. November 2014 in Mainz (ADPV 46; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017).” BBR (forthcoming). “Review of Mark S. Smith, Untold Stories. The Bible and Ugaritic Studies in the Twentieth Century. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2001.” Themelios 29/3: 52–53. “Review of Ephraim Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible. Volume 2: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732–332 BCE). ABRL. New York/London/Toronto: Doubleday, 2001.” Trinity Journal 16: 325–28. “Review of William R. Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah. New Studies. Leiden: Brill, 1999.” JAOS 122/3: 600–602. “Review of Abraham Malamat, History of Biblical Israel. Major Problems and Minor Issues. CHANE 7. Leiden: Brill, 2001.” JAOS 122/4: 882–84. “Review of Gary N. Knoppers and J. Gordon McConville, (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (Sources for Biblical and Theological Study 8; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000).” CBQ 64: 791–93. “Review of Richard D. Nelson, Joshua. A Commentary. The Old Testament Library; Louisville: Westminster / John Knox Press, 1997.” SBQ 60: 471–73. “Review of Gary Beckman, Hittite Diplomatic Texts. SBL WAW Series 7. Edited by H. A. Hoffner, Jr. Atlanta: Scholars, 1996.” CBQ 60: 557–58. “Review of Jeffrey Kah-jin Kuan. Neo-Assyrian Historical Inscriptions and Syria-Palestine. Jian Dao Dissertation Series 1. Hong Kong: Alliance Bible Seminary, 1995.” Jian Dao 8: 149–50. “Review of Volkmar Fritz, Das Buch Josua. HAT 1/7. Tübingen: Mohr, 1994.” CBQ 59: 347–48. “Review of E. Theodore Mullen, Jr., Narrative History and Ethnic Boundaries. The Deuteronomistic Historian and the Creation of Israelite National Identity. SBL Semeia Studies. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society. “Review of Philip J. King, Jeremiah. An Archaeological Companion. Louisville: Westminster / John Knox Press, 1993.” Hebrew Studies 15: 147–48.

XVI

Publications of K. Lawson Younger, Jr.

1995b “Review of F. B. Huey, Jr., Jeremiah, Lamentations. The New American Commentary 16. Nashville: Broadman Press, 1993.” Hebrew Studies 15: 146–47. 1994 “Review of L. Daniel Hawk, Every Promise Fulfilled. Contesting Plots in Joshua Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation; Louisville: Westminster / John Knox, 1991.” CBQ 56: 109–10. 1993a “Review of H. A. Hoffner, Jr., Hittite Myths. SBL WAW Series. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990.” CBQ 55: 339. 1993b “Review of E. Cortese, Josua 13–21. Ein Priesterschriftlicher Abschnitt im Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk. OBO 94; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990.” CBQ 55: 105–6. 1992 “Review of W. T. Koopmans, Joshua 24 as Poetic Narrative. JSOT.SS 93; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990.” CBQ 54: 343–44. 1988 “A Critical Review of John Van Seters, In Search of History. Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History. New Haven / London: Yale University Press, 1983.” JSOT 40: 110–17.

Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon A Fresh Investigation* Bill T. Arnold and Brian T. Shockey

Abstract The following investigation reexamines the long-held argument that a connection exists between Deut 13 and Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty (EST). Attention is given to the important role of presuppositions in the comparative process and the relationship of similarities between the two texts with the larger corpus of treaty documents. We will argue that, rather than a case of direct literary borrowing, Deut 13 exhibits subtle evidence of conceptual borrowing reflecting possible awareness of the EST on the part of the Israelite scribes. The relationship between Deuteronomy and Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty (EST) has remained a topic of investigation since Donald Wiseman’s publication of the text in 1958.1 Despite over a half century of research, scholarly consensus regarding the role of the EST in the composition of Deuteronomy remains elusive.2 While there are, no doubt, differences of opinion regarding the significance of similarities and/or dissimilarities between Deuteronomy and the EST, the lack of agreement in numerous cases can be attributed to differences in the process of comparison used by scholars. Unfortunately, these methodological differences are often obscured or omitted entirely in the presentation of scholarly research. The present investigation offers a fresh evaluation of the underlying differences through a deliberate and comprehensive methodological process with the goal of presenting a more transparent assessment of the influence of the EST upon Deut 13. The comparative method proposed here is a synthesis and refinement of comparative insight developed by practitioners over the past century.3 It consists of seven steps, which prima facie appear deceptively simple: 1. Ask a Question 2. Choose Sources 3. Examine Context * Lawson Younger’s contributions to the comparative method are impossible to miss for all scholars of the Hebrew Scriptures, both in practice and in the access he has provided to the primary sources in the monumental work of producing the Context of Scripture volumes. By offering this brief study in his honor, we hereby acknowledge our indebtedness to him and hope to continue the conversation about Deuteronomy and its ancient context. 1 Donald J. Wiseman, “The Vassal-Treaties of Esarhaddon,” Iraq 20 (1958): 1–99. The text is now widely available; see Simo Parpola and Kazuko Watanabe, Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths, SAA 2 (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1988), 28–58; “Neo-Assyrian Treaties,” trans. Jacob Lauinger (COS 4.36:155–66); “Die Vasallenverträge Asarhaddons mit medischen Fürsten,” trans. Rykle Borger (TUAT 1:160–76); and Jacob Lauinger, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Tell Tayinat: Text and Commentary,” JCS 64 (2012): 87–123. 2 See, for example, the articles in the recent HBAI volume and the introductory summary there by Cynthia Edenburg and Reinhard Müller, “Editorial Introduction: Perspectives on the Treaty Framework of Deuteronomy,” HBAI 8 (2019): 73–86. Specific to Deut 13, Eckart Otto long ago made comparison with the EST (especially §10) the focus of a research program that came to full fruition in his prodigious commentary; cf. Eckart Otto, Das Deuteronomium: Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien, BZAW 284 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 57–88; and idem, Deuteronomium 12–34, HThKAT, 2 vols. (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2016), 1259–61. And for recent refutation of the idea that the EST was either a direct or secondary source for composing any or all of Deuteronomy, see Diana V. Edelman, “Saying Goodbye to the Theory of the Influence of Esarhaddon’s Succession Adê on Deuteronomy 13 and 28,” in Beside the Ark: Thinking about Deuteronomy outside the Box, eds. Diana V. Edelman, Kåre Berge, Philippe Guillaume and Benedetta Rossi, forthcoming. 3 Including William W. Hallo’s “contextual approach,” which has been refined and advanced by our honoree, Lawson Younger, who referred to Hallo’s approach as a “methodological watershed” (COS 4, page ix). For bibliography and assessment, see Brian T. Shockey, “Beyond Comparison: A Process for Comparing Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Literature” (PhD diss., Asbury Theological Seminary, 2021).

2

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

4. Collect Data 5. Interpret the Data 6. Draw Conclusions 7. Present Results These steps are designed to guide researchers through the process of comparison and to safeguard against misinterpretation of the comparative data. They include several sub-steps which also aid researchers engaging in specific types of comparative study (compositional, historical, exegetical, or topical inquiries). This process intentionally separates the collection of comparative data from its interpretation to allow for greater transparency in how a researcher’s presuppositions and purpose affect their interpretation of the data. While disagreements may arise in stages five and six of the comparative study, it is hoped that stage four, kept separate, will generally be common ground in the comparative endeavor, even among scholars holding to vastly different positions. While many scholars currently embrace a ‘comparative method’ with regard to Old Testament interpretation, the execution of the method is wildly varied and at times problematic, and few scholars reflect self-consciously on the core principles at work in their research in order to prevent misuse of the method. This brief study attempts to illustrate a synthesis of the core principles of comparison in a single unified process. The approach used here has been developed and defended elsewhere, first by delineating a seven-stage comprehensive process in theory, and then by applying it in practice to two case studies: (a) the structure of Deuteronomy to ancient Near Eastern treaties generally, and (b) the literary dependence of Deut 28 to the EST.4 This investigation turns to a further case study – that of the controversial theory of literary dependence between Deut 13 and the EST. In order to highlight the processes at work in the approach, this research report will deliberately focus on the stages of the comparative method adopted here. In the interest of space, comments will be restricted to aspects of the comparative process that have resulted in significant debate among scholars. 1. Ask a Question All comparative research begins with a question, articulated or not, which is informed by both the purpose and the presuppositions of the researcher. In the present case, the comparison is a compositional inquiry, examining whether the EST in some manner influenced the development of Deut 13. Formulated another way, “Did the biblical scribes make use of the EST in the composition of Deuteronomy 13?” The purpose of this comparative study is captured in this general question, but it is worth noting that the present investigation also aims to bring clarity to the differences between the results of previous comparative studies. While not the focus of the comparison itself, this purpose guides the investigation and the attention given to various aspects of the study. Many studies comparing Deuteronomy and the EST are also interested in establishing a date for the composition of the biblical text, in addition to understanding the process which led to its formation. Although we recognize that the results of the present study may carry implications for the date of Deuteronomy, these questions are of secondary interest and exert less influence on the study itself. It should also be noted that other types of comparative studies, perhaps topical or exegetical inquiries, might also bear fruit, perhaps even to a greater extent than the present investigation. Prior to this point, however, comparisons between Deut 13 and the EST have been dominated by compositional questions, and therefore it is along these lines that the present study must proceed. Any question involving the compositional history of Deuteronomy must first reckon with several key presuppositions which influence the course of the study. Failure properly to disclose and appreciate the impact of presuppositions is perhaps the greatest factor contributing to the conflicting diversity of conclusions regarding the relationship between Deut 13 and the EST. Presuppositions for this type of investigation should be considered in three areas; first, the researcher’s understanding of the nature of the biblical text and the processes at work in its composition; second, the researcher’s understanding of ancient Near Eastern continuity; and third, the researcher’s opinions regarding the relationship between other portions of Deuteronomy and the EST.

4

Shockey, “Beyond Comparison.”

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

3

We approach Deuteronomy as a text with both theological and historical value. As with other ancient sources, efforts will be made to respect the probable (reconstructable) history depicted by the text, allowing, of course, for issues of genre, rhetoric, and ancient literary practices. These depictions will not be pressed beyond what the data affords. We assume partial continuity throughout the cultures of the ancient Near East, recognizing the presence of common traditions among proximate cultures but also the distinctiveness of Israel’s own culture. Finally, although we recognize the potential for Neo-Assyrian influence upon the text of Deuteronomy, we do not find the so-called treaty form argument or the evidence from Deut 28 to be sufficient to support widespread influence upon the biblical text. Despite the vast amount of literature on the form of Deuteronomy, at present the corpus of ancient Near Eastern treaty texts is inconsistently distributed and marked by many temporal and geographical gaps. While it is possible that these gaps represent cultures which did not possess a treaty tradition, it seems more likely that this information has not yet been recovered through archaeological means and is unavailable to modern researchers. It is not possible to assess the compositional history of Deuteronomy against such an incomplete grid of data with any confidence. To be sure, Deuteronomy contains an extensive historical prologue and blessing section, similar to second millennium Hittite treaties; it also contains an extensive curse section similar to the Neo-Assyrian treaty texts. The extensive gaps present in the ancient Near Eastern material, however, make these similarities, although tantalizing, ultimately of limited value for determining the compositional history of the book.5 Further, the evidence from Deut 28 is less convincing than often assumed.6 High confidence parallels between the two sources are isolated to Deut 28:20–33 and lines 414–30 of the EST. Even in this limited section any borrowing appears to have occurred at the conceptual, rather than literary level. It may even be possible that a Judahite scribe made use of the Neo-Assyrian material unconsciously in the composition of the biblical curse section.7 While the shared curse order between these two sections is exclusive to the two sources, this type of conceptual borrowing seems more consistent with two sources which rely on a common tradition. At this time, however, no additional evidence exists to support the common textual tradition argument. The limited and conceptual nature of the borrowing in Deut 28 also seems to refute suggestions that the biblical scribes were engaged in some type of subversive transformation of the Neo-Assyrian material. Were this to be the case, one would expect clear signaling and more widespread evidence of borrowing. The evidence of conceptual borrowing in Deut 28 then, although the most probable interpretation of the data for that section of text, is less effective in supporting the notion of scribal borrowing in other parts of the book, such as Deut 13.8 This final presupposition, the researcher’s opinion of other connections between Deuteronomy and the EST, often proves to be predictive with regards to how a researcher will interpret the supposed similarities between Deut 13 and the EST. Scholars who have aligned Deuteronomy more generally with Hittite material by its form will be inclined to support Hittite parallels and question Neo-Assyrian influence. Likewise, scholars who have asserted widespread Neo-Assyrian subversion by the biblical scribes will be more likely to 5

For a recent reconstruction of the book’s compositional history, see Bill T. Arnold, “Innovations of the Deuteronomic Law and the History of Its Composition,” in Deuteronomy in the Making: Studies in the Production of Debarim, eds. Diana Edelman, Benedetta Rossi, Käre Berge and Philippe Guillaume, BZAW 533 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 163–94, esp. 185–87; and cf. further Bill T. Arnold, “Number Switching in Deuteronomy 12–26 and the Quest for Urdeuteronomium,” ZABR 23 (2017): 163–80, esp. 176–80. 6 For some of what follows, see Shockey, “Beyond Comparison,” 223–71. 7 What is sometimes lost or overlooked in this discussion is the role of memory in the formation of written texts, and the likelihood that Israelite scribes often worked from memory in incorporating earlier texts in “a process of writingsupported memorization,” resulting in less precision in the transmission from one tradition to the next than we might expect; cf. David M. Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 4–7 and 57–65; cf. also idem, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). 8 The inability to support arguments of literary borrowing based on the available evidence does not rule out the possibility of such interaction between Israelite scribes and Neo-Assyrian literature and culture. Rather, it simply indicates that the evidence is insufficient to support the argument with certainty. Therefore, all subsequent arguments and further reconstructions based upon that evidence must be made with caution. Unfortunately, although many researchers present their conclusions with caution, later arguments built upon those conclusions are not often advanced with the same degree of caution.

4

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

confirm their suspicions via the perceived evidence in Deut 13. While it is tempting to label this an instance of confirmation bias, the reality is much more nuanced. In both cases, scholars are seeking to build an argument by compiling evidence which supports their claim. They have not predetermined their conclusions, but their presuppositions cause them to interpret data in keeping with one interpretive stream, when in reality multiple options may be available. Scholars seeking to hold a moderate position are not excused from this tendency, as they will likely be tempted to withhold judgement until additional evidence can be offered. This is the unfortunate reality of biblical studies, where the benefits of drawing conclusions must be balanced with the limitations of the available evidence. 2. Choose Sources The research question above easily identifies the sources for comparison, Deut 13 and the EST. Other sources will likely be needed to establish the exclusivity of any assessed similarities if literary borrowing is suspected. What is less clear at the present time is the specific portions of the EST that should be included in the comparison. While the majority of scholars use EST §10 as a base for comparison, it is not uncommon to see others reach to §§4, 12, and 57 for parallels.9 This raises questions about the nature of literary borrowing in the ancient world and the process of comparison, which are difficult to answer. Should we assume that it was common for an ancient scribe to borrow from different, isolated, sections of a document in their own process of composition? Moreover, how much “jumping around” should be allowed before we assume that the scribe is composing something new rather than borrowing from another source? Comparison for compositional inquiry is most effective when assessing isolated, consecutive portions of text. This allows for a clear evaluation of similarities and differences within an intentionally limited scope. This scope can always be expanded or modified in subsequent studies in order to examine other portions of the EST that may have a connection to Deuteronomy. While this investigation focuses on §10, we will attempt to address the arguments of other scholars working on Deut 13 by also examining similarities and differences within §§4–12 of the EST. We will not consider §57, which seems less relevant despite its lexical connections because it lies outside the immediate context of the other material. The boundaries of the biblical source are also a matter of discussion, although for very different reasons. Several scholars first engage in source criticism to establish what they believe to be an earlier form of Deut 13 and then use this hypothetical form for comparison. While these early forms often yield compelling results when compared to the EST, at the present time they remain hypothetical.10 As such, these versions of Deut 13 add additional variables into the comparative endeavor which significantly lower the certainty of any results drawn from the study. Because of this, we have chosen to use the canonical form of Deut 13 for comparison since it is the only version of the text available to us with complete certainty. While it is possible that parallels may have appeared more clearly in earlier versions of the text, lacking any archaeologically recovered “early versions” it is impossible to engage in this type of comparison with any degree of confidence. We must work with the comparisons available to us, limited though our sources may be. Source selection involves an examination of seven source criteria, including scope, proximity, pathway, genre, content, quality, and quantity.11 Since the majority of scholars agree regarding these aspects of the EST and Deuteronomy, we will limit our comments here to matters of pathway and quality. The primary argument against using the EST as a comparative source has to do with its availability to Judahite scribes.12 9

E.g., Hans U. Steymans, “Deuteronomy 13 in Comparison with Hittite, Aramaic, and Assyrian Treaties,” HBAI 8 (2019): 101–32, esp. 122–25; and Otto, Das Deuteronomium, 59–61. 10 E.g., Steymans, “Deuteronomy 13 in Comparison,” 106–11; William Morrow, “Have Attempts to Establish the Dependency of Deuteronomy on the Esarhaddon Succession Treaty (EST) Failed?” HBAI 8 (2019): 140–43; Paul Dion, “Deuteronomy 13: The Suppression of Alien Religious Propaganda in Israel during the Late Monarchical Era,” in Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel, eds. Baruch Halpern and Deborah W. Hobson, JSOT.SS 124 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 167–92. 11 Shockey, “Beyond Comparison,” 123–31. 12 For discussion of the use of Akkadian and Aramaic by the Assyrian Empire see William Morrow, “Cuneiform Literacy and Deuteronomic Composition,” BO 62.3–4 (2005), 207–10; Morrow, “Have Attempts,” 137–39; Shawn Z. Aster, “Treaty and Prophecy: A Survey of Biblical Reactions to Neo-Assyrian Political Thought,” in The Southern Levant

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

5

The argument, as traditionally framed, suggests that most of copies of the EST were found further to the east and there is little evidence that a copy was displayed in Jerusalem. Further, scholars holding to this view question whether Judahite scribes would have been able to read the EST, even if it were present in Jerusalem. Opposing voices have in recent years pointed to the copy of the EST at Tell Tayinat as evidence of the westward distribution of the document and suggested that Judah’s vassal status would have ensured that at least some scribes were able to read and write cuneiform for the purpose of maintaining healthy relationships with the empire.13 Various other arguments have also been raised including the possibility of an Aramaic translation of the EST, or perhaps a shared Northwest Semitic cultural heritage.14 For the present comparison, however, what is needed is not certainty of pathway, but reasonable possibility of pathway. While the hypothetical nature of this pathway must be factored into the final conclusions (and limits their certainty), the possibility of a pathway is sufficient to engage in comparison with the EST. As noted above, the potential for Neo-Assyrian influence is recognized as a presupposition of the present researchers and will affect our interpretation of the data. The quality of both texts is generally good, although it should be noted that the relevant passages are damaged or missing in the Tell Tayinat exemplar. Text-critical issues for the biblical text are minor, except for the differences between the MT and LXX versions of Deut 13:10[LXX 13:9].15 Since these differences have previously been resolved via comparative evidence and are relevant for the discussion of similarities and differences between the two sources, they will be addressed in detail below. 3. Examine Context There is general agreement on the literary context of both Deut 13 and the EST. The social context of the EST likewise finds little debate among researchers. On the other hand, the uncertainty regarding Deuteronomy’s compositional history makes it difficult to achieve a consensus view for its social context, which is to be expected for compositional inquiries of documents that do not possess a clear compositional date. Since there is little debate regarding the literary and cultural context of these sources (with the exception of the social context of Deuteronomy), this topic does not require extensive treatment in the current investigation. One lingering point of debate concerning the literary context of Deuteronomy 13 is the role of Deut 13:1. Bernard Levinson and Eckart Otto are inclined to see Deut 13:1 as inherently connected to the verses which follow and include the verse in their assessment of evidence of borrowing.16 William Morrow sees Deut 13:1 and 13:19 as a framework marking the insertion of verses 2–18. He further points to the Masoretic pǝtûḥâ (open paragraph) as indicative of a textual division following Deut 13:1 and excludes the verse from comparison.17 Hans Steymans, somewhat following Paul Dion, uses a hypothetical version of Deut 13, which also excludes Deut 13:1 from the discussion.18 While the so-called canon formula will be discussed further below, we will note, for the moment, that we are not convinced by arguments to include this verse in discussions of literary borrowing.

Under Assyrian Domination,eds. Shawn Z. Aster and Avraham Faust (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2018), 89–96, esp. 90; Angelika Berlejung, “The Assyrians in the West: Assyrianization, Colonialism, Indifference, or Development Policy,” in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010, ed. Martti Nissinen (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 21–60. 13 E.g., Hans U. Steymans, “Deuteronomy 28 and Tell Tayinat,” Verbum et Ecclesia 34 (2013): 1–13. 14 E.g., Laura Quick, Deuteronomy 28 and the Aramaic Curse Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018); Melissa D. Ramos, “A Northwest Semitic Curse Formula: The Sefire Treaty and Deuteronomy 28,” ZAW 128 (2016): 205–20. 15 For the sake of convenience, we refer to textual references in Deut 13 by the Masoretic versification except where otherwise noted. 16 E.g., Bernard M. Levinson, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty as the Source for the Canon Formula in Deuteronomy 13:1,” JAOS 130.3 (2010): 345–46. For an opposing view see Laura Quick, “ ‘But You Shall Surely Report Concerning Him’: In Defense of the Priority of LXX Deuteronomy 13:9,” ZAW 130.1 (2018): 86–100. 17 Morrow, “Have Attempts”, 141. 18 Dion, “Deuteronomy 13,” 156–59; Steymans, “Deuteronomy 13 in Comparison,” 104.

6

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

4. Collect Data The analysis of Deut 13 and EST §10 reveals several similarities and differences. Both texts address a situation of covenant infidelity, whereby the vassal has overheard the negative speech or seditious plans of another party. Both documents use a similar, four-part conditional form to describe this scenario, although these parts occur in a slightly different order depending on the scribe’s choice of verb. The four parts include the conditional phrase itself, the identity of the offending party, the actions of the offending party, and the expected response of the vassal to the situation. The biblical text divides the covenant mandate into three parallel cycles while the EST includes only a single cycle. The contents of these cycles are summarized below: Cycle A

EST §10 If you hear… A not good word from Enemies/allies; family members; mantic practitioners; anyone You shall report it

Cycle A

B

C

Deut 13 If ___ arises and says Let us go after other gods Mantic practitioners You shall purge the evil from among you If ____ entices you Let us go serve other gods Family members; friends You (and the community) shall kill him If you hear That ____ enticed a city to follow other gods Unnamed (anyone?) + Unfaithful City You shall investigate and, if true, you shall destroy the city

The identities of the offending parties are remarkably similar, although the biblical text divides them up over two of the three cycles. Only the enemies/allies group is omitted from the biblical text in the immediate context. Levinson notes that the order of the offending parties is reversed in the biblical text, with the mantic practitioners preceding the group of family members.19 The presence of numerous translational equivalents strengthens this parallel, such as the EST’s inclusion of aḫḫēkunu, mārēkunu, mārātekunu, “your brothers, your sons, your daughters” (cf. Deut 13:7).20 While these three nouns occur in the same order in both texts, they are quite common, and are interrupted by additional individuals in both texts (the addition of uncles and father’s family line in EST §10; the addition of wife and friend in Deut 13:7). More interesting is the similarity between the mantic figures listed in both texts. While the biblical term nābîʾ is common, the use of ḥōlēm ḥălôm to refer to an official position is rare. Unfortunately, difficulty in defining mantic terms prevents us from clearly assessing whether the professional dreamer referenced in the biblical text is a clear parallel to any of the three terms (raggimu, maḫḫû, or šā’ilu) used in the EST.21 Differences between the two texts occur in the other three areas of the conditional form: the conditional phrase itself (cycles A and B), the description of the offender’s action, and the expected response of the vassal to that action. While the EST envisions a scenario where the vassal hears some language that is abutu

19

Levinson, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty,” 346. EST §10, lines 115–116: ŠEŠ.MEŠ-ku-nu DUMU.MEŠ-ku-nu DUMU.MÍ.MEŠ-ku-nu. 21 On defining mantic terms see Jonathan Stökl, Prophecy in the Ancient Near East: A Philological and Sociological Comparison (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 7–26, 103–27; Martti Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, 2nd ed., WAW 41 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2019), 1–12; Ben Wiggershaus, “The Man of Opened Eye: Ancient Near Eastern Revelatory Convention and the Balaam Cycle (Numbers 22–24)” (PhD diss., Asbury Theological Seminary, 2021), 13– 83. Note that although šā’ilu is used with dream interpretation and may appear to match the biblical term, it has a semantic range which can also refer to other types of divination. 20

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

7

lā ṭābtu lā deʾiqtu lā banitu – “a word that is not favorable, not beautiful, and not good” – by the offender,22 the conditional phrase and following description of the offender’s action in the biblical text is much more explicit. Here the offender, rather than the vassal, is understood as the subject of the conditional phrase, in both cases enticing the vassal to follow after other gods. In cycle A (vv. 2–7) this enticement appears to be connected to the signs and wonders performed by the mantic practitioners while in cycle B (vv. 7–12) it is tied to the strength of the relationship between the vassal and his close family/friends. In both cases the charge is clearly that of inciting rebellion against YHWH, rather than the more generalized term used in the EST. The expected response of the vassal also varies considerably from the EST to Deut 13, with the vassal being expected to report the negative speech to Assurbanipal in the EST and to enact punishment (here death) of the offending party in the biblical text.23 Even if one assumes that reporting an offense to Assurbanipal would ultimately result in the death of the offending party, in the biblical text it is the vassal who overhears who is ultimately responsible for the punishment of the offense they witnessed. On the other hand, the conditional phrase of cycle C (vv. 13–18) of the biblical text matches that of the EST, although the remainder of the cycle does not find a parallel in §10.24 The offender is not named in the biblical text, so the reported speech of Deut 13:14 could technically have been spoken by anyone. In this way, the section is similar to the catch-all terminology found in the EST. It differs, however, upon closer inspection, as the group overheard differs from the group who incites the rebellion. Moreover, there are actually two groups of offenders; the first, those who incited the city to turn away from Yhwh; the second – those who actually receive the punishment, the inhabitants of the rebellious city. The third cycle also concludes with an admonition for the vassal to destroy the guilty parties, although here the punishment is framed not just as execution but as ḥērem. While the vassal still participates in the punishment, the judgment is more severe and its consequences more far-reaching. Summarizing the similarities and differences between Deut 13 and §10, then, reveals a general similarity regarding the offending parties but differences in the language, offense, and required response of the vassal. If the comparison is expanded to include §§4–12, a number of other similarities and differences may be assessed. An initial similarity may be identified between the closing portion of §4 (line 57) and Deut 13:1, both of which reference changes to the conditions of the document. The EST refers to changes or alterations to the word of Esarhaddon while Deut 13:1 refers to adding or taking away from the commands of God conveyed through Moses. While both describe changes to the documents, there are some notable differences between them. The EST uses two largely synonymous terms (tennāni and tušannāni), while the biblical texts has opposite terms (ysp and grʿ), perhaps as a merism. While the general thrust of the verse is the same, the logic used by the documents is somewhat different. Further, the biblical text is presented as first-person speech while the EST is represented in the third person, as a scribe conveying the words of Esarhaddon with respect to Assurbanipal. Thus, Deut 13:1 and EST §4, line 57 display both similarities and differences. The ensuing portion of the EST, §§5–9 displays some conceptual similarity with Deut 13 with respect to the language of rebellion against the ruler. It should be noted however, that Deut 13:1 moves directly from the command to obey and not modify the commands to the three conditional cycles with no additional material in between. Some of the material in the EST finds no parallel in the biblical text. In particular, §5 which 22

EST §10, lines 108–109: a-bu-tú la DÙG.GA-tú la de-iq-tú la ba-ni-tú. The difference between the vassal’s responsibility in the biblical and Neo-Assyrian texts both contributes to and is affected by discussion of text-critical issues surrounding Deut 13:10. See Levinson, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty;” Quick, “‘But You Shall Surely Report Concerning Him.”’ As noted by Quick, earlier studies by Weinfeld and Dion advocated for the LXX version of this passage to increase the strength of the parallel with the EST. Even with this change, similarity between the vassal’s responsibility would only be present in the second conditional cycle of the biblical text. The presence of capital punishment in the first and third cycles could also be understood as evidence to support the MT reading of the middle cycle. 24 This section of the text is often discussed in connection with CTH 133. For the initial argument, see Joshua Berman, “CTH 133 and the Hittite Provenance of Deuteronomy 13,” JBL 130.1 (2011): 25–44. For discussion see Bernard M. Levinson and Jeffrey Stackert, “Between the Covenant Code and Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty: Deuteronomy 13 and the Composition of Deuteronomy,” JAJ 3 (2012): 123–40; Joshua Berman, “Historicism and Its Limits: A Response to Bernard M. Levinson and Jeffrey Stackert,” JAJ 4 (2013): 297–309; and Bernard M. Levinson and Jeffrey Stackert, “The Limitations of ‘Resonance’: A Response to Joshua Berman on the Comparative Method,” JAJ 4 (2013): 310–33. 23

8

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

discusses the protection of Assurbanipal against efforts to steal the throne by his brothers and §7 which concerns succession upon Esarhaddon’s premature death differ greatly from the biblical materials. EST §8 also finds little similarity in Deut 13, although its concerns of covenant fidelity are reflected in other parts of Deuteronomy. The biggest similarities between these intervening sections and Deuteronomy 13 are found in §6 and §9. EST §6, is similar to §10 and deals with the vassal’s obligation to report negative speech against Assurbanipal, similar to the obligation in the biblical text to address rumors of sedition. In this case, however, the category of mantic practitioners is missing from the EST and is replaced with government officials and scholars. As §6 adds no additional similarities beyond those reported with §10, it will not be addressed further here. EST §9 adds the element of rebellion and sedition, which is clearly found in Deut 13 and had been missing from §10. In this case however, it is the vassal who is the object of the covenant mandate to refrain from rebellion and negative speech against the ruler. While this section reveals a similar interest in rebellion against the ruler, the structure of §9 is markedly different from Deut 13 and contains no conditional elements nor mention of reported speech. Cycle A

EST §12 If you hear… Rebellion and insurrection anyone You shall bring them before Assurbanipal, kill them, or report them

Cycle A

Deut 13 If ___ arises and says Let us go after other gods Mantic practitioners You shall purge the evil from among you

B

If ____ entices you Let us go serve other gods Family members; friends You (and the community) shall kill him If you hear That ____ enticed a city to follow other gods Unnamed (anyone?) You shall investigate and, if true, you shall destroy the city

C

The paragraphs following §10 also display additional similarities and differences to Deut 13. EST §11, as with §9, contains an injunction directed toward the vassal to refrain from rebellion and negative speech/action against Assurbanipal. In §11 this action is further specified to include seizing, ousting, handing over, or swearing allegiance to a king other than Assurbanipal. EST §12 contains similar language of rebellion but returns to the reporting language of §10. EST §12 adheres to the same conditional formula as §10, with some similarities and differences to the biblical text. Note that unlike §10, here the similarities lie between the reported offense and required response of the vassal. Note too that as in the biblical text, the vassal is given the responsibility of exacting punishment upon the offender. Unlike the biblical text, accommodations are made in case the vassal is unable to fulfill this responsibility. Once again, the third cycle of the biblical text seems to be framed differently than the material in the EST (and in Deut 13 itself). Here, unlike §10 and Deut 13, no specific information regarding the offenders is given. 5. Interpret the Data As noted above, the purpose of this investigation is to take up again the compositional history of Deut 13 and to determine to what extent (if any) biblical scribes may have borrowed from the EST in the development of this chapter. Before drawing conclusions, however, we would like to suggest that other uses of the comparative method, perhaps in this case for topical inquiry around cases of sedition, may ultimately be of greater value in examining these two sources rather than the discipline’s too-often narrow focus on composition and date. As will be shown below, determinations of date and possible literary borrowing can rarely be advanced

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

9

with any certainty, leading the authors to caution against expecting too much from this type of inquiry. That said, the question as posed, is properly before us and the evidence must be evaluated with the stated purpose in mind. Determination of literary borrowing requires researchers to engage in specific aspects of the comparative process that are less important for other studies. It is important that source questions of pathway are sufficiently addressed, and it is necessary to, at minimum, examine both lexical and structural similarities between the two sources. If evidence is found which suggests literary borrowing, these similarities must be tested for exclusivity.25 Unfortunately, suspected literary borrowing involving common literary elements or lacking specific lexical/structural elements can rarely be advanced beyond a possible or plausible level of certainty. Variables earlier in the comparative process as well as scholarly presuppositions also impact determinations of literary dependence, often requiring the researcher to acknowledge that literary borrowing is possible if one accepts certain pre-conditions. Before interpretation of the evidence can continue, we must first address the question of Deut 13:1 and its relationship to EST §4. While we recognize the presence of similarities between these two passages as well, we contend the distance between §4 and the subsequent similarities in §10 warrants against including this section in any assessment of borrowing.26 We acknowledge that scribes were not prevented from freely borrowing from various portions of one work in the development of another, although the argument that biblical scribes would skip over sections describing covenant fidelity and loyalty to address rumors of sedition is less than fully compelling.27 In all likelihood then, the similarities between the order of §4 and §10 and Deut 13:1 and Deut 13:2–12 should not be considered a structural parallel and should not be further evaluated as a potential case of literary borrowing. Based on the similarities identified above, the primary candidates for compositional influence are §10 and §12. We would stress at this point, that the differences in these passages are also significant, and neither present as strong candidates for literary borrowing. These elements are summarized below: Element Overheard an offence (theme) Offenders Named Mantic Practitioners Family Members Enemies/Allies City Offender Reported Offender Killed Community Punished Investigation of Charges Rebellion/Sedition Specified Offense as a test of loyalty Historical Background Communal Response Punishment ensures future fidelity

25

Deut 13 X (A, B, C) X (A, B, C) X (A) X (B)

EST §10 X X X X X

EST §12 X

X

X X X

X (C) X (A, B, C) X (C) X (C) X (A, B, C) X (A) X (A, B) X (B, C) X (B)

X

X (if needed)

Similarities between two sources may occur for a variety of reasons. In order to advance an argument for literary borrowing with confidence, it must be shown that these similarities occur only between the two sources in question. The test for exclusivity is an evaluation of other sources to determine if the similar elements occur elsewhere. See Shockey, “Beyond Comparison,” 153–62. See also, Meir Malul, who describes this as the test for coincidence; The Comparative Method in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Legal Studies (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1990), 93. 26 See also the arguments made by Drew Holland, “On the Commonalities of Deuteronomy 13 with Ancient Near Eastern Treaties,” JESOT 5.2 (2016–2017): 141–66, esp. 149–50. 27 Contra Levinson, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty,” 345–46; Nicholas O. Polk, “Deuteronomy and Treaty Texts: A Critical Re-examination of Deuteronomy 13, 17, 27, and 28” (PhD diss., The University of Chicago, 2010), 61.

10

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

Examining lexical evidence, §10 contains six key terms which would qualify as translational equivalents. The first is the cognate verb “to hear” used in EST §10 (line 119) and in Deut 13:9, 12, and 13. Of these uses, the verb is only coupled with the conditional in the third cycle of Deut 13 (verse 13) which offers the clearest parallel to the EST. Conceptual parallels to “hearing” also occur in the conditionals of the first two cycles of Deut 13, but the verbal forms and structure of these sections differ. The remaining five terms occur within the list of offending parties, three in the group of family members and two among the mantic practitioners as noted above. However, unlike the EST where these terms occur in close proximity, they are divided between cycles A and B of the biblical text. None of the remaining shared terms occurs in cycle C, suggesting that the use of the cognate term there may simply be a matter of coincidence given the shared themes of the sections. The significance of the family terminology for brother, son, and daughter (see above) is somewhat reduced by the commonality of the terms, but the common ordering of the three will be important to check against other ancient texts. The mantic terms are more interesting, especially due to the rarity of ḥōlēm ḥălôm in the biblical text. It is unclear however, how the biblical nābîʾ maps to the three Akkadian terms and whether ḥōlēm ḥălôm should be viewed as equivalent to šā’ilu. These questions aside, it seems clear that there is a parallel present between these terms, even if we cannot be exactly certain of what that parallel actually is. The presence of five translational equivalents in a relatively small portion of EST §10 is suggestive but is complicated by the separation of these terms in the biblical text. While the inverted order of these groups (mantic/family) seems plausible, one wonders whether a scribe who was borrowing from the text itself would have reconfigured it in such an extreme manner. It is also puzzling that only certain portions of the mantic and family groups are repeated in Deut 13. It seems more likely that a biblical scribe, familiar with these common categories, may have seen fit to include them in their own composition in keeping with their own agenda. Complicating the picture further is the reality that the remainder of the four-element conditional cycles in Deut 13 varies significantly from its Neo-Assyrian counterpart. Were one to argue that the logical structure of the EST, involving mantic practitioners, was imported into Deut 13, one would also expect other aspects of Deut 13’s structure to display signs of that same logical influence. Instead, it appears that the biblical writer is using a very different logic to address a different concern than the writers of the EST. The biblical emphasis on purging the evil from the midst of the community suggests an interest in the holiness of the community, not protection of the authority of the ruler. The EST, on the other hand, is concerned with preserving Assurbanipal’s authority and role in the empire. In the Israelite cultural purview, God has no need to preserve his authority, only to instruct his people how to live productively within it. Thus, we conclude, without external corroborating evidence, there is little or no reason to see any evidence of literary borrowing between §10 and Deut 13. The overall structure of the passages is different, and while both include cases where the vassal overhears information, the specific offenses differ (speech vs. rebellion), as does the required response (reporting vs. death), and the ultimate interest of the sections (preserving Assurbanipal’s reign vs. holiness). The unique term, ḥōlēm ḥălôm may legitimately be considered a blind motif, and may be an intentional reference to the Neo-Assyrian cultural context, but by itself, it is not evidence of literary borrowing. While it is possible to argue for a case of conceptual borrowing here, this seems an unnecessary and unlikely course based on the available evidence within Deut 13 alone. EST §12 appears to present a slightly better case for a relationship, but the lack of specific lexical connections limits the strength of this parallel. The perceived offense described in EST §12 and Deut 13 is more similar than the offense described in §10. Here it is clear that the offenders have turned away from Assurbanipal, presumably to follow another king, just as the Israelites had turned away from YHWH. While similar in concept however, contextual differences between the royal concerns of the EST and religious concerns of Deut 13 prohibit clear translational equivalents. A similar scenario is found when examining the expected actions of the vassal in response to the offender. The Neo-Assyrian text describes three possible actions for the vassal in connection with the punishment: seize and present, seize and kill, or report and partner with the state to administer justice. The first, where the offender is brought before Assurbanipal, finds no parallel in the biblical text because there is no idol in the religious system to signify the presence of the deity. The second, which indicates the death of the offender, does seem similar to the biblical command. The extension of the punishment beyond the immediate offender, however, is only found in the third cycle of the biblical text, and even there seems more clearly connected to corporate or communal rebellion. The third, occurring

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

11

when the vassal is unable to mete out justice with his own hands, indicates that he is to involve the state in administering the required punishment. This scenario is also not reflected in the biblical text in any way. Broad conceptual parallels, like those present between EST §12 and Deut 13, although interesting for thematic study, are insufficient for determining literary dependence. The many differences between these passages further support this assessment. Thus, EST §10 remains a better potential source for Deut 13. While it is possible that a scribe borrowed conceptually from both sections §10 and §12, merging them together into what became the biblical text of Deut 13, this line of reasoning overly complicates the situation and presses the evidence beyond its limits. It is simply enough to recognize that although there are thematic similarities between the two texts, there are also significant differences which suggest that this is not a case of literary borrowing but rather two exemplars of ancient documents concerned with the vassal’s allegiance to their Lord.28 If one assumes that the overarching structure of Deuteronomy, Deut 13:1 and Deut 28 already represent cases of confirmed literary borrowing by the biblical scribes, it becomes possible to use these prior cases to strengthen an argument (complicated though it may be) for further evidence of borrowing here. Because of this, we will proceed to test the inverted structural parallel of offenders (brother, son, daughter, mantic practitioners) for exclusivity. We maintain from the outset, however, that it is questionable whether the evidence from a comparison of EST §10 and Deut 13 alone sufficiently warrants interpretation as a case of possible literary borrowing. The shared structural order of offenders found in EST §10 and Deut 13 (inverted) may now be examined against other relevant literature throughout the ancient Near East to determine whether this structure exists in other places.29 The textual corpus for exclusivity will include extant treaty texts from the ancient Near East which include sections offering instructions for vassals who have overheard offenses against their king.30 The best documents for comparison might include texts which address overheard reports of rebellion or relate to the succession of a ruler. Since this would result in a relatively small data set, select documents which address general reported offenses or include reports of offenses will also be included. The majority of evidence is clustered around the Neo-Assyrian and Hittite cultural environments, in keeping with the nature of the extant treaty corpus. The following chart summarizes the extant comparative data for the exclusivity of the parallel between Deut 13 and EST §10, both of which are included for reference.

28

Cf. Markus Zehnder, “Building on Stone? Deuteronomy and Esarhaddon’s Loyalty Oaths (Part 1): Some Preliminary Observations,” BBR 19.3 (2009): 351, although he downplays the exclusivity of the parallel elements. 29 While it is at times cumbersome to include all the comparative data used to test for exclusivity, it is nevertheless an important and needed part of any comparison seeking to advance claims of literary dependence. Compare the approach adopted here with the general approach of Steymans (“Deuteronomy 13 in Comparison,” 112) and the selective data shared by Markus Zehnder (“Building on Stone? Deuteronomy and Esarhaddon’s Loyalty Oaths [Part 2]: Some Additional Observations,” BBR 19.4 [2009]: 514). 30 General inventories of the extant ancient Near Eastern “treaty corpus” vary slightly depending on the researcher’s purpose, definition of a treaty, and approach to fragmentary material. The present corpus is a subset of these larger collections based on the specific criteria mentioned above. For examples of the larger collections see Neal A. Huddleston, “Ancient Near Eastern Treaty Traditions and Their Implications for Interpreting Deuteronomy,”in Sepher Torath Mosheh: Studies in the Composition and Interpretation of Deuteronomy, eds. Daniel I. Block and Richard L. Schultz (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2017), 70–77; Kenneth A. Kitchen and Paul Lawrence, eds. Treaty, Law and Covenant in the Ancient Near East, vol 1. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2012) [=TLC in the chart below]; Amnon Altman, ‫בריתות מדיניות במזרח הקדום‬, Biblical Encyclopedia Library 34 (Jerusalem: Bialek Institute, 2018).

12

SAA16.60 SAA18.36 SAA18.80 SAA18.81 SAA18.83 SAA19.147 CTH26/ HDT1 CTH133/ HDT1A CTH41/ HDT2 CTH42/ HDT3 CTH67/ HDT10 CTH68/ HDT11

31

X

X X

X X

X X

Report the Offense

X X

Rebellion mentioned

Generic Offender31

Mantic practitioners

X

Specific Offender(s)

Possible Offenders List

Overheard offense

X X

X

X

X32

X

X X

X

X X X

X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X

X ?

X X

X X X

X X

X X X

X

Multiple Cycles

SAA2.8 SAA2.13

X X X

Capital Punishment

SAA2.4

EST §10 vv. 2–18 Sennacherib’s Succession Treaty Accession Treaty of Esarhaddon Zakutu Treaty A Vassal Treaty (unknown; fragmentary) More of the Conspiracy of Sasî (fragmentary) Precautions Against Rebellion Report on Uruk Obliged to Report (fragmentary) Reporting on Crimes in Uruk Sedition in Dilbat Treaty between a King of Hatti and Paddatissu of Kizzuwatna Treaty between Arnuwanda I of Hatti and the men of Ismerika Treaty between Tudhaliya II of Hatti and Sunashshura of Kizzuwatna Treaty between Suppiluliuma I of Hatti and Huqqana of Hayasa Treaty between Mursili II of Hatti and Targasnalli of Hapalla Treaty between Mursili II of Hatti and Kupanta-Kurunta of Mira-Kuwaliya

Brother, son, daughter

SAA2.6 Deut 13 SAA2.3

Document Name

Reference

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

X X

X33

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X34

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

Offenders associated with a location but not assigned a rank or relationship (i.e., enemies from a specific nation) are included in the generic category. 32 According to the Zakutu treaty, capital punishment is recommended only in the final cycle where it is specified that the vassal not only hears but also knows that the offense has taken place. This is reminiscent of the final cycle of Deut 13:14 where the Israelites are instructed to investigate and determine the truth of what has been heard. 33 This treaty mentions children but does not list sons and daughters as individual offenders. 34 Rebellion seems clearly in view in this treaty, although it is framed generally as actions against the king.

CTH80/ TLC80 CTH135/ TLC52 ARET XIII.20/ TLC6 Sefire I Sefire III

Treaty of Bar-Ga’yah of KTK and Mati’el of Arpad Treaty with the King of Arpad

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X36

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

Capital Punishment

Mantic practitioners

Brother, son, daughter

Generic Offender31

Specific Offender(s)

X

Report the Offense

X

Possible Offenders List

Overheard offense

Treaty between Muwattalli II of Hatti and Alaksandu of Wilusa Letter from Ramses II of Egypt to Kupanta-Kurunta of Mira-Kuwaliya35 Tudkhalia IV / Suppiluliuma and the Rulers of Alasia Tudkhalia II? Of Hatti and Lab’u and the Elders of Tunip Ebla and Martu

Rebellion mentioned

CTH166/ HTD22D

Document Name

Reference CTH76/ HDT13

Multiple Cycles

13

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

X

An examination of the wider comparative scope leads to several interesting observations. First, mantic practitioners and sons and daughters (individually listed) are only included among the offender lists of the EST and Deut 13.37 Moreover, categorical lists of offending parties seem largely (although not exclusively) located within the Neo-Assyrian context. Letters, as expected, address specific situations and specific offenders. The Hittite texts seem to favor a generic offender, which is in some cases linked to a specific nation. Also of note is that the responsibility of the vassal in cases of overheard offenses toward the king is overwhelmingly recognized throughout the ancient Near East as reporting, rather than capital punishment as in the biblical text. The only exception to this is the Zakutu treaty, where as noted, the vassal has the additional responsibility to investigate the crime prior to exacting punishment. The structural relationship between Deut 13 and EST §10, then, passes the test for exclusivity despite other factors that argue against literary borrowing. 6. Conclusion What then should we conclude from the conflicting evidence for the relationship between Deut 13 and EST §10? It is our opinion that the exclusive structural connection between the family groups and mantic practitioners in these two texts indicates (at minimum) an awareness of the EST by biblical scribes. It is possible, due to the commonality of the terms involved and the limited scope of the connection, to argue that this

35

In this letter, the vassal is refuting a report that they had broken their oath of fidelity. Passages where the vassal is advised to “seize” the offender and/or bring the offender before the king are recorded here under the reporting category unless specific mention is made of capital punishment. 37 Cf., Morrow, “Dependency of Deuteronomy of the EST,” 144; Polk, “Deuteronomy and Treaty Texts,” 63–64. 36

14

Arnold / Shockey – Deuteronomy 13 and the Succession Treaty of Esarhaddon

similarity is the result of coincidence or similarities present in the social context of the two cultures.38 However, the rarity of these categorical lists in the extant corpus suggests these interpretations should be given low confidence. Moreover, the possible blind motif, ḥōlēm ḥălôm, used as a categorical identifier in the list of offenders supports the possibility of an external influence for this section of text. Literary borrowing, however, is not supported by the comparative evidence as a whole. Significant differences in the structure and themes of the two texts, the consistent use of capital punishment in the biblical text, combined with the limited nature of the connection and commonality of terms mentioned above, all argue against a direct literary connection. There is also little evidence suggesting that Deut 13 is a deliberate reworking of the Neo-Assyrian text for subversive means, although this cannot be ruled out as a possibility. Instead, we suggest that general familiarity with the categories of offenders used in the Neo-Assyrian text informed a conceptual grid in the mind of the biblical scribe, which was subsequently represented in the biblical text. This may be considered a case of unconscious conceptual borrowing, similar to the connection found in Deut 28.39 The comparison between Deut 13 and the EST sheds little light on the compositional history of the remainder of the book. Even within Deut 13, only a small portion of the text displays signs of Neo-Assyrian influence. It does, however, suggest that some scribal activity took place after the enactment of the EST in 672 BC, while the Neo-Assyrian document would have still been relevant to the community. This investigation, then, finds support for limited redactional updating in Deut 13 subsequent to 672 BC and the promulgation of the EST based on the comparative evidence. It further supports the case for plausible, perhaps unconscious, conceptual borrowing limited to the groups of mantic and family offenders listed in both texts. The biblical scribes, however, have significantly developed and reconfigured the categories found in the Neo-Assyrian text for their own theological purposes, rendering their specific source unrecognizable to the general audience.40 We recognize that those holding different presuppositions may be inclined to interpret the similarities between the biblical and Neo-Assyrian text differently. However, we hold that this is the most plausible interpretation of the comparative evidence found when considering solely Deut 13 and EST §10.

38

E.g., Holland’s argument that similarities should be attributed to Deuteronomy’s “cultural milieu”; Holland, “On the Commonalities,” 142. 39 Shockey, “Beyond Comparison,” 267–70. 40 Cf. Holland, who proposed a unique Israelite treaty form based on his own investigation of the comparative evidence. While we see evidence of Neo-Assyrian cultural influence in the biblical text, our study is generally complementary to Holland’s work in its affirmation of distinctive Israelite treaty elements; “On the Commonalities,” 161–66.

The Meaning and Importance of “subdue” (kābaš) in Genesis 1:28* Richard E. Averbeck

Abstract The verb “subdue” (kābaš) in Genesis 1:28 is an especially strong verb for domination or subjugation. In its context, it suggests that God created humanity to forcefully maintain order on the earth, specifically, in the animal world, which included birds and fish (day 5 creatures), and land animals (day 6). The three categories of land animals included livestock that humanity could and would subjugate through domestication, as well as the animals that creep and crawl along the ground and wild animals, some of which were carnivorous predators we would need to subjugate to maintain order (vv. 25 and 26). The plants and trees created on day 3 provided the sustaining environment for humanity, the birds, and the land animals (vv. 29– 30), but this does not mean to imply that there were no carnivorous animals in God’s original creation. All this was included in the very good design of creation from the beginning (v. 31). When humanity went corrupt, however, all of creation was effected (Genesis 3–9; cf. Gen 6:5–7, 11–12 ḥāmās “violence”). The whole creation from top to bottom “went rogue,” because those who were created to keep this from happening also “went rogue.” The correspondence between the Genesis 1 animal terminology and that of the clean and unclean animal regulations in Leviticus 11, suggests that the cosmology of Genesis 1 sets the agenda for understanding Leviticus 11. According to Genesis 1:28, “God blessed them [humanity] and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it ( ָ‫וְ כִ בְ שֻׁ ה‬, the base verb kābaš), and rule (‫וּרדוּ‬, ְ the base verb rādâ) over the fish of the sea and the birds of the sky and all the living beings that move about on the earth” (my translation).1 The verb “rule” (‫)רדָ ה‬ ָ is well-known in discussions of dominion. It can be used, for example, for ruling over other people harshly (Lev 25:43, 46, 53), or ruling over enemy nations (Num 24:19; Isa 14:2, 6; Ps 110:2). The verb kbš is more rare and an especially strong term for domination or subjugation. It occurs fifteen times in the Hebrew Bible, first in Gen 1:28. The Usage of kābaš in the Hebrew Bible The same base form of the verb appears seven more times in the Hebrew Bible, twice in Jer 34:11 and 16 in the context of wealthy and powerful Israelites enslaving the less fortunate among them. Zedekiah had made a covenant with the people before the Lord to free their Hebrew slaves from bondage, but later they broke the covenant. They “took back the male and females slaves they had sent out free and again subdued them for male and female slaves” (v. 11; reading the Qal verb of the Qere ‫ ויכבשום‬rather than the Hiphil of the Kethiv ‫ ַויַּכְ בִּ ישׁוּם‬, see also the Qal form in v. 16). In the days of Ahaz, the northern kingdom intended “to subdue (‫ )לִ כְ בֹּ שׁ‬the men and women of Judah and Jerusalem” as male and female slaves (2 Chron 28:10). In the conclusion to Micah’s prophecies, the Lord “will again show us [his people] compassion and subdue (‫ )יִ כְ בֹּ שׁ‬our iniquities” (Mic 7:19; ESV adds “underfoot,” cf. also NIV, ESV, NRSV, NASB). According to Zech 9:15, when the time comes “The Lord of hosts will shield them [his people] and they will consume and they will subdue (or ‘tread down’; ‫ )וְ כָבְ שׁוּ‬the slingstones.” Nehemiah 5:5 refers to the poor subjecting (‫)כֹ בְ ִשׁים‬ their sons and daughters to slavery because the rich were oppressing them by charging them interest. In Esth * K. Lawson Younger, Jr. has been a good friend and colleague of mine for thirty years. For twenty of those years we have taught on the same faculty and enjoyed ongoing dialogue over all things biblical, ancient Near Eastern, professional, and personal. I owe him a debt of gratitude for his example, encouragement, and personal loyalty that I shall never be able to repay. This essay is dedicated to him as a small token of my appreciation and genuine regard for him and his work. 1 Unless otherwise noted, I will use the NIV (2011) translation for quick reference in this essay. I thank my colleague Kevin J. Vanhoozer and our students in a doctoral seminar at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School for helpful feedback and pushback on the argument of this paper. Thanks are due also to James K. Hoffmeier for his helpful editorial suggestions in the revision of this essay.

16

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

7:8 the king of Persia sees Haman begging Esther’s favor on her couch and thinks he is attempting to subdue (or ‘molest’ ‫ )לִ כְ בֹּ ושׁ‬the queen. The passive form (Niphal) occurs in Num 32:22 and looks forward to the time when “the land is subdued (‫ )וְ נִ כְ בְּ שָׁ ה‬before Lord” in the time of Joshua’s conquest (see also similarly v. 29). Joshua 18:1 reports this subjugation of the land: “the land was subdued (‫ )נִ כְ בְּ שָׁ ה‬before them,” although seven of the tribes had not yet received their inheritance. In 1 Chron 22:18 David ordered the leaders of Israel to help his young son, Solomon, and devote themselves to the Lord since he had given them rest in the land, given the inhabitants of the land into David’s hands, and the land was “subdued (‫ )וְ נִ כְ בְּ שָׁ ה‬before the Lord and his people.” The Piel form of the verb occurs only once in 2 Sam 8:11, which says that King David dedicated the gifts of silver, gold, and bronze from Tou, king of Hamath, to the LORD, “as he had done with the silver and gold from all the nations he had subdued (‫)כִּ בֵּ שׁ‬.” Interpretations of kābaš in Genesis 1:28 The verb rādâ “rule” appears twenty four times in the Hebrew Bible, commonly for governing authority and power, but, as noted above, does not appear to be quite as strong and forceful as kābaš. The former may include ruling someone or something against their will, but not necessarily so. The latter is a word for using force to put or keep someone or something under control by dominance and subjugation, for example, through enslavement, conquest, or sexual molestation. Once it is also used of God subduing iniquities so that he can forgive his people (Mic 7:19). The Lord will trample their culpability for sin under his feet, thus, showing them compassion. The verb kābaš has come into English, probably through Yiddish, in the expression “putting the kabash” on someone or something. I recall as a small boy seeing this word splashed across the television screen in cartoons when one character was beating down the other. Many people in North America still know and use the term today. The occurrence of this word in Gen 1:28 has caused problems for commentators. In his recent commentary on Genesis, John Goldingay, for example, argues that this element in the passage anticipates the fall into sin in Genesis 3 and its effects on the created order. In his remarks on the verb rādâ “to rule” in Gen 1:26 and 28 he writes: … Gen 3 will trace the beginning of the human tragedy to Adam and Eve’s yielding to a suggestion from one of the creatures that God made. Genesis 1 anticipates the possibility of such resistance to God’s will from the animate world and presupposes that humanity is to exercise authority over it.2 His remarks on kābaš in v. 28 take this further: … God now speaks of subjugating it (kābaš), an even more forceful word used of God’s conquest of Canaan and of the enforced servitude of people within Israel … The commission again anticipates the failure of Gen 3, where the man and the woman do not subjugate the snake. And the absence of a declaration that God saw humanity as good might anticipate the events of Gen 3, though the “very good” of v. 31 will follow in a moment.3 He suggests that these elements of Gen 1:26–28, therefore, served as a warning to the first man and woman to resist any temptation to rebel against God that would come from the world of the land animals, specifically the kind that the serpent promoted in Genesis 3. This is an interesting interpretation, but not altogether convincing. To my mind, pushing the meaning of this off to Genesis 3 and away from its context in Genesis 1 is a questionable strategy. One could say that 2

John Goldingay, Genesis, Baker Commentary on the OT: Pentateuch, ed. Bill T. Arnold (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2020), 37. Similarly, Allen P. Ross, Creation and Blessing: A Guide to the Study and Exposition of the Book of Genesis (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1988), 113 notes that “The terms used suggest putting down opposition and were perhaps used in anticipation of the conflict with evil.” 3 Goldingay, Genesis, 38.

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

17

the man and the woman failed “to subdue” the serpent in Genesis 3, even though the verb kābaš does not occur there, but Gen 1:28 is about subduing the whole animal world as God originally created it. In its context the call to subdue and rule does not appear to be a warning to resist temptation from the animal world so much as a commission to manage the animal world overall in accordance with God’s original creation design. He created it wild and in need of subduing and ruling. Later in this essay we will investigate the different realms of animals and the relationships between them as expressed in Gen 1:24–30. For now it is important to reckon with the fact that, as Goldingay himself admits, the “very good” does appear in v. 31, and this certainly includes the creation of humanity, man and woman together, in their role to populate the earth with the purpose of properly subduing and ruling over the animals.4 Again, this is part of the “very good.” The question remains, therefore, if the creation is “very good,” why is there a need for humanity to “rule over” and even more forcefully “subdue” the animal world? In her well-known treatment of the image and likeness of God in Gen 1:26–28, Phyllis Bird argues that, “While the image [kābaš] is forceful, attention is directed to the resultant state, as subdued, deprived of (threatening) power, hence ‘pacified,’ controlled.”5 She suggests that the point of the passage is that the newly formed earth had to be “harnessed” because the “earth will support human life only when it is brought under control” by humanity. The passage has an agrarian perspective according to Bird.6 The focus in this passage, however, is pastoral (subduing and ruling the animals), not agrarian (i.e., agricultural, tilling the ground to grow food). The Genesis 2 creation account is agricultural, but it uses the word “ground” (‫)הָ אֲדָ מָ ה‬, not “earth” (‫)הָ אָ ֶרץ‬, for this (vv. 5b and 6b). This distinction between the pastoral and agricultural occupations is maintained from this point forward, as one can see, for example, in the Cain and Abel account in Genesis 4: “Now Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil” (v. 2b). As the text has it, when God commissioned humanity to “subdue” the earth in Gen 1:28 it was about subduing the animals on the earth, as the following line makes clear with the verb rādâ “to rule.” One should probably read the vav connecting the verbs to “subdue” and “rule” (‫ )וְ כִ בְ שֻׁ הָ ְוּרדוּ‬as an explicative vav: “and subdue it [the earth] by ruling over the fish of the sea …”7 The verb kābaš in v. 28 raises the level of intensity in the verb rādâ, which follows in the next clause (cf. v. 26). Where we read about subduing (kābaš) the land the verb refers to subduing the population to gain control of the land, not making the land agriculturally productive. The verb “subdue” is never used for making anything or anyone “productive.” Over fifty years ago Derek Kidner took a different approach in his concise but always insightful commentary on Genesis. In an additional note on sin and suffering in Genesis 1–3 he wrote: It seems from Romans 8:19–23 and from what is known of the pre-human world, that there was a state of travail in nature from the first, which man was empowered to ‘subdue’ (1:28) (perhaps little by little as he spread abroad to ‘fill the earth’), until he relapsed instead into disorder himself. Even now his power over nature (Ps. 8:6–8; Jas. 3:7) reflects this primal

4

The man and the woman “subdue” the earth together. Rashi noted that the plural of the verb “subdue” is written defectively ( ָ‫וְ כִ בְ שֻׁ ה‬, see the qibbuṣ rather than a šureq) and, accordingly, argued that man is the subject and woman is the object of the subduing (“and subdue her”), suggesting that “the male rules the female so that she should not become a gadabout. It further teaches that the man, whose nature is to master, was given the command to procreate, not the woman.” See Rashi: Commentaries on the Pentateuch, selected and translated by Chaim Pearl (New York: The Viking Press, 1973), 33. The problems with this reading are manifold. For instance, the previous imperative verbs “be fruitful,” “multiple,” and “fill” the earth are all plural, addressing both the man and the woman. The man was not the only one commanded to procreate in the passage. Similarly, the following verb “rule” is also clearly plural. All the commands here are addressed to both the man and the woman together. It takes both to reproduce, subdue, and rule. They do all this together, as pairs, male and female. See more on the grammar of Gen 1:28 below. 5 Phyllis A. Bird, “ ‘Male and Female He Created Them’: Genesis 1:27b in the Context of the Priestly Account of Creation,” HTR 74 (1981): 153 n. 62 referring to previous work by George W. Coats and James Barr. 6 Ibid., 153. See also Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis Chapters 1–17, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 139–40. 7 See GKC § 154a note 1, b.

18

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

ability; the ordering influence of the Man, Christ Jesus, shows what was its full potential, one day to be realized everywhere and forever (Rom 8:19).8 Thus, Kidner suggested that there was “travail in nature” before the fall in Genesis 3. The connection he made to the “groaning” of creation in Rom 8:19–23 is problematic, however. Romans 8 associates the groaning with the fall into sin and God’s response when he “subjected it to frustration … in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay” (vv. 20–21). This refers to the Lord’s curse on the ground in response to the first man and woman’s fall into corruption (Gen 3:17–18).9 It is not descriptive of the original creation in Genesis 1. Nevertheless, Kidner’s point about Gen 1:28 takes “subdue” (kābaš) more fully into consideration as part of the mandate to humanity in the very good creation. Nahum Sarna suggests that the absence of a special blessing on the land animals in contrast to sea and sky animals (cf. v. 22) implies that “the proliferation of [land] animals, especially the wild variety, constitutes a menace” that would encroach adversely on our human environment.10 He refers to Exod 23:29 and Lev 26:22 in support of this reading: 28

I will send the hornet ahead of you to drive the Hivites, Canaanites and Hittites out of your way. 29 But I will not drive them out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you. (Exod 23:28–29) 21 If you remain hostile toward me and refuse to listen to me, I will multiply your afflictions seven times over, as your sins deserve. 22 I will send wild animals against you, and they will rob you of your children, destroy your cattle and make you so few in number that your roads will be deserted. (Lev 26:21–22) Of course, these passages reflect the circumstances after the corruption in Genesis 3. What about before that? We need to keep in mind that Genesis 1 was written in and to ancient Israel after the “fall into sin” in Genesis 3 according to the biblical text, and they would have read it from their experiential point of view in that later time. They would have known the threats from wild animals in their world. According to Gen 1:28, God first blessed and commanded man and woman to be fruit and multiply and fill the earth. The sequence suggests that the second and third commands to subdue and rule the animals would require humanity to have an occupying presence among the animals all over the earth. Apparently, without this human presence to subdue and rule the animal world, the animal world would go out of control. Accordingly, God created man with the purpose and function of making sure that it did not go out of control. Calvin’s remarks on Gen 1:28–30 are also of special interest here: Some infer, from this passage, that men were content with herbs and fruits until the deluge, and that it was even unlawful for them to eat flesh. And this seems the more probable …, however, … it may be adduced on the opposite side, that the first men offered sacrifices from their flocks. This, moreover, is the law of sacrificing rightly, not to offer unto God anything except what he has granted to our use. Lastly, men were clothed in skins; therefore it was lawful for them to kill animals. For these reasons, I think it will be better for us to assert nothing concerning this matter.11

8

Derek Kidner, Genesis: An Introduction and Commentary, TOTC (Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press, 1967), 73. See, e.g., Leon Morris, The Epistle to the Romans, Pillar New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 321–22 and Richard N. Longenecker, The Epistle to the Romans, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), 719– 23. 10 Nahum M. Sarna, Genesis, The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: JPS, 1989), 11. 11 John Calvin, Commentaries on the First Book of Moses called Genesis, transl. John King (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1948), 99–100. In a footnote the editor of the volume writes: “It does not appear that there is much force in Calvin’s objections to the opinion that flesh was not allowed for human food till after the deluge.” The editor argues, for example, that the sacrifices would have been holocausts (whole burnt offerings) so only the skin would have been used by man, not the meat as food. 9

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

19

It seems that Calvin was not convinced of the standard view that God allowed people to eat animals only after the flood (see Gen 9:3–4). He supports this, for example, from the Lord clothing Adam and Eve with the skins of animals in Gen 3:21, and Abel as a keeper of the flocks, who presented fat portions and firstborn from his flock to the Lord as an offering, according to Gen 4:2–4. Moreover, the Lord looked with special favor on Abel and his offering. It is not clear to me, however, whether or not Calvin considered eating the meat of animals to be part of the original created order in Genesis 1. He notes that sacrifice was limited to that which God “granted to our use,” which seems to suggest that the eating of meat may have been according to the will of God from the start.12 Apparently, in Calvin’s view, eating meat was according to God’s will at least before the flood if not before the fall into sin in Genesis 3. Calvin recommends that we not try to go further on this matter. Perhaps that would be the better part of wisdom. On the one hand, the well-known traditional view is that there was no predatory activity in the animal world before the fall into sin in Genesis 3. There are some good biblical reasons for interpreting the text this way.13 On the other hand, as noted above, there are those who have seen it the other way because of the verb kābaš in Gen 1:28, as discussed above, and other features of the text to be examined below. The Land Animals in Genesis 1:24–30 According to Gen 1:24–25, God made three categories of land animals (i.e., “living creatures” v. 24, ‫ֶנ ֶפשׁ‬ ‫)חַ יָּה‬, listed in this order in v. 25:

1. 2. 3.

the wild animals (lit. ‘the living things of the earth,’ Heb. ‫)אֶ ת־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬, the pastoral livestock (Heb. ‫)וְ אֶ ת־הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬, and the animals that creep on the ground (‫)רמֶ שׂ ָ ֽהאֲדָ מָ ה‬. ֶ 14

There is very little disagreement among scholars regarding the identity of these general categories of animals. Moreover, Genesis 1:26 and 28 make it clear that humanity was put on the earth with the purpose of “ruling”

12

Others are concerned to connect the “subduing” to the rule of humanity as king on the earth in the image and likeness of God, but not including license to exploit the animals. Humanity is called to be a benevolent king – one that benefits the whole creation. These scholars place the emphasis on creation care, which is certainly an important consideration. See, e.g., Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15, WBC (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), 33; Sarna, Genesis, 12–13; Kenneth A Mathews, Genesis 1–11:26, NAC (Nashville, TN: Broadman & Holman, 1996), 174–75; Clause Westermann, Genesis 1–11, transl. John J. Scullion S.J. (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Pub. Hs., 1984), 159 and 161; James McKeown, Genesis, The Two Horizons OT Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 27. Nevertheless, this does not resolve the question: what kind of human force is required to care for the creation, especially as it relates the animal world? There is a tendency in the reading of many to soften the very strong (even harsh) terminology in Gen 1:28 while admitting how strong the words really are. 13 See Andrew Louth, ed., Genesis 1–11, ACCS, ed. Thomas C. Oden (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2001), 41–42 citing passages from the works of Origen, Novatian, and especially Gregory of Nyssa. The same view is found in most commentaries today. 14 See NIV, NRSV, NLT, Tanakh, and other translations for these three categories. Sarna (Genesis, 11) points out that “the animals that creep on the ground” refers to animals that crawl or creep very low to the ground such as “reptiles, creeping insects, and very small animals.” Ross, Creation and Blessing, 112 lists them as “domesticated, creeping, and game animals.” Goldingay, Genesis, 34 has “cattle,” “things that crawl as opposed to creatures with legs,” and “animals of the wild.’ Kidner, Genesis, 50 takes them to be “domesticated animals, small creatures and game.” John Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis, ICC, second edition (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1930), 29 labeled the wild animals as “roughly, carnivore,” the domesticated animals as “herbivora,” and suggests that the animals that creep on the ground are “reptiles, … including perhaps creeping insects and very small quadrupeds.” Similarly, according to Gerhard von Rad, Genesis, A Commentary, OTL, revised edition (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1972), 57 these terms refer to “(1) wild animals (beasts of prey, but also our ‘game’), (2) cattle, and (3) all small beasts (reptiles, etc.).”

20

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

(vv. 26 and 28) over and “subduing” (v. 28) the animal world: sea, sky, and land animals, the latter divide into the three categories of animals as identified from v. 25 above.15 I have argued elsewhere that Genesis 1–2 is written from a human observational (i.e., phenomenological) point of view.16 The six days are snapshots of his creation work. God is saying, “see this, I made it,” and then on the next day, again, “see this, I made it,” and so on. The ancient Israelites observed all these things with the naked eye. We should read the Genesis creation account with its observational character in mind. In fact, even today we generally understand our world and live our lives in this way too. Modern science has improved our powers of observation beyond those of the naked eye with the telescope for the larger universe, the microscope for the smaller universe (microbes and such), chemistry, and microbiology as a means of understanding how the cosmos works from top to bottom. This has not really changed the nature of the game – it is still observational – but these advances in our powers of observation give us a closer look than we can obtain with the naked eye. They can help us to engage with the created world and live better and longer if we use them wisely. Unfortunately, people are not always wise. In any case, modern scientific method does not have the ability to discern God’s work in all this, so there are those who seek in vain to explain everything (or most things) without him. In this way, modern science can be either a steppingstone or a stumbling block to God as creator. The important point for us here is that the land animal categories in Gen 1:24–28 are observational too. As outlined above, they occupy three different primary realms that would have been easily recognizable to the ancient Israelites. First, there were the pastoral livestock animals that humans would subdue by domestication. These were herbivores that they would control and manage in herds and flocks, which was one of their primary occupations. Second, they also had to subdue the wild animals. Following Kidner’s line of argument, the wild animals would have consisted of a mix of plant eating herbivores and predatory carnivores. The wild herbivores would be the natural prey of the wild carnivores. God commissioned humans to subdue them so that they did not impinge on the realm of humanity and their domesticated herds and flocks. Third, God commissioned humanity to subdue the creepers and crawlers that swarm the earth – reptiles, rodents, and other creatures – lest they infest and overwhelm the realm of human life. We will come back to the creepers and crawlers in our treatment of Leviticus 11 below. The water animals fall into a different category in a separate realm. The same is true for the birds, since they are not limited to the ground but could also fly through the air. Again, this was an observable reality to the ancient Israelites. We will come back to the water and sky animals later in our remarks on the purity regulations in Leviticus 11. For the present, our concern is the land animals. The Israelites were pastoralists since the time of the patriarchs and maintained this as one of their major occupations through their history. Yes, they grew crops too, but that is not under consideration in Genesis 1, 15

The textual issues are significant in vv. 26–28. In summary, a combination of the MT with the LXX, and Syriac versions suggests that we should see the same three categories of land animals in vv. 26 and 28 as those in vv. 24–25. As noted above with regard to the land animals in particular, on day 6 God created three main categories of land animals: “God made the wild animals (lit. ‘the living things of the earth,’ Heb. ‫ )אֶ ת־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬after their kind, the pastoral livestock (Heb. ‫ )וְ אֶ ת־הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬after their kind, and all the animals that creep on the ground (‫)רמֶ שׂ ָ ֽהאֲדָ מָ ה‬ ֶ after their kind” (Gen 1:25). In v. 26, therefore, we should probably read “over all the earth” (‫ )וּבְ כָל־הָ אָ ֶרץ‬as “over all the wild animals of the earth” (‫ )וּבְ כָל־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬as in v. 25 (see the Syriac version and cf. ‫ אֶ ת־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬in v. 25 with ‫ וּבְ כָל־חַ יָּה‬in v. 28). In v. 28 we should read, “and rule over the fish of the sea, and the birds of the sky, and the wild animals (lit. ‘the living things of the earth,’ Heb. ‫אֶ ת־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬, see the LXX), and the livestock (Heb. ‫וְ אֶ ת־הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬, cf. the Syriac version), and the animals that creep upon the earth.” It may be that the MT is textually correct, and the LXX and Syriac translators are only filling in the gaps for meaning purposes. U. Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis, Part I, From Adam to Noah, transl. Israel Abrahams (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, 1961), 57 argues for the correspondence between the animals in vv. 24–25 and 26–28, but suggests that they are not repeated verbatim “to avoid the monotony of their being listed five times in succession.” In any case, the important point here is that we should view the categories of land animals created in v. 25 as those ruled over by humanity in vv. 26 and 28, along with the water and sky animals. Alongside the water and sky animals, there were also three main categories of land animals: wild animals, domesticated livestock, and the animals that creep on the ground. 16 See Richard E. Averbeck, “A Literary Day, Inter-Textual, and Contextual Reading of Genesis 1 and 2,” in Reading Genesis 1–2: An Evangelical Conversation, ed. Daryl Charles (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2013), 7–34.

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

21

where the earth naturally produced the plants created on day three without cultivation (Gen 1:11–12). These come back into view in vv. 29–30 as a nest-like nurturing environment for humanity and all air breathing animals. In view of the discussion above and what will follow below, we need to consider the possibility that, according to Genesis 1, from the beginning God created wild animals that could and would encroach on the realm of humans and their domesticated animals if humans did not keep them from doing so. It would seem that some of these wild animals were predators (carnivores) that would naturally prey on the non-predatory wild animals (herbivores). This was the nature of the realm of wild animals from the start. The Israelites readily observed this in their world. Genesis 1:26–28 tells us that God put humans here to subdue and rule the natural order as he created it. This would include maintaining the boundaries between domesticated, wild, and creeping and crawling animals. These were three different “realms” in the animal world of ancient Israel that would have made sense to them. Other creation accounts in the Hebrew Bible suggest this as well. Psalm 104 is a cosmogony, but with a special emphasis on cosmology – how the world that God created actually works as an environmental system. As is well-known, Psalm 104 follows closely the pattern of creation as it is revealed in Genesis 1, but without the hard lines of division between the days. The land animals first come into the picture once the environment is ready for them, which corresponds to days three and four in Genesis, not days five and six. Here is a chart of the parallel pattern: Genesis 1:3–5 Day 1 – Psalm 104:1b–2a, light Genesis 1:6–8 Day 2 – Psalm 104:2b–4, sky with its clouds, winds, and lightning Genesis 1:9–13 Day 3 – Psalm 104:5–18, dry land and vegetation, expands to: 1. The recession of the waters so dry land appears, Psalm 104:5–9 (cf. the first “God said” in Genesis 1:9–10) 2. The flowing springs and streams that water the animals, Psalm 104:10–13 3. The growth of vegetation as food and habitat for the animals, and as crops for humans to cultivate their own food, Psalm 104:14–18 (cf. the second “God said” in Genesis 1:11–13) Genesis 1:14–19 Day 4 – Psalm 104:19–23, sun and moon, explained in terms of: 1. The night for animals to prowl, Psalm 104:20–21 2. The day for humans to do their work, Psalm 104:22–23 Genesis 1:20–23 Day 5 – Psalm 104:24–26, sea and sea animals, including Leviathan Genesis 1:24–31 Day 6 – Psalm 104:27–30, land animals and humans17 The picture here includes prey for the predators prowling during the night as God’s supply for them, as opposed to daylight being the time for humans to do their work. It is part of the cycle of life as God originally created it: 19

He made the moon to mark the seasons, and the sun knows when to go down. You bring darkness, it becomes night, and all the beasts of the forest prowl. 21 The lions roar for their prey and seek their food from God. 22 The sun rises, and they steal away; they return and lie down in their dens. (Ps 104:19–22) 20

Even if one takes Psalm 104 to be about the created order as it is after the flood, which is very doubtful, the point remains. God does not put predation in a negative light according to this Psalm. Their prey is a gift given to them from God. See also Job 38:39–41 in the context of God’s rebuke against Job’s accusations through a whirlwind speech (vv. 1–7). Once again we read about the predatory animals as part of the wonder of God’s creation and his provision for them: 39 40

17

“Do you hunt the prey for the lioness and satisfy the hunger of the lions when they crouch in their dens or lie in wait in a thicket?

Averbeck, “A Literary Day, Inter-Textual, and Contextual Reading of Genesis 1 and 2,” 17–18.

22

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue” 41

Who provides food for the raven when its young cry out to God and wander about for lack of food? The Imago Dei and kābaš The focus of this essay is on the meaning and implications of “subdue” (kābaš) in Gen 1:28, but, of course, the immediate context of this verse is Gen 1:26–28, the well-known initial imago dei passage in the Bible. ‫ַויּ ֹאמֶ ר ֱא הִ ים ַ ֽנﬠֲשֶׂ ה אָ דָ ם בְּ צַ לְ מֵ נוּ כִּ ְדמוּתֵ נוּ וְ יִ ְרדּוּ בִ ְדגַת הַ יָּם וּבְ עֹ וף הַ שָּׁ מַ יִ ם וּבַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה וּבְ כָל־הָ אָ ֶרץ וּבְ כָל־‬ ‫הָ ֶרמֶ שׂ ָ ֽהרֹ מֵ שׂ ﬠַל־הָ אָ ֶרץ׃‬ ‫ת־האָ דָ ם בְּ צַ לְ מֹ ו בְּ צֶ לֶם ֱא הִ ים בָּ ָרא אֹ תֹ ו ָזכָר וּנְ קֵ בָ ה בָּ ָרא אֹ תָ ם׃‬ ֽ ָ ֶ‫וַיִּ בְ ָרא ֱא הִ ים׀ א‬ ‫וּמלְ אוּ אֶ ת־הָ אָ ֶרץ וְ כִ בְ שֻׁ הָ ְוּרדוּ בִּ ְדגַת הַ יָּם וּבְ עֹ וף הַ שָּׁ מַ יִם‬ ִ ‫וַיְ בָ ֶר אֹ תָ ם ֱא הִ ים ַויּ ֹאמֶ ר לָהֶ ם ֱא הִ ים פְּ רוּ ְוּרבוּ‬ ‫וּבְ כָל־חַ יָּה ָ ֽהרֹ מֶ שֶׂ ת ﬠַל־הָ אָ ֶרץ׃‬

26 27 28

26

Then God said, “Let us make humanity in our image (‫ )בְּ צַ לְ מֵ נוּ‬as our likeness (‫)כִּ ְדמוּתֵ נוּ‬, so that they may rule (‫ )וְ יִ ְרדּוּ‬over the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, the livestock, all the (wild animals of the) earth, and all the crawling animals that crawl on the earth.” 27 So God created humankind in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. 28 And God blessed them and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it ( ָ‫)וְ כִ בְ שֻׁ ה‬, and rule (‫ ְוּרדוּ‬verb, or ‘by ruling,’) over the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living creatures that creep on the ground.” (my translation). God said “Let us make humanity in our image as our likeness” (Gen 1:26a). I take the pronouns “us” and “our” to be a reference to God making a proclamation in the heavenly counsel. “Man” (‫ )אָ דָ ם‬is a plurality too, according to the next verb “so that they may rule”; thus the rendering “humanity.” Like the heavenly counsel rules in heaven, God made collective humanity to rule on earth. The next two verses tell us that the one and only God (singular verbs and pronouns) made this human collective to consist of male and female and their offspring. The lexicography needs to be taken seriously here. This is statue terminology. According to the passage, God made us and placed us within his creation to serve as his “statue,” so to speak, representing him in the world.18 We are not just a dead rock or carved wood, of course. We are a living statue of God. God is using statue terminology here in a figurative way. The two terms “image” and “likeness” used together function similar to the merism of “heaven and earth” in Gen 1:1, which refers to the whole cosmos. The difference is the attached prepositions and shift between them – “in” (‫ )בּ‬with image and “as” (‫ )כּ‬with likeness – and the lack of a connecting vav. This suggests that “in his image as his likeness” is more than a simple merism. It should also be noted that these two nouns and prepositions are interchangeable, as in Gen 5:1, where “likeness” appears for the whole: “he made them in the likeness of God,” without the term “image” and with the preposition “in” rather than “as.” Moreover, in Gen 5:3 Adam’s son Seth is said to be “in his (Adam’s) likeness as his image,” reversing the nouns and their prepositions as they are found in Gen 1:26, “in our image as our likeness.” One may say, therefore, that “in our image” in Gen 1:26 refers to humanity as something like a statue. Literal statues of God are forbidden by the second commandment (Exod 20:4–6), and from a New Testament point of view, Jesus Christ is the only one who is the very image of God: “The Son is the image (eikōn) of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation” (Col 1:15). Humanity is not a literal statue of God, but serves the purpose of a statue by representing him in his creation. They are “in” the image of God. Similarly, “as our likeness” in v. 26 tells us that he has made humans “like” a likeness of God. Being created “in” God’s “image” and “as” his “likeness” means that he made them and placed them here to serve him and his purposes in creation. Humans represent God as much as any regular created being can.

18

See the details in Averbeck, “A Literary Day, Inter-Textual, and Contextual Reading of Genesis 1 and 2,” 25–26. See also von Rad, Genesis, 57–60 and many others.

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

23

The emphasis drawn from this image and likeness terminology within the Genesis 1 passage is that humans are called to function in a capacity that involves ruling and subduing the world of animals. The text does not go into the details of what characteristics or capacities he has granted them in order to carry out this mandate. There has been no end of speculation on this matter; whether it is the ability to think rationally, our self-consciousness, or other differences between humans and the animals. There is a better way forward. In recent years I have been struck especially by the way Paul picks up on this theme later in the Epistle to the Colossians. He exhorts the followers of Christ to put on “the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image (eikōn) of its Creator” (Col. 3:10). In the context this is accomplished by “putting off” the evil character qualities that are part of our corrupt human nature (vv. 5–9) and “putting on” the character qualities of those who are redeemed from that corruption (vv. 12–15). This is what it means to be renewed to the image of our creator in this passage. It is all about their character as people. In other words, as those created in God’s image he designed humans with the character qualities that would enable them to handle the world according to his original plan for how they would manage the world on his behalf. This is what was damaged in the fall into corruption in Genesis 3, and this is what renewal to the image of our creator is all about. If we follow this line of interpretation, then from beginning to end God has always been most interested in humans living according to his character. The image and likeness terminology applies to humans as physical “statues” of God standing in the midst of this physical world to represent him physically in a way that is pleasing to him. The grammar of Gen 1:26–28 focuses on humanity’s functional purpose as God’s statue in this world to “rule” (‫)רדָ ה‬ ָ over the animals created on days five and six. It begins with this (v. 26b) and ends with it (v. 28b), using the same verb in both places. The simple vav on the verb “rule” in v. 26 is in sequence with the cohortative verb that precedes it (“let us make”). This is a normal purpose clause sequence in Hebrew. God proclaimed “let us” make humanity “so that” humanity may do this. The same verb occurs as an imperative to the man and the woman in v. 28, indicating the same purpose, but it is preceded by the command to “subdue” the earth (‫)כָּבַ שׁ‬. As noted above, “ruling” is a strong word, but “subduing” is even stronger. Why such a strong word? The proper managing of domestic livestock animals in the world of ancient Israel included the need to protect them from wild predatory animals that might invade their territory and prey on them. This was a well-known observable and experiential reality of pastoral life in ancient Israel. Wild predators might even attack and prey on people, as noted in some passages sighted above. To stop this from happening required very forceful “subduing” of wild predatory animals. Such animals hunt by instinct and cannot be expected to stay in their wildlife territory on their own, where there would be plenty of other wild animals they could prey on. Without people to subdue them, they would naturally violate the boundary between domestic and wild animals. The proposal offered here suggests that, among other things, God created and put humans here to see this did not happen. In some cases, this would have required forcefully “subduing” the animal world. This is included in God’s very good creation design, as noted in Gen 1:31. This brings us to the plants in Gen 1:29–30, which were the food that sustained the whole of it, both man and animal (vv. 29–30). The text does not say and perhaps we should not take it to mean that there were no carnivorous predatory (or scavenger) animals who hunted, killed, and ate other animals in the original design.19 If there were such, they would depend for their prey on the wild herbivorous animals and those that creep and crawl on the ground, whether the latter were carnivores or herbivores. The three realms of the animals could not be expected to stay within their boundaries on their own, since animals function on basic instincts without boundaries. Domesticated animals stray into the realm of wild animals for pasture, wild animals into the realm of domesticated animals for prey. Animals that creep and crawl on the ground make their way into both, and are treated as a separate realm of their own in the passage.

19

Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis, Part I, From Adam to Noah, 58–59 writes: “It is true that the eating of flesh is not specifically forbidden here, but the prohibition is clearly to be inferred … The Torah presents here a kind of idealized picture of the primeval world situation. Not only man but even the animals were expected to show reverence for the principle of life … in the Messianic era it would be operative again and even the carnivorous beasts would then feed only on vegetation,” referring to Isa 11:7 and 65:25 “the lion will eat straw like the ox.” We will return to these Isaiah passages below.

24

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

In our modern world many people live relatively removed from nature, so we tend to view predation from a distance as something grotesque. A person who lives close to nature, however, naturally has a different view. This was my experience growing up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, which had some significant similarities to life in ancient Israel. I have seen animals hunt, kill, and eat, and I have likewise hunted, killed, and eaten animals. I have also killed, butchered, and eaten domestic animals (cows, chickens, etc.). Similarly, the ancient Israelites did not just go to the grocery store where it was already done for them, out of their sight. Predation was not grotesque in their sight. To them it was a natural part of the created order, but they had to subdue (kābaš) it when it would impinge on the world of humans and domesticated animals. They had to subdue and rule. With that in mind, we might consider the possibility that the commission to rule and subdue the animal world includes managing the land animals in such a way that predators eat other wild animals, not people and not the livestock. From an ancient Israelite point of view, this was a common concern. As David put it to Saul when he volunteered to fight Goliath, “Your servant has been keeping his father’s sheep. When a lion or a bear came and carried off a sheep from the flock,35 I went after it, struck it and rescued the sheep from its mouth. When it turned on me, I seized it by its hair, struck it and killed it” (1 Sam 17:34–35). David subdued them. Out in the rough, close to nature, this is a reality of life they could not avoid. It came with the territory. The point is that this was an intentional component of God’s very good creation from the start, as Kidner argued. When Adam and Eve fell into corruption, however, it cast its dark shadow on the whole creation, including humanity and the animal world. The whole creation groans, as the Apostle Paul put it in Romans 8. Genesis 3 reflects on this agriculturally since that particular story begins with the cultivation of the ground and the garden of Genesis 2. Thus, not even the plant and crop world cooperate without struggle. As God put it to the man, “Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat food from it all the days of your life. 18 It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. 19 By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food” (Gen 3:17b–19a). Following through with this line of interpretation, the subduing and ruling according to God’s original creation design was necessary from the start because without it the creation would have naturally gone rogue. When humanity went corrupt, however, they took the whole creation with them (Genesis 3–9). The whole creation from top to bottom “went rogue,” because those who were created to keep this from happening “went rogue.” With regard to the animals in particular, humanity was created to keep the three animal realms contained within their respective realms so that they did not disrupt the realms of the other animals and humanity. This required forceful subjugation because animals function by natural instinct, not by the kind of moral standards God created humans to have and use as his image and likeness (see the remarks on Colossians 3 above). In God’s distress over this corruption of his design, he brought the flood to wipe away all the “violence” (ḥāmās). Here the animal world comes into view again: 5

The LORD saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. 6 The LORD regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled [lit., ‘he felt pain into his heart’]. 7 So the LORD said, “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created – and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground – for I regret that I have made them.” (Gen 6:5–7, NIV).

The verb for pain in v. 6 (‫ )וַיִּ ְתﬠַ צֵּ ב‬is from the same root word as “pains” and “painful” in Gen 3:16–17 for the experience of woman and man after they feel into corruption. Again, a few verses later in the introduction to the flood narrative we read, “ Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight and was full of violence (Heb. ‫)חָ מָ ס‬. God saw how corrupt the earth had become, for all the people on earth had corrupted their ways” (Gen 6:11–12). Today the word for “violence,” ḥāmās, is known from the name of the Palestinian terrorist group, Hamas. The human world became filled with violence and the animal world went with it. The killing of people and animals by people and animals now became indiscriminate uncontrolled killing out of the corruption that began with the fall. There was no more holding of

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

25

creation in proper check. God’s good creation fell into a state that God never intended and deplores. In fact, it pains him (Gen 6:6–7)! If what I am suggesting here is correct, the early chapters of Genesis tell us that in God’s original design there were carnivorous wild animals, but humans in his image and likeness were commissioned to subdue and rule them so that they did not encroach on the world of people and domesticated livestock. They were limited to eating other wild animals, especially those that only ate plants. The animal world was created wild and always had the potential for “going rogue,” so God created humans to subdue and rule over it in such a way that it would not. As the story goes, the deception of the serpent in Genesis 3 was an attack on God who created humanity to represent him – like a statue (see the discussion above). He damaged God’s statue. In the ANE, curses for damaging statues are ubiquitous. The story continues. Noah found favor before the Lord (Gen 6:8), but the corruption and violence endured through the flood with him and all on the ark. God’s regulations after the flood push back against the extremities of this corrupt violence by officially instituting animal fear and dread of people and prohibiting the eating of the blood of animals (Gen 9:2–4a). It is significant that this dread and fear fell “on all the wild animals of the earth (‫ ;כָּל־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬cf. Gen 1:25a), and on all the birds in the sky, on every creature that moves along the ground, and on all the fish in the sea” (Gen 9:2). Domesticated livestock (‫ ;הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬cf. Gen 1:25b) are left out of the list. They are in a different category. Domesticated animals do not naturally run away and hide from people because of fear and dread. Remember, the pastoral world was a big part of life in ancient Israel from the time of the patriarchs forward. Abram and Lot, for instance, had to part ways because their herds and flocks together had become too large for the pastureland where they were roaming and grazing (Genesis 13). This calls to mind the passages in Isaiah that look forward to a day when domesticated animals will have no fear of predatory animals: 6

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. 7 The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. (Isa 11:6–7)

25

The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, and dust will be the serpent’s food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain,” says the LORD. (Isa 65:25)

The predatory animals and domesticated animals will lie down together, and the predators will not eat them. This fits well with the proposal I am making here. God’s design was that predators would eat other wild animals. These passages also say, however, that the lion will eat straw. I am not yet sure how to take this. Is it literal, or is it a poetic trope for peace in the world, or is there some other explanation? John Oswalt outlines three possible interpretations: literal, spiritual, and figurative.20 He eschews the literal translation because it would require the eradication of the lion’s carnivorous nature to the point it would no longer be a lion.21 He likewise rejects the spiritual interpretation, according to which “the animals represent various spiritual conditions and states within human beings.”22 This was Calvin’s interpretation and is also well-known among the early church fathers.23

20

John N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah Chapters 1–39, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), 283. Edward J. Young, The Book of Isaiah, vol. 1, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 387–91, however, argues vehemently for this interpretation and applies it to the conditions to be obtained in the new heaven and earth, not in “a supposed millennium.” He points out that “Advocates of a millennial theory maintain that even during the millennium there is sin, for after the millennium the nations will again gather for battle.” This does not match the picture of total peace in all the world that literal interpretation of this passage calls for (p. 391). 22 Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah Chapters 1–39, 283. 23 John Calvin, Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1948), 383–87. On the early church fathers, see Steven A. McKinion, Isaiah 1–39, ACCS vol. 10 (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 21

26

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

Oswalt argues for the third interpretation, which is that this is an extended figure of speech used to make the point that “in the Messiah’s reign the fears associated with insecurity, danger, and evil will be removed.”24 The contexts for these verses in both Isaiah 11 and 65 may be taken to support the figurative interpretation, since the point being made is that the Messiah will bring peace and prosperity in Israel in place of war and oppression at the hand of Israel’s enemies. In light of all this, it strikes me that the first view – the literal reading of these passages in Isaiah – is by no means dominant in the history of interpretation or even among serious commentators on Isaiah today. These passages should not be used to argue for no predatory carnivorous animals in God’s original creation design. Apparently, lions as carnivores, for example, were part of his original creation. After the flood, God also reinstituted his blessing on humanity to “Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the earth” (Gen 9:1 and 7; cf. Gen 1:28). Along with this he reinstituted the sanctity of life that had been lost in all the violence of the post-fall world. He prohibited eating the blood of animals, since the blood represents life, and all life belongs to God, never to be taken lightly (Gen 9:4–5a). He also prohibited the murderous shedding of human blood upon threat of execution by other humans (vv. 5b–6). Such execution was seen as an expression of the sanctity of human life in God’s sight, specifically the life of the person that the murderer had taken. According to this reading of Genesis 9, we are called to manage the world of man and animal so that it does not increasingly keep on “going rogue” like it did before the flood. This still requires subduing and ruling the animals. We are still in the image and likeness of God and show that in various ways. We manage our domesticated herds and flocks, and we even manage the wildlife population to keep it under control. Nevertheless, most of us are not even aware of what goes on right outside our houses every day, and especially at night (Ps 104:19–22). The animals prowl, and sometimes people too. This line of interpretation also has significant ramifications for other important passages about the animals in scripture. Clean and Unclean Animals The other place in the Bible where the animals are given special attention from a different perspective is the clean and unclean animal regulations in Leviticus 11 (cf. also Deut 14:3–21). This is a large and complex topic that cannot be treated in detail here. It will be enough to show the implications of the discussion above for how we might understand the distinction between clean and unclean animals. The last two verses of Leviticus 11 present a clear summary of the major zoological categories as they appear in the chapter: 46

These are the regulations concerning quadrupeds (i.e., four footed land animals, ‫)הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬, birds (‫)הָ עֹ וף‬, every living thing (‫ ) ֶנפֶשׁ ַ ֽהחַ ָ֔יה‬that moves about (‫ )הָ רֹ מֶ שֶׂ ת‬in the water, and every creature (‫ ) ֶנפֶשׁ‬that swarms on (‫ )הַ שֹּׁ ֶרצֶ ת‬the ground. 47 You must distinguish between the unclean (‫)הַ טָּ מֵ א‬ and the clean (‫)הַ טָּ הֹ ר‬, between living creatures (‫)החַ יָּה‬ ֽ ַ that may be eaten and the living creatures that may not be eaten. The last line clarifies the fact that the major issue here was what they could or could not eat from the land, sky, and water animals. The basic categories of animal realms are largely the same as Genesis 1, except that there is no mention of “the wild animals” of Gen 1:24–30. This is significant. In Leviticus 11 the Genesis 1 distinction between “livestock” (‫ )הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬that the Israelites would domesticate and “wild animals” (lit. ‘the living things of the earth,’ Heb. ‫ )אֶ ת־חַ יַּת הָ אָ ֶרץ‬is not in the picture. Instead, in Leviticus 11 ‫ הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬refers to all animals that stand and walk on four legs on the land. The issue at hand in Leviticus 11:1–8 is the eating of the meat of land

2001), 105–8 and Mark W. Elliott, Isaiah 40–66, ACCS vol. 11 (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2007), 276– 77. I thank Stephen McCausland, a PhD student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, for calling my attention to these citations from the church fathers. 24 Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah Chapters 1–39, 283.

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

27

animals, not the subduing and ruling of them so that they stay in their respective realms, domesticated or wild, as in Genesis 1.25 Examples are given (vv. 4–8). Some of these would be animals that they domesticated, but others would be wild animals, and some of those they could also hunt and eat their meat, that is, if they had split hooves and chewed the cud (Lev 11:3; see more on this below). Deuteronomy 12, for example, deals with the distinction between offering clean herd and flock animals in sacrifice to the Lord (vv. 4–14) as opposed to “profane slaughter,” which would allow them to eat of such animals without offering them to the Lord when they were spread out in the promised land (vv. 15–25). The eating of such herd and flock animals, however, required that they treat them like the gazelle or deer that they hunted, being sure to pour the blood out on the ground because of its sanctity (vv. 15–16 and 22–25; cf. also Lev 17:13–14 for pouring out the blood of hunted game on the ground).26 According to Gen 7:1–2 (cf. 8:20), the clean and unclean animal distinction was already known before the flood even though the details are not given: “The LORD then said to Noah, ‘Go into the ark, you and your whole family, because I have found you righteous in this generation. 2 Take with you seven pairs of every kind of clean (ṭāhôr; Heb. ‫ורה‬ ֗ ָ ֹ‫ )הַ טְּ ה‬animal (‫)הַ בְּ הֵ ָ ֣מה‬, a male and its mate, and one pair of every kind of animal that is not clean (‫) ֣ל ֹא טְ הֹ ָ ֥רה‬, a male and its mate, …’” Leviticus 11 uses the more technical word “unclean” (‫ )הַ טָּ ֵ ֖מא‬in place of “not clean” (‫ ) ֣ל ֹא טְ הֹ ָ ֥רה‬in Genesis 7, but the two categories are clear in both places. Recall that earlier in Genesis Abel was a keeper of domesticated flocks. He brought pleasing fat portions and first born from the flock animals to the Lord as an offering (Gen 4:2–4). This is before the flood, and it was acceptable and good in God’s sight, according to the passage. The text does not tell us how Noah knew which animals were clean or not clean. In Gen 8:20, Noah sacrificed some of the clean animals and birds to the Lord on an altar to celebrate and worship the Lord for his deliverance through the flood. Again, this was pleasing to the Lord. It seems that, according to the text, he had instructed Noah to bring seven pairs of clean animals on the ark because Noah and his family could eat the meat of clean animals and/or offer them to the Lord. There needed to be extra pairs of clean animals so the various species did not go extinct. This would be readily understandable to the ancient Israelite readers. Proposals for the Rationale of Clean and Unclean Animals Ancient and modern scholars have made numerous competing and sometimes overlapping proposals for the rationale of the clean (ṭāhōr) and unclean (ṭāmēʼ) animals and other purity regulations in Leviticus 11.27 Since Philo of Alexandria many have argued that the clean and unclean animal regulations reflect concerns for health and hygiene. This is no longer taken seriously by most scholars. These are not “health” regulations. There are poisonous plants too, but there is no such thing as an “unclean” plant. Others have argued that these regulations are arbitrary and their purpose was to promote simple obedience by urging them to follow the regulations without seeking explanations for them. Still others have suggested relatively simple symbolic 25

The development of the field of cognitive linguistics over the past several decades has helped us with the semantics of particular words in different contexts, among other features of how language works. The semantic range of a word can allow for a shift in meaning from one discourse to another. In this instance, the lack of the category of “wild land animals” as opposed to “domesticated” ones in Leviticus 11 orients the discourse picture so that the term ‫ הַ בְּ הֵ מָ ה‬includes all land animal quadrupeds. See the helpful introduction to the use of cognitive linguistics in the field of biblical studies in Ellen van Wolde, Reframing Biblical Studies: When Language and Text Meet Culture, Cognition, and Context (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009) esp. the clarity offered on pp. 29–34. 26 See the full treatment of Deuteronomy 12 in Richard E. Averbeck, “The Cult in Deuteronomy and Its Relationship to the Book of the Covenant and the Holiness Code,” in Sēpher Tôrat Mōšeh: Studies in the Composition and Interpretation of Deuteronomy, ed. Daniel I. Block and Richard L. Schultz (Peabody, Mass: Hendrickson, 2017), 232–60. 27 See Jiří Moskala, The Laws of Clean & Unclean Animals in Leviticus 11, Adventist Theological Society Dissertation Series (Berrien Springs, MI: Adventist Theological Society Publications, 2000), 112–48 for a helpful survey of the proposed views on the rationality of the clean and unclean animal regulations. Other recent helpful discussions can be found in Jonathan Brumberg-Kraus, “Food and Meals,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Law, ed. Brent a Strawn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 291–2; Jonathan D. Lawrence, “Clean/Unclean, Pure/Impure, Holy/Profane,” in The Oxford Handbook of Ritual and Worship in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Samuel E. Balentine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 304–5; and T. M. Lemos, “Where There is Dirt, Is There System? Revisiting Biblical Purity Constructions,” JSOT 37 (2013): 265–94.

28

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

and allegorical explanations. For example, cows are relatively docile and obedient while rabbits are promiscuous, so they should eat the former but not the latter. Anthropologists are fond of saying that humans shape their own world by the way they select and deselect things in their world. I grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. As such, there are certain kinds of food that I have “selected,” but there are others I have “deselected,” squid for example. Some of the most influential work done on these clean and unclean animal regulations over the last several decades has come from the field of cultural anthropology.28 In the 1960’s and 70’s the work of the structuralist cultural anthropologist Mary Douglas began to dominate the field, beginning with a chapter on Leviticus 11 in her book Purity and Danger.29 She argued persuasively that these regulations formed a system of order versus disorder. Uncleanness is disorder and cleanness is order. This shows itself in the creaturely realms: the air, water, and land animals. The clean animals convey themselves by flying, swimming, and walking, respectively. Anomalous water animals, for example, crawl rather than swim. Anomalous land and sky animals hop rather that walk or fly. Other forms of uncleanness are explained as “dirt” which is “matter out of place.” Eventually Douglas recanted her explanation as a big mistake.30 She eventually came to the view that the food laws were meant to separate the priests from common Israelites and all Israelites from non-Israelites. Jacob Milgrom took the work of Douglas in a different direction. He suggested that purity regulations were grounded in the priestly regard for life rather than a symbolic view of the body. The pig, for example, is unclean because of its association with chthonic deities, the underworld, which is of course associated with death. Others argue that there really is no systematic way to understand the purity regulations. The rationale varies if there is any. For example, there are ritual pollutions and danger pollutions, or tolerated impurities as opposed to prohibited impurities, or ritual impurities versus moral impurities. Some simply associate impurity with the emotion of disgust. The Animals in Genesis 1 and Leviticus 11 Biblical scholars have long recognized the relatively close correspondence between the animal terminology in Genesis 1 and Leviticus 11.31 Based on this textual reality, I am proposing here that, at least on some level, the Levitical theology of holiness and purity builds off the Genesis cosmology and zoology. Conceptually, they are reflective of each another. God wanted his chosen people to live in the world in a way that corresponded to the way he originally designed it. This lends us a starting point for understanding the clean and unclean animal regulations. An intertextual re-analysis of Leviticus 11–15 in relation to the creation and corruption narratives in Genesis 1–11 is the best way forward, beginning with the animal world in Genesis 1 and Leviticus 11, which will be the main focus of attention here. The purity regulations are bound up with God’s created order and the corruption of it.32 The regulations are very detailed, but there are also general principles expressed or 28

For the theoretical background of social and cultural anthropology and its application to the biblical ritual system, see William K. Gilders, “Social and Cultural Anthropology, “in The Oxford Handbook of Ritual and Worship in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Samuel E. Balentine (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2020), 125–41. 29 Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966). 30 Douglas summarized her later revisions of her views in the preface to the 2002 edition of her book: Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge Classics, 2002). 31 For a most recent detailed analysis and explanation of the connections see G. Geoffrey Harper, “I Will Walk Among You”: The Rhetorical Function of Allusion to Genesis 1–3 in the Book of Leviticus, BBR.Sup 21 (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2018), 111–48 and the lit. cited there. 32 Most recently, James W. Watts has argued for the purity regulations as a rhetorical means of persuasion based on the connection between pollution and cosmology. Feelings of disgust shape the ideas and behavior of people in society. People and God inhabit different realms, so moving from one realm (regular life) to the other (divine presence), respectively, is wrought with purity concerns. Civilization versus wilderness and life versus death are similarly loaded with issues of purity and impurity. The clean and unclean purity regulations in Leviticus 11 draw on the three realms of animals: sky, water, and land. Each realm has its own proper conditions so that pure animals conform and others do not. Yohan Yoo and James W. Watts. Cosmologies of Pure Realms and the Rhetoric of Pollution (London: Routledge, 2021),

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

29

derivable from them that lay a solid foundation for this approach, some of which have been treated above.33 According to the Hebrew text, the struggle that came into the realm of humanity and all animate life due to the fall into sin in Genesis 3 created a chaotic corruption, the extremes of which the ancient Israelites were to avoid even in their diet. As noted above, according to Gen 6:5–7 and 11–12, the Lord brought the flood on the earth due to the level of violence that had engulfed the earth in the wake of the fall. Human depravity led to the groaning of all creation (Rom 8:18–25). He had originally designed humanity to be those who would maintain his good will on the earth (Gen 1:26–28), but our rebellion turned it all into one big catastrophe. The Lord wiped the earth clean by means of the flood, but afterward it remained true that, “… every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood. …” (Gen 8:21). Nevertheless, he determined thenand-there that, “never again will I destroy all living creatures, as I have done” in the flood (v. 21b). Post-flood the Lord instituted the regulations in Gen 9:1–7 along with the Noahic Covenant (vv. 8–17). He designed both of these as means of stabilizing the creation in spite of the continuing effects of the fallen and corrupt condition of humans that both allowed for and caused the groaning of the whole creation. God made the Noahic Covenant with “you (Noah) and with your descendants after you 10 and with every living creature that was with you – the birds, the livestock and all the wild animals, …” (vv. 9–10). It was a covenant with creation that included the animals and, in fact, the same terminology for the animal realms appears here as in Gen 1:24–28. This covenant is the first of its kind in the Hebrew Bible. The regulations at the beginning of the chapter include a special emphasis on the sanctity of life, and, accordingly, the prohibition against eating the blood of animals (Gen 9:4–5). As noted above, the blood represented the life of animals. Life belongs to no one but God because he was the one who created it. People must not eat the blood. What about animals that eat blood? From a biblical theological point of view, the ancient Israelites did not shape their own world by the way they selected and deselected things in their world. Instead, God shaped their world for them. His original design was for people, land animals, and birds alike to inhabit and live off the land and vegetation (see Gen 1:29–30). If the line of interpretation suggested above is correct, this does not mean that God did not create any carnivorous animals in Genesis 1. The point in Gen 1:29–30 is that humanity and the animal world depended on the plants growing on the ground as their natural and nurturing environment. Without this, there would be no place and no prey for the wild beasts to hunt. The core underlying rationale of the clean and unclean animal regulations in Leviticus 11 is that we must not eat the blood of animals, so we must not eat animals that eat blood either.34 To do so would make us like predatory animals that do not drain the blood out of the flesh before consuming it. As is well known, two features of land animal quadrupeds make them clean, chewing the cud and dividing the hoof (Lev 11:3). Land animals that chew the cud are by nature vegetarian. The divided hoof is also a natural feature of pastoral animals because divided hooves are more suitable for walking on grassy turf. Cattle, for example, chew the cud for the mastication and digestion of fodder like grass and grain. Their four stomachs regurgitate the fodder they have swallowed so that they can chew it up stage by stage. The combination of chewing the cud and dividing the hoof makes such animals pastoral herbivores because they cannot eat and digest meat.

99–107. In my view, this general approach to purity regulations through cosmology is a most promising line of interpretation. For other relatively recent discussions of clean and unclean animals that move in the same or similar directions from diverse points of view see, for example, L. Michael Morales, Who Shall Ascent the Mountain of the Lord? A Biblical Theology of the Book of Leviticus, NSBT 37 (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2015), esp. pp. 153–67; Leigh M. Trevaskis, Holiness, Ethics and Ritual in Leviticus (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2011); Noboyoshi Kiuchi, Leviticus, ApOTC 3 (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2007), 203–13, who emphasizes the fall into sin in Genesis 3; and Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, FAT, 2. Reihe 25 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 324–39 and the other helpful literature cited in those discussions. 33 Some scholars have argued that there really is no “system” to the purity regulations. See recently, for example, T. M. Lemos, “Where There Is Dirt, Is There System? Revisiting Biblical Purity Constructions,” JSOT 37 (2013): 265–94. Along with some of the other scholars mentioned in the previous footnote, I am not proposing still another monolithic “system,” but instead an inner-biblical rationale based on the link between biblical pollution and biblical cosmology as expressed in Leviticus 11–15 and Genesis 1–11, respectively. 34 Brumberg-Kraus, “Food and Meals,” 292.

30

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

There are some land animal quadrupeds, for example, the pig, that divide the hoof to walk on turf, but do not chew the cud (v. 7). The camel, hyrax, and rabbit are unclean for the opposite reason (vv. 4–7) – they chew the cud but do not divide the hoof, in fact, rabbits and hyraxes do not even have hooves. They have paws. Camels have two toes with hoof-like toenails. It is true these animals are also herbivores, not carnivores, but the chapter bases its rationale on the observable taxonomy of the bodies of animals. Both factors were important for determining whether a four-footed land animal was clean or unclean because no animal that both divides the hoof and chews the cud eats other animals. Here it is important to note that, like other sets of legal regulations in the Torah, these animal regulations were never intended to resolve every imaginable contingency, but to provide guidance for how to resolve questions about which land animals were clean as opposed to unclean.35 We should not expect the text to directly consider and resolve every issue in every detail. The edibility of “birds” (including “flying insects”) and “water” creatures comes next in Lev 11:9–23. The regulations eliminate predatory and scavenger birds based on the same rationale. They eat meat with the blood in it (vv. 13–19). Fish that do not swim with fins and scales are scavengers, bottom feeders. According to Genesis 1, God created the birds and fish on the fifth day, but he created the land animals and humanity on the sixth day. The birds and especially the fish do not share exactly the same natural domain or realm as the land animals and humanity. This distinction comes through in a particular way in Leviticus 11. The inedible land animals are “unclean” (‫ )הַ טָּ מֵ א‬while inedible fish and birds are “detestable” (‫ ;שֶׁ קֶ ץ‬Lev 11:10, 13, 20, 23) as are the creeping land creatures, all of which are inedible and detestable (vv. 41–43).36 Unfortunately, the NIV translation does not reflect this distinction, but the NRSV, ESV, NLT, and others do. Our understanding of the rationale of the clean and unclean animal laws must begin here. It does not explain every detail of the regulations, and we cannot touch on every point here, but it gives us the right start. It provides the basic rationale. The first occurrence of the holiness motto in the Hebrew Bible and in Leviticus connects directly to keeping the clean and unclean animal food regulations, most specifically, the creeping and crawling creatures described in Lev 11:29–43: 44

I am the LORD your God; consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am holy. Do not make yourselves unclean by any creature that moves along the ground. 45 I am the LORD, who brought you up out of Egypt to be your God; therefore be holy, because I am holy. (Lev 11:44–45)

Leviticus 11, therefore, binds Israel to holiness amid the corruption of creation itself. It draws on the Lord’s original design of creation to shape the world of ancient Israel. In terms of the animal world, they were to be pastoralists, raising plant eating animals for food and other kinds of provisions (e.g., wool, milk, leather). This would naturally put them in opposition to predatory animals. They would need to “subdue” them: “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it” (Gen 1:28). Moreover, these clean and unclean animal regulations worked the prohibition against eating blood into the warp and woof of their daily existence in Israel. They must not eat animals that eat blood. For people to eat blood would be for them to become predatory animals that do not drain the blood from animals before eating them. The ancient Israelites were to avoid the worst manifestations of “going rogue” in the fall into sin and its aftermath even in the realm of diet. They must not eat blood, so they must not eat animals that eat blood either. The Clean and Unclean Animal Regulations and Separation from the Foreign Nations Leviticus 20:25–26 connects these food regulation in Leviticus 11 to holiness amid the corruption of the foreign peoples roundabout ancient Israel. This was another very important effect of these regulations. These

35

See the remarks on the nature of the OT Law as selective rather than comprehensive in Richard E. Averbeck, The OT Law for the Life of the Church: Reading the Torah in the Light of Christ (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, forthcoming 2022), in chapter 3. 36 See HALOT 1646 where all eleven occurrences of ‫ שֶׁ קֶ ץ‬are cited, with the glosses “horror” or “cultic abomination.”

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

31

verses come as the conclusion to the injunctions against Molech worship, mediums and spiritists, and prohibited sexual relationships. With these in mind, the Lord said, 23

You must not live according to the customs of the nations I am going to drive out before you. Because they did all these things, I abhorred them …25 You must therefore make a distinction between clean and unclean animals and between unclean and clean birds. Do not defile yourselves by any animal or bird or anything that moves along the ground – those that I have set apart as unclean for you. 26 You are to be holy to me because I, the LORD, am holy, and I have set you apart from the nations to be my own. (Lev 20:23, 25–26, emphasis added) The Lord arranged their world, including what they could eat, so that they would stay separate from the corrupting influences of the non-Israelite people around them. Having different diet regulations would hinder any kind of social or religious associations with them. Most expressions of relationship happened around food in ancient Israel. If they could not eat with other people, they could not carry on relationships with them to any significant degree. This would help keep the Israelites separate from their corrupting influences. From a New Testament point of view, of course, this became a different kind of major issue when the wall of partition was broken down to create a unified church in Christ, Jew and Gentile together (Acts 10–11; Galatians 2; Ephesians 2). The Purity Regulations in Leviticus 12–15 In brief, the purity regulations for a woman after childbirth in Leviticus 12 moves the point forward in relation to Genesis 1 from the animals in vv. 20–25 to humanity in vv. 26–28. One of the key features in the creation of humanity is the call to be fruitful and multiple – to have babies (vv. 27–28). Gen 3:16, however, introduces increased pain into the experience, and 6:1–3 introduces corruption into human sexuality (cf. 9:20–24). There is no sin or disease in Leviticus 12, but, according to the Genesis cosmology, the whole process of giving birth has been badly affected by the corruption of God’s original design, which brings it into the realm of purity concerns. Moreover, blood is once again at the center of the concern, since the need for atonement and cleansing comes from flow of blood in childbirth. Leviticus 15 comes back to sexuality, but now with the need to distinguish between clean and unclean sexual flows and the management of impurities through washing, waiting, and sometimes sacrifice. In between Leviticus 12 and 15, Leviticus 13–14 deal with diagnosing and managing unclean skin diseases that manifest anywhere on the body. Disease often leads to death, and skin diseases were observable and could be diagnosed (Lev 13). They were also associated with death or impending death, as for example in the case of Miriam in Num 12:10–15. This connects back to the issue of death by corruption in Gen 2:17; 3:3–5, 19– 20, “for dust you are and to dust you will return.” The clean and unclean purity regulations in Leviticus 11– 15 are bound up with the created order and its corruption as recounted in Genesis 1–11. Conclusion The conclusion to the Leviticus 11–15 purity regulations underlines the key importance of these regulations for the relationship between Israel and the Lord, and his tabernacle presence in their midst: “You must keep the Israelites separate from things that make them unclean, so they will not die in their uncleanness for defiling my dwelling place, which is among them” (Lev 15:31). We cannot treat all the details here, but the annual Day of Atonement that follows immediately in Leviticus 16 is all about purging the tabernacle from the impurities that had accrued to it through the past year (see the slaughtered sin offerings in Lev 16:11– 19; cf. the issues in Leviticus 11–15) and expelling all the culpabilities for sin from the community (see the scapegoat ritual in Lev 16:20–22; cf. Lev 4:1–5:26 ET 4:1–6:7). In contradistinction from other nations and peoples, the Israelites were called to be God’s “kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exod 19:6). Priests and holy people draw close to the Lord’s presence, but the concern in Leviticus is that when they do so they are clean/pure, lest they defile the tabernacle presence of God (see Lev 15:31 cited above).

32

Averbeck – Meaning and Importance of “subdue”

The cosmology of Genesis 1–11 sets the background for how physical uncleanness became a problem. All was “very good” at the end of Genesis 1 (v. 31), and Genesis 2–3 has the man and woman in the garden in the presence of God, east in Eden (Gen 2:8; 3:8). Due to the fall into corruption in Gen 3:1–21, however, at the end of Genesis 3 the Lord expelled them from the garden and put guards at its entrance so that they could no longer enter the garden. Thus, they lost access to the tree of life, making them subject to physical death (vv. 22–24; cf. v. 19). As the text puts it “the LORD God banished him [referring to both the man and the woman together] from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken” (v. 23). They were still in Eden, but not in the garden. Then in Gen 4:16, because he murdered his brother Abel, the Lord cursed Cain so that the ground would not produce food for him. Cain, therefore, “went out from the LORD’s presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden,” thus, outside of Eden. The progression eastward from the garden, to the land of Eden outside the garden, and then to the land of Nod outside of Eden away from the presence of the Lord is significant.37 Moving eastward out Eden is movement away from the Lord’s presence. The tabernacle complex was oriented with the entrance to the east so that an Israelite would move west into the presence of the Lord toward the tabernacle tent of the Lord’s presence. They would move into the presence of God, but now with the concern that they enter his presence pure, not polluted by the corruption of their fallen condition as reflected in the purity regulations of Leviticus 11–15. According the Genesis 1, God created this world and designed it to work in a certain way as a system with parts that complement one another and work together dynamically. The plants support the animals. The animals are of particular kinds and fit into certain discrete realms of existence and behavior. Humanity, man and woman together, was created and commissioned to make sure that the world of plants and animals worked according to God’s design. All of this comes together in Gen 1:26–31 as a created order. God made it so that, in the end, it was all very good, so he stopped creating (Gen 2:1–3). The main goal of this essay has been to investigate the meaning and significance of “subdue” (kābaš) in Gen 1:28. The line of interpretation pursued here suggests that, according to Gen 1:24–28, God created a cosmos that was all very good, and which included three realms of land animals: livestock, wild animals, and creatures that creep and crawl on the ground. Since he created it “wild,” he also created and appointed humanity in his image as his likeness to forcefully subdue and rule the animal world: domesticating livestock, keeping the wild animals (including carnivorous predators) from impinging on the world of humanity and livestock, and preventing the creeping and crawling animals from infesting and overwhelming the human world. The narrative storyline continues with the garden, the fall into corruption, and Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the garden, eventually even away from the presence of the Lord in humanity’s ongoing rebellion. Humanity “went rogue” and took the whole creation with it (Genesis 3–11). The damage has been done and its effects are ongoing. The clean and unclean animal regulations in Leviticus 11 reflect the cosmology and zoology of Genesis 1 and its corruption in Genesis 3–11. The goal was to guide ancient Israel into a way of life that pushed back against the worst forms of corruption in the world of animals (Leviticus 11) and humans (Leviticus 20). To the degree possible in their fallen condition and circumstances, the ancient Israelites would become the kind of people who function once again in the image as the likeness of God. Living according to the purity regulations would make them suitable for living and worshipping in God’s tabernacle, the place of his manifest presence among them. As the Lord put it to them, “11I will put my dwelling place among you, and I will not abhor you. 12I will walk among you and be your God, and you will be my people” (Lev 26:11–12, emphasis added; cf. Gen 3:8; 5:22–23; 6:9; 17:1; and on through scripture).

37

For a through discussion of the significance of the east in east versus west movements in the Hebrew Bible see the essay by Jens Bruun Kofoed in the present volume.

An Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf in the Early History of Translation Barry J. Beitzel

Abstract The question of the precise location of ancient Israel’s deliverance from Egypt has long fascinated and vexed historians, archaeologists, and biblical scholars alike. Historically speaking, and based largely on Hebrew and Egyptian philology and lexicography, biblical exegesis, and geographical logic, scholars have tended to situate the event either in the northernmost segment of the modern Gulf of Suez or at one of the ancient marsh-like reedy lakes that separated easternmost Lower Egypt and the Sinai Peninsula. In the face of some very recent challenges to such a placement, the current essay aims further to undergird and strengthen historical research in this regard by considering how the Hebrew terms sûf [“reeds / rushes”] and yam sûf [“sea of reeds / rushes”] – used to locate the event – have been rendered in the early history of translation.

Map 1.

34

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

It is indeed an honor to contribute to a volume dedicated to the life and scholarship of K. Lawson Younger, Jr. Lawson and I have been both departmental colleagues and personal friends for more than two decades. When Lawson’s name comes to mind, I immediately reflect on his winsome, lively, and even jovial personality, the wholesome fabric of his personal life and the priority of his commitments, the practical wisdom and common sense he brings to departmental matters, and the sterling and enduring quality of his impressive academic contributions to the world at large. The study I offer here grows out of my recent publication, entitled Where Was the Biblical Red Sea? Examining the Ancient Evidence (hereinafter BRS). In that volume, I endeavored to provide exegetical, geographical, classical era, and early cartographically-related evidence designed to undergird and strengthen a longstanding and widespread tradition within scholarship, according to which the biblical exodus may be said to have occurred at a point in close proximity to the eastern border of Egypt, either at the northernmost segment of the Gulf of Suez or perhaps preferably at one of the ancient marsh-like reedy lakes that separated easternmost Egypt and the Sinai (see map 1). Beyond the strands of evidence presented there, it is noteworthy that such a view has long been represented in early literature from both Jewish and Christian scholarship (see below), it has long been explicitly documented in both Jewish and Christian cartographic efforts (see, e.g., the Psalter World Map [anonymous, ca. AD 1240; attached to a Latin MS of the Book of Psalms] or the work of Yaaqov ben Abraham Zaddiq [ca. AD 1620]), and the viewpoint has been consistently and exclusively reflected in the history of early Christian pilgrimage, beginning with the pilgrim Egeria in ca. AD 382.1 All of this is in contradistinction to an entirely recent outlook which jettisons established scholarship in this regard and seeks to equate the biblical Red Sea with the modern Gulf of Aqaba / Elat and thus to situate the point of the exodus more than 250–300 terrestrial miles (i.e. 400–485 km) away from Egypt’s Delta and the biblical site of Rameses. This newly-fashioned point of view is predicated upon a somewhat eccentric if absolute exegetical insistence that all biblical citations of yam sûf must designate the Gulf of Aqaba / Elat exclusively and without exception,2 just as the formulation is likewise coupled with the relatively novel

1

Dozens of early cartographic specimens exist to illustrate this point. Perhaps the most useful treatment of the Psalter Map is found at https://vimeo.com/79115021 by the British Library, where the map is housed. An excellent grayscale reproduction of the Zaddiq copperplate engraving – the earliest known printed map in Hebrew – can be found in Nebenzahl, Maps, 110–13 (refer also to Laor, Undique, 20–21 (#43); Wajntraub, Maps, 44–46). For bibliography having to do with early Christian tradition, refer to BRS, 53–59, and see the additional bibliography cited there. 2 One proponent of this newly-articulated viewpoint states: “One cannot get away from the fact that the Bible identifies only one body of water as the Yam Suph: the Gulf of Aqaba” (Garrett, Exodus, 120). Another advocate creates for the view an even higher exegetical threshold: “Hypothesis one: The biblical Yam Suph is the Gulf of Aqaba. This hypothesis, based strictly on the biblical record, must harmonize with the entire biblical context of Yam Suph or it will be falsified” (Fritz, Sea, 7). As a response, in BRS, 7–16 (cf. 64–70), I offered evidence which calls this absolute demand into question. Beyond that discussion, I submit here that, as relates to the location of yam sûf, a counter case of reasonable plausibility can be made for two remaining texts: Exod 10:19; 13:18a. The first of these texts declares that Yahweh changed (the direction of) the wind to a strong west wind (presumably from the east wind that had been responsible for bringing a plague of locusts upon Egypt, see 10:13–14), and that west wind blew the unwanted cicadas out of Egypt and “into yam sûf ” [yāmmāh sûf]. Geographically speaking, it seems highly improbable and even unnecessary to claim that this text demands the locusts had been driven hundreds of miles east as far as the Gulf of Aqaba / Elat. In fact, a leading and oft-cited defender of the yam sûf / Aqaba viewpoint, Humphreys, Miracles, 203, effectively concedes this point as part of his discussion of Exod 10:19. Humphreys declares: “We cannot say for certain which body of water the author intended, but the Gulf of Aqaba is possibly too far away … the most likely candidate is the Gulf of Suez.” Another author who expresses some sympathy for locating Mt. Sinai somewhere inside Saudi Arabia – Propp, Exodus 19–40, 752 – nevertheless interprets the text of Exod 10:19 in the following manner: “Yam sûp probably means ‘Reed Sea’ or conceivably ‘Weed Sea’ (cf. Jonah 2:6). The name was probably applied to a variety of bodies of water. Here, however, it is presumably the Gulf of Suez or the [modern] Red Sea [i.e. the classical “Gulf of Arabia”], although reeds grow in neither” (Exodus 1–18, 339). True, my argument here rests primarily upon geographical logic, not exegesis or hermeneutics, but it is analogous to the common understanding of the location of yam sûf in Jer 49:21, where we are informed that the sound of cries occasioned by devastation brought upon the land of Edom would be heard at yam sûf. In this text, as with Exod 10:19, the location posited for yam sûf is likewise based only on geographical logic, neither exegesis nor hermeneutics.

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

35

Perhaps feeling the force of this point, Garrett (118–19) argues that the presence of a he-directive (or locative-he) [yāmmāh sûf] in Exod 10:19 should be taken to mean that the locusts were merely driven “toward” yam sûf (i.e. “toward the east”), not that they had been driven as far away as the water of the Gulf of Aqaba / Elat itself. According to Garrett, therefore, the presence of the he-directive in this text signifies “direction” (i.e. not destination) and in particular it signals direction “toward the east.” I regard this as a case of special pleading on several fronts. In the first place, while the presence of a he-directive with yām can signify direction (e.g., Exod 26:22; 36:27; et al), the element can also signify destination, and the difference in signification is ordinarily deduced as part of context. Thus for example, yāmmāh is frequently used to signify the direction “west” of a named entity (e.g., Josh 15:8 – the Hinnom Valley is yāmmāh Jerusalem; Josh 18:12 – the Hill Country of Canaan is yāmmāh Jericho; Josh 15:10 – Judah’s tribal boundary extends yāmmāh Baalah to Mt. Seir; Josh 5:1 – one finds a listing of Amorite kings who were yāmmāh the Jordan River; Josh 22:7 – Joshua gave an inheritance to half the tribe of Manasseh in the land yāmmāh the Jordan; et al). But yāmmāh can also signify a destination, as explicitly represented, for example, when the word is accompanied by the term tôṣāʼôt (“outermost limit, end”; BDB, 426a; HALOT 2:1706; e.g., Josh 15:4; 15:11; 16:3; 16:8 – a given tribal boundary “ends” at yāmmāh; et al). An intent of destination may also be deduced directly from context, as in the case of 1 Kgs 5:9 [MT 5:23], in which we are told that timber felled in the Lebanon mountains was brought down yāmmāh, where the wood destined for use in the Jerusalem Temple could be floated south as far as the port of Joppa (cf. 2 Chr 2:16). My point here is the presence of a he-directive with yām does not demand a signification of direction exclusively. Beyond this, however, there is also a relevant lexicographical consideration. In more than fifty texts, including many where the word appears also with the he-directive, the lexeme yām serves as a cardinal compass point. It frequently occurs with the other cardinal compass points (ṣāfôn / ṣāfônāh [“north / to the north”] and / or têmān / têmānāh [“south / to the south,” e.g., Num 2:18; 2:23b; Deut 3:27; et al]), but the word is employed more often precisely in binary opposition to qedem / qēdǝmāh (“east / to the east,” e.g., Exod 10:13–19!; cf. Isa 11:14; Ezek 45:7; 46:19; 48:2–7; et al). In all other cases where yāmmāh appears in such a directional context, it is translated “west, westward, in a westerly direction,” and in the only other instance where the he-directive appears with yām in the immediate context of the Red Sea (Josh 24:6a – hayyāmmāh; see also LXX – thalassan tēn erythran; cf. 24:6b – yam sûf; LXX – thalassan tēn erythran; Vulg – mare rubrum), the expression unambiguously signifies destination, not direction. For Garrett’s argument fully to obtain in Exod 10:19, he would be obliged to demonstrate beyond cavil that yāmmāh in this text demands direction, to the exclusion of destination. A random check of twenty Exodus Commentaries revealed that fifteen translate the he-element in this verse “into” (the Red / Reed Sea, or Sea of reeds), another four render “to” (the body of water), and Garrett alone translates the phraseology with the preposition “toward” (the Sea). Moreover, he would likewise have to provide clear and compelling lexemic evidence demonstrating that yāmmāh in this verse uniquely and in vivid contradistinction to the remainder of its citations in the MT should be directionally rendered “toward the east,” not the west. He has attempted to demonstrate neither. A second text which in my judgment potentially militates against the absolute assertion that yam sûf must always designate the Gulf of Aqaba / Elat is found in Exod 13:18a. In the context of 13:17–18a – as Israel was beginning its exodus journey from Egypt and presumably had already departed Rameses, had arrived at the site of Succoth (12:37) and was about to move on to the site of Etham, on the edge of the wilderness (13:20) – the text provides this pragmatic, almost parenthetical, clarification of the route to be taken. The people of Israel had been directed not to take one particular roadway out of Egypt (“the road to the land of the Philistines”), but instead they had been led to follow the course of another roadway corridor (“the wilderness road to yam sûf ,” or perhaps “the yam sûf wilderness road,” note the modifying syntactical chain: derek hammidbār yam−sûf ). That is to say, Israel had not taken “roadway A,” though it was near and was the most obvious choice, given their intended destination. Instead the Israelites had been directed to take the more roundabout “roadway B.” This raises the possibility that the inclusion here of yam sûf is not intended to describe the point where the exodus event would eventually occur, which is not in the focus of the verse in any sense. As with other texts where yam sûf appears, but in a context quite disparate from the location of the deliverance of the people of God (e.g., Exod 10:19; 23:31; Num 14:25; Deut 2:1; 1 Kgs 9:26; et al), the wording in this immediate context seems to be part of the nomenclature of the actual roadway Israel had been directed to follow. In other words, I will argue this text appears to be clarifying in dichotomous form two distinct transportation alternatives, with two different destinations: one was to be avoided, the other was to be taken. As is well known, there were two major roadways leading eastward out of Egypt towards Canaan, into western Asia and the Fertile Crescent. The first of these extended along the Mediterranean coastline, from near Pelusium to Gaza and to points beyond (identified in our text as “the road to the land of the Philistines”; this artery, with westbound transit, was sometimes called “the road to Egypt that goes by Pelusium”) (see map 1). A second road is known to have departed the Delta on an essentially eastward course, through the Wadi Tumilat as far as Timsah Lake (near modern Ismalia; identified in our text as “the wilderness road to yam sûf ”); the road then continued eastward into the interior of Canaan and Transjordan (see Beitzel, New Moody Atlas map 27, for further reference). This latter is indisputably the roadway

36

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

assertion that biblical Mt. Sinai must be sought at a mountain in the environs of northwestern Saudi Arabia, not in the Sinai Peninsula (various such identifications have been proposed, including Jebel Baqir; Jebel elLawz; Jebel Manifa; Jebel Harb; Hala el-Bedr; et al) (see map 2). The initial argument I employed in my book, and one of the more significant and consequential factors to consider in this regard, is a Hebrew philological and lexicographical examination of the terms employed by the biblical writers to situate the event: yam sûf (“sea of reeds / rushes”). There is general agreement that the Hebrew noun yām conveys an essentially geographical / spatial nuance and normally designates a body of water, whether the term stands alone as an independent lexeme or whether it appears in juxtaposition with a qualifying noun or nouns. Thus for example,

the children of Israel were following at this point on their journey, as indicated by the fact that they are said to have made camp at Succoth (Exod 12:37; Num 33:5), located today by almost everyone (including Garrett, 106) at the modern site of Tell el-Maskhuta, inside the Wadi Tumilat and astride this road (see map 1). Regarding this latter roadway, Garrett (116; cf. 375 n245) declares the following: “it is very clear … that the Way of the Wilderness leads directly to Ezion Geber and the Gulf of Aqaba.” I find this statement to be astonishing, factually mistaken, and quite misleading. In this regard, I suppose like any other life-long biblical geographer with an interest in ancient transportation systems, I have in my files and library 40–50 reference / monographic / serial resources which address the network of conveyance leading east out of Egypt, including the important thoroughfare which departed from the Delta on a due east axis (see map 1). In every period between the Chalcolithic and Byzantine, this road is known to have led out of Egypt, via the Wadi Tumilat on a generally eastward course, across northern Sinai (sometimes identified in that segment as the Wilderness of Shur; cf. Gen 20:1; Exod 15:22), to a point opposite Jebel Helal (see, e.g Rainey/ Notley, Sacred Bridge, 120; Mittmann/Schmitt, Tübinger Bibelatlas, Sinai map) (see map 1). At that point the roadway bends around Jebel Helal and then takes a more northerly direction, coming near the site of Kadesh-barnea (see below), and eventually passing by the biblical sites of Beersheba, Hebron, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Bethel, and Shechem. A number of biblical events occurred along the southern segment of this roadway. Thus for example, on the homeward journey of Hagar – Abraham’s Egyptian slave, who had fled from mistreatment at the hands of Sarah – we are informed she traveled, presumably from Mamre / Hebron (cf. Gen 13:18; 14:13), southward as far as a place later named Beer-lahairoi, a site said to have been located “between Kadesh-(barnea) and Bered” (bên−qādēš ûbên bāred), at a “spring of water in the wilderness, the spring that is beside the road to Shur” (ʽal−ʽên hammayim bammidbār ʽal−hāʽayin bǝderek šûr; Gen 16:7, 14; cf. Gen 25:11 – Beer-lahai-roi later became a temporary home of Isaac, Gen 24:62 – the site was located “in the Negeb”). Traveling on this road would eventually have brought Hagar to the Wilderness of Shur, the border of Egypt, and the Wadi Tumilat. Accordingly, the corridor was here identified as “the road to Shur,” since Hagar (had she completed her journey home) would have been traveling west to (not away from) the region of Shur and Egypt. As I say, this road is well attested in the history of Egyptian transportation systems. However, among all the historic scholarly research of which I am aware, I have yet to read a documentary presentation and / or to see a cartographic portrayal where this wilderness road “leads directly to Ezion Geber and the Gulf of Aqaba.” I suppose some such outlier could exist, but so far (as memory holds) I have seen none, and I have examined multiple dozens of discussions and maps to the contrary (documentation in this regard is so pervasive that citing bibliography here is pointless). The few very recent maps I have seen depicting a ghost road crossing Sinai from the vicinity of Wadi Tumilat and Timsah Lake directly to the Gulf of Aqaba / Elat (e.g., Humphreys, Miracles, 30; Fritz, Sea, 218; Hool, Sinai, 50–51; see also https://www.miraclesofthequran.com/historical_o2.html) are found only in sources already committed to the dictum that yam sûf must be equated exclusively with that distant and remote region and / or that Mt. Sinai must be located at a mountain inside modern Saudi Arabia. There is of course a separate roadway that stretches from modern El-Suweis (Suez) across central Sinai to the city of Aqaba and beyond, but this route was not known in all periods; this road appears to have gained travel impetus first in the Greco-Roman period, when the port of Aila / Aqaba grew to become a strategic Roman commercial entrepôt, providing direct nautical connections as far east as India (see most recently in this regard the important research of Graf, “Map 76, Sinai,” in Talbert, ed. Barrington Atlas, Directory 2:1140–46), and then especially after Mecca gained ascendancy within Islam (consult Damgaard, Port). In fact, this road is still identified as Darb el-Hajj (i.e., the Hajj pilgrim road between Africa and Mecca). This roadway begins near modern Cairo (roughly 80 airline miles from Rameses, Goshen, or Succoth) and stretches east on a nearly straight line to Suez (roughly 65 miles from Rameses and Goshen and some 50 airline miles from Succoth), so it strains credulity to imagine this latter road could be in the immediate exegetical picture of Exod 13:18a. Therefore, I conclude a case of credible plausibility can be established in this text, locating yam sûf in close proximity to Egypt and to a particular roadway leading out of Egypt, not at some distant location removed by hundreds of miles and unconnected by established roadway.

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

37

(1) yām can reference a sea [e.g., (a) the Mediterranean: Isa 16:8 – yām; Ezra 3:7 – ʼel−yām; Josh 17:10 – hayyām; Josh 15:11; 16:3 – yāmmāh; Num 13:29 – ʽal−hayyām; Deut 11:24 – hayyām hāʼaḥarôn; Josh 15:47; Ezek 47:10 – hayyām haggādôl; Judg 5:17 – lǝḥôp yammîm; (b) the Persian Gulf: Isa 21:1 – midbar-yām (?); or (c) the Egyptian Sea: (=Gulf of Suez?): Isa 11:15 – yām-miṣrayim]; (2) yām can reference an inland lake [e.g., (a) the Sea of Galilee: Num 34:11; Josh 13:27 – yām kinneret; Josh 12:3 – yām kinǝrôt; (b) the Dead / Salt Sea: Josh 15:5b – hayyām; Num 34:3 – yām-hammelaḥ; 2 Kgs 14:25 – yām hāʽarābâ; Josh 3:16 – yām hāʽarābâ yām−hammelaḥ; Ezek 47:18 – ʽal-hayyām haqqadmônî;]; or (3) yām can reference a river [e.g., (a) the Euphrates river: Jer 51:36 – ʼet−yammāh; or (b) the Nile river: Nah 3:8b – yām; Isa 19:5a – mēhayyām], etc.3

Map 2. However, a critical point of divergence in this discussion has to do with the intrinsic lexical meaning of the term sûf. This word appears some two dozen times as part of the expression yam sûf (see BRS, 14–16), but in addition the term also occurs independently as a common noun in four Old Testament texts: Exod 2:3, 5; Isa 19:6; Jon 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6) (each appearance without textual variant). On the basis of this usage, I argued in my monograph, rather traditionally and predicated in part on Hebrew and Egyptian philology and lexicography, that these four citations of the noun all demand some sort of a botanical semantic field of meaning, perhaps “marshy plants, reeds, rushes, bulrushes, papyrus, seaweed,” or the like (see BRS, 3

For a fuller discussion of biblical yām, see BRS, 13–14 (including reference to standard lexical authorities).

38

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

17–29). In addition, I referenced the fact that such an understanding is also clearly represented in early authoritative historical treatments, both within Judaism (e.g., Rashi – “a marshy tract where reeds grow”) and Christianity (e.g., Jerome – “a swamp where rushes are plentiful”), as well as in other ancient literary sources. Similarly, I found such a view to be represented in vernacular Bible translations going back at least 700 years.4 The negative implications of identifying some sort of a botanical nuance for the common noun sûf are fairly dramatic for anyone who wishes to locate the exodus event somewhere proximate to the Gulf of Aqaba / Elat. In this respect, I have received some pushback, and in particular on the legitimacy of my reliance upon translational resources. At the same time, I now realize in retrospect that the Bible translation evidentiary support I employed was actually somewhat selective. Consequently, even though how the word sûf has been treated in various biblical and documentary translations was rather tertiary with respect to my original focus, I have now decided to take up this question on a much broader evidentiary scale, and I present my findings here in Chart 1. Resulting from the compass of this investigation, I have endeavored to present below a collation of biblical citations of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf as rendered in ancient and classical-period manuscripts, codices, and early versions of the Bible, followed beginning in the 14th century by late medieval and early modern vernacular Bibles of significance, and then by influential printed Bibles. I have made an attempt to include all major documentary evidence from traditions within Judaism, Catholicism, and Protestantism. And with respect to vernacular translations, I have endeavored to isolate and identify the most ancient sources which have had a profound and lasting impact upon a given tradition and constituency. However, sources in this regard are vast, one might say almost limitless, and so it is entirely possible a given source or tradition has been omitted from Chart 1. If that has occurred, and if such a source (1) is a complete or nearly complete version of the Old Testament, (2) is early inside a nascent constituency, and (3) has had a demonstrably seminal impact on a given tradition, I wish to indicate that any such omission has been entirely an oversight on my part, without intention of any sort. The investigative purview of the topic necessarily entailed gaining access to rare resources not commonly available by way of traditional accession channels. Some sources are exceptionally rare (the 1st edition of two or three original vernacular sources appear to exist today in only about a half dozen or perhaps even fewer surviving copies), some are either not available or not readily available electronically, and they tend to be located in library or museum vaults or are understandably held in other secure and protected quarters, as part of non-circulating Special Collections. Another obstacle in this research was that, in addition to a very wide range of original language sources, in some instances one must deal with faded and opaque calligraphy and/or antique spelling or syntax of the ancient form of a given language, in a few cases long outdated and not even generally understood today by everyone for whom that language is a first language. In this regard, I wish to acknowledge my heartfelt gratitude for the kind and courteous assistance rendered by some valued colleagues, without whose congenial generosity and plentiful skill – even in the midst of a global pandemic – this project quite simply would have been out of reach: Dr. D. Kelly Ogden (Provo), Dr. Andrey Kravtsev (Nalchik), Alexander Grishchenko (Moscow), Samuel Aran Pou (Cardedeu, Catalonia), Professor Vaclav Janca (Praha), Professor Lars Olov Eriksson (Uppsala), and Dr. Uwe-Karsten Plisch (Berlin). I also wish to recognize with gratitude the skillful, tireless labor of Nathan Thebarge, the reference librarian supervisor at the Rolfing Memorial Library (Trinity Evangelical Divinity School), for paving the way for me to gain electronic access to a number of extremely rare and remote original 1st-edition vernacular resources. Chart 1 – A collation of biblical citations of sûf and yam sûf as rendered in ancient and classical-period manuscripts, codices and early versions of the Bible, followed beginning in the 14th century by late medieval and early modern vernacular Bibles of note, and then by influential printed Bibles Explanation of data 1. All dates are approximate and, with a number of sources, uncertain. In the case of many vernacular translations and printed Bibles, multiple editions and / or multiple printings of sequential dates exist, 4

Refer to BRS, 26–27, and n 32.

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

39

whereas I have endeavored to identify and utilize 1st edition, 1st printing, wherever possible. This offers the obvious advantage of discovering what a native translator first thought about how Hebrew sûf and yam sûf should best be rendered in that language. It also enables a modern researcher to go back as far as textually possible inside early traditions and constituencies. 2. The first element in each source citation box, printed in italics font, is a representation of what appears in the ancient source (in the Exodus 2 and 15 columns, an intermediate diagonal line represents a textual variation within that ancient source, even if that variation is merely the reflection of a different case ending). 3. The second element in each source citation box, printed in italics and contained within brackets, is a transliteration of what appears in the ancient source. The second element does not appear with a host language consisting of Roman alphabetic characters. The first two elements do not appear with an English source. 4. The final element in each source citation box, printed in a Roman font, reflects a standard English translation as represented in a modern rendition of that ancient source (internal commas are intended to separate various translational options). Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

(1) Septua- mid-3rd gint (Rahlfs) cent BC

ἕλος / ἕλει [helos / helei] marshy plant

παπύρου [papyrou] papyrus, reeds

(2) Septuagint (Göttingen)

mid-3rd cent BC

ἕλος / ἕλει [helos / helei] marshy plant

παπύρου [papyrou] papyrus, reeds

(3)6 1QIsaa

150–125 BC 50–25 BC 30–0 BC

(4)7 4QIsab (5)8 4QXIIg (6)9 4QExodb (7)10 8ḤevXIIgr

(8)11 Tg. Onq.

5

30 BC – ‫ סוף‬/ ‫{סף‬with AD 20 supralinear ‫ ו‬inserted} [sûf / sûf !] reeds st 1 cent BC – AD 1st cent AD 1st– ‫[ יערא‬yaʽǝrāʼ] thicket, 2nd cents bushes

Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5

Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22) ἐρυθρᾷ θαλάσση / θαλάσσης ἐρυθρᾶς [erythra thalassē / thalassēs erythras] Red Sea ἐρυθρᾷ θαλάσση / θαλάσσης ἐρυθρᾶς [erythra thalassē / thalassēs erythras] Red Sea

‫[ סוף‬sûf ] reeds ‫[ סוף‬sûf ] reeds ‫[ סוף‬sûf ] reeds, seaweed

ΕΛΟΣ [elos] reeds, seaweed

‫[ ימא דסוף‬yammāʼ dǝsûf ] sea of Suf, sea of Reeds

Versification varies from source to source. Burrows, Dead Sea Scrolls, 1.Pl. 15 (line 10). 7 DJD 15:29, Frags. 10–13 (line 12); cf. Sukenik, Dead Sea Scrolls. 8 DJD 15:310, Frag. 85 (line 1). 9 DJD 12:87, Frags. 3 i–iv (lines 2, 4). 10 DJD 8:28–29, Col. 2 (line 41). 11 Aramaic Bible 2:15, 65. Based almost exclusively on existing manuscripts, the original dates for the Targums are uncertain and rather widely contested (see below, Tg. Neb.; Tg. Yer. I; Tg. Neof. I; Tg. Ps.-J; and Tg. Isa.). Tg. Onq. is widely accepted by Jewish scholars as the most authoritative Targum of the Pentateuch. It is frequently quoted in the 6

40

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

(9)12 Peshitta (Leiden) (10)13 Sahidic Coptic Bible (Göttingen) (11)14 Tg. Neb.: Jonah (12)15 Vetus Latina

‫[ ܪ‬rqqʼ] swamp, shallows AD 3rd– ⲫⲉⲗⲟⲥ [p-helos] 5th cents marshy plant, rushes

‫ܘܢ‬ ‫[ ܘ‬w-ppyrwn] papyrus Ϩⲩⲗⲟⲥ [hylos] marshy plant, rushes

AD 2nd cent

AD 4th– 5th cents varying iunceto reeds (Pagnini, iuncus reeds (Sabatier, and 171); junceto reeds 2.548); carectum uncertain (Montano, Exodus, 47); sedges (Montano,

Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22)

Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5 ‫ܗܕ‬ ‫[ ܘ‬wbʼth dymʼ] bottom of the sea Ϩⲩⲗⲟⲥ / ⲉⲗⲟⲥ [hylos / elos] marshy plant, rushes

‫ܕ ܦ‬ [ymʼ dswp] sea of Suf, sea of reeds ⲉⲣⲩⲑⲣⲁ ⲑⲁⲗⲁⲥⲥⲁ [erythra thalassa] red sea

‫[ ימא דסוף‬yammāʼ dǝsûf ] sea of Suf, sea of reeds carectum sedges (Montano, 179, with note alga); alga alga

rubrum mare / mare rubrum (Sabatier, 1.138; 1.164; 1.320;

Babylonian Talmud, though it almost certainly originated in Palestine. For the demonstrative pronoun [dǝ] functioning as a sign of the genitive, see Johns, Grammar, 14; Muraoka/Porten, Grammar, 56–58. 12 This is the standard version for the many churches of Syriac Christianity (e.g., Maronites; Chaldeans; Syriac Catholics; Syriac Orthodox; Assyrians; other related traditions). It is thought to have been translated from Hebrew or Aramaic texts by Jewish Christians at or near Edessa, Turkey. Like the LXX, the Peshitta appears to have been translated in serial fashion, book by book, by different scholars (and perhaps even by different groups of scholars). In Isa 19:6, the Peshitta follows the LXX precisely: “every marshy area of reeds and papyrus.” 13 This version is believed to be one of the oldest and most extensively preserved traditions from the LXX. Sahidic was the leading dialect in pre-Islamic Orthodox Christianity inside Egypt. A valuable 4th-century Sahidic Coptic version of a portion of Exodus was discovered in 1952 near Nag Hammadi in Egypt; see in this regard Kasser, Papyrus Bodmer, 28–30, 166, 182. One should note here that Sahidic Coptic employs a variation of Greek helos in each of the four places where Hebrew uses sûf, and refer especially to Exod 2:3, 5, where phelos appears (i.e. the Coptic masculine singular definite article [p] plus Greek helos; consult Lambdin, Introduction, 2). The fact that early Sahidic Coptic manuscripts employ two different readings in Jonah 2 [hylos / elos] confirms the assumption that hylos is a variant reading of helos. The Coptic Old Testament also employs helos / elos in Exod 8:1 and twice in Isa 35:7 (as with LXX). Though based on a LXX Vorlage, the Sahidic of Jonah 2:6b appears to be following a Hebrew tradition (“the final / lowest depth surrounded me”). 14 Aramaic Bible 14:107. Much Jewish scholarship holds that this work was redacted in Babylon in the 4th–5th centuries. Tg. Jonah appears to understand MT sûf as a reference to the Red Sea. For Genizah examples where yammaʼ dǝsûf [“the sea of reeds”] and yammaʼ rabbāʼ [“the Great Sea”] appear to be poetically parallel, see Klein, Genizah, 242–43. 15 The early use of Latin as a lingua franca across North Africa and in the apostolic Christian church of Africa has long been considered axiomatic in the discipline. Moreover, it appears that an Old Latin Bible in Africa – presumably existing in more than one recension – preceded Jerome and the Vulgate by as many as 200 years. In this regard, Pierre-Maurice Bogaert (Bible, 143–46), a leading authority in scholarship that addresses the ancient transmission of the Bible, argues that Scripture was translated from Greek into Latin in Roman Africa from at least the mid-2nd century. Evidence of this may be seen in the prolific writing in Latin by the early Christian theologian and apologist Tertullian, from Carthage (AD 155–230), which includes quotations from a Latin Old Testament text. According to Sparks (Bible, 101–02), Tertullian had declared that the language of the African churches in his day was “exclusively Latin.” Similarly, the early writings of the apostolic father and esteemed bishop of Carthage, Cyprian (AD 200–258), also contain lengthy quotations from a Latin Old Testament. Finally, the numerous works of the Christian theologian and philosopher Augustine (AD 354–430) are also replete with quotations from a Latin Old Testament (N. B., many of these early quotations have been collated in the significant publication of Sabatier, Vetus Italica). The philosopher from Hippo also makes explicit reference to more than one Old Latin translation in existence at the time (Augustine, Doctr. chr. 2.11.16, trans. D. W. Robertson, Jr. [New York: Liberal Arts Press, 1988), 43–44]). On a related front, one may refer to the elaborate and extensive work of Lowe (Lowe, Codices), which incorporates more than 1800 handwritten manuscripts, codices, pages, or fragments of ancient and biblical texts in Old Latin from an early period, prominently featuring early Church Fathers. Moreover, as early as the 6th Christian century, manuscript evidence of certain Old Testament books in Old Latin is known to exist. Thus for example, one early manuscript can be found today in Lyons (consult the work of Robert, Pentateuchi), another in Munich (see the publication of Ziegler, Bruchstücke), and a third found in Würzburg (refer to the facsimile copy found in Ranke, fragmenta). Unfortunately for my study here, none of these three sources cites

41

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5 alga alga (Cocceius, Isaiah, 12, with note (Cocceius, 2.22; 2.22); carecto sedges juncus); alga alga Piscator, fol 270); (Lapide, in Migne 5.col (Cocceius, 2.22); jancs juncus / alga reeds / 887) reeds (Lapide, in Migne -alga (Lapide, 18.col 1056) in Migne 20.col 837)

(13) Vulgate AD 405 carecto / papyrione juncus bulrushes, reeds pelagus sea (Clementine) sedges / papyrus (14)16 Codex AD mid- ἙΛΙΟΥ [heliou] marshy ΠΑΠΥΡΟΥ [papyrou] papyrus, reeds 4th cent plant Vaticanus (15)17 Codex AD mid / late-4th Sinaiticus cent (16) Codex AD Alexandrinus early-5th cent (17)18 Codex 930 Aleppo (18)19 Rashi 1085 uncertain (19)20 Bohairic Coptic Bible (Göttingen)

ΠΑΠΥΡΟΥ [papyrou] papyrus, reeds ΕΛΕΙ [elei] marshy plant

ΠΑΠΥΡΟΥ [papyrou] papyrus, reeds

Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22) 2.210; 2.264); erythreo mari (Ziegler, Exodus, fol 103); mari erythreo (Ziegler, Numbers, fol 107); mare Suph (Pagnini, 214; Vatabli, 114; Montano, Exodus, 2.59–60, 91, with note mare carecti); mare algosuma sea of alga, seaweed (Cocceius, 2.22) mari Rubro Red Sea ἘΡΥΘΡΑ ΘΑΛΑΣΣΗ [erythra thalassē] Red Sea ἘΡΥΘΡΑ ΘΑΛΑΣΣΗ [erythra thalassē] Red Sea ΘΑΛΑΣΣΗΣ ἘΡΥΘΡΑΣ [thalassēs erythras] Red Sea

‫[ סוף‬sûf ] reeds marshy tract Ϩⲉⲗⲟⲥ [helos] flags

marshy tract, rushes Ϩⲩⲗⲟⲥ [hylos] flags

Reed Sea

Sea of Reeds ⲓⲟⲙ ⲛϣⲁⲣⲓ [iom n-šari] sea of šari, sea of sunrise, sea of turmoil

Exodus 2:3, 5; or Jonah 2:5 / 6, and only one of them cites Isaiah 19:6, so regrettably one finds here almost no direct testimony having to do with the treatment of biblical sûf in Old Latin. Something similar holds true for Old Testament texts referencing yam sûf in the Lyons and Würzburg documentation; however, the Munich manuscript translates this expression in relevant texts from the books of Exodus (rubrum mare), Numbers (mare erythreum), and Deuteronomy (rubre maris). Consequently, as a way of attempting to compensate for this partial lack of Old Latin evidence, I have included here some works of recognized medieval exegetical scholars, noted philologists, and renowned professors of Hebrew and Old Testament studies. Coming from both Catholic and Protestant traditions, these authorities at times manifest an awareness of a pre-Jerome Latin Bible. These works include the following: Pagnini, Biblia Hebraica; Arias Montano, Biblia Universa; Vatabli, Biblia Sacra; Cocceius, Lexicon; Piscator, Prophetas; and Lapide, Commentaria. As can be seen on Chart 1, all of these latter sources, without exception, understand biblical sûf to manifest a direct botanical nuance of one sort or another. 16 Codex Vaticanus, Codex Sinaiticus, and Codex Alexandrinus all precisely follow the LXX in Isa 19:6: “every marshy area [elei] of reeds [kalamou] and papyrus [papyrou].” 17 The reading of Sinaiticus in the Exod 15 column actually comes from Ps 105, as the Exodus citation does not appear in the codex. 18 Refer to Goshen-Gottstein, Aleppo Codex, Pl. ‫[ רכא‬#221], 3rd col. 19 For the Rashi documentation, refer to BRS, 26n 32. 20 The dialect of Coptic Egyptian (or Bohairic) displaced Sahidic around the 10th century in Orthodox Christianity in Egypt. As with the Sahidic translation of sûf in Exod 2 and Isa 19, the Bohairic version also reads the Greek loan word helos / hylos. The Bohairic translation of yam sûf is much more interesting, since it differs completely from both the

42

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

(20)21 Tg. Yer. I

uncertain

(21)22 Samaritan Pentateuch (22)23 Wycliffe Bible (23)24 Purvey Bible (24)25 Wenceslas Bible (Wenzels Bible) (25)26 Gutenberg Bible (26)27 Malèrmi Bible

‫[ סף‬sûf!] reeds, flags earlyth 12 cent

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5

Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22) ‫[ ימא דסוף‬yammāʼ dǝsûf] sea of Suf, sea of Reeds ‫[ ים סוף‬yam sûf] sea of flags

1382

place of spires

spire

sea(weed)

Reed sea

1388

place of spire

spire

seaweed

reed see

1389

binsen sedge, bentgrass, bulrush

1455

carectum / papyrus sedges / papyrus

iuncus bulrush, reed

1471

canneto cane, thicket, reedbed

giunchi reed, rush, cane alghe weeds, seaweed, alga

rothen Meer Red Sea

aque sea

mari rubro Red Sea

mare rosso Red Sea

LXX and the Sahidic (cf. Bosson, Jonas, 830–31). In this case, yam sûf is consistently rendered iom nšari. The lexeme iom is the Coptic cognate word for “sea,” but the attributive word šari occurs only in the expression iom nšari, possibly to be understood as “sea of turmoil,” “sea of sunrise,” or “sea of šari” (Uwe-Karsten Plisch, personal correspondence; for [n] as the Coptic common plural definite article, see Lambdin, 2). Note that Crum, Dictionary, 584a, relates Coptic n-šari to a very rare Greek word that references an Egyptian botanical term, a water plant [σάρι]; and see also LSJM, 1584b; Osing, Nominalbildung, 1.443–45; Montanari, Dictionary, 1895c. For this use of σάρι in classical literature, see Theophrastus, Caus. plant. 4.8.2; 4.8.5 [sari]; Pliny, Nat. 13.128 [saripha], both of whom in context are describing water plants in Egypt and are drawing a close connection between σάρι and papyrus. For a similar concept found in Old Egyptian texts, see Towers, Red Sea. For “flag(s) / flagge(s)” here, in SP, in Matthew and elsewhere, see OED 5:989, an antique word meaning a “rush / reed growing in a moist place.” 21 Existing Tg. Yer. I manuscripts date to the 11th–13th centuries but must derive from earlier works. This work is sometimes also known today as Targum Pseudo-Jonathan. 22 MS 1846. See von Gall, Pentateuch, 114, 145, 147. 23 The notion of vernacular Bibles for reading purposes existed for some time prior to John Wycliffe. However, this is the oldest vernacular edition in English, almost complete, perhaps partially translated by a Wycliffe circle of scholars associated with the so-called “Lollard movement,” an ideology absolutely committed to vernacularism. This work almost slavishly adheres to the Vulgate. For “spire(s)” here, in Purvey and elsewhere, see OED 16:248, an Old English term for the “tall stems of a plant / reed / rush.” 24 This translation of John Purvey, an associate of Wycliffe, offered a revision / completion of Wycliffe, after the latter’s death in 1384, and it may be considered to be the oldest English translation of the entire Bible (a so-called “2nd Lollard Bible”). It is said to be a bit more periphrastic and somewhat freer from Latinisms. With his translation of sûf in Exod 2, Purvey offers an explanatory marginal note: “a flaggy place.” 25 One of the earliest nearly complete versions in German, this work is said to be essentially a German Vulgate. 26 Gutenberg offered a Vulgate text, but with the added invention of movable type and a printing press. 27 The oldest printed Bible in Italian; one of the most commonly employed Italian Bibles until the mid-20th century.

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

(27)28 La Biblia del XIV (28)29 Delft Bible (29)30 Prague Bible (30)31 Tg. Neof. I: Exodus (31)32 Tg. Ps.-J.: Exodus (32)33 Tg. Isa. (33)34 Tyndale Bible (34)35 Lefèvre dʼÉtaples Bible (Bible dʼAnvers) (35)36 Zürich Bible (Froschauer Bible) (36)37 Luther Bible

1471

joncs(?) rushes

28

joncs rushes

1477

biesen sedge, swamp grass 1488 rákosye / rákosyem reeds uncertain ‫[ גוּמיא‬gûmayāʼ] reeds, meadow

Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5 algues seaweeds

biesen sedge, swamp zee sea grass sytie reeds, dense grass, more sea a netting of blades

uncertain ‫[ גוּמיא‬gûmayāʼ] reeds, meadow uncertain

43 Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22) Mar Roig o de les Canyes Sea of Canes rode zee Red Sea morze rudé / morze červené Red Sea ‫[ ימא דסוף‬yammāʼ dǝsûf] sea of Suf, sea of Reeds ‫[ ימא דסוף‬yammāʼ dǝsûf] sea of Suf, sea of Reeds

‫[ גומא‬gômaʼ] rush, meadow

1530

redes

wedes

redd see / red see

1530

roseaux reeds

roseaux reeds

roseaux reeds

mer Rouge Red Sea

1531

carećto sedges

iuncus bulrush, reed

carećtum sedges

mari carećto / maris carećto Sedgy Sea

1534

Schilf reeds

Schilf reeds

Schilf reeds

Schilfmeer Sea of reeds

This is the oldest complete Bible in Catalán, written for a very influential, expansive segment of the medieval church. Fewer than a half dozen copies of the original printing of this Bible are known still to be in existence. 29 The first substantial Dutch edition of the Old Testament, nearly complete. 30 The oldest complete surviving Czech edition. The earlier Dresdan Bible (1360, based on the Vulgate) suffered severe damage to the point of being effectively lost during WW I, in a fire in the library of Leuven. 31 Aramaic Bible 2:15, 65. This Targum is of Palestinian extraction, perhaps from Galilee, with the manuscript colophon stating it was completed in Rome in the year 1504. 32 Aramaic Bible 2:164, 203. 33 Aramaic Bible 11:38. 34 This is apparently the oldest (though incomplete) English Bible to work explicitly with the Hebrew and Greek text. 35 This is the oldest complete version of the Bible in French, in essence a French Vulgate. 36 The work of Ulrich Zwingli, Swiss Protestant reformer. Published the same year as Zwingli’s death, this work is sometimes identified as the Froschauer Bible, the name of the publisher in Zurich. 37 Earlier Luther had employed identical terminology in his translation of Exodus, in Das Alte Testament Deutsch (Wittenberg: Hans Lufft, 1523 [Pentateuch]) and in Isaiah and Jonah, in Die Propheten alle Deudsch (Wittenberg: Hans Lufft, 1532 [Prophets]).

44

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5 Meer Sea

Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22) rothe Meer / rothen Meer Red Sea

Rede

wedes

reed see

flagges

Rede

wedes

redd see

1539

flagges

rede

wedes

red see

1539

flagges

flagges

wedes

redd see / red see

1541

vassen reeds

säv rush

sjövass seaweed, seagrass

Röda havet Read Sea

1560

bulrushes

flagges

wedes

red Sea

1563

sitowiu / sitowia rushes, sitowie rushes, sedges sedges

sitowie rushes, sedges

Morzu Czerwonym / Morza Czerwonego Red Sea

Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

(37)38 Dietenberger Bible (Mainz Bible) (38)39 Coverdale Bible (39)40 Matthew Bible (40)41 Taverner Bible (41) Great Bible (Cranmer’s Bible) (42)42 Gustav Vasa Bible (43)43 Geneva Bible (“Breeches Bible”) (44)44 Brest Bible (Radziwill Bible)

1534

Gerohr / Wasser reeds / water

Binsen sedge, bentgrass, bulrush

1535

redes

1537

38

Not to be confused with the Giant Mainz (Latin) Bible of 1452–1453, this was primarily the work of Johann Dietenberger, an established Dominican scholar selected in 1530 by the Diet of Augsburg to draw up a refutation to the Protestant Confession. This was an early Catholic edition in German designed in large part to counter the work of Luther; the work draws heavily upon the Vulgate. With respect to the Jonah 2 text, however, Dietenberger offers an explanatory marginal note: “or Rohl” [reeds / rush]. 39 Myles Coverdale essentially completed the work of William Tyndale; this is the first complete English Bible to be produced in movable print. For “redes / Redes” here, in Matthew and elsewhere, see OED 8:409, an alternate form of “reeds.” For “wedes” here, in Matthew and elsewhere, see OED 20:72, an alternate form of “weeds.” For “see” here, in Matthew and elsewhere, see OED 14:870, an alternate form of “sea.” 40 This important and widely-printed Bible, originally produced by John Rogers, is said to have incorporated some of the best of Tyndale and Coverdale. 41 This is the oldest English translation produced inside England; it is a revision of the Matthew Bible. 42 This is the oldest complete Swedish Bible translation; the text closely follows Luther. Vasa was the king of Sweden between 1523 and 1560. 43 This is the first effort to segment the biblical text into paragraphs with verse divisions; the widely-published and consulted version was dedicated to Queen Elizabeth I, was used by King James I, William Shakespeare, and John Bunyan, and it came to America aboard the Mayflower. The version is sometimes known today as the “Breeches Bible,” based on its translation of Heb ḥăgôrôt [“aprons / loincloths / girdles”] at the end of Gen 3:7. 44 This is almost certainly the oldest complete edition in Polish; produced by Calvinist scholars, the volume is based on Hebrew, Greek and (to a lesser degree) Latin sources. This is one of the very earliest versions to divide the text into numbered verses.

45

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf Item number; source

Approx. Source citation of sûf date in Exodus 2:3, 5

1568 (45)45 Bishop’s Bible 1569 (45)46 Biblio del Oso Bible 1581 (47)47 Ostrog Bible (48)48 Biblia Sacra (49)49 Douay Rheims Bible (Douay Bible) (50)50 King James Bible (Authorized Version) (51)51 New International Version

45

Source citation of sûf in Isaiah 19:6

Source citation of sûf in Jonah 2:5 (MT / LXX / Vulg 2:6)5 weedes

Source citation of yam sûf (e.g., Exodus 15:4, 22) redde sea / red sea

ova duckweed, small fragile floating aquatic plants

mar Bermejo Red Sea

flagges

flagges

carrizal reedbed

carrizo reeds

luchitsa reeds, rushes

alga alga, sedges

1590

alga alga, sedges

sitie papyrus, a place covered by juncus rushes alga alga, sedges

1609

sedges

bulrush

the sea

mare algosum sedgy sea of reeds Red Sea

1611

flags

flagges

weedes

red Sea / red sea

1973

reeds

rushes

seaweed

Red Sea

chermnoe more Red Sea

A Bible produced by the archbishop of Canterbury. Biblia del Oso is the work of Casiodoro de Reina, with a small cadre of academic associates. This highly-influential translation was published in Basel in 1569, the first complete printed Bible in Spanish. The Biblia del Oso was revised as early as 1602 (Reina-Valera Bible, adding the deuterocanonical books) and frequently thereafter, most recently in 2011. The version continues to exert enormous influence globally in Spanish-speaking churches. 47 The first complete edition produced for the Slavic Church and its many various and extensive constituencies; this Bible is believed to have served as the original and the Vorlage for all further early Russian Bible publications in various dialects. In the Jonah 2 text, the Ostrog mirrors the LXX and does not render sûf. Instead the noun bezdna [“abyss”] is in the nominative case and agrees with the adjective posledniana [“the lowest”] appearing at the end of the line (cf. LXX ἄβυσσος … ἐσχάτη) and is thus understood attributively, “the lowest / deepest / last abyss.” 48 This authoritative Latin version used widely across Europe was the product of three influential Protestant reformers (Immanuel Tremellius; Franciscus Junius; Theodore Beza). Though generally following the Vulgate, their translation of the Jonah 2 text is an obvious reflection of their use of Hebrew, independent of both the LXX and Vulgate traditions. 49 A highly revered Catholic version, essentially an English Vulgate and literal in style, was produced by three established professors in Douay, France (Guilielmus Estius; Bartholomaeus Petrus; Georgius Colvernerius). 50 There were at least two 1611 printings of this Bible, by the same printer. The second printing was designed to purge the first printing of a number of errors, most notably the mistaken use of the masculine verb to describe Ruth (Ruth 3:15 – the so-called “he” edition, replaced with the correct verbal gender, in the “she” edition). See most recently in this regard the work of Norton, History, who discusses a few hundred printing errors in the 1611 edition. Norton’s volume is also useful for understanding the numerous revisions of the KJV over the years, including the major revisions in 1629 (Cambridge Bible, with Apocrypha), 1638 (Holland Bible), 1760 (Parris’ Cambridge Bible), 1769 (Oxford Standard Edition), 1873 (Cambridge Paragraph Bible), 1877 (Revised English Version; not to be confused with the REB, 1970), and 1979 (NKJV). 51 My interest in this topic essentially ends with the 1611 King James Bible. But perhaps to more easily facilitate the use of Charts 2–3, I have included one modern version as well. In addition, one should take into account the NIV marginal note routinely added to a text containing the reading yam sûf: “or, the Sea of Reeds.” 46

46

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

Chart 1 represents a strikingly consistent translational pattern, reflecting the studied work of countless biblical scholars, from variant religious traditions and differing theological constituencies, across several dozen languages and dialects in translation, and over the course of two millennia, all of which adds up to its own body of evidence. As can be seen throughout the Chart, Hebrew sûf has been consistently rendered with a botanical nuance of one sort or another – without exception – in both Exodus 2:3, 5; and Isaiah 19:6. This is an extraordinary, penetrating, almost overwhelming, translational observation! Similarly, this is also the case with Jonah 2:5 / 6 where a given translation follows a Hebrew Vorlage, though the line in which sûf appears in the MT is admittedly difficult to interpret and / or may not (in part) be represented in the LXX, and in a few cases of translations heavily dependent on the Vulgate (e.g., Gutenberg; Prague; Dietenberger; Douay-Rheims), the pattern does not fully obtain (see below, Excursus and Charts 2–3). Perhaps such overwhelming translational consistency across a very wide theological, linguistic, and temporal spectrum cannot in itself be said to establish the botanical essence of Hebrew sûf incontrovertibly and beyond all question, but I will contend it does raise the evidentiary bar to an exceedingly high level. For anyone who may wish to dispute the quintessentially botanical character of the etymology and usage of Hebrew sûf, it will be incumbent upon that person to acknowledge that any such alternative definition is not at all represented in the history of translation, and this absence will also require additional explanation. Moreover, there is every biblical, etymological, and logical reason to argue that the lexeme sûf contains the same intrinsic lexical denotation, both when it appears independently as a common noun and when it is hyphenated in the expression yam sûf. Accordingly, understood together with other complementary lines of exegetical reasoning and geographical logic (cf. BRS, 17–59), this level of translational consistency can also be said to lend further credence to the supposition that the exodus event itself, wherever precisely it took place, occurred at a location known for and prominently associated with the swamp-like, marshy water plant growth found in ancient Egypt. Excursus on sûf in Jonah 2:6 (MT / LXX / Vulg; Engl 2:5) In the context of sources utilized in Chart 1 of this study, the text of Jonah 2:6 (MT / LXX / Vulg; Engl 2:5; no textual variants) deserves special comment. The line containing the Hebrew term sûf [hereinafter identified as 2:6c] seems to be reflected in three separate textual traditions: (1) an MT tradition, where the noun is understood in a botanical context (see ## 5, 7, 10–12, 18, 22–23, 26–27, 33–36, 38–46, 48, 50–51); (2) a LXX tradition, where the line containing a Greek equivalent of sûf is either omitted or partially omitted (see below; see ## 1–2, 14–16, 19, 47); and (3) a Vulgate tradition, where Hebrew sûf is construed generically as (a body of) water (see ## 13, 25, 28–29, 37, 49). In order to facilitate comparison more easily, Chart 2 offers translation, with added lexemic annotations as helpful, sequentially arranged to juxtapose the most seminal relevant textual traditions (the KJV and NIV are included merely for comparative usage). Likewise for comparative purposes, Chart 3 seeks to provide a stich-by-stich comparative stylistic analysis of the verses in consideration. My purpose in this excursus is not to engage in a formal text critical study, which is readily available elsewhere. Rather, my interest here is to present a series of four syntactical / semantic observations that may help explain the nature and trajectories of the textual transmission of this text. The four observations presented, to me, appear to lead to the supposition that Hebrew sûf has been omitted from the LXX presentation (i.e. not rendered as ἐσχάτη on the basis of a conjectured repointing of sûf to a different verb sôf [viz. Heb √sŵp̄ , “to come to an end; to cease; to end”; BDB, 692–93; HALOT, 746–47; DCH, 6:133–34; cf. BRS, 21 n14]). For an opposing view, consult most recently Batto, Dimensions; but refer also to Kloos, Combat, 153– 57, who offers several telling counterarguments to Batto. My observations are designed to lend contextual credence and a reasoned rationale to support the notion of interpreting sûf in 2:6c in a botanical context. (1) Whereas in MT 2:6, sûf immediately follows the ʼaṯnaḥ and appears to begin a 3rd stich (2:6c), the LXX is sometimes said to represent this term as the final word of 2:6b (ἐσχάτη) and to construe ἐσχάτη substantivally (“sea of the End” [of creation], a boundless expanse of ocean or chaos; see below). Moreover, the LXX then also pulls the first two words of MT 2:7a (“to the bottom of the mountains”) – against

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

47

the sillûq and sôp̄ pāsûq – to form a 3rd stich in LXX 2:6c. Thus, irrespective of when Hebrew accents were added to the MT, this view faces both a lexical, a poetical, and perhaps a syntactical challenge. (2) A consequence of observation (1) is that, against both MT and Vulg textual traditions, LXX 2:7 forms a bi-colon, not a tri-colon. (3) The vocable ἐσχάτη found at the end of LXX 2:6b arguably functions attributively, not substantively – agreeing in gender, number, and case, and modifying ἄβυσσος [“the lowest / deepest abyss”], thus together poetically reflecting Heb tǝhôm. This is also the understanding consistently found in the LXX translational authorities, whether historical or more contemporary (e.g., Thomson, The Holy Bible, 1381; Brenton, Septuagint, 1095; Brotzman/Martin, Jonah, 77, 158; Howard, Prophets, 805). A preponderance of Commentary literature is also relevant and carries its own scholarly weight in this regard. (4) Whereas in MT 2:6c, the expression “my head” in context includes an inseparable preposition [lǝ] and therefore functions syntactically as the object of the preposition (note also the passive participle; cf. 4QXIIg; 8ḤevXIIgr; Tb. Neb: Jonah; Vulg), in LXX 2:6c this expression has been recast explicitly into the nominative case and made to serve as the subject of the stich. Chart 2 – a diagnostic, poetic presentation of Jonah 2:6–7 (MT / LXX / Vulg; Engl 2:5–6) with lexemic notes 1.

