Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures VIII: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, Vol. 11 9781463202200, 1463202202

Citation preview

Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures VIII

Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts 19

This series contains volumes dealing with the study of the Hebrew Bible, ancient Israelite society and related ancient societies, biblical Hebrew and cognate languages, the reception of biblical texts through the centuries, and the history of the discipline. The series includes monographs, edited collections, and the printed version of the Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, which is also available online.

Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures VIII

Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, vol. 11

Edited by

Ehud Ben Zvi

9

34 2013

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2013 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. 2013

‫ܕ‬

9

ISBN 978-1-4632-0220-0

Printed in the United States of America

ISSN 1935-6897

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOL. 11 (2011) Zechariah 8 and its Allusions to Jeremiah 30–33 and Deutero-Isaiah Elie Assis.......................................................................................................... 1 “Some Worthless and Reckless Fellows”: Landlessness and Parasocial Leadership in Judges Brian R. Doak ............................................................................................... 23 Structure and Meaning in the Third Vision of Amos (7:7–17) Martha E. Campos ....................................................................................... 53 The Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36): An Anti‐Mosaic, Non‐Mosaic, or even Pro‐Mosaic Writing? Veronika Bachmann..................................................................................... 81 David’s Elite Warriors and Their Exploits in the Books of Samuel and Chronicles Moshe Garsiel .............................................................................................105 The Shattered Dream The Prophecies of Joel: A Bridge Between Ezekiel and Haggai? Tova Ganzel ................................................................................................135 Comparison With David as a Means of Evaluating Character in the Book of Kings Amos Frisch ................................................................................................157 Biblical Hebrew Wayyiqtol: A Dynamic Definition Alexander Andrason ..................................................................................179

v

vi

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Semantics and the Semantics of ‫ברא‬: A Rejoinder to the Arguments Advanced by B. Becking and M. Korpel Ellen van Wolde & Robert Rezetko ........................................................241 The Narrative Effect of Psalms 84–89 Robert E. Wallace .......................................................................................283 The Call Narratives of Gideon and Moses: Literary Convention or More? Hava Shalom-Guy ......................................................................................299 The Mound on the Mount: A Possible Solution to the “Problem with Jerusalem” Israel Finkelstein, Ido Koch and Oded Lipschits .................................317 Lot and His Daughters (Gen 19:30–38). Further Literary & Stylistic Examinations Talia Sutskover ............................................................................................341 The Typological Classification of the Hebrew of Genesis: Subject-Verb or Verb-Subject?* Robert D. Holmstedt .................................................................................353 Compositional Strata in the Priestly Sabbath: Exodus 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 Jeffrey Stackert ............................................................................................392

REVIEWS Anderson, Gary A., SIN: A HISTORY Reviewed by Micah D. Kiel ................................................................. 413 Nakhai, Beth Alpert (ed.), THE WORLD OF WOMEN IN THE ANCIENT AND CLASSICAL NEAR EAST Reviewed by Elaine T. James .............................................................. 416 Grabbe, Lester L. (ed.), ISRAEL IN TRANSITION: FROM LATE BRONZE II TO IRON IIA (C. 1250–850 B.C.E.) VOLUME 1. THE ARCHAEOLOGY Reviewed by Trent C. Butler ............................................................... 419

TABLE OF CONTENTS

vii

Klauk, Hans-Josef, B. McGinn, P. Mendes-Flohr, C.-L. Seow, H. Spieckermann, B. D. Walfish, E. Ziolkowski (eds.), ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE BIBLE AND ITS RECEPTION: AARON–ANICONISM Reviewed by Stephen Westerholm ..................................................... 426 Bernat, David A., SIGN OF THE COVENANT: CIRCUMCISION IN THE PRIESTLY TRADITION Reviewed by Trent C. Butler ............................................................... 430 Horsley, Richard A. (ed.), IN THE SHADOW OF EMPIRE: RECLAIMING THE BIBLE AS A HISTORY OF FAITHFUL RESISTANCE Reviewed by Jonathan Bernier ............................................................ 432 Westbrook, Raymond and Bruce Wells, EVERYDAY LAW IN BIBLICAL ISRAEL: AN INTRODUCTION Reviewed by Victor H. Matthews ....................................................... 435 KUSATU (KLEINE UNTERSUCHENGEN ZUR SPRACHE DES ALTEN TESTAMENTS UND SEINER UMWELT) 8.9 (2008) Reviewed by John Cook ....................................................................... 438 Hadjiev, Tchavdar S., THE COMPOSITION AND REDACTION OF THE BOOK OF AMOS Reviewed by Matthieu Richelle ........................................................... 441 Green, Deborah A. and Laura S. Lieber (eds.), SCRIPTURAL EXEGESIS: THE SHAPES OF CULTURE AND THE RELIGIOUS IMAGINATION, ESSAYS IN HONOUR OF MICHAEL FISHBANE Reviewed by William A. Tooman ....................................................... 447 Tebes, Juan Manuel, CENTRO Y PERIFERIA EN EL MUNDO ANTIGUO: EL NEGEV Y SUS INTERACCIONES CON EGIPTO, ASIRIA, Y EL LEVANTE EN LA EDAD DEL HIERRO (1200–586 A.C.) Reviewed by Romina Della Casa ........................................................ 454 Moberly, R. W. L., THE THEOLOGY OF THE BOOK OF GENESIS Reviewed by Tim Stone Greenport.................................................... 456 Cotrozzi, Stefano, EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED: ASPECTS OF PRAGMATIC FOREGROUNDING IN OLD TESTAMENT NARRATIVES Reviewed by Krzysztof J. Baranowski ............................................... 465 Crane, Ashley S., ISRAEL’S RESTORATION: A TEXTUAL-COMPARATIVE EXPLORATION OF EZEKIEL 36–39 Reviewed by Iain M. Duguid ............................................................... 469 Jones, Scott C., RUMORS OF WISDOM: JOB 28 AS POETRY Reviewed by August H. Konkel.......................................................... 471 Petterson, Anthony R., BEHOLD YOUR KING: THE HOPE FOR THE HOUSE OF DAVID IN THE BOOK OF ZECHARIAH Reviewed by Anna Suk Yee Lee ......................................................... 474

viii

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Smith, Richard G., THE FATE OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS DURING DAVID’S REIGN: NARRATIVE ETHICS AND REREADING THE COURT HISTORY ACCORDING TO 2 SAMUEL 8:15–20:26 Reviewed by Adam Brown .................................................................. 478 Hagedorn, Anselm C. and Henrik Pfeiffer (eds.), DIE ERZVÄTER IN DER BIBLISCHEN TRADITION: FESTSCHRIFT FÜR MATTHIAS KÖCKERT Reviewed by Christophe Nihan .......................................................... 481 Tuckett, Christopher (ed.), FEASTS AND FESTIVALS Reviewed by Peter Altmann ................................................................ 486 Webster, Brian L., THE CAMBRIDGE INTRODUCTION TO BIBLICAL HEBREW WITH CD-ROM Reviewed by H. Daniel Zacharias....................................................... 490 Fleming, Daniel E. and Sara J. Milstein, THE BURIED FOUNDATION OF THE GILGAMESH EPIC: THE AKKADIAN HUWAWA NARRATIVE Reviewed by Scott C. Jones ................................................................. 499 Jindo, Job Y., BIBLICAL METAPHOR RECONSIDERED: A COGNITIVE APPROACH TO POETIC PROPHECY IN JEREMIAH 1–24 Reviewed by Hyuk-ki Kim................................................................... 504 Allen, Leslie C., JEREMIAH: A COMMENTARY Reviewed by Hetty Lalleman ............................................................... 509 Niditch, Susan, ”MY BROTHER ESAU IS A HAIRY MAN”: HAIR AND IDENTITY IN ANCIENT ISRAEL Reviewed by Jonathan Y. Rowe .......................................................... 511 Boccaccini, Gabriele and Giovanni Ibba (eds.), ENOCH AND MOSAIC TORAH: THE EVIDENCE OF JUBILEES Reviewed by Rodney A. Werline ........................................................ 515 Corley, Jeremy and Vincent Skemp (eds.), STUDIES IN THE GREEK BIBLE: ESSAYS IN HONOR OF FRANCIS T. GIGNAC, S.J. Reviewed by Claude Cox ..................................................................... 518 Pratico, Gary D. and Miles V. Van Pelt, BASICS OF BIBLICAL HEBREW GRAMMAR Reviewed by Mary L. Conway ............................................................. 521 Davis, Ellen F., SCRIPTURE, CULTURE, AND AGRICULTURE: AN AGRARIAN READING OF THE BIBLE Reviewed by Steven J. Schweitzer ...................................................... 524 de Hulster, Izaak J. and Rüdiger Schmitt, (eds.), ICONOGRAPHY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES: PROCEEDINGS OF THE ICONOGRAPHY SESSIONS AT THE JOINT EABS / SBL CONFERENCE, 22–26 JULY 2007, VIENNA, AUSTRIA Reviewed by Frank Ueberschaer ........................................................ 527

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ix

Tooman, William A. and Michael A. Lyons (eds.), TRANSFORMING VISIONS: TRANSFORMATIONS OF TEXT, TRADITION, AND THEOLOGY IN EZEKIEL Reviewed by Jason Gile ........................................................................ 533 Chung, Youn Ho, THE SIN OF THE CALF: THE RISE OF THE BIBLE’S NEGATIVE ATTITUDE TOWARD THE GOLDEN CALF Reviewed by Lissa M. Wray Beal ........................................................ 539 O’Dowd, Ryan, THE WISDOM OF TORAH: EPISTEMOLOGY IN DEUTERONOMY AND THE WISDOM LITERATURE Reviewed by Doug Ingram .................................................................. 542 Klein, Anja, SCHRIFTAUSLEGUNG IM EZECHIELBUCH: REDAKTIONSGESCHICHTLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN ZU EZ 34–39 Reviewed by William A. Tooman ....................................................... 545 Smith, Mark S., GOD IN TRANSLATION: DEITIES IN CROSS-CULTURAL DISCOURSE IN THE BIBLICAL WORLD Reviewed by Michael W. Duggan ....................................................... 550 Westbrook, Raymond and Bruce Wells, EVERYDAY LAW IN BIBLICAL ISRAEL: AN INTRODUCTION Reviewed by David P. Wright ............................................................. 554 Matthews, Victor H., MORE THAN MEETS THE EAR: DISCOVERING THE HIDDEN CONTEXTS OF OLD TESTAMENT CONVERSATIONS Reviewed by Colin Toffelmire ............................................................ 562 Earl, Douglas, READING JOSHUA AS CHRISTIAN SCRIPTURE Reviewed by J. Gordon McConville .................................................. 565 Schiffman, Lawrence, THE COURTYARDS OF THE HOUSE OF THE LORD: STUDIES IN THE TEMPLE SCROLL Reviewed by Dwight D. Swanson ...................................................... 568 Fischer, Stefan, DAS HOHELIED SALOMOS ZWISCHEN POESIE UND ERZÄHLUNG: ERZÄHLTEXTANALYSE EINES POETISCHEN TEXTES Reviewed by Matthias Hopf ................................................................ 573 Trebolle Barrera, Julio and Susana Pottecher, JOB Reviewed by Andrés Piquer Otero ..................................................... 578 Barrick, W. Boyd., BMH AS BODY LANGUAGE: A LEXICAL AND ICONOGRAPHICAL STUDY OF THE WORD BMH WHEN NOT A REFERENCE TO CULTIC PHENOMENA IN BIBLICAL AND POSTBIBLICAL HEBREW Reviewed by Elizabeth Hayes ............................................................. 581 Oswald, Wolfgang, NATHAN DER PROPHET: EINE UNTERSUCHUNG ZU 2 SAMUEL 7 UND 12 UND 1 KÖNIGE 1 Reviewed by Jürg Hutzli....................................................................... 587

x

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Janse, Sam, ”YOU ARE MY SON”: THE RECEPTION HISTORY OF PSALM 2 IN EARLY JUDAISM AND THE EARLY CHURCH Reviewed by Scott C. Jones ................................................................. 594 Halvorson-Taylor, Martien, ENDURING EXILE: THE METAPHORIZATION OF EXILE IN THE HEBREW BIBLE Reviewed by John Ahn ......................................................................... 598 Knoppers, Gary N., and Kenneth A. Ristau, eds., COMMUNITY IDENTITY IN JUDEAN HISTORIOGRAPHY: BIBLICAL AND COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVES Reviewed by Steven J. Schweitzer ...................................................... 602 Bosworth, David A., THE STORY WITHIN A STORY IN BIBLICAL HEBREW NARRATIVE Reviewed by Shannon Baines .............................................................. 606 Vialle, Catherine, UNE ANALYSE COMPARÉE D’ESTHER TM ET LXX: REGARD SUR DEUX RÉCITS D’UNE MÊME HISTOIRE Reviewed by Veronika Bachmann ...................................................... 609 Meer, Michaël van der, Percy van Keulen, Wido van Peursen, and Bas ter Haar Romeny (eds.), ISAIAH IN CONTEXT: STUDIES IN HONOUR OF ARIE VAN DER KOOIJ ON THE OCCASION OF HIS SIXTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY Reviewed by J. Blake Couey ................................................................ 613 Day, John (ed.), PROPHECY AND THE PROPHETS IN ANCIENT ISRAEL Reviewed by J. Todd Hibbard ............................................................. 620 Holmstedt, Robert D., RUTH: A HANDBOOK ON THE HEBREW TEXT Reviewed by Anthony R. Pyles ........................................................... 626 Russell, Stephen C., IMAGES OF EGYPT IN EARLY BIBLICAL LITERATURE: CISJORDAN-ISRAELITE, TRANSJORDAN-ISRAELITE, AND JUDAHITE PORTRAYALS Reviewed by Safwat Marzouk ............................................................. 629 Nicklas, Tobias, Friedrich V. Reiterer, and Joseph Verheyden (eds.), THE HUMAN BODY IN DEATH AND RESURRECTION Reviewed by Anke Dorman ................................................................ 634 Annus, Amar and Alan Lenzi, LUDLUL BĒL NĒMEQI: THE STANDARD BABYLONIAN POEM OF THE RIGHTEOUS SUFFERER Reviewed by Victor Avigdor Hurowitz ............................................. 644 Yasur-Landau, Assaf, Jennie R. Ebeling, and Laura B. Mazow (eds.), HOUSEHOLD ARCHAEOLOGY IN ANCIENT ISRAEL AND BEYOND Reviewed by Cynthia Shafer-Elliott ................................................... 649

TABLE OF CONTENTS

xi

Halpern, Baruch, FROM GODS TO GOD: THE DYNAMICS OF IRON AGE COSMOLOGIES Reviewed by Nathan MacDonald ....................................................... 653 Sommer, Benjamin D., THE BODIES OF GOD AND THE WORLD OF ANCIENT ISRAEL Reviewed by J. Todd Hibbard ............................................................. 664 Weeks, Stuart, AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF WISDOM LITERATURE Reviewed by Scott C. Jones ................................................................. 669 Evans, Paul S., THE INVASION OF SENNACHERIB IN THE BOOK OF KINGS: A SOURCE-CRITICAL AND RHETORICAL STUDY OF 2 KINGS 18–19 Reviewed by Gordon Oeste ................................................................ 675 Ballhorn, Egbert, ISRAEL AM JORDAN: NARRATIVE TOPOGRAPHIE IM BUCH JOSUA Reviewed by Ernst Axel Knauf........................................................... 678 Linafelt, Tod, Claudia V. Camp, and Timothy Beal, (eds.), THE FATE OF KING DAVID: THE PAST AND PRESENT OF A BIBLICAL ICON Reviewed by Johannes Klein ............................................................... 681 George, Mark K., ISRAEL’S TABERNACLE AS SOCIAL SPACE Reviewed by A. J. Culp ......................................................................... 687 Crenshaw, James L., OLD TESTAMENT WISDOM: AN INTRODUCTION Reviewed by Ryan P. O’Dowd............................................................ 692 Meadors, Edward P., IDOLATRY AND THE HARDENING OF THE HEART: A STUDY IN BIBLICAL THEOLOGY Reviewed by Rob Barrett ..................................................................... 695 Fischer, Alexander Achilles, VON HEBRON NACH JERUSALEM: EINE REDAKTIONSGESCHICHTLICHE STUDIE ZUR ERZÄHLUNG VON KÖNIG DAVID IN II SAM 1–5 Reviewed by Jeremy M. Hutton .......................................................... 700 Tiemeyer, Lena Sofia, FOR THE COMFORT OF ZION: THE GEOGRAPHICAL AND THEOLOGICAL LOCATION OF ISAIAH 40–55 Reviewed by Mark Leuchter ................................................................ 720 Jindo, Job Y., BIBLICAL METAPHOR RECONSIDERED: A COGNITIVE APPROACH TO POETIC PROPHECY IN JEREMIAH 1–24 Reviewed by Paul Kang-Kul Cho ....................................................... 724

PREFACE The present publication includes all the articles and reviews published electronically in the Journal of Hebrew Scriptures vol. 11 (2011), all of which are accessible online at http://www.jhsonline.org. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures provides freely available, peer-reviewed articles related to the history of ancient Israel and its literature. By doing so, the Journal fulfills important academic needs, particularly in relation to the production and dissemination of scholarly contributions that are wellresearched, original, have high academic standards, and are susceptible of opening new avenues in the field. Because of its electronic format, the Journal also contributes to the establishment of new discursive interactions between scholars, and opens increased possibilities for scholars in (socalled) Third World countries, public libraries anywhere, graduate students and interested public. JHS’s authors and readers have come from different countries and, as such, the Journal contributes to a scholarly conversation that is not restricted by geographical boundaries. In addition, it is the policy of the Journal to promote not only contributions of established scholars, but also appropriate contributions of scholars in their first stages in the field. The Journal has grown substantially in the number of published contributions through the years, but it is still run in the main by volunteers. Konrad Schmid and Peter Altmann are the Review Editors for books published in “continental” Europe in any language except Spanish. Mark J. Boda serves as Review Editor for books published in North America or anywhere in the English speaking world. Maria-Teresa Ortega Monasterio is the Review Editor for books published in Spanish, whether in Spain or anywhere in the world. We thank the three review editors for all their work, which represents a major contribution to JHS. The editorial board of the Journal consists of Peter Altmann, Adele Berlin, Mark J. Boda, Philip R. Davies, Michael V. Fox, William K. Gilders, Gary N. Knoppers, Robert A. Kugler, Francis Landy, Niels Peter Lemche, Mark Leuchter, Oded Lipschits, Hanna Liss, John L. McLaughlin, Hindy Najman, Christophe Nihan, Scott B. Noegel, Saul M. Olyan, Maria-Teresa xiii

xiv

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Ortega Monasterio, Gary A. Rendsburg, Konrad Schmid, Gene M. Tucker and Jacob L. Wright. We thank them all for their continuous work with, and support, this Journal. We also thank occasional reviewers of submissions who have similarly contributed to keep the high standards of the journal, and often improved essays with their well-thought suggestions and comments. The regular publication of the Journal is supported by a grant of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) and is made possible by the work of many volunteers in different areas. It is impossible to name them all here, but in terms of technical production the contribution of Melanie Marvin (Dept. of History and Classics, Univ. of Alberta) is so prominent that she deserves a specific mention. We would like to thank also Karl Anvik at the University of Alberta who continues to provide technical support for JHS. Sonya Kostamo, with the help of Katie Stott, prepared the present manuscript. Finally, we would like to thank George Kiraz for publishing the printed version of JHS through Gorgias Press, for understanding the importance of maintaining the freely available electronic version of the journal, and for his own role in the development of open-access electronic academic journals. As we complete this preface and go over the many explicit thanks—and in our mind also over those that are implicit here, or minimally mentioned—we can only think of how well they reflect the basic fact that the continuous existence of this open access journal and its present publication in hard copy are the result of a work of love carried out by and through so many willing hands. Ehud Ben Zvi University of Alberta, General Editor, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Christophe Nihan University of Lausanne Associate General Editor, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures

ABBREVIATIONS AASF AASOR AAR AB ABD ABRL ACJS AcOr ADPV AJBI AJSR ANES ANET AnBib AnOr AOAT AOS AOT AOTC ArBib AS ASOR ASV ATD AuOr AUSS BA

Annales Academiae scientiarum fennicae Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research American Academy of Religion Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. 6 vols. New York, 1992 Anchor Bible Reference Library Annual of the College of Jewish Studies Acta orientalia Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Annual of the Japanese Biblical Institute Association for Jewish Studies Review Ancient Near Eastern Studies Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. 3d ed.; Princeton, 1969 Analecta biblica Analecta orientalia Alter Orient und Altes Testament American Oriental Series Apollos Old Testament Commentaries Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries The Aramaic Bible Assyriological Studies American School of Oriental Research American Standard Version Das Alte Testament Deutsch Aula orientalis Andrews University Seminary Studies Biblical Archaeologist xv

xvi BAR BASOR BBB BBET BBR BDB BEATAJ BETL BH BHS Bib BibInt BibOr BJRL BJS BS BKAT BN BR BSOAS B.T. BWANT BZ BZAR BZAW CAD CANE CBC

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Biblical Archaeology Review Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bonner biblische Beiträge Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie Bulletin for Biblical Research F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford, 1907 Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblical Hebrew Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Edited by K. Elliger and W. Rudolph. Stuttgart, 1983 Biblica Biblical Interpretation Biblica et orientalia Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Brown Judaic Studies Bibliotheca Sacra Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament. Edited by M. Noth and H. W. Wolff Biblische Notizen Biblical Research Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies Babylonian Talmud Beitrage zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago, 1956– Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. Edited by J. Sasson. 4 vols. New York, 1995 Cambridge Bible Commentary

ABBREVIATIONS CBOTS CBQ CBQMS CNEB CHANE ConBNT COS DCH DDD2

DJD DPV DSD EBH EI EEF ESV ETL FAT FB FOTL FRLANT FZPT GAT GKG GTJ HAHAT

xvii

Coniectanea Biblica Old Testament Series Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Cambridge Commentary on the New English Bible Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Coniectanea neotestamentica or Coniectanea biblica: New Testament Series Context of Scripture Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by D. J. A. Clines. Sheffield, 1993– Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by K. van der Toorn, B. Becking, and P. W. van der Horst. Second Extensively Revised Edition; Leiden/Grand Rapids, 1999. Sheffield, 1993– Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Deutsch Verein zur Erforschung Palsätinas Dead Sea Discoveries Early Biblical Hebrew Eretz Israel Egypt Exploration Fund English Standard Version Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forschung zur Bibel Forms of the Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Freiburger Zeitshrift für Philosophie und Theologie Gundrisse zum Alten Testament Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar. Edited by E. Kautzsch. Translated by A. E. Cowley. 2d. ed. Oxford, 1910 Grace Theological Journal W. Gesenius, F. Buhl, Hebräisches und aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament. Leipzig, 1915

xviii HALOT

HAR HAT HBS HCSB HeyJ HS HSS HSM HTR HTS HUCA IAA IBC ICC IDAM IEJ IES Int IOSCS JAAR JANES JANESCU JAOS JB JBL JBQ JCS JESHO JETS JHS JJS JNES JNSL

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Translated and edited under the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Leiden, 1994–1999 Hebrew Annual Review Handbuch zum Alten Testament Herder’s Biblical Studies Holman Christian Standard Bible Heythrop Journal Hebrew Studies Harvard Semitic Studies Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Theological Review Harvard Theological Studies Hebrew Union College Annual Israel Antiquities Authority International Bible Commentary International Critical Commentary Israel Department of Antiquities and Museums Israel Exploration Journal Israel Exploration Society Interpretation International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Journal of the American Academy of the Religion Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the American Oriental Society Jerusalem Bible Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish Bible Quarterly Journal of Cuneiform Studies Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages

ABBREVIATIONS JOTT JPS JQR JR JSem JSJSup JSOT JSOTSup JSPSup JSS JTS KAI KAT KBL KHC KJV KTU

LBH LCL LHBOTS LXX MH MSIA MT NAC NEAEHL

xix

Journal of Translation and Textlinguistics Jewish Publication Society Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Religion Journal of Semitics Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Kanaanäishe und aramäische Inschriften. H. Donner and W. Röllig. 2d ed. Wiesbaden, 1966–1969 Kommentar zum Alten Testament Koehler, L. and W. Baumgartner, Lexicon in Veteris Testamenti libros. 2d ed. Leiden, 1958 Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament King James Version Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. Edited by M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartín. AOAT 24/1. Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1976. 2d enlarged edition of KTU: The Cuneiform Alphabet Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani, and Other Places. Edited by M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartín. Münster, 1996 (= CTU) Late Biblical Hebrew Loeb Classical Library Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies Septuagint Mishnaic Hebrew Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University Masoretic Text New American Commentary The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Edited by E. Stern. 4 vols. Jerusalem, 1993

xx NEchtB NCB NCBC NIB NIBCOT NICOT NIDOTTE NIV NIVI NJB NJPS NJPSV NLT NRSV OBO ÖBS OG OIP OL OLA OLZ Or OTE OTG OTL OTS OTS OtSt PEQ PEF Proof QH RA RB REB

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES NeueEchterBibel New Century Bible New Century Bible Commentary The New Interpreter’s Bible New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis. Edited by W. A. VanGemeren. 5 vols. Grand Rapids, 1997 New International Version New International Version, Inclusive Language Edition New Jerusalem Bible Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures: The New JPS Translation According to the Traditional Hebrew Text New Jewish Publication Society Translation New Living Translation New Revised Standard Version Orbis biblicus et orientalis Österreichische biblische Studien Old Greek Oriental Institute Publications Old Latin Orientalia lovaniensia analecta Orientalistische Literaturzeitung Orientalia Old Testament Essays Old Testament Guides Old Testament Library Oudtestamentische Studiën Old Testament Studies Oudtestamentische Studiën Palestine Exploration Quarterly Palestine Exploration Fund Prooftexts Qumran Hebrew Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale Revue biblique Revised English Bible

ABBREVIATIONS RevExp RevQ RGG RIBLA RBL RSV SAAS SBAB SBL SBLDS SBLEJL SBLSCS SBLSP SBLSymS SBLWAW SBT SemeiaSt SHCANE SJOT SSN SubBi STDJ TA TBC TDOT ThStKr ThWAT TLZ TNIV TOTC TRE TRev

xxi

Review and Expositor Revue de Qumran Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart Revista de interpretación bíblica latino-americana Review of Biblical Literature Revised Standard Version State Archives of Assyria Studies Stuttgarter biblische Aufsatzbände Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and Its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World Studies in Biblical Theology Semeia Studies Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Studia semitica neerlandica Subsidia biblica Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Tel Aviv Torch Bible Commentary Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren. Grand Rapids, 1974– Theologische Studien und Kritiken Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testamentum. Edited by G. Botterweck and H. Ringgren. Stuttgart, 1970– Theologische Literaturzeitung Today’s NewInternational Version Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries Theologische Realenzyklopädie Theological Review

xxii TU TynBul UF VT VTSup WBC WMANT WTJ ZA ZABR ZAH ZAW ZBK ZDVP ZThK

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Texte und Untersuchungen Tyndale Bulletin Ugarit-Forschungen Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplements Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Westminster Theological Journal Zeitschrift für Assyriologie Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtgeschichte Zeitschrift für Althebraistik Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zürucher Bibelkommentare Zeitschrift desdeutschen Palästina-Vereins Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

ZECHARIAH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JEREMIAH 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH ELIE ASSIS BAR ILAN UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION Elsewhere I have claimed that Zechariah 8 is a digest and revision of the oracles of the first seven chapters of the book, recapitulating the prophecies that the prophet had previously expressed, sometimes by the use of quotations and similar wording, and sometimes by condensing the concept without resorting linguistically to the original oracle.1 In this article I will show that the first eight oracles of Zechariah 8 allude to Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption, Jeremiah 30–332 (one of which alludes to an oracle of rebuke by Jeremiah).3 The last two oracles of Zechariah 8 have no E. Assis, “Zechariah 8 as Revision and Digest of Zechariah 1–7,” JHS 10 (2010) article 15, 1–26. See also D. L. Petersen, Haggai, and Zechariah 1–8, A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1984), 123; M. R. Stead, The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8 (LHBOTS, 506; New York and London: T & T Clark, 2009), 230–231. 2 For Jeremiah 30–33 as a unit, see M. Biddle, “The Literary Frame Surrounding Jeremiah 30, 1 – 33, 26”, ZAW 100 (1988), 409–413; J. R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB, 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999), 97–98; Y. Hoffman, Jeremiah (Mikra Leyisra’el; vol. 2; Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem: Am Oved and Magnes, 2001), 567. On the growth of these chapters, see W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah Chapters 26–52 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989), 22–23. On the coherence and theology of Jeremiah 30–31 see A. van der Wal, “Themes from Exodus in Jeremiah 30–31,” M. Vervenne (ed.), Studies in the Book of Exodus: Redaction – Reception – Interpretation (BETL, 76; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 559–566; B. Becking, Between Fear and Freedom: Essays on the Interpretation of Jeremiah 30–31 (OtSt, 51; Leiden: Brill, 2004), esp. pp. 273–302. 3 Some connections between Zechariah and Jeremiah have been indicated by 1

1

2

ELIE ASSIS

parallels in Jeremiah, but have direct affinity with words of Second Isaiah.4 After demonstrating the affinity between the oracles in Zechariah and those in Jeremiah, I shall attempt to determine the chronological order of the oracles. For purposes of convenience when writing the analogies I refer to Jeremiah as an earlier source to Zechariah, in accordance with the way the Masoretic Text orders these prophets. After examining various findings, I examine the question of the historical background of the sources.

scholars. See W. A. M. Beuken, Haggai-Sacharja 1–8: Studien zur Überlieferungsgeschichte der Frühnachexilischen Prophetie (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1967), 176–177; A. Petitjean, Les oracles du Proto-Zacharie: Un programme de restauration pour la communauté juive après l’exil (Etudes bibliques; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1969), 373–374; 380; Sinclair identifies one layer that was added to the Book of Zechariah that shares close affinity to the prose sections of Jeremiah, and to Ezekiel. He includes in this group: 1:2–6; 7:11– 14; 7:8–10; 8:4–8; 8:14–17; 8:20–23. See L. A. Sinclair, “Redaction of Zechariah 1– 8”, BR 20 (1975), 36–47; esp. pp. 42–45. See also R. Mason, The Books of Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi (CBC; Cambridge: University Press, 1977), 69; Petersen, Haggai, and Zechariah 1-8, 309; J. E. Tollington, Tradition and Innovation in Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 (JSOTSup, 150; Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 205–206; Nurmela has offered the most comprehensive treatment of the allusions between Zechariah and other prophets. However, he did not notice all the allusions between Zech 8 and Jeremiah’s prophecies of restoration in chapters 30–33. Thus he did not conclude that Zechariah 8 heavily relies on those chapters of Jeremiah. R. Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue: Inner-Biblical Allusions in Zechariah 1–8 and 9–14 (Åbo: Åbo Akademis Förlag, 1996), 78–90. Boda demonstrated how deeply Zech 1:1–6, and 7:1–8:23 are rooted in the traditions of Jeremiah, especially to the Dtr prose sections of the Book. M. J. Boda, “Zechariah: Master Mason or Penitential Prophet”, R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds.), Yahwism After Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (Studies in Theology and Religion, 5; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003), 49–69. The most extensive treatment of the analogies between Zechariah 8 and Jeremiah 30–31, was carried out by Stead, The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8, 241–243. However, he mentioned analogies of Zechariah 8 only with Jeremiah 30–31. I will indicate further connections with Jeremiah 32–33. Stead’s main argument is that the parallels between Zechariah 8 and Jeremiah 30–31 reinforce the idea that stands behind parallels between Zechariah and Deuteronomy and Haggai. All these parallels in his opinion are meant to stress the theme of covenant between the people and God. 4 See also W. Rudolph, Haggai-Sacharja 1–8 - Sacharja 9–14 - Maleachi (KAT, 13; Gütersloh: Mohr, 1976), 152; Petersen, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8, 316–320; M. A. Sweeney, The Twelve Prophets, Volume Two (Berit Olam; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2000), 654.

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH

3

AFFINITIES BETWEEN ZECHARIAH 8:2–19 AND JEREMIAH The first of the ten oracles, Zech 8:2, is concerned with God’s jealousy for Jerusalem. In accordance with similar content in Zech 1:14–15 it refers to God’s wrath on the nations who have harmed Judah.5 ‫אתי ָלּה‬ ִ ֵּ‫דֹולה ִקנ‬ ָ ְ‫דֹולה וְ ֵּח ָמה ג‬ ָ ְ‫אתי ְל ִצּיֹון ִקנְ ָאה ג‬ ִ ֵּ‫ִקנ‬ I am jealous for Zion with great jealousy, and I am jealous for her with great wrath.

And in 1:14–15 the prophet says: ‫ וְ ֶק ֶצף גָ דֹול ֲאנִ י ק ֵֹּצף ִַעל ִַהגֹויִם‬.‫ירּושלִַ ם ּולְ ִצּיֹון ִקנְ ָאה גְ דֹולָ ה‬ ָ ִ‫אתי ל‬ ִ ֵּ‫ִקנ‬ ‫ִַה ִַש ֲאנִַ נִ ים ֲא ֶשר ֲאנִ י ָק ִַצ ְפ ִתי ְמ ָעט וְ ֵּה ָמה ָעזְ רּו לְ ָר ָעה‬ I am very jealous for Jerusalem and for Zion. And I am extremely angry with the nations that are at ease; for while I was only a little angry, they made the disaster worse.

These words of Zechariah are very similar to the words of consolation of Jeremiah in 32:37, except that in Jeremiah, God’s wrath was on Judah: ‫ּוב ֶק ֶצף גָ דֹול‬ ְ ‫ּוב ֲח ָמ ִתי‬ ִַ ‫ִהנְ נִי ְמ ִַק ְב ָצם ִמ ָכל ָה ֲא ָרצֹות ֲא ֶשר ִה ִַד ְח ִתים ָשם ְב ִַא ִפי‬ ‫וִַ ֲה ִשב ִֹתים ֶאל ִַה ָמקֹום ִַהזֶ ה וְ ה ִַֹש ְב ִתים ָל ֶב ִַטח‬ I am going to gather them from all the lands to which I drove them in my anger and my wrath and in great indignation; I will bring them back to this place, and I will settle them in safety.6

The second oracle, in Zech 8:3 describes the return of God to Jerusalem, that is also called “the mountain of the Lord of hosts,” “the city of truth,” and “the holy mountain.”

5 See also H. G. Mitchell, Haggai, Zechariah (ICC; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1912), 206; C. L. Meyers and E. M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 (AB, 25B; New York: Doubleday, 1987), 411; L. Redditt, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 84. See, however, R. Mason, Preaching the Tradition: Homily and Hermeneutics After Exile (Cambridge: University Press, 1990), 222–223. 6 In no prophetic book beside Jeremiah and Zechariah, is the term ‫קצף גדול‬ employed. Beside the occurrences above, it appears in Jer 21:5; Zech 1:15; 7:12. Outside the prophetic literature it occurs twice, in Deut 29:27; 2 Kgs 3:27.

4

ELIE ASSIS ‫רּוש ִַלם ִעיר ָה ֱא ֶמת וְ ִַהר‬ ָ ‫רּוש ָלם וְ נִ ְק ְר ָאה ְי‬ ָ ְ‫ִַש ְב ִתי ֶאל ִצּיֹון וְ ָש ִַכנְ ִתי ְבתֹוְך י‬ ‫יְ הֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות ִַהר ִַהק ֶֹדש‬ I will return to Zion, and will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem; Jerusalem shall be called the faithful city, and the mountain of the Lord of hosts shall be called the holy mountain.

These epithets for Jerusalem that come in the context of the return to the holy city are similar to those used for Jerusalem in Jer 31:22 [ET 31:23]: ‫בּותם‬ ָ ‫שּובי ֶאת ְש‬ ִ ‫ּוב ָע ָריו ְב‬ ְ ‫הּודה‬ ָ ְ‫אמרּו ֶאת ִַה ָד ָבר ִַהזֶ ה ְב ֶא ֶרץ י‬ ְ ֹ ‫עֹוד י‬ ‫ָיְב ֶר ְכָך יְהֹוָ ה נְ וֵּ ה ֶצ ֶדק ִַהר ִַהק ֶֹדש‬ Once more they shall use these words in the land of Judah and in its towns when I return their fortunes: “The Lord bless you, O abode of righteousness, O holy mountain!”7

While the Zechariah source talks of the return of God to Jerusalem, Jeremiah talks of the return of the people by God. The third oracle in Zech 8:4–5 prophesies the quality of life of the residents of Jerusalem: ‫רּוש ָלם וְ ִאיש‬ ָ ְ‫כֹה ָא ִַמר יְ הֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות עֹד יֵּ ְשבּו זְ ֵּקנִ ים ּוזְ ֵּקנֹות ִב ְרחֹבֹות י‬ ‫ ְּורחֹבֹות ָה ִעיר י ִָמלְ אּו יְלָ ִדים וִ ילָ דֹות ְמ ִַש ֲח ִקים‬.‫יָמים‬ ִ ‫ִמ ְש ִַענְ תֹו ְביָ דֹו ֵּמר ֹב‬ ‫יה‬ ָ ‫ִב ְרחֹב ֶֹת‬ Thus says the Lord of hosts: Old men and old women shall again sit in the streets of Jerusalem, each with staff in hand because of their great age. And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets.

In this description there are a number of motifs taken from Jer 30:18–19 ‫ּומ ְש ְכנ ָֹתיו ֲא ִַר ֵּחם וְ נִ ְבנְ ָתה ִעיר‬ ִ ‫יִַעקֹוב‬ ֲ ‫כֹה ָא ִַמר יְהֹוָ ה ִהנְ נִי ָשב ְשבּות ָא ֳה ֵּלי‬ ‫תֹודה וְ קֹול ְמ ִַש ֲח ִקים‬ ָ ‫ וְ יָ ָצא ֵּמ ֶהם‬.‫ִַעל ִת ָלּה וְ ִַא ְרמֹון ִַעל ִמ ְש ָפטֹו יֵּ ֵּשב‬ ‫וְ ִה ְר ִב ִתים וְ לֹא י ְִמ ָעטּו וְ ִה ְכ ִַב ְד ִתים וְ לֹא יִ ְצ ָערּו‬ For this analogy see also Stead, The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8, 241. Besides the two sources mentioned above, the expression ‫ הר קדש‬appears only in Dan 9:20. 7

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH

5

Thus says the Lord: I am going to restore the fortunes of the tents of Jacob, and have compassion on his dwellings; the city shall be rebuilt upon its mound, and the citadel set on its rightful site. Out of them shall come thanksgiving, and the sound of merrymakers )‫(משחקים‬. I will make them many, and they shall not be few; I will make them honored, and they shall not be disdained.8

This description also talks about the return of Judah to Jerusalem from captivity and the quality of life in the city which is expressed in terms of the number of the city’s citizens, as well as the life of gladness. The rare expression of people “making merry” [‫ ]משחקים‬also appears in Jer 31:3 [ET 31:4]: ‫תּולת יִ ְש ָר ֵּאל עֹוד ִַת ְע ִדי ֻת ִַפיִ ְך וְ ָיָצאת ִב ְמחֹול ְמ ִַש ֲח ִקים‬ ִַ ‫עֹוד ֶא ְבנֵּ ְך וְ נִ ְבנֵּ ית ְב‬ Again I will build you, and you shall be built, O virgin Israel! Again you shall take your tambourines, and go forth in the dance of the merrymakers )‫(משחקים‬.9

The fourth oracle of Zechariah, in 8:6 also relates to the oracles of redemption in Jeremiah: ‫ּיָמים ָה ֵּהם גִַ ם‬ ִ ‫כֹה ָא ִַמר יְ הֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות ִכי י ִָפלֵּ א ְב ֵּעינֵּ י ְש ֵּא ִרית ָה ָעם ִַהזֶ ה ִַב‬ ‫ְב ֵּעינִַ י ִי ָפלֵּ א נְ ֻאם יְ הֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות‬ Thus says the Lord of hosts: Even though it seems impossible to the remnant of this people in these days, should it also seem impossible to me, says the Lord of hosts?

Most commentators interpret this verse as a rhetorical question whose meaning is that nothing is too hard for God to do, including the redemption of the people – similar to what is said in Jer 32:17: ‫ית ֶאת ִַה ָש ִַמיִם וְ ֶאת ָה ָא ֶרץ ְבכ ֲֹחָך ִַהגָ דֹול‬ ָ ‫ֲא ָהּה ֲאד ֹנָי יְ הֹוָ ה ִהנֵּ ה ִַא ָתה ָע ִש‬ ‫ּובזְ ר ֲֹעָך ִַהנְ טּויָה לֹא י ִָפלֵּ א ִמ ְמָך ָכל ָד ָבר‬ ִ

For this analogy, see Mason, The Books of Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi, 69. The use of the word ‫ משחקים‬in this form is unique to Jeremiah and Zechariah. It appears also in Jer 15:17. In a different meaning and in the singular form the word is used in Hab 1:10. 8 9

6

ELIE ASSIS Ah Lord God! It is you who made the heavens and the earth by your great power and by your outstretched arm! Nothing is impossible for you.

See also Jer 32:27: ‫ֹלהי ָכל ָב ָשר ֲה ִמ ֶמנִ י י ִָפלֵּ א ָכל ָד ָבר‬ ֵּ ‫ִהנֵּ ה ֲאנִ י יְהֹוָ ה ֱא‬ See, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh; is anything impossible for me?10

The fifth oracle, Zech 8:7–8, is concerned with the ingathering of the exiles to Jerusalem, which follows the description in the second oracle of the entry of God there. With the return of God and the people to Jerusalem (in 8:7) the fifth oracle talks of the renewal of the covenantal relationship between God and the people in 8:8. The concept behind this oracle and its wording is based on Jeremiah’s prophecy of redemption, Jer 32:37–38.11 Zechariah 8:7–8

Jeremiah 32:37–38

‫מֹוש ִַיע ֶאת ִַע ִמי ֵּמ ֶא ֶרץ‬ ִ ‫ִהנְ נִ י‬

)3(

‫ּומ ֶא ֶרץ ְמבֹוא ִַה ָש ֶמש‬ ֵּ ‫ִמזְ ָרח‬

‫ִהנְ נִי ְמ ִַק ְב ָצם ִמ ָכל ָה ֲא ָרצֹות‬

)73(

‫ּוב ֲח ָמ ִתי‬ ִַ ‫ֲא ֶשר ִה ִַד ְח ִתים ָשם ְב ִַא ִפי‬ ‫ּוב ֶק ֶצף גָ דֹול‬ ְ

‫אתי א ָֹתם וְ ָש ְכנּו ְבתֹוְך‬ ִ ‫וְ ֵּה ֵּב‬

)3(

‫רּוש ָלם‬ ָ ְ‫י‬

‫וִַ ֲה ִשב ִֹתים ֶאל ִַה ָמקֹום ִַהזֶ ה‬

)73(

‫וְ ה ִַֹש ְב ִתים ָל ֶב ִַטח‬ ‫וְ ָהיּו ִלי ְל ָעם וִַ ֲאנִ י ֶא ְהיֶה ָל ֶהם‬ ‫אֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ֵּל‬

‫וְ ָהיּו ִלי ְל ָעם וִַ ֲאנִ י ֶא ְהיֶה ָל ֶהם‬ ‫אֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ֵּל‬

‫ּוב ְצ ָד ָקה‬ ִ ‫ֶב ֱא ֶמת‬ 7 I will save my people from the 37 See, I am going to gather them east country and from the west from all the lands to which I drove country; them in my anger and my wrath and in great indignation; 8 and I will bring them to live in I will bring them back to this place, 10 The connection between these sources was indicated by Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue, 78–79. 11 This is the conclusion of Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue, 80.

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH Jerusalem.

7

and I will settle them in safety.

They shall be my people and I will 38 They shall be my people, and I be their God, in faithfulness and in will be their God. righteousness. The word faithfulness in the context of the concept of the return to Zion appears also in Jer 32:41: ‫ּוב ָכל‬ ְ ‫אֹותם ּונְ ִַט ְע ִתים ָב ָא ֶרץ ִַהזֹאת ֶב ֱא ֶמת ְב ָכל ִל ִבי‬ ָ ‫יהם ְל ֵּה ִטיב‬ ֶ ‫וְ ִַש ְש ִתי ֲע ֵּל‬ ‫נִַ ְפ ִשי‬ I will rejoice in doing good to them, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.

The phase “They shall be my people, and I will be their God” appears twice more in the redemption chapters of Jeremiah to express the renewal of the covenantal relationship between the people and God, 30:22; and 30:25. The sixth oracle in 8:9–13 is concerned with the economic bounty of the people after the establishment of the Temple. Jeremiah also concerns himself with the abundance of the crop, though he does not connect it with the building of the Temple, Jer 31:4, 11, 13. Below I will relate to the difference between the two sources. The wording of the opening of the seventh oracle, Zech 8:14–17 is taken from Jer 32:37–42 as shown by the following table:12 Zechariah 8:14–15 Jeremiah 32:37–42 ‫כ ֹה ָא ִַמר יְהֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות ִַכ ֲא ֶשר‬ ‫ְב ִַה ְק ִציף‬

‫לָ ֶכם‬

‫לְ ָה ִַרע‬

)42(

‫ִכי כֹה ָא ִַמר יְ הֹוָ ה ִַכ ֲא ֶשר‬

)24(

‫זָ ִַמ ְמ ִתי‬

‫אתי ֶאל ָה ָעם ִַהזֶ ה ֵּאת ָכל‬ ִ ‫ֵּה ֵּב‬

‫ֲאב ֵֹּת ֶיכם א ִֹתי ָא ִַמר יְ הֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות‬

‫דֹולה ִַהזֹאת‬ ָ ְ‫ָה ָר ָעה ִַהג‬

:‫וְ לֹא נִ ָח ְמ ִתי‬ ‫יהם ֶאת ָכל‬ ֶ ‫ֵּכן ָאנ ִֹכי ֵּמ ִביא ֲע ֵּל‬ ‫ֵּכן ִַש ְב ִתי זָ ִַמ ְמ ִתי ִַבּיָ ִמים ָה ֵּא ֶלה‬

)41(

‫יהם‬ ֶ ‫ּטֹובה ֲא ֶשר ָאנ ִֹכי ד ֵֹּבר ֲע ֵּל‬ ָ ‫ִַה‬

‫רּוש ִַלם וְ ֶאת ֵּבית‬ ָ ‫יטיב ֶאת ְי‬ ִ ‫לְ ֵּה‬ ‫הּודה‬ ָ ְ‫י‬ :‫ִַאל ִת ָיראּו‬ 12 On

this analogy see Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue, 84–86.

8

ELIE ASSIS

‫וְ ֶאת ִי ְר ָא ִתי ֶא ֵּתן ִב ְל ָב ָבם‬

)24(

‫ְל ִב ְל ִתי סּור ֵּמ ָע ָלי‬ ‫יהם ְל ֵּה ִטיב‬ ֶ ‫וְ ִַש ְש ִתי ֲע ֵּל‬

)24(

‫אֹותם ּונְ ִַט ְע ִתים ָב ָא ֶרץ ִַהזֹאת‬ ָ ‫ּוב ָכל נִַ ְפ ִשי‬ ְ ‫ֶב ֱא ֶמת ְב ָכל ִל ִבי‬ 42 For thus says the Lord: For thus says the Lord of hosts: Just as I purposed to bring disaster upon you, when your Just as I have brought all this ancestors provoked me to wrath, great disaster upon this people, and I did not relent, says the Lord of hosts, so I will bring upon them all the so again I have purposed in these good fortune that I now days to do good to Jerusalem and promise them. to the house of Judah;

do not be afraid.

40 and

I will put the fear of me in their hearts, so that they may not turn from me. 41 I will rejoice in doing good to them, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.

The seventh oracle in Zechariah 8 is an oracle with a promise for the future. This is the only oracle in which a condition appears that good will befall the people if one behaves well toward his fellow man, though the condition also hints at its opposite – that if one does not behave well towards others, evil, and perhaps catastrophe, will befall the people. Therefore, it is reasonable to look for a parallel for this oracle outside of the collection of Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption. The seventh oracle in Zech 8:14–17 is based on the oracle of rebuke in Jer 9:1–7 [ET 9:3–8]. The subject of both oracles is the speaking of truth between man and his fellow and the avoidance of deceit and lies. The words “truth” and “lies” are keywords in both oracles, and in both the word “peace” occurs.

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH

Zechariah 8:16–17

Jeremiah 9:1–7 [ET 9:3–8]

‫) ֵּא ֶלה ִַה ְד ָב ִרים ֲא ֶשר ִַת ֲעשּו‬

41(

‫ִַד ְברּו ֱא ֶמת ִאיש ֶאת ֵּר ֵּעהּו ֱא ֶמת‬

‫וִַ ּיִַ ְד ְרכּו ֶאת ְלשֹונָ ם ִַק ְש ָתם‬

:‫ּומ ְש ִַפט ָשלֹום ִש ְפטּו ְב ִַש ֲע ֵּר ֶיכם‬ ִ ‫וְ ִאיש ֶאת ָר ִַעת ֵּר ֵּעהּו ִַאל‬

)43(

)4(

‫ֶש ֶקר וְ לֹא ֶל ֱאמּונָ ה‬ ‫ִאיש ֵּמ ֵּר ֵּעהּו ִה ָש ֵּמרּו וְ ִַעל ָכל‬

)7(

‫ּוש ֻב ִַעת ֶש ֶקר‬ ְ ‫ִַת ְח ְשבּו ִב ְל ִַב ְב ֶכם‬

‫ָאח ִַאל ִת ְב ָטחּו ִכי ָכל ָאח ָעקֹוב‬

‫ִַאל ֶת ֱא ָהבּו‬

:‫יִַ ְעקֹב וְ ָכל ֵּר ִַע ָר ִכיל י ֲִַהֹלְך‬ ‫יְה ֵּתלּו וֶ ֱא ֶמת לֹא‬ ָ ‫וְ ִאיש ְב ֵּר ֵּעהּו‬

)2(

‫יְ ִַד ֵּברּו ִל ְמדּו ְלשֹונָ ם ִַד ֶבר ֶש ֶקר‬ :‫ִַה ֲעוֵּ ה נִ ְלאּו‬ ‫ִש ְב ְתָך ְבתֹוְך ִמ ְר ָמה ְב ִמ ְר ָמה‬

)1(

...‫אֹותי נְ ֻאם יְ הֹוָ ה‬ ִ ‫ֵּמ ֲאנּו ִַד ִַעת‬ ‫) ֵּחץ ָשחּוט ְלשֹונָ ם ִמ ְר ָמה ִד ֵּבר‬

3(

‫אתי‬ ִ ֵּ‫ִכי ֶאת ָכל ֵּא ֶלה ֲא ֶשר ָשנ‬

‫ְב ִפיו ָשלֹום ֶאת ֵּר ֵּעהּו יְ ִַד ֵּבר‬

:‫נְ ֻאם יְ הֹוָ ה‬

:‫ּוב ִק ְרבֹו יָ ִשים ָא ְרבֹו‬ ְ

These are the things that you shall do: Speak the truth to one another, render in your gates judgments that are true and make for peace, 17 do not devise evil in your hearts against one another, and love no false oath; 16

2They

bows;

bend their tongues like

they have grown strong in the land for falsehood, and not for truth; for they proceed from evil to evil, and they do not know me, says the Lord.

9

10

ELIE ASSIS

3Beware

of your neighbors, and put no trust in any of your kin; for all your kin are supplanters, and every neighbor goes around like a slanderer. 4They

all deceive their neighbors, and no one speaks the truth; they have taught their tongues to speak lies; they commit iniquity and are too weary to repent. 7Their

tongue is a deadly arrow; it speaks deceit through the mouth. They all speak friendly words to their neighbors, but inwardly are for all these are things that I hate, planning to lay an ambush. says the Lord. In the eighth oracle, (8:19) the prophet prophesies that the fast days on which the people mourned the destruction of the Temple will become days of joy and gladness. ‫יעי וְ צֹום‬ ִ ‫ישי וְ צֹום ִַה ְש ִב‬ ִ ‫יעי וְ צֹום ִַה ֲח ִמ‬ ִ ‫כֹה ָא ִַמר יְהֹוָ ה ְצ ָבאֹות צֹום ָה ְר ִב‬ ‫ֹובים וְ ָה ֱא ֶמת‬ ִ ‫ּולמ ֲֹע ִדים ט‬ ְ ‫הּודה לְ ָששֹון ּולְ ִש ְמ ָחה‬ ָ ְ‫ָה ֲע ִש ִירי י ְִהיֶה ְל ֵּבית י‬ ‫וְ ִַה ָשלֹום ֱא ָהבּו‬ Thus says the Lord of hosts: The fast of the fourth month, and the fast of the fifth, and the fast of the seventh, and the fast of the tenth, shall be seasons of joy and gladness, and cheerful festivals for the house of Judah: therefore love truth and peace.

Jeremiah, of course, could not speak about these fast days before the Temple was destroyed, and therefore there is no parallel oracle. Nevertheless Zechariah’s vocabulary and promise that eventually there would be gladness are based on Jer 31:12: ‫יִַח ָדו וְ ָה ִַפ ְכ ִתי ֶא ְב ָלם ְל ָששֹון‬ ְ ‫ּוב ֻח ִרים ּוזְ ֵּקנִ ים‬ ִַ ‫תּולה ְב ָמחֹול‬ ָ ‫ָאז ִת ְש ִַמח ְב‬ ‫וְ נִ ִַח ְמ ִתים וְ ִש ִַמ ְח ִתים ִמיגֹונָ ם‬

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH 11 Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance, and the young men and the old shall be merry. I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.

A further parallel oracle can be found in Jer 33:11 ‫קֹול ָששֹון וְ קֹול ִש ְמ ָחה קֹול ָח ָתן וְ קֹול ִַכ ָלה קֹול א ְֹמ ִרים הֹודּו ֶאת יְ הֹוָ ה‬ ...‫ְצ ָבאֹות ִכי טֹוב‬ The voice of joy, and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom, and the voice of the bride, the voice of them that shall say, Praise the LORD of hosts: for the Lord is good…

PARALLEL BETWEEN ZECHARIAH 8: 20–23 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH The two last oracles in this group, the ninth and the tenth, 8:20–22 and 8:23 are concerned with the gentiles accompanying the Jews on their journey to Jerusalem in order to call on the Lord and implore His favor. These oracles emphasize the recognition by the gentiles of the Jews as the people of the Lord and the Lord as God, and Jerusalem as the place where God dwells. There is no parallel or similarity between these two oracles and the various prophecies of redemption in the Book of Jeremiah or anywhere else in the Book. However this subject is found in the words of the anonymous prophet whose prophecies appear in Isaiah 40–66.13 Isa 56:3 and 56:8 describe, as does Zechariah, the gentiles who accompany the Jews on their return to Jerusalem. The oracle in Isaiah promises these gentiles that they will be welcome in the House of God, that the Lord will make them glad, and their sacrifices and their prayers will be acceptable before God.14 This source refers to the gentiles attaching themselves to the Temple and community of God. The city of Jerusalem, which is mentioned explicitly as the destination of gentiles in Zechariah, is not mentioned in Isa 56:8 but is explicit in Isa 66:18–21. This source describes the coming of the gentiles to 13 See

above n. 4 On the topic of the temple in Jerusalem as a house of prayer for all peoples, see M. Greenberg, “A House of Prayer for All Peoples”, A. Niccacci (ed.), Jerusalem: House of Prayer for All Peoples in the Tree Monotheistic Religions, Proceedings of a Symposium Held in Jerusalem, February 17–18, 1997 (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 2001), 29–37. On the reliance of Zechariah on the material in Isaiah, see pp. 34–35. On this universalistic approach see D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), 385–386. 14

12

ELIE ASSIS

assemble on the Holy Mountain so as to see the Glory of the Lord in Jerusalem. A description of gentiles coming to the Temple in Jerusalem is also found in Isa 60:10–14 though the emphasis here is on their coming to serve in the Temple in Jerusalem. The gentiles’ recognition of and prayers to God, which occur at the end of Zechariah 8, are also found in Isa 45:14. A similar idea is found in Isa 2:1–4,15 and duplicated in Mic 4:1–3.16

EVALUATION OF THE FINDINGS We have seen, then, that the first eight oracles in Zech 8:2–19, are based on the ideas and vocabulary of Jeremiah, while the last two oracles, vv 20–23, have no parallel in Jeremiah, but correspond to oracles of the anonymous prophet in Isaiah 40–66. The date of the prophecies of redemption in Jeremiah 30–33, is disputed among scholars.17 It is not possible within the framework of this paper to review the vast amount of research that has been conducted on these chapters, but it can be stated that the prevalent opinion is that they were written after the events of 586 BCE, and not by Jeremiah himself.18 In 15 Mitchell, Haggai, Zechariah, 216. See also Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue, 87–90; H. G. M. Williamson, Isaiah 1–27 (ICC; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2006), 177. However it is a matter of dispute if the passages in Isa 2:1–4 and Mic 4:1–4 are original. On the question of the date of this prophecy, see the survey in: H. G. M. Williamson, Isaiah 1–27, 174–179. It is assumed by many that these passages are post-exilic. See A. Weiser, Das Buch der zwölf Kleinen Propheten, I (ATD, 24; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967), 263. Gray, emphasizes, that the allusion of Zech 8:20–22, to Isaiah 2 proves that the date of Isaiah 2 is not later than 520 BCE. See G. B. Gray, The Book of Isaiah (ICC; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1912), 44. Hillers believes that the prophecy was written in the 8 th century, see Hillers, Micah, 53. For the origin of the Zion tradition in the Davidic-Solomonic period, see J. J. M. Roberts, “The Davidic Origen of the Zion Tradition”, JBL 92 (1973), 329–344. For Jerusalem as a pilgrimage site for all nations see H. Wildberger, “Die Völkerwallfahrt zum Zion”, VT 7 (1957), 62–81. 16 For the relationship between Isa 2:2–4 and Mic 4:1–4, see H. Wildberger, Jesaja (BKAT, 10/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1980), 78–80. D. R. Hillers, Micah (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 51–53. Sweeney has claimed that the text in Zechariah is a citation of the Mican source, and deliberately differs from Isa 2:2–4. M. A. Sweeney, Form and Intertextuality in Prophetic and Apocalyptic Literature, (Tübingen: Mohr, 2005), 231. 17 For a detailed treatment of a scholarly debate see S. Böhmer, Heimkehr und neuer Bund: Studien zu Jeremia 30–31 (GTA, 5; Göttingen 1976), 11–20; W. McKane, Jeremiah, vol. II (ICC; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1996), clvii–clxiii. 18 T. M. Raitt, A Theology of Exile: Judgment/Deliverance in Jeremiah and Ezekiel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977), 110–112.

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH 13 the opinion of Carroll, for instance, it is hard to suppose that Jeremiah, who prophesied the complete destruction of the city, could make such a complete volte-face and also prophesy the redemption of the people and the city of Jerusalem.19 However, I do not see why one prophet should not speak both of the destruction of the Temple on account of sins being committed at the present, while also prophesying redemption in the future, believing the destruction to be of a temporary nature.20 It may be assumed that the prophet did not intend to prophesy the total destruction of the people, but rather a temporary destruction. It is also possible that Jeremiah himself authored these prophecies of redemption after the destruction. Some scholars hold that the affinity between these chapters and the oracles of Deutero-Isaiah, is further reason for a late dating of Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption.21 Other scholars are of the opinion that Deutero-Isaiah is later than the Book of Jeremiah and quotes from it.22 I will demonstrate how the affinity between Zechariah 8 and Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption supports the assumption that Deutero-Isaiah refers to material in Jeremiah, and that in the discussions on the dating of Jeremiah 30–33 scholars did not take into account their affinity with Zechariah 8.23 In order to understand the way Zechariah 8 uses Jeremiah’s work it is necessary also to examine what topics of redemption in Jeremiah are absent in Zechariah. Another issue to be addressed is the idea behind the affinities between the universal prophecies in Zech 8:20–23 and their parallels in R. Carroll, The Book of Jeremiah, A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1986), 569. Carroll is of the opinion that the oracles in Jer 30–33 were composed by anonymous writers from the exilic or postexilic times. See Carroll, Jeremiah, 569. For the various opinions as to the time of Jeremiah 30–33, see McKane, Jeremiah, clvii–clxiv. 20 See S. R. Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament (Cleveland: Meridian Books, 1956), 261. 21 See D. B. Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia (KHC, XI; Tübingen und Leipzig: Mohr, 1901), 240; Carroll, Jeremiah, 578. J. Lust, “‘Gathering and Return’ in Jeremiah and Ezekiel”, P.-M. Bogaert, et. al (eds.), Le livre de Jérémie (BETL, 54; Leuven: University Press, 1981), 119–142 (132–133). 22 See e.g. Driver, Introduction; J. R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36, (AB, 21B; New York: Doubleday, 2004), 390; J. A. Thompson, The Book of Jeremiah (NICOT; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans), 557. This possibility is also raised and not rejected by W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1989), 156. P. Tull Willey, Remember the Former Things: The Recollection of Previous Texts in Second Isaiah (SBLDS, 161; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 273–279. 23 Stead, The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8, 242–243. 19

14

ELIE ASSIS

Second Isaiah. Can the absence of prophecies of this type in Jeremiah be explained? The dependence of Zechariah on the pre-exilic prophets stems first and foremost from the fact that Zechariah wanted to impress on his audience the message that he is continuing in the steps of the classical prophets, which he refers to as “the Former Prophets.”24 Zechariah’s perception that he was continuing in the path of the Former Prophets is mentioned explicitly in 1:4–6 and 7:4–14. Four times in these verses Zechariah refers to the prophets who preceded him, and each time summarizes their rebukes and directs similar rebukes to the people of his own generation, together with a veiled threat that if they copy the behavior of their ancestors their fate is likely to be similar to theirs. So as to strengthen this assertion, Zechariah uses, throughout his prophecies, the messages used by the Former Prophets together with their style and even direct quotations from their words. Indeed, the continuity created between Zechariah and Jeremiah leads Boda to the conclusion that Zechariah is a ‘Second Jeremiah’.25 Apart from this, Zechariah wanted to convey to his audience that Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption were in the process of fulfillment.26 A further dimension can be added to this concept. Jeremiah is primarily identified as a prophet of doom, whose prophecies of woe and calamity were fulfilled. To this same prophet were also ascribed prophecies of redemption. Zechariah’s allusions to Jeremiah were also designed to strengthen the belief of his audience in his own prophecies of redemption. Zechariah uses the latent claim that if Jeremiah’s prophecies of woe were fulfilled, now it must also be believed that his prophecies of redemption will also come to pass. Therefore, Zechariah, the majority of whose prophecies are prophecies of redemption, is seeking to assure the trustworthiness of his words by basing them on those of Jeremiah. The need to reinforce the credibility of the words of the prophet stems primarily from the fact that the strong expectations of the people had not been realized (indeed there is evidence that Zechariah had to prove his credibility, see Zech 2:13, 15; 4:9; 24 See also A. Petitjean, Les oracles du Proto-Zacharie, 441. For analogies between Zechariah and pre-exilic prophecy see Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue, 39–103; Stead, The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8, 2–6. 25 M. J. Boda, “Zechariah: Master Mason or Penitential Prophet?,” R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds.), Yahwism after the Exile : Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era, Papers read at the First meeting of the European Association for Biblical Studies, Utrecht, 6–9 August 2000 (Studies in theology and religion, 5; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003), 66. 26 On this subject see Stead, The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8, 261–262.

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH 15 6:15). It should be noted that Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption are prophecies of the future. In a similar way Zechariah’s prophecies are also prophecies of the future. In this way the prophet seeks to establish that although Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption have not yet been realized, they have not changed, and their fulfillment in the future should still be anticipated, in Zechariah’s new wording. Despite Zechariah’s attempt to present himself as Jeremiah’s successor and his prophecies as having a similar import to those of Jeremiah, it is evident that there are significant differences between the two prophets. These are the result of different historical circumstances. The first difference is between the attitude of Zechariah to prosperity in the sixth oracle of chapter 8 vv 9–13 as opposed to the parallels of this oracle in Jer 31:4, 11. It can be seen here that although Zechariah draws from Jeremiah’s prophecy he updates it. Prior to the Destruction no prophet had made prosperity dependent on the building of the Temple, but rather on the performance of God’s commandments. Haggai is the first prophet to make the connection between economic prosperity and the building of the Temple; Zechariah here is following his example.27 These prophets made economic prosperity dependent on the building of the Temple in order to strengthen its status that was being undermined by the people. This is a good example of how the prophet worked: he hinted at the words of Jeremiah, but changed them and added to them to fit the circumstances of his times. If Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption were composed after the exile it might well be possible to find a similar connection between economic prosperity and the reconstruction that we find in Haggai and Zechariah. Such a connection exists also in Ezek 47:12. A much more significant subject that differentiates between Jeremiah and Zechariah is their treatment of the Davidic monarchy. In Jer 30:9 there is a clear and explicit promise that the monarchy will be renewed: “But they shall serve the Lord their God, and David their king, whom I will raise up 27 On

this topic see G. A. Anderson, Sacrifices and Offerings in Ancient Israel: Studies in their Social and Political Importance (HSM, 41; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987, 102– 104; V. A. Hurowitz, I have Built You An Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOTSup, 115; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), 322–323; M. J. Boda, “From Dystopia to Myopia: Utopian (Re)visions in Haggai and Zechariah 1–8,” E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature (PFES, 92; Helsinki and Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society and Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 211–248, esp. 240–247; E. Assis, “The Temple in the Book of Haggai”, JHS 8/19 (2008), 1–10, available online at http://www.jhsonline.org and reprinted in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives in Hebrew Scriptures V (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2009).

16

ELIE ASSIS

for them.” The renewal of the monarchy is not referred to in this way in Zechariah 1–8, and especially in chapter 8, which summarizes the oracles of the previous chapters. Jeremiah 33:15–17 also refers to the return of the Davidic monarchy: “In those days, and at that time, will I cause a righteous Branch to spring forth for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days shall Judah be saved, and Jerusalem will dwell securely; and this is the name by which it will be called: ‘the Lord is our righteousness’. For thus says the Lord: David shall never lack a man to sit on the throne of the house of Israel.” Zech 3:8 also makes reference to ‘the Branch of David’: “Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, you and your friends who sit before you; for they are men of good omen: behold, I will bring forth My servant the Branch.” It is also cited in Zech 6:12–13: “and say to him, ‘Thus says the Lord of hosts, Behold, a man whose name is the Branch, for he shall grow up in his place, and he shall build the temple of the Lord. It is he who shall build the temple of the Lord, and shall bear the royal honour, and shall sit and rule upon his throne. And there shall be a priest by his throne, and peaceful understanding shall be between them both.” Some scholars are of the opinion that the “Branch” in Zechariah is not Zerubbabel.28 The prevalent view is that these oracles reflect Zechariah’s understanding that Zerubbabel is a descendant of David who will fulfil the prophecies of the earlier prophets, in particular those of Jeremiah, and will sit on the Davidic throne.29 Although I agree with the opinion of many 28 Baker believes that Zemah refers to Joshua the high priest. M. Baker, “The Two Figures in Zechariah,” HeyJ 18 (1977), 38–46. Bič believes that Zemah refers to an eschatological messiah, see M. Bič, Die Nachtgesichte des Sacharja: Eine Auslegung von Sacharja 1–6 (Biblische Studien, 42; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1964), 38. Rudolph believes that Zechariah at first thought that Zerubbabel was to take the throne, but when Zechariah realized Zerubbabel’s failure he thought that one of his descendents would fulfill the expectations of the renewal of the line of David. See Rudolph, Haggai-Sacharja 1–8, 130–131. According to Tollington and Rose “Zemah” is not identified with Zerubbabel, but a future figure, see Tollington, Tradition and Innovation, 144–145, 172; Rose, Zemah and Zerubbabel, 248– 249. 29 S. Mowinckel, He That Cometh (trans. G. W. Anderson; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1956), 120–121. R. Ackroyd, Exile and Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century BC (London: SCM Press, 1968), 190; Carroll, When Prophecy Failed, 163; Mitchell, Haggai, Zechariah, 104; A. Laato, Josiah and David Redivivus: The Historical Josiah and the Messianic Expectations of Exilic and Postexilic Times (ConBOT, 33; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1992), 231–259. According to Laato, Zechariah, like Haggai, reflects the people’s expectations that Zerubabbel is the Davidic leader that Jeremiah and Ezekial predicted. However, when these

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH 17 scholars who hold that the “Branch” is Zerubbabel, nowhere does Zechariah speak explicitly of the restoration of the House of David. Nowhere in the Book of Zechariah and not even in the Book of Haggai is Zerubbabel called “king.” Although Haggai prophesies about Zerubbabel he does not mention that he is a descendant of David, and does not speak explicitly of the monarchy (Hag 2:20–23).30 Admittedly Zechariah uses royal vocabulary, as Boda has convincingly demonstrated.31 I accept the opinion that Zechariah speaks about Zerubbabel sitting on the royal throne, 6:12– 13: “Thus says the Lord of hosts: Here is a man whose name is Branch: for he shall branch out in his place, and he shall build the temple of the Lord. It is he that shall build the temple of the Lord; he shall bear royal honor, and shall sit and rule on his throne. There shall be a priest by his throne, with peaceful understanding between the two of them.”32 However, his position as king is weakened not only because kingship is not specifically mentioned, but also because, for the first time in biblical literature, a priest will sit on a throne beside the king.33 Moreover, the main royal task mentioned is the future building of the temple.34 One may argue that these prophets refrained from speaking explicitly about the Davidic kingship as long as Judea was a weak province under the rule of the Persian monarchy. However, this cannot explain why Haggai or Zechariah do not mention any affinity between Zerubbabel and David, or refer to him specifically as a scion of the House of David.35 expectations dashed, the prophecies about Zerubbabel in Zechariah were reinterpreted as the coming of a future Messiah. For a similar position see J. J. M. Roberts “The Old Testament’s Contribution to Messianic Expectations”, J. H. Charlesworth, et. al. (eds.), The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1992), 39–51, esp. 50; M. J. Boda, “Oil, Crowns and Thrones: Prophet, Priest and King in Zechariah 1:7–6:15,” JHS 3/10 (2001) available at http://www.jhsonline.org and republished in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives in Hebrew Scriptures (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2006), 379–404. 30 See also, W. H. Rose, Zemah and Zerubbabel: Messianic Expectations in the Early Postexilic Period (JSOTSup, 304; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000, 249–250. 31 See Boda, “Oil, Crowns and Thrones: Prophet, Priest and King in Zechariah 1:7–6:15.” 32 See also Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, 275–278; M. H. Floyd, Minor Prophets, Part Two (FOTL, 22; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2000), 406–407; Boda, “Oil, Crowns and Thrones: Prophet, Priest and King in Zechariah 1:7–6:15,” 18 and n. 55. 33 Mitchell, Haggai, Zechariah, 188. 34 Mason is right when he comments that Zerubbabel is called to build the temple like David and Solomon. Mason, Preaching the Tradition, 209–210. 35 See also Tollington, Tradition and Innovation, 144; See also Miller and Hayes

18

ELIE ASSIS

In view of the explicit mention by Jeremiah of the ‘Branch’ as a descendant of David, who will sit on his throne, and in view of the many affinities between Zechariah and Jeremiah, the contrast between the two on this subject is significant. The difference in the way Zechariah and Jeremiah relate to the Davidic monarchy is based on the different circumstances in the two periods in which these two prophets functioned. If we accept the assumption that Jeremiah prophesied about ‘the Branch of David’ prior to the exilic period, but after he had prophesied the devastation of the country and the fall of the Davidic monarchy, it can be understood why he also prophesied the renewal of the monarchy as part of the future redemption. However, it would seem that by the days of Zechariah, the hope that the monarchy would be restored was recognized as being unrealistic, and so in Zechariah 1–6, the prophet speaks of ‘the Branch’ but does not reiterate Jeremiah’s prophecy of the restoration of the monarchy, nor is there a mention of David.36 It seems to me that Zechariah 8 was composed later than who note “If Zerubbabel had been a member of the Davidic family line, it seems almost unbelievable that neither Ezra. Nehemiah, Haggai, nor Zechariah noted this”. In their opinion Zerubbabel was not from the line of David, but was regarded so only by the Chronicler, in order to maintain continuity of the Davidic leadership. Cf. J. M. Miller and J. H. Hayes, A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (London: SCM Press, 1986), 456. I think that he was a descendent of David; however, indeed these sources do not indicate that in line with the realization that he will not be a monarchic ruler. See also K. E. Pomykala, The Davidic Dynasty Tradition in Early Judaism: Its History and Significance for Messianism (SBLEJL, 7; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), 46–53. 36 Many scholars make the claim that Zechariah initially predicted Zerubbabel to be the heir of the Davidic kingship, but after this hope was disappointed, Zechariah abandoned this idea and replaced it by other more realistic hopes. Some think that priesthood was perceived as the royal Messiah. See, for instance, J. Wellhausen, Sketch of the History of Israel and Judah (3rd ed., London: A. & C. Black, 1891), 129. Against the understanding that the hope for the renewal of the house of David was transferred to priesthood, see recently A. R. Petterson, Behold Your King: The Hope for the House of David in the Book of Zechariah (LHBOTS, 513; New York and London: T & T Clark, 2009), 46–62. In his opinion, looking at the book of Zechariah in its final form demonstrates the Messianic hope through a Davidic king. See the conclusion of the book, pp. 246–252. Carroll points out that Zechariah 1–8 demonstrates the failure of Zerubbabel, and that Zechariah 9–14 was added later in order demonstrate the future hope for a renewal of the house of David (9:9; 12:7– 9, 10–14; 13:1, while other passages claim that in the future God would be king. See R. Carroll, When Prophecy Failed: Reactions and Responses to Failure in the Old Testament Prophetic Traditions (London: SCM Press, 1979), 162–171.

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH 19 Zechariah 1–7, when Zerubbabel had already disappeared from the scene. In chapter 8, that repeats some main ideas of chapters 1–7, even the notion of the return of ‘the Branch’ is not found. This discussion also has implications for dating Jeremiah 33:14–26. It is more difficult for those scholars who date these verses as late as the postexilic period to explain a prophecy of the restoration of the Davidic monarchy at a time when this seems far beyond the realm of possibility.37 As we have seen many scholars are of the opinion that at first Zechariah thought that Zerubbabel would be king and would sit on the throne of David, and later, when this hope failed to materialize, the oracles of Zechariah were rewritten. If this is indeed the case, it is necessary to ask how was it that in the Masoretic Text of Jeremiah exactly the opposite had taken place, and an extra oracle, on the renewal of David’s monarchy, was actually added to it. This all leads to the conclusion that these verses of Jeremiah were in fact written prior to the events of 586 BCE, and by Jeremiah himself.38 We can now offer an explanation why Jer 33:14–26 is absent from the Septuagint. In the same way that many scholars claim that Zechariah was rewritten once it became clear that Zerubbabel was not ‘the Branch’ of the House of David and would not sit on David’s throne, one can understand the change that took place in the Hebrew vorlage of the Septuagint to Jeremiah 33. Assuming that the wording of the Masoretic Text was composed prior to 586 BCE, it is understood that the promise concerning the royal House of David is to be found in it. If indeed we 37 For those who consider 33:14–26, as a postexilic addition see C. H. Cornill, Das Buch Jeremia (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1905), 359; Volz, Der Prophet Jeremia (KAT, 10; Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1928), 314–316; W. Rudolph, Jeremia (HAT; Tübingen: Mohr, 1968), 217; Holladay, Jeremiah, vol. 2, 228–230; Carroll, Jeremiah, 637. The claim that Jer 33:14–26 is post-exilic is problematic, as this text is so explicit about the restoration of the Davidic monarchy. In an extensive treatment, Mark Leuchter finds arguments for a composition prior to the 586 BCE events, and even for Jeremianic authorship. However he also points to some later signs in the text, especially in vv 19–22. He thus suggests a more complicated process of composition. See M. Leuchter, The Polemics of Exile in Jeremiah 26–45 (Cambridge: University Press, 2008), 72–81. 38 This opinion is held by E. Tov, “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah”, P.-M. Bogaert, et. al (eds.), Le livre de Jérémie (BETL, 54; Leuven: University Press, 1981) 145–167 (154); J. Unterman, From Repentance to Redemption: Jeremiah’s Thought in Transition (JSOTSup, 54; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1987), 144; Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36, 542; and defended by Pomykala, The Davidic Dynasty Tradition in Early Judaism: Its History and Significance for Messianism, 42–44. See also Sweeney, Form and Intertextuality, 107–122.

20

ELIE ASSIS

accept that the Septuagint came subsequently, the translator (or the author of the Hebrew vorlage of the Septuagint) erased the prophecy concerning the House of David, thereby also reducing the emphasis on the House of David in the oracles of Zechariah. I have now touched on the central idea that appears in Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption that is absent from Zechariah 8. On the other hand it is evident that in Zechariah 8 there is another basic idea which has no parallel in Jeremiah. All of the first eight oracles are based on parallel oracles in Jeremiah 30–33. However, as we have said, the ninth and tenth oracles in Zechariah 8, talk about gentiles joining the Jews in their pilgrimage to Jerusalem, with the intention of beseeching the Lord there, and recognizing the Judeans as the people of God. There is no mention whatsoever in Jeremiah of these concepts that are parallels of oracles in Second Isaiah. The subject of the mixing of Jews and gentiles, whether with a positive or a negative connotation, begins specifically in the exilic and post-exilic literature.39 In the Books of Ezra, Nehemiah and Malachi we find opposition to inter-marriage (Ezra 9–10; Neh 9:1–3; 10:28; 13; Mal 2:10–16). In Second Isaiah, and in Zechariah, we find, on the other hand, a positive attitude to the mingling of Jews with gentiles. Both the positive and negative aspects are the result of the mixing of Jews among gentiles in exile after the events of 586 BCE. As a consequence the prophets and the leaders of the people were obliged to turn their attention to this matter. The prophets were aware of the latent problem of the negative influence of gentiles on Jews through inter-marriage, but we also find that in this assimilation there were those who saw the realization of the ideal of the propagation of the name of God among the gentile nations. Living in the reality of his time Zechariah struggled with this problem, but found no relevant material in the work of Jeremiah from which he quotes a great deal, and so he adopted the universal stance from Second Isaiah. It is evident that Zechariah used his sources in a sophisticated way, adjusting the words of his predecessors to the circumstances of the period in which he lived. Returning now to Jeremiah, we can perhaps understand why his prophecies of redemption contain no universal orientation. If Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption were created during the exilic or post-exilic periods, as many scholars hold (see above), we might have expected to see The difference between the universalistic attitude during the first temple period as an utopian ambition versus the universalistic approach as a realistic one during the restoration period see M. Weinfeld, “Universalistic and Particularistic Trends During the Exile and Restoration,” M. Weinfeld, Normative and Sectarian Judaism in the Second Temple Period, London and (New York: T & T Clark, 2005), 251–266. 39

ZECH 8 AND ITS ALLUSIONS TO JER 30–33 AND DEUTERO-ISAIAH 21 the sort of universal approach that we find in Second Isaiah and Zechariah. Or we might have expected to see the opposite approach, such as we find in Ezra and Nehemiah. But it is difficult to understand why the subject finds no expression in Jeremiah if his prophecies were created after 586 BCE. But if we accept the position that the tidings of redemption belong to the period prior to the Destruction, it becomes understandable, since Jeremiah never experienced the mingling of the Jews among the gentiles in the exile, with its ramifications, and so he never needed to make any sort of pronouncement on this subject. We can therefore conclude that Zechariah 8 borrowed heavily from Jeremiah 30–33, though Zechariah adjusted the words of his predecessor and updated them to fit the period in which he lived. And so the tone of the renewal of the Davidic monarchy, which is a key subject in Jeremiah’s prophecies of redemption, is expressed in a more subtle way, in all probability because it seemed to be very removed from the new reality. On the other hand, Zechariah had to relate to the subject of the influence of the Jews on the gentiles, or vice versa, as indeed Second Isaiah did, though this subject was beyond Jeremiah’s vision in the pre-exilic period.40

40 I

thank Michael Avioz, Mark Boda, and Rimon Kasher for reading this article and for their valuable comments.

“SOME WORTHLESS AND RECKLESS FELLOWS”: LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES BRIAN R. DOAK HARVARD UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION This essay is an attempt to explore certain aspects of three provocative tales in the book of Judges—the rise to power of Abimelek in ch. 9 and Jephthah in ch. 11, and the actions of the landless Danites in ch. 18—and to interpret these stories in light of what evidence we possess regarding the existence of so-called habiru1 groups in the 2nd millennium BCE and in light of some anthropological theory regarding the behavior of “parasocial” bands in the formation of (at least) short-term political and military structures in the For the sake of standardization and convenience, I have rendered this term as “habiru” throughout the essay. The nature of the cuneiform script could produce various permutations of this term, and thus possible readings include ‘abiru, ‘apiru, ḥabiru, ḥapiru, ḫabiru, and ḫapiru (in Akk. cuneiform, ḫ could represent three distinct guttural sounds, ḥ, ḫ, and ‘, and the ab sign could also be read as ap). Although some Egyptian and Ugaritic evidence suggests that the second consonant was a “p” and the first letter was an ‘ayin (thus, ‘apiru), Bottéro (“Ḫabiru,” RLA 4, [1972], 14–27) points to several instances where the cuneiform can only be rendered as ḫabiru. All lines of argumentation in this regard have been met with opposition, and there is currently no consensus on the spelling or etymology of the term. See M. Salvini, The Ḫabiru Prism of King Tunip–Teššup of Tikunani (Roma: Istituti editoriali e poligrafici internazionali, 1996), 10–11; M. Greenberg, The Ḫab/piru (AOS, 39; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1955), 2–11; O. Loretz, Ḫabiru - Hebräer: eine sozio–linguistische Studie über die Herkunft des Gentiliziums ‘ibrî vom Appelativum habiru (BZAW 160; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1984), 18–88; N. P. Lemche, “Habiru, Hapiru,” ABD vol. 3, ed. D. N. Freedman (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 6–7; W. H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40 (AB, 2A; New York: Doubleday, 2006), 748. 1

23

24

BRIAN R. DOAK

Near East.2 The preponderance of ideological readings of Judges in the last 20 years may leave one with the mistaken impression that the book has value only as a kind of cultural or theological foil, meant to demonstrate the disastrous results of violence and power in a “backwards” ancient context.3 As stimulating as these studies are, commentators have sometimes ignored important historical and anthropological data embedded within the book of Judges’ depiction of certain figures and institutions, which, despite their overtly theological and legendary coloring in the present form of the book, provide a glimpse into the chaotic world of a nation in the process of political and social stabilization.4 In this study, therefore, I argue that the presentation of bands of mercenaries, brigands, landless groups, and the careers of some preI borrow the category of the “parasocial” leader from the Assyriologist M. B. Rowton, the meaning of which is discussed in detail below. 3 See, e.g., M. Bal, Death & Dissymmetry: The Politics of Coherence in the Book of Judges (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1988); R. Ryan, Judges (Readings: A New Biblical Commentary; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 1997); B.G. Webb, The Book of Judges: An Integrated Reading (JSOTSup 45; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987). For a collection of studies on narrative criticism, deconstructive, structuralist, postcolonial, and gendered reading of Judges, see the essays in Judges & Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies, 2nd edition, ed. G. A. Yee (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), and for a study on the reception history of the book in medieval and modern periods, see D. M. Gunn, Judges (Blackwell Bible Commentaries; Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2005). 4 In general, I follow those who, like J. A. Hackett (“‘There Was No King in Israel’. The Era of the Judges,” in The Oxford History of the Biblical World, ed. M. D. Coogan [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998], 132–64) and S. Niditch in her new commentary (Judges [OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008], 6– 8), take the book of Judges seriously as an historical source for pre-monarchic Israel. See also the cautious comments of B. Tidiman in Le Livre des Juges (Vaux-surSeine: Édifac, 2004), 22–25, 33–39, and the still useful, though somewhat dated, studies in Judges, Vol. III of The World History of the Jewish People, ed. B. Mazar, esp. 129–63, and also J. A. Soggin, Judges (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1981), 169, who thinks that the story of Abimelek in 9:1–6 contains “important historical information.” Other scholars still deeply concerned with history may, of course, not see the book of Judges as (primarily) preserving accurate memories of the premonarchic period; cf. T. Römer, The So–Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 136, where Römer asserts that the period of the Judges “is nothing other than a literary invention of the Deuteronomic school,” and M. Brettler, The Book of Judges, (Old Testament Readings; London: Routledge, 2002), where the book is read as a political tract in favor of the Davidic kingship. 2

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

25

monarchic leaders have instructive parallels with what we know (or may surmise) regarding the activities of habiru-like bands in the Amarna letters, the Idrimi inscription, and other texts, and that the activities of such groups in Syria-Palestine at the close of the 2nd millennium are reflected in the narrative of the book of Judges.5 It would be something of an For a strong denial of the continuity between habiru and Hebrew, see A. Rainey’s reviews of N. K. Gottwald, The Tribes of Yahweh, and O. Loretz, Ḫabiru– Hebräer, both in JAOS 107 (1987), 541–43 and 539–41, respectively. Rainey’s more recent statements on the topic appear in “Whence Came the Israelites and Their Language?,” IEJ 57 (2007), 41–64 and “Shasu or Habiru: Who Were the Early Israelites?,” BAR 34/6 (2008), where Rainey asserts that the habiru-Hebrew connection is “silly,” and the result of “absurd mental gymnastics” by “wishful thinkers who tend to ignore the reality of linguistics.” Rainey’s basic linguistic critique, which seems perfectly valid as far as it goes, is that the only possible root for the 2nd millennium term is *’-p-r, and the lack of elision of v2 in the cuneiform examples demonstrates either v1 or v2 was long, thus nullifying the supposed development of the stative *’abiru > ‘ēber, ‘ibrî (on analogy with Arab. malik, Phoen. milk, Akk. malku/maliku, pl. malkū); as Rainey points out, this linguistic argument had already been made by Borger in 1958. See Rainey’s review of Loretz, 541. Cf. F. M. Cross, From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), 69 n. 57. One may, of course, sidestep the linguistic issue by arguing that either the term “Hebrew” is some kind of uniquely (or imperfectly) derived form of the word habiru that does not adhere to certain rules of consonant change, or that the terms existed simultaneously in Palestine in such a way as to facilitate their conflation on a social level. The term “Hebrew” (‫ם‬/‫ )עברי‬appears 34 times in the HB, in 32 different verses (if one accepts Na’aman’s emendation for 2 Sam 20:14, then 35x in 33 verses; see his “Ḫabiru and Hebrews: The Transfer of a Social Term to the Literary Sphere,” in idem, Canaan in the Second Millennium B.C.E. [Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005], 262–69); eighteen times in speaking of “the Hebrews” in the mouths of foreigners (always Egyptians or Philistines), or spoken by “Hebrews” as a self-identification to foreigners, or by the narrator in the context of identifying Hebrews vis-à-vis foreigners (Gen 39:14, 17; 40:15; 41:12; 43:32; Exod 1:15, 16, 19; 2:6, 7, 11, 13; 1 Sam 4:6, 9; 13:19; 14:11; 29:3; Jon 1:9); six times when speaking of stipulations for owning a “Hebrew” slave (Exod 21:2; Deut 15:12[2x], Jer 34:9[2x],14); six times YHWH is called “the God of the Hebrews” (Exod 3:18; 5:3; 7:16; 9:1,13; 10:3); and four times in other circumstances: (a) in Gen 14:13, Abram is called “Abram the Hebrew”; (b) in 1 Sam 13:3, Saul blows a trumpet and wants all “the Hebrews” to hear of Jonathan’s victory over the Philistines; (c) in 1 Sam 13:7, “some Hebrews” cross the Jordan and go over to Gad and Gilead, apparently in fear of the Philistines (?), and earlier in 1 Sam 13:6, “the Israelites” are mentioned, suggesting that “the Hebrews” are a group separate from “the Israelites”; (d) in 1 Sam 29:3, the Philistines call David and his men “Hebrews,” but 5

26

BRIAN R. DOAK

understatement to affirm that the questions regarding the relationship between the term “Hebrew” (‫ )עברי‬and the habiru are complex and have been the occasion for profound disagreement over the past century.6 There are those who have, on linguistic grounds, pointed to the very real problems in the Hebrew-habiru connection, though, as A. Kuhrt aptly argues, the linguistic link between the two terms should have never been the linchpin for the sociological and literary comparisons among disaffected groups in the 14th–12th century BCE setting.7 Of course, the landmark studies of G. Saul is then referred to as the king of “Israel” (but cf. 1 Sam 4:6,9; 13:19; 14:11?); and (e) 1 Sam 14:21 clearly distinguishes the Hebrews from the Israelites. Thus, the Bible itself indicates variation in the use of the term, suggesting confusion or tension within the corpus over time. 6 Besides the studies of Gottwald and Mendenhall (cited below), Assyriologists and biblical scholars have attacked the problem from many different angles. See, e.g., M. Liverani, “Farsi Ḫabiru,” Vicino Oriente 2 (1979), 65–77; M. Weippert, The Settlement of the Israelite Tribes in Palestine: A Critical Survey of Recent Scholarly Debate, trans. J. D. Martin (Naperville: SCM Press, 1971), 63–126; Greenberg, 92; Loretz; R. Borger, “Das Problem der ‘apiru (‘Habiru’),” ZDVP 74 (1958), 121–32; E. Chiera, “Habiru and Hebrews,” The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 49/2 (1933), 115–24; R. de Vaux, “Le Problème des Hapiru après Quinze Années,” JNES 27 (1968), 221–28; J. C. L. Gibson, “Observations on Some Important Ethnic Terms in the Pentateuch,” JNES 20 (1961), 217–38; E. Lipinski, “L’esclave hébreu,’” VT 26 (1976), 120–24; J. L. Myres, “The Habiru, the Hebrews, and the Arabs,” Man 47 (1947), 78–79; J. Wansbrough, “Gentilics and Appellatives: Notes on Aḥābīš Qurayš,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 49 (1986), 203–10; K. Koch, “Die Hebräer vom Auszug aus Ägypten bis zum Großreich Davids,” VT 19 (1969), 37–81. 7 See A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East, c. 3000–330 BC, vol. II (Routledge: London, 1995), 436: “what scholars have stressed increasingly in recent years is that the [habirus became Hebrews] hypothesis does not depend crucially on the linguistic link. Rather, what is important is that the evidence for the existence of groups of social outcasts, such as the ‘apiru/habiru, provides the basis for a more fruitful analysis of the origins of Israel which solves many of the problems raised by the other two approaches [i.e., conquest and “peaceful infiltration” theories] and is more consistent with current sociological analyses. It also makes it possible to set Israel’s development within the general context of socio-political change in the wider world of the Near East.” Along these same lines, see also the comments of M. Chaney, “Ancient Palestinian Peasant Movements and the Formation of Premonarchical Israel,” D. N. Freedman and D. F. Graf (eds.), Palestine in Transition: The Emergence of Ancient Israel, ed. (Sheffield: The Almond Press, 1983), 57. Though Rainey prefers to correlate the early Israelites with Shasu moving out of the steppeland of Midian—a proposition that is at least equally problematic as the habiru-Hebrew connection—he has also recently stated that, “sociologically, it can

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

27

Mendenhall and N. Gottwald seized upon just such sociological comparisons, particularly regarding the putative transformation of the habiru (or similar groups) into Hebrews at the beginning of Israel’s existence in the hill country of Israel in the 13th – 12th centuries BCE.8 Apparently, according to the biblical texts, bands of social outcasts, debtors, mercenaries, and malcontents survived well into the period of the monarchy (see 1 Sam 22:1–2; 2 Sam 20; 1 Kgs 11:23–24), demonstrating the fluidity with which the formal monarchic structure could be adopted—or become unglued. Though David’s rise to power and connection to gangs of brigands has been amply studied, far less attention has been given to the appearance of similar groups and phenomena in the book of Judges; past studies comparing habiru-like bands with groups in the Hebrew Bible have not delved deeply enough into the details of the narratives in Judges, leaving important aspects of short-term parasocial leadership, geography, and mythic or folkloric patterns underexplored.9 This essay, then, seeks to fill be said that Jephthah and his militia had become like the Late Bronze Age ‘apîru men” (A. Rainey and S. Notley, The Sacred Bridge: Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World [Jerusalem: CARTA Jerusalem, 2006], 140). For examples of the complicated relationship between the way Egyptian scribes used the designations habiru and Shasu, see, N. Na’aman, “The Town of Ibirta and the Relations of the ‘Apiru and the Shasu,” Göttinger Miszellen 57 (1982), 27–33. 8 The prevalence of habiru elements in the 14 th cen. BCE Amarna Letters, combined with the decay and collapse of the LB city states in the 13th cen. and the rise of Israel in the 13th –12th cen., led some, including Mendenhall and Gottwald, to correlate the withdrawal of “peasants” from putatively oppressive Canaanite political structures with the beginning of the formation of the Israelite tribes. See G. Mendenhall, “The Hebrew Conquest of Palestine,” BA 25 (1962), 66–87; N. K. Gottwald, The Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel, 1250–1040 B.C.E. (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1979). For Mendenhall, Israel’s emergence was a “specifically religious” phenomenon (86), and the early Israelite communities “regarded sociological factors and economic or political power as of secondary concerns of human beings” (87), whereas, for Gottwald (passim), economic factors play the prominent role and Yahwism grows out of the egalitarian, revolutionary nature of Israelite social and economic structures. 9 Some exceptions which have proven influential regarding my formulation of this topic and the ideas presented here are L. Stager’s “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260 (1985), esp. pp. 24–28, and Na’aman’s “Ḫabiru and Hebrews.” See also Na’aman’s most recent statement on the topic, “David’s Sojourn in Keilah in Light of the Amarna Letters,” VT 60 (2010), 87–97, as well as “Ḫabiru–Like Bands in the Assyrian Empire and Bands in Biblical Historiography,” JAOS 120 (2000), 621–24. Note that Liverani (“Farsi Ḫabiru”) was one of the first to point out the similarity between habiru groups and some

28

BRIAN R. DOAK

these gaps with a close examination of the relevant biblical materials. My argument will proceed in three parts. First, I review three stories in Judges wherein apparently landless, peripheral actors come to occupy the main stage of military action and power. Next, I engage with the problem of habiru bands and other disaffected groups in the ancient Near East as a background for the final portion of the paper, where I return to the Judges narratives in question to argue that characters such as Abimelek and Jephthah can be instructively categorized as parasocial leaders whose existence fits nicely within known categories of social change in the Levant. By extension, I contend, the narrative of the book of Judges may be read as the most sustained literary product in the ancient Near East depicting a world of habiru-like actors generating political transformation.

THREE BANDS IN JUDGES In Judges 9, 11, and 18, we encounter three distinct narrative scenes in which a band of mercenaries or socially peripheral individuals plays a key function. A brief examination of these scenes will allow us a glimpse into what we will come to identify as “parasocial elements” in the rise of individual leaders in Judges, and also provide some demonstration of the formative role these elements are said to provide in fomenting short-term, local, charismatic leadership structures in the biblical narrative.

ABIMELEK’S MERCENARIES AND GAAL’S KINSMEN Judges 9 narrates some tumultuous events in the putative three-year premonarchic monarchy of Gideon’s (Jerubaal’s) son Abimelek. The extent to which Judges chs. 8–9 attempt to present either Gideon or Abimelek as a true “king,” a ‫מלך‬, is somewhat ambiguous. For example, consider the extended narrative in which Gideon pursues the Midianites in ch. 8. After receiving no help from the residents of Succuth and Penuel in his military quest—for which the inhabitants of the two towns are subsequently punished (8:16–17)—Gideon captures the Midianite kings Zebah and Zalmunna and interrogates them regarding the whereabouts of the men they supposedly killed at Tabor (8:18). Zebah and Zalmunna respond by describing the appearance of the slain men: “They are just like you, like the appearance of the sons of the king (‫)מלך‬.”10 Indeed, the men killed at Tabor resemble Gideon physically, for, as Gideon informs us, they were his brothers (8:19). The reference to a ‫ מלך‬in v. 18 foreshadows the request that follows upon Gideon’s victories: in 8:22, the Israelites demand that social configurations in the Bible. 10 Or perhaps, “…like royalty.”

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

29

Gideon take on a more exalted leadership role. The repeated use of the verb ‫“( משל‬rule”) instead of ‫ מלך‬in the demand (and in Gideon’s negative response) only barely hides the fact that the people are asking for a hereditary, monarch-like series of rulers in Gideon and his sons (‫גם אתה גם‬ ‫)בנך גם בן בנך‬.11 Gideon piously refuses the offer and his progeny quickly descend into a struggle for ascension. The opportunist Abimelek succeeds in convincing the Shechemites that they must choose between appointing a single ruler (viz., Abimelek) or face the vicissitudes of a seventy-man council of rulers (comprised of Abimelek’s brothers) (9:2).12 The citizens of Shechem are quick to oblige. Abimelek is explicitly made king (‫ )מלך‬with relatively little fanfare in 9:6, and Abimelek receives seventy pieces of silver from the local Ba’al Berith temple treasury. “Some worthless and reckless fellows” (‫אנשים‬ ‫)ריקים ופחזים‬13 are promptly hired, and these individuals presumably aid 11 Note

that the verb ‫ משל‬is used to describe the rule of a king in Isa 19:4. ‫ אבימלך‬was originally conceived as a theophoric PN (possibly “my father [=YHWH] is king,” as correctly noted by Boling, Judges [AB 6A; Garden City: Doubleday], 162–63). But, as Niditch (115) points out, the title is doubly ironic, since Abimelek cannot claim divine legitimation for his role as king from any divine ‫מלך‬, and his human father, Gideon, had refused the title of ‫מלך‬. For the motif of seventy descendents elsewhere in Judges, see 12:14. One cannot help but connect the scene here in 9:1–6 with that in 2 Kgs 10:1–7, where Ahab’s seventy sons are killed and delivered over to Jehu. See also the 8th cen. BCE Panamuwwa II inscription (KAI 215, line 3), where 70 heirs to the throne are exterminated, as pointed out by Soggin, 168. As Na’aman, “David’s Sojourn,” 91–92, notices, the phrase X ‫“( בעלי‬lords of X”) is a decidedly negative label in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Judg 20:5; Josh 24:11; 2 Sam 21:12), and so the description of the Shechemite council as the ‫ בעלי שכם‬in Judg 9:2, 6 already colors these figures pejoratively. 13 Soggin translates this phrase as “adventurers”; Boling, Judges (165) goes with “idle mercenaries,” and Niditch (112) notes that the Vaticanus (which is Kaige in Judges) tradition has “cowardly,” which is only partially correct, since the full reading is ανδρας κενους και δειλους (“empty/morally vacant and cowardly men”). Furthermore, Niditch asserts that the Old Latin has “fearless” here, though this reading is not clear to me; in the marginal notes of Brooke/McLean (The Old Testament in Greek, Vol. I Part IV. Joshua, Judges and Ruth [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1917]), 826, the OL is listed as uagos (“vagrant, wandering, roaming”), whereas the Ethiopic translates as “in/of the fields” (i.e., “peasants”?). At any rate, the awkwardness in the MT—reflected by the various interpretations given in non-Hebrew traditions—is to be preferred, and we will return to some more specific possibilities for what ‫ אנשים ריקים‬may be below. 12

30

BRIAN R. DOAK

Abimelek in murdering the seventy competing brothers in 9:5 (Jotham alone escapes the slaughter and fatally curses Abimelek for his tactics in 9:7–20). The phrase ‫ אנשים ריקים ופחזים‬appears only here (in 9:4),14 and very little is said regarding the origin or identity of this motley band of Abimelek’s hired followers.15 One might suppose these mercenaries had already lived in the vicinity and formed a private army for Abimelek at Arumah, where we find the king dwelling at the beginning of rival banditleader Gaal ben Ebed’s attempted insurrection.16 The identity of Gaal and his kinsmen (‫ )אחיו‬is also ambiguous. Are these “kinsmen” literally relatives, or do they, too, comprise some kind of recruited army? Things end badly for both Abimelek and Gaal (and not without the help of YHWH’s “evil

‫ אנשים ריקים‬on its own appears in Judg 11:3 (discussed below) and 2 Chr 13:7, where the description is used in parallel with ‫“( בני בליעל‬scoundrels,” as in Deut 13:14; Judg 19:22, 20:13; 1 Sam 2:12, 10:27, 25:17; 1 Kgs 21:10, 13, etc.). ‫“( פחזים‬reckless ones”) occurs only here and in Zeph 3:4; cf. Gen 49:4 and Jer 23:32. 15 J. L. McKenzie, The World of the Judges (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice–Hall, 1966), 138, makes the interesting suggestion that Abimelek’s band of hired men were remnants of a band already hired and used during the life of his father, Gideon (see Judg 8:4). 16 Some translations (e.g., NJPS, RSV) have chosen to read the MT’s ‫( בתרמה‬a hapax legomenon) in 9:31 as a reference to a location, “at Tormah” (see also Niditch, 113), which is probably incorrect. Note that the reading in the Lucianic and Hexaplaric traditions, μετα δωρων (“with gifts,” which agrees with the OL, cum muneribus), probably does not make sense here (as noted by Soggin, 187), though the agreement of the OL and the Lucianic tradition suggests μετα δωρων was in fact the OG reading. Vaticanus has εν κρυφη (“in secret”), which is possibly an attempt to translate ‫ בתרמה‬as if it were to be derived from ‫“( תרמית‬deceit,” as in Jer 8:5, 14:14, Zeph 3:13; see G. F. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges [ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1895], 259 n. 31) or the reading of an original Heb. text that had ‫( בסתר‬as in 2 Sam 12:12), which would make sense within the narrative (i.e., Zebul does not want Gaal to find out that he is acting subversively to overthrow Gaal as ruler of Shechem). As pointed out by C. F. Burney, The Book of Judges (New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1970), 281 n. 31, it may be best to simply amend ‫ בתרמה‬to ‫( בארומה‬see 9:41). Thus, Abimelek does not travel from the mysterious Tormah to Arumah, but rather he simply is to be found at Arumah in v. 41. See also the thorough note, with sources, in W. Richter, Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum Richterbuch (Bonn: Peter Hanstein Verlag, 1963), 255 n. 40. 14

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

31

spirit” in 9:23), as Gaal is driven out of Shechem in 9:40–41 and Abimelek falls at the sword of his servant—or so he would have us say—in 9:53–54.

JEPHTHAH’S OUTLAWS Much could be said, and indeed much has already been written, about the Jephthah narrative in Judges 11. Jephthah’s infamous vow, shrewd political dealings, and musings on history and theology all make for interesting commentary, but here we are interested only in 11:1–3, where Jephthah’s seemingly inauspicious background is described. Because Jephthah is the son of Gilead17 and a prostitute (‫—)אשה זונה‬and/or because he is a ‫חיל‬ ‫—?גבור‬his presence proves to be upsetting to the “natural” sons born of Gilead and his unnamed wife, prompting the brothers to send Jephthah into exile and thus shrewdly narrowing the pool of male inheritors.18 Jephthah flees to the land of Tob, where he becomes the leader of a band of outlaws (‫אנשים ריקים‬, “worthless fellows”).19 Jephthah’s merry men promptly form an apparently self-sustaining community of bandits; the force of the verb ‫ יצא‬in the phrase ‫ויצאו עמו‬, “they went out with him” (11:3), would seem to imply that “they went out raiding/pillaging with him.”20 17 Boling, Judges (197) thinks “Gilead” here could refer to either a person named Gilead or anyone from the territory Gilead, citing Josh 17:1, 3, as does Soggin (204). 18 Soggin’s claim (204) that the explanation in v. 2 is “banal” and that the “verse can be deleted without affecting the context” is too dismissive. See the further analysis of Jephthah’s situation as a social and mythical reflex of an historical pattern of (dis)inheritance in the ANE below. The fact that Jephthah “had no patronym, and no Gileadite future,” as rightly noted by Boling, Judges (197) is indeed important to our story. 19 Judg 11:3: ‫ויתלקטו אל יפתח אנשים ריקים‬. The root ‫ לקט‬is only elsewhere used to speak of gathering grain, with the exception of 1 Sam 20:38 and Gen 47:14 (where objects are gathered up like grain). See Exod 16:4, 17, 21, Lev 19:9, 23:22, Num 11:8, 2 Kgs 4:39, Ruth 2:2, 3, 16, 17. Thus, ‫ ויתלקטו‬may hint at something of the power of Jephthah’s leadership abilities in such a situation, i.e., these socially peripheral individuals were quickly gathered, like sheaves of grain, into Jephthah’s orbit (though it is not clear that these individuals represented “the dregs of society,” as asserted by Boling, Judges, 197). Vaticanus translates ‫ אנשים ריקים‬here fairly literally (ανδρες κενοι, as in 9:4 above), but it is interesting to note that the OL has latrones (“mercenary soldiers”) and another Greek manuscript (cursive w, Athens, Bibl. Nat. 44) has λησται (“robbers, bandits,” or even “revolutionaries, insurrectionists”). 20 So NRSV. Boling (Judges, 196) simply translates: “They went with him.” To be sure, more common (and specific) terminology for raiding parties and

32

BRIAN R. DOAK

As the story goes, the elders of Gilead beg Jephthah to come back, and Jephthah returns from Tob to become “head” (‫ )ראש‬of the Gileadites in their struggle against the Ammonites (11:4–11);21 after a lengthy speech (11:12–27) and the ill–fated vow (resulting in the sacrifice of his own daughter), Jephthah leads the people to victory. The tale then comes to a rather ignominious end, culminating in the inter-tribal war between Gilead and Ephraim and Jephthah’s unremarkable death (12:1–7).

THE LANDLESS DANITE MOB Judges 18 opens by briefly describing a strange situation concerning the tribe of Dan.22 After the narrator informs us that there was no king in Israel during those troublesome times,23 we find out that “in those days the Danite tribe was looking for a permanent territory for itself in which to dwell, since, up until that time, no territory had come to them among the (other) tribes of Israel.”24 The Danite solution to this problem sounds familiar to the story told in Josh 19:40–47, though the form that appears in Judges is more detailed. Here, the Danites send five individuals to spy out prospective land. Having set their sights on Laish, a spacious, rich, isolated, plundering in the HB includes the verbs ‫גדוד( גדד‬, “raiding party,” as in 1 Sam 30:15, 23; 2 Sam 4:2; 2 Kgs 6:23), ‫( פשט‬strip, raid; see Judg 9:33, 20:37; 1 Sam 27:8; Job 1:17; 1 Chr 14:9–13, 25:13), ‫בזז‬, ‫שלל‬, etc. But compare the use of ‫ יצא‬in military contexts in, e.g., Gen 14:8; Exod 17:9; Num 1:3; Deut 20:1, 10, 24:5, 28:7, 29:6; Josh 11:4; Judg 2:15, 5:4, 20:20; 1 Sam 18:30, 19:8, 29:6; 2 Sam 11:1, 18:2, 6; 2 Kgs 19:9; Isa 37:9; Amos 5:3, etc., and also Phoenician yṣ’, “to march out,” as in a military expedition: nṣḥt ‘t sby hyṣ’m w’zrnm, “I defeated my enemies who came forth (to fight me) and their allies” (C. R. Krahmalkov, Phoenician-Punic Dictionary [Studia Phoenicia XV; Leuven: Peeters, 2000]), 213. Cf. BDB, 422. 21 As noticed by V. Matthews, Judges & Ruth (NCBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 118, the elders first offer to make Jephthah their ‫( קצין‬war chief or military commander), but after the initial refusal, Jephthah’s promised status is upgraded to ‫ראש‬, a more exalted title. 22 Note that Dan is called a “clan” (‫ )משפחה‬in Judg 13:2. 23 This narrative device also appears in Judg 17:6, 19:1, and 21:25, and reminds us that, in the present form of the book, the narratives concentrated in chs. 17–21 are associated with the pressing issue of kingship—a need already expressed in the story of Gideon and Abimelek in chs. 8–9. On the role of kingship and leadership more generally in Judges, see Y. Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing, trans. J. Chipman (Leiden: Brill, 1999), esp. 59–117. 24 Cf. Judg 1:34, where it is said that the Amorites had denied the Danites access to the ‫עמק‬, thus forcing them into the hill country.

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

33

and vulnerable territory (18:7,10), the Danites muster a six-hundred man mob (18:11),25 kidnap Micah’s Levite priest (18:5–20), and annihilate the inhabitants of Laish (18:27). The area is then renamed “Dan,” “after their ancestor, Dan” (18:29). Why we need to be told the reason for the Danites naming the territory “Dan”—the rationale for the name would seem obvious, and no other such explanation is given for the naming of any other tribal territory—is a bit of a mystery.26 If we look only to the biblical materials, then it is difficult to determine why it is that the tribe of Dan does not have a landholding like the other tribes.27 At first glance, Dan would seem to fall regularly into Israel’s history with its own normally allotted place in the lists of tribes; the eponym Dan is the son of Rachel’s maid, Bilhah, in Gen 30:4–6, and Dan is mentioned in the putatively archaic blessings of Gen 49:16–17 and Deut 33:22. The name of the Danite tribe made its way into the stereotyped geographical formulation “from Dan to Beersheba”28 and Dan is the site of one of Jeroboam’s reviled golden calves and cult-sites in 1 Kgs 12:29–30. In the census of Numbers 1, Dan (1:38–39) proves to have the second most fighting men (behind Judah), and in the list of encampments in Num 2:31, the camp of Dan was to set out last in the order or marching regiments (see also Num 10:25). Perhaps most interesting, and most pertinent for our problem, is the material in Joshua 19. When lots are cast to determine tribal landholdings in Joshua 18–19, Dan receives the seventh lot in 19:40. Inexplicably, however, Josh 19:47 laconically reports that the territory of Dan “went out (‫ )יצא‬from them” (= was stolen?) .To regain the land, Dan is said to have marched over to Lashem (not Laish, as in Judges 18), annihilating the inhabitants of the city and renaming the territory “Dan,” “after the name of their ancestor, Dan” (just as in Judg 18:29). The number 600 is a schematic representation of a decently sized fighting force, especially for relatively small–scale operations; see Judg 3:31, 20:47; 1 Sam 13:15, 14:2, 23:13, 27:2, 30:9; 2 Sam 15:18. 26 But see the explanation given by M. Garsiel, Biblical Names: A Literary Study of Midrashic Derivations and Puns ((Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1991), 69–70. 27 See the very good note in Moore, 387 n. 1. 28 Judg 20:1; 1 Sam 3:20; 2 Sam 3:10, 17:11, 24:2, 15; 1 Kgs 5:5; “Beersheba to Dan” in 1 Chr 21:2 and 2 Chr 30:5. This formula need not imply that the territory of Dan was fixed at an early date, but may rather point to the religious significance of the location when the phrase was fixed, as pointed out by N. Wazana, All the Boundaries of the Land: The Promised Land in Biblical Thought in Light of the Ancient Near East [Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007), esp. ch. 2. I came to this study by way of the review by S. E. Holtz, RBL 09/2008 (accessed online at http://www.bookreviews.org). 25

34

BRIAN R. DOAK

It hardly seems plausible (from either an historical or literary standpoint) that the Danites would find themselves without land twice, and be forced to exterminate the inhabitants of two different cities.29 To be sure, such variances between Joshua and Judges are not unknown elsewhere—see the admissions of defeat in Judg 1:19–36, as opposed to the impression of total victory in given in Joshua 12, and the like. In fact, in Judg 1:34 we are told that the Amorites forced the Danites back into the hill country, and this explanation is perhaps meant to provide the bridge over to the situation that occurs in Judges 18. The author of Judg 2:20–23 seems to make a theological virtue of historical necessity on a much grander scale, claiming that YHWH had voluntarily decided not to drive out the inhabitants of the land (due to the peoples’ sin, no doubt [2:1–3:6]). The problem with the Deuteronomistic explanation in Judg 1:34 is even more apparent when we realize the author of Judges 18 betrays no knowledge of the putatively earlier situation in either Joshua 19 or Judg 1:34.30 The 29 Both Laish and Lashem have a ‫ ל‬and a ‫ ש‬in the name, though it is not certain whether textual errors have artificially obscured the identity of one of the names (i.e., that they were originally identical). 30 I assume, with the majority of commentators, that the theological framework in Judg 1–3:6, as well as various other statements in the book, are Deuteronomic additions to an earlier core of materials. For a summary discussion of these issues, see, e.g., the essays in G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2000), esp. 112–259; R. Boling, “Judges, Book of,” ABD, vol. 3, ed. D. N. Freedman (New York: Doubleday, 1992), esp. 1115–16; Niditch, 10–11; Römer 1–44 (where the history of a “Deuteronomistic History” is nicely reviewed). At any rate, the story in ch. 9 shows no obvious trace of Deuteronomistic activity (J. Gray, at least, sees two pre-Deuteronomic strands in Judg 9:1–27; see Joshua, Judges and Ruth [London: Nelson, 1967], 97), whereas the stories in chs. 11 and 18 are thought to bear Deuteronomistic influence. See A. F. Campbell and M. A. O’Brien, Unfolding the Deuteronomistic History: Origins, Upgrades, Present Text [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000], 189, 197, 207. For Judges 9 specifically, cf. E. Jans, Abimelech und sein Königtum: Diachrone und synchrone Untersuchungen zu Ri 9 (St. Ottilien: EOS Verlag, 2001). For M. Noth’s important statement on DtrH as a whole, see Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien. Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament, 3rd ed. (first published in 1943; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967). According to Boling, Judges (258), the Danite migration is a Deuteronomic device, “presented as the providential solution to the problem of Micah’s establishment” (that is to say, retribution for the idolatry of Micah and his household in ch. 17). See also E. A. Mueller, The Micah Story: A Morality Tale in the Book of Judges (Studies in Biblical Literature 34; New York: Peter Lang, 2001), 76, 125.

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

35

Danites must seek out land, and indeed, as the narrator explicitly states in 18:1, they had not even been given an allotment in the first place.

PARASOCIAL GROUPS AND THE HABIRU PHENOMENA The three preceding stories from the book of Judges all prominently demonstrate the presence and decisive impact of socially disaffected individuals and groups. In the Gideon and Jephthah narratives, we read of individuals who rely on bands of supporters who appear, at least at first glance, to be mercenaries or socially peripheral elements (perhaps criminals or outcasts of some kind), and the story in Judges 18 presents an entire segment of Israel’s core tribal configuration, the tribe of Dan, in a state of wandering landlessness. For our purposes here, it will be useful to characterize the propertyless or mercenary elements in these three stories with the phrase “parasocial groups,” a description first proposed for various elements of ancient Near Eastern society (including the habiru) over thirty years ago by M. B. Rowton.31 It must be clearly noted at the outset that our use of the term “parasocial” in this context is not to be confused with the use of the same term in the field of social-psychology, though there are possibly some interesting (albeit nebulous) points of contact between modern psychological studies of parasocial interaction and our material at hand. In current sociological and psychological discourse, “parasocial interaction” describes a pattern of correspondence in which an individual treats a “mediated representation of a person” (e.g., an image on a computer or television screen) as if the person him/herself were actually present in the representation.32 In our use of “parasocial” here, the “para-” 31 See M. B. Rowton, “Dimorphic Structure and the Parasocial Element,” JNES 36 (1977), 181–98; “Dimorphic Structure and the Problem of the ‘apiru–’ibrim,” JNES 35 (1976), 13–20. The former article, where the “parasocial” label is first proposed, is the thirteenth in a series of sixteen essays exploring the issue of dimorphism and the interaction between tribal and urban society in the ancient Near East; see the full list of essays in “Dimorphic Structure and Topology,” Oriens Antiquus 15 (1976), 17–18, n. 4. The viability of Rowton’s characterization of the “parasocial element” has been affirmed more recently by J. D. Schloen in “The Exile of Disinherited Kin in KTU 1.12 and KTU 1.23,” JNES 52 (1993), 210, though there have been very few studies that use Rowton’s terminology for understanding biblical texts. 32 See the early study of D. Horton and R. R. Wohl, “Mass Communication and Para-Social Interaction: Observation on Intimacy at a Distance,” Psychiatry 19 (1956), 215–229, and the more recent work of S. Rafaeli, “Interacting with Media: Para-Social Interaction and Real Interaction,” in B. D. Ruben and L. A. Lievrouw (eds.), Mediation, Information, and Communication: Information and Behavior (vol. 3, New

36

BRIAN R. DOAK

element may indicate a position “from the side of,” or “outside of,” or originating from the periphery of, what one might see as the “normal,” organized social sphere.33 In the spirit of the Greek παρα, we may also invest the term “parasocial” with another nuance appropriate to our three passages in Judges, viz., para- can denote a person or direction from which action proceeds, or indicate one who originates or directs social change. Indeed, even a cursory reading of Gideon’s or Jephthah’s actions reveals a parasocial leader as the mediator of change, who conveys a message or action or socio-political arrangement between two parties. This element of mediation combined with placelessness is essential to Rowton’s definition of “parasocial,” of which more must be said later.34

THE 2ND MILLENNIUM HABIRU PHENOMENA Before proceeding to a deeper examination of the origins and function of parasocial movements in Judges, some space must be devoted to understanding the rise and significance of one such prominent parasocial group in the ancient Near East, the so-called habiru groups in Mesopotamia and Syria-Palestine in the 2nd millennium. Indeed, any discussion of parasocial elements in the Levant must be based, to some extent, on a proper assessment of the scholarly progress made over the past century in elucidating the origin and function of individuals/groups characterized as “habiru” in the cuneiform record. In what follows, then, I will not provide a radically new view of any particular aspect of the habiru phenomena, but rather, I attempt to give a précis of the important aspects of the debate toward illuminating a connection between the behavior of such parasocial Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Press, 1990), 125–81, as well as the discussion and other sources cited in E. Schiappa, P. Gregg, Peter, and D. Hewes, “The Parasocial Contact Hypothesis” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the International Communication Association, New Orleans Sheraton, New Orleans, LA, May 27, 2004), http://www.allacademic.com/meta/p112503_index.html, accessed 10/9/08 and C. Nass and S. Shyam Sundar, “Is Human–Computer Interaction Social or Parasocial?,”(published online, 1994), http://www.stanford.edu/group/ commdept/oldstuff/srct_pages/Social–Parasocial.html, accessed 10/9/08). 33 The assumption of a “normative,” static social sphere—against which one may define abnormal, parasocial groups—is admittedly an oversimplification. 34 In “Dimorphic Structure and the Parasocial Element,” Rowton (181) characterizes the parasocial element as one aspect of an “uprooted social element of tribal as well as urban origin…It is not easy to define that social element with precision. It had one foot in tribal society, the other in urban society, and did not fully belong either to one or the other. In a sense it is both peripheral and intermediate between the two…”

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

37

groups and the appearance of certain kinds of stories and descriptions in Judges. The West Semitic designation ḫab/piru first came to modern scholarly attention in 1888, when the Amarna Letters were discovered. H. Winckler was quick to identify the habiru specifically with people in the Amarna letters designated logographically as SA.GAZ,35 but later discoveries soon showed that references to the habiru were to be found in many 2nd millennium ancient Near Eastern texts. Over 250 sources mention the habiru,36 and the habiru phenomenon seems to have died out at the end of the 2nd millennium BCE. Geographically, references have been found from Egypt (the last references to contemporary habiru are from Ramses IV, c. 1166–60 BCE)37 to Anatolia, Iran, and Sumer. The habiru first appear in texts from the Assyrian trading outpost at Kanesh (19th century BCE), where they are prisoners or palace staff members, but it is impossible to say whether the habiru were considered part of the local population or Assyrians.38 Some texts explicitly presented the habiru as outlaws, such as at Mari, where they were considered a serious problem and even conquered an entire city,39 while other OB sources portray habiru as mercenaries or dependents of some kind.40 At Nuzi, the term is most frequent in private contracts where the habiru has no firm juridical status and must bind himself to a citizen of Nuzi for service.41 In Alalakh, the habiru are “Die Hebräer in den Tel-Amarna-Briefen,” in Semitic Studies in Memory of Ref. Dr. Alexander Kohut (Berlin: S. Calvary & Co., 1897), 605–09; on the SA.GAZ logogram, see also Greenberg, 88–90. 36 Most passages are listed and translated in Greenberg, 15–60. 37 Ibid., 56–57, and the brief reference in Propp, 748. 38 Lemche, 7. 39 Greenberg, 18. Na’aman (“Ḫabiru and Hebrews”) discusses several Mari letters that seem to illuminate the habiru in an interesting way. In ARM 14.50, a certain Ami-ibal is accused of being a deserter, but claims to have migrated (ḫbr) away from his homeland because of an invading army, and had only recently returned. ARM 14.72 presents the case of Addu-šarrum, who is accused of defecting from the Babylonian army after his troops came to Mari, but Addusharrum claims he was actually a habiru, i.e., a voluntary migrant (defection is a crime, migration is not). Na’aman (“Ḫabiru and Hebrews,” 256–57) thus claims to differentiate between the terms munnabtum and habiru; the former term is more general, and denotes “various types of runaways, even slaves who ran away from their masters,” while the latter “were regarded as migrants” and thus not criminals. 40 See Salvini, 10–11. 41 The role of the habiru as “client” may have come to dominate the meaning of the term in some time periods and regions. In From Epic to Canon (69 n. 57), Cross 35

38

BRIAN R. DOAK

portrayed as foreigners or even outlaws, as in the Idrimi text, where Idrimi claims to have spent seven years living with the habiru (discussed further below). Over a century of research on the topic has shown that it is probably unwise to correlate the habiru with a single social status, ethnicity, or label for all regions throughout the 2nd millennium.42 Though the term was initially thought to be solely an ethnic designation, the Egyptologist W. Spiegelberg long ago suggested the habiru were a social entity, viz. nomads living in the Syrian desert and Syro–Palestine.43 The social nature of the term was confirmed by B. Landsberger and J. Bottéro, who translated “habiru” as “fugitives” or “refugees”;44 the Sumerian SA.GAZ (SAG.GAZ, GAZ) is most likely the equivalent of the Akk. šaggāšu(m), “murderer” (or, it is simply translated into Akk. as ḫabbātu(m), “brigand”), and most Assyriologists currently consider “habiru” as a social designation for fugitives who lived outside their home states, and/or outlaws who lived in bands of brigands. Whether and when “habiru” was ever a purely ethnic designation is unclear, but the term certainly comes to be a pejorative social marker for those who are refugees, fugitives, and outlaws. Those who escaped from debt slavery (either illegally or through a release edict) may have comprised a large portion of the habiru, and the large number of petty states in the LB age may have contributed to habiru-like bands, since criminals or debt–slaves could easily escape to nearby, yet distinct, political entities for asylum from their captives. Many treaties of the Late Bronze age attest to a growing phenomenon of refugees and escapees, as many such documents provide for extradition of habiru elements.45 Other reasons for argues that “‘apiru means ‘client,’ or ‘member of the client class.’” In Weberian terminology (M. Weber, Ancient Judaism, trans. H. G. Gerth and D. Martindale [New York: The Free Press, 1952], 32–36) it is the metic (resident alien in the Greek city states), i.e., the ger (‫ )גר‬that plays the role of the client, the foreigner who has no rights and who attaches himself to a patron for provision and legal protection. 42 See Chaney, 79: “The Amarna ‘apiru are better served by recognition of…intrinsic ambiguity than by attempts to force them into a straightjacket of political, social, or lexicographical consistency.” This statement could be applied to habiru in most texts and time periods. 43 “Der Name der Hebräer,” OLZ 10 (1907), 618–20. 44 See Bottéro, Le Problème, 160. 45 Documents from Ugarit and Anatolia attest to the status of habiru as either foreigners or brigands, and a treaty between the kings of Ugarit and the Hittites mentions an agreement to “extradite citizens who have deserted their own state to seek refuge in territories known as ḫabiru/ḫapiru land. Such entities in the political treaties become quite frequent in this period; the phenomenon testifies to a

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

39

becoming a habiru may have been wars, natural disasters, famine, prolonged military service, or any other social catastrophe.46 The Amarna letters provide the most important evidence of the habiru (comprising nearly half of all known references to the group), at least concerning their activity in Syria-Palestine.47 Two schools of thought have emerged regarding the habiru in the Amarna texts. Most argue that the status and activity of the habiru were similar to those of habiru elsewhere in the ancient Near East. In favor of this argument is the fact that references to the habiru indicate they are concentrated in certain territories, mostly around mountainous regions, and thus the habiru comprise a distinct, recognizable group. Others, however, argue the term is used in the Amarna letters as a pejorative label for social outcasts and for those who stand in opposition to the Egyptian government in the region.48 This latter option has the advantage of explaining the fact that the Amarna Letters refer to habiru not as fugitives or foreigners per se, but rather as members of rival states, or heads of those rival states; thus, the author of the letters simply sees the habiru as enemies, or wishes to portray them as outlaws. An Egyptian text from the 14th century references an Egyptian military campaign against habiru living around Beth-Shan (ANET3, 255), and the growing concern because of the increasing number of persons who chose to live as ḫabiru/ḫapiru” (Lemche, 8). 46 Na’aman, “Ḫabiru and Hebrews,” 253. 47 See Moran, The Amarna Letters (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992). The term ‘Apiru (as Moran transliterates it) appears about 104 times, in 53 different letters (listed here by EA number): 67:17; 68:18; 71:21, 29; 73:29, 33; 74:29, 36; 75:10, 27; 76:18; 77:24, 29; 79:10, 20; 81:13; 82:9; 83:17; 85:41, 73, 78; 87:21; 88:34; 90:25; 91:5, 24; 104:54; 111:21; 112:46; 116:38; 117:58, 94; 118:38; 121:21; 130:38; 132:21; 144:26, 30; 148:43, 45; 179:22; 185 (passim); 186 (passim); 189 rev. 11, 17–8; 195:27; 197:4, 11, 30; 207:21; 215:15; 243:20; 246 rev. 7; 254:34; 271:16; 272:17; 273:14, 19; 274:13; 286:19, 56; 287:31; 288:38; 289:24; 290:13, 24; 298:27; 299:18, 24, 26; 305:22; 313:6; 318:11. For studies of the habiru in the Amarna letters, see, e.g., Greenberg, 32–49; Bottéro, Le Problème, 85–118; shorter studies include W. F. Albright and W. Moran, “Rib-Adda of Byblos and the Affairs of Tyre (EA 89),” JCS 4 (1950), 163–68; G. Mendenhall, “The Hebrew Conquest of Palestine,” BA 25.3 (1962), 66–87; W. Moran, “Join the ‘Apiru or Become One?,” D. M. Golomb and S. T. Hollis (eds.), “Working with No Data”: Semitic and Egyptian Studies Presented to Thomas O. Lambdin (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns), 209–12. 48 See, e.g., G. Mendenhall, The Tenth Generation: The Origins of the Biblical Tradition (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), 122–41, and Liverani, “Farsi Ḫabiru.”

40

BRIAN R. DOAK

sheer number of references to the habiru in the Amarna texts would seem to indicate that the habiru phenomena was widespread and significant.49 These references to habiru in the Amarna texts (most of which were written during the reign of Amenhotep IV, c. 1353–36 BCE) are particularly revealing regarding the extent to which the habiru were perceived as a powerful military and social force. Many different local rulers complain of imminently threatening habiru activities, such as Rib-Hadda, who is constantly worried that everyone is “joining” the habiru (e.g., EA 68:18),50 or that all of his towns have joined the habiru and are now hostile to his rulership (116:38) (a similar complaint is made by Zimreddi of Sidon in 144:26). The gravity of the habiru threat comes through not just in the claims of the Syro-Palestinian vassals, but also in a list of captured cities mentioned by Mayarzana of Ḫasi (185). The habiru were apparently not simply a Gutianesque marauding force, but rather were open to negotiation and persuasion. Effort was expended to “gather together” or rally habiru forces (85:78; ‘Abdi-Aširta is accused of rallying habiru in 74:23–30), and at least two letters (104:54, 298:27) demonstrate that covenants and deals were made with the habiru, implying some organized, formal leadership structure among these bands with which one might negotiate. Other references indicate that the habiru could be hired (112:46), and the sons of a certain Labayu—who apparently created an autonomous kingdom for himself, with habiru aid (289.24), based out of Shechem—were accused of hiring habiru (246 rev. 7, 287:31) (though Labayu claims not to have known of such activities in 254:34).

DETRIBALIZATION AND PARASOCIAL GROUPS In the work of M. B. Rowton we find a fascinating and provocative attempt to understand the 2nd millennium habiru phenomena as part of a broad pattern of social and topographical change in Syria-Palestine and the ancient Near East generally. Rowton’s main interest is to explore the manner in which parasocial elements arise not just from the collapse of urban structures, or from the frustration of urban outcasts (pace Mendenhall et al.), As also noted by Lemche, 8. EA and line numbers here refer to Moran’s edition. See also Moran’s short article, “Join the ‘Apiru or Become One?” in D. M. Golomb (ed.), Working with No Data: Semitic and Egyptian Studies Presented to Thomas O. Lambdin, Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1987), 209–12, where Moran takes up the problem of translating the oft–repeated phrase nenpušu ana (SA.)GAZ(.MEŠ) in the letters. Though some have suggested the expression is an Egyptianism, meaning “to be transformed into/become an habiru,” Moran affirms his translation “to be joined to/gained for the habiru.” 49 50

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

41

but also from de-tribalized elements of a society. Old alliances can dissolve and new tribes can coalesce in conditions of major societal disruption and discontinuity. The communal associations formed during such times can be rather fluid; legends form quickly, leaders rise and fall on the waves of volatile sentiments, as can entire states. A fascinating example of the rapidity with which parasocial leaders can take power and of the speed with which legends can form around their actions is given by Rowton regarding a certain Bacha Saqqao, “Son of a Water–carrier.” When the actions of pre– WWII Afghani leader Amanullah Khan (ruled 1919–1929) created “profound tribal unrest,” Bacha Saqqao seized upon the situation and garnered tribal support, capturing the throne and ruling for nine months as “king Habibullah.” Less than a generation after Bacha Saqqao died, literary accounts of his insurrection had already embellished his actions into tribal legend.51 For Rowton, habiru bands are best described in terms of detribalization, though it should be duly noted that this dichotomy between tribal and urban (non-tribal) societies is often overdrawn.52 However, one may easily overlook the fact that, in Rowton’s analysis (and to his credit), reintegration of the supposed detribalized elements is also an important part of the detribalization scheme, thus mitigating the stark contrast that would seem to be drawn between “tribal” and “non-tribal” groups.53 Rowton’s Rowton, “Dimorphic Structure and the Parasocial Element,” 193, and L. Duprée, Afghanistan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), 120, 452 (cited by Rowton). 52 A better evaluation of the Iron Age data is given in L. Marfoe’s important article, “The Integrative Transformation: Patterns of Sociopolitical Organization in Southern Syria,” BASOR 234 (1979), 1–42. For Marfoe (35), “culture change should not be seen so much in terms of ‘breaks’ and ‘continuities’ as in shifts in balance between dynamic social systems…change should not be viewed as alternation between phases of static equilibrium, each characterized by a dominant sociopolitical structure, but in terms of sociopolitical organisms composed of small units, which are continually changing and which are tied politically by a variety of elastic sociocultural bonds.” The putatively fluid transfer of allegiance from city state to habiru bands in the Amarna period (hinted at above, and noted by Marfoe, 9) provides a good example of the shifts and balances that could influence sociopolitical power at the end of the LB period. See also Rowton’s comments to this effect in “Dimorphic Structure and Topology,” 29–30, and the modern anthropological study of P.C. Salzman, Culture and Conflict in the Middle East (Amherst, N.Y.: Humanity Books, 2008), 176–97. 53 See Rowton, “Dimorphic Structure and the Parasocial Element,” pp. 183–90. For a brief critique of Rowton’s tribal/non-tribal dichotomy, see J. D. Schloen, “The Exile of Disinherited Kin,” 210. The implications of this dichotomy have 51

42

BRIAN R. DOAK

underlying insistence, it seems, is simply that there were indeed important differences between urban and rural life, and that parasocial leaders act as mediators between those who existed as ill-defined fringe elements in newly constituted parasocial tribal structures and urbanites whose political control, while not completely non-tribal and not unconnected to rural zones, stands in tension with parasocial elements and their leaders. “Parasocial element” is thus a kind of shorthand for tribal society in flux, and the parasocial leader is the genius of capitalizing upon socio-political change.54 Taking up some of Rowton’s themes, N. Na’aman has observed that what is “common to all the people designated as ‘Ḫabiru’ is the fact that they were uprooted from their original political and social framework and forced to adapt to a new environment.”55 Economically disenfranchised tribal members (even in sedentary communities) are often willing to leave the tribe to find work and food elsewhere, forming small bands (often with a mostly egalitarian structure, but perhaps with a single, strong leader) that then commit predatory acts. Na’aman claims these bands would have subsequently become “mainstream,” in a sense, and settled down with been felt in the study of the emergence of Israel’s monarchy, where it is sometimes assumed that “alien,” “pagan” monarchic structures intruded upon pristine tribal life and disrupted tribal socio-political structures. See e.g., a typical statement of G. Mendenhall (Ancient Israel’s Faith and History: An Introduction to the Bible in Context, ed. G. A. Herion [Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001], 103–04): “The centralization of political control was facilitated by a process we might call ‘sacred politics’…a religious value system that had once provided a basis for unity among a large group of diverse people from different tribes and clans was disappearing, being replaced by a more cynical attitude that only the political monopoly of force could coerce people into uniformly ‘correct’ behavior,” so that religious values under the monarchy merely “legitimized the new political order.” Cf. the more nuanced views in Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family,” 24–28 and sources cited therein. There was nothing inevitable about Israel’s transition to having a fulltime ‫( מלך‬as noted by A.D.H. Mayes, Judges [Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985], 89) and one does not need a precipitous decline in pure YHWHism to account for change in ancient Israel. 54 In Rowton’s words, “during their formative period, for at least a few generations…[newcomers to the re-integrated tribal structure] would hardly amount to genuine tribes. At their inception most would be little more than a band, often a predatory band, the larger groups a tribal rabble of heterogeneous splinter groups and individual families” (Rowton, “Dimorphic Structure and the Parasocial Leader,” 183–84, 192). In these situations, the parasocial leader becomes an important figure. 55 Na’aman, “Ḫabiru and Hebrews,” 253.

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

43

families, etc., and even re-tribalized themselves or entered into the service of a larger state. “In general,” Na’aman concludes, “the phenomenon of the Ḫabiru can be described as a circular process, one in which people were uprooted from the society in which they were born, lived for a while as foreigners in another country, and then were absorbed into their new environment.”56 Moreover, as Stager has pointed out, we need not imagine all of the seemingly disaffected militants of the Iron Age as rebellious “peasants.” Social and agricultural conditions in the rapidly closing frontier of the pre-monarchic period hill country were such that even younger sons of prominent, wealthy families may have run into significant troubles in securing free land and property for themselves vis-à-vis the strict implementation of primogeniture laws in such families.57 Some of these aggressive “soldiers of fortune”—which Stager compares to the juventus of 12th century CE France—may have had their roots in powerful families and clans, but their status within the family made bands of young men (such as the one rallied by David in 1 Sam 22:2) an attractive option for the acquisition of wealth in a situation wherein certain individuals were denied the benefits of inheritance, either by reason of their age-rank among the sons of the family or some other reason.58

RE-EXAMINING JUDGES 9, 11, AND 18 AS DEPICTIONS OF LEVANTINE PARASOCIAL GROUPS I am now prepared to return to Judges 9, 11, and 18 and offer some comments regarding the affinities between parasocial groups and the situation of Abimelek, Jephthah, and the Danites summarized earlier. To begin, we might reconsider the meaning of the interesting phrase ‫אנשׁים‬ ‫( ריקים‬translated tentatively as “worthless fellows” above) in both the story of Abimelek and Jephthah.59 Here, the plural adjective ‫( ריקים‬from ‫ריק‬, Ibid., 255. Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family,” 25–27. Cf. the comments of Chaney, 71–73, who prefers to see habiru-like activity (especially in the Amarna letters) as part of a broader paradigm of “social banditry” among the mobile contingents of peasant society. For this analysis, Chaney points to the following studies of E. J. Hobsbawn: Primitive Rebels: Studies in Archaic Forms of Social Movement in the 19th and 20th Centuries (New York: Norton, 1965); Bandits (New York: Delacorte, 1969); “Social Banditry,” H. A. Landsberger (ed.) Rural Protest: Peasant Movements and Social Change (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1973). 58 Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family,” 26–27. Regarding the comparison with the 12th cen. French juventus, note that Stager relies on the work of G. Duby in The Chivalrous Society, trans. C. Postan (Berkeley: University of California, 1980). 59 As noted earlier, in Judg 9:4 the full phrase is ‫אנשים ריקים ופחזים‬. 56 57

44

BRIAN R. DOAK

[physically] “empty”) may indeed carry the adjectival and nominal meaning of “worthlessness,” “vanity,” “a trifling matter,” and so on—a somewhat idiomatic force that can be found in many other passages where the term is used.60 However, in Judg 9:4 and 11:3 we should read the designation as something more concrete, reflecting the literal force of ‫ריק‬:61 ‫= אנשים ריקים‬ “empty men,” i.e., landless, or unemployed men.62 For this meaning, one may compare ‫ ריק‬with the Akk. râqu, “to be empty, to be idle, to lack work,” or the adj. rāqu, “empty,” but also “without work,” “unemployed,” and “empty handed,” i.e., having nothing.63 Thus, the phrase may have originally indicated those without property, while it could also, by extension, be transferred to the ethical realm of values to refer to moral emptiness or a vacancy of social value generally.64 If so, we would thus have an instance where a term indicating an individual of a low social status was simultaneously used (or came to be used) as a pejorative description of

See, e.g., Lev 26:20; Deut 32:47; Isa 30:7; Isa 30:7, 49:4, 65:23; Jer 51:58; Hab 2:13; Pss 2:1, 4:3, 73:13; Job 39:16; Prov 12:11, 28:19. 61 As in Gen 37:24, 41:27; Judg 7:16; 2 Kgs 4:3; Isa 29:8; Jer 51:34; Ezek 24:11; Neh 5:13, etc. 62 Schloen, “The Exile of Disinherited Kin,” 210 n. 9 translates the phrase as “propertyless men” though no explanation is given for this reading, and Burney, 308–09 n. 3, suggests that ‫ ריקים‬here may refer to those who “lack the qualities which command success in the leading of a regular life…and possibly also…a lack of material goods such as property and tribal status.” Note also the study of G. Mobley, The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel (New York: Doubleday, 2005), who also draws on this image of the ‫ אנשים ריקים‬as warriors and brigands. 63 CAD vol. 14 (R), 176–78. 64 Words designating “full,” “empty,” etc., often take on moral connotations. It is preferable to have a “high” standing over a “low” one, to be “enlightened” rather than “in the dark,” and to be “full” (of a good thing!) rather than “empty.” Admittedly, the concept of emptiness (as in an empty jar or an empty city) is not always an appropriate equivalent to the idea of owning nothing, and other terminology is used in the HB to speak of the propertyless. Burney, 309 n. 3, notes that in post-biblical Hebrew ‫“ ריק‬comes to denote intellectual vacuity,” or is used as a general form of contempt (e.g., Matt 5:22, Ρακα = ‫)ריקא‬. Burney, 271 n. 4, also points to the Arabic and Aramaic equivalents of ‫( פחז‬Judg 9:4), which mean “be insolent” and “be lascivious,” respectively, thus suggesting “that the original idea may have been to overpass bounds, be uncontrolled” (see the reference to water in Gen 49:4). 60

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

45

individuals who would supposedly behave in a similar manner as the “lowclass” individual.65 This understanding of the individuals in Abimelek’s and Jephthah’s respective bands (i.e., that they are landless or otherwise dispossessed) comports well with Stager’s analysis of the developing situation in premonarchic Israel, where the problem of disaffected and landless males is given an important place in the system of patrimonial authority and religion.66 Abimelek’s patrimonial competition with his brothers forces him into an underdog position from which he must cajole and kill his way into prominence, reflecting the disastrous problems of inheritance and succession of authority inherent in large, wealthy families. When one cannot count on one’s own family, town, or clan for assistance, turning to parasocial groups was a viable and attractive option; apparently, some of the Amarna period vassals found themselves similarly stranded, at which point payment to and agreements with habiru bands were the quickest road to stability and power. In this respect, the warlord battle between Abimelek and Gaal over the city of Shechem, instigated by Gaal in Judg 9:26–29, is reminiscent of the struggle involving Labayu and his sons to gain control over the exact same territory revealed in the Amarna texts (see also EA 289).67 The story of Jephthah’s rise to power offers some interesting parallels to Abimelek’s own actions, and, though lacking some of the gritty details of Abimelek’s dealings, the sparse account of Jephthah’s background in 11:1–3 is nonetheless a striking description of the typical parasocial leader (even if only in literary terms) in the ancient Near East.68 Consider, for example, the 65 See, for instance, the only other use of this phrase outside of Judges, in 2 Chr 13:7 (as noted above), where the phrase does not seem to refer to the landless, but rather is a simply pejorative term to refer to individuals hostile to the Davidic line. In English, the word “peasant” may be comparable to the phenomenon under consideration here—“peasant” has (or had) a technical, socio-economic meaning, but can also be used as a derogatory metaphor for one without manners or education. Michal’s dismissal of David’s wild dancing in 2 Sam 6:20 also employs the designation ‫רק‬/‫ ריק‬when Michal claims David has revealed himself “like one of the ‫ רקים‬is uncovered,” which could perhaps be translated, loosely, as “like a naked blundering peasant.” 66 Note that Stager (“The Archaeology of the Family,” 25–27) also points to other organizations serving as a “safety valve” for a society’s excess of young/unmarried males (who need not all be “disaffected” or “landless”), such as the office of the “steward” (‫ )נער‬and also the priesthood. 67 See also the comments in Soggin, 170. 68 For a nice statement of the literary and structural affiliations between

46

BRIAN R. DOAK

inscription of Idrimi (c. 1500 BCE), in which the pattern of rejection, exile, contact with a parasocial group, and return is narrated in a tantalizingly brief format.69 An unnamed “evil” (mašiktu)70 forces Idrimi’s family to leave their paternal home (the bīt abīya, as Idrimi calls it in the first-person narrative) and reside at Emar with maternal relatives (lines 3–6).71 At Emar, conflict arises, presumably regarding issues of inheritance (the brothers, who are all older than poor Idrimi, are apparently concerned with becoming the mār ašarēdi rabi, the “pre-eminent son” or “primary heir”) and Idrimi is forced to flee. In the land of Canaan, Idrimi dwells with the habiru for seven years (line 27), and in the seventh year gathers up an army and returns (with the help of the brothers?) to claim the throne in Alalakh. Whereas the elders of Gilead invite Jephthah back because of the Ammonite threat (Judg 11:4– 11), it is not clear whether Idrimi’s actions are overtly aggressive or whether

Abimelek’s and Jephthah’s careers, see T. J. Schneider, Judges (Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 2000), 164–65, and also McKenzie, 145. On the mythic and folkloristic aspects of Jephthah’s story, see the brief comments in Matthews, 117. The basic pattern of flight, recognition by kin, formation of a band of men, and the transformation from fugitive to leader upon return home is a literary structure present in several stories, notably Idrimi of Alalakh, David, and Jephthah (as pointed out by Matthews and also E. L. Greenstein and D. Marcus, “The Akkadian Inscription of Idrimi,” JANESCU 8 [1976], 76–77). 69 The authoritative edition is M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, “Die Inschrift der Statue des Königs Idrimi von Alalaḫ,” UF 13 (1981), 201–268; see also G. H. Oller, The Autobiography of Idrimi: A New Text Edition with Philological and Historical Commentary (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 1977). For further commentary, see, e.g., N. Na’aman, “A Royal Scribe and His Scribal Products in the Alalakh IV Court,” Oriens Antiquus 19 (1980), 107–16; J. M. Sasson, “On Idrimi and Šarruwa, the Scribe,” in D. I. Owen and M. A. Morrison (eds.), Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians in Honor of Ernest R. Lacheman (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1981), 309–24; and H. Klengel, “Historischer Kommentar zur Inschrift des Idrimi von Alalaḫ,” UF 13 (1981), 269–78. 70 Besides meaning “bad,” “evil,” or “badness,” masiktu/mašiktu could even refer to a “bad reputation,” thus suggesting the reason the mašiktu is not specified is because the family is somehow at fault. See CAD vol. 10 pt. 1, 323–24, e.g., [ina pî] nišēšuma ma-sik-ta isi, “he has a bad reputation among his own people.” In the Idrimi text lines 10–16, the author makes it seem as though Idrimi’s flight is voluntary and calculated (and that he is the only one thinking about inheritance rights), though one gets the distinct impression that the opposite must be the case. 71 Recall that in Judg 9:1–3, Abimelek’s appeal to the elders of Shechem is an appeal to his maternal uncles, and to the entire clan of his mother’s family. Also noted by Soggin, 169–70.

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

47

there is some collusion with the brothers and other individuals to organize his triumphant return (the former seems more likely). J. D. Schloen sees a mythological reflex of this pattern, which he calls “the exile of disinherited kin,” in the Ugaritic texts KTU 1.12 and 1.23. Here, one can detect a motif of hostility between Ba’l (a high-status member of ‘El’s divine household) and disinherited divine maidservants.72 The astral deities Dawn and Dusk play the role of the parasocial element and seem to rebel against ‘El (the passages in question are quite obscure), though in the end Schloen argues that even disinherited and rebellious kin are still kin, and thus are not to be harmed.73 The connections among disinheritance, flight, and conflict for interested parties within the family seem to be deeply-embedded elements of ancient Near Eastern storytelling in the second half of the 2nd millennium, indicating something of their increasing social relevance during the Late Bronze and early Iron Age Levant and the role of the parasocial element as a powerful factor in negotiating these conflicts of power. One particular geographical element of Jephthah’s exile deserves further comment in light of our discussion of habiru-like elements Judges: his location of exile in Judg 11:3, Tob.74 It is only in this chapter and in 2 Sam 10:6 that the land of Tob is mentioned, and, interestingly, the story in 2 Samuel 10 paints a similar picture of Tob’s inhabitants.75 David’s attempt at political reconciliation after the death of the Ammonite king ended in humiliation, as David’s messengers were sent away in a state of half-shaven and half-clothed disgrace (10:4). Fearing possible reprisal from David, the Ammonites attempt to shore up their military by hiring help, viz., 20,000 Schloen, 217. Ibid., 219–20. Notice that Jephthah’s brothers do not physically harm him in Judges 11, nor does Jephthah enact retribution upon his family when he returns. For an analysis of disinherited kin—Jephthah in particular—in ANE law, see the older study of I. Mendelssohn, “The Disinheritance of Jephthah in the Light of the Lipit–Ishtar Code,” IEJ 4 (1954), 116–19. 74 Heb. Ṭôb is to be identified with eṭ–Ṭayibeh, southeast of Edrei/Der’ā and northeast of Ramoth-gilead in Aram. Tob (Ṭubu) replies favorably to the Pharaoh’s request for supplies in EA 205, and is known from a geographical list of Thutmose III (no. 22). See Rainey and Notley, 140. 75 See the brief comments on Tob and this Aramean conflict in B. Mazar, “The Aramean Empire and Its Relations with Israel,” BA 25 (1962), 98–120. Compare Jephthah’s role as traveler/mediator between the outlying area of Tob and Gilead with Rowton’s comments about the role of parasocial leaders in this capacity in “Dimorphic Structure and the Parasocial Element,” 185, 195, and Na’aman’s remarks on the need for habiru-like bands for a stable home-base in “David’s Sojourn,” 95. 72 73

48

BRIAN R. DOAK

soldiers from the Arameans of Beth-rehob and Zobah, one thousand men from the king of Maacah, and 12,000 men from Tob (10:6). Whereas earlier in the Deuteronomistic narrative a band from Tob (i.e., Jephthah and his men) was called into action against Ammon, the Ammonites were later able to employ mercenaries from this same area against the Israelites. Indeed, Tob may have been a difficult area to control for either Israelite or Aramean powers, due to its position 20 miles east of the Jordan and due to topographical factors. In his study of the role of topography in the habiru phenomenon—the first (and only, to my knowledge) study of its kind regarding the habiru—Rowton proposed that the preponderance of woodland (high shrub-land, i.e. Italian macchia or French maquis) areas in Syria-Palestine, especially in the 2nd millennium, would have made military control of many areas difficult or impossible.76 The density of such woodland realms has proven to be a formidable factor even for modern equipment, much less Bronze Age tools, and Rowton points to correlations between pockets of habiru activity in the Amarna period (in areas such as Shechem, northern Lebanon, and the area between Beth-Shan and Shechem) and the presence of densely wooded areas near these locations.77 It seems impossible to say with certainty whether Tob provided such a wooded environment above and beyond other nearby locales, but it is certainly the case that Shechem continued to be a stronghold because of its geographical position and topographical features (so much the better for habiru purposes), and it is not unreasonable to surmise that Tob’s location allowed it to remain un-cleared or un-cultivated (and thus un-eroded) longer than other areas further west in Israel’s highlands. Therefore, one simple conclusion based on the reference to Tob in these two contexts and in light of Rowton’s thesis is that Tob was a known staging ground for parasocial groups, i.e., a type of uncontrolled, boundary area where the socially disenfranchised could live in a relatively autonomous fashion. Finally, what are we to make of the origins of the tribe of Dan in light of their violent activities and landless position in Judges 18? Is it possible to suggest that the Danites were originally an independent type of parasocial group, assimilated directly into Israel’s story of settlement and tribal structure? To be sure, there are significant differences between the presentation of the Danites vis-à-vis the other episodes we have been considering; as I have already mentioned, Dan’s status as a landed tribe among the other tribes is ambiguous, and the Danites have no named leader in the biblical narrative. Many commentaries shrewdly avoid the topic of 76 M. B. Rowton, “The Topological Factor in the Ḫapiru Problem,” AS 16 (1965), 376. 77 Ibid., 381, 383.

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

49

Dan’s origin or sociological status, and Dan’s place within Israel’s history has remained an open topic for conjecture since (at least) Y. Yadin’s 1968 article, wherein it was argued that the Danites were a Greek element (the Danuna, Homer’s Danaoi, a contingent of Sea Peoples listed in accounts of Ramses III).78 Such arguments have faltered, however, on the archaeological data, which show no evidence of the occupation of Sea Peoples at Tel Dan during the specific time periods in question.79 Other problems exist with Yadin’s thesis, to be sure, and yet the topic is a difficult one that calls for either theories that go beyond the biblical text itself or a reexamination of the biblical materials for new angles. One such attempt, made by Stager, relies on an alternative translation of the short saying regarding Dan in the putatively archaic “Song of Deborah”: ‫ודן למה‬ ‫יגור אניות‬. Following Robertson Smith’s analysis of ‫ גר‬as kinship terminology, Stager translates the phrase as “And Dan, why did he serve as client on ships?”80 That is to say, the Danites were serving as ‫גרים‬, a “clienttribe” perhaps along the lines of the habiru who could be defined in terms of their status of dependency on an economic or social patron of some kind.81 Like Asher, then, the Danites would have been in a position of “economic dependence on non-Israelite groups in the maritime trade,” thus explaining their reluctance to join the Israelite highlanders in battle against

Y. Yadin, “And Dan, Why Did He Remain in Ships?,” Australian Journal of Biblical Archaeology (1968), 9–23. See, earlier, M. C. Astour, Hellenosemitica: An Ethnic and Cultural Study in West Semitic Impact on Mycenaean Greece (Leiden, E.J. Brill, 1965), 45–53, 69–112. Yadin’s theory is taken up anew by O. Margalith, The Sea Peoples in the Bible (trans. O. and S. Margalith; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1994), and see also some comments by M. Sakellariou, “Who Were the Immigrants?” in G. Cadogan and J. Langdon Caskey (eds.), The End of the Early Bronze Age in the Aegean (Leiden, Brill: 1986), 130–31. Cf. B. J. Stone’s critique of Margalith’s work in this regard in JQR 88 (1997), 108–112. 79 See L. Stager, “Archaeology, Ecology and Social History: Background Themes to the Song of Deborah,” in J.A. Emerton (ed.), Congress Volume: Jerusalem 1986 (Leiden: Brill), 221–34. 80 L. Stager, “The Song of Deborah: Why Some Tribes Answered the Call and Others Did Not,” BAR 15 (1989) (accessed online at http://www.basarchive.org). The question of the relationship between the Danites and ships (‫ )אניות‬is unclear. If the Danites represent some connection with a Mediterranean migration (see Astour, cited above), then the memory of their arrival or departure on, and association with, ships could be preserved in Judg 5:17 (which, nevertheless, does not speak of such things directly). 81 See note 41 above. 78

50

BRIAN R. DOAK

Canaanite lords.82 The fact that Dan is mentioned at all in Judges 5, however, would seem to indicate that they were viewed as part of the Israelite tribes in some sense at the time of the poem’s composition (which may have been as early as one to three centuries after the first “Israelites” were established in the hill country). And yet Dan’s place in the early poetry reveals a group with a proclivity to violence, whose origins and existence, like the habiru and other parasocial groups, are bound up with their ability to crouch by the roadside (Gen 49:17) and leap forth like a lion (Deut 33:22).

CONCLUSION Although a few bands of landless men running around in the book of Judges do not, in and of themselves, constitute sound evidence for a habiru revolution and the concomitant historicity of these kinds of stories in the book of Judges, the social and literary parallels between the actions of characters in Judges 9, 11, and 18 and known parasocial elements in the ancient Near East are striking and deserve serious consideration. It is possible that these stories of parasocial activity and subversive military maneuvers were constructed to provide an apologetic literary model for David’s similar actions and rise to power in 1 Samuel, but it is equally plausible that the stories of David’s parasocial days fell in line with memories of a well-known pattern of comparable leaders and activities stemming from Israel’s earliest existence in the land. I would argue that the latter is more plausible, and toward this end, this study has sought to show how some details of these three tales in Judges can be brought into a mutually illuminating dialogue with what is currently known about the existence of certain changes following the collapse of societal structures in the ancient Near East (particularly the pan-Mediterranean and Near Eastern collapse of the Late Bronze systems). The objective here has thus not been to demand that the textual materials in Judges 9, 11, and 18 require some vaguely historical connection to the late 2nd millennium habiru phenomena, but rather that close attention to the narrative details regarding Gideon’s and Jephthah’s rise to power and the acquisition of land by the Danites can be made historically relevant and meaningful in light of what we can surmise regarding the historicity and anthropology of habiru-like groups in Israel-Palestine during the premonarchic period (c. 1200–1000 BCE).83 My goal here has simply been to Stager, “The Song of Deborah.” Consider the words of Paul Ricoeur, quoted by Stager in “The Archaeology of the Family,” 1, regarding the task of historians vis-à-vis texts: one should not 82 83

LANDLESSNESS AND PARASOCIAL LEADERSHIP IN JUDGES

51

show that these “worthless and reckless fellows” served a more decisive and formative role in the pre-monarchic period than some have previously recognized, as their violent actions would provide the model for the rise of the monarchy’s most transformative figure, David, the last great parasocial warlord at the end of the 2nd millennium. The actions of these landless individuals and their charismatic leaders in Judges was indeed a “normal” aspect of transitional life on the frontier of the Levant in the late 2nd millennium, and the constant presentation of the book of Judges and the actions of its characters as abnormal or degenerate by some commentators obscures the important fact that, normally, transitions of the type described in Judges are brutal or even obscene.84 The Abimeleks, Jephthahs, and Danites run rampant through such landscapes of terror and change, and the authors of Judges acutely recognized the inevitability of the failure and dissolution of old systems—indeed, of all organized systems—whether they be political, social, or economic. In its most poignant moments, the book of Judges presents violence and social upheaval as a creative force in the birth of new social, political, and religious realities; the tribes—even under the monarchy—form, at their most stable, an “ordered anarchy,” to borrow a phrase from Evans-Pritchard’s famous description of the Nuer political system.85 If some version of the habiruHebrew hypothesis is accurate on the sociological level, and if the origins of the biblical and the historical Israel lie with the indigenous hill country population of Canaan at the beginning of the Iron Age, then it is the book of Judges (and its continuation into Samuel), in its depiction of banditry, parasocial leaders, and land-grabs, that provides the Hebrew Bible’s best glance into the historical beginnings of the nation in its pre-monarchic condition.86 succumb to “the methodological illusion whereby the historical fact is held to exist in a latent state in documents and the historian to be the parasite of the historical equation. To counter this methodological illusion, one must assert that in history the initiative does not belong to the document but to the question posed by the historian. The latter has logical precedence in the historical inquiry.” 84 See, e.g., the typical comment by D. I. Block, Judges, Ruth (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1999), 245: “The Book of Judges portrays a degenerate Israelite society. Little that transpires in the book is normal or normative.” 85 E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer: A Description of the Modes of Livelihood and Political Institutions of a Nilotic People (first published in 1940; New York: Oxford University Press, 1969), 5. 86 I owe a debt of gratitude to the anonymous reviewers, and to my colleagues Jonathan Kline and Adam Strich, for the helpful suggestions they offered in response to earlier versions of this paper. All remaining errors are my own.

STRUCTURE AND MEANING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS (7:7–17) MARTHA E. CAMPOS AZUSA PACIFIC UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION There is structure and meaning in Amos’s third vision (Amos 7:7–17), a text often considered obscure and problematic. It has a skillful and intricate design, and its poetics lead to the answer of its wordplay. The text is “deuteronomistic” because it renders the northern kingdom’s demise: the sin of Jeroboam. Besides the books of Kings, it also has parallels with Jeremiah. It criticizes the northern kingship and priesthood and compares them to the southern prophetic role.1 Such contrasts are elaborated. As Adele Berlin wrote: The potential success of rhetorical criticism lies in the fact that the devices and symmetries that are present in a poem are not merely decorations—esthetically pleasing ornaments surrounding the meaning—but are pointers or signs which indicate what the meaning is. To understand how a poem is constructed is to begin to understand what it expresses.2

The story is told in two episodes: the vision report (vv. 7–9) and the Amaziah narrative (vv. 10–17). The events of the narrative follow those of The vision shows what Marvin Sweeney wrote about the book of Amos: that it “presents a Judean political and religious critique of the north and a statement concerning the future course of the nation, i.e., it must return to Judean rule and religious observance.” M. A. Sweeney, The Twelve Prophets, (Berit Olam, vol. 1; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical, 2000), 251. 2 A. Berlin, “The Rhetoric of Psalm 145,” A. Kort and S. Morschauser (eds.), Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1985), 17–22 (17–18). 1

53

54

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

the vision, and the narrative tells the fulfillment of the vision. There is an interim in which Amos prophesied the curse of Jeroboam. After reporting it to the king, Amaziah the priest “curses” the prophet. Amos returns those curses magnified. This dynamic is displayed in a chiastic structure (vv. 11c– 17). In addition to demonstrating the above, the present analysis offers data and solutions for previously discussed problems including: what Amos saw, the vision’s interpretation, the hapax legomena ʾănāk and bôlēs, Amos’s “denial,” the “placement” and anomaly of the Amaziah narrative, the location of v. 9, the abruptness of v. 10, the extra length of v. 17, why Assyria is not mentioned, and that Jeroboam II did not die by the sword.

STRUCTURE IN THE VISION REPORT (VV. 7–9) OUTLINES OF THE VISION REPORT (VV. 7–9) The vision proper (v. 7) and the ensuing dialogue between YHWH and Amos (v. 8) have been outlined generally as: I. Vision (7) A. Introductory Clauses (7a–b) B. Image: the Lord, a wall, and ʾănāk in his hand (7c–e) II. Dialogue (8) A. YHWH’s Question: What do you see? (8a–b) B. Amos’s Answer: ʾănāk (8c–d) C. YHWH’s Interpretation: He is setting ʾănāk in the midst (8e–g) D. Concluding Clause: Never again will I pass over (pardon) him (8h)3 3 H. W. Wolff, Joel and Amos: A Commentary on the Books of the Prophets Joel and Amos (trans. W. Janzen, S. D. McBride, Jr. and C. A. Muenchow; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 294–5; trans. of Dodekapropheten, II: Joel und Amos (BKAT 14.2; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969). J. Jeremias, The Book of Amos: A Commentary (trans. D. W. Stott; OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox, 1998), 130; trans. of Der Prophet Amos (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995). S. M. Paul, Amos: A Commentary on the Book of Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 233. Shalom Paul also described the components although not as similarly as Wolff and Jeremias.

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

55

The vision proper is of the Lord standing by a wall.4 The wall is of ʾănāk, and there is also ʾănāk in his hand. Asked what he saw, Amos answers: ʾănāk. YHWH then explains that he is setting ʾănāk in the midst of his people, Israel. The next statement, “never again will I pass over him,” is considered by some to be the conclusion of the vision report.5 However, I include v. 9 in the dialogue and outline the vision report further as: II. Dialogue (8–9) ...

D. Divine Oath Refrain: Never again will I pass over (pardon) him (8h) E. Prophecy of the Fulfillment of the Curse of Jeroboam (9) 1. Desolation of high places (9aA) 2. Ruin of sanctuaries (9aB) 3. YHWH will rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword (9b)

The location of v. 9 has been debated. Because it is the prophecy Amos is to announce, revealed to him during the time of the vision, I locate it within the vision report.

THE PROBLEM OF THE LOCATION OF VERSE 9 The problem of the location of v. 9 is whether it belongs to the vision report, the narrative, or is an insertion between them.6 Shalom Paul located v. 9 within the vision report according to context.7 He saw in v. 9 the details 4

It has also been interpreted by some as YHWH standing “on” or “over” the

wall. 5 Wolff, Joel and Amos, 294–295. There is discussion about the boundaries of the third and fourth visions. I label v. 8h a refrain because of its repetition in the fourth vision (8:2). 6 H. G. M. Williamson, “The Prophet and the Plumb-Line: A Redaction-Critical Study of Amos vii,” A. S. van der Woude (ed.), In Quest for the Past: Studies on Israelite Religion, Literature and Prophetism (OTS, 26; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 101–121 (103– 104). M. Dijkstra, “‘I am neither a prophet nor a prophet’s pupil’: Amos 7:9–17 as the Presentation of a Prophet like Moses,” J. C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS, 45; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2001), 105–128. C. Lombaard, “What is Isaac Doing in Amos 7?,” E. Otto and J. LeRoux (eds.), A Critical Study of the Pentateuch: An Encounter between European and African (ATM, 20; Münster: Lit Verlag, 2005), 152–159. 7 Paul, Amos, 236.

56

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

of the vision’s punishment to come. Gene Tucker appears to have located it within the vision report when he proposed that the narrative was placed adjacently because of the common use of “Jeroboam” and the theme of judgment against his house.8 Most scholars worked on the premise that the narrative was inserted.9 Upon noting that verbal link (“Jeroboam”) and others (“sword,” “Isaac,” “Israel,” “house,” “sanctuaries”), several scholars came to see v. 9 as part of the narrative and not the vision. Also, the similar structures of the first and second, and third and fourth vision reports make v. 9 and the narrative anomalous.10 Peter Ackroyd located v. 9 within the narrative for that reason.11 However, in the pattern of the character speeches, v. 9 does not fit in Amaziah’s speech report (vv. 10–11); it is not Amaziah speaking. Also, the style of v. 9 does not fit the narrative’s style.12 The first two cola are parallel and form a chiasm as displayed in table 1.13 A B1 B2 B1’ B2’ A’

Table 1: The Chiastic Structure of v. 9a and will be made desolate the high places of Isaac and the sanctuaries of Israel will be ruined

9aA 9aB

Not seeing much parallelism in the vision (vv. 7–8), H. W. Wolff thought the parallelism of v. 9 distanced it from the vision.14 He G. M. Tucker, “Prophetic Authenticity: A Form-Critical Study of Amos 7:10– 17,” Int 27 (1973), 423–34 (425–426). 9 For examples of opinions on the placement of the narrative, see R. Gordis, “The Composition and Structure of Amos,” Poets, Prophets, and Sages: Essays in Biblical Interpretation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1971), 217–229. See also Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 103. 10 First vision: 7:1–3. Second: 4–6. Third: 7–8[9][17]. Fourth: 8:1–2[3]. Fifth: 9:1[–6]. Delimiters vary by opinion. 11 P. R. Ackroyd, “A Judgment Narrative Between Kings and Chronicles? An Approach to Amos 7:9–17,” G. W. Coats and B. O. Long (eds.), Canon and Authority: Essays in Old Testament Religion and Theology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 71–87. 12 Wolff thought v. 9’s style does not match the vision report’s, but it does not match the narrative’s either, Joel and Amos, 295. 13 F. I. Andersen and D. N. Freedman, Amos: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989), 755, 760. Paul, Amos, 236 n. 87. 14 Wolff, Joel and Amos, 295. 8

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

57

suggested that v. 9 was inserted as a transition from the vision to the narrative.15 Andersen and Freedman described it as a “bridge,” and Jörg Jeremias, a “hinge” connecting the vision and the narrative.16 The verbal links between v. 9 and the narrative do not necessitate that either of them be later insertions adjacent to the vision proper. There are verbal links between vv. 7–8 and the narrative also, and they lead to further information about the vision and events taking place, filling in the gaps.17 It has been thought that what Amos was to announce is YHWH’s setting ʾănāk (v. 8). Rather, he announced the prophecy of v. 9. Verse 9 follows naturally in the vision report sequence. YHWH speaks in the first person beginning in v. 8 and then in v. 9b, and not afterward. After telling Amos that he will never again pass over, or pardon, the northern kingdom (v. 8h), YHWH states the merited curses: there will be desolation and ruin of the cult sites, and he will rise against Jeroboam’s house (v. 9). Then the narrative (vv. 10–17), or second episode, shows that Amos had indeed, in the interim, prophesied to the effect of v. 9.

THREADS BEGINNING IN THE VISION REPORT There are links and threads that extend from the vision report (vv. 7–9) into the narrative (vv. 10–17) and form the vision’s wordplay, carry themes, and connect events in the story (vv. 7–17). In describing structures of conjunction, Jerome Walsh distinguished that “links” normally connect successive units and “threads” serve more to unify a theme.18 I will use the term “thread” for the links and threads that extend, or thread, from the vision report into the narrative. THE VISION’S WORDPLAY

The third vision was not generally thought by scholars to contain a wordplay, although, as Alan Cooper noted, Friedrich Horst did characterize it a Wortspielvision in 1900.19 Similarities between the third and fourth visions Ibid., 295, 300–301. Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 754. Jeremias, Amos, 142. Jeremias also saw links with Hosea. 17 Terry Collins suggested that verbal links lead further along in the text to certain conclusions, “Threading as a Stylistic Feature of Amos,” J. C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS, 45; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 94–104 (95). 18 J. T. Walsh, Style and Structure in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (Collegeville: Liturgical, 2001), 176. 19 A. Cooper, “The Meaning of Amos’s Third Vision (Amos 7:7–9),” M. Cogan et al. (eds.), Tehillah le-Moshe (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 13–21 (17). 15 16

58

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

were noted more, and following the consensus that the fourth vision is a wordplay vision, some began to search the third vision for a wordplay also.20 The words of the fourth vision’s wordplay are the assonant qāyiṣ (“summer fruit”) and qēṣ (“end”). The first word of the third vision’s wordplay is commonly agreed to be ʾănāk. The problem has been in finding the second word. Because the second word of the fourth vision is held in YHWH’s interpretation (8:2), most have searched for the second word of the third vision in its interpretation also (v. 8e–g). The first word, ʾănāk, is repeated there, so many considered ʾănāk to be the second word also, which remained a perplexity. Some suggested emendations for ʾănāk in v. 8, and also in v. 7.21 H. G. M. Williamson, however, suggested that the second word might be ʾānōkî, which is repeated three times in the narrative (v. 14).22 The two words are assonant and, as shown below (in bold text), the threadpoints form a six-point thread: v. 7 ... ʾădōnāy niṣṣāb ʿal ḥômat ʾănāk ûbĕyādô ʾănāk v. 8 ... wāʾōmar ʾănāk ... v. 14 . . . lōʾ-nābîʾ ʾānōkî wĕlōʾ ben-nābîʾ ʾānōkî kî-bôqēr ʾānōkî ... Each of the thread-points occurs at the very end of its phrase. A fourth instance of ʾănāk occurs in YHWH’s interpretation (v. 8g), but is central in the phrase: “Look, I am setting ʾănāk in the midst of my people, Israel.” This is in YHWH’s voice whereas each of the six thread-points is in Amos’s voice. Also, the three ʾănāk end-of-phrase thread-points are separated from the fourth instance of ʾănāk by the second “look” (hinĕnî) that introduces YHWH’s interpretation (v. 8f). The probability that the end-of-phrase pattern occurs in two sets of three, each set contained within one or two verses, and that the two words are written the same except for the extra yôd in ʾānōkî should The fourth vision’s wordplay is in 8:1–2. Williamson, “Prophet and PlumbLine,” 118. Cooper, “Meaning,” 16–18. 21 They are discussed in the section on the meaning of ʾănāk. 22 Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 117. 20

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

59

support that the composer intended this design and wordplay.23 On the consonantal level, the difference between qāyiṣ and qēṣ is also one yôd, which further supports intention and that the ʾănāk/ʾānōkî wordplay is as original as the fourth vision’s qāyiṣ/qēṣ.24 Differences between the third and fourth vision reports indicate that the third was originally intended to be longer than the fourth, and that the second word of the wordplay was meant to be farther along, in the narrative. The words of the fourth vision’s wordplay occur a total of only three times.25 ʾĂnāk, which I hold is only the first word, is used four times, and, unlike in vision four, is repeated in the interpretation.26 The third vision has a second “look” (hinĕnî) (v. 8f) and the fourth does not. The Lord is present in the third vision proper and not in the fourth, and the interpretation of the fourth vision (8:2), that the end has come, is more succinct. EVENT THREADS IN YHWH’S INTERPRETATION

YHWH’s interpretation (v. 8) leads to corresponding events in the narrative that show the vision and interpretation fulfilled, that is, YHWH having set ʾănāk in Israel’s midst. There are two threads: “in the midst of” (vv. 8g, 10), and “my people, Israel” (vv. 8g, 15), and a link to the wordplay. “My people, Israel” occurs in both the third and fourth visions’ interpretations (v. 8g; 8:2), and we can compare their uses.27 In both visions, YHWH explains an event to happen to “my people, Israel.” In the fourth vision, Amos sees a basket of “summer fruit” (qāyiṣ) that is explained by “the end” (haqqēṣ) coming upon them. In the third vision, Amos sees YHWH standing by an ʾănāk wall with ʾănāk in his hand. YHWH explains that he is setting ʾănāk in their midst. The ʾănāk in the interpretation links to the six-pointed thread and wordplay, and we will see that they lead to Amos.28 “My people, Israel” leads from YHWH setting ʾănāk (v. 8) to YHWH having told Amos See ‫ אנך‬and ‫אנכי‬. See ‫ קיץ‬and ‫קץ‬. 25 Qāyiṣ is used twice: once in the vision proper and once in Amos’s answer to what he saw. The second word, qēṣ, occurs once. 26 ʾĂnāk is used twice in the vision proper, once in Amos’s answer to what he saw, and once in the interpretation. 27 The term “my people, Israel” used by YHWH occurs in Amos 7:8, 15; 8:2; 9:14; and in various locations in Samuel, Kings, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Chronicles. The Gospel of Matthew has it in a citation from Micah 5:2. 28 Williamson suggested that ʾănāk ultimately signifies Amos himself, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 118. 23 24

60

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

to prophesy to “my people, Israel” (v. 15).29 The thread connects the setting of ʾănāk with Amos’s commission to prophesy. The second thread, “in the midst,” also leads to Amos’s commission. Amos had prophesied “in the midst” of the bêt of Israel and his words were unbearable (v. 10). This also explains the abrupt change of style at v. 10 and Amaziah’s sudden appearance. Amos had announced the prophecy (v. 9) in the interim, and the second episode begins with Amaziah’s reaction to it (v. 10). THE PROPHECY

The prophecy of v. 9 is the base of four threads. The repetitions of “Jeroboam” (vv. 9, 11) and “by the sword” (vv. 9, 11) form two. The other two threads, composed of Leitwörter, begin in v. 9, cross in v. 13, and end in v. 16.30 One is composed of “high places of Isaac” (bāmôt yiśḥāq), “temple of the kingdom” (bêt mamlākâ), and “house of Isaac” (bêt yiśḥāq). The other is composed of “sanctuaries of Israel” (miqdĕšê yiśrāʾēl), “sanctuary of the king” (miqdaš-melek), and “. . . Israel” (yiśrāʾēl). Table 2 shows the Leitwörter and their immediate pairing. Table 2: Leitwörter in vv. 9, 13, and 16 v. 9 Cursed are: bāmôt yiśḥāq miqdĕšê yiśrāʾēl  v. 13

Bethel is:

v. 16

Priest prohibited prophesying against:

miqdaš ubêt ...

-melek mamlākâ yiśrāʾēl

bêt

yiśḥāq

Words are repeated (yiśḥāq, miqdaš, yiśrāʾēl, bêt), orders switched, and there is an ellipsis. There is also further pairing. Bāmôt (v. 9) is paired with bêt (v. 16) as each are first paired with “Isaac.” These are the only occurrences of “Isaac” in the book of Amos. “Isaac” is paired with “Israel” both times, so their immediate pairing with bāmôt and bêt can also be assumed to be intentional. “Isaac” and “Israel” show assonance as both begin with “yiś,” and bāmôt and bêt are assonant.31 29 Cooper suggested this link noting its implicitness in the interpretation (v. 8g), “Meaning,” 16. 30 Robert Alter explained the Leitwört concept of exploring semantic ranges by repeating a word in different forms, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 94–95. 31 “Isaac” is spelled here in vv. 9 and 16 with ‫ ש‬and not the usual ‫צ‬.

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

61

Paired vertically, the repetitions form a pattern on the macro-structural level, as shown in table 3. Table 3: Leitwört Thread-points in vv. 9, 13, and 16 in Vertical Pairs

v. 9 v. 13 v. 16

bāmôt ûbêt

miqdĕšê miqdaš

melek mamlākâ

bêt

yiśrāʾēl yiśrāʾēl

yiśḥāq

yiśḥāq

The center of the formation of the Leitwörter is on the king and kingdom, possibly emphasizing them. We can assume a primary reference to the northern kingdom because Bethel is the sanctuary and temple of the king and kingdom (v. 13). I include bāmôt as a Leitwört in the bêt column, also because both words are paired conceptually in Kings in reference to Bethel and Jeroboam.32

STRUCTURE IN THE NARRATIVE (VV. 10–17) OUTLINES OF THE NARRATIVE (VV. 10–17) Scholars have outlined the narrative (vv. 10–17) according to its characters’ speech reports. James Mays demarcated three primary speech units: the priest’s report to the king (vv. 10–11), the priest’s command to the prophet (vv. 12–13), and the prophet’s reply to the priest (vv. 14–17).33 Tucker noted the same primary divisions and also distinguished two events: Amaziah’s report to Jeroboam (vv. 10–11), and his confrontation with Amos (vv. 12–17).34 Some noting poetic features also outlined the narrative according to its speeches. Harper and Jeremias each demarcated two units (vv. 10–13; 14–17) by distinguishing Amaziah’s speech from Amos’s.35 32 1 Kgs 12:31; 13:32. In 2 Kgs 23:19, Josiah destroyed the houses of the high places that remained in Samaria. 33 J. L. Mays, Amos: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 134. 34 Tucker noted that vv. 10–11 and 12–17 report two events and cited “Wolff, Dodekapropheten, p. 354, and Grosch, Der Prophet Amos, p. 19,” Tucker, “Authenticity,” 427 n 5. Only Tucker’s major divisions are listed here, ibid., 426– 27. 35 W. R. Harper. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Amos and Hosea (ICC, Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1905), 168. Harper also distinguished similar triple divisions in both parts: six, three, and six lines each. Jeremias, Amos, 137. Jeremias

62

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

Bovati and Meynet also distinguished the two characters’ speech, but in four units and ordered chiastically (vv. 10–11 // 16–17, 12–13 // 14–15).36 The speeches are complex as the priest and prophet quote themselves and others.37 First Amaziah quotes Amos to Jeroboam, and then confronts Amos. Amos answers Amaziah, and then quotes YHWH, who had told him to prophesy. Amos repeats to Amaziah his prohibition of prophesying, as part of YHWH’s word. Finally, Amos announces curses to Amaziah, quoting YHWH.

CURSE UNITS (VV. 10–11; 12–17) The theme of punishment is not sufficiently represented in an outline of the characters’ speeches. Curse units can also be delineated: the king’s (vv. 10– 11) and the priest’s (vv. 12–17). The death of the respective character is mentioned at the end of each curse unit (vv. 11b, 17e), with a phrase about exile following it (vv. 11c, 17f).38 The phrases about exile are identical (“wĕyiśrāʾēl gālô yigle(h) mēʿal ʾadmātô,” “And Israel will surely go into exile away from his land”) and serve as structural markers. Threads from v. 9 extend into each curse unit. Yārobʿām (“Jeroboam”) and bḥrb (“by the sword”) (v. 9b) crisscross into the king’s curse unit (v. 11). Into the priest’s curse unit (vv. 13 and 16), crisscross v. 9a’s bāmôt, miqdĕšê, yiśḥāq, and yiśrāʾēl. Bāmôt transforms into bêt (vv. 9; 13), capturing themes from Kings. The people sacrificed at the high places (bāmôt) until the Jerusalem temple (bêt) was built (1 Kgs 3:2). To continue to do so after the temple was built was sin (2 Kgs 15:35). Also, Jeroboam I appointed a temple at Bethel for the high places (1 Kgs 12:31; 13:33–34). Bêt and miqdaš, in our v. 13, describe Bethel. Although the priest is cursed in his unit, the theme of Jeroboam’s sin is carried throughout. Jeroboam I appointed priests of the high places (1 Kgs 12:31–32), and the succeeding northern kings continued in his sins.

THE PRIEST’S CURSE UNIT’S CHIASTIC STRUCTURE (VV 11C–17) Amaziah is cursed after having opposed Amos in the priest’s curse unit (vv. 11c–17). The unit is structured chiastically and has a plot reversal as displayed in table 4. noted that the two parts are almost equal in length. 36 P. Bovati and R. Meynet, Le livre du prophète Amos (Paris: Cerf, 1994), 297. 37 Jeremias explained the complexity of the discourses, Amos, 137. See also Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 782. 38 Williamson saw these points as framing Amos and Amaziah’s discussion. “Prophet and Plumb-Line” 116–117.

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

63

Table 4: The Chiastic Structure and Plot Reversal of 7:11c–17 A

Inclusio: Exile

B 1 2 3 4 C

Priest curses prophet seer flee to Judah eat bread there prophesy there Priest prohibits prophet

D D’

Amos not a prophet Amos to prophesy not a prophet not a son of a prophet a herdsman a fig-plucker taken (plucked) away from the flock spoken to by YHWH go, prophesy

1 2 3 4 4 3 2 1 C’

Priest prohibits prophet

B’ 1 2 3 4 A’

11c

Prophet curses priest wife will prostitute children will fall by sword (not flee) (bread-making) land apportioned priest will die on unclean land Inclusio: Exile

12

13 14 15 (14)

(15)

16 17a–e

17f

The priest “curses” the prophet by accusing him of seeking gain and prohibits him from prophesying at Bethel. The prophet recites the prohibition and curses the priest in return. The curses correspond in parallel phrases. Within the plot reversal, Amos explains his commission, also in chiastic order (vv. 14–15). A/A’: AN INCLUSIO ABOUT EXILE

The phrase about exile (wĕyiśrāʾēl gālô yigle(h) mēʿal ʾadmātô) (11c; 17f) functions structurally in three ways. First, it concludes the characters’ immediate speech: what Amaziah said that Amos said against Jeroboam (v. 11), and Amos’s recitation of what YHWH said against Amaziah (v. 17). It also concludes the king’s and priest’s curse units (vv. 10–11; 12–17). Thirdly, it frames the extended chiasm in the priest’s curse unit (vv. 11c–

64

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

17).39 The repetition is identical, which qualifies it as an inclusio according to Karl Möller’s criteria.40 Regarding framing inclusions, Walsh noted that they are “relatively separate from the subunits they enclose.”41 The phrase about exile, wĕyiśrāʾēl gālô yigle(h) mēʿal ʾadmātô, refers generally to the kingdom, and specifically to Jeroboam and Amaziah as officials of that kingdom. Verses 11c and 17f form the A/A’ correspondence. B/B’: THE PRIEST “CURSES” THE PROPHET AND THE PROPHET CURSES THE PRIEST

In B/B’, the priest “curses” the prophet and the prophet curses the priest. Each phrase used by Amaziah to repudiate Amos’s legitimacy (v. 12) corresponds to a parallel and intensified curse that he receives in return (v. 17). The correspondences are assonant as well as conceptual. Andersen and Freedman raised the issue of the extra length and “lack of parallelism” of v. 17.42 Recognizing the chiastic structure we see that v. 17 is parallel to v. 12. From there we can see the phrasal correspondences. The extra length of v. 17 is due to its intensification of v. 12 where the priest first confronts the prophet. In B1, Amaziah calls Amos a ḥōze(h) (“seer”). In return, Amos says that Amaziah’s wife will tizne(h), that is, be a prostitute (B’1). The concept is synonymous because both are said to be selling themselves. Amaziah accuses Amos of prophesying for gain, which is also in the wider context. In the following B phrases, Amaziah tells Amos to go back to Judah to earn a living by prophesying there. In v. 14, Amos’s argument is that he does not need to prophesy in order to earn a living. By calling Amos a seer, Amaziah attacks his legitimacy. The insinuation is that he is a professional prophet, going to the north to sell his prophetic services. The corresponding curse is that Amaziah’s wife will have to sell herself through prostitution, and he will not be able to provide for her. The two words are assonant, each having two syllables, a ‫ז‬, and ending in ‫ֶה‬.43 The next phrase, lēk bĕraḥ-lĕkā (“go, flee for yourself”), contrasts the next curse, ûbānêkā ûbĕnōtêkā baḥereb yippōlû (“your sons and your daughters by the sword will fall”). The prophet can flee for his life, but the priest’s children cannot flee for theirs. Rather than escaping the captor’s sword, Extending beyond two verses, the chiasm can be described as “extended.” K. Möller, A Prophet in Debate (JSOTSup, 372; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 64–67. 41 Walsh, Style and Structure, 64. 42 Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 777. 43 Although we cannot be certain about the vowels or sounds, this match is likely. 39 40

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

65

they will fall under it.44 “Flee” (‫ )ברח‬and “sword” (‫ )חרב‬contain the same letters, in opposite order. ‫ כ‬is repeated twice in each phrase: ēk and ĕkā, êkā and êkā. The second êkā is in “and your daughters,” which serves to intensify the curse both assonantly and conceptually. ‫ ב‬occurs once in the B2 phrase and three times in the B’2 phrase. Amos is shooed to “the land of Judah,” which is shown in contrast to Amaziah’s personal land and the “unclean” land upon which the priest will die. In B3, Amaziah tells Amos to return to Judah to “eat bread there” (weʾĕkol šām leḥem). The corresponding curse regards Amaziah’s own land (ʾadmātĕkā) that “by line will be apportioned” (baḥebel tĕḥullāq) (B’3).45 Amaziah’s own greed influences him to suspect Amos of prophesying for gain. He is the one gaining wealth because his land produces much bread; it is large enough to be apportioned! The assonance is perhaps not enough evidence on which to claim intention if this were the only instance. However, the other parallels support the reading. Besides the common ‫ ל‬in ‫ אכל‬and ‫חלק‬, are the ‫ כ‬and ‫ח‬, and a ‫ק‬. According to Amaziah, Amos should instead prophesy in Judah (wĕšām tinnābēʾ) (B4). By contrast, Amaziah cannot serve as priest on an unclean land and will die there (ʿal-ʾădāmâ ṭĕmēʾâ tāmût) (B’4).46 The “t” sound is repeated, occurring once in tinnābēʾ and three times in ṭĕmēʾâ tāmût. The curse is intensified in the latter, and the sound may be also. C/C’: THE PRIEST PROHIBITS THE PROPHET

C is echoed and multiplied into two in C’. Amos is prohibited from prophesying by Amaziah (v. 13), and then quotes the prohibition with an additional phrase (v. 16). “No longer (are) you to prophesy” (lōʾ-tôsîp ʿôd lĕhinnābēʾ) becomes “do not prophesy” (lōʾ tinnābēʾ) and “do not preach” (lōʾ taṭṭîp). Lōʾ taṭṭîp is assonant with lōʾ-tôsîp, as is lōʾ tinnābēʾ with lĕhinnābēʾ. The prohibition is the reason for the priest’s curse, the accusation in the announcement of punishment against Amaziah (v. 16).47 The Leitwörter threads stemming from v. 9 cross and end in vv. 13 and 16, which further distinguishes the C/C’ chiastic correspondence. Miqdaš and bêt (v. 13) are in reverse order from bāmôt and miqdĕšê (v. 9). Yiśrāʾēl and 44 Not being able to escape is a theme carried through the book, perhaps culminating at 9:1. 45 “Line,” “lot,” “portion,” etc. are possible here for ‫חבל‬. 46 As Sweeney pointed out, the unclean land would lack the presence of an Israelite sanctuary, “Twelve Prophets,” 261. 47 C. Westermann, Basic Forms of Prophetic Speech (Cambridge: Westminster/John Knox, 1991), 130–131.