MT – two tri-cola Water (‫ )מים‬encompassed me (‫ )אפפוּני‬to (the point of) death (lit. soul, ‫)נפש‬ the deep (‫ )תהום‬surrounded me (‫)יסבבני‬ seaweed (‫ )סוף‬got wrapped (‫ )חבוּש‬around my head (‫)לראשי‬ 7 To the bottom of (‫ )לקצבי‬the mountains (‫ )הרים‬I sank down (‫)ירדתי‬ the earth (with) its bars (‫ )ברחיה‬was about me forever (‫)לעולם‬ but you brought up (‫ )ותעל‬from the grave (‫ )משחת‬my life, O Lord my God 6

2.

4QXIIg – two somewhat fragmentary tri-cola Water encompassed me (‫[ )אפפני‬to the] (point of) death (‫)נפש‬ the d[eep (f 85.1) surrounded me] seaweed (‫ )סוף‬got wrapped (‫ )חבוּש‬around my head (‫)לראשי‬ 7 To the bottom of the mount[ai]ns I s[ank down] [the earth (f85.2) (with) its bars] was about me for[ev]er but you brought up from the grave my life, my soul, O Lord my God 6(f 84.1)

3.

8ḤevXIIgr, col 1, lines 39–42 – one tri-colon; one partially lost tri(?)-colon Water e[n(40)compassed] (περιεχύθησάν) me to (the point of) death (ψυχῆς) the deep[est] / low[est] abyss (Ἄβυσσος … [με ἐσχά]τη) surrounded (ἐκύκλω(σέν)) (41) me seaweed (ἕλος) encircled my head (περιέσχ[ε]ν τὴν κεφαλήν μου) 7(42) To [the bottom of the mount]ains I went down (κατέβην) [the earth (with) its bar]s was [ ] [ to me to ] 6(39)

4.

Tg. Neb: Jonah – two tri-cola Water surrounded me (‫ )אקפוּני‬to (the point of) death the deep (‫ )תהומא‬was all around (‫ )סחוֹר סחוֹר‬me the sea of reeds (‫ ימא דסוף‬/ yammāʼ dǝsûf) mounded (‫ )תלי‬over my head (‫)מרישי‬ 7 To the roots of (‫ )לעקרי‬the mountains (‫ )טוּריא‬I went down (‫)נחתית‬ the earth with its power (‫ )בתוּקפהא‬drew over (‫ )נגדת‬me forever (‫)עלמין‬ but you are near, it is before you to raise (‫ )לאסקא‬my life from destruction (‫)מחבלא‬, O Lord, my God 6

5.

LXX – one tri-colon; one bi-colon Water poured around (περιεχύθη) me to (the point of) death (ψυχῆς) the deepest / lowest abyss (ἄβυσσος … με ἐσχάτη) surrounded (ἐκύκλωσέν) me 7 My head (ἡ κεφαλή μου) went down (ἔδυ) to the bottom (σχισμὰς) of the mountains (ὀρέων) 6

48

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

I went down (κατέβην) to the earth, whose bars (μοχλοὶ) are everlasting barriers (κάτοχοι αἰώνιοι) but let the corruption of my life (φθορὰ ζωῆς μου) be restored (ἀναβήτω), O Lord my God 6.

Vulgate – two tri-cola Water (aquae) encompassed (circumdederunt) me to (the point of) death (usqe ad animam) the abyss (abyssus) closed round about (vallavit) me the sea (pelagus) covered (operuit) my head (caput) 7 I went down (descendi) to the lowest parts (extrema) of the mountains earth’s bars (terrae vectes) shut (concluserunt) me in forever (aeternum) but you will bring up (sublevabis) my life from corruption, O Lord my God 6

7.

King James Version – two tri-cola The waters compassed mee about euen to the soule the depth closed mee round about the weedes were wrapt about my head 6 I went downe to the bottomes of the mountaines the earth with her barres was about me for euer yet hast thou brought vp my life from corruption, O Lord my God 5

8.

New International Version – two tri-cola The engulfing waters threatened me the deep surrounded me seaweed was wrapped around my head 6 To the roots of the mountains I sank down the earth beneath barred me in forever but you, Lord my God, brought my life up from the pit 5

Chart 3 – a stich-by-stich comparative stylistic analysis of Jonah 2:6–7 (MT / LXX / Vulg; Engl 2:5–6) 2:6a MT 4QXII 8Ḥev TgNeb LXX Vulg KJV NIV

Water encompassed me to (the point of) death Water encompassed me [to the] (point of) death Water e[ncompassed] me to (the point of) death Water surrounded me to (the point of) death Water poured around me to (the point of) death Water encompassed me to (the point of) death 5 The waters compassed mee about euen to the soule 5 The engulfing waters threatened me

2:6b MT 4QXII 8Ḥev TgNeb LXX Vulg KJV NIV

the deep surrounded me the d[eep surrounded me] the [deep]est / [low]est abyss surrounded me the deep was all around me the deepest / lowest abyss surrounded me the abyss closed round about me 5 the depth closed mee round about 5 the deep surrounded me

2:6c MT 4QXII 8Ḥev TgNeb LXX

seaweed got wrapped around my head seaweed got wrapped around my head seaweed encircled my head the sea of reeds mounded over my head My head went down to the bottom of the mountains

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

49

Vulg KJV NIV

the sea covered my head 5 the weedes were wrapt about my head 5 seaweed was wrapped around my head

2:7a MT 4QXII 8Ḥev TgNeb LXX Vulg KJV NIV

To the bottom of the mountains I sank down To the bottom of the mount[ai]ns I s[ank down] To [the bottom of the mount]ains I went down To the roots of the mountains I went down

2:7b MT 4QXII 8Ḥev TgNeb LXX Vulg KJV NIV

the earth (with) its bars was about me forever [the earth (with) its bars] was about me for[ev]er [the earth (with) its bar]s was [ ] the earth with its power drew over me forever I went down to the earth, whose bars are everlasting barriers earth’s bars shut me in forever 6 the earth with her barres was about me for euer 6 the earth beneath barred me in forever

2:7c MT 4QXII 8Ḥev TgNeb LXX Vulg KJV NIV

but you brought up from the grave my life, O Lord my God but you brought up from the grave my life, my soul, O Lord my God [ to me to ] but you are near, it is before you to raise my life from destruction, O Lord, my God but let the corruption of my life be restored, O Lord my God but you will bring up my life from corruption, O Lord my God 6 yet hast thou brought vp my life from corruption, O Lord my God 6 but you, Lord my God, brought my life up from the pit

I went down to the lowest parts of the mountains 6 I went downe to the bottomes of the mountaines 6 To the roots of the mountains I sank down

Bibliography Aramaic Bible Martin McNamara, et al., The Aramaic Bible, the Targums. 19 vols. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1987–94. Arias Montano, Benito, Biblia Universa et Hebraica quidem: cum Latina interpretatione. Leipzig: Christian Kirchner Press, 1657. Augustine, De doctrina Christiana. Translated by D. W. Robertson, Jr., Saint Augustine, On Christian Doctrine. New York: Liberal Arts Press, 1958. Batto, Bernard F. “Mythic Dimensions of the Exodus Tradition.” Pp. 187–97 in Israel’s Exodus in Transdisciplinary Perspective, eds. Thomas E. Levy; Thomas Schneider; and William H. C. Propp. Heidelberg: Springer, 2013. Beitzel, Barry J. The New Moody Atlas of the Bible. Chicago / Oxford: Moody Press / Lion Hudson, 2009. ——— Where was the Biblical Red Sea? Examining the Ancient Evidence. Lexham Studies in Biblical Archaeology, Geography, & History 1. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2020. Bogaert, Pierre-Maurice. “La Bible latine des origines au moyen-âge. Aperçu historique, état des questions.” RTL 19.2 (1988), 137–59. Bosson, Nathalie. “Jonas. La version saïdique du codex Crosby-Schøyen Ms 193 et ses liens avec la version paléo-Bohairique du Papyrus Vatican Copte 9 des Petits Prophètes.” Pp. 821–37 in Coptic Society, Literature and Religion from Late Antiquity to Modern Times, eds. Paoli Buzi; Alberto Camplani; and Frederico Contardi. OLA 247. Leuven: Peeters, 2016.

50

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

Brenton, Lancelot C. L. The Septuagint with Apocrypha: Greek and English [London: Samuel Bagster & Sons, 1851]. Brotzman, Ellis, and Raymond Martin. Jonah: Computer Generated Tools for the Study of Correlated Greek and Hebrew Texts of the Old Testament. Wooster, OH: Biblical Research Associates, 1998. Burrows, Millar. The Dead Sea Scrolls of St. Mark’s Monastery. 2 vols. New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1950. Cocceius, Johannes, Lexicon et Commentarius Sermonis Hebraici et Chaldaici. Leipzig: Weygandianis, 1796. Crum, W. E. A Coptic Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990. Damgaard, Kristoffer. “A Palestinian Red Sea Port on the Egyptian Road to Arabia: Early Islamic Aqaba and its Many Hinterlands. Pp. 85–97 in Connected Hinterlands: Proceedings of Red Sea Project IV, eds. Lucy Blue; John Cooper; Ross Thomas; Julian Whitewright. Society for Arabian Studies Monographs 8. BAR.S 2052. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2009. Fritz, Glen A. The Lost Sea of the Exodus. San Antonio: GeoTech, 2016. Gall, August Freiherrn von. Der Hebräische Pentateuch der Samaritaner. Giessen: A. Töpelmann, 1918. Garrett, Duane A., A Commentary on Exodus (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2014). Goshen-Gottstein, Moshe H., ed. The Aleppo Codex: Provided with massoretic notes and pointed by Aaron Ben Asher, the codex considered authoritative by Maimonides [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1976. Herbert, A. S. Historical Catalogue of Printed Editions of the English Bible 1525–1961. London and New York: British Foreign Bible Society, 1968. Hool, Alexander. Searching for Sinai. New York: Mosaica Press, 2018. Howard, George E. “The Twelve Prophets.” Pp. 777–822 in A New English Translation of the Septuagint, eds. Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Humphreys, Colin J. The Miracles of Exodus. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2003. Johns, Alger F. A Short Grammar of Biblical Aramaic. Berrien Springs: Andrews University Press, 1972. Kasser, Rodolphe. Papyrus Bodmer XVI: Exode I–XV, 21, in sahidique. Cologny-Genève: Bibliothèque Bodmeriana, 1961. Klein, Michael L. Genizah Manuscripts of Palestinian Targum to the Pentateuch. Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1986. Kloos, Carola. Yhwh’s Combat with the Sea: A Canaanite Tradition in the religion of ancient Israel. Leiden: Brill, 1986. Lambdin, Thomas O. Introduction to Sahidic Coptic. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983. Laor, Eran. Undique ad Terram Sanctam. Jerusalem: Jewish National and University Press, 1976. Lapide, Cornelius à. Commentaria in Scripturam Sacram. In Migne, J.-P. Scripturae Sacrae Cursus Completus. 28 vols. Paris: Excudebatur et venit apud J.-P. Migne Editorem, 1839–53. Lowe, E. A. Codices Latini Antiquiores; a Palaeographical Guide to Latin Manuscripts prior to the Ninth Century. 12 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1934–71. Mittmann, Siegfried and Schmitt, Götz. Tübinger Bibelatlas. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2001. Montanari, Franco. The Brill Dictionary of Ancient Greek. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Muraoka, Takamitsu, and Bezalel Porten. A Grammar of Egyptian Aramaic. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Nebenzahl, Kenneth. Maps of the Holy Land: Images of Terra Sancta through Two Millennia. New York: Abbeville Press, 1986. Norton, David. A Textual History of the King James Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Osing, Jürgen. Die Nominalbildung des Ägyptischen, I: Textband, II: Anmerkungen und Indices. 2 vols. Mainz: von Zabern, 1976. Pagnini, Santes. Biblia Hebraica: cum interlineari interpretatione Latina. Leiden: Raphelengien, 1613. Piscator, Johannes, In Duodecim Prophetas quos nominant Minores: puta in Oseam, Joëlem, Amosum, Obadjam, Jonam, Michaeam, Nahumum, Abacucum, Sophoniam, Haggeum, Zacharia, Malachiam. Herborn, Germany: Christopher Corvinus, 1615. Propp, William H. C. Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AB 2. New York: Doubleday, 1999.

Beitzel – Inquiry into the Rendering of Hebrew sûf and yam sûf

51

——— Exodus 19–40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AB 2A. New York: Doubleday, 2006. Rainey, Anson F. and Notley, R. Steven. The Sacred Bridge. Jerusalem: Carta, 2006. Ranke, Ernst. Par Palimpsestorum Wirceburgensium antiquissimae Veteris Testamenti versionis Latinae fragmenta. Vienna: Guilielmi Braumüller, 1871 Robert, Ulysse. Pentateuchi versio Latina Antiquissima e Codice Lugdunensi. Paris: Didot, 1881. Sabatier, Pierre. Bibliorum Sacrorum Latinae Versionis Antiquae seu Vetus Italica. 3 vols. Rheims: Reginauld Florentain, 1743. Sparks, H. F. D. “The Latin Bible.” Pp. 100–127 in The Bible in its Ancient and English Versions, ed. H. Wheeler Robinson. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1970. Sukenik, Eleazar. The Dead Sea Scrolls of the Hebrew University. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1955. Talbert, Richard J. A. ed. Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000. Thomson, Charles. The Holy Bible, Containing the Old and New Covenant, Commonly Called the Old and New Testament: Translated from the Greek. 4 vols. Philadelphia: Jane Aitken, 1808. Partially repr, The Septuagint Bible: The Oldest Version of the Old Testament, ed. C. A. Muses. Indian Hills, CO: Falcon’s Wing Press, 1954. Towers, John Robert. “The Red Sea.” JNES 18.2 (1959), 150–53. Vatabli, François. Biblia Sacra cum universis Franc. Vatabli, Regii Hebraicae Linguae quondam Professoris, et variorum interpretum, annotationibus, Latina interpretation duplex est: altera vetus, altera nova. Paris: Societatis, 1729. Wajntraub, E. & G. Hebrew Maps of the Holy Land. Vienna: Brüder-Hollinek, 1992. Ziegler, Leo. Bruchstücke einer vorhieronymianischen Übersetzung des Pentateuch aus einem Palimpseste der K. Hof- und Staatsbibliothek zu München. Munich: T. Riedel, 1883.

Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” between Epigraphy and Literary Criticism Koert van Bekkum

Abstract This article offers a short overview and assessment of the debate since March 2021 regarding the so-called Shapira strips, which came to light in the 1880s, following the publication of an article and monograph by Idan Dershowitz, professor of Hebrew Bible at the University of Potsdam, claiming that the strips which Moses Shapira tried to sell to the British Museum in 1883 were not forgeries, but contained a pre-exilic progenitor of the present book of Deuteronomy. The affair and both its early and recent reception are described, along with methodological and societal issues.1 Introduction Both the publication of his monograph on the relation between the literary aspects and ideology of ancient Near Eastern conquest accounts, including Joshua 9–12, and his work as editor for the series The Context of Scripture established K. Lawson Younger’s name in both ancient Near Eastern and biblical studies.2 In writing my own monograph on Joshua, I often had the feeling only to be able to come to conclusions because I was standing on his shoulders.3 Accordingly, it was a great joy to get to know Lawson more personally in December 2013, when he visited the Theological University in Kampen, the Netherlands, for a doctoral examination. He also delivered a lecture and in return I served as his chauffeur and guide during a visit to the Leiden Museum of Antiquities. Happily, we were able to renew our contact during my stay at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Deerfield, Illinois, in Spring 2018. There I discovered that Dr. Younger’s “West Semitic Inscriptions” course was held in high regard among his Master’s and PhD students, and that, as an excellent epigrapher, he not only serves on the advisory board of the Abel Beth Maacah excavations (2012–present), but is also frequently asked for his opinion by other colleagues in the field. This work as a consultant in West Semitic epigraphy and its relation to biblical texts, shared in private without a request to be mentioned in a publication, recalls many moments in research since the discovery of the Moabite stone in 1868, when new texts came to light, both of known and unknown provenance and always resulting in a lively discussion among experts, both in private and public. I gladly honor Lawson Younger’s work in ancient Near Eastern and biblical studies and in particular his wisdom in this field by offering a short overview and assessment of the recent debate regarding the so-called Shapira strips, following publications by Idan Dershowitz, professor of Hebrew Bible at the University of Potsdam, who claimed that the strips which Moses Shapira tried to sell to the British Museum in 1883 were not forgeries, but contained a pre-exilic progenitor of the book of Deuteronomy. The affair and both its early and recent reception are described, along with methodological and societal issues. The “Shapira Affair” (1878–1890) Since mid-March 2021, the world of ancient Hebrew epigraphy, Qumran studies, and research on Deuteronomy has been in turmoil. The occasion is the next round in the so-called “Shapira Affair,” after Moses Wilhelm Shapira (1830–1884), a Polish Jew who emigrated to Jerusalem from Kamenetz-Podolsk in what is now Ukraine, converted to the Christian faith along the way in Bucharest, and started an antiquities business

1

A previous, shorter version of this paper in Dutch was published as “Nieuw rumoer rond Moses Shapira’s ‘Deuteronomium,’ ” Theologia Reformata 64, no. 3 (2021): 264–73. I thank my colleague Martin Webber for reviewing my English. 2 K. L. Younger, Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing, JSOT.SS 98 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990); COS 1–4 (Leiden: Brill, 2003–17). 3 K. van Bekkum, From Conquest to Coexistence: Ideology and Antiquarian Intent in the Historiography of Israel’s Settlement in Canaan, CHANE 45 (Leiden: Brill, 2011).

54

van Bekkum – Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”

in the Christian quarter of the Old City in 1861. He was considered an authority, among other things, on medieval and early modern Jewish writings from the Middle East. Through his store many antiquities found their way to museums in Paris, London and Berlin. The demand for antiquities among competing colonial powers in the West was so great that Salim alKhouri, an Arab guide and well-informed layman in the study of ancient inscriptions, set up a production line of (mostly erotic) figures with inscriptions allegedly found across the Jordan River and sold through Shapira. In 1873, however, al-Khouri was exposed by Charles Simon Clermont-Ganneau (1846–1923), a French scholar and diplomat who had worked with him in 1868 on the discovery of the Mesha stone. This famous stela of the Moabite king Mesha from Dhiban was eventually sold in pieces by clans in the region and ended up in the Louvre after much hassle. German buyers of most of the Moabitica for the Vorderasiatisches Museum in Berlin in their turn only admitted in 1876 that they had been sold forgeries, while Konstantin Schlottmann, president of the Deutsche Morgenländische Gesellschaft, continued to believe that at least part of the collection was genuine.4 Great was the excitement, therefore, when Moses Shapira appeared in London in 1883 with sixteen folded pieces of leather with ancient Hebrew writing that resembled that on the Mesha stone. Together the fragments contained two manuscripts of a much shorter version of the book of Deuteronomy. Were these even real? Were the strips worth the requested one million pounds? As early as 1878, Shapira had sent Schlottmann a copy of the strips. At the time, however, the Old Testament scholar Franz Delitzsch immediately concluded that they were a forgery.5 A few weeks before his visit to London, Shapira tried again and visited Halle and Leipzig, this time with the strips themselves. But German scholars, including Hermann Guthe (1849–1936), who published his findings shortly thereafter, concluded that they were a forgery.6

Fig. 1: Cartoon of Christian David Ginsburg and Moses Wilhelm Shapira in Punch magazine, September 1883.

4

M. Heide, “The Moabitica and their Aftermath: How to Handle a Forgery Affair with an International Impact,” in New Inscriptions and Seals Relating to the Biblical World, ed. M. Lubetski, ABS 19 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2012), 193–241. 5 Cf. F. Delitzsch, “Schapira’s Pseudo-Deuteronomium,” Allgemeine Evangelisch-Lutherische Kirchenzeitung 16 (1883): 843–46, 870–72, 894, 915–16. 6 H. Guthe, Fragmente einer Lederhandschrift enthaltend Mose’s letzte Rede an die Kinder Israel (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1883). English translation: H. Guthe, Fragments of a Leather Manuscript Containing Moses’ Last Words to the Children of Israel, trans. M. Gold, ed. R. K. Nichols (St. Francisville: Horeb Press, 2021).

van Bekkum – Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”

55

In London, the verdict was initially positive. Thousands of visitors, including Prime Minister William Gladstone, crowded around two exhibited strips in the British Museum. Closer inspection by the British scholar Christian David Ginsburg (1831–1914) and Clermont-Ganneau, however, who had initially not been allowed to see Shapira’s strips, resulted in the opposite conclusion.7 The leather seemed to have been cut from a Yemenite scroll, the writing was copied from the Mesha stone and the text contained a ‘Christianized’ version of Deuteronomy (including the Decalogue, but without the law of Deuteronomy 12–26). An outright forgery, in other words. In the months that followed, the British Museum bought more manuscripts by Shapira. Apparently not everyone blamed him personally for the fiasco. At the same time, he wondered whether he would survive the disgrace this had caused him. An anti-Semitic cartoon in the September issue of the magazine Punch showed underlying sentiments at play (Fig. 1). Ginsburg and Shapira were both Jews of Polish descent converted to Christianity and members of the Anglican Church. The former, however, was “one of us,” and the fact that he had been able to expose a forgery was perceived as a symbol of the superiority of British study of biblical antiquities.8 Shapira, suspected of fraud, was in his turn given a stereotypical black hat, a beard, and a hook nose. He left for Europe and committed suicide in a hotel near the Willemsbrug in Rotterdam on March 8, 1884. Exactly six years later, the London trading house Quaritch sold the folded strips for ten pounds and five shillings to Philip Brooks Mason, a physician from Burton-on-Trent, England. To this day they have not been seen again. Qumran Although Shapira told varying stories of how the strips had reached him, he said they had been found in a cave across the Jordan, south of the mountain range opposite the area where later scholars excavated the site of Qumran. No wonder the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls reminded some scholars of the Shapira texts. The linen wrapping, for example, around the strips that had prompted them to be considered a forgery in 1883 also were found at Qumran. In the late 1950s, Menachem Mansoor and others therefore advocated new study of the drawings and transcriptions that had been made of the texts.9 Since then, the hypothesis has sometimes been expressed in academic circles that the Shapira strips might be authentic. Yet it remained a sensitive issue, as demonstrated in 1965, when the British Qumran specialist John Allegro defended this in a book and then had to abandon his university career because of this and other extravagant ideas.10 In recent years, Shapira has again attracted attention. In a documentary on the affair, Shapira and I. In the Footsteps of Shapira and his Scroll (2014), its director, the Israeli journalist Yoram Sabo, found out where in Rotterdam Shapira was buried and that is was Philip Brooks Mason who had purchased the strips in 1884.11 In 2016, journalist Chanan Tigay, son of Deuteronomy scholar Jeffrey H. Tigay, published a fascinating account of a quest, in which he reveals to have found a medieval Yemenite Torah scroll containing eleven columns from book of Numbers once owned by Shapira in San Franscisco, from which the lower margin had been removed. In addition, he again pointed to a piece of leather in “Oriental 145,” one of the Torahs Shapira had sold to the British Museum on 24 November 1877, on which he had written, and which also seemed to have been removed from a Torah scroll.12 7

“The Shapira Manuscripts,” PEFQSt (October 1883): 195–209, with an introduction and reports by A. Neubauer (198– 200), A. H. Sayce (200–201), Clermont-Ganneau (201–6), C. R. Conder (205–06), and C. D. Ginsburg (206–9). A week before the report appeared, on 25 August 1883, Ginsburg published his transcription and translation as “The Shapira Ms. of Deuteronomy,” Athenaeum PEQS (1883): 242–44. 8 F. N. Reiner, “C. D. Ginsburg and the Shapira Affair: A Nineteenth-Century Dead Sea Scroll Controversy,” British Library Journal 21 (1995): 109–27. 9 M. Mansoor, “The Case of Shapira’s Dead Sea (Deuteronomy) Scrolls of 1883,” Transactions of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters 47 (1958): 183–229. 10 J. M. Allegro, The Shapira Affair (London: Allen, 1965), cf. J. A. Brown, John Marco Allegro: The Maverick of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005). 11 Available from https://vimeo.com/99821693, accessed October 18, 2021. 12 C. Tigay, The Lost Book of Moses: The Hunt for the World’s Oldest Bible (New York: Ecco, 2016), 313–19. Cf. Ginsburg, “The Shapira Manuscripts,” 207.

56

van Bekkum – Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”

A year later, Shlomo Guil, an independent archaeological researcher, defended the opposite conclusion by supporting Mansoor’s suggestion that the text was an additional Dead Sea Scroll. In addition to paleographical reasons for his argument, he supposes that writing on leather was not something to be expected by late 19th century CE Semitists, and because the Shapira scroll was discovered near the Dead Sea. Moreover, he assumes that the continuous vertical ruling on the strips extending to the top and bottom margins as far as the edges of the leather, creating the framework for the written text, is similar to that in most of the Dead Sea Scrolls.13 Finally, in early 2021, Ross K. Nichols, a lecturer of Hebrew Bible, released a book reviewing the previous discussion and also defending the authenticity of the text.14 “A Progenitor of Deuteronomy” While this conversation about the Shapira strips still moved on the fringes of the academy, things changed with the publications of Idan Dershowitz, a Jewish-American professor of Hebrew Bible in Potsdam near Berlin. He recovered the first transcription of the ancient Hebrew fragments by Shapira. Based on this and a new paleographic, linguistic and literary critical analysis of the material, he published in open access a monograph and a summary article on 10 March 2021, both with highly reputable German scholarly publishers.15 In addition, a beautifully designed piece appeared in The New York Times.16 Dershowitz comes to quite bold conclusions. In his view, the Shapira strips are authentic. Moreover, its texts do not represent an abridged version of the book of Deuteronomy, but an progenitor of the book possibly dating back to the eighth century BCE. This result would also confirm recent theories about later additions to the book.17 Finally, Dershowitz offers an annotated critical edition, translation and paleo-Hebrew reconstruction of the text, which he calls the “Valediction of Moses:” a text without the laws of Deuteronomy 12–26, with only fragments from chapters 1–4; in chapter 5 a version of the Decalogue entirely in the first person, and an eleventh commandment, “You shall not hate your brother in your heart. I am Elohim your God” (fragment E, column 4, line 8, reflecting Leviticus 19:17); further small pieces from chapters 6–11; and finally another version of chapter 27, ending with a few verses from chapters 28 and 30.18 Appreciation and Bewilderment Immediately after publication, the admiration and bewilderment were palpable online. The discovery of Shapira’s own rendering of the texts is a gain either way. In it, Shapira seems to have made mistakes that were not repeated later. This suggests that the text was new to him as well. Furthermore, there is widespread praise for the scholarly edition of the text, which helps promote a critical conversation. Also, the observation that draftsmen in the British Museum sometimes rendered letters better than Ginsburg might indeed help in reconstructing the text. Whether it also undermines the quality of Ginsburg’s transcription is a different issue. Beyond that, however, amazement prevails. Why would anyone again damage their career on what had previously been shown to be an obvious forgery? What moved prestigious German-speaking Bible scholars and publishers to give weight to this? In 2020, several famous scholars as well as the prestigious academic publisher Brill, had to withdraw a publication because fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls turned out to be 13

S. Guil, “The Shapira Scroll was an Authentic Dead Sea Scroll,” PEQ 149 (2017): 6–27. R. K. Nichols, The Moses Scroll: Reopening the Most Controversial Case in Biblical Scholarship (St. Francisville: Horeb Press, 2021). 15 I. Dershowitz, The Valediction of Moses: A Proto-Biblical Book, FAT 145 (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2021). DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-160645-8; idem, “The Valediction of Moses: New Evidence on the Shapira Deuteronomy Fragments,” ZAW 133 (2021): 1–22. DOI 10.1515/zaw-2021-0001. 16 J. Schuessler, “Is a Long-Dismissed Forgery Actually the Oldest Known Biblical Manuscript?” New York Times, March 10, 2021. 17 Examples are a proposal from 2002 that Deut 1:22–25 is a later addition (the text is also omitted from Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”) and the possible relocation of Ebal and Gerizim to the Jordan Valley in the Qumran text 4QJoshuaa (which according to Dershowitz also occurs in Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” in Deut 27). Dershowitz, Valediction, 63–68, 91–92. 18 Dershowitz, Valediction, 131–74. 14

van Bekkum – Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”

57

forgeries.19 In particular epigraphers in the tradition of the American scholars William Foxwell Albright and Frank Moore Cross immediately responded critically. The original Shapira texts have disappeared. Dating the writing material with the C-14 method, illuminating the letters in a better way, or using a microscope to find out whether the ink was later written down on weathered leather – all this is no longer possible. Accordingly, it is very hard to contradict the judgment of experts like Guthe and Clermont-Ganneau who did see the fragments themselves and offered a detailed analysis. Christopher Rollston summarized this rejection in a blogpost.20 A few months later, Matthieu Richelle, a French epigrapher in the school of Clermont-Ganneau, followed up with a sympathetically articulated, but extensive critical piece discussing all the paleographic evidence in a new way.21 In the meantime, other aspects were discussed, such as the high frequency of deviant verbal forms,22 and the close relation between the depiction of blessing and cursing in Deuteronomy 27 in Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” and rabbinic sources.23 In addition, it was highlighted how several aspects of the text on the strips suit views among late 19th century converted Jews and the Anglican-Lutheran environment of Shapira and his wife, such as a Decalogue highlighting the love for God and the love for the neighbor and the omission of the Law of Deuteronomy 12–26.24 New arguments These discussions raise the question regarding the nature of the new arguments presented by Dershowitz. A first main point focuses on the paleographic issue of the ancient Hebrew letters yôd and hê on the strips, which at the time were seen as evidence of forgery. Because of later finds, the judgment of current epigraphy should read differently.25 Yet, this does not convince most epigraphers. First, contrary to what Dershowitz claims, the fact that that the now-lost manuscripts are to be dated later than the assumed “proto-biblical book” simply affects his thesis, because they are needed as a point of departure in analyzing the orthography. In addition to this argument, Richelle emphasizes that loose observations require a broader methodological perspective. For the sake of argument, he circumvents the epistemological gap by presenting a detailed comparison of the available drawings and paleographic charts in order to test their reliability, thus showing that the charts by Guthe and Ginsburg can still be used in studying the text. As a result, the hê remains curious, also in the light of recent paleographic research, because its stance is variable on the strips. The argumentation regarding the yôd in its turn is not based on clear parallels. One of the two attested forms even looks 19

E. Tov, K. Davis, and R. Duke, eds., [Retracted] Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments in the Museum Collection, Publications of the Museum of the Bible 1 (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2016). For the retraction notice, accessed 3 January 2022, see https://brill.com/view/title/33413. 20 C. A. Rollston, “Deja Vu All over Again: The Antiquities Market, the Shapira Comics, Menahem Mansoor, and Idan Dershowitz,” March 10, 2021, accessed 3 January 2022 at http://www.rollstonepigraphy.com/?p=896. See also M. Metzler, “Christopher Rollston’s Critique of the Shapira Argument by Idan Dershowitz” at https://www.academia. edu/45519388/Christopher_Rollston_s_Critique_of_the_Shapira_Argument_by_Idan_Dershowitz and the responses to it, accessed 3 January 2022 at http://www.rollstonepigraphy.com/?p=896#comments. 21 M. Richelle, “The Shapira Strips in Light of Paleography: Six Impossible Things before Breakfast,” Semitica 63 (2021): 243–94. 22 B. D. Suchard, “The Valediction of Moses is Not Proto-Deuteronomy: Evidence From the Verbal System,” at https:// www.academia.edu/46783534/The_Valediction_of_Moses_is_not_a_proto_Deuteronomy_evidence_from_the_verbal _ system, and its responses: I. Dershowitz and N. Pat-El, “Response to Benjamin Suchard, ‘The Valediction of Moses’ Is Not Proto-Deuteronomy: Evidence From the Verbal System,” at https://www.academia.edu/47094146response_ to_Benjamin_Suchard_The_Valediction_of_Moses_is_not_a_proto_Deuteronomy_evidence_from_the_verbal_syste m, and H. Samuel, “A Reply to Idan Dershowitz and Naʾama Pat-El’s Response to Benjamin Suchard,” accessed 3 January 2022, https://www.academia.edu/48837407/Samuel_2021_Reply_to_Dershowitz_and_ Pat_El_. 23 M. Bar-Ilan, ‫ספר ביקורת‬: ‫שפירא של המגילה על דרשוביץ ‘ע‬, Review of The Valediction of Moses: A Proto-Biblical Book, by Idan Deshowitz (forthcoming in ZAR 28 [2022]), accessed 3 January 2022, www.academia.edu/46930440/review _by_Meir_Bar_Ilan_of_Dershowitz_on_Shapirah. 24 J. Klawans, “The Shapira Fragments: An Artifact of 19th-Century Jewish Christianity,” Bible History Daily (blog). Biblical Archeological Society, 18 March, 2021, https://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/daily/the-shapira-fragments. 25 Dershowitz, Valediction of Moses, 21–33.

58

van Bekkum – Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”

much like al-Khouri’s copy of the Mesha stela. Moreover, the anomalous zayin, kāp, ṣādê and qôp are strikingly similar to those of the Moabitica. All of this is most easily explained as the result of a late nineteenthcentury CE forgery.26 An attempt to undermine the reliability of Ginsburg’s chart and to present parallels for the yôd was undertaken by Benjamin Sass, epigrapher at Tel Aviv University.27 Yet the argument on these two issues is in part circular and does address the broader methodological framework as presented by Richelle.28 A second, and for Dershowitz more important argument, has to do with the compositional history of the book of Deuteronomy. In his view, the “Valediction of Moses” is very close to an earlier version of Deuteronomy as reconstructed by some scholars. Furthermore, several allusions in the Hebrew Bible to the Decalogue, e.g., “commit perjury” in Jeremiah 7:9, are closer to Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” than to Deuteronomy 5, in this case verse 11, which would prove that those other texts do not refer to Deuteronomy but to the “Valediction of Moses.” Dershowitz makes much of this argument in his monograph. He even announces that he will thus solve even more puzzles surrounding the composition of the Bible.29 The point, however, is that, as is often the case in some American and most German-speaking scholarship, he does not take his starting point in the book of Deuteronomy as it stands, but in a scholarly reconstructed form of the book. This is a contested procedure. After all, no texts that really exist are being compared here, but only texts (the “Valediction of Moses” and an earlier version of Deuteronomy) that are the result of (theoretical) reconstruction by some scholars. Moreover, this method clearly overlooks troublesome elements in the “Valediction of Moses.” The reconstructed text, for example, is unclear where exactly Moses pronounces his farewell address and how Israel got there, whereas the beginning of Deuteronomy offers this information and makes perfectly sense from a historical geographical point of view.30 Needless to say, it is wise not to rule out any possibility in advance. But in order to really independently test the relation between the “Valediction of Moses” and Deuteronomy, it is actually necessary to work out a few options and compare them: (1) the text is based on Deuteronomy; (2) the reverse is the case; (3) both have a common older source. Only in this way it can be determined which solution does most justice to the texts as they exist.31 A final argument is offered by Dershowitz and Naʾama Pat-El, a linguist at the University of Texas in Austin. According to them, spelling, phrasing, and grammar indicate that the text is pre-exilic Hebrew.32

26

Richelle, “Shapira Strips in Light of Paleography,” 250–83. According to American epigrapher Ronald Hendel, the use of matres lectionis in the text also points to this. R. S. Hendel, “Notes on the Orthography of the Shapira Manuscripts: The Forger’s Marks,” ZAW 133 (2021): 225–30. See also R. S. Hendel and M. Richelle, “The Shapira Scrolls – The Case for Forgery,” BAR 47.4 (2021): 39–46 and I. Dershowitz and J. Tabor, “The Shapira Scrolls – The Case for Authenticity,” BAR 47, no. 4 (2021): 47–53. 27 B. Sass, “Can a Unique Letter form Clinch the Authenticity of the Shapira Leather Manuscripts? A Rejoinder to Matthieu Richelle,” Semitica 63 (2021): 223–42. 28 M. Richelle, “‘No:’ A Reply to Benjamin Sass” https://www.academia.edu/64477305/_No_A_Reply_to_Benjamin _Sass, and R. S. Hendel, “A Brief Response to Sass on the Authenticity of the Shapira Scroll” “https://www. academia.edu/64594118/A_Brief_Response_to_Sass_on_the_Authenticity_of_the_Shapira_Scrolls, both accessed at 3 January 2022. 29 Dershowitz, Valediction of Moses, 41–95, with 74–76 on Jer 7:9. 30 Another example is Moses’ commandment to read the law on Ebal and Gerizim (Deut 27). Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” seems to move these mountains south. According to Dershowitz, this is confirmed by the displacement of the mountains in 4QJoshuaa, column 1. Dershowitz, Valediction of Moses, 91–92. However, this is not the case. Indeed, the fulfillment of Moses’ commandment in Joshua 8:30–35 is most likely in a different place in the Qumran text, namely after Josh. 5:1. The Septuagint even has the text in another place, that is, after 9:1. Yet this does not imply a different geography. Not the mountains, but the text is moved, while in all cases the geographical problem remains the same: while Joshua and Israel are stationed at Gilgal, a following brief scene had a completely different geographical setting. For a discussion, see M. N. van der Meer, Formation and Reformulation: The Redaction of the Book of Joshua in the Light of the Oldest Textual Witnesses, VT.S 102 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 479–522. 31 Option (1) is elaborated on in the concluding analysis of B. D. Suchard, “A Valediction to Moses W. Shapira’s Deuteronomy Document,” BO 78, nos. 3–4 (2021): 364–87. Most of the deviations from Deuteronomy are easily explained as harmonizing readings and Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” harks back to the Masoretic text of the Hebrew Bible. 32 I. Dershowitz and N. Pat-El, “Excursus: The Linguistic Profile of V,” in Dershowitz, Valediction of Moses, 96–130.

van Bekkum – Moses Wilhelm Shapira’s “Deuteronomy”

59

Again, however, several objections have been raised. For example, the lack of matres lectionis sometimes results in the loss of a doubled yôd that should be there anyway – which can hardly be explained otherwise than by a forgery. Further, the frequent wĕqāṭal for the past tense in passages that do not parallel Deuteronomy indicates an author familiar with post-biblical Hebrew.33 Conclusion The new turmoil surrounding Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” is closely related to methodological issues. Those who take material remains, real texts and epigraphy as their starting point will understand why many are outraged that an old forgery is being defended again. Yet, now that the originals are lost, the literary-critical perspective of German-speaking biblical studies, which usually works on the basis of reconstructed sources, is presented by Dershowitz as being a better approach. Apparently, the epistemology of this perspective greatly differs from that of epigraphy. In his view, such a philological analysis is surely able to establish the real identity of the document.34 Accordingly, it might not come as a surprise that Dershowitz’s hypothesis is indeed considered plausible in certain areas of the field.35 Nevertheless, even if this approach is adopted, the question might be asked whether the evidence that is presented is strong enough to support the far-reaching claims. A book of Deuteronomy without the legislation of chapters 12–26 seems hardly conceivable. Moreover, in comparison to other ancient Near Eastern treaties, the curses at the end of Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” are too short and out of context without the legislation.36 Beyond these problems of the literary-historical framework, it is indeed more appropriate to approach the question of the authenticity of the text from the inaccessibility of the strips and from those data that are available: the transmitted late 19th century CE epigraphical information and the language. It is very hard to overcome objections in these areas by, in particular, Matthieu Richelle and Benjamin Suchard. Even if that might be possible in some cases, the inevitable conclusion from recent debate still is that the negative judgment of earlier generations of epigraphers and Hebraists has been reinforced. If Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” was written by two authors – as is generally assumed – it seems most likely, in light of its writers’ knowledge of the epigraphy of the time, of biblical texts, post-biblical Hebrew, and the rabbinic tradition, that not alKhouri but two others produced the text, with Shapira being the prime suspect, along with perhaps Dr. Landsberg, a companion mentioned by him in this context.37 At the same time, it is worth keeping in mind the other element playing a role in the whole controversy: the anti-Semitic atmosphere that helped to discredit Shapira’s find in 1883. In that light, it is understandable that today both Jewish scholars and non-Jewish German-speaking biblicists are reluctant to dismiss pleas for the authenticity of his find too easily and prefer a sharp academic debate. That debate has come. Despite critical appreciation of Dershowitz’s craftsmanship and creativity, disapproval has come faster and with more substantial force than the editors of the publications perhaps had anticipated. Be that as it may, there is also something tragic about the fact that precisely by allowing this debate, the result is that it is only lately admitted that the artefacts are a forgery, just as in the case of the Moabitic figures in 1873. 33

See the literature in footnote 22 and Suchard, “Valediction to Moses W. Shapira’s Deuteronomy.” Dershowitz, Valedicton of Moses, 31, 40. 35 See, however, Eckart Otto’s critical remarks regarding Dershowitz’s literary method in E. Otto, Review of Idan Dershowitz, The Dismembered Bible: Cutting and Pasting Scripture in Antiquity, by I. Dershowitz, ZAR 27 (2021): 359– 62. At “A Scholarly Webinar on Idan Dershowitz’s Recent Reassessment of the Shapira Documents” on June 10, 2021, organized by Daniel Ben Stökl Ben Ezra of the École Pratique des Hautes Études in Paris, https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=brrlKidjfEI, assessed at 3 January 2022, Konrad Schmid (editor of the series in which Dershowitz published his monograph) pointed out that the debate is not, in his view, a “yes or no” issue. Literary-critically, however, it makes more sense that the Decalogue in Shapira’s “Deuteronomy” does not precede but is derived from the biblical texts. 36 Cf. K. van Bekkum, “Biblical Covenants and Treaties in Ancient Near Eastern Context: A Methodological, Historical and Theological Reassessment,” in Covenant: A Vital Element in Reformed Theology. Biblical, Historical and Systematic Perspectives, ed. J.M. Burger, G. Kwakkel, and M.C. Mulder, Studies in Reformed Theology 42 (Leiden: Brill, 2022), 43–78. 37 See his letter of 9 May 1883 to Hermann Strack. Cf. R. K. Nichols, “Moses Shapira’s Letter to Hermann Strack,” accessed 3 January 2022, https://www.academia.edu/48769937/Moses_W_Shapiras_Letter_to_Hermann_Strack. 34

Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due Rethinking the Exiled Prophet’s Final Word in Ezekiel 29:17–21 Daniel I. Block

Abstract This essay involves another look at Ezekiel’s shortest and last oracle that he delivered before the Judean exiles in Babylon. Despite the brevity of Ezek 29:17–21, this prophecy continues to baffle scholars. This honorary volume for Dr. Younger offers an opportunity to reconsider my previous work on it (1998) and to reexamine the theological problems it seems to raise regarding apparently unfulfilled predictions concerning Tyre in chapter 26. By taking a fresh look at this oracle’s genre and discourse features I conclude that scholarly preoccupation with the theme of unfulfilled prophecy has detracted us from its essential agenda, namely YHWH’s determination to give his agent of judgment, Nebuchadrezzar, and his prophet of judgment and restoration, Ezekiel, their due reward for their service to him. Furthermore, by reexamining the literary context and the historical data on Nebuchadrezzar’s conflicts with Tyre now available, we should moderate the common understanding of ‫ וְ שָׂ כָר ל ֹא־הָ יָה לוֹ וּלְ חֵ ילוֹ ִמצֹּ ר‬in verse 18. Introduction It is hard to believe that more than thirty years have passed since I put to writing my understanding of Ezekiel’s last recorded words in Ezekiel 29:17–21.1 I am honored to present my rethinking on this enigmatic text from the “pen” of an enigmatic prophet as a tribute to a friend and scholar of the first order, K. Lawson Younger.2 My scholarship has not been as dedicated to the world around the events, characters, and motivations that drive the Hebrew Scriptures, but Lawson’s work has contributed profoundly to my understanding of Ezekiel’s world. It is not only that the Babylonian environment of this Israelite prophet’s ministry has left its mark on the book that bears his name at every level – vocabulary, literary and rhetorical style, the portrayal of theological ideas – but also that many of his oracles involve the nations around his home in exile and his native land of Judah (esp. chaps. 25–32). However, Ezekiel has contributed little to Lawson Younger’s recent opus on the Arameans.3 Although Aramaic had become the lingua franca of Ezekiel’s world, this prophet expressed remarkably little interest in this ethnic group.4 However, our concern in this essay is Ezekiel’s shortest and apparently the last oracle that he delivered during his more than twenty-year tenure as prophetic priest5 before his fellow Judean exiles in Tel Aviv ( ‫תֵּ ל‬ 1

Daniel I. Block, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 145–54. I am grateful to Iain Duguid for graciously reading an earlier draft of this essay and for his very helpful suggestions for its improvement, to James K. Hoffmeier and Caleb Howard for their careful editing and counsel on typographic and bibliographic matters, and to Wolfgang Zwickel’s editorial contribution in the final stages of preparation. Of course, any infelicities in style and interpretation are the author’s own responsibility. 3 See K. Lawson Younger, Jr., A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities, ABS 13 (Atlanta: SBL, 2016). 4 Younger cites Ezekiel only thirteen times: 17:11–21 (p. 573); 23:23 (pp. 688, 691); 27:18 (p. 550 n. 8); 27:23 (308 n. 7); 32:10 56 n. 97; 47:15 (211); 47:16–18 (3x in 550 n. 8); 47:20 (14 n 12); 48:1 (14 n 12, 550 n. 8). The name Aram (usually translated as “Syria”) occurs only twice in Ezekiel (16:57; 27:17) and Damascus only five times (27:18; 47:16– 18 [3x]; 48:1). As for the Chaldeans, who were sometime associated with Arameans (see Younger, Arameans, 674–79), Ezekiel applies this epithet to the land of Babylon (1:3; 12:13) and the upper crust of Babylon’s population represented by Nebuchadrezzar (23:14; 23:23). In 23:23 Ezekiel names Pekod (= Puqūdu tribe, ibid., 657, 688–92; Block, Ezekiel Chapters 1–24, 749), Shoa (= Sutu [?]), Younger, 88–94; Block, 749–50), and Qoa (= Quti/Guti [?]; ibid., 750; cf. Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 21–37: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 22A [New York: Doubleday, 1997], 481), though the latter two are unclear. 5 From the fifth day of the fourth month of the fifth year of Jehoiachin’s and Ezekiel’s own exile (July 31, 593 BC; cf. 1:1–2) to the first day of the first month of the twenty-seventh year of Jehoiachin’s exile (April 26, 571 BC; cf. 29:17.) For discussion of the precise correlation with our calendar, see Daniel I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel Chapters 1–25, 2

62

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

‫ ;אָ בִ יב‬Akkad. Til abūbi, “ruin mound”) on the Chebar canal, near ancient Nippur (cf. 1:1; 3:15). Despite the brevity of the oracle in 29:17–21, when I submitted the manuscript of my Ezekiel commentary to the publishers in the winter of 1994, this was one of the literary units in the book with which I was the least satisfied and to which I hoped eventually to return. Several issues required further investigation: (1) the theological problem this text raises vis à vis the apparently acknowledged unfulfilled predictions regarding Tyre’s total demise emphatically predicted in chapter 26; (2) the historical background to and context of this oracle; (3) the enigmatic nature and significance of the final verse (21), which is awkwardly tacked on to what has preceded. While seemingly deriving from different spheres, we will see that these problems are interrelated, and the answer to any will probably have implications for the answers to the other two. I shall describe the problems and suggest tentative solutions in this order, and then conclude by tying together the loose ends. The Theological Problem of Apparently Unfulfilled Prophecy Unlike most of his oracles, in Ezekiel 29:17–21 the prophet neither identifies an addressee nor does he receive a command from YHWH to declare this message publicly. Does this mean this oracle was intended primarily for the prophet’s own consumption, perhaps in response to his struggles because his earlier oracle against Tyre had not been fulfilled as he had expected? The concluding statement, “On that day … I will grant you an opening of the mouth in their midst,” suggests YHWH was addressing his spokesman. Perhaps Ezekiel’s fellow exiles had complained to him that Nebuchadrezzar6 had not wiped clean the rock on which Tyre sat, as YHWH had predicted thirteen years earlier in chapters 26–28 (cf. 26:1). Indeed, this would not happen for another 250 years, when Alexander the Great conquered the island city, tore down all its buildings and massacred the population that had been left to defend it. In Ezekiel’s time, Tyre had not been destroyed as he seemed to envision in oracles that he delivered shortly after the fugitive from Judah had announced to him that Jerusalem had fallen to the Babylonians (33:21). On the surface, the present oracle seems to deal with the problem this created for the exiles who had heard Ezekiel declare the end of Tyre almost fourteen years earlier, but it must also have created problems for the prophet’s credibility among the exiles. After all, the proof of true prophets is that their predictions come true.7 YHWH seems to have promised Nebuchadrezzar so much (25:7–14) but delivered so little (29:18–19). As long as Nebuchadrezzar’s forces were engaged in the siege of Tyre, there was hope that Ezekiel’s predictions would be fulfilled, but when he abandoned the siege thirteen years later without having ransacked the island city,8 not only were Ezekiel’s words suspect, but his own reputation as a true prophet of YHWH was undermined. We may well imagine the turmoil in Ezekiel’s heart when he learned of the lifting of the siege. Modern interpreters often cite this text as obvious evidence that Israelite prophecies could and often did fail, and that YHWH was powerless to fulfill his word. Some commend the prophet for honestly admitting that a prediction from YHWH had not been fulfilled and that this oracle illustrates what YHWH does when

NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 26–29, 83; idem, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 147; cf. Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 22 (New York: Doubleday, 1983), 8–11, 39–41; idem, Ezekiel 21–37, 614. 6 In this essay I refer to the Babylonian king as Nebuchadrezzar rather than Nebuchadnezzar out of respect for YHWH’s and Ezekiel’s locution in Ezek 29:18–19 and elsewhere in this book. 7 Ezek 2:5; 33:33; also Deut 18:22; Jer 28:8–9. However, note the disposition of David Noel Freedman on this matter in a note inserted in Greenberg’s Ezekiel 21–37 (p. 617): “I think it is clear that Ezekiel didn’t agree with the assessment of the Deuteronomist about how to tell the difference between true prophets and false prophets … Ezekiel knew from personal experience that he was a true prophet, and hence if some of his predictions didn’t come out, there had to be a different explanation from the one that would make him a false prophet. His God could change his mind, or some factor might require a shift in strategy, but that was all in the mystery of the Godhead, whereas a prophet … could only report what he had seen and heard in the heavenly assembly.” 8 On which see Josephus, Against Apion I.143–44; Antiq. X.228. For fuller discussion, see H. Jacob Katzenstein, The History of Tyre: From the Beginning of the Second Millennium B.C.E. until the Fall of the Neo-Babylonian Empire in 539 B.C.E., 2nd rev. ed. (Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 1997), 325–30.

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

63

this happens.9 Others argue that if historical events do not match the prediction, then God revises his message and rewrites them to suit the new reality. Robert Carroll declares confidently that this oracle demonstrates two facts: (1) [I]t provides clear evidence of the awareness of a prediction lacking fulfillment; (2) it is also evidence of the phenomenon of prediction after the event (vaticinium ex eventu). Awareness that a prediction had not been realized completely did not so much cause dissonance as permitted a switch of position on the subject. If the first expectation did not measure up fully to the prediction then a further oracle could be produced to incorporate the failure into it.10 A similar understanding underlies Moshe Greenberg’s heading to this oracle, “An Amendment to the Tyre Oracle,” but he goes even further than Carroll: Perhaps the most momentous aspect of this amendment is its testimony to the prophet’s procedure in the case of invalidated (not merely unfulfilled) prophecies. He did not suppress them, but let them stand in their contradiction to events. He awaited a new message from God to interpret the discrepancy, and when it came, he set it alongside the failed prophecy.11 I confess that, although I used different vocabulary, readers could construe my opinion on this matter expressed thirty years ago to align with these perspectives:12 In Ezekiel’s audience there were literalists who, even though they accepted the empty pronouncements of false prophets, demanded one hundred per cent fulfillment for Ezekiel’s predictions.13 But this robs both Yahweh and his prophet of vitality and freedom, and renders them impervious to human response. This oracle may not justify Yahweh’s apparent change of mind concerning the fate of Tyre, but it reassures the prophet and reminds his hearers/readers that this was not a mark of divine impotence nor amnesia. God is aware the oracles against the island fortress have not been fulfilled as originally delivered. But he will not be held captive even by his own word. In the meantime the hearers and readers are challenged with the mystery of providence.14 The time has come to correct this ill-expressed comment. The Hebrew Scriptures are clear that some events do not match even true prophets’ locutions. Jonah’s simple five-word pronouncement to the inhabitants of Nineveh is an obvious example: “Forty more days and Nineveh will be turned upside down” ( ‫עוֹד‬ ‫אַ ְרבָּ ﬠִ ים יוֹם וְ נִ ינְ וֵה נֶהְ ָפּכֶת‬, Jon 3:4).15 After YHWH had disciplined Jonah for his dereliction of prophetic duty, he recommissioned him to go to the same city. Having fulfilled his commission and announced the city’s doom, the prophet waited expectantly for the fire to fall from heaven. However, YHWH’s withdrawal of the threat in response to the Ninevites’ repentance (3:6–10) infuriated Jonah so intensely that he preferred death over life (4:1–3). While at the level of locution, “Forty days and Nineveh will be turned upside down!” 9

Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, trans. J. D. Martin; Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 120. However, Zimmerli’s argument that the original urgency of Ezekiel’s prophecy had waned but that it had gained new significance in the light of the challenge posed by the Egyptians thirteen years later misses the point of the present oracle. So also Kathryn Pfisterer Darr, “The Book of Ezekiel: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes (Nashville: Abingdon, 2001) 6:1410–11. 10 Robert P. Carroll, When Prophecy Failed: Cognitive Dissonance in the Prophetic Traditions of the Old Testament (New York Seabury, 1979), 175. 11 Greenberg, Ezekiel 21–37, 617. 12 Thus Iain Duguid, in a review of The Book of Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, in WThJ 61 (1999): 120. 13 Cf. Donald E. Gowan, Ezekiel, Knox Preaching Guides (Atlanta: John Knox, 1985), 103. 14 Block, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 153–54. 15 Unless otherwise noted, all translations of biblical texts are the author’s own.

64

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

sounds absolute, the rhetorically intended illocution seems to seek the opposite outcome;16 YHWH’s warning functioned as an invitation to Nineveh to respond so that he would not need to carry out the threat (cf. 4:10–11).17 However, the situation envisioned in Ezekiel 26 differs significantly from that described in Jonah 3–4 – as well as Exodus 32:10–14 (and Num 14:11–20), in which Moses’ intercession won YHWH’s withdrawal of his threat to destroy his own people, to which the Jonah text alludes. Whereas Jonah’s commission involved threats delivered to targets of divine fury, Ezekiel’s real audience consisted of his fellow exiles. To be sure, Ezekiel 26 casts YHWH as addressing Tyre directly, but it is doubtful this prophecy ever arrived in Tyre. Although Ezekiel opened the address with “Look I am against you, O Tyre!” (26:3) and he maintained this I-you pattern throughout, YHWH was not talking to Tyre. As far as we know, YHWH did not intend this prediction of Tyre’s total destruction either as a locutionary appeal to the city to change her ways according to the principles Ezekiel outlined in 18:21–22 and 30–31 or as an encouragement to Nebuchadrezzar to take the city. Rather Ezekiel was talking to his own exiled compatriots in Babylon, reminding them of YHWH’s involvement in events transpiring on the international stage and of Nebuchadrezzar’s role as the agent of YHWH’s fury as anticipated in the covenant curses of Deuteronomy 28. Indeed, the siege of Tyre text is not about unfulfilled prophecy, or about YHWH’s need to revise earlier prophecies in the light of the way things actually turn out. We may argue this point from several perspectives. 1. The Genre of Ezekiel 29:17–21 Because Ezekiel 26 and 29:17–21 both contain modified versions of the recognition formula,18 we may superficially classify both oracles as proof sayings.19 However, here the links end. Beyond the general category of proof saying, chapter 26 is obviously also a prophetic pronouncement of doom on a foreign nation, complete with an embedded dirge (vv. 15–18). Since Ezekiel 29:17–21 exhibits none of the features of either pronouncements of doom or dirges, it is doubtful the latter was composed as a substitute or replacement for the former. The interpretation represented by Carroll and Greenberg seems to imagine that 29:17–21 functions as a disputation speech, responding to charges that YHWH is impotent in fulfilling his own predictions and that Ezekiel has therefore proved to be a false prophet. However, Ezekiel not only knew well the difference between true and false prophecy (Ezek 12:21–13:23), but he also knew how to cast disputation speeches dealing with this subject, complete with opening quotation and divinely charged rebuttal, as we see in 12:21– 25:20 Preamble The following message of YHWH came to me:

21

The Circulating “Proverb” 22 Human, what is this proverb (‫ )מָ שָׁ ל‬that you have circulating in the land of Israel: “Time passes, and every vision fails”? 16

Unless we are to interpret the verb ‫ נֶהְ ָפּכֶת‬metaphorically instead of physically. Most translate the word “overthrown,” but like the ambiguous and vague utterances of the Delphic oracle, the word could refer to the outcome that Jonah witnessed; in a sense the repentance of the Ninevites turned the city upside down. I am grateful to Iain Duguid for alerting me to this possibility. On this quality of Israelite and Delphic oracles, see Daniel I. Block, “What has Delphi to do with Samaria? Ambiguity and Delusion in Israelite Prophecy” in Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society: Papers in Honour of Alan R. Millard, ed. P. Bienkowski, C. Mee, and E. Slater; JSOT.SS 426 (New York / London: T&T Clark, 2005), 189–216. 17 Compare Exod 32:10–14, where Moses seized YHWH’s demand of him not to intervene in his intent to destroy Israel as an opportunity to intercede on their behalf, which resulted in YHWH’s withdrawing his threat. 18 Identical versions occur in 26:6 (cf. the self-identification formula in v. 14) and 29:21: ‫וְ י ְָדעוּ כִּ י־אֲנִי יְהוָה‬, “Then they will know that I am YHWH.” 19 On the genre and intention of these two oracles, see Ronald M. Hals, Ezekiel, Forms of Old Testament Literature (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 186–90 and 209–11, respectively. 20 Slightly modified from Ezekiel Chapters 1–24, 386–91.

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

The Rebuttal 23 Therefore, say to them, “Thus has the Lord YHWH declared: ‘I will put an end to this proverb; they will never quote it again in Israel. The Counterthesis On the contrary, say to them, “The time is near for every vision to be fulfilled! 24Indeed there will never be any vain vision or misleading divination within the house of Israel again, 25for I am YHWH. I declare whatever I declare, and it is fulfilled. It will not be delayed any longer. Indeed, in your own lifetime, O rebellious household, I will make a pronouncement and I will fulfill it.’” The declaration of the Lord YHWH.

65

66

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

Maggie Odell has rightly observed that if 29:17–21 was concerned about unfulfilled prophecy, it would either open the way 12:21–25 does or conclude with a proof saying something like, “But when this happens – and happen it certainly will – then they will know that a prophet has been in their midst” (33:33).21 2. The Discourse Syntactical and Grammatical Flow of Ezekiel 29:17–21 Close attention to the discourse and syntactical flow of the oracle will lead us in a direction quite different from that represented by those who focus on the problem of unfulfilled prophecy (Table 1). Following the narrative preamble (v. 17), as an oracle the passage consists entirely of divine speech (vv. 18–21). However, a second speech (vv. 19b–20) embedded within the first register (vv. 18–19a, 21) complicates this simple structure. In terms of content, the text divides into the following four parts: (a) preamble (v. 17); (b) YHWH’s recognition of Nebuchadrezzar’s diligent service and lack of appropriate compensation for his labors on his behalf against Tyre (v. 18); (c) YHWH’s promised compensation for his labors (vv. 19– 20); and (d) a concluding apologia, with promises concerning Israel and Ezekiel (v. 21a, 21b, respectively). A. Preamble (v. 17) According to this opening date notice Ezekiel received this oracle from YHWH on New Year’s Day in the twenty-seventh year of Jehoiachin’s (and his own) exile.22 In the city of Babylon, this was the day of the Akitu festival, when the people joined the gods in celebrating the kingship of Marduk with huge processions and rituals in his honor that climaxed with the whole city shouting, “Marduk is King! Marduk is king! Marduk is King!”23 Given this date, this oracle came fourteen years after Ezekiel’s last oracle against Egypt (32:17; 12.12.15 = March 18, 585 BC) and two years after the long concluding vision, chapters 40–48 (40:1). But the oracle may have been triggered by news in Babylon that Nebuchadrezzar had lifted the thirteen-year siege of Tyre during the reign of Ittobaal/Ethbaal III (ca. 591–573 or 590–572 BC).24 While the circumstances surrounding the initiation of the siege are not clear, that it began in 586–585 BC suggests that his army’s razing of Jerusalem may have inspired Nebuchadrezzar to move northwest to the coast and claim the prize that the Assyrians had been unable to seize a couple of generations earlier. The circumstances of the lifting of the siege are equally unclear, but it seems that either Ittobaal finally submitted to Nebuchadrezzar or that his successor, Baal II (573/572–564 BC) quickly bowed to Babylonian pressure and accepted vassal status under Nebuchadrezzar, thereby eliminating the need for any further action against the city. The Tyrians, however, will scarcely have realized the theological or prophetic ramifications of the Babylonian withdrawal of the siege, but from the divine perspective, it appears that Ittobaal III’s / Baal II’s submission to Babylon signified their resignation to the will and plan of YHWH. Consequently, YHWH suspended the threats that he had pronounced upon the city, delaying the tidal wave that would destroy the city for 250 years until the coming of Alexander the Great of Greece. B. YHWH’s Recognition of Nebuchadrezzar’s Diligent Service against Tyre (v. 18) Several features of YHWH’s assessment of Nebuchadrezzar’s efforts at Tyre are striking. First, twice YHWH identified Nebuchadrezzar by his true name and title. While we know the king of Babylon as Nebuchadnezzar, in Ezekiel YHWH always identifies him as Nebuchadrezzar (‫)נְ בוּכ ְַד ֶראצַּ ר‬, which is closer to the 21

Margaret S. Odell, Ezekiel, Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2005), 375. That is April 26, 571 BC, according to Richard A. Parker and Waldo H. Dubberstein, Babylonian Chronology 626 B.C.–A.D. 75, SOAC 24 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 26. 23 COS 1.111 (pp. 390–402, esp. p. 397). On the Akitu Festival, see Benjamin D. Sommer, “The Babylonian Akitu Festival: Rectifying the King or Renewing the Cosmos?” JANES 27 (2000): 81–95; Julye Bidmead, The Akitu Festival: Religious Continuity and Royal Legitimation in Mesopotamia, 2nd ed.; Gorgias Dissertations Near Eastern Studies (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2004). 24 See above, p. 4 and n. 7. On Ittobaal III and this period of Tyre’s history, see Katzenstein, History of Tyre, 325–30. Josephus reports that Nebuchadrezzar had besieged Tyre for thirteen years during the reign of Ittobaal (Ethbaal) III of Tyre (ca. 591–573 or 590–572 BC). See C. Apion I.20 [143–44]; Antiq. 10.11.1 [228]. 22

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

67

pronunciation of his Babylonian name Nabû-kudurri-uṣur, meaning “O Nabu protect my offspring.”25 We may surmise that YHWH used the Babylonian version as if he knew him personally and out of respect for his role in the divine agenda. YHWH dignified the Babylonian further by adding his title, “king of Babylon,” here and in every other case in Ezekiel.26 Second, YHWH acknowledged the effects on the bodies of Nebuchadrezzar and his armies’ work: “Every head is worn bald and every shoulder rubbed bare” (‫)כָּל־ר ֹאשׁ מֻקְ ָרח וְ כָל־כָּתֵ ף ְמרוּטָ ה‬. These observations could refer to the chafing effects of helmets and armor,27 but it is preferable to interpret the statement as evidence of the back-breaking work involved in carrying out a siege.28 Before the age of earth-moving machines the vast amounts of dirt required to construct siege mounds and ramps all had to be carried by hand or on the backs of donkeys. However, it is even more likely that here YHWH adapted an image that was common in Babylon (and Assyria), that of kings and their men constructing temples on behalf of their gods. The first expression reflects the practice of carrying baskets of earth on the workers heads, as portrayed in sculptures,29 and described in temple building texts, such as the following Esarhaddon text from the seventh century BC. I was afraid and worried (and) I knelt before the gods Šamaš, Adad, (and) Marduk, the great judge(s), the gods, my lords. In the diviner’s bowl, trustworthy oracles were established for me, and they had (their response) concerning the (re)building of Babylon (and) renovation of Esagil written on a liver. I trusted in their firm ‘yes’ and I mustered all of my craftsmen and the people of Karduniaš (Babylonia) to its full extent. I had them wield hoes and I imposed baskets (on them). I mixed (the mud for) [its re]vet[ment] with fine oil, honey, ghee, kurunnuwine, muttinnu-wine, (and) pure mountain beer. [In order] to show [the people] his great [divinity and] to inspire awe (in) his lordship, I raised [a ba]sket onto [my] he[ad] and [carried] (it) myself. I [had its bricks made in brickmolds of musukkannu-wood]. I gather[ed together expert craftsmen (and) skilled master] builders, who lay out [plans], expo[sed the place where] Esagil [stands, and inspected] its structure. [In] a favorable month, on a propitious day, I laid its foundation platform over its previous foundations (and) in (exact) accordance with its earlier plan I did not diminish (it) by one cubit nor increase (it) by half a cubit.30 However, several Neo-Babylonian texts are geographically and chronologically more relevant to our passage. The first involves Nabopolassar commemorating his reconstruction of Marduk’s temple in Babylon: Through the craft of the exorcist, the wisdom of the gods Ea and Marduk, I made that place pure and firmly set its foundation(s) on (its) original socle. I laid out gold, silver, (and) stones from the mountains and sea in its foundations. I poured out glistening ṣapšu, fine oil, aromatics, and dāmātu-paste beneath the brickwork. I fashioned statue(s) of my royal majesty [ALAM šar-ru4-ti-ia] carrying a basket and had (them) placed in the foundation.31 25

Ezek 26:7; 29:18, 19; 30:10. Nebuchadnezzar appears in English translations of Jeremiah 37 times. Of these 29 use Nebuchadrezzar, while only 8 (all in the oracles of 27:1–29:20) use Nebuchadnezzar, where the former never occurs. 26 The same phenomenon characterizes Jeremiah, where of the 37 occurrences, only 4 lack the title. Three of these involve the narrator’s date notices (32:1; 52:29, 30) and the fourth the narrator’s statistical summary of the number of Judeans taken captive to Babylon (52:28). Within oracles, YHWH always adds the title. 27 John B. Taylor, Ezekiel: An Introduction and Commentary, TOTC (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1969), 201. 28 Odell (Ezekiel, 376) interprets the baldness and shoulders rubbed raw as marks of Nebuchadrezzar’s aging and his lengthy “yoke of service” to YHWH. 29 See, for example Ashurbanipal carrying a basket of building materials (soil?) on his head, ANEP #450; IBD 1:135; John H. Walton, ed., Zondervan Illustrated Bible Backgrounds Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009, 4:105. 30 Esarhaddon 104, as translated by Erle Leichty, The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC), RINAP 4 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 197–98. 31 RIBo Nabopolassar 06 ii.31–48. Translation by Frauke Weiershäuser and Jamie Novotny, “Etenmenanki Inscription” (“Nabopolassar 06,”), accessible at http://oracc.iaas.upenn.edu/ribo/babylon7/Q005365/html. On this image, see Richard S. Ellis, Foundation Deposits in Ancient Mesopotamia, Yale Ancient Near Eastern Researches 2 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1968), 135, 151, 179–80.

68

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

This statement precedes an intriguing description of Nabopolassar’s engagement of his son Nebuchadrezzar in the project: I bowed (my) neck to the god Marduk, my lord, rolled up (my) garment, the ceremonial attire of my royal majesty, and carried mud bricks and mud on my head. I had baskets made from gold and silver and I made Nebuchadnezzar – (my) firstborn child, the beloved of my heart – carry with my workmen, mud that was mixed with wine, oil, and crushed aromatics. I made Nabû-šuma-līšir – his talīmu-brother, a child who is my (own) offspring, (his) younger brother, my favorite – take up the hoe (and) spade. I imposed (upon him) a gold and silver basket and gave him as a gift to the god Marduk, my lord.32 If the reference to heads worn bald alludes to baskets carried to honor deities in temple construction projects, “every shoulder rubbed bare” seems to allude to “bearing the yoke of the gods” or “doing the service of the gods.” Immediately after reporting that he had created an image of himself and buried it in the foundation of the temple, Nabopolassar declared, “I bowed my neck to the god Marduk” and then spoke of his ceremonial attire and carrying mud bricks on his head and creating baskets of gold and silver for his son Nebuchadrezzar, dedicating him to Marduk, and building Esagila “to be an object of wonder.”33 The entire text is descriptive. In this context, “to bow the neck” (ki-ša-dam lu ú-ka-an-ni-iš) functions as shorthand for “to bend the neck to pull the chariot pole [of the gods]” variations of which we find in several Nebuchadrezzar inscriptions.34 The devotional significance of the metaphor is reflected in a Babylonian proverb: “He that bears his god’s yoke never lacks food, though it be sparse.”35 It is probably not merely coincidental that in the Enuma Elish text the report of the creation of humankind precedes the report of the construction of the temple for Marduk: 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 32

From his [Qingu’s] blood he (Ea) created mankind, On whom he imposed the service of the gods, and set the gods free. After the wise Ea had created mankind And had imposed the service of the gods upon them – That task is beyond comprehension For Nudimmud performed the creation with the skill of Marduk – King Marduk divided the gods, All the Anunnaki into upper and lower groups.36

RIBo Nabopolassar 06 ii:49–iii.24, as translated by Weiershäuser and Novotny, accessible at http://oracc.iaas.upenn.edu/ribo/babylon7/Q005365/html. For discussion of the practice of depositing images of royal temple builders in the foundations, see Hanspeter Schaudig, “The Restoration of Temples in the Neo- and Late Babylonian Periods: A Royal Prerogative as the Setting for Political Argument in From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, edited by Mark J. Boda and Jamie Novotny, AOAT 366 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010), 152–54. On the history and function of foundation deposits, see Christina Tsouparopoulou, “Hidden messages under the temple: Foundation deposits and the restricted presence of writing in 3rd millennium BCE Mesopotamia,” in 2014, Verborgen, unsichtbar, unlesbar – Zur Problematik restringierter Schriftpräsenz, Materiale Textkulturen Series Vol 2, edited by Tobias Frese, Wilfried E. Keil, and Kristina Krüger (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 17–31. 33 RIBo Nabopolassar 06 ii.49–iii.33. 34 RIBo Nebuchadnezzar II WBA iii:3–4, a-na šá-a-ti se-er-de-šu-nu ku-u[n]-nu-šu GÚ. Text and translation by Rocío Da Riva, at http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/ribo/babylon7/corpus/#Q005600.45. See also idem, The Twin Inscriptions of Nebuchadnezzar at Brisa (Wadi esh-Sharbin, Lebanon): A Historical and Philological Study, AfO Beiheft 32 (Vienna: Horn, Berger & Sons, 2012), 43; also the clay cylinder inscription commemorating Nebuchadrezzar’s construction of a new palace C34 i:12: a-na ša-a-ṭam sì-ir-de-e-šu lu ú-šak-an-iš ki-ša-dam, which da Riva (“Nebuchadnezzar II’s Prism [EȘ 7834]: A New Edition,” ZA 103 [2013]: 222) translates as, “I verily bent my neck to tow his carrying-pole.” 35 As translated by W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Oxford: Clarendon, 1960), 84–85. More recently Takayoshi Oshima (Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers, ORA 14 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014], 162–63) transliterates the clause as ša-di-id ni-ir DINGIR lu-ú ba-ḫi sa-di-ir a-kal-šú, and translates, “The one who bears the yoke of deity is indeed thin.” 36 Enuma Elish, Tablet VI:33–39, as translated by Wilfred G. Lambert, Babylonian Creation Myths (Winona Lake, IN:

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

69

These first two observations lead naturally to a third, namely YHWH’s disposition toward Nebuchadrezzar: he had expended his efforts and his forces in Tyre on YHWH’s behalf. Although he delayed explicitly declaring that the Babylonian king was acting as his agent until the end of verse 20 – “They were working for me” (‫ – )ﬠָשׂוּ לִ י‬the frames of verse 18 declare this theme implicitly. It is striking that while YHWH will not use the word “to serve” (‫ )ﬠָבַ ד‬where we expect it, the root occurs five times.37 Here is what we actually have: Human, Nebuchadrezzar, the king of Babylon, had his army serve (‫ )הֶ ﬠֱבִ יד‬a great service (‫)ﬠֲבֹ דָ ה‬ against38 Tyre … Still neither he nor his army has received [appropriate] compensation from Tyre for the service (‫ )ﬠֲבֹ דָ ה‬he served (‫ )ﬠָבַ ד‬against her … Ezekiel picks up the theme with a fifth occurrence at the end of verse 20. 20

As his reward for which he served (‫)ﬠָבַ ד‬, I have given him the land of Egypt, because they were working (‫ )ﬠָשָׂ ה‬for me.”

This emphasis on service raises the question: “Whom were Nebuchadrezzar and his army serving?” Had they been Assyrians the Babylonians would have said that by seeking to conquer Tyre they were “extending the borders of Ashur, king of the gods,” with “the troops of Ashur,” led by “the viceregent of the land of the God of Ashur,” the patron deity of Assyria.39 Although neo-Babylonian rulers were less pompous about their territorial conquests,40 they all recognized that they ruled at the command of Marduk. Accordingly, Nebuchadnezzar II characterized his emergence as follows: When the god Marduk, the great lord, elevated me to be king and entrusted me with the lordship of all the people, the god Nabû, overseer of the totality of heaven and earth, allowed my hands to grasp a just scepter for keeping all of the settlements in good order and making (their) people flourish.41 Remarkably, usurping Marduk’s control over Nebuchadrezzar, YHWH concludes the next phase of this oracle with an unequivocal causal comment: “because they were working for me” (‫)אֲשֶׁ ר ﬠָשׂוּ לִ י‬.42 In short, by besieging Tyre Nebuchadrezzar and his forces were fulfilling an assignment issued by YHWH, the God of Israel, rather than Marduk, the god of his agents. Eisenbrauns, 2013), 112–13. For discussion of this segment, see pp. 455–56. In this account the creation of humankind is much briefer, omitting the detailed description of the corresponding text in Atra-ḫasīs, where “bearing the yoke/enduring the toil” (ab-ša-nam li-bi-il/ šu-up-ši-ik DINGIR) signified back-breaking slavery to the gods (Atra-ḫasīs I:3). For Akkadian text and translation, see W. G. Lambert and A. R. Millard, Atra-ḫasīs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 42–43. 37 For English stylistic reasons, it rarely appears in translations – not even my own Block, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 146. 38 Here Ezekiel uses ‫ אֶ ל‬in the sense of ‫ﬠַל‬, as he often does. Cf. Block, Ezekiel Chapters 1–24, 99 n.67. 39 On these epithets with reference to Sargon and further bibliography, see E. J. Bickerman, “Nebuchadnezzar and Jerusalem,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, 1979–1980, vol. 46/47, Jubilee Volume (1928– 29 / 1978–79) [Part 1] (1979–1980),” 72–73 [69–85]. 40 So also Bickerman, ibid., 73–74. On the laconic style of the records see Roció Da Riva, The Neo-Babylonian Inscriptions: An Introduction, Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record 4 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2008), 5–14. 41 Thus Weiershäuser and Novotny, RIBo, Nebuchadnezzar II 023 i:13–17, accessible at http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005494/; similarly Nebuchadnezzar 002 i:40–50, accessible at http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005473/. See also Nebuchadnezzar 027 iii: “[The] governors of the land of Ḫatti, (who are) across the Euphrates River, to the West (lit. ‘entering of the sun”), dominion over whom I exercise by the word of the god Marduk, my lord” (ša i-na a-ma-at dAMAR.UTU be-lí-ia belu-ut-su-nu a-bé-lu-ma). Translation and transliteration by Weiershäuser and Jamie Novotny accessible at http://oracc. org/ribo/Q005498. 42 On the causal use of ‫אֲשֶׁ ר‬, see Block, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 146 n. 5; cf. Greenberg, Ezekiel 21–37, 615. Since this clause is missing in LXX, Syr, and several minor versions, many ill-advisedly delete it as an interpretive gloss.

70

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

One final but significant feature of verse 18 remains: YHWH’s acknowledgement that he had not adequately compensated his Babylonian agent for his extreme efforts against Tyre. In my commentary, I followed prevailing opinion in translating ָ‫ﬠָליה‬ ֽ ֶ ‫ וְ שָׂ כָר ל ֹא־הָ יָה לוֹ וּלְ חֵ ילוֹ ִמצֹּ ר ﬠַל־הָ ﬠֲבֹ דָ ה אֲשֶׁ ר־ﬠָבַ ד‬as “Still neither he nor his army has received any compensation from Tyre for the energy he expended against her.”43 The term ‫ שָׂ כָר‬does indeed normally refer to payment a person receives in exchange for services rendered for another person.44 However, the comprehensive interpretation reflected in my own and other translations arises from a misguided preoccupation with the status of Ezekiel’s prophecy in chapter 26 rather than the status of YHWH’s relationship with the Babylonian king. Furthermore it overlooks two critical facts. First, grammatically the statement is ambiguous. On the one hand, a comprehensive word expressing total lack either in the form of receiving “no” [compensation] or not receiving “any” [compensation] is missing. On the other hand, we do better to render the prepositional phrase ‫ ﬠַ ל הָ ﬠֲבֹ דָ ה‬as “corresponding to the service” rather than “for the energy/labor.” Second, the historical records show that Nebuchadrezzar did in fact receive significant return for his efforts against Tyre – though he may not have been satisfied with what he achieved. From Old Tyre on the mainland across the 700-meter waterway he could see the magnificent palaces on the island with the temple of Melqart, “the Lord of Tyre” (‫ )מלקרת בעל צור‬at the top. However, by the time he lifted the siege with the sword he had conquered Old Tyre on the mainland – which was larger than the island city – and the entire region up and down the coast; the islander Tyrians did in fact submit to him, demonstrating their vassal status by paying Nebuchadrezzar significant tribute; and hereafter the region provided Babylon with a wealth of natural resources, especially lumber.45 The primary issue here is not failed prophecy. As Iain Duguid observes, Only if God’s word is decisive and can be unfailingly counted upon, do these words have any value. Otherwise, God is revealed to be like a poor parent, who threatens repeated chastisement upon his children, but cannot be counted upon to follow through. In Ezekiel 12:25, however, the Lord explicitly declares that he will fulfill exactly what he says, and soon.46 We need to interpret this passage not against the grain of Ezekiel’s statements concerning YHWH’s fidelity to his declared word elsewhere, but in light of those statements. In 26:15 in the midst of the earlier prophecy we heard him declare, “I am YHWH. I have spoken,” which represents an abbreviation of fuller statements like “I am YHWH. I have spoken. I will act [accordingly]” (17:24; 22:14; 36:36; 37:14). Statements like this drive us to reexamine what YHWH had said in chapter 26 and what happened in history. I begin with Ezek 26:3–6: 3

Therefore, thus has the Lord YHWH declared: I am against you, O Tyre! I will hurl against you many nations as the sea hurls its waves. 4 They will destroy the walls of Tyre and tear down her towers. I will scrape her soil off her and transform her into a bare rock. 5 She will be a place where nets are spread, in the midst of the sea, for I have spoken – the declaration of the Lord YHWH. She will become plunder for the nations, 6 while her daughters who are on the mainland will be slaughtered with the sword. Then they will know that I am YHWH. In light of the fourteen years between the delivery of the oracles in chapters 26 and 29:17–21, the opening to the former is highly significant. YHWH began that utterance with a declaration of his fundamentally 43

Block, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 146. Cf. “no reward” (NIV; Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2, 117); “no return” (NJPS); “no compensation” (CSB); did not get “any remuneration” (Leslie Allen, Ezekiel 20–48, WBC 29 [Dallas: Word, 1990], 108); did not get “anything” (ESV, NRSV). 44 Gen 30:32–33; 31:8; Exod 2:9, Num 18:31; Deut 15:18; 24:15; 1 Kgs 5:20; Zech 11:12; Mal 3:5; Qoh 4:9; 9:5. Reversing the superior/inferior roles, in an extra-biblical Aramaic text, the king of YʾDY-Samʾal “hires” (škr) the king of Assyria against the king of the Danunians (COS 2:30 [p. 147]). 45 On all of these, see further the Appendix below. 46 Duguid, review of Block, The Book of Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 120.

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

71

hostile disposition toward Tyre: “I am against you, O Tyre!” The issue here is neither Nebuchadrezzar nor establishing a test concerning the efficacy of divine prophecy. However, the ambiguity of the following statement complicates our expectations concerning YHWH’s forthcoming expression of that hostility: “As the sea hurls its waves, so I will hurl against you many nations.” The plural forms for both “many nations” (‫ )גּוֹיִ ם ַרבִּ ים‬and “its waves” (‫ ) ַגּלָּיו‬could refer to Nebuchadrezzar’s troops assembled from all over the empire, except that Ezekiel interprets Nebuchadrezzar and Babylon as a single political/military entity. Ezekiel 31:11 will be quite explicit: “I will give it [Pharaoh and his hordes as a gigantic tree] into the hand of a mighty one (‫ )אַ יִ ל‬of the nations. He shall surely deal with it as its wickedness deserves. I have cast it out.” (Ezek. 31:11). The plural forms “waves” and “many nations” in 26:3 do not necessarily refer to the Babylonians as a singular tidal wave but open the door to additional invasions as stages of fulfillment, with Nebuchadrezzar being the first. When the Persian Cyrus and his successor Cambyses took over Nebuchadrezzar’s empire, they exercised full control of Phoenicia, taxing their merchants and requiring tribute from the rulers of Tyre. In his recounting of the conquest of Babylon in 539 BC, Cyrus reports, By his [Marduk’s] exalted [word], all the kings who sit upon the thrones throughout the world, from the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea, who live in the dis[tricts far-off], the kings of the West, who dwell in tents, all of them brought their heavy tribute before me and in Babylon they kissed my feet.47 However, it would be left to Alexander two centuries later to fulfill YHWH’s detailed prediction in Ezekiel 26:7–14, which ends with: 13

I will put an end to the noise of your songs, so the sound of the lyre will no longer be heard. I will transform you into a bare rock! She will be a place where they spread out nets, never to be rebuilt, for I am YHWH; I have spoken. The declaration of the Lord YHWH. 14

The events that prophets foresaw were often like a range of mountains. When truckers and tourists drive across the prairies of Canada on the trans-Canada highway, they begin to see the Rocky Mountains just before they reach Calgary. From a distance the Canadian Rockies look like a single line on the horizon. However, upon reaching Banff they realize that this is just one of many ranges to be encountered before they reach the Pacific Ocean in Vancouver. While each range is distinct and has its own name, they are all included in that single epithet, the Rocky Mountains.48 By 573/572 BC Nebuchadrezzar had fulfilled YHWH’s immediate goal of neutralizing Tyre as a gadfly in the implementation of his agenda, but this was an early phase of an enterprise that would take more than two and one-half centuries to complete. Although many scholars interpret Ezekiel 29:17–21 as an admission of failure, this was not the issue that YHWH addressed here. C. YHWH’s Promised Compensation for Nebuchadrezzar’s Labors (vv. 19–20) In verses 19–20 YHWH acknowledged not that his earlier prophecy had failed but that he had not compensated his Babylonian agent adequately for his efforts.49 YHWH’s resolve to redress this issue accounts fully for the principal clauses that govern another divine speech embedded within the oracle that takes up the rest of verses 19–20. The final clause of verse 18 expressly declares this to be YHWH’s response to the issue of compensation: “Therefore, thus has the Lord YHWH declared” (‫) ָלכֵן כֹּ ה אָ מַ ר אֲדֹ נָי יְהוִ ה‬. The two principal clauses that govern verses 19–20 announce YHWH’s sense of indebtedness to his agent: 47

“Cyrus Cylinder,” in COS 2:124 (p. 315), as translated by Mordechai Cogan. Israel’s prophets and psalmists tended to portray the coming of the Messiah as a single event. Only after Jesus had come and returned to his exalted place in the heavens did his people grasp that this was just the beginning of the Messianic age; its complete fulfillment would not happen until his return. 49 Presupposing the Torah principle expressed concretely as “You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain” (Deut 25:4) but interpreted metaphorically by Paul as “The laborer deserves his wages” (1 Cor 9:9; 1 Tim 5:8). 48

72

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

‫הִ נְ נִ י נֹ תֵ ן לִ נְ בוּכ ְַד ֶראצַּ ר ֶ ֽמ ֶל ־בָּ בֶ ל אֶ ת־אֶ ֶרץ ִמצְ ָריִ ם‬

19a

‫אֶ ת־אֶ ֶרץ ִמצְ ָריִ ם‬

20a

‫לוֹ‬

‫נָתַ ִתּי‬

Look, I am giving to Nebuchadrezzar the king of Babylon the land of Egypt. I have given to him the land of Egypt

After the opening statement in verse 19 YHWH signaled the introduction of four [virtually subordinate] result clauses explaining the gain the Babylonians will receive from Egypt. The first three have Nebuchadrezzar as the subject and describe the gain in material terms as wealth (‫)הָ מוֹן‬, spoil (‫ )שָׁ לָל‬and booty (‫)בִּ זָּה‬, which represent the plundered treasures of defeated cities. As in verse 18, the last clause refers to the gain as ‫שָׂ כָר‬, “compensation” but identifies the gain as territory, that is “the land of Egypt,”50 with Nebuchadrezzar’s army as the declared beneficiary. The first word in verse 20, ‫פְּ ֻﬠלָּתוֹ‬, functions as an adverbial accusative, “as his reward,” which “for which he served” (‫ )אֲשֶׁ ר־ﬠָבַ ד בָּ הּ‬reinforces. YHWH sealed this embedded oral statement with a concluding signatory formula, “the declaration of the Lord YHWH” (‫)נְ אֻם אֲדֹ נָי יהוה‬.51 In contrast to the fate of Tyre described in chapter 26, YHWH did not explicitly call for an invasion of Egypt. However, verses 19–20 assume that Nebuchadrezzar will launch a military campaign against that country. This may be the event that Jeremiah anticipated when, having been taken to Egypt in the wake of Gedaliah’s assassination, from Tahpanhes he predicted that Nebuchadrezzar, king of Babylon would demolish the obelisks of Heliopolis, burn the temples of the gods of Egypt, and set up his own throne at the entrance of Pharaoh’s palace in Tahpanhes (Jer 43:8–13). External evidence for such a campaign is limited to two fragmentary texts, one Babylonian (BM 33041) and one Egyptian (Tell Défenneh Stela).52 The first reports that Nebuchadrezzar engaged in an expedition to Egypt (miṣir) “to do battle” with weapons, horses, and chariots against Amasis (570–526 BC).53 That event is dated in Nebuchadrezzar’s thirtyseventh year (568 BC), which places it two years after Apries’ (Hophra’s) general Amasis had seized the throne from his royal superior. If this enigmatic notice is historical, Nebuchadrezzar could have taken advantage of the civil turmoil in Egypt during the transition from Apries to Amasis. However, the reliability of the document is uncertain because the fragment seems to have been part of a religious text that included allusions to historical events, rather than a fragment from the more objective and reliable Babylonian Chronicle.54 The second, dated to Apries’ seventh year (582 BC), offers more promise. Until the summer of 2021, this was only extant Egyptian document that referred to the conflict between Egypt and Babylon in the context of the fall of Jerusalem as the two vied for supremacy in the Levant. The inscription speaks of Apries’ preparations for military action against Nebuchadnezzar (who is not named) by ensuring that if hostilities break out they will transpire outside Egypt. Unfortunately the text is broken at the point where we might have expected more concrete information. Minimally it confirms that the Egyptians feared an invasion shortly after the fall of Jerusalem and the withdrawal of the siege of Tyre.55

50

Note the feminine form of ‫וְ הָ יְ תָ ה‬, “she will be,” with ‫ אֶ ֶרץ‬in opening line as the assumed subject. On the signatory formula, see Block, Ezekiel Chapters 1–25, 33–34. 52 Mohamed Abd el-Maksoud and Dominique Valbelle, “Une Stèle de la’an 7 d’Apries dècouverte sur le site to Tell Défenneh,” Revue d’Égyptologie 64 (2013): 1–13. 53 For hand copies of the cuneiform text, see Wiseman, Chronicles of Chaldaean Kings , p. 94, plates XX and XXI; for English translation, ANET, 308b (A. Leo Oppenheim, translator); for an older version of the Akkadian text in transliteration and German translation, see Langdon, Neubababylonische Königsinschriften, 206–7 (NBK. #48). 54 Thus D. J. Wiseman, Chronicles of Chaldaean Kings (626–556 B.C.) in the British Museum (London: The Trustees of the British Museum, 1956), 94–95; idem, Nebuchadrezzar and Babylon, the Schweich Lectures of the British Academy 1983 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), 39–41. 55 For the text, translation, and commentary, see Abd El-Maksoud and Valbelle, “Une Stele de l’an 7 d’Apries decouverte sur le Site de Tell Defenneh,” 1–14. I am grateful to James Hoffmeier for drawing my attention to this article. For a dated but still helpful discussion of Apries, see James K. Hoffmeier, “A New Insight on Pharaoh Apries from Herodotus, Diodorus, and Jeremiah 46:17, JSSEA 11/1 (1981): 165–70. To this meager extra-biblical witness to the conflict we may soon be able to add a 2600-year old limestone slab inadvertently unearthed by a farmer digging in his field near Ismailia and first reported in June, 2021. According to news reports, apparently Apries had the stela erected during a campaign into Syria-Palestine. Perhaps this inscription will clarify some aspects of these historical events. For a brief report, see Nathan Steinmeyer, “New Stele of Biblical Pharaoh Found Records Foreign Campaign of Pharaoh Who 51

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

73

D. YHWH’s Concluding Apologia (v. 21) YHWH’s oracle ends on a surprising note, abandoning his focus on putting things right with his Babylonian agent, and saving his last utterances for his people Israel and his prophet Ezekiel. The statement consists of three clauses. First, YHWH announced that he would cause a horn (‫ )קֶ ֶרן‬to sprout (‫ )צָ מַ ח‬for the house of Israel. Fundamentally, ‫ קֶ ֶרן‬denotes an animal’s horn and may occasionally be used interchangeably with ‫שׁוֹפָר‬ when used as a wind musical instrument (Josh 6:4–20), though the latter usually denotes a ram’s (or ibex) horn. Because horns are the focus of bovines’ and caprovines’ power, qeren naturally functions figuratively for “strength.”56 However “horn” may also connote “haughtiness” (Ps 75:5–6[4–5]), in which case the idiom “to cut off the horns” refers either to neutralizing a strong person’s/nation’s power (Jer 48:25; Lam 2:3); or to humbling an arrogant person/nation (Ps 75:5–11[4–10]). In this context causing a horn to sprout for Israel offers the exiles hope. YHWH had not forgotten his ancient promises to his people (the devastated and humiliated nation) any more than he had forgotten his obligation to Nebuchadrezzar. However, “I will cause a horn to sprout” (‫ )אַ צְ ִמיחַ קֶ ֶרן‬is capable of another and perhaps more likely interpretation. On the surface this appears to be a mixed metaphor, combining a botanical verb ‫צָ מַ ח‬, “to sprout,” with a bovine noun ‫קֶ ֶרן‬, “horn,” and recalling Ps 132:17, the only other place where the expression occurs, and in identical form. “There I will make a horn to sprout (‫ )אַ צְ ִמיחַ קֶ ֶרן‬for David; I have prepared a lamp for my anointed.” Most scholars reject the messianic interpretation of Ezek 29:21, but Ps 132:12 provides the basis for a longstanding messianic understanding of this text (b. Sanh. 98a).57 YHWH’s earlier promise to appoint “my servant David” to be a single king and shepherd over Israel (Ezek 34:24; 37:22, 24) obviously involves a Davidic messiah, as does the sprig planted on “the high mountain of Israel” that grows into a Weltbaum in 17:22–24.58 But the image of a horn that has been cut off sprouting for the benefit of Israel is problematic because – unlike cervidae (deer), which lose their antlers annually and immediately sprout new ones – once bovine horns are cut off they do not sprout and grow again. Apparently, this is why the restoration of the horn will require a divine act; YHWH will cause it to sprout. But who is that sprout? Jehoiachin is certainly the key here.59 Nebuchadrezzar had taken him to Babylon and imprisoned him there (2 Kgs 24:10–16; 25:27), but in the end this foreign city functioned as a safe for the dynasty. While Jerusalem burned and the Davidic dynasty was for all intents and purposes eliminated (cf. Ezek 19), this sprig was secure in Babylon. To be sure, in 598 BC he had been taken as a captive and imprisoned there (2 Kgs 24:10–16). However, in God’s providence, nine years after Ezekiel had received his final oracle (cf. 29:17), in 562 BC Nebuchadrezzar’s successor, Evil-merodach (Amel-Marduk), released Jehoiachin from prison, elevated him above all the other captive kings, and invited him to eat at his table the rest of his life (2 Kgs 25:27–30).60 From him and his grandson Zerubbabel the horn would sprout (cf. Matt Came to Jerusalem’s Aid,” Bible History Daily, accessible at https://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/daily/ancient-cultures/ancient-egypt/new-stele-of-biblical-pharaoh-found/. 56 1 Sam 2:1, 10; Lam 2:17; Ps 75:11[10]; 89:18, 25[17, 24]; 92:11[10]; 112:9. However, here we should think especially of the horn of the aurochs, the massive wild ancestor of domesticated cattle. Cf. Deut 33:17, “His horns are the horns of an aurochs” (‫)וְ קַ ְרנֵי ְראֵ ם קַ ְרנָיו‬. 57 For further discussion and bibliography see Block, Ezekiel Chapters 25–48, 152 n. 31. 58 Paul M. Joyce characterizes Ezek 29:21 as “one of the clearest ‘messianic’ references” in Ezekiel, but like many others, he expresses doubts about its authenticity. See “King and Messiah in Ezekiel,” in King and Messiah in Israel and in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar, ed. John Day; JSOT.SS 270 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998), 328–29. 59 On Jehoiachin in the book of Ezekiel, see Daniel I. Block, “The Tender Sprig: Ezekiel on Jehoiachin,” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 1 (2012): 173–202; reprinted in idem, Beyond the River Chebar: Studies in Kingship and Eschatology in the Book of Ezekiel (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2013), 45–73. 60 A status apparently reflected in fragments of Babylonian ration records from this period referring to Jehoiachin as m ia-ʾu-ú-GUB LUGAL šá kuria-a-ḫu-du, “Jaʾuchinu king of the land of Judah.” See E. F. Weidner, “Jojachin, König von Juda, in babylonischen Keilschrifttexten,” in Mélanges Syriens offert à Monsieur René Dussaud (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1939) 2:925–26, VAT 16283:38–40. For the English translation, see ANET, 308. Josephus summary of these events is critical of Nebuchadrezzar’s treatment of Jehoiachin: After the death of his son Abilmathadachos, who took over the royal power, at once released Jechonias, the king of Jerusalem, from his chains and kept him as one of his closest friends, giving him many gifts and setting him

74

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

1:12–13). Although Nebuchadrezzar had been YHWH’s agent bringing the Davidic dynasty to the brink of annihilation, he had also been the agent of its preservation. YHWH had kept his word to Israel on this account. In the second part of verse 21 YHWH addresses a personal issue for his prophet, namely Ezekiel’s standing and credibility among his people. At the literal level YHWH had granted him “openness of mouth” among his countrymen fourteen years earlier. At that time, upon hearing that Jerusalem had fallen to the Babylonians on January 8, 585 BC, YHWH had lifted the prophet’s dumbness that he had imposed upon him at the time of his call seven and one-half years earlier on July 31, 593 (1:1–3; 3:26–27), though the description of that event involved a much simpler expression, “I will open your mouth” ( ‫אֶ פְ תַ ח פִּ י‬, cf. 24:27; 33:21). We encounter the present strange expression, ‫וּלְ אֶ תֵּ ן פִּ ְתחוֹן־פֶּה בְּ תוֹכָם‬, “to you I will grant opening of mouth in their midst,” elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible only in Ezek 16:63. Based on this earlier occurrence, it is tempting to associate this statement with Akkadian pīt pî, “opening of the mouth,” which referred to a special ritual performed in consecrating sacred images.61 Whereas the earlier context had indeed involved Judahite idolatry as a central issue, the expression related to Jerusalem’s own mouth and had carried a derived metaphorical sense. By permanently denying Jerusalem an “opening of the mouth” (‫ )פִּ ְתחוֹן פֶּה‬YHWH would stop her from accusing him, her covenant partner, of infidelity and of abandoning her. However, in 29:21 the idiom applies to a human being as the authenticated image of and spokesperson for God.62 Here the issue concerns YHWH’s commitment to his commissioned agent. He had fulfilled that commitment to Nebuchadrezzar by paying him what he deserved for his services to the divine agenda. His opening of Ezekiel’s mouth would mean YHWH’s public vindication of his mouthpiece, but also confirm his fidelity to the word that he commanded Ezekiel to speak. This had happened earlier when Ezekiel heard that his threats of judgment upon Judah had been fulfilled (33:30–33). However, it seems that by 571 BC, when Nebuchadrezzar abandoned the siege of the island city of Tyre without having the destroyed it as envisioned in Ezekiel 26, doubts about Ezekiel’s prophetic status among the exiles had resurfaced. This final word declared that when YHWH had delivered Egypt into Nebuchadrezzar’s hands and when the horn had sprouted for Israel (is this a reference to Jehoiachin’s promotion to the Babylonian court in 562?), Ezekiel’s status as true prophet would be reconfirmed. As the concluding recognition formula declares, concomitantly the house of Israel would acknowledge the presence and work of YHWH among them. This would set the stage for the return of 50,000 Judean exiles to their homeland in 538 BC (Ezra 1:1–2:70) under the leadership of the Davidide Zerubbabel (Ezra 3:1–5:5). Appendix: Evidence for Nebuchadrezzar’s Rule over Tyre Although in Ezekiel 29:18–20 YHWH acknowledges that Nebuchadrezzar’s gains from his military efforts against Tyre were not proportional to his significance as his agent in reordering the world in the wake of his having served as his instrument of judgment against Judah/Israel, extra-biblical evidence for his gains is considerable.

above the kings in Babylonia. For his father had not kept faith with Jechonias when he voluntarily surrendered himself and his wives and children and all his relatives for the sake of his native city, that it might not be taken by siege and razed. (Antiq. X.229–30, as translated by Ralph Marcus, LCL 326 [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966], 285). 61 For translation of the Akkadian texts describing the ritual, and discussion of the ritual itself, see Michael Dick, “The Mesopotamian ‘Washing of the Mouth’ (mīs pī) or ‘Opening of the Mouth’ (pīt pî) Ritual (4.32A–C),” in COS 4:133– 43; idem, Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999). 62 James M. Kennedy (“Hebrew pitḥôn peh in the Book of Ezekiel,” VT 41 [1991]: 233–35) argues that in the end the present expression portrays Ezekiel “as a kind of living idol. Like the idol, he is deaf and mute until the deity moves to speak through him. Part of the theological witness of the text that is thus expressed is that Yahweh chooses to speak in and through human beings instead of sculptured stone or wood.”

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

75

1. Josephus (Against Apion I.143–44; Antiq. X.228) According to Josephus, Phoenician archives recount Nebuchadrezzar’s subjugation of “Syria and the whole of Phoenicia” (τὴν Συρίαν καὶ τὴν Φοινίκην ἅπασαν εκεῖνος). While Nebuchadrezzar did not take the island city, by the end of the thirteen-year siege he exercised total control over Old Tyre and had severely restricted Tyre’s shipping around the island. Admittedly, Tyre was not destroyed as predicted in Ezekiel 26, but her economy was crippled and her political independence was over. The king of Tyre had become a vassal of Nebuchadrezzar. 2. Nebuchadrezzar II Prism Inscription EȘ 7834 (Neb II 011)63 Based on Eckhard Unger’s reading, in the past interpreters of the Istanbul Prism Inscription EȘ 7834 have tended to date this text to ca. 570 BC, that is one year after Ezekiel’s present prophecy.64 However, recent examinations of the prism have confirmed the reading of Unger’s col. ii:25 (Neb II 011 iv:25') as a date notice that pushes the date much earlier: in se-bu-tim ša-at-ti-ia, “in my seventh (regnal) year,65 that is, shortly after ca. 598 BC.66 This document is significant for our purposes because it includes “the king of Ṣū[ru]” (LUGAL ša kurṣú-ú[r-ru] (vii:23') among the list of foreign rulers and dignitaries held in Babylon. The identity of this king is unknown. However, since the timing coincides with the year of Jehoiachin’s exile and imprisonment in Babylon (2 Kgs 24:10–16, cf. 25:27), his name on this “court list” suggests that he probably arrived in Babylon for reasons similar to Jehoiachin’s and that his removal from the throne suggests Nebuchadrezzar’s early overlordship of Tyre. During the previous century, like the other nations of the Levant, Tyre had been a vassal to the NeoAssyrians. However, like the other Phoenician city-states, toward the end of Ashurbanipal’s reign, Tyre had capitalized on Assyria’s weakened state and as an independent island-state managed to gain control of significant territory on the mainland. However, in Nebuchadrezzar’s first regnal year (604) he campaigned in Syria, gaining suzerainty over the Levantine states including Judah (2 Kgs 24:1–2; Dan 1:1–2) and the Phoenician states, which meant that Tyre had become his vassal. Although the king listed in Prism Inscription EȘ 7834 (Nebuchadnezzar II 011) vii:23’ is unnamed, apparently, as was the case with Judah in 598, Nebuchadrezzar allowed native kings to continue to rule in Tyre.67 63

For the transliteration and translation of the text, see Weiershäuser and Novotny, “Nebuchadnezzar II 011,” accessible at http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005482/. Others refer to it as “The Court of Nebuchadnezzar” (ANET, 307–8) or “The Court List” (Wiseman, Nebuchadrezzar and Babylon, 73–75, or the Hofkalender (Kristin Kleber, Tempel und Palast: Dei Beziehungen zwischen dem König and dem Eanna-Tempel im spätbabylonischen Uruk, AOAT 358 (Münster: UgaritVerlag, 2008), 160 n. 452. For the Akkadian text and German translation, see Eckhard Unger, Babylon: Die heilige Stadt nach der Beschreibung der Babylonier (Berlin and Leipzig: de Gruyter, 1931), 282–94. For most recent discussion, see Da Riva, “Nebuchadnezzar II’s Prism (EȘ 7834),” 196–229. 64 Unger, Babylon, 35; Wiseman, Nebuchadrezzar and Babylon, 73–74; Katzenstein, History of Tyre, 326. 65 For transliteration and translation of the text, see Weiershäuser and Novotny (see note 63 above). Similarly Da Riva, “Nebuchadnezzar II’s Prism (EȘ 7834),” 210–11. Da Riva admits (p. 196 n. 6) that the reference does not refer either to the construction of the South Palace in which the prism was found or to the date of the inscription, but the year the products listed in the text were brought into the storehouse of the palace. It could theoretically represent a record of a past harvest, but the document could not have been written after 576 BC, when Nebuchadrezzar completed his more than a decade-long project of constructing of a new North Palace, on which see Kleber, Tempel und Palast, 159–61. 66 For brief discussion of the origins of this reading, see David Stephen Vanderhooft, The Neo-Babylonian Empire and Babylon in the Latter Prophets, Harvard Semitic Museum Monographs 59 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1999), 34 n. 119. See also Da Riva, Neo-Babylonian Royal Inscriptions: An Introduction, 10. 67 The names of the predecessors of Ittobaʿal (Ethbaal) III (591/0–573/2 BC) have not been preserved in the historical records. Cf. Katzenstein, History of Tyre, 325–31, who suggests that the king mentioned in the prism was Itto-baʿal III, but the date notice in EȘ 7834 (Neb II 011) iv:25’–26’ (Unger’s ii:25–26) renders this interpretation untenable. Ittobaʿal did not begin to reign until ca. six or seven years after this inscription had been produced. In a more recent study Tero Esko Alstola (“Judeans in Babylonia: A Study of Deportees in the Sixth and Fifth Centuries BCE,” PhD dissertation, University of Leiden, 2017, 60) concurs with those who suggest that the kings of Tyre, Sidon, Arwad, Ashdod, Gaza, and two others mentioned at the [broken] end of Prism Inscription EȘ 7834 refer, not to captives in Babylon, but

76

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

3. References to kur/uruṣur-ru in Babylonian Sources The expression kur/uruṣur-ru occurs repeatedly in Neo-Babylonian texts from Nebuchadrezzar’s later regnal years. Previously scholars had interpreted these as references to the island state of Tyre.68 However, based on the references to governors/senior commissars (šandabakku) and other arguments, it has now been established from archives dated to Nebuchadrezzar’s thirty-first to forty-first years (574–564 BC) from Nippur, Uruk, and Sippar that the toponym applies to a settlement of ex-patriots from Tyre in the vicinity of Nippur,69 analogous to the nearby settlement of Judeans identified in recently published documents also from the vicinities of Nippur and Borsippa as Āl-Yāḫūdu and Āl-Yāḫūdāya (town of Judah”).70 As 2 Kings 24:15–16 suggests, the inhabitants of these towns represented the skilled and upper classes of subjugated peoples who could contribute to the Babylonian economy, military, and construction projects.71 Although Nebuchadrezzar’s forces will have brought these people to Babylon against their will, as the textual documents from the Al-Yahudu and Murašu collections indicate many were quickly integrated into the Babylonian economy. The fragmentary ration lists from Nebuchadrezzar’s thirteenth year (592/591 BC) mention 126 men from Tyre (lúṣur-ra-a-⸢a⸣) and 90 “mariners of Tyre” (lúMÁ.LAḪ4.MEŠ lúṣur-ra.MEŠ) receiving liberal grants of sesame oil equal to that of foreign princes.72 Apparently these were not common shipmen, but upper-class experts in shipbuilding.73 4. References to Nebuchadrezzar’s Access to Resources of Phoenicia in Babylonian Sources In inscriptions memorializing his building projects Nebuchadrezzar speaks often of the tribute that he exacted from his vassal rulers/states, including those in the Levant. While he rarely mentions the source of the tribute in his inscriptions, what interests us particularly are the references to cedar wood from Lebanon in lists of precious commodities that he received, such as the following: I brought silver, gold, precious (and) valuable stone(s), thick (beams of) cedar, substantial tribute (biltu), lavish gifts, produce of all of the lands, (and) yield of [the, sic, delete] all of the inhabited settlements into the presence of the god Marduk, the great lord, the god who created me, and the god Nabû, his exalted heir, the beloved of my royal majesty, and I made (all of this) enter Esagil and Ezida.74

to the regnant rulers of vassal states, whose tributes to Nebuchadrezzar contributed to his building projects in Babylon (Vanderhooft, Neo-Babylonian Empire, 97; Da Riva, “Nebuchadnezzar II’s Prism [EȘ 7834]: 204–5). 68 See Eckhard Unger, “Nebukadnezar und sein Šandabakku (Oberkommisar) in Tyrus,” ZAW 44 (1926): 314–17; idem, Babylon, 36–37. 69 See especially Frances Joannés, “La Localisation de Ṣurru a l’époque néo-Babylonienne,” Semitica 32 (1982): 35– 43; idem, “Troiss textes de Ṣurru a l’époque néo-babylonienne,” RA 81 (1987): 147–58; Kleber, Tempel und Palast, 143–44; Vanderhooft, Neo-Babylonian Empire, 99–102. 70 See especially Laurie E. Pearce and Cornelia Wunsch, Documents of Judean Exiles and West Semites in Babylonia in the Collection of David Sofer, CUSAS 28 (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2014); Laurie E. Pearce, “‘Judeans’: A Special Status in Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Babylonia?” in Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, ed. O. Lipschits, G. Knoppers, and M. Oeming (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 267–78); Reinhard G. Kratz, “Fossile Überreste des unreformierten Judentums in fernem Lande? Das Judentum in den Archiven von Elephantine und Al-Yaḫudu,” ZAW 132 (2020): 26–29. 71 On the status of the Judeans in Babylon, see Alstola, “Judeans in Babylonia A Study of Deportees in the Sixth and Fifth Centuries BCE”; Yigal Bloch, “Judeans in Sippar and Susa during the First Century of the Babylonian Exile: Assimilation and Perseverance under Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Rule,” JANEH 1 (2014): 119–72; Ran Zadok, The Earliest Diaspora: Israelites and Judeans in Pre-Hellenistic Mesopotamia, Publications of the Diaspora Research Institute 151 (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 2002). 72 For the texts in Akkadian and translation, see Weidner, “Jojachin, König von Juda,” 928–29. 73 So also Wiseman, Nebuchadrezzar and Babylon, 77; Katzenstein, History of Tyre, 322. 74 RIBo Nebuchadnezzar II 032, 1:25–29. On the significance of cedar timber for Nebuchadrezzar, see Josette Elayi, The History of Phoenicia, trans. A. Plummer (London: Lockwood, 2018), 203–4.

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

77

The Amanus and Sirara Mountains farther north had been the primary source of cedar for the Assyrians in their prime, and even then it is not always clear whether these timbers were the spoils of war or tribute.75 Not only is evidence Neo-Babylonian royal dependence on the cedars of Lebanon clear in their inscriptions,76 but it has also recently been confirmed by strontium isotopic analysis of wood remains from Nabonidus’ reconstruction of the Ziggurat at Ur.77 Because the Mesopotamian emperors governed from regions where native timber resources were extremely limited and because of the special qualities of cedar wood from Lebanon, the Neo-Babylonian emperors treated these timbers as treasures, along with silver and gold and precious stones won as booty in war or received as tribute from subjugated nations. They invested these treasures in constructing and refurbishing the temples of the gods in Mesopotamia’s ancient cities and in the construction of their palaces and temples at home. Although Nebuchadrezzar lauded himself for his prowess and fortitude in going to “the forests of Marduk” and retrieving cedar treasures himself,78 we may surmise that the major means of procuring cedar wood was by demanding this commodity as annual tribute: “The tribute of the mountains, the yield of the seas, the products of the lands: gold, silver, precious stones, splendid (things), stout cedars, abundant tribute, I collect and heap up and bring for them every year as a rich gill.”79 Because the Wadi Brisa inscriptions never name Tyre and this island city was located more than fifty miles south of the premier cedar stands, some might argue that Nebuchadrezzar’s gains in cedar wood are irrelevant for the present conversation. However these geographic and economic facts provide important context for the discussion whether or not Nebuchadrezzar received any compensation from YHWH for his ultimately failed efforts to storm the island city à la Ezekiel 26. Although no date is attached to the Wadi Brisa inscription, scholars generally locate it and its twin in Wadi Nahr El-Kelb in the mid-580’s BC, after Nebuchadrezzar had expelled Pharaoh Necho and the Egyptians from Phoenician territory,80 to which WBC

75

So also Josette Elayi, “L’exploitation des Cèdres du Mont Liban par les rois assyriens et néo-babyloniens,” JESHO 31 (1988) 20–23. 76 Ibid., 23–25. See especially Nebuchadrezzar’s Wadi Brisa Inscription, in which the name Lebanon appears repeatedly, and which he claimed for his divine patron, Marduk: On that day, Lebanon, the mountain of cedars, the luxuriant forest of Marduk of sweet smell, whose excellent cedars, which [had] not [been used for the cultic] place of another god, and had not been taken [for the palace] of another king, I cut [with my pure hands] and – the king Marduk had called me (to bring this into effect) – (cedars) which (for) a palace of a ruler […] Babylon […], were fit for a symbol of royalty – (Lebanon) where a foreign enemy had exercised rulership, and whose produce (the enemy) had taken away by force, so that its people had fled, had taken refuge far away. RIBo Nebuchadnezzar II WBC ix:13–19, as translated by Rocío Da Riva. For English translation see also ANET, 307. For a full-length study of this inscription, see Da Riva, The Twin Inscriptions of Nebuchadnezzar. For an older publication of this text, in transliteration, translation, and commentary, see F. H. Weissbach, Die Inschriften Nebukadnezars II im Wâdi Brîsa und am Nahr El-Kelb (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. 1906), 32–33. 77 Sara A. Rich, “Ship Timber as Symbol? Dendro-provenancing & Contextualizing Ancient Cedar Ship Remains from the Eastern Mediterranean / Near East,” (PhD dissertation, University of Leuven, Belgium, 2013), 10, 114 n. 289, 191– 92. 78 “On that day, Lebanon, the mountain of cedars, the luxuriant forest of Marduk … I cut [with my pure hands] … What no former king had done (I did): I cut through the high mountains, I crushed the stones of the mountains, I opened up passes, I prepared a passage for (the transport of) the cedars for the king Marduk. Strong cedars, thick and tall, of splendid beauty, supreme their fitting appearance, huge yield of the Lebanon, I bundled together like reeds of the river(-bank) and I perfumed the Araḫtu (with them), and I set them up in Babylon like Euphrates poplars. (RIBo Nebuchadnezzar II WBC ix:13–14, 33–46). 79 RIBo Nebuchadnezzar II WBA iii:24–35, as translated by Da Riva. 80 Thus Langdon, Neubabylonischen Königsinschriften, 33; idem, Building Inscriptions of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, Part 1, Nabopolassar and Nebuchadnezzar (Paris: Ernst Leroux, 1905), 41–45; Josette Elayi (The History of Phoenicia, 204), dates the inscriptions later, to between 570–62, suggesting the enemy of the mountain folk that he chased out was one of the coastal cities between Tripoli and Arwad that exploited the timber resources in the mountains. The Wadi Brisa inscription is cast in archaic Babylonian script while the script of its twin in nearby Nahr El-Kelb is basically neoBabylonian script but with frequent archaizing characters. Thus, Paul-Richard Berger, Die neubabylonischen Königsinschriften: Königsinschriften des ausgehenden babylonischen Reiches (626–539 v.Chr.), AOAT 4/1 (Neukirchen-Vluyn:

78

Block – Giving Nebuchadrezzar and Ezekiel Their Due

ix:23–32, 47–54 alludes: (Lebanon) where a foreign enemy had exercised rulership, and whose produce (the enemy) had taken away by force, so that its people had fled, had taken refuge far away. With the strength of my lords Nabû and Marduk, I sent [my armies] regularly to Lebanon for battle. I expelled its (Lebanon’s) enemy above and below and I made the country content. I reunited the scattered people and I brought them back to their place …. I let the inhabitants of the Lebanon lie in safe pastures, I did not permit anyone to harass them. So that nobody will oppress them, I (installed) an eternal image of myself as king to (protect them).

Neukirchener Verlagshaus, 1973), 64–67. Weissbach (Die Inschriften Nebukadnezars II, 12) reversed the scripts, characterizing the Nahr El-Kelb version as “altbabylonisch.”

The Buck Stops Here Deer Antlers in Iron Age I Cultic Contexts at Tel Abel Beth Maacah and Their Implications Scott Booth, Ariel Shatil, Nava Panitz-Cohen, Naama Yahalom-Mack, Carroll Kobs and Robert A. Mullins

Abstract This article focuses on two deer antlers recovered from Iron Age IB cultic contexts in Area A that date to the 11th and early 10th centuries B.C.E, and the possible implications they have for understanding cult and ritual related to the human-deer relationship in antiquity. We will first describe the find contexts of the antlers, then identify their osteological characteristics and the ensuing archaeological implications, and finally touch upon their possible significance from an ancient Near Eastern historical, cultural, and ritual perspective. We are honored to offer our contribution to this well-deserved Festschrift to honor Prof. Lawson K. Younger. His encouragement to undertake the excavations at Tel Abel Beth Maacah, as well as his excellent scholarship, serve as a guiding light and inspiration to us all. “One hopes that excavations at the site will provide much needed insight.” (Lawson Younger 2016: 214, note 354) Background: Location and History of Tel Abel Beth Maacah Tell Abil el-Qameḥ is an imposing 10-hectare site on the northern border of modern Israel, at the northwestern corner of the expansive Huleh Valley, south of the gateway to Marj Iyyun leading to the Lebanese Bekaa. Dan is 6 km to the east and Hazor 30 km to the south. Tyre is 35 km due west on the Lebanese coast and Kamid el-Loz (ancient Kumidi) the same distance to the north. Damascus lies 70 km to the northeast as the crow flies (Fig. 1). The tell is adjacent to the perennially flowing Iyyon River, one of the four headwaters of the Jordan River, and is surrounded by arable land and numerous springs.

Fig. 1. Location map (drawn by Ruhama Bonfil). The identification of the tell with biblical Abel Beth-Maacah was largely based on two references to the site in 1 Kings 15:20 and 2 Kings 15:29. These two texts itemize cities along the north-south route of two military campaigns entering the Huleh Valley at Abel Beth-Maacah – the first by the Aramean king BenHadad in the 9th century B.C.E. and the second by the Neo-Assyrian king Tiglath-pileser III in the 8th century.

80

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Another factor in identifying the site is the preservation of “Abil” in the Arabic name of the small village of Abil el-Qameḥ that occupied the tell until 1948. A third biblical reference in 2 Samuel 20:14–22 narrates the escape of the Benjaminite Sheba ben Bichri to Abel Beth-Maacah after calling for rebellion against David. In the story, a local wise woman saved the town from destruction by declaring it loyal to Israel and having the rebel beheaded. A few second millennium B.C.E. sources mention the site solely as “Abel”. These include the late group of Execration Texts (18th century), Thutmose III’s list of destroyed towns (15th century B.C.E.), and a possible reference in the Amarna letters (14th century B.C.E.) (Aharoni 1967: 131–33; Dever 1986: 211–13; Younger 2016: 213–14). We suspect that the suffix ‘Beth-Maacah’ was added later, most likely during Iron I when the city flourished, perhaps as the result of a takeover of the Canaanite town by a West Semitic tribal/kin-based group (Mazar 1961: 27; Dever 1986: 1; Younger 2016: 215). A 3rd century CE border stone found southwest of Ma`ayan Baruch, 2 km from the site, preserved the village name ΒEΘAXWN, which Kaplan (1966) identified with Abel Beth Maacah.

Fig. 2. Tel Abel Beth Maacah, looking east, with the Hermon mountain in the background (photo by Chandler Collins). The site is comprised of a small, lofty upper tell in the north that descends gradually to a larger, more expansive lower city in the south (Fig. 2). Excavations began in 2013, and during the nine seasons so far, we have exposed rich architectural and artifactual remains from MB II to the late Persian/early Hellenistic period in five main excavation areas (Fig. 3).1 There are also sporadic remains of the Roman-Byzantine and Early Islamic periods, as well as from the Mameluke period (Yahalom-Mack, Panitz-Cohen and Mullins 2018). An Ottoman period Arab village, Abil el-Qameḥ, occupied part of the tell until 1948. Surface surveys (Dever 1986; Panitz-Cohen, Mullins and Bonfil 2013) indicate that occupation began in EB II–III and continued, almost uninterruptedly, until modern times.2 The excavations also indicate how the town expanded and contracted in various periods. The MB IIB and Late Iron Age I occupations were the most robust and covered the entire mound, while the Iron IIA city (late 10th and 9th centuries B.C.E.) occupied a little more than half of the site. The latter was characterized by imposing public buildings, including a citadel complex in the north (Area B) and other well-built structures, including a large storeroom3 (Area K) and numerous buildings and installations (Area A) in the centereast of the site (Fig. 4). No clear occupation layer or stratigraphic traces of an Assyrian destruction from the late 8th century B.C.E. have been found to date and limited remains attributed to late Iron IIC have been uncovered in the upper, northern part of the tell.

1

The excavations are co-directed by Naama Yahalom-Mack and Nava Panitz-Cohen under the auspices of The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and by Robert A. Mullins of Azusa Pacific University in Los Angeles. The excavations and research are supported by an Israel Science Foundation grant (2017–2020, grant no. 859/17) and by generous private donors. Licenses are granted by the Israel Antiquities Authority and the Israel Nature and Parks Authority. The supervisor of Area A was Fredrika Loew, assisted by Christin Johnson. The supervisor of the Stratum A2 cultic courtyard was Carroll Kobs, assisted by Jeff Kobs. 2 An additional survey was carried out in December 2020 by Ido Wachtel of the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 3 For a Hebrew inscription on one of the over-30 jars in this storehouse, see Yahalom-Mack et al. 2021.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Fig. 3. The excavation areas marked on a 1945 aerial photo taken by the British Royal airforce (courtesy of the Archives of the Department of Geography, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem).

81

82

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Fig. 4. View of the tell looking west, with excavation Areas A, B and K marked (photograph courtesy of: Mikraot Gedolot Haketer Project, www.mgketer.org). Description of the Antler Find Contexts The Stratum A4 Antler A unique building that occupied most of the eastern part of Area A contained a number of rooms, two of which were completely excavated at the time of writing.4 This structure was attributed to Stratum A4, the third layer of Iron I occupation which was reached only in this part of the excavation area to date. This building was violently destroyed and full of burnt debris, charcoal, ash and fallen bricks and stones; this destruction was radiocarbon dated to the 11th century B.C.E. The architecture and contents of this building led to its definition as a cultic structure (Fig. 5) (Yahalom-Mack, Panitz-Cohen and Mullins 2019). The northern space was enclosed by a wall with an extraordinary, rounded corner on the northwest, while the western wall incorporated two large monolithic stones identified as maṣṣeboth. Against the latter wall stood two ovens and a storage jar base containing ash, each fronted by a large flat stone (Fig. 6). In the eastern part of the space was a bench adjoining a short, wide, round-topped maṣṣebah. Nearby lay an equid burial in a pit, as well as the fragment of a small clay bull figurine and additional cult-related features. An opening in the southern wall that led to the next room contained an articulated dog skeleton. The entranceway to the central room was flanked by two maṣṣeboth. The one on the west was a monolithic, flattened-faced limestone that was cut to an angle on one side, and in the niche formed by the cut, lay an upper grinding stone. Facing this stone, about half a meter to the south, was a semi-circular line of stones adjoined on the west by a roughly square contoured pile of stones that we deemed to be a bamah. The northern half of this room was paved with stones, while the southern half had a beaten-earth floor. The antler5 was found on the earthen floor in the southeastern part of the room, just to the south of the stone semi-circle (Figs. 7–7a). Among the pottery in this building, recovered mainly from its southern part, were a collared-rim pithos, a krater in Canaanite style, cooking pots, pyxides, and flasks.

4

The eastern part of this area is eroded down the slope and further compromised on the east and north by a modern dirt road. Yet, the eastern wall of one of the rooms was preserved so we can determine the east-west extent of the building. 5 Reg. No. 31107, Locus 3108.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Fig. 5. Aerial view of two excavated rooms in the Stratum A4 cultic building; north is on the right (photo by R.A. Mullins).

Fig. 7. Room with the semi-circle of stones facing a maṣṣebah, with a bamah adjoining them; location of antler find spot to the south of the stone semi-circle; looking west (photo by R.A. Mullins).

83

Fig. 6. Detail of western end of northern room with masseboth in the wall and adjoining ovens and installation (photo by R.A. Mullins).

Fig. 7a. Antler from the Stratum A4 cultic building (after restoration) (photo by Tal Rogovski).

The Stratum A2 Antler The latest Iron Age I occupation in Area A (Stratum A2) was characterized by a densely built, well-planned, public compound that included administrative/storage, industrial, and cultic functions (Fig. 8). These structures were destroyed in a severe fire evidenced by burnt and fallen bricks and considerable charcoal and ash; the destruction was radiocarbon dated to the 10th century B.C.E. A passageway leading into the compound from the north separated the eastern buildings from the western ones. The eastern ends of the former buildings were badly eroded (see note 4), so its preservation was partial. On the other hand, the western part of the complex was well preserved and contained rooms and courtyards with different functions. A room in the center of the excavated area contained a massive stone pavement, while the room to its west contained broken pithoi, a lamp-and-bowl foundation deposit, and an ivory seal in the burnt destruction debris. In the eastern part of the central area was a zone devoted to bronze and iron working, as evidenced by a complete pot bellows and other metallurgical remains (Yahalom-Mack, Panitz-Cohen and Mullins 2018: 152). The northeastern part contained a large space, apparently an open courtyard with a cultic function, based on its rich finds; among them was the deer antler.6 6

Reg. No. 51270, Locus 5160.

84

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

This courtyard (Locus 5141) was bordered by walls on the east, west and south; the northern boundary is unknown due to the presence of an olive tree and a modern dirt road beyond it that prevented excavation here. As such, the space measures 7.5 meters from east to west and at least 5.3 meters from south to north. This broad span supports its identification as an open courtyard, since such an area could not have been easily roofed. Entrances to the space were identified in the southern and the western walls.

Fig. 8. Aerial view of Area A at the end of the 2019 excavation season (north on top) (photo by Alex Weigmann).

Fig. 9. Stratum A2 cultic courtyard 5141, note antler find spot in the upper right (photo from 3D model made by Alex Weigmann). This open space contained a number of special features that were aligned and obviously used in tandem (Fig. 9) (Yahalom-Mack, Panitz-Cohen and Mullins 2018: 150–52; Yahalom-Mack and Panitz-Cohen 2019). Against the western wall was a unique, rectangular clay installation 70 cm high, 1 m wide, and protruding 60 cm from the wall. The clay was covered with three identifiable layers of thick mud plaster that joined seamlessly to the hard, white plaster that lined the wall itself. The top of this installation contained a shallow, sink-like basin divided into two by preset stones. There was a round drain opening in the northern

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

85

‘sink’, whose outlet is visible in the lower northern side. The installation, possibly to be defined as an altar, was surrounded by a low stone ‘skirt’ wall flanked on the north and south by two stone mortars (Fig. 10). A pottery cult stand lay near the southern mortar, found near a low brick bench along the southern wall (Fig. 11). On a direct line to the east, approximately 1.5 meters away, were stacked stones that we identify as an offering table (see Figs. 9–10). Adjoining it on the east was a large upper basalt grinding stone. Slightly to the east of this were two elongated, roughly conical-shaped stones, one 1.8 m long and the other, with a fractured bottom, half its size; both lay prone on their flat sides, on a north-south axis. We have interpreted these two stones as maṣṣeboth that originally stood here or elsewhere, but were later laid down and reused to form a low partition between the western and eastern parts of the courtyard. They could have been originally positioned on their long side, especially since the base of the larger one was not straight. Alternatively, this may have been their original placement for use as work tables and/or a partition. Just to the southeast of these stones, a small bronze razor, with two small rivets located on the opposite side for its likely handle attachment, was found together with a goat horn and jawbone, as well as additional animal bones. Microscopic examination of the razor indicates that it had been covered with animal hair7 and decorated with a delicate repousse pattern (Fig. 12). A large mortar was set against the eastern wall of the courtyard on a direct line (east-west axis) with the mud-plastered “altar” and the stone offering table (see Fig. 9). Approximately one meter to the north of this mortar sat a large oven built on a raised step. In front of the oven was an extremely burnt area that contained an antler, found complete, yet broken, on the earthen floor (Figs. 13–15). Nearby were two hematite stones which appear to be weights, as well as a scoria scraper (Fig. 16); it has been suggested that the latter type of stone served for personal hygiene in cultic contexts (Rotem and Mazar 2020: 229). The pottery assemblage recovered from this space included several large pithoi of the wavy-band type, found near the mud-plastered altar and cult stand, as well as cooking pots and a special spouted amphora (Figs. 17–18).

Fig. 10. Stratum A2 cultic courtyard 5141: mud-plastered altar, flanked by mortars and fronted by stone offering table; looking west (photo by R.A. Mullins). 7

This material is currently being analyzed.

86

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Fig. 11. Cult stand in situ, near the southern mortar (see Fig. 10); looking west (photo by R.A. Mullins).

Fig. 12. Bronze razor and goat horn found in the southeastern part of the Stratum A2 cultic courtyard (photo by Tal Rogovski).

Fig. 11a. Restored cult stand (restoration by Ora Mazar).

Fig. 13. The northeastern part of cultic courtyard 5141, where the antler was found (find spot marked with a circle); looking north (photo by R.A. Mullins).

Significantly, in the subsequent chronological phase, Stratum A1 dated to Iron IIA, lay a stone floor with a raised podium bearing an amphora containing 406 astragali bones (see Fig. 8, top left). Such a cache most likely played a role in the local divination practices (Susnow et al. 2021). Since the stone floor and its astragali hoard lay above and just west of the cultic courtyard containing the antler and other cultic paraphernalia, we think that there may have been continuity in the public ritual function of this area of the site from the late Iron Age I to Iron Age IIA.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Fig. 14. Close up of Stratum A2 antler in situ (photo by R.A. Mullins).

Fig. 16. Stone weights and a scoria scraper found near the Stratum A2 antler (photo by Tal Rogovski).

87

Fig. 15. Antler from the Stratum A2 cultic courtyard (after restoration) (photo by Tal Rogovski).

Fig. 17. Smashed wavy-band pithoi in situ, between the stone offering table and the southern mortar; looking west (photo by R.A. Mullins).

Fig. 18. Special spouted jug from the cultic courtyard (photo by Tal Rogovski).

The Antlers What Are Antlers? Antlers are bone outgrowths restricted to members of the deer family (Cervidae). Antlers grow only on male deer, or stags. They are objects of display and combat, and function to impress and compete for female mate choices. Antlers grow each year from permanent protuberances on the frontal bones of the deer skull called pedicles. While growing, the antler is covered by a highly vascular skin tissue known as “velvet,” which supplies the fast-growing bone with the oxygen and nutrients it requires. Once the antler reaches its full size, the blood supply is cut, causing the velvet skin to shrivel and fall, eventually “killing” the mature and fully grown antler. After the mating season, the antler finally detaches at its attachment with the pedicle, and sheds. The period it takes for antlers to fully form and then shed varies according to deer species and habitat conditions (Gilbert 2002: 24). The various parts of the antler, and the nomenclature used to describe them, are presented in Fig. 19, based on a reconstruction of the Stratum A2 antler. A complete or nearly complete antler may provide a researcher with some data regarding the animal who once carried it. That the animal was a male deer is obvious, but the morphology of the antler can often point to a certain species. Antlers can also suggest the animal's age group. During their first 1 to 2 years, the male

88

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

fawns grow spike-like antlers. Branching of the antler usually appears at age 3, and each new set of antlers develops to become larger and more branched than the set from the previous year, that is, until after several cycles the antlers reach their maximum size and complexity. When not all of the antler is preserved, the diameter of the burr and the thickness of the bone cortex at the beam may suggest an age group.

Fig. 19. Antler components. Characteristics of the Abel Beth Maacah Antlers The Stratum A4 antler (Fig. 7) is a large fragment of a lower beam with a marked palmation that develops to a very large and prominent bez tine. The start of what could be a trez tine or an anterior tine is visible at the top of the fragment. It seems that the base of the lower beam was chopped off just above the burr, which is missing. It is therefore not possible to say whether the antler is a shed or not. The palmation of the lower beam identifies the antler as that of the Mesopotamian fallow deer. The size and thickness of the antler’s lower beam, its palmation, the very developed bez tine, possibly united with a trez tine, all point to a complex and developed antler of an adult stag. The Stratum A2 antler was found complete in situ (Figs. 14–15), but removing it from the soil proved to be extremely difficult. It was painstakingly reconstructed in the Hebrew University laboratories.8 Based on the preserved basilar fragment which consists of the burr and the brow tine, the antler is a shed. Part of the lower beam is missing, but the breakage scars are fresh, so we assume the missing parts were just too fragmentary to enable their collection from the field. The long upper beam was preserved almost whole, including three developed snags. A palmation of the lower beam is visible at the bottom of the main fragment, which identifies the antler as that of a Mesopotamian fallow deer. A single tine, which could not be connected to the rest of the antler, is probably a bez or trez tine. The size of the antler's burr, the long, rounded upper beam with its few snags, and the relatively small palmation of the lower beam suggests the antler belonged to a sub-adult stag. The antlers do not seem weathered, but they were found extremely fragmented. Some fragments, especially of the A4 antler, were located only post-excavation in the fauna baskets. The antlers also exhibit some charred (black) and even calcinated (gray to bluish-white) surfaces. This suggest they were exposed to fire, 8

We thank Ariel Shatil who restored the antler, Gali Beiner for her professional guidance and help in preserving the fragments, and Mimi Lavi, director of the Institute of Archaeology Conservation Lab, for completing the final stages of the restoration work.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

89

but they do not seem to have been intentionally and evenly burnt, thus it is likely that they were only exposed to the fires when their respective complex was destroyed.9 The Distribution of Deer in the Ancient Near East Three deer species formerly existed in Israel and the Near East. The Mesopotamian fallow deer (Dama mesopotamica) was extant throughout the Near East from Iran to Anatolia, covering the entire Fertile Crescent, including Syria and Israel. Another species of fallow deer, the European fallow deer (Dama dama), slightly smaller than its Mesopotamian counterpart, seems to have had its southernmost extent in southeastern Anatolia (but see Ferguson 1985 for possible evidence of its existence in northern Israel during the Late Bronze Age). Red deer (Cervus elaphus), the largest deer in the region, was probably always rare in Israel and more common in northern Syria and Anatolia. The smallest deer was the roe deer (Caprelus caprelus), whose southernmost presence also reached the southern Levant, and extended north to Syria, Anatolia and Iran. In Israel, all three deer species, which preferred a woodland habitat, had a more or less similar distribution throughout the Galilee, the coastal span, and the central hilly region of Judea and Samaria. After the Iron Age, their distribution range shrank to the wooded, northern parts of the country. While the red deer probably became extinct in the Middle Ages, the fallow and the roe survived until the introduction of firearms, which expedited their extinction in the region at the start of the 20th century (Tsahar et al. 2009). Deer and Antlers in Archaeological Assemblages Since the advent of animal domestication in the Pre-Pottery Neolithic period, bones of domesticated animals form the dominant portion of zooarchaeological assemblages, while the contribution of wild-game bones dwindles drastically. From the Chalcolithic to the beginning of the Classical periods, the proportion of wild ungulates in zooarchaeological assemblages (including all three deer species mentioned above) is relatively stable and ranges between 3.5% to 4% of the total number of identified specimens (NISP) (Tsahar et al. 2009: Fig. 2). Fallow deer and gazelle (Gazella sp.) are the two most-common wild ungulates found in archaeological assemblages from all periods. The two other deer species occur in very small frequencies. Tsahar et al. (2009: Fig. 3) have shown that in the late prehistoric periods (Natufian, Neolithic and Chalcolithic), fallow deer comprised less than 10% of wild ungulate bone assemblages, while gazelle bones formed about 65–85% of these assemblages. In the Bronze Age, this trend began to change and fallow-deer bones comprised between 25% of wild ungulates in the Early Bronze Age, to 45% in the Iron Age, and reaching 55% in the Persian period. As the contribution of fallow deer to the bone assemblages of wild-game animals rises, that of gazelle shrinks. An explanation for the constant increase of deer bones in the Bronze and Iron Ages assemblages of wild game could be that hunting was practiced less for subsistence and more for sport and prestige. Because of its larger size, shyness, and impressive male antlers, the deer was a more-prestigious target for the hunt then the smaller gazelle. This explanation is, in fact, the most-common interpretation for deer bones in almost any Bronze and Iron Age site. Indeed, deer bones were shown to be more common in contexts associated with the Bronze and Iron Age elites (Marom and Zuckerman 2012; Sapir-Hen et al. 2016) Another explanation for this trend in the Bronze and Iron Age assemblages is that the gazelle had to compete with herding and agricultural expansion over its preferred habitat, namely open grasslands, which led to population decline. It is possible that, at the same time, the forested habitats preferred by deer were less harmed (Bartosiewicz and Lisk 2018: 287). A third explanation expands on the former one: the same agricultural fields and herding meadows which shrank the natural habitat of the gazelle, attracted the larger 9

It was considered that possibly a porcupine, whose burrow can be seen in Fig. 13, just below (left of) the excavated oven, dragged the A2 antler to where it was later excavated. However, deer went extinct in Israel at the start of the 20th century, and it is extremely unlikely that a modern porcupine would have found a fresh antler to chew on. Second, the antlers from A2, as well as that from A4, do not exhibit any sign of rodent gnawing or teeth punctures. Third, the fact that the antlers are burnt suggests they were deposited in the ground when the contexts around them burnt down, a conflagration well dated by radiocarbon for both contexts.

90

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

deer who might have become an unwanted pest for the farmers. This phenomenon occurs even today, whereby some of the reintroduced wild fallow deer in Israel are drawn to cultivated fields and orchards, and will occasionally mingle with herds of cattle for safety and security in numbers. Such behavior, though, might stem from the fact that modern, reintroduced deer are not yet fully afraid of human contact. The Problem of Deer Antlers in Archaeological Research As noted above, since antlers are shed annually, one does not have to kill a deer to obtain its antlers. Moreover, the existence of antlers alone in an archaeological context does not necessarily imply hunting of the animal. If the archaeological antler can be shown to be a shed, and if this can be demonstrated by examining the proximal end of the specimen where the bur separates from the pedicle, then no animal was slaughtered. However, it does imply certain activities involving the antler and the stag that carried it. When one sets out to study antlers in the archaeology of Israel and the region, we sometimes encounter a lack of knowledge and often, a limited collection of helpful data regarding this special zooarchaeological element. First, and especially in the old field reports when no zooarchaeologists were involved in research and publication, there is some confusion between horns and antlers. Phrases like “stag horns” or “deer horns” are a recurring mistake. According to the excavators at Tel Kedesh, a site no more than 20 km southwest of Abel Beth Maacah, a complete “ibex antler” was found on an Iron Age I floor (Stern and Beit Arieh 1979: 3).10 Such phrases leave us wondering whether it was actually bovid horns or cervid antlers that were found. Objects carved out of antler may be misidentified as ivory or bone, and even when correctly identified as antler, the word “horn” may be used instead of the correct term. This can be due in part to terminology since Hebrew uses the same word for both antler and horn – krn. The bones of wild animals form only a small portion of the faunal assemblages of archaeological sites, and even if a significant percentage of the wild-animal bones are of deer, their contribution to the overall fauna assemblage is still very small. In many zooarchaeological reports where deer remains are recorded separately and not grouped into the vague category of “other”, there is often only numeric data which signifies the abundance of deer remains in the assemblage (e.g., Greer, Fulton and Wapnish 2019), yet it does not confirm or negate the occurrence of antlers or, in fact, of any other deer element at the site. In other cases, where body-parts distribution is recorded, antlers, if any were identified, may be grouped into the category of cranial or head elements (together with skull bones, teeth, mandibles, etc.); yet, whether antlers occur in the assemblage or not still remains an unknown. This simple lack of data leaves us wondering whether antlers were found and counted among the deer bones, or if only bones were found, and antlers are completely missing from the site. This is an important bit of data that has some importance for understanding humandeer relationship – if deer bones are found, but antlers (or skull bones with pedicles) are completely missing from the assemblage, this may be a clue that only female deer were hunted, while stags were left unharmed. Alternatively, it may suggest that the antlers were somehow processed, and hence they are missing from the zooarchaeological assemblage (but should probably appear in the worked-bones assemblages). An opposite case, of many antlers and almost no bones, may suggest an organized collection of sheds. When antlers are specifically mentioned, often because one was found complete, or because they were the only deer element found, there is often no mention of some critical data that might provide better understanding. Is it possible to say whether the antler is a shed or from a massacred animal? What antler parts were found (bur, beam, tines?) and what is their size? All of this information can provide additional clues about hunting or gathering strategies, such as the sex and age of animals hunted or the preferred antler size of collected sheds. A good example for better understanding human-deer relations as a result of better data collection and documentation may be gained by examining faunal data published in the Tel Reḥov excavation reports, where 35 fallow-deer elements were identified in Iron Age II contexts. The authors did not fail to mention

10

It should be noted that while deer have antlers, bovids (cattle, goats, sheep and antelopes) have horns. Horns consist of a core sheathed by a layer of keratin and are usually never shed. The Nubian Ibex, native to Israel, lives in a rough, dry and cliffy desert environment. The horns of males can reach 1 m long. Thus, finding an “ibex antler” at Tel Kedesh in the Upper Galilee is impossible on more than one level.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

91

that nearly half of these were, in fact, antlers, found in both domestic and cultic contexts (Areas C and E) (Tamar, Marom and Raban-Gerstel 2020: 498, Table 49.2; 511; Marom 2020: 625). Five antlers are also recorded as burnt. However, the authors failed to mention if any of these were shed or came from killed male deer. One of the present authors (A.S) examined 51 antlers from Tel Reḥov (those that figured in the abovequoted study and a few additional examples), finding that ten were basilar fragments, and all, except one of the latter, were shed antlers. Thus, the conclusion that the deer elements from Iron Age II Tel Reḥov signify access to choice hunted meaty chunks by the elite residents of Reḥov Area C, as concluded by Marom (2020: 579), although not incorrect, ignores the fact that half of the deer elements are antlers and not meat-carrying elements, and that nine of the ten basilar antler parts show that no deer was killed in order to obtain the antlers. Another case is presented at Tel Dor in the Bronze and Iron Age phases (Area G, Phases 6–12). Nearly half of the fallow-deer remains are antler fragments but, according to the zooarchaeologists, evidence for shed fallow-deer antlers is missing (Bartosiewicz and Lisk 2018: 289, Table 27.10). The authors do not mention whether antlers still attached to the frontal skull bone do exist, but at least one can be seen in a photo of the so-called “Antler Room” (Gilboa, Sharon and Zorn 2014: Fig.14). A shed antler of a red deer was found, however, in a different area at the site (Area D); it should also be noted that all antlers were marked as possibly shed (Bartosiewicz and Lisk 2018: 296–300; Tables 27.14–27.18). Based on the paucity of proven sheds, lack of industry-related finds, and complete antler tools, and because of the palmated shape of the fallow-deer antler, which is “considered relatively poor raw material”, the authors concluded that antlertool manufacture was not popular at Tel Dor in the Iron Age (Bartosiewicz and Lisk 2018: 289), and that the antlers at the site are the remains of hunted individuals. In our opinion, it seems that the fact that 25 of the 56 identified deer remains (NISP) found at Tel Dor in Area G are antlers is enough to suppose that these elements had an economic, social, symbolic or other significance; rather than just being a “by-product” of deer hunting, they were likely sought after and collected, whether by massacring stags or by collecting sheds. The Social and Symbolic Role of Deer and Antlers In the following sections of this article, we aim to examine archaeological, social, and symbolical contexts in which antlers may appear or function. Before doing that, there are two basic principles that we feel the need to set and clarify. The first, regarding the archaeological context, and the second, with regards to the symbolic: (1) Antlers in archaeological contexts are always anthropogenic. Whether they are the products of butchering a deer or are intentionally collected and carried, antlers were brought to the site by human agency because they have a value, either economic or symbolic or both. There certainly can be exceptions to that rule, for example, caves that might have been used by carnivores as burrows after humans had left them, but these contexts need to be convincingly demonstrated by taphonomic and post-depositional criteria. (2) You can physically separate the antler from the stag with an axe, but symbolically, they are inseparable. Antlers are synecdochic to deer. Because the crown of antlers on a deer head is so majestic and impressive, everything the stag represents – its symbolic power and significance – is encapsulated in the antlers. Thus, when we look for the role of antlers in social stratification, economy, religion and ritual we should not separate it from the role of the deer. The exact time when the antlers of a deer detach from the skull falls within a very short time frame following the rut (mating) season. This is usually in February for the Mesopotamian fallow deer, but may vary based on geography, weather, nutrition, and the general health of the animal. The shed antlers, rich in minerals and nutrients, are quickly found by wild animals such as canines, rodents, and even deer, who gnaw and chew on them. If a community's need for antlers is only sporadic, then antler collection may be left for chance finds. However, if many antlers are required and used, people must be aware of the behavior and movements of the herds that lived around them and follow the male stags closely. This would have created some level of intimacy between humans and the deer around them. The life history and behavior of herds, and most certainly the stags, could have been followed and well known.

92

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Deer in Ancient Art Although an exhaustive survey of deer in the art of the Levant is beyond the scope of this paper, it should be noted that together with the increase of deer in the wild-game animal bone assemblages in Bronze and Iron Age, there was also a significant rise in the appearance of these animals in artistic media. Although its appearance is relatively rare, the stag appears on painted pottery, sometimes with religious connotation of the vessel or the context it was found e.g., Tel Dan (Biran 1986: Fig. 3), the famous Lachish ewer (Tufnell, Inge and Harding 1940: Pl. 60:3), a stand from Tel Afis (Venturi 1998: Fig.4:7), and a cult stand from Shiloh (Finkelstein et. al. 1985: Pl.19:1). Rare and exceptional are prestigious gold or silver items, with the stag taking a prominent place in the composition, such as a diadem with a stag protome from the Hyksos period (Arnold 1995: 15). Rows of recumbent stags was a common motif on Middle Bronze Age seals of the greenjasper workshop style (e.g., Kopetzky and Bietak 2016: Figs. 3, 9, 13), and the stag was one of the mostcommon motifs on the Mitannian seals of the Late Bronze Age (e.g., Ornan and Peri 2017: Figs. 9.2., 9.5– 9.6, 9.10–9.11, 9.16–9.20). It also appears quite often on Early Iron Age seals, especially in the north (e.g., Meyer 2008: 258–62, Abb. 124–25), and was a well-known and recurring motif among the Iron Age ivories of the ancient Near East (e.g., Barnett 1982: Pl. 87:e–f). The human-deer relationship, as the relationship between humans and any other animal, is not all about hunting and herding. The social and symbolic values of animals in general and, of course, of deer, may often be of equal or even greater value than their worth as staple food. In the Hebrew bible, the leaping deer is a metaphor for love (Proverbs 5:18–19; Songs 3:5), agility and grace, and the beauty of nature (Gen 49:21; Songs 2:8–9; Isa 35:6). It is not surprising, then, that the leaping deer and the grazing/drinking deer (Psalms 42:2) also find their way into various media of art (e.g., inter alia, Riede 2002: Abb. 5–6). Outside the Hebrew Bible, from at least Ur III to Neo-Assyrian times, Enki was associated with the “Stag of the Abzu” (e.g., “Enki and the World Order” lines 107, 115, 152, 170 [https://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section1/c113.htm]; a Neo-Assyrian incantation against a ghost [Scurlock 2006: 226, no. 21]). Similarly, an Old Babylonian incantation refers to “Ea the stag” (é-a lu-li-mu-um; George 2016: 117, no.51 obv 6). And “Aššurbanipal’s Hymn to Ištar of Nineveh” opens by referring to her as “O palm tree, daughter of Nineveh, stag of the lands” (a-a-li KUR.KUR.MEŠ; Livingstone 1983: 18). Yet, the relationship between art and animals is complex. People depict animals because they are food for thought, rather than just food (Russell 2012: 14). What exactly motivated the artists and their consumers to depict the deer or stag? As we have shown above, the deer's symbolic value was probably not tied to its subsistence role, which was always minor, but more likely to other attributes bestowed upon them by humans: swiftness, agility, grace and the beauty of the wilderness have already been mentioned above, but other attributes might have been granted to stags by their physical features, their power, and the danger they may pose. Deer, being one of the largest wild-game animals in the region, would have been a high-prestige hunt, the main dish at feasts, and possibly, a prestigious sacrificial victim. Hunting in the Bronze and Iron Age was a prestigious activity, limited to the elite of society and thus, access to deer and to their symbolic power might have been restricted and, by exclusion, helped to form the social division between common and elite. Lam 1:6 may show the metaphorical connection of deer and nobility by an antithesis, comparing the princes deported from Judea to powerless stags who lost their pastures. The Akkadian texts mentioned above support this. Selected Archaeological Contexts with Deer Antlers Domestic Contexts Complete antlers in what appear to be domestic contexts are known from early periods, such as the Pottery Neolithic Stratum IX at Tell Te’o, where two fallow-deer antlers, one nearly complete, the other a large fragment, were recovered in a pit (Eisenberg, Gopher and Greenberg 2001: 20–23, Fig. 3.5; Kolska Horwitz 2001a: 182, Fig. 13.5; based on this figure, the complete antler was from a massacred deer), or the EB II broad-room building 115-152 at Tel Dalit Stratum II, where a complete fallow-deer antler was found on the floor (Gophna 1996: 39–41, Figs. 18–19; based on the photographs, it was possibly a shed antler).

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

93

The Hebrew University of Jerusalem excavations at Yoqne‘am revealed fortification systems and dwellings from the Middle and Late Bronze Ages. On a Middle Bronze Age floor in one of these dwellings, a nearly complete shed antler of an adult fallow deer was found (Kolska Horwitz et al. 2005: 396; Livneh and Ben-Tor 2005: Fig.II.13). Antler fragments were also found in dwellings of the Late Bronze and Iron Ages. Altogether, 20 antler fragments were recorded in Bronze and Iron Age Yoqne‘am dwellings. They include a single Roe deer antler base, and the rest are tines, beams and burrs that belong to fallow deer. Several of the Iron Age antler pieces at Yoqne‘am exhibit perforations, cut marks and/or other modifications, suggesting that antlers were used for the manufacture of artifacts (Kolska Horwitz et al. 2005: 399). At nearby Tel Qashish, fallow-deer antler fragments were also found in dwellings, including shed basilar fragments from EB III and LB II (Kolska Horwitz 2003: 434) Although worked antler pieces have been recovered from Tel Yoqne‘am, Tel Qashish, the Iron Age fort at Ḥorbat Rosh Zayit in the Lower Galilee (Horwitz 2000), and a few other sites, in general, antler working seems to have been rare at Bronze and Iron Age sites in Israel (Kolska Horwitz et al. 2005: 399; Bartosiewicz and Lisk 2018: 289). Tel Reḥov has proved to be an exception in this regard, as more than 50 pieces in different stages of tool production were found, including shed basilar parts with sawn surfaces, waste pieces and preforms. The finished tools included spindle whorls, spindle, spatula, and several types of handles (Shatil 2020). An interesting case, already mentioned above, is the “Antler Room” at Dor. An unusually high proportion of deer and gazelle bones, alongside a complete (possibly massacred) fallow-deer antler, were found in a primary assemblage in this room. The same context, as well as the adjacent rooms, also yielded a few bones of fox, badger, domestic dog, and human. Also found was a concentrations of ceramic tableware. The excavators had interpreted this room as a “gathering of men”, a locus of male activity that included feasting, drinking, games and display of trophies (Gilboa, Sharon and Zorn 2014: 65). Mortuary Contexts Despite the fact that one of the world’s earliest example of a burial offering is a pair of massacred fallowdeer antlers, intentionally deposited in a Mousterian child burial at the Qafzeh Cave in Israel (Vandermeersch and Bar-Yosef 2019: 267–68, Fig. 8), antlers as mortuary furnishings appear only rarely and sporadically in the Levant. A number of Near Eastern textual sources from the Bronze Age, and later, provide evidence that the practice of sacrificing or otherwise making offerings of food and drink to the dead existed in antiquity (LevTov and Maher 2001: 91). Despite the fact that wild animals are not mentioned in the biblical texts as accepted offerings, in the Ugaritic Ba‘al cycle, wild game, including deer, is sacrificed as part of the mourning ritual for the death of Ba‘al (CTA 6 i 24; translation in Pardee 2003: 286).11 Archaeological evidence in the form of wild-animal bones from tombs seems to generally agree with the texts, although they appear in these contexts in extremely small quantities (Kolska Horwitz 2001b; Lev-Tov and Maher 2001). The paucity of evidence includes a single fallow-deer antler fragment found in Intermediate Bronze Age Tomb E2 at Jebel Qa‘aqir (Kolska Horwitz 1987: 252), a few deer bones from MB II tombs at Tel Dan (Kolska Horwitz 1996), a worked antler and two red-deer bones in pit burials from MB II–LB I at Megiddo (Sapir-Hen, Martin and Finkelstein 2017: 1053). Fragments of a deer antler were found in the Mycenean tomb at Tel Dan (Kolska Horwitz 2002: 219), which also contained what is possibly the largest Bronze Age assemblage of antler-made objects in Israel, including whorls, inlays and duck-shaped box parts (Biran and Ben-Dov 2002). Cut marks are visible on the base of the antler in the tomb and can probably be associated with its removal from the skull of a killed dear (Kolska Horwitz 2002: 219). On the floor of a room to the east of the Mycenaean Tomb at Dan, a complete antler of a Persian fallow deer was found (Biran and Ben-Dov 2002: Fig. 2.27), although its stratigraphic position may indicate that this room and the tomb were unrelated.

11

This is a difficult passage and caution is warranted. Among the difficulties Pardee notes are (1) the verb ṭbḫ is used, not the usual ḍbḥ; (2) the translation “as a funerary offering” for kgmn is a best guess; (3) wild game is never found in the ritual texts at Ugarit (Pardee 2003: 268–69, n. 242).

94

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Public or Communal Contexts At the Area M3 administrative palace at Canaanite Hazor (LB IIB), a complete fallow-deer antler was found in the westernmost of four vat-like installations flanking both sides of a monumental staircase leading from the northern courtyard to the entrance hall (Bechar and Ben-Tor 2018: Fig. 2). The antler was burnt and could not be recovered. In a photograph published on the excavation’s social media page, it appears to have been a well-developed antler from a massacred, adult fallow deer. It can be speculated that the antler was not burnt intentionally, as it was found in the Late Bronze destruction layer. It was originally either kept in the installation or was attached to the wall above it. The significance of the function of the antler, or of the installations in which it was found, is unclear (Bechar and Ben-Tor 2018). Faunal material at et-Tell/Bethsaida on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee indicates that the inhabitants utilized sheep, goats, cattle, pigs, fallow deer, gazelle and catfish for food. At the Iron Age II gate complex, which includes the high place with the famous basalt, bull-head stele, 6% of the NISP were of fallow deer (Fisher 2005: 46). Most of the deer remains were concentrated in the paved courtyard outside the gate, both at the foot of the high place and in the high place itself. Although antlers are not specifically mentioned, in the latter context, four of the five deer bones are cranial elements, and they compose almost a third of all deer bones at the gate complex (Fisher 2005: Tables 3–7). Although the gate area at the site includes the high place and other cultic features, such as an offering basin and other stele, the gate and its piazza were likely used chiefly for secular functions, such as trade, taxation, judiciary actions, and exchange of information. Yet another city gate with antlers found in its destruction layer is the LB Ramesses gate at Jaffa, where antlers from at least 32 deers were found. These antlers were both whole and cut, found along with decorative ivory inlays, seeds and pottery vessels. These finds may show the role of the gate as a place for trade and exchange (Burke et al. 2017). Cult and Ritual Contexts The Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal poses a unique picture regarding deer remains in the faunal assemblages of Israel. The remains at the site, supposedly of sacrifices, offerings or feasts, included sheep, goat, cattle, fallow deer, and an assortment of other small animals and birds. One of the most intriguing finds was the high incidence of fallow-deer remains, comprising 10% of the total diagnostic bone sample, found in highest concentrations in the fill of the main structure, where 63% of all deer bones at the site were collected and comprised 20% of the structure’s bone assemblage, as opposed to 5% in all other areas combined (Kolska Horwitz 1986–87: 174, Fig.1). According to the analysis of dentition wear and epiphyseal fusion, the deer at the site were young adults and at least four animals were represented. The remains did not include complete antlers, but rather, fragments; a frontal skull bone with pedicles where the antlers were chopped off was found, suggesting at least one massacred stag is represented in the assemblage (Kolska Horwitz 1986– 87: 174, 178). Gazelle is completely absent from Mt. Ebal, which is another unique attribute of the site (Kolska Horwitz 1986–87: 181). Since no other bone assemblages are available from other open-air Iron Age I cult sites in the hill country, such as the Bull Site near Dothan or Giloh near Jerusalem, Mt. Ebal remains an exceptional phenomenon of its type. The deer bones of Mt. Ebal had drawn greater attention than those from other cultic contexts (see below) mostly because of the controversial interpretation of the site as Joshua's shrine (Zertal 1986–87), and its location in the central hill country, considered by some scholars to be the heartland of the Israelite settlement in Iron I. In the preliminary report of the site, Zertal described the fill sealed inside the main structure, from which more than 60% of the deer bones derived, as originating in Stratum II, which preceded the construction of the main structure (Zertal 1986–87: 115) and ascribed a cultic affinity to it as well (Zertal 1986–87: 151). Thus, Zertal proposed that the deer bones originated from a 13th century B.C.E. cultic context, and not from the slightly later “Joshua’s Shrine”, showing that in that early stage of Israelite religion, deer was still accepted for sacrifice (quoted by Pitkänen 2004: 180, note 335, as well as by Hawkins 2012: 180). This interpretation was challenged by Ben-Noon (1985) who claimed that the deer bones were residue from feasts

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

95

eaten in purity or holiness, brought as a popular offering to fill the altar, or they might have been the remains of the inauguration feast of the site (Ben-Noon 1985: 142). However, this interpretation does not take into account the fact that more than 50% of the deer bones from the main structure at Mt. Ebal were cranial elements (skulls, antlers, maxilla, mandibles and loose teeth) and toes, which are poor in meat, while the meaty trunk parts (ribs and vertebrae) are not present at all (Kolska Horwitz 1986–87: Table 3). The other 50% (or slightly less) of the deer bones include both meaty (scapula, humerus, radius, femur, tibia) and nonmeaty parts (metatarsals, metacarpals). Miller (2011; 2014) suggested a link between the Mt. Ebal deer remains and ancient shamanistic practices. That half of the deer bones are of cranial elements, suggested that antlers were being sought out for some reason other than consumption, perhaps for liturgical use as headdresses (Miller 2014: 23). The use of antlers or antlers, skull and skin of deer as a headdress is attested from several venues, including the famous Upper Paleolithic cave painting of the so-called “Sorcerer” in the Cave of the Trois-Frères in France (Clottes and Lewis-Williams 1998: Fig. 64), the Mesolithic Starr-Car deer headdresses (Conneller 2004), and morerecent shamanic masks from Siberia, Mongolia and North and South America (Miller 2014: 26). Masks are known from the Late Bronze stele-shrine at Hazor, the Iron Age I temple at Tell Qasile, and the Iron I sanctuary at Tel Dan, as well as from a number of other sites, among them Achziv, Shu’afat, Ashdod and Beersheba (Kletter 2007). However, the use of these masks is not clear, and none of them seem to have had a fixture for antlers. In a pit near the Middle Bronze Age “High Place” at Gezer, deer bones were recovered, along with bones of cow, sheep, goat and human bones; Macalister (1912: 399–401) speculated that these were the remains of sacrifices conducted at that spot. Bones of some gazelle and/or roe deer and some fallow deer were found at the 10th century B.C.E. cultic structure at Taanach (Frick 2000: 65–66). Deer and gazelle bones have also been noted in the Iron Age II sacred precinct at Dan (Wapnish and Hesse 1991; Borowski 2002: 412). Similar evidence for the Iron II shrine at Lachish has also been reported (ibid: 412). LB I (Stratum XI) Courtyard 118 at Tel Mor was designated by the excavator Moshe Dotan as a “high place” or bamah (Barako 2007: 15, Fig. 2.3). There is no architecture associated with this bamah, although scattered on it were miniature bowls, chalices, a seven-spouted oil lamp, and an Egyptian jar. Among the finds was the antler of a Mesopotamian fallow deer (Maher 2007: Fig. 11.2). Since the antler was not successfully retrieved during the excavation, it could not be studied. From the photos produced during excavation, it was difficult to determine if the antler was shed or still attached to a portion of the cranium (Maher 2007: 231) The deer bones from the high place in the Iron Age II gate complex at et-Tell/Bethsaida should be noted here as well; while most of the bones came from a public, administrative context of the gate and its piazza, some originated in the high place itself, as detailed above. In Room 5 in a late Iron I phase of the temple at Sidon, a complete antler was found set up against a small standing stone. The excavators believe the antler was part of a ritual that took place in this room (DoumetSerhal 2021–22: 19–20, Figs. 12–13). Based on the photo (ibid: Fig. 14), it appears to be a shed antler of an adult deer, probably a Mesopotamian fallow deer. Antlers and Ritual In light of the above presentation of what antlers can signify in the archaeological record vis-a-vis the deerhuman relationship, and the fact that both of the whole antlers at Abel Beth Maacah were found in cultic contexts, we turn to look at whether, and how, these items might have played a role in rituals and cultic behavior in the region, or beyond, and during the time period of their discovery (Iron Age I), or otherwise. If the antlers served a purpose in a cultic setting, it was one in which they were either used whole or after being processed in some way. We begin our discussion by reviewing textual data pertaining to possible uses of whole antlers, then we will turn to processed antlers.

96

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Whole Antlers and Ritual Preliminary investigations sought textual evidence of the use of whole antlers in a cult setting as amulets, decoration, votive offerings, or cult symbols. As for amulets, it is known that animal products could be used on, in, or under a building to offer protection or to ritually seal a destruction context (e.g., astragali; see Susnow et al. 2021). However, there is no evidence that whole antlers were used in this way in structures; they could be worn or otherwise used by people, but only after processing (see examples below). Neither are there instances of antlers as decorations in cult settings. ARM 13.55: 4–8 was once thought to contain such a reference, but Guichard (2005: 270–75) has convincingly argued that the subject matter of the text is zoomorphic vessels in the cellar, and the antlers in question (interestingly, qarnāt nālī u ayyalī) are part of one of the vessels in need of repair (note that the subsequent references in that text to nālu and ayyalu concern the whole head, not the antlers, l. 15–16). Nor is there reason to believe, from the textual evidence, that antlers were given as a kind of votive offering. The textual data does, however, allow for the possibility that whole antlers could have been used as a cult symbol. Cult symbols are a known phenomenon in which an object symbolizing a deity was used in place of an image of that deity. Like an image, a cult symbol could receive offerings, offer protection, etc. Hundly (2013: 346) has observed a move towards such symbolic representation of deities in the Iron Age (particularly seen in Assyria). In order for an object to serve as a cult symbol, it needed to meet several requirements. First, it had to pass the material standards of durability and value. Antlers clearly meet durability requirements and, given their use as tools, jewelry, seals, and other finished products, they also pass the material value test. Second, the object needed to be an accepted symbol of a deity. It is at this point that the use of whole antlers becomes theoretical, though not implausible. If whole antlers were used as a cult symbol, the most likely candidate deity is the Syro-Canaanite chthonic Rešeph, who was identified with the Luwian stag-god Runza as early as the 13th century B.C.E. at Ugarit (Hawkins 2000: 63; or perhaps earlier at Nuzi; see Lipiński 2009, 119– 20). This identification continued into the eight century B.C.E., as evidenced by the bilingual Karatepe inscription from Cilicia, in which Luwian Runza (CERVUS2) corresponds to Phoenician ršp ṣprm, very probably “Rešeph-of-the-stags” (see discussion in Younger 2019: 331–33).12 Worship of Rešeph was “[popular] in the regions bordering on the Mediterranean” as early as the third millennium BCE, and continued through the Hellenistic period (Archi 2013: 223–24). Significantly, the archives from Ebla repeatedly refer to dra-sa-ap du-ne-ébki, indicating that Tunip (near Hamath) was a center of Rešeph worship (for examples, see Pomponio and Xella 1997: 307–9). Given the northern location of Abel Beth Maacah and its position on the route to the Beq'a (which continued on to Tunip and was particularly active during Iron I, with new sites in the Wadi et-Taym [Marfoe 1998: 223]), as well as the presence of early Aramaean polities in the region (Younger 2019: 191–220), worship or veneration of Rešeph at the site is entirely plausible. Perhaps further strengthening these ties is the possible connection of the site to Cilicia, the location of the Karatepe inscription and an important area for the worship of Runza and Rešeph (see comments below on this connection). The connection of the antler to Rešeph comes predominantly through the identification with the stag-god Runza, who is regularly connected with the stag and whose name was written in Hieroglyphic Luwian using the antler sign: (DEUS) CERVUS2 / CERVUS3, G +. That said, the long textual and iconographic history of Hittite and Luwian stag-gods (and gods associated with stags) suggests that the whole animal, not just the antlers, would be the expected cult symbol (e.g., the construction of stags for procession in the KI.LAM festival [Singer 1983], the depiction of the stag-gods standing on a stag [Gunter 2002: 94, Figs. 2.5–2.6). On the other hand, the 14th century BCE Altinyala Stele, which depicts the Stag-God as both mounted on a stag and holding an antler in his hand, while exceptional, may keep the possibility of the antler as a cult symbol open (Müller-Karpe 2003: 317–19).

12

It was during a visit by Prof. Lawson Younger to Tel Abel Beth Maacah in 2018 that this intriguing suggestion was first made by him. Oblivious to the scorching sun in the courtyard where the Stratum A2 antler was found, Lawson expounded enthusiastically on this possibility and encouraged us to pursue the topic. We are honored and pleased to follow up on his idea and to present this contribution to the much-deserved festschrift in his honor.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

97

Finally, an object intended for use as a cult symbol needed to transition from a mundane object to one that carried the presence of the deity (such that it could receive offerings, offer protection, etc.). This was accomplished through the same “washing the mouth” ritual that was performed on cult images (e.g., a crescent moon for the moon god; for instances from Mesopotamia, see Berlejung 1998: 188–90; for Hittite cases, see Collins 2005: 22–35). Here, however, a whole, shed antler is, again, somewhat theoretical. While there are instances of “mouth washing” of animals, both alive and on their processed skin, these were meant to be used as objects in cult settings for cultic purpose, not as cult symbols (e.g., “The Kettledrum Ritual,” TU 44 [AO 6479] ii.8; see now Linssen 2004: 252–82). In fact, all known instances of cult symbols are either made or fashioned by people (wood, stone, or metal). This fact, taken together with the relatively loose association of the antler to the deity, leads to the preliminary conclusion that while whole antlers as a cult symbol may be allowable by the textual data, it is not driven by it, and so remains speculative and in need of further investigation. In summary, despite the fact that whole antlers do appear occasionally in cultic contexts of the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age (e.g., Abel Beth Maacah, Sidon, Tel Mor) textual evidence for the use of whole antlers in a cultic/ritual setting is lacking. Caution is, of course, warranted, both because research is still in its early stages, and because, historically, there is a gap between the material-culture record of cult/ritual settings and the available textual record’s explanatory value. In fact, a good case in point involves stags (and deer in general). As mentioned above, there was deer sacrifice at Mt. Ebal in Iron I, but the practice is absent from the textual record until the late 4th or early 3rd century B.C.E. (The Marseilles Tariff; CIS 165; KAI 69; Houston 1993: 152ff; Pardee 1997: 305).13 Processed Antlers in Ritual We turn now to texts involving processing or processed antlers in ritual and/or a cult setting. In this case, there are a good many instances of antlers in texts, specifically the processing of antlers for magico-medical reasons. Such texts indicate the use of antlers in and as amulets, fumigants, salves against demons, the “hand” of ghosts, and perhaps some pharmaceuticals, anti-witchcraft rituals, and more (see lexical ambiguity below). It may also be significant that the texts in which antlers are found mention ingredients and procedures that correlate with other objects found near the Stratum A2 antler in Courtyard 5141, such as the goat’s horn, grinding implements, two stone weights and, possibly, the cult stand. The implications will be briefly explored following the presentation of the texts. Medical texts are known from traditions that arose from Mesopotamia, Hatti, and Egypt, while the traditions of the Levant, especially the southern Levant, are less well known. The few texts selected to be mentioned here are Babylonian and Assyrian in origin (others, i.e., Egyptian and Hittite texts, will be presented in a forthcoming study). A few general remarks are necessary before presenting them. First, these texts are from a tradition that is so firmly and widely established that they may be regarded as (also) broadly encompassing the Iron Age I at Abel Beth Maacah. That this tradition was enduring is demonstrated by the fact that some texts continued to be copied into Graeco-Roman times.14 The breadth of their use is seen in the find spots of texts, which range from Uruk to Sultantepe to Hattuša. At Hattuša, Babylonian physicians were known to practice in the capital itself (Haas 2003: 9–10; 15th–13th centuries B.C.E.; medical texts found there include ŠÀ.ZI.GA and Udug-hul). Though the specific tradition is unknown, mention should be made of the 13

This Punic text, discovered in the foundation of an old house in the port of Marseilles, is dated paleographically to the late fourth – early third century B.C.E. (Pardee 1997: 305). It describes economic aspects of the cult (the temple of Ba‘al Ṣaphon), listing the sacrifice of adult and young male deer as whole offerings or presentation offerings alongside those of the standard ox, sheep, and goat. Mention should be made of the possibility of the sacrifice of deer being alluded to in a much earlier text, if Haas (2003, 546, n.29) is correct that LIMMU should be identified with Runta and that the text also reflects an actual sacrifice: “Wahrscheinlich haben in der Dichtung vom Königtum des Gottes Kurunta (dLAMMA) der Wettergott und Ninurta den Kurunta nach seiner Tötung, die der Schlachtung eines Hirsches entspricht, rituell verspeist, KUB 33.112+KUB 33.114+KUB 36.2 Rs.IV 17–22. (Duplikate: KBo 12.76 und KBo 12.82)” 14 Tablet 9 of Udug-hul is one such example. On the details of this tablet, which has representation in Uruk, Nippur, Babylon, Sippar, Assur, and Sultantepe, see Geller 2016: 14.

98

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

myth of Elkunirsa and Ashertu, which provides evidence of professional exorcists in Amurru towards the end of the Late Bronze Age (Haas 2003: 7; see translation and bibliography in Hoffner 1998: 91–92, 96). Along these lines, it should be kept in mind that Abel Beth Maacah had broad cultural exposure in both the Late Bronze and the Iron Age. The material culture demonstrates close ties to the Phoenician coast, as well as indications that Egyptian items were held as “prestige” (Yahalom-Mack, Panitz-Cohen and Mullins 2018: 155; David, Mullins and Panitz-Cohen 2016: 9–10). The biblical record indicates connections farther north, both with the presence of Arameans (whether they are connected directly with the site or not) and the Hivites (Joshua 11:3; Judges 3:3), whom many have identified with Luwian *Hiyawa(REGIO), now firmly identified with Cilicia.15 Second, a word must be said about lexemes. As indicated above, there are several species of deer in the region. The discussion about which species is tied to which lexeme is ongoing and is complicated by the many regions and vast time span represented by the texts.16 A thorough review of the matter is forthcoming, but for now, we will follow CAD which gives ajalu (ayyalu; DÀRA.MAŠ) the gloss “stag, deer”, lulīmu (LU.LIM) “red deer, stag,” and najalu (nālu) for “roe deer.” Since the Abel Beth Maacah antlers come from the Mesopotamian fallow deer, our interest is in phrase SI DÀRA.MAŠ qaran ayyali, which is poorly translated as “stag horn” (stags do not have horns). Frustratingly, “stag horn” is also the name of a plant, as seen unequivocally in a copy of a list of plants, garden utensils, and personnel of the garden of Merodach-Baladan II: qa-an-nu a-a-lusar (CT 14 50:53;17 see brief comments in Brinkman 1964: 37, 48). This presents a problem: How, then, can one know whether SI DÀRA.MAŠ refers to “antler” or “stag horn” (the plant)? There are ambiguous cases, to be sure, but there are also reasonably unambiguous instances. It likely refers to a plant when the text summarizes the ingredients as “x number of plants” and all the other ingredients are plants.18 In other cases, SI DÀRA.MAŠ appears alongside animal products such as horns or fat. And in one clear instance, the physician is told to create an amulet using the “stag horns” of seven “stags” (STT 286, given below). In these latter cases, it is reasonable (though not assured) to assume “antler” for SI DÀRA.MAŠ.19 The four texts given below draw from the set where “antler” is reasonably unambiguous.20 The texts selected for presentation here demonstrate the wide variety of circumstances in which “antlers” were used, and two (possibly three) of them were widely used, as indicated by copies. In each instance below, the antlers were prescribed to be either burnt or ground up and combined with other ingredients. The resulting concoction in these particular texts were to be used as either an amulet, salve, or fumigant.

15

For a review of the how Hivites are understood, see Day 2007: 114–16. In addition to the bibliography provided by Day, support of a connection between the Hivites and Cilicia, is found in Singer 2006: 735; Collins 2007: 201–2; and Na’aman 1994: 240. The identification of Luwian *Hiyawa(REGIO) with Cilicia is now firmly established, having once again been corroborated by Arsuz stele 1&2 §13: wa/i-tá-*a |hi-ia-wa/i-ha(REGIO) |(PES2)tara/i-zi-i-ha “And I routed?/turned to? the land of Hiyawa (also)” (translation depends upon whether one takes the verb tarza/i- here as transitive or intransitive; Dinçol et al 2015: 67). On this line and the issue of Hiyawa, Dinçol et al. (2015:67) write, “That Hiyawa is the origin of the Assyrian designation Que (Qawe) can hardly be doubted, while its connection with Hittite Empire Ahhiyawa, though questioned by some, can plausibly be argued”. For a recent review of the data, see Fales 2017: 191–93, especially note 46. 16 For examples, see Collins 2003, in which she offers a review of the scholarship, interpretive options, and suggests DÀRA.MAŠ is red deer; also Geller 2016: 26, in which he normalized SI DÀRA.MAŠ as qarnu lulīme. 17 For high resolution photographs, see https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1881-0706-688. 18 Complicating things are cases where the text summarizes the ingredients as “x plants,” but seems to include animal products, e.g., “If a ghost afflicts a [perso]n: root of baltu-thorn which (has grown) on a grave root of an ašāgu-thorn which (has grown) on a grave, right horn of an ox, left horn of a he-goat, bīnu-tamarisk seed, e’ru-tree seed (and) azallû: seven plants: a bandage for “hand” of ghost” (Scurlock 2006: 278 [text No. 65]). 19 I (S.B.) thank Maddalena Rumor for discussing this problem and a sound way forward with me. 20 Ambiguous and more complicated cases will be presented in future studies, including fumigants against demons and sorcerers.

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

99

Amulet around the neck against convulsive seizures: STT 286, ii 2–3 STT 286 is a Neo-Assyrian tablet that was discovered in a private house in Sultantepe, in the Harran plain (STT I, iv). Parallels are CTN IV, 159 rev. 7–8, discovered in the Temple of Nabû, Kalḫu (ca. 800 – ca. 612 B.C.E. CTN IV, “Introduction,” 1–4), and BAM 166:11–12 (Aššur). Though all three tablets have suffered damage, each clearly calls for the charring of the antler(s).21 The end of both lines below is provided by CTN IV 159, ina is found only in BAM 166. For an updated discussion of AN.TA.ŠUB.BA as both epileptic and non-epileptic seizures, see Avalos 2007: 134. (2)

⸢ana⸣ AN.TA.ŠU.BA ZI-ḫi SI DÀRA.MAŠ šá 7 [(DÀRA.MAŠ)] (3) [t]⸢u⸣-pat-taḫ IZI tu-kab-bab ina GÚ-šú [(GAR)]

“To expel AN.TA.ŠUB.BA, you pierce the antlers of seven [(deer)], char fire, (and) [(put it)] around his neck”. Amulet of a leather bag around the waist for sexual desire: LKA 95:28–29 The tablet is Neo-Assyrian, likely after the rebellion in 763/2 B.C.E., probably to be dated to the time of Aššurbanipal (Pedersén 1986a: 11, 58). It was part of the N4 library (Pédersen 1986a: 64, no. 202): “a large private house with apotropaic figurines under the floor in many rooms … A family of exorcists (of the Aššur temple) lived in [the] house. Their library with more than 800 texts was placed in a room next to an inner courtyard” (Pédersen 1986b: 145; for more details, see Pédersen 1986a: 41–43). The reading here follows Hoppe’s recent collation of the tablet (Hoppe 2016: 91–95). Note that Hoppe differs from Ebeling in terms of line numbers (Hoppe’s l.28 is Ebeling’s l.27), and Hoppe also removed sign values “parallel” STT 280 i 51 (ri-kib- a-a-l[i], “the declaw (/false hoof) of the stag” [Biggs 1967, 62, see p. 26 for his treatment of rikibti]).22 STT 280 is from Sultantepe, and is also Neo-Assyrian. (28)

DIŠ KI.MIN ⸢x x⸣ [x x x] ⸢SI⸣ a-a-li GÌŠ a-a-li (29) útak-⸢da⸣-na-nu ina KUŠ DÙ.DÙ.BI ina GÚ-šú GAR-an

“When ditto: …, the antler of a deer, the penis of a deer, takdananu-Plant, put it in leather bag, (and) put it around his neck”.

21

STT 286 seems to only have enough room for “you pierce, you char fire, you place it on his neck.” CTN IV 159 has room for a preceding verb, and -am is clearly the final syllable. Böck has suggested šarāmu “to cut” (Böck 2010: 92). In a personal communication, she noted that (1) part of a sign consistent with [-r]a- is present, (2) šarāmu is attested in D referring to the cutting of a cow-horn, and (3) that tu-⸢šar⸣-x is visible BAM 166:13, though not the expected subjunctive. In the same communication, Böck also pointed to V. Chalender’s reading of BAM 166 as SI ⸢DÀRA.MAŠ⸣ (12) GAR.GAR ⸢DÀRA.MAŠ⸣ tu-⸢šar⸣-⸢rap?⸣ […] (Chalender 2018: 32, n. 82). Chalender’s proposal is to accept that GAR.GAR is A.GAR.GAR piqqannu (CAD P: 385; instead of šá 4!), resulting in deer dung being burned along with the antler (Chalender 2018, 32, n. 82). Chalender’s reading is followed in BabMed Corpora (https://www. geschkult.fu-berlin.de/e/babmed/Corpora/BAM-2/BAM-2_-166/index.html). However, Chalendar’s proposal has the ingredients undergoing both šarāpu (l. 13) and kabābu (l. 14), the reason for which is not entirely clear. Böck’s proposal makes good sense. Since the patient is suffering from some sort of convulsion, “antler” almost certainly refers to small, amulet size tangs that have been cut off the antler. However, there may not be room on the tablet for it. Such variation in the middle section leads one to wonder about the relationship (development?) of the procedure recorded on the tablets. I (S.B.) thank Barbara Böck for her help and for discussing this text with me. 22 I (S.B.) am grateful to Marius Hoppe for his helpful interactions regarding magical texts and the material culture record.

100

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

Salve for shortness of breath caused by a drowned ghost: AMT 4/6:8’–12’ Found as part of Aššurbanipal’s library in Nineveh, the text dates to the 7th century B.C.E. but is a copy of an older text of unknown age and origin. Following Scurlock’s reading, with minor differences in the placement of the brackets. Missing text is supplied by parallel AMT 96/4:1–2 (Scurlock 2006: 298 [no. 213]).23 (8’)

[DIŠ KIMIN] ⸢SI⸣ MÁŠ.ZU šá GÙB tur-ár SI DÀRA.MAŠ tur-ár TÚG a-ru-uš-te ta-man-z[(a’a)] (9’) [tu-u]š-ku-um ni-ip-ṣi Ú.KUR.RA na4ga-bi-i (11’) … na4muṣa ú[(LAL)] (12’) [(ÚḪ-dÍD AN.BAR) x Ú.MEŠ an-nu]-te 1-niš SÚD ina Ì.GIŠ ḪE.ḪE [ŠÉŠ.MEŠsu] [If ditto]: You char24 the left horn of a male goat. You char the antler of a deer. With a dirty cloth you sque[ez]e (them). [Filing]s of the , metal powder, nīnû alum, , mūṣu-stone, r[u’tītu-sulphur, (and) iron.] You grind t[hese x plants] together. You mix them in oil. You rub him with it. Fumigant for the “hand” of a ghost: BAM 469 r. 20–21 This text is the third prescription for “A persistent attack of ‘hand’ of ghost which the āšipu is not [able] to remove” (BAM 469 r. 11; translation Scurlock 2006: 593). The tablet was found as part of Aššurbanipal's library at Nineveh. Missing text provided by parallel BAM 471 iv 4’–5’. Following Scurlock’s readings of both tablets (Scurlock 2006, 595 [no. 279]), though NE (pēmtu) is given here in place of DÈ (Stol 1998, 350–351; Scurlock 2014, 403, n. 20). Regarding the use of “stag’s horn” as a fumigant, Stol helpfully observes that the practice continued into Greek and Roman times: “In the Classical world (and later) it had special use in discovering epilepsy: by burning bitumen, jet or stag’s and goat’s horn, and by eating the liver of a he-goat, one could detect this disease” (Stol 1993: 104, see also 143–44). (r.20)

[DIŠ 3 Ì.U]DU NAGA.SIsar A KI.A.dÍD SI DÀRA.MAŠ TÚG.NÍG.DÁRA.ŠU.LÁL [(GÌR.PAD.DU) N]AM.LÚ.U18.LU la-aš-ḫi ŠAḪ ⸢NITA⸣ 1-niš ina NE SARšú-ma TI (r.21)

[If three (i.e., third prescription)]: [s]heep [fat], uḫūlu qarnānu, kibrītu-sulphur infusion, antler of a deer, soiled rag, [h]uman [(bone)], (and) the jaw of a male pig. them together. If you smoke it over coals, he will get well. Concluding Remarks It is known that magic and medicine were specialized vocations across the ancient Near East, often tied to the cult, and widely used for daily life in the ancient world (as it is today). Geller describes the overall picture well: Magic was utilised by priests who were exorcists, but also by physicians and diviners, since incantations were used in many kinds of rituals and medical recipes, and to counteract evil omens. In effect, magic was a form of conflict-resolution between men and gods and at the same time functioned to reduce levels of anxiety in the human psyche (Geller 2016: 27).

23

For a different reading, see also BabMed (https://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/e/babmed/Corpora/AMT/AMT4-6/ index.html). Photograph and line drawing are available on CDLI https://cdli.ucla.edu/search/archival_view.php? ObjectID=P397518. 24 The idea here is to make it crumbly, following Köcher, who sites this in his discussion of urruru as drying with fire: “„Mürbe oder morsch machen“ ist sicher die treffendste Bezeichnung derjenigen Tätigkeit, die man sich unter dem Dörren von Tierhäuten oder … Hörnern (vgl. AMT 4,6:8'; BAM III, No. 237 i 38) … und ähnlichen Stoffen vorstellen kann” (Köcher 1965: 324).

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

101

It is also known that the “physicians,” whether in Babylonia, Assyria, Hatti, or Egypt, performed their duties by doing house calls or taking their clients into a specified place, be it a natural environment, a temple gate, etc. (Scurlock 2006: 22). And while the texts indicate that healers were responsible for the preparation of the pharmaceuticals (Scurlock 2006: 43), little is known about where the ingredients were stored or prepared. The small sample of magico-medical texts presented above can not only help make sense of the antlers, but also the horn, the grinding implements, and the “cult stand” (if it was used for fumigation). All of these were found in the courtyard replete with cultic paraphernalia in Area A at Abel Beth Maacah. Similar texts, which do not contain “antlers” as an ingredient (and so were not presented), may also account for the presence of the razor (covered with animal hair) and a hematite weight in that space.25

Fig. 20. Imaginary reconstruction of the ritual operation in cultic courtyard 5141 (drawing by Leen Ritmeyer, done under the guidance of Carroll Kobs). Preliminary findings thus indicate the possibility that Courtyard 5141, belonging to an Iron Age IB cultic context at Abel Beth Maacah, may have been connected to magical and medical practices, perhaps used for the preparation and/or storage of magico-medical stuffs. Preparation in a special location makes logical sense, as the materials were taken from their mundane state to one that could be effective with the gods and against ghosts (Fig. 20). The question may be asked whether such rituals, if indeed performed at the site, were rooted in the local Canaanite culture, a modicum of which continued well into Iron Age I, and/or represent foreign (northern?) influence at that time. This may also comport with the astragali in the subsequent Iron IIA Stratum A1, probably used for divinatory purposes, and may indicate prolonged use of the complex for a similar purpose

25

For use of hair as an ingredient, Scurlock 2006, Nos. 49 [lion], 58 [virgin she-goat], 136a [horse], 136b [stallion], 179 [lamb] et passim; for weighing ingredients, see Scurlock 2006, No. 230; BAM 159 iv 16’–22’ (transliteration and translation in Scurlock 2014: 364–67); and BM 78963 60–65 (transliteration and translation in Scurlock 2014: 469–79).

102

Booth / Shatil / Panitz-Cohen / Yahalom-Mack / Kobs / Mullins – The Buck Stops Here

over time. This is particularly intriguing in light of the assumed political changes between the Iron Age I and IIA in this region. If further investigation bears out these initial, and very tentative suggestions, this would provide unique insight into magico-medical practices broadly, and could open the door to new understandings of other ritual practices and venues in the region. The antler found in this context, as well as the one from the earlier Iron I cultic building, provide the trigger for such a study, exploring the fascinating and elusive interface between material culture and text. Bibliography Aharoni, Y. The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1967 AMT 1923 R. Campbell Thompson. Assyrian Medical Texts from the Originals in the British Museum. London: H. Milford, Oxford University Press. Arnold, D. 1995 An Egyptian Bestiary. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin. Avalos, H. 2007 “Epilepsy in Mesopotamia Reconsidered.” Pp. 131–36 in Disease in Bablyonia, eds. I. L. Finkel and M. J. Geller. CM 36. Leiden/Boston: Brill. BabMed Babylonische Medizin. https://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/e/babmed. BAM = Köcher, F. 1963–80 Die babylonisch-assyrische Medizin in Texten und Untersuchungen. Berlin: de Gruyter. Barako, J. T. 2007 “Stratigraphy and Building Remains.” Pp. 11–42 in Tel Mor, The Moshe Dothan Excavations, 19591960, ed. J.T. Barako. IAA Reports 32, Jerusalem: IAA. Bartosiewicz, L. and Lisk, E. 2018 “Mammalian Remains.” Pp. 277–312 in Excavations at Dor, Final Report, Volume IIB. Area G, The Late Bronze and Iron Ages: Pottery, Artifacts, Ecofacts and Other Studies, eds. A. Gilboa, I. Sharon, J.R. Zorn and S. Matskevich. Qedem Reports 11. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Bechar, S. and Ben-Tor, A. 2018 “Tel Hazor 2017.” HA/ESI 130 (https://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id= 25447 &mag_id=126; accessed September 27, 2021) Ben-Noon, Y. 1985 “The Structure on Mt. Ebal and Its Identification as an Altar.” Pp. 137–63 in “Before Ephraim and Benjamin and Manasseh”: A Collection of Researches and Discoveries in Historical Geography, ed. Z. Ehrlich. Ophrah: Ophrah Field School. (Hebrew). Berlejung, A. 1998 Die Theologie der Bilder: Herstellung und Einweihung von Kultbildern in Mesopotamien und die alttestamentliche Bilderpolemik. Freiburg: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Biggs, R. 1967 Ancient Mesopotamian Potency Incantations. New York: J. J. Augustine. Biran, A. 1986 “The Dancer from Dan, the Empty Tomb and the Altar Room.” IEJ 36/3–4: 168–87. Biran, A. and Ben Dov, R. 2002 Dan II, A Chronical of the Excavations and the Late Bronze Age “Mycenaean” Tomb. Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College. Böck, B. 2010 “AN.TA.ŠUB.BA, >Herr des Daches Niqmī-yepuʿ (Mari, Level VII Alalaḫ) > Niqmī-yepaʿ (Level VII Alalaḫ) > Niqmêpaʿ (Level VII Alalaḫ, Level IV Alalaḫ, Ugarit).53 These changes do not represent any attempt at preserving the morphological distinctiveness of the name-elements, but rather reflect the name as a separate linguistic entity, such that the 49

Layton (1990, 4–12), Streck (2000, 143). See also the study of innovations and archaisms in Akkadian names in Streck (2002). For similar observations about Hurrian personal names, see Richter (2016, 653–55). 50 Huehnergard (1992, 159–60). 51 Coates (2015, 532). Coates’ description may be overly dichotomous because it seems to me likely that, when the meaning of a name is transparent to name-bearers and name-users, they may engage their grasp of the meaning of the name in varying degrees when they use it. An English speaker may (or may not) choose to access and use their lexical knowledge of the words “hope” or “lily” when they are used as names in different communication settings, and it seems possible that associations between a name and its corresponding word in common language may even occur subconsciously for users. 52 For a linguistic discussion of this phenomenon in another corpus – Old English names – with examples, see Colman (1992, 59–67). For similar observations about Semitic personal names, see Layton (1990, 2–3). 53 See Streck (2000, 162, 253), Golinets (2018, 215), and Howard (2022).

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

221

vowel pattern of the second element and the syllables around the word-boundary have decomposed. These changes are visible in the name Niqmepa because it is a fairly common name and has representative spellings from several centuries. Shifts in a less well-represented name might not be so transparent. Third, onomastic corpora do not represent all of the varied linguistic features of common language. Streck demonstrated this in his volume, by attempting to reconstruct as much of the verbal paradigm of Akkadian as he could from names found in Stamm’s Die akkadische Namengebung. On this basis, he was able to reconstruct the 3ms, 3fs, 2ms, 1sg, 3mp, and 1cp forms of the preterite; the 3ms, 2ms, and 1sg of the present; the 3ms and 1sg of the perfect; the complete imperative paradigm; the 3ms and 1sg of the precative; the 3ms, 3fs, and 1sg of the stative; and the masculine singular participle of the G stem.54 However, certain key forms are lacking, such as the 2fs, 3fp, and 2cp preterite, as well as most of the present and perfect paradigms. Such phenomena are undoubtedly tied to semantic factors in naming practice. The fact that we can group names in Amorite and Akkadian syntactically and semantically reveals that there were customary name-patterns, even if there are outliers. Such patterns privilege the use of certain grammatical forms over others. Thus, we must distinguish between the study of Amorite names and the study of Amorite language. But this leaves open the question of what Amorite language actually was. Recently, Durand has addressed this problem by suggesting that the difference between Akkadian and Amorite in the nomenclature of the Mesopotamian texts was not one of two different languages, but of multiple dialects, one of which was written (Akkadian) among a whole set of spoken Semitic dialects (“Amorite”).55 The Sumerian and Akkadian texts cited above do not speak in modern linguistic terms about divisions between languages, but rather render a perception of the authors. Citing the passages from the Šulgi hymns quoted above, Durand notes that Akkadian is missing from the languages which Šulgi claims to know and states that “on a plutôt l’impression qu’ici l’amorrite a le sens de « sémitique vernaculaire » ou de « langues sémitiques » en général, assez proche de l’akkadien pour n’en être qu’une variante,”56 and he suggests that the “Amorite” which Samsi-Addu wanted Yasmaḫ-Addu to learn is “simplement « patois local ».”57 The written common language would be the Akkadian of Ešnunna, which was “à l’époque de Mari la lingua franca du Proche-Orient,”58 likely as a result of the expansion of the rule of Samsi-Addu, who probably stemmed from the territory of Ešnunna. Nonetheless, the expansion of Ešnunna Akkadian as a (particularly written) lingua franca did not replace the spoken dialects across the region of Samsi-Addu’s influence. According to Durand, it is such dialects, or particular instances of them, which constituted “Amorite.” According to Durand, these dialects reveal themselves in Mari letters when an Amorite speaker’s words are quoted exactly or when Amorite speakers write letters for themselves without using a scribe (who would write in the Ešnunna dialect of Akkadian), preserving some of that person’s unique dialect features.59 Much of Durand’s article is devoted to listing such features. The effect of this, if it is correct, is to complicate our perception of Amorite language, over against the corpus of Amorite names. Studies of the latter can give the impression of a unified linguistic entity, but this unity is not real, even in the names: Les listes de NP, pris sans leurs variantes, peuvent donner l’apparence d’une grande uniformité: c’est la raison pour laquelle les ouvrages de H. B. Huffmon et de M. P. Streck, ou l’immense liste brute de données compilée par I. J. Gelb ont pu faire croire à un amorrite unitaire, une ancienne langue sémitique perdue à redécouvrir. Or, derrière cette forme amorrite, dont n’est choisie d’ailleurs par les chercheurs qu’une seule apparence, il y avait en fait une pluralité de dialectes; ces gens qui puisaient dans un stock onomastique qui apparaît aujourd’hui relativement unitaire utilisaient, en fait chacun, des dialectes dont les particularismes sont désormais

54

Streck (2000, 142–43). See the summary of these points in Durand (2012, 188). 56 Durand (2012, 167), and see fn. 9: “La distinction qui est faite par Ibâl-[Addu] (cf. A.109 …) entre « akkadien » et « amorrite » appartient à un autre niveau historique, où « akkadien » doit être compris comme la langue de l’expression écrite et « amorrite » comme les diverses expressions vernaculaires.” 57 Durand (2012, 168, see also the discussion on pp. 189–90). 58 Durand (2012, 170). 59 Durand (2012, 171–73). 55

222

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

frappants, même si l’on ne peut plus faire que des suppositions partielles sur leurs systèmes généraux.60 After reviewing putative features of these dialects found in the Mari letters, Durand concludes that the only unifying feature of these dialects is the form yaprus/iprus which refers to the past tense, whereas it has imperfect meaning in the later languages. He states: Cette caractéristique majeure fait que tout ce qui est sémitique en ce début du IIe millénaire au Proche-Orient doit être considéré comme des aspects dialectaux d’un seul et même état de langue et qu’il ne faut pas séparer en familles différentes akkadien, assyrien et ce que, faute de mieux, on continuera à appeller « les amorrites ».61 Streck has responded to Durand’s assertions, arguing that the passages from the Šulgi hymns do not support Durand’s idea that Amorite refers to Semitic languages generally. Rather, Akkadian, as well as Sumerian, would have been a given in Šulgi’s repertoire, and Akkadian therefore did not need to be mentioned.62 Its absence from the list of languages Šulgi knew does not mean that it should be lumped together with other dialects under the rubric “Amorite.” The mention of Amorite alongside Elamite, Subarean (Hurrian), and Meluḫḫan seems to place Amorite in the same class as these languages, as similarly in the lexical lists and in A.109 (see above). Moreover, since Yasmaḫ-Addu, apparently an Akkadian speaker, needed to learn Amorite, it would seem that Akkadian and Amorite were mutually unintelligible. This suggests that they were separate languages, not dialects. Indeed, the main languages of the Old Babylonian onomasticon – Akkadian, Amorite, and Hurrian – correspond nicely with the languages mentioned in A.109.63 Durand’s use of the preterite yaprus/iprus as a criterion for grouping these “dialects” together goes against the rules of linguistic classification, which groups languages on the basis of shared innovations, rather than shared retentions, and Streck gives similar detailed rejoinders to most of Durand’s dialectal features of Amorite.64 Streck’s criticisms of Durand’s arguments are well taken. Nonetheless, Durand’s distinction between references to languages in the ancient Mesopotamian documents and our modern definitions of those labels is helpful. There is no indication that ancient scribes meant well-defined linguistic categories when they referred to “Amorite” or “Akkadian.” Undoubtedly they meant something phenomenological, i.e., linguistic distinctions which were meaningful in their experience of trying to communicate with one another, as the correspondence between Samsi-Addu and Yasmaḫ-Addu reveals. Certainly greater linguistic diversity existed in the Old Babylonian period than we can access through our texts and we cannot be sure what linguistic entities were subsumed under the label “Amorite” for Ur III or Old Babylonian people. Moreover, it is likely that most of this linguistic diversity cannot be accessed through the corpus of Amorite names. Indeed, it may well be that the Amorite onomasticon had its own, somewhat independent, unity and diversity which was not coextensive with the unity and diversity of Amorite language and dialects, even if Amorite language was the linguistic source of Amorite names. We may conclude, then, that a description of Amorite language, along with most of its features, will probably remain elusive in the absence of Amorite texts. There is some utility in continuing to speak of “Amorite” names, given the state of scholarly nomenclature, and it may be argued that the corpus of such names represents a somewhat coherent dataset, i.e., the set of non-Akkadian Semitic names which are ubiquitous in cuneiform documents throughout especially Mesopotamia and the Levant in the “Amorite age,” the Old Babylonian period. It has been demonstrated, most recently and comprehensively by Streck and Golinets, that these names contain shared linguistic features, as well as shared and connected speech communities and cultures, which justifies the study of them as a corpus with some unity. This is not to deny the significant degree of linguistic diversity of various kinds between the names, as Durand has noted. But as 60

Durand (2012, 175–76). Durand (2012, 186). 62 As Streck (2013, 317) points out, although Sumerian is mentioned, it is as vehicle of comparison, not as tenor. See similarly Keetman (2010, 27, 29). 63 Similarly Charpin (2021, 1199–1201). 64 Streck (2013, 320–24). 61

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

223

long as they are viewed chiefly as an onomastic corpus, rather than as a source of knowledge about Amorite language (in the ancient sense), we may make methodologically rigorous progress. The study of Amorite names should be driven, first and foremost, by onomastic research questions and subject to the rigors of onomastic research methods. Such an approach includes linguistic questions, but is not limited to them, and considers personal names as representative of a range of social phenomena. Within this widened horizon, I suggest, we will find our ability to understand the linguistic phenomena represented in Amorite personal names improved. There is sufficient evidence from the study of other onomastic corpora that the set of personal names in a society represents a subcategory of linguistic developments within common language. Such developments are in the domain of linguistic description, but of a subset of the language(s) of a speech community, its onomasticon. From this point of view, it is possible to better understand linguistic phenomena in Amorite personal names, not as more or less reliable representations of Amorite language, but as the more particular features of names as names. 3. Amorite Names and Linguistic Questions In order to demonstrate the problems of approaching Amorite names first and foremost as evidence of Amorite language, the remainder of this paper will examine some recent investigations of Amorite names which attempt to draw upon them for knowledge about the genealogical classification of Amorite, more specifically, for the isoglosses on which this type of research is based. The aim here is to establish that attempts to use these names to answer questions of Semitic linguistics, without taking full account of the implications of the onomastic status of Amorite names and of the limitations of the data, result in oversimplification at best. On the other hand, studying the complexities of the Amorite names from a broader onomastic perspective, prioritizing the roles of anthroponyms as identifiers of people in language in complex social environments, both problematizes some of the conclusions of these investigations and better explains the phenomena with which they wrestle. Genealogical classification of languages is conducted on the basis of shared innovations, particularly of morphological features, since these are less susceptible to independent development, but also, to varying degrees, on the basis of phonological, syntactic, and lexical features. The most widely accepted classification of the Semitic languages is that of Hetzron with later developments by Huehnergard and others,65 who divide them first into East Semitic (Akkadian and Eblaite) and West Semitic (everything else). The distinction between these branches is visible especially in their verbal systems. According to Huehnergard, … the main diagnostic feature, the main innovation, that characterizes the West Semitic languages is the change of the paris form, originally a conjugated verbal adjective, into a fientic, perfective verbal form, with a concomitant change of voice (thus *qatil- ‘is killed’ → *qatal‘has killed’) and a concomitant relegation of the earlier perfective form *yaqtul to secondary usage.66 Examples of yaqtul in secondary usage in West Semitic languages include the wayyiqṭol form in Hebrew; the use of the yaqtul form as a preterite in Amarna Canaanite67 as well as in poetic texts in Ugaritic68 are regarded as archaisms. East Semitic, on the other hand, retained the yaqtul perfective form in the Akkadian preterite iprus // Eblaite yimḫur and the qatVl- form as a conjugated predicative adjective, the Akkadian “stative” paris, which occurs also in Eblaite. Proto-Akkadian, and, possibly, Proto-East Semitic,69 developed a “perfect” form, Akkadian iptaras, which, in the later history of Akkadian, supplanted the preterite iprus in

65

See Huehnergard and Rubin (2011, 259–64) for a summary. Huehnergard (2006, 2). 67 Rainey (1996, 2:222–27), alongside the suffix conjugation (Rainey 1996, 2:347–66). 68 Tropper (2012, 695–701). 69 It is not certain that these occur in Eblaite; forms such as yiktarab could be interpreted as Gt stem preterite forms (Catagnoti 2012, 131–32). 66

224

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

certain functions.70 An additional diagnostic feature of East Semitic is the operation of Geers’ law.71 West Semitic is divided into Central Semitic, Modern South Arabian, and Ethiopian Semitic.72 Of these, Central Semitic is the most relevant to the classification of Amorite. Huehnergard has discussed the possible isoglosses of Central Semitic and identified six which “can be said with some confidence to reflect shared innovations in a common Central Semitic ancestor.”73 Of these, only two are potentially detectible in Amorite names. One is the yaqtulu imperfective, which is thought to have replaced the Proto-Semitic yaqattal imperfective; the other is the operation of the Barth-Ginsberg law.74 While the yaqtulu imperfective is regarded by most comparative Semiticists as an innovation in Central Semitic, some regard it as a retention from Proto-Semitic.75 If so, this feature of Central Semitic cannot be diagnostic. Central Semitic is, in turn, divided into Northwest Semitic (Ugaritic, the Canaanite languages, and Aramaic), Arabic, and Old South Arabian. The isoglosses which may appear in Amorite names are those of Northwest Semitic, especially the change of word-initial /w/ to /y/.76 Of the diagnostic features discussed above, it is only the shift of /w/ to /y/ which is uncontested in Amorite names.77 Naturally, then, scholars seek further features which would associate Amorite names with the Northwest Semitic branch and its superordinate branches, Central Semitic and West Semitic. Therefore, scholars interested in the classification of Amorite have focused on the following research questions: – –

What were the roles of verbal conjugations in Amorite? Does the Barth-Ginsberg law apply in Amorite?

In addition to the works of Streck and Golinets, these questions have been considered in detail recently by Andrason and Vita in two articles, one on “The Present-Future in Amorite,” (2014) and the other, building on their first article, entitled “Amorite: A Northwest Semitic Language?” (2018). In addition, Buck deals with these issues in her monograph, The Amorite Dynasty of Ugarit: Historical Implications of Linguistic and Archaeological Parallels (2020). The overall aim of her book is to try and trace out the relationship between the Amorite socio-cultural phenomenon of the Middle Bronze Age and the Ugaritic kingdom of the Late Bronze Age. In addition to addressing material culture continuities between them, she also studies the potential for the Ugaritic language to be a descendant of Amorite of the Middle Bronze Age. In the following sections, I engage with these scholars’ arguments with respect to the two questions raised above. My approach is to consider the linguistic analysis of the Amorite names from an onomastic point of view, i.e., 70

This general picture seems to be a consensus among comparative Semiticists: Blau (1978, 25), Faber (1997, 8), Rubin (2005, 26–28; 2008, 62), Kouwenberg (2010, chapters 5–7, esp. pp. 129–30, 155–56, 181, 184; 2021, 193–98), Weninger (2011, 162), Goldenberg (2013, 47), Kogan (2015, 50–52), and Huehnergard and Pat-El (2019, 6–7). See also, in general, the extended discussion of Kogan (2015, chapter 2). 71 “In words and roots originally containing two Common Semitic emphatic consonants, one of the emphatics dissimilated to its non-emphatic voiceless counterpart …” (Huehnergard 2011, 588); see also Huehnergard (2006, 8). 72 Huehnergard and Pat-El (2019, 3). Or Modern South Arabian and Ethiopian Semitic are grouped as “South Semitic” (Kouwenberg 2010, 20; Goldenberg 2013, 48, 57). 73 Huehnergard (2005, 191); see also the extended treatment of features of Central Semitic in Kogan (2015, chapter 3). 74 “The Barth-Ginsberg law is a phonological rule stating that the prefix vowel of the prefix or imperfect(ive) conjugation in the base (i.e., G) stem is dependent on the theme vowel of the respective verbal base. When the theme vowel is /i/ or /u/, the prefix vowel is /a/, while when the theme vowel is /a/, the prefix vowel is /i/ …” (Hasselbach 2013, 258). It is possible that it applies to all West Semitic languages, but this remains uncertain; see the fuller discussion in Hasselbach (2004). 75 For the majority view, see Faber (1997, 8–9), Rubin (2005, 146–48; 2008, 64–65), Huehnergard and Rubin (2011, 270–71), Weninger (2011, 159, 162–63), Goldenberg (2013, 49), and Huehnergard and Pat-El (2019, 9). The minority view has been recently defended by Kouwenberg (2021, 187–93), which is a summary of his detailed treatment in Kouwenberg (2010, 95–125). See the detailed reviews of this argument in Kogan (2012; 2015, 158–66). 76 Blau (1978, 34–35), Faber (1997, 9–10), Hasselbach and Huehnergard (2007, 411), Rubin (2008, 70), Gzella (2011, 427), Goldenberg (2013, 50), Kogan (2015, 228), and Huehnergard and Pat-El (2019, 11–12). 77 Knudsen (1991, 882; 2004, 324), Hasselbach and Huehnergard (2007, 410), Streck (2011, 457), and Andrason and Vita (2018, 41), although see Golinets (2020, 189), where he observes that “there are some examples where /w/ is retained.”

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

225

driven first and foremost by onomastic considerations within the broader social phenomenon of names and naming, as a prerequisite for consideration of linguistic questions of genealogical classification. 3.1. What were the roles of verbal conjugations in Amorite? Examination of the corpus of Amorite names reveals onomastic patterns, as in other onomastica of the ancient Near East. Very prominent among these is the pattern yaqtul-DN, that is, a prefix conjugation verb in the yaqtul pattern followed by a divine name as subject. Also fairly prominent are names containing forms which appear to be either conjugated adjectives derived from verbs, like the Akkadian “stative” paris, or suffix conjugation verbs of qatal(a) pattern, like those of Ugaritic and Hebrew, which are thought to derive historically from the more original conjugated adjective. However, the interpretation of these verbal forms is contested and the most serious obstacle to their analysis is context. In names, we do not have extended discourse in which to judge the tenses of verb forms. In languages with texts extant, name-elements are typically compared with corresponding forms in common language to determine grammatical information. For Amorite names, in the absence of extant common language samples, our only hope for analyzing these forms is 1) in the potential for discerning semantic patterns of tense in large quantities of Amorite names containing the same verbal forms; 2) in comparative onomastics, by which we consider the tenses of verbal forms in the onomastica of other Semitic languages which also have texts extant; and 3) in comparative Semitics. However, it must be emphasized that the onomastic context is of utmost importance, since in names linguistic issues cannot be divorced from naming practices and prosopography. Most Amorite names with a yaqtul form have a divine name or semi-divine name (e.g., ʿammu, “grandfather”) as subject, e.g., ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-dIŠKUR, Yaśmaʿ-Haddu, “Haddu heard/hears/will hear,” and the syntax is normally VERB-SUBJECT, though there are plenty of exceptions. One can see that there is prima facie ambiguity about the tense of the verbs in such names on the basis of individual names alone. It is possible to imagine scenarios in which they could refer to the past, present, or future. The past might refer, say, to the birth event (“Haddu heard [a prayer for help?]”) or to conception (“Haddu heard [a prayer for a child?]”); the present might refer to a general characteristic of the deity (“Haddu hears [prayers?]”); the future might refer to the expectation that Haddu will hear, e.g., during the lifetime of the person so named and on behalf of them. However, the yaqtul form is used in other Semitic languages (including names) either as a preterite (e.g., Akkadian iprus) or in secondary uses in West Semitic (where it has been supplanted as preterite by the qatal(a) form), such as a volitive (e.g., in Ugaritic prose or in the Hebrew jussive) or the Hebrew wayyiqṭol. From an onomastic point of view, it should be observed that the usual time of name-giving was at or near birth and normally by parents, though with exceptions.78 Stamm, in his study of akkadische Namengebung, divided some of the names between prospective and retrospective names, and noted that the former generally have volitive verbs, either in the imperative or precative (liprus).79 Retrospective names, on the other hand, usually refer back to circumstances surrounding the birth event (conception, gestation, delivery) of the namebearer, and include names which are expressions of joy or thanksgiving to a deity.80 This is fairly clear for some Akkadian names on the basis of their semantics.81 For example, DINGIR-šu-ib-ni-šu, Ilšu-ibnišu, “his god created him” (TS 73 29 [BM 33244]) or be-li₂-ib-ni-a-ni, Bēlī-ibnianni, “my lord created me” (VS 8 127 r 17) (compare ib-ni-de₂-a, Ibni-Ea, “Ea created [him]” [CT 2 17 29]). Moreover, one can see how other Akkadian names, which are not so clearly related to the birth of the child, could be so in light of these more transparent examples, e.g., DINGIR-i-din, Ilu-iddin, “the god gave (the child?)” (CT 8 34 [Bu 91-5-9, 2504] 78

For Sumerian names: Limet (1968, 30–34), Edzard (RlA 9: 97); Akkadian: Stamm (1968, 8–10), Edzard (RlA 9: 109); Amorite: Streck (2000, 138); Hittite: Hoffner (RlA 9: 119–21); Hurrian: Richter (2016, 20); Hebrew: Rechenmacher (2012, 23–24); for Amorite see also ARM 10 94 (= ARM 26 239 = LAPO 18 1221), a letter to Zimri-lim from his daughter, in which she urges him to give the name Tagīd-nawû to a little girl (MUNUS TUR), the daughter of fTēpaʿum (see the analyses of the names in Streck 2000, 140). 79 Stamm (1968, 148–58). 80 Stamm (1968, 22). 81 See the examples in Stamm (1968, 136–47).

226

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

22). In the case of Akkadian names, there is no doubt that verbs in the iprus pattern are preterite verbs, given comparison with common language in Akkadian texts.82 On the other hand, the present-future iparras pattern is rarely used.83 The same distribution of conjugations occurs also in the Eblaite onomasticon.84 This pattern in the Akkadian onomasticon – using the preterite iprus in verbal clause names, especially referring to events surrounding birth, alongside precative and imperative verbs for prospective verbal clause names, as well as the rarity of the present-future iparras – is a particularly important comparandum for the Amorite names, since it is propinquitous to the Amorite onomasticon in both time and space. Both onomastica were used in the same speech communities. Thus Knudsen has noted the grammatical and syntactic correspondence between the names of Samsi-Addu’s sons, Išme-Dagan and Yasmaḫ-Addu, as support for the yaqtul form as preterite in Amorite names.85 These names contain yaqtul verbs derived from the same root, ŠMʿ, “to hear,” in Akkadian and Amorite. It is beyond doubt that the Akkadian name Išme-Dagan means “Dagan heard”; the grammatical identity would seem to suggest a semantic correspondence, “Haddu heard,” for Yaśmaʿ-Haddu. Indeed, there are some Amorite names which semantically are best explained as referring back to events surrounding the birth of the name-bearer. Like Akkadian, there are names which contain the root BNY with a divine name as subject, e.g., ia-ab-ni-dda-gan, Yabni-Dagan, “Dagan created” (FM 6 51 12).86 Other names seem likely to go back to events surrounding the birth of the name-bearer as well: ia-aḫ-ru-uš, Yaġruś, “(DN?) planted” (RA 65: 55 xiii 52); ia-ab-ba-an-ni-DINGIR, Yabbânni-ʾil, “the god named me” (RA 49: 17 iv 53) // ia-ab-bi-dda-gan, Yabbi-Dagan, “Dagan named (me)” (ARM 3 52 9);87 ia-aq-ni-DINGIR, Yaqniʾil, “the god acquired (the child?)” (CT 45 92 ii 10’). One or more of a set of similar names probably contain the ḎRʿ root, “to sow”: ia-az-ra-aḫ-DINGIR, Yaḏraʿ-ʾil, “the god sowed?” (ARM 14 62 24);88 ia-az?-ri-ḫ[uum], Yaḏriʿ[um], “(DN?) sowed?” (PBS 13 56 4); ii-iz!-ru-uḫ-DINGIR, Yiḏruʿ-ʾil, “the god sowed?” (TCL 11 156 17) // ḫa-ma-iz-ru, ʿAmma-ʾiḏruʿ, “the grandfather sowed?” (RA 54: 22 no. 28 5).89 Such names are best understood as referring backward in time to the name-bearers’ conception, gestation, or birth.90 Moreover, there are what we might call prospective names in Amorite and these occur, as in Akkadian, in the precative (e.g., a-ḫi-la-ap-la-aṭ, ʾAḫī-laplaṭ, “may my brother live” [ARM 23 438 17])91 and imperative (e.g., si-ma-aḫ-ni-i-la, Śimaʿ-ni-ʾila, “Hear me, o god” [ARM 23 623 46]).92 I infer that such forms would have been used rather than a yaqtul form if prospective meanings were intended, i.e., Yaśmaʿ-Haddu probably does not mean “May Haddu hear.” We may be justified, therefore, as with the Akkadian names, to relate some of the less transparent Amorite names containing a yaqtul verb to these events as well. Such include ia-an-ti-in-a-ra-aḫ, Yantin-Yaraḫ, “Yaraḫ gave (the child?)” (ARM 22 121 9 = ARM 30, pp. 194–95); ia-aš₂-la-aḫ-dIŠKUR, Yaślaḥ-Haddu, “Haddu sent (the child?)” (ARM 22 1 i 13); ia-as₂-ru-uk-dIŠKUR, Yaśruk-Haddu, “Haddu gifted (the child?)” 82

See similarly Krebernik (1988, 57) for Eblaite names: “Most verbal elements of personal names belong to a category which corresponds to the Akkadian G stem preterite with its three possible vocalizations, e.g., ir₃-gab₂-, ig-ri₂-iš-, iš₁₁gur-.” See Catagnoti (2012, 130–31) for the preterite form in Eblaite, over against the durative. 83 Stamm (1968, 95), where he comments, “Die Seltenheit dieses Tempus in den Personennamen ist eine der bemerkenswertesten Eigentümlichkeiten ihrere Bildung.” 84 ARES 1: 57–59; ARES 3: 11; Krebernik (1988, 34, 67–68). 85 Knudsen (1991, 879). 86 Other examples of Yabni-DN are listed in Golinets (2018, 307–8). 87 For further examples of Yabbi-DN, see Golinets (2018, 322) 88 More examples of ia-az-ra-aḫ-DN are in Golinets (2018, 105–6). 89 See Golinets (2018, 385–86) for discussion. DRS 8: 800 (“peut-être”), Huffmon (1965, 188), Gelb (1980, 298), Streck (2000, 169), and Sanmartín (2019, 166) associate the orthography ia-az-ra-aḫ with ḎRʿ. Gelb (1980, 298) also associates the remaining orthographies listed here with ḎRʿ, while Streck (2000, 169) argues that ia-az?-ri-ḫ[u-um] was a development of ia-az-ra-ḫu-um, by means of a shift of /a/ to /e/ before /ʿ/. Golinets (2018, 385) considers the different theme-vowels problematic for the same root and divides them between ḎRʿ (ia-az?-ri-ḫ[u-um], ii-iz?-ru-uḫ, iz-ru) and ḎRḤ, “to shine” (ia-az-ra-aḫ), though he notes that in Arabic a case exists of a verb with three theme-vowels (Golinets 2018, fn. 1031). 90 See, in general, the list of verbal roots from Amorite names grouped by semantic fields in Golinets (2018, 358–62). 91 See further examples in Golinets (2018, 126–28). 92 See further examples in Golinets (2018, 124–26).

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

227

(ARM 22 8 6; ARM 22 36 i’ 8’); ia-aḫ-qu₂-ub-DINGIR, Yaʿqub-ʾil, “the god protected (the child?/the mother?)” (ARM 22 328 iii 17);93 ia-an-ṣur-DINGIR, Yanṣur-ʾil, “the god protected (the child?/the mother?)” (ARM 28 154 r 6’); ia-aḫ-zi-ir-DINGIR, Yaʿḏir-ʾil, “the god helped (the child?/the mother?)” (YOS 2 96 5); and ia-ar-pa-dIŠKUR, Yarpaʾ-Haddu, “Haddu healed (the child?/the mother?)” (FM 7 34 3). Thus, from an onomastic point of view, the yaqtul form in Amorite was most likely a preterite form, as in Akkadian and Eblaite.94 On the other hand, the qatal(a) form in Amorite corresponds in usage – insofar as this can be established in the limited context of names – to that of Akkadian and Eblaite.95 There are a good many such forms in Amorite names, though the vast majority of them are clearly adjectives, e.g., IŠ₈.TAR₂-ka-bar, Ištar-kabar, “Ištar is important” (ARM 23 93 11) or ba-aḫ-li-sa-par₂, Baʿlī-śapar, “my lord is beautiful” (ARM 9 294 16).96 Golinets is able to find only five fientive verbs in the qatal(a) form, contained in only ten non-hypocoristic names, in his corpus, including the roots ʾMR (“to see”), ʿḎR (“to help”), ḤṢN (“to protect”), ŚKR (“to reward”), and ŚMʿ (“to hear”).97 While it is possible that these latter examples represent early cases of the shift of this form from verbal adjective to fientive verb, the sheer paucity of such examples underscores the fact that the function of the qatal(a) form in Amorite names was still fundamentally that of a verbal adjective. In this, they parallel the function of the paris form in Akkadian, which was regularly a predicative verbal adjective, but began to show fientive usage particularly for some verbal roots.98 Apart from the yaqtul preterite, laqtul precative, and imperative forms, clear examples of other finite verb conjugations do not appear in Amorite names. This is clearly not a complete complementary set of verbal conjugations, and scholars have attempted to identify, especially, a present-future conjugation in Amorite names in either yaqattal (East Semitic) or yaqtulu (Central Semitic) forms. Golinets has provided thirty possible examples of the yaqattal form of Amorite verbs.99 The main difficulty with identifying these as yaqattal forms is that their doubled middle radicals may be more convincingly explained otherwise, e.g., as part of the D stem pattern (e.g., i-ba-as₂-si-ir, ʾIbaśśir [< *Yabaśśir], “[DN?] brought news” [ARM 27 29 12]). Golinets discusses such potential examples in detail and demonstrates that none of them can be shown with any certitude to be yaqattal forms.100 Equally, Golinets shows that no clear yaqtulu/a forms occur in Amorite names. There are prefix conjugation verbs in Amorite names which have -u or -a suffixes, but these are best explained as markers of case or other nominal markings in hypocoristic names (e.g., ia-as₂-ma-aḫ // ia-as₂-ma-ḫu // ia-as₃-ma-ḫu-um // ia-as₂-ma-ḫi-im),101 mixed morphographemic-phonetic spellings102 (e.g., ia-ar-ka-ba-dIŠKUR, Yarkabaddu < Yarkab-Haddu [ARM 28 34 3]), or orthographic idiosyncracies.103 This is not the place to rehearse all of his arguments about each verb, but what is clear from Golinets’ study is that a yaqattal and/or a yaqtulu form is either rare or nonexistent in Amorite names.104 Indeed, here, as with names containing yaqtul verbs, Amorite onomastic practice seems to have corresponded to the practice of Akkadian and Eblaite, namely, that the tense orientation of verbal clause names was mainly toward the past (the future is clearly referred to, though infrequently, by the precative and imperative verbs in names and, rarely, by the present), so that yaqtul verbs were used. That is, it seems to have been the case that yaqattal or yaqtulu forms were rare or nonexistent in Amorite names because there was a semantic tendency in naming practice which conditioned the exclusion of such forms. Here, as ever, absolutely no conclusion should be drawn about the existence or not of a present-future form in Amorite, because we know the grammatical details of Amorite, if at all, only through the narrow purview of names. 93

See further examples in Golinets (2018, 103). Similarly Streck (2011, 456), Andrason and Vita (2014, 23; 2018, 31), and Golinets (2018, 45). 95 Similarly Streck (2000, 143–44; 2011, 456), Andrason and Vita (2014, 23; 2018, 30–31), and Golinets (2018, 146). 96 See the examples in Golinets (2018, 148–54). 97 Golinets (2018, 145–46, 156–57). 98 Kouwenberg (2010, 172–74). 99 Golinets (2018, 87–88). 100 Golinets (2018, 90–98). 101 ARM 22 328 ii 21; ARM 21 399 13’; ARM 24 224 iii 7, 20; ARM 23 346 11 (respectively). 102 Streck (2000, 160), “gemischt morphographemisch-phonetischen Graphien.” 103 Golinets (2018, 75–86). 104 See similarly Andrason and Vita (2014, 24). 94

228

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

On the basis of the discussion of verbal conjugations in Amorite names thus far, I emphasize that onomastic practice dictated linguistic phenomena in Amorite names. This has resulted in a great many names containing yaqtul preterite verbs which most likely refer back especially to the perceived activities of deities in the conception, gestation, and birth of the name-bearer. This fits well with onomastic practice in the naming traditions of Akkadian, which are in evidence intensively alongside the Amorite naming tradition, in the same times and by the same people. Similarly, onomastic practice probably dictated the use of the verbal adjective in names, describing either a (quasi-)deity or, likely, the name-bearer. Such realities, particularly when studied in large quantities of personal names from the same times and places may tell us a great deal about specific linguistic features of personal names, about naming practices, and about popular religion, even if they do not tell us as much as we would like to know about Amorite as it was spoken in the Middle Bronze Age. Andrason and Vita have recently attempted to draw on the Amorite names to better understand “the Amorite tense-taxis-aspect-mood (TTAM) verbal system.”105 They take it for granted that the yaqtul verb in Amorite names is a preterite, the qatal(a) form is stative, and the laqtul form is modal.106 Their article on the present-future in Amorite, then, attempts to shed “some new light on the issue of the Amorite yaqattal from the comparative, typological, and empirical perspective and within the continuum model of language evolution and dialectal classification defended by cognitive linguistics and grammaticalisation theory.”107 After surveying prior scholarly descriptions of the verbal forms appearing in Amorite names, the authors conclude, … scholars – with the exception of Kerr … as far as we know – usually design a rather peculiar picture of the Amorite verbal system. If the modal formation laqtul is kept apart, the language possessed only two tense-taxis-aspect (TTA) forms: the dynamic past and perfect yaqtul and the stative qatal(a). Inversely – and especially in models that exclude the yaqattal – Amorite lacks the category of a present (or an imperfective type gram, including progressive and continuous) and a future.108 This is a remarkable assertion and seems to reflect an uncritical reading of the secondary literature. Scholars cited by Andrason and Vita, including Huffmon, Knudsen, and Streck, do not to my knowledge assert that there was no present-future form in Amorite. Rather, these scholars limit themselves to describing the verbs in Amorite names without implying anything about the existence or non-existence of the present-future in Amorite language. In response to a straw man, therefore, Andrason and Vita present an unnecessary critique, to the effect that a Semitic verbal system without a present-future is unlikely.109 They therefore attempt to reconstruct the present-future form in Amorite typologically. They observe that linguistic changes which result in distinct branches in families of languages may occur in series of “transitional or fuzzy stages,”110 and that such stages must have existed in the process which resulted in Central Semitic languages having yaqtulu as their present-future form: … from the methodological point of view defended by modern linguistic theories, the claim whereby a member of the NWS branch (such as Amorite) cannot have the yaqattal type gram or cannot offer certain ES traits – just because it is a NWS tongue – is not only circular but also untenable. It is more probable that the NWS group displays a phylum of verbal systems with a distinct degree of NWS prototypicality. One of the scales of this prototypicality could precisely concern the choice between the yaqattal (non-prototypical NWS trait) or the yaqtulu (prototypical NWS trait).111

105

Andrason and Vita (2014, 23). See also Andrason and Vita (2018, passim) for further discussions of verbs in Amorite. Andrason and Vita (2014, 23; 2018, 30–32). 107 Andrason and Vita (2014, 22). 108 Andrason and Vita (2014, 24). 109 Andrason and Vita (2014, 25). 110 Andrason and Vita (2014, 27). 111 Andrason and Vita (2014, 28–29). 106

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

229

In order to establish this for Amorite, Andrason and Vita then “analyze certain properties of the verbal system of this language.”112 Noting that the yaqtul preterite, qatal(a) stative, and laqtul precative in Amorite corresponds with the Akkadian iprus, paris, and liprus, respectively, they conclude, … since the Akkadian organization includes the iparras as its exemplary paradigmatic presentfuture gram, it is more likely that Amorite – whose verbal system displays various ES characteristics – also had a morphological cognate to the iparras, viz. the yaqattal instead of the yaqtulu that was common in the NWS and CS branch. If the two coexisted in the language, which is also a possible scenario since this would correspond to an intermediate stage between the two poles of the prototypicality, the following situation would seem to be the most plausible, given the similarity with the Akkadian verbal system: the yaqattal should more [sic] prototypical (it should be more frequent, being especially characteristic of the written language), while the yaqtulu should be less prototypical (it should be less common, probably being restricted to the spoken language).113 This conclusion is further supported, in their view, by the fact that, while there are potential examples of the yaqattal form in Amorite names (e.g., ia-ba-an-ni-DINGIR), “no forms of the yaqtulu (even only possible ones) have been reported thus far.”114 Nonetheless, in spite of the similarity with East Semitic verbs, Amorite still shows features of “the NWS branch. For instance, there is no perfect of the iptaras type and the qatal(a) – besides being typically stative just like the Akkadian parsāku – also provides less common transitive dynamic uses.”115 While the arguments of Andrason and Vita may be critiqued on other grounds,116 here I wish to draw attention to their treatment of the Amorite data. They address the issue almost entirely as a linguistic one, without thoroughly analyzing the Amorite name-data and considering their implications for linguistic reconstruction. By my count, Andrason and Vita cite only three Amorite names in their 2014 study on the presentfuture in Amorite.117 For the remainder of the grammatical phenomena which they discuss, they seem to draw on grammatical descriptions of Amorite names. Their 2018 article is better documented in the names, with fifty-two examples. However, their engagement with particular examples obscures the diversity in the data, especially in the orthographies of the names. Citation of individual examples of names or their orthographies is often insufficient to establish linguistic assertions about them; rather, one must frequently cite a critical mass of orthographies or examples so that a linguistic pattern can be observed. Indeed, as already noted, the linguistic unity of the Amorite name-data has been called into question on the basis of the diversity found there, and Andrason and Vita appear to be aware of this. In their 2018 article, they assert that there are two main research problems in previous studies of Amorite: “one concerns the classification of Amorite in the Semitic family and the other is related to its status as an independent linguistic system.”118 They go on to briefly describe scholarly perspectives on the second problem as divided between those who think that “there was never an Amorite linguistic system as such”119 and “the majority of

112

Andrason and Vita (2014, 29). Andrason and Vita (2014, 30–31). 114 Andrason and Vita (2014, 31). 115 Andrason and Vita (2014, 30, fn. 15). 116 See Baranowski (2017). 117 They cite this set of names twice (Andrason and Vita 2014, 24, 31). 118 Andrason and Vita (2018, 24). 119 I do not know of anyone who claims this. Rather, scholars like Huehnergard (1992, 159), whom Andrason and Vita cite here, seem to think that a unified “Amorite linguistic system” is not represented in the names. To quote Huehnergard, “The term Amorite is commonly used to refer to the large number of Semitic personal names attested in cuneiform sources from the late 3d and early 2d millennia b.c.e. that exhibit non-Akkadian, i.e., ‘West Semitic,’ features. … It is likely … that these names represent not a single language, or even necessarily a continuum of closely related dialects, but rather a diverse set of languages. It is a priori quite possibly [sic], for example, that only some of the names reflect dialects that may be classified as Central Semitic, and only a subset of those as Northwest Semitic. … Thus, since ‘Amorite’ is not a linguistic unity, or even, perhaps, a linguistic entity, it is difficult to say anything meaningful about 113

230

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

linguists” who “have treated Amorite as a single linguistic unit,” and observe that this issue is “of crucial relevance, as it impacts on the entire body of scholarship on Amorite.”120 They nonetheless “principally focus on the first problem” of Amorite studies in their paper, treating Amorite “as if it were a consistent, single, linguistic and grammatical entity – a language,” though they state, “this assumed unity of Amorite only constitutes a temporary and hypothetic approximation.”121 It would seem that establishing the linguistic unity of the Amorite name-data is methodologically prior to investigating the classification of Amorite. However, Andrason and Vita proceed as if the names represent a linguistic unity without attempting to demonstrate it and try to classify Amorite. One is left to wonder whether the conclusions of their study describe anything real. That is, if the corpus of Amorite names do not represent a linguistic unity, what is being analyzed and to what do Andrason and Vita’s results pertain? The answer seems to be grammatical syntheses of Amorite, such as those of Streck. However, they do not take account of the emphasis of that author and others on the distinction between the language of the Amorite names and the Amorite language spoken in the Middle Bronze Age. Moreover, the implications of the tendency of names to preserve mixtures of archaisms and innovations, as well as the intensive interaction of Akkadian and Amorite speakers in the Old Babylonian period, seem to have been overlooked. These factors can easily explain the presence of the yaqtul preterite and the stative qatal(a) form, which would be archaisms from the point of view of Northwest Semitic. If true, this would complement the observation of Baranowski, that from a typological point of view the more likely reconstruction of the Amorite presentfuture is yaqtulu.122 Regardless of how the verbs in Amorite names bear on questions of linguistic classification, our consideration of the verbal forms from an onomastic point of view establishes with some degree of probability the interpretation of the verbs. By contextualizing the analysis of individual examples of yaqtul and qatal(a) verbs among paradigmatically similar names (e.g., yaqtul-DN) in both the Amorite and Akkadian onomastica and by considering the semantics of the names in light of naming practice, it is possible to see that yaqtul verbs are probably preterites and qatal(a) forms are probably verbal adjectives in Amorite names and, concomitantly, that the very presence of present-future forms is largely excluded by naming practice. We should expect such forms to be rare at best in the names. This is of interest in itself from the point of view of naming practice, but we are helped also in our linguistic interests in the names, because 1) it warns us against concluding too much about the Amorite verbal system, 2) it suggests that we should interpret prefix conjugation verbs in Amorite names with doubled middle radicals as D stem verbs and the like, and 3) it is well-suited to what we know of the relationships between names and common language. This means that the interpretation of the verbs argued for here is compatible with the Hetzron-Huehnergard reconstruction, even if a unified grammatical system in the names cannot be located within it, since the presence of preterite yaqtul and verbal adjective qatal(a) is to be expected in names as archaisms (if the language[s] from which they were derived was/were Northwest Semitic), possibly reinforced through contact with Akkadian naming practices. 3.2. Does the Barth-Ginsberg law apply in Amorite? Like Andrason and Vita, Buck approaches the Amorite names with particular interest in linguistic questions having to do with genealogical classification. While she states that she is aware of the limitations of her name-data, it is not so clear that the full implications of these limitations are brought to bear on her methodology. For example, she states, personal names may not necessarily be representative of the spoken language, very often preserving an older, more conservative stage of the language. Though dialect variation may be

phonology, morphology, or classification that would obtain across the entire set of names.” Thus, Huehnergard keeps apart the language of the Amorite names and the Amorite language, and it is the former which is not, for him, a linguistic unity. 120 Andrason and Vita (2018, 24). 121 Andrason and Vita (2018, 24, 26). 122 Baranowski (2017).

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

231

observed in onomastic evidence, it is difficult to know when such variations may have entered the language.123 She asserts, therefore, that “the language preserved in personal names may be considered partially representative of the language of a given speech community.”124 But these observations are not sufficiently detailed. Rather than preserving “an older, more conservative stage of the language,” names may preserve a hodgepodge of linguistic features, some of which can be regarded as archaisms from earlier stages of common language, some of which were innovations in common language, and some of which may reflect developments particular to names. Streck has demonstrated the first two phenomena in a study of archaisms and innovations in Akkadian names. Among other things, he concludes, “Wichtig ist dabei die Beobachtung, daß zur selben Zeit bei derselben sprachlichen Erscheinung – besonders im morphologischen Bereich – Archaismus und Innovation nebeneinander stehen können …”125 Layton, too, has noted that proper nouns exhibit parallel developments alongside common language: Since proper nouns do not follow the same currents of change that common nouns do, eventually the homophony that existed between the proper name and its ground form is resolved. While the proper name goes its own way, the appellative develops separately in time. To cite two examples, the German proper names Witte and Grote are archaic fossilized forms of the current adjectives weiß and groß, meaning “white” and “great.” … Although the appellative or ground form undergoes changes involving many different linguistic levels and many different mechanisms, the proper name is not liable to some of these mechanisms, and in turn undergoes mechanisms of its own (e.g., “Jacob” becomes “Jim”).126 If this is correct, how can one know whether particular linguistic features of Amorite names might represent archaisms from common language, innovations from common language, or particularly onomastic developments which never occurred in common language? For Akkadian this can be verified; for Amorite, this is not possible. Thus, while it may be true that “the language preserved in personal names may be considered partially representative of the language of a given speech community,” it is not possible to know which features of the names represent the language of a given speech community, without extensive samples of common language, preferably distributed over a long time, for comparison. In addition, Amorite name-studies must take account of different orthographic practices among separate Old Babylonian corpora. Béranger has studied the orthographic practices in letters from Old Babylonian Mari and Babylon and shown that there is a high degree of standardization in each, though each has its own idiosyncrasies.127 She has, moreover, studied the orthographies of anthroponyms in each place and shown that scribes learned to write Akkadian, Sumerian, and Amorite personal names in school from lists and used the spellings that they learned in their practice of writing. This often included archaic orthographic features which were retained in scribal practice. According to Béranger, this “reveals a desire to preserve certain writing conventions from the past, which had by then become obsolete. These sign values reflect the community identity of the scribes, and reflect their traditionalism.”128 Popova, too, has studied the orthographic practices of Level VII Alalaḫ, comparing them with those of Mari, and concluding, “The writing system of the Alalaḫ VII scribal school was not yet fully standardized as compared with those of some other cuneiform traditions (e.g., Mari).”129 While it may be the case that dialectal or diachronic features are represented in Amorite names, we must remember that we view the grammar of Amorite names through the lens of Akkadian orthography, applied with varying orthographic habits. Moreover, it is well-known that developments in spelling often lag behind developments in pronunciation, so that, e.g., the same spelling may represent 123

Buck (2020, 190). Buck (2020, 191). 125 Streck (2002, 118). 126 Layton (1990, 2); see also Coates (2015, 529–31). 127 Béranger (2019, esp. pp. 17–26). 128 Béranger (2019, 29). 129 Popova (2016, 88). 124

232

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

multiple pronunciations or, on the other hand, different spellings may represent the same pronunciation. Such orthographic realities may mask (or reveal) linguistic phenomena in Amorite names.130 Buck does try to overcome obstacles such as these in using personal names for accessing Amorite grammar, partly by carefully choosing her corpus. On the one hand, she refers to the entire body of Amorite names collected by Gelb in 1980, in addition to similar names in texts published since Gelb’s work, as “‘Classical Amorite’ in order to distinguish this corpus of material from the distinct dialects or language substrata which are certainly represented within this corpus.”131 Noting the immense geographical and chronological spread of these names, she asserts, Without geographic or temporal nuance, little can be said about the linguistic orientation of Amorite or its features, and it is therefore imperative that Amorite not be viewed as a single unified language, but rather as a series of dialects, or even independent languages, that likely exhibit their own distinct linguistic markers.132 She thus sets out to provide “geographic and temporal nuance” by studying names in texts “roughly from 1950 BCE to 1600 BCE,” which were borne by people from within the “political boundaries of the Middle Bronze Age polities of Yamḫad and Qatna.”133 The ca. eight hundred and fifty names in her corpus come mainly from the sites of Alalaḫ (Level VII), Mari, and Tuttul, but she chooses from the Mari texts names which were borne by people said to be from the region of Yamḫad and Qatna, in order to establish a linguistic profile for the Amorite names in the general region around Ugarit.134 Of this corpus, she states, “For ease of reference, and in order to distinguish this specific language substratum from the Classical Amorite corpus, I named this language group ‘Western Amorite,’ specifying its geographic affinity.”135 She nonetheless asserts, “the designation serves to delineate this western corpus of names as a distinct dialect within the larger Classical Amorite spectrum of languages.”136 Buck then mines this corpus for isoglosses of sub-branches of West Semitic. For her, these features both confirm her assumption that this corpus of names represents a separate dialect of Amorite from the rest of the Amorite names and show that these names represent a Northwest Semitic language (“Western Amorite”) related to Ugaritic.137 Among the features which she finds is the operation of the Barth-Ginsberg law, an isogloss of Central Semitic. Consideration of whether this law applies to Amorite names seems a fairly straightforward task. One has but to analyze Amorite names with yaqtul verbs to see whether the expected vowel patterns occur there, if the Barth-Ginsberg law was operative: verbs with theme-vowel /i/ or /u/ should have prefix-vowel /a/, while verbs with theme-vowel /a/ should have prefix-vowel /i/. Golinets has helpfully compiled the evidence from Amorite names in general138 and demonstrated that, while it is true that there are yaqtul forms (e.g., ia-abru-uq-dIŠKUR, Yabruq-Haddu, “Haddu flashed” [ARM 23 450 11]) and yaqtil forms (e.g., ia-aḫ-zi-ibDINGIR, Yaʿḏib-ʾil, “the god helped” [ARM 26 140 13, 28]), there are also yaqtal (e.g., ia-as₂-lam-dIŠKUR, Yaślam-Haddu, “Haddu has been amicable” [ARM 14 47 11]), yiqtil (e.g., ⸢ii⸣-im-lik-DINGIR, Yimlik-ʾil,

130

See similar warnings about the analysis of Amorite names in Charpin (2005–2006, 288). Buck (2020, 86–87). 132 Buck (2020, 87). 133 Buck (2020, 89). 134 See the description of her corpus in Buck (2020, 86–95). 135 Buck (2020, 94). 136 Buck (2020, 94). It is strange that Buck states that “the traditional linguistic group known as ‘Amorite’ does not in fact exist, so the bare term will be avoided as a linguistically inappropriate and misleading term” (Buck 2020, 96). It is hard to know what is meant by this and one wonders whether the situation is really improved by replacing “Amorite” with “Classical Amorite.” 137 “For the Western Amorite and Ugaritic corpora we will start with the conclusion that both languages are West Semitic, being distinct from their East Semitic (Akkadian and Eblaite) counterparts” (Buck 2020, 194). And see Fig. 5.4 (p. 249) for the proposed classification of Western Amorite as a sister language to Ugaritic, both descended from ProtoWestern Amorite. 138 Golinets (2018, 52–59). 131

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

233

“the god ruled/counseled” [VS 13 90 r 15]), and, possibly, yiqtul (e.g., ii-iz!-ru-uḫ-DINGIR, Yiḏruʿ-ʾil, “the god sowed” [TCL 11 156 17]) forms. As Golinets shows, the 3ms prefix of the prefix conjugation may have the forms ya-, yi-, ʾi-, ye-, ʾe-, and yu-, with multiple spellings attested for each form.139 The variation between yV- and ʾi- or ʾe- does not signify the difference between third and first persons, as is sometimes assumed. These prefixes may alternate on the same verb in names, e.g., in names with the root ŚMʿ:140 ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-DINGIR, Yaśmaʿ-ʾil, “the god heard” (ARM 6 22 16) // iš-ma-aḫ-DINGIR, ʾIśmaʿ-ʾil (CT 45 3 7). Such a variation may even occur for the name of the same person: ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-dIŠKUR, Yaśmaʿ-Haddu, “Haddu heard” (ARM 5 13 1, letter from Carchemish) // iš-ma-dIŠKUR, ʾIśmaʿ-Haddu (ARM 5 15 1, letter from Qatna).141 It seems unlikely that we should understand such names to reflect a shift in persons (Yaśmaʿ-Haddu, “Haddu heard” ≯ ʾIśmaʿ-Haddu, “I heard Haddu”), and such a shift would produce strange semantic results in some names, e.g., ia-ar-pad IŠKUR, Yarpaʾ-Haddu, “Haddu healed” (FM 7 34 3) // ir-pa-dIŠKUR, ʾIrpaʾ-Haddu, “Haddu healed,” not “I healed Haddu” (AlT 256 o 13). While it is possible that these changes were phonologically conditioned (ya- > yi- > ʾi-) it is also possible, or perhaps more likely, that the spellings with ʾi- represent Akkadianized forms.142 This is to be expected, given that Amorite names were used heavily within Akkadian texts and speech. Another striking example of orthographic variation occurs in the spellings of the name of the king of Abiili:143 ia-am-ra-aṣ-DINGIR (ARM 21 370 8’; ARM 27 84 5; FM 11 57 9) ia-am-ru-IZ-DINGIR (ARM 2 75 6’) yu-um-ra-aṣ-DINGIR (e.g., ARM 28 137 3) yu-um-ra-ṣi₂-DINGIR (ARM 27 83 7) These variant spellings would seem to rule out the possibility that yumraṣ represents an internal passive, as suggested by Andrason and Vita.144 Golinets considers the geographical distribution of the variant spellings of this king’s name and concludes that “die Namen mit dem yu-Präfix neben den Namen mit dem ya-Präfix im gleichen Textkorpus vorkommen, kann hier keine dialektale Distribution plausibel gemacht werden.”145 It is difficult to know what produced these variant orthographies. As these and the following examples show, the theme-vowels in verbal forms may also be variable: iaar-ka-ab-dIŠKUR, Yarkab-Haddu, “Haddu rode” (ARM 28 117 15) // ia-ar-ki-ib-a-d[u], Yarkib-Haddu (ARM 31 193 6’); ia-aḫ-zi-ir-DINGIR, Yaʿḏir-ʾil, “the god helped” (YOS 2 96 5) // ia-aḫ-zu-ur-DINGIR, Yaʿḏur-ʾil (JCS 24: 57 no. 39 2); ia-am-ṣi₂-DINGIR, Yamṣiʾ-ʾil, “the god was generous” (ARM 7 180 ii’ 17’) // ia-am-ṣu₂-ma-lik, Yamṣuʾ-mālik, “the counsellor (or king?) was generous” (VS 7 171 7) // yi-im-siDINGIR, Yimṣiʾ-ʾil, “the god was generous” (RA 52: 167 no. 311 13); ia-aḫ-zi-ib-DINGIR, Yaʿḏib-ʾil, “the god helped” (ARM 26 140 13, 28) // ia-aḫ-zu-ub-DINGIR, Yaʿḏub-ʾil (ARM 22 33 iii 7) // i-zi-bu-um, ʾIʿzibum, “(the god) helped” (Kisurra 10A 5). The name Yasmaḫ-Addu, with reference to the son of SamsiAddu at Mari, occurs usually with an /a/ theme vowel, but also twice in the spelling ia-as₂-me₂-eḫ-dIŠKUR (ARM 5 41 1; ARM 5 69 1). This may also be due to Akkadian influence on the orthography of this Amorite name, since in Akkadian the name would be Išme-Addu, and a similar explanation can be given for other variations. But in many cases, it is difficult to account for the differences. Golinets has presented his data by region (Babylonia, Diyala, Mari, etc.) and in some cases regional differences emerge, while in others they

139

See the survey in Golinets (2018, 24–41). For many more examples, see Golinets (2018, 119–21). 141 Streck (2000, 190), Golinets (2018, 34). 142 See this argument in Golinets (2018, 32–35). 143 Golinets (2018, 40). See, for the identification of the person, ARM 16/1, pp. 220, 237, and, in general, the letters and discussion in ARM 28, pp. 193–204. 144 Andrason and Vita (2018, 37). 145 Golinets (2018, 41). 140

234

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

do not.146 As he warns, one must keep in mind the relatively small sample of names and the fact that the proveniences of the texts containing the names often do not reflect the origins of the name-bearers.147 Thus the prefix conjugation verbs in Amorite names in general present a complex picture, with variation in the spellings of both the prefixes and the theme-vowels, often in the same verb. Such variations may represent orthographic distinctions, but they may just as well represent differences in pronunciations of names, either diachronically or geographically. Buck seems to be aware of some of this variety in Amorite names in general: “Though the Barth-Ginsberg law does not occur in the onomastic evidence from the Mari heartland, the western dialects show a mixture of forms, with some verbal forms clearly displaying the BarthGinsberg shift, while others still show the retention of the historic yaqtal verbal form.”148 To demonstrate this, she presents Table 5.1, which represents all verbal forms in her “Western Amorite” corpus which have either yiqtal or yaqtal forms.149 For each, she gives the root with translation, a normalized form, and the site from which it comes. On this basis, we are told, Out of a total of thirty-eight verbal forms of the yaqtal/yiqtal type found in Western Amorite, twenty-five display the Barth-Ginsberg shift /yaqtal/ > /yiqtal/ while thirteen retain the historic yaqtal pattern, indicating that sixty-six percent of all forms exhibit the Barth-Ginsberg law. Taking the evidence one step further, eleven of the twenty-five yiqtal forms occur at Alalaḫ, whereas only one first common singular form of the ʾaqtal pattern is attested at Alalaḫ. This indicates that the Barth-Ginsberg law was applied almost universally in the environs around Alalaḫ. Yet, evidence for the yiqtal verbal pattern is found as far afield as the site of Tuttul, the border between the western territory of Yamḫad and the territory of Mari, possibly indicating that this feature begun [sic] to spread to other areas in the region.150 But unfortunately this table does not include the orthographies of the names, and thereby obscures the complexities of interpreting those orthographies, especially of the prefixes of the prefix conjugation verbs. When these are checked,151 it becomes clear that all orthographies representing Buck’s yiqtal forms from Alalaḫ in her Table 5.1 are of the form iq-ta-al-…, iq-tal-…, or iq-ta-lV-. There are no cases of, e.g., ii-iq-ta-al-…, yi-iq-ta-al-…, or even i-iq-ta-al-…, which would clearly show the prefix to be yi-. Thus, Buck simply assumes that the orthographies in her dataset represent yiqtal forms, without further consideration of what else they might indicate. While it is true that spellings of the sort iq-ta-al-…, etc. (i.e., without explicit indication of the yi- prefix) are quite common from Alalaḫ, it is also quite a common phenomenon further east (e.g., iš-ma₂-aḫ-dIŠKUR, ʾIśmaʿ-Haddu [ARM 22 198]; is-ma-aḫ-DINGIR, ʾIśmaʿ-ʾil [CT 45 3 7, Sippar]).152 Moreover, there is some complexity in the vowel patterns from Alalaḫ as well, although there are not many spellings of the sort iaaq-ta-al-… and the like from Alalaḫ. The clear examples of prefix conjugation verbs known to me from Level VII Alalaḫ, as well as Old Babylonian Hazor,153 are as follows: 1. ig-mi-ra-a-du, ʾIgmiraddu < ʾIgmir-Haddu, “Haddu ended (childlessness?)” (AlT 265 o 8; AlT 270 r 9) 2. ia-aḫ-tuq-dIŠKUR, Yaʿtuq-Haddu, “Haddu passed by” (Hazor 7 o 6’) 3. ia-mu-ut-ni-ri, Yamūt-nīrī, “my light died” (AlT 178 o 11’) 4. ia-an-ṣur!-dIŠKUR, Yanṣur-Haddu, “Haddu protected” (Hazor 7 b.e. 2) 5. in-te-du-dIŠKUR, ʾIntēdū?-Haddu, “they have become many?, o? Haddu” (Hazor 7 r 2) 146

Golinets (2018, 54–57). Golinets (2018, 54–55). 148 Buck (2020, 203). 149 Buck (2020, 204). 150 Buck (2020, 204–5). 151 This can be done in her Appendix A. 152 See further examples in Golinets (2018, 120–21) for the root ŚMʿ, and, in general, see the prefix conjugation forms beginning with ʾi- presented throughout Golinets’ treatment of the prefix conjugation verb. 153 These can be checked in Horowitz, et al. (2018). 147

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

235

6. ia-ri-im-li-im, Yarīm-līm, “the tribe was exalted” (AlT 1 o 11)154 // i-ri-im-li-im, ʾIrīm-līm (AlT 22 r 8) // i-ri-im-il-la (AlT 131 o 34; AlT 154 b.e. 1) and i-ri-mil-la (AlT 87 l.e. 3), ʾIrīm-ʾilla, “the god was exalted” 7. ir-pa-a-bi, ʾIrpaʾ-ʾabī, “my father healed” (AlT 347 r 2; AlT 409 o 17) 8. ir-pa-a-da, ʾIrpaʾ-Hadda (AlT 77 r 3, t.e. 1)155 // ir-pa-a-du, ʾIrpaʾ-Haddu (Hazor 5 o 1), “Haddu healed” 9. ir-ḫa-mi-il-la, ʾIrḥam-ʾilla, “the god showed mercy” (AlT 274 r 5)156 10. ia-šu-ub-ra-bi, Yašūb-rāpiʾ, “the healer returned” (AlT 95 r 16) 11. ia-šu-ub, Yašūb, “(the god) returned” (AlT 455 r 22) 12. iš-ma-a-du, ʾIśmaʿ-Haddu (AlT 264 o 17) // ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-dIŠKUR, Yaśmaʿ-Haddu (UF 36: 82–83 r 14), “Haddu heard”157 13. iš-pu-uṭ-dIŠKUR, ʾIšpuṭ-Haddu, “Haddu judged” (Hazor 7 o 10’) 14. tap-ta-na-a-da, Taptana-Hadda (AlT 206 o 5) // tap-tu-na-a-da, Taptuna-Hadda (AlT 33 r 10), “Haddu has shown himself strong” or “You have shown yourself strong, o Haddu”158 From this rather meager list, examples 2–4, 10–11 are expected whether or not the Barth-Ginsberg law operated. Examples 12 and 14 add further cases of the yaqtal pattern in use at Alalaḫ, in addition to the thirteen examples that Buck herself has noted in her “Western Amorite” corpus.159 Examples 1, 6, and 13, too, would seem to be unexpected where the Barth-Ginsberg law was operative, i.e., we would expect *Yagmir-Haddu, (only) Yarīm-līm, and *Yašpuṭ-Haddu. The IA- spelling of the prefix of yaqtul verbs therefore alternates with the spelling iC- in Alalaḫ and Hazor in a complex distribution, not unlike that which Golinets demonstrates for the Amorite names more generally.160 While one could argue that iC- indicates the syllable yiC-, as Buck implies, as Golinets shows, it is also possible that this is simply an Akkadianized spelling, which is common in the orthography at Alalaḫ.161 Indeed, this is perhaps the best explanation for Buck’s parade example of the operation of the BarthGinsberg law in western names, namely, the spelling iš-ma-dIŠKUR for Yaśmaʿ-Addu in a letter from IšḫiAddu, king of Qatna (ARM 5 15 1). It should be said that in other letters from Išḫi-Addu, the name is spelled ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-dIŠKUR (ARM 2 51 1; A.1882+ [MARI 5: 167–70] 1), so that this example is an isolated incident. It is easily conceivable that the pronunciation Yaśmaʿ-Haddu was represented in the orthography by both ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-dIŠKUR and iš-ma-dIŠKUR, given the fact that the scribes may well have often written the Akkadian name-element Išme- (iš-me-), or even the Akkadian name Išme-Addu (iš-me-dIŠKUR), in international correspondence or in their training. This unusual orthography may have been produced as an idiosyncratic spelling by a scribe or even by mistake, or may simply have been regarded as an appropriate

154

This spelling is attested 111 times at Level VII Alalaḫ; this is a representative example. This name occurs thirty-two times at Level VII Alalaḫ, in several orthographies, though they all begin ir-pa-… I have therefore only given a representative example. 156 This name occurs six times at Level VII Alalaḫ, all beginning ir-ḫa-…; I give a representative example here. 157 This name occurs twenty times at Level VII Alalaḫ, in several orthographies, though I have given the representative forms for this discussion; there is only one case which is spelled ia-as₂-ma-aḫ-… while all others are spelled iš-ma-… or iš-me-… 158 I am uncertain why the ta- prefix occurs here and also of the final -a of the verbal form; see also Golinets (2018, 122–23). 159 Buck (2020, 204). 160 Compare the comments of Popova (2016, 89) on orthographic practice more generally in Level VII Alalaḫ: “Compared to the systematized syllabary of Mari, Alalaḫ VII presents a great deal of variety … Alalaḫ clearly does not show one syllabogram for each point of articulation. My hypothesis is the following: we can assume that, under the influence of the OB syllabary of Mari or Babylon, with which Yamhad was in a close diplomatic relationship in the 18th century BC, the syllabary of Alalaḫ VII … had a tendency towards the systematic distribution of the signs used, but this tendency had not developed to the full by the time of the city’s destruction. That is, new signs and values had been introduced, but they had not led to a completely systematic relationship between sound and script. Paleographical data also support this conclusion.” It ought to be considered how the orthography of names at Alalaḫ compares with this state of affairs. 161 Golinets (2018, 24–35, 57–58). 155

236

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

orthography more generally, as the many other examples of ʾi- prefixes on such verbal forms in Amorite names may indicate. Two more of Buck’s examples of “Western Amorite” do not support her conclusions. One of these should be recognized as a yaqtal form, namely, ia-a-pa-aḫ-dIŠKUR, which probably represents Yaypaʿ-Haddu (with yaqtul verb), not Yapaʿ-Haddu (with adjective).162 This raises the possibility that ia-pa-aḫ-… represents a defective spelling of the prefix conjugation form of this root, not its adjectival form.163 However, Buck consistently interprets these as adjectives, asserting, “there is no evidence for a I-waw/yod root occurring in a yaqtal pattern in Western Amorite.”164 Moreover, at least one example which Buck adduces as a yiqtal form is not so for another reason: it is not even a Semitic name. The word yiʾlap in Table 5.1, which apparently comes from the orthography which Buck renders iḫ-la-ap-a-du (better: eḫ-la-ab-a-du),165 is certainly a Hurrian name, Eġl=a=b-Haddu, “Haddu saved.”166 When these points are taken into account, Buck’s assertions about the operation of the Barth-Ginsberg law in western names need significant attenuation. She concludes, “Since two thirds of Western Amorite forms exhibit the Barth-Ginsberg law, it is clear that the Barth-Ginsberg law was in the process of being generalized in the western region.”167 However, the evidence that she presents is simply not sufficient or clear enough to bear the weight of this assertion for Amorite names from Yamḫad and Qatna. This is not to mention so-called “Western Amorite” as a living language, which may or may not be accessed with any precision through the corpus of Amorite names from Yamḫad and Qatna which Buck amasses. This is not to say that the Barth-Ginsberg law did not operate in Levantine sites in the Old Babylonian period; nor is it to say that the operation of the Barth-Ginsberg law did not enter the onomasticon in some spellings. But, as ever, we are dealing with onomastic data, which in this case are probably not well-suited for establishing such a phenomenon. Indeed it is precisely in names that we would expect archaic forms, as Buck herself notes: personal names in Amarna and Ugarit continue to contain examples of yaqtal verb patterns when the operation of the Barth-Ginsberg law is in evidence in common language.168 But what is most significant for my argument about Buck’s treatment of these issues is that her attempt to discern an Amorite dialect in her corpus of names proceeded with insufficient attention to the nature of the name-data. It is not a foregone conclusion that the names from a given region represent the language of a unified dialect from that region, and consideration of the linguistic details of these names reveals a linguistic diversity not unlike that observed in the remainder of the Amorite names. Also noteworthy is Buck’s problematic approach to the orthographies of the names which she analyzes and the significance of the differences between them. Orthography, as Béranger and Popova (among others) have shown, is subject to the whim of the scribe as well as more systemic local idiosyncrasies, alongside broader orthographic practices, developed in the training of scribes. Thus, in addition to the barrier to accessing the language(s) behind Amorite names presented by the names themselves, the orthographies of names present their own difficulties. 4. Conclusions The main purpose of this study was not to attempt to classify Amorite linguistically,169 but to emphasize the need for methodological rigor in the study of Amorite names and in the study of Amorite language. The 162

Buck (2020, 289); see also Golinets (2018, 216). Golinets (2018, 217, 228–29); for examples in Buck’s corpus, see Buck (2020, 293). 164 Buck (2020, 204, fn. 72). 165 Buck (2020, 298). 166 Buck (2020, 298); the same analysis applies to the orthographies eḫ-li-a-du, eḫ-li₃-a-du, eḫ-li-aš-tar, and eḫ-liIŠ₈.TAR₂ which she analyzes as yiḥlî-haddu/ʾaṯtar, “Haddu/ʾAṯtar shall be ill.” See the name-form in Wilhelm (RlA 9: 123); on the morphology of the verb form in Old Hurrian, see Wegner (2007, 134); parallel examples are in Richter (2016, 95–97, with a different valence morpheme); and, on the first element, see Richter (2012, 75–76; 2016, 393). 167 Buck (2020, 206). 168 Buck (2020, 206) notes the presence of the name Yanḥamu in Amarna (Hess 1993, 82–84) and Ugarit (Gröndahl 1967, 57–58). 169 However, it is worth observing that an implication of my argument is that we may speak about the presence of isoglosses in Amorite names, even if we cannot speak, or can only hypothetically speak, about the set of isoglosses in a 163

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

237

fundamental insight of this study has been made before: we cannot know in which respects the linguistic study of “Amorite” names and the study of Amorite language are the same thing. While we know that Amorite was a spoken language recognized as separate from Akkadian in the Middle Bronze Age by people such as Šulgi, Samsi-Addu, and Yasmaḫ-Addu, it was apparently never, or almost never, a written language, apart from some loanwords into Akkadian. On the other hand, several thousand non-Akkadian Semitic names appear in cuneiform sources of the Middle Bronze Age, some of which contain these loanwords. Moreover, some of the name-bearers are designated MAR.TU or are associated with Amorite culture (however that is understood), and some of them could speak Amorite (e.g., Samsi-Addu, Yasmaḫ-Addu). Thus, these names have, for many decades now, been called Amorite names. But the linguistic relationship between Amorite language and Amorite names remains nebulous, fundamentally because we do not have extensive samples of common Amorite language with which to compare the grammar of Amorite names. Particular combinations of grammatical features in Amorite names cannot be known to represent the linguistic system of a speech community. Amorite (non-Akkadian Semitic) personal names are distributed in cuneiform texts chronologically over half a millennium and geographically across a region from Dilmun to Egypt. Onomastic studies show that corpora of personal names preserve mixtures of archaisms and innovations in common language, as well as their own name-specific developments. Such realities are likely to obscure chronological and geographical contours of linguistic phenomena in names, as well as idiosyncratic features of names, so that attempts to describe common language on the basis only of names is likely to lead to the collapse of such distinctions into an artificial “language.” In addition, the orthographic representation of names may mask their linguistic features and presumed linguistic background. Cuneiform orthography is an imprecise representation of spoken language in any case. Given scribal idiosyncrasies, local orthographic practices, standardized (often archaic) spellings learned from scribal exercises, and language contact in bilingual settings, discerning linguistic features from the orthographies of names is complex, and proceeds most securely on the basis of many examples clustered in multiple times and places. The citation of a single example is often insufficient to establish linguistic observations; rather, the whole scope of attested orthographies is needed to make the most secure linguistic observations possible. What I propose, therefore, is to approach the study of Amorite names on their own terms, as an onomastic phenomenon, rather than as fragments of a language which we would very much like to recover. Far from diminishing the importance of linguistic studies of Amorite names, this approach takes up the linguistic endeavor into a larger phylum of research, namely the study of names in all their aspects as socio-cultural phenomena, fundamentally as human expressions of identity. Such an approach combines the linguistic study of names with other research interests, such as prosopography, as well as the study of the roles of names in

unified Amorite language behind the names. That is to say, it is possible to claim that there are Northwest (or West or Central) Semitic features in this or that name without claiming the same thing about all of the set of “Amorite names.” A particularly common isogloss in Amorite names is the shift of word-initial /w/ to /y/. For example: ia-qar-DINGIR, Yaqar-ʾil, “the god is precious” (√ *WQR; CT 6 49 Bu 91-5-9, 2502 23); ia-tar-dIŠKUR, Yatar-Haddu, “Haddu is excellent” (√ *WTR; ARM 21 201 4). For many more examples with this and other roots, see Golinets (2018, 239–41 [√ WḤD], 242 [√ WQR], 244 [√ WṮB], 244–250 [√ WTR], 338 [√ WDD]). Moreover, lexemes have been recently brought to the center of genealogical discussions by Kogan (2015), who attempts to define the lexical isoglosses of the main divisions of Semitic, though he does not directly address Amorite. Relevant lexical isoglosses of Central Semitic, according to Kogan, include ʿabd-, “slave”; NʿM, “to be pleasant”; ŚKR (ŠKR), “to hire”; ŠPṬ (ṮPṬ), “to judge”; ŠWB (ṮWB), “to return”; and ṣūr-, “rock” (Kogan 2015, 181–83, 194–95, 200, 202–3; see also Streck 2000, 258, 292–94; Golinets 2018, 446–47, 457–59). Relevant lexical isoglosses of Northwest Semitic include ʿMS, “to carry” and NḤM, “to console” (Kogan 2015, 220, fn. 661, 284; see also Golinets 2018, 374–75, 415–16). All of these terms are wellattested in Amorite names and this may support their linguistic classification as Central or Northwest Semitic, if Kogan is correct. Cf. the helpful assessments of Kogan’s work by Pat-El (2017), alongside Kogan’s defense of his methdology (Kogan 2015, 1–25). Lexical isoglosses may prove particularly important for classification of Amorite names, in spite of the fact that they are less probative for classification than morphological or phonological features, since the set of Amorite names does not contain the full complement of morphological and phonological phenomena which would occur in common language. See also Knudsen (2004) for an earlier example of the same sort of research applied specifically to Amorite names.

238

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

literature, religion, family, class, and other social phenomena which our data represent to us.170 Moreover, the linguistic study of names takes on its own quality, not as an attempt at reconstructing a language, but, e.g., in the context of studying how the semantic and grammatical patterns of names relate to naming practice, or of reconstructing the changing pronunciations and spellings of names through time and space. Such an approach takes full account of the particular behavior of names in language use, rather than treating them as a generic part of language. Bibliography Andrason, Alexander, and Juan-Pablo Vita. 2014. “The Present-Future in Amorite.” JSS 23: 21–36. ——— 2018. “Amorite: A Northwest Semitic Language?” JSS 63: 19–58. Baranowski, Krzysztof J. 2017. “The Present-Future in Amorite: A Rejoinder.” Ancient Near Eastern Studies 54: 81–89. Béranger, Marine. 2019. “Glimpses of the Old Babylonian Syllabary, Followed by Some Considerations on Regional Variations and Training in Letter-Writing.” In Keilschriftliche Syllabare: Zur Methodik ihrer Erstellung, 17–38. Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient 28. Gladbeck: PeWe-Verlag. Birot, Maurice. 1980. “Fragment de rituel de Mari relatif au kispum.” In Death in Mesopotamia: Papers read at the XXVIe Rencontre assyriologique internationale, edited by Bendt Alster, 139–50. Mesopotamia 8. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Blau, Joshua. 1978. “Hebrew and North West Semitic: Reflections on the Classification of the Semitic Languages.” Hebrew Annual Review 2: 21–44. Boer, Rients de. 2014. “Amorites in the Early Old Babylonian Period.” Leiden: Leiden University. Buccellati, Giorgio. 1966. The Amorites of the Ur III Period. Pubblicazioni del seminario di semitistica, recerche 1. Naples: Istituto orientale di Napoli. Buck, Mary E. 2020. The Amorite Dynasty of Ugarit: Historical Implications of Linguistic and Archaeological Parallels. Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 8. Leiden: Brill. Burke, Aaron A. 2020. The Amorites and the Bronze Age Near East: The Making of a Regional Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Catagnoti, Amalia. 2012. La Grammatica della Lingua di Ebla. Quaderni di Semitistica 29. Florence: Università di Firenze. Charpin, Dominique. 1992. “Les malheurs d’un scribe, ou de l’inutilité du sumérien loin de Nippur.” In Nippur at the Centennial: Papers Read at the 35e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia 1988, edited by Maria de Jong Ellis, 7–27. Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 14. Philadelphia: The University Museum. ——— 2001. “L’archivage des tablettes dans le palais de Mari: nouvelles données.” In Veenhof Anniversary Volume: Studies Presented to Klaas R. Veenhof on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, edited by Wilfred H. van Soldt, 13–30. Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique Néerlandais de Stamboul 89. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. ——— 2004. “Histoire politique du Proche-Orient amorrite (2002–1595).” In Mesopotamien: Die altbabylonische Zeit, edited by Pascal Attinger, Walther Sallaberger, and Markus Wäfler, 4:25–480. OBO 160. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ——— 2005. “Review of M. P. Streck, Das amurritische Onomastikon der altbabylonischen Zeit, Band I (2000).” AfO 51: 282–92. ——— 2021. “Akkadian and the Amorites.” In History of the Akkadian Language, Volume 2: The Second and First Millennia BCE. Afterlife, edited by Juan-Pablo Vita, 2:1177–1212. HdO 152. Leiden: Brill.

170

For methodological discussions of the full range of onomastic research, see the various articles in The Oxford Handbook of Names and Naming (Hough, ed. 2016) and the articles in Namenforschung (Eichler, et al., eds. 1995–1996). This is not to imply that the contents of all of these essays are equally (or at all) applicable to the study of Amorite names, but they represent the breadth of potential in onomastic research of this sort. I have tried to study linguistic aspects of a set of Amorite names with this approach in Howard (2022).

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

239

Charpin, Dominique, and Jean-Marie Durand. 1986. “«Fils de Sim’al»: les origines tribales des rois de Mari.” RA 80: 141–83. Charpin, Dominique, and Nele Ziegler. 2003. Florilegium marianum V. Mari et le Proche-Orient à l’époque amorrite: Essai d’histoire politique. Mémoires de NABU 6. Paris: SEPOA. Civil, Miguel. 1985. “Sur les ‘livres d’écolier’ à l’époque paléo-babylonienne.” In Miscellanea Babylonica: Mélanges offerts à Maurice Birot, edited by Jean-Marie Durand and Jean-Robert Kupper, 67–78. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Coates, Richard. 2016. “Names and Historical Linguistics.” In The Oxford Handbook of Names and Naming, edited by Carole Hough, 525–39. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cohen, David, François Bron, and Antoine Lonnet. 1970–. Dictionnaire des racines sémitiques ou attestées dans les langues sémitiques. 10 vols. The Hague: Mouton; Leuven: Peeters. Colman, Fran. 1992. Money Talks: Reconstructing Old English. Trends in Linguistics: Studies and Monographs 56. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. del Olmo Lete, Gregorio, and Joaquín Sanmartín. 2015. A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition. Third revised edition. HdO 112. Leiden: Brill. Durand, Jean-Marie. 1992. “Unité et diversité au Proche-Orient à l’époque Amorrite.” In La circulation des biens, des personnes et des idées dans le Proche-Orient ancien. Actes de la XXXVIIIe Rencontre assyriologique internationale (Paris, 8–10 Juillet 1991), edited by Dominique Charpin and Francis Joannès, 97–128. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. ——— 2012. “Réflexions sur un fantôme linguistique.” In Altorientalische Studien zu Ehren von Pascal Attinger: mu-ni u₄ ul-li₄-a-aš ĝa₂-ĝa₂-de₃, edited by Catherine Mittermayer and Sabine Ecklin, 165– 91. OBO 256. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Eichler, Ernst, Gerold Hilty, Heinrich Löffler, Hugo Steger, and Ladislav Zgusta, eds. 1995. Namenforschung: Ein internationales Handbuch zur Onomastik. Vol. 1–2. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 11. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Eidem, Jesper. 2011. The Royal Archives from Tell Leilan: Old Babylonian Letters and Treaties from the Lower Town Palace East. Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique Néerlandais de Stamboul 117. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Faber, Alice. 1997. “Genetic Subgrouping of the Semitic Languages.” In The Semitic Languages, edited by Robert Hetzron, 3–15. Routledge Language Family Descriptions. London: Routledge. Finkelstein, J. J. 1966. “The Genealogy of the Hammurapi Dynasty.” JCS 20: 95–118. Fleming, Daniel E. 2004. Democracy’s Ancient Ancestors: Mari and Early Collective Governance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gelb, Ignace J. 1980. Computer-Aided Analysis of Amorite. Assyriological Studies 21. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Gesenius, Wilhelm. 1987–2012. Hebräisches und Aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament. Edited by Rudolf Meyer and Herbert Donner. Berlin: Springer. Goldenberg, Gideon. 2013. Semitic Languages: Features, Structures, Relations, Processes. Oxford Linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Golinets, Viktor. 2010. “Amorite Names Written with the Sign Ú and the Issue of the Suffixed Third Person Masculine Singular Pronoun in Amorite.” In Language in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 53e Rencontre assyriologique internationale, edited by Leonid E. Kogan, Natalia Koslova, Sergey Loesov, and Sergey Tishchenko, 2:593–616. Babel und Bibel 4. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. ——— 2018. Verbalmorphologie des Amurritischen und Glossar der Verbalwurzeln, Band 2: Verbalmorphologie des Amurritischen und Glossar der Verbalwurzeln. Vol. 2. AOAT 271. Münster: UgaritVerlag. ——— 2020. “Amorite.” In A Companion to Ancient Near Eastern Languages, edited by Rebecca Hasselbach-Andee, 185–201. Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell. Grayson, A. Kirk. 1980. “Königslisten und Chroniken. B. Akkadisch.” In RlA, edited by Dietz Otto Edzard, 6:86–135. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

240

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

Gröndahl, Frauke. 1967. Die Personennamen der Texte aus Ugarit. Studia Pohl: Dissertationes Scientificae de Rebus Orientis Antiqui 1. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Gzella, Holger. 2011. “Northwest Semitic in General.” In The Semitic Languages: An International Handbook, edited by Stefan Weninger, 425–51. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 36. Berlin: de Gruyter Mouton. Hasselbach, Rebecca. 2004. “The Markers of Person, Gender, and Number in the Prefixes of G-Preformative Conjugations in Semitic.” JAOS 124: 23–35. ——— 2013. “Barth-Ginsberg Law.” In Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics, edited by Geoffrey Khan, 258–59. Leiden: Brill. Hasselbach, Rebecca, and John Huehnergard. 2007. “Northwest Semitic Languages.” In Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, edited by Kees Versteegh, 3:408–22. Leiden: Brill. Hess, Richard S. 1993. Amarna Personal Names. ASOR.DS 9. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Hoftijzer, Jacob, and Karel Jongeling, eds. 1995. Dictionary of the North-West Semitic Inscriptions. 2 vols. HdO 21. Leiden: Brill. Horowitz, Wayne, Takayoshi Oshima, and Seth Sanders. 2018. Cuneiform in Canaan: The Next Generation. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Hough, Carole, ed. 2016. The Oxford Handbook of Names and Naming. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Howard, J. Caleb. 2022. “Amorite Names through Time and Space.” JSS 67. Hrůša, Ivan. 2010. Die akkadische Synonymenliste malku = šarru: eine Textedition mit Übersetzung und Kommentar. AOAT 50. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Huehnergard, John. 1992. “Languages: Introductory Survey.” In Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary, edited by David Noel Freedman, 4:155–70. New Haven: Yale University Press. ——— 2005. “Features of Central Semitic.” In Biblical and Oriental Essays in Memory of William L. Moran, edited by Agustinus Gianto, 155–203. Biblica et Orientalia 48. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. ——— 2006. “Proto-Semitic and Proto-Akkadian.” In The Akkadian Language in Its Semitic Context: Studies in the Akkadian of the Third and Second Millennium BC, edited by Guy Deutscher and N. J. C Kouwenberg, 1–18. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. ——— 2011. A Grammar of Akkadian. Third edition. Harvard Semitic Series 45. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Huehnergard, John, and Na’ama Pat-El. 2019. “Introduction to the Semitic Languages and Their History.” In The Semitic Languages, edited by John Huehnergard and Na’ama Pat-El, 1–21. Routledge Language Family Series. London: Routledge. Huehnergard, John, and Aaron D. Rubin. 2011. “Phyla and Waves: Models of Classification of the Semitic Languages.” In The Semitic Languages: An International Handbook, edited by Stefan Weninger, 259–78. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 36. Berlin: de Gruyter Mouton. Huffmon, Herbert Bardwell. 1965. Amorite Personal Names in the Mari Texts: A Structural and Lexical Study. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press. Jacquet, Antoine. 2002. “Lugal-meš et malikum: nouvel examen du kispum à Mari.” In Florilegium marianum VI: Recueil d’études à la mémoire d’André Parrot, edited by Dominique Charpin and JeanMarie Durand, 51–68. Mémoires de NABU 7. Paris: SEPOA. Kärger, Brit. 2014. Leben in der amurritischen Welt: Nomaden und Sesshafte im Reich von Mari im 19. und 18. Jahrhundert vor Christus. Philippika: Marburger altertumskundliche Abhandlungen 68. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Keetman, Jan. 2010. “Enmerkar und Sulge als sumerische Muttersprachler nach literarischen Quellen.” ZA 100: 15–31. Knudsen, Ebbe Egede. 1991. “Amorite Grammar: A Comparative Statement.” In Semitic Studies in Honor of Wolf Leslau on the Occasion of His Eighty-Fifth Birthday, November 14th, 1991, edited by Alan S. Kaye, 866–85. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. ——— 2002. “Review of M. P. Streck, Das amurritische Onomastikon der altbabylonischen Zeit, Band 1 (2000).” ZA 92: 145–52.

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

241

——— 2004. “Amorite Vocabulary: A Comparative Statement.” In Assyria and Beyond: Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen, edited by Jan G. Dercksen, 317–31. Publications de l’Institut historiquearchéologique Néerlandais de Stamboul 100. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Kogan, Leonid E. 2012. “Review of N. J. C. Kouwenberg, The Akkadian Verb and Its Semitic Background (2010).” ZA 102: 304–23. ——— 2014. “Les termes sémitiques de parenté dans les sources cunéiformes: L’apport de l’étymologie.” In La famille dans le Proche-Orient ancien: réalités, symbolismes, et images. Proceedings of the 55th Rencontre assyriologique internationale at Paris, 6–9 July 2009, edited by Lionel Marti, 87– 111. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. ——— 2015. Genealogical Classification of Semitic: The Lexical Isoglosses. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Kouwenberg, N. J. C. 2010. The Akkadian Verb and Its Semitic Background. Languages of the Ancient Near East 2. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. ——— 2021. “Historical Morphology of Akkadian.” In History of the Akkadian Language, Volume 1: Linguistic Background and Early Periods, edited by Juan-Pablo Vita, 1:147–227. Handbuch der Orientalistik 152. Leiden: Brill. Krebernik, Manfred. 1988. Die Personennamen der Ebla-Texte: Eine Zwischenbilanz. Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient 7. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer. Lambert, Wilfred G. 1968. “Another Look at Hammurabi’s Ancestors.” JCS 22: 1–2. Layton, Scott C. 1990. Archaic Features of Canaanite Personal Names in the Hebrew Bible. HSM 47. Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press. Limet, Henri. 1968. L’anthroponymie sumérienne dans les documents de la 3e dynastie d’Ur. Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège 180. Paris: Société d’édition “Les Belles Lettres.” Michalowski, Piotr. 2011. The Correspondence of the Kings of Ur: An Epistolary History of an Ancient Mesopotamian Kingdom. Mesopotamian Civilizations 15. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Miglio, Adam E. 2014. Tribe and State: The Dynamics of International Politics and the Reign of Zimri-Lim. Piscataway: Gorgias Press. Pentiuc, Eugen J. 2001. West Semitic Vocabulary in the Akkadian Texts from Emar. HSS 49. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Popova, Olga V. 2016. “Cuneiform Orthography of the Stops in Alalaḫ VII Akkadian.” ZA 106: 62–90. Porter, Anne. 2012. Mobile Pastoralism and the Formation of Near Eastern Civilizations: Weaving Together Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rainey, Anson F. 1996. Canaanite in the Amarna Tablets: A Linguistic Analysis of the Mixed Dialect Used by the Scribes from Canaan. 4 vols. HdO 25. Leiden: Brill. Rechenmacher, Hans. 2012. Althebräische Personennamen. Vol. 1. Lehrbücher orientalischer Sprachen 2. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Richter, Thomas. 2012. Bibliographisches Glossar des Hurritischen. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. ——— 2016. Vorarbeiten zu einem hurritischen Namenbuch, erster Teil: Personennamen altbabylonischer Überlieferung vom Mittleren Euphrat und aus dem nördlichen Mesopotamien. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Rubin, Aaron D. 2005. Studies in Semitic Grammaticalization. HSS 57. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. ——— 2008. “The Subgrouping of the Semitic Languages.” Language and Linguistics Compass 2: 61–84. Rubio, Gonzalo. 2006. “Šulgi and the Death of Sumerian.” In Approaches to Sumerian Literature: Studies in Honour of Stip (H. L. J. Vanstiphout), edited by Piotr Michalowski and Niek Veldhuis, 167–79. Cuneiform Monographs 35. Leiden: Brill. Sallaberger, Walther. 2007. “From Urban Culture to Nomadism: A History of Upper Mesopotamia in the Late Third Millennium.” In Sociétés humaines et changement climatique à la fin du troisième millénaire: une crise a-t-elle eu lieu en haute Mésopotamie? Actes du colloque de Lyon, 5–8 Décembre 2005, edited by Catherine Kuzucuoğlu and Catherine Marro, 417–56. Varia Anatolica 19. Istanbul: Institut français d’études anatolienne d’Istanbul. Sanmartín, Joaquín. 2014. “Ist ‘Altsyrisch’ eine Sprache? Und wenn ja, wie viele? Eine linguistische Reise.” UF 45: 487–507.

242

Howard – Some of What’s New in the Study of Amorite

——— 2019. A Glossary of Old Syrian, Volume I: ʔ-ḳ. Languages of the Ancient Near East 8/1. University Park, Pa.: Eisenbrauns. Sasson, Jack M. 1998. “About ‘Mari and the Bible.’” RA 92: 97–123. ——— 2015. From the Mari Archives: An Anthology of Old Babylonian Letters. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Seri, Andrea. 2005. Local Power in Old Babylonian Mesopotamia. Studies in Egyptology and the Ancient Near East. London: Equinox. Stamm, Johann Jakob. 1968. Die akkadische Namengebung. 2., unveränderte Auflage. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Streck, Michael P. 1999. “Hammurabi oder Hammurapi?” Archiv orientální 67: 655–69. ——— 2000. Das amurritische Onomastikon der altbabylonischen Zeit, Band 1: Die Amurriter, die onomastische Forschung, Orthographie und Phonologie, Nominalmorphologie. Vol. 1. AOAT 271. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. ——— 2002. “Sprachliche Innovationen und Archaismen in den akkadischen Personennamen.” In Altorientalische und semitische Onomastik, edited by Michael P. Streck and Stefan Weninger, 109–22. AOAT 296. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. ——— 2011. “Amorite.” In The Semitic Languages: An International Handbook, edited by Stefan Weninger, 452–59. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 36. Berlin: de Gruyter Mouton. ——— 2013. “Remarks on Two Recent Studies on Amorite.” UF 44: 309–27. Tropper, Josef. 2000. “Review of M. P. Streck, Das amurritische Onomastikon der altbabylonischen Zeit, Band I (2000).” UF 32: 733–44. ——— 2012. Ugaritische Grammatik. Zweite, stark überarbeitete und erweiterte Auflage. AOAT 273. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Waltisberg, Michael. 2011. “The Case Functions in Amorite: A Re-Evaluation.” JSS 56: 19–36. Wegner, Ilse. 2007. Einführung in die hurritische Sprache. 2., überarbeitete Auflage. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Weninger, Stefan. 2011. “Reconstructive Morphology.” In The Semitic Languages: An International Handbook, edited by Stefan Weninger, 151–78. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 36. Berlin: de Gruyter Mouton. Yamada, Shigeo. 1994. “The Editorial History of the Assyrian King List.” ZA 84: 11–37. Younger, K. Lawson, Jr. 2007. “Some of What’s New in Old Aramaic Epigraphy.” NEA 70: 139–46. Ziegler, Nele, and Dominique Charpin. 2007. “Amurritisch lernen.” WZKM 97: 55–77.

Deposit and Read! A Discursive Explanation of Peripheral Akkadian Treaty Traditions and their Implications for Deuteronomy Neal A. Huddleston Abstract Approaching the corpus of peripheral Akkadian treaty texts from 1500–1200 BCE through the lens of discourse analysis reveals a clear set of treaty traditions: a generalized form for subordination treaties, and a parity form. The discourse varieties, their internal functions, as well as their interconnecting patterns that make up these schematized traditions should be seriously considered in comparative work asserting similar or dissimilar literary and/or treaty patterning in the structure of Deuteronomy. This essay sets out to accomplish both tasks. A discourse methodology is first applied to several treaty texts (CTH 91, AlT 2, AlT 3, et al.), and then synthesized into a set of cogent traditions. These findings are then compared and contrasted with the discourse structure of Deuteronomy. Introduction Applying discourse analysis to several treaty texts from 1500–1200 BCE unveils a generalized tradition for subordination treaties, and a parity form.1 The discourse varieties, functions, and interdiscourse relationships that comprise these traditions should be seriously considered in comparative work asserting similar or dissimilar literary and/or treaty patterning in the structure of Deuteronomy.2 This essay sets out to accomplish both tasks. A discourse methodology is first applied to several treaty texts, and then synthesized into a set of cogent traditions. These findings are then compared and contrasted with the discourse structure of Deuteronomy. “Peripheral Akkadian” is employed throughout as generic rubric encapsulating both the time period and translational forms exhibited by these Akkadian texts.3 A hierarchical model of language forms the basis for the discourse method applied to the corpus.4 Its structural analysis focuses at the clausal level and upwards, the speaker, discourse mainline, and the clustering of discourse level features such as predication patterns, connectors, and focus particles. These elements collectively demonstrate a range of several unique discourse types among the surveyed documents, including adjuratory, explanatory, historiographic, hortatory, juridical, and present-procedural discourse. Adjuratory material encompasses oath-based texts that are declaratory or promissory, including benediction and malediction. Juridical discourse encompasses absolute (apodictic) and casuistic (case-law) forms. Present-procedural discourse targets qualified agents that carry out a prescribed routine in a how-to-do-it and often timeless fashion, and frequently involves the manipulation of tangible items. Our investigation into peripheral Akkadian treaty traditions and their discourse structures begins with the Akkadian version of the treaty between Ramses II and Ḫattušili III (CTH 91), conventionally referred to as R2-H3 throughout (see fig. 1).5 Due to its length, completeness, and complementary value as a parity treaty, 1

With gratitude this essay is dedicated to K. Lawson Younger, Jr. In this paper we use the following grammatical abbreviations: dur = durative; NC = nominal clause; perf = perfect; prec = precative; pret = preterite; stat = stative. 2 The argument represents an edited version of the relevant section discussing peripheral Akkadian treaty material from my dissertation: “Deuteronomy as Mischgattung: A Comparative and Contrastive Discourse Analysis of Deuteronomy and Ancient Near Eastern Treaty Traditions” (PhD dissertation, Trinity International University, 2015), 267–311. Space precludes the incorporation of the data tables and detailed methodological explanation driving my conclusions. For those interested in the topic beyond the precis provided here, see the dissertation. 3 See John Huehnergard, Grammar of Akkadian (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), xxvi–xxvii. 4 The methodology and terminology employed in this essay reflects the work of Longacre as its foundation: Robert E. Longacre and Shin Ja J. Hwang, Holistic Discourse Analysis (Dallas: SIL International, 2012); Grammar of Discourse (New York: Plenum, 1996). The standard grammars (GaG; Huehnergard), editions, and specialized studies are incorporated where necessary for elucidating specific discourse features. 5 See the join diagrams and photos in Elmar Edel, Der Vertrag zwischen Ramses II. und Ḫattušili III. (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1997), 65*–71*. All transcriptions in this portion of the essay represent those of Versions A and B in Edel.

244

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

it functions as the exemplar for the group. Most importantly, R2-H3 exhibits a number of features found throughout the peripheral Akkadian group. R2-H3 is specifically “Egyptianized” Akkadian as an apparent translation of an Egyptian original. The Akkadian versions of this treaty are from the Boğazköy archives and date from 1259 BCE.6

Fig. 1. VAT 7422 (photo courtesy of Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin).7 Discourse Analytical Overview of R2–H3 The discourse statistics of R2–H3 are calculated according to its discernible discourse varieties divided by total clause count. The treaty exhibits eleven paragraph divisions based on mainline markers and shifts in discourse type and topic.8 Its 158 clauses consist of adjuratory-declaratory (4.43%), adjuratory-promissory (0.63%), benediction (6.33%), malediction (4.43%), hortatory (1.27%), juridical (58.86%), explanatory 6

Following the chronology in Kenneth A. Kitchen, KRI 2, 137. Minor touchup applied to remove the background and convert the image to black and white. 8 According to Edel’s edition tablet scoring appears only to mark the document’s seals. Divisions are therefore entirely dependent on internal linguistic considerations. 7

245

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

(16.46%), and historiographic (7.59%) discourse types. All varieties of adjuratory discourse comprise 15.82% of R2–H3. Its interdiscourse relationships divide the treaty into three sections. Section One: Explanatory Title and Historiographic Introduction Section one consists of six paragraphs, and opens with an explanatory title marked by an elliptical clause: 1

[The treaty of R]iamaš[eša mai]-Amana, Great King, King of [the land of Egypt, (which) he made on a tablet of silver] 2together with Ḫattušili, G[reat King], King of the land of Ḫatti …

(1[ri-ki-il-tu ša mR]i-a-ma-š[e-ša ma-a-i]-⸢da⸣-ma-⸢na LUGAL⸣.GAL LUGAL [KUR Mi-iṣ-ri-i i-pušu UGU ṭup-pi ša KÙ.BABBAR] 2qà-du mḪa-at-tu-ši-li [LUGAL.GA]L LUGAL KUR Ḫa-at-ti; R2H3 r.1–2). The asyndetic relative clause in conjunction with its governing explanatory title generally summarizes the content of the treaty and is here understood as a document content clause (cf. AlT 2 and AlT 3). Paragraph two (r.3–9) opens with the first of two non-verbal quotative frames, marked by kiam: Thu[s] (says) 4[Ria]mašeša mai-Amana, Great King … to Ḫattušili, Great King … (⸢ki-a⸣[-am 4mRi-a-]⸢ma-še⸣-ša ma-a-i-[d]a-⸢ma-na⸣ LUGAL.GAL… a-na mḪa-at-tu-ši-li LUGAL. GAL; r.3–7). It introduces the document proper with a performative declaration and presents the sole speaker throughout the treaty as Ramses, accompanied by royal epithets, reflecting the standard opening umma declaration with royal epithets in several peripheral Akkadian treaties. The declaration marks a shift from explanatory discourse to historiographic discourse rooted in the existence of the treaty relationship itself, marked on the mainline by the perfect: Look! Now I have provided 8go[od] brotherhoo[d] (and) good peace between [u]s forever (a-mur a-nu-ma at-ta-din 8ŠEŠ-ut-t[a SI]G5 sa-la-ma SIG5 i-na be-ri-i[n-]ni a-di da-ri-ti; r.7–8). Paragraph three (r.9–13) continues the topic, and is likewise introduced by performative kiam but emphasized through extraposition: Thus (says Riamašeša,) Look! As for the relations of the Great King … – from eternity the god has not permitted the making of war between them 11with a treaty forever! (ki-a-am a-mur ṭe4-ma ša LUGAL.GAL … ul-tù ⸢dá⸣-ri-ti DINGER-lì ú-ul i-na-an-⸢din a⸣-na e-péši lúKÚR i-na be-ri-šu-nu 11i-na ri-ki-il-ti a-di da-a-ri-ti; r.9–11). The predicate is a past orientated durative marked by ultu dārīti.9 I interpret the negative as momentous negation rather than irrealis, where “has not permitted” is equivalent to “has prevented.” Thus, the construction provides a backgrounded event. Repetition in the storyline alludes to a pre-existing divine decree as the foundation for treaty relations: Look! Riamašeša … (has done this) for the enacting of the relations made] and which Tešub(?) made …

9

12

wh[ich Re

GaG §78e–f, 128; Huehnergard, Grammar of Akkadian, 98–99; Anson F. Rainey and Zipora Cochavi-Rainey, “Notes on the Treaty between Ramses II and Hattusili III,” in Studies in Egyptology Presented to Miriam Lichtheim (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1990), 801.

246

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

(a-mur mRi-a-ma-še-ša… a-na e-pé-ši ṭe4-ma r.11–12).

12

š[a dUTU i-pu-šu] ⸢ù⸣ ša dIM i-pu-šu;

Paragraph four (r.13–21) likewise continues the topic and historiographic discourse marked by the perfect: And furthermore, 14Riamašeša mai-Amana … has done (this) with a treaty on a tablet of silver, 15together with [Ḫattuši]li … o[n] this d[ay] (ù a-du-ku-ul 14mRi-a-ma-še-ša ma-a-i-da-ma-⸢na⸣… i-te-pu-uš i-na ri-ki-il-ti UGU-ḫi tup-pí ša KÚ.BABBAR 15qa-du [mḪa-at-tu-ši-]li… a-[di UD-]mi an-ni-i; r.13–15). Note, however, the subtle hint at a prior treaty: and it is better than the brotherhood and peace from before 18in the land of E[gypt and the lan]d of Ḫatti (ù SIG5 UGU ŠEŠ-ti ù sa-la-mi ša pa-na-nu 18ša KUR M[i-iṣ-ri-i (19)ù KU]R Ḫa-at-ti; r.17–18). The Egyptian version clarifies, for it explicitly refers to at least two previous treaties.10 Nevertheless, paragraphs two through four function as a historiographic introduction emphasizing existing treaty relations, rather than the past relations between the two powers. Non-abrogation language in R2-H3 is implicit via the repeated adi dārīti (“forever”)11 or the less frequent ina ṣâti/iṣṣâti (“forever”):12 e.g., in order to provide good peace-making (and) good brotherhood 16bet[ween us for]ever! (a-na na-da-ni su-lum-ma-a SIG5 ŠEŠ-ḫu-ta SIG5 16i-na b[e-ri-ni a-di] ⸢da⸣-ri-ti; r.15–16). They collectively appear solely in the introductory sections of the treaty, relate directly to peaceful treaty relations, and close each of the treaty’s six introductory paragraphs. The fifth paragraph (r.22–24) consists of two mainline clauses, each expressing prohibition: e.g., Now Ria[mašeš]a mai-Amana, Great King, King of the Land of Egypt, shall not open hostilities the land of Ḫatti (ù mRi-⸢a⸣[-ma-še-š]a ma-a-i-da-ma-na LUGAL.GAL LUGAL KUR Mi-iṣ-ri-i la-a ú-gàr-ra (24) KUR Ḫa-at-ti; r.22). The second mainline clause is a bilateral mirror of the first. The two-fold prohibition expressed by unconditioned lā with the durative marks the paragraph as juridical-absolute discourse. While its separation from the body of stipulations in the next section is unusual, its generic topic complements the introduction: continued peaceful relations. The sixth paragraph (r.24–27) regards the treaty as a whole and begins with an explanatory summary statement marked by a nominal clause: [L]ook! (It is) the permanent order …, peace and brotherhood ([a-]mur pár-ṣu ša da-a-ri-ti… sa-la-ma ù ŠEŠ-ut-ta; r.24–25).

10

See §6ii in TLC no.71B, and Kitchen, KRI 2, 141–42. r.3, r.7–8, r.8–9, r.9–11, r.15–16, r.16–17, r.20, r.21, r.27 12 The phrase ina ṣâti appears once (r.12–13), and its crasis iṣṣâti appears twice (r.22–23, r.24). 11

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

247

The mainline continues with a backgrounded event marked by the preterite for anterior action: And Look! Ria[mašeš]a mai-Amana, Great King, King of the land of Egypt, has seized it (ù a-mur mRi-a-[ma-še-š]a ma-a-i-da-ma-na LUGAL.GAL LUGAL ⸢KUR⸣ Mi-iṣ-ri-i iṣ-ṣa-bat-šu; r.26).13 The paragraph closes with an explanatory compound sentence reiterating treaty-induced peace, providing a fitting summary for the entire section. Section Two: Juridical Matrix – Specific Stipulations The second section consists of three paragraphs and is composed principally of juridical-casuistic discourse. Paragraph one (r.27–39) concerns military assistance in the event of invasion: e.g., Now if an outside enemy 28comes … and Ḫattušil[i] … sends to me as follows: “Come to me 29for my assistance against him!”, then Ri[amašeša] … 30shall send his armies and his chariots … (⸢ù⸣ šum-ma lúKÚR ša-nu-ú 28il-la-ka … ⸢ù⸣ mḪa-at-tu-ši-l[i] … i-šap-pár a-na a-ia-ši ⸢um-ma⸣-a alka a-na a-ia-ši 29a-na re-ṣu-ti-ia a-na ša-a-šu ù mRi[-a-ma-še-ša] … 30i-šap-pár ÉRINmeš-⸢šu⸣ giš GIGIR⸢meš⸣-šu; r.27–30). The following stipulation may correspond to the call for military support in the event of insurrection in the Egyptian version:14 31

And if Ḫattušili … [is ang]ry towards [h]is servant[s] … [and t]hey have trespassed against him …, (then) indeed, Riamaš[eša ma]i-Amana 33shall send his armies (and) his chariots …

(31ù šum-ma mḪa-at-tu-ši-li … [ir-tá-u]b a-na UGU-ḫi IR[meš-š]u … [ù i]ḫ-ta-ṭú-ú a-na UGU-ḫi-šu… a-di mRi-a-ma-š[e-ša ma-a-]i-da-ma-na 33ÉRINmeš-šu gišGIGIRmeš-šu i-šap-pár; r.31–33). Casuistic discourse is marked throughout with u šumma in the protasis for contingency, and the durative in the apodosis for primary injunctions, where positive commands appear with asseverative adi,15 and prohibition with lā. The two remaining paragraphs reflect these surface level-features with no significant variation. Paragraph two (r.40–43) concerns military assistance for Ḫattušili’s heir upon his succession. It opens with the only instance of adjuratory-promissory in the treaty: 40

And Look! The son o[f] Ḫattušili … [s]hall c[ertainly] be made King of the land of Ḫatti 41[i]n the place of Ḫattušili his father … (40ù a-mur (42)DUMU š[a m]Ḫa-at-tu-ši-li … l[u-ú i]n-né-ep-pu-uš LUGAL«-⸢ti⸣» KUR Ḫa-at-⸢ti⸣ 41 [i-n]a aš-ri mḪa-at-tu-ši-li a-bi-šu; r.40–41). Asseverative lū with the durative marks the clause as an oath,16 and more specifically as consequential affirmation for an understood declaration of certitude. The following casuistic discourse indicates that Ramses’ role is military support for the heir apparent, not the heir’s installation: 42

[And] if the inha[bitants] of the land of Ḫatti have committed crime against him, (then) indeed [Riamašeša] … 43shall send a[rmies] (and) chariots for …

13

For iṣṣabassu as a Gt preterite, see GaG § 92a, 149; Huehnergard, Grammar of Akkadian, 390–91. See Kitchen, KRI 2, 141–42. 15 Both Beckman (HDT2) and Edel gloss it functionally with “then” as marking the apodosis, while Goetze (ANET3) renders it with asseverative force as “lo!” 16 See Huehnergard, Grammar of Akkadian, 436–37. 14

248

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

(42[ù] ⸢šúm-ma⸣ DU[MUmeš] ša KUR Ḫa-at-ti i-te-ep-šu ⸢ḫi⸣-ṭá a-na UGU-ḫi-šu a-di [mRi-a-ma-šeša]… 43i-šap-pár (45)É[RINmeš gi]šGIGIRmeš a-na ; r.40–43). Paragraph three (r.43–76) is the longest in the treaty and concerns the extradition of fugitives: e.g., [And if a nobleman f]lees 44from the land of Ḫa[tti], or [i]f a city … also g[oes to Ri]amašeša …, [(then) indeed R]i[a]maše[ša …] shall seize them 46and shall deli[ver them into the hand of Ḫattušili …] ([ù šum-ma 1 LÚ.GAL i-na]-am-mi-it 44i-na KUR Ḫa-a[t-ti] ⸢ù⸣ [šu]m-⸢ma⸣ 1 URU … ù i[l-la-ka ana mRi-]a-ma-še-ša … [a-di mR]i-[a]-⸢ma-še⸣[-ša …] ⸢i-ṣa-bat⸣-šu-nu 46ù i-na-an[-din-šu-nu-ti i-na ŠU mḪa-at-tu-ši-li …]; r.43–46). The doubled “If … or if …” (u šumma… ū šumma…) is typical for the protases in this lengthy paragraph. That Ḫattušili indirectly refers to his wayward nephew Urḫi-Teššub is reasonable in light of the many fugitive clauses,17 for they pertain specifically to individuals of potential political clout, such as a “nobleman” (LÚ.GAL) or “dignitary” (ka-ab-tu). Based on Edel’s reconstruction the paragraph closes with two additional explanatory summaries outlining treaty relations, bracketing a final extradition clause (not included here): [I]ndeed, 73look! The inhabitants [(of) the land of Ḫatti and the inhabitants (of) the land of Egypt – they are at peace] …. [Ind]eed, look! Ḫ[attušili … and Riamašeša …,] your brother – [they are at] p[eace] ([a]p-pu-na-na 73a-mur DUMUmeš [KUR Ḫa-at-ti ù DUMUmeš KUR Mi-iṣ-ri-i ša-al-mu] … [ap-pu-] na-na a-mur mḪ[a-at-tu-ši-li … ù mRi-a-ma-še-ša …] ŠEŠ-ka š[a-al-mu x x x]; r.72–75). Both instances are marked by asseverative appūna and extraposition. Sections one and two therefore conclude with juridical discourse bracketed by explanatory discourse, literarily connecting the treaty’s purpose of continuing peaceful relations to the extradition of important fugitives. Section Three: Adjuratory-Declaratory Conclusion The third section consists of two paragraphs. The first (E1–56) initiates Edel’s Schwurgötterliste (§21) concluding his collation and partial reconstruction of version A, taken from extant treaty material that parallels the Egyptian version.18 The initial clause provides a brief introduction: E1

As for all the words of the treaty and the oath, E2they are written in the midst of this tablet

(E1mīnummê awātemeš ša riksi u ša māmīti E2ina libbi ṭuppi annīti šaṭrat; E1–2). The clauses which follow in E3–9 consist of an invocation: e.g., E3

[(As for) the Thousand Gods …] E4them [have I] sum[moned as witnesses.] E5Now let them continually hear … (E3[LI-IM DINGERmeš…] E4n⸗aš kut[ruu̯ aḫḫun] E5nu ištamaškandu; E3–4). These lines mark the paragraph as adjuratory-declaratory and the initial clause as a declaration of certitude marked by the stative. The clauses of the invocation itself represent authentication elements employing a 17

See Alan R. Schulman, “Ramesside Diplomacy,” JSSEA 8 (1977): 118–19. See Edel, Der Vertrag zwischen Ramses II. und Ḫattušili III., 66, 70. Edel relies on CTH 53, CTH 76, CTH 51.I, CTH 42, and CTH 49.II. Lines E3–E6 are Hittite; the remaining are Akkadian with the exception of the Hittite deities. 18

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

249

variety of predicates (the Hittite preterite and imperative; the Akkadian precative). The paragraph concludes with a lengthy deity list (E10–57). The final paragraph of R2-H3 sets forth a series of maledictions and benedictions which divide into three parts based on recipient. The first is aimed at Ḫattušili and the people of Ḫatti (v.–4’–0’), the second at Ramses and the people of Egypt (v.0’–5’), and the third at a generic party (v.5’–8’): e.g., [And if Riamašeša … and the people of the land of Egypt do not keep this treaty, (then) indeed the gods (and)] 2’goddess[es … will destroy the seed] 3’of Riama[šeša … together with the people of the land of Egypt!] ([ù šum-ma mRi-a-ma-še-ša … ù DUMUmeš KUR Mi-iṣ-ri-i ri-ki-il-ta an-ni-ta la-a i-na-aṣ-ṣa-ru a-di DINGERmeš LÚmeš] 2’DINGERmeš MUNUS[meš… ú-ḫal-la-qú NUMUN] 3’ša mRi-a-ma[-še-ša … qadu DUMUmeš KUR Mi-iṣ-ri-i]; v.0’–3’). Both the malediction and benediction of Ramses and Ḫattušili reflect parallel topics. Those pertaining to the third party are suitable for a noble, but differ in content and order, where benediction comes first: [And the one who keeps these words …] 6’indeed, the [great] gods … [will provide life for him and] 7’ will provide well-being [for him together with his estates, his land, (and) his servants!] ([ù ša i-na-aṣ-ṣa-ar a-ma-temeš an-na-ti …] 6’a-di DINGERme[š GALmeš … ú-bal-la-ṭu-šu ù] 7’ú- šalla-m[u-šu qa-du Émeš-šu KUR-šu ÌRmeš-šu]; v.5’–7’). Malediction concludes the treaty: [But the one who does not keep these words … indeed,] 8’the grea[t] gods … [will destroy his house, his land, and his servants!] ([ù ša ul i-na-aṣ-ṣa-ar a-ma-temeš an-na-ti … a-di] 8’DINGERmeš GA[Lmeš … ú-ḫal-la-qú É-šu KURšu ÌRmeš-šu]; v.7’–8’). The mainline for all instances of benedictory and maledictory subtypes consists of declarations of certitude marked by the durative, frequently with asseverative adi. Two seals provide closure and are no doubt of Hittite derivation, evidenced in their detailed description concluding the Egyptian version of the treaty (see TLC no.71B, §24). Two instances of the seal [of …] (10’na4KIŠI[B ša …] 11’na4KIŠIB ša […]), apparently introduced by line ruling, are all that remain in the Akkadian version. Interdiscourse Relationships, Analytical Outline, and Function Interdiscourse relationships within R2-H3 reflect a number of unique features and are all governed by the voice attributed to Ramses using unilateral language. An explanatory title initiates section one, followed by a three-fold historiographic progression emphasizing treaty relations that culminate in the treaty tablet as evidence of a pre-existing treaty relationship. It concludes with an instance of juridical-absolute summarizing the document’s purpose in guarding peaceful relations, bracketed by an explanation summarizing this purpose. Section two consists of specific stipulations covering military assistance in cases of invasion or insurrection, support for the succession of Ḫattušili’s heir, and the extradition of fugitives. Hortatory discourse appears twice as projected speech. Similar to section one, it concludes with an instance of juridical discourse bracketed by a concluding explanation that emphasizes the extradition of important fugitives. A series of maledictions and benedictions constitute the final section, and are evenly divided between Ḫattušili, Ramses, and a generic third party of possible noble standing. Based on these collective observations a schematized discourse overview of R2-H3 is provided as an analytical outline (see fig. 2).

250

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

The uneasy checkered history between Ḫatti and Egypt leading up to Ḫattušili’s reign forms the basis for discerning the treaty’s larger purpose.19 Collins suggests the Hittite monarch moved from military action to peaceful negotiation based on a thirst for international recognition of his legitimacy, and to secure the succession of his personal line.20 The treaty also hints at the extradition of Urḫi-Teššub, Ḫattušili’s rival and nephew, though it remains unknown when or how he obtained Egyptian asylum. It is also possible Ḫattušili desired an ally against the rising threat of Assyria and/or the Sea Peoples,21 Each of these motivations are mutually compatible in affirming and retaining Ḫattušili’s position as a Great King, and are consistent with the document’s emphasis on continuing peaceful relations with Egypt. Analytic Discourse Outline Explanatory Title: All Contracting Partners (r.1) Hypotactic Document Content Clause (r.1–3) Historiographic Introduction: Treaty Relations (r.3–16) Aperture: kiam Declaration with Royal Epithets (r.3–7) Explanatory Summary: Treaty Relations (r.16–21, 24–27) Embedding: Juridical (r.22–24) Paragraph Closure: Implicit Non-Abrogation Juridical Matrix: Specific Stipulations (r.27–72) Juridical Casuistic Positive Injunctions Prohibition Adjuratory-Promissory Explanatory Summary: Treaty Relations Embedding: Juridical Casuistic Adjuratory-Declaratory Conclusion: Invocation of Oath-Deities (E1–56) Maledictory and Benedictory Conclusion (v.-4’–8’) Positive Certitude Treaty Closure: State Seals (v.10’–11’)

Mainline Pattern elliptical pret perf verbless kiam NC, stat lā+dur adi dārīti, ina ṣâti/iṣṣâti dur, adi+dur lā+dur lū+dur appūna+stat adi+dur elliptical dur, adi+dur

Fig. 2. Schematized Discourse Analysis of R2-H3. The function of the actual tablets was viewed by Ramses as the actualization of an ideal relationship decreed by the solar-deity of Egypt (dUTU, Re) and the storm-deity of Ḫatti (dIM, Tešub). While all the Akkadian versions represent archival state documents, the official version of R2-H3 and its Egyptian counterpart were sealed and likely deposited in the respective treaty partner’s temple before their principle deities.22 Taken in conjunction with the benedictory/maledictory conclusion, R2-H3 functions for each treaty partner as a self-designated witness and warning placed under the oversight of the deities. Other Treaties in the Group and Their Traditions The nineteen additional treaties surveyed in this section are all peripheral Akkadian.23 Where an Akkadian text possesses a Hittite counterpart, only the Akkadian version is engaged for the purposes of discourse 19

For discussion see Billie Jean Collins, The Hittites (Atlanta: SBL, 2007), 53–55; Trevor R. Bryce, “The Hittite Empire,” in The Great Empires of the Ancient World (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2009), 55. 20 Collins, The Hittites, 61. 21 Trevor R. Bryce, Kingdom of the Hittites (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 275. 22 Amnon Altman, “How Many Treaty Traditions,” in Pax Hethitica: Studies on the Hittites and Their Neighbours in Honour of Itamar Singer, edited by Yoram Cohen, Amir Gilan and Jared L. Miller (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010), 28. 23 All transcriptions in this portion of the essay represent those of the respective edition cited here. A king of Ḫatti and Paddatiššu of Kizzuwatna (CTH 26), Gerhard R. Meyer, “Zwei neue Kizzuwatna-Verträge,” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschung 1 (1953); Idrimi of Alalaḫ and Pilliya of Kizzuwatna (AlT 3), Richard S. Hess, COS 2.129; Daniel Schwemer, TUAT.NF 2; Niqmepa of Alalaḫ and Ir-Adad/Teššub of Tunip (AlT 2), Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, “Vertrag zwischen Ir-Addu und Niqmepa,” in Crossing Boundaries and Linking Horizons (Bethesda: CDL, 1997); Hess, COS 2.128; Schwemer, TUAT.NF 2; Tudḫaliya II or Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti and Šunaššura II (?) of

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

251

analysis.24 The corpus is organized according to similarities in formal text-linguistic features, beginning with parity treaties, followed by subordination treaties, and concluding with several broken texts. Texts too broken for discourse analysis are not surveyed. The following map incorporates the find locations, important place names, and treaty traditions associated with the peripheral Akkadian corpus during the time period in question (see map 1). Parity Seven texts make up the parity group: two from the Alalaḫ archives (AlT 3, AlT 2) and five from the Ras Shamra archives (RS 19.68, RS 17.230, RS 18.19, RS 17.146, RS 18.115). Alalaḫ The fifteenth century treaty between Idrimi of Alalaḫ and Pilliya of Kizzuwatna begins with an opening elliptical explanatory title that is modified by a circumstantial clause introducing document content with two preterites: 1

The treaty [tab]let 2when Pilliya 3and Idrimi swore the oath of the gods, 4and this treaty 5[bet]ween them bound (1[ṭup]-pi ri-ik-ši 2i-nu-ma mpil-li-ia 3ù mid-ri-mi ni-iš DINGERmeš iz-ku-ru 4ù ri-ik-ša-am an-ni-e-im 5 [i-na b]i-ri-šu-nu ir-ku-šu; AlT 3 1–5). Juridical discourse immediately follows, where its initial clause establishes the topic of the treaty’s stipulations: 6

The [fugi]tives among them 7shall they [always re]turn (to each other)

(6[mu-un-na]-ba-ti i-na bi-ri-šu-nu 7[ut-ta]-na-ar-ru; AlT 3 6–7). Kizzuwatna (CTH 41.I), Ernst Friedrich Weidner, Politische Dokumente aus Kleinasien (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1923), 88– 111; Tudḫaliya II or Šuppiluliuma I with Labʾu and Tunip (CTH 135), ibid., 137–46; Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti and Šattiwazza of Mittani (CTH 51.I), ibid., 2–36; see the join in Gabriella Stivala, “Ein Join zu dem Vertrag zwischen Šuppiluliuma I. und Šattiwazza,” Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires 4 (2014); Šattiwazza of Mittani and Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti (CTH 52.I), Weidner, Politische Dokumente aus Kleinasien, 36–57; Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti and Tette of Nuḫašše (CTH 53), ibid., 58–70; Giuseppe F. del Monte, Il trattato (Rome: Istituto per l’Oriente C. A. Nallino, 1986), 142–55; Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti and Aziru of Amurru (CTH 49.I), Weidner, Politische Dokumente aus Kleinasien, 70–75; del Monte, Il trattato, 116–27; Niqmaddu II of Ugarit and Aziru of Amurru (RS 19.68), Jean Nougayrol, PRU IV (Paris: Imprimerie nationale and Librairie C. Klincksieck, 1956), 284–86, and related plates; Schwemer, TUAT.NF 2; Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti and Niqmaddu II of Ugarit (CTH 46), Nougayrol, PRU IV, 48–52, and related plates; Muršili II of Ḫatti and Tuppi-Teššub of Amurru (CTH 62.I), Weidner, Politische Dokumente aus Kleinasien, 76–79; del Monte, Il trattato, 156–59; Muršili II of Ḫatti and Niqmepa of Ugarit (CTH 66), Nougayrol, Le palais royal d’Ugarit IV, 84–101, 287–89, and related plates; PRU VI (Paris: Imprimerie nationale and Librairie C. Klincksieck, 1970), 127–29; Guy Kestemont, “Le traité entre Mursil II et Niqmepa,” UF 6 (1974); del Monte, Il trattato, 113–14; Mūwattalli II of Ḫatti and Talmi-Šarrumma of Aleppo (CTH 75), Weidner, Politische Dokumente aus Kleinasien, 80–88; Ḫattušili III of Ḫatti and Bentešina of Amurru (CTH 92), ibid., 124–35; del Monte, Il trattato, 178– 87; Ini-Tešub of Carchemish and the people of Ugarit (RS 17.230), Nougayrol, PRU IV, 153–54, and related plate; Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, TUAT 1/2; Amnon Altman, International Law (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff, 2012), 148; a citizen of Ugarit and a citizen of Carchemish (RS 18.19), Nougayrol, PRU IV, 160, and related plate; the people of Carchemish and the people of Ugarit (1) (RS 17.146), ibid., 154–57, and related plate; see the partial gloss in Bruce Wells, “What is Biblical Law,” CBQ 70 (2008): 237; the people of Carchemish and the people of Ugarit (2) (RS 18.115), Nougayrol, PRU IV, 158–60, and related plate. 24 Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti and Šattiwazza of Mittani (CTH 51.I and 51.II); Šattiwazza of Mittani and Šuppiluliuma I of Ḫatti (CTH 52.I and CTH 52.II); Šuppiluliuma of Ḫatti and Aziru of Amurru (CTH 49.I and CTH 49.II); and Muršili II of Ḫatti and Tuppi-Teššub of Amurru (CTH 62.I and CTH 62.II).

252

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

Map 1. Treaty Traditions 1500–1200 BCE. The treaty’s seal is located within a raised circular impression surrounded by lines 9–12.25 The durative marks most remaining positive primary injunctions, šumma indicates contingency, and ul with the durative marks prohibition: And if a fugi[ti]ve 24of Pilliya into the land 25of Idrimi enters … 27and his owner seizes him, 28then a reward to anyone 29shall he not pay

25

See plate 4 in Donald J. Wiseman, The Alalakh Tablets (London: British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, 1953).

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

253

(ù šum-ma mu-un-[na]-ab-ta 24ša mpil-li-ia i-na KUR-at 25ša mid-ri-mi i-ir-ra-ab … 27ù be-el-šu-ma i-ṣa-bat-šu 28ù mi-iš-ta-an-ni a-na ma-am-ma 29ú-ul i-na-an-din; AlT 3 23–29). Contingency is also expressed through the indefinite pronoun and the stative: 40

On whichever day Parrattarna 41with Idrimi the oath of the gods 42swear[s], then from that day 43it will be decreed to r[e]turn the fugitive

(40i-na a-i-im-me-e UD-mi mpa-ra-tar-na 41it-ti mid-ri-mi ni-iš DINGERmeš 42iz-ku-u[r] ù iš-tu UD-mi šu-wa-ti 43mu-un-na-ab-tú qa-bi a-na t[u]-ur-ri; AlT 3 40–43). A malediction concludes the treaty with a declaration of certitude marked by the precative: 44

Whoever the words of 45this treaty tablet transgresses, 46may the Storm deity, Šamaš, Išḫara, (and) all the gods 47dest[roy him]!

(44ma-an-nu-e a-wa-ti ša ṭup-pí 45an-ni-e-im i-ti-iq 47 li-ḫal-li-[qú-šu]; AlT 3 44–47).

46 d

IM dUTU diš-ḫa-ra DINGERmeš ka-li-šu-nu

The fifteenth century treaty between Niqmepa of Alalaḫ and Ir-Adad of Tunip reflects many of these features along with some differences. A prescript followed by a cylinder-seal impression provides aperture: Seal of Ir-Adad, king of Tunip (na4KIŠIB ša mir-dIM LUGAL-ru urutu-ni-ipki; AlT 2). Like AlT 3 the treaty proper opens with an explanatory title. Its document content clause falls on the mainline as a historiographic clause marked by the preterite: 1

The ta[ble]t of the oath of the gods …. Thus Niqmepa and Ir-Adad 3thi[s oa]th b[e]tween them made

(1ṭu[p-p]u ša ni-iš DINGERmeš ša … ki-ia-am mníq-me-pa ù mir-dIM 3[x x x xx x t]a an-na-t[i] ⸢i⸣-[n]a bi-ri-šu-nu i-pu-šu; AlT 2 1–3). The stipulatory section is composed of a juridical and adjuratory-promissory matrix. As in AlT 3, AlT 2 appears with the stative by itself to mark the primary injunction in juridical discourse, but also incorporates the nominal clause as well as the durative: e.g., (if) they (the witnesses) do not testify against him, then he shall be free (la i-tam-mu-nim-ma-a ù za-ku; AlT 2 53, see also line 34). However, adjuratory-promissory discourse frames the bulk of the stipulations in AlT 2, often employing inverse šumma with lā and the durative or the durative alone to frame positive declarations of certitude: e.g., 21

If a fugitive … of my country to your country fl[ees], 22you must seize and must return him

(21šum-ma lúmu-un-na-ab-tù … ša KUR-ia a-na KUR-ka in-na[-ab-bi-it] 22šum-ma la ta-ṣa-bat ù la tu-te-er-šu; AlT 2 21–22). Several instances of projected speech comprising adjuratory (AlT 2 26–27, 46, 50) and historiographic (AlT 2 33) discourse types appears throughout this adjuratory-juridical matrix. A second prescript followed by the cylinder-seal impression of Niqmepa appears before the closing malediction,26 which is marked by the 26

See plate 3 in Wiseman, The Alalakh Tablets.

254

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

durative and precative: 75

Whoever overturns these very w[ord]s, … and may the gre[at] gods destroy him … 77(and) as for his throne … let them overthrow it! (75ma-an-nu-um-me-e a-[wa-t]emeš an-nu-ut-ti uš-bal-kàt-šu-nu … ù DINGERmeš GAL.GA[L.E.NE] ú-ḫal-liq-šu … 77 gišGU.ZA-šu … li-iš-bal-kat-šu; AlT 2 75–77a). A colophon naming the scribe provides explanatory closure: “PN (is) the scribe” (a[k-x-dI]M DUB.SAR; AT 2 77b). In sum, both Alalaḫ treaties are sealed, open with an explanatory elliptical title followed by an introductory document content clause, employ juridical discourse and deal solely with extradition, and close with a malediction; neither possess benedictions. Differences appear in their seals, the hypotaxis vis-à-vis the parataxis of the document content clause, the bilateral vis-à-vis unilateral formulation of AlT 3 and AlT 2, respectively, the significant presence of adjuratory stipulations in AlT 2, and its closing colophon. Tell Ras Shamra The fourteenth century treaty between Niqmaddu II of Ugarit and Aziru of Amurru (RS 19.68) represents the earliest of the parity treaties surveyed from Tell Ras Shamra.27 The cylinder seal of Aziru provides aperture for the tablet.28 The text proper begins with a historiographic document content clause marked by the perfect: 1

On this day 2Niqmaddu king of Ugar[i]t 3and Aziru king of Amu[rru] 5made 4an oath between them

(1iš-tu UD-mi an-ni-im 2 mniq-ma-dIM šàr uruu-ga-r[i-i]tki 3ù ma-zi-ru šàr uruamu[rru]ki 4ma-mi-tam ina be-ri-šu-nu 5i-te-ep-šu-nim; RS 19.68.1–5a). A unilateral juridical matrix follows (lines 5b–41). Juridical absolute initiates the section, where its mainline is marked by lū with the durative and by the stative: e.g., (As for) the claims 6of Aziru with Ugar[i]t … 11[o]n the day the oa[t]h is establi[sh]e[d] 12it [sh]all be abrogated … 13[A]s the s[u]n is ‘pure’ he (Aziru) shall be ‘pure’ (i.e., free) (DImeš-tum 6ša ma-zi-ri UGU uruu-ga-r[i-i]tki … 11[i-]na UD-mi ma-mi-[t]ù ša-a[k]-na-a[t] 12[l]u? ulta-ab-bá-ru … 13[k]i-ma [d]U[TU-š]i za-ka-ti za-ki-ma; RS 19.68.5b–13). The casuistic subtype employs the durative for its primary injunctions, and the particle šanītam marks four breaks: e.g., 20

Furthermore, if there is a king 21[wh]o becomes an enemy against 22the king of the country of Ugarit, 23 Azir[u] together with his chariots and his troops 24against my enemy shall figh[t] (20[š]a-ni-tam šum-ma LUGAL i-ba-aš-ši 21[š]a nu-kúr-ta e-pa-aš it-ti 22šàr KUR uruu-ga-ri-itki 23 mazi-r[u] qa-du gišGIGIRmeš-šu ÉRINmeš-šu 24it-ti lúKÚR-ia im-ta-na-ḫa-a[ṣ]; RS 19.68.20–23). The treaty closes with a malediction marked by a precative: 42 46

27

[On] the day the oath is es[tablished, 43wh]oever [… 44] from the oath [… 45] th[e]se wor[d]s o[f … ] of the oath, then may the Sun deity (on that) day 47crush his […]

For discussion see Ignacio Márquez Rowe, “Legal Texts from Ugarit,” in Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 409; Itamar Singer, “Political History of Ugarit,” ibid., 628. 28 See Nougayrol, PRU IV, plate 86.

255

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

(42[i-na] UD-mi ma-mi-tu4 ša-a[k-na-at? 43ma-]an-nu-um-me-e [… 44…] iš-tu ma-mi-tam [… 45…-]ate a-ma-[t]i an-[n]i-ti š[a? … 46…] ša ma-mi-ti ù? dUTU-ši UD-mi [… 47…]-šu li-i[d?]-qú-qú; RS 19.68.42–47). Aside from the lack of a title and its unilateral formulation, the overall interdiscourse patterning of RS 19.68 reflects AlT 3. Singer categorizes the treaty as parity based on the political standing of each party and the concessions made by both: Ugarit paid Amurru for military protection, and Amurru relinquished claims on Ugaritian controlled city states.29 A treaty arbitrated by Ini-Tešub30 between the people of Carchemish and the people of Ugarit (RS 17.146) likewise begins with a historiographic document content clause marked by the preterite: 1

Ini-Tešub king of Carchemish … concluded 4a treaty between the land of Carchemish 5and between the land of Ugarit as follows (1 mi-ni-dIM šàr KUR urukar-ga-mis … 4ri-kíl-ta TA be-ri ša KUR urukar-ga-mis 5ù be-ri ša KUR uruuga-ri-it a-kán-na ir-ku-us; RS 17.146.1–5). A bilateral adjuratory matrix follows (lines 6–44). The promissory subtype makes up all stipulations, with certitude marked throughout by the durative and oath-bearing -ni: e.g., 6

Now, if merchants with endowed capital from 7the king of the land of Ugarit within Carchemish 8are killed and their murderers are seized, 9then the citizens of Carchemish … shall make full restitution

(6ma-a šum-ma-me-e lú.meštamkârî ša ma-an-da-ti 7ša šàr KUR uruu-ga-ri-it ŠÀ-bi KUR urukar-ga-mis 8 i-du-ku-mì ù lú.mešda-i-ku-šu-nu iṣ-ṣa-ba-tum-mì 9ù DUMUmeš KUR urukar-ga-mis … ú-šal-la-mu-ni; RS 17.146.6–11). Line ruling marks shifts in topic. Projected speech appears in two parallel adjuratory-declaratory instances with certitude marked by inverted šumma, and consequential affirmation marked by the durative: e.g., 23

Now, their murderers we certainly do not know, 24and the possessions of these merchants, 25(and) their equipment, is lost

(23ma-a šum-ma lú.mešda-i-ku-ti-šu-nu ni-di-mì 24ù ša lú.meštamkârî ša-a-šu-nu makkûr?meš-šu-nu nu-tumeš-šu-nu i-ḫal-li-iq; RS 17.146.23–25, see also lines 40–42).

25

ú-

The historiographic document content clause appears again almost verbatim as an inclusio for the section (lines 45–47). An implicit malediction closes the treaty with a brief list of oath-deities marked by lū with the nominal clause: 48

(As for) whoever 49changes this treaty – Adad of Heaven, Šamaš of Heaven … 53(are) masters of his oath!”

(48ma-an-nu-me-e ša ri-kíl-ta an-ni-ta 49ú-ša-aš-na-a dIM AN dUTU AN … 53lu-ú be?-lu ma-mi-ti-šu; RS 17.146.48–53). RS 18.115 is likewise arbitrated, reflects the same parties and parallel wording, and owes much of its reconstruction to RS 17.146. It reflects the following discourse patterning: a historiographic document con29

Singer, Political History of Ugarit, 628; so Altman, How Many Treaty Traditions, 17n2. At this time Ini-Tešub was functioning as the third Hittite viceroy in Carchemish, likely under his cousin Tudḫaliya IV, and was probably appointed under Ḫattušili III over all the Hittite-controlled north Syrian territories. See the discussion in Bryce, Kingdom of the Hittites, 313. 30

256

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

tent clause as treaty aperture; stipulations consisting of promissory discourse marked by oath-bearing -ni; two instances of formulaic projected declaratory discourse. Its conclusion is entirely lost. The most significant difference between these two treaties is the type and placement of their seals: a stamp seal appears within the stipulatory section of RS 17.146; a corner of a cylinder seal impression initiates RS 18.115.31 Aside from the lack of an explanatory title and the presence of bilateral formulation, RS 17.146 (and likely RS 18.115) reflects a simplified version of the interdiscourse patterning exhibited in AlT 2. Two further documents (RS 17.230, RS 18.19) are likewise arbitrated by Ini-Tešub and reflect a parallel topic, but generalize the situation of murder to an awīlu rather than a specific class of merchants. A historiographic document content clause reflecting those of the earlier treaties initiates each (RS 17.230.1–3; RS 18.19.1–2), with juridical-casuistic discourse following in both (RS 17.230.4–23; RS 18.19.3–14). The preterite marks the former; the durative and nominal clause marks the latter. Similar to RS 17.146, both appear with a stamp seal within their respective stipulatory sections.32 However, the juridical section in RS 17.230 provides closure. It possesses no concluding adjuratory material. Similar interdiscourse, predication, and word patterning demonstrates that RS 18.19 is parallel to RS 17.230 and likely lacked an adjuratory conclusion as well. In light of their limited scope in conjunction with the absence of adjuration and oath-deities, both of these documents are considered interstate agreements rather than international treaties. Nonetheless, they collectively express features found in Ras Shamra treaties. In sum, all five Ras Shamra texts are sealed and open with a historiographic document content clause. Three employ juridical discourse while two employ adjuratory discourse for stipulatory framing. The essentially complete treaties close with a malediction. Collectively, all five reflect most of the key elements discerned in the two Alalaḫ treaties. Syrian Subordinates I (General Comprehensive) Four treaties made with Syrian rulers (CTH 53, CTH 49.I, CTH 66, CTH 92)33 share similar structural features according to the following observations. First, the voice of the respective Great King opens three of the Syrian I documents with a verbless umma quotative frame as a declaration with accompanying epithets (lost in CTH 49.I): e.g., 1

Thus (declares) My Majesty, Šuppiluliuma, Great King, 2King of the land of Ḫatti, Hero:

(1um-ma dUTU-ši mšu-up-pí-lu-li-u-ma LUGAL.GAL 2LUGAL KUR uruḫa-at-ti UR.SAG; CTH 53 i 1–2). Second, a historiographic introduction follows with a mainline marked by the preterite and perfect: e.g., 9

Then I, My Majesty, troops and horses for his assistance sent, 10and the king of the land of Mittani … did they lead away (9ù dUTU-ši ERÉNmeš ANŠE.KUR.RAḫi.a a-na ti-il5-lu-ti-šu aš-pur … 10ù LUGAL KUR urumi-it-taan-ni … e-tab-ku; CTH 53 i 9–11). Juridical discourse is embedded within this section in two Syrian I treaties (CTH 49.I B obv. 5–10; CTH 92 obv. 8–10, 18–21). Brief quotations also appear, including juridical discourse, historiographic discourse, and exhortation. These hortatory snippets mark their primary injunctions with volitional forms (impv, prec), and mark backgrounded setting with the nominal clause: e.g.,

31

See Nougayrol, PRU IV, plates 20 and 83. Ibid., plates 28 and 80. 33 The “Syrian” terminology is that of Beckman; see HDT2, 36. Where possible, CTH 53 functions as the paradigm treaty for the Syrian I group. 32

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

257

A servant of the king of the land of Ḫatti (am) I. Now save me! (lúÌR-du4 ša LUGAL KUR uruḫa-at-ti a-na-ku-mì ù šu-uz-zi-bá-an-ni-mì; CTH 53 i 7–8); Now, may my lord a treaty and oath tablet 25[p]roduce, seal and wri[te as foll]ows: (ù be-lí ṭup-pu ša ri-kil-ti ù ša-⸢a⸣ ma-mi-ti 25[li]-pu-uš-ma li-ik-nu-uk li-il5-ṭù-[ur m]a-a; CTH 92 obv. 24–25). Third, following a break two Syrian I treaties open with present-procedural discourse outlining annual tribute requirements: e.g., [… X shekels of gold] 1once a year (shall be) his tribute, 2and with the weights of the merchants of the land of Ḫatti 3may they weigh (it), and may Tette to My Majesty … 5come ([…] 1i-na MU.1.KAM lu-ú ar-kam-ma-an-na-šu 2ù i-na NA4ḫi.a lú.mešDAM.GÀR ša KUR ḫa-at-ti 3liša-aq-qí-lu ù mte-it-te a-na UGU dUTU-ši … 5li-il5-li-ik; CTH 53 ii 1–5; see also CTH 49.I). If juridical discourse does not appear within this break then these lines provide aperture for the stipulations of both treaties. Fourth, juridical discourse follows the procedural/historiographic material. In CTH 53 and CTH 49.I a stipulation couched in the absolute subtype begins the matrix, marked as an injunction through a twofold use of lū with the nominal clause: 6

Now, with my ally (he shall be) an ally, with my enemy 7(he shall be) an enemy

(6ù it-ti sa-al-mi-ia lu-ú sa-lim it-ti lúKÚR-ia 7lu-ú na-kir; CTH 53 ii 6–7; so CTH 49.I A obv. 5). A long protasis follows in each, concluding with a formulaic motive-consequence clause employing the perfect: “If the king of the land of Ḫatti (is) against the land of Ḫurri, 8or against the land of Egypt … 23if Tette with all his heart with his troops and chariots does not campaign, and with the enemy 25does not fight … then he has broken the oath! (šum-ma LUGAL KUR uruḫa-at-ti i-na KUR ḫur-ri 8šum-ma i-na KUR mi-iṣ-ri-I … 23šum-ma mte-itte i-na kúl ŠA-šu iš-tu ÉRINmeš-[šu] 24 gišGIGIRmeš-šu ú-ul i-na-muš ù it-ti lúKÚR 25la-a in-tù-uḫ-ḫaṣa … ù iš-tu ma-mi-ti i-te-te-eq; CTH 53 ii 7–32; see CTH 49.I A obv. 5–18). The formulaic apodosis ištu māmīti ītetiq provides closure (marked by line ruling) for a number of stipulations in all four Syrian I treaties. Many standardized stipulations appear throughout the group, including a form of the lengthy protasis-apodosis in the remaining two treaties (CTH 66 13–29; CTH 92 rev. 5–11, 12– 18). Very little stipulatory content is entirely unique. As in the parity group the injunctions in the Syrian I group employ the durative, the nominal clause, and the stative, with or without lū. It also employs the precative: e.g., 53

[Now if Tette … X] desires, 54[to the king of the land of Ḫatti] let him make a request, and whichever 55 [noble (the king) gives him] let him take; whichever noble 56[(the king) does not give him] he must not take (53[ù šum-ma mte-it-te …] e-ḫaš-ša!-aḫ 54[a-na LUGAL KUR uruḫat-ti li-r]i?-⸢i⸣?-[i]š?-ma mi-nu-me-e 55 [NUN i-na-an-din-šu] lil-qé mi-nu-me-e NUN 56[ú-ul i-na-an-din-šu] lu-ú la-a i-le-eq-qé; CTH 53 iii 53–56).

258

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

Fifth, the oath-deity list is couched in declaratory discourse and follows the juridical material in at least two of the treaties. CTH 66 represents the clearest paradigm for the list’s organization. It is initiated by precatives and bracketed by a catch phrase employing lū with the stative, all of which function as authentication elements through their invocation of the deities: [Now, within this treaty] 86may [the thousand god]s assemble, may [they listen, and be witnesses!] … 87–110 deity list … 111[For] this treaty and [for the oath may they be witnesses!] ([ù i-na lìb-bi ri-ik-sí an-ni-i 86li-im DINGER]meš li-ip-ḫu-ru l[il-te-mu-ú ù lu-ú ši-bu-tù] list 111[a-na] an-ni-i ri-ik-sí ù [a-na ma-mi-ti lu-ú ši-bu-tu4]; CTH 66 85–111).

87–110

deity

Similarly bracketed deity lists appear in two other peripheral Akkadian treaties (CTH 51.I and CTH 52.I), where both employ a dual precative and lū with the stative in a catch-phrase as an inclusio for the list. Finally, the Syrian I group concludes with a standardized malediction-benediction. The maledictory subtype consists of a consequential affirmation marked by the perfect and a declaration of certitude marked by the precative: e.g. Whatever words of the treaty 47and oath are written within this tablet, 48if Tette does not keep these words of the treaty 49and oath, then 50[he] has broken the oath, even the oath of these gods! (As for) Tette, [along with his head,] 51his [w]ives … may (the gods) dest[roy them]! (mi-i-nu-me-e a-wa-temeš ša ri-ik-si 47ù ša ma-mi-ti i-na lìb-bi ṭup-pí an-ni-i-ti šaṭ-rat-at 48šum-ma m te-it-te a-wa-temeš an-na-ti ša ri-ik-si 49ù ma-mi-ti la-a i-na-ṣar ù iš-tu ma-mi-ti 50[i]-te-te-eq ù né-eš DINGERmeš an-nu-tì mte-it-te [qa-du SAG.DU-šu 51D]AMmeš-šu … lu-ḫal-l[i-qú-šu-nu]; CTH 53 iv 46–52). The benedictory subtype is formed likewise, but without consequential affirmation: e.g. 53

But if Tette [these] words [of the treaty] 54and oath which within [this tablet are written] 55keeps, then (as for) Tett[e, the oath of these gods,] 56with his head, h[is] wife … [(they) will guard them]!

(53ù šum-ma mte-it-ti a-ma-temeš [an-na-ti ša ri-ik-si] 54ù ma-am-mi-ti ša i-na [lìb-bi ṭup-pí an-ni-ti šaṭ-rat-at] 55i-na-ṣar-šu-nu ù te-it-t[i né-eš DINGERmeš an-nu-tì] 56iš-tu SAG.DU-šu DAMmeš-š[u … li-iṣ-ṣú-ru-šu-nu]; CTH 53 iv 53–57). A partial colophon provides closure for CTH 53 alone: “Thi[s] tablet […] and of […]” (ṭup-pa an-n[i-ta …] ù ša x x […]). As a whole, the Syrian I documents are remarkably coherent. Each reflects essentially the same interdiscourse patterning and numerous standardized juridical stipulations, indicating that a template was employed to both frame and supply sections for each document. CTH 66 adds further significance to the group, for while its sister documents were found in Boğazköy, it was discovered in the Ras Shamra royal palace. Syrian Subordinates II (General Limited) Two additional treaties (CTH 46 and CTH 75)34 made with Syrian rulers share general similarities to the Syrian I group but with enough differences to warrant a Syrian II group. CTH 75 is exceptional in that it represents a copy of a treaty made between Muršili II and Talmi-Šarrumma that had been lost but then reformulated under Mūwattalli II. Its opening section comprises an addition made by Mūwattalli which explains this unusual circumstance. Interestingly, this addition and CTH 46 largely reflect similar interdis34

CTH 46 consists of two texts (RS 17.340, RS 17.369A). HDT2 no. 4 is followed for their organization, where the former is referred to as “A” and the latter as “B.” Its text A bears the stamp seal of Šuppiluliuma and Queen Tawananna. For a photo see Claude F. A. Schaeffer, Ugaritica III (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1956), 6, fig. 6; for a line drawing see Nougayrol, Le palais royal d’Ugarit IV, plate 48.

259

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

course structuring. The treaty proper in CTH 75 also shares similar structuring, but with adjuratory-promissory rather than juridical stipulations. Between the addition and body proper, the document appears with two initiating declaratory umma clauses, followed by their respective historiographic sections and then their stipulations (juridical || adjuratory). The addition concludes with an explanatory clause marked by the stative which introduces the body proper: Now, the treaty tablet that [my] father 8Muršili made for him is thus writ[t]en: (ù ṭup-pa ri-ki-il-ti šá a-bu-ú-[a] 8 mmu-ur-ši-li e-pu-šá-áš-šú a-gán-na šá-[t]e-ir; CTH 75 obv. 7–8). Finally, CTH 75 was apparently sealed as evident by the historiographic description: with my seal I sealed it (and) gave it to him (i-na abankunukki-ia ak-nu-kam at-ta-an-na-áš-šú; obv. 5a). Aside from this unique addition the two treaties share a number of features. First, both are uttered under the auspices of their respective Great King. Second, verbless declaratory umma with accompanying royal epithets provides aperture (CTH 46 A obv. 1; CTH 75 obv. 1–2, 9–10). Third, a historiographic introduction follows (CTH 46 A obv. 2–B obv. 2; CTH 75 obv. 3–5, 11–46). The mainline in both is marked by the preterite and the perfect; the latter predominates in CTH 75. Quotations within the historiographic section of CTH 46 incorporate hortatory and explanatory discourse (A obv. 11–14 and 27–28). Fourth, both conclude with a witness-list (CTH 46 A rev. 16–21; CTH 75 rev. 17–22). Among the larger peripheral Akkadian group the two documents express unique stipulatory formulation and closing witness sections. First, CTH 46 possesses two stipulatory sections introduced as quotations and framed by historiographic discourse. The initial stipulation is bracketed by the preterite of rakāsu (“to bind”) and appears with the -mi direct-speech marker: 3

Now, Šuppiluliuma … a treaty 5for Niqmaddu … 6thus has made as 7follows: ‘If in the future … stipulation …’ 19Forever My Majesty … a treaty 20accordingly made

(3anumma-ma mšu-up-pí-lu-lim-ma … ri-kí-il-ta 5a-na mníq-iq-ma-an-da … 6a-kán-an-na ir-ku-us 7 um-ma-a šum-ma-mi i-na EGIR-ki UD-mi … 19a-di ṣa-a-ti dUTU-ši … ri-kí-il-ta 20kán-na-a ir-kuus; CTH 46 B obv. 3–20). The second stipulation immediately follows (B obv. 21– A rev. 7) and is introduced by appunāma (“moreover”), but is broken. It concludes with a historiographic summary (A rev. 8–15): 8

[No]w Šuppiluliuma … 9these [border district]s, towns, and mountains to Niqmaddu … has sealed them … (8[anumma]-ma mšu-up-pí-lu-li-ma … 9[ZAG]meš URUdidli.ḫi.a ḪUR.SAGmeš an-nu-ti a-na mni-iq-maan-di … ik-nu-uk-šu-nu-ti; CTH 46 A rev. 8–10). The stipulations in CTH 75 are crafted as adjuratory-promissory explicitly marked by a medial authentication element: In this matter the gods of the land of Ḫatti 10and the gods of the land of A[l]eppo shall be witnesses! (i-na a-ma-ti an-ni-ti DINGERmeš šá KUR bu-ú-tum; CTH 75 rev. 9–10).

uru

ḫa-at-ti 10ù DINGERmeš šá KUR

uru

ḫa-[l]a-ap lu-ú ši-

This central statement is surrounded by declarations of certitude expressed by the precative (rev. 4, 13–14), lū lā with the durative (e.g., rev. 15), lū with the stative (rev. 16), and lū with the nominal clause (rev. 5–9).

260

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

Neither treaty employs the boilerplate language prevalent in the Syrian I group. Second, CTH 46 formulates its witness-list as adjuratory-declaratory with an implicit malediction: 16

Now, (as for) the one who the words of this tablet 17aalters, the thousand gods shall know: 17b–21oathdeities

(16ù ša a-ba-temeš tup-pí ša ri-kí-il-ti an-na-a-ti 17ú-ša-aš-na-a 1 li-im DINGERmeš lu-ú i-di …; CTH 46 A rev. 16–21). CTH 75 couches this section in historiographic discourse marked by the preterite and includes only human witnesses: 17

This tablet in Ḫatti in the pre[sence of] 17–22human witnesses [… the s]cribe wrot[e]

(17ṭup-pa an-na-a i-na rev. 17–22).

URU

ḫa-at-ti a-na [pa-ni]

17–22

human witnesses [… ṭu]p-šar iš-ṭu[r]; CTH 75

In conclusion, the Syrian II group expresses the interdiscourse structure of the Syrian I group, but in a simplified and in some ways exceptional form: its stipulations are uniquely formulated, its witness-list is uniquely framed, and it lacks a maledictory-benedictory conclusion. Mittani: CTH 51.I and CTH 52.I The two treaties made between Šuppiluliuma I and Šattiwazza of Mittani are complementary. The first (CTH 51.I) is uttered under the auspices of the Great King, and the second (CTH 52.I) by the subordinate. Beckman observes that they comprise a single document, where CTH 52.I functions as a type of supplement to CTH 51.I.35 Altman discusses the differences between the two documents, perhaps the most significant being the lack of a stipulatory section in CTH 52.I.36 Though he designates CTH 52.I as a “declaration,” I extend the “treaty” category to CTH 52.I in its apparent function as a supplement to CTH 51.I, and handle the documents as a unit. Similar to the Syrian I/II groups, CTH 52.I opens with a verbless declaratory umma, without accompanying royal epithets (obv. 1a), that is followed by a historiographic introduction (obv. 1b – rev. 6). Interestingly, CTH 51.I also opens with a historiographic introduction (obv. 1–58), but lacks declaratory umma. While the mainline is expressed by the preterite and perfect, the latter is predominant in both documents. Embedded quotations appear which comprise hortatory (CTH 51.I obv. 6–9, 34–35; CTH 52.I obv. 38–39), explanatory (CTH 51.I obv. 8), historiographic (CTH 51.I obv. 55–58), and promissory (CTH 52.I obv. 23– 26, 28–30) discourse. A juridical matrix follows in CTH 51.I (obv. 59–rev. 34), where both subtypes appear in addition to embedded historiographic discourse (rev. 14–18). A brief instance of embedded explanatory discourse continues both treaties, topically providing a deposit clause marked by the stative: 35

A copy of this tablet before the Sun-goddess of Ari[nn]a is deposited … 36and in the land of Mittani before the Storm deity, lord of the kur[i]nnu of Kaḫat (a copy) is deposited

(35me-ḫi-ir ṭub-bi an-ni-ti a-na pa-ni dUTU urua-ri-i[n-n]a ša-kin-in … 36ù i-na KUR urumi-it-ta-an-ni a-na pa-ni dU EN ku-r[i-i]n-ni šá uruka-ḫat GAR-in; CTH 51.I rev. 35–36). An absolute injunction for regular review of the treaty concludes the stipulatory section, marked by the precative:

35

Beckman, HDT2, 41–42; so Amnon Altman, The Historical Prologue (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2004), 264. 36 Altman, The Historical Prologue, 296–302.