66

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

yiśḥāq (v. 16) are in reverse order also, from yiśḥāq and yiśrāʾēl (v. 9). The two multiplied phrases provide room for the yiśḥāq/yiśrāʾēl pair. D/D’: AMOS IS NOT A PROFESSIONAL PROPHET BUT AN APPOINTED ONE

The chiasm’s center and the plot’s pivot point are in the D/D’ correspondence.48 D/D’ has, in effect, its own chiasm and subplot that continue the wider chiastic order. It is Amos’s rebuttal of Amaziah’s accusation of seeking personal gain. The sub elements describe Amos’s prophetic commission and legitimacy. In D, Amos explains that he is not a professional prophet because he earns his living from two trades (v. 14). In D’, he explains that YHWH took him from his work and sent him to prophesy (v. 15). The plot pivots on this.49 The two trades are described by hapax legomena: bôqēr and bôlēs. That bôqēr signifies “herdsman” is not much contested, but bôlēs is more discussed. Context for a possible definition of bôlēs is provided by the chiasm. Amos’s rebuttal begins, “Not a prophet (am) I” (lōʾ-nābîʾ ʾānōkî). The problem of Amos’s denial begins here as he appears to be saying that he is not a prophet.50 Parallels and contrasts made by the chiasm provide data for the problem. They allow me to take the position that the implied tense is present and Amos is not a professional prophet. First I will describe the chiastic correspondence. “Not a prophet (am) I” (D1) corresponds with YHWH’s commission at the end of v. 15: “Go, prophesy to my people, Israel” (lēk hinnābēʾ el-ʿammî yiśrāʾēl) (D’1). Paul, and Bovati and Meynet noted that “not a prophet” and “go, prophesy” are parallel.51 Lōʾ may contrast lēk. This is the apparent contradiction: Amos is “not” (lōʾ) a prophet, and YHWH told him to “go” (lēk) prophesy. By “prophet,” Amos means a professional one, for hire or by trade. Lōʾ-nābîʾ and lēk hinnābēʾ also show assonance. The remaining words, ʾānōkî and ʿammî yiśrāʾēl, have their own structural purpose as thread-points leading from the vision to these central phrases about Amos’s appointment and legitimacy. Walsh described a double-centered structure (e.g., ABCC’B’A’) as “chiastic,” distinguishing it from a single-centered “concentric” structure (e.g., ABCB’A’), Style and Structure, 13. 49 Tucker saw the importance of this point in the narrative and wrote: “The center of the story and its key are found in v. 15, Amos’s affirmation of his vocation and commission,” “Authenticity,” 428. 50 Gary Smith provided a summary of the possibilities. G. V. Smith, Amos: A Commentary (LBI; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1989), 239. Andersen and Freedman listed some early references, Amos, 777. 51 Paul, Amos, 249 n 98. Bovati and Meynet, Le livre, 302. I translated from their French “non prophète” and “va, prophétise.” 48

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

67

The problem of the “denial” would be less difficult if Amos were stating that he was not a prophet, and then YHWH sent him.52 The problem with this is that the same tense would then likely be implied for the next phrase.53 Wĕlōʾ ben-nābîʾ ʾānōkî (D2) would be, “and I (was) not a son of a prophet.” Amos does not appear to have become a son of a prophet. The point of the D2/D’2 contrast is that having been sent directly by YHWH, Amos is not a son of a prophet. In the chiastic order, the next phrase is “and YHWH said to me” (wayyōʾmer ʾēlay YHWH) (D’2). It contrasts “son of a prophet,” which alludes to the northern prophetic guild described in Kings. Trained by their mentors, the “sons” were also sent on tasks by them. The northern guild is also at times expected to receive some type of recompense for prophesying. Amos, not part of such a guild, nor having inherited his prophetic role, was sent directly by YHWH. The parallelism in D (v. 14) evidences that Amos is saying that he is not a professional prophet. Four D elements show that he is not a prophet by trade. Two pairs are formed conceptually and assonantly: lōʾ-nābîʾ and lōʾ ben-nābîʾ, and bôqēr and bôlēs. The statements “I am not a prophet (by trade) and I am not a son of a prophet (by trade)” (D1–2) fit the inner and outer contexts of earning a living or gain. They are what Amos is not. The next pair describes what Amos is: a herdsman (by trade) (bôqēr) and a fig-plucker (by trade) (bôlēs) (D3–4). Amos is not a professional prophet or a son of a prophet for he is a herdsman and fig-picker (D1–4). The next chiastic correspondence (D3/D’3) is between “for a herdsman (am) I” (kî-bôqēr ʾānōkî) and “flock” (ṣōʾn). There is no assonance, but “herdsman” and “flock” are conceptually parallel.54 In the plot reversal, Amos the herdsman was taken away from his flock. The D4/D’4 correspondence is bôlēs and wayyiqqāḥēnî (“and he took me”). It is the center of the chiasm and where the plot reversal pivots. Like plucking a fig, YHWH “takes” Amos away from his flock. A definition for bôlēs “fig-plucker” or “fig-picker” is supported by the context developed by the chiasm. We know that bôlēs is one of Amos’s trades and has to do with figs.55 In modern English Bibles it is usually translated “dresser” or “grower.”56 Wolff translated it, “who slits mulberry figs,” and defined ‫בלס‬ See Smith, Amos, 239. See also Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 778. See Ackroyd and his citations of other arguments, “Judgment Narrative,” 85 ns 43–46. 54 Paul, and Bovati and Meynet noted the parallel. Paul, Amos, 249 n 98. Bovati and Meynet, Le livre, 302. I translated from the French “bouvier,” and “bétail.” 55 Paul, Amos, 248. 56 The RSV, NRSV, and JPS used “dresser.” The REB translated bôlēs “grower” and the KJV, “gatherer.” 52 53

68

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

as “one who slits, tends,” and “to slit.”57 Douglas Stuart used “sycamore fig slitter” in his translation.58 Many supposed that Amos was a fig slitter because of the common practice in ancient Egypt to scrape figs in order to hasten their ripening.59 T. J. Wright noted that the practice is not known in modern Israel nor necessary because the figs ripen quickly there.60 According to a commentary by Theodoret of Cyrus, however, scraping was practiced there around the fifth century CE.61 The chiasm indicates, rather than scraping figs, the task of picking or plucking them. “Pluck” better describes the action of pulling something away from its environment, such as Amos being sent from the south to the north.62 The English KoehlerBaumgartner lexicon did include “picker of sycamore figs” in its discussion of bôlēs.63 According to Andersen and Freedman, the Roman Catholic Douay version of 1609 used “plucking.”64 The King James Version used “gatherer.” “Fig-plucker” (bôlēs) will correspond with “taking” (‫ )לקח‬Amos away from his flock (D4/D’4). The two words are not assonant, but the same is the case for D3/D’3. The D’4 verb, ‫לקח‬, can mean, “to take away from.”65 It is used for plucking fruit and also for divine commission. In the sense of plucking fruit, Eve “took” (‫ )לקח‬from the tree (Gen 3:6). Then the man was expelled “lest he put forth his hand, and ‘take’ also from the tree of life” (Gen 3:22). The cupbearer “plucked” (‫ )לקח‬grapes from their branches (Gen 40:10– 11).66 In the sense of divine commission, being “taken” “from the flock” Wolff, Joel and Amos, 307, 307 n h, 314. D. Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, B. M. Metzger (ed.) (WBC, 31; Waco: Word Books, 1987), 374, 377. 59 As mentioned above, Wolff’s translation used: “who slits mulberry figs,” and he gave the following definitions for ‫בלס‬: “one who slits, tends,” “to slit,” Joel and Amos, 307, 307 n h, 314. Stuart used “sycamore fig slitter” in his translation, HoseaJonah, 374, 377. 60 T. J. Wright, “Amos and the ‘Sycamore Fig,” VT 26 (1976), 362–68. 61 That is the time of the commentary in which Theodoret of Cyrus says he heard someone from Palestine “recounting how there fruit does not ripen unless first given a tiny incision beforehand.” Theodoret of Cyrus, Commentary on the Twelve Prophets (trans. Robert Charles Hill; Commentaries on the Prophets, 3; Brookline, Mass.: Holy Cross Orthodox, 2006), 123. 62 It is more common to use “pick” than “pluck” in English in regard to harvesting fruit. In German, a verb used for picking fruit is “pflücken.” 63 L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner, J. J. Stamm, “‫בלס‬,” HALOT 1:134. 64 Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 778. 65 F. Brown, S. R. Driver, C. A. Briggs, “ ‫ ָל ַקח‬,” BDB 542–44. 66 Ibid. 57 58

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

69

also happened to David. He was chosen and taken from the folds of the flock (Ps 78:70). Paul noted that “took” (‫ )לקח‬and “chose” (‫ )בחר‬are used together in the psalm, and that overtones for ‫ לקח‬are “to select, elect.”67 Both David and Amos were “taken” (‫ )לקח‬from following the flock (2 Sam 7:8; Amos 7:15).68 David was taken and chosen to be king over “my people.” Amos was taken and sent to prophesy to “my people.”

THE MEANING OF ʾĂNĀK The hapax legomenon, ʾănāk, has at least three levels of meaning in the third

vision: the word’s literal meaning, what Amos saw in the vision, and what it means in the interpretation (what YHWH explained it to mean).

THE LITERAL MEANING OF ʾĂNĀK The literal meaning of ʾănāk has been widely understood to be a metal. In

the LXX it is translated “adamant,” a hard metal or substance. Medieval rabbis translated it as “tin” or “lead” according to their Arabic knowledge and studies; ʾanuk described both metals.69 Yehuda Ibn Quraysh, in his late ninth or early tenth century Risāla, translated ʾănāk as Arabic qazdir, which usually means “tin.”70 In his tenth century biblical lexicon, Menahem ben Saruq, questioning the root, compared ʾănāk to Hebrew ‫נכים‬ (“destroyed”).71 Dunash ben Labrat responded that the correct definition is the same as the Arabic for “lead.”72 Rashi went further in his commentary to write that ʾănāk “is an Arabic expression for the plumbline.”73 By the 19th century, Assyriologists found ancient Semitic words similar to ʾănāk meaning “tin.”74 In 1965, Benno Landsberger wrote that the Akkadian Paul, Amos, 249 n 102. Ackroyd cited Hermann Schult on the similar form, “Judgment Narrative,” 83 n 42. 69 Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 111. Also, tin and lead are paired, as are silver and gold, and bronze and iron in the Bible: Num 31:22; Ezek 22:18, 20; 27:12. 70 Alan Cooper, private communication. 71 A. Sáenz-Badillos and J. Targarona Borrás, La academia rabínica de Córdoba: Gramáticos hebreos de al-Andalus (Siglos x–xii) (Cordova, Spain: El Almendro, 2003), 56. I translated the Spanish “destruidos.” 72 Ibid. 73 A. J. Rosenberg, ed., Twelve Prophets: A New English Translation, Translation of Text, Rashi, and Commentary, vol. 1 (New York: Judaica, 1991), 154. 74 B. Landsberger, “Tin and Lead: The Adventures of Two Vocables,” JNES 24 (1965), 285–96. 67 68

70

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

anaku means “tin” specifically and proposed that in Amos 7, ʾănāk be translated “tin.”75 The Akkadian Hymn of Ishtar supports the “tin” definition by its phrase, “the tin of bronze am I,” because tin is an alloy of bronze.76 The hymn also has a wordplay very similar to the ʾănāk/ʾānōkî wordplay: anāku anāku (“tin am I”). Besides the Akkadian “tin” definition, we are also fortunate to have an extant witness of this type of wordplay. Emendations for ʾănāk were recommended and I list a few, but opine that emendation is not necessary. The omission of the first instance of ‫אנך‬, the one that describes the wall, was suggested in the critical apparatus of the BHS (K. Elliger).77 The ancient versions, however, show all of the four instances of the word. The apparatus also suggested that “the Lord standing by a wall of ʾănāk” be read, “‫ אנך‬standing by a wall.”78 Emendations of the word itself were also suggested. Cooper noted that Lev. Rab. 33.2 reads ʾănākâ (“[metal] overlay”).79 Andersen and Freedman noted that b. B. Meṣiʿa 59a reads the fourth instance of ʾănāk as “grief.”80 “I will put grief in the midst of my people Israel.”81 Prätorius proposed ʾānōk (“I”) reading: “I am setting ‘the I’ in the midst of my people Israel.”82 One suggestion by D. L. Petersen was ʾōnōk (“you”): “I am setting you in the midst . . .”83 I argue that no emendation is absolutely required because the wordplay is intact as the text stands.

WHAT AMOS SAW The second question is what Amos sees in the vision—what the wall and ʾănāk in YHWH’s hand are. In the Targum Amos, the wall is described as

Ibid., 287. Cited by Jeremias as col. 41, lines 23–24 after A. Falkenstein: anāku anāku anāk siparri [anāku], “Tin am I, the bronze of tin [am I].”‘ Amos, 133 n 27. See also Landsberger’s citation of Ishtar, in Inanna and Ebih 86, where she speaks of “tinores” and their “mines,” “Tin and Lead,” 285–96. 77 See BHS, n 7c–c. 78 Ibid., n 7a–a. 79 See Cooper, “Meaning,” 19 n 22. 80 The wall is of wrongs and in his hand were the wrongs. Andersen and Freedman provided this definition for the Mishnaic word: “grief, wrong, oppression,” Amos, 759. 81 It is generally noted that Amos’s name means “burden” and a play on it might be made in v. 10: “the land is not able to bear all of his words.” 82 Cooper, “Meaning,” 18–19. The translation from the German is mine. 83 D. L. Petersen, The Roles of Israel’s Prophets (JSOTSup, 17; Sheffield: JSOT, 1981), 78. 75 76

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

71

being of “judgment” and the Lord is “exercising judgment.”84 In the Vulgate, the wall is a “plastered wall” (murum litum) and the other three instances of ʾănāk are a “trowel” (trulla cementarii). Theodoret of Cyrus used the LXX translation, “adamant.”85 Ibn Quraysh and Dunash thought the ʾănāk in YHWH’s hand to be a “plumb-line” and were followed by Rashi and others.86 The wall was thought to be made by a plumb-line, and the plumb-line to test the wall’s straightness. The medieval plumb-line interpretation, still in use today, is a good deduction based on the Arabic cognate and biblical context.87 Ibn Quraysh compared Amos’s third vision with Isa 28:17 in which measuring instruments, one taken to be a plumbline, will “set” judgment.88 However, in 1966, Gilbert Brunet argued that no plumb-line is referred to.89 Other biblical verses were also considered that were thought to speak of a “plummet,” such as 2 Kgs 21:13, which similarly refers to the punishment of the northern kingdom, and Zech 4:10. Those interpretations have also been refuted. Brunet alternatively suggested that the tin in YHWH’s hand is a sword, the tin wall being the prime material for its manufacture.90 Jeremias suggested YHWH is standing on the tin wall with a weapon in his hand.91 However, it is not a weapon or sword but tin used for the wall’s construction. I am showing that YHWH is setting the wall and that the tin wall is a metaphor for the prophet Amos.92 The narrative (vv. 10–17) and chiastic structure (vv. 11c–17) play it out.

WHAT ʾĂNĀK MEANS IN THE INTERPRETATION (V. 8G) Because Amos sees a tin wall and tin in YHWH’s hand, he answers: “tin,” when asked what he sees. YHWH explains that he is setting tin in the midst K. J. Cathcart and R. P. Gordon, eds., The Targum of the Minor Prophets: Translated, with a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes (ArBib, 14; Wilmington, Del.: Michael Glazier, 1989), 90–91. 85 Theodoret of Cyrus, Commentaries, 122. 86 Rosenberg, Twelve Prophets, 154. 87 Such as Ibn Quraysh, Dunash, Rashi, Radak and others. 88 Ibn Quraysh made the comparison in his explanation of the vision in the Risāla. Alan Cooper, private communication. 89 Gilbert Brunet proposed that the line is a measuring cord and the plummet, a scale. The translation from the French is mine. G. Brunet, “La vision de l’étain, réinterprétacion d’ Amos 7:7–9,” VT 16 (1966), 387–95 (389 n 5). 90 Brunet located v. 9, with its topics of destruction and the sword, within the vision report, ibid., 394–5. 91 Jeremias, Amos, 131–33. 92 Williamson requested the outworkings for Amos as a tin wall, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 121. 84

72

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

of his people, Israel (v. 8g). YHWH acts metaphorically, setting the tin wall with a block or the form of tin he has in his hand. Perhaps the obvious is lost when comparing it to Amos’s answer in the fourth vision: “a basket of summer fruit” (kĕlûb qāyiṣ) (8:2).93 The basket, the container, is included in Amos’s answer in the fourth vision report, but not in the third. Amos does not answer, “a tin wall,” which would include the container or destination of the tin in YHWH’s hand, but only “tin.” This does not exclude the wall. YHWH stands by it because he is constructing it. He is setting the wall with the tin in his hand, whether layering it with a trowel or building it block by block. It is more likely for him to set a tin wall “in the midst” than a single block “in the midst.” One can say, “I am placing goldfish in the center of the table,” and it would be assumed that the goldfish would be in their container, the bowl. By responding, “tin,” Amos means both the wall and the tin in YHWH’s hand in the answer to the question of what he saw. Referring to the tin wall and the tin in YHWH’s hand that he is setting the wall with, ʾănāk facilitates the wordplay.94 In the interpretation (v. 8g), ʾănāk links to the ʾănāk/ʾānōkî (tin/I) thread/wordplay (vv. 7–8, 14). The six-pointed thread entails the tin wall (v. 7) and Amos (v. 14).95 Perhaps there is also play in the question that points to Amos: “What do you see, Amos?” (v. 8b), and in the answer, ʾănāk (v. 8c), which could be understood, by sound or common knowledge of an ʾănāk/ʾānōkî wordplay, as “myself.” It is revealed to Amos in the vision that he himself is the tin wall that YHWH is setting in order to prophesy to his people. The interpretation’s other two threads (v. 8g) also lead to the fulfillment of this. By the beginning of the second episode, Amos had already prophesied “in the midst” (v. 10). In his rebuttal to Amaziah, Amos explains that he had been sent by YHWH to prophesy to “my people” (v. 15).

METALLIC WALLS AND THEIR DYNAMISM The metaphor of a prophet made into a metallic wall is also used in the book of Jeremiah.96 As a bronze wall, Jeremiah can prophesy and stand against the kings, princes, priests and people of the southern kingdom (Jer 1:18). He will be fought against, but his opponents will not prevail (Jer 15:20; cf. 1:18–19). Similarly, Amos prophesies against the king, priest, and For example, Petersen thought that the basket of summer fruit is not significant, other than to facilitate the wordplay, and so the same should be true of the tin wall, Roles, 78. 94 Ibid. 95 Williamson proposed that Amos is the ʾănāk, and that the plumb-line interpretation fits the context. “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 116. 96 Ibid., 121. 93

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

73

kingdom, not of the south but of the north. When opposed by Amaziah, like a tin wall, Amos resists, deflecting the repudiation. The dynamic of the chiastic structure (vv. 11c–17) simulates the function of the tin wall. Enemy arrows striking a metallic wall of defense will deflect back toward the shooter. They will return even hotter. In the chiasm, Amaziah shoots a barrage of slurs against Amos (B1–4) and, like a wall of tin, Amos reflects and magnifies them (B’1–4). Amaziah calls Amos a seer and emphatically tells him to leave (v. 12). Attacking the southern prophet’s authority to prophesy in the north, the priest also rejects the union under YHWH of the north and south. Next Amaziah accuses Amos of prophesying in the north for personal gain, and that he should do so in the south instead. In C (v. 13), Amaziah prohibits Amos from prophesying at Bethel, further striking at his true appointment. In D (v. 14), Amos knows what Amaziah is attacking and refutes it. He is not a professional prophet, nor is he of such a guild, but has two trades. Having struck at YHWH’s setting, or appointment, of Amos, the barrage begins to bounce off the wall (D’) (v. 15). Amaziah’s own words turn on him as Amos tells Amaziah that his prohibition is the reason for his curses (C’) (v. 16). The priest’s barrage returns to him, now quite horrific (B’) (v. 17).

AMOS’S THIRD VISION (VV. 7–17) IS DEUTERONOMISTIC Amos’s third vision (vv. 7–17) is deuteronomistic because, not only does it contain links to Kings and Jeremiah, it is built on their concepts.97 There are also transformations. The prophecy (v. 9) is a transformation of the curse of Jeroboam I, possibly following a “priestly” curse outline. Like Jeremiah, Amos criticizes the kingship and priesthood, albeit the north’s. W. H. Schmidt proposed deuteronomistic redaction in the book of Amos, but the phrases and style in the few verses hypothesized only persuaded some scholars.98 Wolff and Jeremias proposed deuteronomistic redaction in the book, but not in our text.99 Both saw the visions as early 97 By “deuteronomistic” I mean carrying themes particular to Deuteronomy and the Early Prophets. 98 The reference to Schmidt’s work here is Möller’s: W. H. Schmidt, “Die deuteronomistische Redaktion des Amosbuches: Zu den theologischen Unterschieden zwischen dem Prophetenwort und seinem Sammler,” ZAW 77 (1965), 168–93. K. Möller, “Reconstructing and Interpreting Amos’s Literary Prehistory: A Dialogue with Redaction Criticism,” C. Bartholomew et al. (eds.), “Behind” the Text: History and Biblical Interpretation (SHS, 4; Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003), 397–441 (402). 99 Möller summarized works of Schmidt, Wolff, Willi-Plein, and Jeremias, “Reconstructing,” 402–406.

74

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

and the narrative as before the deuteronomists.100 Williamson noted the themes in our narrative of prophetic role and authenticity, and exile, in common with Kings.101 He proposed that the deuteronomists inserted vv. 9–17. Miguel Alvarez Barredo, dating parts of v. 9 and the narrative later than Wolff, identified them as deuteronomistic redactions.102 He saw the phrase about exile (vv. 11; 17) as being from the Babylonian exilic period.103 Because of the repetition of “Isaac” and “by the sword,” he saw vv. 9 and 16–17 as inserted frames.104 Alvarez Barredo thought “house of Israel” (v. 10) refers to Jeroboam II. Noting further structure and meaning in vv. 7– 17, I posit that the whole text is deuteronomistic and that redaction was unnecessary. Besides the obvious references to Jeroboam and the northern temple and cult at Bethel, Amos’s third vision links to and transforms parts of Kings.105 We have seen several of the links so far. We saw the bāmôt to bêt theme that runs through Kings threaded in the third vision (vv. 9, 13, 16). The development in Kings from bāmôt to bêt (high places to temple) and the bêt bāmôt (temple of the high places) that Jeroboam I appointed at Bethel are played on by Leitwörter beginning in our v. 9. Amaziah makes the correlation when he interprets Amos’s prophecy against the bāmôt and miqdĕšê (v. 9) to be against Bethel itself (v. 13). The “midst” that Amos was sent to is Bethel (vv. 8, 10, 13), and both Amos’s third vision and 1 Kgs 13 share the perspective that it is the center for the sin of Jeroboam.

THE CURSE OF JEROBOAM Amos 7:9b transforms the curse of Jeroboam I (1 Kgs 13:34) into the curse of the northern kingship. The first curse, that Jeroboam I’s house would be cut off and destroyed from the face of the earth for his appointing a temple Ibid., 403, 405. Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-line,” 113–121. 102 M. Alvarez Barredo, Relecturas deuteronomísticas de Amós, Miqueas y Jeremías (Serie Mayor, 10; Murcia, Spain: Instituto Teológico Franciscano, Espigas, 1993), 16. 103 Alvarez Barredo, Relecturas, 81, 53. We saw that these phrases frame an extended chiasm. 104 Ibid., 80–81. We saw “Isaac” and other terms forming threads starting in v. 9. “By the sword” in v. 17 is not necessarily linked with v. 9 since it is not about Jeroboam’s death. It is linked rather with its chiastic correspondence (v. 12). The translations from the Spanish are mine. 105 Other than in Kings and Chronicles, a “Jeroboam” is named only in the superscriptions of Hosea (1:1) and Amos (1:1), and in Amos’s third vision (7:9, 10, 11) (MT). 100 101

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

75

of the high places and priests at Bethel, was fulfilled in 1 Kgs 15:25–30. Amos said, “rise against” (v. 9b) and to Amaziah it rings of conspiracy against the king (v. 10).106 He reports it to Jeroboam and quotes Amos as having said that, “Jeroboam will die by the sword” (vv. 10–11). It sounds of the practice common in Kings of conspirators smiting kings in order to take over their thrones.107 Amaziah misinterprets what Amos said because Amos is not in a conspiracy to kill Jeroboam for the usurpation of the throne. We saw that he also misperceives Amos’s motive for prophesying (v. 12). Perhaps instead of having said that Jeroboam will die by the sword (v. 11), Amos said that YHWH will rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword (v. 9). Which Jeroboam is referred to is another question. Furthermore, it is not recorded that either Jeroboam died by the sword. Although Jeroboam I and II were not attacked and killed (1 Kgs 14:20; 2 Kgs 14:29), both of their sons were, losing their thrones to conspirators that way (1 Kgs 15:27–28; 2 Kgs 15:10). The dynasties of both Jeroboams did not end with them but with their sons. In this context, Amaziah hears “rise against,” “house of Jeroboam,” and “with the sword,” and suspects conspiracy against Jeroboam II. He should instead fear conspiracy against Jeroboam’s son. He does so by abstraction. The king in reign is Jeroboam II, according to Amos 1:1.108 The correlation that a son of a Jeroboam was conspired against transforms, or typifies, Jeroboam II into a “son” of Jeroboam I. In 1 Kgs 13:2, the prophet calls Josiah a “son” of the “house of David.” Although the northern dynastic lines were broken by conspiracy, because all the kings followed in the sin of Jeroboam I, Jeroboam I can be typified as their “father,” and they as “sons” of the “house of Jeroboam.”109 The “house of Jeroboam” in our v. 9 is therefore the whole northern kingly line. If it is inferred in v. 11 that Amos did say that Jeroboam will die by the sword, then Jeroboam II is still typified as the “son” of Jeroboam I and in the narrative symbolizes the northern kingly line or office that will “die,” See especially 1 Samuel 22:13 that besides using “rise against,” also used “conspired,” “sword,” and “bread.” 107 Ackroyd noted that the theme of conspiracy is “particularly characteristic of the narratives of the books of Kings” and listed citations in the footnote, “Judgment Narrative,” 77 n 23. 108 It is supported by the exorbitant wealth described in the book and Amaziah’s greed in the narrative. 109 First Kings says they walked in the way and sins of Jeroboam: 15:26, 34; 16:2, 19, 26; 22:52. Second Kings adds that they did not depart from them: 3:3; 10:29, 31; 13:2, 6, 11; 14:24; 15:9, 18. By contrast, Josiah did not depart from the way of David (2 Kgs 22:2). Ackroyd described an “overall pattern,” “Judgment Narrative,” 79. 106

76

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

that is, be extinguished by the curse of v. 9b. Although Amaziah feared conspiracy against Jeroboam II, when Amos said that YHWH would rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword, he was announcing the curse of Jeroboam, the end of the northern kingship.

VERSE 9 AFTER LEVITICUS 26:30–33? The curses of v. 9 may follow an outline of the curses in Lev 26:30–33.110 Stuart and Paul noted the similarities in vocabulary and threats of punishment.111 The high places and sanctuaries will be ruined in both our v. 9 and Lev 26:30–31. Miqdaš (“sanctuary”) occurs only once in the Deuteronomistic History (Josh 24:26), but is common in the priestly texts, Later Prophets, and Writings.112 Our v. 9 uses it in parallel with “high places” (bāmôt). In Lev 26:30–31, “high places” and “sanctuaries” are also used in parallel, although extended. The high places are the first objects to be ruined (26:30), and the sanctuaries are the last objects to be desolated (26:31). “Desolation” (šāmēm) and “sword” are also common to our v. 9 and Lev 26:31–33. YHWH will “rise against” with the sword in our v. 9, and he will “draw out” the sword in Lev 26:33. Stuart also called attention to Lev 26:25 in which, due to covenant infidelity, YHWH will “bring a sword upon . . .”113 He saw our v. 9 as an announcement of curse fulfillment.114 The northern kingship and cult are cursed due to the sin of Jeroboam. The structure of v. 9 follows this outline of Lev 26:30–33. Cola 9aA and 9aB are parallel, use “high places,” and then, “sanctuaries.” In colon 9b, YHWH will use “the sword,” against the house of Jeroboam. Amos 7:9 contains both priestly and deuteronomistic language and concepts.

AN ALLUSION TO THE DEUTERONOMIC PRIESTLY RULE The illegitimacy of the northern priesthood is highlighted by Amaziah’s owning land. Representing that office, he is dedicated to the wealth provided by the kingdom and not truly to YHWH. The B3/B’3 chiastic correspondence alludes to these concepts in the deuteronomic priestly rule that the priests and Levites not own land and accumulate wealth from it With his JEPD chronology, Richard Friedman thought the deuteronomists were familiar with the priestly texts. R. E. Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1987), 208. 111 Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, 373–4. Paul, Amos, 237. 112 Rottzoll saw v. 9 as a “priestly-deuteronomistic redaction.” Möller, Prophet, 111–112 n 37. 113 Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, 373–4. 114 Ibid. 110

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

77

(Deut 18:1; cf. Num 18:20). Besides conceptual allusions, two words are used from the deuteronomic rule. Amaziah’s land being “apportioned” (‫( )חלק‬v. 17) contrasts Amos’s being able to “eat” (‫ )אכל‬bread (v. 12). According to Deut 18:1, the Levites should have no “portion” (‫)חלק‬, but “eat” (‫ )אכל‬the offerings instead. The two words are repeated in the last verse of the rules: the Levites who come to the chosen place “shall have like “portions” (‫ )חלק‬to “eat” (‫ )אכל‬. . .” (Deut 18:8).

THE USE OF THE TERM “MY PEOPLE” IS A DEUTERONOMISTIC ALLUSION The term “my people, Israel” is also a deuteronomistic allusion. First it alludes to the Deuteronomistic History and then to the Later Prophets. The term occurs first in 1 Sam 9:16 (MT). It is used in Samuel and Kings where YHWH makes an appointment of someone to some type of office in service of “my people, Israel.”115 In Jeremiah and Ezekiel, it is used where punishment and restoration are brought to his people.116 In the book of Amos, the term seems to be used for both appointment and punishment/restoration. In the vision report, YHWH sets ʾănāk in the midst of “my people, Israel” (v. 8g), which is the appointment of Amos to prophesy to them. In the narrative, Amos recounts that he was commissioned to prophesy to “my people, Israel” (v. 15). The third vision may be unique among the Later Prophets in using the term in an appointment of someone, alluding to the Early Prophets. The term is repeated in the fourth vision’s interpretation (8:2) that is also about the punishment of the northern kingdom. However, “my people, Israel” will see restoration in Amos 9:14. In Jer 30:3, “my people, Israel” will see restoration also, and they are the exiled of both the northern and southern kingdoms.

THE EXILIC STATEMENT FROM 2 KINGS The inclusio about exile, wĕyiśrāʾēl gālô yigle(h) mēʿal ʾadmātô (vv. 11c; 17f), is

most likely from Kings. Williamson and Meindert Dijkstra noted the similarity with 2 Kgs 17:23 and 25:21.117 The first four words of 2 Kgs 17:23 are used in our phrase, but a cognate construction, gālô yigle(h), is 1 Sam 9:16; 2 Sam 3:18, 7:11; 1 Kgs 8:16, 14:7, 16:2. In 2 Sam 7:10, the place for “my people, for Israel” to dwell is appointed. “His people” is used in 2 Sam 7:23. “My people, Israel” is also used in Chronicles. 116 Jer 7:12, 30:3; Ezek 14:9, 25:14, 36:12, 38:16, 39:7. 117 Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 120. Dijkstra, “Neither a prophet,” 124. 115

78

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

added and so the order of the verb (“exile”) and “Israel” is switched. Second Kings 17:23 is also about the northern kingdom: wayyigel yiśrāʾēl mēʿal ʾadmātô aššûrâ ʿad hayyôm hazze(h) (“and was exiled Israel from upon his land to Assyria until this day.”)118 The perfect tense changes to imperfect. Kings states the past: “and was exiled Israel from upon his land . . . ,” and Amos the future: “and Israel will surely be exiled from upon his land.” The wording of 2 Kgs 17:23 is used also in 25:21 but it is about the southern kingdom instead: wayyigel yĕhûdâ mēʿal ʾadmātô. Our text refers to yiśrāʾēl both times. If indeed taken from Kings, then a reason is provided for the lack of explicit reference to Assyria in the book of Amos. There is no need to add that the northern kingdom’s exile will be to Assyria because it is already stated in 2 Kgs 17:23, to which vv. 11 and 17 apparently link.

A KINGS’ NARRATIVE STYLE The affinity of vv. 7–17 with Kings and Jeremiah explains the narrative style of vv. 10–17 and its anomaly among the vision report structures. The narrative (vv. 10–17) was designed to follow the narratives of Kings. Verses 9–17 have been thought to be closer to books such as Kings and Jeremiah than to the book of Amos.119 In addition to considering the narrative an insertion, which was almost the unanimous view, some suggested “original” or “better” locations for it.120 J. A. Soggin, for example, expected the narrative to be at the beginning of the book, in line with the commission theme.121 Because v. 10 was considered abrupt and not an appropriate introduction, some thought the narrative was a fragment. Ackroyd suggested it might have originated in another book.122 Earlier, Riedel thought the verbal link, “Jeroboam,” is why the narrative is placed after the third vision report.123 By the latter half of the 20th century, the catchword principle gained acknowledgement and scholars agreed on that and other What I translated “his” in ʾadmātô is usually translated “its” or “their.” Ackroyd, “Judgment Narrative,” 76. 120 Gordis summarized, “All critics are agreed that [the narrative] is not in its proper place, but there is no unanimity as to its original position,” “Composition and Structure,” 217. See also Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 102–103; 116; 121. 121 J. A. Soggin, Introduction to The Old Testament: From Its Origins to the Closing of the Alexandrian Canon (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox, 1989), 284. 122 Ackroyd, “Judgment Narrative,” 84. Ackroyd also improvised reconstructions for the opening, ibid., 81–82. 123 This is according to Harper, Amos and Hosea, 168. Harper cites Riedel’s book in his bibliography on page xxvii as: Alttestamentliche Untersuchungen, Part I. (1902), 1– 36. 118 119

STRUCTURE AND MEANDING IN THE THIRD VISION OF AMOS

79

verbal links. By the end of the century, Jeremias stated, “the narrative cannot be fully understood without that context.”124 We have seen that the vision report (vv. 7–9) and the narrative (vv. 10–17) are best understood together. The prior episode, the vision report, introduces the narrative. The reason the narrative is anomalous is because it was designed to imitate the narratives of Kings. Signs and words of the prophets through YHWH are shown fulfilled beginning around 1 Kgs 13. In Amos, the ʾănāk vision is shown fulfilled in our narrative. Amos was set like a tin wall in Bethel. As Ackroyd pointed out, our narrative is the only narrative in the book of Amos.125 He also noted several affinities between our narrative and Kings, Jeremiah, and Chronicles.126 Tucker noted parallels between our narrative, “a story of prophetic conflict,” and those in Jer 26 and 28.127 Claus Westermann showed parallel structures between Amos’s announcement of punishment against Amaziah (vv. 16–17), 1 Kgs 21:18– 19, and 2 Kgs 1:3–4.128 He also showed that the judgment speeches to individuals are in Samuel, Kings, Chronicles, and, in the Later Prophets: our narrative, Isaiah (from Kings), several in Jeremiah, and one in Ezekiel.129

AFFINITIES WITH JEREMIAH We have seen some affinities with Jeremiah. Besides the metallic wall metaphor, both our vv. 7–17 and Jer 1:1–19 contain wordplay visions and are about the prophet’s commission. Aaron Schart thought it “safe to assume a direct literary dependence” of Jeremiah on Amos’s third and fourth visions.130 However, it appears that Amos’s third vision did not influence Jeremiah, but that it was the other way around—Jeremiah influenced Amos’s third vision. Jeremiah’s commission has more detail; he will be made as not only a bronze wall, but also a fortified city and iron pillar (Jer 1:18). The third vision is more of an abstraction, as it is with Kings. There is also a possible indication of Babylonian influence. The two metals that occur in the Akkadian Hymn of Ishtar wordplay, tin and bronze, are the two metals that make up the walls of Amos and Jeremiah.131 Jeremias, Amos, 137. Ackroyd, “Judgment Narrative,” 71. 126 Ibid., 76–86. 127 Tucker, “Authenticity,” 430. 128 Westermann, Basic Forms, 130–132. 129 Ibid., 137. 130 A. Schart, “The Book of Jeremiah and the Visions of Amos,” RevExp 101 (2004), 267–286 (268). 131 Also, according to Landsberger, tributes of tin were “imposed by the Assyrians on their defeated foes.” “Tin and Lead,” 293. A question raised is 124 125

80

MARTHA E. CAMPOS

Regarding possible composition by deuteronomists, Williamson wrote that the metallic wall instances in Jeremiah (Jer 1:18, 15:20) are in “Deuteronomistically influenced passages.”132 The spelling of Isaac also links Amos’s third vision to the book of Jeremiah. Outside of vv. 9 and 16, “yiśḥāq” is found only in Jer 33:26 and Ps 105:9 (MT). It is used in reference to the patriarchal covenant in the psalm (Ps 105:6–9). The covenants of both the patriarchs and David are referred to in Jer 33. Given the other affinities also, the date of composition may be closer to Jeremiah’s than thought. Yiśḥāq’s parallelism with yiśrāʾēl in our text disallows that its spelling with ‫ ׂש‬be a simple redaction. The rare spelling in the terse poetry of the Leitwörter threads (vv. 9, 13, 16), the shared theme of covenant, and the biblical formulaic use of “Isaac,” make the link possible.133 Also thematic to Jer 33 is the endurance of the southern kingship and priesthood (vv. 17–18, 21–22, 26). Thematic to Amos’s third vision are the endurance of the southern prophets and the extinction of the northern kingship and priesthood. Amos is able to return to the south and continue prophesying, but Amaziah will die on an unclean land. Jeroboam, who symbolizes the kingship, will die by the sword. Set in the time of Jeroboam II, Amos’s third vision tells of the exile of the northern kingdom.134 Jeremiah 33:7 tells of return from exile, for both the northern and southern kingdoms.

CONCLUSION The third vision of Amos (7:7–17) transforms the sin of Jeroboam I—the appointment of the temple of the high places and their priests at Bethel— into the curse of the northern cult and kingship. Whereas Jeremiah criticizes the southern kingship and priesthood, Amos’s third vision criticizes the north’s. The king and priestly characters’ deaths symbolize the end of their respective offices. The southern prophetic role endures and Amos’s resiliency is YHWH’s appointment. Verbal links and a chiasm portray Amos as the tin wall. The wordplay vision is replete with poetics that form structure and meaning, and shows a sophisticated and dynamic design.

whether the use of “tin” in Amos’s third vision might allude to Assyria, the captor of the northern kingdom and suzerain. 132 Williamson, “Prophet and Plumb-Line,” 121. 133 Ackroyd listed the uses of “Isaac” and the phrase, “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” “Judgment Narrative,” 74. 134 Whether the third vision also alludes to the Babylonian exile is a question for further study.

THE BOOK OF THE WATCHERS (1 ENOCH 1–36): AN ANTI‐MOSAIC , NON‐MOSAIC, OR EVEN PRO‐MOSAIC WRITING? VERONIKA BACHMANN UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH INTRODUCTION Among the different sections of the First or Ethiopic Book of Enoch, the so-called Book of the Watchers (BW) (1 Enoch 1–36) is probably the catchiest one. It tells the story of angels who decided to transgress the boundaries of the cosmic order established by God. The consequences of their transgression are described as disastrous: the heavenly angels intrude into the worldly and human sphere causing chaos and suffering. The BW, however, is not just a story about these angels, their “fall,” and the world thrown out of order. On a narrative level, the story is told by Enoch, one of the human forefathers mentioned in Genesis 5:18–24. The entire BW is presented as his “words of blessing” addressing a distant generation (1 Enoch 1:1–2). Furthermore, Enoch tells us of his own role within the resolution of the story: He is told to act as a messenger between God and the angels, and to announce and underline God’s condemnation of the angels and their sin. Having in mind the BW’s pseudepigraphic character and the fact that Enoch plays an important role within the plot, it seems appropriate to adopt the common labelling of the writing and to call the BW an “Enochic writing.” From such a perspective, the qualifier “Enochic” basically highlights the narrative weight given to the fictive figure of Enoch by a set of writings. However, some scholars go even further: they call the BW “Enochic” claiming that the writing offers clues to trace back to a social group within Judaism which they call “the Enochians.” In their opinion, this group is a dissent movement, which no longer belongs to the predominant stream of 81

82

VERONIKA BACHMANN

Judaism, but opposes it. Against this background, the meaning of “Enochic” obviously turns into an ideological issue. “Enochic” becomes a label opposed to labels such as “Mosaic” or “Zadokite.” According to Gabriele Boccaccini, who prominently argues for the existence of an “Enochic Judaism,”1 such a movement originates from conflicts between priestly groups after the return from the Babylonian exile. While the “Zadokites” became the dominant priestly group, the religious authorities of the Second Temple period, the “Enochians” became the defeated dissidents, adopting a priestly and anti-priestly attitude at the same time. Accordingly, scholars claiming an “Enochic Judaism” assume that the BW expresses both this priestly and anti-priestly character. The idea of an “Enochic Judaism” is not without controversy.2 Nevertheless, it became quite common to characterize the BW as an antipriestly as well as an anti-mosaic or at least non-mosaic writing. In addition, many scholars tend to assume a somewhat common “Enochic” ideology shared by all writings centering on the figure of Enoch.3 Such an 1 Cf. Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998); idem, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002); idem, “Enochians, Urban Essenes, Qumranites: Three Social Groups, one Intellectual Movement,” idem and John J. Collins (eds.), The Early Enoch Literature (JSJSup, 121; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007), 301–27. Boccaccini’s work is influenced by Paolo Sacchi’s contributions on Second Temple Judaism(s), cf. Paolo Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History (JSPSup, 20; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997). How Sacchi’s assumptions in turn became interwoven with Boccaccini’s sharpened thoughts about the “Enoch literature” becomes clear in Paolo Sacchi, “The Book of the Watchers as an Apocalyptic and Apocryphal Text,” Henoch 30 (2008), 9–26. 2 Cf. the caveats uttered by different scholars in part five of Gabriele Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005). Evaluating the contributions published in Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins (eds.), The Early Enoch Literature, Florentino García Martínez underlines the exigency “to verify the existence of a sociological community behind the literary compositions which are the Enochic works, or to disprove totally its existence and dismiss it as a scholarly construct.” [Idem, “Conclusion: Mapping the Threads,” Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins (eds.), The Early Enoch Literature (JSJSup, 121; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007), 329–35 (334).] 3 Some of the above said scholars and their assumptions are mentioned in the following chapter. For recent contributions assuming that the BW raises priestly issues, cf. Martha Himmelfarb, “Temple and Priests in the Book of the Watchers, the Animal Apocalypse, and the Apocalypse of Weeks,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 219–35; Grant Macaskill, “Priestly Purity, Mosaic Torah, and the

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

83

interpretation has a long history, whereby the influence of scholars such as G. H. Dix is unmistakable: In the twenties of the last century, Dix published his famous article “The Enochic Pentateuch.” Here, he describes the composers of 1 Enoch as “religious rebels,” as “spiritual revolutionaries,” and as “the non-conformists of their day.”4 As the title of the article suggests, Dix speaks of an “Enochic Pentateuch.” In his view, this Pentateuch formed “another Torah, framed upon the model of the Mosaic Torah…”5 The aim of the present paper is to examine the question of whether it is adequate to speak of the BW as an anti- or non-mosaic writing. Do the characteristics of the narrative allow for such conclusions? The question has

Emergence of Enochic Judaism,” Henoch 29 (2007), 67–89; David W. Suter, “Temples and the Temple in the Early Enoch Tradition: Memory, Vision, and Expectation,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 195–218; Luca Arcari, “Autodefinizione sacerdotale e polemica contro i detentori del culto templare nel giudaismo del Secondo Tempio (enochismo e Qumran) e nel protocristianesimo (Ap),” Ricerche storico bibliche 21 (2009), 83–125; Helge S. Kvanvig, “Enochic Judaism: A Judaism Without the Torah and the Temple?,” Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba (eds.), Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 163–77; Annette Y. Reed, “Enochic and Mosaic Traditions in Jubilees: The Evidence of Angelology and Demonology,” Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees, 353–68. A more cautious stance is, for instance, taken by Pierluigi Piovanelli, “‘Sitting by the Waters of Dan,’ or the ‘Tricky Business’ of Tracing the Social Profile of the Communities that Produced the Earliest Enochic Texts,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 257–81 (278); James C. VanderKam, “Mapping Second Temple Judaism,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 1–20, 20; John J. Collins, “How distinctive was Enochic Judaism?,” Meghillot V–VI (2008), *17–*34, esp. *26–*29, *33, and Erik W. Larson, “Worship in Jubilees and Enoch,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees, 369–83, (382–83). For an extensive discussion of this topic, see the excursus “Die Engel als Priester?” in Veronika Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand: Eine Untersuchung zu Aussagegehalt und Theologie des Wächterbuches (1 Hen 1–36), (BZAW, 409; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2009), 131–48. Most recent contributions presenting the BW as reflecting a distinctive, not Torah centred form of Judaism include Collins, “How distinctive was Enochic Judaism?” and Helge S. Kvanvig, “Enoch—From Sage to Visionary Apocalyptist,” Henoch 30 (2008), 48–51. Corrado Martone, “The Enochic Tradition and the Diversity of Second Temple Judaism,” Henoch 30 (2008), 51–55 (53) even questions whether one can speak of the Enochic theology manifest in the Enochic literature as a Jewish theology. 4 G. H. Dix, “The Enochic Pentateuch,” JTS 27 (1926), 29–42 (32). 5 Dix, “The Enochic Pentateuch,” 31.

84

VERONIKA BACHMANN

already been raised from a critical point of view by Kelley Coblentz Bautch.6 She cautiously concludes: For those who understand the Enochic community to be ambivalent toward the Mosaic legacy, it would seem that still more evidence would be helpful in order for us to clearly discern a divide between the developing Enochic tradition and that of Mosaic Judaism. On the other hand, for those who understand the Enochic corpus as further proof of covenantal nomism or as consisting of works that attest to the same kind of Judaism as presented in Ezra or Ben Sira, it would seem more substantial evidence that establishes a direct relationship between the Enochic works and Mosaic law is a desideratum.7

Bautch herself thus remains rather indecisive. Exploring a “mosaic” understanding of the BW, she mainly juxtaposes two approaches: On the one hand, she refers to E. P. Sanders work “Paul and Palestinian Judaism.” According to Sanders, the several Enochic writings forming 1 Enoch8 share the religious pattern he calls “covenantal nomism,” a pattern under which he finally subsumes all ancient Jewish writings. In his view, Paul was the first to establish “an essentially different type of religiousness from any found in Palestinian Jewish literature.”9 On the other hand, Bautch surveys the different attempts of scholars to detect particular legal concerns within the text. In this regard, she rightly states that “[g]enerally speaking, the text is concerned with lawful behaviour, but it is difficult to determine what constitutes law for the author.”10 In recent years, Mark A. Elliott started to promote anew the idea that covenantal thinking underlies the BW. In his book “The Survivors of Israel,” he challenges the conventional nationalistic view of election theology referring to pre-Christian Jewish groups.11 In fact, he intends to Cf. Kelley Coblentz Bautch, A Study of the Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19: “No One Has Seen What I Have Seen” (JSJSup, 81; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), 289–99. See also Paul Heger’s recent contribution “1 Enoch—Complementary or Alternative to Mosaic Torah?,” JSJ 41 (2010), 29–62. 7 Bautch, Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19, 299. 8 Sanders actually does not further consider the so called Similitudes (1 Enoch 37–71) in his study. 9 E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (London: SCM, 1977), 543. 10 Bautch, Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19, 298. 11 Mark A. Elliott, The Survivors of Israel: A Reconsideration of the Theology of PreChristian Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000); cf. idem, “Covenant and Cosmology in the Book of the Watchers and the Astronomical Book,” Henoch 24 6

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

85

show “that a Jewish theology of special election existed well in advance of the New Testament period.”12 It is within this agenda that he ascribes a covenantal trait to the BW. In Elliott’s opinion, the BW stems from one of the “Remnant Groups” representing such a view of special election, whereby the latter is expressed by a conditional view of covenant and a soteriological dualism. The “Remnant Groups”, according to Elliott, consisted of pious Jews who were confronted with transformations within their religion.13 As a result, he sees the BW as “the reaction of pietists to perceived apostasy in Israel.”14 Similar to Sanders’s view, Elliott’s position remains disputed among scholars. Concerning our main question, it indeed appears that both scholars tend to interpret the Enochic writings under strong guidance of their overall assumption. Furthermore, like many scholars advocating a non- or an antimosaic trait of the BW, they sum up the particularities found in the different Enochic writings instead of tracing the individual narrative and theological profiles of the different writings. The question remains open whether an examination of the BW itself could support labelling the BW as “covenantal” or even “mosaic.” In order to explore this question, I will begin with a review of the most common arguments leading to the notion that the BW is a non- or an anti-mosaic writing. Such a review should allow to better recognize the presuppositions underlying this conclusion and to raise some methodological questions. The second part, focusing on the BW’s way of presenting the present times as a “time out of order” and the book’s notion of knowledge and law, will be dedicated to the question whether and how an alternative reading is possible.

THE BW, ENOCH AND MOSES As I already mentioned, the BW is not just considered as having a non- or anti-mosaic character by supporters of an “Enochic Judaism,” but by a much greater number of scholars. Accordingly, the line of argument can differ considerably from one scholar to another. The aim of the following is to focus on the most common points made. Before going straight into the arguments, it might be helpful to recall the content of the BW in more detail (cf. the table below): Chapters 1–5 form the introductory part, presenting the whole writing as a blessing speech of Enoch addressing a distant generation. A future judgment by (2002), 23–38. 12 Elliott, The Survivors of Israel, 640. 13 In this respect, Elliott underlines the influence of Hellenism prior to the reign of Antiochus IV; cf. idem, The Survivors of Israel, 191–196, 202, 208–213. 14 Ibid., 236.

86

VERONIKA BACHMANN

God on Mount Sinai is announced—for the benefit of the righteous and holding accountable those who acted against God’s will, the sinners. The introduction is followed by the “Story of the Watchers,” a narrative explaining how in ancient times the worldly order was disturbed by the deeds of a group of so called Watcher angels. These angels took for themselves human wives, fathered voracious giants and spread knowledge among humans which had been until then unknown to humankind. The story culminates in the depiction of a great affliction. Chapters 9–11 form the first sequel of this story, focusing on the reactions in heaven. Highranking angels ask God what to do; God’s answer reveals that he has clear plans against the evil-doers. The second sequel of the Watcher’s story focuses on Enoch as the messenger between the rebel angels and God. A petition asking for forgiveness is refused by God. This closing section confirms God’s plans and the fact that he is able and willing to prosecute any transgression of the order he established as the great creator and ruler of the universe. Content and Literary Structure of the Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36) 1–5 Introduction Enoch’s speech of blessing (addressing a distant generation) Announcement of God’s judgment on Mount Sinai 6–8 “Story of the Watchers” Some Watcher angels mix with human • Exposition (6,1–7,2) women and reveal knowledge to • Complication (7,3–8,4) humankind Disastrous outcome of the angels’ deeds 9–11 First Sequel Reactions in “heaven”; God reveals his • Resolution I (9–11) plan to the high-ranking angels Michael, Sariel, Rafael and Gabriel 12–36 Second Sequel Enoch mediates between the rebel • Resolution IIa (12,1–13,3) angels and God; endorsement of God’s • Challenge of the plan against the Watchers and their Resolution (13,4–10) accomplices • Resolution IIb (14–36)

In order to underline the non- or anti-mosaic trait of the BW, many scholars point to the universal scope of the work. Indeed: • Enoch is not an “Israelite figure” in the strict sense, but an antediluvian forefather of the entire humankind. • According to the BW, the troubles described affect the whole world and all of its inhabitants.

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

87

• Finally, the BW suggests that every single creature is supposed to live

according to the order established by the one God. For humans, this means that Israelites and non-Israelites are likewise obliged to follow the rules he established for them. But it also means that every human being—whether Israelite or not—is able to forfeit God’s favour by ignoring and transgressing these rules. According to James VanderKam, the composers of the BW (and of 1 Enoch at large) consciously avoided any reference to Israelite law. In his view, they intended to impart a basic law significant for all humans. He further argues that affiliating oneself with the tradition of Enoch meant to accept the revelations of Enoch as guidelines for life. Or as he puts it: The Enochic tradition (…) finds its cornerstone not in the Sinaitic covenant and law but in events around the time of the flood. (…) The primary revelations to which the tradition appealed were those disclosures given to Enoch before the flood. At that time, an extraordinary wisdom and an understanding of the course of human history were disclosed to him. On the basis of those disclosures the pious person in this tradition was to live. 15

Unlike VanderKam, George W. Nickelsburg is one of those scholars who notice that the perspective of the BW is not merely universal.16 In fact, the text for instance, announces that God will appear on Mount Sinai (1 Enoch 1:4). Although the name “Sinai” is not mentioned again, it is likely that the text also refers to this site of God’s descent to earth in chapter 18 (v. 8) and in chapters 24–25.17 From the fact that the judgment will take place on Mount Sinai, Nickelsburg concludes that according to the BW “the Torah 15 James C. VanderKam, “The Interpretation of Genesis in 1 Enoch,” Peter W. Flint (ed.), The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation (Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 129–148 (142– 143). 16 For Nickelsburg’s discussions of the relationship of the writings of 1 Enoch to the “Mosaic Torah,” cf. idem, “Scripture in 1 Enoch and 1 Enoch as Scripture,” Tord Fornberg and David Hellholm (eds.), Texts and Contexts. Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts. Essays in Honor of Lars Hartman (Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 333–354; idem, “Enochic Wisdom. An Alternative to the Mosaic Torah?,” Jodi Magness and Seymour Gitin (eds.), Hesed ve-emet: Studies in Honor of Ernest S. Frerichs (BJS 320; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 123–132; idem, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), esp. 50–53, 57–61; idem, “Enochic Wisdom and Its Relationship to the Mosaic Torah,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 81–94. 17 Cf. Bautch, Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19, 107–114, 120–126.

88

VERONIKA BACHMANN

given on Sinai would be the basis of that judgment.”18 Such a statement suggests that Nickelsburg does not differentiate between Enochic and Sinaitic law as VanderKam does. However, Nickelsburg clearly adheres to the idea that all in all 1 Enoch—he likes to speak of “Enochic wisdom”—is “non-mosaic.” What he means by this, however, especially with regard to the BW, is not expressed very clearly. For instance, he not only points to 1 Enoch 1:4 in order to substantiate that the Torah given on Sinai would be the basis of the great judgment announced by Enoch; he also refers to the same passage arguing that the authors intended to depreciate the character of Moses by placing “in the mouth of Enoch a text that was modelled after the Blessing of Moses (Deuteronomy 33).”19 The reasons for such an intention of the authors are not elaborated. Nor is further explained how this judgment fits with the first statement.20 As a proponent of the idea of an “Enochic Judaism,” the German New Testament scholar Andreas Bedenbender, advances a view based on the combination of the observations made by VanderKam and Nickelsburg.21 Bedenbender assumes that the BW was originally composed as a “non-mosaic” writing, which then underwent a process of “Mosaisierung.” The BW was made “mosaic.” According to Bedenbender, this process temporally coincides with the persecution under Antiochus IV 167 BCE. He therefore concludes that the introductory chapters of the BW, 18 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 145. The idea that the mentioning of Mount Sinai in 1 Enoch 1:4 calls for a conversion to Torah has already been put forward by Lars Hartman, Asking for a Meaning: A Study of 1 Enoch 1–5 (ConBNT 12; Lund: Gleerup, 1979). Hartman states that “[b]oth the universal responsibility and the covenant obligation are certainly ideas that are of importance” in this passage (ibid., 44). 19 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 52. 20 In the introduction of his commentary on 1 Enoch 1–36 and 81–108, he downplays the role of the Sinaitic law and writes more cautiously than in the quotation above: “Since God will judge ‘all flesh’ (i.e., Jews and Gentiles) (…), the Sinaitic covenant and Torah cannot be the only point of reference.” (Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 50.) 21 Cf. Andreas Bedenbender, Der Gott der Welt tritt auf den Sinai: Entstehung, Entwicklung und Funktionsweise der frühjüdischen Apokalyptik (Arbeiten zur neutestamentlichen Theologie und Zeitgeschichte 8; Berlin: Institut Kirche und Judentum, 2000) and especially idem, “Als Mose und Henoch zusammenfanden: Die Entstehung der frühjüdischen Apokalyptik als Reaktion auf die Religionsverfolgung unter Antiochus IV. Epiphanes,” Hermann Lichtenberger and Gerbern S. Oegema (eds.), Jüdische Schriften in ihrem antik-jüdischen und urchristlichen Kontext (Studien zu den Jüdischen Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit 1; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2002), 182–203; idem, “The Place of the Torah in the Early Enoch Literature,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 65–79.

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

89

chapters 1–5, were added only around that time, with the purpose of a rapprochement between Enochic and Mosaic Judaism. The introductory chapters and especially the mentioning of Mount Sinai, in Bedenbender’s view, document the “Weg des Henochgottes zum Sinai.”22 He argues that such a rapprochement was reasonable for both sides in order to cope with the situation. In sum, similar to Nickelsburg, Bedenbender includes the mentioning of Mount Sinai into his reasoning about the relationship of the BW to the “Mosaic” stream of Judaism. Unlike Nickelsburg, he clearly considers the reference to Mount Sinai as indicating a positive reference, not a depreciation of Moses. Concurring with VanderKam, Bedenbender assumes that the remaining parts of the BW are “non-mosaic.” Unfortunately, he does not provide clear arguments for this last assumption, but rather draws on the scholarly consensus. Gabriele Boccaccini’s contributions offer further hints. As I mentioned in the beginning, he assumes the opposition of two priestly movements in post-exilic times, whereby the BW represents the ideology of the Enochic dissent movement. Boccaccini emphasizes that the Zadokites understood themselves as “the faithful keepers of the cosmic order.”23 With this self-image in mind, the present was supposed to represent the divine order and stability. For the Enochians, in contrast, “God’s past order has been replaced by…disorder.”24 Boccaccini sees this understanding expressed by the “Story of the Watchers” and by the corresponding depiction of history: Due to the Watcher’s deeds in the far past, the worldly order (the present time, respectively) is still fundamentally corrupt. Boccaccini writes about the consequences: For the Enochians, the power that the house of Zadok claims is mere illusion, if not the guilty pretentiousness of evil usurpers. Evil and impurity are uncontrollable, and human beings, including the proud priests of Jerusalem, are powerless. The only hope is in God’s intervention.25

And he adds that the Enochians “completely ignore the Mosaic torah and the Jerusalem temple, that is, the two tenets of the order of the universe.”26 Summarizing the positions hitherto mentioned, the following picture emerges: 22 Bedenbender, 23 Boccaccini,

Ibid. Ibid., 74. 26 Ibid. 24 25

Der Gott der Welt tritt auf den Sinai, 234. Beyond the Essene Hypothesis, 73.

90

VERONIKA BACHMANN • Scholars such as VanderKam and Boccaccini assume a non-mosaic character observing that some figures and institutions are not mentioned within the BW. From this observation they more or less directly conclude that the composers intended to ideologically dissociate themselves from groups behind texts attributing more significance to such figures and institutions. • Furthermore, we saw that Boccaccini emphasizes the BW’s understanding of the present as a time of disorder. In his view, such an understanding seriously challenges the ideology of writings such as Esra, Nehemia, P or Chronicles and therefore must point to a different author- and readership. • Nickelsburg’s observations remain ambivalent. On the one hand, he clearly notices a link to the Sinaitic law. On the other hand, he nevertheless assumes that the figures of Enoch and Moses are played off against each other. • Finally, similar to Nickelsburg, Bedenbender is aware of the ambivalent picture. However, he resolves the tension by identifying different text layers, that is, by applying a diachronic approach: since in his view, the introductory chapters do not fit ideologically with the ideas attributed to “Enochic Judaism,” they must have been added later.

THE BW AND THE “LORD OF SINAI” Among the most recent contributions, we encounter a further interpretation of the BW’s reference to Mount Sinai. Instead of deeming it a clear indication for a “mosaic” trait of the BW, Helge S. Kvanvig, for instance, suggests that the mentioning of Sinai might not draw on the tradition of the giving of the law, but on “the presumably oldest Sinai tradition where Sinai is the abode of God, who reveals himself in theophanies.”27 However, scholars draw different conclusions from this observation. According to Kvanvig, the missing reference to the Mosaic Torah should not be seen “as a deliberate denial of its legitimacy.” For in his view, the Torah as a literary construct, known from passages such as Nehemia 8–10, “had not yet gained broad authority” at the time of its

27 Kvanvig, “Enochic Judaism,” 171. Or as Collins states: “(…) a mere reference to Sinai does not in itself establish a reference to covenantal law-making. Sinai was the mountain of theophany long before it was associated with the giving of the Law.” (Collins, “How distinctive was Enochic Judaism?,” *30.)

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

91

composition.28 John J. Collins, in contrast, embeds the same interpretation of 1 Enoch 1:4 into his overall picture of the “Enoch literature”: The understanding of the relationship between the elect and God may be covenantal, in the sense that it is based on laws which entail reward or punishment as their consequences, but it is not based on the Mosaic covenant, which was so widely accepted as the foundation of Jewish religion in the Hellenistic period.29

Kvanvig’s and Collins’s interpretation of 1 Enoch 1:4 reminds us to be very careful when exploring the range of meanings a reference is able to evoke.30 Indeed, it would be inadequate to interpret the reference to Mount Sinai as exclusively referring to the narration of the giving of the law at Mount Sinai. In several texts, YHWH is portrayed as what we could call the “Lord of Sinai:”31 As such, YHWH majestically appears on earth, and the earth is shaken by the deity’s powerful appearance. All of these texts further specify the power of God: God is depicted as the one who powerfully supports his own people (cf. Deut 33:26–29; Hab 3:13; Judg 5:5) or, more generally, his creatures (cf. Ps 68:11) and who brings his or his people’s enemies to justice. Returning to the BW and reconsidering its content and its selfdesignation as a blessing speech, we find that this traditional notion of YHWH fits nicely into the larger picture. The entire writing predominantly underlines that God is committed to his creation and holds accountable any wrongdoers. However, how tenable is it to assume that the reference to Mount Sinai might have triggered merely this old “Lord of Sinai” notion? As Kvanvig and others emphasize, we should certainly refrain from anachronistically assuming an entrenched biblical canon for the 3rd century BCE, the time when the BW was most probably composed.32 Kvanvig, “Enochic Judaism,” 172. In a similar way, Reed, “Enochic and Mosaic Traditions in Jubilees,” 365–366 advises caution against assuming anachronistically an exclusive and central position of the Pentateuch in Second Temple times. 29 Collins, “How distinctive was Enochic Judaism?,” *32. 30 Cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 144–145, offering important observations in this regard. 31 Cf. Ps 68:9 and Judg 5:5 referring to YHWH as ‫יהוה זה סיני‬/‫אלהים‬, but also texts such as Deut 33 and Hab 3:3–6. For a discussion of recent attempts to date these references to Sinai as late as to Hellenistic times, see Martin Leuenberger, “Jhwhs Herkunft aus dem Süden: Archäologische Befunde – biblische Überlieferungen – historische Korrelationen,” ZAW 122 (2010): 1–19. 32 For further considerations about the dating of the BW see the following 28

92

VERONIKA BACHMANN

Notwithstanding, most of our models on the growth of the biblical books suggest that the narrative traditions of the Urgeschichte and the narrative traditions about Mount Sinai and about Moses were intertwined at least since late Persian times. This strong consensus in my view makes it difficult to maintain that people in early Hellenistic times were unfamiliar with the story about the giving of the law to Moses at Mount Sinai. On the contrary, such an overall picture suggests that the composers of the BW could indeed presuppose that their addressees were not only familiar with the notion of the “Lord of Sinai,” but also with the story of Moses receiving the laws on Mount Sinai as well as the related narratives. As we will see below, the meaning of the text is reinforced by both references. Scholars who assume that the composers aimed at one reference only would need to further explicate why and by which narrative means readers are prompted to consider only one of the two semantic ranges.

SOME METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS After this brief comment on the interpretation of the reference to Mount Sinai in 1 Enoch 1:4, let us return to the other scholarly arguments. The overview above might have revealed that in spite of all the differences, the arguments unfold in a similar manner. Many of the conclusions tend to relate basically to the visibility or non-visibility of particular ideas and the occurrence or non-occurrence of single figures or terms. Relatively little importance is attributed to thoughts about the historical context, and even less to the pragmatics of the text. In many cases, the text and its elements tend to be perceived statically instead of being understood as means of textual communication. Referring to such kind of interpretation, Christof Hardmeier and other scholars, based on communication-oriented linguistics, distinguish between an approach which they call “representationssemantisch” and one which they call “instruktionssemantisch.”33 For them, a text forms a sequence of signs initiating a process of generating meaning on the part of the readers or listeners. Every sign figures as a carrier of semantic instruction and offers a further clue within this process and in this sense channels the reading chapter. 33 Cf. Christof Hardmeier and Regine Hunziker-Rodewald, “Texttheorie und Texterschliessung. Grundlagen einer empirisch-textpragmatischen Exegese,” Helmut Utzschneider and Erhard Blum (eds.) Lesarten der Bibel. Untersuchungen zu einer Theorie der Exegese des Alten Testaments (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006), 13–44 (offering further references). The distinction builds on the theoretical model developed by Siegfried Schmidt in the seventies of the 20th century.

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

93

process.34 Having such a notion of text in mind, assessing the meaning of a single textual element necessarily implies taking into account the dynamics of the entire lexematic field. Of course, interpreting a text does not in itself require such a communication-oriented perspective.35 However, if we are interested in tracing back to those who might have written and promoted a text (and if we are optimistic enough to find some hints through our sources), such a communication-oriented understanding of literature might be helpful.36 As I will show in the following, such an understanding, as trivial as it sounds, indeed questions some of the prevailing opinions about the BW. Cf. Umberto Eco’s statement addressing readers of Finnegans Wake: “[B]ada che l’autore, che ha tanto faticato ad architettare questa immense macchina per produrre interpretazioni, ha anche cercato di indicarti dei percorsi di lettura. Non si è limitato a ricopiare l’elenco telefonico, in base al quale, grazie alla dovizia di personaggi, ciascuno può costruirsi la Commedia Umana che desidera, ma ha disposto con meditata accortezza ogni pun, ogni incrocio di allusioni, e il suo testo richiede anche quest’atto di rispetto.” [Idem, I limiti dell’interpretazione (Studi Bompiani. Il campo semiotico; Milano: Bompiani, 1990), 106.] Translated into German: “Vergiss (…) nicht, dass der Autor, der soviel Mühe aufwandte, um diese gewaltige Maschine zum hervorbringen von Interpretationen zu bauen, auch versucht hat, dir bestimmte Interpretationswege vorzugeben. Er hat sich nicht darauf beschränkt, das Telefonbuch abzuschreiben, von dem ausgehend sich jeder aus der Unzahl von Personen ganz nach Wunsch eine Menschliche Komödie zusammenstellen kann, sondern hat mit Bedacht jeden pun, jedes Sichüberschneiden von Anspielungen vorbereitet, und sein Text möchte sich auch in dieser Hinsicht gewürdigt sehen.” [Idem, Die Grenzen der Interpretation (3d. ed.; dtv 30168; München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 2004), 143; the English translation (or rather adaptation, since it differs from the Italian original in many ways) skips this passage.] 35 On this topic, see part one of Lesarten der Bibel. 36 For a fruitful methodological approach based on examining the literary function of the specific manner how certain literary figures are depicted within different writings, see Reed, “Enochic and Mosaic Traditions in Jubilees” (though mainly about Jubilees). Among the few contributions taking into account the literary character on the BW (whereby this approach does not necessarily imply a communication-oriented understanding of literature) figure Lars Hartman, Asking for a Meaning: A Study of 1 Enoch 1–5 (ConBNT 12; Lund: Gleerup, 1979) (examining the introductory chapters); Johan C. Thom, “Aspects of the Form, Meaning and Function of the Book of Watchers,” Neotestamentica 17 (1983), 40–49; Martin Stowasser, “Heil und Gericht im ‘Buch der Wächter.’ Ein Versuch zu einem synchronen Verständnis von 1 Hen 1–36,” Protokolle zur Bibel 13 (2004), 25–47; Helge S. Kvanvig, “Origin and Identity of the Enoch Group,” Henoch 24 (2002), 207–212; Piovanelli, “ ‘Sitting by the Waters of Dan.’” 34

94

VERONIKA BACHMANN

A READING BEYOND “ENOCHIC” VERSUS “MOSAIC”? It is not possible to provide an extensive close reading of the BW within the confines of the present article.37 In response to the scholarly arguments discussed above, I want to address two selected topics that highlight some of the results of such a reading. However, one question must be answered in advance: When interpreting the BW, it is important to determine which text unit is envisioned. What I am focusing on is the pre-Maccabean version of the BW in its “Enochic” form. In this case, “Enochic” means that I am working with a version which already combines the material about the Watchers with traditions about Enoch. The manuscript evidence allows us to conclude that such a version has circulated as an independent writing in the 3rd century BCE when Palestine was under Ptolemaic dominion.38 4Q201 furthermore allows for the assumption that such a 3rd century version already included the introductory chapters and probably also at least parts of the accounts of Enoch’s journey. Although a general form of such a version may be determined, reflections on the growth of the text remain indispensable. Such reflections for instance led me to conclude that the passages 19:1–2 (ideologically concurring with 8:1 of the Greek Syncellus For such a reading, see Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 63–107. The different scrolls allow the conclusion that at least two of the writings have once circulated and were read as independent writings: the Astronomical Book [at least in a form containing the calendar material, maybe still without being linked to the figure of Enoch; cf. Michael A. Knibb, “The Book of Enoch or Books of Enoch? The Textual Evidence for 1 Enoch,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 21–40 (21–22); Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “Some Remarks on the Book of the Watchers, the Priests, Enoch and Genesis, and 4Q208,” Henoch 24 (2002), 143–45 (145); idem and Florentino G. García Martínez, “4QAstronomical Enocha-b ar,” Philip Alexander et al. (eds.), Qumran Cave 4 XXVI: Cryptic Texts and Miscellanea, Part 1 (DJD 36; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), 95–171 (95, 105) and the BW. Concerning the BW cf. 4Q201 and 4Q202, both stemming from the 2nd century BCE and solely witnessing fragments of the BW. Against this latter assumption, Michaël Langlois, Le premier manuscrit du “Livre d’Hénoch:” Étude épigraphique et philologique des fragments araméens de 4Q201 à Qumrân (Lectio divina; Paris: Editions du Cerf, 2008) recently considered that fragments 1l, 1o and 2 of 4Q201 might be attributed to 1 Enoch 93:4–6; 102:7–10 and to the Book of the Giants respectively. Whether Langlois’s reading of the fragments turns out to be more convincing than Milik’s reading remains to be seen; his proposal at least points to the difficulty that several Aramaic fragments are too scanty for drawing clear conclusions. In any case, only 4Q204, 4Q205 and 4Q206 undoubtedly contain fragments of the BW beside other “Enochic” writings within the same scroll. All of these scrolls stem from the 1st century BCE. 37 38

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

95

fragment) and 33:3–36:3 (linking the BW to the contents of an “Enochic” Astronomical Book) might be later additions.39

THE IDEA OF A “WORLD OUT OF ORDER” The first issue to address is the BW’s understanding of the present time as a time of disorder. The BW conveys an understanding of history which along general lines is known from the prophetic literature:40 An ideal “Ur-Zeit” is followed by corrupt times, whereby the present time is understood to be part of this corrupt era. However, a turn in history initiating the restoration of good times is announced. By explaining the negative turn of history with the narrative about the Watcher angels, the BW combines this overall picture with the priestly idea that the decline of history started at a very early stage in human history, in the time of the earliest forefathers of humankind. The angels started trespassing God’s order “in the days of Jared” (1 Enoch 6:6), and it is his son, Enoch, who tells us about these events and about his own involvement (1 Enoch 1–5; 12–36). It is important to see that the BW not only emphasizes that the world was corrupted once the angels challenged God’s order. Reciting the deeds, but also the consequences of such deeds and the destiny of the angels, the BW points to several stages within this corrupt era. The deeds of the angels first lead to a disastrous era even jeopardizing the existence of humanity (1 Enoch 7–8). Thanks to the emergency steps ordered by God (1 Enoch 9– 11), this era leads to another, which coincides with the present of the readers. The latter remains corrupt, but in a more latent sense: Human beings still hand down the tempting knowledge and techniques received from the angels; and moreover, the offspring of angels still bother humans as “evil spirits” (cf. chapter 15). A blessed life for the righteous is still not guaranteed. Only the future great judgment on the wrongdoers among all creatures will bring about a restored good era. If we pay attention to the pragmatics, it turns out that the BW emphasizes the sovereignty of God and the relevance of his rules through 39 Concerning the assumption that the Astronomical Book was not necessarily linked with traditions about the figure of Enoch in its early version, see the previous note. For further arguments supporting the idea that 1 Enoch 19:1–2 and 33:3–36:3 are later additions, see Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, Prophets of Old and the Day of the End: Zechariah, the Book of Watchers and Apocalyptic (Oudtestamentische studiën 35; Leiden/New York/Köln: Brill, 1996), 157–158, 161–163; Veronika Bachmann, “Rooted in Paradise? The Meaning of the ‘Tree of Life’ in 1 Enoch 24–25 Reconsidered,” JSP 19 (2009), 83–107 (22–25, 39–43). 40 Cf. Klaus Koch, Die Profeten I: Assyrische Zeit (3d. ed.; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1995), 247–48.

96

VERONIKA BACHMANN

its understanding of history: God remains the great powerful one and his rules remain the only ones preventing his creatures from being judged, although there are times (such as the present one) in which the (Jewish) God and this God’s rules appear less attractive. As a result, the readers are called to reconsider their way of life. They are called upon to decide whether to live as those who respect and appreciate the true ruler of the universe—or to live as the accomplices of the angels, aspiring for more than what God provided for every species.41 By its specific manner of emphasizing the biblically well known call to return to God, the BW combines different theological streams manifest in the religious writings of ancient Israel: Its strong focus on the theme of God’s perfectly established and essentially untouchable order recalls priestly and sapiential ideas. However, it also includes patterns of thoughts manifest in deuteronomistic texts: the BW exhibits that it is possible to forfeit the favour of God. In order to provide an understanding of the present as a “time out of order,” it explains how this had actually already happened in history—with the far-reaching consequences exposed throughout the book. In this regard, it is striking that on the narrative level the BW does not centre on human misconduct, but the misconduct of celestial beings.42 The deeds of such celestial beings are even depicted as the origin of any human misconduct. On a theological level, this not only unburdens God—who remains the creator of a perfect, everlasting universe who never intended to cause any evil—but to some extent also the humans. For such an overall picture allows perceiving them both as offenders and victims. Whereas there is no forgiveness for the angels who sinned (cf. 1 Enoch 13ff.), the BW insinuates that returning to a decent way of life still pays off for humans.43

The angels desired women; although as eternal beings, they do not need to procreate like the mortal humans (cf. 1 Hen 15); likewise, the knowledge and the techniques disseminated among the humans can be interpreted as creating the desire for representing and having more than God provided; see in greater detail Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 68–69. 42 At this point, many scholars turn to an allegorical reading, assuming that by mentioning the angels the authors actually referred to human priests or a to a specific priestly group. Against such a reading, see Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 131–48. Although the BW centres on the misconduct of celestial beings, it also mentions human misconduct. In fact, human wrongdoing is addressed in every of its literary parts (cf. 1 Enoch 1–5; 8; 9:8; 16:3; 22; 27). 43 Such reading of course remains barred for those scholars who adhere to the assumption that the rebel angels refer to priests. 41

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

97

According to the proposed reading, the depiction of the present as a “time out of order” proves to be one important element generating the strong appellative character of the BW. The question remains what the BW means by God’s rules that are not to be transgressed. As we saw, some scholars assume a set of “Enochic laws” which differ from the Sinaitic or Mosaic law. The second question I shall therefore address is what it means to speak of Enoch’s revelations or knowledge, or even of Enoch’s “wisdom.”

GOD’S RULES AND ENOCH’S KNOWLEDGE First, it is striking that the BW itself makes no explicit claim to convey wisdom. We should therefore be very cautious when using terms such as “Enochic wisdom.” If we analyze the book’s use of the term “wisdom” and if we carefully observe the different ways of how knowledge plays a role within the writing, we discover that the BW’s notion of wisdom is quite particular.44 On one hand, the BW adheres in a traditional manner to the idea that wisdom implies well-being for the righteous (cf. 1 Enoch 5). On the other hand, we saw that the BW depicts the present as a disturbed era in which righteous people are not necessarily rewarded with a good fortune. The composers of the BW apparently resolved this tension by separating “knowledge” from “wisdom.” Whereas knowledge is depicted as being available through all times, wisdom is tied to the good eras of history: Wisdom strikes roots as soon as God’s order is established and permanently maintained.45 Once having adduced this notion of wisdom, the notion of knowledge or revelation may be better traced. Scholars often observe that the BW contrasts “good” or “salvific” and “bad” knowledge. The latter is the knowledge revealed by the Watchers. The text suggests that this knowledge is bad not only because of its negative effects, but primarily due to the fact that God never intended to impart it to humankind. Concerning the “good” or “salvific” knowledge, a closer look is necessary. As we have seen before, the pragmatics of the text point to an understanding of the BW as addressing readers who might be attracted to another way of life than what is considered to be the traditional “Jewish” way of life. If this is true, it is also clear why the basic “good knowledge” is not further specified: It is the On this topic, see Bachmann, “Rooted in Paradise?” and idem, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 186–203. 45 Cf. the tree imagery of 1 Enoch 24–25. As I outlined in Bachmann, “Rooted in Paradise?” and in idem, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 89–96, this particular tree imagery should be linked to wisdom instead of being linked to the story of Genesis 2–3 as it is mostly done. 44

98

VERONIKA BACHMANN

knowledge the readers are supposed to know or to rediscover. Perhaps we can call it the Torah or the Mosaic or Sinaitic law.46 But maybe it is more appropriate to describe it in a broader sense as the cultural “Jewish” heritage that emerged during the Persian period, a “Jewish” way of life which can even differ in detail.47 As the BW insinuates, humans become the precious agents for maintaining the true universal order by adhering to such a way of life. They are no longer the companions of angels like Shemihazah (the chief of the angels who decided to mix with humans) or Asael (the key figure responsible for the revelation of knowledge), but the companions of great angels such as Michael, Sariel, Rafael and Gabriel. They have nothing to fear with regard to the announced judgment. The question remaining is how Enoch’s revelations relate to this good or salvific knowledge. The introductory chapters of the BW make clear: Just as the “good knowledge” is provided by God, likewise Enoch’s whole message is authorized by God. Nevertheless, Enoch’s message to the “distant generation”/the readers is a separate issue. It might be most accurate to interpret it as a kind of additional salvific knowledge that undergirds the importance of the basic salvific knowledge. As such, it belongs among other religious writings which are written, promoted and appreciated in order to strengthen what is considered as being the kernel of the religious tradition or—in a broader sense—of the cultural heritage. Admittedly, the BW is outstanding by presenting itself as a sort of Cf. Heger, “1 Enoch,” 54. Such a conclusion concurs to some extent with readings offered already by Marie‐Theres Wacker, Weltordnung und Gericht: Studien zu 1 Henoch 22 (FB 45; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1982), esp. 313–15, or Rainer Albertz, Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit. Vol. 2: Vom Exil bis zu den Makkabäern (Grundrisse zum Alten Testament 8; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), 652–59. For a recent contribution stressing anew the BW’s historical context of hellenisation, see Annette Y. Reed, “The Origins of the Book of the Watchers as ‘Apocalypse’ and Its Reception as ‘Apocryphon,’” Henoch 30 (2008), 55–60. Whereas in her dissertation published in 2005, Reed still concluded that there were “few hints of any animosity towards Hellenistic culture or Hellenized Jews within the Book of the Watchers, and the polemical concerns that we do find speak less to the encounter between Judaism and Hellenism than to internal debates within the scribal/priestly stratum of Judaean society” [idem, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 60], in this more recent article, she underlines that “the Book of the Watchers’ preoccupation with the corrupting power of false knowledge proves particularly poignant when read as a defense of Israel’s intellectual heritage in the face of the growing prestige of Greek wisdom.” (Reed, “The Origins of the Book of the Watchers,” 58.) 46 47

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC?

99

revelatory literature of mixed character which we can barely assign to any established genre due to the lack of contemporary parallels.48 However, we will see below that even this formal peculiarity allows us to some degree to draw conclusions about the historical setting of the BW. In sum, if we interpret the BW as a revelatory writing conveying a kind of salvific knowledge undergirding the importance of the basic salvific knowledge, to assume a competing relationship between Enoch’s message and the latter becomes obsolete. Enoch’s message pursues its own goal. Introduced and authorized as the blessing speech of one of the forefathers of all humankind, the writing can be understood as explaining to its readers that what appears to be good in present times—the “modern lure”— actually proves to be the fruit of the perversion once initiated by the Watchers’ wrongdoing.

CONCLUSIONS The above examination of the BW’s way of presenting the present times as a “time out of order” and the book’s notion of knowledge and law reveals that it is unnecessary to assume that the composers intended to polemically oppose two figures (be it Enoch and Moses). Once the antagonism of “Enochic” versus “Mosaic” is left behind, the literary context becomes the touchstone for determining the meaning and function of single textual elements. In many ways the resulting overall picture differs from the assumptions initially outlined. Such a context focused reading prevents from attributing undue significance to the BW’s understanding of the present as a time of disorder. This understanding indeed plays an important role, but first and foremost as one of the means for emphasizing the relevance of the traditional way of life.49 Furthermore, the proposed reading sheds new light on the introductory chapters. On one hand, once an antagonistic reading is left behind, there is no further need for artificially cutting off the introductory chapters from the main body of the text. The introduction emerges as a crucial passage for the reading of the BW already in its 3rd century version. On the other hand, it is unnecessary to interpret the reference to Mount Sinai in 1 Enoch 1:4 as either evoking the “old Sinai traditions” or the story about the giving of the law to Moses. The meaning of the text is strengthened by both references: as we have seen above, the BW depicts 48 See the discussion of the different proposals made by scholars in Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 47–62. 49 For a more detailed examination of time related characteristics of the BW, see Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 150–70.

100

VERONIKA BACHMANN

God not only as the one who powerfully supports his people and creatures and who brings both of his and their enemies to justice. It also depicts God as the one who sets the specific rules for every species (cf. 1 Enoch 2–5; 15:3–7) and who intervenes in case of transgressions. These three aspects are encompassed by both traditions.50 As we have seen, presenting Enoch as a messenger addressing his distant descendants allowed the composers to revamp an old concern, the return to YHWH. The specific manner of revamping allows drawing further conclusions concerning the historical context and the purpose of the writing. The chosen form of the text and its rhetorical dynamics, the composers’ choice to focus on the figure of Enoch as well as on the Story of the Watchers become meaningful in particular in the context of a historical setting in which the Jewish population was to a large part exposed to noticeable changes in mentality and practice. However, the strong appellative character of the writing suggests that these changes were not necessarily perceived negatively by the addressees. The readers were to be convinced that the time in which they lived was not a good one. It would therefore be inadequate to characterize the BW as a writing supporting its readers in overcoming an experienced crisis as it is often proposed, a view which has induced many scholars to describe the authors of the BW as members of a (geographically) peripheral and (ideologically) marginalized group. If we go further and pose the question of who could have promoted such a text, it seems less convincing to speak of “priestly dissidents” or even a (proto-)sectarian group within Judaism.51 In contrast, we have to As regards the story about Moses and the other Israelites at Mount Sinai, we should not, for instance, ignore Ex 32, the incident with the golden calf. Further biblical passages (cf. Deut 9:8–21; Ps 106:19–23; Neh 9) as well as post-biblical texts prove its perception as a quasi archetypal rebellion against God [cf. Pekka Lindqvist, Sin at Sinai: Early Judaism Encounters Exodus 32 (Åbo: Åbo Akademis Förlag, 2006)]. 51 Cf. Pierluigi Piovanelli, “Was there Sectarian Behaviour Before the Flourishing of Jewish Sects? A Long-Term Approach to the History and Sociology of Second Temple Sectarianism,” David J. Chalcraft (ed.), Sectarianism in Early Judaism: Sociological Advances (Bible world; London: Equinox, 2007), 156–79 who, building on Bryan R. Wilson’s typology on religious sectarianism, adheres to a “community behind the Enoch literature” as a group “clearly proto-sectarian (…) displaying revolutionist, manipulationist, thaumaturgical, and spiritualist attitudes” (ibid., 166) and which is not to be located “among the members of the Jerusalem clergy” (ibid., 165) due to a differing approach to the sacred, for instance. It would have been interesting to know more about Piovanelli’s ideas about the nature of a “proto-sectarian group” and about the term’s heuristic value. 50

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC? 101 think of a group of people who might have had good reasons to be concerned about a loss of influence observing that social and cultural values were changing and who therefore aimed for a broad audience.52 Carrying further this conclusion, the religious establishment itself comes into consideration. Even the course of history as it is depicted in the BW may now be historically contextualized.53 Reworking Nickelsburg’s proposal to a certain extent to link 1 Enoch 6–11 to the experience of the wars of the Diadochoi (323–302 BCE),54 we could assume more than just a link of the “present time of latent corruption” to the era under Ptolemaic dominion, a time entailing many changes on both the economic and cultural level. As Nickelsburg proposes, we might indeed see the violent turn in history as mirroring the experience of the wars mentioned. However, in the context of the final form of the BW, this violent era now clearly turns into a past event. The ideal era before the angel’s transgressions may eventually be interpreted as reflecting the positive (nostalgically idealized?) perception of the Persian second temple period from a priestly perspective.55 Such an analogy would imply the statement that the Jerusalem temple will figure 52 It might be further explored whether the fact that the BW was written in Aramaic could support such an assumption. Cf. in that direction in a general sense Elias Bickermann, The Jews in the Greek Age (Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press, 1988), 51, related to the BW and to 1 Enoch respectively Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 222 (esp. note 297), 259; Heger, “1 Enoch,” 43. Heger confidently states that it is “evident that the Aramaic text was created for the masses and the Hebrew writing for the intellectual segment of society” (ibid. 43–44, note 53). 53 The following proposal admittedly reaches a highly hypothetical level. It mainly provides an answer to the common proposals of historical contextualisations of the BW. For a further discussion of the proposal presented here, see Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 169–70, 261. 54 Cf. George W. E. Nickelsburg’s characterization of the angels’ prayer in 1 Enoch 9 as “more than a literary device by which the author makes an academic statement on the problem of evil. It is the bitter and desperate cry of our author’s own people, who query about the problem of evil because they are experiencing it. It is they who are the victims of the giants of this earth—the mighty who devour the fruits of the earth, murder them, and make war on one another.” [Idem, “Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977), 383–405, (388–89); cf. idem, 1 Enoch 1, esp. 168 and 170]. Unfortunately, some scholars adopted this view without further noticing that Nickelsburg is referring to an early version of the BW, not to the BW in its final form. 55 Cf., for instance, the depiction of such a positive stance on the Persian period in Konrad Schmid, Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments. Eine Einführung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2008), 144–45.

102

VERONIKA BACHMANN

again as the unchallenged centre of the world in the future (cf. 1 Enoch 25:5–6; 26), as it did in Persian times.56 As a last point, I would like to return to the notion of law in the BW. As outlined above, for many scholars the BW’s rather unspecified notion of law is a sign of its non-mosaic character. Although he generally tends to agree with this view, Collins cautiously takes into consideration the possibility that the BW may link the commandments given to Israel to the law of creation or nature, respectively, which figures prominently in the writing. Or as he writes, “…the law emanating from Sinai may be viewed as a formulation of the law of nature, as appears to be the case in Ben Sira 24 and in Philo.”57 Indeed, we should not hastily disregard this option. On one hand, we saw that for pragmatic reasons the BW emphasises the notion of God as the great creator and sovereign ruler of the universe. On the other hand, we saw that “God’s rules,” when addressing humans, are to be linked to the traditional “Jewish way of life.” Accordingly, the notion of “(Jewish) law” and the notion of the “order of creation” must be closely connected As my conclusions indicate and as further explained in Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 245–48, 261, I don’t think that the composers of the BW should be geographically located in the region of Galilee as many scholars suggest. According to the BW, the region around Mount Hermon has a clear negative connotation: not only is it the place where the Watchers started to spread their negative influence on earth (1 Enoch 6:6), it is also the region where Enoch reveals God’s irrevocable verdict about their deeds to them (1 Enoch 13:7–9). Historical data reveal that the place has a long “sacred history” (cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 238–47). In the early Hellenistic times, a strong Phoenician influence can be observed. In my view, the BW’s negative portrayal of the region as well as the fact that the region figured as a prominent place of “foreign sacredness” speak less to a polemic attitude against the Jerusalem temple than to polemics against a site appropriated by wrong numinous forces. Against this background, the report about Enoch’s incubation experience of being brought from Dan directly before the throne of the Jewish God (1 Enoch 13:7–14:24) shows an audacious trait. Such a scenario must have questioned the power of the local cults—and might have impressed a Jewish audience. 57 Collins, “How distinctive was Enochic Judaism?,” *30; cf. idem, “Theology and Identity in the Early Enoch Literature,” Henoch 24 (2002), 57–62 (62). A similar point has already been made by Christoph Münchow, Ethik und Eschatologie: Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis der frühjüdischen Apokalyptik mit einem Ausblick auf das Neue Testament (Berlin: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981). According to Münchow, the BW clearly witnesses an understanding of Torah “als ethisches und zugleich kosmisches Gesetz” which can be explained as a “Weiterbildung weisheitlicher Vorstellungen unter Aufnahme von Gedanken der stoisch‐platonisch geprägten Popularphilosophie” (ibid., 25). 56

1 ENOCH 1–36: ANTI-MOSAIC, NON-MOSAIC, OR PRO-MOSAIC? 103 under the BW. Other than Jubilees, the BW does not yet present an elaborate solution of how such a connection should be envisioned. Neither is this its point. As scholars noticed, attempts of grasping the revealed Torah in a universal way do not first emerge with Ben Sira, Jubilees, or Baruch (cf. Baruch 3:9–4:4), but may already be detected within pentateuchal texts.58 Having this overall picture in mind, the BW turns into an important writing among the sources we still know: After all, it appears to be the first writing basing its overall message on the notion of such a close tie between law and creation.59 If we compare the BW with older and contemporary writings, it is without doubt that in the BW, we encounter a writing which conveys rather unfamiliar contents in an unfamiliar manner. But does this fact allow for the conclusion that “the Enoch literature reflects a distinctive form of Judaism”?60 I propose that it does not. In my view, it is less helpful to search for distinctive forms of Judaism when interpreting the BW than to raise the question why the BW appears rather untraditional in spite of its purpose of actually promoting traditional values and a traditional way of life.61 Given the situation in which “tradition” loses its significance and even its credibility, I would say that the composers had few choices: they had to find new ways to draw attention to their message. And they were brave enough to break new ground.

58 Cf. John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster/John Knox, 1997), 54–55; Thomas Krüger, “Gesetz und Weisheit im Pentateuch,” Irmtraud Fischer et al. (eds.), Auf den Spuren der schriftgelehrten Weisen: Festschrift für Johannes Marböck anlässlich seiner Emeritierung (BZAW, 331; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003), 1–12; Thomas Krüger, “Weisheit/Gesetz,” Angelika Berlejung and Christian Frevel (eds.), HGANT (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006), 60–65. 59 As discussed in Bachmann, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand, 196–203, 244–45, 256, the engagement with Hellenistic thoughts might have played a major role prompting such innovation. 60 Collins, “How distinctive was Enochic Judaism?,” *33. 61 See also Martha Himmelfarb’s answer to the question whether the BW ignores or even rejects the Torah, concluding that the BW’s “reticence about the laws of the Torah is a function of genre, not of distance or discomfort.” [Martha Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Jewish culture and contexts; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 41.]

DAVID’S ELITE WARRIORS AND THEIR EXPLOITS IN THE BOOKS OF SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES MOSHE GARSIEL BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION In this article,1 I intend to elaborate and update my previous publications dealing with King David’s heroes and their exploits as recorded and recounted in the book of Samuel and repeated—with considerable changes—in the book of Chronicles.2 In Samuel, most of the information is included in the last part of the book (2 Sam 21–24), defined by previous This article was inspired by my paper delivered at a conference on “The Shaping of the Historical Memory and Consciousness in the Book of Chronicles” that took place in the spring of 2010 at Bar-Ilan University. 2 See my Hebrew publications: M. Garsiel, The Kingdom of David: Studies in History and Inquiries in Historiography (Tel Aviv: Don, 1975; Heb.), 26–40, 55–57; Idem, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel: Studies in the Book of Samuel, vol. 3 (2d ed.; Raanana: The Open University of Israel; Heb.), 135–165; Idem, “The Four Sons of Rephaim who Fell in Combats with David and his Heroes,” Beit Mikra 54 (2009), 39–61 (Heb.; Eng. Summary p. 7*); See also my English articles: M. Garsiel, “The Water Retrieval Mission of David’s Three Warriors and its Relationship to the Battle of the Valley of Refaim,” M. Heltzer & M. Malul (eds.), Teshurot LaAvishur: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, in Hebrew and Semitic Languages—A Festschrift Presented to Prof. Yitshaq Avishur on the Occasion of his 65 th Birthday (Tel Aviv/Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publication, 2004), 51–62; Idem, “The Valley of Elah Battle and the Duel of David with Goliath: Between History and Artistic Theological Historiography,” G. Galil, M. Geler, and A. Millard (eds.), Homeland and Exile: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded (VTSup, 130; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2009), 391–426. 1

105

106

MOSHE GARSIEL

scholars as an “Appendix.”3 Today, several scholars have reservations about such a definition and replace it with “epilogue” or “conclusion,” inasmuch as these four chapters contain links among themselves as well as with the main part of the book.4 In any event, according to my recent research, most of the material in the epilogue—including the parts regarding David’s heroes—was gleaned, edited and added at a later stage of the book of Samuel’s composition by the second author. That author adopted the earlier, short version of the book that had been composed by his predecessor, omitted from it some material, but added to it a lot more. Who, then, are the two separate authors of the book of Samuel and how did this book come into being? According to my recent research,5 the former author was probably one of the Prophet Nathan’s disciples who wrote the initial book about David’s story and history. This book was not intended to serve mainly as a political propaganda glorifying David or Solomon against their opponents, as viewed by various scholars; it concentrated, rather, primarily on the theological principle of God’s providence, which rewards people or punishes them in accordance with their deeds. This earlier work, which included David’s story from his appearance at the king’s court up to his old age and Solomon’s accession,6 See, e.g., M. H. Segal, The Books of Samuel: Edited and Interpreted with a Detailed Introduction (Jerusalem: Kiryat-Sefer, 1964; Heb.), 362–363; A. A. Anderson, 2 Samuel (WBC 11; Dallas: Word, 1989), 247–248. 4 See, e.g., J. G. Baldwin, 1 and 2 Samuel: An Introduction and Commentary (TOTC; Leicester, UK: InterVarsity, 1988), 282–283; R. P. Gordon, I & II Samuel: A Commentary (Grand Rapids: Regency Reference Library, 1986), 45, 298; H. H. Klement, II Samuel 21–24: Context, Structure and Meaning in the Samuel Conclusion (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2000), passim; R. Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History, Part Three; Idem, 2 Samuel (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1993), 202–214; D. G. Firth, 1 & 2 Samuel (AOT 8; Nottingham/Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2009), 501–503. 5 See my recent articles: M. Garsiel, “The Book of Samuel: Its Composition, Structure and Significance as a Historiographical Source,” JHS 10 (2010), article 5 (electronic); Idem, “Ideological Discordance between the Prophets, Nathan and Samuel, as Reflecting the Divergence between the Book of Samuel’s Authors,” G. Galil et al. (eds.), The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE: Culture and History (AOAT; Münster, forthcoming). 6 Cf. G. Keys, The Wages of Sin: A Reappraisal of the Succession Narrative (JSOTSup, 221; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), passim, who regards only 2 Sam 10–20 as belonging thematically to the “sin and punishment” cycle. In my judgment, the earlier composition initially contained the whole of David’s story and history, including Solomon’s accession story. These sections are thematically joined together and are committed to the sin and punishment motif. One should bear in 3

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

107

was probably written at an early stage of Solomon’s reign. However, at a later stage of Solomon’s reign, when disillusion from the king’s hedonistic way of life and resentment of compulsory work that he had imposed upon his people intensified and developed into a threatening opposition, a second author—probably one of the sages and a skilled scribe—wrote a different version of the book. He omitted entirely from the earlier version the section dealing with David’s old age and Solomon’s accession to the throne with the vital help of the Prophet Nathan; but he added to the earlier version the stories about Eli and his sons, stories about Samuel and his sons, and parts of Saul’s story, as well as most of the epilogue’s materials. Hence, one may assume that the book of Samuel’s material concerning David’s elite warriors might contain significant information that should not be discarded as late and unreliable legends.7 In the book of Chronicles, however, which was composed a few years after the middle of the fourth century BCE, there are considerable changes in the parallel texts as well as in Chronicles’ contexts. In this article, I will discuss both versions, compare them to each other, and try as well to draw some conclusions about their historical, historiographical and socio-theological significance.

DAVID’S WARRIORS FIGHTING THE GIANTS IN THE PARALLEL SOURCES

In 2 Sam 21:15–22, the second author of the book recounts four episodes related to various periods in which David and his warriors combated four Philistine giants from Gath who are dubbed “sons of Rapha,” that is, Rephaim. The latter is an etiological and mythological attributive to giants who are regarded as descendants of deities who, as a result of theomachy, fell from heaven to earth and became mortals, one of whom was Og, king of Bashan (Deut 3:11; Josh 12:4; 13:12).8 These giants, also known as Nephilim (Gen 6:2–4), are ironically described in this text as meeting their destiny by the same verb root of ‫“ נפל‬fall”: “Those four were descended from the Raphah in Gath and they fell by the hands of David and his men” (2 Sam 21:22).9 mind that all the characters in the section of Solomon’s accession are rewarded in accordance with their deeds, and most of these deeds are narrated in various parts of David’s story and history. 7 See Garsiel, “The Book of Samuel: Its Composition, Structure and Significance,” passim. 8 For further discussion on the Rephaim issue and bibliography, see Garsiel, “The Four Sons of Rephaim who Fell in Combats with David and his Heroes,” 42– 44. 9 Biblical quotations usually follow the NJPS translation, sometimes with small

108

MOSHE GARSIEL

The book of Joshua attributes the extermination of most of the giants to Moses and Joshua, and concludes: “No Anakites [= giants] remained in the land of the Israelites, but some remained in Gaza, Gath and Ashdod” (Josh 11:22). At first glance, it seems that the “implied author” of the episode in Samuel sets an analogy between David and his warriors and Moses and Joshua; both groups successfully smote the autochthonic, formidable giants. Furthermore, it might even seem that the section of David and his warriors killing the giants aimed to be a continuation of David’s war stories, since they served as a fulfillment of Nathan’s oracle promising David that, in terms of military achievements, he would be granted “great renown like that of the greatest men on the earth” (1 Sam 7:9).10 However, a close comparative reading of the text leads the reader to an entirely different conclusion: While Moses and Joshua almost completely exterminated the dangerous giants from most of the land (except for three Philistine cities, one of which is Gath), David and his warriors killed only four of the giants of the city of Gath alone. The earlier leaders, Moses and Joshua, attained—or so the text indicates—better military achievements in combat against the giants than the king and his warriors. The second author of the book of Samuel emphasizes here once again why the kingdom of the Almighty God ruled by God’s representative leaders (like Moses and Joshua) is preferable to a leadership of a human king, even one like David.

FIRST EPISODE (2 SAM 21:15–17) The first of the episodes in the book of Samuel (2 Sam 21:15–17) deals with a battle with the Philistines that became complicated and endangered David’s life: ‫יִ ְּׂש ָר ֵאל וַ יֵ רד ָדוִ ד וַ ֲע ָב ָדיו ִעּמֹו‬-‫עֹוד ִמ ְּל ָח ָמה ַל ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתים את‬-‫וַ ְּת ִהי‬ :‫ ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתים וַ יָ ַעף ָדוִ ד‬-‫וַ יִ ָל ֲחמּו את‬ ‫וְּ יִ ְּשׁ ִבי (ק') ְּבנב ֲאשׁר ִב ִיל ֵידי ָה ָר ָפה‬ ‫ּומ ְּשׁ ַקל ֵקינֹו ְּשֹׁלשׁ ֵמאֹות ִמ ְּשׁ ַקל נְּ חֹשׁת וְּ הּוא ָחגּור ֲח ָד ָשׁה‬ ִ :‫ ָדוִ ד‬-‫וַ יאמר ְּל ַהּכֹות את‬ ‫יתהּו‬ ֵ ‫יְּמ‬ ִ ַ‫ ַה ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתי ו‬-‫ ְּצרּויָ ה וַ יַ ְך את‬-‫ישׁי בן‬ ַ ‫לֹו ֲא ִב‬-‫וַ יַ ֲעזָ ר‬ ‫ ָדוִ ד לֹו ֵלאמר‬-‫ ַאנְּ ֵשׁי‬-‫ָאז נִ ְּשׁ ְּבעּו‬ :‫נֵ ר יִ ְּׂש ָר ֵאל‬-‫ ֵת ֵצא עֹוד ִא ָתנּו ַל ִּמ ְּל ָח ָמה וְּ לֹא ְּת ַכבה את‬-‫לֹא‬ Yet another war broke out between the Philistines and Israel, so David and the men with him went down and fought the Philistines. David amendments. 10 Cf. M. Avioz, Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) and its Interpreters (Bern et al.: Peter Lang, 2005), 48.

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

109

grew weary, Ishbi Benob tried to kill David; he was a descendant of the Raphah, his bronze spear weighed three hundred shekels and he was girded with a new sword. But Abishai son of Zeruiah came to David’s aid; he attacked the Philistine and killed him. It was then that David’s men swore him an oath, “You shall not go with us into battle anymore, lest you extinguish the lamp of Israel!”

Since none of the four battles was set up within a chronological framework, one may wonder when the first episode took place. One should rule out the periods of David’s service in Saul’s army, his wandering in the land of Judah, or when he settled in Ziklag. At all these occasions, David’s presence in battle was vital and his men could not afford to take a vow that he would not be their leader and military commander.11 Indeed, later on, when David served seven and a half years as king of Judah, we read that he was absent in at least two battles (2 Sam 2:12–32; 3:22). However, it is clear that at these times there was no vow to prevent him from leading his troops against the Philistines in the valley of Rephaim, when he already served as the king of all Israel (5:17–25). The most plausible time, then, for most of the episodes at issue is the middle of the first decade of David’s reign in Jerusalem. At this time, David opened the last operative stage aimed at subjugating Achish’s kingdom and turning it into his vassal. During this endeavor, several battles took place in Judah’s lowland, the Negeb, and in the vicinity of Gath. In some of these wars or skirmishes, giant members of the Philistine guild of Rephaim took part. Therefore, the first episode opens with the note that again there was another war against the Philistines, implying that there were earlier wars of this kind. The Hebrew word ‫“ עוד‬again” is common to the opening of the episode and to the vow taken by the people. From the vow’s language, one may also deduce that, until then, David used to lead his troops in wars. Since the description delineates David and his troops as going down to fight, one may also assume that the Israelites were descending from Jerusalem and the hill country toward a lower region that was under Philistine rule. The giant who nearly overpowered David is referred to as “Ishbi benob” (‫)ישבי בנב‬. It seems that the first word refers to his name. Nevertheless, following the K version, some ancient exegetes12 and LXXL have it as a verb: ‫ וישבו‬from the root ‫“ שב''ה‬take a prisoner”. Some modern scholars follow this lead and interpret the phrase with slight variations as an action taken by the Philistine to capture David and kill him.13 However, this Cf., e.g., 1 Sam 23:3–5; 27:8–9; 28:1–2; 29:1–11. BT, Tractate Sanhedrin, 91a. 13 Cf., e.g., P. K. McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes 11 12

110

MOSHE GARSIEL

interpretation is problematic, since 4QSama supports the Q reading ‫וישבי‬.14 Furthermore, in the following episodes, we have the giant’s names or, at least in one episode, his description. Hence, Ishbi should refer to the giant’s proper name and not to his action.15 As for the second word ‫בנב‬, I have suggested elsewhere the reading ‫בן‬ ‫[א]ב‬, namely, Ishbi was a son of a person whose name is Ob.16 The father’s name probably means a magician who specializes in raising the spirit of the dead (1 Sam 28:3 et al.). In our text, however, it might also subtly connote a midrashic name connection to the Rephaim, the descendants of dead heroes who were the offspring of deities who fell from heaven to earth and became mortals, as we have explained above. Ironically, the narrator finds in the father’s name an ominous suggestion that the giant son is doomed. Yet, since in other episodes in the larger context the narrator also points to the battle scene, there is also the possibility that “be-Nob” refers to a place name: “at Nob.” However, if it refers to the priests’ holy city, we would expect a place close to Jerusalem (Isa 10:32).17 Moreover, it is rather unlikely that the Philistines arrived so close to David’s capital after their two defeats at the Rephaim valley. Furthermore, David and his people are depicted as “descending” towards the Philistines. Therefore, the battle place should be found near Philistia. Indeed, the Sages suggest that there is a village there known as Nob.18 The problem is that there is no other evidence to substantiate this claim. We have, therefore, no alternative but to postulate a corrupt text in the above place name. Some scholars suggest the reading of “Gob” instead of “Nob,” since Gob is mentioned as well in the two following episodes.19 However, it is highly unlikely that the three battles happened at the same place, and that a copyist would make an error only in the first episode, while in the next two he would get it right. In any event, I and Commentary (AB; Garden City: Doubleday, 1984), 447–448; Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel, 302. 14 See F. M. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4, XII, 1–2 Samuel (DJD XVII; Oxford: Clarendon, 2005), 179. 15 See also Anderson, 2 Samuel, 254; Firth, 1 & 2 Samuel, 508. 16 See Garsiel, “The Four Sons of Rephaim who Fell in Combats with David and his Heroes,” 46. 17 For various identification, see Y. Aharoni, The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography (2nd ed.; Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1979), 393; A. F. Rainey, The Sacred Bridge: Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World (Jerusalem: Carta, 2006), 147. 18 BT, Tract. Sanhedrin, 95a. 19 See H. P. Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Samuel (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1951), 378; H. W. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1964), 385–386.

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

111

shall shortly cast doubt if there is any place at all carrying the name of “Gob” in Philistia and its vicinity. Therefore, it seems most likely to me that the word ‫ בנב‬is misspelled and should be amended to ‫בנ[ג]ב‬. The battle probably took place at “the Negeb of the Cherethites” (1 Sam 30:14), somewhere in the western Negeb that turned into a war zone between the Israelites and the Philistines in the time of Saul and David. What is the significance of this battle and how did it happen that Ishbi and David encountered each other? The text here leaves a wide gap. Y. Yadin interprets the stories of the encounters between Joab’s twelve warriors and Abner’s twelve warriors (2 Sam 2:12–32) as well as the one between David with Goliath (1 Sam 17) as an agreement between the rival armies to have one-on-one combat of which the results should determine the outcome of the whole war. Yadin also suggests that the episodes in 2 Sam 21:15ff are demonstrations of single combats which are designed to function in a similar way.20 However, Yadin’s theory at its core is open to doubts that have been raised elsewhere.21 As for the first of these episodes, one cannot consider it as an instance of one-on-one combat since Abishai came to help David. It looks like a case in which one of two rivals (or even both of them) attempts to encounter his opponent in order to gain the glory of killing a prominent foe. Ishbi was well equipped with a long and heavy bronze spear and girded with a belt and new sword;22 and he tried to fight David in order to win the glory of killing the adversary’s king. Other combat scenes should probably be viewed along the same lines: as incidental combats between mighty fighters who were seeking their special adversaries in the middle of the war. Even though the encounter resulted in a happy ending, David’s men were worried and decided to change their strategy Up to this point, they expected the king to go “before” the troops, leading them to war as their commander-in-chief.23 Now, however, after the near disaster, they took a See Y. Yadin, “Let the Young Men I Pray thee Arise and Play before Us,” J. Liver (ed.), The Military History of the Land of Israel in Biblical Times (Tel-Aviv: Maarachoth, Israel Defense Forces, 1970; Heb.), 166–169, esp. p. 169, n. 7; Cf. also G. N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; New York et al.: Doubleday, 2004), 735. 21 See A. Rofé, “The Battle of David and Goliath: Folklore, Theology, Eschatology,” J. Neusner, B. A. Levine and E. Frerichs (eds.), Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978), 132–134; M. Garsiel, “The Valley of Elah Battle and the Duel of David with Goliath,” 411–415. 22 Cf. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4, XII, 1–2 Samuel, 179–180. 23 Cf. 1 Sam 8:20; 2 Sam 3:17–19; 5:1–3. 20

112

MOSHE GARSIEL

vow prohibiting the king from going out to war with the troops. They decided that they needed a king as their national leader more than as a military field commander who takes part in actual fighting.24 The significance of preserving the king’s life is demonstrated in the metaphor: “You shall not go with us into battle any more, lest you extinguish the lamp of Israel!” Indeed, even later, David went out with his troops in special battles or just joined the army at the last stage of the war in order to be part of the glory of victory. However, he probably stayed well protected in a rear command camp.25 This first episode well serves the anti-monarchial approach of the second author, inasmuch as the main motivation for anointing a king was that he would lead the people to war; this point was emphasized on many occasions regarding both kings, Saul and David.26 Ironically, however, this episode of the vow prohibiting the king from going to battle completely undermines the earlier security conception. The people at this point came to the opposite conclusion: A king is not so crucial in leading his troops in war. Sometimes it is the other way around; the king should stay at home or behind the battle zone rather than risk his life in actual fighting. Another point should be taken into consideration. In the earlier version of David’s history, the first author did not miss any opportunity to criticize Joab and Abishai, sons of Zeruiah, for their brutal behavior; that author also saw justice done in Joab’s execution.27 The second author, however, by adding the episode of Abishai’s coming to the king’s defense, bestows Abishai with the credit of saving King David’s life. We shall soon examine additional instances of where the sons of Zeruiah are depicted in a favorable light in the second version of the book of Samuel. The difference between the two authors’ treatment of the sons of Zeruiah can be explained by those authors’ socio-political and theological difference of opinion. The first one was a follower of the Prophet Nathan and, as such, a supporter of King Solomon and a bitter opponent to Joab who supported Adonijah. The second author, however, took a different stand. He was very critical of both King Solomon and the whole concept of kingship and, consequently, did not hesitate to relate the story of the vow 24 In Absalom’s revolt, the people refused the king’s request to accompany the troops in actual fighting and they urged him to stay protected within the fortified city of Mahanaim (2 Sam 18:2–3). 25 See Garsiel, The Kingdom of David, 101–105; Idem, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel, vol. 4, 36–42. 26 See 1 Sam 8:19–20; 9:16; 12:12; 15:17–18; 18:8; 2 Sam 5:1–3; 19:10–11. 27 See 1 Sam 26:8–12; 2 Sam 3:22–39; 11:14–25; 16:9–13; 18:9–15; 19:22–23; 20:4–14; 1 Kgs 1:7, 19, 41; 2:5–6, 28–34.

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

113

regarding David’s participation in battle when it became clear that the Israelites do not need a king to serve as a field commander; they need, rather, military leaders like the sons of Zeruiah. Unlike his predecessor, the second author chose to omit the whole section of Solomon’s accession to the throne; that author also restored some of the glory due to the sons of Zeruiah in parts of his epilogue. This dialectic process continues to the third author, the Chronicler. The episode under discussion was deliberately omitted from the parallel unit in Chronicles. The Chronicler constantly glorifies David, inasmuch as he was the king who initiated, planned and began the preparations to build the Jerusalemite temple. Hence, the Chronicler omits the episode at issue as he consistently does in other portions that damage David’s reputation.

SECOND EPISODE (1 CHR 20:4 AND 2 SAM 21:18) The second episode in the book of Samuel and the first one in Chronicles appear with a few changes in the parallel sources as follows: 1 Chr 20:4

2 Sam 21:18

‫ ֵכן‬-‫וַ יְּ ִהי ַא ֲח ֵרי‬

‫ ֵכן‬-‫וַ יְּ ִהי ַא ֲח ֵרי‬

-‫וַ ַת ֲעמד ִמ ְּל ָח ָמה ְּבגזר ִעם‬ ‫ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתים‬

‫עֹוד ַה ִּמ ְּל ָח ָמה ְּבגוב‬-‫וַ ְּת ִהי‬ ‫ ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתים‬-‫ִעם‬

-‫ָאז ִה ָּכה ִס ְּב ַכי ַה ֻח ָשׁ ִתי את‬ ‫ִס ַפי‬

-‫ָאז ִה ָּכה ִס ְּב ַכי ַה ֻח ָשׁ ִתי את‬ ‫ַסף‬

:‫ִמ ִיל ֵדי ָה ְּר ָפ ִאים וַ יִ ָּכנֵ עּו‬

:‫ֲאשׁר ִבילִ ֵדי ָה ָר ָפה‬

2 Sam 21:18 After this, fighting broke out again with the Philistines, at Gob; that was when Sibbecai the Hushathite killed Saph, a descendant of the Rapha. 1 Chr 20:4 After this, fighting broke out with the Philistines at Gezer; that was when Sibbecai the Hushathite killed Sipai, a descendant of the Rephaim, and they were humbled.

114

MOSHE GARSIEL

This episode is short and concise, as the second author of the book of Samuel is not interested in the exploit as such, nor in the battle and its implications. It seems as if the author recounts four military contests between the Rephaim giants and David and his warriors, concluding that the latter was consistently victorious. This impression results from the fact that, in Samuel’s version, nothing is told about the outcome of the wars in all four incidents, and the summary at the end of this portion concentrates only on the four Rephaim who fell in battle with David and his servants (2 Sam 21:22). At first sight, it seems that the author probably adopted an ancient, archival roster dealing with heroes and their exploits. However, as part of the epilogue of Samuel, the portion contains elements that support the anti-monarchial attitude of the second author, as we have seen above and will witness below. The Chronicler, however, adds at the end of this episode, a significant word regarding the “humbling” of the Philistines (‫ )ויכנעו‬before the Israelites. This one word changes the whole meaning of the episode and has an impact as well on the following episodes. It regards the combat between the warriors as a trigger to a comprehensive Israelite triumph and a Philistine surrender. It also makes a point that Nathan’s oracle about “humbling” (‫ )והכנעתי‬David’s enemies (17:10) comes true.28 According to Samuel’s version, the battle took place at Gob (‫)גוב‬. This same place name is mentioned as the place of battle also in the following episode in Samuel’s version. In the parallel version in Chronicles, however, as well as in the whole Hebrew Bible, the name Gob is not mentioned at all. Neither is it mentioned near the battle zones in extra-biblical sources of the time.29 Therefore, since the Chronicler reads in the parallel episode “Gezer” instead of “Gob” in Samuel’s version, and since there is no theological reason for this kind of change, it is plausible to assume that the Chronicler adopted the reading of a more reliable text of Samuel’s version on this issue.30 In the following episode, however, not having access to the battle’s place name, he preferred to ignore it. The suggested amendment of “Gob” to “Gezer” in Samuel’s second episode is plausible for another reason: Since the fortified city of Gezer controls part of an important road that leads from Philistia to the central hill country and to David’s capital in Jerusalem and is part of the international road that led from Egypt to Syria See Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 735–736. Gob is mentioned only at the end of the Tannaitic period as located within the city Ashkelon’s zone (Tosefeta Ohaloth 18:15). 30 See J. M. Myers, I Chronicles: Translated with an Introduction and Notes (AB; Garden City: Doubleday, 1965), 141; Segal, The Books of Samuel, 371; McCarter, II Samuel, 448. 28 29

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

115

and Mesopotamia, it is, therefore, reasonable to maintain that battles between the Israelites and Philistines took place in the vicinity of the fortified city of Gezer. In modern scholarship, some other suggestions regarding Samuel’s place name have been offered. One is to read “Gibton” (‫ )גבתון‬instead of “Gob”;31 another is to read either “Geba” (‫ )גבע‬or “Gibeon” (‫ )גבעון‬instead of “Gob”.32 But these latter two cities are located very close to the City of David, and it is highly unlikely that, at such a late stage, the Philistines penetrated to a location so close to David’s capital. Moreover, the text relates that David and his men descended to encounter the Philistines; namely, the Israelite troops left the hill country downward, probably to the lowlands of Judah. Recently, Nadav Na’aman has suggested identification of Gob (a Philistine city, according to Na’aman) with Khirbet Queiyafa, the location of which is on the northern ridge that controls from the north the narrow ravine of Elah near the western entrance to the ravine, rather close to Azeqah. Na’aman adopts a scholarly suggestion that Samuel’s first three episodes refer to one place—Gob; only the last one occurred at Gath.33 As I wrote above in the first episode, it does not make sense that the copyist would replace “Gob” with “Nob,” while in the second and the third episodes he copied “Gob” correctly. Therefore, we have adopted for Samuel’s second episode the Chronicler’s reading—“Gezer.” Furthermore, Samuel’s third episode, as we shall show below, refers to the story of David and Goliath. However, in the elaborated story (1 Sam 17), the suggested place name of Gob is not mentioned at all. Since this name is neither mentioned in this story nor in the rest of the Bible or extra-biblical sources, there is no escape but to maintain that in Samuel’s second and third episodes the place name “Gob” should be amended. The amendment in the third episode will be discussed presently.

31 See A. Malamat, “Aspects of the Foreign Policies of David and Solomon,” idem (ed.), The Kingdoms of Israel and Judah (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1961; Heb.), 42, and in n. 53 references to the suggested readings above. 32 Suggestions cited by B. Halpern, David’s Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 148, n. 7; 150–151, 321. 33 N. Na’aman, “In Search of the Ancient Name of Khirbet Qeiyafa,” JHS 8 (2008), article 21; Idem, “Shaaraim—the Gateway to the Kingdom of Judah,” JHS 8 (2008), article 24. .

116

MOSHE GARSIEL

THIRD EPISODE (1 CHR 20:5 AND 2 SAM 21:19) The third episode in Samuel and the second one in Chronicles appear with significant differences in the parallel sources as follows: 1 Chr 20:5 ‫ ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתים‬-‫עֹוד ִמ ְּל ָח ָמה את‬-‫וַ ְּת ִהי‬

2 Sam 21:19 ‫ ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִתים‬-‫עֹוד ַה ִּמ ְּל ָח ָמה ְּבגֹוב ִעם‬-‫וַ ְּת ִהי‬

)’‫ יָ ִעיר (ק‬-‫וַ יַ ְך א ְּל ָחנָ ן בן‬

‫ארגִ ים ֵבית ַה ַל ְּח ִמי‬ ְּ ‫יַ ְּע ֵרי‬-‫ בן‬-‫וַ יַ ְך א ְּל ָחנָ ן‬

‫ ַל ְּח ִמי ֲא ִחי גָ ְּליָת ַהגִ ִתי‬-‫את‬

‫ֵאת גָ ְּליַת ַהגִ ִתי‬

:‫ארגִ ים‬ ְּ ‫וְּ ֵעץ ֲחנִ יתֹו ִּכ ְּמנֹור‬

:‫ארגִ ים‬ ְּ ‫וְּ ֵעץ ֲחנִ יתֹו ִּכ ְּמנֹור‬

2 Sam 21:19 Again there was fighting with the Philistines at Gob; and Elhanan son of Jaare-orgim the Bethlehemite killed Goliath the Gittite, whose spear had a shaft like a weaver’s bar. 1 Chr 20:5 Again there was fighting with the Philistines, and Elhanan son of Jair killed Lahmi, the brother of Goliath the Gittite; his spear had a shaft like a weaver’s beam.

Samuel’s version comes as a surprise, since the killing of Goliath is attributed to Elhanan, while in the main story (1 Sam 17) and other short references, it is attributed to David. This discrepancy is probably what motivated the Chronicler to attribute to Elhanan the killing of Lahmi, the brother of Goliath. In early midrashim, it was suggested that Elhanan is David’s nickname, since God graciously bestowed him (‫ )חננו‬with courage and skills.34 This is the line of interpretation of early translators and commentators like Rashi and the Aramaic translation attributed to Jonathan. The identification of Goliath’s killer becomes even more complicated with the reading of the main story in 1 Sam 17.35 The Philistine giant is fully introduced by his name Goliath as well as his hometown Gath (v. 4). In the rest of the story, however, he is only once more referred to by this explicit identification (v. 23). Otherwise (27 times), he is referred to only by his ethnic indentification “the Philistine,” and several more times by a personal See, e.g., Ruth Rabba, portion 2. See M. Garsiel, “The Valley of Elah Battle and the Duel of David with Goliath,” 391–426. 34 35

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

117

pronoun. However, in two other episodes, the giant is referred to again as ‫“ גלית הפלשתי‬Goliath the Philistine” (21:10; 22:10).36 The fact that in the main story Goliath’s name is mentioned only twice, and in the appendix his killer is called Elhanan has led many scholars and modern commentators to offer two different reconstructions. The first suggestion is that, indeed, the one who smote Goliath was another Bethlehemite whose name was Elhanan. But during David’s kingship, according to this view, the king capitalized on his high status, attributing to himself the exploit of killing Goliath.37 The second is that, indeed, young David killed an unnamed Philistine giant, but Elhanan was the one who killed Goliath. Later on, however, the name “Goliath” was transferred to the story of David’s exploits.38 These kinds of reconstructions are rather speculative, since the former moralist author, who wrote David’s history from a prophetical outlook, had access to reliable written and oral sources, and did not hesitate to reprove David on many occasions. It does not seem logical, therefore, that he would let David steal someone else’s glory. It is, consequently, reasonable to adopt the solution already offered by ancient commentators and modern scholars who have suggested identifying Elhanan with David. We suggest reconstructing the process as follows: When Jesse’s eighth son was born, he called the infant Elhanan, “God bestowed me” (‫ )האל חנני‬i.e., “God bestowed me with another son” (cf. Gen 33:5).39 This youngest son, Elhanan, killed Goliath, and gradually became an admired, high-ranking commander in Saul’s army. This popular officer at some point was given a nickname, David, which means “beloved one.” Indeed, the author of the first version of Samuel plays on the related root ‫“ אהב‬love” (cf. Song 3:1–4) by stating that everybody “loved” David: 36 In the first episode, Ahimelech the high priest of Nob explicitly attributes the killing of Goliath to David. However, in the latter episode, when Doeg the Edomite briefed Saul, he omitted David’s exploit, since he did not want to antagonize his king by reminding him of David’s courageous fighting. 37 See F. Stolz, Das erste und zweite Buch Samuel (ZBK, AT 9; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1981), 203; C. S. Ehrlich, "Goliath," The Anchor Bible Dictionary, II (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 1073–1074; S. Herrmann, A History of Israel in Old Testament Times, (Revised and enlarged ed., translated from the German; London: SCM, 1981), 138–139. 38 See Segal, The Books of Samuel, 138–139; P. K. McCarter, I Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes & Commentary (AB; Garden City: Doubleday, 1980), 291; A. F. Campbell, I Samuel (FOTL VII; Grand Rapids/Cambridge, Eerdmans, 2003), 177. 39 Epigraphic evidence from various ancient cites related to the tenth–ninth centuries BCE (Timnah, Beth-shemesh, Tel Rehob) contain the name Hanan.

118

MOSHE GARSIEL

Saul (1 Sam 16:21), Jonathan (18:1–3), Michal (ibid., vv. 20, 28), Saul’s officers (ibid, v. 22), all Israel and Judah (ibid., v. 16). These are examples of a midrashic name derivation playing on David’s nickname. The first author of Samuel continued to use this wordplay on Solomon’s nickname, Jedidiah, which is interpreted by its synonymous verb of ‫אה''ב‬: “The Lord loved him” (2 Sam 12:24–25). At a later stage, the nickname “David” turned into his regnal name.40 The dialectic process of the epilogue’s composition is also very interesting. While in his main story, the first author described David’s military exploits very favorably, the latter author, who added most of Samuel’s epilogue, made a clear distinction between the elder King David and the younger David-Elhanan. While the younger David, when he was still known by his original name Elhanan, killed Goliath, the elder King David grew tired and was almost killed himself. In this general context of the epilogue, the whole notion of the king as a military leader who joins the troops, leading them to victory after victory suffered a severe blow. Furthermore, Abishai, the famous commander, who was very much hated by the first author—a moralist and one of Nathan’s disciples—is depicted here by the second author as David’s savior. One may find that the latter author, in his additions to the epilogue, is very favorable toward both commanding brothers, the sons of Zeruiah. In a later stage, however, when the two psalms were added to the epilogue, the impression that King David was not needed anymore as a field commander was considerably diminished. Our identification of Elhanan with David is strengthened by additional considerations. The story suffered a few text corruptions, the first of which is in the introduction: “Again there was fighting with the Philistines at Gob” (2 Sam 21:19). The fact that this opening copies exactly the one in the previous episode has caused some scholars to wonder if it is not an unnecessary redundancy due to an editor’s interpolation or a copyist’s mechanical error. Furthermore, as we have said above, the place name Gob is unknown elsewhere in the Bible or in extra-biblical sources, and even the Chronicler did not mention this place name in either parallel episode. The best way to deal with the problem, in my mind, is to read here ‫“( בגיא‬in the ravine”) instead of ‫בגוב‬. This reconstructed place name appears twice in the main story of David and Goliath. It refers to a narrow section of the Elah brook that is bordered by two hill ridges. On one of the northern hilltops near the western entrance to the ravine, at the modern cite of Khirbet Qeiyafa, the city of Shaʿarayim )‫ )שעריים‬was built either by King See A. M. Honeyman, “The Evidence for Regnal Names among the Hebrews,” JBL LXVII (1948), 13–25. 40

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

119

Saul, or a decade later by King David.41 On the southern ridge, on a central hilltop, the city of Socoh (‫ )שוכה‬was located. The ravine (‫ )גיא‬separated both armies: The Israelite troops were deployed on the northern ridge and the Philistines on the southern one (1 Sam 17:3). From the Elah brook in this ravine, David (Elhanan) chose five smooth, round stones and advanced toward Goliath (v. 40). The encounter between the two combatants took place in this ravine (‫)גיא‬, and from here the Israelites began chasing the retreating Philistines, slaying them along the Shaʿarayim road (v. 52), which refers to the road leading from the city of Shaʿarayim (Khirbet Qeiyafa) to Gath (or vice versa), along the Elah brook.42 Moreover, the name of Elhanan’s father in Samuel’s version is ‫יערי‬ ‫אֹרגים‬, which is regarded by many commentators as corrupt. First, orgim is a redundancy (dittography) from the same word mentioned as a simile for Goliath’s heavy spear at the end of the same verse. Secondly, the first component of the construct yʿaray means “wood” (plural) which does not make sense as a personal name. Hence, I tend to accept the suggestion that the latter component is a corruption from ‫“ ישי‬Jesse”, the name of David’s father.43 The hero of the third episode is, therefore, none other than Elhanan-David, Jesse’s youngest son. Noteworthy is the father’s local definition, ‫“ בית הלחמי‬the Beth-lehemite”, a kind of possessive definition to this city which is attached elsewhere in the Bible only to Jesse (cf. 16:1, 18; 17:58); other personalities who came from the same locality are mentioned just as coming from Beth-lehem, without a possessive suffix (cf., e.g., Jud 12:8; 17:7–9; 2 Sam 23:24). This distinction supports the reconstruction of the hero’s father as Jesse the Beth-lehemite. Furthermore, the final summary of this literary unit is valid only if we identify Elhanan with David: “These four were descended from the Raphah in Gath, and they fell by the hands of David and his men” (2 Sam 21:22). See Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “Khirbet Qeiyafa: Sha’arayim,” JHS 8 (2008), article 22. For a different identification, cf. G. Galil, “King David’s First Decade as King of Jerusalem and his Relation with the Philistines in Light of the Qeiyafa (=Netaʿim) Excavation and Inscription,” E. Baruch, A. Levy-Reifer and A. Faust (eds.), New Studies on Jerusalem, vol. 16 (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan, 2010), 21–71 (Heb.; Eng. Sum p. 22*; a full Eng. article is forthcoming). I prefer the former identification that fits better the text of 1 Sam 17. 42 For more details on this battle, see M. Garsiel, “The Valley of Elah Battle and the Duel of David with Goliath,” 391–426. When I completed the article, I was still unaware of the excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa, the results of which support my suggested analysis. 43 So Honeyman, “The Evidence for Regnal Names among the Hebrews,” 23– 25. 41

120

MOSHE GARSIEL

According to the four episodes, the giants’ killers were Abishai, Sibechai, Elhanan and Jonathan; in his summary, however, the narrator says explicitly that the four giants fell to the hands of David and his underlings. If we do not maintain the identification of Elhanan with David, the narrator cannot attribute to David a part in these exploits. One cannot argue that these exploits are also attributed to the king, like other comprehensive triumphs that are eventually attributed to the king (cf. 2 Sam 12:24–31), since the literary unit under discussion deals with personal exploits, each of which is attributed to an individual known by his name. There is no escaping the conclusion that Elhanan is David’s previous name before he became king. Moreover, as we have explained earlier, the second author made a point of telling us that after David became king, he was no longer fit to take part in actual fighting, so the Israelites vowed to ban his participation. Yet, as a young boy, he excelled in killing Goliath. As we said before, the latent comparison between the two episodes undermines the Israelites’ claim for a king who would lead the people to war, which serves well the second author’s anti-monarchial outlook.

FOURTH EPISODE (1 CHR 20: 6–8 AND 2 SAM 21:20–22) The fourth episode in Samuel and the third in Chronicles have only minor differences: 1 Chr 20:6–8

2 Sam 21:20–22

‫עֹוד ִמ ְּל ָח ָמה ְּבגַ ת‬-‫וַ ְּת ִהי‬

‫עֹוד ִמ ְּל ָח ָמה ְּבגַ ת‬-‫וַ ְּת ִהי‬

‫וַ יְּ ִהי ִאישׁ ִמ ָדה‬

)'‫וַ יְּ ִ ִ֣הי ִאישׁ ָמדֹון (ק‬

‫עתיו‬ ָ ‫וְּ א ְּצ ְּב‬

‫ וְּ א ְּצ ְּבעֹות‬-‫וְּ א ְּצ ְּבעת יָ ָדיו‬ ‫ַרגְּ ָליו‬

‫וָ ֵשׁשׁ ע ְּׂש ִרים וְּ ַא ְּר ַבע‬-‫ֵשׁשׁ‬

‫ֵשׁשׁ וָ ֵשׁשׁ ע ְּׂש ִרים וְּ ַא ְּר ַבע‬ ‫ִמ ְּס ָפר‬

:‫נֹולד ְּל ָה ָר ָפא‬ ַ ‫הּוא‬-‫וְּ גַ ם‬

:‫הּוא יֻ ַלד ְּל ָה ָר ָפה‬-‫וְּ גַ ם‬

‫יִ ְּׂש ָר ֵאל‬-‫וַ יְּ ָח ֵרף את‬

‫יִ ְּׂש ָר ֵאל‬-‫וַ יְּ ָח ֵרף את‬

‫ ִשׁ ְּמ ָעא‬-‫וַ יַ ֵּכהּו יְּ הֹונָ ָתן בן‬ :‫ֲא ִחי ָדוִ יד‬

‫ ִשׁ ְּמ ָעא‬-‫וַ יַ ֵּכהּו יְּ הֹונָ ָתן בן‬ :‫(ק') ֲא ִחי ָדוִ ד‬

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

‫נּולדּו ְּל ָה ָר ָפא ְּבגַ ת‬ ְּ ‫ֵאל‬

‫ ַא ְּר ַב ַעת ֵאלה יֻ ְּלדּו‬-‫את‬ ‫ְּל ָה ָר ָפה ְּבגַ ת‬

:‫ ֲע ָב ָדיו‬-‫ּוביַ ד‬ ְּ ‫ ָדוִ יד‬-‫וַ יִ ְּפלּו ְּביַ ד‬

:‫ּוביַ ד ֲע ָב ָדיו‬ ְּ ‫ ָדוִ ד‬-‫וַ יִ ְּפלּו ְּביַ ד‬

121

2 Sam 21:20–22: Once again there was fighting at Gath. There was a giant of a man, who had six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot, twenty-four in all; he too was descended from the Raphah. When he taunted Israel, Jonathan, the son of David’s brother Shimei, killed him. These four were descended from the Raphah in Gath, and they fell by the hands of David and his men. 1 Chr 20:6–8 Once again there was fighting at Gath. There was a giant of a man who had twenty four fingers [and toes], six [on each hand] and six [on each foot]; he, too, was descended from the Raphah. When he taunted Israel, Jonathan, son of David’s brother Shimea, killed him. These were descended from the Raphah in Gath, and they fell by the hands of David and his men.

This fourth episode in Samuel and third in Chronicles is the only one in which the battle theatre’s name is identical in the parallel sources: Gath, the hometown of the giants. There are, however, some small, insignificant differences which are tangential to our topic, so we will move to the concluding formula. The author of Samuel points to the total score of four personal victories, while the Chronicler omits the number, probably because he omitted the first episode and did not see any point in changing the reduced total to three. He even kept Samuel’s version in which the giants fell into David and his warriors’ hands, even though none of the episodes in Chronicles’ text is related to David’s personal exploits, since the author of Chronicles did not adopt the identification of Elhanan with David. Yet the Chronicler probably had in mind the original story of David and Goliath (he introduces Lahmi as Goliath’s brother), so he latently preserves David’s share in the concluding formula. Besides the textual differences in the parallel sources, it is worthy to evaluate them in their various general contexts. The second author of the book of Samuel put together the four warrior episodes and dovetailed them in the epilogue sections. At first sight, it looks like a small catalogue roster of four encounters between David and his warriors and four Philistine

122

MOSHE GARSIEL

giants that resulted in Israelite victories. The encounters took place in various locations (western Negeb, Gezer, the ravine of Elah, and Gath) and at different times ranging from the time of Saul’s battle against the Philistines at the ravine of Elah to King David’s attack on the Philistine’s royal city of Gath. However, a thorough analysis of this section in the context of the whole book of Samuel reveals that the second author added this section in order to challenge the first author’s thesis concerning the necessity of a king who would lead the troops in war. Young Elhanan (later to be known as David) indeed slew Goliath, but he did it when he was very young and not yet a king. Much later, however, when he became king and the nickname David became his royal name, he was almost killed in another encounter with a Philistine giant, so the troops vowed to ban him from joining them in future wars. Furthermore, it becomes evident that even other heroes can match David’s successes in killing Goliath. This was well demonstrated by the three warriors who killed the other three giants who shared with Goliath membership in the guild of Rephaim’s descendants. The most important reason for establishing a kingship in Israel, namely, that the king would lead his people in war, is obsolete. Moreover, Samuel’s second author grants Abishai an honorable mention for saving his king’s life, a comment directed against the first author’s tendency not to miss any opportunity to denounce the sons of Zeruiah. These changes in text and context in Chronicles seem to be moving in different directions. The story about David’s near death and the troops’ vow to ban the king from joining them in war was omitted. The Chronicler does not share the second author of Samuel’s negative opinion on the necessity of the king’s presence in war. On the contrary, prior to the three episodes on the encounters with the Philistines, the Chronicler depicts King David as taking personal, leading roles in important wars (1 Chr 18:1–6; 19:16–18), but staying in Jerusalem for others (18:12; 19:8–15). Like the first author of Samuel, the Chronicler views David as a king who takes part in some important wars, but sends the sons of Zeruiah to launch other wars, while remaining in Jerusalem whenever he regards the operations as less important. But unlike the first author of King David’s history, the Chronicler favors the sons of Zeruiah and sees in Joab and Abishai loyal commanders who helped David win wars. Unlike the second author of Samuel who added to the earlier version the epilogue’s sections and composed the warriors’ anecdotes in a nonchronological order, the Chronicler positioned the three episodes as a conclusion to all of King David’s wars. Even so, as I have analyzed elsewhere, all the Philistine wars antedated the wars against the eastern and

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

123

northern enemies.44 This might be another reason why the Chronicler did not want to mention explicitly the David and Goliath story, since it happened long before David’s kingship, so he placed these events as David’s concluding wars. As we said before, the Chronicler does not regard the encounters just as personal achievements of courageous warriors, but as exploits that overpowered the Philistines’ deployment, which caused them to yield. This change was made by adding in his opening episode just one word referring to the outcome of the general war: ‫“ ויכנעו‬and they [the Philistines] were subdued” (1 Chr 20:4). This change, combined with the section’s context at the end of all of David’s wars, bestow the warfare against the Philistines an importance that is way beyond just personal encounters between heroes.45 Yet the Chronicler probably preferred a literary structure based on a parallel between opening and conclusion (inclusio) rather than an accurate, historical chronology of David’s wars. He opens David’s war cycle with a general statement about David’s smiting the Philistines, subduing them and capturing Gath (18:1). He concludes with the last episode of killing the third of the Rephaim giants, which took place at Gath, concluding that all these Rephaim giants born at Gath fell into the hands of David and his warriors (20:6–8).

DAVID’S ELITE COMPANY AS LISTED IN THE PARALLEL SOURCES Another section in the epilogue of the book of Samuel deals with the elite unit entitled “David’s heroes” (2 Sam 23:8–39) and its modified parallel was interwoven in the main part of Chronicles’ description of David’s enthronement and the comprehensive support he got from all ranks of warriors (1 Chr 11:10–12:41). We shall now discuss the first section in the parallel sources that deals with the unit’s commanders. The following table presents interesting variations between the parallel sources:

44 See Garsiel, The Kingdom of David, 65–71; Idem, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel, vol. 3, 170–193. 45 Cf. Sara Japhet, I & II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1993), 366, 368.

124

2 Sam 23:8–23 Commander’s name 1. Joshebbasshebeth, a Tahchemonite 2. Adino the Eznite 3. Eleazar son of Dodo son of Ahohi 4. Shammah son of Age 5. Abishai, the brother of Joab, son of Zeruiah

6. Benaiah son of Jehoiada

MOSHE GARSIEL

His rank A chief of thirty

1 Chr 11:11–25 Commander’s name 1. Jashobeam son of Hachmoni

His rank A chief of thirty

-----

2. - - - - -

He was one of the three warriors -----

3. Eleazar son of Dodo, the Ahohite 4. - - - - -

He was one of the three warriors

He was head of the three. He won a name among the three. Since he was the most highly regarded among the three, he became their leader. However, he did not attain to the three. He had a name among the three warriors. He was highly regarded above the thirty, but did not attain the three.

5. Abshai the brother of Joab,

He was head of the three. He won a name among the three. Among the three, he was more highly regarded than the other two, and so he became their commander. However, he did not attain to the other three. He won a name among the three warriors. He was highly regarded above the thirty, but he did not attain the three.

6. Benaiah son of Jehoiada

-----

-----

A close study of the parallel sources raises significant questions: A. The section about the elite warriors in Samuel consists of a roster (including rank definition and exploit anecdotes) of six commanders (three plus three) followed by a somewhat monotonous list of thirty underling warriors. Yet when adding the six with the thirty, the second author of Samuel gives the figure of thirty-seven as its total. Who, then, is the warrior who is missing in both the roster and the list, but included in the total?

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

125

B. Before both the roster of commanders and the list of privates, Chronicles adds the story of Jerusalem’s conquest by Joab (1 Chr 11:5– 6). Is there any deliberate connection in this book between the list of heroes and Joab son of Zeruiah who answered David’s challenge, conquered Jerusalem and helped David build it? C. In Samuel, four out of the six in the commander’s roster were described by rank definitions; Adino (no. 2) and Shamma (no. 4) are the exceptions, being described only with a short story about their exploits without any rank definitions. If they are included in the commander’s roster, why does the author not mention their rank as he does with their four colleagues? D. It looks as if both above mentioned commanders, Adino and Shammah, were omitted from the Chronicles’ roster of commanders, which leaves that roster with only four commanders instead of the six in Samuel. Why were those two commanders omitted in the roster of Chronicles? E. What exactly are the various rank definitions that are attributed to the four commanders in Samuel’s roster of six and, in particular, what does it mean, in both parallel sources, that Abishai and Benaiah are described as included in “the three” yet did not attain “the other three?” Who, then, are “the three” among whom Abishai and Benaiah are included, and who are “the other three” among whom both heroes were excluded? F. Why did the Chronicler add, after the two lists of heroes, another list of trans-Jordanian heroes led by a commander named Adina son of Shiza the Reubenite. He then added: “a chief of the Reubenite, and thirty with him.” There follows subsequently a partial list of heroes (1 Chr 11:42–47). What does this addition contribute to the Chronicler’s theme? G. What is the Chronicler’s point in adding, after the Reubenite’s list, a collection of more various lists of warriors who joined David? We intend to address the above issues and, at the same time, try to understand the distinctive structures in the parallel sources and the different tendencies that motivate differences in both books’ presentations of the above issues. We will begin by addressing the first two issues (A and B). It seems to me that, in the ancient archive used by both biblical authors, Joab appeared as a commander who served in David’s early years of reign in both functions: as a top commander of the elite company known as “King David’s heroes” as well as a commander-in-chief of David’s small army.

126

MOSHE GARSIEL

The ancient source probably described the elite unit’s echelon, and Joab appeared at the top of that unit. The story of how King David was anxious to capture Jerusalem in the second year of his reign in Hebron probably appeared in this source near the description of Joab’s high rank.46 The king motivated his warriors with a challenge that the warrior who could accomplish it would be promoted to chief (‫ )ראש‬of his elite heroes as well as chief/minister (‫ )שר‬of his small army. Joab did it, and attained both command positions for several years. The Chronicler adopted the episode and inserted it in a better context (1 Chr 11:4–8). Being the top commander of the heroes’ company, Joab deserved to be positioned in front of the roster and the list enumerating David’s heroes, their commanders and their exploits. Unfortunately, the first author of the earlier version of the book of Samuel had already used the Jerusalem conquest episode elsewhere, and he deliberately omitted Joab’s special contribution to this operation (2 Sam 5:6–9). Being one of the Prophet Nathan’s disciples, the moralist first author loathed Joab for being responsible for Uriah’s death in “obedience” to David’s orders in the Ammonite war. He also was critical of Joab for murdering his adversaries, Abner and Amasa, and for supporting Adonijah in his rivalry with Solomon on the issue of King David’s throne accession. As we said earlier, this author criticizes the sons of Zeruiah for their violent activities, and diminishes their glory wherever and whenever he could get away with it. But the second author, who later provided the book of Samuel with additional material (including most of the epilogue), was torn between caution and fear of Solomon, on the one hand, and his desire to restore the sons of Zeruiah’s glory, on the other hand. In the case of Joab, Samuel’s second author made a cautious compromise. He did not describe Joab explicitly as the chief commander of the elite company. He implicitly There are good reasons to date Jerusalem’s conquest to David’s second year in Hebron, see B. Mazar, Biblical Israel: State and People (Jerusalem: Magness & Israel Exploration Society, 1992), 78–87; Garsiel, The Kingdom of David, 15–16; Idem, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel, vol. 3, 29–30; H. Reviv, From Clan to Monarchy: Israel in the Biblical Period (Jerusalem: Magness, 1979), 123–124. However, Knoppers argued against Mazar’s early date citing Sara Japhet (I & II Chronicles, 234): “Jerusalem could not have been conquered and built during the very event of the enthronement” (Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29, 545). But Japhet’s remark was not directed against Mazar’s historical reconstruction. She only dismissed the possibility of applying this chronological reconstruction to the text of Chronicles. In any event, in both biblical parallel sources, both the conquest of Jerusalem and its building were depicted in a non-chronological order but were motivated by different sequence considerations that cannot be elaborated on here. 46

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

127

referred to him indirectly on three occasions: when his two brothers are mentioned as Joab’s brothers (2 Sam 23:18, 24) and later when he identified two heroes as Joab’s arms bearers (v. 27). These references imply that Joab was the unit’s chief commander at an earlier stage. I assume that he is the one who completes the total in the epilogue’s roster and list to 37 (which settles question A from above). Devoid of both his predecessors’ inhibitions and hesitations, the Chronicler discloses Joab’s contribution in the conquest of Jerusalem and its building and how he attained his status as chief commander (‫ )ראש‬of the elite unit as well as his rank as a minister of the army (1 Chr 11:4–8). Subsequently, the Chronicler presents his elaborate version of the unit, its commanders and their exploits and the list of its other warriors (vv. 10–41). We shall return to the Chronicler’s special approach below. (Question B is now settled.) We move now to Adino and Sammah, whose ranks are missing in Samuel and even whose names are missing in Chronicles (questions C and D above). It seems to me that neither commander was in control of the initial platoon, i.e., the founders’ platoon of heroes that was established probably as early as David’s period of wandering or in his time at Ziklag. In these periods, most of the elite platoon’s warriors were members of the southern tribes of Judah, Simeon and Dan.47 Yeshbaal, whose name was modified to Jashobeam (son of Hachmoni) in Chronicles, and to Joshebbasshebeth, a Tahchemonite, in Samuel served as the first platoon’s top commander of the “thirty.”48 That last name is probably a very late midrashic name derivation that was based on the verb ‫“ ישב‬sit” and the adjective ‫“ חכם‬sage” and was inserted by a late copyist. The second author of Samuel wanted to devote a memorial list for the founders’ platoon by mentioning its top commander Jashobeam, its lower officers and their hierarchy—Abishai, Eleazar and Benaiah—respectively. He attached anecdotes of the exploits of the four commanders. Subsequently, he added a monotonous list of thirty underling heroes. The original platoon’s structure is now reconstructed, as is demonstrated by the following table.

See Myers, I Chronicles, 90. We read in the parallel texts: ‫“ ראש השלשים‬the head of thirty” (pace N. Na’aman, “The List of David’s Officers (šališim),” VT 38 (1988), 71–79, who reads šališim). 47 48

128

MOSHE GARSIEL

Heroes’ Names The Platoon Commanders 1. Jashobeam 2. Abishai 3. Eleazar 4. Benaiah The Platoon Underlings A list of “thirty” heroes

Their Military Status A top commander of the founders’ platoon Head of the “three” lower officers (equivalent to modern sergeant-major) of the first platoon The second in command of the “three” lower officers The last in command of the “three” lower officers Regular warriors (privates)

After reconstructing the initial platoon, its top commander, its three lower officers as well as its privates, we remain with the same above questions: Who are Adino and Shammah? Why were they also inserted in the epilogue’s roster within a text dedicated to commanders? As for Adino (2 Sam 23:8), I have suggested identifying him with Adina son of Shiza the Reubenite. The latter is described in Chronicles as “a chief of the Reubenites and thirty with him” (1 Chr 11:42). The warrior’s name list in the latter text was recognized as based upon trans-Jordanian warriors.49 It seems to me that Adino/Adina was a top commander of a platoon of thirty trans-Jordanian elite warriors plus its lower officers and, in fact, his rank is equivalent to Jashobeam, the top commander of the first platoon. While the first platoon was made up mainly of the tribe of Judah, neighboring tribes, and other refugees who joined David in his wandering period, at a later stage David added to it another platoon under the command of Adino. This second platoon consisted mainly of transJordanian warriors. The above reconstruction leads us to another probability, that the second commander, Shammah son of Age (‫)אגא‬, was also a top commander of a third platoon that was added at a later stage to David’s elite unit. We shall now explore this hypothesis. The name Shammah (‫)שמה‬ is an abbreviation of various theophoric names that contain the verb ‫שמע‬ plus a deity’s name as suffix, which means that the “deity would heed” the 49 Cf. S. Klein, “The Heroes of King David,” Yediot 7 (1940), 103–104, 106 [Heb.]; B. Mazar, The Early Biblical Period: Historical Studies (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1986), 101–102; S. L. McKenzie, 1–2 Chronicles (AOTC; Nashville: Abington Press, 2004), 127.

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

129

request of the parents or the wish that he would protect the infant. The full name construction would be, therefore, Ishmaiah (‫)ישמעיה‬, or the like.50 Consequently, it seems plausible to identify the above Shammah (‫שמה‬ ‫ )בן אגא‬of the hill region (‫ (ההררי‬with Ishmaiah of Gibeon (whose place name indicates a hilly site—identified with the modern village of el-Gib) who is mentioned in 1 Chronicles 12:4 as: “a warrior among the thirty, leading the thirty.” The latter is mentioned in this text among other warriors as “kinsmen of Saul from Benjamin” who joined David’s camp when he was still deployed at Ziklag (ibid., vv. 1–4).51 Hence, Sammah/Ishmaiah served as a top commander of the third platoon that joined the elite unit and most of whose warriors were Benjaminites. This enlarged unit became at this stage a company under the commander-in-chief, Joab. The latter, as we have said, is the missing name of the 37 total warriors in Samuel’s roster and list. If our analysis is correct, Samuel’s roster of six commanders contains three top platoon commanders: Jashobeam, Adino and Shammah/Ishmaiah, as well as three lower officers of the first founders’ platoon: Abishai, Eleazar and Benaiah. The partial reconstruction of the whole company based on information supplied by both biblical sources is demonstrated in the following table.

50 See M. Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1928), 39, 138, 185; Encyclopaedia Biblica, vol. 8, entries ‫שמא‬, ‫שמה‬, 69–70. For a further discussion of this name and other information on the later promotions of this commander, see Garsiel, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel, vol. 3, 143–144. 51 For further discussion of the identification of Shammah with Ishmaiah, see Garsiel, The Kingdom of David, 31–34.

130

MOSHE GARSIEL

The chief commander of the warriors’ company The first platoon (the founders) The “three:” Jashobeam platoons’ top commanders The “three:” 1. Abishai, the first head of the platoon’s “three” lower officers 2. Eleazar, second in command 3. Benaiah, last in command The “thirty:” Detailed lists regular in 2 Sam platoons’ 23:24–39; and 1 warriors Chr 11:27–41. (privates).

Joab son of Zeruiah The transJordanian’s platoon Adino/Adina

The Benjaminites’ platoon

A partial list in 1 Chr 11:42–47.

A small list fragment in 1 Chr 11:2–4.

Shammah/Ishmaiah

We can move now to the various texts at issue in Samuel and Chronicles, solve the rest of the problems presented above, and disclose the various approaches and purposes of the biblical sources toward the heroes and their exploits. As stated above, the second author of the book of Samuel wanted to lessen somewhat the glory of the king as the greatest hero and military leader who takes significant part in actual fighting. This author, who opposes the kingship in general, did it subtly again by adding his memorial roster and list of the commanders and members of David’s elite unit, and by telling anecdotes of their extraordinary exploits. He even combined this with the previous one about David and his heroes who killed four Philistine giants. In both sections, it becomes clear that David’s feat in killing Goliath was not a unique and unimaginable act of heroism, as presented by the first author in his earlier composition. Several other warriors—as the second author in both warrior sections subtly reminds us—matched David’s success in killing giants like Goliath; three of the warriors killed the Rephaim giants, a guild which also includes Goliath. Moreover, whereas the earlier author recounts how young David and his men killed 200 Philistines and cut their male organs (1 Sam 18:25-28), the second author points out that several of David’s warriors out-matched the former and killed alone a

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

131

lot more of their enemies; one of these warriors was no other than the hated (by the earlier author) Abishai son of Zeruiah (2 Sam 23:18). The second author was trying to diminish David’s glory by shifting the focus to the heroic actions of the commanders and a few other warriors—all of whom share the glory of David’s victories. Some of them even fell in war; the second author mentions Uriah the Hittite in the closing list (2 Sam 23:39), which serves also as a reminder of David’s sins. The second author cautiously picked up the information about the first two stages of the development of the elite unit from available, ancient archives. He wanted to focus on the first stage, namely, on the first platoon of the founders, elaborating on its top commander Jashobeam and his three lower officers, Abishai, Eleazar and Benaiah (in this hierarchic order). This second author, however, also wanted to briefly remind the audience of the second stage, when two other platoons joined the unit and it became a company. Instead of elaborating on the second stage, the author presented it with its two top platoon commanders, Adino and Shammah, whom he added to the roster of commanders of the first platoon. At this point, this roster included three top platoon commanders, who were granted the title of being within “the three” of the higher level platoon’s top commanders. However, in order not to disturb the first platoon’s echelon, only Jashobeam was described in the text as “the head of thirty.” His two colleagues, in command of the other later platoons, were not described explicitly by their ranks as heads of thirty, but the narrator implicitly counted them within the upper “three.” This is how we suggest solving question C above. When the second author mentioned the lower officers in a hierarchic order, he was careful not to confuse the “three” of them with the “three” top commanders. Hence, he cautiously described Abishai’s rank as the leader of the “three” officers by adding the the sentence, “However, he did not attain to the three” (namely, the “three” top platoon commanders). As for Benaiah, the author wanted to place him above the regular warriors while in the status of the lower officers. However, once the commander was elevated above the “thirty” regulars, the author added again the same cautious remark that this officer was indeed above the “thirty” and within the lower “three.” Yet that does not mean that he attained the upper “three” status of a platoon’s top commander. This explanation helps us to solve question E above. The memorial section of the elite platoon as well as its commanders’ exploits, including the two top commanders of the two additional platoons, serves the second author of Samuel by diminishing David’s glory as an unmatched, Israelite super-hero. Both of the epilogue’s sections dealing

132

MOSHE GARSIEL

with David’s warriors tell us that other warriors excelled in the fighting as well; they fought against well-equipped giants or against hundreds of foes or penetrated the enemy’s deployment all the way from the besieged fortress of Jerusalem to occupied Bethlehem to bring intelligence information to their king as well as water from the cistern at Bethlehem’s gate.52 Furthermore, it is evident that both of the epilogue’s sections restore respect for Abishai explicitly and Joab implicitly. Abishai saved his king’s life, and he served as the commander in the exploit of the three who brought “water” to his king. In another incident, he killed hundreds of enemies. In disclosing these details, the second author diminishes the hostility toward the sons of Zeruiah who were so criticized by the first author in his earlier version of David’s story and the history of his kingdom. The Chronicler, on the other hand, drew significantly from the second version of Samuel and probably used ancient sources as well. Yet the changes in the texts and in the context of the warriors’ lists and rosters drive these parallel sections in different directions in terms of meaning and message. The Chronicler puts the kingdom and kingship of David and Solomon in the center of Israel’s history. He does this to such an extent that, even though he opens his book with the first human being, Adam, he tells very little or even nothing about the history of Israel in the times of the patriarchs, Moses and the exodus, Joshua and the conquest of Canaan, the judges and the settlement or Saul and his kingship. It looks almost as if the main history of Israel began with David and Solomon, to whom the Chronicler devotes the major part of his book. Moreover, he confines his interest in the northern kingdom to certain joint operations in which both kingdoms cooperated or fought against each other. I have elsewhere addressed several main issues in Chronicles’ literary structure and contents. Following M. Noth’s views, I concluded that the book served as a subtle polemic against the Samaritans who dissented from the Separatist returnees who followed Ezra and Nehemiah’s preaching and actions. The latter bitterly fought against the so-called “people of the land” (‫)עמי הארץ‬. The Separatists continued the campaign against the people of the land, also dubbed “the Samaritans.” The schism eventually brought about a Samaritan counter-building of a temple on Mount Gerizim, which served them as a replacement for the Jerusalemite second temple, attendance and worship in which was denied them. The Samaritans also claimed that they were continuing the traditions of the earlier northern kingdom, and that even the patriarchs had built altars there. The Chronicler, on his part, tried his best to contribute to the bitter theological debate See M. Garsiel, “The Water Retrieval Mission of David’s Three Warriors and its Relationship to the Battle of the Valley of Refaim,” 51–62. 52

DAVID’S WARRIORS IN SAMUEL AND CHRONICLES

133

against the Samaritans by making revisions of the history of Israel, in which the Jerusalemite temple became the center of Israelite life. Its builders, furthermore, David and Solomon, became the most prominent figures in the history of Israel.53 The Chronicler’s motivation in writing his book has a bearing on this topic as well. As stated before, three out of four anecdotes in Samuel’s epilogue about David and his warriors killing Philistine giants turned into three major wars against the Philistines. Samuel’s first episode about Abishai saving David’s life was omitted. But the main point is the Chronicles’ context. Whereas these wars were recounted in Samuel as personal encounters intended to glorify the heroes and diminish the king’s image as a military leader, in Chronicles the encounters became a finale to David’s comprehensive wars against the Philistines and other nations. Furthermore, all of David’s wars became instrumental to the building of the Jerusalemite temple, as was subtly stated by the Chronicler: David took the gold shields carried by Hadadezer’s retinue and brought them to Jerusalem; and from Tibbnath and Cun, towns of Hadadezer, David took a vast amount of copper, from which Solomon made the bronze tank, the columns and the bronze vessels. When King Tou of Hamath heard that David had defeated the entire army of King Hadadezer of Zobah, he sent his son Hadoram to King David to greet him and to congratulate him on his military victory over Hadadezer–for Hadadezer had been at war with Tou [he brought with him] all manner of gold, silver, and copper objects. King David dedicated these to the Lord, along with the other silver and gold that he had taken from all the nations: from Edom, Moab, and Ammon, from the Philistines and the Amaleqites. (1 Chr 18:7–11).

Hence, the wars against the Philistines, as well as against other nations, served indirectly for the building of the temple and its implements. King David and King Solomon used the booty of war and other gifts in building the central temple in Jerusalem and furnishing it. Similarly, the second version of Samuel’s list of the elite warrior unit that was intended to glorify the heroes and restore honor to the very much criticized (by the first author) sons of Zeruiah became in Chronicles a part of a comprehensive demonstration of support for David. The Chronicler omits Samuel’s detailed stories about the conflict between Saul and David 53 For a comprehensive survey of this approach, see my article: M. Garsiel, “The Structure and Contents of Chronicles as a Veiled Polemic against the Samaritans,” J. Schwartz et al. (eds.), Jerusalem and Eeretz Israel: Arie Kindler Volume (Ramat Gan & Tel Aviv: The Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies, BarIlan University & Eretz Israel Museum, 2000), English section, 42–60.

134

MOSHE GARSIEL

and between the house of David and the house of Saul. Only a few hints remain of these periods. The Chronicler describes David as achieving the kingship with a vast approval of all the tribes of Israel. Being the king who conquered and built Jerusalem, made it his capital, brought the Ark of the Covenant there and initiated the building of the temple, the Chronicler preferred to describe David as having gained the approval of all of Israel in his kingship, instead of as a controversial king who fought his way to the throne, as recounted in Samuel. In line with this revisionary history of David, the Chronicler used King David’s warriors to describe the wide support of the military for David’s kingship. Within this framework, the Chronicler tried reconstructing the second phase of the elite unit. Unlike Samuel’s second author, who used the unit in its initial stage to glorify the heroes as well as the sons of Zeruiah (with only a hint of its second stage), the Chronicler tried to reconstruct its second stage by naming Adina (=Adino) the Reubenite, who served as the second platoon’s top commander of the trans-Jordanian elite platoon. He could not, however, reconstruct the whole unit, so he sufficed with only a partial list of fifteen warriors. He also mentioned the Benjaminite’s third Platoon Commander, Ishmaiah, among the Benjaminites who joined David. But due to his lack of available sources, he could not reconstruct the third platoon. In any event, the whole description of the many warriors who joined David served in Chronicles to clear David from any suspicion that his kingship was attained by controversial means. The Chronicler needed both David and Solomon to be regarded with the utmost integrity in the history of Israel, inasmuch as they were connected to the building of the temple in Jerusalem, which served the Chronicler’s polemical argument against the Samaritans who built another temple on Mount Gerizim to replace the Jerusalemite one.

THE SHATTERED DREAM THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL: A BRIDGE BETWEEN EZEKIEL AND HAGGAI? TOVA GANZEL BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION The observation by Abraham ibn Ezra that “we have no way of establishing to which generation he [Joel] belonged and, according to the plain meaning, he is not the son of Samuel,”1 perhaps encapsulates Ibn Ezra’s understanding that this prophet deliberately hid his era so as to make his prophecy timeless. But for modern scholarship, the inability to unequivocally determine the date or historical background of these oracles hampers comprehension of their prophetic message. Moreover, as evidenced by the widely varying proposals and suggested methods, dating Joel is no simple matter. This article seeks to contribute to this challenging undertaking, notwithstanding the inherent critical difficulties. Many scholars assign Joel’s prophecies to the post-destruction period, mainly on the grounds of (a) the absence of references to a king ruling Judea, a priestly leadership, or the northern kingdoms of Assyria and Babylonia; (b) the language of the book, * It is my pleasure to thank Professor Mark J. Boda both for his generosity in reading a draft of this article and for his incisive comments. I thank Dena Ordan not only for translating the article but also for her assistance in clarifying the argument. All the dates in this article are BCE. Where chapter and verse numbers appear without attribution to a specific work, they refer to Joel. 1 Uriel Simon, Abraham Ibn Ezra’s Two Commentaries on the Minor Prophets: An Annotated Critical Edition (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1989), 1:135 (Hebrew). See also Abarbanel’s commentary on Joel (Tel Aviv: Torah va-Da’at, 1960), 65.

135

136

TOVA GANZEL

including its use of earlier prophecies; (c) the denunciation of the slave trade; and (d) the punishments predicted for Egypt and Edom.2 Within this general frame, this article proposes a dating that is usually ruled out by the assumption that “a functioning cult in Jerusalem excludes the period from 586 to 516, from the destruction of the temple by the Babylonian army to its restoration under the prophetic leadership of Haggai and Zechariah.”3 This article proposes that the oracles in the book of Joel were uttered during the early restoration period in Judah, and more specifically, during the seventeen-year period between Cyrus’s decree (538–537 BCE) and the prophecies of Haggai (520 BCE), in year two to Darius, before the dedication of the Second Temple.4 Moreover, this study views the book of Joel as partly filling the lacuna in prophetic literature between the latest prophecies of Ezekiel, dated to 570 BCE (Ezek 29:17), and the earliest prophecies of Haggai and Zechariah, dated to year two of Darius (Hag 1:1; Zech 1:1). The scholarly proposal closest to this one assigns the book of Joel to the time of Haggai and Zechariah (separate from Malachi), ca. 520 BCE, based on the similarities between Joel and Haggai and Zechariah and their distance from Malachi, who is later.5 A dating of Joel to these years is consistent with the linguistic criteria that guide most scholars to assign this book to the postexilic period. The sole biblical description of the early restoration period, which recounts the building of the altar and the laying of the foundations of the temple, is the retrospective one in Ezra 1–4. The dating of the events described in these chapters is difficult, however. Thus the return described in Ezra 2–3 under the leadership of Zerubabel and Jeshua can be viewed as the immediate continuation of the return of Sheshbazzar (1:11), the chiefs of the clans of Judah and Benjamin, and the priests and Levites (1:5) just after the issuing of Cyrus’s proclamation (Ezra 1). Alternately, it can be understood as testifying to a later wave of return, perhaps during Darius’s reign. This raises additional questions: Was the temple founded and the altar dedicated between the initial return and the second return during the reign of Darius, or did these years pass without any initiation of building? In the latter instance, the events described in Ezra 3 took place at an even later 2 See, for example, James L. Crenshaw, Joel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 24C; New York: Doubleday, 1995), 21–29. 3 Crenshaw, Joel, 25. 4 My working assumption is of the unity of the book of Joel. For a discussion of the unity of the text, see John Barton, Joel and Obadiah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 5–14. 5 See Jacob M. Myers, “Some Considerations Bearing on the Date of Joel,” ZAW 74 (1962), 177–95.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

137

date.6 In either case, the returning priests, who had hoped to resume the sacrificial rites and the rebuilding of the temple, confronted a harsh reality and disappointment at the circumstances so far from their original expectations. Although it is not necessary to argue that the descriptions in Joel reflect a functioning altar in order to date him to the early restoration period, in my opinion this was indeed the case. The historical context for Joel proposed here contributes to the resolution of many puzzling elements in this book and highlights the close affinity between prophecy and its accompanying historical circumstances. The many proposals for dating Joel’s prophecies span five centuries7— ranging from the mid-ninth century, during the reign of Jehoram ben Ahab, to the rise of the Greeks in the fourth century BCE8—and testify to the lack 6 For a discussion of the dating of these events in Ezra, see Jacob L. Wright, Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah Memoir and Its Earliest Readers (BZAW, 348; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004), 301–3; H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC, 16; Waco, Texas: Word, 1985), 44–45; Jacob M. Myers, Ezra Nehemiah (AB, 14; New York: Doubleday, 1965), xxiv–xxvii. For a recent discussion of the redaction of Ezra and Nehemiah, see Mark J. Boda and Paul L. Redditt (eds.), Unity and Disunity in Ezra-Nehemiah: Redaction, Rhetoric and Reader (Hebrew Bible Monographs, 17; Sheffield: Phoenix Press, 2008). 7 For discussions of the progressive interrelationships in the book that indicate its unity, see Willem S. Prinsloo, “The Unity of the Book of Joel,” ZAW 104 (1992), 66–81; and more recently, Ernst R. Wendland, “Dramatic Rhetoric, Metaphoric Imagery, and Discourse Structure in Joel,” Journal for Semitics 18 (2009), 205–39. For a synchronic reading of Joel, see James R. Linville, “The Day of Yahweh and the Mourning of Priests in Joel,” Lester L. Grabbe and Alice Ogden Bellis (eds.), The Priests in the Prophets: The Portrayal of Priests, Prophets and Other Religious Specialists in the Latter Prophets (JSOTSup, 408; London: T & T Clark, 2004). 8 For a comprehensive survey of the possibilities for dating Joel by biblical scholars until 1974, see John Alexander Thompson, “The Date of Joel,” Howard N. Bream, Ralph D. Heim, and Carey A. Moore (eds.), A Light Unto My Path: Old Testament Studies in Honor of Jacob M. Myers (Gettysburg Theological Studies, 4; Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1974), 453–64. I cite in addition examples of rabbinic approaches, Hebrew studies, and several studies published after Thompson’s article, and note some articles particularly relevant to my proposal. For a mid-ninth century dating of Joel, during the reign of Yehoram ben Ahab, see Rashi (in addition to his identification of Joel as the “son of the prophet Samuel”), Miqra’ot gedolot ha-ma’or: Nevi’im u-ketuvim (Jerusalem: Hamaor Institute, 2000), 120; and Rabbi David Kimhi, ibid., 121. The eighth-century dating, during the reign of Uzziah and Jeroboam ben Joash, relies on this book’s placement between Hosea and Amos in the Minor Prophets, and see the recent article by Aaron Schart, “The First Section of the Book of the Twelve Prophets: Hosea-Joel-

138

TOVA GANZEL

of a single, agreed upon criterion for determining the date of this book. However, the weight of scholarly opinion assigns Joel’s oracles to the postexilic period, and my proposal is in line with this premise. Previous discussions that placed Joel in the Second Temple period have relied largely on analysis of the linguistic affinities between Joel and Ezekiel and between Joel and Haggai. Based on the outcome of their linguistic arguments,9 the present discussion draws more heavily on topical affinities in order to suggest a closer dating for the book of Joel. Part of the difficulty in unequivocally establishing the date and background of Joel derives from the text itself and its remarkable lack of clarity. I suggest that serious consideration be given to the possibility that Joel was among the returning exiles, or if he remained in the land of Israel that he was exposed to the oracles delivered by Ezekiel in Babylonia.10 Amos,” Interpretation 61 (2007), 138–52. For attribution to the seventh century, during the reign of Manasseh, see Heinrich W. Guggenheimer, trans., Seder Olam: The Rabbinic View of Biblical Chronology (Northvale, N.J.: Aronson, 1998), 176–78, n. 7; or during Manasseh’s early reign or even at the end of Sennacherib’s reign, see Yehezkel Kaufmann, Toledot ha-emunah ha-yisra’elit (Tel Aviv: Mossad Bialik, 1960), 3:331–39; and recently, Duane A. Garrett, Hosea, Joel (New American Commentary, 19A; Nashville: Broadman and Holman, 1997), 286–94. For a sixth-century dating, close to the time of the destruction, see in addition to Maries (n. 44 below), Ben Zion Luria, “The Date of Joel 4,” Bet Mikra 32 (1986/87), 345–49 (in Hebrew). See also Pesiq. Rab Kah.: Nahamu 128b [Braude-Kapstein ed., 295], which includes Joel among the eight prophets who prophesied after the destruction of the Temple. Most scholars date Joel’s oracles to the fifth or fourth centuries, based on linguistic links to other biblical texts assigned to this period. See, for example, Benjamin Uffenheimer, “Qavim le-ofi ha-sifruti u-le-reqa ha-histori shel Yoel 1–2,” H. Gevaryahu, B. Z. Luria, and Y. Melman (eds.), Sefer Biram: Ma’amarim be-heqer hatanakh (Pirsumei ha-hevrah le-heqer ha-miqra be-yisrael, 2; Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1946), 108–15, who dates Joel after the destruction and before the fifth-century expulsion of the Edomites. For a dating to the late sixth century, after the rebuilding and dedication of the Temple (516), during the reign of Darius but before Ezra (458), see Mordechai Cogan, Joel (Mikra leyisra’el; Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1994), 10; and Myers, “Date of Joel,” 177–95; and in his wake Leslie C. Allen, The Books of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), 19–25, among many others. For a fifth-century dating, during Ezra and Nehemiah’s day but before the rise of the Greeks, see Crenshaw, Joel, 21–29. For the late fourth century (400 the earliest), see John Barton, Joel and Obadiah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 14–18. Barton concludes that the second part of Joel is later than the first and is a secondary addition. 9 See n. 45 below. 10 See n. 44 below.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

139

Placement of Joel in the early restoration period—between the setting up of the altar but before the rebuilding of the temple—has the ability to explain much of the problematic content of the oracles in Joel 1–2. One question relates to identification of what reality underlies the description of the priests performing the altar service as engaging in mourning customs; also, what prevented the offering of the grain and libation sacrifices? Certainly, if viewed against the background of actual difficulties the returnees confronted, this description has a heightened effect. Another question is the unusual absence of moral or social upbraiding in the call for repentance and of any rationale to which to attribute the people’s fate. Furthermore, I wish to suggest that the difficult, future-directed apocalyptic oracles of Joel 3–4, which also call for immediate, radical change, perhaps reflect a narrow time slot, during which—in the context of the return of the exiles, their desire to sacrifice on an active altar, and to realize the license to rebuild the temple— there were expectations for fulfillment of the unique restoration prophecies delivered by Ezekiel in Babylonia, hopes abandoned with the rebuilding of the temple in Haggai and Zechariah’s day. In the context of an article, and given Joel’s textual complexity, this understanding cannot be applied to specific verses but to broader issues alone.

THE EARLY RESTORATION PERIOD: BETWEEN THE ERECTION OF THE ALTAR (537 BCE) AND THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE (520 BCE) If correct, the dating of Joel suggested here provides a modicum of missing data regarding a period for which few biblical sources exist for the history of the Jews in either Judea or Babylonia. The sole extant prophecies that can be specifically dated to the post-destruction era, but before the completion of the Second Temple, are found in Ezek 29:17 (570 BCE), Jer 52:31–34 (561 BCE), Hag 1:1–14 (520 BCE), in addition to 2 Chr 36:22–23 and the retrospective description of events after Cyrus’ decree in Ezra 1–4, 6.11 Nor are there significant finds from extrabiblical sources;12 there is no inscriptional evidence and only one document dated to the fifth year of

This is in addition to Deutero-Isaiah’s oracles (which many scholars also date to the post-fall years and before the restoration), Lamentations, and some psalms (125, 137). 12 On archeological finds in Jerusalem and its environs, see, among others, Charles E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period: A Social and Demographic Study (JSOTSup, 294; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 134–62. 11

140

TOVA GANZEL

Cambyses’ reign has been discovered in Israel, at Tel Mikhmoret.13 For Babylonia, we have a collection of economic documents, which shed scant light on the situation of the Jews living in the Āl-Yahudu (“Town of Judah”).14 The sole description of this period is the retrospective one in Ezra 1–3, which includes: Cyrus’s decree (1:1–5); a description of the returnees (1:5–6); the goods they brought with them (1:7–11); the list of returnees (2:1–70); the setting up of the altar, the offering of sacrifices, and celebration of Sukkot (3:1–7), the appointment of Levites, the laying of the foundations of the temple;15 and finally the rejoicing mixed with the tears of the elderly when the cornerstone was laid (3:8–13).16 What delayed the building of the temple for fifteen years is not entirely clear; the extant sources ascribe it mainly to the interference of the “adversaries of Judah and Benjamin” (Ezra 4:1–5) and to the people’s preference for staying at home in face of the many difficulties (Hag 1:2, 9). I thank Hanan Eshel for bringing this to my attention. See Yosef Porath, Samuel M. Paley, and Robert R. Stieglitz, “Mikhmoret, Tel,” NEAEHL 3:1044. 14 On the socio-economic situation of the Jews of Babylonia under Babylonian and Persian rule in light of Akkadian and cuneiform legal-economic documents, see Ran Zadok, The Jews in Babylonia during the Chaldean and Achaemenian Periods according to the Babylonian Sources (Studies in the History of the Jewish People and the Land of Israel, 3; Haifa: University of Haifa Press, 1979); idem, The Earliest Diaspora: Israelites and Judeans in Pre-Hellenistic Mesopotamia (Publications of the Diaspora Research Institute, 151; Tel Aviv: Diaspora Research Institute, Tel Aviv University, 2002). For their familial setting and acclimation to Babylonian culture in light of two Akkadian documents from Āl-Yahudu, see K. Abraham, “An Inheritance Division among Judeans in Babylonia from the Early Persian Period,” M. Lubetski (ed.), New Seals and Inscriptions, Hebrew, Idumean, and Cuneiform (Hebrew Bible Monographs, 8; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2007), 206–21. 15 As noted earlier, a first group of returnees, which included priests and Levites, came back immediately following the proclamation of Cyrus under the leadership of Sheshbazzar. It is impossible to determine the year of the return under the leadership of Zerubabel and Jeshua. As Jacob M. Myers notes, “The year of the writer’s seventh month [Ezra 3:1] is not specified” (Ezra Nehemiah [AB, 14; Garden City: Doubleday, 1965], 26). 16 To this we can perhaps add Ezra 4:1–6. On the reliability of the description in Ezra, see Rainer Albertz, Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century BCE (Studies in Biblical Literature; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 120–22 and n. 249 there. On the historicity of the description in Ezra 1–3 in light of the correspondence and scroll found in Darius’ library in Ezra 5–6, see Sarah Japhet, “The Temple in the Restoration Period: Reality and Ideology,” From the Rivers of Babylon to the Highlands of Judah: Collected Studies on the Restoration Period (Winona Lake: Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 183–214. 13

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

141

The cessation of building after the erection of the altar and the laying of the temple’s foundations created a new reality in Judea—a reality that sparked the returnees to question whether God’s presence was among them.17 We can perhaps also identify echoes of this complex reality in the oracles of Haggai and Zechariah which describe the period preceding the completion of the building of the temple, during which sacrifices were offered without a temple (Hag 2:4; Zech 7:3) Note that, in light of the present discussion, these verses are seen as describing the situation after the erection of the altar and not the cultic situation during the fifty years after the destruction of the First Temple.18 A late echo of this complex situation appears in b. Zebah. 62a: “Three prophets went up with them from the Exile: one testified to them about [the dimensions of] the altar, another testified to them about the site of the altar; and the third testified to them that they could sacrifice even though there was no temple.” Neither archeological finds nor literary sources provide a precise picture of the situation in Judea for the interim period between the initial return under Cyrus and later between the setting up of the altar and the building of the temple, and little is known of the immediate historical reality the returnees encountered on their return.19 We can speak in general terms only of the situation in the sixth century BCE, from the destruction of the temple to recovery under Persian rule. After the Babylonian army devastated Judea, its much-reduced population underwent socio-cultural disintegration,20 as attested by the description in Jer 43:2–6, which receives backing from archeological evidence21 and from the absence of Greek ceramics in Judea during that period. 17 Perhaps the returnees’ sense of misery and perception that the divine presence was absent from their efforts (Ezra 3:7) was heightened by the fact that it was through Cyrus’s agency that they undertook their activity in Jerusalem. 18 See Japhet, “The Temple in the Restoration Period,” 217–18. 19 On the Persian regime and its corollaries based on extrabiblical sources, including the granting of the right to the Judeans to return to their land and build a temple during that period, see Albertz, Israel in Exile, 112–25 and the bibliography there, 112-13. 20 Recently, the question of the population of Judea has been the subject of widespread discussion. See Avraham Faust, “Social and Cultural Changes in Judah during the 6th Century BCE,” UF 36 (2004), 157–76; Oded Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 152–54. I lean toward Faust’s stance that the entire land was devastated, including the territory of Benjamin, and that the population was greatly reduced. 21 This description of historical reality is in harmony with the opinion that the destruction sparked an overall crisis for the Judeans who remained behind. See the

142

TOVA GANZEL While the local pottery cannot…be securely dated to the period under discussion, there is Greek pottery that is traditionally dated to the 6 th century with great precision. This pottery, however, is practically absent from the Land of Israel, even along the coast. This seems to be of importance both to the reality “on the ground” at the time discussed and to the dating of local pottery…. The lack of imports seems to show that the region was insignificant in the prospering 6th century maritime trade. When compared with the situation in other parts of the Mediterranean, and especially in the Phoenician colonies in the west, the disappearance of imported pottery from the southern Levant is indicative not only of the devastation of the region, but also of the Babylonian policy and economic interests in the region. 22

Judean autonomy was restricted under Persian rule,23 and the population did not increase significantly.24 Notwithstanding scholarly disagreement regarding the scope of settlement during those years, it was undoubtedly small;25 those who remained in Judea saw themselves as a leaderless remnant (Jer 44) and underwent the “rapid social disintegration, so typical of post collapse societies.”26 Finally, we must take into account that the new settlement was slow in gaining stability and that, even after its recovery during the Persian period, Judea never returned to its pre-destruction dimensions. The period has been characterized as “one of great settlement recent treatment by Avraham Faust, “Judah in the Sixth Century BCE: Continuity or Break?,” Eretz-Israel 29 (2009), 339–47 (Hebrew). 22 Avraham Faust, Judah in the Neo-Babylonian Period: The Archaeology of Desolation (forthcoming). I thank him for allowing me access to this material prior to its publication. 23 See John W. Betlyon, “Neo-Babylonian Operations Other than War,” Oded Lipschits and Joseph Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 263–83. 24 See Carol L. Meyers and Eric M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 25B; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1987), xxxvi; and more recently, Avraham Faust, “Settlement Dynamics and Demographic Fluctuations in Judah from the Late Iron Age to the Hellenistic Period and the Archaeology of Persian-Period Yehud,” Yigal Levin (ed.), A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbors in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods (Library of Second Temple Studies, 65; London: T & T Clark, 2007), 34–46. 25 Charles E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period: A Social and Demographic Study (JSOTSup, 294; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 134ff. and the bibliography there. 26 Faust, “Settlement Dynamics,” 43–46; idem, “Social and Cultural Changes in Judah,” 170.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

143

decline.”27 Little is known of the identity of the returnees,28 or of the authority granted the Jewish leadership by the Persian regime (even though we know their names).29 Nor do the biblical sources provide a clear picture of this period; the biblical data which cover the destruction period and, later, that of Haggai and Zechariah, leave the early restoration period in obscurity.

JOEL 1–2 AS A REFLECTION OF HISTORICAL REALITY Nonetheless, the available data suggest that the reality confronted by the returnees was difficult. The terrible drought noted in Haggai (1:6), with its concomitant lack of livelihood and economic straits, was no transient event. Precipitating causes for lack of livelihood are not just low rainfall but also the failure to cultivate crops. If Joel belonged to the early restoration period, his prophecies yield some missing data for this period; the harsh disappointment of the returnees and the severe drought and locust invasion30 that destroyed the crops and perhaps took place close to the uttering of the oracle (chs. 1–2).31 Joel’s references to animal husbandry are Faust, “Settlement Dynamics,” 44–51. See John Kessler, “Persia’s Loyal Yahwists: Power Identity and Ethnicity in Achaemenid Yehud,” Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 91–121. 29 See Joel Weinberg, The Citizen-Temple Community (trans. Daniel L. SmithChristopher; JSOTSup, 151; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992). 30 On the question of whether the descriptions of the locusts are to be understood as referring to real locusts, as symbolizing the enemy forces, or as apocalyptic imagery signifying the day of the Lord, see Ronald A. Simkins, “God, History, and the Natural World in the Book of Joel,” CBQ 55 (1993), 435–52. For the opinion that they reflect reality, see Garrett, Hosea, Joel, 298–301. The question of to what extent this prophecy reflects reality has implications for our understanding of the verses; thus, for example, some interpret the mention of a “wall” in 2:7, 9 as evidence that the book is late, dating to Nehemiah’s day, when the wall was built around Jerusalem. See Thompson, “Date of Joel,” 459. I find it likely that the description relates to a real locust invasion that took place shortly before Joel uttered his prophecy. 31 An interesting parallel, which indicates that this was a known cyclical reality, comes from letters found in Afghanistan and published by Shaul Shaked, La satrape de Bactriane et son gouverneur: Documents araméens du iv e s. avant notre ère provenant de Bactriane, Pierre Briant (ed.), Conférences données au Collège de France, 14 et 21 mai 2003; Paris: De Boccard, 2004), 15–27. There the locust invasion caused delays to the extent that they were forced to ask for an extension of the building permit granted by the Persian ruler—perhaps something similar 27 28

144

TOVA GANZEL

not surprising, notwithstanding the lack of pasturage (1:18) and water (1:20) to which Joel refers. This because the returnees reportedly brought many animals with them (Ezra 2:66–67); and, second, because animal husbandry, which requires more land per family than crops, often expands when the population is sparse and more profitable avenues cannot be exploited. Also, as animal husbandry requires less water than crops, it is suitable for drought periods.32 Thus, Joel’s descriptions of the drought and other natural forces that destroy crops but not animals complement Haggai’s descriptions of the situation a decade later. As the returning exiles interpreted it, this difficult situation was a sign that God was not with them (Joel 2:17; Hag 1:13; 2:5); he therefore neither sends rain nor blesses the crops. This gave rise in turn to feelings of ambivalence among the returnees, especially against the background of the choice many made not to return but to settle in Babylonia (Ezra 1:6). Thus the description in Ezra (3:8-13) especially, “Many of the priests and Levites and the chiefs of the clans, the old men who had seen the first house, wept loudly at the sight of the founding of this house. Many others shouted joyously at the top of their voices” (v. 12), supplements Joel’s portrayal of the disappointment and sorrow of the priests who cry, notwithstanding the spark of hope inherent in this situation (1:13–20, 2:12–18). Perhaps this is also the source of the uncertainty regarding the question of whether “YHWH’s day” had arrived,33 as Crenshaw aptly sums up: “Experience failed to confirm traditional belief. Faced with discontinuity between confessional statements about divine compassion and the circumstances confronting Judeans in his day, Joel strove valiantly to hold together competing views of YHWH’s nature.”34 The presence of a sanctified precinct in Jerusalem in the early restoration period is pivotal to this proposal, as it testifies to the ramifications of the difficult situation in Judea during the years in question. occurred in ancient Israel. This finding is in addition to those listed by Crenshaw, Joel, 91–94. 32 See Avraham Faust, “Judah, Philistia, and the Mediterranean World: Reconstructing the Economic System of the Seventh Century B.C.E.,” BASOR 338 (2005), 76–77. 33 James L. Crenshaw, “Freeing the Imagination: The Conclusion to the Book of Joel,” Yehoshua Gitay (ed.), Prophecy and the Prophets: The Diversity of Contemporary Issues in Scholarship (SemeiaSt; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 134. 34 James L. Crenshaw, “Who Knows What YHWH Will Do? The Character of God in the Book of Joel,” Astrid B. Beck, et al. (eds.), Fortunate the Eyes That See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Seventieth Birthday (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 196.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

145

On the one hand, there were priests and Levites among the returnees,35 and the returnees subsequently erected the altar; apparently, daily sacrifices were reinstated even though the temple had not yet been rebuilt. In the wake of Cyrus’s proclamation, the returnees had high hopes for the swift completion of its building. But the reality was far removed from their dream,36 both because of the severe drought (Joel 1:20; Hag 1:10–11) and locust invasion (Joel 1:1–8) that devoured all the crops (1:11–12), and later because of the interference of the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin and the people of the land (Ezra 4:1–5). The lack of crops impacted directly on the cult, preventing the offering of plant sacrifices: “The grain offering and the drink offering are cut off from the house of YHWH. The priests mourn[,] the ministers of YHWH” (1:9), even though those who minister to the altar and the altar are ready to receive these offerings (1:13). The stress on the grain and drink offerings is not fortuitous. Animal sacrifices perhaps continued to be offered on the altar, because the returnees brought cattle (Ezra 1:6) and other animals with them (Ezra 2:66–67), whereas the components of the grain and drink offerings—grain (1:4, 11), grapes (1:5, 12), and oil (1:10)—were unavailable locally. That is why the ministering priests, who stood in the holiest precinct in the temple, wept at its disgrace and sought to obviate the shame of an altar without the grain and drink offerings and of a temple37 whose building was interrupted: “Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep,38 Let

35 For the identity and actions of the returnees after Cyrus’ proclamation, see above. 36 Sacrifices are mentioned in 1:13, 2:14 does not imply that they were offered daily. See Barton, Joel and Obadiah, 15 and n. 31 there. 37 The place where the priests stood is called '‫ בית ה‬in 1:10, 13, 14, which is similar to Jer 41:5, in which the site of the destroyed temple is also called '‫בית ה‬. 38 According to the prevailing explanation, the specification of place—“between the vestibule and the altar” implies that the vestibule is standing. It is also possible that this marked the coordinates for the place where the priests stood and does not necessarily imply that the vestibule has been constructed, but rather that its foundations have been laid and perhaps somewhat more. Cf. Ezek 8:16: “Then he brought me to the inner court of the house of YHWH, and there at the entrance of YHWH’s temple, between the porch and the altar,” which indicates the importance of this locus, the site of the most heinous idolatry in the most sacred spot in the courtyard. Although the Temple was still standing when Ezekiel uttered this oracle, it is perhaps not by chance that the priests in Joel chose the very spot that, some fifty years earlier, Ezekiel had identified as the one where the acts that caused the destruction were carried out.

146

TOVA GANZEL

them say, ‘Spare your people, YHWH, and do not make your heritage a mockery, a byword among the nations’” (2:17).39 A reality in which there is a functioning altar but no grain or drink offerings because of crop unavailability also sheds light on the subsequent proclamation of mourning customs by the priests and elders: “Put on sackcloth and lament, priests; wail, ministers of the altar. Come, pass the night in sackcloth, ministers of my God! For grain and drink offering are withheld from the house of your God. Sanctify a fast, call an assembly. Gather the elders and all the inhabitants of the land to the house of YHWH your God, and cry out to YHWH” (1:13–14). This appeal to God and the call for a fast by the priests (1:13–14) and the people (2:12) is the outcome of the loss of the joyous hope with which they initiated the building of the house of God (Ezra 3:11) given the halting of construction and the inability to offer certain sacrifices: “Is not the food cut off before our eyes, joy and gladness from the house of our God?” (1:16). Joel requests of God that the current situation not remain in force (2:14), that there be pasturage and water for animals (1:17–20).40 The divine response promises agricultural bounty—granaries filled with grain, vats with wine and oil—and rejoicing by the people of Zion (2:18–27). Wine, oil, and grain (in that order) are the main crops in this region and their production requires a self-supporting agricultural society.41 Thus, as interpreted here, Joel 1–2 reflects the difficult conditions the returnees faced and the promised divine rectification of their situation through assurances of agricultural bounty.42

39 For a discussion of this verse’s paronomasia and its centrality to an understanding of Joel’s prophetic message, see James R. Linville, “Letting the ‘Biword’ Rule in Joel 2:17,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 5 (2004–5), available at http://www.jhsonline.org and reprinted in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives in Hebrew Scriptures II: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, vol. 5 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2007), 13–24. 40 There is perhaps affinity between the mules in Ezra 2:66 and the ‫ פרדות‬in Joel 1:17. 41 Faust, “Judah, Philistia, and the Mediterranean World,” 77. 42 On the uniqueness of the appeal to God in Joel and the divine response in Joel 1–2, see Katherine M. Hayes, “When None Repents, Earth Laments: The Chorus of Lament in Jeremiah and Joel,” Mark J. Boda, Daniel K. Falk, and Rodney A. Werline (eds.), Seeking the Favor of God (SBLEJL, 21; Atlanta: SBL, 2006), 1:134–37.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

147

JOEL 3–4: BETWEEN EZEKIEL AND HAGGAI43 If the opening chapters of Joel reflect the historical-economic circumstances of the returnees, the oracles concentrated mainly in chapters 3–4 are future oriented. Despite their complexity, consideration of their content shows that some are unique. At the same time, their affinities to Ezekiel’s prophecies can support my proposed placement of Joel in the restoration period, in line with Maries’ earlier suggestion on this basis that Joel prophesied immediately post-destruction to the remnant in Jerusalem that was not exiled to Babylonia.44 As noted, others have studied the linguistic and stylistic similarities between Joel and Ezekiel, and between Joel and Haggai.45 Before continuing to a thematic treatment, I first note some of these lexical affinities: (1) the abbreviated expression ‫( נשא‬Hag 2:19, instead of ‫ עשה‬or ‫ )נתן‬appears only there and in Ezekiel (17:8; 36:8) and Joel (2:22); (2) the description of YHWH’s day in Joel and Haggai, which exhibits a unique linguistic affinity: Joel’s remarks ‫( וְּ ָר ֲעשּׁו ָשׁ ַמיִם וָ ָארץ וה’ ַמ ֲחסה ְּל ַעּמֹו‬4:16) are ַ … ‫ת־ה ָש ַמיִם‬ ַ ‫וַ ֲאנִ י ַמ ְּר ִעישׁ א‬ in harmony with Haggai’s ‫ּוב ָּמקֹום ַהזה א ֵתן ָשׁלֹום‬ ‫ת־ה ָארץ‬ ָ ‫( וְּ א‬2:6, 9); and (3) the shared expressions ‫( אכול ושבוע‬Hag 1:6; Joel 2:26), and ‫ יצהר‬,‫ תירוש‬,‫דגן‬, ‫( אדמה‬Joel 1:10; Hag 1:11). In subjecting their prophecies to a thematic examination, I again propose reconsideration of the possibility that Joel’s oracles can be understood as reflecting the narrow timespan during which, despite their tribulations, hope remained that the Second Temple would incorporate aspects of the restoration oracles delivered by Ezekiel in Babylonia during the post-destruction years (Ezek 34–48). Perhaps the historical 43 Recent important studies have examined the Minor Prophets as a whole. See, for example, James D. Nogalski and Marvin A. Sweeny (eds.), Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve (SBLSymS, 15; Atlanta: SBL, 2000). Nogalski even identifies Joel as “a “literary anchor” for the book of the Twelve” (ibid., 91–109) and notes additional links between Joel and Haggai (ibid., 102–3). Although Nogalski’s discussion is mainly synchronic in nature, my proposed dating for Joel, which belongs to the range to which the Twelve are usually assigned—from the eighthcentury Assyrian period into the postexilic Persian period—perhaps adds a diachronic dimension to his discussion. 44 L. Maries, “A Propos de recentes études sur Joël,” Recherches de Science Religieuse 37 (1950), 121–24. 45 For a comprehensive study of Joel in the broad biblical context, see, for example, Judah Jungman, Yoel ben Petu’el: Iyyun sifruti bi-nevu’otav (Jerusalem: Avivim, 1991), 76–77, 104–7. Regarding linguistic affinities between Joel and Haggai, the restricted corpora of these books (38 verses in Haggai and 73 in Joel) make it difficult to reach definitive conclusions.

148

TOVA GANZEL

developments that gradually destroyed the hope of immediate realization of these oracles (as reflected in Hag 1–2)46 over the space of a few years contributed to the more reserved nature of Joel’s oracles of a better future.47 Thematically, what unites these three prophets are the returnees’ aspirations for the building of the Second Temple, especially their desire to perceive the divine presence in their midst. As it appears in these three prophets, this vision has five shared features: the outpouring of the divine spirit on the people; YHWH’s day; the spring that will issue from the house of the Lord; the distancing of foreigners from the divine dwelling place; and, finally, the prophecy that God will dwell in God’s city.48 Although the discussion here focuses on comparison of the expectations for restoration in these prophets, there are, however, additional thematic affinities: descriptions of YHWH’s day—for Israel in Joel 4:16, for Egypt in Ezek 30:2; the reference to the contents of the temple using ‫מחמד עיניים‬/ ‫מחמדי‬ ‫( הטובים‬Joel 4:5; Ezek 24:25); and apocalyptic descriptions (Joel 1:16, 3:3; Ezek 30:2–3, 38:22).49 The possibility of evaluating evidence of textual links has been the subject of much study. Leonard proposes the following principles as methodological guidelines: (1) shared language; (2) shared language that is rare or distinctive; (3) shared language in similar contexts; (4) shared phrases; and (5) the accumulation of shared language. He notes in addition that shared language need not be accompanied by shared ideology or a shared form. When texts meet these shared criteria, we can presume a textual relationship.50 In the case of the texts considered here, the first two themes exhibit strong linguistic as well as thematic links between the three prophets, and for the first theme, even share a unique, rare combination. 46 While there is also room for comparison of the oracles of the future in Joel and Haggai with those of Zechariah this is not the place for a comprehensive discussion. 47 On the restrained character of Joel’s oracles of the future as compared to other prophets, see Crenshaw, “Freeing the Imagination,” 137–43. 48 A similar trend is reflected in Mark Boda’s diachronic comparison of Zech 11:4–16 to Ezek 34 and 37 (“Reading between the Lines: Zechariah 11.4–16 in its Literary Contexts,” Mark J. Boda and Michael H. Floyd (eds.), Bringing Out the Treasure: Innerbiblical Allusion in Zechariah 9–14 (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 284–88. 49 For the dating of Ezekiel’s post-destruction prophecies, see Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 22; Garden City: Doubleday, 1983), 12–17. 50 For a recent study of textual links, see Jeffery M. Leonard, “Identifying Innerbiblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case,” JBL 127 (2008), 241–65.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

149

The motif of water emerging from the temple is not found in other prophets, and finally the themes of the distancing of foreigners and God’s return to the city are shared. Although the strongest links, according to these suggested criteria, are found only for the first two examples, it appears that taken as a whole it can be argued that these prophetic texts exhibit textual links.

OUTPOURING OF THE DIVINE SPIRIT ON THE PEOPLE One feature of post-exilic oracles is the expectation of the absence of prophets as intermediaries of the divine word. In Joel, this is reflected by the unique shift predicted following Joel’s oracle on agricultural plenty, ִ ‫;)א ְּשׁפֹוְך את‬ which says, “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh (‫רּוחי ַעל ָּכל ָב ָׂשר‬ your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions; and even on the male and ִ ‫( ”)א ְּשׁפֹוְך את‬3:1–2). female slaves, in those days, I will pour out my spirit (‫רּוחי‬ These verses detailing the future outpouring of the divine spirit on the entire people, so that all will be prophets, indirectly explain the absence of prophets as future intermediaries between the people and the divine word; the people as a whole are granted the gift of prophecy.51 Although not explicitly found elsewhere in prophetic literature, the seeds of this promise can be identified in the conclusion of Ezekiel’s restoration oracles, prior to his vision of the future temple: “I will never again hide my face from them, for I will pour out My spirit upon the House of ִ ‫—) ָשׁ ַפ ְּכ ִתי את‬declares the Lord God” (Ezek Israel (‫רּוחי ַעל ֵבית יִ ְּׂש ָר ֵאל‬ 39:29). In a certain sense then the starting point for Joel’s oracle of the future is where Ezekiel’s left off—in his prophecy Joel affirms and even elaborates on the pouring out of the divine spirit found in Ezekiel’s oracle and the two prophets share the use of the unique, rare combination of the words ‫שפיכת הרוח‬. In Haggai’s oracles, on the other hand, God affirms the existence of the divine presence in the midst of God’s people; in this passage, however, the divine spirit is not poured out on the people, but stands among them: “‘And be strong, all you people of the land.’—Oracle of Yahweh. ‘Indeed I will be with you.’—Oracle of Yahweh of Hosts… ְּ ‫רּוחי עֹמדת ְּב‬ ִ ְּ‫ ;)ו‬do not fear’” (Hag ‘My spirit is standing in your midst (‫תֹוככם‬ 2:4–5).52 See Crenshaw, Joel, 165–66; Barton, Joel and Obadiah, 94–96. Elie Assis, “A Disputed Temple (Haggai 2,1–9),’ ZAW 120 (2008), 590–91. The continuation of the verse “the word/covenant I made with you when you came out of Egypt” requires separate discussion of the relationship between Haggai and Exodus. 51 52

150

TOVA GANZEL

Another possible echo of the premise that prophetic abilities will be bestowed on the entire people comes from the fact that Ezra, like Joel, nowhere mentions contemporary prophets as intermediaries for conveying the word of God.53 This is grounded in the assumption that the leadership function of Zerubabel and Jeshua differed from that of the First Temple prophets. In Ezra, priests and Levites preside over the temple dedication ceremony and approach God through musical instruments and praise (Ezra 3:8–11). In Joel as well, the priests and elders appeal to God directly (1:13– 14). To this we must add the absence of explicit mention of “king” in the verses treating the future leader, which serves to date the book. As in Ezra 1–3 the functionaries include the elders (Joel 1:2, 14) and the inhabitants of the land (Joel 1:2), and the priests, the ministers of God (Joel 1:9, 13; 2:17).54 In Ezekiel as well the post of the king as a leader is missing.55 In the context of the proposed, narrow timeframe for their prophecies this could be interpreted as proof of the expected imminent realization of these oracles.56

YHWH’S DAY Another feature found in Joel, Ezekiel, and Haggai are the literary parallels between the descriptions of the upheavals that accompany YHWH’s day, a motif shared by many prophets. Thus, in the context of the punishment of the nations and the granting of peace to Israel,57 both Joel and Haggai mention the shaking of the earth and the heavens, using similar terminology: ‫( ְּל ָפנָ יו ָרגְּ זָ ה ארץ ָר ֲעשּׁו ָשׁ ָמיִם‬2:10); ‫ָר ֲעשּׁו ָשׁ ַמיִם וָ ָארץ וה’ ַמ ֲחסה‬ ‫( ְּל ַעּמֹו‬4:16). Compare to Haggai’s ‫ּוב ָּמקֹום ַהזה א ֵתן ָשׁלֹום‬ ַ ... ‫וַ ֲאנִ י ַמ ְּר ִעישׁ‬ ‫ת־ה ָארץ‬ ָ ‫ת־ה ָש ַמיִם וְּ א‬ ַ ‫( א‬Hag 2:6, 21). It is possible to discern a link between these oracles and Ezekiel’s, also apocalyptic in nature. Others have noted Joel’s reliance on Ezekiel—Zimmerli, for example, who writes, “The book of Joel, which, alongside the Ezekiel oracles of the Day of Yahweh (Ezekiel 7.30) and of the description of the temple stream (Ezekiel 47), clearly makes Note that Ezra uses similar terminology to describe those who returned to Judea in the wake of Cyrus’s decree: “all whose spirit had been roused by God” (Ezra 1:5). 54 See Hag 2:22; Zech 3:8, 6:12–13; and Garrett, Hosea, Joel, 288–89. 55 On the absence of a king in Ezekiel’s restoration oracles, see Tova Ganzel, “The Status of Functionaries in the Future Temple of Exekiel,” Shnaton 19 (2009), 13–17 (Hebrew). 56 Zechariah already stresses the absence of a human king by applying the epithet “king” to God (Zech 14:9, 17). 57 Rimon Kasher, “Haggai and Ezekiel: The Complicated Relations between the Two Prophets,” VT 59 (2009), 556–82. 53

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

151

quite specific use of Ezekiel 38f.”58 In Ezekiel, Joel, and Haggai the abovementioned upheavals are the result of direct divine intervention and herald the Day of the Lord: “each by the sword of his brother” (Hag 2:22; cf. Ezek 38:21), after which the longed-for peace comes: “and in this place will I grant well-being” (Hag 2:9 as in Ezek 34:25, 37:26).59

WATER/A SPRING ISSUING FROM THE TEMPLE Ezekiel contains an unusual prophecy of water issuing from the temple: “and I found that water was issuing from below the platform of the Temple…because the water…from them flows from the Temple. Their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing” (Ezek 47:1–12). Here too Zimmerli finds that Joel’s prophecy, which says, “And it shall happen on that day: that the mountains shall drip sweet wine, and the hills shall run with milk, and all the watercourses of Judah shall flow with water; and a fountain shall come forth from the house of YHWH and water the Wadi ַ )” (4:18) echoes that of Shittim (‫ּומ ְּעיָ ן ִמ ֵבית ה׳ יֵ ֵצא וְּ ִה ְּשׁ ָקה את נַ ַחל ַה ִש ִטים‬ Ezekiel.60 No similar prophecy is found in Haggai. Zechariah’s eschatological oracles, however, contain a comparable feature: “In that day, fresh water shall flow from Jerusalem, part of it to the Eastern Sea and part to the Western Sea, throughout the summer and winter” (Zech 14:8).61 An intriguing proposal has been made that these three prophecies reflect a reality: “the flow of water that emerges from the Temple Mount and is discovered in the valley, north of the Shallecheth gate.”62 Although as

Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 25–48, James D. Martin (trans.); Paul D. Hanson with Leonard Jay Greenspoon (eds.), (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 321; Stephen L. Cook, Prophecy and Apocalypticism: The Postexilic Social Setting (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1995), 172–80. 59 On the significance of Hag 2:9, see Assis, “Disputed Temple,” 593–94. 60 Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2, 515. 61 The inclusion of Zechariah would certainly enhance the argument in this article. However, this requires separate discussion of the dating of the book of Zechariah. See Mark J. Boda, “Zechariah: Master Mason or Penitential Prophet?,” Bob Becking and Rainer Albertz (eds.), Yahwism After the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (Studies in Theology and Religion, 5; Assen: Royal Van Gorcum, 2003), 49–69. On the unique link between Ezekiel, Zechariah, and Joel regarding this topic, see Crenshaw, “Freeing the Imagination,” 143, which he attributes to “a priestly preference of the author responsible for Joel 4:17–21.” 62 Ben-Zion Luria, “‘U-ma’ayan mi-bet ha-shem yetse…’ (Joel 4:18),” Bet Mikra 16 (1970), 6. 58

152

TOVA GANZEL

found in these texts this theme does not share strong linguistic affinities, the motif of water flowing from the temple is absent from other prophets. There are, in addition, two other shared motifs, which, although not definitive, do not contradict a link between the book of Joel and the specific historical context proposed here. They are the distancing of foreigners from the temple and God’s return to the city.

MAINTAINING THE SANCTITY OF THE TEMPLE REQUIRES THE DISTANCING OF FOREIGNERS Both Ezekiel and Joel (but not Haggai) call for the distancing of aliens from the temple, something that was not taken for granted in the early days of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kgs 8:40–43).63 Joel predicts that aliens will not enter Jerusalem: “So you shall know that I, YHWH your God, dwell in Zion, my holy mountain. And Jerusalem shall be a sanctuary and strangers shall never again pass through it” (4:17). In Ezekiel we find the presence of foreigners in the temple listed among the causes of the destruction: “Let no alien, uncircumcised in spirit and flesh, enter My Sanctuary—no alien whatsoever among the people of Israel” (Ezek 44:9). This theme clearly belongs to Ezekiel’s vision of the future temple and the preservation of its sanctity.

THE DIVINE PRESENCE IN ZION As Crenshaw observes, the concluding verse of Joel, “for YHWH dwells in Zion” (4:21),64 expresses hopes for the realization of the final verse of Ezekiel: “the name of the city from that day on shall be ‘The Lord Is There’” (Ezek 48:35): “This author believed that Yahweh’s abode in Jerusalem guarantees security for those who take refuge there. In a very real sense, this inclusion corresponds to the ecstatic shout with which Ezekiel concludes: ‘Yahweh is there!’ Where Yahweh resides, one need not fear.”65 There is another dimension to these remarks, namely, the difficult historical circumstances these prophets faced. Ezekiel prophesied in a generation that, contrary to its expectations, saw the divine presence depart from the temple; his oracles therefore conclude with its promised return to Jerusalem. If my proposal is correct, Joel, on the other hand, confronted the dashing of first returnees’ expectation of a palpable divine presence among them; accordingly, Joel’s oracles also end with a promise that the divine 63 This is perhaps a partial continuation of the approach found in Ezra and Nehemiah; see Crenshaw, Joel, 198. 64 On the uniqueness of the concluding unit of Joel (4:17-21), see Crenshaw, “Freeing the Imagination,” 129–47. 65 Crenshaw, “Freeing the Imagination,” 143.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

153

presence will dwell in Zion. But because the situation in Jerusalem continued to be difficult in the coming years, Haggai’s oracles as well emphasize that the divine presence will dwell in the temple, whose construction he encourages the people to resume. This comparison of the themes shared by Joel with Ezekiel and by Haggai and Joel supports my hypothesis that Joel’s oracles were uttered some thirty years after Ezekiel’s last prophecies, immediately following Cyrus’s decree and the initial return of the exiles to Judea. I suggest that this period fits his oracles because, in my view, it embodied great hope that, alongside the building of the Second Temple and the renewal of the temple service by the priests, the prophetic vision of redemption would be realized. In a sense, the unusual historical reality of an altar without a functioning temple, and perhaps without the divine presence, parallels the predestruction years during which Ezekiel prophesied. In his oracles Ezekiel reiterated that, even though the temple still stood, God had departed from the temple (Ezek 10). Thus, the returnees—of whom I have already suggested that Joel was a member—who heard Ezekiel’s oracles in Babylonia were cognizant of the possibility that the setting up of the altar did not necessarily mean the return of the divine presence and their ambivalent attitude toward their situation must be seen in this light.66

WHY DID JOEL NOT ASK THE PEOPLE TO BUILD THE TEMPLE? As noted earlier, we cannot rule out the possibility that Joel’s oracles reflect a somewhat functioning temple.67 I propose, however, that the descriptions that ostensibly demonstrate the temple’s existence only indicate that the altar was functioning.68 One often-asked question is why the restoration of the Second Temple did not take place immediately after Cyrus’s decree but was delayed until the early reign of Darius I.69 We must also inquire, why, if Another point of comparison is the attitude toward the Edomites manifested in the conclusion of Joel (4:19), which is consistent with Judean anger at the Edomites for participating in the Babylonian devastation of the land (cf. Ezek 25:12–14; Obad 1:11–14, and the commentators ad loc.). Conceptually and theologically we find enmity toward the Edomites in Ezek 35 as well. 67 Perhaps the fact that no biblical books are explicitly dated to 586–516 also contributed to the failure to seriously consider dating Joel to this period. 68 On the conceptual significance of the temple, priesthood, and ritual in Joel, see Linville, “Day of Yahweh,” 98–114. I accept his conclusions but differ as to his dating of Joel. 69 A common answer to this question is that seventy years had not yet passed since the destruction. See, for example, Hayim Tadmor, “ ‘The Appointed Time Has Not Yet Arrived’: The Historical Background of Haggai 1:2,” Robert Chazan, 66

154

TOVA GANZEL

indeed Joel prophesied during this period, did he not call for the rebuilding of the temple? Although we can reach no definitive conclusion regarding the above question, a possible answer lies in the proposed attribution to Joel as a link in a chain between Ezekiel and Haggai. Whereas the focus of Haggai’s prophetic activity lies in his demand that the people rebuild the temple (Hag 1:3–11; 2:1–5), nowhere does Ezekiel turn to the people to rebuild the temple,70 and it appears that this was not his intention.71 In that, I suggest that Joel is apparently closer to, and continues, Ezekiel’s prophetic doctrine. Because he saw the building of the temple as a divine, not human, task, he is satisfied with assigning the people a role that includes prayer and mourning customs.72 Somewhat later Haggai diverged from Ezekiel’s view and demanded that the people themselves undertake to rebuild the temple, although divinely inspired to do so. Yet, I propose that what was seemingly an obvious demand for Haggai and Zechariah is—for ideological reasons— missing from Joel. This may also explain why Joel issues no admonitions regarding socio-religious sin, in this following in Ezekiel’s wake as well.73 Although Joel asks the people to return to God (2:12–13) this is not a call for repentance but rather a request to come closer to God through renewed and heightened devotion and to honor him through acts of mourning.74 If in Joel, the people pray and observe mourning customs, Haggai demands William W. Hallo, and Lawrence H. Schiffman (eds.), Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 401–8. 70 See Kasher, “Haggai and Ezekiel,” 556–82, who follows P. R. Bedford, Temple Restoration in Early Achaemenid Judah (JSJSup, 65; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 82; see also ibid., 265n170. On the motif of divine building of the Temple in the Bible and the ancient Near East, see Victor A. Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOTSSS, 115/JSOT/ASOR Monograph Series, 5; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 332–34. 71 See Walther Zimmerli, “Plans for Rebuilding after the Catastrophe of 586,” I Am Yahweh, Douglas W. Stott (trans.); Walter Brueggeman (ed.) (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982), 115–16. 72 That Ezekiel saw the building of the Temple as a divine task emerges from Ezek. 40:2–4 and the absence of verses calling on the people to rebuild the Temple. 73 On the absence of moral admonitions in Ezekiel, see Baruch J. Schwartz, “Ezekiel’s Dim View of Israel’s Restoration,” Margaret S. Odell and John T. Strong (eds.), The Book of Ezekiel: Theological and Anthropological Perspectives (SBLSymS, 9; Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 43–67. 74 Barton, Joel and Obadiah, 133–39; Ronald A. Simkins, “‘Return to Yahweh’: Honor and Shame in Joel,” Semeia 68 (1994), 41–54.

THE PROPHECIES OF JOEL

155

that they actively resume the building of the temple. But, in none of these three prophets is the hoped for change dependent on the people’s moral behavior.75

CONCLUSION: THE SHATTERED DREAM Immediately upon their return, the former exiles found themselves confronting not only the dream but also its dissipation.76 As I read them, the shared motifs in Ezekiel, Joel, and Haggai all respond to a common exigency: the absence of the temple. Ezekiel’s oracles to the Babylonian exiles generated the dream of a Second Temple, which would by its very essence correct what brought the First Temple down. At a later date, with the returnees’ arrival in Judea, we learn—through Joel’s prophecies—of the harsh and disappointing historical circumstances they faced. I propose that his oracles reflect an attempt to confront this situation, when hopes for the realization of the restoration prophecies in the book of Ezekiel still resonated. A mere decade or so later, and as a result of their continued tribulations and the apperception that God was not in their midst, there was another turning point, manifested in the oracles of Haggai. We can perhaps attribute the features these prophets share to a specific historical reality: The post-destruction reality (Ezekiel), the initial return to Judea (Joel), and the situation ten years later (Haggai). I conclude by drawing upon Rimon Kasher’s postulation of a link between Ezekiel and Haggai,77 based on the specific circumstances each experienced. To his analysis, I suggest that a two-way link between each of these prophets and Joel can be added. First of all, Ezekiel, Joel, and Haggai share a worldview that foresees an imminent, radical deliverance; moreover, all three deal with the theological conundrum of the status of the God of Israel. Haggai, who was active in the early restoration period, calls for an imminent realization of his eschatological goals. Ezekiel, who witnessed the destruction, introduced divine, rather than human mechanisms to his picture of the near future, the means by which to prevent another collapse and profanation of the divine name. Joel, who may have prophesied in the twilight zone between the two, tries to realize this vision and incorporates many of its motifs in his oracles. This differs, however, from Zechariah. See Boda, “Zechariah,” 52–54. The group here denoted returnees (‫ )השבים‬evidently included some Judeans who had not been exiled, but this is not the place for further discussion of this point. See John Kessler, The Book of Haggai: Prophecy and Society in Early Persian Yehud (SVT, 91; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 141–42. 77 Kasher, “Haggai and Ezekiel,” 556–82. 75 76

156

TOVA GANZEL

If Haggai urged to people to rebuild the temple and expected the restoration of the monarchy, Ezekiel makes the forthcoming restoration depend on God alone. Joel, for his part, places his hope in God, but also calls for deeds to be carried out by the priests, God’s servants who minister to the altar. There are also contrasts between the three regarding the process of redemption. If human beings are passive in the process of redemption and restoration as Ezekiel describes it, Haggai’s theocentricity leaves room for human effort to take steps to end the economic crisis from which the people suffer. He expects humans to resolve the crisis; for him, laying the foundations of the temple is the start of redemption. I suggest that, Joel, like Ezekiel, ascribes a more passive role to the people in the process of redemption; nowhere does he call for them to actively begin rebuilding the temple.78 Thus, the dating of Joel to the early restoration period proposed here has the potential to shed light both on the historical background portrayed in this book and on its theological and ideological viewpoint, seen as mediating between the prophecies of Ezekiel and Haggai. It is against this setting that his unique treatment of the difficulties of his day can perhaps best be understood. From this perspective, his oracles contributed significantly to the creation of a positive turning point that promised peace and security for Jerusalem and God’s future presence there.

78

Kasher, “Haggai and Ezekiel,” 556–82.

COMPARISON WITH DAVID AS A MEANS OF EVALUATING CHARACTER IN THE BOOK OF KINGS AMOS FRISCH BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION Since the early 1970s, the study of biblical narrative has devoted increasing attention to parallels and analogies.1 Among the topics addressed by these 1

To mention only some of the most conspicuous studies: M. Sternberg, “Delicate Balance in the Story of the Rape of Dinah: Biblical Narrative and the Rhetoric of the Narrative Text,” Hasifrut 4 (1973), 193–231, esp. 228–230 (Hebrew); an updated English version of this article appears in his The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), esp. 479–480, where this section appears in a shortened form (while the subject is also discussed passim); P. D. Miscall, “The Jacob and Joseph Stories as Analogies,” JSOT 6 (1978), 28–40; R. P. Gordon, “David’s Rise and Saul’s Demise: Narrative Analogy in 1 Samuel 24–26,” Tyndale Bulletin 31 (1979), 37–64; M. Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel: A Literary Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies and Parallels (Hebrew: Ramat Gan: Revivim, 1983; English: Ramat Gan: Revivim, 1985); E. L. Greenstein, “The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus,” AJS Rev 15 (1990), 151–178; R. Alter, The World of Biblical Literature (New York: Basic Books, 1991), Ch. 5: “Allusion and Literary Expression,” 107–130; Y. Zakovitch, Through the Looking Glass: Reflection Stories in the Bible (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1995; Hebrew), and see also his English article: “Through the Looking Glass: Reflections/Inversions of Genesis Stories in the Bible,” BibInt 1 (1993), 139–152; G. Marquis, “Explicit Literary Allusions in Biblical Historiography” (Ph.D. diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1999; Hebrew); P. R. Noble, “Esau, Tamar, and Joseph: Criteria for Identifying InnerBiblical Allusion,” VT 52 (2002), 219–252; H. Shalom-Guy, “Internal and External Literary Parallels – The Gideon Cycle (Judges 6-9)” (Ph.D. diss., The Hebrew

157

158

AMOS FRISCH

studies is how such parallels contribute to the evaluation of biblical characters. Here I shall consider one facet of this broad subject. Because I wish to build my case incrementally, I have chosen to use the more general term “comparison”, although I have analogy in mind as well. My hypothesis is that comparison with David is a literary device used throughout the book of Kings as a way to express an assessment of the kings whose deeds are recounted in the book.2 Three new ideas are advanced in the present paper: (1) Explicit comparisons to David are linked to literary allusions to him and constitute a single basic phenomenon, different points on a single scale. This is in contrast to the conventional view that explicit comparisons with David are a feature of the Deuteronomistic redaction, whereas allusions to him (when addressed) are a literary device quite unrelated to the comparisons. (2) Comparisons with David are taken to be a literary device employed throughout the book of Kings, including the account of Jehu’s reign. Again, the standard position is that only kings of Judah are compared to David, the founder of their dynasty. (3) A sophisticated system of inverted comparisons, which help unify the Solomon stories among themselves and with the history of Jeroboam as well, is discovered. The phenomenon discussed here in detail can contribute to a better understanding of one of the important ways in which the book of Kings (and biblical narrative in general) judges its characters, as a significant proportion of this characterization involves allusions rather than explicit statements, and thus not every allusive evaluation is uncovered.3 The object of the present study is the book of Kings as a whole, and not the conjectural documentary sources on which it draws (such as the University of Jerusalem, 2003; Hebrew); J. Berman, Narrative Analogy in the Hebrew Bible: Battle Stories and their Equivalent Non-Battle Narratives (Leiden: Brill, 2004); A. Bazak, Parallels Meet: Literary Parallels in the Book of Samuel (Alon Shevut: Tevunot, 2006; Hebrew); J. Berman, “Establishing Narrative Analogy in Biblical Literature: Methodological Considerations,” Beit Mikra 53 (2008), 31–46 (Hebrew); J. Grossman, “ ‘Dynamic Analogies’ in the Book of Esther,” VT 59 (2009), 394–414. 2 In the present article I have restricted myself to kings, but other characters in the book of Kings may also be juxtaposed to David. We may recall, for example, the interesting proposal by Zakovitch (Through the Looking Glass, 41–42) that the episode of the Jericho lads’ cursing Elisha (2 Kgs 2:23–24) is a mirror-tale or inversion of Shimei’s curses against David (2 Sam 16), with the intention being to censure Elisha for his harsh reaction to the lads, so different from David’s noble restraint. 3 For a survey of diverse means of character evaluation, listed from the most to the least explicit—see Sternberg, Poetics, 475–481.

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

159

Succession Narrative) or different strata in the stages of its editing (such as Dtr1 and Dtr2, according to the double-redaction, or DtrG, DtrP, and DtrN, according to the triple-redaction theory).4 I will endeavor to present the data as it stands in the present book of Kings. Scholars from each of the different schools may then analyze the data within the frameworks of the different redactional positions.5 Personally I prefer the single-edition theory, whose most conspicuous proponent is Martin Noth, although I have some reservations, notably with regard to Noth’s view of the Deuteronomistic history as pessimistic. I think it may be simpler to explain a phenomenon that is found throughout the book by a theory that attributes its composition to a single author-editor 4

On the double-redaction theory see, in particular: F. M. Cross, “The Themes of the Book of Kings and the Structure of the Deuteronomistic History”, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973), 274–289; R. D. Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup, 18; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1981). And on the triple-redaction theory, see, in particular: R. Smend, “Das Gesetz und die Völker: Ein Beitrag zur deuteronomistischen Redaktionsgeschichte,” H. W. Wolff (ed.), Probleme biblischer Theologie: Gerhard von Rad zum 70. Geburtstag (Munich: C. Kaiser, 1971), 494–509 [ET: G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (SBT, 8; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 95–110]; W. Dietrich, Prophetie und Geschichte (FRLANT, 108; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972); T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie: David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1975). 5 For a comprehensive survey of the various approaches to the Deuteronomistic redaction, see Th. Römer and A. de Pury, “Deuteronomistic Historiography (DH): History of Research and Debated Issues,” A. de Pury, T. Römer and J.-D. Macchi (eds), Israel Constructs its History: Deuteronomistic Historiography in Recent Research (JSOTSup, 306; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 24–141; Th. C. Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clark, 2005); J. M. Hutton, The Transjordanian Palimpsest: The Overwritten Texts of Personal Exile and Transformation in the Deuteronomistic History (BZAW, 396; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2009), Ch. 3, 79–156. See also the lively and comprehensive discussion in R. F. Person, Jr. (ed.), “In Conversation with Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction,” JHS 9, 17 (2009), available online at http://www.jhsonline.org and republished in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives in Hebrew Scriptures VI: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, vol. 9 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2010), 333–86. According to Person, one of the participants, Richard Nelson, represents the dual-redaction theory, and another, Steven McKenzie, represents the “neo-Nothians,” who argue for a single edition.

160

AMOS FRISCH

(although he may have made use of older sources); nevertheless, it is certainly compatible with the double- and triple-redaction theories. The several types of comparisons to David will be presented below in descending order of explicitness. First I discuss the explicit comparison with David that appears in the formulaic introduction of the kings of Judah (§1). Then I look at other explicit comparisons to David—in a formula, but not the introductory formula (§2), and not in a formula, but in the dialogue between the Lord or his emissaries and characters (§3). Then l consider allusions to David in which his name does not appear—allusions aimed at comparing (§4) or contrasting (§5) a particular king with David. In §6 I take up what seems to be an explicit reference to David in a formula; but the discussion comes here, rather than earlier, because the comparison is not explicit. Nevertheless, one would see the phrase “in the city of [his father] David” (part of the burial formula used for some of the kings of Judah) as favorable assessments of those kings by means of the allusion. Finally in §7, I look at inverted comparisons—seven comparisons of Solomon and Jeroboam to David—and see how they create a single structured set of references to David, with a reversal between the two figures who are compared to him. In all these cases I go beyond pointing out the fact of the comparison to cast light on how it contributes to the message of the book as a device for evaluating the monarchs, sometimes favorably and sometimes unfavorably.6

1. AN EXPLICIT COMPARISON WITH DAVID AS PART OF THE INTRODUCTORY FORMULA One of the most prominent methods of evaluation in the book of Kings takes David as the standard: worthy kings are likened to him, unworthy kings are contrasted to him.7 Even though David serves this function for 6

The various references to David in the book of Kings (not necessarily in the context of comparison) are surveyed by G. A. Auld, Kings Without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1994), 132–146, but in a different way than is done here and with the inclusion of Chronicles. On the other hand, he considers only explicit references and not allusions. 7 Of course we may ask how David can serve as a paragon, given the verdict that “David … did not turn aside from anything that He commanded him all the days of his life, except in the matter of Uriah the Hittite” (1 Kgs 15:5)? A common solution, noting the omission of this reservation from the Septuagint, takes it as a late gloss. But this seems to be overly simplistic. Rather, it does seem that the book of Kings takes David as a model for emulation, despite his transgression, for he is human being and not an angel. (The reference to David’s failure to reprove Adonijah for his inappropriate conduct [1 Kgs 1:6] is certainly critical of him.)

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

161

only a few kings, he is generally defined as the standard for the assessment of kings throughout the book (chiefly those of the house of David).8 A comparison of these monarchs’ conduct with David’s appears in the introductory formula for six kings: • Abijam: “His heart was not wholly true to the Lord his God, as the heart of David his father” (1 Kgs 15:3).9 • Asa: “And Asa did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, as David his father had done” (1 Kgs 15:11). • Amaziah: “And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, yet not like David his father” (2 Kgs 14:3). • Ahaz: “And he did not do what was right in the eyes of the Lord his God, as his father David had done” (2 Kgs 16:2). • Hezekiah: “And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, according to all that David his father had done” (2 Kgs 18:3). • Josiah: “And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, and walked in all the way of David his father, and he did not turn aside to the right hand or to the left” (2 Kgs 22:2). One should append two short comments to this list, one related to Lower Criticism and the other to Higher Criticism. (1) Most scholars take the comparison with David in the description of Amaziah’s deeds in 2 Kgs 14:3 (“yet not like David his father”) to be a secondary addition.10 (2) As is known, Helga Weippert takes a favorable comparison with David to be one of the hallmarks of the second stratum of the Deuteronomist redaction of the book of Kings (II S) and assigns to this group the comparisons to David of Asa, Hezekiah, and Josiah, as well as that of Abijam (in the format of the northern scheme II N); but the comparison of Ahaz (as well as the verse about Amaziah, although she strips the comparison to David from it) is assigned to stratum IS 1.11 In the analysis that follows I do not follow Provan says something slightly different in his commentary on 1 Kgs 15:5 (I. W. Provan, 1 and 2 Kings [NIBC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1995], 124). 8 See, e.g., von Rad: “He is the prototype of the perfectly obedient anointed, and therefore the model for all succeeding kings in Jerusalem” (G. von Rad, Studies in Deuteronomy [trans. D. Stalker; London: SCM Press, 1953], 88). 9 The translation of biblical verses is based on the RSV, modified silently where necessary to make a point or parallel (except for the rendering of 1 Kgs 1:6, which is taken from the NJPS). 10 See in detail I. W. Provan, Hezekiah and the Books of Kings (BZAW, 172; Berlin/ New York: de Gruyter, 1988), 93 n. 2. 11 See H. Weippert, “Die ‘deuteronomistischen’ Beurteilungen der Könige von

162

AMOS FRISCH

Weippert’s conjectural distinctions, which have already been seriously challenged.12 On the other hand, I consider the textual point and whenever I mention the comparison with Amaziah (in order to present a complete picture of the text) I shall note that it is doubtful. These six comparisons are not a fixed formula, but reflect broad variation. First, one notices their formal division into two equal groups: three with a contrast to David (“not like David his father”) and three with a resemblance (“as his father David had done”). It is worth noting that the overlap between the form and the assessment (positive or negative) is not perfect. Four (rather than three) of the comparisons (those relating to Asa, Amaziah, Hezekiah, and Josiah) express a favorable assessment, to one degree or another.13 The other two assessments (of Abijam and Ahaz) are negative. In five of these six cases the comparison with David comes immediately after the formulaic “he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord” (or, in the case of Ahaz, its opposite: “he did not do what was right in the eyes of the Lord”). For Abijam there is a variant that refers to his intentions: “his heart was not wholly true to the Lord his God, as the heart of David his father” (1 Kgs 15:3). It is possible that this expresses a real difference and is not merely a formulaic variation.14

Israel und Juda und das Problem der Redaktion der Königsbücher,” Biblica 53 (1972), 301–339. 12 See, for example, E. Cortese, “Lo schema deuteronomistico per i re di Guida e d’Israele,” Biblica 56 (1975), 37–52; J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origin of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), esp. 316 n. 84. 13 It is true that with Amaziah the comparison to David is expressed by way of contrast (if we maintain the text); but it qualifies the underlying praise rather than deprecating him: “And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, yet not like David his father; he did in all things as Joash his father had done” (2 Kgs 14:3). Asa is compared to David (1 Kgs 15:11), but a qualification follows soon thereafter: “But the high places were not taken away. Nevertheless the heart of Asa was wholly true to the Lord all his days” (1 Kgs 15:14). 14 My impression is that this is an intentional reference to the evaluation of Solomon (1 Kgs 11:4; see below, §2) in a passage (vv. 4–6) that refers retrospectively to Rehoboam, Solomon, and David. Noteworthy is the commentary by Samuel Laniado that “his heart” (15:3b) refers to “his father” (mentioned in v. 3a), namely, Rehoboam; see Samuel Laniado, Keli Yaqar on the Former Prophets, 1 Kings, Part 2, (ed. E. Baṣri; Jerusalem: Mechon Haketav, 1987/8; Hebrew), 550.

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

163

2. EXPLICIT COMPARISONS WITH DAVID IN A DIFFERENT FORMULAIC CONTEXT Outside the introductory formula, one finds two explicit comparisons with David in a formulaic context—both with regard to his son Solomon. First, Solomon is compared to David in a formula that is far from conventional: “Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the statutes of David his father” (1 Kgs 3:3). At the end of his reign he is contrasted to David, here too in an unconventional manner—a harsh condemnation that seems to be redundant: “His heart was not wholly true to the Lord his God, as was the heart of David his father. For Solomon went after Ashtoreth the goddess of the Sidonians, and after Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites. So Solomon did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, and did not wholly follow the Lord, as David his father had done” (1 Kgs 11:4–6). These two contradictory assessments can be seen as a substitute of sorts for the introductory formula, omitted in the account of Solomon’s reign. Instead of one lukewarm assessment at the start, one finds two evaluations that are polar antitheses, one of them overwhelmingly positive at the beginning, the other intensely negative at the end. There is a deep structural link between these two evaluations, which appear in passages that have parallel themes (I have called them “Solomon and the Lord: Loyalty and the Promise of Reward” [3:1–15]; and “Solomon and the Lord: Disloyalty and the Announcement of Punishment” [11:1–13]).15 The two evaluations occupy corresponding places in the Solomon pericope (the second unit and the penultimate unit), and play on the midrash of the king’s name:16 In the first and favorable evaluation, Solomon/Jedidiah (“beloved 15

See A. Frisch, “The Narrative of Solomon’s Reign in the Book of Kings” (Ph.D. diss., Bar Ilan University, 1986; Hebrew), 36–38 and 42–44; and a shorter version: idem, “Structure and Its Significance: The Narrative of Solomon’s Reign (1 Kings 1–12.24),” JSOT 51 (1991), 3–14, esp. 10–12. 16 We attribute these two contradictory assessments to the same author-editor, who uses them to characterize two different periods in Solomon’s reign. A similar division into an initial favorable period, followed by a second and negative one, is conspicuous in the description of David’s reign in the book of Samuel—the “blessing” and the “curse” as Carlson puts it (R. A. Carlson, David, the Chosen King: A Traditio-Historical Approach to the Second Book of Samuel [trans. E. J. Sharpe and S. Rudman; Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1964], 25ff.; see also the use of the same concepts in the description of Solomon’s reign: A. J. Soggin, “The DavidicSolomonic Kingdom,” J. H. Hayes and J. M. Miller [eds.], Israelite and Judaean History [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977], 366). Differences in the religious evaluation of a king in different periods of his reign are prominent in Chronicles (notably with regard to Rehoboam, Asa, and Joash). In Kings there may be a hint of such a

164

AMOS FRISCH

of the Lord”) loves the Lord;17 in the later and negative one, Solomon’s heart, in contrast to his name, is not perfect (‫ שלם‬...‫ )ולא‬with the Lord his God.18

3. AN EXPLICIT NON-FORMULAIC COMPARISON WITH DAVID There are five explicit non-formulaic comparisons of a king to David, interwoven into the plot—all of them relating to Solomon or Jeroboam.19 Three of the comparisons offer the king the option of being like David, along with the anticipated reward: (1) In his dream vision at Gibeon, Solomon receives the unconditional grant of great wisdom, wealth, and honor. But another gift, at the end of the vision, is conditional: “And if you will walk in My ways, keeping My statutes and My commandments, as your father David walked, then I will lengthen your days” (1 Kgs 3:14). (2) The distinction in the report that “the Lord smote the king, so that he was a leper to the day of his death” (2 Kgs 15:5), which concludes the account of Uzziah’s reign. BatSheva Brosh (“Complex Royal Characters in the Book of Kings” [Ph.D. diss., Tel Aviv University, 2005; Hebrew]) suggested that there is a change, from favorable to negative, in the theological evaluations of Jeroboam (67, 69–70) and Hezekiah (see 337–370), and from unfavorable to positive in the evaluation of Ahab (70). Cohn, too, writes of Jeroboam’s “transformation from God’s chosen instrument to his despised enemy” (R. L. Cohn, “Literary Technique in the Jeroboam Narrative,” ZAW 97 [1985], 25). In the light of this data we cannot agree with the view of Eynikel, rejecting Weippert’s attribution of the two assessments of Solomon to the same hand (R II in her system): “Why would R II have judged Solomon positively in 1 Kings 3:2–3, and negatively to very negatively in 11:4–6 and 11:33? These texts are too contradictory to be by the same author” (E. Eynikel, The Reform of King Josiah and the Composition of the Deuteronomistic History [OTS, 33; Leiden: Brill, 1996], 52). 17 Y. Zakovitch, “The Synonymous Word and Synonymous Name in NameMidrashim,” Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 2 (1977), 107 (Hebrew). 18 See M. Garsiel, Biblical Names: A Literary Study of Midrashic Derivations and Puns (trans. Ph. Hackett; Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1991), 206, § 5.3.1 [2]. He also refers to 1 Chr 28:9 and 29:19. In these verses ‫לבב שלם‬/‫ לב‬is associated with ‫ שלמה‬as an option available to him (in contrast to the negative homily on the name in Kings [280, n. 90]). 19 This count excludes one other comparison, stated by Solomon at the dedication of the Temple, because the focus there is not on a particular king but instead offers David’s descendants the option of being like him: “Keep with Thy servant David my father what Thou hast promised him, saying, ‘There shall never fail you a man before Me to sit upon the throne of Israel, if only your sons take heed to their way, to walk before Me as you have walked before Me’ ” (1 Kgs 8:25).

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

165

second of the three parts of the Lord’s message to Solomon, after the dedication of the Temple, contains a similar condition: “And as for you, if you will walk before Me, as David your father walked, with integrity of heart and uprightness, doing according to all that I have commanded you, and keeping My statutes and My ordinances, then I will establish your royal throne over Israel for ever, as I promised David your father” (1 Kgs 9:4–5). (3) A similar conditional promise is made to Jeroboam in the annunciatory prophecy by Ahijah the Shilonite: “And if you will hearken to all that I command you, and will walk in My ways, and do what is right in My eyes by keeping My statutes and My commandments, as David My servant did, I will be with you, and will build you a sure house, as I built for David …” (1 Kgs 11:38). Two other comparisons are retrospective in nature and express disappointment with a king. One of them relates to Solomon: “Because he has forsaken Me, … and has not walked in My ways, doing what is right in My eyes and keeping My statutes and My ordinances, as David his father did” (1 Kgs 11:33).20 The other refers to Jeroboam: “I … tore the kingdom away from the house of David and gave it to you; and yet you have not been like My servant David, who kept My commandments, and followed Me with all his heart, doing only that which was right in My eyes” (1 Kgs 14:8). Both evaluations are spoken by Ahijah; both use the expression “doing what is right in My eyes” )‫ (לעשות הישר בעיני‬referring to David (an expression not found in the other three comparisons considered here). These two assessments create a sort of parallel between Jeroboam and Solomon: even the man raised to royalty to supplant Solomon, because of his sin, ultimately stumbles and is judged negatively as was Solomon.

4. ALLUSIONS TO DAVID BY WAY OF PARALLEL All of the comparisons to David that have been examined thus far, despite the variety in the context, source (the Lord, a prophet, or the narrator), and goal, have something in common: they are explicit and mention David by name. Now I shall cite four cases that are implicit. 20

Even though the verbs are in the plural, given that the verse concludes with “as David his father did”, we may infer that the subject is Solomon, as also follows from the larger context of Ahijah’s prophecy, which explains the break-up of the kingdom as punishment for Solomon’s sin. Many scholars believe that the text here is corrupt. For a different opinion, which identifies this as a sophisticated literary device in which the surface meaning applies to Solomon but there is an allusion that expands the circle of transgressors, see A. Frisch, “Three Syntactical Discontinuities in I Reg 9–11,” ZAW 115 (2003), 90–91.

166

AMOS FRISCH

(a) The explicit comparison of Hezekiah to David, in the introductory formula to his reign (2 Kgs 18:3) is supplemented by an implicit comparison: “And the Lord was with him; wherever he went forth, he was successful” (2 Kgs 18:7). This statement echoes what was said about David at the start of his career: the second half of the verse clearly evokes “and David went forth and was successful wherever Saul sent him” (1 Sam 18:5),21 while the first part of the verse is reminiscent of what one reads some nine verses later: “And David was successful in all his undertakings; for the Lord was with him” (1 Sam 18:14).22 I use this example to introduce the second type of comparison, in which David is not mentioned by name, because the explicit reference to David in v. 3 lends support to reading v. 7 as an implicit reference to him.23 (b) All of the comparisons that have been considered thus far are made by the narrator, by the Lord, or by His emissary. One should also consider verses spoken by the characters themselves. In his prayer to the Lord, Hezekiah proclaims, “So now, O Lord our God, save us )‫)הושיענו‬, I beseech thee, from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that )‫ הארץ כי‬...‫ )וידעו כל‬Thou, O Lord, art God )‫ )אלהים‬alone” (2 Kgs 19:19). This appeal calls to mind David’s proclamation before he 21

Brosh, who briefly notes the similarity between these verses (1 Sam 18:5 and 2 Kgs 18:7), explains it as expressing an analogy between Hezekiah and Solomon, because David’s use of the verb ‫ תשכיל‬in his deathbed charge to Solomon (1 Kgs 2:3) creates, she maintains, an analogy between Solomon and David. In other words, the analogy between Hezekiah and David is indirect and runs through Solomon (Solomon || David; Hezekiah || Solomon). See Brosh, “Complex Royal Characters,” 95. Despite the literary links between the descriptions of Solomon and Hezekiah (as well as Josiah) in Kings, in our case, in light of the findings presented here, we should probably see this as an analogy between Hezekiah and David as well as between Solomon and David. The latter consists chiefly of 1 Sam 18:5 and 1 Kgs 2:3: linguistically, the verses share not only the verb ‫ השכיל‬but also the locution ‫ ;כל אשר‬thematically, they both express a transfer of authority by the reigning monarch (Saul to David, David to Solomon) along with an indication that the heir is acceptable to a third party (in David’s case, the people; in Solomon’s case, the Lord—if he acts in accordance with the terms of the testament). 22 Cf. Provan, Hezekiah and the Books of Kings, 117. He adds the defeat of the Philistines in battle as another element unique to David (1 Sam 16:27, 19:8; 2 Sam 8:1) and Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18:8 et passim). 23 Cohn found another allusion to David in the account of Hezekiah’s reign in the representation of the Lord, in Isaiah’s prophecy of his recovery, as “the God of David your father” (2 Kgs 20:5). See R. L. Cohn, 2 Kings (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), 142.

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

167

goes out to face Goliath: “… that all the earth may know that ‫וידעו כל הארץ‬ )‫ )כי‬there is a God )‫ )אלהים‬in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the Lord … saves )‫( ”(יהושיע‬1 Sam 17:46–47). Even closer is Hezekiah’s statement during his illness, “I have walked before Thee in faithfulness and with a whole heart, and have done what is good in Thy sight” (2 Kgs 20:3), to Solomon’s description of his father David’s conduct: “He walked before Thee in faithfulness … and in uprightness of heart” (1 Kgs 3:6).24 The explanation I would propose for this echo (though others may be possible) is that by the identical phrasing the author-editor of the book of Kings suggested a similarity between Hezekiah and his ancestor David, the founder of the royal line. Here one should add Cohn’s suggestion that the prophet’s words to Hezekiah, two verses later (2 Kgs 20:5), constitute an implicit comparison to David.25 If so, here one has an instructive juxtaposition of two points of view—Hezekiah’s, entreating the Lord, and that of the Lord, who begins His response with a hint of his great esteem for the king: he resembles David. (c) In the wake of these allusions to David in the account of Hezekiah’s reign one should go back to two examples earlier in the book. The first is in 1 Kings 1, where there seems to be an implicit parallel between Solomon and David. When Solomon is anointed one is told that “Zadok the priest took the horn of oil from the tent, and anointed Solomon” (1 Kgs 1:39). The wording calls to mind the anointing of David himself: “Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the midst 24

The collocation of the root ‫ הל"ך‬with “before You (‫ ”)לפניך‬and “in faithfulness (‫ ”)באמת‬is found only in these two passages and in David’s deathbed charge to Solomon, which sketches out the program for the dynasty: “If your sons take heed to their way, to walk before Me in faithfulness with all their heart and with all their soul” (1 Kings 2:4). Note that in Hezekiah’s case he is making a retrospective declaration about himself to God, whereas for Solomon this is the vocation imposed on him (and his descendants). Note too that the account of Hezekiah’s reign includes an implicit comparison between him and Solomon, which is clearly in Hezekiah’s favor: “he clung to the Lord” (2 Kgs 18:6) vis-à-vis Solomon, who “clung to [foreign women] in love” (1 Kgs 11:2) (cf. Auld, Kings Without Privilege, 101); “he did not turn away (‫ )סר‬from following him” (2 Kgs 18:6) vis-à-vis the repeated use of the verb ‫נטה‬, a synonym for ‫סר‬, in 1 Kings 11 (vv. 2, 3, 4, and 9); and the domain to which the extravagant praise applies: for Solomon, the great wisdom bestowed upon him (1 Kgs 3:12), but for Hezekiah his conduct (2 Kgs 18:5). For a comprehensive discussion of superlative formulas in the book of Kings, see G. N. Knoppers, “‘There Was None Like Him’: Incomparability in the Books of Kings,” CBQ 54 (1992), 411–431. 25 See n. 23.

168

AMOS FRISCH

of his brothers” (1 Sam 16:13). Note that the expression “horn of oil” is found only in these two passages (in 1 Samuel 16 not only in the performance clause, as in 1 Kings 1, but also in the command clause in v. 1). This parallel makes a statement about the similarity between the anointing of Solomon and that of his father, who was the youngest of Jesse’s sons.26 The precedent of David indicates that the election falls on the one who is worthiest to rule, and not necessarily on the first-born son.27 This undercuts Adonijah’s main claim to the throne; or, as Solomon puts it in the next chapter, “Ask for him the kingdom also; for he is my elder brother” (1 Kgs 2:22). Here the parallel is not one of moral evaluation but of political and legal procedure. All the same it does have moral significance, because it emphasizes that Solomon is no usurper and achieves the crown legitimately. (d) The second earlier example comes from the story of Jehu. Anointing Jehu, the young prophet proclaims: “Thus says the Lord the God of Israel, I have anointed you king )‫ (משחתיך למלך‬over the people of the Lord, over Israel” (2 Kgs 9:6). Readers may hear the echo of Nathan’s review of David’s election: “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘I anointed you king )‫ (משחתיך למלך‬over Israel” (2 Sam. 12:7). It bears note that the only occurrences of the collocation ‫ משחתיך למלך‬in the Bible refer to these two kings (twice more about Jehu: 2 Kgs 9:3 and 12). The continuation of Nathan’s rebuke of David also finds its unique parallel in the story of Jehu. Thus Nathan: “I gave you your master’s house )‫(את בית אדניך‬, and your master’s wives into your bosom” (2 Sam. 12:8); and the young prophet: “And you shall strike down the house of Ahab your master )‫( ”(את בית אחאב אדניך‬2 Kgs 9:7).28 This echo highlights the theological legitimacy of Jehu’s coup, including the annihilation of Ahab’s family.

For a different explanation see T. N. D. Mettinger, King and Messiah: The Civil and Sacral Legitimation of the Israelite Kings (CBOTS, 8; Lund: CWR Gleerup, 1976), 206. 27 For a thorough literary and conceptual analysis of the theme of the chosen son vs. the first-born son (from Abel and Cain to Solomon and Adonijah), see A. Kariv, The Seven Pillars of the Bible: Essays of Biblical People and Biblical Ideas (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1970), 10–16 (Hebrew). 28 ‫ את בית אדניך‬is found only in these two verses; ‫בית אדניך‬, without the accusative particle, only in Gen 44:8 and Isa 22:18. 26

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

169

5. ALLUSIONS TO DAVID BY WAY OF CONTRAST An implicit comparison with David may be intended not only to point out a resemblance to him, but also in order to sharpen the difference between a particular king and the founder of the dynasty. I will look at three examples; later I will re-examine the first two from a broader perspective. (a) In 1 Kings 1 David’s oldest surviving son, Adonijah, asserts that he should inherit the throne. His status as heir presumptive is based on his being the oldest surviving brother, as reflected in what Solomon says to Bathsheba. Adonijah himself seems to allude to this right. I accept Zalewski’s explanation that when he tells Bathsheba, “You know that the kingdom was mine” (1 Kgs 2:15), Adonijah is referring to his right to the throne by virtue of seniority.29 But what Adonijah says explicitly, and after the fact, is noted by the narrator himself “in real time”: “Now Adonijah the son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, ‘I will be king.’ … He was born next after Absalom. He conferred with Joab the son of Zeruiah and with Abiathar the priest; and they followed Adonijah and helped him” (1 Kgs 1:5–7). But as a number of scholars have demonstrated, here, in what would be the appropriate location for Adonijah’s assertion of his right, the narrator undercuts him, depicting him as Absalom redux, a son who rebels against his father.30 What is worth noting though, is the covert, implicit parallel to David. The passage creates an impression of continuity and of loyalty to David. The two public figures who support Adonijah are among David’s most veteran supporters, those who followed him in the political and geographical wilderness and were always devoted to him. Several verses later one reads that “Adonijah … invited all his brothers, the king’s sons, and all the royal officials of Judah” (1 Kgs 1:9) to his coronation feast. Several verses earlier one is told that David “had never scolded him, asking: ‘Why did you do that?’ ” (1 Kgs 1:6). I believe that v. 7 conceals a sharp contrast between Adonijah and his father David: Adonijah is presented as a conspirator out to seize power, unlike his father, whose rival’s military commander, Abner, rallied support for him, and to whom the people’s representatives came in Hebron to offer him the crown of Israel. Verbally, this contrast is embodied in two verses: “He conferred with 29

S. Zalewski, Solomon’s Ascension to the Throne: Studies in the Books of Kings and Chronicles (Jerusalem: Y. Markus, 1981), 129, 140 (Hebrew). 30 See, e.g., R. N. Whybray, The Succession Narrative: A Study of II Samuel 9-20; I Kings 1 and 2 (London: SCM Press, 1968), 30–31; M. Garsiel, The Kingdom of David: Studies in History and Inquiries in Historiography (Tel Aviv: Don, 1975), 188–189, 194 (Hebrew); J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, I: King David (II Sam. 9–20 & I Kings 1–2) (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1981), 348–349.

170

AMOS FRISCH

Joab the son of Zeruiah and with Abiathar the priest; and they followed Adonijah and helped him” (1 Kgs 1:7); “And Abner conferred with the elders of Israel, saying, ‘For some time past you have been seeking David as king over you’ ” (2 Sam 3:17). The focus here is on contrasting paths to the throne; the difference between someone who conspires to seize power and someone who is deemed worthy of kingship and is offered power on a silver platter—like a true prophet who does not ask for his vocation, but has his mission imposed on him. (b) When the Lord appears to Solomon late in his reign He informs him of his punishment: “I will surely tear the kingdom from you and will give it to your servant. Yet for the sake of David your father I will not do it in your days. … I will give one tribe to your son, for the sake of David My servant and for the sake of Jerusalem which I have chosen” (1 Kgs 11:11– 13). Reward and punishment are carried over from generation to generation—a basic assumption of the book of Kings (in contract to Chronicles): through David’s merit, the punishment will be delayed until after Solomon’s death and its severity will be tempered. When it comes it will be in the time of his son—because of the father’s actions rather than the son’s.31 The theological justification places great emphasis on the word “servant.” Solomon, who violated the royal covenant (“Since this has been your mind and you have not kept my covenant and my statutes which I have commanded you” [1 Kgs 11:11]), will be punished measure for measure: his “servant” will violate his oath to the king and supplant him on the throne. Solomon’s official is his “servant”, and his father David is “My servant.” But Solomon himself is not a servant; this signal omission emphasizes the contrast between Solomon and David. The failure to refer to Solomon here as the “servant” of the Lord is conspicuous because readers remember that, early in his reign, Solomon applied this designation to himself three times during the dream-vision at Gibeon, when he represented himself as his father’s heir (3:7, 8, 9), as well as in his prayer at the dedication of the Temple (8:28 [twice], 29, 30, 52). (c) Above (4d) I noted the parallels between Jehu and David. Now I turn to the contrasts between them. Two consecutive verses reflect the theological complexity of assessing Jehu: “Because you have done well in carrying out what is right in My eyes, and have done to the house of Ahab according to all that was in my heart. … But Jehu was not careful to walk in the law of the Lord the God of Israel with all his heart” (2 Kgs 10:30–31). This contrasts with Ahijah’s display of David as a standard of right 31 For this idea as characteristic of the book of Kings see S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (trans. A. Barber; Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1997), 156–160.

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

171

behavior, in his rebuke of Jeroboam: “and yet you have not been like My servant David, who kept My commandments, and walked after Me with all his heart, doing only that which was right in My eyes” (1 Kgs 14:8). Even if the two verses about Jehu have different sources (the first probably originating in an ancient prophetic tradition, whereas the second is an editorial addition), the author-editor set them one after the other in order to express the complex verdict on this king: Jehu accomplished his mission of uprooting the House of Ahab, but was not wholly devoted to the Lord, as had been expected. The two verses’ echo of the single verse about David encourages the readers to approach them as two facets of the same situation rather than as separate judgments.32

6. ALLUSIONS TO DAVID IN THE BURIAL FORMULA I would like to open a window on a point that may stir up controversy, but which I see no reason to ignore: the burial formula that is part of the summary of a king’s reign. The normal phrasing of the burial of kings of Judah in the book of Kings is “he was buried [or: they buried him] in the city of David.” On four occasions, however, one encounters the variant “in the city of his father David.” This is first found concerning Solomon (1 Kgs 11:43), where it seems to be perfectly natural (although the tight syntactic link between “his father” and “David”, breaks up or at least distorts the set phrase “city of David”).33 The same phrase, “in the city of his father David”, recurs with Asa (15:24), his son Jehoshaphat (22:51), and Jotham (2 Kgs 15:38).34 The assessments of all three kings are explicitly favorable, to one degree or another. With Asa, the allusion detected in the death formula complements the explicit praise in the introductory formula to his reign (1 Kgs 15:11), mentioned above.35 With regard to Jehoshaphat, 32 Rozenson deals at some length with the parallel between Jehu and David and notes other verses and details than these. His interpretation is different than mine, too: he focuses on the tension between the fulfillment of the prophet’s directive and the cruel extermination of Ahab’s family. See Y. Rozenson, “A Plotter or the ‘King of God’s People’? Jehu Compared to David,” Megadim 32 (2000), 69–81 (Hebrew). 33 Ehrlich sensed this difficulty and suggested the conjectural emendation “in the tomb of David” (A. B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel VII [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1914], 243). 34 On the phrase “in the city of his father David” as a judgment, see E. J. Smit, “Death and Burial Formulas in Kings and Chronicles Relating to the Kings of Judah”, in Biblical Essays: Proceedings of the Ninth Meeting of “Die Ou Testamentiese Werkgemeenskap in Suid-Afrika” (Potchefstroom: [s.n.], 1966), 175, 176. 35 This formulaic comparison of Asa to David can be added to what we read

172

AMOS FRISCH

one reads, “He walked in all the way of Asa his father; he did not turn aside from it, doing what was right in the sight of the Lord” (1 Kgs 22:43)—and Asa is said to have walked in the path of David. It is true that for Jotham the situation is more complicated: “And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, according to all that his father Uzziah had done” (2 Kgs 15:34), and of Uzziah it is said that he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord like his father Amaziah. However, the evaluation of Amaziah is that “he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, yet not like David his father; he did in all things as Joash his father had done” (2 Kgs 14:3). Does this constitute another argument against the authenticity of the qualifying “yet not like David” applied to Amaziah? Incidentally, an important but lesser-known traditional Jewish commentator, Samuel Laniado (sixteenth century), remarked on the significance of the phrase “his father David” with regard to Asa: “He said ‘in the city of his father David’ that he made David like his father by following in his righteous path, and even though David was not his father” (he does not make a similar comment, though, where the same phrase appears elsewhere).36

7. A SYSTEM OF INVERTED COMPARISONS So far I have considered each comparison separately. But the book of Kings also contains a sophisticated and complex system of interlinked comparisons, horizontal and vertical: horizontally—the relations among the various characters; vertically – the development and change in the assessment of the characters. Solomon || David (§§a–b) Adonijah || Absalom, Adonijah David (§c) Solomon David (§d) Jeroboam || David (§e) Solomon || Saul (§f) Jeroboam David (§g) about Asa: “And he brought the votive gifts of his father into the house of the Lord and his own votive gifts, silver, and gold, and vessels” (1 Kgs 15:15). This echoes what Solomon did when the Temple was completed: “And Solomon brought the votive gifts of David his father, the silver, the gold, and the vessels, and stored them in the treasuries of the house of the Lord” (1 Kgs 7:51). The text itself highlights that Solomon fulfilled David’s plans, even representing the latter as the initiator of the construction of the Temple; Asa follows in the footsteps of Solomon, who followed David. 36 Laniado, Keli Yaqar, 566.

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

173

(a) In the early chapters of his reign Solomon is compared to his father David. He truly is David’s successor, as is emphasized in the concluding formula of David’s reign: “So Solomon sat upon the throne of David his father” (1 Kgs 2:12). This continuity invites readers to compare them.37 Solomon himself insists on this continuity in his message to Hiram—the difference in the nature of his reign, an age of peace, unlike the wars of his father’s time, is actually a sign of continuity, in that Solomon can now bring to fruition his father’s plan to build the Temple (1 Kgs 5:15–20 [RSV 1–6]). (b) In the theological assessment, too, Solomon is compared to his father, as mentioned above. Twice the Lord offers him the option of being like David: in the vision at Gibeon, “And if you will walk in My ways, keeping My statutes and My commandments, as your father David walked, then I will lengthen your days” (1 Kgs 3:14); and in the revelation after the dedication of the Temple: “And as for you, if you will walk before Me, as David your father walked, with integrity of heart and uprightness, doing according to all that I have commanded you, and keeping My statutes and My ordinances, then I will establish your royal throne over Israel for ever, as I promised David your father” (1 Kgs 9:4–5). This option is not merely theoretical. As the narrator emphasizes, Solomon did realize it: “Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the statutes of David his father” (1 Kgs 3:3). (c) Solomon’s rival for the throne, Adonijah, is presented in 1 Kings 1 as someone whose conduct is different from that of his father, in that he actively seeks power (as noted above). Alongside this contrast there is also a resemblance between Adonijah and David’s mutinous son Absalom (1 Kgs 1:5–6). This is another layer in another reversing comparison, with Absalom at its center, but I shall not consider it here. (d) By the end of Solomon’s reign the situation is entirely different. Now Solomon is depicted as disloyal to his father’s path. I have already looked at one element of this, 1 Kgs 11:11–13, and the use of the word “servant” there. (e) Solomon’s punishment is that an outsider, a one-time official in his administration, rather than his flesh and blood, succeeds him. Jeroboam, too, is offered the possibility of being like David (as noted above). Ahijah says this in so many words: “And if you will hearken to all that I command you, and will walk in My ways, and do what is right in My eyes by keeping My statutes and My commandments, as David my servant did, I will be with you, and will build you a sure house, as I built for David …” (1 Kgs 11:38). In addition to the overt reference, there are linguistic echoes that direct readers back to David.38 Ahijah’s charge to Jeroboam supplements the hints 37 See 38

Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel, 17–18 (Eng., 18–19). In Nathan’s vision, the words “I will be with you” refer to the closeness

174

AMOS FRISCH

provided by the narrator in the frame of historical material about Jeroboam into which Ahijah’s meeting with him is embedded (1 Kgs 11:26–28, 40): Jeroboam is described as an “Ephraimite” (‫)אפרתי‬, an “able man” (‫גבור‬ ‫)חיל‬, and a “young man” (‫)נער‬, after which Solomon names him to a senior position in light of the talent he has shown. As the story continues, he is outlawed by Solomon, flees to a foreign country, and returns home only after the death of his royal persecutor (the last detail is not in 1 Kgs 11, but in the story of the dissolution of the united monarchy [1 Kgs 12:2–3]). In all of these, Jeroboam repeats elements of David’s career.39 I should also consider Gooding’s idea that the omission, in the standard version of the Septuagint, of the reference to Jeroboam in the context of the parley in Shechem between Rehoboam and the tribes, is meant to accentuate the parallel between Jeroboam and David by eliminating any active moves on his part to achieve the crown, even after the death of the king he is supposed to succeed.40 (f) Here there is an interesting link that enhances the picture. Because Solomon no longer resembles David, but Jeroboam does, there is a parallel between Solomon and Saul. Most conspicuous, and noted by many in the past, is the symbolic rending of the cloak when Ahijah meets Jeroboam (11:29–39), echoing the fateful meeting between Samuel and Saul (1 Sam 15:27–29).41 I would argue that the matter is not so simple and that there are also significant differences between the two incidents.42 In any between the Lord and David (2 Sam 7:9). Even earlier, one of Saul’s young men, recommending David, notes that “the Lord is with him” (1 Sam 16:18). The phrase in the previous verse, “you shall reign over all that your soul desires” (1 Kgs 11:37), repeats word for word the language used by Abner when he promises to make David king over all Israel (2 Sam 3:21). For this link see further Frisch, “The Narrative of Solomon’s Reign”, 117–118, 342–343; G. N. Knoppers, Two Nations Under God: The Deuteronomistic History of Solomon and the Dual Monarchies (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993) 1, 201–203. 39 Note that when the term ‫ אפרתי‬is applied to David (or his father) in 1 Sam 17:12, it has a different sense. But see M. Leuchter, “Jeroboam the Ephratite,” JBL 125 (2006), 60–62. 40 See D. W. Gooding, “The Septuagint’s Rival Version of Jeroboam’s Rise to Power,” VT 17 (1967), 185–186. 41 For the similarity of the symbolic rending of the garment in the cases of Jeroboam and Saul, see, e.g., J. Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary (2nd ed.; OTL, 9a; London: SCM Press, 1970), 295; E. Würtwein, Das erste Buch der Könige. Kapitel 1–16 (ATD, 11/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), 143; G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984) 1, 234. 42 We can note the following differences: the person to whom the symbolic action is addressed (the king; the future king); the person who tears the garment

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

175

case, within the compass of the full Saul and Solomon cycles there is a closer parallel: Ahijah’s prophecy, I believe, is much more like Samuel’s remarks to Saul at Endor (1 Sam 28:16–19), where, as in Ahijah’s prophecy, the future monarch is mentioned by name. By contrast, in 1 Samuel 15, as in the prophecy to Solomon in 1 Kgs 11:11–13, the man who will replace the deposed king is not named. (g) The next stage in the reversals is the disappointment with Jeroboam. Here Jeroboam is depicted as no longer resembling David. Ahijah states this contrast explicitly to Jeroboam’s wife, as mentioned above. These sets of parallels tighten the links between three different periods and emphasize the reversals from one to another: (1) the beginning of Solomon’s reign; (2) the end of Solomon’s reign and the beginning of Jeroboam’s; (3) the end of Jeroboam’s reign. The resemblance to David provides substance to the latent potential of the new leader, a potential of appropriate action and corresponding reward. The contrast to David expresses disappointment with him. The linkage of Solomon and Saul exemplifies the personal obligation of the monarch. It is not enough to be the “son of.” You must also prove yourself by your own behavior; if you fail to do so, you will be like Saul, the king who did not establish a royal house.43

8. A SHORT SUMMARY: COMPARISON TO DAVID—METHODS AND OBJECTS David’s death is recounted in 1 Kgs 2:10. As discussed above, though, this character who leaves the world at the very beginning of the book is mentioned throughout it. The founding father of the royal house of Judah is a fixed reference throughout the book. The present study has dealt only with references that involve comparisons to him. It has advanced step by step, starting with explicit references that take him as a standard for evaluation in the opening formula (evidently the king, and unintentionally; the prophet, intentionally); how the garment is ripped (the hem is torn off; the entire garment is torn into twelve pieces); when the kingdom will be lost (“this day”; not stated explicitly, but only “from his son’s hand” [v. 35]); and the scale of the lost sovereignty (the entire kingdom; secession of the majority). For attention to some of these differences, see Leuchter, “Jeroboam the Ephratite,” 53 n. 11. 43 For an extended discussion of the analogies with David in the Solomon narrative as a system of reversing parallels, see Frisch, “The Narrative of Solomon’s Reign,” 102–108.

176

AMOS FRISCH

of kings, other formulas and non-formulaic statements, and the declarations by the Lord and His prophets to Solomon and Jeroboam. It continued with implicit comparisons latent in linguistic echoes, noting that in some places certain elements in the passage—an explicit comparison to David or an innocent mention of his name—direct readers to make the comparison. It concluded with the ramified system of reversing parallels, in which the various comparisons that were addressed separately are linked together. What is the objective of comparing a king to David? The present study suggests, in general terms, seven objectives: 1. to make the king’s righteousness concrete (“as David his father had done”; “he walked in all the ways of David his father”); 2. to qualify a positive assessment of the king (“but not like David”, as in the comparison and subsequent contrast between Jehu and David) or to express a negative evaluation of him (Solomon is not “my servant” as David was); 3. to insist on the negative side of a king’s character or deeds (Adonijah as pursuing the crown); 4. to buttress the legitimacy of a king who came to power the way David did (the anointing of Solomon resembles that of David; the anointing of Jehu and the charge laid upon him by the prophet resemble those of David); 5. to emphasize the reward received by the king (Hezekiah succeeds in everything and the Lord is with him, as was the case with David; a faithful house, like David’s, is an option for Jeroboam); 6. to emphasize the idea of kingship as a personal election that depends on conduct and is not an automatic inheritance (Jeroboam || David; Solomon < > David); 7. to tighten the links between different periods and emphasize the reversals from one to another (the system of inverted analogies).

EVALUATING CHARACTER IN KINGS

177

Indeed, David king of Israel is alive and present even in a book that begins with his death.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION1 ALEXANDER ANDRASON UNIVERSITY OF STELLENBOSCH 1.

INTRODUCTION

The goal of this paper is to provide a new definition of a Biblical Hebrew (BH) verbal construction, usually referred to as wayyiqtol (1). (1) ‫ּובין‬ ֵ ‫ת־ה ָר ִק ַיע וַ ְּיַב ֵדל ֵבין ַה ַּמיִם ֲאשׁר ִמ ַת ַחת ָל ָר ִק ַיע‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים א‬ ִ ‫וַ יַ ַעׂש ֱא‬

‫־כן‬ ֵ ‫ַה ַּמיִם ֲאשׁר ֵמ ַעל לָ ָר ִק ַיע ַוַֽי ְִּהי‬ So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so. (Gen 1.7)2

There are two types of commonly employed functional and semantic definitions of the formation. First, when referring to taxis3-aspect-tensemood (TATM) properties, the gram has most frequently been equaled with a past (definite past or preterite) or perfective past (other proposals, on the contrary, identify the gram with a present tense and imperfective aspect; for a general review of descriptions posited by temporal, aspectual, historicalcomparative and psychological schools, as well as those offered by the first generation of grammaticalization framework, consult footnote 4 below). 1 Certain portions of this paper have been based on my Ph.D. dissertation “Qatal, yiqtol, weqatal y wayyiqtol. Modelo pancrónico del sistema verbal de la lengua hebrea bíblica con el análisis adicional de los sistemas verbales de las lenguas acadia y árabe“ (Andrason 2011c). 2 All verbs that appear in the wayyiqtol construction (as well as their English translations) will be given in bold type. The Hebrew quotations reflect the text of the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia: With Westminster Hebrew Morphology (1996). 3 The phenomenon of taxis makes reference to the concepts of anteriority, simultaneity and prospectivity (Maslov 1988:64).

179

180

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Other theories (especially, those developed by the syntactical approach) have adjoined a value of sequentiality to the TATM load of the construction. Second, when emphasizing its discourse pragmatic characteristics—and disregarding TATM values—the expression has been classified as a principal form (foreground) of the narrative backbone. However, the two descriptions are reductionist and greatly simplify the nature and substance of the wayyiqtol. The former ignores or minimizes the fact that (as will be indicated in section 2) the formation provides not one but a broad range of uses and hence cannot be reduced to a single value such as past or perfective past. Nor is it appropriate to understand such frequently proposed labels (i.e. past or perfective past) as über-functions from which other meanings are derivable, i.e. hardly can the use of the formation with a future or stative present force be explained as a realization of its past or past perfective value (cf. section on 3.1 and the discussion on a dynamic vision of synchronic grammatical phenomena). As for the discourse-pragmatic classification (principal narrative construction), it is reductionistic in the sense that it ignores the evident semantic content of the gram as well as the fact that the formation expresses determined temporal and aspectual meanings, entailing a failure to denote others. This means that to account for the entire nature and behavior of the wayyiqtol is neither easy nor straightforward and that, in particular, it cannot be swept under simplifying reductionistic definitions, such as a past, a perfective past or a narrative form. There furthermore exists a third group of descriptions which, although highly valuable, are limited to a mere taxonomy (cf. e.g., Waltke & O’Connor 1990 in footnote 3). They introduce a detailed—not reductionistic—account of the semantic content of the construction without, however, providing an explanation for it: they fail to account for the relation between uses of the gram and its internal consistency.4 4 Models

proposed by temporal, aspectual, historical-comparative, psychological and syntactical schools belong to the first type of descriptions. According to the aspectual view, represented, for instance, by Driver (1881), the wayyiqtol—as the yiqtol—indicates nascent or incipient actions. Moreover, in the same manner as the weqatal, it is a relative form, subordinate to and depending on the preceding verb. Hence, the exact moment of the ingression of the action is determined by the particle waw which positions the event conveyed by the wayyiqtol in relation to the previously introduced activities. As a result, the ‘waw prefixed yiqtol’ does not stand by itself but equals “the development, the continuation of the past which came before” (1881:85). Similarly, Watts (1951) argued the wayyiqtol—corresponding to the progressive imperfect—should be rendered by means of the verb ‘begin’ in past, present or future (i.e. as ‘and he began’, ‘and he begins’, ‘and he will [begin to]

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

181

do’ (1951:39-42). Joüon, who combined the aspectual school with certain temporal ideas, argued that the wayyiqtol (one of the two formes invertis, Joüon 1923:319) is entirely independent from its simple morphological counterpart yiqtol (cf. Driver and Watts above). It rather approximates the morphologically opposite construction qatal (Jouon 1923:326). In his opinion, the wayyiqtol—as the qatal— principally expresses the past and aspectually punctual and unique events (unique et instantanée (Joüon 1923:320). The two constructions are distinguished by the fact that the former may provide meaning of logical or temporal succession and consequence. However, “[l]’emploi si fréquent de wayyiqtol dans la narration a amené un usage […] abusif de cette forme […]. On la trouve là où il n’y a aucune idée de succession” (Joüon 1923:324). In more recent times, a model built on the parameters of tense, taxis and mood has been proposed by Joosten (1992 and 2002). In Joosten’s view, the wayyiqtol is understood as a preterite (1992:14) given that it is almost entirely limited to the expression of past events. As for the aspect, the formation itself does not have any inherent aspectual substance, but depending on context, may express both perfective and imperfective situations (Joosten 2002:68-69). The proximity between the wayyiqtol and the qatal was also noted by defenders of the historical-comparative school. According to Brockelmann ([1908–1913] 1966), the waw prefixed tenses function as the antitheses of the simple formations: the weqatal equals an imperfect or a modal category while the wayyiqtol matches a historical past (1912:114; an analogous view may be found in Bergsträsser 1924 and 1983:55). In a similar vein, Cohen (1924:286) classified the wayyiqtol and the qatal as a perfective aspect (accompli) denominating it “l’imparfait au role de parfait”. Different aspectual models have been proposed by Rundgren and Johnson. According to Rundgren (1961), the BH verbal system was sensitive for aspectual (cursive and constative) and temporal parameters (past and non-past). The grammarian defined the wayyiqtol as a neutral non-aspectual past form in the unmarked fientive section of the verbal system (1961:109-101). Johnson (1979), following the distinction established by Rundgren and in accordance with the old aspectual views, claims that simple and waw extended forms do not differ as far as their semantic potential is concerned. He understands the wayyiqtol and the yiqtol as expressions of the cursive aspect. The two formations supposedly offer the same range of values (in particular, present-future and modal) derivable from their shared aspectual load. Another member of the historical-comparative school, Jerzy Kuryłowicz, based his theory on the concept of taxis: the inherent values of the qatal and the yiqtol are anteriority and simultaneity, and their primary functions, the perfect or the past and the non-past respectively (Kuryłowicz 1972:82-83). This minimal binary system was extended in Hebrew by two consecutive formations, the wayyiqtol and the weqatal. Although the former derives from the Proto-Semitic *yaqtul and corresponds to the Akkadian iprus, it approximates the yiqtol expressing the simultaneity in the three temporal spheres.

182

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Diethelm Michel (1960) rejected aspectual, as well as historical-comparative explanations. As for the wayyiqtol, he claimed that there was no difference in meaning between the simple and waw prefixed forms. Thus, he understands the simple conjugation as well as its waw prefixed variant as realizations of a form that has the same semantic value. The wayyiqtol—in the same manner as the yiqtol— expresses semantic dependency without any precise temporal demarcation (Michel 1960:41). This depending (substantive) nature of the formations causes that the yiqtol pictures events as resulting from the quality of the acting subject, while the wayyiqtol surfaces as an idea of consequence (Michel 1960:110 and 127). According to the syntactic school, the principal characteristic of the wayyiqtol is its sequential value. For instance, Silverman (1973:168) claims that the qatal and the wayyiqtol equal a past. The distinction between the two forms is sequential: the wayyiqtol corresponds to a consecutive past (it follows a qatal). Buth (1992) builds his model on concepts of thematic continuity and discontinuity. In his view, the four central formations (qatal, weqatal, yiqtol and wayyiqtol) are distinguishable by the parameters of (dis-)continuity and (in)definiteness. Both the [x] qatal and the wayyiqtol are said to be definite (in aspectual and temporal terms this notion equals the perfective and past). However, while the former marks the discontinuity the latter conveys a thematic continuity (Buth 1992:103-104). A similar—though more complex—solution has been proposed by Peter Gentry (1998). BH verbal forms offer a main contrast between assertive modal constructions and projective modal categories, the two groups being sensitive for two parameters: aspect (perfective vs. imperfective) and sequentiality (sequential vs. non-sequential). In the assertive set— which includes formations traditionally understood as indicative—the [x] qatal is defined as a non-sequential perfective and the wayyiqtol as it sequential counterpart (Gentry 1998:21, 30-31). Hatav (1997) defines the wayyiqtol differentiating it from the weqatal and the yiqtol. She postulates that the wayyiqtol and the weqatal are marked for the sequentiality—the difference between them consists in the fact that only the latter additionally conveys modal nuances. The contrast between the wayyiqtol and the qatal is more complex: the former is classified as a sequential form (non-modal, non-perfect and non-progressive), while the latter matches a perfect category (being furthermore negatively defined as non-sequential, non-modal and non-progressive). According to Goldfajn (1998), the wayyiqtol is a sequential form distinguished from the other sequential construction weqatal by a temporal parameter: the former equals a sequential past (predominantly narrative) and the latter a sequential future (usually discursive). Applying some insights from the syntactical models as well as principles of the aspectual view, Van der Merwe, Naudé & Kroeze (2000) argue that the wayyiqtol aspectually corresponds to the qatal defined as an expression of complete and completed events (most frequently surfacing as a past tense). However, although the wayyiqtol “bears reference to the same temporal spheres and aspects as a perfect form [qatal,] it is also characterized by ‘progression’” (Van der Merwe, Naudé & Kroeze 2000:165). It can moreover control the flow of the narration (Van der Merwe, Naudé & Kroeze 2000:167).

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

183

Waltke & O’Connor (1990)—combining aspectual, diachronic and syntactic insights—argue that the core of the BH verbal system is constituted by a binary opposition between the qatal (perfective) and the yiqtol (non-perfective). The wayyiqtol corresponds to the qatal being an expression of perfective aspect (Waltke & O’Connor 1990:554). However, appearing after different verbal forms, it acquires a distinct force. First, following a qatal, the construction denotes perfective actions or perfect states in the three time frames. Second, when it follows a past yiqtol, it indicates (con)sequent or explanatory situations in the past equaling a definite perfective, a past (Waltke & O’Connor 1990:558). Third, after a present or a future yiqtol, it introduces perfective events and perfect states in the non-past time frame imposed by the preceding yiqtol (Waltke & O’Connor 1990:559). And four, after a habitual yiqtol, the wayyiqtol has the gnomic value (ibid.). The discourse approach—contrary to all of the previously presented models— studies the function of BH verbal formations in relation to the text transferring the analysis from words (morphology), clauses and sentences (syntax) onto larger units such as sequences of sentences or paragraphs (discourse). According to this school, since the “language is language only in context” (Longacre1983:xv), the meaning of verbal forms is available only on high levels of the linguistic analysis (such as paragraph or discourse). Conversely, all work on lower levels lacks in perspective and is inadequate (Longacre 1976:2). Schneider (1982) classifies the BH constructions into two groups: those which appear in the speech (discourse proper) and those which occur in the narration. In his opinion, the wayyiqtol is a foreground narrative form while the x qatal and x yiqtol are background narrative constructions, the former of the backward perspective and the latter of the forward perfective. Similarly in Talstra’s view (1978:170), the wayyiqtol is a primary narrative form distinguished from the qatal which is defined as a secondary narrative and discursive form. Longacre (1992:178), employing a highly complex model of tiers (e.g. primary/story line, secondary line/background, setting, irrealis, cohesion, etc.) for each type of text, defines the wayyiqtol as a narrative foregrounding form advancing the mainline of the story or in other words, the backbone of the narration. In recent times and in reaction to the discourse approach, grammaticalization and path theory based models have been proposed. Nevertheless, although employing evolutionary principles, the resulting descriptions strongly approximate traditional temporal, aspectual and modal theories. Andersen (2000) defines the wayyiqtol as a product of the resultative path: it derives from the Proto-Semitic *yaqtul, in his view, a perfective past (2000:17). Cook (2002), employing the framework of universal evolutionary paths, reaches a conclusion that Biblical Hebrew is an aspect prominent language with the core contrast between the perfective qatal and the imperfective yiqtol. Using evolutionary terminology, he affirms that the qatal and the wayyiqtol are products of the resultative path, i.e. a development during which resultative expressions develop into perfect (in his terminology an aspect), perfective aspect and finally into a past tense. In Biblical

184

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

This article aims at providing a concise (i.e., scientifically manageable and to an extent formalized), non-reductionist and non-taxonomist definition of the wayyiqtol. We will define the formation in a holistic unifying manner, accounting simultaneously for all its values—as distinct and superficially incongruent as they appear—recorded in the biblical material. During our analysis, every portion of the semantic potential of the wayyiqtol will be treated with an equal importance; conversely, no meaning will be ignored or marginalized. Under the new view, each value will be consistent with the remaining ones. As a result, exceptional uses will cease being irregular and aberrant.5 Consequently, it will be demonstrated that the wayyiqtol may be grasped in its integrity. It can be viewed as a consistent and typologically rational phenomenon if one comprehends it as a developing prototypical resultative formation. This means that synchronically attested characteristics of the expression will be analyzed as reflecting stages of its grammatical evolution: each value matches a given phase in the functional-semantic and structural development. In other words, the diachronic approach will constitute the basis of an explanation for forms that are all traditionally understood as contemporaneous. To this combination of diachronic and synchronic levels we will refer to as ‘panchrony’ (see section, 3.2 below; for a detailed description of the panchronic methodology, its history and relation to the dynamization of typology, see Andrason 2010a, 2011b and 2012a). In particular, we will employ universal diachronic clines, as posited by path and grammaticalization theories, in order to study and explain the synchronically recorded data. This is possible due to the fact that grams Hebrew, the wayyiqtol (historically older formations) has reached the past tense stage; its uses as a perfect—both present and past—and as a perfective are contextually conditioned (Cook 2002:253-254). The difference between the qatal and wayyiqtol stems from a distinct grammatical age of the two constructions. They follow the same path but since they had been coined at different historical periods their grammatical and functional advance is distinct: the older wayyiqtol is more advanced (i.e. it functions as a past—the last stage on the path) while the younger qatal is less developed (i.e. it functions as a perfective—penultimate stage on the trajectory). On major discrepancies between Cook’s model and the author’s—as well as on the differences in defying the wayyiqtol—see section 5.2 at the end of the paper. It should be noted that this review of the grammatical tradition in analyzing the wayyiqtol and the BH verbal system is not intended to be exhaustive (for a more detailed presentation see McFall (1982), Waldman (1989), Waltke & O’Connor (1990:458–478) Endo (1996:1–26) and Cook (2002:79–162). 5 As will be explained below, exceptional uses and meanings correspond to biological atavisms, contemporarily inadequate relicts of older evolutionary stages.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

185

develop according to several strictly determined rules codified in functional and grammaticalization paths. They acquire new values that correspond to subsequent stages on a given trajectory. As a result, meanings that are synchronically provided by a gram must reflect successive stages of its own diachronic movement. Put differently, a grammatical formation at a given moment of its evolution is a synchronic manifestation of a diachronic progression. This progression is, in turn, required to be consistent with one of the predetermined universal paths. In order to present a comprehensive analysis of the wayyiqtol, providing furthermore an explanation for it, our research will be organized in the following manner. In the following section of the article (section 2) we will provide a detailed introduction to two theories which codify the evolution of verbal categories, i.e. the path and grammaticalization models. Next, in section 3, the methodology of a synchronic description of verbal grams— based on the evolutionary framework—will be introduced. Subsequently (section 4), employing the previously explained technique of language description, the BH wayyiqtol will be studied. Finally, major results will be summarized and a new definition of the gram presented (section 5).

2.

THEORETICAL BACKGROUND—EVOLUTIONARY UNIVERSALS

Empirical studies demonstrate that grammatical entities evolve following certain universal rules codified in a set of unidirectional developmental scenarios, labeled, ‘paths’ (Heine & Kuteva 2007:57–116 and Croft 2003:251–255). In general terms, the grammatical growth may be understood as a gradual and ordered incorporation of new values and formal characteristics. To provide exact and specific representations of paths—which deterministically regulate the development of grammatical constructions of a typologically similar type—constitutes the main subject of grammaticalization and path theories (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:9– 26, Dahl 2000:8–15, Hopper & Traugott 2003:1–3, 6–7 and Heine & Kuteva 2007:32–33 and 35–37).

2.1.

GRAMMATICALIZATION THEORY

In accordance with a traditional definition, grammaticalization theory codifies a universal process during which a linguistic unit, in an ordered unidirectional mode, acquires or expands (cf. grammaticalization proper), and loses (cf. de-grammaticalization) the degree of its grammatical force. It consists of two major and correlated phenomena: morphologization and generalization.

186

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

As for the former, it is widely accepted that linguistic entities begin their grammatical life as periphrases built on independent words employed in a specific context. At this moment, they belong to the syntactic level of the tongue. Some such lexical analytic expressions are gradually grammaticalized, and at the apogee of their development, they become pure grammatical depending morphemes. This signifies that syntactical segments develop into synthetic morphology, first agglutinative and next fusional. Subsequently, a construction undergoes further modifications which, jointly, trigger its material and physical deterioration. Finally, the formation is either lost or recycled for new grammatical purposes (Hopper & Traugott 2003:6–7 and 99–100). This progress parallels a cyclical evolution of analytical grammatical systems into agglutinative and later into fusional; and, yet again, from fusional into analytical (Dixon 1994). It also emulates general principles of a linguistic change such as accretion, merger and shrinkage (Lüdtke 1987).6 The above-described—purely structural—progression involves a wide range of more specific changes which may be encompassed under the label of generalization or spread. Among them, the most important one is the increase in frequency which is simultaneously accompanied by a gradual reduction of various semantic, morphological, syntactic and pragmatic constraints (the increase in frequency is also connected to the physical reduction of an entity and, of course, to its morphologization and a final loss). All of these processes reflect a steady expansion of the formation to new environments and situations (Hopper & Traugott 2003:100–106). One of the most significant implications of such a spreading out process is that the rapidity of functional or semantic (see below, the path theory) progressions of grams is different in different types of text. In particular, the evolutionary advancement is distinct in discourse, in narrative discourse and in narration (Harris 1982 and Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:406). This stems from the fact that novel constructions are initially shaped and regularized in colloquial registers. Only at more developed stages, are they transferred from there to other types of text: first to personal narratives and, then, to properly narrative genders.7 6 Some scholars have questioned the unidirectional character of the grammaticalization theory (Campbell 1991 and 2001, Newmeyer 1998, Janda 2001 and Norde 2001). However, since mirror images of grammaticalization process remain typologically unknown, the grammaticalization hypothesis seems to be valid for all languages (Haspelmath 1999, Heine 2003 and Hopper & Traugott 2003). 7 For example, in respect to the anterior path-law (cf. section 2.2 below), it is a common phenomenon that, in the beginning, resultative formations develop into past tenses in the informal discourse, next in personal narratives (narrative

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

187

2.2. PATH THEORY Path theory provides a model of a functional and semantic growth of grammatical constructions (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994). As for the verbal system, it portrays a prearranged and unidirectional semantic progression of verbal entities from lexical semantically transparent, and—if possible—iconic periphrastic chains (Bybee, Perking & Pagliuca 1994:167 and Heine & Kuteva 2007:348) to grammatical categories such as aspect, taxis, tense or mood (Dahl 2000:11–15 and Heine & Kuteva 2007:74–75, 90–91 and 305). It should be noted that once the “peak stage” has been reached, the development does not cease. Quite the reverse, the construction suffers further evolutionary modifications. In particular, its functional load becomes progressively deteriorated. This means that the array of uses becomes steadily more restricted, which in turn, leads to a partial or complete loss of the original and previously prototypical meaning of the formation (cf. the phenomenon of ‘doughnut gram’ in Dahl 2000:10–11). At the end, the growing semantic-functional corrosion of the construction causes the gram to be either entirely lost or recycled in new grammatical expressions (Hopper & Traugott 2003:99–129, 154–159 and 172–174, and Croft 2003:252 and 264). Scholars generally recognize four principal evolutionary tracks which control the creation of aspectual, temporal and modal categories: 1) toward the perfective and past; 2) toward the imperfective and present; 3) toward modal expressions; and 4) toward the future (Dahl 2000:14–15 and Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:105, 174–175, 240–241 and 279–280).8 These evolutionary laws are commonly viewed as typologically universal (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:14–15 and 300–201 and Hopper & Traugott 2003:99–100). They have first been inferred from massive empirical research (cf. for instance, Heine, Claudi & Hünnemeyer 1991a and 1991b, Bybee, Pagliuca & Perkins 1991, Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994, Dahl 2000 and Heine & Kuteva 2007) and afterwards tested on numerous discourse), and only at the end in the narration proper (Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:422). Conversely, the meaning of a narrative remote-ancient past tense is the last one in the sequence of stages a resultative gram can acquire. This may be illustrated by the passé simple in French (e.g. j’écrivis ‘I wrote’), a construction which is employed as a past exclusively in the narrative proper. It is never used in colloquial speech or in narrative discourse. 8 The labels employed to classify the four trajectories correspond to apogee phases, i.e., to stages where constructions acquire their utmost functionality equaling central categories of aspect, tense or mood. However, as already explained, the life of grammatical entities does not conclude there. Quite the contrary, grams continue to develop until they disappear or are reprocessed in new locutions.

188

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

languages. Only one of these trajectories will be relevant in our study, the resultative path. In the next section, we shall provide a detailed description of this evolution scenario.

2.2.1 Resultative Path9 The resultative path-law describes the order in which original resultative locutions incorporate new meanings. This cline, as any universal trail, includes a few more specific sub-trajectories and thus can lead to more than one terminal stage-meaning. The resultative path-law consists of three formative sequences, labeled respectively anterior path, simultaneous path and evidential path. This means that the evolution of resultative inputs may be controlled by the three previously mentioned developmental principles which jointly constitute the resultative path-law. ANTERIOR PATH

Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca (1994:55–57, 104–105), Dahl (2000:15), Squartini & Bertinetto (2000:406–407) and Heine & Kuteva (2006:151) have demonstrated that resultative proper expressions—when employed with the present time reference—regularly develop into present anteriors (present perfect) and subsequently into definite past tenses. In some cases, the transformation into a past tense, involves a facultative intermediate stage where the formation functions as a perfective past. The development from a resultative proper expression to a prototypical anterior (present perfect) involves a set of consecutive intermediate phases (see Harris 1982, Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:406–419, Lindstedt 2000:379 and Mitkovska & Bužarovska 2008:136). The resultative input locution first evolves into a resultative anterior,10 next into an inclusive (also called universal) anterior,11 afterwards into a frequentative I have discussed the evolution of resultative formations in various previously written articles (particularly, in Andrason 2011c, 2011e and 2012b). Thus, this section—without being identical or literally reproduced—may sometimes approximate portions of other papers. 10 In this function, the static meaning is weakened and the construction— increasing the inference of anteriority—acquires a more dynamic fientive character (Mitkovska & Bužarovska 2008:132). On the other hand, although the gram explicitly indicates a dynamic previous event, it still connotes the relevance of that event for the present state of affairs, cf. for example I cannot come to your party—I have caught the flu, (McCawley 1971, Jónsson 1992:129–145 and Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:407). 11 The inclusive anterior indicates activities which continue without ceasing from a determined moment in the past to the present time, e.g., I have known Max 9

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

189

anterior12 and finally into an experiential anterior.13 Later the gram acquires an indefinite past value. In this function, the main emphasis is laid on the past action itself (the event expressed by the gram belongs to the past temporal sphere; Depraetere & Reed 2000:97) without, however, situating it at a definite moment in the past (Lindstedt 2000:369 and 379).14 This indefinite past value is a linking stage between the prototypical anterior (present perfect) and prototypical past uses. There is also a semantic relationship between resultative expressions and the performative value. This connection has been commonly recognized (e.g. Nedjalkov 1988:415, Volodin 1988:473 and Streck 1995) and recently determined, as well as geometrically situated, on the anterior path by Andrason (2011f). He has demonstrated that with the progress along the cline, the capacity to convey performative meaning diminishes. The performative function vanishes before the loss of the resultative perfect value and after the loss of the resultative proper meaning. Consequently, the performative stage should be located at an initial portion of the trajectory, between the phase of a resultative proper and that of a resultative perfect (for the entire argumentation, see Andrason 2011f). When the anterior gram becomes acceptable with an explicit past reference—imposed by past time adverbials, by phrasal expressions or by a general context—it consequently acquires the value of a definite past tense. Then, as a past tense, it gradually increases the degree of remoteness (temporal distance), moving away from the enunciator’s now-and-here (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:98, Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:414–417 and 422). In other words, the construction increasingly expresses more and more temporally distant past episodes and activities. First, it functions as a near past (immediate, hodiernal, hesternal and recent past), finally developing into a general past and remote (ancient) past.

since 1960 (cf. Jónsson 1992:129–145) or I have known him for 10 years. 12 See, for instance, the Portuguese perfect Ultimamente o João tem lido muitos romances ‘Recently John has read many novels’ (Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:409). 13 The experiential anterior presents an event as a personal experience which occurred at least once (Jónsson 1992:129–145), e.g. I have read ‘Principia Mathematica’ five times (Jónsson 1992:129), I have never read that book and Have you ever been to China? 14 Furthermore, the progression towards the prototypical anterior (perfect) and subsequently toward a past implies that the relevance of the previously performed action for the present state of affairs becomes gradually less evident. In other words, as the (present) resultative develops, the current relevance of the expression diminishes until it is entirely lost and the gram is converted into a past (Lindstedt 2000:365–366 and 369–371).

190

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

We have mentioned above that during their transformation into definite past forms certain anterior grams acquire an aspectual perfective sense. This usually happens in languages which include in their verbal repertoire a—historically older—simple or imperfective past formation (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 2000:81–87). Put differently, the conversion of the anterior into a definite past occurs in contrast with another past expression (see also Drinka 1998:120). This contrast is responsible for the aspectual marking of the younger gram, i.e. of an anterior which evolves into a past. At a subsequent phase, perfective past constructions may abandon their aspectual value and acquire a simple past sense (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:992–93). However in various languages, the emergence of the definite simple past does not require an intermediate perfective past stage. In that case, the indefinite anterior directly develops into the simple (aspectually neutral) definite past (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:83–86 and Heine & Kuteva 2006:151).15 It should be noted that the rise of the perfective past and its transformation into a non-aspectual variant is both a concurrent and independent process if compared with the increase of the temporal remoteness. Consequently, there is no unambiguous stage-to-stage equivalence between the phases which span from the indefinite perfect/past or to the definite past (from immediate to remote and ancient) on the one hand, and the conversion of the perfective past into its aspectually neutral alternative, on the other. Suma sumarum, we may propose the following comprehensive representation of the development of resultative constructions within the present time frame (Figure 1):

Resultative expressions may also evolve with the past and future temporal reference giving rise to past anteriors (pluperfects) and future anteriors (future perfects). These two formations may subsequently loose their taxis connotation and develop into tenses, remote past and simple future respectively. The use of the pluperfect as a remote past may be illustrated by the Old Polish expression, zrobił jeś był. In Old Polish, this analytic locution had partially lost its taxis character and could be employed to indicate past remote activities (Długosz-Kurczabowa & Dubisz 2003:309). An instance of the anterior path in the future time frame can be exemplified by another Polish formation, the periphrastic simple future tense which derives from an original resultative-anterior future expression (DługoszKurczabowa & Dubisz 2003:310). 15

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

191

Figure 1: The anterior path-law within the present time frame16 SIMULTANEOUS PATH

The simultaneous path depicts a gradual transformation of resultative inputs—if employed with the present time reference—into present tenses. This law parallels the previously introduced development codified by the anterior trajectory. The difference consists in the fact that, this time, the final product of the cline is not the definite past, but rather the present tense (cf. Maslov 1988:70–71, Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:74–78 and Drinka 1998:120). Nevertheless—apart from triggering two different temporal outcomes—both trajectories traverse the verbal domains of taxis, aspect and tense in a similar sequence: viz. from the taxis (simultaneous resultative present)17 through the aspect (stative present)18 towards the tense

16 The vertical arrows in this figure represent a diachronic progression of grams. It should again be noted that the development from the perfective past to the simple past is facultative. 17 Simultaneous taxis grams emphasize a resulting static condition which is concurrent with the main reference time. However, the co-meaning corresponding to an event which has led to the present situation is still available. 18 During this stage, the connection between the achieved state and the activity, which constitutes its origin, is lost. The gram exclusively expresses the idea of an acquired condition, with no connotation of the anterior action. This means that an original resultative construction loses its previously typical taxis character. What remains is the value of a non-dynamic state. In the discourse and spheres located in a close cognitive proximity to the speaker, statives most frequently approximate stative presents. Following Maslov (1988:67), the stative is understood as an aspectual type, contrasting with a simple present.

192

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

(present)19 (see Figure 2 below; for a detailed discussion of the simultaneous path see Andrason 2010b and especially Andrason 2011d). Consequently, in course of the simultaneous path—as was the case during the anterior track—the development corresponds to a gradual conversion of resultative proper grams into expressions of taxis, aspect and tense (cf. Maslov 1988:70–72, Nedjalkov & Jaxontov 1988, Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:51–150, Drinka 1998:119–120, Dahl 2000:14–15, Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:406–407, 417–422, 425–426, Lindstedt 2000:366–374 and Andrason 2010d:338–340).20 As noted by Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca (1994:74–78), the evolution along the simultaneous cline usually affects static predicates or verbs whose resultative uses can logically trigger a static reading.21 The here-presented sequence of the stages during the conversion of resultative inputs into present tenses does not reflect the standard path theory as posited by Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca (1994), but has been built on the typological research conducted by the author in 2010 and recently presented in the article “From resultatives to Present Tenses— Simultaneous Path of resultative Constructions” (cf. Andrason 2011d). Thus far, scholars limited themselves to note a close relation between resultative-perfect-past morphologies and stative-present meanings (and the resultative foundation of some statives and presents) without providing a specific rule and/or detailed evolutionary scenario which could explain such a connection and origin.

19 Within with the present time frame, at the moment where the aspectual stative value is no longer palpable, the formation develops into a definite present tense. The most exemplary case of a resultative construction which has evolved to the peak stage of the simultaneous path is provided by Germanic preterite-present verbs (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:77–78). 20 This evolutionary scenario is consistent with a typologically universal progression leading to the formation of central verbal categories, whereby taxis expressions develop into aspects, which in turn regularly evolve into tenses (cf. for instance, the imperfective path in Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994, see also Dahl 2000:11–15 and Heine & Kuteva 2007:74–75, 90–91 and 305). 21 On the contrary, the pure resultative value—which subsequently leads towards meanings located on the anterior path—is usually compatible only with dynamic predicates that indicate a change of state or an event that produces such a change of state (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:65 and 69).

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

193

Figure 2: The simultaneous path-law within the present time frame22 EVIDENTIAL PATH

Besides the two above-mentioned evolutionary scenarios which govern the grammatical life of resultative locutions, it is possible to identify a third developmental trajectory along which such expressions may advance. This pathway is referred to as the evidential path. The evidential track controls the order in which resultative constructions are converted into modal evidential categories. Resultative proper formations regularly indicate current—simultaneous to the speaker’s here-and-now—static products of formerly performed actions. Such a resulting state, emerging from a previously achieved activity, is invariably understood as relevant to the cognitive sphere of the enunciator (speaker’s here-and-now, cf. Comrie 1976 and Johanson 2000). Gradually, this initial sense is colored by inferential or indirect connotations. The enunciator, noticing available results and employing general deductive capacity, may infer that a former action must have occurred although he himself has not witnessed it (inferential based on physical traces).23 At the subsequent phase, the inference can also be based on a general conjecture or on hearsays.24 After that, the gram develops reportative and referential meanings. Finally, the formation may introduce a broad variety of non-first hand values, approximating thus a general, properly evidential, gram (Aikhenvald 2004:112–117 and 279–281).25 When the original resultative construction has reached this fourth evolutionary stage, it can develop The vertical arrow in this figure represents a diachronic progression. This inferential meaning of resultatives and perfects is a typologically common phenomenon. It may be found, for instance, in Nordic Germanic languages—e.g. in Swedish and Icelandic—where the ‘have’ perfect (a descendent from an earlier possessive resultative expression) can function as an inferential guessing gram (Haugen 1972, Jónsson 1992 and Lindstedt 2000). 24 Cf. the Persian ‘distanced past’ (Lazard 1985). 25 Such advanced stages of the development may be illustrated by the Turkish evidential miş-perfect (Johanson 2003) or by the Macedonian perfect in l (Lindstedt 2000). 22 23

194

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

further epistemic uses, functioning as a non-indicative mood of probability and doubt (Aikhenvald 2004:116 and Andrason 2010b). The evidential path-law can be illustrated by the following figure:

Figure 3: Evidential development of resultative constructions26 2.2.2. Cognitive Motivation One of the important claims of path theory is that grammatical constructions tend to originate in semantically transparent and possibly iconic locutions (Heine and Kuteva 2007:348, cf. also Van Langendock 2007:396, 401–2 and Heiman 1985:8 and 18). These assumptions are necessary consequences of the principles of cognitive linguistics according to which grammar is the literal or metaphorical conceptualization of a person’s experience. This means that the shape of a formation must somehow be related to its function (Croft and Cruse 2004:1–3, cf. also Heine and Kuteva 2007:58 and 348). Furthermore, it stands in harmony with another idea defended by cognitive scholars who affirm that lexicon and the inner, narrowly understood, grammar of a language cannot be categorically separated. Quite the reverse, they form a diffuse indissoluble continuum (Croft and Cruse 2004:255–6 and Langacker 2007:421–2). What is relevant for the above explained universal clines is the fact that such input expressions must be semantically and functionally consistent with the entire evolutionary growth of a given formation. In other words, they are required to be cognitively plausible for the gram and its total development. The initial periphrasis is expected to motivate all values offered by the gram during its grammatical life and conversely all meanings should be derivable from the original expression (cf. source determination in Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca 1994:9–12). In consequence, the form of a gram either directly stimulates its functional load or can be reduced to the input which does so. 26

gram.

The vertical arrow in this figure symbolizes the diachronic progression of a

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

3.

195

METHODOLOGY OF THE DESCRIPTION

In the present section, we will explain how it is possible to employ evolutionary—diachronic—principles to a synchronic analysis of languages.

3.1.

DYNAMIC VIEW OF SYNCHRONIC PHENOMENA

The two typically diachronic frameworks, viz. grammaticalization and path theories—understood as a combination of deterministic, unidirectional and universal laws (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994 and Hopper & Traugott 2003)—correspond to non-realistic laws which in an idealized manner formalize the orderliness of incorporation and loss of new meaning during the evolution of grams. They are universal and deterministic exclusively in the sense that they control evolutionary processes. They govern the series of integrated and lost meanings. On the other hand, they systematically fail to describe—and more importantly predict—real developments. This is due to the fact that stages on clines do not represent concrete grams at consecutive historical moments. Observe, for instance, that grammatical formations do not “jump” from one phase to another as we could infer from the model of trajectories. Real-world constructions amass meanings which parallel various stages on a pathway. This accumulation of stagesmeanings is referred to as a ‘state’. Paths, however, say nothing about how the values are arranged—they keep completely silent in respect to states. Consequently, they do not summarize all typologically possible behaviors a given linguistic input may display—they rather present generalized and fictionalized imperatives governing realistic developments (for a comprehensive discussion of this fact and the approximation of language evolution to chaos theory, see Andrason forthcoming 2011e). Are thus universal trajectories irrelevant and needless in description of realistic evolutionary situations, i.e. grams at given historical époques? As mentioned above, real developments correspond to sequences of states, defined as complex sets of various properties (semantic, functional, morphological etc.). If the path and grammaticalization theories are correct, these states must arise following the rules established by the two frameworks. In other words, semantic and structural values are stored in accordance with the principles governing language evolution. This fact consequently enables us to employ unrealistic path-laws to determine the potential of real developmental cases, and hence determine the synchronic potential of a given gram. We can define a synchronically viewed gram employing the diachronic terminology governing its evolution—this application of diachronic rules to a synchronic description is what we will refer to as ‘panchrony’ (see section 3.2) below.

196

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Consequently, the total potential of a gram reflects subsequent stages on a given trajectory. Due to the fact that an exemplary progression traverses several semantic fields—such as, for instance, taxis, aspect, tense and mood—and is also connected to certain pragmatic factors, a grammatical item cannot be limited to one synchronic value. Quite the contrary, it necessarily comprises a large set of different functions. Some of them match original portions of the development (values gradually abandoned by the gram in question and expressed by new transparent constructions, cf. donut grams in Dahl 2000:10–11 and Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:21–22). Others, on the other hand, correspond to advanced segments of a given cline. These values, despite not having been generalized yet, will become prevailing at a later historical period. In between the two edges of a path, the prototypical and most frequent meanings of the formation are located. Thus, the semantic potential of a construction—at any moment of its evolution—is an amalgamation of consecutive phases on a given path. More precisely, the inherent sense of a gram is a computation of different values which are equivalent to subsequent diachronic stages. As a result, the concept of an invariant dominant meaning must be abandoned. First, the evolutionary dynamic view nullifies a clear-cut borderline between conventional and contextual interpretations (Dahl 2004:14). The intrinsic value of a formation is a sum of all of its uses in all possible environments. A gram is always a gram in a context, and linguistic entities develop new characteristics in concrete situations (Dahl 2000:14, Hopper & Traugott 2003:100 and Heine & Kuteva 2007:35–37). It is hence inaccurate to classify a given construction as a phenomenon x (for example, a perfective past), and then “draw” from it the remaining values. All values are equally important because all of them together form the semantic area inherent to a construction.27 Furthermore, in light of the dynamic evolutionary approach a description in terms of binary oppositions appears as inadequate. Grammatical items evolve from their lexical foundation in a wave-like manner suffering furthermore a permanent influence of other grams-paths. Metaphorically, they pursue each other along a path of development and interact with other grams-paths (Dahl 2000:13). Thus, instead of a bipolar opposition, we should talk about an interaction between older and younger constructions on the same evolutionary track, and a relation which connects a given trajectory and other pathways in the system. 27 Cf. however the discussion in the last section of the paper, 5.3 Weak points and future research. Uses and meanings displayed by a gram may differ in frequency. Thus, their statistical weight is not identical: some are prototypical (common) while others are peripheral (rare).

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

197

Paths are not contrastive phenomena. Without doubt, they conduct to different semantic apogees (e.g. to the present, past, future or moods), but they do not constitute dichotomies. As explained above, a gram at a given historical moment may be defined as a computation of meanings which match various—and not one—consecutive stages on a path. Hence, the contrast between two formations includes several semantic areas. It may never be simplified or reduced to an opposition between two domains only. Since languages do not show a system of clear-cut contrasts organized in accordance with the rules of economy and symmetry, the orthodox structuralist claim whereby “each language represents a tidy system in which units are defined by the oppositions they enter into” is no longer sustainable (Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:1 and 300). To conclude, we may affirm that the evolutionary approach necessarily yields a dynamic view of linguistic systems. In this view, synchronic constructions must receive energetic, restless and diachronic interpretations. They should be understood as materializations of historical motions because they are inevitable computations of what they were, of what they are, and of what they will become.

3.2. PANCHRONY Panchrony is a methodology which provides a synchronic definition of a gram making use of its diachronic properties. In other words, a synchronic description is expressed in dynamic evolutionary terms: a grammatical entity is equaled with a portion of its own history. This is possible due to the fact that any grammatical growth consists in an ordered acquisition of new values and formal properties (Dahl 2000:8–15 and Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:9–26). Consequently, semantic, functional and structural characteristics synchronically provided by a gram may be matched with evolutionary stages—the gram may be viewed as a synchronic manifestation of its own diachronic development. Each historical phase is responsible for a given meaning because during each one of these phases, a new value was incorporated. Moreover, since the grammatical evolution is unidirectional, a set of meanings and formal qualities provided by a formation may be ordered into a linear progression that would parallel one of the universal trajectories posited by Path and Grammaticalization theories (Heine, Claudi & Hünnemeyer 1991b:248–249, 251–261). It should be emphasized that the panchronic method is aimed at analyzing synchronic entities providing their dynamic definitions—thus, the purpose of the method is to improve synchronic description of a language rather than elucidate its evolution. The formulation of a panchronic definition starts with elaborating an exhaustive taxonomy of synchronically provided aspectual, taxis, temporal,

198

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

modal, textual and pragmatic values ma, mb, mc… mz.28 Subsequently, this synchronic inventory of uses should be arranged into a linear cline which corresponds to one (or more) of the universal trajectories. This possibility, labeled ‘orderliness principle’, is granted by the abductive method (cf. section 3.3). As a result, the previously attested meanings ma, mb, mc… mz can be ordered into a unidirectional and universal series m1, m2, m3… mn, a portion of a path. Consequently, semantic, functional and formal properties of the gram—which from the traditional synchronic perspective appear as unrelated and chaotic—are portrayed as a consistent phenomenon: an evolutionary cline. Given that the hypothesized classification (i.e., the portion of a path) has been achieved analyzing synchronic evidence, this step of the panchronic methodology is referred to as ‘synchronic panchrony’. Synchronic panchrony equals what linguists label ‘dynamization of typology’ (Croft 2003:235). However, the panchronic method, in its totality, may not be equaled with deduction of diachrony from synchrony or reduction of synchrony to diachrony. Panchrony explains synchronic phenomena in diachronic terms—it is a combination of diachrony and synchrony. In some cases, analogical phonological and morphological processes may render the synchronic evidence misleading. Therefore, it is indispensable to contrast the panchronic proposal—inferred from synchronic data—with diachronic and comparative evidence. Diachronic panchrony requires that values of a construction attested in different historical époques should coincide with the previously hypothesized cline. More specifically, properties documented at former and posterior periods of the development (i.e. at historically earlier and later epochs) should match, respectively, less and more advanced stages of the trajectory. Diachronic evidence is furthermore expected to determine the input expression from which the gram has arisen. This enter-locution should express original meanings (i.e. which correspond to initial portions of the path) in a transparent, typologically regular and, if possible, iconic manner. Qualities of the gram attested at posterior historical periods simply reflect a regular advancement of an original semantically transparent and iconic expression. This means that the input formation is required to motivate the entire track, and thus all the meanings offered by the gram. Consequently, the shape of a construction must somehow be related to its semantic potential, defined in dynamic terms as a portion of a path (cf. Andrason 2012c).29 28 The indexation of the meanings m as m , m , m … m does not refer to any a b c n specific order but reflects a mere inventory of all available uses offered by the gram. 29 For instance, if a gram has been defined as an imperfective trajectory, we

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

199

Finally, the comparative panchrony is expected to provide a definitive confirmation of the hypothesis. In particular, properties offered by genetically related grams, in languages belonging to the same family, should be reducible to the same trajectory—their semantic and functional properties must correspond to consecutive stages on the same evolutionary path. If and only if the three types of the panchronic methodology coincide and advocate for the same cline, we obtain a new synchronically valid dynamic definition of a gram: a state of a gram ga is a portion of a path pa or a sum of portions of a path pa and paths pb…px (for details of the panchronic methodology, its history and relation to the concept of dynamization of typology see Andrason 2010a).

3.3. ABDUCTION As described above, the panchronic method permits us to embrace all supposedly irreconcilable and heterogeneous functions of a construction, and explain them as a homogenous manifestation of a certain diachronic trajectory. In other words, the gram which, from the orthodox synchronic perspective, seems to display haphazard values, apparently impossible to be classified with a unique and exclusive label (such as aspect, tense, taxis, or mood), may be understood as a prototypical uniform diachrony and thus, as a single logical object. In that manner, one obtains a consistent and scientifically manageable definition of a formation without simplifying its nature and, no less in importance, without limiting the analysis to mere taxonomy. Superficial irregularities and exceptions may be defined, from the dynamic point of view, as evolutionary atavisms. They witness a situation and properties which were typical at earlier developmental phases, but which contemporarily appear as infrequent. In that manner, their exceptionality and anomaly disappears. Quite the reverse, they are compatible with a trajectory along which the construction has been evolving and with which it has been identified. Superficial “exceptional” should be able to match its original continuative or iterative meaning (which corresponds to initial stages on the path) with a semantically transparent, possibly iconic and typologically standard source. This input expression should convey the original value in a natural manner and thus constitute a cognitively solid starting point of the entire path. Such a sound motivation may be encountered in reduplicative locutions because reduplication is universally employed in order to convey the idea of plurality of an event which in the verbal system surfaces as the concept of repetitivity (iterativity, uninterruptness and continuity) (see for detail Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca 1994:161, 166-174, and Andrason 2012c forthcoming).

200

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

properties and uses rather confirm a definition of the gram in terms of a given path, than constitute real anomalies. Paradoxically, they may significantly help in determining the trajectory.30 Such a dynamic definition, as well as the panchronic methodology itself, is constructed upon the orderliness principle: an assumption whereby superficially unrelated facts (various meanings, different and contradictory functions, structural properties, etc.) must be explainable as elements forming a solid consistent picture. We presuppose their interwoveness and connection because they are parts of a single linguistic phenomenon, a gram. In that way, we propose a rationalization and justification of properties which superficially seem to be chaotic and unrelated. In the scientific literature, this type of argumentation is referred to as ‘abduction’ (Carstairs-McCarthy 2010:4). The notion ‘abduction’ was first introduced by Peirce (e.g. 1931–1935 and 1940:150–156). This type of reasoning sometimes receives alternative labels, such as for instance ‘inference to the best explanation’ (Lipton 1991, Josephson & Josephson 1994 and Carstairs-McCarthy 2010:4–5). The abductive argumentation and thinking may be exemplified as follows. Let first us assume that there is a hypothesis to be verified. If a proposition (e.g., a law) p is true, given other fixed assumptions or facts, we expect to detect q, r, s, t. On the contrary, if p is false, the connection between the facts q, r, s, t disappears. The evidence shows that the posited statements q, r, s, t are all true. Hence “[t]he likelihood that p is true is […] increased, inasmuch as it explains the otherwise random coexistence of q, r, s, t….” (Carstairs-McCarthy 2010:4).31 Consequently, abduction enables us to systematically treat data appearing, otherwise, as random and unconnected. It bestows us with a possibility to present superficially disorganized and messy facts in a holistic and, equally importantly, economical manner (Peirce 1902:37–38).

30 For instance, the synthetic future tense in Spanish is most frequently employed as a simple future. However in some cases, it does not provide temporal implications but rather a modal reading of epistemic possibility. Such modal uses are not irregular from the evolutionary perspective and within the panchronic view. They simply reflect a more original stage of the development of the gram, during which the construction regularly displayed a strong modal value. This modal tone is evident in the original periphrasis from which the Spanish category derived [infinitive + habeo] with the meaning ‘I have to do something’ (Hopper & Traugott 2003:52–55). 31 For a detailed discussion of abduction see Andersen (1973).

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

4.

201

PANCHRONIC ANALYSIS OF THE WAYYIQTOL

In the present section, we will describe the wayyiqtol applying the panchronic methodology. To begin with, in section 4.1 dedicated to synchronic panchrony, the taxonomy of its uses as recorded in biblical texts will be studied. After that, a rationalization of the inventory of values will be proposed in terms of a portion of a universal path. This definition, built on synchronic evidence, will subsequently—as required by our methodology— be contrasted with diachronic (4.2) and comparative (4.3) evidence.

4.1. 4.1.1.

SYNCHRONIC PANCHRONY Taxonomy of Uses of the Wayyiqtol

From the functional-semantic perspective, the wayyiqtol is a quite complex formation—it displays uses that correspond to the concepts of tense, aspect, taxis, modal and text type, as well as those accompanied by other nuances such as consecution.32 In the present part, we will describe all 32 The “objective” inventory of uses of the wayyiqtol illustrated by approximately fifty examples is notably based on the grammatical tradition (in particular on Joüon 1923, Rundgren 1961, Waltke & O’Connor 1990, Joüon & Muraoka 1991, Buth 1992, Longacre 1992, Joosten 1992 and 2002, Andersen 2000, Van der Merwe, Naudé & Kroeze 2000, and Cook 2002). This means that we present meanings which not only have been detected by the author of the article but also are commonly recognized in classical or modern grammar books (although sometimes hidden under different terms). However, since the totality of instances of the wayyiqtol form amounts to approx. 15,000, our examples are exclusively intended to be illustrative. The distribution of the detected meanings and, thus, the analysis of a significantly more numerous set of samples will be provided by the future statistical research (see section 5.3 below). The objectiveness of such an inventory should also be taken with caution since any taxonomy always triggers an artificial partition of the actual reality. The unquestionable physical fact is that there are about 15,000 instances of the wayyiqtol in the Hebrew Bible. This is because there are no two identical contexts (for at a final degree, they must differ in some pragmatic, textual or physical aspects due to the fact that life is a thermodynamic process, Schneider & Sagan 2009:185–204). Since the meaning is a sense that the construction conveys in a given context, at a certain level of analysis, every single use will receive a different meaning. Thus, 15,000 cases of the gram will generate 15,000 distinct meanings. Furthermore, because the total meaning of the gram is a computation of all specific values (i.e. of meanings conveyed in concrete uses), if we wish to present the wayyiqtol (define it or explain its overall meaning) in an absolutely accurate manner, faithfully according to the objective reality, we would have to provide all 15,000 examples and

202

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

meanings which the gram may provide dividing them into five main blocs: consecution, taxis-tense, aspect, mood and discourse-pragmatics.33 The wayyiqtol may express logically and/or temporarily consecutive actions which are usually anterior to the present time sphere. (2) a. ‫ִ֥יתי ִ ַ֖אישׁ‬ ִ ‫ת־קיִן וַ ֹּ֕ת ֹאמר ָק ִנ‬ ָ֔ ַ ‫ת־חָּוִ֣ה ִא ְּשׁ ֹּ֑תֹו וַ ַַּ֙ת ַה ַּ֙ר וַ ֵ ִ֣תלד א‬ ַ ‫וְּ ָ ִ֣ה ָא ָ ָ֔דם יָ ַ ַ֖דע א‬

‫הוה‬ ָ ְּ‫את־י‬ Now the man knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Cain, saying, “I have produced a man with the help of the LORD.” (Gen 4.1)

impartially state: “this is what the wayyiqtol is”. However, we cannot deal with the reality in such a crude and impartial form, i.e. as it appears. We must structure it through conceptualization and categorization. We divide the real world into boxes, i.e. concepts. In the present paper, the entire semantic potential of the wayyiqtol will be partitioned into conceptual boxes (meanings) which correspond to stages on universal paths. Thus, we begin our study with the following presupposition: the overall meaning of a construction can be split into smaller individuals—these individuals are categories established by the Path and Grammaticalization theories. This variety of partition and, thus, of categorization is a logical consequence of the evolutionary model employed in the article (as explained, derived from the Path and Grammaticalization theories). We use the terminology “prepared” and appropriate for the type of analysis we are aiming to conduct. In that manner, the identification of the gram with a determined trajectory becomes significantly less complicated. Nevertheless, this does not exclude that a different division and categorization of the reality (i.e., of the total semantic load of the wayyiqtol) could be possible. Since imposing a conceptual order in a portion of the reality is our task, there may be an infinite number of possible partitions. Some of them are more workable and more useful for a given type of explanation. No one, however, is per se and a priori “better”. (As defended by modern mathematical, physical and biological theories, the reality is significantly more chaotic, structurally diffuse and exposed to randomness. Scientific laws are human inventions, probably not inherent to the reality itself. More specifically, determinism, with its probability equaling 1, is restricted to artificial laws. Natural phenomena, due to their complexity and to the incompleteness of any axiomatic theory, proven by Gödel’s theorem, are partially exposed to randomness. Modern sciences have reversed the classical paradigm. Nowadays, natural means irreversible and random. On the contrary, deterministic and reversible phenomena or rules are viewed as artificial and exceptional; Wagensberg 2007:12, 27, 56–57, 60–62). 33 Although the Biblical text is not historically homogenous (it includes parts of different antiquity), we will treat the BH evidence as a synchronic whole.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

203

b. ‫נִשׁ ַ ִ֣מת ַח ִיֹּ֑ים‬ ְּ ‫ן־ה ֲא ָד ָָ֔מה וַ יִ ַ ִ֥פח ְּב ַא ָ ַ֖פיו‬ ִ֣ ָ ‫ת־ה ָא ָ ָ֗דם ָע ָפ ַּ֙ר ִמ‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים א‬ ִִ֜ ‫ְּהוה ֱא‬ ָָ֨ ‫וַ יִ יצר֩ י‬

‫ַוַֽיְּ ִ ִ֥הי ָה ָא ָ ַ֖דם ְּלנִ֥פשׁ ַח ָיה‬ Then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. (Gen 2.7)

This consecutive value may also surface as resumption or summary. (3) a. ‫ל־צ ָב ָאם‬ ְּ ‫יְּכלּ֛ ּו ַה ָש ַ ִ֥מיִם וְּ ָה ָ ַ֖ארץ וְּ ָכ‬ ֻ ַ‫ו‬ Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. (Gen 2.1)

b. ‫הּוא גִ לְ ָּ֔ ָגל ִַ ַ֖עד ִַהּיֹּ֥ ֹום ִַה ֶזֶּֽה‬ ֙ ‫שם ִַה ָמ ֹ֤קֹום ִַה‬ ֵׁ֣ ֵּ ‫וִַ ּיִ ְק ָ ָ֞רא‬ And so that place has been called Gilgal to this day. (Josh 5.9)

However, it should be noted that in various cases, the idea of succession is not available or, at least, seems not to play any relevant role. (4) ‫הוֹּ֑ה וָ ַא ְּח ִב ֩א‬ ָ ְּ‫יאי י‬ ִ֣ ֵ ‫יתי ַב ֲה ִ֣ר ֹג ִא ָ֔יזבל ֵ ַ֖את נְּ ִב‬ ִ ‫ר־ע ִָׂ֔ש‬ ָ ‫א־ה ַגַּ֤ד ַלאד ֹנִ ַּ֙י ֵ ִ֣את ֲאשׁ‬ ֻ ֹ ‫ֲהל‬

‫ישׁ ַב ְּּמ ָע ָ ָ֔רה וָ ֲא ַכ ְּל ְּּכ ֵלַ֖ם לִ֥חם‬ ַּ֙ ‫ְּהוה ֵ ִ֣מ ָאה ִָ֗אישׁ ֲח ִמ ִָ֨שים ֲח ִמ ִ ִ֥שים ִא‬ ִָ֜ ‫יאי י‬ ֵָ֨ ‫ִמנְּ ִב‬ ‫וָ ָמיִם‬ Has it not been told my lord what I did when Jezebel killed the prophets of the LORD, how I hid a hundred of the LORD’s prophets fifty to a cave, and provided them with bread and water? (1 Kgs 18.13)

As far as the concept of taxis is concerned, the construction may function as an anterior (a perfect). In this use, with the present temporal reference, it approximates a present perfect providing various prototypical perfect meanings such as resultative (5.a and 5.b), inclusive-universal (5.c, 5.d and 5.e), iterative (5.f), experiential (5.g) and indefinite (5.h).34 When we say that the wayyiqtol functions as a given category or provides certain meanings, we mean that it is compatible with that particular value or function. As explained in section 3.1 above, in the dynamic view there is no distinction between the inherent meaning and contextual realizations (see also Dahl 2004:14). The context simply makes evident a given part of the semantic potential of the gram (cf., for instance, the use of adverbial locutions in 5.c, 5.d, 5.e, 5.f, 12.a and 12.b which make explicit particular values of the wayyiqtol). The “inherent” meaning of the formation is a computation (corresponding to the arithmetic summation  or the union  in the Set Theory) of all specific values displayed by 34

204

ALEXANDER ANDRASON (5) a. ‫ת־בנ ַָֹ֔תי‬ ְּ ‫ת־ל ָב ִ ֹּ֑בי וַ ְּתנַ ֵה ַּ֙ג א‬ ְּ ‫ית וַ ִתגְּ ַֹ֖נב א‬ ָ ‫וַ ַּ֤י ֹאמר ָל ָ ַּ֙בן ְּליַ ֲע ָ֔קֹב ִ֣מה ָע ִָׂ֔ש‬

‫ִּכ ְּשׁ ֻביַ֖ ֹות ָחרב‬ Laban said to Jacob, “What have you done? You have deceived me, and carried away my daughters like captives of the sword. (Gen 31.26) b. ‫ְּהּודה‬ ָ ‫ן־חּור ְּל ַמ ֵ ִ֥טה י‬ ַ֖ ‫ן־אּורי ב‬ ִ֥ ִ ‫אתי ְּב ֵ ֹּ֑שׁם ְּב ַצ ְּל ֵ ּ֛אל ב‬ ִ ‫( ְּר ֵ ַ֖אה ָק ָ ִ֣ר‬2)

‫ּוב ַ ַ֖ד ַעת‬ ְּ ‫בּונִ֥ה‬ ָ ‫ּוב ְּת‬ ִ ‫ֹלהים ְּב ָח ְּכ ָ ּ֛מה‬ ֹּ֑ ִ ‫( וָ ֲא ַמ ֵ ִ֥לא א ַֹ֖תֹו ִ֣ר ַּוח ֱא‬3) ‫אכה‬ ָ ‫ל־מ ָל‬ ְּ ‫ּוב ָכ‬ ְּ 2See,

I have called by name Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah: 3and I have filled him with divine spirit, with ability, intelligence, and knowledge in every kind of craft (Exod 31.2–3) c.

‫ְּהֹושׁ ַ ַ֮ע ְּב ִ֣תֹוְך ַהיַ ְּר ֵדן֒ ַָ֗ת ַחת ַמ ַצ ַּ֙ב ַרגְּ ֵלִ֣י‬ ֻ ‫ּושׁ ֵ ֵּ֧תים ע ְּׂש ֵ ִ֣רה ֲא ָב ָ֗ ִנים ֵה ִ ִֵ֣קים י‬ ְּ ‫ַהּכ ֲֹה ָ֔ ִנים נ ְֹּׂש ֵ ַ֖אי ֲא ִ֣רֹון ַה ְּב ִ ֹּ֑רית וַ ִי ְִּ֣היּו ָָ֔שׁם ַ ַ֖עד ַהיִ֥ ֹום ַהזה‬

Joshua set up twelve stones in the middle of the Jordan, in the place where the feet of the priests bearing the ark of the covenant had stood; and they have been there to this day. (Josh 4.9) d. ‫ד־ע ָתה‬ ָ ‫ם־ל ָ ִ֣בן ָ֔ ַג ְּר ִתי וָ ֵא ַ ַ֖חר ַע‬ ָ ‫ַע ְּב ְּדךִ֣ יַ ֲע ָ֔קֹב ִע‬ I have lived with Laban as an alien, and [I have] stayed until now. (Gen 32.5) e.

‫שׁר ָה ָ֔ ַל ְּכ ָת‬ ִ֣ ‫וָ א ְּהי ִ֣ה ִע ְּּמ ָ֗ך ְּבכֹלַּ֙ ֲא‬

And I have been with you wherever you have gone (2 Sam 7.9) f. ‫ת־מ ְּׂש ֻּכ ְּר ִ ַ֖תי ֲע ִׂ֥שרת מ ִֹנים‬ ַ ‫וַ ַת ֲח ֵלִ֥ף א‬ …and you have changed my wages ten times. (Gen 31.41) g. ‫ר־שׁ ַ ִ֥מ ְּע ָת ַא ָ ַ֖תה וַ י ִחי‬ ָ ‫תֹוְך־ה ֵ ּ֛אשׁ ַּכ ֲאשׁ‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים ְּמ ַד ֵ ֵּ֧בר ִמ‬ ִִ֜ ‫ֲה ָ ִ֣שׁ ַמע ָע ֩ם ָ֨קֹול ֱא‬ the gram, i.e. it equals the sum of uses which are compatible with a determined set of possible contexts in which the constructions appears. The “inherent” meaning of a gram is a portion of the path with which the formation has been identified.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

205

Has any people ever heard the voice of a god speaking out of a fire, as you have heard, and [has] lived? (Deut 4.33) h. ‫יִמ ָא ְּסךַ֖ ִמּמלְך‬ ְּ ַ‫הוה ו‬ ָָ֔ ְּ‫ת־ד ַ ִ֣בר י‬ ְּ ‫ַָ֗י ַען ָמ ַַּ֙א ְּס ַָּ֙ת א‬ Because you have rejected the word of the LORD, he has also rejected you from being king. (1 Sam 15.23)

In the past time frame, the wayyiqtol can function as a past anterior, i.e. a pluperfect, introducing events that precede other past activities (6): (6) a. ‫ּוצה‬ ָ ‫י־ע ַזִ֥ב ִבגְּ ַ֖דֹו ְּביָ ָ ֹּ֑דּה וַ יָ ַ֖נָ ס ַהח‬ ָ ‫אֹותּה ִּכ‬ ָָ֔ ‫הי ִּכ ְּר‬ ַּ֙ ִ ְּ‫( וַ י‬13)

‫( וַ ִת ְּק ָרא‬14) 13When

she saw that he had left his garment in her hand and had fled outside, 14 she called… (Gen 39.13–14) b. ‫יהם וַ י ְַּמ ֵ ִ֥ששׁ‬ ֹּ֑ ‫ת־ה ְּת ָר ָ֗ ִפים וַ ְּת ִׂש ֵ ּ֛מם ְּב ַ ִ֥כר ַהגָ ָ ַ֖מל וַ ֵ ִ֣תשׁב ֲע ֵל‬ ַ ‫וְּ ָר ֵֵ֞חל ָל ְּק ָ ִ֣חה א‬

‫אהל וְּ ִ֥ל ֹא ָמ ָצא׃‬ ֹ ַ֖ ‫ל־ה‬ ָ ‫ת־ּכ‬ ָ ‫ָל ָ ּ֛בן א‬ Now Rachel had taken the household gods and [had] put them in the camel’s saddle, and [had] sat on them. Laban felt all about in the tent, but did not find them. (Gen 31.34). c. ‫תֹוכם׃‬ ָ ‫וְּ ַה ְּלוִ ִיַ֖ם ְּל ַמ ֵ ִ֣טה ֲאב ָ ֹֹּ֑תם ִ֥ל ֹא ָה ְּת ָפ ְּק ַ֖דּו ְּב‬

‫מר׃‬ ֹ ‫ְּהוַ֖ה אל־מ ִֹ֥שׁה ֵלא‬ ָ ‫וַ י ְַּד ֵ ִ֥בר י‬ 47The

Levites, however, were not numbered by their ancestral tribe along with them. 48 The LORD had said to Moses… (Num 1.47–48)

As for the temporal value of the construction (tense), it may be employed as a past: recent past (7.a and 7.b), general past (7.c), or historic-remote past (7.d and 7.e). It this function, the wayyiqtol introduces definite past events, appearing thus in explicit past contexts, for instance with past temporal adverbials. (7) a.‫ל־ה ָ ֹּ֑עיִ ן וָ א ַָֹ֗מר‬ ָ ‫וָ ָא ִ֥ב ֹא ַהיַ֖ ֹום א‬ I came today to the spring, and said… (Gen 24.42) b. ‫ֹלשׁה‬ ָ ‫יתי ַהיִ֥ ֹום ְּשׁ‬ ִ ‫וַ יַ ַעזְּ ֵ ֵּ֧בנִי ֲאד ִֹנּ֛י ִ ִּ֥כי ָח ִ ַ֖ל‬

206

ALEXANDER ANDRASON My master left me behind because I fell sick three days ago (1 Sam 30.13) c. ‫בן ַלאד ָ֔ ִֹני ַא ֲח ֵ ַ֖רי זִ ְּקנָ ָ ֹּ֑תּה‬ ַּ֙ ֵ ‫וַ ֵֵּ֡תלד ָׂש ָר ֩ה ֵָ֨אשׁת ֲאד ִֹנִ֥י‬ And Sarah my master’s wife bore a son to my master when she was old. (Gen 24.36) d. ‫יַב ֵ ָ֗דל ֵבַּ֤ין ַה ַַּּ֙מיִם‬ ְּ ַ‫יע ו‬ ֒ ַ ‫ת־ה ָר ִק‬ ָ ‫ים א‬ ַ֮ ‫ֹלה‬ ִ ‫וַ יַ ִַ֣עׂש ֱא‬ So God made the dome and separated the waters (Gen 1.7) e. ‫ל־הבל ָא ִ ַ֖חיו וַ יַ ַה ְּר ֵגהּו‬ ִ֥ ‫יֹותם ַב ָש ָ֔דה וַ ָ ִ֥י ַָֽקם ַ ּ֛קיִ ן א‬ ִ֣ ָ ‫הי ִב ְּה‬ ַּ֙ ִ ְּ‫וַי‬ … And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel, and killed him. (Gen 4.8)

Very infrequently, the construction may express future events. In the majority of such cases, it follows a verb in the prophetic qatal (8): (8) a.‫י־ארץ‬ ָ֗ ֵ‫ל־ד ְּשׁנ‬ ִ ‫ָא ְּכ ֬לּו וַ יִ ְּשׁ ַת ֲחּוָ֨ ּו ָּכ‬ All they that be fat upon earth shall eat and worship (Ps 22.29)

While with dynamic verbs, the wayyiqtol provides uses that correspond to various subcategories of perfect or past, when derived from static predicates (adjectival or qualitative roots) the gram shows a different set of values. It may approximate a category of resultative simultaneous. It introduces a present static condition of a thing or person. This condition is simultaneous to the main reference time and has its roots in previously performed activity. When the time frame is that of the present, the gram equals a resultative simultaneous present (in this function also certain dynamic roots may be encountered, see 9.a, 9.b and 9.c). Furthermore, it can be used as stative present with no resultative connotations (9.d, 9.e and 9.f), and finally as an actual (9.g) or persistent present (9.h) (in that function both resultative and stative connotations are irrelevant): (9) a. ‫סּוסים וְּ ֵ ִ֥אין ֵ ַ֖קצה ְּל ַמ ְּר ְּּכב ָֹתיו‬ ִָ֔ ‫וַ ִת ָּמ ֵלַּ֤א ַא ְּר ַּ֙צֹו‬ …their land is filled (= has been filled) with horses, and there is no end to their chariots. (Isa 2.7) b. ‫ל־פ ָ֔ ִנים וַ ִתנָ ֵצַ֖ל נַ ְּפ ִשׁי‬ ָ ‫ֹלה ַּ֙ים ָפ ִנִ֣ים א‬ ִ ‫יתי ֱא‬ ִ ‫י־ר ִ ַּ֤א‬ ָ ‫ִּכ‬

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

207

For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved (= has been preserved) (Gen 32.31) c.

‫ל־שׁ ְּכ ֹּ֑מֹו וַ יִ ְּק ָ ָ֨רא ְּשׁ ִ֜מֹו ֶּ֠פלא‬ ִ ‫ן־לנּו וַ ְּת ִ ִ֥הי ַה ִּמ ְּׂש ָ ַ֖רה ַע‬ ָ ָ֔ ‫ד־לנּו ֵ ֵּ֚בן נִ ַת‬ ָ ָ֗ ‫ִּכי־י ִ֣לד יֻ ַל‬ ‫יֹוע ַּ֙ץ‬ ֵ

For a child had been for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; he is named (= has been named) Wonderful Counselor… (Isa 9.5) d. ‫ִ ַּּ֤כי ַע ָָ֨תה׀ ָת ִ֣בֹוא ֵאלִ֣יך וַ ֵ ֹּ֑תלא‬ But now it has come to you, and you are impatient (Job 4.5) e. ‫אי‬ ַּ֙ ִ ‫י־א ְּת וַ ִת ְּיר‬ ַּ֤ ַ ‫ִמ‬ What do you fear (= are your afraid) —or who? (Isa 51.12) f. ‫בֹודי‬ ֹּ֑ ִ ‫ָל ֵכַּ֤ן׀ ָׂש ַ ִ֣מח ִל ִִ֭בי וַ יָ ִַֽ֣גל ְּּכ‬ Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices (= is glad) (Ps 16.9) g. ‫י־ל ֹא ֵאבֹושׁ‬ ִ֥ ‫וָ ֵא ַ ַ֖דע ִּכ‬ And I know that that I shall not be put to shame (Isa 50.7) h. ‫ָא ַ ִ֣ה ְּב ָת צד ַ֮ק וַ ִת ְּׂש ָ֫ ָנא ִ֥ר ַשׁע‬ …you love righteousness and hate wickedness (Ps 45.8)

As a simple present, denoting universal present or gnomic activities, the gram may also be derived from dynamic roots (see 10.a, 10.b and 10.c below): (10) a.‫מֹוריד ְּשׁ ַ֖אֹול וַ יָ ַעל‬ ִ֥ ִ ‫ּומ ַחיֹּ֑ה‬ ְּ ‫הוַ֖ה ֵמ ִ ִ֣מית‬ ָ ְּ‫י‬ The Lord kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and rises up (1 Sam 2.6) b. ‫א־עז וַ יָ ִ ַ֖כינּו ַב ַ ִ֣קיִ ץ ַל ְּח ָמם‬ ֹּ֑ ָ ֹ ‫ַ ִ֭הנְּ ָמ ִלים ַעִ֣ם ל‬

208

ALEXANDER ANDRASON The ants are a people without strength, yet they provide their food in summer (Prov 30.25) c. ‫יָב ֹא ָקלֹּ֑ ֹון‬ ִ֣ ַ‫א־זדֹון ו‬ ִ֭ ָ ‫ָב‬ When pride comes, then comes disgrace; (Prov 11.2)

As for the aspect, the formation may indicate past punctual and perfective (unique and bound) events: (11) a. ‫דֹו א ְּצ ָ֔ ִלי וַ יָ ַ֖נָ ס וַ יֵ ֵ ִ֥צא‬ ַּ֙ ְּ‫קֹולי וָ א ְּק ָ ֹּ֑רא וַ יַ ֲעז ַֹּ֤ב ִבג‬ ַ֖ ִ ‫מ ִתי‬ ֹ ִ֥ ‫י־ה ִרי‬ ֲ ‫וַ יְּ ִ ִ֣הי ְּכ ָשׁ ְּמ ָ֔עֹו ִּכ‬

‫ּוצה‬ ָ ‫ַהח‬ …and when he heard me raise my voice and cry out, he left his garment beside me, and fled outside. (Gen 39.15) b. ‫ת־ה ָא ָד ַּ֙ם‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים׀ א‬ ַּ֤ ִ ‫יִב ָ ָ֨רא ֱא‬ ְּ ַ‫ו‬ So God created humankind (Gen 1.27) c. ‫ת־ה ִ ַ֖עיר‬ ָ ‫את א‬ ֹ ִ֥ ‫הוה ִל ְּר‬ ָָ֔ ְּ‫וַ יֵ ִַֽ֣רד י‬ The Lord came down to see the city (Gen 11.5) d. ‫תנת ַב ָדם׃‬ ֹ ַ֖ ‫ת־ה ֻּכ‬ ַ ‫טּו ְּׂש ִ ִ֣עיר ִע ִָ֔זים וַ יִ ְּט ְּבלִ֥ ּו א‬ ַּ֙ ‫יֹוסף ַוַֽיִ ְּשׁ ֲח‬ ֹּ֑ ֵ ‫תנת‬ ֹ ִ֣ ‫ת־ּכ‬ ְּ ‫וַ יִ ְּק ַ֖חּו א‬ They took Joseph’s robe, slaughtered a goat and dipped the robe in the blood (Gen 37.31)

However, in some instances, the wayyiqtol in the past time frame, seems to be aspectually neutral, describing events which even allow durative readings (12): (12) a. ‫יָמים ַר ִ ֹּ֑בים וַ יָ ֵ ִ֥רעּו ָלּ֛נּו ִמ ְּצ ַ ַ֖ריִם‬ ִ֣ ִ ‫יְּמה וַ ֵנִ֥שׁב ְּב ִמ ְּצ ַ ַ֖ריִם‬ ָ ‫ינּו ִמ ְּצ ַ ָ֔ר‬ ַּ֙ ‫וַ יֵ ְּר ַּ֤דּו ֲאב ֵַֹּ֙ת‬

‫וְּ ַל ֲאב ֵֹתינּו‬ …how our ancestors went down to Egypt, and we lived in Egypt a long time; and the Egyptians oppressed us and our ancestors; (Num 20.15) b. ‫הוּ֛ה ִב ְּׂש ֵ ִ֥דה ְּפ ִל ְּשׁ ִ ַ֖תים ִשׁ ְּב ָ ִ֥עה ֳח ָד ִשׁים‬ ָ ְּ‫וַ י ִ ְֵּּ֧הי ֲארֹון־י‬ The ark of the LORD was in the country of the Philistines seven months. (1 Sam 6.1)

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

209

Furthermore, in certain anterior functions (inclusive-universal) as well as with the force of a simultaneous resultative, stative and (actual, persistent and simple) present, the gram clearly denotes activities whose aspectual nature is not perfective (cf. for instance examples 5.c, 5.d and 5.e as well as from 9.a to 9.h introduced above). It should be observed that the wayyiqtol does not provide inherent modal meanings. Nevertheless, it can appear in conditional protases with an evident hypothetical force (13.a). It may also be found in apodoses (conditional relative and participial phrases); in these cases, the temporalaspectual-taxis value of the gram does not differ from its indicative homologue—it mainly connotes the idea of anteriority and past (13.b). (13) a.‫קֹולי‬ ִ ‫י־יַא ִ ִ֥זין‬ ֲ ‫א־א ֲא ִָ֗מין ִּכ‬ ַַ֝ ֹ ‫אתי ַוַֽיַ ֲע ֵנֹּ֑נִי ל‬ ִ ‫ם־ק ָ ִ֥ר‬ ָ ‫ִא‬ If I summoned him and he answered me, I do not believe that he would listen to my voice. (Job 9.16) b. ‫ת־ע ָב ָ ִ֥דיו‬ ֲ ‫ְּהוה ֵמ ַע ְּב ֵ ַ֖די ַפ ְּר ֹּ֑עֹה ֵה ִנּ֛יס א‬ ָָ֔ ‫ת־ד ַ ִ֣בר י‬ ְּ ‫( ַהיָ ֵר ַּ֙א א‬20)

‫ל־ה ָב ִתים‬ ַ ‫ת־מ ְּק ֵנַ֖הּו א‬ ִ ‫וְּ א‬ ‫ת־ע ָב ָ ִ֥דיו‬ ֲ ‫הוֹּ֑ה ַוַֽיַ ֲע ֹּ֛זב א‬ ָ ְּ‫ל־ד ַ ִ֣בר י‬ ְּ ‫א־ׂשם ִל ַ֖בֹו א‬ ּ֛ ָ ֹ ‫( וַ ֲא ִ֥שׁר ל‬21) ‫וְּ את־ ִמ ְּק ֵנַ֖הּו ַב ָשדה‬ 20Those

officials of Pharaoh who feared the word of the LORD hurried their slaves and livestock off to a secure place. 21Those who did not regard the word of the LORD left their slaves and livestock in the open field. (Exod 9.20–21)

Taking into consideration discourse-pragmatic properties, the gram predominantly appears in the narration where it introduces principal events of the narrative story, that is, the backbone of the narration (14): (14) ‫ת־לִוי‬ ֵ ‫ת־ב‬ ַ ‫( וַ יֵ ִ֥לְך ִ ַ֖אישׁ ִמ ֵבִ֣ית ֵלִוֹּ֑י וַ יִ ַ ַ֖קח א‬1)

‫י־טֹוב ָ֔הּוא ַו ִת ְּצ ְּפ ֵנַ֖הּו‬ ִ֣ ‫ֹתֹו ִּכ‬ ַּ֙ ‫( וַ ַ ִ֥ת ַהר ָה ִא ָ ַ֖שה וַ ֵ ִ֣תלד ֵ ֹּ֑בן וַ ֵ ַּ֤תרא א‬2) ‫ֹלשׁה יְּ ָר ִחים‬ ִ֥ ָ ‫ְּשׁ‬ ‫ח־לֹו ֵ ִ֣ת ַבת ָ֔ג ֹמא וַ ַת ְּח ְּמ ָ ִ֥רה ַב ֵח ָ ַ֖מר‬ ַּ֙ ‫עֹוד ַה ְּצ ִפינֹו֒ וַ ִת ַק‬ ַ֮ ‫א־יָכ ָלִ֣ה‬ ְּ ֹ ‫( וְּ ל‬3) ‫אר‬ ֹ ְּ‫ל־ׂש ַ ִ֥פת ַהי‬ ְּ ‫ת־ה ָ֔ילד וַ ָ ִ֥תׂשם ַב ַ֖סּוף ַע‬ ַ ‫ּוב ָזֹּ֑פת וַ ָ ַּ֤תׂשם ָב ַּּ֙ה א‬ ַ

210

ALEXANDER ANDRASON 1Now

a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. 2The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. 3When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. (Exod 2.1–3)

Furthermore, it may frequently be found in the personal narration (narrative discourse) with the same function: (15)

[…]‫אמר ִ֥עבד ַא ְּב ָר ָ ַ֖הם ָא ֹנ ִכי‬ ֹּ֑ ַ ֹ ‫( וַ י‬34) […]‫ל־ה ָ ֹּ֑עיִ ן וָ א ַָֹ֗מר‬ ָ ‫( וָ ָא ִ֥ב ֹא ַהיַ֖ ֹום א‬42) […]‫( וַ ֵ ִ֥תרד ָה ַ ַ֖עיְּ נָ ה וַ ִת ְּשׁ ָ ֹּ֑אב‬45)

[…]‫יה וַ ִ֣ת ֹאמר‬ ָ ‫( וַ ְּת ַמ ֵָ֗הר וַ ַּ֤תֹורד ַּכ ָד ַּּ֙ה ֵמ ָע ָ֔ל‬46) […]‫( וָ א ְּשׁ ַ ִ֣אל א ָָֹ֗תּה‬47) So he said, (the discourse begins) “I am Abraham’s servant. […] the discourse, there is a narrative fragment—personal narration) “I came today to the spring, and … 45and she [Rebekah] went down to the spring, and drew… 46She quickly let down her jar from her shoulder, and said,…47 Then I asked her,…(Gen 24.34–47) 34(narrative) 42(in

Still in narrative fragments, in some instances, the wayyiqtol can introduce explicative commentaries. (16)

‫ת־צ ְּב ַ֖עֹון ֵ ִ֣אשׁת ֵע ָ ֹּׂ֑שו וַ ֵ ִ֣תלד‬ ִ ‫ת־ע ָנּ֛ה ַב‬ ֲ ‫וְּ ֵ ִ֣אלה ָהיָ֗ ּו ְּב ָ֨ ֵני ָא ֳהלִ ָיב ָ ֵּ֧מה ַב‬ ‫ְּל ֵע ָָׂ֔שו את־יְּ ֥֯ ִ֥עישׁ וְּ את־יַ ְּע ָלַ֖ם וְּ את־קֹ ַרח‬

These were the sons of Esau’s wife Oholibamah, daughter of Anah son of Zibeon: she (had) bore to Esau Jeush, Jalam, and Korah. (Gen 36.14)

Finally, it infrequently appears in the discourse with an explanatory force: (17)

‫ה־א ְּל ָמ ָנִ֥ה ָ ַ֖אנִ י‬ ַ ‫ה־לְֹּ֑ך וַ ָ֗ת ֹאמר ֲא ָ ּ֛בל ִא ָש‬ ָ ‫ר־לּה ַה ַּ֖מלְך ַמ‬ ִ֥ ָ ‫וַ י ֹאמ‬ ‫ישׁי‬ ִ ‫וַ יָ ִָ֥מת ִא‬

The king asked her, “What is your trouble?” She answered, “Alas, I am a widow; my husband is dead. (2 Sam 14.5)

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

4.1.2.

211

Orderliness Principle—Proposing a Definition

The inventory of synchronic uses of the wayyiqtol suggests that one is dealing with a highly heterogeneous phenomenon. It almost appears as a random category that may be employed to express unrelated and, in some cases, contradictory meanings (cf. definite past and future). The gram provides various prototypical present anterior (perfect) values such as resultative, inclusive, frequentative and experiential. It is also employed as an indefinite and definite (recent, general and remote) past. In the past time frame, it may denote both perfective and aspectually neutral (simple) events (additionally, in several perfect uses, the aspectual load of the gram is not perfective, cf. inclusive perfect). Furthermore, it can approximate a past perfect (pluperfect). On the other hand, when derived from static (qualitative and adjectival) roots, the wayyiqtol functions as a resultative simultaneous present, a stative present and a simple present (in these cases, the aspectual connotation fails yet again to be perfective). Infrequently, the construction appears with the force of a future tense. Finally, as for the discourse pragmatic function, the gram predominantly introduces main events of the backbone in the narration and narrative discourse (personal narration). Nevertheless, in some occasions, it is employed in commentaries both in the narrative and in the discourse. As required by the orderliness principle of the panchronic methodology, it should be possible to embrace all synchronically incompatible or heterogeneous values of a construction and explain them as manifestations of a homogenous evolutionary trajectory. Put differently, the gram—which from the synchronic perspective is an amalgam of accidental functions that cannot be reduced to one clear and unique aspectual, temporal, taxis, modal and text value—may be understood as a single phenomenon, a prototypical homogeneous diachrony (i.e. path), a realization of one linguistic input. Consequently, we should be able to order the detected values ma…mn into a sequence that mirrors a universal path-law as posited by path and/or grammaticalization theories. First, various values of the wayyiqtol—those related to perfect and past functions—may be arranged into a series which corresponds to the development codified in the anterior path (Figure 4):

212

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Figure 4: Values of the wayyiqtol arranged into the anterior path in the present time frame35 Since the gram can be categorized in terms of an anterior trajectory—a subdevelopment within the resultative path—it is to be expected that it shows traces of other evolutionary scenarios, prototypical for resultative constructions. In accordance with this assumption, in the case of static roots, the meanings of the wayyiqtol can be tidied up and represented as a simultaneous track:

Figure 5: Values of the wayyiqtol arranged into the simultaneous path in the present time frame36 The values of the future tense and past perfect (pluperfect) can be harmonized with the previously ordered meanings and explained as stages of the anterior trajectory within, respectively, the future and past temporal frame (cf. the development in Polish where the future perfect became a future tense with no taxis connotations available anymore). If the wayyiqtol is a prototypical resultative, and especially anterior, diachrony, it must have advanced on the evolutionary cline since the gram is not employed with the force of a resultative proper (in case of dynamic roots) and a performative expression. The last value can, on the other hand, be conveyed by another resultative diachrony, i.e. the qatal. 35 36

The vertical arrow symbolizes a hypothesized diachronic progression. The vertical arrow stands for a hypothesized historical development.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION (18)

213

‫ל־ה ָָ֔ארץ‬ ָ ‫אתי א‬ ַּ֙ ִ ‫י־ב‬ ַָּ֙ ‫ֹלהיך ִּכ‬ ָ֔ ‫יהוִ֣ה ֱא‬ ָ ‫יֹום ַל‬ ַּ֙ ‫ִה ַ ַּ֤ג ְַּֽד ִתי ַה‬

Today I declare to the LORD your God that I have come into the land (Deut 26:3)

Moreover, it should be noted that the formation consistently fails to indicate broadly understood evidential nuances. Thus, the gram does not provide uses which could be arranged in terms of the third formative development characteristic for resultative constructions. Yet again, it is the qatal which approximates an evidential gram, being not infrequently employed with a guessing perfect force. 37 In the following examples the distinction between the qatal (evidential implications) and the wayyiqtol (free of evidential connotations) is clear: (19)

‫נּואה ָא ָ֔נ ֹ ִכי‬ ִ֣ ָ ‫י־ׂש‬ ְּ ‫עֹוד וַ ֵ ִ֣תלד ֵבן֒ וַ ָ֗ת ֹאמר ִּכי־ ָשׁ ַ ַּ֤מע יְּ הוָ ַּ֙ה ִּכ‬ ַ֮ ‫וַ ַ ִ֣ת ַהר‬ ‫־לי גַ ם־את־זֹּ֑ה וַ ִת ְּק ָ ִ֥רא ְּשׁ ַ֖מֹו ִשׁ ְּמעֹון׃‬ ַ֖ ִ ‫וַ יִתן‬

She became pregnant again and gave birth to another son. She said, “The Lord must have heard that I’m unloved, and so (i.e. due to this fact) he gave me this son.” So she named him Simeon. (Gen 29:33)

Since the modal wayyiqtol appears only in explicitly modal contexts (especially in conditional protases and apodoses) and, furthermore, does not differ—as the TATM values are involved—from its purely indicative counterpart, it may be rationalized as a modal contamination of the nonmodal gram.38 For an exhaustive analysis of evidential functions of the qatal see Andrason (2010b). 38 During this process, initially indicative formations due to their consistent use in clearly modal contexts are gradually contaminated by the environment in which they appear, assuming its meaning as their own (these modal contexts may arise because of the use of some lexical elements or they can be syntactically motivated). At the end of the evolution, the originally indicative gram is entirely identified with the modal value of its own milieu. Its use as a non-modal becomes impossible and the formation is reanalyzed as a mood (see Figure 1) (Dahl 1985:11, Hopper & Traugott 2003:82 and Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca 1994:25–26). Among environments which frequently impose a modal reading as an integral part of a category Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca (1994:235) quote hypothetical periods. The phenomenon, to an extent, corresponds to ‘conventionalization of implicature’ in Dahl (1985:11) and Bybee, Perkins & Pagliuca (1994:25–26 and 296) as well as to ‘context-induced reinterpretation’ as proposed by Heine, Claudi & Hünnemeyer (1991b:71–72) and to semantization in Hopper & Traugott (2003:82). However, in comparison to the above mentioned processes, the modal contamination is 37

214

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Finally, as for the discourse pragmatic uses, the gram infrequently appears in the discourse with a commenting force. In personal narratives, it is employed both to introduce commentaries and events that belong to the backbone of the story. Finally, it is extensively and primarily used in the narration proper to relate main events of the tale. In sum, the function of a commentary is significantly less common and the introduction of principal actions of the story backbone is restricted to narrative discourse (personal narrative) and narration proper. These facts may be rationalized and related to the semantic load of the wayyiqtol in the following manner. The discourse pragmatic force reflects a regular grammaticalization spread of resultative grams within different types of text: from discourse to narration, through narrative discourse, and its progressive generalization as a form employed to introduce main events of the corresponding text, not limited—as it was originally—to commentaries (cf. Harris 1982 and Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:406; see also section 2.1 above). Resultatives start their grammatical life as commenting formations—they denote staticresulting conditions acquired by objects or persons. Conversely, they do not introduce main events of the text. The conversion into grams which convey principal activities (i.e. components of the story line) is a later phenomenon and parallels the semantic progress on the anterior and/or simultaneous trajectories. We have already mentioned that resultative formations first evolve into past tenses (being able to introduce main events of the tale) in the discourse, subsequently in personal narratives (narrative discourse), and only at the end in the narration proper (Squartini & Bertinetto 2000:422). This means that the narrative past is the last in the sequence of stages a resultative gram can acquire within the anterior path. On the other hand, the function of commenting and introducing main events in the discourse (e.g. dialogue) is the first to be abandoned. In light of all these facts—and in accordance with previously noted properties of the gram—the wayyiqtol corresponds to a resultative diachrony, yet again, at an advanced moment of its development. Put differently, its discourse pragmatic baggage may be related to the TATM character of the construction and defined as corresponding to an advanced portion of the grammatical evolution, typical for resultative formations. In contrast to various meanings which have been accommodated on the anterior and simultaneous trajectories, the consecutive value (and its subclasses) does not correspond to any particular stage on the two paths. It does not match any phase of evolutionary scenarios posited for resultative narrower codifying the emergence of modal formations. It is thus understood as one of the possible modal trajectories.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

215

constructions. It is thus probable that it stems from some external factors such as, for instance, contextual (semantic or syntactic) contamination (cf. above) or an incorporation of originally independent lexemes which, having become a part of the periphrasis, introduced a consecutive tone to the formation. Since the deduction of diachrony from synchrony may be misleading, the synchronic panchrony does not, by itself and in isolation from other facts, constitute a valid explanation. Consequently, the identification of particular meanings of a formation as subsequent stages of a given universal trajectory is, without diachronic and comparative data, a matter of guessing. Therefore, our panchronic proposal—based on the synchronic evidence— must be confronted with two other types of the panchronic method. This means that, if our hypothesis is correct, the above hypothesized definition of the wayyiqtol (i.e., as an advanced portion of the resultative path) should be consistent with the diachronic and comparative analysis.

4.2. DIACHRONIC PANCHRONY In accordance with the most common opinion, the BH wayyiqtol reflects an old periphrasis compounded by the verbal element -yiqtol—a successor of the Proto-Semetic (PS) conjugation *yaqtul—and a non-verbal entity surfacing in Biblical Hebrew as wa- which, furthermore, triggered a reduplication of the initial (non-radical) consonant of the yiqtol. As will be demonstrated, the precise origin of this morpheme (referred to in the following parts of the paper as wa-R) remains uncertain (Waltke & O’Connor 1990, Smith 1991 and Rainey 1996).

4.2.1.

Resultative-Yiqtol

As defended by various scholars (Waltke & O’Connor 1990, Smith 1991:12–13, Seow 1995:225–226, Rainey 1996, Lipinski 2001:350, Kienast 2001:318, Cook 2004 and 2006, and Kouwenberg 2010:129), the portion yiqtol of the wayyiqtol is related to the Akkadian iprus and to the Arabic lam(ma)-yaqtul. From the genetic perspective, one is dealing with a shared morphology that reflects the PS *yaqtul (or *yiqVl, Kouwenberg 2010:129) (Smith 2009:12–13, Seow 1995:225–226, Kienast 2001:318–319, Lipiński 2001:365, Cook 2006:34 and 2008:6–7 and Andrason 2010d:341–343). According to Kienast (2001:294 and 334), the PS *yaqtul, itself, derived from a nominal basis, a verbal resultative adjective (called also ‘perfective participle’) *q(a)tal (cf. also a similar opinion on the resultative origin of the *yaqtul in Kouwenberg 2010:130). This participial form was verbalized by employing personal pronouns which already in the oldest texts were incorporated to the verb appearing as indissoluble prefixes y-, t-, and n- (cf.

216

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Kienast 2001:376). Such a reconstruction of the origin of the *yaqtul—the source of the yiqtol in the wayyiqtol—is consistent with our hypothesized definition of the gram as a resultative diachrony. A periphrastic participial (verbal adjectival) origin of the gram and its verbalization by means of personal pronouns is a highly plausible and typologically frequent starting point of resultative constructions (cf. the same typologically origin of the Akkadian parsaku or BH qatal, Kienast 202–204, or the Polish past in -no / to, Migdalski 2006:142). It constitutes a semantically transparent and cognitively plausible source of the gram defined as a resultative path. In that manner, the reconstructed foundation of the gram agrees with our panchronic hypothesis and satisfies the requirement of cognitive motivation of meaning displayed by the formation during its grammatical life: the expression from which a grammatical category emerged (a periphrasis built on resultative de-verbal adjective) motivates all the meanings displayed by the formation at the BH period. Unfortunately, there are no direct sources available which could reveal the semantic potential of the wayyiqtol in earlier phases of its development, i.e. in the pre-Hebrew period, in at the Common West-Semitic or ProtoSemitic stage. We cannot trace the evolution of the construction from preBiblical Hebrew to the classical language. However, we can employ comparative data and our knowledge of genetic relations of the construction with other forms in order to extrapolate some diachronically valid information. In accordance with requirements of the panchronic method, and given the unavailability of physical evidence, i.e. texts, this technique—a mixture of diachronic and comparative panchrony—is expected to demonstrate two facts. First, if the BH wayyiqtol is an advanced resultative gram, its genetic homologue in another language, belonging to the Semitic family, should display uses which also match the resultative path. This claim (all successors of a given linguistic input should correspond to the same path-law) derives from the basis of the comparative panchrony (see section 4.2.2 below). Second, a successor of the PS *yaqtul employed at significantly earlier époques than the BH gram should cover segments corresponding to less developed portions of the resultative trajectory. The difference between the two grams is required to consist in the advancement on the trajectory: the younger formation is less developed while the older one is expected to provide uses which match more advanced stages. This assumption harmonizes with principles of the diachronic panchrony. Let us study the properties of the Akkadian iprus, the oldest available gram equivalent to the -yiqtol of the wayyiqtol and descendant of the PS *yaqtul. In conformity with our thesis, the Akkadian iprus—a reflex of the PS *yaqtul—has been defined as a prototypical resultative diachrony

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

217

(Kouwenberg 2010:129–132 and Andrason 2010d:338–344). Andrason rationalizes the synchronic set of chaotic and unrelated values displayed by the iprus and defines the gram as a manifestation of the resultative path. The iprus displays functions that correspond to stages on the anterior path: it is used as a perfect (especially in negative and subordinated environments where the new perfect iptaras appears rather infrequently) or as a past, both perfective and simple (i.e. with no evident perfective or punctual marking). It is furthermore commonly employed as a principal past tense of narration. In subordinated temporal, and sometimes in principal clauses when the main time reference is the past, the formation equals the past anterior (pluperfect). Other uses of the gram reflect phases of the simultaneous track: the iprus form of two static verbs edûm ‘know’ and isûm ‘have’ has stative meaning with no explicit temporal information. In the present or general time context, it approximates a present tense (cf. Kouwenberg 2010:127–129 and 132, Huehnergard 2005:144–7, MalbranLabat and Vita 2005:102). The so-far mentioned values parallel those recorded in Biblical Hebrew. However, the Akkadian formation offers uses which slightly diverge from the semantic potential of BH gram. Namely, not infrequently, it can express future activities and situations. In clauses with adi…la and lama, it appears with the present-future time reference, and indicates respectively anterior future (20.a) and immediate future events 20.b, cf. Huehnergard 2005:285–286). Furthermore, as observed by Loesov (2005:115, 117–118), the iprus is used as the best available exponent and the principal vehicle (thus still productive) of the performative force in Akkadian (both in Old Babylonian and Old Akkadian, cf. Koinzidenzfall in Kienast 2001:297) (see examples 20.c, 20.d. and 20.e below). (20) a. adi abī lā illikam ul târ I will not return before my father has come (Huehnergard 2005:285) b. lāma ipšurūšu alkīm Come before they sell / have sold it (Huehnergard 2005:286) c. atma I swear! (Loesov 2005:117) d. ú-na-ḫi-i-id-ka

218

ALEXANDER ANDRASON I call your attention (= I order you) (Loesov 2005:117) e. ana šulmika ašpur-am I wish you well-being (Sallaberger 1999:87–92)

Consequently, as expected, the iprus—a historically older gram—provides values which match less advanced stages of the resultative path, concretely its anterior sub-track. First, it is more commonly employed as a future perfect (or a future) than in Biblical Hebrew. Second, its perfect (anterior) proper force is significantly more expanded. In fact, the gram is the principal vehicle of present perfect values in negative contexts and in subordinated phrases. And third, the formation regularly conveys performative nuances—this ability was lost in the biblical language.

4.2.2. Consecutive wa-R While the entity -yiqtol of the wayyiqtol is clearly responsible of the meaningsstages belonging to the resultative path, the element wa-R is thought to have introduced consecutive connotations. There are several theories which reconstruct the origin of the BH wa-R (for a detailed review see Smith 1991). For instance, G. R. Driver (1936) suggested that there was a diachronic connection between the BH wa-R and the connector ma in Akkadian and uma in Assyrian. Maag (1953:86–88) claimed that the wa-R is an amalgam of the copulative ‫ ו‬and the demonstrative particle ‫הן‬, and proposed the following evolution: *wəhanyiqtul > *wanyiqtul > wayyiqtol. Other theories are more speculative, linking the BH morpheme with the Egyptian language. Young (1953) argued that the wa-R reflects two Egyptian particles: the connective iw and the morpheme n of the past. In his view, the wayyiqtol originated in a periphrastic sequence *wan + yiqtol (on the Egyptian connection see also Rendsburg 1981:668–669, Fulco 1982:662 and Sheehan 1970). More recently, Brenner (1986:14, 21, 24 and 34) defended the Egyptian source of the BH form suggesting, however, that one is dealing with a borrowed construction (for criticism of the Egyptian connection see Smith 1991:3–5). Whatever the exact source of the wa-R is, most scholars seem to agree that this unit is somehow related to the BH copulative particle ‫ ו‬wa which derives from the PS *wa (Kustár 1972, Revell 1984:443, Smith 1991:12–15, Waltke & O’Connor 1990:545 and Cook 2002; see also already König 1897, S. R. Driver 1881 and Bauer & Leander [1918–22] 1962). Thus, the wayyiqtol would have a similar (but not identical) origin as the BH weqatal deriving from the PS *wa and an independent verbal conjugation (the change of the *wa into we- in the weqatal is assumed to have occurred in the post-exilic

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

219

time, cf. Revell 1984:443–444 and Smith 1991:4–8). Accordingly, this nonverbal element (descendent of PS *wa) seems to connect one event or situation with another, introducing consecutive nuances (Waltke & O’Connor 1990:545 and Smith 1991:12–14). Let us study the consecutive force of the successor of the PS *wa in a more detailed manner. It is accepted that the Central Semitic branch originally distinguished between (at least) two different connectors: one consecutive (*pa ‘then, and thus’) and another neutral (*wa ‘and’, see Waltke & O’Connor 1990:522 and 655, and Garr 2004:114–115). This situation may still be found in Arabic, a language which possesses a consecutive particle ‫( ف‬from the original *pa) and a neutral conjunction ‫( و‬from the *wa, cf. Wright [1896–1898] 2005:I.290–291 and II. 345 and Danecki 1994:364). On the contrary, Biblical Hebrew does not make any distinction between the two meanings, and employs the particle waw ‫ ו‬both with coordinative and consecutive force (certainly, in distinct syntactic environments, cf. Waltke & O’Connor 1990:522–523). In fact, in the entire Northwest Semitic group, the successor of the original consecutive particle *pa—genetically related with the Arabic ‫( ف‬Aartun 1978:1–14 and Watson 1990:83–84)—is rather infrequent (Garr 2004:115). It is only attested in Ugaritic (Watson 1990:84– 85 and Sivan 2001:188), in certain Aramaic dialects (Jean & Hoftijzer 1965), in Samalian (Garr 2004:115), and—in rare and disputed instances—in Biblical Hebrew (Waltke & O’Connor 1994:655, Aartun 1978 and Dahood 1966:307–308). This means that Northwest Semitic idioms—Biblical Hebrew included—suffered a gradual decay of the lexeme *pa (Waltke & O’Connor 1990:522 and 655, cf. also Garr 2004:114–115). In some cases, this led to a loss of the ability to explicitly distinguish coordination from consecution and to a semantic merger of the two values within a single form. As a result, once the *pa started to disappear, the originally coordinative particle *wa seems to have incorporated consecutive nuances, previously provided by the *pa. It is highly important to note that in Ugaritic, in some cases, the consecutive particle p and the coordinative w functioned as equivalents and the former could be replaced by the latter (Parker 1967:78 and Watson 1990:78). In fact, the Ugaritic p, besides providing its original consecutive meaning of immediate succession and result (Pardee 1977:5), temporal and/or logical consequence (Tropper 2002:82) or of continuation and resumption (Aartun 1978:1–5), it could also be employed as a “simple coordinating conjunction” (Watson 1990:85). Panchronically, this corresponds to an intermediate stage between the initial Proto-Northwest Semitic (or Proto-Central Semitic) situation (the two particles are clearly distinct) and the state of affairs in Biblical Hebrew (only the PNS *wa

220

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

survived having incorporated the values of the *pa; thus, no distinction is made between the coordinative and consecutive variants). The above sketched origin of the wa-R justifies the consecutive force showed by the formation in Biblical Hebrew, a value which does not correspond to any particular stage on the resultative path, and which, consequently, cannot be explained as a manifestation of that evolutionary law. Linking, however, the wa-R with the coordinative and (once the particle *pa has been marginalized) consecutive sense of the lexeme *wa from which the BH morpheme (at least partially) derives, one finds explicit and transparent sources of consecutiveness provided by the gram. In sum, we are dealing with a resultative diachrony *yaqtul contextualized by the incorporation of a coordinative-consecutive lexeme. As mentioned, this entity surfaces in Biblical Hebrew as wa-R and is related to the particle ‫ו‬ (from an earlier coordinative *wa), having furthermore incorporated the consecutive potential of the particle *pa).

4.2.3. Posterior Evolution The posterior evolution of the BH wayyiqtol does not offer any direct evidence. The form simply disappeared in Rabbinic Hebrew (Pérez 1992:182). However, the loss of the construction is panchronically consistent with, and in fact expected, given our definition. As proposed, the wayyiqtol is to be classified as a highly advanced portion of the resultative, and in particular anterior, path. Diachronic laws teach us that profoundly developed old resultatives tend to vanish at subsequent historical periods. This happens especially if the language possesses another younger resultative formation. Such a phenomenon has partially occurred in Modern French where the old resultative diachrony, the simple past j’ écrivis ‘I wrote’ (Passé Simple a successor of the Latin perfectum) has been lost in the spoken language and even in non-literary narrative genres (Mauger 1968:241). In those situations, it was substituted by a younger diachrony, the Passé Composé: j’ai écrit ‘I have written / I wrote’. Nowadays, the Passé Simple is employed exclusively in the literary narration as a narrative past tense (Mauger 1968:238–239, 241–242). However, the current tendency is that younger authors use the Passé Composé also in the narration proper. A typologically similar evolution took place in some Slavic (Polish) and Germanic languages (Yiddish or Afrikaans) where the old perfects-pasts have been substituted by younger formations. This situation approximates the state of affairs recorded in Biblical and Rabbinic Hebrew. In the BH period, the wayyiqtol was already extensively employed as a narrative past tense—this usage corresponds to the final stage of the development along the anterior and grammaticalization clines.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

221

Furthermore, the language included in its verbal system a younger resultative diachrony, the qatal, employed, among others, in various perfect and past functions. It is thus not surprising that, in the posterior époque, the profoundly developed resultative wayyiqtol was lost, being substituted by the younger gram qatal, which furthermore took over uses previously conveyed by the older construction (note that in the Rabbinic period, the qatal was used with a narrative force). The loss of the wayyiqtol and its substitution by a younger resultative formation qatal support our definition of the former as an advanced resultative diachrony. We are dealing with a common phenomenon labeled ‘doughnut gram’: original domains of a highly advanced formation are progressively invaded by a novel construction which evolves along typologically the same trajectory (Dahl 2000:15–17). Consequently, if the qatal—itself, a resultative diachrony— replaced the wayyiqtol, the latter must also be viewed as a resultative trajectory. On the other hand, the typological comparison with the Passé Simple enables us to observe that the BH gram—even though profoundly developed along its path—is less advanced than the French formation. It is not restricted to narrative uses, but, quite the reverse, may still be found in personal narration and even—although scarcely—in discourse. To conclude, the diachronic analysis is consistent with our definition of the wayyiqtol. The proper verbal segment of the construction -yiqtol reflects a PS resultative diachrony *yaqtul which originated in a semantically transparent and cognitively plausible input, verbal adjective or resultative participle: a typologically frequent device in deriving resultative grams. The consecutive value of the formation derives from the incorporation of an external element (surfacing as wa-R built, at least partially, on the PS *wa) with an explicit coordinative-consecutive meaning (incorporated due to the functional corrosion and ultimate loss of the particle *pa). Finally, the posterior development of the wayyiqtol confirms the identification of the gram with highly advanced stages of the resultative path. In Rabbinic Hebrew, the formation was lost, being substituted by a younger resultative gram qatal.