261

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

Repeatedly and always in the presence of the king of Mittani 37and in the presence of the people of the land of Ḫurri must it be read (e-im-mu-ti e-im-mu-ti-ma a-na pa-ni LUGAL KUR uru ḫar-ri li-el-ta-az-zu-u; CTH 51.I rev. 36–37).

uru

mi-it-ta-an-ni

37

ù pa-ni DUMUmeš KUR

In CTH 52.I (rev. 7a) these and the following sections switch from the subordinate to the voice of the Great King, and its deposit clause is abbreviated. Adjuratory-declaratory follows, with an invocation employing a play on verbs with the reading injunction: “Now [who]ever … alters this tablet … – within this treaty the gods 39of secrets and the gods who (are) lords of the oath have we invoked! (ù [ma-]an-nu-me-e … ṭup-pa an-ni-ta ú-na-ak-kar-ma … i-na ŠÀ-bi ri-ik-zi an-ni-i DINGERmeš 39šá pu-uz-ri ù DINGERmeš šá EN ma-mi-ti ni-il-ta-az-zi; CTH 51.I rev. 37–39). The authentication element continues with a two-fold precative and lū with the stative providing an inclusio for the oath-deity list (cf. CTH 66 85–111): They shall be present, they shall listen, and (they shall be) witnesses: 40–58oath-deities – within these words of the treaty they shall be present, they shall listen, and (they shall be) witnesses! (l[i-i]z-zi-iz-zu li-el-te-mu-u ù lu-ú ši-bu-du 40–58oath-deities i-na ŠÀ-bi a-ma-temeš an-nu-ti šá ri-ik-ši li-iz-zi-iz-zu 59li-el-te-mu-u ù lu-ú ši-bu-du; CTH 51.I rev. 39–59). This section is repeated in the supplement (CTH 52.I rev. 8–25). Malediction and then benediction draw CTH 51.I to a close (rev. 59–69, 70–75). Intriguingly, the supplement boasts this element (CTH 52.I rev. 25–34, 35–39), but continues with an additional oath-deity list (CTH 52.I rev. 40–43) that introduces a second set of maledictions-benedictions (CTH 52.I rev. 44–53, 54– 62). This set is couched in the first person and sworn by both the subordinate and Mittani. The addition is also exceptional in content, for it involves manipulating ritual objects: e.g., 46

As a fir tree in its cutting has no shoot, like this fir, may I, Šattiwazza, with another wife 47… and may we the people of Ḫurri …, like (this) fir, have no seed! (46ki-ma gišÙ.SUḪ5 i-na ni-ik-si-šú pi-ir-ʾa-am la i-šú a-ki-i gišÙ.SUḪ5 an-ni-i a-na-ku mšat-ti-ú-a-za ka-du DAM-ti šá-ni-ti 47… ni-e-nu DUMUmeš ḫar-ri … a-ki-i gišÙ.SUḪ5 NUMUN la-ni-i-šú; CTH 52.I rev. 46–47). The demonstrative indicates that an actual clipping was employed during the oath procedure. Although the demonstrative is not repeated in the maledictions which follow, its initial presence suggests further ritual manipulation of tangibles such as water with a wooden container (gišnarṭabu, rev. 48), smoke (qutru, rev. 49), and salt (ṭabtu, rev. 49, 51). An explanatory colophon provides closure (CTH 52.I rev. 63). In sum, CTH 51.I and CTH 52.I together reflects the patterning of the Syrian I group, including the bracketed oath-deity list. To this generic pattern they add an embedded explanatory deposit clause and a juridical reading clause that provides closure for the stipulatory section. Documents in the peripheral Akkadian group which are damaged or broken near their conclusion may have incorporated some form of these two clauses. Individually CTH 51.I and CTH 52.I are structurally unique enough from the others in the larger group that it is impossible to know whether they are paradigmatic, as they are the only peripheral Akkadian documents containing both clauses.

262

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

Broken Texts Four incomplete treaties from Boğazköy (CTH 41.I, CTH 26, CTH 135, CTH 62.I) further support the observations made for the parity and Syrian I/II groups. Of these, CTH 41.I boasts the most complete interdiscourse relationships. A seal superscription provides aperture, followed by an umma declaration with accompanying epithets (i 1). A historiographic introduction (i 2–33) provides document content marked by the preterite (i 2–4). Adjuratory discourse (i 34–44) follows, initiating stipulations essentially couched in juridical discourse (i 45–iv 62). That the treaty is made with a subordinate from Kizzuwatna indicates that the patterning of these two groups is not mutually exclusive. CTH 26 consists of stipulations separated by line ruling; the remainder of the document is lost. It reflects CTH 41.I in that both are made with parties from Kizzuwatna, and possess bilateral stipulations.37 It therefore appears to belong to the parity group. The remnants of CTH 135 are difficult to classify due to its poor condition. Its clearer stipulations are unilateral, deal with assistance in warfare, and are somewhat parallel to those in CTH 41.I. Finally, the remnants of CTH 62.I opens with an umma declaration with royal epithets, followed by a historiographic introduction. Peripheral Akkadian Treaty Traditions Of the three groups, the Syrian I corpus is the most complete and nuanced. The Syrian II group reflects a modified form of the Syrian I group: stipulations are uniquely formulated, no standardized language, uniquely framed witness-lists, and no maledictions or benedictions. The following summarizes the most significant differences between the Syrian I/II and parity groups. First, the former generally opens with an umma declaration and royal epithets while the latter appears with an explanatory title and document content clause. Second, the former appears with a historiographic introduction which the latter lacks. Third, the parity stipulatory material is bilaterally framed. Fourth, the latter lacks the oath-deities and benedictions present in the former. The two treaties between Šuppiluliuma I and Šattiwazza of Mittani (CTH 51.I and CTH 52.I) are considered a special case due to their unique relationship as a single witness in the larger peripheral Akkadian language group. They collectively reflect the Syrian I/II group with the addition of an embedded explanatory deposit clause and a closing juridical reading clause. These clauses appear to be optional. Only these two treaties internally witness to their official copies as deposited in temple archives. Based on differences regarding the presence or absence of a historiographic introduction, explanatory deposit clause, and bilateral wording, Altman suggests the Syrian I/II treaties reflect a subordination form.38 However, the parity treaties CTH 41.I and R2-H3 contain elements otherwise unique to the Syrian I/II traditions, and CTH 41.I contains both bilateral and unilateral stipulations. In light of this mixed form, the Syrian I/II group is therefore interpreted as a general paradigm, recognizing that its structural elements appear more frequently in subordination than in parity treaties. The “comprehensive” paradigm (see fig. 3) incorporates nuances found in all the peripheral Akkadian treaties aside from the parity group material. These are schematized based on the interdiscourse observations and surface level features appearing in two or more distinct treaties (e.g., the human witness-list that appears in CTH 75 is not included): As noted, CTH 41.I and R2-H3 share interdiscourse features with the general and parity groups, and both are framed bilaterally. These overlaps warrant a second schematization which incorporates R2-H3 and CTH 41.I with the Alalaḫ and Tell Ras Shamra parity group material (see fig. 4). The seal may appear in a variety of places, noted by the asterisk (*). As for the general function of the surveyed peripheral Akkadian groups, like R2-H3 several treaties were officially sealed (AlT 3, AlT 2, RS 19.68, RS 17.146, RS 18.115, CTH 41.I, CTH 46, CTH 135, CTH 75), while others represent archival documents. Internal content reveals a variety of purposes spread across the larger group and are governed by topic. Several topics are frequently repeated using similar phraseology, 37

Lines i 49–iii 34 in CTH 41.I are bilateral, not the entire section. Beckman observes that this odd amalgam in part evidences the incorporation of an earlier parity treaty into what appears to be a subordination treaty; HDT2, 17–18. 38 Altman, How Many Treaty Traditions, 27.

263

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

and in several cases reflect boilerplate. These reveal the state’s larger concern for certain stipulations (tribute, military assistance, extradition of fugitives, etc.), but more importantly an entrenched and assumed right to govern the other partner(s) in these matters. This right is executed in treaty form at the discretion of the state, and is applicable to both subordinates and “equals” alike. The treaty tablet is an ideological and physical symbol employed for securing and/or maintaining political hegemony, and for brokering power in the creation and control of both allies and buffer states. These observations in conjunction with the oath-deity lists and closing benedictory and/or maledictory conclusion make each treaty a self-designated witness and warning placed under the oversight of the deities. Analytic Discourse Outline Historiographic Introduction Treaty Aperture: umma Declaration with Royal Epithets Historiographic: Past Relations

Comprehensive

Limited

verbless umma

Embedding: Juridical Embedded Quotations: Historiographic Juridical Hortatory Adjuratory-Promissory Explanatory Juridical Matrix: Specific Stipulations Possible Aperture: Present-Procedural Tribute Stipulation Juridical Absolute/Casuistic Positive Injunctions

(lū+)dur, (lū+)NC, prec, impv

verbless umma pret, perf, dur –

pret, perf (lū) lā+dur, ul+dur impv, prec, dur, lā+dur dur, prec; lū lā+dur, ul+dur stat

– – prec – lā+stat

lū+NC, prec

–

(lū+)dur, (lū+)stat, (lū+)NC, prec, impv (lū) lā+dur, ul+dur, ul+NC 

(broken) lā+dur –

perf

–

stat prec

– –

perf, prec, lū+NC

lū+pret ≈ lū+dur –

Prohibition Standardized Stipulatory Language Paragraph Closure: Motive-Consequence ištu māmīti ītetiq “you have broken the oath!” Embedding: Explanatory Deposit Clause Possible Closure: Juridical Reading Clause Adjuratory-Declaratory: Invocation of Oath-Deities Authentication Element Possible Bracketing of Oath-Deities: lū šebūtūm (or) līm ilāni lipḫurū/lizzizzū lištemû/liltemû u lū šebūtū(m)/šībūtū, “May the thousand gods assemble/be present, listen, and (be) witnesses!” Adjuratory-Promissory Conclusion: Malediction and Benediction Positive Certitude Negative Certitude Treaty Closure: Explanatory Colophon

pret, perf, dur

lū+NC doubled prec with lū+NC

– prec, lū+NC, lū+stat lā/ul+pret ≈ lā/ul +dur stat

–

Fig. 3. Schematized Peripheral Akkadian Treaty Tradition, General Paradigms

264

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

Analytic Discourse Outline Treaty Aperture: *Seal Explanatory Prescript

Alalaḫ

Ras Shamra

CTH 41.I / R2-H3

nominal

–

Explanatory Title: All Contracting Partners Historiographic/Hypotactic Document Content Clause Juridical or Adjuratory Matrix: Bilateral Stipulations *Casuistic/Absolute Positive Injunctions

elliptical

–

nominal (CTH 41.I) elliptical (R2-H3)

pret

perf, pret

perf, pret (both)

dur, stat, NC

(lū+)dur, stat, NC

Prohibition Promissory Positive Certitude

(see fig. 3) ul+dur dur, inverted šumma lā+dur lā+dur –

Negative Certitude Embedding: Declaratory

dur+sub-ni inverted šumma +pret≈dur

*Maledictory Conclusion

– (Malediction and Benediction: see fig. 3)

Positive Certitude Treaty Closure: Explanatory Colophon

prec, dur NC

prec –

*stat

Fig. 4. Schematized Peripheral Akkadian Treaty Tradition, Parity Paradigms. Comparison and Contrast with Deuteronomy In general, R2-H3 is predominantly juridical (58.86%), then explanatory (16.46%), adjuratory (15.82%), historiographic (7.59%), and hortatory (1.27%), where exhortation appears only in embedded quotations. The remaining peripheral Akkadian materials generally reflect this distribution, with the exception of a few procedural passages expressed in a handful of lines (CTH 49.I A obv. 1–4; CTH 49.I B obv. 9–10; CTH 49.II i 10–13; CTH 53 ii 1–5). In contrast, Deuteronomy expresses all six of these discourse varieties on its mainline, in addition to several other varieties. Similarly, the distribution of overlapping discourse types significantly differs in Deuteronomy, as well as their overall interdiscourse patterning: e.g., juridical (31.93%), hortatory (22.01%), historiographic (15.33%), adjuratory (12.86%), explanatory (2.27%). Nevertheless, this generalized overlap is significant when compared with other ancient Near Eastern treaty traditions, for only the Hittite-language material also incorporates indictment. For comparison, the Eblaite and Neo-Assyrian traditions share the least amount of overlap with Deuteronomy at the discourse level. As for particulars, Deuteronomy shares the historiographic introduction with the peripheral Akkadian general treaty tradition, while exhibiting a similar function that emphasizes past relations between the contracting partners. The feature also appears in a few parity treaties, with existing treaty relations as the focus in R2-H3. Nevertheless, Deuteronomy employs its historiographic materials in a far broader way based on comparative quantification and interdiscourse usage. Second, Deuteronomy appears with prescribed annual gifts couched in both juridical and present-procedural discourse, reflecting the annual tribute clauses appearing in peripheral Akkadian (CTH 53, CTH 49.I; cf. CTH 41.I), which are couched in present-procedural discourse. The dual discourse varieties for such annual gifts are unique to Deuteronomy, as are the prescribed partaking of these gifts by the community (Deut 14:22–29; 15:19–23; 16:9–12). Third, in peripheral Akkadian benediction typically follows malediction, the malediction-benediction section appears at the close of the treaty proper, and may express topical parallels. In contrast, Deuteronomy reverses the pairing, and its benediction-malediction concludes the second oration of Moses rather than the entire document. Similarly, adjuratory-promissory discourse closes the third oration of Moses in a summons to the heavens and earth as personified non-human oath-witnesses (Deut 30:19). Among the ancient Near

Huddleston – Deposit and Read!

265

Eastern analogues the heavens and earth are deified within the declaratory invocation of oath-witnesses (e.g., CTH 51.I rev. 53, CTH 52.I rev. 24, CTH 53 iv 44, CTH 49.I A rev. 10, CTH 66 110, R2-H3 E52–E53). Fourth, Deuteronomy incorporates both hortatory reading and instructional deposit clauses as part of its second narrative frame series (Deut 10:1–2; cf. 31:26). Analogues appear rarely in peripheral Akkadian as apparently optional, and are couched in explanatory and juridical discourse (see CTH 51.I, CTH 52.I). In contrast, the reading clause in Deuteronomy relates to a procedure for supplying Israel’s monarchs with “this Tôrâ” (Deut 17:18–20), while renewal ceremonies include the placing of the Tôrâ scroll beside the Ark. Together these procedures mark a stable and, presumably, non-optional deuteronomic tradition. Uniquely, the deposit clause also appears as metaphor, where the people of Yahweh, like the Ark, are the receptacle for Yahweh’s Tôrâ (Deut 6:5–9; 11:16–18). Finally, a number of interdiscourse features common to peripheral Akkadian treaties do not explicitly appear in Deuteronomy. Significantly, it lacks an opening performative declaration. The nearest analogue in Deuteronomy is Moses’ introductory record of Yahweh’s words, which is but one of several quotative frames throughout the historiographic introduction: “Yahweh our God spoke to us in Horeb, saying …” ( ‫יְהוָה ֱא הֵ ינוּ‬ ‫ ִ;דּבֶּ ר אֵ לֵינוּ בְּ חֹ ֵרב לֵאמֹ ר‬1:6). This absence is somewhat surprising, for the Hebrew Bible frequently employs an opening performative declaration in a variety of contexts, though never in Deuteronomy: e.g., “Thus says Yahweh” (‫ ;כֹּ ה אָ מַ ר יהוה‬Exod 4:22; 5:1; 7:17; etc.). A few other features absent in Deuteronomy are of less import: a standard elliptical title, a document content clause, adjuratory stipulation formulation, standardized stipulatory language, closing motive-consequence formulae, and the explanatory colophon. In sum, the peripheral Akkadian general tradition shares a number of overlapping features with Deuteronomy at the discourse level: the historiographic introduction, the present-procedural tribute clause, the deposition and reading clauses, the invocation of heaven and earth, and parallel benedictory and maledictory discourse. Nevertheless, these analogues all appear with significant differences in Deuteronomy, not to mention the standardized materials that Deuteronomy lacks, as well as the plethora of discourse elements and relationships that are unique to Deuteronomy. In short, Deuteronomy contains a significant amount of treaty elements as reflected in the peripheral Akkadian treaty traditions, but is not itself a treaty document.

The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages A Multiperspective Approach Sara Kipfer and Wolfgang Zwickel

Abstract The Carmel ridge was only scarcely settled during the whole Bronze Age. Only a road connecting Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām and the Jezreel valley with the Mediterranean coast came in use during the Middle Bronze Age II period and was still in use during the Late Bronze Age. During the Iron Age settlement activity increased and the hill was likely used for wine and oil plants. This economic use was intensified in later periods. Already in the 15th century BCE the landmark next to the Mediterranean Sea was considered as a religious site. Historically the region can be seen as an important border and contact zone with a mixture of religious (and cultural) influences. From an ideological and theological point of view, the Carmel is mentioned together with Lebanon, Bashan and other regions in the Books of Prophets. The fact, that the Carmel is so frequently referred to in combination with different regions in oracles of the doom as well as visions of salvations demonstrates its transregional importance as object of divine destruction as well as a place for promise. A survey of relevant dictionary entries (see e.g. Lehmann 2001, 822–23; Thompson 1992, 874–975; Bernhardt 1988, 657–58) demonstrates that the Carmel ridge in the pre-Hellenistic period was never carefully analyzed. The number of articles which discuss both fields – archaeology on the one hand and textual research on the other hand – is very limited. While there are many studies about Carmel in the Prehistoric period (see for a summary Olami 1984), as well as the Roman period, very few focus on the Bronze and Iron Ages. The Carmel is not only a barrier in the landscape and an important landmark (see e.g. Alt 1953, 140), separating people in the Sharon plain from those in the plains of Acco and Jezreel, it was also a natural shelter for people living on both sides of the ridge. Due to the steep slopes it was not easy to cross, although the passes are not very high. Therefore, it functioned as a border region in several historical periods. This paper will combine archaeological and exegetical research to present a cultural history of this ridge and an understanding of its role as reflected in the Biblical texts. We will mainly concentrate on the northwestern part of the Carmel ridge from the Mediterranean coast to the intersection at present-day Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām and Zikrōn Yaʿaqōv (using actual highways 70 and 67), which is historically the most important one. We do not only discuss sites on the mountains itself but also those sites which are situated directly at the transition area from the slopes to the adjoining plains. They profited from the fertile plains and the specific conditions of the mountain region at the same time. These settlements were likely trade centers marketing goods for the hills to people in the plains or graded up products from the hills. The name Carmel is not – as often claimed in popular literature – a composition of the Hebrew word kæræm and the theophoric element ʼel meaning “God’s vineyard”. Instead – according to the opinion of the leading semitists – the ending l is attached to the word kæræm, “arboretum, orchard” (Gesenius 1909, 248 § 85s; Joüon 1923, 212 § 88 Mm; Meyer 1969, 40 § 41.8b). This semantic derivation is important in order not to misunderstand the original function of the Carmel ridge. Etymologically it has to be distinguished from another lexeme karmæl, “fresh, newly ripe grain” (Lev 2:14; 23:14; 2 Kings 4:42), which is a dissimilation of *KML (see Köhler 1946). The term karmæl in the Hebrew Bible does not only refer to the Carmel ridge but also to a region west of the Dead Sea (1 Sam 25:2, 5, 7, 40; perhaps also 2 Chr 26:10; Jepsen 1959) around the ancient site of Carmel (Josh 15:55; 1 Sam 15:12; 2 Sam 23:35//1 Chr 11:37; Ḫirbet el-Kirmil; coordinates 162.092). The distinction between the Carmel ridge and homonymous region Carmel is in most cases clear and out of debate. However, the differentiation between a geographical name karmæl and a lexeme with the meaning “arboretum, orchard” is in some instances still discussed (see Mulder 1984, 341–45). The translation of Septuagint with the geographical term Καρμήλ(ος)/Χερμελ is sometimes helpful but not always consistent. Especially 2 Kings 19:23 par. Isa 37:24; Isa 10:18; 16:10, 29:17bis; 32:15bis.16; Jer 2:7; 4:26; 48:33; and Mic 7:14 are considered as controversial in their meaning (Mulder 1984, 343–44; see the discussion below).

268

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Mount Carmel is explicitly only referred to in the books of Kings as har hakkarmæl (1 Kings 18:19, 20; 2 Kings 2:25; 4:25). Three times the expression (be)r’oš hakkarmæl can be found (1 Kings 18:42; Amos 1,2; 9,3; see ’æræṡ hakkarmæl in Jer 2:7). The Carmel ridge is about 30 km long and 14 km wide at its maximum. Its total area is estimated to be between 220 and 232 km2 (see Dar 2014, 11). At its peak it reaches 546 m above sea level with an average height of 400 m. In the west, Carmel slopes down to the coastal plain and includes cliffs, whereas the east Carmel is characterized by a huge, sharp escarpment (see Dar 2014, 119). The coastal zone is about 2.5 km wide in the south and narrows down to a few dozen meters at the Carmel Cape (see Orni/Efrat 1980, 49). The region is characterized by heavy, localized rainfall occurring especially at the beginning and the end of the rainy season (Scharlin 1980, 24). With an average between 600 and 750 mm per year, Carmel has a respectable amount of precipitation. Even in summer Carmel is, with an average of 250 dew nights per year, a comparatively humid region (see Orni/Efrat 1980, 49). Despite these good climate conditions, all streams on the Carmel ridge are ephemeral. The streams flowing from the watershed to the east are shorter with a considerable gradient, whereas the western drainage area is sporadic and occurs only after heavy precipitation (Inbar/Ayal 1980, 26). Carmel is composed of calcareous sedimentary rocks such as limestone, dolomite, chalk, marly chalk as well as igneous rocks (volcanic tuff and basalt; see Dar 2014, 11). Geologically, the Carmel ridge can be divided into three different parts: in the western and the eastern part the stones were formed during Cenomanian and Turonian, while the middle part was formed in the Eocene (Atlas of Israel 1985, map 9). Two distinct soil groups can be distinguished: soils of the mountain areas including primary Terra Rossa soils, Rendzina soils, Brown Mediterranean Forest soils and Colluvial soils and soils of the coastal areas, including primary Alluvial soil (Singer/Ravikovitch 1980, 20). The natural vegetation of Carmel is almost entirely Mediterranean. The phytogeographical significance of Carmel was seen in its being the southern limit of many arboreal and herbaceous species (see Zohary 1980, 22). From the Paleolithic until the Byzantine period mainly the following species can be found: Kermes oak (Quercus calliprinos), Mt. Tabor oak (Quercus ithaburensis), terebinth (Pistacia Palaestina), lentisk (Pistacia lentiscus), carob (Ceratonia siliquia), olive (Olea europea), hawthorn (Crataegus aronia), willow (Salix), elm (Ulmus) and myrtle (Myrtus communis) (see Dar 2014, 11; for further information see Liphschitz 2007, 37 Table 2.5). It can also be assumed that the Aleppo Pine (Pinus halepensis) was native on the Carmel ridge (see for the arguments Lev-Yadun/Weinstein-Evron 2002, 333–40). From an agricultural and economic standpoint, Carmel was, as we will demonstrate, famous for two reasons: its pasture areas for flocks of sheep and goats and its maquis/macchia (densely evergreen shrubland) and forests that were exploited for wood (see Dar 2014, 168). Agricultural terraces are found all over Carmel, however, their dating is uncertain (see Dar 2014, 169–71; Fig. 198). Due to archaeological remains connected to wine production, we will further argue that wine production played an albeit minor role (for the economic importance of wine and olive production from the Persian through the Byzantine Period see Dar 2014, 168–69). All in all, we still have very little information about the economic and agricultural role of one of the most fertile areas in the whole region. I. The Archaeology of the Carmel Ridge Despite the very limited number of archaeological studies about Carmel, there are several surveys of the Archaeological Survey of Israel (cf. https://www.antiquities.org.il/survey/newmap_en.asp) for this region to explore archaeologically the history of the region (square 22: Olami et al. 2003; square 23: Ronen/Olamy 1983; square 26: Ronen/Olami 1978; square 27: Olami et al. 2004; square 30: Olami et al. 2005; square 31: Olami 1981; see also Kloner/Olami 1980, 34–37). Although all the data exist, studies about their relevance appeared until now only for the Persian (Dar 2014, 182) and especially for the Hellenistic period (Kuhnen 1987; Kuhnen 1989). A general observation shall be mentioned at the beginning. The distribution of Bronze and Iron Age sites on the Carmel ridge is a little bit surprising. As expected, there are many sites at the transition region from mountain to the plains on the east and the west, but there are definitely more sites on the east. And there are relatively few sites in the area of present-day Haifa, but there is a cluster of sites in the south where an ancient

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

269

road connected the Jezreel valley (with the prominent site of Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām) with the Mediterranean area. The hill country itself was only sparsely settled (see the tables in the appendix).

Fig. 1 (copyright Wolfgang Zwickel / Krister Kowalski).

270

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Early Bronze Age I–III Square 22: In Naḥal Siyaḥ a cave was excavated which yielded some Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age sherds (Olami et al. 2003, 36*). Another excavated Prehistoric cave was reused during (general) Bronze Age, but the remains are poor (Kaufmann 1991). Nearby an additional Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I burial cave was excavated (Salomon 2005). More uphill are three neighboring Early Bronze Age sites (nos. 141, 151 and 156). In Ḫirbet es-Sulēman (no. 141) some general Early Bronze Age sherds (together with others from later periods) were found. The same is true for the surroundings of ʿEn Qedem (no. 151) and for the reused cave Muġarat Ornit (no. 156). Evidently, not in a single case was it possible to differentiate the pottery within the Early Bronze Age period. Likely there were only few sherds from this period. Square 23: In the western part of Haifa only one general Early Bronze Age site existed. Likely a nearby cave was used as a shelter. Square 26: In ʿĒn Ḥōḍ several sherds, generally attributed to the Early Bronze Age, were found, scattered in a wider area. 2 km to the northeast of this site some Chalcolithic or Early Bronze Age sherds were discovered in a cave. Square 27: In this square a singular dominant tell called Ḫirbet Šalālla existed. During the excavations at the site no Early Bronze Age structures were observed. Likely this area was only used in this period by shepherds. Two more sites existed at the northern edge of Carmel, being already situated in the plain. A natural (?) pool at Naḥal Qišon was perhaps rather a meeting point for nomads; no architectural structures were observed. Kfar ha-Noʿar ha-Dātī was likely a burial site. Square 30: Site 36 yielded some general Early Bronze Age sherds on a relatively flat area near to the coastal plain. A small settlement likely existed at Ḫirbet Šefēya during the Early Bronze Age II–III period controlling the road from the Mediterranean coast to the Jezreel valley. General Early Bronze Age sherds found at the nearby spring Bīr eṭ-Ṭāṭa might be connected with trade activities along this road. Square 31: The site of Ḫirbet el-Buwēda might have been the corresponding site on the eastern end of this road. Additional Early Bronze Age remains were found in the cave Muġarat Raqqefet and on an unnamed site near to the road crossing Carmel. The road ends at the huge Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām, where a limited amount of Early Bronze Age I and III pottery was found (Zuckerman 2005). Other nearby Early Bronze Age sites in the Jezreel Valley are e.g. Tell Qassīs (Early Bronze Age I–III; Ben-Tor et al. 2003) and Tell Abū Zurēq / Hazorea (Anati 1973). Summing up, during the whole Early Bronze Age the Carmel ridge was scarcely occupied or not settled at all. The find spots with Early Bronze Age pottery were poor in finds, and likely only some shepherds used the landscape for their flocks. The road connecting the Mediterranean coast with Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām was already in use during this period, but only very few sites existed controlling the trade connections and offering nourishment to the traders. Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I and Middle Bronze Age II Square 22: Near the transition of the Carmel hill to the coastal plain a Middle Bronze Age IIB shaft tomb was found in Qiryat Spizak. A little bit further to the south an Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age tomb was found in Naḥal Siyaḥ. More tombs of the Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I and Middle Bronze Age II period exist about 1 km further to the south at Ḫirbet Kafr es-Samīr / Ḥorvat Castra (Yeivin/Finkielsztejn 1999, 26*). Within a pit at this site some Middle Bronze Age II sherds were found. Although several excavations were undertaken at this site, no architectural remains from pre-Iron Age I periods were discovered. Further uphill in the neighborhood of Rōmēma in Haifa more Middle Bronze Age IIA tombs were found (Goren 1966). Whether the nearby site Ḫirbet ʿAṭṭēsi was a settlement or also a cemetery is actually not known. In Ḫirbet es-Sulēman some Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I sherds were collected. Nearby was another cemetery at Ṭīrat Carmel which was also used during the Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I, Middle Bronze Age IIA and IIB period (Marcus 1995; Segal 2006). Square 23: Also, on the eastern lower slopes of the Carmel ridge existed in Tel ʿAmal an Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I burial cave (Yannai 2003).

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

271

Square 27: In Naḥal Yagūr there existed an Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I tomb (Seigelmann/Tepper 1981) and nearby a natural cave, in which Middle Bronze Age IIA pottery was found. This was likely not a permanent settlement, but only a temporary shelter. In Ḫirbet Šalālla, Middle Bronze Age IIA pottery was found, but no corresponding architectural remains were found during the excavations (Dar 2009). Situated exactly on the foot of the Carmel ridge at the transition to the northern plain area is Tell elʿAmār. Excavations in 1922 yielded a settlement from the Iron Age to the Hellenistic period (Garstang/Phythian-Adams 1922), but during survey activities Middle Bronze Age II sherds were found. Maybe the pottery derives from some tombs there (Druks 1982), dating to this period. Square 30: There is a cluster of sites (no. 128, 141, 142, and 143) around Ḫirbet eš-Šīḥ and el-Furēdis with several Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I and Middle Bronze Age II rock-hewn tombs (Horowitz/Masarwa 1999). Ḫirbet Šefēya was resettled during the Middle Bronze Age IIA and IIB, likely in the same function as in the Early Bronze Age: to control the road crossing the Carmel. Square 31: Nearly all sites of this square are clustered around the road connecting the Mediterranean coast with the Jezreel Valley. During the Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I period there existed an unnamed site north of a spring (no. 97, the pottery might be connected with a tumulus) and a small unnamed tell (no. 100, 0,3 ha in size). A remarkably high number of sites (no. 62, Ḫirbet el-Šuqqāq / Ḥorvat Yoʿaḥ, Ḫirbet el-Buwēda, no. 82, no. 83, Ḫirbet el-Manšīye [Lieberman-Wander 1999]) can be dated to the Middle Bronze Age II period indicating likely a rise of trade activities along the road, but there are also some tumuli (nos. 54, 92, 95, 96, 98) in this area with Middle Bronze Age II pottery. The existence of tumuli in this region instead of rock-hewn tombs needs further research. Completely isolated is a (likely rather small) settlement (no. 20). During excavations in ʿĒn Ḥofez a larger Middle Bronze Age IIA/B structure was excavated (Alexandre 1997). Also, in Wādi eš-Šaqāq / Naḥal Ṭūṭ VIII existed a small Middle Bronze Age II settlement, which was not observed by the Archaeological Survey of Israel, but found during excavations (Alexandre 1996, 50; Alexandre 2006, 132–38). Another small Middle Bronze Age IIC settlement was discovered and partly excavated in ʿĒn Ḥaggit (Wolff 1997). The Carmel ridge was nearly unsettled during the Middle Bronze Age, but several burial sites, both in the Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I and Middle Bronze Age II periods, have been documented. Some shepherds may have used caves as a short-term shelter. Only one completely isolated, likely rather small, settlement existed on top of the ridge (no. 31–20). Completely different is the situation along the road connecting the Mediterranean coast with the Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām and the Jezreel valley. Several settlement sites and some tumuli existed on both sites of the road. Trade evidently became more important during this period and some people lived in small settlements along this road. Late Bronze Age A completely new picture emerges in the Late Bronze Age. Two new sites were founded at the foot of Carmel’s northwestern promontory: Tell es-Samaq / Tel Šiqmōnā (coord. 1462 2478) on the one hand and Tell Abū Hawwām (coord. 1541 2452) on the other hand. Tell es-Samaq / Tel Šiqmōnā had no seaport but was an important landmark for seafaring. The finds uncovered here during several excavation seasons demonstrate its relevance for international trade (Elgavish 1993, 1373–74; Elgavish 1994, 33–46). Tell Abū Hawwām became one of the major harbor towns along the Mediterranean coast (Balensi et al. 1993). But also during this period the Carmel ridge was nearly unsettled. Square 22: At the nearby sites Rōmēma and Ḫirbet ʿAṭṭēsi, there existed some tombs during this period. Square 23: At Tel Ḥanān, Late Bronze Age pottery, but no architectural remains were found during excavations (Nagorsky 2003, 23*). Squares 26 and 30: No Late Bronze Age sites were found on the Carmel ridge. Square 27: In a cave near Ḫirbet Damūn, much Late Bronze Age pottery was found (see also Dar 2009, 17), and was likely used as a shelter for shepherds and their flocks. Surprisingly, there was imported pottery among these sherds. In Tell el-ʿAmār, Late Bronze Age pottery was found during survey activity but not during the excavations at this site. If a site really existed there during the Late Bronze Age period and not only some tombs, it was very small. Since several Late Bronze Age sherds were discovered during the ex-

272

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

cavations in Ḫirbet Šalālla we have to assume that a settlement existed there. Nevertheless, no building remains were uncovered until now. Square 31: The number of settled sites is – compared with the Middle Bronze Age – much less. Only two or three sites – Ḫirbet el-Šuqqāq / Ḥorvat Yoʿaḥ, the unnamed site no. 70 and perhaps also Ḫirbet el-Buwēda – survived. All other sites were abandoned. In ʿĒn Ḥaggit several Late Bronze Age II vessels were found (Wolff 1997, 60). The number of Late Bronze Age sites on the Carmel ridge is extremely limited. There are only few burials and nearly no settlements. The road crossing Carmel was still active as textual evidence tells us, viz., the battle of Thutmosis’ III, the “Qina valley” (Weippert 2010, 99–100). But there existed nearly no infrastructure anymore along this road. Iron Age I and II Square 22: Iron Age sherds in Naḥal Siyaḥ may indicate that tombs in this area were reused during that period. This may be also true for the burial caves around Rōmēma and the nearby site Ḫirbet ʿiṭṭēsi. Square 23: In Tel Ḥanān, some walls dating to the Iron Age I period were excavated (Nagorsky 2003, 23*). In Ḫirbet Rušmīye, some Iron Age II sherds were collected in caves at this site. These caves were likely used as temporary shelters. Additionally, in the higher parts of Carmel in Ḫirbet el-ʿĒn / Ḥorvat Qedem, Iron Age sherds were observed. At least in later periods this site was used for producing olive oil. Square 26: No Iron Age site on Carmel ridge has been found until now. Square 27: Tell el-ʿAmār, at the transition area between Carmel slopes and plain, was, as the excavations demonstrated, continuously settled from the Iron Age to the Hellenistic period (Garstang/Phythian-Adams 1922). In Ḫirbet ʿĒn el-Ḥēq there existed a small Iron Age II site. At an unnamed site (“Har Karmel”, no. 175) existed a 5 m x 8 m large structure (watch tower?), overlooking the Naḥal Qišōn. Not far away is another site called Tell el-War with general Iron Age pottery. A building with 5 m x 8 m in size might be another watch tower. General Iron Age pottery was found here. Ḫirbet el-Mansūra was a wine producing site which was only settled during general Iron Age and the Persian period. Another survey found no Iron Age pottery but some sherds from later periods were recovered (Dar 2014, 102–4). Perhaps wine production started here in the Iron Age but this is not definitely proven. El-Qalʿa / Ḥorvat Qeliʿa yielded Iron Age and later sherds; at least in later periods the site was used for producing oil, as a crushing basin may confirm. In Ḫirbet Šalālla, many Iron Age I sherds were found during the excavations (Dar 2009, 251). During surveys, sherds from the Iron Age II period were observed. Not far away is the site of Ḫirbet ez-Zarraʿa, which was also settled during Iron Age I. Some building remains were found in Ḫirbet Kerak, together with general Iron Age pottery. During a later very extensive survey settlement activity was observed only starting with the Persian period (Dar/Siegelmann 1994, 50; Dar 2014, 71–101). At least in later periods this site was used for oil production. In Ḫirbet Dubīl a small Iron Age I settlement was excavated (Shadman 2006). In the context of the Biblical literature, the archaeological results for Dēr el-Muḥraqa, the traditional site for Elijah’s sacrificial fight of 1 Kings 18, and its surroundings are of specific interest. The site itself (no. 220) has only Ottoman remains, the oldest archaeological remains are from the Persian period (sites 198 and 199). Therefore, there is no archaeological evidence for an identification of this spot with Elijah’s life or with an altar and a cultic center in the region. Square 30: A small site (8 m x 10 m) which was only settled during Iron Age I existed in Naḥal Maharal. Another small site from the Iron Age II period was found at the southern part of the later town of Izkīm/Kerem Maharal. At least in later periods this site was used for oil production. Another small site from the Iron Age II is situated in Biqʿat Šīr. Surveys found Iron Age I pottery in Ḫirbet Šefēya but during the excavations at the eastern fringes of the site no corresponding buildings were found (Neeman et al. 1991). Next to the spring Bīr eṭ-Ṭāṭa, Iron Age sherds were found. Likely this was a gathering place for nomads. Near Ḫirbet eš-Šīḥ / el-Furēdis there existed a rock-hewn burial cave from the Iron Age II. Square 31: The unnamed site no. 20 was an extensive Iron Age II (10th–8th century BCE) site, about 1.5 ha in size. Two winepresses confirm wine production at this site. In the neighborhood is another unnamed site (no. 32) with Iron Age I–II pottery and another wine press. The two sites likely belonged together since they are completely isolated from other sites in that period. All the other sites of this square are next to the

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

273

road running from the Mediterranean coast to Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām. The westernmost site is Ḫirbet Umm el-Ǧirbe / Bat Šelōmō, where Iron Age II sherds were collected. It is followed by the small site, Ḫirbet el-Manšīye, where general Iron Age sherds were found. The next site to the east is ʿĒn Ṭūṭ with nearly 1 ha in size. The excavations uncovered four Iron Age I and II strata. Most surprising are 8 LMLK jar handles discovered at this site (Finkielsztejn/Gorzalczany 2010; see also Tabar 2009). They demonstrate not only existence of settlement activity during the Iron Age IIC period, but also that there was oil or wine production and good (trade?) relations to Judah. It is followed by Ḫirbet el-Šuqqāq / Ḥorvat Yoʿaḥ with general Iron Age sherd scatter. Close to this site is another site (no. 70) with general Iron Age sherds. Also in the neighborhood is Ḫirbet el-Buwēda with the same sherd feature. A short-living excavated site (second half of the 10th century – first half of the 9th century BCE) existed in ʿEn Ḥofez (Alexandre 1997), while the excavated site of ʿĒn Ḥaggit was settled during the 12th/11th century and once again during the 7th century BCE (Wolff 1997). Most of these sites seem to be rather small (with the exception of no. 20). While during the Bronze Age little settlement activity existed in the Carmel area and the area was partly used by shepherds and partly by traders crossing the mountain, more sites were settled during both Iron Age I and II periods. Most notable is the wine and/or oil production and the trade connections to Judah. Parts of the Carmel area which had likely an uncontrolled growth of wild plants and maquis were reclaimed especially during the late Iron Age II period. This tendency was even intensified during the Persian period (Dar 2014). II. The Historical References to the Carmel Ridge and Historical Topography Little is known about the political history of Carmel during Bronze and Iron Age. In the Bronze Age the ridge separated the city kingdoms of Acco, Akhshaf, and Megiddo in the north from those in the Sharon plain. According to the Biblical tribal system of Josh 13–19, the tribes of Asher (Josh 19:24–31) and Zebulon (Josh 19:10–16) settled in the north of the Carmel ridge, while the area in the south belonged to the tribe of Manasseh (Josh 17:1–13). The history of these tribes and their settlement area is complicated and cannot be discussed here. Sea People groups settled along the Mediterranean shores south of Carmel at least during the Iron Age I period (Stern 1994, 85–111), likely until the days of the Omrides who integrated the coastal region according to the archaeological result of the excavations in Dor (Stern 1994, 111–29). The plain of Acco situated in the north of Carmel belonged at least since the later days of king Solomon in the 10th century BCE to the Phoenician kingdom of Tyre (1 Kings 9:10–13). In the late 10th century, the Carmel ridge was the border between Phoenicians and Sea Peoples, some decades later between Phoenicians and Israelites. 1 Kings 18:41–46 was originally an independent tradition (Thiel 2019, 98). This text does not describe a conflict situation as 1 Kings 18:17–40 does but a friendly meeting of Elijah and Ahab. Elijah went up to the top of the mountain in order to pray very intensively (“he bowed himself down upon the earth and put his head between his knees”, v. 42) and then sent his servant seven times to look for rain clouds coming from the west (v. 43). The spot where the story localizes the meal of Ahab was on the northern side of the Carmel, because Ahab drove later with his chariot to Jezreel and likely did not cross the Carmel ridge (v. 45). Very tentatively we propose Ḫirbet el-ʿĒn / Ḥorvat Qedem as the site where, according to the biblical text, the prophet and the king met each other, that is if the meeting point was a settled site and not out doors. Also, the prophet Elisha (or an unnamed man of god, who was later identified with Elisha) lived somewhere at the Carmel ridge (2 Kings 2:25; 4:25). In 842 BCE, Shalmaneser III reached Baʿali-ra’asi (Bagg 2007, 40–41; Bagg 2011, map 4.9), but the identification of this site with the Carmel ridge is not certain (see Lipiński 1971, 85–92). An alternative proposal identifies it with Rās en-Naqūra, another ridge at the Mediterranean coast about 35 km to the north. In 733 BCE, Carmel came under Assyrian control. Not a single site situated on Carmel itself is mentioned in the Bible or in any extra-Biblical text (see below for no. 115 of the Thutmosis III list), but several sites are known directly north of Carmel. The sites name list of Thutmosis III is not in a continuous order. Rather several parts which belong together are actually joined in a new order and scholars are yet to isolate these parts. We believe that nos. 112–17 belong together and are situated directly north of Carmel.

274 No. of Thutmosis III list 112 113 114 115 116 117

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Name

References in other texts

Proposed identification

Coordinates

Ḫ-r-q-t Helkath (Josh 19:25; 21,31; 1 Chr 6,60) ʿ-n Q-n-ʿ-m/ Spring of Yoqneam Yoqneam Q-b-ʿ Geba „hill“ (of Yoqneam): Josh 12:22; 19:11; 21:34; 1 Kings 4:12 D-r-r D-f-t Annals of Thutmosis III Burkuna Burquna EA 250:43

Tell Qassīs Spring east Tell Qemūn

1604.2324 1608.2298

Tell Qemūn

1600.2304

Tel Qīri/Hazorea Burkīn

1610.2277 1748.2068

The identification of Halaqtu/Helkat (see Peterson 1992) with Tell Qassīs is accepted by many scholars, although some propose an identification with Tell el-Harbaǧ (coord. 158 240). Ain Qanama should be identified with the spring directly east of Tell Qemūn, and Burkuna/Burquna is due to the similar name Burkīn. These fixed points allow to reconstruct a chain of sites along the road running north of the Carmel ridge; Megiddo as the most important town within this chain is not mentioned because it is referred to at the very beginning of this list as no. 2. Accepting this reconstruction, no. 116 D-f-t is not located south, but north of the Carmel ridge (against Aharoni 1959). This allows a new understanding of the annals of Thutmosis III and his conquest of Megiddo, where D-f-t is also mentioned (see Weippert 2010, 98). D-f-t must be situated north of Megiddo, near a road crossing the Carmel ridge. Looking at the distribution map of Late Bronze Age sites southwest of Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām (Raban 1999, 116), there is obviously another branch of the northern road crossing Carmel which ends in Tel Qīri / Hazorea (coord. 1610.2277; for Late Bronze Age occupation see Ben-Tor/Portugali 1987, 257–59). Therefore, this site can likely be identified with D-ft/Zephath. Geba (no. 114, “hill”) could mean the hill of Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām, D-r-r (Hebrew Ṣrr “bunch”) could be one of the sites along the road west of Tell Qēmūn / Tel Yoqneʿām. Ginti-Kirmil/Gat-Carmel, which is mentioned in the Amarna texts (EA 288:26; 289:18–19; 290:28), additionally in Phoenician texts from Tell es-Samak and in Plinius V,75, can likely be identified with Tell Abu Hawwām (Zwickel 1994). Horoshet-Goiim (Judg 4:2, 13, 16) might be in the region of Carmel, but there exists no really convincing identification. The Kishon River (Judg 4:7, 13; 5:21; 1 Kings 18:40; Ps 83:10) is convincingly identified with Wādi elMuqaṭṭā, which is running in its northwestern part parallel to the northern slopes of the Carmel ridge and flowing next to Tell Abū Hawwām into the Mediterranean Sea. III. Carmel as a Holy Place: Some Remarks on the History of Religion Carmel has been characterized as a border zone between Israel and Phoenicia and consequently as a conflict area (e.g. Alt, 1953, 135–49; Aharoni 1970, 5) between Yhwh, as god of Israel, and Ba‘al, as a traditional Syro-Phoenician and Canaanite fertility, vegetation, and weather god. The combat between both gods is narratively reflected in 1 Kings 18:17–40. In the mid-20th century, there was a research dispute about the identity of the god Ba‘al (ba‘al) mentioned in 1 Kings 18:19, 21, 22, 25, 26, 40 (for a research overview see e.g., Mulder 1999, 184). However, an identification of the Ba‘al mentioned in the biblical texts with a local numen (e.g. “Ba‘al of Carmel”, later Ζευς Καρμηλο; see e.g. Galling 1953, 121), with Hadad (see e.g. AviYonah 1952), with the Tyrian god Melqart (see e.g. de Vaux 1967, 485–97) or with Ba‘al Shamêm (see e.g. Mazar 1992, 128) cannot be determined (for a detailed research overview see Thiel 2019, 132–37). In more recent research the literary-critical questions play a more important role, as well as the question of the historical context of 1 Kings 18:17–40. The assumption that 1 Kings 18:17–40 mirrors a 9th century territorial conflict during the time of king Omri or Ahab (see e.g. Alt 1953, 139, 147–48) has been seriously doubted and the importance on the Carmel ridge for the understanding of the story has been denied. Würthwein (1989, 279), for example, suggested that Carmel did not play a role at all in 1 Kings 18:21–39. Na’aman (2020, 90–100) considers the story reflecting the expanding Phoenician cult and culture in the early Persian period. We would like to emphasize Carmel as a border zone. Such border zones are not necessarily related to a “clash of cult” (see Rusak 2008, 29), but should be understood as contact zones (“Kulturkontakt und

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

275

Kulturtransfer”) with a mixture and exchange of different cults and cultures (see e.g. Rollinger/Schnegg [eds.] 2014 and especially Ulf 2014). Typical for contact zones are trade activities and political relations. Archaeology has demonstrated that there existed such contacts at the Carmel ridge, at least since the Middle Bronze Age, and Biblical textual evidence demonstrates close political and economic relations between Israel and Phoenicia at least during the time of Solomon (2 Kings 5:24–25; 9:11) and the Omrides (e.g. 1 Kings 16:31). On the other hand, identity markers for both regions in a contact zone are also typical to mark the different traditions, cultures, and interests. 1 Kings 18:17–40 may reflect that there existed a border sanctuary at Mount Carmel which could be used by people living on both sides of Carmel for their cults. Some texts allow us to conclude that there existed a long tradition for Carmel as a holy spot venerated by different people and connected with different gods. Already in the 15th century BCE, Carmel is called in the site name list of Thutmosis III (list I, 48; see Simons 1937, 117) as r-š q-d-š “holy head”, but never with its usual name Carmel. This name is repeated in a list by Ramesses II (list XXIII, 1; see Simons, 158) and in another list of Ramesses III (list XXVII, 108; see Simons 1937, 169). This demonstrates that Carmel was already in these early years considered as a holy mountain. An Assyrian text from the time of Shalmaneser III mentions Ba’ali-ra’asi (Bagg 2007, 40–41), which is perhaps identical with Carmel (see above). According to this text, Shalmaneser erected his stela at this very spot (Weippert 2010, 264). The Periplus of Pseudoskylax (late 4th century BCE) mentions “Carmel, holy place of Zeus” (Periplus 104; Galling 1964, 197). We have a continuation of this tradition in later periods. Tacitus (ca. 58 to ca. 180 CE) wrote (History II, 78): Between Judea and Syria lies Carmel: this is the name given to both the mountain and the divinity. The god has no image or temple – such is the rule handed down by the fathers; there is only an altar and the worship of the god. When Vespasian was sacrificing there and thinking over his secret hopes in his heart, the priest Basilides, after repeated inspection of the victim’s vitals, said to him: ‘Whatever you are planning, Vespasian, whether to build a house, or to enlarge your holdings, or to increase the number of your slaves, the god grants you a mighty home, limitless bounds, and a multitude of men.’ This obscure oracle rumour had caught up at the time, and now was trying to interpret; nothing indeed was more often on men’s lips. It was discussed even more in Vespasian’s presence – for men have more to say to those who are filled with hope (translation according to Moore 1968, 285, 287). Also, Suetonius (ca. 70–122 CE), De vita Vespasianus VIII,6 mentions about the same event “the god of Carmel in Judaea”. In the area of the monastery of Elijah in Haifa the foot of a marble statue of Zeus, dated to the late 2nd or early 3rd century CE with the votive inscription “(Dedicated to) Heliopolitan Zeus of the Carmel (by) Gaius Iulius Eytuchas colonist (of) Caesarea” was found (Avi-Yonah, 1952, 118–24, cf. Mazar 1992, 132). This findspot describes where at least in the 2nd and 3rd century, but likely already in earlier times, the veneration of a god was located on the hill overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Heliopolis is the ancient name of Baalbek in Lebanon. Iamblicus of Chalkis (240/245 – 320/325 CE), a Greek philosopher, mentions that “the highest peak of the Carmel was considered as the holiest and for many people not to be trodden mountain” (De vita Pythagorica III, 15). There seems to have been a cultic continuation from a holy site in the Bronze Age to a sanctuary connected with Ba‘al or/and Yahweh (“the god has no image”! – this is rather typical for Yahweh and not for Ba‘al) to Zeus. Evidently, no temple existed there, but only an altar, additionally in the 9th century a relief stone of Shalmaneser III and much later a huge Zeus statue. IV. The Cultural, Ideological and Theological Meaning of Carmel according to the Hebrew Bible Some more references in the Hebrew Bible exemplify the cultural and theological importance of Carmel. Amos 1:2 contains a short saying consisting of two bi-cola in synonymous parallelism, the first referring to Yhwh’s action, the second to its effect. The roaring of Yhwh from Zion and Jerusalem has been considered as a theophany. It was often discussed due to its theriomorphic content and its similarity with Joel 4:16 (see

276

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

also Jer 25:30). The manifestation of Yhwh’s voice in a rainstorm has parallels in texts from Ugarit where Ba‘al utters his voice in thunder (KTU 1.4 VII 29–33). In Amos 1:2, not the thundering roar of a storm god, but the imagery of a drought is described. The parallelism with ‫“( אבל‬mourning”; a differentiation between ‫ אבל‬I and ‫ אבל‬II is uncertain; for the discussion see Kipfer, forthcoming) and ‫“( יבשׁ‬dry up”) can also be found in Jer 12:4, 23:10, and Joel 1:10. Thus it becomes clear that the drying up of the earth was often understood as mourning. Whether this motif stands in connection with the mourning of a vanished deity cannot be determined (see e.g., the mourning of Hadad-Rimmon in the plain of Megiddo Zech 12:11). Amos 1:2b The pastures of the shepherds mourn, and the top of Carmel dries up.

‫וְ אָ בְ לוּ נְ אוֹת הָ רֹ ﬠִ ים‬ ‫וְ יָבֵ שׁ ר ֹאשׁ הַ כּ ְַרמֶ ל‬

At first instance, it is not self-evident why the region “Carmel” is mentioned here and it is not clear whether in Amos 1:2b the pastures are paralleled with the Carmel ridge (as the translation by LXX with Καρμήλου suggests) or whether in this parallelism more generally the orchards are referred to. Only when looking at some other passages referring to the drying up of Carmel, the significance of the withering of this geographical region becomes evident. The landscape on the Carmel ridge was spaciously covered with dense maquis and trees. This natural vegetal cover is very resilient to extreme climate events and especially to droughts. However, as Nah 1:4 states, Yhwh dries it out like the sea and the rivers. Even this perennially verdant region cannot withstand Yhwh’s destruction. Alongside Carmel, also Bashan and even the Lebanon wither (‫אמל‬bis; paralleled with the verb ‫ יבשׁ‬and ‫ חרב‬in v. 4a). As described in Amos 1:2, this happens by the aggressive voice of Yhwh (‫“ גער‬yelling at”, “rebuking”; see Jeremias 2019, 77–78). Nah 1:4 He rebukes the sea and makes it dry, and he dries up all the rivers; Bashan and Carmel wither, and the bloom of Lebanon withers.

‫גּוֹﬠֵר בַּ יָּם ַויַּבְּ שֵׁ הוּ‬ ‫וְ כָל־הַ נְּ הָ רוֹת הֶ ח ֱִריב‬ ‫א ְֻמלַל בָּ שָׁ ן וְ כ ְַרמֶ ל‬ ‫וּפ ֶַרח לְ בָ נוֹן א ְֻמלָל׃‬

In Isa 33:9, it is said that the land mourns (again ‫ אבל‬as in Amos 1:2b; in Isa 33:9 in combination with ‫אמל‬, see Isa 24:4) and that Bashan and Carmel shake off their leaves. Whether this change in the vegetation is an effect of the violence of the Assyrian devastation and thus should be read as an anthropogenic catastrophe as described by the Assyrian military tactic of the “scorched earth” (for this military tactic and the Akkadian expressions see Galter 1989, 237–41) or rather as result of a drought is debated (see e.g. Kaiser 1981, 274 argues for the motive of the enemy from the north). There are at least three arguments why a drought should be considered here: First, there is the connection with grief, which, as shown above, is more often found in the context of a drought. Second, in Isa 33:9bα it is said, that Sharon became like a desert (‫)ﬠ ֲָרבָ ה‬. It is hard to understand this as a war metaphor. Similarly, Jer 4:26a* states, that Carmel became a wilderness (‫)מ ְדבָּ ר‬ ִ although a comparative ְ‫ ּכ‬is missing here: ‫וְ הִ נֵּה הַ כּ ְַרמֶ ל הַ ִמּ ְדבָּ ר‬. Usually, Carmel is translated here with “fruitful land.” However, it should be considered whether the translation of the Septuagint with Κάρμηλος is not to be followed as well and accordingly the Carmel region becomes a desert. Finally, the image of the trees shaking off their leaves hardly fits the military context. We therefore should assume that Amos 1:2; Nah 1:4 and Isa 33:9 the Carmel and with it in some instances also Lebanon and Bashan are affected by a massive climatic disaster. Isa 33:9 The land mourns and languishes; Lebanon is ashamed and becomes black; Sharon is like a desert; and Bashan and Carmel defoliate.

‫אָ בַ ל א ְֻמלְ לָה אָ ֶרץ‬ ‫הֶ חְ פִּ יר לְ בָ נוֹן קָ מַ ל‬ ‫הָ יָה הַ שָּׁ רוֹן ָכּﬠ ֲָרבָ ה‬ ‫וְ נֹ ﬠֵר בָּ שָׁ ן וְ כ ְַרמֶ ל׃‬

277

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

By mentioning four geographical regions, Isa 33:9 emphasizes the encompassing destruction: the Lebanon mountains along the northern coast, the Sharon Plain as a southern coastal region, Bashan in the east and Carmel in the west, all four of them lay waste. Carmel and Bashan (‫ )בָּ שָׁ ן‬as a juxtaposition of regions west (Cisjordan) and east (Transjordan) are mentioned in Isa 33:9, Jer 50:19, Micah 7:14 and Nah 1:4. Carmel and Lebanon (‫ )לְ בָ נוֹן‬as north-south extension are referred to in Isa 29:17, 33:9, 35:2, Nah 1:4 and presumably also in 2 Kings 19:23 par. Isa 37:24. The Sharon plain (‫ )שָׁ רוֹן‬is mentioned alongside Lebanon and Carmel only in Isa 33:9 and Isa 35:2. Isa 35:2 turns the oracle of doom in Isa 33:9 into an oracle of salvation. The three regions Lebanon, Carmel, and Sharon are taken as point of comparison: The wilderness, the dry land and the desert (‫ ﬠ ֲָרבָ ה‬see also Isa 33:9) shall become like the three of them (v. 1). At the same time Lebanon, Carmel, and Sharon mirror the glory (‫ )כָּבוֹד‬and majesty (‫ )הָ דָ ר‬of God (v. 2b). The transformation of nature results in Yhwh’s appearance (Beuken 2010, 334). Isa 35:1–2 (1) The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the lily. (2) It shall blossom abundantly, and also rejoice with rejoicing and joy. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of Yhwh, the majesty of our God.

‫יְ שֻׂ שׂוּם ִמ ְדבָּ ר וְ צִ יָּה‬ ‫וְ תָ גֵל ﬠ ֲָרבָ ה‬ ‫וְ ִתפְ ַרח ַכּחֲבַ צָּ לֶת׃‬ ‫פָּרֹ חַ ִתּפְ ַרח‬ ‫וְ תָ גֵל אַ ף גִּ ילַת וְ ַרנֵּן‬ ‫כְּ בוֹד הַ לְּ בָ נוֹן נִ תַּ ן־לָהּ‬ ‫הֲדַ ר הַ כּ ְַרמֶ ל וְ הַ שָּׁ רוֹן‬ ‫הֵ מָּ ה יִ ְראוּ כְ בוֹד־יְהוָה הֲדַ ר ֱא הֵ ינוּ׃ ס‬

While in Nah 1:4 the bloom (‫ )פּ ֶַרח‬of the Lebanon withers, in Isa 35:1–2 the desert begins to bloom (‫פרח‬ter). This blooming is the result of water flowing again as explicitly mentioned in Isa 35:6b–7a. The turn in the emotion of nature plays a key role (for the different parts of nature as subject of emotions see Kipfer 2020, 43): The drying up is connected to the emotion of sadness and mourning, while the blooming and prosperity are accompanied by joy and gladness. In Isa 35:1–2. The verbs of denoting joy follow a chiastic structure (‫שׂושׂ‬, ‫גיל‬, ‫פרח‬, ‫פרח‬, ‫גיל‬, ‫ )גִּ ילַת וְ ַרנֵּן‬and culminate in the glory and majesty of God. There is at least one more piece of evidence where the same motif occurs. The absence of gladness and joy in Jer 48:33 does maybe not only affect Moab but includes the Carmel region (although this interpretation is not supported by the LXX translation; in the parallel version Isa 16:10 Moab is omitted and therefore ‫ִמן־‬ ‫ הַ כּ ְַרמֶ ל‬is usually translated as “from the orchard”). By mentioning Carmel and Moab in Jer 48:33a however, not the east-west extension would be described, but a northwest-southeast extension of two important wine growing regions is referred to. This archaeological research has clearly shown that during the late Iron Age oil and/or wine production became an important economic part in the Carmel area. (The northwest-southeast extension plays also a role in other texts; see e.g. Joel 4:4–8 where the Greeks and the Sabeans are contrasted.) Jer 48:33 Gladness and joy have been taken away from Carmel and from the land of Moab.

‫וְ נֶאֶ ְספָה ִשׂ ְמחָ ה וָגִ יל‬ ‫ִמכּ ְַרמֶ ל וּמֵ אֶ ֶרץ מוֹאָ ב‬

In Jer 50:19 a salvation oracle can be found describing Carmel (west, Cisjordan) and Bashan (east, Transjordan). In the parallelism the southern parts of those regions are added, namely Ephraim (west, Cisjordan) and Gilead (east, Transjordan). Israel should be brought back to these regions; they should get nourishment so that they will be satiated. In this case, the context of the text is not a drought but obviously the people’s longing for their homeland and thus the text is addressed to the gôlâ. It is surprising however that the former core areas of the northern kingdom are mentioned, and Judah does not play any role.

278

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Jer 50:19 I will restore Israel to its pasture, and it shall feed on Carmel and in Bashan, and on the hills of Ephraim and in Gilead its desire (‫ )נַפְ שׁוֹ‬shall be satisfied.

‫וְ שֹׁ בַ בְ ִתּי אֶ ת־יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל אֶ ל־ ָנוֵהוּ‬ ‫וְ ָרﬠָה הַ כּ ְַרמֶ ל וְ הַ בָּ שָׁ ן‬ ‫וּבְ הַ ר אֶ פְ ַריִ ם וְ הַ גִּ לְ ﬠָד‬ ‫ִתּ ְשׂבַּ ע נַפְ שׁוֹ׃‬

In Mic 7:14, Bashan, Gilead, and probably also the Carmel ridge is mentioned (see also LXX Καρμήλος; Jeremias 2007, 228 sees this interpretation as probable). The context referring to pastoralism is the same as in Jer 50:19 and in both cases the word ‫ רעה‬is used. It is debated whether Mic 7:14aβ is referring to a past calamity or whether it also belongs to an oracle of salvation. If the translation with Carmel instead of “orchard” is correct, then it can easily be understood – similarly to Jer 50:19 – as a vision of a beautiful future, where God protects the flock “of his inheritance” (an expression only used here) and provides them with pasture. A similar vision can also be found in Isa 65:10 where the Sharon plain and the Valley of Achor became pasture for the flocks. The Valley of Achor (Wādi en-Nuwēme, Coordinates 191.144) lies on the eastern slopes to the Jordan valley towards the northern shore of the Dead Sea. Therefore, this text would be another example where the northwest-southeast extension plays a role (see above Jer 48:33). Mic 7:14 Shepherd your people with your staff, the flock of your inheritance, which lives alone in a forest in the midst of Carmel; let them graze in Bashan and Gilead as in ancient days.

ֶ‫ﬠַמּ בְ ִשׁבְ ט‬ ְ ‫ְרﬠֵה‬ ֶ‫צ ֹאן ַנ ֲחלָת‬ ‫שֹׁ כְ נִ י לְ בָ דָ ד יַﬠַר בְּ תוֹ כּ ְַרמֶ ל‬ ‫יִ ְרעוּ בָ שָׁ ן וְ גִ לְ ﬠָד כִּ ימֵ י עוֹלָם׃‬

This short overview has demonstrated that Carmel is a place of extremes. It is – together with Bashan and Lebanon – the last region to be hit by drought. Due to its tree stock, it was very resilient to extreme climate events. Thus, when prophetic texts are threatening these regions with drought, they are predicting a worst-case scenario, where also the rivers and even the Sea dry out (see Nah 1:4). However, the Carmel ridge is not only the object of divine destruction; it is at the same time a place of hope after the dispersion in exile. Wilderness and dry land shall be like Carmel and the texts promise that it becomes homeland for the people of Israel again. The texts mentioning Carmel are linked to the emotion of grief and sadness on one hand and to joy and gladness on the other. A strong connection between Isa 33:9 and Isa 35:1–2 is thus obvious. However, not all texts discussed above can be subsumed under the same tradition. This study has further shown that Carmel is rarely mentioned alone in the books of prophets (see e.g. Amos 1:2), but usually paralleled with Bashan and Lebanon or southeastern regions such as Moab and the Valley of Achor. In some rare cases Carmel can be referred to as extremity compared to the bottom of the sea, where no one can be found expect by God (Amos 9:3a “If they hide on the top of Carmel, I will find them and take them from there” ‫)וְ ִאם־יֵחָ בְ אוּ בְּ ר ֹאשׁ הַ כּ ְַרמֶ ל ִמשָּׁ ם אֲחַ פֵּשׂ וּלְ קַ חְ ִתּים‬. More often, however, Carmel is a place of magical attraction and beauty. In Jer 46:18b it is compared to the Mount Tabor (“one is coming like Tabor among the mountains, and like Carmel by the sea” ‫)כִּ י כְּ תָ בוֹר בֶּ הָ ִרים וּכְ כ ְַרמֶ ל בַּ יָּם יָבוֹא‬. It is a place, where righteousness abides (Isa 32:16b ‫ )וּצְ דָ קָ ה בַּ כּ ְַרמֶ ל תֵּ שֵׁ ב‬and a place full of beauty. Thus, in Song of Songs 7:6a the head of the woman is compared to the Carmel: “Your head crowns you like Carmel” (‫)ר ֹאשֵׁ ﬠָ לַיִ ַכּכּ ְַרמֶ ל‬. This impressive landmark unites threat and hope. It was notorious for its inaccessibility (see Amos 9:3) and praised for its pasture.

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

279

Appendix: The sites on the Carmel ridge1 Early Bronze Age IV / Middle Bronze Age I and Middle Bronze Age II Site no. 22–24 22–51 22–56 22–66

22–88 22–89 22–141 22–142 23–15 27–49 27–78 31–20 31–66 31–69 31–70 31–71 31–82 31–83 31–92 31–93 31–114

31–115 31– 31–

1

Name Qiryat Sprinzak “Naḥal Siyaḥ”

Coordinates 1463 2476 1472 2451

EB IV/MB I

Ḫirbet Kafr es-Samīr / Ḥorvat Qastra Romema Ḫirbet ʿAṭṭēsi Ḫirbet esSulēman Tirat Carmel Tel ʿAmal “Nahal Yagūr” Ḫirbet Šalālla

1475 2443

Tomb

Ḫirbet el-Šuqqāq / Ḥorvat Yoaḥ Ḫirbet el-Buwēda

Ḫirbet el-Manšīye Ḫirbet Umm el-Ǧimal, Bat Shelomo ʿEn Ḥofez ʿĒn Ḥaggit

1499 2435 1499 2435 1489 2405 1481 2403 1517 2450 1572 2382 1516 2368 1511 2282 1538 2253 1558 2254

MB II Tomb

Tomb

x

Kaufman 1991; Horowitz/Saʿid 2007

Tomb x x Tomb

Tomb Tomb(s) (x)

Excavations

x (x) x x x

1561 2251 1567 2254 1539 2245 1550 2244 1520 2238 1535 2239 1506 2223

x x x x Tumulus x x

1509 2226 1587 2277 1541 2252

x x x

Marcus 1994 Horowitz 2000; Yannai 2003 Dar 2009

Alexandre 1997 Wolff 1997

We use the following abbreviations in the appendix: EB = Early Bronze Age, MB = Middle Bronze Age, LB = Late Bronze Age, Ir = Iron Age, Pers. = Persian period. The coordinates are according to the Old Palestine Grid. Most of the sites presented in the appendix are only known by the research of Archaeological Survey of Israel. For these sites no specific bibliography is mentioned. References to the sites can be found within the survey reports: square 22: Olami et al. 2003; square 23: Ronen/Olamy 1983; square 26: Ronen/Olami 1978; square 27: Olami et al. 2004; square 30: Olami et al. 2005; square 31: Olami 1981. In the first column two numbers are presented. The first number is the number of the 10 x 10 km square given by the Archaeological Survey of Israel Department (cf. https://survey.antiquities. org.il/ index_Eng.html#/MapSurvey). The second number is the relevant number within this survey. If no second number exists, the site was not observed during survey activities, but only discovered during later archaeological studies. Excavations at the sites are mentioned in the last column of the tables.

280

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Late Bronze Age I and II Site no. 22–88 22–89 27–61 27–73 27–78 31–69

Name Romema Ḫirbet ʿAṭṭēsi Ḫirbet Damūn West Tell el-ʿAmār Ḫirbet Šalālla Ḫirbet el-Šuqqāq / Ḥorvat Yoaḥ

31–70

Coordinates 1499 2435 14999 24349 1521 2376

LB I Tomb x x

LB II Tomb x x

1594 2371

x

x

1516 2368 1558 2254

(x) x

(x) x

1561 2251

Excavations

Dar 2009, 16–17 (Garstang/Phythian Adams) 1922, 14–15

x Iron Age I and II

Site no. 22–51 22–88 22–89 22– 23–34 23–94 27–74 27–78 27–85

27–95 27– 27–189 27–194 27–203 27– 31–20 31–32 31–69

31–70 31–71 31–93 31–99

Name “Naḥal Siyaḥ” Romema Ḫirbet ʿAṭṭēsi Tel Ḥanān Ḫirbet Rušmīye Ḫirbet el-ʿEn / Ḥorvat Qedem Tell el-ʿAmār Ḫirbet Šalālla Ḫirbet ezZarraʿa, Ḥorvat Alon Ḫirbet ʿEn elḤēq Devala Tell el-War Ḫirbet Kerak Ḫirbet elMansūra el-Qalʿa, Ḥorvat Qelia

Ḫirbet elŠuqqāq / Ḥorvat Yoaḥ Ḫirbet elBuwēda Ḫirbet elManšīye ʿEn Ṭūṭ

Coordinates 1472 2454 1499 2435 14999 24349 145 242 1502 2439 1500 2460

Ir I x Tomb x x

1594 2371 1516 2368 1527 2366

x (x) x

x

1549 2366 1542 2327 1599 2326 1569 2315

Ir II x

Excavations Kaufman 1991; Horowitz/Saʿid 2007

x Nagorsky 2003 Burials x x (x)

(Garstang/Phythian-Adams) 1922 Dar 2009 Dar 2009, 18

x x x x

Shadman 2006 x x

1596 2311

x

Dar/Siegelmann 1994; Dar 2014, 71– 101 Dar 2014, 102–4

1592.2344

x

Dar 2014, 15–25

1511 2282 1509 2275 1558 2254

x x

x x x

1561 2251 1567 2254

x x

x x

1535 2239

x

x

1545 2239

x

x

Tabar 2009; Finkielsztejn/Gorzalczany 2010

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Site no. 31–114

31– 31–

Name Ḫirbet Umm el-Ǧimal, Bat Shelomo ʿEn Ḥofez ʿĒn Ḥaggit

Coordinates 1506 2223

1587 2277 1541 2252

Ir I

x

Ir II x

Excavations

x x

Alexandre 1997 Wolff 1997

281

Bibliography Aharoni, Y. 1959 “Zephath of Thutmose,” IEJ 2, 110–22. 1970 “Mount Carmel as Border,” in: Kuschke, A. / Kutsch, E. (eds.): Archäologie und Altes Testament. Festschrift für Kurt Galling zum 8. Januar 1970, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1–7. Alexandre, Y. 1996 “Naḥal Tut (Site 8),” ESI 15, 49–50. 1997 “Ein Hofez,” ESI 16, 53–54. 2006 “Naḥal Tut (Site VIII): A Fortified Storage Depot from the Late Fourth Century BCE,” Atiqot 52, 131–89. Alt, A. 1959 “Das Gottesurteil auf dem Karmel,” in: Alt, A. (ed.): Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel II, 2nd edition, München: C. H. Beck, 135–49 (= Festschrift Georg Beer, ed. by Weiser, A., 1935, 1–18). Anati, E. et al. 1973 Hazorea I. A Joint Research Project of Centro Camuno di Studi Preistorici, Italy, Tel Aviv University and Beth Wilfried Museum at Hazorea, Israel (Archivi 5), Brescia: Centro Camuno di Studi Preistorici Capo di Ponte. Atlas of Israel 1985 Cartography, Physical and Human Geography, 3rd edition (Tel Aviv/New York/London). Avi-Yonah, M. 1952 “Mount Carmel and the God of Baalbeck,” IEJ 2, 118–24. Bagg, A.M. 2007 Die Orts- und Gewässernamen der neuassyrischen Zeit. Teil 1: Die Levante (BTAVO B 7/7/1 / RGTC 7/1), Wiesbaden: Ludwig Reichert. Balensi, J. et al. 1993 “Abu Hawam, Tell,” in: Stern, E. (ed.), NEAEHL I, 7–14. Ben-Tor, A. / Portugali, Y. 1987 Tell Qiri. A Village in the Jezreel Valley. Report of the Archaeological Excavation 1975–1977. Archaeological Investigations in the Valley of Jezreel. The Yoqneʿam Regional Project (Qedem 24), Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Ben Tor, A. et al. 2003 Tel Qashish. A Village in the Jezreel Valley. Final Report of the Archaeological Excavations (1978– 1987) (Qedem Reports 5), Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology Hebrew University Jerusalem/IES. 2005 Yoqneʿam III. The Middle and Late Bronze Ages. Final Report of the Archaeological Excavations (1977–1988) (Qedem Reports 7), Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology Hebrew University of Jerusalem/IES. Bernhardt, K.-H. 1988 Art. “Karmel,” in: Müller, G. et al. (ed.), TRE 17, Jesus Christus V – Katechismuspredigt, Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 657–58. Beuken, W. A. M. 2010 Jesaja 28–39. Unter Mitwirkung und in der Übersetzung aus dem Niederländischen von Andrea Spans (HThKAT), Freiburg i. Br.: Herder Verlag.

282

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Dar, Sh. 2009 Shallale. Ancient City of the Carmel (BAR.S 1897), Oxford: Hadrian Books. 2014 Rural Settlements on Mount Carmel in Antiquity, Oxford: Archaeopress Archaeology. Dar, Sh. / Siegelmann, A. 1994 “Survey on Mount Carmel,” ESI 14 (1994), 50. de Vaux, R. 1967 “Les prophètes de Baal sur le mont Carmel,” in: de Vaux, Roland (ed.), Bible et Orient, Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf (first printed in: BMB V, 1941, 7–20). Druks, A. 1982 “Early Tombs on Tel ʿAmr,” Atiqot Hebrew Series 8, 1–6.1* (English summary). Eißfeldt, O. 1954 Der Gott Karmel, Sitzungsberichte der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Klasse für Sprachen, Literatur und Kunst Jahrgang 1953 Nr. 1, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Elgavish, J. 1993 “Shiqmona,” in: Stern, E. (ed.), NEAEHL IV, 1373–78. 1994 Shiqmona. On the Seacoast of Mount Carmel, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House/ IES. Finkielsztejn, G. / Gorzalczany, A. 2010 “ ‘En Tut,” HA/ESI 122, https://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=1412&mag_ id= 117. Galling, K. 1953 “Der Gott Karmel und die Ächtung der Fremden Götter,” in: Albright, W. F. / Baumgärtel, F. et al. (eds.): Geschichte und Altes Testament. Albrecht Alt zum siebzigsten Geburtstag (BHTh 16), Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 105–25. 1964 “Die syrisch-palästinische Küste nach der Beschreibung bei Pseudo-Skylax,” in: Galling, K., Studien zur Geschichte Israels im persischen Zeitalter, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 185– 210. Galter, H. D. 1989 “Paradies und Palmentod. Ökologische Aspekte im Weltbild der Assyrischen Könige,” in: Scholz, B. (ed.): Der orientalische Mensch und seine Beziehungen zur Umwelt. Beiträge zum 2. Grazer Morgenländischen Symposion (2.–5. März 1989), Grazer morgenländische Studien 2, Graz: RM Druck- und Verlagsgesellschaft, 235–53. (Garstang, J. / Phythian Adams, J.W.) 1922 “Tell Amr,” Bulletin of the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem 2, 14–15. Gesenius, W. 1909 Wilhelm Gesenius’ Hebräische Grammatik, völlig umgearbeitet von E. Kautzsch, 28th edition, Leipzig: F.C.W. Vogel. (Gonen, M.) 1996 “A Burial Cave in Haifa,” HA 18–19, 14–15. Horowitz, T. / Masarwa, M. 1999 “An Intermediate Bronze Age Burial Cave at Ḥorvat Tawwasim in el-Fureidis,” Atiqot 38, 1*–4* (Ivrit). 221 (Engl. summary). Horowitz, Z. / Saʿid, K. 2007 Nahal Siah (South), HA/ESI 119 http://hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=494 &mag_ id=112. Inbar, M. / Ayal, E. 1980 “Water Resources,” in: Soffer, A. / Kipnis, B. (eds.), Atlas of Haifa and Mount Carmel, Haifa: Applied Scientific Research Co: University of Haifa Ltd, 26–27. Jepsen, A. 1959 “Karmel, eine vergessene Landschaft?,” ZDPV 75, 74–75. Jeremias, J. 2007 Die Propheten Joel, Obadja, Jona, Micha (ATD 24,3), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

283

2019 Nahum (BK.AT XIV/5,1), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Joüon, P. 1923 Grammaire de l’Hébreu Biblique, Rome: Institut Biblique Pontifical. Kaufman, D. 1991 Nevé David (Naḥal Siaḥ, Haifa), ESI 10, 167. Kaiser, O. 1981 Das Buch des Propheten Jesaja. Kapitel 1–12 (ATD 17), 5th edition, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Kipfer, S. 2020 “„Es freue sich der Himmel und die Erde jauchze …“ (Ps 96,11). Natur und Naturkonzepte in der Hebräischen Bibel,” JBTh 34 (2019), 27–47. Forthc. Extreme Klimaereignisse und Hungerkatastrophen in den Prophetenbüchern (VT.S, in print). Kloner, A. / Olami, Y. 1980 “The Early and Middle Canaanite Periods,” in: Soffer, A. / Kipnis, B. (eds.), Atlas of Haifa and Mount Carmel, Haifa: Applied Scientific Research Co.: University of Haifa Ltd, 23–24. Köhler, L. 1946 “Alttestamentliche Wortforschung. Karmäl = Jungkorn,” ThZ 2, 394. Kuhnen, H.-P. 1987 Nordwest-Palästina in hellenistisch-römischer Zeit. Bauten und Gräber im Karmelgebiet. Weinheim: VCH-Verlag. 1989 Studien zur Chronologie und Siedlungsarchäologie des Karmel (Israel) zwischen Hellenismus und Spätantike (BTAVO B 72), Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag. Lehmann, G. 2001 Art. “Karmel,” in: Betz, H. D. et al. (eds.), RGG 4, 4th editon,Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 822–23. Lev-Yadun, S. / Weinstein-Evron, M. 2002 “The Role of Pinus Halepensis (Aleppo Pine) in the Landscape of Early Bronze Age Megiddo,” TA 29, 332–43. Lieberman-Wander, R. 1999 Naḥal Tut (Site 9), HA/ESI 109, 37*. Liphschitz, N. 2007 Timber in Ancient Israel: Dendroarchaeology and Dendrochronology (Tel Aviv University – Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph series 26), Tel Aviv: Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology. Lipiński, E. 1971 “Note de Topographie Historique. Ba‘li-ra’ši et ra’šu qudšu,” RB 78, 84–92. Mazar, B. 1992 “Carmel the Holy Mountain,” in: Mazar, B., Biblical Israel. State and People (ed. by Aḥituv, Sh.), Jerusalem: The Magnes Press / The Hebrew University / IES 127–133 (= EI 14, 1979, 39–41). Marcus, E. 1994 “Tirat Hacarmel (B),” ESI 14, 52–53. Meyer, R. 1969 Hebräische Grammatik. II. Formenlehre, Flexionstabellen, 3rd edition (Göschen Band 764/764a/ 764b), Berlin: de Gruyter. Moore, C. H. 1968 Tacitus. The histories: Books I–III (LCL 111), London: Harvard University Press. Mulder, M. J. 1984 Art. “‫ כּ ְַרמֶ ל‬karmæl,” in: ThWAT 4, 340–51. 1999 Art. “Carmel,” in: DDD, 2nd edition, Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 182–85. Na’aman, N. 2020 “The Contest on Mount Carmel (1 Kings 18:19–40) as a Reflection of a Religious-Cultural Threat: BZ 64, 85–100.

284

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

Nagorsky, A. 2003 “Tel Ḥanan,” ESI 115, 22*–24*. Neeman, Y. et al. 1991 “Ḥorvat Shefi,” ESI 9, 32–33. Olami, Y. 1981 Archaeological Survey of Israel. Daliya Map (31) 15–22, Jerusalem: Archaeological Survey of Israel. 1984 Prehistoric Carmel, Jerusalem/Haifa: IES/M. Stekelis Museum of History. Olami, Y. et al. 2003 Archaeological Survey of Israel. Map of Haifa – West (22), Jerusalem: IAA. 2004 Archaeological Survey of Israel. Map of Yagur (27), Jerusalem: IAA. 2005 Archaeological Survey of Israel. Map of Dor (30), Jerusalem: IAA. Orni, E. / Efrat, E. 1980 Geography of Israel, 4th edition, Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press. Peterson, J. L. 1992 “Helkath,” in: ABD 3, New York et al.: Doubleday, 125–26. Ronen, A. / Olamy, Y. 1978 Archaeological Survey of Israel. 1 ʿAtlit Map, Jerusalem: Archaeological Survey of Israel. 1983 Archaeological Survey of Israel. Map of Haifa – East (23) 15–24, Jerusalem: Archaeological Survey of Israel. Rusak, T. 2008 “The Clash of Cults on Mount Carmel: Do Archaeological Records and Historical Documents Support the Biblical Episode of Elijah and the Ba‘al Priests?,” SJOT 22, 24–46. Salomon, Y. 2005 Haifa, King Solomon Street, HA/ESI 117, https://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng. aspx?id=183&mag_id=110. Scharlin, N. 1980 “Climate,” in: Soffer, A. / Kipnis, B. (eds.), Atlas of Haifa and Mount Carmel, Haifa: Applied Scientific Research Co.: University of Haifa Ltd, 24–25. Segal, O. 2006 Tirat Karmel (B), HA/ESI 118, https://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=442& mag_id=111. (Seigelmann, A. / Tepper, Y.) 1981 “Yagur,” HA 76, 42–43. Shadman, A. 2006 Horbat Devela, HA/ESI 118, https://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=369& mag_id=111. Singer, A. / Ravikovitch, Sh. 1980 “Soils, in: Soffer, A. / Kipnis, B. (eds.), Atlas of Haifa and Mount Carmel, Haifa: Applied Scientific Research Co.: University of Haifa Ltd, 21–22. Simons, J. 1937 Handbook for the Study of Egyptian Topographical Lists Relating to Western Asia, Leiden: Brill. Soffer, A. / Kipnis, B. (eds.) 1980 Atlas of Haifa and Mount Carmel, Haifa: Applied Scientific Research Co.: University of Haifa Ltd. Tabar, M.A. 2009 ‘En Tut Interchange, HA/ESI 121, https://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=1199 &mag_id=115. Thiel, W. 2019 Könige. 1 Könige 17–22 (BK.AT IX/2), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Thompson, H. O. 1992 Art. “Carmel, Mount,” in: ABD 1, New York et al., 874–75.

Kipfer / Zwickel – The Carmel in the Bronze and Iron Ages

285

Ulf, Chr. 2014 “Eine Typologie von kulturellen Kontaktzonen („Fernverhältnisse – middle grounds – dichte Kontaktzonen, oder: Rethinking Cultural Contacts auf dem Prüfstand,” in: Rollinger, R. / Schnegg, K. (eds.), Vom Denkmodell zum Fallbeispiel. Proceedings des internationalen Kolloquiums aus Anlass des 60. Geburtstages von Christoph Ulf, Innsbruck, 26. bis 30. Januar 2009 (Colloquia Antiqua 10), Leuven u.a.: Peeters, 469–504. Van den Brink, E.C.M. 2000 Ḥorbat Castra, HA/ESI 111, 17*–18*. Weippert, M. 2010 Historisches Textbuch zum Alten Testament (Grundrisse zum Alten Testament 10), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Wolff, S. 1997 ʿEn Ḥaggit, ESI 16, 59–60. Würthwein, E. 1989 “Zur Opferprobe Elias I Reg 18,21–39,” in: Fritz, V. / Pohlmann, K.-F. / Schmitt, H.-C. (eds.), Prophet und Prophetenbuch. Festschrift für Otto Kaiser zum 65. Geburtstag (BZAW 185), Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 277–84. Yannai, E. 2003 “Haifa, Tel ‘Amal and Nevé Yosef,” ESI 115, 22*. Yeivin, Z. / Finkielsztejn, G. 1999 “Ḥorbat Castra – 1993–1997,” HA/ESI 109, 23*–27*. Zohary, M. 1980 “Vegetation,” in: Soffer, A. / Kipnis, B. (eds.), Atlas of Haifa and Mount Carmel, Haifa: Applied Scientific Research Co. University of Haifa Ltd, 23–24. Zuckerman, Sh. 2005 “The Early Bronze Age Remains,” in: Ben-Tor, A. et al. 2005, 351–60. Zwickel, W. 1994 “Gat-Karmel,” BN 71, 20–23.

Geometry and Psalmody Characterization and the Role of Deborah’s Song (Judges 5)1 Michelle Knight

Abstract The relationship between the prose account of the Kishon Battle (Judges 4) and the Song of Deborah (Judges 5) has been long debated. Building on the work of K. Lawson Younger, and especially Athalya Brenner, this essay argues that the chapters’ perspectives are more uniform than is often acknowledged. Judges 5 reflects on the theological implications of the Kishon Battle and highlights social dynamics that are largely implicit in, but consistent with, the prose account. In so doing, the Song of Deborah offers a prophetic interpretation of a recent conflict as a paradigm for understanding the battles of the settlement period. The song attributed to Deborah and Barak in Judges 5 is as fascinating as it is gruesome. The famous scene featuring Jael slaying the Canaanite general Sisera with nothing more than a tent peg has captured the imagination of artists and academics alike. Of particular interest to readers of Judges has been the relationship between the song (Judges 5) and the prose account that canonically precedes it (Judges 4). Given the differences between the two accounts, scholars have long debated their compositional relationship. Athalya Brenner departed from this trend in an article suggesting the two accounts were complementary.2 Her point was largely literary, but she posited that the two accounts “may have been composed, or at least circulated, almost concurrently, and may have enjoyed a similar degree of authority” and independently “pertain to the same presumed event.”3 Her literary analysis was astute, but her study left unanswered the question of whether this literary proposal had historical merit; did any evidence exist for the preservation of complementary prose and poetic accounts of the same historical phenomenon? In response to her work, Lawson Younger took up this question in the following year.4 By analyzing parallel prosaic (i.e., annals and royal inscriptions) and poetic accounts in Assyrian and Egyptian sources, he convincingly demonstrated that literary dependency need not be assumed in the case of ancient Near Eastern synoptic accounts, and that two accounts may independently derive from a common source, indeed, “probably the historical referent itself.” He concluded that “Brenner’s reading is not only possible, but the best way to address these two synoptic accounts.”5 The work of Brenner and Younger has paved the way for a serious investigation of the two accounts, their unique perspectives of the Kishon Battle, and the literary devices at work in each composition toward their respective literary ends. I agree with Younger that Brenner’s model of complementarity is ideal. I also suggest that the specifics of her analysis would benefit from refinement. Brenner has focused predominantly on characterization as an indication of narrative structure. On the basis of her analysis, Brenner concludes that the literary relationship between the two chapters is an antagonistically complementary one, “a narrative unit, a Rashomon-type story whose constituents deliver a picture only when pitted against each other.”6 In Brenner’s view, the concern of the prose account is largely political; its “socio-sexual element” is “limited,” but by contrast, she observes in the song a comment on “male and female social spheres,” namely, a call for “the need for male and female cooperation.”7 1

It was Lawson Younger who first piqued my interest in the Song of Deborah. I am indebted to him as an advisor, a professor, and now a colleague for the wealth of wisdom he has shared with me, in ways extending far beyond the academy. 2 Athalya Brenner, “A Triangle and a Rhombus in Narrative Structure: A Proposed Integrative Reading of Judges IV and V,” VT 40 (1990): 129–38. 3 Ibid., 137. 4 K. Lawson Younger, “Heads! Tails! Or the Whole Coin?! Contextual Method & Intertextual Analysis: Judges 4 and 5,” in The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective, (ed. K. Lawson Younger, William W. Hallo, and Bernard F. Batto; vol. 4 of Scripture in Context; ANETS 11; Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 1991), 109–46. 5 Ibid., 135. 6 Brenner, “Triangle and a Rhombus,” 137. 7 Ibid., 136.

288

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

In what follows, I argue with Brenner that gender dynamics are at play in both chapters, but for a purpose slightly different than what she proposes. I will address her construal of character relationships in both chapters, suggesting minor adjustments in Judges 4, but proposing a different framework for interpreting relationships in Judges 5. In so doing, I argue that the accounts have different emphases, as she does, but with a greater unity of purpose. By offering my own geometric construal of the relationship between characters in each composition, I hope to shed additional light on the Kishon Battle accounts as well as the overarching narrative of Israelite (in)fidelity in the settlement period. Triangular Characterization in Judges 4 According to Brenner’s analysis, the characters of Judges 4 map neatly onto an “interactive triangle” that defines their respective narrative roles and relationships: three groups of two members occupy three vertices (see Figure 1). In her analysis, she observes that the “slant” of the chapter is “military-political rather than social,” so the “sex differential” is comparatively subdued in the chapter.8 Brenner groups Deborah with Barak as two “champions of Israel” (vertex a), Jabin with Sisera as antagonists (vertex b), and YHWH with Jael, who effect victory for Israel (vertex c).9 In each pair she identifies an initiator (Deborah, Jabin, and YHWH, respectively) and executor (Barak, Sisera, and Jael).

Her geometric analysis provides clarity to a plot laden with characters and triangulates their relationships according to three primary groups, of whom the characters who appear in the narrative act as representatives: YHWH, Israel, and the Canaanites. Her construal is fitting for the book of Judges, which consistently highlights the same character triad. This triad is set forth in the paradigmatic description of 2:10–19. Here, the narrator focuses on YHWH, the Israelites, and those residing10 in the land (including their representative deities), described as “enemies” (2:14, 18), “plunderers” (2:14, 16), “oppressors” (2:18), or “people around them” (2:12). The “surrounding peoples” are not named, but the chapter later lists people groups among whom the Israelites lived, namely, “the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites” (3:5). The Deuteronomic flavor of the book’s framework reinforces this paradigmatic triad, given that Deuteronomy is fundamentally concerned with the relationship between Israel and YHWH, and the religious threat the occupants of Canaan would pose to that relationship in the land (e.g., Deut 7:1–4; 12:1–3; 18:9– 13; 20:16–18). What Brenner observes about the character roles in chapter 4, then, fits the book’s overarch8

Ibid., 132. Ibid., 130. 10 Many have observed that the nations listed as being “left” by YHWH in 3:3–5 are largely indigenous (with the Philistines being an instructive exception), whereas those who play the role of “oppressor” in the book of Judges tend to invade from outside the parameters of the allotted land (e.g., the Mesopotamians [3:8] or the Moabite-Ammonite-Amalekite coalition [3:12–13]). If the two groups are distinct, the “oppressors” would be considered a distinct group from those influencing the Israelites religiously. However, it is noteworthy that “left” is a fairly loose translation of ‫נוח‬ (hiphil). This is the same action God would take toward Israel in the land (i.e., “give rest”; Deut 12:10; 25:19; Josh 1:15; 21:44; 23:1), even though they too are invading from the outside. Consequently, the two groups (indigenous vs. external invaders) are not so easily delineated; they are both those “made to rest in” – or, perhaps “placed in” – the land Israel had hoped to inherit more easily. 9

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

289

ing structure and concerns. While I commend and adopt Brenner’s analysis of Judges 4 in general, I suggest that her triangle is slightly askew. Two of her three pairs require redistribution. Vertex A Brenner begins by grouping Deborah and Barak as representatives of and champions for Israel. This assessment is problematic on two counts. First, Brenner entirely excludes the tribal coalition of Israelites – the corporate entity, ‫ – בני ישראל‬from her analysis of characters, and limits “Israel” to the abstract group that characters in the story represent. However, references to the Israelites frame chapter four, in a pattern that highlights the importance of the “supratribal” entity.11 In 4:1–3, the Israelites, evaluated corporately, (1) again did evil in the sight of YHWH; (2) were sold into the hand of Jabin, King of Canaan;12 (3) cried out to YHWH for help; and (4) were subject to twenty years of cruel oppression under the hand of Sisera. By setting the scene in this way, the narrator emphasizes that the Israelites are culpable for their suffering – following the pattern of previous narrative cycles – yet simultaneously highlights the agency of the aggressor. Whereas the occupation of Israel by foreign invaders is stated matter-of-factly in 3:8 and 14, the narrator here relates that the Israelites suffered under Sisera’s cruelty. Outside of the chapter’s narrative frame (i.e., 4:1–3, 23–24), the ‫ בני ישראל‬are the subject of only one verb of action – in 4:5, they approach Deborah for assistance, or “the decision” (‫)משׁפט‬.13 This is crucial for identifying the Israelites as a relevant character group in the unfolding narrative; they are not merely an abstraction relegated to the formulaic introductory verses, but an identifiable group that was in some way represented before Deborah in the hill country of Ephraim at the time of the relevant conflict:14 “Now [Deborah] 11

“Supratribal” is an apt label from K. Lawson Younger, “Judges 1 in Its Near Eastern Literary Context,” in Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in Its Near Eastern Context (ed. A. R. Millard, James K. Hoffmeier, and David W. Baker; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 226–27. In “The Bee and the Mountain Goat: A Literary Reading of Judges 4,” in A Tribute to Gleason Archer: Essays on the Old Testament (ed. Walter C. Kaiser and Ronald F. Youngblood ; Chicago: Moody, 1986), 55, John Stek shows how the actions of the Israelites are highlighted by a “thematically concentric [pattern] with reinforcing verbal links” at the beginning and ending of the chapter. He provides the following diagram: A. The Israelites again did evil in the eyes of YHWH (4:1) B. YHWH sold them into the hands of Jabin king of Canaan (4:2) C. and the Israelites cried to YHWH (4:3) C’ and God subdued … Jabin king of Canaan before the Israelites (4:23) B’ The hand of the Israelites bore down ever harder on Jabin king of Canaan (4:24) A’ And the land enjoyed peace forty years (5:31) 12 While debate regarding the identity of Jabin persists – not to mention the reference to an already-conquered Hazor – the now popular identification of the name as a dynastic designation is satisfactory. This explanation is offered by Abraham Malamat, Mari and the Early Israelite Experience (Schweich Lectures 1984; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 58. 13 Robert Boling (Judges: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 6A; New York: Doubleday, 1975], 81, 95) suggests that the Israelites’ cry to God (‫ )צעק‬is the same as the ‫ משׁפט‬they requested of Deborah; they came to YHWH’s earthly representative for help. Followed and expanded by Klaas Spronk, “Deborah, a Prophetess: The Meaning and Background of Judges 4:4–5,” in The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (ed. Johannes de Moor; OtSt 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 236; James Ackermann, “Prophecy and Warfare in Early Israel: A Study of the Debora-Barak Story,” BASOR 220 (1975): 11; and Daniel I. Block, “Deborah among the Judges: The Perspective of the Hebrew Historian,” in Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in Its Near Eastern Context (ed. A. R. Millard, James K. Hoffmeier, and David W. Baker; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 239. 14 This is not to suggest that the people did not also seek wisdom from her regularly (contra, e.g., Block, “Deborah among the Judges,” 239). That she had an ongoing role in Israel is clear from the end of 4:4 and the first clause of 4:5, which feature durative verbal forms (i.e., participles) to indicate ongoing activity. This note about Deborah’s role provides the cognitive backdrop for the action that the Israelites take in the middle of verse 5, which is part of the narrative foreground, and is thereby marked formally as a part of the conflict with Canaan in the narrative present. Thus, despite the way English translations tend to construe the syntax of 4:4–5, the ascent of the people for “judgment” is not neces-

290

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

was judging Israel at that time; she would sit under the palm of Deborah, between Ramah and Bethel, in the hill country of Ephraim. The Israelites went up to her for the decision.” The narrative makes no further mention of corporate Israel until 4:23–24, in which they (1) were led to battle by God;15 (2) “pressed harder and harder” against Jabin; and (3) destroyed Jabin. While the first clause clearly highlights the agency of YHWH, the second portion of the interpretive summary uniquely foregrounds Israelite agency – namely, the statement that “the hand [‫ ]יד‬of the Israelites pressed [‫ ]הלך‬harder and harder against Jabin, King of Canaan, until they exterminated [‫כרת‬, hiphil] Jabin, King of Canaan” (4:24).16 The statement emphasizes that the battle concluded with the complete dismantling of Jabin’s power, and does not merely constitute a step forward in an ongoing Israelite-Canaanite conflict. Considering that the tribes often failed to execute ‫ חרם‬completely (e.g., Judg 1:27–36), the successful – and complete – defeat of Jabin renders Israel uncharacteristically faithful in this particular battle. Thus, an analysis of characterization in the prose account is simply incomplete without representing the corporate entity, “Israel.” The second difficulty with Brenner’s “champions” group is Deborah’s classification as a champion for or representative of Israel. While Deborah is most certainly an Israelite and intimately involved in Israelite affairs (after all, she was “judging Israel at that time”; 4:4), the degree to which the narrative highlights Deborah’s relationship with Israel is relatively minimal. More literarily prominent is that Deborah is a prophet (4:4). Whatever unique dual function Deborah may have been fulfilling as both a judge and a prophet – perhaps one that resembled that of Moses or Samuel17 – the account of the battle at Kishon emphatically highlights Deborah’s prophetic ministry.18 Deuteronomic theology casts prophets as the mouthpiece of the deity, who speak in his name and carry his divine authority (Deut 18:18–19). The way Deborah is characterized in Judges 4 is correspondingly representational – she relays the commands of the deity, highlights the negative consequences of not heeding her words (Judg 4:9; cf. Deut 18:19), and provides oracular assurance relating to the ongoing battle. Of the eleven verbal forms used to describe Deborah’s action in the narrative after her introduction, four are related to speaking with Barak for YHWH19 and seven are related to accompanying Barak for the purpose of speaking to him on YHWH’s behalf. Moreover, to declare that “YHWH commands (‫ ”)צוה‬as Deborah does in 4:6 is fundamentally prophetic (i.e., Mosaic); not even Joshua introduces his speeches in this manner.20 Given this account, Elie Assis is probably correct to note that sarily background information (for which one might expect an offline clause), but the first plot-furthering event (wayyiqtol) after that exposition. Noted also by Ellen van Wolde, “Deborah and Yaʿel in Judges 4,” in On Reading Prophetic Texts: Gender-Specific and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes (ed. Bob Becking and Meindert Dijkstra; BIS 18; New York: Brill, 1996), 287. 15 This is the sense of the collocation ‫( לפני בני ישראל‬cf. Num 32:17; Josh 4:12). 16 The Ehud narrative also mentions the ‫ יד‬of the people in the victory statements, but the verb is passive: “Moab was subdued on that day under the hand of Israel” (3:30). 17 So also Robert B. Chisholm, Jr., A Commentary on Judges and Ruth (Kregel Exegetical Library; Grand Rapids: Kregel Academic, 2013), 222–26. 18 Block describes the prominence of Deborah’s prophetic role in “Deborah among the Judges,” 240–53, though he unnecessarily distinguishes her role from the rest of the judges/deliverers because she does not deliver Israel. The presence of the verb ‫שׁפט‬, though, should not be ignored in a book that uses the lexeme so programmatically. The textual accent is on her prophetic role, but that does not preclude her from having governed locally for a time. Of the various reconstructions proposed, my sense is that the title “judge” throughout the book of Judges is in continuity with the “judges” of Deuteronomy; they assist in decision-making (see Deut 17:8–13) in conjunction with other elements of tribal and national leadership. Moreover, the roles of judges, deliverers, and military commanders may not be delineated so neatly – Shamgar “delivers,” but does not “judge,” Deborah “judges,” but does not “deliver,” Jael delivers, but neither “judges” nor commands an army, Barak is a military commander, but never “judges,” and Samson “judges,” but does not lead Israel to battle. 19 The collocation ‫ ל‬+ ‫ קרא‬+ ‫ שׁלח‬in v. 6 is best translated “to convey a message to someone.” On which, see Jack M. Sasson, Judges 1–12: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 6D; New Haven, CT: Yale University, 2014), 257. 20 Certain texts (i.e., Josh 1:9; 4:8; 8:27; 10:40) describe instruction from YHWH to Joshua and the people (without direct quotation), but in twenty-one passages containing divine commands (in which the subject [or implied subject / pronominal suffix] is ‫ יהוה‬and the verb is ‫)צוה‬, seventeen of them identify explicitly Moses as the recipient of God’s commands or the covenant that is associated with Mosaic authority (4:10; 7:11; 8:31; 9:24; 11:12, 15, 20; 13:6; 14:2, 5; 17:4; 21:2, 8; 22:2, 5; 23:16). Joshua’s authority is related to Moses; he most frequently relayed Moses’s words, not

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

291

Deborah’s surprisingly flat characterization highlights YHWH’s agency in the narrative.21 Deborah is therefore characterized fundamentally as an emissary of YHWH, a spokesperson to whom the Israelites come for direction in reference to their unbearable oppression (v. 5). Vertex C Brenner’s final group of characters includes YHWH and Jael – the deity and the individual who accomplishes YHWH’s purposes. Within the scheme of initiator and executor, this is entirely accurate; YHWH does bring victory to Israel through the “hand of a woman,” that is, Jael. In reference to Deborah’s prophecy (4:9), Jael is quite literally the “hand of YHWH” in the Kishon battle. But is Jael uniquely so? And does that scheme explain all of the details of her textual portrait? To the first question: is the extent to which Jael fulfills YHWH’s purposes uniquely emphasized in the text? The answer is yes – and no. The account of the deity’s action throughout the battle of Kishon is one that accentuates his sovereign control of all players. Through his messenger Deborah, YHWH assures Barak that he will deliver Sisera to the Israelite general (4:14). The narrator affirms this to be true of YHWH in the midst of the battle. Verse 15 describes how YHWH – rather than the judge or the Israelites – routed Sisera, his chariots, and his army in the midst of the battle. In fact, the entirety of the confrontation is summarized in one verb (‫“ ;ויהם‬confused”), and the subject of that verb is YHWH. Despite his prominence on the battlefield, the work of YHWH recedes quickly into the background during the scenes involving Jael. The narrator does not mention YHWH directly here, yet Deborah’s proleptic interpretation of the events narrated in 4:17– 22 identifies YHWH as a key player in all that transpires between Jael and Sisera (4:9; “into the hand of a woman YHWH will sell Sisera”).22 Thus the summary in 4:23 rightfully characterizes the deity as the definitive champion for Israel.23 Given the presentation of YHWH in the whole of Judges 4, the narrator’s attribution of Jabin’s demise to Israel’s God is warranted. Certainly Jael executes YHWH’s directives – that is key to her characterization – but according to Judges 4, so does everyone involved in the conflict. Perhaps the more telling question is this: do the details of the narrative so neatly associate Jael with Israel or YHWH? While Jael is never overtly described as a Kenite herself – that label always applies to her spouse – her marital affiliation naturally casts her as a “borderland figure,”24 whose political allegiance is unclear. Despite this potential ambiguity, 4:17 clarifies that Heber’s household (i.e., ‫ )בית‬had broken ties with its Israelite relatives and had forged a political agreement of some kind with the king of Hazor.25 Thus, Jael’s political allegiance is not so ambiguous; her family is said to have a diplomatic arrangement with Canaan – not Israel or YHWH.26 There is no question that Jael’s actions associate her with YHWH in some way, but those of YHWH directly. Perhaps this is why he is never called a prophet of YHWH, but rather, the assistant (‫ )משׁרת‬of Moses (1:1). YHWH commanded Moses and Moses commanded Joshua (11:15). 21 Elie Assis, “The Choice to Serve God and Assist His People: Rahab and Yael,” Bib 85 (2004): 89. 22 Observed by Robert H. O’Connell, The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges (VT.S 63; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 112–13. 23 Albeit under the generic title ‫ – אלהים‬a designation employed here for the first time in the book. To this point the noun ‫ אלהים‬has been collocated with ‫ יהוה‬in 2:12; 3:7; and 4:6. The noun ‫ אלהים‬becomes the more prominent name for the deity in Judges 7–9. 24 This terminology is borrowed from Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, “Whose Text Is It?,” JBL 127 (2008): 16. In The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (ISBL; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 282, Meir Sternberg suggests that the image of “pitching a tent” rather than joining the fray “implies neutrality.” Contra Lillian Klein in The Triumph of Irony in the Book of Judges (JSOT.SS 68; Sheffield: Almond, 1988), 43, who labels Jael an Israelite because of her actions in support of Israel. 25 That the phrase designates a diplomatic move is suggested by 1 Kings 5:26, in which the “peace between” Hiram and Solomon involves a treaty (‫)ברית‬. Similarly, the relationship between Israel and Gibeon is defined in terms of ‫ שׁלום‬and ratified as a ‫ ברית‬in Josh 9:15. Perhaps most relevant in the context of Judges is Deut 20:10, in which the people are instructed to “offer peace” (‫ שלום‬+ ‫ אל‬+ ‫ )קרא‬to those outside of Israel’s inheritance, in contrast to those who fall under the ‫ חרם‬ordinance (Deut 20:16–18). Though it is unclear whether an official treaty was in place, the language suggests that Sisera presumed the Kenites were “friends,” not “foes.” On which, see D. J. Wiseman, “‘Is It Peace?’: Covenant and Diplomacy,” VT 32.3 (1982): 311–26, which argues that ‫ שׁלום‬denotes a relationship of “non-hostility” between parties, but not necessarily a formalized covenant relationship. 26 Her association with Shamgar in 5:6 seems to suggest as much. On the name “Shamgar” being Hurrian, see K. Lawson

292

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

the silence of the narrator regarding her inner life is striking; Jael’s motivations, intentions, and resultant choice are peripheral in her character development. Even if she did choose to “side with YHWH,” the chapter says little about it.27 It is unlikely, then, that any of Jael’s actions or elements of characterization uniquely portray her as one who sided with YHWH. Instead, these details serve a different function. By accentuating Heber’s foreign political alliances and identifying the location of the Kenite homestead, the narrator distances Jael from the Kishon conflict on every possible level: with contrasting scenic descriptions (the uproar of battle in contrast to the comfort of a quiet encampment),28 unexpected political affiliations (a break from the group of Kenites who have historically fought with Israel; cf. 1:16), and gendered expectations (a female non-combatant).29 In short, Jael is a foreign civilian – a by-stander. In characterizing her this way, the narrative has presented Jael’s situation exactly as Deborah anticipated: the woman into whose hands YHWH would deliver Sisera is not at all “on the way that [Barak] is going” (4:9). The scenic distancing of Jael from the conflict suggests that the prophetic statement in 4:9 should be interpreted spatially.30 The narrative’s geography underscores the literary contrast between the battlefield and Jael’s tent. Heber’s encampment was adjacent to the “oak in Zaanannim” near Kedesh-Naphtali in lower Galilee, whereas the battle transpired at least ten miles west, near Harosheth Haggoyim in the Jezreel Valley.31 Barak would be chasing an army in one direction (westward) while God would be accomplishing his military victory through a civilian in the opposite direction (to the east, near Kadesh-Naphtali). By the time Sisera flees eastward to Jael in 4:17, the narrative had established that she was politically, socially, and geographically separate from the battle. Jael’s emergence in the plot sets the stage for YHWH to fulfill the promise of the prophet in a means completely removed from the leadership or capability of Israel’s army. By this construal, the narrator strategically alienates Jael from both Israel and YHWH. Jael does not fit in vertex c, nor does she fit anywhere else.

Younger, Judges, Ruth (rev. ed.; NIVAC; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2020), 167–68. 27 Assis, “Choice to Serve God,” 88, following Yairah Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (trans. Jonathan Chipman; BIS 38; Boston: Brill, 1999), 211. Contra Ryan P. Bonfiglio, “Choosing Sides in Judges 4–5: Rethinking Representations of Jael,” in Joshua and Judges (ed. Athalya Brenner and Gale A. Yee; Texts @ Contexts; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), 165, in which Bonfiglio suggests that “Judges 4 underscores the fact that Jael faces a choice between siding with the Israelites or with the Canaanites.” Since the narrator never describes Jael’s inner life, she is a flat character, whose point of view is either limited or entirely lacking in the narrative. 28 Sisera’s physical movement from the confusion (4:15) of the battlefield to the relative peace (4:17) of a Kenite homestead accompanies a shift in narration style from the terse report of battle to something much more detailed and descriptive. The effect of this abrupt shift is nicely articulated in Luis Alonso-Schökel, “Erzählkunst im Buche der Richter,” Bib 42 (1961): 163: “The scene reflects absolute contrast: previously, war and confusion (‫)המם‬, here, peace (‫ ;)שׁלום‬there, a warcamp (‫)מחנה‬, here a peaceful place (‫( ”)אהל‬translation mine). 29 Gale A. Yee’s summary of gender roles and military duties is accurate: “As in most cultures, warriorhood in Israel is commonly regarded as a male activity, theologically reified in Yahweh as the warrior God. Women traditionally are noncombatants, the victims of rape or the spoils of war.” From “By the Hand of a Woman: The Metaphor of the Woman Warrior in Judges 4,” in Women, War, and Metaphor: Language and Society in the Study of the Hebrew Bible (ed. Claudia V. Camp and Carole R. Fontaine; Semeia 61; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 110. Given the parameters of Israelite military campaigns as outlined in Num 1:2–3, the only groups completely free of military obligation were women, children, and Levites. To be a woman in the time of the conquest is to be a non-combatant whose welfare was constantly at stake. 30 Robert Chisholm (Judges and Ruth, 229) demonstrates that the phrase “the way which you are going” more regularly denotes a “literal journey” than a “behavior pattern.” He argues convincingly that the phrase refers to “the mission upon which he was to embark.” That the prophetic correction has overtones of addressing covenant infidelity, however, should be assumed, given the same phrase appearing in Judg 2:17. 31 The exact location of ‫ חרשׁת הגוים‬is debated, but the area is best understood as “the farmland of the Gentiles” – a spacious (and cultivable) plain ideal for assembling troops of charioteers. The song locates the battle at just such an area, namely, “Tanaach, by the waters of Megiddo” (5:19). The two references should be considered synonymous. On which, see Anson F. Rainey and R. Steven Notley, The Sacred Bridge: Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World (Jerusalem: Carta, 2006), 151.

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

293

To summarize: By reassessing the characterization of major players in Judges 4, I reconstrue the geometry as follows (see Figure 2): Each of the major characters in the overarching Judges narratives occupies a vertex: the deity, the coalition of Israelites, and a foreign oppressor – in this case, Jabin, the ruler of northern Canaan. Each of these parties is accompanied and narratively eclipsed by their representative: Deborah is YHWH’s representative, Barak leads Israel to battle, and Sisera fights for Jabin. Deborah’s emphatically prophetic characterization requires her realignment with YHWH rather than Israel, just as the chapter’s distancing Jael from any of the major parties requires a corresponding distance from any of the triangle’s vertices. Therein lies the symbolic power and thematic import of Jael’s role as Israel’s deliverer.

Rhombic Characterization in Judges 5 In Judges 5, Brenner recognizes two juxtaposed triangles that together form a rhombus (see Figure 3).32 Whereas the dynamic of character relationships in the prose account were predominantly about political allegiance, in Brenner’s analysis, character relationships in Judges 5 are best delineated according to gender roles. The first triad is composed of female voices with accompanying motherly roles: Deborah (a “mother in Israel”), Sisera’s biological mother, and Jael, whose actions toward Sisera might be interpreted as maternal.33 The second triangle is a “reflection” of the first and is composed of male figures: two opposing generals and the deity.

While I have suggested only a redistribution of Brenner’s construal of Judges 4, I recommend a complete reconceptualization of her diagram regarding Judges 5. The difficulty with her analysis is twofold: (1) an illfitting emphasis on the gender differentiation of certain subjects (esp. that of YHWH) and, consequently, (2) 32

A mathematically inclined colleague has pointed out that the figure produced by Brenner is not technically a rhombus, but rather a kite. For the sake of tracking her argument, I have preserved her labels. 33 According to Brenner (“Triangle and a Rhombus,” 135), Jael operates in the “sphere of milk and female activity” that is “maternal, private, and apolitical.”

294

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

the programmatizing of a social struggle between the sexes. In her words, “in order for the military-political conflict to be resolved, a certain co-operation between the male and female social spheres is required.”34 Certainly the dominance of female voices in Judges 5 should not be ignored, nor should the fact that women and men were both essential in the Kishon battle. Moreover, maternal imagery and sexual undertones are present in the poem and highlight the gender of female participants in particular. But toward what end? Does the Song of Deborah and Barak primarily address a division between the “sphere” of female activity and that of male activity on a structural level? As far as I can tell, it does not. Little in the first five stanzas of the song reflects explicitly gendered language or images,35 with one significant exception, namely, Deborah’s statement in v. 7 that she is a “mother in Israel.” The connotation of the title in Brenner’s construal is limited to “nurturing.” She emphasizes that Deborah is portrayed as a “good” mother in contrast to the “cruel and unsympathetic” mother of Sisera described in vv. 28–30. To Brenner’s point, the care and guidance Deborah offers the Israelites is certainly evident from the text and may appropriately be called “nurturing.” The question of the statement’s rhetorical impact remains, however. Arguably, the parental title in its immediate context (i.e., an explanation of the change of circumstance that facilitated Israel’s victory; 5:6–7) also connotes authority as a prophetic figure.36 Elijah and Elisha are both called “father” in 2 Kings (2 Kgs 2:12; 13:14), just as Micah and the Danites seek out a “father and a priest” (17:10; 18:19) to facilitate their worship later in the same book. These texts demonstrate that the vocabulary of parentage was apt to describe a divine intermediary.37 The authoritative connotation of the title is even clearer in the only other text in the Hebrew Bible that features the phrase “mother in Israel,” namely, 2 Sam 20:19. Here, a wise woman (‫ )אשׁה חכמה‬speaks on behalf of the city and rehearses its reputation as a place of wise and definitive counsel (5:16–18).38 This characteristic leads its spokeswoman to identify it (or herself)39 as a “mother in Israel,” the very title conferred on Deborah. The appearance of the same title in Judges 5, then, suggests that both entities – the prophet and the city – are known as sources of revelation and guidance. In this case, this vocationally appropriate title proves poetically ideal. The poet opts to describe Deborah’s prophetic influence with an honorific title that contrasts her legacy with that of another mother in 5:28–30. What must not be lost in this comparison, however, is the historic significance of the title in 5:6–8, in which calling Deborah a “mother in Israel” likely clarifies the nature of her leadership and the role she played in facilitating Israel’s victory, that is, she offered guidance from the divine.

34

Ibid. Admittedly, the image and language of the warrior – both divine and human – is nearly ubiquitous in the song. The concept of a warrior in the ancient Near East is certainly masculine and is thus gender-specific (on which, see n. 29 above), but at the outset, the song is not a reflection on maleness in the same way that the last stanzas reflect on sexuality and gender explicitly. 36 Klaas Spronk, “Deborah, a Prophetess,” 242, also acknowledges the contrast between Deborah and Sisera’s mother, while arguing that the phrase “mother in Israel” is one of several textual features designed to portray Deborah as a prophetess. 37 The term “divine intermediary” as a descriptor of those who carry messages from YHWH is borrowed from Mark J. Boda, “Recycling Heaven’s Words: Receiving and Retrieving Divine Revelation in the Historiography of Judges,” in Prophets and Prophecy and Ancient Israelite Historiography (ed. Mark J. Boda and Lissa Wray Beal; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 43–67. 38 Recent excavations at Tell Abil el Qameḥ, identified as biblical Abel Beth Maacah, have revealed evidence of several centuries of cultic activity in Iron I and Iron IIA structures. Such cult-related activity – and the textual association of the city with “wisdom” – might suggest that the woman functioned as an “oracle,” akin to the “wise women” mentioned as “ritual experts” in Hittite texts. Nava Panitz-Cohen and Naama Yahalom-Mack, “The Wise Woman of Abel Beth Maacah,” BAR 45 (2019): 33. 39 The Hebrew syntax is ambiguous; the discussion centers on the syntactical function of the waw conjoining “city” and “mother in Israel.” By contrast, the LXX is unambiguous, in which “mother city” (μητρόπολιν) appears, rather than “mother.” Eunice Poethig suggests that the “wise woman” might herself be the referent of “mother in Israel” in “The Victory Song Tradition of the Women of Israel” (Ph.D. diss., Union Theological Seminary, 1985), 132, 185. Susan Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen: Women in Judges and Biblical Israel (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1998), 40, argues for this interpretation, drawing on a midrashic tradition that applies the title to the woman. 35

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

295

The last two stanzas of the poem (5:24–30) are key to Brenner’s construal of gender dynamics in the text. Here Brenner asks the right question: why is Sisera’s mother included in the poem? In the context of the male-dominated Hebrew Bible, the choice of an otherwise superfluous female character should draw the attention of the careful reader. She contends that “[t]he introduction of Sisera’s mother into the poem is clearly an intentional device” that “completes the female triangle both materially (the persona) and thematically (motherhood and attitude to sex and war).”40 Her last point is most clear from the text, namely, that the poetic function of Sisera’s household (and especially his mother) is to communicate societal expectations related to women in war. This characterization is not an end in itself, but a mode of equipping the reader to interpret the thematic significance of Jael’s victory over Sisera. Through subtle contrast and explicit statement the final stanza highlights the vulnerability of a woman in the context of battle, and more importantly, how societal expectations have been confounded by YHWH, the God of Israel. At least according to the analysis of the prose account offered above, this is not as significant a departure from the purposes of Judges 4 as Brenner has suggested. To illustrate: Whereas Judges 4 asserted merely that Jael was far removed from battle (i.e., that she was an unaffiliated civilian), twice Judges 5 accentuates the defenselessness of that position. In 5:24 the song portrays Jael as “most blessed among tent-dwelling women,” and thereby emphasizes that she is a seminomadic tent-dweller. Jael’s living situation made her extremely vulnerable in the same way that Israel’s did; neither the Israelites – who occupied unwalled settlements (5:7; ‫ )פרזון‬that lacked “shield or spear” (5:8) – nor this tent-dweller lived securely in the land. Thus the portrait of Jael as semi-nomadic contributes to the thematic contrast between small unfortified communities and secure Canaanite cities, which in turn highlights the relative insecurity of certain people groups in contrast to the heavily militarized kingdoms of northern Canaan.41 This contrast is underscored by the portrayal of Sisera’s mother as a city-dweller of affluence, in a structure bearing a window of some kind (v. 28).42 More than her living situation, though, Jael’s gender defines the perceived weakness of her position. The callous daydreams of an attendant from Sisera’s household illustrate societal expectations for women in wartime: “Surely they will find and divide the plunder: a womb or two for every single man, plunder of colored cloth for Sisera, plunder of colored cloth, embroidered cloth, two pieces of colored, embroidered cloth for [his] spoil’s necks” (5:30).43 In short, Sisera’s household expects his sexual dominance over his female captives. By vividly depicting the subjugation of defenseless women, the seventh stanza reveals the irony of Sisera’s death at the hands of just such a woman. In it, a woman rendered vulnerable by her living conditions on one hand, and societallysanctioned brutality on the other, conquers the very enemy that had effectively oppressed God’s people for decades. The irony is heightened by the fact that by the point Sisera’s mother is voicing her concern, Sisera and his army are already soundly defeated.44 The relationship between women and men is central to the stanza, as Brenner has suggested, but only insofar as their designated gender roles are confounded. The ultimate contrast is between those strengthened (Jael) and humbled (Sisera/his mother) by YHWH, whose power disrupts social structures as effectively as the cosmos that quakes before him. 40

Brenner, “Triangle and a Rhombus,” 135. This thematic contrast is convincingly demonstrated by Lawrence E. Stager, “The Song of Deborah: Why Some Tribes Answered the Call and Others Did Not,” BAR 15 (1989): 55. On the association of fortified cities with the land’s inhabitants (of which Sisera is representative), see Deut 6:10; 9:1; Josh 10:20. 42 Observed also by, e.g., Younger, Judges, Ruth, 204, following Daniel I. Block, Judges, Ruth (NAC 6; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2001), 242. 43 Dominique Barthélemy (Josué, Juges, Ruth, Samuel, Rois, Chroniques, Esdras, Néhémie, Esther, vol. 1 of Critique textuelle de L’Ancien Testament [OBO 50/1; Friboug: Éditions Universitaires, 1982], 90) proposes plausibly that the substantive ‫ שׁלל‬refers to the aforementioned captured women. 44 As was the claim in 4:16 and the implication of 5:21. 41

296

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

Much like its prose counterpart, then, the song in Judges 5 plays on societally determined gender roles to explore YHWH’s extraordinary ability (nay, tendency!) to empower the lowly to accomplish his purposes. This image would strike a prophetic tone for Israelite listeners, whose vulnerability mirrored Jael’s, but whose hesitancy did not. Her effectiveness earned her the title “blessed” (5:24) whereas those reticent to join in battle were censured (5:15–17, 23). Arguably, then, the gendered images and language from Judges 5 serve to emphasize the ongoing struggle between YHWH, Israel and Canaan, in which YHWH fought to secure Israel’s trust and loyalty in the face of Canaan’s alluring symbols of earthly power. By this account, the song shares the political “slant” of the prose account. The triad of characters from Judges 4 – Israel (represented by Barak), YHWH (represented by Deborah), and Jabin (represented by Sisera) – remains structurally determinative. Two mirroring triangles are not required to represent this narrative structure. In fact, the association of each pair of characters seems to have shifted little between the two chapters; instead, the distances between the vertices have shifted. Vertex C Deborah’s primary function in the song remains one of prophetic mediation on behalf of the deity. Because the song is more corporately oriented, her audience is no longer just the Israelite general. She now addresses the nation (and its neighbors; 5:3). As a prophetic mediator, she not only advises and interprets for the sake of the people, but also addresses her praise and prayers to YHWH whom she represents (5:3, 31). As a spokesperson for the deity, Deborah (with Barak; 5:1) provides an authoritative interpretation of events. She continues to speak for God, but by offering her prophetic rendition, she invites listening Israelites to share her perspective – one that highlights the sovereignty of the divine warrior over the Kishon Battle. According to Deborah’s retelling, in the heat of battle the same YHWH who wrought cosmic upheaval in the song’s theophany now manipulates the natural order again, drawing the very stars from their courses as agents of destruction. Not only is the deity stronger than any Israelite foe, but he also has the ability to bring any entity into his service, whether it be a heavenly body (5:20), a wadi (5:21), or a woman perceived to be powerless. Vertex A Barak is still consistently presented as the Israelite general (and thus a representative of Israel), but the most important aspect of his characterization in Judges 5 is that he participates in reflecting on the scene with Deborah. After accepting a prophetic corrective in Judges 4, Barak’s duet with the prophet emphasizes that the relationship between her and the judge at the moment of victory is not antagonistic. Having witnessed the death of Sisera and shared in the prophet’s extended recapitulation of it (5:24–27), Barak echoes the prophet’s conviction that Israel’s divine warrior is poised to ensure victory even when an outgunned militia is not. Of course, Barak stands out from his Israelite brethren in exhibiting such confidence. While certain tribes valiantly followed Barak into the fray (e.g., 5:15), the response of the Israelites was not monolithic. The song’s positive appraisal of Barak thus stands slightly separate from that of an ambivalent Israel. By joining the prophet in song, the Israelite general remains the nation’s representative while he encourages his troops to properly align their perspective with that of YHWH and his messenger.

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

297

Once the song reaches its conclusion, an equilateral triangle no longer offers the best construal of the relationship between its primary characters (see Figure 4). While Jael’s distinction from Israel remains prominent, she is labeled “blessed” alongside YHWH (5:2, 9, 24). She is more prominently aligned with his purposes than in the prose account, despite continued silence regarding her motives. More importantly, though, the distance between the vertices representing Israel and the deity has decreased. The cooperation of YHWH and the army alongside the partnership of Deborah with Barak (e.g., 5:12) signals not a need for male-female cooperation, but divine-human cooperation. The Kishon Battle is thus an exemplary moment in the period of the Judges characterized by (at least partial) Israelite fidelity to YHWH. Geometry and Psalmody: The Function of Judges 5 The last section argued that the shift in characterization in Judges 5 represented neither a change in character pairing nor a transition from a concern with political relationships to social ones. The unique characterization of Judges 5 is better described in terms of two subtle differences from its prose counterpart. First, the cooperation of Israel and YHWH against Canaan provides the occasion for celebration; in terms of geometry, the angles of an equilateral triangle have redistributed to a degree that the distance between the Israelite and divine vertices has decreased. The song highlights the (partial) obedience of Israel in this landmark battle. Second, the character triad that featured most prominently in the framing verses of the prose account (consisting of YHWH, the Israelites, and the foreign oppressor) re-emerges in the song as the focus of the composition. Deborah and Barak are almost entirely eclipsed by the parties they represent. Deborah highlights the agency of YHWH and portrays him as the “hero” of the battle. Likewise, in lieu of evaluating Barak’s response to Deborah’s summons, the song makes a robust and nuanced assessment of Israel’s response to YHWH’s summons. While Judges 4 focused on the initial hesitation Barak conveyed in the face of Canaan’s superior armament, Judges 5 contributes unique details to the unfolding characterization of the tribes of Israel, the most important of which being their ambivalent response to the muster – a corporate hesitation of which Barak was a microcosm. While Jabin is nowhere mentioned directly, he is part of the abstracted coalition of “kings of Canaan” whose coordinated attack fails at the hands of a celestial infantry (5:19–20). Presumably, Sisera’s defeat is central enough to the Kishon conflict that Jabin’s role remains relatively muted; however, references to “kings” in the abstract (5:3, 19) reflect a sustained interest in foreign powers in general. These subtle shifts in the depiction of major characters emphasize that in this prophetic song, characters whose roles are limited to the Kishon Battle serve as a paradigm through which to reflect on issues related to the overarching Judges narrative. By attending to the ongoing struggle between YHWH, Israel, and Canaan, in which Israel’s suzerain seeks covenant faithfulness from his people, Judges 5 draws a connection between Israel’s faithfulness in one battle and their fidelity to the covenant more broadly. While the narrative leaves unspoken the impetus for Israel’s recurring apostasy, the poem begins to explore the theological misconceptions that underlie Israel’s characteristic waywardness through the depiction of Jael. In Judges 5, the unique retelling of the encounter between the Kenite woman and the Canaanite general brings to national attention what was previously only observed by Barak in the privacy of Jael’s tent. By accentuating the powerlessness of a semi-nomadic woman in wartime, the song highlights the perceived weakness of particular groups in contrast to their power as agents of YHWH. Given the unmistakable parallel between the empowerment of Jael and Israel’s militia (especially given the song’s extended description of war-torn Israel in vv. 6–8), the song’s final stanzas confront the people of YHWH with the prophetic critique that to hesitate in battle is to doubt the power of the deity. The actions of Israel showed that they perceived the fortified cities, rulers, and military prowess of the Canaanite coalition to be more powerful than the God who leads them to battle. This tendency to forget God’s saving power is true of the Israelites throughout the settlement period, to an extent that the introduction labels them a generation that “knew neither YHWH nor what he had done for Israel” (2:10). The song constitutes a prophetic attempt to rectify that theological ignorance. Only once they trusted in the superiority of Israel’s God would they be prepared to wholeheartedly follow his directives. Just as Barak’s misconceptions about YHWH’s role in battle had triggered a conditional and disobedient response to his messenger (4:8), so too had Israel’s self-perception been defined by the norms of their culture, rather than their history with YHWH. Deborah’s song urgently addresses the

298

Knight – Geometry and Psalmody

heart of the issue, in an effort to spur on her kinfolk to obey their sovereign. The last line of the song provides a solemn reminder that only those who love YHWH – who demonstrate covenant commitment (‫ )אהב‬to YHWH – will go forth like the sun in its might (5:31).

East as Symbolic Space Jens Bruun Kofoed

Abstract Through application of critical spatiality theory in the form of Mark George’s taxonomical customization of the critical spatial categories of Henri Lefebvre, the present study analyzes how the relevant bases ‫קדם‬, ‫זרח‬, ‫ יצא‬and ‫ פנה‬are used and conceptualized locatively in the Hebrew Bible. The analysis demonstrates that the base ‫קדם‬, particularly in priestly texts on the tabernacle and temple, denotes a movement along the eastwestern axis that is essential to the understanding of their systemic character and that the bases ‫ קדם‬and ‫זרח‬ denote judgement and salvation as coming from (north)east and moving westward. It is argued, furthermore, that the first humanity’s eastward movements mark an existential estrangement and diminuendo vis-à-vis the paradisiacal life of ideal space in the Edenic garden, and that the existential encoding of the east-western axis in Israel’s Primary History should inform and complement the cultic or systemic encoding in the priestly texts on the tabernacle and the temple. Turning to symbolic space, it is noted how the priestly writers’ horizontal, universal, and creation-bound scheme transcends the vertical, particular, and land/king/templebound ditto in order to prepare nascent Israel and/or the post-exilic Jewish community for the challenges ahead, and that it is exactly this transcending scheme that makes the priestly interaction with creation theology especially relevant to later, similar settings, not least the Jewish community’s situation after the destruction of the temple in 70 C.E. As a means of perspectivization, Matthew’s use in the New Testament of a horizontal model for his post-land/king/temple Jewish community is recommended as a relevant scheme for post-Constantinian Christianity’s spatial practice, conceptualization of space and symbolic space. 1. Introduction Two miles north of Nexø, on the rocky island Bornholm in the Baltic Sea where I grew up, lies Paradisbakkerne – Paradise Hills – opposed by Helvedesbakkerne – Hells Hills – with a small gorge, Cow’s Valley, between them. The Paradise Farms that probably gave name to the hills are mentioned as early as 1528, and historians suggest that the names are the result of a “christening” of (unknown) older Norse names for the hills (Hübertz 1852, 79; Petersen and Zahrtman 1922, 72). While there is nothing surprising in the juxtaposition of “Paradise” and “Hell” in the geographical naming, it is more challenging to explain why Hells Hills are located east of Paradise Hills. Both Slamrabjerg to the south-west and other hills to the immediate west were readily available, and it is reasonable to suggest, therefore, that the choice of the eastern hills for “Hell” may have been informed by not only the Christian juxtaposition of Paradise and Hell, but also by the biblically (and/or otherwise) derived symbolic meanings tied to the cardinal directions “east” and “west.” Encouraged by Mark K. George’s one-liner – “Study of the present leads to study of the past, which returns one to the present” (George 2009, 39) – it is the aim of the present essay to discuss whether this New Testament and post-Biblical, Christian combination and juxtaposition of “Paradise” and “Hell” with “east” and “west” can be traced back to the roots of Christianity in the Hebrew Bible. 2. Critical Spatiality Theory The present study is informed by Mark George’s taxonomical customization of the critical spatial categories of Henri Lefebvre, namely perceived, conceived and lived space (Lefebvre 1974; 2000).1 George, in his Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space, finds it necessary to modify Lefebvre’s categories “because the tabernacle narratives describe a social space far removed, in terms of social, historical, cultural, and politicaleconomic systems, from the twentieth-century spaces with which Lefebvre was concerned” (George 2009, 1

Critical spatiality theory is much more, of course, than Henri Lefebvre. For a useful overview of the emergence and development of critical spatial studies and the challenges of using critical spatiality in Biblical studies, cf. the works of (Sleeman 2013; Schreiner 2016; Meredith 2016).

300

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

31), and prefers the designations spatial practice, conceptual space, and symbolic space. George defines spatial practices as “those ways in which individuals and societies interact with the physical, material world,” and explains that “[t]hey are informed by conceptual space, the mental ideas and systems of thought that make it possible for societies to know and appropriate space … it is society’s epistemology of space, the ways it knows space and identifies, defines, describes, differentiates, divides, classifies, organizes, and structures it. Conceptual space therefore differs from spatial practice by being a society’s mental, rather than material, space and practice (George 2009, 89). Combining the first two elements of his trialectics with the third element, symbolic space, George argues that Spatial practice … is the space of social practices and routines, the regular and recurring ways in which a society shapes and manipulates real space. This is the space in which members of a society quite literally re-cognize their social space and how it is practiced, but it is not the space of social meaning. Conceptual space … is mental space, those logical, conceptual systems a society develops to organize, arrange, and classify space. Conceptual space is rational space, rather than symbolic, emotional space. By contrast, symbolic space is the space of emotion, affectation, and aesthetics, which gives such space social meaning (George 2009, 141–42). Apart from his slight modification of Lefebvre’s categories, George maintains the basic idea of Lefebvre’s “dialectics of triplicity,” namely that the three categories are distinct yet interdependent and that the cognitive processes involved operate simultaneously. Trialectics as a ternary methodology of thought processes has, as Corsi and Morin helpfully explain, two essential properties: “It proposes a systematic ternary thinking approach to perform conceptual variations and expansions relatively to three fundamental and generic invariants: incompleteness, auto-reference and indeterminacy,” and “[i]t helps formulating systemic concepts that clarify the expression of the initial concept” (Corsi and Morin 2015, 177). Though the three invariants do not correspond 1:1 with the spatial categories, they are helpful, nevertheless, in describing the cognitive processes involved. “Incompleteness” aptly describes the thought process involved in George’s first category, “spatial practice,” as it, negatively expressed, reveals “the blind spot, the dead angle generated by the presence of our physical observation: ‘where I see from, I can’t see.’ It induces a partial knowledge (in deficit) of the object of perception” (Corsi and Morin 2015, 179). There is more than meets the eye in physical space, in other words. “Auto-reference” is defined as “self-persuasion, self-appropriation or involvement: ‘within the field allowing my perception, I can see what I want to see.’ Our perception is the outcome of a personal interpretation implying a partial knowledge (biased) of the object of perception – a viewpoint. For instance, the conscious process of observing innovation integrates an auto-referring dimension which we perceive as ‘deviance from the mainstream’” (Corsi and Morin 2015, 179). What we see or how we move in physical space depends on the individual or corporate conceptualization of that space. The third generic invariant, “indeterminacy,” “underpins a choice, or is background flexibility, or focusing: ‘within the field allowing my perception, the precision of my vision requires a selection.’ Hence, another form of partial knowledge (selectivity, resolution and fragmentation)” (Corsi and Morin 2015, 179). The experience of space is indeterminate, since, as George explains, it is dependent on the individual’s “emotion, affectation, and aesthetics” and is created by the interaction between the individual with “[i]deas, myths, literary forms, particular objects, religious motifs, theological claims, political systems, and other social concerns” (George 2009, 141–42). 3. East, Eastern, Eastwards The point of departure must be, of course, to determine where and how the relevant bases ‫קדם‬, ‫זרח‬, ‫ יצא‬and ‫ פנה‬especially in their non-verbal forms, are used and conceptualized locatively in the Hebrew Bible. Proceeding from the lexical and semantic analysis, critical spatial theory will be applied to select and representative usages of the bases.

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

301

3.1. The base ‫קדם‬ A number of Logos Bible Software searches (lemma: ‫@קָ ִדים‬N, ‫@קִ ְדמָ ה‬N, ‫@קֶ דֶ ם‬N, ‫@קַ ְדמֹ ון‬J, ‫@קַ ְדמֹ נִ י‬J) focusing on the locative sense of the base ‫ קדם‬resulted in the following observations: √‫ קדם‬denotes an absolute geographical location: – ‫(‘ קֶ דֶ ם‬in/of the) east, East’: Eden (Gen 2:8); the hill country (10:30); Ai (12:8) country (25:6); mountains (Num 23:7); border, boundary (Num 34:3,10; Jos 15:5; 18:20; 19:13); Jordan (Num 34:15); Syrians (Isa 9:11); the property of the city [Jerusalem] (Ezek 45:7); the [Dead] sea (Ezek 47:18; Joel 2:20; Zech 14:8) – ‫‘ קָ ִדים‬east, eastern’: the boundary of the city (Ezek 45:7); boundary of the land (Ezek 47:18 x2; 48:1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 x 2, 23, 24, 25, 26 & 27); the holy portion (Ezek 48:10, 21); the side of the city (Ezek 48:16,17, & 32) the remainder of the city’s open land (Ezek 48:18). √‫ קדם‬denotes a geographical position or location relative to the subject/object: – ‫‘ קִ ְדמָ ה‬east (of)’: Tigris east of Assyria (Gen 2:14); Nod east of the garden of Eden (4:16); Michmash east of Beth-aven (1 Sam 13:5). – ‫ קֶ דֶ ם‬/ ‫(‘ ִמ ֶ ֛קדֶ ם‬on/in/at the) east (of)’: Eden (Gen 3:24); the hill country east of Bethel (12:8); the [Dead] Sea (Ezek 39:11); the court, front, altar, mercy seat, camp [of the tabernacle] (Exod 27:13; 38:13; Lev 1:16; 16:14; Num 2:3, 3:38; Num 10:5); Ain; shoulder of Chinnereth (Num 34:11); the city [of refuge] (Num 35:5); Nobah and Jogbehah (Judg 8:11); corner of the temple (1 Ki 7:39//2 Chron 4:10); the city [Jerusalem, Nineveh] (Ezek 11:23, Jonah 4:5); Mount of Olives (Zech 14:4). – ‫‘ קַ ְדמֹ נִ י‬east, eastern’: gate of the house of the Lord (Ezek 10:19; 11:1) – ‫‘ קָ ִדים‬east, eastern’: the (temple) gate (Ezek 40:10; 43:1); the distance from the inner front of the lower gate to the outer front of the inner court (Ezek 40:19); gate (of the inner court of the temple) (Ezek 40:32), front of the temple (Ezek 41:14); side of the outer court (Ezek 42:9); wall of the court (Ezek 42:10,12); the temple area (Ezek 42:16) √‫ קדם‬denotes a cardinal direction relative to the subject/object: – ‫‘ קֵ דֶ ם‬towards east, eastwards, to the east’: Gen 13:14; 25:6; 28:14; Jos 19:12; 1 Ki 17:3; 2 Ki 13:17; Ezek 8:16 (2x); – ‫‘ קַ ְדמוֹן‬eastern, of the east’: Ezek 47:8. – ‫(‘ קָ ִדים‬facing) east’: the east gate of the house of the Lord (Ezek 11:1); gateway (Ezek 40:6); the gate (Ezek 40:22,23,44; 42:15; 43:4; 46:1,12); the steps of the altar (Ezek 43:17); the outer gate of the sanctuary (Ezek 44:1); the temple (Ezek 47:1) the outer gate of the temple (Ezek 47:2). √‫ קדם‬denotes a physical or non-physical phenomenon, installation, or entity: – ‫(‘ קֶ דֶ ם‬of) the east): the land of the people (Gen 29:1); the people (Judg 6:3,33; 7:12; 8:10; 1 Ki 5:10; Isa 11:14; Jer 49:28; Ezek 25:4,10; Job 1:3; 18:20. – ‫‘ קָ ִדים‬eastern wind, storm’: (Gen 41:6,23,27; Exod 10:13; 14:21; Isa 27:8; Jer 18:17; Ezek 17:10; 19:12; 27:26; Hos 12:2; 13:15; Jonah 4:8; Ps 48:8; 78:26; Job 15:2; 27:21; 38:24; “things,” (Isa 2:6). – ‫‘ קַ ְדמֹ נִ י‬eastern, of the east’: the people (Job 18:20). √‫ קדם‬denotes a movement along a spatial axis (partitively ‘from’ or directionally ‘to’): – ‫(‘ קֶ דֶ ם‬from/to) the east’: the people migrated from the east (Gen 11:2); Lot journeyed east2 (13:11); the glory of the God of Israel was coming from the east (Ezek 43:2), water (Ezek 47:1); the man (Ezek 47:3).

2

Though the same construction (‫קֶ דֶ ם‬+‫)מן‬ ִ is used as in Gen 11:2, it only makes sense to translate the preposition in a directional sense, ‘towards east,’ since, given the position of Lot, with a northern view to the Jordan valley, his choice of “all the Jordan valley” and departure from Abraham (who travelled west), would have been eastward. Stordalen mentions that “such instances,” namely Gen 13:11, Josh 12:3, and 18:17, “seem similar to the geographical pointer with local he,” and that “[t]hese could be examples of the internal perspective. In Gen 13:11 the narrator seems to express the perspective of Lot. Josh 12:3 seems to take the perspective of king Sihon” (Stordalen 2000, 265).

302

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

3.2. The base ‫זרח‬ As for the base ‫‘ זרח‬rise, come forth,’ in its 18 verbal occurrences, it is used with ‫כְ בֹ֥ וד‬/‫יְהוָ ֖ה יְהוָ ֖ה‬, ‘the (glory of the) Lord’ (4x), ‫‘ אֹ֖ ור‬light’ (2x), ‫‘ שֶׁ֫ מֶ שׁ‬sun’ (11x), and ‫‘ צָ ַ ֫רﬠַת‬leprosy’ as subjects. The nominal forms ‫ֶ֫ז ַרח‬ ‘dawning, shining’ (Isa 60:3 only) and ‫‘ ִמז ְָרח‬place of sunrise, east (74 occurrences, almost exclusively with he locale) are used to denote an absolute geographical location (e.g., ‘the Canaanites in the east,’ Josh 11:3) or a cardinal direction/location relative to the subject/object (e.g., ‘the breadth of the court on the front to the east shall be fifty cubits,’ Exod 27:13). The noun ‫מז ְָרח‬, ִ in a similar manner to uses of the base ‫קדם‬, denotes an absolute common geographical location, e.g., ‘who stirred up one from the east?’ (Isa 41:2); a cardinal direction relative to the subject/object, e.g., ‘they were in the king’s gate on the east side’ (1 Chron 9:18); and, to a lesser degree, a movement along a spatial axis, e.g., ‘Israel … struck them and chased them … eastward’ (Josh 11:8). 3.3. The base ‫יצא‬ In Ps 65:9 and 75:7 the nominal form ‫ מוֹצָ א‬from base ‫‘ יצא‬place of going forth’ designates the place of sun’s going up, i.e., ‘east.’ 3.4. The base ‫פנה‬ In 2 Chron 20:16 the adverbial form in the expression ‫‘ פְּ נֵ ֖י ִמ ְד ַבּ֥ר‬in front of the desert’ seems to mean ‘east of the desert.’ 3.5. The proper names ‫ ִשׁנְ ﬠָר‬and ‫בָּ ֫ ֶבל‬ These nomina propria loci are also relevant to our study due to their emblematic force as epitomies of the anti-godly world east of Eden. ‘Babel,’ in its 262 occurrences, and ‘Shinar,’ in its 8 attestations,3 often appear alongside words for, or in a context focusing on, ‘east’ and ‘eastward.’ In Gen 10:10 both ‘Babel’ and ‘Shinar’ occur in the ‘eastward’ part of the description of humanity’s postdiluvial dispersion. Genesis 11:1–9, as a complementary description of humanity’s spreading of the preceding chapter,4 begins with a reference to the spreading (‫ )בְּ נ ְָסﬠָ ֣ם ִמ ֶ ֑קּדֶ ם‬and ends with an etiology connecting the name of the city, ‫‘ בָּ בֶ ל‬Babel,’ with YHWH’s confusion, ‫ בָּ לַל‬of their language/communication. In Gen 14:1,9 Amraphel king of Shinar is one of the eastern kings preventing Lot from being the beneficiary of God’s promise through Abraham. Josh 7:21 describes how Achan’s spoil, among other things, consisted of “a beautiful cloak from Shinar.” The prophet Isaiah announces that, on The Day of the Lord, a “remnant that remains of his people, from … Shinar” will be recovered (Isa 11:11). The visionary Zechariah witnesses how a basket, in which “their [i.e., Israel’s] iniquity in all the land” (5:6) personified by the woman ‘Wickedness’ (5:8) will be transferred to the far east, namely ‘to the land Shinar, to build a house’ (v.11). Daniel 1:1–2 describes how “Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon” brought “some of the vessels of the house of God to the land of Shinar.” The numerous other occurrences of ‘Babel’ are too many to review in detail, but it almost goes without saying that the contexts in which they occur often portray the city as emblematic of a perverse unity (e.g., Gen 11:1–9), tyranny (e.g., Isa 14:4), evil (e.g., Jer 51:24), usurpation (e.g., Dan 2), and – in the New Testament – “the great prostitute … mother of prostitutes and of earth’s abominations” (Rev 17:1,5). 3.6. Summary Apart from the locative application of the bases ‫ קדם‬and ‫ זרח‬according to an absolute, common (conceptual) orientation of space, two motional conceptualizations operating through the use of these bases are especially 3

Gen 10:10; 11:2; 14:1,9; Josh 7:21; Isa 11:11; Zech 5:11; Dan 1:2. In its canonical setting, the explicit subject of the 3. person, masculine pronominal suffix in the infinitive construct (‫)מ ֶ ֑קּדֶ ם‬ ִ ‫בְּ נ ְָסﬠָ ֣ם‬, v.2, must be provided by the context in Gen 10. 4

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

303

relevant to the present study: First, the base ‫קדם‬, particularly in priestly texts on the tabernacle and temple, denotes a movement along the east-western axis that is essential to the understanding of their systemic character. Second, in prophetic literature in particular, both bases denote judgement and salvation as coming from (north)east and moving westward – or, perhaps better anti-eastward.5 The emblematic force of the proper names ‫ ִשׁנְ ﬠָר‬and ‫ בָּ ֫ ֶבל‬is used, as we shall see, in relation to both motional conceptualizations. 4. Spatial Practice 4.1. ‫קדם‬ One of the significant spatial practices in Gen 2–11 is humanity’s continuous eastward movement away from the Edenic garden. The Septuagint6 as well as the vast majority of modern translations render the prepositional phrase ‫ ִמ ֶ ֑קּדֶ ם‬in Gen 2:8 locatively as ‘in the east’ (e.g., NRSV), ‘towards east’ (e.g., NASB) or ‘eastward’ (e.g., NKJV), thus locating the garden somewhere in the east relative to the author’s perspective. Representing a minority view (but also Vulgate’s ‘a principio’), Stordalen has argued for a temporal translation, ‘in the beginning’ or ‘in old days,’ since “time and time again ‫ מקדם‬denotes ages bordering at the ‘front’ of time’ … for instance in Mic 5:1 and Isa 46:10,” and because, in Gen 2–11, east is constantly associated with the negative and unfavorable (Stordalen 2000, 267–68). “A temporal sense for ‫מקדם‬,” according to Stordalen, “makes linguistically and contextually good sense. It renders the Eden Garden and incidents associated with it as one of those numinous instances at the front border of time” (Stordalen 2000, 270). Whichever translation is correct, the following spatial practice of moving eastward stands. Since the cherubim were placed ‫‘ ִמקֶּ֨ דֶ ם לְ גַן־ﬠֵ֜ דֶ ן‬at the east of the garden,’ we must assume that the entrance to the garden was towards east, and that YHWH Elohim’s ‘driving out the man’ was towards the immediate east of the garden (Gen 3:24). The text displays, therefore, a progressive movement from “in the east in Eden” in Gen 2:4–8 to “east of the garden,” but still in Eden, in Gen 3:24. Cain, in turn, is cast further away, outside Eden, settling in the land of Nod (Gen 4:16), and the universal storyline of Gen 2–11 ends in Gen 11:1–9 on the far eastern plains of Shinar. The implicit subject of ‫‘ בְּ נ ְָס ָﬠ֣ם‬as they migrated’ in verse 2 must be provided by the context, and since Gen 10 (though temporally dislocated) describe ַ‫ֵי־נח‬ ֹ ֛ ‫‘ ִמ ְשׁפְּ חֹ֧ ת בְּ נ‬the clans of Noah,’ the subject must be universal humanity or, as many translations have it, ‘people.’ The translation of the following prepositional phrase ‫ ִמ ֶ ֑קּדֶ ם‬causes just as much disagreement as in Gen 2:8. Both translations and interpreters agree that it is used in its locative sense, but opinions differ as to whether the preposition should be translated according to its partitive sense “from” (e.g., NKJV, cf. Septuagint’s ἀπὸ ἀνατολῶν and Vulgate’s ‘de oriente’) or directionally ‘to, towards’ (e.g., JPS). In this case, however, the disagreement is important for the direction of the spatial practice itself. If translated ‘towards the east,’ it would describe humanity at its easternmost location, i.e., as far away from the Garden of Eden, as possible. If rendered as ‘from the east,’ it most likely means ‘westward’ and thus describes a turning point in humanity’s spatial practice. There are not only lexical but also contextual arguments for the latter translation, since it only would add to the contrast between humanity’s futile ambitions in Gen 11:1–9 and the following narrative on God’s (initially successful) plan to reverse humanity’s spatial practice through a particular representative of humanity, namely

5

An overview of the thematic or topical distribution of the usages of the base ‫ קדם‬is as follows: Eden: Gen [2:8]; 2:14; 3:24; 4:16; 10:3; 11:2; Tabernacle/Camp: Exod 27:13; Lev 1:16; 16:14; Num 2:3; 3:38; 10:5; Solomon’s temple: 1 Ki 7:39//2 Chron 4:10; Ezekiel’s temple: Ezek 11:1, 23; 40:6, 10, 19, 22, 23, 32, 44; 41:14; 42:9, 10, 12, 15, 16; 43:1, 2, 4, 17; 44:1; 46:1, 12; 47:1, 2, 3, 8; 48:8, 10; Jerusalem: Ezek 45:7, 48:16, 17, 18, 21 (2x); Land: Gen 12:8; 13:11,14; 28:14; 29:1; Num 34:3,10,11,15,19; 35:5; Josh 15:5; 18:20; 19:12,13; Josh 2:7; Judg 8:11; 1 Sam 13:5; 1 Ki 17:3 (neutral, geographical); 47:18; 48:1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 32 (division of the land in Ezekiel); East: Gen 25:6; 29:1; Num 23:7 (king of Moab from the eastern mountains [Aram]); Judg 6:3 & 33; 7:12; 8:10; 1 Ki 5:10; Isa 11:14; Jer 49:28; Ezek 25:4, 10; Job 1:3 (people of the east); 2 Ki 13:17; Isa 9:11 (Syria); Isa 2:6 (things); Ezek 8:16 (worshipping the sun); Jonah 4:5 (east of Nineveh or neutral?); Zech 14:4 & 8 (The day of the Lord); Ezek 39:11 (the Valley of Travelers, east of the sea); Joel 2:20 (the enemy from north is forced east); Job 18:20 (merism: from west to east); Eastern Wind (punishment, destroying force: coincidental because it is a natural phenomenon): Gen 41:6, 23 & 27; Exod 10:13; 14:21; Isa 27:8; Jer 18:17; Ezek 17:10; 19:12; 27:26; Hos 12:2; 13:15; Jonah 4:8; Ps 48:8; 78:26; Job 15:2; 27:21; 38:24. 6 The Septuagint has κατὰ ἀνατολὰς ‘towards east.’

304

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

Abram, who, in Gen 12:1 is called to journey (north)westward from Ur in southern Babylonia via Harran in northern Mesopotamia to Cana‘an.7 In Gen 13 we find the spatio-practical reversal in jeopardy, since Abram only retains the land west of Jordan as a “left-over” from Lot’s “eastern” choosing. Later, when his descendants, the twelve tribes of Israel, enter the land from Egypt, they circle around to Moab and arrive from east indicating that entering the land “flowing with milk and honey” is like returning to the Garden. Later again, when the Israelites return from the “eastern” Babylonian captivity, they too reenter the country from east, and, again, texts such as Isa 35 uses garden imagery to describe the return. The lexical and semantic analysis demonstrated that the base ‫קדם‬, particularly in priestly texts on the tabernacle and temple, denotes a movement along the east-western axis, and there are good reasons for seeing a connection between the movement away from the Garden in Gen 2–11 and priestly texts on the importance of the priority of the eastern axis in Israel’s tabernacle and temple. Though classical critical scholarship ascribes the garden narrative in Gen 2–3 to the Yahwist, interpreters have made a good case for reading the text in its current form and setting as a temple-text with the garden as the first temple and ‫ ָ ֽהאָ ֗ ָדם‬as the first (high) priest (Wenham 1985; Walton 2001; Beale 2004; George 2009, 181; for a different approach see, however, Block 2013; Zevit 2013). Be that as it may, we find a similar spatial practice in Israel’s tabernacle and temples. The tabernacle faces east (Num 3:38). The eastern axis, since it traverses all its entrances, is superior, and movement along this axis is significant. The parts not suitable for being burnt as a sin offering on the altar shall be moved ‫‘ ִמ ֖חוּץ ַ ֽלמַּ חֲנֶ ֑ה‬outside the camp,’ that is, toward east, and burnt there (Exod 29:14; Lev 4:12; 8:17; 9:11; 16:27),8 and those who burn them may only come into the camp, when cleansed (Lev 16:28). The “consumed” (unclean) corpses of Nadab and Abihu must be carried away, i.e. eastward, from the sanctuary ‫‘ ִמ ֖חוּץ ַ ֽלמַּ חֲנֶ ֑ה‬outside the camp’ (Lev 10:4,5). The (unclean) leprous person shall reside ‫ִמ ֖חוּץ‬ ‫‘ ַ ֽלמַּ חֲנֶ ֑ה‬outside the camp’ and only return westward into the camp when declared clean by the priests (13:46; 14:3,8; cf. Num 5:2). The scapegoat “with all the iniquities of the people of Israel” must be sent eastward out of the camp, and “he who lets the goat go to Azazel” may only return westward into the camp when cleansed (Lev 16:21–22 & 26). The one who curses must be taken outside the camp and put to death (Lev 24:14 & 23). Those who are ritually unclean must be put outside the camp (Num 5:2–4; 12:14–15). The expression ‫‘ ִמ ֖חוּץ ַ ֽלמַּ חֲנֶ ֑ה‬outside the camp’ is associated, therefore, with fire, defilement, and sin to such a degree that it, at times, even is dangerous to be too far away from the “western” center inside the camp (Num 11:1). Conversely, as mentioned above, there is a movement in the opposite direction from east towards west of the ritually clean. More significantly, different categories of people inside the camp move westward toward court space (the people or congregation), holy space (the Levitical priesthood and Moses), and most holy space (Aaron, the high priest) to bring sacrifices and pray. As far as Solomon’s temple is concerned, the importance of the eastern axis must be deduced from remarks on the location of the pillars Jachin and Boaz (1 Kgs 7:21), the lamp stands (1 Kgs 7:49//2 Chron 4:7), the men worshipping the sun (Ezek 8:16 cf. 11:1), and the observation that the second temple, according to Ezra 5:11, was a rebuilding of the first; and the cardinal orientation (and spatial practice) of the second temple is known, of course, from both Mishna and Josephus.9 Ezekiel’s vision of the future temple is much more explicit. The entrance faces east (40:22; 44:1; 46:1; 47:1), the steps of the altar faces east (43:17). The inner eastern gate is described as being closed except on the Sabbath and the beginning of the new month, when the prince enters the court through this eastern gate. Furthermore, in his first vision of what is happening behind the scenes in the (first) temple, he envisions the Edenic interior turned into “every form of creeping things and loathsome beasts, and all the idols of the house of Israel” (8:10), the seventy elders of Israel offering incense to the idols (8:11), women worshipping 7

Attempts have been made to locate Ur in northern Mesopotamia, but Millard has convincingly argued for Tell elMuqayyar, in southern Babylonia (Millard 2001). 8 Though it is not explicit in the text that the motion was eastward, a good case can be made that it was, since at least the entrance/exit from the tabernacle was facing east. 9 The insignificance or inexplicitness of information on cardinal orientation in the accounts on the building of Solomon’s temple is remarkable but needs not detain us here, since our analysis focuses on the conceptualization of the explicit spatial practice in relation to the eastern axis in the texts. An explanation for the absence of explicit cardinal directional markers in the text could be that the author rather than a horizontal scheme employed a vertical one with focus on the king’s, i.e., Solomon’s, elevation (cf. the discussion on George below).

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

305

the Babylonian god Tammuz (8:14–15), the high priest together with the twenty-four priestly clans facing not west but east, the direction of exile (8:16–18), and, consequently, the glory of the Lord leaving the temple eastward (10:19). Conversely, when, in the visions of the future temple, Ezekiel stands at the gate of the temple facing east, “the glory of the God of Israel was coming from the east (43:2), and “the gate of the inner court that faces east” shall be opened only during the Sabbath day and on the day of the new moon, when ‫‘ הַ נּ ֡ ִָשׂיא‬the prince’ “shall enter by the vestibule of the gate from the outside” (Ezek 46:1–2). 4.2. ‫זרח‬ As indicated by the lexical analysis, the spatial practices associated with the base ‫ זרח‬is the literal or metaphorical sun’s rising on or “coming” from the eastern horizon, and various people’s turning or moving towards the place of the sun’s rising, i.e., the east. 5. Conceptualization of Spatial Practice Turning or moving east or west is trivial. The question is, therefore, how such turning towards east and moving along the cardinal east-west axis are conceptualized in the texts. As far as Israel’s universal prehistory is concerned, the texts do suggest that humanity’s moving eastward marks an existential estrangement and diminuendo vis-à-vis the paradisiacal life of ideal space in the Edenic garden; a continuous unfolding of man’s ill-fated desire to become ‫‘ ֵ ֽכּא ִ֔הים‬like god.’ The same is true in the “national” part of Israel’s Primary History, where Israel, once “created” and “put in the garden,” duplicates first humanity’s eastward movement in her Babylonian Exile and repeats their “universal” forefather Abram’s westward journey in her homecoming. It comes as no surprise therefore, that the terms “east,” “eastward,” “Babel,” “Shinar” and “things from the east” (Isa 2:6) are primarily associated in these texts with the negative and unfavorable, and that the author(s) is appropriating space according to this conceptualization. The existential encoding of the east-western axis in Israel’s Primary History is complemented by the cultic or systemic encoding in the priestly texts on the tabernacle in particular and the temple in general. The “western” center, i.e., the tabernacle, is associated with the ritually clean, atonement for sin and intercession, whereas the “eastern” periphery, i.e., the desert or “non-garden,” symbolizes the unclean, judgement of sin and abandonment. It is most likely this encoding that also informs Zechariah’s vision of “[Israel’s] iniquity in all the land” (Zech 5:6) being transferred to the far east, namely “to the land Shinar” (Zech 5:11). The same is true when, in Psalm 103:12, the psalmist argues that “as far as the east is from the west [ ‫כִּ ְרחֹ֣ ק ֭ ִמז ְָרח‬ ֽ ִ so far does he [i.e., the Lord] move our transgressions from us.” ‫]מ ַ ֽמּﬠ ָ ֲ֑רב‬, As far as the process of turning or state of being turned towards the east, the most common orientation in the ancient world was towards the east. Cecil Brown, in a comprehensive cross-cultural study on lexical coding of cardinal directions, concludes that east and west are commonly encoded before north and south, and that east typically precede west due to the “salience of referents, be it natural or cultural” (Brown 1983, 142 &147). The obvious and culturally ubiquitous natural and/or cultural referent for “east” is the sun and sunrise. The natural referent was shared by all, of course, and is explicit in the Hebrew Bible in expressions like ‫“ ֵ ֣ק ְדמָ ה ִמז ָ ְ֔רחָ ה‬to the east side, toward the sunrise” (Num 2:3 cf. 34:15; Jos 19:13), whereas the cultural ditto differed according to the local culture’s conception of the sun. On a more general level, sunrise or the direction of sunrise commonly symbolized beginning or renewal, whereas west and sunset often was related to the end and death. Much information on a society’s cosmology may also be extracted from language. The Hebrew adjectives ‫ ֫ ִק ְדמָ ה‬and ‫חוֹרה‬ ָ ָ‫( א‬with local he) both mean “eastward”/“forward” and “westward”/ “backward” respectively, and additional words for those cardinal directions, Avraham Faust notes, only add to the cosmological encoding of the Hebrew language: The common word for west in Biblical Hebrew is yam, literally “sea” (‫)ים‬, which is the most conspicuous geographic element in this direction. But the word yam, besides designating a large body of water and westerly orientation, had some other meanings as well. In many cases those meanings represent the forces of chaos, sometimes personified in the Leviathan and other legendary creatures equaling the “Anti-God” in Biblical thinking, where God is responsible for

306

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

“order” (see Isaiah 27:1; Psalm 74:13–14; Job 26:12). The negative meaning of the word commonly designating the west strengthens the view that the westerly direction was not only at the “back” of the Israelite ego, but was also regarded as inauspicious (Faust 2017, 29). In Mesopotamia, on a more culture-specific level, the sun was taken to be a manifestation of Utu-Shamash, the god of justice, and dawn was related, therefore, to divine justice. Mary Shepperson, in a study on light in Mesopotamian architecture and legal practice, has demonstrated how the gates in both temples and private chapels in Ur from the beginning of the second millennium B.C. became oriented to the east and optimized to summer- and winter equinox (Shepperson 2012).10 As for an explanation, Shepperson points to contemporary texts on the importance of dawn for judicial proceedings in the gate: [T]here seems to be a reorientation of temple gateways around the beginning of the Ur III period. The change appears to switch from a north-westward bias in the Early Dynastic periods, during which gateways generally faced away from major sun exposure to a south-eastern orientation from the Ur III period on. These temple gateways are oriented and positioned in a way which allows them maximum access to morning sunlight. Through comparing this change to the contemporary textual evidence, a possible explanation emerges in the importance of the sun god to the practice and ideology of legal justice, which seems to require the presence of the sun as it appears in the morning at gates where oaths were taken and legal judgement performed (Shepperson 2012, 62). As far as verdicts in the eastern gate are concerned, Gabbay Uri demonstrates that the eastern temple in Mesopotamian temple complexes generally was considered the place of divine deliberation and judgment. One of the concrete examples he mentions is the east-oriented Šugalam Gate in Eninnus tempel in Ĝirsu, where excavators have recovered a daïs, which, in Gudea cylinder A viii from the third millenniium B.C., is connected with divine judgment (Gabbay 2013, 228, note 9). Other examples given are the eastern annex of Marduk’s temple, Esaĝil in Babylon, the eastern annexes in Aššur’s temple Eršara in Assur, and Anu’s tempel Rēš in Seleucid Uruk. “The connection of the east part of temples to divine judgment and decisions of destinies,” Gabbay argues, “is of course connected to the image of the sun god Utu/Šamaš as the divine judge” (Gabbay 2013, 228, note 9). In ancient Israel, conceptualization(s) of ‫‘ שֶׁ֫ מֶ שׁ‬sun’ (and ‫‘ שַׁ֫ חַ ר‬dawn’) was more complex. The sheer occurrence of polemics against sun worship in both Deuteronomic (Deut 4:19; 17:3), historiographic (2 Kgs 23:11),11 and prophetic (Jer 8:2; Ezek 8:16) literature demonstrate that sun worship was known and most likely also practiced. The equation of Yahweh of Hosts with the sun in, e.g., Isa 24:23, the many images of the solar disk on seals and jar handles, and perhaps also theophoric names like ‫‘ ִשׁ ְמשׁוֹן‬S[h]ams[h]on’ (Judg 13:24) and ‫‘ שַׁ ְמ ְשׁ ַרי‬Shamsherai’ (1 Chron 8:26) testify to that. J. Glen Taylor, in his Yahweh and the Sun, argued that [s]everal lines of evidence, both archaeological and biblical, bear witness to a close relationship between Yahweh and the sun. The nature of that association is such that often a ‘solar’ character was presumed for Yahweh. Indeed, at many points the sun actually represented Yahweh as a kind of ‘icon’. Thus, in at least the vast majority of cases, biblical passages which refer to sun worship in Israel do not refer to a foreign phenomenon borrowed by idolatrous Israelites, but

10

An even stronger case could be made for Egyptian temples. Having analyzed data from more than a hundred temples of Upper Egypt and Lower Nubia, Shaltout and Belmonte conclude that “the temples in the Upper Egyptian Nile valley were topographically orientated in such a way that most of the axes of the buildings were perpendicular to the course of the river, normally with their gates facing it and seldom in the opposite direction. Axes parallel to the river course were also common. This pattern of orientation presumably agreed with the Egyptian way of understanding the cosmos” (Shaltout and Belmonte 2005, 293). 11 Richard S. Hess mentions that if the animal in the fourth panel of the Tanaach Cult Stand is a horse, it may represent the horses mentioned in 2 Kgs 23:11 (Hess 2007, 321–24).

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

307

to a Yahwistic phenomenon which Deuteronomistic theology came to look upon as idolatrous” (Taylor 1993, 257). Wiggins, in a refutation of Taylor’s thesis, argues, however, that “[n]either archaeology nor biblical texts, when considered on their own merits, suggest that Yahweh was ever considered to be manifested as the sun” (Wiggins 1996, 106; cf. the response in Taylor 1996). Whatever the more precise relationship between iconographic and biblical evidence might be along the comparative adaptation-appropriation-polemization spectrum, the Hebrew Bible indisputably uses “sun” (and “dawn”) metaphorically to describe Yahweh’s righteousness and healing (Mal 3:20), glory (e.g., Isa 59:19; 60:1–2), blessing (Num 6:24–26; Ps 84:12–13), unmediated judgment (Gen 32:31; Exod 22:2; Num 25:4; Deut 24:13 & 15; 2 Sam 12:11; Jon 4:8; Ps 112:4), and indirect judgment (Isa 41:25). As far as movement along the cardinal east-west axis is concerned, both ִ ְ‫ ו‬,‫)מז ָ ְ֣רחָ ה‬ ִ is used to describe Yahweh’s coming, the sun (Deut 33:2),12 and the cardinal axis itself (‫ﬠַד־מז ָ ְ֑רח ִמצָּ ֖ ֹפון‬ either as a means of judgment (Exod 14:21; Isa 41:2; 46:11) or salvation (Zech 8:7; 14:4). A corollary of Yahweh’s coming from the east is that, in the cosmology reflected by these texts, Yahweh resides in the east; most explicit, of course, in Ezekiel’s vision of the Glory of the Lord coming from east (Ezek 43:2). In regard to orientation of temple gateways, the obvious examples have been mentioned already. In addition to these centralized temples, Mazar argues that “the orientation of the temples in [Iron Age] Israel follow no consistent pattern” (Mazar 1992, 187; cf. the diagram on p.178). Apart from Solomon’s temple, only the unorthodox Yahweh temple at Arad is perfectly aligned with the east-western axis. More suggestive, therefore, is Avraham Faust’s study on doorway orientation in Iron Age settlements in ancient Israel. Faust observes: An examination of Iron Age buildings and settlements in ancient Israel indicates that a large number of them were oriented toward the east, while the west was extremely under-represented. An examination of various climatic and functional considerations does not seem to explain the phenomenon. Many ethnographic studies, however, have demonstrated the strong influence that cosmological principles can have on the planning of buildings and settlements, and that in many cases the east is preferred (Faust 2001, 129). In a narrower but more recent study Nikolai Paukkonen demonstrates that updated information from Iron Age Tel Kinrot confirms Faust’s conclusions. Only 1 of 10 discernable doorways is aligned towards the western part of the compass, and practical factors cannot explain this anomaly (Paukkonen 2018). The archaeological evidence is mute, of course, as to which cosmological conceptualization lay behind this tendency, and it may or may not, therefore have been informed by the aforementioned biblical texts. In the light of the role settlement layout played in ancient Israel’s “ethnic negotiation” with Canaanites and Philistines (Faust 2007), it is not unreasonable that doorway orientation also played such a role, and that it was informed, not by Egyptian, Philistine, Canaanite, or more general Mesopotamian cosmology, but by the very concepts reflected in the texts mentioned from the Hebrew Bible. 6. Symbolic Space One of the basic ideas of spatial theory is, as we have seen, the interdependency and symbiosis of thought processes underlying spatial practice, conception of space, and symbolic space. To describe the social meaning of turning or moving east or west, it is not enough, therefore, to mine the texts for spatial practices and cognitive conceptualizations related to bases ‫קדם‬, ‫ זרח‬and other relevant lexical and textual data. We also need to ask how the texts reflect the interactions between the author (directly or by proxy) and the existing spatial practice(s) and conceptualization(s) of space, and, importantly, how this interaction reflects contemporary social, political, and religious issues. This must be done diachronically, of course, on a text-to-text basis, since we cannot expect a static and uniform picture to emerge. Times change, people change. As far 12

It could be argued that the Lord in this case came from south, but since “dawned” and “shone forth” is used, it could also be from east relative to Moses’/Israel’s position at the moment.