4.3. COMPARATIVE PANCHRONY Once our synchronically derived hypothesis has been confirmed by diachronic data, the only remaining step in validating the proposed definition corresponds to the comparative analysis. As explained in section 3.2, comparative panchrony requires that values provided by genetically related grams in cognate languages—constructions originated in a shared input form—be reducible to the same path.

222

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

An entirely grammaticalized successor of the original periphrasis *wa(+?) + *yaqtul may, without doubt, be found only in Biblical Hebrew, where it constitutes an independent conjugation, wayyiqtol. However, descendants of the *yaqtul accompanied by a reflex of the *wa appear—even though in more sporadic instances—in several Semitic languages, acting invariably as a narrative past tense (Lipiński 2001:350). For example, such locutions exist in Aramaic (Emerton 1994:255–258), Ugaritic (Smith 1991:12), Moabite, Phoenician and South Arabian (Lipiński 2001:350). This fact confirms the classification of the wayyiqtol as a resultative diachrony: in all Semitic idioms, homologues of the BH formation convey meaning that matches the final stage of the trajectory. Even stronger evidence is provided by the comparative analysis of the verbal element *yaqtul itself which, as observed above, is responsible for the values inherent to the resultative track. We have already noted that in Akkadian (Old Babylonian), the iprus (< PS *yaqtul) functions as a perfect (present, past, and future), a past (perfective and neutral), and a present (stative). It was also frequently employed with the performative force. As for the discourse pragmatic value, it was used both as a narrative and discursive category. Thus, the formation matches all the stages of the resultative path (both the anterior and simultaneous sub-paths). It was emphasized that although extensively employed as a narrative past, the gram clearly preserves meanings that reflect initial phases of the development—it is a principal vehicle of the perfect sense in negative contexts (cf. also the above-mentioned performative and future meanings). Besides Akkadian, the PS *yaqtul of the resultative path, survives in various Semitic languages, being, however, commonly restricted to syntactically marked contexts (such as, for instance, the prefixed wa-R in Hebrew, Hertzon 1969:18–20). The successors of the *yaqtul are extensively attested in Amarna (21.a) and in Ugaritic texts (Smith 1991:12). According to Rainey (1996.II:223), in the dialect of Amarna, the yaqtul was a living spoken tense employed both in the discourse and narration with a perfect (21.a, cf. Moran 2003:49 and Rainey 1996:II.222–227) and past meaning (21.b). On the other hand, it should be noted that another resultative diachrony, the qatala is a more frequent means of conveying resultative, perfect and past meanings (Rainey 1996:II.222 and 227). Ugaritic employs the construction as a past, typically in poetic narrative (21.c), and with a significantly minor frequency, in prose where it is replaced by the qatal (Sivan 2001:99 and Kienast 2001:311–312). The form also appears in Sabean, especially following the particle lm, yet again with a past narrative value (21.d, see Beeston 1984:47, Smith 1991:12 and Kienast 2001:300 and 309). In this idiom, perfect (present and past) functions are regularly

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

223

expressed by the new resultative, the suffix conjugation (Kienast 2001:300). It similarly persists in some particular environments in Ge’ez (Lambdin 1978:151 and Hertzon 1969:6–8). Finally, it is a common form in Classical Arabic appearing in two expressions: in lam yaqtul with the value of a negative past (21.e) and negative (experiential) perfect (21.f, anti-perfect) (‘I have not done / I did not do’’); and in lammā yaqtul approximating a resultative negative perfect (‘I have not done yet’) (21.g and 21.h). Consequently, the Arabic successor of the PS *yaqtul is commonly employed as a present perfect or past tense being nevertheless limited to negative contexts, i.e. ‫ لم‬lam and ‫ لما‬lammā. In remaining environments it has been substituted by the younger qatala. On the other hand, the formation, although predominant in the narration proper, may be found in discourse and, even, in dialogues. (21) a.

ù aš-pu-ur …

…so I wrote [and a regular army force came forth and it seized their father] (Rainey 1996:II.227) b. iš-te-mé a-wa-teMEŠ ša iš-pu-ur LUGAL EN-ia ana ÌR-šu I have heard the words which the king, my lord, [had] sent to his servant (Rainey 1996:II.224) c. tǵly ‘ilm r’išthm The gods lowered their heads (Sivan 2001:99) d. w-bn-hw f-jt’wlw b-’lj hgr-n ON und von dort wandten sie sich gegen die Stadt ON (Kienast 2001:300) e.

‫لم يكن ذاهبا‬

He was not going f.

‫لم العب ابدا كرة القدم‬

I have never played football g.

‫امرته ولما يذهب‬

224

ALEXANDER ANDRASON I ordered him, and he has not yet gone (Haywood & Nahmad 1965:129) h.

‫لما يذوقوا عذاب‬

They have not yet tasted my punishment (Wright [1896–1898] 2005:II.41)

The comparative study of reflexes of the PS *yaqtul reveals that values provided by homologues of the -yiqtol in the wayyiqtol correspond to stages on the resultative path. In all languages, the “post-yaqtul grams” match highly advanced portions of the trajectory (in Akkadian, and partially in Arabic it also reflects more initial phases of the cline). Moreover, it has been noted that in various tongues the successors of the *yaqtul have survived in strictly determined contexts or in particular expressions. This means that the construction not only has significantly advanced on its evolutionary path, but has also undergone a process of a semantic and functional corrosion. This occurred due to the previously mentioned advancement as well as because of the emergence and spread of a new resultative form, the prefix conjugation *qatal(a). As already explained, such a conflict between old and young grams is a frequent phenomenon and leads to the formation of so-called doughnut grams (Dahl 2000:15–17). Both pieces of information—i.e. the semantic advancement of the grams (frequent use as a narrative past) and their functional corrosion (substitution by a novel resultative and restriction to marked environments)—suggest that we are dealing with a resultative formation at a highly evolved stage. Such a conclusion is consistent with our definition of the wayyiqtol. As for the consecutive connotation of the wayyiqtol, in the preceding section it has been demonstrated that this value stemmed from the incorporation of a coordinative-consecutive lexeme built on the PS lexeme *wa. In the same part of the paper, we have provided some comparative evidence proving a consecutive force of successors of the *wa given its functional confusion and merger with the explicitly consecutive conjunction *pa. Furthermore, it should be noted that the use of coordinativeconsecutive particles with successors of the PS *yaqtul and/or with other resultative type grams is highly frequent in all Semitic languages, and in particular in the Western branch (Lipiński 2001:528). It may be found in Arabic (both with particles wa and fa, Danecki 1994:364, see also Lipiński 2001:350), in Amarna (with the particle u, cf. Rainey 1996:III.100), in Ugaritic (with u and f Parker 1967:78, Watson 1990:78 and Smith 1991:12) and in Sabean (Kienast 2001:300). Hence, one may assume that the BH wayyiqtol reflects a profoundly advanced phase of grammaticalization of such a commonly available device. While in several idioms, the locution remained

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

225

periphrastic, in Biblical Hebrew the original analytic chain became synthetic having been fused into an inseparable form, a new conjugation wayyiqtol.

5.

CONCLUSION

5.1.

DYNAMIC DEFINITION

The above introduced evidence with respect to the semantic and function properties of the wayyiqtol and its homologues in other Semitic languages enabled us to define the BH gram as a prototypical advanced resultative diachrony additionally contextualized by the incorporation of an entity with, originally, an explicit consecutive meaning. Following the panchronic technique, we began our analysis with a detailed study of the semantic and functional potential of the formation in Biblical Hebrew. After that, we have hypothesized that this inventory of uses—which from a synchronic perspective appears as chaotic and heterogeneous—may receive an ordered, rational and homogeneous form if one explains it as a manifestation of a universal evolutionary scenario, i.e. the resultative path. In particular, two sub-tracks of the resultative cline have been employed in order to classify the gram: the anterior and simultaneous trajectories. This means that the range of meanings displayed by the construction matches consecutive stages of the two emblematic evolutionary scenarios within the resultative path. Values related to perfect (various types of the present perfect) and (indefinite and definite) past functions have been arranged into a series which corresponds to the development codified in the anterior path. The values of the future tense and past perfect (pluperfect) were explained as stages of the anterior trajectory within, respectively, the future and past temporal frame. Meanings of the wayyiqtol derived from static roots have been similarly categorized into the simultaneous track. We have also observed that the formation must have advanced on the evolutionary cline due to the fact that it is not employed with the resultative proper and performative force, meanings which correspond to two initial stages on the anterior path. Furthermore, the construction fails to indicate evidential situations; there are no values which could be arranged in terms of the evidential trajectory. In all of these uses, it is the qatal—a novel resultative diachrony—which is employed instead of the wayyiqtol.39 39 This synchronic interaction with the younger resultative diachrony qatal also confirms the proposed definition of the wayyiqtol since it behaves as a prototypical resultative doughnut gram. Additionally, the fact that the younger resultative expresses evidential values, while the older is incapable to provide such modal

226

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Finally, discourse pragmatic properties reflect a regular grammaticalization spread of a resultative gram within different types of text, suggesting a highly advanced stage of the evolution of the wayyiqtol: the expression infrequently appears in the discourse with a commenting force. It is more extensively used in personal narratives where it introduces commentaries and, especially, events of the backbone of the story. However, in its main function, it is employed in the narration proper to relate main events of the tale. Consequently, discourse pragmatic uses of the gram have been related to the TATM character of the construction. Both kinds of properties enabled us to hypothesize a panchronic definition of the wayyiqtol as a resultative diachrony at an advanced moment of its development. On the other hand, we have noted that the consecutive meaning—not present on the resultative path—must have stemmed from a (lexical or syntactical) contextualization of the originally resultative formation. As required by the panchronic method, this definition of the gram— deduced from the synchronic evidence—was subsequently contrasted with diachronic and comparative data. A diachronic study (i.e., the origin and posterior development of the formation) confirmed our classification of the wayyiqtol. The verbal segment of the gram, the entity -yiqtol derives from the PS resultative diachrony *yaqtul. This PS expression originated in a semantically transparent, cognitively plausible and a typologically frequent device in deriving resultative grams: verbal adjective or resultative participle. Consecutive connotations of the BH expression stem from the absorption of an originally extern element, appearing in Biblical Hebrew as wa-R, derived, at least in part, from the PS conjunction *wa. This lexeme acquired an explicit coordinative-consecutive signification due to the functional corrosion and ultimate loss of the particle *pa. As for the posterior development of the wayyiqtol, its disappearance and substitution in Rabbinic Hebrew by a novel resultative diachrony qatal confirms the identification of the gram with highly advanced stages of the resultative path. Finally, the comparative study corroborates the classification of the wayyiqtol. First, in all Semitic idioms, both homologues of the BH formation (successors of the earlier periphrasis *wa- +? + *yaqtul) and equivalents of the segment -yiqtol (successors of the PS *yaqtul) convey meanings that match terminal stages of the resultative trajectory and grammaticalization connotations, is typologically a well-documented phenomenon. Aikhenvald (2004:112–117 and 279–281) notes that if a language possesses two anterior diachronies (two grams that provide uses corresponding to stages on the anterior path, e.g. perfect and past) the younger—and not the older—normally conveys evidential meaning.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

227

cline. As for the consecutive connotation of the wayyiqtol—imported from incorporation of the coordinative-consecutive lexeme built on the PS lexeme *wa—we have observed that the use of coordinative-consecutive particles with successors of the PS *yaqtul (and/or with other resultative type grams) is frequent in the Semitic family. In Biblical Hebrew this— originally, and still usually periphrastic—ability was entirely grammaticalized receiving a synthetic shape. In sum, we may affirm that all three types of the panchronic analysis lead to the identical conclusion: the wayyiqtol is a profoundly developed resultative diachrony. It can be defined as a computation of the anterior and simultaneous trajectories in the three time frames (with the exception of the resultative proper and performative meaning-stages) spread to narrative discourse and narration proper (properly discursive force of commentary, matching a level where resultative formation commonly originate, has been weakened). Such a geometric dynamic definition—contrary to simplistic views—accounts for the entire semantic and pragmatic potential of the gram. Furthermore, it is not restricted to taxonomy (although it is certainly based on an inventory of uses). Finally, it offers a concise (but yet rich!), formalized and scientifically manageable classification of the gram.

5.2. HOW DOES THIS DEFINITION DIFFER FROM THE EXPLANATION PROPOSED BY COOK (2002)? This paper tentatively offers a new and, in my opinion, more appropriate classification of the wayyiqtol, as it explains the BH gram as a dynamic phenomenon. For that purpose, I have employed evolutionary laws established by the path and grammaticalization theories. It should be noted that, not for the first time, these universal diachronic scenarios are used in elucidating the nature of the BH verbal system. Among scholars who included evolutionary ideas in their linguistic analysis, a special place should be given to John Cook (2001, 2002, 2004 and 2006) who, thus far, has made the most consistent and significant use of grammaticalization and path theories in a description of the BH verbal system. Since both Cook and the author of this article apply findings of the evolutionary framework, it becomes important to demonstrate how our definition surpasses that proposed by Cook. The following discussion is an abbreviated version of the critical analysis of Cook’s model developed by the author in the article “The Biblical Hebrew verbal system in light of grammaticalization—the second generation” (Andrason 2011a).40 The criticism of the position defended by John Cook—a scholar whom I profoundly admire and to whom I am deeply indebted (his research has inspired 40

228

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

In general terms, Cook’s approach and conclusions differ from those presented here in five aspects. First, Cook makes use of universal evolutionary scenarios to elucidate certain diachronic processes, but not to rationalize a synchronic state of the BH language. He certainly offers a diachronic-typological explanation for the range of uses and meanings displayed by the BH—synchronically viewed—verb forms (qatal, yiqtol, weqatal, wayyiqtol and qotel). Nevertheless, following the grammatical tradition, he comprehends BH formations as static outcomes of determined diachronic trajectories. He employs semantic-functional clines to justify a given evolutionary stage (i.e., a single phase on a pathway) which a formation reached. He fails, however, to account for all meanings provided by a gram—he does not view it as a portion of the evolutionary scenario it traveled along. His method consists in extrapolating one “dominant” static value. This über-function can, subsequently, be contextually modified triggering various secondary functions. All of them are thus derivable from the main meaning-stage (Cook 2002:270–271). Second, such a traditionally motionless interpretation conducts Cook to an erroneous—and as explained above, impossible within the evolutionary grammaticalization framework which Cook claims to adopt—reduction of BH grams to a single label-function, corresponding to a solitary stage on an evolutionary pathway. As many other grammarians, Cook struggles to find an inert ‘onesided’ classification in terms of a tense or an aspect (Cook 2002:269 and 2008:11). It should be noted that one of the main questions posited by Cook is the following: is the BH verbal system an aspectual or temporal organization? Third, basing his research on the customary flat one-stage description of grammatical units, Cook (2002:203–204) classifies the BH verbal system as controlled by a dual contrast between the qatal (defined as me to develop my own model)—should not be understood as undermining his impact on and relevance for the description of the BH verbal system. Cook is a great pioneer of the use of grammaticalization phenomena to diachronic and, to an extent, synchronic studies of the BH verb. The brightness and revolutionary force of his founding should not be disregarded. My model is not thought to be an opposition to that developed by Cook. Quite the reverse, it is intended to be a natural continuation and improvement of Cook’s ideas, which are still in many aspects correct. In this section I emphasize differences between my theory and the description proposed by Cook. However, it should be noted that in various points the two studies coincide and provide similar solutions. Due to the length of the article, when presenting main discrepancies between my study and Cook’s position (and thus, when indicating main weaknesses of Cook’s model) I will limit myself to a general overview. For a thorough argumentation, supported by various examples, see Andrason 2011a.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

229

perfective aspect) and the yiqtol (categorized as imperfective aspect). Forth, Cook (2002, 2004 and 2006) does not reconstruct cognitively plausible, semantically transparent iconic starting points for the paths along which the BH formations developed. Fifth, Cook (2002) considerably oversimplifies determined trajectories reducing them to a few stages. Among all these limitations, three are of special importance. Namely, the constant use of motionless one-stage definitions, the dichotomy between the main (built-in) meaning and contextual realizations, and the claim of a binary opposition between verbal categories (and a dualist foundation of the BH system in general) are on shaky grounds within the grammaticalization and path frameworks. As indicated in the previous sections of the paper, the attitude of the evolutionary approach toward these issues is antithetic. As for the wayyiqtol, Cook duly affirms that the formation developed along the resultative path (in his vocabulary ‘perfective path’). However, his synchronic classification of the construction is less convincing. In his opinion, in Classical Biblical Hebrew, the gram has achieved the past tense stage. This is a so-called inherent main value of the wayyiqtol. Uses with a properly anterior force (present perfect and pluperfect) as well as perfective meanings are contextually imposed (Cook 2002:253–254).Thus, on the one hand, the wayyiqtol is an archetypal simple past (Cook 2002:253) and, on the other, it can function as a past perfect, a present perfect and a resultative present perfect (it also appears with a gnomic expression sense, Cook 2002:224–225, 253–255). From such a view, a synchronic paradox emerges: the wayyiqtol is a prototypical simple past which may, in some cases, correspond to perfect(s) and present grams. His argumentation is based on the claim that the BH gram supposedly is unable to denote future events. Consequently, it must be classified as a past tense (2002:255). First, the assumption whereby the wayyiqtol never expresses future activities seems to be too radical. In some—certainly, infrequent—instances, the gram can receive a future reading (cf. example 8 above). Most importantly, the supposition according to which a construction, which in its most frequent uses indicates past events or situations, cannot refer to future temporal sphere is wrong. Paradoxically, so-called past tenses can sometimes be employed to convey future meaning! Second, in accordance with principles of the path theory, a gram, used in the majority of cases as a definite (perfective or aspectually neutral) past can preserve certain marginal functions which match earlier phases of its functional progression. We have previously explained that verbal entities are amalgams of properties that reflect historical stages during which they have emerged. This means that during its grammatical life a construction undergoes two types of evolutionary processes: the incorporation of new

230

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

meaning-stages and the loss of formerly conquered and assimilated valuesphases. The two phenomena are, to an extent, autonomous and selfgoverning. This means that the expansion on the given developmental cline does not signify that more original segments must be lost. Quite the reverse, values which correspond to the initial fragment of the path—in our case of the resultative track—may be still, even marginally, available once the gram has reached profoundly developed sections, such as the definite past stage (see for instance, the passé composé in French which, although it commonly denotes simple or perfective past activities, may still be used in some present and future functions). Finally, Cook, when equaling the wayyiqtol with a definite past category—ignores the fact that the gram displays a functional split between dynamic and stative roots, prototypical for resultative diachronies: the former follow the anterior track while the latter travel along the simultaneous pathway. In sum, one may encounter examples whereby the BH formation fails to behave as a definite past, which, in turn, renders its classification as a past tense highly doubtful.

5.3. WEAK POINTS AND FUTURE RESEARCH Although our research explains the nature of the BH wayyiqtol, encompassing virtually all of its semantic and functional variants, superficial irregularities and anomalies, providing furthermore a concise nonreductionist definition, it does not specify—in a consistent and regular manner—which of the encountered values are the most common and which are the rarest. In general, the model proposed here does not determine the frequency (and thus core-ness and periphericity) of meanings-stages displayed by a grammatical construction, in our case the wayyiqtol. The above noted limitation constitutes the main weak point of our classification. Such quantitative information, built on an extensive statistical investigation, is necessary in order to determine the exact state of the gram, and therefore this kind of examination must inevitably constitute a future step in elucidating the nature of the BH formation. Therefore an extensive statistical analysis is planned by the author during his post-doctoral research activity at the University of Stellenbosch in late 2011. This statistical research is aimed at elucidating, at least, two issues. First, it will establish which meanings-states are central (i.e. common) and which are peripheral (and thus exceptional). In that manner, we will hopefully be able to arrange values of the gram in a hierarchical ladder from least to most frequent. Second, it will determine in a more adequate fashion the relation between two resultative diachronies, the wayyiqtol and the qatal.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

231

Having specified core and peripheral values of the wayyiqtol—as well as those of the qatal—we will be able to answer the following question: Do domains shared by the two grams overlap? In other words, do the wayyiqtol and the qatal cover similar portions of the resultative path? If they do, with what intensity does the intersection occur?—one, for instance, expects that the two formations do not overlap as for their core domain. This intuitive supposition must be studied and supported by quantitative data. It was also mentioned that in the present article Biblical Hebrew was treated as a single linguistic organization despite the fact that BH books had been written over a thousand year period. The temporal extent of Biblical Hebrew obviously suggests that—in accordance with the dynamic view— the state of the wayyiqtol in early (Early Biblical Hebrew) and in later texts (Late Biblical Hebrew) should be different. The former is expected to be less advanced: all meanings in general—and the core value in particular— should correspond to less developed stages of the path(s). Also this supposition will be verified and clarified by the future statistical research. Once the exact statistical distribution of meanings-stages of the wayyiqtol in various parts of the Bible has been established, we will be able to distinguish how the precise composition of the state of the formation (percentage of each meaning-stage) fluctuates among biblical books and historical periods.

SUMMARY This article provides a concise, non-reductionist and non-taxonomist synchronically valid definition of the Biblical Hebrew verbal construction labeled wayyiqtol. Basing his proposal on findings of evolutionary linguistics (to which belong grammaticalization, path and chaos theories as well as cognitive linguistics) and employing the panchronic methodology, the author demonstrates the following: all semantic and functional properties (such as taxis, aspectual, temporal, modal and discourse-pragmatic values) of the wayyiqtol—as distinct and superficially incongruent they appear—may be unified and rationalized as a single dynamic category: advanced portions of the anterior and simultaneous trajectories (which constitute two subclines of the resultative path), developed within the three temporal spheres and, additionally, contextualized by the incorporation of an originally independent lexeme with a coordinative-consecutive force. The author constructs his thesis enumerating various properties of the formation as witnessed in the Biblical material. This supposedly chaotic synchronic inventory is subsequently tidied up in accordance with the orderliness principle (imposed by the abductive type of argumentation) and pictured as a computation of portions of the two above-mentioned

232

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

universal evolutionary scenarios. After that, the hypothesis is verified by diachronic (Proto-Semitic origin, cognitive basis and posterior development of the expression) and comparative evidences (properties of genetically related constructions in other Semitic languages). Having presented a new classification of the wayyiqtol, the author also shows how this proposal differs from another grammaticalization based model established by Cook (2002) and, finally, indicating certain weaknesses of his own explanation, sketches a plan for future research.

REFERENCES Aartun, K 1978. Textüberlieferung und Vermeintlische Belege der Konjunktion pV im Alten Testament. Ugarit-Forschungen 10: 1–13 Aikhenvald, A. 2004. Evidentiality. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Andersen, D. 2000. The Evolution of the Hebrew Verbal System. Zeitschrift fur Althebraistik 13: 1–66. Andersen, H. 1973. Abductive and deductive changes. Language 49: 765– 793. Andrason, A. 2006. Málfræðilegt horf í íslensku. (M.A. dissertation, University of Iceland, Reykjavík). . 2009. The BÚNA construction in Pidgin Icelandic. Íslenskt mál 30: 121–140. . 2010a. The panchronic yiqtol. Functionally consistent and cognitively plausible. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 10 (10): 1–63. . 2010b. The “guessing” QATAL – the BH suffix conjugation as a manifestation of the evidential trajectory. Journal for Semitics 19/2: 603– 627. . 2010c. Iparras – two diachronies in a single morphology. Journal for Semitics 19/1: 160–192. . 2010d. The Akkadian Iprus from the unidirectional perspective. Journal of Semitic Studies 55/2: 325–345. . 2011a. The Biblical Hebrew verbal system in light of grammaticalization – the second generation. Hebrew Studies 53: 351– 383. . 2011b . The BH weqatal. A homogenous form with no haphazard functions. Part 1. Journal of NorthWest Semitic Languages 37/2. . (forthcoming) 2011c. Qatal, yiqtol, weqatal y wayyiqtol. Modelo pancrónico del sistema verbal de la lengua hebrea bíblica con el análisis adicional de los sistemas verbales de las lenguas acadia y árabe. Madrid: Publicaciones de Universidad Complutense.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

233

Andrason, A. (cont.). (in review) 2011d. From Resultatives to Present Tenses – Simultaneous Path of Resultative Formations. . (in review) 2011e. Path theory and chaos – determinism and unpredictability of the functional development of verbal constructions. Lingua. . (in review) 2011f. Performative – a stage on the resultative path. Studies in Language. . (forthcoming) 2012a. The BH weqatal. A homogenous form with no haphazard functions. Part 1. Journal of NorthWest Semitic Languages 38/1. . (forthcoming) 2012b. When the ima-Perfect “becomes” a past. Balkanistica 25: 75–103. . (forthcoming) 2012c. Cognitive foundations of the Old Babylonian Iparras. Journal of Semitic Studies 20/2. Bauer, H. & P. Leander. [1918–1922] 1962. Historische Grammatik der Hebräischen Sprache des Altes Testament. Hildesheim: Olms. Beeston, A. 1984. Sabaic Grammar. Journal of Semitic Studies Monograph No. 6. Manchester: JSS University of Manchester. Bergsträsser, G. 1928. Einfuhrung in die semitischen Sprachen. Sprachproben und grammatische Skizzen. Munich: Hueber. . 1983. Introduction to the Semitic languages: text specimens and grammatical sketches (Transl. with notes and bibliography and an appendix on the scripts by Peter T. Daniels). Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia: With Westminster Hebrew Morphology. Electronic edition. 1996. Stuttgart: German Bible Society. Birkmann, T. 1987. Präteritopräsentia. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer. Brenner, J. 1986. Egyptian Elucidation of the Hebrew Particle WA. (Master’s thesis, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Literatures. Yale University) Brockelmann, C. [1908–1913] 1966. Introduction to the Semitic Languages. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Buth, R. 1992. The Hebrew Verb in Current Discussion. Journal of Translation and Textlinguistics 5: 91–105 Bybee, J., W. Pagliuca. & R. Perkins. 1991. Back to the future. Pp. 17–58 in Approaches to Grammaticalization Vol.1, eds. E. Traugott & B. Heine. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Bybee, J., R. Perkins, & W. Pagliuca. 1994. The Evolution of Grammar. Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press. Campbell, L. 1991. Some Grammaticalization Changes in Estonian and their Implications. Pp. 285–299 in Approaches to Grammaticalization Vol. 1, eds. E. Traugott & B. Heine. Amsterdam: Benjamins.

234

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Campbell, L. (cont.). 2001. Historical Linguistics: An Introduction. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University. Carstairs-McCarthy, A. 2010. The Evolution of Morphology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cohen, M. 1924. Le système verbal sémitique et l’expression du temps. Paris: Imprimerie nationale, E. Leroux. Comrie, B. 1976. Aspect: An Introduction to the Study of Verbal Aspect and Related Problems. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cook, J. A. 2001. The Hebrew Verb: A Grammaticalization Approach. Zeitschrift für Althebraistik 14/2: 117–43 . 2002. The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System: A Grammaticalization Approach. (PhD dissertation. Department of Hebrew and Semitic Studies, University of Wisconsin-Madison) . 2004. The Semantics of Verbal Pragmatics: Clarifying the Roles of Wayyiqtol and Weqatal in Biblical Hebrew Prose. Journal of Semitic Studies 49/2: 247–73. . 2008. The Vav-Prefixed Verb Forms in Elementary Hebrew grammar. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, 8/3: 2–16. . 2006 The Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Do Express Aspect. Journal of Ancient Near East Studies 30: 21–35. Croft, W. 2003. Typology and Universals (2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Croft, W. & and D. A. Cruse. 2004. Cognitive Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dahl, Ö. 1985. Tense and aspect systems. Oxford: Blackwell. . 2000. The Tense and Aspect Systems of European Languages in a Typological Perspective. Pp. 3–25 in Tense and Aspect in the Languages of Europe, ed. Ö. Dahl. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Dahl, Ö. (ed.) 2000. Tense and Aspect in the Languages of Europe. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Dahood, M 1966. Psalms I: 1–50. Anchor Bible 16. Garden City & New York: Doubleday Danecki, J. 1994. Gramatyka języka arabskiego. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Akademickie Dialog. Depreatere, I. & S. Reed. 2000. The present perfect progressive: constraints on its use with numerical object. English Language and Linguistics 4/1: 97–114. Dixon, R. M. W. 1994. Ergativity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

235

Długosz-Kurczakowa, T. & S. Dubisz. 2003. Gramatyka historyczna Jezyka Polskiego. Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Iniwersyttu Warszawskiego. Drinka, B. 1998. The Evolution of Grammar: Evidence from IndoEuropean Perfects. Pp. 117–133 in Historical Linguistics 1997, eds. M. Schmid, J. Austin & D. Stein. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Driver, G. R. 1936. Problems of the Hebrew Verbal System. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Driver, S. 1881. A treatise on the use of the tenses in Hebrew and some other syntactical problems. Oxford: Clarendon. Emerton, J. A. 1994. New evidence for the use of Waw consecutive in Aramaic. Vetus Testamentum. 44/2: 255–258 Endo, Y. 1996. The Verbal System of Classical Hebrew in the Joseph Story: An Approach from Discourse Analyis. Assen: Van Gorcum and Company. Fulco, W. J. 1982. Review of W. Richter Grundlagen einer althebräischen Grammatik. Catholic Biblical Quarterly 44/4: 127–128. Garr, R. W. 2004. Dialect Geography of Syria-Palestine 1000–586 B.C.E. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Gentry, J. 1998. The System of the Finite Verb in Classical Biblical Hebrew. Hebrew Studies 39: 7–39. Goldfajn, T. 1998. Word Order and the Time in Biblical Hebrew Narrative. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harris, M. 1982, The ‘past simple’ and the ‘resent perfect’ in Romance. Pp. 42–70 in Studies in the Romance verb, ed. N. Vincent & M. Harris. London & Canberra: Croom Helm. Haspelmath, M. 1999. Why is Grammaticalization Irreversible? Linguistics 37: 1043–1068. Hatav, G. 1997. The Semantics of Aspect and Modality: Evidence from English and Biblical Hebrew. Studies in Language Companion Series, vol. 34. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Haugen, E. 1972. The inferential perfect in Scandinavian. The Canadian Journal of Linguistics 17: 132–139. Haywood, J. A. & H. M. Nahmad. 1962. A new Arabic grammar. London: Lund Humphries. Heiman, J. 1985. Natural Syntax: Iconicity and erosion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heine, B. 2003. On Degrammaticalization. Pp. 123–146 in Historical Linguistics 2000, eds. B. J. Blake & K. Burridge. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins.

236

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Heine, B. & T. Kuteva. 2006. The changing languages of Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press. . 2007. The Genesis of Grammar: a Reconstruction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Heine, B., Claudi, U., & Hünnemeyer, F. 1991a. From cognition to grammar. Evidence from African languages. Pp. 149–187 in Approaches to grammaticalization Vol. 2, eds. E. C. Traugott & B. Heine. Amsterdam: Benjamins. . 1991b. Grammaticalization. A Conceptual Framework. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hertzon, E. 1969. The Evidence for Perfect *yáqtul and Jussive *yaqtul in Proto-Semitic. Journal of Semitic Studies 14: 1–21. Hopper, P. & E. Traugott. 2003. Grammaticalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Huehnergard, J. 1988. The Early Hebrew Prefix-Conjugations. Hebrew Studies 29: 19–23. . 2005. A Grammar of Akkadian. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Janda, R. D. 2001. Beyond “Pathways” and “Unidirectionality”: on the Discontinuity of Language Transmission and the Counterability of Grammaticalization. Language Sciences 23: 265–340. Jaxontov, S. 1988. Resultatives: Classification and Calculus. Pp. 101–106 in Typology of resultative constructions, ed. V. Nedjalkov. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Johanson L. 2000. Viewpoint operators in European languages. Pp. 27– 187 in Tense and Aspect in the Languages of Europe, ed. Ö. Dahl. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. . 2003. Evidentiality in Turkic. Pp. 273–291 in Studies in Evidentiality, ed. A. Aikhenvald & R. Dixon. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Jean, C. F. & J. Hoftijzer. 1965. Dictionnaire des inscription sémitiques de l’ouest. Ledin: Brill. Johnson, B. 1979. Hebräische Perfect und Imperfect mit vorangehendem we. Lund: Gleerup. Jónsson, J. G. 1992. The Two Perfects of Icelandic. Íslenskt mál 14: 129– 145. Joosten, J. 1992. Biblical Hebrew weqātal and Syriac hwā qātel expressing repetition in the past. Zeitschrift für Althebraistik 5: 1–14. . 2002. Do the Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Express Aspect? Journal of Ancient Near East Studies 29: 49–70. Josephson, J. & S. Josephson (eds.). 1994. Abductive Inference. Computation, Philosophy, Technology. New York: Cambridge University Press.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

237

Joüon, P. 1923. Grammaire de l’hébreu biblique. Roma: Institute biblique Pontifical. Kienast, B. 2001. Historische Semitische Sprachwissenschaft. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Kouwenberg, N. J. S. 2010. The Akkadian Verb and Its Semitic Background. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. König, F. E. 1897. Historisch-comparative Syntax der Hebräischen Sprache. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Kuryłowicz, J. 1972. Studies in Semitic Grammar and Metric. Wrocław: Zakład Ossolińskich, PAN. Kustár, P. 1972. Aspekt im Hebräischen. Basel: Friedrich Reinhardt. Lambdin, T. O. 1978. Introduction to Classical Ethiopic (Ge’ez). HSS 24. Missoula, MT: Scholars. Langacker, R. W. 2007. Cognitive Grammar. Pp. 421–462 in Cognitive Linguistics, eds. D. Geeraerts & H. Cuyckens. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Langendock, Van W. 2007. Iconicity. Pp. 394–418 in Cognitive Linguistics, eds. D. Geeraerts & H. Cuyckens. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lazard, G. 1985. L’inférenciel ou passé distancié en Persan. Studia Iranica 14: 27–42. Lindstedt, J. 2000. The perfect – aspectual, temporal and evidential. Pp. 365–383 in Tense and Aspect in the Languages of Europe, ed. Ö. Dahl. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Lipiński, E. 2001. Semitic Languages Outline of a Comparative Grammar. Leuven, Paris, Sterling: Uitgeverij Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies. Lipton, P. 1991. Inference to the Best Explanation. London: Routledge. Loesov, S. 2005. Akkadian Sentences about the Present Time - Part One. Pp. 101–148 in Babel and Bibel 2: Memoriae Igor M. Diakonof, ed. L. Kogan. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns). Longacre, R. 1976. An Anatomy of Speech Notions. XXX: The Peter De Ridder Press. . 1983. The Grammar of Discourse. New York: Plenum Press. . 1992. Discourse Perspective on the Hebrew Verb: Affirmation and Restatement. Pp. 177–189 in Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew, ed. W. R. Bodine. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Lüdtke, H. 1987. Auxiliary Verbs in the Universal Theory of Language Change. Pp. 349–354 in Papers from the 7th International Conference on Historical Linguistics, eds. A. Giacalone-Ramat, O. Carruba & G. Bernini. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

238

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Maag, V. 1953. Morphologie des hebräischen Narratives. Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentlische Wissenschaft 65: 86–88. Malbran-Labat, F. & J.-P. Vita. 2005. Manual de lengua acadia. Vol. 1. Zaragoza: Instituto de Estudios Islámicos y del Oriente Próximo. Maslov, J. 1988. Resultative, Perfect and Aspect. Pp. 63–85 in Typology of resultative constructions, ed. V. Nedjalkov, Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Mauger, G. 1968. Grammaire pratique du français d’aujourd’hui. Paris: Hachette. McCawley, J. 1971. Tense and Time Reference in English. Pp. 96–113 in Studies in Linguistics and Semantics, ed. C. Fillmore & D. Langendoen. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. McFall, L. 1982. The Enigma of the Hebrew Verbal System. Sheffield: Almond Press. Meid, Wolfgang. 1971. Das Germanische Praeteritum; indogermanische Grundlagen und Ausbreitung im Germanischen. Innsbruck: Institut für Vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. Merwe, C. H. J. Van der, J. Naudé, & J. Kroeze. 2000. A Biblical Hebrew Reference Grammar. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Michel. D. 1960. Tempora und Satzstellung in den Psalmen. Bonn: Bouvier. Migdalski, K. 2006. The Syntax of Compound Tenses in Slavic. LOT Dissertation Series 130. Utrecht: Landelijke Onderzoekschool Taalwetenschap. Minnameier, G. 2004. Peirce-suit of Truth. Why Inference to the Best Explanation and Abduction Ought not to be Confused. Erkenntnis 60: 75–105. Mitkovska, L. & E. Buzarovska. 2008. On the use of the habere-perfect in journalistic and administrative style. Pp. 128–138 in Language Typology and Universals, ed. Z. Topolińska & E. Bužarovska. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Moran, W. L. 2003. Amarna Studies: Collected Writings (eds. J. Huehnergard & Sh. Izre’el). Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Nedjalkov, V. 1988. Resultative, Passive, and Perfect in German. Pp. 411–432 in Typology of resultative constructions, ed. V. Nedjalkov. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Nedjalkov, V. (ed.) 1988. Typology of resultative constructions. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Nedjalkov, V. & S. Jaxontov. 1988. The Typology of Resultative Constructions. Pp. 3–62 in Typology of resultative constructions, ed. V.

BIBLICAL HEBREW WAYYIQTOL: A DYNAMIC DEFINITION

239

Nedjalkov. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Newmeyer, F. J. 1998. Language Form and Language Function. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Norde, M. 2001. Deflexion as a Counterdirectional Factor in Grammatical Change. Language Sciences 23: 2–3 and 231–264. Palmer, R. F. 2001. Mood and Modality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pardee, D. 1977. A New Ugaritic Letter. Bibliotheca Orientalis 34: 3–20. Parker, S. B. 1967. Studies in the Grammar of the Ugaritic Prose Text. PhD dissertation, John Hopkins University. Ann Arbor & London: University Mircrofilms International. Peirce, Ch. 1902. Application of C. S. Peirce to the Executive Committee of the Carnegie Institution (1902 July 15). Partly published in: Parts of Carnegie Application (L75). The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce. vol. 4, 13–73. . 1931–1935. Collected Papers vols. 1–6. (eds. Ch. Hartshorne & P. Weiss). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Belknap. . 1940. The Philosophy of Peirce: Selected Writings (ed. Justus Buchler). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Pérez Fernández. M. 1992. La Lengua de los Sabios I. Morfosintaxis. Estella: Verbo Divino. Pokorny, J. 1959. Indogermanisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch. Bern: Francke. Rainey, F. 1996. Canaanite in the Amarna Tablets. Leiden: Brill. Rendsburg, G. 1981. Evidence for a Spoken Hebrew in Biblical Times. (Ph.D. dissertation, New York University) Revell, E. J. 1984. Stress and the Waw ‘Consecutive’ in Biblical Hebrew. Journal of the American Oriental Society 104: 437–444. Rix, H. 1976. Historische Grammatik des Griechischen: Laut- und Formenlehre. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Rundgren, F. 1961. Das althebräische Verbum: Abiss der Aspektlehre. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Schneider, W. 1982. Grammatik des biblischen Hebräisch: Ein Lehrbuch (5th ed.). Munich: Claudius Verlag. Seow, C. 1995. A Grammar for Biblical Hebrew. Nashville: Abingdon. Sheehan, J. F. 1970. Conversive waw and Accentual Shift. Biblica 51: 545– 48. Sil’nicki, G. 1988. Structure of verbal meaning and the resultative. Pp. 87–100 in Typology of resultative constructions, ed. V. Nedjalkov. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company.

240

ALEXANDER ANDRASON

Silverman, M. 1973. Syntactic Notes on the Waw Consecutive. Pp. 167– 175 in Orient and Occident: Essays Presented to Cyrus H. Gordon on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. H. Hoffner. Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercer. Sivan, D. 2001. A Grammar of the Ugaritic Language. Leiden: Brill. Smith, M. S. 1991. The Origins and Development of the Waw-Consecutive: Northwest Semitic Evidence from Ugaritic to Qumran. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns. Squartini, M. & P. M. Bertinetto. 2000. The simple and compound past in Romance languages. Pp. 385–402 in Tense and Aspect in the Languages of Europe, ed. Ö. Dahl. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Streck, M. P. 1995. Zahl und Zeit. Grammatik der Numeralia und des Vebalsystems im Spätbabylonischen (CM 5). Groningen: Styx. Szemerényi, O. 1980. Einführung in die vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft. Darmstadt Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Talstra, E. 1978. Text Grammar and Hebrew Bible: Elements of a Theory. Bibliotheca Orientalis 35: 169–174. Traugott, E. & B. Heine. 1991. Introduction. Pp. 1–14 in Approaches to Grammaticalization Vol. 1, eds. E. Traugott & B. Heine. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Traugott, E. & B. Heine (eds.). 1991. Approaches to Grammaticalization. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins. The Holy Bible New Revised Standard Version. 1989. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers. Tropper, J 2002. Ugaritisch. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Volodin, A. 1988 Resultative and Perfect Passive in Finnish. Pp. 469–477 in Typology of resultative constructions, ed. V. Nedjalkov. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company.

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬: A REJOINDER TO THE ARGUMENTS ADVANCED BY B. BECKING AND M. KORPEL ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO RADBOUD UNIVERSITY NIJMEGEN In The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures in the winter of 2010 Bob Becking and Marjo Korpel (BK) published a response1 to Ellen van Wolde‘s analysis of ‫ ברא‬in Genesis 1:1–2:4a meaning “to spatially separate” instead of “to create.”2 The present article discusses questions of semantics, BK’s criticisms, and their proposal to read ‫ ברא‬as “to construct.”3

1. SOME DIFFICULTIES IN THE COMMON UNDERSTANDING OF ‫“ ארב‬TO CREATE” The common understanding of the verb ‫“ ברא‬to create” is more problematic than is often thought. There are a series of problems. (1) The first is the lexical problem that the Piel form of the verb ‫ברא‬ clearly refers to “cutting” in Josh 17:15, 18, and Ezek 21:24. The question, then, is: How does this verb’s Piel meaning of “to cut” relate to its Qal 1 B. Becking and M. C. A. Korpel, “To Create, to Separate or to Construct: An Alternative for a Recent Proposal as to the Interpretation of ‫ ברא‬in Gen 1:1–2:4a,” JHS 10 (2010), article 3. 2 E. J. van Wolde, Reframing Biblical Studies: When Language and Text Meet Culture, Cognition and Context (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 184–200; “Why the Verb ‫ ברא‬Does Not Mean ‘To Create’ in Genesis 1.1–2.4a,” JSOT 34.1 (2009), 1–21. BK refer incorrectly throughout their article to Van Wolde, “Why the Verb ‫ ברא‬Does Not Mean ‘To Create’ in Genesis 1,” whereas the correct title is “…in Genesis 1.1– 2.4a.” 3 The first, synchronic part of this article (sections 1-5) is written by Ellen van Wolde, the second, diachronic part (section 6) by Robert Rezetko. Together they take responsibility for the entire article.

241

242

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

meaning “to create”? Most Biblical Hebrew dictionaries solve this problem by distinguishing two or three homonymous roots: ‫ ברא‬I “to create” (Qal and Niphal), ‫ ברא‬II “to consume food” (Hiphil), ‫ ברא‬III “to cut, clear” (Piel), and some of them follow Gesenius’ 1835 Thesaurus and 1883 Handwörterbuch in his hypothesis of a historical semantic development of the root from “to separate, divide” to “to create.”4 (2) Another problem has been noticed and presented by Hendrik Brongers, as follows.5 In the traditional theological view, the fact that God is the only subject of the verb ‫ ברא‬in the Hebrew Bible has led to the conclusion that this exclusive relation to God is the verb’s most defining feature. And to express God’s unique creative act at the very beginning, his wonderful creation of something completely new. If this were true, Brongers argues, one has to explain why in Genesis 1:1–2:4a the verb ‫ברא‬ is not used as a distinguishing activity for God, since the verb ‫ עשה‬appears even more prominently in the description of God’s creative activities than the verb ‫ ברא‬does in Genesis 1:1–2:3. In addition, those who take ‫ ברא‬to designate an exclusive idea of creation have to explain why sometimes, for example, in v. 21 (“God ‫ ברא‬the big Tanninîm”) and v. 25 (“God ‫ עשה‬the wild animals of the earth”), or in v. 26 (“let us ‫ עשה‬human beings”) and v. 27 (“God ‫ ברא‬the human beings”), the verbs are used interchangeably.6 The same is true for Gen 5:1; 6:7; Isa 43:7; 45:12; and Amos 4:13. Numerous also are biblical texts in which the verb ‫ ברא‬is used in a meaning with no reference whatsoever to what is commonly called creatio prima: Exod 34:10; Num 16:30; Isa 45:7; 48:6-7; 57:19; 65:17-18; Jer 31:22; and Ps 51:12. And Brongers concludes: “All these occurrences can be understood as a proof 4 See KB/HALAT: ‫ ברא‬I “schaffen” (Qal and Ni.); ‫ ברא‬II “mästen” (Hi.); ‫ברא‬ III “abholzen” (Pi.); ‫ ברא‬IV = ‫ ברה‬I “essen;” ‫ ברה‬I = ‫ ברא‬II, ‫ ברה‬II denom. of ‫( ברית‬1 Sam 17:8). HALOT: ‫ ברא‬I “create” (Qal and Ni.); ‫ ברא‬II “make oneself fat” (Hi.); ‫ ברא‬III “cut down, clear” (Pi.); ‫ ברא‬IV = ‫ ברה‬I “consume food;” ‫ ברה‬I = ‫ ברא‬II, ‫ ברה‬II denom. of ‫( ברית‬1 Sam 17:8). Gesenius’ 18.Auflage: ‫ ברא‬I “schaffen” (Qal and Ni.); ‫ ברא‬II “mästen” (Hi.); ‫ ברא‬III “zurechtschneiden” (Pi.); ‫ ברא‬IV = ‫ ברה‬I “essen,” ‫ ברה‬I = ‫ ברא‬II, ‫ ברה‬II denom. of ‫( ברית‬1 Sam 17:8). THWAT (W. H. Schmidt) ‫ ברא‬I “schaffen” (Qal and Ni.); ‫ ברא‬II “mästen” (Hi.); ‫ ברא‬III “abstrauen” (Pi.). DCH: ‫ ברא‬I “create” (Qal and Ni.); ‫ ברא‬II “be fat, fatten” (Hi., perh. Ni. Ps 104:30); ‫ ברא‬III “cut, cut down, cut out” (Pi.); ‫ ברא‬IV “eat” = ‫ ברה‬I. NIDOTTE (R. C. Van Leeuwen): ‫ ברא‬I “create, separate (as by cutting)” (Qal); “be created” (Ni.); ‫ ברא‬III “cut” (Pi.).” For Gesenius’ views and literature, see BK, 3, nn. 4–6. 5 H. A. Brongers, De scheppingstradities bij de profeten (Amsterdam: H. J. Paris, 1945), 13–16. 6 Brongers, De scheppingstradities, 14.

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

243

that ‫ ברא‬has a much less exclusive meaning than is commonly assumed. It is true that ‫ ברא‬always has YHWH or Elohim as its subject and that it never occurs with an accusative of material. Yet the fact that the verb is repeatedly mentioned in one breath with verbs like ‫ עשה‬and ‫ יצר‬and the fact that it is used in contexts in which the verb ‫ עשה‬could have been used, cause that one should be very careful drawing too far-reaching conclusions.”7 (3) In addition to these reservations expressed by Hendrik Brongers in 1945, we can say that the common understanding that the verb ‫ ברא‬is exclusively used with God as subject, is only true for the Qal forms but not for the Piel and Hiphil forms. And, of course, it is also logically incorrect to deduce from the premise “God is the only subject of the verb ‫ ברא‬in the Hebrew Bible” that this exclusive relation to God is the verb’s most defining feature. Although ‫ ברא‬does not appear with the mention of material out of which something is created, it is regularly collocated with verbs that do. “More significantly, brʾ is used of entities that come out of preexisting material: e.g., a new generation of animals or humans, or ‘a pure heart’ (Ps 104:29-30; 102:18[19]; 51:10[12]).”8 In addition, S. Lee has shown convincingly in his survey of the 48 occurrences of ‫ ברא‬in the Hebrew Bible that the concept of novelty has been wrongly connected with this verb.9 (4) Another point is that if ‫ ברא‬were the exclusive term for the creation of the heaven and the earth one might wonder why in Exodus 20 the Sabbath is twice defined in relation to God’s creation of the heaven and the earth, in which God’s creation is resumed by ‫ עשה‬and not ‫ברא‬. A similar question might be posed with regard to Gen 14:19, 22 where God is twice mentioned as “the creator of heaven and earth” ( ‫אל עליון ק[ו]נה שמים‬ ‫)וארץ‬, in which not ‫ בורא‬but ‫ קונה‬is used to designate God as the creator of heaven and earth.10 Brongers, De scheppingstradities, 15–16 (translated from the Dutch). R. C. Van Leeuwen, “‫ברא‬,” W. A. VanGemeren (ed.), New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis (5 vols.; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1997), vol. 1, 728–35 (731). 9 S. Lee, “Power Not Novelty: The Connotations of ‫ ברא‬in the Hebrew Bible,” A. G. Auld (ed.), Understanding Poets and Prophets: Essays in Honour of George Wishart Anderson (JSOTS, 152; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 199–212 (211): “As a result, we may now draw the final conclusion that a consistent understanding of the verb ‫ ברא‬does point definitively to the connotations of YHWH’s sovereign power and control.” 10 The same is true for Deut 32:6, Ps 139:13, and Prov 8:22 where God is called the creator, again with the noun ‫קונה‬. 7 8

244

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

(5) Not only does Genesis 1:1–2:4a contain seven times the verb ‫ברא‬ and seven times the verb ‫ עשה‬to express divine actions of making, also outside this text the verb ‫ עשה‬is often used to describe creation.11 God is in the Hebrew Bible called both ‫בורא‬, traditionally translated “creator,” and ‫עושה‬, traditionally translated “maker,”12 and Mark S. Smith points to the usage of the verb ‫ עשה‬for the Israelite deity that is reflected in the Hebrew personal names Asael, Asayah, and Yaasiel, all denoting “God made/created.”13 (1)–(5) Based on these distributional linguistic data, one can raise the question whether the often presupposed distinctive features of ‫ ברא‬have been well defined; they necessitate a new examination. (6) Apart from these linguistic questions, there are some textual problems with the common understanding of “to create” as well. The first problem regards Gen 1:1. When v. 1 is understood as a summary of the events described in vv. 6-10, a position taken by most biblical scholars, what is the consequence for the meaning of ‫ ברא‬in v. 1? Since vv. 6-10 describe God’s actions with regard to the heaven and the earth as both making (‫ )עשה‬and dividing (‫ בדל‬Hiphil), the verb ‫ ברא‬in v. 1 should signify at least both “to create” and “to divide.” A related question is how we can understand the difference in meaning between the verbs ‫ברא‬, ‫עשה‬, and ‫בדל‬. (7) Still another textual problem is Gen 1:21, commonly translated “God created the great sea monsters, and all the living creatures of every kind…and all the winged birds of every kind.” However the previous verse showed that the sea monsters were already present, and not made by God (cf. also Isa 51:9-10; Pss 74:13-14; 148:7, texts that entail the same notion of pre-existent sea monsters). So, if the sea monsters were already present, how then could the verb ‫ ברא‬in v. 21 indicate that God creates these animals? (8) In Num 16:30 the word combination ‫ ברא בריאה‬cannot possibly express “create creation.” “And Moses said: ‘If these men die as all men do, it was not YHWH who sent me. But if YHWH creates creation [‫ ברא‬Qal + noun ‫ ]בריאה‬and the ground opens its mouth, and swallows them up, and they go down alive into Sheol, you shall know that these men have despised YHWH.” How is YHWH’s creation related to the opening of the ground? In Gen 3:1; Pss 95:5; 100:3; 119:73; Prov 8:26; Job 9:9; 31:15; and Neh 9:6. ‫בורא‬: Isa 40:28; 42:5; 43:15; 45:7, 18; 57:19; 65:17, 18 (x2); Qoh 12:1. ‫עושה‬: Isa 17:7; Prov 14:31; 17:15. 13 M. S. Smith, The Priestly Vision of Genesis 1 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 224, n. 61. 11 12

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

245

(For the explanation of Num 16:30 with ‫ ברא‬meaning “to separate,” see below.) (9) Also in Exod 34:10 the verb ‫ ברא‬Qal is difficult to understand in its sense of “to create” (see commentaries). God offers his covenant to Moses: “I hereby make a covenant. Before all your people I will ‫עשה‬ wonders that have not been ‫ ברא‬on all the earth or in any nation.” Two possibilities have been suggested by biblical scholars: either ‫ ברא‬is used synonymously with ‫עשה‬, both expressing “making,” or the two verbs express different meanings. (For the explanation of Exod 34:10 with ‫ברא‬ meaning “to separate,” see below.) (10) Another well-known text in which the verb ‫ ברא‬Qal is difficult to understand in its sense of “to create” is Isa 45:6-7: “I am the former (‫)יוצר‬ of light and the creator (‫ )בורא‬of darkness. I am the maker (‫ )עושה‬of good and the creator (‫ )בורא‬of evil.” Did God create darkness? If a reference to Genesis 1 is presupposed in Isaiah 45, this would be impossible, as in Genesis 1 darkness is pre-existent. And did God create evil, at least according to Isaiah 45? (See below for an analysis.) (1)–(10) These linguistic and textual questions gave rise to renewed linguistic, textual, and comparative research of the verb ‫ ברא‬in Genesis 1:1– 2:4a.14 The main problem hovering in the background of such a study is, how can Biblical Hebrew linguists and biblical scholars make a verifiable or falsifiable semantic analysis of Hebrew words in general and of the word ‫ ברא‬in particular? Semantic questions in biblical scholarship have been resolved within the field of ancient or classical Hebrew itself and/or in relation to cognate Semitic languages, often with considerable results. Yet in the last half century general linguistics has greatly developed. At the beginning of the 20th century structural linguistics arose in Europe, while in the fifties American linguists started to develop generative linguistics. Both are autonomous or context-independent linguistic approaches that intend to explain universal innate patterns in language. The last quarter of the 20th century showed a growing interest and expertise in culture, cognition, and context dependent linguistics.15 Should not the latter linguistic approaches to semantics be more fully appreciated in modern biblical studies, especially because they are not aimed at universal structures, but at specific time- and place-related language usages? At least it is our idea that Biblical Hebrew semantics can greatly profit from such linguistic approaches. The following Van Wolde, Reframing Biblical Studies, 184–200; Id., “Why the Verb.” For a survey of developments in cognitive linguistics see Van Wolde, Reframing Biblical Studies, 29–33. 14 15

246

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

example might help to illustrate the difference a new approach can make to biblical semantics.

2. A SEMANTIC DETOUR: COGNITIVE CROSS-LINGUISTIC STUDIES OF VERBS EXPRESSING “SEPARATION-EVENTS” Recently linguists examined languages in 28 typologically and genetically diverse languages from all over the world including all kinds of words used to express the events that involve a “separation in the material integrity of an object/unit.” The results of these studies were published in Cognitive Linguistics 18.2 (2007) and Cognition 109 (2008). For example, in English separation events are expressed by verbs such as break, cut, clip, carve, chop, deal, hack, half, saw, slash, slice, split, tear, cut off, cut down, clear out. All these verbs, not only in English but also in other languages, construe the process of separation in distinct ways. In many languages verbs designating the temporal process of separation include the instrument; thus in English cut entails a knife, clip a pair of scissors, saw a saw; so, with these languages one can construe the cutting-event as a tool-related action. Compare, for example, the difference between English, German, French, Italian, and Spanish “cut hair” and Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, and Dutch that express the hairdresser’s activity as “clip hair.” One might wonder whether these differences in language reflect distinct (historical) habits in hairstyling. In some languages (but not in others) verbs designating the temporal process of separation include the surface or space; e.g., English clear in “The forests were being cleared (from trees).” In some languages, the verbs that designate the temporal process of separation include energetic movement as in English chop. In some languages the semantic category of agentivity plays an important role.16

Ameka and Essegbey describe the African language Ewe in which the category of agentivity is determinative. They distinguish four classes: highly agentive verbs (dzá “slash,” si “cut,” kpa “carve”), agentive verbs (tso “cut,” sé “cut”), non-agentive verbs (lá “snap off,” dze “split”), and highly non-agentive verbs (vú “tear,” and others). The highly agentive verbs describe events involving agents only and, therefore, do not occur in the intransitive, while agentive verbs express separations that occur spontaneously. On the other hand, highly nonagentive verbs do not lexicalize agents at all. Non-agentive verbs can describe separations that require an instrument. See F. K. Ameka and J. Essegbey, “Cut and Break Verbs in Ewe and the Causative Alternation Construction,” Cognitive Linguistics 18.2 (2007), 241–50. 16

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

247

Most languages know the distinction between reversible and nonreversible separation events.17 Consider, for example, the distinction in English between reversible separation such as “opening a teapot” and “pulling apart paper cups” and verbs expressing non-reversible separation such as “chopping a carrot” or “tearing a robe.” Languages differ in whether information about the state-change (the separation) is typically located in a single verb, as in the English verbs cut, clear, and chop, or is spread out across a number of constituents such as additional verbs, affixes or particles. For example, in English the beginning or inchoative state is included in the verb break off. Even the semantic categories of very closely related languages appeared not to be the same. Asifa Majid, Marianne Gullberg, Miriam van Staden, and Melissa Bowerman present an extensive analysis of four closely related Germanic languages, namely English, German, Dutch, and Swedish.18 One and the same approach for the synchronic comparison of word meaning in these languages demonstrates that even though these languages are closely related, there are differences in the number of categories, their exact boundaries, and the relationships of the terms to one another.19 Consider the cognate verbs break (English), brechen (German), breken (Dutch), and bräcka (Swedish). English break is indifferent to how the effect was brought about, and it is also used to describe the destruction of a wide variety of objects, such as sticks, ropes, plates, and yarn. Brechen, breken, and bräcka, in contrast, all pick out a much more circumscribed set of events. Germen brechen and Dutch breken are used primarily for breaking long thin things by hand, i.e. snapping events. Swedish bräcka, on the other hand, is a rare verb used mainly for separating or cracking brittle, twodimensional objects. The semantic category picked out by German brechen 17 A. Majid, J. S. Boster, and M. Bowerman, “The Cross-Linguistic Categorization of Everyday Events: A Study of Cutting and Breaking,” Cognition 109 (2008), 235–50. 18 A. Majid, M. Gullberg, M. van Staden, and M. Bowerman, “How Similar are Semantic Categories in Closely Related Languages? A Comparison of Cutting and Breaking in Four Germanic Languages,” Cognitive Linguistics 18.2 (2007), 179–94. 19 In English there are two large clusters of terms, one to designate breaking events, the other to designate cutting events. In German, however, there are three large clusters: a large breaking cluster, a cutting cluster, and a separate tearing cluster. Dutch has four distinct clusters: breaking, tearing, cutting-with-a-singleblade, and cutting-with-scissors. Swedish has five clusters for categorizing cutting and breaking events: a large breaking cluster, snapping, cutting-with-a-single-blade, cutting-with-scissors, and tearing. See Majid, Gullberg, Van Staden, and Bowerman, “How Similar are Semantic Categories.”

248

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

and Dutch breken exists in Swedish also, but it is not associated with the cognate term bräcka, but rather with an entirely different verb, bryta. In sum, language users construe the same events in distinct ways. The language the native speakers are using enables them to express their experiences, perceptions, and ideas in accordance with a number of cultureand context-bound categories. In order to understand the semantic values of lexical terms, linguists have to take into account these categories, their exact boundaries, and the relationships of the terms to one another—all of which are to be analyzed in their own specific contexts of use. We will compare these modern semantic insights to biblical semantic studies of the verb ‫ ברא‬and to BK’s semantic discussion and will signal a series of inadequacies in these biblical semantic approaches.

3. DIFFERENCES BETWEEN EARLIER SEMANTIC STUDIES OF THE VERB ‫“ ארב‬SEPARATE” AND VAN WOLDE’S PROPOSAL 3.1 BIBLICAL STUDIES THAT CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY OF ‫ ברא‬MEANING “TO SEPARATE”

In modern biblical scholarship the following authors have suggested that the meaning of the verb ‫ ברא‬is “to cut,” “to separate,” or “to divide.” Wilhelm Gesenius20 was the first and he set the tone by explaining that the verb ‫ ברא‬signifies “to separate, cut, tailor, make as a sculptor” and from there “to produce, make” and, finally, “to create.” Samuel Driver took the next step: “The root signifies to cut (see, in the intensive conjug., Josh. xvii. 15, 18; Ez. xxiii. 47): so probably the proper meaning of ‫ ברא‬is to fashion by cutting, to shape.”21 Hendrik Brongers paid extensive attention to Genesis 1:1–2:3; however, he did not describe the meaning of the verb ‫ ברא‬as such, but the concept of creation in Genesis 1:1–2:3, including all verbs and verses. In his For Gesenius’ views and literature, see BK, 3, nn. 4–6. S. R. Driver, The Book of Genesis, with Introduction and Notes (London: Methuen & Co., 1904), 3. And he continues: “In the simple conjugation, however, it is used exclusively of God, to denote viz. the production of something fundamentally new, by the exercise of a sovereign originative power, altogether transcending that possessed by man.” Similarly, E. König, Hebräisches und aramäisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament (Wiesbaden: Sändig, 19101, 19366 reprinted 1969), 47: ‫ברא‬ “heraushauen, schaffen Gn 1,1; auch etwas umschaffen zu (Jes 65,18). Pi. Jos 17,15: u. haue dir dort (im Walde) heraus! V. 18: u. du wirst aus ihm heraushauen; schaffen (Hes 21,24b).” 20 21

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

249

view, in this text creation entails separation or division: “God’s creative activity can best be described as ‘arrangement.’”22 Johannes van der Ploeg argued that to cut a stone, wood, bones, implies that one gives it a new form, in a sense a new life.23 That is why, in his opinion, it does not come as a surprise that in Hebrew the terms ‫ ברא‬Qal “to create” and ‫ ברא‬Piel “to cut” are combined.24 The idea of cutting, modeling, forming gave (according to Van der Ploeg) birth to ‫’ברא‬s highest meaning: production out of nothing. Therefore, ‫ ברא‬Qal expresses: creatio ex nihilo.25 Émile Dantinne offered the most extensive analysis of the verb ‫ברא‬, starting from the difficulty that in five biblical texts the meaning “to create” is less certain. In three of them, Josh 17:15 and 18 and Ezek 23:47, the verb clearly signifies “to cut.”26 “Pour exprimer l’idée de créer, même, peut-être, Brongers, De scheppingstradities, 16–18. J. van der Ploeg, “Le sens du verbe hébreu ‫ ברא‬bārāʾ. Étude sémasiologique,” Le Muséon 59 (1946), 143–57. 24 Van der Ploeg, “Le sens du verbe,” 151: “Nous avons vu que chez plusieurs peuples l’idée de «couper» a plusieurs fois donné naissance à une généalogie sémantique qui a abouti au sens de «créer». En taillant la pierre, le bois, l’os, on lui donne une forme nouvelle, et d’une certaine façon un être nouveau. Il n’est donc point étonnant de voir se rejoindre en hébreu bārāʾ (qal) = créer, et bārāʾ (piʿel) = couper, découper. On peut en conclure que l’élément bar a primitivement signifié couper.” 25 Van der Ploeg, “Le sens du verbe,” 153, 155, 157: “L’idée de couper, modeler, former, a donné naissance à celle de créer dans son plus haut sens de productio ex nihilo, et cela se comprend, car «former» est une idée plus universelle que «bâtir» et plus spirituelle, ou plus métaphysique, si l’on veut, que procréer.…Lorsque Jahvé créa quelque chose sans qu’il y eût d’objet ou de matière préexistante, il la créa nécessairement ex nihilo.…Il est vrai que dans plusieurs textes le verbe bārāʾ est employé promiscue avec ‫עשה‬, ‫יצר‬, etc. Mais il ne s’ensuit pas que bārāʾ avait d o n c fondamentalement le même sens. Le parallélisme poétique exigeait souvent l’usage de plusieurs mots à la fois, et la tendance sémitique à la verbosité faisait le reste. Dans toute production, quelque chose de nouveau reçoit l’être. Quand Jahvé produit quelque chose, il le fait d’une façon proportionnée à sa toute-puissance, et si besoin est, il la tire du néant. C’est le sens du verbe ‫ברא‬.” 26 É. Dantinne, “Création et séparation,” Le Muséon 74 (1961), 441–51 (447): “La connexion de la racine B R ʾ avec l’idée de séparer n’est pas seulement prouvée par son emploi, au piʿêl, avec le sens de couper, dans Jos., xvii, 15 et 18, ainsi que dans Éz., xxiii, 47. Il y en a d’autres indices: 1) L’existence, en hébreu, en plus de B R ʾ, d’autres racines comprenant les consonnes B et R, avec des dérivés évoquant les idées de couper, de découper, de partager, de traverser.…2) La même racine, ou des racines apparentées, exprimant la notion de séparation dans d’autres langes 22 23

250

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

ex nihilo, les anciens Hébreux ont employé un mot auquel s’associe la notion de séparer, si souvent formulée explicitement dans le récit de la Création. BâRâʾ, c’est « séparer, couper, tailler, produire en taillant, comme un sculpteur », de là, « fabriquer, faire », et, finalement, « créer ».”27 The difference between Enuma Elish and Genesis is, according to Dantinne, that Genesis speaks of creatio ex nihilo, whereas Enuma Elish speaks of Marduk’s division out of chaos; hence, in Genesis 1 the word ‫ ברא‬has evolved from separation to creatio ex nihilo.28 Karl-Heinz Bernhardt follows Dantinne in that he considers the verb ‫’ברא‬s fundamental meaning to be “to separate,”29 yet in his following study of the textual occurrences of ‫ ברא‬in the Hebrew Bible, he argues that its meaning is restricted to describing God’s creative actions.30 Claus Westermann also bases his view of ‫ ברא‬on Dantinne.31 Although the title of Paul Beauchamp’s 1969 study of Genesis 1, Création et séparation, might suggest the idea that he shares the view that the verb ‫ ברא‬signifies “to separate,” he actually relates the concept of separation to the verb ‫ בדל‬only, and not to ‫ברא‬, as well as to the seven-day structure and the story composition.

sémitiques.” 27 Dantinne, “Création et séparation,” 446. 28 Dantinne, “Création et séparation,” 448, quotes M. J. Lagrange, Études sur la religion sémitique (Paris : V. Lecoffre, 1903), 332: “Vienne Marduk, le soleil matinal, ses premiers rayons séparant la masse chaotique en deux parties, le ciel et la terre.…Marduk triomphe du chaos et le divise.” And Dantinne adds: “Séparation, notez-le, mais point créer. Il a été réservé aux lecteurs de la Genèse d’y découvrir la Création, la Création ex nihilo.” 29 K.-H. Bernhardt, “‫ברא‬,” G. J. Botterweck, H. Ringgren, and H.-J. Fabry (eds.), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament (10 vols.; Stuttgart/Etc.: W. Kohlhammer, 1970–1998), vol. 1, 773–77 (773): “Warscheinlich hat das hebr. ‫ברא‬ die Grundbedeutung ‘trennnen’ (Dantinne); vgl. die Ableitung von einer zweiradikaligen Grundwurzel br bei G. J. Botterweck.” 30 Bernhardt, “‫ברא‬,” 774: “Das Verbum ‫ ברא‬ist in seinem Anwendungsbereich streng begrenzt. Es dient ausschließlich zur Bezeichnung des göttlichen Schaffens.…‫ ברא‬soll als spezieller theologischer Terminus die Unvergleichbarkeit des Schöpferwirkens Gottes gegenüber allem sekundären Machen und Bilden aus vorgegebener Materie durch den Menschen begrifflich eindeutig zum Ausdruck bringen.” 31 C. Westermann, Genesis 1: Teilband 1: Genesis 1–11 (BKAT 1/1; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1974).

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

251

Van Leeuwen is critical with respect to common biblical theological explanations of the term ‫ברא‬.32 He concludes that “OT brʾ (pi.) is predicated of humans, but in q. and ni. its subject or implicit agent is always God. While the pi. signifies (resultative) ‘cut’ exclusively, the q. signifies ‘create’ with the exception of Num 16:30, ‘cut.’ Consequently, the semantic development from ‘cut’ to ‘create’ described by Claus Westermann (99, after F. Delitzsch and others) is a natural one. By ‘cutting,’ a particular shape is given to an object that, as it were, comes into being.”33 We took so much time and space to describe previous scholarship in order to demonstrate that all biblical scholars who considered the verb ‫ברא‬ to mean “to separate, cut, or divide” subsequently understand this process of separation in one way only, namely as “to cut a particular shape,” “to fashion by cutting,” “to shape,” or “to create.” The metaphorical imagery that prevails in these views is that of a sculptor: God, who like a Michelangelo, sculptures the universe. The above described cognitive cross-linguistic studies (section 2) elucidate a serious semantic shortcoming in these biblical semantic studies that all limit the idea of [SEPARATION] or [CUTTING] to separation in the sense of [FASHIONING] or [PRODUCTION]. That is to say, these scholars take it for granted that ‫ ברא‬expresses a first stage in a conceptual process that starts with cutting and ends with creation. This explains why the scholars in earlier times (e.g., Van der Ploeg, Dantinne) kept on trying to keep this meaning of ‫ ברא‬in line with the notion of creatio ex nihilo. Although this approach disappeared in later literature (e.g., Westermann, Van Leeuwen), scholars nevertheless associated the concept of separation with “the making of.” Yet, from a linguistic point of view, the idea that separation should be understood as fashioning is only one of the possibilities. The question is, therefore, in what way does the verb ‫ברא‬ construe the process of separation in Biblical Hebrew? Van Leeuwen, “‫ברא‬,” 731: “In the past, biblical theologians, eager to discover theological significance in individual words, have overloaded brʾ, create, with semantic freight in three respects. First, it was commonly emphasized that this vb. is predicated only of Israel’s god as subject; second, that brʾ never appears with explicit mention of material out of which something has been ‘created’; third, that brʾ was a uniquely nonmetaphorical, nonanthropomorphic vb. for creation, since it was predicated only of Israel’s god. Upon these linguistic foundations theological arguments concerning the uniqueness and incomparability of Yahweh’s creative activity were erected. These points (and theological pronouncements founded upon them) are, however, somewhat misleading.” 33 Van Leeuwen, “‫ברא‬,” 732. 32

252

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

3.2 THE VERB ‫ ברא‬AND ITS EXPRESSION OF THE PROCESS OF SEPARATION

The only way to answer this question is to start with a semantic analysis of the clearest usages of the verb ‫ ברא‬in the Hebrew Bible and analyze the texts with an open mind. (1)–(5) The texts that are most clear are the Piel usages of the verb in Joshua 1734 and Ezekiel 21 and 23.35 The Piel of ‫ ברא‬expresses in Josh 17:15, 18 not “to cut down trees,” but “to make an empty space by cutting down trees.” Ezekiel 21:24 contains the verb ‫ ברא‬twice to designate “to cut out a spot.” Ezekiel 23:47 evokes “to cut down” adulteresses, to clear the place of them. The Piel or intensive form of ‫ ברא‬thus figures in a spatial domain and designates the temporal process of [SEPARATION IN THE SPATIAL INTEGRITY OF A UNIT IN ORDER TO MAKE SPACE] in which the act itself is marked as intensive, i.e. “cutting” or “clearing” violently. (6) Another text with a clear usage of ‫ ברא‬Qal “to cut,” “to separate” is Num 16:30.36 Here it is followed by the accusative noun ‫בריאה‬, “something separated.” Humbert, Milgrom, and Van Leeuwen translate it as “chasm.”37 In Num 16:30 ‫ ברא‬Qal is used in reference to YHWH to indicate 34 BK, 3, wrongly refer to the Piel use of ‫ ברא‬in Isa 17:15; they mean, of course, Josh 17:15. 35 Joshua 17:15: “‘If you are a numerous people,’ Joshua answered them, ‘go up to the forest country and clear (‫ )ברא‬an area for yourselves there, in the territory of the Perizzites and the Rephaim, seeing that you are cramped in the hill country of Ephraim.’” Joshua 17:17-18: “But Joshua declared to the House of Joseph, to Ephraim and Manasseh: ‘You are indeed a numerous people, possessed of great strength; you shall not have one allotment only. The hill country shall be yours as well; true, it is forest land, but you will clear it (‫ )ברא‬and possess it to its farthest limits.’” Ezekiel 21:24: “The word of YHWH came to me: ‘And you, O mortal, choose two roads on which the sword of the king of Babylon may advance, both issuing from the same country; and cut out (‫ )ברא‬a spot; at the head/top of the road to the city cut out (‫ )ברא‬a spot.’” Ezekiel 23:46-47: “For thus said YHWH God: ‘Summon an assembly against them, and make them an object of horror and plunder. Let the assembly pelt them with stones and cut them down (‫ )ברא‬with their swords; let them kill their sons and daughters, and burn down their homes.’” 36 Numbers 16:30: “And Moses said: ‘If these men die as all men do, it was not YHWH who sent me. But if YHWH makes a separation (‫ ברא‬Qal + noun ‫ )בריאה‬and the ground opens its mouth, and swallows them up, and they go down alive into Sheol, you shall know that these men have despised YHWH.’” 37 P. Humbert, “Emploi et portée du verbe bārā (créer) dans l’Ancien Testament,” P. Humbert, Opuscules d’un hébraïsant (Mémoires de l’Université de

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

253

that he is performing the action subsequently specified by the ground’s opening of the mouth, including notions such as lips that spread out, a throat that swallows up without any previous chewing, so that the men who despised YHWH go down alive into Sheol. Hence, the collocation ‫ברא‬ ‫ בריאה‬designates a spatial separation. YHWH distances himself from these men, by sending them into the underworld, where they have to stay apart from the Israelites. (7)–(13) Van Wolde studied the seven occurrences of the verb ‫ ברא‬in Genesis 1:1–2:4a.38 Her conclusions are that Gen 1:1 describes the very first act that God separates or sets apart the heaven(s) and the earth; that Gen 1:27a (twice ‫ )ברא‬does not express God’s creation of the human being, but that God is setting the human being apart, on a place spatially distant from him, namely on earth; that Gen 1:27b indicates that God separates the human being into two sexes, each connected with its own life sphere; that in Gen 2:3 God, after having finished the six creation days, sets the seventh day apart from the other six days, and declares it holy; and that, finally, Gen 2:4a resumes the story with “These are the begettings of the heaven and the earth in their being separated,” thus forming an inclusio with Gen 1:1. Thus, the setting apart of the spatial domains and their inhabitants is considered to be crucial for the understanding of Genesis 1:1–2:4a, and as important as the creation of the inhabitants of these spatial realms and as the temporal arrangement in a week (six days plus Sabbath). Based on these thirteen occurrences, the following hypothesis with regard to the verb ‫ ברא‬Qal has been formulated: the verb ‫ ברא‬Qal functions in the cognitive domain of space and designates the temporal process of [SEPARATION IN THE SPATIAL INTEGRITY OF A UNIT IN ORDER TO SET OBJECTS OR PHENOMENA APART, TO SET THEM AT A DISTANCE, OR TO MAKE SPACE WITHIN THE SPATIAL UNIT], which is shortened into [SEPARATION IN THE MATERIAL OR SPATIAL INTEGRITY OF A UNIT]. Whereas the intensive form or Piel of ‫ ברא‬expresses that this act is performed intensively or even violently, or with an instrument that requires force or violence, the Qal form of ‫ ברא‬expresses this temporal process neither intensively nor violently. The latter can, dependent on the context of use, be translated “to divide, separate, set apart, disconnect.” The

Neuchâtel, 26; Neuchatel: Secrétariat de l’Université de Neuchatel, 1958), 146–65 (147); J. Milgrom, Numbers: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1990), 137; Van Leeuwen, “‫ברא‬,” 732. 38 Van Wolde, Reframing Biblical Studies, 184–200; “Why the Verb.”

254

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

translation “to differentiate” is not recommended because it entails more abstract notions such as “distinguishing, making a distinction between.” Above, two other texts were mentioned that create difficulties when the word is understood to designate “to create,” namely Exod 34:10 and Isa 40:21-26. These texts will be reconsidered in the light of this new hypothesis. In Exod 34:10 God offers his covenant to Moses: “I hereby make a covenant. Before all your people I will ‫ עשה‬wonders that have not been ‫ ברא‬on all the earth or in any nation.” Starting from the view that each word construes an event in its own way, the two verbs ‫ עשה‬and ‫ ברא‬are considered to express distinct meanings. Exodus 34:10-16 describes the two sides of the covenant: a positive side, the loyalty between God and Israel, and a negative side, the attitude towards the other nations, who are to be driven out. The positive side is described in v. 10 as ‫“ נפלאת‬wonders.” These amazing deeds of Israel’s God vis-à-vis Israel set the Israelites apart from the other nations. Obviously, wonders are unifying them as much as they are dividing them from the other people. This is what is described in v. 10: the making of the wonders and the disjunctive effect with regard to other nations. Hence, the approximate translation: “I hereby make a covenant. Before all your people I will work wonders that have not been set apart on all the earth or in any nation.” This view is confirmed by the idea of covenant, ‫כרת ברית‬. It might be compared with the pre-Islamic Arabic understanding of covenant, which stresses both the loyalty to the deity as well as the disjunction and distance to the people excluded from the covenant, and so also the biblical covenant can be conceived of as both binding and separating: the people of Israel are closely connected to their deity and separated from the other nations and their deities. These two sides are exactly described in Exod 34:10-16. Another text is Isa 40:21-22, 26 where in v. 26 the verb ‫ ברא‬Qal figures in the larger metaphorical context of the making of the heaven and the earth. Verses 21-22 describe how God founded (‫ )יסד‬the earth, spread out (‫ )נטה‬the heavens like a veil, stretched out the heavens like a tent to dwell in. It shows God as the one who is enthroned above the vault of the earth from where he can see the inhabitants as grasshoppers, so large is the distance between heaven and earth. This distance prefigures the difference in his power (vv. 23-24: he brings potentates to naught; makes rulers on earth as nothing) and his incomparability (v. 25). This entire image is concluded in v. 26 “Lift high your eyes and see: ‫מי־ברא אלה‬.” This verse does not merely describe “the making of these things,” since this has been metaphorically conceived as the founding of the earth and as the spreading out of the heavens. Reference is made to the distance between the two

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

255

cosmological realms in analogy to the distance in power between God above and human beings below and is expressed by ‫ברא‬, “Lift up your eyes and see: Who separated these?” Comparable also is Isa 4:5: “YHWH will ‫ ברא‬Qal ‘spread out’ a cloud over the whole shrine and meeting place of Mount Zion” (cf. Ps 105:39 and Job 26:9 where the same concept of “spreading out a cloud” is expressed by the verb ‫)פרש‬. Futato showed that the word ‫ ענן‬designates cloud mass, cloud cover, or undifferentiated cloud and often includes the notion of extent or expanse.39 The verb ‫ ברא‬designates this spreading out (imagine someone who spreads out his or her arms) of a blanket of clouds. Here again a spatial notion is entailed, in which ‫ ברא‬denotes a temporal process that starts with unity and proceeds to extensiveness. This use of the verb with regard to the spreading out of the heavens occurs more often in Isaiah, namely in Isa 42:5: “Thus said the deity YHWH who separated (‫ )ברא‬the heavens and spread them out, who beat out (‫ )רקע‬the earth and what brings it forth.” Notice here the plural suffix used for the heavens, and in contrast the beating out of the earth which is construed with the singular. This use of ‫ ברא‬meaning “spreading out” can also be compared to the use in the Akkadian text The Dream of Lugalbanda (line 333), which describes how Lugalbanda made a bed: “He spread out, bàra, a linen sheet.”40 Another text in Isaiah, Isa 45:16-18, can be understood similarly. Here God, designated ‫האלהים‬, is described as the one “who spread out/set apart the heavens (‫)ברא‬, who formed the earth and made it, who established/founded it. He did not set it (the earth) apart (‫ )ברא‬tohû, but formed it for habitation.” In short, the novelty of Van Wolde’s proposal is to understand the verb ‫ ברא‬Qal “to separate” within the cognitive domain of space. It is considered to be a spatial concept, not a concept that figures in the domain of construction. Also new with respect to previous scholarship is that she does not consider the verb ‫ ברא‬to express the first step in a process that necessarily ends up with creation. And different from other biblical scholars she has not limited her explanation of the verb ‫ ברא‬to v. 1 of Genesis 1 only, but is (to the best of her knowledge) the first scholar to apply this spatial view of ‫ ברא‬to Gen 1:21, 27; 2:3-4. M. D. Futato, “‫ענן‬,” W. A. VanGemeren (ed.), New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis (5 vols.; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1997), vol. 3, 465– 66. 40 H. L. J. Van Stiphout, “Reflections on the Dream of Lugalbanda (A typological and interpretative analysis of LH 322–365),” J. Prosecký (ed.), Intellectual Life of the Ancient Near East: Papers Presented at the 43 rd Rencontre assyriologique internationale Prague, July 1–5, 1996 (Prague: Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Oriental Institute, 1998), 397–412 (406). 39

256

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

4. OTHER SEMANTIC QUESTIONS: PREPOSITIONS, COGNATE LANGUAGES, PARALLELISM, AND METAPHORS 4.1 VERBS AND PREPOSITIONS So far we discussed a first inadequacy in the biblical semantic approaches to the verb ‫ברא‬, namely the idea that separation can be understood in one way only, namely “to fashion by cutting.” A second semantic shortcoming is noticeable in BK’s remarks in section 4.1 and regards the collocation of verbs of separation with the preposition ‫“ מן‬from, out of.” A Hebrew verb with the meaning “to separate” requires at least one preposition, like ‫ מן‬or ‫בין‬, as can be observed with the verb ‫בדל‬. It could be argued that there are texts where a preposition is not required. However, this is the case only when ‫ בדל‬is used in the meaning of “to select.” Otherwise “separate” has to be taken as “split, cleave.” (BK, 7)

In the spatial domain, events involving a [SEPARATION IN THE are expressed in Biblical Hebrew by verbs that express “to separate” or “to cut” in distinct ways. The following four verbs are most used: ‫( בדל‬x42), ‫( בקע‬x51), ‫( חלק‬x56), ‫( פרד‬x27) (numbers DCH). The verb ‫ בקע‬is always used without a preposition; the verb ‫ חלק‬is often used with the preposition ‫“ ל‬into,” but is also used without a preposition. The verb ‫ בדל‬is mainly used with the preposition ‫“ בין‬between,” but also with the prepositions ‫“ ל‬into,” ‫“ ב‬in,” and ‫“ מן‬from.” Let us first look more carefully at one of these four verbs, namely the verb ‫פרד‬. It occurs 27 times in the Hebrew Bible, of which 9 times are with the preposition ‫מן‬, 4 times with the preposition ‫בין‬, and 12 times without a preposition. Each of these usages are, of course, to be studied extensively within the spatial and metaphorical conceptualization of the text. Thus, ‫פרד‬ is used with ‫ מן‬in Gen 2:10 in a geographical domain to describe the river that branches out from Eden, whereas in Gen 10:5, 32 it is used in the ethnic domain to describe the people who separate themselves from other people, and in Judg 4:11 it is used in the human domain to describe someone who separates himself from another. Each of these four texts expresses a distinct spatial mental image, that might or might not differ from the mental image expressed by ‫ פרד‬with the preposition ‫בין‬, especially when two parties are involved. This is, for example, the case in Ruth 1:17. Interestingly, the verb ‫ פרד‬is also often used without a preposition, e.g., in 2 Sam 2:23 where Saul and Jonathan ‫“ ונפרד‬never parted in life or in death,” in Gen 30:40 where Jacob ‫“ הפריד‬separated the sheep,” or in Hos 4:14 where daughters-in-law ‫“ יפרדו‬separate” (“turn aside” NJPSV). Other MATERIAL OR SPATIAL INTEGRITY OF A UNIT]

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

257

occurrences of ‫ פרד‬without a preposition are Deut 32:8; Pss 22:15; 92:10; Prov 16:28; 17:9; 18:1; 19:4; and Job 4:11; 41:9. Another example of a “separation verb” that figures in various collocations, is the verb ‫גרע‬. It is used six times with ‫מן‬, five times with ‫את‬, once with ‫אל‬, and six times without a preposition. Therefore, one cannot automatically conclude that in order to express the concept of [SEPARATION], a verb necessarily should be collocated with the preposition ‫“ מן‬from”; it all depends on the way the act of separation is construed. BK have reached conclusions on the basis of far too insufficient research. This second semantic shortcoming can be summarized as follows. To make assertions about collocations, an analysis of complete data sets is a first condition to be met. In fact, what is needed is a complete semantic analysis of the lexical fields of “cut” and “separate” in a way similar to the earlier described linguistic studies and to lexical semantic studies such as those presented by Malul and Zanella.41 Such an analysis would not only include the four most used verbs of separation, but all others too.42 To be included are profound linguistic studies of prepositions, and the way they construe the spatial environment. A similar linguistic analysis is needed for words that express “making, creation, shape, form, fashion,” in short “words of creation.” And, finally, a profound study of fixed word combinations, such as collocations with prepositions, is necessary. It is time for biblical scholarship not to draw linguistic conclusions on hap-snap reference to biblical texts and on semantic assumptions that are not valid anymore in modern linguistic research.

4.2 COGNATE LANGUAGES AND TEXTS IN COGNATE LANGUAGES A third semantic shortcoming in BK’s discussion is visible in their discussion of Sumerian and Babylonian languages and texts. The Sumerian Song of the Hoe contains the following line: “… and not only did he [=Enlil] hasten to separate heaven from earth.” In this text the adverbial case marker “ta” (in “ki-ta”) indicates the ablative with the M. Malul, Knowledge, Control and Sex: Studies in Biblical Thought, Culture and Worldview (Tel Aviv-Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publication, 2002); R. Zanella, The Lexical Field of the Substantives of “Gift” in Ancient Hebrew (SSN, 54; Leiden: Brill, 2010). 42 In addition to the four Hebrew verbs of separation mentioned above, the full study would have to look also at: ‫בצע‬, ‫גדע‬, ‫גזז‬, ‫גזל‬, ‫גרז‬, ‫גרע‬, ‫הגה‬, ‫הרס‬, ‫חלף‬, ‫חצב‬, ‫חצה‬, ‫חצץ‬, ‫חרם‬, ‫כסח‬, ‫כרסם‬, ‫כרת‬, ‫מנה‬, ‫נסח‬, ‫נקף‬, ‫נתח‬, ‫נתץ‬, ‫נתק‬, ‫פלג‬, ‫פלח‬, ‫פסל‬, ‫פצם‬, ‫פצץ‬, ‫פרם‬, ‫פרץ‬, ‫פרק‬, ‫פשח‬, ‫קצב‬, ‫קצה‬, ‫קצץ‬, ‫קרע‬, ‫שבב‬, ‫שסע‬, ‫שסף‬, ‫תזז‬. 41

258

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO separating force, hence “from.” A comparable feature is present in the late bilingual text from Uruk: “…Utu, when the heavens were made distant from the earth.” In the late Babylonian version the preposition itti, “from,” is used. In the other texts that Van Wolde refers to, prepositions or an ablative are present. These remarks imply that the Mesopotamian concept of origin can be labelled as “separating A from B,” which is different from “differentiating into A and B”—as Ellen van Wolde assumes for Genesis 1, and therefore are of no use as comparative material in an argument on the interpretation of Genesis 1. (BK, 8–9)

First of all, Van Wolde’s view is that the verb ‫ ברא‬designates [SEPARATION IN THE SPATIAL INTEGRITY OF A UNIT] and BK’s idea of differentiation does not fully cover that view. Second, BK presuppose, according to this explanation, that cognate languages use comparable grammatical constructions. The earlier described cross-linguistic studies of terms of “cutting” and “breaking” have demonstrated that this is an incorrect assumption. Languages construe events in different ways. Even words that are etymologically related (e.g., English break, German brechen, Dutch breken, and Swedish bräcka) can be used in completely different grammatical constructions and can have known different semantic evolutions. Thus an English text containing the verb “break” is translated in Swedish not with bräcka but by another term that covers the idea of English “break” best. Thus the Sumerian and Akkadian texts that open their creation stories with the beginning of the universe use the term b a d and parāsu respectively to designate the separation of the heaven and the earth,43 whereas Gen 1:1 uses the term ‫ ברא‬to express the very same notion of separation because in Biblical Hebrew this term covers the idea of “breaking open a unity, separating, setting apart” best. Similarly, the Samaritan Hymn IV 13, discussed below, expresses the notion of separation as “God ‫‘ נפש‬spreads out’ and makes ‫‘ טעיל‬space’ between the waters of the tehôm and the heavenly vault.” And the very same concept is designated by the verb ‫ ברא‬in Isa 42:5, “Thus said the deity YHWH who separated the heavens and spread them out,” and in Isa 45:16-18, “who set the heavens apart/spread out the heavens.” And this is exactly what is expressed in Gen 1:1 by the verb ‫ברא‬, “to separate, set apart, make space.” An example of differences in grammatical constructions of cognate languages is the following. In English one could say “clear off” in a clause such as “he cleared off the biggest trees,” but also in a (rude) command to someone, meaning that this person should leave. In both cases, a plot is 43

See Van Wolde, “Why the Verb.”

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

259

freed from the presence of something (“trees”) or someone (“you”). This grammatical collocation is not the same in cognate languages such as French, Dutch, or German. BK compare grammatical constructions of verbs of separation in Sumerian and Akkadian and conclude from these constructions that Biblical Hebrew should have used the same grammatical constructs to express the same idea of separation. Their lack of proper semantic reasoning is amazing.

4.3 PARTICIPLE ‫ בורא‬AND PARALLELISM BK, 9, are right in their critique that the participle of ‫ בורא‬is used as an abstract noun to describe God. They are also right that Van Wolde depended in her view on Florentino García Martínez. This does not mean, of course, that the noun ‫ בורא‬expresses “creator.” It still depends on the semantic analysis what meaning should be attached to this nominalized participle. BK choose to support their view in relation to Isa 45:7: “I am the former (‫ )יוצר‬of light and ‫ בורא‬of darkness. I am the maker (‫ )עושה‬of good and ‫ בורא‬of evil.”44 First, if a reference to Genesis 1 is presupposed in Isaiah 45, the meaning of ‫“ ברא‬create” would be impossible, since in Genesis 1 God did not create darkness, but made light and separated this light from the pre-existent darkness. Analogously Isa 45:7 would describe that darkness and evil did already exist, but that God formed light and set it apart from pre-existent darkness, that he made good and set it apart from pre-existent evil. The participle ‫ בורא‬would then express this spatial divine action as a durative activity.45 The main argument BK offer to support their view is that of parallelism: It is quite clear that ‫ ברא‬is paralleled here by the verb ‫ עשה‬and ‫יצר‬ indicating that the three verbs are part of the same semantic field and that their meaning is interconnected. (BK, 9)

The fact that words belong to the same semantic field, does not imply that they express the same or an interconnected meaning. On the contrary, words that figure in one semantic field construct events—that are referentially related—in different ways. In other words, a semantic domain 44 BK translate the first person forms in Isa 45:7 incorrectly with third person forms. They translate: “He who forms light and creates darkness, who makes peace and creates evil.” 45 It is difficult to understand how BK’s own proposal of ‫ ברא‬meaning “to construct” would fit Isa 45:7: “I am the former of light and the constructor of darkness? I am the maker of good and the constructor of evil?”

260

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

is the collection of words that refer to an event or to events that are related in reality or in the thought of reality, yet the way these words conceptualize this event or these events can be completely different. The use of the notion of parallelism in biblical scholarship bears the risk of mixing sense with reference. Say the words ‫עשה‬, ‫ברא‬, and ‫ יצר‬all belong to the semantic field of “creation.” The events referred to are those of “making something new that did not exist before.” Words conceptualize these events in different frameworks of thinking, in various metaphorical complexes. Thus ‫ עשה‬can conceive of this event as “a completely new making of” in a general non-metaphorical framework of thinking. The verb ‫ יצר‬conceives of the creation event as “the forming out of pre-existing material,” within the pottery framework. The verb ‫ יסד‬conceptualizes the creation of the earth as the founding or setting on pillars, whereas the verb ‫ נטה‬conceptualizes the creation of the heavens as the spreading out of an expanse (similar to that of a tent). And the verb ‫ ברא‬conceptualizes the act of creation in terms of spatial separation, as the setting apart of phenomena. Consequently, the particular nuances of meaning and the semantic overlap and difference between the various words in a semantic domain ask for a much more nuanced view than that offered by BK. The danger of the concept of parallelism is that one brings the meanings of the paralleled terms a priori into one line. One considers the meanings of paralleled terms to be interconnected and thus misses the variation in metaphorical constructions of meaning. A full discussion of all texts in which ‫ ברא‬occurs in the Hebrew Bible falls outside the scope of this response article. Too often BK’s textual explanations on pages 11–13 reflect the same—in our view—wrong semantic assumptions in regard to parallelism, the idea of semantic domain, the fact that they do not take into account metaphorical frameworks of thinking, etc. It is time now to discuss BK’s own hypothesis. Before doing so, however, an excursus on the etymology of the verb ‫ ברא‬is offered, since etymological arguments are often used in the discussion—also by BK—to support the view that ‫ ברא‬means “to create” (or using BK’s terminology: “to construct”).

5. EXCURSUS: ETYMOLOGY OF THE VERB ‫ברא‬ 5.1 BK’S ETYMOLOGICAL DETOUR BK base their criticism of Van Wolde’s proposal partly on etymology. In particular, their etymological argumentation is grounded on (1) Arabic and (2) Greek.

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

261

(1) With regard to Arabic, they state: It has been recognized meanwhile that the Arabic root brʾ, “to create” is probably an Aramaic (or Hebrew?) loanword which was confused early on with Arabic brw/bry “to cut off, form by cutting.”46 In Classical Arabic the phonetic difference between various forms of these verbs is slight and in unvocalized texts invisible.47 Already the early Arabic lexicographers noticed the confusion of the two roots. Because the existence of the Hebrew root ‫ schreien, lärmen, murren, brummen“; birbir „Ruf der Schafe“; burbur „schreiend, lärmend.“…Mit dieser Schallbedeutung bezeichnete man auch das Geräusch des „Schabens, Spaltens“ und schließlich die Tätigkeit des Spaltens selbst, weil sie ja das Geräusch verursacht: so arab. barā „schaben > glätten > mager machen”; hebr. bārā(ʾ) „(spalten >) schaffen, hervorbringen.“ Die Bedeutung „spalten“ differenziert sich dann weiter zu „trennen“: arab. barra VIII. „von seinen Genossen getrennt sein, IV. auf dem lande wohnen oder reisen“; barr

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

265

verbs—‫ברא‬, ‫ברה‬, ‫ברח‬, ‫ברר‬, ‫באר‬, ‫בור‬, ‫חבר‬, ‫שבר‬, and ‫פרד‬, ‫פרם‬, ‫פרק‬, ‫פרר‬, ‫פרץ‬, ‫פרק‬, ‫פרר‬, ‫—פרש‬in which the biconsonantal items ‫ בר‬and ‫ פר‬express the notion of cutting or separating.60 Cohen’s Dictionnaire des racines sémitiques, The Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, Von Soden’s Akkadisches Handwörterbuch, and The Concise Dictionary of Akkadian, indicate that the biconsonantal item br (and pr) expresses in Akkadian the notion of separation: bari means “between, among,” barītu(m) “intervening space, interval,” bāru “open country,” bēru “distant, remote” (e.g., bēru ina šamê “the linear distance–between stars–in heaven”), bēru(m) “selected, double hour (i.e. twelfth part of the day),” bêru(m) “to choose, select,” biri “between,” birā “between, among,” birītu(m) “interval, separation, cutting,” birtu “between,” bīru “interval, pause after a march,” and parāsu(m) “cut, separate, decide.”61 The meaning of the verb barû A has evolved in Akkadian into “to look upon, to observe, to look attentively.”62 „(abgetrennt > ) Festland, Ufer,“ barran „draußen,“ hebr. bar „freies Feld, Acker“; arab. uabira „(getrennt >) menschenscheu sein und zu Hause hocken,“ uabara „bleiben, verweilen“; hebr. bārār „absondern, auslesen, reinigen“; bārāh „scheiden, entscheiden, festsetzen, (absondern >) einhauen, essen.“ Ferner gehört zur Bedeutung „trennen“ assyr. birū „hungrig“ und būru „Hunger.“ Die Bedeutung „scheiden“ differenziert sich noch weiter zu „underscheiden, sehen“; so assyr. barū „scheiden, entscheiden, richten, sehen, schauen,“ bīru „Gesicht,“ bārū „Seher.“” 60 Dantinne, “Création et séparation,” 447. 61 Cohen, Dictionnaire des racines sémitiques; A. L. Oppenheim et al., The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago: Volume 2, B (Chicago: The Oriental Institute, 1965); W. von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch: Volume 1, A-L (Wiesbaden: O. Harrassowitz, 1965); J. Black, A. George, and N. Postgate, A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian (2nd [corrected] printing; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2000). 62 Malul, Knowledge, Control and Sex, analyses the relation between verbs of separation and their relation to knowledge and seeing in Biblical Hebrew and in Sumerian and Akkadian. He makes an inventory of verbs of separation, such as ‫חקר‬, ‫בדק‬, ‫בקר‬, ‫ברר‬, ‫בחן‬, ‫צרף‬, ‫בחר‬, ‫נסה‬, and ‫בין‬, and demonstrates that all of them clearly connote the idea of knowledge one way or the other. The verbs ‫ברר‬, ‫בחן‬, ‫צרף‬, and ‫ בחר‬also occur in contexts of refining metals, which convey the connotation of separation and removal of the dross, and Malul points to Sumerian and Akkadian equivalents (Malul, Knowledge, Control and Sex, 106, n. 28). “Thus, they reflect a kind of concrete process which, when applied to the process of knowledge, is understood to take place in the abstract sense within one’s mind.…Finally, note also the interesting use of such roots as ‫בדק‬, ‫בקר‬, and others, where knowledge is attained by cleaving and breaking and thus bringing to light

266

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

In contrast, the etymological relation between Hebrew ‫ ברא‬and Akkadian banû is very weak. The Chicago Assyrian Dictionary distinguishes banû A and banû B, and describes banû A as “to build, construct, form,” which is applied to buildings, statues, etc. and with reference to a deity it mainly indicates “to create” in relation to the creation of humankind or of gods, and banû B is described as “to grow, beget.”63 In modern Assyriology it is known for a fact that the traditionally presupposed equivalence between Hebrew ‫ ברא‬and Akkadian banû “to build, beget” is problematic, and should be discarded.64 To conclude, the etymology of ‫ ברא‬that BK present falls short. In contrast, a number of etymological studies of ‫ ברא‬show that it is very well possible that ‫ ברא‬is etymologically related to Akkadian words that express the idea of “division” and “separation.”65 The usages of pre-Islamic Arabic brʾ designating the acts of distancing and disconnection, and the occurrences of the Septuagint’s κτιζω designating either “to divide, apportion” or “to create” confirm this option, too. Are there any other linguistic and/or textual witnesses? Yes, there are. First, the Qumran Aramaic fragment of 4QEnc I VI (= 1 Enoch 13:6–14:16) which contains the line ‫ליא חלק ועבד וברא‬, “So he has divided/decreed and made and divided/separated” (translation J. T. Milik). Second, there are the texts of an important group in Hellenistic Judaism, the Samaritans. The texts of the Samaritan liturgy are particularly instructive, because cosmology what has been ‘buried’ somewhere” (Malul, Knowledge, Control and Sex, 144). 63 See W. G. Lambert, “Technical Terminology for Creation in the Ancient Near East,” J. Prosecký (ed.), Intellectual Life of the Ancient Near East: Papers Presented at the 43rd Rencontre assyriologique internationale Prague, July 1–5, 1996 (Prague: Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Oriental Institute, 1998), 189–93 (192): “The Akkadian embraces two quite distinctive ideas which have different Sumerian equivalents. The one is banû = dû ‘make,’ or more specifically ‘build,’ while the other banû = (u)tu alludes to parentage.” 64 See S. Anthonioz, L’eau, enjeux politiques et théologiques, de Sumer à la Bible (VTS, 131; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 584: “Aussi la racine hébraïque ‫ברא‬, «créer», a-t-elle été (traditionnellement) posée comme équivalente de l’akkadien banû. De fait, l’équivalence peut être établie sur le plan sémantique à tous ses niveaux, puisque les notion liées de construction/décoration et production/végétation sont présentes dans le déroulement narratif de Gn. 1. Cependant, cette équivalence reste problématique sur le plan étymologique.” 65 The same concept of separation is expressed in Syriac by the verb barrî “to separate, liberate,” and by the adverb bar “outside” (C. Brockelman, Lexicon Syriacum [2nd edition; Hildesheim: Olms, 1966]). So far the verb bārāʾ does not occur in Phoenician, nor in Ugaritic (Lambert, “Technical Terminology,” 189).

267

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

and the view of God as creator play an important role.66 God is very often described in these texts as “the creator of the world,” ‫עבודה דעלמה‬, and with the collocation ‫פעל כל עלמה‬. Equally frequent is the expression of the idea that God created everything, ‫עבודה דכלה‬.67 In all these Samaritan creation texts, the divine act of creation is expressed either by ‫ עבודה‬or ‫פעל‬, but never by ‫ברא‬. Hans-Friedrich Weiss made an analysis of how in Samaritan cosmology two main groups of texts are distinguishable.68 The first group of texts relate their view of creation to Genesis 1 and understand the creation of the world as God’s battle against the powers of chaos. The second group has its origins in Greek-Hellenistic philosophy. To the former belong, among others, Hymns IV 13 and V 3: ‫מי תהומה מעס · ומי רקיעה תלא · נפש לבינתוך · טעיל לרחמין‬ Hymn IV 13

‫גלא יבשה · ממי תהו ובהו‬ Hymn V 3

In Hymn V 3 God reveals the dry material by putting the waters of the tehôm aside. Hymn IV 13 is even more explicit, and Weiss translates it as follows: “Die Wasser der Tehom halt er zurück, und die Wasser der (Himmels-)Feste hält er hoch. Er hat ausgebreitet (‫ )נפש‬zwischen ihnen einen Raum (‫ )טעיל‬für die, die ihn lieben.”69 Cowley explains the meaning of ‫ טעל‬in Samaritan texts as follows: “‫…טעל‬to be or make wide; impft. ‫…נטעיל‬spread open…; imperat. ‫ טעיל‬spread out…‫…טעיל‬space.”70 The metaphoric image presented in Hymn IV 13 is in line with the beginning of Genesis 1 and describes the making of the space between the waters of the tehôm and the heavenly vault. And this is exactly what is expressed in Biblical Hebrew by the verb ‫ברא‬, “to separate, set apart, make space,” in the view of Van Wolde.71

66 See H.-F. Weiss, Untersuchungen zur Kosmologie des hellenistischen und palästinischen Judentums (TU, 97; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1966), especially 129–38; and the edition and glossary of the texts of the Samaritan liturgy by A. E. Cowley, The Samaritan Liturgy (2 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1909). 67 Weiss, Untersuchungen zur Kosmologie, 130. 68 Weiss, Untersuchungen zur Kosmologie, 131–38. 69 Weiss, Untersuchungen zur Kosmologie, 131. 70 Cowley, The Samaritan Liturgy, vol. 2, lvii. 71 Van Wolde, Reframing Biblical Studies, 184–200; “Why the Verb.”

268

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

6. THE MEANING AND SIGNIFICANCE OF ‫ברא‬: BK’S ALTERNATIVE PROPOSAL 6.1 SUMMARY OF BK’S ARGUMENTS On pp. 14–18, 20, BK seek “to address the meaning and significance of ‫ ברא‬from the perspective of a more historical approach”(BK, 14). They argue that God creates with ‫ ברא‬in late texts such as Genesis 1–2 (postexilic Priestly Writer; 1:1–2:4a) and Chronicles (personal name “Beraiah,” ‫;בראיה‬ 1 Chr 8:21) in order to avoid anthropomorphism (the attribution of human characteristics to the deity). Older texts have terms such as ‫“ בנה‬to build,” ‫“ יצר‬to form, shape,” ‫“ עשה‬to make,” and ‫“ קנה‬to beget, bear, create,” words that may connote procreation. Consequently the change in language relates to a theological shift in thinking over time, from older texts that use anthropomorphic language about God to later texts that refer to creation in a way that sharply contrasts God’s activity to human activity. Therefore they also suggest the translation “to construct, build” for ‫ ברא‬rather than “to create” or “to separate.” BK offer the following items of support for their alternative proposal regarding the meaning of ‫ ברא‬in Gen 1:1–2:4a: 1. In Israel’s preexilic period cognates of the Hebrew verb ‫ ברא‬are unattested in Semitic languages (e.g., Akkadian, Aramaic, Phoenician, Ugaritic, and also epigraphic Hebrew) which mainly use instead cognates of Hebrew ‫ בנה‬and ‫ קנה‬in contexts of creation (e.g., Akkadian banû, Ugaritic qny) (BK, 5–7, 14–15, 17). Although they do not explicitly state that the root ‫ ברא‬was an absolutely late development, speaking instead about a “shift” in meaning or usage (“semantic/theological shift”) in biblical books dating to the exilic and postexilic periods, an implication of their discussions of the etymology of ‫ ברא‬and especially the antiquity of old(er) terms such as ‫ קנה‬and its cognates in other Semitic languages seems to be that the root ‫ ברא‬made a relatively late(r) entrance into Biblical Hebrew. 2. In Biblical Hebrew the verb ‫ ברא‬is used only in relatively late texts (e.g., Genesis 1:1–2:4a, DeuteroIsaiah) whereas earlier texts have verbs such as ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, ‫עשה‬, and ‫( קנה‬e.g., Gen 2:4b-25; 14:19, 22) (BK, 14–

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

269

18). 3. The verb ‫ ברא‬appears nevertheless in several biblical texts (Deut 4:32; Jer 31:22; Amos 4:13) possibly dating to the preexilic period although “the date of each of these texts [=verses]…is disputed” and “[s]cholars have not only expressed doubt about the pre-exilic date of all three texts [=verses] but also advanced a postexilic date” (BK, 16). 4. The distribution of Israelite personal names supports the lateness of the root ‫ברא‬, such that for example the name ‫ אלקנה‬is found in relatively early texts whereas in a late book like Chronicles we find the name ‫( בראיה‬1 Chr 8:21) (BK, 15, n. 60, 17). 5. The shift in vocabulary from early biblical texts (with ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, ‫עשה‬, and ‫ )קנה‬to late ones (with ‫ )ברא‬relates to a change in thought about the concept of creation (BK, 15–20). Thus BK conclude their article with this statement: “In sum and to place our discussion within the general frame of the theological approach of the author of Genesis 1, this text reflects [postexilic] Priestly theology. This is a temple oriented theology. Just as the temple in Jerusalem had been built by human hands, Yhwh is imagined as having ‘constructed’ the cosmos as his temple. To avoid an anthropomorphic confusion the verb ‫ ברא‬was used instead of the verb ‫( ”בנה‬BK, 20). Close scrutiny of each of these points exposes a number of general difficulties with BK’s argumentation. These include incomplete, and therefore misleading, citations of data for the vocabulary of “creation” in Biblical Hebrew; unstated assumptions about the dates of origin of biblical sources and books and their relative chronological relationships to one another; and confident acceptance and assertion of points of view that are disputed among biblical scholars. Related specifically to the second, third, and fourth points, in the following remarks we will demonstrate that the linguistic distribution and opposition of certain verb lexemes and Israelite personal names in the Hebrew Bible do not support BK’s “more historical approach.”

270

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

6.2 CRITIQUE OF BK’S ARGUMENT BASED ON VERB LEXEMES A first significant piece of evidence that BK cite in support of their broader historical argument is the biblical distribution of ‫ ברא‬and other verb lexemes such as ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, ‫עשה‬, and ‫קנה‬. They make the following statements, for example: It is worth noting that in the HB, the verb ‫ ברא‬is used only in relatively late texts. In an older text such as Gen 14:19, 22, the word ‫ קנה‬is used, a verb meaning both “to beget” and “to create.” (BK, 14) We assume that, gradually, the formula involving the ambiguous verb ‫קנה‬, which might suggest procreation, became obsolete.… Against this background, a specification of the meaning of the verb ‫ ברא‬I in the Qal stem emerged in the language. As a result of this specification, the verb ‫ ברא‬I Qal became one to be used exclusively with YHWH as grammatical subject.… It is difficult to establish a date for the theologically motivated specification of ‫ברא‬. One may argue for a preexilic date for this semantic/theological shift on the grounds of three texts, namely Amos 4:13; Deut 4:32 and Jer 31:22. But the date of each of these texts, is disputed. Scholars have not only expressed doubt about the pre-exilic date of all three texts but also advanced a postexilic date. We cannot embark here in a full discussion on the dating of these texts, but we may note that the specified use of ‫ ברא‬is widely attested in exilic and postexilic texts, especially in Deutero-Isaiah. (BK, 15–16) Traces of this shift can be found elsewhere in the HB.… Ezekiel 28… Ps 89:13. (BK, 16–17) In other words, the preference for ‫ ברא‬is a case of a theologically motivated preference for a “neologism,” meant to avoid anthropomorphisms that were also current in Canaan.…The only mode of creation attested in the ancient Near East which was eventually rejected in Israel was that of procreation. Therefore, the more theological term ‫ ברא‬was needed, instead of the ambiguous ‫קנה‬. (BK, 17–18)

The following table displays the full distribution in the Hebrew Bible of the verb ‫ ברא‬and also the related verbs ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, and ‫קנה‬, when they have the deity as their subject.72 A few remarks of explanation: First, a complete study would also have to include the verbs ‫בדל‬, ‫יסד‬, ‫כון‬, ‫מוט‬, ‫נטה‬, ‫נתן‬, ‫עשה‬, ‫פעל‬, and ‫שים‬, but their exclusion 72

271

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

‫ברא‬ Genesis

Exodus Numbers Deuteronomy Samuel

J: 6:7 P: 1:1, 21, 27 (x3); 2:3, 4 (Ni.); 5:1, 2 (Ni.), 2 J: 34:10 (Ni.) J: 16:30 4:32

I: 4:5 II: 40:26, 28; 41:20; 42:5; 43:1, 7, 15; 45:7 (x2), 8, 12, 18 (x2); 48:7 (Ni.); 54:16 (x2); 57:19

‫יצר‬ J: 2:7, 8, 19

‫קנה‬ 14:19, 22

32:6 1 Sam 2:35; 2 Sam 7:27 (//1 Chr 17:25) 1 Kgs 8:16 (//2 Chr 6:5); 11:38 (x2; non-//)

Kings

Isaiah

‫בנה‬ J: 2:22

2 Kgs 19:25 (//Isa 37:26) I: 22:11; 27:11; 37:26 (//2 Kgs 19:25) II: 43:1, 7, 21; 44:2, 21, 24; 45:7, 9 (x2), 11, 18 (x2); 46:11;

from the present study does not affect the result. Second, ‫ ברא‬II (Hiphil; 1 Sam 2:29) and ‫ ברא‬III (Piel; Josh 17:15, 18; Ezek 21:24 [x2]; 23:47) are excluded from the table. Third, the designation of J and P verses in the table follows M. Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (trans. B. W. Anderson; Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972), 17–19, 28–32, 35–36, 262–76. Finally, in all these cases the deity is the subject, but the objects vary significantly. In this context it is unnecessary to discuss in detail the objects affected by the deity. What is immediately noticeable is that the verbs discussed here overlap semantically and often different verbs are used for the same type of object, e.g., both ‫ ברא‬and ‫קנה‬ for heaven(s). The verbs are used in relation to both concrete and metaphorical objects that include the universe, earth, and their adjuncts (e.g., mountains, wind); people, groups of people, and their adjuncts (e.g., eyes, hearts); animals; places and buildings; various kinds of things (e.g., pottery, throne); a number of abstract entities (e.g., people’s destinies, wondrous deeds, salvation, kingdom); and the generic origins of everything.

272

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO ‫ברא‬

Jeremiah

Ezekiel Amos Zechariah Malachi Psalms

Proverbs Qoheleth Lamentations Chronicles

III: 65:17, 18 (x2) 31:22

21:35 (Ni.); 28:13 (Ni.), 15 (Ni.) 4:13 2:10 51:12; 89:13, 48; 102:19 (Ni.); 104:30 (Ni.); 148:5 (Ni.)

‫בנה‬ 18:9; 24:6; 31:4, 28; 33:7; 42:10; 45:4 36:36

‫יצר‬

‫קנה‬

49:5 III: 64:7 1:5 (K/Q); 10:16; 18:11; 33:2; 51:19

9:6, 11

4:13; 7:1 12:1

28:5; 51:20; 69:36; 78:69; 89:3, 5; 102:17; 127:1; 147:2

33:15; 74:17; 94:9; 95:5; 104:26; 139:16

139:13

8:22 12:1 3:5 1 Chr 17:10 (//2 Sam 7:11, ‫)עשה‬, 25 (//2 Sam 7:27); 2 Chr 6:5 (//1 Kgs 8:16)73

To begin we should restate the basic claim of BK: early biblical texts use (anthropomorphic) verbs such as ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, and ‫קנה‬, whereas late biblical texts (especially P) use the (non-anthropomorphic) verb ‫ברא‬. Does the biblical data substantiate this hypothesis? Some biblical sources, excluding P (Priestly source/redaction) since it is the issue of debate, seem to support BK’s argument. Thus they say “the specified use of ‫ ברא‬is widely attested in exilic and postexilic texts, especially in Deutero-Isaiah” and “[t]races of this shift can be found elsewhere in the HB.…Ezekiel 28…Ps 89:13” (BK, 16). One might also All together in synoptic Samuel–Kings//Chronicles we find the following situation: 2 Sam 7:11 (‫ )עשה‬// 1 Chr 17:10 (‫ ;)בנה‬2 Sam 7:27 (‫ )בנה‬// 1 Chr 17:25 (‫ ;)בנה‬1 Kgs 8:16 (‫ )בנה‬// 2 Chr 6:5 (‫)בנה‬. The more anthropomorphic verb ‫ בנה‬in undisputed postexilic 1 Chr 17:10 is interesting when compared to the more generic ‫ עשה‬in 2 Sam 7:11. 73

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

273

mention in support of their thesis the following texts that they do not specifically cite: III Isaiah (65:17-18), Malachi (2:10), Qoheleth (12:1), and several potentially late Psalms (104:30; 148:5). This is modest support for BK’s thesis. But much other evidence challenges it. First, ‫ ברא‬is used in possibly early texts. BK remark: “One may argue for a pre-exilic date for this semantic/theological shift on the grounds of three texts, namely Amos 4:13; Deut 4:32 and Jer 31:22. But the date of each of these texts, is disputed” (BK, 16). They cite secondary literature in support of both options (BK, 16, nn. 63–64), that these verses could be either preexilic or postexilic, and we could easily multiply additional references in support of both options. But it should also be pointed out that J (the “Yahwist”; Gen 6:7; Exod 34:10; Num 16:30), I Isaiah (4:5), and several potentially early Psalms (51:12; 89:13, 48; 102:19), also use ‫ברא‬. Second, ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, and ‫ קנה‬are used in possibly late texts. BK hint at the continued use of these verbs in late texts (BK, 15, n. 61), but the entire set of data and the full implications of this observation are not given. So, for example, III Isaiah has both ‫( ברא‬65:17, 18 [x2]) and ‫( יצר‬64:7), Zechariah has only ‫( יצר‬12:1), and one possibly late Psalm has only ‫( יצר‬104:26). We will look below at the interesting cases of Proverbs 8 and Chronicles. Third, BK remark that traces of the shift from the use of the early verbs to the use of ‫“( ברא‬replacing ‘old’ terms for creating”) can be seen, for instance, in Ezekiel 28 and Ps 89:13. In the context of their discussion (BK, 16) it seems that they wish to date this change to around the time of the exile. It is interesting to observe in this regard that some books typically associated with the time of the exile have both ‫ ברא‬and one or more of the other verbs, albeit in different proportions: II Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel. On the other hand, Lam. 3:5 uses the “anthropomorphic” verb ‫ בנה‬for the deity’s actions. Furthermore, other texts that are not normally associated with the exile, but rather are considered either preexilic or postexilic as the case may be, attest the so-called early verbs and late verb ‫ברא‬: J, Deuteronomy, I Isaiah, III Isaiah, Amos, Psalms 51, 89, 102. If the time of the exile represents a sort of transitional period in the linguistic and conceptual portrayal of the deity’s actions, then the “mixture” in these various texts requires explanation. Fourth, a particularly interesting passage that is not mentioned by BK is Proverbs 8. Verses 22-31 say: 22 The LORD created me (‫ ) ָקנָ נִ י‬at the beginning of His course as the first of His works (‫ ) ִמ ְּפ ָע ָליו‬of old. 23 In the distant past I was fashioned (‫)נִ ַס ְּכ ִתי‬, at the beginning, at the origin of earth. 24 There was still no ָ ), no springs rich in water; 25 deep when I was brought forth (‫חֹול ְּל ִתי‬ Before the foundation of the mountains were sunk, before the hills I

274

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO ָ ). 26 He had not yet made (‫ ) ָע ָׂשה‬earth and fields, or was born (‫חֹול ְּל ִתי‬ the world’s first clumps of clay. 27 I was there when He set ( ‫ ) ַב ֲה ִכינֹו‬the heavens into place; when He fixed the horizon upon the deep; 28 When He made the heavens above firm, and the fountains of the deep gushed forth; 29 When He assigned (‫ ) ְּבׂשּומֹו‬the sea its limits, so that its waters never transgress His command; when He fixed the foundations of the earth, 30 I was with Him as a confidant, a source of delight every day, rejoicing before Him at all times, 31 rejoicing in His inhabited world, finding delight with mankind. (NJPSV)

This is not the place for a detailed discussion of this passage. The following observations, however, are pertinent to the present discussion. First, Proverbs 1–9 and 30–31 are usually considered the youngest parts of the book, later than chapters 10–29, and having a Persian and/or Hellenistic origin, and this applies in particular to chapter 8, which some view as a response to Greek philosophy.74 Second, the verbs used of Wisdom’s genesis (by Yahweh) in Prov 8:22-31 describe it in the language of birth, using ‫ קנה‬and the even more anthropomorphic verb ‫“ חיל‬to be brought forth [through labor pains]”;75 Prov 8:24-25, twice.76 In short, the likely date of this passage, its choice of vocabulary, and its highly anthropomorphic portrayal of the deity do not square easily with BK’s historical explanation of ‫ברא‬. So, in summary, the distribution in Biblical Hebrew of the verb lexemes studied here does not tally well with the historical approach suggested by BK.

6.3 CRITIQUE OF BK’S ARGUMENT BASED ON PROPER NAMES A second significant piece of evidence that BK cite in support of their broader historical argument is the biblical distribution of Israelite personal names such as ‫ אלקנה‬and ‫( בראיה‬point 4, above). They make the following statements, for example: We assume that, gradually, the formula involving the ambiguous verb ‫קנה‬, which might suggest procreation, became obsolete (BK, 15). In this connection it is interesting to note that the Israelite personal name ‫ אלקנה‬is attested only between the 10th and 8th century BCE… (BK, 15, n. 60) See, for example, M. V. Fox, Proverbs 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 18A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 6. See also the more recent summary in A. Lenzi, “Proverbs 8:22-31: Three Perspectives on Its Composition,” JBL 125 (2006), 687–714 (especially 688–89). 75 HALOT 311. 76 See, for example, Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 279–89. 74

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

275

In 1 Chron 8:21 a Benjaminite man is mentioned, named Berayah, ‫בראיה‬. Scholars agree on its meaning: “YHWH created (the child).”…However, the name can be seen as a later parallel to ‫אלקנה‬, “El created (the child).” The name Elqanah only occurs in relatively early texts. It seems quite likely that this is related to the theological change of verbs for God’s creation work. The more anthropomorphic ‫“ בנה‬to build,” ‫ קנה‬with the meaning of “to beget, bear, create,” and ‫“ יצר‬to shape (like a potter),” would have been exchanged then for ‫―ברא‬a verb for building that had become obsolete in everyday Hebrew and therefore was a suitable choice if one wanted to avoid an anthropomorphism. If that is true, it would explain why a man named ‫ בראיה‬only occurs in a quite late text like 1 Chronicles and that this name is not attested in 10th to 8th century inscriptions, whereas more anthropomorphic names like ‫עשהיהו‬, “YHWH made (the child),” and ‫ אלקנה‬do occur in those times. (BK, 17)

Israelite personal names that embed the name of the deity are known as theophoric names (“bearing a god”). The most common divine epithets in Israelite theophoric names are the hypocoristics (“petnames”) ‫יהו‬/‫ יה‬and ‫אל‬. These names illustrate the beliefs that the name-giver or name-bearer has about the deity, making a declaration about or expressing a petition to him/her, such as giving thanks for a child or expressing hope for his/her blessing.77 Consequently it is not surprising that a large number of names in the Hebrew Bible refer in some way to a child’s genesis in relation to the deity. The following table summarizes the most obvious and/or frequent theophoric personal names in Biblical Hebrew that associate the deity with the progeniture of a child.78 For each name the root, Hebrew name, English Helpful resources on theophoric names in the Hebrew Bible include: J. D. Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names in Ancient Hebrew: A Comparative Study (JSOTS, 49; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988); D. R. Hunsberger, Theophoric Names in the Old Testament and their Theological Significance (Ph.D. thesis, Temple University, 1969); D. M. Pike, Israelite Theophoric Personal Names in the Bible and their Implications for Religious History (Ph.D. thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 1990); J. H. Tigay, You Shall Have No Other Gods: Israelite Religion in the Light of Hebrew Inscriptions (HSS, 31; Atlanta: Scholar Press, 1986). Older studies of value are: G. B. Gray, Studies in Hebrew Proper Names (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1896); M. Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung (BWANT, III, 10; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1928). 78 For less common names related to other roots see the resources cited in the previous footnote, e.g., Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92–94, 176, 284–86. 77

276

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

equivalent,79 and a complete set of references are given. Following the table we will draw some conclusions about the significance of these names in relation to BK’s historical explanation of ‫ברא‬. Root

Hebrew

English

References

‫ברא‬

‫בראיה‬

Beraiah

1 Chr 8:2180

‫קנה‬

‫אלקנה‬

Elkanah

Exod 6:24; 1 Sam 1:1, 4, 8, 19, 21, 23; 2:11, 20; 1 Chr 6:8, 10, 11 (x2), 12, 19, 20, 21; 9:16; 12:7; 15:23; 28:781

‫פעל‬

‫אלפעל‬

Elpaal

1 Chr 8:11, 12, 1882

‫יצר‬

‫יצר‬

Jezer

Gen 46:24; Num 26:49 (x2); 1 Chr 7:1383

‫יצרי‬

Izri

1 Chr 25:1184

‫בניה‬

Benaiah

‫בניהו‬

Benaiah

‫בנה‬

2 Sam 20:23; Ezek 11:13; 41:13; Ezra 10:25, 30, 35, 43; 1 Chr 4:36; 11:22, 31; 27:14; 2 Chr 20:1485 2 Sam 8:18; 23:20, 22, 30; 1 Kgs 1:8, 10, 26, 32, 36, 38, 44; 2:25, 29, 30 (x2), 34, 35, 46; 4:4; Ezek 11:1; 1 Chr 11:24; 15:18, 20, 24; 16:5, 6; 18:17; 27:5, 6, 34; 2 Chr 31:1386

79 These names are usually rendered in English as “God/Yahweh has made/built/created” (perfect) and “God/Yahweh makes/builds/creates” (imperfect), and “work/creation of Yahweh” in the case of the final four items. 80 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 171; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 339; HALOT 154. 81 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 20–21, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 84, 92, 111, 359; HALOT 60. 82 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 34, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 84, 93, 138, 357; HALOT 60. 83 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 172; HALOT 429; hypocoristic of * )‫יצריה(ו‬. 84 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 172; HALOT 429; hypocoristic of * )‫יצריה(ו‬. 85 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 21, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 111, 156, 157, 158, 237, 338; HALOT 139–40. 86 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 21, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬ Root

Hebrew

277

English

References

‫בונה‬

Bunah

1 Chr 2:2587

‫בוני‬

Bunni

Neh 11:1588

‫בנוי‬

Binnui

Ezra 8:33; 10:30, 38; Neh 3:24; 7:15; 10:10; 12:889

‫ָבני‬

Bani

2 Sam 23:36; Ezra 2:10; 10:29, 34, 38; Neh 3:17; 8:7; 9:4 (x2), 5; 10:14, 15; 11:22; 1 Chr 6:31; 9:490

‫ֻבני‬

Bunni

Neh 9:4; 10:1691

‫יבנה‬

Jabneh

2 Chr 26:692

‫יבנְּ יה‬

Ibneiah

1 Chr 9:893

‫יבנִ יה‬

Ibneiah

1 Chr 9:894

‫יבנאל‬

Jabneel

Josh 15:11; 19:3395

Names, 91, 338; HALOT 140. 87 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 40, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 156, 158, 338; HALOT 115; hypocoristic of )‫בניה(ו‬. 88 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 39, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 158, 338; HALOT 115; hypocoristic of )‫בניה(ו‬. Cf. ‫בֻני‬. 89 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 38, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 156, 158, 338; HALOT 139; hypocoristic of )‫בניה(ו‬. 90 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 38, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 157, 158, 338; HALOT 139; hypocoristic of )‫בניה(ו‬. 91 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 38–39, 172–73; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 158, 338; HALOT 139; hypocoristic of )‫בניה(ו‬. Cf. ‫בוני‬. 92 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 212; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 338; HALOT 384. 93 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 27–28, 212; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 338; HALOT 384. 94 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 27–28, 212; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 338; HALOT 384. 95 HALOT 383–84.

278

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

Root

Hebrew

English

References

‫עשה‬

‫אלעשה‬

Eleasah

Jer 29:3; Ezra 10:22; 1 Chr 2:39, 40; 8:37; 9:4396

‫עשהאל‬

Asahel

2 Sam 2:18 (x2), 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 30, 32; 3:27, 30; 23:24; Ezra 10:15; 1 Chr 2:16; 11:26; 27:7; 2 Chr 17:8; 31:1397

Asiel

1 Chr 4:3598

‫עשיה‬

Asaiah

2 Kgs 22:12, 14; 1 Chr 4:36; 6:15; 9:5; 15:6, 11; 2 Chr 34:2099

‫יעשיאל‬

Jaasiel

1 Chr 11:47; 27:21100

‫יעשו\י‬

Jaasu/ai

Ezra 10:37101

‫מעשיה‬

Maaseiah

Jer 21:1; 29:21, 25; 37:3; Ezra 10:18, 21, 22, 30; Neh 3:23; 8:4, 7; 10:26; 11:5, 7; 12:41, 42102

‫מעשיהו‬

Maaseiah

Jer 35:4; 1 Chr 15:18, 20; 2 Chr 23:1; 26:11; 28:7; 34:8103

‫עשיאל‬

96 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 21, 90, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 111, 356; HALOT 59. 97 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 21, 27, 90, 92, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 356; HALOT 893. 98 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 28, 206; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 157, 356; HALOT 893. 99 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 21, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 92, 157, 356; HALOT 893. 100 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 28, 206; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 93, 134, 160, 356; HALOT 423. 101 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 28, 206; HALOT 423; hypocoristic of ‫ ;יעשיאל‬K: ‫ ;יעשו‬Q: ‫יעשי‬. 102 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 116, 157, 163, 248, 356; HALOT 617. 103 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 116, 157, 163, 248, 356; HALOT 617.

279

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬ Root

Hebrew ‫מעשי‬ ‫בעשיה‬

English

References

Maasai

1 Chr 9:12104

Baaseiah

1 Chr 6:25105

On the basis of this table several significant first impressions are that (1) there are many more theophoric personal names related to the progeniture of children than BK mention in their article, and, more importantly, (2) these appear most often in undisputed postexilic texts where, according to BK, they should not be found. Instead, their discussion treats only ‫ אלקנה‬and ‫בראיה‬, with a short reference to “more anthropomorphic names like ‫[ עשהיהו‬in inscriptions]” (see the quotations above). Furthermore, it is interesting to chart the distribution of all these names, which in their view are presumably “more anthropomorphic” than ‫בראיה‬: Pentateuch: Genesis, Exodus, Numbers Former Prophets: Joshua, Samuel, Kings Latter Prophets: Ezekiel, Jeremiah Writings: Ezra, Nehemiah, Chronicles

4 45 9 107

Thus, whereas “in a late book like Chronicles we find the name ‫בראיה‬,” it is not true that “more anthropomorphic” names like the ones they mention, ‫ אלקנה‬and ‫עשהיהו‬, are found principally in so-called early texts, since these kinds of names clearly predominate in the late books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles, and in fact they occur more often there than in all the rest of the books of the Hebrew Bible combined. This viewpoint is affected very little even if we eliminate some of the indistinct (e.g., ‫ )יצר‬and abbreviated (e.g., ‫ )בונה‬forms in the table above, though we do not feel that this is necessary.106 A few more specific remarks are in order. First, with regard to the Pentateuch, BK are concerned mainly with ‫ ברא‬in Genesis 1:1–2:4a, and they point out that “[i]n an older text such as Gen 14:19, 22, the word ‫קנה‬ is used” (BK, 14). So also, they say, whereas ‫ בראיה‬is used in the late book of Chronicles (1 Chr 8:21), ‫ אלקנה‬is used in “relatively early texts” that date “between the 10th and 8th century BCE.” However, they seem not to notice Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 172; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 163, 356; HALOT 617; hypocoristic of )‫מעשיה(ו‬, or perhaps corruption of ‫עמשסי‬ (cf. Neh 11:13). 105 Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen, 172, 239; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 116, 356; HALOT 147; corruption of ‫?מעשיה‬ 106 See especially the discussion of “abbreviated forms” in Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 149–69. 104

280

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

that in Exod 6:24, a Priestly text, another ‫ אלקנה‬is mentioned, a descendant of Levi and a son of Korah. The significance of this is that although BK’s late Priestly Writer uses ‫ ברא‬in Genesis 1:1–2:4a, apparently he did not feel compelled to suppress the mention of a person having the name ‫ אלקנה‬in Exod 6:24. We will look below at the purported historical settings of the people with the theophoric personal names given in the table above. Second, as a possible illustration of the shift in thinking from the preexilic to the postexilic period, BK cite the book of Ezekiel, and chapter 28 in particular. They say: Traces of this shift can be found elsewhere in the HB. For instance, Ezekiel 28 clearly presupposes a tradition which is more or less parallel to Genesis 2. But, significantly, in contrast to the author of the gardennarrative who uses ‫“ יצר‬to form, shape” (Gen 2:7–8, 19), ‫“ עשה‬to make” (Gen 2:18), and ‫“ בנה‬to build” (Gen 2:22) to describe God’s work of creation, Ezek 28:13, 15 uses ‫ברא‬. (BK, 16–17)

In the framework of BK’s historical argument it is interesting to observe that elsewhere in the book of Ezekiel, and in the book of Jeremiah which is also associated with the exile, several “more anthropomorphic” names are mentioned: (‫( בניה)ו‬Ezek 11:1, 13; 41:13), (‫( מעשיה)ו‬Jer 21:1; 29:21, 25; 35:4; 37:3), and ‫( אלעשה‬Jer 29:3). Third, above we mentioned the frequency of “more anthropomorphic” names in the late writings of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles. These data clearly contradict BK’s historical explanation of ‫ברא‬. The “more anthropomorphic” names are actually more widely used in “late” rather than “early” writings. Thus, insofar as Israelite personal names are concerned, BK’s argument that there was a theological shift in thinking over time is supported by usage neither in the Priestly source/redaction (i.e. ‫ אלקנה‬in Exod 6:24) nor in the undisputed late biblical books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles. Related to the previous point we should remark briefly on the purported historical settings of the people that are mentioned in the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles. Most of the theophoric personal names given in the table above occur in genealogical lists.107 Those mentioned in The issue of the historical antiquity and reliability of the biblical genealogies is outside the parameters of this article and in any case the matter does not affect the present discussion. On the genealogies in 1 Chronicles 1–9 see J. T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 (Society of Biblical Literature, Academia Biblica, 28; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008), and the summary of recent research given in R. K. Duke, “Recent Research in Chronicles,” CBR 8 (2009), 10–50 (35–36). 107

SEMANTICS AND THE SEMANTICS OF ‫ברא‬

281

Ezra, Nehemiah, and 1 Chronicles 9 are situated in the (early-)postexilic period. In contrast the people mentioned in other chapters of Chronicles are situated in the preexilic period. Consequently in the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles, whether in terms of their status as late biblical writings or the historical periods about which they speak, it is impossible to trace a line of development from “early” to “late” writings. Finally, it is interesting to observe that the storyline in 1 Chr 8:21 in fact situates “late” ‫ בראיה‬in Israel’s preexilic period. The biblical data presented above cast a shadow over BK’s “more historical approach” to the distribution and use of ‫ ברא‬in Biblical Hebrew. We have offered here detailed (but not comprehensive) discussions of several significant pieces of evidence that they cite: the distribution of certain verb lexemes and Israelite personal names. A careful look at the other points they offer in support of their alternative proposal (see above) highlights other flaws in their argumentation and demonstrates further that their thesis is untenable insofar as the Hebrew Bible is concerned. This does not come as a surprise since much linguistic data of Biblical Hebrew108 and the notion of (anti-)anthropomorphism in biblical literature109 are far less diachronically stratified than BK would have us believe. In conclusion, BK’s proposal that “late” ‫ ברא‬replaced “more anthropomorphic” ‫בנה‬, ‫יצר‬, ‫קנה‬, and so on in “late” biblical writings, is not supported by the actual Biblical Hebrew data and must be rejected.

I. Young, R. Rezetko, and M. Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts: Volume 1: An Introduction to Approaches and Problems. Volume 2: A Survey of Scholarship, a New Synthesis and a Comprehensive Bibliography (Bible World; London: Equinox Publishing, 2008). 109 B. F. Batto, “The Divine Sovereign: The Image of God in the Priestly Creation Account,” B. F. Batto and K. L. Roberts (eds.), David and Zion: Biblical Studies in Honor of J. J. M. Roberts (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 143–86; I. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1995), 128–37; M. S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Background and the Ugaritic Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 83–93; M. S. Smith, The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel (2nd edition; Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, and Dearborn: Dove Booksellers, 2002), 137–47. For example, Smith says: “Israelite anthropomorphism hardly ends with the monarchy. Post-exilic literature, where anthropomorphism might be less expected, is in fact replete with it. Later works belonging even to the priestly tradition continued to transmit anthropomorphic imagery” (Smith, Origins of Biblical Monotheism, 89). 108

282

ELLEN VAN WOLDE & ROBERT REZETKO

7. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION Van Wolde has argued that the verb ‫ ברא‬should be construed to mean “to separate” rather than “to create.” In reply Becking and Korpel countered that Van Wolde’s arguments were inadequate and that in fact ‫ ברא‬is best rendered “to construct.” In this article we have bolstered Van Wolde’s earlier arguments by means of a critical review of earlier biblical studies, by a reflection on biblical semantics, and by additional support from various semantic studies, especially biblical and extra-biblical treatments of verbs expressing “separation-events,” and etymological studies, as well as by external confirmation in Samaritan texts. Thus we have shown also that Becking and Korpel’s arguments against Van Wolde’s proposal and in support of their own are themselves deficient. In particular, their alternative proposal that ‫ ברא‬means “to construct” is challenged by a more complete analysis of biblical data than BK provided in their rejoinder. In conclusion, Van Wolde’s proposal that ‫ ברא‬in Genesis 1:1–2:4a means “to spatially separate” remains a viable explanation for the semantics of this verb.

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89 ROBERT E. WALLACE JUDSON UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION Recent canonical approaches to the Psalter have suggested that the Psalter was redacted purposely to help the exilic and post-exilic communities answer the apparent failure of the Davidic covenant.1 Over twenty years ago, Gerald Wilson demonstrated the purposed redaction of the Psalter by focusing on the endings of each book of the Psalter. Ten years later, Nancy deClaissé-Walford focused on “reading from the beginning” of those same texts.2 According to their proposals, Book IV of the Psalter is the “theological pivot point.” Book IV provides the reader reorientation to Yahweh’s kingship following Book I & II’s original orientation of the Davidic covenant and Book III’s disorientation of exile. If Wilson and deClaissé-Walford’s readings of the text are correct and Book IV (specifically Ps 90) is the turning point in the story of the Psalter, then the third book of the Psalter moves the reader toward that climax and reorientation. The canonical position of the last six psalms of Book III focuses the reader on an exilic Israel searching for answers in advance of the ones provided by Book IV.

Not all scholars are convinced of the Psalter’s intended redaction. See R. N. Whybray, Reading the Psalms as a Book (JSOTSup, 222; Sheffield: JSOT, 1996). 2 G. H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, Calif.: Scholars, 1985); N. deClaissé-Walford, Reading from the Beginning: The Shaping of the Hebrew Psalter (Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1997); See also R. E. Wallace, The Narrative Effect of Book IV of the Hebrew Psalter (StBL, 112; New York: Peter Lang, 2007). 1

283

284

ROBERT E. WALLACE

James Sanders notes that in times of crisis “only a story with old, recognizable elements has the power for life.”3 By the beginning of Book IV, Israel successfully finds that old story: Moses as messenger and Yahweh as King. In Book III, however, the disorientation of exile challenges the psalmists’ attempts to find hope in the traditional elements of faith. The disoriented psalmists desperately look to reorient their theology by appealing to Temple, land, and Davidic covenant.4 Unfortunately, those traditional elements are no longer capable of providing hope. Communal laments dominate Book III. Using traditional form-critical categories ten of the sixteen psalms from Ps 74 to Ps 89 contain individual or communal lament characteristics.5 These laments provide a canonical context in which to read the psalms of Book III. The psalmists attempt to make sense of God from the context of exile. Within that context, the hymns of celebration found in Pss 84–89 become ironic expressions of a grieving Israel desperately holding on to what brought hope in the past. Psalm 84 ties the presence of the divine to the temple. The hopeful conclusion of Ps 85 is tied to the blessings that God will give the land (85:12). Psalm 87 again ties hope to Zion. In the climax of Book III, the reader finds that Ps 89 explicitly ties hope to David and the Davidic monarchy. Though the psalmists attempt to find hope in the “old story” of these symbols of God’s past provision, the laments found in Pss 84–89 remind the reader that those elements no longer provide hope.

THE METHOD For centuries, people of faith attached significance to the editing of the Psalter as a single “book.” For Samson Raphael Hirsch, the struggle of David throughout the book of Psalms mirrors the struggle of the Jews throughout history.6 For St. Benedict, and the Benedictine monks who

J. Sanders, From Sacred Story to Sacred Text (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 21. W. Brueggemann, “Psalms and the Life of Faith: A Suggested Typology of Function,” JSOT 17 (1980), 3–32 (5–6). 5 Pss 74, 77, 79, 80, 82:8, 83, 85, 86, 88, 89:39–52; H. Gunkel & J. Begrich, An Introduction to the Psalms: the Genres of the Religious Lyric of Israel (trans. J. D. Nogalski; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1998), 82; trans. of Einleitung in die Psalmen: die Gattungen der religiösen Lyrik Israels (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985, 1933); W. H. Bellinger, Psalms: Reading and Studying the Book of Praises (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1990), 45; N. deClaissé-Walford, Introduction to the Psalms: A Song from Ancient Israel (St. Louis: Chalice, 2004), 85–86. 6 S. R. Hirsch, The Psalms (trans. Gertrude Hirschler; 2 vols; New York: Philipp Feldheim, Inc., 1960). 3 4

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

285

follow, the Psalter is a book that must be read in its entirety in a week for due diligence to be shown in service. For the contemporary reader, however, there are obstacles to overcome. The post-Enlightenment mind continually struggles with the Near Eastern ability to find harmony in contrasting facts. The fact that the creation stories of Gen 1 and 2 were redacted together is not as shocking to the Western reader as the fact that the biblical text does not need to harmonize the differences. This kind of story-telling only emphasizes the distance between the post-Enlightenment reader and the biblical redactors. This gap is widened when the reader comes to the psalms. In the Psalter, no obvious attempt has been made to redact these individual “sources” into a seamless narrative. Yet, these individual psalms have been collected into five units which are collected in a single book, a book that has traditionally been interpreted as “anthology.” The work of Nancy deClaissé-Walford and Gerald Wilson laid the foundation for this methodology. Their theories regarding the theological redaction of the individual books of the Psalter suggested a purpose. Indeed, the redactional purpose mirrored the story of Israel. A subtle sense of “story” emerged for the reader of the Psalter. While according to traditional form-critical categories the Psalter is not classified as narrative, there is a narrative impulse to biblical poetry. The broad narrative impulse throughout the entire Psalter when combined with the narrative settings of the individual psalms and the semantic and thematic connections Book III shares with other portions of the Psalter and the Hebrew Bible contribute to the sense of “plot,” which emerges for the reader. This plot provides a hermeneutical lens for the reader.7 What has emerged in this process is a methodology that takes a step away from the redaction concerns of Wilson, deClaissé-Walford and others. For this analysis, the process of the reading of the Hebrew Psalter is important. Micro-canonical issues, including poetic vocabulary and syntax, within individual Psalms are considered. Form-critical questions and historical questions regarding the editorial process of the Hebrew Psalter are noted; however, they are only important to this study as they inform the reading of the text―Sitz im Leben has been replaced by Sitz im Buch. The psalms also demonstrate a number of lexical and thematic connections with other psalms and with important narrative texts of the Hebrew Scriptures. Those connections allow the reader to “narrativise” the poetic text. This reading takes the superscriptions of the psalms seriously, perhaps too seriously for some. While the majority of scholars might not go as far as von Rad and say the superscriptions “have no authoritative value,” many 7

Wallace, The Narrative Effect of Book IV of the Hebrew Psalter, 10–13.

286

ROBERT E. WALLACE

would also not allow the superscription to influence the context of the reading of the text to the degree this project does. If the reader is going to take seriously the canonical form of this text, however, the superscriptions have to be more than simply interesting. The superscriptions should find a significant place within the interpretation. When the text makes an association to a historical setting or with an individual, a canonical reader of the psalms needs to wrestle with the implications of that association. In this analysis, the superscriptions provide an interpretive setting through which a reader encounters the text. If a compromise is when no one is happy, then this methodology is a good compromise. It is not narrative enough for the narrative critics. It does not emphasize the poetic structures as much as the poetic scholars would like. It is not form critical enough for the form critics, and it is not anthropological or sociological at all. In the end, methodologies are best seen worked out with texts, as I will now demonstrate.

THE STORY THUS FAR Psalms 84–85 and 87–88 represent the second collection of Korahite psalms in the Psalter. The first Korahite psalms begin Book II and the Elohistic Psalter, and they continue the lament focus of Book I. These early Korahite psalms parallel the Book III Korahite psalms with an emphasis on longing for God, lamenting God’s abandonment, celebrating God’s choice of Zion, and looking forward to a future promise of salvation.8 Constructing a history of the Korahites is only speculation.9 The Chronicler’s history identifies the Korahites as the “doorkeepers” of the Tabernacle.10 If, as 1 Chron 6:31–38 suggests, this role continued in the temple, this fact might explain the strong emphasis on Zion and the temple which is found in both Korahite collections in the Psalter.11 While the emphasis on David and Zion continue in Book II, the psalms are sung with a variety of voices. Where Davidic superscriptions dominate Book I, only eighteen of the thirty-one psalms in Book II have Davidic superscriptions. In addition to the Korahite collection Asaph is mentioned, and several psalms are untitled. Perhaps, the most significant of the Book II superscriptions comes at the end. In Ps 72, the reader finds the F.-L. Hossfeld and E. Zenger, Psalms 2 (trans. G. Pizi; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 357. 9 For one of the more interesting speculations, see M. D. Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah (JSOTSup, 20; Sheffield: JSOT, 1982). 10 1 Chron 9:19 11 Ps 46:4; 48: 1, 2, 11, 12; 84:7; 87: 2, 5; See G. Wanke, Die Zionstheologie der Korachiten (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1966). 8

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

287

first psalm of Solomon and the blessings and security of the Davidic covenant transferred to Solomon and his descendents.12 With his legacy secured, David can stop singing (72:20). Though it might be a successful transfer of power and blessing between David and Solomon, the reader would certainly recall Israel’s difficulties following Solomon’s reign. That same decline occurs in the story of the Psalter as well. Though the singer of Ps 73 directly addresses God, that close relationship reveals questions about how just the world (and ultimately God) is. The evildoers continue to succeed, and God does nothing to remedy the situation.13 Psalm 74 moves from a lament of an individual in Ps 73 to a lament from the community and opens with a cry of desperation, “Why, O Yahweh, have you cast us away forever?” The reader finds that in Ps 74, the sanctuary of Yahweh and Yahweh’s Holy Mountain have been destroyed (74:7). The psalmist’s foes mock and destroy. This struggle continues through the Asaph collection which makes up the first eleven psalms of Book III. Psalm 83, the last of the Asaph psalms, implores God to act against the enemies who have attempted to wipe out God’s people. The reader has found in Book III a holy mountain in perpetual ruins (74:3), God’s enduring ‫ חסד‬in question (77:9); a destroyed Jerusalem (79:1); and no mention of God’s king or anointed from Ps 73 through Ps 83. Book III is clearly an “exile” book. J. Clinton McCann’s reading of Book III may finds seeds of hope, which are brought to full realization in Books IV and V.14 Several of the Asaph psalms celebrate Yahweh as judge of all nations and remember the divine faithfulness to Israel in the face of Israel’s faithlessness.15 If the canonical setting of Book III is exile, however, understanding Yahweh as 12 G. H. Wilson, “The Use of Royal Psalms at the ‘Seams’ of the Psalter,” JSOT 35 (1986), 85–94 (89). 13 C. Westermann, Praise and Lament in the Psalter (trans. K. R. Crim and R. N. Soulen; Atlanta: John Knox, 1981), 194; The psalmist is not unlike Job here. See J. C. McCann, Jr., A Theological Introduction to the Book of Psalms (Nashville: Abingdon, 1993), 140–44; J. F. Ross, “Psalm 73,” J.G. Gammie (ed.), Israelite Wisdom: Theological and Literary Essays in Honor of Samuel Terrien (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars, 1978), 161– 75; and M. Buber, “the Heart Determines: Psalm 73,” J.L. Crenshaw (ed.), Theodicy in the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 109–18. 14 J. C. McCann, Jr., “Books I–III and the Editorial Purpose of the Hebrew Psalter,” J.C. McCann (ed.), The Shape and Shaping of the Psalter, (JSOTSup, 20; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993), 100. 15 God as judge: Ps 75:3, 9, 11; 76:10, 13; Ps 82; Israel’s faithlessness and God’s faithfulness: Ps 77:12–21; Ps 78: 10, 17, 32, 40, 56; Ps 81

288

ROBERT E. WALLACE

judge, even judge of other nations, would not necessarily provide a positive reorientation. Indeed, this concern finds expression in the questioning of the divine justice at both ends of the Asaph collection in Ps 73 and Ps 83. If Yahweh is divine judge, why do those judgments tarry and fail to satisfy (Ps 83:1–2)? Robert Cole notes that throughout Asaph psalms, the psalmists ask God “Why?” [‫ ]למה‬and “How long?” [‫ ]עד־מתי‬the divine wrath will rest on the people (74:1, 10–11; 79:5; 80:5[4], 13[12]).16 In Ps 82:2 God responds with a similar question for the people, “How long [‫ ]עד־מתי‬will you judge wrongly and give favor to the wicked?” McCann calls Ps 82 the most important theological text in the canon as it gives the reader the standard of behavior by which God judges humanity and the divine council.17 Perhaps in response to the numerous questions, Yahweh speaks directly from the divine council and makes clear that God’s people must “give justice to the weak and fatherless,” and “rescue the weak and the needy” (82:3–4). This answer, however, is not enough to satisfy the psalmist, since, after God confronts the people with the divine’s expectations for justice in Ps 82, the psalmist confronts God in Ps 83 with the divine silence in the face of unjust nations. Left with unsatisfying answers, Book III turns its attention to the elements which provided a focus for faith in the past. As the reader encounters Pss 84–89, the psalmist is desperately clinging to items from the time when God made sense and when God kept his promises. In Ps 78:68– 70, the psalmist celebrates Zion, the temple, the land, and David. In quick order, Pss 84–89 remind the reader that faith in those specific historical symbols of God’s faithfulness is misplaced.

PSALMS 84–86 The traditional setting for Ps 84 has generally been interpreted as preexilic.18 As already addressed, however, the reader who encounters the canonical Psalter reads this psalm in the context of a holy mountain which has been destroyed. That canonical context of exile is supported by some 16 R. L. Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III (JSOTSup, 307; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 132. 17 J. C. McCann, “The Single Most Important Text in the Entire Bible: Toward a Theology of the Psalms,” Rolf Jacobson (ed.), Soundings in the Theology of Psalms: Perspectives and Methods in Contemporary Scholarship, (Minneapolis, Minn.:Fortress, 2011), 63–76. 18 Gunkel, Introduction to Psalms, 56; W. O. E. Oesterley, The Psalms (London: SPCK, 1939, 1959), 387; C. Westerman links many motifs in the psalm to the “preDavid” era.

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

289

commentators using other interpretive methods as well.19 With an exilic setting providing a hermeneutic lens through which to read the psalm, Ps 84 becomes an ironic expression of hopelessness. “Better is one day in your courts”; and yet, the reader knows the courts are a perpetual ruin. The transformation of desert conditions (84:7[6]) becomes a metaphorical one, which speaks of Israel’s future restoration while reminding them of their current despair.20 The tents [‫ ]משכן‬of Yahweh may be “delightful” in Ps 84:2[1], and indeed, this is in keeping with the Korahite vision of the dwelling place of the divine.21 In Book III, however, the reader remembers that God’s ‫משכן‬ has been defiled (74:7) and like the ‫ משכן‬of Shiloh (78:60) has been forsaken. When read in isolation, this psalm is read as an expression of hope found in the presence of the divine in the temple. In canonical context, however, this psalm is not an expression of hope and adoration as much as an expression of longing. The seeds of lament are found within the psalm itself. Ps 84:10 implores that Yahweh, “See our shield, O God! Regard the face of your anointed!” It is the first mention of Yahweh’s anointed king since Ps 72, and it sets up a singular focus of Pss 84–89, namely David. Robert Cole suggests this first person plural in the midst of predominantly first singular verbal constructions and pronominal suffixes stands out from the rest of the psalm and is a deliberate attempt to connect this psalm in the mind of the reader with similar communal prayers, specifically 80, which is written entirely in the first person plural.22 Psalm 85 then makes explicit the lamentation which was implicit in Ps 84. In a way reminiscent of material earlier in Book III, the psalmist has returned to questioning God directly. “Will you be angry at us forever?” (85:6[5]). As is typical with lament psalms, the psalmist rehearses God’s mighty acts on Israel’s behalf in the past.23 The psalmist remembers the forgiveness of God in the past (85:2[1]) and the way in which God has been favorable to the land (85:1[2]). Scholars have proposed an impressive range of settings for Ps 85. Many hold the position of Kissane. He locates the psalm to the post-exilic period, though he never names a specific cause which necessitates Israel to 19

E. J. Kissane, The Book of Psalms (Dublin: Browne and Nolan Ltd, 1964), 386–

87. M. Tate, Psalms 51–100 (Waco, Tex.: Word, 1990), 356. Ps 43:3; 46:4 22 Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 118–19. 23 C. Westermann, The Living Psalms (trans. J. R. Porter; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans Publishing, 1989), 31–32. 20 21

290

ROBERT E. WALLACE

continue to pray for forgiveness and the fortune of the land.24 Goulder, on the other hand, notes several interesting lexical connections to Exod 32–34. He imagines a pre-exilic national ceremony in which the two passages were used to focus the community on their sinfulness and need for God’s forgiveness.25 The canonical context for the psalm, however, is neither in the settlement nor the post-exilic period. When the psalmist implores God to restore the fortunes of the land, the reader knows that in the context of Book III this land holds the destroyed temple (74:7). The land was afraid and still in the face of God’s judgment (76:10[9]), and the beasts of the land consume the flesh of God’s saints (79:2). The appeal to the divine ends in Ps 85:9[8] with an interesting connection to Ps 84:10[9]. There, the psalmist entreats that God “look at” [‫ ]ראה‬the shield of Judah. Psalm 85 asks that God “show” [‫]הראנו‬ “covenant faithfulness” [‫]חסד‬.26 In Ps 77:9[8], the psalmist wondered if God’s ‫ חסד‬had disappeared forever. In Ps 85―in the reality of exile― that question remains unanswered. The hopeful conclusion of Ps 85 is tied to the blessings that God will give the land (85:12). The prayer is that Yahweh will bless the land presently, as formerly, though the psalm lacks a specific complaint.27 The exilic context of the psalm is reinforced by Moses Buttenweiser, who notes some interesting parallels between Ps 85 and Isa 40–55.28 Ultimately, the psalmist recognizes that the current distress is connected to the disfavor of Yahweh. This prayer is, therefore, a petition for Yahweh’s anger to end. The final verses certainly can be understood as doxology and as a response to Ps 84.29 That doxology, however, carries an undertone of anticipation.30 The land, Israel’s dwelling place, will be restored, but there is a recognition that the blessing of the land (and the ownership) is in the control of Yahweh.31 When the reader encounters Ps 86, David appears as the psalmist to lament the situation of Judah. The Davidic superscription recalls James Sanders’s observation of Judah’s need to appeal to an historic authority figure by which to answer the difficulties of exile. The name “David” will Kissane, The Book of Psalms, 392. Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah, 98–111. 26 Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 127. 27 Tate, Psalms 51–100, 367. 28 M. Buttenweiser, The Psalms (New York: KTAV, 1969), 273–80. 29 Hossfeld and Zenger, Psalms 2, 366. 30 D. Zucker, “Restructuring Psalm 85” JBQ 35 (2007), 47–55 (50). 31 Lev 25:23; 24:1; Ps 39:13[12] 24 25

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

291

carry with it an ancient authority speaking on behalf of an exiled people and a metonym for Davidic monarchy itself. He appears as the singer of a psalm for the first time since he was said to have finished singing in Ps 72. Though this is David’s first explicit appearance in Book III, Cole maintains that Book III has a Davidic emphasis throughout.32 David appointed Asaph, Heman, and Ethan, who appear at the beginning and ending of the Book III.33 It seems, however, that David is not satisfied speaking through intermediaries, and he appears as singer to voice Judah’s concerns. David’s song offers no words of comfort. David’s lament calls to mind the reality of the failure of Davidic monarchy. David is poor and afflicted (86:1). “In my day of trouble, I call on you” (86:7). David’s defense is that he is ‫( חסיד‬86:2), and those against him are prideful [‫ ]זדים‬and frightening [‫]עריצים‬. Perhaps, speaking to the doubt in the abundant ‫ חסד‬of the divine found in Ps 77:9[8] and 85:9[8], the psalm expresses confidence in the abundant ‫ חסד‬of God. In fact, the psalm reminds God of the divine’s abundant ‫ חסד‬on three separate occasions (86:5, 13, 15). Unfortunately for David, the exile has shaken his authority, and this is seen in subsequent psalms. Psalm 88:12[11] asks if God’s ‫( חסד‬which is abundant in Ps 86) can extend to the grave, and although Ps 89:2–4, 25, 29, 34 [1–3, 24, 28, 33] give assurance that David has been forever entrusted with the divine ‫חסד‬, Ps 89:50[49] raises the question where that ‫ חסד‬has gone in the face of the present distress. The David of Ps 86 approaches the divine with a different tone than the reader has experienced to this point in Book III. Six times in the psalm, the psalmist uses emphatic speech to emphasize relationship.34 Indeed, the singer of Ps 86 has the confidence of someone who expects Yahweh to respond.35 Though David is afforded special status in the history of Israel, the expectation of the singer of Ps 86 may not be connected to any special position. In many of the psalms in Books I–III, a reader can find an expectation of Yahweh’s responsibility to save the people. Dennis Tucker has suggested that language used in the Psalter reveals that a patron-client relationship existed in the background of a number of the laments.36 When Yahweh, the faithful patron, fails to rescue the ones who are perishing,

Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 177. 1 Chron 6:18, 24, 29; 15:17; 19:1 34 Brueggemann, The Psalms and the Life of Faith, 36. 35 J. Mays, Psalms (Louisville: John Knox, 1989), 279. 36 D. Tucker, “Is Shame a Matter of Patronage in the Communal Laments?,” JSOT 31 (2007), 465–480 (474–79). 32 33

292

ROBERT E. WALLACE

Yahweh’s honor and faithfulness are compromised and the status of the covenant itself could be called into question.37 The consequence of such failure is shame for the client (the community itself), and to a greater degree, shame for the Patron (Yahweh). Further, these psalms attempt to restore honor to the client-community by recognizing the shame of the failed Patron. The shamed Patron must act in a manner consistent with his reciprocal obligations to earn honor. Honor cannot be extended to the client-community until honor has been restored for the Patron.38 Yahweh, as the faithful patron, has a responsibility, therefore, to take up the case of the victims (e.g., Pss 35:1 and 43:1) for relationships to be restored. In Ps 86, David stops short of demanding that Yahweh deliver him, but he does have a tone of confident expectation. David’s lament confirms for the reader the last of the three elements of traditional theology is in crisis. Though Ps 84 celebrates the Temple, the reader knows it is gone. Though Ps 85 looks forward to a restored land, the canonical context and lexical connections to Isa 40–55 reminds the reader that it is desolate and in need of restoring. David’s appearance in Book III and confession of Yahweh’s abundant ‫ חסד‬is an indication questions remain about the Davidic monarchy―questions that are made explicit at the end of Book III.

PSALMS 87–89 The celebration of Zion in Ps 87 comes after the despair and pleading of David in Ps 86. An exilic setting is provided by its canonical position, as well as from some form-critical readings of the text. Kraus reads the terminus a quo for Ps 87 as the exile.39 Gunkel believes that the desire for Zion was inversely proportional to how easily a pious individual would be able to visit.40 If one agrees with Gunkel’s hypothesis, it would be easy to read Ps 87 and its enthusiastic praise for Zion in the context of exile. Commentators remain uncertain of the original context of Ps 87.41 In the exilic context of Book III, however, it is natural to read Ps 87 as providing an eschatological hope in Zion.42 Rahab’s mythological For Tucker, Pss 44, 74, and 79 are paradigmatic of this relationship. Tucker, “Is Shame a Matter of Patronage in the Communal Laments?,” 475. 39 H.-J. Kraus, Psalms 60–150: A Commentary (trans. H. C. Oswald; Minneapolis, Minn.: Augsburg Publishing House, 1989), 186. 40 Gunkel, Introduction to Psalms, 235. 41 E.g., A. Weiser, The Psalms: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), 580; Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 185; Tate, Psalms 51–100, 389. 42 M. Tate, Psalms 51–100, 389. 37 38

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

293

association and connection to the historical enemy of Yahweh would seem to emphasize the eschatological expectation of the world’s submission to Yahweh (analogous to Mic 4 and Isa 2).43 In the psalm, Zion is the universal spiritual center of the entire world and for all people.44 The appearance of Babylon and Egypt (in the metaphor of Rahab)45 in the psalm would reinforce reading the psalm in the context of exile since those two nations are two prominent destinations of the Judahite exiles. Here, both of these traditional enemies of God’s people acknowledge the divine. Like Ps 84, Ps 87 again ties hope to Jerusalem. Zion is the place where the Most High God [‫ ]עליון‬gives nations divine testimony of presence (87:5). Indeed, Zion is often a metaphor for divine presence.46 God chose this location as a seat of power to execute dominion over all lands.47 While this psalm is certainly an amplification of Ps 86:9, it is also a celebration of the sovereignty of the divine.48 The immeasurable, ultimate hope of Ps 87 gives way to an immeasurable, ultimate despair in Ps 88. While some scholars deny the complete despair of Ps 88,49 most find Ps 88 to be the desperate prayer of a sick individual who is near death. Weiser believes “this psalm is the lament, unrelieved by a single ray of comfort or hope.”50 Dahood calls it a “lament of a desolate man in mortal illness.”51 Kraus sees the psalm filled with “impenetrable darkness.”52 Psalm 88 shares enough lexemic parallels with Ps 86 that Robert Cole feels it is appropriate to read each speaker as suffering the same affliction.53 While one must be careful to distinguish between the sharing of commonly used words and phrases between psalms and the significant sharing of lexemes,54 Cole believes the number of significant connections between the M. Tate, Psalms 51–100, 389. Tate, Psalms 51–100, 389; Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 189. 45 See Is 30:7; 51:9 46 W. Brown, Seeing the Psalms: A Theology of Metaphor (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 24. 47 Kraus, Psalms 60–150: A Commentary, 189. 48 Tate, Psalms 51–100, 389; Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 166. 49 Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah, 203. 50 Weiser, The Psalms, 586. 51 M. Dahood, Psalms II:51–100 (AB, 17; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Co., 1968), 302. 52 Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 192. 53 Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 169–170. 54 D. M. Howard, The Structure of Psalms 93–100 (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 22; Whybray, Reading the Psalms as a Book, 28. 43 44

294

ROBERT E. WALLACE

two psalms allows the reader to ignore the superscription and read the singer of Ps 88 as a future David.55 M. D. Goulder’s reading of the text supports Cole’s royal reading showing that the royal quality of Ps 88 is not limited to the connections it shares with Ps 86. Goulder argues that Ps 88 belonged to an atonement ritual historically associated with a king.56 The historic interpretation has connected the complaint of this psalm to sickness; however, no specific language is found in the psalm which necessitates that interpretation.57 Marvin Tate notes a tradition of interpretation which interprets this psalm as a communal, exilic prayer of Israel.58 An exilic reading would be fitting for the canonical setting of Book III. The contrast between the positive, eschatological hope of Ps 87 and the dark reality of Ps 88 continues Book III’s pattern of alternating between hope and lament.59 By Ps 88, however, the reader finds no word of trust in Yahweh’s ultimate deliverance and no attempt to appeal to a divine responsibility of deliverance. The psalm even lacks the petition which is typical for the lament psalms. It is as though the psalmist simply wanted to make God aware of the divine silence. Rahab redeemed and functioning on the side of the divine in Ps 87 becomes an ironic and troubling thing for the psalmist. In Ps 88 the watery chaos that is afflicting the psalmist is directly connected to Yahweh. It is the divine who is ultimately responsible.60 The divine overwhelms the psalmist with his breaking waves (88:8[7]). God’s wrath sweeps over the psalmist and surrounds the singer “like a flood” (88:17–18[16–17]). The unanswered prayers of Ps 88:14[13] in the morning are also difficult. In Ps 46:6[5], the Korahite singer celebrates God’s saving help coming in the morning.61 In Ps 49:15[14], the Korahite singer celebrates morning as the time the upright will be victorious over the wicked. The Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 170; To be fair, however, Cole believes that David is the dominant speaker across all seventeen of the Book III psalms. 56 Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah, 201. See also John H. Eaton, Kingship and the Psalms (SBT; Second Series 32; Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1976). 57 Tate, Psalms 51–100, 400. 58 Tate, Psalms 51–100, 401. See E. Haag “Psalm 88,” E. Haag and F.-L. Hossfeld (eds.), Freude an der Weisung des Herrn: Beiträge zur Theologie der Psalmen (Stuttgart: Katholisches Biblewerk, 1986), 149–70. 59 J. C. McCann, Jr., “Books I–III and the Editorial Purpose of the Hebrew Psalter,” 91. 60 Brown, Seeing the Psalms, 113. 61 According to Tate (Psalms 51–100, 403), morning was when one should expect God’s help; Cf. Pss 46:6; 90:14; 143:8; 2 Sam 23:3–4; Zeph 3:5). 55

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

295

exile removes that hope, however, and by Ps 73:14, morning brings chastening. Finally, in Ps 88, Heman, the Korahite singer, laments that morning brings divine silence. The silence is broken by Ps 89 by what first seems to the reader to be a hymn. The canonical setting for the psalm is a matter of debate. Cole feels that “without question Psalm 89 has been intentionally placed following the desperate and seemingly hopeless queries of 88 with praise and confidence.”62 For Hossfeld, however, Ps 89 “can be read as an intensification of Ps 88.”63 When taken as a whole and in canonical context, Ps 89 would encourage the reader to maintain the exilic focus which has been clearly emphasized to this point. The psalm vividly contrasts the tension between “now” and “formerly”― present distress and past promise.64 From the example of both sets of Korahite psalms, the reader might expect this psalm of Ethan the Ezrahite to mention Zion or Temple in a recitation of the faithfulness of the divine. Psalm 89, however, is silent on the matter. It seems that the preceding laments have finally shown those symbols of hope to be empty. Ultimately, the beginning of Ps 89 ties hope to David and the Davidic monarchy. In Ps 89 the reader finds an inverted lament―the moment of trust comes before the complaint.65 The singer builds the case for the inviolability of Yahweh’s words (89:2–39[1–38]) and then moves to the question, “Why would God break his word and forsake the anointed?” (89:39–52[38–51]). The reader of Book III has found the psalmists expect Yahweh to regard his anointed. The psalmists understand the relationship as closer than patron-client, and even closer than adoption. Indeed, a biological, paternal relationship is emphasized to stress the inviolability of the covenant.66 In Ps 80:16[15], 18[17] and Ps 86:16, this “genetic” relationship between God and king is celebrated. That relationship is again stressed in Ps 89:28–29[27–28] and cited as evidence that the historical reality of exile is contrary to the nation’s expectations. Absolute claims are made for David as the recipient of the faithfulness of God.67 Those absolute claims are Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III, 203. Hossfeld and Zenger, Psalms 2, 397. 64 Hossfeld and Zenger, Psalms 2, 415. 65 Westermann along with others notes that the “Confession of Trust” typical to laments occurs after the petition. (e.g., see Westermann, Praise and Lament in the Psalms, 52) 66 Brown, Seeing the Psalms, 192. 67 Brueggemann, Abiding Astonishment, 24–25. 62 63

296

ROBERT E. WALLACE

quickly refuted by the reality of history. Instead of Yahweh’s eternal covenant with David being eternal, Judah’s king and future rest in the control of its enemies.68 Though the doxology of Ps 89 demonstrates faith in the divine, it is a faith which is still grounded in the patron-client expectation that Davidic covenant will be honored. In Ps 89:51[50] the psalmist wants Yahweh to demonstrate the divine faithfulness so that enemies of the divine will have no reason to gloat. It is interesting to note that this argument is the same one used by Moses in Exod 32 when he pleaded with the divine on behalf of Israel, and Ps 90 is the “prayer of Moses, Man of God.”

CONCLUSION The emphasis on the forsakenness of the eternal throne of David in Ps 89 may well be the overall concern of the last psalms of Book III. Each of the symbols of hope in Pss 84–89 is presented as prominent in the life of David: David wanted to build the Temple (2 Sam 7:2); David expanded the land (2 Sam 8:1–14); and David purchased Mt. Zion for the temple (2 Sam 24:18–25). Additionally, it is not uncommon for many of the laments of Book III to be associated with a ritual humiliation which is speculated by some to be experienced by the king every year.69 That connection to royalty is more than merely speculative in Book III, however, as David himself appears to lament his station in Ps 86. Further, all of the superscriptions of Book III can be associated with David. David has been presented as appointing Asaph, who is the singer in Pss 73–83 (1 Chon 6:39). The Sons of Korah are said to be appointed by David to be “over the service of song in the house of Yahweh” (1 Chron 6:31–38). Heman and Ethan are also traditional Davidic appointees (1 Chron 6:18, 24, 29; 15:17; 19:1). These implicit and explicit connections to the character of David throughout Book III might suggest to the reader that, just as Marvin Tate calls Book IV a “Moses-book,”70 Book III is a “David-book.” Instead of celebrating David, however, the psalmists of Pss 84–89 look to the “old story” of David seeking comfort and find, unfortunately, that they must instead lament the inability of that story to end the despair of exile. The psalmists focus on the elements which once brought hope: the temple, the land, Mt. Zion, and the Davidic monarchy. The reality of exile, however, makes clear that these symbols of hope are ineffective. The Temple (Ps 84), Mays, Psalms, 288. J. H. Eaton, Kingship and the Psalms (SBT; Second Series 32; Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1976). 70 Tate, Psalms 51–100, xxvi. 68 69

THE NARRATIVE EFFECT OF PSALMS 84–89

297

the land (Ps 85), and Zion (Ps 87), in the context of Book III have been seen to be empty and without the ability to provide hope. The six psalms at the end of the Book III also demonstrate a couple of interesting patterns. Psalms 84 & 87 emphasize the Temple; Pss 85 & 88 are laments; and Pss 86 & 89 are Davidic. McCann observantly points out how Book III alternates between hope and lament.71 As the reader encounters each of these ancient symbols of hope, the subsequent lament reminds that the symbol is incapable of providing security. The canonical context shows the reader that the psalms of hope in Book III are examples of the psalmists “whistling past the graveyard.” What the reader finds at the end of Book III is not the seeds of hope brought to full expression in Books IV and V. The reader finds the psalmist desperately clinging to the things which brought hope in the past and trying to make sense of their loss. This dispensing with the former symbols of hope prepares the reader for return to Moses and Mosaic covenant in Book IV. Davidic kingship and Zion gives way to Yahweh as king, enthroned forever.

J. C. McCann, Jr., “Books I–III and the Editorial Purpose of the Hebrew Psalter,” 91. 71

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES: LITERARY CONVENTION OR MORE? HAVA SHALOM-GUY THE DAVID YELLIN COLLEGE OF EDUCATION, ISRAEL Of the means employed by the author of the four-chapter Gideon cycle to construct a portrait of Gideon as a worthy savior of the Israelites from Midianite oppression, one significant technique is that of implanting conceptual, structural, or linguistic signposts to other biblical narratives or traditions.1 The shared topical, linguistic, and structural features of the Gideon and Moses call narratives (Judg 6:11–24; Exod 3:1–15)2 need no introduction, but identification of these narratives as belonging to a shared literary convention—a biblical “type-scene” of appointment and

*This is an expanded, updated version of a paper delivered at the SBL International Meeting, Vienna, July 2008. 1 On the literary analogies employed elsewhere in the Gideon cycle to achieve this goal, see H. Shalom-Guy, “Internal and External Literary Parallels. The Gideon Cycle (Judges 6–9)” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 2003) (in Hebrew). 2 The story in Exod 4:1–17 is apparently a secondary prophetic tradition on Moses’ investiture (see S. E. Loewenstamm, The Evolution of the Exodus Tradition [Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992], 135–46). Despite some similarities to our narrative, it cannot be considered a literary parallel. On the complex compositionalredactional process that united Exod 3–4 into a single story, see M. Greenberg, Understanding Exodus (Heritage of Biblical Israel Series, 2; New York: Behrman, 1969), 101–7; S. E. Loewenstamm, “Moses,” Encyclopedia Biblica, 5:487 (in Hebrew). On the delineation of Exod 3:1–15 as the Moses call narrative, see Z. Weisman, “The Charismatic Personality in the Old Testament” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1972), 193 n. 33 (in Hebrew); U. Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1997), 30–40. See also M. Noth, Exodus (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1962), 34; B. S. Childs, Exodus (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1974), 54.

299

300

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

investiture3—does not, in my opinion, exhaust their relationship.4 Close examination of these narratives—with reference to other examples of this genre—suggests not just shared convention but direct literary dependence: namely, that in building this appointment scene the author of the Gideon call narrative made deliberate use of the Moses narrative. My approach asks whether direct dependence between parallel traditions is indeed the source of the definitive similarity between them in cases in which the similarities (and differences) can be attributed to their belonging to a literary genre that largely dictated form and content for their authors and also required certain literary expressions or treatment of similar topics, or to a shared literary convention.

FEATURES OF BIBLICAL CALL NARRATIVES Biblical scholarship identifies a number of elements specific to appointment and investiture stories.5 As defined by Habel, these include (1) the divine 3 On how similarities are used to build a model of appointment and investiture type-scenes, see R. Kilian, “Die Prophetischen Berungsberichte,” Theologie im Wandel (Tübinger Theologische Reihe, 1; Munich: Wewel, 1967), 356–76; E. Kutsch, “Gideons Berufung und Altarbau Jdc. 6,11–24,” TLZ 81 (1956), 75–84; W. Richter, Die sogennanten vorprophetischen Berufungsberichte (FRLANT, 101; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1970); N. Habel, “The Form and Significance of the Call Narratives,” ZAW 77 (1965), 297–323. For the view that the similarities in the Gideon-Moses narratives inhere in their shared type-scene, see, for example, A. G. Auld, “Gideon: Hacking at the Heart of the Old Testament,” VT 39 (1989), 257– 67 (258); B. Webb, The Book of Judges: An Integrated Reading (JSOTSup, 46; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 148; R. H. O’Connell, The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges (VTSup, 63; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 148; D.I. Block, Judges–Ruth (NAC, 6; Nashville: Broadman and Holman, 1999), 253, 257. 4 Some scholars identify affinities between the stories that go beyond the typescene of appointment. See W. W. Beyerlin, “Geschichte und heilgeschichtliche Traditionsbildung im Alten Testament (Richter VI–VIII),” VT 13 (1963), 1–25; R. G. Boling, Judges. Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (AB, 6A; Garden City: Doubleday, 1975), 132, who for example sees Judg 6:16 as a direct quote of Exod 3:12; and more recently, T. J. Schneider, Judges (Berit Olam; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 2000), 105–6; G. T. K. Wong, “Gideon: A New Moses?,” Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brian Auker (eds.), Reflection and Refraction. Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld (VTSup, 113; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–45. 5 See the literature cited in n. 3 above. Some scholars object to the premise that a particular genre has a fixed, uniform, undeviating pattern which excludes such definitive call narratives as those of Joshua, Samuel, and Elisha from this pattern. See R. Knierim, “Old Testament Form Criticism Reconsidered,” Int 27 (1973),

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

301

confrontation; (2) the introductory word; (3) the commission; (4) the objection; (5) the reassurance; and (6) the sign.6 All of these elements appear in the Gideon and Moses narratives. Other biblical call narratives, such as those of Joshua, Samuel, and Elisha, and of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, also broadly fit the above model, but, by comparison, the Gideon and Moses ones exhibit an outstanding level of shared topical-linguistic features. My first observation is that not only are all of the above-mentioned elements of the call-narrative pattern present in the Gideon and Moses narratives but also in identical order. An additional narrative shares these elements, albeit in different order: the story of Saul’s appointment as nagid (1 Sam 9:1–10:16). Although this could be seen as proof that the close relationship between the Gideon-Moses narratives is the product of their belonging to a particular type-scene, I argue that reference to the Saul narrative demonstrates the existence of greater mutual affinity between the Gideon and Moses narratives than that of either to the Saul narrative. This comparison, and the inclusion of the Saul narrative where relevant, underpins my contention that the Gideon narrative displays dependence on the Moses one and does not just reflect a literary pattern shared by other call narratives. Nonetheless, any discussion of how individual narratives fit a literary pattern must also note the manner in which each narrative adapts the elements of the pattern to its specific context.

1. THE DIVINE CONFRONTATION In both stories a divine messenger appears to the hero.7 Moreover, the same expression is used to describe the revelation, though its elements are 447–48, 458–67; U. Simon, “Young Samuel’s Call to Prophecy: The Servitor Became a Seer,” Reading Prophetic Narratives (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1997), 53–54; Y. Amit, The Book of Judges. The Art of Editing (trans. J. Chipman; Biblical Interpretation Series, 38; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 253–54, 256. 6 For Habel, the Moses, Gideon, and Jeremiah call narratives present the complete pattern; those of Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Second Isaiah do so more generally (“Call Narratives”). Richter, who treats only the Former Prophets, also added Saul’s appointment as nagid (1 Sam 9–10) to the pattern. He proposes a five-element model of the appointment of a savior for Israel: the first is Israelite distress; the other four resemble Habel’s numbers 3–6 (Die sogennanten vorprophetischen Berufungsberichte). 7 In the continuation of these stories, the messengers are replaced by God. Thus, in Exod 3:1–15 we find ‫ מלאך ה׳‬in v 2; ‫ ’ה‬in vv 4, 7; and ‫ אלוהים‬in vv 4, 11, 13, 14, 15. In Judges 6:11–24, ‫ מלאך ה׳‬appears in vv 11, 12, 20, 21 (twice), 22; ‫ ה׳‬in vv 14, 16, 23. On this phenomenon, see Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 69–70; T.

302

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

ordered differently. In Judges the text reads, ‫( וירא אליו מלאך ה׳‬6:12) and in Exodus, ‫( וירא מלאך ה׳ אליו‬3:2). This expression appears only once more in Scripture: in the mediated through a messenger revelation to Manoah’s wife (Judg 13:3), where it is identical to the expression in Exod 3:2, namely ‫וירא‬ ‫מלאך ה׳ אל האשה‬.8 Note that the combination of the root ‫ רא”ה‬in the nif’al pattern, followed by the preposition ‫אל‬, is common in biblical revelations9 and serves as a key word in the first part of the Moses call narrative (vv 2 [twice], 3 [twice] 4, 7 [twice], 9).10 In contrast, in the narrative of Saul’s appointment, the appointer is not God or his divine messenger, but Samuel, “the man of God.” The Saul narrative stresses the divine transmittal to Samuel of Saul’s mission (1 Sam 9:15–16).

2. THE INTRODUCTORY WORD In both narratives, either God or his messenger calls directly to the hero. These salutations are, however, worded differently. In Judg 6, the divine messenger says: ‫( ה׳ עמך גבור החיל‬v 12).11 In Exod 3 God calls to Moses Rudin-O’Brasky, The Patriarchs in Hebron and Sodom (Genesis 18–19). A Study of the Structure and Composition of a Biblical Story (Jerusalem Biblical Studies, 2; Jerusalem: Simor, 1982), 31–47 (in Hebrew); and especially A. Rofé, “Israelite Belief in Angels in the Pre-exilic Period as Evidenced by Biblical Traditions” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1969), 3–10, 343–46 (in Hebrew). Evidently, the LXX to Judg 6:14 “angel of the Lord” is a harmonistic reading (with v 11); and the LXX’s rendering “The angel of the Lord said to him”: “The Lord shall be with thee” (v 16) reflects an attempt to blur the duality of the divine being that revealed itself to Gideon or to soften its anthropomorphism. See Y. Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary (Mikra Leyisra’el; Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1999), 124 (in Hebrew). 8 See Y. Zakovitch, The Life of Samson (Judges 13–16). A Critical-Literary Analysis (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1982), 26, 55 (in Hebrew); Auld, “Gideon: Hacking at the Heart of the Old Testament,” 258; Wong, “Gideon: A New Moses?,” 531. 9 With reference to God: Gen 12:7, 17:1, 18:1; Exod 3:16, 4:1, 5; 1 Kgs 3:5; among others. The presence of the Lord (‫)כבוד‬: Lev 9:23; Num 16:19; 17:7; 20:6. His prophet: 1 Kgs 18:1, 2:15. See Zakovitch, Samson, 48 and nn. 90–93; see also J. A. Soggin, Judges (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1981), 115. 10 See Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 101 and below. 11 The primary meaning of ‫ גבור חיל‬is warrior (Judg 11:1; 1 Sam 16:18), but it can also denote a person of means and standing (2 Kgs 15:20, 24:14), or someone possessing the ability to lead or fill a post (1 Kgs 11:28). Evidently, the primary meaning fits the context of choosing a leader to lead the warriors into battle, as Soggin, Judges, 115; and Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 124 suggest. Cf. Boling, Judges, 128, 131 who interprets the phrase here in its secondary meaning of a

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

303

from the burning bush by name: ‫( משה משה‬v 4). This emphatic duplication of the name indicates the importance and urgency of the message (cf. Gen 22:11).12 A doubled name also occurs in Samuel’s call narrative (1 Sam 3:1– 4:1a): Samuel Samuel (v 10). There it highlights the theophany and constitutes the fourth element of a literary pattern of three and four, as it follows three unanswered divine calls.13 In the story of Saul’s appointment as nagid, however, not only is there no direct divine call to Saul; it is he who turns to Samuel, without knowing the latter’s identity (1 Sam 9:18).

3. THE COMMISSION In both narratives the hero’s mission is to save the Israelites. Naturally, the enemy differs in the Gideon and Moses narratives: Moses must deliver the Israelites from the Egyptians and Gideon from the Midianites. In their descriptions of the mission both narratives use the roots ‫ הל׳׳ך‬and ‫של׳׳ח‬: to Gideon the divine messenger says (Judg 6:14): ‫ויאמר לך בכחך זה והושעת את ישראל מכף מדין הלא שלחתיך‬ And to Moses, God says (Exod 3:10): ‫ועתה לכה ואשלחך אל פרעה והוצא את עמי בני ישראל ממצרים‬ The roots ‫ הל׳׳ך‬and ‫ של׳׳ח‬are also paired in the call narratives of Isaiah (6:8) and Jeremiah (1:7), and in additional contexts (e.g., Gen 24:56, 58–59; 37:13; 1 Sam 15:20; 16:1). The root ‫ של׳׳ח‬also appears alone in other appointment and investiture narratives (Exod 4:13; Isa 6:8; Jer 1:7; Ezek 2:3). With regard to Saul’s mission, the enemy from whom he is to rescue the Israelites— “he will deliver My people from the hands of the Philistines” (1 Sam 9:16)—is naturally fitted to its context.

4. THE OBJECTION In both stories the candidates initially refuse to accept the mission, and state their objections along with their underlying rationale. This “refusal” motif, the most common shared element in appointment and investiture narratives (see Exod 4:10; 1 Sam 9:21; Jer 1:6), functions both to frame the choice of the appointee as surprising or unexpected and highlights the authority of propertied, high-status person. 12 See Cassuto, Exodus, 33; Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 71. 13 See Y. Zakovitch, “The Pattern of the Numerical Sequence Three-Four in the Bible” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1977), 97 (in Hebrew), and also in other theophanies not related to appointment or investiture (e.g., Gen. 22:11, 46:1).

304

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

the divine appointer.14 In the case of the Gideon and Moses narratives, as in other call narratives, the objections and the rationales are fitted to the specific needs of the context.15 Gideon names two reasons why he is unsuited to lead the fight against Midian, both connected to status—tribal and personal. His clan (‫)אלפי‬16 is the humblest in Manasseh, and he is the youngest (‫ )הצעיר‬in his father’s household. His claim that the family unit ranks low within the tribal framework contrasts with the continuation of the story, in which his family is described as wealthy (vv 19, 25, 27),17 but this gap ensues from the modeling of Gideon’s investiture on a pattern in which refusal is a major motif.18 His second claim relates to the fact that, as the youngest son,19 he lacks experience, especially in the military sphere.20 Moses grounds his refusal in personal unfitness: “Who am I (‫ )מי אנכי‬that I should go to Pharaoh and free the Israelites from Egypt?” (Exod 3:11). The expression ‫ מי אנכי‬contrasts his lowliness to the immensity of the task: going before Pharoah and taking the Israelites out of Egypt.21 14

Amit, Judges. Art of Editing, 247. E.g., the rationales offered by Moses (in the prophetic tradition in Exod 4:1– 17 [v 10]) and Jeremiah (1:6) have the shared element of difficulty in speaking and unsuitability for the proposed task: Moses to negotiate with Pharaoh; Jeremiah to prophesy to the people. See Amit, Judges. Art of Editing, 253–55. 16 The ‫אלף‬, if it does not appear in its numerical sense of 1000, denotes a clan. On this and related terms, see S. Bendor, The Social Structure of Ancient Israel. The Institution of the Family (Beit ‘Ab) from the Settlement to the End of the Monarchy (Jerusalem Biblical Studies, 7; Jerusalem: Simor, 1996), 94–97. Occasionally, this term also denotes a fighting unit as in Num 31:4–5, where we find both meanings: clans and units of one thousand. See also G. F. Moore, Judges (ICC, 7; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1895), 187; Y. Kaufmann, The Book of Judges (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1961), 160 (in Hebrew); Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 125. 17 As Moore (Judges, 186), Kaufmann (Judges, 160), Soggin (Judges, 119–20), and Amit (Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 125) note. 18 See Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 125. 19 This preference is unexpected in a society that favors the firstborn; see Amit, Judges. Art of Editing, 253 n. 43. However, transfer of hegemony from the firstborn is a widespread theme in the stories of the patriarchs (Ishmael and Isaac, Esau and Jacob, Zerah and Perez, Manasseh and Ephraim) and also appears in the stories of the election of David as king (1 Sam 16:11, 17:14; cf. Mic 5:1). 20 See Amit, Judge. Art of Editing, 253–55; Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 125, where she notes the similarity to David, called ‫הקטן‬, who remained at home while his older brothers went to war (1 Sam 17:14). 21 See Cassuto, Exodus, 36; Weisman, “Charismatic Personality”, 196 n. 45 on the biblical meaning of this phrase and of the phrase ‫( מי עבדך‬1 Sam 18:18; 2 Sam 15

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

305

With regard to Saul, his refusal is in harmony with the context in which it appears: the choosing of a king (1 Sam 9:21). Saul stresses the unlikely nature of his choice because he is a member of one of the smaller tribes, implying that someone from a larger tribe would be more suitable. There is some resemblance between Gideon and Saul’s refusals: Saul states, “But I am only a Benjaminite, from the smallest of the tribes of Israel, and my clan is the least of all the clans of the tribe22 of Benjamin” (1 Sam 9:21). Both underscore the relative weakness of the tribal units to which they belong: the ‫( אלף‬Gideon) and ‫ השבט‬and ‫( המשפחה‬Saul) and both use the term ‫צעיר‬: Gideon to refer to himself and Saul to refer to his tribe and clan.

5. THE REASSURANCE Here we find a close linguistic parallel: the use of identical language. As worded in both the Gideon and Moses narratives, the expression ‫כי אהיה‬ ‫( עמך‬Judg 6:16; Exod 3:12), which follows the hero’s refusal, is unique. This language, and its allusion to the divine name,23 manifests divine support for the chosen appointee. Although the phrase ‫ היה עם‬appears as a formula of encouragement and support in other call narratives (e.g., Josh 1:5, 9; 3:7; 1 Sam 10:7) and contexts (Gen 26:3; 31:3; Deut 31:23; 1 Sam 17:37; 2 Sam 7:9//1 Chr 17:8), this precise wording is found only in the Moses and Gideon narratives.24 Moreover, even though the phrase ‫( כי אלוהים עמך‬1 Sam 10:7) appears in the Saul narrative, as opposed to the Gideon and Moses stories, it does not follow the refusal, but is placed between the description of the future signs (10:2–6) and their realization (10:9–10).

9:8; and 2 Kgs 8:13). For these phrases in Hebrew epigraphic sources, see S. Ahituv, Handbook of Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions (Biblical Encyclopedia Library, 7; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1992), 36 (in Hebrew). 22 The plural form found in the MT probably reflects the influence of the preceding ‫שבטי ישראל‬. The LXX and Peshitta have the singular. See P. Kyle McCarter, 1 Samuel (AB, 8; Garden City: Doubleday, 1980), 170; S. Bar-Efrat, 1 Samuel (Mikra Leyisra’el; Jerusalem: Am Oved, 1996), 141 and passim (in Hebrew). 23 Cassuto, Exodus, 36–38; D. N. Freedman, “The Name of the God of Moses,” JBL 79 (1960), 151-56; and Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 81-84. 24 As noted by S. R. Driver, The Book of Exodus (Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges; Cambridge: The University Press, 1911), 22; Boling, Judges, 132; Wong, “Gideon: A New Moses?,” 534. On the LXX’s harmonistic version, see n. 7 above.

306

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

6. SIGNS In each story the hero is granted a sign which certifies that he is the chosen divine emissary. Gideon requests a sign to validate the messenger’s supernatural nature: ‫( ועשית לי אות שאתה מדבר עמי‬Judg 6:17). The test is the reception of the meal offered by Gideon: if the messenger eats, he is human; if not, he is superhuman. The messenger’s refusal to eat the meal, the fire that springs up from the rock, and the messenger’s subsequent disappearance attest both to his supernatural nature and to the fact that Gideon is the chosen emissary who will rescue Israel from the Midianites. The offering of a meal to the divine messenger represents the degeneration of a motif of divine visits to humans in which the meal represents a stage of hosting, or a divine test of human behavior, commonly found in folktales.25 In the case of the Gideon narrative, the messenger’s refusal to partake of the meal reflects a relatively late notion, which has additional biblical (Judg 13:16) and post-biblical exemplars (such as Tob 12:19), that angels do not partake of food in the company of humans.26 To Moses, God offers a sign in order to prove that he is his chosen emissary (Exod 3:12): ‫וזה לך האות כי אנכי שלחתיך בהוציאך את העם ממצרים תעבדון את‬ ‫האלהים על ההר הזה‬ There is lack of clarity with regard to the referent of the deictic pronoun ‫—וזה‬is it the first strophe of v 12, namely, the bush, or the future event of the Israelites’ worshiping on this mountain27—and the commentators are divided as to the nature and timing of this sign. I suggest that this sign was not given at the theophany,28 but was intended to take place in the future: E.g., Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.8 lines 611–724; Ovid, Fasti, 5.493–540; Aqhat 2.5 lines 4–31). 26 In post-biblical recountings of the visit of the divine messengers to Abraham, the former do not actually engage in the act of eating. See T. Ab.; Josephus, Ant. 1.11.2; b. Baba Meṣ’ia 86b; Gen. Rab. 45; Lev. Rab. 34:8; Qoh. Rab. 3:14; and Tg. Ps.-J. to Gen 18:8. See also A. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), 174–81; Rudin-O’Brasky, Patriarchs, 55 and n. 24 there; Zakovitch, Samson, 57; and Amit, Judges. Art of Editing, 255–56 and 255 n. 45. 27 See Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 74–77 and n. 2 there; and Childs, Exodus, 56–60. 28 The sign is that he acts by divine power (see Exod. Rab. 3:4). See also A. Ehrlich, Mikrâ Ki-Pheshutô. The Bible According to Its Literal Meaning (Library of Biblical Studies; reprint, New York: Ktav, 1969), 1:138 (in Hebrew); or the bush (Ibn Ezra and S. D. Luzzato). 25

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

307

the sign being that after their exodus from Egypt, the Israelites will worship God on the mountain where God had revealed himself to Moses in the burning bush.29 Unlike other suggested exegeses of this verse, this one addresses both parts of the verse and not just its opening. Thus the signs in the Gideon and Moses narratives differ as to initiator, nature, and time of occurrence. Gideon initiates the request for a sign, whereas God offers a sign to Moses unasked. Also, in Gideon’s case the signs are integral to the appointment scene; the one given to Moses will apparently take place in the future. The Saul narrative, like the Gideon one, has three signs: the information that his father is concerned for him, the offering made by persons unknown, and Saul being gripped by the spirit of the Lord (1 Sam 10:2–13).

LITERARY DEPENDENCE Many scholars interpret the shared features from appointment-investiture narratives in identical order in the Gideon and Moses narratives, their topical-linguistic similarities, but also their distinctive features, as reflecting the adaptation of these conventions to the specific contextual needs of each narrative.30 I suggest, however, that the discussion can be taken one step further. I argue that consideration of additional data from these narratives has the ability to show that they not only share a type-scene but that there is direct literary dependence between them, and its direction: namely, that the Moses call narrative served as a building block for the Gideon call narrative and his commissioning as savior. In demonstrating literary dependence between traditions, it is the confluence of multiple shared structural, topical, linguistic, and stylistic features that is decisive. In the case of the Gideon and Moses call narratives, the narratives display a level of shared elements unmatched by any other biblical call narratives, including Saul’s investiture. An initial indication of dependence comes from the presence of additional topical-linguistic similarities outside the literary pattern of appointment. These elements include (1) an unanticipated revelation; (2) national distress; (3) fire; and (4) fear inspired by an encounter with divinity.

29

See Driver, Exodus, 23; Cassuto, Exodus, 36; Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 76, among others. 30 This assumption is found in studies carried out from the mid-1950s to the early 1970s, which attempted to establish a literary model of appointment and investiture recognizable by fixed elements that appear in undeviating, or nearly undeviating order. These two narratives served as an important stratum for building this model. It is also found in more recent studies. See n. 3 above.

308

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

As was the case for Habel’s six defining characteristics of call narratives, here too we find adjustments to each narrative’s specific context.

1. AN UNANTICIPATED REVELATION In both narratives, the unexpected revelation comes while the protagonist is busy with everyday tasks,31 though the tasks differ: Gideon was threshing wheat in the winepress (Judg 6:11) in order to keep the Midianites from destroying the produce (see Judg 6:1–3; cf. 1 Sam 23:1);32 Moses was engaged in herding his father-in-law Jethro’s sheep in the desert (Exod 3:1– 2).33 Samuel’s commissioning of Saul as nagid is also unexpected, and takes place while Saul was seeking his father’s asses (1 Sam 9:3–19).

2. NATIONAL DISTRESS The call to both leaders to deliver the Israelites from an external enemy comes at a time of crisis.34 Gideon makes reference to the state of national distress, described at greater length in the cycle’s exposition (6:1–6): “If the Lord is with us, why has all this befallen us…Now the Lord has abandoned us and delivered us into the hands of Midian” (Judg 6:13). In the Moses narrative, God refers to the distress of the people: “I have marked well the plight of My people in Egypt and have heeded their outcry because of their taskmasters; yes, I am mindful of their sufferings” (Exod 3:7) and “Now the cry of the Israelites has reached Me; moreover, I have seen how the Egyptians oppress them” (v 9).35 The Saul narrative as well contains a Habel, “Call Narratives,” 298, 303; Weisman, “Charismatic Personality,” 194; Wong, “Gideon: A New Moses?,” 533. 32 See Kaufmann, Judges, 158; Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 123–24. 33 On the widespread biblical (and ancient Near Eastern) motif of leaders as shepherds, or their denotation as shepherds and the people as their flock (Num 27:17; Jer 23:1–4; Ezek 34: Ps 78:70–72, among others), a metaphor applied to God as well, see Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 67–68 and n. 1 there; R. Kasher, Ezekiel. Introduction and Commentary (Mikra Leyisra’el; Jerusalem: Am Oved, 2004), 2:674–76 (in Hebrew). 34 Richter (Die sogennanten vorprophetischen Berufungsberichte, 15–17) and other scholars in his wake view this as the first component of the appointment typescene. See n. 3 above. 35 The description of the people’s distress in v 9 is superfluous and sheds light on the complex process of the story’s formation. Scholars who accept the documentary thesis ascribe the superfluity to the conflation of two parallel sources (J and E). See Noth, Exodus, 38–45; Childs, Exodus, 52–53. R. Rendtorff (“Tradition-Historical Method and the Documentary Hypothesis,” Proceedings of the Fifth World Congress of Jewish Studies [Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 31

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

309

description of the Israelites’ distress, in God’s words to Samuel: “for I have taken note of My people, their outcry has come to Me” (1 Sam 9:16b). This description contains language found in the Moses narrative (Exod 3:7, 9), creating a parallel between present Israelite distress and what it experienced in Egypt.36

3. FIRE The revelation in both stories involves fire,37 a typical element in descriptions of divine theophany (e.g., Gen 15:17; Lev 9:24; Judg 13:20; 1 Kgs 18:38). But the fire signs are not identical. In Gideon’s case, “A fire sprang up from the rock and consumed the meat and the unleavened bread…” (Judg 6:21); in Moses’ case, “a messenger from the Lord appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame…” (Exod 3:2).

4. FEAR INSPIRED BY AN ENCOUNTER WITH DIVINITY In both stories the protagonists express fear at having seen God or his divine messenger face-to-face,38 and the root ‫ יר"א‬is used to describe their reaction. This fear of seeing God or a divine messenger is a frequent component of biblical divine revelation to humans and its most definitive expression, which reflects the notion that death results from seeing God, is found in Exod 33:20.39 Note, however, that in the Moses and Gideon 1969], 9), and A. Rofé (Introduction to the Composition of the Pentateuch [The Biblical Seminar, 58; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999], 98–101) maintain that vv 8–9 are an addition aimed at incorporating the continuation of the history of Israel and its inheritance of the land into an Egyptian-Sinai tradition. Greenberg (Understanding Exodus, 101–2) argues that vv 9–15 constitute a unit added from a different call narrative. Note these verses’ distinctive vocabulary: the leading root is ‫של׳׳ח‬, God is called ‫אלוהים‬, whereas in the larger framework we find ‫( רא׳׳ה‬3:2, 3, 4, 7, 16; 4:1, 5) and YHWH. Moreover, their elimination does not affect narrative continuity. 36 See McCarter, 1 Samuel, 179; Bar-Efrat, 1 Samuel, 140. The affinity between the texts is even greater in the LXX to 1 Sam 9:16, where ‫ עני‬precedes ‫עמי‬. See I. L. Seeligmann, “Menschliches Heldentum und Göttliche Hilfe: Die doppelte Kausalität im alttestamentlichen Geschicht sdenken,” Erhard Blum (ed.), Gesammelte Studien zur Hebräischen Bibel (FAT, 41; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 156 n. 44. 37 See Webb, The Book of Judges, 148. 38 Weisman, “Charismatic Personality,” 194. 39 Cf. Isa 6:5 and Gen 16:13, 32:31, which show that the individuals in question understand that they will not die in consequence. See Moore, Judges, 189; Boling,

310

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

narratives, each of these figures expresses his fear at different stages in the narrative: Moses at its beginning, and Gideon, at its conclusion. They also express their fear differently: Moses hides his face, “for he was afraid (‫ )כי ירא‬to look at God” (Exod 3:6), and Gideon voices his concern with the words, “Alas, O Lord God! For I have seen a messenger from the Lord face to face (‫( ”)כי על כן ראיתי מלאך ה׳ פנים אל פנים‬Judg 6:22). In his comforting words to Gideon, God refers to this fear, saying, “Have no fear (‫)אל תירא‬, you shall not die” (Judg 6:23). The expression ‫כי על כן ראיתי מלאך ה׳ פנים אל פנים‬, used to describe Gideon’s fear, appears only once more in the Bible, in the story of Jacob’s struggle with a “man” at the ford of Jabbok (Gen 32:23–33): ‫כי ראיתי אלהים‬ ‫( פנים אל פנים ותנצל נפשי‬v 31).40 Evidently, the author of the Gideon story borrowed this phrase from the Jacob narrative. The suggestion that it was the author of the Gideon narrative who borrowed this phrase is based first of all in the fact that the expression ‫אל פנים את פנים‬/‫ ראה מלאך‬is well grounded in the Jacob story, where it serves as a covert name-midrash for Penuel, mentioned in the following verse (v 32). It appears that the namemidrash in v 31 is a secondary addition.41 In addition, the phrases ‫רא׳׳ה‬ ‫ראה פני אלוהים‬/‫ פנים‬serve as a leitmotif in the story of Jacob’s struggle at the Jabbok.42 There are additional similarities between the Jacob and Gideon stories: in both a heavenly being appears in human guise; both of the protagonists discover the heavenly nature of the “human” at the close of their encounter; both assign names—one to a place, and the other to an altar—in commemoration of the experience they have undergone. The basic similarity between these two stories that treat different subjects—one the investiture of a leader, the other a struggle with a heavenly being—led

Judges, 225; Zakovitch, Samson, 55, 67–68; Amit, Judges. Introduction and Commentary, 226. 40 The combination ‫ פנים אל פנים‬appears three more times in the Bible but with different verbs: Deut 34:10; Exod 33:11; and Ezek 20:35. The combination ‫ראה‬ ‫ פנים‬also appears elsewhere in the Bible, where it can signify actual vision (by humans)—Gen 31:2, 5 among others; refer to God—Exod 23:15, 33:20, 23, 34:20 among others; or encounter in war—2 Kgs 14:8, 11. 41 See B. O. Long, The Problem of Etiological Narrative in the Old Testament (BZAW, 108; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1968), 29; C. Westermann, Genesis 12–36. A Commentary (trans. J. J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1985), 519; Y. Zakovitch, “Yabbok, Peniel, Mahanaim, Bethel: Name Midrashim as Reflections of Ideological Struggles,” Ariel 100–101 (1994), 191–204 (192) (in Hebrew). 42 See Zakovitch, “Yabbok,” 193.

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

311

the author of the Gideon story to draw attention to the resemblance between the stories by inserting the phrase ‫ראה מלאך ה׳ פנים אל פנים‬.43 Nonetheless, proof of literary dependence relies not only on the shared features of the call narrative type-scene as adapted to the individual contexts, but also on features shared only by the two traditions in question. In the case of Gideon and Moses, this is the phrase ‫כי אהיה עמך‬. As noted above, the phrase ‫ היה עם‬appears as a formula of encouragement and support, with variants, in other call narratives (and literary contexts).44 This exact phrasing, however, appears only in the Gideon and Moses narratives, where it provides evidence of divine support. Even though the combination ‫ היה עם‬functions as a leitmotif in the Gideon call narrative, scholars identify the source of the phrase in the Moses story,45 because of the accompanying name midrash containing the divine name ‫אהיה‬: ‫אהיה‬ ‫ אהיה שלחני אליכם‬... ‫“( אשר אהיה‬Ehyeh asher Ehyeh…He who calls himself Ehyeh has sent me to you”—Exod 3:14).46 The name-midrash exegesis enhances and underscores the quality of divine support for Moses. The proximity of the two in the Moses narrative and the emphasis on the element ‫ אהיה‬demonstrate that this formula is well entrenched there and originated in that context. This further supports my contention that the author of the Gideon call narrative was familiar with, and used, elements from the Moses one. Another significant linguistic affinity is the use of the phrase ‫וירא מלאך‬ ‫ ה׳‬in both narratives, albeit in slightly different word order. A final, added similarity outside the scope of the call narrative type-scene relates to the use of the Exodus context in the Gideon appointment narrative. In referring to divine salvation, Gideon asks: “Where are all His wondrous deeds (‫)נפלאתיו‬ about which our fathers told us, saying, ‘Truly the Lord brought us up from Egypt (‫( )הלא ממצרים העלנו ה׳‬Judg 6:13). Although 47‫ העלה ממצרים‬or ‫נפלאות‬48 frequently appear in biblical descriptions of the Exodus, note that According to Wong (“Gideon: A New Moses?,” 536), the restricted phrase ‫פנים אל פנים‬, two of whose five occurrences in the Bible refer to Moses (Exod 33:11; Deut 34:10), voices the special divine-Moses relationship. 44 See near n. 24 above. 45 See Moore, Judges, 185, 186; Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 91; Boling, Judges, 132. 46 See Boling, Judges, 132. 47 The combination ‫ עלה ממצרים‬is used to denote the departure from Egypt (Gen 13:1, 46:4; Exod 3:8, 17; 13:18; Judg 11:13, among others), whereas ‫ירד‬ ‫ ממצרים‬refers to going to Egypt (Gen 12:10, 42:3, 46:3, 4, among others). See Greenberg, Understanding Exodus, 21 and n. 2 there. 48 Biblical prose consistently uses this term for God’s redemption of his people 43

312

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

both appear in the Moses call narrative: “I have come down to rescue them from the Egyptians and to bring them out (‫ )להעלתו‬from that land” (Exod 3:8); “and I have declared: I will take you (‫ )אעלה‬out of the misery of Egypt (v 17); I will…smite Egypt with various wonders (‫( ”)בכל נפלאתי‬v 20). I suggest that their appearance in the Gideon story again demonstrates that its author deliberately drew upon the Moses narrative, which he had in front of him. It seems less likely that he simply inserted phrases belonging to the biblical descriptions of the Exodus. Through these means the author of the Gideon story drew analogies between Gideon’s call, patterned on the model of appointment stories, and that of Moses, the ideal emissary, as portrayed in such verses as Num 12:7; and Deut 18:18, and 34:10.49 As shown here, the two narratives share not only the fundamental topical and linguistic similarities inherent in the appointment pattern, but additional topical and linguistic ones as well. The comparison to Saul’s appointment as nagid further strengthens my negation of the proposition that the similarities between the Moses and Gideon narratives are simply attributable to their belonging to type-scenes of appointment of investiture. Although the Saul narrative has all the elements of this pattern and can be considered a close exemplar, they are ordered differently and the degree of affinity between the Gideon and Moses narratives—even though each adjusts the elements to its specific needs and context—remains greater than that of either to the Saul narrative. These similarities are summarized in the following tables.

through the Exodus and the conquest (Exod 3:20, 34:10–11; Josh 3:5, among others). See Y. Zakovitch, The Concept of the Miracle in the Bible (Broadcast University Series; Tel Aviv: Ministry of Defence, 1991), 13–16; and Moore, Judges, 184–85. On this term in biblical poetry, see Zakovitch, Miracle, 13–16. 49 As Greenberg (Understanding Exodus, 91, 96) argues.

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES The Call Narratives of Gideon, Moses, and Saul

A. Shared features of appointment and investiture stories

313

314

HAVA SHALOM-GUY B. Additional shared features

Assimilation between heroes in similar national or cultural roles is frequent in biblical narrative and motifs are transferred from one character to another, intensifying the initial resemblance between them and between events in different stories.50 Here I note that a number of biblical figures are assimilated to the figure of Moses and mention two of the best-known examples: Joshua and Moses, and Elijah and Moses. Thus the strong resemblance between the appearance of “the captain of the Lord’s host” to Joshua (Josh 5:13– 15) and the initial divine revelation to Moses at Horeb (Exod 3:1–15) is obvious (see especially, Josh 5:15 // Exod 3:5) as is that between the crossing of the Jordan (Josh 3–4) and the splitting of the Red Sea and the Israelite passage on dry land (Exod 14). It serves to establish Joshua’s authority as a worthy successor to Moses. In the episode related in 1 Kgs 19, the figure of Elijah at Horeb is assimilated to that of Moses during the revelation at Horeb after the sin of the golden There are many examples of assimilation in the Bible. See Y. Zakovitch, “Assimilation in Biblical Narratives,” J. H. Tigay (ed.), Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 175–96. For a consideration of comparative structure, analogy, and parallels, see M. Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel. A Literary Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies and Parallels (Ramat Gan: Revivim, 1985), 19, 22–23. 50

THE CALL NARRATIVES OF GIDEON AND MOSES

315

calf (Exod 33:17–23). Here the purpose of this assimilation is criticism of the prophet who, instead of pleading for them, asks for heavenly vengeance against his people.51 Throughout his literary life in Judges, Gideon is depicted as a complex personality with varied, even opposing characteristics; this duality is a feature of the initial stratum of the cycle and also the additions to the original narrative.52 In the first part of the narrative, the outstanding feature of Gideon’s behavior is his lack of confidence and hesitation regarding his ability to lead the fight against the Midianites (Judg 6:13, 15) and his doubts concerning divine support for him, which leads him to request signs (6:17– 21, 36–40). Another, related aspect is his cowardice: he threshes wheat in a winepress and not in the field because of his fear of the Midianites (6:11); and descends to the Midianite camp with his attendant Purah because he is afraid to go unaccompanied (7:10–11).53 This contrasts with Gideon’s portrayal in other units of the cycle as the chosen emissary of God and his regime as a period of divine rule.54 The author of the cycle created this image by using repeated elements from descriptions of other judge-saviors, in particular the aspects that shape him as a divine choice: direct or mediated (by messenger) divine revelation, signs, or divine inspiration of the hero. The assimilation to Moses enhances Gideon’s aspect as God’s chosen messenger.55 Nonetheless, in the case of 51 See Y. Zakovitch, “‘A Still Small Voice’: Form and Contents in I Kings 19,” Tarbiz 51 (1982), 329–46 (in Hebrew). On the similarities between Joshua and Moses, and Elijah and Moses, see E. L. Greenstein, “The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus,” AJSR 15 (1990), 151–78 (171–72). Greenstein, however, proposes a different basis for these similarities. 52 The growth of the Gideon cycle is a debated matter, which I will not discuss here. For a comprehensive survey, see Shalom-Guy, “Gideon Cycle,” 52–56, 251– 57 (English abstract—9, 16–19). 53 Others have commented on Gideon’s hesitation, doubts, and fearfulness as found in different units of the Gideon cycle. See Block, Judges-Ruth, 272–73; J. C. Exum, “The Center Cannot Hold: Thematic and Textual Instabilities in Judges,” CBQ 52 (1990), 417–18; O’Connell, The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges, 150, 160; and more recently, G. T. K. Wong, Compositional Strategy of the Book of Judges. An Inductive, Rhetorical Study (VTSup, 111; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 158–60. 54 This latter feature has been overblown in some studies. See, for example, J. Dishon, “Gideon and the Beginnings of Monarchy in Israel,” Tarbiz 41 (1971–72): 255–68 (in Hebrew). 55 This is not the place for further discussion of the complex portrayal of Gideon in the cycle. For a treatment of the multifaceted and multilayered portrayal of Gideon as reflected in the different strata of the cycle, see Shalom-Guy, “Gideon Cycle”; idem, “Jeroboam’s Reform and the Episode of the Golden Calf,” Shnaton

316

HAVA SHALOM-GUY

the Gideon narrative, the purpose of the assimilation to Moses is not in my opinion to shape Gideon as a “new Moses,”56 but rather to create a more positive image of Gideon as a worthy divine choice to lead the Israelite campaign against Midian. I also briefly note that in portraying the appointment of Gideon as savior the author does not confine himself to assimilation to the figure of Moses alone. For example, Gideon’s request for a sign and the corresponding sign has parallels to Abraham’s hosting of the divine messengers (Gen 18:1–15). I also noted the similarity between Gideon’s fear of having experienced a divine encounter and Jacob’s fear at the conclusion of his struggle with the messenger at the ford of Jabbok (Gen 32:31). This indicates that the author of the Gideon story also sought to compare Gideon to Abraham, and to Jacob. Like the comparison to Moses, the purpose of these allusions to these great leaders of the Israelite people was to elevate Gideon’s stature in the reader’s eyes. In summation, the similarities between the Gideon and Moses call narratives go beyond those of the shared features of stories of appointment and investiture, which are found here in identical order. Additional topical similarities, and shared expressions, one unique to these two stories, indicate literary dependence by the author of the Gideon narrative on the Moses story in creating his story. Could there be a more effective way of elevating the Gideon portrayed as a timid, cowardly individual into a worthy leader of the Israelites than by comparing him to Moses, the archetypical leader?

16 (2006), 15–27 (in Hebrew), which shows how this unit criticizes Gideon and his actions. 56 As some scholars claim. See Beyerlin, “Geschichte und heilgeschichtliche Traditionsbildung,” 9–10, 24; Block, Judges-Ruth, 257.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT: A POSSIBLE SOLUTION TO THE “PROBLEM WITH JERUSALEM” ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS TEL AVIV UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION The conventional wisdom regards the City of David ridge1 as the original mound of Jerusalem. Yet, intensive archaeological research in the last century—with excavations in many parts of the ca. six hectares ridge (see Fig. 1), has proven that between the Middle Bronze Age and Roman times, this site was fully occupied only in two relatively short periods: in the Iron Age IIB-C (between ca. the mid-eighth century and 586 BCE) and in the late Hellenistic period (starting in the second half of the second century BCE). Occupation in other periods was partial and sparse—and concentrated mainly in the central sector of the ridge, near and above the Gihon spring. This presented scholars with a problem regarding periods for which there is either textual documentation or circumstantial evidence for significant occupation in Jerusalem; we refer mainly to the Late Bronze Age, the Iron IIA and the Persian and early Hellenistic periods.2 Scholars attempted to address this problem in regard to a specific period. Na’aman (2010a) argued that the Late Bronze city-states are underrepresented in the archaeological record also in other places; A. Mazar (2006; 2010) advocated the “glass half full” approach, according to which We are using the term “City of David” in its common archaeological meaning, that is, the ridge to the south of the Temple Mount and west of the Kidron Valley, also known as the southeastern hill. For the biblical term see Hutzli, in press. 2 The intensive archaeological work in the City of David in the last century (probably unparalleled in anywhere else in the region), renders the “absence of evidence is not evidence for absence” argument irrelevant in this case. 1

317

318

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

with all difficulties, the fragmentary evidence in the City of David is enough to attest to a meaningful settlement even in periods of weak activity; one of us (Lipschits 2009) argued for enough spots with Persian Period finds on the ridge; another author of this paper (Finkelstein 2008) maintained that the weak archaeological signal from the late Iron I—early Iron IIA (the tenth century BCE) and the Persian and early Hellenistic periods reflects the actual situation in Jerusalem—which was only sparsely populated in these periods. Still one must admit that the bigger problem—of many centuries in the history of Jerusalem with only meager finds—has not been resolved. In what follows we wish to put forward a solution to this riddle. Following the suggestion of Knauf (2000) regarding the Late Bronze Age and Iron Age I, we raise the possibility that similar to other hilly sites, the mound of Jerusalem was located on the summit of the ridge, in the center of the area that was boxed-in under the Herodian platform in the late first century BCE. Accordingly, in most periods until the second century BCE the City of David ridge was outside the city. Remains representing the Late Bronze, Iron I, Iron IIA, and the Persian and early Hellenistic periods were found mainly in the central part of this ridge. They include scatters of sherds but seldom the remains of buildings, and hence seem to represent no more than (usually ephemeral) activity near the spring. In two periods—in the second half of the eighth century and in the second half of the second century BCE—the settlement rapidly (and simultaneously) expanded from the mound on the Temple Mount to both the southeastern ridge (the City of David) and the southwestern hill (today’s Jewish and Armenian quarters). The theory of “the mound on the Mount” cannot be proven without excavations on the Temple Mount or its eastern slope—something that is not feasible in the foreseen future. Indeed, Na’aman (1996: 18-19) stated that since “the area of Jerusalem’s public buildings is under the Temple Mount and cannot be examined, the most important area for investigation, and the one to which the biblical histories of David and Solomon mainly refer, remains terra incognita”, and Knauf (2000: 87) maintained that “AbdiKhepa’s and David’s Jerusalem lies buried under the Herodian-throughIslamic structures of the Temple Mount, thus formulating a hypothesis which cannot be tested or refuted archaeologically.” We too regard our reconstruction below as no more than a hypothesis. In other words, for clear reasons—the inability to check our hypothesis in the field—we cannot present a well-based solution for the “problem with Jerusalem.” Rather, our goal in this paper is to put this theory on the table of scholarly discussion.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

319

THE SETTLEMENT HISTORY OF THE CITY OF DAVID What follows is a brief discussion of the City of David’s settlement history—a summary rather than a thorough description of every parcel of land excavated. The ridge should be discussed in three sectors: north, south, and center (Fig. 1). In “north” we refer to excavations between the southern wall of the Temple Mount and the City of David visiting center (E. Mazar’s “palace of King David”). In B. and E. Mazar’s “Ophel” excavations, Hellenistic remains were found superimposed directly on Iron IIB-C remains, which were founded, in turn, on bedrock (B. Mazar and E. Mazar 1989). Kenyon’s Sites R and S revealed remains from the Roman period and later (Kenyon 1974). Recent excavation in the Giveati Parking Lot by Reich and Shukron and by BenAmi and Tchehanovetz revealed remains from medieval times down to the late Hellenistic period, and below them, on bedrock on the slope to the Tyropoeon, late Iron II and some Iron IIA remains (Ben-Ami and Tchehanovetz 2008; 2010). The latter should be understood, in fact, together with the remains in the central sector of the ridge (below). Remains unearthed nearby by Crowfoot (Crowfoot and Fitzgerald 1929) were interpreted as a Bronze Age, Iron Age and Persian Period western gate to the City of David (e.g., Alt 1928; Albright 1930-31: 167); in fact, they comprise a sub-structure covered by a fill for a large late Hellenistic or early Roman building (Ussishkin 2006a). To sum up this evidence, no remains of the Middle Bronze, Late Bronze, Iron I, Persian and early Hellenistic Periods have so far been discovered in the northern sector of the City of David. It is also significant that apart from a few pottery sherds and some other scanty remains, finds of these periods were not reported from B. Mazar’s excavations near the southwestern corner of the Temple Mount either (B. Mazar 1971). On the other hand, rich Iron IIB-C remains were unearthed near the southern wall of the Temple Mount. By “south” we refer to all soundings south of Shiloh’s Area D1 (see Fig. 1). Here too the Middle Bronze, Late Bronze, Iron I, Iron IIA and Persian and early Hellenistic Periods are absent. In Area A1, Early Roman remains were found over late Iron II remains (De Groot, Cohen and Caspi 1992). In Kenyon’s Site K, located on the southwestern side of the City of David, ca. 50 m to the north of the Siloan Pool, late Iron II sherds were found on bedrock, superimposed by Late Hellenistic finds (Kenyon 1966: 84). Shiloh’s Area K, in roughly the same line as Kenoyon’s Site K, was excavated to bedrock; the earliest remains date to the Early Roman period. In this case a large-scale clearing operation, which could have destroyed

320

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

earlier remains, seems to have taken place in the Roman period (also Kenyon 1965: 14; 1966: 88 for her excavations nearby). The central part of the City of David—between the visitors center/Shiloh Area G and Shiloh’s Area D1—should in fact be divided into west and east. Only a few, limited in scope excavations have been carried out in the former; they did not reveal early remains. The eastern part of the central sector includes mainly the Macalister and Duncan dig/E. Mazar’s visitors’ center excavations (Macalister and Duncan 1926; E. Mazar 2007; 2009), Kenyon’s Area A (Steiner 2001), Shiloh’s Areas G, E and D (Shiloh 1984) and Reich and Shukron work near the Gihon spring (e.g., 2004; 2007; 2009). Iron IIB-C and late Hellenistic remains were found here too. In addition, this is the only sector of the City of David that produced finds from the “missing periods.” These include: the impressive Middle Bronze fortifications near the Gihon spring and remains of this period in Kenyon’s Area A and Shiloh’s Area E1; Late Bronze pottery in Shiloh’s Areas E1 and G and in E. Mazar’s excavations in the area of the visitors’ center; Iron I finds under the terraces on the slope and in the visitors’ center excavations; and Iron IIA, Persian and early Hellenistic finds between Shiloh’s Area D1 and G and in E. Mazar’s excavation. Still, even in the central part of the City of David ridge the finds from the “missing periods” are fragmentary: Not a single building, in fact, not a single floor of the Late Bronze Age or Persian Period has so far been found, and only one structure of the early Hellenistic Period has been unearthed (in Shiloh’s Area E1). Actual building remains of the Iron IIA exist only in two places: 1. The Stepped Stone Structure (Cahill 2003; A. Mazar 2006; in fact, only its lower part—Finkelstein et al. 2007; Finkelstein, in press a). This is a stone mantle that covers terraces constructed in order to stabilize the steep slope. Its dating is circumstantial—it may belong to the late Iron IIA or to the Iron IIB (Finkelstein et al. 2007); 2. Several walls in E. Mazar’s excavations in the area of the visitors’ center may date to the Iron IIA (Finkelstein, Fantalkin and Piasetzky 2008; Finkelstein, in press a). E. Mazar (2009), A. Mazar (2010) and Faust (2010) reconstruct a major complex which constituted a revetment on the slope (the Stepped Stone Structure) and a fortress or a palace on the ridge. Though this is

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

321

possible, evidence for a large edifice on the ridge is meager, and physical connection between the two structures non-existent (Finkelstein, in press a). Late Iron IIA (or transitional Iron IIA/B) finds—pottery and bullae—were retrieved from a fill deposited in the rock-cut pool near the Gihon spring (Reich, Lernau and Shukron 2007; Reich and Shukron 2009; De Groot and Fadida 2010). A summary of this short review of the settlement history of the City of David is as follows: In the Late Bronze, Iron I, Iron IIA, Persian and early Hellenistic Periods activity—sparse in nature and with very little building remains—concentrated in a strip on the center-east part of the ridge, mainly its slope, from the Gihon spring to Shiloh’s Area D about 200 meters to its south.

THE PROBLEM WITH JERUSALEM In recent years a formidable Middle Bronze fortification and elaborate water system have been unearthed near the Gihon spring (Reich and Shukrun 2004; 2009). These finds, however, are not accompanied by habitation remains, which raise a question as for the location of the Middle Bronze settlement of Jerusalem. The Amarna letters indicate that in the 14th century BCE Jerusalem was one of the most influential city-states in Canaan. Jerusalem dominated a vast territory in the southern hill country (Finkelstein 1996; for a somewhat different view see Na’aman 1992; 2010b: 45–48) and its political sway reached large areas in the lowlands. Pointing out to the meager finds also in sites of other Late Bronze city-states in Canaan, Na’aman (2010a: 167–169) linked this situation to the general decay of Canaan at that time. Still, the question is, whether a few pockets of pottery in the center of the City of David—without evidence for the construction of a single building—can represent Jerusalem of the Amarna period. Difficulties regarding the Iron IIA emerge from both archaeology and text. Archaeologically speaking, the first fortifications in Judah, in the Shephelah (Lachish IV and possibly Beth-shemesh 3) and Beer-sheba Valley (Arad XI and Tel Beer-sheba V) date to the late Iron IIA in the mid- to second half of the ninth century BCE (Finkelstein 2001; Herzog and Singer Avitz 2004; for absolute dating see Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2009; 2010). The Great Wall of Tell en-Nasbeh (Mizpah) seems to have been built at that time on the northern flank of Judah (Finkelstein, in press b). No fortification has so far been found on the western side of the City of David (see recently Ben-Ami and Tchekhanovets 2010: 72) and the Iron Age

322

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

fortifications along the eastern slope of the ridge date to the Iron IIB (Shiloh 1984; recently Reich and Shukron 2008b). It is illogical to assume that Judahite countryside towns were strongly fortified in the late Iron IIA while the capital was left unprotected. From the textual perspective, 2 Kings 14:13 relates how Joash, king of Israel (who reigned in 800–784 BCE, that is, in the end-phase of the Iron IIA), “broke down the wall of Jerusalem” (see Na’aman 2010a: 169–170). No wall which can be associated with this account has been found. The Tel Dan Inscription supports the biblical testimony that Judah participated in the struggle against the Arameans in the days of Hazael. 2 Kings 12:18–19 says that Jehoash paid tribute, probably as a vassal, to the Damascene king. This source seems to be reliable historically, mainly because of the reference to Gath, which has recently been supported by the results of the excavation at Tell es-Safi (Maeir 2004). The meager late Iron IIA finds near the Gihon spring can hardly account for Jerusalem of that time. Jerusalem of the Persian Period has recently been a focus of debate between two of the authors of this article (Finkelstein 2008; Lipschits 2009). Setting aside the disputed issues of the nature and date of the description of the city-wall in Nehemiah 3 (Lipschits 2007), it is clear—from an Elephantine letter (Porten 1996: 135–137) which mentions priests and nobles in Jerusalem, and seemingly also from the distribution of the yhwd stamp impressions—that during the Persian period Jerusalem was the center of the province of Yehud (Lipschists and Vanderhooft 2007). Early Hellenistic sources such as Ben-Sirah testify for the importance of Jerusalem in the Ptolemaic and early Seleucid periods. Finally, it seems clear that a significant number of biblical texts were compiled in Jerusalem in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods. Some of these works are of special importance, for example, the Priestly material in the Pentateuch, prophetic works, a late redaction of the Deuteronomistic History, and at least parts of Ezra and Nehemiah and Chronicles. The extremely poor finds in the City of David ridge can hardly account for a town that produces such a large and varied number of literary works.

A SOLUTION: A MOUND ON THE TEMPLE MOUNT? Over a decade ago, Axel Knauf (2000) proposed that Late Bronze and Early Iron Age Jerusalem had been located on the Temple Mount. Knauf rightly argued (ibid.: 76) that from the strategic point of view a town covering the southeastern hill would have been indefensible without commanding the top of the ridge—the Temple Mount. In what follows we wish to elaborate on Knauf’s proposal, adapt it to what we know about the archaeology of

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

323

Jerusalem today, and interpret it in view of the textual evidence for the “missing periods” in the City of David. To start with, it should be noted that major Bronze and Iron Age towns in the central hill country were located on relatively small mounds. Shechem (Tell Balata) and Hebron (Tell er-Rumeideh) covered an area of 4–4.5 hectares each; the mound of Bethel covers an area of ca. 3 hectares (Kelso 1968: 2); and most other mounds are smaller. Even ninth century Samaria—the center of a relatively large and powerful kingdom which competed with Damascus on the hegemony in the Levant—covered an area of no more than 8 hectares (Finkelstein, in press c). Hence, one should not expect Late Bronze-to-Iron IIA Jerusalem to have covered a much larger area. There can be no question that the ruling compound of Iron Age Jerusalem—the Temple and the palace of the Davidic kings—was located on the Temple Mount. But scholars seem to evaluate Iron Age Jerusalem with the notion of the Herodian Temple Mount and current Haram el-Sharif in mind. In Herodian times, when the city covered a very large area of some 180 hectares, the Temple Mount featured substantial open areas— somewhat similar to the situation today. Yet, there is no reason to telescope this situation back to the Bronze and Iron Ages. Bronze Age city-states in the Levant, such as Megiddo and Lachish, were the hub of territorial entities. They accommodated a palace, temple(s), and other buildings which served the bureaucratic apparatus, as well as residential quarters for the ruling class. Most members of other sectors of the society lived in smaller settlements in their hinterland. The same holds true for the hubs of Iron Age territorial kingdoms in the southern Levant, such as Samaria and Hama. Jerusalem probably looked the same: The Temple Mount must have accommodated the temple, the palace, other buildings related to the administration of the kingdom as well as habitation quarters for the kingdom’s bureaucrats; one should not envision large open spaces in its midst. How big could a mound located under the Temple Mount have been? Had there been such a mound, the huge construction project which had taken place on the Temple Mount in Herodian times, including major leveling operations, must have eradicated much of its remains. Still, one could have expected to find pottery representing Bronze and Iron Age activity (as well as finds from the Persian and Early Hellenistic periods), for example in B. Mazar’s excavations near the southwestern corner of the Temple Mount and in B. and E. Mazar’s excavations to the south of the Temple Mount. The fact that no such remains have been found may be linked—among other reasons—to intensive later construction activities,

324

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

which cleaned these areas down to bedrock, or to intensive post-Iron Age erosion or accumulation of debris. However, there may be another explanation: The current Temple Mount is comprised of the rectangular Herodian platform; had there been an ancient mound on the hill, it could have covered a smaller area, with its lower slopes located dozens of meters away from the current boundaries of the platform. Judging from the situation in other hilly mounds, if one walks a few dozen meters away from the slopes, the ancient sherds diminish in number and then disappear. This factor—together with erosion, leveling and accumulation of debris—could have resulted in the absence of Bronze and Iron Age debris on the slopes of the hill. The Herodian platform covers an area of ca. 470 x 280 m (about 13 hectares). Taking down 50–60 m on each side—to account for the paucity of Bronze and Iron Age as well as Persian and Hellenistic pottery around the hypothetical tell—one gets a mound of ca. 350 x 180 m, that is, an area of about 5 hectares (Fig. 2)—equivalent in size to or bigger than Tell Balata (Shechem). This is a meaningful mound-size even in the lowlands, taken into consideration that Iron Age Megiddo (the top of the mound) covered just below 5 hectares and that Iron Age Lachish stretched over an area of 5.7 hectares. According to this reconstruction, an ancient mound was completely “trapped” under the Herodian platform.3 Such a mound would be well-defended topographically on almost all sides: by the steep slope to the Kidron Valley in the east, by the relatively steep slope to the Tyropoeon in the west (which, according to results of excavations, was much deeper in the Iron Age than today, see e.g., Ben Ami and Tchehanovetz 2010: 68; section in B. Mazar 1971: Fig. 1), and by the steep slope to the Valley of Bethesda under the northeastern sector of the current Temple Mount in the northeast (see topography of the Temple Mount in Hubbard 1966: Fig. 1). The vulnerable sides would be the northwest and the south. In the northwest, a moat must have been cut in the saddle which separates the hill from the continuing ridge. Warren (Warren and Conder 1884: 136 ff. and see Hubbard 1966: Fig. 1) mapped the natural rock around and inside the Temple Mount by digging shafts alongside the Herodian supporting walls, and by examining the subterranean chambers within the Haram el-Sharif compound. While doing so, he investigated the saddle that connects the Temple Mount with the northeast hill, and reported on two ditches there—one to the north of the Temple Mount and 3 Somewhat similar to the ancient mound of Atlit, or the Moabite site of ancient Kerak, which both seem to have been boxed-in under the large medieval castles there.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

325

another inside its limits. The latter is a six-meter ditch that disconnects the Temple Mount from the ridge (Warren and Conder 1884: 215, and cf. Wilson and Warren 1871: 13). This trench in the rock, which was identified as a fosse or a dry moat, was also documented by Vincent (1912: section K– L; see also Bahat 1980: 11a; Ritmeyer 1992: 32–33), and was dated by Hubbard (1966: Fig. 3), Ottosson (1979: 31; 1989: 266), Oredsson (2000:92–95), and Ussishkin (2003: 535; 2006a: 351; 2009: 475) to the period of the Judahite Monarchy. If one envisions the temple on the highest point of the hill, the ruling compound could have been located on the edge of the ancient mound, in approximately one third of the site in its northwestern sector, with the palace, possibly, behind the temple (e.g., Ussishkin 2003: 535; 2006b: 351– 352; 2009: 473, and cf. Wightman 1993:29–31). This leaves the entire southern and eastern parts of the hill for the rest of the city. According to this proposal, during the second millennium and the early first millennium BCE—until the great territorial expansion of Jerusalem in the Iron IIB—as well as during most of the second half of the first millennium, after the 586 destruction and until the late Hellenistic period, Jerusalem had been located on a mound which was later leveled and boxed-in under the Herodian platform.4 This area could have been fortified in the late Iron IIA—in parallel to the fortification of major Judahite towns such as Lachish, Tel Beer-Sheba, and possibly Mizpah. This means that until the Iron IIB the southeastern hill (the City of David) was an open area outside of the city, which probably featured agricultural installations, sporadic activity areas and several buildings, mainly near the spring. It was only during the late eighth century BCE that the southeastern ridge, together with the southwestern hill, was incorporated into the city and fortified. In other words, in both the Iron IIB and the late Hellenistic periods the expansion of Jerusalem to the south (the City of David = the southeastern ridge) and the southwest (the southwestern hill) took place at approximately the same time. This, in turn, is the reason why no fortification of these periods has ever been found in the west of the City of David: simply, there was no period when this was the outer line of the city and therefore there was no need to fortify it (Ussishkin 2006a: 153). 4 Another clue for the location of Bronze and early Iron Age Jerusalem comes from the distribution of burials: The two more significant Middle and Late Bronze tombs found close to the Old City are located on Mount Olives—to the east of the Temple Mount (map in Maeir 2000: 46), whereas the late Iron II tombs surround the large city of that period (Barkay 2000). We wish to thank Ronny Reich for drawing our attention to this issue.

326

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

The only ostensible difficulty with this scenario is the location of the spring—outside and relatively far (over 300 m) from the city. This could have been compensated by water cisterns on the Temple Mount. Those mapped by Warren (Waren and Conder 1884: 163ff; Gibson and Jacobson 1996) probably represent later periods in the history of Jerusalem, mainly in Herodian times; but as indicated by Tsuk (2008: 114) at least some of them had first been cut in earlier days. In any event, it is noteworthy that Samaria too is far from a spring and on a daily routine must have subsisted on rockcut cisterns.

DISCUSSION In what follows we suggest a brief reconstruction of the extent of Jerusalem from the Middle Bronze Age to the late Hellenistic Period.5

MIDDLE BRONZE The situation in the Middle Bronze is perplexing. The massive, monumental stone walls uncovered near the Gihon were erected in order to protect the spring and provide a safe approach to the water from the ridge (Reich and Shukron 2009; 2010); this includes the segment of the wall unearthed by Kenyon (1974: 81–87; Reich and Shukron 2010). The key area is E1, where Shiloh (1984: 12, Fig. 14) uncovered a stretch of a fortification with fills carrying Middle Bronze pottery on its inner side. More important is a floor with Middle Bronze vessels, which ostensibly abuts the fortification. No fortification has been unearthed in the western side of the City of David; as mentioned above, the “gate” dug by Crowfoot is probably a substructure for late Hellenistic or early Roman building (Ussishkin 2006a). No Middle Bronze finds have been detected in the northern sector of the City of David. Accordingly, E. Mazar (following Macalister and Duncan 1926: 15) proposed that the Middle Bronze city was limited to the southern part of the City of David, south of Shiloh’s Area G and the visitors’ center, with the fortifications near the spring located in its northeastern corner (E. 5 The sifting of the debris taken from the southern part of the Temple Mount by the Islamic Waqf has revealed a small number of sherds representing early times, except for the Iron IIB-C and the Hellenistic periods (Barkay and Zweig 2006: 219–220; 2007, especially table in p. 59). As a result, Barkay and Zweig (2007: 59) reject the possibility of an ancient mound on the Temple Mount (ibid.). We do not agree and do not incorporate this information into our discussion, because: A) the debris was taken from the southern end of the Mount, away from the supposed mound; B) much of the debris there was not in situ and there is no way to know where it had come from and for what reason it was deposited there in antiquity.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

327

Mazar 2006; 2007: 16−17, 28, 52; 2009: 24, 26). This idea is also based on Macalister and Duncan’s assumption (1926: 15) that a depression (labeled by them the “Zedek Valley”) ran in this place from east to west across the ridge. Yet, “Rock Scarp A” (Macalister and Duncan 1926: Fig. 39 and Pl. I)—probably the reason for this theory—seems to be no more than an ancient quarry. Indeed, Kenyon indicated the obvious—that the bedrock along the crest of the ridge rises toward the north (Steiner 2001: Fig. 4.18). Also, there is no parallel to a town built on the lower slope of a ridge, dominated by higher grounds immediately outside its walls. We would suggest that the Middle Bronze city was located on the supposed mound under today’s Temple Mount. If the fortification in Area E1 indeed dates originally to the Middle Bronze, then the city of this period could have stretched over a bigger area, comprising both the Temple Mount and the north-center sectors of the City of David. This scenario raises three difficulties: first, Middle Bronze finds are absent from the north of the City of David ridge; second, no other Middle Bronze city in the hill country, not even Shechem, covered such a large area; third, no fortification has so far been unearthed in the western side of the City of David. The other possibility—that the fortification in Area E1 is later than the Middle Bronze (this can be checked only when detailed sections are published)— also raises difficulties: In this case, the city was located on the mound in the north, with a separate fortification near the spring—an arrangement unknown in any other city in the Levant. In any event, since no connection between the mound on the Temple Mount and the fortification near the spring has so far been discovered and no finds from this period were unearthed in the northern part of the City of David, the nature of at least some of the Middle Bronze remains in the City of David ridge, as well as the extent of the Middle Bronze city, remain a riddle.

LATE BRONZE The Late Bronze city was located on the mound under today’s Temple Mount (Knauf 2000). The small quantity of Late Bronze pottery found here and there in the City of David above the Gihon Spring probably represents ephemeral presence outside the city, near the water source.

IRON I Activity near the spring intensified in the Iron I. Remains of buildings were uncovered under the terraces on the slope (Steiner 1994) and in E. Mazar’s excavations in the area of the visitors’ center (2009: 39–42). Poor finds— mainly pottery—were retrieved by Shiloh from his Areas D1 and E1 (1984: 7, 12). The quantity of Iron I pottery in the brown deposits found under E.

328

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

Mazar’s “palace of King David” (2007: 48) is also significant. All this seems to indicate that activity near the spring intensified. Yet, the area between the spring and the mound in the north remained uninhabited.

IRON IIA In the Shephelah and the Beer-sheba Valley, the Iron IIA can be divided stratigraphically, and in the case of large-enough assemblages of finds also ceramically, into two phases—early and late Iron IIA (Herzog and SingerAvitz 2004). The results of excavations in Jerusalem, as well as in other sites in the highlands, do not provide enough data for such a distinction. Still, it seems that both the original Stepped Stone Structure and the early walls in E. Mazar’s excavations date to the later phase of the period (Finkelstein 2001; in press a; Finkelstein et al. 2007; 2008). At that time, the main settlement, which was probably fortified by a massive wall similar to the Great Wall of Tell en-Nasbeh (Mizpah), was still located on the Temple Mount. Assuming that the story in 2 Kings 14:13 is historically sound, this could have been the wall which had been breached by King Joash of Israel in the very early eighth century. It is possible that the Stepped Stone Structure was erected outside of the city in order to support a large building on the eastern flank of the ridge—possibly a fortress (A. Mazar 2010 and Faust 2010 suggested the existence of such a fortress but dated it to the Iron I), which protected the approach to the water source. Yet, there is no link between the Iron I rooms and the large walls around them, and the connection between the stone revetment and the walls on the ridge is impossible to verify today (Finkelstein, in press a).

IRON IIB The turning point in the settlement history of Jerusalem came in the Iron IIB, in the mid-to-late eighth century BCE. Prosperity in Judah as an Assyrian vassal and demographic changes—be they sharp and quick following the fall of the Northern Kingdom (Finkelstein and Silberman 2006; Finkelstein 2008), or slow and more graduate (Na’aman 2007; 2009)—brought about a major urbanization process in Jerusalem. For the first time the settled area expanded to the entire City of David ridge, which was now densely occupied. During the same time, the city expanded to the southwestern hill (today’s Jewish and Armenian quarters). The new quarters were surrounded by a city wall, which must have been connected to the older (probably Iron IIA) fortification on the mound under the Temple Mount (Ussishkin 2009: 473). In the City of David, the new city-wall is known only along the eastern side, above the Kidron Valley (Steiner 2001: 89–92; Shiloh 1984: 8–10, 28; Figs. 30, 33; Reich and Shukrun 2000; 2008).

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

329

Segment of this fortification, already noticed by Warren, was excavated by E. and B. Mazar (1989) in the “Ophel.” On the southwestern hill it has been uncovered in the modern day Jewish Quarter (Avigad 1983:46–60; Avigad and Geva 2000; Geva and Avigad 2000), and possibly also under the western wall of the Old City (near Jaffa Gate—Geva 1979; 1983: 56–58) and in HaGai (el-Wad) Street (Kloner 1984). There was no need to fortify the western side of the City of David (Ussishkin 2006a: 153).

PERSIAN AND EARLY HELLENISTIC In the Persian and early Hellenistic periods the settlement shrank to the original mound on the Temple Mount. The City of David was again an open, desolate area. Pockets of pottery found in the center of the ridge testify for some activity in the vicinity of the spring and possibly on the eastern slope to the south of it. According to Finkelstein, the description of the construction/repair of the wall of Jerusalem in the “Nehemiah Memoir,” with no reference to specific places, should probably be connected to the old, Iron Age fortification of the mound on the Temple Mount, while the detailed description in Nehemiah 3, which represents an insertion into the original text (e.g., Torrey 1896; 37–38; 1910: 249; Mowinckel 1964: 109–116), probably relates to the long Hellenistic fortifications, which encircles the southeastern ridge and the southwestern hill. According to Lipschits, the verses in Nehemiah 3 that describe the construction of six gates are unique in their sentence structure, word order, and verbs used; they differ from the usual formula deployed to describe the construction of the wall itself (see already Reinmuth 2003: 84, who pointed out the different sources of the verses, and Lipschits 2007, who demonstrated that gates-verses are part of two different later additions to the original list of people who supported the building of the wall). Without the burden of the many gates, the original account described the course of the city wall of the small mound of Jerusalem on the Temple Mount.

LATE HELLENISTIC The entire City of David ridge was settled again in the late Hellenistic (Hasmonean) period. Similar to the situation in the Iron IIB, the city expanded in parallel to the southeastern and southwestern hills, and hence in this period too there was no need to fortify the western side of the City of David.

SUMMARY There are two solutions for the “problem with Jerusalem”—the fact that archaeology does not supply enough data for several periods in the second

330

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

and first millennia BCE which are well-documented by textual material. According to the first, the acropolis, with the temple and the palace only, was located on the Temple Mount and the town itself extended over the ridge of the City of David. This means that in the Late Bronze, Iron I, Iron IIA, Persian and early Hellenistic period Jerusalem was a small, sparsely settled settlement. In this article, we suggest a second solution to the quandary: The original mound of Jerusalem—that is, the acropolis and the settlement— which had been located on the Temple Mount, was boxed-in under the Herodian platform in the late first century BCE. This theoretical mound could have covered a significant area of ca. 5 hectares—the size of the larger Bronze and Iron Age mounds in the hill country. It was probably fortified in the Middle Bronze Age, and again in the late Iron IIA in parallel to the fortification of important towns in the countryside of Judah, mainly Lachish, Tel Beer-sheba and Mizpah. This mound on the Temple Mount was the sole location of the town in the Middle Bronze, Late Bronze, Iron I, Iron IIA, Persian and early Hellenistic periods. In all these periods activity in the City of David was meager and restricted to the central part of the ridge, mainly its eastern side near the Gihon spring. In two periods—the Iron IIB and the late Hellenistic—the settlement expanded to include the southeastern ridge (the City of David) and the southwestern hill; the new quarters were fortified, but there was no need to build a city-wall in the western side of the City of David, as this line ran in the middle of the city.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

331

FIGURES Fig. 1: Map of the City of David indicating main excavation areas mentioned in the article.

332

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

Fig. 2: Map of Jerusalem showing the possible location of the supposed mound on the Temple Mount, the City of David and the line of the Iron IIB-C city-wall.

REFERENCES Albright, W. F. 1930–31. Excavations at Jerusalem. Jewish Quarterly Review 21: 163–168. Alt, A. 1928. Das Taltor von Jerusalem. Palästinajahrbuch 24: 74–98.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

333

Amit, D. 2009. Water Supply to the Upper City of Jerusalem during the First and Second Temple Periods in Light of the Mamilla Excavations. In: Amit, D., Stiebel, G. D., and Peleg-Barkat, O., eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Region 3. Jerusalem: 94–108 (Hebrew). Avigad, N. 1983. Discovering Jerusalem. Nashville, Tenn. Avigad, N., and Geva, H. 2000. Iron Age II Strata 9–7. In: Geva, H., ed. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, 1, Architecture and Stratigraphy: Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report. Jerusalem: 44–82. Bahat, D. 1980. Jerusalem—A Variety of Plans of Historic Structures and Sites. Jerusalem. Barkay, G. 2000. The Necropoli of Jerusalem in the First Temple Period. In: Ahituv, S. and Mazar, A. eds. The History of Jerusalem: The Biblical Period. Jerusalem: 233–270 (Hebrew). Barkay, G. and Zweig, I. 2006. The Project of Sifting Soil from the Temple Mount - Preliminary Report. In: Baruch, E. and Faust, A., eds. New Studies on Jerusalem 11: 213–237 (Hebrew). Barkay, G. and Zweig, I. 2007. New Data in the Sifting Project of the Soil from the Temple Mount: Second Preliminary Report. In: Meiron, E., ed. City of David—Studies of Ancient Jerusalem (The 8th Annual Conference). Jerusalem: 27–68 (Hebrew). Ben Ami, D. and Tchehanovetz, Y. 2008. The Contribution of the Excavations at the “Givati Parking Lot” to the Study of the History of the Early Settlement in the City of David. In: Meiron, E., ed. City of David—Studies of Ancient Jerusalem (The 9h Annual Conference). Jerusalem: 97–112 (Hebrew). Ben Ami, D. and Tchehanovetz, Y. 2010. The Extent of Jerusalem during the Iron Age IIA. In: Amit, D., Peleg-Barkat, O. and Stiebel, G. D., eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Region 4: 67–73 (Hebrew). Cahill, J. M. 2003. Jerusalem at the Time of the United Monarchy: The Archaeological Evidence. In: Vaughn, A.G. and Killebrew, A.E., eds. Jerusalem in Bible and Archaeology. The First Temple Period (Society of Biblical Literature. Symposium Series 18). Atlanta: 13−80. Crowfoot, J. W. and Fitzgerald, G. M. 1929. Excavations in the Tyropoeon Valley, Jerusalem 1927. (Palestine Exploration Fund Annual 1927). London. De Groot, A., D. Cohen and A. Caspi. 1992. Area A1, in De Groot, A. and Ariel, D. T., eds. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Vol. III: Stratigraphic, Environmental, and Other Reports (Qedem 33). Jerusalem: 1– 29.

334

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

De Groot, A. and Fadida, A. 2010. The Ceramic Assemblage from the Rock Cut Pool beside the Gihon Spring. In: Amit, D., Peleg-Barkat, O. and Stiebel, G. D. eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Region 4. Jerusalem: 53–60 (Hebrew). Faust, A. 2010. The Large Stone Structure in the City of David. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 124: 116–130. Finkelstein, I. 1996. The Territorio-Political System of Canaan in the Late Bronze Age. Ugarit-Forschungen 28: 221–255. Finkelstein, I. 2001. The Rise of Jerusalem and Judah: The Missing Link. Levant 33: 105–115. Finkelstein, I. 2008. Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and the Wall of Nehemiah. JSOT 32: 501–520. Finkelstein, I. in press a. The “Large Stone Structure” in Jerusalem: Reality versus Yearning. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins. Finkelstein, I. in press b. The Great Wall of Tell en-Nasbeh (Mizpah), The First Fortifications in Judah and 1 Kings 15: 16–22. Vetus Testamentum. Finkelstein, I. in press c. Observations on the Layout of Samaria. Tel Aviv 38/2. Finkelstein, I., Fantalkin, A. and Piasetzky, E. 2008. Three Snapshots of the Iron IIA: The Northern Valleys, the Southern Steppe and Jerusalem. In: L. L. Grabbe, ed. Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze II to Iron IIA (c. 1250–850 B.C.E): Volume 1. The Archaeology. New York: 32– 44. Finkelstein, I., Herzog, Z. Singer-Avitz, L. and Ussishkin, D. 2007. Has the Palace of King David in Jerusalem been Found? Tel Aviv 34: 142– 164. Finkelstein, I. and Piasetzky, E. 2009. Radiocarbon-dated Destruction Layers: A Skeleton for Iron Age Chronology in the Levant. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 28: 255–274. Finkelstein, I. and Piasetzky, E. 2010. Radiocarbon Dating the Iron Age in the Levant: A Bayesian Model for Six Ceramic Phases and Six Transitions, Antiquity 84: 374–385. Finkelstein, I. and and N. A. Silberman. 2006. Temple and Dynasty: Hezekiah, the Remaking of Judah and the Rise of the Pan-Israelite Ideology. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 30: 259–285. Geva, H. 1979. The Western Boundary of Jerusalem at the End of the Monarchy. IEJ 29: 84–91. Geva, H. 1983. Excavations in the Citadel of Jerusalem, 1979– 1980: Preliminary Report. IEJ 33: 55–71.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

335

Geva, H. and Avigad, N. 2000. Area W—Stratigraphy and Architecture. In: Geva, H., ed. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, 1, Architecture and Stratigraphy: Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report. Jerusalem: 131–198. Gibson, S. and Jacobson, D. M. 1996. Below the Temple Mount in Jerusalem: a Sourcebook on the Cisterns, Subterranean Chambers and Conduits of the Haram al-Sharif (BAR International Series 637). Oxford. Herzog, Z. and Singer-Avitz, L. 2004. Redefining the Centre: The Emergence of State in Judah. Tel Aviv 31: 209–244. Hutzli, J. in press. The Meaning of the Expression ‘ir dawid in Samuel and Kings. Tel Aviv 38. Hubbard, R. 1966. The Topography of Ancient Jerusalem. PEQ 98: 130– 154. Kelso, J. L. 1968. The Excavation of Bethel (1934–1960) (Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 39). Cambridge. Kenyon, K. M. 1965. Excavations in Jerusalem, 1964. PEQ 97: 9−20. Kenyon, K. M. 1966. Excavations in Jerusalem, 1965. PEQ 98: 73–88. Kenyon, K. M. 1974. Digging Up Jerusalem. London and Tonbridge. Kloner, A. 1984. Reḥov Hagay. ESI 3:57–59. Knauf, E. A. 2000. Jerusalem in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages: A Proposal. Tel Aviv 27: 75–90. Lipschits, O. 2007. Who Financed and Who Arranged the Building of Jerusalem’s Walls? The Sources of the List of The Builders of the Walls (Nehemiah 3: 1–32) and the Purposes of its Literary Placement within Nehemihah’s Memoirs. In: Bar-Asher, M, Rom-Shiloni, D., Tov, E. and Wazana, N., eds. Shai le-Sara Japhet, Studies in the Bible, its Exegesis and its Language. Jerusalem: 73–90. (Hebrew). Lipschits, O. 2009. Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations. JHS 9, Article 20. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D. S. 2007. Jerusalem in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Light of the Yehud Stamp Impressions. EretzIsrael 28 (Teddy Kollek Volume): 106–115. Macalister, R. A. S. and Duncan, J. G. 1926. Excavations on the Hill of Ophel, Jerusalem 1923−1925 (Palestine Exploration Fund Annual 4). London. Maeir, A. 2000. Jerusalem before King David: An Archaeological Survey from Protohistoric Times to the End of the Iron Age I. In: Ahituv, S. and Mazar, A. eds. The History of Jerusalem: The Biblical Period. Jerusalem: 33–66 (Hebrew).

336

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

Maeir, A. M. 2004. The Historical Background and Dating of Amos VI 2: An Archaeological Perspective from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath. Vetus Testamentum 54: 319–334. Mazar, A. 2006. Jerusalem in the 10th Century B.C.E.: The Glass Half Full. In: Amit, Y., Ben Zvi, E., Finkelstein, I. and Lipschits, O., eds. Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman. Winona Lake: 255−272. Mazar, A. 2010. Archaeology and the Biblical Narrative: The Case of the United Monarchy. In: Kratz, R. G. and Spieckermann, H. eds. One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives. Berlin: 29–58. Mazar, B. 1971. The Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem near the Temple Mount: Preliminary Report of the Second and Third Seasons 1969–1970. Jerusalem. Mazar, E. 2006. The Fortifications of Jerusalem in the Second Millennium B.C.E in Light of the New Excavations in the City of David. In: Baruch, E. and Faust, A., eds. New Studies on Jerusalem 12: 21−28 (Hebrew). Mazar, E. 2007. Preliminary Report on the City of David Excavations 2005 at the Visitors Center Area. Jerusalem. Mazar, E. 2009. The Palace of King David, Excavations at the Summit of the City of David, Preliminary Report of Seasons 2005–2007. Jerusalem. Mazar, E. and Mazar, B. 1989. Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Ophel of Biblical Jerusalem (Qedem 29). Jerusalem. Mowinckel, S. 1964. Studien zu dem Buche Ezra-Nehemia (Skrifter utgitt av det Norske videnskaps-akademi i Oslo. II). Oslo. Na’aman, N. 1992. Canaanite Jerusalem and its Central Hill Country Neighbours in the Second Millennium B.C.E. Ugarit-Forschungen 24: 275–291. Na’aman, N. 1996. The Contribution of the Amarna Letters to the Debate on Jerusalem’s Political Position in the Tenth Century B.C.E. BASOR 304: 17–28. Na’aman, N. 2007. When and How did Jerusalem become a Great City?: The Rise of Jerusalem as Judah’s Premier City in the EighthSeventh Centuries B.C.E. BASOR 347: 21–56. Na’aman, N. 2009. The Growth and Development of Judah and Jerusalem in the Eighth Century B.C.E.: a Rejoinder. Revue Biblique 116: 321–335.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

337

Na’aman, N. 2010a. Does Archaeology Really Deserve the Status of A ‘High Court’ in Biblical and Historical Research? In: Becking, B. E. J. H. and Grabbe, L. L., eds. Between Evidence and Ideology (Oudtestamentische Studiën 59). Leiden: 165–183. Na’aman, N. 2010b. Jerusalem in the Amarna Period. In: Arnould-Béhar, C., Lemaire, A. and Rouillard-Bonraisin, H., eds. Jérusalem antique et médiévale - Mélanges en l’honneur d’Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz. Paris: 31–48. Oredsson, D. 2000. Moats in Ancient Palestine. Stockholm. Ottosson, M. 1979. Fortifikation och Tempel: en studie I Jerusalems topografi. Religion och Bibel 38: 26–39. Ottosson, M. 1989. Topography and City Planning with Special Reference to Jerusalem. Tidsskrift for Teologi og Kirke 4: 263–270. Porten, B. 1996. The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millennia of CrossCultural Continuity and Change (Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 22). Brill. Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2000. City-Walls and Water Channels from the Middle Bronze II and Late Iron Age in the City of David—New Evidence from the 2000 Season. In: Baruch, E. and Faust, A., eds. New Studies on Jerusalem 6: 5–8 (Hebrew). Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2004. The History of the Gihon Spring in Jerusalem. Levant 36: 211–223. Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2007. Some New Insights and Notes on the Cutting of the Siloam Tunnel. In: Meiron, E., ed. In: Meiron, E., ed. City of David—Studies of Ancient Jerusalem (The 8th Annual Conference). Jerusalem: 133–161 (Hebrew). Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2008a. The History of the Archaeological Excavations in the City of David (1867–2007). In: Meiron, E., ed. City of David—Studies of Ancient Jerusalem (The 9th Annual Conference). Jerusalem: 13–42 (Hebrew). Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2008b. The Date of City-Wall 501 in Jerusalem. Tel Aviv 35: 114–122. Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2009. The Recent Discovery of a Middle Bronze II Fortification in the City of David, Jerusalem. In: Meiron, E., ed. City of David—Studies of Ancient Jerusalem (The 10th Annual Conference). Jerusalem: 13–34 (Hebrew). Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2010. A New Segment of the Middle Bronze Fortification in the City of David. Tel Aviv 37: 141–153. Reich, R., Leranu, O. and Shukron, E. 2007. Recent Discoveries in the City of David, Jerusalem. IEJ 57: 153–169.

338

ISRAEL FINKELSTEIN, IDO KOCH AND ODED LIPSCHITS

Reinmuth, T. 2003. Der Bericht Nehemias - Zur literarischen Eigenart, traditionsgeschichtlichen Prägung und innerbiblischen Rezeption des Ich-Berichts Nehemias (OBO 183). Göttingen. Ritmeyer, L. 1992. Locating the Original Temple Mount. BAR 18: 24–45, 64–65. Römer, T. 2007. The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction. London. Shiloh, Y. 1984. Excavations at the City of David I: 1978−1982, Interim Report of the First Five Seasons (Qedem 19). Jerusalem. Steiner, M. L. 1994. Re-dating the Terraces of Jerusalem. IEJ 44: 13−20. Steiner, M. L. 2001. Excavations by Kathleen M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961−1967, Volume III: The Settlement in the Bronze and Iron Ages. (Copenhagen International Series 9). Sheffield. Torrey, C. C. 1896. The Composition and Historical Value of Ezra-Nehemiah (BZAW 2). Giessen. Torrey, C. C. 1910. Ezra Studies. Chicago. Tsuk, T. 2008. “And Brought the Water to the City” (2 Kings 20, 20): Water Consumption in Jerusalem in the Biblical Period. In: Baruch, E., Levy-Reifer, A., and Faust, A., eds. New Studies on Jerusalem, Volume 14. Ramat-Gan: 107–119 (Hebrew). Ussishkin, D. 2003. Jerusalem as a Royal and Cultic Center in the 10th– 8th Centuries B.C.E. In: Dever, W. G. and Gitin, S., eds. Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past. Winona Lake: 529–538. Ussishkin, D. 2006a. The Borders and De Facto Size of Jerusalem in the Persian Period. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 147−166. Ussishkin, D. 2006b. Sennacherib’s Campaign to Philistia and Judah: Ekron, Lachish, and Jerusalem. In: Amit, Y., Ben Zvi, E., Finkelstein, I. and Lipschits, O., eds. Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman. Winona Lake: 338–357. Ussishkin, D. 2009. The Temple Mount in Jerusalem During the First Temple Period: An Archaeologist’s View. In: Schloen, D., ed. Exploring the Longue Duree—Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager. Winona Lake: 473–483. Vincent, H. 1912. Jerusalem: recherches de Topographie, d’archeologie et d’histoire. Paris. Warren, C. and Conder, C. R. 1884. The Survey of Western Palestine III: Jerusalem. London.

THE MOUND ON THE MOUNT

339

Weksler-Bdolach, S., Greenhut, Z. and Onn, A. 2008. An Impressive Architectural Complex from the First Temple Period in the Western Wall Plaza. In: Amit, D. and Stiebel, G. D., eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Region (Collected Papers, Vol. II). Jerusalem: 35–43. Wightman, G. J. 1993. The Walls of Jerusalem: from the Canaanites to the Mamluks (Mediterranean Archaeology Supplement 4). Sydney. Wilson, C. W. and Warren, C. 1871. The Recovery of Jerusalem: A Narrative of Exploration and Discovery in the City and the Holy Land. London.

LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS (GEN 19:30–38). FURTHER LITERARY & STYLISTIC EXAMINATIONS TALIA SUTSKOVER TEL AVIV UNIVERSITY INTRODUCTION After the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen 19:1–29), Lot and his two daughters take refuge in a cave. When night falls, the daughters intoxicate Lot and have sexual intercourse with him, one each night on two successive nights. As a result of these two acts of sexual congress,1 Lot’s daughters become pregnant and give birth to Moab and Ben-ammi, the fathers of the biblical nations known as Moab and Ammon. Although the wider context of the Torah reinforces the position that the sexual encounter between family members is to be viewed negatively (e.g. Lev 18:6–7), the text of Gen 19:30–38, on the other hand, does not explicitly condemn the physical contact between the father and daughters. The Lot story is oddly reminiscent of the narrative of Gen 9:18–29, when the son of the drunk Noah sees his father’s nakedness. Here, too, the intoxicated father is viewed in an unseemly way by a child. But that story strongly condemns the act. The two older sons who cover their father are deemed praiseworthy (vv 25– 27). In the following discussion I shall look closely at some of the stylistic and literary features of Gen 19:30–38, and consider whether the account employs judgmental features, whether it favors certain characters or is neutrally phrased. My approach is literary and synchronic, with a particular 1 Westermann cautions that it would be best to avoid labeling the daughters’ actions with terms such as “incest” or “incestuous” that have judgmental or pejorative connotations (C. Westermann, Genesis 12–36. A Commentary [trans. John J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Ausburg, 1985], 314).

341

342

TALIA SUTSKOVER

interest in semantics and the micro-structures of the text.2 I intend to show that the dominant semantic fields of kinship and sexual encounter, the recurrence of certain possessive suffixes, and the focal points chosen by the narrator all contribute to shaping both the theme and the reader’s attitude toward the actions of Lot and his daughters. But first, as a preliminary to my own findings, some of the main approaches to this text will be surveyed. When examining this short narrative, many commentators focus on the statement attributed to the elder sister in Gen 19:31: “Our father is old, and there is not a man on earth to come in to us after the manner of all the earth” (biblical quotations in English follow the RSV unless stated otherwise). As for these words of the elder sister, Westermann comments that inhabitants of a city might well experience its destruction as the destruction of the world.3 According to Speiser: “from the recesses of their cave somewhere up the side of a canyon formed by the earth’s deepest rift, they could see no proof to the contrary.”4 We can further develop these arguments, which attempt to delve into the characters’ heads, by considering the larger context of this episode; Lot’s personal biography indicates that he has probably already acquired some geographical perspective. When separating from Abraham in Genesis 13, he is specifically described as lifting up his eyes and looking at the Jordan valley before choosing it (Gen 13:10); he has also travelled through the land of Canaan before, and has come from Haran (Gen 11:31, 12:5). Hence, it is quite possible that Lot would not think the whole world had been destroyed. Moreover, if Lot did not perceive the destruction to be total, he could have said something to reassure his daughters. Nevertheless, it may be that his orientation in the land remained personal knowledge that he purposely never shared with them. If this were so, the readers might ask themselves why, and come to the conclusion that Lot was an abusing father

In this literary approach to the biblical text I follow the methodology of commentators such as S. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (trans. Dorothea Shefer-Vanson in conjunction with the author; Sheffield: Almond, 1989); R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981); F. Polak, Biblical Narrative. Aspects of Art and Design (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1999; in Hebrew); Y. Amit, Reading Biblical Narratives: Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 2001); A. Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield: Almond, 1983); and M. Bal, Narratology. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1997). 3 Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 297, 311–312. 4 E.A. Speiser, Genesis (AB; Garden City NY: Doubleday, 1964), 145. 2

LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS (GEN 19:30–38)

343

who relished the prospect of remaining isolated in a cave with his two virgin daughters.5 Gunkel thinks the daughters’ acts were at some point considered heroic.6 Historic-documentary analyses such as those of Westermann, Speiser, and Skinner distinguish between different layers of the account. These commentators speak of an old form of the story, embodying the judgment and annihilation that befell Sodom, with the addition of a further brush stroke and its genealogical implications, to describe ancient Israel’s contemporary neighbors. Hence, the discord between the elder daughter’s words (that there is no man left in the land) and our knowledge, based on the previous paragraphs that tell of a local destruction, is resolved through an approach that posits different authorial layers.7 Von Rad comments that in spite of the coarse material, the emphases are nicely put, and no judgment is expressed concerning the happenings. But he also observes: “without doubt the narrative now contains indirectly a severe judgment on the incest in Lot’s house, and Lot’s life becomes inwardly and outwardly bankrupt.”8 He defines this as a product of popular political wit by which Israel tried to get even with her sometimes powerful enemies, the Moabites and Ammonites, for everything she had suffered at their hands, by means of this derogatory story “about their most disgraceful origin.” However, he also suggests that in the original tradition, the Rashkow, as shall be discussed further on, describes Lot as an abusive father. See I. N. Rashkow, “Daddy-Dearest and the ‘Invisible Spirit of Wine’,” A. Brenner (ed.), Genesis. A Feminist Companion to the Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 82–107. See also I.N. Rashkow, Taboo or Not Taboo. Sexuality and Family in the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000). 6 H. Gunkel, Genesis (trans. Mark E. Biddle; from the third German edition, 1910; Macon, Georgia: Mercer University Press, 1997), 216–217. 7 J. Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1930), 314; Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 314–315; Speiser, Genesis, 145– 146. Weisman suggests that this narrative aims to exclude Lot’s descendants from the genealogy of Abraham, and links it to Ezra and Nehemiah’s prohibition to marry foreign women. Hence, as opposed to the above mentioned critical commentators, who generally attribute the story to the authorship of J, Weisman proposes a rather late date of composition or redaction, assigning it to the Second Temple period (Z. Weisman, “Ethnology, Etiology, Genealogy, and Historiography in the Tale of Lot and his Daughters (Genesis 19:30–38),” M. Fishbane and E. Tov (eds.) Sha’arei Talmon. Studies in the Bible, Qumran, and the Ancient Near East Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon [Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1992], 43*–52*.) 8 G. Von Rad, Genesis. A Commentary (trans. J. H. Marks; OTL; London: SCM Press, 1963), 218–219. 5

344

TALIA SUTSKOVER

ancestral mothers were glorified, since they are not ashamed of the origin of their children, but rather proclaim it openly and fix it in their sons’ names.9 Von Rad also suggests that the daughters’ actions may be explained more simply from the circumstance that Lot and his daughters had been separated from their native group and found themselves living by other rules. A different and more recent view is suggested by Rashkow and Exum who psychoanalyze Lot’s behavior and suggest that offering his daughters to the Sodomites (Gen 19:8) is the first expression of Lot’s secret fantasy to have sexual relations with them. They argue that the design of the story as if the daughters initiate sexual contact, actually conveys the father’s unconscious, unacknowledged desires.10 Miller however argues that Lot might hand his daughters over to the mob to protect his guests, but he would not knowingly have had intercourse with his daughters. Hence he had to be intoxicated.11 Still, Low insists on going back to the Sodom and Gomorrah scene and states that he feels repulsion in a much earlier stage in the story, when Lot assumes that his daughters’ sexuality is at his disposal, and offers their bodies to the angry mob.12 Tonson argues that this narrative is morally ambiguous. In the Sodom and Gomorrah narrative Lot has to choose between his guests and his daughters and offers the latter to the Sodomites to protect his guests, while ambiguity also characterizes the position of the daughters, who can find fulfillment as mothers only by violating the code of sexual relationships.13 The narrator may have intended to reflect ambiguity, and hence, suggests Tonson, a moralistic reading should be avoided. Nevertheless, I find too many literary and semantic elements that point to a certain characterization of Lot and his daughters, even if they are unconsciously invoked by the narrator. The following examination of the microstructures of the narrative will uncover further

Following Gunkel, von Rad thinks that the story once glorified the heroic mothers and stressed the proud sons who were born with pure blood (Gunkel, Genesis; von Rad, Genesis. A Commentary, 218–219). 10 Rashkow, “Daddy-Dearest”; J. C. Exum, “Desire Distorted and Exhibited: Lot and His Daughters in Psychoanalysis, Painting, and Film,” S. M. Olyan and R. C. Culley (eds.) A Wise and Discerning Mind. Essays in Honor of Burke O. Long (Providence, RI: Brown University, 2000), 83–108. 11 J. E. Miller, “Sexual Offences in Genesis,” JSOT 90 (2000), 41–53 (42). 12 K. B. Low, “The Sexual Abuse of Lot’s Daughters,” JFSR 26 (2010), 37–54 (40). 13 P. Tonson, “Mercy Without Covenant: A Literary Analysis of Genesis 19,” JSOT 95 (2001), 95–116. 9

LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS (GEN 19:30–38)

345

notions that can be posited as complementary to Rashkow and Exum’s psychological portrayal of the characters involved.

SEMANTIC FIELDS, POSSESSIVE SUFFIXES, AND REPETITION A close examination of the nine verses of the story of Lot and his daughters reveals a frequent occurrence of words from the semantic fields of kinship and sexuality. Such terms appear repeatedly at key points in the plot, some of them highlighted by sound play and semantic puns, as I will soon show. Characters and place names in this narrative also consist of terms from the recurring semantic fields, a phenomenon which stresses their role as theme markers.14 The story begins as follows: “Now Lot went up out of Zoar, and dwelt in the hills with his two daughters, for he was afraid to dwell in Zoar; so he dwelt in a cave with his two daughters” (Gen 19:30). Twice in this verse it is said that Lot is with his two daughters. It would have sufficed for the narrator to write “them” the second time, but the long wording and the repeated specification of the family relations among the people now dwelling in the cave were preferred. Reinharz notes that in Genesis 19 all actors are unnamed, apart from Lot. The two women are designated exclusively as his daughters. This designation, says Reinharz, emphasizes the primacy of their relationship with their father. Their anonymity actually allows us to focus on their identities as Lot’s daughters.15 In the next verse, the elder daughter embarks on the controversial, much debated dialogue. In vv 31 and 32 the elder sister addresses the younger: “And the first-born said to the younger, our father is old, and there is not a man on earth to come in to us after the manner of all the earth. Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve offspring through our father.” The kinship terms in v 31 are: ‫( בכירה‬first born), ‫( צעירה‬the younger), and ‫( אבינו‬our father). “Our father is old,” says the older sister, using “father” with the addition of the possessive suffix ‫נו‬- (‫)אבינו‬, stressing the family relationship: that he is their 14 Faber and Wallhead analyze the semantic field of vision in John Fowels’ The French Lieutenant’s Woman (P. Faber and C. Wallhead, “The lexical field of visual perception in The French Lieutenant’s Woman by John Fowles,” Language and Literature 4 (1995), 127–144. They too connect between the dominant semantic field and the themes of the narratives, explaining that the field of vision in this novel portrays the Victorian age as an age of appearances. For the connection between dominant semantic fields and theme see T. Sutskover, “The Themes of Land and Female Fertility in the Book of Ruth,” JSOT 34 (2010), 283–294. 15 A. Reinhartz, “Why Ask My Name?,” Anonymity and Identity in Biblical Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 127.

346

TALIA SUTSKOVER

father. In her suggestion that they make their father drink wine and then sleep with him (v 32), the older sister uses the kinship terms: ‫“ זרע‬seed” or “offspring,” and “father.” She repeats the word ‫( אבינו‬our father), used in the previous statement, again in the possessive, thus emphasizing the close familial relationship between father and daughters. Going on to v 33 we read of the implementation of the elder sister’s suggestion to lie with Lot. Instead of giving a general summary saying that she has carried out what she had planned, the narrator gives a detailed description of what has transpired, an almost word for word repetition of the suggestion. Here the word “father” is repeated twice, again with suffixes that stress the family relations between father and daughters: “their father” and “her father.” The word “first-born” from the semantic field of kinship is mentioned, as well as the verbs: ‫( ותבא‬went in), ‫( ותשכב‬lay), ‫( ידע‬knew), ‫( בשכבה‬when she lay), from the semantic field of sexual encounter. Repetition of phrases, sentences, and paragraphs in the Hebrew Bible often deserves close attention: here too repetition requires explanation.16 Why has the narrator chosen to describe the implementation of the sister’s suggestion in detail? I wish to raise another explanation apart from that concerning the emphasis on the act of incest between father and daughters. Perhaps the elder sister’s initiative was not carried out exactly as she planned. The Bechirah (the first-born sister) tries to persuade the younger sister to sleep with their father. As we have seen, she initiates the plan and explains its necessity. She uses the first person plural ‫( נשקה‬let us make our father drink wine), ‫( ונשכבה‬we will lie with him), ‫( ונחיה‬we may preserve). Her intention is that they act together. Nevertheless, during the execution described in v 33, they both make their father drink wine, but only the elder sister lies with Lot on the first night. Has the younger sister shown resistance? The text doesn’t say anything about the younger sister’s feelings or thoughts, but the Bechirah needs to repeat the suggestion in order to convince the younger to also lie with their father.17 It is this initiative and persistence of the Bechirah that is stressed by the repetition. No verbal response comes from the younger sister but we know she is convinced, because on the second night, both sisters give their father wine and the younger lies with him. The second instance is described in almost the exact Bar Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible, 22–26, 169–172. Polak, Biblical Narrative. Aspects of Art and Design, 59–81. 17 Num. Rab. 20:23 explicitly condemns the elder sister for initiating the sexual act. This interpretation is based on the different preposition used to describe the sexual acts between sisters and father. The elder sister is described ‫ותשכב את אביה‬ (she lay with her father, v 33) and the younger sister ‫( ותשכב עמו‬she lay with him, v 35). 16

LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS (GEN 19:30–38)

347

words of the suggestion. This repetition together with the initiation on the part of the elder sister form a pattern which departs from a common biblical pattern in which the younger siblings are dominant and theologically prominent (e.g. Jacob, Isaac, Joseph).18 Not only in their actual doings, but in their way of thinking and in the way they conduct their dialogue, Lot’s daughters form a pattern distinct from the ones the Israelites had created for themselves.19 Within the repetitive description of the younger daughter lying with her father, kinship terms are mentioned again, v 35: ‫( אביהן‬their father), ‫( צעירה‬the younger), together with terms from the domain of sexuality: ‫( ותשכב‬lay), ‫( ידע‬knew), ‫( בשכבה‬when she lay with). According to v 36, both women became pregnant as a result of these initiatives. The exact wording is: “Thus both the daughters of Lot were with child by their father.” The women are referred to as “the daughters of Lot,” and the father is alluded to as ‫( מאביהן‬by their father), with the addition of the possessive suffix. The use of the possessive in this fashion and its repetition also contributes to the formation of uncommon narrative patterns; instead of the usual and expected patriarchal relationship in which daughters belong to their fathers,20 in the present narrative, the use of possessive suffixes conveys the sense that the daughters own and control their father.21 It may be that the possessive pronouns are inevitable since the daughters weren’t given personal names, but still, since they are mentioned and repeated, they add their own specific semantic input to our understanding of the narrative. F. E. Greenspahn, When Brothers Dwell Together. The Preeminence of Younger Siblings in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994). 19 This may not be considered surprising by commentators such as Gunkel or Skinner, who hold the view that the narrative has a Moabite Sitz im Leben. However, since I refer to the MT in its present version, I can treat this initiative of the elder sister as an interesting finding, whether structured by an Israelite or Moabite narrator. 20 Num 30:5–6, and Exod 21:7 are only two of many biblical examples that demonstrate patriarchal relations in which fathers govern and own their daughters. See Esther Fuchs, Sexual Politics in the Biblical Narrative. Reading the Hebrew Bible as a Woman (JSOTSup, 310; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 64. 21 Westermann explains the almost literal repetition in the cases of vv 33 and 35, and the implementation (34) repeating the suggestion as “simply to say that the plan went without hitch” (Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 313). Exum explains that the repetitions express the secret desire of the narrator himself to have sexual intercourse with his daughters: “The narrator obviously enjoys replaying the scene in his mind” (Exum, “Desire Distorted and Exhibited,” 94). Exum (p. 91) suggests that the characters in the scenario represent split-off parts of the narrator. 18

348

TALIA SUTSKOVER

The last two verses of this short narrative are genealogical in character. Verses 37–38 consist of words from the field of kinship: ‫( ותלד‬bore), ‫( הבכירה‬first-born), ‫( בן‬a son), ‫( אבי־מואב‬the father of the Moabites, v 37); ‫( והצעירה‬the younger), ‫( ילדה‬bore), ‫( בן‬a son), ‫( בן־עמי‬Ben-ammi), ‫בני־עמון‬ ‫( אבי‬the father of the Ammonites, v 38).

NAMES RELATED TO THE DOMINANT SEMANTIC FIELDS There are instances in which place names that denote the setting of biblical scenes, as well as the names of the characters, are connected to the dominant semantic field in the story, even drawing attention to it.22 Commentators acknowledge that both names, Moab and Ben-ammi, are etymologized to refer to incest: Moab is construed as ‫מ(ן)– אב‬, “from the father,” and Ben-ammi (yielding the name of the nation ‫ בני־ עמון‬is construed as “my own kinsman’s son.”23 The very names of the children born are connected to a semantic field dominant in this episode, that of kinship. Moreover, the name of the place in which the actions occur (the cave) and one of the main characters (the younger daughter), are formed by terms from the fields of sexual relations and kinship. According to Rashkow and followed by Exum, the noun ‫ מערה‬suggests puns on several terms with sexual connotations, such as: the verb ‫( ערה‬be naked, bare), ‫( ערוה‬genitals), ‫( מעור‬nakedness).24 Taking into account that ‫ ערה‬appears in biblical contexts concerning inappropriate sexual intercourse, e.g. Lev 20:19, Isa 3:17, Lam 4:21, ‫ מערה‬can be connected to the field of sexuality by sound resemblance, and hint at the sexual act that is performed in it.25 See, for example, Sutskover, “The Themes of Land and Female Fertility in the Book of Ruth,” 285–286. 23 R. Alter, Genesis. Translation and Commentary (New York: W.W. Norton 1996), 90. M. Garsiel, Biblical Names. A Literary Study of Midrashic Derivations and Puns (trans. P. Hackett; Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1991), 33–34. Garsiel speaks of the pun ‫ מאביהן – מואב‬and the recurrence of the preposition ‫“( עמו‬with him” vv 30, 32, 34, 35), which together stress that the daughters have slept with their father (Garsiel’s emphasis). 24 Exum, “Desire Distorted and Exhibited,” 96. See also Rashkow, “Daddy Dearest,” 102. 25 The semantic fields dominant in this story connect to the previous Sodom and Gomorrah narrative of Gen 19:1–29. Repetition of the sounds of ‫ ערה‬in the words ‫עמרה‬, ‫הערים‬, ‫( מערה‬19:28, 29, 30) contribute to the cohesion of the two stories. These are verses that Westermann suggests have emerged from different authorial layers. See also ‫( צערה‬23), ‫( מצער‬20), and ‫( הרעה‬19). But based on such 22

LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS (GEN 19:30–38)

349

In addition, the name of the place to which Lot was afraid to go was Zoar, which according to biblical dictionaries stems from the root ‫צער‬ meaning “little, to be slight,” a root that is related to the Akkadian ṣeḫru(m) meaning “small, young.”26 Zoar derives from the same root as the adjective ‫צעירה‬, used in reference to Lot’s younger daughter, mentioned four times in the narrative (19:31, 34, 35, 38). Hence, through etymological connections to the word ‫צעירה‬, Zoar is related to the semantic field of kinship in the present context. Moreover, mentioning the place name Zoar foreshadows the sexual intercourse between Lot and the daughters, the younger one in particular. This is especially noticeable in the words of v 23, ‫ולוט בא צערה‬ (“Lot came to Zoar”). Significantly, the verb ‫בא‬, carries the meaning of “to come to a place,” but it may also mean to come into a woman, that is, to have sexual relations.27 Hence, Lot comes to Zoar, but he will also be coming into the ṣeirah.

FOCALIZATION Most significantly, in connection with the focal point of the story, the assertion that there is no man left is not a report given by the all-knowing biblical narrator, but rather is put into the mouth of the elder sister. According to Bal, the speech act of narrating is actually separated from the vision, the memories and thoughts that are being recounted. She argues that focalization is the layer between the linguistic text and the fabula, and the focalizer serves as the point from which the elements are viewed.28 repetitions of sounds in words of the prominent semantic fields, I would prefer to see the account of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, 19:1–29, together with Lot’s plea to flee to Zoar vv 18–22, and the episode of Lot and his daughters, as a single well-constructed and cohesive unit. 26 HAL, “‫( ”צעיר‬Koehler, L., and W. Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament [trans. M. E. J. Richardson; revised by W. Baumgartner and J.J. Stamm; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994-1999]); CAD, vol. Ṣ, 179 (A.L. Oppenheim, et al., The Assyrian Dictionary (CAD; Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1956). 27 Jackson points at the irony in the story of Lot’s daughters. Lot knows (sleeps with) his daughters without knowing (being aware). The irony is aided by the use of the Hebrew ‫ ידע‬with its connotations of both sexual and cognitive awareness (M. Jackson, “Lot’s Daughters and Tamar as Tricksters and the Patriarchal Narratives as Feminist Theology,” JSOT 98 [2002], 29–46 [39]). 28 Bal, Narratology, 142–174. Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse. Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978), 151–153. Berlin, Poetics, 43–82. On focalization and parallel terms see S. Horstkotte, “Seeing or Speaking: Visual Narratology and Focalization, Literature to Film,” S. Heinen and

350

TALIA SUTSKOVER

Accordingly, not only is the elder sister in this narrative more dominant in her actions, as I have suggested above, but she is also the focalizer in vv 31– 32, and 34. Her point of view has been chosen by the narrator, and we learn of the isolation of the remnants of this family specifically through her eyes. According to Berlin, direct speech is the most dramatic way of conveying the characters’ internal psychological and ideological point of view.29 We may note the implications that arise from a comparison of the focalizers of the story. Verses 30 and 36 are told from the perspective of the narrating voice, and use the proper name “Lot.” In vv 33 and 35 the narrating voice stays with the kinship term “father,” thus continuing the elder daughter’s point of view, giving it additional narrative volume. By using the same kinship terms as she has, and by also avoiding the use of the personal name of the father, it is as if the distorted point of view of the elder sister is taken on by the narrator, enhancing it and thus drawing attention to it. Bal points out that if the focalizer coincides with the characters, the position of that character in the story will be enhanced. The reader watches with the character’s eyes, and will be inclined to accept the vision presented by that character.30 Thus it is not surprising, as noted above, that various commentators side with the sisters, ascribe positive motivation to their acts and even describe them as heroic. Moreover, taking into account that a critical statement in this narrative is attributed to the elder sister, the biblical text opens up the possibility of questioning her reliability. When words are put into the mouth of a particular character rather than being attributed to the narrator or to God, then the reader is free to suspect that some hidden motive is being imputed to the character.31 This aspect of the dialogue, which emerges from attending to changes of focalization, strengthens the suggested reading of this narrative, in which the elder sister is seen as dominant and negative.

CONCLUSIONS To conclude, although there is no explicit condemnation of the events involving Lot and his daughters in the cave, an attentive reading would consider certain telling semantic and stylistic features; the prominent repetitive appearance of terms from the semantic fields of kinship and sexuality; the word-for-word repetition of the elder sister’s proposal to sleep R. Sommer (eds.), Narratologia. Narratology in the Age of Cross-Disciplinary Narrative Research (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 170–192. 29 Berlin, Poetics and Interpretaion of Biblical Narrative, 64. 30 Bal, Narratology, 146. 31 Polak, Biblical Narrative. Aspects of Art and Design, 313, 318–319.

LOT AND HIS DAUGHTERS (GEN 19:30–38)

351

with the father; the frequent occurrence of the possessive suffixes (“our father,” “their father”), and the accounts of the plan’s implementations all contribute to awareness that this is an account of incest between father and daughters. The possessive suffixes underline the stark contrast between the roles commonly assigned to daughters, and their father’s present objectification. The grounds for the act are put as a statement made by the elder sister, and this makes it possible to question her credibility and reliability. Together with that sister’s general initiative and prominence, these stylistic aspects reveal a narrative pattern that diverges from the common Israelite pattern, which focuses on the younger siblings and their theological precedence. Significantly, the younger sister does not initiate the sexual act, and the elder sister did have to repeat her suggestion twice in order to bring the younger to act. In my opinion, the cumulative effect of these rhetorical means is to underscore the implicit portrayal of the violation of family relationships in this story. The larger context of this narrative makes it possible to deduce that Lot knew that the destruction was not the end of the world. This is with accordance to psychological analyses of Lot’s character, which convey his unconscious attraction to his daughters, and suggest that he is to blame for this violation. However, in addition, and according to the findings shown in this paper, the narrator holds the elder sister as heavily responsible for initiating and performing sexual relations with her father. She may also to be blamed for persuading her younger sister to do what she has done. Thus, this narrative demonstrates how a detailed analysis of the syntax, semantics, and style of a textual unit may lead to conclusions regarding intent and meaning different from those based on the immediately apparent content, however explicit.

THE TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS: SUBJECT-VERB OR VERBSUBJECT?* ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO 1. INTRODUCTION The recent publication of another monograph on word order variation in ancient Hebrew (Moshavi 2010) suggests that the issue is at once important, complex, and unsettled. It is important in that understanding the word order patterns and what motivates the choice of one pattern over another better enables us to interpret the syntactic subtleties of ancient Hebrew texts. That the issue is complex is established both by the diversity of word orders exhibited in the ancient texts, especially the Bible, and by the attention that word order variation receives in general linguistics.1 And that * I thank John A. Cook, John Screnock, Andrew R. Jones, and Krzysztof Baranowksi for providing critical feedback on my argument. This study, divided into six parts and written for on-line consumption, was also published on the blog I co-own: ancienthebrewgrammar.wordpress.com. The ideas promoted within this study, as well as any errors of presentation or fact, are my sole responsibility. 1 For example, doing a basic keyword search for the year 2010 using “word order” in the CSA Linguistics and Language Behavior Abstracts database produced 129 peer-reviewed journal articles and with eighteen doctoral theses (database accessed 6/11/2011, http://search2.scholarsportal.info.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/ids70/results.php?SID=5744e36d53aad4128574d3108085ed6e&id=2). In fact, the journal Lingua ran two issues devoted to word order issues: 120/2 was on the theme “Verb First, Verb Second” and 120/3 was on “Exploring the Left Periphery.” These articles represent the full spectrum of language interests, from formal syntax, typology, and pragmatics to psycholinguistics and language acquisition.

353

354

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

it is unsettled—that a universally satisfying, comprehensive, adequate description of ancient Hebrew word order variation has yet to appear—is confirmed by the appearance of Moshavi 2010, which joins the monographs of Gross 1996, 2001, Rosenbaum 1997, Goldfajn 1998, Heimerdinger 1999, Shimasaki 2002,2 and Lunn 2006,3 besides numerous articles and a few theses.4 The monographs and articles listed above or in note 4 approach the analysis of word order variation in the Hebrew Bible from different linguistic frameworks (although it is notable that only DeCaen, Doron, and myself utilize some form of generative syntactic theory), take up differing pragmatic concepts that influence word order (e.g., topic, focus, theme, rheme), and often use different corpora from within the Bible (for example, Rosenbaum 1997 uses Isaiah 40–55, while Lunn 2006 addresses poetic texts including Pss 1–50, whereas most, including Moshavi 2010, use data from Genesis to 2 Kings). Yet, for all the differences, there is one clear point of agreement: that Hebrew should be classified typologically as a Verb-Subject (VS) language. Moshavi devotes more space to this issue than the others, and it is no small item that the arguments of the small minority who disagree and classify Hebrew as a Subject-Verb (SV) language have been promoted from brief footnote to full-scale consideration.5 As one of those in the small SV minority and whose views were given respectful consideration in this latest word order contribution, I will take advantage of the appearance of Moshavi’s monograph (a revision of her 2000 thesis) to clarify a few points on which my arguments have been misunderstood and to re-issue an empirical challenge.6 In doing so, I will 2 See

Holmstedt 2003 for a review article. Holmstedt 2009c for a short review. 4 In alphabetical order: Bailey 1998, Bailey and Levinsohn 1992, Buth 1990, 1992, 1999, DeCaen 1995, Doron 2000, Fariss 2003, Floor 2003, 2004, 2005, Gross 1993a, b, 1994, Hornkohl 2005, Jongeling 1991, Longacre 1992, 1995, van der Merwe 1991, 1997, 1999a, b, van der Merwe and Talstra 2002/2003, Moshavi 2000, 2006, Myhill 1995, Myhill and Xing 1993, Payne 1991, de Regt 1991, 1996. 5 See Joüon 1923, Schlesinger 1953, DeCaen 1995, 1999, Holmstedt 2002, 2003, 2005, 2009a, b; Screnock 2011. 6 Moshavi neither understands the generative analysis underlying my word order studies nor engages the typological study of word order with any rigor. She thus misses the importance of applying the four typological criteria, which allows her to freely (but inaccurately) dismiss my application of the four criteria as “somewhat precarious.” She concludes that basic word order determined as I have done (i.e., following the typologists) “bears little resemblance to the way the language is most frequently used” (2010:15). In her short counter-argument, Moshavi builds her case against my analysis in 3 See

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

355

present here in published (and revised) form the Genesis data I used in my thesis (2002), which will complement my published analyses of Proverbs (2005) and Ruth and Jonah (2009a) and will anticipate works in progress on Qoheleth and the Minor Prophets.

2. THE QUESTION OF ‘BASIC WORD ORDER’ Although there are six primary word order types when the three core constituents are considered at the same time—SVO, SOV, VSO, VOS, OVS, and OSV—Dryer (1997) has argued that only two contrastive sets reflect fundamental properties of languages: VO vs. OV and SV vs. VS. For Hebrew, there is, to my knowledge, no debate about where Hebrew falls within the division VO/OV distinction—it clearly patterns with VO languages. That is, there is a consensus that the Object normally follows the three questionable ways (2010:7–16, esp. pp. 14–16). First, she summarizes the typological approach to basic word order on pp. 7–10, but then ignores most of it when she evaluates my arguments. Second, the structure of her discussion in chapters 5–9 acknowledges that clause-type distinctions (e.g., indicative versus modal, declarative versus interrogative, negative versus non-negative) can be salient for word order analysis. But Moshavi does not acknowledge that cross-linguistically these pairs often exhibit word order differences, as with English, in which declarative clauses are Subject-Verb (e.g., Jim reached the house yesterday) but interrogatives have an inverted Verb-Subject order with a fronted wh-word (e.g., When did Jim reach the house?). It is inexcusable to overlook the possibility of similar patterns in Hebrew and the role that such distinctions might play in both the basic word order discussion as well as the assignment of pragmatic marking to the constituents in such clauses. Third, the relationship between language use and that language’s grammar is a complex issue and cannot be invoked without at least some discussion of the complexities involved. Imagine this scenario: an author composes a text made up entirely of interrogative clauses, which reflect an order like English wh-Vfinite-SVnonfinite (e.g., Where do I come from? Where am I going?). That text then, for some reason, becomes the database for a linguistic analysis of word order in that language (for which the vast majority of other texts exhibit the non-interrogative SubjectVerb order as both dominant and pragmatically neutral). Since interrogative clauses (and the order exhibited within this clause type) are taken as the dominant pattern (and so would be taken as basic by those who favor the frequency criterion), the description of the language based on the interrogative-heavy text is radically different than other analyses based on different texts. This is a case where usage transparently skews the reconstruction of the grammar. And that is why one cannot simply use language use as an out-of-hand argument for or against some other grammar proposal. (For the differences between grammar and usage, see Newmeyer 2003).

356

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

Verb; when the Object precedes the Verb, it does so due to literary (e.g., chiasm) or discourse-pragmatic (e.g., Focus fronting) reasons. The other word order distinction, SV vs. VS distinction, is also generally agreed upon in Hebrew studies, though it is almost always simply assumed rather than supported with linguistic argument. Beyond the purely typological question of classifying Hebrew among languages of the world, determining whether Hebrew is SV or VS has great explanatory significance. That is, whether a language has SV or VS as its “basic order” (more on this concept below) is critical for explaining the various patterns that are described for a given linguistic text. My contention is that the VS classification of Hebrew has neither been empirically supported nor has it been made within a clear linguistic theory.7 This remains the case, the most recent arguments (Moshavi 2010) notwithstanding. In §3 I will walk through the typological issues again, using data from the book of Genesis to illustrate word order variation in Hebrew. But first let me be clear that my argument has both an analytical and methodological component. And it is the methodological component that must be heard, even if one does not find the analytical component compelling. The methodological argument can be succinctly summarized as follows: the standard VS analysis of Hebrew has not been empirically supported using any modern linguistic framework;8 rather, it has been and continues to be 7 Perhaps the best attempt is an excerpt from an MA thesis (Hornkohl 2005). Although Hornkohl’s survey of the issues is impressive, his handling of the linguistic issues and Hebrew data lacks critical reflection. One example must suffice: Hornkohl misunderstands (and misrepresents) the arguments against including the wayyiqtol given in DeCaen 1995 and Holmstedt 2002, and so accepts without sufficient justification Moshavi’s stance regarding the inclusion of the wayyiqtol in the frequency analysis (2005:43–44). 8 For example, van der Merwe explicitly states that his assessment of Biblical Hebrew as a VSO language “is not merely based on statistics, but on arguments from various points of view” (1999a:294). In the footnote for that statement, van der Merwe briefly cites a few scholars who hold a VSO analysis, but no Biblical Hebrew data are provided for a VSO claim (1999a:294, note 34). In an earlier article on Biblical Hebrew information structure, van der Merwe (1991) proceeds from the assumption that Biblical Hebrew is VSO without any discussion or presentation of examples. Similarly, Rosenbaum (1997) briefly reviews previous studies of word order and then takes as his starting point, without any study of the data, the position that “the basic functional pattern” for Biblical Hebrew is VSO (21). It is in his Appendix A, that Rosenbaum takes the VS “blindness” a step further. There he discusses the word order statistics from the fifteen chapters of Isaiah that he analyzed. He notes that Isaiah 40–55 contains essentially an equal number of SV (189) and VS (184)

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

357

assumed, and even when the question is raised, as in the works mentioned above, it is done perfunctorily, in the manner of “we take this truth, that Biblical Hebrew has VS basic word order, to be self-evident and so it hardly needs mentioning.” Clearly, any argument even approaching my snide characterization is unacceptable scholarship, and yet it persists. I recognize, though, the momentum created by a long-standing tradition and therefore I am willing to re-issue my challenge for those who support a VS classification to provide the supporting argument. I will also extend my argument that Biblical Hebrew can be accurately classified as an SV language by analyzing the data from Genesis while also considering the typological features of SV and VS languages.

3. THE TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF WORD ORDER The study of word order variation is a fascinatingly complex task. While languages vary on a cline of flexibility, from strict to ‘free’, even those that are strict exhibit more than one word order and those that are ‘free’ arguably exhibit limited patterns, although the patterns may be influenced by features other than syntactic roles. Mithun (1992), for instance, has questioned whether some languages can be assigned to a typological word order category such as SVO, VSO, or SOV. In particular, for languages with an apparently ‘free word order’, Mithun argues that we should not be looking for a basic word order in terms of the position of subject, verb, and modifiers. Rather, she suggests that in these languages the syntactic role of an item (subject, object, etc.) is less important than its discourse role (e.g. topic-hood, identifiability, ‘newsworthiness’). Thus, the order of the clauses (1997:222). Furthermore, he comments that, “Biblical Hebrew is commonly classified as a VSO language. It appears, however, from a comparison of the statistics for Isaiah 40–55 of all three constituents in a clause … that the pattern for Isaiah 40–55 may be SVO (42.48%; VSO is 31.37%). But this is an example of how surface statistics of word-order can be deceptive. Our discussion of the various sub-types of VSO languages demonstrate (sic) that such surface statistics may be the result of the frequent use of special positions” (1997:222–23; emphasis added). Rosenbaum’s argument illustrates how one’s assumptions drive the interpretation of the data, sometimes stretching the limits of logic and the scientific spirit of objective investigation. Jongeling (1991, 2000) represents the exception that proves the (unfortunate) rule: he uses both frequency arguments and typological comparison with Welsh to argue that Biblical Hebrew is VSO. The fundamental problem with Jongeling’s analysis is that he does not deal with the wayyiqtol form and whether it should or should not be included in the statistical analysis. On the use of the wayyiqtol, see §3.2 below. For my criticism of Moshavi 2010, see note 6 above.

358

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

constituents, subject noun phrase, verb, complements, etc., will change in a ‘basic clause’, depending on the information status of the constituents. Clearly, while describing the full range of word order variation is a challenge in and of itself, setting out to determine a ‘basic word order’ poses significant additional challenges―challenges that have led some to give up on the notion altogether, as many have for ancient Greek.9 And yet, even if we were to admit that some languages, like ancient Greek, might not have a basic word order that is syntactic in nature (i.e., subject, verb, object) but pragmatic, even this must be argued carefully and empirically. The typological study of word order has most often been traced back to Joseph Greenberg’s 1963 article, “Some Universals of Grammar with Particular Reference to the Order of Meaningful Elements.” This essay set in motion a rich comparative linguistic method with the goal of discerning morphological and syntactic ‘universals’ (or better, ‘tendencies’10) among human languages. In the first section in Greenberg’s essay he focused on ‘certain basic factors of word order’ and proposed using three criteria to identify the basic word order of any given language (Greenberg 1963:76):11 • the use of prepositions versus postpositions; • the relative order of subject, verb, and object in declarative sentences with nominal subject and object; • the position of qualifying adjectives, either preceding or following the modified noun. Although these three criteria have been modified as the typological program has matured, they still reflect the fundamental question involved in determining how a language patterns: does a head (i.e., the constituent being modified) precede or follow its modifier? To answer this question, four criteria are typically used, in varying degrees: 1) frequency, 2) distribution, 3) clause type, and 4) pragmatics (Siewierska 1988:8–14; Payne 1997: 76–77; Bickford 1998:214–16; Dryer 2007:73–78).

For studies that explicitly address Greek word order, see, for example, Dunn 1988, Davison 1989, Matic 2003. 10 Greenberg himself lists exceptions in his footnotes and so subsequent typological research has generally recognized the non-universal nature of the typological ‘universals’ but focused on the strength, breadth, and nature (absolute versus implicational) of the tendencies observed. 11 For a concise summary of the basic issues involved in the typological quest for determining ‘basic word order’ in any given language, see Newmeyer 1998:330– 37. 9

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

359

3.1 THE CRITERION OF FREQUENCY The ‘frequency’ criterion focuses on that word order that is numerically dominant. This is perhaps the most common criterion and was adopted early in the typological approach by Greenberg himself: “The so-called normal order, it would seem, is necessarily the most frequent” (1966:67). Certainly this criterion has dominated in Biblical Hebrew studies; it is succinctly summarized by Muraoka in his study of emphatic structures in Biblical Hebrew: “[W]e are not interested in discussing the theory that [VS] order is normal because action is the most important piece of information to be conveyed by this sentence type called verbal clause. In other words, by saying that V-S is the normal word-order we do not mean that it is logically or intrinsically so, but simply statistically” (1985:30). Hawkins, in his monograph on word order, suggests three criteria for determining word order based upon frequency: For the majority of the word orders in this study in the majority of our languages the basicness issue is not problematic, for the simple reason that only one order occurs. English has this man, never *man this . . . But for at least some word orders in the majority of languages, variants do exist, and the question then arises as to which order, if any, is the “basic” one. For example, English has both preposed and postposed genitives (the king’s castle/the castle of the king) . . . [I]n general I shall follow these three (overlapping) criteria when making a basicness decision: 1. Where one doublet (e.g., NAdj) occurs with greater frequency than the other (AdjN) in attested samples of the relevant language, then, all things being equal, the more frequent doublet is the basic one. 2. Where one doublet (e.g., NAdj) is more frequent within the grammatical system of the language than the other (e.g., the quantity of adjective lexemes that occur postnominally exceeds the number that occur prenominally), then, all things being equal, the grammatically more frequent doublet is the basic one. 3. Where one doublet is grammatically unmarked and the other marked (i.e., a special type of grammatical meaning may be associated with one order of Adj and N, but not the other, over and above their lexical meanings; one word order may not undergo certain general rules that the other does, or may be generated by rules of a more restricted nature; one word order may be the one chosen by exceptional modifiers, whose exceptional status is marked in the lexicon, etc.), then, in all these cases, the unmarked order is the basic one. (1983:12–13)

360

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

By Hawkins’ first and second criteria, Biblical Hebrew appears to be a strong VS language, with a more than 5-to-1 ratio of VS to SV clauses in Genesis. And this is where most discussions of basic word order in Biblical Hebrew have stopped (excepting only Jongeling 1991 and Moshavi 2010). However—and this is a critical point—though the frequency criterion may appear to be a straightforward tool for determining the basic order of a variety of grammatical constructions, deep problems with the unqualified application of this criterion have long been noted. First, some languages do not appear to exhibit a clear preference for one order over another (Tomlin 1986:34; Dryer 2007:73–74). In such cases, if other criteria are not invoked, one cannot make a basic word order determination; if this is so, the result is that one must eschew any comment on overall basic word order and limit the syntactic description to word order patterns in various contexts. It may be that such an approach is best for Biblical Hebrew and we should remain open to the possibility. A second problem with the naïve application of the frequency criterion is embedded within Hawkins’ third criterion: the issue of markedness.12 That is, many languages allow more than one order for some grammatical constructions and so determining which order is basic must recognize the context of use. In fact, this markedness issue leads directly to the other three criteria, distribution, clause type, and pragmatics.

3.2 THE CRITERION OF DISTRIBUTION The first criterion that recognizes the salience of context in the basic word order discussion is the test of distribution. Given two or more alternatives for a syntactic construction, the one that occurs in the greater number of environments is unmarked and, hence, the basic order. Note that this is not the same as statistical dominance, because the issue at hand is not simply ‘occurrence’ but ‘environment’. For instance, in English, manner adverbs like slowly may both precede and follow the verb (He walked slowly and He slowly walked), but as the more highly restricted option, the Adverb-Verb order is the marked choice, thus leaving the Verb-Adverb option the basic order (Dryer 2007:69, 74). For the Hebrew of Genesis, the test of distribution can be illustrated well by considering the wayyiqtol form. First, if we take the wayyiqtol to Markedness theory developed out of the Prague School of linguistic analysis. The basic concept is, given two similar constructions, the one occurring more often and in a greater number of environment is unmarked while the one the occurs less often and in restricted environments is marked. See Battistella 1996 for an introduction to markedness theory in both Jakobsonian and Chomskyan schools of linguistics. 12

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

361

include an indicative finite verb and compare it to other indicative finite verbs, an asymmetry is easily observable: (1) DISTRIBUTION OF WAYYIQTOL

a. VS (866x):13 Gen 22:13 ‫ת־עינָ יו‬ ֵּ ‫וִַ ּיִ ָשא ִַא ְב ָר ָהם ֶא‬ 14, 15 ִ ‫ִַבּיֹום ִַה ְש ִל‬ b. Adjunct-VS (34x): Gen 22:4 ‫ת־עינָ יו‬ ֵּ ‫ישי וִַ ּיִ ָשא ִַא ְב ָר ָהם ֶא‬ c. SV: Ø d. Complement-VS: Ø e. Subordinator-V:16 Ø (2) DISTRIBUTION OF QATAL

a. VS(46x):17 Gen 22:20 ‫ם־הוא ָבנִים ְּלנָ חֹור ָא ִחיך‬ ִ ַ‫ִהנֵ ה יָלְּ ָדה ִמ ְּל ָּכה ג‬ b. Adjunct-VS (57x):18 Gen 10:25 ‫ים‬ ‎ ִ‫ּול ֵעבר יֻלַ ד ְּשׁנֵ י ָבנ‬ ְּ Genesis has 866 wayyiqtol clauses (in 742 verses) with an overt Subject. With John A. Cook (personal communication), I take the cases of initial ‫ויהי‬ and ‫ והיה‬in these verses as discourse markers. Thus, the following prepositional phrases, like ‫( ביום השׁלישׁי‬some of which include an infinitive clause, and some of which are continued by a wayyiqtol before the main clause), are temporal (nonargument) adjuncts that have moved higher than wayyyiqtol in the clause. 15 34x—Gen 4:3, 8; 8:6; 11:2; 19:17, 29, 34; 21:22; 22:4, 20; 24:22; 25:11; 26:32; 27:34; 28:6; 29:13, 23; 31:10; 35:17, 18, 22; 37:18; 38:1, 24, 28; 39:7, 11, 13, 15, 18; 40:20; 41:8; 48:1. 16 At this point, the presence and position of an overt Subject is irrelevant; the salient detail is whether or not this form may co-occur with a subordinator, such as ‫ ָאז‬‎, ‫ ִאם‬‎, ‫ ֱאשׁר‬‎, ‫ ֲה‬‎, ‫ ִּכי‬‎, and ‫פן‬. 17 46x—Gen 9:16; 12:3, 13; 16:2; 17:5, 13, 14; 18:18; 19:19, 28; 21:7, 25; 22:18, 20; 26:4; 27:35; 28:14 (2x), 21; 29:3; 30:6, 18, 20, 23, 33, 42; 31:1; 34:5, 30; 37:7; 38:24, 29; 40:10 (2x), 19; 41:30, 36; 42:28, 30, 38; 44:29, 31; 45:9, 16; 48:11, 21. These are non-subordinate clauses. It is important to recognize that the majority of these V (qatal)-Subject clauses are likely not indicative, but the so-called wawconsecutive perfect, or more linguistically accurate, the modal use of the perfect (qatal) verb for the apodosis of conditional clauses, result clauses, habitual actions, or instructions. When these modal uses are removed, only twenty-two remain as candidates for non-subordinate VS indicative clauses with the qatal verb: 16:2; 19:19, 28; 21:7, 25; 22:20; 27:35; 30:6, 18, 20, 23; 31:1; 37:7; 38:24, 29; 40:10 (2x); 42:28, 30; 45:9, 16; 48:11. Also note that the exclamative/deictic ‫ ִהנֵ ה‬‎’look!’ and the conjunction ‫ וְּ ַע ָתה‬‎‘and now’ (or even ‫ ִּכי‬used asseveratively) do not affect word order and are thus included in this list. 13 14

362

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT c. SV (168x):19 Gen 4:18 ‫ל‬‎‫ת־מחּויָ ֵא‬ ְּ ‫וְּ ִע ָירד יָלַ ד א‬ 20 d. Complement-VS(15x): Gen 22:23 ‫ְּשׁמֹנָ ה ֵאלה יָלְּ ָדה ִמ ְּל ָּכה ְּלנָ חֹור‬ e. Subordinator-V:21 Gen 25:12 ‫ן־א ְּב ָר ָהם ֲאשׁר יָלְּ ָדה ָהגָ ר‬ ַ ‫יִ ְּשׁ ָמ ֵעאל ב‬

57x—Gen 4:6, 26; 7:11, 20; 8:5, 9, 13, 14; 9:14, 19; 10:18, 25, 32; 11:9 (2x); 13:6; 15:1, 18; 17:26; 18:7, 12; 19:15, 22; 20:5, 18; 22:1; 23:19; 24:30; 25:10, 26; 26:10; 27:30; 29:35; 31:7, 32; 32:5; 33:7, 17; 34:19; 36:7; 37:33; 38:21, 22; 39:19; 40:1, 23; 42:4, 11, 21; 43:3, 7; 45:1 (2x), 3, 9, 15; 48:7. This list includes the 15x with a negative particle as a verbal adjunct (Gen 2:5; 8:9; 13:6; 31:7, 32; 34:19; 36:7; 38:21, 22; 40:23; 42:4, 11; 45:1 (2x), 3). 19 168x—Gen 1:2; 3:1, 11, 12, 13, 20, 22; 4:1, 2, 4, 18 (3x), 20, 21, 22; 6:1, 4, 8; 7:6, 10, 11, 19; 8:5; 10:8 (2x), 9, 13, 15, 24 (2x), 26; 11:3, 12, 14, 27 (2x); 13:12 (2x), 14; 14:3, 18, 23; 15:12, 17 (2x); 16:1, 5; 17:27; 18:12, 13, 17, 33; 19:4, 9, 15, 23 (2x), 24, 31, 38; 20:4, 5 (2x), 6; 21:1, 7, 26 (3x); 22:1, 23; 24:1 (2x), 16, 35, 56, 62; 25:3 (2x), 19, 34; 26:26, 27; 27:6, 30; 28:16; 29:9, 17; 30:26, 29; 31:5, 6, 7, 19, 25 (2x), 29, 32, 34, 38, 47; 32:2, 13, 22; 33:3, 17; 34:5 (2x), 7, 27; 35:18; 36:2, 4, 5, 12, 13, 14; 37:2, 3, 11, 20, 33, 36; 38:14, 22, 23, 25, 28; 39:1, 8, 22; 41:10, 15, 56, 57; 42:8, 10, 23; 43:5, 22, 23 (2x); 44:3 (2x), 4 (2x), 8, 16, 19, 20 (2x), 27; 45:14, 16, 19; 46:31; 47:5, 26; 48:2, 3, 10, 22; 49:22, 26; 50:5, 16, 20 (2x), 23. Thirty-four of these examples include pronominal Subjects (3:12, 20; 4:20, 21; 10:8, 9; 14:23; 16:5; 18:13; 20:5 (2x), 6; 21:26 (2x); 26:27; 28:16; 30:26, 29; 31:6; 32:13, 22; 33:3; 38:14, 23, 25; 39:22; 41:15; 42:8, 23; 44:4, 27; 45:19; 48:22; 50:20) and seven more are negated (16:1; 20:4; 24:16; 31:32, 38; 39:8; 47:26), leaving 127 cases not negated and with lexical NP subjects (Gen 1:2; 3:1, 11, 13, 22; 4:1, 2, 4, 18 (3x), 22; 6:1, 4, 8; 7:6, 10, 11, 19; 8:5; 10:8, 13, 15, 24 (2x), 26; 11:3, 12, 14, 27 (2x); 13:12 (2x), 14; 14:3, 18; 15:12, 17 (2x); 17:27; 18:12, 17, 33; 19:4, 9, 15, 23 (2x), 24, 31, 38; 21:1, 7, 26; 22:1, 23; 24:1 (2x), 35, 56, 62; 25:3 (2x), 19, 34; 26:26; 27:6, 30; 29:9, 17; 31:5, 7, 19, 25 (2x), 29, 34, 47; 32:2; 33:17; 34:5 (2x), 7, 27; 35:18; 36:2, 4, 5, 12, 13, 14; 37:2, 3, 11, 20, 33, 36; 38:22, 28; 39:1; 41:10, 56, 57; 42:10; 43:23 (2x); 44:3 (2x), 4, 8, 16, 19, 20 (2x); 45:14, 16; 46:31; 47:5; 48:2, 3, 10; 49:22, 26; 50:5, 16, 20, 23). 20 15x—Gen 6:9; 7:20; 10:11; 14:5; 21:6; 22:23; 24:27, 50; 30:40; 31:42; 41:54; 42:4, 36; 46:34; 47:9. These Complements include both accusative (i.e., ‘direct object’ noun phrases) and oblique (i.e., prepositional phrases required by a verb). 21 Relative/Complementizer ‫אשׁר‬‎ ֲ (182x)—Gen 1:21, 31; 2:2, 3, 8, 22; 3:1, 11, 12, 17, 23; 4:11; 5:5, 29; 6:2, 7, 22; 7:4, 5, 9, 16; 8:6, 21; 9:17, 24; 10:14; 11:5; 12:4, 5, 11; 13:3, 4; 14:24; 15:17; 16:15; 17:23; 18:5, 8, 19, 33; 19:5, 19, 21, 27, 29; 20:3, 13; 21:1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 23, 25, 29; 22:2, 3, 9, 18; 23:16; 24:5, 7, 15, 22, 24, 27, 40, 44, 47, 48, 51, 52, 66; 25:10, 12; 26:1, 3, 15, 18, 29, 32; 27:4, 9, 14, 17, 19, 27, 41, 45; 28:4, 15, 18, 22; 29:10; 30:2, 18, 25, 26, 29, 30, 38; 31:13, 16, 18, 43, 49, 51; 32:3, 11, 32; 33:5, 8, 11, 19; 34:1, 13, 27; 35:3, 12, 13, 14, 15, 26, 27; 36:5, 6, 24, 31; 37:6, 10, 23; 38:10; 39:1, 17, 19; 40:13, 22; 41:13, 28, 48, 50, 53, 54; 42:9, 14, 21; 43:2, 14, 17, 27, 29; 44:2, 5, 8, 15, 16, 17; 45:4, 13, 27; 46:5, 6, 15, 18, 20, 22, 25, 27; 47:11, 22; 48:6, 9, 15, 22; 49:28, 30; 50:5, 6, 12, 13, 15, 24; Causal/Temporal/Complementizer ‫ּכי‬‎ ִ 18

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

363

(3) DISTRIBUTION OF YIQTOL

a. VS (43x):22 Gen 27:41 ‫י‬‎‫יְּמי ֵאבל ָא ִב‬ ֵ ‫י ְִּק ְּרבּו‬ b. Adjunct-VS (44x):23 Gen 2:24 ‫ת־אּמֹו‬ ִ ‫ת־א ִביו וְּ א‬ ָ ‫־אישׁ א‬ ִ ‫ל־ּכן י ֲַעזָ ב‬ ֵ ‫ַע‬ 24 ‫ְך‬‎‫ר־ה ְּת ַה ַל ְּכ ִתי ְּל ָפנָ יו ִי ְּשׁלַ ח ַמלְּ ָאכֹו ִא ָת‬ ִ ‫יְּ הוָ ה ֲאשׁ‬c. SV (71x): Gen 24:40 (116x)—Gen 2:3, 5; 3:1, 14, 19, 20; 4:25; 5:24; 6:6, 7, 12, 13; 7:1; 8:11; 9:6; 10:25; 11:9; 13:6; 14:14; 16:4, 5, 11, 13; 17:5; 18:15, 19, 20; 19:8, 13, 30; 20:6, 9, 10; 21:7, 16, 17, 30, 31; 22:12; 24:14; 26:7, 8, 13, 16, 20, 28; 27:1, 20, 23; 28:6, 11; 29:21, 32, 33, 34; 30:1, 9, 13, 16, 20, 26; 31:6, 15, 22, 30, 31, 32, 36, 37; 32:21, 26, 27, 29, 33; 33:10, 11; 34:5, 7, 19; 35:7, 18; 36:7; 37:4, 17; 38:11, 14, 15, 16, 26; 40:14, 15, 16; 41:21, 49, 57; 42:4, 5, 12; 43:5, 10, 18, 21, 25, 30; 44:24, 27, 32; 45:3, 5, 26; 46:32; 47:15, 20; 49:4; 50:15, 17; Interrogative ‫( ֲה‬11x)—Gen 8:8; 16:13; 20:5; 27:36; 29:5, 15, 25; 31:15; 41:38; 42:22; 44:15. 22 43x—Gen 1:3, 6, 9 (2x), 11, 14, 20, 24; 9:26, 27 (2x); 16:5; 18:4; 19:20; 22:17; 24:55, 60; 26:28; 27:28, 29 (3x), 31, 41; 30:3, 24; 31:44, 49; 33:14; 37:7; 41:33, 34; 42:16, 20; 44:18, 21, 33; 47:4, 19; 48:16; 49:8 (2x), 17. As with the qatal examples (see above, note 17), many of the yiqtol Verb-Subject examples are clearly not indicative, since the form and/or context point to modal (e.g., jussive) semantics. Eliminating from the list above morphologically modal (jussive, cohortative) examples and morphologically ambiguous but contextually modal examples leaves just five indicative cases: Gen 27:41; 37:7; 42.20; 49:8 (2x). Also note that the exclamative/deictic ‫ ִהנֵ ה‬‎’look!’ and the conjunction ‫ וְּ ַע ָתה‬‎’and now’ (or even ‫ִּכי‬ used asseveratively) do not affect word order and are thus included in this list. For my notion of particles “affecting” word order (that is, the concept of “triggered inversion”), see Holmstedt 2002, 2005, 2009a. 23 44x—Gen 2:24; 6:3; 9:11, 15; 13:8; 15:1, 4; 17:5, 13; 18:28, 29, 30, 31, 32; 21:10; 24:5, 8, 39; 27:12; 29:32, 34; 30:20, 30; 32:29, 33; 34:22; 35:10; 37:10; 40:13, 19; 41:31, 36, 44; 42:38; 43:8, 32; 44:7, 18, 22, 23; 47:19; 48:20; 49:10; 50:25. This list includes the 23x with a negative particle as a verbal adjunct (Gen 6.3. 9:11, 15; 13:8; 15:1, 4; 17:5; 21:10; 24:5, 8, 39; 32:29, 33; 35:10; 41:31, 36, 44; 42:38; 43:8, 32; 44:22, 23; 49:10), which leaves 21x with only a fronted adjunct (Gen 2.24; 17:13; 18:28, 29, 30, 31, 32; 27:12; 29:32, 34; 30:20, 30; 34:22; 37:10; 40:13, 19; 44:7, 18; 47:19; 48:20; 50:25). 24 71x—Gen 1:20, 22; 2:5 (2x), 6; 3:15 (2x), 16; 4:7; 5:29; 8:22; 9:2, 6; 14:24; 15:4, 15; 16:12; 17:6, 9; 18:18; 19:19; 21:24; 22:5, 8; 23:6; 24:7, 40, 45; 25:23; 28:3, 22; 31:39, 53; 33:14; 34:10; 35:10, 11 (2x); 37:27; 38:17; 41:16, 27, 40; 42:19, 37; 43:9, 14, 29; 44:9, 10, 17, 33; 45:20; 46:4 (2x); 47:19, 24, 30; 48:5, 6, 19 (4x); 49:9, 16, 19 (2x), 20; 50:21, 24. Eight of these include modal yiqtol Verbs (Gen 1:20, 22; 22:5; 33:14; 37:27; 43:29; 44:33; 45:20), for thirty the Subject is an independent pronoun (Gen 3:15 (2x), 16; 4:7; 14:24; 15:4, 15; 16:12; 17:9; 19:19; 21:24; 22:5; 24:7, 45; 31:39; 33:14; 38:17; 41:40; 42:37; 43:9; 44:9, 10, 17; 46:4; 47:30; 48:19 (2x); 49:19, 20; 50:21), and three are negated (8:22; 23:6; 47:19). All three issues

364

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT d. Complement-VS (10x):25 Gen 2:23 ‫ה‬ ‎ ‫ְּלזֹאת י ִָק ֵרא ִא ָש‬ 26 e. Subordinator-V: Gen 17:21 ‫ה‬ ‎ ‫יִ ְּצ ָחק ֲאשׁר ֵתלֵ ד לְּ ך ָׂש ָר‬

The qatal and yiqtol Verbs are found in a wide variety of word order patterns, both preceding (2a, 3a) and following (2c, 3c) the syntactic Subject, allowing Adjuncts (2b, 3b) and Complements (2d, 3d) to be fronted, and existing in main (2a-d, 3a-d) and subordinate (2e, 3e) clauses. In contrast, wayyiqtol clauses exhibit a highly restricted pattern: the Subject always follows the Verb, it cannot be negated, it does not allow the fronting of its Complement, and it does not follow overt subordinators like ‫ ֲאשׁר‬or ‫ּכי‬. ִ In fact, the only constituent that can stand in front of the wayyiqtol is a fronted temporal Prepositional Phrase Adjunct, as in (1b), although that even this is allowed may be considered a controversial claim. Thus, the distributional criterion provides an important filter for the frequency criterion. In this case, distributional asymmetries show the wayyiqtol to be the more restricted form since its use is limited to specific syntactic environments. That the wayyiqtol has a more constrained distribution than the other verbal forms strongly suggests that its fixed VS order should not simply be taken as the basic order for Biblical Hebrew even though the VS wayyiqtol clause is by far the most common clause type in Hebrew prose. This is not to say that the criterion of distribution has provided an argument for SV or VS order; rather, it provides a strong argument against the inclusion of the wayyiqtol data in determining basic word order.

complicate the word order; omitting them leaves thirty-two clauses that are indicative and have lexical NP Subjects: Gen 2:5 (2x), 6; 5:29; 9:2, 6; 17:6; 18:18; 22:8; 24:40; 25:23; 28:3, 22; 31:53; 34:10; 35:10, 11 (2x); 41:16, 27; 42:19; 43:14; 46:4; 47:24; 48:5, 6, 19 (2x); 49:9, 16, 19; 50:24. 25 10x—Gen 2:23; 15:5; 27:39; 31:8 (2x); 32:29; 41:40; 49:6 (2x). The verbs in 32:29 and 49:6 (2x) are modal and negated. 26 Relative/Complementizer ‫ ֲאשׁר‬‎ (39x)—Gen 2:19; 6:21; 9:2; 11:6; 13:16; 15:4, 14; 17:10, 14, 21; 20:9, 13; 21:12; 22:2, 14; 24:3; 26:2; 27:10, 40, 44; 28:15, 22; 29:27; 30:38; 31:32; 32:13; 33:14; 34:11, 12; 38:18; 40:14; 41:36, 55; 42:38; 44:1, 9, 10, 34; 49:1; Causal/Temporal/Complementizer ‫( ִּכי‬35x)—Gen 4:12; 12:12; 13:15, 17; 15:13; 19:2, 22; 20:7; 21:10, 12, 18, 30; 22:17; 24:4, 41; 26:3; 28:15; 29:2, 32; 30:33; 31:35, 49; 35:10; 37:35; 38:16; 43:7, 16, 25, 32; 44:15, 26; 46:3; 48:17; 49:10; 50:3; Interrogative ‫( ֲה‬14x)—Gen 17:17; 18:13, 14, 23, 24, 25, 28; 20:4; 24:5, 58; 34:31; 37:8, 10; 43:7.

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

365

3.3 THE CRITERION OF CLAUSE TYPE The second criterion used to filter raw frequency results concerns ‘clause type’. This criterion is predicated on the observation that languages often exhibit different word order patterns in different clause types; in such cases, not all clause types present the language’s basic word order. Consider English interrogative clauses, such as When did Noah leave? This clause type in English has the inflected Verb, did, before the Subject, in contrast to the declarative counterpart, Noah left yesterday. On this basis, we would exclude interrogative clauses as a source for basic word order in English. Moreover, although interrogatives are typically a minority clause type in English texts and so their exclusion would not normally affect the frequency results, we can imagine a text that consists predominantly of questions, resulting in a highly skewed frequency-based analysis for English word order. Such observations—that one must consider whether the language in question exhibits word order variation according to clause type—have influenced the typological analysis of basic word order from its beginnings (see Greenberg 1963:80). The result is that basic word order is most often identified as the the word order present in “stylistically neutral, independent, indicative clauses with full nouns phrase (NP) participants, where the subject is definite, agentive and human, the object is a definite semantic patient, and the verb represents an action, not a state or an event” (Siewierska 1988:8; see also Mallinson and Blake 1981:125). Notably, Siewierska also indicates that the basic word order of a language need not be identical to the “dominant linearization pattern” (i.e., statistically prevalent word order) in that language (1988:8). She suggests that this may be the result of the vagaries of human communication, in which diverse structures are utilized, or it may be due to a genre convention (1988:11–12). Genre convention is certainly operative in Hebrew with regard to the restricted distribution of wayyiqtol clauses, which I discussed above. The wayyiqtol form is used as the narrative Verb and, unlike the qatal and yiqtol Verbs, is confined to indicative semantics and a past temporal context (Cook 2004, 2006). Another implication for Biblical Hebrew that follows from Siewierska’s basic clause definition concerns the presence of overt Subjects. Hebrew, like many languages (Spanish and Italian, for example) allows the syntactic Subject to be omitted. Such languages are often referred to as null Subject or ‘pro-drop’ languages (see Holmstedt forthcoming a for an overview). Null Subject languages often exhibit word order differences between clauses with an overt Noun Phrase as the Subject and clauses without an overt Subject (Siewierska 1988:11); similarly, clauses with overt pronominal Subjects often exhibit word order differences from clauses with

366

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

lexical Noun Phrase Subjects (Dryer 2007:80). Since Biblical Hebrew allows an overt Subject to be omitted (4a) and arguably uses overt Subject pronouns for Topic or Focus marking (4b), any discussion of basic word order must draw primarily on clauses that have overt lexical Noun Phrase Subjects (4c). (4) TYPES OF SUBJECTS IN BIBLICAL HEBREW

a. Null: Gen 9:6 ‫ת־ה ָא ָדם‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים ָע ָׂשה א‬ ִ ‫ְּבצלם ֱא‬ b. Pronominal: Gen 27:31 ‫וַ יַ ַעׂש גַ ם־הּוא ַמ ְּט ַע ִּמים‬ c. Lexical Noun Phrase: Gen 3:1 ‫ֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ִמכֹל ַחיַ ת ַה ָשדה ֲאשׁר ָע ָׂשה יְּהוָ ה ֱא‬ That clauses with lexical Noun Phrase Subjects are less common in null Subject languages like Hebrew, Spanish, and Italian makes it more difficult but not impossible to identify basic word order clauses in a text. It simply highlights the necessity of using all the criteria together in the investigation of basic word order. The clause criterion holds a number of additional implications for the careful study of basic word order in Biblical Hebrew. First, it has long been noted that the dominant VS pattern of narrative becomes less than dominant in direct speech (MacDonald 1975). Consider the following numerical data from Genesis: (5) NARRATIVE VERSUS SPEECH IN GENESIS

a. the wayyiqtol is used 1971x in narrative but only 123x27 in speech. b. of 250728 main (non-subordinate) narrative clauses, only 10729 are SV (4.3%) while 89630 (including wayyiqtol) are VS (over 35.8%) 27 Gen 3:10 (2x), 12, 13; 12:19; 16:5 (2x); 19:9, 13, 19; 20:6, 12, 13 (2x); 24:35 (2x), 36 (2x), 37, 39, 40, 42 (2x), 45 (3x), 46 (4x), 47 (4x), 48 (3x); 26:27, 28; 27:33 (3x), 35, 36; 29:33, 35; 30:6, 27; 31:9 (2x), 10 (3x), 11 (2x), 12, 15, 26 (2x), 27, 40, 41, 42; 32:5, 6 (2x), 29, 31; 33:10; 37:7; 39:14, 15 (2x), 18 (3x); 40:11 (3x); 41:10, 11, 12 (2x), 13, 18, 20, 21 (2x), 22, 24 (2x); 42:30, 31, 33; 43:7, 21 (2x); 44:20 (2x), 21, 22, 23, 24 (2x), 25, 26, 27, 28 (2x); 45:7, 8; 48:3, 7; 49:15 (2x), 23 (2x), 24 (2x). Only twenty-one of these include an overt Subject: Gen 19:13; 20:6; 24:36, 37; 30:27; 31:9, 11, 40; 32:6; 41:11, 20, 24; 42:33; 44:20, 25, 27, 28; 45:7; 49:23, 24 (2x). 28 The totals in (5b) and (5c) include verbless and participial clauses, though the SV and VS numbers include only finite verbs (including imperatives). 29 107x—Gen 2:5 (2x), 6; 3:1; 4:1, 2, 4, 18 (3x), 22; 6:4, 8; 7:6, 10, 11, 19; 8:5; 10:8 (2x), 9, 13, 15, 24 (2x), 26; 11:3, 12, 14, 27 (2x); 13:12 (2x), 14; 14:3, 18; 15:12, 17 (2x); 16:1; 17:27; 18:17, 33; 19:4, 15, 23 (2x), 24, 38; 20:4; 21:1; 22:1, 23; 24:1 (2x), 16, 62; 25:3 (2x), 19, 34; 26:26; 27:6, 30; 29:9, 17; 31:19, 25 (2x), 34, 47; 32:2,

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

367

c. of 1748 main (non-subordinate) speech clauses, 13431 are SV (7.7%) and 20032 are VS (11.4%) The remarkable non-use of the wayyiqtol in direct speech confirms its primary role as the narrative or story-telling verb. Add the radical shift towards near balance of SV and VS in speech texts and it is clear that one’s position on the discourse type will significantly impact the methodology and conclusions for basic word order. How do we decide which discourse type is a better candidate for representing basic word order? Narrative is typically taken as the determinative discourse type: “If storyline clauses in narrative discourse in a given language are VSO, then that language should be classified as a VSO language” (Longacre 1995:333); this view holds that dialogue introduces complexities that likely depart from basic word order. However, Payne (1995) suggests that “[m]ost claims about word order have undoubtedly been based on narrative data and, without conscious awareness, the 22; 33:3, 17; 34:5 (2x), 7, 27; 35:18; 36:2, 4, 5, 13, 14; 37:2, 3, 11, 36; 38:14, 25, 28; 39:1, 22; 41:56, 57; 42:8, 23; 44:3 (2x), 4 (2x); 45:14, 16; 47:26; 48:10; 50:23. 30 896x: 842x wayyiqtol. 52x qatal—Gen 4:26; 6:9; 7:11, 20; 8:5, 9, 13, 14; 9:19; 10:5, 11, 18, 25, 32; 11:9; 12:3; 13:5, 6; 14:5; 15:1, 18; 17:26; 18:7, 11; 19:22, 28; 20:18; 21:25; 22:23; 23:19; 25:6, 10, 26; 26:15; 29:3; 30:40, 41, 42; 31:32; 33:7, 17; 34:5, 19; 36:7; 38:29; 40:1, 23; 41:54; 42:4; 45:1, 3, 15. Only 2x yiqtol—Gen 2:24; 32:33. 31 134x—Gen 1:20, 22; 3:11, 12, 13, 15 (2x), 16, 22; 4:7; 5:29; 6:21; 8:22; 9:2, 6, 7; 14:23, 24; 15:4, 15; 16:5, 12; 17:6, 9, 17, 18; 18:12, 13, 18, 25; 19:9, 19, 31; 20:5 (2x), 6; 21:7, 24, 26 (2x); 22:5, 8; 23:6; 24:35, 40, 44, 45, 56, 60; 25:23 (2x); 26:27; 28:3, 16, 22; 30:29; 31:5, 6, 7, 29, 38, 39, 53; 32:13; 33:14; 34:10; 35:11 (2x); 37:20, 27, 33; 38:17, 22, 23; 39:8; 41:10, 15, 16, 27, 40; 42:10, 16, 19 (2x), 37; 43:9, 14, 23 (2x), 29; 44:8, 9, 10, 16, 17 (2x), 19, 20 (2x), 27, 33; 45:19, 20; 46:4 (3x), 31; 47:5, 19, 24, 30; 48:2, 3, 5, 6, 19 (4x), 22; 49:8, 9, 16, 19 (2x), 20, 22, 26; 50:5, 16, 20 (2x), 21, 24. 32 200x—Gen 1:3, 6, 9 (2x), 11, 14, 20, 24; 2:23; 3:3; 4:6, 25; 6:3 (2x), 18; 7:1; 8:16; 9:11 (2x), 14, 15, 16, 26, 27 (2x); 12:13; 13:8; 15:1, 4, 5; 16:2, 5; 17:5 (2x), 13 (2x), 14; 18:4, 12, 13, 14, 18, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32; 19:13, 19, 20; 20:6; 21:6, 7; 22:17, 18, 20; 23:6; 24:5, 18, 27, 30, 31, 36, 37, 39, 50, 55, 60; 26:4, 10, 22, 28; 27:12, 20, 28 (2x), 29 (3x), 31, 34, 35, 38, 39, 41; 28:14 (2x), 21; 29:32 (2x), 34, 35; 30:3, 6, 18, 20 (2x), 23, 24, 27, 30, 33; 31:1, 7, 8 (2x), 9, 11, 40, 42, 44, 49; 32:5, 6, 29; 33:14; 34:8, 22, 30; 35:10; 37:7 (2x), 10, 33; 38:21, 22, 24; 39:19; 40:10 (2x), 13, 19 (2x); 41:11, 20, 24, 30 (3x), 31, 33, 34, 36 (2x), 40, 44, 51, 52; 42:4, 11, 16, 21, 28, 30, 33, 36, 38 (2x); 43:3, 7, 8; 44:7, 18 (2x), 20, 21, 22, 25, 27, 28, 29, 31, 33; 45:1, 7, 9 (2x), 10, 16; 46:34; 47:4, 9, 19 (2x); 48:7, 11, 16, 20 (2x), 21; 49:6 (2x), 8 (2x), 10, 17, 23, 24 (2x); 50:25.

368

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

typological cubby-holes to which languages have been assigned are likely biased by formal features correlating with temporal sequentiality” (1995:454). In other words, precisely because clauses in narrative are strung together in some sort of temporal order, narrative (rather than direct speech/dialogue/conversation) may exhibit departures from standard word order (see also Downing 1995:20). This does not mean that speech clauses do not always contain word order complexities, but that we should not naïvely take the dominant order in narrative as basic simply by virtue of its text-type. Another distinction that may affect the word order discussion involves main and subordinate clauses. Subordinate clauses often appear to be more conservative, that is, they show less syntactic diversity than main clauses (this is what Ross 1973 named the ‘Penthouse-principle’, i.e., that the rules are different if you live in the penthouse = upstairs/main clause). This observation has interesting implications for both word order typology and diachronic syntax. For identifying basic word order, some, like Bickford (1998:214–16), argue that subordinate clauses take priority in the identification of basic word order. For diachronic syntax, it has been noted that word order changes in, for example, English, German, and Kru, first took place in main clauses and only later (often much later) applied to subordinate clauses (see Matsuda 1998 and Bybee 2002 for discussion and bibliography). Importantly, if it is established that a diachronic word order change has affected main clauses but not subordinate clauses in Hebrew, the priority of the clauses for word order typology is reversed: the new order exhibited in main clauses should be taken as basic.33 Biblical Hebrew, I suggest, should be added to the list of languages that exhibit Ross’ Penthouse principle. As the data in (6) illustrate, there is no doubt that subordinate clauses (6b) are overwhelmingly VS in Biblical Hebrew, even when all the criteria are applied, while the number of SV and VS main clauses (6a) are nearly identical. (6) MAIN VERSUS SUBORDINATE CLAUSE WORD ORDER IN GENESIS

a. Main

The older basic word order pattern in subordinate clauses thus becomes a remnant feature. Moreover, since it does not match the new basic order, it is likely that, for example, the older VS order in Hebrew subordinate clauses receives a new syntactic processing so that the native speaker’s grammar associates (by reanalysis) the VS order with a syntactic constraint (in the case of Hebrew, it is associated with ‘triggered inversion’; see Holmstedt 2002, 2005, 2009a). 33

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

369

SV (224x):34 Gen 2:6 ‎‫ן־ה ָארץ‬ ָ ‫וְּ ֵאד יַ ֲעלה ִמ‬ 35 VS (216x): Gen 27:41 ‫י‬‎‫יְּמי ֵאבל ָא ִב‬ ֵ ‫יִ ְּק ְּרבּו‬ b. Subordinate SV (16x):36 Gen 31:32 ‎‫ ִּכי ָר ֵחל גְּ נָ ָב ַתם‬‎ VS (127x):37 Gen 4:25 ‎‫ִּכי ֲה ָרגֹו ָקיִן‬ 34 224x: 157x qatal—Gen 3:1, 11, 12, 13, 22; 4:1, 2, 4, 18 (3x), 22; 6:4, 8; 7:6, 10, 11, 19; 8:5; 10:8 (2x), 9, 13, 15, 24 (2x), 26; 11:3, 12, 14, 27 (2x); 13:12 (2x), 14; 14:3, 18, 23; 15:12, 17 (2x); 16:1, 5; 17:27; 18:12, 13, 17, 33; 19:4, 9, 15, 23 (2x), 24, 31, 38; 20:4, 5 (2x), 6; 21:1, 7, 26 (2x); 22:1, 23; 24:1 (2x), 16, 35, 56, 62; 25:3 (2x), 19, 34; 26:26, 27; 27:6, 30; 28:16; 29:9, 17; 30:29; 31:5, 6, 7, 19, 25 (2x), 29, 34, 38, 47; 32:2, 13, 22; 33:3, 17; 34:5 (2x), 7, 27; 35:18; 36:2, 4, 5, 13, 14; 37:2, 3, 11, 20, 33, 36; 38:14, 22, 23, 25, 28; 39:1, 8, 22; 41:10, 15, 56, 57; 42:8, 10, 23; 43:23; 44:3 (2x), 4 (2x), 8, 16, 19, 20 (2x), 27; 45:14, 16, 19; 46:31; 47:5, 26; 48:2, 3, 10, 22; 49:22, 26; 50:5, 16, 20 (2x), 23. 67x yiqtol—Gen 1:20, 22; 2:5 (2x), 6; 3:15 (2x), 16; 4:7; 5:29; 8:22; 9:2, 6; 14:24; 15:4, 15; 16:12; 17:6, 9, 18; 18:18; 19:19; 21:24; 22:5, 8; 23:6; 24:7, 40, 45; 25:23 (2x); 28:3, 22; 31:39, 53; 33:14; 34:10; 35:11 (2x); 37:27; 38:17; 41:16, 27, 40; 42:19, 37; 43:9, 14, 29; 44:9, 10, 17, 33; 45:20; 46:4 (3x); 47:19, 24, 30; 48:5, 6, 19 (4x); 49:8, 9, 16, 19 (2x), 20; 50:21, 24. Note that this list of SV clauses does not account for any of the other criteria (distribution, clause type, or pragmatics). 35 216x: 127x qatal—Gen 3:3; 4:6, 25, 26; 6:3, 9, 18; 7:11, 13, 14, 20; 8:5, 9, 13, 14; 9:14, 16, 19; 10:5, 11, 18, 25, 32; 11:9 (2x); 12:3, 13; 13:5, 6; 14:5; 15:1, 18; 16:2; 17:5, 13, 14, 26; 18:7, 11, 12, 13, 18; 19:19, 22, 28; 20:18; 21:6, 7, 25; 22:18, 20, 23; 23:19; 24:27, 30, 50; 25:6, 10, 26; 26:4, 10, 15, 22, 26; 27:20, 35; 28:14 (2x), 21; 29:3, 32, 35; 30:6, 18, 20, 23, 33, 40, 41, 42; 31:1, 7, 8, 32, 42; 32:5; 33:7, 17; 34:5, 8, 19, 30; 36:7; 37:7, 33; 38:21, 22, 24, 29; 39:19; 40:1, 10 (2x), 19, 23; 41:30 (3x), 36, 51, 52, 54; 42:4, 11, 21, 28, 30, 36, 38; 43:3, 7; 44:29, 31; 45:1, 3, 9 (2x), 10, 15, 16; 46:34; 47:9; 48:7, 11, 21; 49:9; 91x yiqtol—Gen 1:3, 6, 9 (2x), 11, 14, 20, 24; 2:23, 24; 6:3; 9:11 (2x), 15, 26, 27 (2x); 13:8; 15:1, 4, 5; 16:5; 17:5, 13; 18:4, 14, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32; 19:20; 22:17; 24:5, 39, 55, 60; 26:28; 27:12, 28, 29 (3x), 31, 39, 41; 29:32, 34; 30:3, 20, 24, 30; 31:8 (2x), 44, 49; 32:29, 33; 33:14; 34:22; 35:10; 37:7, 10; 40:13, 19; 41:31, 33, 34, 36, 40, 44; 42:4, 16, 20, 38; 43:8; 44:7, 18 (2x), 21, 22, 33; 47:4, 19 (2x); 48:16, 20 (2x); 49:6 (2x), 8 (2x), 10, 17; 50:25. Note that this list of VS clauses does not account for any of the other criteria (distribution, clause type, or pragmatics), although I have omitted the 866 wayyiqtol clauses, which I have argued in §3.2 skew the analysis. 36 16x: 10x qatal—Gen 3:20; 6:1; 21:26; 30:26; 31:32, 42; 42:38; 43:5, 22; 44:32; 6x yiqtol—Gen 13:16; 17:17; 18:25; 22:14; 35:10; 44:5. As with the data in note 34, this list of SV clauses does not account for any of the other criteria (distribution, clause type, or pragmatics). 37 127x: 90x qatal—Gen 1:1, 21; 2:3, 5; 3:1, 5; 4:25; 5:24; 6:1, 12–13; 7:9, 16; 8:8, 11; 10:25; 11:5, 9; 13:6; 14:14, 24; 16:11, 15; 19:13; 21:3, 4, 17, 25, 31; 22:3; 24:21, 22, 44, 51, 52; 25:10, 12; 26:5, 8, 15, 28; 27:1, 14, 23, 30 (2x); 28:4, 6, 11;

370

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

There is also comparative evidence in Northwest Semitic that ancient Hebrew was initially a VS language in both main and subordinate clauses.38 However, by the post-biblical period, Hebrew exhibits a shift in word order character, such that soon after the turn of the era, Rabbinic Hebrew appears to be an SV language.39 Indeed, it has even been argued that Biblical Hebrew itself exhibits an (early BH) VS-toSV (late BH) shift (Givón 1977). These lines of evidence converge in such a way as to suggest that Biblical Hebrew experienced a shift to SV order in main clauses while the older VS order was preserved in subordinate clauses. If so, two questions proceed from this. First, if the basic word order of main and subordinate clauses differ, which is to be taken as the typological classification for the language? Second, is it possible to identify when this shift occurred? For instance, if Genesis does exhibit SV basic word order, then the shift must have occurred earlier than Givón argues.40

29:10, 33; 30:13, 25, 29; 31:16, 22; 32:27; 33:5, 11, 13; 35:7; 36:7; 37:4; 38:14; 40:22; 41:54, 57; 42:5, 28; 43:17, 30; 44:16, 17, 27; 45:5, 27; 46:5, 18, 20, 25; 47:11, 15, 16, 18, 20; 48:9, 15; 49:30; 50:13, 15; 37x yiqtol—Gen 4:24; 6:4; 12:12; 13:16; 15:13; 17:21; 19:19; 20:7; 21:10, 12; 24:8; 26:7; 27:4, 19, 25, 31; 28:20; 29:2, 8; 30:38; 31:49; 32:9, 18; 37:20; 38:11 (2x); 41:50; 42.20; 43:16, 32; 44:5, 23; 45:11; 46:33; 48:17; 50:3, 15. As with the data in note 35, this list of VS clauses does not account for any of the other criteria (distribution, clause type, or pragmatics), although I have omitted the 866 wayyiqtol clauses, which I have argued in §3.2 skew the analysis. 38 For Ugaritic (late 2nd millennium), whether SVO or VSO is the basic word order remains undetermined, although descriptions often lean towards a qualified VSO analysis (Tropper 2000:869‒80; Bordreuil and Pardee 2009:66; contra Sivan 1997:210‒14). Old Aramaic appears to be consistently VSO with fronting of the Subject for discourse-pragmatic reasons (Degen 1969:121; Hug 1993 lists only one SVO example; see also Buth 1987), as does Phoenician (Segert 1976:249; Friedrich and Röllig 1999:316) as well as the rest of the Canaanite dialects in the first half of the first millennium, including the Hebrew epigraphic texts (Garr 1985:189‒91). Significantly, Kaufman notes that, in contrast to VSO Old Aramaic and SOV Imperial Aramaic, later Aramaic reflects “the normal Semitic drift from VSO to SVO type” (1997:127). 39 Moshe Bar-Asher, personal communication (05/11/2011), confirms my own view that SV is the dominant pattern (using all four criteria) in the Mishna. Published statements regarding the basic word order of Rabbinic Hebrew are surprisingly rare. 40 For an introduction to the current state of the debate about Biblical Hebrew diachrony, see Zevit 2005, 2006. For my own views, see Holmstedt forthcoming b. When I imply that Genesis is earlier than the texts that Givón has taken as “late”

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

371

Finally, it should not go unnoticed that Siewierska’s definition of the basic clause type includes a semantic notion:41 indicative clauses rather than non-indicative (i.e., modal, subjunctive) are better candidates for basic word order. In biblical Hebrew, modal clauses—whether with the morphologically modal jussive, the modal use of the imperfective yiqtol, or the modal use of the perfective qatal—are consistently VS (7b). In contrast, indicative clauses (excluding the wayyiqtol) are not so clearly VS (7a); rather, SV is dominant by more than two-to-one. (7) INDICATIVE VERSUS MODAL CLAUSE WORD ORDER IN GENESIS

a. Indicative ָ ‫ֵאד יַ ֲעלה ִמ‬ SV (164x):42 Gen 2:6 ‎‫ן־ה ָארץ‬ ְּ VS (77x):43 Gen 27:41 ‫יִק ְּרבּו י ְֵּמי ֵאבל ָא ִבי‬ biblical Hebrew, it reflects full awareness that I am taking a position counter to the anti-dating (relative or absolute) hypothesis presented in Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvärd 2008. It is also important to note that, while Givón’s study contains interesting insight, it is also flawed (see Buth 1987:21–25) and must be completely re-done. 41 It is worth noting that word order distinctions based on the semantic type of verb are attested in a number of languages. For example, Siewierska (1988) claims that some African languages vary the word order depending on the tense and aspect of the verb used. For example, the Sudanic languages Lendu, Moru, Mangbetu, and the Gur languages Natioro and Bagassi exhibit SVO order in the perfective tenses and SOV in the imperfective. Similarly, the Sudanic language Anyuak appears to be a language that switches from SVO in the present tense to SOV in the past and future (1988:95; regarding Anyuak/Anywa, see also Reh 1996). 42 164x: 131x indicative SV qatal—Gen 1:2; 3:1, 11, 13, 22; 4:1, 2, 4, 18 (3x), 22; 6:1, 4, 8; 7:6, 10, 11, 19; 8:5; 10:8, 13, 15, 24 (2x), 26; 11:3, 12, 14, 27 (2x); 13:12 (2x), 14; 14:3, 18; 15:12, 17 (2x); 17:27; 18:12, 17, 33; 19:4, 9, 15, 23 (2x), 24, 31, 38; 21:1, 7, 26; 22:1, 23; 24:1 (2x), 35, 56, 62; 25:3 (2x), 19, 34; 26:26; 27:6, 30; 29:9, 17; 31:5, 7, 19, 25 (2x), 29, 32, 34, 42, 47; 32:2; 33:17; 34:5 (2x), 7, 27; 35:18; 36:2, 4, 5, 12, 13, 14; 37:2, 3, 11, 20, 33, 36; 38:22, 28; 39:1; 41:10, 56, 57; 42:10, 38; 43:5, 22, 23 (2x); 44:3, 8, 16, 19, 20 (2x), 32; 45:14, 16; 46:31; 47:5; 48:2, 3, 10; 49:22, 26; 50:5, 16, 20, 23. This list excludes the thirty-four examples with pronominal Subjects as well as the six examples that are negated; see above, note 19. 33x indicative SV yiqtol—Gen 2:5 (2x), 6; 5:29; 9:2, 6; 17:6; 18:18; 22:8; 24:40; 25:23; 28:3, 22; 31:53; 34:10; 35:11 (2x); 41:16, 27; 42:19; 43:14, 29; 47:24; 48:5, 6, 19 (4x); 49:8, 9, 16; 50:24. This list excludes the thirty examples with pronominal Subjects as well as the three examples that are negated; see above, note 24. 43 77x: 22x indicative VS qatal—Gen 16:2; 19:19, 28; 21:7, 25; 22:20; 27:35; 30:6, 18, 20, 23; 31:1; 37:7; 38:24, 29; 40:10 (2x); 42:28, 30; 45:9, 16; 48:11. 65x indicative VS yiqtol—Gen 2:23, 24; 4:24; 6:4; 12:12; 13:16; 15:5, 13; 17:13, 21;

372

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT b. Modal44 SV (14x):45 Gen 16:1 ‫לֹו‬ ‎ ‫ ָׂש ַרי ֵאשׁת ַא ְּב ָרם לֹא יָ ְּל ָדה‬‎ VS (102x):46 Gen 1:3 ‫אֹור‬ ‎ ‫יְּ ִהי‬‎

As this section has illustrated, the clause type criterion covers a lot of linguistic ground. For Biblical Hebrew, applying this criterion leads one to set aside clauses without lexical Noun Phrase Subjects, work with an awareness that narrative and direct speech exhibit different patterns (primarily due to the conventionalized use of the wayyiqtol in the narrative genre), distinguish between the word order of main 18:14, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32; 19:19; 20:7; 21:12; 26:7; 27:4, 12, 19, 25, 31, 39, 41; 28:20; 29:2, 8, 32, 34; 30.20, 30, 38; 31.8 (2x), 49; 32.9, 18; 34.22; 37.7, 10, 20; 38.11 (2x); 40.13, 19; 41.40, 50; 42.4, 20; 43.16; 44.5, 7; 45.11; 46.33; 47.19; 48.17, 20; 49.8 (2x); 50.3, 15, 25. Note that nineteen of these have a fronted adjunct (Gen 2:24; 17:13; 18:28, 29, 30, 31, 32; 27:12; 29:32, 34; 30:20; 34:22; 37:10; 38:11; 40:13, 19; 41:50; 48:20; 50.25), six have a fronted complement (Gen 2:23; 15:15; 27:39; 31:8 (2x); 41:40), and thirty-five are formally subordinate (introduced by ‫ ִאם‬, ‫ ֲאשׁר‬, ‫ ַב ֲעבּור‬, ‫ ִּכי‬, ‫לּו‬, ‫פן‬, or an interrogative, Gen 4:24; 6:4; 12:12; 13:16; 15:13; 17:21; 18:14; 19:19; 20:7; 21:12; 26:7; 27:4, 29, 25, 31; 28:20; 29:2, 8; 30:30, 38; 31:49; 32:9, 18; 37:20; 38:11; 42:4; 43:16; 44:5, 7; 45:11; 46:33; 47:19; 48:17; 50:3, 15). This leaves only five simple indicative VS yiqtol clauses: Gen 27:41; 37:7; 42:20; 49:8 (2x). 44 I have included in the modal category (and, in previous notes, isolated) clauses with verbal negation. Negation is often closely linked to modality (see Lyons 1977:768–77; Palmer 1979; Hoye 1997; Palmer 2001:173–76). Not surprisingly, Givón has observed that negative function words in some languages clearly affect the word order of the Subject, Verb, and Object (1979:124–25). 45 All examples listed are modal by virtue of being negated—Gen 16:1; 20:4, 5; 21:26 (2x); 24:16; 28:16; 31:38; 38:14, 23; 39:8; 42:8, 23; 47:26. If one does not classify negation as a form of modality, then there are no examples of modal SV qatal clauses in Genesis; either way, the SV order in these clauses is likely due to the Topic-fronting of the Subject. 46 102x: 39x modal VS qatal—Gen 9:16; 12:3, 13; 17:5, 13, 14; 18:18; 22:18; 26:4; 28:14 (2x), 21; 29:3; 30:33, 42; 34:5, 30; 40:19; 41:30, 36; 42:38; 44:29, 31; 48:21. Of these fifteen are negated (2:5; 8:9; 13:6; 31:7, 32; 34:19; 36:7; 38:21, 22; 40:23; 42:4, 11; 45:1 (2x), 3). 42x modal VS yiqtol—Gen 1:9 (2x), 20; 6:3; 9:11, 15; 15:1, 4; 16:5; 17:5; 18:4; 21:10; 22:17; 24:5, 8, 39, 55, 60; 27:28, 29 (3x), 31; 30:3; 32:3; 33:14; 35:10; 41:31, 34, 36, 44; 42:16, 38; 43:8, 32; 44:22, 23; 47:4, 19; 48:16; 49:6, 10. Of these, twenty-two are negated (6:3; 9:11, 15; 15:1, 4; 17:5; 21:10; 24:5, 8, 39; 32:33; 35:10; 41:31, 36, 44; 42:38; 43:8, 32; 44:22, 23; 49:6, 10). 21x VS Jussive—Gen 1:3, 6, 11, 14, 24; 9:26, 27 (2x); 13:8; 19:20; 26:28; 30:24; 31:44, 49; 41:33; 44:18 (2x), 21, 33; 49:6, 17. Of these, three are additionally negated (13:8; 44:18; 49:6).

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

373

and subordinate clauses (and choose which has priority for determining basic order), and look to the order exhibited by indicative clauses rather than non-indicative clauses. Although filtering the data through this criterion requires significant effort and results in a smaller database of clauses that may arguably exhibit basic word order, since it is clear that Hebrew does pattern differently along each of these divides (Subject type, genre, clause level, and semantic type), it is a filtering process that is absolutely required.

3.4 THE CRITERION OF PRAGMATICS The third, and final, criterion by which the raw frequency data are filtered concerns ‘pragmatic markedness’. Attention to the pragmatic features of a clause is particularly significant for so-called ‘free-order’ languages like Hebrew, that is, languages exhibiting a great deal of word order variation. At the core of this approach is the recognition that the majority of language data contains pragmatically ‘marked’, or ‘non-neutral’, clauses. Even for languages that have a more rigid word order, such as English, pragmatics can produce extreme but grammatically acceptable examples, as with Into the room walked the Prime Minister, a VS clause with a fronted locative PP— certainly not basic order in English. The operative pragmatic notions for Hebrew are Topic and Focus, both of which motivate the fronting of constituents, which in turn appears to motivate VS order.47 In brief, Topic draws a constituent to the front of the clause to either 1) orient the reader/listener to which entity among previously established entities will now act or experience an event, or 2) set the scene with time or place adjuncts (e.g., a temporal PP). Focus similarly draws a constituent to the front of a clause, but for a different reason: it is to contrast the fronted entity with other known or assumed (based on shared knowledge) entities with which it forms a contextually or logically established set. Importantly, whether or not a particular entity has been previously established (and thus can be a Topic or makes sense as a Focus) is sensitive to the embedded discourse worlds (i.e., conversations) within the larger text. So, for instance, the fact that some person has been mentioned in the narrative does not necessarily establish that entity as available for Topic-status within a conversation embedded within the narrative.

See Holmstedt 2009a for an exposition of my model for Biblical Hebrew Information Structure, in which Topic and Focus are central concepts. 47

374

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

(8) DISTINGUISHING DISCOURSE ‘WORLDS’ WITHIN A LAYERED TEXT

Gen 38:22 ‫יְּתה ָבזה ְּק ֵד ָשׁה‬ ָ ‫א־ה‬ ָ ֹ ‫וְּ גַ ם ַאנְּ ֵשׁי ַה ָּמקֹום ָא ְּמרּו ל‬ In (8), the SV clause does not present any Topic or Focus on the Subject. Although the entity ‫נְּשׁי ַה ָּמקֹום‬ ֵ ‫ ַא‬has been invoked previously in the larger discourse (v. 21), there it was invoked by the narrator, whereas here in v. 22 (8) the entity is used within a conversation between Judah and his servant and cannot necessarily be taken as an established entity (and thus, available to carry Topic marking).48 Put another way, the phrase ‫נְּשׁי ַה ָּמקֹום‬ ֵ ‫ ַא‬is new to Judah and so cannot be a Topic. In light of such complexity, the linguist filtering the word order data by the pragmatic criterion must be sensitive to numerous strategies by which the information structure of a text unfolds. I have previously separated out clauses with fronted constituents, as I did above in (2), where I separated out qatal and yiqtol clauses that have fronted Adjuncts (2b, 3b) or fronted Complements (2d, 3d). Similarly I pointed out that pronominal Subjects (as in (4b)) are not appropriate for basic word order clauses since such Subjects in Hebrew signal Topic or Focus marking. Using those examples will illustrate how Topic and Focus work as well as how these pragmatic features affect clausal word order, thereby rendering their clauses poor candidates for basic word order. Consider the examples in (9). (9) CONSTITUENT FRONTING

ִ ‫ַע ָתה ַה ַפ ַעם יִ ָלוה ִא‬ a. Adjunct-fronting: Gen 29:34 ‫ישׁי ֵא ַלי‬ ִ ‫ת־ענְּ יִי וְּ את־ ְּיגִ ַיע ַּכ ַפי ָר ָאה ֱא‬ ָ ‫א‬ b. Complement-fronting: Gen 31:42 ‫ֹלהים‬ ְּ ֹ ‫ת־ק ְּברֹו ל‬ ִ ‫ִאישׁ ִמּמנּו א‬ c. Subject-fronting: Gen 23:6 ‫א־יִכלה ִמ ְּּמך‬ In (9a), there are two fronted adjuncts, the temporal adverb ‫‘ ַע ָתה‬now’ and the adverbial NP ‫‘ ַה ַפ ַעם‬this time’. The first is fronted as a scenesetting (temporal) Topic, the second as a contrastive Focus: Leah thinks that this, third son, will finally endear Jacob to her, whereas apparently the first two sons did not gain her the favor she desired. The Topic-Focus order in (9a) illustrates that even the pragmatic functions have an order in Hebrew: Hebrew exhibits multiple Topics, multiple Foci, but when both a Topic and Focus are present, the order is always Topic-Focus. Some entities are assumed as a part of general knowledge (at least, between the narrator/speaker and reader/listener) and so carry Topic marking from the first use. This is not the case with ‫ ַאנְּ ֵשׁי ַה ָּמקֹום‬in Gen 38:22. 48

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

375

Like ‫ ַה ַפ ַעם‬in (9a), the fronted Complement in (9b) carries Focus marking. In Gen 31:42, Jacob finishes his blistering charge against Laban, ַ ַ‫ו‬ which culminates in our example and the short clause that follows it, ‫יֹוכח‬ ‫‘ ָאמשׁ‬and he rebuked (you) last night!’. It is not clear if the NPs ‫ ֳענִי‬and ‫יְּ גִ ַיע‬ ‫ ַּכ ַפיִם‬constitute the contrastive constituents or if it is the 1cs pronouns attached to the NPs that are contrastive. Is Jacob asserting that his experience has been one of pain and suffering (presumably in contrast to how Laban would characterize it) or is he simply contrasting who God has favored: him (not Laban)? Both options are contextually felicitous and both may be intended, which is possible since the scope of the Focus is over the entire compound constituent. In any case, this fronting of the Complement communicates something like the following: Though you (Laban) have continually treated me unfairly, my oppression and my toil caught God’s attention. Finally, two features in (9c) indicate that it is an unambiguous example of Subject-fronting. First, the Verb is negated, which I have suggested above is a feature associated with VS order. Thus, any constituent in front of the Verb can only be there due to a pragmatically-motivated fronting. ִ ‫ א‬before the Verb is Also, the presence of the Complement ‫ת־ק ְּברֹו‬ unarguably a case of Topic or Focus fronting. This necessarily points to the Subject that precedes the fronted Complement as a case of fronting as well. So, what pragmatic roles do the fronted Subject and Complement fill? In the context, taking the Subject ‫‘ ִאישׁ ִמּמנּו‬a man from us’ as the Topic makes good sense, since the Hittite speaker(s) is orienting Abraham to which of the previously mentioned entities (whom Abraham had referenced as ‘you’ in the preceding verse) would act. Another way to think of this is as a choice that the Hittite speaker made in the response: among the obvious choices, rather than starting with ‘you, Abraham …’, he started with ‘a man among us’. The key to understanding the force of the Focus-fronted Complement is understanding that while the scope of the Focus lies over the entire NP, it can also be associated with one constituent within the ִ ‫ א‬the Focus is on the 3ms suffix, indicating phrase; in the case of ‫ת־ק ְּברֹו‬ that the force is ‘his (own) grave’. Thus, a paraphrastic translation of (9c) that highlights the pragmatics is ‘no man among us would withhold his own grave from you’. There is, to my knowledge, broad agreement that examples like (9a) and (9b) illustrate the Topic- or Focus-fronting of a constituent that is normally positioned after the Verb.49 The numbers in (10) demonstrate that a fronted constituent is much more often followed by VS order than SV 49 There is less agreement regarding the precise nature of the concepts of Topic and Focus. My point above, though, concerns the classification of examples like (9a) and (9b), not their full explanation.

376

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

order. But given the complicating factor of the fronting itself, neither ‘XVS’ or ‘X-SV’ (where ‘X’ means a fronted constituent) can be used to isolate the basic order. (10) CONSTITUENT FRONTING

a. Adjunct-fronting: VS (101x)50 vs. SV (6x)51 b. Complement-fronting: VS (25x)52 vs. SV (0x) c. Subject-fronting: 192x53 The Subject-fronting illustrated in (9c) and quantified in (10c), though, lies at the heart of the basic word order discussion. It is clear that many SV clauses are best understood in the context as non-basic, whether the Subject is a pronoun (which, in a null Subject language like Hebrew, always signals Topic or Focus; see Holmstedt, forthcoming a) or is positioned before another fronted constituent, as in (9c). The SV order in such clauses reflects either a Topic or Focusmarked Subject. The same cannot be said, though, for a number of examples like (8) above or (11). See notes 18 and 23. Gen 4:15; 8:22; 9:6; 19:15; 20:5; 45:8 This does not include Adjunct clauses, such as a conditional clause protasis, which is technically clausal adjuncts to the verb in the apodosis; these Adjuncts do not appear to affect word order within the main clause. 52 See notes 20 and 25. 53 192x: 64x SV examples with a pronominal Subject reflect Topic or Focusmarking on the Subject—Gen 3:12, 15 (2x), 16, 20; 4:7, 20, 21; 10:8, 9; 14:23, 24; 15:4, 15; 16:5, 12; 17:9; 18:13; 19:19; 20:5 (2x), 6; 21:24, 26 (2x); 22:5; 24:7, 45; 26:27; 28:16; 30:26, 29; 31:6, 39; 32:13, 22; 33:3, 14; 38:14, 17, 23, 25; 39:22; 41:15, 40; 42:8, 23, 37; 43:9; 44:4, 9, 10, 17, 27; 45:19; 46:4; 47:30; 48:19 (2x), 22; 49:19, 20; 50:20, 21. Also, if negation is typically associated with (or put differently, results in) VS order, then 9x SV examples with a negated Verb also likely reflect a fronted Subject—Gen 8:22; 16:1; 20:4; 23:6; 24:16; 31:38; 39:8; 47:19, 26. Similarly, with explicitly modal verbs, 7x SV examples almost certainly reflect Subject-fronting— Gen 1:20, 22; 22:5; 33:14; 37:27; 44:33; 45:20. Finally, 112x are indicative and have the Subject and Verb adjacent (i.e., no other fronted constituent to signal Subject fronting), and yet the context suggests that the Subject has been fronted for Topic—Gen 2:6; 3:11, 13, 22; 4:1, 2, 4, 18 (3x), 22; 5:29; 6:8; 7:19; 8:5; 9:2, 6; 10:8, 13, 15, 24 (2x), 26; 11:12, 14, 27 (2x); 13:12 (2x), 14; 14:3; 17:16, 27; 18:12, 17, 18, 33; 19:9, 15, 23, 24, 38; 21:1, 7, 26; 22:1, 23; 24:1 (2x), 35, 40, 56, 62 ; 25:3 (2x), 19, 23, 34; 26:26; 27:6, 30; 28:3, 22; 29:9, 17; 31:5, 7, 19, 25 (2x), 29, 34, 47; 32:2; 33:17; 34:5 (2x), 7; 35:10, 11, 18; 36:4, 5; 37:3, 11, 33, 36; 39:1; 41:10, 16, 27, 56, 57; 44:8, 19; 45:14; 46:4, 31; 47:5, 24; 48:5, 6, 19 (2x); 49:9, 16, 19; 50:5, 16, 20, 23, 24. 50 51

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

377

(11) SV WITHOUT TOPIC OR FOCUS-MARKED SUBJECT (47X)54

‎Gen 37:20 ‫ַחיָ ה ָר ָעה ֲא ָכ ָל ְּתהּו‬ As with the SV clause in (8), there is nothing in the discourse context of the example in (11) that even weakly suggests a Topic or Focus reading of the Subject. The plan by Joseph’s brothers to pass off Joseph’s disappearance as a wild animal attack does not build on any previously established or generally presumable discourse entity. As a newly introduced entity, ‫ ַחיָ ה ָר ָעה‬cannot be a Topic; moreover, a contrast created by Focus-marking on ‫ ַחיָ ה ָר ָעה‬makes no contextual sense—with what would the imaginary wild animal be contrasted? Although the majority of main, indicative SV clauses reflect Topic or Focus marking on the Subject (9c, 10c), the existence of some SV clauses (11) that are in main, indicative clauses with no Topic or Focus marking— and so arguably basic—challenges the traditional VS classification of Biblical Hebrew. To add to this, if Biblical Hebrew were a strong VS language (Longacre 1995), then even with the omission of wayyiqtol clauses, we would expect to see numerous main, indicative VS clauses. But we do not: qualifying SV clauses (11) number almost twice as many as qualifying VS clauses (12). (12) VS ‘BASIC WORD ORDER’ (26X)55

Gen 42:30 ‫שֹׁות‬ ‎ ‫ ִדבר ָה ִאישׁ ֲאד ֹנֵי ָה ָארץ ִא ָתנּו ָק‬‎ Is Biblical Hebrew a ‘weak’ VS language, which allows for a SV minority alternative? Or is it a ‘weak’ SV language, in that VS order dominates in numerous non-basic environments (and is even obligatory in some, such as with the wayyiqtol)? The careful application of the four criteria I have introduced and illustrated with data from Genesis makes one conclusion inescapable: determining the basic word order in Biblical Hebrew is no simple task. Although the criteria (aside from frequency) are grounded in grammatical 54 47x—1:2; 2:5 (2x), 6; 3:1, 22; 5:29; 6:1, 4; 7:6, 10, 11; 9:2; 11:3; 14:18; 15:12, 17; 19:4, 23, 31; 22:8; 31:53; 34:10, 27; 35:11; 36:2, 12, 13, 14; 37:2, 20; 38:22, 28; 42:10, 19; 43:14, 23; 44:16, 20; 45:16; 46:31; 48:2, 3, 10; 49:22, 26; 50:23. 55 See notes 17 and 22: 26x—16:2; 19:19, 28; 21:7, 25; 22:20; 27:35, 41; 30:6, 18, 20, 23; 31:1; 37:7 (2x); 38:24, 29; 40:10 (2x); 42:28, 30; 45:9, 16; 48:11; 49:8 (2x). It may be significant that of these twenty-six ‘simple’ VS clauses, only four are in narrative (19:28; 21:25; 27:41; 38:29), while twenty-two are in direct speech (16:2; 19:19; 21:7; 22:20; 27:35; 29:32; 30:6, 18, 20, 23; 31:1; 37:7 (2x); 38:24; 40:10 (2x); 42:28, 30; 45:9, 16; 48:11; 49:8).

378

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

features, at some level they all reflect a common sense approach to the wide variety of word order data in a language like Hebrew. Moreover, none of the four criteria exists in isolation; they overlap with each other. My application of the criteria to Hebrew in this study has raised additional questions: Is the consensus that Hebrew is a clear VS language accurate?, Did ancient Hebrew experience a VS-to-SV shift?, and, Is it possible that there is a free (minority) alternative to the basic order? In the remainder of this essay, I will begin to address these questions as they may apply to the language data from Genesis that I have presented above, although any final conclusion about Biblical Hebrew as a whole must be delayed until a full study of all the texts has been completed.

4. ON THE VSO LANGUAGE TYPE AND BIBLICAL HEBREW According to Carnie and Guilfoyle, in their preface to a volume dedicated to Verb-initial (VSO and VOS) languages, these languages “make up about 10% of the world’s languages” (2000:3). Yet, the Verb-initial group has generated a good deal of linguistic literature (mostly non-generative until the collected articles in Carnie and Guilfoyle 2000 and the follow-up studies in Carnie, Harley, and Dooley 2005). Even in Greenberg’s 1963 study he isolates the VSO type as a primary class by centering many of his universals around features of VSO languages: for example, Greenberg’s Universal 3 states that “Languages with dominant VSO order are always prepositional” (78) and Universal 6 states that “All languages with dominant VSO order have SVO as an alternative or as the only alternative basic order” (79). In fact, throughout Greenberg’s forty-five Universals, the only one that occurs in VSO but not in SVO is Universal 9, which concerns the position of question particles: initial particles occur in prepositional languages and final particles occur in postpositional languages. Greenberg’s corpus of thirty languages included no SVO type that used initial particles. This, though, simply points to the inadequacy of Greenberg’s small corpus, which typological studies have since tried to rectify. Carnie and Guilfoyle list nine features—listed in (13)—as previously noted correlates of VSO order, which as a group distinguish VSO from SVO and SOV languages. (13) VSO CORRELATES

a. head initiality b. prepositional c. post-nominal adjectives d. preverbal tense, mood/aspect, question, and negation particles e. inflected prepositions

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

379

f. left-conjunct agreement g. lack of a verb “have” h. copular constructions without verbs i. “verbal noun” infinitives Biblical Hebrew certainly contains most of these features: it is primarily head-initial (a) and prepositional (b), adjectives follow the nouns they modify (c), question and negation function words precede the Verb (d), it lacks a “have” verb (g), and the “verbless” clause (h) is common. Hebrew does often use “verbal nouns” (i), but not always (finite verbs are allowed in the same contexts) and not quite in the way that this feature is discussed Myhill 1985 (the source of this correlation). And while there are some apparent examples of left-conjunct agreement in Biblical Hebrew (Doron 2000), I have argued that these examples are not properly left-conjunct agreement and thus do not reflect this VSO correlate (Holmstedt 2009b). Although the list in (13) appears impressive, one of the goals of the articles collected in Carnie and Guilfoyle 2000, which served as a motivating challenge for those who later contributed to Carnie, Harley, and Dooley 2005, was to determine whether these features (or any others) accurately reflect common properties of all VSO languages. The conclusion that the editors drew, after the arguments and data in all sixteen articles on a wide variety of languages were presented, was that no distinctive, universal properties of Verb-initial languages have yet been identified (2005:2). One property of some Verb-initial languages that has been discussed, even for Biblical Hebrew, is a diachronic shift to SVO. Aldridge (2010) traces just such a shift in Seediq, a VOS Atayalic language spoken in Taiwan. She argues that the basic mechanism for the VOS-to-SVO shift in Seediq is the reanalysis of a fronted Topic Subject to a non-fronted (argument-position) Subject. Similarly, Givón (1977) argues that Biblical Hebrew experienced a VS-to-SV shift from what he calls “early” (Genesis, Joshua, Judges) to “late” (Esther, Lamentations, Qoheleth, and Song of Songs) Hebrew.56 Syntactic shifts like that in Seediq and, as argued by Givón, in Biblical Hebrew must be analyzed within a change-and-diffusion framework of language change (see Hale 2007 for an introduction; see Holmstedt forthcoming b 56 Besides the component of a Topic reanalysis, Givón also connected the word order shift to a shift in the verbal system. Givón’s lengthy argument contains a number of important insights even for the rather unnuanced view of the biblical texts. In a future study I will offer corrections to Givón’s “early” and “late” categories as well as his word order – verbal system connection, which is correct on the basic issue but incorrect in a number of the specifics.