308

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

as interaction with contemporary spatial practice and conceptualizations of space is concerned, Mark George, in his monograph on Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space, argues that the priestly authors’ “social practice of orienting tabernacle space according to the cardinal directions indicates the degree to which it depends on creation and the created order” (George 2009, 181), and that tabernacle conceptual space, instead of vertical schemas with the deity on the mountain at the apex of the system, employ a horizontal schema with the deity in the innermost space of the tabernacle. “As a result,” George maintains, “instead of vertical distinctions and elevations symbolically encoding and marking social status and privilege, horizontal distinctions mark them. Social status and privilege are signified by how far westward a person or persons may move in the tabernacle. Access to the westernmost space of the tabernacle, most holy space, is restricted to the high priest, once each year (Exod 30:10; Lev 16), wearing the garments that mark his body as having the proper social status to enter most holy space” (George 2009, 129). In addition to the horizontally encoded social status mentioned by George, our previous discussion on first humanity’s eastward movements away from God’s presence in the garden sanctuary and Abraham’s reversal of these movements demonstrate that the tabernacle’s horizontal scheme perhaps is more linked to a vertical scheme than is clear from George’s discussion. If the priestly author – as argued by George – was depending on “creation and the created order,” he would no doubt have been aware that first humanity’s horizontal movement also, perhaps even primarily, was an expression of existential estrangement. Even more exciting for our purposes, however, is George’s diachronic argument that the priestly writers’ interaction with “horizontal” creation theology, reflects Israel’s contemporary, templeless need for reestablishing her social order, life, and identity: The possibility that the Priestly writers envisioned a role for Israel vis-à-vis all the people of the world has other implications for tabernacle social space. The spatial practices of portability and orientation make possible the metaphorical and symbolic re-creation and reproduction of tabernacle space wherever Israel finds itself, even if no physical objects of the tabernacle exist (or ever existed). All that is required is the proper orientation within creation, determined by the cardinal directions. Once this happens, Israelite social structure and identity are reestablished, according to the taxonomic systems of tabernacle conceptual space. These features of tabernacle social space contribute to symbolic space. Israel has a social structure and identity that can operate anywhere in creation. Indeed, it only can operate within creation, because creation is central to how this space is lived and has symbolic meaning. Such a message symbolically transforms Israel’s reality and experience of exile. If Israel’s social order, life and identity can be reestablished anywhere in creation, then Babylon (or Judah, once the people returned) was not any different. Israel could maintain its social identity, even in Babylon. Tabernacle social space (rather than a fixed site or place) facilitated the ability of Israel’s identity to be reestablished anywhere (George 2009, 188). Regardless whether George’s conventional, historical-critical dating of the tabernacle narrative to the exilic / early post-exilic period or the inner-biblical dating to Israel’s wilderness wanderings is the correct one, both settings portray Israel as land-, king-, and templeless. The priestly writers’ horizontal, universal, and creation-bound scheme transcends the vertical, particular, and land/king/temple-bound ditto in order to prepare nascent Israel and/or the post-exilic Jewish community for the challenges ahead, and it is exactly this transcending scheme that makes the priestly interaction with creation theology especially relevant to later, similar settings. It really comes as no surprise, therefore, that Matthew’s gospel cosmology is informed by this very scheme, since Matthew was addressing Jews living in an occupied land with a destroyed temple, and a king who had just as little power as a Persian governor. The Gospel of Matthew also employs a vertical scheme, of course, since ὄρος ’mountain, hill’ in a number of places function as an important backdrop to Jesus’ ministry: The “temptation” mountain in 4:8, the “sermon” mount in 5:1 and 8:1, the “praying” mount in 14:23, the “healing” mount in 15:29, and – not least – the “high mountain” as a place where heaven and earth met in 17:1, the Mount of Olives as a staging area during the week that lead to the crucifixion of Jesus in 21:1; 24:3; 26:30, and the unnamed mountain in Galilee, where the resurrected Jesus gave his Great Commission to his disciples in 28:16. The setting of the Great Commission is especially interesting, since it concludes Matthew’s Gospel by combining the vertical scheme with a horizontal one, that also begins his

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

309

gospel, thus forming a “cosmological” or universal inclusio. By tracing Jesus’ lineage back to Abraham (1:1), who, as a representative of ‫‘ ֖ ֹכּל ִמ ְשׁפְּ חֹ֥ ת הָ אֲדָ ָ ֽמה‬all the families of the earth,’ reversed humanity’s existential, eastward eisodus towards “Babel” and “Shinar,” away from Eden, Matthew prepares his readers for a new representative, westward Exodus back to life as it was created to be in Eden’s garden temple in the form of the magi’s journey ἀπὸ ἀνατολῶν ‘from the east’ (2:1) towards “something greater than the temple [garden]” (12:6). It is very fitting, therefore, that Matthew between his allusion to Abraham’s Exodus in 1:1–17 and the description of the magi’s ditto in (2:1–2) places the pericope on the birth of Jesus Christ as the one who made a new Exodus possible. Matthew describes him as “Immanuel” (1:23) and – later in his gospel (12:6; 21:12; 24:1–2; 26:61) – as the one who is or transcends the temple and therefore embodies God’s being ‫‘ ﬠִ ָ ֥מּנוּ‬with us.’ And just as it was by coming from the east to the land of promise Abraham received the blessing personally and became a blessing to others, the magi, on a universal scale, represent humanity’s coming to βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων ‘king of the Jews (not to Ἡρῴδου τοῦ βασιλέως ‘Herod the king’ and τοὺς ἀρχιερεῖς καὶ γραμματεῖς ‘the chief priests and the scribes’) as the one who transcends and embodies the particularities of land, king and temple. And it is precisely this gospel, of course, that defines the Great Commission, and enables the disciples to journey east – not as an existential getaway – but as commissioners of universal blessing. Seen from Matthew’s vantage point, i.e., the situation post A.D. 70, the destiny of the Jews, in J. Duncan M. Derrett’s words, “lies not in recovering fantasies of world-dominion, but in bringing salvation to all nations. The way to God lies through the baby of Bethlehem” (Derrett 1978, 104). 7. Perspectivization In the history of Christendom, vertical schemes have tended to dominate, but just as Matthew recommends a horizontal model for his post-land/king/temple Jewish community, post-Constantinian Christianity surely needs to interact with such triads of horizontal spatial practice, conceptualization of space and symbolic space in a western world where institutionalized Christendom is being marginalized and Christian discourse is being ousted from public space. We shall probably never know what sort of spatial practice and conceptualization of space led the ancient islanders of Bornholm to christen the ridges east and west of Cow’s Valley. The juxtaposition of “Paradise” and “Hell” with “west” and “east,” may – as we have seen – be traced back to the very roots of Christianity in the Hebrew Bible. Be that as it may, my future treks – whether from the eastern Hell’s Hills to the western Paradise Hills or the other way round – will probably activate spatial thought processes informed by the horizontal schemes contained in my Judaeo-Christian heritage, transforming the physical space of these hills into a powerful, symbolic space which empowers me (and possibly other trekkers) to make my own small contribution to the reversal of humanity’s existential getaway. It is an honor to dedicate this small study to K. Lawson Younger, whose erudite and life-long sharing of knowledge and passion for cross-fertilization between ancient Near Eastern and Biblical studies has contributed to my own appreciation of ancient Near Eastern literary and material culture for in-depth understanding of the Biblical text. Bibliography Beale, G. K. 2004. The Temple and the Church’s Mission. A Biblical Theology of the Dwelling Place of God. NSBT 17. Nottingham, England: Apollos. Block, Daniel I. 2013. “Eden: A Temple? A Reassessment of the Biblical Evidence.” In From Creation to New Creation: Biblical Theology and Exegesis, edited by Daniel M. Gurtner and Benjamin L. Gladd, 3–29. Peabody: Hendrickson. Brown, Cecil H. 1983. “Where Do Cardinal Direction Terms Come From?” Anthropological Linguistics 25 (2): 121–61. Corsi, Patrick, and Dominique Morin. 2015. “Appendix 5: Tips on Deepening Understanding by Using Trialectics.” In Sequencing Apple’s DNA, edited by Patrick Corsi and Dominique Morin, 177–85. Wiley. https://doi.org/10.1002/9781119261575.app5.

310

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

Derrett, J. Duncan M. 1978. Studies in the New Testament. Leiden: Brill. Faust, Avraham. 2001. “Doorway Orientation, Settlement Planning and Cosmology in Ancient Israel During Iron Age II.” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 20 (2): 129–55. https://doi.org/10.1111/14680092.00127. ——— 2007. Israel’s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, expansion, and Resistance (Approaches to Anthropological Archaeology). Equinox Publishing. ——— 2017. “Archaeological Views: Archaeology, Israelite Cosmology and the Bible.” BAR 43 (6): 28– 29,68. Gabbay, Uri. 2013. “‘We Are Going to the House in Prayer’: Theology, Cultic Topography, and Cosmology in the Emesal Prayers of Ancient Mesopotamia.” In Heaven on Earth. Temples, Rituals, and Cosmic Symbolism in the Ancient World, edited by Deena Ragavan, 223–43. Oriental Institute Seminars 9. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. https://oi.uchicago.edu/sites/oi.uchicago. edu/files/uploads/shared/docs/ois9.pdf. George, Mark K. 2009. Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space. Illustrated edition. Atlanta: SBL. Hess, Richard S. 2007. Israelite Religions: An Archaeological and Biblical Survey. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Nottingham, England: Baker Academic. Hübertz, J.R. 1852. Aktstykker til Bornholms historie 1327–1621. København: Gyldendal. Lefebvre, Henri. 1974. La production de l’espace. Paris: Éditions Anthropos. ——— 2000. La production de l’espace. 4th ed. Paris: Anthropos. Mazar, Amihai. 1992. “Temples of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages and the Iron Age.” In The Architecture of Ancient Israel, edited by A. Kempinski and R. Reich, 161–89. Jerusalem: IES. https://www.aca demia.edu/11186809/A_Mazar_Temples_of_the_Middle_and_Late_Bronze_Ages_and_the_ Iron_ Age_in_A_Kempinski_and_R_Reich_eds_The_Architecture_of_Ancient_Israel_Jerusalem_The_ Israel_Exploration_Society_1992_pp_161_189. Meredith, Christopher. 2016. “Taking Issue with Thirdspace: Reading Soja, Lefebvre and the Bible.” In Constructions of Space: III: Biblical Spatiality and the Sacred, edited by J. Cornelis de Vos, Karen J. Wennell, and Jorunn Økland, 75–103. LHB/OTS 540. London: Bloomsbury T & T Clark. Millard, Alan R. 2001. “Where Was Abraham’s Ur? The Case for the Babylonian City.” BAR 27 (3): 52– 53+. Paukkonen, Nikolai. 2018. “Eastern Alignment of Buildings in the Galilee Region – A Study on Doorway Orientation in Iron Age Tel Kinrot.” Master’s Thesis, Helsinki: University of Helsinki. Petersen, K.A., and M.K. Zahrtman. 1922. “Nexø byes historie.” In Bornholmske Samlinger 14, 70–116. Rønne: Bornholms Samfund/Colbergs Boghandel. Schreiner, Patrick. 2016. “Space, Place and Biblical Studies: A Survey of Recent Research in Light of Developing Trends.” Currents in Biblical Research 14 (3): 340–71. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 1476993X15580409. Shaltout, Moshalam, and Juan Antonio Belmonte. 2005. “On the Orientation of Ancient Egyptian Temples: (1) Upper Egypt and Lower Nubia.” Journal for the History of Astronomy 36 (3): 273–98. Shepperson, Mary. 2012. “The Rays of Šamaš: Light in Mesopotamian Architecture and Legal Practice.” Iraq 74: 51–64. Sleeman, Matthew. 2013. “Critical Spatial Theory 2.0.” In Constructions of Space V : Place, Space and Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean World, edited by Gert T. M. Prinsloo and Christl M. Maier, 49–66. Bloomsbury T&T Clark. https://doi.org/10.5040/9781472556752. Stordalen, Terje. 2000. Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical Hebrew Literature. Leuven: Peeters. Taylor, J. Glen. 1993. Yahweh and the Sun: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sun Worship in Ancient Israel. 1st edition. Sheffield, England: Sheffield Academic Press. ——— 1996. “A Response to Steve A Wiggins, ‘Yahweh, The God of Sun?’” JSOT 21 (71): 107–19. Walton, John H. 2001. Genesis. The NIV Application Commentary. Grand Rapids, Mich: Zondervan.

Kofoed – East as Symbolic Space

311

Wenham, Gordon J. 1985. “Sanctuary Symbolism in the Garden of Eden Story.” In Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies. Div. A: The Period of the Bible, edited by Moshe GoshenGottstein, 19–25. Jerusalem: Magnes Press. https://www.jstor.org/stable/23527779. Wiggins, Steve A. 1996. “Yahweh: The God of Sun?” JSOT 21 (71): 89–106. Zevit, Ziony. 2013. What Really Happened in the Garden of Eden? New Haven: Yale University Press.

The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God from Middle Bronze Age / Old Babylonian Alalah (AlT 366 [40.05]) Jacob Lauinger

Abstract AlT 366 [40.05] is an administrative text from Middle Bronze Age / Old Babylonian Alalah (Level VII) that has garnered interest because of one influential analysis of the text. According to this analysis, the text records that a silver statue of a deity was melted down to serve as a source of silver disbursements. In this article, I provide a new edition of the text and discuss the tablet’s rulings to demonstrate that the text actually documents the production – not the destruction – of a statue, which represented, most likely, a recentlydeceased ruler – not a deity. This conclusion means that AlT 366 [40.05] can no longer be summoned as evidence for the recycling of a statue in antiquity. On the other hand, the text may perhaps contribute something to the study of the royal funerary cult in Bronze Age Syro-Anatolia. AlT 366 [40.05] is an administrative text from Middle Bronze Age / Old Babylonian Alalah (Level VII) that documents disbursements of silver.1 The text is of particular interest because, according to one point-ofview, it records that the statue of a deity, presumably having been melted down, served as the source of the disbursed silver. While dissenting views can be found in the secondary literature, none have engaged with this claim in a sustained manner, and, as a result, AlT 366 [40.05] and its supposedly-recycled silver statue can be found invoked in the scholarly literature as an ancient Near Eastern analog for various Biblical topics, such as God’s command to the Israelites to burn the idols of the Canaanites in fire (Deut. 7:5) or the absence of statues of Yahweh in the archaeological record of Iron Age Israel. In this article, I provide a new edition of AlT 366 [40.05] and reconsider whether the silver statue of a deity did in fact serve as the source of the disbursements of silver that the text records. Specifically, I focus on the tablet’s layout and organization to demonstrate that the text actually documents the production – not the destruction – of a statue that represented, most likely, a recently-deceased ruler – not a deity. This conclusion means that AlT 366 [40.05] can no longer be summoned as evidence for the recycling of a deity’s statue in antiquity. On the other hand, the text can perhaps contribute something to the study of the royal funerary cult in Bronze Age Syro-Anatolia. It is a pleasure to be able to contribute this particular article to this volume in honor of Lawson Younger. Lawson’s monumental History of the Arameans stands and will continue to stand as one of the great achievements of scholarship on the ancient Near East of this century, as much for its method as for its conclusions. But when I think about Lawson, what I remember most is our conversations as he worked to rescue from oblivion a barely-remembered deity, the head of a now-forgotten pantheon (“Aramis is king of the gods!”). I open this article with a transliteration, translation and description of AlT 366 [40.05] before moving into a discussion of earlier scholarship on the text; note that this translation and description incorporate and anticipate readings or other interpretive choices that are discussed in more detail in the commentary to the text at the end of the article. From here, I move in to look more closely at the horizontal rulings that organize the text of the tablet into five sections, and I consider the administrative function of each section. These observations and considerations allow me to reinterpret a key line that requires us to understand the attesta-

1

Bibliographic abbreviations follow the Reallexikon der Assyriologie, with the following addition: FMA = Sasson 2015. Other abbreviations are: b.e. = bottom edge; obv. = obverse; rev. = reverse; t.e. = top edge. Texts from Alalah are cited by their primary publication with reference added in square brackets to the new numbering system found in Zeeb 2001 for Level VII tablets and Niedorf 2008 for Level IV tablets. Photos of AlT 366 [40.05] are available on Alalach Archiv < https://www.hethport.uni-wuerzburg.de/Alalach/alalarch.php > (accessed May 31 2021). I had the opportunity to collate and photograph the tablet myself on May 20 2013, for which opportunity I am grateful to the Hatay Archaeological Museum’s staff archaeologists Ömer Çelik, Demet Kara, and Aslı Tuncer. I am grateful also Theodore Lewis and to J. Caleb Howard for many helpful comments on early and late drafts, respectively, of this article; any errors or omissions are, of course, entirely my own responsibility.

314

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

tion of a statue in the text not as the source of the disbursements that precede it but as the purpose of the disbursements that follow it. I conclude by discussing some of the larger implications of this new understanding of AlT 366 [40.05] and provide a commentary to the text as an appendix to this article. AlT 366 [40.05] Dimensions: (5.72 cm × 3.65 cm) Museum number: HAM 8735 Excavation number: ATT/39/43 Find spot: Level VII Palace, room 11 Previous Treatments: Wiseman 1953: 101 (transliteration) and Plate XXXVII (copy); Draffkorn 1959: 189–190 (transliteration of lines obv. 1–8); Zaccagnini 1979: 475 (transliteration of lines obv. 1–11); Naʾaman 1981: 47 (translation); Wilhelm 1998: 173 (transliteration of lines rev. 13–22); Dietrich and Loretz 2006 [2008]: 93–94 (copy and transliteration); Lauinger 2007: 201–3 (transliteration and translation) Transliteration and Translation Obverse 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

24

2 GAL KU₃.BABBAR ti-iš-nu 4 GAL KU₃.BABBAR pa₂-ba-aš-šar-re-e 2 GAL KU₃.BABBAR ša-an-nu 1 GAL KU₃.BABBAR ku-uk-ka-al-li

2 silver tišnu-cup(s) 4 silver pabaššare-cup(s) 2 silver šannu-cup(s) 1 silver cup (decorated with) k/gukkallumsheep 1 GAL KU₃.BABBAR pa₂-ba-aš-šar-re-e 1 silver pabaššare-cup a-di LUGAL im-tu₃-ut a-na qu₂-bu-ri as soon as the king died, for the grave. 25 GIN₂ KU₃.BABBAR KI.LA₂.BI 25 shekels of silver in weight. 1 GAL KU₃.BABBAR pa₂-ba-aš-šar-re-e 1 silver pabaššare-cup a-na di-ni-a-du 30 GIN₂ KI.LA₂.BI for Dini-Addu. 30 shekels in weight. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------11 GAL.HI.A 5 ME 55 GIN₂ KU₃.BABBAR 11 cups, 555 shekels of silver KI.LA₂.BI KU₃.BABBAR ša GAL.HI.A in weight: Silver for vessels. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Bottom edge d This is the silver for the statue: an-na KU₃.BABBAR ša ALAM ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Reverse 27 GIN₂ (erasure) KU₃.BABBAR 27 shekels (erasure) of silver: i-ir-tu₃ ša LUGAL A breastplate for the king. it-ti LUGAL a-na qu₂-bu-ri With the king, for the grave, -------------- id-di-nu they gave (it)/it was given. 30 GIN₂ KU₃.BABBAR ši-in-nu 30 shekels of silver: The eyes. 40 GIN₂ KU₃.BABBAR ši-nu-us-sa₃ 40 shekels of silver: Blinders -------------- ša ANŠE.KUR.RA for the horse. giš ? 37 shekels of silver for the wheel(s) / of the 37 GIN₂ KU₃.BABBAR ša UMBIN / giš GIGIR!? chariot. ŠU.NIGIN₂ 1 me-at 30 KU₃.BABBAR Total: 130 (shekels) of silver for the statue. ša dALAM ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ŠU.NIGIN₂ ŠU.NIGIN₂ 6 ME 85 GIN₂ Grand total: 685 shekels of silver KU₃.BABBAR Top edge a-šar iš-te-en at one time.

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

315

AlT 366 [40.05] records the disbursement of silver cups on its obverse and the disbursement of silver as a raw material for the production of a breastplate and decoration for a statue on its reverse.2 On both the obverse and reverse (lines obv. 6 and rev. 15), qualifications to two entries suggest that the disbursements occurred in conjunction with the death of a king, probably a ruler of Alalah, although the elliptical nature of the qualifications is frustrating (see the commentary to the lines). A note at the very end of the text, line t.e. 24, suggests that the disbursements occurred all at once, not over a period of time, and so may imply that the king had died only shortly beforehand. This understanding of the context of AlT 366 [40.05] differs somewhat from that suggested by the text’s first editor, Donald Wiseman, who published the text in his 1953 catalog of the texts from Alalah excavated by Leonard Woolley. Our understandings are similar in that Wiseman (1953: 100–101) described the text as an “[a]ccount … of silver disbursed for overlay, etc., of a statue, shoes and horse trappings (?) etc.” He also recorded the “[l]arge vessels (GAL) with Hurrian qualifications of names and whose weight in silver is given.” But he noted that “[s]ince the clay and script of this tablet are strikingly similar to *1 and *126 the statue and vessels here mentioned may be parts of Iarimlim’s [i.e., the first recorded ruler of Level VII Alalah -JL] endowment of the IŠTAR temple when he took over Alalah.” Wiseman did not state what if any connection there was between the vessels and the silver disbursed for the statue. The absence of any such statement may be because Wisemen did not know what to do with the sign string KU-BU-ri, taken here as qubūru, “burial,” that appears in the two qualifications mentioned above. He transliterated the string as ku-pu-ri without comment, but he offered no translation, and the word does not appear in his “Selected Vocabulary.” Similarly, in her dissertation on Hurrian and Hurrians at Alalah that appeared a few years later, Anne Draffkorn (1959: 190) transliterated the string as ku-bu-ri but did not translate it, and the word also did not appear in either her “Word List A – Hurrian Terms” or “Word List B – Terms that May be Hurrian.” A reading of the string as qu₂-bu-ri did not occur until 1971, with the publication of fascicle 10 of AHw (p. 925b), where the word was booked under qubūru(m), “Grab,” understanding a purūs-formation noun of the root *qbr, “to dig, bury.” While, subsequently, Carlo Zaccagnini (1979: 475) used AlT 366 [40.05] in order to check his conclusions that a mina comprised 50 shekels during the time period of the Level VII texts (see the comment to line obv. 7 in the Appendix for more discussion), Nadav Naʾaman was the first scholar to subject the text to sustained study. Like the present article, Naʾaman (1981) grounded his interpretation of AlT 366 [40.05] in the horizontal rulings, which, according to him, organize the text into four sections (see below for more discussion and a different conclusion as to the text’s organization). According to Naʾaman (1981: 47) “different kinds of ornamental cups are mentioned” in the first section, with “only the papaššarru-cup mentioned in line 5 … offered as a burial gift in the grave of the deceased king”; the second section records “objects … probably offered as a burial gift for the deceased king (line 15). The amounts of silver used for plating or setting different kinds of objects are included here.” Naʾaman (1981: 48) also observed that “[t]he statue of the god (written with the divine determinative) is mentioned twice, in lines 12 and 20. The context makes it clear that this statue was the source of the silver, and it appears that the statue was melted down in order to manufacture the objects recorded in the text.” Stephanie Dalley (1986: 89) took this attestation of ALAM (Akkadian ṣalmu) written with the divine determinative as a divine name, namely, as a reference to the deity Ṣalmu. According to her, the text “records items of silver issued from the god Ṣalmu (dALAM), some or all of which was connected with the death of the king and intended to be placed in his grave.” Thus, Dalley followed Naʾaman (whom she cites) in seeing the attestations of dALAM in lines b.e. 12 and rev. 22 as indicating the source of the silver found in the sections listing cups and burial gifts. However, she seems to have understood it to be an administrative, and not physical, source (i.e., the silver was issued from a temple of Ṣalmu? Note that this deity is not otherwise attested in the Level VII corpus). To my knowledge, Brian Schmidt (1996: 111) was the first to consider that dALAM in AlT 366 [40.05] might represent something other than (the statue of) a deity. He suggested that it was the statue of a deceased king, basing his suggestion “[i]n the light of dalam in Idrimi’s autobiography, the function of his statue, and 2

By “silver as a raw material,” I mean as a material intended to make or create something else. The description makes no statement as to the origin of this silver, which could be virgin or recycled.

316

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

in spite of the significant time lapse” (for (d)ALAM in lines 92 and 99 of the Idrimi inscription). Like Dalley before him, Schmidt seems to have followed Naʾaman in understanding each attestation of dALAM in lines b.e. 12 and rev. 22 to be connected to the preceding disbursements of objects, although he understood the objects in each section to have been offered “for the approval of the royal divine statue” (his translation of line b.e. 12, where he took an-na as “(the accusative of?) annu, ‘approval, positive divine answer (through extispicy)’”; p. 111 n. 320). Although more specific aspects of Schmidt’s interpretation stumble at the level of grammar and citation (see the commentary for more discussion), his suggestion that the twice-mentioned d ALAM was the statue of a deceased king, and not the statue of a deity, offered an important new perspective on AlT 366 [40.05]. Frank Zeeb (2001: 54–55) described AlT 366 [40.05] as part of his systematic overview of the Level VII corpus in the introduction to his study of the sub-corpus of ration lists. Like previous scholars, Zeeb considered the text to be comprised of two main parts, though he discussed the first part in much more detail than the second. According to Zeeb, the first part of the text, lines obv. 1 – b.e. 12, consists of six entries listing vessels qualified by Hurrian names, and the further specification in line obv. 6 mentioning a burial suggested to him that the context for the text was the burial of a deceased king. The mention of a stele in line b.e. 12 (another possible translation of the Akkadian word ṣalmu) further supported this context because of the important role that stelae and betyls played in the cult of the dead in Syria (n. 100). Concluding his discussion of the first part of the text, he stated that the total amount of the silver cups was expended on a stele (“Der erste Teil wird abgeschlossen durch eine Zwischensumme – das ŠU.NÍGIN Zeichen fehlt allerdings –, die das Gesamtgewicht mitteilt. Dieselbe Summe wird offenbar für eine Stele (Z. 12) ausgegeben”). About the second part of the text, Zeeb noted only that it comprises four entries of silver “mit dem jeweiligen Zweck.” In short, Zeeb followed Naʾaman 1981 (which is not cited but does appear in the bibliography) in understanding the attestations of dALAM in lines b.e. 12 and rev. 22 to be connected to the sections listing cups and various objects that precede each. But for Zeeb, the text lists silver objects that were melted down for a stele, not the other way around As already noted by Naʾaman, though, the idea that the listed objects formed the raw material for the stele seems to be contradicted by the fact that one cup is actually disbursed (1 GAL KU₃.BABBAR … a-na di-ni-a-du, “1 silver vessel … to Dini-Addu, lines obv. 8–9). AlT 366 [40.05] received cursory mention in JoAnn Scurlock’s (2002) study of “soul emplacements” in ancient Mesopotamia, where she followed her discussion of Gilgamesh’s production of a statue of Enkidu in silver for the latter’s funeral in the Epic of Gilgamesh by stating, “[t]hat the presence of silver statues of deceased individuals at funerals is not simply a product of literary imagination is suggested by the mention of silver objects (to be melted down) for statues in one of the Alalakh texts” (pp. 1–2). Scurlock thus seems to have independently reached the same conclusion as Zeeb as to the objects and not the statue serving as the source of silver (though taking ṣalmu as a statue and not a stele). However, as she cites only Wiseman’s original publication and does not quote the language of the text itself, it is difficult to say more about how she came to her interpretation. In my dissertation, I studied AlT 366 [40.05] from an archival perspective (Lauinger 2007: 201–3). I objected to Naʾaman’s thesis on grounds that I recognize now to be based on a misreading of his article. Specifically (p. 201 n. 116), I understood him to be arguing that the second group of objects listed on the tablet’s reverse (lines rev. 13–20) were parts of a statue that had been melted down for silver that was used to produce the silver vessels listed in the first group of objects on the tablet’s obverse (lines obv. 1–9). I thought that the different amount of silver used to produce the vessels as opposed to the second group of vessels made this interpretation unlikely, as did the fact that the text concludes with a “grand total” (ŠU.NIGIN₂ ŠU.NIGIN₂, line rev. 23), implying two disbursements. In fact, as described above, Naʾaman argued no such thing. Instead, he understood the statue to have been melted down to produce both the vessels listed on the obverse and also the objects listed on the reverse. However, despite (or due to?) my misplaced objection to Naʾaman’s argument, I suggested a new point of interpretation of the text, namely, that the first attestation of dALAM in line b.e. 12 is not a summary of the preceding section of the text (the vessels) but rather a heading for the following section, listing the second group of objects. I believe that this interpretation still holds, and I develop it below. Although I did not explicitly argue the point, I also accepted the general nature of Wiseman’s original description of the second part of the text (“silver disbursed for overlay, etc., of a statue, shoes and horse trappings (?) etc.,” [Wiseman 1953: 100]) and understood that the objects listed on

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

317

the tablet’s reverse were not discreet items, as Naʾaman and others have had it, but rather parts of a statue. This interpretation still seems to me to be correct and is also developed in more detail below. As this literature review has shown, a number of different interpretations of AlT 366 [40.05] have been put forward since Naʾaman argued in 1981 that the text documents the recycling of a silver statue of a deity. Nonetheless, it is his interpretation that has won the most wide-spread acceptance in the scholarly literature, especially by colleagues working in the archaeology of ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible. For instance, in a survey of the textual evidence for animal- and human-headed cups at Mari and Level VII Alalah in the context of publishing a fragmentary vessel from Middle Bronze Age Tel Haror, Zevulun and Ziffer (2007: 13) remarked: From the Alalakh tablet dealing with the recycling of a silver statue we learn that costly cups were manufactured at Alalakh itself (AlT 366 = Naʾaman 1981). A divine silver statue weighing 685 shekels (5.5 kg), was melted down, its silver used for manufacturing various articles. Most of the silver (555 shekels) was used to make 11 drinking cups, of which one was in the shape of a ram’s head. The rest of the silver (130 shekels) served to create funerary gifts (chest covering for the king, setting for an ivory ornament, horse trapping and chariot ornament) for the deceased king’s grave. Presumably, the statue was melted down in order to prepare in great haste gifts worthy of being offered to a dead king. Similarly, in a study of Yahweh’s command for the Israelites to burn the idols of the gods of the Canaanites (Deut. 7:5), Versluis (2017: 121) stated, “[i]n the Ancient Near East, it sometimes happened that the statue of a god was ‘recycled.’ In a text from Alalakh, it is explicitly indicated that various silver objects were made of an idol (AT 366:12,20),” citing only Naʾaman’s (1981) discussion. And, most recently, Lewis (2020: 303–4) cited Naʾaman’s (1981) interpretation of AlT 366 [40.05] in his exploration of reuse and recycling of metals as a possible explanation for the absence of male divine figurines in the archaeological record of Iron Age Israel; for Lewis, the text provided an “analogy with similar practices elsewhere in the ancient Near East.” There exists, however, a basic problem with Naʾaman’s analysis that undermines his conclusion that the text documents the recycling of a silver statue. Although, as described above, Naʾaman explicitly grounds his approach in the horizontal rulings that organize AlT 366 [40.05] into sections, he has overlooked one ruling and, therefore, conflated two sections into one. As described in more detail below, this one fictitious section is Naʾaman’s basis for seeing the statue as the source of silver for the cups, and so disentangling the two sections removes any connection between the two. To demonstrate this point, however, requires looking more closely at the horizontal rulings because the layout of the tablet is characterized by both line rulings and section rulings (although only the section rulings are indicated in the copies of Wiseman 1953: Plate XXXVII and Dietrich and Loretz 2006: 93), and so the identification of any given ruling as a section ruling as opposed to a line ruling requires some justification. Line rulings seem to have been used for every line on the tablet, except, interestingly, for those lines that begin a section; on this feature, see below. As is typical for cuneiform tablets with line rulings, the cuneiform signs in a given line are written so that their tops “hang” from the ruling. In lines that are either sparselywritten or indented, line rulings have the added effect of “canceling” the resulting blank space, whether this blank space is at the beginning (Fig. 1) or interior of the line (Fig 2). Fig. 1: Indented line rev. 19, showing line ruling occupying the beginning of the line.

rev. 18 19 20

318

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

Fig. 2: First half of line rev. 22 showing line ruling visible between ŠA and AN.

rev. 21 22

Note that one prominently-indented line does not seem to have been ruled (Fig. 3). Fig. 3: Indented line rev.16, showing the absence of a line ruling before ID (visible ruling belongs to the subsequent line).

rev. 15 16

For another entry where the text exceeds the space of a single line, the signs are not indented on the following line but rather are written inter-linearly (Fig. 4). In addition to line rulings, the scribe also employed horizontal section rulings in order to group individual entries into meaningful larger units of text (Fig. 5).

rev. 20 run-over from 20 21 obv. 9 22 10 Fig. 4: Right side of reverse, showing the final signs of line rev. 20 that have run over and are positioned in between lines rev. 20 and 21.

Fig. 5: Section ruling between lines obv. 9 and 10.

Fig. 5 also demonstrates another characteristic of the text’s rulings, namely, that, as mentioned above, the first line of a section does not seem to have had a line ruling. If, for example, line obv. 10 had a line ruling in addition to being directly below the section ruling, we would expect to see two horizontal rulings above the line in Fig. 5. How, though, can we be sure that the ruling in Fig. 5 is a section ruling and not a line ruling? In fact, the process is relatively straightforward. The key observation is that signs do not “hang” from a section ruling in the same way that they do from a line ruling. This feature is especially clear in Fig. 6, where there is blank space between the tops of the wedges in line rev. 23 and the section ruling above it, in contrast to line rev. 20, where the tops of the wedges “hang” from the line ruling. Another feature that helps to distinguish a section ruling from a line ruling is that section rulings seem to have been written after the tablet was inscribed with the signs, in contrast to line rulings, which seem to have been ruled on the tablet before it was inscribed with signs. A good example of this sequence of operations can be seen with the ŠA sign at the beginning of line rev. 22 (Fig. 7). The upper portion of this sign obscures the line ruling from which it “hangs” and which was written beforehand. But the clay of the lower part of the sign’s final vertical wedge has itself been displaced by the section ruling that follows this line.

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

319

rev. 20 21 22

wedges on top of line ruling rev. 22 section ruling on top of wedge

23

Fig. 6: Line ruling above line rev. 20 and section ruling above line rev. 23.

23

Fig. 7: Beginning of line rev. 22, showing ŠA written above the line ruling but below the section ruling.

On the basis of these observations on the use of line and section rulings in AlT 366 [40.05], we can distinguish four section rulings and thereby establish that the text is organized into five sections: 1. Lines obv. 1–9, disbursements of cups 2. Lines obv. 10–11, summary total of cups 3. Line b.e. 12, “This is the silver of/for the statue” (an-na KU₃.BABBAR ša dALAM) 4. Lines rev. 13–22, disbursements for statue + summary total of statue 5. Lines rev. 23–t.e. 24, grand total. Notes 1. The final entry’s qualification that it is “for” (ana) Dini-Addu, “and not received by him” (Naʾaman 1981: 48) demonstrates that this section lists disbursements. 2. Although the signs ŠU.NIGIN₂ are not written in this section, it is clear that this section summarizes the individual entries of the preceding section because the number of cups in the summary matches the number of cups listed in the individual entries. It is impossible to determine whether the sum of the individual entries matches the summary total because, seemingly, only the weights of the last two cups are given in section 1 (although, see the comment to line obv. 7 in the Appendix for another possibility). 3. The section consists of only one line and is provided here in translation and transliteration because its interpretation is uncertain, as discussed in the comment to the line in the Appendix. 4. The summary total is included within this section and not treated as a separate section. There is a small discrepancy between the sum of the individual entries (134 shekels) and the summary total (130 shekels). 5. The sum of the two summary totals and the grand total match; on ŠU.NIGIN₂ ŠU.NIGIN₂ used to indicate the “Gesamtsumme” of individual summary totals, see Zeeb 2001: 683. Note that the scribe did not use a ruling to mark the end of the text; i.e., no ruling separates line t.e. 24 from line obv. 1. This description of the tablet’s layout and organization as divided by four rulings into five sections differs from Naʾaman’s (1981: 47) description of the tablet as “divided by inscribed lines into four parts.” In other words, Naʾaman considered three rulings to have divided the tablet into four sections. He did not include the rulings in his translation of the text, but it is possible to determine which of the four section rulings described above he omitted from his translation because he stated that his translation followed the organization of the tablet into sections (“my translation follows that division,” p. 47). The omitted section ruling must be the one between lines obv. 11 and b.e. 12 because Naʾaman translated lines obv. 10 – b.e. 12 as a single section: “(a total of) 11 cups of silver weighing 555 shekels. This silver of the cups is indeed(?) the silver of the statue (dALAM)” (p. 47). The omission of this ruling is crucial to Na’aman’s interpretation of the text as recording the recycling of a silver statue. To summarize his reasoning (p. 48):

320

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

1. Because the silver of the cups “is” the silver of the statue, either (option 1) the cups must be the source of the silver for the statue, or (option 2) the statue must be the source of the silver for the cups. 2. Because a cup is disbursed to Dini-Addu (lines obv. 8–9), the cups must be the finished product, and, therefore, option 1 above is ruled out and the statue can be identified as the their raw material. 3. Because the statue is mentioned in relation to the second group of objects, it must be the raw material used in their production as well. However, when we recognize that a section ruling demarcates lines obv. 10–11 from line b.e. 12 (see Fig. 8), this chain of reasoning no longer holds up. These lines belong to different sections, so the silver of the cups no longer “is” the silver of the statue. In fact, there is little reason to take line b.e. 12 with the preceding sections and very good reason to take it with the section that follows simply because that section is where we find the other mention of the word “statue.” When we look at the text in this way, we see that line b.e. 12 functions as the heading to section 4 (“This is the silver of/for the statue”), which itself records disbursements of silver to be used in the production of that statue and concludes with a summary total describing the disbursements as so much “silver of/for the statue,” lines rev. 21–22). obv. 11 b.e. 12

obv. 11 b.e. 12 Figure 8: Two views of the section ruling between lines obv. 11 and b.e. 12. Here, an objection could be raised that the first entry in section 4 does not relate to the statue but is explicitly intended for use in manufacturing a breastplate that was to be interred with the king (“A breastplate for the king. They gave (it)/it was given with the king, for the grave,” lines rev. 14–16). In truth, this qualification offers no real difficulty to the understanding section 4 as primarily documenting disbursements intended for a statue because, after all, the qualification serves to mark an exception to the section’s subject matter. It is also not very difficult to imagine how such an exception came about: The office responsible for the silver disbursed this material to the artisans who were to manufacture silver parts for a statue, and, at the same time, it also disbursed silver for the manufacturing of a silver breastplate. For this reason, the disbursement of silver for the breastplate actually occurred together with the silver for the statue (cf., the qualification of the disbursements as “at one time,” line t.e. 24) and so was included among those entries, although its different purpose was carefully noted. Naʾaman (1981: 47) himself inferred a similar scenario to account for the qualification in line obv. 6 that one of the cups listed in section 1 was also interred with the king (“It seems to me that only the papašarru-cup mentioned in line 5 was offered as a burial gift the grave of the deceased king, and therefore it is recorded separately from the other cups (including the two papašarru-cups mentioned in line 2)”). As to why the silver for the king’s breastplate was included among the disbursements in section 4 and not the disbursement of cups in section 1, the obvious answer is that section 4 concerns disbursements of silver as a raw material, while the cups in section 1 were already manufactured. In sum, AlT 366 [40.05] records two groups of disbursements, one of finished silver cups and another of silver as a raw material to be used primarily in the manufacturing of a statue of a king. The text says nothing about the origin of the raw silver, whether it was virgin or recycled. Accordingly, AlT 366 [40.05] cannot be used as evidence for the recycling of the statue of a god in antiquity. Indeed, AlT 366 [40.05] cannot be used as evidence for or against the recycling of silver objects in general, because the text gives no indication as to the origin of the silver. But this conclusion does not mean that the text is not of great interest, both for the political history of Alalah and for our understanding of mortuary practices. If the reading of several entries is correct (and it may not be), both groups of disbursements seem to have been made in relation to

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

321

the death of a king (ana qubūri, lines obv. 6 and rev. 16), and there is a definite sense that the king’s demise happened somewhat unexpectedly (“(disbursment(s)) as soon as the king died,” adi šarru imtūt, line rev. 15; “(total amount of silver disbursed) at one time,” ašar ištēn, line t.e. 24 (see the comments to both of these lines in the Appendix on these senses of adi and ašar ištēn)). Perhaps additional work can confirm the assumption that the king in question was a ruler of Alalah, not Yamhad, and even narrow down the ruler in question. The production of the statue in connection with two mentions of the king’s death and interment brings us back to Schmidt’s (1996) suggestion that the statue in question represented the deceased king. From here, the pressing question is whether the statue was manufactured to be a votive object or to be used in an ancestor cult as a locus of provisions and perhaps also veneration. Here, Schmidt (1996: 111) highlighted the writing of the word ṣalmu, “statue,” in AlT 366 [40.05] lines b.e. 12 and rev. 22 with the divine determinative (dALAM), pointing to line 99 of the Idrimi inscription as a parallel, where, in a self-referential moment, the text requests blessings for the scribe “who wrote this statue (ša dALAM an-ni-na-tim iš-ṭu₂-ru-šu, line 99; see Lauinger 2015a).3 Jean-Marie Durand (2011: 133–34 with n. 114) observed about this writing that “[d]ans les listes d’Ancêtres d’Ébla et d’Ougarit les noms humains sont précédés de l’idéogramme divin ou de la mention ‘dieu’,” and so he considered “d’après des parallèles syriens …, cela devrait signifier que la statue représente quelqu’un qui est désormais divinisé, donc déjà mort et intégré à un culte.” Indeed, the use of the word “god” for a deified ancestor is widely attested in written sources from Syria and the Levant. Furthermore, in stark contrast to these attestations of a royal statue in AlT 366 [40.05] and l. 99 of the Idrimi inscription, in the one clear example in a text from Alalah VII of a royal statue that was a votive offering, where it is mentioned in the date formula, the word ṣalmu lacks the divine determinative (“Year: Niqmiepuh is the king, month of Hiyari, day 26, in which he brought his statue into the temple of Addu,” MU niiq-mi-e-pu-uh LUGAL ITI hi-ia-ri UD 26.KAM ALAM-šu a-na E₂ dIM u₂-še-lu-u₂, AlT 63 [22.11] rev. 19 – t.e. 22). Yet if the statue of the king whose manufacture is recorded in AlT 366 [40.05] was used in the context of an ancestor cult, it would represent a striking departure from excavated examples of statues thought to depict ancestors that date to the Middle and Late Bronze Age (Teinz 2014). These statues, for which the pair excavated outside the royal hypogeum at Qaṭna can stand as examples par excellence (see Pfälzner 2006: 17 for an excellent photograph), are smaller than life-size (the Qatna pair is 85 cm. in height), uniformly seated, and typically grasp a bowl in their right hand. Indeed, the bowl is an essential functional and iconographic feature of the statues, because it was intended to hold the libations that formed part of the mortuary repast (Bonatz 2000; Bonatz 2016). Furthermore, Pfälzner (2012: 218) has argued that the absence of any “individual rendering” that also characterizes these statues contributes to their role of serving as a locus for the veneration of collective and anonymous royal ancestors. In contrast, the statue in AlT 366 [40.05] seems to have been a roughly life-sized representation of the king in a chariot pulled by one or more horses (for its size, see the comment to l. 18 where the size of the statue is extrapolated from the amount of silver disbursed for the horse blinders). To my knowledge, excavated sculptures in the round that depict a human in a chariot are rare in the ancient Near East (images in relief, of course, abound) and are small in size (e.g., the copper figurine of a man in a chariot pulled by four equids from the Early Dynastic temple of Shara at Tell Agram is 7.2 cm in height; see OIP 60 no. 310 [plates 58–60]). It is true that the famous literary description of the statue of the Urartian king Rusa in Sargon’s Eighth Campaign suggests that statues of a king in a chariot may have been more prevalent than the surviving examples suggest.4 However, both the excavated examples and the literary reference seem to be votive objects, and, indeed, an image of the king in a chariot seems to make little sense in a mortuary context, where the royal image is intended to receive food and drink.

3

In an earlier place in the text, the same word is written logographically without the divine determinative (“whoever removes this statue of mine”: ma-an-nu-um-me-e ALAM-ia an-ni-na-ti i-na-as-sah₂-šu, line 92); Durand (2011: 133– 34) argues that this different spelling reflects an earlier redaction of the text. 4 Among the objects that Sargon’s soldiers plunder from the temple of Haldi is “a statue of Rusa with his two horses and his charioteer, together with its base, cast in copper, (inscribed with) his self-glorification: ‘With my two horses and my one charioteer did I take over kingship of the land of Urartu’ ”; translation following Foster 2005: 811.

322

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

How can we resolve this perceived disconnect between the royal statue whose manufacture is reflected in AlT 366 [40.05] and those statues known to have been used in the Bronze Age Near Eastern ancestor cults? There would seem to be three possibilities, though each one comes with its own difficulties. Perhaps, contra Schmidt (1996), the two-fold mention of the king’s death and interment in connection with the production of the statue does not provide enough of a basis to infer that the statue represented a recently-deceased king. Instead, the statue could have represented a deity, as originally argued by Naʾaman. Depictions of deities in chariots are also known; see, e.g., an example in bronze from LBA Susa (Manuel 2, pp. 858–59 [figures 609–10]; for the date, see Spyckett 1981: 308) . However, this possibility fails to explain why the king’s death and interment are mentioned in the text at all. Could the interpretation of the sign strings imDU-UD as imtūt, “he died,” and KU-BU-ri as qubūri, “grave,” be incorrect (see the comment to line obv. 6 in the Appendix for discussion and other possible interpretations)? Or could the statue have represented a recently-deceased king but have been manufactured for use as a votive object, not in an ancestor cult? However, this possibility fails to explain why the word ṣalmum, “representation, statue,” is written with the divine determinative (dALAM). Finally, could the statue have been manufactured to be used in an ancestor cult, but it was not a roughly life-size representation of the king in a chariot? In particular, the reading “the wheels of a chariot” (gišUMBIN? / gišGIGIR!?) in line rev. 20 is very tentative (see the comment to the line in the Appendix). One could also push back against the inference that the amount of silver disbursed for blinders (šinussi) in line rev. 18 indicates that they – and therefore, the rest of the statue – were life-sized. However, even the most minimalist interpretation of lines rev. 18–20 still needs to account for the attestation of a horse (ANŠE. KUR.RA) in line rev. 19. If any of the difficulties to these three possible scenarios above can be adequately addressed, then that respective scenario would seem to be the most likely one to lie behind the disbursements of silver recorded in AlT 366 [40.05]. However, in the event that they cannot be, we must take seriously a fourth possibility: The statue did depict the deceased king in a chariot pulled by (a) horse(s) and was manufactured for use in an ancestor cult. In this case, AlT 366 [40.05] would attest to a different, hitherto undocumented mortuary tradition in the Bronze Age, perhaps one which prized the individuality of deceased royal ancestors. Appendix Commentary to AlT 366 [40.05] In general, mimation seems to have disappeared, as is not uncommon with texts that date to later in Level VII; e.g., a-na ⸢ma-az⸣-za-az-za-ni (AlT 41 [20.06] obv. 6); ba-al-ṭu₂ (AlT 42 [30.10] rev. 2), ⸢e⸣-pe₂-ru annu-u₂, (AlT 58 [22.06] b.e. 2). Although some forms are ambiguous when taken in isolation, because they could conceivably be plural, the feminine noun irtu (line rev. 14) can only be singular (pl., irātu), and as there are no examples in the text of nouns ending in /m/, it seems safe to say that mimation has dropped uniformly throughout the text. There are also a number of words of Hurrian etymology in the text, again as is common in inventories and similar texts from Level VII Alalah (e.g., AlT 432 [40.06]; see Oliva 2000). Some of these words seem to have Akkadian case endings (e.g., tišnu, line obv. 1) and may be loanwords into the Akkadian of Alalah; others do not seem to have Akkadian case endings and may have been borrowed directly (e.g., pabaššarre, lines obv. 2 and 8). obv. 1. The logogram GAL is conventionally understood to designate the Akkadian word kāsu. In the discussion section, the article CAD K s.v. kāsu questioned whether this reading is correct for attestations of the logogram from Mari, Alalah, Qatna, and Nuzi. However, two attestations of the logogram with a phonetic complement (GAL-su₂; UF 38 114 [42.19] obv. 4, 7) that were unpublished at the time establish that kāsu is probably the correct reading of GAL in the Level VII texts. Draffkorn (1959: 208–9) proposed that the designation of the cup in this line as tišnu was related to the Hurrian root tiša, “heart,” and signified that the cup was “heart-shaped”; see Richter 2012: 463 for additional literature for and against the derivation, adding Watson 2010: 839 s.v. ttnt. The word appears in several other texts from both Level VII and Level IV Alalah; see Oliva 2000: 38 for the references. 2. To my knowledge, the word pabaššarre is a hapax. Following Richter (2012: 297) and despite the normalization of the word found in the dictionaries, the initial BA sign is transliterated as pa₂ in recognition

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

323

of the fact that the noun is formed from the Hurrian root paba, “mountain.” In texts from Alalah, several words are attested that are formed with this root. For instance, in the Level VII text AlT 55 [22.04] obv. 9 and 13, a particular type of payment that settlements were obliged to deliver is termed šar-ru-pa₂-be₂-en₆-ni (see Lauinger 2015b: 323 for discussion); and in the Level IV text AlT 417 [46.1] obv. 5, a piece of wooden furniture designated pa-pa-tu₄ is listed among tables, chairs, and other items (see Niedorf 2008: 106 and von Dassow 2008: 322 for summaries of the text). 3. The dictionaries (AHw 1164b, CAD Š/2 s.v. šennu), citing attestations from second- and first-millennium sources, understand šannum to be a by-form of šennum, an Akkadian word that is a loan from Sumerian šen and that seems to have designated a type of cauldron (lexical lists equate it to ruqqum, which clearly seems to have been a cauldron). However, it is also possible that attestations of this word in texts from Hattuša, Alalah, and Nuzi are a different word of Hurrian origin; see Richter 2012: 349 s.v. šanni for the attestations from Hattuša, in particular, which are not cited by the Akkadian dictionaries. Like tišnum in line obv. 1, the word šannum is attested in texts from both Level VII and Level IV. In particular, Oliva (2000: 35) has emphasized the writings with the Hurrian plural relator in the Level VII list of metal objects AlT 432 [40.06] obv. 7 and the Level IV list of various metal and wooden objects AlT 435 [48.133] obv. 6. 4. The Akkadian word k/gukkallum designates a type or breed of sheep and is a loanword from Sumerian gukkal(UDU.HUL₂). Cf. the Hurrian word ku-(uk)-ka-li-ni-na attested in Msk 74.178 A obv. 8, 11, 21, 24, 30 in a Hurrian extispicy text from Emar originally cited in part by Laroche (1980: 244 n. 42) and now published in full by Salvini (2015). Neither AHw 500a nor CAD G s.v. gukkallu lists this, or any other, reference to a cup in the shape of or decorated with one or more k/gukkallum-sheep, though this entry forms part of the larger passage cited by CAD K s.v. kasu mng. 1b–10´. The writing of this Akkadian(ized) word with a final /e/ or /i/ and without mimation is understood here to indicate the plural oblique case so that the vessel was decorated with multiple k/gukkallum-sheep, as opposed to being, e.g., in the shape of the head of a k/gukkallum-sheep. 6. This line offers several interpretive challenges, and the translation offered here is only one possibility; other possible interpretations, discussed below, cannot be ruled out. The difficulties are three-fold and interrelated: whether to understand the word adi as a preposition or subordinating conjunction and, in either case, its sense; whether the sign string im-DU-UD is a form of madādum or mâtum and, in either case, whether it is marked with the subjunctive; and how to transliterate the sign string KU-BU-ri, which also appears later in the text (line rev. 15). I take up this last question first. As discussed in the body of the article, the sign string KU-BU-ri was first read as a form of the noun qubūrum, “grave,” in AHw 925b. Attestations of this lemma, especially from Emar, have increased since the publication of the fascicle in 1971 (see Durand 1989 and Charpin 1989), and the interpretation of the sign string as qubūri is found in all subsequent treatments of the line (e.g., Zaccagnini 1979: 475; Naʾaman 1981: 47; CAD Q [1982] s.v. qubūru usage a; Dietrich and Loretz 2006: 93; Lauinger 2007: 201). While “grave” is a natural meaning for a purūs-noun of the root *qbr, “to dig, bury,” the word (or a word that is spelled the same but perhaps to be normalized as quburrum or quburrûm) is also attested at Tell Asmar with the meaning “funeral gift” (AS 22 15 rev. 3´; see Whiting 1987: 62); the context of the attestations of the string in AlT 366 [40.05] leaves this possibility open. It is also necessary to point out that readings of the initial sign KU as ku- and not qu₂- cannot be ruled out. To some degree, the reading qu₂- is preferable because it fits the context of the text, which seems to refer to a dead king since the verb imtūt, “he died,” is found in this same line. But the reading of those signs as imtūt and not imdud, “he measured out,” is, itself, influenced to some degree by the attestation of qubūrum, “grave,” in this line and later in the text. Accordingly, the danger of tautology lurks in the background, and in good faith, one must point out that three other readings of the sign string are possible: 1. ku-pu-ri, for kuppuri, a D infinitive of the verb kapārum, with the meaning “to wipe clean,” sometimes used to indicate ritual purification; 2. ku-bu-ri for kubburi, a D infinitive of the verb kabārum, with the meaning “to make heavy, to honor,” in this stem, or, from the same root; 3. ku-bu-ri for a quttulu-formation noun, as commonly found in personal names, so Kubburu, “Fatty.” In tepid support of this last option, see AlT 78 [23.05] rev. 16: IGI da-da DUMU ku-ub-bu-rum. In favor of the second option, see Scurlock 1993, where it is argued that the KU-bu-ru/ra found in sale documents at Emar and interpreted by Durand (1989) as qubūru, designating a family tomb, should be read as kubūru, “thickening, fattening,” designating an additional or supple-

324

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

mental payment. See also Pitard 1996: 139, where it is noted that “the excavations at Emar uncovered a significant number of residences without finding a single family tomb within. … Burial was almost certainly performed in a cemetery outside the city …. So there is no support for [Durand’s] proposal from … archaeological evidence.” It is also difficult to know whether to read the sign string im-DU-UD as a form of the verb madādum, “to measure out,” or the verb mâtum, “to die.” With im-DU-UD, the difficulty lies, in part, with the context: Silver disbursements (so appropriate for madādum) having to do with a burial (so appropriate for mâtum; note that this context depends, in part, on reading KU-BU-ri as qu₂-bu-ri, as discussed above). The interpretation of adi can play a role as well, though this word presents its own difficulties; see below. If the verb is a form of madādum, it must be read as a G preterite indicative verb im-du-ud (since UD cannot represent the syllable /du/; see below). This reading was put forward by Wiseman (1953: 101) and followed by Draffkorn (1959: 190) and Zaccagnini (1979: 475). In this interpretation, since the relevant clause also contains the lexeme adi, either the form imdud would need to be in a subordinate clause but not marked with the subjunctive, or adi would need to function as a preposition. If the verb is a form of mâtum, the second sign DU needs to be read as tu₃. The verb must be a G perfect verb in either the indicative (if UD is read as ut) or the subjunctive (if UD is read as tu₂; see below). This interpretation was first suggested, to my knowledge, by Naʾaman (1981: 47) and has been followed in all subsequent literature, including CAD Q s.v. qubūru usage a, where the dictionary’s editors likely hit upon the interpretation independently, since that volume was published in 1982. In trying to decide between madādum and mâtum, two potentially-useful approaches would seem to consider the likelihood of the sign DU having the value tu₃ in the Level VII corpus (as this approach could rule out mâtum if the value tu₃ is unlikely); and the likelihood of a verb in a subordinate clause lacking the subjunctive marker (as this approach could rule out madādum if the subjunctive marker is written consistently and it can be established that adi is used as a subordinating conjunction and not a preposition). With regard to the likelihood of the sign DU having the value tu₃, the Alalah syllabaries have been the subject of a recent article by Weeden (2019), who has noted that there are only four attestations of DU with the value tu₃ in the entire Level VII corpus, if we exclude the possible attestation that is under discussion here. This count contrasts sharply with attestations of the syllable /tu/ that are written with the sign TU, the typical way of writing the syllable in the corpus; although there is no published count of these attestations, I estimate there to be about 100. Indeed, the “absence or rarity of DU = tù in Alalah VII” in contrast to later Level IV Alalah is one of Weeden’s (2019: 148–49) major conclusions about the Level VII syllabary, and this conclusion might make us hesitant to read DU with the value tu₃ in this line. However, one of the four attestations of the value tu₃ in the Level VII corpus gathered by Weeden (2019: 146 Table 1) occurs later in this very same text (line rev. 14). In this attestation, i-ir-DU, the sign is used to spell the word irtum, “chest, breastplate,” so that there does not seem to be any ambiguity about the reading. Accordingly, reading the sign DU in AlT 366 [40.05] obv. 6 as tu₃ is quite possible, and so understanding the verb to be a form of mâtum cannot be ruled out.5 Nor can madādum be ruled out on the basis of an absent subjunctive marker. As discussed above, because the sign UD does not represent the syllable /du/, then a form of madādum could be ruled out if a subjunctive marker was required after a subordinating conjunction in the Akkadian of Level VII Alalah. However, while the presence of the subjunctive marker in subordinate or relative clauses is expected in the Akkadian of Level VII, it is by no means required. As noted by both Aro (1954: 364) and Giacumakis (1970: 53), this absence typically occurs in clauses introduced by inūma (e.g., i-nu-ma DUMU.MUNUS LU₂ urua-pi₂-šalki i-hi-ir, “when (Ammi-taqum) chose the ruler of Apišal’s daughter in marriage,” AlT 409 [44.04] rev. 46–48), and it may possibly occur in clauses introduced by other subordinating conjunctions as well.6 Accordingly, read-

5

Besides these two occurrences, there is no other attestation of the syllable /tu/ in AlT 366 [40.05] apart from the possibility of the immediately-following syllable, if the sign UD is to be read as tu₂; see below. 6 E.g., in AlT 56 [22.05] obv. 23, do we read ki-ma … i-na-ad-di-šu-nu as kīma … inaddiššunu, “just as (Irpa-Addu) gives them,” understanding the subjunctive marker to be absent, an assimilation of /n/ > /š/, and the use of the “short” form of the 3 m.pl. accusative suffix? Or do we read the text ki-ma … i-na-ad-di--nu, “just as (Irpa-Addu) gives (it),” which removes all three difficulties with the text but requires emendation? See Lauinger 2015b: 327–28 for more

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

325

ing the verb as im-du-ud after a subordinating conjunction is possible, and so understanding the verb to be a form of madādum cannot be ruled out. Finally, we need to consider whether adi is being used as a subordinating conjunction or a preposition and, in either use, its precise sense. The difficulty presented to the syntax of the line by adi is captured well by Naʾaman’s (1981) translation. Naʾaman took adi as a subordinate conjunction and translated the line as “while the king died (was laid) into (his) grave” (p. 47); the use of parentheticals suggests he was grappling with how to reconcile this use of adi with a perfect tense form of mâtum. In my dissertation (Lauinger 2007: 202 n. 118), my own difficulties in reconciling adi and a verb in the perfect tense led me to suggest that adi could be a different lexeme entirely, namely, the preposition qadum, “together with.” This preposition has a by-form adi, so that one could read, e.g., a-di šarri imdud, translating “he measured out (the aforementioned cups) together with the king, (for burial),” understanding the preposition to signify (along with ana qubūri) that the cups were intended for interment. This suggestion had the appeal of bringing the line even closer to its parallel itti šarri ana qubūri, “with the king, for burial” in line rev. 15. However, a difficulty with the suggestion lies in the fact that not only is adi as a by-form of qadum not attested in the Level VII corpus, the form qadum is itself quite well attested, occurring, to my knowledge, 13 times in 13 different texts. Furthermore, these attestations are in line with the distribution of qadum and adi in Akkadian more generally, where qadum predominates in the early second millennium, with attestations of adi not occurring in any great numbers until the later second millennium, and, especially, the first millennium; note that qadum is still the form attested in the Late Bronze Age (Level IV) texts from Alalah (references gathered by CAD A/1 s.v. adi B prep. usage i). Accordingly, the idea that we might take a-di as a by-form of the lemma qadum, “together with,” needs to be abandoned, and we can return to the question of whether the lemma adi, “before, as far as,” is used as a subordinating conjunction or preposition. In this regard, use as a preposition seems like it can be ruled out. As a preposition, adi should take a noun of time, space, or number as its object, and šarrum is not one of these nouns. Furthermore, in (almost?) every attestation of the word in the Level VII corpus, it is used as subordinating conjunction and not a preposition; e.g., a-di GU₄.HI.A i-ip-pa₂-lu, “until they repay the oxen” (AlT 32 [30.04] b.e. 9–10), or a-di PN ba-al-ṭu₂, “while PN is alive” (AlT 56 [22.05] rev. 1–2). The solitary possible exception known to me occurs in the summary section of an administrative text that records the disbursement of metal weapons and livestock in conjunction with a conflict, where Zeeb (2001: 58) has read a-di MU 2.KAM ZI.GA u₂-še-eṣ-ṣi and translated “Bis zum zweite Jahr wird er es als Ausgabe herausgeben” (AlT 410 [44.02] rev. 22–23). However, if we widen our lens a bit to lines rev. 19–23, it seems like adi may still be being used as a subordinating conjunction in an ištu … adi, “from X until Y,” construction: 19. an-nu-ut-tim x[x7 …] 20. ša am-mi-ta-⸢qum LU₂ urua-la⸣-la-ahki 21. iš-tu nu-ku-ra-ti iš-šu-u₂8 22. a-di MU.2.KAM ZI.GA 23. u₂-še-eṣ-⸢ṣi⸣9 discussion. For the possible occurrence of a verb without a subjunctive marker following adi in AlT 410 [44.02] rev. 22, in particular, see the discussion of that lemma below. 7 Possibly, the head of single horizontal wedge may be visible in the break, which takes up approximately the second half of the line. Wiseman did not offer a restoration. From his translation, Naʾaman (1979: 108) evidently restored inūma (“[when]”), in which he was followed by Dietrich and Loretz 2006: 125 (“⸢i⸣-[nu-ma]”); Zeeb (2001: 58) read and restored Z[I.GA], in which he was followed by me in my dissertation (2007: 185; “[ZI.GA]”). 8 As first observed by Naʾaman (1979: 108), although a normalization of this line appears in Wiseman’s (1953: 107) catalogue entry for the text, it is omitted from his copy of the text (Wiseman 1954: 29). 9 The reading of the sign as ṢI follows Dietrich and Loretz (2006: 125). Wiseman (1953: 107) normalized the verb as ušeṣṣu(sic) and so presumably read the sign as ZU, although it does not resemble this sign in his copy (1954: 29). In photographs of the tablet kindly provided to me by Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, it seems like the interior of the sign is damaged but that it still can safely be read as ṢI. As observed by Zeeb (2001: 58 n. 114), the form could be present tense or preterite tense, understanding a shift from a long open syllable to a short closed syllable. Zeeb interpreted the form as present tense in light of what he understood to be a present tense form later in line rev. 24. My

326

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

These things (are) [the expenditure?] of Ammi-taqum, the ruler of Alalah: After he initiated hostilities,10 up until he released an expenditure in the second year (of the hostilities). But even if it seems certain that adi is used as a subordinating conjunction in AlT 366 [40.05], the sense is not immediately clear. As mentioned above, Naʾaman’s (1981: 47) translation “while the king died (was laid) into (his) grave,” requires parentheticals to work, or else one is required to imagine the disbursement occurring literally as the king was in the process of passing away. Perhaps if the king suffered a long decline, this scenario is not impossible. But in such a use of adi to introduce a predicate describing a persistent state, we would expect to find the stative (as with a-di PN ba-al-ṭu₂, “while PN is alive,” AlT 56 [22.05] rev. 1–2, already cited above). Still, this interpretation is more satisfactory than the translation in CAD Q s.v. qubūru usage a, which I followed in my dissertation, “when the king died: for the grave.” Here, adi is essentially treated as a synonym for inūma, “when.” But the temporal conjunction inūma is well attested in Level VII administrative texts, including some that, like AlT 366 [40.05], list disbursements of metal cups and may very well have been written by the same scribe. It seems reasonable to assume that if the scribe responsible for AlT 366 [40.05] had meant inūma, he would have written inūma, and his decision to write adi was meant to communicate something different. As for what that difference is, I suggest that it is the sense of co-occurrence or near-simultaneity of two actions or events that is best translated into English by the phrase “as soon as.” Significantly, this sense is found with the preterite tense at Mari; e.g., a-di pu-ru-us-sa₃-šu-nu a-mu-ru-ma a-na ṣe-er be-li₂-ia aš-pura-am, “Indeed, as soon as I saw the decision about them, I sent a message to my lord” (ARM 26/2 389: 35– 36);11 or a-na-k[u] a-na mu-ba-al-li-iṭ-ṭim na-še-e-em a-na bi-da-haki aš-pu-ur a-di mu-ba-al-li-iṭ-ṭam u₂ša-ak-ši-du i-na ša-ni-i-im u₄-mi-im UR.MAH im-tu-ut, “I myself sent a message to GN in order that a cage be brought. As soon as the cage arrived, on the next day the lion died” (ARM 14 1: 14–18).12 To be sure, the parallels are not exact because the verbs āmuruma and ušakšidū are in the preterite tense, not the perfect (imtūt in the example from ARM 14 is in the main clause and so is not relevant to the discussion here). But they serve to illustrate the sense of co-occurrence or near-simultaneity of two actions or events that may lay behind the use of adi, as opposed to, say, inūma, in AlT 366 [40.05] obv. 6. In that case, the second action or event would have been the disbursements of one or more of the cups that appear immediately above. 7. Does the qualification of weight refer to all of the preceding ten cups or only the immediately-preceding pabaššarre cup recorded in line obv. 5? Zaccagnini (1979: 45) considered the weight to qualify only the immediately-preceding line. In a discussion of AlT 366 [40.05] presented in the context of arguing that a mina comprised 50 shekels during the time period of the Level VII texts, he suspected an error in the scribe’s arithmetic. According to his interpretation of the text, the first section of the text listed “9 cups the single weight of which is not specified, 1 cup weighing 25 shekels, and one cup weighing 30 shekels. In total: 11 cups weighing 555 shekels.” After subtracting the two cups with a known weight from the total and dividing this difference by nine, Zaccagnini determined that “the first 9 cups weigh 500 shekels; i.e. 55.5 shekels each,” a result that “seems suspicious to me.” Accordingly, he suggested that the scribe who drew up the

understanding of the syntax requires the verb to lack the subjunctive marker despite belonging to a subordinate clause introduced by adi; cf. the comments above on verbs appearing without an expected subjunctive marker. 10 For nukurtam našûm with the meaning “to initiate, undertake hostilities” at Mari, see a-li a-lum₄ ša nu-ku-ur-tam ina-aš-šu-u₂ na-ak-ri, “The city is my city! He who initiates hostilities (against it) is my enemy!” (A.2417 rev. 40 – t.e. 42; see Durand 1988: 100). There is some disagreement in the literature as to what the lexeme a-li is; cf. LAPO 17, p. 273 n. j. (“Plutôt qu’une explication de alî par ‘certes’, une compréhension âlî comme phrase nominal ‘C’est ma ville,’ me paraît plus simple.”) and FMA, p. 28, where it is taken as the interrogative ali (“Where is the city that would instigate hostility?”). In all interpretations, however, the meaning of nukurtam našûm is unchanged. 11 This understanding of the syntax follows ARM 26/2; cf., though, MesCiv 12, p. 336, where the -ma is taken as connective and ašpuram is also understood to be subordinate to adi: “Already before I became aware of the determination concerning their (fate) and wrote to my lord, ….” 12 Cf. the translations of LAPO 16, p. 347 (“Le temps qu’on l’ait fait parvenir, le lendemain, le lion était mort.”) and FMA, p. 130 (“While the cage was being hauled, on the morrow, the lion died.”). Note that the translation of adi in FMA as “while” requires the preterite verb ušakšidū to be translated as durative in aspect.

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

327

text had “twice reckoned the cup listed in lines 5–7 (notice that the weight is given two lines after the entry in line 5), a first time as part of the first group of cups” – whose weight is not given – and “a second time as a cup weighing 25 shekels” – its specified weight. If one divides the total weight of the cups, after subtracting the two cups with a known weight, by ten instead of nine (to allow for the “double reckoning” of the cup in lines 5–7), the cups without a specified weight would weigh 50 shekels each and “we would have here an interesting confirmation that the mina at Alalah VII consisted of 50 shekels.” However, it is possible that the scribe made a different mathematical error than the one supposed by the Zaccagnini. If the qualification of 25 shekels in line obv. 7 refers to all of the preceding ten cups and not only the immediately-preceding pabaššarre cup recorded in line obv. 5, then the difference between the summary total (555 shekels) and the sum of the individual entries (250 + 30 = 280 shekels) is 275 shekels. Suggestively, 275 shekels divided by 25 shekels (seemingly a standard weight for cups in the text) = 11; i.e., the number of cups listed in the section. In other words, if the subtotal of individual cups in line obv. 10 was erroneously reinterpreted as an additional 11 cups at a standard weight of 25 shekels each and added to the weight of the individual cups listed in lines obv. 1–9, the discrepancy of 275 shekels is accounted for exactly: 280 shekels (= 10 cups @ 25 shekels each + 1 cup @ 30 shekels) + 275 shekels (= 11 cups @ 25 shekels each) = 555 shekels. Whether only one or all ten of the preceding cups weighed 25 shekels, it seems clear that only the immediately-preceding pabaššarre-cup was interred with the king, if that reading of line obv. 6 is indeed correct, because that purpose is evidently what required it to be distinguished from the four pabaššarre-cups listed in line obv. 2. 9. Because he is identified by name and receives the largest cup, Dini-Addu was presumably an important person. Can we identify him? The name Dini-Addu is common in the Level VII corpus. One cluster of attestations of the name appears in texts written under the jurisdiction of Yamhad and dates to the first half of Level VII (AlT 54 [22.03] rev. 26; AlT 55 [22.04] rev. 30 [identified as šukkallum-minister]; AlT 57 [20.07] rev. 45 with its envelope UF 36 124 [22.18] rev. 15'; and AlT 77 [23.02] rev. 15). A second cluster is associated with the local jurisdiction or administration at Alalah and dates to the second half of Level VII (AlT 29 [32.02] rev. 14; AlT 32A [30.04A] rev. 15 [an envelope, with the name omitted from corresponding tablet]; AlT 59 [22.07] obv. 2; AlT 65 [24.01] b.e. 8; AlT 357 [42.13] obv. 4 [a šakkanakkum-official, see Lauinger 2015b: 105–106]; and UF 36 92 [20.12] rev. 13'). Whether these two clusters represent only two distinct individuals or (many) more is unclear. There is also a certain Dini-Addu who is attested as the elder of a rural settlement in an administrative text (AlT 271 [43.04] obv. 15) and who is probably distinct from both clusters. Unfortunately, absent additional qualification, it seems impossible to identify the attestation of the name Dini-Addu in AlT 366 [40.05] with any of these other attestations of the name. 12. Following most other scholars, I take the sign string an-na as annâ, the accusative singular form of the demonstrative pronoun annû without mimation.13 However, the expected form would be annû, because the word is the subject of a nominal sentence. Accordingly, it is worth considering three other interpretations of the sign string that have been suggested in the literature. From his translation “indeed(?),” Naʾaman (1981: 47) seems to have taken the word not as the demonstrative pronoun but as the interjection anna, annû II (AHw 53b, CAD A/2 s.v. anna interj.). However, as discussed in more detail in the body of this article, his subsequent translation, “The silver of the cups is indeed(?) the silver of the statue,” ignores the horizontal ruling that separates line obv. 11 and line b.e. 12 into two distinct sections, and so the context of the passage is not as appropriate for anna as Naʾaman would have it. Schmidt (1996: 111 with n. 320) normalized and translated the line as anna ša dalam, “for the approval of the royal divine statue,” understanding an-na as “(the accusative of?) annu, ‘approval, positive divine answer (through extispicy)’.” But this translation has inadvertently omitted the word kaspum, and Schmidt’s interpretation of the line does not make much sense when it is included (“for the approval of the silver of the royal divine statue”?). Finally, in my dissertation (2007: 201–2), I read the signs as AN.NA, the logogram for annaku, “tin,” translating “Tin and silver of the 13

To my knowledge, all other attestations of this word in the Level VII corpus are written with mimation, so the form is odd and possibly one should emend it to an-na-. Arguing against the emendation is the observation that mimation has dropped throughout the text. On the other hand, the demonstrative pronoun annû is one of the words that retains mimation the longest in the Akkadian of the Eastern Mediterranean, continuing to be written well into the Late Bronze Age; see, e.g., Huehnergard 1989: 99 on this feature in the Akkadian texts written at Ugarit.

328

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

statue.” But this interpretation seems unlikely because the text repeats the disbursed commodity both in the summary total to the section (line rev. 21) and also in the grand total to the text (line rev. 23), and neither of these sections mention tin. Possibly, the demonstrative pronoun annâ is in the accusative case under the influence of Hurrian, where the subject of an intransitive sentence would be in the absolutive case; i.e., the same case used for the direct object of transitive sentences. See the body of this article (p. X) for discussion of the divine determinative before ALAM. 13. As indicated in Dietrich and Loretz’s (2006: 93) copy, there is an erasure between GIN₂ and KU₃.BABBAR. Although a Winkelhaken is still visible at the beginning of the erasure, it is not possible to determine what sign was erased. 14. Following Naʾaman (1981: 47), the signs i-ir-DU are read as i-ir-tu₃, for irtu, “chest.” On the use of DU with the value tu₃, see the note to line obv. 6 above; as shown by the dictionaries, attestations of irtu with a plene spelling of the initial vowel are fairly common. The word irtu can have the extended meaning of a metal chest covering for a human or the breast straps of horse’s harness. In light of subsequent disbursements that mention a horse and, perhaps, a chariot, the latter option is at first sight attractive. But in the few attestations of the word used with this meaning that are cited by the dictionaries (AHw 386b, CAD I/J s.v. irtu mng. 3b), it consistently appears as a pair. In light of the fact that a pair is not mentioned here (though cf. the comment to line rev. 18 below, for Wilhelm’s [1998: 176] suggestion that the disbursement is for a pair of blinders despite explicit mention of the pair) and that the irtu seems to have been interred with the king (ana qubūri; see the note to line obv. 6), the word is taken here to signify a breastplate, probably thinly plated in silver in light of the size of the disbursement (about 225 grams). A different interpretation, which seems less likely but is worth mentioning in light of the vessels with Hurrian names that appear on the tablet’s obverse, is a connection with the Hurrian word irde, “tongue” (Richter 2012: 101 s.v. e/irde), which would then be written with an Akkadian case ending. 15.–16. The clause is a close, but not exact, parallel to line obv. 6: It uses the preposition itti, “with,” in place of the subordinating conjunction adi; the prepositional phrase ana qubūri appears before the verb instead of after it; and the verb ends in /u/, which, following Naʾaman (1981: 47) is understood here to be an impersonal use of the 3 m.pl. However, the overall thrust of these lines seems to be the same as the specification in line obv. 6: By specifying that the object(s) have been interred with the king, the text explains their absence for any future accounting procedure. Note that LUGAL, “king,” in these lines, as well as in line obv. 6, would refer to the body of the actual, deceased, king and not to a representation of him, despite this entry occurring in the section of silver disbursements for the statue; see the body of this article for more discussion. 17. The last word of the entry has been typically understood to be the Akkadian word šinnu, “ivory.” However, a disbursement of “silver for ivory” (CAD Š/3 s.v. šinnu A mng. 2b) does not make too much sense, unless the silver is intended to be used to acquire ivory, as I originally suggested in my dissertation (2007: 202 n. 120) and has now been suggested again as part of a larger argument against the existence of a native elephant population in northern Syria during the Bronze Age (see Biga and Steinkeller 2021: 35 n. 93, who translate “30 shekels of silver (is the price) of teeth,” remarking “[c]learly, in this particular instance the ivory was obtained from trade (rather than having come from locally hunted animals).” But disbursements of silver for the purchase of other objects are usually made explicit in Level VII administrative texts (e.g., 18 GIN₂ ši-im SILA₄.HI.A, “18 shekels (of silver) as the purchase price of lambs,” AlT 373 [43.09] rev. 7). In a different attempt, Naʾaman (1981: 47) resorted to parentheticals: “silver for (the setting of) an ivory (ornament),” but this solution does not really satisfy either. As an alternative, I suggest that we are seeing a different word altogether, a plural form of the Hurrian word ši(ni), “eye” (Richter 2012: 365 s.v. ši I), that has an Akkadian case ending; cf., the vessel names tišnu and šannu in lines obv. 1 and 3. According to this interpretation, the silver was disbursed to manufacture the statue’s eyes. Given the amount of the disbursement, about 250 grams, perhaps we should understand that the eyes were made of solid silver and not another substance that was then plated with silver. 18. For šinussi as a Hurrian word meaning “blinders for a horse,” see Wilhelm 1998 and Richter 2012: 365 s.v. šinuzzu. Note Wilhelm’s (1998: 176) observation that the weight of silver disbursed for the blinders in this line is about the same weight as a pair of excavated blinders from Cyprus. He concludes that the disbursement should be for a pair of blinders and not an individual blinker. On the face of it, this conclusion

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

329

seems quite reasonable, though it carries with it the implication that the silver was disbursed for actual blinders and not a representation of them, which, in turn, implies that the representation of the horse and king were roughly life-size. 20. The reading of the line tentatively follows CAD Š/3 s.v. šinnuzza, also followed by Wilhelm (1998: 173) and myself in my dissertation (2007: 202). Wiseman (1953: 101) omitted the signs from his transliteration (“37 šiqlu kaspu ša”). Nonetheless, the signs are present in his copy, and personal collation confirms that both his copy and the copy of Dietrich and Loretz (2006: 93) are accurate; note in particular the two signs that have run over so that they appear slightly above the end of the following line. Naʾaman (1981: 47) suggested “for the ta?-hu-uš of the chariot,” but, even apart from the difficulty in understanding ta?-hu-uš, this translation omits the two run-over signs. Dietrich and Loretz (2006: 94) transliterated gišERIN₂ hu?-tul₂? / gišGIGIR₂. This transliteration accounts for the wedges. However, ERIN₂ with the GIŠ determinative seems unlikely (as does the compound logogram GIŠ.ERIN₂ = gišrinnu, “scales (for weighing)”), and the meaning of the syllabically-spelled word hu-tul₂ (a form of hutūlu, an object made of clay(?) attested, to my knowledge, only in lexical texts?) is unclear. Note that the final sign, read by Dietrich and Loretz as GIGIR₂(=TUL₂) and by CAD Š/3 as GIGIR(=LAGAB×BAD) is actually MA (or, less likely, BA or KU). Were wedges omitted from the sign due to its placement on the tablet’s right side, having run over from the previous line? 23. Collation confirms Dietrich and Loretz’s (2006: 94) transliteration of the numeral following ME as 85, against the 84 that appears in their copy. The head of the third, rightmost vertical wedge in the upper series of the numeral 5 is partially obscured by the topmost horizontal wedge in the following GIN₂ sign. 24. To my knowledge, ašar ištēn does not occur elsewhere in the Level VII corpus. The phrase, which consists of the substantive ašru in status absolutus followed by the numeral ištēn, is found in OB and, to a lesser degree, OA letters; see AHw 83a (“an einer Stelle”) and CAD A/2 s.v. ašru A s. mng. 3b–4´ (“together, unanimously, at one place”). Naʾaman (1981:48) understood it to signify that “[a]ll of this silver came from one single place, i.e., the treasury” (p. 48). But, as at Mari, there were actually multiple offices in the Level VII administration responsible for silver (Lauinger 2007: 199–200, Lauinger 2008), and it is likely that the silver would have been qualified as such if this qualification was meant to indicate the origin of the disbursements.14 However, despite (or rather, because of) its core meaning as a spatial noun, ašru can carry with it a temporal sense (AHw 83b [“aB auch temporal?”], CAD A/2 s.v. ašar conj. mng. 2 [“as soon as, while,” citing only OB]),15 and it seems to have such a sense here as well: rather than specifying the source of the silver, the administrator responsible for AlT 366 [40.05] was interested in indicating that these disbursements did not occur over a period of time (so that the text itself would have been compiled from smaller memoranda) but rather were expended on one, undoubtedly memorable, occasion. Bibliography Aro, J. 1954 “Remarks on the Language of the Alalakh Texts.” AfO 17: 361–65. Biga, M., and Steinkeller, P. 2021 “In Search of Dugurasu.” JCS 73: 9–70.

14

For instance, administrative texts specify the source of silver disbursements as the king’s silver as opposed to silver from the temple of Ištar. See, e.g., ŠU.NIGIN₂ 3 li-im 2 ME 24 KU₃.BABBAR ZI.GA LUGAL, “Total: 3,224 (shekels) of silver: An expenditure of the king,” AlT 367 [42.05] rev. 18-19; ŠU.NIGIN₂ 2 ME 50 KU₃.BABBAR ZI.GA qa-ti m eh-li-iš₈-tar₂, “Total: 250 (shekels) of silver: An expenditure under the authority of Ehli-Ištar,” AlT 368 [43.07] rev. 10–12 (note that Ehli-Ištar was the šangûm-priest of Ištar and in the first entry of this text, the disbursed silver is qualified as KU₃.BABBAR diš₈-tar₂, “silver of Ištar,” line obv. 2). 15 The conflation of place and time that leads to the CAD’s definition “together, unanimously,” is illustrated well by AbB 13 60: 54, 65, which was published after CAD A/2: pi₂-i-šu-nu a-šar iš-te-en iš-ku-nu-ma, translated by its editor as “they contrived a plot,” but which literally means, “they established their mouth at one time-and-place.” At Mari, see also the damaged text ARM 28 146 rev. 3´-4´: ne₂-[pe₂-ša-am] ⸢a⸣-[š]ar [i]š-te-en₆ [n]i-ip-[pe₂-eš], translated by the editor as “Nous accomplirons l’action en une fois.”

330

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

Bonatz, D. 2000 Das Syro-hethitische Grabdenkmal. Untersuchungen zur Entstehung einer neuen Bildgattung in der Eisenzeit im nordsyrisch-südostanatolischhen Raum. Mainz: Verlag Philip von Zabern. 2016 “Syro-Hittite Funerary Monuments Revisited.” Pp. 173–94 in Dining and Death: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the ‘Funerary Banquet’ in Ancient Art, Burial and Belief, ed. C. Draycott and M. Stamatopoulou. Leuven: Peeters. Charpin, D. 1989 “Compte rendu du CAD volume Q (1982).” AfO 36/37: 92–106. Dalley, S. 1986 “The God Salmu and the Winged Disk.” Iraq 48: 85–101. von Dassow, E. 2008 State and Society in the Late Bronze Age: Alalah under the Mittani Empire. Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians 17. Bethesda: CDL. Dietrich, M., and Loretz, O. 2006 “Alalaḫ-Texte der Schicht VII (III): Der Listen der Gruppen ATaB 40, ATaB 42, ATaB 43 und ATab 55.” UF 38: 87–137. Durand, J.-M. 1988 “Les anciens de Talhayûm.” RA 82: 97–113. 1989 “Tombes familiales et culte des Ancêtres à Emar.” NABU 1989/112. 2011 “La fondation d’une lignée royale syrienne. Le geste d’Idrimi d’Alalah.” Pp. 94–150 in Le jeune héros: Recherches sur la formation et la diffusion d’un thème littéraire au Proche-Orient ancien, ed. J.-M. Durand, T. Römer, and M. Langlois. OBO 250. Fribourg/Göttingen: Academic Press / Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Draffkorn, A. 1959 “Hurrians and Hurrian at Alalaḫ: An Ethno-linguistic Analysis.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Foster, B. 2005 Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 3rd ed. Bethesda, MD.: CDL. Giacumakis, G. 1970 The Akkadian of Alalah. The Hague / Paris: Mouton. Huehnergard, J. 1989 The Akkadian of Ugarit. HSS 34. Atlanta: Scholars. Laroche, E. 1980 “Emar, étape entre Babylone et le Hatti.” Pp. 235–34 in Le Moyen Euphrate: Zone de contacts et d’échanges: Actes du colloque de Strasbourg, 10–12 mars 1977, ed., J. Margueron. Leiden: Brill. Lauinger, J. 2007 Archival Practices at Old Babylonian/Middle Bronze Age Alalakh (Level VII). Ph.D. dissertation, University of Chicago. 2008 “The Temple of Ištar at Old Babylonian Alalakh.” JANER 8: 181–217. 2015a The Electronic Idrimi. http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/aemw/alalakh/idrimi/corpus/ (accessed 22 July 2021) 2015b Following the Man of Yamhad: Settlement and Territory at Old Babylonian Alalah. CHANE 75. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Lewis, T. 2020 The Origin and Character of God: Ancient Israelite Religion through the Lens of Divinity. New York: Oxford. Naʾaman, N. 1979 “The Chronology of Alalakh VII Once Again.” Anatolian Studies 29: 103–13. 1981 “The Recycling of a Silver Statue.” JNES 40: 47–48. Niedorf, C. 2008 Die mittelbabylonischen Rechtsurkunden aus Alalah (Schicht IV). AOAT 352. Münster: UgaritVerlag.

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

331

Oliva, J. 2000 “The Alalakh Tablet *432 from Level VII Reconsidered.” SEL 17: 31–41. Pfälzner, P. 2006 “Syria’s Royal Tombs Uncovered.” Current World Archaeology 15: 12–22. 2012 “How Did They Bury the Kings of Qatna?” Pp. 205–22 in (Re-)Constructing Funerary Rituals in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the First International Symposium of the Tübingen PostGraduate School “Symbols of the Dead” in May 2009, ed. P. Pfälzner, et al. Qaṭna Studien: Supplementa 1. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz. Pitard, W. 1996 “Care of the Dead at Emar.” Pp. 123–40 in Emar: The History, Religion, and Culture of a Syrian Town in the Late Bronze Age, ed. M. Chavals. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Richter, T. 2012 Bibliographisches Glossar des Hurritischen. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz. Salvini, M. 2015 Les textes hourrites de Meskéné/Emar. AnOr 57/1. Rome. Gregorian and Biblical. Sasson, J. 2015 From the Mari Archives: An Anthology of Old Babylonian Letters. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Schmidt, B. 1996 Israel’s Beneficent Dead: Ancestor Cult and Necromancy in Israelite Religion and Tradition. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Scurlock, J. 1993 Once more ku-bu-ru. NABU 1993/21. 2002 “Soul Emplacements in Ancient Mesopotamian Funerary Rituals.” Pp. 1–6 in Magic and Divination in the Ancient World, ed. L. Ciraolo and J. Seidel. Ancient Magic and Divination 2. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Spycket, A. 1981 La Statuaire du Proche-Orient ancien. HdO. Siebente Abteilung, Kunst und Archäologie 1. Bd., 2. Abschnitt, B, Lfg. 2. Leiden/Köln: Brill. Teinz, K. 2014 “Imagery of Ancestors? Bowl-Holding Seated Stone Effigies.” Pp. 11–28 in Contextualising Grave Inventories in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of a Workshop at the London 7th ICAANE In April 2010 and an International Symposium in Tübingen in November 2010, Both Organised by the Tübingen Post-Graduate School “Symbols Of The Dead”, ed. P. Pfälzner, et al. Qaṭna Studien: Supplementa 3. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz. Versluis, A. 2017 The Command the Exterminate the Canaanites: Deuteronomy 7. Oudtestamentische Studiën, OTS 71. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Watson, W. 2010 “Non-Semitic Words in the Ugaritic Lexicon (8).” UF 42: 831–45. Weeden, M. 2019 “Remarks on the Syllabaries at Alalah VII and IV: Arguments for an Archival Approach to the Study of Cuneiform Writing.” Pp. 129–53 in Keilschrift Syllabare: Zur Methodik ihrer Erstellung, ed. J. Klinger and S. Fischer. Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient 28. Gladbeck: PeWe-Verlag. Whiting, R. 1987 Old Babylonian Letters from Tell Asmar. Assyriological Studies 22. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Wilhelm, G. 1998 “Hurr. šinussi “Scheuklappe”?” Pp. 173–76 in General Studies and Excavations at Nuzi 10/2, ed., D. Owen and G. Wilhelm. Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians 9. Bethesda: CDL.

332

Lauinger – The Supposed Recycling of a Silver Statue of a God

Wiseman, D. 1953 The Alalakh Tablets. Occasional Publications of the British Institute of Archaeology in Ankara 2. London: British Institute of Archaeology in Ankara. 1954 “Supplementary Copies of Alalakh Tablets.” JCS 8: 1–30. Zaccagnini, C. 1979 Notes on the Weight System at Alalaḫ VII. Or N.S. 48: 472–75. Zeeb, F. 2001 Die Palastwirtschaft in Altsyrien nach den spätbabylonischen Getreidelieferlisten aus Alalaḫ (Schicht VII). AOAT 282. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Zevulun, U. and Ziffer, I. 2007 “A Human Face from Tel Haror and the Beginning of Canaanite Head-Shaped Cups.” Pp. 9–44 in Bilder als Quellen / Images as Sources: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Artefacts and the Bible Inspired by the Word of Othmar Keel, ed., S. Bickel, et al. OBO Special Volume. Fribourg/ Göttingen: Academic Press / Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq? Revisited Within its Ancient Near Eastern Context André Lemaire

Abstract Since its publication in 2009, Sabaic inscription B-L Nashq? has been diversely interpreted, mainly because it mentions a war between Chaldea and Ionia, as well as towns of Judah. After a quick research history, critically discussed in the Ancient Near Eastern context, it is shown that the war between Chaldea and Ionia fits the Neo-Babylonian period and the early years of Nebuchadnezzar II, probably his second year (603 BCE). This dating throws light on Sabaic history in its ANE context. Professor K. Lawson Younger Jr. is famous for his numerous publications about the Ancient Near East, among them his collaboration and vital role in producing the four volumes The Context of Scripture and his masterful synthesis A Political History of the Arameans. In the same orientation to understand texts and inscriptions in their Ancient Near Eastern context, it seems to be useful to revisit a much discussed SouthArabian inscription. After a brief survey of the interpretation history of this inscription, we shall discuss critically the various historical interpretations proposed in the context of the Ancient Near East. Its editio princeps was published by F. Bron and myself in 2009.1 This Sabaic inscription on a bronze plaque with more than 25 lines is a dedication of “Ṣabaḥhumū son of ‘Ammshafaq, from (the lineage) Rashwān (inhabiting) Nashq”, messenger of “Yada‘il Bayān, son of Yitha‘’amar, king of Saba’”, to “Almaqah, lord of Mayfa‘at”. The inscription tells the military exploits of Ṣabaḥhumū as well as his success when “he traded and led a caravan to Dedān, Gaza and the towns of Judah (’HGR YHD) and when, sent from Gaza to Kition, during the war of Chaldea and Ionia (BḌR KS2DM WYWN), he was safe and sound”. After mentioning the diverse possible chronological interpretations of the war between Chaldea and Ionia, the editio princeps proposed to date it in the 2nd year of Nebuchadnezzar (603 BCE) and the inscription in the first part of the 6th century BCE. We developed the argument and the interest of this dating in three other papers2 and I. Gajda again dated the bronze statue with a Sabaic inscription mentioning “Yada‘’il Bayān, king of Saba’” “vers la fin du VIIe ou au cours de la première moitié du VIe siècle avant notre ère”.3 Only a few months after the editio princeps, this inscription was presented by Ch. Robin to the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (Paris) first orally (on 16 January 2009) and later on paper.4 He proposed to date the war between Chaldea and Ionia to 557 (under Neriglissar) or 556 (under Nabonidus) referring to a contribution of S. Anthonioz5 that was not presented in the meeting of the Academy but added to the

1

It was orally presented on 30 November 2008 at a meeting of the Association pour la recherche sur la Syrie-Palestine à l’Époque Perse (ASPEP) and published as: F. Bron / A. Lemaire, “Nouvelle inscription sabéenne et le commerce en Transeuphratène”, Transeuphratène 38, 2009, p. 11–29, pl. I–III. 2 A. Lemaire, “Chronologie sabéenne et minéenne et histoire du Proche-Orient”, Or 79, 2010, p. 379–89; idem, “New Perspectives on the Trade between Judah and South Arabia”, in M. Lubetski and E. Lubetski eds., New Inscriptions and Seals Relating to the Biblical World, ABS 19, Atlanta, 2010, p. 93–110; idem, “Remarques sur la Datation des Campagnes Néo-Babyloniennes en Cilicie”, in L. Marti ed., La famille dans le Proche-Orient ancien. Proceedings of the 55th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Paris 6–9 July 2009, Winona Lake, 2014, p. 753–59. 3 I. Gajda, “III. Étude de l’inscription YM 23206” in B. Mille, I. Gajda, F. Demange, C. Pariselle, Y. Coquinot, É Porto, O. Tavoso, A. Zink, “Hawtar‘athat, fils de Raḑaw’il, du lignage de Shalalum. Une grande statue de bronze du royaume de Saba’ (Yemen)”, in Monuments et mémoires de la Fondation Eugène Piot 89, 2010, p. 15–21, esp. 18–21. This dating fits the stylistic analysis of the bronze statue (ibid., p. 15). 4 Ch. Robin, “Trois remarques sur l’histoire de Saba’ et de Ma‘īn”, in Ch. Robin / A. Maigret, “Le royaume sudarabique de Ma‘in: nouvelles données grâce aux fouilles italiennes de Barâqish (l’antique Yathill)”, CRAI 153, 2009 [printed in December 2010] , p. 76–93, esp. 81–93. 5 S. Anthonioz, “Note complémentaire sur la guerre entre la Chaldée et l’Ionie”, CRAI 153, 2009, p. 93–96.

334

Lemaire – Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq?

publication on paper in December 2010. A dating in the first half of the 6th century BCE was again accepted by A. Avanzini6 and M. Arbach7. In a synthesis about Sabaeans and Judeans/Jews in 2017, P. Stein8 mentioned the inscription B-L Nashq? as an example of trade. Because he did not know of a war between Neo-Babylonian kings and Greece9 and because the reference to the towns of Judah seemed vague to him, he referred to the paleographic chronology of H. von Wissmann in 1982, and concluded: “eine Datierung der Inschrift in das frühe 4. Jh v. Chr. am wahrscheinlichsten”10. This late dating in the early 4th century BCE was considered in 201911 by S. L. Sørensen and K. Geus. For them, since “there are no references in either Babylonian or Classical sources to a war with the Ionians”12 and since “Stein … holds that the inscription should be dated to the fourth century”,13 they proposed “to identify the war between the Chaldeans and the Greeks as a reference to the one fought between Persians and Euagoras, client king of Cyprus”14 “386–381 BC”.15 The dating of B-L Nashq? in the early 4th century BCE was also argued by A. Multhoff in 2019.16 After emphasizing several philological difficulties in the translation of this inscription (RGL, MṢR), she tried to compare this inscription to other South Arabian inscriptions. Actually she compared it to Minaic inscriptions, especially RES 3022, and found several parallel details that could indicate that they relate “to the same events”17. Referring to the rather late date proposed by P. Stein and, according to her, “confirmed by Søren Lund Sørensen and Klaus Geus”,18 she proposed a “probable course of events” that would fit best “the tensions at the fringes of the Achaemenid Empire in the years around 400 BCE”.19 One might think that her South Arabian interpretation fits the one of Sørensen and Geus but this is not the case on one important point: she accepts the dating of RES 3022 to the end of the 5th or the beginning of the 4th centuries BCE20 and this dating is necessary for her argument, while Sørensen and Geus proposed a much lower date for RES 3022 with a reference to the “second invasion of Antiochus IV of Egypt in 168 BC”.21 We shall not discuss here in details of the different translations of the Sabaic text proposed by Anne Multhoff, but only one point directly connected with the commercial expedition northwards: she translates lines 14–15: “when (everything) he had sent from Gaza to Kition (Cyprus) remained sound and safe…” 6

A. Avanzini, By Land and by Sea. A History of South Arabia before Islam Recounted from Inscriptions, Arabia Antica 10, Rome, 2016, p. 139–46; eadem, “A Reassessment of the Chronology of the First Millennium BC”, AuOr 28, 2010, p. 181–92, esp. 188; eadem, “The Sabaean Presence in Jawf in the Eighth-Seventh Centuries BC. Notes on the Oldest Phase of Ancient South Arabian Culture and Its Relationship with Mesopotamia”, in G. B. Lanfranchi et alii eds., Leggo I: Studies Presented to Frederick Mario Fales, Wiesbaden, 2012, p. 37–52, esp. 47–49 where she emphasizes the Mesopotamian influence in the iconography around the inscription. 7 M. Arbach, “L’Arabie du Sud au VIe siècle avant l’ère chrétienne et le synchronisme avec le Levant”, in Ex Oriente lux. Collected papers to mark the 75th anniversary of Mikhail Borisovich Piotrovsky, Saint Petersburg, 2019, p. 58–67, esp. 58–63 with a detailed analysis of the political situation in the contemporaneous South Arabia. 8 P. Stein, “Sabäer in Juda, Juden in Saba. Sprach- und Kulturkontakt zwischen Südarabien und Palästina in der Antike”, in U. Hübner / H. Niehr eds., Sprachen in Palästina im 2. und 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr., ADPV 43, Wiesbaden, 2017, p. 91–120, esp. 98–100. 9 Ibid., p. 99. 10 Ibid., p. 100. 11 S. L. Sørensen / K. Geus, “A Sabaean Eyewitness in the War of Euagoras against the Persians. Synchronising Greek and Ancient South Arabian Sources”, ZPE 309, 2019, p. 196–204. 12 Ibid., p. 198. 13 Ibid., p. 199, 14 Ibid., p. 200. 15 Ibid., p. 204. 16 A. Multhoff, “Merchant and marauder. The adventures of a Sabaean clansman”, Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 30, 2019, p. 239–262. 17 Ibid., p. 246 18 Ibid., p. 247. 19 Ibid., p. 252. 20 Ibid., p. 246. 21 S. L. Sørensen / K. Geus, “Medes and Minaeans in Egypt – M 247: Who, Where, and When?” Journal of Ancient Civilizations 35/2, 2020, p. 147–60, esp. 147.

Lemaire – Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq?

335

(WYWM S1LM W-WFY Ḏ-YS1R BN ĠZT ‘D KTY) with a footnote: “it is clear from the synthetic construction that Ṣabaḥhumū was not sent in person to Cyprus but had rather sent (part of) his merchandise there”22. Yet she has to suppose a word that is not here: “(everything)”, furthermore the phrase “sound and safe” is generally used for persons and the aim of the whole inscription of Ṣabaḥhumū seems to thank Almaqah for having been “sound and safe” through all his commercial and military expeditions. Another problem is the inconsistency of translating “Yawān, i.e. Greece”23 while elsewhere rendering it “Ionia” in her article. Actually, in Semitic texts, “Yaw/mān” seems to refer to continental Greece only after the NeoBabylonian period. At first, the word indicated a vague territory in Asia Minor,24 the southwestern Mediterranean coast with its adjacent islands. This seems true in the Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian texts25 as well as in Biblical Hebrew26. Multhoff is well aware that her proposition of interpretation to suggest a South Arabian context for B-L Nashq? is very speculative as shown by her numerous caveats, e.g. “might” and “could”. 27 Furthermore there are the obvious limits of her argument based on some similarity in vocabulary regarding war and trade for dating purposes. She noted herself the main problem of her historical interpretation and dating, acknowledging “the different rendering of international actors … While the Sabaic text mentions a war between KŠDM (“Chaldeans”) and Yawān, i. e. Greece, the Minaic text RES 3022 speaks of a conflict between MḎY (supposedly the “Medes”) and Miṣr, supposedly the Egyptians”.28 Her proposed “explanation” (“MḎY being the Minaic label for the people otherwise designated as KŠDM”) supposes a strange confusion between two peoples of successive empires in Ancient Near Eastern history. Actually Sabaean or Minaean traders could not ignore the names of these empires and confuse them since the terminus of the incense road, Gaza29, was successively under the Chaldean/Neo-Babylonian and Mede/Persian control. A historian cannot reasonably adopt such a very hypothetical interpretation while it is much simpler to understand that Sabaean traders used the incense road during the Chaldean Empire and Minaean traders during the Mede/Persian Empire. Sørensen and Geus’ paper30 presents a very different argumentation. Strangely enough, on one hand, the authors affirm that during the Neo-Babylonian period (605–539 BC), “there are no references in either Babylonian or Classical sources to a war with the Ionians”, but then they present the interpretation of S. Anthonioz and of the editio princeps that just show the opposite with this remark: “As convincing as the historical reconstruction mentioned above may appear we nonetheless feel that a number of avenues have been left unexplored”.31 Actually their main argument to doubt the proposed dating in the 6th century BCE is clearly that it does not fit the dating proposed by H. von Wissmann in 1982 and later on by P. Stein “in the early fourth century” on “palaeographical examinations”32. Their analysis of the relations of Kition resisting 22

A. Multhoff, “Merchant …”, 2019, p. 256 Ibidem, p. 247. 24 The precise extent of Iron Age “Ionia” and of the indication “Ionian” is still discussed: see, for instance, O. Casabonne, La Cilicie à l’époque achéménide, Persika 3, Paris, 2004, p. 77–82; O. Casabonne / J. De Vos, “Chypre, Rhodes et l’Anatolie méridionale: la question ionienne”, Res Antiquae 2, 2005, p. 83–102, esp. 83–86; R. Bollinger, “Überlegungen zur Frage der Lokalisation von Iawan in Neuassyrischer Zeit”, SAA Bulletin 16, 2007, p. 63–90. At least one thing is clear: “Die in den Quellen genannten Jawnãja dürfen jedoch nicht mit “Griechen’ in modernen Sinn gleichgesetzt werden” (ibidem, p. 84). Furthermore, in Herodotus, Ionia/Ionian still refers mainly to Asia Minor (See, for instance, “Index”, in Ph.-E. Legrand, ed., Hérodote. Index analytique, Paris, 1966, p. 113–16). 25 See already, for instance, E. F. Weidner, “Jojachin, König von Juda, in Babylonischen Keilschriftentexten”, in Mélanges syriens offerts à Monsieur René Dussaud par ses amis et ses élèves, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 30, Paris, 1939, p. 923–35, esp. 932–33. 26 See, for instance, D. J. A. Clines (ed.), DCH IV, Sheffield, 1998, p. 186: “2. A people in Asia Minor”. 27 She seems especially cautious about the dating according to iconography and paleography that “might be less archaic than normally supposed” (p. 11) and refers to “Appendix 2” by Peter Stein who is also very cautious and bases his dating on H. von Wissmann 1982 (see discussion below). 28 A. Multhoff, “Merchant …”, 2019, p. 247. 29 For the contemporaneous complicated political situation of Gaza, see the essay of H. J. Katzenstein, “Gaza in the Neo-Babylonian Period (626–559 B.C.E.)”, Transeuphratène 7, 1994, p. 35–49, esp. 40–47. 30 S. L. Sørensen / K. Geus, “A Sabaean Eyewitness …”, 2019, p. 196–204. 31 Ibid., p. 198 32 Ibid., p. 200. 23

336

Lemaire – Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq?

Evagoras as shown by a king Milkyaton Phoenician inscription c. 392/1 BCE33 seems well established but a confusion found in the Hellenistic literature between the Neo-Babylonian and Persian empires34, the socalled use of YWN “for all Greeks” as well as a confusion between Liḥyan and Kedar35 do not fit an “eyewitness”. Their apparent final deception: “From a classicist viewpoint, the text provides no independent new information” is understandable but they should ask themselves whether their starting point – dating in the early 4th c. BC – is justified or not. Peter Stein clearly maintains the dating of B-L Nashq? “in the early 4th c. BC”: Ein Krieg der neubabylonischen Könige mit Griechenland ist aber nicht überliefert. Doch auch die naheliegende Alternative, eine Bezugnahme auf die Feldzüge der Achämeniden im 5.–4. Jh. v. Chr., bleibt nicht ohne Probleme: So bedürfte die Identifizierung der Perser als ‘Chaldäer’ einer Erklärung. Immerhin hätte die auffallend vage Rede von der ‘Städte von Juda’ (…) in der Situation der persischen Provinz der Exilzeit wohl einen plausiblen Hintergrund. Und auch nach der von H. von Wissmann vor allem paläographischen inneren Chronologie Südarabiens dieser Epoche ist eine Datierung der Inschrift in das frühe 4. Jh. v. Chr. am wahrscheinlichsten.36  His argumentation presents two aspects: history and paleography. For the historical problem, there is clearly an apparent confusion: there is no mention of a war between Chaldea and Greece in B-L Nashq? but of a war between Chaldea and Ionia. During the Neo-Babylonian period, Ionia (YWN) indicates the southwestern Mediterranean coast of Asia Minor and the war between Assyrians and later on Chaldeans against Ionians is well attested during military campaigns to Cilicia37. Furthermore the mention of the “towns of Judah” in connection with the incense road is not without problems in the early 4th century BCE (see below about the extent of Yehud). Actually Stein himself recognizes that his dating would suppose an unexplained identification of Persians as “Chaldeans”. In other words, his rejection of the dating during the Chaldean empire has no historical basis and his dating in the early 4th century does not fit the historical situation at this period. Initially, his paleographic argument seems more serious. It is based on the dating of Yada′il Bayān son of Yitha‘’amar ca. 394 BC by H. von Wissmann in 1982,38 but it should be noted that von Wissmann himself dated first this king ca. 59039 and then apparently changed his mind being influenced by the Hellenocentric paleographic system of J. Pirenne and her so-called “short chronology”.40 Yet it is clear that any paleographic dating is only approximate. This is especially the case in South Arabian epigraphy where there are very few clearly dated texts. Stein himself emphasized this fact in 2013 and again in 2019 noting that there was no external synchronism between the early seventh century BCE and the Seleucid Era.41 Actually in his “palaeographical perspective” from 2019, he is duly cautious and refuses to propose a paleographic date for BL Nasq?:

33

Ibid., p. 201. See the editio princeps: M. Yon / M. Sznycer, “Une inscription phénicienne royale de Kition (Chypre)”, CRAI 135, 1991, p. 791–821. 34 S. L. Sørensen / K. Geus, “A Sabaean Eyewitness …”, 2019, p. 202 35 Strangely enough they do not mention the approximately contemporaneous Tell el-Maskhuta Aramaic inscription on a silver bowl mentioning “Qainu son of Geshem king of Kedar” (see, for instance, J. C. L. Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions II. Aramaic Inscriptions, Oxford, 1975, p. 122–23). 36 P. Stein, “Sabäer in Juda …”, 2017, p. 99–100. 37 See bibliographical references in F. Bron / A. Lemaire, Transeuphratène 39, 2009, p. 22–23, fn. 41. 38 H. von Wissman, Das Grossreich der Sabäer bis zu seinem Ende im frühen 4. Jh. v. Chr., Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Philosophisch-historische Klasse 402, Wien, 1982, p. 328–39. 39 H. von Wissmann, “Die Geshichte des Sabäerreichs und der Feldzug des Aelius Gallus”, in H. Temporini / W. Haase eds., Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II. Principat, IX/1, Berlin, 1976, p. 353–54, and he strongly criticized the palaeographical dating of Yada‘il Bayān son of Yitha‘’amar by J. Pirenne on p. 363–65. 40 Ibid., p. 350; H. von Wissmann, 1982, table in front of p. 240. 41 P. Stein, “Palaeography of the Ancient South Arabian script. New evidence for an absolute chronology″, Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 24, 2013, p. 186–95, esp. 189–90.

Lemaire – Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq?

337

It is obvious that the ductus of all the inscriptions under discussion here has to be placed between these two benchmarks, which frame a time span of not less than four centuries. In which period within this time span exactly our inscriptions could be placed, however, is not to be decided here. We only would like to emphasize that the ductus of all inscriptions under discussion is fairly close to each other. Particularly for the inscriptions BL-Nashq? = Demirjian 1 and RES 3022.42 We may note here that he dates RES 3022 “mid fourth century BCE”, probably taking up von Wissmann’s dating,43 while I tried to show that the use of the verb MRD in RES 3022 does not fit this date and apparently implies a 5th c. BCE date.44 One may also conclude from the opinion of Stein himself that paleographical dating of the monumental inscriptions between 700 and 300 is very, very approximate and cannot be used as an argument to reject a dating of BL-Nashq? in the first half of the 6th century BCE if it is indicated by the historical context. The dating proposed by Robin presents the big advantage to recognize that KŠ2DM are really KŠ2DM: “La mention des Chaldéens … renvoie très probablement à l’un des souverains de Babylone … entre c. 610 et 539” and, without further arguing, he dates the war “sous le règne de Nériglissar (559––556) ou sous celui de Nabonide (556–539), plus précisément en 557 ou en 556”, only referring to Anthonioz’s paper.45 This short paper presents a quick and incomplete status quaestionis about a war between Chaldea and Ionia during the Neo-Babylonian period.46 Concerning Ionia, she notes that the precise localization in Asia Minor is not clear, but Ionians are mentioned in connection with Cilicia. Based on the very fragmentary Neo-Babylonian Chronicles, she thinks of two or three possibilities for the war mentioned in the inscription: under Neriglissar (557) and under Nabonidus (556), noting also “Il n’est pas impossible que cette guerre ait pu avoir lieu, mentionnée dans un passage cassé de la Chronique néo-babylonienne … Si l’on s’en tient aux sources historiques, les deux dernières hypothèses semblent plus assurées”47. This quick presentation deserves three remarks: 1. The two campaigns of 557 (last year of Neriglissar) and 556 (accession? or first? year of Nabonidus) could well be only one big campaign spread over two years as I tried to show at the 2009 Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale48. Yet this interpretation would not change much the chronological problem of B-L Nashq?. One may note that the text of Neriglissar chronicle specifies that it was a campaign against Appuashu king of Pirindu and the Mediterranean coast just north of Cyprus49. Two fragmentary Aramaic inscriptions lead us to identify his former capital Kirshi with the site of Meydancikkale50. Though none of the texts explicitly mentions “Ionians”, the parallels with similar Assyrian campaigns to Cilicia51 makes the interpretation of this big campaign as a war between Chaldeans and Ionians very likely. 2. Anthonioz’s short paper is apparently only based on the Neo-Babylonian chronicles translated by J. J. Glassner, and does not consider a possible campaign of Nebuchadnezzar II into Cilicia. She seems to think that this campaign is only mentioned in the book of Judith 1,12; 2,21–25 but we did not even 42

P. Stein, “Appendix 2. The palaeographical perspective”, in A. Multhoff, “Merchant …”, 2019, p. 257–60, esp. 259. H. von Wissman, “Die Geschichte …”, 1976, p. 363, 383–84: “343 v . Chr.”; idem, Das Grossreich …, 1982, table in front of p. 240. 44 A. Lemaire, “Histoire du Proche-Orient et chronologie sudarabique avant Alexandre”, in Ch. J. Robin ed., Arabia Antiqua. Early Origins of South Arabian States, Rome, 1996, p. 35–48, esp. 47; idem, “Chronologie sabéenne et minéenne et histoire du Proche-Orient”, Or 79, 2010, p. 381–83. 45 Ch. Robin, “Trois remarques …”, 2009, p. 93. 46 S. Anthonioz, “Note complémentaire …”, 2009, p. 93–96. 47 Ibid., p. 95–96. 48 A. Lemaire, “Remarques sur la Datation …”, 2014, p. 757–59. 49 Cf. D. J. Wiseman, Chronicles of Chaldaean Kings (626–556 B.C.) in the British Museum, London, 1956, p. 39–42, 74–77, 86–88; J.-J. Glassner, Chroniques mésopotamiennes, Paris, 1993, p. 201; A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles, Texts from Cuneiform Sources 5, Winona Lake, 2000, p. 20–21, 103–4. 50 Cf. A. Davesne, A. Lemaire, H. Lozachmeur, “Le site archéologique de Meydancikkale (Turquie): du royaume de Pirindu à la garnison ptolémaïque”, CRAI 131, 1987, p. 359–82; A. Lemaire / H. Lozachmeur, “Les inscriptions araméennes”, in A. Davesne / F. Laroche-Traunecker eds., Gülnar I. Le site de Meydancikkale, Paris, 1998, p. 307–44. 51 See bibliography in F. Bron / A. Lemaire, Transeuphratène 38, 2009, p. 22–23, note 41. 43

338

Lemaire – Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq?

mention these legendary references in the editio princeps and only argued such a campaign on the basis of Neo-Babylonian epigraphic sources: ration tablets from Nebuchadnezzar’s palace in Babylon mention Ionians, probably prisoners of war, as well as other people from Ḫume, Pirindu and Lydia52. Furthermore a Neo-Babylonian inscription refers to a king, apparently Nebuchadnezzar II, “conquering from Egypt to Ḫume, Piriddu, Lydia”53. Even though the date of the campaign to these three countries is not specified, these two epigraphic sources show that it was probably dated towards the beginning of his reign since people from Ionia, Ḫume, Pirindu, and Lydia are already attested in Babylon in Nebuchadnezzar 13th year54. Actually the fragmentary Neo-Babylonian chronicles practically only leaves two possibilities: the second year (603 BCE)55 or the 12th one (593 BCE). Thus, according to Neo-Babylonian epigraphic sources, 603, 593, and 557/6 are plausible dates for a war between Chaldeans and Ionians. 3. Like Robin, Anthonioz does not deal at all with the mention of the “towns of Judah” but such a mention is probably meaningful since we know of three Neo-Babylonian campaigns against Judah: 597, 587 and 582 BCE,56 and, from 587 BCE, with the capital Jerusalem in ruins, the administrative center was transferred to Mizpah in the territory of Benjamin. Except for Mizpah and Benjamin, all the other towns were apparently partially or totally destroyed.57 Actually the Negev and the Southern part of the Shephelah and of the Mountain of Judah (including Lachish, Mareshah and Hebron) were no longer part of the territory of Judah but controlled first by Edom, then by the Neo-Babylonian province of Arabia (Nabonidus) and later on by the Arab confederation of Kedar58 before becoming a Persian Idumean province in early 4th c. BCE.59 In this historical and geographical context, it is very unlikely that Ṣabaḥhumū’s trade caravan went to the “towns of Judah” in 557/6. At this date, he could only have gone to the towns of Edom which was then at its zenith and ruled Southern Palestine,60 some four years before the Nabonidus campaign to Edom and Teima (553).61 Thus we are left with two possible dates: 603 or 593 BCE. Between the two possible dates, it is clear enough that an important trade caravan to the towns of Judah is very easy to understand in 603 BCE before

52

E. F. Weidner, “Jojachin …”, p. 932–35. Other tablets from the same place should be published by O. Pedersén and J. Marzahn, see F. Bron / A. Lemaire, Transeuphratène 38, 2009, p. 25, fn. 56; O. Pedersén, “Neo-Assyrian Texts from Nebuchadnezzar’s Babylon: A Preliminary Report”, Studia Orientalia 106, p. 193–99, esp. 195, 199. 53 W. G. Lambert, “Nebuchadnezzar King of Justice”, Iraq 27, 1965, p. 1–11, esp. 7, 10. 54 E. F. Weidner, “Jojachin …”, 1939, p. 925 (“B. Babyon 28178”) and 933; D. J. Wiseman, Chronicles …, 1956, p. 87; O. Pedersén, “Foreign Professionals in Babylon: Evidence from the Archive in the Palace of Nebuchadnezzar II”, in W. H. Von Soldt ed., Ethnicity in Ancient Mesopotamia. Papers Read at the 48th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Leiden 1–4 July 2002, Leiden, 2005, p. 267–72, esp. 268; idem, Archive und Bibliotheken in Babylon, Saar, 2005, p. 121: “Bab 28178 + 28299a”. 55 The aim of Nebuchadnezzar’s second year campaign is lost in a lacuna and the restitution “Hatti”, proposed by D. J. Wiseman (Chronicles …, 1956, p. 70–71), J. J. Glassner, (Chroniques …, 1993, p. 199) and A. K. Grayson (Assyrian …, 2000, p. 100) is a pure conjecture, rightly rejected by N. Na’aman, “Nebuchadnezzar’s Campaign in Year 603 BCE”, BN 62, 1992, p. 41–44. 56 See for instance Jeremiah 52:28–30. 57 See for instance O. Lipschits / J. Blenkinsopp eds., Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, Winona Lake, 2003; O. Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem. Judah under Babylonian Rule, Winona Lake, 2005, p. 134– 84, 206–71. 58 See, for instance, A. Lemaire, Levantine Epigraphy and History in the Achaemenid Period (539–332 BCE), The Schweich Lectures of the British Academy 2013, Oxford/London, 2015, p. 98–122. 59 See lately A. Lemaire, “The Fourth-Century BCE Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea: Problems and Tentative Solutions”, in A. M. Maeir et alii eds., New Perspectives on Aramaic Epigraphy in Mesopotamia, Qumran, Egypt and Idumea, ORA 40, Tübingen, 2021, p. 139–64, esp. 140. 60 See, for instance, A. Lemaire, “D’Édom à l’Idumée et à Rome”, in A. Sérendour ed., Des Sumériens aux Romains d’Orient. La perception géographique du monde, Antiquités Sémitiques 2, Paris, 1997, p. 81–103, esp. 89–95; idem, “Edom and the Edomites”, in A. Lemaire / B. Halpern eds., The Books of Kings: Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception, VT.S 129, Leiden, 2010, p. 225–43, esp. 240. 61 See, for instance, A. Lemaire, “Nabonidus in Arabia and Judah in the Neo-Babylonian Period”, in O. Lipschits / J. Blenkinsopp eds., Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, Winona Lake, 2003, p. 285–98.

Lemaire – Sabaic Inscription B-L Nashq?

339

the Neo-Babylonian campaign to Judah in 59762 while it is more difficult to locate it when the Negev was already under the control of Edom, a people not mentioned in the inscription. It seems therefore probable that B-L Nashq? refers to a war between Chaldeans and Ionians that occurred at the Western border of Cilicia, on the Mediterranean Coast opposite Cyprus, in 60363 or, less likely, in 593 BCE. The Sabaean king Yada‘il Bayān, son of Yitha‘’amar apparently ruled in the first half of the 6th c. BCE in the general and complex historical times in the Ancient Near East at the beginning of the Neo-Babylonian period. The Sabaic inscription B-L Nashq? helps therefore to clarify somewhat the Neo-Babylonian campaigns to Cilicia64 and the general South Arabian chronology65 in the context of Ancient Near Eastern history.

62

Cf. already F. Bron / A. Lemaire, Transeuphratène 38, 2009, p. 28–29; A. Lemaire, “New Perspectives …”, 2012, p. 101–3. 63 Independently, N. Na’aman (“Nebuchadrezzar’s Campaign …”, 1992, p. 41–44; see also M. P. Streck, “Nebukadnezzar II A. Historisch”, in D. O. Edzard ed., RlA IX, Berlin / New York, 1998–2001, col. 191–200, esp. 197), argued that the fragmentary text of the Neo-Babylonian Chronicle for the second year did not refer to a campaign to Hatti/Ebirnāri but to “Kimuhu and possibly some other Anatolian countries”, and D. S. Vanderhooft (The Neo-Babylonian Empire and Babylon in the Latter Prophets, HSM 59, Atlanta, 199, p. 82, fn. 83) interpreted it as “Nebuchadnezzar’s campaign of that year was to Cilicia”. 64 See A. Lemaire, “Remarques sur la datation … ”, 2014, p. 753–59. 65 See A. Lemaire, “Chronologie sabéenne …”, 2010, p. 379–89.

A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11 A Performative Sociolinguistic Solution1 Theodore J. Lewis

Abstract Many unsatisfying solutions have been offered to account for the statistical anomaly that is Jeremiah 10:11. Of the 1,364 verses in the book of Jeremiah, this is the only one written in Aramaic. The present study argues that the writing of the curse in Jeremiah 10:11 in Aramaic is no aberration as Aramaic was known for having a rich curse repertoire and was perfectly situated to spread cultural influences due to its broad geographic usage. Jeremiah 10:11 exhibits sociolinguistic artistry that involves code switching and the performative utterance of a curse that was thought to be effectual. When situated within the context of other Jeremianic curses, the parodic subject matter of Jeremiah 10, and Mespotamian mīs pî rituals, it will be argued that Jeremiah 10:11 is paronomastically written to be performatively (magically) powerful, and with dual sociolinguistic functions. As a high register language, the use of Aramaic functions sociologically to elevate the status of Judahite migrants who are the intended speakers of the verse’s curse to a Neo-Babylonian audience. These Judahites would be viewed as bilingual elites with higher social status rather than being viewed as monolingual refugees. Moreover, Jeremiah 10:11 takes the language of empire and inverts the power dynamic. Those who bore the brunt of imperial subjugation are here cursing the empire in its own language, the language they learned in the context of linguistic imperialism. By exhibiting an aural mastery of cursing, these minority outsiders – using the dominant vernacular of the Neo-Babylonian empire – proclaim that they have the expertise and bold courage to engage in discursive theological combat against the imperial gods of their oppressors.

The present study wrestles with a statistical anomaly in the book of Jeremiah. All 1,364 verses of its 52 chapters are written in Hebrew, except for one.2 Jeremiah 10:11 is written in Aramaic. How is it that we have this particular aberration? Is it a quirk of transmission history or is it intentional and if so, why? The Aramaic verse reads as follows: kidĕnâ tēʾmĕrûn lĕhôm ʾĕlāhayyāʾ dî-šĕmayyāʾ wĕʾarqāʾ lāʾ ʿăbadû yēʾbadû mēʾarʿāʾ ûmin-tĕḥôt šĕmayyāʾ ʾēlleh The verse poses no difficulty for translators whose renderings are fairly uniform apart from differing opinions about what ʾēlleh modifies: “these heavens” versus “these gods.” Structurally and sonically, the latter is to be preferred.3 Thus you shall say to them: “The gods who did not make the heavens and the earth shall perish from the earth and from under the heavens.” (RSV, NRSV) Tell them this: ‘These gods, who did not make the heavens and the earth, will perish from the earth and from under the heavens.’ (NIV) 1

It is a delight to honor K. Lawson Younger Jr., known for his gracious humanity as well as his exacting scholarship on ancient Near Eastern texts including the Hebrew Bible, and studies on Aramaic and the Arameans – thus the chosen subject matter of the present paper. I owe a deep thanks to Alice Mandell for commenting on an earlier draft of the manuscript and improving my understanding of code switching. My shortcomings with this complicated material are solely my own. 2 The statistics here are in regard the expansionist Masoretic Text. 3 See below, note 25.

342

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

Thus you shall say to them: “Let the gods, who did not make heaven and earth, perish from the earth and from under the heavens.” (NJPS) Thus shall you say of them: Let the gods that did not make heaven and earth perish from the earth, and from beneath these heavens! (NAB) Thus shall you say of them: The gods that did not make heaven and earth – let these perish from earth and from beneath heaven! (NABRE) Past Solutions Those scholars who have noticed the anomaly have offered a variety of suggestions to account for the Aramaic peculiarity. Textual critics studying the composite nature of Jeremiah 10:1–16 have used the many differences between MT, LXX and Qumran (4QJera [4Q70], 4QJerb [4Q71] manuscripts (in length and arrangement) to argue for a complex transmission history of quite variant traditions. They especially highlight the longer proto-Masoretic 4QJera and MT texts in contrast to the shorter texts of the LXX and 4QJerb.4 These discussions, as important as they are for establishing independent recensions, are not able to contribute to our Aramaic oddity, as Jeremiah 10:11 occurs in both 4QJera and 4QJerb.5 Some scholars solve the issue by looking to a historical context that would make sense of the need to use Aramaic, either of Jeremiah’s time period or, rejecting Jeremianic authorship, finding a later historical period that would have occasioned the use of Aramaic. For the former, Lundbom (1999: 595) observes how Jeremiah would be equipping the “Babylon-bound Jews leaving Jerusalem in 597 B.C. … (with) a sharp reply, in the language they would soon be speaking, to those wanting them to worship the Babylonian gods.” He adds: “There seems to be scarcely any explanation for the saying in a Judahite context.” Similarly, Mizrahi (2014: 121) notes how verse 11 “is the only textual segment that envisions a situation of direct communication between Israel and the nations … the need to address the nations is apparently why the verse has been phrased in Aramaic, which is the language that all nations presumably find intelligible – as opposed to Hebrew, which is understood by former Judeans alone.” And yet, Mizrahi nonetheless feels that “v. 11 was interpolated into the prophecy at a relatively late stage.” The variant spellings of ʾarqāʾ and ʾarʿāʾ in Jeremiah 10:11 have regularly been used to confirm the lateness of the passage (and hence its status as a non-Jeremianic gloss) due to the occurrence of the two words in the fifth century BCE Elephantine inscriptions of the Persian period (cf. Folmer 1995: 67–68). Walter Baumgartner (1927: 101) was one of the first to make the claim which is found in a majority of commentaries and even recent articles. For example, Mizrahi (2014: 122–23), citing TAD B2.2, argues that “the available data strongly indicates that fluctuations in the orthographic representation of this phoneme [the emphatic interdental ḏ ̣ > q; ḏ ̣ > ʿ] are restricted to texts penned during the fifth century BCE.” He concludes that the “mixed orthography [of Jeremiah 10:11] fits best the mid-fifth century BCE.” Other scholars were more cautious noting that such a dataset “does not necessarily presuppose a date later than Jeremiah”

4

For text critical overviews, discussions and additional bibliographies, see Adcock (2019: 411–14); Lundbom (1999: 576–600) and Dick (1999: 17). For the Qumran material, see Tov (1997; 2012: 286–94, esp. 292–93, 371). For photographs, see https://www.deadseascrolls.org.il/explore-the-archive/search#q='4q70' and https://www.deadseascrolls. org.il/explore-the-archive/search#q='4q71'. 5 Adcock (2019: 403–9) perceptively sees the LXX recension of Jeremiah 10:11 (cf. 4QJerb/4Q71) as “a demonic adjuration against idols.” Due to Bernhard Duhm’s original insight (see below) and how certain biblical texts (e.g. Psalm 91; Num 6:24–26) were reused and rewritten in Qumran reception history for apotropaic purposes, Adcock (2019: 415) concludes that what was originally a “war taunt” “subsequently … became a popular magical incantation against evil spirits in the Second Temple Period.” There is no denying the reuse of certain biblical passages at Qumran and elsewhere for magical purposes, especially having to do with the demonic. In addition to the Qumran material, cf. the exegetical midrash Sifre Numbers 40 and Targum Pseudo-Jonathan Numbers (see Lewis 2012: 108–9). Yet, as we hope to demonstrate, this need not eliminate the magical use of certain biblical texts in their original contexts, especially when such usage was well known across the entire ancient Near East.

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

343

due to the use of Aramaic in the Neo-Assyrian empire (Overholt 1965: 5; cf. Lundbom 1999: 593).6 This caution has now been born out with the contemporary use of ʾarqāʾ and ʾarʿāʾ in the Aramaic epigraphs from ancient Dur-Katlimmu (Tell Šēḫ Ḥamad) dating to the Neo-Assyrian period.7 In short, in contrast to many commentators, there is nothing about the Aramaic of Jeremiah 10:11 that would necessitate seeing the verse as a late gloss. Other solutions for the presence of a solitary verse in Aramaic come from literary critics who study the text’s rhetoric and composition. Many of these scholars note how this short verse is a chiastic mix of puns. William L. Holladay (1986: 325, 327) asserts that Jeremiah 10:11 “offers a remarkable chiasmus of eight elements”: ʾĕlāhayyāʾ – šĕmayyāʾ – ʾarqāʾ – ʿăbadû yēʾbadû – ʾarʿāʾ – šĕmayyāʾ – ʾēlleh In contrast to those who see Jeremiah 10:11 as a later interpolation,8 Holladay (1986: 325) is so impressed with the chiastic arrangement that he suggests that “the ironic saying in Aramaic was part of the poem from the beginning, indeed from its placement [it] might be the climax of the poem.” Jack R. Lundbom (1999: 593) is equally impressed with the verse’s “elaborate chiasmus and wordplay [that] point to a pithy saying sounding more like poetry.” He finds here “a double chiasmus: 1) ‘heavens/earth/earth/heavens’; and 2) ‘gods/make/perish/these,’ with a pun on ʿăbadû (‘make’) and yēʾbadû (‘perish’).” Moreover, Lundbom who also sees Jer 10:11 as “the climactic verse,” suggests that “the pun may explain why the [Aramaic] verse remained untranslated.” Scholars often differ when it comes to finding chiasms as can be the case here where Lundbom’s first example is obvious, but his second pair is hardly an exact fit. Yet there is no denying that the order and sounds of the eight words in question grab one’s attention and suggest intentionality on the part of the author/redactor. (See below.) The two alternate Aramaic spellings for the word “earth” (ʾarqāʾ and ʾarʿāʾ) jump out at the reader as also being intentional and not, as Holladay (1986: 324, 334) suggests, “a spelling lapse,” “the carelessness of a copyist … (that) plays no part in the rhetoric of the passage.”9 Another literary solution to the sole use of Aramaic here looks to the rhetoric of Jeremiah 10 set against the earlier war taunt of the rab šāqēh in 2 Kings 18:19–37. William Holladay (1986: 229–30) acknowledges that the Kings passage is from an earlier historical context, the Neo-Assyrian siege of Jerusalem in the eighth century BCE, specifically Sennacherib’s campaign against Hezekiah in 701 BCE. Yet he nonetheless suggests that the much later Jeremiah 10 is “a product of his [Jeremiah’s] meditation on the incident.” “Jeremiah picked up on themes from that earlier incident and sent mockery of Mesopotamian pretensions back from Jerusalem to the east, making sure to include in the mockery a few words of Aramaic.” Key to Holladay’s thesis is the explicit mention of Aramaic being spoken in 2 Kings 18:26. Yet the literary logic of his argument breaks down as in this passage the rab šāqēh refuses to speak Aramaic as requested by Hezekiah’s officials, instead speaking to the populace in Judahite (yĕhûdît; i.e. the Jerusalem dialect of Hebrew) directly against their wishes (2 Kings 18:28).10 So Jeremiah 10:11 cannot be an intentional literary reversal – throwing mock-

6

For the use of Aramaic in the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires, see Gzella (2015: 104–56) and Beaulieu (2006: 191–204). 7 See Fales, Radner, Pappi and Attardo (2005: 613); Gzella (2015: 114–31). In addition, the older spelling with q is still found in later periods including the Neo-Babylonian Letter of Adon, the King of Ekron to Pharaoh (KAI 266) ca. 604 BCE. 8 The history of interpretation with regard to which parts of this passage are those of Jeremiah or a later author/editor and how the verses should be arranged (following the MT or LXX or some combination thereof) is not our concern here as our argument can work within any scenario. For various proposals, see Carroll (1986: 255). 9 Holladay seems to be parroting Duhm’s (1901: 101) pejorative remark: “Dass die aramäische Randbemerkung ohne Weiteres in den Text aufgenommen werden konnte, ist ein handgreiflicher Beweis für die Kritiklosigkeit der Abschreiber und Redaktoren.” 10 On the literary history and historicity of this episode, see the summary in Mizrahi (2019: 108, n. 8).

344

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

ing Aramaic back in “the nations” face – if the rab šāqēh never spoke it in the first place (not to mention the difficulty that Jeremiah 10:11 is not addressing the Neo-Assyrian empire that is no longer on the scene).11 Yet another avenue for understanding the single verse of Aramaic in the book of Jeremiah comes from applying a sociolinguistic perspective as does Noam Mizrahi (2014). Mizrahi discusses how the nations are directly addressed in Aramaic in Jeremiah 10:11 as a code-switching which “functioned as a linguistic marker of social identity … one cannot but immediately recognize that Hebrew marks an ‘in group’ medium of communication, whereas Aramaic characterizes ‘out-group’ interactions” (2014: 115). “If one needs to address the nations directly, there is no other way than talking to them in a language that they actually understand, thereby affirming the irreconcilable difference between ‘them’ and ‘us’” (2014: 122).12 A Magical (Performative) Scenario: The Effectual Power of Words In the present study, we revisit yet another sociolinguistic scenario to account for the lone presence of Aramaic in Jeremiah 10:11. This solution was first offered years ago by Bernhard Duhm and has found occasional support, though not using the Aramaic resources, Jeremianic parallels, empowering code-switching, and performativity that will be offered here. Bernhard Duhm (1901: 101) interpreted our Aramaic verse as an incantation (“ist eine Beschwörung formel”) that would render harmless the evil signs of the heavens, the comets, and the shooting stars.13 Robert P. Carroll (1986: 256–57) following Duhm, argues that the verse “functions as an incantation directed against foreign cults and may have been believed to operate magically against opponents.” Against “the much more powerful cults of its Babylonian overlord … (and) against such frightening powers (cf. v. 2), the hurling of incantatory formulas may have been the only defense available to a weaker cult.” As attractive as this option is, one could again ask why the author used Aramaic where a Hebrew curse would do? Regrettably, neither Duhm nor Carroll contextualized this interpretation theoretically. There is no discussion of a sociolinguistic use of Aramaic (and code-switching) that would resonate with a setting appropriate to the context of the image polemic of Jeremiah 10, nor is there an accounting for the unique (non-syntactical) way in which the Aramaic was written and especially its use of the chiastic “puns” or “wordplays.” To render an incantatory understanding of Jeremiah 10:11, the prefixal verb yēʾbadû should be translated as a jussive as found in translations such as the NJPS, NAB, NABRE (so too the LXX and Vulgate). Franz Rosenthal (1974: 44 §108) argues that the elision of the final -n on this third masc. plural form marks it as jussive in contrast to the indicative that retains the -n on third masc. plurals (cf. tēʾmĕrûn at the beginning of this verse). kidĕnâ tēʾmĕrûn lĕhôm ʾĕlāhayyāʾ dî-šĕmayyāʾ wĕʾarqāʾ lāʾ ʿăbadû yēʾbadû mēʾarʿāʾ ûmin-tĕḥôt šĕmayyāʾ ʾēlleh Thus you (the Judahites forced to migrate to Babylon) shall say to them (the Babylonians): 11

With a curious reversal, Adcock (2019: 396) argues that Jeremiah 10:11 was originally “a war taunt uttered by the nations against the idolatry of Zion” (my emphasis). This goes against the consensus interpretation of Jer 10:11 that sees the house of Israel (addressed as a plural entity in Jer 10:2, 5b) speaking to the nations (mentioned in Jer 10:10 as the immediate antecedent of 10:11’s “to them”). Cf. too the Targum’s introduction to our verse. Adcock’s argument is strained contextually as he must posit “an ironic anticlimax” in the middle of this pericope using a “paradoxical taunt” (2019: 414, 415). 12 At the same time, note how the beginning of Jer 10:11 addresses Israel in Aramaic too (“thus shall you say to them”). See Mizrahi’s finessing of this datum by arguing that verse 11 “was interpolated into the prophecy at a relatively late date” (2014: 122). “[T]he addition of v. 11 invested [the passage] with sociolinguistic import that Hebrew did not possess in the first place.” Alternatively, see the conclusion below about how code-switching to Aramaic (a language with high social and economic currency) could be an act of empowerment for the exiled Judahites in their Babylonian context. 13 The astuteness of Duhm’s incantatory suggestion need not be lessened by his additional strange comments about how Jews would have mumbled this spell under sparkling Mars, Saturn and comets not to mention seeing fiery dragons flying through the air (Duhm 1901: 102).

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

345

“The gods who did not make the heavens and the earth – may these perish from the earth and from under the heavens.” Though Lundbom terms our verse “a sharp reply,” he astutely understands that using the jussive rather than the indicative “makes the saying into a curse” (so too Carroll 1986: 256). The full import of this needs to be appreciated. There has been a history of minimizing the effectual nature of verse 11 by using labels and adjectives void of any performative or magical efficacy. Consider the descriptors which have ranged from Thompson (1980: 330) calling the verse “a scribal comment” or “a well-known saying” to Holladay (1986: 325, 329, 330, 335) terming it a “pun,” an “ironic saying,” “wit,” a “mockery” and a “verse [that is] is heavy with sarcasm” to Lundbom’s “a sharp reply” and “pithy saying” to Adcock’s “war taunt,” “derisive jeer,” “paradoxical taunt” and “jingle” (2019: 414–15) to Mizrahi’s analysis that sees the function of verse 11 as informative.14 What is missing here is an understanding of how curses and incantations were thought to be effectual words. As demonstrated by speech act theory and rhetorical criticism, they are words which were thought to have effectual power when spoken in an effective manner. They are performative utterances that were thought to have “causative illocutionary force.”15 As Scott Noegel (2021: 145) perceptively writes, “words can function at times not merely as expressions, but as vehicles of performance, in that they themselves affect a particular action … the performative dimension of words was far more pervasive in antiquity.” Indeed, the Hebrew Bible even begins with a divine performative utterance: “Let there be light; and there was light!” (Gen 1:3). Multiple literary genres were used for their effective power in the ancient Near East. An exhaustive listing is beyond the scope of this short article. For a glance at the Hebrew Bible, note how we have imprecations (e.g. Ps 17:13–14; Ps 35:1–8; Ps 55:10,16 [Eng 55:9,15]; Ps 69:23–29 [Eng Ps 69:22–28]; Ps 79:10b–12; Ps 109; Ps 137:7–9; Ps 140:10–12 [Eng 140:9–11]; Obad 15–16), curses (cf. 1 Sam 14:24; 2 Sam 16:7; 2 Kgs 2:23–24; Job 2:9), curse rituals (Deut 27:11–26; Num 5:11–31), curse neutralization (Judg 17:2), sympathetic magic (Jer 51:59–64), execration texts (cf. Jer 19:1–11; Amos 1:2 – 2:16), effective prayer requests (e.g. Num 11:2; 1 Sam 1:20; 2 Kgs 6:18; Dan 10:12), apotropaic intercession (Broida 2014), and perhaps, Ziony Zevit would suggest, even an exorcistic formula (cf. Isa 30:22).16 Curses: A Universally Understood Genre Anne Marie Kitz’s detailed study of cuneiform and Hebrew texts underscores how “curses had authentic meaning … they were real and effective.” She emphasizes how “every member of society used [curses], from slave to king, from young to old, from men and women to the deities themselves. They crossed cultural lines and required little or no explanation … curses were universal … curses were woven into the very fabric of every known ancient Near Eastern society” (Kitz 2014: 3,5). As such, the genre of a curse in Jeremiah 14

Mizrahi (2014: 121) writes that in verse 11 “Israel is expected to inform the nations that their revered gods are about to perish from the face of the earth.” 15 I borrow this phrase from Broida (2014: 37, 47) who in turn is dependent on John L. Austin’s notion of performativity and John R. Searle’s taxonomy of illocutionary acts. Broida asserts that such “causative speech acts were understood by the cultures using them to have real transformative power, and thus can be justifiably said to have illocutionary force” due to their theistic worldview that embraced “supernatural empowerment.” Broida provides a splendid introduction to speech act theory (esp. that of John L. Austin and John R. Searle), magical speech (esp. that of Stanley J. Tambia and Amina Kropp) as well as rhetorical analysis (esp. that of Chaim Perelman and Lucie Olbrechts-Tyteca) and their relevance for “apotropaic intersession.” It is important to add nuance, that while some utterances automatically perform the said action without question, others were thought to do so but the result is not automatic. Shaul Shaked (1999: 174–75) writes perceptively against applying performativity (Austin’s’ “doing things with words”) too rigidly when it comes to magic texts: “words do have power of their own in the world of magic; and yet they recognize the existence of powers outside the immediate control of the magician, and the words are addressed to them. This implies that the effect of the words is not automatic, and that it depends at least in part on the will or inclination of those eternal powers. It will not do to label all magical utterances ‘performative’, without further specification.” 16 Zevit (2001: 52) suggests that Isaiah 30:22 may actually be employing “an exorcistic formula” to rid one of impurity with the words kĕmô dāwāh ṣēʾ which he translates “Like illness, go out!”

346

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

10:11 is well situated for the Judahites communicating with their Babylonian audience. Moreover, the extreme notion of cursing the gods mentioned in this verse is also known from Mesopotamian sources (Kitz 2014: 162–64) as well as the Hebrew Bible’s Covenant Code’s legislation (Exod 22:27 (Eng 22:28), the illustrious example of the trumped-up accusation against Naboth that he cursed God (1 Kgs 21:10,13), the cursing of God/the gods motivated by hunger in Isaiah 8:21–22,17 the euphemistic adjuration by Job’s wife that he “curse God and die” (Job 2:9; see Lewis 2017: 234 n. 55), and the case of blasphemy and cursing God in Leviticus 24. In Leviticus 24 (esp. 24:11–12, 15–16), note how blasphemy – wielding effectual words against God (“piercing the name of Yahweh”) – cojoined with cursing has the intent of doing lethal harm (Lewis 2017). Curses Elsewhere in the Book of Jeremiah The language of cursing is found throughout what has come down to us in the book of Jeremiah. As tabulated by Lundbom (2004a: 234), “twice in the poetry (18:16; 51:37), and often in the prose (19:8; 24:9; 25:9, 11, 18; 29:18; 42:18; 44:6, 8, 12, 22; and 49:13), one comes across strings of curse words” of ten different types.18 Indeed, Jeremiah himself was cursed (15:10), and at a point of personal despair he double curses, first the day of his birth followed by the man who delivered his birth announcement (Jer 20:14–15; cf. Job 3). Several of the curse sections are particularly informative for our purposes due to their rhetoric, performativity and ritualization. As for rhetoric, any beginning reader of the literary corpus that is the book of Jeremiah is struck by its facility with “wordplay” – in particular its use of polysemy and paronomasia19 – the minute they come across the šōqēd (divine “watching”) / šāqēd (“almond tree”) juxtaposition at the outset of the book (Jer 1:11–12) or, as Noegel (2021: 259) highlights, “the parasonance [that] onomatopoetically resounds the hissing of [uncharmable; lāḥaš] snake[s] [nĕḥāšîm]” that God sends [mĕšallēaḥ] to bite [niššĕkū] Judah in Jeremiah 8:17. Turning to curses, we cannot resist starting out with Jeremiah 29:21–22 that actually uses the word “curse” (qĕlālâ) in its presentation and matches Jeremiah 10:11 in having Judahite exiles invoking a curse in Babylon. As noted first by Michael Fishbane (1971: 162) in his discussion of paranomasia in prophetic omen oracles, “one ʾaḥāb ben-qôlāyâ (v. 21) is excoriated with a curse (qĕlālâ, v. 22) based upon his name and fate (q̄ alām, v. 22).” Thus said Yahweh of Hosts, the God of Israel, concerning Ahab son of Qolaiah (qôlāyâ) and Zedekiah, son of Masseiah, who prophesy falsely to you in My name: I am going to deliver them into the hands of King Nebuchadrezzar of Babylon, and he shall put them to death before your eyes. And the whole community of Judah in Babylon shall use a curse (qĕlālâ) derived from their fate: “May God make you like Zedekiah and Ahab, whom the king of Babylian consigned (q̄ alām) to the flames.” (Jeremiah 29:21–22)

17

Alternatively, due to the context that mentions consulting the dead (Isa 8:19), it is possible that ʾĕlōhîm refers to ancestral spirits of the dead (Lewis 1989: 128–32). 18 Lundbom (2004a: 234) lists the distribution of the various curse words and the curse strings throughout the book as well as noting similar “rhetoric of accumulation” in Deut 28:37 and at Qumran. Lundbom (2004a: 235) also notes the prevalence of the word “curse” (qĕlālâ) in both Jeremiah and the book of Deuteronomy. 19 The leading scholar of this material is Scott Noegel and readers are directed to his detailed study (2021:1–26) that describes the history of the field, esp. the insightful remarks of Edward Greenstein (1992; 2016) and Nathan Klaus (1991–1992). Noegel includes a discussion of the problematic nature of the word “wordplay,” and more accurate definitions of polysemy and paronomasia. Noegel intentionally places quotation marks on “wordplay” as “there is little that is ‘playful’” about this material and “word” is not “the basic operative unit” of the devices under examination. Polysemy “involves multiple meanings in a single context” whereas paronomasia is a term “for sound devices that function across word divisions and involve a dissimilarity in meaning” (2021: 25; emphasis Noegel’s). Elsewhere Noegel (2013: 24– 25) writes: “Indeed, paronomasia often served the needs of ritual and performance more than it did the areas of rhetoric and ornamentation.” As will be evident, I am indebted to Noegel and will be using his broader definition of paronomasia in the present article.

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

347

Fishbane is discussing how parasonant names (here qôlāyâ – qĕlālâ – q̄ alām) could magically serve as portents, that is, how “destiny was borne potentially within” names … “oracles serve to uncover the true meaning of the name and thereby betoken its actualization.”20 Jeremiah 19:1–11 is one of our best biblical examples of the ritualization of curses, a practice known especially from execration texts such as those from Egypt whereby pottery vessels inscribed with the names of one’s enemies are ritually smashed, either symbolically and/or as a type of sympathetic magic.21 Here we find a performative breaking of a terracotta jug (baqbuq yôṣēr ḥereš; 19:1) combined with effectual words that in tandem act out Yahweh’s breaking of his people who engaged in illicit practices including child sacrifice:22 “Then you shall break the jug (baqbuq) … and say to them: ‘So I will break this people and this city; as one breaks a terracotta vessel which can never be mended.’” Especially noteworthy is how our author paronomastically connects the ritual smashing of the baqbuq to Yahweh’s annulling (baqqōtî; 19:7) of the plans of Judah and Jerusalem when he causes them to fall by the sword before their enemies. Another example of enacted effective words is found in Jeremiah 51:59–64. The setting of this passage is especially relevant for our analysis of Jeremiah 10:11 as it too has to do with Judahites newly arriving in Babylon. Then Jeremiah said to Seraiah (a caravan leader [śar mĕnûhâ] and scribe who served as Jeremiah’s amanuensis as did Baruch): “When you arrive in Babylon, make sure you read aloud all these words (which Yahweh declared that) … ‘certainly Babylon will be a desolation forever!’ When you finish reading this scroll aloud, tie a stone to it and throw it into the middle of the Euphrates (River). Then say, “Thus shall Babylon sink and never to rise again …” [Jer 51:59–64] As with Jeremiah 19:1–11, we have a dually performative act of words and actions working in tandem, either symbolically and/or as a type of sympathetic magic. At other times, performative speech alone was thought to enact a curse.23 Noegel (2021: 151–52; 2014: 36–38; 2010: 38–39) looks earlier in Jeremiah 51 to demonstrate how “a series of powerful devices serves as the ritual instruments by which the spoken words enacts Babylon’s violent reversal of fortunes.” According to Noegel, here we have “an extended speech act that embodies the performative transformation via polysemy and paronomasia.” The passage starts out by describing Nebuchadnezzar as a devouring dragon (tannīn) who has swallowed (bĕlāʿānû) Jerusalemites who then enact two curses: “May our violated flesh be upon Babylon (bābel); may our blood be on the inhabitants of Chaldea/Babylonia.”24 Yahweh’s judgment

20

Fishbane (1971: 162 n. 3) notes how the Hebrew “root qlh = Akk. qālû, the prime root in the magical series Maqlû.” For a Ugaritic example, note how Kothar-wa-Hasis’s naming of two weapons is incantatory, rendering them magically effective. (See Lewis 2011: 213–15.) 21 For another insightful biblical example of the ritualization of curses, see Numbers 5:11–31 with its drinking of curse words thought to be effectual enough to produce bodily pain to the drinker who then “becomes a curse” (wehāyĕtâ hāʾiššâ lĕʾālâ). On Egyptian execration texts, see Ritner (1993: 136–43; 1997: 50–52, COS 1.32) and Muhlestein (2008). Ritner (1993: 140 n. 623) refers to Jeremiah 19 as an “obvious execration rite.” Note too Noegel’s (2010: 42– 43) discussion of King Jehoiakim’s intentional destruction (cutting, throwing and burning) of the prophetic scroll in Jeremiah 36. For splendid Old Aramaic examples of rituals enacting curses (with exact Neo-Assyrian parallels; Lewis 2006: 344), see Sefire I (KAI 222, A lines 35b–42) and its manipulation of wax figures, bows and arrows, a calf, and even human beings. For the latter, see Dewrell (2010). 22 In Jer 19:1–2, note the paronomastic description of the ḥereš (terracotta) jug and the ḥarsît locale (often translated “Potsherd Gate”). See Holladay (1986: 536) who earlier noted the two pairs of “word associations” that he argued to be “intrinsic to the passage.” On child sacrifice in Jeremiah and its intertextuality, see the diachronic study by Dewrell (2017: 183–90). 23 Cf. too the mixture of orality and ritual in Jeremiah 9:16–21 (Eng 9:17–22). Here vocal laments and tears by female ritual specialists are combined with a reference to personified Death (cf. the god Motu) entering one’s windows and a potent divine curse against having a proper burial. 24 The singular subjects in the passage are collectives. The translation here sees ḥămāsî ǔšĕʾērî (literally, “my violence and my flesh”) as a hendiadys along with Lundbom (2004b: 475). Others translate “the violence done to me and my

348

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

follows: “I will defend your cause (hinĕnî-rāb ʾet-rîbēk) and avenge you (wĕniqqamtî ʾet-niqmātēk): I will dry up her sea … Babylon shall become a rubble heap (gallīm), a den of jackals (tannīm), and object of horror and hissing, without inhabitant” (51:34–37). Readers are directed to Noegel’s detailed analysis of the polysemy of gallīm (“rubble heap” / “waves”) where recitation has transformed “Babylon’s abundant ‘waters’ into ‘rubble’,” and how “by altering one consonant, the prophet transforms the dragon of chaos [tannīn] into wasteland jackals [tannīm].” Moreover, asserts Noegel, Yahweh’s sentence in 51:44 is also paronomastically performative: “I shall punish Bel (bēl), in Babylon (bĕ-bābel), and I will make him disgorge what he has swallowed (bilʿō).” Noegel’s (2021: 152) conclusion of this passage and many others is instructive: “The combined impact of these cases of paronomasia and polysemy, like those in divinatory texts, is more than literary or rhetorical style. It constitutes the ritual means by which divine judgment is put into effect and by which the divine word is understood to transform one reality into another. In this case, the prophet’s words quite literally transform Babylon into a lair of jackals and its abundant water into wasteland rubble.” The Intentional Writing of Jeremiah 10:11 to be Performative This brings us back to Jeremiah 10:11. Analyzing the way in which this verse is written suggests that it is more than an attempt at being stylistically pithy, witty, jingly, mocking, ironic, derisive or sarcastic (see above descriptors), but rather that it is performative as is the use of Aramaic (that includes the frame instruction): Thus you (the Judahites forced to migrate to Babylon) shall say to them (the Babylonians): ʾĕlāhayyāʾ dî-šĕmayyāʾ wĕʾarqāʾ lāʾ ʿăbadû yēʾbadû mēʾarʿāʾ ûmin-tĕḥôt šĕmayyāʾ ʾēlleh “The gods who did not make the heavens and the earth – may these perish from the earth and from under the heavens.” The way in which the verse is intentionally written is more than chiastic punning exhibiting scribal flair and erudition. There is a conscious sound choice of two different spellings of the word “earth” (ʾarqāʾ and ʾarʿāʾ) where one would do. The threefold repetition of the plural ending -ayya is sonically intentional as is the choice of the paronomastic ʿăbadû and yēʾbadû whose juxtaposed meanings (make/perish) nicely play off of each other in Aramaic though not in Hebrew (where ʿbd designates work and service). The chiastic arrangement of šĕmayyāʾ/ʾarqāʾ/ʾarʿā/šĕmayyāʾ (heaven/earth/earth/heaven) is often noted along with the beginning ʾĕlāhayyāʾ matched by the ending ʾēlleh. The irregular placement of this plural demonstrative (if indeed modifying ʾĕlāhayyāʾ) also seems intentional.25 To contextualize briefly the conscious word choice we are describing for Jeremiah 10:11, it is helpful to notice similar situations in ancient Near Eastern magic texts where scholars have long recognized the use of repetitive sonic patterns that “form part of the actual mechanism by which some incantations were to have their effect” (Greaves 1995: 165 following Farber 1986).26 Michael Fishbane (1971: 164) remarks about the “paranomastic assonance” that “typif[ies] the rhythm and force of incantations” “just as puns and Wortspielen are characteristic of the magical words found in omens and oracles.” Similarly, James Nathan Ford (2008: 585–86) asserts that “in magical texts, words have the power to change the course of events in both the supernatural and, ultimately, the natural spheres, and wordplay can be harnessed to the very serious task kinsmen” (Carroll 1986: 845–46). Alternatively, see Holladay’s (1989: 399) “the violence and destruction [wĕšôdî] done to me be upon Babylon” assuming a r/d graphic confusion (cf. LXX). 25 The form ʾlh for the plural demonstrative is known from Official Aramaic (DNWSI, 334). Holladay (1986: 335) provides a history of the ways in which ʾēlleh has been translated (see too the examples listed at the outset of this article). He argues based on the chiastic arrangement (and one could add the paronomasia) that the use of ʾēlleh to modify “the gods” (ʾĕlāhayyā) “is doubtless correct.” 26 Farber (1986) and Greaves (1995) prefer to call these examples of “associative magic.”

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

349

of augmenting this power.” In short, no longer do scholars approach this material as “a more or less incomprehensible jungle of senseless ritual acts and mumbo-jumbo spells,” to borrow words from Farber (1986: 448). Four examples will suffice. Walter Farber (1986) notes a series of word plays in a Late Babylonian bīt rimki (substitute king) text from Uruk. According to Farber, “the king … addresses several parts of the body of a slaughtered bird, asking for the removal of his sins … [and mentioning] intestines, qerbū” with the phrase: “may prayers (ikribu) of well-being and life be close (qerēbu) to me.” In addition, a line “addressed to the bird as a whole, iṣṣūru, speaks of the ‘curse’ (izziru)” … and “the line addressed to the body of the bird, zumru, is spoken to remove the anger of the population from the king’s body, once again zumru.” A second example comes from the nineteenth century BCE Old Assyrian private archives at Kaneš in Central Anatolia. According to Cécile Michel (2020: 199–200), two incantations on the same tablet – one to help a woman in labor and the other against jaundice – both begin “with a pseudo-abracadabra formula using wordplays.” Michel’s edition and translation reads in part: ar-hu-um a-ra-ah a-ra-ah-tum ar-ha-at ar-hi-iš : ta-ri-i : ar-hi-iš tù-lá-ad ar-hi-iš : i-lu-ku ma-ú ipí-ša : i-na a-pí-ša … e-er-qú-um e-ri-iq e-ri-iq-tum e-er-qá-at … A cow, O cow! The Arahtum-canal is rapid. Rapidly she becomes pregnant, Rapidly she gives birth, Rapidly water flows out of her “mouth” … Yellow one, O yellow one! The yellow one is yellow! … A third example, pointed out by Tzvi Abusch (2015: 9–10, 50–53) and Noegel (2021: 147) comes from the first millennium BCE anti-witchcraft series known as Maqlû (that includes Neo-Babylonian recensions). Impressively, it contains a non-stop, “forceful alliterative style” (Abusch 2015: 9) where the sonic patterns are based on two parallel roots having to do with “bewitching” (kašāpu) and “practicing [sorcery]” (epēšu). The translation below that approximates these sound patterns in English is that of Abusch: kaššāpu ikšipanni kišpī ikšipanni kišipšu kaššaptu takšipanni kišpī takšipanni kišipši ēpišu īpušanni ipšū īpušanni epussu ēpištu tēpušanni ipšū tēpušanni epussi muštēpištu tēpušanni ipšū tēpušanni epussi A warlock has bewitched me; bewitch him with the witchcraft with which he bewitched me, A witch has bewitched me; bewitch her with the witchcraft with which she bewitched me, A sorcerer has ensorcelled me; ensorcell him with the sorcery with which he ensorcelled me, A sorceress has ensorcelled me; ensorcell her with the sorcery with which she ensorcelled me, A woman who instigates sorcery has ensorcelled me; ensorcell her with the sorcery with which she ensorcelled me. A fourth example, a snake incantation from Ugarit, is from a much earlier time period (Late Bronze Age) though we include it here to have a Northwest Semitic text in our overview. This text has also been noticed repeatedly, first by Greaves (1995: 166–67; cf. Noegel 2010: 35; 2021: 149–50; Lewis 2017: 220). The text reads (with my tentative vocalization): ʿarʿarama yanaʿʿirannaha sissinnama yassiyannaha ʿidatama yaʿddiyannaha yābilatama yabilannaha With a tamarask he expels it (the venom), With a date palm he makes it fall into utter oblivion, With an ʿidatu-cluster he makes it pass away, With a carrier he carries it away. [KTU 1.100.65b–67a]

350

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

In short, those scholars who argue that “word-plays [paronomasia] … predominate around curse-incantation language” are on solid footing.27 Once Again, Why Aramaic? The widespread prevalence of Aramaic (starting with the Neo-Assyrian empire and down to the author’s present Neo-Babylonian empire) makes a strong case for our author choosing Aramaic “to speak to the nations” – as does Mizrahi’s sociolinguistic code-switching thesis where the author’s use of Aramaic could have played a role in demarcating group identity. Our performative thesis notes how our sole Aramaic verse contains several sonic devices that seem intentional on the part of the author. Two of these are particular to his use of Aramaic: the juxtaposition of two different spellings of the same Aramaic word (ʾarqāʾ and ʾarʿāʾ) in currency at his time, and the choice of two verbs (ʿăbadû / yēʾbadû [make / perish]) that play off one another in Aramaic, not in Hebrew. Note too Holladay’s (1986: 325, 543–44) suggestion that our author may have relied on another Aramaic pun in Jeremiah 20:3–6.28 Our performative thesis is strengthened by data that point to a vibrant use of Aramaic in curses and magic texts. Aramaic incantation texts are well attested with the numerous late antique Mesopotamian incantation bowls taking center stage.29 Yet their late date (ca. fifth‒seventh cent. CE) makes them difficult to use for the Iron Age, though there are analogies to be explored with regard to performativity and especially how the magic bowls exist “on a continuum between orality and textuality” (Häberl 2015: 395). Nonetheless, it is clear that Aramaic has been used as a language for cursing (and a vector for the written transmission of cursing) as long as it has been in existence. Our archaic Aramaic texts are filled with curses: Bukan (KAI 320, lines 1–13); Hadad (KAI 214, lines 20b–34); Nerab 1 (KAI 225, lines 5–11); Nerab 2 (KAI 226, lines 8–10); Sefire I (KAI 222, A lines 14b–42; C, lines 17–25); Sefire II (KAI 223, A, lines 1–9; C, lines 1–10); Tell Fakhariyeh (KAI 309, lines 16b–23 // Akk lines 26–38); Zakkur (KAI 202, B lines 16–28, C 1–2). Each of the two Nerab texts includes a curse that uses the same verb for perishing (ʾbd) that occurs in Jeremiah 10:11. Two additional Old Aramaic inscriptions from Zinjirli are incantatory. One was inscribed on a Lamashtu amulet “dominated by Mesopotamian iconographic motifs” (DeGrado and Richey 2017: 107). The other is yet to be published, yet early announcements describe an incantation inscribed on a stone cosmetic container against a “devourer” of some kind, perhaps a scorpion, an image of which was also inscribed on the container.30 Two seventh-century BCE limestone amulet plaques from Arslan Tash (ancient Ḫadattu in northern Syria) are well known for being our best examples of Levantine incantations (explicitly labeled lḥšt, “incan-

27

This quote is from Fishbane (1971: 164) who describes the “paranomastic assonance” in Job 3:3–13 as a key biblical example. 28 Holladay sees Jer 20:1–6 as a part of the same unit as Jer 19:1–14 with its baqbuq / baqqōtî paronomasia (see above). In Jer 20:1–6, the judgment oracle against the priest Pašḥur (who had beaten and arrested Jeremiah) takes the form of a cursing name change that enacts as it symbolizes his harsh exile to Babylon where he dies in a non-sanctified land: “Yahweh (hereby) renames you not Pašḥur but rather māgôr missābîb.” For Holladay (1986: 543), the word play between the priest’s name Pašḥur and the Aramaic word sĕḥôr “surrounding” (thus “terror is all around”?) “is part of Jrm’s deformation of ‘Pashhur’ (which) is implied by the rendering here in (the Aramaic) T(argum), missĕḥôr sĕḥôr.” Holladay (1986: 544) adds an additional wordplay with of the first part of the priest’s name (< pwš to be fruitful) which is less convincing. 29 See, for example, Shaked, Ford and Bhayro (2013: xv) which speaks of the growth in the “intellectual productivity [which] has brought about a real revolution in the perception of the languages used on the bowls, the structure of magic texts, their contents, and their importance for the history of religion in Mesopotamia and in Palestine in Late Antiquity.” This volume includes extensive bibliographies on the many works analyzing Aramaic magic bowls from scholars such as Gideon Bohak, James Nathan Ford, Yuval Hariri, Dan Levene, Matthew Morgenstern, Marco Moriggi, Christa Müller-Kessler, Judah Segal, and Shaul Shaked. 30 Madadh Richey and Dennis Pardee presented preliminary findings at the annual meeting of the SBL in Denver in November 2017. For images and a popular announcement, see https://www.livescience.com/64362-ancient-aramaicincantation-describes-devourer.html.

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

351

tation”) complete with graphic iconography.31 The language of the inscriptions seems to be Phoenician (or a local dialect) with possible Aramaisms, while the script is Aramaic. Lastly, note an exceptional fourth century BCE Aramaic incantation from Uruk that was written in Babylonian cuneiform script.32 Due to its remarkably widespread endurance in the first millennium BCE – throughout the Neo-Assyrian, Neo-Babylonian and Persian Empires (Gzella 2015: 53–211), Aramaic was perfectly situated to spread cultural influences, including curse repertoires. Consider how Aramaic facilitated one particular curse tradition across a wide geographic span as documented in three Old Aramaic texts (one a bilingual) and, surprisingly, a passage from Leviticus 26. The earliest documentation of this specific curse is in the ninth century BCE Tell Fakhariyeh Old Aramaic/Akkadian bilingual inscription where a lengthy list of curses contains two specific maledictions. The Aramaic text reads: “may 100 cows suckle a calf, but it not be satisfied … may 100 women bake bread in an oven, but not be able to fill it.” The Akkadian text reads: “may 100 cows not satisfy a calf … may 100 women bakers not be able to fill an oven.” The curse next shows up in modified form in the mid-eighth century BCE Sefire inscription: “may [seven] cows suckle a calf, but it not be satisfied … may seven daughters bake bread in an oven (?) and it not [fill] it.” Another eighth century Old Aramaic text – yet from the geopolitical world of ancient Mannaea – reads: “may seven cows suckle one calf, but it not be satisfied; may seven women bake in one oven, and not fill it.” Finally, we find the second half of the curse in Leviticus 26:26, again slightly modified: “may ten women bake your bread in a single oven … you will eat, but you will not be satisfied.” Ever since the Bukan inscription was discovered in 1985, scholars have recognized the stunning geographic breadth of this curse tradition mediated through Aramaic.33 Consider the distance from Tell Fakhariyah (ancient Sikan) which was located at the headwaters of the Khabur River next to Tell Halaf (ancient Guzana) to Sefire which was located far to the east in central/northern Syria. Most surprisingly, the Old Aramaic Bukan inscription was excavated at Qalaichi Tepe in the Iranian province of West Azerbaijan!34 How this curse repertoire ended up in the epilogue to the Holiness Code is anyone’s guess, yet an appealing option would be via Aramaic mediation through Neo-Assyrian treaty curses.35 31

For further description of these texts and their relation to Aramaean religion, see Lewis (2020a: 268) and Niehr (2014: 142–43) who argues that “both tablets were inscribed by an Aramean scribe.” 32 https://cdli.ox.ac.uk/wiki/doku.php?id=aramaic_incantation_in_akkadian. Beaulieu (2006: 201 n. 35) argues that this text “is a clear forerunner of later [i.e. late antiquity incantation] texts and testifies to the existence of an Aramaic tradition of incantations in Babylonia that was to a large degree independent of cuneiform incantations.” See too MüllerKessler 2002. 33 The most recent exposition is that of Melissa D. Ramos (2016; 2021). Ramos (2016: 216) concludes: “the evidence of the parallel curses in Aramaic demonstrates that the circulation of imprecations took place in this language during the Iron II period.” For the mechanisms of transmission, Ramos (2016: 216–17, 219) posits “the adoption of [early, ninth cent. BCE] Northwest Semitic curse formula by the Neo-Assyrian administration and its dispersal particularly into conquered territories.” Neo-Assyrian scribes working with “subjugated territories” in the western periphery were given formal “training in formulaic curse traditions … including imprecations against those who might foster rebellion.” In her latest presentation, Ramos (2021) expands her earlier treatment to include the vast literature on the book of Deuteronomy vis-à-vis Neo-Assyrian treaties that has grown exponentially since Lauinger’s (2012) publication of the Esarhaddon Succession Treaty found at Tell Tayinat in the northern Levant. Here too we find a vast literature on the ways in which Aramaic served to spread West Semitic treaty traditions. Though related, discussing this vast literature is beyond the scope of the present paper and readers are directed to Ramos’s treatment for a splendid overview, esp. of those scholars working on Aramaic curse traditions such as Christopher Koch, Carly Crouch, and Laura Quick. Moreover, Ramos makes an astute contribution to the debate by bringing the Akkadian incantatory Maqlû and Shurpu materials as well as ritual performance into the various scenarios. Her conceptualizations for the oral use of curses in treaties nicely fit with what we are suggesting here for our narrow Jeremianic passage. 34 The kingdom of ancient Mannaea was in the precarious position of having the Neo-Assyrian empire on its southern and southwestern flanks with Urartu to its north/northwest. Thus in the Bukan inscription we have the mention of the Urartian god Haldi alongside the Aramean god Hadad. 35 Cf. Levine 1989: 275–81, esp. 278. Ramos (2016: 218–19) suggests several avenues for promoting the spread of Aramaic in Judah during Iron Age II. She concludes that “Aramaic curse formulae may have spread into Judah through multiple channels.” Consider too how Hebrewʾaššāpîm and Aramaic ʾāšĕpîn/ʾāšĕpayyăʾ (Daniel 1:20; 2:27, 4:4) represent loan words of the well attested Akkadian āšipu, “exorcist,” a figure who was skilled in the vast incantation literature known as āšipūtu. See Scurlock (2014).

352

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

Code-Switching and the Prophetic Parodies against Making Divine Images In the past, many biblicists incorrectly understood the presence of Aramaic in Jeremiah 10:11 as necessitating a late gloss. Few of these scholars appreciated what we have demonstrated above – how the Aramaic here could be an intentional choice representing effectual words. As far as I am aware, no scholar, apart from Noam Mizrahi, applied the relatively new field of code-switching36 to analyze why our author might have chosen to situate a single verse of Aramaic in his Hebrew text. Code-switching, traditionally understood, looks at how speakers of multiple languages (often bilingual) will alternate languages or dialects for a wide variety of social circumstances and rhetorical situations. Codeswitching can be performative, using multilingual discourse to negotiate power and agency (Stroud 2004); in some instances it can do this by means of humor including parody (Siegel 1995; Jaffe 2000; Vizcaino 2011).37 The reason to consider code-switching and parody is due to how our single Aramaic verse is situated within a larger block of Hebrew text (in both the MT and the differing Hebrew Vorlage of the LXX recension) that is regularly viewed as a parody. Michael Dick (1999) has written the most insightful treatment of prophetic parodies against divine images – including Jeremiah 10 – due to situating these texts against the Mesopotamian “mouth-washing” (mīs pî) and “mouth opening” (pit pî) texts.38 These texts date to the NeoAssyrian and Neo-/Late Babylonian periods (eighth-fifth centuries BCE; Walker and Dick 1999: 67). They describe an elaborate affair involving extensive divination to locate a time for the task, to select the many different artisans, and to determine the place of refurbishing (the bīt mummi). Various craftsmen are listed in detail as are the costly materials (e.g., red gold, precious stones) used to make the statue, together with its crown and decorative jewelry, so that the gods could be ceremoniously “born.” The cult image was the joint product of human and divine artisans. Importantly for our consideration, “incantations … accompanied and gave effect to the ritual” (Walker and Dick 1999: 57). Space does not allow an unpacking of the prophetic parodies and readers are directed to Dick’s (1999: 45) insightful treatment that describes “a conscious distortion forged in polemic.” For example, in the Mesopotamian ritual, the pit pî is critically important as explicitly stated: The “statue cannot smell incense, drink water or eat food without the Opening of the Mouth” (Dick 1999: 40; Walker and Dick 1999: 99; Walker and Dick 2001: 141, 151). As Dick notes, the skewed polemic of both Jeremiah 10:5, 14 and Psalm 135:15– 18 is striking with its similarity. What then are we to conclude sociolinguistically about what we see in Jeremiah 10 overall and the presence of an exceptional curse in Aramaic woven into a Hebrew parody directed against the Babylonian making of divine images? Rhetorically, curses, incantations, polemics and parodies are there for a reason: to engage in discursive and intellectual combat with a real threat or a perceived threat. For the former, consider the real threat posed by the cult devoted to the Queen of Heaven who was likely a syncretism of West Semitic ʿAštart and East Semitic Ishtar.39 As described in Jeremiah 7:16–20; 44:15–30, the context describes another situation of 36

For an overview of the history of scholarship on sociocultural linguistics and code-switching, see Nilep (2006) and Gardner-Chloros (2009). For a recent overview of the field of code-switching as well as the study of language variation in speech and in writing, see Mandell (forthcoming). Mandell presents a detailed study of the Canaanite Amarna diplomatic corpus with its diversity of scribal practices, advocating for the terminology of “code alternation” and a multimodal approach. 37 Studying humor in antiquity is notoriously difficult as we are so far removed from the culture that determined what was thought to be humorous. Our earliest Northwest Semitic incantations were written in Egyptian hieroglyphic script and were intended to prevent snakes from approaching the mummy of a pharaoh. The problem is that we are dealing with Byblian snakes that only understand incantations that are spoken in a Canaanite dialect (Steiner 2011: 25, 53)! Such a bilingual incantation may easily have been seriously pragmatic (snakes in known timber shipments from the port of Bybos?), but the notion of invoking warnings to poisonous but learned snakes in their own language also strikes me as humorous. 38 See too the critical edition by Walker and Dick (2001). Other scholars who have noted the relevance of the mīs pî texts for Jeremiah 10 include Lundberg (2007) and Mizrahi (2014: 119) both of whom cite Dick’s seminal work. Earlier scholars noting Babylonian image making parallels include Rudman (1998: 69–70, 73). 39 On the multifaceted nature of this ʿAštart cult, see Lewis 2020a: 675–96, esp. 677–78 and Lewis 2020b: 138–59, esp. 141–42.

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

353

Judahites living in a foreign country (Egypt). This cult (with hybrid household and royal dimensions) is, surprisingly, portrayed in Jeremiah as remarkably effective in addressing general concerns of prosperity, and especially food production and safety from war (Jer 44:17–19). As a result of such realia, the prophet feels the need to hurl a powerful rhetoric of divine curses and threats of destruction to engage in verbal combat (Jer 44: 12–14, 22–23, 27–30). In contrast, the perspective presented in Jeremiah 10:11 is a work of literary imagination regarding a perceived threat. The prophet projects into the future when Judahites as forced migrants will come face to face with Babylonians in a foreign land. His goal for his displaced people is to have them “learn not the way of the nations” who in the end will “not be able to endure Yahweh’s wrath” (Jer 10:1, 10b). Though the scenario may be futuristic, the perceived threat is palpable such that it occasions the lengthy parody of Jeremiah 10:1–10. Dramatically, the parody leads up to the effectual Aramaic curse found in Jeremiah 10:11 that seeks deicide for the Babylonian “gods” who did not make the heavens (šĕmayyā) and the earth (ʾarqāʾ/ʾarʿāʾ).40 The following poem that switches back to Hebrew (rhetorical “code alternation”) celebrates Yahweh, the true maker of the earth (ʾereṣ) and heavens (šāmāyīm)41 – and the power behind the invoked curse. If mīs pî rituals were known by our author (cf. again Dick 1999), then using effectual words to destroy the gods would be countering the incantations used by Babylonian diviners to vivify them in the first place. Fighting magic with magic is well known in Near Eastern incantatory texts (see the Maqlû text above). The Twofold Sociolinguistic Import of Using Aramaic in Jeremiah 10:11 Not to be missed is the twofold sociolinguistic import of using Aramaic in Jeremiah 10:11. (1) Jeremiah is instructing his Judahite audience who are forced into exile to code-switch in speaking Aramaic and not Hebrew. This is empowering. By so doing, the Judahite migrants self-elevate their social status among varying Babylonian constituencies by demonstrating that they are not monolingual. They are not silent (illiterate) refugees lacking in agency to affect change but rather bilingual elites speaking the language of the empire.42 Consider the symbolic and tangible prestige of speaking Aramaic which was known throughout the Neo-Babylonian empire as it was in the previous Neo-Assyrian empire for its use in international commerce and diplomacy as well as for its local social currency. As Berlejung (2019: 253) observes, “The ability to speak and write Aramaic opened chances for trade, markets, marriages, careers, diplomacy, social interactions and social climbing.” The Judahite Aramaic speakers would have been viewed as cosmopolitan the minute they opened their mouths. Moreover, note how Jeremiah 10:11 takes the language of empire and inverts the power dynamic. Those who bore the brunt of imperial sub-

40

Alice Mandell (forthcoming) notes how code alternation occurs at “critical junctures” in written texts and such would certainly apply in our case. I intentionally put the word “gods” in quotation marks. The author of the parody is doubleminded. On the surface, his words can be taken as espousing a belief that he did not consider the Babylonian “gods” to be gods (powerful entities) at all, and such has been the standard interpretation in the reception history of monotheistic traditions using this text. “Yahweh is, after all, truly God” (wa-yhwh ʾĕlōhîm ʾemet; Jer 10:10). At the same time, the nature of such a forceful polemic implies otherwise. Why passionately seek the death of gods if they are in reality nonentities? At the least, the author deemed it a strong possibility that his fellow Judahites coming under Babylonian influence could view the gods of the nations (and their ritually vivified divine images) as true objects of veneration. Our author knew too that the history of Israelite religion is filled with such beliefs in “other gods” (ʾĕlōhîm ʾăḥērîm; Deut 5:6). Compare the similar wrestling with understanding “the gods” in Psalm 82. See Lewis 2020a: 565–69. 41 Cf. the switched language and chiastic order of the Hebrew earth/heaven/heaven/earth in Jer 10:12–13 with the Aramaic heaven/earth/earth/heaven in Jer 10:11. 42 Contrast Jeremiah’s actions here with 2 Kgs 18:26 where the bilingual Judahite elite tried to disempower the local monolingual speakers who were unable to converse in Aramaic with the Neo-Assyrian rab šāqēh. For the presence of Aramaic in the Neo-Babylonian empire, see Beaulieu (2006: 198) who states that “Aramaic had probably become the dominant vernacular, even at the official level … the pervasive use of Aramaic is proven by the frequent attestations of the term sēpiru ‘parchment scribe’ in cuneiform archives of that period … it is indisputable that Aramaic was gaining increasing ground and was well on its way to becoming the sole vernacular of Babylonia.”