380

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

for an application of this approach to Biblical Hebrew). Briefly, this means that changes occur due to the imperfect transmission of linguistic structures during the first-language acquisition process. The changes that survive by diffusions spread to others through acquisition or adult feature adoption and thus become part of the language’s record that is used to describe its grammar. Languages that witness a VS-to-SV shift via the reanalysis of a fronted Subject to a non-fronted Subject may also be influenced by another feature of the acquisition process: Verb-initial (VSO, VOS) languages may be more difficult to acquire than the Subject-initial (SVO, SOV) languages (Grüning 2002). If so, then it may be that first-language learners in VSO contexts are hardwired for a predisposition to analyze a fronted Subject as the normal Subject position. Whatever continued research on the nature of Verb-initial languages determines—whether or not they share a set of features pointing to a common derivation—any VS language that experiences a diachronic shift to SV will almost certainly continue to exhibit Verb-initial features (other than the basic position of the Subject). If Biblical Hebrew, then, experienced a VS-to-SV shift, as Givón (1977) argues, both the VS and SV stages of the language will exhibit Verb-initial features.

5. CONCLUSION—AND A HINT OF WHAT IS TO COME Why is the typological classification of Biblical Hebrew word order important? Aside from simple accuracy in a description of the language’s syntax, the implications for assessing the pragmatic structure of ‘simple’ SV and VS clauses—and thus being able to interpret such clauses in a contextually sensitive way—is at stake. If Biblical Hebrew is a VS language (and SV is not a free alternative order), then all SV clauses must reflect the fronting of the Subject for an identifiable reason, such as Topic or Focusmarking. On the flip side, if SV is the basic order, then 1) not all SV clauses need reflect a pragmatically marked role for the Subject, and 2) unless VS is a free alternative, then the few simple VS clauses that exist must either reflect Focus-marking on the Verb or some other reason motivating the Verb-fronting. In this study, I discussed the four typological criteria that are used to determine a language’s basic word order and illustrated how they apply to the Hebrew data from the book of Genesis. A clear pattern emerges from the data when they are carefully filtered through the four criteria: VS order is strongly preferred when a third element (including ‘modality’57) is in a I include the wayyiqtol clause among those with a third element; see Holmstedt 2002:150–55; 2009a:135, n. 32. 57

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

381

position higher than the Subject and Verb. But, when there is no subordinator or fronted constituent and no modal semantics, SV order outnumbers VS order by roughly two-to-one. This is certainly not what we would expect from a ‘strong VSO’ language! My analysis here of the data from Genesis supports my previous studies of Proverbs, Ruth, and Jonah. In each of these works, I have concluded that the most accurate description of Hebrew word order is SV / X-VS—that is, SV is basic but the inversion to VS order is triggered by a third constituent ‘X’ (subordinator, fronted constituent, or modality).58 In addition to the descriptive and explanatory power of my proposal, I will add two more objections to the VS analysis with which future proponents of this view must reckon. 1) The VS position cannot explain (at least, it has not yet explained) why there are so few simple VS clauses in the Hebrew Bible (where the Verb is an indicative, non-wayyiqtol verb in a non-subordinate clause, with no fronted phrases preceding the verb). 2) The VS position creates an asymmetry that must be explained: why do Hebrew verbal clauses pattern differently than null copula (i.e., ‘verbless’) and participial clauses, which by consensus are considered to have a basic Subject-Predicate order?59 In closing, I invite Hebraists to defend the VS analysis of Hebrew against my SV challenge by means of an overt linguistic framework (e.g., linguistic typology) and the clear documentation of data (e.g., footnotes with all the examples listed, preferably with some explanation of sub-categories, as I have done in this study). I cannot make the challenge any clearer: someone, preferably many scholars, must take up the VS analysis and defend it 58 My SV / X-VS analysis addresses and refutes Buth’s (1995) assessment: “Of course, one can postulate a basic SVO pattern for Hebrew, list XVSO sentences, VSO, and SVO sentences, and then describe various occurrences of each. But such a methodology has no explanatory power. It does not explain why XSVO is so rare as to be almost non-existent outside of participial clauses. Furthermore, an SVO theory is worse than a clumsy theory because it hides the fact that SVO sentences have a specially pragmatically marked element” (81, note 2). First, ‘XSVO’ is rare precisely because the fronted X element triggers inversion to VS order. Thus, to get XSVO requires that the Subject is also fronted, as a second Topic (extremely rare) or Focus (rare), after the initial X constituent. Such complexity is not often utilized, for whatever reason. Second, there are in fact SVO clauses that do not have a pragmatically marked Subject. 59 See Buth 1999 for what is, in my opinion the most lucid and insightful analysis of word order in null copula clauses (his VS stance on verbal clauses notwithstanding).

382

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

scientifically. For Choi (in his defense of the traditional view without recourse to any linguistic theory)60 is quite right in his concern: “If Holmstedt’s [SV] view is correct…the traditional [VS] view…must be rejected” (2006:143). What I have shown in this study is that the traditional VS position that assumes VS for Biblical Hebrew cannot be adopted by anyone who understands language study to be a scientific endeavor. If the VS position can survive in any form, it must be argued linguistically. Simply repeating the opinions of tradition (exemplified in Choi 2006) cannot be allowed to pass as informed scholarship.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Aldridge, Edith 2010 Directionality in Word Order Change in Austronesian Languages. Pp. 169–80 in Continuity and Change in Grammar, ed. A. Breitbarth, et al. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Bailey, Nicholas A. 1998 What’s Wrong with my Word Order? Topic, Focus, Information Flow, and Other Pragmatic Aspects of Some Biblical Genealogies. JoTT 10:1–29. Bailey, Nicholas A. and Stephen H. Levinsohn. 1992 The Function of Preverbal Elements in Independent Clauses in the Hebrew Narrative of Genesis. JoTT 5:179–207. Battistella, Edwin L. 1996 The Logic of Markedness. New York: Oxford University Press. Bickford, J. Albert 1998 Tools for Analyzing the World’s Languages: Morphology and Syntax. Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics. Bordreuil, Pierre, and Dennis Pardee 2009 A Manual of Ugaritic. LSAWS 3. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bybee, Joan 2002 Main Clauses are Innovative, Subordinate Clauses are Conservative: Consequences for the Nature of Constructions. Pp. 1–18 in 60 This evaluation of Choi’s thesis is not entirely external to the work itself; Choi obliquely admits that he cannot access “modern linguistic works on Hebrew” without great difficulty (2006:143, n. 11). This simply proves the point that, like any scientific discipline, a modicum of formal training in linguistics is required in order to participate intelligently in the discussion.

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

383

Complex Sentences in Grammar and Discourse: Essays in Honor of Sandra A. Thompson, ed. Joan Bybee and Michael Noonan. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Buth, Randall 1987 Word Order in Aramaic from the Perspective of Functional Grammar and Discourse Analysis. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of California, Los Angeles. 1990 Word Order Differences between Narrative and Non-Narrative Material in Biblical Hebrew. Pp. 9–16 in Proceedings of the 10th World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division D., Vol. 1, ed. D. Assaf. Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies. 1992 Topic and Focus in Hebrew Poetry: Psalm 51. Pp. 83–96 in Language in Context: Essays for Robert E. Longacre, ed. S. J. J. Hwang and W. Merrifield. Dallas: SIL. Buth, Randall (cont.) 1995 Functional Grammar, Hebrew and Aramaic: An Integrated, Textlinguistic Approach to Syntax. Pp. 77–102 in Discourse Analysis of Biblical Literature: What It Is and What It Offers, ed. Walter R. Bodine. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. 1999 Word Order in the Verbless Clause: A Generative-Functional Approach. Pp. 79–108 in The Verbless Clause in Biblical Hebrew: Linguistic Approaches, ed. Cynthia L. Miller. LSAWS 1. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Carnie, Andrew, and Eithne Guilfoyle, eds. 2000 The Syntax of Verb Initial Languages. Oxford Studies in Comparative Syntax. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Carnie, Andrew, Heidi Harley, and Sheila Ann Dooley, eds. 2005 Verb First: On the Syntax of Verb-Initial Languages 73. Linguistik Aktuell / Linguistics Today. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Choi, Kyoungwon 2006 An Analysis of Subject-Before-Finite-Verb Clauses in the Book of Genesis Based on Traditional Grammar. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. Cook, John A. 2004 The Semantics of Verbal Pragmatics: Clarifying the Roles of Wayyiqtol and Weqatal in Biblical Hebrew Prose. JSS 49:247–73. 2006 The Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Do Express Aspect. JANES 30:21–35.

384

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

Davison, M. E. 1989 New Testament Greek Word Order. Literary and Linguistic Computing 4/1:19–28. DeCaen, Vincent 1995 On the Placement and Interpretation of the Verb in Standard Biblical Hebrew Prose. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, The University of Toronto. 1999 A Unified Analysis of Verbal and Verbless Clauses within Government-Binding Theory. Pp. 109–32 in The Verbless Clause in Biblical Hebrew: Linguistic Approaches, ed. C. L. Miller. LSAWS 1. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Degen, Rainer 1969 Altaramäische Grammatik: der Inschriften des 10.–8. Jh. v. Chr. Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes. Bd. 38, no. 3. Mainz/Wiesbaden: Deutsche Morgenländische Gesellschaft/F. Steiner. Doron, Edit 2000 VSO and Left-Conjunct Agreement: Biblical Hebrew vs. Modern Hebrew. Pp. 75–95 in The Syntax of Verb-Initial Language, ed. Andrew Carnie and Eithne Guilfoyle. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Downing, Pamela 1995 Word Order in Discourse: By Way of Introduction. Pp. 1–27 in Word Order in Discourse, ed. Pamela Downing and Michael Noonan. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Dryer, Matthew S. 1989 Discourse-Governed Word Order and Word Order Typology. Pp. 69–90 in Universals of Language, ed. Michael Kefer and Johan van der Aawera. Bruxelles: Université de Bruxelles. 1995 Frequency and pragmatically unmarked word order. Pp. 105–35 in Word Order in Discourse, ed. Pamela Downing and Michael Noonan. Typological Studies in Language 30. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Dryer, Matthew S. (cont.) 1997 On the Six-Way Word Order Typology. Studies in Language 21/1:69–103. 2007 Word Order. Pp. 61–131 in Language Typology and Syntactic Description, Volume I: Clause Structure, ed. Timothy Shopen. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

385

Dunn, Graham 1988 Syntactic Word Order in Herodotean Greek. Glotta 66/1-2:63–79. Fariss, Sherry Lynn 2003 Word Order in Biblical Hebrew Poetry. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, The University of Texas, Arlington. Floor, Sebastiaan J. 2003 From Word Order to Theme in Biblical Hebrew Narrative: Some Perspectives from Information Structure. JSem 12/2:197–236. 2004 From Information Structure, Topic and Focus, to Theme in Biblical Hebrew Narrative. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, The University of Stellenbosch. 2005 Poetic Fronting in a Wisdom Poetry Text: The Information Structure of Proverbs 7. JNSL 31/1:23–58. Friedrich, Johannes, and Wolfgang Röllig 1999 Phönizisch-Punische Grammatik. 3 Auflage, neu bearbeitet von M.G. Amadasi Guzzo unter Mitarbeit von W. R. Mayer ed. AnOr 55. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Garr, W. Randall 1985 Dialect Geography of Syria-Palestine, 1000–586 B.C.E. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. (Reprinted 2004, Eisenbrauns). Givón, Talmy 1977 The Drift from VSO to SVO in Biblical Hebrew: the Pragmatics of Tense-Aspect. Pp. 184‒ 254 in Mechanisms of Syntactic Change, ed. Charles N. Li. Austin: University of Texas Press. 1979 On Understanding Grammar. New York: Academic Press. Goldfajn, Tal 1998 Word Order and Time in Biblical Hebrew Narrative. New York: Oxford University Press. Greenberg, Joseph H. 1963 Some Universals of Grammar with Particular Reference to the Order of Meaningful Elements. Pp. 73–113 in Universals of Language, ed. Joseph H. Greenberg. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. 1966 Language Universals: With Special Reference to Feature Hierarchies. The Hague: Mouton. Gross, Walter 1993a Die Position des Subjekts im hebräischen Verbalsatz, untersucht an den asyndetischen ersten Redesätzen in Gen, Ex 1–19, Jos–2 Kön.

386

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

ZAH 6/2:170–87. 1993b Das Vorfeld als strukturell eigenständiger Bereich des hebräischen Verbalsatzes. Pp. 1–24 in Syntax und Text: Beiträge zur 22. Internationalen Ökumenischen Hebräisch-Dozenten-Konferenz 1993 in Bamberg, ed. H. Irsigler. St. Ottilien: EOS Verlag. 1994 Zur syntaktischen Struktur des Vorfelds im hebräischen Verbalsatz. ZAH 7/2:203–14. 1996 Die Satzteilfolge im Verbalsatz alttestamentlicher Prosa: untersucht an den Büchern Dtn, Ri und 2Kön. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr. 2001 Doppelt besetztes Vorfeld: syntaktische, pragmatische und übersetzungstechnische Studien zum althebräischen Verbalsatz. BZAW 305. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. Grüning, André 2002 Why Verb-Initial Languages are Not So Frequent. Paper presented at the International Summer School in Cognitive Science. Sofia, Bulgaria, May 31. Hale, Mark 2007 Historical Linguistics: Theory and Method. Blackwell Textbooks in Linguistics 21. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Hawkins, John A. 1983 Word Order Universals. New York: Academic Press. Heimerdinger, Jean-Marc 1999 Topic, Focus and Foreground in Ancient Hebrew Narratives. JSOTSupp 295. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Holmstedt, Robert D. 2002 The Relative Clause in Biblical Hebrew: A Linguistic Analysis. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Wisconsin–Madison. Holmstedt, Robert D. (cont.) 2003 Adjusting Our Focus (review of Katsuomi Shimasaki, Focus Structure in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of Word Order and Information Structure). HS 44:203–15. 2005 Word Order in the Book of Proverbs. Pp. 135–54 in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. Ronald L. Troxel, Kevin G. Friebel, and Dennis R. Magary. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2009a Word Order and Information Structure in Ruth and Jonah: A Generative-Typological Analysis. JSS 54/1:111–39. 2009b So-Called ‘First-Conjunct Agreement’ in Biblical Hebrew. Pp. 105–

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

387

29 in Afroasiatic Studies in Memory of Robert Hetzron: Proceedings of the 35th Annual Meeting of the North American Conference on Afroasiatic Linguistics (NACAL 35), ed. Charles Häberl. Newcastle on Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars. 2009c Review of Word-Order Variation in Biblical Hebrew Poetry: Differentiating Pragmatics and Poetics, with Foreword by Jean-Marc Heimerdinger by Nicholas P. Lunn. JSS 54/1:305–07. forth.a Pro-drop. In Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics, ed. Geoffrey Khan. Boston/Leiden: Brill. forth.b Historical Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew. In Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew eds. Cynthia L. Miller-Naude and Ziony Zevit. Hornkohl, Aaron 2005 The Pragmatics of the X+Verb Structure in the Hebrew of Genesis: The Linguistic Functions and Associated Effects and Meanings of Intra-Clausal Fronted Constituents. Ethnorema 1:35– 122 (http://www.ethnorema.it/pdf/numero%201/Dissertazioni% 20%20A.%20HORNKOHL.pdf; last accessed June 14, 2011) Hoye, Leo 1997 Adverbs and Modality in English. London: Longman. Hug, Volker 1993 Altaramäische Grammatik der Texte des 7. und 6. Jh.s v. Chr. Heidelberger Studien zum alten Orient 4. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Jongeling, Karel 1991 On the VSO Character of Hebrew. Pp. 103–11 in Studies in Hebrew and Aramaic Syntax: Presented to Professor J. Hoftijzer on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. K. Jongeling, H. L. Murre-van den Berg and L. Van Rompey. Leiden: Brill. Jongeling, Karel (cont.) 2000 Comparing Welsh and Hebrew. CNWS 81. Leiden: Research School of Asian, African, and Amerindian Studies, University of Leiden. Joüon, Paul 1923 Grammaire de L’Hebreu Biblique. Corrected 1965 ed. Rome: Institut Biblique Pontifical. Kaufman, Stephen A. 1997 Aramaic. Pp. 114–30 in The Semitic Languages, ed. Robert Hetzron. New York: Routledge.

388

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT

Longacre, Robert E. 1992 Analysis of Preverbal Nouns in Biblical Hebrew Narrative. JoTT 5:208–24. 1995 Left Shifts in Strongly VSO Languages. Pp. 331–54 in Word Order in Discourse, ed. Pamela Downing and Michael Noonan. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Lunn, Nicholas P. 2006 Word-Order Variation in Biblical Hebrew Poetry: Differentiating Pragmatics and Poetics, with Foreword by Jean-Marc Heimerdinger. Paternoster Biblical Monographs. Bletchley: Paternoster. Lyons, John 1977 Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. MacDonald, John 1975 Some Distinctive Characteristics of Israelite Spoken Hebrew. BiOr 23/3-4:162–75. Mallinson, Graham, and Barry J. Blake 1981 Language Typology: Cross-linguistic Studies in Syntax. North-Holland Linguistic Series. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing Company. Matic, Dejan 2003 Topic, Focus, and Discourse Structure: Ancient Greek Word Order. Studies in Language 27/3:573–633. Matsuda, Kenjirô 1998 On the Conservatism of Embedded Clauses. Pp. 255–68 in Historical Linguistics 1997, ed. Monika S. Schmid, Jennifer R. Austin, and Dieter Stein. Current Issues in Linguistic Theory 164. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Merwe, Christo H. J. van der 1991 The Function of Word Order in Old Hebrew—with Special Reference to Cases where a Syntagmeme Precedes a Verb in Joshua. JNSL 17:129–44. 1997 An Overview of Hebrew Narrative Syntax. Pp. 1–20 in Narrative Syntax and the Hebrew Bible: Papers of the Tilburg Conference 1996, ed. E. J. Van Wolde. Leiden: Brill. 1999a Towards a Better Understanding of Biblical Hebrew Word Order (review of Walter Gross’s Die Satzteilfolge im Verbalsatz alttestamentlicher Prosa). JNSL 25/1:277–300. 1999b Explaining Fronting in Biblical Hebrew. JNSL 25/2:173–86.

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

389

Merwe, Christo H. J. van der, and Eep Talstra 2002/2003 Biblical Hebrew Word Order: The Interface of Information Structure and Formal Features. ZAH 15/16:68–107. Mithun, Marianne 1992 Is Basic Word Order Universal? Pp. 15–61 in Pragmatics of Word Order Flexibility, ed. Doris L. Payne. Typological Studies in Language. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Moshavi, Adina 2000 The Pragmatics of Word Order in Biblical Hebrew: A Statistical Analysis. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Yeshiva University, New York. 2006 The Discourse Functions of Object/Adverbial-Fronting in Biblical Hebrew. Pp. 231–45 in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives, ed. Steven E. Fassberg and Avi Hurvitz. Jerusalem/Winona Lake, IN: Magnes/Eisenbrauns. 2010 Word Order in the Biblical Hebrew Finite Clause. LSAWS 4. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Muraoka, Takamitsu 1985 Emphatic Words and Structures in Biblical Hebrew. Jerusalem: Magnes. Myhill, John 1985 Pragmatic and Categorial Correlates of VS Word Order. Lingua 66:177–200. 1995 Non-Emphatic Fronting in Biblical Hebrew. Theoretical Linguistics 21/2–3:93–144. Myhill, John and Zhiqun Xing 1993 The Discourse Functions of Patient Fronting: A Comparative Study of Biblical Hebrew and Chinese. Linguistics 31:25–57. Newmeyer, Frederick J. 1998 Language Form and Language Function. Language, speech, and communication. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. 2003 Grammar is Grammar and Usage is Usage. Language 79/4:682–707. Palmer, Frank R. 1979 Modality and the English Modals. London: Longman. 2001 Mood and Modality. 2nd ed. Cambridge Textbooks in Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Payne, Doris L. 1992 (editor) Pragmatics of Word Order Flexibility. Typological Studies in Language. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

390 1995

ROBERT D. HOLMSTEDT Verb Initial Languages and Information Order. Pp. 449–85 in Word Order in Discourse, ed. Pamela Downing and Michael Noonan. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

Payne, Geoffrey 1991 Functional Sentence Perspective: Theme in Biblical Hebrew. SJOT 1:62–82. Payne, Thomas E. 1997 Describing Morphosyntax: A Guide for Field Linguists. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pérez Fernández, Miguel 1997 An Introductory Grammar of Rabbinic Hebrew. Trans. John Elwolde. Leiden: E.J. Brill. de Regt, Lénart J. 1991 Word Order in Different Clause Types in Deuteronomy 1–30. Pp. 152–72 in Studies in Hebrew and Aramaic Syntax Presented to Professor J. Hoftijzer on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. K. Jongeling, H. L. Murre-Van Den Berg and L. Van Rompay. New York: Brill. de Regt, Lénart J. (cont.) 1996 The Order of Participants in Compound Clausal Elements in the Pentateuch and Earlier Prophets: Syntax, Convention or Rhetoric? Pp. 79–100 in Literary Structure and Rhetorical Strategies in the Hebrew Bible, ed. L. J. d. Regt, J. d. Waard and J. P. Fokkelman. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Reh, Mechthild 1996 Anywa Language: Description and Internal Reconstructions. Köln: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag. Rosenbaum, Michael 1997 Word-Order Variation in Isaiah 40–55. Studia Semitica Neerlandica. Assen, The Netherlands: Van Gorcum. Ross, John Robert 1973 The Penthouse Principle and the Order of Constituents. Pp. 397– 422 in You Take the High Node and I’ll Take the Low Node, ed. C. T. Corum, T. C. Smith-Stark, and A. Weiser. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. Schlesinger, K. 1953 Zur Wortfolge im Hebraischen Verbalsatz. VT 3/4:381–90.

TYPOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION OF THE HEBREW OF GENESIS

391

Screnock, John 2011 Word Order in the War Scroll (1QM) and Its Implications for Interpretation. DSD 18:29–44. Segert, Stanislav 1976 A Grammar of Phoenician and Punic. Munich: Beck. Shimasaki, Katsuomi 2002 Focus Structure in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of Word Order and Information Structure. Bethesda, MD: CDL Press. Siewierska, Anna 1988 Word Order Rules. Croom Helm Linguistics Series. London: Croom Helm. Sivan, Daniel 2001 A Grammar of the Ugaritic Language. HOSNME 28. Leiden: Brill. Tomlin, Russell S. 1986 Basic Word Order: Functional Principles. Croom Helm Linguistics Series. London: Croom Helm. Tropper, Josef 2000 Ugaritische Grammatik. AOAT 273. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Young, Ian, and Robert Rezetko, with Martin Ehrensvärd 2008 Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. 2 vols. London: Equinox. Zevit, Ziony 2005 Historical Linguistics and the Dating of Hebrew Texts. HS 46:321– 26. 2006 What a Difference a Year Makes: Can Biblical Texts Be Dated Linguistically? HS 47:83–91.

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH: EXODUS 31:12–17 AND 35:1–31 JEFFREY STACKERT UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO Among scholars who study the composition of the Torah, there is greater agreement in the identification of the Priestly (P) source than of any other Torah source or set of texts. Yet amidst such consensus in its broad identification, considerable disagreements remain with regard to P. The most significant disagreements overlap and concern the ending of P and the possibility of stratification within it. In this study, I will address especially the latter issue—compositional stratification—with specific focus on the divine revelation of the Sabbath law in Exod 31:12–17 and Moses’s subsequent recitation of the divine command to the Israelites in Exod 35:1– 3. Many scholars view part or all of these units as secondary, and several have recently ascribed them in their entirety to the Holiness (H) stratum of the P source. Such full ascription to H, which challenges several attempts to identify strata in these units, is part of a trend in recent scholarship to assign more and more pentateuchal Priestly texts to H. Other scholars likewise identify these units as post-P compositions, even if they do not assign them to H in particular. Both of these approaches have significant implications for understanding what the underlying P stratum is—in my view, a fully coherent and independent literary source. In this article, I will identify an earlier P stratum in both Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 that was subsequently supplemented by H. I will also show how P’s narrative qualities provide the most reliable basis for identifying strata in these texts and that such concern can be usefully combined with stylistic and theological criteria to separate 1 I wish to thank Simeon Chavel and Baruch Schwartz for their comments on an earlier draft of this article. I would also like to thank the journal’s blind referees and especially the associate editor, Christophe Nihan, for their very useful critical comments on my arguments. I am, of course, solely responsible for the ideas in this article as well as any errors contained therein.

392

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

393

two strata in Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3. Finally, I will offer a few comments on the H supplements that I identify.

STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SOURCE OF THE TORAH AND METHOD IN REDACTIONAL ANALYSIS Already in the 19th century, scholars identified strata in the pentateuchal Priestly source, and the view that P is composite rightly continues to dominate the discussion.2 Among the various separations that have been proposed, many with their own distinctive sigla (Pg, H, and Ps; P and H [and HR]; Pa and Pb; PT and HS; P, H, and HS; P and RP; etc.), the most compelling in my view is a separation between P and H, and I will focus my analysis of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 below in this manner. Early scholarly work on the distinction between P and H identified a base P source that was supplemented by the introduction of an older H block of legal material, now located in Lev 17–26 (the “Holiness Code”).3 Beginning with Karl Elliger, more recent scholarship has reversed the compositional chronology of these two strata (with H now generally viewed as subsequent to P) and expanded the identification of H beyond the Holiness Code proper.4 Pressing this model further, some scholars now also identify redactional activity subsequent to H in material previously identified as part of P.5 The 2 For a concise Forschungsgeschichte of the stratification of the Priestly source, see Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch. A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus (FAT/II, 25; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 1–19. 3 See, most prominently, Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (trans. Allan Menzies and J. Sutherland Black; New York: Meridian, 1957), 376–84. 4 Karl Elliger, “Heiligkeitsgesetz,” RGG 3: 175–76; idem, Leviticus (HzAT, 4; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1966), 14–20 and passim. Among more recent work that has emphasized this new sequential relationship between P and H, see esp. Israel Knohl, “The Priestly Torah versus the Holiness School: Sabbath and the Festivals,” HUCA 58 (1987), 65–117; idem, The Sanctuary of Silence. The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (trans. Jackie Feldman and Peretz Rodman; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Baruch J. Schwartz, The Holiness Legislation. Studies in the Priestly Code (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1999) (in Hebrew); Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 3a; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1319–1443. 5 See esp. Reinhard Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora. Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch (BZAR, 3; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2003), passim; Christophe Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars in Leviticus 23, Numbers 28–29 and the Formation of ‘Priestly’ Literature,” Thomas Römer (ed.), The Books of Leviticus and Numbers (BETL, 215;

394

JEFFREY STACKERT

latter approach in some ways marries analyses that identify P and H strata with other analyses of compositional layers in P that do not identify an H stratum or do not do so outside of Lev 17–26. In my view, H is composed as a supplement, revision, and expansion of P, and H’s boundaries are not limited to Lev 17–26, the “Holiness Code” (Heiligkeitsgesetz). Moreover, neither P nor H should be identified as a pentateuchal redactor.6 The evidence instead suggests to me that H seeks to create a combined P+H that, especially by drawing from and reformulating material from other law collections now found in the Torah, will supplant those alternative law collections and the narrative histories of which they are a part.7 Only after H melds its work with P does a compiler combine the P+H scroll with the other Torah sources to produce the chronologicallyarranged Pentateuch. In so doing, this compiler blunts and even undermines the distinctive views of P+H, just as he does for the other Torah sources.8 The identification of an H stratum in Priestly texts both within and outside of Lev 17–26 has been undertaken largely on the basis of stylistic Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 177–231; idem, From Priestly Torah, 570–72, 576–607. 6 H also exhibits some evidence of internal growth, but such “updates” appear to be additions to the P+H scroll alone and not sufficiently different from H to warrant attribution to a different compositional identity. I resist reconstructing socio-historical locations for P, H, or other hypothesized Priestly literary strata because of the paucity of available evidence. 7 See, Jeffrey Stackert, Rewriting the Torah. Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation (FAT, 52; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007); idem, “The Holiness Legislation and its Pentateuchal Sources: Revision, Supplementation, and Replacement,” Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden (eds.), The Strata of the Priestly Writings. Contemporary Debate and Future Directions (AThANT, 95; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag Zürich, 2009), 187–204; idem, “Distinguishing Innerbiblical Exegesis from Pentateuchal Redaction: Leviticus 26 as a Test Case,” Thomas B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch J. Schwartz (eds.), The Pentateuch. International Perspectives on Current Research (FAT, 78; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 369–86. For arguments in favor of H as a pentateuchal redactor, see, e.g., Eckart Otto, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26 in der Pentateuchredaktion,” Peter Mommer and Winfred Thiel (eds.), Altes Testament, Forschung und Wirkung. Festschrift für Henning Graf Reventlow (Frankfurt am Main/New York: P. Lang, 1994), 65–80; Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 548–59. 8 For discussions of the redactor’s method of compilation, see Joel S. Baden, J, E, and the Redaction of the Pentateuch (FAT, 68; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 255– 86; Baruch J. Schwartz, “Joseph’s Descent into Egypt: The Composition of Genesis 37 from its Sources,” Beit Mikra 55 (2010), 1–30 (esp. 19–20; in Hebrew).

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

395

and theological criteria, oftentimes accompanied by reconstructed historical contexts for the literary production of these strata. The cases of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 are no different: it is mainly the presence of stereotypical language and theology that has led several scholars to assign these units in their entirety to H, even as they also buttress their stylistic and theological arguments with redactional and historical reconstructions. Elements of style and theological emphasis in these units often cited as characteristic of H include the following expressions: ‫שמ״ר שבת‬, (plural construct) ‫שבתות‬, ‫אני יהוה מקדשכם‬, ‫שבת שבתון‬, verbal forms from the root ‫חל״ל‬, the combination of ‫ כר״ת‬and the ‫ מות יומת‬formula, and divine direct address to Israel.9 As further evidence in support of an H attribution, Israel Knohl cites Arie Toeg’s identification of an elaborate (if dubious) chiasm in the canonical arrangement of Exod 25–40 and claims that the Sabbath units in Exod 31 and 35 link the Priestly and non-Priestly material in these chapters. The Sabbath units therefore must originate, in his view, in the redactional arrangement of Exod 25–40.10 This redactional argument fits Knohl’s larger view of H well, for he sees the final contributions to H as part of the redaction of the Pentateuch as a whole.11 Other scholars argue similarly. For example, Milgrom emphasizes the interruption of the Sabbath command between the instructions for and the construction of the Sanctuary in Exod 25:1–31:11 and 35:4–39:43 and also identifies a chiasm in Exod 25–40.12 Building especially upon observations 9 Knohl,

Sanctuary of Silence, 16; Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1338–39; idem, “HR in Leviticus,” 29; Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 567. 10 Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 16. For the identification of this chiasm, see Arie Toeg, Lawgiving at Sinai. The Course of Development of the Traditions Bearing on the Lawgiving at Sinai within the Pentateuch, with a Special Emphasis on the Emergence of the Literary Complex in Exodus xix–xxiv (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1977), 144–56. Against these claims, the compilation of Exod 25–40 follows the same pattern observable throughout the Torah: the sources are maximally preserved and arranged chronologically and with minimal intervention. The combination of Sabbath law and tabernacle construction is fully part of P and appears in the compiled Torah in the same order that it appeared in P (and then P+H). Any chiasm that might be identifiable in the compiled Exod 25–40 is coincidental and must be traced to the underlying sources. 11 Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 101–103. 12 Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1339; idem, “H R in Leviticus,” 29. Milgrom mistakenly attributes the hypothesized chiasm in Exod 25–40 to Simeon Chavel (Simeon Chavel, “Numbers 15, 32–36—A Microcosm of the Living Priesthood and Its Literary Production,” Joel S. Baden and Sarah Shectman [eds.], The Strata of the Priestly Writings. Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, 45–55 [50 n. 21]).

396

JEFFREY STACKERT

of Andreas Ruwe,13 Christophe Nihan likewise contends that the Sabbath units are redactionally arranged to frame the account of sanctuary building in Exod 25–40. This combination of Sabbath and sanctuary accords, in his view, with H’s repeated combination of Sabbath keeping and sanctuary reverence (Lev 19:30; 26:2).14 Those who view Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 as wholly secondary to P but not necessarily part of an H stratum also derive their conclusions especially from these texts’ language. For example, Klaus Grünwaldt, Walter Gross, and Susanne Owczarek each identify a combination of language from elsewhere in the Torah in these verses, from which they conclude that they are compositions of a pentateuchal redactor.15 Yet, as Nihan observes, greater precision in source attribution is possible for these units or, as I will argue, at least parts of them. That is, the language and theology in Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 that corresponds with language and theology elsewhere in the Torah is found predominantly in Lev 17–26 and is thus most easily attributable to H.16 Yet, strictly speaking, even if such a predominance of H language were not present in a composite text, H could still be its composer, for H is itself a “learned text,” borrowing and recrafting material from the Decalogue, the Covenant Code, P, and D.17 13 Ruwe,

Heiligkeitsgesetz, 121–27. Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 568. Nihan also emphasizes the correspondence between the notions of ‫ ברית‬in Exod 31:12–17 and Lev 26:42–45. On ‫ ברית‬in Lev 26, see Stackert, “Distinguishing Innerbiblical Exegesis,” 374–84. 15 Klaus Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität. Beschneidung, Passa und Sabbat in der Priesterschrift (BBB, 85; Frankfurt am Main: Anton Hain, 1992), 173-77; Walter Gross, “‘Rezeption’ in Ex 31,12–17 und Lev 26,39–45: Sprachliche Form und theologisch-konzeptionelle Leistung,” R. G. Kratz and T. Krüger (eds.), Rezeption und Auslegung im Alten Testament und in seinem Umfeld. Ein Symposium aus Anlass des 60. Geburtstags von Odil Hannes Steck (OBO, 153; Freiburg (Schweiz): Universität Verlag/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 45–64 (esp. 48–52); Susanne Owczarek, Die Vorstellung vom “Wohnen Gottes inmitten seines Volkes” in der Priesterschrift. Zur Heiligtumstheologie der priesterschiriftlichen Grundschrift (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1998), 40–42. 16 Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 567. Arguably the most significant correspondence with non-H pentateuchal material in Exod 31:12–17 is between v 15a and Exod 20:9–10a//Deut 5:13–14a. Yet even this parallel is inexact, and it can be explained as a common reflection upon an historical, seventh-day work cessation practice. In light of the scarcity of evidence for direct, literary interaction with the non-Priestly Torah sources elsewhere in P, this instance should not be championed as a clear case of borrowing. 17 See, e.g., Alfred Cholewiński, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Deuteronomium. Eine vergleichende Studie (AnBib, 66; Rome: Biblical Institute, 1976); Eckart Otto, 14

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

397

This is a major reason that it is at times difficult to differentiate H from a pentateuchal redactor: each had before him and utilized much of the same material.18 On a broader level, some scholars also argue for the secondary status of Exod 31:12–17 on the basis of their view that all of Exod 30–31 are additions to P.19 The focus of such arguments is especially the golden incense altar unit in Exod 30:1–10, which is positioned variously in Qumran Exodus manuscripts, LXX, and MT. Moreover, in its position in MT, this altar building instruction appears to be out of place vis-à-vis the other sanctuary furniture building instructions in Exod 25–26.20 Though he and others also offer additional arguments for the supplementary nature of Exod 30–31, Nihan concludes, “If the incense altar is a late addition, all of ch. 30–31 should be viewed as secondary.”21 The close connection between Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 then suggests that the latter text also be ruled secondary, a conclusion seemingly confirmed by the textual complexity in chs. 35–40 that is similar to that observable in the sanctuary building instructions and that leads some scholars to attribute some or even all of Exod 35–40 to a secondary stratum.22 Though a full engagement with Exod 30–31 goes beyond the parameters of this study, I hope to show in my analysis of Exod 31:12–17 below that it is worth reevaluating the claim that all of Exod 30–31 are late additions to P. The literary arguments for Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 as redactional compositions (whether attributed to H or not) also provide for the scholars who make them a historical context (normally exilic or Persian) for situating these texts. They likewise prompt the question of how P viewed the Sabbath, including whether Gen 1:1–2:4a should be attributed to P or to a “Innerbiblische Exegese im Heiligkeitsgesetz Levitikus 17–26,” H.-J. Fabry and H.W. Jüngling (eds.), Levitikus als Buch (BBB, 119; Berlin: Philo, 1999), 125–96; Stackert, Rewriting the Torah. 18 See Stackert, “The Holiness Legislation and its Pentateuchal Sources.” 19 Early endorsements of this view include Julius Wellhausen, Composition des Hexateuchs, 137–41; Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-Critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch (Pentateuch and Book of Joshua) (trans. Philip H. Wicksteed; London: Macmillan, 1886), 72–73, and many scholars have affirmed this view subsequently. 20 For a concise summary of these issues with extensive bibliography, see Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 31–33. 21 Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 33. 22 See, e.g., Martin Noth, Exodus. A Commentary (trans. J. S. Bowden; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), 274–75; Eckart Otto, “Forschungen zum Priesterschrift,” TRu 62 (1997), 1–50 (esp. 23–36); Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 32.

398

JEFFREY STACKERT

later stratum.23 Among those who attribute the Sabbath units in Exod 31 and 35 to H, Milgrom claims that, because the redactionally-constructed chiasm in Exod 25–40 highlights the Sabbath, its formulation should be linked to the Templeless Babylonian exile and the historical importance of the Sabbath in that period.24 The combination of this historical reconstruction and the H style observable in Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 dissuades Milgrom from pursuing a P layer in these texts. When he still viewed the Sabbath unit in Gen 2 as P, Milgrom could avoid the claim that his view of the Sabbath in Gen 2 made it a blind motif in P (an issue to which I shall return below) by characterizing the Sabbath in the Decalogue in Exod 20 as Priestly.25 Yet he would later revise this view, giving both Gen 1:1–2:4a and the Sabbath command in Exod 20:8–11 to HR.26 23 As I will argue below, the compositional ascription of Gen 1:1–2:4a is a significant issue for understanding P’s narrative arc and for the stratification of Exod 31:12–17. 24 Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1339; idem, “H in Leviticus,” 29. This historical R contextualization of H’s special concern for the Sabbath creates a problem for Milgrom, especially as he gradually gives more and more Priestly material in the Torah to H. Because Milgrom views the overwhelming majority of H as an 8th century composition, including some instances of Sabbath emphasis (e.g., the sabbatical year in Lev 25; cf. Leviticus 17–22, 1369; but note that Milgrom claims on p. 1406 that the HR—and thus exilic—Sabbath command in Lev 23:3 “is clearly the basis for the sabbatical year”), his insistence that the Templeless, exilic period explains the increased focus on Sabbath in HR creates a question regarding H’s concern for Sabbath in the 8th century. 25 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 19, 21. Following a host before him, Olyan has recently assigned the Sabbath command in Exod 20 to P (“Exodus 31:12–17,” 203 n. 8; 205 n. 15). 26 Milgrom, “H in Leviticus,” 33–38, following Yairah Amit, “Creation and the R Calendar of Holiness,” Mordechai Cogan, Barry L. Eichler, and Jeffrey H. Tigay (eds.), Tehillah le-Moshe. Biblical and Judaic Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 13*–29* (esp. 22*–26*) (in Hebrew); Edwin Firmage, “Genesis 1 and the Priestly Agenda,” JSOT 82 (1999), 94–114. The suggestion that the Priestly creation story is H and not P creates significant problems for understanding P as a whole and provides a push down the slippery slope toward reassigning all of the P narrative to H. Erhard Blum and Andreas Ruwe in particular have been sensitive to this problem and have argued partially on the basis of their mutually informing character against a differentiation between P and H. See Erhard Blum, “Issues and Problems in the Contemporary Debate Regarding the Priestly Writings,” Joel S. Baden and Sarah Shectman (eds.), The Strata of the Priestly Writings. Contemporary Debate and Future Directions, 31–44 (33–39); Andreas Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz und Priesterschrift. Literaturgeschichtliche und

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

399

Nevertheless, Milgrom retains the Sabbath in P in his later analysis by giving a layer of Exod 16 to P.27 For his part, Knohl is less concerned with the historical contextualization of the Sabbath in H, but he does give attention to the status of the Sabbath in P in light of H’s special concern for it and, in so doing, introduces specific, historical arguments. He attributes Gen 1:1–2:4a to P and argues that, had P intended a Sabbath work prohibition, it would be stated in Gen 2. He infers that the absence of such a work prohibition in Gen 2 is, in fact, an intentional omission and offers Num 28–29 as corroborating evidence. In Num 28–29, P enumerates the statutory offerings for the Sabbath and festival days.28 Yet unlike the festival offerings, which are accompanied by explicit work prohibitions (Num 28:18, 25, 26; 29:1, 7, 12, 35), no work prohibition attends the Sabbath offerings there (Num 28:9–10).29 Knohl concludes from this that P demanded no Sabbath work cessation and that H “sought to restore the honor of the Sabbath,” which P had “neglected.”30 rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1–26,2 (FAT, 26; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 30–31. As for Exod 20, Schwartz has argued convincingly that the pentateuchal redactor (who is not H) inserted the rationale for the Sabbath in Exod 20:11 (“The Sabbath in the Torah Sources” [paper presented at the annual meeting of the SBL, San Diego, Cal., November 19, 2007; available online at http://www.biblicallaw.net/2007/schwartz.pdf], 1–14 [8]). I will return to this issue below. 27 Milgrom, “H in Leviticus,” 38–39. Milgrom does not delineate the strata in R Exod 16. Knohl argues that the Priestly material in Exod 16 belongs to H (Sanctuary of Silence, 17–18, 62). For recent treatments of the sources in Exod 16 and the relation of the Sabbath there to Exod 31:12–17, see Schwartz, “Sabbath in the Torah Sources,” 3–7; Joel S. Baden, “The Original Place of the Priestly Manna Story in Exodus 16,” ZAW 122 (2010), 491–504 (esp. 498–99). 28 Note that some scholars question the attribution of the Sabbath in Num 28– 29 (and even the entirely of these chapters) to P(g). For recent arguments, see esp. Achenbach, Vollendung der Tora, 602–11; Jan Wagenaar, Origin and Transformation of the Ancient Israelite Festival Calendar (BZABR, 6; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 146–55; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 195–212. 29 Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 18. 30 Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 196. Knohl thus presumes a preexistent Sabbath that was characterized by a work stoppage. He points specifically to Amos 8:5–6 for evidence of this view of Sabbath in the eighth century. According to Knohl, H “originates in a generation” that corresponds with the situation described in Amos 8:5–6.

400

JEFFREY STACKERT

These recent analyses of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 as unified, post-P texts diverge from earlier identifications of strata in these units.31 They have also been met by new challenges from a few scholars who have renewed the argument for a P stratum within them. For example, Saul Olyan argues, largely on the basis of style, for the presence of both P and H material in Exod 31:12–17. Like others before him,32 Olyan divides the unit between vv. 12–15 and vv. 16–17. Olyan assigns the former to H and the latter to P.33 Baruch J. Schwartz has also recently argued that Exod 31:12–17—or at least a stratum within it—must be assigned to P.34 The problem in adjudicating the various, alternative analyses of the Sabbath pericopae in Exod 31 and 35 is a basic one for redaction criticism: what criteria are determinative for identifying compositional strata in a text?

THE STRATA OF THE PRIESTLY SOURCE IN EXODUS 31:12–17 AND 35:1–3: A NEW PROPOSAL In the following pages, I would like to propose a new redactional analysis of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3. In so doing, I hope to show the importance of reading P as a narrative source, with its law and historical narrative as integral components of a single composition, for understanding the literary stratification of Exod 31:12–17, 35:1–3, and other Priestly texts. To differing degrees and with differing specifics, attempts to assign these units in their entirety to H or to a different, post-P supplementary stratum each fall short on this account. Olyan’s recent reconsideration of Exod 31:12–17, though it takes a positive step away from attempts to read this pericope as a For different proposals, see Gnana Robinson, The Origin and Development of the Old Testament Sabbath. A Comprehensive Exegetical Approach (BET, 21; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1988), 231–36; Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität, 171; Saul M. Olyan, “Exodus 31:12–17: The Sabbath According to H, or the Sabbath According to P and H?,” JBL 124 (2005), 201–209 (at 203 n. 9). My own stratification is in some ways closest to that of Gerhard von Rad, who assigns vv 12, 13b–14 to a first layer of P (Pa) and vv 13a, 15–17 to a second P layer (Pb) (Die Priesterschrift im Hexateuch. Literarisch Untersucht und Theologisch Gewertet [BWAT; Stuttgart/Berlin: W. Kohlhammer, 1934], 62–63). However, as argued here, I reverse the sequence of the strata that von Rad identifies, offer further analysis of vv 13 and 15, and assign the strata to P and H. 32 See, e.g., S. van den Eynde, “Keeping God’s Sabbath: ‫ אות‬and ‫( ברית‬Exod 31, 12–17),” Marc Vervenne (ed.), Studies in the Book of Exodus. Redaction-ReceptionInterpretation (BETL, 126; Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 501–11 (503). 33 Olyan, “Exodus 31:12–17.” 34 Schwartz, “The Sabbath in the Torah Sources,” 13. 31

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

401

unity, also insufficiently attends to the nature of P as a narrative source and is thus ultimately unconvincing. Before turning to a compositional analysis of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3, I will briefly describe the character of P as a narrative history and its usefulness as a criterion for literary stratification. The narrative genre of P (or, for some scholars, parts thereof) has been recognized from the early decades of modern, critical biblical scholarship. In my view, the entirety of P should be characterized as what Shlomit Rimmon-Kenan calls “narrative fiction.” It is a “narration of a succession of fictional events”35 with a discernible plot.36 Moreover, in purporting to tell a story of past events, P qualifies as historical narrative and is akin to other examples of biblical historical writing.37 This is not to deny the inclusion of sub-genres within P’s historical narrative, but these sub-genres are all encompassed within, informed by, and function as part of its larger narrative. Especially pertinent to this study is the extension of P’s narrative character to its laws, which are presented within it as extended divine speeches, regularly introduced by the anonymous narrator as direct quotations (most commonly, “YHWH spoke to Moses, saying…” ‫)וידבר יהוה אל משׁה לאמר‬. Moreover, P contains interdependent, internal cross-references between its legal and non-legal material that cannot be disentangled neatly, as some scholars have attempted to do.38 Attempting such a bifurcation creates what scholars term blind motifs: elements that, after being introduced, are left undeveloped in the ensuing text. As a rule, P in particular among the Torah sources avoids such narrative dead ends.39 35 Shlomit Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction. Comtemporary Poetics (London and New York: Routledge, 1983), 2. 36 For recent discussion of P’s overall plot, see, e.g., Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 20–68. 37 Marc Z. Brettler, The Creation of History in Ancient Israel (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 12. 38 For arguments in favor of separating P’s narrative from its laws, see already Karl Heinrich Graf, Die geschichtlichen Bücher des Alten Testaments. Zwei historischkritische Untersuchungen (Leipzig: T. O. Weigel, 1866), esp. 94–95. Graf’s arguments in many ways set a course for subsequent scholarship that distinguishes between Pg and Ps, which frequently (though not entirely) separates narrative and law. Among studies that focus especially on the Sabbath, Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität, exemplifies this approach well. 39 By contrast, blind motifs are a more common part of J’s presentation. For a discussion of J’s attempt to overcome them, see Ronald Hendel, “Leitwort Style and Literary Structure in the J Primeval Narrative,” Shawna Dolansky (ed.), Sacred History, Sacred Literature. Essays on Ancient Israel, the Bible, and Religion in Honor of R. E.

402

JEFFREY STACKERT

Even H employs narrativizing elements in its supplements to P, notably in its introductions to its divine legal speeches, which are similar to P’s, as well as in its internal references to the wilderness setting of its lawgiving (e.g., Lev 25:1; 26:46). Yet, as I will show in the case of Exod 31:12–17, H at times also violates P’s narrative integrity—in particular, its plot—even as it attempts to accommodate and mimic it. In dividing strata, I will follow the longstanding practice of literarycritical analysis of pentateuchal texts by beginning with an assumption of the literary unity of the text and only pursuing the delineation of separate sources or strata when the received text is marked by discrepancies that create significant and intolerable incoherence.40 If material claimed by other scholars to derive from separate sources or strata can be coherently read together as part of a single composition, there is no reason to posit redaction in those cases. Such instances are examples of what John Barton terms the “disappearing redactor”: an argument for redaction is only necessitated by observable evidence.41 I will also intentionally assign stylistic evidence—in particular, characteristic terminology—to a secondary, corroborative evidentiary position rather than affording it a primary place in distinguishing strata. My assumption is that the authors of each of the Torah sources were entirely fluent in (what we now term) biblical Hebrew and could draw from and employ the full Hebrew lexicon as well as the various conventions of the language. Though there are indeed distinctive, stylistic characteristics to be observed in biblical texts—and especially in pentateuchal Priestly texts— these stylistic features cannot supersede the historical claims of the narrative in the hierarchy of evidence relevant to the analysis of sources and strata.42 With regard to Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3, taking seriously the nature of P as a narrative history means that references to the Sabbath elsewhere in the Priestly source must be taken into account. In the case of Exod 31 and 35, Gen 2:1–3 is of primary importance, as noted already. Exod 31:17 cites Friedman on His Sixtieth Birthday (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 93–109. For an underappreciated example of P’s productive integration of its various historical claims, see Jeffrey Stackert, “Why Does the Plague of Darkness Last for Three Days?: Source Ascription and Literary Motif in Exodus 10:21–23, 27,” VT (forthcoming). 40 See, inter alia, John Barton, Reading the Old Testament. Method in Biblical Study (rev. and enl.; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1996), 21–24. 41 Barton, Reading the Old Testament, 45–57 (esp. 56–57). 42 For further discussion of source-critical method, see Joel S. Baden, The Composition of the Pentateuch. Renewing the Documentary Hypothesis (ABRL; New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2011), forthcoming.

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

403

Gen 2:2–3 as the origin of and rationale for the Sabbath. By itself, this citation does not recommend assigning this verse or the larger unit to P or to a post-P compositional stratum, for both P and a later author with access to P could offer this cross reference. But if the reference to the Sabbath in Gen 2 (or all of Gen 1:1–2:4a) is assigned to H (or a different a post-P stratum), the reference to creation in Exod 31:17 cannot belong to P. As noted already, a few scholars have recently argued for the ascription of Gen 1:1–2:4a (or the Sabbath unit alone) to H. Yet these claims cannot be sustained. The style and theology that are the basis of the arguments offered in favor of assigning this unit to H are not unambiguously characteristic of H.43 Yet even more importantly, the Sabbath unit in Gen 2:1–3, which is inseparable from the rest of the creation narrative in Gen 1:1–2:4a, provides groundwork for P elsewhere in the Torah and is thus integrally tied to the larger P narrative.44 Even in the context of his assignment of Gen 1:1–2:4a to H, Milgrom sees in part the problem that he creates through this attribution. He notes the strong continuity between Gen 1:27 and 9:6 with regard to the image of God.45 Yet he fails to recognize that assigning Gen 1:27 to H but Gen 9:6, which cites the creation of humanity in the divine image, to the historically Amit (“Creation and the Calendar,” 25*) and Firmage (“Genesis 1,” 109–12) argue for an H ascription on the basis of terminology (‫שבת‬, D stem of ‫ )קד״ש‬and theology, including the alleged acceptance of divine anthropomorphism by H and rejection by P. Milgrom initially accepts these arguments and attempts to build upon them (Leviticus 17–22, 1344). However, following Knohl’s analysis, Milgrom later cautions against dividing between P and H on the basis of divine anthropomorphism (“HR in Leviticus,” 33 n. 35). In line with my argument above, I would add that the claim that only H can use the D stem of ‫ קד״ש‬is unsustainable because both P and H not only knew this root but were fully capable of creating a denominative verb from the noun ‫קדש‬. 44 Blum also recognizes the problem of the Sabbath in Gen 2:2–3 as a blind motif in P without an accompanying Sabbath command, but he problematically finds P’s command in Exod 20:8–11 (“Issues and Problems,” 42 n. 42). The argument that the Sabbath in Gen 2 replaces the element of Temple building in the stereotypical ancient Near Eastern creation myth (e.g., Howard N. Wallace, “Genesis 2:1–3—Creation and Sabbath,” Pacifica 1 [1988]: 235–50) does not alleviate the problem of Sabbath as a blind motif in P. In fact, if this argument, which is accompanied by a posited exilic, Templeless socio-historical setting, is granted, P is arguably in greater need of a Sabbath rule, for in such a case, the Sabbath takes on an even greater role in P (and in the life of the exilic community) and thus should receive even more intense treatment, including legislative attention. 45 Milgrom, “H in Leviticus,” 33 n. 35. R 43

404

JEFFREY STACKERT

anterior P leaves the rationale in Gen 9:6 without any force at the level of the narrative. The divine image is actually only one of several connections between the creation and flood texts in P that strongly recommends that these texts be assigned to the same Priestly stratum.46 Similar, close parallels between P’s creation account and its sanctuary building instructions and their fulfillment in Exod 25–29 (31) and 35–40 (especially chs. 39–40) confirm the inseparability of Gen 1:1–2:4a from P.47 It is thus more plausible to follow the argument that P sees the origin of the Sabbath in the creation of the world but its enjoinment upon Israel only once they reach Sinai.48 In this case, P is in need of a Sabbath command, and Exod 31:12– 17 should be considered an option for providing it, especially when both Exod 16 and 20 can be effectively ruled out.49 46 For example, P’s creation story explains the rationale for the Flood in P (failure to adhere to the divine instruction to eat only vegetation [Gen 1:29–30]) as well as the recurring command in P to “be fruitful and multiply” (e.g., Gen 1:22, 28; 8:17; 9:1, 7; cf. also Gen 17:2, 6, 20; 35:11; 47:27). Without Gen 1:1–2:4a, these features are insufficiently explained in P. For a recent attempt at delineating traditions and strata within the Priestly creation account, see Jürg Hutzli, “Tradition and Interpretation in Gen 1:1–2:4a,” JHS 10 (2010), article 12. 47 Scholars have focused especially on these connections between the P creation account and the Sinai tabernacle. See, inter alia, Moshe Weinfeld, “Sabbath, Temple and the Enthronement of the Lord – The Problem of the Sitz im Leben of Genesis 1:1–2:3,” A Caquot and M. Delcor (eds.), Mélanges bibliques et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Henri Cazelles (AOAT, 212; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), 501–12; Peter Weimar, “Sinai und Schöpfung: Komposition und Theologie der priesterschriftlichen Sinaigeschichte,” RB 95 (1988), 337–85; Nihan, From Priestly Torah, 54–58. 48 Schwartz, “Sabbath in the Torah Sources,” 12. 49 See Schwartz, “Sabbath in the Torah Sources,” 3–8; Baden, “Exodus 16,” 499–502. Schwartz argues that the Sabbath in Exod 16 belongs entirely to J. Yet even if part of the Sabbath material in Exod 16 does belong to P, Baden shows that a P portion of the chapter that includes discussion of the Sabbath must assume a prior Sabbath law and cannot by itself introduce the Sabbath in P. This problem is alleviated, however, when it is recognized that the P text has been relocated by the compiler from a point in the narrative after the Israelites’ departure from Horeb (Num 10:28) and sentence of forty years of wilderness wandering (Num 14:28–35). With regard to the Exodus Decalogue, Schwartz shows convincingly that the compiler is responsible for the Sabbath rationale in Exod 20:11. This rationale cannot belong to P because it contradicts P’s basic notion of Sabbath cessation (rather than rest). Moreover, it does not adjoin the preceding and succeeding P material. In this verse, as with ‫ וינפש‬in Exod 31:17, the compiler draws upon Exod 23:12 in his additions. The preceding Decalogue verses, Exod 20:8–10, are, in my

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

405

Such narrative factors are the starting point for isolating a P stratum in Exod 31:12–17. Moreover, based on both the evidence for P’s literary integrity prior to H’s supplementation of it and the method of H’s revision and supplementation of P observable elsewhere in the Torah,50 the P stratum in Exod 31:12–17 should be fully recoverable and coherent apart from H. Within this unit, there are multiple commands concerning the Sabbath. Yet only one—v. 15a—offers a basic definition of the Sabbath itself: ‫ששת ימים יעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי שבת שבתון קדש ליהוה‬ On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day there shall be a complete cessation, holy to the LORD.

The formulation of this law accords well with the historical myth of the Priestly narrative. Though P sees the origin of the Sabbath in the creation of the world itself, the Israelites must learn of it through divine revelation.51 view, inseparable from the rest of the Decalogue, which is an integral part of the Elohistic source (see, e.g., Menahem Haran, The Biblical Collection. Its Consolidation to the End of the Second Temple Times and Changes of Form to the End of the Middle Ages [Jerusalem: Magnes, 2004], 2: 157–64 [in Hebrew]; Baden, J, E, and the Redaction of the Pentateuch, 153–61; Baruch J. Schwartz, “What Really Happened at Mount Sinai?,” Bible Review 13.3 [1997], 20–30, 46). Though disagreeing on its particular shape, even scholars who discount the existence of an E source consider the Decalogue an integral part of a “mountain-of-God narrative” (to use Erhard Blum’s terminology) that is not Priestly (see, most recently, Erhard Blum, “The Decalogue and the Composition History of the Pentateuch,” Thomas B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch J. Schwartz [eds.], The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research [FAT, 78; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011], 289–301 [esp. 295–96, 298], as well as the literature cited there). Note, however, that Blum views the Sabbath command as secondary and “reworked in a priestly mode” (298). 50 On the nature of P as an independent and coherent literary source, see, inter alia, Klaus Koch, “P—Kein Redaktor!: Erinnerung an zwei Eckdaten der Quellenscheidung,” VT 37 (1987), 446–67; Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Priestly Account of the Theophany and the Lawgiving at Sinai,” Michael V. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, Temples, and Traditions. A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 103–34. On the nature of H’s revision and supplementation of P, see Stackert, “Holiness Legislation and its Pentateuchal Sources.” 51 In this respect, P’s view of the Sabbath is similar to its view of sacrifice, which is only instituted at Sinai. For a recent discussion of this issue, see William K. Gilders, “Sacrifice before Sinai and the Priestly Narratives,” Sarah Shectman and Joel S. Baden (eds.), The Strata of the Priestly Writings. Contemporary Debate and Future

406

JEFFREY STACKERT

The basic law in Exod 31:15a provides precisely this inaugural revelation of the Sabbath to the Israelites.52 In their position prior to the introduction of the notion of Sabbath in v. 15a, the references to “my Sabbaths” and “the Sabbath” in vv. 13 and 14 presume prior knowledge of the Sabbath and thereby short-circuit P’s claim of Israelite ignorance of the Sabbath. These references thus betray themselves as secondary, as I will discuss further below.53 As part of the larger P narrative, YHWH’s speech is also naturally preceded by a narrative introduction. Thus, the narrative framing of the unit in vv. 12–13aα should also belong to P. At a minimum, there is little reason to claim that it is secondary. These observations are fruitfully combined with and corroborated by a consideration of stylistic issues in the unit. The shift in Exod 31:12–17 between second person and third person address of the Israelites has long been noted.54 The basic law in v. 15, which I have just assigned to P, employs third person address (“anyone who does work on the Sabbath shall be put to death”). Verses 16–17 similarly address the Israelites in the third person (“The Israelites shall ever observe”; “between the Israelites and me”). As Olyan in particular has emphasized, vv. 16–17 are also devoid of characteristic H style.55 In fact, distinctive H terminology and theology is limited almost entirely to vv. 13aβ–14a (for the reference to ‫ שבתון‬in v. 15, see below). The second person plural address of Israel in vv. 13aβ–14a is also characteristic of H. The narrative issues already highlighted and the Directions (AThANT, 95; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag Zürich, 2009), 57–72. 52 Pace Olyan, who claims that the passive construction of Exod 31:15 is limited to H (“Exodus 31:12–17,” 205 n. 14). As noted already, such stylistic criteria by themselves are not reliable for identifying strata in the Priestly source. Both P and H were fully competent to formulate sentences in the passive voice. Examples of passive legal constructions in P include Lev 2:7, 8, 11; 6:9, 10, 14, 16, 19, 21, 23; 7:6, 15, 16, 18, etc. 53 Note in my translation below that I render the references to the Sabbath in vv 13–14 (H) as proper nouns (viz., “my Sabbaths” and “the Sabbath”) but the references to the Sabbath in vv 15-16 (P) as “cessation.” 54 See, e.g., von Rad, Priesterschrift, 62; Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität, 170. 55 Olyan, “Exodus 31:12–17,” 206. Though Olyan correctly notes that vv 16–17 are devoid of H characteristics, he views them as a “P unit of tradition” and not as part of a continuous narrative source. This is a necessary conclusion in his analysis, for vv 16–17 by themselves to do connect to anything that precede or follow them in P. In part out of a recognition of this problem, Olyan suggests that the P material in vv 16–17 may supplement H here. He also suggests that this later P tradent who supplemented H may be responsible for the final redaction of the Torah (206–8). Each of these suggestions reflects a neglect of the basic literary character of P as a continuous narrative with an internally coherent plot.

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

407

alternation in the grammatical person of the divine address to Israel thus combine in this case to provide a reliable basis for identifying strata in the text.56 Based on these initial observations, we may outline most of our stratification. The narratival framing for the divine speech to Moses is found in vv. 12–13aα. These verses should therefore be assigned to P. Verses 15a and 16–17 accord with P’s larger historical myth, address the Israelites in the third person and, with the exception of the word ‫ שבתון‬in v. 15a, are devoid of H style.57 We may thus assign vv. 12–13aα, the basic law in v. 15a, and vv. 16–17 to P. Verses 13aβ–14a are characterized by both H style and second person plural address of the Israelites. Moreover, as noted above, they are interruptive to P’s historical claims concerning the Sabbath. Verses 13aβ–14a may thus be assigned to H.58 At this point, we must address v. 14b and return to v. 15. In light of the assignment of vv. 13aβ–14a to H, v. 14b must also belong to H, for the punishment for transgressing the law cannot reasonably precede the law itself (v. 15a) in the P stratum. Verse 14b poses no such problem as part of the H stratum already identified. This half verse could also theoretically be a later addition, although this is an unnecessary conclusion. H’s style is prolix 56 Shifts in grammatical person, like shifts in grammatical number (Numeruswechsel) and other stylistic features, are not by themselves reliable markers of compositeness. However, they can be useful in individual cases in delineating separate origins for literary material. For an additional example of the usefulness of shifts in grammatical person, see Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 46–49. 57 The use of the divine first person in v 17 accords with Knohl’s claim that YHWH only uses the first person in discourse with Moses (Sanctuary of Silence, 95 nn. 119 and 120). When Moses delivers the Sabbath law to the Israelites, he does not relay the divine first person to them (Exod 35:1–2). 58 The word ‫ וינפש‬in v 17 likely comes from the pentateuchal compiler. In brief, the verb ‫ נפ״ש‬appears only here in biblical Priestly literature and indicates a positive, rest component that is otherwise absent from the Priestly Sabbath. This precise notion of Sabbath refreshment is found in Exod 23:12, a verse the pentateuchal compiler exploits for the verb ‫ נו״ח‬in his interpolation in Exod 20:11. It thus seems likely that the compiler inserted ‫ וינפש‬in Exod 31:17 to further harmonize the different legal portrayals of the Sabbath in the Torah. For a fuller discussion, see Jeffrey Stackert, “The Sabbath of the Land in the Holiness Legislation: Combining Priestly and Non-Priestly Perspectives,” CBQ 73 (2011), 239–50 (241–42). For a specific attempt to attribute ‫ וינפש‬in v 17 to H, see Amit, “Creation and the Calendar,” 25*. For similar observations on ‫ וינפש‬as part of a larger argument for the redactional origin of all of Exod 31:12–17, see Gross, “‘Rezeption’ in Ex 31,12–17,” 52.

408

JEFFREY STACKERT

and combines the kārēt penalty and the môt yûmat formula elsewhere (Lev 20:2–3).59 With regard to v. 15, the fulfillment notice in Exod 35:1–3 can help to sort out which parts of this verse should be assigned to P vs. H. If the base narrative in the Priestly source belongs to P, not only should the narrative framing in Exod 31:12–13aα belong to P; the fulfillment narrative in Exod 35:1–3 should also contain a P stratum. Exod 35:1 is purely narratival and corresponds closely with the formulation of Exod 31:12–13aα. Exod 35:2 corresponds with Exod 31:15, with a few small but important differences: Exod 31:15

‫ששת ימים יעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי שבת שבתון קדש ליהוה כל‬ ‫העשה מלאכה ביום השבת מות יומת‬ On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day is a complete cessation, holy to the LORD. Anyone who does work on the cessation day shall surely be put to death. Exod 35:2

‫ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי יהיה לכם קדש שבת שבתון‬ ‫ליהוה כל העשה בו מלאכה יומת‬ On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day shall be your holy occasion, a complete cessation of the LORD. Anyone who does work on it shall be put to death.

As noted already, the work stoppage requirement in Exod 31:15a should be assigned to P. The attendant capital punishment in v. 15b for those who neglect this rule follows directly from it and thus may be assigned to P as well. Several scholars have noted that the term ‫ שבתון‬is characteristic of H.60 I would suggest that in Exod 31:15a, ‫ שבתון‬and‎ ‫ קדש‬both originate from H, a claim supported by the alternative formulation in Exod 35:2. 61 59 Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 16. On the compositional integrity of the combination of kārēt and the môt yûmat formula in Lev 20:2–3, see Schwartz, Holiness Legislation, 54–55. 60 If Baden’s source division is to be followed, it is possible that ‫ שבתון‬belongs to P (Baden, “Exodus 16,” 494–96). However, it is also possible that Baden’s P source in Exod 16 has been supplemented by H. 61 Note that this claim differs from the arguments of Amit and Firmage

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

409

The latter verse introduces a second person plural address to the Israelites (‫)יהיה לכם קדש‬. Both because of H’s emphasis upon the holiness of the Sabbath generally and because this second person address is grammatically linked to this verse’s reference to the Sabbath’s holiness, it is likely that it belongs to H.62 If this is the case, its corresponding variant in Exod 31:15 should also be assigned to H. H’s inconsistent interjection of second person plural formulation leads to the differing formulations of the same idea in Exod 31:15a and 35:2. For its part, the underlying P text in both Exod 31 and 35 is consistent and coherent. Three observations remain. First, Exod 35:2 does not employ the cognate infinitive absolute in the construction ‫מות יומת‬, as 31:15b does. In light of H’s penchant for this construction, including its appearance in H in Exod 31:14a, it is possible (perhaps even likely) that ‫ מות‬in v. 15 also belongs to H.63 Second, Exod 35:3 belongs to H. It is characterized by second person plural address to the Israelites, and, as several scholars have noted, it corresponds closely with the case of the woodgatherer in Num 15:32–36 (H).64 It is also possible that the LXX, which concludes verse with the typical H expression ἐγὼ κύριος (“I am the LORD” = ‫)אני יהוה‬, preserves an older reading.65 Finally, this division of strata accounts for the doubled reference to the Sabbath as a sign (vv. 13b and 17a) and the duplication of commands and penalties in the unit (vv. 13–16), including the specific verbal parallels between vv. 14 and 15 and vv. 14 and 16.66 discussed above for the attribution of the root ‫ קד״ש‬to H (see n. 42). I do not suggest here that ‫ קדש‬belongs to H because this lexeme (or root) is employed solely by H. Rather, it is the combination of the alternative formulation between Exod 31:15 and 35:2 and the inseparability of the reference to the Sabbath’s holiness in 35:2 from the second person plural formulation there that suggest an H attribution. 62 Note that it also corresponds closely with Exod 31:14a, which can be assigned to H on independent grounds. 63 In addition to Exod 31:14–15, (‫ מות יומת(ו‬appears in H in Lev 20:2, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 27; 24:16, 17; 27:29; Num 15:35; 35:16, 17, 18, 21, 31. 64 See, e.g., Chavel, “Numbers 15, 32–36,” 45–49. 65 As noted by several scholars, including Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 16; Milgrom, “HR in Leviticus,” 29. It is likewise possible that LXX here reflects a late interpolation, but the assignment of this verse to H stands regardless of the LXX reading. 66 Scholars have given extensive attention to these duplications (see the summary in Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität, 170–71). Michael V. Fox argues that these duplications are insufficient for identifying strata (“Sign of the Covenant: Circumcision in the Light of the Priestly ‘ôt Etiologies,” RB 81 [1974], 557–96

410

JEFFREY STACKERT

Thus, my proposed stratifications of Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 are as follows (with P underscored; H unmarked; R double underscored): ‫ ואתה דבר אל בני ישראל לאמר אך‬13 ‫ ויאמר יהוה אל משה לאמר‬12 ‫את שבתתי תשמרו כי אות הוא ביני וביניכם לדרתיכם לדעת כי אני‬ ‫יהוה מקדשכם‬ ‫ ושמרתם את השבת כי קדש הוא לכם מחלליה מות יומת כי כל‬14 ‫העשה בה מלאכה ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מקרב עמיה‬ ‫ ששת ימים יעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי שבת שבתון קדש ליהוה כל‬15 ‫העשה מלאכה ביום השבת מות יומת‬ ‫ ושמרו בני ישראל את השבת לעשות את השבת לדרתם ברית עולם‬16 ‫ ביני ובין בני ישראל אות הוא לעלם כי ששת ימים עשה יהוה את‬17 ‫השמים ואת הארץ וביום השביעי שבת וינפש‬ ‫ ויקהל משה את כל עדת בני ישראל ויאמר אלהם אלה הדברים אשר‬1 ‫צוה יהוה לעשת אתם‬ ‫ ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי יהיה לכם קדש שבת שבתון‬2 ‫ליהוה כל העשה בו מלאכה יומת‬ ‫ לא תבערו אש בכל משבתיכם ביום השבת‬3 12

The LORD said to Moses, 13 “As for you, speak to the Israelites, ‘Surely my Sabbaths you shall observe, for it is a sign between you and me in perpetuity that you may know that I, the LORD, sanctify you. 14 You shall keep the Sabbath, for it is holy to you. The one who defiles it shall surely be put to death. Indeed, anyone who does work on it—that person shall be cut off from the midst of his people. 15 On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day is a complete cessation, holy to the LORD. Anyone who does work on the cessation day shall surely be put to death. 16 The Israelites shall ever keep the cessation, carrying out the cessation, as a perpetual requirement. 17 It is a perpetual sign between the Israelites and me, for in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, but on the seventh day he ceased and refreshed himself.’” [576]). He suggests instead that there is likely older material taken up and integrated by P into its composition here. As I have argued, however, the existence of strata is more likely and is supported by more evidence than duplication.

COMPOSITIONAL STRATA IN THE PRIESTLY SABBATH

411

1

Moses assembled all the congregation of the Israelites, and he said to them, “These are the words that the LORD commanded be done: 2 On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day shall be your holy occasion, a complete cessation of the LORD. Anyone who does work on it shall be put to death. 3 Do not kindle a fire in any of your habitations on the cessation day.”

THE SABBATH IN H Because it is supplementary, the H stratum in Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1–3 requires explanation. In each of these texts, as elsewhere in H, H supports P’s basic view of the Sabbath. Its supplements in Exod 31:12–17 and 35:1– 3 accentuate further the sanctity of the Sabbath, both through explicit reference to its holiness and by prohibition of its desecration.67 The formulation of Exod 35:2 also corresponds closely with Lev 23:3, where the Sabbath is uniquely designated by (a late stratum of) H as a ‫מקרא קדש‬, “a sacred occasion,” which seems to be the meaning (albeit in abbreviated form) of ‫ קדש‬in Exod 35:2.68 H also emphasizes the Sabbath’s role in the sanctification of the Israelite laity, a theological concern that distinguishes H from P.69 This latter focus, which defines the Sabbath as a “sign” (‫ )אות‬in v. 13, stresses the point made especially in Lev 19:3 and 30 that Sabbath observance is directly related to Israelite lay holiness.

CONCLUDING REMARKS In conclusion, I hope to have shown that an appreciation for the nature of the Priestly source as a narrative history has significant implications for the stratification of the Sabbath law in Exod 31:12–17 and Moses’s recitation of it in Exod 35:1–3. Attention to the basic narrative genre of P and the historical claims of its plot provides a reliable solution to the impasse created by an over-reliance upon stylistic features in distinguishing Priestly strata. H’s supplements to P in these texts, as elsewhere, accentuate H’s special interests, but they also affirm and build upon the basic historical myth and theological framework of P. 67 Nihan argues that H is specifically concerned to include the Sabbath among the sancta not to be defiled (v 14) (From Priestly Torah, 568). 68 For discussions of the status of Lev 23:3 as belonging to a late stratum of H, see, e.g., Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 14–15; Nihan, “Israel’s Festival Calendars,” 202. 69 Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 189–92. On notions of holiness in P and H, see also Baruch J. Schwartz, “Holiness in the Torah Traditions,” 52–59; David P. Wright, “Holiness in Leviticus and Beyond: Differing Perspectives,” Int 53 (1999), 351–64; Stackert, “Sabbath of the Land,” 245–50.

412

JEFFREY STACKERT

This analysis by implication also calls into question various theories about the growth of the Priestly source, including the distinction between Pg and Ps. It points to the possibility of a Priestly source that runs through the entire Torah and that is comprised of a primary, narrative stratum, P, that was subsequently supplemented by H.70 By itself, this study hardly sustains such a far reaching claim, but I hope that it provides useful data for future discussions of such issues.

70 Note that this view does not rule out the possibility of earlier, pre-P traditions or even texts being employed in the composition of the P source. Nor does it rule out H’s use of pre-existing materials.

REVIEWS

Anderson, Gary A., SIN: A HISTORY (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009). Pp. xv + 253. Hardback, $30.00. ISBN 9780300149890. Reviewed by Micah D. Kiel St. Ambrose University, Davenport, IA Anderson’s book proceeds in three parts. Part one introduces the problem by looking closely at the linguistic and conceptual background of terminology associated with the idea of sin in the Bible. After noting that defining sin is not as easy as one might think, Anderson moves to an explanation of his assertion that “sin has a history” (6), one most commonly expressed through metaphor. The different metaphors at work in Leviticus (the scapegoat tradition) and the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew (metaphor of debt) demonstrate sin’s multifarious background. Sin as a burden comprises the most common metaphor for sin in the First Temple period (17). Anderson notes that the important component of the idiom in the Hebrew Bible is not the noun but the verb, either ‫כבס‬ or ‫נשא‬. When the emphasis is on human culpability, the phrase should be translated as “to bear the burden of one’s sin” (20). In other contexts, ‫נשא‬ has a secondary meaning, and the idiom can mean to remove the burden of sin (20). The idiom of bearing or removing a burden renders to sin a certain “thingness,” which helps further contextualize the goat ritual on the Day of Atonement, in which the weight of Israel’s sins is placed on the animal. In this ritual, the “physical material wrought by the sin (its ‘thingness’) had to be removed” (23). 413

414

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Anderson then addresses an entirely new metaphor for sin that develops in later texts and contexts: sin as a debt to be repaid. In the Targumim and elsewhere, he finds that the traditional metaphor of sin as bearing a weight has been changed to assuming a debt. Sin becomes a “bond of indebtedness deducted from one’s balance sheet” (29). In the Qumran scrolls, Anderson finds evidence of places where the traditional Hebrew Bible understanding of sin as a weight has been influenced by the “contemporary idiom” of sin as debt (34). Part two of the book takes up the broader concept of making repayment for debt. Anderson focuses first on Isa 40:2 and its usage of the word ‫רצה‬. A word that originally meant a debt made in the context of a vow “naturally comes to mean someone who is quit of his obligation to repay debt that has accrued through sin” (53). This concept is then further explored in the study of Lev 25–26, which discusses the role of the payment of debt by the land itself, especially as exemplified in the exile. Reflections from Jeremiah are further added to the conversation. Jeremiah makes explicit (70 years) the length of probationary suffering hinted at in Leviticus. Anderson further explores this phenomenon of predicting and calculating the end in Daniel and some literature from Qumran as well. What emerges is the metaphor of sin as a “debt to be paid” can be found across a wide swath of Israel’s scriptures. To this evidence Anderson adds a considerable discussion of early rabbinic literature, finding an overlap between the language of sin and forgiveness and commerce (96). In rabbinic literature, the interchange between commercial and religious terminology is “altogether organic and harmonious” (96). Anderson ends section two of the book with examples of early Christian thinking on the atonement. The starting point for this is Col 2:14, a text that connects the death of Jesus with language of indebtedness. This text proved generative, however, in the examples Anderson provides from Syriac Christianity and from Augustine in the West. Anderson is resuscitating the Christus Victor model of atonement by showing its biblical roots and its pervasiveness within nascent Christianity. His assessment of the evidence leads to the conclusion that there is a “slow but steady penetration of the metaphor of sin as debt into every aspect of Greek- and Latin-speaking Christianity” (131). In part three of the book, Anderson addresses the conceptual opposite of debt, the metaphor of credit. Close examination of Nebuchadnezzar’s ability to redeem his sins by almsgiving (Dan 4:12–13) and of the Book of Tobit’s insistence that almsgiving “directly funds a treasury in heaven” (146) coordinates well with many of the synoptic gospel sayings about storing up treasure in heaven in the New Testament (e.g., Matt 19:16–30). Such a

REVIEWS

415

metaphor raises the specter of salvation by works, which Anderson does not shy away from. He does, however, make observations intended to nuance its traditional formulation. For instance, the texts clearly demonstrate that almsgiving is not purely a human work; humans are playing by God’s rules, and God has gamed this system to benefit humans (160). Thus, acquiring merits through benefaction to the poor need not be an “ecumenical stumbling block” because of its grounding in biblical and later tradition. Anderson’s book ends with an analysis of Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo. Anderson thinks that Anselm’s treatise has been too readily dismissed in recent theological conversation. A big reason for this has been the lack of ability to see the biblical roots of the debt metaphor. On the contrary, based on the work of Anderson’s book, he claims that Anselm’s argument seems “deeply biblical” (190) and that Anselm’s argument should remain a “point of departure” for understanding the atonement today (202). There is much to commend this volume. Its ability to work diligently with the trees, while being guided by the forest, is laudable. Anderson attends to close textual, philological, and historical matters with a keen insight for theological implications that is almost unmatched in the guild today. The evidence leads him to reconsider and recast theological ideas many today find unpalatable, especially Anselm’s atonement theory and the idea of salvation by works. There are lingering questions when one fishes this book, however. One might ask: are there any historical/cultural reasons why these metaphors developed and changed over time? At times, Anderson will hint at such inducement, but never with significant detail. The concept of sin and the remission of debt certainly gained currency in the Second Temple period, but Anderson’s access to it is at the level of detailed linguistic, lexical, and grammatical analysis. For example, with regard to 11QMelchizedek (pp. 33–39), he demonstrates that the concept of sin as debt is established over a more dated one. He notes that the text had been following biblical Hebrew idioms quite closely, but when a metaphor for sin is needed, “in rushes the colloquial Hebrew from the Second Temple period” (37). This makes his argument sound as if the change is simply a matter of phraseology. His linguistic analysis provides evidence for how “deeply the metaphor [of sin as debt] had penetrated,” but this leaves unanswered questions of how or why (38). This book’s acumen, clarity, and penetrating analysis make it a must read for all biblical scholars who are in any way interested in the connection between texts and theology. It is commendable not only for its own argument, but also as a model for how critical exegesis of biblical texts may be brought to bear on modern, pressing theological issues.

416

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Nakhai, Beth Alpert (ed.), THE WORLD OF WOMEN IN THE ANCIENT AND CLASSICAL NEAR EAST (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008). Pp. xviii + 215. Hardcover, $59.00. ISBN 9781443800303. Reviewed by Elaine T. James Princeton Theological Seminary This collection is comprised of select papers presented in the “World of Women: Gender and Archaeology” section of ASOR from 2000–2007. Taken together, these nine essays focus on reconstructing pieces of women’s history in the ancient and classical world from the archaeological record. The primary contributions of the book are in highlighting the important economic and social role that women must have played in ancient societies, and the need for further analysis with specific attention to gender. The introduction helpfully orients the reader to the lacunae in the field that make this book needful—and which inspired the formation of the ASOR section: an examination of ASOR meeting papers from the 1970s to the late 1990s revealed that “many more papers had been devoted to pigs than to women” (p. ix). This observation reveals a legitimate and ongoing concern for the lack of attention to real women in historical and archaeological inquiry into the ancient and classical Near East. It may overstate the case somewhat, since significant research has been done in recent decades, even if it is not adequately represented in ASOR papers (including, for example, significant monographs and articles by P. Bird, C. Meyers, S. Ackerman, Z. Bahrani, to name only a few). Also included in this introduction is a welcome bibliography of other papers presented at the section that have been published in other venues. The following comments briefly review each essay in turn. Chapter One, “Dark Men, Light Women: Origins of Color as Gender Indicator in Ancient Egypt,” by Mary Ann Eaverly, analyzes the color stylization in ancient Egyptian sculpture and painting in which men are painted dark brown or red and women are painted white or yellow. The phenomenon has been traditionally attributed to a kind of labor realism:

REVIEWS

417

since men would have worked outside, their skin would have been darkened by sun exposure. Eaverly argues instead that “color differentiation is part of the broader ideological framework promoted to support the establishment of pharaonic rule,” (p. 11) one that understood male and female as representing one of the pairs of opposites that constitute and maintain maat-order, balance, and justice. How exactly this constituted an ideological program, how it advanced a view of pharaoh as a guarantor of this equilibrium, will require further explication. The second essay is among the strongest of the volume. Aubrey Baadsgaard’s essay entitled “A Taste of Women’s Sociality: Cooking as Cooperative Labor in Iron Age Syro-Palestine,” is an immensely informative and well-documented treatment of ovens in Iron Age SyroPalestine. The survey’s ideological edge revolves around the observation that many ovens have been found in highly accessible and public areas that locates cooking in a central and communal role. This challenges the assumption that women’s work would have been private, and emphasizes women’s sociality and the prominence of cooking for important communal activities, including religious and historical events. Chapter Three, “Baking and Brewing Beer in the Israelite Household: A Study of Women’s Cooking Technology,” a collaborative piece between Jennie R. Ebeling and Michael M. Homan, similarly examines women’s labor and makes broader connections to the cultural significance of the tasks of domestic food production. While the brief discussion of an ancient Israelite beer goddess is too speculative to be compelling, this essay points to important areas for further research, especially the close connection between brewing and baking practices and women’s role in their production. Deborah Cassuto’s excellent discussion of loom weights and women’s labor, entitled “Bringing the Artifacts Home: A Social Interpretation of Loom Weights in Context,” is a methodological example of where to find women (especially non-royal women) in the archaeological record. She uses comparative ethnographic data and points to loom weights and their distribution in order to track where and in what contexts women would have performed their work in Iron Age Israel. Chapter Five, “Infant Mortality and Women’s Religion in the Biblical Periods,” by Elizabeth Ann R. Willett, brings the ubiquitous ancient experience of birth and infant mortality into dialogue with archaeology and sociology of religion. Her thesis that a woman’s household would have been “the center of her religious as well as her economic activity,” (p. 95) is plausible, if it remains somewhat speculative. Ethnographic parallels cited are not always self-evidently apropos: the author gives an example from Athens, in which the mother “cares for the spiritual needs of family

418

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

members as does the priest in the community’s church. Although the husband may be ‘head of the family,’ she is paradoxically its central figure through her association with ‘essential objects’ and hence the sacred dimension” (p. 97). Such a claim needs to be substantiated, and its relevance for the ancient Near Eastern context more firmly established. Chapter Six “Mut’a Marriage in the Roman Near East: The Evidence from Palmyra, Syria,” by Cynthia Finlayson, is predicated on the notion that marriage is one of the most revealing manifestations of women’s social roles. She examines a few examples of funerary portraits in Palmyra, Syria, in the light of Islamic mut’a (temporary or usufruct) marriage practices. Whether these portraits in fact reveal examples of this is not entirely clear, nor is it obvious how such examples might reveal a “matriarchal” form of marriage. Marica C. Cassis’ essay “A Restless Silence: Women in the Byzantine Archaeological Record,” comprises chapter seven. In it, she offers a helpful framework for considering how archaeology contributes to knowledge of women in the ancient world. Her “gendered archaeology” has three uses: 1. Reassessing the privileging of written sources (which usually come from a male elite); 2. Extrapolating from written sources and other artifacts what constitutes “female space”; 3. In the absence of written and clearly gendered artifacts, asking gendered questions can help to include women in archaeological contexts. She then turns to the considering examples of how gendered archaeology contributes to the study of the Byzantine Empire. She critiques scholarly assumptions about what structures are assumed to be “male spaces” (as in the example of her own work at Çadir Höyuk) and argues that evidence for domestic life (including the absence of weaponry, extensive household artifacts, cooking pots, and jewelry) speaks loudly to the presence of a female population at the site. This observation, she notes, “lies at the crux of gendering space. By moving away from traditional androcentric definitions of space, it becomes necessary … to reevaluate our former interpretations of some Byzantine structures” (p. 152). Her approach offers a model for this type of project. Chapter 8, “Fe(male) Potters as the Personification of Individuals, Places, and Things as Known from Ethnoarchaeological Studies,” by Gloria London, takes the discussion somewhat afield from the ancient Near East, centering largely on modern Cyprus. Her analysis is suggestive for further pottery investigation, as it focuses on differentiation among pottery of a single tradition, which may reveal the hand of particular potters. While it is difficult to disagree that “[t]here is a good chance that both the makers and the users [of ceramics] were women,” the study itself does little to substantiate the speculation.

REVIEWS

419

The book’s final essay is the most disparate piece of the collection. Kevin M. McGeough and Elizabeth A. Galway have collaborated in a piece entitled “‘Working Egyptians of the World Unite!’: How Edith Nesbit Used Near Eastern Archaeology and Children’s Literature to Argue for Social Change.” In Victorian England, activist Edith Nesbit used a children’s story, The Story of the Amulet to subvert the status quo and to promote her socialist agenda. While the article is quite interesting, it is difficult to ascertain its applicability to the theme of women in the ancient and classical world. On the whole, this collection of essays is insightful, and a welcome contribution to the study of women in the ancient world—particularly nonelite women and their everyday lives. Even the essays with a slightly more speculative tone serve to remind the reader that gender-related questions themselves reveal much both about the ancient world, and about scholarly (often androcentric) biases.

Grabbe, Lester L. (ed.), ISRAEL IN TRANSITION: FROM LATE BRONZE II TO IRON IIA (C. 1250–850 B.C.E.) VOLUME 1. THE ARCHAEOLOGY (LHBOTS, 491; ESHM, 7; New York: T&T Clark, 2008). Pp. xii+239. Hardcover. US$130.00. ISBN 9780567027269. Reviewed by Trent C. Butler Contract Writer and Editor, Gallatin, TN Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze to Iron IIa (c. 1250–850 B.C.E.) Volume 1: The Archaeology is a book I have been waiting for to bring me up to date on the archaeological approaches to the beginning of the Hebrew settlement and early monarchy. The editor’s personal introduction and conclusion warns me, however, of setting expectations too high. I will find “a lack of consistent terminology,” the division of the Iron Age into two or three main divisions, differing chronologies for each of the various Iron Age divisions, various technical terminology used for chronological systems, differing terminology for the important Philistine pottery, etc. This thin book does not settle these archaeological issues, but it does show how a historian responds to the language of ‘archaeologese’ and lets an exegete

420

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

know that archaeology is more technical, less biblical, and more worldembracing in its outlook than ever. Major practicing archaeologists participated in the seminar at the University of Hull on April 24–27, 2006. Some of the papers update the bibliography another year or two. Grabbe’s introduction (pp. 3–18) gives a provocative overview of each of the contributions. Shlomo Bunimovitz and Zvi Lederman (pp. 21–31: “A Border Case: Beth-Shemesh and the Rise of Ancient Israel”) see the identity of Israel built on the western boundaries with the Philistines, not in the eastern highlands, ethnicity coming from inclusion and exclusion under the stress of living on the border. Iron I Beth-Shemesh shows a continuation of Late Bronze Canaanite culture at least to 1100 BCE but with a complete absence of pig bones, a practice that appears to have begun in the Shephelah and extended into the highlands and may identify Beth-Shemesh as an Israelite town. The famous “Four-room house” apparently developed on the Canaanite Shephelah. Israel Finkelstein, Alexander Fantalkin, and Eliezer Piasetsky (pp. 32– 44: “Three Snapshots of the Iron IIA: The Northern Valleys, the Southern Steppe, and Jerusalem”) acknowledge that their “low chronology” has caused differences with other archaeologists represented in this volume. Archaeologist

Iron I/II Transition

Mazar, et al 1100’s to end of Egyptian rule 970 Iron I c. 1125 to 970

Finkelstein

Herzog

Knauf

Iron IIa Range

Relevance of Tel Rehov

970–840

Earlier Iron I/II dates than North

925 to 900 925–845

Measures same as other sites

Importance of Judah state Arad and origin Shoshenq I

Southern cities abandoned, not destroyed; Late Iron IIa prosperity increased; th = 9 century Egypt sought control not destruction Arad XII/950; Iron II starts 950 10th century Jerusalem/ Benjamin; later spread north

REVIEWS

421

Norma Franklin (pp. 45–53: “Jezreel Before and After Jezebel”) isolates three Iron Age phases at Jezreel: intense agricultural activity, pre-enclosure, and rectangular enclosure. The master plans for Samaria, Megiddo, and Jezreel are not from Omride but from a post-Omride dynasty, probably Jeroboam II (contra Finkelstein). Ann E. Killebrew (pp. 54–71: “Aegean-Style Pottery and Associated Assemblages in the Southern Levant: Chronological Implications Regarding the Transition from the Late Bronze II to the Iron I and the Appearance of the Philistines”) traces Mycenaean-style pottery. Producer

Time

Mainland Greece 1400–1200 Eastern Mediterranean sites

End of 13th century

Pottery All Mycenaean-style pottery Mycenaean-style pottery

Phase I (14th to 13thcentury) Phase II (Late 13th, early 12th century Phase III (1200– Southern Levant 1150)=locally produced Mycenaean IIIb late (Simple or Derivative IIIb) Few in northern Canaan

LevantoHelladic/Mycenaean IIIc:1a/Mycenaean IIIc early

Aegean/Southern Iron I coastal plain

High chronology Early Mycenaean (1200) Middle Chronology Mycenaean (1175) IIIc:1b/Mycenaean IIIc Bichrome (1150) early to middle I Low (1140) Modified Low (1160) Bichrome (after 1100)

Killebrew concludes that early Iron I Philistine levels offer no absolute chronological indicators. The Philistine settlement was complex, multiepisodal, and extends beyond defeat of Sea Peoples by Rameses III with multiple arrivals from 1200 to 1150 BCE. Philistines could only have arrived

422

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

in the southern coastal plain after Egyptians left. They arrived most likely under Rameses VI. Ernst Axel Knauf (pp. 72–85: “From Archeology [sic] to History: Bronze and Iron Ages with Special Regard to the Year 1200 BCE and the Tenth Century”) states emphatically that to date archaeological periods by historical events is absurd. Why date a period to 1200 BCE when nothing special happened in that year? He is convinced that the Exodus and conquest did not occur, only fundamentalists continuing to believe in them. The core of the tradition emerges from Sethnakht’s expulsion of Asians in 1186/85 BCE. Knauf chooses to do macro-history of the Mediterranean with a special look at shipwreck statistics that indicate the intensity of trade. This reveals a deep trade trough in the 12th to 10th centuries BCE. Knauf holds out the possibility that a trade upsurge began in the 10th century BCE in southern and central Canaan based on Arabah copper production. Phoenicia took over trade dominance in the 9th century BCE based on Cyprus copper. Amihai Mazar (pp. 97–120: “From 1200 to 850 BCE: Remarks on Some Selected Archaeological Issues”) defends more traditional dating of archaeological finds. Among other issues he claims: 1. Egypt’s 20th dynasty weakened. 2. Canaanites remained in northern plains until c. 1000 with flourishing urban and rural culture. 3. Megiddo has evidence of Canaanite, Phoenician, Sea Peoples culture. 4. Finkelstein’s expectation that contemporary sites should have similar pottery is right in principle but not applicable to every case. 5. Dor’s extraordinary growth came from Ugarit and Hittites. 6. C14 dates from Iron IIa show 10th and 9th century results. 7. Mycenaean IIIc:1b comes from the period of the 20th Dynasty of Egypt following Rameses III’s battle

REVIEWS

423

with Sea Peoples and marks Philistine immigration from Aegean. Specialized Philistine pottery did not immediately become traded due to the newcomers’ cultural isolation. Gradually, Philistine bichrome ware emerged about 1125. 8. Philistines created large urban areas with an economy based on farming and local industry but did not immigrate into northern Israel. 9. The structures in Jerusalem come from the 11th to 10th century and show Jerusalem as a power base for a strong ruler like David. A Temple Mount construction would expand Jerusalem to a size fit for the capital of a large territorial state under Solomon. “Archeological evidence supports the existence of contemporary polities mentioned in the biblical narrative relating to David and Solomon” (109). Beth Alpert Nakhai (pp. 121–37: “Contextualizing Village Life in the Iron Age I”) points to villages dominating reduced urban centers in Iron I. She shows the disparate distribution through Palestine and the variety of lifestyles in various areas. Area

Urban Signs

Villages

Upper Galilee

City States of Tyre, Hazor, Akko Egyptian/Canaanite control in Jezreel and Beth-shean valleys

62 new Iron I sites

Lower Galilee

Central Large complex Highlands towns in Benjamin

Judean Hill Country

24 fairly large sites between Jerusalem and Hebron; Negev sites complex

Several dozen new sites 70% Iron I settlements here of which 90% in Manasseh and Ephraim (Ai, Bethel, Shiloh)

Transition New Power Base from Late Bronze Kinneret replaces Retained city Hazor states New sites New regional trade continuing from after Egyptian LB; resettlement withdrawal of older cities Canaanites in Shechem, Dothan, Tell elFarah North Earlier ways of Leadership by elite life in new in some villages community settings

424

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Nakhai notes the need for complexity in creating models to explain Iron I and Israelite settlement which represents a wide variety of responses to “human and environmental imperatives” (125). Central highlands houses were simply functional workstations. Ronny Reich, Eli Shukron, and Omri Lernau (pp. 138–143: “The Iron Age II Finds from the Rock-cut ‘Pool’ near the Spring in Jerusalem: A Preliminary Report”) describe distinctively different Late Iron pottery, seals and bullae without writing, and over 7,000 fish bones. They deduce a nearby administrative city, perhaps imported from Phoenicia via Israel. Bruce Routledge (pp. 144–76: “Thinking ‘Globally’ and Analyzing ‘Locally’: South-Central Jordan in Transition”) points to great international changes between Late Bronze II and Iron IIb reaching into southeast Anatolia. This brought great regional variation. In Jordan he finds wellfortified villages and large-scale construction but short-lived settlements. He finds the evidence points to the sudden formation of kingdoms in Moab and Ammon in Iron IIa. This shows Routledge that settlements before monarchy are not necessarily unfortified, egalitarian, or stable. No one model can explain all the instances of the rise of monarchy. Han Sharon, Ayelet Gilboa, and Elisabetta Boaretto (pp. 177–92: “The Iron Age Chronology of the Levant: The State-of-Research at the 14C Dating Project, Spring 2006”) introduce the latest information from Carbon 14 dating with quite some complexity leading to the acceptance of the Low Chronology pattern with the LB transition to Iron I set about 900 BCE. They admit gaps occurring between results of different laboratories. They come to conclusions about the use of C14: do not rely on a single site, replication is absolutely needed, caution is called for in eliminating any measurements, the fit of a model must be investigated with regard to each data set. They posit that most archaeologists no longer believe in a Davidic empire based on dating an archaeological stratum through the use of biblical texts. Instead, the majority of scholars work from “qualified skepticism” rather than “guarded credulity.” They conclude: “We are all minimalists.” Margaret Steiner (pp, 193–202: “Propaganda in Jerusalem: State Formation in Iron Age Judah”) admits to the scarcity of evidence for what happened in Judah before the 8thcentury BCE. She differentiates a mature state, which Judah did not have, a chiefdom, and an early state, Judah becoming the latter at the start of Iron II. In that period Jerusalem showed a territory with loose boundaries, a military-leader as ruler, who has to legitimate himself, a monopoly of force, two social classes, small administrative apparatus, a traveling ruler without a fixed court but with a capital, monumental architecture, and the demand for prestige goods. Jerusalem may have been the largest town in Judah or Israel. It did not have

REVIEWS

425

mature state characteristics of craft specializations, standing army, money, regular tax levies, or a large bureaucracy. David Ussishkin (pp. 203–16: “The Date of the Philistine Settlement in the Coastal Plain: The View from Megiddo and Lachish,” 203–16) sees northern Megiddo and southern Lachish as the key sites for Palestine archaeology. The Sea Peoples are pictured in ox carts, not on the sea. The Egyptian strength at Megiddo would have forced the Philistines to fight north of Megiddo, not near Egypt. Philistines moved into southern coastal plain after 1130. Lachish was apparently another Egyptian administrative center with strong trade in lumber and fish, indicating ties to the southern coast. No meaningful Philistine pottery appeared at Lachish, which the Sea Peoples apparently destroyed around 1150. In his conclusion (219–32) Grabbe raises the issue of how the Bible can still play a central role for so many archaeologists. He points to ethnicity as a major issue at the heart of all others and to pronouncements by archaeologists on technical methods they do not fully understand. He asks what material culture and dates can be associated with the Philistines and concedes no date can be given to Judean state formation. Grabbe does find reality in the telling of the Saul and the David stories, but basically dismisses the Solomon material as the tale of an Oriental monarch, leaving the possibility that he built a temple. Overall, Grabbe finds little difference in the views of Finkelstein and Mazar on the possibility of a United Monarchy. Both see much fiction in the biblical accounts, and each compares David to a typical ‘apiru leader like Labayu of Shechem. So Grabbe finishes by demanding that archaeology serve as the central core of any future history of Israel.

426

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Klauk, Hans-Josef, B. McGinn, P. Mendes-Flohr, C.-L. Seow, H. Spieckermann, B. D. Walfish, E. Ziolkowski (eds.), ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE BIBLE AND ITS RECEPTION: AARON–ANICONISM (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2009). Pp. xxxiv+1224. Hardcover. US$369.00. ISBN 9783110183559. Reviewed by Stephen Westerholm McMaster University The Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception: Aaron-Aniconism marks the launching of a projected thirty-volume Bible encyclopedia (the second volume is also in print; the Encyclopedia is being made available online as well) designed to cover all the topics included in the standard Bible dictionaries (e.g., Anchor Bible Dictionary, [New] Interpreter’s Bible Dictionary), but also the (very broadly construed) reception history of the Bible. In the former case, “EBR aspires to completeness…in its coverage of the scriptures themselves and their formation” (p. xi); in the latter case, it is meant to document “the history of the Bible’s reception in Judaism and Christianity as evident in exegetical literature, theological and philosophical writings of various genres, literature, liturgy, music, the visual arts, dance, and film, as well as in Islam and other religious traditions and contemporary movements” (p. ix). Furthermore, the encyclopedia aims to distinguish itself from earlier reference works by “tak[ing] stock of the major shift that has occurred [recently] in most disciplines of the humanities…to an orientation informed by what has come to be called ‘cultural studies’” (p. x). The appearance in English of an encyclopedia published by Walter de Gruyter reflects the realization that “English [is] becoming the predominant language of discourse in religious studies and theology” (p. vii). The work of the Encyclopedia has been divided into five “domains,” each overseen by one or two “main editors”: Hebrew Bible/Old Testament (Choon-Leong Seow, Hermann Spieckermann); New Testament (HansJosef Klauck); the influence of the Bible in Judaic (Barry Dov Walfish, Paul Mendes-Flohr) and Christian (Bernard McGinn) traditions; and other areas of biblical reception and influence (Eric Ziolkowski). More than 600

REVIEWS

427

contributors are said to have supplied the entries merely for the letter A. The first volume, extending only as far as “Aniconism,” contains 1224 columns (not pages; there are two columns per page), 29 (black and white) figures, 16 (full colour) plates, and two maps. A few samples must suffice to give an idea of the range of coverage given. The entry on Aaron (pp. 1–26) begins with a discussion by Richard D. Nelson of Aaron in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament (pp. 1–7). The approach is straightforwardly historical-critical. Granting that the historian cannot know whether or not Aaron actually existed, Nelson distinguishes between pre-exilic texts, which do not speak of Aaron as a priest or priestly ancestor, and exilic and post-exilic texts, where he is portrayed as the ancestor of the priesthood of the Jerusalem temple—though Nelson notes that certain texts perhaps suggest an original connection between the figure of Aaron and the sanctuary at Bethel and sees others as “implicitly expos[ing] rivalries between Aaronic and non-Aaronic priestly groups” (p. 3). George J. Brooke then treats Second Temple and Hellenistic Jewish literature (pp. 7–9); here Aaron’s appearance is said to be “limited…either to those works that are interested in history broadly conceived or to those texts that are interested in the priesthood” (p. 7). Günter Stemberger notes rabbinic expansions on biblical references to Aaron as well as the tendency to play down wrongdoing on his part (pp. 9–11). Shai Cherry discusses the treatment of Aaron in “Medieval and Later Judaism” (pp. 11–15), observing that in the earlier period his flaws tend to be downplayed (at times with considerable ingenuity) while his pure motives and sincere love of Israel are emphasized; in more recent treatments, suitable lessons are drawn from the stories and character of Aaron for Jews facing the challenges of modernity. Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer discusses the (few) New Testament references to Aaron (pp. 15–17): he is of importance only in the Epistle to the Hebrews, where he represents “the sacrificial order which has been replaced and perfected by Christ” (p. 17). Under the heading “Archaeological Evidence” (pp. 17–19), Jaakko Frösén and Zbigniew T. Fiema take up references, from Josephus on, to the place of Aaron’s death, identified as Jabal Harun, a mountain some five kilometers southwest of Petra; the authors summarize the results of archaeological explorations of the site. Arthur Holder summarizes the typological significance that Christian writers found in Aaron and his priestly vestments and the moral lessons they drew from the pertinent Old Testament passages (pp. 19–21). Gordon Nickel (pp. 21–23) writes of how Islamists regarded Aaron as one of many prophets between Adam and Muhammad, of the “allusive and elliptical” references to Aaron in the Qurʾān, and of later expansions on these in Islamic tradition. Finally, Brian Britt, Ori Z. Soltes, and Nils Holger Petersen discuss respectively references to Aaron in literature (e.g., John Milton, Sholem Asch, Leon

428

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Kolb [pp. 23–24]) and representations of Aaron in visual arts (from the wall of the synagogue of Dura-Europos to contemporary artists such as Ted Larson and Phillip Ratner [pp. 24–25]) and music (Handel, C. P. E. Bach, Rossini, Schoenberg [pp. 25–26]). Also worth noting is a substantial separate entry on “Aaron’s Rod” (pp. 28–35), which is treated under the headings “Hebrew Bible/Old Testament,” “Philo and New Testament,” “Judaism,” “Literature and Music,” and “Visual Arts.” The entry on Aaron is typical of many on biblical figures (e.g., Adam, Abraham, Absalom) and themes (e.g., abortion, adoration, adultery, afterlife, angels and angel-like beings), where authors pay comparable attention to the biblical evidence and to reception history. (Note that there are distinct entries on Adam [Person], The Apocalypse of Adam, The Testament of Adam, Life of Adam and Eve [Book], and Story of Adam and Eve.) There are, of course, a great many articles concerned exclusively with the former, presumably because nothing in the reception history was deemed worthy of discussion. The entry on Ai (pp. 678–681) will serve as an example. After discussing the meaning of the name and the location of the city (usually identified as Khirbet et-Tell, about three kilometers east of Bethel), Robert Mullins treats biblical references to Ai. He reads the story in Joshua as a straightforward historical account, speculating about Joshua’s objectives and noting how the geographical setting of et-Tell fits perfectly the biblical account of the battle. Finally, Mullins summarizes results of archaeological explorations of the site, together with the problems these raise for regarding the narrative in Joshua as historical, and he mentions alternative explanations. EBR also includes many articles devoted to the world of the Bible: Adonis, Akitu, Amarna letters, Amenhotep, and Anatolian languages, to name a few. On the other hand, EBR contains many entries pertaining exclusively to reception history. These include those devoted to significant manuscripts (Aleppo Codex, Codex Alexandrinus) and interpreters of the Bible (from Ambrose to Bernard Anderson), as well as approaches to its interpretation (e.g., Alexandrian exegesis). Indicative of the breadth with which reception history is here construed are articles on (the Bible’s influence on) the Abbasid Dynasty, Agobard of Lyon, the American Revolution, Andalusia, and H. C. Andersen. There seems little point in singling out individual articles for attention; but perhaps a final example will again illustrate the scope of this work. The important topic of “Allegory” is treated under seven headings (pp. 780– 815). David Konstan and Ilaria Ramelli discuss allegory in Greco-Roman Antiquity (pp. 780–785), noting both occasional instances in which writers deliberately composed allegories and the history of allegorical interpretations, “used to find deeper meanings in received texts [especially

REVIEWS

429

Homer] and thereby rescue them from charges of superficiality, error, or blasphemy” (p. 780). Ramelli goes on to treat allegory in Judaism (pp. 785– 793). Philo, of course, is given special attention (“the extensiveness, coherence, and systematic approach of Philo’s allegoresis go well beyond the achievements of the Stoics” [p. 787]), but also his predecessors in Hellenistic Judaism, the occasional use of allegory at Qumran, rabbinic uses (the author notes the claim of Abba Saul that Proverbs, Song of Songs, and Qoheleth were only accepted as inspired writings after they were given allegorical interpretation by the men of Ezechias; also the work of theDorshei Reshumot [“Interpreters of Allusions,” i.e., “of hidden allegorical meanings in Scripture”], and the common allegorical interpretation of the Song of Songs “as celebrating the love between God and Israel” [p. 790]), and medieval Jewish allegory (especially the centrality of the allegorical reading of Scripture for Maimonides; also various allegorical commentaries on entire biblical books). Following this, Margaret M. Mitchell discusses allegory in the New Testament (pp. 793–796), noting that the degree to which Jesus’s parables should be understood as allegories is disputed, and that early Christian authors debated whether or not Gal 4:24 legitimated the allegorical reading of Scripture. Alternations between the embrace and the dismissal of such interpretations throughout the history of Christianity are summarized under four headings (pp. 796–806): Greek Patristics and Orthodox Churches (Mitchell), Latin Patristics and Early Medieval Times (Mitchell), Medieval Times and Reformation Era (Kenneth Hagen), and Modern Europe and America (Eric Ziolkowski). A discussion of allegorical narratives in Islam (Maha Elkaisy Friemuth [pp. 807–808]) is followed by one on Literature, which highlights the influential allegories in Daniel and Revelation, the reflections on allegory in Origen and Augustine, and the famous allegorical works of Edmund Spenser and John Bunyan (Jason Yost [pp. 808–813]). The final sub-heading in the entry on allegory is Film (Werner Schneider-Quindeau [pp. 813–815]), where the author notes that a number of films “display an unmistakable allegorical connection to the biblical narrative” (813). With a little good will, one can discover some relationship between the Bible and most aspects of human culture, at least in the West. Such good will is abundantly in evidence in this project, the ambitiousness of which is simply astounding. This reviewer can only wish the editors Godspeed and commend the project to readers as a rich resource without parallel.

430

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Bernat, David A., SIGN OF THE COVENANT: CIRCUMCISION IN THE PRIESTLY TRADITION (Ancient Israel and its Literature 3; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009). Pp. xii +163. Paper. $24.95. ISBN 9781589834095. Reviewed by Trent C. Butler T C B Editorial, Contract Writer and Editor Bernat presents a reworked version of his 2002 dissertation completed under Marc Brettler at Brandeis University. He concentrates strictly on the Priestly document (in its final form) and its ideology as constructed around circumcision. Bernat is agnostic about the possibility of situating P in a precise time or location. Bernat examines two issues: “Actual Genital Circumcision” and “Foreskin Metaphors.” Circumcision is described in its relationship to covenant, to status and sexuality, and to the cult. He argues that “heavy reliance upon comparative data is precluded” and that innerbiblical “comparative opportunities are all but absent” (p. 7). Frequent use of ‫עולם‬ “perpetual,” takes away any specific occasion for the laws, making them applicable for any time and any generation. Circumcision “is not a sacrifice, a rite of dedication, redemption, or purification, nor does it have any implications for fertility or sexual function” (p. 9). It involves neither “a sign of ethnicity” nor a boundary marker. Still Genesis 17 and 21—a priestly unit—”underscores that circumcision is an inviolable criterion for participation in the Passover festival offering” (p. 22). Bernat finds P has two categories of berit, usually translated as covenant: promise voluntarily undertaken by God and obligation or command imposed by God (p. 28). The berit is “unidirectional” (p. 29). Humans neither accept nor reject. P does not reflect a Sinai ceremony nor use the idiom ‫כרת ברית‬, “to cut a covenant.” Covenant promises belong to Israelite men. Both foreigners, represented by Ishmael, and women, represented by Sarah, receive blessings but do not become part of the covenant promises passed on through Abraham (Gen 17). Such promises may be withdrawn from individuals who transgress the commandments “to a particular degree of gravity” but “corporate Israel … is never fully or irretrievable (sic) alienated from the

REVIEWS

431

berit promises of land and unique relationship with YHWH” (p. 36). The sign of the covenant testifies to Israel’s commitment to obey YHWH’s commands. Bernat’s priestly author retrojected later commandments back into Abraham’s day (pp. 39–40), creating a link between berit promises, YHWH’s commandments, and circumcision. Abraham thus represents the potential Israelite waiting for promises to be fulfilled and commandments to be articulated. Different social groups among non-Israelites have different relationships to circumcision. The slave is circumcised and eats Passover, not as a free individual but as an extension of the master. Day labourers whether living on the landowner’s property or living elsewhere have their own Passover and circumcision requirements if they are Israelites. The master’s state does not determine the workers’ state. The geror “alien” is a guest on the land and may choose or reject Passover participation. Acceptance commits the ger to be circumcised. This practice does not make circumcision a full-blown mark of Israelite ethnicity but indicates that nonIsraelites are circumcised so that circumcision does not form a boundary with other peoples. Nor does it mark an ethnic group. Similarly, women— not being circumcised—are part of Israel as extensions of the father or the husband. Whatever the case in other cultures, among the Canaanites, or among earlier Israelites, P allows no fertility connections or purity rituals related to circumcision. P does not ritualize circumcision, giving no specific time outside the eighth day, no discussion of how to circumcise, and no rules for who performs circumcision and what accompanies circumcision. Circumcision is tightly connected to Passover, a connection made prior to the P or the Joshua 5 materials, perhaps based on a spring group dedicatory and renewal festival (p. 69). Genesis 17 requires a keret penalty for failure to be circumcised or for any other defiant failure to obey God’s commands (pp. 74–75). Bernat emphasizes loss of land tenure as part of this penalty along with being denied children and being ousted from God’s presence (p. 76). Bernat turns to circumcision metaphors in Exodus 6 and Leviticus 19 and 26. Moses’ foreskinned lips show immaturity and a refusal to follow God’s command for which he received keret, losing land, progeny, and presence (p. 86). Here P, says Bernat, denigrates Moses in favor of Aaron. The foreskinned or uncircumcised heart is a metaphor that operates like metonyms or synecdoches. The heart stands for a person’s character. “The image does not even refer to the personality of a single individual. Rather, the idiom encapsulates the wholesale intransigence of the nation of Israel portrayed in the texts as a corporate entity” (p. 109).

432

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Bernat argues that the prophets ignore circumcision and exilic and post-exilic texts take circumcision for granted. Ezekiel 44:9 equates foreskin and foreignness as does Jer 9:24–25, implying that circumcision “is an established mark of Israelite identity” (p. 118). “No indisputably late biblical source either promotes the practice of circumcision or bemoans its neglect” (pp. 118–19). Thus “there is no evidence whatsoever that circumcision gained significance during the sojourn in Babylon” (p. 121). At no time can we measure the degree to which Israel actually practiced P’s circumcision regulations. Tracing circumcision through the canon and on through Jewish traditions reveals that “Jewish texts also ascribe new meaning to circumcision and raise the stakes for the rite’s observance” (p. 130). Feuds with Christians and charges of Jews seeking to hide their circumcision or undo it altogether mark Jewish conflicts. Unlike P, Jewish tradition externalizes the meaning of circumcision in its culture wars, making it both a “defining mark of Jewish identity and a sign of the covenant between God and Israel” (p. 132). Bernat has given us some new ways to look at P, if such a document ever existed. His own evidence shows that his P presupposed much about circumcision from earlier practices. Could it be that ethnicity, community borders, and group identity were also among elements assumed so that “P” had no need to mention them? Still this volume is a must for anyone researching circumcision in the HB.

Horsley, Richard A. (ed.), IN THE SHADOW OF EMPIRE: RECLAIMING THE BIBLE AS A HISTORY OF FAITHFUL RESISTANCE (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2008). Pp. vii+199, Paperback, US$24.95. ISBN 9780664232320 Reviewed by Jonathan Bernier McMaster University In the Shadow of Empire, edited by Richard A. Horsley, aims to communicate to readers outside the guild of Biblical scholarship the tradition of political exegesis developed by practitioners of the “empire-critical” method. As

REVIEWS

433

such, the contributors to the volume read as a veritable who’s-who of empire-criticism: Norman K. Gottwald, Walter Brueggemann, Jon L. Berquist, John Dominic Crossan, Richard A. Horsley, Neil Elliott, Warren Carter, Brigitte Kahl, and Greg Carey. Each scholar’s contribution reads as a 15–20 page synopsis of their overall view of the particular area of Biblical literature. As a volume aimed at a more popular audience, the contributions are light on footnotes, which might disappoint some scholars. Nonetheless, it serves as a helpful introduction to current perspectives on the relationship between empire and the Biblical tradition. The volume begins with an introduction, “The Bible and Empires,” written by Horsley. Here Horsley clearly lays out the project in which he and his fellow contributors are engaged within this volume. Following the introduction are nine chapters, organized in roughly chronological order, from the origins of Israel through to the Book of Revelation. The first three chapters are likely of most interest to readers of JHS, as they deal with the Hebrew Scriptures. In the first, Norman Gottwald discusses “Early Israel as an Anti-Imperial Community.” In this chapter he presents a succinct overview of his thesis, which he has expounded and elaborated since his Tribes of Yahweh, that “[e]arly Israel was born as an anti-imperial resistance movement that broke away from Egyptian and Canaanite domination to become a self-governing community of free peasants” (p. 9). He offers brief but interesting, almost homiletical, reflections upon the “Implications for the American Empire” which emerge from his thesis. Here Gottwald makes explicit a theme omnipresent but often only implicit throughout the balance of the volume: that contemporary believers should respond to contemporary empire as did ancient believers. After Gottwald’s contribution comes Walter Brueggemann’s, which bears the intentionally ambiguous title “Faith in the Empire.” Is such faith in the empire commitment to the empire, or faith amid (or despite, and perhaps in resistance to) empire? Brueggemann recapitulates much of what he has elsewhere said about the relationship between kings and prophets in the pre-exilic period, emphasizing the ways in which both are situated within broader imperial contexts. Like Gottwald, Brueggemann explicitly relates these ancient struggles between commitment to the empire and resistance to the empire to the current, specifically American, situation. Jon Berquist’s contribution on “Resistance and Accommodation in the Persian Empire” is a logical successor to Brueggemann’s. As in earlier works, most notably Judaism in Persia’s Shadow, Berquist seeks to situate the history of Persian Yehud within its imperial context. As in Judaism he emphasizes here a causal relationship between Persian imperial policies and the re-building of the temple and the promulgation of Torah. He argues that whilst temple and Torah were to a certain extent accommodation to

434

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Persian policies, they also created space for Yehudite resistance to imperial rule. He argues that this space facilitated an anti-imperial tradition which continues to resound into the contemporary world. The subsequent six chapters address similar themes, but now in the context of the New Testament. Given that this is the Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, I will go through these more briefly. John Dominic Crossan begins in chapter four with a discussion of Roman imperial theology. The subsequent chapters largely presuppose the understanding of Roman imperial ideology represented by Crossan. In chapter five Richard Horsley situates Jesus within his Roman imperial context, summarizing themes which he has developed since early works such as Jesus and the Spiral of Violence. Neil Elliot then discusses one of the areas most frequently addressed by contemporary empire-critical scholarship, the life and work of Paul. Warren Carter follows with a discussion of how Matthew negotiates the Roman Empire. In the last two chapters, relative newcomers to the discussion, Brigitte Kahl and Greg Carey, consider the Acts of the Apostles and Revelation respectively. Richard Horsley ends the volume with a conclusion which harkens back to themes established in the introduction and recurrent throughout the volume. The most central theme is evident already in the book’s sub-title: “Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance.” What emerges throughout the volume is a series of constructive political exegeses which aim at redefining the (Protestant, rather than Jewish, Catholic or Orthodox) Bible in American consciousness not as a book which deals primarily or even exclusively with issues of singularly spiritual and religious import but rather as a thorough-going political text. Given the political exegetical first principle that every exegesis implies a politics, the volume’s political Tendenzen seems critical fair game. Said Tendenzen could be succinctly described as anti-imperial and Amerocentric. On the first of theseTendenzen, there are indeed Biblical texts wherein resistance to empire seems evident. There are also texts wherein not only accommodation but even enthusiastic participation within empire are just as evident. Horsley and the other contributors are certainly not unaware of this multivocality within the Biblical tradition, but nonetheless there does seem a tendency to emphasize those texts which are more immediately susceptible to anti-imperial readings and to minimize the accommodation evident in other texts. This creates something of a canon within the canon, which suggests that the volume’s sub-title might better read “Reclaiming [Part of] the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance.” On the second Tendenzen, in the very first sentence of Horsley’s introduction, he informs us that “Americans have a special relationship with the Bible” (p. 1). This is a volume about American empire, published by an

REVIEWS

435

American press, written by American scholars, and aimed at an American audience. Given the volume’s title, many readers, myself included, might like to hear from scholars who live more in empire’s shadow than in its bright, shining, centre. That said, many readers, myself included, are ambivalent at best about the use of economic and military might worldwide, not just by America but also its allies. We also wonder how, if at all, the Biblical tradition might speak to this use of might. Biblical scholars have been inquiring into the relationship between empire and Bible for quite some time now, and it is refreshing to see a volume which presents to a popular audience some of what has been said.

Westbrook, Raymond and Bruce Wells, EVERYDAY LAW IN BIBLICAL ISRAEL: AN INTRODUCTION (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2009). Pp. ix+156. Softcover. US $24.95. ISBN 9780664234973 Reviewed by Victor H. Matthews Missouri State University Far too often works dealing with law (most often simply a chapter or section in a larger work) become bogged down in legal minutiae and quickly lose the reader’s interest. This demonstrates both the erudition and narrow focus of the author, whose scholarly or juridical approach cannot speak to or “come down” to that of a general audience. In addition, some works on biblical law are steeped in a theological agenda designed to make the case for contemporary social issues rather than addressing the original social context of the legal material. Thankfully, this is not the case with Westbrook and Wells’ slim volume on “Everyday Law.” While not attempting to cover every facet of the law in ancient Israel, their discrete survey of the material provides sufficient coverage of the topic for students and interested laypersons. The succinct sections will be appealing to students and the comparative materials are helpful in getting the big picture. Other useful features include a list of additional readings at the end of each chapter, questions for review along with the answers, a brief legal glossary, and a bibliography of works consulted. The fact that the authors do not choose to enter the realm of theological discussion/interpretation also is a plus since that leaves more room for discussion of legal principles and

436

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

procedures. It allows also the adoption of the book by both secular and more religiously conservative institutions. The comparative approach taken in this volume is very helpful, indicating to the reader that the various segments of biblical law are part of a larger social context in the ancient Near East and showing how interpretation of the law continues into later periods. Westbrook and Wells remind us that the way that a culture expresses itself in legal formulas and procedures can provide insights into its value system and basic social organization. They begin by surveying and briefly defining the sources available to us from the biblical materials to the Mishnaic texts and ancient Near Eastern cuneiform documents. They rightly note that the early legal statements were not designed originally to serve as precedents or to be cited in later legal proceedings. However, with so many similar casuistic laws in each of the codes, it is clear that the concepts of liability, reciprocity, and property rights are common to each of the cultures who produced the codes. The chapter on litigation opens with a glimpse of the court system from the king down to local officials. The latter, made up of elders or a mixture of local citizens and officials, worked in a collegial manner while creating a consensus opinion on punishment or the imposition of binding orders. The authors briefly draw attention to social organization in each of the periods of biblical tradition, from the Patriarchal Period to the Persian Period, before turning to forms of judicial procedure, both private and public disputes, points of law, use of evidence, divine intervention, and suprarational methods of proof. Throughout their discussion the authors keep the level appropriate to students, but they do not avoid items that have been disputed such as the use of the ordeal in biblical law (they see it only in the Psalms, p. 49). The chapter on status and family describes the legal roles of citizenship, gender, slavery, and the household. Particularly helpful here is the section on marriage laws, framed according to conditions, formation, and stages of the transaction between families. Their explanation of mohar as something other than “bride price” or purchase of the bride opens up other possibilities related to the rights of the husband to remove his bride from her father’s household and to sexual exclusivity (pp. 60–61). Because this is a very brief treatment of customs and laws, the sections on divorce, remarriage, and adoption barely touch on these subjects, although the information provided is useful as a starting point. The chapter dealing with crimes and delicts touches on traditional crimes against persons (homicide, adultery, rape, theft, assault), but also deals with items such as witchcraft and wrongs against God. Three categories of criminal offense are discussed. First are offenses against a

REVIEWS

437

superior (king, God, hierarchy) such as treason or blasphemy. The second are grave offenses against an individual that called for revenge, including talionic response, such as murder or unintentional homicide, causing harm to a pregnant woman and/or her fetus, and other forms of personal injury (physical or related to sexual rights such as adultery or rape). Also included here are personal statements that cause harm (perjury, false witness, and slander) as well as a brief discussion of compensation that would either ameliorate the damage done or forestall a more severe punishment. Finally, the authors categorize minor offenses such as temporary injuries and negligence that results in damage or loss of property (as portrayed in the “goring ox” example, p. 86). The final two chapters deal with property rights, inheritance issues (note the useful diagram of the levirate obligation on pp. 96–97), and contracts (including for hire, loans, and betrothal). Since oath taking is always in the name of God or a god in the ancient Near East, a promissory oath takes on singular importance and often appears in biblical narrative as a plot device that drives action and explains consequences (see pp. 118– 119). In the section on debt, social justice issues are explored, including redemption regulations and term limits. The authors do note that there is no evidence that the sabbatical and jubilee year injustices on debt release were actually enforced and may relate to distrust of the civil authority’s concern for social justice. To put this volume in context, there is only one comparable work that is currently in print. William Doorly, The Laws of Yahweh: A Handbook to Biblical Law (Paulist, 2001), is another small volume (192 pp) that outlines the legal collections and addresses case law. However, Westbrook and Wells have chosen not to depend on historical-critical methods and that provides a clear differentiation with Doorly. Zeʾev Falk’s reprinted volume, Hebrew Law in Biblical Times (BYU Press, 2001 [1964]) addresses many of the same topics, but it represents an older generation of scholarship that has only slightly been updated in the second edition. Only Dale Patrick’s now outof-print volume, Old Testament Law (John Knox, 1985) approaches Westbrook and Wells for coverage of both biblical and Near Eastern legal materials, and the latter does a much more seamless job of integrating the comparative data. That is to be expected given the late Dr. Westbrook’s expertise, and the result is a volume that lays out with clarity and brevity the major facets of law while also providing a sense of the culture that produced these legal statements. Given its size it is understandable that scholars will find this volume interesting, but not satisfying except as an excellent supplement for their students. Of course, leaving the reader to want more is a good goal for a textbook as it sparks the desire to seek out more on the topic. Other than

438

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

more coverage of some items, the addition of a scripture index would also be helpful for those looking for particular citations or examples. With an eye to its purpose as an “introduction,” this short treatment of biblical law does a remarkable job and should receive wide use in the classroom.

KUSATU (KLEINE UNTERSUCHENGEN ZUR SPRACHE DES ALTEN TESTAMENTS UND SEINER UMWELT) 8.9 (2008). Pp. 218. Paper. €25.00. ISBN 9783899910803. Reviewed by John Cook Asbury Theological Seminary This relatively new periodical features shorter studies and notices on the language and world of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. This particular volume contains ten brief, worthwhile essays. In the first (“The Niphal and Hitpael of ‫ ברך‬in the Patriarchal Narratives,” pp. 1–17), Richard Benton examines the interaction of passive voice with “process” and “transition” types of predicates and proposes that the semantic distinction between the Niphal and Hitpael of ‫ךרב‬in the patriarchal narratives is explicable by the cross-linguistic pattern of these interactions. Specifically, Niphal focuses on the resulting state of an action by emphasizing a particular agent, whereas Hitpael refers to the process of an event by highlighting collective, indistinct agents (pp. 14–15). The typological data, drawn from Spanish and Tagalog, give Benton a persuasive case and raise hopes that his approach might explain the Niphal-Hitpael relationship beyond the small data set on which he based this study. The second essay (Eberhard Bons “Psalm 33,7: nd oder nʾd ‘Deich’ oder ‘Schlauch’?,” pp. 19–32) is a text-critical examination of Ps 33:7, wherein the ancient versions diverge from the MT in presupposing a Hebrew Vorlage of ‫“ נאד‬bottle” instead of the MT’s ‫“ נֵּ ד‬heap.” Bons examines the case in light of the latter word’s appearance in Exod 15:8, Ps 78:13, and Josh 3:13,18, concluding that the divergent readings reflect different interpretations of the psalm—either as a reference to creation (“bottle” in ancient versions) or an implicit reference to the Exodus (“heap” of MT). In the third essay (“Mitigating Devices in Biblical Hebrew,” pp. 33–62) Marco Di Guilio presents a classified taxonomy of mitigating devices,

REVIEWS

439

treating them as an independent category from politeness structures. He defines mitigation as “linguistic strategies performed by speakers to prevent undesired perlocutionary consequences” (p. 33) and examines eight “external” devices and five “internal” ones, the two types being distinguished by whether the device occurs external to or internal to the act and text of the utterance. The fourth essay (David Kummerow, “How Can the Form ‫ יִ ְקטֹל‬Be a Preterite, Jussive, and a Future/Imperfective? A Brief Elaboration of the Forms and Functions of the Biblical Hebrew Prefix Verbs,” pp. 63–95) contains a useful summary of the now-standard view of the development of the prefix pattern verb in BH, namely, that West Semitic had a homophonous (or polysemous) prefix form that signified preterite/past tense and jussive, and it had a “long” prefix form with a final short vowel that became homonymous with the former “short” form in certain parts of the paradigm after the loss of final short vowels in the late second millennium. Kummerow’s aim seems to be largely at the practical level of how and to what extend the various BH prefix forms can be disambiguated by the student of BH. Less satisfying than his morphosyntactic description of the prefix forms is Kummerow’s semantic analysis, appearing in several footnotes and a “brief statement” on the last few pages of the article. No doubt his pragmatic aims account for his somewhat facile semantic description in terms of “prototypical functions of the prefix verb forms in BH” (p. 77), by which he means the statistically dominant translation equivalencies of the forms. This weakness notwithstanding, Kummerow’s essay is a helpful summation that also includes a valuable bibliography of recent authorities on the subject. The fifth and sixth essays (Łukasz Niesiołowski-Spanò, “The New Type of Inscription from Ekron—Revisited,” pp. 97–109, and Peter van der Veen, “‘To Baʿal and to Paraz’? A Paleographic Rejoinder,” pp. 110–18) dispute the reading of the Ekron storage-jar inscription which the editio princeps reads lbʿl wlpdy “for Baʿal and for Padi” (p. 98). Niesiołowski-Spanò argues that the editors of the editio princeps were seduced by the attractiveness of finding Padi’s name on this inscription (pp. 100–101) and proposes an alternative reading of lbʿl wl-prz, which he interprets in light of Hab 3:14 as “for the lord and governer (paraz)” (p. 109). Van der Veen’s rejoinder defends the reading in the editio princeps on paleographic grounds, and helpfully includes a color photo. In the seventh essay (Jean-Sébastien Rey, “Quelques considérations sur le vocabulaire sapientiel de Ben Sira et de 4QInstruction,” pp. 119–34) Rey builds on an earlier analysis of vocabulary in Ben Sira and

440

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

4QInstruction.1 In particular, he discovers that the two documents both employ ‫“נחלה‬inheritance” with the extended-eschatological sense of eternal life and ‫ לקח‬with the cognitive sense of “grasp,” but that they diverge in their vocabulary for poverty. The eighth essay (Jonathan Stökl, “Kings, Heroes, Gods. The History of the Translation of the term ʾrʾl dwdh in Line Twelve of the Mešaʿ-Stele,” pp. 135–62) surveys the history of this inscriptional crux and concludes that four options exist for interpreting dwdh: a deity Dōd, a different deity referred to as “beloved,” King David, or another David of Ataroth (p. 151). Stökl argues further that the name should be understood as an appellative or epithet, which alleviates the grammatical difficulty of the suffix. In the end Stökl opts for interpreting the term as “beloved” in reference to Israel’s deity (p. 152). In the ninth essay (“Ist auch Hiob unter den Propheten? Sir 49,9 als Testfall für die Auslegung des Buches Jesus Sirach,” pp. 163–94), Markus Witte examines the Hebrew, Greek, and Syriac versions of the aforementioned verse, demonstrating how the differences are reflective of different ideologies regarding the prophetic books and the figure of Job. The tenth and final essay (André Lemaire, “Leonard Wolfe’s Assessment of Unprovenanced Seals,” pp. 195–218) is a scathing review of Leonard Wolfe’s essay, published in KUSATU 6 (2006) pp. 139–88, in which he concludes that Wolfe’s paper “is totally unconvincing” (p. 218). The detailed discussion of various points of disagreement between Wolfe and Lemaire, while at times quite harsh, is illustrative of the issues involved in the ongoing discussion of epigraphic forgeries. In all, this volume contains a number of valuable articles on Old Testament languages and paleography.

1 Jean-Sébastien Rey, “Quelques particularités linguistiques communes à 4QInstruction et à Ben Sira,” pp. 119–34 in Conservativism and Innovation in the Hebrew Language of the Hellenistic Period: Proceedings of a Fourth International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira (ed. Jan Joosten and Jean-Sébastien Rey; STDJ 73; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008).

REVIEWS

441

Hadjiev, Tchavdar S., THE COMPOSITION AND REDACTION OF THE BOOK OF AMOS (BZAW, 393; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009). Pp xvii+247. Hardcover, US$112.00. ISBN 9783110212716. Reviewed by Matthieu Richelle Faculté de Théologie Evangélique (Vaux-sur-Seine) Two opposite trends pervade the research on the book of Amos. On the one hand, valuable commentaries in English (e.g. by Anderson and Freedman in the Anchor Bible series1 or by Paul in Hermeneia)2 take most of the book for a unified literary work stemming from the preaching of the historical prophet of the eighth century BCE, or in the editorial work of his disciples. Many articles are devoted to synchronic studies, discerning (generally chiastic) structures covering pericopes3 or even the entire book.4 On the other hand, detailed works in German (for example, Wolff’s commentary5 and Rottzoll’s monograph)6 distinguish up to twelve stages in the compositional history of the Book, from before the fall of Samaria to the postexilic period. Admittedly, Rottzoll has already made an attempt to integrate some insights from the synchronic approaches in his own 1 F. I. Anderson and D. N. Freedman, Amos: A new Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989). 2 S. Paul, Amos: A Commentary on the Book of Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). 3 E.g. Y. Gitay, “A Study of Amos’s Art of Speech: A Rhetorical Analysis of Amos 3:1–15,” CBQ 42 (1980): 293–309; N. J. Tromp, “Amos V 1–17: Towards a Stylistic and Rhetorical Analysis,” OTS 23 (1984): 65–85. 4 E.g. A. van der Wal, “The Structure of Amos,” JSOT 26 (1983). 107–13; J. Limburg, “Sevenfold Structures in the Book of Amos,” JBL 106 (1987): 217–22; D. A. Dorsey, “Literary Architecture and Aural Structuring Techniques in Amos,” Bib 73 (1992): 305–30. 5 H.-W. Wolff, Dodekapropheton 2: Joel und Amos (BKAT, XIV/2; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969). 6 D. U. Rottzoll, Studien zur Redaktion und Komposition des Amosbuchs (BZAW, 243; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1996).

442

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

diachronic model, notably in postulating a “concentric redaction” whereby a redactor (RRK) created an overall chiastic organization for the book. Nevertheless, the contrast between the continental European exegesis and the English-speaking approach remains striking. Tchavdar Hadjiev, in his doctoral dissertation under the supervision of H. G. M. Williamson submitted to the University of Oxford in 2007, and of which the present book is a slightly revised version, seeks to follow an intermediate approach in advocating a relatively simple model comprised of four stages. His reconstruction of the compositional history of the book of Amos may be outlined as follows: (1) A “Polemical Scroll” (1:1*; 1:3–8, 13–15; 2:1–3, 6–16*; 9:7–8a; 3:3– 8*; 7:1–8; 8:1–2; 9:1–4, 9–10; 7:10–17), was formed shortly before 734– 32 BCE or shortly before 722. It was an attempt by Amos’ followers to defend the validity of his prophecies against his detractors, notably by interpreting the earthquake as the first step in a series of fulfillment of his predictions, leading to the nearly final destruction of the land. (2) A “Repentance Scroll” (4:1–6:7), written between 733 and 722, consisted of an “urgent and desperate” call to change. An update then occurred in Judah, flanking the scroll with 3:9–15 and 6:8–14, the first now closely attached to the following verses (4:1–3) by thematic and semantic links, while the latter became attached to the immediately preceding passage (6:1–7) in a similar way. Hence the extant 3:9–6:14 formed the Judahite Repentance Scroll. (3) The combination of the two former scrolls, bound by the hymnic passages (1:2; 4:13; 5:8–9; 9:5–6), may have occurred in the 7th century BCE. (4) An exilic redactor, in Judah rather than in the Golah, expanded the text in several directions. First, he extended the oracles against the nations (OAN) by composing the oracles against Tyre, Edom, and Judah (1:9–12; 2:4–6) as well as by adding some verses (2:7b, 10–12) to the oracle against Israel. Second, he moved the Bethel narrative to its present place (7:10–17, inserting 7:9 to smooth the transition from the third vision), in order to identify the plumb-line with Amos. Third, he added 8:3–14; 9:7–15 as well as 5:25–27, and perhaps the note on the two kings in 1:1. This study proves to be clear, well organized, well written and up-to-date. After an initial short status quaestionis and some methodological considerations, the bulk of the monograph consists of seven chapters revisiting the main sections of the book: the oracles against the nations, the visions, the Bethel narrative (7:9–17), the oracles after the fourth vision (8:3–14), the oracles after the fifth vision (9:7–15), the doxologies, and the central oracles (chs. 3–6). Finally, the author sums up his results by

REVIEWS

443

describing what he considers to be the compositional history of the book of Amos. With regard to the method Hadjiev uses, it should be noted that it does not consist of a totally fresh study of each aspect of the book. Rather, the way he addresses each situation seems twofold: a) summing up and evaluating arguments that have been used by other exegetes to discern different compositional layers; b) using the ideas that seem still justified to him, and proposing other arguments concerning the unity of some sections as well as the delineation of different redactions. As for the first kind of reasoning, in many instances Hadjiev meticulously discusses challenges to the authenticity of verse(s) under scrutiny. To that end, he firstly reviews the main opinions of several scholars about the origins of the verse(s), then he isolates their principal reasons for denying its connection to Amos himself or to his disciples, and he carefully points out the weaknesses of these arguments. For example, he methodically answers the major arguments for ascribing the fifth vision to a different redactor than the four others, or for taking it as a Fortschreibung to the report they form (pp. 62–76). As it appears, there is neither thematic discontinuity, nor sufficient formal differences to prove that Amos 9:1–4 stems from another author than the other visions. The possible hints of a later origin, whether they concern the (allegedly non-Amosian) style or the literary motifs, prove to be uncompelling. Similarly, Hadjiev examines the different kinds of arguments in support of a Dtr affiliation for the Bethel narrative (Amos 7:10–17). He shows that, strictly speaking, there is neither proof of influence from the Dtr ideology (pp. 83–86), nor literary dependence on particular Dtr passages (pp. 86–87), nor borrowing of Dtr language (p. 88). Thus this passage could be theoretically proto-Dtr or postDtr; Hadjiev adds some reasons in favor of the first option. Admittedly, since Hadjiev does not address each argument of all the scholars who consider the verse(s) as later additions, some of them at least presumably would not be convinced by his refutation. On the other hand, answering all the ideas brought into the debate would hardly have been possible in such a monograph, and the selection that Hadjiev makes enables him all the same to undermine some significant foundations of many reconstructions. Moreover, most of his analyses in this respect prove to be clear, logical, thorough, and finally compelling. In fact, this ability to pertinently point out the weaknesses of many rationales that support models accepted by some scholars without discussion might be the most significant contribution of the present book to the research on the compositional criticism of the book of Amos. One could ask, indeed, whether some exegetes accept Wolff’s or Rottzoll’s impressive models after a close scrutiny of their lengthy and minute analyses, or simply take their

444

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

validity for granted as a premise for their own research. The existence of such demandingly close scrutiny as Hadjiev’s is healthy for research in that it compels future contributors to be more rigorous, and to resist the temptation to use the presence of some surprising features of the text as automatic criteria for discerning different literary interventions. For example, in reviewing some diachronic explanations for the intermixing of masculine and feminine grammatical forms in 4:1–3, Hadjiev points out their insufficiency and adopts McLaughlin’s idea of idiosyncratic tendencies to use masculine forms in the Hebrew language (pp. 145–147). At the same time, since Hadjiev himself advocates a diachronic model in four major stages, he cannot be suspected of refusing a priori the use of compositioncritical criteria in order to defend a conservative model. The trouble is that the author seems more persuasive when critically evaluating the arguments of others than when offering new explanations. In a sense, by getting the reader used to taking a demanding look at the argumentation, he has made his own task of proposing a new hypothetical model rather difficult. In other words, applying the same kind of rigorous analysis that he developed for the previous models to his own positive reconstructions might lead to similar results. This concerns several individual rationales as well as the viability of his final model. One example of a weak argument is Hadjiev’s main reason for separating 3:9–15 and 6:8–16 from 4:1–6:7, which seems to consist in the difficulty of extending the concentric structure of 4:1–6:7 to 3:9–6:14 (pp. 179–84). The fact that 4:1–6:7 forms a unit all of one piece as a result of the concentric arrangement of its constituent oracles could well indicate that it was conceived, at a certain stage of the prehistory of the book, as a selfsufficient collection. However, this fact in itself says nothing about the date of the additions of the others parts of 3:9–6:14. Moreover, Hadjiev points out several links between 3:9–15 and 4:1 on the one hand, and between 6:1–7 and 6:8–14 on the other hand. He writes: “3:9–15 possesses a striking overall thematic consistency which is indissolubly related to the material that follows in chs 4–6” (p. 188). He chooses to interpret these links as the work of the redactor when joining them to the central section, but they could also be analyzed as the sign of authorial unity behind them. Thus, in this particular matter, Hadjiev seems to propose a credible scenario rather than a compelling one. Likewise, Hadjiev seems more demanding with other authors than with himself when he adopts a postexilic date for the oracle against Edom (Amos 1:11–12). He knows perfectly well that competent commentators envisage several possible backgrounds for this oracle (pp. 43–44). But he adopts a postexilic date on the grounds that “Judean extreme anti-Edomite sentiment developed only in the 6th century” (p. 43, my italics), so that it

REVIEWS

445

would constitute the most probable background (p. 44). Considering the lacunae in our knowledge of the history of Israel and of Edom in the Iron Age, not to mention the limits of our knowledge of the evolution of their mutual sentiments, this kind of argument might entrench scholars who are already convinced, but it will not impress the historians. This is not to say that the context that Hadjiev retains does not make sense, but we are far from being offered a scientific proof here. With the same reasoning, we would date all the modern anti-Semitist writings to the period 1933–1945, since it is “the most probable period” for such appalling sentiments. This, unfortunately, would not match reality. Similarly, historical dating of ancient texts cannot consist merely in guesswork based on the little knowledge we have of the sentiments among the people who produced them, especially when there exists a multiplicity of possible contexts. In passing, it is a shame that Hadjiev does not examine the oracles against Damascus and against the Philistines due to space limitations (p. 42). Regarding the global model he proposes, the “Polemical Scroll” (PS) seems at first to be negatively defined as the remaining oracles when the “Repentance Scroll” (RS) and the other additions are subtracted from the book of Amos (p. 193). However, Hadjiev gives reasons for considering it as a proper unit. There exist some links between the five original (according to Hadjiev) oracles against the nations (OAN) and the five visions, already pointed out by Wolff and Jeremias, and they share a common idea: the OAN insist on the fact that Yahweh will not “bring it back,” the visions exhibit an evolution in which God ceases to repent (“I will no longer pass by him,” 7:8; 8:2); the Bethel narrative could mark the breaking-off after which the announcement of the destruction becomes definitive. The real problem lies in the fact that Hadjiev does not really establish the independence of the two collections of oracles he dubs the “Polemical Scroll” and the “Repentance Scroll.” It seems difficult to differentiate between such “scrolls” and steps consisting in provisional collections of oracles in the elaboration of the book, as conceived in models where it substantially goes back to the prophet (Andersen and Freedman, Paul, etc.). Should we to postulate two contemporaneous Amos “schools” independently collecting some of his oracles, both in the northern kingdom, and furthermore in a restricted period covering hardly more than a decade? Hadjiev dates the PS to the years shortly before 734–32 or shortly before 722 on the vague grounds that “the confident attitude of the audience addressed by the Polemical Scroll breathes a different air from the Repentance Scroll” (p. 198). Yet he ascribes the RS to the range 733–722, thus allowing the two scrolls to be completely contemporaneous. With regard to the date of the RS, Hadjiev rightly points out that the oracles are addressed to the northern kingdom and would have no direct

446

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

relevance to a Judean audience, hence a terminus ad quem in 722. On the other hand, the reason he gives for considering 733 as a terminus a quo is the interpretation of the “remnant of Joseph” in 5:15 (and a short allusion in 6:6) as referring to the reduction of the population and/or land due to Tiglath-Pileser III’s invasion in 734/32 (p. 186). In itself, 5:15 is taken for an addition by a redactor possibly responsible for the ring structure in 5:1– 17 (p. 166). However, if the oracles were updated following such a disaster of major scale, it is astonishing not to find more than a short and imprecise allusion to it. Moreover, other explanations of the expression “remnant of Joseph” tracing it back to the time of Jeroboam II have been offered by commentators, as Hadjiev himself indicates (p.186 n. 17). It could, for example, have had a sense very close to the proposition made by Hadjiev but as a proleptic reference to the survivors of the doom announced by Amos. The vagueness of the allusion fits a general prediction better than an analepsis (flashback). As a result, his dating of the RS, albeit conceivable, remains fragile. Furthermore, according to Hadjiev, the PS was an attempt to convince adversaries of the validity of the prophet’s message, whereas the RS aimed to urge people to repent. Yet these differences in focus between the two scrolls could well be explained by the evolution in the career of Amos, as Hadjiev himself envisages; they do not necessitate different authorships or editions. Besides, he thinks that the aim of the compilers of the PS was to convince people of the accuracy of Amos’ predictions based on the fact the earthquake was foretold by him (p. 198). However, the dating of this earthquake remains uncertain: the traditional date is ca. 760, but the archaeologists have provided various dates between 780 and 740.7 Therefore, we have no means to measure the distance between this event and the period 733–722; it could have been half a century. In any case, it is doubtful that people who would not have been convinced by the marginal prophet during his career would have changed their minds because some of his followers claimed, decades after the earthquake, that he had foretold it. Therefore, it is also doubtful that redactors would have constructed the PS for such an uncertain purpose, and the Sitz im Leben of the so-called PS remains unknown. Finally, although the existence of “scrolls” during the prehistory of the book of Amos seems plausible, this concept remains vague and the model 7 Z. Herzog and L. Singer-Avitz, “Redefining the Center: The Emergence of State in Judah,” Tel Aviv 31 (2004): 209–44, esp. 230; A. Fantalkin and I. Finkelstein, “The Sheshonq I Campaign and the 8th-Century-BCE Earthquake— More on the Archaeology and History of the South in the Iron I-IIA,” Tel Aviv 33 (2006): 18–42.

REVIEWS

447

proposed by Hadjiev with the PS and the RS contains, in the reviewer’s opinion, several debatable aspects (their exact delineation and their independence), as well as some ill-defined parameters (their dating, Sitz im Leben and redaction milieu). In sum, this book may be seen as a twofold contribution to scholarship. On the one hand, it includes a critical, thorough, and demanding evaluation of many arguments usually invoked in the compositional criticism of the book of Amos. On the other hand, it proposes a new model, less complex than Wolff’s and Rottzoll’s propositions, but which does not seems to the reviewer really compelling. At any rate, future works on the same topic will have to interact with Hadjiev’s well-informed, careful, and methodical discussions, so his work is an important landmark in the scholarly study of the book of Amos.

Green, Deborah A. and Laura S. Lieber (eds.), SCRIPTURAL EXEGESIS: THE SHAPES OF CULTURE AND THE RELIGIOUS IMAGINATION, ESSAYS IN HONOUR OF MICHAEL FISHBANE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Pp. xiv+324. Hardcover. US$120.00. ISBN 9780199206575. Reviewed by William A. Tooman University of St. Andrews Scriptural Exegesis: The Shapes of Culture and the Religious Imagination, Essays in Honour of Michael Fishbane honors the forty years Michael Fishbane has spent researching and teaching Jewish religious texts. Professor Fishbane taught at Brandeis University from 1969 to 1990, where he was Samuel Lane Professor of Jewish Religious History and Social Ethics. In 1990 he moved to the University of Chicago where he remains the Nathan Cummings Professor of Jewish Studies in the Divinity School and Professor of Biblical and Jewish Law in the University of Chicago Law School. With the publication of Michael Fishbane’s Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel in 1985, inner-biblical interpretation became an essential part

448

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

of the education of students and academics of the Hebrew Bible.1 In this award-winning volume, Fishbane examined instances of intentional embellishment, reapplication, revision, or reinterpretation of antecedent biblical sources by later biblical texts. He showed that the (re)interpretation of tradition was not just a post-biblical or post-canonical phenomenon, it was an inner-biblical phenomenon as well, widely practiced within the pages of the Hebrew Bible. Fishbane’s work was grounded in comparative scribal practices in other ancient Near Eastern cultures and in early Judaism, revealing continuities in form and technique which span two millennia. Moreover, his examination of reuse was focused not just on exegetical practice but on the cultural mechanisms that permitted such reuse.2 In his words, inner-biblical interpretation must pay particular attention to “how the texts that comprise [HB] were revised and even reauthorized during the course of many centuries, and how older traditions fostered new insights which, in turn, thickened the intertextual matrix of the culture and conditioned its imagination.”3 In his more recent work Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking, Fishbane widened his focus to examine the traditional and intellectual culture that not only permitted but encouraged the recreation of its textual heritage.4 His attention shifted from specific texts to the traditions and motifs that are central to the Jewish religious imagination. In this work, Fishbane focused on two mythic motifs—God as Creator and the Divine Warrior—tracing their development from their origins in ancient Near Eastern myths, through the Hebrew Bible, the Rabbinic literature, and into Medieval Jewish literature, especially the Zohar. Fishbane’s attention was not focused on the developmental arcs that these motifs took, so much as the cultural mechanisms by which they were constantly adapted and reconceptualized. The essays in this volume, which build upon many of the trajectories in Fishbane’s research and writing, are grouped into four units: “Part I. The Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible: The Shape of the Text,” “Part II. 1 Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 2 Michael Fishbane, “The Hebrew Bible and Exegetical Tradition,” in Intertextuality in Ugarit and Israel (ed. Johannes C. de Moor; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 15–30. 3 Michael Fishbane, “Inner-biblical Exegesis: Types and Strategies of Interpretation in Ancient Israel,” in The Garments of Torah: Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1989), 4. 4 Michael Fishbane, Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

REVIEWS

449

Intertestamental, Postbiblical, and Rabbinic Literature: Reimagining the Text,” “Part III. The Medieval Period: A New Textual Imagination,” and “Part IV. The Modern Period: The Human and Divine in the Text.” I will summarize the argument and contribution of each of the first ten chapters (Parts I and II), which are of greatest relevance to the study of Hebrew Bible, and provide brief comments on the eight chapters that make up Parts III and IV. The first section “Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible” includes five chapters, which mainly take up methods and issues raised by Fishbane in Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. In the first essay, “Myth as historia divina and historia sacra” (pp. 13–24), Jan Assmann applies Fishbane’s distinction between the “historia sacra of the people (the keynote of Scripture)” and the “historia divina of myth (the keynote of Midrash)”5 to non-Israelite historical and mythological texts. He finds that historia sacra is not unique to Mosaic Judaism. Rather, the foundational myths of other peoples do serve as “representations of their specific normative past based upon: (a) a concept of connective justice or morality; (b) a notion of sacrality…and (c) and idea of promise” (p. 22). It is an appropriate essay to open the book. It signals that the collection will reach beyond the corpus of biblical literature, even beyond Jewish literature, just as Fishbane’s work has implications that reach far beyond the worlds of biblical and Judaic studies. Chapter 2, “The Neo-Assyrian Origins of the Canon Formula in Deuteronomy 13:1,” by Bernard M. Levinson (pp. 25–45) focuses on the so-called canon formula in Deut 13:1, “The entire word that I command, you shall take care to perform; you must neither add to it nor take away from it.” Levinson argues, compellingly, that there are previously unobserved parallels to Deut 13:1 in Neo-Assyrian literature. The uses of these parallel formulae argue against the position, popular among scholars of Deuteronomy, that 13:1 is a late gloss. Rather, Levinson argues that the verse is original to the chapter. He further demonstrates that Deut 4:2, which is often viewed as the source of 13:1, is actually an adaptation based upon the formula in 13:1. In chapter 3, “Traditum and Traditio: The Case of Deuteronomy 17:14– 20” (pp. 46–61), Ernst Nicholson argues that Deut 17:14–20, the kingship law, reflects the sentiments of a later glossator. This redactor placed an ominous prediction, couched as ordinance, on Moses’ lips. This strategic gloss signalled the ‘keynote’ of the entire Deuteronomistic history. In the terminology of Michael Fishbane, “the text is evidence of a process of 5

Fishbane, Biblical Myth, 134.

450

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

traditio at work on an inherited traditum that was now [in the exilic and postexilic periods] in crisis” (p. 57). Chapter 4 by Marc Zvi Brettler takes up the highly problematic Psalm 111 (“The Riddle of Psalm 111,” pp. 62–73). He argues against the majority view which sees the Psalm as a poetic précis of Israel’s history, recited in a ritual context. Brettler contends, on literary and inner-biblical grounds, that the psalm should be understood as a “riddle psalm,” a type of previously unclassified Torah psalm. For example, Brettler sees in the phrase ‫יראת‬ ‫ יהוה‬in v 10 as an alliterative allusion to ‫תורה‬. He further argues that its proper context was in education, used in schools to teach students (see ‫בסוד ישרים ועדה‬in v 1), not in the Israelite cult. These considerations date the psalm well into the Second Temple period. William M. Schniedewind’s chapter, “Calling God Names: An Innerbiblical Approach to the Tetragrammaton” (chapter 5, pp. 74–86), reexamines the enigmatic etymologies of the Tetragrammaton suggested in Exod 3:15 and 6:3. “The social and intellectual history of the Jewish people,” he contends, “rather than a source-critical or etymological analysis, will provide the key to understanding the inner-biblical interpretation of the divine name” (p. 74). Schniedewind claims that the meaning of the name changed with the loss of the First Temple where God’s “name” dwelt. When the temple was rebuilt, it was increasingly believed that God’s physical presence inhabited the temple. The explanation of the name, ‫אהיה אשר אהיה‬, then, was an interpretation of the Tetragrammaton that was intended to reassure the people of God’s continuing presence. The Second Section, “Intertestamental, Postbiblical, and Rabbinic Literature,” is also composed of five chapters. These offerings explore some of the ways that post-biblical texts reveal cultural and social ideologies and also transform long-held ideologies for new generations of religious Judaism. These essays build, in particular, upon proposals that Fishbane put forward in Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking. In the first of these chapters, chapter 6, Israel Knohl examines different conceptions of the suffering servant figure in Isaiah, Daniel, and the Dead Sea Scrolls (“The Suffering Servant: From Isaiah to the Dead Sea Scrolls,” pp. 89–104). He argues that beginning in Isaiah we can observe a slackening in the rigid distinction between the living and the dead. The Servant rather than being cut off from God after death is divinely rewarded. Daniel predicts the same fate for the righteous (the “knowledgeable ones”), who are identified with the servant. The Hodayot go further, asserting the superiority of the servant—understood as an individual—over the angelic host and promising him divine exaltation after death. He concludes: “the idea of a heavenly suffering figure—unheard of in the Hebrew Bible— seems to have surfaced during the Intertestamental period at Qumran and,

REVIEWS

451

of course, became essential to the later figure of Jesus in the New Testament” (p. 100). In chapter 7, Yehuda Liebes explores Ezekiel 1, 10 and Genesis 1 within the writings of Philo of Alexandria (“The Work of the Chariot and the Work of Creation as Mystical Teachings in Philo of Alexandria,” pp. 105–120). According to Liebes, Philo conceived of these texts as mystical deposits of esoteric knowledge, which should be concealed. Liebes’s purpose is to draw lines of dependence and development between Philo’s antecedents (e.g., Ben Sira) and the Hellenistic Jewish and Rabbinic authors who followed him, extending all the way to Kabalistic writers of the medieval period. This is a notable achievement, provided Liebes’s arguments endure, inasmuch as Philo never mentions Ezekiel. Chapter 8, by Joanna Weinberg, is entitled “A Rabbinic Disquisition of Leviticus 26:3–13: A Utopian Vision between Jews and Christians” (pp. 121–134). Weinberg searches for clues to an underlying social situation within the midrash Sifra on Leviticus. She detects within its contours the fruits of a Jewish-Christian debate on the corporality of God and the nature of the eschaton. The utopian future that emerges from the rabbinic interpretation of Leviticus 26 contains allusions to Christian themes, which affirm certain affinities between the eschatological hope of Jews and Christians, but which also suggest different notions of the divine. In addition, she observes that Christian thinkers noted these allusions, as evidenced by appeals to Sifra by medieval Christian interpreters like Pablo Christiani and Ramón Martí. Building upon prior research, Marc Hirshman focuses his attention on the connection between the temple and the festal calendar in Pesikta d’Rav Kahana (chapter 9, “Yearning for Intimacy: Pesikta d’Rav Kahana and the Temple,” pp. 135–145).6 Hirshman makes a compelling case that Rav Kahana was strategically designed to infuse the calendar with an appreciation of the temple and its rituals. As he says, Rav Kahana “is a remarkable effort to re-present the calendar of Jewish holidays and special Sabbaths as a testimony to the special intimacy enjoyed when sacred time is observed in the sacred space” (p. 141). Not only does this reading illumine the internal life the authors and readers of Rav Kahana, but it also throws considerable doubt upon current thinking about the historical context in which Pesikta d’Rav Kahana arose. Chapter 10, “If the Text Had Not Been Written, It Could Not be Said” (pp. 146–161), by Moshe Halbertal explores the meaning and 6 Marc Hirschman, “Paidea and the Pesikta d’Rav Kahana,” in Higayon leYona J. Fraenkel Festschrift (ed. J. Levinson, J. Elbaum, and G. Hasan-Rokem; Jerusalem: Magnes, 2006), 165–78 [Hebrew].

452

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

implicature of the locution “if the text had not been written, it could not be said,” which precedes a limited number of drashot (exegeses) in rabbinic literature.7 Halbertal observes that this formula, though making a direct appeal to textual authority to defend the subsequent exegesis, is followed in every case by an exegesis that is highly creative and moves far beyond the simple meaning of the text. Halbertal detects within the exegeses offered under this formula a powerful evocation of Israel’s yearning for God, which is expressed in unexpected images of powerlessness—as slave, wife, and victim. Halbertal’s chapter is itself a moving articulation of the deep seated longing for God and temple that pervades rabbinic exegesis. The third section, “The Medieval Period” contains six essays that investigate how Fishbane’s work on myth and culture can bear fruit in the study of medieval philosophy, mysticism, and biblical exegesis. Kalman P. Bland, in “Cain, Abel, and Brutism” (chapter 11, pp. 165–85), explores the ways that Maimonides used Genesis 4 as a vehicle for expounding upon the bestial nature of humanity. In a highly suggestive essay, Elliot Wolfson shows that the authors of Zohar not only viewed their interpretations as revelatory (as did the rabbis before them), but they believed that their mystical experiences and interpretations were more elevated than comparable prophetic experiences (chapter 12, “‘Sage is Preferable to Prophet’: Revisioning Midrashic Imagination,” pp. 186–210). Always brilliant, Moshe Idel introduces readers to an unappreciated collection of thirteenth-century Ashkenazi biblical commentaries that are quite discernibly developed from Hekhalot (ascent) literature. Idel characterizes their phenomenological exegesis as “angelomagical” (“On Angels and Biblical Exegesis in Thirteenth-Century Ashkenaz,” chap. 13, pp. 211–244). Eli Yassif turns our attention to a fourteenth century magical-erotic novella contained within Eleazer ben-Asher ben-Levi’s Sefer ha-Zikhronot (“Book of Memory”). Yassif derives the tropes and themes of the, seemingly original, novella from traditional literature of Jewish antiquity (chapter 14, “‘Virgil in the Basket’: Narrative as Hermeneutics in Hebrew Literature of the Middle Ages,” pp. 245–67). Gilbert Dahan’s chapter examines the fate of the “fable” (a literary form that he contends is coextensive with “myth” and “aggadah”) within medieval Christianity. Christians, he asserts, adopted the mashal, “parable,” but rejected midrash, “fable” (chapter 15, “Fabula between μυθος and ‫אגדה‬: Concerning Christian Exegesis during the Middle Ages,” pp. 268–280). Finally, in chapter 16, Bernard McGinn takes Fishbane’s work on the reception history of the Song of Songs as his 7 Halbertal’s chapter complements Fishbane’s own work on the formulae kivyakhol and ilmale, on which he wrote a lengthy appendix in his Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking (pp. 325–401; see also The Garments of Torah, 19–32).

REVIEWS

453

starting point to examine how Christian women read and received the Song in the twelfth century. He finds, on occasion, remarkable parallels to Jewish interpretation that can hardly be attributed to coincidence (“Women Reading the Song of Songs in the Christian Tradition,” pp. 281–296). The fourth and final section, “The Modern Period,” includes two chapters. Both chapters further develop themes taken up in earlier essays (especially those of Liebes, Wolfson, Idel, and McGinn). Chapter 17, by Naftali Loewenthal, is entitled “Finding the Radiance in the Text: A Habad Hasidic Interpretation of the Exodus” (pp. 299–309). By means of one modern interpretation of the Exodus, Loewenthal, illustrates how Hasidic teachers experience the biblical text as a gateway to the mystical radiance. Paul Mendes-Flohr’s essay, “Between Sensual and Heavenly Love: Franz Rosenzweig’s reading of the Song of Songs” (chapter 18, pp. 310–318) then describes how one modern Jewish philosopher received and reflected upon the Song’s union of themes of love and death, embodied in the refrain “love is strong as death.” This is a remarkably rich and textured collection of essays. The breadth of their reach, from ancient near eastern scribal culture to modern Jewish mysticism, mirrors the interests and achievements of Michael Fishbane, whose erudition and research have touched all periods of biblical exegesis and Jewish culture. Biblical scholars will find implications and significances for their own work throughout these essays, no matter how far removed from the classical biblical disciplines. This volume is a fitting tribute to the genius of professor Fishbane— ‫ימים טובים ארוכים ושמחים‬ ‫שיחיה לאורך‬.

454

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Tebes, Juan Manuel, CENTRO Y PERIFERIA EN EL MUNDO ANTIGUO: EL NEGEV Y SUS INTERACCIONES CON EGIPTO, ASIRIA, Y EL LEVANTE EN LA EDAD DEL HIERRO (1200–586 A.C.) (Ancient Near East Monographs, 1; 2nd ed.; Buenos Aires/Atlanta: SBL & CEHAO, 2008). Pp. 111 with maps, photographs and plans. ISBN 9789872060640. Reviewed by Romina Della Casa CONICET, Pontifical Catholic University of Argentina. As per its title (ET: Center and Periphery in the Ancient World: The Negev and its Interactions with Egypt, Assyria and the Levant in the Iron Age), this volume studies the socio-political and economic evolution of the Negev, the arid triangle situated in modern-day southern Israel, during the Late Bronze and Iron Ages. Tebes uses a whole range of archaeological data provided by excavation and surveys reports, epigraphic and literary material, coupled with the theoretical framework of the World Systems theory. Chapter I introduces readers to the main tenets of the World System model. As the author points out, the central axis of this theory lies in the idea that the underdevelopment of the periphery is a result of its relationship with the center and vice versa that the development of the center is a result of the underdevelopment of the periphery. Thus, the socio-economic and political positions of both (periphery and center) emerge out of dependent relationships based on the surplus produced by the periphery. This model, which was used for understanding the arising of the modern capitalist states, was later adapted to pre-capitalist contexts. Based on this theoretical model, Tebes proposes to categorize the Negev as a “peripheral” society in which its internal development is intimately related with the “central” societies of the period, Egypt and Mesopotamia. It should be noted that, despite the constraints that ancient central societies imposed over the peripheries, Tebes argues that ancient peripheral societies had wide levels of political and economic autonomy in their core areas. In this particular case, he maintains that the Negev societies could have responded in two different ways to a contraction cycle of the center: (a)

REVIEWS

455

autonomous growth or (b) a return to less complex socio-political and economic structures. Chapter II presents an analysis of “The Negev under Egyptian Hegemony”. The archaeological and textual evidence indicates that the period of the Egyptian presence in the Negev is a characteristic case of a center that exerts its predominance over its periphery (p. 33). The author observes that Egypt, developed two main strategies in the area by the end of this period. Egypt applied, in general, a model of indirect exploitation, thus avoiding the political and economic costs of maintaining garrisons and a permanent administration in the region. Egypt also implemented a model of direct intervention in economically important locations, such as the Timna copper mines. In Chapter III, Tebes discusses the conditions of local peripheral societies during the period of Egyptian intervention. He highlights the ceramic evidence of Timna, particularly the presence of “Midianite” pottery, which shows that pastoral groups were employed by the Egyptians as labor force in the mines and melting copper camps. Egypt operated Timna as an “economic enclave” (p. 34), while the relationship between the locals and the Egyptians were ones of cooperation and mutual benefit (p. 43). In addition, the Egyptians most likely exerted indirect control over the commercial roads that went from Timna (crossing the Arabah and Edom) to central Jordan, as well as from those from the northern Arabah to the Egyptian border. He indicates that this type of trade was widely different from that prevalent during the Late Iron Age and which was based on camel transportation. Chapter IV (entitled, “Crisis of the Mediterranean World System and Autonomous Development of the Beersheba Valley”) explains how the end of the palatine economies of the Late Bronze Age led to more decentralized ways of economic organization during the Iron Age. This development and the related end of the Egyptian hegemony in the Levant resulted in substantial changes in the Negev. The end of the Egyptian exploitation at Timna was followed by a drastic decline of the demand of copper from the Arabah. At the same time, the Negev underwent a political vacuum, which would soon be filled by a peripheral autonomous entity located in the Valley of Beersheba: Tel Masos. Tebes demonstrates that Tel Masos owed its growing political importance to its strategic position in the (new) commercial networks. The amount of imported ceramics (Philistine, Phoenician, Egyptian, Midianite and Negevite pottery) at the site attests to fluent contacts, direct and indirect, with several external areas (p. 72). Since Tel Masos’ economic system was based on its relationships with more complex societies – particularly Central and North Palestine and Egypt –, the decrease in the central demand for copper resulted in its collapse.

456

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Chapter V deals with “[t]he Negev During the Iron II Period”. During the Assyrian domination, the Negev, by now nominally inside the borders of Judah, was well integrated into the Assyrian World System, and reached a period of commercial zenith. However, when the Assyrian hegemony in the Levant was replaced by the Neo-Babylonian domain, the successive military and economic shocks suffered by the Negev led to the disappearance of most settlements in the area. This work proposes an interesting and appropriate approach to questions of Negev history that relies on World System theory. It emphasizes the “peripheral” aspect of the Negev. A variety of textual and archaeological data are discussed and support the positions advanced by the author.

Moberly, R. W. L., THE THEOLOGY OF THE BOOK OF GENESIS (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Pp. xv+245. Paperback, £15.99 (US$24.99). ISBN 9780521685382. Hardback £44.00 (US $ 82.00). ISBN 9780521866316. Reviewed by Tim Stone Greenport NY Walter Moberly’s The Theology of the Book of Genesis is the second offering in a new series entitled Old Testament Theology, which aspires to inhabit the space between short theological summaries and full, detailed-filled commentaries to provide a venue for robust theological reflection on individual Old Testament books. Moberly’s contribution is an engaging and theologically rich distillation of a long and patient meditation on Genesis. While he draws from many of his previous studies on Genesis, the work is also full of new insights. I will review the work first and, at the end, offer a few evaluative comments. In the first chapter, Moberly notes the contested nature of what constitutes theology and asks, “What is a theology of Genesis?” After exploring historical criticism and ideological criticism, he proposes a theology of Genesis that is “faithful” to the text of Genesis (in its received form) but, read in light of its canonical contexts, plural. For Moberly this means two things: first, reading Genesis in the “context of the Scriptures of

REVIEWS

457

Judaism and Christianity” (12); and second, listening attentively to the various ways the traditions—primarily Jewish and Christian— recontextualize and appropriate Genesis to speak to changing contemporary circumstances. Within this approach, the interpreter’s context takes on greater significance, since, for Moberly, one’s entrance into the theological issues need not arise from a systematic reading of Genesis, but from issues in the current climate. Three contexts, then, concern Moberly: text, reception, and contemporary context; the latter two usually serve as the point of departure (20). As the rest of the book reveals, this does not mean that reception or contemporary context run roughshod over the text (chapters 9 and 11 exemplify this well); rather, together they function dialogically within a theological approach to Genesis. Thus Moberly states: The theological interpretation of scripture—its reading with a view to articulating and practicing its enduring significance for human life under God—involves a constant holding together of parts and a whole which is regularly reconfigured. It is in the meeting of biblical text with canonical context and the ongoing life of communities of faith that theology is done—and where one may hope to try to articulate a theology of Genesis (17).

After outlining his approach in chapter one, he moves on to explore Genesis 1–11 in chapters two through six. Before addressing the theology of this section, Moberly considers its genre in order to avoid misunderstanding the nature of the literature and, in turn, its theological significance (21). Moberly takes his cue for this from the history of interpretation and its struggle to understand, for instance, “Whence Cain’s wife?” (23). This particular difficulty is only one of many that Moberly highlights. He then asks, “How is this mismatch between the story’s own assumptions and its present context best explained?” (25). He concludes that this story, with its assumption of a populated earth, has a literary history since it was probably moved from its original context to come directly after Genesis 1–3 (28). It does not follow from this that one should “not take the narrative sequence from Adam and Eve to Cain and Abel with imaginative seriousness as part of a developing story line” (28). Moberly discusses similar difficulties with Noah’s flood and the use of Hebrew in the early chapters of Genesis. The lack of historical realism and the signs of textual relocation, have led some—like Richard Dawkins—to conclude that that Bible is strange and merely a human construct since it fully partakes of ancient literary conventions (37). However, for Moberly, the issue is not to “narrow the range of ‘acceptable’ human mediations of

458

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the divine—as though individual authors composing narratives of historical factuality should be acceptable in a way that editors and scribes reworking the traditional material preserved by a community is unacceptable” (39). The real challenge, according to Moberly, is to discern how divine revelation and human construction “belong together” (40, italics his). Chapter three explores various frames for contextualizing the portrait of Genesis 1. First, he offers a preliminary reading Genesis 1 “in itself,” though he admits this notion is not as straightforward as it may appear (43). On this reading God is the archetypal craftsman who actively brings the world into existence; the depiction in Genesis 1 is drawn from the world familiar to the author as illustrated by the presentation of the waters and the barrier that holds them back; although not in the form of poetry, Genesis’ first chapter evokes worship of God and highlights the “dignity and responsibility of humans” (48). From here, Moberly moves on to explore Genesis 1 in relation to ancient Near Eastern parallels, Jon Levenson’s reading inCreation and the Persistence of Evil (which Moberly uses as a vehicle to explore other canonical portrayals of creation in the Hebrew Bible and rabbinic Judaism), and evolutionary biology. Moberly concludes that these alternative pictures of the world ought not be banished to allow Genesis 1 to dominate, but rather held in tension with scenes that “highlight evil, suffering and randomness within the world” (68–69). Yet, without reducing the situation’s complexity, for Moberly, Genesis 1 remains “more fundamental than any negative understanding” of the world (69). Chapter four interacts with James Barr’s reading of Adam and Eve and “the fall” in The Garden of Eden and the Hope of Immortality, before offering a “reformulated” reading in support of the “traditional” interpretation (75). Against Barr, who does not read Genesis 2–3 as depicting the fall of humanity, but rather addressing the issue of immortality, Moberly carefully sketches a reading focused on God’s trustworthiness so that all this fuss about a mere apple truly does address the deep issues of faithfulness to God. “Such a reading of Genesis 2–3 is fully congruent with my contention,” Moberly writes, “that the issue at stake in God’s prohibition and the humans’ transgression need not be morally obvious to be genuinely serious” (86). Chapter five on Cain and Abel begins by exploring Regina M. Schwartz’s book The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism, which addresses current anxieties that belief in one God entails exclusion and favoritism that lead inevitably to violence. Moberly’s theological reading, taking its cue from the history of interpretation, brings to the fore God’s decision to favor Abel’s sacrifice over Cain’s. Why? Moberly refrains from rationalizing God’s acceptance of Abel’s offering and suggests that God’s favoritism occurs irrespective of what Cain deserves. Not only does this

REVIEWS

459

reflect existential issues in every age—life is not fair—but more importantly it brings one directly into the story’s dilemma. After some nuanced discussion of the Hebrew of Gen 4:7, Moberly suggestions that God’s admonition to Cain is not that he has done something wrong, but that Cain’s disappointment in God’s choice need not lead him to sin (97). Of course, Cain does not accept the inequity of God and murders his brother. For Moberly, then, the story’s thrust asks one to do “well in demanding circumstances” no matter how inequitable, unfavorable, or mysterious they may be (98). In this regard, Moberly suggest that Schwartz is “a direct descendent of Cain” since for “her, apparently, inequity is indeed iniquity” (99). Chapter six explores the flood in Genesis 6–9. Before presenting his own reading, Moberly sets out a few preliminary issues. First, a story about God “wiping out the whole of life on earth,” except for Noah’s family and the animals on the ark “seems intrinsically unpromising,” (107) given postmodern concerns as illustrated by Dawkins’ construal of the tale as morally appalling (102). Second, Moberly considers the story’s relationship to other flood stories, like the Epic of Gilgamesh, and examines the view, held by most modern scholars, that the story consists of two originally separate accounts (J and P). Some of the differences are not as problematic as they are frequently made to appear, yet without glossing over the differences between the two accounts, Moberly proposes to read the flood story as “one story” (104). His exposition focuses on what he calls the “evilthought clause” of Gen 6:5 and 8:21. Since God judges the earth because humanity’s heart was only evil continually (Gen 6:5), then why, after the flood, does he decide to never send another, since “the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth”? (Gen 8:21). “The puzzle is why one and the same thing should, apparently, be the reason for … both judgment and grace” (111). Moberly argues that the second “evil-thought clause” is a redactional addition by a scribe who approaches the flood story from the perspective of the continual corruption of humanity in his own day (112– 17). As a result, the story functions for the scribe to illustrate God’s continual forbearance after the flood: “The scribe’s work is thus indicative of the use of traditional narrative for articulating a contemporary existential reality” (117). In its received form, then, the moral of the story is that “Humanity remains undeserving of the gift of life in a regular world order, but the gift will be given nonetheless” (118). Moberly then connects this story to the narrative sequence of Exodus 32–34 through several narrative analogies, not least a similar clause to the “evil-thought clause,” namely “a stiff-necked people.” According to Moberly this connection reveals a “deep theological vision.” He writes: “God deals with the world in general in the same way as with Israel in particular” (120).

460

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Chapters seven through twelve cover issues in Genesis 12–50. Moberly avoids drawing a sharp distinction between these chapters and Genesis 1–11 since they share many “continuities of content and convention” but maintains that a distinction is still “heuristically useful” (121). In chapter seven Moberly discusses the problem of the Patriarchs in Jewish observance of torah and from a compositional and religio-historical perspective as a lead in to an explanation of how a canonical approach may offer a third way of addressing this problem. From a Jewish perspective, how can Genesis 12–50 continue to function as scripture even though “God’s self-revelation to Moses and Israel at Sinai/Horeb” is “normative, indeed definitive”? (121) In the Jewish tradition there is a continual wrestling with the issue of the “pre-torah context of Genesis” (123). Most Jews assimilated the Patriarchs into a torah context, but for Christian interpreters such as Paul in Romans, the current runs the other direction. He “relativizes the significance of torah” since Abraham was counted righteous without torah observance (125). Moberly notes that this classic problem has not occupied modern scholarship. Instead, the same basic issue has been transformed from one of religious observance to one of compositional history. Moberly’s own canonical approach takes the compositional history of the text seriously, but also hopes to “reappropriate” the classic Jewish problem of Genesis 12–50, arguing that the Old Testament as a whole poses the same question for Christianity that the Genesis 12–50 does for many Jewish interpreters: “How does one relate continuity and identity to the real and major differences?” (131). The editorial shaping of the Patriarchal material did not erase the differences, but instead rendered Abraham as a type of Israel (Gen 12:10–20) that illustrates for Israel what obedience to their God looks like (Gen 22). Moberly contends that the Abraham material was re-contextualized in order to function authoritatively for Israel (139). Chapter eight explores the significance of Gen 12:1–3. First, Moberly entertains the views of Gerhard von Rad and Christopher Wright, who argue that Gen 12:1–3 indicates that Abraham is chosen from among the nations in order to be a blessing to the nations. Then, Moberly proposes an alternative reading in which he argues, “the nations constitute the backdrop in spite of whom Abraham will become a great nation, rather than for the sake of whom Abraham will become a great nation” (149, italics his). In other words, Abraham’s call is to assure him that other nations will bless themselves by Abraham due to his greatness (155). This conclusion is based primarily on philological evidence and the idiomatic meaning of blessing and cursing (148–55). Chapter nine considers whether or not Gen 12:3a is a “biblical basis for Christian Zionism” (162). Moberly presents the views of Jerry Falwell,

REVIEWS

461

John Hagee, and Charles Colson, who all, even if in slightly different ways, think that Gen 12:3a does in fact support Christian Zionism (162–66). Noting the complexity of the issues, Moberly considers several factors. First, within the contextual framework of the Pentateuch this reading seems to have support in the plain sense of the text, yet Moberly does not think this settles the matter since “responsible” Jewish or Christian use relates to a wider frame of reference that takes into account the canonical context (169). Second, in the New Testament, as in the Old, everlasting covenants can be set aside. The covenant of circumcision with Abraham is everlasting, yet Paul makes it clear that circumcision is no longer necessary (173). Third, who are the children of Abraham? According to Paul, those who are in Christ are his children. Christian appeals to Gen 12:3a need to take “seriously the New Testament input on the question of who should be considered a descendant of Abraham” (176). To identify one’s position as hopeful of receiving a blessing from the “Jewish people” rather than as standing with Abraham—as the New Testament appears to locate Christians—is problematic for Moberly (176). Fourth, the self-interest of blessing the Jews in order to receive a blessing because, in the words of Hagee, “I want to be blessed,” does not sit easily, for instance, with the New Testament’s call to deny oneself and take up one’s cross (177). Moberly concludes: “although Christian theology must indeed seek to hear the voices of the Old Testament in their own right, any authentically Christian appropriation of those voices must think and act in light of Christ, supremely his death and resurrection” (178). Chapter ten considers whether or not Abraham in Genesis 22 is a “model or monster?” (179). In view of the modern tendency to read the story negatively, Moberly observes that it is contextualized by the canonical context as the climax of Abraham’s relationship with God and that it is called a test in the narrative, which implies a positive purpose for Abraham. Also, due to the pronouncement that he fears God, his actions are cast in a positive light. And finally, the location of the mount is strongly associated with Jerusalem’s temple (184–89). With these observations in view, which deeply embed the story in the “very heart of the Old Testament’s theological frame of reference,” Moberly offers some additional factors for understanding Genesis 22 (189). Even though instrumentalizing Isaac is “unacceptable today,” this should not lead to a wholesale rejection of the texts, since these notions are tied to “larger social and cultural frames of reference” (194). Readers that do not share the assumptions of monarchy can still intelligently engage and learn from Shakespeare’s Macbeth or King Lear. Theological interpretation that engages seriously with the canonical context, as Moberly has defined it, cannot simply adopt or reject the text, but rather is constrained and guided by the canonical context as it weighs

462

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the enduring significance of the text (195). With this context in view the modern anxiety that Genesis 22 endorses child abuse or worse seems rather odd since the Jewish and Christian traditions have never read the text in this fashion but rather “analogically and metaphorically” as a text dealing with life’s most trying times and illustrating a faith that is willing to relinquish to God what is most cherished (195, italics his). Chapter eleven addresses the appeal of Abraham as a figure to promote interfaith dialogue. Moberly sympathetically exposits Karl-Josef Kuschel’s work, Abraham: A Symbol of Hope for Jews, Christians and Muslims, which argues that if “faith, lack of aggression and universal concerns,” rooted in Abraham, are given their proper role, there is hope of peace between Jews, Christians and Muslims (201–207). After a preliminary critique of Kuschel’s position, Moberly examines, at some length, the critique of Jon Levenson in the essay entitled “The Conversion of Abraham to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam” (in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel). Levenson’s position can be summarized in his own words: “The quest for the neutral Abraham has failed. The patriarch is too embedded in the Torah, the New Testament, and the Qur’an (and in the normative documents of the traditions they undergird) to be extracted and set in judgment upon the traditions that claim him” (214). In agreement with Levenson’s position, Moberly considers it “hardly meaningful to appeal to the Abrahamic [material in Genesis] apart from its subsequent transformation and appropriation” (220). Moberly acknowledges that the chapter has been mostly negative, but notes the significance of conclusions that prevent people from “entering dead-end alleys” (220). Among other positive suggestions for how to approach this issue theologically, Moberly puts forward the hospitality of Abraham to the three men in Genesis 19. This may help one remember that the issue of interfaith dialogue is not “solely intellectual but include personal relationship and generosity” (224). Chapter twelve, the last of the volume, evaluates if Joseph should be considered wise. Moberly builds on—yet re-envisions—von Rad’s thesis that the form and content of the Joseph narrative arises from the development of wisdom during a “Solomonic Enlightenment.” Moberly carefully notes the critiques of von Rad’s historical scheme for connecting the Joseph story with wisdom since there is no evidence that such a “Solomonic Enlightenment” ever took place, yet he still suggests that there is some “real heuristic value” in linking Joseph and Proverbs (231). Moberly justifies his position by noting that Genesis 39 is “readily open to intertextual reading” which nicely complements the reversal of the role of temptress from Proverbs 1–9. Genesis 39 also bears a “similar conceptuality” to the words of Woman Wisdom in Prov 8:35 and shares a concern with character development over precise doctrinaire prescription

REVIEWS

463

(though he finds both necessary) (233–37). A substantial objection to Joseph as a “model of wisdom” is his treatment of his brothers when they come down to Egypt to buy food (237). After entertaining the view that Joseph may be manipulating his brothers in order to torment them and gain some measure of revenge for their actions against him, Moberly thinks there is still value in von Rad and Claus Westermann’s reading, which envisions Joseph’s actions as reduplicating the situation in which they took advantage of him in order to divine what is in their hearts. That is, through this little deceptive drama Joseph seeks to reveal and prick the consciences of his brothers and thus provide proof that his brothers have really changed. For Moberly this reading supports the idea that Joseph acted wisely towards his brothers (240). Regardless of von Rad’s historical linkage of Joseph with the “Solomonic Enlightenment,” for Moberly, it is still “reasonable to see the text as didactic in purpose in its portrayal of Joseph as an embodiment of the acquisition and display of wisdom” (244). To conclude this review I will make a few evaluative comments about the work. First, one is left with a fragmented picture of Genesis. There is no sustained discussion of anything in Genesis 13–21, nor is Isaac or Jacob given a chapter, and even though Joseph does receive treatment, devoting one chapter to the last fourteen chapters, compared to five chapters to the first eleven chapters of Genesis (regardless of how significant that subject matter may be) leaves substantial gaps in the volume. Moberly, is, of course, aware of this problem (xxii), and I do not offer this observation as criticism—there are more than enough commentaries and books on Genesis that attempt to cover all the material—as much as an indication of the kind of book that Moberly has written. The book does not trace the major themes of Genesis or systematically examine each major section of the book. What it does very well is bore down deeply into selected texts in Genesis in dialogue with contemporary issues and the history of Jewish and Christian interpretation and appropriation. Issues are not dealt with in passing but developed with cogency and skill as Moberly deftly navigates the gaps between ancient text, tradition, and the contemporary context. The results are often penetrating and profound both in terms of the text of Genesis and its abiding theological significance today among Christians and Jews. While this review has devoted significant attention to the summary of Moberly’s arguments in some detail, inevitably I have made straight what had contained not a few carefully calculated turns and lost much of the complexity and nuance of his work. It is not a work that is easily summarized and thus ought to be read in full both for its fine scholarship and careful insights into common existential issues. Of course, one may find his readings unconvincing—I doubt there is much gained heuristically or otherwise in directly linking the Joseph narrative with Proverbs—but

464

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

one’s objections will very likely be refined and sharpened by Moberly’s insightful discussion. Second, although Moberly had limited space and hoped that his studies would be “representative of Genesis and its theology as whole” (xxii)—a hope I think he achieved—within his own canonical approach, one potentially fruitful endeavour is left undeveloped: what to do with or how to read the book of Genesis as a whole in its received form? How does Genesis 1–11 related to the patriarchal material; how does Genesis 1–36 relate to the Joseph story and visa versa? Taking into account, as Moberly does, the various sources, forms, and content of Genesis, how would one approach the relationship of the parts to the whole with “imaginative seriousness”? Is it possible or even desirable to read Genesis as “one story”? This would not require anything like an exhaustive account, but like Moberly’s other essays, it could be illustrated by one example that is representative of the larger task. Of course, asking an author to do something that they have not done is not entirely fair, but nevertheless it seems, at least to me, intrinsic to the task of those who adopt a canonical approach and a focus on the received form to render some account of the this form of Genesis as a whole. More concern with this contextual parameter may have contributed to several of the essays in the volume. For instance, it may be worth considering in chapter eight on the nature of the blessing of Abraham that Laban states that he has been blessed due to Jacob (Gen 30:27) or that Joseph is a source of blessing in Potiphar’s house (Gen 39:5), which in the larger narrative appears to be analogous to Joseph’s role as ruler over all Egypt. Could these texts, which envision the descendants of Abraham as a source of blessing, be interpretations of Abraham’s blessing, much like the Septuagint’s rendering of Gen 12:3? This small issue aside, Moberly’s book is full of treasures both new and old.

REVIEWS

465

Cotrozzi, Stefano, EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED: ASPECTS OF PRAGMATIC FOREGROUNDING IN OLD TESTAMENT NARRATIVES (LHBOTS, 510: New York: T & T Clark, 2010). Pp. xviii+290. Hardcover. US$120.00. ISBN 9780567568380. Reviewed by Krzysztof J. Baranowski University of Toronto “The demands being made of PhD thesis writers of the present generation are becoming altogether excessive. They, rather than their teachers, are now being expected to produce the research on which the field depends and develops, and results are being published frequently with little or no modification, when in fact they need substantial maturing.” In this manner, the respected Assyriologist, W. G. Lambert, began his review of a Harvard doctoral dissertation.1 Fifteen years later, his words remain valid and provide the context in which the dissertation under review should be judged. The present generation of doctoral students is expected to be wellversed in languages and history, in linguistics and literature, in past and current theoretical developments in their field and in cognate disciplines. Combined with a push towards interdisciplinary approaches, the task for doctoral dissertations seems insurmountable. Stefano Cotrozzi’s thesis is a serious attempt to meet all these expectations and the work testifies to a tremendous amount of educational effort. In fact, the author has acquainted himself with intricacies of the use of the participle in Arabic as well as the relationship between aging and memory for expected and unexpected objects in real-world settings. Although all this vast knowledge is gathered with admirable diligence, one wonders whether the project contributes in a significant manner to the understanding of the mechanics of biblical storytelling and the peculiarities of the Hebrew verbal system. While the title of the book suggests a study concentrated on an aspect of biblical 1 W. G. Lambert, Review of Studies in Third Millennium Sumerian and Akkadian Personal Names: The Designation and Conception of the Personal God by Robert A. di Vito, Orientalia 64 (1995): 131–132.

466

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

narratives, Cotrozzi explores several claims about the verb, particularly the existence of an historic present within the Biblical Hebrew verbal system.

SUMMARY OF THE BOOK Chapters 1 and 2 are to be read as one unit since they present the concept of foregrounding, from its introduction by the Prague School Circle, through its development by the Russian formalists, and up to recent refinements by the British literary critics. From this panorama one learns that foregrounding is actually a complex phenomenon that involves defamiliarization, deviation from the expectations raised in the course of the narrative and the use of evaluation devices. Chapter 3 provides key concepts for the analysis of foregrounding understood as defamiliarization and deviation from expected schemata. In this chapter Cotrozzi uses the perspective of cognitive science and briefly presents the ways in which knowledge is conceptualized and schematized. Indeed, knowledge of any element of the world and of any activity (for example, what is “a face” or what does it mean “to borrow a book in the library”) can be described as familiarity with a series of standard and expected objects and actions. The concepts used to describe these objects and actions, their roles and interactions are: schema, frame, scenario, scripts, plans, goals, and themes. Ideas about each of these elements are culturally sensitive. This interrelation of knowledge and culture requires from the biblical scholar familiarity with the typical way in which the Bible conceptualizes and describes objects and events. Only one who is well acquainted with the usual and the expected elements of the biblical narrative can recognize unexpected turns and unusual features that deviate from the blueprint. These deviations constitute specific chunk discourse that the narrator chooses to foreground. Chapter 4 provides examples of foregrounding in the Hebrew Bible in which the biblical narrative departs from the usual frames, schemata, plans, goals and themes. For each of these categories a few examples are collected and briefly commented upon. The main conclusions the author draws are: 1. every type of knowledge can be foregrounded; 2. the foregrounded piece of information may be embedded both in the narrative and in the direct speech; 3. foregrounding may be strengthened by the use of literary devices such as wordplay, repetition or assonance and by syntax; 4. the length of the foregrounded material can vary from one to several clauses, and 5. foregrounded clauses may employ any verbal form. Chapter 5 appeals to the work of the American sociologist, W. Labov, specifically his study of evaluation devices in oral narratives of personal experience. These devices are clauses that depart from expected narrative

REVIEWS

467

syntax to convey the importance and significance of the narrated events so that the listener or the reader is guided in their interpretation. Chapter 6 applies the Labovian model (following refinements proposed by R. E. Longacre and L. Polanyi) to the biblical texts in order to describe the evaluation devices. According to Cotrozzi, such devices include symbolic use of numbers, repetition, piling up of synonyms, and wordplays. The author concludes that evaluative devices are drawn from every level of linguistic structure, may consist of single words or of entire clauses, and may occur both in narrative sections and in direct speech. Chapter 7 begins a section of the book that is concentrated on an internal evaluative device, namely, the historic present. From a crosslinguistic survey the following characteristics emerge: 1. the historic present occurs mostly in complicating sections of a narrative that advance the plot, and thus it marks narrative peaks; 2. both perfective and imperfective forms can be used in the historic present, but most commonly it encodes momentous events; 3. it occurs more readily in positive rather than negative clauses; and 4. verbs of motion, perception, speech, killing and wounding are those which quite often occur in the historic present. The second section of chapter 7, after a short criticism of H. Weinrich’s theory of the narrative use of tenses, proceeds with a survey of the alleged use of the imperfect and the participle as the historic present in Semitic languages. According to Cottrozzi’s review, the existence of the historic present was proposed for many Semitic languages but it is probable only in NeoAramaic. Chapter 8 evaluates the claim that the imperfect is used in Biblical Hebrew as the historic present. Since the pattern of use of the imperfect does not match the features characteristic for the historic present in other languages, Cotrozzi concludes that the imperfect should not be interpreted as the historic present. Chapter 9 investigates J. Joosten’s proposal that the participle in the syntagms we + noun phrase + resumptive pronoun + participle and wehinnēh + noun phrase + participle is employed as the historic present. With a methodology similar to the one used in chapter 9, the author arrives at a similar conclusion: the participle is not the Biblical Hebrew historic present. Chapter 10 elaborates on the function of the syntagm wehinnēh + noun phrase followed by other constituents. The thesis of A. Berlin and M. Sternberg that this syntagm functions as a marker of free indirect speech (that is, a description of a character’s perception of the external world) is accepted and supported with additional arguments.

468

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

SOME CONTROVERSIAL POINTS As is the case with every other study concentrated on literature, Cotrozzi’s interpretations and conclusions can be contested. Unfortunately I find myself often in disagreement with his grammatical and narrative-literary analysis of the selected texts. Some examples shall illustrate the nature of my objections. While analyzing the Akkadian historic present, Cotrozzi parses the form i-ta-aḫ-zu-nim as the preterite and the form is-sà-qar-šu-nu-ši as the present (pp. 156–157). Both these forms can and probably should be understood as the perfect. Since the understanding of these forms as the present is crucial in Cotrozzi’s analysis, one expects an explanation why they should not be parsed as the perfect. A similar problem occurs in Cotrozzi’s reading of a short passage in Rabbinic Hebrew (p. 191). He discusses the participle as the historic present and quotes a short narrative in which two participles are rendered with the present tense (“calls,” “says”) by J. Elwolde, the translator of the Spanish original of An Introductory Grammar of Rabbinic Hebrew by M. Pérez Fernández. In this example Cotrozzi argues that the use of the participle as the historic present conforms to a cross-linguistic pattern. In fact, crosslinguistically the historic present often advances the plot and occurs frequently with the verbs of speech. The author, however, overlooks the fact that the two verbs that open the narrative and that are rendered by Elwolde/Pérez Fernández with the past tense (“went out,” “wanted”) are actually participles too. The occurrence of these participles requires, of course, a modification in Cotrozzi’s analysis of the passage. Similarly, some analyses of selected passages from the Hebrew Bible are questionable. In commenting on Exod 3:2d (“He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed”), Cotrozzi observes that the last phrase is foregrounded (p. 53). He explains that in this case foregrounding is due to the departure of the narrative from the natural laws of physics. He notes that it is not unusual for bushes in a desert to catch fire but it is unexpected for them not to be consumed. However, both actions (burning and not being consumed) are encoded in the same participial form, and the particle hinnēh, a marker of the unexpected par excellence, is placed at the beginning of the clause that reports the burning of the bush. Hence, on the basis of syntax, I prefer to conclude that both the actions are presented by the narrator as equally unexpected (“foregrounded”). The next passage, also on p. 53, is 2 Sam 11:4. Cotrozzi thinks that David’s lying with Bathsheba is foregrounded. I concur with the author’s argumentation that from the perspective of the entire narrative this action is

REVIEWS

469

unexpected because the narrator consistently builds the picture of David as a man fully committed to God and his commandments. But this unexpected action of David is expressed in one word only, with the same wayyiqtol form as all other “unforegrounded” actions in this verse, and it is not highlighted by the narrator in any way. Therefore, I would say that David’s action is deliberately presented by the narrator without any emphasis or foregrounding, even if this action stands out in the perspective of the entire Davidic story.

CONCLUSIONS Returning to the initial point of this review, that is, to Lambert’s assessment of the expectations placed upon PhD writers, this thesis is certainly emblematic. It investigates the entire biblical corpus, makes use of current literary methodologies and shows excellent familiarity with the bibliography of various fields. But these characteristics of Cotrozzi’s thesis also epitomize weaknesses of current biblical research. Indeed, it seems to me that the wealth of information from the cognate languages and literary and linguistic approaches is hardly matched by an in-depth study of the text of the biblical narratives.

Crane, Ashley S., ISRAEL’S RESTORATION: A TEXTUALCOMPARATIVE EXPLORATION OF EZEKIEL 36–39 (VTSup, 122; Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2008). Pp. xvii+304. Hardcover. US$147.00. ISBN 9789004169623. Reviewed by Iain M. Duguid Grove City College, Grove City, PA Israel’s Restoration: A Textual-Comparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36–39 is an indepth analysis of the different Hebrew and Greek manuscript traditions that underlie Ezekiel 36–39. The goal of the study is not to arrive at finding an “original” Hebrew text, or even to decide on the “better” reading. Rather, Crane desires “to treat each text as an interpretive trajectory witness from the scribe or community wherein it originated” (p. 2). Even where it may be determined that the translator of the LXX was dependent upon a text earlier than the Masoretic Text (MT), Crane is not concerned to

470

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

“correct” the MT: rather both are acknowledged and celebrated as separate interpretive viewpoints. This volume thus seeks to study the reception and interpretation of the text(s) within various scribal communities rather than to explore the meaning of an “original text.” On Crane’s approach, there is little interest in an “original text,” only in a selection of equally valid textual traditions, which are informed by different perspectives and different historical and theological/political agendas. These are not to be pitted against one another but all celebrated equally. After a first chapter introduces this textual-comparative methodology, the second surveys the oldest extant manuscripts of Ezekiel 36–39. Whereas the oldest Hebrew manuscripts seem to agree closely with the MT, the three oldest Greek manuscripts—Papyrus 967 (P967), Codex Vaticanus (GB) and Codex Alexandrinus (GA)—show significant deviations from one another and from the MT. In particular, P967 exhibits a different chapter order, inserting chapters 38 and 39 before chapter 37, and omitting 36:23c– 38. The bulk of the book is devoted to analyzing the verse-by-verse differences between these different Greek and Hebrew witnesses for Ezekiel 36–39. After this thorough survey is complete, a chapter is devoted to P967, exploring and evaluating various proposals which seek to account for the distinctive omission and reordering of the text, and reaching the conclusion that it is a credible witness of a pre-Masoretic Hebrew text. Crane then discusses when and why the reordering that resulted in the present MT might have taken place and what theological significance it might have. He suggests that the different location of Ezekiel 37 in the MT and P967give a different significance to the resurrection of the dry bones that it describes. In P967, where Ezekiel 37 follows chapter 39, the dry bones are simply the literal remains of the Israelite dead from the defeat of Gog: their resurrection and the reunion of Israel under a peaceful Davidic shepherd are then anticipated as taking place in a distant eschatological context, whereas in the MT they are the prerequisite that takes place before Israel’s final struggle against Gog. Crane suggests that the more timeless message of P967 ”may reflect the eschatology of a writer living in exile” (p. 252), while the change in focus represented by the MT tradition serves as a call to postexilic Israel to unite and gather against her enemies (p. 254). By bringing the future promises into the present, this emphasis better fitted Israel’s needs during the Hasmonean period, when Antiochus IV might have been identified as the Gog from the north, and the nation needed to unite against this common foe (p. 257). This scenario would also fit the time period of the Roman invasion in 63 BCE (p. 258). The addition to chapter 36 was subsequent to the reordering and added a call to purity, introducing and explaining the vision of the dry bones, which now ex hypothesi became a

REVIEWS

471

metaphorical description of moral and/or spiritual resurrection, rather than a literal resurrection. There is no question that the textual history of the OT/HB is a complex issue, in which differences between manuscripts may not merely be due to copyists’ errors but in at least some cases to competing versions of a text. It seems entirely plausible that in the case of Ezekiel 36–39, the differences in order between the MT and P967 are not arbitrary. Someone may well have had an agenda. However, it seems to me an extremely speculative task to reconstruct the motivation for that change since we have no objective data as to who reordered the text or when. In particular, it is hard to explain how a text that had achieved the level of reverence that Crane ascribes to it on p. 257 could so easily have been tampered with for distinct theological reasons, and then the evidence of the former edition almost completely expunged from the record. It will not do simply to argue that the new text “makes good moral and spiritual sense…yet with military overtones” (p. 257), since apparently the old text made even better sense. Moreover, anyone who reads the Gog narrative as a militaristic call to action (a long but problematic interpretive tradition of a text in which Israel’s only actual responsibility is to bury the dead bodies) could as easily read it in the same way in a text that the follows the order in P967. In addition, while the order of the chapters in P967 solves some logical problems (for example, it allows the conclusion of chapter 37 to lead directly into chapter 40), it also creates others. For example, how can the dry bones in chapter 37 be the bones of the Israelites slain in the conflict with Gog, if the role of Israel in that conflict is simply to stand back and watch the Lord at work (see 39:9)? Notwithstanding these observations, this book provides a valuable resource for those interested in the relationship of different manuscripts and text traditions of the OT/HB.

Jones, Scott C., RUMORS OF WISDOM: JOB 28 AS POETRY (BZAW, 398; Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2009). Pp XX + 293. Hardcover. US$126. ISBN 9783110214772. Reviewed by August H. Konkel Providence Theological Seminary, Canada

472

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Job 28 has been described as a brilliant but embarrassing poem for commentators. Scholars have been both impressed and perplexed by its contents. There is appreciation for the poem’s vivid description of the mining process (vv. 3–4, 9–11), the only such account in the Hebrew Bible. Poetic images compare the earth’s precious gems and metals to the surpassing value of wisdom (vv. 15–19). But the text is notoriously obscure as a description of a mining operation, with sometimes tortured explanations or conjectured emendations, particularly with verse 4. A second issue is the function of the poem in the book of Job. It is often identified as an independent “Hymn to Wisdom,” a lyrical poem that may have been composed by the author of Job but does not function well at this point in the text because it anticipates the theme of the God speeches. This is complicated by the common assumption that the third section of the dialogue has suffered dislocations. It has been common to assume that 27:13–23 is a fragment of the last speech of Zophar, presenting the conventional doctrine of wisdom in simplistic form. Jones’ Rumors of Wisdom: Job 28 as Poetry challenges both of these common interpretations of Job. He provides an alternate interpretation of the quest for precious metals in the first section of the poem. He further suggests that the poem functions within the soliloquy of Job to challenge the assumption of the friends that wisdom is accessible to them. Wisdom is transcendent, beyond the reach of mortals. Jones begins with a selected survey of Job 28 in current research. The selected bibliography is extensive (pp. 245–272), but the review is judiciously representative of present trends. Jones points out that commentaries have moved from textual and philological studies to examining the message and aesthetic achievement of the poem, with more attention to the literary and theological structure of the canonical Job rather than a reconstructed Job. Jones examines several essays and monographs on Job 28 and monographs on the book of Job. Jones attempts “deep exegesis” of the poem in Job 28 that weds the philological and literary modes (p. 18). This includes elements in the poem (linguistic, structural), cognitive background to the poem, and aesthetic and rhetorical effects. Jones begins his study with his translation of the poem (chapter 2), followed by a reading of the poem with special focus on poetic phenomena (chapter 3). The translation and reading are based on philological and textual work which is presented in a fourth chapter; a fifth chapter discusses verses 15–19, which Jones believes is a later exegetical comment that has become part of the poem. Jones has structured his study so these chapters are read as cross-referencing information rather than presenting information sequentially. The reader is directed to relevant philological and textual discussion, but those following the Hebrew text with his analysis will

REVIEWS

473

find themselves regularly going to the later chapters for an explanation of the reading. The first eleven verses of the poem are the most difficult in philological choices and development of the imagery. Jones proposes a complete paradigm shift in the conceptual framework of these verses. Traditionally they have been regarded as a description of a mining operation; Jones believes the imagery of these lines is rooted in accounts of foreign expeditions in Akkadian royal inscriptions. The more universal Mesopotamian epic (defined as works around the centrality of a hero), and the Gilgamesh epic in particular, illustrate the resonance and symbolism of the language. Royal inscriptions feature campaigns to distant regions outside the civilized world; Shalmaneser III claims to have discovered the sources of the Tigris and Euphrates. These kings discovered remote lands with exotic treasures. These heroes of foreign conquests claimed to travel through dark peripheral zones, beyond the mountains to the extreme reaches of the world. Read this way, the imagery of the first eleven verses is not vertical language of a miner descending into the earth in search of precious metal, but a horizontal journey as a first discoverer to the very edges of the earth. The vertical dimension becomes prominent only when the extremes of the horizontal have been traversed (vv. 9–11). Jones provides the following translation of the problematic fourth verse: “He breaches course far from dwellers, ones forgotten by passers-by. They are bereft of humans {they wander}.” His interpretation of the imagery as an expedition provides for a more natural philological analysis of two key words: ‫ נחל‬is typically used of a ravine or wadi, the breaking open of a tunnel, but not a mine shaft; ‫ דלו‬is not translated as dangle or swing in any of the ancient versions, and more naturally refers to something of low state, i.e., few humans. Jones thinks that ‫( נעו‬wander) is a partial dittography of the preceding word (‫)מאנוש‬, which may find support in Old Greek and Targums. Jones observes various poetic associations, such as the repetition of the root ( ‫יצא‬in verses 1a and 11b, suggesting completion of the expedition to the “source” highlighted in the poem’s incipit. Jones regards verses 15–19 as secondary, as they are lacking in both Old Greek and the Qumran Targum (11Q10), a common lacuna that must be regarded as more than coincidental. But the argument of Jones for this being secondary is that it adds a value of social dimension to the poem which is otherwise predominantly a spatial metaphor, the place where treasure or wisdom may be found. These verses are enclosed by rhetorical questions asking about the source, place and abode of wisdom. Jones thinks these verses draw on ancient Near Eastern merchant accounts; “these lines

474

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

engage in a sort of Listenwissenschaft, an encyclopedic, if tedious, organization of knowledge” (p. 213). The high concentration of foreign words contributes to the metaphorical projection of commerce with distant exotic lands. Jones regards these verses as an exegetical interpolation added in the context of a new edition of the poem. Jones regards Job 28 as participating in the broader genre of poems concerned with the quest for wisdom. The poem highlights the inadequacy of traditional and philosophical reflection on wisdom. Understanding Job 28 as a parabolic subversion of the trope of the search for wisdom raises new possibilities for reading the poem in its canonical context. The poem serves to turn the “wisdom expedition” theme back on the friends, who have repeatedly claimed their connection with wisdom through tradition. In his monologue, Job underscores the futility of their search. The first section of the poem is a parody of the friend’s exploration of the tradition; like ancient Mesopotamian kings, they would make themselves a “first discoverer.” The inaccessibility of wisdom points out the futility of their hubris. Wisdom can only be connected with the world order of the divine, emphasizing the accessibility of wisdom to those who “fear God and turn from evil.” The study by Jones is an exhaustive resource for virtually every aspect of study in Job 28, including textual, philological, and literary analysis. It will be influential not only for an understanding of this poem on wisdom, but for an understanding of the structure and argument of the book of Job. Its innovation is articulately defended with great detail. One anticipates that it will have no small influence on future studies of the book of Job.

Petterson, Anthony R., BEHOLD YOUR KING: THE HOPE FOR THE HOUSE OF DAVID IN THE BOOK OF ZECHARIAH (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies; New York: T & T Clark, 2009). Pp. xiv + 286. Hardcover, US$150. ISBN 9780567092151 Reviewed by Anna Suk Yee Lee McMaster Divinity College, McMaster University

REVIEWS

475

Behold Your King: The Hope for the House of David in the Book of Zechariah is Petterson’s revised Ph.D. dissertation, completed in 2006 at the Queen’s University of Belfast under the supervision of T. D. Alexander. Dissatisfied with previous research investigating the nature of the Davidic hope through the historical-critical framework, Petterson aims to offer a fresh assessment of the topic in the final form of the book of Zechariah. He concludes that “the canonical book of Zechariah presents a robust hope for a future king in the line of David who will be instrumental in Yahweh’s restoration programme for his people and the world” (p. 1). After defining his methodology, Petterson presents a literature survey on the numerous scholarly reconstructions of the Davidic hope in the book of Zechariah (Chapter 2). The review demonstrates a complete lack of consensus on the issue, largely due to differing views on authorship and editing of the book. Broadly speaking, scholarly views can be divided into three major strands: (a) Zerubbabel as failed restorer of the Davidic monarchy with the Davidic hope recast; (b) no hope for the restoration of the Davidic dynasty either in Zerubbabel or in a future Davidide; and (c) no hope for the restoration of the Davidic monarchy in Zerubbabel, but a clear hope for a future king. In order to support his argument, Petterson focuses particularly on the following issues: the roles of Joshua and Zerubbabel in Zechariah 3 and 4 (Chapter 3); the identity of the Shoot in Zech 3:8 and 6:12 (chapter 4); the coming king in Zech 9:9 (Chapter 5); the shepherd in Zechariah 11 and 13 (Chapter 6); and the pierced one in Zech 12:10 (Chapter 7). Petterson contends that while Zechariah 3 envisages Joshua being reinstated to the role that the high priest enjoyed before the exile rather than an elevation of his status in the absence of a king, Zechariah 4 envisions Zerubbabel as the temple builder reconstructing the temple in the power of Yahweh’s Spirit through his prophets rather than as a king taking the throne. The hope for a future king from the house of David clearly extends beyond them; however, the restoration of the priesthood and the rebuilding of the temple at the time of Joshua and Zerubbabel could heighten the expectation for a coming Davidic king. After tracing the Shoot imagery in Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, Petterson concludes that the Shoot is an eschatological priest-king promised by the “former prophets.” His coming represents the fulfillment of Yahweh’s promise, signifying a new and humble beginning for the house of David which will usher in the kingdom of Yahweh with all its blessings. Zechariah used the “Shoot” passages to keep the Davidic hope alive and to push it into the future. Petterson continues his investigation in Second Zechariah which he views as developing the same hope created in First Zechariah. In Zechariah

476

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

9, he sees that the expectation for a future Davidic king becomes sharper instead of being modified, diminished or democratized. In addition, this coming king will be the lynchpin of a restored land and people, bringing in peace and prosperity. After identifying the “shepherd(s)” in Zech 10:1–11:3 as the wicked leaders of foreign nations, Petterson argues that Yahweh promises to raise up new leaders to replace them (Zech 10:4), among whom the Davidic king of Zech 9:9 is certainly to be included. While the first sign-act of Zech 11:4–14 is a dramatic representation of Israel’s history leading to the exile, the second sign-act of Zech 11:15–17 demonstrates that the people have received what they deserve for their rejection of Yahweh as shepherd. These shepherd images serve to raise the expectation for an eschatological Davidic shepherd-king, coming to overturn the present afflicted situation. Appealing to the wider context of the final form of the book, Petterson argues that the pierced one in Zech 12:10 is the coming king in Zech 9:9. Finally, he identifies the shepherd in Zech 13:7–9 as the future Davidic king, and the function of this passage is to explain Yahweh’s purpose of piercing his Messiah in Zech 12:10. Petterson’s work is well researched and extensive. It engages in dialogue with a wide range of scholarship. His thesis progresses well in First Zechariah, though the reviewer is not totally convinced by his argument, particularly his nuanced views on the priest-king in Zech 6:12–13, such as the identification of “the two” as Yahweh and the Shoot (p. 112) which will place the earthly king on par with the deity. However, with regard to Second Zechariah, Petterson needs to give more attention to certain issues in order to advance his proposal, especially his identification of the “shepherd(s)” and the “pierced one” in the corpus. He interprets the two sign-acts from a historical perspective, with the former one recounting the past failure of Israel and the latter one depicting the present oppression of the Persian king. From a chronological point of view, we would question why the staff of “favour” was broken before the staff of “union” since the former one was nullified due to the exile to Babylon while the latter one was invalid due to the split of the monarchy. In addition, we need more information regarding the socio-historical context of Second Zechariah before we could perceive the identity of that “Persian king” afflicting Yahweh’s people in the prophet’s day (p. 193). To my surprise, Petterson only uses one sentence to state the setting and date of the corpus: “I believe that there are good reasons for placing chs. 9–14 in a later period in the prophet’s ministry, after the completion of the temple (9:8)” (p. 3). In order to identify the pierced one in Zechariah 12, Petterson appeals to the wider context of Second Zechariah. He contends that the final-day battle that will usher in Yahweh’s kingdom is viewed from different

REVIEWS

477

perspectives in each chapter of the corpus, with recurring themes in each cycle (see his table on p. 222). Based on this argument, he concludes that even though “there is no explicit mention of a king here [Zech 12:10] does not mean that there is no king in view, nor that earlier hopes had faded. The hope for a coming king has already been firmly established in chs. 1–6, and clearly reiterated in ch. 9,” with the other chapters continuing to raise this hope of a coming king (p. 222). According to Petterson’s table, the theme of the coming Davidic king in Zechariah 9–14 recurs in (1) Zech 9:9–10; (2) 10:2, 4; (3) 12:10; and (4) 14:9, 16–17. Based on the similarities between chs. 9 and 10, he contends that though the metaphors of Zech 10:4 envisage a plurality of leadership, the Davidic king of Zech 9:9–10 should be included as their leader. It is true that there are many similarities between these two chapters; however, the peace-maker image of the king in Zechariah 9 is completely different from the warrior image of the leaders in Zechariah 10. The use of the word ‫“(כגברים‬as mighty men,” 10:5) to argue that the metaphors in 10:4 are to be understood in Davidic terms seems to be out of place as ‫גברים‬is only a general description of those who are mighty warriors. Regarding Zechariah 14, it is true that it portrays a future king; however, this king is Yahweh himself rather than the king mounted on a donkey in Zechariah 9. It seems that the “coming one(s)” in all three passages are different figures. How can these be used to prove the identity of the pierced one? From here, we can see “how presuppositions play a major role in the interpretation of these chapters” (p. 221). To read the book of Zechariah more synchronically and canonically is a recent trend. Petterson’s close scrutiny of the structural and linguistic features of the final text is definitely beneficial. None of the concerns raised above should discount his contribution in this area; they are meant to bring forwards further discussions on unsettled issues. Petterson’s book, building on previous scholarship, takes one more step in the study of the Davidic hope in the book of Zechariah.

478

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Smith, Richard G., THE FATE OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS DURING DAVID’S REIGN: NARRATIVE ETHICS AND REREADING THE COURT HISTORY ACCORDING TO 2 SAMUEL 8:15–20:26 (LHBOTS, 508; New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009). Pp. xv+271. Hardcover. US$135.00. ISBN 9780567026842. Reviewed by Adam Brown McMaster Divinity College, Hamilton Ontario Smith’s three-fold goal is to identify “(1) the ethical norms and values of the narrative’s implied author, (2) the ethical norms and values which this implied author attributes to the characters portrayed, and (3) how these diverse perspectives may serve understandings of literary boundaries, characterization, plot, theme and[intentionality] of 2 Sam 9–20” (p. 5). Smith roots his thesis in the idea that a primary goal of ancient Near Eastern communities (Israel included) was to establish justice and righteousness, which is realized by “a well ordered and peaceful society where freedom and equality prevail” (p. 63). In this pursuit every individual—and society at large—was charged to participate and was held accountable. The king featured prominent in this endeavour as a guardian and promoter of justice and righteousness through his god-given wisdom, acts of kindness, and abilities as a warlord. As Smith writes, “Kings and nations which failed to promote justice and righteousness were thought to be punished by the gods through internal social dissolution, loss of kingship and other national calamities” (p. 63). Accordingly, the concepts of justice and righteousnessand kingship are interrelated, forming a complicated political, philosophical, moral, and religious web. Smith convincingly argues that the Succession Narrative proposed by Rost is better understood by its older title, Court History (CH). He then proceeds to establish the CH’s literary boundaries from 2 Sam 8:15b to 2 Sam 20:26, suggesting that the main theme of this unit is “the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign” (p. 106). With persuasive steps Smith posits that the CH highlights: (1) David’s failure to establish the expected justice and righteousness; (2) David’s actual participation in and

REVIEWS

479

promotion of moral decline; and (3) David’s institutionalization of oppression (p. 106). To support his hypothesis Smith analyzes a series of episodes to demonstrate the faltering hesed of David. The first two episodes illustrate good intentions on the part of the king. According to Smith, however, the implied author critiques David’s efforts as half-hearted and bungled. In the first episode (9:1–13) Smith highlights that though David bestows charity on Mephibosheth, in so doing he relegates Zibah, a prominent Saulide steward, along with Zibah’s fifteen sons and twenty servants, to the status of enslaved field-hands; clearly a failure of justice and righteousness. In the second episode (10:1–19) Smith suggests that David’s hesed is misunderstood for espionage by Hanun the Ammonite, perhaps for good reason. Regardless of David’s potentially good intent, Smith focuses on the king’s reluctance to “take up the cause of his subjects when they have been wronged” (p. 112), a reference to the public shaming and shaving of his gift-bearing servants. In Smith’s view, this reticence demonstrates David’s failure to establish justice and righteousness through the quick and appropriate use of military force against Hanun and the Ammonites. Smith then transitions from his treatment of David’s failed good intentions, to investigate the fullness of royal corruption in 2 Samuel 11 and 12. He identifies David’s aggressor status in the campaign against the Ammonites, his absence from battle, his adultery with Bathsheba, his attempted cover-up of the affair, his coldblooded murder of Uriah, his quickly-concluded mourning for Bathsheba’s dead son, and his oppressive conquest of Rabbah, as clear indicators that the king has not only failed to establish justice and righteousness for his people, but that he actually has begun to flaunt the antithesis of justice and righteousness in his court. At the heart of David’s sin, argues Smith, is the “traditional motif of the rich oppressing the poor” (p. 144). The third plank in Smith’s treatment of justice and righteousness in the CH is a careful analysis of the perversion of justice and righteousness in 2 Sam 13:1– 19:9[8]. As Smith writes, “The implied author presents several incidents to justify this perspective: the rape of Tamar by her half-brother Amnon; David’s refusal to punish Amnon for this incestuous rape; David’s prolonged refusal to acknowledge the justice of Absalom in executing Amnon; the use of wisdom by Joab and the woman from Tekoa in persuading David to overlook what he thinks is blood-guilt for the sake of having all the people of Yahweh together in Yahweh’s estate with none in exile; Absalom’s duping of Israel into thinking he was a righteous judge; Absalom’s usurpation of the king’s throne; and the wicked use of wisdom by Jonadab and Ahithophel to aid in the rape of Tamar and a coup d’etat respectively; Absalom’s appropriation of David’s concubines; and David’s

480

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

order to deal gently with Absalom during the battle in the forest of Ephraim” (p. 146). Smith suggests that the implied author retells these events in order to illustrate that David’s mismanagement results in the erosion of justice and righteousness, which is itself the result of Yahweh’s judgment against him because of his sin. The obvious tension between the anthropological and theological causality is never fully resolved. Smith finishes his investigation by examining 2 Sam 19:10[9]–20:26. In this section he suggests that “the implied author describes fundamental breakdowns in relationships at virtually all levels of the kingdom” and that “David is presented as less pious, more secular and more spiteful than perhaps anywhere in chs. 13–20” (p. 205). In these closing chapters of the CH, Smith argues that any progresses made to establish justice and righteousness in the kingdom are undone and quashed. Smith identifies both individual and corporate moral decline that is the result of David’s squandered reign and the institutionalization of oppression in his court. Smith has done a very effective job in his examination of the fate of justice and righteousness throughout David’s reign as king. He consistently reminds the reader that the ethical norms and values of the narrative’s implied author require the king to promote and protect justice and righteousness to the benefit of his subjects. Smith also conducts a series of character studies, all of which orbit around the crucial characterization of the king, making use of every opportunity to demonstrate that the ethics and values of the implied author are besmirched by David and his cohorts. In his synthesis of these diverse perspectives Smith persuasively outlines the literary boundaries of the CH from 2 Sam 8:15b to 2 Sam 20:26. The main thrust of this literary block is the failure of David to establish justice and righteousness in Israel in accordance with the implied author’s ethic. Instead of justice and righteousness, David has institutionalized oppression and moral depravity. This is a brilliant and convincing work. Smith tends to his topic with all the enthusiasm and vigour of a prosecuting attorney. Without question he hammers home David’s failure as a monarch charged to establish justice and righteousness for his people. This study would be strengthened, however, by conducting a broader contextual discussion. For example, it is important to address why the CH follows on the heels of the Davidic Covenant in 2 Samuel 7. Furthermore, if David is so thoroughly corrupt, why does he have such a prominent position in salvation history, even as early as 1 and 2 Kings? In addressing these questions, among others of this nature, further study is sure to reveal that in addition to a theme of divine judgment in the CH is the theme of Yahweh’s grace toward David. Indeed, this latter theme is just as present in the life of David and just as necessary for a full appreciation of the CH. Since Smith has focused exclusively on the

REVIEWS

481

judgment of Yahweh, a follow-up study on Yahweh’s grace would, in my opinion, complete his task.

Hagedorn, Anselm C. and Henrik Pfeiffer (eds.), DIE ERZVÄTER IN DER BIBLISCHEN TRADITION: FESTSCHRIFT FÜR MATTHIAS KÖCKERT (BZAW, 400; Berlin, de Gruyter, 2009). Pp. x + 379. Hardcover. €112.00, US$157.00. ISBN 9783110209792. Reviewed by Christophe Nihan University of Lausanne, Switzerland This book is a collection of essays dedicated to Matthias Köckert on the occasion of his 65th birthday. Most essays deal with the traditions associated with the patriarchs in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple literature, an area in which Köckert himself has published many important studies, starting with his Vätergott und Väterverheißung from 1988. Accordingly, the order of the contributions contained in that volume tends to follow the literary arrangement of the patriarchal traditions in Genesis. Overall, the resulting book is significantly more coherent, from a topical perspective, than is usually the case with volumes belonging to the Festschrift genre. The first text is a short essay by Volkert Haas (1–7) dealing with Hittite and Akkadian traditions about cities and other places that have been destroyed and lie in ruin. Haas points out, in particular, the way in which such ruins occur in various ancient ritual texts. Jan Christian Gertz (9–34) devotes a long study to the narrative about the tower of Babel (Gen 11:1–9) from a redaction-critical perspective. After reviewing the recent discussion about the literary origins of Gen 1–11, Gertz argues in detail that the tower of Babel narrative is a well-unified literary composition (with the possible exception of v. 4ab). According to Gertz this story never existed as an independent tradition but was originally composed for its present literary context as a conclusion (or “epilogue”) to the narrative about the origins of humankind. This is a valuable contribution to the study of the composition of Gen 11:1–9 (and even of Gen 1–11 in general), but the discussion tends to remain on the literary level and leaves aside broader historical issues. The much-discussed question of possible allusions to imperial policies in the

482

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

East during the first millennium BCE, for instance, be that those of the Neo-Assyrian king Sargon II (C. Uehlinger) or of Alexander the Great (M. Witte), is not really addressed. Bob Becking (35–47) discusses the story of Abraham’s sojourn in Egypt in Gen 12:10–20. He argues, in particular, that the story reflects a long process of traditio lasting over several centuries during which it gradually acquired its main traits. These traits, according to Becking, could then function as “identity markers” for Judeans in various periods of their history down to the Babylonian exile (and beyond). The essay is interesting for its attempt to relate tradition history and the development of identity markers, but the analysis of the origins of this account and its place in the composition of the Abraham cycle is rather remains somewhat imprecise, and does not really address the recent scholarly discussion. The following essay, by Eckart Otto (49–65), addresses the issue of the use of different divine names (YHWH and Elohim) in the pentateuchal narratives, especially in Gen 20–22. He argues that although these differences are not unrelated to the Pentateuch’s literary genesis, from a methodological perspective they cannot be used as a redactional criterion in order to isolate different sources. The use of different divine names can also be found in very late texts—such as Gen 22, which Otto holds to be later than Chronicles (!)—and needs therefore to be assessed from the perspective of the general hermeneutics of the Pentateuch. Konrad Schmid (67–92) discusses the notion of an Abrahamite “ecumenism” in the Hebrew Bible on the basis of a close study of YHWH’s bĕrît with Abraham and his offspring in Gen 17. He argues—convincingly, in this reviewer’s opinion— that Gen 17 implies the existence of an “Abraham circle” (Abrahamkreis) comprising the descendants of both Isaac and Ishmael. These ethnic groups, according to the Priestly writer who composed Gen 17, stand under the same Abrahamite bĕrît and may practice intermarriages; the only privilege granted to Isaac and his offspring is a greater proximity to the deity (Gottesnähe), a point which anticipates the story about the building of the sanctuary at Mount Sinai in Exodus. Karin Schöpflin (93–113) devotes a detailed analysis to the dialogue between YHWH and Abraham in Gen 18:16b–33. While she discusses various aspects of this episode—such as its relationship with Ezek 14:12–20 and 18—she devotes special attention to the literary and theological construction of the Abraham figure in that passage. She concludes that the episode is a scribal composition of “late postexilic” times (“ein schriftgelehrtes Produkt aus spätnacheexilischer Zeit,” p. 111). In an interesting essay Reinhard G. Kratz (115–36) compares the use of the title “friend of God” applied to Abraham in Qumran and in the Hebrew Bible (Isa 41:8 and 2 Chr 20:7). Kratz shows, in particular, that

REVIEWS

483

both in Qumran and in the Hebrew Bible the title emphasizes Abraham’s justice and his observance of the law. In this respect the reception of this aspect of the Abraham figure in Qumran develops a theme already manifest in the inner-biblical reception of Abraham. In the third and final part of the essay, this analysis is completed by two further examples: the traditions about Abraham’s wife in Gen 12 and 20 and in the Genesis Apocryphon, and the evolution of the motif of the promises made to Abraham in Gen 12, 15, and 17 and in two texts from Qumran, 4Q225 and 4Q252. In both cases, Kratz argues, the reception of the Abraham figure in the writings of Qumran can be viewed as a direct continuation of the inner-biblical development of the traditions associated with Abraham. Anselm C. Hagedorn (137–57) offers a detailed analysis of the opening of the story of Jacob and Esau (Gen 25:19–34) from the perspective of cultural anthropology and cultural history. Drawing on numerous parallels, Hagedorn convincingly shows how that story is rooted in the social and cultural world of the ancient Mediterranean; he also demonstrates how a correct assessment of that dimension leads to a more complex interpretation of the figures of Esau and Jacob. One may regret, however, that the author remains rather vague as regards the date of composition of Gen 25:19–34, as well as the place and function of this account in the Jacob cycle. Uwe Becker (159–85) analyzes the stories of Jacob’s stay at Bethel and Shechem (Gen 28:11–22, 35:1–16, 33:18–20, and 32:23–33) from a redaction-critical perspective. According to his analysis, the references to Bethel are not part of an ancient core of traditions about Jacob but were introduced at a late stage, between the 6th–5th century BCE, and reflect the importance of Bethel at that time both as a cultic and a political center. The polemical reference to Shechem in 35:2–4 then reflects, for its part, the concurrence between Bethel and Shechem as northern sanctuaries. A final redaction of the Jacob cycle, which is characterized by a more “diplomatic” perspective, sought to ease these various tensions, so as to acknowledge the (relative) legitimacy of these various cultic sites. There are certainly correct insights behind Becker’s analysis, especially as regards the polemical dimension of Gen 35:2–4 vis-à-vis Bethel. However, if the Jacob traditions have their origins in the North, as is commonly assumed, it seems unlikely that one needs to wait until the Persian period to witness the emergence of a pro-Bethel perspective in these traditions; the presence of Neo-Assyrian and/or Neo-Babylonian astral motifs in Gen 28:11–22 likewise suggests a slightly earlier dating for this development. The following essay, by John Barton (187–95), is devoted to the story of Jacob’s fight at the river Jabbok in Gen 32:23–33. Addressing the classical issue of the identity of the man struggling with Jacob, Barton develops various considerations on the relationship between the specificity

484

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

of the narrative (especially from a formal-structuralist perspective) and the distinctiveness of Israel’s monotheism. Taking up an earlier suggestion by Erich Auerbach, Barton eventually suggests that monotheism is not the reason for the distinctive character of the narrative, but rather a consequence of it. This is an intriguing theory, which, however, rests on a remarkably thin basis, as Barton himself acknowledges. In addition, his case is all the more problematic because he assumes from the start that the man struggling with Jacob can be none other than God himself because of the “monotheistic flavour of the Old Testament” (p. 190), thus making the whole argument rather circular. Steven L. McKenzie (197–208) offers a short but incisive analysis of the story about Judah and Tamar in Gen 38. He shows that the story is a late, post-Priestly addition with no traditional background, which, by highlighting the “Canaanite” origins of the tribe of Judah, was intended as “a forceful counter to the exclusivist, endogamous demands of the post-exilic leaders, Ezra and Nehemiah” (p. 204). Hermann-Josef Stipp (209–40) tackles the much-disputed issue of the use of the Hebrew term qdš to refer to a certain category of persons. After a thorough and very detailed discussion of the evidence, Stipp concludes that the recent trend to regard the terms qādēš and qĕdēšāh as referring to male and female ritual specialists respectively, and to deny them any association with cultic prostitution, is mistaken. The usage attested by the Hebrew Bible is more ambivalent: some texts imply that they form a guild of cultic specialists yet do not refer to sexual services (1 Kgs 14:24, 15:12), whereas others, such as Gen 38, Deut 23:18, and Job 36:14, point without question to prostitutes, although not necessarily with cultic connections. The author concludes by suggesting that this ambivalence reflects a historical development in the use of that term (p. 235). Although some issues— especially the possible import of comparative evidence—still need to be clarified, this is a valuable contribution to the scholarly debate on this notion. Hans-Christophe Schmitt (241–66) offers a critical discussion of the recent hypothesis suggesting that the traditions associated with the patriarchs and those associated with the exodus initially comprised two distinct, and even two competing, “legends of origin” (A. de Pury, T. Römer, K. Schmid). The author regards this model as a “scholarly dead end” (Irrweg der Forschung). Instead, he seeks to return to the classical view according to which these two sets of traditions were already unified in the preexilic period. Whether this contribution will put an end to the contemporary debate remains to be seen. Schmitt’s argument is detailed and addresses several important issues. However, his own analysis tends to harmonize some important tensions—for instance in his discussion of the references to the patriarchs and the exodus in the prophetic literature (242– 45). Furthermore some of his literary-critical reconstructions are subject to

REVIEWS

485

criticism; e.g. for his view that Exod 2:23* was followed not by Ex 4:19, as commonly assumed, but by an earlier form of Exod 3* that was restricted to Exod 3:1–6* (!). Henrik Pfeiffer (267–89) analyzes the baroque story of the Levite’s concubine in Judg 19. He identifies several literary connections between the earliest form of that narrative and passages that can be found in the Hexateuch (Genesis–Joshua) and in Samuel–Kings. On the basis of these and other observations Pfeiffer rejects the hypothesis of a pre-Dtr origin for the story (which is certainly correct). Nonetheless, he also holds that it was inserted in its present literary context before the stories of judges now found in 2:6–16:31. According to this view, then, Judg 19 would represent the earliest connection between the “story of the people” (Exodus– Joshua*) and the “story of kingship” (Samuel–Kings*). This, however, seems more debatable. Pfeiffer’s case is largely based on a dubious argument of Tendenzkritik: Judg 19 should be earlier than Judg 2:6–16:31 because it is pro-Davidic and not anti-royal (p. 285). However, there are pro-Davidic passages in Samuel that clearly belong to a late, postDeuteronomistic redaction of these books, and one cannot develop the chronology of the various ideologies so easily. Also, the notion that the general function of this story in ch. 19 was to establish as a transition between Exodus–Josh and Samuel–Kings is possible, but not especially compelling. Finally, Pfeiffer’s argument also implies that the remainder of Judg 17–21 (i.e., chs. 17–18 and 20–21) is later than ch. 19, which is equally debatable. The alternative possibility, namely that Judg 19, like all of chs. 17–21, is a late, post–Dtr supplement to the book of Judges, might have deserved more consideration. In a long, detailed essay, Erhard Blum (291– 321) offers a comprehensive discussion of Hos 12 from the perspective of the text’s compositional history and the pentateuchal traditions that it reflects. Blum makes some important observations that support a date for the first version of Hos 12* “in the last decade of the northern kingdom” (p. 307); according to him, this text would therefore be a literary creation by the prophet Hosea himself. The author of Hos 12* presupposes that his audience knew a collection of northern traditions about Jacob (basically corresponding to the stories now found in Gen 25* and 27–33*), as well as a tradition about Moses and the exodus, which probably also originated in the North. Blum concludes by arguing that, in his view, it is not possible to decide the form in which these two traditions were transmitted or to what extent they were already associated (or in the process of being associated) with one another. M. Witte (323–45) devotes an interesting study to the figure of Jacob in the Wisdom of Solomon (Wis 10:10–12). He shows in particular that the construction in that portrayal of Jacob as a righteous man who enjoyed divine, even mystical revelations is part of a broader trend,

486

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

especially in the Jewish literature written in Greek, that takes up and develops various motifs contained in the stories of Gen 25–50. Finally, Rudolf Smend (347–66) discusses the life and work of Franz Delitzsch, whereas Otto Kaiser (367–71) offers a sermon on a passage of Sirach (Sir 3:1–6, 11–16). Overall, this is a worthy volume, with many interesting contributions. It will be especially useful for all scholars working on patriarchal traditions and figures in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Jewish literature, although some articles address other, broader issues as well. The volume concludes with a index of all biblical and non-biblical passages.

Tuckett, Christopher (ed.), FEASTS AND FESTIVALS (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology, 53; Leuven: Peeters, 2009). Pp. viii + 183. Softcover. €38.00. ISBN 9789042922624. Reviewed by Peter Altmann University of Zürich This volume consists of contributions to a 2008 colloquium in Oxford by members of the biblical studies departments from Bonn, Leiden, and Oxford. There are a total of 13 essays: three addressing Hebrew Bible texts, two addressing Second Temple topics, and the remaining eight dealing with the New Testament or early Christianity. This review will address the first five in some depth and simply list the titles of the others, as their focus lies outside the purview of this journal’s interests. Walter J. Houston opens the volume with “Rejoicing before the Lord: the Function of the Festal Gathering in Deuteronomy” (1–13). His essay briefly highlights a number of the recent developments in the study of food, drink, and feasts. He addresses the Deuteronomic festive calendar (ch. 16), taking the various articles by Georg Braulik as his point of departure and focusing specifically on the meaning of the term ‫שמח‬, typically rendered “rejoice.” He instead proposes the translation “celebrate,” based on the fact that “…it better suggests a concrete action” (2), rather than an emotion, contra Braulik. He then moves to the theological and practical reasons for the progression in the text from the memorial, non-joyous Passover/Unleavened Bread to the celebratory Feasts of Weeks and Booths, insightfully showing that while there may be a movement from

REVIEWS

487

Passover to Weeks to Booths reminiscent of the move from Egypt to the Promised Land (at least in the canonical form of the text, I might add), the progression also reflects the rhythm of the agricultural year. Few families presumably had provisions for a feast at the time before the harvest. Houston’s next section discusses the anthropological contributions of Victor Turner’s communitas and Michael Dietler’s donor feasts: He here offers an overview of how the provision of feasts by the more wealthy households—and ultimately by Yhwh—create on the one hand a national solidarity in line with the move towards a single sanctuary and on the other hand a sense of debt both from the poorer receivers of the feast to the wealthier households and from all participants to the ultimate provider, Yhwh. He concludes, correctly in my mind, that “Political equality as we understand it is not within the text’s purview, but the text does provide a sound theological basis for it in the common terms on which all the people partake of the blessing of God” (13). By addressing questions of diet and ritual, along with attention to the text of Deuteronomy itself, Houston gives a helpful overview to many pertinent themes in the study of food, drink, and feasting. Carly L. Crouch’s “Funerary Rites for Infants and Children in the Hebrew Bible in Light of Ancient Near Eastern Practice” (15–26) investigates primarily David’s atypical actions portrayed in 2 Sam 12 leading up to and following the death of his first child with Bathsheba but also the death of Jeroboam’s son in 1 Kgs 14. Her aim is “to flesh out the brief biblical descriptions of these deaths through reference to the funerary practices of infants and children in the ancient near east” (16). Her basic argument for 2 Sam 12 is that David’s actions prior to the death of his child constituted semi-formal mourning, which seems plausible. In her attempt to compare mourning rites for adults with those for children and infants, one of the important questions she addresses is the status of infants: whether or not they are viewed as full members of society (20–21). She notes that the archaeological record shows that, at times, the latter were buried differently. Crouch interprets this evidence as supporting the idea they were not full members of society—she may have mentioned also the penalty for causing a miscarriage in Exod 21:22, which stands in a long legal/scribal tradition (cf. Lipit-Ishtar ‘lawcode’ § d-f). The biggest difficulties I had with her analysis and argument, however, lie in the fact that she brings in archaeological data from as far afield the MBA in Tell Dan and Iron Age Cyprus without qualifying her use of the data. Secondly, the choice of the topic does not allow for firm conclusions: 2 Sam 12 depicts abnormal actions, and it is not clear how old Jeroboam’s son Abijah is (in 1 Kgs 14:12 he is called a yeled, but in v. 17 a naʿar).

488

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

In “The Public Reading of Scriptures at Feasts” (27–44), Arie van der Kooij surveys vast territory—mishnaic texts, Deut 31, Josh 8, Josephus’ Antiquities, Neh 8, and 1 Esd. The essay shows that Josh 8 and 2 Kgs 23 are not meant to fulfill the ordinance to read “this law” every seven years as prescribed in Deut 31. Furthermore, Neh 8:1–6, which presents Ezra’s actions quite similarly to those of Joshua in Josh 8 and Josiah in 2 Kgs 23, is, like them to be seen as a one time event meant to mark a new phase of history. In the case of Neh 8 (and 1 Esd 9) the reading of the law means to undergird Ezra’s claims to authority. I found van der Kooij’s presentation of 1 Esd particularly enlightening. Unlike Neh 8 // 1 Esd 9, Josephus sets Ezra’s reading at Sukkoth, more in keeping with Deut 31. Van der Kooij makes one final claim: that the daily reading of the scroll of the torah of God in Neh 8:18 (at Sukkoth) recalls Num 29 rather than Deut 31, and “If so, it would mean that the tradition found in the Mishnah (Meg. 3.5) goes back to the late Persian period” (43). This final comment seems to be the justification for the discussion of the Mishnah earlier, but the claim would certainly require more support to be convincing. Perhaps the most important result of the essay is found in the final footnote, which states that the irregular events of the reading of the law in the biblical texts do not form an adequate foundation in themselves for the subsequent development of the synagogal practice. This weekly synagogal pattern cannot then be anchored in the early Persian period on the basis of the Neh 8 and Deut 31. Tessel M. Jonquière, in “2 Macc 1.18–36: Nehemiah and the Festival of Purification” (45–56), discusses the unique narrative of the lighting of the Second Temple’s sacrificial fire with petroleum found at the site where priests from the First Temple had hidden the holy fire at the time of the exile. Jonquière insightfully connects the mention of the “festival of booths in the month of Chislev” (1:9) with celebration of temple purification and of the festival/day of Booths and of fire in 1:18 (cf. 10:6 as well). She thereby highlights the issue that arises from the close identification of the two festivals and the connection of Booths with the date for Hanukkah. Problematically however, from this basis she argues that Hanukkah and Booths were once a single festival. I found myself wondering what evidence there is for a break in the celebration of Booths during Tishri (the seventh month) when it is celebrated in Chislev? The suggestion that the Tishri celebration of Booths was unknown seems unlikely. She also contends that this tradition is simply the only one known to the author for the foundation of Hanukkah: “In consequence we may assume that, after Judas purified the temple, the people started to celebrate the event, taking an existing festival to do so: the Festival of Fire and of Nehemiah’s purification” (48–49). While Jonquière goes on to note that the meanings or stories associated

REVIEWS

489

with festivals can change through time, it seems more plausible to this reviewer to imagine (with Daniel R. Schwartz, 2 Maccabees [CEJL; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008], 528–29) that this story is inserted later to bolster Maccabean claims to divine favor of the Jerusalem Temple. The final essay addressing HB/OT questions directly is Johannes Magliano-Tromp’s “The Relations Between Egyptian Judaism and Jerusalem in Light of 3 Maccabees and the Greek Book of Esther” (57–76). Magliano-Tromp first recounts and critiques R. B. Motzo’s (“Il rifacimento greco di Ester e il III Maccabei” [1924]) position that Greek Esther relies on 3 Maccabees. Some similarities named by Motzo would have been available to the author of Greek Esther from other sources as well, while other resemblances between the two books are not quite as close as Motzo implies. Magliano-Tromp then considers N. Hacham’s argument (“3. Maccabees and Esther: Parallels, Intertextuality, and Diaspora Identity,” JBL 126 (2007): 765–85) for literary dependency on the basis of linguistic evidence. While rightly expanding the search for linguistic similarities beyond Hacham’s limited look at the Septuagint, MaglianoTromp nonetheless remains open to the proposition that at least the Additions to Esther rely on 3 Maccabees, albeit not in any systematic way. The payoff for working through these issues in terms of feasts comes when considering why 3 Maccabees or Greek Esther might have constructed their narratives the way they did. The texts are quite similar, though promote different feasts. Recent scholarship contends, therefore, that the different communities were trying to impose their festival on the other group. Magliano-Tromp by contrast asks, could it not have been the case that Egyptian and Palestinian Jews maintained more cohesive and symbiotic relations rather than competitive and mutually distrusting ones? The basis of this important question for both these texts, and for many studies in HB/OT in general, might be summarized in his question: “…whether it is an efficient method of persuasion to write treatises and counter-treatises that leave their purpose implicit” (71)? Whether or not one is convinced by Magliano-Tromp’s rather positive take on the relations between the various communities, I find the underlying question worth reconsidering. The remainder of the volume is made up of eight essays addressing NT and early Christian themes: John Muddiman, “The Triumphal Entry and Cleansing of the Temple (Mark 11.1–17 and parallels): a Jewish Festival Setting?,” (77–86); Christina Risch, “The Wine-Symbolism in the Old Testament and Jewish Tradition and its Relevance for the Interpretation of the Lord’s Supper” (87–95); Mary Marshall, “‘Blessed is Anyone Who Will Eat Bread in the Kingdom of God’: A Brief Study of Luke 14.15 in its Context” (97–106); Jochen Flebbe, “Feasts in John” (107–24); Christian Blumenthal, “Feste und Feiern in den paulinischen Gemeinden: Quellen-

490

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

und wissenschafts-sprachliche Erwägungen” (125–46); Stefan Schapdick, “The Collection for the Saints in Jerusalem on μία σαββάτου (1 Cor 16.2)” (147–60); Valeriy Alikin, “The Origins of Sunday the Christian Feast-Day” (161–70); and Michael Wolter, “Primitive Christianity as a Feast” (171–82). In sum the essays consider the feasts and festivals with a number of different purposes in mind, though often more as a means toward discussing a different question, rather than focusing on the feast or festival itself. Perhaps one methodological question that remains from the collection is just what is meant by a “feast” or a “festival”? Do Sabbath synagogal meetings and early Christian Sundays qualify? This volume answers affirmative, but how is this grounded? I do think there are answers at hand, but perhaps a more substantial introduction could have brought the collection together into a more cohesive contribution. As it is the individual essays are left to stand or fall on their own, and given the relatively thin coverage on the issues at hand, they are welcome additions.

Webster, Brian L., THE CAMBRIDGE INTRODUCTION TO BIBLICAL HEBREW WITH CD-ROM (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Pp. 380. Paperback, 1 CD ROM. $41.99. ISBN 9780521712842. Reviewed by H. Daniel Zacharias Acadia Divinity College

INTRODUCTION Biblical Hebrew instructors have in the past welcomed numerous new or revised introductory Hebrew grammars. These additions give teachers, who find themselves in numerous teaching contexts and situations, more textbooks to choose from. Additionally, a number of these new textbooks have broken the mold of the simple bound-book approach. For example, J. A. Cook and R. D. Holmsteadt’s Biblical Hebrew: A Student Grammar (2009) is freely available online as a PDF. The same authors are also in the final stages of completing another free full-color illustrated grammar (Biblical Hebrew: An Illustrated Introduction). Yet another forthcoming grammar by William P. Griffin (Hebrew for Reading Comprehesion, forthcoming) focuses on

REVIEWS

491

unpointed Hebrew and is being published as an eBook with accompanying website. The Cambridge Introduction to Biblical Hebrew (CIBH) by Brian L. Webster has combined the best of both worlds–a traditional textbook with an accompanying software application that is integral to the entire package.

DESCRIPTION While it is not at all uncommon to have introductory grammars with an accompanying CD, CIBH’s CD contains not only the traditional student helps, but also the interactive software application called TekScroll, compatible with both PC and Mac. Putting aside TekScroll for a moment, the contents of the CD are impressive: 1. Whereas some introductory grammars require students to purchase an accompanying workbook, a full workbook is available for the student in a ready to print PDF file. All workbook parsings and sentences come directly from the Hebrew Bible, which cannot be said of every introductory grammar. 2. A full workbook answer key in PDF form for students to engage in self-correction. 3. An additional PDF with blank paradigms for students to print off and practice. 4. Ready-to-print flashcards, available in both a smaller and a larger size, for students who like traditional paper flashcards. 5. A PDF focusing on the vocabulary introduced in CIBH. Whereas the glossary in the back of the textbook is alphabetical, the vocabulary sheet on the CD lists the words used in CIBH by frequency, with chapter and part of speech also included in the list. This PDF also includes a 2-page list of vocabulary used in the textbook that occur less than 100 times. This is helpful for teachers who wish to test their students only on the vocabulary that occurs at 100 frequency or more. 6. 62 pages of strong and weak verb charts, with tri-color

492

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES font to indicate affixes and stem identifiers. Included also in this PDF are Webster’s verb ID Badges and Alias Profiles (see discussion below).

The software program TekScroll is what sets CIBH apart from any other introductory Hebrew grammar. Indeed, as the author himself states, “you could think of them as a CD with an accompanying book just as well as a book with a CD” (p. x). Tekscroll’s features include: 1. Grammar illustrations for most chapters. The illustrations, often animated, present the nuts and bolts of each chapter (see fig. 1). 2. Parsing practice. The verb or noun is presented in the “analyzer,” with drop-down menus to choose your answer and hints for difficult forms when appropriate (see fig. 2). 3. Practice readings. A significant number of sentences are provided with each chapter, which helps students to review previous vocabulary and gain confidence in translating larger portions of text (see fig. 3). In later chapters, the practice readings are combined with the parsing analyzer to parse words in context (see fig. 4). 4. Vocabulary flashcards. TekScroll’s flashcard program contains every word from the textbook, organized by chapter, part of speech, and frequency. The student can combine these categories to create flashcards for quizzing. The flashcards also have audio attached to each word (see fig. 5). The contents of the CD as well as TekScroll were all created and programmed by the author himself, which cannot be said of most grammars. It speaks to the level of organization and integration between the textbook, workbook, and TekScroll. For example, the chapters which include practice readings and parsings typically use only the vocabulary of previous chapters to drill students on concepts learned for the chapter in question—or expressly indicate when this is not the case. So, for example, chapter ten’s practice readings, parsings, and workbook exercises on the Qal Perfect will typically use vocabulary from chapters 1–9 only. Additionally, the last section of each chapter outlines a suggested order for

REVIEWS

493

students to proceed—a combination of the learning activities on TekScroll and the learning activities found in the workbook.

ORGANIZATION OF MATERIAL CHAPTER LAYOUT The textbook is organized into 22 chapters, which is fewer than most other grammars. This makes the chapters dense, but the material of each chapter can be spread over numerous weeks should the professor wish. An additional 10 chapters begin to introduce syntax to the student. The syntax chapters do not have workbook exercises nor vocabulary assigned to them, giving the teacher flexibility in how they are presented. For instance, the syntax chapters could be introduced throughout chapters 1–22. Alternatively, they can be covered at the end of the course, or even form the basis of a third semester of Hebrew. The smaller number of chapters causes the vocabulary to be presented in a bit of an untraditional way. Each of the 22 grammar chapters introduces 17–24 words. While most of these words are high frequency, some are taught because they are used frequently in the workbook and practice readings. Additional vocabulary is presented in 11 lists in the back of the textbook, as well as an additional list of proper names which occur 50 times or more. If a student were to learn all of the vocabulary in the chapters and lists, they would be proficient in all words occurring 50 times or more. The lists can be assigned along with the syntax chapters, or as additional vocabulary within the 22 grammar chapters. What aids this somewhat different approach is the TekScroll vocabulary program. For example, if the goal is for students to gain proficiency in all words occurring 100 times or more, the vocabulary program can easily quiz them on words by frequency in each chapter. In regards to the presentation of material, after the usual introduction to the signs and sounds of Hebrew, Webster lays a strong foundation for students to tackle what they often struggle with—the constant vowel changes. He does this by introducing seven syllable principles that govern changes (ch. 2). Following this is the introduction to nouns (chs. 3–4), pronominal suffixes (ch. 6), and adjectives (ch. 7). Students will learn pronominal suffixes (and later Perfect prefixes) in relation to pronouns—all of which are introduced in the vocabulary. Webster presents the pronoun, extracting the “basic parts” which then go on to form the pronominal suffix forms. Webster then moves on to verbs by first introducing participles and the infinitive construct (ch. 8). This provides a tidy bridge from nouns to verbs.

494

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

PRESENTATION OF VERBS Once verbs begin, Webster introduces the strong form of the verb, covering the weak forms in the following chapter. Webster arranges verb paradigms (and pronominal suffixes) from 1st person to 3rd person, which students may find more familiar, given that often students have first learned Greek in this way. The Preterite is introduced alongside the Imperfect (ch. 12), and these are treated together throughout most of the chapters. Rather than using only the ‫קטל‬paradigm, Webster displays stative, fientive, pausal, and ‫נתן‬forms. He introduces the entirety of the Qal stem before moving into the other stems. He groups the latter into i-class Imperfects (Niphal, Piel, Hitpael, and Hiphil) and a-class Imperfects (Pual and Hophal). Chapter 17 introduces the i-class Imperfects in the strong forms, followed by two chapters on the weak forms (chs. 18–19). Webster treats the a-class Imperfects in a single chapter (ch. 20), and finally covers all of the derived stem Perfects together in the final two chapters, with the final chapter also introducing rare stems. Undergirding the entire presentation of verbs (including participles and infinitives) is an appealing system which Webster calls the “ID Badge” and their accompanying “Alias Profiles.” Each stem/conjugation is assigned an ID badge which students can learn to identify on actual verbs. The ID Badge represents the strong form, usually related to what occurs to R1. The Alias Profiles are the alternative ways an ID Badge can occur because of weak letter activity. The ID Badge/Alias Profile system runs throughout the textbook verb chapters, appears fully in excursus A after ch. 22, features in PDF form on the accompanying CD, and emerges in the “hint” section of the parsing practices of TekScroll (see fig. 2).

OBSERVATIONS ON TEACHING WITH CIBH I have found teaching with CIBH both effective for students and enjoyable as an instructor. The layout and presentation of the grammar works very well, and the systems of presentation, such as the syllable principles and the ID Badge/Alias Profiles, are very effective benchmarks on which students can build information. At the same time, instructors need to understand and heed Webster’s integrated approach with TekScroll. At times I have found it advantageous not to look at the textbook until the basics covered in TekScroll are thoroughly grasped. The author himself recommends this approach. Each chapter begins with an overview and ends with a summary. I tend to look at only these sections when introducing a new chapter. The chapters are thorough and if one introduces a student to the material by reading the chapter they may feel overwhelmed.

REVIEWS

495

I have found TekScroll to be particularly useful in the classroom. Although I am accustomed to creating my own slides to present the material in class, I have abandoned my normal approach in favor of teaching directly from the grammatical illustrations in TekScroll. In addition, the practice readings and practice parsings provide excellent material to work on together as a class or as in-class groups. No professor who adopts CIBH will ever find themselves lacking in practice material for the classroom. The same is also true of the workbook exercises; Webster has provided a copious amount of workbook exercises and practice readings. It is likely that professors would not require every exercise in the workbook to be completed. My students have appreciated in particular the vocabulary program of TekScroll, as well as the very reasonable cost of the textbook and CD package.

CONCLUSION As with any introductory textbook, there is room for improvement. I have found the emphasis on the 3-radical root of nouns in chapter 4 to be a little overwhelming, especially since many readers now access lexicons via software, and also because HALOT is not organized by root the way BDB is. An aspect which my students have found the most troublesome is the somewhat dynamic translations that Webster gives in the practice readings and workbook key. I have found that more pedantic translations facilitate better learning in the beginning stages. Often I have to explain why Webster’s translation is a good one, but instructors cannot always be there to offer these explanations. Changes to some of Webster’s abbreviations would also be welcome. He often uses non-standard biblical abbreviations (e.g., Is. for Isaiah) and at times chooses unclear abbreviations for Hebrew (e.g., Ni. for Niphal instead of Nif. or Niph.). Another peculiarity is the presentation of the Qal participle paradigms in ch. 8. Webster uses the verb ‫שמר‬to present the paradigms, but through the remainder of the book he uses the standard verb ‫קטל‬for the presentation of strong verb paradigms. Above it was mentioned that one of the accompanying PDF’s contains tri-color paradigms. These paradigms are so well presented in the PDF that their presence in the textbook would be appreciated and more accessible. I recognize the increased cost associated with color fonts, but replacing the black and white paradigms in the back of the textbook with the tri-color paradigms would be worth the extra few dollars in cost.

496

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

I have also found that students are increasingly making regular use of their smartphones for vocabulary. Students would no doubt welcome having available unicode text files that can be imported into smartphone vocabulary software. Finally, some audio reading examples on TekScroll would be very helpful for students working on their pronunciation. While adding audio to every practice reading sentence may be too large an undertaking, what may be more feasible is an audio readings section on TekScroll, which could focus on the longer passages that appear in the workbook exercises (e.g.: Numbers 14, 1 Samuel 26, 2 Samuel 7, 12; 1 Kings 3, 2 Chronicles 34, Nehemiah 8). These quibbles are relatively minor and in no way detract from the strengths of the book, which are many. Brian Webster has worked harder than most textbook authors—writing not only a thorough textbook but programming an application—to create a tightly integrated textbook and CD package. With a single purchase users receive a textbook, a full workbook and answer key, an interactive application, and abundant flashcard resources—a package that is, to my knowledge, unparalleled by any other introductory Hebrew grammar. CIBH sets a new standard in introductory grammars and warrants the attention of professors who are serious about meeting the needs of their students while maintaining a high academic standard.

REVIEWS

Fig. 1: Grammatical Illustration Example

Fig. 2: Practice Parsings Example

497

498

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Fig. 3: Practice Readings Example

Fig. 4: Practice Readings with Parsings Example

REVIEWS

499

Fig. 5: Vocabulary

Fleming, Daniel E. and Sara J. Milstein, THE BURIED FOUNDATION OF THE GILGAMESH EPIC: THE AKKADIAN HUWAWA NARRATIVE (CM, 39; Leiden: Brill, 2010). Pp. xx + 228. Hardcover. €93.00, US$132.00. ISBN 9789004178489. Reviewed by Scott C. Jones Covenant College This study had its aegis in an Akkadian seminar taught by Daniel Fleming at New York University in the fall of 2005. A student in that seminar, Sara Milstein, co-wrote the work with her teacher, and the result was “a truly

500

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

collaborate project, with every page of the book the product of collective thought” (xviii). The authors note (111) the importance of Andrew George’s magisterial edition (The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts [2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003]) in presenting all of the Old Babylonian (henceforth: OB) evidence for the epic. Their comparison of this evidence revealed significant differences in perspective, themes, and language that led the authors to posit that the majority of the OB tablets (ten of twelve) reflects an independent Akkadian Huwawa narrative that came between the Sumerian Huwawa poems and the OB epic. The study is thus an exercise in the tradition history of the Gilgamesh Epic, from the Sumerian Huwawa tales to the OB version. Before turning to the details of this reconstruction, it will be helpful to sketch conventional wisdom on the subject and how Fleming and Milstein’s new proposal relates to that picture. In his recent Das Gilgamesch-Epos: Mythos, Werk und Tradition (Munich: C. H. Beck, 2008), Walther Sallaberger outlines three main phases of development: (1) Six Sumerian Gilgamesh poems which likely originate ca. 2100, but which are copied ca. 1800; (2) The OB Epic in ca. 1800, which joined themes from the Sumerian poems into a unified work; (3) The Standard Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic (henceforth: SBV), composed by Sin-leqi-unninni in the Middle Babylonian period, ca. 1100. A similar picture may be found in Jeffrey Tigay’s The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1982) and in Andrew George’s Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, where he emphasizes the poetic genius of the OB epic author and his dependence upon oral tradition (1:20–22). While not denying the genius of the OB poet, Fleming and Milstein assert that the epic author had before him a substantial written work in Akkadian—the “Akkadian Huwawa narrative,” as they call it—which would come between phases (1) and (2) in Sallaberger’s sketch. Fleming and Milstein believe that this narrative included, at the very least, the planning and undertaking of the expedition to the Cedar Forest (xvii). In summarizing their argument, I take the liberty of moving according to the sequence of the compositional history that Fleming and Milstein propose. Chapter Four treats the Sumerian Huwawa tales and their relationship to the hypothetical “Akkadian Huwawa narrative,” which Fleming and Milstein believe sprang from them. The Sumerian tales survive in two parallel versions—A and B. While version A is longer and became the standard version that was used in scribal education in early second millennium Babylonia, they believe that the simplicity of version B points to its primacy among the two. Fleshing out a suggestion taken from D. O. Edzard (72 and n. 5), the authors argue that a significant portion of the

REVIEWS

501

differences between these two versions can be accounted for by supposing the influence of an “Akkadian Huwawa narrative” on Sumerian Huwawa A. While the oldest copy of a Sumerian Gilgamesh poem dates to ca. 2100, most of the copies date to ca. 1800, making them contemporaneous with the OB Gilgamesh texts. The picture of the relationship between the Sumerian Huwawa tales and Fleming and Milstein’s “Akkadian Huwawa narrative” is, therefore, one of mutual influence: The Sumerian tales in oral form inspired an Akkadian story that represents “a massive transformation of the Sumerian story” (56). Nevertheless, scribes familiar with the Akkadian story in its literary form also transformed the Sumerian copies of Huwawa A in light of it. The more basic point of the chapter is that the Sumerian tales attest to the fact that the Huwawa story can, and did, stand alone. This lends some credibility to the idea of an indepenent Huwawa narrative in Akkadian as well. If the next step in the evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic was one individual’s re-working of the Sumerian Huwawa stories into an OB epic, as the conventional picture suggests, then one would expect the OB material to be basically unified in perspective. The crucial point of Fleming and Milstein’s study is that this is not, in fact, the case. In Chapters Two and Three they argue that the twelve OB tablets of Gilgamesh represent two competing authorial visions. On the one hand, ten Huwawa-oriented texts (Yale, UM, Schøyen -1, Schøyen -2, Schøyen -3, Nippur, Harmal -1, Harmal -2, Ishchali, and IM) “reflect the existence of a freestanding Akkadian Huwawa narrative that became the foundation for the composition of the longer Gilgamesh Epic. At the center of this composition stood Huwawa himself, with Enkidu as guide and counselor to Gilgamesh based on his firsthand knowledge of Huwawa’s domain” (66). On the other hand, two other (epic) texts (Penn and Sippar) are the only ones that treat events outside of the Cedar Forest campaign. These reflect a coherent, literary expansion of a simpler and shorter Akkadian Huwawa narrative. One important expansion is the addition of four characters in Penn and Sippar: Gilgamesh’s mother, the lady tavern keeper, Sursunabu the boatman, and Uta-na’ishtim (43, 66). Out of these two groups of texts, Yale and Penn are the two largest blocks of OB evidence. In fact, both were copied as consecutive tablets of the same series by the same scribe. The colophon of Penn reads, “Tablet II, ‘Surpassing above k[ings]’,” which became the incipit of the original OB epic (now embedded in line 29 of the SBV). Yale was Tablet III of that same šūtur eli šarrī series. Furthermore, as Andrew George notes, these two tablets are “[v]ery similar in clay, size and general appearance, they exhibit the same format of three columns on each side, [and] the same orthographic conventions… In addition, the two tablets have in common

502

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the presence on their edges of rounded lumps of clay of irregular size” (Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:159). Comparison of Yale and Penn, however, suggests significant differences, and Fleming and Milstein treat each of them as a representative of one of the above-mentioned groups: Yale represents the ten Huwawa-oriented tablets, while Penn represents the epic expansion of that simpler foundational story in the other two tablets. One of the central differences between Yale and Penn is the portrayal of Enkidu, which is the subject of Chapter Two. While Yale suggests that he is the progeny of herdsmen, Penn introduces him as one born in the wild and nursed by beasts. In Yale, then, Enkidu needs no acculturation into society, since he is already familiar with the human company of the herdsmen. In Penn, however, he is raised among animals and so must be introduced to human society (20). In the Yale text, Enkidu’s experience in the wild equips him with crucial knowledge for guiding Gilgamesh into the Cedar Forest. In Penn, however, Enkidu’s origins among animals results in his wild habits and sheer physical strength, making him a perfect match for Gilgamesh, who is similarly endowed. The focus on Enkidu’s knowledge in Yale is, thus, largely lost in Penn (38). But even as Penn suppresses Enkidu’s role as sage, it redistributes that knowledge among the three leading female roles in the larger epic story: Gilgamesh’s mother, who dreams of Enkidu’s arrival; Shamhat, who acculturates Enkidu to human society through ritual sex; and the tavern keeper, who offers Gilgamesh sage advice after Enkidu’s death (32, 40). In each of these cases, the authorial vision of Penn becomes that which dominates the OB epic, not least because the arrangement of the two tablets in the šūtur eli šarrī series would encourage reading Tablet III (Yale) in light of the vision of Tablet II (Penn), not vice-versa. And if they are correct, Fleming and Milstein may have pinpointed an important moment in the development of ancient Near Eastern wisdom literature, in which the tavern keeper, known in the SBV as Shiduri, takes on the role of an epic sage. For her wise advice in the OB Gilgamesh Epic (Sippar iii 6–15) seems ultimately to be the inspiration for that counsel which finds its way into Eccl. 9:7–9: “Go, eat your bread in mirth, and drink your wine with a glad heart, for God has already favored your deeds. Let your clothing be white at all times, and do not let oil be lacking upon your head. Enjoy life with the wife whom you love all the days of your vaporous life which he has given to you under the sun all your vaporous days. For that is your lot in life and in your toil which you toil under the sun.” After outlining several essential differences between Yale and Penn in Chapter Two, Fleming and Milstein define the limits and content of their proposed “Akkadian Huwawa narrative” in Chapter Three. They state, “Although the Akkadian Huwawa narrative adds new themes and a long

REVIEWS

503

plot development to the early phases of the [Sumerian] story, it keeps the bounds of the Sumerian tale, which is constructed entirely around the expedition to obtain cedar in the distant highlands” (66). Fleming and Milstein list three essential features of their “Akkadian Huwawa narrative”: “Enkidu is the expert guide, born in the steppe; Huwawa is the central objective, and the cedar follows as a benefit of his defeat; and Gilgamesh undertakes the whole adventure in order to win fame or valor, not title” (44). The epic author then adds further characters, themes, and foci to this received written narrative. The OB Gilgamesh Epic, was, in fact, a “massive expansion of a received text” (55 n. 20)—a literary expansion of a literary Vorlage. Yet at the conclusion of the monograph, Fleming and Milstein suggest that scribes who copied this new OB epic would likely have understood the composition as “an elaboration of the Huwawa composition” (114) which they were, in fact, preserving in a new, epic form (114). Chapter Five focuses on the meeting of Gilgamesh and Enkidu and the role of the harlot in that meeting. Since the ten texts in the Yale group begin in media res, part of the burden of the chapter is to try to reconstruct how they might have met in the original introduction to the “Akkadian Huwawa narrative.” To do this, Fleming and Milstein examine the evidence of the texts in the Yale group and juxtapose these with the new vision of the Penn group. They state, “In order to reconstruct the original introduction to the Huwawa narrative, we must work backward from the details of the OB Huwawa material, without assuming the contents of Penn or of the SB epic” (99). Furthermore, they investigate the ways that the new vision of the epic version necessitated the re-casting of the relationship between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, since their partnership had now to reach beyond the Huwawa adventure (99–103, 108–110). One way this relationship was revised was by placing new material “in front of existing narrative in order to lead the reader to respond differently…” (92). The latter phenomenon of “revision through introduction” is, in fact, the subject of Milstein’s dissertation, entitled “Reworking Ancient Texts: Revision through Introduction in Biblical and Mesopotamian Literature” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 2010). The book is well written and tightly argued. The lone exception is Chapter Five, which is not well introduced and feels a bit tacked-on. Nonetheless, this reviewer finds the main argument of an original Akkadian Huwawa narrative both persuasive and interesting. Part of the cogency of the argument is due to the presentation of the material, the order of which seems to mimic the path of Fleming and Milstein’s own discovery of what they believe to be the OB epic’s foundation stone. The value of the volume is greatly enhanced by fresh translations of all the OB evidence and of the

504

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Sumerian Huwawa tales, along with philological notes. This makes it a first point of reference for anyone interested in the OB evidence for the Gilgamesh Epic. I look forward to the discussion that this book will spawn not only about the evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic, but about the evolution of biblical literature as well.

Jindo, Job Y., BIBLICAL METAPHOR RECONSIDERED: A COGNITIVE APPROACH TO POETIC PROPHECY IN JEREMIAH 1–24 (HSM, 64; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2010). Pp. xv + 343. Hardcover. US$39.95. ISBN: 1575069369. Reviewed by Hyuk-ki Kim McMaster Divinity College As a revision of Jindo’s doctoral work at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah 1–24 proposes a cognitive approach to biblical metaphors in Jeremiah 1–24. In this work, as Jindo repeatedly mentions, he intends “not to supplant the conventional understanding of biblical metaphor as ornament, but rather to expand the scope of interpretive possibilities by introducing an alternative cognitive approach to the phenomenon of metaphor” (p. x). In recent published works, the new generation of biblical scholars is beginning to explore the world of human cognition expressed within biblical texts by employing recent theories in cognitive linguistics. Theories of cognitive linguistics focus on the ability of human cognition in the process of reading rather than on the text itself.1 The application of those theories usually deals with figurative language within poetic or prophetic texts, because the interpretation of the figurative language within poetic texts, much different from narrative texts, requires readers to understand the conceptual world of human cognition that is not often easily recognized in the surface elements of texts. Thus, 1 Cf. W. Croft and D. A. Cruse, Cognitive Linguistics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); V. Evans and M. Green, Cognitive Linguistics: An Introduction (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006).

REVIEWS

505

this work is a good addition to a growing body of literature on various biblical metaphors. Chapter 1 surveys the previous scholarship on biblical metaphor and presents four basic patterns of research in modern biblical scholarship: theory-oriented, metaphor-oriented, method-oriented, and text-oriented patterns. Jindo usually evaluates previous scholarship negatively because it treats biblical metaphors as stylistic components, not as creative components. He boldly claims “the minority of biblical scholars who do recognize this creative value of metaphor have yet to provide a logical and theoretical explanation for its operation” (p. 21). In chapter 2, Jindo introduces his theoretical framework that derives from the field of cognitive linguistics. He first explains the definition of theories of conceptual metaphor with two domains. He briefly deals with four basic features of theories of conceptual metaphor: conceptuality, systematicity, ubiquity, and fundamentality. Then, he explains, using Alfred Tennyson’s poem, how this cognitive approach can be applied to poetic metaphor, because most biblical metaphors appear in poetic sections especially in prophetic books. Finally, as an addition, he introduces an important concept from cognitive linguistics: frame theory. Although he briefly explains this concept, it is a very important concept by which he analyzes the framework of Jeremiah 1– 24 and connections between local metaphors. Because this concept has developed with different terms and emphasis drawn from various fields, the concept of frame is variously called, for example, “schema,” “script,” “scenario,” “cognitive model,” or “folk theory.” The term frame indicates “a repertoire of conceptual knowledge” that contains its own constituent elements (p. 50). Thus, the elements of the SCHOOL frame would be “teacher,” “student,” “textbook,” and “classroom” (p. 51). He argues that this frame theory is helpful in identifying a unit of metaphor. Chapter 3 analyzes the structure of the book of Jeremiah. Jeremiah is a difficult book in terms of its arrangement. Thus, there is no scholarly consensus about the arrangement and partition of the book. By treating the text as a unified work, however, Jindo seeks to legitimize the consideration of the metaphorical units of those images and figures in the text. Using editorial devices such as “inclusion,” “concentricity,” and “transitional patterning,” he conducts a structural analysis of Jeremiah, showing how the book is a composition carefully arranged into an integral structure with a clear logic of progression (p. 57). Following Alexander Rofe’s structural analysis, he divides the book of Jeremiah into three parts: chs. 1–24, 25–45, 46–51 (appendix: ch. 52). In chapter 4, while employing the frame theory that chapter 2 mentions, Jindo proposes a global metaphorical model, “destruction model,” as a concept underlying Jeremiah 1–24. Following past scholarship,

506

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

he tries to identify each major component of this model by analyzing Mesopotamian city-laments. While his work shares some common elements with Dobbs-Allsopp’s book,2 he distinguishes his approach, which concerns the conceptual framework through which the catastrophic event is perceived, from Dobbs-Allsopp’s genre approach, which concerns the verbal forms and literary devices of that literature. He argues that the writers in Mesopotamia and Israel employ this destruction model in order to interpret their historical disasters, such as the destruction of Ur or the kingdom of Judah, because biblical religion emerged within the literary and intellectual matrix of ancient Near Eastern civilizations. Thus, they share not only this same conceptual model, but also the same literary mode of articulating that model. Through an analysis of Mesopotamian laments, he identifies four scenes (judicial decision/lawsuit, destruction/warfare, lamentation/aftermath, and restoration) and six actors (plaintiff, judge, defendant, intercessor/advocate, lamenter, and executioner). In addition, he suggests that this destruction model is based on a conceptual metaphor THE COSMOS IS A STATE, or royal metaphor, wherein YHWH is conceived of as king, the heavenly council as his royal court, and the universe as his dominion. Then, while comparing Jeremiah with Mesopotamian city-laments and culture, he tries to identify each character in Jeremiah 1–24. Thus, through the identification of the destruction model in Jeremiah 1–24, Jindo establishes the interpretive framework of his exegesis. Chapter 5 introduces local metaphors within the overall framework of Jeremiah 1–24, which is dominated by the royal lawsuit model. He focuses especially on plant images. He wants to understand these plant images not simply as rhetorical devices making the destruction scene more vivid, but as key components within the conceptual complex of the royal model describing Israel as God’s royal garden. For this examination, he uses Greenstein’s three exegetical principles for unpacking poetic metaphors: the consideration of the “ramifications,” “specific concept,” and “intertextual function.” Thus, in this chapter, he first tries to establish the basic concept of the divine garden within the broader context of biblical literature by comparing biblical examples in Genesis 1–3 with mythopoetic concepts widely attested in the ancient Near East. Then, while extending the basic concept of the divine garden to many related plant images throughout the whole Old Testament, he tries to combine various concepts into the royal garden metaphor. Those concepts are the main motifs of the Zion tradition, agricultural images, and vineyard images. Based on his findings of the royal F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion: A Study of City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible (BibOr 44; Roma: Editirce Pontificio Instituto Biblico, 1993). 2

REVIEWS

507

garden metaphor, he analyzes the plant images in Jeremiah 1–24 section by section according to each division. For interpreting each occurrence, he often depends on intertextuality not only from biblical texts but also from other ancient Near Eastern materials. In the concluding chapter, Jindo gives not only the summary but also some implications of his research. He argues that his cognitive approach can be useful for philological study, genre study and the understanding of biblical poetry and prophecy. Jindo’s work provides important insight into the study of biblical metaphor. First, as he repeatedly mentions, the cognitive approach foregrounds the important fact that a metaphor is not an exceptional matter of poetic creativity or excessive rhetoric. Rather, it emphasizes that metaphor works on the human conceptual level. Thus, this approach makes readers consider the power and effect of biblical metaphors from a different perspective. Second, although interest in biblical metaphors has recently increased from the perspective of cognitive linguistics, there has been a lack of exegetical consideration about the relationship between metaphors within the wider context. However, by using frame theory together with conceptual metaphor theory, he provides the opportunity to consider those metaphors together within a frame. In addition, by employing intertextuality, he tries to reveal the conceptual implications of various plant images. This approach helps readers understand the various implications of biblical metaphors that cannot be known within the immediate context. However, Jindo’s work has some weaknesses. First, the account of his method is not structured well. In chapter 2 he introduces the notions of conceptual metaphor, poetic metaphor, and cognitive frame. However, he does not explain their relationship adequately. In addition, even though frame theory is very important in his work, he does not give a proper explanation for it. Thus, in chapters 4 and 5 there seems to be some confusion between the notions of frame and metaphor. For example, the title of chapter 4 is “A GLOBAL METAPHOR IN JEREMIAH 1–24: THE DESTRUCTION MODEL.” This title gives the impression that the global metaphor in Jeremiah 1–24 is the destruction model. In addition, he even uses the expression “a global metaphorical model” that strengthens the impression (p. 71). This chapter, however, only argues that the destruction model is a frame that underlies Jeremiah 1–24, while the global metaphor THE COSMOS IS A STATE is functioning as the underlying metaphorical concept of this model (p. 81). In his work, this royal metaphor is a kind of frame to which other metaphors belong. Although a metaphor can be a frame in some cases, a metaphor is usually used as a sub-frame within a bigger frame. Thus, in this work this confusion causes some problems that will be explained below.

508

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Second, related to the first point, Jindo’s argument that the local metaphor (plant images) belongs to royal garden metaphor which is part of the global metaphor THE COSMOS IS A STATE (royal metaphor) is not convincing. The so-called plant images which appear within a motif of the Zion tradition (i.e., the river of paradise motif), agricultural images, and vineyard images, may share some common elements with the royal garden metaphor, but not all of those metaphors belong to the royal garden metaphor. Actually, the royal metaphor is only a part of the frame of “relationship between God and people.” This relationship is an abstract concept that cannot be expressed in univocal language. Thus, in order to explain this relationship the Bible employs many different kinds of metaphors such as king/subject, judge/litigant, husband/wife, father/child, master/servant, potter/pottery, and farmer/farm (vineyard). Each metaphor has its own focus depending on its context. Thus, some of them can be used together without belonging to one conceptual metaphor. Because those metaphors were popular in ancient Israel, Israelites could understand that those metaphors belonged conventionally to the frame of “relationship between God and people.” Finally, his intertextuality method needs more refined guidelines. Our understanding of ancient Israel’s conceptual world is very limited. Therefore, when we apply a cognitive approach to an ancient work like the Bible, there is always some danger of overusing the related materials. Thus, whenever Jindo finds some connection between his present text in Jeremiah and other texts in the Old Testament or in other ancient Near Eastern literature, he seeks to treat it as part of the metaphor’s conceptual world. However, it seems that he is often reading too much between the lines. Although there is some common cultural ground between Israel and other ancient Eastern cultures, it should be remembered that there are also differences between them. Therefore, comparative work should be exercised with care. In spite of some weaknesses, Jindo’s work is very valuable for future study of biblical metaphor. Especially helpful is his treatment of poetic metaphor which gives good examples of how to interpret poetic metaphors and enriches our understanding of poetic metaphors. Furthermore, his approach employing cognitive theories of conceptual metaphor, poetic metaphor, and frame theory provides a good starting point for those who use cognitive approaches. His lengthy footnotes provide extensive bibliography for related subjects and his detailed evaluation provides helpful perspectives about those subjects.

REVIEWS

509

Allen, Leslie C., JEREMIAH: A COMMENTARY (OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2008). Pp. xxix+546. Hardcover. US$59.95. ISBN 9780664222239. Reviewed by Hetty Lalleman Spurgeon’s College, London With this publication of Jeremiah: A Commentary, the 1986 commentary by Robert Carroll in the Old Testament Library series has now been succeeded by this volume written by Leslie C. Allen, a senior professor at Fuller Theological Seminary. The focus of this commentary is “on the final form of the book as the canonical version, theologically and literarily” (p. 2). However, Allen adds that he also pays attention to other ancient texts and versions, as well as to different stages in the literary developments before the text was finalized. This means that this commentary does not fall into the category of synchronic readings of Jeremiah, although it advocates a reading which pays ample attention to literary features of the text, such as chiasm and the repetition of key words. There are also quite a few suggestions, however, about possible developments in the text of a redactional nature. Allen gives the LXX version full attention, and he puts the MT’s variations in italics. Allen distinguishes between textual and redactional variations and for each variation he tries to decide which is which, and which version should be preferred. I noticed a distinct tendency to follow the LXX, even though the entire MT is commented upon. Where there are large portions of extra material in the MT, such as in 33:14–26, Allen tries to explain why the writers would have added this material. There is, of course, a variety of opinions about whether in the case of Jeremiah the LXX or the MT has priority. As for the passage just mentioned, Lundbom (2004: 537–538) maintains Jeremianic authorship and unlike Allen rejects the idea of a later postexilic addition.1 Allen leaves the issue of the relationship between the Deuteronomistic tradition and the prose sermons open. In his opinion, the prose sermons J. R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 21B; New York: Yale University Press, 2004). 1

510

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

were written for a later generation than the prophet’s original audience yet they form an integral part of the book in its final form. He argues that the prose sermons often appear at the beginning of a new block of material, and he bases his subdivision of the entire book upon their appearance. On the whole Allen dates the material found in the Book of Jeremiah during the life of the prophet, in the exile or soon after the exile. He draws the following interesting comparison: “The book of Jeremiah is like an old English country house, originally built and then added to in the Regency period, augmented with Victorian wings, and generally refurbished throughout the Edwardian years. It grew over a long period of time” (p. 11). There are, nonetheless, certain clues to the purpose of the book as a whole, such as “question and answer” passages (5:19; 9:12–16; 16:10–13; 22:8–9). These passages emphasize how the disaster of the exile can be explained by the perennial idolatry of the covenant people. Hence the Book of Jeremiah can be understood as a theodicy which aims to encourage the exiles to live according to God’s covenant as the people of God. Allen’s introduction is rather short compared to other commentaries (only 18 pages). Neither the introduction nor the verse-by-verse commentary offer much historical information, and theological themes are also hardly touched upon. The more than 500 pages which follow are comprised of his own, and in my opinion, accurate translation, which is nevertheless quite modern in style and slightly interpretative (God’s message in Jer 1:4–13 is translated as “communication”), followed by extended comments on the text which also discuss the ancient versions. Allen then comments on (groups of) verses, literary features, structures and repetition of words and phrases. He also connects the text to other passages in Jeremiah and in the rest of the Bible, including the New Testament. The space taken up by the actual explanation of verses is relatively small compared to the size of the commentary. The material is presented here in a very compact way. Careful study of Allen’s words shows up much condensed material which is well worth reading as it sheds new light on the meaning and significance of the text. However, for the convenience of some readers a more extensive explanation would have been welcome. Students who do not know Hebrew may find Allen too complex to consult. As the author sets out in his introduction, the application of the passages is left to other commentaries. At the outset there is an extensive bibliography but at the end of the book there is no index of texts, just an index of modern authors. On the whole, in my opinion Allen has provided us with good insights into the Book of Jeremiah that will enrich our thoughts and repay careful study.

REVIEWS

511

Niditch, Susan, “MY BROTHER ESAU IS A HAIRY MAN”: HAIR AND IDENTITY IN ANCIENT ISRAEL (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008). Pp. 159. Hardcover. US$45.00. ISBN 9780195181142. Reviewed by Jonathan Y. Rowe Seminario Evangélico Unido de Teología, El Escorial, Spain Some of the Hebrew Bible’s most memorable stories concern hair. Susan Niditch’s informative volume sheds fresh light on these narratives by fulfilling the aims summarized in its last lines: “to further our understanding of actual hair customs and practices in Israelite and neighboring cultures and to explore the various symbolic roles of hair and transformations of hair, its emotional and evocative effect on wearers and viewers, its cultural messages and meanings, and its political power and influence” (p. 140). Chapter 1, “Introduction,” presents the idea that hair is central to expressions of personal and cultural identity. Niditch outlines three ways in which the relationship between hair, body and culture has been conceived by anthropologists. The first model, following anthropologists Nancy Scheper-Hughes and Margaret Lock, focuses upon the interplay between how hair relates to an individual’s body (e.g., hair style as an expression of self image), the role of hair in social context (e.g., the symbolic significance of long hair), and the regulation of hair in the body politic (e.g., whether shaving is voluntary or forced). The second model is Victor Turner’s symbolic analysis, which, when used to study hair, seeks to understand the “grammar” of hair-related practices and their relation to other cultural symbols. The third model comes from Gananath Obeyesekere’s work, which highlights the interplay of private and cultural meanings, along with the potential for innovation. In the latter part of the chapter Niditch explores the environmental, natural and political contexts in which ancient Israelites wore their hair. She then briefly surveys the main epochs of Israelite social history, to the extent that this can be reconstructed from biblical and archaeological sources, as background to her subsequent study.

512

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Chapter 2, “Hair in the Material Culture and Art of the Ancient Near East,” is a most informative survey of hair related objects and practices in ancient Israelite, Egyptian, Assyrian and Persian societies. Niditch examines artistic representations of hair in Egyptian reliefs, “the only possible premonarchic portrayal of Israelites” (p. 33), highlighting how hair styles reflect status and ethnic origin. She then examines Israelite depictions of hair in drawings on storage jars discovered at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud and on Judean pillar figurines. Finally, she takes a detailed look at Assyrian portrayals of hair on the Black Obelisk and Sennacherib’s reliefs, demonstrating that beards can symbolise manliness, and that hair styles are utilized to distinguish victors from vanquished. Throughout this chapter, plates and figures helpfully illustrate Niditch’s discussion. She concludes that hair was a critical element of how the Israelites perceived themselves— or were made to perceive themselves—, as well as how they were perceived by others. Chapter 3, “Samson: Maleness, Charisma, Warrior Status, and Hair,” considers how hair is presented as a proxy for the hero’s life force. Samson’s hair distinguishes him from the less hairy Philistines, and Delilah’s act of cutting his flowing locks is an assertion of Philistine dominance. The shearing of Samson is especially significant because he was a Nazir, whose hair had never been cut. Niditch turns, therefore, to study the Nazirite vow, including the translation of ‫(פרע‬Judg 5:2; Deut 32:42), which she takes to be hair-related. The chapter concludes with a study of Absalom, who is singled out by his hair, a sign of his “manly fecundity” (p. 79). God’s view of the matter, however, is different, and Absalom’s hair becomes his undoing. “The hair suits him but is beautifully manipulated in this tale to suggest an antihero, not one meant to lead, not one who is divinely chose, a fake—all hat and no cattle” (p. 80). Chapter 4, “The Nazirite Vow: Domesticating Charisma and Recontextualizing Hair,” considers in detail Numbers 6, which refers to two rites of passage, and related postexilic texts. Niditch uses Turner’s model of ritual to explain Numbers 6. She concludes that the “Nazir, during his vow, is…in a perpetual state of priestly-style cleanness and holiness, as if he were about to enter the sacred locus” (p. 87). Furthermore, while long hair is a public symbol of the hairy person’s status, it is also a constant, uncomfortable reminder to individuals of their commitment, for “the longer the hair, the more the lice” (p. 91). Chapter 5, “Absent Hair,” discusses shaving, mourning practices, and the contrast between “hairy” and “smooth.” The central feature of hair loss is that it is related to a change of status. Niditch shows how the forced beard removal of David’s messengers in 2 Sam 10:4–5 is a sign of subjugation. Because women do not grow beards, it has gendered

REVIEWS

513

connotations (p. 98); and it is similar to David’s cutting of Saul’s cloak (1 Sam 24:7). Niditch observes that the “men respond emotionally and viscerally to the forced removal of their hair…[which] only makes sense within a cultural context that equates male power with facial hair, the loss of hair with loss of power” (p. 98). Context, however, is crucial. While the forced removal of hair may be shameful, ritual hair removal by individuals in mourning gives other messages. In her discussion of relevant texts, Niditch comments upon the use of the image of hair removal as a sign of mourning in Jer 7:29 and Ezekiel 5, where shaving is a sign of loss of consecration, of distance from God because of transgression and consequent punishment. The inability to mourn characterizes the chaos of defeat in Jer 16:6. Niditch outlines the differences in priestly and lay mourning practices regarding hair described in Leviticus, noting that they highlight status differences. That the whole people of God were to be distinct explains the prohibition against adopting non-Yahwistic hair styles in Lev 19:27–28. Shaving can be a sign of cleansing. This is clear both in the ritual of priestly initiation in Numbers 8, and in Lev 14:8 where the formerly leprous person removes all hair, entering a liminal phase that passes as the hair grows back. The chapter concludes with an examination of hairy and smooth biblical characters. Elijah and Elisha, like Esau and Jacob, are contrasted by their hair/lack of hair (cf. 2 Kgs 1:8; 2:23 and Gen 25:25, 27). In the case of Esau and Jacob, the underdog gets the upper hand. Niditch proposes that telling such a tale to men would have amused women, for “all such stories amuse and psychologically liberate those without power” (p. 117). In the case of Joseph, we read that “he shaved and changed his clothing” before presenting himself to Pharaoh (Gen 41:14). In doing so, according to Niditch, he became like the smooth Egyptian ruler: “It is a common theme for immigrants of all kinds and all periods. And, once again, hair is a crucial marker of the acceptance, at least outwardly, of transformation from ‘us’ to ‘them’” (p. 120). Chapter 6 is entitled “Letting Down Her Hair to Cutting It Off: The Ritual Trial of a Woman Accused of Adultery and the Transformation of the Female ‘Other’.” The chapter commences with a study of Num 5:11– 31, which she later observes is “not the sort of marriage counseling offered by modern family therapists” (p. 128). Niditch then discusses the evidence for women’s hair styles, suggesting that young Israelite women wore hair loose, while married aristocratic ladies pulled their hair back in some way (p. 126). Hair also plays an important symbolic role when a captive bride is incorporated into her new family. “My Brother Esau is a Hairy Man” ends with brief “Conclusions,” a 10 page bibliography, and general and biblical indices.

514

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Those familiar with Niditch’s work will know that she writes with a delicious lucidity, and that her discussions are readily accessible even to those without prior knowledge of the social science utilized in her interpretations. “My Brother Esau is a Hairy Man” is no exception. With respect to the content of the book Niditch is methodologically meticulous while avoiding heavy handedness: she is both careful and interesting. Moreover, her presentation of hair styles, etc. in the extrabiblical sources really does help illuminate the text, often shedding new light on otherwise obscure passages. In this context, I would make two points. First, if one were to ask more of this volume it would be at the level of further integrating the models for thinking about hair, body and culture Niditch outlines in Chapter 1 into the subsequent discussion. In particular, while the author takes the seminal work of Obeyesekere as her third model, she does not employ his insights often; instead, she prefers to rely upon Turner. In the conclusion she recognizes her preference, noting that the other models “encourage the exegete to seek out the emotional, personal, and psychological roots, dimensions, and responses of Israelites” (p. 134). Perhaps this is all that can be expected—it is, after all, difficult to analyse the sometimes unconscious relationships between personal and cultural symbols that Obeyesekere highlights in an ancient text—but, if so, it would have been better to delineate the model’s limitations at the start. Second, when discussing the test for an unfaithful wife in Num 5:11– 31, Niditch highlights how the manipulation of the woman’s hair by men “subjugates the woman and enhances the empowerment of the men around her” (p. 123). I agree. It is also necessary, however, to note that by publicly questioning a wife’s chastity the husband had to recognise that he suspected that he had been cuckolded. In other words, in the context of ancient society, he had to admit that his honour had been compromised. For this reason the trial described in Numbers 5 would almost certainly have been a last resort—although I concur with Niditch that its misuse remains a possibility. Furthermore, whereas one might expect a husband to wreak vengeance for his wife’s (suspected) infidelity, the ritual actually places that responsibility in God’s hands. But these are minor points. One can wholeheartedly recommend Niditch’s sparkling little book to scholars and students interested in socialscientific interpretation of the Hebrew Bible or the “hairy” texts she discusses.

REVIEWS

515

Boccaccini, Gabriele and Giovanni Ibba (eds.), ENOCH AND MOSAIC TORAH: THE EVIDENCE OF JUBILEES (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2009). Pp. xxi+474. Softcover. US$55.00. ISBN 9780802864093. Reviewed by Rodney A. Werline Barton College, Wilson, NC The twenty-eight essays collected in Enoch and Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees represent revisions of papers given at the 2007 Enoch Seminar held at Camaldoli, Italy. The seminar, and thus now the essays, primarily focused on an intriguing issue in Enochic studies: Why does the early Enochic literature exhibit basically no interest in the Mosaic Torah? Placed beside Jubilees, this question attracts two further questions: Why does Jubilees contain both Enochic and Mosaic traditions, and what is the relationship between Enochic traditions and Jubilees given these factors? As Boccaccini summarizes in the preface, basically four possibilities emerged in discussions and are now represented in the essays: 1) Jubilees is a “direct product of Enochic Judaism with some Mosaic influences”; 2) Jubilees is a “conscious synthesis of Enochic and Mosaic tradition”; 3) Jubilees is “essentially a Mosaic text with some Enochic influences”; and 4) Jubilees and Enoch do not represent “competing forms of Judaism” (p. xvi). Like the seminar, the volume does not arrive at a single explanation for the relationship between the documents, but maintains the variety of positions. Because of the number of essays and the size of the volume, commenting on each contribution is impossible. Thus, I will review the structure of the book and a few significant contributions. The essays are organized under four headings. The first section, “Jubilees and its Literary Context,” examines foundational issues related to studying the text, such as the textual tradition, the problem of genre, and Jubilees’ relationship to other texts from the era—the types of categories one finds in an introduction in a modern commentary. These essays combine to form a “state of scholarship” on these matters. The essays in the following section, “The Melding of Mosaic and Enochic Traditions,” address the issue presented in the volume’s title: the problem of the Mosaic Torah and 1 Enoch. In an attempt to cast new light

516

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

on the problem, Helge S. Kvantig (pp. 163–177: “Enochic Judaism—a Judaism without the Torah and the Temple?”) draws on some of the basic aspects of Carol Newsom’s methodology about competing discourses within society. Kvantig claims that Nehemiah 8–10 represents the dominant, “master narrative” of this era (pp. 165–167), while the traditions in Enoch represent a different discourse. Thus, differences between these traditions may not represent attacks, but different ways of speaking and seeing the world. Gabriele Boccaccini’s essay, “From a Movement to a Distinct Form of Judaism: The Heavenly Tablets in Jubilees as the Foundation of a Competing Halakah” (pp. 193–210), reasserts his thesis from Beyond the Essene Hypothesis.1 Jubilees represents an Essene document that combined the Enochic heavenly tablets with the Mosaic Torah, albeit with some corrections of Enoch in the process. Boccaccini concludes that Jubilees was the “creed and public manifesto,” the “religious and political platform” of the Essenes (p. 209), which in the end did not dominate the post-Maccabean era, but led to separation into the Judaean desert (pp. 209– 210). Hindy Najman’s work (pp. 229–243: “Reconsidering Jubilees: Prophecy and Exemplarity,”) contributes distinct and new ways forward through the complicated issues of pseudepigraphy and relationships between ancient texts and the construction of communities behind the texts. Instead of arguing for separate Judaisms (e.g., Zadokite and Enochic Judaism as Boccaccini proposes), she draws on Foucault’s concept of “discourses” (pp. 238–240). As one would speak about Marxist or Freudian texts—though they may have not written a particular work—one could say that Jubilees (and Isaiah, 1 Enoch, etc.) “participates in an already inspired discourse associated with a founder” (p. 239). The third section of essays attempts to place “Jubilees between Enoch and Qumran.” In large part, this section is so named and positioned because of Boccaccini’s theory that Jubilees manifests the development of the Essene halakah that leads toward Qumran sectarianism. Thus, the essays cover topics such as purity laws, the calendar, the festivals of Pesah and Massot. However, additional essays in this section examine key theological, cosmological, and anthropological ideas. The three essays in the final section (“Where does Jubilees belong?”) provide some degree of conclusion to the collection. In “Jubilees, the Temple and the Aaronite Priesthood” (pp. 397–410), David Suter describes Enoch’s role, as sage and scribe in Jubilees’ distinctive and selective anachronistic reconstructions of purity, priesthood and cult, as the patriarchs practice selective features of the Mosaic torah. In Jubilees, for the Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005). 1

REVIEWS

517

first time, Enoch becomes an authority on sacrifice (p. 410). Applying Thomas Kuhn’s theories about the role of paradigms, David Jackson (pp. 411–425: “Jubilees and Enochic Judaism,”) presents a series of “exemplars” in Enoch, created to produce paranesis and to provide a methodology for the interpretation of the cosmos (pp. 413–414). Jubilees, then, picks up this paradigm and integrates it into a reading of what becomes the “first canon” (p. 424). This basic method of integration exemplified in Jubilees, he suggests, leads to the flurry of interpretation in the Qumran literature (p. 424). Eyal Regev’s contribution, “Jubilees, Qumran and the Essenes” (pp. 426–440), the final essay of the volume, argues that Jubilees is a product of a reform movement and not a distinct sect, because it seeks to “change society rather than withdraw from it” (p. 430). He thinks, however, that similarities between Jubilees, MMT, and the Temple Scroll suggest some relationship between the groups responsible for these three texts, all of which he believes predate the founding of the yahad (p. 438). Regev also declares that he does not think that the Essenes are the parent group of the Qumran community (p. 438). While traces of Boccaccini’s thesis from Beyond the Essene Hypothesis are detectable in the organization of the book, as he promises in his introduction different opinions are allowed to stand. For that the editors should be commended. The essays in the volume are of a high quality, and therefore anyone doing research in Jubilees, 1 Enoch and this period in general should consult this work. Several essays are quite technical (e.g., William Gilders’ essay, which adds an appendix on the “Occurrences of ‘Covenant’ in Ethiopic and Hebrew Jubilees” (pp. 178–192). In reading the essays, one will notice the enduring value of James VanderKam’s work on Jubilees. Further, Nickelsburg’s basic assessment of 1 Enoch and the Mosaic tradition still dominates the landscape. Even though the collection certainly contains essays on the relationship between Enoch and Mosaic Torah, one might conclude that the title does not exactly represent the content. As noted, a large portion of the book is simply about Jubilees. While several interesting explorations about the relationship between Enoch and the Mosaic Torah appear in the essays, of course the problem still stands. More work remains. Nevertheless, this volume will bring the reader up to date on key and basic issues related to the study of Jubilees.

518

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Corley, Jeremy and Vincent Skemp (eds.), STUDIES IN THE GREEK BIBLE: ESSAYS IN HONOR OF FRANCIS T. GIGNAC, S.J. (CBQMS, 44; Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 2008). Pp. xiv+318. Paperback. US$18.00. ISBN 0915170434. Reviewed by Claude Cox McMaster Divinity College Studies in the Greek Bible: Essays in Honor of Francis T. Gignac, S.J. is one of those rare Festschrifts that succeeds as a collection: it maintains a unity of focus, and the essays are all interesting and stimulating, not to mention succinct. It honors Francis T. Gignac, among whose contributions to the study of Greek is his A Grammar of the Greek Papyri of the Roman and Byzantine Periods, published in three parts (1976, 1981; vol. 3 in preparation). The collection unfolds as follows: a Foreword, written by Alexander A. Di Lella (pp. ix–xi), appears after “Contents” and a photo of the honoree; then, Introduction, by the editors (pp. xiii–xiv). The contributions, thirteen in all, are divided into four parts: One: Genesis Creation Traditions (pp. 1–46); Two: Later Septuagintal Books (pp. 47–119); Three: New Testament Texts (pp. 121–214); and Four: Linguistic Studies (pp. 215–77). Next there is a bibliography of Fr. Gignac (pp. 279–88); a list of the contributors, with their academic locations (p. 289); Index of Ancient Sources (pp. 291–303: OT; NT and related texts; Dead Sea Scrolls; Josephus; Jewish Pseudepigrapha and related texts; Targumic Literature; Rabbinic Literature; Patristic and related texts; Greek and Latin Sources; Greek papyri and Inscriptions); Index of Authors (pp. 304–11); Index of Subjects (pp. 312–18). Finally, like a manuscript, there is a colophon that informs us that the volume was typeset by Maurya P. Horgan and Paul J. Kobelski, former students of the honoree at Fordham University. Part One, “Genesis Creations Traditions,” contains these essays: “Creation under Control: Power Language in Genesis 1:1–2:3,” by Jennifer M. Dines (pp. 3–16); “Guarding Head and Heel: Observations on Septuagint Genesis 3:15,” by C. T. Robert Hayward (pp. 17–34); “‘What is ΕΠΙΦΕΡΕ?’ Genesis 1:2b in the Sahidic Version of the LXX and the

REVIEWS

519

Apocryphon of John,” by Janet Timbie (pp. 35–46). Part Two: “A Textual and Literary Analysis of the Song of the Three Jews in Greek Daniel 3:52–90,” by Alexander A. Di Lella (pp. 49–64); “Septuagintalisms, Semitic Interference, and the Original Language of the Book of Judith,” by Jeremy Corley (pp. 65–96); “Martyrdom as Cultic Death in the Books of Maccabees: Antecedents and Later Developments,” by Mark F. Whitters (pp. 97–119). Part Three: “Verbal Aspect and Discourse Function in Mark 16:1–8: Three Significant Instances,” by Stanley E. Porter (pp. 123–37); “The ‘Impersonal’ Plural Active of the Verb in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts: Semitic Interference?” by Elliott C. Maloney (pp. 138–62); “Luke 10:38–42 and Acts 6:1–7: A Lukan Diptych on διακονία,” by Bart J. Koet (pp. 163–85); “Participial Aspect and the Lamb’s Paradigmatic Witness in Revelation 13:8,” by Vincent Skemp (pp. 186–214). Part Four: “The Language of Creation in Ben Sira: ‫ =חלק‬κτίζω,” by M. O’Connor† (pp. 217–28); “The Septuagint as Interpretative Translation and the Complex Background to κατανύσσομαι in Acts 2:37,” by Shawn W. Flynn (pp. 229– 55); “Phonological Phenomena in Greek Papyri and Inscriptions and Their Significance for the Septuagint,” by James K. Aitken (pp. 256–77). In a review such as this it is possible only to give a brief introduction to the various contributions. In her paper on Gen 1:1–2:3, Dines compares the LXX and its parent text with an interest in “power language,” first in the Hebrew, then in the Greek. For the latter she focuses on ἄρχειν, ἀρχή and κατακυρεύειν. Hayward’s analysis of Gen 3:15 reveals that the Targums and the Genesis LXX translator shared a common understanding of the meaning of ‫“שוף‬bruise” or “crush” in rendering it as “watch, guard” (Greek τηρεῖν). Timbie, in her article on the meaning of loanword ΕΠΙΦΕΡΕ in the Sahidic of Gen 1:2b, uses its interpretation in Berlin Codex 8502 of the Apocryphon of John to render it as “rushing over.” Part Two opens with Di Lella’s essay on the Song of the Three Jews (OG Dan 3:52–90). He presents the text, divided into seven stanzas (so Papyrus 967) to reflect the seven days of creation, commentary, and conclusion. Corley’s contribution reviews the discussion about the original language of the Book of Judith; he argues that its Semitic features can be explained as imitative of the Septuagint or as the result of Semitic interference in the Greek. The paper by Whitters on martyrdom in the books of Maccabees asserts that the theological motif that bridges the world before Jewish and Christian martyrs and links up with what follows is built on the public cult (p. 97). Stan Porter’s contribution on verbal aspect and discourse function in Mark 16:1–8 opens Part Three. Here, succinctly, Porter restates his research on verbal aspect and demonstrates its importance for discourse analysis by examining one manageable passage. Maloney’s essay on the “impersonal”

520

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

plural active in the Synoptics and Acts concludes that this usage is the result of Aramaic interference. A detailed overview precedes this conclusion. Koet’s study joins that of others who have questioned the interpretation of διακονία as “lowly, caring service.” His particular interest is its use in Acts 6:1–7, where he engages especially the work of John N. Collins, starting with Diakonia: Re-interpreting the Ancient Sources.1 He believes that διακονία here includes “attending to the Word” (p. 185). Finally, Skemp’s essay examines “the difficulty of making sense grammatically of the neuter, attributive, perfect middle-passive participle τοῦ ἐσφαγμένου [“slain”] when it is read with the prepositional phrase ἀπὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου [“from the foundation of the world”]” in Rev 13:8 (p. 186). He focuses upon the use of the perfect participle and argues that the perfect allows the Lamb’s slaughter to be viewed in a way that is larger than an event fixed in time (p. 212). Part Four is devoted to “Linguistic Studies.” The opening essay by O’Connor examines the use of κτίζω (“create”) to render ‫חלק‬six times in Ben Sira. He suggests the possibility that Aramaic of the Second Temple Period used ‫חלק‬with the meaning “create” (p. 226). Flynn’s contribution analyses the meaning of the verb κατανύσσομαι in Acts 2:37 (NRSV: “cut to the heart”). He assumes the verb to be a “Septuagintal neologism,” i.e., that it is a word coined by LXX translators. Flynn examines its sixteen occurrences in the LXX where, he says, the verb likely retains the metaphorical sense “being stabbed” (p. 254). It is used to interpret feelings and emotions. This helps to appreciate its place in Acts 2:37. Aitken’s paper serves to reignite discussion about the possibility of a relative dating of the Greek of the documents of the LXX and NT on the basis of papyri and inscriptions. Specifically he re-examines the evidence for οὐδείς and οὐθείς (“no one”) and for the contraction of adjacent vowels, e.g., ταμιεῖον (“storehouse”) becoming ταμεῖον. In both instances, H. St. John Thackeray argued that a decline in the first form in each case can be useful in dating the materials in the LXX. Aitken determines that the developments in phonological phenomena identified by Thackeray and others largely still hold true (p. 277), but, given the larger quantity of evidence now available, the situation, as Aitken shows, must be adjudged more complex than formerly. This volume of essays succeeds admirably. Its modest price allows a wide readership.

John N. Collins, Diakonia: Re-interpreting the Ancient Sources (New York/Oxford: Oxford Universtiy Press, 1990). 1

REVIEWS

521

Pratico, Gary D. and Miles V. Van Pelt, BASICS OF BIBLICAL HEBREW GRAMMAR (2nd. ed.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007). Pp. 475. US$44.99. ISBN 9780310270201; idem, Basics of Biblical Hebrew Workbook (2nd. ed.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007). Pp. 304. US$22.99. ISBN: 9780310270225. Reviewed by Mary L. Conway McMaster Divinity College Pratico and Van Pelt’s popular grammar Basics of Biblical Hebrew Grammar (BBH) is designed as the foundation of an introductory two semester course in biblical Hebrew. Although the text can be used alone, it is also the flagship of a fleet of supplementary resources which are available for those who wish to enhance their learning experience. These include the Basics of Biblical Hebrew Workbook, Charts of Biblical Hebrew, the Vocabulary Guide to Biblical Hebrew, English Grammar to Ace Biblical Hebrew, the boxed Old Testament Hebrew Vocabulary Cards, the Basics of Biblical Hebrew Vocabulary CD, the Get an A+ Study Guide: Hebrew, and the Graded Reader of Biblical Hebrew.1 The basic set, however, consists of the text (with CD-ROM) and workbook. A number of years ago, I learned Hebrew myself with the help of the first edition of Pratico and Van Pelt’s BBH, and I have now chosen the second edition to teach my own students introductory Hebrew at the seminary level. I do this because, although I have some suggestions for 1 Gary D. Pratico and Miles V. Van Pelt, Charts of Biblical Hebrew (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007); Gary D. Pratico and Miles V. Van Pelt, Vocabulary Guide to Biblical Hebrew (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003); Miles V. Van Pelt, English Grammar to Ace Biblical Hebrew (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010); Gary D. Pratico and Miles V. Van Pelt, Old Testament Hebrew Vocabulary Cards (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004); Gary D. Pratico, Miles V. Van Pelt and Jonathan T. Pennington, Basics of Biblical Hebrew Vocabulary CD (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006); Gary D. Pratico and Miles V. Van Pelt, Get an A+ Study Guide: Hebrew (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005); and Gary D. Pratico and Miles V. Van Pelt, Graded Reader of Biblical Hebrew (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006).

522

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

improving the program, I consider this to be the best text currently available. One of the most challenging hurdles in the acquisition of a new language, especially when this must be accomplished in a short period of time without the opportunity for a “whole language” approach surrounded by native speakers, is the sheer quantity of memorization required, in terms of both vocabulary and paradigms. A quick glance at the tables of verbs in the back of any Hebrew text will illustrate the intimidating prospect of page after page of paradigms in seven conjugations multiplied by (at least) seven stems—often this alone is enough to discourage all but the most intrepid students when they learn that this must be memorized. The key advantage to Pratico and Van Pelt’s BBH is its diagnostic approach. The student must memorize only the Qal stem paradigms, but from that point on, all the verbs in the derived stems are analyzed and parsed based on the smallest number of distinctive features necessary to identify the form uniquely. Thus, the authors replace masses of rote recall with a series of more manageable and useful analytic processes. The second edition, with its larger format and red highlighting, makes these diagnostic features even easier to identify and remember. The “Diagnostics At-a-Glance” charts for the strong and weak verbs of each stem are particularly useful in this respect. Of course, the elimination of unnecessary detail could be a problem in language courses that emphasize writing, but since most biblical studies students need a reading knowledge only, the minimum amount of information necessary for recognition of a word is more than adequate. Ambiguous forms and details can always be checked on the full paradigm charts or in a lexicon. A recurring question in teaching biblical Hebrew is whether to teach all the nominal forms first and then deal with verbs, or to introduce the study of verbs earlier, interspersed throughout the material. Pratico and Van Pelt have chosen the former approach rather than the latter. It is perhaps easier and more encouraging for students to deal with nominals first and leave the more complex issue of verbs until later; verb forms appearing in sentences in the earlier chapters can always be footnoted, as Pratico and Van Pelt do in their workbook. However, this approach can have unfortunate results. Having avoided verbs for the first eleven chapters, students are inundated with them in the later parts of the text. The section on derived stems in particular moves at an alarming pace, covering one stem a week—that is, all conjugations and all weak verbs within each stem—in most course schedules. I have found that the amount of information that students must absorb in this format is overwhelming to some students since there is little time to practice and consolidate skills. Introducing verbs earlier and in stages might alleviate this problem

REVIEWS

523

somewhat, and would also allow students to learn one of the most common and central features of the language sooner; in spite of the existence of nominal clauses in Hebrew, there are very few verses in the Bible without verbs. Recent studies in biblical exegesis have demonstrated that the sentence is not the highest level of syntax in a text. The burgeoning use of discourse analysis has shown the value of studying syntax at levels higher than the clause. It is of course impossible for Pratico and Van Pelt to deal with this topic thoroughly in an introductory text, but the groundwork can be laid, and this text makes a beginning. In Chapter 17: Waw Consecutive, for example, the authors introduce the idea of verb tenses in discourse in their examination of the consecutive imperfect in narrative. Chapter 23: Issues of Sentence Syntax covers further issues related to verb patterns within individual verses. In fact, the authors have clarified and expanded these discussions compared to the earlier edition of BBH. However, most examples in the workbook on which the students practice are isolated verses which usually contain two or three clauses at most, and often only one; this atomizing of the biblical text can obscure discourse patterns. It would be useful for the authors to introduce a few longer narrative excerpts sooner in the workbook in order to illustrate verbal patterns more effectively. This would prepare students more adequately for the study of Hebrew exegesis at the level of discourse when they proceed to second year Hebrew. The workbook includes many helpful Hebrew examples for the students to parse and translate, most taken from the Bible itself. The answer key provided on the BBH CD-ROM is useful in allowing the students to self-correct, subsequently bringing only their most troublesome issues back to class for more intensive discussion. I would make one strong suggestion, however: to vary more often the stems and conjugations in the parsing exercises. For example, the exercise on the Piel strong verbs (pp. 211–212) includes only Piel forms, which makes the identification of the stem rather obvious. Including a Qal or Niphal or two would encourage the students to consolidate concepts and learn to discriminate between the forms. This said, the Final Parsing Exercise (pp. 279–86) gives a wide assortment of forms and is an excellent tool for pre-exam practice and review. I would only suggest that more practice with pronominal suffixes be included, since these frequently occur in the biblical text. Suffixes often alter the diagnostics and make analysis a challenge. One of the great advantages of the Pratico and Van Pelt system is the range of supplementary resources available which are appropriate for assisting students with a wide variety of learning styles. The core text includes a CD-ROM with FlashWorks, an excellent vocabulary

524

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

memorization computer program which “remembers” which words are causing the student difficulty and focuses on them. The Basics of Biblical Hebrew Vocabulary CD is valuable for listening in the car, and the boxed set of flash cards covers 1000 Hebrew words which are all coded by frequency and by the corresponding chapter in the basic BBH text. The Get an A+ Study Guide is a handy laminated summary of nominal forms and verb diagnostics to slip inside a binder, and which will also prove useful in more advanced Hebrew courses. The paperback English Grammar to Ace Biblical Hebrew is a brief, user-friendly, and even entertaining summary of English grammar relevant to the study of Hebrew for ESL students or those students who, due to changing philosophies of education, have not had the opportunity to learn it in school. Charts of Biblical Hebrew reproduces many of the grammar charts already available in the text, and is perhaps a bit redundant for most students, but for the teacher or avid student it also includes a disc with a total of over 450 charts clarifying various structures and diagnostics that are helpful for the visual learner. Finally, the Graded Reader of Biblical Hebrew offers longer passages from all three sections of the Hebrew Bible for students who have finished the course and want extra practice. Each section includes helpful explanations and commentary on unusual or tricky forms. I do sometimes have to remind my students, however, that simply buying all these resources will not make learning Hebrew easier; one has to actually use them! Although I look forward to further refinements in a third edition of BBH, I can nevertheless genuinely recommend this text and its ancillaries for introductory Hebrew classes.

Davis, Ellen F., SCRIPTURE, CULTURE, AND AGRICULTURE: AN AGRARIAN READING OF THE BIBLE (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Pp. xvii+234. Softcover. US$ 23.99. ISBN 9780521732239. Reviewed by Steven J. Schweitzer Bethany Theological Seminary, Richmond, Indiana Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible consists of nine independent and yet related essays that each engage in a reading of selected biblical texts from the perspective of agrarianism. Six of the essays

REVIEWS

525

originated as lectures by this leading Hebrew Bible scholar. Davis is concerned with both the ancient meaning(s) of the text and the contemporary theological implications and applications of the text. Davis is clear that she is not using a method, but employs the practice of putting texts in conversation with one another and with contemporary writers. Thus, she does not argue for a systematic manner of “agrarian reading,” but the result of her work produces a reading focused on agrarian issues. Throughout her analysis, the presentation is accessible, well-written, supported by careful scholarly research, and constructive in its approach. The first chapter introduces the issues, as Davis identifies a current ecological crisis and puts this reality in conversation with selected biblical texts, especially from the prophets, who speak of interrelated ecological and theological crises. While laying the foundation, this chapter lacks a clear presentation of methodology, as Davis clearly admits. The second chapter connects selected biblical texts (Genesis 2; Genesis 6–9; Psalm 85; and others from Proverbs and Isaiah) with contemporary agrarian authors (Robert Zimdahl, Aldo Leopold, Barry Lopez, Wes Jackson, Wendell Berry, and Bruce Coleman), arguing for a consistency between the Hebrew Bible’s concern for the land and the perspectives conveyed by these more recent voices. This chapter serves an excellent, yet brief, introduction to several of the key texts in the Hebrew Bible and to some of the leading writers on agrarianism and land use, and would serve well for an assigned reading for students to expose them to the general topic. The third chapter offers a reading of Genesis 1 that focuses on the depiction of the land and how divinity, humanity, and other aspects of creation relate to it. Davis attempts to show the Priestly concern for order as one that promotes considerable respect for the creation and the sobering responsibility that humanity bears as the imago Dei. Working with many complex ideas and insights from a variety of scholars, Davis is able to articulate a coherent view of Genesis 1 as a poem. Understanding Genesis 1 as poetry, she suggests, changes the way that the chapter should be read, i.e., as a more creative and imaginative text with a “surplus of meaning” (p. 45). Her treatment of the imago Dei and the discussion of “dominion” are particularly insightful and help to expose the various conceptions of the relationship between humanity and the rest of creation (pp. 53–63). The fourth chapter contends that the incident of the manna in Exodus 16 promotes a “wilderness economy” that is satisfied with restricting one’s (or a community’s) consumption to what one needs rather than selfindulgence. While this view may be correct, the argument is not as developed as the one in the previous chapter and at times the conclusions seem strained, in my opinion.

526

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The fifth chapter examines the concern for the land evident in Leviticus, especially in chapter 19. Biblical scholars will not find much new information in this analysis that has not already been presented many times in many other publications. Nevertheless, the treatment of “land theology” in Leviticus is accurate, succinct, and accessible. The sixth chapter presents an argument for a “local economy” as a biblical perspective that contemporary readers should embrace. Davis draws on the episode of Naboth’s vineyard in 1 Kings 21 and the theological views of Psalm 37, but her argument is not persuasive, in my opinion. While the theological concern for land use may be valid, these particular texts do not seem to support such a position. A “local economy” model may be appealing to some readers, but there is little in the Bible to either support or deny its appropriateness. The seventh chapter discusses the perspective of the land presented by two eighth-century prophets, Amos and Hosea. Davis distills the relevant texts and provides clear exegetical work to understand the theological and ecological views that they convey in the midst of social change under Jeroboam II. Davis’ insightful analysis reveals the content of their messages and their concern for appropriate land use and the related issue of social justice. The eighth chapter surveys the view of productivity presented in Proverbs, with special attention to the “woman of valor” (‫ )אשת חיל‬in Proverbs 31. Davis addresses its presentation of the “regular activity of an ordinary person” (p. 148) in light of the Persian imperial context and economic policies that would have been the context for understanding the images this acrostic uses. While the chapter title mentions both wisdom and sloth, the chapter itself is more a discussion of Proverbs’ view of productivity than either of these two terms in more expansive ways. The ninth and final chapter addresses the city, especially Jerusalem as Zion and as the eschatological telos in the prophetic literature. While many of the agrarian authors that Davis cites would wish to dismiss this biblical material and often present the city as an aberration and as a reality inconsistent with God’s vision for shalom, Davis helpfully presents the case for the importance of taking these positive images of the city in the prophetic literature seriously. This is a well-argued and reasoned chapter that does not say more than it should, while not shying away from the diversity of views in the Hebrew Bible. In many ways, this chapter and the one on Genesis 1 are the two best essays in the book. This book will be essential reading for anyone interested in what the Hebrew Bible may say about ecological issues. While it is more theological than historical or literary in its approach, Davis’ book provides helpful and engaging treatments of key biblical texts that are put in conversation with

REVIEWS

527

contemporary agrarian authors. While many will take issue with some of her arguments, the book stands as a testimony to the need to do this type of work carefully and creatively. There is certainly more to be done, but Davis has moved the conversation forward by both the scope and accessibility of this collection of inter-related essays on a topic of vital importance in our time.

de Hulster, Izaak J. and Rüdiger Schmitt, (eds.), ICONOGRAPHY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES: PROCEEDINGS OF THE ICONOGRAPHY SESSIONS AT THE JOINT EABS / SBL CONFERENCE, 22–26 JULY 2007, VIENNA, AUSTRIA (AOAT, 361; Münster: Ugarit, 2009). Pp. xii + 239. Hardcover. €84.00. ISBN 9783868350180. Reviewed by Frank Ueberschaer University of Zurich This volume contains papers read at the “Iconography and Biblical Studies” session at the joint conference of the European Association of Biblical Studies and the Society of Biblical Literature, which took place in 2007 in Vienna. There are also several further contributions to make a total of eleven articles. The volume as a whole provides an overview of the wide field of iconography and its relevance for biblical studies. In “The Tyskiewicz Seal Cylinder and the Relationship between Theology and Iconology” (pp. 1–19), Pernille Carstens (University of Copenhagen) interprets the Tyskiewicz cylinder seal from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts together with the Aydin seal and the seal AO 20138, both at the Louvre, Paris. She notes that first two seals derive from Anatolia or Syria as demonstrated by their shared graphemes. Carstens then provides detailed description and interpretation of the various scenes of the Tyskiewicz Seal, concluding that the cylinder seal is “an expression of blessing or shows the presence of the gods” (p. 5). It seems as if this conclusion is not meant as an either/or, but rather as a multi-layered statement on the seal’s connotations. The central figure is Ea, who is depicted as a life-giving god receiving worship. Because the theme of

528

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

blessing plays a central role in biblical conceptions of creation and as a guarantee of fertility (i.e., Hag; Ps 134:2–3; Deut 28:1–14), the Tyskiewicz Seal therefore provides insight into the imaginative background of the OT. Izak Cornelius (University of Stellenbosch), in “The God of Job: Iconographical Perspectives after Keel” (pp. 21–33), provides a retrospective on Othmar Keel’s study Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob1 and adds several additional insights of his own. Cornelius concentrates on imagery pertaining to warrior motifs, storm god imagery, and Chaoskampf. He describes their appearance both in Job (but also in other biblical texts and ancient Near Eastern writings) and the iconography of the ancient Near East. Cornelius highlights the frequency with which the author of the Book of Job uses mythological themes present in the broader ancient Near Eastern culture for the characterization of the god responsible for Job’s pain: this god acts like Resheph, attacking Job like a war god or a storm god. Meindart Dijkstra (Utrecht University) presents a seal impression found during the excavation on Tall Zar’a, Jordan, in 2005 (“‘The Hind of the Dawn:’ On a Seal-Impression from Tall Zar’a (Jordan),” pp. 35–51). The impression is dated before Iron Age IIa, perhaps to Iron Age Ia. It depicts a horned animal, possibly a goat. The picture is almost symmetrical, making it difficult to decide which direction is the front. Dijkstra suggests that the impression could be interpreted as showing two horned animals looking (and maybe running) in opposite directions with a symbol above them. The legs shown in the middle could then belong to both animals. Dijkstra also identifies similar iconographic portrayals, but only from very early periods (Egyptian Pre-Dynastic Period and the Early Bronze Age). He concludes, however, that the portrayal is of a single caprine carrying a symbol on its back, possibly of a solar or astral nature. Prior to the Iron Age, animals on seals often represented related deities. If this tradition continued into the Iron Age, then this stamp seal impression could be related to a temple in Tell Zar’a. He postulates that it may have been used by the temple administration, which would then have produced and stamped its own pottery. Dijkstra concludes by considering whether the caprine could be identical with the “hind of dawn” in Ps 22:1, for which there may be a mythological background. In the end he rejects this possibility as an over interpretation of the evidence. Maciej Münnich (the Catholic University of Lublin), in “Two Faces of Resheph in Egyptian Sources of the New Kingdom” (pp. 53–71), compares 1 Othmar Keel, Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob: eine Deutung von Ijob 38-41 vor dem Hintergrund der zeitgenössischen Bildkunst (FRLANT, 121; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978).

REVIEWS

529

the iconographic and written traditions of the god Resheph in Egypt. Although the oldest extant mention of Resheph is from the 13th dynasty (in personal names of Asiatics, possibly Semitic servants), the cult came to Egypt during the reign of Amenophis II in the 18thdynasty. The most important attribute of the Resheph cult for Amenophis II was the aspect of war. In written sources of the period Resheph was identified with the Egyptian god of war, Montu. Although his iconographic presentations are badly damaged, it is clear that Resheph was depicted as a warrior. However, this picture of a fighting Resheph is also found in private stela that are void of any connection to war but instead focus on health and prosperity. Resheph seems to be regarded as a deity that is able to heal various sicknesses. From this evidence Münnich concludes that in private stela Resheph has been transformed from a warrior fighting hostile peoples to a “warrior” fighting the demons of illness. In “The Iconography of Power: Israelite and Judean Royal Architecture as Icons of Power” (pp. 73–91), Rüdiger Schmitt (University of Münster) analyses the structures of the palace complexes at Megiddo (1723 stratum V and 338 stratum IV B), at Lachish (stratum III), at Samaria, and Tel Jezreel. He points out that these buildings emphasize the power of the rulers by being built on the highest places overlooking the cities. They also demonstrate the separation between the elite and the common people through the presence of walls with a single huge gate surrounding the palaces. Furthermore, the planned layout of the compounds (proportions are 1:1 or 2:1) symbolizes the cosmic order. A special detail of the architecture of these palaces are the proto-aeolic capitals located especially in entrances, gates, and balustrades. Following Keel and Uehlinger, Schmitt interprets them as symbols of life and regeneration and thus, by extension, the palace itself becomes a source of life for those entering through its gate. This close connection to fertility and prosperity is also visible in Ps 72. Two bn hmlk seals also support the interpretation of proto-aeolic capitals as symbols of the kingship itself. In his third section Schmitt argues that the iconographic program of the Samarian ivories as luxury goods depict an ideology of kingship wherein ensuring the fecundity of nature is paramount. Thomas Staubli (University of Fribourg, CH) reflects on the origin of the theologoumenon “to place the name” in “‘Den Namen setzen:’ Namens- und Göttinnenstandarten in der Südlevante während der 18. ägyptischen Dynastie” (pp. 93–112), arguing for a connection between 18th Dynasty Egypt and Deuteronomistic theology. Under the reign of Thutmosis III, Egypt started an aggressive policy of setting the divine-royal name in Palestine. Although this happened by force, the setting of the name implied that the local rulers were not only ruled by, but also protected by the pharaoh (see the Amarna letters of ‘Abdi-Ḫeba from Jerusalem).

530

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Pharaoh’s power was represented iconographically, for instance, on two fragments of standards found at Hazor, that contain an anthropomorphic cartouche as a symbol of the divine-royal name placed between symbols of the goddess Hathor. This combination illustrates the close connection between the cult of Hathor and the one of the ruler. Staubli reconstructs the standards as having a form that a ruler could place one quickly and easily wherever he desired. While the symbol of the goddess represents the divine female, the name represents the divine male status of the pharaoh. This combination shows the divinity of the royal name, which on the one hand provides protection and on the other seeks adoration, is found in the Levant from Bronze Age on. However, it was not the content of the name that was important, but rather simply the fact that it was a name. The name became a sign in and of itself. As evidence for this interpretation Staubli points to the Anra seals (seal impressions found in Palestine with the progression of letters a - n - r - a), which show that the emphasis lay on the name itself. Staubli concludes that both the name on the Egyptian standards and the Deuteronomistic name theology should be understood in this manner. Annette Weissenrieder (Universities of Heidelberg and Berkeley), in “The Crown of Thorns: Iconographic Approaches and the New Testament” (pp. 113–38), investigates the allusions connected to the Roman soldiers’ use of this particular crown. While she also considers other scenes, Weissenrieder focuses mainly on coins depicting the heads of Roman emperors. From these comparisons she concludes that the crown of thorns has a certain multivalency arising from its use in various contexts. It is a sign of athletic victory, which in ancient times never implied individual victory but rather victory for the whole city or society. From the point of view of the soldiers, the crowning also suggests the acclamation of the emperors. It can also be seen as a reference to the laurel wreath, which signifies a divine nimbus. In “Illuminating Images: A Historical Position and Method for Iconographic Exegesis” (pp. 139–62), Izaak de Hulster (University of Göttingen) attempts to outline an historical-iconographic method for textual exegesis. The intent is to explain biblical texts with the help of pictorial material, as the iconographic portrayals belong to the context of the texts’ origins. To outline his own position de Hulster first presents two other approaches. The first is exemplified by Schroer and Keel in their project IPIAO. De Hulster characterizes this method as moving from pictures to texts but maintains that the links between picture and text are quite loose and, at times, unsupported leaps. He then reviews the approach taken by Brent Strawn. De Hulster characterizes it as moving from a specific theme found in a collection of biblical texts to archaeological

REVIEWS

531

evidence in Israel/Palestine (especially iconography) and to similar evidence in the ancient Near East to draw a conclusion on its significance. The difficulty with this approach, according to de Hulster, is the lack of method for finding specific representations of a primarily abstract theme. The definition of the theme supplied by the exegete strongly influences the result. In opposition to these approaches, de Hulster begins with a particular text that is delimited from its textual context through historicalcriticism and other exegetical methods. The date and historical setting of the text are then determined. After this, only as a third step, can the text be related to pictorial material. Thus de Hulster concentrates on material that primarily illuminates the objects, the environment, or the actions mentioned in the text. Although de Hulster states that images not only provide information about things but also about how people experienced and understood the world, his approach seems to turn iconography into the illustration of texts. To study the iconographic material itself de Hulster recommends Panofsky’s approach. De Hulster concludes his article with an example, namely showing how it applies to Isa 63:1–6. Brent A. Strawn (Emory University) considers the expression of YHWH’s “outstretched arm” in “Yahweh’s Outstretched Arm Revisited Iconographically” (pp. 163–211). First he presents the textual evidence both in the biblical and in the Egyptian textual traditions (including ‘Abdi-Ḫeba’s letters). This leads to the question of why previous scholarship concludes, on the one hand, that the expression is Deuteronomistic and, on the other, regards it as influenced by the Egyptian theology of the New Kingdom. If the expression derives from the New Kingdom, why is it limited to Deuteronomistic literature and theology? And conversely, if it is initially Deuteronomistic, how can it have come from a period many centuries earlier? Strawn claims to find the missing link: although the iconographic tradition of the conquering arm of the pharaoh smiting an enemy is the most prominent display of an outstretched arm, it is not the primary source for YHWH’s outstretched arm. The primary source is instead the rays of the sun of Aten. There are too many differences between the arm of the pharaoh and the outstretched arm of YHWH; most importantly, pharaoh holds a weapon, which is not stated of YHWH. In contrast to the conquering arm of the pharaoh, the outstretched arm of YHWH is not primarily connected to violence or destruction. When it does have this connection, it is made explicit by an additional remark in the text. Egyptian sources present the arm of a human being (pharaoh being at least partly human) and not of a god. Strawn claims that the iconography of the Amarna period fits much better than the New Kingdom arm of pharaoh. The rays of Aten appear as outstretched arms with hands at their ends. These arms are divine, and they are primarily focused on the provision of

532

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

blessing. Even textual evidence from this period fits with the biblical sources. Is this similarity sufficient to support the purported link? As Strawn sees it, there is a strong congruence between the pictorial representation in the Amarna period and the textual representation in the biblical sources. The connecting theme is deliverance and the provision of life. To the objection that the Amarna period was short lived, Strawn answers that ideas of the Amarna period were transmitted even after the end of the Amarna period itself and were known in the surrounding regions of Egypt. In particular, Aten remained the highest god even after the counterrevolution, and the motif of a god extending an ankh to the king was very popular (a variation is even found on the Broken Obelisk of Tiglath-pileser I). Strawn concludes that the outstretched arm was known even in the Levant and it conveyed two connotations: it was both the destructive and the life-giving arm. And these aspects are more related than they appear at first sight: the arm defeating an external enemy is simultaneously the life-giving and life-defending arm for the insider group. In “Minima methodica und die Sonnengottheit von Jerusalem” (pp. 213–23), Othmar Keel (University of Fribourg, CH) provides a rebuttal to Friedhelm Hartenstein’s critique of his earlier interpretation of 1 Kings 8:12–13 (MT) || 8:53 (LXX).2 In 2002 Keel argued for the presence of a sun god and his cult in ancient Jerusalem, a conclusion that Hartenstein criticized. In this article Keel emphasizes the remarkable order of the sentence in 1 Kgs 8:53 (LXX), stressing that within Solomon’s speech kyrios fits better with the second line than the first. Therefore, LXX, as the older version, clearly hints at a sun god announcing the wish of kyrios, that is, YHWH. In the final article, “What is an Image? A Basis for Iconographic Exegesis” (pp. 225–32), Isaak de Hulster considers a fundamental issue of iconographic exegesis. He agrees with the common definition of an image as a mediated representation, although he remarks that it is difficult to speak of the absence of images in cases of abstract concepts and ideas. Then de Hulster gives an overview of the various media that images can be 2 Othmar Keel, “Der salomonische Tempelweihspruch: Beobachtungen zum religionsgeschichtlichen Kontext des Ersten Jerusalemer Tempels,” in Gottesstadt und Gottesgarten: Zur Geschichte und Theologie des Jerusalemer Tempels (ed. O. Keel and E. Zenger; Freiburg: 2002), 9–23; Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Sonnengott und Wettergott in Jerusalem? Religionsgeschichtliche Beobachtungen zum Tempelweihspruch Salomos im masoretischen Text und in der LXX (1 Kön 8,12f // 3Reg 8,53),” in Mein Haus wird ein Bethaus für alle Völker genannt werden (Jes 56,7): Judentum seit der Zeit des Zweiten Tempels in Geschichte, Literatur und Kult (ed. J. Münnchen; NeukirchenVluyn 2007), 53–69.

REVIEWS

533

presented in: there are not only the material media but also perception, language, and literature. All must be taken into consideration for an exegetical investigation to rightly be called “iconographic.” The book concludes with a number of indices: biblical references, Akkadian and Ugaritic texts, authors, gods and demons, kings, and subjects. The volume represents a SBL session: a number of short papers, each investigating one aspect of the main topic with considerable depth. In future studies it might be interesting to continue the debate about the methodology of iconographic exegesis, a topic which serves as a subject of discussion both explicitly and implicitly in numerous contributions to this volume.

Tooman, William A. and Michael A. Lyons (eds.), TRANSFORMING VISIONS: TRANSFORMATIONS OF TEXT, TRADITION, AND THEOLOGY IN EZEKIEL (Princeton Theological Monograph Series, 127; Eugene, Oreg.: Pickwick, 2010). Pp. xxv + 350. Softcover. US$42.00. ISBN 9781556352850. Reviewed by Jason Gile Wheaton College The present volume edited by William A. Tooman and Michael A. Lyons consists of ten essays on the creative use of texts, tradition, and theology in the book of Ezekiel. The first section of the book treats the prophet’s transformation of antecedent texts, including the Holiness Code and Deuteronomy, and the second section treats Ezekiel’s innovations relating to subjects in Israelite tradition and theology. The third and final section comprises two essays on the transformation of the book in the versions and the New Testament. The subject of this volume reflects an increasing awareness of Ezekiel’s knowledge and use of Israel’s texts and traditions, due in large measure to the special attention given to Ezekiel’s influences in the commentaries of Moshe Greenberg and Daniel I. Block.1 Several recent 1

Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and

534

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

studies have shown that Ezekiel does not mindlessly copy his sources, but in many cases creatively reformulates them. For example, in his recent monograph on Ezekiel’s use of Leviticus 17–26, Lyons has convincingly demonstrated that the prophet adopts the language of the Holiness Code, but regularly modifies its locutions.2 Similarly, Risa Levitt Kohn argues that Ezekiel draws from both the priestly and deuteronomic literature and fuses them to create a unique synthesis.3 This phenomenon of transformation may be at work particularly in Ezekiel 16, which appears to be a rhetorical reapplication of the Song of Moses (Deut 32:1–43) to the prophet’s own time.4 The present volume represents a welcome addition to the growing body of literature on Ezekiel’s use and adaptation of Israel’s texts, traditions, and theology. Tooman and Lyons have assembled a capable group of scholars to explore this important feature of the book. In addition to the editors themselves, contributors include Marvin A. Sweeney (foreword), Tova Ganzel, Jill Middlemas, Paul M. Joyce, Thomas Krüger, Paul R. Raabe, Daniel I. Block, Timothy Mackie, and Beate Kowalski. In the first essay, “Transformation of Law: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (Leviticus 17–26),” Michael A. Lyons argues that the extensive literary links between the book of Ezekiel and the Holiness Code are best explained by the prophet’s sustained borrowing from the language and concepts of the pre-existent priestly legislation. The essay represents a useful condensation of his larger work, From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (cited above). Lyons presents sophisticated criteria for determining direction of literary dependence and successfully demonstrates that Ezekiel drew from the Holiness Code and not vice-versa. The main part of the essay documents the ways that the prophet uses and transforms his underlying text, which mainly fall within the categories of accusation, judgment, instruction, and hope. Lyons’ studies on Ezekiel and the Commentary (AB 22; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983); idem, Ezekiel 21–37: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 22A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1997); Daniel I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel, vol. 1, Chapters 1–24 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997); idem, The Book of Ezekiel, vol. 2, Chapters 25–48 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 2 Michael A. Lyons, From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (LHBOTS 507; New York: T&T Clark, 2009). 3 Risa Levitt Kohn, A New Heart and a New Soul: Ezekiel, the Exile and the Torah (JSOTSup 358; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002). 4 See my article, “Ezekiel 16 and the Song of Moses: A Prophetic Transformation?,” JBL 130 (2011): 87–108.

REVIEWS

535

Holiness Code represent the definitive work on the subject to date, and all future discussions will need to interact with his work. Tova Ganzel (“Transformation of Pentateuchal Descriptions of Idolatry”) investigates one area in which Ezekiel appears to be influenced more by Deuteronomy than the Holiness Code. In her analysis of Ezekiel’s language for idolatry, Ganzel observes that the prophet primarily refers to Israel’s idols with terms distinctive to Deuteronomy. In fact, only a few allusions to the idolatry terminology in the priestly legislation (Leviticus 26) can be identified. Instead, numerous literary links between Ezekiel and Deuteronomy lead her to believe that Ezekiel knew and purposefully drew from Deuteronomy for his terminology and conception of Israel’s idolatry. In particular, she finds several links between the prophet’s visions of idolatry in Ezekiel 8 and Moses’ admonitions against idolatry in Deuteronomy 4. Ganzel’s essay rightly challenges the common view that Ezekiel’s marked priestly theology displays little or no influence from the Deuteronomic Torah. In “Transformation of Israel’s Hope: The Reuse of Scripture in the Gog Oracles,” William A. Tooman argues that the Gog oracles of Ezekiel 38–39 constitute a late addition to the book, a literary pastiche that draws together locutions from all over the Hebrew Bible, particularly the book of Ezekiel itself. He notes abundant links between the language and style of these chapters and the rest of the book, but interprets the pervasive Ezekielian style of the Gog oracles as a distinctive “Ezekielian stamp” created by their author. Tooman maintains that this author is not Ezekiel himself, offering three examples where Ezekielian locutions in chapters 38– 39 are used in a (slightly) different sense than in the rest of the book. He then offers a detailed study of the alleged biblical sources underlying the Gog oracles. Tooman’s theory is certainly intriguing, even if not absolutely compelling. One may question his three examples of locutions used differently in the rest of the book, none of which seem conclusive for establishing divergent authorship. Moreover, he has not sufficiently ruled out the possibility that some of the distinctive elements of Ezekiel 38–39 are instead due to redaction. Ultimately, future studies of the Gog oracles will have to judge whether Tooman’s hypothesis best accounts for the distinctive elements of these chapters and their relationship to other biblical texts. Jill Middlemas (“Transformation of the Image”) studies Ezekiel’s use of imagery in three areas: the depiction of idols, the personification of Jerusalem and Samaria, and the use of anthropomorphism to represent Yahweh. In her view, each of these reflects a common attitude toward

536

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

images. Drawing in part from the works of John Kutsko and Julie Galambush,5 she observes that: Ezekiel employs innovative rhetorical strategies to deny divine status to idols; the personification of cities disappears after the fall of Jerusalem and plays no role in the restoration; and, the representation of Yahweh in the appearance of a human form (‫ )אדם‬at the beginning of the book (1:26) fades to an emphasis on God’s word at the end. It may be that in each instance Ezekiel distances the image from the reality, as Middlemas argues. Yet, it is questionable whether the prophet’s treatment of such diverse subjects as material idols, literary personification, and divine anthropomorphism can be grouped together and ascribed to Ezekiel’s singular attitude toward “images.” In his essay, “Ezekiel and Moral Transformation,” Paul M. Joyce builds upon his earlier work on individual and corporate responsibility.6 According to Joyce, Ezekiel’s innovation in the moral sphere does not lie in a new emphasis on the responsibility of the individual before God as many have thought, for “Ezekiel’s overriding concern is consistently to explain a disaster that is national and thereby collective” (p. 144). The collective focus is evident in the often-misunderstood ch. 18, where Joyce points out that the three hypothetical figures represent not individuals but rather corporate entities, namely, generations. Instead, Joyce finds Ezekiel’s distinctive contribution elsewhere: the prophet’s theocentric view of moral transformation. In Ezekiel’s mind, Israel’s moral transformation will not give rise to their restoration; rather, a divinely initiated restoration will effect Israel’s moral transformation. The essay by Thomas Krüger (“Transformation of History in Ezekiel 20”) examines the distinctive view of Israel’s history presented in ch. 20. He draws attention to some distinctive elements of the prophet’s “historiography” relative to other biblical traditions and even other passages in Ezekiel, treating such topics as guilt and punishment, repentance, covenant, and Yahweh’s concern for his name. Krüger offers many perceptive observations on Ezekiel’s creative account of the past. In at least one instance, Ezek 20:25–26, Ezekiel’s history may not be as revisionist as he contends. Krüger adopts the most common interpretation of these verses, namely, that Yahweh gave Israel bad laws in order that he might

John F. Kutsko, Between Heaven and Earth: Divine Presence and Absence in the Book of Ezekiel (Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego 7; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000); Julie Galambush, Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel: The City as Yahweh’s Wife (SBLDS 130; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992). 6 Paul Joyce, Divine Initiative and Human Response in Ezekiel (JSOTSup 51; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989). 5

REVIEWS

537

defile them. However, Kelvin Friebel has convincingly argued that the nogood ‫חקים‬and ‫ משפטים‬of v. 25 do not refer to divine laws at all.7 Paul R. Raabe (“Transforming the International Status Quo: Ezekiel’s Oracles against the Nations”) offers a brief study on the oracles against the nations in the book of Ezekiel. The essay does not demonstrate the prophet’s transformation of texts or traditions per se. Raabe introduces prophetic oracles against nations generally before turning to those in Ezekiel. He summarizes the oracles in chs. 25–32 and then treats some significant historical questions, such as the justification and purpose of oracles against foreign nations and the rationale for preserving them for subsequent generations. The essay provides a helpful introduction to the subject and may be especially useful for students in a class on the prophets or the book of Ezekiel. The essay by Daniel I. Block (“Transformation of Royal Ideology in Ezekiel”) considers the prophet’s attitude toward the history of the Israelite monarchy and its prospects for the future. Block finds that Ezekiel displays a certain antipathy towards Judah’s kings, since they have generally failed to rule according to the standard of justice and righteousness and have not cared for their people (e.g., 34:1–10). Ezekiel will not even legitimate Israel’s rulers by referring to them with the word ‫מלך‬. Instead, he consistently uses the term ‫נשיא‬, according to Block, emphasizing that Yahweh is Israel’s true king (cf. 20:33) and the ‫ נשיאים‬his appointed rulers. A large portion of the essay comprises a careful analysis of the allusions to Judah’s last kings in the poetic oracles in chs. 17 and 19 and the trigenerational case study of ch. 18. Then, Block turns to Ezekiel’s depiction of the future of the Israelite monarchy, treating the hopeful ending of ch. 17 (vv. 22–24), the messianic passages predicting a new David in chs. 34 and 37, and the role of the ‫ נשיא‬in the restoration program of chs. 40–48. Block’s close attention to these passages reveals that in Ezekiel’s restored Jerusalem Yahweh will be king over his people with a ‫ נשיא‬as his undershepherd, both ruling in justice and righteousness. In “Transformation in Ezekiel’s Textual History: Ezekiel 7 in the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint,” Timothy Mackie makes an intertextual connection between the redaction history of Ezekiel 7 and the oracles of Daniel 7–12. After noting other links between these two texts, Mackie draws attention to a series of compositional expansions in the MT version of Ezekiel 7 that introduce an agent of judgment called the ‫(צפרה‬vv. 7:5b– 7 Kelvin G. Friebel, “The Decrees of Yahweh That Are ‘Not Good’: Ezekiel 20:25–26,” in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. Ronald L. Troxel, Kelvin G. Friebel, and Dennis R. Magary; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 21–36.

538

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

7a, 10b–c). Following P.-M. Bogaert, he relates this figure to the “he-goat” (‫ )צפיר‬of Dan 8:5–12. Mackie convincingly shows that the additions in vv. 12–14 belong to this same level of redaction, since the three-fold mention of ‫“(המונה‬its horde”) most naturally refers back to the preceding ‫צפרה‬, thereby identifying it as the horde of the ‫צפרה‬. Since the editors sought to relate the judgment in Ezekiel 7 to the events of Daniel 7–12, this example brilliantly demonstrates the close relationship between redaction and innerbiblical interpretation in the Second Temple period. Mackie attributes this intertextual phenomenon to a new “canon consciousness” or concern to relate biblical texts in light of the emerging collection of Scripture. In the final essay, “Transformation of Ezekiel in John’s Revelation,” Beate Kowalski provides an overview of John’s use of the book of Ezekiel in his Apocalypse. The essay follows her more extensive study published in German.8 After a general introduction to John’s use of the Old Testament, Kowalski discusses the ways that John alludes to Ezekiel and transforms its language, structure, and content. She finds John’s use of the book selective at times, citing, for example, John’s allusion to Ezekiel’s renewed Jerusalem, but neglect of the cultic instructions and building code for the new temple. Ultimately, Kowalski concludes that the book of Ezekiel influenced John more than any other book of the Hebrew Bible. Overall this volume of essays represents an important contribution to the study of this prophetic book and further reinforces the increasing awareness that Ezekiel drew extensively from the deep reservoir of Israel’s texts and traditions.

Beate Kowalski, Die Rezeption des Propheten Ezechiel in der Offenbarung des Johannes (SBB 52; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004). 8

REVIEWS

539

Chung, Youn Ho, THE SIN OF THE CALF: THE RISE OF THE BIBLE’S NEGATIVE ATTITUDE TOWARD THE GOLDEN CALF (LHBOTS, 523; New York: T & T Clark, 2010). Pp. Xiii+242. Hardcover. US$130.00. ISBN 978057425904. Reviewed by Lissa M. Wray Beal Providence Theological Seminary In The Sin of the Calf: The Rise of the Bible’s Negative Attitude Toward the Golden Calf, Youn Ho Chung presents his Ph.D. dissertation, an examination of motives informing the negative stance toward the golden calf in the Bible. He proceeds exegetically and tradition-historically, positing a tradition that developed from a neutral attitude toward the calf that permitted its inclusion in Yahwistic worship, to an eschewal of the calf as symbolic of another god, to total rejection of the image syncretised with YHWH. To summarize Chung’s conclusions, which he builds through five chapters (see further below), the image early represented YHWH’s throne chariot and originated as an alternate iconography in Bethel at the ark’s removal. Later, an eighth century Elohist produced the first polemical narrative against the calf (Exodus 32), coupling the expression “make for us [foreign] gods” with the Yahwistic cultic formula, “These are your gods, which brought you up from the land of Egypt.” Thus, the Elohist fashioned a polemic against the image representing other gods, taking his polemic from his earlier contemporary, Hosea, who spoke against the “profound interfusion of Yahwism and Baalism” (p. 206). Later, working in the same critical framework, Dtr1 condemned the calf as another god (1 Kgs 14:9; 2 Kgs 17:16) to delegitimize the Bethel sanctuary in service to his centralization theology. Chung argues that as yet, no law existed prohibiting images and that it was Dtr2 who formulated such a tradition. Dtr2 reworked the Elohist’s polemic (Deuteronomy 9–10) to condemn the image as representative of YHWH, produced Deut 4:1–40 as a condemnation of iconographic representation of YHWH, and crystallized the law against images, inserting it into the Elohist’s Decalogue (p. 188). Dtr2’s exilic

540

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

polemic of “YHWH only” thus asserted the uniqueness of Israel’s God who could not be represented in any iconographic form (pp. 197–202). Chung’s introduction briefly addresses background issues. He raises and dismisses theories of the calf representing a foreign god (Egyptian, Mesopotamian, or Canaanite), although unfortunately he deals inadequately with a possible Canaanite origin, barely providing a dismissal. He similarly introduces and dismisses possible sociological origins for the polemic, pleading for a new assessment of the calf’s origin, which his work provides. He also includes a helpful discussion of aniconism, noting aniconic symbols and “sacred emptiness” were valid representations of YHWH in Israel. He concludes that Jeroboam’s calves were such an aniconic symbol (p. 11), but yet he again does not address the possibility that the depiction was Canaanite in origin. Although Chung articulates his study’s objective well (p. 21), he is less clear on how he plans to execute the study. He raises four relevant questions to be addressed (pp. 14–20) but they are not addressed in order through the chapters. Moreover, some chapters address more than one of the questions, and yet Chung provides no rationale for this disjunctive approach. Additionally, he raises four general issues addressed in each chapter (p. 20), but again does not account for the rationale behind these questions. Finally, he lists three motives he seeks to uncover in the tradition of the calf. The plethora of avenues into his topic leaves it poorly elucidated. Much of how he proceeds must be gleaned from observing his argumentation throughout. The second chapter examines the narrative of Jeroboam and the calves. Israel’s demise is laid at Jeroboam’s feet (rather than Ahab’s), and Chung argues for an ulterior motive behind Jehoboam’s condemnation. He engages in good close reading of 1 Kgs 12:26–13:10, showing literary linkages between the altar, calves, and Bethel that disclose a polemic against non-Jerusalemite worship. Chung concludes that the polemic imposes a later condemnation against the calves. He explores the rise of that polemic in the subsequent chapters. In chapter 3 he analyses two texts: Exodus 32 and the alternate account of the golden calf in Deut 9:1–10:11. For the Exodus account he argues in very sketchy terms for literary continuity of the Elohist account with other E narratives, concluding that Exodus 32 is almost wholly Elohistic. From this he explores the tradition history of the calf image (pp. 50–58), proposing from a very slim text-base a reality of Bethel priests adopting the calf image into legitimate Yahwistic worship. Jeroboam drew his cult icons, and the cultic formula “these are your gods…” in both 1 Kings 12 and Exodus 32 arise out of this neutral tradition. Chung often

REVIEWS

541

refers to such a history as “possible,” but it becomes a conclusive fact in his theory. For the parallel account in Deuteronomy Chung analyzes its compositional history in conversation with other scholars before presenting his understanding. He argues for two primary strands (L1, L2) in the narrative (later identified as Dtr1/2). He compares these to the parallel Exodus account to uncover the theological emphases of each concluding that while L1 (Dtr1) comports largely with the Elohist’s attitude to the calf, L2 (Dtr2) does not. Rather, L2 presents a wholly negative aniconism which Chung centres in the exilic ethos. Chung’s comparison of the Exodus and Deuteronomy accounts is detailed, but the conclusions are too quickly related to the schema he is crafting. His final concluding section has an odd and lengthy digression. Hebrew ṣîḥēq in Exod 32:6b and other terms of cultic practice are discussed at length. One wonders if Chung will argue that these terms describe the same practices as Hosea describes under other vocabulary but this is not spelled out, and the lengthy digression appears ill placed. Chung’s fourth chapter works exegetically with passages in Hosea that deal with the calf image (8:4–6; 10:1–8; 13:1–3). This section often disappoints; the discussion is at times stated in awkward or convoluted terms (p. 128) or draws determined conclusions from difficult and disputed texts (for instance, the “king of Samaria” [10:7] is unequivocally equated with Baal [pp. 131–32]), all as part of a polemic against Baal-YHWH syncretism. A second large section of the chapter examines the cultic practices of the calf cult (pp. 148–63) which ultimately concludes that though the terminology differs, Hosea and the Elohist describe the same phenomenon; here, the discussion of ṣîḥēq in Exod 32:6b comes again into play. One wonders, however, why the authors would use such different terminology if the practices were the same. Chung’s argument does not convince. Chung’s penultimate chapter explores Deut 4:1–40 to argue Dtr2’s crystallisation of the Decalogue’s law prohibiting images. Most problematic in this chapter is his argument by which Dtr2 inserts the law into the Elohistic Decalogue: the relative dating of the two accounts, the insertion of the law into the Elohistic account by Dtr2, and the variant reading of the law suggesting different prohibitions, all hang on the presence of copulative waw in the Elohistic account and its absence in the Dtr2 version (pp. 187– 91). The conclusions may be valid, but the matter is stated categorically (with no consideration of the possibility of memory or textual transmission errors accounting for the variant traditions regarding the waw). One waw seems a very slim basis for adding much later a whole verse to the Elohist tradition.

542

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The final summative chapter clearly states Chung’s theory which has grown in unwieldy fashion throughout. Chung’s tradition history work is creative and broad, and he engages with the appropriate scripture passages to mount his argument. His project is very large, and perhaps the project’s scope accounts for some of its shortcomings. At times, his argumentation moves too quickly to asserted conclusions and his exegetical work often does not consider alternate readings of acknowledged problematic texts. Whether or not one is convinced by Chung’s understanding of the rise of the Bible’s negative attitude toward the golden calf, his work discusses several key texts in tradition history that will engage scholars also working in these areas.

O’Dowd, Ryan, THE WISDOM OF TORAH: EPISTEMOLOGY IN DEUTERONOMY AND THE WISDOM LITERATURE (FRLANT, 225; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009). Pp. x+213. Hardcover. €69.90. ISBN 9783525530894. Reviewed by Doug Ingram St John’s Nottingham In The Wisdom of Torah: Epistemology in Deuteronomy and the Wisdom Literature, an adapted version of his PhD thesis, O’Dowd states that the “main purpose is to explore the conditions and contexts for knowing in the ancient Hebrew world, focused particularly on the literature in the traditions of wisdom and torah,” and also to provide a “‘meta-critique’ of modern epistemology” (p. xi). The book commences with a methodological chapter, in which O’Dowd briefly explores approaches to epistemology. A stark contrast is drawn between modern (and post-modern) approaches and that betrayed by the Hebrew Bible, which “is not theoretical in its approach to life and worldview ... [r]ather, ancient Hebrew thought communicates through a holistic approach to life: ethics, history and worship are grounded in a mythical, narrative framework,” where “[t]o know is to live in ethical conformity with God’s ordered reality, not to escape from it into objective analysis” (p. 3). This “mythical, narrative framework” is the key aspect of O’Dowd’s study, the scarlet thread that runs through his book. The foundations for the framework are established in the remarkably short (given its scope) second chapter, which explores Genesis 1–11, the

REVIEWS

543

patriarchal material and Exodus. A failing of the chapter—which might also be said of the whole book—is that it paints a decidedly monochromatic picture of this material and takes little account of its diverse origins and its likely development over some considerable period of time. This inevitably leads to a rather narrow understanding of Hebrew epistemology, which lacks the colour and variety of the biblical text and which is then contrasted with a somewhat monochromatic (if not stereotyped) picture of epistemology in the modern and post-modern contexts. Three chapters are devoted to consideration of Deuteronomy, where “actualisation” is the driving theme. O’Dowd describes the “book’s overall strategy of depicting Israel in a liminal journey where the events of the past and promises of the future continually (re-)shape her present worldview.” He explains that, “‘Actualisation’ describes this process wherein the climatic events of the past are renewed in the present and the future. Actualisation grounds Israel’s life, purpose and knowledge in a [sic] unfolding narrative of redemption” (p. 25). Here epistemology equates with knowledge of God and God’s world acquired through obedience to Torah. This gives a more precise focus to his earlier statement that “to know is to live in ethical conformity with God’s ordered reality”; however, “epistemology” rather gets lost behind discussion of Torah-obedience in the present and for future generations. O’Dowd argues well his case for the importance of actualisation in Deuteronomy, showing how the narrative in the early chapters establishes the foundation upon which the law code in chs. 12–26 is built, leading into the focus on obedience “today,” both for the community at Moab and for all generations to come, in the final chapters. In this way Torah-obedience is tied in to Israel’s story in the past, is directly commanded to the Israelite community in the “present” of Deuteronomy and continues on a trajectory into the future. O’Dowd rightly notes the importance in this regard of the movement from a focus on the actual words of the LORD to the spoken words of Moses to the written word, which will continue to speak the LORD’s word long after Moses has gone. It should be noted that the “present” of Deuteronomy for O’Dowd is not an historical “present,” but the “present” of “Deuteronomy’s own aesthetic and represented world.” Again, a shortcoming of the book is that it fails to take sufficient account of the historical development of the text: O’Dowd’s “meta-critical hermeneutic” is insufficiently engaged with historical-critical interpretation. The next two chapters deal with the wisdom literature, one chapter on Proverbs and another on Ecclesiastes and Job. O’Dowd adopts a “finalform” approach to all these books and in each case the framework of the book is determinative for its interpretation. Thus, in relation to Proverbs, he states that “Proverbs 1–9 and 31 create an envelope for the book and

544

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

situate the bulk of the individual proverbs within the cosmic, mythical worldview of created order” (p. 114). It is clear that, as with his discussion of Deuteronomy, the “cosmic, mythical world view of created order” is determinative for epistemology in his reading of the wisdom literature; he says, “Knowledge is, therefore, a matter of applying God’s design for creation in every area of human existence—intellectual, religious, emotional, aesthetic and social” (p. 120). This again flattens the diversity and the creative tensions—if not contradictions—within and between these books. It should be acknowledged that O’Dowd seeks to resist a simplistic and overly narrow reading of Proverbs (“a ‘crystal cage’ optimism”) and argues for, what he calls the “polyacoustic voice” or “the polyphony of voices” or the “multivalency” in Proverbs and in the wisdom literature as a whole. This allows “the knower…to recognize the ambiguity and mystery that are inherent in human life,” but nonetheless, the creation order sets “the boundaries and limits of human morality and knowledge” (p. 136). This means that, according to O’Dowd, the fundamental worldview underlying each book is basically the same (and the same as Deuteronomy) and this determines and constrains epistemology. O’Dowd imposes an interpretative framework upon each book which severely constrains interpretation. Thus, for example, for O’Dowd the few instances in Ecclesiastes where Qohelet issues “traditional affirmations,” “deconstruct the fruitless, disengaged rhetoric which dominates” (p. 152). This seems to me to deprive Ecclesiastes of all that makes it truly engaged with life in a world of hebel (“vanity”). But my biggest concern here is that O’Dowd has ignored what must surely be a crucial aspect of any epistemological study of Ecclesiastes—the repeated emphasis throughout the second half of the book on what is not known (6:12; 8:1, 7, 16–17; 9:1, 10, 12; 10:14; 11:2, 5, 6). This is a key theme in Ecclesiastes which has a significant bearing on interpretation. In his final chapter, O’Dowd draws together his study under five headings: Ontology (“knowledge is acquired and justified on the basis of a preconceived understanding of reality,” p. 163); Ideology (true knowledge is “inhibited by the ambiguities of life and distorted by the ideologies of idolatry and evil,” p. 166); Liminality (the experience of transition is woven “into the ontological realities of the story behind these texts,” p. 168); Hermeneutics (“Reason is not excluded, but it is set within a larger interdisciplinary matrix, focused on right relationship to God and his creation,” p. 170); and Ethics (“ethics and knowing were always inseparable for Israel,” p. 173). He then traces the development of epistemology into the inter-testamental and New Testament periods, before reflecting on some implications for today. O’Dowd argues that a Hebraic epistemology for today would be holistic rather than dualistic; it would adopt a

REVIEWS

545

“mythical/storied framework for knowing” rather than a systematic one (p. 181); it would be based on the “fear of the Lord” (which “would remind us of the place of wonder and of the ‘other’ in our journey to knowing,” p. 182); and it would “highlight the ethical and relational aspects of knowing” (p. 182, his emphasis). Overall this is a very interesting and thought-provoking study, which engages with important issues in relation to epistemology. However, the scope is too large, with the result that insufficient attention is paid to the particular issues relevant to the study of epistemology in the individual books. Moreover, O’Dowd interprets the literature against the background of a particular worldview and at best flattens out the diversity of the material, or at worst skews interpretation to fit into the hermeneutical straightjacket he imposes upon it.

Klein, Anja, SCHRIFTAUSLEGUNG IM EZECHIELBUCH: REDAKTIONSGESCHICHTLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN ZU EZ 34–39 (BZAW, 391; Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2008). Pages xiii +451. €109.95/US$154.00. ISBN 9783110208580. Reviewed by William A. Tooman University of St. Andrews Recent years have witnessed the appearance of a number of significant new monographs on Ezekiel (e.g., Crane, Konkel, Lyons, Rudnig, Schöpflin1), a wealth of scholarship to which we can add Anja Klein’s Schriftauslegung im Ezechielbuch. This book is a slightly revised version of the author’s 1 Ashley S. Crane, Israel’s Restoration: A Textual-Comparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36–39 (VTSup, 122; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008); Michael Konkel, Architektonik des Heiligen: Studien zur zweiten Tempelvision Ezechiels (BBB, 129; Bondenheim: Philo, 2001); Michael A. Lyons, From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (LHBOTS, 507; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2009); Thilo Alexander Rudnig, Heilig und Profan: Redaktionskritische Studien zu Ez 40–48 (BZAW, 287; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000); Karin Schöpflin, Theologie als Biographie im Ezechielbuch: ein Beitrag zur Konzeption alttestamentlicher Prophetie (FAT, 36; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002).

546

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

dissertation submitted to the Theological faculty of Georg-AugustUniversität (Göttingen) under the supervision of Prof. Dr. Reinhard Kratz in 2008. It should be stated from the outset that Klein’s argument is both complex and wide ranging, and she presents it with an enviable logic and clarity. In her first chapter, Klein introduces the “problem,” her methodology, and the state of critical scholarship on Ezekiel. Klein’s objective is to discover the extent to which inner-biblical interpretation has contributed to the literary growth of the book (p. 1). Inner-biblical interpretation (Schriftauslegung) in Klein’s model is a phenomenon of redaction and updating (Fortschreibung). The scholars to whom she is most indebted for her method are Kratz, Smend, Steck, and Zimmerli,2 rather than the usual suspects in English scholarship: Fishbane and Levinson.3 This highlights the redaction critical goals of the study. Inner-biblical interpretation, in this work, is a means to an end not an object of inquiry. In chapter two, Klein undertakes a rigorous investigation of Ezekiel 34 as a test-case. The redaction-history of this chapter has been mapped in detail numerous times in German scholarship (e.g., Hossfeld, Pohlmann, Willems, Zimmerli4). Nonetheless, it is a particularly suitable test-case for E.g., Reinhard Kratz, “Redaktionsgeschichte/Redaktionskritik. I. Altes Testament,” TRE 28:367–78; K. Schmid, “Innerbiblische Schriftauslegung. aspekte der Forschungsgeschichte,” in Schriftauslegung in der Schrift, edited by R. Kratz et.al. (BZAW 300; Berlin and New York, 2000), 1–22; Odil Hannes Steck, “Prophetische Prophetenauslegung,” in Die Prophetenbücher und ihr theologisches Zeugnis: Wege der Nachfrage und Fährten zur Antwort, edited by O. H. Steck (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 127–204; Walther Zimmerli, “Das Phänomen der ‘Fortschreibung’ im Buch Ezechiel,” in Prophecy: Essays Presented to Georg Fohrer on his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, 6 September 1980, edited by J. A. Emerton (BZAW 150; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1980), 174–91. 3 Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985); Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997); idem, Legal Revision and Religious Renewal in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 4 Frank Lothar Hossfeld, Untersuchungen zu Komposition und Theologie des Ezechielbuches (FB, 20; Würzburg: Echter, 1977); Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Ezechielstudien: Zur Redactiongeschichte des Buches und zur Frage nach den älteste Texten (BZAW, 202; Berlin: Walther de Gruyter, 1992); Bernd Willems, Die sogenannte Hirtenallegorie Ez 34. Studien zum Bild das Hirten im Alten Testament (BBET, 19; Frankfurt, Bern and New York: Peter Lang, 1984); Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2, II. Teilband (BKAT, 13/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969), ET: Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of Ezekiel Chapters 25–48 (Herm; trans. Ronald E. Clements; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983). 2

REVIEWS

547

Klein’s study in that the chapter is largely built upon two precursor texts: Jer 23:1–8 and Leviticus 26 (vv. 4–6, 12–13, 20–22). Klein concludes that the chapter is composed of five redactional layers. The basic text, found in 34:1–10*, describes conditions in the land for returnees.5 It shares many verbal parallels (Stichwortverbindungen) with Jer 23:1–8 and, to a lesser degree, with 36:1–11*. (Jer 23:1–8 is clearly older than Ezek 34:1–10*, inasmuch as Jeremiah 23 deals with last kings of Judah.) To this basic text were added a number of Fortschreibungen. Verses 11–15(16) announce salvation to the survivors of the 587 disaster who were scattered among other nations. Verses 23–24 introduce the return of the Davidic monarch as shepherd of the gathered people. The Fortschreibung in vv. 23–24 received a Fortschreibung of its own in 34:25–30, continuing the shepherd imagery and emphasizing the theme of Yhwh’s power before the nations. This update was constructed, in part, out of themes and vocabulary taken from Lev 26:3–13. Finally, the chapter received a final update (34:17–22), reapplying the announcements of salvation to individuals rather than communities. Each of these layers, excepting the last, contains important verbal and thematic parallels to chapter 37: 34:1–10* // 37:1–14(19); 34:11–15(16)* // 37:20–24*; 34:23–24 // 37:24; 34:25–30 // 37:25–28. Klein concludes that Ezekiel 34, in its final redaction, was intended as a “prelude” to chs. 35–39, establishing its major themes, introducing its major arguments, and addressing the whole diaspora. Chapter 37, which originally stood after chs. 38–39, closed off the collection and reiterated its central points. In chapters three and four, Klein coordinates her findings from her second chapter with the whole of Ezekiel 34–39. Ultimately, she uncovers eight layers of redaction. The first layer (Grundschicht) was addressed to the Golah. This layer endured two layers of systematic updating (Fortschreibungsschub). The whole collection was recast to address the diaspora, beginning in the fourth layer. This Diasporaorientierung included four strata of redaction. The final layer, 36:23bβ–33(38), is represented in the MT but absent in the best representative of the OG, Papyrus967. Klein’s eight redactional layers can be characterized as follows: 1. The first layer is comprised of salvation oracles and addressed to exiles of the first golah. This includes 36:1–11* and 37:1–6* (also 25:1–26:6* and 43:2–5*), texts that take up judgments from the first part of the book, especially from ch. 6, and portray their reversal in the future.

Klein interprets the “shepherds” in 34.1–10* as foreign rulers, because she assigns the pericope to the early Persian period. 5

548

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

2. The second layer announces judgment against foreign nations, and the imminent return of the “whole house of Israel,” identified with all Babylonian exiles. To this layer, Klein assigns 35:1–12*; 36:8b; 37:11–13a* (also 33:23–29*). 3. The third layer of redaction, from the early Persian period, describes the condition of returnees in the land: 37:13b–14*; 34:1–10*; 37:15–19*. 4. The fourth layer begins a process of redaction that redirects the collection toward the whole diaspora and announces salvation to all who were scattered: 34:11–15*(16); 35:10*; 36:12–15; 37:20–23* (also chs. 40– 48). 5. In the fifth redactional layer, the shepherd is introduced and the theme of Yhwh’s power before the nations is highlighted: 34:23–24*; 34:25–30*(31); 36:16–22(23a); 37:24, 25–28*; 38:1–9*; 39:1–5; 39:23–29*. 6. The sixth layer is an anti-idol polemic, found in 36:18*; 37:23* (also 33:25–27*) 7. The seventh layer is represented by a pair of late Forschreibungen in chs. 34 and 37 and by the insertion of the completed Gog pericope: 34:17– 22; 37:2, 7–10*; chs. 38–39. 8. The final Hellenistic layer of redaction included insertion of the oracle of transformation in 36:23bβ–32(38) and the reorganization of the chapters. Up to this point, the chapters had been arranged in the order: 34:1–36:23bα, 37, 38–39 (as reflected in Papyrus967). Only at this point was the MT order of chapters instituted. Klein carefully maps each layer to determine the sequence in which the text-segments were added, which I have not indicated here. She also goes to great lengths to establish the literary precursors of each supplement, whether from Ezekiel or from elsewhere in the HB, and to explicate how each develops or reconfigures the book’s theology. In a study of such complexity, any reader will identify numerous minor points of disagreement or dissatisfaction that do not detract from the author’s thesis. For this reviewer, there are two issues that are central to the author’s thesis and methodology, which invite further probing. First, Klein’s redactional model is based upon the principle of Fortschreibung. A literary deposit of oracles was successively updated by supplementation in order to reapply it to new contexts and constituencies. Thus each “layer” of redaction, though uniform in context and audience, is actually comprised of a series of updates, and thus lacks homogeneity. Klein has extended this principle even to literary features like images and arguments. Thus, even when there is no internal indication that a different historical context or audience is in view, a change in imagery or argument is enough, for Klein, to indicate a new hand at work. In certain cases, this is argued even without confirmation by surface features of the text (pronouns

REVIEWS

549

without antecedents, inexplicable shifts in person or number, Wiederaufnahme, etc.). So, for example, in Ezekiel 34 the verbal linkages to Jer 23:1–8 extend through 34:16 and the shepherd imagery continues even further. Klein, though, assigns 34:1–10* to her third layer of redaction and 34:11–15*(16) to her fourth layer, based largely upon a change in imagery. Verses 11–16 introduce exodus imagery that is not apparent in vv. 1–10 (e.g., v. 13). This approach significantly complicates her results and, to my eye, underestimates the literary potential of the redactors. Second, Klein’s primary interest in redaction criticism affects her investigation of the inner-biblical evidence. She tends to move toward the previous conclusions of German scholarship rather than probing for new connections or testing current suggestions rigorously. So, for example, many critics have suggested that the Gog oracles, especially in 38:1–9 and 39:1–8, are dependent upon the ‘Foe from the North’ tradition as expressed in Jeremiah 4–6 and 46–49. The appearance of ‫צפון‬in Ezekiel 38–39 and in Jeremiah 6 and 46 is particularly suggestive (Jer 6:22; 46:10; Ezek 38:6, 15; 39:2). Klein offers a lengthy treatment of Jeremiah’s ‘Foe from the North’ in Ezekiel 38–39 (pp. 132–39). There are, however, strong links between Ezekiel 38–39 and Isa 14:4b–21, which Klein overlooks. In addition to many verbal links (including ‫ ;ירכתי צפון‬Isa 14:13) there are several thematic and argumentative parallels between Isaiah 14 and the Gog oracles that do not appear in Jeremiah: a foreign oppressor devises a plan to elevate himself above God (Isa 14:13–14 // Ezek 38:10). Having tyrannized the whole earth (Isa 14:6–12, 16, 21b), and left its cities in ruins (Isa 14:17 // Ezek 38:8, 12), he is slain and left unburied on the battlefield (Isa 14:19–20 // Ezek 39:4–5). Klein notes a relationship between the Gog Oracles and Isaiah 14 in passing (p. 292), but she does not explore its potential or significance. Several comparable examples could also be noted. These criticisms should not detract from the fact that this is an important and remarkably rich study. Klein has done much more than enhance our understanding of Ezekiel 34–39. She has clearly demonstrated the necessity to take full account of inner-biblical evidence when undertaking redaction-critical investigation. What’s more, there is a wealth of creative insights within its pages, a feast of ideas for every reader, regardless of whether one is interested in redaction, inner-biblical interpretation, prophetic literature, or biblical theology.