354

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

jugation are here cursing the empire in its own language, the language they learned in the context of linguistic imperialism (cf. Beaulieu 2006: 196–204; Schniedewind 2013: 83–88).43 (2) Jeremiah is also empowering Judahite migrants with performative curse language that was thought to have real power and efficacy, especially in Mesopotamian religious culture. Here too the code-switching to high register Aramaic is all important. Within the parodic Hebrew context of Jeremiah 10, the Aramaic stands out as indexing a very specific function (cursing) that was envisioned as effectual. In code-switching, the language is as important as the content. Aramaic was a language with a robust curse repertoire, and one which was known to mediate curse traditions across wide geographic areas. In a Neo-Babylonian context, a curse spoken in Aramaic rather than Hebrew had much greater social capital. In addition, if the Judahites conveyed that their speech was a direct result of a divine command (Jer 10:11a), then their status could have been viewed similarly to other Mesopotamian oracular intermediaries who were considered to be divine spokesmen and spokeswomen (e.g. apilu/apiltu, muḫḫu/muḫḫutu).44 Conclusion That Jeremiah 10:11 is written in Aramaic is no aberration. Nor is it a quirk of transmission history. It is rather a mark of sociolinguistic artistry. It is intentional with the paronomastic way in which it was written to be performatively powerful, and the way in which it was situated within the parodic subject matter of Jeremiah 10. As a high register language, the use of Aramaic functions sociologically to elevate the status of Judahite refugees. By exhibiting an aural mastery of cursing, these minority outsiders – using the dominant vernacular of the Neo-Babylonian empire – proclaim that they have the expertise and bold courage to engage in discursive theological combat against the imperial gods of their oppressors. Bibliography Abusch, T. 2015. The Witchcraft Series Maqlû. WAW 37. Atlanta: SBL Press. Adcock. J. 2019. “Does Jeremiah Dispel Diaspora Demons? How Septuagint Jeremiah and 4Q71 (4QJerb) Rewrote their Text Structures around an Aramaic War Taunt which Mocks Zion’s Idolatry.” JSOT 43.3: 395–416. Baumgartner, W. 1927. “Das Aramäische im Buche Daniel.” ZAW 45: 81–133. Beaulieu, P.-A. 2006. “Official and Vernacular Languages: The Shifting Sands of Imperial and Cultural Identities in First-millennium B.C. Mesopotamia.” Pp. 191–220 in Margins of Writing, Origins of Cultures, Second Printing, edited by S. L. Sanders. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Berlejung, A. 2019. “Identity Performances in Multilinguistic Contexts: The Cases of Yarih-ʿezer from Amman and Ikausu/Achish from Ekron.” WdO 49.2: 252–87. Broida, M. W. 2014. Forestalling Doom: “Apotropaic Intercession” in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Carroll, R. P. 1986. Jeremiah: A Commentary. Philadelphia: Westminster. DeGrado, J., and Richey, M. 2017. “An Aramaic-Inscribed Lamaštu Amulet from Zincirli.” BASOR 377: 107–33. Dewrell, H. D. 2010. “Human Beings as Ritual Objects: A Reexamination of Sefire IA, 35B-42.” Maarav 17.1: 31–55. ——— 2017. Child Sacrifice in Ancient Israel. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Dick, M. B. 1999. “Prophetic Parodies of Making the Cult Image.” Pp. 1–53 in Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East, edited by M. B. Dick. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

43

I again thank Alice Mandell for her insights. Though containing material from earlier time periods, the collection of Mari (eighteenth cent. BCE) and Nineveh (seventh cent. BCE) texts in Nissinen et al. (2019) provides a window into the world of Mesopotamian oracular intermediaries. 44

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

355

DNWSI 1995. Hoftijzer, J., and Jongeling, K. Dictionary of the North-West Semitic Inscriptions. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Duhm, B. 1901. Das Buch Jeremia. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr. Fales, F. M., Radner, K., Pappi, C. and Attardo, E. 2005. “The Assyrian and Aramaic Texts from Tell Shiukh Fawqani.” Pp. 595–694 in Tell Shiukh Fawqani 1994–1998, edited by L. Bachelot and F. M. Fales. Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria. Farber, W. 1986. “Associative Magic: Some Rituals, Word Plays, and Philology.” JAOS 106.3:447–49. Fishbane, M. 1971. “Jeremiah IV 23–26 and Job III 3–13: A Recovered Use of the Creation Pattern.” VT 21: 151–67. Folmer, M. L. 1995. The Aramaic Language in the Achaemenid Period. A Study in Linguistic Variation. Leuven: Peeters. Ford, J. N. 2008. “Wordplay in the Lamaštu Incantations.” Pp. 585–95 in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, edited by C. Cohen et al. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Gardner-Chloros, P. 2009. Code-switching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Greaves, S. W. 1995. “Wordplay and Associative Magic in the Ugaritic Snake-bite Incantation RS 24.244.” UF 26: 165–67. Greenstein, E. L. 1992. “Wordplay, Hebrew.” Pp. 968–71 in ABD 6, edited by D. N. Freedman. New York: Doubleday. ——— 2016. “Verbal Art and Literary Sensibilities in Ancient Near Eastern Context.” Pp. 457–75 in The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Ancient Israel, edited by S. Niditch. Malden: Wiley Blackwell. Gzella, H. 2015. A Cultural History of Aramaic: From the Beginnings to the Advent of Islam. Leiden: Brill. Häberl, C. G. 2015 “Aramaic Incantation Texts between Orality and Textuality.” Pp. 365–99 in Orality and Textuality in the Iranian World, edited by J. Rubanovich. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Holladay, W. L. 1986. Jeremiah 1. Philadelphia: Fortress. ——— 1989. Jeremiah 2. Minneapolis: Fortress. Jaffe, A. 2000. “Comic Performance and the Articulation of Hybrid Identity.” Pragmatics 10.1: 39–59. Kitz, A. M. 2014. Cursed Are You! The Phenomenology of Cursing in Cuneiform and Hebrew Texts. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Klaus, N. 1991–1992. “Plays of Language in the Bible” [Hebrew] Beit Mikra 129: 170–81. Lauinger, J. 2012. “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Tell Tayinat: Text and Commentary.” JCS 64: 87– 123. Levine, B. A. 1989. Leviticus = Va-yikra: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation. Philadelphia: JPS. Lewis, T. J. 1989. Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit. HSM, Vol. 39. Atlanta: Scholars Press. ——— 2006. “Covenant and Blood Rituals: Understanding Exodus 24:3–8 Against Its Ancient Near Eastern Backdrop.” Pp. 341–50 in Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, edited by S. Gitin, J.E. Wright, J.P. Dessel. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. ——— 2011. “ʿAthtartu’s Incantations and the Use of Divine Names as Weapons.” JNES 70.2: 207–27. ——— 2012. “Job 19 in the Light of the Ketef Hinnom Inscriptions and Amulets.” Pp. 99–113, 319–20 in Puzzling Out the Past: Studies in Northwest Semitic Languages and Literatures in Honor of Bruce Zuckerman, edited by M. Lundberg, S. Fine and W. T. Pitard. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——— 2017. “Piercing God’s Name: A Mythological Subtext of Deicide Underlying Blasphemy in Leviticus 24.” Pp. 213–38 in Le-maʿan Ziony: Essays in Honor of Ziony Zevit, edited by F. E. Greenspahn and G Rendsburg. Eugene: Wipf & Stock. ——— 2020a. The Origin and Character of God: Ancient Israelite Religion through the Lens of Divinity. New York: Oxford University Press. ——— 2020b. “Ugaritic ʿAthtartu Šadi, Food Production and Textiles: More Data for Reassessing the Biblical Portrayal of ʿAštart in Context.” Pp. 138–59 in Mighty Baal: Essays in Honor of Mark S. Smith, edited by S. C. Russell and E. J. Hamori. Leiden: E. J. Brill.

356

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

Lundberg. M. J. 2007. “The Mis-Pi Rituals and Incantations and Jeremiah 10:1–16.” Pp. 210–27 in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen, edited by J. Goldingay. New York: T & T Clark International. Lundbom, J. R. 1999. Jeremiah 1–20. New York: Doubleday. ——— 2004a. Jeremiah 21–36. New York: Doubleday. ——— 2004b. Jeremiah 37–52. New York: Doubleday. Mandell, A. forthcoming. Cuneiform Culture and the Ancestors of Hebrew. The Ancient World Series, edited by S. L. Sanders. London: Routledge. Michel, C. 2020. Women of Assur and Kanesh – Texts from the Archives of Assyrian Merchants. WAW 42. Atlanta: SBL Press. Mizrahi, N. 2014. “A Matter of Choice: A Sociolinguistic Perspective on the Contact between Hebrew and Aramaic with Special Attention to Jeremiah 10.1–16.” Pp. 107–24 in Discourse, Dialogue and Debate in the Bible Essays in Honour of Frank H. Polak, edited by A. Brenner-Idan. Sheffield: Phoenix Press. Muhlestein. K. 2008. “Execration Ritual.” UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, edited by Jacco Dieleman and Willeke Wendrich. http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21198/zz000s3mqr. Müller-Kessler, C. 2002. “Die aramäische Beschwörung und ihre Rezeption in den mandäisch-magischen Texten: am Beispiel ausgewählter aramäischer Beschwörungsformulare.” Res Orientales 14: 193– 208. Niehr, H. 2014. “Religion.” Pp. 127–303 in The Aramaeans in Ancient Syria, edited by H. Niehr. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Nilep, C. 2006. “‘Code Switching’ in Sociocultural Linguistics.” Colorado Research in Linguistics 19:1– 22. Boulder: University of Colorado. Nissinen, M., Seow, C. L., Ritner, R. K., and Melchert, H. C. 2019. Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East. 2nd ed. WAW 41. Atlanta: SBL Press. Noegel, S. B. 2010. “The Ritual Use of Linguistic and Textual Violence in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East.” Pp. 33–46 in State, Power, and Violence, edited by M. Kitts et al. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. ——— 2013. “Paronomasia.” Pp. 24–29 in Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics, Vol. 3, edited by G. Khan. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——— 2021. “Wordplay” in Ancient Near Eastern Texts. Atlanta: SBL Press. Overholt, T. W. 1965. “The Falsehood of Idolatry: An Interpretation of Jer. X. 1–16.” The Journal of Theological Studies 16.1: 1–12. Ramos, M. D. 2016. “A Northwest Semitic Curse Formula: The Sefire Treaty and Deuteronomy 28.” ZAW 128.2: 205–20. ——— 2021. Ritual in Deuteronomy. The Performance of Doom. London: Routledge. Ritner, R. K. 1993. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. ——— 1997. “Execration Texts (1.32).” Pp. 50–52 in COS 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, edited by W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Rosenthal, F. 1974. A Grammar of Biblical Aramaic. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Rudman, D. 1998. “Creation and Fall in Jeremiah X 12–16.” VT 48.1: 63–73. Schniedewind, W. M. 2013. A Social History of Hebrew: Its Origins Through the Rabbinic Period. New Haven: Yale University. Scurlock, J. 2014. Sourcebook for Ancient Mesopotamian Medicine. Writings from the Ancient World 36. Atlanta: SBL Press. Siegel, J. 1995. “How to Get a Laugh in Fijian: Code-Switching and Humor.” Language in Society 24.1: 95– 110. Shaked, S. 1999. “The Poetics of Spells. Language and Structure in Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity 1: The Divorce Formula and its Ramifications.” Pp. 173–95 in Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretive Perspectives, edited by T. Abusch and K. van der Toorn. Groningen: Styx.

Lewis – A Magical Aramaic Curse in Jeremiah 10:11

357

Shaked, S., Ford, J. N., and Bhayro, S. 2013. Aramaic Bowl Spells: Jewish Babylonian Aramaic Bowls, Volume One. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Steiner, R. C. 2011. Early Northwest Semitic Serpent Spells in the Pyramid Texts. HSS 61. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Stroud, C. 2004. “The Performativity of Codeswitching.” International Journal of Bilingualism 8: 145–66. Thompson, J. A. 1980. The Book of Jeremiah. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Tov, E. 1997. “Jeremiah” Pp. 145–207, plates XXIV–XXXVII in Qumran Cave 4. X: The Prophets. Edited by E. Ulrich et al. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 15. Oxford; Clarendon Press. ——— 2012. Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible. Third edition, revised and expanded. Minneapolis: Fortress. Vizcaíno, M. J. G. 2011. “Humor in Code-Mixed Airline Advertising.” Pragmatics 21.1: 145–70. Walker, C., and Dick, M. B. 1999. “The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamia mīs pî Ritual.” Pp. 55–121 in Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East, edited by M. B. Dick. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. ——— / ——— 2001. The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian Mis Pî Ritual. Helsinki: The Neo- Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Zevit, Z. 2001. The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches. New York: Continuum.

“The priests, the Levites, and all the tribe of Levi, shall have no part nor inheritance with Israel” (Deut 18:1) Is there Archaeological Evidence of Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah? Aren M. Maeir

Abstract The Biblical texts are replete with references to priests and Levites in ancient Israel and Judah, and are portrayed as playing a crucial and central role in these societies. While it is quite clear that priests and Levites did exist in Iron Age Israel and Judah, and have been extensively discussed in biblical research, insufficient attention has been placed on possible archaeological evidence of these groups. In this paper, I attempt to collect and assess archaeological evidence for priests and Levites in Iron Age Israel and Judah, and how this interface interplays with the textual evidence. There is no question that cultic personnel, such as priests, existed in many ancient societies and cultures (e.g., Lorton 2000; Hitch 2012; Várhelyi 2012; Taggar-Cohen 2015; Heike 2020), and we have every reason to assume that such personnel existed in ancient Israel and Judah as well. Due to the extensive mention of priests (Kohanim) and Levites in the biblical literature, and the ensuing traditions and reception of these groups until today, attempts to study them are quite common. In fact, much ink has been spilled on the discussion of priests and Levites in ancient Israel (e.g., Berry 1923; Möhlenbrink 1934; Wright 1954; Strauss 1960; Emerton 1962; Nielson 1964; Gunneweg 1965; Abba 1977; Haran 1983; 1985; Rehm 1992; Nelson 1993; Grabbe 1995; Dahmen 1996; Schaper 1999; Miller 2000: 164–78; Rooke 2000; Grabbe and Ogden Bellis 2004; Hunt 2006; Na’aman 2008; Leuchter 2009; 2017; 2018; Hutton 2011; Leuchter and Hutton 2011; Bonfiglio 2012; Cook 2012; Watts 2013; Samuel 2014; Wilson 2018; Heike 2020). That said, almost all of these studies have been text-based, attempting to understand the historicity, functions, roles and socio-economic status, as well as symbolic meaning of the priests and the Levites through analyses and interpretations of the biblical and other ancient Near Eastern Texts. Occasionally, select archaeological finds were utilized in these discussions, but hardly in a comprehensive manner. This paper is written in honor and admiration of my good friend, cherished colleague, and outstanding scholar, Lawson Younger (e.g., Younger 1990; 1998; 2002; 2016, and countless others). Lawson, time and again, has masterfully dovetailed a broad range of textual and archaeological data in studies relating to the Bible and the ancient Near East. Here, I would like to bring together the archaeological evidence that might be seen as relevant for the study of priests and Levites in Iron Age Israel and Judah, which, hopefully, will add to the textually oriented discussions on this topic.1 One can hope that material evidence related to priests and Levites might shed light on various issues, including: • • • • •

1

Is there clear-cut archaeological evidence of priests and Levites in Iron Age Israel and Judah? Can this evidence clarify the roles and activities of the priests and Levites, and can specific cultic and ritual activities be related to them? Is there a historical basis for the “Levitical cities” mentioned in the biblical text? Can light be shed on the history of the development of the priesthood and the different priestly families mentioned in the Bible? What is the relationship between the priests and Levites?

This paper is based on a lecture that I presented at the conference “Priests and Priesthood in the Ancient Near East,” which was held at Tel Aviv University, 19–21 March, 2018. Video recordings of the lectures given at the conference can be found at: https://youtu.be/t3H6yh9c6So. Papers relating to Assyriology given at this conference were subsequently published in a special issue of JANER (19[1–2]; https://brill.com/view/journals/jane/19/1-2/jane.19.issue-12.xml). Thanks to Jim Hoffmeier for bringing my attention to two of his papers (Hoffmeier 2016; Harrell, Hoffmeier and Williams 2018).

360 •

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

In light of recent claims (e.g., Knohl 2012; Friedman 2017) of a central role of the Levites in the Exodus from Egypt – and a suggested historical basis for the Exodus narratives – can any evidence of this be found?

I believe it is crucial to attempt to bring the archaeological evidence to the forefront in the study of priests and Levites in ancient Israel and Judah. While, without the doubt, the many textual studies are of importance, if we wish to study the historicity of this phenomenon, non-textual data is crucial. As is well-known, the interpretation of the biblical texts is a highly debated and contested topic, including in regard to the ritual (and non-ritual) texts relating to the priests and Levites. What is their date? Who wrote them? Which parts are historical? All these, and other questions, make it difficult to utilize only the texts, with any amount of certainty, when attempting to recreate the cultic and ritual patterns of Iron Age Israel and Judah. Leaving aside the specific issues relating to the debates of the interpretation of the Hebrew Bible, I believe Buc’s (2001) warnings about attempts to reflect on-the-ground realia from medieval ritual texts are quite relevant for uncovering the historical foundations of the priests and Levites based solely on the biblical texts: Texts were forces in the practice of power. They should not be decrypted for (elusive) facts about rituals and then set aside (Buc 2001: 259). Ultimately there can be no anthropological readings of rituals depicted in medieval texts. There can only be anthropological readings of (1) medieval textual practices, or perhaps (2) medieval practices that the historian has reconstructed using texts, with full and constant sensitivity to their status as texts. The latter is nonetheless much more difficult (especially for data-poor eras), less reliable, and allows only a circumscribed realm of appropriate questions and possible results (Buc 2001: 4).2 Thus, while I hardly suggest to ignore the biblical texts on this issue, I believe that a close and careful look for possible hints to priests and Levites in the archaeological record of Iron Age Judah and Israel, might shed light on contemporaneous evidence of these cultic personnel. The archaeological evidence of priests, priesthood, Levites and other cultic personal can be found in the following classes of material evidence in Iron Age Israel/Judah: • • • • • •

Inscriptions mentioning names associated with priests in the biblical texts Localized cultic practices in the Iron Age – perhaps connected to local cultic personnel Vessels with inscriptions or signs, possibly relating to tithes and offerings brought to the temples/cultic places (and to the cultic personnel) known from the biblical texts Possible reflections of biblical cultic praxis that may be associated with the priests and Levites Selected other objects Claims for genetic evidence of the lineages of the priests and Levites Inscriptions Mentioning Names Associated with Priests in the Biblical Texts

While hardly common, there are several inscriptions from the Iron Age southern Levant in which names that are associated with priests in the biblical texts appear. Some of these derive from controlled excavations, while other were found in the antiquities market. A group of eight ostraca were found within and immediately adjacent to the Iron IIB temple in the Judahite fortress at Arad (Aharoni 1981). All these ostraca have a single name on them. Two of the names are of particular note being names that are associated with priests in the biblical text: Meremot (Aharoni 1981: 85, Inscription 50; ‫ ;מרמות‬e.g. Neh 10:6; Ez 8:33) and Pashhur (Aharoni 1981: 86, Inscription 54; ‫ ;פשחר‬e.g. Jer 20:1; 21:1). The accepted interpretation of these eight ostraca (e.g., Aharoni 1981: 87; Aḥituv 2008: 149–50) is that they represent perhaps “lots” with the names of

2

For similar perspectives on the biblical ritual, see, e.g. Watts 2021 (and there further literature).

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

361

priests who served in the temple. As two of the name are known as priestly families from the biblical texts, this seems quite likely. Another mention of Pashhur is found on a bulla from the City of David with the name Gedalyahu son of Pashhur (Mazar and Livyatan Ben-Arie 2015: 307–8, fig. 6.4). According Jer 38:1, this person was a high official in the court of King Zedekiah. Although it should be stressed that he is not considered a priest in the biblical text, the possible connection between officialdom and priestly families is noteworthy. Most recently, a fragmentary clay sealing was found in the sifting of the sediments attributed to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem (Dvira and Barkay 2022).3 The partially preserved late Iron Age IIC inscription reads: …yahu…ʾmr, which is interpreted as [belonging to …]lyhw [son of] ʾmr, and reconstructed as “belonging to hṩlyhw son of ʾmr.” The name ʾmr/Imer (‫ ) ִאמֵּ ר‬is associated several times in the biblical texts with priests (e.g. Jer. 20:1; Ez 2:37; 10:20; Neh 3:29; 7:40; 11:13; I Chr 9:12). Significantly, “Pashhur the son of Imer the Priest” appears in Jer 20:1, once again indicating the importance of the priestly family Pashhur, and additional archaeological evidence of this priestly name. A bulla with the name Azariahu Son of Hilkiyahu (‫ )לעזריהו בן חלקיהו‬was found in controlled excavations in the City of David (Shiloh 1984: 29, no. 27; Schneider 1988; Shoham 1994: no. 27; Avigad and Sass 1997: 224, no. 596) and additional examples are reported from the antiquities market (e.g. Avigad and Sass 1997: 139, nos. 306–07). While this person was not defined as a priest in the bullas, significantly, a person by the name of Hilkiyahu was noted in the Bible as a high priest (e.g.: II Kings 22:4–14; 23:4), and a possible connection to priestly figures might be implied by a bulla mentioning Hanan Son of Hilkiyahu the priest (‫ )לחנן בן חלקיהו הכהן‬reported from the antiquities market (e.g.: II Kings 22:4–14; 23:4; Avigad and Sass 1997: 59–60, no. 28). The well-known ivory pomegranate, purportedly from Jerusalem, with the inscription “Consecrated to the priests to the ho[use of YHWH” (.... ‫)קדש כהנים לבי]ת‬, has been quite clearly demonstrated to be a fake.4 A non-provenanced seal, supposedly originating from Samaria (and attributed as 8th century BCE Israelite, based on epigraphy and prosography), mentions “[lz]kryw khn d’r” (to Zekaryahu priest of Dor; Avigad 1975; Haran 1977; Avigad and Sass 1997: 60, no. 29). While remains of an Israelite temple at Dor have yet to be found, if authentic, fits in well with evidence that Dor was part of the Israelite kingdom in the Iron IIB (e.g. Gilboa, Sharon and Bloch-Smith 2015), indicating an Israelite priest serving at a temple at the site. Finally, although not from an Israelite site, one can note the mention of a priestess (‫ )כהנה‬in the Bala’am inscription from Deir ‘Alla (Combination 1, Line 11; e.g., Aḥituv 2008: 438–39, 451).5 Vessels with Inscriptions or Signs, possibly Relating to Tithes and Offerings An interesting phenomenon that has been noted in several Iron IIB contexts from Judah is the appearance of inscriptions, letters or signs in various types of ceramic vessels. As I discussed this phenomenon in a previous study (Maeir 2010), I will summarize these finds briefly, and add some new relevant finds. The type is a series of Iron IIB Judahite cooking pots with incised “T” (‫ )ת‬on their handles. I have suggested that this might denote “terumah” (‫ – )תרומה‬the biblical “heave offering,” perhaps brought to temples in Iron Age Judah (Maeir 2010). Similarly, there are other Israelite and Judahite vessels with connected markings. Vessels on which one sees qdš (‫)קדש‬, qš (‫ )קש‬or qk (‫ – )קכ‬perhaps “consecrated” or “consecrated to the priest” (‫)קדש כהנים‬, are known from Judahite Arad and Israelite Hazor, as well as from Philistine Ekron (Maeir 2010). To this one can add Iron IIB vessels marked with q (‫)ק‬, qr (‫ – )קר‬perhaps an abbreviation of “sacrifice” (‫ – )קרבן‬examples of which are known from Israelite Kuntillet ‘Ajrud and Judahite City of David (Maeir 2010; see now Eshel et al. in press). As discussed previously, such markings have parallels in other cultures and later Jewish sources, so it is quite likely that they denote vessels that were earmarked for cultic purposes, and most likely given to the cultic personnel (priests) at the various cultic locations. Additional support (if genuine) for this can be found in an Iron IIB decanter marked lmtnyw yyn nsk rb‘t ( ‫למתניהו יין נסך‬ 3

While not from a controlled excavation of the original context of this sealing, the deposits from which it came most likely derived from the Temple Mount (see Dvira and Barkay 2022 :44). 4 Goren et al. 2005. 5 Note that in the original publication, this was line 13 of Combination 1: Hoftijzer and van der Kooij 1976: 174, 190).

362

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

‫“ – )רבעת‬To Matanyahu, libation wine, a quarter” – which was reported from the antiquities market (Maeir 2010). Mention should be made of the so-called “priestly benediction” silver scrolls from Ketef Hinnom in Jerusalem (e.g., Barkay et al. 2004; Smoak 2015)6 in which versions of the blessing in Num. 6: 24–26 appear. While in the biblical text this is recited by a priest (Num. 6:20), there is no direct indication in the silver scrolls that connects these blessings to priestly activity.7 Local Cultic Persona in Judah? Cultic finds from Judah and Israel, with particular emphasis from those in Judah, indicate that some of the cultic sites were not necessarily connected to the centralized rule of the kingdom, but rather reflected local elites and identities, which were in oscillating contact and shifting dependencies with the capitals of the various kingdoms. This has been defined as examples of client-patron relationships, what has been suggested as the political structure of the Kingdom of Judah (and Israel), which was a common political structure in the ancient world in general (e.g., Maeir and Shai 2016; Pfoh 2018; Shai and Maeir 2018; Niemann 2019; Kisilevitz and Lipschits 2020). Reflection of this in the cultic realm is hinted to in various manners. On the one hand, the appearance of various small scale cultic sites, particularly, but not only prior to the late 8th century BCE (and the apparent cult centralization at that time) is one indication of this. This includes the temple at Arad (e.g. Herzog 2010), Moza (Kisilevitz 2015; Kisilevitz and Lipschits 2020), and perhaps at Tel Sheva (Herzog 2010) and Lachish (see Ganor and Kreimerman 2018; Garfinkel 2020; for different views, see Kleiman 2020; Ussishkin 2021). Evidence of cultic paraphernalia mentioned in the biblical texts in relationship to priests and Levites might be relevant as well. Thus, for example, various implements, such as incense shovels (e.g., Biran 1994: 194–95; Kletter and Ziffer 2010; Davis 2013: 79–87) or various altars (e.g., Gitin 2009; Maeir 2012; Gibson, Kennedy and Kramer 2013; Mazar 2015; Kisilevitz and Lipschits 2020), might be seen as reflecting priestly activities – but this is an inference at best. Evidence of the usage of faunal body parts at Israelite and Judahite cultic sites, which indicate preference of specific body parts in cultic activities and sacrifice. First noted at the Iron I cultic site on Mt. Ebal (Horwitz 1986), this has been recently developed by Greer (2019). In discussing the biblical “priestly portion,” Greer shows that two biblical traditions can be noted for these portions, one for a hindlimb and one for the forelimb. Evidence for the use of such portions can be found in from Late Bronze Age onward in various cultures in the ancient Near East. During the Iron Age II, in Israel (at Dan and Rehov) right forelimbs and hindlimbs are found at cultic sites, at others only right forelimbs (Tel Qiri, Ashkelon and Tel Miqne-Ekron) are found, while at Iron II southern cult sites (Qitmit, Arad and Lachish) hindlimbs are found. While, clearly, different traditions are found in these various regions, choice of specific body parts very likely indicates allocation to particular persons, perhaps the cultic personnel at these sites. Genetic Evidence of Priests and Levites? In the last several 25 years, there has been a lively discussion in the literature regarding the possibility of unique genetic markers for Jewish priests and Levites. This is not archaeological evidence per se, but rather attempts to show a deep biological continuity between modern Jewish priests and Levites and supposed groups from antiquity. Nevertheless, it might be seen as providing historical veracity to biblical depictions of these two groups. Skorecki et al. (1997) suggested to identify the Y chromosomes of Jewish priests (Kohanim), based on modern genetic studies (see Thomas et al. 1998, as well). This premise has been questioned (e.g. Schrack 2007). A similar claim was put forward to identifying Ashkenazi Levites, although multiple origins were seen here (Rootsi et al. 2013; Behar et al. 2017). This claim was also questioned (ZoossmannDiskin 2006). In other words, while there is some basis for claiming that both Kohanim (priests) and Levites 6

While most scholars date these texts to the late Iron Age (e.g., Barkay et al. 2004; Aḥituv 2008: 49; Smoak 2015), a minority have suggested a post-Iron Age dating (e.g., Berlejung 2008; Na’aman 2011; and see Aḥituv 2012). 7 Although one can argue that this might be inferred, indirectly (e.g. Smoak 2015: 88).

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

363

among contemporary Jewish communities may retain unique genetic groupings, perhaps indicating the long ancestry of their inherited roles, there does not appear to be agreement on these issues (e.g., Egorava 2014; Tofanelli et al. 2014; Falk 2015). In addition to this, one of course must be aware of the problematic nature – and even pitfalls – of drawing cultural conclusions based on genomic data and analyses (e.g., Brubaker 2018; Goodman 2020; Hakenbeck 2020; Källén et al. 2021; Maran 2022). Summary From the review presented here of the archaeological (and archaeological-related) finds that might be seen as reflecting cultic personnel (priests and Levites) in ancient Judah and Israel, it is quite clear that while there is no doubt that there are in fact such personnel, not much can be said regarding the specific groups, names and affiliations of the specific people who might have served in these roles. While we can point to a few names found on Iron Age inscriptions, from cultic contexts that overlap with names relating to priests in the Bible, little else can be said. Thus, no clear evidence can be shown for the existence of specific families relating to the priests or the Levites. Similarly, no clear evidence can be mustered to pinpoint aspects such as the “Levitical cities” mentioned in the Bible, despite repeated attempts to identify them and date them (e.g., Mazar 1960; Auld 1979; Ben Zvi 1992; Na’aman 2008; Lee-Sak 2017). Knohl (2012) and Friedman (2017) have both posited, based on textual analyses (and in particular from Egyptian names in the biblical texts), that the Levites played a central role in the Exodus from Egypt. To this one can add studies that have shown strong Egyptian connections between textual evidence of the biblical cult (e.g., Hoffmeier 2016; Harrell, Hoffmeier and Williams 2017; Eichler 2021). That said, an Egyptian-Levite connection does not appear to have much support from the archaeological record.8 No particular emphasis on Egyptian oriented materials and origins can be found in archaeological cultic contexts in Iron Age Israel and Judah (save for occasional Egyptian finds that are common at many Iron Age sites). As we have shown, attempts to muster modern genetic studies of Jewish priests and Levites, in any attempt to define biologically related groups who retain the familial connections of these early cultic personnel, are hardly definitive, if at all. Thus, it would seem that although it is quite logical to assume that these groups did exist in Iron Age Judah and Israel, and the traditions about priests (Kohanim) and Levites may actually have a factual basis, at this stage of the archaeological research, there is not a significant amount of archaeological evidence that can be presented, to bolster the extensive text-based studies on this topic. Bibliography Abba, R. 1977 “Priests and Levites in Deuteronomy.” VT 27(3): 257–67. Aharoni, Y. 1981 Arad Inscriptions. Jerusalem: IES. Ahituv, S. 2008 Echoes from the Past: Hebrew and Cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period. The Biblical Encyclopaedia Library XXI. Jerusalem: Carta. Aḥituv, S. 1970 “Pashhur.” Israel Exploration Journal 20: 95–96. 2012 “A Rejoinder on Nadav Na’aman’s ‘A New Appraisal of the Silver Amulets from Ketef Hinnom’.” IEJ 62(2): 223–32. Auld, A. G. 1979 “The ‘Levitical Cities’: Texts and History.” ZAW 91(2): 194–206.

8

Although one should note the suggested Egyptian etymology for “Pashhur”, a name appearing in an Iron II ostracon from Arad and an Iron II bulla from Jerusalem (see above). See Ahituv 1970; Schipper 1999, 270–71; Hoffmeier 2016: 24–25.

364

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

Avigad, N., and Sass, B. 1997 Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals, rev. B. Sass. Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Avigad, N. 1975 “The Priest of Dor.” IEJ 25: 101–25. Barkay, G., Vaughn, A., Lundberg, M., and Zuckerman, B. 2004 “The Amulets from Ketef Hinnom: A New Edition and Evaluation.” BASOR 334: 41–71. Behar, D. M., Saag, L., Karmin, M., Gover, M. G., Wexler, J. D., Sanchez, L. F., Greenspan, E., Kushniarevich, A., Davydenko, O., Sahakyan, H., Yepiskoposyan, L., Boattini, A., Sarno, S., Pagani, L., Carmi, S., Tzur, S., Metspalu, E., Bormans, C., Skorecki, K., Metspalu, M., Rootsi, S., and Villems, R. 2017 “The Genetic Variation in the R1a Clade Among the Ashkenazi Levites’ Y Chromosome.” Scientific Reports 7: Article Number 14969. Ben Zvi, E. 1992 “The List of Levitical Cities.” JSOT 54: 77–106. Berlejung, A. 2008 “Ein Programm fürs Leben. Theologisches Wort und anthropologischer Ort der Silberamulette von Ketef Hinnom.” ZAW 120(2): 1–13. Berry, G. 1923 “Priests and Levites.” JBL 42: 227–38. Biran, A. 1994 Biblical Dan. Jerusalem: IES. Bonfiglio, R. 2012 “Priests and Priesthood in the Hebrew Bible.” Oxford Biblical Studies Online. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brubaker, R. 2018 “The Return of Biology.” Pp. 62–100 in Reconsidering Race: Social Science Perspectives on Racial Categories in the Age of Genomics, eds. K. Suzuki and D. von Vacano. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Buc, P. 2001 The Dangers of Ritual: Between Early Medieval Texts and Social Scientific Theory. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Cook, S. L. 2012 The Levites Sociocultural Change in Ancient Judah: Insight from Gerhard Lenski’s Social Theory. Pp. 41–58 in Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion: Essays in Retrospect and Prospect, ed. S. M. Olyan. Resources for Biblical Study. Atlanta: SBL. Dahmen, U. 1996 Leviten und Priester im Deuteronomium. Literarkritische und redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien. Bonner biblische Beiträge 110. Bodenheim: Philo. Davis, A. R. 2013 Tel Dan in Its Northern Cultic Context. Archaeology and Biblical Studies 20. Atlanta: SBL. Dvira, Z., and Barkay, G. 2022 “Clay Sealings from the Temple Mount and Their Use in the Temple and Royal Treasuries.” Jerusalem Journal of Archaeology 2: 41–75. Egorova, Y. 2014 “Theorizing ‘Jewish Genetics’: DNA, Culture, and Historical Narrative.” Pp. 353–64 in The Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Jewish Cultures, eds. L. Roth and N. Valman. Abingdon: Routledge. Eichler, R. 2021 The Ark and the Cherubim. FAT 146. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Emerton, J. A. 1962 “Priests and Levites in Deuteronomy.” VT 12: 129–38.

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

365

Eshel, E., Notarius, T., Dagan, A., Eniukhina, M., Workman, V., and Maeir, A. M. In press Two Iron Age Alphabetic Inscriptions from Tell es-Safi/Gath, Israel. BASOR. Falk, R. 2015 “Genetic Markers Cannot Determine Jewish Descent.” Frontiers in Genetics. https: //doi.org/10. 3389/fgene.2014.00462. Friedman, R. E. 2017 The Exodus. New York: HarperOne. Ganor, S., and Kreimerman, I. 2018 “An Eighth Century BCE Gate and a Gate-Shrine at Tel Lachish” (In Hebrew with English Abstract). EI (Stager Volume) 33: 98–110. Garfinkel, Y. 2020 “The Cultic Reform in the Gate Shrine at Lachish.” Strata: Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 30: 31–44. Gibson, S., Kennedy, T., and Kramer, J. 2013 “A Note on an Iron Age Four-Horned Altar from Tel Dothan.” PEQ 145(4): 306–19. Gilboa, A., Sharon, I., and Bloch-Smith, E. 2015 “Capital of Solomon’s Fourth District? Israelite Dor.” Levant 47(1): 51–74. Gitin, S. 2009 “The Late Iron Age II Incense Altars from Ashkelon.” Pp. 127–36 in Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, ed. J. D. Schloen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Goodman, A. 2020 “Race Is Real, But It’s Not Genetic.” https://www.sapiens.org/biology/is-race-real/. Goren, Y., Ahituv, S., Ayalon, A., Bar-Matthews, M., Dahari, U., Dayagi-Mendels, M., Demsky, A., and Levin, N. 2005 “A Re-Examination of the Inscribed Pomegranate from the Israel Museum.” IEJ 55: 3–20. Grabbe, L. L. 1995 Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International. Grabbe, L. L., and Ogden Bellis, A., eds. 2004 The Priests in the Prophets: The Portrayal of Priests, Prophets, and Other Religious Specialists in the Latter Prophets. JSOT.SS. London: T&T Clark International. Greer, J. S. 2019 “The ‘Priestly Portion’ in the Hebrew Bible: Its Ancient Near Eastern Context and Its Implications for the Composition of P.” JBL 138(2): 263–84. Gunneweg, A. H. J. 1965 Leviten und Priester. FRLANT 89. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hakenbeck, S. E. 2020 “Genetics, Archaeology and the Far Right: An Unholy Trinity.” WA 51(4): 517–27. Haran, M. 1977 “A Temple at Dor?” IEJ 27: 12–15. 1983 “Priesthood, Temple, Divine Service: Some Observations on Institutions and Practices of Worship.” Hebrew Annual Review 7: 121–35. 1985 Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry Into Biblical Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Harrell, J. E., Hoffmeier, J. K., and Williams, K. F. 2017 “Hebrew Gemstones in the Old Testament: A Lexical, Geological, and Archaeological Analysis.” BBR 17(1): 1–52. Hieke, T. 2020 “Ritual Experts and Participants in the Ancient Near East and the Hebrew Bible.” Pp. 179–93 in The Oxford Handbook of Ritual and Worship in the Hebrew Bible, ed. S. E. Balentine. Oxford Handbooks Series. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

366

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

Herzog, Z. 2010 “Perspectives on Southern Israel’s Cult Centralization: Arad and Beer-Sheba.” Pp. 169–99 in One God, One Cult, One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives, eds. R. G. Kratz and H. Spieckermann. BZAW 405. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Hitch, S. 2012 “Priests and Priestesses, Greek.” In The Encylopedia of Ancient History. https://doi.org/10.1002/ 9781444338386.wbeah17352: Wiley Online Library. Hoffmeier, J. K. 2016 “Egyptian Religious Influences on the Early Hebrews.” Pp. 3–35 in “Did I Not Bring Israel Out of Egypt?” Biblical, Archaeological, and Egyptological Perspectives on the Exodus Narratives, eds. J. K. Hoffmeier, A. R. Millard and G. A. Rendsburg. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hoftijzer, J., and van der Kooij, G. 1976 Aramaic Texts from Deir ‘Alla. Leiden: Brill. Horwitz, L. 1986–7 “Faunal Remains from the Early Iron Age Site on Mount Ebal.” TA 13–14(2): 173–89. Hunt, A. 2006 Missing Priests: The Zadokites in Tradition and History. LHB/OTS 452. New York: T & T Clark. Källén, A., Mulcare, C., Nyblom, A., and Strand, D. 2021 “Introduction: Transcending the ADNA Revolution.” Journal of Social Archaeology 21(2):149–56. Kisilevitz, S. 2015 “The Iron IIA Judahite Temple at Tel Moza.” TA 42(2): 147–64. Kisilevitz, S., and Lipschits, O. 2020 “Tel Moẓa: An Economic and Cultic Center from the Iron II (First Temple Period).” Pp. 295–312 in The Mega Project at Motza (Moẓa): The Neolithic and Later Occupations up to the 20th Century, eds. H. Khalaily, A. Re’em, J. Vardi and I. Milevski. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region. Supplementary Volume. Jerusalem: IAA. Kleiman, S. 2020 “The Iron IIB Gate Shrine at Lachish: An Alternative Interpretation. TA 7(1): 55–64. Kletter, R., and Ziffer, I. 2010 “Incense-Burning Rituals: From Philistine Fire Pans at Yavneh to the Improper Fire of Korah. IEJ 60(2): 166–87. Knohl, I. 2012 Ha-Shem: The Secret Numbers of the Hebrew Bible and the Mystery of the Exodus from Egypt (In Hebrew). Tel Aviv: Dvir. Lee-Sak, Y. 2017 “The Lists of Levitical Cities (Joshua 21, 1 Chronicles 6) and the Propagandistic Map for the Hasmonean Territorial Expansion.” JBL 136(4): 783–800. Leuchter, M. 2009 “The Priesthood in Ancient Israel.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 40(2): 100–110. 2017 “The Levites in the Hebrew Bible.” Religion Compass 11: e12235. 2018 “Cultic Traditions in the Writings: Priests and Levites in the Postexilic Period.” Pp. 67–83 in The Oxford Handbook of the Writings of the Hebrew Bible, ed. D. F. Morgan. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Leuchter, M., and Hutton, J. M. 2011 Levites and Priests in Biblical History and Tradition. Ancient Israel and Its Literature 9. Atlanta, GA: SBL. Maeir, A. M. 2010 “And Brought in the Offerings and the Tithes and the Dedicated Things Faithfully” (II Chron 31:12): On the Meaning and Function of the Late Iron Age Judahite “Incised Handle Cooking Pot”. JAOS 130(1): 43–62. 2012 “Prize Find: Horned Altar from Tell es-Safi Hints at Philistine Origins.” BAR 38(1): 35.

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

367

Maeir, A. M., and Shai, I. 2016 “Reassessing the Character of the Judahite Kingdom: Archaeological Evidence for NonCentralized, Kinship-Based Components.” Pp. 323–40 in From Sha‘Ar Hagolan to Shaaraim: Essays in Honor of Prof. Yosef Garfinkel, eds. S. Ganor, I. Kreimerman, K. Streit and M. Mumcouglu. Jerusalem: IES. Maran, J. 2022 “Archaeological Cultures, Fabricated Ethnicities and DNA Research: ‘Minoans’ and ‘Mycenaeans’ as Case Examples.” Pp. 7–25 in Material, Method and Meaning. Papers in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology in Honor of Ilan Sharon, ed. U. Davidovich, N. Yahalom-Mack and S. Matskevich. ÄAT 110. Münster: Zaphon. Mazar, A. 2015 “Religious Practices and Cult Objects During the Iron Age IIA at Tel Rehov and Their Implications Regarding Religion in Northern Israel.” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 4(1): 25–55. Mazar, B. 1960 “The Cities of the Priests and the Levites.” VT.S 7: 193–205. Mazar, E., and Livyatan Ben-Arie, R. 2015 “Hebrew and Non-Indicative Bullae.” Pp. 299–363 in The Summit of the City of David, Excavations 2005–2008. Final Reports Volume 1, Area G, ed. E. Mazar. Jerusalem: Shoham Academic Research and Publication. Miller, P. 2000 The Religion of Ancient Israel. Library of Ancient Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press. Möhlenbrink, K. 1934 “Die levitischen Überlieferungen des Alten Testaments.” ZAW 52: 184–231. Na’aman, N. 2008 “Sojourners and Levites in the Kingdom of Judah in the Seventh Century BCE.” Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 14: 237–79. 2011 „A New Look at the Silver Plaques from Ketef Hinnom“ (In Hebrew). Cathedra 140: 7–18. Nelson, R. D. 1993 Raising up a Faithful Priest: Community and Priesthood in Biblical Theology. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Nielson, E. 1964 “The Levites in Ancient Israel.” Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute 3: 16–27. Niemann, H. M. 2019 “Judah and Jerusalem: Reflections on the Relationship between Tribe and City and the Role of Jerusalem in Judah.” ZDPV 135(1): 1–31. Pfoh, E. 2018 “Socio-Political Changes and Continuties in the Levant (1300–900 BCE).” Pp. 57–67 in Change, Continuity and Connectivity: North-Eastern Mediterranean at the Turn of the Bronze Age and in the Early Iron Age, eds. L. Niesiołowski-Spanò and M. Węcowski. Philippika 118. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Rehm, M. D. 1992 “Levites and Priests.” Pp. 297–310 in ABD IV: K–N, ed. D. N. Freedman. New York: Doubleday. Rooke, D. W. 2000 Zadok’s Heirs. The Role and Development of the High Priesthood in Ancient Israel. Oxford Theological Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rootsi, S., Behar, D. M., Järve, M., Lin, A., Myres, N. M., Passarelli, B., Poznik, G. D., Tzur, S., Sahakyan, H., Pathak, A. K., Rosset, S., Metspalu, M., Grugni, V., Semino, O., Metspalu, E., Bustamante, C. D., Skorecki, K., Villems, R., Kivisild, T., and Underhil, P. A. 2013 “Phylogenetic Applications of Whole Y-Chromosome Sequences and the Near Eastern Origin of Ashkenazi Levites.” Nature Communications 4: Article Number 2928.

368

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

Samuel, H. 2014 Von Priestern zum Patriarchen: Levi und die Leviten im Alten Testament. BZAW 448. Berlin: De Gruyter. Sauneron, S. 2000 The Priests of Ancient Egypt, trans. D. Lorton. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Schaper, J. 1999 Priester und Leviten im achämenidischen Juda: Studien zur Kult- und Sozialgeschichte Israels in persischer Zeit. FAT 31. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Schipper, B. 1999. Israel und Ägypten in der Königszeit: Die kulturellen Kontakte von Salomo bis zum Fall Jerusalems. OBO 170. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Schneider, T. 1988 “Azariahu Son Kilkiahu (Hight Priest?) on a City of David Bulla.” IEJ 38: 139–41. Schrack, B. 2007 “Cohen Does not Equal CMH, CMH Does not Equal Cohen – Only in J1 Do They Coincide.” Geneology-DNA-L Archives 13 April. Shai, I., and Maeir. A. 2018 “Reassessing the Character of the Judahite Centralized Kingdom: An Updated Archaeological View” (In Hebrew with English abstract). In the Highlands Depth 8: 29–45, 45*. Shiloh, Y. 1984 Excavations at the City of David I – 1978–1982: Interim Report of the First Five Seasons. Qedem 19. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology. Shoham, Y. 1994 “A Group of Bullae from Yigal Shiloh’s Excavations in the City of David.” Pp. 55–61 in Ancient Jerusalem Revealed, ed. H. Geva. Jerusalem: IES. Skorecki, K., Selig, S., Blazer, S., Bradman, R., Bradman, N., Waburton, P. J., Ismajlowicz, M., and Hammer, M. F. 1997 “Y Chromosomes of Jewish Priests.” Nature 385(32): https://doi.org/10.1038/385032a0. Smoak, J. D. 2015 The Priestly Blessing in Inscription and Scripture: The Early History of Numbers 6:24–26. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Strauss, H. 1960 Untersuchungen zu den Überlieferungen der vorexilischen Leviten. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Bonn. Taggar-Cohen, A. 2015 “Priests and Priestesses, Ancient Near East.” In The Encyclopedia of Ancient History. https://doi. org/10.1002/9781444338386.wbeah25085: Wiley Online Library. Thomas, M. G., Skorecki, K., Ben-Ami, H., Parfitt, T., Bardman, N., and Goldstein, D. B. 1998 “Origins of Old Testament Priests.” Nature 394: 138–40. Tofanelli, S., Taglioli, L., Bertoncini, S., Paolo, F., Klyosov, A., and Pagani, L. 2014 “Mitochondrial and Y Chromosome Haplotype Motifs as Diagnostic Markers of Jewish Ancestry: A Reconsideration.” Frontiers in Genetics 10: https://doi.org/10.3389/fgene.2014.00384. Ussishkin, D. 2021 “Was a ‘Gate Shrine’ Built at the Level III Inner City Gate of Lachish? A Response to Ganor and Kreimerman.” BASOR 385: 153–70. Várhelyi, Z. 2012 “Priests and Priestesses, Roman.” In The Encyclopedia of Ancient History. https://doi.org/10. 1002/9781444338386. wbeah17353: Wiley Online Library. Watts, J. W. 2013 “Scripturalization and the Aaronide Dynasties.” JHebS 31, Article 6. 2021 “Chapter 7 Texts Are Not Rituals, and Rituals Are Not Texts, with an Example from Leviticus 12.” Pp. 172–87 in Text and Ritual in the Pentateuch: A Systematic and Comparative Approach, eds. C. Nihan and J. Rhyder. College Park, PA: Penn State University Press.

Maeir – Priests and Priesthood in Iron Age Israel and Judah?

369

Wilson, J. D. 2018 Redefining the Roles of Rural Levites in Deuteronomy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, KY. Wright, G. E. 1954 “The Levites in Deuteronomy.” VT 4: 325–30. Younger, K. L., Jr. 1990 Ancient Conquest Accounts. A Study in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament. Supplement Series 98. Sheffield: IOSOT Press. 1998 “The Deportations of the Israelites.” JBL 117(2): 201–27. 2002 “Yahweh at Ashkelon and Calah? Yahwistic Names in Neo-Assyrian.” VT 52(2): 207–18. 2016 A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities. ABS 13. Atlanta: SBL. Zoossmann-Diskin, A. 2006 “Ashkenazi Levites ‘Y Modal Haplotype’ (LMH): An Artificially Created Phenomenon.” Journal of Comparative Human Biology 57(1): 87–100.

Celebrating Victory in Poetry and Prose1 Alan Millard

Abstract Building on a paper Younger published in 1991, this essay draws attention to poetic and prose reports of victories in Egyptian and Babylonian, contemporary with the events they describe. Following Younger’s concern for reading biblical texts in their ancient contexts, the relationship of Exodus 14 to 15 and the time of their composition are explored. According to the Book of Exodus, Israel’s God won a decisive victory over the Egyptians at the Red Sea, a victory celebrated in ‘The Song of the Sea’ (Ex. 15). Old Testament scholars have long discussed the Song, its composition, its age and its relation to the prose account in Exodus 14. Until the discovery of the tablets of Ugarit in 1931, the debates were almost wholly within the confines of biblical literature. Then the Ugaritic texts offered a completely independent source of comparable poetics, phrases and concepts. For some the Song could now be interpreted as an Israelite expression of Canaanite myth, while others treated it as an adaptation, using mythical language to portray the rescue of the Israelites from Egyptian power. The Ugaritic similarities strengthened the opinions of those who placed the date of the poem’s composition in the Late Bronze Age or the early monarchy, although an exilic date continues to be preferred by some commentators.2 The comparisons made with Ugaritic are a reminder that Israelite writers worked in a highly connected world. Apart from conquering armies from Philistia, Egypt, Aram, Assyria and Babylonia, people moved for a variety of reasons across the Fertile Crescent and trade was conducted further afield, introducing materials and concepts which could become part of Israelite culture – ivory decorated furniture is an obvious example. This paper is drawing attention to Egyptian and cuneiform compositions which present striking similarities to Exodus 14 and 15 (and to Judges 4 and 5), partly covering the same ground as Younger in his instructive comparison of Assyrian and Egyptian records of victories in both poetry and prose published in 1991. Looking for ‘the complementary relationship between poem and narrative’ in its ancient context, he tabulated translations of the equivalent sections, drawing attention to their differences and to their overall agreements, observing that the writers of compositions in prose and their counterparts in poetry drew from their sources selectively, to write with different purposes but complementing each other. In the light of those findings, he then set the prose account of Deborah and Barak’s war with Sisera in Judges 4 beside the poetic in Judges 5 and concluded ‘the prose account provides a logical account with a carefully constructed point. The Song, however, provides an emotional and more figurative account with special themes and purposes.’3 The divergences between the two are similar to the divergences between prose and poetic recitals in Assyrian and Egyptian and so need not be explained as later insertions or misunderstandings.

1

The invitation to contribute to this volume arrived in December 2020. Since then the impact of the Coronavirus Pandemic has prevented me from travelling to libraries, restricting the range of my essay, but I present it as a sign of my esteem to a Christian friend, a scholar who has given us major studies which aid appreciation of biblical texts in the context of their world. 2 See Graham I. Davies, Exodus 1–18: A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, Volume 2: Chapters 11–18, ICC (London: T. & T. Clark, 2020) for an extensive discussion. (I am grateful to the author for an advance copy of his work on Exodus 15 which enabled me to compose this essay.) Where arguments for the later date rely on rare words in Exodus 15 occurring otherwise only in biblical texts believed to date from the exilic era they have little force in view of the limited amount of ancient Hebrew literature available, as Davies notes (297); compare Alan Millard, ‘A Lexical Illusion,’ JSS 30 (1986): 1–3. 3 K. Lawson Younger, ‘Heads! Tails! or the Whole Coin?! Contextual method & intertextual analysis: Judges 4 and 5’, in The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective; Scripture in Context IV, Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies Volume 11, ed. K. Lawson Younger, Jr. William W. Hallo and Bernard F. Batto (Lewiston/Queenston/Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1991), 109–46, see 113, 127. See also his commentary Judges, Ruth: Revised Edition (The NIV Application Commentary) (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Academic 2021).

372

Millard – Celebrating Victory

1. Egypt Anyone who visits Egypt and goes to Luxor is likely to see the carving of Rameses II driving his chariot triumphantly over his Hittite foes and may notice hieroglyphic inscriptions accompanying the carvings. According to Sir Alan Gardiner, ‘Rameses II’s account of his Hittite war is a unique phenomenon in Egyptian literature’.4 It contains a pictorial record, including captions (called ‘The Bulletin’) to present a largely third person narrative beside the Pharaoh’s personal account, a Literary Record (often labelled ‘The Poem’).5 Although the texts and reliefs overlap in content, they are not identical, each having episodes absent from the others, with the Bulletin notably depicting the arrival of a large group of soldiers from Amor to attack the Hittites who were surrounding Ramesses, an episode which the Poem only mentions briefly. The whole is directed to the glorification of Rameses, gigantic in the reliefs, and his god Amun.6 Egyptian texts have been compared with Exodus 15 previously, but in 2016 Joshua Berman published a detailed and revelatory examination of the Qadesh ‘Poem’ with the Song of the Sea.7 Aware of the Canaanite motifs often identified as underlying it, he demonstrated how several elements of the structure are common to the ‘Poem’ and the ‘Song’ and how expressions in Exodus 15 echo the Egyptian and are otherwise unknown in Biblical Hebrew. There are words and phrases used in ways which do not have parallels in other ancient Semitic languages and so point to some influence from the Egyptian (e.g. the powerful right hand, the enemy as chaff). Berman raised, hesitantly, ‘the possibility that the Poem may have reached Israelite or proto-Israelite scribes who were living under the rule of the Egyptian pharaohs of the Nineteenth Dynasty’.8 Lest that sound far-fetched, it should be noted that the Egyptian text was displayed publicly on the outer walls of temples at Abydos, Luxor, Karnak, Abu Simbel and the Ramesseum, and was copied on papyrus during Ramesses’ reign (Pap. Sallier was written in year 9 – 4 years after battle in year 5, c. 1274 B.C.; the Chester Beatty piece belonged to a scribe active in the same dynasty), but no copies survive from later times. Ramesses was the most prominent, but not the only, pharaoh to commemorate his conquests in prose and poetry. Younger showed similar parallel features in three reports of Tuthmosis III’s attacks on Megiddo and Mitanni, one of them, the Gebel Barkal Stele, interspersing poetic sections and varying first and third person narratives in the prose.9 He presented three monuments of Merenptah showing similar variations: one providing a prose narrative (the Karnak Libyan War Inscription), the two others poetical praise of the pharaoh’s prowess (Kom el-Ahmar Stele, Israel Stele).10 To be noted is the presence of the Kadesh inscriptions on the same monuments, whereas Tuthmosis III’s and Merenptah’s survive on separate ones. 2. Babylonia and Assyria Beside similarities between Egyptian and Biblical texts, there are other victory poems which deserve consideration in discussion of the Song of the Sea (and the Song of Deborah). Younger presented several from Mesopotamian sources. While they may not share similarities of phrases, they naturally show some of the same themes.

4

Sir Alan Gardiner, The Ḳadesh Inscriptions of Ramesses II (Oxford: Ashmolean Museum, Griffith Institute, 1960), 53. 5 Gardiner, Ḳadesh Inscriptions; KRI (6 vols.; Oxford: Blackwell, 1993–2008), 2.3–5; COS 2 (2000) 38–40 (Bulletin), 32–38 (Poem). Richard Abbott, Triumphal accounts in Hebrew and Egyptian, PhD thesis, University of Bristol 2011 (Matteh Publications, 2012). 6 Gardiner, Ḳadesh Inscriptions, 48–62, tabulates the differences. 7 Joshua Berman, ‘The Kadesh Inscriptions of Ramesses II and the Exodus Sea Account (Exodus 13:17–15:19),’ in “Did I Not Bring Israel Out of Egypt?” Biblical, Archaeological, and Egyptological Perspectives on the Exodus Narratives, ed. James K. Hoffmeier, Alan R. Millard, and Gary A. Rendsburg (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016), 93– 112. 8 Berman, ‘The Kadesh Inscriptions of Ramesses II’, 112. 9 Barbara Cumming, Egyptian Historical Records of the Later Eighteenth Dynasty,1 (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1982), 1–7; James K. Hoffmeier, ‘The Gebel Barkal Stele of Thutmose III (2.2B)’ in William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger (eds), COS II (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 14–18. 10 Texts and translations: KRI IV, Merenptah, nos. 2–4.

Millard – Celebrating Victory

373

The earliest and most recently edited, since Younger’s study, is ‘The Epic of Zimri-Lim’, preserved on a single, damaged, tablet found in the palace at Mari. It relates the gods’ choice of Zimri-Lim and their support for his wars bringing victory over his enemies along the river Habur. The poem portrays the king in heroic terms, making him almost god-like, and as a great general, sharing the hardships of the campaign with his soldiers. It ends with sacrifice to the gods and prayer for the king’s long life.11 There is no prose narrative to set beside it. Over four centuries later, kings of Assyria had epics composed about their prowess. Fragmentary pieces about Adad-nirari I (c. 1305–1274) are the earliest. With support from the gods, he fought against the Kassite king of Babylon, Nazi-maruttash, who had apparently broken a treaty.12 More extensive is the Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I (c. 1243–1207). The Epic originally perhaps had as many as 850 lines, of which about 5/8ths are preserved. It begins with a hymn to the national god, Ashur, then explains how the king of Babylon, Kashtiliash, broke the treaty with Tukulti-Ninurta, incurring the anger of his gods. After diplomatic attempts to establish good relations with Kashtiliash failed, the Assyrian king went as the gods’ agent to punish the Babylonian, defeated him and took a heavy booty to Assyria. The poem ends with Tukulti-Ninurta praising Ashur and all the gods for his victory and a paean of the king. The poem is written in a Middle Assyrian form of the ‘hymnic-epic’ dialect of Babylonian literature.13 About a century after Tukulti-Ninurta’s reign, a scribe created an epic about Tiglath-pileser I (c. 1115– 1077 B.C.). The damaged tablet, found at Ashur, announces hostile tribes in the Taurus mountains north of Assyria were banding together against Assyria. His gods commanded the king to destroy the enemy, marching with him to battle, leading him to a complete victory. It is also written in the poetic style.14 Two poems which may be thought to fall into this category come from the ninth century. The first tells of Ashurnasirpal II’s successes west of the Euphrates, to Carchemish and the Lebanon, bringing timber from the Amanus mountains. It was unearthed at Ashur.15 The second, on a damaged tablet found in a collection of literary texts copied about 700 B.C. at Sultantepe (ancient Huzirina), describes a campaign against Urartu. It refers to attacks on Bit Adini in the west, gives commands to an official who was the eponym for the year 856, then recounts the conquest of Urartu. The name of Shalmaneser does not appear, but the opening lines, which are likely to have named the king involved, are broken. His father Ashurnasirpal is mentioned and he has been proposed as the victor in this text. Written in the first person, it is not like the other Assyrian epics and this sole copy was made 150 years or more after the events, so it is marginal to the present study.16 11

M. Guichard, L’Épopée de Zimrī-Lîm, Florilegium Marianum XIV, Mémoires de NABU 16 (Paris: SEPOA, 2014); Adam Miglio, ‘Epic of Zimri-Lim (A. 3152+M.5665+) (4.51),’ in COS IV: Supplements (Leiden: Brill 2017), 231–34; extracts in Jack M. Sasson, From the Mari Archives, An Anthology of Old Babylonian Letters (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 32–35; discussion by Nathan Wasserman, ‘On the Author of the Epic of Zimrī-Līm and Its Literary Context,’ AfO 53 (2015): 52–56. 12 See Ernst F. Weidner, ‘Assyrische Epen über die Kassiten-Kämpfe,’ AfO 20 (1963): 113–16. 13 Translation: Peter Machinist, The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I: a study in Middle Assyrian Literature, Ph. D. thesis, Yale University (1978); Benjamin Foster, Before the Muses (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 3rd ed, 2005), 298–317; Karl Hecker, ‘Akkadische Epen, 1. Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos’ in Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen, ed. Bernd Janowski und Daniel Schwemer, TUAT.NF 8 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2015), 75–88; see also Peter Machinist, ‘Tukulti-Ninurta Epos,’ in RlA 14, ed. Erich Ebeling, Ernst  F. Weidner,  Michael P. Streck (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 180–81. For the fragment found at Ugarit, see Daniel Arnaud, Corpus des textes de bibliothèque de Ras Shamra-Ougarit (1936–2000) en sumérien, babylonien et assyrien, AuOr Supp. 23 (Sabadell: Editorial Ausa, 2007) no. 36. Two more small Middle Assyrian pieces may be related to this epic, see Stefan Jakob, “One Epic or Many?” Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum …? in Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Warsaw 21–25 July 2014, ed. Olga Drewnowska and Malgorzata Sandowicz (Winona Lake IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016), 259–68. 14 Victor Hurowitz and Joan G. Goodnick Westenholz, ‘LKA 63: A Heroic Poem in Celebration of Tiglath-pileser I’s Muṣru-Qumanu Campaign,’ JCS 42.1 (1990): 49. 15 Victor Hurowitz, ‘A Hymn Celebrating Assurnasirpal II’s Campaign to the West (1.139) (LKA 64)’ in: COS I, 470 472; Johannes Bach, ‘LKA 64: A possible royal song (zamar šarri) celebrating the Trans-Euphratian victories of Aššurnaṣirpal II’s 9th campaign’, UF 49 (2018): 1–27. 16 Wilfred G. Lambert, ‘The Sultan Tepe Tablets. VIII. Shalmaneser in Ararat’, Anatolian Studies 11 (1961): 144–58; Julian Reade, ‘Shalmaneser or Ashurnasirpal in Ararat?’, SAA Bulletin 3 (1989): 93–97; Alasdair Livingstone, Court

374

Millard – Celebrating Victory

Two centuries later, tablets in the library at Nineveh contained epics about Sargon II and Ashurbanipal. All are fragmentary and appear to concern fighting in Elam.17 Clearly there was a long-standing tradition in Mesopotamia of court poets glorifying their rulers in epic style alongside those who compiled the royal ‘annals’. 3. Contemporary Composition There are two noteworthy aspects of both the Egyptian texts and the cuneiform ones. Firstly, the majority of them survive in manuscripts written during the reigns of the kings they celebrate, that is to say, they were composed and recorded within a few years of the boasted actions. The Qadesh Poem makes that clear. Exactly how long after the battle it was engraved on temple walls is uncertain, but all were finished before Ramesses II died in 1213, as were the two copies on papyrus. Of the cuneiform texts, the Epic of Zimri-Lim was obviously composed, and the tablet written, during Zimri-Lim’s reign. His rule began about 1775 and ended in 1761 when Hammurabi of Babylon conquered him and the Babylonian troops ransacked his palace, leaving the tablet in the ruins with thousands of others. In Assyria, the bulk of the Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta survives on fragments of one large tablet with minute writing in the Middle Assyrian script which was found at Nineveh, on four fragments from the same time at Assur and part of it on a tablet discovered at Ugarit. The Epic was copied five hundred years later at Nineveh. Although no precise date can be given for the Middle Assyrian copies – the fragments do not contain colophons which might have the names of scribes and the script was used over several reigns – the piece from Ugarit gives a terminus ante quem because the city was destroyed soon after 1200 B.C. The Tiglath-pileser Epic survives on a piece of a Middle Assyrian tablet from Ashur which is likely to be more or less contemporary with the king. The Ashurnasirpal and Shalmaneser pieces may not be contemporary with those kings, while the Epics of Sargon and Ashurbanipal are known from fragments recovered from the palace at Nineveh sacked in 612 B.C., so they are close to the lifetime of Ashurbanipal, at least. 4. Prose-Narration The second point is the existence of contemporary prose records of the events the epics commemorate. That is clear for Ramesses – the Poem and the Bulletin are carved on the same walls – for Merenptah and other Egyptian rulers who had their monuments erected in their own lifetimes. There is no prose account to set beside the Babylonian Epic of Zimri-Lim, but ‘annals’ of the Assyrian kings boast of their victories. For Adad-nirari I only one fragment reports his war with Babylonia, naming Nazi-Maruttash.18 Tukulti-Ninurta had numerous stone slabs engraved with accounts of his achievements. They give him titles which reflect the conquest of Babylonia (Karduniash): ‘… king of Assur and king of Karduniash, king of Sippar and Babylon, king of Tilmun and Meluhha …’. Some relate his campaign briefly, claiming the support of the gods and the goddess ‘Ishtar, (who) marches at the fore of my army’, announcing the defeat and capture of Kashtiliash, king of the Kassites, and mentioning ‘booty of Kard[uniash]’, and ‘In the midst of battle I captured Kashtiliash, king of the Kassites, trod with my feet upon his lordly neck as though it were a footstool. Bound, I brought him as a captive into the presence of Ashur, my lord.’19 Tiglath-pileser I also left multiple narrations of his conquests, written at different points in his reign. His attacks on tribes in the Taurus moun-

Poetry and Literary Miscellanea, SAA III (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1989), 44–47; Foster, Before the Muses, 779–82. 17 Alasdair Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea, 47–52. 18 A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC) RIMA 1 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1987), 156–57, A.0.76.21. 19 Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC, 275–76, A.0.24 12–15; 272–73, A.0.78. 23 56–68; cf. 276, A.0.78. 34–38; 277, A.0.78.25 rev. 1–6; 280, A.0. 78.28; 245 A.0.78.5.59–65.

Millard – Celebrating Victory

375

tains are told in his ‘annals’ on clay prisms and on fragments of clay tablets.20 Later, Ashurnasirpal II, Shalmaneser III, Sargon and Ashurbanipal had their military expeditions related in a multitude of inscriptions.21 5. Epic and Prose Accounts Compared The Epic of Adad-nirari is too poorly preserved and his inscriptions too brief to show more than that both publicized his success in Babylonia. For Tukulti-Ninurta, although much of the Epic is extant, the little detail his inscriptions offer do no more than confirm its boasts. With Tiglath-pileser I both epic and prose compositions describe apparently similar campaigns. The Epic lists Qumanu and Muṣru as opponents, adding Ḫabḫu and Qutu, whereas the ‘Annals’ have separate attacks on Qumanu and Muṣru, with Ḫabḫu in an earlier foray. The editors of the Epic considered that it combines different actions into one, seeing ‘the allusion to the Ḫabḫu and Qutu … as a poetic expansion of the campaign’. The Qutu, also known as the Guti, are otherwise absent from Tiglath-pileser’s texts, but well known in other kings’ texts.22 However, the ‘Annals’ may present as separate episodes events which made up an ongoing war against the hill tribes. Different versions of the ‘Annals’ vary over the names of places Tiglath-pileser subjugated, so harmony between them should not be expected! The Neo-Assyrian epics of Sargon and Ashurbanipal are sadly far from complete. No close connection can be made between the broken lines about Sargon in Elam and his inscriptions. Ashurbanipal’s incessant combats with rulers of Elam occupy many sections of his ‘Annals’, ending with the reduction of Elam to a subject kingdom. The four epic fragments run to 133 lines between them, only the last five lines of a section in praise of the king being complete. The fragments deal with relations between Assyria and Elam involving Elamite kings, Assyrian officials and the notorious rebel Nabû-bel-shumāte,23 all appearing in the royal ‘annals’, together with Milki-rāmu, the Chief Tailor, eponym of 656 B.C., a man attested in administrative documents and letters but not in the extant royal inscriptions.24 Younger’s conclusion concerning his investigation of Judges 4 and 5 bears repeating, ‘the ancient Near Eastern contextual literary data do provide a means for evaluating and interpreting Judges 4 and 5. It has demonstrated that neither account must be dependent on the other, but rather that both probably derive from a common source (probably the historical referent itself) and possess a complementary relationship’.25 Can the same data be applied to understanding the prose account of Exodus 14 and the poetic of 15? Consequences The undoubted contemporaneity of most of the Egyptian and Assyrian poems with the events they relate raises the question of the age of the Song of the Sea and the Song of Deborah. Younger was aware of this, but asserted, ‘While the examples from the ancient Near East were composed roughly contemporaneously, this does not mean that Judges 4 and 5 were’.26 How should we assess this apparent anomaly?

20

A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC), RIMA 2 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991), 19–20 A.0.87. 1, iv. 7–31 (Ḫabḫu); 23–24, v 67 – vi 2 (Muṣru, Qumanu); 34 A.0.87 30–36 ([Quman]u); 58, A.0.87.12 (Qum[anu], Ḫab[ḫu]). 21 For Ashurnasirpal see A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium; for Shalmaneser see Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC) RIMA 3 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996). For Sargon, see Grant Frame, The Royal Inscriptions of Sargon II, King of Assyria (721–705 BC), (RINAP 4) (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2021). For Ashurbanipal see Jamie Novotny and Joshua Jeffers, The Royal Inscriptions of Ashurbanipal (668–631 BC), Aššur-etel-ilāni (630–627 BC) and Sîn-šarra-iškun (626–612 BC), Kings of Assyria, Part 1 (RINAP 5/1) (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2018). 22 Hurowitz and Westenholz, ‘LKA 63: A Heroic Poem,’ 24, 29. 23 On Nabû-bel-shumāte see Heather D. Baker, The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, 2, The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, ed. Heather D. Baker (Helsinki: University of Helsinki, 2001), 811–14. 24 Baker, Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, 2, 752. 25 Younger, ‘Heads! Tails! or the Whole Coin?!, 135. 26 Younger, ‘Heads! Tails! or the Whole Coin?!, 135.

376

Millard – Celebrating Victory

Current commentaries point to the absence from the Song of the Sea of the prose account’s detailed descriptions of the crossing of the sea (e.g. walls of water, dry sea-bed) as signs of separate compositions of different dates.27 Yet the presence of some episodes in Ramesses’ prose account (the Bulletin) which the Poem omits (notably the capture of Hittite spies) is comparable. Both may be explained in the light of the purpose of each composition: the Poem was created to glorify Ramesses on the one hand while on the other the God of Israel was exalted in Exodus 15. Could the Songs of Moses and of Deborah and their prose counterparts have been composed soon after the victories they proclaim? Most commentators prefer a date after Deborah’s time for Judges 5, with the prose version coming from the hand of the Deuteronomistic historians of the 7th century or later. Yet the archaic language of the Song might allow contemporary composition, with an early prose account being rewritten in standard Biblical Hebrew during the monarchy. The Song of Moses is judged by many to be equally archaic, while a few argue it may belong to the exilic period.28 Here the content has a significant role, because the initial paean of the Lord’s vanquishing Pharaoh (verses 1–12) is followed by a description of entry into the Promised Land (verses 13–18). Traditionally the verbs in the second part have been translated as future tenses (cf. Authorised Version v.15, yo’ḥăzēmô rā‘aḏ, ‘trembling shall take hold upon them’) even though they share the same forms as verbs in the first part which are rendered as preterites (cf. 5, tɛhōmōṯ yɛḵasēmû ‘the depths have covered them’). Developments in the study of the Hebrew language and its history over the last century reveal that apparent future forms carried a preterite sense at an early stage, as most recent translations show: Davies sets out the reasons clearly.29 Consequently, it is hard to justify the future sense and so to accept the context of the poem’s recital immediately after crossing the sea, with verses 13–18 asserting Israel had reached her land. Yet if the context can be accepted, those verbs might be treated as ‘prophetic perfects’, viewing the promise as as good as fulfilled, since, with the greatest barrier – Pharaoh – overcome, only a short period should elapse before the same ‘strong Deliverer’ would ‘land them safe on Canaan’s side’. At that moment when they had crossed the sea, no Israelite envisaged wandering for forty years in the wilderness! (The inclusion of ‘the inhabitants of Philistia’ in verse 14 is not an obstacle to contemporaneous creation. The fact that the first Egyptian ruler to report meeting Philistines was Ramesses III, about 1175 B.C. does not mean none had settled there earlier.30) If the two songs were composed in the 10th to 8th centuries, as Davies concludes for Exodus 15: 1–18,31 and the prose narratives later, can it be by coincidence alone that Exodus 14 and 15 and Judges 4 and 5 reflect the longstanding pattern of contemporary correlated prose and poetry that Younger described? Israelite scholars certainly assimilated traditions from their powerful neighbours and imitated them; Old Testament scholarship has traced numerous cases, such as law and treaty forms, history-writing, prophecy, wisdom texts and love songs. In Exodus 14 and 15 and Judges 4 and 5 should we see them creating poems in archaic style with complementary prose narratives, each with elements missing from the other, in order to fit into much earlier contexts? Were the poems older, preserved in oral, or written tradition? Any argument for an early date will face the question of written literature in ancient Israel. The now widespread deduction, often dogmatically stated, that there was no Hebrew written literature before the eighth century is false. The fact that epigraphy supplies examples of writing from the previous centuries, mostly short, scratched or written on imperishable surfaces, does not imply there were no longer texts, for most writing would have been done on papyrus or leather sheets or rolls as in Egypt, or wax-coated wooden boards. That scribes were restricted to administrative tasks and engraving owners’ names on objects we can see fails to understand the limits of survival and discovery.32 27

Davies, Exodus 1–18, 304, cf. 308. For the wide range of opinions, see Davies 306–11. For an argument for an early date from poetic form, see Richard Abbott, ‘Forked Parallelism in Egyptian, Ugaritic and Hebrew Poetry’, Tyndale Bulletin 62.1 (2011): 41–64. 29 Davies, Exodus 1–18. 237–38, note bbb, and 362–66. 30 Alan Millard, ‘Did the Patriarchs Meet Philistines?’ in An Excellent Fortress for His Armies, a Refuge for the People: Egyptological, Archaeological, and Biblical Studies in Honor of James K. Hoffmeier, ed. Richard E. Averbeck and K. Lawson Younger (Philadelphia: The State University Press, Eisenbrauns, 2020), 225–30. 31 Davies, Exodus 1–18, 311. 32 Christopher A. Rollston,‘Inscriptional Evidence for the Writing of the Earliest Texts of the Bible – Intellectual Infrastructure in Tenth- and Ninth-Century Israel, Judah, and the Southern Levant,’ in The Formation of the Pentateuch, 28

Millard – Celebrating Victory

377

For over a century and a half, biblical studies have benefitted much from the discovery and examination of ancient Near Eastern texts: Younger’s role in compiling the four volumes of Context of Scripture has reemphasized that. They reveal Israel’s literature shared much with her neighbours’, disclosing patterns of ancient thought and composition which are often distinct from the long-held assumptions of commentators who have been analysing Hebrew literature throughout that period, producing fresh holistic interpretations. There is a pressing need for more studies in the manner Lawson Younger has demonstrated.

Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America, ed. Jan C. Gertz, Bernard M. Levinson, Dalit Rom-Shiloni, and Konrad Schmid (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 13–45; Matthieu Richelle,‘Elusive Scrolls: Could Any Hebrew Literature Have Been Written Prior to the Eighth Century BCE? VT 66 (2016): 556–94; Alan Millard, ‘Scripts and their uses in the 12th to 10th Centuries BCE’, in The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE: Culture and History: Proceedings of the International Conference held at the University of Haifa, 2–5 May, 2010, ed. Gershon Galil, Ayelet Gilboa, Aren M. Maeir, and Dan´el Kahn, AOAT 392 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2012), 405–11.

The “Priests” of Ugarit The Textual Evidence* Dennis Pardee

Abstract Although there is no lack of studies of the “priests” (khnm) who are attested in the texts from Ras Shamra – Ugarit, there exists no explicit presentation of the textual data which these studies have exploited in various ways. The purpose of this new study is to lay out these textual data in as transparent a fashion as possible and to draw the conclusions that this new marshaling of the data suggests. The Ugaritic term khn /kāhinu/, pl. khnm /kāhinūma/, has been the object of multiple studies that go back at least in embryonic form to the very beginning of Ugaritic studies because the word was attested during the first season of excavations (1929) and, indeed, played a not unimportant role in the decipherment of the previously unattested script and language in which many of the texts were written.1 It was not until the discovery of a significant number of economic texts when the northwest corner of what came to be known as the Palais Royal first began to be uncovered in the last two pre-war excavations (tenth and eleventh campaigns, 1938–1939) that it became clear that the khnm were fully integrated into the Ugaritic economic system and that they were not primarily actors in the sacrificial cult. And it was not until the publication in 1970 of a logo-syllabic economic text (RS 17.131, discovered in 1953) structured as a list of professions, a type of text that was by then well known in alphabetic script, that it became clear that Ugaritic khn corresponded to the logographic writing {SANGA} (Akkadian šangû), a cultic figure whose function was primarily administrative, rather than operative – with time and reflection, this correspondence was seen to explain why khn is never attested in the Ugaritic ritual texts, which have primarily to do with the actual practice of the royal sacrificial cult. Because, however, explanations by a simple scribal equivalence are never fully satisfactory, the question of what the real place of the khn was in Ugaritic society has retained its pertinence and has been answered in various ways. The absence of this term from the ritual texts was observed as early as 1948 on the basis of the relatively few and poorly understood texts known at the time,2 and remarking upon it has become a staple of the concentrated study of the ritual texts that began in earnest after the publication of the relatively large number of these texts that were unearthed during the 24th campaign in 1961.3 * My warmest thanks are here rendered to Andrew Burlingame for reading, correcting, and criticizing a draft of this paper. Also mentioned below at various pertinent points are John L. Ellison, Françoise Ernst-Pradal, Robert Hawley, and Carole Roche-Hawley for either providing photographs of tablets or for their input into my very inexpert comments on logo-syllabic matters. Of course, none of these is to bear the blame when I have gone astray despite their efforts. The following sigla are used in this paper: ‘…’ glosses of words or phrases and translations of texts “…” direct quotations and common usage (so-called “scare quotes”) {…} transcription of a specific word, form, or passage as found in the text […] lacuna, with or without reconstructed signs ⸢…⸣ damaged sign(s), with or without a proposed reading /…/ phonetic representation RIH + number inventory number of text discovered at Ras Ibn Hani RS + number inventory number of text discovered at Ras Shamra 1 See, for example, Bauer, Entzifferung (1930) 6; idem, Das Alphabet (1932) 7, 9; Dhorme, RB 39 (1930) 573. 2 Urie, PEQ 80 (1948), p. 43: “… he played little part in the general routine of the cult”; cf., a few years later, DeGuglielmo, CBQ 17 (1955) 209: “… the religious texts, which often treat of sacrifice, are altogether silent about the khnm.” 3 Tarragon, Culte (1980) 134–35; idem, LAPO 14 (1989) 130–31; del Olmo Lete, Religión (1992) 33; Merlo and Xella, HUS (1999) 300; Xella, Numen 49 (2002) 417–18; Pardee, Textes rituels (2000) 933–34; idem, Ritual and Cult (2002) 239–40; Levine, Royaume d’Ougarit (2007) 359. In Xella’s first and most extensive study of the ritual texts, the word khn is indicated as appearing only in one of the “para-mythological texts” (my term – see Textes para-mythologiques [1988]), in fact a very uncertain reading, as is indicated here below in re RS 24.251:18 (Ugaritica VV 8; KTU 1.107:47 [CAT 1.107:18]), and no discussion of the term itself is offered (see Testi rituali [1981] 242, 244, 250).

380

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

Nevertheless, because of the very absence of the term in the ritual texts, the functions of the khn were not addressed extensively in those works but either as an aspect of Ugaritic society4 or as a discrete topic.5 Often observed in conjunction with the absence of mention of the khn in the Ugaritic ritual texts is the fact that the king (mlk) appears in those texts as the principal actor, the only one actually said to perform sacrifice (DBḤ).6 The question can only be answered, to the extent that an answer is possible, by examining the data from the alphabetic and logo-syllabic texts discovered at Ras Shamra, this study including both groupings of texts and archaeological find-spot where relevant, a procedure that none of the scholars cited in the previous notes ignores. The manner of presentation varies considerably from one of these studies to another, however, with the result that the profile of the textual data that is immediately accessible to the reader varies considerably from one to another. It is that variability of profile that was at the origin of this study: when attempting to provide a brief but thorough overview of the textual data for the functional identification of the term khnm in RS 8.272:1 (on which text see below) as part of a re-edition of that text, the multiplicity of textual profiles in the studies available obscured the actual textual details to the extent that I felt constrained to prepare the sort of outline offered here below, too lengthy, no matter how restricted the commentary, to fit into a text edition, but appropriate for a stand-alone presentation, offered here to K. Lawson Younger in grateful recognition of his many contributions to the study of the ancient Near East. The attempts to identify the role of the khnm in Ugaritic society only took on some complexity when the more extensive data from economic texts began appearing, and the close association of the khnm and the qdšm, lit. “holy ones,” in these texts was the first indication that the former were not the only ones whose professional activities had to do with the cult.7 As more texts became available, it was observed that the 4

Heltzer, Internal Organization (1982) 133–36 and passim in the discussion of various texts; idem, HUS (1999) 433– 34; van Soldt, Studies (1991) 34 (the chart of attestations of priestly names and patronyms that appear in four texts – see here below §2.2 – was already set out in a study devoted to the elucidation of one of these names and which included a brief discussion of several others: UF 21 [1989] 370–72); del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Loretz (1998) 176–79 – cf. del Olmo Lete, JAOS 117 (2017) 483–503, with further exploration of the idea broached in the 1998 study that the complex construction where the texts from the twenty-fourth campaign were discovered that reflect both the sacrificial cult and other ritual practices, in particular extispicy, would have been that of a “magician priest,” but with very little on what, if anything, would have distinguished such a “magician priest” from a khn (there is no text from that house that provides so specific an indication as is generally thought to be found in the rb khnm texts from the House of the High Priest on the acropolis, though it must be kept in mind that the accumulation of titles by the chief of priests is in fact irrelevant for the functional definition of the priest – see below on rb khnm, §2.10, where the cases of chief priests accumulating titles are discussed, and §4.3.3.1–2); Schloen, House of the Father (2001) 211–15 (specifically on the passage of the priesthood from father to son); Vidal, Aldeas (2005) 135–36 (explicitly on the question of priests designated by their own name or by that of their father, i.e., bn-PN); Hawley, Pardee, and Roche-Hawley, Calvet (2015) 155– 66 (the identification of persons named in RS 5.197+ [CTA 207, KTU 4.31] with individuals named as priests in other texts is considered). 5 Auneau, SDB 10 (1985) 1191–94; Lipiński, OLA 23 (1988) 125–50 (explicitly in response to Heltzer, cited previous note); Arnaud, SMEA (1996) 54–58 (treated with the qdšm as one of the two principal types of priestly functionaries); Leithart, JSOT 85 (1999) 13–14, 21 (claims that the functions of the biblical priest should be explained in terms of the Ugaritic evidence rather than vice versa); Xella, Numen 49 (2002) 406–26; Roche, Prosopographie (2005) 121–33 (in no small part a response to Lipiński); Merlo, SEL 23 (2006) 55–62. 6 Tarragon, Culte (1980) 134; idem, LAPO 14 (1989) 129–30; Auneau, SDB 10 (1985) 1192; del Olmo Lete, OLA 55 (1993) 61; Pardee, Textes rituels (2000) 933–34; idem, Ritual and Cult (2002) 239–40; Merlo and Xella, HUS (1999) 300; Xella, Numen 49 (2002) 417. Despite the forefronting of the king’s participation in the cult, in the texts he is never ascribed a cultic title, such as khn or qdš – this in contrast with the frequent designation of the king as šangû in Mesopotamia (see Auneau, ibid., 1184). Even allowing for the symbolic component of the textual depictions of the king’s operational activity in the sacrificial cult, there is no direct evidence for the following view: “Although an eminent cultic rôle was attributed to the monarch in virtue of the sacral kingship, in Ugarit as well as in other ancient Near Eastern societies, priests were the principal officiants of divine services and their main function, as cultic officials, consisted in performing ritual ceremonies in the temples” (Lipiński, OLA 23 [1988] 126). As is noted here below (§2.10.4), there were a great many acts and tasks to be performed, and the king’s role must have been primarily symbolic, but we simply do not know who did what, though it does appear likely that the priests were the ones who organized the events. 7 The first text of the type, RS 3.320 (CTA 77, KTU 4.29), which included the pairing of khnm and qdšm, was so enigmatic when discovered that it was first edited in a footnote to Virolleaud’s publication of a fragment of the Baʿlu

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

381

nqdm (probably a group who dealt with livestock, though this identification is primarily etymological in nature) were also often mentioned in close conjunction with the khnm and the qdšm, and this is, to a lesser extent, also true of the ỉnšt (apparently, basically, ‘humans’).8 A study such as the one offered here for khn is necessary for each of these groups; indeed, one of the desiderata for Ugaritic studies is that such a detailed study be carried out for each of the many professional groups mentioned in the economic texts. But that is, of course, out of the question here.9 The apparent socio-economic complexity of the cultic personnel must nevertheless be mentioned here lest any reader take from this presentation of the textual data for the khnm that this group somehow stood alone in conducting cultic affairs at Ugarit. It is the uncertainty of the functional value of the term khn at Ugarit that led to placing “priests” in double quotation marks in the title of this study, because the image that that word evokes for many, particularly those whose primary exposure to ancient Near Eastern texts is that of the Hebrew Bible, differs significantly from the picture that emerges from the Ugaritic texts. It would be too cumbersome to follow that notational practice throughout the study, but the reader should be aware of the ambiguity. The same is true of the term qdš(m), “holy one(s),” mentioned briefly here above, which will henceforth be translated without the quotation marks. This study is laid out in three principal sections: 1) The textual data in the order of campaign number, i.e., basically in chronological order of discovery, divided into two lists according to writing system/language of expression, i.e., alphabetic and logosyllabic. The purpose of this order of presentation of the textual references is to provide an immediate feel for the flow of discovery of the texts while keeping the two significantly different bodies of data separate, so, for example, that the reader may understand why it took so long to recognize the use of the logographic writing {LÚ.MEŠ SANGA} to represent the same group as Ugaritic khnm. This list contains a brief identification of the genre represented by each text, which allows the reader perusing the list to get an immediate feel for the distribution of attestations according to text type. At the end of each list appear a few texts tagged as “not included” – these are texts that one finds cited in the literature as containing either Ugaritic khn or the logogram {SANGA} but for which either the reading or the relevance for this study is judged dubious, for reasons that will be stated briefly at the end of §2. 2) The organization of these texts into groups based on the content of the texts with a brief description of each text, its type and what it tells us about the khn. This is the body of the study and my hope is that the basis of the organization is sufficiently transparent that the clarity of the textual profile not be obscured. 3) A comprehensive list of the attested names of the priests, another exercise fraught with peril because of ambiguities in the logo-syllabic writings where the alphabetic form of a name is unknown or because of uncertainties regarding the linguistic origin of one name or another (these first two difficulties may come together as, for example, in {mSUM-dU} in RS 16.126B+ iii 45, listed in §3.1 as the Hurrian name ʾArteṯṯob), or, finally, because of the difficulties of prosopographic identification of an individual priest with a person bearing the same name that appears in other texts. It is this last difficulty that has led to the presentation of the names in two lists, one of priests, the other of fathers of priests, because I have been unable to discover a single solid case for the father of a khn himself exercising

Cycle (Syria 15 [1934] p. 243 n. 1), this first understanding corrected in the edition of one of two texts of the same type discovered during the eighth campaign, the one that sparked the present study (RS 8.272 [CTA 75, KTU 4.38] – see Syria 18 [1937] 164 n. 2). 8 Hawley, Pardee, and Roche-Hawley, Calvet (2015) 160. 9 As is the case for khnm, a thorough listing of the textual data for each of these groups is available in the Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language3 (2015) by del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, a highly useful tool for assembling the textual data for a study such as this, though one may quibble with a definition here and there (it is hardly likely that ỉnšt, for example, has the functional value of “relatives” [p. 81] – see the remarks in the study cited in the previous note); also relevant for the listing of the textual sources is Watson, FO 55 (2018) 307–78, though, the author’s interest in that study being primarily etymological, contextual considerations appear only rarely.

382

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

that profession, no matter how plausible the hypothesis may be that that should often have been the case. 1. The Textual Data in Order of Discovery For each text the following data are indicated: RS inventory number by campaign, editio princeps if such exists, and, for the Ugaritic texts, the text number in the primary collection of texts (KTU, CAT or KCAT according to the edition of this series in which the text first appeared), these identifiers followed by the basic word or phrase, the type of text, and, finally, the section in which the text is treated in §2. In the transcriptions, the word or phrase is indicated in italics if complete, partially preserved examples are indicated as such, and the horizontal tracings (defined below in note 11) by dashes. 1.1. Ugaritic khn RS 1.018:1 (CTA 55, KTU 2.4): rb khnm in a letter (§2.10.1) RS 1.[051] (KTU 6.6): rb khnm in an epigraph on a bronze tool (§2.10.3.2) RS 1.[052] (KTU 6.10): rb khnm in an epigraph on a bronze tool (§2.10.3.1) RS 1.[053] (KTU 6.9): rb khnm in an epigraph on a bronze tool (§2.10.3.2) RS 1.[054] (KTU 6.8): rb khnm in an epigraph on a bronze tool (§2.10.3.2) RS 1.[055] (KTU 6.7): rb khnm in an epigraph on a bronze tool (§2.10.3.2) RS 2.[009]+ vi 56 (CTA 6, KTU 1.6): rb khnm in the colophon to a mythological text (§2.10.2) RS 3.320:1 (CTA 77, KTU 4.29): khnm in an economic text (§2.1.1) RS 8.208:1 (CTA 76, KTU 4.36): khnm in an economic text (§2.1.1) RS 8.272:1 (CTA 75, KTU 4.38): khnm in an economic text (§2.3.2) RS 11.715+ vi 22 (CTA 113, KTU 4.69): khnm in an economic text (§2.2.1) RS 11.716:72 (CTA 71, KTU 4.68): khnm in an economic text (§2.3.1) RS 11.845:9' (CTA 74, KTU 4.99): khnm in an economic text (§2.3.3) RS 14.084:23' (PRU II 26 obv 6, KTU 4.126:6): khnm in an economic text (§2.1.1) RS 17.246:5 (PRU II 79, KTU 4.282): khn in an economic text (§2.9) RS 18.047:24 (PRU V 90, KTU 4.357): dr khnm in an economic text (§2.4) RS 18.250:50' (PRU V 162, KTU 4.410): {[…]⸢k⸣hn⸢m⸣[…]} in an economic text (§2.3.2) RS 18.252:6 (PRU V 19, KTU 4.416): {kh[nm …]} in an economic text (§2.1.2) RS 19.086A:4' (PRU V 20, KTU 4.633): khnm in an economic text (§2.2.3) RS 25.417:5 (KTU 4.745): khnm in an economic text (§2.1.1) RS 29.097:6 (KTU 4.752): khnm in an economic text (§2.1.2) RS 34.123:1 (RSO VII 87, KTU 4.761): {khn⸢m⸣} in an economic text (§2.2.2) RS 92.2175:3' (RSO XIV 34, KCAT 4.806): khnm in an economic text (§2.1.1) RS 94.2391:10 (RSO XVIII 59, KCAT 2.97): {k⸢h⸣nm} in a letter (§2.6) RS 94.2603:19 (RSO XVIII 52, KCAT 4.867): khn in an economic text (§2.5) RIH 83/02:10 (RIH II 4): {k⸢h⸣nm} in an economic text (§2.1.1) Not included: RS 18.[375]:5' (KTU 4.481): {[…]hn} in an economic text (§2.11.1) RS 24.251:18 (Ugaritica VV 8:47, KTU 1.107:47 [CAT 1.107:18]): {[…]⸢-⸣ . ṯllt . kh⸢n⸣[…]} in a paramythological text (§2.11.1) 1.2. Logo-syllabic {SANGA} RS 11.856:2 (RA 38 [1941] 4–6): {LÚ.SANGA ša dIM URU.⸢x⸣[… ]} in a legal text (§2.7) RS 16.126B+ iii 37 (PRU III 199–204): {[L]Ú.MEŠ.SANGA} in an economic text (§2.2.2) RS 16.186:13' (PRU III 168): {LÚ.UGULA SANGA} in a legal text (§2.10.4) RS 17.131:27 (PRU VI 93): {LÚ.SANGA} in an economic text (§2.1.2) RS 17.240:6 (PRU VI 136): {LÚ.SAN[GA …]} in an economic text (§2.3.1)

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

383

RS 17.428:1 (PRU VI 9): {SANGA} in a letter (§2.8) Not included: RS 16.114:14 (PRU III 33–34): the reading {SANGA} is absent, legal text (§2.11.2) RS 17.371+ rev 14' (PRU IV 202–03): {LÚ.SANGA} not to be restored, legal text (§2.11.2) RS 18.002:3 (PRU IV 201): {LÚ.SANGA dIŠTAR URU.zi-in-za-ri} in a legal text ibid. line 16: {LÚ.MÁŠ.ŠU.GÍD.GÍD LÚ.SANGA dU} (§2.11.2) RS 94.2602:45 (RSO XXIII 85) {LÚ.SANGA} in a letter (§2.11.2) Total: twenty-six alphabetic texts considered, six logo-syllabic texts. 2. Organization of Texts into Groups Based on the Content10 2.1.1. khnm in Lists of Professional Groups, with or without Number RS 3.320:1 (CTA 77, KTU 4.29): {(1) khnm . tšʿ (2) bnšm . w . ḥmr (3) qdšm . tšʿ (4) bnšm . w ḥmr} ‘Priests: nine men and a donkey; holy ones: nine men and a donkey’. A very small tablet, very well preserved, bearing only the four lines indicated here, on the obverse. Without a heading, the text is difficult to interpret, but it may be simply the record of the number of assistants and a load-bearing animal that an undefined group of priests and another undefined group of holy men had at their disposal. RS 8.208:1 (CTA 76, KTU 4.36): {(1) khnm 2 (2) q⸢d⸣šm 2 (3) m[rủ .] s̀kn 2 (4) mkrm 2} ‘Priests 2, holy ones 2, officers of the governor 2, merchants 2’. The numbers are indicated by the logographic sign, i.e., two vertical wedges = ‘2’. This is another very small tablet, physically similar to the preceding. Again, without a heading, it is difficult to know whether the numbers refer to the priests themselves or to another entity. RS 14.084:23' (PRU II 26 obv 6, KTU 4.126:6): {(23') khnm – (24') qdšm –}‘priests –, holy ones –’. This is a simple list of professional groups on a tablet of which the upper edge is lost. It is more typical of these lists than are the two previous examples in that it bears a more extensive inventory of the professional groups, one in each of the preserved thirty-three lines. All preserved terms are in the plural, and each line of writing is set down on a horizontal tracing, but the right side is well preserved and no number was inscribed there.11 The damage to the upper part of the tablet has destroyed any possible indication of the function of the list.12 RS 25.417:5 (KTU 4.745): {khnm – 2} ‘priests – 2’. A small, well preserved tablet on which are inscribed the names of ten professional groups including the nqdm and the khnm, in that order, but without the qdšm, each entry including a number noted logographically (only ‘2’ or ‘3’), each line set down on an uncharacteristically heavy horizontal tracing, with no heading but with, at the end and after a horizontal separating line, the total of ‘22’ which in fact corresponds to the total of the individual entries. Without any sort of identifier (heading, explanatory colophon, or marginal notation), any attempt at defining the function of the text would be purely hypothetical. RS 92.2175:3' (RSO XIV 34, KCAT 4.806): {(3') khnm – (4') ⸢q⸣dšm –} ‘priests – […], holy ones – […]’. A small fragment from the left-central part of the tablet – the upper, right, and lower edges are all lost; hence any heading, colophon, or notations to the right have been lost. Each line of writing is set down on a hori-

10

If the term qdšm is present, that is indicated. One of the characteristics of the category of administrative texts that consist of a list, with or without a heading, a colophon, or additional data (such as a number) recorded to the right of the main entry, is that each line of writing may be set down on what is termed here “a horizontal tracing,” that phrase chosen to distinguish this practice from that of using a horizontal line between lines of writing, this horizontal line usually inscribed relatively deeply in the clay to mark off what we might call paragraphs or sections. These tracings were clearly not intended primarily to link the primary datum entered to the left with additional information noted to the right because they appear, as was just noted, with and without such additional data. Unfortunately, these tracings are not, for simple typographic reasons, usually noted in transcriptions, but they are also not always indicated on the hand copy of the editio princeps, as is the case with RS 14.084: neither in the preliminary edition (Syria 28 [1951] 165) nor in the official edition (PRU II 26) did the copy provided by Virolleaud indicate the presence of these tracings. They may be seen in both the copy and the photograph given with my re-edition of this tablet in Semitica 49 (1999) 59–64. 12 The line numbers indicated in the main entry reflect the reversal of the order of reading the tablet that was proposed in my re-edition cited in the previous note. 11

384

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

zontal tracing. It appears clear that the text consisted of a list of professional groups, but nothing further may be deduced with any degree of certainty. RIH 83/02:10 (RIH II 4): {(9) [q]⸢dš⸣m . ʿšr (10) k⸢h⸣nm . ṯmn} ‘[Ho]ly ones: ten, priests: eight’. This is a list of thirty-five professional groups on a well preserved tablet, only the lower right corner missing, which makes it certain that it bore no heading and no colophon, though the damage did result in the loss of some data at the ends of the affected lines. The only “punctuation” used by the scribe is the word-divider: the lines of writing were not set down on a horizontal tracing and neither the beginning nor the end of the text was marked with a horizontal line. Each entry is followed by a number noun, these ranging from ‘one’ to ‘seventeen’ (the last occurring with the trrm, l. 13, a poorly attested term of uncertain meaning – cf. below RS 11.845 [§2.3.3], where the highest number is again registered for this group – and with the ʿšrm, l. 14, on which see below §2.10.4). Because the cardinal number ảḥd, ‘one’, occurs twice after terms designating the professional group that are in the plural (kbsm, l. 11, and kkrdnm, l. 29), it is clear that it is not the members of the group that are being recorded, but some unknown entity (though it is not impossible that the notation is shorthand for ‘from the kbsm/kkrdnm, one person’). This notational method was thus very similar to that of RS 8.208 and RS 25.417 above in this section, the differences being the use of number nouns instead of logograms, the appearance of larger numbers, and the indication present in the use of ảḥd that the entity counted was of masculine grammatical gender. The absence of fractions leaves open the possibility that the reference was to persons, which is not the case for RS 11.845 because one of the numbers entered there does include a fraction – of course it may not be ruled out that the same commodity that was registered there was the object of this text and it just happened that none of the quantities in this set occurred with an appended fraction. I have classified the text in this section because each entry consists only of a professional group followed by a whole number. The order of mention qdšm … khnm appears only here, in RS 29.097, and in the logo-syllabic text RS 17.131. Because the texts from Ras Ibn Hani date to the time of the last king of Ugarit to bear the name ʿAmmiṯtamru (mid-thirteenth century), while the other two appear in groups of texts where his son ʾIbīrānu is mentioned, one wonders whether this order of mention may not have been preferred for a time.13 2.1.2. khnm in Lists of Professional Groups with a Number and the Notation ‘Men’ RS 18.252:6 (PRU V 19, KTU 4.416): {(6) kh[nm …] (7) q[dšm …]} ‘Prie[sts …], ho[ly ones …]’. Only a small section of the upper part of this tablet is preserved so that only the ends of the first three lines and part of the last line on the reverse are preserved; each line of writing was set down on a horizontal tracing (only preserved for the first two lines). At the end of line 1, on the right edge of the tablet, after the logographically written number, the logogram {LÚ.MEŠ}, ‘men’, is well preserved.14 The logographically written numbers are preserved only in the first three lines. The numbers recorded are small (‘4’ and ‘5’ are attested), and this fact may indicate that the text was recording features of a particular situation, not the total number of the members of the designated groups or their dependents, both of which must have been significantly greater

13

For the dating of the texts from Ras Ibn Hani, see Lagarce’s archaeological introduction to RIH II (2019) 13–22; for the possible dating of the other two texts to the time of ʾIbīrānu, see Van Soldt, Studies (1991) 11. Arnaud, SMEA 37 (1996) 54 n. 39, mentioned the existence of another text, unpublished, of the same type as RS 17.131 which also shows the order ‘holy ones … priests’, but he did not indicate the inventory number of the tablet, so nothing can be said about the date of this fourth attestation of the minority order of mention – Arnaud’s indication in the cited footnote that RS 14.084 would show the order qdšm–khnm is incorrect (the order cited here above is what is visible on the tablet). 14 The correct reading, with a thorough overview of the secondary bibliography, was first proposed hypothetically by Márquez Rowe (NABU [1995] 55–57), on the basis of the faulty copy in the editio princeps, and it was subsequently confirmed by Roche (RAI 51 [2008] 157, 163, 170 fig. 2) on the basis of collation. Márquez Rowe’s reading was accepted by Dietrich and Loretz (Word-List [1996], p. 226), but too late to appear in CAT (where one finds {GÁN.ME}), but it was subsequently abandoned in KCAT (where one finds the reading {LÚ.ME.DIL}. The photograph published by Roche clearly shows a vertical wedge followed by three oblique wedges in the standard form of {MEŠ} in texts from Ras Shamra, not the two that would correspond to the reading {ME + DIL}. The presence of three heads of oblique wedges is even clearer on the photographs of this tablet in the archives of the Projet PhoTEO of the Mission de Ras Shamra.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

385

judging from the lists of named priests discussed below. There is now a clear case of dependents being recorded: RS 94.2064 (RSO XVIII 25, KCAT 4.841), in comparison with RS 94.2050+ (RSO XVIII 24, KCAT 4.807), must be taken as recording the dependents of the individual members of ‘groups of ten’ who are listed – this means that each {rb ʿšrt} recorded was in charge of a ‘group of ten’ of which the real membership varied between three and twenty-one, and each member of the group had under him from one to six assistants. The problem with explaining RS 18.252 by the two texts from the 1994 campaign is that the former refers to groups expressed in the plural, whereas the dependents recorded in the latter are those of individual members of a group of ten. A possible interpretation of RS 18.252 and the following texts in this category is that the reference was to dependents of these groups that have been requisitioned by the royal administration for service in a particular project, i.e., not all the dependents were taken, but only a few from each professional group. The other principal possibility is that it is indeed the principal members of the group that were recorded, but only a sub-set of them, as was relevant for a situation which went unstated in the text. In favor of this interpretation is the list RS 94.2093 (RSO XVIII 19, KCAT 4.837), because that text, almost certainly a record of a collection of silver (because of the presence of nṣp, the noun used to express a half shekel of silver) from the professional groups named, contains two examples of the principal entry being in the singular where the plural is attested in other lists ({mṣl} in line 23' and {[kk]rdn} in line 25'); hence there was only one representative of each of these groups in the sub-set whose contributions were recorded. RS 29.097:6 (KTU 4.752) {(5) qdšm . ảrbʿ – (6) khnm . ṯlṯ –} ‘holy ones – four, priests – three’. A small tablet of which the height is preserved along the right edge, but which is damaged to the left, particularly along the lower edge. Somewhat atypically, although most of the lines of writing, including the two quoted, were set down on a horizontal tracing, that was not the case of all the lines – usually, line tracings are either used throughout a text or not at all – in some of the cases where a full-line tracing was not used, it appears that a short tracing was added to the right. Also untypical is the order of mention qdšm … khnm (see here above on RIH 83/02). The first line is well preserved and it bears a heading: {bnšm . d . ỉṯ . bd . rb . ʿprm} ‘Personnel who have been entrusted to the chief of the ʿApirūma’.15 In lines 2–7, six of the well known professional groups are named ({m⸢r⸣[ủm]}, {ṯ⸢n⸣[nm]}, {ʿ[šrm]}, {qdšm}, {khnm}, {mr⸢ủ . ỉb⸣rn}), each followed by a number noun ranging from ‘one’ to ‘four’; the following lines may consist of a personal name followed by number noun, but none of the names is well enough preserved to be identifiable.16 At first blush, it might appear that lines 2–7 record that members of the professional groups named were entrusted to the ‘chief of the ʿApirūma’, but, if the following lines do consist of a personal name followed by a number noun, then that analysis cannot hold for these individuals, and the numbers must refer to dependents of these individuals, and, if that is indeed the case, the same may be expected to be true of the professional groups. If that is the correct interpretation, however, the fact that the numbers of dependents recorded is small must be taken to indicate that the situation was one in which only a fraction of the dependents of each group were being requisitioned by the royal administration for a particular project, in this case one run by the ‘chief of the ʿApirūma’ (i.e., the situation is similar to that of RS 18.252, described here above, this section). It would appear that the reference can only be to a sub-set of the primary members of the group if the following entries do not in fact mention individuals. RS 17.131:27 (PRU VI 93): {(26) LÚ.NU.GIG – 3 – MIN (27) LÚ.SANGA – 3 – MIN} ‘holy ones – 3 (men), priests – 3 (men)’. The first entry, consists of {l[ú]mar-ia-nu-ma}, followed by the logogram for ‘6’ and {L[Ú].MEŠ}, i.e., ‘Maryannūma-men – 6 men’. The number is different in each following line, but {LÚ.MEŠ} applied to each line and was replaced by {MIN}, ‘ditto’, in lines 2 and following. The tablet is 15

It is very unclear what the event was that lay behind this administrative record. There is general agreement today that the Ugaritic ʿApirūma corresponded to the class generally known as the Habiru, usually depicted as hostile and destructive, and a relatively recently published text refers to members of this group exercising hostile activity, apparently against the kingdom of Ugarit (RS 94.5015 [RSO XVIII 58, KCAT 2.98]). RS 29.097 appears to reflect a moment in time when the royal administration had reached an understanding with one of these groups. 16 The new reading in KCAT of {bn⸢š⸣} in line 8, as compared with {bn ⸢x⸣} in KTU/CAT, appears unlikely because the space occupied by the signs {n⸢š⸣} would be considerably narrower than is the case of those signs in the word {bnš} that is extant in line 1. The new reading in KCAT of the following word is equally dubious, as is their reading/restoration of {[t]⸢r⸣dn} in line 10.

386

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

well preserved, and each line of writing is set down on a horizontal tracing. Two groups are registered in each of lines 23–25. The format of the first line, where the determinative {LÚ} is followed by the syllabically written Ugaritic plural (marked in the nominative absolute by the morpheme /-ūma/) leaves little doubt that the intention of the scribe was to set down in logo-syllabic script a list of professional groups, each expressed as a plural, despite the absence of {MEŠ} after the first {LÚ} – thus line 5 {lúNA.GAD} corresponds to Ugaritic nqdm, and was probably read as such, i.e., /nāqidūma/.17 The double use of {LÚ}, i.e., before each entry and at the end of the line, may perhaps be taken as an indication that it was the number of dependents of the professional group that was being recorded; but, if that was the case, the situation is similar to that of the preceding texts in this category, i.e., the low numbers make it unlikely that the reference is to the total number of dependents in the service of, for example, the total number of maryannūma. The number probably refers, therefore, to a sub-set either of each primary group or of their dependents, but none of the texts outlined here in which simply ‘men’ are recorded gives a clear indication of what the situation was behind the administrative record, and it is therefore impossible to determine whether these ‘men’ were simply being registered as in service or were being requisitioned by the royal administration (which appears to be the required interpretation of the ‘archers’ in RS 11.716 [§2.3.1] and was indeed Nougayrol’s interpretation of this text: see below note 24). On the order of mention {LÚ.NU.GIG … LÚ.SANGA}, see above on RIH 83/02 (§2.1.1). As was remarked above, it was only when publishing this text that Nougayrol recognized the formal similarity among various previously published texts and he explicitly noted the equivalence of {SANGA} and khn.18 Though the precise value of the use of a logogram that corresponds directly to a Ugaritic word is always debatable, the usage of {SANGA} in this text to represent what could only be khnm in similar alphabetically written texts set in motion a process of reflection among students of the texts from Ras Shamra boasting some familiarity with the two bodies of texts defined by being alphabetically or logo-syllabically inscribed. And, because of the existence of a fairly large number of alphabetic texts reflecting cultic practice from which the term khn was absent, the idea took hold that this official may have been more involved in cultic organization than in day-to-day cultic practice.19 2.2. khnm + Personal Names + Commodity Rendered or Received Four of the most important texts for the study of the priests appear under this heading, those in which the priest is indicated by name, either by his own name and that of his father or by only that of the father. See the studies cited above in note 4 for tabular presentations of the names in these four texts and §3 below for a presentation of the names in the order of the Ugaritic alphabet. The remarkable thing about these four texts is that a high percentage of the names overlap in two, three, or all four of the texts, so at least the rough contemporaneity of the four texts is assured, but they come from two different areas of the palace (RS 11.715+: West Archives; RS 16.126B+: Central Archives), from the palatial building to the south of the palace that has been identified as the House of Yabninu (RS 19.086A),20 and from the House of ʾUrtēnu, located further south on the tell (RS 34.123). Moreover, three of the texts are in alphabetic script, one in logo-syllabic script (RS 16.126B+), this last one of particular interest because it provides the name of the priest in addition to the patronymic designation that is most common in the alphabetic texts.

17

See Roche, PIHANS 114 (2010) 107–22, esp. p. 113 n. 48. See note 1 to the transcription and translation of the text (PRU VI [1970] 85) and, in the appendix entitled “Noms d’états et de professions,” the entry: “amilŠangû (: khn) ‘prêtre’ : 93, 27; 136, 6” (p. 151). 19 Arnaud, SMEA 37 (1996) 54–58; Roche, Prosopographie (2005) 122, 126; Vita, HUS (1999) 474; idem, Work Force (2018) 357. Nevertheless, it was only in the third edition of the dictionary of Ugaritic by del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín that the phrase “administrative personnel” became part of the first definition of khn (Dictionary3 [2015] 428). 20 This building was designated the “Palais Sud” by the excavator because of its large size and careful construction, but in 1990 it was identified by Courtois as the home and place of business of Yabninu, an important personage in the society and economy of Ugarit during the last decades of the kingdom, the proposal based on the concentration of mentions of that name in the texts discovered in the building (Syria 67, pp. 103–42). 18

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

387

2.2.1. Commodity Rendered RS 11.715+ vi 22' (CTA 113, KTU 4.69): khnm ‘priests’ in line 22' is followed by twelve patronymically expressed designations (bn-X) of these persons. It is plausible that all but one of these persons (bn ṯʿy, l. 23') are named in RS 16.126B+, the logo-syllabically inscribed list of priests in which all entries consist of name plus patronym (only the last two identifications in RS 11.715+ are uncertain because they involve extensive restoration – see below §3.2 at Ṯaṯānu and Ṯaʿlānu). Roughly half of the tablet is preserved, this calculation based on the identification already in Virolleaud’s preliminary edition of a non-joining fragment (RS 11.859) as providing much of the right edge of the otherwise missing bottom half of the tablet.21 The surface of the preserved fragments is in relatively good condition, and it is clear that most entries were set down on a horizontal tracing with a heavier horizontal line between sections as defined by passage to a new professional group.22 The list of priests was the last on the tablet, preceded in this column by the mḏrǵlm, a type of ‘guard’, and the bdl mḏrǵlm, the ‘commercial agents of the mḏrǵlm’, a placement that is unparalleled for khnm, a good illustration of the perils of deducing the importance of a professional group from the position that it occupies in a list. This text contains the only explicit indication at our disposal that the priestly profession, like many of the others, could be passed from father to son. The very first entry of the section, for the patronymically expressed name that is missing from RS 16.126B+, reads: {(23) bn . ṯʿy (24) w . nḥlh (25) w . nḥlhm} ‘bn ṯʿy and his heir and their heir’, all three currently in service because each is followed by a number and thus each has been required to make a contribution. So, in round figures, a sixty-year-old priest who is designated only by his father’s name is still serving as priest alongside his forty-year-old son and his twenty-year-old grandson.23 Each of the sections of this text bore a summary in logo-syllabic script, but it is the first that is the most explicit: {4 me-at 87 ŠU.NIGIN2 KÙ.BABBAR.MEŠ ša LÚ.MEŠ mar-ya-ni-⸢ma⸣} ‘4 hundred 87 total (shekels of) silver of the maryannūma-men’, where the relationship between the quantity of silver is expressed by the relativiser ša which expresses a contribution, not a distribution.24 21

Virolleaud, Mémorial Lagrange (1940) 39–49. I am preparing a re-edition of the alphabetic text which will include a representative copy and epigraphic comments. It will be proposed there that the scribe of col. vi, which contains the list of priests discussed here, was not the same person as the one who inscribed the first five columns: differences are visible both in a small number of sign forms and in the fact that this scribe of col. vi did not place a full horizontal tracing upon which the signs were set, but only one between the last sign and the number to the right. Neither scribe used the tracing in lines bearing the term designating the professional group nor in those containing a logo-syllabic total. 23 On the functional value of NḤL, which expresses entering into the legal state of ‘heir’ while the senior is still living, see Arnaud, SEL 12 (1995) 21; on the morphology of the forms nḥlh and nḥlhm, Pardee, AfO online version 50 (2003– 2004) 387. There is no reason to believe that the grandfather and the father were not still fully functional priests (and the same is true of the other professional groups for which the formula is used) as del Olmo Lete’s view of the functional value of the term would seem to require (JAOS 132 [2012] 614–15): there is no “double taxation” or “inheritance tax” (which del Olmo Lete appears to believe would be the required interpretation if nḥl referred to the legal state of ‘heir’ – for him, the nḥl was more of a subcontractor, i.e., not necessarily related to the first person named). These modern categories are not relevant to the Ugaritic situation because each individual is a fully functional priest and as such is required to contribute his share from the wealth, be it great or small, that he has acquired while functioning as priest. A better analogy would be that of a son working in his father’s business who is taxed on the income that he receives from that business, as is the father on his income. 24 The absence of the logogram {ŠU} for ‘hand’ after the ša that one finds in KTU and CAT, reading abandoned in KCAT, may already be seen in Virolleaud’s preliminary edition (reference note 21). Moreover, Roche, RAI 51 (2008) 165 n. 38, has observed the presence of a damaged {ma} at the end of this first total, i.e., the word is set down in its Ugaritic form, as is expected (see above on RS 17.131), here in the genitive case because of the preceding ša (the reading is adopted and credited to Roche in KCAT: see p. 281 n. 1). Thus the logo-syllabic total was not registering that the silver was ‘in the hand(s) of’ the maryannūma, which may or may not have meant that they were receiving it (an interpretation widely adopted, indeed put forth by the editor: Virolleaud, Mémorial Lagrange [1940] 39–40; Rainey, Social Stratification [1962], p. 126; idem, BA 28 [1965] 123; Oelsner, Beiträge [1971] 120; Heltzer, Internal Organization [1982] 38 et passim; Lipiński, OLA 23 [1988] 143; Merlo, SEL 23 [2006] 56), but that it is the silver ‘of’ the persons in question, and other texts require the interpretation as a contribution, in particular RS 19.017, which records the contributions from the three principal socio-economic segments of the kingdom (southern towns, northern towns, and professional groups, this third list very poorly preserved) to the tribute that the king of Ugarit was required to pay the Hittite 22

388

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

2.2.2. Commodity Received RS 34.123:1 (RSO VII 87, KTU 4.761): {khn⸢m⸣[…]} ‘priests’ in line 1 is followed by ten designations of these persons, eight in patronymic form (bn-X), one in full form, though the father’s name is lost ({ngy bn[…]}, l. 3),25 the last broken to the right ({⸢ả⸣nnš[…]}, l. 6);26 all but three of these persons, the two just mentioned and bn tmy (l. 8), appear in the logo-syllabic text RS 16.126B+, where the priest’s own name is indicated (see here below and §3). The text was set down on the tablet with no “punctuation” of any kind: no word dividers, no line tracings, no horizontal line before or after the text.27 The tablet is damaged to the upper right, so the ends of lines 1–7 are lost, along with any possible expansion of the heading as presently preserved in line 1. This is clearly a distribution of a liquid foodstuff, in all likelihood oil or wine, because kd/kdm, the standard liquid measure corresponding to roughly twelve liters,28 is preserved at the end of lines 8–11. Only those two forms are attested, without an accompanying number, so it appears certain that each line recorded only one jar or two (kd, singular; kdm, dual). It is highly implausible that priests would have been supplying the royal administration with one or the other of these liquid foodstuffs in such small quantities, whereas RS 8.272, discussed here below, furnishes a rather clear example of the distribution of similar foodstuffs to priests and holy ones (and to four other professional groups). RS 16.126B+ iii 37 (PRU III 199–204): {[L]Ú.MEŠ.SANGA} ‘priests’ in line 37 is followed by eighteen names all expressing the name of the person and of his father in the form {PN1 DUMU PN2} ‘PN1 son of PN2’. Two of the names attested in the three alphabetic texts of the same type are missing from this list ({ảnnš[…]} and {ngy bn[…]}), as are two of the patronyms (bn ṯʿy and bn tmy) – see here above and §3. Six of the patronyms attested in this list do not appear in any of the alphabetic lists (see §3.2: ʾŪlunaharu, Yišlamānu, Kabizzu, Kunniya, {ma-ri-ma-na}, and Tagtēnu). Most of the priestly names of this text are unattested in the corresponding alphabetic texts, simply because most of the persons registered in those texts were designated by their father’s name. Moreover, as has already been noted above, I have found no convincing data for identifying any of the fathers named in this text and in the alphabetic texts as having exercised the priestly profession. This list was set down on a large tablet which has been reconstructed from sovereign (see my re-edition of this text, Or 70 [2001] 250–82). Another text registering contributions of silver from professional groups only, in alphabetic script but without names, is RS 94.2093 (RSO XVIII 19, KCAT 4.837), where the khnm almost certainly appeared, though the entry is no longer extant, having disappeared with the loss of the top portion of the tablet, as may be deduced from the fact that the first term preserved is qdšm. Editing RS 17.131 and realizing its similarity to various other logo-syllabic and alphabetic texts, Nougayrol proposed: “On peut penser qu’ici comme ailleurs, il s’agit de contributions plutôt que d’attributions. Nous comprendrions ainsi volontiers que les diverses corporations du royaume devaient fournir des hommes et des armes, ou bien de l’argent, au roi, en certaines circonstances tout au moins” (PRU VI [1970] 85 n. 1). This interpretation was proposed for RS 11.715+ by Astour, citing Nougayrol (RAI 18 [1972] 12). 25 Though the first wedge-head is a bit damaged, the sign certainly consists of three wedges (as in Bordreuil’s copy in Semitica 25 [1975] 24), not the two assumed by the reading {ảgy} that is given in KTU and retained in CAT/KCAT. Only the incorrect reading is registered by del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Dictionary3 (2015) 28, without even a reference to Bordreuil’s original reading or its retention in RSO VII. 26 In this case, examination of a photograph leads me now to abandon the reading taken over from Bordreuil’s preliminary publication (Semitica 25 [1975] 24) into the editio princeps in RSO VII: the damaged remains of the first sign are simply situated too low on the plane of writing to belong to the {b} that we indicate in this last publication. Bordreuil’s copy represents these traces correctly, so it was a question of interpreting them, and we should have paid more attention to the certain reading of the name in RS 19.086A:14' as {ảnnš[…]} (see below, §3). The name in both texts is represented in the dictionary of del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín (Dictionary3 [2015] 79) as appearing in only these two texts and as “ảnnšn,” with no indication that the final {n} is entirely reconstructed in both texts. They cite as authority Dietrich, Loretz, and Sanmartín, UF 5 (1973) 105, where the form is cited as it appears in RS 19.086A, i.e., {ảnnš[…]} (RS 34.123 was unknown at the time), and two restorations are indicated as possible, {ảnnš[n …]} and {ảnnš[r…]} – according to Gröndahl, Personennamen (1967) 249–50, the first consonant of the Hurrian onomastic elements Šarru and Šarruma is only represented in alphabetic script by {ḏ} or {ṯ}, but there are other Hurrian/Anatolian elements written with {š}, though none is presently attested, to my knowledge, following {ảnn}. 27 See the copy and the photograph in Bordreuil’s preliminary publication (Semitica 25 [1975] 24 and pl. II), neither included with the editio princeps in RSO VII. 28 See Zamora, La vid (2000) 351–56; Sauvage, Calvet (2015) 71–72.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

389

several fragments,29 roughly three-quarters of the original preserved, though with some severe damage to the surfaces of the preserved fragments. The text was inscribed without line tracings but with a dividing line between sections. The function of the text was to register jars ({DUG}) of oil ({Ì}), undoubtedly the logographic equivalent of alphabetic kd šmn, hence each unit would have consisted of about twelve liters (see references in note 28). Because {DUG.Ì} is used with some frequency in this text albeit inconsistently30 and is the only commodity indication preserved, one must conclude that the one and only purpose of the text was to register jars of (olive) oil, in numbers recorded in conjunction with the individuals listed under the group mentioned in the section headings. The numbers show a great deal of variety, ‘1’ to ‘30’ and with no number indicated at all in some cases (six such cases in ii 6–11; the last entry in the priestly section, iii 55, itself somewhat enigmatic, shows no number). Despite the fragmentary state of the tablet, at least a dozen groups are registered, and one must conclude that the number of groups originally mentioned was roughly equivalent in this text and in RS 11.715+. The section devoted to priests is near the end of the third quarter of the text, i.e., reverse, lower part of col. iii, followed by one of the rare toponymically defined groups (iii 56–iv 6 {LÚ.MEŠ.ša-na-qí} = ṯnqym in RS 14.084:4' [PRU II 26 rev 4, KTU 4.126:20], probably also RS 11.789:4' {[ṯn]qy[m]} [CTA 78, KTU 4.87])31 then by the {LÚ.MES.UN-tù} (iv 7–15).32 Because jars (plausibly) of oil are also recorded for the groups listed in RS 34.123, where the small number of items, one or two jars per group, makes the hypothesis of a distribution very likely, the same explanation appears preferable here, because it would be even more difficult to imagine the circumstances under which the individual members of these groups would have been required and in a position to furnish jars of oil to the central administration than to find an explanation for the relatively large quantities registered in this text, i.e., as being necessary for the upkeep of families and/or professional dependents. 2.2.3. Unknown Whether a Commodity was Involved RS 19.086A:4' (PRU V 20, KTU 4.633): {khnm} ‘priests’ followed by nine patronymically expressed designations of these persons (bn-X) and one name, broken to the right so we do not know whether the patronym was indicated (l. 14' {ảnnš[…]}, the last entry on the list, same state of preservation of this name as in RS 34.123:6). All the patronyms are attested in RS 16.126B+ in logo-syllabic form as well as in one or the other or both of the other two alphabetic lists of priests (on {bn . ṯg⸢d⸣[ …]} in l. 5', see below, note 135), but the name {ảnnš[…]} is not attested in logo-syllabic script. The text is found on a small fragment from the lower left of the tablet, including the lower edge and the end of the text on the reverse. The bn-X designations of three persons and the left part of a horizontal section divider are preserved above the list of priests, hence in all likelihood a list of members of another professional group. This scribe did not make use of line tracings, and no form of colophon was set down after the last entry of the list on the reverse. With the loss of a possible heading or indications to the right of the nominal entries, nothing can be said about this list, whether it recorded a contribution from the priests, a distribution to them, or neither.

29

The tablet is designated here as RS 16.126B+ because, as published, it is made up of four fragments that originally bore their own inventory number: RS 16.126B + RS 16.257 + RS 16.258 + RS 16.345 (see TEO 102; the text was published under the first three of these numbers, minus the “B” on the first, and this number was in fact in last place in the title, for which reason the text is often cited as “RS 16.257”). 30 The distribution of the logographic phrase is very irregular, sometimes indicated once at the beginning of a section, sometimes repeated within a section (from two to eight times), sometimes replaced after first mention by{MIN}, sometimes with even this ‘ditto’ sign omitted, once entirely absent (in ii 48, the first notation is {3 MIN}) – the damaged state of the tablet make an exhaustive description impossible. 31 See van Soldt, Topography (2005) 47–48. 32 For the equivalence of {UN-tù} and ỉnšt, see Roche, PIHANS 114 (2010) 113 notes 48 and 51, taken up by Hawley, Pardee, and Roche-Hawley, Calvet (2015) 160.

390

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

2.3. khnm without Personal Names + Commodity Rendered or Received 2.3.1. Commodity Rendered RS 11.716:72 (CTA 71, KTU 4.68): {(72) khnm (73) qdšm} ‘priests, holy ones’ with ‘1’ to the right joined to these two entries by tracings from each of those entries and extending to the vertical wedge for ‘1’, indicating that the two groups cooperated in fulfilling this requisition from the royal administration.33 Virolleaud did not indicate consistently on his copy that, where the joining of two or three entries by two tracings did not occur, each single-entry line was set down on a single horizontal tracing.34 This text did not include a heading, but there is a colophon, inscribed in a single line on the left edge in logo-syllabic script: l. 76 {ṭuppu ERIN2.MEŠ ša GIŠ.BAN.MEŠ} ‘military personnel of bows’, i.e., ‘bowmen, archers’, corresponding to the military category designated in Ugaritic by the term ṯnnm, ‘archers’ (on which, see below on rb ṯnnm, §2.10.4). The colophon says nothing about whether the archers were in service to the entities recorded or whether they were supplied by these entities, perforce to the royal administration since the tablet was discovered in the palace. The latter interpretation has been preferred since Virolleaud’s preliminary publication, plausibly because of a single archer being recorded as associated with as many as three towns and as many as three professional groups.35 There is no way of determining how these archers were selected, and it would thus be improper simply to assert that this text proves that temple personnel fielded their own armed force from which a member would have been selected and sent off for service to the royal administration. In many of the cases recorded in this text, it is simply implausible that the required archer (two in rare cases) was selected from a resident corps of archers, either because of inappropriateness36 or for economic reasons.37 33

See the copy in Virolleaud’s preliminary edition (Syria 21 [1940] 135–36), taken over into CTA as fig. 126–27 – this copy and the photograph provided in CTA (pl. LII) show that the joining of two or three of the toponyms (lines 1–59) or the professional groups (lines 60–75) by this use of tracings inscribed in the clay was a common feature of this text (fourteen examples). These groupings of entries were marked in KTU 4.68, but these indications were omitted from CAT/KCAT 4.68, which apparently led McGeough, who obviously did not even check KTU, let alone the preliminary edition or the editio princeps, to devote eight lines of commentary to what he terms the lack of “an associated numerical value” for certain entries (Ugaritic Economic Tablets [2011] 36), an astonishingly lax approach to ascertaining the text to be translated and commented upon. 34 Virolleaud’s copy cited in the previous note shows a total of six straight horizontal lines between a single entry and its corresponding number to the right (lines 16, 21, 28, 55, 68, and 69) in addition to the horizontal line situated between lines 59 and 60 marking the division between the two principal sections (this line, included in the transcription of KTU and CAT, was abandoned in KCAT, for reasons unknown and very unfortunately, because its omission removes the principal structural marker in the layout of the text on the tablet). Looking at the tablet today, or even at the photograph in CTA which was printed at too low a resolution to be of consistent epigraphic usefulness, one does not see why he chose to represent these line tracings and ignored the others, as well as the double tracing joining lines 3 and 4 (also missed in KTU) – one wonders if the tablet had not yet been thoroughly cleaned when he copied it, though that does not account for the same omission in KTU, and the angled tracing from line 4 to the number to the right in line 3 is perfectly visible on the photograph in CTA. 35 Syria 21 (1940) 137 – that the text records the requirement to furnish archers is first observed, then the structure of the text, but no logical link between the two observations is asserted. The idea that it was the priests themselves who “were attached to the army” where their role was to “authorize or forbid military decisions” on the basis of divine revelations (Gordon, UL [1949] 125) or that “on a roster of soldiers they were included among the auxiliary personnel” (Rainey, Social Stratification [1962] 126; idem, BA 28 [1965] 123) has not met with acceptance. 36 It is unlikely that the priests and holy ones would have maintained such a corps as guards because these “longriflemen” of the time might have not have been of great use in the close quarters of the urban setting where these cultic officials normally functioned. 37 A text from the 1994 campaign (RS 94.2411 [RSO XVIII 1, KCAT 4.810]) records the number of ‘houses’ in twentyseven towns of the kingdom; twenty-one of those toponyms appear in RS 11.716 (actually twenty-two of twenty-eight if each member of the dual designation ʾAgimu + Ḫupatā is counted, twenty-three if the mention in RS 94.2411:4 of the absent inhabitants of Ṭibaqu is equated with the mention of the town in RS 11.716:54) and they cover the range from among the smallest hamlets (three houses in Qamanuzu, four in Ṯulḫanāya and Ganʿāya) to the largest town (one hundred and thirty houses in ʾUškanu). One might imagine that the latter had its own armed force including archers, but that is highly unlikely for a hamlet with only three or four houses. Unfortunately, the numbers in RS 11.716 have been lost for the largest towns as registered in RS 94.2411 (ʾUškanu just mentioned, Raqdu with forty-three houses, and

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

391

Because the requirement is stated in terms of ‘men’, it is unlikely that it consisted simply of supplying the upkeep of one archer or two for a certain amount of time, whether in the form of a ration or in that of a silver equivalent. It appears therefore necessary to imagine a mechanism whereby each of the entities named in this text selected a person known to have skill with the bow and sent him off to join the royal archer corps – though nothing allows us to determine whether this was in view of a possible conflict or simply to maintain the permanent armed force of the kingdom.38 Whatever form the requirement took, it does appear likely that it was for a contribution to the royal administration and that the priests were included with other professional groups, alongside a number of towns, just as in RS 19.017 (see above, notes 24, 37), in being identified as responsible for the contribution. RS 17.240:6 (PRU VI 136): {1 MIN LÚ.SAN[GA …]} ‘1 ditto priests’. The beginnings of fifteen lines of text are preserved on this fragment consisting of only the left part of the original tablet. The text did not bear a formal heading, but the first line includes elements replaced by {MIN} in the following lines: the logograms for ‘shekel’ (GÍN) and for the preposition which in Akkadian would be eli ({UGU}), corresponding to Ugaritic ʿl, meaning ‘upon’ and expressing either the imposition of a requirement (as here) or an existing debt in the economic texts from Ugarit, i.e., ‘such-and-such an amount of silver (or some other commodity) upon PN’ expresses that the person in question must supply or already owes that amount.39 Line 1 of this text reads: {1(?) GÍN UG[U …]} ‘1(?) shekel (of silver) to the de[bit of X]’, lines 2 and 3 {1 GÍN MIN LÚ[…]}, and lines 4–15 {1 MIN LÚ…}, i.e., with a single token of {MIN} for two omitted terms ({GÍN} and {UGU}), followed by either the logogram for the name of one of the professional groups or the name of a group written syllabically, these latter forms probably expressed, as we have seen to be the case in RS 17.131, with the Ugaritic plural morpheme, but this is always lost.40 The number of shekels owed is invariable here, always ‘1’, a feature unparalleled in the texts examined here that show a number, expressed either logographically or as the Ugaritic number noun. This text is classified here with those recording a commodity rendered by the priests because the concept of debt assumes the legal responsibility of rendering what is owed, in this case certainly silver because of the use of {GÍN} as the measure. 2.3.2. Commodity Received RS 8.272:1 (CTA 75, KTU 4.38): {(1) {khnm 3 KÙR ZÌ.KAL.KAL 6 UDU.ḪI.⸢A⸣[…] (2) qdšm 3 6 6} ‘priests: 3 (measures of) fine flour, 6 sheep, [N-units of X-foodstuff]; holy ones: 3 (measures of fine flour), 6 (sheep), 6 (units) [of X-foodstuff]’. This is a biscriptal text recording the name of a corporation to the left in alphabetic script, with, in line 1, the number of units of three foodstuffs all in logograms, the last lost and known to exist only from lines 2–6, where only the numbers are recorded and organized in columnar fashion, with a third column of numbers extant, leaving no doubt that a third commodity was lost to the right in line 1, perhaps ‘(jars of) wine’.41 The other professional groups listed as receiving these foodstuffs after the ʾIlištamʿu with forty), and we have no way of knowing whether the size of these towns was reflected in the number of required archers, though two towns with twenty or more houses (ʿÊnuqapʾat – 20 houses and Hizpu – 23) appear in RS 11.716 and they were not only required to furnish just one archer, but the second town was actually associated with another town, Ṭibaqu, for this duty. For the rough correspondence between the amount of silver requisitioned for the tribute to the Hittites (RS 19.017 [PRU V 58, KTU 4.610]) and the size of the town, see Pardee, Or 70 (2001) 276; Bordreuil, Hawley, and Pardee, RSO XVIII (2012) 14. 38 Of which Vita, Ejército (1995), posits the existence: see his conclusions, pp. 179–82. 39 This usage of the preposition, as well as of the corresponding verb (root ʿLY), is now well attested by the economic texts from Ras Ibn Hani: see the list of examples in RIH II (2019) 314. On the use of {MIN} in this text, see Roche, PIHANS 114 (2010) 114–15 (with a transcription that shows neatly the function of {MIN}); Vita, Literaturkontakte Ugarits (2020) 190–93. 40 For this hypothesis and some improved readings over earlier proposals, see Roche, PIHANS 114 (2010) 114–15. 41 In his preliminary edition, Virolleaud indicated the incorrect inventory number “RS 8.252” (Syria 18 [1937] 163–66) and this number was taken over in CTA and KTU – see TEO, p. 46; it was corrected to “RS 8.272” in CAT, but “RS 8.252” made its return in KCAT. The reading of line 1 has a complex history: in his edition, Virolleaud read the second logogram as {GÍN KÙ[.BABBAR]} (he transcribed the first sign by “GÌN,” but that was clearly just a typographical error because one finds “GÍN” on p. 166), and this reading was taken over into CTA, where the the first sign is correctly transcribed by {GÍN}. This reading was replaced in KTU by {6 GÍN KÙ.[BABBAR 6] UDU.ḪI.A}, i.e., ‘6 (shekels

392

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

priests and the holy ones were ‘merchants’ (mkrm), a type of courtier (mdm), the ỉnšt already discussed here above, and ‘house builders’ (ḥrš bhtm). Although there is nothing in the text permitting us to define the occasion that it represents, there can be no doubt that the food products were being distributed to members of the named groups – there is simply no parallel and no reason for this heterogeneous set of professional groups to be supplying these foodstuffs to the royal administration or any other. The distribution of flour (instead of grain that would have to be ground) and of sheep for red meat, not the usual provender for families and subordinates, leads to the conclusion that the occasion was one of feasting and that the event was repeated, for six sheep would provide roughly 240 portions of 1/2 kg each,42 and it must be judged plausible to the point of certainty that there were not 240 priests in the city of Ugarit at any one time (though there is no way of estimating with any certainty what that number may have been, eighteen is the highest number attested, in RS 16.126B+, discussed above, §2.2.2).43 This text fits into a broad category of distributions of high-quality foodstuffs in large quantities of which RS 1.012 (CTA 142, KTU 4.14) is the most striking example.44 RS 18.250:50' (PRU V 162, KTU 4.410): {[…]⸢k⸣hn⸢m⸣[…]} ‘priests’. Though the reading of the first sign is uncertain, that of the last sign as {⸢m⸣} is very plausible, and the only attested Ugaritic word that shows the preserved features of this word is khnm.45 This is a very fragmentary text46 recording distributions of something called šrt, of uncertain identification, which appears only in the singular and the dual, and which was therefore by definition countable though only one or two at a time were distributed. No other term referring to a professional group as the recipient is preserved, but the plausibility of the reading makes

of) sil[ver, 6] sheep’, and the new reading was maintained in CAT and KCAT. As is to be expected, this reading has, since the publication of KTU in 1976, been cited as what the tablet bears. In a paper read at the 51st Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale in 2005 and published in 2008, however, Roche showed, with photographic proof, that it is the second logogram, the one read by Virolleaud and Herdner as beginning with {GÍN}, that is to be replaced by the reading {UDU.ḪI.A}, whereas the logogram expressing the third commodity is entirely lost in the break that destroyed most of the surface of the reverse (RAI 51 [2008] 157, 160, 163, 170 fig. 1). One may assume that the reading given in KTU consists of a garbled presentation of the authors’ collation notes: on checking the tablet, they saw that the correct reading was {UDU.ḪI.⸢A⸣}, but, when they transcribed the text for publication, they included both the old and the new. Roche’s new reading has, unfortunately, been ignored in research tools published since the publication of her study: McGeough, Economic Texts (2011) 504, and del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Dictionary3 (2015) 428 (sub voce khn), 686 (sub voce qdš I), not to mention KCAT itself, which appeared in 2013. 42 For this sort of rough calculation, see Herrmann, In Remembrance of Me (2014) 54 and note 2 (p. 56). 43 Liverani once estimated the total of approximately forty groups of “dépendents du palais” at about 800 (SDB 9 [1979] 1319), an estimate itself dependent on a host of socio-economic and archaeological interpretations of the texts. 44 See my re-edition of this text, AuOr 20 (2002) 163–81. I am preparing a study in which this text and several others of the type are presented together, along with some others (among them, RS 8.272) to provide contrast and elucidation of those distributions that reflect a remarkably haute cuisine. 45 These observations are based on examination of a photograph kindly provided by John L. Ellison. Virolleaud’s copy (PRU V [1965] 194, fragment c, line 7), correctly shows only a horizontal wedge to the left, but there are clear traces of a vertical wedge adjoining the horizontal to the right. Those traces are on the left edge of a small damaged area today filled with plaster, this fact indicated in my transcription by the square brackets with ellipsis points (a difference from the transcription in KTU/CAT/KCAT, where the word khnm is indicated as the last word in the line without a square bracket after the {m}). 46 See the photograph of the obverse published by Schaeffer in Ugaritica IV (1962) 57 fig. 39. As is noted in TEO, p. 166, the tablet has, since this photograph was taken, been divided in two, and each of the two fragments bears its own museum number. Virolleaud is credited with the editio princeps (PRU V 162), but he in fact only presented three small fragments of the text: a tiny fragment of what is indicated in TEO as RS 18.250B (visible in the photograph in Ugaritica IV at the very upper left of the preserved text), and two small fragments of RS 18.250A, his fragment B (from the end of the text on the obverse and visible at the lower right of the photograph in Ugaritica IV) and his fragment C (showing the ends of the last lines of the text, on the reverse and hence not visible on the photograph in Ugaritica IV). The transcription in KTU/CAT/KCAT correctly represents the text as it had already been reconstructed when the photograph published in 1962 was taken. When we were preparing TEO, we found no explanation for the dissociation of the previously joined fragments. The fact that Virolleaud only published three small fragments is apparently owing to his preparing his copies of most of the texts published in PRU II and V from plaster casts and the occasional photograph, and, for whatever reason, he must only have received casts of those fragments.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

393

the interpretation as priests very likely. If that is the case, because the preceding and following lines appear to record distributions of the article in question, this line must also record a distribution of one or two šrt to the khnm, but the loss of the beginning and the end of the line makes any reconstruction of the structure of the line impossible. If the reading/restoration be accepted, it requires an interpretation of šrt that allows for one or two tokens of the item in question to be useful to a group. 2.3.3. Type of Commodity Unknown RS 11.845:9' (CTA 74, KTU 4.99): {khnm – 16} ‘priests – 16’ (qdšm absent). This is a partially preserved list of the professional groups, heading lost because only the lower part of the tablet is preserved, all extant terms in the plural, each set down on a horizontal tracing followed by a logographically written number. Despite the loss of the top of the tablet, hence of a possible heading and/or final colophon, the presence of at least one fraction (line 17' reads {mḏrǵlm – 6 1/2}) makes it clear that the numbers do not refer to persons of any category, but to a commodity of which either the distribution or the collection is noted. The quantities recorded show a much wider numerical range than those that we have encountered in alphabetic texts discussed here (from ‘2’ for the yqšm, ‘fowlers’, to ‘24’ for the trrm, the group associated with a large number also in RIH 83/02 [§2.1.1]), and it must thus be judged unlikely that it is contributions of silver that are being recorded. That being the case, the interpretation as a distribution is preferred, but what that may have been is uncertain. The distributions of jars of oil recorded in the logo-syllabic text RS 16.126B+ (see above, §2.2.2) show a similar disparity (from ‘1’ to ‘30’ jars distributed to individual members of the professional groups recorded); in that text, the largest number of jars distributed to a priest is ‘5’, the total of thirty-three or thirtyfour in that passage (no number is entered after the last entry) is not wildly different from the ‘16’ recorded here for the group of priests. I do not know of examples of the simple logographic designation by {1/2} for a half jar in Ugaritic texts, but there is one example of the usage with the parīsu, one of the standard dry measures (see RS 94.2078:13 {[…]1/2 PA} [RSO XVIII 53, KCAT 4.868]). 2.4. dr khnm the ‘Circle’ of Priests in Charge of a Field RS 18.047:24 (PRU V 90, KTU 4.357): {šd . bd . dr . khnm} ‘a field entrusted to the priestly corps’. This tablet is complete in its height and width, but the surface of the upper obverse is badly damaged. This scribe did not use line tracings. Only the first sign of line 1, {š}, is preserved, probably to be reconstructed as the word šd, ‘field’, but it is impossible to determine whether that was the first word of a heading or the beginning of the first entry (as reconstructed in KTU/CAT/KCAT, perhaps on the model of texts such as RS 18.046 [PRU V 89, KTU 4.356], which records transfer of ownership of fields and has no heading). The format of all entries (thirty-one or thirty-two depending on the nature of the first line) appears to have been identical: ‘One/two/or three fields “in the hand(s)” of X-beneficiary’. Of twenty or so entries well enough preserved to allow for the nature of the beneficiary to be determined, this is the only example of transfer to a group rather than to an individual (always indicated by name or by patronym, with the possible exception of skn, line 30, which may be either a personal name or the title ‘governor’/‘vizier’). It is tempting to take the word dr as the technical term for the corporation of priests of which the head would be the rb (on the rb khnm, see below, §2.10). This would correspond to the use of dr in the ritual texts for a particular grouping of divinities who function as a unit, similar in meaning to pḫr, ‘assembly’, or mpḫrt, a m-preformative noun with roughly the same meaning.47 The attested vocabulary for the formal status and the organization of the named professional groups is, however, very poor and thus little can be said about how they functioned in the society and the economy of Ugarit. It is clear that many of them operated within the royal administration (the bnš mlk, ‘men of the king’), but to what extent this is a result of most of the relevant tablets having been produced by the royal administration and discovered in the palace or in the homes of high officials cannot be determined with any certainty. But the fact that the professional groups were required to contribute archers like the towns 47

The dr ỉl w pḫr bʿl ‘ “Circle” of ʾIlu and Assembly of Baʿlu’ receive a single sacrifice (attested in four sacrificial texts: see Pardee, Textes rituels [2000] 976), and the dr bn ỉl appear in two more literarily formulated ritual texts as one of the manifestations of the offspring of ʾIlu (ibid., 976–77, 1139).

394

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

of the kingdom or were taxed as were the towns when tribute to the Hittite overlord was collected (see above on RS 11.716 with references to RS 19.017) may lead to the legitimate conclusion that the autonomy of the corporations was similar to that of the towns – another debated topic, but the very fact of taxability implies some accumulation of wealth, hence a degree of autonomy. 2.5. A khn Named in an Economic Text RS 94.2603:19 (RSO XVIII 52, KCAT 4.867): {(18) w . ṯrn (19) khn} ‘And Ṯarrānu (was) priest’. This tablet, discovered in an excellent state of preservation in the House of ʾUrtēnu, bears a peculiar economic text, recording distributions to three named individuals of various expensive commodities, silver, tin, garments, purple cloth, etc. There is no heading, but there are two entries at the end, both difficult to explain: the one just quoted and, in logo-syllabic script, {fa-ni-in-zi}, ‘Aninzi’ with the determinative for human females. A bn ṯrn is attested in a list of qdšm (RS 18.251 ii 14 [PRU V 163, KTU 4.412]), and one of the recipients ({ṯgb} l. 1) may be the same as a Hittite emissary whose name is written {mša-an-ga-bi} in a letter from the Hittite sovereign to Niqmaddu, king of Ugarit, also discovered in the House of ʾUrtēnu and which deals explicitly with sacrificial matters (RS 94.2179 [RSO XXIII 2]). The entry in lines 18–19 may indicate that the distributions were somehow connected with this situation, though none of the items mentioned is of a narrowly sacrificial nature, and that Ṯarrānu was in charge because he normally handled cultic matters. No such explanation is obvious for the presence of a woman who is only remarkable, at least in the present state of our documentation, for her obscurity – nor is there any obvious explanation for why her name is the only logo-syllabically inscribed item in the text.48 2.6. khnm in a Letter RS 94.2391:10' (RSO XVIII 59, KCAT 2.97): {(9') k . tš⸢--⸣[…] (10') k⸢h⸣nm . l pnh}. The reconstruction of ‘priests’ is plausible because the other possible readings, with {p} or {ỉ}, seem to provide no solution. The phrase occurs at the end of a sentence, the beginning of which is lost in a long lacuna (these are the first lines on the reverse of a tablet of which the lower part is broken away). The letter is from a certain ʿUzzīnu, perhaps the ‘governor’ (sākinu) known by that name, to the king, written from Qadesh (on the Orontes) concerning the writer’s trip and that of another official, whose name was written {ủryn} and perhaps pronounced ʾŪrîyānu, to Damascus. Unfortunately, most of the information regarding what must have been diplomatic expeditions is lost, and the end of the paragraph mentioning the priests, which seems to refer to a situation with which the king is dealing in Ugarit, is obscure. 2.7. {LÚ.SANGA} as the Title of a Principal Party in a Legal Text RS 11.856:2 (RA 38 [1941] 4–6): {mmil-ki-SUM DUMU mmi-⸢x⸣[…] (2) LÚ.SANGA ša dIM URU.⸢x⸣[…]} ‘Milkīyatanu, son of Mi[…] (2) priest of the Weather Deity of/in the town of ⸢x⸣[…]}’. This priest is one of the principal parties in a formal legal text (i.e., before witnesses), but of a private nature (i.e., not before the king), recording the sale by the priest of a named human female ({fne-ši-ta}) to a sākinu who bore the Hurrian name of Ewrikili. The left side of the tablet is extant, but a break that is progressively wider from top to bottom has taken the right side of the tablet and, moreover, the surface of the obverse is worn in spots. For the latter reason, the editor (Virolleaud) did not propose a full reading of the operational verb in line 3, transcribing it by {ip-[ ]}. Nougayrol did not re-edit this text in PRU III as he did several others published earlier by Virolleaud, but he did cite it in his study of text types and vocabulary and at one point he provided a more complete reading of this verb, i.e., as {ip-[šu]r}, from pašāru, ‘to sell, to part with (for compensation)’.49 The other break of importance for understanding the text is at the end of line 2, where only the left part of the first sign designating the word after {URU}, normally a toponym, is preserved. The only explicit 48

For a philological commentary on the names and the plausible proposal that the two texts from the House of ʾUrtēnu represent aspects of the same situation, see Burlingame, ZA 110 (2020) 200–201. 49 PRU III (1955) 35 n. 2. Cf. van Soldt, UF 34 (2002) 813.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

395

reading of the sign of which I am aware is Lipiński’s, who proposed to read {ḫ[al-ba]}, i.e. the well known ‘Weather Deity of Aleppo’, attested in Ugaritic ritual texts as bʿl ḫlb.50 The reading is highly unlikely, however, because, as may be seen on Virolleaud’s copy (and as I have confirmed on a photograph done by the Projet PhoTEO of the Mission de Ras Shamra), the sign does not consist of the two successive horizontal wedges set on the same plane (like Ugaritic {ả}) characteristic of {ḫal}; rather, in this case, the head of the second wedge is set on the upper edge of the first wedge and offset to the right.51 The reading here of ‘Ugarit’, that has also been considered,52 is also epigraphically unlikely because the only possible reading of the damaged sign ({ú}, often used to express the first syllable of the toponym) does not normally present the profile just indicated for the upper wedge visible here, but the opposite, i.e., the second wedge is placed on the lower edge of the first and slightly to the right.53 The authors cited to this point, in particular Lipiński, assume that the phrase {dIM URU.⸢x⸣[…]} refers to a manifestation of the Weather Deity defined by a town name, of which, among the seven manifestations of Baʿlu that appear in the primary list of divinities corresponding to a sacrificial rite,54 only two are so defined, Baʿlu ʾUgārit and Baʿlu Ḫalab.55 If my epigraphic observations are correct, and neither of those place names was present in this text, then we must conclude either that the Weather Deity of another town was named here, or that it is the town of residence of the priest that is designated, i.e., ‘the priest of the Weather Deity (in) the town of X’. The present evidence as just discussed appears to favor this second approach, but only a well preserved attestation of the priest and his titles would resolve the question with any finality. I maintain this text in the category of texts from Ugarit that mention priests who were functioning in the kingdom primarily because a known sākinu of Ugarit was the purchaser, and it appears not unlikely that the seller was a resident in the kingdom of Ugarit, rather than a foreigner. If we are indeed dealing with a priest of the kingdom of Ugarit, the divine name corresponding to {dIM} was plausibly Baʿlu; and if the town mentioned was that in which the priest carried out his duties, the Ugaritic behind the logo-syllabic formulation was more probably a gentilic than the town name functioning as an adverbial accusative. This is the only textual datum plausibly reflecting the cultic system in the kingdom of Ugarit that explicitly links a priest with a specific deity in a specific town and, though one should not put too much emphasis on a single datum, it may be taken as an indication that the Ugaritic khn normally functioned primarily, like the šangû, in a specific sanctuary,56 rather than as part of a general corps that was shuffled from cultic event to cultic event as needed. 50

OLA 23 (1988) 137. Compare Virolleaud’s copy of the partially preserved sign in question (RA 38 [1941] 4) with Nougayrol’s representation of {ḫal} in, for example, RS 16.144:2 (PRU III 76, copy pl. L), or with photographic reproductions of three examples of that sign in Ernst-Pradal, Scribes (2019) 159. 52 Virolleaud translated “de la ville [d’Ugarit(?)]” (RA 38 [1941] 6); cf. Schloen, House of the Father (2001) 224–25; Clemens, Sources (2001) 637–38. 53 See the example of {ú} in Virolleaud’s copy of the first text published in the same article (RA 38 [1941] 2: RS 10.046:5), many examples of the sign in PRU III (one in the word ‘Ugarit’ in the text published just before the one cited in note 51, that is, RS 15.091:3, PRU III, p. 75, copy pl. XX). Ernst-Pradal, Scribes (2019) 363–65, offers multiple photographic reproductions of {ú} and describes it as showing a left side identical to the following sign treated, that is, {ga} (pp. 366–67); with very few exceptions, the examples of these two signs show the lower of the two horizontal wedges set slightly to the right. 54 RS 1.017 (CTA 29, KTU 1.47) and parallel texts, with the corresponding sacrificial rite set out in RS 24.643:1–12 (Ugaritica VV 9, KTU 1.148) and with a more explicit set of manifestations in the final rite on this tablet, lines 23–45). For a basic presentation of the textual data, see Pardee, Ritual and Cult (2002) 12–16, 44–49. 55 See my summary discussion in Textes rituels (2000) 301–2 (the attestations of the manifestations of Baʿlu discussed there may be found in the various indices). 56 For the well attested link between the Mesopotamian {SANGA}/šangû and a given deity/temple, see Renger, ZA 59 (1969) 113–16. Arnaud, SMEA 37 (1996) 58, for whom the khnm were “administrateurs” and the qdšm “prêtres,” assumes that the functional distribution of the khnm /{SANGA} corresponded to the Mesopotamian pattern, but he does not cite this one textual datum that might be taken as supporting the view. Because the equivalent of the so-called “temple economy” of Mesopotamia did not exist in the Levant, the Ugaritic priest’s function in connection with a particular deity’s “house” cannot have been primarily the administration of the temple’s land holdings – indeed, the data for priestly involvement in agricultural pursuits are very thin (see §4.1.9). His administrative functions would plausibly have had to do with the organization of the various cultic activities that took place in the temple that he served and with 51

396

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

2.8. A {SANGA} as the Author of a Letter The editor of RS 17.428 (PRU VI 9) read line 1: {mG[A]L(?) SANGA(?)-m[a…]}, interpreting the Personenkeil as being used in place of {LÚ} and the compound logogram as meaning “Grand-prêtre.”57 The use of {GAL} as the equivalent of {UGULA} is not well attested at Ugarit, and the form of the sign does not suggest that reading – indeed it is closer to {LÚ} than it is to the form of {GAL} as used at Ugarit.58 The sign read as {SANGA} is closer to the expected form, but Nougayrol indicated his own dubiety by the use of a question mark. My first impulse was to place this text among the unsubstantiated claims for a reading ‘priest’. But I eventually decided to include it here under valid examples of {SANGA}, rather than in §2.10 as an example of terms for the ‘chief’ of the priestly corporation or than rejecting it altogether. This decision was not based on examination of photographs because I have been unable to locate any, but on the fact that van Soldt indicated in his dissertation that he had collated the text,59 and in a later publication he referred to the author of the letter as a “priest,” but not as a ‘high priest’.60 If the relevant sign is indeed {SANGA}, and that sign does not represent a personal name,61 then this letter shows a priest dealing with the sākinu as an equal, for he addresses him as ‘my brother’ (l. 3) and includes a reference to his own well-being before asking about his correspondent’s, a feature that often accompanies explicit expressions of equal status.62 This fact has been taken as a sign of the high social status of the high priest (i.e., accepting the editor’s reading and interpretation), because the sākinu was “the highest official of the country,” as Heltzer put it.63 But in fact, as van Soldt’s study of “The position of the sākinu of Ugarit in the Syrian hierarchy” made clear, we dispose of virtually no data on the forms of address used for the sākinu by fellow members of the royal administration because most of the epistolary documents addressed to this official came from outside the kingdom, and in these letters the forms of address tend to mirror the relative status of Ugarit and the kingdom where the letter originated.64 Because of the uncertainty of the reading to the left of {SANGA} and because of the loss of the end of that line, we are in no position to say anything about what made this priest consider himself an equal of the sākinu. 2.9. khn as a Personal Name RS 17.246:5 (PRU II 79, KTU 4.282): {šỉrm . šd . khn} ‘two šỉr-measures of arable land (belonging to) khn’. Although the personal name written {khn} is not attested elsewhere in Ugaritic (for doubtful syllabic examples, see the previous text and further below), the fact that the other protagonists in this text are designated by name makes it plausible that this line does not mean that ‘two šỉr-measures of arable land’ belonged to an unnamed priest.65 If this analysis is correct, it remains uncertain whether the name was pronounced kāhinu or was formed on some other pattern. contributing his part to the organization of collective events, all this under the general leadership of the chief of the priests (see below, §2.10, §4.3.2). 57 Nougayrol, PRU VI (1970) 12, particularly note 2: “Pour cet emploi du déterminatif des Np. à la place du déterminatif de Ne., cf. ci-dessus 4, n. 2.” 58 Nougayrol’s transcription is ambiguous: “rab” could be either {RAB} (Labat #149) used syllabically or {GAL} (Labat #343) read as a logogram for Akkadian rabû (so indicated, PRU VI, p. 163). Huehnergard indicated the first reading as the only one in usage at Ugarit (Akkadian of Ugarit [1989] 370), most authors, including CAD Š I 379, the second. Compare the examples of {RAB} and {GAL} provided in Ernst-Pradal, Scribes (2019) 287 and 398–99, respectively, with Nougayrol’s copy of the sign, where it will be seen that neither corresponds particularly closely to what Nougayrol copied. For a thorough discussion of the epigraphic problems and the solutions proposed up to the time of his study, see Clemens, Sources (2001) 822–23. 59 Studies (1991) 588 (the asterisk to the left of the RS-number indicates collation: p. 525). 60 UF 34 (2002) 808, 821, 822. 61 Clemens’ preferred solution (reference note 58). 62 Pardee, Fronzaroli (2003) 450, 464. 63 Internal Organization (1982) 136; see also Lipiński, OLA 23 (1988) 130. Both appear to have assumed that it was the status of high priest that made this individual the equal of the sākinu. 64 UF 34 (2002) 820–23. 65 See my re-edition of the text in Or 79 (2010) 343–57, with comments to this line on p. 355.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

397

2.10. rb khnm ‘Chief of the Priests’ This title written alphabetically appears in three types of text: in the address of a letter, in the colophon to a mythological text in which are set down the titles of a certain ảtn, and in epigraphs on five bronze tools discovered in the “House of the High Priest” during the first season of excavations, one of the five including the personal name ḫrṣn. Both of the priestly names are indicated without vocalization because more than one form of the name is attested in syllabic writings, and the exact form of the alphabetically written names is thus uncertain. What has generally been taken as the logo-syllabic equivalent of rb khnm is also found in the partially restored seal clause of a legal text. All the passages will be presented first, then the term rb /rabbu/, lit. ‘great one’, will be discussed. 2.10.1. rb khnm in a Letter RS 1.018:1 (CTA 55, KTU 2.4): {(1) l . rb . khnm (2) rgm ⸢-?⸣[…] (3) tḥm . ⸢-⸣[…]} to the chief of the priests say: Message of [X …]’.66 It is clear that the chief of the priests was not addressed by name and that the selfidentification of the writer may not be restored with any degree of certainty.67 The lower part of the tablet has disappeared, taking much of the body of the letter. In the next-to-the-last paragraph on the reverse, the phrase šd gṯr is preserved, probably ‘field(s) of (the god) Gaṯaru’, and, in the last, the writer asks the addressee to appoint two persons and to put ‘in their hands’ (bdhm) Gaṯaru and Baʿlu, almost certainly the sacred effigies of these divinities.68 We thus have an explicit datum indicating that the chief of the priests was the one to address when it was deemed necessary to relocate sacred items (but for reasons not stated in the text). Moreover, nothing is said in this text about selecting persons from the ranks of the qdšm to accomplish this text – though it is possible that the two persons named, ʾIḫîqāmu and Yatarhaddu, belonged to that professional group.69 The circumstances are lost to us, but the text does make it clear that one of the functions of the administrative category known as khnm, in particular their chief, was to organize the manipulation of sacred objects – not surprising but not indicated anywhere else in our documentation.

66

As there is no epistolary formula that fits between the verb ‘Say!’ and the word for ‘Message’, what may or may not be a genuine trace of a sign after the word rgm in line 2 is not represented in the translation. 67 The reading {⸢m⸣[lk]}, ‘the king’, that one encounters in CAT/KCAT (the reading and the interpretation were set forth by Dietrich and Loretz, Jahwe [1992] 70–74, and adopted by Watson, JNSL 25/2 [1999] 4) is only a guess and, if the reconstruction of the first sign as {⸢m⸣}, which is not implausible, is correct, the restoration as a personal name is preferable because it is highly unlikely that the king would have placed the mention of the chief of the priests in first position because the order of mention of the correspondents in the epistolary address is determined by rank, and it is unlikely that the king would have ranked himself below the head of the priestly corporation (Roche, Prosopographie [2005] 124). Further down in the letter, the writer refers to the addressee as ‘my brother’ (l. 19' {ủḫy} = l. 18 in KTU), a further indication that the king was not the author, for only fellow kings addressed each other as ‘brother’ (we have no cases in Ugaritic of dialogue between a king and a blood brother – the explanation offered by Dietrich and Loretz of the reconstruction is part of what is in fact an unlikely hypothesis). 68 See Pardee, OLA 55 (1993) 304. There is nothing in the text that supports Lipiński’s interpretation of this paragraph as a request that the field(s) of Gaṯaru be returned to the two individuals named (OLA 23 [1988] 131). Nor does his view that “at least some members of the priestly class made their living from the temple fields” say anything peculiar about the priests, for it is well known that several texts refer to fields belonging to bnš mlk, ‘men of the king’ (see van Soldt, Studies [1991] 36–39; Pardee, Semitica 49 [1999] 19–64). However appealing the notion may be that the priests lived from the altar (Lipiński, ibid., 138–42), there is nothing explicit in the texts to support the claim, nor is their benefitting from properties held in the name of one deity or another significantly different, as far as we can tell, from the income from properties held by other professional groups. We find no explicit data in the textual corpus from Ras Shamra to enable us to reconstruct the relationship between a given priest or group of priests, a given god, a given temple, and a given piece of arable land. 69 That hypothesis does appear, however, to be somewhat at odds with my proposal that the verb expressing the selection of these two individuals, yhbṭ, be denominative from hbṭn, a poorly attested and poorly defined social group (Textes rituels [2000] 866).

398

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

2.10.2. rb khnm in a Colophon RS 2.[009]+ vi 56 (CTA 6, KTU 1.6): {(55) … ảtn . prln . rb (56) khnm rb . nqdm} ‘ảtn, diviner, chief of the priests, chief of the cultic herdsmen’. This sequence of titles appears in the longest of the colophons placed by the scribe-author ʾIlîmilku at the end of some of his poetic compositions, this one at the end of the last tablet of the Baʿlu-Cycle.70 I have proposed that the colophon applies three identifiers to each of the persons named: ʾIlîmilku himself was a scribe, a (former) student of ảtn, and ṯaʿʿāyu-official of Niqmaddu. The two persons of whom he declares himself the protegé were each ascribed three titles, ảtn the three indicated here above, Niqmaddu those of ‘king of Ugarit, lord of yrgb, master of ṯrmn’.71 The name of this chief of the priests is linguistically Hurrian, written syllabically with {ta}, {te}, or {tu} in the second syllable,72 and the first of his titles is also of Hurrian origin and now attested in a very different type of text from Ras Ibn Hani.73 His list of titles is one of only a few explicit indicators from the texts discovered at Ras Shamra that an individual could accumulate titles (for the other examples and one from outside the kingdom of Ugarit, see below). The grouping attested here may be taken as an additional indicator that the nqdm exercised a profession having to do with cultic practice. It may be noted further that ʾIlîmilku’s self-identification first as ‘scribe’ (spr), then as ‘student of ảtn’ (lmd ảtn), is often taken as meaning that he learned the scribal trade from ảtn, which should mean in turn that ảtn himself was a scribe, though that is not stated explicitly in the colophon – if that was indeed the case, this person would be the only one known to have exercised four important functions in the royal administration. Finally, ʾIlîmilku’s third self-description, ṯʿy, appears also to reflect at least in part a cultic function because a ṯaʿû-sacrifice is well attested, and a term for a cultic official, written with final {-y}, therefore perhaps /ṯaʿʿāyu/ is attested twice, once with reference to sacrifices taking place at the ‘house of the ṯaʿʿāyu’ (RS 24.266:7 [Ugaritica VIIH 31–39, KTU 1.119]), once with the function of an exorcist (RIH 78/20:2 [Syria 57 [1980] 346–50, CAT 1.169]).74

70

This person is mentioned in two other ʾIlîmilku colophons, both times apparently only as {ảtn prln}. In the first, written on the left edge of the first tablet of the ʾAqhatu-Cycle (RS 2.[004] left edge, CTA 1.17), only {[…]prln} is preserved, but the surface to the right is preserved, so it is certain that his additional titles were not indicated. In the second, a mythological tablet inscribed by ʾIlîmilku that was discovered in the House of ʾUrtēnu (RS 92.2016:40' [RSO XIV 53, KCAT 1.179]), the last words of the line are {ảtn . prln}, and the beginning of the following line is lost, but the space available there is certainly insufficient for both of his other titles, and probably even for the first – therefore, even though the restoration of the beginning of that line is unknown, it must be judged very unlikely that it included the signs {rb khnm}. 71 ʾIlîmilku’s function as “author-scribe,” i.e., as an oral poet who set some of his poems in writing, as well as the structure of his longest colophon just described were proposed by Pardee, Autorité (2014) 35–57. It goes without saying that other views of these subjects exist and are addressed at least briefly in the study just cited. The dating of ʾIlîmilku and hence of his royal patron to the late thirteenth century has come to the fore since the discovery of the tablet produced by this scribe in the House of ʾUrtēnu that was referenced in the previous note: see the discussion of the dating of the invention of the alphabetic writing system with which ʾIlîmilku worked to the thirteenth century by Pardee, Gragg (2007) 181–200, some further refinements in idem, Or 79 (2010) 55–73 and pl. XI, and the more recent and comprehensive view in Hawley, Pardee, and Roche-Hawley, JNEH 2 (2015) 229–67. 72 Gröndahl, Personennamen 1967) 222 – on the third orthography, see Berger, WdO 5 (1969–1970), p. 281, who observes that the orthography with {tu} should not be used as a linguistic feature distinguishing {at-tu-nu} from the name written {ad-du-nu}. 73 For the identification of prln as the Hurrian equivalent of Akkadian bārû, see van Soldt, UF 21 (1989) 365–68; for prln in RIH 83/01 (RIH II 36), see Pardee, Devins (2015) 171–76. For the link between divination and the sacrificial cult provided by the use of DBḤ, ‘sacrifice’, in textual references to both types of ritual, see Pardee, Textes rituels (2000) 771 n. 10; idem, Ritual and Cult (2002) 132 n. 5. 74 Text references for ṮʿY in Pardee, Textes rituels (2000) 1212. Van Soldt has proposed, for reasons of distribution of the titles ‘scribe’ and {SUKKAL} in the logo-syllabic texts, that the appearance of ṯʿy in ʾIlîmilku’s colophon after ‘scribe’ may be taken to show that ṯʿy was the Ugaritic equivalent of {SUKKAL} (UF 20 [1988] 313–21); this identification was taken up and developed by Mouton and Roche-Hawley, Devins (2015) 191–204. At the present, however, there is no way of determining with certainty whether this cultic official also exercised the important political function of the {SUKKAL} or whether the distribution of terms in the colophon is coincidental.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

399

2.10.3. rb khnm Engraved on Five Bronze Tools 2.10.3.1. rb khnm Engraved on a Bronze Adze-Head Preceded by a Personal Name RS 1.[052] (KTU 6.10): {m?ḫrṣn rb khnm} ‘ḫrṣn, chief of the priests’. This and the following four objects were discovered during the first season of excavations among a cache of tools and weapons buried under the doorway from one of the inner rooms of the House of the High Priest to another (the door-sill itself was not found and was presumed to have been of wood).75 All five have a socket for inserting a handle, this and three of the following for setting the blade at a 90o angle to the handle and the cutting edge perpendicular to the handle (i.e., the definition of ‘adze’, as opposed to ‘axe’ or ‘hatchet’, of which the blade is also set at a 90o angle to the handle but the cutting edge is parallel to the handle76), the fifth, on which see below, with a socket for setting the blade as a continuation of the handle, i.e., like the blade of a shovel, but much narrower, for the cutting edge of all five of these tool-heads measures between 6 cm and 6.5 cm. The narrow blade of this and the other adze-heads indicates that they were of the sort intended for wood-working or stone-working, not as garden tools. It is generally agreed today that the first word of the inscription provides the name of the chief of the priests, but the combination of a four-sign word and the form of the tool at first led the decipherers of the script down a false path: the word was identified with Hebrew grzn, which, in the Siloam Tunnel Inscription, designates the tool used to carve out that tunnel.77 The identification for the correctly read word ḫrṣn as the name of the priest goes back at least to 1945,78 was adopted tentatively by Gordon in 1947,79 not maintained in his translation of the Ugaritic texts published in 1949,80 but was finally placed in

75

For the official archaeological publication of this group of objects, see Schaeffer, Ugaritica III (1956), 251–75, with line drawings and photographs; the precise find-spot is shown on the plan p. 252, fig. 216. Schaeffer rejected the identification of the placement of these objects as “une cachette établie hâtivement à l’approche d’un danger” in favor of “un dépôt de fondation ou d’offrande,” his only argument, however, being that the objects had been carefully arranged (p. 253: “son contenu était soigneusement rangé”). The question is not without interest, because, if the objects were in fact hidden under the wooden door-sill, relatively easy to remove and put back, that would constitute an argument in favor of identifying ḫrṣn as the last serving chief of the priests when the city of Ugarit was partially abandoned, partially destroyed early in the twelfth century B.C. Despite Catling’s argument (Cypriot Bronzework [1964] 82, 202–3) that one of the objects in particular, the jar stand (often depicted, see Schaeffer’s publication thereof, ibid., 262, 265; photograph p. 274, fig. 238; line drawings, including a side view of the stand and of two of the pendants in larger scale, and top view including the three-legged base on which the three legs of the stand are set, the purpose of which was to increase the strength and the stability of the stand, p. 267 fig. 232; color photograph in Aux origines [2004] 191, catalogue #180), is to be dated to late in the thirteenth or early in the twelfth century, both Courtois, SDB (1979) 1157, and Lipiński, OLA 23 (1988) 129 n. 28, reject Catling’s dating without any attempt to rebut his comparative-archaeological arguments. Of course, the collection of objects need not be chronologically homogeneous: if it was indeed a collection, it could include “heirlooms” (a term used by Sauvage and Hawley, see below, note 93) that originally belonged to a predecessor of the priest in office when the cache was deposited under the doorway as well as more recently produced pieces – according to Schaeffer, ibid., p. 256, and Courtois, ibid., col. 1156, the fabrication of the four swords in the collection was not complete (“inachevées”), an indication that not all the pieces had been handed down. 76 Though Schaeffer consistently used the correct French term “herminette” (and that from the very beginning: see L’Illustration 4519 [12 October 1929] 405), one occasionally encounters “hache” in French, “Beil” in German (i.e. a cutting tool, but commonly used for the blade of an axe). Schaeffer reported that the cache also included twenty-seven “haches,” all without a socket and a cutting edge roughly 7 cm wide (Ugaritica III [1956] 261). 77 See Bauer’s description of his following the false path: Das Alphabet (1932) 8–9. He concluded by maintaining the identification of newly read {ḫrṣn} as the name of the tool, citing Aramaic ḥaṣṣīnā as a similar form. In the first edition of Gordon’s handbook of Ugaritic, he was still translating by “adze” with no hesitation (Ugaritic Grammar [1940] 44 [§7.21], 99 [§14.344]). 78 De Langhe, Les textes, vol. I, p. 207. 79 Ugaritic Handbook, p. 191 (§17.1): “name & title of owner inscribed on adze”, p. 232 (§18.795): “(if not ‘adze’) n. of high priest.” 80 Ugaritic Literature, p. 108: “The word for ‘adze’ is ḫrṣn, which has been mistaken by some authorities for the personal name Ḥrẓn because of a syllabic writing of the latter that could ambiguously represent either combination of Ugaritic letters.”

400

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

the mainstream of Ugaritic scholarship in Ginsberg’s review of the latter work.81 The remaining question is whether the vertical incision before the name82 corresponds to the vertical stroke used as a determinative before names of human males in the logo-syllabic script (the Personenkeil), as Ginsberg suggested tentatively in the review to which reference has just been made. There is a broad consensus today in favor of the identification,83 but Tropper in 2012 remained unconvinced.84 Indeed, the purely epigraphic problem is that the person doing the inscribing did not represent the true triangular shape of a wedge inscribed in clay with a square-headed stylus, as was done with all the alphabetic signs – and the most cursory glance at a tablet inscribed in the logo-syllabic script alongside an alphabetically inscribed text will leave no doubt that most of the wedges in the former show a true triangular shape very much like the wedges of the alphabetic script. One may always counter this observation by noting that the logo-syllabic Personenkeil is usually very narrow, and the person doing the inscribing may simply have chosen to reflect that fact by not representing triangularity in the same fashion as for the other signs. However that may be, the best photographs show that this mark was not accidental (it is deeply and regularly incised), that it does not show the triangular outline that one sees for each wedge of the alphabetic signs, but that it does show a somewhat irregular but basically flat top roughly one-third as wide as the top wedge of the sign to its immediate right, with very little taper for most of its length, but a sharp taper to a point at the bottom.85 Finally, the syllabic data for vocalizing the name of this chief of the priests appear too diverse to provide a solid basis for adding vowels to the consonantal skeleton {ḫrṣn}. Two are known from logo-syllabic texts published already in the ’30s of the last century,86 a third attested in texts from the palace discovered after the war,87 and a fourth known from texts found in the House of ʾUrtēnu that have only been published in transcription, but in this last case the person in question corresponds almost certainly to the one designated in alphabetic script by the signs {ḥrẓn}88 and is thus to be excluded from consideration for the vocalization 81

JAOS 70 (1950) 160, noting that the “syllabary is unable to express” the alphabetic distinction between ḥrẓn and ḫrṣn, so one of the syllabically written personal names may correspond to ḥrẓn, the other to ḫrṣn. For a history of the discussion in re ḫrṣn, see Bordreuil, Loretz (1998) 127–32. See below, note 88, for new data on the name ḥrẓn. 82 Visible on virtually all of the published photographs: see in Schaeffer’s edition, Ugaritica III (1956) 266 fig. 231. For a recent photograph done by the Projet PhoTEO de la Mission de Ras Shamra in which the vertical incision is well highlighted, see Bordreuil, PIHANS 119 (2012) 2 fig. 1. 83 See Bordreuil’s last statement, published post mortem, UF 45 (2014) 338. 84 Grammatik2, p. 20 (§21.232): “Die Form des betreffenden Keils läßt jedoch an dieser Interpretation zweifeln, handelt es sich doch um einen sehr kleinen, tief in der Zeile plazierten Keil (nach Art eines ‘Merkzeichens’).” This formulation is taken over verbatim from the original edition (2000). One might query the use of “Keil” for the mark on the tool, for this word for ‘nail’ was, of course, the basis for the composite term Keilschrift, ‘cuneiform’, and this sign has no head to it, i.e., the significant width of the head of the wedge that Assyriologists traditionally represent as a ‘head’ with a long thin tail (like a modern nail, not like most nails used for wood constructions made prior to the twentieth century that did not have a distinct head wider than the body of the nail). 85 As Lipiński has correctly observed (OLA 23 [1988] 127), there is no basis whatsoever for the reading and interpretation of the inscription with the preposition l, ‘(belonging) to’, preceding rb khnm (indicated explicitly by Heltzer, Internal Organization [1982] 136) – it is probably unfair to deduce from the phrase “dédiés au grand prêtre” used by Courtois (SDB 9 [1979] 1156), who was not a philologist, that he was assuming the presence of the preposition in the inscription. 86 The first shows {a} in the second syllable: RS 8.145:11 {DUMU ḫa-ra-ṣi-na} (genitive case) published by ThureauDangin in Syria 18 (1937) 246 (the third sign is indeed {ṣi} [Labat #147], not “ZI” [Labat #84], as is indicated by del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Dictionary3 [2015] 403), the second {u} in that syllable: RS [Varia 3]:11 {mÌR.DINGIR DUMU ḫa-ru-ze-en-ni} (genitive case) and line 22 {uz-zi-nu DUMU ḫa-ru-ze-en-ni} (both genitive case), published by Thureau-Dangin in Syria 15 (1934) 137–46 (the third sign of the name is indeed {zi/ze} [Labat #84]). 87 RS 15.109+:13 (PRU III 103); RS 15.155:13 (PRU III 118); RS 17.430 iii 5 (PRU VI 83): written {mḫu-ra-ṣa-na} (genitive case), and the third sign of the name is indeed {ṣa} (Labat #586), in the first two texts; only {ḫu-r[a…]} is preserved in the third, without the Personenkeil. This is the only form for which a Semitic etymology appears clear, for the Ugaritic word for ‘gold’ is shown by syllabic representation to show the /u-a/ pattern, and the name may well, therefore, show that pattern plus the /-ānu/ derivational suffix. The second name cited in the previous note could show the Canaanite pattern /ḫarūṣ-/, but the ending {-e-en-ni} looks very Hurrian (see del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Loretz [1998] 177: “stark hurrisierend”). 88 Malbran-Labat and Roche, TMO 47 (2008) 256, indicate that a {mDUMU-ḫur-ṣi-na} is attested in RS 94.2593, RS 94.2356, and RS 94.2490 (some of the attestations partially preserved), three very similar lists of persons involved in

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

401

of ḫrṣn.89 The first of the texts cited in note 87 that mention {mḫu-ra-ṣa-na} places the event recorded under both Niqmêpaʿ and his son ʿAmmiṯtamru, the second only to this ʿAmmiṯtamru, while the third contains no explicit attribution. RS 8.145 also bears no explicit royal attribution, but van Soldt opines that the scribe of the text, Burqānu, “most probably lived during the reign” of ʿAmmiṯtamru II90 – which, if correct, would mean that two of the attested syllabic forms are dated to that king and thus render more or less arbitrary the identification of ḫrṣn with one or the other even if this chief of the priests is to be dated to their period. The text published earlier by Thureau-Dangin was purchased in Lattakia in 1933 and in all likelihood was taken from Ras Shamra either by a worker during earlier excavations or discovered on the site by a local inhabitant between archaeological campaigns.91 It bears no explicit dating but contains a good number of personal names, so a thorough prosopographic study might achieve at least a tentative date. Not only are several possible bases for vocalization of ḫrṣn provided by the syllabic writings, but not all the attested forms are certainly Semitic: though the derivation from ḫrṣ, ‘gold’, is simply assumed by some, one of the forms shows the ending /-enni/ that appears very Hurrian.92 It must be concluded that the number of forms that could correspond to ḫrṣn is too great to allow for an identification of the chief of the priests with any one of these other persons, so none may be used as a pattern for vocalizing the alphabetically written name, certainly not as a basis for dating the inscriptions (as we have seen above, note 75, the archaeological dating of the cache and of the objects included therein is debated). One plausible approach sees the five engravings as representing one aspect of the experimentation that took place at a time when the alphabetic writing system was still new.93 According to this hypothesis, ḫrṣn would have served in the middle of the thirteenth century and hence would have preceded ảtn as chief of the priests.94 Others of the objects may have been produced at a later time, down to shortly before the demise of the kingdom of Ugarit, a possibility suggested by the unfinished state of some of the weapons. On the question of the function of the five inscriptions, see further below, after a discussion of the other inscribed tool-heads.

providing grain for the upkeep of the royal equids, each time followed by a line containing two {MIN} signs (‘ditto’); p. 258, they cite a {DUMU mḫur-ṣi-na} in RS 94.2415 and a {mḫur-ṣi-na} in RS 94.2431, these two texts showing a different distribution of persons also involved in the grain trade. These are compared pp. 262–63 with “bn ḫrṣn” in RS 94.2426 (RSO XVIII 21, KCAT 4.839), a text having to do with chariots (heading partially broken), but the entry there is in fact {ṯn . bn . ḥrẓn[…]} (l. 5). This reference to ‘two sons of ḥrẓn’ makes the identification with the persons recorded in the two lines devoted to sons of {ḫur-ṣi-na} in the three texts laid out on p. 256 as solid as one could wish, and it provides also a plausible identification of one of these sons with the {⸢n⸣rn . bn ḥrẓn} named in RS 34.121:1 (RSO VII 85, KCAT 4.759), another text from the House of ʾUrtēnu. Also plausible but not so obvious is the identification of one of these sons with a bn ḥrẓn who appears in texts from the tenth and eleventh campaigns (including one of the texts considered here: RS 11.715+ v 10 {bn . ḥrẓn} in a list of mrủ skn) and in a text from the twenty-second campaign (RS 22.004:3 [KTU 4.711]). 89 The etymology of the name ḥrẓn is uncertain (see del Olmo Lete, Dictionary3 [2015] 368), but the new data from the House of ʾUrtēnu do at least dissociate that form from the previously attested syllabic vocalizations (thus Lipiński’s hypothesis, OLA 23 [1988] 129 n. 26, that ḥrẓn would correspond to “DUMU mḪa-ra-ṣe-na / mḪa-ru-ṣé-en-ni,” is weakened by the new data from the House of ʾUrtēnu). 90 Studies (1991) 27. The tablet was discovered on the southwest slope of the Acropolis (see TEO, p. 45, explanations of the excavator’s varying terminology on pp. 43, 44; area corresponding to “C” on Schaeffer’s plan in Syria 17 [1936] pl. XXIII after p. 146), an area where relatively few inscribed objects were discovered and these at varying depths, indicative of a mixed archaeological context (see details in TEO, p. 45–47). 91 Thureau-Dangin, Syria 15 (1934) 137. 92 See note 87. 93 Suggested by Sauvage and Hawley, RSO XXI (2013) 388–89: the engraved objects might be “heirlooms,” part of a collection including items produced half a century earlier. 94 As noted in the remarks to the various syllabic attestations of apparently similar names, this hypothesis provides an insufficient basis for identifying this ḫrṣn with one or the other of the persons attested in the texts from the time of the ʿAmmiṯtamru who reigned in the middle of the thirteenth century, in particular with a certain Ḫurāṣānu, one of whose properties was transferred by that king to his favorite ʿAbdīmilku (RS 15.155 [PRU III 118]), according to the assertions to that effect that one encounters (Lipiński, OLA 23 [1988] 128; Merlo, SEL 23 [2006] 56). Moreover, since no compensation is mentioned in that text, one can at least wonder whether that sort of land transfer represented standard treatment of the chief of the priests.

402

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

2.10.3.2. rb khnm ‘Chief of the Priests’ on Three Adze-Heads and a Straight Tool-Head RS 1.[051] (KTU 6.6): {rb khnm} on an adze-head; RS 1.[053] (KTU 6.7): {rb khnm} on an adze-head; RS 1.[054] (KTU 6.8): {rb khnm} on an adze-head; RS 1.[055] (KTU 6.9): {rb khnm} on a straight tool-head. The first three of these tool-heads are of the same type as RS 1.[052], i.e., in showing the basic form of an adze. The fourth is consistently described in French as a “houe,”95 but the literal translation as ‘hoe’ in English is inappropriate because that word is used for a tool of a basic adze-type, i.e., with the blade set at a 90o angle to the handle and with the working edge perpendicular to the handle, but with a blade of lighter construction than that of an adze and often wider, a ‘hoe’ being used for lighter garden work, not for woodcarving, stone-carving, or for heavier garden tasks such as up-rooting anything but weeds. RS 1.[055] and the uninscribed objects of its type discovered in the cache are too narrow to have functioned as a shovel and the form of the blade itself is very similar to that of the adze-type cutting tools.96 Perhaps it was used somewhat like a hoe, but for heavier tasks and wielded with a thrusting motion away from the user, at various angles from horizontal to vertical, even for the first rough working of stone blocks or for creating smaller vats hollowed out of the local soft limestone, difficult to produce with a standard adze-type stone-working tool because the angle of the blow is not right for producing small hollows with straight sides. The tool corresponds in basic form to what is known in American English as a “breaker bar” or a “digging bar,” according to the dialect, with the qualification that, as the name implies, this tool consists of a long metal bar with a sharp end, hence intended for heavier tasks than the tool consisting of a wooden handle and a socketed metal head.97 The function of these inscriptions has been a matter for debate: Schaeffer, followed by Courtois, referred to “Les dédicaces au Grand-prêtre d’Ugarit,”98 while Lipiński insisted that the lack of a preposition meaning ‘to’ or ‘for’ must be taken to indicate that the objects “were offerings made to a deity by the high priest.”99 In their typology of inscriptions on objects, Sauvage and Hawley established three categories: the “indirect reference,” where the object itself is not named, the “attached reference” that functioned like a modern tag attached to a container of some sort (these are the objects that traditionally bear the term “étiquette” in French), and the “direct reference,” where the inscription included the name of the object itself.100 They identified RS 01.[052] specifically as belonging to the first category in that it identified to whom the adzehead belonged; the four bearing only the inscription rb khnm would belong to the same category without the specificity of the personal name.101 One must agree with Lipiński that the objects were not dedicated to the priest, but there is no reason to accept his view that his name was on them because he had offered them to one deity or another. It appears more likely that the only function of the name was to identify the owner of 95

See, for example, the discussion of Dardaillon, Aux origines (2004) 190, accompanied by an excellent color photo p. 191. 96 The form of this blade and of the uninscribed examples of its type found in the cache is clearly depicted in the drawings in fig. 232 of the edition (drawings by G. Chenet, apud Schaeffer, Ugaritica III [1956] 267), with which may be compared the drawings of the adze-heads in fig. 233 (p. 268). 97 Catling, Cypriot Bronzework (1964) 81 (with n. 15) identifies the five objects from this hoard showing the basic morphology of RS 1.[055] (photographs Ugaritica III, p. 263 fig. 227, copies p. 267 fig. 232: 1–4, 6) as “ploughshares,” with the introductory qualification that they could have been “mounted on a knee-joint haft … and used manually as mattocks” (p. 80). To a non-specialist, this appears more plausible for the short objects with rounded corners than for the one under consideration, which shows the length and the squared corners of the tools used for working wood or stone; and the necessity that such a tool be mounted on a knee-joint haft not obvious because, as has been observed for the other four inscribed tool-heads, that basic type of tool could be and was created by the appropriate orientation of the socket. 98 Schaeffer, Ugaritica III (1956) 265; Courtois, SDB 9 (1979) 1156. Heltzer, as indicated above (note 85), cited the text with the sign {l} before {rb khnm} and translated “belonging to” (Internal Organization [1982] 136). 99 Lipiński, OLA 23 (1988) 127. 100 Calvet (2013) 382–86. 101 Ibid., p. 383.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

403

the objects. It is an entirely different question to ask why the owner had the inscriptions done, and that question is difficult to answer. I should think, however, that it has to do with the nature of the collection itself, despite the fact that only five objects bore inscriptions and only one the owner’s name. That collection was made up of weapons of various types and of tools (I include the jar stand in this category as an artistically designed but utilitarian object). Included in the tools were two objects, one end square, the other spatulated, that Schaeffer identified as tools for drilling holes (“mèches,” corresponding to the modern drill-bit),102 but which more recently have been identified as the tool used by scribes for smoothing and inscribing clay tablets, that is, the stylus.103 However symbolic the items may have been, the collection as a whole represents the interests of a wealthy official and, most certainly, land-owner, hence the many utilitarian objects, who was also involved in the intellectual currents of his time. If the items were not all produced at a single time (see §2.10.3.1), these interests may have included, in the case of ḫrṣn, the recent invention of the alphabetic writing system, and, in the case of ảtn, plausibly a successor of ḫrṣn, the career of the major author-scribe of the last decades of the thirteenth century B.C., ʾIlîmilku, most of whose principal works were found in the same house as the cache of tools and weapons.104 2.10.4. {LÚ.UGULA SANGA} ‘Chief, Priest’ in a Logo-Syllabic Legal Text RS 16.186:13' (PRU III 168): {[…]LÚ.SUKKAL LÚ.UGULA SANGA} ‘sukkallu-official, chief-priest’. As is indicated, the beginning of the line is lost, but the line as a whole was taken by the editor to be an annex to the seal clause that is very plausibly partially restored in lines 11'–12'. He restored it as consisting of a proper name followed by the patronym which would have been expressed by the logogram {LÚ.SUKKAL}.105 No reasoning was offered for why the term that normally denotes an official in the royal administration would have been used in four texts as a personal name, but it could only have been because he thought that the sukkallu-official would not have functioned also as scribe or as priest, for he changed his mind when it became clear that one person could indeed bear the titles of sukkallu and scribe.106 He was followed in the new analysis of the relevant texts by van Soldt in his study proposing that ṯʿy would have been the Ugaritic equivalent of logo-syllabic {SUKKAL}, who explicitly restores the line under discussion here as “[……] lúsukkal lúugula.sanga, ‘[PN (was) scribe], the SUKKAL, the high priest’.”107 The text dates

102

Schaeffer, Ugaritica III (1956) 261–62, with hand-drawings fig. 233, no. 11, 13 (p. 268) and photographs (fig. 237, p. 273). 103 See the history-of-research and critical study by Ernst-Pradal, Scribes (2019) 15–25, with due credit to the pioneering work of J. L. Ellison in his Harvard dissertation of 2002 (A Paleographic Study); the study includes photographs of four styli from three different campaigns at Ras Shamra (fig. 5, p. 20). 104 Especially given the fact that a tablet inscribed by ʾIlîmilku was found in the House of ʾUrtēnu (RS 92.2016 [RSO XIV 53, KCAT 1.179]), one cannot know whether this author-scribe performed his scribal activities in what is traditionally known as the House of the High Priest or whether the owner of that construction collected works that were produced elsewhere. The principal argument in favor of the former hypothesis is that ʾIlîmilku described himself as the ‘student’ of ảtn, chief of the priests and perhaps the occupant of the house when ʾIlîmilku was first ‘student’, then ‘scribe’ and ṯaʿʿāyu-official. My hypothesis that ʾIlîmilku was an author-scribe (Autorité [2014] 35–57) entails the rejection of the common view of this scribe’s work as simply copying tablets (in part because no such tablets have been discovered) and of the competing view that his role was to set in writing stories dictated by ảtn, though the only datum for rejecting that hypothesis is the colophon to RS 92.2016, in which ʾIlîmilku claims that no one taught him that work (see the discussion of these hypotheses in the study just cited). 105 Nougayrol, PRU III (1955) 168: “[Ix mâr I(?)]amilsukallu amilakil šangî.” He proposed similar restorations in three other texts where {SUKKAL} is followed by {DUB.SAR} ‘scribe’ (RS 8.207 [PRU III 34], RS 15.113:3' [PRU III 168], RS 16.148+:15' [PRU III 116]). He was followed in this interpretation of {LÚ.SUKKAL} as a personal name by Gröndahl, Personennamen (1967) 351, 426. 106 Nougayrol, Ugaritica V (1968) 304 n. 3: “D’après RS 15.131; 15.143 … ; 15.168; 18.20 … RS 17.77 ajoute au Np., non la filiation, mais le titre de ‘scribe-chambellan’ (ailleurs aussi: ‘chambellan-scribe’), au sujet duquel il y a lieu de reverser aux Ne. les sukallu de PRU III, 255.” 107 UF 20 (1988) 318–19. This restoration of the beginning of the line is plausible because probable restorations in previous lines consist of as many as six signs. The reading is also assumed by Mouton and Roche-Hawley, Devins (2015) 197.

404

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

to the time of ʾIbīrānu, third-last king of Ugarit, on the throne during the last quarter of the thirteenth century B.C., but none of the specialists in the logo-syllabic texts has, to my knowledge, suggested a name for the scribe of this text, who would also have been sukkallu and chief-priest, an accumulation of titles similar to those of ảtn discussed above (§2.10.2). The addition of this title for an official within the royal administration whose functions were not primarily in the cultic area to those attested for ảtn is important because it shows that the accumulation of titles by the chief of the priests was not limited to the cultic sphere. My translation of {LÚ.UGULA SANGA} as ‘chief-priest’ is meant to be literal because the logogram for ‘priest’ does not include the sign expressing the plural – we encountered the same scribal procedure in the logographic notation for some of the professional groups in RS 17.131 (PRU VI 93), where the fact of plurality appears certain because some of the forms are in fact Ugaritic plurals and in light of the consistent representations of the professional groups with the plural in the alphabetic texts. Thus ‘chief, priest’ almost certainly is the logographic writing corresponding to alphabetic rb khnm and it designates the administrative head of the professional group, the one responsible for official communications with the royal administration and the organization of the activities of the khnm. This brings us to what little can be said about the use of rb in Ugaritic. I will concentrate on the Ugaritic term because I claim no expertise in the logo-syllabic texts from Ugarit and will not presume to comment on the implications of the use of {UGULA} as the equivalent of rb. As regards the Ugaritic word, it is clear that it was pronounced /rabbu/, was used both as an adjective, as in mlk rb bʿly, ‘the great king, my lord’, in letters addressed to the Hittite sovereign as well as to the ruler of Egypt, and as a noun, i.e. a “substantivized adjective,” literally ‘great one’. This is undoubtedly the form in the phrase under examination here: /rabbu kāhinīma/, lit. ‘great one of the priests’. The form is used generally for the leader of socio-ethnic groups, such as the rb kṯkym108 and the rb ʿprm encountered above (RS 29.097, §2.1.2), more specifically to express the nature of an official appointment, as in rb tmtt, “salvage master,”109 or for the “person in charge” of a socially defined group like the members of a mrzḥ,110 and, finally, as an official cog in the wheel of the royal administration, as in rb khnm. Four such phrases are attested, defined here as identifying the head of a group mentioned in the various types of lists built on the terms designating the principal professional groups such as those studied above in §2.1–3.111 These are the rb khnm, the rb kzym,112 the rb nqdm already discussed above (RS 2.[009]+ vi 56, §2.10.2), and the rb ṯnnm.113 Another fully institutionalized use of rb may be recognized in rb ʿšrt, the head of a single ‘group of ten’, for these groups were registered as being in service like the principal professional groups and similar less socio-economically significant groups.114 It is at least 108

See the summary discussion by Vidal, UF 38 (2006) 703. Attested in the letter from the king of Tyre to the king of Ugarit (RS 18.031 [PRU V 59, KTU 2.38]). For the interpretation, see Pardee, COS III (2003) 94; idem, AfO online version 50 (2003–2004) 50, 146. 110 According to RS [Varia 14]:11–12 (KTU 3.9) the founder of a marziḥu-association, a certain Šamumānu, declared himself the rb of the group (see the re-edition in Bordreuil and Pardee, Manuel/Manual [2004/2009] text 40). 111 For a brief treatment of the administrative formula, see Vita, Work Force (2018) 361–62. For the attestations of rbX, see Watson, FO 55 (2018) 350–51. The one such title in both these studies that might belong to the heads of professional groups discussed hereafter is rb ḥršm in RS 15.034 (PRU II 121, KTU 4.145); because, however, there are several types of ḥršm defined by their specialty, it appears more likely that the phrase in RS 15.034 refers to the head of the small team of workers involved with the chariots referenced in this text, who are not explicitly identified as ḥrš mrkbt, rather than the administrative head of all the artisans, if indeed such a super-organization existed (as opposed to a distinct organization for each of the specialty groups – one of the many open questions regarding the formal organization of the professional groups). 112 rb kzym, the chief of the group that cared for the royal equids, often translated “grooms,” the phrase only attested once, in the economic text RS 16.193:3' (PRU II 102, KTU 4.222), of which the top and part of the left edge are destroyed, including the beginning of this line. The last paragraph of the text deals with the transfer of ownership of fields, and that may well be the case from the beginning. If so, these “grooms,” like the priests, had arable land at their disposal. 113 The Ugaritic term for ‘archer’, ṯnn, probably /ṯannānu/, is well attested in the professions lists but rb ṯnnm only once, RS 18.106+:5 (PRU V 15, KTU 4.382), another example of a title preserved at the end of a line of which most is lost. The preceding lines recorded some entity, probably individuals, who were “under the supervision of” important personages in the kingdom (mlkt, rbṣ). 114 This is clear in the recording of four such groups with their rb at the beginning of a list of professional groups in service during a particular month, the list including terms known from the sorts of list studied here above in §2.1–3, as 109

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

405

plausible, despite the small number of attested cases of the phrase rb-X for the head of one of the principal professional groups, that each such group was led by a rb who functioned as the administrative head of the group, though it is uncertain how the selection was made, i.e., did the group have any say in the nomination, or was the person simply appointed by the royal administration? Whatever the selection process may have been, it appears likely that the person heading the khnm, the qdšm, the nqdm and, plausibly, the ỉnšt, had to be amenable to the king and his administration for they were the ones responsible for organizing, supplying, and carrying out the many sacrificial rites and feasts that made up much of cultic practice in the capital. Though the calculation is fraught with difficulty because of the ambiguity of various formulations and the damaged state of many of the texts, and hence debatable, one such calculation of the numbers of bovids and ovids prescribed in the more than half-a-hundred texts dealing with sacrificial rites estimates the total at approximately 1500.115 All of these animals had to be supplied, kept until needed, led to the slaughter, slaughtered, disposed of according to the specifications of each sacrificial category, the wood supplied for the burnt offerings, the meat and by-products distributed, where that was appropriate, to the proper beneficiaries, and the whole mess cleaned up.116 And that was just the sacrificial side of a complex system operating in the principal sanctuaries, in the chapels of the palace, and in various holy places around the city and the kingdom which have left very few archaeological traces. All of this was apparently organized by the khnm and carried out by actors of uncertain identification, though the qdšm must have been involved, the inšt may well have been, and the nqdm plausibly supplied the animals117 – and, of these four groups, only one is mentioned in a ritual text, a qdš, whose task it was to sing (RS 24.256:21 [Ugaritica VIIH 21–26, KTU 1.112].118 Those directly involved in cultic affairs must have had a staff of workers to carry out the many tasks of the sacrificial system alone, and that surmise appears to be corroborated by the variable quantities of (olive) oil, from one to five twelve-liter jars, that were distributed to individual priests according to the logo-syllabic text RS 16.126B+ (§2.2.2). That, of course, would only be the proverbial tip of the iceberg of what must have been a complex system of providing for everyone involved, from the chief of each corporation, almost certainly a wealthy and respected member of society, down to the most menial worker. well as groups whose service was either transitory or of less economic importance than the groups that might properly be and often are termed “corporations” (RS 19.016 [PRU V 11, KTU 4.609]). On the structure of these ‘groups of ten’, of which in practice apparently little effort was made to maintain a membership of ten, see commentary to the most recently published texts dealing with them: RS 94.2050+ (RSO XVIII 24, KCAT 4.807) and RS 94.2064 (RSO XVIII 25, KCAT 4.841). Roche reads the signs {LÚ.MEŠ.UGULA 10}, followed by a list of persons in RS 11.787 (PRU III 194), as expressing the plural of rb ʿšrt (PIHANS 114 [2010] 110 n. 19; less explicitly, van Soldt, UF 35 [2003] 690). The social function of these ‘groups of ten’ is not clear and has been debated (for Astour, RAI 18 [1972] 16–21, they were merchants, whereas for Vita, Ejército [1995] 129–30, 180–84, they were a part of the military, a position that he has maintained consistently, for example, Les armées [2008] 62). A similar uncertainty reigns over the definition of the term ʿšrm, which does appear on the standard lists of professional groups (see Arnaud, RSO XIV [2001] 329 “militaires,” in contrast with del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Dictionary3 [2015] 186, who prefer relating ʿšrm to the root that expresses the concept of feasting). If rb ʿšrt and ʿšrm do indeed designate persons who exercise the same activity, then it appears plausible that the latter term designates the group as a whole, rb ʿšrt the divisions thereof. Arnaud has argued (RSO XIV [2001] 329) that the promotion of someone from the {LÚ.MEŠ a-ši-ri-ma} to serve {i-na LÚ.MEŠ mu-TE LUGAL} (RS 15.137, PRU III 134), which he translates as “garde du corps,” i.e., of the king, indicates that the former activity must also have had to do with wielding arms. 115 Pardee, Textes rituels (2000) 913–19. 116 As is often remarked in studies of the Ugaritic ritual text, the king was the only explicitly stated subject of the verb DBḤ, ‘to sacrifice’, in the texts prescribing the urban cult – for the text references, see Pardee, Textes rituels (2000) 1135–36. 117 This picture is reminiscent of that which emerges from the morpho-syntactic analysis of Numbers 19 (the only sort that I might be qualified to carry out: Pardee, Huehnergard [2012] 305–11), according to which Moses and Aaron entrust to Eliezer the task of sacrificing the “red heifer,” but the task of slaughtering the animal and burning the carcass is entrusted to an unnamed helper: vs. 3: ‘(someone) is to slaughter it in his presence’; vs. 5 ‘(someone) is to burn the female bovid in his sight’, the latter person later referred to as haśśōrēp, ‘the one who burned’. The priest does, however, have two active roles which have no counterparts in the Ugaritic ritual texts: he sprinkles some of the blood in the direction of the Tent of Meeting (vs. 4) and he tosses some symbolic items into the fire consuming the heifer (vs. 6). 118 Westenholz once suggested that the role of the qdšm in the Ugaritic cultic system was to perform “services similar to those that the Levites performed in Israelite worship” (HTR 82 [1989] 250).

406

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

2.11.1. Texts in Alphabetic Script Not Included Here RS 18.[375]:5' (KTU 4.481): {[…]hn 1} in an economic text. This is a small fragment preserving the lower right corner of the tablet, probably of the reverse given the uninscribed space after the last line of text, each line of writing set down on a horizontal tracing and with a logographically written number to the right. These lines were followed by what was certainly the total, inscribed in logographic numbers and set down on a horizontal tracing. Because the mention of a single priest is rare in the economic texts that record distributions or contributions, this feature clearly indicated here by the logographically written numbers, the restoration of {[… k]hn} must be judged too uncertain to merit inclusion here.119 RS 24.251:18 (Ugaritica VV 8:47; KTU 1.107:47 [CAT 1.107:18]): {[…]⸢-⸣ ṯllt . khn[…]}. The presence of the signs {khn} is certain, but the division of the signs to give a possible meaning ‘group (?) of priests’ proposed by Virolleaud in the editio princeps is not. Because this sequence of signs appears in a badly damaged section of a text having to do with divine remedies for serpent venom, where priests would have no obvious place, I have proposed to take the {k} as one of the monoconsonantal particles based on /k/, epigraphically plausible because this scribe often does not use the word-divider after monoconsonantal particles.120 The text is too fragmentary for any solution to be truly convincing, but it appears less problematic to omit this very dubious case from the texts dealing with priests than to try to explain why priests would be involved in this section that begins with the solar goddess Šapšu ‘calling out’ (QRʾ, l. 15). 2.11.2. Texts in Logo-syllabic Script Not Included Here RS 16.114 rev 15' (PRU III 34 rev 14'). The editor read {mdSANGA(?)} and interpreted it as a personal name, which would have corroborated the interpretation offered here above of {khn} in the economic text RS 17.246 as a personal name.121 That said, however, other readings of the line have been proposed. In his review of Gröndahl, who had accepted Nougayrol’s reading and interpretation of the line,122 Berger proposed to reread the logogram {SANGA} as {tu} and the sequence as a personal name {[Ì]R-AN-tu}, i.e., ʿAbdīʾiltu.123 Van Soldt once suggested that the scribe “Ili-ramu is identical with IIi-ramu son of Šapšumalku, mentioned in 16.114, rev 15', the last line of the text and the usual place for the scribe’s name,” but he did not in this first statement provide his reading.124 Some years later, he made clear that he was accepting

119

These observations on the form of the fragment and the layout of the text are based on the examination of a photograph kindly provided by J. L. Ellison. The basic transcription appeared in KTU and retained in CAT/KCAT. The presence of the colophon has been confirmed by Roche, RAI 51 (2008) 167. The restoration of {[… k]hn} in line 5' was included in the transcription in KTU/CAT/KCAT, and it was introduced into del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín’s dictionary of Ugaritic in the second edition (Dictionary2 [2003] 433) and retained in the third (Dictionary3 [2015] 429) as the common noun occurring in a broken context (though it was not indicated in either of these entries that the {k} is not extant). 120 Textes para-mythologiques (1988) 230. 121 Nougayrol’s reading of the line was {[IGI] mdSANGA(?) DUMU dUTU.LUGAL}, which he translated “Témoin : Šangu (?), fils de Šamaššarru.” He appended the following footnote: “Le dernier témoin est, en général, le scribe de l’acte. Cela paraît d’autant plus vraisemblable ici que Šamaššarru est bien connu ailleurs dans cet emploi, souvent héréditaire. Šamaššarru ayant ‘flori’ sous Niqmadu (II) et ses fils, 16.114 peut dater du règne suivant : Ammistamru (II).” 122 Personennamen (1967) 29, 191, 353. So also Huehnergard, Akkadian of Ugarit (1989) 380; del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín, Diccionario I (1996) 212 (retained in following editions); Clemens, Sources (2001) 823. 123 Berger, WdO 5 (1969–1970) 278. This proposal is not further entertained here for reasons both epigraphic (on the photographs credited here below the sign shows horizontal wedges to the left, not oblique wedges) and prosopographic (the father of the only known scribe bearing the name ʿAbdīʾiltu [RS 16.178:21, PRU III 148] is not named, whereas ʾIlînāru is known to be the son of {dUTU.LUGAL}, as we shall see; cf. van Soldt, Studies [1991] 19, 21; Ernst-Pradal, Scribes [2019] 82, 568). 124 Studies (1991) 29; see also pp. 21, 24, where this text is cited as an example of the filiation “Ili-ramu” son of “Šapšumalku.” The line number is on all three pages indicated as 15', and examination of photographs shows that numbering to be correct, for a line is partially preserved above the first line copied by the editor, who only indicated fourteen lines on the reverse – I at first thought that the line number indicated by van Soldt was a simple error, but it appears rather to

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

407

the editor’s reading/restitution of {IGI}, ‘witness’, at the beginning of the line, that he was basing his proposal on the presence of a scribe named ʾIlîrāmu in RS 18.285:20 (PRU VI 30), where the name is written {mDING]IR-ra-mu DUB.SARrú}, and that he was not only proposing the reading of the name, but that the title of ‘scribe’ would have followed on the tablet.125 Examination of photographs has led me to conclude that the name ʾIlîrāmu is indeed present, but not the logogram {DUB.SAR}, ‘scribe’. The reading appears to be {[IGI] mDINGIR-ra-mu DUMU dUTU.LUGAL}, ‘[Witness]: ʾIlîrāmu, son of {dUTU.LUGAL}’.126 There thus appears to be no doubt that the sign {SANGA} was not inscribed here, as either a proper name or a common noun.127 RS 17.371+ rev 14' (PRU IV 202–03): see following paragraph. RS 18.002:3 (PRU IV 201): {mki-li-ia LÚ.SANGA dEŠ4.DAR URU.zi-in-za-ri} ‘Killīya, priest of {dEŠ4.DAR} of/in the city of Zinzaru’; ibid. line 16: {IGI mAN-dU LÚ.MÁŠ.ŠU.GÍD.GÍD LÚ.SANGA dU} ‘Witness: {mAN-dU}, diviner, priest of {dU}’. There is no doubt about the editor’s reading of these two lines, and this document is excluded from this collection of the textual witnesses for the priests of Ugarit simply because it reflects a legal case of which the principal party identified as a priest inhabited a city that in all probability lay outside the kingdom of Ugarit and of which the ethnic makeup is unknown.128 What it does provide, therefore, is evidence for the existence of a priestly function defined by a specific deity (the logographic writing does not allow for the identification of the IŠTAR-type divinity in question) and for another who was both priest and diviner (for whom also the data are in logographic form and could refer to realities of a Semitic or non-Semitic character, though the Semitic character of the witness’ own name is established by the second reference cited here below). The obvious similarity to the status of ảtn (above §2.10.2), who was both prln and rb khnm (as well, of course, as rb nqdm), is not without importance, even if the two persons accumulated their titles in different kingdoms of the general area. Sometimes cited in comparison with the priest who served as witness in RS 18.002 is RS 17.371 + RS 18.020 rev 14' (PRU IV 202–03): {IGI mša-mu-dIM LÚ.MÁŠ.ŠU.GÍD.[GÍD]} ‘Witness: {mša-mu-dIM} diviner’, where the person is very plausibly the same as in RS 18.002:16. According to the editor’s copy and a good photograph,129 however, the space is insufficient to restore {LÚ.SANGA dU} at the end of the line.130 confirm the indication on p. 568 that he once collated the tablet. The proposal was accepted without further argumentation by Márquez Rowe, Royal Deeds (2006) 134 n. 93. 125 RAI 57 (2015) 569, in particular n. 10: “I read the name [mdi]ngir-r[a?]-mu dub.sar.rù, but this reading is not entirely sure.” 126 The name that plausibly corresponds to {špšmlk} is, in logo-syllabic script, only logographically written, hence the vocalization is not known. If the name of the scribe is indeed Ugaritic, the two most likely hypothetical vocalizations, based on the interpretation of the “meaning” of the name, are Šapšumalku, ‘Šapšu is king’ (which might be problematic because the deity Šapšu is feminine in Ugaritic), and Šapšîmilku, ‘(the god) Milku is my sun’ (see Pardee, Syria 81 [2004] 258–59). 127 One can only conclude from Nougayrol’s mistaken reading and from his copy, which shows the surface of the tablet to be in poorer condition than what is visible on photographs done in recent years, that the tablet had not yet been fully cleaned when he did his copy – this copy was as meticulous as usual, but he could only copy what he had before his eyes. My thanks to J. L. Ellison and F. Ernst-Pradal for photographs showing the tablet in its present state and to C. Roche-Hawley and R. Hawley for helping me through the reading process. 128 On the absence of data for placing Zinzaru within the kingdom of Ugarit and for possibilities of localization, see van Soldt, Topography (2005) 46. As del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín expressed it succinctly: “aber Zinzari ist nicht Ugarit” (Loretz [1998] 178); cf. Roche, Prosopographie (2005) 122. Others do not observe that simple fact, e.g., Lipiński, OLA 23 (1988) 135; Merlo, SEL 23 (2006) 60. 129 My thanks to J. L. Ellison. 130 Lipiński has asserted quite the opposite: “Furthermore, the same person bears at times both the title of priest and the one of diviner, as ‘Šamu-Baal, diviner, priest of Baal’, mAN/Šam-mu-dU/IM lúMÁŠ.ŠU.GÍD.GÍD lúSANGA dU, mentioned at least in two texts from Ugarit,” citing in footnote 64 the two texts just indicated here. See Roche’s cautionary treatment of the titles in both these texts as not certainly linguistically Ugaritic, or even Semitic: Prosopographie (2005)

408

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

Whether his status as priest of the local Weather Deity (plausibly either Baʿlu or Hadad, since the first element of the name is the Semitic word for ‘heavens’, {AN} = {ša-mu}) was simply not mentioned or he had not yet been appointed to that position cannot be known. RS 94.2602:45 (RSO XXIII 85): {LÚ.SANGA}. As with RS 18.002:3, the reading of the logogram is not placed in doubt here. Rather, it appears likely that the somewhat involved series of events recounted in this letter (the second on the tablet) did not occur within the boundaries of the kingdom of Ugarit.131 3. Priests Identified by Name All the priestly names attested in the texts discussed above as attested in texts discovered at Ugarit and reflecting usage in that kingdom are registered here. It has been deemed necessary to present two lists, the first of priestly persons of whom the name is indicated in one text or more, the second of patronyms, both of persons designated by patronym alone (bn-X) and of those designated by name plus patronym. It would have been misleading to present a single list of personal names attested in these texts because, as already noted above, there are no solid data allowing for identifying even one of the fathers as himself a functioning priest. That priestly status could be handed down from father to son is illustrated by one of these texts and only one: RS 11.715+ (§2.2.1) provides an example of a person designated by patronym alone and followed by entries for two generations of heirs (see discussion above for the details). This fact, and the common designation of the heir (nḥl) after the father in the economic texts, leaves no doubt that the priest shared this practice with the other professional groups, and it renders it plausible that any father-son sequence or patronymic designation of a priest would in fact have referred to two generations of priests. But that status can only be registered for the father if corroborating evidence exists, which is not the case for the persons registered here. A full prosopographic discussion may not be carried out here because the resultant study would be far too long. Each entry in the two following lists consists of a priestly name or patronym, vocalized if there are good reasons for selecting a given form, indicated as a reading if not, all occurrences cited, followed by the full entry in the text in the case of name plus patronymic designations, by the textual reference, and by the linguistic identification (“Sem” for Semitic, “Hur” for Hurrian, “?” if unclear or unknown).132 The ordering of names is that of the consonants in the Ugaritic alphabetic writing system, thus the first five names are ordered according to the consonants ʾ-b, ʾ-g, ʾ-ḫ-m-n, ʾ-ḫ-m-r, ʾ-l, etc.

122–23; Mouton and Roche-Hawley, Devins (2015) 196–97, treat RS 18.002 and RS 17.371+ as providing the same data. 131 Lackenbacher and Malbran-Labat, RSO XXIII (2016) 160: “… on peut s’interroger sur la présence de cette tablette à Ugarit. … Le fait que nous ne sachions pas de quel souverain relevaient l’auteur de la lettre et son correspondant ne permet pas de déterminer de quel roi il s’agit ni de quel SANGA.” 132 See van Soldt’s inclusion of the priestly category in his study of Hurrian names “in the onomasticon of Ugarit”: UF 35 (2003) 681–707 – quotation from p. 681, the results (i.e., not the raw data as here) for the priests indicated on pp. 691–92, 701. Perusal of the data in comparison with the other groups reveals that the percentage of Hurrian names among priests (van Soldt indicates 30% of the priests who are named, 22% of the fathers; for more general statistics, see Hess, HUS [1999] 509) is not significantly different from the society as a whole. The place of the Hurrian language in the cult (attested by both monolingual and bilingual Hurro-Ugaritic texts) had not led to a disproportionate number of persons with Hurrian names serving as priests, a sign that Hurrian names were used traditionally (like names of different linguistic origins in most cultures) and did not necessarily reflect active or vestigial use of the Hurrian language. Not only is there no clear evidence for a necessary link between the priesthood and one of the identifiable ethniclinguistic components of Ugaritic society, in particular the Hurrians, whose primary influence at Ugarit should have coincided with the apogee of the kingdom of Mitanni and hence constituted an overlay on traditional Ugaritic society, there is also no evidence for any older family/clan/tribal association with the priesthood – as is to be expected, because, whatever the tribal origins of the population of Ugarit may have been within the complex Western-Amorite world (see Buck, Amorite Dynasty [2020]), there is no trace of any tribal ideology in the texts dating to the last century and a half of the kingdom.

409

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

3.1. Priests Identified by Name, with or without Patronym ʾAbiršānu : {ma-bir5-ša-nu DUMU ma-ag-li-bi} ʾAgapṯenni : {ma-gap-ŠEŠ DUMU ku-ni-ya} ʾAḫîmūnu : {mŠEŠ-mu-nu DUMU ša-a-la-na} {a-ḫa-ma-ra-nu} : {a-ḫa-ma-ra-nu DUMU ma-ri-ma-na} ʾIlîmilku : {mDINGIR-LUGAL DUMU ú-lu-na-a-ri} {ảnnš[…]} {⸢ả⸣nnš[…]} ʾArtēnu : {mar-te-nu DUMU ša-ša-na} ʾArteṯṯob : {mSUM-dU DUMU sí-na-ra-na} {ảtn}: {ảtn . prln . rb (56) khnm rb . nqdm} ʾAttēya : {mat-te-ya DUMU iš-la-ma-na} {ḫrṣn} : {m?ḫrṣn rb khnm} Yaduyānu : {mia-du-ia-nu DUMU ša-ba-ra-na} Yanḥammu : {[m]ya-an-ḫa-am-mu DUMU pí-zu-ni} Yanḥammu : {[m]ya-an-ḫa-am-mu DUMU ší-gu-di} Yatarrašap : {mia-tar-dMAŠ.MAŠ DUMU ša-am-ra-na} Kunʿammu : {[m]ku-un-am-mu DUMU ni-qa-la-a} Milkīyatana : {mmil-ki-SUM DUMU mmi-⸢x⸣[…]} Munaḥḥimu : {mmu-na-ḫi-mu DUMU NIM} {ngy bn[…]} ʿAbdu : {[m]ÌR-du DUMU am-ma-da-na} ʿAbdīʾilti : {[m]ÌR-DINGIR-ti DUMU ka-bi-iz-zi} ʿAbdīrašap : {mÌR-dMAŠ.MAŠ DUMU ta-ag-te-na} Ṯarrānu : {ṯrn} Tagteṯṯob : {mTAG-dU DUMU da-ti-ni}

RS 16.126B+ iii 44 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 43 Hur RS 16.126B+ iii 54 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 55 ?133 RS 16.126B+ iii 48 Sem RS 19.086A:14' Hur RS 34.123:6 RS 16.126B+ iii 52 Hur RS 16.126B+ iii 45 Hur RS 2.[009]+ vi 55–56 Hur RS 16.126B+ iii 53 Hur RS 1.[052] ? RS 16.126B+ iii 51 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 41 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 46 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 49 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 42 Sem RS 11.856:1 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 47 Sem RS 34.123:3 ? RS 16.126B+ iii 38 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 39 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 50 Sem RS 94.2603:18 Hur RS 16.126B+ iii 40 Hur

Totals: 24 names Semitic: 13 (54.5%) Hurrian: 8 (33%) Uncertain: 3 (12.5%) 3.2. Patronyms Following Priestly Names and Priests Identified only by Patronym ʾŪlunaharu : {mDINGIR-LUGAL DUMU ú-lu-na-a-ri} ʾAmmadānu : {[m]ÌR-du DUMU am-ma-da-na} {bn . ảmdn} {bn . ảmd[n]} {bn . ảmd[n]} Dabubu : {mmu-na-ḫi-mu DUMU NIM} {bn . ⸢dbb⸣} {bn . db⸢b⸣[…]} 133

RS 16.126B+ iii 48 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 38 Hur RS 11.715+ vi 30' RS 19.086A:13' RS 34.123:7 RS 16.126B+ iii 47 Sem134 RS 11.715+ vi 34' RS 19.086A:12'

This is a particularly frustrating set of names, occurring in an enigmatic entry, the two names followed by {LÚ.laba(?)-na} and without a number indicating, as for the other persons recorded in this list, a quantity of oil received. The two names could well be Semitic, but I have found no one willing to propose an explanation. There seems to be fairly broad agreement that the added term means ‘brick-maker’ (see Huehnergard, Ugaritic Vocabulary [1987/2008] 142; Tropper, Grammatik [2000/2012] 263 [§51.44e]), but entering a ‘brick-maker’ at the end of a list of priests would be almost as bizarre as designating a priest as a ‘brick-maker’. 134 For the explanation of the logogram {NIM} and the correlation with the alphabetic form {dbb}, damaged in both occurrences, see van Soldt, UF 21 (1989) 369–73.

410

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

Datīnu : {mTAG-dU DUMU da-ti-ni} {bn . dtn} {bn ⸢. dt⸣[n …]} Yišlamānu {mat-te-ya DUMU iš-la-ma-na} Kabizzu : {[m]ÌR-DINGIR-ti DUMU ka-bi-iz-zi} Kunniya : {ma-gap-ŠEŠ DUMU ku-ni-ya} Maglibu : {ma-bir5-ša-nu DUMU ma-ag-li-bi} {bn . mglb} {bn . mgl[b …]} {bn mgl⸢b⸣[…]} {ma-ri-ma-na} : {a-ḫa-ma-ra-nu DUMU ma-ri-ma-na} Niqalāya : {[m]ku-un-am-mu DUMU ni-qa-la-a} {bn . nqly} {bn . nql[y …]} {bn nqly} Sinarānu : {mSUM-dU DUMU sí-na-ra-na} {bn . snr⸢n⸣} {bn . snr[n …]} {bn sn[rn …]} Pizuni : {[m]ya-an-ḫa-am-mu DUMU pí-zu-ni} {bn . pzny} {bn . pzn[y …]} {bn . pzny} Ṯabarānu : {mia-du-ia-nu DUMU ša-ba-ra-na} {bn ṯbr[n …]} Ṯigudi : {[m]ya-an-ḫa-am-mu DUMU ši-gu-di} {bn . ṯgd} {bn . ṯg⸢d⸣[ …]} {bn ṯgd} Ṯamrānu : {mia-tar-dMAŠ.MAŠ DUMU ša-am-ra-na} {bn . ṯmrn} {bn . ṯʿy} Ṯaʿalānu : {mŠEŠ-mu-nu DUMU ša-a-la-na} {b⸢n⸣ . ⸢ṯ⸣[ʿl]⸢n⸣} {bn . ṯʿ⸢l⸣[n …]} Ṯaṯānu : {mar-te-nu DUMU ša-ša-na} {bn . ⸢ṯ⸣[ṯ]⸢n⸣} Tagtēnu : {mÌR-dMAŠ.MAŠ DUMU ta-ag-te-na} Tamēya :{bn tmy}

RS 16.126B+ iii 40 Hur RS 11.715+ vi 29' RS 19.086A:6' RS 16.126B+ iii 53 Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 39 Hur RS 16.126B+ iii 43 Hur? RS 16.126B+ iii 44 Sem RS 11.715+ vi 33' RS 19.086A:11' RS 34.123:4 RS 16.126B+ iii 55 ? RS 16.126B+ iii 42 Sem RS 11.715+ vi 26 RS 19.086A:8' RS 34.123:9 RS 16.126B+ iii 45 ? RS 11.715+ vi 27' RS 19.086A:9' RS 34.123:2 RS 16.126B+ iii 41 Hur RS 11.715+ vi 32' RS 19.086A:10' RS 34.123:10 RS 16.126B+ iii 51 Sem RS 34.123:5 RS 16.126B+ iii 46 ? RS 11.715+ vi 28' RS 19.086A:5'135 RS 34.123:11 RS 16.126B+ iii 49 Sem RS 11.715+ vi 31' RS 11.715+ vi 23' Sem RS 16.126B+ iii 54 Sem RS 11.715+ vi 36'136 RS 19.086A:7' RS 16.126B+ iii 52 Hur RS 11.715+ vi 35' RS 16.126B+ iii 50 Hur RS 34.123:8 Hur

Totals: 20 names Semitic: 9 (45%) Hurrian: 8 (40%) Uncertain: 3 (15%)

135

Examination of a photograph provided by John L. Ellison shows that the name ṯgd may be read here, as is expected from the parallel texts (reading proposed with a question mark by van Soldt, UF 21 [1989] 371, and Studies [1991] 34), rather than {bn . ṯg⸢r⸣[ …]} as indicated in KTU/CAT/KCAT. 136 The restoration here and of {bn . ⸢ṯ⸣[ṯ]⸢n⸣} in line 35' (see following entry here) is uncertain in both cases because only the first and last signs are partially preserved. They are proposed here because so few of the names attested in RS 16.126B+ are missing from the corresponding list in RS 11.715+, the choice for each line decided by available space.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

411

4. Conclusions The purpose of this collection of textual data has been to lay out as exhaustively and as clearly as possible what they tell us about the priests, in the hope that the contours of the presently available pieces of the larger puzzle presented by the definition of the place of the khn in Ugaritic society might stand out in sharper focus. 4.0. Description of the corpus. 4.0.1. The profile of the texts is almost entirely economic: the only reference in a mythological text is part of a scribal colophon, there are few references in epistolary or legal texts, none in a ritual text, and the epigraphs were engraved on utilitarian objects. 4.0.2. The Ugaritic term khn is attested in twenty-six alphabetic texts, {SANGA} in six logo-syllabic texts reflecting the Ugaritic cultic system. 4.0.3. In all but two of the alphabetic texts consisting of a list of professional groups without mention of individuals, the priests are mentioned next to the holy ones (the qdšm do not appear in RS 11.845 and RS 25.417); the order of mention is normally khnm … qdšm, with two exceptions in Ugaritic (RS 29.097 and RIH 83/02) as well as in the one example of such a list in logo-syllabic script (RS 17.131). 4.1. Priests as one of the professional groups that functioned alongside the towns and villages of the kingdom as the principal social units through which the kingdom was run by the royal administration, i.e., functions carried out that the royal administration deemed necessary and taxes paid as required. 4.1.1. Some of the first published economic texts showed that the priests were integrated into the administrative structure of the kingdom, and, as additional texts have become available, this has only become clearer: 4.1.1.1. the priests appear on multiple lists of professional categories, sometimes by the corporate term alone, sometimes with the corporate indication followed by a list of individuals (§§2.1–3); 4.1.1.2. as in the records of other corporations, individual priests may be designated by name, by patronym, or by both (summary in §3). 4.1.2. Two sorts of data indicate that a sub-set of the total numbers of priests was sometimes the object of a record and that a special set of circumstances lay behind such records: 4.1.2.1. the numbers accompanying the mentions of priests are sometimes so low that it appears unlikely that the group as a whole was involved; 4.1.2.2. in the discussion of RS 18.252 (§2.1.2) two cases of the singular form of the term designating the professional group were cited from a similar text RS 94.2093 (RSO XVIII 19, KCAT 4.837); 4.1.2.3. this is, however, a very nebulous area, both because of the ambiguity that often pertains regarding the entity numbered and because of the absence of explicit statements regarding the circumstances in which a given record was produced. 4.1.3. Despite recurring patterns, the order of mention of the professional groups in these administrative texts shows sufficient variation to render invalid any attempt at assessing the relative status of the priests on the basis of the place that the mention occupies in one list or another. 4.1.4. The assessment of the status of the priests based on number of occurrences or on quantities of another entity registered for this group in comparison with other groups must await a fully detailed study of all the professional groups, but one text described here (RS 11.845 [§2.3.3]) did give negative results in the matter of relative quantities of an unknown commodity. 4.1.5. In some of these texts (§2.1.2), a classificatory term ‘men’ appears, never defined explicitly but apparently in some cases referring to the professional dependents of the priests. 4.1.6. The economic texts furnish examples of the priests making contributions to the royal administration, others of their receiving a commodity, while in yet others the nature of the event being recorded cannot be determined (§2.2, §2.3). 4.1.6.1. Like the other corporations and like the towns and villages of the kingdom, the priests made contributions to the royal administration: 4.1.6.1.1. silver (RS 11.715+ [§2.2.1], RS 17.240 [§2.3.1]), probably for special royal needs, in particular for tribute to the Hittite sovereign, a tax that is levied on the professional groups and on the towns and villages of the kingdom, which bespeaks a degree of autonomy,

412

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

4.1.6.1.2. and archers (RS 11.716 [§2.3.1]), the modality of this contribution unknown. 4.1.6.2. Like the other corporations, they received distributions from the royal administration, only foodstuffs attested: 4.1.6.2.1. in one case, ‘oil’, almost certainly ‘olive oil’ (RS 16.126B+ [§2.2.2], perhaps also in RS 34.123 [§2.2.2]); 4.1.6.2.2. in another, fine flour, sheep, and a third foodstuff of which the designation is lost (RS 8.272 [§2.3.2]). 4.1.6.2.3. Because circumstances are never explicitly stated, it is difficult to determine to what extent these distributions occurred in view of special events or were part of a larger system of distributions of alimentary items to groups who were in direct service to the administration. 4.1.6.3. The certainty that, because of matching names, the four texts described in §2.2 refer to essentially the same group of priests allows for the conclusion that the priestly corporation could, in theory, be required at any time to make contributions for special royal needs or could receive distributions of foodstuffs. 4.1.6.4. In summary, present data favor the conclusion that (a) the priests were required to make contributions in the form of silver and persons, that (b) they received foodstuffs, that (c) both contributions and distributions were recorded either in terms of the group, whether as a whole or as a sub-group, or in terms of individual members of the group; finally, some of the texts are so laconic or in such poor condition that a decision is not possible on the point of reference of numbers that occur in a text. 4.1.7. One text only provides evidence that the priestly status, like that of the other professional categories, was hereditary: RS 11.715+ (§2.2.1) contains one case of the feature being recorded, in this case a tax in silver levied on three generations of a family. 4.1.8. Despite the previous datum, there is no solid prosopographic evidence that any named father of a priest was himself a priest (§3). 4.1.9. There are attestations of priests in connection with arable land: 4.1.9.1. the dr khnm are recorded as ‘in charge of a field’ (RS 18.047 [§2.4]); 4.1.9.2. a much more ambiguous case is RS 1.018 (§2.10.1), a letter addressed to the ‘chief of the priests’ mentioning ‘field(s) of (the divinity) Gaṯaru’); 4.1.9.3. despite the paucity of the data, it is likely that the priests, like other members of the royal administration, could be involved in agricultural pursuits, either for their own needs or for commercial purposes. 4.1.10. RS 29.097 (§2.1.2) records priests or their dependents along with five other professional groups being ‘entrusted to the chief of the ʿApirūma’, but nothing is recorded that would allow the situation to be explained. 4.1.11. The enigmatic mention of a priest by name in an economic text (RS 94.2603 [§2.5]) may record the oversight of the distribution of goods by this priest, but the recipients, though named, are not identified by social category, so little can be known for sure about the role of the priest, or about the nature of the distributions. 4.1.12. A priest is attested as one of the principal parties in a legal document, specifically as the seller of a female slave to the official at the head of the royal administration, a sākinu (RS 11.856 [§2.7]). That priests, like other important members of Ugaritic society, could function as witnesses, is only illustrated by an example from a text plausibly not representing a situation in the kingdom of Ugarit (§2.11.2 [RS 18.002]). 4.1.13.1. Though a significant portion of the priests, like the population as a whole, bore Hurrian names (§3), the percentage is not so high as to allow for the hypothesis of a correlation between bearing a Hurrian name and being a priest, particularly in view of the fact that the patronyms show the higher percentage of Hurrian names, above the average for the population, but it cannot be shown that the fathers were in fact priests. 4.1.13.2. Nor is there any evidence for the priesthood being linked with any particular tribal element of Ugaritic society, such elements, in whatever form they may originally have existed, having left no trace in the texts from Ras Shamra.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

413

4.2. The priests as cultic officials. 4.2.1. For etymological reasons and because of the association with the qdšm, attested in the very first economic texts published in which khnm occurs (§2.1.1), it was assumed from the beginning that the term meant ‘priest’, but the absence of the word in the first known ritual texts led very early on to the conclusion that these priests were not involved in the practice of the progressively better attested sacrificial cult. 4.2.2. This first impression was corroborated as more texts were discovered and published because the khnm occur often in proximity with the qdšm, ‘holy ones’, nqdm, plausibly ‘purveyors of caprovids and bovids for the sacrificial cult’, and, perhaps, ỉnšt, ‘(cultic) personnel’ (§§2.1–3) – nevertheless, only qdš is, to date, actually attested in a ritual text (see at §2.10.4). 4.2.3. The publication of RS 17.131 (§2.1.2), a list in logo-syllabic script plausibly recording the professional dependents of sub-sets of the listed professional groups, sparked the recognition that khn was rendered logographically by {SANGA}, which in Mesopotamian culture designated a cultic administrator, an identification that led to speculation that such was also the role of the khnm, i.e., that they organized cultic events but did not themselves carry out the acts that they prescribed, at least with any regularity in the royal cult that is best attested. 4.2.4.1. The priest mentioned as a principal party in a legal text (§4.1.12) is identified as ‘priest of the Weather Deity’ ({LÚ.SANGA ša dIM}), which provides a direct link between priesthood and the cult of a given deity; 4.2.4.2. this datum may be taken as an indication that the Ugaritic khn normally functioned primarily, like the šangû, in a specific sanctuary, hence in the service of the specific deity whose ‘house’ was that sanctuary (and of whatever lesser deities might be associated with the principal one). 4.2.5. The letter RS 1.018 (§2.10.1) provides a relatively clear case of the chief of the priests being requested to entrust two divine effigies, Gaṯaru and Baʿlu, to two named individuals; the circumstances are not clear, but the writer does appear to consider this person the proper one to address if cultic objects are to be relocated. 4.2.6. The other two titles borne by ảtn, chief of the priests (§2.10.2), both have to do with cultic matters, prln designating the ‘diviner’, part of whose activities included the ‘sacrifice’ necessary for extispicy, and rb nqdm as the chief of the administrative unit plausibly responsible for furnishing the sacrificial beasts – this mixing of titles and functions is not, however, of prime importance for defining the cultic function of the priests because we know that the chief of the priests could also accumulate functions not directly related to the cult (§§4.3.3.1–2). 4.3. The organization of the priestly corps. 4.3.1. The only term attested that may designate the group as a unit within the royal administration is dr (RS 18.047 [§2.4]), which, judging from parallels with words derived from the root PḪR in the ritual texts, refers to the ‘assembly’ of the priests, though it cannot be judged certain whether the reference is to the group as a whole or to a segment thereof. 4.3.2. The phrase rb khnm designates the head of the administrative unit as a whole and the title is attested in various types of texts, a letter, a colophon, and in epigraphs on bronze tools (§2.10). 4.3.2.1. This use of rb fits with other examples of the term designating the head of principal professional groups as well as for various other groups functioning either within the royal administration or without (§2.10.4). 4.3.2.2. Two rb khnm are known by name, one name almost certainly of Hurrian origin (ảtn, §2.10.2), the other, ḫrṣn, either Semitic or Hurro-Semitic (§2.10.3.1), but no reliable prosopographic data provide specific identifications of these two individuals nor for exactly how their names were pronounced; 4.3.2.2.1. ảtn may be dated to the last quarter of the thirteenth century by the mention of a king Niqmaddu in the colophon containing this priest’s titles, the Niqmaddu in question being the last by that name to reign; 4.3.2.2.2. the date for ḫrṣn is less clear, though he may have preceded ảtn and been in function when the alphabet was invented shortly before or early in the reign of the ʿAmmiṯtamru who was king in the middle of the thirteenth century.

414

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

4.3.3.1. As noted above under cultic function (§4.2.6), the rb khnm could be vested with other titles expressing functions having to do with cultic practice (prln and rb nqdm), but the political-administrative title written logographically {SUKKAL} is also attested for a person designated as {LÚ.UGULA SANGA}, and the title of ‘scribe’ ({DUB.SAR}) has been plausibly reconstructed before that (RS 16.186 [§2.10.4]); 4.3.3.2. this mixing of types of function shows that titles were administrative in nature and truly accumulated, that is, one may not legitimately reason from the fact that ảtn was both diviner and priest that the priestly function necessarily included activities proper to the diviner or vice versa; rather, just as a priest could also be a scribe or a sukkallu, he could also be diviner and chief of the cultic herdsmen. Bibliography Arnaud, D., “Le vocabulaire de l’héritage dans les textes syriens du Moyen-Euphrate à la fin de l’âge du Bronze récent,” SEL 12 (1995) 21–26. ——— “Études sur Alalah et Ougarit à l’âge du Bronze récent,” SMEA 37 (1996) 47–65. ——— “Textes administratifs religieux et profanes,” in RSO XIV (2001) 323–32. Astour, M. C., “The Merchant Class of Ugarit,” in Gesellschaftsklassen im Alten Zweistromland und in den angrenzenden Gebieten – XVIII. Rencontre assyriologique internationale, München, 29. Juni bis 3. Juli 1970 (ed. D. O. Edzard; Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, philosophisch-historische Klasse, Abhandlungen, Neue Folge 75; Veröffentlichungen der Kommission zur Erschließung von Keilschrifttexten, Serie A/ 6; Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1972) 11–26. Auneau, J., “Sacerdoce. I. Prolégomènes. Les sacerdoces dans le Proche-Orient ancien. Le vocabulaire biblique,” in SDB 10 (1985) 1171–1203. Bauer, H., Entzifferung der Keilschrifttafeln von Ras Schamra (Halle/Salle: Niemeyer, 1930). ——— Das Alphabet von Ras Schamra: Seine Entzifferung und seine Gestalt (Halle/Salle: Niemeyer, 1932). Berger, P.-R., Review, WdO 5 (1969–1970) 271–82. Bordreuil, P., “Nouveaux textes économiques en cunéiformes alphabétiques de Ras Shamra-Ougarit (34e campagne 1973),” Semitica 25 (1975) 19–29, pl. I–II. ——— “Le premier mot de l’herminette inscrite découverte à Ras Shamra en 1929: outil ou personnage ?,” in “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf.” Studien zum Alten Testament und zum Alten Orient: Festschrift für Oswald Loretz zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahres mit Beiträgen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen (ed. M. Dietrich and I. Kottsieper; AOAT 250; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1998) 127–32. ——— “Écriture dextroverse/sénestroverse: quelques réflexions sur l’histoire de l’alphabet cunéiforme d’Ougarit,” in Palaeography and Scribal Practices in Syro-Palestine and Anatolia in the Late Bronze Age. Papers Read at a Symposium in Leiden, 17–18 December 2009 (ed. E. Devecchi; PIHANS 119; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2012) 1–18. ——— “Quelques éléments méridionaux dans les textes cunéiformes alphabétiques de Ras Shamra / Ougarit,” UF 45 (2014) 333–45. Bordreuil, P., ed., Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville: les textes de la 34e campagne (1973) (RSO VII; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1991). Bordreuil, P., and A. Caquot, “Les textes en cunéiformes alphabétiques découverts en 1978 à Ibn Hani,” Syria 57 (1980) 343–73. Bordreuil, P., R. Hawley, and D. Pardee, Une bibliothèque au sud de la ville: Textes 1994–2002 en cunéiforme alphabétique de la maison d’Ourtenou (Ras Shamra-Ougarit XVIII; Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée, 2012). Bordreuil, P., and D. Pardee, La trouvaille épigraphique de l’Ougarit: Concordance (RSO V/1; Paris, Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1989). ——— Manuel d’ougaritique. Vol. I: Grammaire, Fac-Similés. Vol. II: Choix de textes, Glossaire (Paris: Geuthner, 2004).

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

415

——— A Manual of Ugaritic (Linguistic Studies in Ancient West Semitic 3; Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns, 2009). Bordreuil, P., D. Pardee, and C. Roche-Hawley, Ras Ibn Hani II. Les textes en écritures cunéiformes de l’âge du Bronze récent (fouilles 1977 à 2002) (ed. J. Lagarce; BAH 214; Beirut, 2019). Buck, M. E., The Amorite Dynasty of Ugarit: Historical Implications of Linguistic and Archaeological Parallels (SAHL 8; Leiden: Brill, 2020). Burlingame, A. R., “New Evidence for Ugaritic and Hittite Onomastics and Prosopography at the End of the Late Bronze Age,” ZA 110 (2020) 196–211. CAT: Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1995. Catling, H. W., Cypriot Bronzework in the Mycenaean World (Oxford: Clarendon, 1964). Clemens, D. M., Sources for Ugaritic Ritual and Sacrifice. Vol. I: Ugaritic and Ugarit Akkadian Texts (AOAT 284/1; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001). Courtois, J.-C., “Ras Shamra I. Archéologie,” in SDB 9 (1979) 1126–1295. ——— “Yabninu et le palais sud d’Ougarit,” Syria 67 (1990) 103–42. CTA: Herdner 1963. Dardaillon, E., “Support-trépied orné de grenades,” in Le royaume d’Ougarit. Aux origines de l’alphabet (ed. G. Galliano and Y. Calvet; Paris: Somogny; Lyon: Musée des Beaux-arts, 2004) 190. DeGuglielmo, A., “Sacrifice in the Ugaritic Texts,” CBQ 17 (1955) 196–216. De Langhe, R., Les textes de Ras Shamra-Ugarit et leurs rapports avec le milieu biblique de l’Ancien Testament (Universitas Catholica Lovaniensis, Dissertationes ad gradum magistri in Facultate Theologica vel in Facultate Iuris Canonici consequendum conscriptae II, 35; Gembloux: Duculot; Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1945). Del Olmo Lete, G., La religión cananea según la liturgia de Ugarit: Estudio textual (AuOrS 3; Sabadell, AUSA, 1992). ——— “Ugaritic nḥl and ủdbr: Etymology and Semantic Field,” JAOS 132 (2012) 613–21. ——— “(bn) ảgpṯr / (Binu) Agapṯarri’s House: A Functional Analysis of an Ugaritic ‘Archive’ (PH Room 10),” JAOS 137 (2017) 483–503. Del Olmo Lete, G. and J. Sanmartín, Diccionario de la lengua ugarítica I (AuOrS 7; Sabadell: AUSA, 1996). ——— “Kultisches in den keilalphabetischen Verwaltungs- und Wirtschaftstexten aus Ugarit,” in “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf.” Studien zum Alten Testament und zum Alten Orient: Festschrift für Oswald Loretz zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahres mit Beiträgen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen (ed. M. Dietrich and I. Kottsieper; AOAT 250; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1998) 175–97. ——— A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition (trans. W. G. E. Watson; HdO 67; Leiden, Brill, 2003). ——— “QDŠM: un estamento funcionarial de Ugarit,” in De la Tablilla a la Inteligencia Artificial: Homenaje al Prof. Jesús-Luis Cunchillos en su 65 aniversario (ed. A. González Blanco et al.; Zaragoza: Instituto de Estudios Islámicos y del Oriente Próximo, 2003) 61–66. ——— A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition: Third Revised Edition (trans. W. G. E. Watson; HdO 112; Leiden: Brill, 2015). Dhorme, P., “Un nouvel alphabet sémitique,” RB 39 (1930) 571–77. Dietrich, M., and O. Loretz, “Jahwe und seine Aschera”. Anthropomorphes Kultbild in Mesopotamien, Ugarit und Israel. Das biblische Bilderverbot (UBL 9; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1992). ——— Word-List of the Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places (KTU: second, enlarged edition) (ALASP 12; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1996). Dietrich, M., O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartín, “Zur ugaritischen Lexikographie (VIII): Lexikographische Einzelbemerkungen,” UF 5 (1973) 105–17. ——— Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit einschließlich der keilalphabetischen Texte außerhalb Ugarits. Teil 1 Transkription (AOAT 24/1; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1976). ——— The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places (KTU: second, enlarged edition) (ALASP 8; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995).

416

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

——— Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani und anderen Orten. Dritte, erweiterte Auflage. The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places. Third, Enlarged Edition. KTU3 (AOAT 360/1; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013). Ellison, J. L., A Palaeographic Study of the Alphabetic Cuneiform Texts from Ras Shamra/Ugarit (dissertation, Harvard University, 2002). Ernst-Pradal, F., Scribes d’Ougarit et paléographie akkadienne. Les textes juridiques signés (RSO XXVII; Leuven, Peeters, 2019). Ginsberg, H. L., “Interpreting Ugaritic Texts,” JAOS 70 (1950) 156–60. Gordon, C. H., Ugaritic Grammar: The Present Status of the Linguistic Study of the Semitic Alphabetic Texts from Ras Shamra (AnOr 20; Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1940). ——— Ugaritic Handbook: Revised Grammar, Paradigms, Texts in Transliteration, Comprehensive Glossary (AnOr 25; Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1947). ——— Ugaritic Literature: A Comprehensive Translation of the Poetic and Prose Texts (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1949). Gröndahl, F., Die Personennamen der Texte aus Ugarit (Studia Pohl 1; Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1967) Hawley, R., D. Pardee, and C. Roche-Hawley, “L’alphabet ‘court’ sénestrogyre à Ougarit au XIIIe siècle avant J.-C. d’après le bordereau RS 5.197+,” in De l’île d’Aphrodite au Paradis perdu: itinéraire d’un gentilhomme lyonnais. En hommage à Yves Calvet (ed. B. Geyer et al.; RSO XXII; Leuven: Peeters, 2015) 155–66. ——— “The Scribal Culture of Ugarit,” JNEH 2 (2015) 229–67. Heltzer, M., The Internal Organization of the Kingdom of Ugarit (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1982). ——— “The Economy of Ugarit,” in Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (ed. W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt; HdO 39; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 423–54. Herdner, A., Corpus des tablettes en cunéiformes alphabétiques découvertes à Ras Shamra-Ugarit de 1929 à 1939 (MRS X; BAH LXXIX; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Geuthner, 1963). ——— “Nouveaux textes alphabétiques de Ras Shamra – XXIVe campagne, 1961,” in Ugaritica VII (ed. I. Schaeffer de Chalon and A. Schaeffer-Boehling; MRS XVIII; BAH XCIX; Paris: Geuthner; Leiden: Brill, 1978) 1–74. Herrmann, V. R., “Introduction: The Katumuwa Stele and the Commemoration of the Dead in the Ancient Middle East,” in In Remembrance of Me. Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East (Oriental Institute Museum Publications 37; Chicago, Oriental Institute, 2014) 17–23. Hess, R. S., “The Onomastics of Ugarit,” in Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (ed. W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt; HdO 39; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 499–528. Huehnergard, J., Ugaritic Vocabulary in Syllabic Transcription (HSS 32; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987). ——— The Akkadian of Ugarit (HSS 34; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989). ——— Ugaritic Vocabulary in Syllabic Transcription, Revised Edition (HSS 32; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2008). KCAT: Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 2013. KTU: Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1976. Labat, R., Manuel d’épigraphie akkadienne (signes, syllabaire, idéogrammes), revu et augmenté par Florence Malbran-Labat (Paris: Geuthner, 1995). Lackenbacher, S., and F. Malbran-Labat, Lettres en akkadien de la “Maison d’Urtēnu.” Fouilles de 1994 (RSO XXIII; Leuven: Peeters, 2016). Leithart, P. J., “Attendants of Yahweh’s House: Priesthood in the Old Testament,” JSOT 85 (1999) 3–24. Levine, B., “Toward an Institutional Overview of Public Ritual at Ugarit,” in Le royaume d’Ougarit. De la Crète à l’Euphrate. Nouveaux axes de recherche. Actes du Congrès International de Sherbrooke 2005, Faculté de théólogie, d’éthique et de philosophie, Université de Sherbrooke, 5–8 juillet 2005 (ed. J.-M. Michaud; Proche-Orient et Littérature Ougaritique 2; Sherbrooke: GGC, 2007) 357–80. Lipiński, E., “The Socio-Economic Condition of the Clergy in the Kingdom of Ugarit,” in Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (c. 1500–1000 B.C.). Proceedings of the International Sympo-

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

417

sium Held at the University of Haifa from the 28th of April to the 2nd of May 1985 (ed. J. Quaegebeur; OLA 23; Leuven: Peeters, 1988) 125–50. Liverani, M., “Ras Shamra. II. Histoire,” in SDB 9 (1979) 1295–1348. Malbran-Labat, F., and C. Roche, “Bordereaux de la “Maison d’Ourtenou (urtēnu)”. À propos de la gestion des équidés et de la place de cette maison dans l’économie palatiale,” in Ougarit au Bronze moyen et au Bronze récent. Actes du Colloque international tenu à Lyon en novembre 2001 « Ougarit au IIe millénaire av. J.-C. État des recherches » (TMO 47; Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée, 2008) 243–75. Márquez Rowe, I., “Mind the Edge!,” NABU, 1995, 55–57 (#63). ——— The Royal Deeds of Ugarit. A Study of Ancient Near Eastern Diplomatics (AOAT 335; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2006). McGeough, K. M., Ugaritic Economic Tablets. Text, Translation and Notes (ed. M. S. Smith; Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 32; Leuven: Peeters, 2011). Merlo, P., “Il ‘sacerdote incantatore’ a Ugarit. Tra culto ufficiale et religiosità quotidiana,” SEL 23 (2006) 55–62. Merlo, P., and P. Xella, “The Rituals,” in Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (ed. W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt; HdO 39; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 287–304. Mouton, A., and C. Roche-Hawley, “La polyvalence des scribes d’Anatolie hittite et d’Ougarit,” in Devins et lettrés dans l’orbite de Babylone (ed. R. Hawley and C. Roche-Hawley; Orient & Méditerrannée, Archéologie 16; Paris: De Boccard, 2015) 191–204. Nougayrol, J., Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit III: Textes accadiens et hourrites des archives est, ouest et centrales (MRS VI; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Klincksieck, 1955). ——— Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit IV: Textes accadiens des archives sud (Archives internationales) (MRS IX; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Klincksieck, 1956). ——— Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit VI: Textes en cunéiformes babyloniens des archives du grand palais et du palais sud d’Ugarit (MRS XII; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Klincksieck, 1970). Oelsner, J., “Zur sozialen Lage in Ugarit,” in Beiträge zur sozialen Struktur des alten Vorderasien (ed. H. Klengel; Schriften zur Geschichte und Kultur des Alten Orients 1; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1971) 117–23. Pardee, D., Les textes para-mythologiques de la 24e campagne (1961) (RSO IV; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1988). ——— “RS 1.005 and the Identification of the GṮRM,” in Ritual and Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East (ed. J. Quaegebeur; OLA 55; Leuven: Peeters, 1993) 301–18. ——— “Les hommes du roi propriétaires de champs: les textes ougaritiques RS 15.116 et RS 19.016,” Semitica 49 (1999) 19–64. ——— Les textes rituels (RSO XII; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 2000). ——— “Épigraphie et structure dans les textes administratifs en langue ougaritique: les exemples de RS 6.216 et RS 19.017,” Or 70 (2001) 235–82, 345. ——— Ritual and Cult at Ugarit (WAW 10; Atlanta: SBL, 2002). ——— “Un ‘nouveau’ mot ougaritique,” AuOr 20 (2002) 163–81. ——— “Ugaritic Letters,” in COS III. Archival Documents from the Biblical World (ed. W.W. Hallo and K. L. Younger; Leiden: Brill, 2003) 87–116. ——— “Une formule épistolaire en ougaritique et accadien,” in Semitic and Assyriological Studies Presented to Pelio Fronzaroli by Pupils and Colleagues (ed. P. Marrassini; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003) 446–75. ——— Review, AfO online version 50 (2003–2004) https://orientalistik.univie.ac.at/fileadmin/user_up load/i_orientalistik/Zeitschriften/Rezension_Tropper_AOAT273.pdf. ——— “Textes akkadiens d’Ugarit,” Syria 81 (2004) 249–62. ——— “The Ugaritic Alphabetic Cuneiform Writing System in the Context of Other Alphabetic Systems,” in Studies in Semitic and Afroasiatic Linguistics Presented to Gene B. Gragg (ed. C. L. Miller; SAOC 60; Chicago: Oriental Institute, 2007) 181–200.

418

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

——— “RS 15.117 et l’origine de l’alphabet cunéiforme d’Ougarit: rapport de collation,” Or 79 (2010) 55– 73, pl. XI. ——— “Les documents relatifs aux terrains agricoles à Ougarit,” Or 79 (2010) 342–74, pl. XXV–XXVIII. ——— “The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in a Nutshell,” in Language and Nature: Papers Presented to John Huehnergard on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday (ed. R. Hasselbach and N. Pat-El; SAOC 67; Chicago: Oriental Institute, 2012) 285–317. ——— “L’autorité littéraire au XIIIe siècle av. J.-C.? ʾIlîmilku d’Ougarit: scribe/auteur?,” in Autorité des auteurs antiques: entre anonymat, masque et authenticité (ed. M. Gorea and M. Tardieu; Homo Religiosus II, 13; Turnhout: Brepols, 2014) 35–57. ——— “Nouvelle attestation de prln ‘devin’ en ougaritique,” in Devins et lettrés dans l’orbite de Babylone (ed. R. Hawley and C. Roche-Hawley; Orient & Méditerrannée, Archéologie 16; Paris: De Boccard, 2015) 171–76. PRU II: Virolleaud 1957. PRU III: Nougayrol 1955. PRU IV: Nougayrol 1956. PRU V: Virolleaud 1965. PRU VI: Nougayrol 1970. Rainey, A. F., The Social Stratification of Ugarit (dissertation, Brandeis, 1962). ——— “The Kingdom of Ugarit,” BA 28 (1965) 102–25. Renger, J., “Untersuchungen zum Priestertum der altbabylonischen Zeit. 2. Teil,” ZA 59 (1969) 104–230. RIH II: Bordreuil, Pardee, and Roche-Hawley 2019. Roche, C., “Les prêtres-kāhinūma dans le royaume d’Ugarit au XIIIe siècle avant J.-C.: un exemple de recherches prosopographiques,” in Prosopographie et histoire religieuse. Actes du colloque tenu en l’Université Paris XII-Val de Marne les 27 & 28 octobre 2000 (ed. M. Baslez and F. Prévot; Paris: De Boccard, 2005) 121–33. ——— “Classification de l’utilisation du cunéiforme mésopotamien dans les textes ougaritiques,” in Proceedings of the 51st Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Held at The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago July 18–22, 2005 (ed. R. D. Biggs et al.; SAOC 62; Chicago: Oriental Institute, 2008) 155–70. ——— “Language and Script in the Akkadian Economic Texts from Ras Shamra,” in Society and Administration in Ancient Ugarit (PIHANS 114; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 2010) 107–22. RSO VII: Bordreuil, ed., 1991. RSO XIV: Yon and Arnaud, ed., 2001. RSO XVIII: Bordreuil, Hawley, and Pardee 2012. RSO XXIII: Lackenbacher and Malbran-Labat 2016. Sauvage, C., “Nouvelle réflexion sur le ‘dépôt aux 80 jarres’ de Minet el-Beida,” in De l’île d’Aphrodite au Paradis perdu: itinéraire d’un gentilhomme lyonnais. En hommage à Yves Calvet (ed. B. Geyer et al.; RSO XXII; Leuven: Peeters, 2015) 63–75. Sauvage, C., and R. Hawley, “Une fusaïole inscrite en ougaritique au musée d’Archéologie Nationale de Saint-Germain-en-Laye,” in Études ougaritiques III (ed. V. Matoïan and M. Al-Maqdissi; RSO XXI; Leuven, Peeters, 2013) 365–94. Schaeffer, C. F.-A., “Soixante-quatorze armes et outils en bronze avec dédicace au Grand-prêtre d’Ugarit,” in Ugaritica III: Sceaux et cylindres hittites, épée gravée du cartouche de Mineptah, tablettes chypro-minoennes et autres découvertes nouvelles de Ras Shamra (ed. C. F.-A. Schaeffer; MRS VIII; BAH LXIV; Paris: Geuthner, 1956) 251–75. ——— “Fouilles et découvertes des XVIIIe et XIXe campagnes, 1954–1955,” in Ugaritica IV: Découvertes des XVIIIe et XIXe campagnes 1954–1955; fondements préhistoriques d’Ugarit et nouveaux sondages; études anthropologiques; poteries grecques et monnaies islamiques de Ras Shamra et environs (ed. C. F.-A. Schaeffer; MRS XV; BAH LXXIV; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Geuthner, 1962) 1–150.

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

419

Schaeffer, [C.] F.-A. and G. Chenet, “Des tombeaux royaux et un palais du 2e millénaire avant J.-C. découverts en Syrie par une mission française,” L’Illustration 4519 (12 octobre 1929) 401–5. Schloen, J. D., The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol. Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East (SHAL 2; Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns, 2001). Tarragon, J.-M. de, Le culte à Ugarit d’après les textes de la pratique en cunéiformes alphabétiques (CRB 19; Paris: Gabalda, 1980). ——— 1989 “Rituels,” in A. Caquot et al., Textes ougaritiques Tome II: Textes religieux, rituels, correspondance (LAPO 14; Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1989) 125–238. TEO: Bordreuil and Pardee 1989. Thureau-Dangin, F., “Un comptoir de laine pourpre à Ugarit d’après une tablette de Ras-Shamra,” Syria 15 (1934) 137–46. ——— “Trois contrats de Ras-Shamra,” Syria 18 (1937) 245–55. Tropper, J., Ugaritische Grammatik (AOAT 273; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2000). ——— Ugaritische Grammatik. Zweite, stark überarbeitete und erweiterte Auflage (AOAT 273; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2012). Ugaritica VV: Virolleaud 1968. Ugaritica VIIH: Herdner 1978. Urie, D. M. L., “Officials of the Cult at Ugarit,” PEQ 80 (1948) 42–47. Van Soldt, W. H., “The Title ṯʿy,” UF 20 (1988) 313–21. ——— “The Ugaritic Word for ‘Fly’,” UF 21 (1989) 369–73. ——— Studies in the Akkadian of Ugarit: Dating and Grammar (AOAT 40; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1991). ——— “Studies on the sākinu-Official (2). The Functions of the sākinu of Ugarit,” UF 34 (2002) 805–28. ——— “The Use of Hurrian Names at Ugarit,” UF 35 (2003) 681–707. ——— The Topography of the City-State of Ugarit (AOAT 324; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2005). ——— “Crafts and Craftsmen at Ugarit,” in Tradition and Innovation in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 57th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Rome, 4–8 July 2011 (ed. A. Archi and A. Bramanti; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015) 567–75. Vidal, J., Las aldeas de Ugarit según los archivos del Bronce Reciente (siglos XIV–XII a.n.e.) (AuOrS 21; Sabadell, AUSA, 2005). ——— “Ugarit at War (2). Military Equestrianism, Mercenaries, Fortifications and Single Combat,” UF 38 (2006) 699–716. Virolleaud, C., “Fragment nouveau du poème de Môt et Aleyn-Baal (I AB),” Syria 15 (1934) 226–43. ——— “États nominatifs et pièces comptables provenant de Ras-Shamra,” Syria 18 (1937) 159–73. ——— “Un état de solde provenant d’Ugarit (Ras-Shamra),” in Mémorial Lagrange. Cinquantenaire de l’École Biblique et Archéologique Française de Jérusalem (Paris: Gabalda, 1940) 39–49. ——— “Les villes et les corporations du royaume d’Ugarit,” Syria 21 (1940) 123–51. ——— “Cinq tablettes accadiennes de Ras-Shamra,” RA 38/1 (1941) 1–12. ——— “Six textes de Ras Shamra provenant de la XIVe campagne (1950),” Syria 28 (1951) 163–79. ——— Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit II: Textes en cunéiformes alphabétiques des archives est, ouest et centrales (MRS VII; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Klincksieck, 1957). ——— Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit V: Textes en cunéiformes alphabétiques des archives sud, sud-ouest et du petit palais (MRS XI; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Klincksieck, 1965). ——— “Les nouveaux textes mythologiques et liturgiques de Ras Shamra (XXIVe campagne, 1961),” in Ugaritica V. Nouveaux textes accadiens, hourrites et ugaritiques des archives et bibliothèques privées d’Ugarit, commentaires des textes historiques (première partie) (ed. J.-C. Courtois; MRS XVI; BAH LXXX; Paris: Imprimerie Nationale and Geuthner, 1968) 545–606. Vita, J.-P., El ejército de Ugarit (Banco de Datos Filológicos Semíticos Noroccidentales, Monografías 1; Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1995). ——— “The Society of Ugarit,” in Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (ed. W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt; HdO 39; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 455–98.

420

Pardee – The “Priests” of Ugarit

——— “Le char de guerre en Syrie et Palestine au Bronze récent,” in Les armées du Proche-Orient ancien: IIIe–Ier mill. av. J.-C. (ed. P. Abrahami and L. Battini; BAR.S 1855; Oxford, 2008) 57–69. ——— “Terminology Related to Work Force and Job Categories in Ugarit,” in What’s in a Name? Terminology Related to the Work Force and Job Categories in the Ancient Near East (ed. A. GarciaVentura; AOAT 440; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2018) 355–67. ——— “Administrative Texts in Ugarit between Tradition and Innovation,” in Literaturkontakte Ugarits, Wurzeln und Entfaltungen, Internationale Tagung, Münster, 13.–15. Oktober 2015 (ed. I. Kottsieper and H. Neumann; Kasion 5; Münster: Zaphon, 2020) 189–98. Watson, W. G. E., “‘Message’ in Myth and Missive: Ugaritic tḥm,” JNSL 25/2 (1999) 1–16. ——— “Terms for Occupations, Professions and Social Classes in Ugaritic: An Etymological Study,” FO 55 (2018) 307–78. Westenholz, J. G., “Tamar, Qĕdēšā, Qadištu, and Sacred Prostitution in Mesopotamia,” HTR 82 (1989) 245– 65. Xella, P., I testi rituali di Ugarit. I. Testi (Studi Semitici 54; Rome: Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche, 1981). ——— “Aspects du ‘sacerdoce’ en Syrie ancienne: remarques méthodologiques et examen d’un cas particulier,” Numen 49 (2002) 406–26. Yon, M., and D. Arnaud, ed., Études ougaritiques I. Travaux 1985–1995 (RSO XIV; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 2001). Zamora, J.-Á., La vid y el vino en Ugarit (Banco de Datos Filológicos Semíticos Noroccidentales, Monografías 6; Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2000).

Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8) Jillian L. Ross

Abstract The Gideon account records a variety of rituals bearing symbolic meaning. Reading the Gideon narrative through the lens of ritual and comparing it with ancient rituals uncovers nonverbal conversations among God, Gideon, Israel, and Midian. “The narrative of Gideon preserves the most complete series of martial rituals … of any single biblical narrative,” so claims Gregory Mobley.1 Yet despite containing, “a full catalogue of Holy War” rites and rituals, rituals in the Gideon cycle have received scanty attention aside from Gideon’s call, fleecing, and ephod.2 Few have incorporated findings about rituals or asked what the symbolism behind the props are and how they may impact our interpretation of the text.3 Because warfare in the ancient world was “a ritualized activity,” this essay aims to read the Gideon narrative through the lens of ritual. This study will focus on warfare rituals because most – if not all – pericopes engage with pre-battle, battle, or post-battle rituals. The abundance of rituals in the Gideon cycle reflects its Sitz im Leben where warfare and the cult stand as the two most ritually dense activities in the ANE, as extant texts and iconography reveal.4 Because rituals are culturally determined activities that tend to communicate through symbolic elements, the ANE provides a serviceable cultural context for interpreting the rituals contained in Judges 6–8.5 At the same time, Israel stands as a subculture of the ancient world and, therefore, may have unique rituals or variant ritual expressions and interpretations.6 Importantly, the book of Judges contains rituals within the literary context of its narrative. Plot, structure, and characterization play significant roles in a ritual’s interpretation insofar as the ritual is literarily shaped in a text.7 This project, therefore, will apply a two-pronged method. It will look outside of the Judges narrative to ascertain what rituals were represented among Israel’s neighbors and what they conveyed in their contexts. It also looks inside the narrative at the rituals to ascertain how they are employed to develop the Gideon story, its structure, its characters, and its theology.8 Author’s Note: It is my great honor and joy to dedicate this essay to K. Lawson Younger, my Doktorvater. He has shaped my understanding not only of Judges and the importance of its ancient Near Eastern context but also of the calling of a Christian scholar and professor. 1 The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel, ABRL (New York: Doubleday, 2005), 152. 2 Quotation, Mobley, The Empty Men, 152. 3 Exceptions include Jack M. Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries in Judges,”in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Chaim Cohen et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 149–68; John A. Beck, “Gideon, Dew, and the NarrativeGeographical Shaping of Judges 6:33–40,” BibSac 165 (2008): 28–38. 4 Nathaniel B. Levtow attributes this to the life-and-death nature of warfare and cultic adherence. See his, “Monumental Inscriptions and the Ritual Representation of War,” in Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Context, ed. Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright, Ancient Israel and Its Literature (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 40. 5 Rüdiger Schmitt, “War Rituals in the Old Testament: Prophets, Kings, and the Ritual Preparations for War,” in Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Context, ed. Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright, Ancient Israel and Its Literature (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 151–52. 6 On subcultures in rituals, Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 172–75. 7 David P. Wright, Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 3–8; David P. Wright, “Ritual Theory, Ritual Texts, and the PriestlyHoliness Writing of the Pentateuch,” in Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion: Essays in Retrospect and Prospect, ed. Saul M. Olyan (Atlanta: SBL, 2012), 195–99; Gerald A. Klingbeil, Bridging the Gap: Ritual and Ritual Texts in the Bible, BBR.Sup 1 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 45–69. 8 For an application of the “inside” approach, see Wright, Ritual in Narrative; cf. Saul M. Olyan, Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 13.

422

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

Defining Ritual Before engaging with rituals within the Gideon account, the concept of ritual merits attention. Rituals are culturally determined actions and, consequently, cannot be homogenously defined. 9 Despite these challenges four features have been considered necessary in that rituals (1) are “culturally constructed;” (2) constitute a “behavior, praxis, or performance,” whether verbal or somatic; (3) have an audience, even if only oneself; and (4) are neither routine nor commonplace.10 Regarding “neither routine nor commonplace,” it must be stressed that while ritual is not a mundane activity, it relates and contrasts with the mundane.11 These traits alone are insufficient for having a ritual. Defined this way both Passover and a soccer tournament would constitute rituals. Rituals, therefore, must possess these elements but add one or more “nonessential” elements that frequent ritual contexts. The most prevalent ones include formality, repetition (by frequency or suppression), fixity (i.e., time or place bound), communicativeness, liminality, and symbolism.12 This can be demonstrated with the Passover meal. It contains formality and fixity (a specific date and place), communicates past events through procedures, and incorporates several symbols (e.g., unleavened bread, an unblemished male lamb). Its repetition is suppressed as an annual feast to denote its significance. Similarly, in Christianity, the Eucharist suppresses the amount of food to highlight the ritual’s significance although the ritual itself is done with much more frequency than the Passover.13 These contrasts from a common meal differentiate the Passover and Eucharist, thereby making them more privileged, important, and powerful.14 This more descriptive approach to defining rituals helps overcome obstacles arising from a homogenous definition. Catherine Bell, likewise, has offered a serviceable functional definition of ritualization: “ritualization is a matter of various culturally specific strategies for setting some activities off from others, for creating and privileging a qualitative distinction between the ‘sacred’ and the ‘profane,’ and for ascribing such distinctions to realities thought to transcend the powers of human actors.”15 While some, like Bell, treat rite as synonymous with ritual, several theorists argue convincingly for their distinction.16 A rite (also known as a subrite) is “a smaller subunit of the ritual context,”17 or as Snoek defines it, “the performance of an indivisible unit of ritual behavior.”18 In the Passover, slaughtering of the lamb, removing the leaven, and eating the food are each rites.19

9

Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 7; Jan A. M. Snoek, “Defining ‘Rituals’,” in Theorizing Rituals: Issues, Topics, Approaches, Concepts, ed. J. Kreinath, J. Snoek and M. Stausberg (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 4–5; Michael Stausberg, “ ‘Ritual’: A Survey of Some Related Terms,” in Theorizing Rituals, Volume 1: Issues, Topics, Approaches, Concepts, ed. Jens Kreinath, Jan Snoek, and Michael Stausberg, Studies in the History of Religion 114.1 (Boston: Brill, 2006), 52–54; Saul M. Olyan, “Introduction: Ritual Violence in the Hebrew Bible,” in Ritual Violence in the Hebrew Bible: New Perspectives, ed. Saul M. Olyan (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 3. 10 Snoek, “Defining ‘Rituals’,” 11. 11 Bell views ritualization as “a way of acting that is designed and orchestrated to distinguish and privilege what is being done in comparison to other, usually more quotidian, activities” in Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice, 90; cf. Saul M. Olyan, “Ritual Inversion in Biblical Representation of Punitive Rites,” in Worship, Women, and War: Essays in Honor of Susan Niditch, ed. John J. Collins, T. M. Lemos, and Saul M. Olyan, Brown Judaic Studies 357 (Providence, RI: Brown University, 2015), 135; Richard Schechner, “The Future of Ritual,” JRitSt 1 (1987): 5. 12 Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice, 90–93; Klingbeil, Bridging the Gap, 15–19; Snoek offers twenty-four sets of elements, see, “Defining ‘Rituals’,” 11. 13 Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice, 90. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid., 74. 16 Snoek, “Defining ‘Rituals’,” 8–10, 13; Stausberg, “ ‘ Ritual’,” 53; Klingbeil, Bridging the Gap, 19, 21. 17 Klingbeil, Bridging the Gap, 19. 18 Snoek, “Defining ‘Rituals’,”13. 19 The relationship between rituals and rites is analogous to morphemes and words in that morphemes are the smallest meaning-bearing units of a word.

423

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

Gideon’s Call as a Commissioning Ritual (Judg 6:11–24) Following the seminal study of Norman C. Habel, scholars have rightly conceived of Judg 6:11–24 as Gideon’s call narrative, a narrative with significant parallels to Moses’ call.20 While the activities of this text certainly fit with the call narrative ritual (which includes prophetic figures), I wish to suggest this narrative is also presented as a commissioning ritual for a leader. This fits within the contours of the Gideon cycle since each pericope relates in some way to the battle between Israel and Midian. Because deliverers are not kings and coronations contain different rites, direct ANE parallels with this proposed ritual are lacking.21 Nevertheless, elements within the ritual as proposed here share affinities with ceremonies seen in the ancient world. A commissioning ritual differs from a call in that the divine element is not required and other elements of fixity and symbolism are present. Because I am proposing a new “type scene,” I will present the elements for the book of Judges as well as for Moses. The leaders in Judges with commissioning narratives are Barak, Gideon, Abimelech, and Jephthah.22 The elements are as follows: (1) foreign oppression; (2) elite agent(s); (3) location beside a tree; (4) formal language for the call; (5) stated mission; (6) acceptance; and (7) sign/prophecy. They are represented in the following table. Table 1: Commissioning Elements in Judges Barak Gideon (1) Oppression yes yes (2) Agent prophetess divine (3) Tree palm tree terebinth (4) Formal Language yes yes (5) Mission yes yes (6) Acceptance (7) Sign/Prophecy

verbal prophecy

offering sign

Abimelech no leaders oak no assassinate brothers implied curse (from brother)

Jephthah yes elders no no yes

Moses yes divine bramble bush yes yes

verbal no

implied 3x: 1 prophetic sign & 2 physical signs

As is clear from the table, not every story contains each element or the same representation of the element. Still, the form rises to the level of ritual, as will be illustrated through Gideon’s story. The Occasion, Agent, and Tree Rites The first three commissioning elements are evaluated together with respect to the Gideon cycle. As mentioned above, rituals tend to occur at certain times, exhibit formality by including an elite officiator, and happen at certain places. For example, the Eucharist occurs on Sunday, is officiated by a priest, and is performed at a church. The commissioning of the leader bears similarities. The commissioning occurs at a 20

“The Form and Significance of the Call Narrative,” ZAW 77 (1965): 297–323. On the intertextual relations between Gideon and Moses, see Lillian Klein, The Triumph of Irony in the Book of Judges, JSOT.SS 68 (Sheffield: Almond, 1989), 51; Hava Shalom-Guy, “The Call Narratives of Gideon and Moses: Literary Convention or More?,” JHebS 11 (2011): 1–19; Gregory T. K. Wong, “Gideon: A New Moses?,” in Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, ed. Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brain Aucker, VT.S 113 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–45; K. Lawson Younger, Jr., Judges, Ruth, rev. ed., NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2020), 226–30. 21 On coronation rituals, see Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961), 102–7; Marc Zvi Brettler, God is King: Understanding a Biblical Metaphor, JSOT.SS 76 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1989), 126–35 (esp. 131). 22 The Samson account includes a birth and call narrative (Judg 13); his judgeship is only tacitly mentioned (Judg 15:20). The fact that Barak is commissioned as the military leader against Jabin-Sisera, does not preclude Deborah from holding the title of judge. On Deborah as a Moses-like figure, see Bruce Herzberg, “Deborah and Moses,” JSOT 38 (2013): 15– 33. Joshua’s commissioning follows a different format than the above; his occurs at the tent of meetings with Yahweh appearing in a cloud pillar (Deut 31:14–15).

424

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

specific time, during the Midianite oppression (Judg 6:1–10).23 There is someone of rank officiating the commission, here the envoy of Yahweh, and the commissioning takes place at a specific location, namely beside a tree. The tree as a rite is strengthened by the fact that the Gideon and Deborah-Barak accounts share lexical and syntactical similarities of √‫ ישב‬+ ‫ תחת‬+ tree + location of tree.24 ‫ַויֵּשֶׁ ב תַּ חַ ת הָ אֵ לָה‬ ‫אֲשֶׁ ר בְּ ﬠָפְ ָרה אֲשֶׁ ר לְ יוֹאָ שׁ אֲבִ י הָ ﬠֶ ז ְִרי‬ And he sat under a terabinth tree, which is in Ophrah which belonged to Joab the Abiezrite.

6:11

‫בוֹרה‬ ָ ‫וְ הִ יא יוֹשֶׁ בֶ ת תַּ חַ ת־תֹּ מֶ ר ְדּ‬ ‫בֵּ ין הָ ָרמָ ה וּבֵ ין בֵּ ית־אֵ ל בְּ הַ ר אֶ פְ ָריִ ם‬

4:5

Now she would sit under the “Palm of Deborah” between Hormah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim.

It seems more than coincidental that trees are mentioned in each commissioning narrative in Judges except for in the Jephthah account in which Yahweh says, “I will no longer deliver you” (Judg 10:13b). In my estimation, the tree is endued with symbolism. Trees possess several symbolic dimensions in antiquity whether as a symbol of life and abundance, as a representative of a deity, or as a representative of a king.25 By looking at this pericope and comparing it to the various other commissioning rites, the terabinth tree here almost certainly represents the deity. Twice the tree is mentioned and twice the envoy is under it (Judg 6:11, 19). In fact, the envoy is situated with two additional items connected to the deity, namely near a rock (‫)סלע‬ (Judg 6:20–21; cf. Num 20:8–11 [4x]) and going up in(?) fire (Judg 6:21; cf. 13:20). Other deliverer accounts support the notion that the tree symbolizes Yahweh. Deborah sits under the palm tree when “the Israelites would go up to her for judgment” (Judg 4:5).26 This associates the tree not 23

The root ‫“( לחץ‬oppression”) occurs in the narratives of Deborah-Barak (Judg 4:3), Gideon (Judg 6:9), Jephthah (Judg 10:12), and Moses (Exod 3:9). For Gideon and Jephthah, ‫ לחץ‬appears in the divine denunciation referring to previous oppressions (Judg 6:8–10; 10:11–14). Israel’s current oppression by Midian is inferred through parallels and near synonyms with the rib. 24 All translations are mine unless otherwise stated. The precise types of trees cannot be identified with certainty, but what is certain is that they are both trees. For a discussion on the pointing of ‫“( תמר‬date palm”), see Jack M. Sasson, Judges 1–12: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 6D (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), 256–57. The minor differences between Judg 6:11 and 4:5 can be explained by the aims of their respective cycles. Deborah’s clause is structured to draw parallels between her and Sisera who was “dwelling in Harosheth-hagoyim” (‫ ;וְ הוּא יוֹשֵׁ ב בַּ חֲרֹ שֶׁ ת הַ גּוֹיִ ם‬4:2). “The structural equivalence of these introductions accentuates that both characters function as servants of their respective (and opposing) suzerains – namely, Jabin and YHWH” (Michelle E. Knight, “Like the Sun in its Might: The Literary and Theological Function of Judges 5 in the book of Judges,” [PhD diss., Wheaton College, 2017], 105). 25 William R. Osborne, Trees and Kings: A Comparative Analysis of Tree Imagery in Israel’s Prophetic Tradition and the Ancient Near East, BBR.Sup 18 (Winona Lakes, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2018), 31–114. Attestations of the king as a personified tree occurs early in the Sumerian tale Etana, whose antiquity may date c. 23rd century (“Etana,” trans. Stephanie Dalley [COS 1.131:453]). According to Osborne, the king serves as the deity’s representative much like idols do, but the king “at times metaphorically took up the same form” as the deity (75). On a potential diachronic development of the tree as deity and blessing between MBII to Iron Age II in Israel’s iconography, see David T. Sugimoto, “‘Tree of Life’ Decoration on Iron Age Pottery,” Orient 48 (2012): 125–46 (esp. 125–35). 26 According to Yitzhak Avishur, a parallel between Deborah’s judgeship and the role of Daniel in the Aqhat legend may exist (CTA 19.1, lines 22–23). He reads the lines in question as “he sits (yṯb) at the gate, under the tree on the threshing floor (tḥt ʿadrm bggrn) (Yitzhak Avishur, “A Common Formula for Describing a Judge Fulfilling his Duty: Daniel the Canaanite and Deborah the Israelite,” in Studies in Biblical Narrative, ed. Yitzhak Avishur (Tel Aviv, 1999), 242–46). Simon B. Parker, using the same reconstruction, translates the lines “[he] sits by the gateway among [the chiefs of the threshing floor] (“Aqhat,” in Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, ed. Simon B. Parker, SBL Writings form the Ancient World [Atlanta: SBL, 1997], 68; cf. “The ͐Aqhatu Legend,” trans. Dennis Pardee [COS 1.103:351]). On Deborah exhibiting parallels with those at Delphi including the palm tree, see Yaakov S. Kupitz and Katell Berthelot, “Deborah and the Delphic Pythia: A New Interpretation of Judges 4:4–5*,” in Images and Prophecy in the Ancient Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Martti Nissinnen and Charles E. Cater (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 95–124 (esp. 104– 8).

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

425

just with Barak’s commissioning but with Deborah’s judgment and outside of Barak’s physical presence. The tree then is more closely tied to the commissioner, rather than the one being commissioned. She who sits under the palm tree speaks under Yahweh’s authority. Likewise, in Moses’ commissioning the bush burns as a representation of Yahweh’s presence, for “The envoy of Yahweh appeared to him in the flame of fire (‫ )בְּ לַבַּ ת־אֵ שׁ‬in the midst of the bramble bush (‫)מתּוֹ הַ ְסּנֶה‬ ִ (Exod 3:2).27 Similarly at the end of Gideon’s pericope, the terebinth and the fire occur in close proximity (Judg 6:19, 20), serving as two representations of Yahweh.28 Formal Language Rite Elevated language, the fourth element, also mildly supports the view that the tree represents the deity. Elevated language is employed by the officiator and is accompanied by the fifth element, the stated mission to deliver Israel from its enemy. The envoy of Yahweh first declares to Gideon, “Yahweh be with you, O mighty man of valor!” (‫ ;יהוה ﬠִ ְמּ גִּ בּוֹר הֶ חָ יִ ל‬Judg 6:12) and subsequently says, “Go … Have I not sent you?” (... ‫ ; ֲהל ֹא ְשׁלַחְ ִתּי ֵל‬Judg 6:14). For this rite, Judges only reports special language when the official has strong connections with the divine realm, namely the prophetess or the envoy of Yahweh. “I have sent you” is considered formulaic commissioning language (Judg 6:14; cf. Exod 3:12; Ezek 3:6).29 The special language varies, as Deborah opens, “Has not Yahweh the God of Israel commanded you, ‘Go!’” (‫ֲהל ֹא צִ וָּה יהוה ֱא הֵ י־‬ ‫ ;יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל ֵל‬Judg 4:6).30 While the formal language is not as fixed as “I do” is in modern weddings, its fluidity should be considered analogous to the exchanging of vows. Sign Rite / Test Ritual In commissioning rituals initiated by Yahweh, Yahweh gives a prophecy and/or sign.31 Only in the Gideon narrative does the deliverer himself request a sign (Judg 6:17), and only here in Judges does the sign/prophecy precede the acceptance. Likewise only Gideon selects the props for the sign, if not the sign itself, as he does with the fleece (6:36–40) (more below). The order of the story testifies to this. Gideon received the clue that the envoy is divine: I will be (‫ )אֶ הְ יֶה‬with you (6:16).32 Gideon then makes a contiguous statement asking for a sign and for the envoy to not depart until he brings a minḥâ and lays (hiphil ‫ )נוח‬it before him (6:18).33 27

I conjecture that Moses’ commissioning employs the bramble bush (‫)סנֶה‬ ְ as a substitute for a tree due to its setting in the Sinai desert (Exod 3:2–4; 5x). 28 The presence of fire in the commissioning of Gideon and Moses may furnish further support for Sasson’s translation of v. 4, “Deborah was a woman prophet, a wielder of flames” instead of “wife of Lappidoth” (Judges 1–12, 250, 255– 56; cf. Tammi J. Schneider, Judges, Berit Olam: Studies in Hebrew Narrative and Poetry [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000], 65–67). As for Abimelech, he was appointed king by the leaders of Shechem “beside the oak of the pillar” (9:6). The tree still likely represents the deity (Baal-Berit of 9:4?) as a witness or as one sanctioning the commissioning. Wolfgang Bluedorn posits that the terebinth tree carries connotations of the Canaanite cult (cf. Gen 35:8), and, therefore, suggests “the narrator stresses that the Canaanites gods are unable to prevent YHWH from using their place; instead YHWH is a god who is superior to them” (Yahweh Versus Baalism: A Theological Reading of the Gideon-Abimelech Narrative, JSOT.SS 329 [Sheffield: Sheffield, 2001], 71). His interpretation has some merit in light of later portions of the story, most notable 6:25–32. However, if the terebinth were a Canaanite cult station, then it is hard to imagine that the envoy of Yahweh would appropriate it without first deconsecrating it or performing some shameful deed to it. 29 Susan Niditch, Judges: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 88, 90. 30 This language also applies to Moses. 31 Abimelech’s commissioning weaponizes the prophecy/sign rite against him by issuing a curse. For weaponizing schematized scenes in Judges, see Jillian L. Ross, “Type-Casting the Samson Family: Genesis Parodies in Judges 13–14,” JETS 64 (2021): 237–52. 32 This formulaic language also functions as “an oath of assurance” (Habel, “The Form and Significance of the Call Narrative,” 300). 33 I am in general agreement with Sasson that Gideon’s intent is obscured because minḥâ has cultic and noncultic meanings and because ‫ נוח‬is not the normal term for presenting an offering. That being said, the same construction, the hiphil of ‫ נוח‬+ ‫ לפי‬+ deity/altar, is used twice in the offering of first fruits (Deut 26:1–11). In Deut 26:4, “the priest shall take the basket (‫)טנֶא‬ ֶ ֫ from your hand and lay it before the altar of Yahweh your God.” And in verse 10, after the offerer

426

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

Ancient Near Eastern parallels persuade me to favor the notion that Gideon transformed the sign into a quasi-cultic ritual to test whether or not the envoy was divine by seeing if he would transform the minḥâ into an offering and/or consume the food.34 Younger views the amount of grain (approximately 10–20 liters), the goat, and broth as a divine portion and connects it to the minḥâ in the Old Aramaic Ördekburnu Stele.35 In the stele a woman (likely a queen or queen mother) requests that the deceased’s son honor two high-ranking gods and the deceased (presumably the woman) with an offering.36 “May he present a mnḥ[h]-offering: For Rākib-͐El: two ewes for the day; and for Kubab: two ewes for the day; and for the royal tomb/shrine: two ewes for the day.”37 Perhaps a closer analogue is the boiled meat offerings from the Assyrian empire where the components are similar to Gideon’s meal/offering. Gideon’s minḥâ comprises a boiled young goat (‫)גְּ ִדי־ﬠִ זִּים‬, which he put in a basket (‫)בַּ סַּ ל‬, an ephod of unleavened wheat bread (‫)וְ אֵ יפַת־קֶ מַ ח מַ צּוֹת‬, and a pot of broth (‫( )מָ ַרק‬6:19). These elements do not follow Levitical procedures for offerings to God, which has led to the assumption that Gideon’s offering was “based entirely on his own evaluation of what is appropriate.”38 This is true in the main, but the corresponding offerings in the Assyrian texts suggest that Gideon’s actions were based on offerings deemed appropriate for deities in non-Yahwistic settings.39 Attestations of bread accompanying a boiled meat (salqu) offering occur as early as the Middle-Assyrian period.40 During the Neo-Assyrian period, a variety of meat cuts were presented with bread (alku), and in a few texts this bread was placed in a basket, sallu, which is the Akkadian equivalent for the ‫ סַ ל‬Gideon used in 6:19.41 Since the passage does not mention where the unleavened bread was put, it may have been placed inside the ‫ סַ ל‬with the meat, though it is also possibly it was transported differently. Regardless, these Assyrian texts give precedent for Gideon putting meat inside his sal-basket with bread accompanying it in some manner (cf. Lev 8:31). Likewise, “much of the meat destined for temple offerings was converted into culinary preparation of liquid consistency, such as soups and bouillons,” including preparations with boiled

finishes his prescribed declaration, he is instructed “you lay it before Yahweh your God ( ‫ )וְ הִ נַּחְ תּוֹ לִ פְ נֵי יהוה ֱא הֶ י‬and you will bow in worship before Yahweh your God” (Deut 26:10). 34 So also Daniel Isaac Block, Judges, Ruth, NAC 6 (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1999), 262. Pace Sasson who due to the use of ‫ נוח‬concludes, “it is not at all clear what kind of test Gideon had in store for the visitor” (Judges 1–12, 335). The ritual is quasi-cultic in that it contains cultic practices “situated outside of a sanctuary context” (Olyan, Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000], 10). 35 Younger, Judges, Ruth, 230. 36 K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “The Ördekburnu and Katumuwa Stelae: Some Reflections on Two Grabdenkmäler,” BASOR 384 (2020), 1–7. 37 Translation is that of Younger. For the drawings, transliteration, and his complete translation, see Younger, “The Ördekburnu and Katumuwa Stelae,” 2–4. 38 Block, Judges, Ruth, 263; followed by Younger, Judges, Ruth, 230. 39 This section draws heavily from Salvatore Gaspa, “Meat Offerings and their Preparation in the State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” SOAS 72 (2012): 249–73. 40 “One liter of wheat bread at the disposal of Adad-iddin(?), of the stable, for the boiled meat” (a-na sa-al-qi).” English translation Gaspa, “The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 266 n. 192; For the text and French translation, see JeanneMarie Aynard and Jean-Marie Durand, “Documents d’époque medio-assyrienne,” Assur 3 (1980): 46 no, 12:11–12. This text is a rare find because Middle Assyrian texts seldom reported types of cuts or culinary procedures (Aynard and Durand, “Documents d’époque medio-assyrienne,” 46 [no. 12 ln 7], 48; Gaspa, “The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 250–53). 41 Wiebke Meinhold, Ištar in Aššur: Untersuchung einees Lokalkultes von ca. 2500 bis 614 v. Chr., AOAT 367 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009), 357, no.10 14’; Brigitte Menzel, Assyrische Tempel, Studia Pohl, Series Maior 10.2 (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1981), T106, no. 49A 14A:14’–15’ and possibly T60, no. 35 r. vi 33’–34’, if one accepts Gaspa’s proposed reconstruction (“The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 265 n. 182). Though not in a sallu-basket, another text refers to a grilled ram put inside a basket with loaves (Gaspa,“The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 266). NeoAssyrian spells the basket sallu, but it also occurs as sellu and sillu, CAD 15:217–18. Sallu also came to represent a type of offering, but our interests concern the sallu-basket (CAD 15:218).

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

427

meat.42 Concerning the boiled meat, as an offering it occurred with high regularity.43 In cultic settings “where more gods are involved, boiled meat is destined for Aššur (and other deities), while roasted parts go to Ištar (or to her manifestations).”44 Furthermore, boiled meat is offered overwhelmingly, but not exclusively, to male deities in the extant texts.45 Equally intriguing is a Hittite folktale in the so-called “Cannibal Text” (KBo 3.60); it recounts a test to determine whether a being was human or divine.46 The story takes place on the battle field with a character Kaniu. The relevant lines read as follows: “Kaniu took some cooked pork and laid it in front of DUMU. MAḪ.LÍL: If he marked it [the meat], (it is) a god; but if he does not mark (it), (he is) a human, (he is) a [mortal and] we do not wage war. DUMU.MAḪ.LÍL [took] the pork.”47 The details of the text are obscure, but the point is that the test for deity status rested on DUMU.MAḪ.LÍL consuming the pork (and perhaps “marking” it).48 Syntactically Gideon’s sign relates to his minhâ. His minhâ corresponds well with offerings in the ANE, particularly with (Neo-)Assyrian offerings presented to Aššur (and other, mostly male, deities). Understood this way, the story could present Gideon as allowing for the visitor to determine what to do with the items whether to eat them like a mortal or perform a sign. If this interpretation is correct, Gideon may have been performing a test akin to that of Kanui in “The Cannibal Text.” Normal consumption would mean that the envoy was mortal whereas manipulating the food items in a cultic manner would suggest the envoy was supernatural (and Gideon would defeat Midian). Yet by Gideon’s fear-gripped reaction, the test was apparently not to determine if the visitor was Yahweh himself (Judg 6:22). In this interpretation, the envoy consumes the food in a manner only God can – with fire (cf. Judg 13:20–22; 1 Kgs 18:38–40); the sign test proves the envoy’s divine status and his ability to lead Gideon to victory. Alternately, the types of foods presented and size may have been considered sufficient for the narrator to show that Gideon intentionally brings a food offering expecting a sign from an elite human or supernatural being. The grandeur of the sign proves that the being is divine and confirms that God will lead Gideon against Midian. In either case, some features remain obscure but the ANE literature makes clear that the collection of food comports well with known offerings and such food could serve as props for tests and signs. Acceptance Rite Gideon’s subsequent actions signal his acceptance of Yahweh’s call. Gideon builds an altar and names it, “Yahweh is Peace” (Judg 6:24). The name of the altar corresponds with Yahweh’s assurance that Gideon’s life is preserved despite his face-to-face encounter with the divine (6:23). In this regard, it venerates Yahweh as God and the one who granted Gideon peace. At the same time, by installing the altar Gideon acknowledges his role as Yahweh’s subject. Through this deed, Gideon accepts his role as deliverer. That the act functions

42

Gaspa, “The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 268–69. In a like manner, the Hittites made boiled-meat offerings. According to Alice Mouton, certain meat cuts were selected for boiling in a cooking pot and “doubtlessly” made into stew, as attested in one extant text (“Anatomie animale: le festin carné des dieux d’après les textes hittites III. Le traitment des viands,” RA 101 [2007]: 86–87). 43 On the seventh and eight days of each month, boiled meat and a roasted female kid-goat were offered, even on one occasion at a spring with blood and other liquid (Gaspa, “The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 255). For the texts see Brigitte Menzel, Assyrische Tempel, Studia Pohl, Series Maior 10.2 (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1981), T76–T81. nos. 37 i 9’, 17’; 37 ii 2’, 9; 38 i 3’ r vi 5; 38 i 5’, ii 4’, r. vi 6. 44 Gaspa, “The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 269; cf. 259. 45 Gaspa finds two incidences with females, Šērūʾa and the “Lady of the Mountain” (“The State Cult of the Assyrian Empire,” 262, 269). 46 The name comes from soldiers eating humans. 47 The above translation is my rendering of Mouton’s French translation. For the Hittite text and her translation, see Alice Mouton, “Une épreuve pour différencier l’homme du dieu: le ‘texte des cannibals’ Hittite (KBo 3.60) et quelques rapprochements, ou comment reconnaît-on un dieu hittite?” AoF 31 (2004): 304–5. 48 Naram-Sin performs an analogous test found in Akkadian and Hittite texts. If the enemy sheds blood in war, they are human; if not, they are numinous. For texts, translation, and comments, see Mouton, “Une épreuve pour différencier l’homme du dieu,” 305–7; cf. Sasson, Judges 1–12, 334.

428

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

as a symbolic acceptance rite gains support with Yahweh’s nocturnal call to ritual violence against the Baal shrine. In summation, Judg 6:11–24 should be understood as a commissioning ritual that overlaps with the “call narrative” types. In so doing, the event marks the first pre-battle ritual. Several of its rites are imbued with symbolic meaning, such as the terebinth tree, the altar building, and the minḥâ presentation. Tearing Down Baal’s Altar as a Cult Desecration and “Purification” Ritual (Judg 6:25–27) The scholarly consensus views Judg 6:25–27 as a cult desecration ritual with the aims of denouncing the status of Baal and Asherah as gods, removing idolatry (at least from a literary perspective), exalting Yahweh, and promulgating his worship instead of these Canaanite gods.49 Targeting iconic representations of the Canaanite gods is well attested in the Hebrew Bible and ANE world, so I will keep my comments brief. The actions against Baal and Asherah involve violent and shameful rituals of inversion.50 Dismantling the altar in effect reverts the sacred stones to their profane origins; converting the Asherah (pole) into firewood gives it a common, utilitarian function.51 The items/deities are further shamed by their forced subjection into elements for an altar and offering to Yahweh stationed on high ground (‫)ﬠַל ר ֹאשׁ הַ מָּ עוֹז הַ זֶּה‬. If one assume that the Asherah was carved to be a stylized tree as is featured in ANE iconography, then fielding the tree would symbolize her defeat. The breaking of the Canaanite cultic site shows Gideon’s break with the Canaanite gods and allegiance to Yahweh. Theologically, this would be viewed as a cleansing from idolatry and (implicitly) a requirement for his station as a deliverer and representative of Yahweh. The story continues with ironic reversals of Deuteronomic law in which the townspeople of Ophrah seek to execute Gideon for his “crimes” against Baal. At the behest of Joash, they desist. From a ritual standpoint, the city is purified from its Baal worship.52 Gideon is ready to represent Yahweh in battle. Gideon’s Fleece as a Divination Ritual (Judg 6:36–40) Despite his divine encounters, Gideon remains skeptical of his promised victory over the vast Midianite forces. He adopts one of the most common battle rituals in the ancient world – divination. The procedure occurred liberally, whenever deemed appropriate or advantageous.53 Often this was before commencing on the next action.54 In this regard, divinations offered security for the soldiers that the battle itself and the next steps carried divine approval.55 Important for the Gideon account, confirmation was typically achieved by duplication. According to Sasson, “in antiquity duplication of results was deemed a ratification of authenticity if not also of veracity.”56 Typically, divination involved yes-or-no questions with favorable being yes

49

For the literature on 6:25–32, and its relationship to Deuteronomic texts, see my chapter on Gideon in Jillian L. Ross, A People Heed Not Scripture: Allusions in Judges (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, forthcoming). 50 “Violent rites, in contrast with forms of violence, are also characterized by distinct features of ritual behavior, such as the manipulation, including the inversion, of other ritualized and non-ritualized practices” (Olyan, “Introduction,” 3). 51 Saul M. Olyan, Violent Rituals of the Hebrew Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019), 53. 52 These are parodic accounts of rituals for executing an idolater or city fallen into idolatry in Deuteronomy 13. For details on the allusions, see Ross, A People Heeds Not Scripture, (forthcoming). 53 Sarah C. Melville, “The Role of Rituals in Warfare during the Neo-Assyrian Period,” Religion Compass 10 (2016): 221. 54 Ibid., 221–22. 55 Ibid., 221. 56 Jack M. Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Chaim Cohen, et al (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 154. For example, Sasson provides the following translation of ZimriLim’s correspondence to his wife to inquire of a diviner or prophet: “For now, inquire about Hammurabi of Babylon: ‘Will this man die? Will he be honest with us? Will he battle against us? If I go north, will he besiege us? What?’ Inquire about the man. Once you inquire do so again and send me a report about him on all you inquire” (emphasis mine) (“Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” 157 n. 16: ARM 26 185b = ARM 10 134+177).

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

429

and unfavorable no.57 In the following Hittite example, the king queries about going to war. “His M[ajesty] shall campaign against the troops of Mt. Haharwa. Will the soul of Mt. Haharwa [be calm] for this? Let (the oracle) be favorable …. Fa[vorable].”58 As the campaigning continues, the king consistently inquires about a host of military decisions including whether to fight a city, whether to deploy the whole arm or a unit, and even where to sleep after defeating an enemy:59 “Is it not permitted to sleep up there? Let (oracle) be unfavorable. The ‘great sickness’ took ‘thick bread’, ‘a libation vessel’, and ‘well-being of the house’ and gave them to ‘the Sungod of Heaven’. Unfavorable.”60 In one sense, it is not surprising that Gideon seeks divine guidance at the next phase of war, namely the mustering of troops. What is surprising from an ANE perspective, is that he makes yet another inquiry into his position as deliverer. This had been established through the minḥâ sign as well as the altar desecration. Gideon, however, is gripped by fear. It goes without saying that Gideon’s demand for a sign divination departs from ordinate Yahweh worship like Urrim and Thummim or prophets (Num 27:21; Judg 4:14; cf. Deut 18:10). God acquiesces to the pagan demands of Gideon not once, but twice (more below). In regard to the elements of the ritual, John A. Beck queries, “Why did Gideon ask Him to manipulate dew?”61 Gideon, in effect, could have asked for any sign with any elements, yet he chose dew (‫ )טַ ל‬and a wool fleece (‫)גִּ זַּת הַ צֶּ מֶ ר‬. Beck argues persuasively that the sign tests Yahweh’s primacy over Baal. Gideon’s choice of rites relates to climate and the divine claims over it. Dew precipitates about half the nights at that time of year (Judg 6:11) and was essential for the later crops like grapes and figs.62 The dew, according to Ugaritc myths, was controlled by Baal the Cloud Rider. In the Baal cycle, he bestows it: “[Anat] gathers water and washes, dew of heavens, oil of earth, the showers of Cloud–Rider. The dew (that) the heavens pour down, the showers (that) the stars pour down.”63 In the Aqhat story, Baal withholds it: Thereupon, Dānīʾilu the man of Rapaʾu, uttered a spell upon clouds in the heat of the season, upon the rain that the clouds pour down on the summer fruits, upon the dew that falls on the grapes. Seven years has Baʿlu failed, eight (years) he who rides upon the clouds: No dew, no showers, no upsurging (of water) from the deeps, no goodly voice of Baʿlu.64 In Gideon’s first testing, Yahweh surpasses expectations and provides dew in abundance: “filling a bowlful of water” (‫;מלוֹא הַ סֵּ ֶפל מָ יִ ם‬ ְ Judg 6:37). Yahweh provides a miraculous quantity of dew.65 To confirm the process Gideon asks for a reverse of the sign, one that works against natural laws.66 “Only the fleece was dry” (8:40). Yahweh confirmed, “and Baal was nowhere to be seen!”67

57

Younger, Judges, Ruth, 243. Translation from R. H. Beal, “Seeking Divine Approval for Campaign Strategy KUB 5.1+KUB 52.65,” Ktema 24 (1999): 41–42: KUB 5.1 i, 1–4. 59 Ada Taggar-Cohen, “Rituals on the Battlefield and Historiographical Accounts: Hittite and Biblical Texts,” in “Now It Happened in Those Days”: Studies in Biblical, Assyrian, and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Mordechai Cogan on His 75th Birthday, vol. 2, ed. Amitai Baruchi-Unna et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017), 569. 60 Beal, “KUB 5.1+KUB 52.65,” 43: KUB 5.1 i, 38–39. 61 Beck, “Gideon, Dew,” 34 (emphasis mine). 62 Ibid. 35–37. 63 “The Baʿlu Myth,” trans. Dennis Pardee (COS 1.86: 251). 64 “The ʾAqhatu Legend,” COS 1.103: 351 (i 38–46) 65 Beck, “Gideon, Dew,” 37. 66 Beck, “Gideon, Dew,” 38; Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” 158. 67 Beck, “Gideon, Dew,” 38. 58

430

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

Just as in the minḥâ sign so also in the fleece-dew sign, Yahweh not only confirmed Gideon’s role but also confirmed his divine status. This time, Yahweh’s sign proves his hegemony over Baal. Moving beyond Beck, I wish to suggest that the other elements bear significance. The lamb’s wool, dew, and threshing floor are all associated with agriculture. It seems the manipulation of the dew could symbolize a fortune reversal for Israel whose “sheep, ox, and donkey” (‫ )וְ שֶׂ ה וָשׁוֹר ַוחֲמוֹר‬had been plundered by the Midianites (Judg 6:4) and whose deliverer had been beating wheat in a winepress instead of the threshing floor (Judg 6:11). By taking control of these items, Yahweh not only assures Gideon of his martial victory as Israel’s deliverer but also signals a return to agricultural productivity. By filling the bowl with water, God seems to promise the land’s rest (Judg 8:28) comparable to Deut 33:28: “Israel lives in security, the spring of Jacob secluded; in a land of grain and wine, its heavens drip dew.” The Midianite Dream as a Divination Ritual (Judg 7:9–15) Judges 7:9–15 constitutes a “particularly clever merging of divinatory processes.”68 Yahweh, having selected his company of 300 soldiers, speaks to Gideon “that night” to announce the time for the battle – now, or at least that evening (7:9–11).69 Yahweh effectively bypasses the Mesopotamian oracular ritual yet makes accommodations for Gideon. Yahweh “forced” a dream upon an enemy Midianite solder and gives directions to Gideon so that he and Purah can hear its interpretation (7:10–11).70 The interpretation serves as a reduplication of Yahweh’s nocturnal utterance.71 The dream involves barley bread and an overturned tent. “Look, a loaf of barley bread was tumbling about (hithpael ‫ )הפך‬in the Midianite camp. It came to the tent and struck it. It fell (‫)נפל‬. It turned upside down (qal ‫ )הפך‬so that the tent collapsed (‫( ”)נפל‬Judg 7:13). The man who interprets the dream identifies Gideon with the barley loaf (7:14).72 The collapsed tent means a decisive defeat (7:14), probably implying a reversal from Midian’s upright state. The density of symbols in rituals within the Gideon account suggests that the tumbling barley is also symbolic. External clues may be found from a poorly preserved Ugarit text thought to contain “a rough catalogue of items that may be seen in dreams along with an interpretation by item or category.”73 This dream omen text begins with a horse belonging to a goddess and another being, and says “if the horse falls over” (ln 7).74 The interpretation of the dream breaks off but is negative.75 Later in the text, barley is likewise mentioned (ln 31). The elements in Gideon’s dream correspond with conventions in the Mesopotamian world. Gregory Mobley’s interpretation is on the mark. “This is [a] reversal: Israel, Midian’s meal ticket according to Judges 6:4–5, transmogrifies into a great round of bread that bowls over the Midianite camp.”76 The interpretation of the dream and the fleece “are one and the same” (Gen 41:25). Israel will defeat Midian and the land will enjoy its rest. Yahweh was the focus of the dew-fleece sign; Gideon was for the dream. Perhaps, this anticipates the charge “for Yahweh and for Gideon” (Judg 7:18, 20). Gideon and His 300 Jars as an Execration Ritual (Judg 7:16–23) Generally regarded as “totally absurd,” Gideon’s division of his troops into three companies befit with rams horns (‫)שׁוֹפָרוֹת‬, empty jars (‫)וְ כ ִַדּים ֵרקִ ים‬, and torches (‫ )וְ לַפִּ ִדים‬lays under-investigated for ritualized activity.77 68

Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” 152. The state of the text in 7:1–8 makes exploring ritualization too dubious. 70 Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” 152. 71 Ibid., 152. 72 On potential lexical connections with the Akkadian word for “interpreter,” see Robin Baker, “‘A Dream Carries Much Implication,’: The Midianite’s Dream (Judges VII), Its Role and Meaning,” VT 68 (2018): 361–62. 73 “Ugaritic Dream Omens,” trans. Dennis Pardee (COS 1.93: 293). 74 Ibid., 293. 75 Ibid., 294 n. 6. 76 Mobley, The Empty Men, 132. 77 Quotation, Block, Judges, Ruth, 281. To my knowledge Niditch is the only Judges scholar who views the fray as “suggestive of ritual action” (Judges, 98), though Mobley may as well (The Empty Men, 153). 69

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

431

This is especially surprising since the account shares several parallels with the march around Jericho, a highly ritualized pre-battle “ceremony” constituting “a sacred procession into the Promised Land.”78 Biblical and extra-biblical texts intimate that Judg 7:16–23 records an execration ritual. Execration rituals need not contain “explicit curses, but instead serve to identify the fate of the enemies.”79 The clearest attestation in the Hebrew Bible occurs when Elisha instructs Joash to shoot and strike the arrows (2 Kgs 13:14–19).80 In the ANE, the closest similarity is the Egyptian red pot execration ritual, in which clay pots or figurines inscribed with enemy names were smashed.81 The notion that broken pottery vessels symbolize death or defeat is widely adopted in the ancient world (cf. Ps 2:9; Ecc 12:5–8; Isa 30:14; Jer 18:1–11). For example, an Egyptian manual for interpreting dreams reads, “Breaking a pot with his feet. BAD. It means fighting.”82 In a Hittite omen text for soldiers, torches (§§3´–7´) and bowl breaking (§§8´–9´) occur as successive performance rites. The bowl acts as a self-curse or a blessing, depending on the soldier’s fidelity. 83 §8´ [He (i.e., the officiator) places bowls in their hands and] they break [them] up […] at the same time [saying] as follows: “[These are not bowls], they are your heads. [If] you do [not] keep [them (i.e., the words)] may the gods break [up your heads in the same way], and [may they …] you in the [same way.] §9´ “Bu[t if] you keep them may [the gods] break up [a horrible death] for [yo]u in the same way.”84 In like manner, a soldier who violates his oath of service, accepts a curse to “be extinguished” like the torch he had just extinguished, he “along with his [progeny,] his house, his wife.”85 Gideon’s actions once again reflect analogous contexts from the ancient world. Although Gideon had certain tactical aims (e.g., hiding the light by putting the torch in the pot, nocturnal surprise, etc.), his operation enacts a ritual. The ritual involves having troops mimic Gideon’s performance, smashing pots, disclosing fire, blowing a ram’s horn, and shouting a more-or-less prescribed statement. The smashing symbolizes the defeat of Midian; what the other rites mean needs further research and may still remain elusive or ambiguous.86 The fire may stand for destruction, Yahweh’s presence, or Yahweh’s destructive power (Ps 97:3; 2 Sam 22:9; cf. Exod 24:17; Deut 4:24; 9:3). The interpretation depends on whether the target is Midian, as was the pot that held the torch (Judg 6:16), or Yahweh, as he is in the (divine-)battle report (Judg 7:22) and as inferred in Gideon’s commissioning (Judg 6:21). If one assumes that the ritual accords with the battle, as I do, then it stands to reason that Yahweh is ritualized. He may be the fire, the ram’s horn, or both. During the ritual at Jericho, the horn displayed cultic and warfare attributes (Josh 6:4–17). But because priests are conspicuously absent from Gideon’s story, the horn may simply announce the Divine Warrior. Blowing the rams horn “on every side of the camp” (‫;סבִ יבוֹת כָּל־הַ מַּ ֲחנֶה‬ ְ Judg 7:18) doubtlessly signifies totality.87 The 78

On Joshua, see Richard S. Hess, Joshua, TOTC 6 (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1996), 142–43. On these parallels, see Mobley, The Empty Men, 153. 79 Robert K. Ritner is speaking specifically about the Egyptian red pot ritual, but it also applies more generally. See his “Execration Texts,” trans. Robert K. Ritner (COS 1.32: 50). 80 For details on this text and 1 Kgs 22:10–12, see Rüdiger Schmitt, “War Rituals in the Old Testament: Prophets, Kings, and the Ritual Preparation for War,” in Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Context, Ancient Israel and Literature, ed. Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 149–61. 81 An excerpt reads “The chiefs in Libya, all Libyans and their rulers. Their strong men, their messengers, their confederates, their allies, who will rebel, who will plot, who will fight, who will say that they will fight, who will say that they will rebel, in this entire land” (“Execration Texts,” COS 1.32: 52). 82 “Dream Oracles,” trans. Robert K. Ritner (COS 1.33: 54 ln [10/9]). 83 “The Second Soldiers’ Oath,” trans. Billie Jean Collins (COS 1.67:167). 84 Ibid., 167 §§8´–9´ 85 Ibid., 167 §7´. 86 Due to the size of a ‫כַּד‬, the Midianite’s magnitude may be emphasized. For an alternative non-ritualized interpretation that emphasizes size, see Kelly J. Murphy, “A Sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!: The Representation of War in Judges 7:16–22,” in Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Context, Ancient Israel and Literature, ed. Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 74–75. 87 Part of my rationale comes from Elisha’s indignant rebuke to Joash: “You should have smote five or six times; then you would have completely smote Aram, but now, you will defeat Aram [only] three times” (2 Kgs 13:19).

432

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

formulaic charge, “A sword for Yahweh and for Gideon” (‫ ;חֶ ֶרב לַיהוה וּלְ גִ ְדעוֹן‬Judg 7:20) is laden with interpretive issues. At a minimum the sword, like the ram’s horn, announces the divine battle.88 It identifies the divine agent and his chosen agent (Judg 6:14, 16, 34; 7:9). In summation, the execration ritual is a calculated tactic: it announces the all-consuming defeat that Yahweh the Divine Warrior and Gideon his deliverer will mete out on the entire Midianite camp. Punishment of the Elite as Ritual Humiliation (Judg 7:24–8:21) As Yahweh had promised, the Midianites suffered great defeat. The ritual of maiming and slaying elite enemies is combined with the accosting of two Transjordanian towns in the second portion of the battle account with Midian. These overt rituals need little explanation, aside from some subtleties drawn from ritual theory. Oreb, Zeeb, Zebah, and Zalmunna are executed, but the princes and kings undergo different ritual shamings. Oreb and Zeeb succumb to decapitation (Judg 7:25). Dismemberment is “an act of consummate punitive ritual violence” because it goes against societal norms of protecting a body’s integrity.89 This is reinforced with the terse reference to the winepress of Zeeb. From this memorized winepress “flow[ed] the wine red blood of a Midianite captain trampled by the vintagers of a warlord who once stood beside the treading trough.”90 Zeeb’s body received no more dignity than produce. Zeeb’s winepress (7:25) and Gideon’s grape-harvest language at the presentation of the Midianite heads (8:3) symbolize Israel’s agricultural fortune reversal (6:3–5, 11) and seem to fulfill the execration ritual and dream.91 Ritual humiliation befalls Zabah and Zalmunna on two fronts. They barely escaped the indignity of execution at the hands of a “youth” (‫ ;נַﬠַר‬8:20 2x) and were paraded to Succoth and Penuel as war trophies (8:15). Second, by parading them, Gideon makes a political statement to Succoth and Penuel. At Succoth elite are also shamed; this time the elders of the city are brought into political subjection undergoing torture at Gideon’s hand with the formerly powerful Midianite kings, their supposed protectors, reduced to bondage (8:16). At Penuel Gideon does not target the elite, but the entire city (8:17).92 Gideon tears down a “municipal landmark” of the city, namely the tower and then executes its men.93 Through these ritual acts of retribution, Israel learns that Gideon is not to be crossed. It is hardly surprising that the people offer Gideon kingship in the next pericope (8:23). The Ephod as a Memorial (Judg 8:22–28) As the Gideon narrative transitions from war to reintegration, two closely associated postwar rituals receive attention: the redistribution of booty and the construction of a memorial.94 These rituals correlate with the offer of kingship to Gideon and his refusal (Judg 8:22–23). In the ancient world, “kings can demand special contributions from these gifts [to the officers] and spoils for special occasions.”95 Gideon’s story is anoma-

88

Since the cycle flirts with Gideon’s kingship (8:18; 22–27; 30–31), I am inclined to view the statement as related to the Divine King and his earthly “king,” whether this should be taken positively or negatively against Gideon. The text may also hint at Yahweh’s divine weapon, but it is difficult to see how the grammatical construction allows for it in light of the shortened from ‫( לַיהוה וּלְ גִ ְדעוֹן‬7:18). 89 Olyan, Violent Rituals of the Hebrew Bible, 61. 90 Mobley, The Empty Men, 134. 91 Similarly, Mobley, The Empty Men, 133. 92 The ritual practice is known as urbicide, which “refers to the premediated and deliberate destruction of cities, their iconic architecture, and their identity” (Jacob L. Wright, “Urbicide: The Ritualized Killing of Cities in the Ancient Near East,” in Ritual Violence in the Hebrew Bible: New Perspectives, ed. Saul M. Olyan (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 147. 93 Wright, “Urbicide,” 153. 94 Brad E. Kelle does not cite Judg 8:22–28 for these postwar rituals; however, his descriptions help form the bases for this section. For these and other postwar rituals, see his “Postwar Rituals of Return and Reintegration,” in Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Context, Ancient Israel and Literature, ed. Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 205–41. 95 Sasson, Judges 1–12, 370.

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

433

lous in that he does not inform the army what the contributions are for, yet they give willingly.96 Ironically, their donations contribute to a syncretistic idol! The redistribution of the gold earrings is ritualized by its formal nature: a formal request (“Let me make a request of you” in 8:24), a formal reply (“We will surely give” in 8:25), the laying out of the mantel (8:25), repetition with each individual personally casting the earring on the mantel (8:25), and possibly the weighing of the booty (8:26). The personal aspect – “they cast it there, each an earring of his plunder” ( ‫ַויּ ְַשׁלִ יכוּ שָׁ מָּ ה‬ ‫;אישׁ ֶנזֶם ְשׁלָלוֹ‬ ִ 8:25) – emphasizes totality; everyone participated in the memorial. It should come as no surprise to the reader then that “all Israel prostituted after it there [Ophrah]” (‫ ;וַיִּ זְנוּ כָל־יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל אַ ח ֲָריו שָׁ ם‬8:27). Dedicating vast and choice plunder to the gods was self-evident in the ancient world.97 That Gideon would seek to honor the Divine King on this occasion with a hefty sum of gold (approximately 43 lbs.) is highly appropriate and reflective of Israel’s theology and previous military engagements (e.g., Num 31:50– 54; Josh 6:24).98 Erecting a memorial was “the practice of using a portion of the booty to construct memorials … in the sanctuary via dedication to Yahweh.”99 The passage has all the earmarks of a memorial ritual: portion of booty (earrings), memorial item (ephod), and location (Ophrah), but the shrine has been eclipsed by the ephod. “Gideon made it into an ephod, and set it in Ophrah and all Israel prostituted after it, and it became (‫ )וַיְהִ י‬a snare to Gideon and his house” (Judg 8:27). The economy of words for the site has led to an array of proposals about where it was located in Ophrah, but the narrative cares little about those specifics. It was at Ophrah, not Shiloh – Yahweh’s true sanctuary (cf. Judg 18:31). The focus on the ephod overshadows the memorial ritual to draw parallels with the Golden Calf event.100 The weight of gold used strongly suggests that the ephod serves as a metonym for a figure clothed with an ephod.101 This would allow for greater parallel with the calf in Exodus 32, though this is not a necessary interpretation. The aim of the ritual was to venerate Yahweh, but the narrative exposes Israel’s penchant for idolatry. Just as Yahweh had delivered Israel from Egypt with mighty works, so Yahweh just delivered Israel. And like Israel of old, the nation quickly lapsed into idolatry. The literary crafting may go deeper. If the gold earrings of the Ishmaelites symbolize allegiance to a deity “analogous to piercing the ear of a slave who chose not to leave his master” and “since deities are often portrayed with holes in their ears or as wearing earrings,” as Block suggests,102 then ironically the melting of the gold into the ephod is an act of ritual violence against the Midianite deities. By forging them into a prop for Yahweh, the deity would undergo further shaming, similar to the dismantling of the Baal altar (Judg 6:25–27).103 This reading would further satirize the allusive account. Moses had desecrated the golden calf into a potion to imbibe (Exod 32:20); Gideon uses the desecrated talismans to create an idol on par with the golden calf! This is a plausible reading, but more evidence is needed before endorsing comic acts of ritual shame and violence. Regardless, the narrator intended to show Gideon as a deliverer who fell short of Moses and led Israel into idolatry. An additional aim involved Israel’s reticence to expunge pagan cultic sites. Gideon, despite tearing down a pagan shrine, inadvertently erected one. This is important to the structure of the Gideon passage, as well as the book as a whole where the Gideon account serves as the center of book.104 On one 96

Ibid., 371. For a survey on plunder in the ancient world, see Charlie Trimm, Fighting for the King and the Gods: A Survey of Warfare in the Ancient Near East, Resources for Biblical Studies 88 (Atlanta: SBL, 2017), 316–46. 98 On the weight of god, see Younger, Judges, Ruth, 263–64. On biblical examples of dedicating plunder, see Kelle, “Post War Rituals,” 216–17. 99 Kelle, “Postwar Rituals,” 216 (emphasis mine). 100 For more detailed connections and the associated bibliography, see my section on Gideon in Ross, A People Heeds Not Scripture, (forthcoming). 101 Younger, Judges, Ruth, 265. 102 Daniel I. Block, “Judges,” Daniel I. Block, “Judges,” in Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 1 & 2 Samuel of Zondervan Illustrated Bible Backgrounds Commentary: Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009), 165. 103 Understood this way, the crescent neckbands (‫ )שַׂ הֲרֹ נִים‬on the camels would denote plundering the moon god. 104 Ross, A People Heed Not Scripture, (forthcoming); Paul J. Tanner “The Gideon Narrative as the Focal Point of Judges,” BibSac 149 (1992): 146–61; K. C. Way, “The Literary Structure of Judges Revisited: Judges as a Ring Composition,” in Windows to the Ancient World of the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Samuel Greengus, ed. B. T. Arnold, N. L. Erickson, and J. H. Walton (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 247–60. 97

434

Ross – Rituals in the Gideon Narrative (Judges 6–8)

side, Israel is to tear down pagan cultic sites (Judg 2:2; 6:25–27) on the other Israel manufactures them (8:22–28; chs. 17–18). Conclusion By exploring ritual theory and ritual practices of the ANE, this essay has demonstrated that rituals are central to the Gideon cycle. Identifying actions as ritual, for example Gideon’s nocturnal “attack” (Judg 7:15–18) as an execration ritual, anchors the text and offers interpretive parameters. As was also evidenced, rituals in the ancient world and in the Hebrew Bible are laden with symbolism. By uncovering symbols behind a variety of ritual activities, I have attempted to uncover the meaning, motivations, and theological subtleties for the actions. Character and thematic development also receive greater clarity. Gideon pivots from doubting Yahweh’s ability to defeat Midian and restore Israel with the sign test and fleecing (6:19–23, 36–40), to announcing imminent victory over Midian with the execration ritual (7:15–23), to declaring his own power over Israel’s foes and Israel itself with ritual violence (8:13–21). Of note for interpreting the story is the attention that the rituals place on the land. The introduction focuses vividly on the ravished land as the main consequence of the Midianite oppression (6:3–6), but most analyses of the story treat the land as an afterthought once Gideon arrives. Yet, agriculture remains a concern for Gideon, God, and Israel. The mode of communication, however, switches to rituals. Gideon chooses agrarian props for the dew-fleecing ritual (6:36–40). The abundance of the dew Yahweh wrought in its agricultural setting heralded Yahweh’s hegemony and power to prosper the land (6:36–40). This is repeated with the dream, where God represents Gideon as bread overturning Midean’s fortunes (7:13–14). Gideon confirms his belief in this fortune reversal with the execration ritual (7:15–23). The Ephraimites, likewise, declare the harvest to be theirs by their ritualized execution of Zeeb at the winepress (7:24–8:3). With these ritualized queries, claims, and promises for a productive land, the cycle’s conclusion “the land had rest forty years” bears more weight (8:28). The book of Judges abounds with rituals making this a field ripe for the harvest.

On Aramaean Identity or What is Aramaean in the Culture of Iron Age Syria? Hélène Sader

Abstract The issue of Aramaean identity has been recently raised in light of recent textual and archaeological evidence. Modern scholarship calls Aramaeans one group of the Iron Age population of Syria. Since there is no evidence for a “self-proclaimed identity” of the Aramaeans, their identification as a group relies on distinctive ethnic and cultural markers that single them out from their environment. This paper is an attempt to identify such markers of Aramaean identity in both the written and the archaeological record. The paper will look at the evidence prior to and after the foundation of the Aramaean polities and will conclude that those identified as Aramaeans belong to the population substratum of Bronze Age Syria the culture of which they have inherited and revived. The issue of identity has been raised and widely discussed in modern scholarship. These new studies have led scholars to question terms used both in Antiquity and in modern literature to define or refer to ancient people or cultures, the main issue being whether these terms were used by the ancient populations to identify themselves and whether they are at all applicable to the group they want to identify. The best illustration of this debate is the current scholarly discussion on the identity of the Phoenicians which was heated after the publication of Crawley Quinn’s book In Search of the Phoenicians. In her work the author simply denied the existence of the Phoenicians mainly because the latter never used this term (or any other to that effect) to identify themselves as a group. As Ida Oggiano (2019: 584) correctly remarked in her review of Crawley Quinn’s book many ancient people never identified themselves by the name scholarship applied to them. The absence of “self-proclaimed identity”, however, does not deny the possibility that identity be conferred to a group by people who are external to them and who have observed that this group share distinctive features that single them out from their environment. According to the Cambridge English Dictionary definition of the term, identity means: “Who a person is, or the qualities of a person or group that make them different from others”. Notwithstanding the fact that ethnicity has been the main criterion on which identity was based, Kormikiari (2019, 45), rephrasing Moscati’s statement on Phoenician identity, said that a people we are defining based on specific characteristics “can be an aggregate of people who could diversify by race and origin, but who assumed a homogeneous character because they had in common a geographical area, a language, a historical and cultural process”. This statement rejoins the scholarly opinion that the concept of identity can be based on culture and not only on ethnicity, an opinion shared also by McSweeny (2009): “Group identity, … can relate to many types of perceived commonality and we must learn to look beyond ethnicity, viewing it as only one amongst many potentially salient social factors.” In other words, ethnicity is not the only criterion for group identity but remains an important one in determining it. A balance between ethnicity and culture in determining the identity of a group seems to be the best way to approach this issue (Fales 2013, 48 and note 3). One also has to keep in mind that group identity is an evolving process and can be established only for a defined period of time. Hence, for example, the term “Aramaeans” as used in the 11th century BC texts of Tiglath Pileser I and Aššur-bel-kala, does not apply to those Aramaeans living in the Syrian polities of the 9th–7th century BC and who have undergone a process of cultural and political transformation (Elsen-Novák and Novák 2020, 142–43). Aramaean identity is a relatively recent topic which was raised in the last two decades in the light of new archaeological and textual discoveries, and a new understanding of the situation prevailing in Syria during the first millennium BC. For purposes of clarity, the Aramaeans, whose identity we will be discussing in this paper, are those ancient Semitic speaking people who occupied and ruled during the Iron Age most of what is known today as Syria. What makes the issue under discussion quite complex is the fact that Syrian society in the Iron Age was predominantly a mix of several “ethnic” groups, including mainly Luwians, Hurrians, Assyrians, and Semitic – mainly Aramaic – speaking groups, all of whom lived sometimes within one and the same polity, interacted, and influenced each other. Furthermore, since the beginning of Aramaean stud-

436

Sader – Aramaean Identity

ies, scholars were focused on the materials available from North Syria. The strong Hittite – Luwian influence on the Syrian monuments overshadowed all other influences and a new terminology, neo-Hittite or SyroHittite, was coined to speak about the Iron Age culture of North Syria. It is only with increasing new archaeological evidence that some markers of “Aramaean” identity started to be recognized and entered the scholarly debate. Whether or not such markers can be taken as criteria to identify what is “Aramaean” in the Iron Age culture of Syria is the issue I would like to briefly discuss in this modest contribution in honor of K. Lawson Younger. Aramaean Identity before State Formation In the earliest occurrences, the term “Aramaean” was used by foreign people to speak about the inhabitants of a land they called Aram. This land of Aram is located, according to the earliest texts, in North Syria. Indeed, the 14th c. BC inscription of Amenhotep III mentions a geographical area called ’rm which seems to indicate North Central Syria (Lawson Younger 2016, 36). The inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser I speak also of the Aḫlamu tribes living in a land called Aram, which seems to refer to a geographical area extending from the Ḫabūr to Mount Lebanon. In the texts of Aššur-bel-kala they are called simply Aramaeans, KUR Arime (Nashef 1982, 35; Grayson 1991, 23, 37–38). The above evidence indicates that in these early texts preceding the Aramaean state formation, the term Aramaeans referred to undefined groups (not one specific group) who inhabited a land called Aram, covering north and northeast Syria. In some instances it refers to the area between the Ḫabūr and the Balïḫ, (Nashef 1982, 35) while in others, it seems to have a wider extension from the Ḫabūr to West of the Euphrates (Sader 2010, 276). We have no additional information about the inhabitants of this land Aram and we can hardly identify any characteristic regarding their ethnicity from the texts. Since the area called Aram in the earliest texts refers to North Syria where different ethnic groups lived, are we entitled to use the term Aramaean to refer only to the Semitic speaking groups who ruled later some of the Iron Age polities? As Berlejung correctly underlined, “Diese multi-ethnische Struktur behielten die späteren ‚Aramäerstämme‘ und -staaten der Eisenzeit bei, sodass der Begriff ‚Aramäer‘ als ethnisches Label bereits von den Anfängen her problematisch ist.” (Berlejung 2013, 59). One is entitled to question why these multi-ethnic groups known as Aramaeans in the Middle Assyrian texts were identified by modern scholars with the Semitic speaking people who founded the Iron Age polities in Syria. It is maybe not far-fetched to suggest that one of the factors that led to this confusing assumption is the fact that the groups mentioned in the Middle Assyrian texts seemed to be mobile groups with no fortified centers and no clear centralized structure or leadership. They appear rather as groups who were not attached to a specific place and who were leading the kind of life pastoral nomads would lead. In addition, the fact that Tiglath-Pileser I speaks of Aḫlamu Aramaeans suggests that at least large parts of these groups led a pastoral way of life and had a tribal structure (on the meaning of the term Aḫlamu as nomadic groups in the Assyrian texts see Postgate 1981, 48–50; Lipínski 2000, 37–38). Since the polities founded and ruled by Semitic speaking people seemed to have had such a tribal social structure as indicated by the formulation of the polities and of their rulers, respectively Bīt- and mār-PN, it did not seem far-fetched to identify the founders of these polities with the mobile groups called Aḫlamu Aramaeans in the Middle Assyrian texts. Another factor was born from the assumption-long since abandoned- that all pastoral groups were of a Semitic stock and came out from the fringes of the Syro-Arabian desert. Notwithstanding all these assumptions, to restrict the designation Aramaeans as referring to an ethnic, West Semitic speaking group living in North Syria, may seem inadequate and, indeed “problematic”. To sum up, the texts preceding Aramaean state formation call Aramaean any inhabitant of the land Aram without any consideration for ethnic or social belonging. However, the multiplicity of groups living in the same geographical area called Aram does not justify restricting the appellation Aramaeans to the Semitic speaking people only. Aramaean Identity after State Formation If the groups living in the land of Aram remain anonymous in the Middle Assyrian texts, we witness the emergence as early as the 9th century BC of well-defined polities in that region, many of them ruled by

Sader – Aramaean Identity

437

Semitic speaking dynasties. It is important to state one more time that even after the foundation of the latter there is no available evidence that their inhabitants referred to themselves as Aramaeans, nor did they ever declare to be kinsmen or forming one people. The only identity they acknowledged is that of their polity or city, or clan. This opinion is also expressed by Elsen-Novák and Novák (2020, 142): “Es gibt nur wenige indirekte Hinweise darauf, dass sich die Aramäer selbst als Einheit gesehen und mit einem eigenen Ethnikon identifiziert hätten, zumindest nicht nach ihrer Sesshaftwerdung und Staatengründung; in der Regel definierte man sich dann nach der jeweiligen Stadt oder dem Fürstentum, aus dem man stammte”. Notwithstanding the fact that the inhabitants of these polities never referred to themselves as Aramaeans, the issue we want to discuss here is whether we can detect in the culture of Aramaean ruled polities markers that are exclusive to them and that single them out from other contemporary polities. Identity Markers found in the Written Documentation The most obvious marker of Aramaean identity is the language and script which clearly sets them apart from the contemporary Luwian and Assyrian polities whose rulers used a different language and a different script. Indeed, modern scholarship calls Aramaeans those Iron Age settlers who spoke Aramaic, a distinctive Semitic language which is known from both their inscriptions and their onomastics. Although different Aramaic dialects are attested during the Iron Age there remains nevertheless the fact that they all belong to the same language substratum and can be used as identifiers of ethnicity. It is to be noted, however, that the same language and script were used in Syria during the Iron Age by people of different origins such as Assyrians using Aramaic and Luwians using Phoenician language and script. In a recent study on ethnicity in the neo-Assyrian empire, Fales (2013, 50–51; also 2018, 447) identified two essential markers of ethnicity: “(1) personal names in a linguistic perspective, and (2) the “labels” of geographic / ethnic provenience which were attached to individuals or groups within the written documentation.” While recognizing the importance of personal names in establishing the identity of a person or a group, Fales is of the opinion that they should be carefully analyzed and “decoded” in their context before being used as ethnicity markers. He argues in favor of another, more reliable marker of ethnicity, namely the nisbe. According to this author, nisbe “presents the basic advantage over personal names that it represents an explicit identifier in terms of ethnicity, rudimentary as it may be, whereas onomastics … only allow ethnicities to be deduced as such” (2013, 53). There is another identity marker found in the written documentation and used exclusively by one group of the Syrian population to identify themselves and their social or political belonging. This is the formulation used in both the neo-Assyrian and the Aramaic texts to refer to Aramaean polities and rulers. For the polity the formulation is the term bīt “house” followed by a personal name, probably an eponymous ancestor. The formulation Bīt-PN (House of PN), such as Bīt-Baḫiāni, Bīt-Adini, Bīt- Agusi or Bīt- Ḫaza’ili, is exclusive to polities ruled by Aramaic speaking elites. For the rulers it is the formulation mār-PN or br-PN (Son of PN) such as Brgš which was used to refer to the rulers of Arpad or mār-Gabbari, used to refer to Ḫayānu of Sam’al, or mār Baḫiani used to refer to Abiṣalamu of Guzana. As previously stated, these formulations or designations betray also the tribal or clan organization of the Aramaean groups which can also be considered as an identity marker which differentiates Luwians from Aramaeans. To sum up, it seems that there is a widespread opinion in the scholarly world that the group referred to as Aramaeans are those inhabitants of Iron Age Syria who are recognizable by their language, their personal names, and their own formulation of their social or political belonging. The question remains, however, whether these groups who are recognizable by the above markers considered themselves as members of one and the same community that modern scholarship calls Aramaeans or whether their identity was linked exclusively to their clan and, later, to their polity. As previously mentioned, the present state of the evidence compels us to conclude that the latter is the only self-identification used by the various groups that we call Aramaeans.1 The above markers are nevertheless a tool that help modern scholars to define the concept of 1

In spite of the fact that the 8th century BC Aramaic inscription of Sfire (KAI 222–24) used the terms “all Aram” and “Upper and Lower Aram” (for the various interpretations of these terms see Younger 2016: 37; 505–8?), to refer to an area in North Syria of obvious geo-political interest to Mati’ilu, these terms do not designate in the text Mati’ilu’s

438

Sader – Aramaean Identity

the term Aramaeans and to justify its use to refer to one specific but overwhelming part of the Syrian Iron Age population. These markers forged the concept of Aramaeans in the mind of modern readers. The next question we shall attempt to answer is whether the archaeological evidence brings additional identifiers which are common to the above defined groups? If such common and specific features existed at all, they should be looked for in the polities ruled by Aramaic speaking dynasties. Identity Markers found in the Material Culture To identify features in the material culture of Iron Age Syria which are specific to the Aramaean-speaking groups is a very difficult task. The main obstacle to such an undertaking arises from the complexity and imbrication of the Syrian population in the Iron Age. This is due to the fact that “rump states” ruled by splitters of the former Hittite royal dynasty were created in various parts of North Syria after the fall of the Hittite empire (Harrison 2009) and before the rise of Aramaean-ruled polities. They co-habited also for a while with the latter and both groups came under Assyrian rule. Both types of polities had mixed populations and to disentangle what is Aramaean from what is Hurrian, Assyrian, or Luwian is an exercise that was undertaken by all those who studied the art and architecture of North Syria in the Iron Age. As noted by Akkermans and Schwartz (2003, 366) since several ethnic groups, mainly Luwians and Aramaeans, were interacting in the region, one hybrid culture resulted and appeared to be so homogeneous that “it shows no clear distinctions between states dominated by Luwians or Aramaeans”. Another difficulty is the fact that the Aramaean ruled territories covered a very wide area with different historical and cultural backgrounds which impacted in different ways the emerging culture of the new polities. Furthermore, there is a clear discrepancy in the available archaeological material between North and South Syria which makes it difficult to speak about one common Aramaean material culture. The debate about the identity of “Aramaean” sculpture, for example, was and still is restricted to the evidence from North Syria and does not include any assessment of “southern” Aramaean material culture. The latter is generally labelled “Levantine” with no other serious justification than its location. Most authors have denied the label Aramaean to the north Syrian monuments and preferred terms such as Syro-Hittite or Neo-Hittite or Luwian-Aramaean, terms which cannot apply at all to the southern Syrian monuments. It is therefore not surprising that the discussion relating to markers in the material culture was and still is restricted to North Syria where the material evidence is available. With the recent development of archaeological activity in the latter area mainly at Tell Afis, Tell Mastuma, Tell Qarqur, Tell Ain Dara, Tell el-Mishrife to name but a few important sites, and with renewed archaeological excavations on previously excavated tells which had provided the bulk of the evidence for Iron Age monuments such as Tell Tayinat / Kunulua, Tell Halaf / Guzana, Tell Fekheriye / Sikani, and Senjirli / Sam’al, new evidence has emerged which may allow us to revisit the issue of Aramaean culture and its characteristics. The latter issue was addressed first by Akurgal (1966) who identified typical Aramaean features in the sculpture and in the iconography of the monuments found in Aramaean ruled polities such as the dresses, the headdresses, the hairstyle, and, more specifically, the hair lock in front of the ear. He saw also in the use of funerary stelae representing the same banquet scene another identifier of Aramaean art but Bonatz’s (2000, 195) recent study has shown that these funerary monuments are common to both Luwian and Aramaean culture. The author of this contribution also addressed the issue of markers of Aramaean identity in the material culture of the Syrian Iron Age polities (Sader 2010). In this article, I argued that there are some features in the material culture of the Syrian Iron Age settlements which are found predominantly in the Aramaeanruled polities. These features find their origin in the Bronze Age culture of Syria. The question of identifying markers of Aramaean identity was raised and discussed recently by ElsenNovák and Novák (2020) who used Tell Halaf / Guzana as a case study. The authors explained their choice homeland, nor did this ruler call himself an Aramaean or a king of Aram but rather king of Arpad (Sader 2018). A large number of scholars, on the basis of their reading of the Melqart Stele, are of the opinion that Aram was the name of the kingdom of Bīt Agusi (see the discussion of this issue in Younger 533–36 and Sader 2018 for a different opinion).

Sader – Aramaean Identity

439

of this site arguing that the heartland of the Aramaeans in North Syria was under the influence of the Luwian or neo-Hittite culture and that Aramaean contribution mainly in the field of architecture and sculpture can hardly be detected there. Novák (2014, 271) had already pointed out in a previous article that “A distinct Aramaean architecture cannot be identified. On the one hand, it cannot be distinguished from the Luwian (or “Neo-Hittite”) style due to general difficulties with respect to political, linguistic, and cultural conditions”. The two authors turned to Tell Halaf because it is a site outside the sphere of influence of Carchemish which fell into the hands of the Aramaeans in the 9th century BC. They looked for the new cultural norms or “code’ that the Aramaean founders brought with them and they suggested that these can be used as markers of Aramaean identity. The “code” that identified the group of new founders are the Aramaic language and script, evidence for which was found on a small altar and on the small ḫilāni orthostats, as well as in the bilingual Aramaic-Assyrian inscription from Tell Fekheriye, ancient Sikani. Another identified marker was the building of a new capital with a fortified stronghold and a city wall encompassing the whole settlement as was the case of all new Aramaean foundations in North Syria. The presence of a bīt ḫilāni type of palace and mainly the introduction of the ancestors’ cult ritual is, according to these authors, the most telling of the new norms brought by the Aramaeans. This religious practice which existed in Syria since the Bronze Age is evinced by the female statues found on top of the incineration tombs and those found in the Kultraum. The authors interpreted also the three statues at the entrance of the ḫilāni as representing dead ancestors and not divine beings as generally assumed. Another important marker was the prominent position held by the storm god Hadad in the Halaf iconography and inscriptions. This god is the main figure of the Aramaean pantheon and one of the oldest Semitic deities worshipped for centuries in North Syria with a main temple at Aleppo. The same exercise undertaken by Elsén-Novák and Novák can be repeated for all the sites that fell into the hands of the Aramaic speaking groups in North Syria such as Sendjirli, Tell Tayinat, Tell Afis, and Hamath, and see whether the new cultural “code” brought by the newcomers offers homogeneous features. As a matter of fact, in the 9th–7th century BC Aramaean ruled polities one can observe a progressive disappearance of the former cultural characteristics deeply influenced by Hittite culture and the emergence of a new “cultural code” overwhelmingly borrowed from the local North Syrian Bronze Age culture. It is worth noting in this context that in North Syrian sites that were previously in the hands of Luwian rulers and which fell into the hands of the Aramaeans, some new features of the material culture clearly emerged. Regarding the statuary and the iconography of the 8th century BC, for example, a clear divergence from the neo-Hittite artistic tradition can be observed. This is demonstrated, for example, by the representation of the god Adad (Wartke 2005, fig. 61) and that of an anonymous ruler (Wartke 2005, fig. 28) at Sendjirli and the iconography of the same god on the orthostats of the ḫilāni entrance at Tell Halaf (Cholidis and Martin 2002, fig. 29). This new representation is totally different from the traditional Hittite iconography of the Weather-god as seen in the Aleppo temple, for example (Kohlmeyer 2000; Gonella et al. 2005). This development is also clear in the iconography of the orthostats representing Barrakib of Samal (Wartke 2005, fig. 68) and Kuttamuwa (Herrmann and Schloen 2014, Catalog 1). The latter, in spite of his Luwian name, represented himself in the new Aramaean fashion and wrote his text in the Aramaic dialect of Sam’al. Speaking of the Barrakib representation Cornelius (2019, 199) sees “… a clear development in the imagery of the rulers of Sam’al, from the more Assyrian imagery of Kulamuwa to more local elements (cap, flower, sidelock of hair) with the other rulers. The flowers they are holding changed over time as did the cap, hairlocks and beard, as well as the hand gesture …”. This author prefers however to see in these new elements “not so much a case of identity, but rather identification” (2009: 201) of the royal person. For him these new aspects are not “Aramaean” but “Sam’allean” and with clear Assyrian influence. Notwithstanding the Assyrian influence it is clear that the art of Sam’al under Aramaean rule has acquired new features which cannot be ascribed to any external influence but which find their roots in the local culture of Syria. Furthermore, the iconography of the orthostats decorating the bīt ḫilāni of Tell Halaf stems also from a new cultural background which cannot be found in the Neo-Hittite or Mesopotamian iconography. Finally, the statues at the entrance of the bīt ḫilāni, those sealing the incineration tombs, and those of the Kultraum do not follow Hittite tradition and are clearly in the tradition of Syrian Bronze Age statuary as evidenced in the statuary of the royal tomb at Qatna (Pfälzner 2009, 205–7), in the Middle Bronze Age statue found in

440

Sader – Aramaean Identity

Temple P2 at Ebla (Bonatz 2000, fig. 11) and in the Late Bronze Age statue of Idrimi (Orthmann 1975, fig. 402). One emerging common feature is the use of the bīt ḫilāni type of building as a royal palace in the Aramaean ruled polities. Novák (2014, 271) correctly observed that “the consistency of the architecture from the Amanus Mountains in the west and the Khabur triangle in the east appears astonishing. In some cases, elements like the bīt ḫilāni emerged in regions where they had no local tradition at all. This indicates a common cultural identity”. Regarding temple architecture, the exposed sacred buildings are in the tradition of the Syrian temples and the characteristic elements they share “were already characteristic of Bronze Age temples in the northern Levant and Upper Mesopotamia. New elements that were introduced by the Aramaeans cannot be traced so far and might have never existed” (Novák 2014, 270). This statement seems to imply that the Aramaeans are newcomers to Syria whereas the evidence strongly suggests the opposite. Indeed, what is ascribed to the “newcomer” Aramaeans are elements inherited from Bronze Age Syria. This seems to imply the native Syrian origin of the Semitic speaking Aramaeans who resumed after their settlement in newly founded cities centuries-old cultural traditions and developed them to become typical of their polities. The Luwian-ruled polities introduced a foreign culture in Syria and their monuments bore the imprint of Hittite culture. We know today that these neo-Hittite states were able to occupy almost all of North Syria from Tell Tayinat in the West to Aleppo and the Euphrates area in the East and Hama in the South. It is no wonder that the monumental architecture of north Syria from the 11th to the early 9th century bore the characteristics of Hittite culture. After the foundation of their cities, the Aramaean speaking settlers of North Syria reverted to their own local culture. Conclusion It is clear from the collected evidence that the Aramaeans were the inhabitants of the land of Aram. Indeed, the meaning of the latter geographical term in the ancient texts strongly suggests that the heartland of the “Aramaeans” was North and Northeast Syria and that this term referred to these inhabitants without any distinction based on ethnic belonging. Once they appear in the written record as established polities, ethnic labels started to be assigned to them. While the Luwians appear to be the heirs of Hittite culture, the Aramaeans appear to be the heirs of the Bronze Age culture of North Syria with which they were familiar and they were rooted deeply into that culture, as well as in their religious beliefs. The temple in antis, the bīt ḫilāni type of palace, the ancestors’ cult, and the preeminence of the god Adad’s worship are common features in Iron Age polities ruled by Aramaean speaking elites. That most features of this culture are rooted in the local Syrian tradition speaks in favor of the local origin of these Aramaeans. When Novák (2014, 173) says that the Aramaeans did not bring anything new to the material culture of Syria and that the latter “did not provide any new features: Almost all its elements, like fortified citadels, the tripartite bīt ḫilāni palaces, and the temples in antis had already existed before the Aramaeans. Moreover, almost all important sanctuaries of the Aramaean world looked back on a long history and did not undergo significant changes in their layout”, his statement brings additional proof to the native origin of the Aramaic-speaking population. That which is Aramaean in the culture of Iron Age Syria is Syrian! It is all the elements inherited from the Syrian Bronze Age culture that the Aramaic speaking polities revived, withheld, and imposed wiping out progressively the predominant influence of foreign cultures. Bibliography Akkermans, P. and Schwartz, G. 2003 The Archaeology of Syria. From Complex Hunters-Gatherers to Early Urban Societies (ca. 16,000– 300 BC). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Akurgal, E. 1966 Orient und Okzident. Die Geburt der griechischen Kunst. Baden-Baden: Holle Verlag.

Sader – Aramaean Identity

441

Berlejung, A. 2013 “Nachbarn, Verwandte, Feinde und Gefährten: Die Aramäer im Alten Testament.” In A. Berlejung and M. Streck eds. Arameans, Chaldeans, and Arabs in Babylonia and Palestine in the First Millennium B.C. Harrassowitz: Wiesbaden. 57–86. Bonatz, D. 2000 Das syro-hethitische Grabdenkmal. Mainz: von Zabern. Cholidis, N. and Martin, L. 2002 Der Tell Halaf und sein Ausgräber Max Freiherr von Oppenheim. Vorderasiatisches Museum. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Mainz: von Zabern. Cornelius, I. 2019 “The Material Imagery of the Sam’al (Zincirli) Monuments and ‘Aramaean Identity’.” WdO 49, (Re)constructing Identities in the Bronze and Iron Age Levant. 183–205. Elsen-Novák, G. and Novák, M. 2020 “Der ‚kulturelle Code‘ des ‚aramäischen‘ Gōzāna (Tall Ḥalaf).” In N. Cholidis, E. Katz and S. Kulemann-Ossen eds. Zwischen Ausgrabung und Ausstellung. Beiträge zur Archäologie Vorderasiens. Festschrift für Lutz Martin. Marru 9. Zaphon. 139–71. Gonella, J., Khayyata, W. and Kohlmeyer, K. 2005 Die Zitadelle von Aleppo und der Tempel des Wettergottes. Rhema: Münster. Grayson, A. K. 1991 Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Fales, F. M. 2013 “Ethnicity in the Assyrian Empire: A View from the Nisbe: (I): Foreigners and ‘Special’ Inner Communities.” In D.S. Vanderhooft and A. Winitzer (eds.), Literature as Politics, Politics as Literature: Essays on the Ancient Near East in Honor of Peter Machinist, Winona Lake: (Eisenbrauns). 47–74. Fales, F.M. 2018 “The Composition and structure of the Neo-Assyrian Empire: Ethnicity, Language and Identities.” In R. Rollinger ed. Conceptualizing Past, Present, and Future. Melammu 9. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 443–94. Harrison, T. 2009 “Neo-Hittites in the ‘Land of Palistin’: Renewed Investigations at Tell Taʿyinat on the Plain of Antioch.” NEA 72: 174–89. Herrmann, V. and Schloen. D. 2014 In Remembrance of Me. Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East. Chicago: Oriental Institute Museum Publications 37. KAI = Donner, H. and Röllig, W. 1964 Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften. 3 vols. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Kohlmeyer, K. 2000 Der Tempel des Wettergottes von Aleppo. Münster: Rhema. Kormikiari, M.C.N. 2019 “Who Were The Phoenicians? Or the Identity Crisis in the 21st Century Academy.” Hélade 5: 35– 56. Lipínski, E. 2000 The Aramaeans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion. Leuven: Peeters. MacSweeney, N. 2009 “Beyond Ethnicity. The Overlooked Diversity of Group Identities.” Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology, 22/1, 101–26. Nashef. K. 1982 Die Orts- und Gewässernamen der mittelbabylonischen und mittelassyrischen Zeit. RGTC 5. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Novak, M. 2014 “Architecture.” In H. Niehr ed. The Aramaeans in Ancient Syria. Leiden/Boston: Brill. 255–72.

442

Sader – Aramaean Identity

Oggiano, I. 2019 “Who were the ‘Phoenicians’? A set of hypotheses inviting debate and dissent.” Journal of Roman Archaeology 32: 584–91. Orthmann, W. 1975 Der alte Orient. Berlin: Propyläen Verlag. Pfälzner, P. 2009 “Meisterwerke der Plastik-Die Ahnenstatuen aus dem Hypogäum.” In Schätze des Alten Syrien. Die Entdeckung des Königsreichs Qatna. Stuttgart: Landesmuseum Württemberg. 205–7. Postgate, J. N. 1981 “Nomads and Sedentary in the Middle Assyrian Sources.” In J. S. Castillo ed. Nomads and Sedentary Peoples. 30th International Congress of Human Sciences in Asia and North Africa, Mexico. 48– 50. Sader, H. 2010 “The Aramaeans of Syria: Some Considerations on their Origin and Material Culture.” In André Lemaire, Baruch Halpern [and, Associate Editor, Matthew J. Adams] eds., The Books of Kings. Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception, VT.S, 129, Leiden: Brill. 273–300. 2018 Review of K. Lawson Younger. A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities. JNES 77, 134–36. Wartke, R.-B. 2005 Sam’al. Ein aramäischer Stadtstaat des 10. bis 8. Jhs. v. Chr. und die Geschichte seiner Erforschung. Mainz: von Zabern. Younger, K. L. 2016 A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities. Atlanta: SBL Press.

Sightless in Gaza On the Fate of Samson Jack M. Sasson

Abstract In this paper, offered in tribute to Lawson Younger, I revisit the final moments in Samson’s life when he was brought out of his cell for a public, possibly also ritual, execution. Additionally, I suggest a twofold motivation behind the restoration of his strength. For the NIV Application Commentary series, Lawson Younger made fine contributions to elucidating Judges and Ruth, two biblical books that have likewise lured me by their endless charm (Younger 2002/2021). Over the years, I have followed Lawson’s many works, at meetings and in print, on a broad arc of subjects and themes. To him, I credit the motivation to complete my own project on the Mari archives. But it was not until a lunch at an otherwise forgettable recent AOS meeting that I learned how matched were the lives of scholars, however different their backgrounds, faith, or upbringings. In joining other colleagues in honoring him, I offer a redraft of thoughts from a forthcoming Judges 13–21 (AYB) commentary. I hope it amuses him even if he may not fully agree with my characterization of Samson.1 Samson … so far Few readers of Scripture (and least of all Lawson) need to be reminded of the events that brought an eyeless Samson to a temple, likely in Gaza. Nonetheless, a gist of my own reading of the preceding accounts in Judges 16 might be usefully presented here. The opening segment (16:1–3) is a “Tall Tale” (that is, not meant for literal reception), in which a carnal Samson outwits the Philistines by hauling away the gate of one of their cities on his back, thus depriving them of protection. This isolated episode has no immediate consequences except to heighten his enemies’ resolve to bring him under control. The narrator expresses no opinion on Samson’s unhealthy pursuits as well as fails to grant God a role in it.2 The second segment (16:4–22) gives us a lovestruck Samson, eager to instill the same emotion in his current infatuation, Delilah. As it happens, Delilah was a professional courtesan of nebulous background but of undeniable greed. In a fateful encounter with her, Samson offers her several ways by which to take control of him. They all have to do with using specific numbers or freshness of sinews or ropes, as well as with weaving hair in special ways. These techniques are but adaptions of love charm instructions widely shared in antiquity.3 This Judge of Israel is no dimwit who stubbornly fails to decipher Delilah’s unsubtle requests; rather, he is a besotted swain who hopes magical manipulations would ensnare the target of his passion. For him, instructing Delilah to cut his hair is no great disclosure; rather, it is just one more amatory game to play. 1

To maintain a proper proportion for this contribution, I have purposely (perhaps also unforgivably) kept the annotations and bibliography light. Two essays that give fuller accounts are Sasson 2019a (“A Gate in Gaza”) and 2020 (“Of Shekels and Shackles”); see the Bibliography below for download links. A third essay (“Samson as Riddle”) is now published (2021). Fuller accounts on all Samson matters are slated for my forthcoming AYB Judges 13–21. I thank Dr. A.A. Gruseke for several stylistic improvements. 2 In the literature, many have treated the opening verses as intrusive, not belonging to the original conception of the Samson and Delilah episode. This is arguably true. The Samson saga is no Bildungsroman, in which development of character is essential to the narrative (as say, Gilgamesh, Jacob, and David); rather it is a concatenation of different vignettes that may or may not have originally featured Samson. The Gaza segment stands so starkly apart in so many ways from the previous and succeeding materials, that it acts as a major caesura, shifting attention from the series involving Samson and his triumphs to the denouement set in Naḥal Soreq and then (apparently) Gaza. More on all this is in my forthcoming commentary. 3 For examples and elaboration, see Sasson 2020. Here is one illustration (cited from p. 219): “You weave together into a single strand the tendons of a gazelle, [hemp,] and red wool; you tie it into fourteen knots. Each time you tie a knot, you recite the incantation. The woman places this cord around her waist, and she will be loved.”

444

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

As we all know, no one in Israel morphed into Hercules just by adopting the practices of a Nazir. The sad truth is that unbeknownst to Samson his compact with God was coming to an end, with one final act left for him to accomplish. The Fate of Captured Foes Wars are never kind to combatants and less so to the defeated. Consider two earlier scenes in Judges: Judah’s capture of Adoni-bezeq (1:5–7) and Gideon’s treatment of Midian’s leaders, Zebah and Zalmunna (8:18– 21).4 In the latter case, two proud kings are quizzed rather insolently before a youth is charged with their execution, a disgraceful end from which they are eventually spared. In the former, the thumbs and big toes of Adoni-bezeq are amputated, hampering his capacity to move, to feed or to defend himself. We may conjure up a forum at which this king accepts his fate by invoking his own mutilation of vanquished enemy rulers, forcing them to feed like dogs. Further, we may imagine a long trek during which a hobbled Adonibezeq is paraded ignominiously through towns until reaching the walls of Jerusalem. “There he died” is tersely stated; but if his death was meant to strike terror within a city’s walls, there are plenty of Ancient Near Eastern textual and visual testimonies to solidify the conjecture. I touch lightly on each before addressing their import to unravelling Samson’s mission. Humiliation. After battles, enemy soldiers who were seriously injured were normally dispatched in situ, and no effort was made to heal their wounds. In the second millennium captured males, whether soldiers or noncombatants, were commonly released upon hefty ransoms.5 Further down the centuries, they more likely became palace slaves or sold to merchants for trade hither and yon. As often as not, they could endure cosmetic disfiguration that perpetuated their status. Commanders and other officers wounded in battle might even beg for a quick death, not just to salvage their honor but also to avoid the horrors of a wretched death. Utter humiliation – if not also an unsettled afterlife – would nonetheless await them beyond death, for soldiers tossed their heads as sport, stacked their emasculated carcasses in piles, or left their remains to vultures and scavengers.6 Royal figures or tribal leaders who bore wounds grave enough to exclude marching under chain might choose to end their own lives. A pathetic description occurs in one of several reports on Saul’s death (1 Sam 31). Gravely wounded, Israel’s first king feared Philistine capture. His enemies, he knew, would inflict pain by “piercing me” (wudqārūnî), and “scornfully disgrace me” (vӗhitcallӗlû – vî). His death (however, it came about) did not save him from his fears; for when the Philistines discovered his cadaver, “they beheaded him, stripped off his armor, and having spread the good news to the shrines of their idols and among the people, they stashed his armor in the Ashtaroth temple and pinned his corpse on the walls of Beth-shan” (1 Sam 31:9–10). Execution. For worthy foes who had successfully tormented them, as well as for vassals who fomented insurrections, victorious rulers might follow a more dramatic enactment. Vengeance was surely a motivation; but as satisfying was the sharing of that passion with the people who had been victimized by the captured foe. At such occasions, there would be praise and sacrifice to the god(s) who inspired the victory. While (sadly enough) such events can be chronicled even into our own days, I give just three illustrations from antiquity and across cultures: From Egypt, from Assyria, and from Rome. 1. This is how Amenhotep II (Dynasty 18, 15–14 c.) recorded on his Amada stela his triumph over his West Asian enemies: When his majesty returned in joy of heart to his father Amon, it was after he had slain with his own mace the seven princes who were in the region of Takhsi, they having been hung upside down on the prow of his majesty’s Falcon Boat … Afterwards (the king) hung six of these wretched men before 4

Notes and comments, respectively at Sasson 2014: 363–65 and 131–34. See Charpin 2014, with illustrations drawn from treaties, letters, and administrative documents. 6 I need not justify these remarks, as they are amply documented in recent literature. See Dolce 2018. 5

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

445

the rampart of Thebes, along with the hands … Then (the king) transported the other wretched one to Nubia [Kush], that he hanged on the wall of Napata to demonstrate the victories of his majesty for ever and ever …7 2. How Assurbanipal (7th c.) chronicled in words (as well as in art) the fate of the Elamite Teumman and his allies is paradigm for Assyrian retaliation against treachery, reversal of solemn oaths, and rebellion. Here is a creepy extract: I hung the head of Teumman, king of Elam, on the neck of Dunanu (Gambulu chieftain). I entered Nineveh with singers and music, (parading) Elamite captives and the booty of Gambulu that I captured at the command of Assur. When they saw the head of Teumman, their lord, insanity seized his ambassadors Umbadara (and) Nabudamik. Umbadara tore off his beard and Nabudamik pierced his own belly with his iron dagger. I displayed the severed head of Teumman conspicuously at the gate inside Nineveh, (so as) to show the people the might of Assur and Ishtar, my lords … In Arbela, I tore out the tongues and flayed Dunanu (and his brothers) for speaking insolently against my gods. In Nineveh, I had Dunanu laid out on a table in Nineveh and eviscerated like a lamb. … I had their members paraded as spectacle for the whole land.8 3. The Romans captured Simon b. Gioras, a top Jewish commander in besieged Jerusalem and featured him in the closing scene (71 CE) of a triumph in Rome honoring Vespasian and Titus.9 He had been led in the procession amongst the prisoners of war; then, a noose round his neck, scourged by his guards, he had been taken to that place next to the Forum where Roman law prescribes that condemned criminals be executed. After the announcement came that he had met his end and the universal cheering that followed it, Vespasian and Titus began the sacrifice.10 The Torment Debasement. With these unsettling scenes in mind, we may go back to the fate awaiting Samson on rising from Delilah’s hair-strewn lap. Previously, the Philistines had succeeded in terrorizing the Hebrews into surrendering their main champion, only to suffer enormous losses (at 15: 9–15). This time, on sensing him changed, they took instant measures to neutralize him. They blinded him before chaining him, thus sharing the fate that will await poor Zedekiah, the last king of Judah.11 Unlike Samson, who was moved a relatively

7

After Rainey 1973: 72. Takhsi is an area somewhere by Damascus. Adapted from Luckenbill (1927: 334–35; §§865–66). For good measure, Ashurbanipal also had descendants crush the bones of their own ancestors. The Teumman episode developed into an object of literary creativity with its own rendering of events; see Livingstone 1989: 67. On Assyrian sordid spectacles, see Liverani 2017: 79–90 (“Public Display”), Villard 2008, and Marti 2012. Several papers in Battini (ed., 2016) deal with these matters. There, Ariel Bagg’s essay accounts for every mutilation and humiliation suffered by victims of every status, as described in art and texts. Such display of public executions hardly slackened in later empires; see Briant 2002: 122–23 for Achaemenid samples. Schneider (2018) suggests a similarly stigmatizing context in the poetic version of of Sisera’s fate (at Judg 5:25–27). 9 I cannot begin to imagine the horrors he suffered during his transport there for, as they were moved from stop to stop, chained and mutilated victims endured jeers, taunts, jostling, and projectiles. 10 The conjunction of public spectacles and executions plays heavily through time, with this sample drawn from Josephus’s Jewish Wars (7 2.2 [153–55]); cited from Beard (2007: 129). Her chapter, “Captives on Parade” (107–43) is a fine overview of the public dispatch of defeated enemies during Roman triumphs. See especially the sub-chapter “Execution” (128–32). Other testimonies about Simon’s end have him either pushed to his death from a steep cliff on the south side of the Capitoline Hill or strangled publicly at the climax of the celebrations. The Roman treatment of Jesus as King of the Jews comes close to being a (mock) version of these indignities. 11 Zedekiah was first made to watch the execution of his children. The account is told (with changes) in 2 Kings (25:6– 7), Jeremiah (32:4–5; 34:2–3; 39:1–7; 52:10–11), 2 Chronicles (36:12), and Ezekiel (12:13). Jer 52:11 expands, “[The Babylonians] had him in a detention house [bēyt happӗquddôt, LXX “mill-house”] until the time of his death (cad-yôm mōtô).” 8

446

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

short distance from Naḥal Sorek to (presumably) Gaza, Zedekiah was dragged all the way to Babylon, likely with public abuse at every stop. Awaiting judgment on his fate, Samson was kept in the bēyt hāʼӑsûrîm, (“house of the prisoners,” b. hāʼēsûr in Jer 37:15).12 This is one of several Hebrew terms for places of confinement; the prisons that we know in our days – with dedicated space and “correctional” personnel – did not yet exist.13 Rather, confinement occurred in any room with a sturdy door, with escape minimized by reinforcing the guard and by chaining or maiming the prisoner.14 Samson’s blinding and chaining were two such measures and we find Hittite officials referring to them: “Blind men have fled from the mill house in Šapinuwa and have come (to you) there. As soon as this tablet reaches you, take charge of the blind men and conduct them back here safely” (Hoffner 2009: 210). Grinding grain (verb ṭāḥan) was the work of free women when done at home; if they were of means, then the chore was fobbed off on the lowliest in the household (see Exod 11:5; Isa 47:2, about humiliated Babylon). The work was so tedious and exhausting that until recent days, two women would team up to turn the upper millstone, then exchange spots to relieve themselves from damaging one of their arms (Dalman 1902). It was even more onerous when done for industry and especially brutal when forced on imprisoned people of all ages and genders. In Samson’s case, the purpose was less to process grain than to shame him as, crouched over a sloping slab, he would endlessly move one heavy basal stone over another. Being eyeless obviously complicated his task of feeding and clearing the stones, one grind after the other.15 The Final Act. It was the custom in Roman triumphs, by no means contradicted by Ancient Near Eastern testimony, that the final act in disposing of worthy enemies was staged as entertainment before an exuberant public and often enough with the full approbation of gods in attendance. Debatable is whether to decipher the event juridically (as capital punishment) or ritually (as a human sacrifice) – perhaps a bit of both. What happened to Samson after his Philistine debasement takes up the last third of his sensual misadventures in Gaza (16:23–31). Samson’s Fate Samson was no ordinary captive. We may question applying to him the label “judge” (šōfēṭ, obliquely at 15:20 and 16:31); yet to the Philistines he was a formidable enemy, a “ravager of our land, who multiplied our slain” (16:24). They were willing to pay astronomically (potentially 140 lbs of silver; 16:4) for Delilah to deliver him alive but defanged. As they told her (16:5), they intended to bind him (vaʼӑsarnūhû), aiming to demean him (lӗcannōtô), likely by turning him servile. At any rate, Samson may not have remained long in his cell where relatively few could have witnessed his humiliation.16 Whether or not the leaders had premeditated the next phase in Samson’s mortification, an opportunity arose that would bring leaders, public, and Dagon in a festive assembly. Assigning victory to a god is fairly standard in ancient lore; but as the leaders made their declaration (“Our God has handed us Samson, our enemy,” 15:24), their exuberant rhyme reverberated widely among the masses. By expanding the core sentiment into a grievance that addressed Dagon, the masses made it difficult for the leaders to refuse their petition. They wished to have Samson 12

This is the Qere for Ketiv bēyt hāʼӑsYrîm. At Gen 39:20, the reverse correction is registered. There may have been a dedicated space in some places, at least. The Ur III evidence may imply this. See also Reid (2016). 14 Other terms for confinement spaces are: bēyt hassōhar, “h. of confinement” (Gen 39, often); bēyt (hak)keleʼ/kelîʼ, same meaning (1 Kgs 22:27; 2 Kgs 17:4, 25:27–29); bēyt happӗqudōt, “h. of detention” (Jer 52:11); ḥaṣar/šacar hammaṭṭārâ, “guard compound” (Jer 32, often; Neh 12:39); bôr, “pit, dungeon” (Isa 24:22), and masgēr, “storeroom,” (Ps 142:8). The same labeling diversity occurs in Mesopotamia (van der Toorn 1986). A.1401 is a memorandum from the Mari archives (Sasson 2017: 225–26) that records the very sad fate of several persons that languished in detention, dying from hunger and thirst among other horrors. On blind people in the workforce, see Justel 2017: 252–54. 15 See Alcock 2006: 106–18. L. Milano, H. Hoffner, and R. Ellis post good details on milling and millstones in the RlA 8: 393–404 (“Mühle”). The famous movie scene in which Samson endlessly rotated two enormous millstones could only happen after the Persian period. 16 Some installations were outdoors, but that is not what the tale implies at 16:21, 25. 13

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

447

vîśaḥeq-lānû (16:25). In fact, he does yӗṣaḥēq lifnēyhem (also 16:25) and everyone watched śӗḥôq šimšôn (16:27). Much ink is spilled in trying to discern the meanings of these verbal forms, differing as they do in stems (Piel then Qal of śḥq) and in consonants (śḥq as well as ṣḥq) and my own translations are tentative.17 The staging of his final act has also been debated, with several references to the archaeology of recently uncovered Philistine temples, none of which easily substantiates placing Samson between closely spaced columns. Nonetheless, I visualize a broad open space sided by a roofed perimeter and fronted by a temple with a façade that is supported by weight-bearing pillars, apparently set closely enough to span Samson’s outstretched arms.18 Chained and blind, Samson was being led into the arena, but certainly not just to offer macabre amusement. In fact, he and the watchers must have known that he was not likely to see his cell again, for the occasion required a public expiation of his crime. Let us, then, place Samson between the central columns and highlight his plea: He wants God to restore him for one final act, not to replay what occurred at Einhaqqore by Lehi (15:18–19) but to avenge his loss of two eyes. Samson’s language is dramatic (“take notice of me and please strengthen me just this one time, O God, so that with one blow I may avenge myself on the Philistines for both my eyes” 16:28); yet it has been faulted in the literature for its selfishness and/or for its potential embrace of suicide as a solution. The last notion might be specious, for those facing a certain sword cannot be faulted for choosing the manner or timing of their death.19 However, whether Samson should be censured as an egocentric invites some further remarks. Motivations On concluding the narrative of Samson’s extraordinary birth, the narrator slipped in a very obtrusive note. Omniscient though they may act, biblical writers do not indulge often in insertions of this kind, as they generally leave it to readers or audiences to deduce causation from developing events or conversations. When they do inject such interferences, however, narrators are most startling when they penetrate God’s mind. The classic example is in Gen 22. There, we are made privy to God’s purpose for demanding the sacrifice of Isaac, thus forestalling potentially damaging inferences on God’s purpose or character.20 In Samson tales, 17

English renderings are all over the map, with many ignoring the verbal differences. I refer to my commentary for a full discussion. The translation I offer (undogmatically) for the relevant contexts is: 25 “Buoyed on wine, they demanded, ‘Bring out Samson to perform for us’ (Piel of śḥq). Fetched from prison, Samson cavorted (Piel of ṣḥq) in their presence … 27… On the roof there were about three thousand men and women, those watching Samson’s antics (Qal of śḥq) …” 18 None of the temples associated with Philistine sites (Tell Qasile, Beth Shean, Tell Safi) was large enough to conform to the biblical scene. None gave evidence for weight-bearing pillars that could have been manipulated by anyone not a giant: a consideration that might have motivated Roman-period artists and Talmudic rabbis to turn him Gargantuan. To approximate the setting of our drama, I bring to mind here the temple complex at Seventh Century Tel Miqne-Ekron whose plan is widely reproduced; see King and Stager 2001: 337. An online reproduction is at . A nice 3D reconstruction is posted online at and at . Whether or not such a construction could support 3,000+ frenzied onlookers is beyond secure determination. 19 Shemesh (2009), places Samson among a handful of suicides cited in the Bible. The term might be applied to those who are losing face (Ahitophel, at 2 Sam 17:23) or are overwhelmed by remorse (Judas, at Matt 27:3–5). It is less appropriate when attached to those confronting an ignominious death (Abimelech, at Judg 9:52–54) or avoiding certain capture (Saul, at 1 Sam 31:4–7, but see 1 Sam 1:1–16; Zimri, at 1 Kgs 16:18). Dietrich (2009) has a more nuanced discussion of the issue. In several cultures (from Rome to Japan) suicide is indeed an honorable resolution. The act of suicide has not gathered much scribal attention in Near Eastern literature beyond philosophical treatises (Mesopotamia’s “Dialogue of Pessimism” or Egypt’s “Dispute between a Man and his Ba”). Whether hyperbolically or not, Mesopotamian kings boasted about their enemies wishing suicide over certain capture; see Worthington 2010: 316. In the Mari archives, several writers threaten suicide, but how seriously is difficult to tell; see Sasson 2019b: 935–36, also now ARM 33 102, 161 (high official threatens to hang or stab himself should the king lose confidence in him). 20 Imagine how much more unsettling the Akedah might have read had it begun with: “Some time afterward, God said to Abraham, ‘Take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that I will point out to you’ …” (Gen. 22:1 TNK). In Judges there are at least three such moments: When explaining why God needs to appoint a series of judges from one generation to the next (at

448

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

such insertions occur at 13:16 (Manoah had not realized the divinity of his wife’s visitor) and at 16:20 (Samson had not realized that God had turned away from him); but their significance or implication pale in comparison with what we learn from 14:4. Samson announces his desire to marry a Philistine, flabbergasting his parents, for they could not know that “this was from the Lord, for he was prodding a reaction from the Philistines” (kî mēYHVH hîʼ kî tōʼӑnâ hûʼ mӗvaqqēš mippӗlištîm). In this clause, the antecedent “he” is indefinite: it certainly refers to God; but Samson might also be the antecedent, as the episode was focusing on his stubborn, if incongruous, desire to wed a woman from among those who bullied his tribe.21 With this ambiguity in mind – and by evading (legitimate) issues of sources and their integration into our received version – I may now pick up on Samson, planted as he was between pillars in Dagon’s piazza. Samson’s Choice. As his arms twisted around or pushed against weight-bearing columns (let us not worry how for now), Samson knew that his life was about to end one way or another; for him, there will no longer be debasement in a dinky millhouse just as there cannot be any further bouts with hapless Philistines. Revelry and carnal escapes into Philistine territory and heaps of dead bodies about him may have persuaded Samson that Nazir regulations controlled his mother, not him, and his unshorn hair was a vestige of her own commitments more than of his. From the moment “Zeal for the LORD (rûwaḥ YHVH) first began to pound in him at Maḥaneh-Dan, between Zorah and Eshtaol” (13:25), Samson embraced a mission to provoke Philistines into destructive confrontations. The first of three divinely gifted onrushes, occurring at the outskirts of Timnah (14:6) – as well as two others subsequently (at 14:19 and 15:14) – could only validate the certainty of his cause. As he faced the finality of death in a Philistine temple, Samson turned to the God who earlier (at 15:18– 20) had granted him reprieve from an ending that felt too abrupt. Samson never got to feel another onrush of divinely bestowed power, not just because such injections may have belonged to other fragments from his sagas, but because there was no longer a need for reinforcing Samson’s conviction. Beyond fulfilling his destiny as a thorn in enemy’s flesh, Samson was also to be a goad for God’s own plans. As such, he deserved the “judge” label conferred on him. Theomachy. Mighty and past comparison with neighboring deities though he may have been, the Hebrew God was not beyond holding grudges and peeves against the deities of Israel’s neighbors, not least because of their repeated successful seductions of a chosen folk. It was not enough to send prophets and leaders to warn deviating Israel; rather, the battle had to be taken directly to the other deities if only to disabuse their worshipers from futile hopes. God might threaten to humiliate gods before their own followers (see at Exod 12:12; Num 33:14); or God might assign an agent to publicly take down false gods, as when Elijah insults Baal before exterminating his priests (1 Kgs 18:20:20–46). In these theomachies, Dagon was an especially irritating foe, if only because his followers will lord it over Israel at least until David’s days. Additionally, Dagon was resilient and so provoked God into launching other instances of humiliation for him and for his believers (see at 1 Sam 5 and 14). For God, using Samson as a tool would not be abusing him – as when, say, sending Jonah on a seemingly futile errand. Samson would not be the first (or last) life lost on a sacred mission or in a holy war. There are other narratives about faithful mouthpieces of the Hebrew God (Moses, Balaam, and the man of God of 1 Kgs 13 among them) who devoted service to God notwithstanding, compromised their future by relatively minor infractions.22

2:11–19); when rationalizing the survival of enemy nations in the Promised Land despite Joshua’s many triumphs against them (at 2:22–23, 3:2); and when justifying Abimelech’s sudden veer from initial success (at 9:23). See the good work on the subject in Paris 2014. 21 Sternberg (1987: 237–38) reverses the sequence of actions in the relevant passage to assign God sole priority in motivation. If anything, Stenberg’s argument reinforces the possibility that Samson believes himself as acting on his own volition. 22 The motif of dutiful servants dying on causes that are not of their own making is not foreign to ancient literature. The conjunction is especially pronounced in the second of two versions of a Hittite (actually Hattian) myth in which the Storm God (Taru, among other names) struggles against the “dragon” Iluyanka (Hoffner 1998: 13; Beckman 1982, 1997). At one point, the Storm God loses heart and eyes (literally) to Iluyanka. Nonetheless he sires a human son who,

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

449

Symbiosis Over time, biblical historiographers have made it their specialty to give the Hebrew God noble characteristics, among them exceptionality, exclusivity, transcendence, eternity, omnipresence, omnipotence, immanence, and immutability. Yet they were not beyond spicing up their portrait with more intriguing attributes, such as inscrutability, opacity, volatility, and capriciousness.23 As well, they have created heroes (especially in the book of Judges) who, despite grandeur and dignity, could display bottomless shortcomings. In their writings, the relationship between God and an elect is always symbiotic and most often leads to shared objectives. In the Samson tales, however, the goals merge, but the results remain distinct: For Samson, the trajectory was cartoonish – a romp in which besting and killing Philistines was a never-ending delight. It was fitting, therefore, that a narrator (better: a redactor) would set a notice on Samson’s judgeship precisely here (at 15:20) as capsule on this phase of Samson’s picaresque life. For God, however, the object was pedagogic – a lesson taught to Philistines (if not also Hebrews) that confirms a credo that is affirmed elsewhere “I am the first and I am the last; besides me there are no (other) gods” (Isaiah 44:6). Nonetheless, I imagine that as he uttered his last words (16:30), Samson did achieve introspection, recognizing his role in a grander cosmological scheme. I would therefore embrace PseudoPhilo’s poignant reshaping of his final sentiments “Go forth, my soul, and do not be sad; die, my body, and do not weep about yourself” (LAB 43.7–8; see Harrington: 1985: 357); sentiments that will echo in another Testament (John 12:27). As kin buried a fallen champion, the narrator (better: the redactor) celebrated this significant phase of Samson’s life with yet another abstract about his judgeship (at 16:31). These two seemingly redundant notices formed perfect caesurae for two goals, separate yet jointly achieved. Bibliography Alcock, Joan P. 2006 Food in the Ancient World. Greenwood Press. Westport: Greenwood Press. Battini, Laura 2016 Making Pictures of War. Realia et Imaginaria in the Iconology of the Ancient Near East. Ancient Near Eastern Archaeology, 1. Oxford: Archaeopress. Bagg, Ariel 2019 “Where is the Public? A New Look at the Brutality Scenes in Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions and Art.” Pp. 57–82 in Battini 2016. Beard, Mary 2007 The Roman Triumph. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Beckman, Gary 1982 “The Anatolian Myth of Illuyanka.” JANES 14: 11–25. 1997 “Mythologie. A.II. Bei den Hethitern.” RlA 8: 564–72. Briant, Pierre 2002 From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire; translated by Peter T. Daniels. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Charpin, Dominique 2014 “Le prix de rachat des captifs d’après les archives paléo-babyloniennes.” Pp. 33–69 in Zoltán Csabai, ed., Studies in Economic and Social History of the Ancient Near East in Memory of Péter Vargyas. Ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean Studies 2. Pécs–Budapest, Department of Ancient History, University of Pécs. Budapest: L’Harmattan. Crenshaw, James L. 1971 Prophetic Conflict: Its Effect upon Israelite Religion. BZAW 124; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. on marrying the daughter of the dragon, demands these organs as a bride-price. Once anatomically (hence also vigorously) restored, Taru defeats Iluyanka; but his son pays with his life for abusing his kinship privilege. 23 Many of these oddities are charted in Crenshaw 1971.

450

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

Dalman, Gustaf 1902 “Grinding in Ancient and Modern Palestine.” The Biblical World 19: 9–18. Dietrich, Jan 2009 “Der Tod von eigener Hand im Alten Testament und Alten Orient: Eskaptische, aggressive und oblative Selbsttötungen.” Pp. 177–98 in Angelika Berlejung and Bernd Janowski, eds. Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Dolce, Rita 2018 Losing One's Head in the Ancient Near East. Interpretation and Meaning of Decapitation. Routledge. Harrington, Daniel J. 1985 “Pseudo-Philo (First Century A.D.).” Pp. 297–377 in James H. Charlesworth, ed. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Vol. 2. Expansions of the “Old Testament” and Legends, Wisdom and Philosophical Literature, Prayers, Psalms, and Odes, Fragments of Lost Judeo-Hellenistic Works. New York: Doubleday. Hoffner, Harry A., Jr 1998 Hittite Myths. 2nd edition. SBL WAW Series. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. 2009 Letters from the Hittite Kingdom. WAW, 15. Atlanta, GA: SBL. Justel, Josué J. 2017 “Blindness in Nuzi Texts.” WdO 47: 242–58. King, Philip J., and Lawrence Stager 2001 Life in Biblical Israel. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Liverani, Mario 2017 Assyria: the Imperial Mission. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Livingstone, Alasdair 1989 Court poetry and Literary Miscellanea. SAA 3. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Luckenbill, Daniel David 1927: Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia. Volume II: Historical Records of Assyria from Sargon to the End. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Marti, Lionel 2012: “La satisfaction du vainqueur: l’exposition des vaincus à l'époque néo-assyrienne.” Pp. 53–72 in J.M. Durand, Th. Römer, J.-P. Mahé (eds), La faute et sa punition dans les sociétés orientales. Leuven: Peeters. Paris, Christopher T. 2014 Narrative Obtrusion in the Hebrew Bible. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Rainey, Anson F. 1973 “Amenhotep II’s Campaign to Takhsi.” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 10: 71– 75. Reid, John Nicholas 2016 “The Birth of the Prison: The Functions of Imprisonment in Early Mesopotamia.” JANEH 3: 81– 115. Sasson, Jack M. 2014 Judges 1–12. A New Translation, With Introduction and Commentary. AYB. New Haven: Yale University Press. 2017 From the Mari Archives. An Anthology of Old Babylonian Letters. University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns. (Paperback reprint, with Additions and Corrections). 2019a “A Gate in Gaza: An Essay on the Reception of Tall Tales.” Pp. 176–89 in Emanuel Pfoh and Lukasz Niesiolowski-Spanò, eds. Biblical Narratives, Archaeology and Historicity. Essays in Honour of Thomas L. Thompson. London: T&T Clark. . 2019b “Vile Threat: Rhetoric of a Marital Spat.” Pp. 923–41 in Grégory Chambon, Michaël Guichard, and Anne-Isabelle Langlois (eds), De l’argile au numérique: mélanges assyriologiques en l’honneur de Dominique Charpin. Leuven: Peeters. 2019. .

Sasson – Sightless in Gaza

2020

451

“Of Shekels and Shackles: A Wadi Sorek Romance (Judges 16).” Pp. 263–77 in Jennie Ebeling and Philippe Guillaume, eds. The Woman in the Pith Helmet: A Tribute to Archaeologist Norma Franklin. Atlanta, GA: The Lockwood Press. . 2021 “Samson as Riddle.” Pp. 579–93 in Peter Machinist, Robert A. Harris, Joshua A. Berman, Nili Samet, and Noga Ayali-Darshan, eds. Ve-ʼEd Yaʼaleh (Gen 2:6). Essays in Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies Presented to Edward L. Greenstein, 1. Atlanta: SBL Press. . Schneider, Thomas 2018 “The Stigma of Submission: Reassessing Sisera’s Fate in Judges 5:25–27.” Pp. 562–76 in Itzhaq Shai, Jeffrey R. Chadwick, Louise Hitchcock, Amit Dagan, Chris McKinny, and Joe Uziel, eds. Tell it in Gath. Studies in the History and Archaeology of Israel. Essays in Honor of Aren M. Maeir on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday. ÄAT 90. Münster: Zaphon. Shemesh, Yael 2009 “Suicide in the Bible.” Jewish Bible Quarterly 37: 157–68. Sternberg, Meir 1987 The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Toorn, Karel van der 1986 “Judges XVI 21 in the Light of the Akkadian Sources.” VT 36: 248–53. Villard, Pierre 2008 “Les cérémonies triomphales en Assyrie.” Pp. 257–70 in P. Abrahami and L. Battini (eds), Les armées du Proche-Orient ancien (IIIe–Ier mill. av. J.–C.). BAR.S 1855. Oxford: John and Erica Hedges Ltd. Worthington Martin 2010 “Selbstmord (suicide),” RlA 12: 366. Younger, K. Lawson, Jr 2002 Judges and Ruth. The NIV Application Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. 2021 Judges and Ruth. The NIV Application Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan (revised edition).

Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible? Jeroboam ben Nebat and Jehu ben Nimshi in the Tale of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal JoAnn Scurlock

Abstract Marvin Sweeny includes Jehu ben Nimshi in his list of “editors” of 1–2 Kings, seeing him as belonging to a long list of pre-exilic kings, mostly of Judah, who were responsible for versions of history that saw whoever was writing the story as doing the right thing by Yahweh. I see Jehu as a double-dealing usurper who had a lot to answer for, and who commissioned a fair bit of royal propaganda designed to legitimate himself, large parts of which ended up in the text of 1–2 Kings as we have it. Apart from the account of the actual coup that brought him to power and of the first battle of Ramoth-Gilead, I see his hand at work in the Elijah and the Prophets narrative minus the Horeb story and the references to Jezebel, but nothing whatsoever to do with the Baʿal in Samaria pericope. I further argue that this story began as a composition of Jeroboam ben Nebat and that both this original sacrifice contest and Jehu’s added drought narrative were intended to defend worship at Bethel and Dan as Yahwist and to damn the temple in Jerusalem as the cult center of Tyrian Baʿal. Lawson Younger is an old friend, and I was thrilled to be asked to contribute to his Festschrift. May he live long and have a very productive retirement! Jehu and Hazael The voices of Judean redactors, primarily Josiah and Hezekiah, are readily recognizable in 1–2 Kings. Less obvious are the Northern Kingdom voices that come into the narrative via the Annals of the Kings of Israel, Israelite Tales of the Prophets and, I would argue, publicly circulated Israelite Royal Propaganda that, for one reason or another, served the purposes of Judean redactors. Marvin Sweeny includes Jehu ben Nimshi in his list of “editors”, seeing him as belonging to a long list of pre-exilic kings, mostly of Judah, who were responsible for versions of history that saw whoever was writing the story as doing the right thing by Yahweh1 and, as a result, either creating great glories (Solomon) or having found the key to restoring those glories (Jehu, Hezekiah and Josiah).2 The thesis is a reasonable one on the surface of it, but only on the surface. The only one in this list for whom I can agree fully with this characterization is Josiah. As for Jehu, I see a limited ambition of justifying his military coup and covering up for the fact that, in order to accomplish it, he has had to betray his country. And no, this is not his submission to Assyria – that was the double-cross that came later. We have a fragmentary Aramaic inscription found in Tell Dan3 that gives an account of the author’s father’s accomplishments (ll. 1–2) and his death and burial (“he lay down and went to his fathers” [l. 3]). It then speaks of an earlier invasion of Aram by Israel in the time of the ruler’s father (ll. 3–4). But then Hadad made him king and went before him (into battle) and he killed two kings who had mustered thousands of chariots and horsemen against him (ll. 4–7). These were [Jo]ram, son of [Ahab], king of Israel and [Ahaz]yahu son of [Joram], the latter killing producing the overthrow of Bet-David (Judah) (ll. 7–9). Later we possibly have a reference to [Jehu son of Nimshi] ruling over Is[rael] (ll. 11–12). What are we to make of this? 1

Sweeney 2007, 3–4. For what he calls the Jehu History in which he includes the story of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal, as well as the Elisha cycle, see Sweeney 2007, 26–30, 210, 330–40, 354–61, 363, 367–69. To note, however, is that he sees Jehu as the subject rather than the author of this history, placing it in the reign of Jeroboam ben Joash (Sweeney 2007, 223–24, 330–31). Similarly Robker 2012, 59–69 for 2 Kings 9–10. Mulder 1998 12–13 attributes the Elijah and Elisha cycles to the same Northern Kingdom hand with a separate Ahab source, also Northern Kingdom. 3 I follow the edition of Younger 2016, 592–97. 2

454

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

This inscription can only have been set up by Hazael of Damascus. The invasion of Aram by Israel is a reference to the first battle of Ramoth-Gilead, which Ahab managed to win despite dying (1 Kings 22.34– 37).4 This would make Ben-Hadad the father of Hazael. Assyrian inscriptions, however, refer to him as a “son of a nobody”.5 The biblical account of Hazael’s succession to the throne (2 Kings 8.7–15) never gives Hazael’s father’s name, but he seems to be lurking round the bedside of an ailing Ben-Hadad as would be the case with a relative, if not necessarily one in line for succession. In view of the fact that David, married to Saul’s daughter Michal, once calls Saul his father (1Sam. 24.11), the easiest explanation is that Hazael, like David, was quite literally the son of a nobody who was married to a daughter of the king (1 Sam.18.22– 26), and became part of her family, the Hittite custom of the antiyant, also known from the Middle Assyrian Laws. Ben Hadad would thus be his father, but, again like David, he would not have been expected to succeed him as king. It is curious that Hazael, if we can so refer to him without a question mark,6 has his father dying but rather than simply coming to the throne, he is made king by Hadad who leads him on to victory. This fits perfectly with the Biblical account. Ben-Hadad did, as far as anybody outside a charmed circle would have known, die of his illness. And he was indeed chosen by Hadad to rule Aram and lead it on to victory against Israel and Judah, if we can imagine Elisha as a prophet of Hadad, at least as far as the kings of Aram were concerned. The Biblical succession story of Hazael seems actually to presuppose this, since it has Ben-Hadad hearing of the spontaneous arrival of the Man of God and sending Hazael with a present to ask for a consultation with Yahweh through him about his illness (2 Kings 8.7–8). As Sweeney points out, Ben-Hadad also refers to himself as Elisha’s son (2 Kings 8.9c), a filial relationship otherwise attested only for disciples and Joash of Israel.7 Later, Hazael is thrilled to have essentially been anointed as king of Aram by Elisha, who allegedly weeps about how Hazael is going to burn up Israel’s fortresses, kill the men, rip up the pregnant women and dash the babies’ heads against the wall (2 Kings 8.11–13). And we may remember that Naʿaman, who is cured of leprosy by Elisha, was the commander of the army of the king of Aram through whom Yahweh had given victory to Aram (2 Kings 5.1). So, both accounts agree that Hadad/Yahweh made Hazael king and led him on to victory over Israel. That victory was the second battle of Ramoth-Gilead, in which Ahaziah and Jehoram went to war with Hazael (2 Kings 8.28–29, 9.14–16). Both kings died, as Hazael claims, but he was not personally responsible for either death, since both Jehoram of Israel and Ahaziah of Judah were hunted down and killed after returning from this battle with Aram, and clearly after the battle was over (2 Kings 8. 29, 9.14–16, 9.21–27). Curious to note, then, is that Hazael claims to have both killed Ahaziah and overthrown Judah, but only to have killed the king of Israel.8 Judah was indeed overthrown and did not fully recover until the reign of Hezekiah. But what about Israel? The only obvious reason for this distinction is that Israel was not, in fact, overthrown but instead given a new king hand-picked by Hazael.9 This new king of Israel then polishes off Hazael’s victory, if not in the most glorious manner possible. When your minion does a dastardly deed for you, you can claim personal credit, and with a straight face.10 We find Jehu after the battle still at Ramoth-Gilead (2 Kings 9.1–2), whether taken captive or holed up in the battle camp or hiding in the city we are not told. And who is the prophet who arranges for the hush 4

See Sweeney 2007, 261. For a discussion of this issue, see Younger 2016, 597–606. 6 See Younger 2016, 591–92. 7 Sweeney 2007, 318. 8 Younger 2016, 606–13 gives all possible translations of the relevant lines and explains his reasons for his interpretation, which is followed here. 9 As Robker 2012, 272 points out, Dan must have been in the possession of Hazael at the time he erected his stela there. 10 On this particular point, see Cogan 1991, 123; cf. Younger 2016, 610–13. That Jehu was some sort of agent of Hazael was suggested already by Biran and Naveh 1995, 18. Baruch Margalit bats this away on the grounds that Jehu is to be restored at the end of line 11 as a victim of Hazael’s siege of Samaria, also restored in line 12 (Margalit 1994a, 317 n. 3). The Samaria, even if restored correctly, does not, pace Margalit 1994, 317, make a liar out of Hazael since we know that Jehu’s relationship with Hazael was very short-lived indeed. 5

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

455

hush, tell and flee, secret meeting in which Jehu is anointed king of Israel (2 Kings 9.2–7, 10b–13)? None other than the prophet of Hadad/Yahweh, Elisha (2 Kings 9.1).11 And, with Hannelis Schulte, it is hard to imagine how Jehu managed the campaign of slaughter and mayhem he unleashed if he had to leave his army to guard the border and make sure that Hazael did not take full advantage of the situation.12 Izabela Jaruzelska allows for significant foreign assistance in Jehu’s coup, but notes that there is a difference of scholarly opinion on the source of that assistance.13 On the one hand, William M. Schniedewind points out that Jehoram could not have been assassinated without the cooperation of Hazael.14 On the other hand, Nadav Naʿaman sees Jehu as an Assyrian ally and holds the trump card of the Black Obelisk.15 I would say that both scholars are right up to a point. We must remember that Jehu was now in power, but as a puppet king of Hazael. This is not the role to which usurpers aspire, and this is where Jehu’s submission to Shalmanesar III comes into play. We have used Damascus to usurp power, now we stab the person who helped us in the back by siding with his sworn enemy. And, as Gershon Galil points out, there were serious advantages to be gained from Jehu’s Assyrian alliance.16 Is it irony or serious misrepresentation on Jehu’s part that he is identified on the Black Obelisk as “son of (Bit-) Ḫumri”? Is it possible that he, like David, was a general whose loyalty was ensured by marrying him to the king’s daughter? Marrying spare daughters to one’s officials to make them loyal seems to have been part of the art of rulership in ancient Israel. Two of Solomon’s officials reputedly had this honor (1 Kings 4.11, 14). Such a marriage would link him to the dynasty but not necessarily work as planned. David was married to Saul’s daughter in the hopes of “ensnaring” him (1 Kings 18.20–21). This did not, however, prevent David from wiping out the entire house of Saul with the exception of the descendants of Jonathon. Still, Israel should have been Bit-Yaua and not Bit-Humri, just as Damascus was Bit-Haza’ilu and not BitAdad-idri and Judah was Bet-David and not Bet-Saul. Alternatively, with Amitai Baruchi-Unna, Jehu was actually an Omrid, but from a side branch of the family by now hopelessly out of the line of succession and ready to stop at nothing to ensure that his branch would provide Israel’s monarchs from now on.17 Of course, he could still, in that case, have been married off to one of his cousins. Part of this might also have to do with where your capital was. Earlier kings of Israel changed capital with each lasting change of dynasty, Jeroboam in Shechem (1 Kings 12.25), Baasha in Tirzah (1 Kings 15.33, 16.6,8) and Omri in Samaria (16.23–24,28; 22.37). Jehu, by contrast, retained Omri’s capital (2 Kings 10.35– 36) which, if Bet-Omri may be thought of as the city Omri founded and the land it controls, then Jehu could, quite apart from his relationship to the family, still claim to be the son of (Bit)-Ḫumri.18 Of course, this begs the question of why Jehu did not, in fact move the capital, or more precisely, why he chose to return to the capital built by Omri, from Jezreel, the unofficial capital of Ahab and sons.19 Did the Assyrians know that Jehu came to power over the bodies of his distant relatives? Probably, but did they care?20 11

Sweeney 2007, 333 refuses to see the connection. Schulte 1994, 137–38 uses a groundswell of popular support as the explanation, but fear of reprisal seems the more obvious motivation for cooperation with Jehu. 13 Jaruzelska 2004, 180–82. 14 Schniedewind 1996, especially 82–85. 15 Naʾaman 2000, 100–104. 16 Galil 2002, 51–52. 17 See Baruchi-Unna 2017, especially 14–18. 18 To note is that the term is still used by Tilgalth-pilesar III and Sargon II of kings whose capital was still in Samaria (see Sweeney 2007, 332; cf. 321 n. 1). Sweeney is completely lost here. Supposedly the Assyrians called it that because Jehu remained a vassal of Phoenicia despite his vicious treatment of the king’s daughter and the alleged vassalage forced on Jehu by the presence of Athaliah in Judah is also supposed to explain why Hazael kept attacking him (Sweeney 2007, 344–45). Much more cogently, Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 106 suggest a simple practice of designating an entity after its first successful dynast. 19 Baruchi-Unna 2017, 18–20. 20 Naʾaman 1998 sees characterizations of rulers is a reflection of Assyrian like or dislike of the person so described. Baruchi-Unna 2017, 10–13, however, is able to establish that the sobriquet of “son of a nobody” means simply lack of agnatic relationship to one’s predecessor. 12

456

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

Not that it matters. As a result of this defection, Hazael came very close to losing everything.21 And he was furious. Hazael engaged in an all-out assault on Israelite territory east of the Jordan (2 Kings 10.32– 33).22 Jehu cannot have overlooked the possibility that Hazael would not take kindly to his defection, but he could also dream of helping himself to chunks of Damascene territory as an Assyrian tributary.23 Jehu’s slaughter of the royal house of Judah left only Athaliah, and her infant grandson, Jehoash to hold down the fort in Judah. She was an able regent who managed to hold things together for six years (and we strongly suspect that it was Jehu and not Athalaiah who murdered the rest of the royal family),24 but Athaliah was a woman and a foreigner25 and, as such, easy pickings for a general like Jehu. Judah could safely be left for desert. Unfortunately for Jehu, the alliance with Assyria was golden, but not for him. Jehoahaz, son of Jehu, survived Hazael’s onslaught only by divine intervention (2 Kings 13.3–5) with the bulk of Israel’s army “made like the dust at threshing time” by the king of Aram (2 Kings 13.7).26 The deliverer whom Yahweh sent to help with the result that they were able to live in their own homes (2 Kings 13.5) was eventually Jeroboam II (2 Kings 14.26–27) but, had it not been for Assyria, there would not have been any Israel to deliver.27 Indeed, Adad-nirari III records Jehoash of Israel as his tributary, and we may imagine that Israel’s resurgence under Jehoash and Jeroboam II had more than a little input from Assyria.28 The Elisha Cycle as Royal Propaganda? I believe we are now in a position to appreciate why no mention is ever made in the Bible of Jehu’s submission to Shalmanesar III. But why are we hearing about all the rest of this? For purposes of self-legitimization, Jehu and/or one of the three members of his little dynasty needed a secret anointing by a prophet to get things going.29 They had a sort of one in the commissioning of an anonymous anointer by Elisha (2 Kings 9.1– 10).30 It was not the best thing in the world, but you work with what you have. And it needed to be demonstrated that Elisha was not a sort of Baalam figure who defected to Israel after Jehu, whom he had arranged to have anointed king of Israel on Hazael’s orders, betrayed Hazael by submitting to Assyria. Instead, they wanted Elisha to be someone actually part of the Israelite establishment from the beginning and not just

21

Younger 2016, 613–20. According to Sweeney 2007 332, 339–40, Hazael made unprovoked attacks forcing Jehu to submit to Assyria. Cogan and Tadmor 1988 119–20 understand Jehu’s revolt as the result of frustration in the army over poor leadership, particularly that of Jehoram (cf. Sweeney 2007, 332, 333). This is quite reasonable. That Jehu was forced into the Assyrian alliance due to seriously bad planning (Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 121) is nonsense. That the slaughter of Jezreel was entirely the Assyrian’s fault (p. 121 n. 13) is not worth considering even as a possibility, and the idea that the Assyrians proved of little worth (p. 121) actionable. 23 Stith 2008, 21–35 takes a novel approach to history (as in the historical novel). He justifies his approach with a crossexamination of French-fried Theory, throwing in John Locke for good measure (3–19) and graciously allowing that God, who inspired the present work, should not be blamed for his mistakes (ix). All this having been said, darned if he doesn’t come down on the right side of just about every contentious issue. 24 With Fritz 2003, 297–98. 25 For the extent to which ideology is at play in the narrative as we have it, see Koruba 2013. 26 Assyria, incapacitated by the throne succession crisis that followed the death of Shalmanesar III, was unable to render immediate assistance. For the details of this troubled time and its effects, see Galil 2002, especially 54–56. For Hazael’s triumphs made possible by Assyrian decline, see Younger 2016, 620–30. For his deification, see Younger 2016, 631– 32. With the accession of Adad-nirari III, the party was over for Aram-Damascus (see Younger 2016, 632–40). 27 The alleged treaty between Jehoahaz and Ben-Hadad in which the latter is to have ceded Dan to Israel (Margalit 1994, 320 n. 12) is pure myth with no element of history in it. 28 For the suggestion that Adad-nirari III was himself the savior, see Lipiński 2000, 395; cf. Sweeney 2007, 357–58. For a list of the proposed saviors including Zakkur(!) and their representative proponents, see Younger 2016, 639. 29 For a dynastic interest in the cycles of Elijah and Elisha, see also Sweeney 2007, 223–24, 357. 30 On the dubiousness of this story, even without the extraneous reference to Jezebel’s alleged slaughter of the prophets, see Jaruzelska 2004, 179. 22

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

457

settling in to stay after Jehu broke ranks with Hazael, so say a successor of Elijah (2 Kings 2.1–18) who, by the way, may also have been a foreigner himself.31 As a new the Elijah, Elisha proved to be very good at dealing with problems such as the insufficiency or inadequacy of food and water (2 Kings 2.19–22, 4.1–7, 38–41, 42–44), could bring dead boys back to life (2 Kings 4.8–37) when he was not having them eaten by bears (2 Kings 2.23–24),32 and hung out at Mt. Carmel (2 Kings 2.25, 4.24–27).33 With Jehoram, Jehu’s prime victim in Israel, Elisha had to be particularly hostile if somehow paradoxically helpful at the same time as in the campaign to Moab (2 Kings 3.1–27), which ended in disaster. As we know from the stela of Mesha of Moab, Omri oppressed Moab because Chemosh was angry with his land but that, under the (grand)son of Omri things were very different. Not only was Medeba returned but Ataroth and Nebo had their inhabitants slaughtered, the former to be resettled, the latter the victim of herem. Mesha did a lot of building, particularly of “destroyed” cities and water works and was quite pleased with himself.34 Elisha’s hostility to Jehoram is by no means exhausted when he has to be prevailed upon by Jehoshaphat to prophesy victory for the allies and to bring them water (2 Kings 3.11–18). The scorched earth policy that he recommends on Yahweh’s say-so (2 Kings 3.19)35 directly contradicts the rules of warfare, as laid out in Deut. 20.19, rules that exist for a very good reason. If the siege had been prolonged, the invading army would have died of starvation and lack of water. Quite apart from that, Moab was off limits for conquest as explained in Deut. 2.936 Assuming that these rules are as old as they claim to be, and operative in Israel at this time, Elisha has led them into temptation and has not delivered them from evil. And did they actually do the damage described (2 Kings 3.24b–25)? What about those “destroyed” cities Mesha is supposed to have built and all those water works Mesha boasts about having commissioned?37 This is the best constructed of the Elisha tales; elsewhere, the paradoxical helpfulness despite overt hostility and, of course, everybody (including the king’s) recognition of Elisha as a true prophet, is not so well managed. The most obvious wiggle is not in the tale of Elisha’s alleged singlehanded bloodless victory over Aram that ended all Aramean raids except for the subsequent(!) siege of Samaria (2 Kings 6.8–24) or when he allegedly rescued Samaria from said siege by Ben-Hadad (2 Kings 6.24–7.20) from inside a house block-

31

Sweeney 2007, 210–11. This is the Elijah the Tishbite problem (1 Kings 17.1a). The usual way of dealing with this issue is to make it a simple statement of residence in some town with the appropriate name in Gilead (as Gray 1976, 377; Walsh 1996, 225–26; Cogan 2000, 425; Knauf 2019, 84, 156–58). What this ignores is that Tishbite is glossed (Cogan 2000, 425) as what is unproblematically a resident alien in Gilead (Sweeney 2007, 211). In other words, he has no connection with Gilead except that he lives there, but he is actually from somewhere else. This would seem to clinch the foreign origin of Elijah, but does not begin to explain why Elijah, when we first meet him, is identified, not as a Prophet or a Man of God, but in this peculiar way (cf. Walsh 1996, 225–26). A possible answer to this question lies in the existence of a very strong Rabbinic tradition of Elijah as something other than human (Knauf 2019, 158, 240) and it must be admitted that he appears and disappears quite swiftly and mysteriously (Cogan 2001, 431). We need not indulge ourselves with Knauf’s speculations on the subject of Elijah as Teššub (Knauf 2019, 158–60). However, the well-known association of Elijah with apocalypticism (Knauf 2019, 240; cf. Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 34; Sweeney 2007, 274) warns us that we should not exclude the possibility that what is meant by the term Tishbite is “sojourner”, that is, a denizen of the other world sent down for a specific purpose and returning to heaven upon its not quite successful completion. This would represent a very late tradition indeed (Persian period at the earliest) but conceivable, from my point of view, for the finishing touches placed on this quite antique narrative by a very late hand. 32 The curse of a wise man, even when underserved, will come to pass. This passage was intended as a word of warning to Elisha’s disciples to use their powers responsibly. 33 The conventional wisdom is to see the Elijah narratives as based on Elisha’s (Sweeney 2007, 214 & 288; cf. Cogan 2001, 432–33; Knauf 2019, 127, 130–31, 132–34, 149–50 & 163–64). Gray 1976, 463 & 466–67, however, argues for the reverse relationship. 34 See Smelik 2000. 35 As noted in Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 45–46; cf. Sweeney 2007, 283 who ascribes this to a pre-Dtr layer on this basis. 36 On this point, see Nelson 1987, 169. 37 That Mesha does not mention the joint campaign that necessitated his building program and water projects (Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 50) should come as no surprise, but he must have had some reason to gloat over Israel’s “going to ruin forever” (Smelik 2000, 137) with the assassination of Jehoram by Jehu.

458

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

aded against the king of Israel’s agents coming to kill him (2 Kings 6.31–7.2),38 or Elisha offering the Shunamite woman intercession with the king on her behalf (2 Kings 4.12–13) or Jehoram ben Ahab inquiring about all the great deeds Elisha had done for her so that he can reward anybody involved (2 Kings 8.1–6) just before Elisha heads off to arrange for Hazael to come to power in Damascus (2 Kings 8.7–15) and for Jehu to murder Jehoram in cold blood (2 Kings 9.1–26). No, the most obviously concocted39 is the story of Naʿaman, which manages to have Elisha curing a great Aramean general whom Yahweh has been giving victory after victory to, with the complete acquiescence of the king of Israel (2 Kings 5.1–27). There was this raid, see, and an Israelite woman got captured and ended up Naʿaman’s wife’s servant girl, and she let everybody know about Elisha the wonder-worker (2 Kings 5.2–3) and there were letters back and forth between the king of Aram and the king of Israel allowing Naʿaman to pay a little visit to Israel with his horses and chariots(!) (2 Kings 5.4–9) and he washes in the river Jordan which turns out to be so much better than those rivers in Damascus (2 Kings 5.10–14) and Naʿaman converts to the worship of Yahweh so he needs to take earth home with him to stand on while worshipping and to be excused for the odd bow to Rimmon (2 Kings 5.15–18). And on the way home, Elisha’s servant tries to cash in and is punished by having Naʿaman’s leprosy put onto him by Elisha (2 Kings 5.19–27).40 Really? Under what circumstances would the commander of the army of the king of Aram cross over into Israel with all his horses and chariots other than in a time when “the king of Aram was at war with Israel” (2 Kings 6.8)? How much of all this froth goes back to Jehu is hard to say, since Elisha was a sort of patron saint of the dynasty until his death in the reign of Jehoash (2 Kings 13.14–20a).41 Jehu: Naboth’s Avenger What we may attribute with confidence to Jehu are the tales of the moral turpitude and outright wickedness of Ahab egged on by his wife Jezebel. However, with Ernst Würthwein and Jonathan Robker, the passages that present Jehu as entirely motivated in his extermination of the royal house of Ahab by religious zealotry are later, I would say Josianic, additions to the original narrative.42 Jehu’s original condemnation of Ahab in justification for his usurpation is the tale of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kings 21.1–29).43 This story culminated, in its original form, in Elijah’s prediction of Ahab’s untimely demise (1 Kings 21.19), a prophecy apparently fulfilled at the first battle of Ramoth-Gilead (1 Kings 22.35–38) whose account (1 Kings 22.1–38), also attributable to Jehu,44 once followed immediately afterwards. With Cogan, it is hard to imagine that there was not some fire under all the smoke about Naboth.45 An unjust verdict, a prophetic denunciation (why not?) and Ahab backs down in some way, perhaps compensates 38

If nothing else, this particular tale is seriously chronologically challenged (see Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 84–85; cf. Fritz 2003, 270: “a miracle story … rather than an account of historical events”). 39 This by no means prevents, and indeed encourages, decidedly literary qualities (see Cohn 2000, 35–42). 40 Sweeney 2007, 296 & 300–301 sees this as a sign of Yahweh’s moral virtues. I suppose it is, but the topos of transfer of a removed evil to a deserving victim is classic in folklore for interactions between elves and other more or less beneficent spirits and mankind. As for the idea that the Elisha narratives were composed by the Jehuides to convince Israel to return to the worship of Yahweh (Sweeney 2007, 297–98, 307) is about as breathtakingly wrong as his assertion (Sweeney 2007, 214–15 & 290) that Ishtar travelled to the world of the dead to restore Tammuz to life and thereby bring on the rainy season in the fall. 41 Sweeney 2007 297, 330–31 agrees that the Elisha cycle stories are Jehuide, but is more charitable about their potential origins as something other than royal propaganda. The stories of a purely hagiographic nature are likely to have been the work of Elisha’s disciples. 42 Würthwein 2008. Robker 2012, 35–37 is prepared to see in the coup of Jehu narrative under all the later additions (pp. 39–47) an Israelite core incorporated into a later Judean narrative. 43 With Jaruzelska 2004, 177 & 179–80 the alleged slaughter in the alleged Temple in Samaria, as well as the bits in the coup narrative about how Jezebel has been persecuting the prophets of Yahweh and this is why everybody deserves to die, are later additions. Jehu’s own self-justification revolves around Ahab and that wretched vineyard. 44 See below. 45 Cogan 2000, 486. What actually may have happened is lost to us, but Jehu could have allowed himself some liberties in the retelling. For just how successful the resulting narrative is in terms of painting a black portrait of Ahab, see Walsh 1996, 316–27.

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

459

the grieving relatives for the full value of the property and makes his ʾāšām-offering to put himself back in Yahweh’s good graces, and nobody thinks anything more about it until the king bleeds to death at the first battle of Ramoth-Gilead. Jehu’s secret anointing to the throne (minus later additions)46 (2 Kings 9.1–6, 12) is just that and no more. Again with Cogan, the exact wording, I would say supplied by Jehu, of Elijah’s response to Ahab’s repentance (1 Kings 21.27) is an adjustment that redirects the original prophecy dunning Ahab against Ahab’s offspring.47 So, terrible consequences will follow from Ahab’s unjust judgement, but for his house, and only after his own death, affecting his son in particular (1 Kings 21.28–29). Jehu’s strategy here is exceedingly clever. He has one prophecy from Elijah to work with (1 Kings 21.15– 19) and he makes it cover both the dogs licking up Ahab’s blood after Ramoth Gilead and the disposal of Jehoram’s unburied body on the plot of land (formerly) belonging to Naboth with the result that nothing of what was spoken against the house of Ahab through Elijah should go unfulfilled (2 Kings 10.10). Note in this connection that the narrative of the assassination of Jehoram and the conference that precedes it (2 Kings 9.21–26) is entirely fixated on the motif of poor Naboth who has, in the interim, mysteriously acquired sons whose death requires Jehu’s vengeance.48 This is how usurpers typically justify themselves. As with David, your predecessor was unjust and oppressive and violent against those speaking for Yahweh and so Yahweh sends a prophet to anoint you to replace him. There was only one fly in this ointment, and that was the fact that the son and heir of Ahab, Ahaziah did not fall to the avenging hand of Jehu but out of a window, from which injury he died (2 Kings 1.2a, 17). Not to worry, Jehu or one of his successors, had the perfect way to deal with Ahaziah. Most people do not fall out of windows without assistance (2 Kings 9.30–33), but we do not want to go there. Instead, we have Ahaziah trying to consult with the god of Ekron (2 Kings 1.2b–c), and Yahweh is bent out of shape by this (2 Kings 1.3–4), but in ways that more than suggest a Northern kingdom voice: “Is it for lack of a god in Israel that you are going to inquire of DN, god of Ekron?” (2 Kings 1.3c,6e,16c).49 So eventually Elijah delivers this message in person (2 Kings 1.15–17), but not before he has proven his entitlement to be called a Man of God by incinerating 100 of the soldiers that Ahaziah sent to fetch him in two neat batches of 50 (2 Kings 1.9–12). Jehu Defender of Which Faith? In formulating this royal propaganda, Jehu might have found inspiration in David’s tales of Saul and his own rise to power over the dead bodies of every member of the house of Saul with the exception of a harmless boy who was lame in both feet, but he will not have written them. He will have had no time for Solomon and his Temple in Jerusalem, let alone any burning desire to return Israel to Judean orthodoxy. I say no time, since Jehu is the most likely author of the tale of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal50 which has nothing 46

The original commission was to anoint Jehu king of Israel, period end of sentence, and then to flee without delay (2 Kings 9.3). When Jehu repeats what happened to his friends (2 Kings 9.12) this is exactly what happened. In between, the mystery man is supposed to have delayed all over the place, having the chutzpah to add no less than four verses, all of them attributed to Yahweh’s direct speech (2 Kings 9.7–10). 47 Cogan 2000, 483. 48 Of all the verses of prophetic import removed by Robker 2012, 39–47, the only survivor (p. 43) is 1 Kings 25–26 which directly connects the murder of Jehoram with Naboth’s vineyard. Sweeney 2007, 247–48 agrees that Naboth’s vineyard is used by his Jehuid history (see above) to justify the slaughter in the plain of Jezreel, but insists on including as part of the history allegedly commissioned by Jeroboam ben Joash verses that are only too clearly Judean imports that specifically condemn Northern ways of worship and target the founder of the state whose name he bears! 49 Similarly the interposition of the Angel of Yahweh in 2 Kings 1.3a, 15a (see Gray 1976, 463–64). 50 With Marsha White, the drought narrative is 8th century and royal propaganda (White 1997, 1–2 and Part 1), and Jehu’s takeover was not a broad-based populist uprising but a narrow-based military coup (White 1997, 2 and Part 2: 45–64). There are numerous problems with the details of the argument, in large part stemming from the assumption that 1 Kings 19 is part of the original narrative. Where I seriously beg to differ, however, is on the conventional understanding that the critique in its original form was focused on Jezebel and in favor of the Southern Kingdom’s form of worship, just not thorough enough a purificatory slaughter to qualify as genuine anti-Baʿalism (White 1997, 2 and Part 2: 64– 76).

460

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

pleasant to say about Ahab but whose main purpose, as we shall see, was to defend the religion of the Northern Kingdom with a savage parody of the Temple of Jerusalem, its Jebusite priesthood, and especially its Gibeonite temple servants. This statement may come as something of a shock since it is usual to read this episode through the lens of the tale of Baʿal in Samaria (2 Kings 10.18–27). That you inaugurated your reign by slaughtering as many of your new subjects as you could squeeze into a Temple of Baʿal does not strike me as the best way of persuading them to accept your rule. And Jehu needed those thousands to swell the army he hoped to use to help himself to chunks of territory currently under Hazael’s control. In any case, the story as it stands is unmistakably a Josianic rewrite.51 Josiah’s version of Ahab’s alleged building of a temple of Baʿal in Samaria begins with Ahab, son of Omri being bound and determined to outdo all his predecessors in evil. He accomplishes this by marrying Sidonian princess Jezebel and converting to Baʿal worship, building the latter divinity a full-fledged Temple of Baʿal in his capital of Samaria (1 Kings 16.31b–32). The story then skips to virtuous Jehu, who has just eliminated Ahab’s house and is ready to tackle Ahab’s wicked temple. As far as this narrative goes, the Elijah incident never happened, and there was no such thing as a Yahwist high place. Instead, Jehu pretends to be determined to outdo even Ahab in Baʿal worship by way of having not only the prophets of Baʿal but all his ministers and priests assemble in the temple where he can kill them. Allegedly, there is going to be the mother of all sacrifices in the temple and, more than ironically, Jehu threatens to kill anybody who does not show up (2 Kings 10.18–19). So, proclamations go out to every corner of Israel and not one minister stays away, filling the temple from end to end (2 Kings 10.20–21). Jehu hands out robes of honor, and double checks to make sure he has everybody he wants to kill (2 Kings 10.22– 24a). Meanwhile, eighty soldiers have been readied outside with orders to let not one Baʿalist escape on pain of themselves being killed (2 Kings 10.24b–c). We now get to the expected carnage, but not before Jehu, to complete the charade, actually performs a holocaust offering to Baʿal on Baʿal’s altar in Baʿal’s temple (2 Kings 10.25a). Clearly, sensibilities on the subject of worship of other gods were not the same as we imagine them to be. In any case, having completely convinced everybody that he is a loyal Baʿal worshipper, Jehu orders the slaughter to begin (2 Kings 10.25b– c). The bodies are thrown outside, presumably to be left unburied, like all of Jehu’s actual victims, and then the real fun begins. The sacred pillar of Baʿal is dragged out of the holy of holies, burned, and the charred remains smashed (2 Kings 10.25d–27a). The temple itself is torn down and a latrine52 built over the ruins to desacralize even the site (2 Kings 10.27b–c). However, although the worship of Baʿal was allegedly rooted out of Israel, nothing was done about the sins of Jeroboam – namely the golden calves of Bethel and Dan, which survived Jehu’s alleged purge intact (2 Kings 10.28–29). And we end by having Yahweh tell Jehu personally that he congratulates him for his murder and mayhem and is going to reward him by allowing his dynasty to last for four generations. But

51

I am by no means the first to suggest that the entirety of 2 Kings 10.18–28 is an addition to the original narrative (for references, see Robker 2012 48 n. 172). This is summarily rejected by Robker 2012 48–50 who even goes so far as to suggest that the obvious similarities to Josiah’s purges were due to a recasting by a later redactor of Josiah in line with the Jehu Revolution (p. 49). He cannot get past the positive portrayal of Jehu in this passage. It is indeed positive, but only for Josiah, and it is of a piece with the complaints about Bethel and Dan 2 Kings 10.29, 31. If Jehu had destroyed these high places, Josiah would have had no need for a purge in the former Northern Kingdom. That 2 Kings 10.18–28 is extraneous may readily be seen from the distinctive pattern of inverted syntax that appears with 2 Kings 9.1 and runs throughout the narrative up to 2 Kings 20.18–19 after which it stops dead (Robker 2012, 58). When adding new material to old, ancient redactors covered their tracks with bridge lines that echoed the original phonology and syntax and gave the impression of a unified composition (see Simons 2021). With Robker 2012, 50–52; 2 Kings 10.30 is not part of this later redaction. This is not because it is positive about Jehu, but because it represents a Northern Kingdom perspective, also referenced in 2 Kings 10.25–26, that, like David and Solomon, the kings of Israel were occasional recipients of direct divine revelation (for references see Robker 2012, 50–51). Tellingly, the verse makes no mention of the destruction of the imaginary Temple of Baʿal in Samaria, giving the elimination of the House of Ahab as the only justification for divine reward to Jehu. 52 Perhaps better a dung heap (Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 116).

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

461

Jehu continued the sins of Jeroboam, so we know what is eventually going to happen to Israel (2 Kings 10.30–31). This narrative has Josiah written all over it, from the violence of the alleged destruction of Baʿal’s alleged temple to the motif of unfinished business that marks the presentation of Jehu as one of Josiah’s models for his career as king.53 We also notice that Josiah has nothing whatsoever to say about any single Asherah pole. Surely, this is no oversight, and more than suggests that the mentions of such an Asherah pole in Ahab’s regnal evaluation (1 Kings 16.33a)54 and in the account of Jehoahaz ben Jehu (2 Kings 13.6) have arrived by the hand of an exilic author. We do not need to take anything in Josiah’s version terribly seriously. Indications are that what Jezebel actually got was not a temple but her own private high place marked by a sacred pillar for Baʿal.55 This cannot possibly have been burned and torn down by Jehu (2 Kings 10.26–27) since it had already been gotten rid of by Ahab’s son, Jehoram (2 Kings 3.2) long before Jehu murdered him (2 Kings 9.14–24). This points to the conclusion that Josiah’s account of Jehu and the Prophets of Baʿal was actually based on the tale of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal which will have come to Judah, along with the annals of the kings of Israel in Israel’s version of the Books of the Prophets. And just to round out the narrative, someone in the Southern Kingdom,56 I would say again Josiah. rewrote the sad story of Athaliah, turning the palace coup that violently ended her regency for her grandson (2 Kings 11.4–16, 18c–20) into the occasion for a prequel to Josiah’s new covenant (2 Kings 11.17) with a concomitant destruction of yet another imaginary Temple of Baʿal, this time in Jerusalem (2 Kings 11.18a–b).57 With the stroke of a pen, Josiah gave himself full justification for the destruction of the sanctuaries of Bethel and Dan. He also managed to paper over the fact that he was, in fact, descended from this alleged devotee of Baʿal. Recovering the Original Story Removing Josiah’s Baʿal in Samaria pericope from our minds along with everything else that was, I would argue, a very late addition to the narrative including all references to Jezebel with her 400 pet Asherah prophets (1 Kings 18.19c) and her murderous ways (1 Kings 18.4b, 13) and the linked Horeb story (1 Kings 19), but leaving the drought and sacrifice narratives together, what we have is the following. The original back story to the narrative as it was when it circulated as an independent story is no longer visible unless we may reconstruct it from Josiah’s regnal evaluation. We must at the very least have Ahab converting to Baʿal worship (1 Kings 16.31c) to account for the presence of 450 prophets of Baʿal later in the story and we may also give him his altar and temple of Baʿal (1 Kings 16.32). This gives Yahweh a motive for causing there to be neither dew nor rain in the next few years except at Elijah’ s word, as Elijah has the chutzpah to tell the king to his face (1 Kings 17.1). So, everybody is going to be hungry and thirsty for a bit except, of course, Elijah, who is given his own private water source and ravens to bring him bits of food (1 Kings 17.2–6). As we learn later, the resulting drought lasted three years, so we need to fill this out with a few other Elijah tales that revolve around a widow at Zarephath to whose house Elijah moved when his brook dried up (1 Kings 17.7–24). The purpose of these tales is, the last verse (1 Kings 17.24) indicates, to demonstrate that the word of Yahweh from Elijah’s mouth is the truth. But it does rather more than that. As Jerome Walsh points out, over the course of their interaction, Elijah has 53

See Scurlock 2020, 400–401. On this point, see also Robker 2012, 135, 138 although I would place it a bit later than he does, since he regards the Baʿal in Samaria story as original to his Israelite source. 55 In other words, the concession was exactly what Solomon is supposed to have given his wives (cf. Gray 1976 369; Cogan 2001, 421, 423 & 447). 56 For the argument that this pericope was a work intended “to advance a certain interpretation of events” to a Judean audience well primed in Deuteronomy, that what is described is a carefully planned and executed conspiracy and that the Temple of Baʿal in Jerusalem and its priest Nathan “make their appearance here just in time to become the objects of reforming zeal” see Nelson 1987, 206–12; cf. Levin 1982. 57 Sweeney 2007, 344–47 swallows the story whole. Similarly Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 132–34 with a twist. They follow Yadin’s spectacularly wrong identification of the palace at Ramat Rahel as the alleged Temple of Baʿal of Ahab in Jerusalem (p. 130 ad. Line 18). 54

462

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

established himself as a prophetic mediator who “speaks the divine word to human beings and speaks the human word to God as well.”58 We are by now in the third year (1 Kings 18.1a) and Elijah is commissioned to go to Ahab, informing him that Yahweh will finally send rain (1 Kings 18.1b). So Elijah sets off to find Ahab (1 Kings 18.2a) and, as luck would have it, Ahab has sent out Obadiah the major domo59 to search high and low for grass to feed the animals with (1 Kings 18.3a, 5–6). There is severe famine in Samaria (1 Kings 18.2b) and all Ahab cares about is finding grass for his animals! Anyway, Ahab goes one way and Obadiah goes the other (1 Kings 18.6), so that Obadiah is the one to discover Elijah (1 Kings 18.7a). Obadiah treats the irascible prophet with all due respect and Elijah asks him to tell his master that Elijah is here (1 Kings 18.7b–8). So, Obadiah goes to Ahab and tells him and Ahab comes to meet Elijah (1 Kings 18.16). Ahab accuses Elijah of troubling Israel (by causing the drought) and Elijah retorts that it is Ahab’s fault (for following the Baʿals) (1 Kings 18.17–18). Anyway, there is a pre-condition to the arrival of rain and that is there is to be a prophets’ contest on Mt Carmel in the presence of the people for which Ahab is to issue a summons (1 Kings 18.19). So, Ahab issues the summons and everybody assembles at Mt Carmel to hear Elijah explain that this is to be a fair fight between Yahweh and Baʿal to stony-faced silence from the people (1 Kings 18.20–21).60 So, the contest is on. Elijah pleads that he is outnumbered 450 to one, so each side will get a bull that they are to kill and cut up and put on the wood but not set on fire to see if their god can light it, but the vast majority Baʿal prophets get first pick of the bulls and to have their try first, an arrangement that finds approval with the audience (1 Kings 18.22–24). So, Elijah tells the prophets of Baʿal to take their pick and have a go, which they do (1 Kings 18.25–26a). Things do not go so well with the prophets of Baʿal, who plead with him from morning to noon with no response (1 Kings 18.26b–c). They try dancing round the altar (a magic circle), to no avail (1 Kings 18.26d). At Elijah’s snarky suggestion that they shout louder (1 Kings 18.27a), they shout louder (1 Kings 18.28a). They even go so far as to cut themselves with swords and spears, as was their custom, but midday passes and the time for the evening food offering (minha) arrives, and still no luck (1 Kings 18.28b–29b). One might say that this result was to be expected since we are operating on Yahweh’s High Place and not Baʿal’s Temple where one might expect to find him.61 In any case, Elijah builds himself an altar in the Name of the Lord. This is made of 12 stones, one for each of the tribes descended from Jacob to whom Yahweh had given the name Israel (1 Kings 18.31–32a),62 a pretty clear indication that we are hearing the voice of a Northern Kingdom author.63 Just to add insult to injury, the bull, wood, and altar are soaked with so much water that divine intervention would have been necessary to light it (1 Kings 18.32b–35). Elijah is not going to have anybody in the crowd claim that there was some trickery involved. But there is more to this than that – there are four jars poured on three times (1 Kings 18.33b–34), so one pouring for each of the twelve tribes. And the very pouring signals the desire for rain, as with the water libations at Sukkot.64 58

Walsh 1996, 232, 234–35. Literally: “over the household”; see Cogan 2000, 436. 60 With Knauf 2019, 105, it seems likely that Ahab, like Hezekiah (2 Kings 18.36) is imagined as ordering everybody not to answer Elijah. 61 Some commentators cannot resist seeing in this twice-repeated phrase a denial of Baʿal’s existence (Walsh 1996, 247–48, 249–55; cf. Cogan 2000, 440). That this is not the case may readily be seen from Elijah’s use of the word god (ʾelōhîm) to refer to Baʿal in 1 Kings 18.27a. There is no Baʿal because he is somewhere else, and if you want to know where, Elijah has some suggestions for you. If this expression was really meant to carry such weight, why does the Septuagint leave it out, replacing it with Elijah essentially saying to the Prophets of Baʿal: “Out of the way, it’s my turn.” And so they get out of the way (Knauf 2019, 110). 62 Compare Exod. 24.4–8 (the covenant of blood), Jos. 4 (crossing of the Jordan). For other references to symbolic representations of the 12 tribes, see Knauf 2019, 111. 63 This open-air altar of Yahweh, with the divine name on it no less, that Elijah is to have set up on Mt. Carmel has caused no end of grief for commentators ancient and modern. (Gray 1976, 399–400; Cogan 2001, 444, Knauf 2019, 110–11, 146). Allegedly, this is some sort of experiment (Knauf 2019, 115, 167–68) or emergency suspension of regulations (Cogan 2001, 442). 64 See Cogan 2001, 443; Sweeney 2007, 229. 59

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

463

We follow up with Elijah’s prayer to the god of Abraham, Isaac and Israel giving him credit for what is about to happen (1 Kings 18.36). The response is nothing if not impressive. Not only does fire arrive and burn up the sacrifice, but it takes out the wood, stones and even the soil and dries up the trench (1 Kings 18.38). Elijah tells the people to round up the prophets of Baʿal, which they do and bring them down to the Kishon valley where Elijah slaughters them (1 Kings 18.40). He tells Ahab to have go have a meal, which he does, and meanwhile Elijah climbs up to the top of Mt. Carmel, bends over, and puts his head between his knees (1 Kings 18.41–42). Elijah’s servant is sent out to look for rain and on the seventh try he can see a cloud rising from the sea (1 Kings 18.43–44a). Elijah urges Ahab to get home before the rain hits, and off he goes to Jezreel in his chariot (1 Kings 18.44b–45). Elijah, however, runs after him and arrives first (1 Kings 18.46). End of story. Jeroboam ben Nebat’s Sacrifice Narrative? Looking at the episode on its own terms, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that we are witnessing a confrontation between a Temple of Baʿal and Yahweh’s high places65 in which the high places win. This is seriously a Northern Kingdom voice, and in defense of the Northern version of Yahwism, the other side of the coin with which we are familiar, namely the allegedly unbeatable argument of Judah that the Temple in Jerusalem was a legitimate site of cult praxis and that the open-air sanctuaries of Bethel and Dan the illegitimate innovations of Jeroboam ben Nebat. Indeed, we may plausibly attribute the original version of the sacrificial contest portion of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal to that much maligned gentleman himself. Passages apparently critical of David and Solomon do not particularly recommend themselves for Jeroboam ben Nebat’s compositions.66 What we should suspect as having originated with Jeroboam is the account of the actual breakup in its pre-Josiah version. To this, we may add the prophecy of Ahijah to Jeroboam (1 Kings 12.15) which, minus the later additions, has Ahijah tearing Jerobam’s67 new cloak into twelve pieces (1 Kings 11.29–30) and, in the name of Yahweh making him king of Israel (1 Kings 12.37). We can be sure that Jeroboam intended to be the next king of Israel, and not just ruler of the biggest piece of it.68 It was “To your tents, O Israel” (1 Kings 12.16d), all Israel stoning to death the man in charge of forced labor (1 Kings 12.18a) and all Israel making Jeroboam king over all Israel (1 Kings 12.20a) with the only holdout in every case being the House of David (1 Kings 12.16e, 19) holed up in Jerusalem (1 Kings 12.18b) and controlling Judah (1 Kings 12.17, 20b). Jeroboam obviously needed some sort of justification for his revolt, which is what we are seeing in the curious account of Rehoboam’s failed leadership. The highlight of what we may suspect to have been Jeroboam’s self-justificatory narrative is Rehoboam’s infamous “I will beat you with scorpions” speech (1 Kings 12.13–14). However much of a grain of salt you take this with, it is hard not to notice that the context demands that Israelites are having to do forced labor for the Temple (1 Kings 5.27–32), a fact visibly papered over in the text as we have it (1 Kings 9.15, 20–23).69 It is also interesting to note how many little hints there are that let you know that Israel was paying more than its fair share of the burden of supporting the monarchy, as pointed out by Marvin Sweeney.70

65

For a discussion of what is conventionally referred to as high places, see below. Pace Robker 2012, 117–18. 67 See Cogan 2001, 339; cf. Robker 2012, 119. 68 A variant version of Jeroboam’s revolt preserved in the Septuagint credits Shemaiah rather than Ahijah with the tearing of the cloak and has him give all twelve pieces to Jeroboam (Sweeney 2007, 164–67; cf. Gray 1976, 289). 69 With Cogan 2001, 229–31; cf. Gray 1976, 133–34 & 155–57; Walsh 1996, 122–24; Mulder 1998, 219–25 & 479–83, 488–92, there is no getting round the fact that Israel was being forced to do what only Canaanites were supposed to have to do. This is for the Temple, but Tyrians and men of Byblos seem not to be excluded from paid labor on those grounds. For the general issue of unfair treatment as behind the succession of the northern tribes, see Sweeney 2007, 169–71. 70 Sweeney 2007, 82–95; cf. Mulder 1998, 161–97; Fritz 2003, 44–52. The analysis of Solomon’s administrative system (1 Kings 4.1–19) reveals that the Northern Tribes were essentially being treated as conquered territory or, more charitably, Solomon was trying to assimilate the former Canaanite population into one Israel (Fritz 2003, 52). 66

464

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

All this was well and good, but Jeroboam will have needed something more. Coming at what remained of the state of Israel from newly broken off Judah, looking at things from a northern perspective, was a wave of hatred of a specifically theological nature.71 At this early date, there was no issue with what is conventionally referred to as the high places72 as such; what was at issue was the privileged status of Jerusalem and its Temple as the place where Yahweh placed his Name. So, were the people of Israel to make annual pilgrimages into enemy territory to visit the Temple of Jerusalem or not? And if not, where were they going to be going? Jeroboam’s answer to both questions was “No” and “To Bethel and Dan” (1 Kings 12.26–29).73 Unfortunately, this answer is preserved in a narrative that was extensively reworked by both Hezekiah and Josiah. This is the story of the Man of God from Judah (1 Kings 13.1–34). Behind the current form of this passage, I would argue, lies an earlier version in which the “Man of God from Judah” was shown to be a false prophet. This can only have come from a northern source defending Jeroboam’s altar as legitimate praxis. In what can be recovered of the original narrative, plausibly put about by Jeroboam ben Nebat himself, we come upon the king who acts in the capacity of king, that is, as with David and Solomon, performing his own sacrifices, and at Bethel not Jerusalem.74 This is challenged by a Man of God from Judah in the name of Yahweh (1 Kings 13.1). What he is originally supposed to have said is lost, but we may assume that the illegitimacy of the king performing his own royal sacrifices, now the exclusive privilege of Zadok and company, or the locus of sacrifice in Bethel rather than Jerusalem or both were objected to. He is ignored and, on the way home, he is killed by a lion who just stands there beside the body and the donkey (1 Kings 13.24), the very sort of divine sign that elsewhere, as with Hananiah (Jer. 28.15–17), represents divine judgement on a false prophet, leaving no doubt that whatever it was that he said was not Yahweh’s message.75 This is a powerful argument that took a great deal of Judean redactors time, energy and effort to defang and refute.76 Judah and especially Jerusalem, which lived from the revenues of pilgrimage, were not going to be happy about Jeroboam’s religious policies. From later sources we know more or less what they will have said, and Jeroboam will have needed to persuade Israelites not to listen. Within the tale of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal, the contest narrative will have been a perfect repartee in the resulting propaganda wars. Better yet, there might have at this early date been some hope of persuading the Israelites living in Judah (1 Kings 12.17) to join the revolt against what must have looked, from the perspective of the traditional religion, like a wholesale conversion of the Davidic dynasty and its supporters to the worship of Baʿal. Solomon’s recently built Temple, which Yahweh is on record as all but rejecting (2 Sam. 7.1–7),77 was Phoenician in design and strikingly associated in construction and decoration, even the utensils to be used in the cult, with the city of Tyre in the form of king Hiram and another Hiram with a Tyrian father who was brought from Tyre for the purpose (1 Kings 5, 7.13–47).78 To know is that the form of Baʿal worshipped in Tyre was not the rain-bringer of Northern Syria, but the protector of springs such as those on which Palestine relied for water to supplement scanty rainfall.79 This is the most likely candidate for the sort of divinity

71

On this point, see especially Knoppers 1994, 35–44. See below. 73 With Yosef Green, 2016, there is every reason to suppose that Jeroboam was viewed in Israel as a new Moses (pp. 98–99) and that these two sites were, and were intended to be, cult centers of Yahweh (p. 101). This is actually indirectly conceded, as Gary Knoppers points out, even in the text of 2 Kings 17.24–33 as we have it (Knoppers 1994, 39–40). 74 On the legitimacy of the royal establishment or refurbishing of cultic places, see Knoppers 1994, 35–36. Indeed, was not the Temple in Jerusalem itself a royally established sanctuary? 75 Or so one might think. Sweeney 2007, 182 agrees that this verse is “an important element in the interpretation of this narrative”. Of course, since it appears three times in the reworked version. But what does having the lion kill only the prophet and not his ass and stand over the body symbolize? That the Northern Kingdom, its capital Shechem and its altar in Beth-El count as “a place of deception and lies”(!). 76 See especially Knoppers 1994, 41–42. 77 This passage has caused commentators a great deal of grief. See, for example, McCarter 1984, 195–201, 210–31. 78 For a full discussion, see Cogan 2001, 234–73. 79 See Walsh 1996 261. 72

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

465

worshipped in the Jebusite city of Jerusalem with its famous Gihon spring to which Solomon was taken for his coronation ceremony (1 Kings 1.33, 38, 43–45).80 So, the equation of the Temple in Jerusalem with the Temple of the Tyrian Baʿal had legs, so to speak, even more so if Zadok the priest who anoints Solomon with oil from the Tent of the Lord (1 Kings 34, 39) was more than just one who was in favor of syncretism but actually an important member of the Jebusite cultic establishment.81 And, from this perspective, for a contest in which the ability to bring lightning from the sky was the issue, the advantage would automatically lie with Yahweh of Bethel and Dan over Baʿal of Jerusalem. In favor of this early date of composition of the original sacrifice narrative and an address to more than just a Northern Kingdom audience, we have a specific reference to “all Israel”82 and the striking motif of the people hopping back and forth between two branches, (1 Kings 18.21b)83 that is, undecided as to whether they were to go with Baʿal or with Yahweh. Also striking is the issue under dispute, that does not deny the existence of Baʿal or indeed his status as a god (ʾelōhīm) (1 Kings 18.27) but whether or not he is THE god (hāʾelōhīm) (1 Kings 18.21, 24, 37, 39),84 meaning the ancestral god who created Israel as a people (1 Kings 18.31b), brought them forth from Egypt, gave them the promised land, and led them to victory, prosperity and even empire. As Elijah says: “If Yahweh is THE god, follow him and if Baʿal, follow him.” (1 Kings 18.21c) and again “the god who answers by fire is THE god“ (1 Kings 18.24c). Most striking in this regard is Elijah’s prayer that is first addressed to the ancestral god and then to Yahweh to make it known to the people that he is THE god (1 Kings 18.36–37). Had these two not been one and the same, there would have been no fire from heaven. As it was, the people had to admit that Yahweh was indeed THE god (1 Kings 18.39). So, rather than having the Northern Kingdom’s high places be places of worship of Baʿal with a priesthood recruited from under rocks (1 Kings 12.31) as the Southern Kingdom would have it, we have a Temple of Baʿal in Jerusalem, staffed by Priest/Prophets of Baʿal and there is a meeting of the two sides on some neutral ground to settle the issue. The Northern hero is a prophet – why not Ahijah of Shiloh?,85 who invokes the god of Abraham, Issac and Israel in prayer over an altar bearing the Name of Yahweh and made with twelve stones representing the 12 tribes of Israel. And, of course, Ahijah’s high place altar wins, all a sort of what-if argument, but it works to keep the faithful coming to Bethel and trudging all the way to Dan. Jeroboam ben Nebat seems the most likely author of the original sacrifice contest story, plausibly part of his own royal propaganda. The clear claim to be ruler of Israel conceived of as twelve tribes will have to have been composed before the Omrid dynasty famous, or infamous, for the series of alliances that were formed between Israel and Judah against Damascus culminating, disastrously for both Israel and Judah, in the two battles of Ramoth-Gilead. Jehu ben Nimshi’s Drought Narrative? The problem with all this is with Ahab and Elijah and the setting of the temple of Baʿal in Samaria in the narrative of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal as we have it. With the confrontation between Ahab and Elijah comes also the drought narrative that plays such a prominent role in the story. Although this drought narrative 80

For the spring in question, see Gray 1976, 83, 90; Mulder 1998, 65–66; Cogan 2000, 161; Fritz 2003, 21; Sweeney 2007, 58. Pace Cogan and Fritz, the spring on which Jerusalem depends for drinking water will have had a sacred character for Jebusites and Judahites alike, particularly since it bubbles out at internals from a subterranean basin (Fritz 2003, 21). 81 Fritz 2003, 16; cf. Walsh 1996, 8. This is in contrast to Abiathar whose job Zadok got as a result of Solomon’s rise to power (1 Kings 2.26–27,35). Abiathar was a priest of Nob and most likely represents ancient Israelite cultic traditions but nothing to do with the cursed sons of Eli of Shiloh (Fritz 2003, 16, 29) 82 With Cogan 2001, 442; Knauf 2019, 101–2, this refers to all Israel and not just the Northern Kingdom. 83 For this exact translation, the best that has been offered for this difficult passage, see Cogan 2001, 439). 84 For the distinction, see the chart Knauf 2019, 103. 85 Gray 1976, 294–95 is open to the possibility that Ahijah’s support for Jeroboam’s revolt reflected “a conflict between the old cult of the sacral confederacy of Shechem and Gilgal and the new syncretistic cult of Jerusalem.” Mulder 1998, 587 regards this as “not implausible”; cf. Walsh 1996, 143.

466

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

should be separable from the contest narrative, this is no longer possible, more than suggesting that the drought narrative was itself a retelling of the original contest story. This will have had the contest story to work from. However, it only rarely, as with the prayer and the twelve-stoned altar, cites its source directly. So, contrary to opinion based on assumed developments toward monotheism, the sacrifice narrative may actually be older than the drought narrative. In this sense, it is not unlike Josiah’s later rewrite of the story for his own purposes. And who put the contest and the drought together? That is where Jehu comes into the story. If Jeroboam needed to self-legitimate a thousand times, Jehu needed ten thousand. And I am not just talking about all those childrens’ heads piled up at the city gate (2 Kings 10.7–8). His response to this situation? To make Ahab the architect of a Temple of Baʿal in Samaria. We must remember that Jehu clearly had more than a bit of a bee in his bonnet about Ahab. He was also allegedly commissioned somewhat indirectly by Elijah’s successor Elisha, and Elisha remained a loyal helper of Jehu’s dynasty until his death. So, we are talking about someone with a personal interest in boosting his legitimacy by circulating reworked versions of the narratives of the then current Israelite Books of the Prophets. Quite apart from the attack on Ahab, the idea was to present Jehu as literally a defender of the faith. Jehu was anointed king over the people of Yahweh, over Israel (2 Kings 9.6),86 more than implying that the people of Judah were not people of Yahweh, and this situation needed to be remedied. So, the drought narrative deepens Jeroboam ben Nebat’s motif of indecision, adding a parallel narrative of a Sidonian widow who begins by being non-committal on the subject of Yahweh and ends up a convert (1 Kings 17.8–24)87 and of Obadiah who is caught between two masters and ends up having to deliver a message to Ahab consisting of: “Behold Elijah” that literally makes him say “Behold, My God is Yahweh.”88 Even the priests of Baʿal end up hopping about (1 Kings 18.26d) as if they, too, were undecided as to whom they should be worshipping.89 And last but not least, placing the action on Mt Carmel on the border between Israel and Tyre90 adds yet another layer of fence-sitting to the mix. There was never a formal temple of Baʿal, or for that matter, Yahweh, in Samaria. However, Ahab was married to a Sidonian princess who was probably not terribly popular in Israel and whom Jehu had thrown out of window with the intention of leaving unburied, although he had some second thoughts about this (2 Kings 9.30–35). Not only was she foreign, but her name was a Baʿal name,91 reinforcing the idea that Ahab had Baʿal leanings and might indeed have been inclined to go full out with a dedicated altar and House of Baʿal in Samaria. So, we, Jehu, take our pre-existent confrontation fantasy to the next level, having Ahab become infected with the Southern Kingdom evil (the worship of the Tyrian Baʿal) via his own marriage alliance with Tyre and his treaty relationship with Jehoshaphat of Judah, sealed by diplomatic marriages between their children. The joy of this was that it allowed Jehu to have wiped out both kings of Israel and of Judah at Yahweh’s command, a salutary lesson to Northern Kingdom residents of the dangers of themselves being tempted to run off to Jerusalem for worship. The imaginary temple in Samaria no longer existed but, so what? Ahab was a long time ago and he died in battle so he must have done something wrong. There was a predisposition to Baʿal worship as reflected in his marriage policies, so why not? In short, the revised version will have passed the truthiness test with its intended audience, and one unintended one, namely Josiah of Judah who was completely thrown off, as has been modern scholarship, by the apparent condemnation of the worship of Baʿal taking place in the Northern Kingdom.92 And of course, Josiah had to have his flawed hero Jehu get rid of that evil temple and 86

See Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 106. As Cogan notes, this is essentially round one of the contest that culminates on Mt. Carmel (Cogan 2001, 432; cf. Walsh 1996, 262–63). 88 Brilliant insight of Walsh 1996, 240. 89 With Gray 1976, 397; Cogan 2001, 440; and Knauf 2019, 109, they are supposed to be performing a dance. 90 See, most succinctly, Cogan 2001, 438–39. 91 With Cogan 2001, 420–21, her name means “Baʿal lives” and not “Where is Baʿal”, a name allegedly a reference to a passage in the Baʿal Epic allegedly linked to the “awakening of Heracles” mentioned by Josephus on the authority of Menander as practiced in Tyre (for more on this subject, see Gray 1976, 368, 398; Cogan 2001, 441). 92 See Cogan 2001, 447–48. Few have gone further than Gray 1976, 29 & 376–77 in seeing Jehu’s coup as a groundswell 87

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

467

everybody who worshipped in it but at the same time miss the calves of Bethel and Dan that eventually, from Josiah’s point of view, brought about Israel’s ruin and that he, Josiah, was destined to remove. Judah’s Borrowings from the Lands Around But Jehu’s Elijah and the Prophet’s story was not only about self-legitimization, which achieved a halleluyah chorus from Josiah. It was also about something Josiah would not have been so happy about if he had recognized it, namely sticking a finger in the eye of Judah’s harping on Israelite customs that had allegedly been borrowed from the nations around. Judah was the mother of all borrowers, and among Judah’s own borrowings was a died-in-the wool Canaanite magical rain ritual. An apparently innocuous, if puzzling, reference to Gibeon (2 Sam. 21.1–14)93 provides a substantive myth to ground a Gibeonite sacrifice to dispel drought that will legally have been performed in Judah, but only after three consecutive years of drought. According to the story, there were the requisite three successive years of drought and David made a consultation to determine the reason for divine anger. It turned out that Saul had violated the Gibeonite treaty of safety, a deliberate haṭṭat offense for which death was the penalty and, after a lot of rigamarole, the Gibeonites were given seven sons of Saul on whom to take vengeance (2 Sam. 21.1–9a). This was, however, no act of vengeance but a readily recognizable ritual to bring on the rain. The sons were seven (2 Sam. 21.6a–9a) presumably because they stood in for the Pleiades. They were literally hung in the sky like so many stars by being crucified94 before the Lord in Gibeon (2 Sam. 21.6a,9b), on the Lord’s Mountain, the very high place (bāmâ)95 sanctified by Solomon (1 Kings 3.4).96 The language of sacrifice is avoided because this is neither a food offering nor an expiatory offering; instead, it is an enacted prayer to Yahweh to bring the gentle rain of his mercy to the parched land. The bodies go up on the mountain at the beginning of the barley harvest (2 Sam. 21.9c), because, I would argue, that is when the Pleiades appear to disappear from the night sky to appear again in the fall, the season when the rains would normally come as they are expected to do in answer to the ritual prayer (2 Sam. 21.10). In the Judean performance of this rain magic, the text we have will have been recited as a historiola, providing the legomena to go with the dromena of the ritual. The victims will have been criminals sentenced to death for a deliberate haṭṭat offense, to be prepared by the Gibeonite temple servants whose presence is justified by yet another tall tale (Jos. 9.3–27). They will have been crucified on a mountain of God and left there to hang from barley harvest till the coming of the fall rains. In the meantime, the bodies will have been guarded by a lone woman to keep them as intact as possible as described in the historiola (2 Sam. 21.10). And last but not least, we specify that this ritual is to be used only after three years of drought.97 This is for the same reason that the Moabite king is allowed to successfully offer his eldest son to Yahweh as a holocaust (2 Kings 3.27)98 only after he is down to one city and his people inches from starvation (2 Kings of popular opposition to the monarchy led by priest-prophets outraged by the cultic innovations of the Northern kingdom culminating in the triumph of Yahwism under Jehu’s leadership. He is, however, by no means alone in this view although there are dissenting voices, most notably White 1997. 93 The attempts to historicize this alleged incident make for quite amusing reading. See, for example, McCarter 1984, 440–46; Sweeney 2007, 80. 94 See McCarter 1984, 442. 95 This is the traditional rendering of the open-air altars surrounded by a ring of stones that constituted the original form of Yahwist worship. For a full discussion, see Cogan 2001, 184–85. 96 For a nice discussion of the hoops through which ancient commentors had to jump to allow for Solomon’s dream there to maintain its validity, see Mulder 1998, 137–38; cf, Walsh 1996, 72–73. 97 Many commentators are deeply disturbed by the three years and try in various ways to whittle it down to one year (Gray 1976, 377–78; Cogan 2001, 425–26, 436). However, a drought of this length is a possible, if extremely rare, occurrence (Knauf 2019, 160–61), and would essentially have been a death sentence for plants, animals and humans (Gray 1976, 378). 98 With Nelson 1987, 168–70, when the text says “wrath”, it means “wrath”, and the passage must be dealt with head on. For some of the scholarly wriggling to avoid the conclusion that the Moabite’ sacrifice is what enraged Yahweh against the joint army and made him the architect of Mesha’s ultimate triumph, see Cogan and Tadmor 1988, 47–48, 51–52; Cohn 2000, 24; cf. Sweeney 2007, 284. Sweeney 2007, 279, 280, 281 & 284 ignores the clear reference to the

468

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

3.19, 24b–25) with the last ditch effort of a sally a failure (2 Kings 3.26), namely only under the most dire of circumstances. Jehu’s Savage Parody of Jerusalemite Worship In the story of Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal, the Southern Kingdom’s Canaanite borrowings came in for a brutal parody. The narrative focuses on the Canaanite Temple with its Jebusite priests who feature as the Temple and Prophets of Baʿal, the insinuation being that the Temple in Jerusalem is indeed a House of God, but of Baʿal rather than Yahweh. The idea of the Name being placed in the Temple of Jerusalem is directly countered by Elijah’s building of an altar on Mt. Carmel in the Name of Yahweh (1 Kings 18.32a). The so-called Prophets of Baʿal engage in a bloody rite (1 Kings 18.28), a modified mourning ritual of the sort used to coerce difficult divinities.99 This will indeed have been “normal” for Canaanite cultic practitioners, as it is expressly forbidden to priests in the Holiness Code (Lev. 21.5). Leaping about scantily clad accompanied by music and song, as on the arrival of the Ark in Jerusalem, may also have survived the Yahwification of the cult on the authority of David (2 Sam. 6.14–16).100 Our Jebusite priests come in for rough treatment from Elijah, who suggests (1 Kings 18.27) that the lack of response may be due to Baʿal’s having his mind on other things or otherwise occupied (urinating or defecating and probably not the euphemisms in the original Hebrew).101 Alternatively, he is taking a nap.102 They also manage to miss the times for the offerings they would ordinarily have given in the Temple of Jerusalem, 103 although it must be admitted that Elijah cleverly orchestrated things to ensure that they were literally “cheated”104 of any chance of attracting the attention of Jerusalem’s Jebusite god105 or, if they did manage to rouse him, would not find him coming to them kindly and well-disposed after they yelled at him and interrupted his private business. Yahweh’s divine fire scene in which the sacrifice is soaked three times with so much water that it fills a trench dug round the base and the fire burns up not only the holocaust, but all the wood, the stones of the Wrath of God and has the Israelites so disgusted at Mesha’s sacrifice that they packed up and left, essentially abandoning the Transjordan. Fritz 2003, 245–46 takes this as a starting point and ends up insisting that the Moabite campaign was made up out of whole cloth. Really? More to the point, Gray 1976, 490 suggests that the Israelites were in Chemosh’s territory and needed to be careful not to get him angry with him. And then there is the thorny problem of to what extent the two divinities were, by both sides, recognized as the same. But all of this begs the question. We should be aware that not all prayers are answered prayers and that not all sacrifices are accepted sacrifices. So how did the Israelites know that there was Wrath? There must have been a sign, and it will have been from Yahweh in person. One possibility is a giant sand/dust storm such as those that plague the Middle East to this day (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dust_ storm#/media/File:Sandstorm_in_Al_Asad,_Iraq.jpg consulted Aug. 20, 2021). Moreover, in arid and even semi-arid environments, thunderstorms can be quite spectacular. Having personally witnessed a bolt of lightning that stretched the whole length of the sky from the heavens to the earth, I can testify that this is an awe-inspiring experience. One such would have been quite enough to send the joint army post-haste on the road to home. 99 This is not usually appreciated by commentators even when the connection with mourning is recognized (Gray 1976, 399; Knauf 2019, 109 but see Cogan 2001, 441). Sweeney 2007, 228’s interpretation as to “ritually identify with the dead in an act that reverses the normal course of the created world” is little short of bizarre, especially since the object of the exercise, in his view, is “in order for the rains to come in the fall” an event which, last I looked, is the normal course of the created world. 100 For a discussion of this issue, see McCarter 1984, 178–82. 101 On this point, see Rendsburg, 1988. 102 This is to be taken quite literally. 103 See Sweeney 2007 228; cf. Knauf 2019, 109. 104 See Cogan 2001, 440. 105 Another possible trick played by Elijah is pointed out in Knauf 2019, 105 is that Elijah tells the Prophets of Baʿal to cut up their sacrificial animal and place it on the wood, the correct procedure for the Temple in Jerusalem, whereas he will only prepare his (1 Kings. 18.23). However, once he has them doing whatever he says without thinking about it too hard, he tells them to prepare their animal, which they do (1 Kings 18.25–26a). Then, when his turn comes, he is the one to cut up the animal before putting it on the wood (1 Kings 18.33). The instructions are enclosed in a haze of confusing distractions about who is to go first and the repeated warning not to light the fire with the result that Elijah has made his adversaries perform their sacrifice by the wrong ritual.

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

469

altar and even dries up the water in the trench (1 Kings 18.30–38) is a cruel parody of the Judean tradition of Yahweh’s acceptance of his new-fangled holocaust offering by sending down fire to light it (Lev. 9.24; 1 Chron. 21.26; 2 Chron. 7.3).106 And the evocation of Sukkot in the pouring of 12 jars of water over the altar of sacrifice adds an extra jab at Judahite cult praxis. As of Jeroboam’s moving of this feast from the 15th of the seventh month to the 15th of the eighth month (1 Kings 12.32b), the expected mid-October rainfall will have come before rather than after the festival as in the Northern Kingdom. So the evocation of the Sukkot libation in a Northern Kingdom context will specifically have referenced a desire for the rain, which has not appeared on schedule, to come now at Elijah’s word. What is more, the priests of Baʿal of Jerusalem will, at this point, have already shot their wad, and uselessly, too. But the depths of satire are reserved for the Gibeonites and their rain magic. We find ourselves in the statutory third year of famine (1 Kings 18.1), and rain magic is performed by Elijah, in much simpler and more immediately efficacious fashion by slitting the throats, literally sacrificing,107 the 450 prophets over the dry brook bed to signal a desire for flowing water (1 Kings 18.40). As if this were not enough, he seconds his ritual by bending down and putting his head between his legs (1 Kings 18.42b), again signaling for something to come down from above between the two banks of the river in the most undignified and absurd possible manner.108 Of course, Elijah’s mooning of his audience works, shall we say, like a charm, but only on the seventh citing, one for each of the Sons of Saul of the parodied ritual (1 Kings 18.43–45a). And, just to top things off, Elijah beats Ahab’s chariot to Jezreel, running in front of it all the way (1 Kings 18.45b–46). This is not, as is usually argued,109 to honor the king who has now had to admit the primacy of Yahweh, but a final cruel reference to the slaughter of Ahab’s descendants in the plain of Jezreel by a new king anointed by Elijah’s successor, Elisha (2 Kings 9.1–17). Jehu’s Linked Account of the First Battle of Ramoth-Gilead? We can support the contention that this narrative is indeed to be attributed to Jehu by comparison with the narrative of the first battle of Ramoth-Gilead110 that originally followed on the heels of the earliest (presumably Jehuide)111 layer of Elijah’s prophecy to Ahab (1 Kings. 17–19) linking the story of Naboth’s vineyard directly to Ahab’s fatal decision to fight Aram.112 The Battle of Ramoth-Gilead narrative begins with a prophetic consultation about whether to go to battle at all (1 Kings 22.1–28) in which there is a sort of minicontest between a prophet of Yahweh and Ahab’s four hundred prophets, doubtless those of Baʿal of the Elijah story (1 Kings 22.5–28).113 It is interesting to note that, this time, the prophets are not identified as having anything to do with Baʿal; instead they are summoned at Jehoshaphat’s behest to deliver, and claim to have delivered, a message from

106

For the acceptance narratives, see Cogan 2001, 443. The passage in Leviticus is particularly striking, since after the divine fire has descended, all the people fall on their faces, as here. 107 See Walsh 1996, 253–54. 108 This particular passage tends to send commentators round the bend, leading them to talk darkly of “Islamic Sufi” rites (Gray 1976 & 403–4; Cogan 2001, 444; cf. Walsh 1996, 257; Sweeney 2007, 229–30) and even childbirth (Knauf 2019, 117 & 148). 109 Gray 1976, 404–5; Cogan 2001, 445 & 447; cf. Walsh 1996, 258; Sweeney 2007, 230 comes closest to understanding the full import of the passage. 110 The commonly accepted version of the first battle of Ramoth-Gilead in which Ahab lost his life, as laid out in Robker 2012, 149–54’s redactional history, has nothing to recommend it. Are we are to take seriously the suggestion that the “manly deeds” of the kings of Israel contained a narrative in which an anonymous king of Israel and an anonymous king of Judah went to battle at Ramoth-Gilead in which the king of Israel was only wounded, and since he was only wounded it is implicitly a reference to Jehoram at Ramoth-Gilead only what really happened (n. 204) was that Hazael killed him. Or maybe it was the Assyrians who killed him. But whoever killed him, Ahab died peacefully in bed (n. 206). This wildly implausible narrative is ably refuted in Galil 2002, 46–48; cf. Cogan 2000, 496 and especially Sweeney 2007, 255–57. 111 So Sweeney 2007, 258. 112 Similarly, Sweeney 2007, 257 & 258–59. 113 See Walsh 1996, 345; Sweeney 2007, 259.

470

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

Yahweh (22.5–6, 10–12, 24).114 And indeed they have, not a true message to be sure, but one derived from a volunteer lying spirit dispatched by Yahweh to “seduce”115 them into luring Ahab to his death (1 Kings 22.19–23). And no wonder. The prophets dug up to please Jehoshaphat will have been asked to provide an oracle of Yahweh of Jerusalem, the Baʿal of Jehu’s version of Elijah and the Prophets story as more than hinted by the name of their spokesman Zedekiah. This is literally Mr. “Yahweh is righteousness”. However, his name has the same tri-consonantal root as Zadok, David and Solomon’s arguably Jebusite high-priest,116 and this gentleman, at least, is certainly a “son of Canaan” (1 Kings 22.11,24).117 As in that story, Baʿal of Jerusalem remains unresponsive to the prophets’ “raving”, but his place is taken by the very angry Yahweh of Bethel and Dan who is more than ever determined to have dogs lick up the blood of Ahab (1 Kings 21.17–19), if no longer in Naboth’s plot of land. Quite apart from all this, there is a similar tone of dark and occasionally scatological humor in the battle narrative, as when the pool for washing Ahab’s chariot was used by prostitutes (1 Kings 22.38) or that Micaiah suggests to Zedekiah ben Chenaanah that the latter’s inspiration will have been from his own fart (1 Kings 22.24–25).118 Jehu talks like the general he was. What he does not do is to deny the courage and self-sacrifice of Ahab that won the battle for Israel.119 In any case, the voice of Jehu comes to us, I would argue, second hand, particularly in view of the little comment about what Ahaziah and Jehoram were doing in Jezreel which hints at, but does not quite spell out, what was really going on. As I see it, Jehu produced a great deal of propaganda to justify his usurpation of power (and to defend his religion), but these narratives were recorded privately in the annals of the kings of Israel and circulated publicly via stories of the prophets. The confrontation between Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal will have been among these stories but will only have been inserted into the narrative of 1 Kings much later and by the hand of one who was quite cognizant of the original intent and found a way to use it for his own purposes. Conclusion In sum, Jehu was put into power by Hazael whom he betrayed by his alliance with Shalmanesar III. With Assyrian backing, he was able to found the longest lived dynasty in the Northern Kingdom’s history. As was the usual practice for dynastic founders, he wiped out the entire family of his predecessor, but went rather overboard with this,120 and felt the need to justify himself with a series of publicly circulated stories. These narratives, in their original form, gave prophetic blessing to his military coup on the grounds of Ahab’s malfeasance, not his religious policies. That critique took the form of an updated version of a defense of Northern Kingdom cult praxis known to us as Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal. This latter was the work of Jeroboam ben Nebat, the founder of the Northern Kingdom, who is responsible for the core of the sacrifice narrative. This core was skillfully expanded and extended by Jehu, who is responsible for the drought narrative, a savage parody of the Temple of Jerusalem, its Jebusite priests and its Gibeonite temple servants. When the records of the Northern Kingdom fell into Judahite hands, Jehu’s narratives were reworked, complete with a retelling of the Elijah and the Prophets of Baʿal story that transformed Jehu into a model for Josiah’s cultic reforms in which the former did not quite do the job, leaving the latter with a project to finish. Finally, off the screen of the current paper, a much later hand revived the original Jehu version and retooled it for a new purpose.

114

As pointed out by Walsh 1996, 345 & 347. He also notes that, in this context, they are true prophets (p. 353). See Sweeney 2007, 260. 116 See above. 117 See Walsh 1996, 347 n. 5 who puzzles over this detail. 118 See Sweeney 2007, 260. 119 See Sweeney 2007, 261. 120 This is particularly emphasized in the account of Cohn 2000, 65–76. 115

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

471

Bibliography Baruchi-Unna, Amitai. “Jehuites, Ahabites, and Omrides: Blood Kinship and Bloodshed.” JSOT 42 (2017): 3–21. Biran, Avraham and Naveh, Joseph. “The Tel Dan Inscription: A New Fragment.” IEJ 45 (1995): 1–18. Cogan, Mordechai. “A Plaidoyer on Behalf of the Royal Scribes.” Pp. 121–28 in Mordechai Cogan and Israʾel Ephal, eds. Ah, Assyria. Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991. Cogan, Mordechai. I Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary by Mordechai Cogan. The Anchor Bible. New York: Doubleday, 2001. Cogan, Mordechai and Tadmor, Hayim. I1 Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary by Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor. The Anchor Bible. New York: Doubleday 1988. Cohn, Robert L. 2 Kings. Berit Olam. Collegeville. The Liturgical Press, 2000. Fritz, Volkmar. 1 & 2 Kings (Anselm Hagedorn trans.) A Continental Commentary, 2003. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003. Gershon, Galil. “Shalmaneser III in the West.” RB 109 (2002): 40–56. Gray, John. I & II Kings: A Commentary. The Old Testament Library. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976. Green, Yosef. “Jeroboam ben Nebat: A Reappraisal.” Jewish Biblical Quarterly 44 (2016): 97–102. Knauf, Ernst Axel. 1 Könige 15–22. HThKAT. Freiberg: Herder GmbH, 2019. Knoppers, Gary N. Two Nations under God: The Deuteronomistic History of Solomon and the Dual Monarchies, vol. 2: The Reign of Jeroboam, the Fall of Israel, and the Reign of Josiah. HSM 53. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 1994 Koruba, Wabayanga Robert. “Athaliah of Judah (2 Kings 11): A Political Anomaly or an Ideological Victim?” Pp. 139–52 in A.K.M. Adam and Samuel Tongue, eds, Looking Through a Glass Bible: Postdisciplinary Biblical Interpretations from the Glasgow School. BIS 125. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Levin, Christoph. Der Sturz der Königin Atalja: Ein Kapitel zur Geschichte Judas im 9. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Stuttgarter Bibel-Studien 105. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk GmbH, 1982 Lipiński, Edward. The Arameans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion. OLA. Leuven: Peters, 2000. Margalit, Baruch. “The Old-Aramaic Inscription of Hazael from Dan.” UF 26 (1994): 317–20. McCarter, P. Kyle II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary by P. Kyle McCarter, Jr. AB. New York: Doubleday,1984. Mulder, Martin J. 1 Kings, vol. 1: 1 Kings 1–11. Historical Commentary on the Old Testament. London: Peeters, 1998. Naʾaman, Nadav. “Jehu Son of Omri: Legitimizing a Loyal Vassal by his Overlord.” IEJ 48 (1998): 236– 38. Naʾaman, Nadav. “Three Notes on the Aramaic Inscription from Tel Dan.” IEJ 50 (2000): 92–104. Nelson, Richard D. First and Second Kings. Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Louisville: John Knox, 1987. Rendsburg, Gary A. “The Mock of Baal in 1 Kings 18.27.” CBQ 50 (1988): 414–17. Robker, Jonathan Miles. The Jehu Revolution: A Royal Tradition of the Northern Kingdom and its Ramifications. Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2012 Schulte, Hannelis. “The End of the Omride Dynasty: Social-Ethical Observations on the Subject of Power and Violence.” Semeia 66 (1994): 133–48. Schniedewind, William M. Tel Dan Stela: “New Light on Aramaic and Jehu’s Revolt.” BASOR 302 (1996): 75–90 Scurlock, JoAnn. “Assyria and Babylon in the Oracles against the Nations Tradition: The Death of a King (Isa. 14:5–20; Isa. 30:27–33).” JAOS 140 (2020): 395–413. Simons, Frank. “May Anum and Antum Stand By in 3…2…1… Thoughts on a Misplaced Incantation.” Lecture delivered at the 67th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. Turin, 2021. Smelik, K. A. D. “The Inscription of King Mesha.” Pp. 137–38 in William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger, eds, COS II: Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World. Leiden: Brill, 2000.

472

Scurlock – Northern Kingdom Voices in the Hebrew Bible?

Stith, D. Matthew. The Coups of Hazael and Jehu: Building an Historical Narrative. Gorgias Dissertations [Biblical Studies] 37. Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2008. Sweeney, Marvin A.. I & II Kings: A Commentary by Marvin A. Sweeney. OTL. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007. Walsh, Jerome T.. 1 Kings. Berit Olam. Collegeville. The Liturgical Press, 1996. White, Marsha C. The Elijah Legends and Jehu’s Coup. Brown Judaic Studies 311. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997. Würthwein, Ernst. “Die Revolution Jehus: Die Jehu-Erzählung in altisraelitischer und deuteronomistischer Sicht.” ZAW 120 (2008): 28–48. Younger, K. Lawson. A Political History of the Arameans From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities. ABS 13. Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016.

Northern Prophets and Nazirites Karel van der Toorn

Abstract This contribution to the Festschrift in celebration of K. Lawson Younger, Jr., looks at the connection between prophets and Nazirites in the Northern Kingdom (“Israel” in the strict historical sense of the term). It focuses on the associations known as the Sons of the Prophets. These men and women lived in communities, present in such places as Bethel, Gilgal, and Jericho (2 Kgs 2:1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 15, 18, 23; 4:38). They regarded Elijah and Elisha as their heroes and founding fathers. It is in their milieu that the Elijah-Elisha narratives took shape, initially as oral tradition, and later as literature. The Sons of the Prophets are best understood as a prophetical order. They saw Elijah and Elisha as their role models. There is an echo of the presence of the prophetical order in eighth century BCE Israel in the book of Amos. In his confrontation with the supervising priest of the temple at Bethel, Amos claimed that he was neither a prophet nor a member of the Sons of the Prophets (Amos 7:14). The historicity of the phenomenon seems assured. The question these pages are hoping to answer has to do with the physical appearance of the members of the order. How would one recognize such a prophet? And if there was some distinctive feature, what was its significance? I happily dedicate this inquiry to a much-admired colleague and dear friend – the acclaimed author of A Political History of the Arameans and editor of the invaluable Context of Scripture. The Look of a Northern Prophet The Sons of the Prophets were a prophetical order in the Northern Kingdom active in the ninth century BCE. Their lifestyle and outward appearance call forth associations with religious orders as they are known in many religious traditions. The Sons of the Prophets looked, dressed, and lived, in ways that followed a socially acknowledged pattern. It means that what may have started as a movement had at some point become a social institution. This study investigates the outward appearance of these prophets from the Northern Kingdom. The Stories of Elijah and Elisha, as preserved in the books of Kings, contain three episodes that explicitly deal with the characteristic appearance of the prophets. The passages concern Elijah; one anonymous member of the Sons of the Prophets; and Elisha. In the episode dealing with Elijah, King Ahaziah asks his emissaries after the mišpāṭ of the prophet who told them to abort their journey to Baal-zebub the god of Ekron. They tell him the man was “hairy” (literally: in possession of [much] hair, baᴄal śēᴄār) and had “a leather loincloth girded around his waist” (ᴐēzôr ᴄôr ᴐāzûr bĕmotnâw, 2 Kgs 1:7–8). The description suffices for the king to realize his servants had met Elijah the Tishbite. The second episode is about the meeting of “the king” (presumably Ahab) with a member of the Sons of the Prophets. The prophet had disguised himself. But as soon as the man lifted the ᴐăpēr from above his eyes, the king recognized him as one of the prophets (1 Kgs 20:35–43). The third episode is about the terrible curse of Elisha on the boys from Bethel who called him a “baldhead” (2 Kgs 2:23–25). All three passages have been the subject of controversy about the distinctive features of Elijah, Elisha, and the Sons of the Prophets. First Elijah. Although the expression baᴄal śēᴄār can hardly mean anything else than “hairy” or “hairy man” (so NRSV, NJPS), many commentators argue that one should translate as “a man with a hairy garment.”1 The reason scholars have surmised that śēᴄār, “hair,” was short for “a hairy garment,” is that other passages picture Elijah as wearing a mantle (ᴐadderet, 1 Kgs 19:13; 2 Kgs 2:8). In the story of Elijah’s 1

See the discussion in James A. Montgomery and Henry Snyder Gehman, The Books of Kings, ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1951), 350 (who opt for the hairy garment); Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings, AB 11 (New York: Doubleday, 1988), 26 (who translate as “hairy man”). For the interpretation of baᴄal śēᴄār as “a man with long hair,” see also Alfred Jepsen, Nabi: Soziologische Studien zur alttestamentlichen Literatur und Religionsgeschichte (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1934), 168 note 3; Rudolf Smend, “Der biblische und der historische Elia,” Congress Volume Edinburgh 1974, VT.S 28 (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 167–84, esp. 178.

474

van der Toorn – Northern Prophets and Nazirites

succession by Elisha it is precisely the investiture with Elijah’s mantle that marks the transfer of authority (2 Kgs 2:13, 14). In order to harmonize these distinct traditions about the appearance of Elijah, commentators have tried to combine them. The postexilic prophets paved the way in this direction. According to Zech 13:4, the “hairy mantle” (ᴐadderet śēᴄār) was the standard dress of a prophet.2 As the Zechariah passage in question (Zech 13:2–6) contains several allusions to preexilic prophets, the “hairy mantle” is a fine example of innerbiblical exegesis: Elijah had a “mantle” and he was “hairy,” ergo he must have been wearing a hairy mantle.3 The New Testament followed suit. By depicting John the Baptist as wearing “a mantle of camel’s hair” (endyma apo trichōn kamēlou, Matt 3:4; compare Zech 13:4 LXX: endysontai derrin trichinēn), the gospel writer implied that the ministry of John was the fulfilment of the prophecy of Elijah’s return prior to the Day of the LORD (Mal 3:23–24; Sir 48:1–11; Luke 1:17).4 However, all inner-biblical exegesis notwithstanding, the real striking feature of Elijah was his abundant hair. Plus, as 2 Kgs 1:8 says, “a leather loincloth around his waist.” The ᴐēzôr is not a “belt” (which would be ḥăgôr, see BDB, 292, s.v. ḥăgôr) but a loincloth. It looked like a kilt or a dhoti.5 Usually from manufactured textile, the garment is here from leather. According to this description, Elijah had long unkempt hair and covered himself with a piece of animal skin. Fine clothes or a groomed appearance were not of concern to him. Elijah’s wealth of hair raises two questions. One, was this a custom among the Sons of the Prophets? And two, what was its significance? A second episode may hold a clue. It is the story of a member of the Sons of the Prophets who had a message for the king but did not want to give himself away as a prophet from the start (1 Kgs 20:35–43). He therefore hid a characteristic feature. What was this feature? The man disguised himself by putting an ᴐăpēr “above” or “over” his eyes (wayyitḥappēś bāᴐăpēr ᴄal-ᴄênâw, later followed by the removal: wayyāsar hāᴐăpēr mēᴄălê ᴄênâw, 1 Kgs 20:38, 41). Is an ᴐăpēr a “cloth” (NJPS), a “bandage” (NRSV), a “headband” (ICC), or something else yet? The word only occurs in this passage. The dictionaries link it to the Akkadian verb apāru, “to provide with a headdress, to put a covering on somebody’s head.” The Akkadian term is used more than once in connection with a crown or a helmet.6 Since the prophet was playing the part of a soldier who had been in the thick of the battle (an impression he wanted to convey by the presence of a purposefully inflicted wound, see verse 37), there is good reason to interpret the ᴐ ăpēr as a helmet or some other protective headgear. The relevant preposition must then be interpreted as “above” rather than “over.” Also, it would make little sense for this prophet to cover his eyes with a bandage since he needed to see whom he had to address. When he took off his headgear, his hair would freely fall down to his shoulders. As though he had been a Sikh who had taken off his turban. There is no reason to speculate that “the man must have had a mark on his forehead by which it was clear that he was a prophet.”7 Like Elijah, this anonymous prophet was recognizable as a member of the order by his long hair.

2

The one other occurrence of ᴐadderet śēᴄār in the Hebrew Bible is in Gen 25:25, “The first (baby) came out redhaired, like a hairy mantle all over.” 3 Note the following four parallels: (1) Zech 13:2, “I will erase the names of the idols (hāᴄăṣabbîm) from the land; they shall not be mentioned any more” // Hos 2:19, “I will remove the names of the Baalim from her mouth, and they shall no more be mentioned by name.” (2) Zech 13:3, “to speak lies [šeqer] in the name of YHWH” // 1 Kgs 22:22, 23, the rûaḥ šeqer speaking through the mouth of the prophets. (3) Zech 13:5, “I am not a prophet but a tiller of the soil” // Amos 7:14, “I am not a prophet (…) but a cattle breeder and a tender of fig trees.” (4) Zech 13:6, wounds inflicted on the prophet in the house of friends // 1 Kgs 20:35–37, the anonymous prophet who has been wounded by one of his companions. Note that the reference to “the earthquake in the days of King Uzziah of Judah” in Zech 14:5 is based on Amos 1:1. 4 In addition to the prophet’s “mantle,” the parallel between John the Baptist and Elijah/Elisha comes to the fore in the occurrence of the Jordan for purifying ablutions (2 Kgs 5:1–19), and their ability to survive in the wilderness on a primitive diet (1 Kgs 19:5–9; Matt 3:4; cf. also 1 Kgs 17:2–6). For the belief in the possible return of Elijah, see also Matt 16:14. 5 See HALAT, 26, s.v. ᴐēzôr, and see Jer 13:1–11. 6 See CAD 1/2, 166–68, s.v. apāru. For references to the verb in connection with the helmet or another headdress for battle, see ibid., 167 under 2’c). 7 Quotation from Johannes Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Blackwell, 1965), 67. Lindblom suggests the mark had the shape of a cross (the letter tāw) on the middle of the forehead just above the eyes.

van der Toorn – Northern Prophets and Nazirites

475

There is a third passage to suggest that these prophets had a characteristic hair-do. It is the story about Elisha’s curse on the boys from Bethel who mocked the way he looked. “Go away, baldhead! Go away, baldhead!” (2 Kgs 2:23–24). It is true that a qērēaḥ (baldhead) is the very opposite of a baᴄal śēᴄār (hairy man). What we are dealing with here, though, is a term of scorn that ridicules the prophet’s long and untrimmed hair by calling him a baldhead. The phenomenon is known as antiphrasis, viz. calling one thing by its opposite for ironic or comic effect. The boys did not make fun of Elisha on account of his “extreme natural baldness,” as some have suggested.8 Nor did they deride a kind of prophetical tonsure.9 On the contrary, the feature that provoked their hilarity is precisely the long and unkempt hair of the prophet. In the eyes of these youngsters, it is just another sign showing that the prophet is mĕšuggāᴄ, “crazy” (cf. 2 Kgs 9:11; Hos 9:7). Northern Prophets as Nazirites By way of introduction to a discussion of the meaning of the long hair of these prophets, it is helpful to pay attention to the particular way in which King Ahaziah asks after the identity of the man his emissaries encountered. One would expect the king to ask his servants to tell him what the anonymous prophet looked like. But instead, the king asks after the man’s mišpāṭ (2 Kgs 1:7). The usual explanation offered by the commentaries is to say that mišpāṭ, “judgment, rule,” also expresses “manner” and “behavior,” and should therefore be translated as “distinctive characteristics.”10 Hence the translations “What sort of man was he/it” (NRSV, NJPS) or “What was the appearance of the man?”11 Now mišpāṭ can mean “rule” or “custom,” but it never means “appearance.” If Amaziah would have asked what the prophet looked like, he would have asked after his marᴐeh (“appearance,” 1 Sam 16:7) or his tōᴐar (1 Sam 28:14, mah-toᴐŏrô, “What does he look like?” NJPS). To illuminate the meaning of mišpāṭ in this connection, one may compare Judg 13:12. There Manoah asks the Angel of the LORD after the mišpāṭ of his as yet unborn son. The boy in question (Samson) will be a Nazirite (a nĕzîr ᴐĕlōhîm, Judg 13:5, 7; 16:17). His mišpāṭ is to abstain from intoxicating drink (yayin wĕšēkār), to avoid grape produce or anything unclean (kol-ṭāmēᴐ, kol-ṭumᴐâ), and to never have his hair cut (Judg 13: 4–5, 7, 13–14; 16:17). His mišpāṭ, then, is the rule by which he shall live. Elijah’s mišpāṭ was also a rule. It prescribed untrimmed hair and a simple dress from animal skin. The parallel use of mišpāṭ in 1 Kgs 1:7 and Judg 13:12 is not fortuitous. Both Samson and Elijah were Nazirites, in spite of their differences. The New Testament narrative about the annunciation to Zechariah the father of John the Baptist still echoes this tradition about Elijah. Wine or strong drink were taboo for the Baptist, for the spirit and power of Elijah would be upon him (Luke 1:15–17). John was to live by the rule of the Nazirite because Elijah had been a Nazirite. The link between Nazirites and prophets is old. Amos 2:11 puts them in parallel, thus implying a close association of the two groups. In fact, there is reason to suspect that the Nazirites of Amos 2:11 were active as prophets. Amos accused his audience that they had made the Nazirites drink wine (2:12). Though taboo for Nazirites, alcohol was at times used in the Near East as a means to induce a prophetic frenzy. The practice is attested for Mari, and alluded to in Mic 2:11 (“I will speak prophetic words for you by wine and strong drink”).12 The purpose of making the Nazirites drink wine, then, may have been to elicit an oracle. Given the close connection between prophets and Nazirites, the most likely explanation of the long hair of Elijah, Elisha, and the Sons of the Prophets is that they were Nazirites. It puts them in the tradition of Samuel, another famous prophet from the Northern Kingdom, whose mother had dedicated him to be a lifelong nāzîr (1 Sam 1:11, 22, LXX and 4QSama; see also the Hebrew text of Sir 46:13).13 Does this mean all Nazirites of the Northern Kingdom were prophets? That is clearly not the case. Warfare may have required the Israelite warriors to take a Nazirite vow for the duration of the battle since 8

See Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, 38. See, e.g., Montgomery and Gehman, Kings, 355–56; Lindblom, Prophecy, 68. 10 See Charles F. Burney, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Book of Kings (Oxford: Clarendon, 1903), 262. 11 Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, 23. Compare also HALAT, 616, s.v. mišpāṭ, 4., “Aussehen.” 12 For the Mari reference, see Jean-Marie Durand, “In vino veritas,” RA 76 (1982): 43–50. See the discussion of the biblical evidence by Richard J. Bautch, “In Vino Veritas: Critiquing Drunkenness and Deceit in Micah and Isaiah,” ZAW 129 (2017): 555–67. See also the response by Ndikho Mtshiselwa, “In Vino Veritas? Drunkenness and Deceit in Micah and Isaiah. A Conversation with Richard J. Bautch,” JSem 27 (2018): 1–11. 13 See the textcritical discussion by P. Kyle McCarter, I Samuel, AB 8 (New York: Doubleday, 1980), 53–54, 55–56. 9

476

van der Toorn – Northern Prophets and Nazirites

these men typically had their locks untrimmed, as the Song of Deborah says (Judg 5:2). Some warriors may have been Nazirites for life. Known for his battles against the Philistines, Samson is a case in point. When he lost his locks, he lost his strength (Judg 13:5, 7; 16:17). Clearly, the Nazirites of the Northern Kingdom included people that were not prophets. Conversely, however, the Nazirite vow seems to have been the customary condition for joining the Sons of the Prophets. Most other indications for Elijah, Elisha, and the Sons of the Prophets being Nazirites are so subtle that they might pass unnoticed or be explained otherwise. One is the reference to Elisha as “a holy man of God” (ᴐîš ᴐĕlōhîm qādôš) by the wealthy woman at Shunem (2 Kgs 4:9). While the title ᴐîš ᴐĕlōhîm is not unusual for Northern prophets (e.g. Elijah, Elisha, Samuel), the qualification “holy” is unique.14 To understand the implication of the adjective as applied to Elisha, it is important to stress that the word does not have the moral connotation of “holy” in Christianity. Elisha was not a saint.15 The only humans to which the adjective qādôš is applied individually in the Hebrew Bible are priests and Nazirites. Priests have to be holy because they are in close contact with the sacred. Nazirite are qādôš because a vow has separated them from the secular world and put them in the sphere of God (Num 6:5, 8). In order to keep their consecration intact, they are to keep free from any impairment of their physical and mental integrity (Num 6:1–8; cf. also Judg 13:4–5, 7, 13–14; 16:17). The holiness of Elisha impelled the woman from Shunem to give him a separate room on the second floor where he could eat and sleep (2 Kgs 4:10; cf. the upper room of Elijah in the widow’s house in Zarephath, 1 Kgs 17:19, 23). The concern for the preservation of holiness also explains why Elisha was reluctant to come into contact with people that might, for one reason or another, contaminate him. When it came to a woman in the prime of her age (and thus a possible source of impurity) or someone affected with a skin disease (by definition impure), Elisha communicated with them by the intermediary of his servant (2 Kgs 4:11–16, 25–27, 29, 36; 5:9–10).16 Conclusion The close association between nĕbîᴐîm and nĕzîrîm is clearest in Amos 2:11–12. This may well be related to the fact that Amos was active in the Northern Kingdom in the mid-eighth century BCE, because it was in Israel, as distinct from Judah, that the phenomenon of Nazirite prophets manifested itself. The traditions about the Nazirite status of Samuel and Elijah should probably not be taken merely as reflection of their extraordinary standing. They were rather prototypical. Being the models of the Northern prophets (along with the more distant figure of Moses, see Hos 12:14 and Jer 15:1), there is good reason to assume many other Northern prophets had taken the Nazirite vow. The evidence discussed above provides some indications to this effect. The evidence is admittedly circumstantial, and we cannot be sure that all who joined the Sons of the Prophets were obliged to take a Nazirite vow as a rite of passage. However, it is a possibility that deserves serious consideration. It may have meant that one could become a member for a period only. Not all Nazirites were Nazirites for life. Assuming that the law on the Nazirite vow is a codification of existing custom (Num 6:1–21), the separation from the secular could be temporary. Amos 2:11 defines the prophets and Nazirites as young people (see also 2 Kgs 5:22; 9:4, where the Sons of the Prophets are referred to as “young men,” nĕᴄārîm).17 This agrees with the narrative about Elijah, joining as a young man. Elisha stayed

14

For a discussion and textual references, see N. P. Bratsiosis, “ᴐîš,” ThWAT 1.238–52, esp. 250–52; Johannes Kühlewein, “ᴐîš,” THAT 1.130–38, esp. 136–37. 15 It is slightly misleading to use the expressions “Holy Man” and “Man of God” as synonyms, against Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1988), 41–51. 16 In the story of Elisha and Naaman, there is a noticeable change in the demeanor of the prophet toward Naaman the “leper,” on the one hand, and Naaman who had become “clean” or “pure” (wayyiṭhār, 2 Kgs 5:14), on the other. Before, Naaman “stood at the door of Elisha’s house,” and Elisha communicated through a messenger (2 Kgs 5:9–10); afterwards, Naaman “stood before” Elisha, and the prophet communicated with him directly (2 Kgs 5:15–19). 17 With Montgomery and Gehman, Kings, 400–401, the phrase hannaᴄar hannābîᴐ is to be omitted. As they correctly observe, “the messenger was merely a boy (naᴄar), by which term however is meant a junior member of the guild.”

van der Toorn – Northern Prophets and Nazirites

477

with the Sons of the Prophets and attained a position of leadership. Others, too, remained a member till their death (2 Kgs 4:1), but some young people may have joined for a time only.18

18

The few reported cases of a temporary fit of prophetic frenzy involve mostly young people, see 1 Sam 10:10–13; 19:20–24. Were the fifty “strong men” (ᴐănāšîm bĕnê-ḥayil, 2 Kgs 2:16) among the Sons of the Prophets at Jericho “athletes of the guild” (so Montgomery and Gehmen, Kings, 354)? It is likely, at any rate, that they were relatively young, too.

The Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant for Singling out Rebekah (Genesis 24:21)1 David S. Vanderhooft and Luiz Gustavo Assis

Abstract Genesis 24 preserves a remarkable story about the identification of Rebekah as a bride for Isaac and about the procedures used by Abraham’s Servant to ascertain that she was the correct candidate. The argument of the present paper is that the Servant developed an omen-like procedure to identify an appropriate young woman as the correct candidate. This procedure is first developed by the Servant and set out before Yhwh in direct address. The Servant proposes that he conduct a verbal exchange between himself and a young woman, and that if it occurs precisely as he proposes, then the woman in question is the correct candidate (vv. 12–14). When this verbal exchange is partly but not fully validated, the Servant performs two more independent actions, narrated in v. 21 – ‫ – והאיש משתאה לה מחריש לדעת‬as a second confirmation of the accuracy of the omen. We tentatively propose what these actions in v. 21 may have entailed, what are the etymological options for understanding the first participle ‫משתאה‬, and what they have to do with omen verification. The actions permit the Servant to confirm the young woman’s suitability before he knows any particulars about her biography. Genesis 24 contains the well-known narrative about the identification of Rebekah as a wife for Abraham’s son, Isaac.2 It begins with Abraham adjuring his anonymous Servant3 to avoid taking a Canaanite wife for Isaac and making the Servant swear an oath to journey instead to Abraham’s ‫“ ארץ‬land” (Aram-naharaim), and ‫“ מולדת‬kin” to find a spouse for Isaac (vv. 3–4). After a lengthy process of discovery and negotiation, the long narrative concludes with Rebekah offering her assent to the betrothal (v. 59) and journeying back with the Servant to meet Isaac (vv. 61–66). Among other interpretative difficulties, a crux appears at Gen 24:21 that prompted our interest. This verse describes how Abraham’s Servant comes to know whether the mantic process he formulates to identify a suitable candidate for Isaac had or had not been validated.4 The 1

The present paper is focused on a narrative that is set mainly in Aram-Naharaim, near the city of Nahor (presumably Haran), and that involves, we will argue, mantic or divinatory processes. Both of these subjects have been close to Lawson Younger’s heart, and it is with particular delight that we offer the paper to our teacher, colleague, and friend in honor of his contributions to our understanding of these subjects. On Aram-Naharaim and the Aramean identity of Rebekah and her family, see K. Lawson Younger Jr., A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities (Atlanta: SBL, 2016), 94–100. The present paper benefitted from the insights offered in conversation by Yori Cohen, Jeffrey Cooley, Ronnie Goldstein, John Huehnergard and Avi Winitzer, none of whom bear any responsibility for our divinatory excesses. 2 Our subject in this study is not dependent on attributing the text to a particular tradition or even to a particular time. Both problems have been extensively considered: Erhard Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte (WMANT 57; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1984), 383–87; Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36 (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1985), 384; Alexander Rofé, “An Enquiry into the Betrothal of Rebekah,” in Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte. Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff, ed. Erhard Blum et al. (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1990), 27–39; Jean L. Ska, “Essai sur la nature et la signification du cycle d’Abraham,” in Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction and History, ed. A. Wénin (BETL 155; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2001), 153–57; Gary Rendsburg, “Some False Leads in the Identification of Late Biblical Hebrew Texts: The Cases of Genesis 24 and 1 Samuel 2:27–36,” JBL 121 (2002): 23–35; idem, “Aramaic-Like Features in the Pentateuch,” Hebrew Studies 47 (2006): 165–66; Jack M. Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale: How Rebekah Found a Spouse,” JNES 65 (2006): 242, n. 6; Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, 99–100, nn. 268–69; Konrad Schmid, “How to Identify a Persian Period Text in the Pentateuch,” in On Dating Biblical Texts to the Persian Period: Discerning Criteria and Establishing Epochs, eds. Richard J. Bautch and Mark Lackowski (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 101–18. 3 Abraham refers in an earlier context to “Eliezer of Damascus” as the potential heir of his house (Gen 15:2), so Eliezer was traditionally identified with the anonymous Servant of this passage. 4 Like E. A. Speiser before him (Genesis [AB; New York: Doubleday, 1964], 184), J. Sasson suggests that the narrative revolves around the Servant’s “test” to discover a bride, although he does not specifically define what constitutes the

480

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

verse is the culminating moment of a divination process that plays out in several steps between vv. 11–22. Verse 21 describes the Servant’s actions immediately before he wordlessly signals (by bestowing gifts upon her) that Rebekah is indeed the designated woman (v. 22). The narrator describes the Servant’s final deliberative acts as follows: ‫לא‬-‫והאיש משתאה לה מחריש לדעת ההצליח יהוה דרכו אם‬ We translate thus: “Now the man walked continuously around her, devising how to know whether Yhwh had validated his venture, or not.” We defend this translation at greater length below and offer a tentative suggestion for understanding the etymology of ‫משתאה‬. It is our argument that two phrases in v. 21, ‫ משתאה לה‬and ‫מחריש לדעת‬, describe actions that together comprise the second part of an omen confirmation by the Servant. All of v. 21, in our judgment, constitutes the decisive second action that concludes the Servant’s divinatory effort, which is aimed at identifying a suitable bride for his master’s son. After this confirmation of v. 21, the Servant, in v. 22, bedecks the woman in gifts, signaling the successful conclusion to the two-part mantic process he formally initiated in v. 14. The particular verb mištāˀēh in v. 21, which is a unique form, is analyzed in MT as a hithpa’el participle from a root ‫שא"י‬, in construct with the prepositional phrase ‫לה‬.5 It is paralleled by a second participle, maḥărîš, also followed by the preposition ‫ל‬, but prefixed to an infinitive construct. The etymological and semantic interpretation of these phrases at the conclusion of the Servant’s mantic actions has long puzzled readers. What did the Servant do in v. 21? To answer this question, it will be necessary first to set the narrator’s description of the Servant’s actions within what we will call the wider mantic framework of chapter 24, although our focus will gradually narrow to vv. 11–21 (these verses are themselves partially reprised in the Servant’s retelling of events to Rebekah’s family in vv. 42–46).6 When Abraham, in his old age, adjures his Servant to go and take a wife for Isaac, Abraham formalizes the process by instructing the Servant to “place your hand under my thigh so that I may make you swear by Yhwh, the God of the Heavens and the Earth” (v.2). After the terms of the Servant’s task are determined, the reader is informed that “the Servant did put his hand under the thigh of his lord, and he swore to him about this matter” (v.9).7 Between these lines, while they formalize the parameters and potential uncertainties governing the identification of a wife and her disposition, Abraham also assures the Servant that Yhwh ‫“ ישלח מלאכו לפניך‬will send his messenger before you” (v. 7). In short, this opening scene of the chapter, set in Canaan, is shaped by taking a formal oath in the name of Yhwh, stipulation of its conditions, and by Abraham’s assurance that Yhwh will deputize a Messenger to guide the Servant. Abraham does not explain what role this Messenger will play, but the Servant later expands on precisely this point to Rebekah and her family, quoting Abraham’s statement about Yhwh’s guidance while offering a slight addition: ‫ישלח מלאכו אתך והצליח דרכך‬, “he will send his Messenger with you and he will prosper your venture” (v. 40). 8 This specific language involving the phrase ‫הצליח דרך‬, is used four times by the Servant “test” (“The Servant’s Tale,” 252). E. Hamori’s helpful treatment of “Rebekah the Aramean” emphasizes that the Genesis narratives about her involve several divinatory procedures and interpretations (Women’s Divination in Biblical Literature: Prophecy, Necromancy, and the Other Arts of Knowledge [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015], 43– 60, esp. 58–60). 5 For the use of the construct before the preposition ‫ ל‬see GKC §130a n. 3, which argues that it “has become a sort of preposition or adverb of place.” This will be relevant for our interpretation of the Servant’s actions. 6 The parallels are laid out by Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale,” 259–61. 7 Christine G. Allen, “On Me Be the Curse, my Son,” in Encounter with the Text: Form and History in the Hebrew Bible, ed. M. J. Buss (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 159–72. 8 Alexander Rofé notes that this Messenger “is not a manifest personality”; “[a]ccording to the author of Genesis 24 angels do exist, but are not manifest in the human world” (“Admonitions not to Leave the Promised Land in Genesis 24 and 26 and the Authorization in Genesis 46,” in The Post-Priestly Pentateuch: New Perspectives on its Redactional Development and Theological Profiles, eds. Federico Giuntoli and Konrad Schmid [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015], 179). Rofé understands this as evidence for the text’s late date. Whether or not this is so, we may note that the concept

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

481

in this chapter (vv. 21, 40, 42, and 56), and six more times elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. The idiom can describe a convergence of ideas about divine route guidance and successful divinatory inquiry.9 A particularly clear example of this nexus appears in Judg 18:5, where a group of five spies from the tribe of Dan request an oracle from a Levite priest in the house of Micah to ensure the prosperity of their venture, namely, the search for a new home: ‫שאל־נא באלהים ונדעה התצליח דרכו אשר אנחנו הלכים עליה‬ “Please make a divination request (‫)שאל‬10 of Elohim, so that we may know whether the route on which we have embarked will prosper” (18:5). The spies immediately receive an affirmation from the Levite that they should proceed, and that Yhwh himself will precede them as their scout (18:6).11 Abraham’s assurance (Gen 24:7) and the Servant’s elaboration (v. 40) about the Messenger making the venture successful both indicate that a primary issue in Genesis 24 is successful divine guidance in an arduous journey or undertaking. This helps set the mantic framework for the chapter. After the terse opening exchange between Abraham and the Servant in vv. 1–9, the Servant takes ten camels, some of the wealth (‫ )טוב‬of his master,12 and travels to Aram-naharaim, to the city of Nahor (v. 10). Without any narrative describing the Servant’s entourage or the journey itself, the reader next discovers that the Servant arrived one evening at his destination, where he stations his camels near the well outside the city; the evening is precisely the time when women come out to draw water (v. 11). It is fortuitous timing.

of God sending his ‫ מלאך‬as a scout before his people for route guidance is explicitly found elsewhere in Exod 32:34 and Ps 91:11. 9 ‫ צל"ח דרך‬can involve ascertaining the success of a venture involving travel across space, as in Josh 1:8 and Judg 18:5. In the Second Isaiah, Yhwh says of Cyrus ‫“ אף־קראתיו הביאתיו והצליח דרכו‬I have summoned him; I have brought him, and he has prospered on his route” (Isa 48:15). In the curses of Deuteronomy 28, by contrast, one curse states that ‫ולא תצליח‬ ‫“ את־דרכיך והיית אך עשוק וגזול כל־הימים ואין מושיע‬you will not prosper on your routes, but you will be constantly abused and robbed, without deliverer” (Deut 28:29). “Abuse” and “robbery” are two of the standard risks faced by travelers. The phrase appears twice with the vexing recognition that the wicked sometimes prosper (‫ )צל"ח‬in their “way” (Jer 12:1; Ps 37:7). 10 See the recent study of D. S. Vanderhooft, “Eshta’ol and Divination en route to Dan in Judg 18” in Veronika Bachmann, Annette Schellenberg, Frank Ueberschaer (eds.), Menschsein in Weisheit und Freiheit. Festschrift für Thomas Krüger (OBO 296; Leuven: Peeters, 2022), 61–72. C. Westermann writes on the practice of divination in ancient Israel: “Die Gottes-Befragung durch Lose, die nur Entscheidungsfrage sein kann, also nur die Antwort ja oder nein von Gott erwartete, setzt das Ergehen des Wortes Gottes in einem technisch-zeichenhaften Vorgang voraus“ (“Die Begriffe für Fragen und Suchen im Alten Testament,” Kerygma und Dogma 6 [1960]: 29). For additional literature on use of the verb ‫ שׁאל‬in divination, see H. Madl, “Die Gottesbefragung mit dem Verb šāʾal,” in Bausteine Biblischer Theologie: Festgabe für G. Johannes Botterweck zum 60. Geburtstag dargebracht von seinen Schülern, ed. Heinz-Joseph Fabry (BBB 50; Köln: Peter Hanstein Verlag, 1977), 37–70; Rannfrid I. Thelle, Ask God: Divine Consultation in the Literature of the Hebrew Bible (BBET 30; Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 2002), 41–72; Frederick H. Cryer, Divination in Ancient Israel and Its Near Eastern Environment: A Socio-Historical Investigation (JSOT.SS 142; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 231–38. The book of Judges opens with a similar divinatory use of the verb (1:1). The verb occurs as well in the narrative of Judges 20 (20:18, 23, 27). Jack Sasson has catalogued oracular inquiries in Judges (“Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, Vol. 1, eds. Chaim Cohen et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 149–68. 11 Vanderhooft, “Eshta’ol and Divination,” 64 and n. 19. 12 LXX, Sry. and Vulg. use partitive particles, “some of the wealth” (See the discussion of A. Tal in BHQ, 135* n. ad loc.).

482

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

Next, the Servant is said to address “Yhwh the god of Abraham.” He makes the following request: ‫הקרה־נא לפני היום ועשה־חסד עם אדני אברהם‬ “Put good fortune before me today,13 and perform an act of ḥesed14 with my master, Abraham” (v. 12). Gunkel argues of this two-part request in v. 12 that “it is common practice to add predicates of God to the invocation which establish[es] the supplicant’s right to be heard.”15 This verse, in other words, establishes the mantic precondition for what follows. Next the Servant describes his current circumstances to Yhwh: he says that he is standing by the well just as the daughters of the townsfolk are exiting to draw water (v. 13). The Servant then quickly devises what amount to the protasis and apodosis of a verbal omen. In Speiser’s words, the Servant “resorts to an omen for a prognosis of his mission’s success”:16 ‫והיה הנער אשר אמר אליה הטי־נא כדך ואשתה ואמרה שׁתה וגם־גמליך אשקה אתה הכחת לעבדך ליצחק ובה אדע כי־עשית‬ ‫חסד עם־אדני‬ “It shall be the case17 that the girl to whom I will say, ‘lower your jar so that I may drink,’ and who replies, ‘drink, and what’s more I’ll water your camels,’ she is the one you have designated for my servant, for Isaac; thus, through her, I will know that you have performed an act of ḥesed with my lord.” The basic structure of the Servant’s verbal omen in this verse is patent. The we-qatal verb that opens it means simply, “it shall happen,” or “it will be the case …”. The syntax emphasizes the Servant’s capacity to set the parameters of the verbal omen he is devising. It begins the unmarked protasis of a conditional arrangement. At a particular time-sensitive moment, a group of women is exiting the town. The Servant, after adjuring the Deity to put good fortune before him, intends to identify one among the women as the designated one. The Servant is not directed to perform any particular action; the entire formulation of the omen is his own initiative, to act to create the circumstances in which a verbal omen can be made and confirmed. This is a common concern of Near Eastern divinatory inquiries more generally: a person is confronted with the necessity to make a correct choice among competing options and must formulate a procedure to narrow those options to one. In Genesis 24, the Servant therefore crafts a procedure that will contain the necessary mechanism to narrow the choice among many women down to one. The procedure he concocts will involve a verbal exchange: “the girl to whom I say x, and who replies x + 1, she is the one you [Yhwh] have designated.” In his formulation of this divinatory mechanism, the Servant therefore establishes the conditions that would satisfactorily validate the legitimacy of the verbal omen. It is critical that the Servant attaches to the scenario a formula of confirmation, what amounts to an effective apodosis: ‫אתה הכחת‬, “she is the one you [Yhwh] have designated.” In her study on the divinatory aspects of the stories involving Rebekah in Genesis 24–26, Esther Hamori argues that the young Aramean 13

For the idiom using the same verb, compare Gen 27:20; Num 23:3, 4, 15, 16; and Jer 32:23. Compare, similarly, Victor P. Hamilton (The Book of Genesis 18–50 [NICOT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995], 145); and Nahum Sarna (Genesis: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation [New York: JPS, 1989], 164) who render the phrase as “grant me good fortune today.” Speiser’s translation, “grant me a propitious sign,” is, like our own, paraphrastic, but he correctly recognizes the mantic aspect: “That is, bring about an omen/occurrence … in my favor” (Genesis, 179). 14 The verb and noun are related somewhat often. K. Sakenfeld (The Meaning of Hesed in the Hebrew Bible: A New Inquiry, HSM 17 [Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978], 230–31; 234–39) argues that this refers to performing a specific act on behalf of another and does not merely describe a generalized disposition. The Servant is thinking of a concrete act of Yhwh. 15 Hermann Gunkel, Genesis, trans. by Mark E. Briddle (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 251. 16 Speiser, Genesis, 184. 17 Often translated, incorrectly, as a jussive: “Let it happen …”. The we-qatal means simply, “it shall happen,” or “it will be the case …”.

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

483

woman herself “embodies a sign” in Genesis 24.18 We concur with Hamori’s insight, but would like to clarify the association of Rebekah with the mantic sign the Servant is requesting from the Deity. The use of ‫אתה‬ (independent definite object marker with the 3fs possessive suffix), in the syntactically unusual phrase, ‫אתה‬ ‫הכחת‬, evokes (and thereby fronts) the lexeme ‫אות‬, “sign”. Use of homography, the orthographic identity of the consonants that form two different but identically written lexemes, is a typical phenomenon that scribes from Mesopotamia to Israel employed in their compositions.19 In Gen 24:14, homography highlights the last part of the Servant’s mantic request as a double entendre, ‫אתה הכחת‬, “she is the one/sign you have designated.”20 The noun ‫אות‬, “sign,” we may recall, can be both masculine and feminine. This allows one additional observation about the Servant’s omen-like formulation, hinted at already by Otto Proksch. The Servant goes on to assert ‫“ ובה אדע‬through her/it I will know” that you have done a ḥesed with my lord, etc. (v. 14). Procksch writes of the prepositional phrase ‫בה‬: “Worauf sich ‫ בה‬bezieht, ob auf eine ‫ נערה‬oder eine ‫… אות‬ ist unsicher.” Our point is that it is likely both.21 The Servant’s reasoning is that if the speech acts play out as prescribed, then the conditions of his verbal omen will have been validated. The last clause in the Servant’s statement to Yhwh, ‫אתה הכחת‬, to repeat, represents the unmarked apodosis of the conditional arrangement. The verb form ‫הכחת‬, as Sasson also comments, “has a strong legal sense, something like ‘adjudge,’ not at all equivalent to ‘assign’ or ‘appoint.’”22 The effective logical operators in the Servant’s formulation of his omen-like mechanism could be presented in this way: CIRCUMSTANCE A PRECONDITION (v. 13):

EFFECTIVE PROTASIS [UMARKED]: EFFECTIVE APODOSIS [UNMARKED]: FORMULA OF CONFIRMATION:

Invocation to Yhwh to “put good fortune before me today” ‫הקרה־נא לפני היום‬ [IF] I say x, and the girl replies x + 1 [THEN] you have designated her (/as a sign) ‫אתה הכחת‬ Through her/it I will know that you have performed an act of ḥesed viz my lord.

The overall address of the Servant to Yhwh in this opening discourse is sometimes categorized simply as a “prayer.” Von Rad says of the Servant, e.g., that “he prays, and in this prayer he places everything in Yahweh’s hand.”23 Westermann, somewhat differently, characterizes it as “the prayer of the servant for a sign.”24 Westermann correctly acknowledges that an “omen” of some kind might be broadly at issue, but he derogates this by saying such an omen “is based on magical thinking and has nothing to do with prayer.”25 18

Hamori, Women’s Divination in Biblical Literature, 58. The lexeme ‫אות‬, “sign,” is sometimes written defectively and, in the plural, with an affixed possessive suffix (e.g., Exod 10:1, 2; Num 14:22; Deut 11:3; Ps 78:43; 105:27). Job 21:29 is particularly noteworthy: ‫הלא שאלתם עוברי דרך‬ ‫“ ואתתם לא תנכרו‬Have you not inquired of those who traverse a road? You cannot deny their signs.” 20 On homography as a scribal hermeneutical device in Judah and extensive bibliography on the practice in the Hebrew Bible and Akkadian literature, see Jeffrey Cooley, “Judean Onomastic Hermeneutics in Context,” HTR 112 (2019): 184–208, esp. 203–6. See also Cooley’s suggestion about the Hebrew lexeme ‫שׁגיאות‬, and the possible graphic play with the word ‫ אות‬in Ps 19:13 in “Psalm 19: A Sabbath Song,” VT 64 (2014): 177–95, esp. 190–93. For a more general analysis of polysemy using homographs, kindly suggested to us by Cooley, see Scott B. Noegel, “Wordplay” in Ancient Near Eastern Texts (ANEM 26; Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 43–46. 21 Otto Procksch, Genesis: Übersetzt und erklärt, KAT (Leipzig: Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1913), 144; on ‫בה‬ as effectively a “neuter,” cf. also GKC §135p; Paul Joüon and Takamitsu Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (Rome: Gregorian and Biblical Press, 1993), 523 (§152b); and Bruce Waltke and Michael O’Connor, Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 305 (16.4.f): “the neutrum or vague referent can be marked with an object pronominal suffix, usually feminine.” 22 Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale,” 252, n. 37. 23 Von Rad’s formulation is typical of this view; Genesis (OTL, London: SCM Press, 1961), 256. 24 Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 386. 25 Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 386. 19

484

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

As noted, Speiser specifically acknowledged a view closer to the one presented here: that the Servant “resorts to an omen for a prognosis of his mission’s success.”26 Sasson is not quite so blunt as Speiser, and states that “[the Servant] has had precious little direction on how to accomplish his mission, so he needs prescience on how to act but also some help from above.”27 Nevertheless, Sasson still emphasizes that “providential control” or “providential fulfillment” of what he calls a “test” is at issue, “with the presumption that there is divine control behind it.”28 The speech of the Servant, in any case, is not marked in any formal way as a prayer, but, we argue, is framed in the language of divinatory omen confirmation. Swift action and verbal exchanges characterize the following scene. ‫ויהי־הוא טרם כלה לדבר‬, “(almost) before he had finished speaking,” Rebekah appeared (v. 15). Although the narrator names her, Rebekah is of course unknown to the Servant. The narrator informs the reader that she is beautiful and ‫בתולה ואיש לא ידעה‬, “a young woman; moreover no man had known her.” The dramatic irony allows the reader to grasp what the Servant will have to work to learn, that Rebekah is the one. In a clipped sequence of three actions, ‫ותרד העינה‬ ‫ותמלא כדה ותעל‬, “she went down to the well, filled her jar, and ascended” (v. 16). Obviously, this sequence of events did not happen instantaneously, but over some time and in proximity to whatever other women were present for the same purpose. But it prompted the Servant’s own action: ‫וירץ העבד לקראתה‬, “the Servant ran to meet her” (v. 17). He then initiates his verbal omen, but uses a different verb than the one he initially proposed to Yhwh: ‫הגמיאיני נא מעט־מים מכדך‬, “please give me a sip of water from your jar.” She instantly responds (v. 18): ‫שתה אדני‬, “drink, my lord.” This is followed by another clipped description of three actions by Rebekah: ‫ותמהר ותרד כדה על־ידה ותשקהו‬, “she hurried, lowered her jar into her hand, and gave him to drink.” Only after giving him water and after he drinks, as many commentators have noted, does Rebekah add that she will also draw for his camels: ‫גם לגמליך אשאב עד אם־כלו לשתת‬, “I will also draw for your camels until they have finished to drink” (v. 19). There was, in other words, a slight hitch in the fulfillment of the Servant’s verbal omen. The woman did not immediately reply to the Servant: “x + 1,” namely, “drink, and I will water….” She waits for him to drink, then proposes that she will “draw.” After this, she goes about the arduous task of drawing water for all his camels (v. 20). The slight deviations from the verbal program that the Servant had established, which many commentators have acknowledged, we interpret as raising a question for the Servant about whether the conditions of his verbal omen had been met. Finally, then, when the text reaches v. 21, the Servant is described as having undertaken what we will refer to as a second process to validate the omen he originally devised. CIRCUMSTANCE B “Now the man walked continuously around her, devising how to know whether Yhwh had validated his venture, or not.”

‫לא‬-‫והאיש משתאה לה מחריש לדעת ההצליח יהוה דרכו אם‬

The participial actions do not precisely indicate why the man walked around her (see below), or precisely how he devised to know that Yhwh had validated his venture. The entire verse is set off by a disjunctive waw that leaves the action outside the main narrative frame. The two participles indicate ongoing action.29 The reader has the clear awareness, therefore, that the Servant performed these actions during the entire time that the young woman was drawing water for the ten camels, which can scarcely have been a brief period.30 Sasson also rightly assesses the basic significance of v. 21: “[w]hat is at stake here is not so much a new test but a search for confirmation of a previous test.”31 Sasson

26

Speiser, Genesis, 184. Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale,” 251. 28 Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale,” 251–52. 29 See Speiser on -tan forms and iterative action (“The Durative Hithpa’el: A tan-Form,” JAOS 75/2 [1955]: 118–21) which takes Gen 24:21 as its point of departure; this view is qualified and updated by Waltke & O’Connor, Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax, 26.1.2 a–d, who nevertheless endorse the iterative-durative aspect of the t- infixed (hithpa’el) participles. 30 Von Rad, Genesis, 257; Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale,” 254; Gordon Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (WBC 2; Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1994), 144–45. 31 Sasson, “The Servant’s Tale,” 255. 27

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

485

senses, too, that this sort of secondary mantic confirmation is entirely routine within Near Eastern divinatory practices. Hamori intuits something similar: “[r]eading the scene in light of the particularity of omens and omen interpretation, it makes sense …. How awkwardly close to the requested sign, without actually quite matching it.”32 But Hamori does not quite reach the conclusion that v. 21 resolves this difficulty by a second mantic process, an utterly normal Near Eastern phenomenon. Within the biblical corpus, other examples come to mind of explicit double verification procedures. Gideon’s solicitation of the sign of the fleece famously asks for God’s validation of Gideon’s endeavor first in one mode (dry fleece, wet ground) then its opposite (wet fleece, dry ground; Judg 6:36–40). Cooley has well illustrated another, more complicated variant of this type of double verification technique in the narratives concerning the election of Saul to the kingship in 1 Samuel.33 Cooley, in particular, recognizes that within such mantic contexts, double verification is in no way understood in antiquity as reflecting impiety. If we have established, then, that Gen 24:21 alludes to the double verification of an omen, what did the Servant do during this verification? Here, the terminology in the verse must be relevant, but the diction is difficult and any proposal we now offer must finally remain tentative. The word ‫ משתאה‬has been variously assessed in the modern era. The Masoretic realization, mištāˀēh, presumes its derivation from a III-y root, ‫שא"י‬. BDB, Gesenius 18th ed., and HALAT concur with this derivation. At the same time, all of these lexica propose that this is a biform or error, and that the participle should be derived instead from the more common root, ‫שע"י‬, “to gaze, look at.”34 Several modern editions of MT, including BHK and BHS, suggest the same solution, as do numerous commentators on Genesis including, as representative examples, Skinner,35 Gunkel,36 Westermann,37 and Wenham.38 There is no specific phonological argument in favor of this equivalence, except that the root ‫ שע"י‬would make reasonable contextual sense. The translation of LXX, κατεμάνθανεν, “to consider, examine,” may have prompted the modern lexicographical argument in favor of the alternative root ‫שע"י‬, although the Greek verb is not used to translate ‫ שע"י‬elsewhere.39 In his 2015 edition of BHQ, by contrast, A. Tal does not suggest derivation of ‫ משתאה‬from a different root, but carefully notes that the ancient versions obviously were conflicted about how to understand the word.40 Thus, the Samaritan Pentateuch preserves the alternative ‫והאיש משתה לה‬, which some manuscripts of the Samaritan Targum translated ‫אשקה‬,41 i.e., the man was giving her something to drink.42 This, however, makes no logical sense in the narrative, and was probably influenced by references in Hebrew to “drinking” (‫)שת"י‬, “watering” (‫) שק"י‬, and “drawing (water)” (‫ )שא"ב‬earlier in the story.43 The other alternative in the

32

Hamori, Women’s Divination in Biblical Literature, 59. The two traditions about Saul’s election were arranged “in such a way that they could be read in a complementary manner. In accordance with acceptable ancient Near Eastern mantic practice, the unprovoked oracle that identified Saul in 1 Sam 9:15–18 was later confirmed in the provoked cleromantic ceremony of 1 Sam 10:19–21” (Jeffrey L. Cooley, “The Story of Saul’s Election (1 Samuel 9–10) in the Light of Mantic Practice in Ancient Iraq,” JBL 130/2 [2011]: 247– 61, quote from 261). 34 So Gesenius 18., s.v. ‫שאה‬3, 1306, “Nebenform zu ‫ ;”שעה‬BDB, s.v. ‫ שאה‬II., 981a, “apparently parallel form of ‫;”שעה‬ HALAT, ‫ שאה‬III, 1274a, “Nebenform von ‫ שעה‬oder Textfehler.” Evidently also the view of DCH, s.v. ‫ שאה‬II, vol. viii, 206a, which treats this instance as unique and glosses, “gaze (at), take a close look (at),” but offers no etymology. 35 J. Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (2nd ed.; ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1930), 344. 36 Gunkel, Genesis, 252: “‫ משתאה‬miswritten from ‫”?משתעה‬ 37 Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 381, n. 21a: “‫ ע‬probably to be read for ‫א‬.” 38 Wenham, Genesis 16–50, 135: “‫ שאה‬probably alternative to ‫שעה‬.” 39 The verb καταμανθανω (“to watch and observe,” “to investigate”) rendered the Hebrew ‫( ראה‬Lev 14:36), with the sense of “inspection” and also the cognition verb ‫בין‬. See. T. Muraoka, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint (Leuven: Peeters, 2002), 377. The concept of “perceive” is also common in classical Greek literature. See Franco Montanari, The Brill Dictionary of Ancient Greek (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 1064. 40 Tal, BHQ, 136*. 41 Tal, BHQ, 136*. 42 The option is dismissed by Robert Gordis, “A Note on Gen. 24:21,” AJSL 51 (1935): 191 n. 4. 43 Rendsburg ventures that “the author of our pericope selected this rare word for the specific purpose of producing alliteration with the roots ‫שתה‬, ‘drink,’ occurring seven times in the chapter … and ‫‘ שאב‬draw (water),’ also occurring 33

486

Vanderhooft / Assis – Successful Divinatory Procedure of Abraham’s Servant

Targummim, noted by previous commentators and in Tal’s text critical notes, is to link the word to Aramaic ‫שה"י‬, “to wait or tarry,” i.e., “he lingered around.”44 Some scholars have preferred to retain the derivation of ‫ משתאה‬from ‫ שא"י‬I, “be desolated” (see Isa 6:11 [2x] and 37:26), which is better from a philological perspective.45 Gordis argued that ‫ משתאה‬means “‘wonders,’ ‘is astonished.’ The meaning is arrived at by noting that ‫שמם‬, which, like ‫שאה‬, means ‘destroy,’ ‘devastate,’ develops the force of ‘be astonished’ in the Hithpael, a very frequent use in later Hebrew.”46 Tal, in BHQ, follows this solution: “The semantic field of desolation includes amazement and astonishment.”47 The extended meaning “he was astonished at her” would presumably be the best internal Hebrew explanation. Yet it is not entirely satisfactory. The notion that the Servant is “astounded” or “astonished” would have to depend on the reader concluding that he thinks that Rebekah’s actions are, in themselves, remarkable, perhaps because of her extreme generosity or her indefatigable determination. Given the overall mantic framework of the narrative, the Servant’s development of an omen-like mantic process from the first moment of his arrival in Abar-naharaim, and the addition of 24:21 to describe a secondary validation of this mantic procedure, we suspect that the actions of the Servant might have a specifically mantic valence, even if these are beyond full recovery. We note that in Akkadian, the verb šaˀû II (