550

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Smith, Mark S., GOD IN TRANSLATION: DEITIES IN CROSSCULTURAL DISCOURSE IN THE BIBLICAL WORLD (Grand Rapids, Mich./Cambridge, UK: William B. Eerdmans, 2010). Pp. xxvi + 382. Paperback. US $18.00. ISBN: 9780802864338. Reviewed by Michael W. Duggan St. Mary’s University College, Calgary, Alberta In God in Translation: Deities in Cross-Cultural Discourse in the Biblical World Mark Smith provides a fine study that is both important to scholarship of the ancient Near East and the Bible and also relevant to contemporary inter-religious dialogue, especially among the Abrahamic traditions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam). Smith derives the term “translation” from the field of cultural anthropology where it refers to the process of mediating language, customs, and worldviews from one culture to another. He acknowledges the additional challenges of attempting to translate ideas from texts of antiquity to modernity, given the fragmentary evidence we have of any culture in the ancient world. While underlining the limitations of the available evidence, Smith examines the cross-cultural translatability of the gods from one national ethos to another, originally in the ancient Near East and subsequently in the Mediterranean world of the Greek and Roman eras. He distinguishes between two types of translatability: “horizontal,” which refers to the geographical reemergence of deities or their attributes from one nation into another across the ancient world; and “vertical,” which refers to the mutations of deities over time within particular traditions, especially those of ancient Israel and early Judaism, with extensions into Christian origins. Smith explores Israel’s participation in the international conversations about the gods in three successive historical eras. In the first chapter, he surveys the deities of the ancient Near East to the end of the Bronze Age (1200 BCE). In the following three chapters, he concentrates on Israel and analyzes its comparative permeability by foreign deities in successive stages from the settlement to the end of the Persian era (1200–332 BCE). In chapter two, he describes Israel’s relative openness to diverse national deities during the periods of the settlement in Canaan and early monarchy

REVIEWS

551

(ca. 1200–750 BCE). In chapter three, he highlights Israel’s growing resistance to foreign gods while under the domination of the Assyrian and neo-Babylonian empires (ca. 750–540 BCE). In chapter four, he discloses the opposition to foreign gods in Judah, with its turn to monotheism, during the post-exilic resettlement (540–332 BCE). In the next two chapters, Smith discusses philosophical discourse and Jewish theology in the GrecoRoman era (332 BCE–100 CE). In chapter five, he describes the intercultural exchanges particularly in history, philosophy, and mythology, which reshaped religious perspectives in the Hellenistic world outside of Judah. In chapter six, he analyzes the Jewish resistance to associating its God with the deities of the Greco-Roman world. He then examines the transmission of the Jewish religious heritage into Christianity and notes the minimal appropriation of Hellenistic discourse about the gods in the Acts of the Apostles and its practical absence in the letters of Paul. Smith begins and ends his work with evaluations of the provocative study by Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism.1 Assmann, an Egyptologist, proposes the thesis of “the Mosaic distinction,” which asserts that Israel was unique in the ancient Near East for its consistent rejection of foreign gods as false gods. Assmann suggests that Israel’s monotheism set it apart from other nations insofar as Israel refused to translate other deities into its conception of divinity. Assmann’s contrast between the insularity of Israel and the permeability of other nations in the international “god-talk” provides a basis for his assertion that monotheism is suspicious of the other and prone to violence whereas polytheism exudes inclusivity and cultivates tolerance. Assmann implies that coexistence in our contemporary world requires that everyone practice the translation of deities according to the models of the great cultures of antiquity and reject the exclusivist claims of monotheism, which have emerged from the narrow confines of the Mosaic tradition. Assmann’s limited familiarity with Israelite traditions prompted responses from Ronald Hendel and Smith who wrote seminal works on memory in Israel.2 Hendel tends to accept Assmann’s thesis of Israel’s refusal to assimilate deities of other nations into its conception of divinity and contends that this resistance to outside influences accounts, in large measure, for the survival of Judaism while other more prominent cultures Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge MA/London: Harvard University, 1997). 2 Mark S. Smith, The Memoirs of God: History, Memory, and the Experience of the Divine in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004). Ronald Hendel, Remembering Abraham: Culture, Memory, and History of the Hebrew Bible (Oxford/New York: Oxford University, 2005). 1

552

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

in antiquity disappeared. By contrast, Smith writes his current book primarily to contradict Assmann’s claims that Israel was impenetrable to the influence of foreign deities throughout its history. Furthermore, Smith argues against Assmann’s claim that monotheism is prone to violence while polytheism is comparatively irenic. Smith offers a nuanced assessment of divinity in Israel by examining specific texts while eschewing predetermined theories derived from religious studies, anthropology, or politics. His readings demonstrate that, particularly in the period of the settlement and the monarchies prior to the emergence of the Assyrian empire (ca. 750 BCE), Israel and Judah acknowledged the reality of the sovereign deities in various neighbouring cultures and incorporated aspects of them into the conceptualization of Yahweh and the heavenly world. In the late pre-exilic and early post-exilic eras, Judah continued to appropriate its earlier traditions, which contained elements from diverse cultures beyond its borders. Only in the GrecoRoman era did the rejection of foreign deities become characteristic of Judaism, but even then the exclusion of foreign influences was not absolute. Smith’s expertise in the civilization of Ugarit animates his analysis of how Mesopotamian scribal activities provided the basis for an international culture as they became standard in Egypt and the Levant prior to 1200 BCE. International trade and diplomacy, which was premised on common scribal practice, opened up cross-cultural conversations about family, myth, ritual, and deities. However, Smith challenges Assmann’s assessment that the various nations across the ancient Near East shared a common conception of divinity under a variety of names. Smith asserts that the conflation of deities may not suggest a cultural ecumenism among political equals, but rather the imposition of a dominant culture by an imperial political power upon its weaker neighbours. Smith notes that the translation of deities may have been characteristic among circles of societal elites composed of kings and scribes, while local traditions may have remained comparatively impermeable to such influences. Smith illustrates how Ugarit, a minor political power, maintained its distinctive mythology even as the scribal traditions of Mesopotamia became normative in its regional administration. Smith’s analyses of various biblical texts from the Iron Age I and II prior to 750 BCE constitutes his central argument against Assmann’s thesis of “the Mosaic distinction.” He emphasizes that the translation of deities from the nations into Israel and Judah during this period differs from the translation of deities across the ancient Near East in the Bronze Age insofar as Israel and Judah validated the gods of the nations on their borders to east and north (Edom, Moab, Ammon, Aram, Phoenicia) rather than those of the imperial powers farther afield in Egypt and Mesopotamia. Examples of Israelite translatability are: the covenant between Laban the Aramean and

REVIEWS

553

Jacob the Israelite under the aegis of the God of Nahor and the Fear of Isaac (Gen 31:53); the reference to “God” that Ehud the Benjaminite shares in common with Eglon the Moabite (Judg 3:20); the recognition of Chemosh the god of Edom by Jephthah of Gilead (11:24); and the influence of the Phoenician god Baal on the conceptualization of Yahweh in the northern kingdom (1 Kings 18). Furthermore, Smith argues that the description of Balaam the Moabite as a prophetic agent of Yahweh is emblematic of translatability in Israel (Num 23:4–5, 16; 24:2–4, 15; cf. Micah 6:5). The translation of deities was as common in the Greco-Roman world as it had been in the ancient Near East during the Bronze Age but the impetus for such cultural exchange was different. Whereas imperial expansion had propelled the international god talk prior to 1200 BCE, the emergence of academies and libraries in the Hellenistic world generated new cross-cultural conversations about religion as informed by philosophy. Historians, philosophers, and grammarians in the Greco-Roman world sought out equivalencies between the deities of diverse cultures. While such gentile scholars included the God of Israel in their speculations, Jewish writers were notoriously resistant to viewing the God of Israel in terms of the Hellenistic pantheon. Such resistance is evident also in the letters of Paul and, with a few qualifications, in the Acts of the Apostles. In summary, Mark Smith provides an exceptional investigation into the translation of deities in the world of the Bible. His work reveals multiple contours in a cultural landscape that Jan Assmann had viewed as comparatively flat. Smith’s work bears eloquent testimony to the necessity of seeking out the unique features of every text. He demonstrates how attention to detail provides the necessary basis for a credible synthesis of tradition. His control of secondary literature is exemplary. (I would recommend this book for the footnotes alone.) By his manner of studying the cross-cultural conversations about divinity in antiquity, Smith positions the academy at the service of the contemporary world. May his work inform the inter-religious dialogue that is essential to global peace in the 21st century.

554

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Westbrook, Raymond and Bruce Wells, EVERYDAY LAW IN BIBLICAL ISRAEL: AN INTRODUCTION (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2009). Pp. ix+156. Softcover. US $24.95. ISBN 9780664234973. Reviewed by David P. Wright Brandeis University This informative introduction to biblical law is one of the final contributions of Raymond Westbrook,1 in a significant and influential career devoted to the study of Near Eastern and biblical Law.2 Bruce Wells, his capable former student, helped him finish the work and bring it to publication. The work reflects what I call the juridical or perhaps better jurisprudential-phenomenological approach to the study of biblical and Near Eastern law. The book itself says that its “focus…is…on law as understood by jurists,” which is explained as “rules that regulate relationships between humans who are the members of a society in the conduct of their everyday lives, protecting their economic, social, corporal, and psychological interests” and involves rules, rights, and duties “that can be enforced in a court of law” (p. 1). Its chapters focus for the most part on what we might call secular law and are determined by phenomenological categories that are derived from those of modern academic jurisprudence. After an introduction to method and the sources for the study of law, the book presents its main chapters on Litigation, Status and Family, Crimes and Delicts, Property and Inheritance, and finally Contracts. Each of the chapters on the legal categories is further subdivided topically.3 The 1 This review was originally presented in a panel discussion of Westbrook’s and Wells’s book at the SBL Annual Meeting, Atlanta, November 22, 2010 (other reviews were by Dale Patrick, Shalom Paul, and William Morrow; Wells responded to the reviewers). 2 Westbrook’s contribution to the field is well represented in the recent volumes that collect a number of his articles, Law from the Tigris to the Tiber: The Writings of Raymond Westbrook (2 vols.; ed. Bruce Wells and F. Rachel Magdalene; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009). 3 The discussion of data for various Near Eastern periods and corpora follows a

REVIEWS

555

approach, while generally critical in its orientation, tends to be interested in the meaning and function of law as opposed to the literary or redactional development of complex legal texts or the inter-textual hermeneutical relationship of such texts. The literary or redactional question is not important because the authors view the Bible only as a tool for study, not the object of study (p. 11). And the question of intertextual relationships is secondary to the goals of the book’s study and in any case is described as a questionable enterprise (pp. 129–133). The book’s six main chapters, plus the introduction and conclusion, provide a basic syllabus for an undergraduate course on biblical law. The individual chapters also contain further resources for students to pursue (e.g., for research papers), and study questions highlight what students should learn from each chapter. It will be clear to anyone who considers using this book for a course that it will need supplementation. First of all, it is brief, about 150 pages. This leaves plenty of room for readings from primary texts, both biblical and Near Eastern. These can include selected biblical texts from among those mentioned in a given chapter. The book’s brief treatment of these texts can serve as starting points for detailed discussion. In addition, instructors would want to assign readings from the scholarly literature on particular texts and broad issues. Some of these may be drawn from the “Further Readings” sections at the end of the chapters. More broadly, supplementation may include discussion and readings about directions not taken and questions not fully addressed in the book. One subject that I would expand for students is the question of the nature of the sources for the study of law, including what we can know about actual legal practice in ancient Israel from the Bible. The book recognizes the problem at various points and provides the following advice to its readers up front: We cannot be sure of the extent to which the laws set out in the Bible were actually put into practice during the Iron Age—the time of ancient Israel and Judah. As we shall see, some of them may have been purely utopian; some were rules of practices transfigured by ideology; and others, although pragmatic in content, were most probably the product of academic circles, that is, groups of scribes engaged in a theoretical endeavor. Nonetheless, the laws in the Bible represent in many instances what people at the time considered the law to be, and even if not always put into practice, they reveal the underlying processes of juridical thought that were prevalent in the society (p. 3). similar topical outline in Raymond Westbrook, ed., A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law (HdO 72:1–2; Leiden: Brill, 2003).

556

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The book justifies a general assumption that the biblical text more or less represents everyday practice by the observation that biblical and nonbiblical legal descriptions and customs overlap or coincide at various points. (It discusses some concrete examples of this in the chapter on sources, pp. 23–25.) This correspondence in custom, Westbrook and Wells argue, cannot be attributed, on the one hand, to coincidence or, on the other, to the copying of legal ideas from foreign sources. It must rather be an indication that broadly shared Near Eastern legal customs have become part of the native practice in the respective communities. On this basis the authors suppose that the texts “reflect many aspects of their own society’s everyday law” (p. 4). It is difficult to argue with this, what turns out to be, loose description—surely the biblical texts reflect aspects of social and cultural reality. The argument is in regard to degree, and how much the texts filter, augment, revise, or otherwise alter everyday practice. This is not a negligible matter. I would want to make my students intimately aware of the difficulty of accessing real practice and have them struggle with this problem. I would stress that while it is important to understand the details of legal phenomenology and how to explicate the arcane logic of ancient laws, it is equally important to understand how the texts came to be, how the biblical writers plied and used legal concepts for purposes beyond representation of data about everyday life, and how the contexts of the sources reflect native conceptualization of legal ideas that might differ from modern jurisprudence. Let me illustrate the type of questions that need to be considered when looking at the two primary genres used for the study of biblical law, namely, law collections and narrative. As for biblical law collections, a number of considerations show that they were much more than repositories of traditional practice or prescriptions for future performance. Several of the laws are utopian or impracticable in character, especially in the Priestly-Holiness Legislation and Deuteronomy. I am thinking here, for example, of the complex sabbathyear and jubilee economic system in Leviticus 25 or the stern laws for the execution of apostates in Deuteronomy 13. One legal phenomenon that the book admits difficulty in verifying as a real practice is refuge cities for homicide, as prescribed in Deuteronomy 19 and Numbers 35. This question arises mainly because of the lack of attestation of this phenomenon in the ancient Near East outside the Bible (p. 75). Nevertheless, the book hesitates to definitively view refuge cities as a utopian feature. Another indication of the abstract nature of biblical legislation is that the various successive laws collections were created in significant part by using

REVIEWS

557

and revising sources. The book resists this conclusion and approach somewhat in its final chapter. But the literary pedigree of Pentateuchal legal sources is becoming increasing clear in recent research. Deuteronomy for example uses and transforms law (or obligations) from the Covenant Code, NeoAssyrian treaty, proto-priestly dietary regulation, and probably a body of laws on women and family (following the scholarship by Otto and Rofé).4 This accounts for the majority of Deuteronomy’s laws; very little is left for analysis as direct encoding of actual practice. The Holiness Legislation for its part builds on and expands Priestly Legislation and also revises law from the Covenant Code and Deuteronomy. I have recently argued that the Covenant Code itself accords perfectly with this scribal phenomenology in being a revision for the most part of laws from Hammurabi’s collection.5 While some dispute this, including the book’s authors, it would be remarkable if the Covenant Code is a report of actual practice while its legislative offspring develop differently, from use of sources.6 4 For Deuteronomy’s use of Assyrian treaty, similar or identical with the Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon, see the discussion and bibliography in David P. Wright, Inventing God’s Law: How the Covenant Code of the Bible Used and Revised the Laws of Hammurabi (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 103–104, 350–351, 357, 388–389 n. 32, 397 n. 116, and especially the work of Levinson and Steymans cited on p. 397 (see also Bernard Levinson, “The Bible’s Break with Ancient Political Thought to Promote Equality: ‘It Ain’t Necessarily So,’” JTS 61/2 [2010], 685–684). Some recent discussion has sought to highlight correspondences with Hittite treaty (e.g., Joshua Berman, “CTH 133 and the Hittite Provenance of Deuteronomy 13,” JBL 130 (2011), 25–44; see also his references, including Christoph Koch, Vertrag, Treueid und Bond: Studien zur Rezeption des altorientalischen Vertragsrechts im Deuteronomium und zur Ausbildung der Bundestheolgie im alten Testament [BZAW 383; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008]). If in addition to the Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon or a similar Neo-Assyrian treaty text Deuteronomy also used treaty traditions from before the Neo-Assyrian period, this does not establish an early date for Deuteronomy. The recent discovery of a copy of the Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon at Tell Tayinat on the northern bend of the Orontes River (as yet unpublished) will perhaps aid in determining how this text was known in seventh century BCE Judah. For discussion of the studies by Otto and Rofé on laws dealing with women and the family in Deuteronomy, see Wright, Inventing, 110–115. 5 Wright, Inventing. This also discusses in brief the dependence of Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation on legal sources (see pp. 356–359). 6 For Wells’s review of my book, see JR 90/4 (2010), 558–560. See also his indepth response to my first article on the thesis: “The Covenant Code and Near Eastern Legal Traditions: A Response to David P. Wright,” Maarav 13/1 (2006): 85–118. For Westbrook’s response to the thesis, see his “The Laws of Biblical

558

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

A third consideration is that the Pentateuchal collections were apparently created in view of a pseudoarchaeographic context, as revelations to Moses in the wilderness when the nation was in embryo. Deuteronomy was written as a speech of Moses. The Priestly Legislation and Holiness Legislation were written as a series of revelations at Sinai and in the wilderness, and the laws in many places include elements that contextualize practice in the wilderness and in connection with the architecture and geography of the portable sanctuary. The Covenant Code was written, I have argued, in a context of a story of exodus and revelation at “the Mountain of God” at Horeb. While no doubt sources of various types were used to create these legal texts, their internal and external pseudoarchaeographic elements cannot simply be deleted to render laws that can be understood as reflecting actual practice. The narrative fiction, I aver, led the writers to alter to some degree whatever customs they may have picked up from practice or from sources used to fit the pseudoarchaeographic context. A final point with regard to law collections is that they appear to be ideological in promoting purposes beyond the prescription of law. This may best be seen or imagined for Deuteronomy, which a number of scholars have long tied to the reforms of Josiah. Though this may be disputed, it is relatively clear that Deuteronomy is otherwise ideological as it takes up Assyrian treaty and turns obligations of loyalty to the foreign king into Israel,” in The Hebrew Bible: New Insights and Scholarship (Jewish Studies in the Twenty-First Century; ed. Frederick Greenspahn; New York: New York University Press, 2008), 99–119 (107). For a recent consideration of the Covenant Code and Mesopotamian law, see Eckart Otto, “Das Bundesbuch und der ‘Kodex’ Hammurapi: Das biblische Recht zwischen positiver und subversiver Rezeption von Keilschriftrecht,”ZABR 16 (2010), 1–26 (for him the roots of the individual laws of the Covenant Code are indigenously Israelite, neither borrowed from cuneiform tradition nor deriving specifically from Hammurabi’s laws). On a related matter, it is too early to say how the presently unpublished fragment of what may be an Akkadian law collection from Hazor, datable to the 18th century BCE, will change an estimate of the sources of the Covenant Code (CC). A range of critical questions will have to be asked, including why CC still looks like the Laws of Hammurabi (LH); if CC could have used both LH (as the main source) and a source like the Hazor laws; the date of CC (an early source does not mean an early date); how laws written in Akkadian as in the Hazor fragment were transmitted for about a millennium to be known to the writers of CC, especially when Akkadian scribal schools ceased to function in the Levant around 1200 BCE; and, if the Hazor fragment as indicative of a further and even non-native source for CC strengthens the argument that CC is an academic production, not an encoding of actual practice.

REVIEWS

559

obligations toward Yahweh. The Priestly-Holiness Writings appear to react to the Neo-Babylonian threat and destruction of the temple. The Covenant Code may react to Neo-Assyrian hegemony. While there may be argument about some of these points, it is reasonable to assume that the collections were written with motives that exceed the mere prescription of law. They seek to say something about Judean national identity in an environment of imperial domination. As collective wholes they reinforce the viability of the national group. They are iconic, not simply legislative.7 Law customs portrayed in biblical narrative may similarly go beyond a reflection of everyday practice. In the mid-1990s I wrote a study of ritual in the Ugaritic story of Aqhat that in part struggled with the disparity found between ritual described in story and ritual described or prescribed in actual Ugaritic ritual texts.8 I suggested that part of the reason was that ritual description had been adapted to serve the particular purposes of narrative formulation, for example, to assist in plot development and to otherwise aid in the portrayal of characters. A similar tendency and phenomenology can be seen as operating in ritual descriptions in biblical narrative.9 The story of the near sacrifice of Isaac in Genesis 22, for example, likely does not reflect actual practice, but is an idealized account that uses the motif of sacrifice to enhance the picture of Abraham’s piety as well as emphasize how demanding (and perhaps how merciful) Israel’s deity could be. The estimate of ritual in narrative is directly connected to consideration of law in narrative, inasmuch as ritual is often an object of legislation alongside the types of law that are of primary interest to Westbrook and Wells. If ritual has been adapted to serve the story of Genesis, for example, then we can imagine that law has been adapted to fit the context of Genesis. In other words, description of Abraham’s purchase of the cave of Machpelah in the

For discussion of William Morrow’s insightful application of post-colonial theory to elucidate what Deuteronomy is doing ideologically, and how this applies as well to the Covenant Code, see Wright, Inventing, 350–351. On the creation of pseudoarchaeographic texts for purposes of political ideology, see Nadav Na’aman, “The ‘Discovered Book’ and the Legitimation of Josiah’s Reform,” JBL 130 (2011), 47–62. 8 Wright, Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2001), 223–229. 9 For a recent study of ritual in Genesis, see Susan B. Zeelander, “Endings in Short Biblical Narratives” (PhD dissertation; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 2010; publicly accessible Penn Dissertations, Paper 169; http://repository.upenn.edu/edissertations/169). 7

560

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

next chapter of Genesis (an object of insightful analysis by Westbrook in an early article)10 may only approximate actual legal practice. These several considerations indicate that a study of law in the Bible has to be continuously aware of the nature of the sources. Part of the study requires examining what the passage is trying to do in its context and to investigate the larger goals of the literature. This is not entirely different from the critical stance that historians take in using biblical texts for a reconstruction of ancient Israelite history. True, it may be that many of the biblical texts that represent laws and legal ideas are closer to reality than the historical events represented in many biblical texts. At the same time the study of law should not facilely assume that the texts unswervingly mediate data about concrete legal practice. The focus of study may need to be shifted. Instead of trying to describe practices or regarding the description of practice to be the goal of study, we may need to focus more on legal ideas, and shift our sociological or institutional eye away from society at large and focus on scribes and scribal schools, and their goals and interests. I would supplement the book’s basic outline in two other ways, related to the matters just raised. This would include study of law not included in the main purview of the book, i.e., apodictic law and ritual-religious law. Both of these types take a back seat in view of the book’s goal to chart laws that concern (primarily) the relations of humans to humans and that clearly address the basic socio-economic interests (matters of body and property). For example, the book minimalizes the Decalogue, saying that its various versions “are not…laws in any meaningful sense. They contain no sanctions, and there is no hint that they ever played a role in the Israelite courts. They merely state commands or prohibitions…” (p. 13). The fact of the matter is that the Bible’s major law collections contain both casuistic and apodictic genres side by side. While consideration would have to be given to how these two types came to be associable with one another (and it is not always a simple matter of concluding that the apodictic laws were an addition—theological icing on the cake—to more concrete and practicable casuistic laws), the texts as we have them combine the two and this tells us something about how apodictic law was perceived as law. Similarly, ritual and religious law is interwoven or included in the various law collections. Some of this is, in fact, formulated casuistically and at times with penalties that could be imposed by a human tribunal. The book does treat offenses against deity in the Crimes and Delicts chapter, and includes discussion of apostasy, blasphemy, the Sabbath, and sexual 10 See Raymond Westbrook, “Purchase of the Cave of Machpelah,” in Property and the Family in Biblical Law (JSOTSup 113; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 24–35. Originally in the Israel Law Review 6 (1971): 29–38.

REVIEWS

561

practices. But one may want to give some consideration to laws of the cultic realm, such as sacrifice, festivals, purity and holiness, sacrilege, regulations for the priesthood, and temple-building “codes,” as these manifest differently in the different law collections (and all the law collections, including the Covenant Code, contain ritual and religious regulations). Even though the descriptions of ritual and religious regulations in the various biblical law texts are as idealistic as other prescription they contain, the temple or sanctuary was a fundamental institution of human interaction and of the economy. Finally, I would try to put some emphasis on charting the history of legal ideas. The critique that I presented earlier about law collections and narrative indicates that we cannot be so sanguine about charting actual practice, such as a history of sanctuary asylum or the law of talion. We can nevertheless talk about the development of legal ideas. While the book does contain some reference to development of certain practices, it would be of benefit to students in a course on biblical and Near Eastern law to explore topics and texts where there is a clear development of ideas as manifested in textual revision, such as the slave laws or homicide laws in the Covenant Code, Deuteronomy, and Holiness Legislation, and to show the hermeneutical innovations, as Bernard Levinson’s work models.11 Attention to ritual law would provide added examples of such development for consideration, such as festival laws, priesthood regulations, or the tithe. Part of the study of historical development can incorporate examination of how biblical texts used non-native sources or ideas, for example, Deuteronomy’s conversion of loyalty obligations from the Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon into laws against apostasy. One of the values of the book’s jurisprudential-phenomenological approach is that it provides a ready made template for students and interested readers who come to biblical law from outside the discipline of biblical studies but with some training or understanding of the study of modern law. My own biblical law course is cross-listed at Brandeis University with the legal studies program which helps students prepare for legal careers. I can see how this book would organize the basic data for these students, even as they and I might go off in more abstract directions as I have suggested here.

11 For a broad recent study of the issues and literature pertaining to hermeneutical innovation in law, see Bernard Levinson, Legal Revision and Religious Renewal in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).

562

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Matthews, Victor H., MORE THAN MEETS THE EAR: DISCOVERING THE HIDDEN CONTEXTS OF OLD TESTAMENT CONVERSATIONS (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2008). Pp. xii+198. Softcover. US$25.00. ISBN 9780802803849. Reviewed by Colin Toffelmire McMaster Divinity College In More than Meets the Ear, Victor Matthews provides an introduction to various linguistic and sociological methods and their potential applicability to biblical scholarship. His survey of methods includes sociolinguistics, discourse analysis, cognitive linguistics and mental space theory, conversation analysis, positioning theory, and critical geography, all used in concert with traditional historical-critical biblical scholarship. Though not without some difficulties, More than Meets the Ear is well written and accessible and helps to demonstrate the potential of interdisciplinary tools for the analysis of biblical texts. Matthews freely admits that his combination of social-scientific and linguistic methods is “quite eclectic” (p. vi). There are always benefits and drawbacks to interdisciplinary projects, and here these are cast into rather sharp relief. While Matthews’ textual analyses are generally excellent, and his application of the various methods he introduces tends to be helpful and illuminating, there remains a tension throughout the book between breadth and depth. Almost always the reader will find her/himself intrigued by both Matthews’ short presentations of methodology and his textual analysis, yet also left wanting to explore further. I offer this not as a criticism. In a work such as this the breadth/depth tension is unavoidable. Indeed, one of the primary services that Matthews’ book provides is that it provokes the reader to wonder about the possibilities of pressing one (or more than one) of these methods further. Clearly this very kind of provocation was a design feature of the book, as each chapter ends with a list of possible questions or problems for future exploration. Chapters are organized around a particular method or set of methods, though as the book progresses these methods become incorporated into a

REVIEWS

563

growing repository of methodological possibilities. What we find, therefore, are the insights from chapter one’s discussion of discourse analysis incorporated into chapter two’s discussion of cognition theory, and those theories blended with chapter three’s use of conversation analysis, and so on. The result is not so much a new systematic method of Matthews’ own creation, but an interesting and eclectic blend of the insightful components of the various theories used in service of the analysis of a particular biblical text. And Matthews’ textual analyses are no less interesting and helpful than his presentations of theory. Whether in his presentation of conversation analysis and mental space theory in the story of Judah and Tamar (ch. 3), or his presentation of social space theory and Jeremiah’s travelling scroll (pp. 151–162), Matthews demonstrates how the use of these various methods can help to shed light on the discursive worlds of the biblical texts. In all of this Matthews maintains his connection to both critical historical and literary biblical scholarship, thus strengthening the connections between his presentation of new methodological possibilities and what we might call more traditional methods of biblical scholarship. Having said all of this, there are some points where the interdisciplinary nature of More than Meets the Ear raises some points of tension. Chapter one purports to be a presentation of sociolinguistics and discourse analysis, but (as even a cursory look at the footnotes demonstrates) the linguistic portion of this chapter is almost completely taken up with the work of cognitive linguists (Fauconnier, Lakoff, Evans and Green). Those components that do derive from the sociological end of the linguistics pool tend to be more closely connected to conversation analysis than to sociolinguistics proper. I have no particular complaint over the use of cognitive linguistics, and Matthews’ puts it to very good use in the ensuing chapters, but a presentation of the theoretical underpinnings of various kinds of sociolinguistics would likely have added to his discussion regarding the relationship between certain kinds of linguistic features and the social world which they represent. Additionally, there is an open question among theoretical linguists as to the relationship between cognitive and socio linguistics. For example there are certain types of functional linguistics that are actively engaged with both social and cultural background issues, and with cognitive modelling, yet there are also socially oriented models of linguistics that have been traditionally agnostic about the value of a concept of the mind for linguistic description.1 Though a 1 For an example of the former view see Simon Dik and Kees Hengeveld, The Theory of Functional Grammar (2nd, rev. ed. 2 vols. Functional Grammar Series 20– 21; Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 1997). For an example of the latter see

564

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

book like this is clearly not the place to stage an in-depth analysis of these difficult theoretical questions, some notice should likely have been given to the potential difficulties of bringing some of these different theoretical approaches together. Matthews also engages with conversations that remain somewhat controversial within the biblical studies guild itself. Examples include his decidedly synchronic focus, which consequently makes little if any mention of the development of various texts. Additionally, Matthews’ work by its nature intersects with the oral-versus-written tension of the biblical text. The biblical texts were likely produced in and for a culture that was only minimally literate. What, then, are the consequences of this for the application of methods that have been developed to analyze live interactions (like conversation analysis)? Matthews does interact with these tensions (e.g., pp. 66–69), but they remain open questions to a degree. At various points important concepts are placed in separate boxes where they are defined and briefly discussed. A case in point is the presentation of Mental Space theory (pp. 36–37), where a four paragraph presentation of this key theory is given even as the theory itself is employed in the analysis underway in the main text. Though this type of strategy can at times be distracting, in the case of More Than Meets the Ear it is extremely valuable. Matthews is introducing so many new concepts, frequently including unique or specialized jargon (which Matthews mercifully keeps to a minimum), that some kind of definition is needed. While a glossary of terms is also provided (pp. 165–168), these separated definition boxes provide much more than one or two sentence definitions, yet remain easy to find for later reference. All in all, More than Meets the Ear is well-written, thought-provoking, and engaging, and would serve as an excellent introduction to any or all of these varied methods. I would recommend this for thoughtful undergraduates, graduate students, and any scholar interested in a straightforward introduction to the use of cognitive linguistics and sociological tools for the analysis of biblical texts. Matthews has provided a strong example of the potential for interdisciplinary work to shed light on the meaning and background of the biblical texts. Michael Halliday, Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning (London: Edward Arnold, 1978). For an introduction to sociolinguistics in relation to biblical studies see W. Schniedewind, “Prolegomena for the Sociolinguistics of Biblical Hebrew,” JHS 5.6 (2004), available online at http://www.jhsonline.org and republished in hard copy under the same title in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures II: Comprising the Contents of the Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Vol. 5 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2007) 117–41.

REVIEWS

565

Earl, Douglas, READING JOSHUA AS CHRISTIAN SCRIPTURE (Journal of Theological Interpretation Supplement 2; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2010). Pp. xiv + 277. Softcover. US$37.95. ISBN 9781575067018. Reviewed by J. Gordon McConville University of Gloucestershire, Cheltenham, England Reading Joshua as Christian Scripture, Douglas Earl’s slightly revised doctoral thesis submitted to the University of Durham in 2008, is concerned with how the Old Testament might continue to be understood and received by Christian readers as Scripture, in spite of the problems it raises in three areas, namely historical, ethical and theological (p. 3). It is a rigorous and ambitious project, which brings several disciplines to bear on the interpretation of Joshua. In this regard he finds the concept of “cultural memory” useful: Joshua has aspects which make it difficult for the Church to “apply” in any direct way, but it nevertheless belongs in its “cultural memory” in beneficial ways, for example in the way in which the fall of the walls of Jericho has come to be read as a symbol of the overcoming of evil. This premise, that the book in some ways resists Christian reception yet continues to be read as Scripture, becomes the starting-point for “a discussion about ‘how we learn about learning’” (p. 13). For this discussion he adopts as a key category the concept of “myth,” as understood in contemporary anthropology as a means of shaping identity. Here he takes a cue from the work of William Doty, who documents ways in which myths find expression in societies (including imaginative stories, symbols, imagery, actions, adopted roles and statuses, together with “aspects of the real, experienced world” [p. 16]). Myth as used in anthropological studies is of various kinds, including ideological, sociological and political, existential and symbolic, psychological, and structuralist. While Earl thinks it appropriate to use several approaches to myth in reading Joshua, he wants to “locate this work on myth in a theological frame of reference,” and thus withhold autonomy from them (p. 19). Mythical readings, however, can divert attention away from the literal, or “first-order” sense of a text (pp. 46–47), which brings an important gain in the case of Joshua. Joshua may be set in “foundational” or “prototypical”

566

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

time, and expresses a profound desire for “rest” (p. 47). From Doty, he also adopts the notion of a “limit-situation,” that is, an extreme depiction of a paradigm of behaviour, which can be followed in more moderate ways (pp. 47–48). From this analysis of how myth and symbol may function in the interpretation of a text, Earl goes on to the more strictly hermeneutical question of how and whether Joshua may be considered to be “true,” and to this end adopts from Ricoeur and Beardsley the concepts of “plenitude” and “fittingness” (pp. 49–50). Does the text offer a “fitting redescription” of the world, such that the reader or community finds new ways of thinking about God and the world, leading to “fuller and more faithful participation in their humanity as created in the image of God and perfected in Christ” (p. 49). In this sense Earl thinks a text, and its reception, may become “revelatory” (p. 50). Earl then adds the further category of “witness.” Witness is complicated in the sense that it does not refer to history in a straightforward way (pp. 59–60), and requires an understanding of the symbolic qualities of a text, and something akin to a “spiritual” or “figural” understanding of such questions as how the ‫(חרם‬the “devotion to destruction” of the Canaanite population) may have meaning for a contemporary community. This is a form of the question “what the text is really about?” (pp. 63–64; emphasis original). There follow sections on Joshua as part of traditions, that is, those literary traditions found by source-criticism to lie behind the present form of the book, and also ancient Near Eastern forms, such as conquest narratives. On the priestly and Deuteronomic elements in Joshua, Earl finds that they mutually reinforce each other, and this internal dialogue is part of what makes Joshua “revelatory” (p. 87). Regarding conquest-narratives, Joshua cannot be identified straightforwardly as such, but knowing the genre fosters an appreciation of the ways in which the book has been stylized (p. 93). A chapter is devoted to the ‫(חרם‬pp. 94–112). Earl finds several different understandings of this concept within the Old Testament, and regards Joshua as distinctive. Essentially, Joshua draws on the command to annihilate the inhabitants of the promised land in Deut 7:1–5, but in such a way as to qualify it, which it does, for example, by means of its narratives of Rahab and Achan, and the Gibeonites. After a long chapter entitled “Reading Joshua,” a succinct commentary on the book, the final chapter, “Drawing it all Together,” begins by suggesting a symbolic reading of key characters and events, which challenges the (ancient) reader on the question of identity. The redescription of identity is neither xenophobic nor geographically limited (Joshua 22), but redefines response to Yahweh in ways that recommend

REVIEWS

567

virtues such as boldness and zeal, and opposition to patriarchy (Achsah) (pp. 200–203). The ideas of crossing the Jordan and resting in the land illustrate searching demands made of the faithful community, with incipient eschatology and the internalization of idolatry. By means of converging Old Testament understandings of ‫חרם‬, Earl pursues an analogy with the crucifixion, seen as a judgment on idolatry (“Deuteronomistic”), and also as the “holy one” given over to death (P). This kind of extension he sees as imaginative and symbolic, not allegorical (p. 206) Joshua’s pushing of the boundaries introduces the possibility of “transformation,” which is a preparation, according to Earl, for the Gospel (pp. 212–13). There is an extended consideration of faith and works in the light of the allusion to Rahab in James 2:20–26, which “reflects the development of Joshua as myth” (p. 215), and which argues that early Christian tradition understood works in connection with virtue, while the opposition between faith and works arose only in the Protestant Reformation. Modernity also, with exceptions, sees faith as “epistemological,” rather than part of a life-commitment (pp. 216–25). Earl reflects further on the salvation of Rahab and the “conversion” of Israel, which make of Joshua an “ecumenical text” (p. 232). He differs finally from readings of Joshua that would make an original setting determinative, such as in connection with Josiah, and also from the post-colonial angle that would make Rahab a traitor, since this is not true to the aims of the text (pp. 233–36). Earl’s thesis is a powerful contribution to the recovery of Joshua from potential oblivion in the face of post-colonial readings. The difficulty of retaining a text as Scripture when in crucial respects it cannot be imitated, and must correspondingly be rejected, Earl addresses helpfully by means of “cultural memory” and in the context of ancient interpretation. The application of notions of “fittingness” on the one hand, together with imaginative and symbolic readings, is an important stimulus to interpretation. In my view, the least successful part of the thesis is that which sets the reading of Joshua in the context of Old Testament traditions. Earl makes acute observations on the inherent difficulties of defining such traditions, especially the Deuteronomic/-istic, yet decides to adhere to the concept because of its heuristic value and because most scholarship on Joshua is conducted within that framework (pp. 75–76). Yet his close reading of Joshua, which shows that the text is markedly individual, seems to call in question the notion of Deuteronomistic “family resemblances,” rather than suggesting that it can be “read well” with either D or P emphases in mind, or that its “revelatory” capacity was to be located in a critical adoption of P and D in such a way that these strands should be mutually reinforcing (pp. 86–88).

568

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The biggest challenge to the approach Earl offers here may be the nexus of Joshua-narrative and land-possession. Earl has paid relatively little attention to the division of land and cities of refuge (confessedly so, pp. 177, 239), such texts having been important for ancient Israel, but with little to offer the Christian interpreter. This understates, I think, the importance of the theme of land in the Old Testament, and the role of the book of Joshua in the narrative of Genesis–Kings in this regard. He notes the connection between Josh 18:1 and Gen 1:28, on “subduing the land,” but essentially in relation to the Priestly affinities of Joshua (pp. 83–84, 176–77). Possessing the land is here understood in terms of entering the fullness of the Christian life. But the creational-eschatological implications of this (which he sees) might have been taken in a different direction, into a wider biblical consideration of how land might rightly be held and used, a question which many Christian readers of the Old Testament as Scripture are bound to be exercised by.

Schiffman, Lawrence, THE COURTYARDS OF THE HOUSE OF THE LORD: STUDIES IN THE TEMPLE SCROLL (STDJ, 75; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008). Pp. xxxvi+610. Hardcover. US$199.00. ISBN 9789004122550. Reviewed by Dwight D. Swanson Nazarene Theological College, Manchester The Courtyards of the House of the Lord: Studies in the Temple Scroll presents virtually the complete oeuvre of Lawrence H. Schiffman on The Temple Scroll. Until now these thirty-three articles were scattered across myriad academic journals and collections; with this publication the cumulative effect of his work can be appreciated within the covers of a single book. In some respects these read like a history of the study of the scroll, spanning the period following the publication of Y. Yadin’s English edition of the manuscript until 2002. Schiffman’s introduction to this collection brings his work up to the present as he is able to lay out the main premises of his interpretation of the scroll, as well as to offer an overview of the theology of The Temple Scroll. The articles are presented in a practical, thematic order: first, the nature of the scroll as a whole; second, its relation to the context of other writings of

REVIEWS

569

the Second Temple period; the final four sections examining the content— the commands for the construction of the Temple; the exegetical significance of the sections on sacrifice, purity regulations, and halakhot of the Deuteronomic Paraphrase. Schiffman wrote many of these articles for conferences or for collections on other themes, which means that sometimes he approaches the scroll somewhat obliquely. This is most noticeable in the comparison of the scroll to other Jewish literature and in the particular halakhot chosen for examination. This factor also leads, by nature, to repetition of basic introductory information in each article for readers previously unfamiliar with the nature of the scroll. While the latter could be irritating, it is not a fatal flaw and has the cumulative result of making Schiffman’s viewpoints emphatically clear. Part One, “The Temple Scroll,” establishes key matters regarding the scroll as a whole, primarily concerning date and provenance. Schiffman dates the fully redacted scroll to the reign of John Hyrcanus, some time after 120 BCE. The key for dating is found in the Law of the King (cols. 56– 59), which can be seen as a polemic in opposition to the increasing wealth and aggressive warfare of the Hasmoneans under Hyrcanus. Provisions to prevent the king being captured point back to the kidnapping of Jonathan, and requirements for an Israel-only army to Hyrcanus’ use of foreign mercenaries to fight his wars. Thus, the scroll is more than a thorough-going critique of the Hasmonean order. The placement of the Law of the King within the larger composition is a call for a complete re-organisation of kingship, temple, and ritual life for the whole nation. Who is behind this masterplan and where did it come from? Schiffman has been consistent in distancing the scroll from the Qumran corpus. In his view it is not a sectarian document, but it “may have emerged” (note the scholarly caution, p. xx) from a similar, possibly earlier, group. In short, the sources of the scroll are Sadducean. Schiffman makes a case for this view in a variety of ways. The earliest article to address this (“The Law of the Temple Scroll and its Provenance,” 1988, now Chapter One) simply stated that the case for the Sadducees had yet to be investigated, but noted a shared rejection of oral tradition (p. 6). It is in the comparison of this scroll to 4QMMT (Miqṣat Maʿaśe ha-Torah) in 1990 (republished here as Chapter Eight) that the case is first made in any detail. In a careful comparison of halachic issues the two scrolls are shown to coincide in most matters with only minor disagreements. At the same time, 4QMMT is shown to take positions previously known from tannaitic literature as Sadducean. This leads to the scenario that the Qumran sect was

570

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

formed by disaffected Zadokite priests following the assumption by the Hasmoneans of the high priesthood. Schiffman is always careful to present these ideas in the most cautious of language, even in his summary treatment in the Introduction (a contrast to many popularisers of Qumran studies). The “sources” of the Temple Scroll derive from “the Sadducean heritage” of those who founded the Yaḥad. Indeed, there is nothing revolutionary in finding the sources of the Qumran/Dead Sea sect in Zadokite circles of the early Hasmonean period. But Schiffman’s use of the upper case “S” for “Sadducee” places his proposal apart. This identifies the sectarian origins with what becomes the party known, via Josephus and the New Testament, as the priestly opponents of the Pharisees. The problem is that, in both these sources, the Sadducees post-date the supposed withdrawal of the sectaries, and are part of the Temple establishment. How do documents of the hyperestablishment Sadducees end up in the library of the hyper-antiestablishment Zadokites? Implicit in Schiffman’s carefully-worded proposal is the notion that there is a common background to the previously known Sadducees and the dissenters of Qumran. This is not far different from the “consensus,” so it would seem sensible to call these people “Zadokites”—with reference to the pre-Maccabean Temple group. In this case, we can suggest that divisions arose over the response to the Hasmonean ascendancy—and other factors not related to the Hasmoneans—with one part remaining within the hierarchy, and another faction withdrawing. A clue to the identity and provenance of the common Zadokite forebears of both groups can be found in the Temple Scroll. Schiffman dismisses my proposal that 1 Chronicles 28 serves as the outline for the Temple Scroll’s discussion of the construction of the future temple (p. 251), and is silent about my argument that concerns for Levitical issues share much with Chronicler’s language (e.g., against priestly prerogatives in col. 20, where Levites receive a share of the šĕlamim, see p. 374).1 If some of the sources of the Temple Scroll predate the Antiochene crisis, as is likely, they share an exegetical method that can be considered pro-levitical as much as Zadokite-priestly. These sources reflect debates on purity and sacrificial practice within priestly circles prior to the Maccabean revolt. Part of the vision of the author/redactor of the final form of the scroll includes a shift from power in the hands of the priests alone, but shared by the Levites (cf. 57:11–15, where they are to make up a third of the king’s council). It is reasonable, then, to suggest the scenario that the scroll Dwight D. Swanson, The Temple Scroll and the Bible: The Methodology of 11QT (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995), 90, 225, 238. 1

REVIEWS

571

authors represent a Zadokite faction which separated from the establishment Zadokites, who became the Sadducees of the Hyrcanus period. The Temple Scroll, viewed alongside 4QMMT, may then be considered as a last effort to persuade the Hasmonean rulers of their own manifesto. More significant than the specific provenance of the scroll is the identification of its genre. In his Introduction, Schiffman says that the scroll “presents itself as a rewritten Torah” (p. xx). From its beginning in Exodus 34, the scroll follows the order of the canonical Torah (meaning Exodus– Numbers) to expound its views of Temple, land, and people. All pertinent material is gathered together at the first occurrence of a topic, so “harmonistic” in Midrashic fashion, to create a consistent whole. Then, laws from Deuteronomy are appended to give the appearance of a complete body of law. Occasional passages not based on the canonical Scripture reveal the exegetical approach of the author(s), thus giving us our understanding of the context of the writers. Schiffman defines this genre more narrowly in Chapter Ten. Accepting M. Goshen-Gottstein’s term for the scroll as “halakhic pseudepigraphon,” he refines it to “divine halakhic pseudepigraphon”, and—as such—a “stand alone” literary product. Moses is not the mediator of this Torah, it comes directly from God to Israel. This is important because, along with Jubilees, the scroll presents a one-time revelation at Sinai in which this text was revealed (p. 170). It is possible to dissent from some aspects of this presentation. For example, the fact that the Festival Calendar (Leviticus 23/Numbers 28) precedes the Purity Law (Leviticus 11–15/Numbers 19) in the biblical Torah runs counter to the contention that the scroll follows the canonical occurrence of topics. But the character of the scroll as “divinely revealed,” thus authoritative like Scripture, while also interpretative of Scripture, is an assured result. This is not to infer one author at work in the scroll. In Chapter One Schiffman clarifies that although there was one author/editor of the Temple Scroll, he incorporated previously existing sources. These materials share a consistent method of exegesis that allows us to see the redactor’s role throughout (pp. 4–5). It might be noted at this point that the careful editing of existing sources, and engagement with the authoritative (biblical) text with a theological purpose, offers an extant example of the kind of development of the canonical Torah itself. However, Schiffman maintains a distance between the scroll and the Torah it interprets. This scroll, he says, must be seen “like all other texts from the Second Temple period” as “rewritten canonical Torah.” It does not replace that canonical Torah, but is clearly

572

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

regarded by its author as having greater authority (p. 7). This is, in some respect, the case, but such a view has to take into account the extent to which the “canonical Torah” is “like all other texts from the Second Temple period” too. Of course, Schiffman’s most significant contribution to Temple Scroll studies is with regard to its halakha. Indeed, he is largely responsible for the application of this apparently anachronistic use of the rabbinic term, and its wide-spread acceptance as an appropriate term for Qumran exegesis.2 The Temple Scroll has contributed immensely to our understanding of the use of Scripture in the Second Temple period, and the larger part of this book is focussed on the significance of the halakhic exegesis of the scroll. And, of course, Schiffman’s contention that Sadducean scribes are behind the scroll comes from comparison of the scroll’s halakha to that of the later rabbis. This approach has its rewards, as can be seen in this volume. In Part 3, on the temple, Schiffman makes the case that the architecture of the Temple reveals a plan based on the perfect obedience in the wilderness camp, looking forward to its reestablishment (ch. 13). The construction, however, does not follow any biblical temple as prescriptive (Solomon or Ezekiel; ch. 14); the furnishings, for example, derive from the tabernacle and not the temple, reinforcing the wilderness schema (ch. 15). The scroll’s unique creation of the House of the Laver (ch. 16) emphasises the purity of the priests, as does even the run-off blood of the sacrifices. Thus, “sacred space” is a central concern of the author(s) (ch. 17). The temple is the centre of sanctity, with concentric spheres of holiness around it, making up the temple city (temenos). The tribes are to dwell in the land round about, in wilderness order. In this way all the people of the land have equal and direct access to the presence of God and his holiness. This is envisioned for the present time—that is, to have been implemented in the Hasmonean era—rather than in a future messianic era. Part 4 focuses on sacrifices. What is notable overall here is that the concerns with details of sacrifices in the festivals indicate the expectation of these being practiced in a real setting. For example, the adaptation of the ordination rites (ch. 19), making it a permanent annual ceremony, should not be considered merely hypothetical and idealised. The sources of the scroll at least, therefore, give us a record of an active conversation regarding proper liturgical practice in the Second Temple period. In Part 5, on purity matters, however, Schiffman turns this thinking around. He pronounces that the scroll does not describe actual rite, but the redactor’s own views (p. 398). These chapters tend to be earlier, and so Lawrence Schiffman, The Halakhah at Qumran (Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 16; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975). 2

REVIEWS

573

allowance needs to be made to developments in Schiffman’s own thinking. This view runs contrary to the contention, shown above, that the scroll and temple plan were a blueprint for implementation in the Hasmonean era. Finally, Part 6 consists of studies from the “Deuteronomic Paraphrase.” These include some of Schiffman’s earliest articles, when the focus of many was on discerning the historical context for the scroll. They include a variety of exegetical questions. The use of “paraphrase” may be contested, as owing much to John Strugnell’s early description of 4Q Reworked Pentateuch. The text in this section resembles that biblical manuscript, but Schiffman obscures this with his presumption that this is a “paraphrase which follows the order of Scripture, not simply of a law or laws based on Deuteronomy” (p. 445). To be sure, there is paraphrastic interpretive material, but this is clearly based on a text of Deuteronomy, and a Deuteronomy which differs from the canonical (read MT) Torah. It would have been useful for some crossreference here to Chapter Six, on “shared halakhic variants” with the Septuagint. In that article Schiffman discussed the interpretive nature of the plurality of texts found in the Second Temple period. There, he notes, “we must emphasize the intimate links between the scribal process of passing on texts, and the exegetical process of interpreting them” (p. 98). However, this moves beyond Schiffman’s chief focus in his studies on the Temple Scroll, which is halakha. As such, it highlights the chief flaw in Garcia-Martinez’ editing of Schiffman’s work. Apart from the introduction, there is no attempt to bring these articles into a coherent relation to one another. This would have been a mammoth task, to be sure. But one is left wishing Lawrence Schiffman would have tackled it.

Fischer, Stefan, DAS HOHELIED SALOMOS ZWISCHEN POESIE UND ERZÄHLUNG: ERZÄHLTEXTANALYSE EINES POETISCHEN TEXTES (FAT, 72; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2010). Pp. xi + 275. Hardcover. €89.00. ISBN 9783161503870. Reviewed by Matthias Hopf Augustana Theologische Hochschule, Neuendettelsau, Germany

574

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Stefan Fischer’s Das Hohelied Salomos zwischen Poesie und Erzählung: Erzähltextanalyse eines poetischen Textes can be added to the growing number of recent “synchronic” studies on Canticles, concentrating on the canonical Hebrew text in its given form without extended consideration of its historical growth. The German title could be translated as “The Song of Solomon Between Poetry and Narration: A Narratological Analysis of a Poetic Text,” and shows the approach taken in this study: the author utilizes methods of structural linguistics, relying mainly on the narrative theory of Gérard Genette. Yet he also applies certain further theoretical elements, taken from Roman Jakobson among others. At times he even engages the dramatic theory of Manfred Pfister, thus deviating from a strict narrative approach. Some might question Fischer’s approach, principally on the basis that the narrative coherence of Canticles is debatable. Yet the author does address this problem specifically, considering whether Canticles is designed as an encompassing composition—and if so, to what degree and exactly what kind of narrative. After preliminary remarks (Chapter 1), Fischer’s brief introduction to his methodological premises (Chapter 2) highlights the difference between Handlung (plot) and Darstellung (discourse) on the basis of de Saussure’s distinction between signifier and signified. Additionally he adopts Jakobson’s two-axis-system of the vertical axis of selection (de Sassure’s paradigmatics) and the horizontal axis of combination (syntagmatics). The first describes the range of grammatically applicable words at one place in any given sentence (i.e., the “poetic” variety in choosing the “right word”), the second stands for the correlation between one word and its neighboring syntactical elements (i.e., the linear, narrative structure of the language). One can imagine that the interdependence of these features is especially significant for the analysis of a text like Canticles. Fischer then offers a German translation of the book as a textual basis for his subsequent analysis (Chapter 4). Of course, any translation of this highly poetic book must weigh the benefits of a literal (and thus rather wooden) versus a freer (and thus less exact) translation. Fischer’s proposal tends more towards the latter, yet offers some very interesting variants. The main part of the study is divided into three sections: Before moving onto the chapters about discourse (Chapter 5) and plot (Chapter 6), Fischer considers the structure of Canticles (Chapter 4). On the continuum of the various designations of Canticles as casual anthology at the one end to well-designed artwork on the other, he positions himself closer to the second. Based on the arrangement of recurring elements—words and phrases, but also themes, motifs, and even refrains—as well as on the consistency of character portrayal, Fischer argues in favor of the predominating unity of the book in its canonical form. Interactions with

REVIEWS

575

various other suggested patterns lead him to identify a threefold structural pattern. Or, to be more precise, there are three intertwined patterns, as he concedes that the text is ambiguous regarding its structural elements. Accordingly, Fischer convincingly supports the notion of a composition complete with linear, concentric, and circular structures. He calls these structural patterns Leseoptionen (literally “optional readings,” or perhaps more appropriately, “reading approaches”). Read linearly, Canticles comprises the superscript (1:1), two Erzählbögen (narrative cycles; 1:2–5:1 and 5:2–8:7), and an epilogue (8:8–14). The concentric reading is arranged around 4:16–5:1, which is identified as the thematic and structural focus. Because this concentric reading contributes little to the narrative structure beyond the mentioned center and the framing function of the epilogue and the first narrative unit (1:2–2:7), it is pursued only marginally in the following chapters. Finally, the circular reading revolves around the fivefold repeated motif of searching and finding, thus connecting the end of the book with the beginning and inviting a further reading. Merging these three optional readings, Fischer offers the following overall structure: A B C D E F G C’ E’ F’ E’’ F’’ E’’’ B’ C’’ D’ A’

At over 120 pages chapter 5, titled Darstellung (Discourse), is the most extensive section of the survey. Its subsections generally follow the customary analytical steps of Genette’s theory. The one major difference is the inclusion of various elements of dramatic theory. First of all, Fischer takes a very detailed look at the time sequence by analyzing and categorizing the usage of the tenses, revealing that the book is pervaded by many instances of (hetero- and homodiegetic) analepsis. This, and the insight that the initial passage is set in the narrative present, leads him to conclude that the first unit and the epilogue represent a framework story, consisting of a dialogue between the woman and the daughters of Jerusalem, which he locates in the harem of Solomon. In contrast, the main body of Canticles (2:8–8:7) is “only” a story related by the woman to the daughters—and at the same time to the reader. The analysis of the time duration confirms these findings and additionally illustrates the immediacy of the presentation. In reviewing the “frequencies” (i.e., if and how often any given scene is repeated) in the temporal structure, Fischer finds that the second narrative cycle (5:2–8:7) provides a kind of mirroring of the first one. However, as the pictured episodes differ slightly, sometimes even drastically (e.g. the seeking-and-finding scenes in 3:1ff. and 5:2ff.), he speaks of a “butterfly effect,” referring to the premise of chaos theory that a small cause can have tremendous effects. In his subchapters on mode, voice, and fokalization (the narrator’s point of view) of presentation, Fischer thoroughly analyzes each

576

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

and every (partial) verse with focus on which character(s) is (are) talking, who is addressed, and how far the presented perspective reaches. As a result, he describes Canticles in the mode of a dramatic presentation complete with dialogues, long monologues, and some passages of cited speech. He assumes that the daughters of Jerusalem are always (mostly silent) participants of the woman’s presentation. In addition to the generally recognized voices of the woman, the man, and the daughters, Fischer identifies the voices of a group of soldiers, of the woman’s brothers (perhaps to be taken together as a second, male “choir” in addition to the daughters), and a narrator who usually acts homodiegetically, i.e., virtually as a voice or character inside the narrative, but sometimes also addresses the implicit reader (especially in 1:1 and 8:6b, 7). As the latter comments in the position of Nullfokalisation (as an omniscient third person narrator) most of the time, Fischer later designates him as the auktorialer Interpret (authorial interpreter). In contrast, most of the remaining passages are presented as containing a much more limited point of view (internal focalization), even though many verses can be attributed to the female and the male perspectives at the same time (multiple focalization). Especially the insights of these three subchapters are highly elucidating and very helpful for understanding the literary principles of the text as it unfolds. Yet at some points one is not quite sure if the determination of voices and addressees, foremost the identification of the narrator, completely matches the details of the passages. Also, the proportions of direct speech respective to cited speech should be investigated further. It might be that these problems derive from the drawbacks inherent the application of the narratological approach to the dramatic mode of presentation in Canticles. Another comprehensive investigation is devoted to aspects of “Ort und Raum” (place and space). Fischer reviews all the spatial hints and references ranging from bed or door to the vineyard of En-Gedi. The results highlight two distinctions: the first between city and country, and the second between indoors and outdoors. While the “indoor” places are described by Fischer as largely safe and secure for the lovers, the “outdoor” localities, which seem to be predominant, tend to place the characters and/or their love in danger. Applying the concept of space established by cultural studies, Fischer goes on to describe the various localities in considerable detail, showing that the different types of scenery are denoted differently, especially with respect to their social and gender related significance. Yet, one problem in this section is that the distinctions between concrete settings of the plot, the “virtual” localities that are only referred to in related speech, and finally the spatial metaphors are somewhat blurred. Still, the comments on gender issues are especially worthy of

REVIEWS

577

consideration. The last subsection on character portrayal traces some fundamental lines of development In contrast to the encompassing analysis of the discourse, Fischer takes less space to discuss the plot (Chapter 6), yet most of the relevant points in question have been anticipated in the previous chapter. As a result the findings here are well prepared and evident on that basis. Again very briefly, Fischer ponders the question of the identity of the characters’ roles, i.e., mainly which roles or “disguises” they take on, and if the characterizations are consistent. Fischer then proceeds to the “world” of the book, describing the fictional background of the plot and, additionally, how the background is staged for the reader. Fischer offers the figure of Solomon as the main hermeneutical peg for the narrative setting. Thus, the text creates ambivalence between proximity to the reader via its mode of presentation on the one hand, and at the same time a distance is created via the fictive historical setting and the poetic diction. In the next subsection, Fischer suggests a mainly “final” motivation (a motivation of purpose or result, in contrast to the other possibilities like causal or aesthetic motivations), which can, in his opinion, be discerned in the recurrent motif of seeking and finding. Lastly, he reiterates and summarizes the plot sketched earlier with its superscript in 1:1 and the double–layered main body (1:2–8:7). The latter, he reminds the reader, consists of the framework setting in the harem of Solomon’s palace and the interior plot, which is related by the woman to the daughters, the women of the harem. This interior plot, again, revolves around the above-mentioned motif and culminates in the wisdom sentence in 8:6b–7: True love to one—the only one—woman alone is by far to be preferred over any kind of hedonistic plurality, an aspect which can prominently be found in 6:8–9. The ending, finally, is threefold, depending on the reading approach used by the reader. The end of the second linear narrative cycle can be found in 8:5a. The sapiental sentence provides another conclusion—for both narrative cycles. And lastly the epilogue (8:8ff.) both closes the book and, according to the circular structure, opens the text for reading according to this approach. The brief summary (Chapter 7) reviews the fruit of the survey with respect to exegesis, methodology, and hermeneutics. First Fischer sums up the exegetical harvest in highlighting the threefold structure for reading the book, the display of Solomon as an anti-ideal “contrast figure” (which in this author’s opinion may be a later Solomon-critical addition), the two narrative levels (framework and interior story), the dramatic mode of presentation, and the dominance of a female point of view. Concerning the methodology, Fischer concedes that a narratological approach does not completely fit the features of the book, as Canticles is not a narrative. But as long as there are syntagmatic elements in any given text, he has shown that

578

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the use of the narratological approach makes sense and its application is profitable. Finally and with respect to the fundamental hermeneutics of Canticles, Fischer views the book as a narrative of sapiental teaching in a dramatic mode of presentation, thus providing Canticles with a theological quality of its own, while neither reducing it to its pure literal meaning nor straying to an allegorical interpretation. Correspondingly, he advocates an investigation that proceeds in dialogue with this poetic text by way of a recurring metaphor in the text itself: Just as the lovers approach each other time and again, but take flight in the end, the reader too can only partially and temporarily fathom this elusive text. Generally speaking, Fischer’s survey is highly elucidating and on the whole a very plausible study. He succeeds convincingly in describing the narrative structure and mechanisms of Canticles. Especially the suggestion of the three reading approaches is very persuasive, as it takes up the different and sometimes contradicting textual features and draws a plausible overall picture. At points the study could possibly have been a little more thorough, as for example some passages and analytical details are not altogether consistent with others. And then there are the above-mentioned drawbacks of the narratological approach, which is not entirely appropriate for the text. Nonetheless, Fischer contributes numerous illustrative insights to the study of the literary structure of Canticles. The study was accepted as Habilitationsschrift by the Faculty of Protestant Theology at the University of Vienna. The book contains a complete and annotated translation of Canticles into German, several tables illustrating the analytical findings, an index of biblical references, and an index of subjects.

Trebolle Barrera, Julio and Susana Pottecher, JOB (Madrid: Trotta, 2011). Pp. 256. Paperback. € 19.23. ISBN: 9788498791976. Reviewed by Andrés Piquer Otero Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Spain ([email protected]) Even the most cursory look at the book shows that Julio Trebolle’s and Susana Pottecher’s approach to Job is quite different from the standard biblical commentary or monograph. The book begins with a translation,

REVIEWS

579

and lacks any kind of introduction or foreword. Following the translation, one finds a series of essays grouped according to different topics: “The Character”; “The Book and its Genres;” “Job Before God; God Before Leviathan;” “The Reception of Job in the Religious Tradition;” “Job in Literature, Philosophy, and Art;” and “The Poetic and the Sacred.” The last chapter of this section reveals the authors’ translational method. The book concludes with a bibliographical list which is a helpful guide for expanding on the topics touched upon in this work; it is remarkably up to date and comprehensive, citing publications from 2009 next to classic works of scholarship on the book of Job. The translation is ‘impressive.’ Trebolle and Pottecher manage to combine the strictness of a literal translation of the Hebrew text with high poetic standards in the Spanish language. Although comparing the Spanish translation with the Hebrew (BHS) text reveals their translational method, the authors’ essay, “Translating Job” presents us with a detailed account of the choices they have made in tackling such a hard text. They have resisted engagement with textual criticism in any systematic way, and focused on the Masoretic Text—an option which is understandable given the particular difficulty of reading and interpreting the book (as reflected in the many corruptions and clear misunderstandings or ad hoc interpretations in the ancient versions), and stems from the desire to present the book as a complete work in its transmission and reading up to the present day. From a literal approach to the original Hebrew, the authors have managed to progress into a highly poetic Spanish free verse by taking into account both modern theories on translation (saliently the Nida School and the establishing “dynamic equivalences”) and a deep awareness of the poetics of the original language, which attests to Julio Trebolle’s long experience as a biblical scholar: the Spanish verse is crafted by mirroring the semantic parallelism structure of the Hebrew, which in turn is connected to the semantically-relevant number of words per colon and hence stress patterns. Thus, although the final product qualifies as free verse, it is clearly rhythmic and highly reflective of the original. This special care put on the sound and, in the end, musical feel of the text, cannot be separated from the authors’ skill in lexical choices, which results in faithfulness concerning both semantics and pragmatics, as it pays attention to the connotation and contextual background of terms, keeps concrete words over abstract ones, respects the original’s prevalence of parataxis, and shows awareness of an element of archaism which takes Job back to its fundamental ancient Near Eastern mythological referents. All these are key to the production of a series of terse and intense pages which manage to transfer not only the meaning but also the feeling and deep roots of the Hebrew composition.

580

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Besides technical acumen, the results reflect the authors’ incredible poetic sensitivity and empathy. Turning now to the essays, just a cursory reading shows that the structural originality in this section of the book matches the translation’s quality: Instead of presenting the continuous structure of a commentary or monograph, what we have is a mosaic of short (or rather highly concentrated) articles on different aspects of Job. The authors have adopted a middle ground between the specialized academic paper and a more divulgation-oriented genre, which makes the book stand out as a wide-range work for those interested in Job, from the biblical scholar or literary critic to the student or the reader from outside academia. Each short essay in the six chapters listed above manages to insinuate a large amount of brilliant ideas and intuitions with a smaller number of footnotes (though references to key works of secondary literature are always included) and denseness than the average commentary. This is not to say that the writing lacks in depth of ideas or new and brilliant approaches to the text of Job. On the contrary, the authors reveal themselves as masters of suggestion: each piece synthetizes a large amount of research and scholarship on different topics, which progress in a sort of expansive circular, or rather spiral, movement. The essays manage to move from intra-biblical analysis of the book and character of Job as a dialogue with Genesis and other writings, including ancient Near Eastern parallels, to the multiple ramifications they find in progressively wider contexts, covering, saliently, theological developments in Judaism and Christianity, but also the Golden Age of Spanish literature (15th–16th centuries) and contemporary art and philosophy, which leads to the readings and understanding of Job in a post-Holocaust world. The diversity of the book is probably its greatest virtue, as the topics it includes are not usually found in a single volume and by the same authors, creating an organic vision which surpasses the standard monograph approach. Also, the collection of papers manages to balance and interconnect the analysis of Job as book with the projection of Job as character-symbol, thus creating a unique dynamic between text and reception, between book, legend, and influence. For the acuteness and accessibility of the essays, their larger-than-theparts total effect, and the exquisite translation, Trebolle’s and Pottecher’s volume on Job is certainly a commendable reading for anybody interested in the biblical text, from all academic levels and life interests.

REVIEWS

581

Barrick, W. Boyd., BMH AS BODY LANGUAGE: A LEXICAL AND ICONOGRAPHICAL STUDY OF THE WORD BMH WHEN NOT A REFERENCE TO CULTIC PHENOMENA IN BIBLICAL AND POST-BIBLICAL HEBREW (LHBOTS, 477; London, New York: T&T Clark, 2008). Pp. xiii+193. Hardcover. £65. ISBN 9780567026583. Reviewed by Elizabeth Hayes Fuller Seminary Northwest, Seattle WA In this highly researched monograph, Barrick seeks to establish the meaning of the term bmh when it appears in non-cultic contexts in the Hebrew Bible and in Post-Biblical Hebrew. Barrick utilizes a methodology that comprises both lexical study and an examination of ancient Near Eastern artifacts. The latter is claimed to contribute to understanding the mythological usage of the term in its ancient cultural context. Barrick contends that the traditional understanding of the term as “high place” may be inaccurate when the term appears in non-cultic contexts. He then suggests ways that this information may affect the traditional understanding of the term when it is used in cultic contexts as well. Using information drawn from cognate languages and both Biblical and Post-Biblical Hebrew, Barrick posits that the non-cultic, or “secular” cases point toward an anatomical meaning for the term. Perhaps the most challenging aspect of this monograph is Barrick’s attempt to resolve the quandary presented by a term that is seen to exhibit a topographical meaning in cultic contexts and an anatomical meaning in socalled “secular” contexts. Barrick begins chapter 1 by critiquing the history of interpretation of the term bmh. He claims that the usual translation of the Hebrew word bmh as “high place” in English, beginning with Coverdale, harks back to the Vulgate, where it is brought into the Latin as excelsus. The Latin term signifies high-ness, be it metaphorical or concrete. Barrick then notes that modern scholars have carried on with the concrete topographical understanding, even though there is no known verbal root in Hebrew for bmh, depending instead upon a hypothetical root meaning “to be high.”

582

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The reconstruction of the hypothetical root is but the first of a plethora of complicated philological analyses that are a hallmark of this volume, making it a highly technical read. Barrick carries on, describing cognate Akkadian and Ugaritic philological discoveries from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. According to Barrick, Akkadian lexicographers saw the topographical plural bamâtu as cognate with bmh, translating it as “summits” or “heights.” Similarly, when the Ugaritic term bmt was discovered in the early twentieth century, it also was seen as “heights.” W. F. Albright’s translation, which associated the term bmt with the Akkadian term bamtu, meaning “back” or “trunk,” soon replaced this translation of the Ugaritic term bmt. Nonetheless, Barrick notes that some form of topographical or anatomical high-ness is involved with efforts to explain the nature of bmh in relation to the eighty of one hundred plus occurrences of bmh in the MT that refer to places where cultic acts were performed. He also notes that, according to the biblical examples, bmh were not necessarily built on hills, nor is there enough archaeological evidence to claim they were built upon natural elevations. Hence, Barrick is keen to overturn the traditional understanding. However, he does not propose a plausible alternative at this point in the volume. Barrick sees two main problems with the traditional understanding. He addresses both from the perspective of “root meaning,” as discussed by James Barr.1 First, he agrees with Barr, who claims that while the etymology of a given word can reveal the past history and meaning of the word and give clues to its sense in a text, it is insufficient to claim that this sense is to be applied to the term in every known usage. Secondly, Barrick refers to Barr’s claim that a “root meaning” is either “a historic statement referring to origins” or “an abstract statement generalizing the meanings [of a word] in usage.”2 Since the etymological evidence is thin (as mentioned above, the Hebrew root has been reconstructed: there are no actual examples) the second option must be considered. However, as Barrick observes, consolidating the evidence has occurred via the exegetical tradition that was influenced by the Vulgate rather than by a careful study of the terms as they are used in the original Hebrew text. Thus, in this volume Barrick seeks to rectify the situation by examining the textual evidence in which the term bmh is found in non-cultic or “secular” settings. Chapter 2 is devoted to cognate evidence from Semitic sources and from Greek. Chapter 3 covers Biblical and Post-Biblical 1 J. Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (London: Oxford University Press, 1961), 100. 2 Barr, Semantics, 158.

REVIEWS

583

Hebrew evidence. Chapter 4 discusses possible exceptions and chapter 5 moves the discussion in a theoretical direction with sections on Semantic Speculation and Etymological Speculation. A brief introduction to each of these chapters is now in order. In chapter 2, Barrick collates evidence from Semitic sources (Ugaritic, Akkadian and Eblaite) and from the Greek. The first Semitic possibility is the Ugaritic term bmt. Barrick explains that bmt is used as an anatomical term, although the specific area of the body is debatable. He engages with the views of several scholars, including W. F. Albright and P. H. Vaughan (whose work Barrick has declared “unsatisfactory” in the preface to this volume).3 Examples range from CAT 4.247, which is an inventory of foodstuffs that includes a list of various cuts of meat, to CAT 1.5 VI II–25, which describes El’s self-mutilation upon hearing the news of Baal’s death. Again, each example is argued in detail, including copious footnotes. The second Semitic possibility comprises two Akkadian terms: bamtu and bamâtu. Here the evidence is clearer: bamtu is an anatomical term while bamâtu is a topographical term. Finally, Barrick brings in the Greek term βωμός, which is the standard Greek term for “altar.” In this conversation, Barrick engages with the findings of Vaughn, examining how βωμός, as a Semitic loan word, might have found its way into Greek vocabulary, and with those of J. P. Brown, who thinks the reverse might be true.4 At this point, Barrick includes a rather lengthy historical and philological discussion regarding known sacrificial practices in both the Semitic and Greek cultures. Because this discussion focuses upon sacrificial issues, it detracts somewhat from his goal of examining the non-cultic uses of bmh. More relevant to the subject at hand is the use of the Greek term βωμός as a translational equivalent of bmh in the Septuagint, which is an important part of Vaughn’s work. Barrick concludes that the Ugaritic term bmt and the Akkadian term bamtu are likely to be etymologically related, and that on this basis, the “secular” Hebrew bmh is likely to belong to the same etymological family, sharing an anatomical meaning (p. 33). He then speculates about how the Akkadian term bamâtu might fit with the previous terms. While this chapter contributes some valuable information for Barrick’s overall thesis, it would be useful if the overwhelming amount of philological, historical and cultural evidence were presented in a more orderly fashion, something that might be 3 W. F. Albright, “More Light on the Canaanite Epic of Aleyan Baal and Mot,” BASOR 50 (1933), 13–20; P. H. Vaughan, The Meaning of “bāâ” in the Old Testament (SOTSMS, 3; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 6. 4 Vaughn, Meaning, 22; J. P. Brown, “The Sacrificial Cult and its Critique in Greek and Hebrew (II),” JSS 25 (1980): 1–21.

584

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

accomplished by adding more introductory and summary sentences at the section and paragraph levels. In chapter 3, Barrick examines the biblical and post-biblical examples of the “secular” term bmh. In many ways, this is the heart of the thesis. His goal is “…to locate the ‘secular’ bmh within the semantic matrix demarked by…other Semitic words” (p. 36). Here Barrick is referring to the anatomical terms: Akkadian, bamtu and Ugaritic, bmt mentioned above. To these he adds the Eblaite term bu-ma-tum. The relationship with the Akkadian topographical term bamâtu is also to be explored. The Hebrew evidence consists of eighteen passages in the MT and Qumran texts (fifteen occurrences and three duplicates), while the postbiblical evidence consists of passages from Ben Sirach, and Qumran biblical and non-biblical texts. The passages are unevenly grouped into eight sections. Unfortunately, the lack of strong introductory sentences at the section level leaves the reader struggling to understand the rationale for the inclusion of certain examples in each set: are they grouped based upon historical information, literary context, topic or other criteria? (Both historical and topical information are important to Barrick’s thesis). Secondarily, how does each section relate to the others? These are key issues for following Barrick’s line of reasoning. Chapter 3, section A includes Deut 33:29; 1QM 12.10 (and 19 [1Q33].2 and 4QMb [4Q492]1.3–4); and Sir 9:2. Barrick assigns an early date to Deut 33:29 and gives it an anatomical meaning based upon contextual information: the passage describes a defeated enemy cowering at the feet of the victor. He declares that 1QM 12.10 (and 19 [1Q33].2 and 4QMb [4Q492]1.3–4) are of later origination but are conceptually identical. He then notes that Deut 33:29 and Sir 9:2 share a metaphorical idiom, based upon the idea “to have mastery over.” Section B is meant to deal with Job 9:8b. However, Barrick dives into this section with a five page exposition regarding the mythological understandings of Canaan. The first example of the use of iconographic evidence, Figure 2, The “Baal au Foudre” from Ugarit, is used to illustrate mythological concepts from the greater ANE context. Only then does Barrick associate the Ugaritic myth of Baal’s victory over the sea-god Yamm with Job 9:8b. For this section in particular, a strong introductory sentence would help to steer the reader through a maze of linguistic and iconographic information. In section C, Barrick explores the relationship between the descriptions of the theophanic coming of Yahweh in Mic 1:3 and Amos 4:13 and the ANE Storm God imagery where gods such as Adad, Hadad, Baal, and Teshub, are described in the same literary terms. Barrick concludes that Israel’s poets shared a similar mythopoeic pattern with their

REVIEWS

585

ANE counterparts. This section includes Figure 3, a drawing of the Hittite deities carved in rock walls at Yazilikaya, which provides visual information for integrating ANE sources with biblical text. Section D explores the theophanic tradition in Hab 3:19 and 2 Sam 22(Ps 18):34. In Chapter 3, section E (Deut 32:13a; Isa 58:14aβ–bα; Sir 46:9b; and 4QpsEzekb 4.12 Song), Barrick discusses dating issues surrounding the Song of Moses and discusses a posssible mythic dimension to the term bmh in these examples. Sections F (Isa 14:14a) and G (1QIsaiaha 53.9a) also present various linguistic arguments regarding the term bmh in their respective contexts. The text in section H (4QShirShabb [4Q492] 1.2.2) has the distinction of being a newly published text. It does not, however, bring clarity to the discussion. After reviewing the evidence, Barrick come to several conclusions. First, he explains that the examples point toward an anatomical use of the term bmh in non-cultic usage. Secondly, when the term is used topographically, it is in a mythological sense that Israel may have inherited from the vocabulary of the surrounding cultures. Finally, the “secular” bmh is found in the plural construct, while this form is never found when the term is used in a cultic sense. Since, according to Barrick, the examples in chapter 3 fail to provide evidence in support of the traditional topographical understanding of the term bmt, he devotes chapter 4 to the six remaining examples in order to discover evidence of semantic development in this direction. In this chapter he analyses Mic 3:12b (Jer 26:18bβ; Num 21:28; Ezek 36:2 and 2 Sam 1:19a and 1:25b. Although 2 Sam 1:19a and 1:25b are most likely to support an anatomical understanding or the alternative option (the term is comparable to the topographical Akkadian bamâtu), Barrick finds the evidence presented in these two examples to be too weak to support the traditional topographical understanding of the term bmh. He then declares “…it must be concluded that that understanding rests upon no sure evidential foundation and must be abandoned” (p. 106). In chapter 5, Barrick draws his thesis to its conclusion. In section A, he engages in semantic speculation regarding the meaning of the “secular” bmh. Barrick notes that in his 1997 study, J. A. Emerton does not try to advance a “primary” meaning of this word, but rather rejects the idea. Additionally, in agreement with both Barr and Barrick, Emerton thinks that known usage should be the determining factor.5 While Emerton is more cautious, Barrick is comfortable with drawing some preliminary conclusions from the word bmh in these examples of actual usage. First, he asserts that John A. Emerton, “Biblical High Place in Light of Recent Study,” PEQ 129 (1997): 116–132. 5

586

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the examples support a primarily anatomical meaning. Secondly, he notes that the specific part of the body referred to by the term has undergone semantic development from “back,” (similar to the Ugaritic cognate) to “body” by the time of the first temple. Third, the term has significant mythological overtones. Finally, topographical references are most likely metaphorical, thus a topographical meaning cannot be sustained. In section B, Barrick engages in etymological speculation from three perspectives. First, he discusses the consonantal spelling of bmh, secondly he addresses the vocalization of bm(w)ti and, finally, he addresses the treatment of the term bmh in the LXX and Targums. He draws several conclusions. For example, he addresses the consonantal spelling of bmh, claiming that the “secular” term is actually a masculine noun from the root bmt, whereas the cultic term is the feminine noun bmh. Additionally, he claims that the Hebrew noun bmt would be cognate to Eblaite, Ugaritic and Akkadian terms that exhibit an anatomical meaning. Finally, in section C, Barrick discusses these findings as they might relate to the meaning of bmh when in reference to a cultic phenomena. If there are indeed two roots, and if the “secular” root carries an anatomical or mythological meaning while the cultic root is ambiguous in meaning, it is necessary to establish the connection between the two terms and to establish the semantic priority of the “secular” term before such a meaning can be attributed to the cultic term. Barrick is clear in his claim that this cannot be sustained, stating, “the quest for the biblical ‘bamoth’ (sensu stricto) in or as ‘high places’ of any sort has no evidential basis and must be abandoned” (p. 120). Barrick’s thesis is well-argued, in that he engages with myriad academic sources and delves into all sides of the argument, whether linguistic, cultural or historical. His research is thorough and extremely well-documented. However, whether or not the traditional understanding of “bamoth” as “high places” will give way to a new rendering is still up for debate. While Barrick argues effectively that the term is ambiguous with regard to heights or high-ness, he fails to present a convincing alternative translation. With regard to presentation, the main problem is the aforementioned lack of consistent introductory sentences at the section level: at times the reader is compelled to read an entire section before the thrust of the section is obvious. Because of the volume of technical information and advanced argumentation in each section, the lack of introductory sentences results in a rather difficult read at times. Thus, this is a volume for the serious scholar. ANE scholars, particularly those interested in historical philology and cultural studies, will appreciate this volume, as will those interested in Hebrew lexicography.

REVIEWS

587

Oswald, Wolfgang, NATHAN DER PROPHET: EINE UNTERSUCHUNG ZU 2 SAMUEL 7 UND 12 UND 1 KÖNIGE 1 (ATANT, 94; Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 2008). Pp. 318. Paperback. €44.00. ISBN 9783290174903. Reviewed by Jürg Hutzli Collège de France Wolfgang Oswald’s investigation of the biblical Nathan is the revised version of his Habilitations-Schrift submitted at Tübingen University. His search for “Nathan the prophet” addresses strictly the assertions in the three biblical text units where Nathan appears (2 Sam 7; 2 Sam 12; 1 Kgs 1); he avoids all “speculation” about the historical background of the figure, for which he finds no textual evidence. The book thus aims to reconstruct the image of Nathan on the basis of a thorough analysis of the three respective texts. The book contains a clear structure: Oswald dedicates an extensive chapter to each of the three texts. The point of departure in each case is a detailed presentation of prior scholarship. This is followed by a careful syntactical, semantic, and “pragmatic” interpretation of each respective text within its literary-historical context. In this step he aims to reconstruct the historical communication between author and addressee, not the historical dimension of the plot. Oswald’s interpretation of the three texts presupposes three large literary works as reference points: the so called “Succession History” or “Court History” (of David), a first Deuteronomistic historical work covering the main parts of Samuel–Kings (Dtr1, exilic), and a second Deuteronomistic work covering the content found in Noth’s classic formuation (Dtr2, running from Deut to 2 Kgs). The fourth chapter synthesizes the foregoing three analyses. Its first section places the three texts in a relationship to each other and to their contexts. Then the profiles of Nathan, both in the Court History and in the first Deuteronomistic work, are retraced. In his analysis of 2 Sam 7 Oswald argues, to a large extent, for the literary unity of the text. He determines that only vv 10–11aβ, 23–24 do not

588

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

belong to the original layer. David’s intention to build a temple for Yhwh follows ancient Near Eastern royal convention. In the subsequent intervention Yhwh does not criticize this intention, but only expresses the author’s opinion that building a temple for Yhwh is not necessary (cf. vv 5– 7). A crucial point for this understanding of the oracle is the interpretation of v 5. According to Oswald the rhetorical question “Shall you build me a house for me to dwell in?” points to both 11b: “Moreover Yhwh declares to you that Yhwh will make you a house” and to 13a: “He (David’s successor) shall build a house for my name.”1 In the continuation of the oracle, the main theme is the promise of an eternal dynasty for David. The theme of building a temple, which is mentioned only very briefly in 13a, is marginal. An important characteristic of the promise is its lack of concretization: though it is obvious that the successor to David will be Solomon, the allusions to his transgressions and Yhwh’s punishments are formulated so generally that the reader may see a reference to events concerning later Judean kings as well. Oswald also notes the lack of any geographical indications (referring to Jerusalem or Judah). David’s prayer (18–29) shares linguistic and stylistic characteristics with the preceding oracle (cf. the double question at the beginning and the designation of the king as Yhwh’s servant). The content of the prayer also matches that of the oracle. While the oracle tends to shift the activity from David to the deity, the prayer expresses the king’s gratitude and modesty. As for the final passage of the prayer (25–29), the striking accumulation of demands for the fulfillment of the promise is interpreted as the author’s uncertainty with respect to the latter. This insecurity at the end of the prayer correlates with the missing concretization of the preceding promise. Next Oswald investigates 2 Sam 7 within its literary context. He claims that the passage stands in tension with the closer context: David is not at “peace with his enemies” as 7:1 implies. Furthermore, in contrast to the assertion in 2 Sam 7:6, a Yhwh temple is mentioned in 1 Sam 1–3. On the other hand, both oracle and prayer fit the disposition of Dtr1 quite well. Like Gerhard von Rad, Oswald sees the oracle expressing a similar message as the notice about king Jehoiachin in 2 Kgs 25:27–30. Through both texts Dtr1 expresses a slight, cautious hope for the restitution of the dynasty of David. Oswald persuasively argues that the oracle and the prayer contain the same theological message, and this shared message is readily apparent in the “final text” (but only that of the Masoretic version, see below). His view on the link between the chapter and the final passage of 2 Kings also merits 1

Cf. the explicit use of the personal pronoun in 5a (‫ )אתה‬and 13a (‫)הוא‬.

REVIEWS

589

attention. However, several doubts arise with regard to his contention that 2 Sam 7 is a unified text. It is questionable whether v 5 originally pointed to both the assertions of v 11b and that of 13a. As for David’s prayer, the middle section has a very distinctive focus and probably stems from the late postexilic period. The main objection of the reviewer is directed against the attribution of the unit to the “first” Deuteronomist (covering, according to Oswald, Sam–Kgs): How could this author on the one hand stress the importance of the centralized cult in Jerusalem temple and on the other hand insinuate that the sanctuary is not “really necessary”? Viewing 2 Sam 7 (including the temple-critical vv 6–7) as a Dtr text is at most imaginable as the oeuvre of a later Dtr editor for whom cult centralization is no longer a primary focus. Finally a methodological critique: Oswald never addresses the problem of textual diversity in 2 Sam 7. Above all the LXX offers important variants, which merit at least a short discussion. According to the Septuagint (Codex Vaticanus) of 2 Sam 7:11 Yhwh announces that David will build a temple for the deity (cf. recent publications by A. Schenker and P. Hugo).2 For Oswald, 2 Sam 12 seems to form a unit with the preceding story of David’s affair with Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (ch. 11), and is attributed to the Succession History.3 In Nathan’s parable, the first part of ch. 12, Oswald sees an artificial composition that perfectly serves the author’s literary purpose: The lack in conformity between the parable and David’s “case” is important insofar as it hinders David from immediately recognizing whom the parable refers to. The reader, however, who has just read ch. 11, naturally connects the fictive story with David’s deeds reported in the preceding chapter. David’s judgment (“As Yhwh lives, surely the man who has done this deserves to die. And he must make restitution for the 2 Adrian Schenker, “Die Verheissung Natans in 2 Sam 7 in der Septuaginta: Wie erklären sich die Differenzen zwischen Massoretischem Text und LXX, und was bedeuten sie für die messianische Würde des davidischen Hauses in der LXX?” in The Septuagint and Messianism (ed. M. A. Knibb; BETL 195; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 177–92; Philippe Hugo, “L’archéologie textuelle du temple de Jérusalem: Étude textuelle et littéraire du motif théologique du temple en 2 Samuel,” in Archaeology of the Books of Samuel: The Entangling of the Textual and Literary History of the Books of Samuel (ed. P. Hugo and A. Schenker; VTSup 132; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 213–36. 3 There is no evidence in Oswald’s exegesis suggesting that 2 Sam 11 would form an older tradition of which the author of 2 Sam 12 would make use. On the contrary, he tries to rebut all scholarly attempts to separate on a historical-historical level these two chapters. Nevertheless, in his conclusions Oswald often uses formulations referring only to ch.12 instead of 11–12. Alike as for 1 Kgs 2, it is regrettable that Oswald does not include 2 Sam 11 in his thorough text analysis.

590

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

lamb fourfold because he did this thing and had no compassion”) is both unrealistic and juridically untenable as a punishment for the rich man of the parable. The best explanation is that it was formulated by the author for this case. Oswald only considers the first small sentence (“you are the man!” v 7a) of Nathan’s complex reaction to David’s verdict (vv 7–12) as part of the original account; all the rest he ascribes to Dtr1. In 12:9 (MT, “Why have you despised the word of Yhwh”) Oswald discerns a link to the oracle of 2 Sam 7 (attributed by Oswald to Dtr1, see above). By taking Bathsheba illegitimately to be his wife and having a child with her (cf. 11:27), David acts against the word of Yhwh in the oracle of 2 Sam 7 according to which Yhwh (and not David himself) will build David’s “house.” This is a fine argument. Nevertheless, it is not clear that this linkage is created by the author (Dtr1 according to Oswald): the Lucianic text of 12:9 reads, “Why have you despised Yhwh,” which fits well with v 10: “… because you despised me.” As other examples of inserted words in the MT of 1–2 Samuel suggest (i.e., 12:14), the expression ‫“דבר‬word” in MT could be an interpolated mot-tampon (buffer word), which prevents the immediate juxtaposition of the verb “despise” and the divine name. Nathan’s announcement of the divine punishment (the death of David and Bathsheba’s first child, while the king himself is spared) is part of the original account (belonging to the Succession History) as is the following story about the death of the child and the birth of Bathsheba’s second child, Solomon. The last sentence of the chapter relating Nathan’s sudden reappearance (v 25)—he gives a second name (“Jedidiah”) to the newborn child—which is seen by some scholars as a secondary insertion, Oswald also attributes to original layer. Moreover, he accords a key function to this and the preceding verse (“and Yhwh loved him”) within the larger context of the Succession History: Solomon is Yhwh’s chosen prince among David’s sons. In the analysis of 1 Kgs 1 one of Oswald’s main interests is the evaluation of the reported events. Many modern interpreters see the open description of the incidents related to Solomon’s anointing and the following hard and violent measurements of the new king (ch. 2) as a reflection of the author’s critical attitude. Some of these exegetes try to separate passages reflecting a positive view of the events. Oswald, however, recognizes signals in the text that point to the narrator’s appreciation of Solomon’s actions: it is not Solomon and his “party” who act as conspirators but Adonijah who, by saying “I will be king!” (actually “exalts himself” 1 Kgs 1:5: ‫)מתנשא‬, and who confers with a number of David’s servants (cf. 1:7). Nathan’s actions should be seen as positive insofar as he supports the case of Yhwh’s chosen prince (as noted above, Oswald sees the story strongly connected with 2 Sam 12*). The question of whether the

REVIEWS

591

author presupposes a “real” oath by David in favor of Solomon as his successor (as purported by Nathan and Bathsheba, cf. 1:13, 17, 30) or not is irrelevant for the interpretation. In fact, according to Oswald, essential to the story is the appearance of someone to restore order to the somewhat chaotic circumstances in David’s court. Solomon’s purge (1 Kgs 2) is seen as justified; the measures he took, in comparison with the general practices of ancient Near Eastern kings, are not to be viewed as especially cruel. As for the above mentioned composition-critical options, Oswald attributes minimal material to Dtr1 in ch. 2 (2:3–4, 10–12, 27); ch. 1 is seen as a unity. Oswald’s treatment of this section is problematic. He does not give ch. 2 (because Nathan is absent from the chapter) the thorough analysis accorded to ch. 1. However, the composition-historical differentiation of various layers in this very chapter remains an important topic in modern research. Reflection on this chapter makes it questionable if one can attribute 2:5–9 (concerning, among other topics, David’s demand for the killings of Joab and Shimei) to the original account as Oswald does. David’s positive attitude towards vengeance and violent measures differs strongly from other parts of the “Court History.” Why does he only now come to the conclusion that Joab and Shimei should be punished? In Joab’s case, aside from his two murders, he has made considerable contributions to David’s success and the welfare of Israel as a successful general and loyal servant. The order to kill Shimei is also astonishing. In the “Court History,” David accords forgiveness to Shimei after his victory over Absalom and promised Shimei by swearing an oath that he will not be put to death (cf. 2 Sam 19:24).4 If one was inclined to follow Oswald and to attribute the “testament of David” to the earliest layer of 1 Kgs 1–2, it becomes difficult to see these chapters as sharing the same point of view as the account of 2 Sam 15–20. In the book’s synthesis (its fourth and final chapter) Oswald concludes, along with J. W. Flanagan and P. K. McCarter, that 2 Sam 11–12 and 1 Kgs 1–2 form a later addition to the “Court History.”5 The reason for this distinction does not concern tensions in contents (see the discussion of 1 Kgs 1–2 above), but differences in literary genre. While 2 Sam 13–20 very likely include old traditions, the framing chapters are allegedly unrealistic rather than representing historical accounts of events from the early epoch Cf. Marvin A. Sweeney, I & II Kings (OTL, Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 60. 5 James W. Flanagan, “Court History or Succession Document? A Study of 2 Sam 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2,” JBL 91 (1972): 172–81; P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB 9; New York: Doubleday 1984), 11–13. 4

592

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

of Kings. As for the characterization “unrealistic,” Oswald justifies it by arguing for the impossibility of the stories stemming from eyewitness accounts. He argues they are in fact invented stories from the late preexilic period, and he tends toward a date near the end of or shortly after the reign of Josiah (see below). He considers the chapters in question as “educational” (lehrhaft); they mould the entire work into an “educational story” (Lehrerzählung). Furthermore, through the addition, the “Court History” mutates into a “Succession History.” The second part of Oswald’s synthesis is devoted to the image of Nathan. Characteristic for the Nathan of the Succession History is his “non-prophetic” presentation. Neither in 2 Sam 12* (minus the assumed Dtr insertion 7b–12) nor in 1 Kgs 1 does Nathan proclaim a Yhwh oracle (In 2 Sam 12, however—in contrast to 1 Kgs 1—Nathan is sent by Yhwh [cf. 2 Sam 12:1]). A second trait is the secret character of the conversation between the prophet and the king. So Nathan’s actions, above all in 1 Kgs 1, are instead described as those of a secret counselor. This is a feature that Oswald finds missing in most of the prophet depictions in the biblical prophetic books and the records of ancient Near Eastern prophetic traditions. Oswald also recognizes this feature—a prophet advising a king in secret as a counselor—in the book of Jeremiah (Jer 37 and 38) and in the traditions of the Israel-Aram wars in 1–2 Kings (cf. 1 Kgs 20:22 and 2 Kgs 6:9). Oswald also sees a thematic affinity between Jeremiah and the Nathan chapters: In Jer 37 and 38 Zedekiah is depicted as a hesitant king who lacks the power to prevail over his powerful anti-Babylonian advisers at court. His conversation with the prophet Jeremiah does not lead him to change course. In contrast, the Nathan stories show the openness of a king towards the critiques and suggestions of a prophet; this openness results in the reconciliation of significant differences in the kingdom. Because of differences concerning the attitude towards the Davidic dynasty, Oswald does not posit a dependence of one text on the other but nevertheless discerns the same “prophetic image.” Following his dating of the aforementioned texts in Kings and Jeremiah, Oswald thus attributes this “prophetic image” to the late preexilic period. Oswald sees the purpose of 2 Sam 11–12 and 1 Kgs 1–2 as follows: the Nathan stories are an example of ideal problem solving in the Davidic court—namely through “prophetic” intervention. Only in the later Dtr texts (2 Sam 7; 12:7b–12, according to Oswald) does Nathan become a typical prophet who begins his speech with the proclamation formula and who announces events that later come true. Several queries arise for this reviewer with regard to Oswald’s synthesis. First, is it imaginable that in the days of Josiah or his sons an author would invent stories that on the one hand blame king David—who was the founder of the dynasty after all—for murder and adultery (cf. 2

REVIEWS

593

Sam 11), and on the other depict the king as an old weak monarch that lost control of his court (cf. 1 Kgs 1)? A detail in 1 Kgs 2 may challenge the notion that 1 Kgs 1–2 is an “artificial” composition invented long after king David’s reign: after being killed, Joab is interred “in his house in the desert” (1 Kgs 2:34). This concrete indication of the burial place is anachronistic for the late preexilic period: interments in a residence (to which 1 Sam 25:1 and 2 Sam 17:23 GL also allude) are not attested in the archaeology of Judah during the later Iron Age.6 Oswald’s stress on the “exceptional” role of Nathan in comparison to the prophets of the prophetic books and prophets in the surrounding ancient Near East is problematic in its absolute formulation. As for the biblical evidence, Oswald himself points to several instances, first of all in Sam–Kgs, where prophets address kings by way of a speech that is not designated the word of Yhwh, or where they communicate with the king alone without an audience present. As regards prophetic activities in Israel’s environment, it is on the one hand true as a rule that that the relationship between the prophets and the kings was rather indirect. On the other hand, there are examples in the prophetic texts from Mari of direct contact between prophets and kings.7 The few objections and critical queries in this review do not express a disapproval of Oswald’s work. On the contrary, the reviewer appreciates the latter’s attempt to retrace the image of Nathan “through” the text. The exegesis of the three literary units is accurate and offers innovative ideas that are worthy of discussion.

6 Cf. my contribution (“Indices littéraires pour l’enterrement dans la maison d’habitation en Ancien Israël”) in the volume to the colloquium “les vivants et leurs morts,” held in Paris 14.–15. April, 2010 (forthcoming). 7 Cf. Dominique Charpin, “Prophètes et rois dans le Proche-Orient amorrite,” in Prophètes et Rois: Bible et Proche Orient (ed. A. Lemaire; Paris: Cerf, 2001), 21–53, here 34–41; idem, “Prophètes et roi dans le Proche-Orient amorrite: Nouvelles donnés, nouvelles perspectives,” in Florilegium marianum VI: Recueil d’études à la mémoire d’André Parrot (ed. idem and J.-M. Durand; Mémoires de NABU 7; Paris: SEPOA, 2002), 7–38, here 16–22.

594

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Janse, Sam, “YOU ARE MY SON”: THE RECEPTION HISTORY OF PSALM 2 IN EARLY JUDAISM AND THE EARLY CHURCH (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology, 51; Leuven: Peeters, 2009). Pp. xxi + 189. Paperback. €45.00. ISBN 9789042921276. Reviewed by Scott C. Jones Covenant College This work originated as a submission for an essay competition sponsored by Teylers Godgeleerd Genootschap in Haarlem, The Netherlands. Janse, a minister of the Protestantse Kerk in Nederland, was awarded the gold medal of honor in 2007 for his contribution, of which this monograph is a revision. As the title intimates, Janse focuses on the reception of Ps 2:7–8 in early Judaism and Christianity, and especially on verse 7. The monograph is divided into seven chapters of variable length, moving from the text and ancient Near Eastern Umwelt of Ps 2 through interpretations down to approximately 150 CE. Three key concepts are important to Janse’s investigation of the reception history of Ps 2: eschatological tendencies, messianic tendencies, and sapiential tendencies in interpretation. Chapter 1, entitled “Exegetical Explorations of Psalm 2,” deals with the classic historical-critical questions surrounding the psalm. Janse is open to the possibility that the psalm reflects extra-Israelite influences from several directions, and he suggests that it may have had its roots in a preexilic enthronement ritual for Judahite kings. He downplays a cultic interpretation of the poem in its current form, however, since he dates it to the postexilic period. This dating rests in no small part on his interpretation of ‫נשקו־בר‬, which he views as a late (Aramaic) addition by a glossator who wanted to strengthen messianic expectation by referring to the anointed king once again at the end of the poem. He suggests that the present form of the text arose out of a flaring up of messianic hope due to circumstances like those described in Hag 2:20–23, and perhaps connected to Zerubbabel himself. Psalm 2 has been influenced by Isa 49:1–6 and especially by Ps 1, which, according to Janse, was composed before Ps 2 and has contributed

REVIEWS

595

to its “sapiential focus.” Despite some iconography related to the “smiting king” topos from the ancient Near East, which he includes in the front of the volume (pp. xx–xxi), Janse downplays the violence of v 9 and focuses more on the call to wisdom in vv 10–12. The most problematic aspect of this chapter, to my mind, is that Janse perpetuates the misinterpretation of the birth metaphor in v 7 as an adoption metaphor (pp. 6 n. 19, 12, 20–21, 124).1 Chapter 2 focuses on Ps 2 in the ancient versions, excluding the Vulgate and the Peshitta, since they lie outside of the time frame set for the study (i.e., after ca. 150 CE). Janse attempts to determine the extent of theological exegesis and messianic interpretation in these sources. He concludes that there is no messianic tendency in LXX version of Ps 2, but that there is a strong eschatological tendency, as well as a “sapiential trend.” He believes that the interpretation of the Targum reflects apprehensions about messianic interpretation, due to the fact that it translates v 7 as “You are as dear to me as a son to a father.” Additionally, it is antianthropomorphic in its translation, with ‫מימרא‬being used as a hypostasis of God. Janse detects the same “sapiential trend” in the Targum that governs the LXX of Ps 2, and he believes that their convergence— especially on v 7—suggests that LXX and Targum are independent interpretations of a common Vorlage that deviates from MT. Chapter 3 examines the literature of Qumran, the apocrypha and pseudepigrapha, and the rabbinic writings. Of the relevant literature at Qumran, 4Q174 is by far the most important. 4Q174 I.10ff. quotes a combination of OT texts: Ps 2, 2 Sam 7, and Ps 89. According to Janse, Ps 2:1–2 is here interpreted “non-messianically,” since the anointed one is interpreted as the elect of Israel (in the plural). The nations are thus set against the remnant at Qumran. I wonder here whether Janse has drawn too sharp a line between individual and corporate identity in calling the interpretation of 4Q174 “de-messianizing” (p. 54). Unsurprisingly, this interpretation is not only communal, but also eschatological, as is so typical of Qumran exegesis. Janse suggests that such interpretation is a forerunner of the communal and eschatological interpretation of Ps 2:1–2 in Acts 4:24–30. In contrast, the focus of Psalms of Solomon 17 is more individual and messianic, and Janse speaks of it as “the chief witness for a Messianic interpretation of Ps. 2 in Early Judaism” (p. 67). Psalms of Solomon 17:21–32 For a critique of this interpretation, see especially J. J. M. Roberts, “Whose Child is This? Reflections on the Speaking Voice in Isaiah 9:5,” HTR 90 (1997), 115–29. 1

596

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

speaks of a future son of David who will reign as messianic king, “smash[ing] the arrogance of sinners like a potter’s jar … shatter[ing] all their substance with an iron rod.” (Psalms of Solomon 17:23–24; trans. R. B. Wright, “Psalms of Solomon,” OTP 2:667). Janse also detects strong sapiential features in Psalms of Solomon 17. Much of the rest of the literature in this chapter bears less fruit. It is not until the rabbinic midrashim that one finds significant use of Ps 2 in messianic interpretation (Ps 2 is important in the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds, but not in this connection). In its interpretation of Ps 2:7, the Midrash on the Psalms is in the tradition of the Targum. Chapter 4 treats the literature of the New Testament. Janse helpfully begins the chapter by defining what he means by “quotations,” “allusions,” and “reminiscences,” and this discussion is followed by a chart of the various quotations of, allusions to, and reminiscences of Ps 2 in the NT (p. 80). Psalm 2 is quoted four times (Acts 4:25b–26; 13:33; Heb 1:5; 5:5). Additionally, Janse believes that there are sixteen likely allusions (especially in the Synoptics, Acts, Heb, and Rev), with seven others being questionable. It is remarkable, as he notes, that Ps 2 is almost totally absent in John and Paul. In light of the fact that Ps 2 is often quoted in combination with Ps 89 and 2 Sam 7, he reviews the theory of fixed testimonia collections and concludes that the combining of such texts was dynamic, not static. He then moves through each of the NT texts, evaluating the importance of Ps 2 in each case. I focus in what follows on the direct quotations of Ps 2 in the NT, as well as Janse’s analysis of its importance for the structure and theology of the NT Gospels, especially Mark. In Acts 4:25b–26, Ps 2:1–2 is cited in toto from the LXX. Remarkably, Luke says in vv 27–28, that not only Herod, Pilate, and the Gentiles, but also the people of Israel played the role of the the ἔθνη and the λαοί in Ps 2 by opposing Jesus. The disciples, however, belong to the community of this anointed Messiah and are protected and empowered by him (vv 29–31). Janse suggests that Luke here gives a “pesher” for his own day (p. 94), modifying the “Palestinian matrix” evident, for example, in 4Q174 (p. 95). Psalm 2:7 is cited in Acts 13:33 to prove that God has fulfilled his promises to the forebears of Israel during the time of Jesus Christ. In this context, Luke connects the resurrection of Jesus with the divine sonship spoken of in Ps 2:7. In Heb 1:5, Ps 2:7 is again quoted in connection with 2 Sam 7:14, here to prove Jesus’ superiority to angels— none of whom have ever been called God’s son. In Heb 5:5, Ps 2:7 is cited in combination with Ps 110:4. Here the focus is more on the divine voice that spoke from heaven, rather than on the title, “son.” Jesus’ role as high priest was not a result of self-exaltation. Janse explains of the combination of Pss 2 and 110 in this text: “If the king is a priest, the ‘royal text’ of Ps 2:7

REVIEWS

597

can be applied in a ‘priestly’ way” (p. 125). Finally, Janse states that Ps 2:7 is the background of the title “son (of God)” in the baptism (Matt 3:17//Mark 4:11//Luke 3:22//John 1:34), temptation (Matt 4:3, 6//Luke 4:3, 9), and transfiguration texts (Matt 17:5//Mark 9:7//Luke 9:35) in the Gospels. Mark, however, has formed his entire gospel around this psalm, and his work uses well-known ancient Near Eastern coronation motifs. Three main points of Jesus’ life structure his gospel: Jesus’ baptism, transfiguration, and resurrection. As opposed to the tradition in Acts 13:33, which connects Jesus’ sonship with his resurrection, Mark moves Ps 2 forward in the life of Christ, “show[ing] that, already at the beginning of Jesus’ appearance, human resistance and divine legitimation are present” (p. 116). Chapter 5 focuses on the use of Ps 2 in the Gospel of the Ebionites and the Gospel of the Hebrews. Both of these Jewish-Christian gospels survive only in fragments, but they both cite the synoptic tradition of Jesus’ baptism, in which Ps 2:7 is quoted. Janse concludes that this tradition was used in the Gospel of the Ebionites as a proof for an adoptionistic Christology (i.e., only after Jesus’ baptism was he adopted as God’s son). It is possible that the same is true for the Gospel of the Hebrews, but this is uncertain. Chapter 6 investigates the use of Ps 2 in patristic literature up to the time of Justin Martyr. Of the three corpora studied, only Justin uses Ps 2 in any significant way. In First Apology 40, Justin cites Pss 1–2 as a unit, and in the vein of Acts 4, he reads Ps 2 as a prediction of the collaboration of Herod and Pilate against Jesus. In his Dialogue with Trypho, he refers to Ps 2 five times (61, 88, 103, 122, and 126). In Dialogue 88, 103, he connects Ps 2:7 with Jesus’ baptism, and in Dialogue 122 he quotes Ps 2:7–8 in connection with Isa 49:8, stating that Christ has received the nations as his inheritance since the gospel of Christ has been preached to the heathen world. Chapter 7 succinctly summarizes the findings of the study. Janse has concisely synthesized an enormous amount of information, and he regularly interacts with secondary literature in German, French, English, and Dutch, in addition to primary sources in Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic. He does not linger overly much on each point, but, rather, lays out the evidence, makes his judgment, and provides a succinct summary at the end of each chapter. I found this to be helpful and refreshing. The book, however, could have benefitted from further editing by a native English speaker. There are several malapropisms throughout the work that are no doubt linked to similar words in German, French, or Latin, such as “motive” for “motif,” “enthronisation” for “enthronement,” and “secundary literature” for “secondary literature.” Nevertheless, these do not obscure the sense of Janse’s arguments. On the merits of the careful

598

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

efficiency with which Janse treats the subject alone, this book is well worth reading. It is a helpful contribution to the burgeoning fields of the history of interpretation and reception history of the Bible. In the case of Ps 2 in particular, such studies show no signs of abating.2

Halvorson-Taylor, Martien, ENDURING EXILE: THE METAPHORIZATION OF EXILE IN THE HEBREW BIBLE (VTSup, 141; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011). Pp. xiii + 230. Hardback. $137.00. ISBN 9789004160972. Reviewed by John Ahn Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary In the current study of the “exile” or “forced migrations” period (598/7 BCE to 538 BCE), there are three proven methodological approaches: historical, literary, and sociological. This work by Martien Halvorson-Taylor is an example of the literary approach. Enduring Exile is comprised of four chapters plus a conclusion, bibliography, and author and scripture indices. In Chapter One, Introduction, Halvorson-Taylor provides a sampling of the exilic motifs appropriated in Second Temple literature (Animal Apocalypse [1 En. 85–90], Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs, Damascus Document, Fourth Ezra, Second Apocalypse of Baruch). Beyond geographic displacement, for her the term exile functions as an “expression for marginalization of other sorts, a variety of alienations: political

See, for example, the recent study of G. Sujin Pak, The Judaizing Calvin: Sixteenth Century Debates Over the Messianic Psalms (Oxford Studies in Historical Theology; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), in which she treats Luther, Bucer, and Calvin and eight “messianic psalms,” including Ps 2; also Allan K. Jenkins, “Erasmus’ Commentary on Psalm 2,” JHS 3 (2000), article 3 (available online at http://www.jhsonline.org). Furthermore, the 2011 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in San Francisco, CA, features two full sessions on Nov 19, 2011 devoted to interpretations of Ps 2 before the modern period. The theme of the first session is “Interpretations of Psalm 2 in Early Christianity and the Reformation.” The theme of the second session is “Interpretations of Psalm 2 in the Middle Ages and Beyond.” 2

REVIEWS

599

disenfranchisement within Yehud, deep dissatisfaction with the status quo, and a feeling of separation from God” (p. 1). Halvorson-Taylor’s central thesis is that the literary construct of exile endured down to the 2nd century BCE. Her investigation, however, rests primarily on select blocks of material from 6th century BCE texts of Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Zech 1–8. But prior to engagement with these texts, she offers a helpful definition of metaphor taken from Janet Soskice—”that figure of speech whereby we speak of one thing in terms which are seen to be suggestive of another” (p. 17)—with additional input from the works of I. A. Richards (tenor and vehicle), Max Black (primary subject and secondary subject), and Paul Ricoeur (discourse). She closes her introduction by discussing the two large trajectories on exile— Deuteronomic (Deut 28) “futility: a manifestation of Yahweh’s fatal wrath” (p. 30) and Priestly (Lev 26) “divine punishment” (p. 38). In Chapter Two, “Jeremiah’s Book of Consolation,” her strongest chapter, a brief overview of the two editions of the Book of Consolation is rehearsed (pp. 45–50). I found Part III of this chapter, “Images of Exile in the Book of Consolation,” especially informative. “Jacob’s Distress (Poem 1: Jer 30:5–11),” of which vv 5–7 are the earliest strand, is traced back to the historical precedence of the 587 BCE event. With respect to verses 10– 11, a later interpolation, Halvorson-Taylor makes what might be a pathbreaking contribution by comparing “But as for you, have no fear, my servant Jacob, says Yahweh, and do not be dismayed, O Israel; for I am going to save you from far away, and your offspring from the land of their captivity. Jacob shall return and have quiet and ease, and no one shall make him afraid…” with the identical concept and similar wording in the second or third generation amanuensis of Second Isaiah (Isa 41:8; 43:22; 44:1–2; 45:4; 48:20). Furthermore, her observation of vv 8–9 being an interpolation is absolutely correct. These are very important verses that disjunctively bridge the first (vv 5–7) and second (vv 10–11) units. She dates these verses to ca. 450–350 BCE. This is based on dating vv 10–11 to the same timeframe. However, the string of illustrations beginning with “…no longer serve foreigners or strangers” (v 8) coupled with v 9’s “…worship Yahweh (monotheism) within a fully restored Davidic king” suggests metaphorization from the Maccabean period (164–63 BCE)—which would additionally support her thesis of “enduring exile” down to the 2nd century BCE. It should be clearly noted that there are difficulties in v 8. Not only are there pronoun variances in vv 8 and 9—”you” 2ms and 3cp “they” or “their” that are harmonized in the LXX (Jer 37:9: changes “your” to “their neck,” and “you” to “they shall no longer serve”), but also two layers of identifiable redactional activity are evident. This problem was clearly identified by the tradents or authors of the LXX since they removed

600

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

and smoothed out this difficulty. Indeed, scholars since Rudolph have noted that vv 8–9 are late interpolation(s). But my question is, how late? Her footnote (see p. 51, n. 21) reveals command of this problem. Yet, the complexity and brilliance these interpolations (v 8 being independent of v 9) cannot be seen in the LXX’s reading preferred by Halvorson-Taylor. Additional careful analysis of the images of “Wounded Zion” (Poem 2, Jer 30:12–17), “Favor in the Wilderness” (Poem 4, Jer 31:2–6), and “Rachel Weeps, Ephraim Repents” (Poem 6, Jer 31:15–22) all receive careful discussion with solid insights. In Chapter Three, “Isaiah,” Halvorson-Taylor begins by framing her entire discussion of Second Isaiah in the Persian period. Wanting in her discussions of Isa 40–46 (or 48) is the work by Jürgen van Oorschot (1993), who clearly demonstrated that these chapters belong in the Neo-Babylonian setting. The metaphors that she sees in Isa 48:20–21 and 40:1–2 are discussed as “Exile and Redemption”; Isa 42:18–25 and 51:12–16 as “Exile and Death”; and Isa 42:5–9; 49:7–13; Isa 61:1–3; and 58:6–7 as “Exile and the Mission of the Servant.” Interestingly, without rehearsing the “Israel” and “Jacob” problem in the book of Second Isaiah, Halvorson-Taylor immediately jumps into tracing the disenfranchised negative voices of the underclass in Babylon. However, in Second Isaiah there are two distinct socio-economic classes of second generation Judeo-Babylonians. One is identified as “Jacob,” the underclass (descendants of 587/582), and the other “as Israel,” the descendant of 597, the upper/skilled class.1 In contrast to the underclass (Jacob), the upper-skilled class experienced the exile very differently. Their exilic experience is positive, praiseworthy, and a blessing from God. Halvorson-Taylor’s tracing of Jacob’s voice has allowed her to strongly identify the group that was still struggling, the group that never made it in Babylon, which is often associated with the community of the suffering servant: “Individuals trapped in such situations cry out” (p. 127). It is this underclass that Halvorson-Taylor has correctly identified and traced. And so, in her analysis of Isa 48:20, two phrases become important: “Go forth from Babylon and flee from the Chaldeans.” The flight of Jacob is then introduced (Gen 31:20–22, 27) since “Yahweh has redeemed his servant Jacob.” ‫גאל‬is further linked to the redemptive act found in the “Song of the Sea” (Exod 15:13)—freed from economic moorings and Egypt itself. And additional exegetical bridges to Deut 25:5–10 and Ruth 3:13 are attached to Isa 54:5’s vocabulary of Yahweh as Israel’s husband, maker, and redeemer. See John Ahn, Exile as Forced Migration (BZAW, 417; New York/Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 195–205. 1

REVIEWS

601

In Chapter Four, “Zechariah 1–8,” after providing a brief synopsis of critical Zechariah scholarship, she correctly notes that “[t]he use of exile as a metaphor for spiritual estrangement is a later development that occurred over the course of the book’s interpretation and revision” (pp. 152–53). Picking up on the classical problem of the seventy years, she suggests this was the duration of Yahweh’s anger—a continuation of estrangement. Additional references to Jeremiah’s seventy years, the forty years in the wilderness, and Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Inscription of eleven years (a code for seventy years) provide good insights for generational consciousness—down to the third or fourth generation (cf. the Decalogue) as punishment. Starting on page 165 (“Enduring Exile in the Night Visions”), the night visions are briefly rehearsed with comments. Picking up on the problem of seventy years in the book of Zechariah, Halvorson-Taylor offers the three unresolved scholarly views of how to understand the conclusion of the seventy years: (1) did the 70 years end in 538 BCE; (2) or is the 70 years about to end in 515 BCE, (3) or has the 70 years come to an end in 515 BCE? Without offering a clear resolution, either politicallycentered, people-centered or temple-centered, she moves immediately into the second and third oracles that dramatically shift the tone toward “compassion” as part of Yahweh’s goodness. The second vision is said to be a product of 519 BCE. The four horns’ implications have little or no correlation to nations, per se, as in the book of Daniel, but the broader displacement of peoples in the ancient Near East, Assyria, Babylonia, and Persia is suggested in its place. An important theme in the “Exhortation Zech 2:10–17” (Eng. 2:6–13): “Up, up! Flee from the land of the north, says Yahweh; for I have spread you out like the four winds of heaven, says Yahweh. Up O Zion! Escape you who live with daughter Babylon!” reveals an affinity and some familiarity with the aforementioned passages in the book of Consolation and Second Isaiah. But there is caution and control over against parallelomania, though more discussion and critical assessment would have been helpful on this oft repeated metaphor. Halvorson-Taylor does a fine job on the “Prologue” (Zech 1:1–6), and Zech 7–8, dating them to Dec 7, 518, the fourth year of Darius. She ends the chapter with a closing remark on metaphorization of exile—that it will only end when the people turn/return to Yahweh, and vice-versa. Her well-drawn conclusion pulls together the metaphorization of exile as a nexus that absorbs “death, sterility, bodily and emotional pain, and servitude” (p. 203). For the end of the Second Temple period, HalvorsonTaylor makes a subtle but very important observation regarding the social phenomenon of exile: the exile is a real “existential condition.”

602

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

In closing, this work is a revision of Halvorson-Taylor’s Harvard Ph.D. dissertation directed by Jon Levenson. The monograph is readable, well researched, and uses classical methodologies. The task of examining the 6th century BCE is about solving historical, literary, and sociological problems. Halvorson-Taylor is aware of the problems that germinate from this seminal period. And so, her attempts at dating biblical texts serve to address and redress socio-historical problems embedded in the literature. Scholarly endeavors outlining literary-redactional activity are held accountable to the precise historical context or contexts that produced and redacted those texts, thereby offering precise demarcation of when exactly such texts were produced or reworked. We can no longer speak of a sloppily generalized 6th century BCE.

Knoppers, Gary N., and Kenneth A. Ristau, eds., COMMUNITY IDENTITY IN JUDEAN HISTORIOGRAPHY: BIBLICAL AND COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVES (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2009). Pp. x+272. Cloth. US$44.50. ISBN 9781575061658. Reviewed by Steven J. Schweitzer Bethany Theological Seminary Community Identity in Judean Historiography: Biblical and Comparative Perspectives consists of eleven essays, mostly growing out of presentations made in 2007 at the Ancient Historiography Seminar of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies/Société canadienne des études bibliques, by Hebrew Bible scholars on issues of identity formation and ethnicity in various texts. Kenton Sparks (pp. 9–26: “Israel and the Nomads of Ancient Palestine”) surveys the depiction of nomadic groups in the Hebrew Bible: Midianites, Ishmaelites, Amalekites, Qenites, Rechabites. Sparks concludes that the evidence for how the Israelites describe and relate to these nomadic groups suggests that they themselves were of nomadic origin, that they neither embraced a romantic view of nomadic life nor cared for most nomads unless they economically or technologically benefited the Israelites. In addition, the Israelites seem to have conflated and confused various nomadic groups with one another. Sparks suggests that this situation

REVIEWS

603

indicates that the Israelites themselves may have been of mixed nomadic decent instead of from a singular nomadic line. Sparks’ essay is well-written and the data he assembles provide the pertinent information to be considered in either affirming or rejecting his conclusions. John Van Seters (pp. 27–39: “David: Messianic King of Mercenary Ruler?”) presents a discussion of David’s rise to kingship and the presentation of his later use of military forces in the book of Samuel, which summarizes some of the arguments in his recent book on the topic (The Biblical Saga of King David [Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2009]). Van Seters contends that the conflicting images of David’s rise (DtrH’s understanding of David’s rise within Saul’s armies and leading them versus the depiction of David as a mercenary in the “David Saga” added during the exile) are attributable to two authors who convey different views of David and the value of his kingship. Van Seters argues that the “David Saga” is written as an attempt “to subvert the messianic utopianism that the older tradition [DtrH] fosters” (p. 39). Katherine Stott (pp. 41–58: “A Comparative Study of the Exilic Gap in Ancient Israelite, Messenian, and Zionist Collective Memory”) addresses the recognition that the literature composed during or just after the Babylonian Exile mentions little to nothing about the state of the people as they lived in exile. Stott provides a comparative analysis with helpful detail of the exile of Messenia recorded in the fourth book of Pausanias’ Description of Greece and the nineteenth-century Zionist movement. With this comparative evidence, Stott argues that the “traumatic repression” view for the marginalization of the exile in biblical literature is insufficient to explain both what is present and what is absent in the literature (p. 52). Stott points to the need in the community for continuity with a golden age in the past that “provides a model for the future” for communities existing in a state of exile as a possible explanation for what is contained in the exilic literature of the Hebrew Bible (pp. 54–55). Ehud Ben Zvi (pp. 59–86: “Are There Any Bridges Out There? How Wide Was the Conceptual Gap between the Deuteronomistic History and Chronicles?”) carefully surveys themes and topics that have been identified as key ones in Chronicles, but that also appear in DtrH. Rather than paint these texts as dissimilar, Ben Zvi correctly explores the similarity of the presentation in the two works, often noting that the Chronicler has expanded or nuanced something in DtrH, but that the two works are not as radically opposed as is commonly held by many scholars. His careful analysis includes such topics as: judgment and agency, prophecy, David and the Davidic line, the Torah, “all Israel,” the “Other” and inclusivity and exclusivity, the Northern Kingdom of Israel, and historiographic methods.

604

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

James Bowick (pp. 87–117: “Characters in Stone: Royal Ideology and Yehudite Identity in the Behistun Inscription and the Book of Haggai”) provides a comparison between the Behistun Inscription’s description of Darius and his relationship to Ahuramazda and the depiction of Zerubbabel and YHWH in Haggai. After a detailed and helpful introduction to the Behistun Inscription and its contents, Bowick addresses Haggai’s presentation, which shares much in common with the Inscription while still being distinct. Bowick concludes that the important though limited role of Zerubbabel as governor and the proclamation of YHWH as king in Haggai can be seen with greater focus when compared to the Behistun Inscription’s ideology. John Kessler (pp. 119–145: “The Diaspora in Zechariah 1–8 and EzraNehemiah: The Role of History, Social Location, and Tradition in the Formulation of Identity”) compares and contrasts the presentation of the Exile in two postexilic texts. In Zechariah 1–8, the Exile is understood as a “visible manifestation of the people’s rebellion and Yahweh’s judgment” (p. 127) and the hope for future returns is expressed. Ezra-Nehemiah, however, views the Diaspora as “the locus and repository of orthodox Yahwism” (p. 137), and there is no corresponding hope for future returns. Perhaps obviously, Kessler concludes that this reflects different historical situations and social locations. Gary Knoppers (pp. 147–171: “Ethnicity, Genealogy, Geography, and Change: The Judean Communities of Babylon and Jerusalem in the Story of Ezra”) addresses two presentations of identity in Ezra: one “trans-temporal and international in scope” and one that is intergenerational in scope based on “mores developed and cultivated in the Diaspora” (p. 149). In his typical care with complex data, Knoppers examines Ezra’s genealogy, the teaching and practices of Torah, and the ethnic and identity markers for the community in the narrative. Knoppers concludes that the key practices and behaviors promoted were new creations from the exilic and postexilic periods rather than descending from the monarchic era. Mark Leuchter (pp. 173–195: “Ezra’s Mission and the Levites of Casiphia”) explores the implications of Ezra (who has a Zadokite genealogy) operating somewhat removed from the hierarchy of the Zadokite priests in contrast to the repeated links to Levitical families mentioned in describing Ezra’s mission. Leuchter’s insightful and creative analysis suggests that Ezra’s narrative was redacted to promote proLevitical interests, similar to what is found in the book of Nehemiah, which shares a similar distancing from the Zadokite priesthood. The arguments Leuchter presents are provocative, opening new questions about the interrelationship of these texts as well as the Pentateuch and other writings, and are worth much further exploration.

REVIEWS

605

Louis Jonker (pp. 197–217: “Textual Identities in the Books of Chronicles: The Case of Jehoram’s History”) employs the methodology of “textual identities” derived from social psychology in reading the Chronicler’s depiction of Jehoram in 2 Chron 21:2–22:1. After an introduction to the method, Jonker applies it to the Jehoram account. While none of the conclusions are new, they reinforce insights gained from other methodological approaches to the material. Jonker affirms that culticreligious purity is the key to faithfulness and that the Chronicler’s account reveals more about the present need for self-categorization than for a representation of the past by the preservation of traditions. Jonker concludes that the Jehoram narrative illustrates “a community coming to terms with their provincial existence under Persian imperial dominion” (p. 215). Kenneth Ristau (pp. 219–247: “Reading and Rereading Josiah: The Chronicler’s Representation of Josiah for the Postexilic Community”) provides a revised excerpt from his MA thesis at the University of Alberta (2005). Ristau presents a detailed literary analysis of the Josiah narrative and concludes that the Chronicler is not attempting to idealize the kingship or to promote the restoration of the Davidic dynasty as a result of Josiah’s presentation, but to use the kings as illustrations or examples in the service of the temple and the Torah. Mark Boda (pp. 249–272: “Identity and Empire, Reality and Hope in the Chronicler’s Perspective”) contends in his essay that the Chronicler “not only justifies present reality but also projects future hope” (p. 251). In recent years, many scholars have affirmed this future-orientation of Chronicles, and Boda provides additional support for this perspective from his overviews of the narrative between Solomon and Josiah. Boda contends that Chronicles promotes “the constitution (golah), activities (temple building), and polity (colony) of the Persian-period Yehudite community” (p. 270), and yet this polity remains only a temporary state. Rather, Boda contends that the ideal of Hezekiah’s independence presents the hope for a different reality than Persian domination. The scholarly debates over whether the Chronicler envisions a restored Davidic king or not will certainly continue. All eleven essays are well-written and footnoted, use data judiciously, and present coherent arguments. Readers interested in the formation of identity—and especially during the postexilic period—will do well to not ignore any of these essays in their research on the topic, regardless of the text or period being studied.

606

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Bosworth, David A., THE STORY WITHIN A STORY IN BIBLICAL HEBREW NARRATIVE (CBQMS, 45; Washington D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 2008). Pp. viii+200. Softcover. US$12.50. ISBN 0915170442. Reviewed by Shannon Baines McMaster Divinity College The Story within a Story in Biblical Hebrew Narrative is divided into four main chapters: (1) The Mise-en-Abyme, (2) Genesis 38, (3) 1 Samuel 25, and (4) 1 Kings 13. In the first chapter, Bosworth provides an in-depth description of a mise-en-abyme by defining and describing this literary device (in which a story “reduplicates the whole” [p. 1]), its characteristics, parameters, as well as devices such an allegory, exemplum, fable, and a parable which would not constitute a mise-en-abyme. He provides four practical examples from modern and classic literature where this literary device was employed: (1) Ten Little Indians by Agatha Christie, (2) Hamlet by Shakespeare, (3) Iliad by Homer, and (4) Golden Ass by Apuleius. This introductory chapter establishes a good foundation for understanding a mise-en-abyme even for the reader who is not familiar with this literary device. The explanations are clear and concise, with the appropriate amount of information being provided so the reader is not overwhelmed or inundated with exhaustive details. Bosworth also incorporates helpful and brief descriptions of the types of mise-enabymes contained in scripture, namely Genesis 38, 1 Samuel 25, and 1 Kings 13 which provides a good orientation for the reader for the subsequent analyses in chapters 2–4. The chapters which follow examine the three Scripture passages which Bosworth identifies as mise-en-abymes operating within the larger surrounding narratives. He provides an overview of some of the research on the passages and illustrates that even when similarities or parallels between the stories have been identified, these observations are not adequate enough to explain the presence of the smaller narrative within its larger context. He then proceeds to describe how the passage fits into the mise-enabyme category and duplicates the larger narrative where it is situated, and he offers a convincing proposal of unity where previously in research the

REVIEWS

607

passage was deemed to be disjunctive or irrelevant to its larger context. At the end of each of the three chapters, the author provides a conclusion which helps not only to summarize the material discussed but also presents some brief insights gleaned from the analysis of the mise-en-abyme and the larger narrative. Chapter 2 focuses on Genesis 38, the story of Judah and Tamar which is contained within the larger story of the Jacob Line/Joseph Story in chapters 37–50 in which the character Judah is also present. Bosworth begins his analysis of Genesis 38 with a useful chart on pp. 49–50 which illustrates the parallel plots and developments of the mise-en-abyme and the larger story. He identifies the problem in the Judah and Tamar story as Judah refusing to let his last remaining son marry Tamar because the previous ones had died in the marriage, implying that Tamar was somehow responsible for their deaths. In the larger Jacob Line/Joseph Story, the problem was the hate and jealousy that Joseph’s brothers had for him because he was their father’s favourite son. Joseph also revealed a dream to his brothers in which he would be exalted above them. Bosworth then proceeds in the chart to identify in both the mise-en-abyme and the larger narrative the crime committed along with the deception employed by the victim of the crime, the recognition of the deception by the offender which led to his confession, and finally, the reconciliation which occurs between the victim and the offender. Throughout the remainder of the chapter, the author then provides an examination of each of these main points as they pertain to Genesis 38 and Genesis 37–50. In the three and a half page conclusion to the chapter, the author not only highlights the relationship between the Genesis 38 and Genesis 37–50 but also identifies their differences: (1) Joseph’s power over his brothers in Egypt in contrast to Tamar’s lack of power over Judah (2) Joseph’s status as a male in a patriarchal-based society in contrast to Tamar’s relative weakness as a female; (3) Joseph’s partial responsibility for his brothers’ actions in contrast to Tamar’s blamelessness and undeserving treatment at the hands of Judah.. He believes that the presence of these differences help to “illuminate the texts” and further illustrate that the two stories are not the same, thus supporting his rather convincing claim that Genesis 38 exists as a mise-en-abyme. Chapter 3 focuses on 1 Samuel 25, the story of David and Nabal, which is set in the larger narrative of David and Saul in 1 Sam 13:12–2 Sam 5:3. As in Genesis 38 and 37–50, where Judah was present in both the miseen-abyme and the larger narrative, so David is present in the smaller and larger narratives within the book of Samuel. Bosworth begins this chapter with a helpful review of scholarship on 1 Samuel 25 to determine how it has been understood and interpreted within the wider narrative context.

608

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Observable parallels between Nabal and Saul indicate that both characters exhibited an anti-Davidic sentiment and inflicted harm on David. Bosworth provides another helpful chart illustrating the similarities between the miseen-abyme and the larger story. In both stories, even though David’s good deeds toward Nabal and Saul are reciprocated with injustice, David does not seek vengeance and instead is vindicated by God’s actions toward Nabal and Saul. David chooses to spare Saul’s life on two occasions, but in the case of Nabal it is Abigail who directly intervenes and dissuades David from seeking revenge. Overall, Bosworth provides a convincing argument that 1 Samuel 25 is a mise-en-abyme, duplicating many components of the larger narrative of Saul and David. Though the conclusion provides a good summary of the chapter, reinforcing the author’s argument for 1 Samuel 25 as a mise-enabyme, it is somewhat lengthy and redundant, unnecessarily repeating material which has already been presented. In chapter 4 Bosworth identifies 1 Kgs 13:11–32, the story of the man of God and the prophet, and 2 Kgs 23:15–20, where Josiah decided not to destroy the monument identifying the man of God’s grave in Bethel, as one complete mise-en-abyme operating within the larger narrative of the history of the divided kingdom. The author identifies the following elements in the mise-en-abyme: (1) hostility between characters, (2) the existence of friendship, (3) a reversal of roles between the characters, (4) the return of hostility between the characters, and (5) a character from the south saving one from the north. Bosworth discerns that these elements are not only present within the larger story but that the mise-en-abyme is representative of or duplicates the relationship between Judah and Israel in the larger story. In the concluding chapter of The Story within a Story in Biblical Hebrew Narrative, the author introduces five criteria from Lucien Dällenbach’s description of a mise-en-abyme and applies them to the three biblical narratives analyzed in the previous chapters.1 He illustrates how these narratives meet one or more of Dällenbach’s criterion. Bosworth further demonstrates how the biblical narratives fit into Moshe Ron’s description of a mise-en-abyme which is based on the duplication of the whole, its “isolatability,” “orientation,” “extent,” “general function,” and “motivation.”2 1 Lucien Dällenbach, Le récit spéculaire: essai sur la mise-en-abyme (Paris: Seuil, 1977). Translated by Jeremy Whiteley with Emma Hughes as The Mirror of the Text (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1989). 2 Moshe Ron, “The Restricted Abyss: Nine Problems in the Theory of the Mise en Abyme,” Poetics Today 8 (1987): 417–38.

REVIEWS

609

One important issue which is not addressed in Bosworth’s work is whether the biblical author was familiar with a mise-en-abyme and intentionally employed it. Though Bosworth presents two classic examples of this literary device in the introductory chapter, he does not explore whether it would have existed during the time when Genesis 38, 1 Samuel 25, and 1 Kgs 13:11–32 and 2 Kgs 23:15–20 were composed. Further research in this area may strengthen or weaken Bosworth’s theory that miseen-abymes were used in the development of these Old Testament narratives. Overall, the book is well-written and structured, and the author’s argumentation is clear and easy to follow from the beginning to the end. Bosworth displays his thorough research in his extensive footnotes and the 21 page bibliography at the end of the book. He presents a unique and original thesis which, even if leaving the reader not entirely convinced, at least offers the opportunity to reflect further on the smaller stories contained in Genesis, Samuel, and Kings and their relationship to the larger contexts in which they are situated. This book is a worthwhile read.

Vialle, Catherine, UNE ANALYSE COMPARÉE D’ESTHER TM ET LXX: REGARD SUR DEUX RÉCITS D’UNE MÊME HISTOIRE (BETL, 233; Leuven: Peeters, 2010). Pp. lviii + 406. Paperback. €76.00. ISBN 9789042922853. Reviewed by Veronika Bachmann University of Zurich, Switzerland Scholarship on Esther over the past few decades has shown definitely that there is not just “one Esther,” but several. Beside the Hebrew Masoretic text version (MT), there are two Greek versions: a longer version usually referred to as the Septuagint version (LXX) and a shorter one usually called the Alpha-text (AT). Additionally, J. C. Haelewyck’s contributions highlight the importance of a fourth ancient version, the Old Latin (Vetus Latina).1 There is also a rich collection of texts witnessing a vivid ancient J. C. Haelewyck, “The Relevance of the Old Latin Version for the Septuagint, With Special Emphasis on the Book of Esther,” JTS 57 (2006), 439–73; 1

610

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

reception of these Esther stories such as the version told by Flavius Josephus (Jewish Antiquities XI) and the treatment of Esther in rabbinic literature. The comparison between the oldest textual versions and the corresponding literary analyses to this point have played supporting roles in the service of hypotheses about the growth of the text. This approach has benefited significantly from the growing interest in the Septuagint text version(s) of the Bible in general. Translations of these Greek versions continue to become available in an increasing number of modern languages. As the title states, Catherine Vialle’s book Une analyse comparée d’Esther TM et LXX focuses on the MT and the LXX version. The book is a slightly revised version of the author’s doctoral thesis written under the supervision of Prof. André Wénin at the Université Catholique de Louvain and defended in 2007. Unlike most previous comparisons of the two texts, Vialle is not primarily interested in elucidating historical questions such as the growth of the text. Her approach is “d’abord littéraire et synchronique” (XXVII). She centers on the MT and on the LXX version since “la LXX, comme le TM, présente un texte reçu sur le plan canonique à un moment donné de l’histoire et jusqu’aujourd’hui” (XXV). This statement highlights that Vialle in fact not only pursues a “literary and synchronic,” but also a canonical approach. One of the methodological results is that she omits consideration of comparative non-biblical literature. The two canonical corpora (MT and LXX) shape her horizon. Furthermore, Vialle acknowledges her Christian perspective and attempts to construct a reading of Esther (especially in its MT form) that is compatible with the image of God of Jesus Christ (XXXV). Vialle does not further outline or reflect on her canonical approach in the introduction (XXV–LVIII). She does, however, provide an introduction to narrative criticism and its most important technical terms2 before briefly presenting the different Esther versions and addressing issues such as the historicity of the story, the book’s genre (unfortunately without distinguishing which proposals were made for which text version) and the literary relationships between the earliest Esther versions.

idem, Hester (Vetus latina, 7/3; Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2003), 84–94. 2 Vialle mainly builds on D. Marguerat and Y. Bourquin, Pour lire les récits biblique (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1998) trans. as How to Read Bible Stories. An Introduction to Narrative Criticism (London: SCM Press, 1999), S. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (Bible and Literature Series, 17; Decatur, GA: Almond Press, 1989) and S. Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978).

REVIEWS

611

The main body of Vialle’s book consists of two parts: the first section is dedicated to narrative analysis of the MT version (1–161), while the second part focuses on narrative analysis of the LXX version (163–340). Both sections follow the same pattern: Vialle first determines the nature of the overall plot (“l’intrigue d’ensemble”) and provides a close reading analyzing the plots of the individual episodes (“les micro-intrigues”). Second, she also focuses on the different characters of the story. She third considers what she calls “le monde du récit.” In this subsection she first examines a few motifs (“the law” and “the banquets” in the MT, “the laws of the Jews,” “the banquets,” and “the glory, the glorious ones, and the glorification” in the LXX) and thereafter proceeds to discuss the image of God (the underlying theology) and the image of human beings (the underlying anthropology). The short concluding section (341–48) is followed by the bibliography and by indices of authors and of biblical references. An appendix addressing the canonicity of the Book of Esther within Judaism and Christianity closes the book (397–405). Two significantly different readings emerge from Vialle’s narrative observations. In her view, the MT version, by its means of exaggeration and irony, leaves its readers stunned, especially by Mordecai’s behavior after his elevation. Vialle considers Mordecai to be no better than his predecessor Haman, as Mordecai is caught in the trap of ambition and the desire for vengeance (cf. 157 59, 343). As a result, Vialle rejects the idea that the MT version was intended to be a popular comedy or a Hellenistic novella, instead interpreting it as a wisdom tale (“récit de sagesse”) meant to provoke critical reflection on human behavior motivated by ambition and the desire for vengeance alone (cf. 160–61, 344). According to Vialle the LXX version, by employing less of irony than the MT version, does not evoke such reflection but instead emphasizes another aspect. In her view, God’s manner of acting, which is explicitly mentioned by the narrator in this version, illustrates that God’s plan of salvation includes all humanity, not just the Jews as Esther and Mardokhaïos believe (cf. 334, 336). She concludes that this Greek Esther was written for Jews living in the Diaspora, providing them a perspective on how to avoid both cultural dilution and cultural segregation (cf. 340, 347). Vialle’s contribution provides a rich pool of textual observations, especially concerning the LXX version. In this respect, Vialle indeed succeeds in bringing to light “la richesse d’un texte injustement méconnu et souvent négligé” (345). With regard to her overall interpretation, a certain tension remains between her aim to apply the method of narrative criticism (what motivates her search for the narrative intent in each textual unit, cf.

612

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

XXVII) and her canonical and Christian perspective (which, for instance, leads her to skip over careful consideration of the meaning and significance of the Purim etiology for each text version). In the light of growing interest in a canonical approach especially among Roman Catholic exegetes in Europe, deeper reflection on her methodology also would have been helpful.3 Furthermore, it is astonishing that Vialle skips any reflections on Christian anti-Jewish readings of Esther. She only lists a number of reasons why some Christian commentators depreciated this writing in her appendix. Along with that, she omits consideration of the political implications of her own “Christian” readings and her discourse about “the Jews.”4 In sum, although offering numerous interesting textual observations especially for readers interested in the LXX version, Vialle’s book remains an ambiguous contribution to scholarship. It illustrates that not only the historical background but also the narrative character of the different “Esthers” are still worthy of further exploration.

For a discussion of different reading methods and their underlying understanding of “text” see, for instance, H. Utzschneider and E. Blum (eds.), Lesarten der Bibel. Untersuchungen zu einer Theorie der Exegese des Alten Testaments (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006), especially the introduction to the canonical approach of G. Steins, “Kanonisch lesen” (ibid., 45–64) and the contribution of H. Utzschneider, “Was ist alttestamentliche Literatur? Kanon, Quelle und literarische Ästhetik als LesArts alttestamentlicher Literatur” (ibid, 65– 83). 4 Cf. statements referring to the MT version such as “… le narrateur l’invite [le lecteur] à prendre distance vis-à-vis du comportement des juifs et du cousin d’Esther” (344) or “… si les païens peuvent être des instruments utiles au plan de Dieu, les juifs, objets de la protection divine, tombent, en finale, dans une dynamique de violence et de vengeance” (157). 3

REVIEWS

613

Meer, Michaël van der, Percy van Keulen, Wido van Peursen, and Bas ter Haar Romeny (eds.), ISAIAH IN CONTEXT: STUDIES IN HONOUR OF ARIE VAN DER KOOIJ ON THE OCCASION OF HIS SIXTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY (VTSup, 138; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2010). Pp. xx + 468. Hardcover. $216.00. ISBN 9789004186576. Reviewed by J. Blake Couey Gustavus Adolphus College This collection celebrates the career of Arie van der Kooij with essays by his former students, institutional colleagues, and scholarly collaborators, including several prominent Isaiah and Septuagint scholars. To a greater degree than usual in Festschriften, many of the chapters directly engage his own work, which is a testimony to his significant contributions to the field. The collection is divided into two sections; part one deals with Isaiah in the context of the Hebrew Bible and other ancient Near Eastern literature, while part two explores the reception of Isaiah in its various Greek and Syriac versions and later Dutch interpretation. It also includes a list of van der Kooij’s publications, including works in progress as of 2010. In the first essay, “‘As Straw is Trodden Down in the Water of a Dung-Pit’: Remarks on a Simile in Isaiah 25:10” (pp. 3–13), Bob Becking argues for the superiority of the ketiv in Isa 25:10b (bĕmê madmēnâ, “in the waters of a dung-pit”), which better anticipates the imagery of swimming in the next verse. He suggests that the same image underlies the well-known aphorism in the Mari letters, “Beneath straw, water runs.” While Becking’s proposal results in a coherent reading of the passage, one should note that abrupt shifts in imagery occur frequently in Isaiah (e.g., Isa 5:29–30; 14:29– 30; 30:13–14; etc.). Pancratius C. Beentjes considers the impact of Isaiah on a later biblical text in “Isaiah in the Book of Chronicles” (pp. 15–24). He discusses the diminished role of Isaiah in the Hezekiah narratives in 2 Chronicles, which allows for greater emphasis on Hezekiah’s own prophetic status. He then considers the allusion to Isa 7:9 in 2 Chr 20:20, which highlights the

614

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

importance of prophets in the Chronicler’s worldview even as it anachronistically attributes a saying of Isaiah to Jehoshaphat. Willem A. M. Beuken (“Woe to the Powers in Israel that Vie to Replace YHWH’s Rule on Mount Zion! Isaiah Chapters 28–31 from the Perspective of Isaiah Chapters 24–27,” pp. 25–43) identifies a number of connections between two consecutive sections of Isaiah. His approach is almost entirely synchronic, with little attention to the possible compositional or redactional intention behind these connections. Beuken concludes that “Isaiah 28–31 applies the judgment on the earth as it has been announced in Isaiah 24–27 to the concrete situation of Jerusalem” (p. 43). While some of the precise verbal similarities are striking (e.g., Isa 24:5– 6 and 28:2–3; p. 28), other proposed connections are so general that they could hold for any number of texts (e.g., Isa 25:2–4 and 29:19–20; p. 35). Robert P. Gordon, in “The Gods Must Die: A Theme in Isaiah and Beyond” (pp. 45–61), explores a recurring motif in Isaiah in which powerful humans or deities challenge YHWH’s position and are consequently sentenced to death. Obvious examples are the Babylonian monarch in Isa 14 and Sennacherib in Isa 36–37; Gordon suggests that Isa 26:13–15 also fits this category if the reference to “other lords” denotes gods. Outside of Isaiah, the motif occurs in Ps 82; Ezek 28; Gen 6:1–4; and Gen 2–3. In his chapter, “So-Called Poʿel-Forms in Isaiah and Elsewhere” (pp. 63–81), Holger Gzella argues against the view that the Hebrew poʿel has a comparable meaning to the morphologically similar Arabic third stem. Instead, the few textually certain occurrences of this stem are biforms coined de novo for poetic purposes or marking a novel sense of the verb. He concludes that the multiple poʿel forms in Isaiah (10:14; 40:24) reflect the sophisticated literary style of the book. Along those lines, given the likely morphological connections between the poʿel and polel stems, Gzella might also have mentioned the relatively frequent occurrence of reduplicated verbs in Isaiah more generally (e.g., 9:10; 22:17; 29:9; etc.) Matthijs J. de Jong discusses the preexilic development of the book of Isaiah in “A Window on the Isaiah Tradition in the Assyrian Period: Isaiah 10:24–27” (pp. 83–107). He interprets Isa 10:24–25, which is typically dated late, as an oracle of consolation in response to an Assyrian incursion against Judah in 720 BCE. He convincingly argues that derek miṣrayim in v. 25 is a reference to the Via Maris (“the road to Egypt”), rather than an allusion to Egyptian oppression of Israel (“the manner of Egypt”). Verses 26a and 27a are a later commentary on the oracle that belong to the Josianic revision of Isaiah. Isaiah 10:5–15 and 27b–32 likewise consist of eighth-century oracles against Assyria supplemented by seventh-century commentary. The lack of direct evidence for a campaign by Sargon against Judah is one weakness in his argument.

REVIEWS

615

The contribution by Percy van Keulen, “On the Identity of the Anonymous Ruler in Isaiah 14:4b-21” (pp. 109–23), tackles a frequently discussed question and helpfully summarizes a wealth of previous scholarship. He suggests that Isa 14:19a describes “the looting of the royal tomb” (p. 111), rather than the lack of burial of the tyrant; the verse thus presupposes the conquest of the city containing the royal necropolis. Instead of identifying the ruler with a particular Neo-Assyrian king, van Keulen proposes that the figure represents the empire as a whole, and the poem celebrates the fall of Assyria in 614–12 BCE. The proposal is attractive, but it would be more convincing if van Keulen had provided other examples of a kingdom personified as an anonymous ruler. André Lemaire discusses a recurring divine epithet in Isaiah in his chapter, “Yhwh ṣebaʾot dans Isaïe à la lumière de l’épigraphie hébraïque et araméenne” (pp. 125–30). He argues that the occurrence of yhwh ṣbʾt in a graffiti from the antiquities market, published in 2001, confirms its popularity in the eighth century BCE. Unfortunately, his reliance upon an unprovenanced inscription undermines the persuasiveness of his claim. More convincingly, he notes that the title also occurs in ostraca from Elephantine. Because ṣbʾ is otherwise unknown in Aramaic, these attestations provide early evidence for the phenomenon of transcribing rather than translating the epithet into another language, subsequently attested in Greek Isaiah. Johan Lust explores a similar topic in “The Divine Title ‫האדדון‬and ‫אדני‬in Proto-Isaiah and Ezekiel” (pp. 131–49). Both Ezekiel and ProtoIsaiah use ʾădōnāy (originally ʾădōnî, “my Lord”), albeit typically in different contexts, to emphasize the prophet’s relationship with God. The distinctive use of hāʾādôn (“the Lord”) in Proto-Isaiah emphasizes divine power. Lust suggests that both terms appear in early material from Isa 1–39 but never in the same speech, although the latter assertion requires him to divide Isa 3:1–15 and 10:5–34 into multiple units. He also notes that later scribes clearly distinguished hāʾādôn and yhwh but not ʾădōnî and yhwh. The essay judiciously organizes a wide array of textual data, and Lust’s conclusions deserve consideration in future study of both books. Karel Vriezen (“‘Ruins’ in Text and Archaeology: A Note on the Wording of ‘Destruction’ in the Latter Prophets,” pp. 151–59) discusses a terminological shift between the Former and Latter Prophets. The conquest narratives in Joshua typically use terms like ḥrm (“utterly destroy”), yrš (“dispossess”), or nkh (“strike”) with humans as the object, which need not imply the destruction of cities. Such language conforms with the scant archaeological evidence for the destruction of Late Bronze Age cities. By contrast, the Latter Prophets use the roots ḥrb (“destroy”), šmm (“desolate”), ḥrs (“tear down”), etc., which seldom occur in the Former Prophets, to refer

616

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

to the destruction of cities. These choices may reflect the authors’ own experiences of the Assyrian and Babylonian conquests. In “Patterns of Mutual Influence in the Textual Transmission of the Oracles Concerning Moab in Isaiah and Jeremiah” (pp. 161–84), Richard D. Weis argues that Isa 15–16 and Jer 48 have been extensively assimilated to one another in the transmission of the two books. Assimilation is usually seen in the versions, particularly the later ones, but in a few cases MT Jeremiah has been adapted to Isaiah, which suggests the significance of Isaiah in the proto-Masoretic tradition. When scholars emend either text to level the differences between them, they are following the assimilatory method of the versions rather than objectively evaluating their readings. It would have been helpful for Weis to articulate precise criteria for determining when assimilation has occurred; in several of his examples, it seems possible that the versions were simply smoothing difficult readings in ways that naturally resembled each other. Nonetheless, the number of potential cases makes a convincing cumulative case for the phenomenon. The final essay in the first section is by H. G. M. Williamson, “Isaiah 30:1” (pp. 185–96). Williamson argues, against most interpreters, that the noun massēkâ in the second line of Isa 30:1 has its usual meaning, “(cast) idol,” and does not refer to a ritual for making a treaty. Likewise, ʿēṣâ in the third line denotes a wooden idol (cf. Hos 10:6) instead of its more common meaning, “counsel.” As suggested by syntactical difficulties in the verse, these two lines are a later, anti-idol gloss from the same source as Isa 2:19; 30:22; 31:7. Part Two of the volume opens with a contribution by Johann Cook, “The Relationship Between the Septuagint Versions of Isaiah and Proverbs” (pp. 199–214). He justifies comparing the two texts because of their similarly free translation styles. First, he examines proposed cases of intertextual connections between them, only two of which he finds convincing. Second, he argues that the Greek version of Proverbs, like that of Isaiah, is contextualized, with an emphasis on the Mosaic Law that suggests an anti-Hellenistic agenda; however, it does not allude to contemporary events, as van der Kooij has argued in the case of Isaiah, perhaps as a result of differences in genre. Third, he notes that the translator of Isaiah did not rearrange the text, as the translator of Proverbs did. Finally, Cook proposes that Proverbs was translated in Palestine shortly after the reign of Antiochus IV. Kristin de Troyer (“An Exploration of the Wisdom of Solomon as the Missing Link Between Isaiah and Matthew,” pp. 215–27) examines the biblical sources for Matt 27:43, which incorporates language from Wis 2:18. She demonstrates that the verse from Wisdom is itself dependent on the Old Greek of Isa 42:1–4, which had already been quoted in Matt 12:17–21,

REVIEWS

617

and she suggests that Matthew was drawn to its reinterpretation of Isaiah’s servant with an emphasis on righteousness. In “L’indépendance du traducteur grec d’Isaïe par rapport au dodekapropheton” (pp. 229–46), Cécile Dogniez explores the parallels between the Septuagint of Isaiah and the Minor Prophets, on the basis of which Seeligmann had concluded that the former was dependent on the latter. Dogniez argues instead that other, equally compelling explanations are possible (coincidence, later harmonization, common exegetical tradition, etc.). She examines thirteen rare Hebrew words or phrases that appear in similar contexts in Isaiah and the Minor Prophets but are rendered differently in the Greek translations, along with six terms consistently handled differently in the two translations. She concludes that there is little evidence that the translator of Isaiah used the Greek Minor Prophets. This essay has notable points of contact with the chapters by Weis and Muraoka, which could have been noted by the editors. Natalio Fernández Marcos discusses early Christian interpretation of Isaiah in “Is There an Antiochene Reading of Isaiah?” (pp. 247–60). The Antiochene Fathers used the so-called Lucianic version of the Greek Old Testament, which shows consistent features in the prophets. It corrects toward the MT, on the basis of the Hexaplaric tradition, and often improves the style, with a proclivity for Attic forms; Fernández Marcos provides several examples of these tendencies from the Lucianic version of Isaiah. He then addresses the variety among Antiochene interpreters. While all of them were famously committed to the literal sense of the text, some—like Theodoret—were more open to figurative interpretation than others. Some specific examples from Theodoret’s commentary on Isaiah would have been appreciated. In “Zwei Niederländer des 19. Jahrhunderts über die Wahrheit von Jesajas Prophetien” (pp. 261–80), Cornelis Houtman contrasts the treatment of Isaiah by Abraham des Amorie van der Hoeven, a Dutch pastor, with that of Ferdinand Alexander de Mey van Alkemade, a freethinker, in the first half of the nineteenth century. In his captions for illustrated Middle Eastern landscapes, Van der Hoeven maintained that the ruins of cities like Babylon confirmed the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecies of their destruction. De Mey argued that Isaiah was a lunatic whose predictions failed to come true and that the prophecies about Cyrus in Isa 44–45 were written later, after the fact; thus, he anticipated the position that became widespread in biblical scholarship later in the century, championed in the Netherlands by Abraham Kuenen. Houtman’s essay is a fascinating piece of intellectual history. While the focus on Dutch interpreters is appropriate for this festschrift, especially since van der Kooij held the chair

618

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

previously occupied by Kuenen, the concern for a much later historical period leaves this chapter feeling unconnected to the others. Michaël N. van der Meer’s contribution, “Visions from Memphis and Leontopolis: The Phenomenon of the Vision Reports in the Greek Isaiah in the Light of Contemporary Accounts from Hellenistic Egypt” (pp. 281– 316), examines parallels to Greek Isaiah in Egyptian-Greek prophetic texts. Many of these texts originated in Memphis in the mid-second century BCE, geographically and chronologically close to the setting for Greek Isaiah proposed by van der Kooij. The Dream of Nectanebo contains a vision similar to Isa 6. The Oracle of the Potter updates an earlier Demotic prophecy and applies it to Antiochus IV Epiphanes, just as earlier prophecies may have been updated in LXX Isaiah. Finally, much like Isa 7:14, the Oracles of Ḥor refer to the birth of a child to a young queen as proof of the veracity of its prophecies. Although the essay begins with an unhelpfully long survey of proposed contexts for LXX Isa 7:14, it proves to be one of the most interesting chapters in the collection. Takamitsu Muraoka (“Isaiah 2 in the Septuagint,” pp. 317–40) offers a philological study of the Greek text of Isa 2, consisting largely of explanations of particular translation choices. Apart from a dubious interpretation of the Hebrew bĕrōʾš hehārîm in v. 2, which he translates “the highest spot of the mountainous area” (p. 320), his comments are generally persuasive. Muraoka frequently appeals to the literary sensibilities of the translator, but the overall treatment of the text is atomistic, with little attempt to interpret the passage as a whole in Greek. Wido van Peursen examines the dual transmission of a biblical text in Syriac in “The Text of Isaiah 26:9–19 in the Syriac Odes” (pp. 340–57). Reflecting its ancient use as a morning prayer and liturgical text for the Easter season, Isa 26:9–19 appears in various collections of odes in Greek, Latin, Coptic, Ethiopic, Syriac, and Armenian. Upon close comparison of the text in the Peshitta of Isaiah and the odes, Van Peursen concludes that the Odes version was originally taken from the Peshitta and then independently revised toward the Greek text in later recensions, with additional changes made for various reasons. In “Of Translation and Revision: From Greek Isaiah to Greek Jeremiah” (pp. 359–87), Albert Pietersma criticizes Tov’s thesis that LXX Jer 29–52 is a revision of the Old Greek of Jeremiah, which appears unmodified in chapters 1–28. He focuses largely on methodology, criticizing Tov’s circular logic in assuming the character of the revision to argue for its existence. He further claims that the revision posited by Tov does not resemble any known Hebraizing revisions of the Septuagint. LXX Jer 29–52 does not show greater consistency than the preceding chapters, and the differences between the two sections are best explained as

REVIEWS

619

“contextual accommodation and exegesis” (p. 386). While the essay offers a significant study of Greek Jeremiah, the title is misleading. Pietersma only briefly discusses the discredited proposal of multiple translators for Greek Isaiah as a point of comparison to the situation in Jeremiah, no doubt to justify the inclusion of the essay in this collection. Bas ter Haar Romeny (“Jacob of Edessa’s Quotations and Revision of Isaiah,” pp. 389–406) explores the later Syriac tradition of Isaiah as represented by the work of Jacob of Edessa. Using Isaiah as a test-case, he rejects the proposal by Brooks that the biblical quotations in Jacob’s translation of the hymns of Severus were the basis for his later revision of the Syriac Old Testament. He also finds no evidence of influence by the Syro-Hexapla in either work. Romeny’s careful methodological considerations for determining influence in the biblical versions are especially helpful. Adrian Schenker discusses a text-critical problem in “Dans un vase pur ou avec des psaumes? Une variante textuelle peu étudiée en Isa 66:20” (pp. 407–412). MT Isa 66:20 has the phrase biklî ṭāhôr (“in a clean vessel”). The offerings transported in such vessels symbolize the returning exiles; consequently, the language of purity reveals a concern that the exiles have become unclean through contact with foreigners. By contrast, LXX Isa 66:20 reads meta psalmōn (“with psalms”). Schenker thinks that the latter is the more distinctive, and thus more likely original, reading, since music is not usually associated with sacrifices in the Hebrew Bible, whereas purity is a common motif. Whatever its merits, the argument seems unnecessarily dismissive of the purity concerns attributed to the editor responsible for MT. The final essay is by Emanuel Tov, “Personal Names in the Septuagint of Isaiah” (pp. 413–28). He demonstrates that transliterated names generally lack Hellenized endings in LXX Isaiah, although not to the same degree as in books outside the prophetic corpus. He also discusses geographic identifications in the translation, noting several instances of actualization (e.g., the change from “Philistines” to Greeks in Isa 9:11) and inconsistency. The study includes copious textual examples. Like most Festschriften, the essays in this collection are uneven in quality. A disappointing number reach overly general or unremarkable conclusions. The idea of different “contexts” for Isaiah holds promise for integrating a variety of approaches to the text, especially redaction criticism and reception history (p. xi), but this rubric remains underdeveloped. The division of the collection into two sections seems arbitrary; one could easily argue that the chapters by Beentjes and Weis fit better in part two. Ultimately, the essays are largely independent, and it is left to the reader to determine the extent of any connections among them—perhaps not unlike

620

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the book of Isaiah itself. For anyone interested in the current state of research on Isaiah, the collection offers a broad cross-section of European scholarship, which nicely complements the largely American focus of the publications of the SBL Formation of Isaiah Group. Readers should also consult individual essays as relevant for their own interests.

Day, John (ed.), PROPHECY AND THE PROPHETS IN ANCIENT ISRAEL (LHBOTS, 531; New York: T & T Clark, 2010). Pp. xvii+462. Hardcover. US$180.00. ISBN 9780567473646. Reviewed by J. Todd Hibbard University of Tennessee at Chattanooga Prophecy and the Prophets in Ancient Israel is an excellent volume which presents twenty-three essays offered to the Oxford Old Testament Seminar between January 2006 and October 2008. The essays are broken into four categories: (1) three essays on the ancient Near Eastern context of prophecy; (2) two on specific themes; (3) three on sociological, anthropological and psychological perspectives; and (4) fifteen on prophecy and prophets in specific biblical books. The majority of the contributors are European (mostly British), along with three Americans and one Israeli. Since it will not be possible in this review to examine each essay in detail, it should be said at the outset that overall these essays represent an excellent and diverse overview of current scholarship on several phenomenological, sociological, historical, and literary issues in the study of ancient Israelite prophecy. In the opening essay by M. Nissinen, “Comparing Prophetic Sources: Principles and a Test Case,” (pp. 3–24) the author takes the view that comparisons between the biblical and ancient Near Eastern material are useful but warns that scholars must proceed with extreme caution. Because the biblical material is literary (not just written), recovering actual historical situations is fraught with difficulty (if not impossible). He concludes with a test case comparing Amos and Baya on divination. S. Weeks’ contribution, “Predictive and Prophetic Literature: Can Neferti Help Us Read the Bible?” (pp. 25–46) offers a wide-ranging essay on the nature of prophetic literature qua literature rather than a transcript of prophetic performances. He insists that if one fully appreciates

REVIEWS

621

the literary dimension of the biblical prophetic material, then one may look profitably to a wider range of comparative material for help in assessing and understanding the biblical prophetic books. To that end, he examines the Egyptian text of Neferti, which depicts an Egyptian priest offering a prediction about the Egyptian state. The value of identifying Neferti as a prophetic text is in allowing it to expand the notion of how ancient authors constructed prophetic texts. The third essay, by J. Stökl, “Female Prophets in the Ancient Near East,” (pp. 47–61) is a first attempt at rectifying what the author sees as the lack of study of female prophets at Mari and in the Neo-Assyrian tradition. After surveying the literary evidence pertaining to each of the two corpora, he concludes that at Mari, the higher the status of the prophet, the fewer women one finds. In the Neo-Assyrian documents he notes there is roughly equal distribution with a slight preference for females. The first of the two essays in the second section, H. G. M. Williamson’s “Prophetesses in the Hebrew Bible,” (pp. 65–80) makes a nice counterpart to Stökl’s piece. Williamson surveys the scant material about prophetesses in the Hebrew Scriptures, concluding that though there is little direct information about them, what exists suggests that they were a more integral part of the religious world of ancient Israel than one might suspect. D. Reimer’s “Interpersonal Forgiveness and the Hebrew Prophets” (pp. 81–97) examines the relative lack of texts in the Hebrew prophets depicting people forgiving other people. He notes that the accent is on the divine-human element of the forgiveness, but surprisingly, this does not lead to a treatment of human interpersonal forgiveness in the prophets. The third part of the collection opens with an essay from W. Houston, “Exit the Oppressed Peasant? Rethinking the Background of Social Criticism in the Prophets,” (pp. 101–116) in which he takes up his earlier contention that much of the prophetic social critique was directed against the wealthy landowners who exploited the peasantry. Here he largely abandons this view and adopts the position that the same material reflects urban settings (Jerusalem and Samaria). The prophetic criticism is now understood as more likely aimed at rectifying wrongs committed against the urban poor and disadvantaged. L. Grabbe’s “Shaman, Preacher, or Spirit Medium? The Israelite Prophet in the Light of Anthropological Models” (pp. 117–132) continues in the same vein as some of his earlier work in this area. He notes the possibilities of cross-cultural comparison for understanding prophecy while simultaneously noting the methodological dangers for the interpreter. His essay surveys anthropological literature on shamans and diviners before suggesting that these models may offer another way into the biblical material pertaining to prophets. He does not wish to impose models drawn

622

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

from these areas, but suggests a heuristic goal: that these other examples may afford the interpreter new ways of posing questions and examining the biblical texts. In “The Prophets and Psychological Interpretation,” (pp. 133–148) P. Joyce explores the possibility of various types of psychological interpretation. His essay observes Ricoeur’s distinctions between the world behind the text, the world of the text, and the world before the text. He is particularly interested in how psychological interpretation might illuminate certain aspects of Ezekiel in this essay. His essay concludes with a plea for biblical scholars to embrace interdisciplinary approaches despite the potential risks. The final section of the volume begins with E. Nicholson’s “Deuteronomy 18.9–22, the Prophets and Scripture” (pp. 151–171). He takes up the relationship between Deuteronomy’s understanding of prophets and Jeremiah, noting that the usual way in which the relationship is portrayed—Deuteronomy’s influence on Jeremiah—is incorrect. Rather, Nicholson argues that Jeremiah has influenced Deuteronomy’s teaching about prophets. He goes on to argue that the author of Deuteronomy was familiar with an emerging corpus of scriptural prophetic books. D. Lamb re-examines whether or not prophecy was a successive institution in ancient Israel in his contribution, “‘A prophet instead of you’ (1 Kings 19.16): Elijah, Elisha and Prophetic Succession” (pp. 172–187). He first briefly raises this question of prophetic succession in light of Mesopotamian prophetic sources, concluding that much ANE prophecy appears to have been both institutional and successive. He then turns to the Deuteronomistic History, focusing especially on the Elijah/Elisha narratives. He argues that Elijah does not choose Elisha as a successor willingly; rather, the latter is chosen by God to replace Elijah. This does not, therefore, constitute an example of institutional prophetic succession. J. Barton’s “The Theology of Amos” (pp. 188–201) unpacks Amos’ theological vision in four layers: that of the audience assumed by the prophet; that of the 8th century prophet himself; that of the later additions to the book; and finally, that of the final form of the book. Barton argues that understanding each of these on their own terms has value and adds to our understanding of the book and its message(s), despite the necessity of reconstructing some of the literary and theological layers. He concludes with a plea not to allow final form or canonical readings to negate the importance of understanding his stage two: the reconstructed message of the prophet himself. In “Hosea and the Baal Cult” (pp. 202–224), J. Day addresses several disputed interpretive issues. He pays particular attention to Baal language and imagery, arguing that it reflects an 8th century context in which Israel

REVIEWS

623

indeed worshiped Baal. The references to Baal/Baalim in Hosea are, he argues, not to other gods generally (as is sometimes argued), but specific references to the deity known principally from Ugaritic texts. As such, he demonstrates several parallels between Hosea’s apparent understanding of Baal and the Ugaritic mythic material, including importantly, that Baal was indisputably depicted as a dying and rising god at Ugarit. “The Sign of Immanuel” (pp. 225–244), J. Collins’ contribution, takes up four critical issues that arise in the interpretation of Isa 7:14: first, the original historical and literary context of the passage; second, whether the sign is reassuring or threatening; third, the nature and identity of the child; and fourth, messianic interpretations of the text in traditional Christianity but absent in Jewish sources. R. Kratz pursues the literary relationship between texts and, by extension, relative chronology of texts in Isaiah in “Rewriting Isaiah: The Case of Isaiah 28–31” (pp. 245–266). Specifically, he examines Isaiah 28–31 as a case of rewriting prophetic material from Isaiah 1–12, whether by the prophet himself or later editors. Whichever is the case, he asserts that we no longer have the original prophetic sayings but a subsequent literary shaping of previous material that has been made to fit the context of the prophetic book. In the examples from ch. 28 that he explores, he concludes that there are two different types of modifications to earlier material: intensification of the focus on Zion/Jerusalem and reformulation of theological motives for divine judgment. In H. Clifford’s “Deutero-Isaiah and Monotheism” (pp. 267–289), the author defends the traditional view that monotheism is an appropriate term to designate the theology of Isaiah 40–55. His argument responds to many objections and draws on early Greek philosophy for an analogy that highlights critical internationalism. He asserts that the primary portrait of YHWH as creator is the foundational claim of these chapters, a claim anchored in the polemic and satire against idols as well as the argument that YHWH is sovereign in history and the prophetic tradition. To the claim that the alleged monotheistic statements in Deutero-Isaiah are merely rhetoric, Clifford argues that this drives too strong a wedge between the poetic and doctrinal. He also examines surviving Greek fragments from Xenophanes of Colophon that are roughly contemporaneous with DeuteroIsaiah. These also speak of one God and offer a “cosmic theology” (p. 283), which renders them a useful analogy for understanding Deutero-Isaiah in Clifford’s view. P. Johnston’s essay “‘Now you see me, not you don’t’: Jeremiah and God” (pp. 290–308), explores Jeremiah’s perception of YHWH, especially as expressed in the laments of Jeremiah 11–20. After surveying some perspectives on YHWH in the book’s early chapters, Johnston spends the

624

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

bulk of the essay critically examining the laments. He focuses especially on Jeremiah’s experience of YHWH, an experience which leads the prophet to complain bitterly about YHWH’s deception of him. J. Middlemas examines aniconism and iconism in Ezekiel in her essay, “Exclusively Yahweh: Aniconism and Anthropomorphism in Ezekiel” (pp. 309–324). She begins by noting the presence of empty space aniconism, a type represented in the temple by the Ark of the Covenant and the cherubim throne. In Ezekiel, these YHWH-associated images are reinterpreted (cherubim) or ignored (ark). When she turns to the anthropomorphic language about YHWH in Ezekiel, she notes that it does occur, but is less pervasive than is sometimes thought. Additionally, it is both “capturing and distancing,” by which she means that it both clarifies and obscures the image of YHWH. Importantly, there is no image of YHWH in the last portion of the book. In “Zephaniah and the ‘Book of the Twelve’ Hypothesis” (pp. 325– 338), T. Hadjiev re-evaluates the increasingly common claim that the socalled “Book of the Twelve” was meant to be read as a whole, not as individual books. He notes that if the hypothesis is credible, one might reasonably expect to encounter a superscription that designates the book as an integrated whole; alas, this is missing. More importantly, however, he notes that one should expect to find redactional evidence that links the material together. He tests this with an examination of Zephaniah. He dismisses the argument in favor of Deuteronomistic redaction as unpersuasive. He turns his attention next to the hypothesis of a “book of the four,” with Zephaniah as a conclusion, a hypothesis which is equally difficult to accept in his view. Finally, he argues that 3:14–20 functions well as an ending to Zephaniah, but not as an ending to the book of the four. K. Cathcart’s essay, “‘Law is Paralysed’ (Habakkuk 1.4): Habakkuk’s Dialogue with God and the Language of Legal Disputation” (pp. 339–353), examines the legal language in Habakkuk in order to understand more clearly the nature of the argument made by the book. He understands the book to be raising issues of theodicy, but in a manner that depends on specific forensic language from ancient Israel. The bulk of his article involves a close examination of Hab 1:2–4; 1:12–17; and 2:1–4. In the process, he notes interesting similarities with the use of legal language in Job and Jeremiah. An article by E. Assis, “Structure and Meaning in the Book of Malachi” (pp. 354–369), argues that Malachi is vital to understanding early 2nd temple Yehud. He examines the structure of the book, arguing that there are two parallel sections with three oracles each. In each section the first and third oracles exhibit similarities, while the second or middle panel explicates in practical terms the abstract issues raised by the outer oracles.

REVIEWS

625

Assis concludes that recognizing this structure elucidates the meaning of the book. This, in turn, assists in identifying the major issues addressed by the book, namely, a concern to counter the notion that the law and election were no longer vital concepts to YHWHistic religion. Rather, these had been replaced by a nascent universalism. It is this view that the book counters. In S. Gillingham’s, “New Wine and Old Wineskins: Three Approaches to Prophecy and Psalmody” (pp. 370–390), the author reads the Psalms through three different approaches, which she calls cult-functional, literarytheological, and reception-historical. Based on the first approach she highlights first-person divine speech and identifies eleven prophetic psalms. She also concludes that cultic prophetic influence is not as prominent as previous scholars have assumed. Gillingham’s exploration of the psalms from a literary-theological perspective located in the postexilic period leads her to conclude that the emerging shape of the Psalter exposes a different prophetic concern from the earlier psalmists. Finally, when viewing the reception of the psalms in the Qumran and New Testament literature, she notes a further change in emphasis. Some of the 11 psalms she identifies as prophetic are used (but not all), but other psalms not previously identified as having any prophetic elements in them are used in precisely that way, especially in the New Testament. In a study moving outside the prophetic literature proper, G. Knoppers offers “Democratizing Revelation? Prophets, Seers and Visionaries in Chronicles” (pp. 391–409). He explores the nature of prophecy in Chronicles by examining prohibited forms of prophetic behavior in the book, surveying the specific prophetic figures in the book and examining how prophets function in the book. With respect to the first of these, Knoppers notes that Chronicles contains only three narratives depicting attempts by individuals to procure illicitly divine words, a fact he takes to indicate that the Chronicler’s interests lie elsewhere. The second matter Knoppers discusses, specific prophetic figures, reveals that Chronicles includes material about prophetic figures identified as such in the Deuteronomistic History, but also makes room for temporary prophets (even laypersons and foreign monarchs). The final essay, “Prophecy and the New Testament” (pp. 410–430), by C. Rowland, seems to have been included as way of thinking about the trajectory of prophecy in the early Christian literature. As such, Rowland traces prophecy through the Synoptic Gospels and Acts, Paul’s correspondence, and the Johannine literature (including Revelation). He concludes by noting that “prophecy is one of the most important features in the New Testament, historically, theologically and hermeneutically, and a way of comprehending the diversity contained in them” (p. 428).

626

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

These essays are of consistently high quality, and for that the authors and the editor are to be commended. The book could serve quite well as a companion volume in courses on ancient Israelite prophecy, but its prohibitively high cost makes that unlikely. One can only hope that a more economical paperback edition might be in the offing.

Holmstedt, Robert D., RUTH: A HANDBOOK ON THE HEBREW TEXT (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2010). Pp. vii+226. Softcover. US$24.95. ISBN 9781932792911. Reviewed by Anthony R. Pyles McMaster Divinity College Robert D. Holmstedt has taught Hebrew for over 15 years, and has for the last 10 years pursued, published, and presented significant research in the area of Hebrew linguistics. Working from a generative framework he has contributed in particular to discussions of word order (Holmstedt argues that Hebrew is S–V) and to analysis of the relative clause. Current projects include extensive involvement with the syntax database in development for Accordance Bible Software. It is thus out of both a love for teaching and a rich awareness of linguistics that Holmstedt approaches his task in Ruth. My own interest in Holmstedt’s work (and in the Baylor series) stems from similar interests: on the one hand, I desire to find a tool I could place in the hands of students who have finished a first-year Hebrew course for selfstudy; on the other, I would like to see a potential textbook with a particular ability to showcase Hebrew linguistics for the uninitiated. With some minor caveats I may say that Holmstedt’s Ruth: A Handbook on the Hebrew Text admirably fulfills both of these longings. The work is divided into four preliminary sections and the commentary proper in four acts, followed by bibliography and author and subject indices. Helpful additions for a future edition might include a glossary of linguistic terms and an index of Scripture citations. The first section is a brief introduction to the book of Ruth and to Holmstedt’s work. His commentary has “both the intermediate student and the advanced researcher in mind,” and while using the standard reference grammars pushes toward a more linguistically-informed description (p. 2).

REVIEWS

627

With this audience in mind it is somewhat surprising that there is no mention of the new edition of the Hebrew text in Biblia Hebraica Quinta. Section two comprises a brief introduction to Holmstedt’s linguistic model with focus on syntax, semantics, and pragmatics. While this section is helpful and necessary it is in some ways disappointing, for while the presentation is sufficient for researchers already familiar with linguistics, it is all too brief to be of help to most students who have completed a first year of Hebrew. (For instance, semantics and pragmatics are introduced in a total of three pages—including two charts.) Some of this oversight is tempered by §2.5, “Putting All the Pieces Together: Constituent Movement” (pp. 11–16), which is mostly concerned with word order but identifies and discusses specific examples of topic, focus, etc. as it proceeds. The section does state that more detailed information may be sought in Holmstedt 2005, Holmstedt 2009a, and Cook and Holmstedt 2009, all of which are readily accessible from Holmstedt’s faculty page.1 In contrast to the spartan overview of Holmstedt’s linguistic model, §3 is a 23-page discussion of linguistic issues in dating Ruth. After discussing the proposal of dates ranging from Solomon to the postexilic period he notes the challenge of Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvärd2 to the notion of observable chronological stages in Biblical Hebrew. Holmstedt proceeds to consider matters of orthography, assimilation of the nun in ‫מן‬, morphological features (paragogic nun 2fs qatal verbs with ‫ –תי‬endings, and ‫ –ם‬pronouns with apparent feminine antecedents), use of wayyiqtol and modal qatal forms, numerous syntactic features, and lexical features (including archaisms, mixed early/late items, and various potential borrowings from Aramaic). Holmstedt concludes that “all the relevant data suggest (but not strongly) that Ruth was written during a period of Aramaic ascendancy but not dominance, and thus it may come from the early Persian period” (p. 39). A more detailed argument (with more direct engagement of Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvärd) is available on the author’s website. 1 Robert D. Holmstedt, “Word Order in the Book of Proverbs,” in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. R. L. Troxel, K. G. Friebel, and D. R. Magary; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 135–54; idem, “Word Order and Information Structure in Ruth and Jonah: A Generative-Typological Analysis,” JSS 54 (2009): 111–39; John A. Cook and Robert D. Holmstedt, Biblical Hebrew: A Student Grammar (Draft Copy), unpublished manuscript, 2009 [cited 27 July 2011]. Online: http://individual.utoronto.ca-/holmstedt/textbook/BHSG2010.pdf. 2 Ian Young, Robert Rezetko, and Martin Ehrensvärd, eds., Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts (2 vols.; London: Equinox, 2008).

628

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The fourth section, “The Use of Language to Color Characters’ Speech” (pp. 41–49), brings together linguistics, sociolinguistics, and literary considerations to demonstrate how the storyteller “manipulat[es] language for the purpose of characterization” (p. 41). Illustrations from Pygmalion, Beowulf, and the Canterbury Tales help show how this technique operates across languages, but there is no shortage of instances in Ruth, either. For example, Holmstedt “suggest[s] that the narrator has used marginal—but understandable—language to give the book a foreign (Moabit-ish?) or perhaps archaic (i.e., ‘back in those days they talked funny’) coloring” (p. 47, in reference to the apparent gender-confusion of pronouns, suffixes, and verb in 1:8, 9, 11, 13, 19, 22; 4:11). Also, regarding “[t]he grammatical mess at the end of 2:7, ‫ ִש ְב ָ ֹּ֥תּה ִַה ִַ ַ֖ביִת ְמ ָ ֶּֽעט‬,… I take the overseer’s confused language as a reflection of his nervousness. In other words, the end of the verse is not grammatical Hebrew and intentionally so” (p. 48). Such helpful insights permeate the commentary, as well. The commentary proper in its four acts is laid out by scene. Each scene has a brief synopsis followed by the author’s translation and extended comment on each verse. Headings on each page identify the verses under discussion, making it very easy to find a particular reference quickly. The commentary is particularly rich not only for its linguistic and literary observations, but for Holmstedt’s keen ability to address the “what on earth is that?” issues that sometimes seem to overwhelm intermediate students set loose in real Hebrew texts, for instance, why is there a dagesh qal in the ‫ב‬ of ‫ויהי בימי‬in 1:1 (p. 54), or, why does Act II Scene 2 begin with a qatal form instead of a wayyiqtol (2:4, p. 112). The introductory sections are very helpful; the commentary is insightful and rewarding. The only caveat regarding content is rather small: the uninitiated reader will need more background on Hebrew linguistics than found here—but this is, after all, a commentary. My other concerns and disappointments are exclusively with the type-setting, which is truly a disservice to the author (though not one that by any means nullifies the usefulness of the work). Most grievous is the unfortunate line spacing in the commentary: whole phrases are reproduced where they are commented on, and the size of the Hebrew font and the spacing of the lines means that at times vowels and accents are printed on top of one another, requiring the reader to reference a separate Hebrew Bible or turn back a page to where the whole verse is printed with adequate spacing (see, for example, pp. 55, 58, 68, 89, 129, 151, 185, and perhaps the most atrocious: 190). Numerous typos also persist, generally of the type that distracts rather than obfuscates (for example, “The challenges to the model has culminated,” p. 18; “the audience is reminded throughout the Ruth is a foreigner,” p. 49; “‫בימי ויהי‬,” [inverted order] p. 53; “Chr 26:5,” [should be 2 Chr 26:5] p. 53; “as na alien

REVIEWS

629

in a foreign land,” p. 55). Future printings will, we may hope, curtail these minor inconveniences. In summary, Holmstedt has provided Hebrew students, teachers, and researchers with an invaluable tool for the book of Ruth. He has further demonstrated the power of linguistics in considering the style and features of a whole text, while addressing many puzzling questions of morphology, phonology, syntax, and semantics along the way. Would that many more such works may follow.

Russell, Stephen C., IMAGES OF EGYPT IN EARLY BIBLICAL LITERATURE: CISJORDAN-ISRAELITE, TRANSJORDANISRAELITE, AND JUDAHITE PORTRAYALS (BZAW, 403; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009). Pp. xix + 280. Hardback. €79.95/US$120.00. ISBN 9783110221718. Reviewed by Safwat Marzouk Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary Russell’s book Images of Egypt is a revised version of his doctoral dissertation at New York University and focuses primarily on biblical texts he views as early that deal with Egypt. The thesis of the book develops a trend in recent scholarship, arguing that the memory of Egypt in early biblical traditions is not monolithic. The book instead proposes that this memory differs from one region to the other, reflecting the diversity of the memory of Egypt in the Cisjordan-Israelite traditions, Transjordan-Israelite traditions, and Judahite traditions. As Russell puts it, “Ancient Cisjordanian Israelites, Transjordanian Israelites and Judahites all remembered Egypt, and partly defined themselves in relation to it, but not in precisely the same way,” (p. 2). The task of the book is, therefore, to delineate the uniqueness of each one of these different regional traditions with regard to their memory of Egypt. After dealing with the history of scholarship on the memory of Egypt in the first chapter, the second chapter of the book deals with texts that reflect Cisjordanian-Israelite traditions. To this end Russell focuses on the tradition of the golden calf in 1 Kgs 12:25–33 and Exod 32, the portrayal of Egypt in the eighth-century prophets Hosea and Amos, and the story of

630

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Joseph. After offering detailed exegetical discussions and arguments that concern the date and the provenance of each text, Russell notes that the Cisjordan-Israelite memories of Egypt entailed two distinctive themes that might have originated independently and were brought together at some point in the evolution of these traditions. “[T]wo major exodus themes were at least home in Cisjordan Israel: the notion of a journey from Egypt to Israel’s land, and the military overtones of the exodus” (p. 75). The theme of the journey is mainly underlined by the use of the Hebrew verb ‫“עלה‬to go up” (1 Kgs 12:28; Exod 32:4; Amos 3:2; Hos 12:14). In order to underline the second theme, Russell appeals to “the martial flavor of the Bethel Calf Cult” (p. 50). Given the connection between the calf cult and the exodus tradition, the military overtones in Exod 32 are pointed out by the author in order to associate them with the CisjordanianIsraelite memory of the exodus. The connection between the verb ‫“צחק‬to play” with the pair “to eat and drink,” for instance, signals a celebration of a military victory (cf. Exod 32:6; Judg 9:27; 1 Sam 30:16). In addition, “the military aspect of the exodus may in turn be understood against the background of the military nature of early Israel” (p. 63). The military character of the early tribal Israel is evident in the incident of mustering the tribes for war in Judg 5. The third chapter of the book discusses early Transjordanian-Israelite traditions about Egypt. This chapter mainly focuses on the memory of the exodus as attested in the Balaam oracles (Num 23:18–24; 24:3–9). This discussion leads Russell to conclude, “The memory of Egypt in Cisjordan had a different emphasis from that in Transjordan. The former focused on the idea of an exodus involving a journey out of Egypt, whereas the latter focused on liberation from oppression by Egypt” (pp. 119–20). Such a difference is marked by the use of two different verbs in order to describe the exodus event. While the Cisjordanian-Israelite traditions use the verb ‫עלה‬, the Transjordanian-Israelite traditions use the verb ‫“יצא‬to go out” (Num 23:22; 24:8). The memory of liberation from an Egyptian oppression probably reflects a memory of the withdrawal and the decline of the Egyptian imperial presence in the Levant around the twelfth century BCE. Interestingly, one of the Balaam oracles associates the event of the exodus with the god El (23:8). “In early Transjordanian circles, the god of deliverance from Egypt was El. Such attribution stands in contrast to all other biblical traditions, in which the god of the deliverance from Egypt and of the exodus was Yahweh” (p. 115) The fourth chapter of the book is dedicated to the discussion of early Judahite traditions about Egypt. The texts that are discussed in this chapter include Exod 15:1b–18, Ps 68:29–32, and 1 Kgs 3:1. According to Russell these texts present opposing perspectives with regard to Egypt. Whereas

REVIEWS

631

Exod 15:1b–18 portrays Egypt as an enemy that is defeated by the divine warrior, 1 Kgs 3:1, which narrates Solomon’s marriage to Pharaoh’s daughter represents Egypt as a political ally. Psalm 68:29–32, which speaks of bronze that is being brought from Egypt, can be read as presenting Egypt in two different ways: “a subservient vassal paying tribute, or an ally in trade” (p. 193). The main argument of this chapter, however, lies in Russell’s conclusion that these three “early” Judahite texts do not mention the exodus event in their remembrance of Egypt. Despite the current location of the Song of the Sea in the book of Exodus (Exod 15:1b–18), that is, as the culmination of the exodus events and the crossing of the Sea of Reeds (Exod 14), Russell contends that the song makes no mention of an exodus from Egypt. Even the verb ‫“עבר‬to cross” (cf. Exod 15:16) does not refer to the crossing of the people from Egypt into Canaan nor the crossing of the Jordan River. “Rather the verb is part of the poem’s language that draws on old mythological motifs related to the ideology of kingship. As such, it refers to the tour of the people of Yahweh as they journey to Yahweh’s sanctuary” (p. 176). Given the mythological and the metaphorical language of the poem, it is difficult to pinpoint a particular historical context for the defeat of an Egyptian army. For Russell the association between the Song of the Sea and the exodus tradition is due to Israelite influence on the southern traditions after the Assyrian invasion of Samaria in 722 BCE. Building on previous scholarship, Russell’s study fleshes out concretely the diversity with regard to the memory of Egypt in early biblical traditions. Arguing that the memory of Egypt is not monolithic, the study underlines the fact that such diversity is not just delineated temporally (early and late) but also geographically (Cisjordan and Transjordan, Israelite and Judahite). This study, therefore, challenges scholarly assumptions with regard to the socio-religious formation of ancient Israel. Now one cannot just speak of one exodus tradition, but must instead consider a variety of exodus traditions. These traditions come to us with different emphases and divergent memories. Furthermore, this study underlines the role that the preexilic sanctuaries (e.g. Bethel) played in shaping these different traditions with regard to the memory of the exodus. In addition, Russell’s study contributes to the long-debated controversy of the origins of biblical Israel. The biblical and extra-biblical evidence underlines the complexity of the issue. Whether the Israelites are viewed as outsiders or as indigenous to the land of Canaan, such diversity is compatible with Russell’s study on the nature of the memory of the exodus traditions. Although these three different regional traditions (Transjordanian-Israelite, Cisjordanian-Israelite, and Judahite) are rooted in

632

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Canaan and therefore underline Israel’s origins as indigenous, the Transjordanian-Israelite tradition speaks of a journey from Egypt. While the book speaks of the “images” of Egypt in the plural, most of the book is essentially dedicated to discussing the early memories of the exodus. Even in the case of the Judahite memory of Egypt, which according to the author does not mention the exodus tradition, the author spends a great deal of the discussion showing its lack of any reference to the exodus. In other words, the major theme that the book is dealing with is the memory or lack of memory of the exodus from Egypt. One might wonder whether a title addressing the presence or lack of the exodus in the Israelite memories of Egypt might have been more appropriate for the subject matter. To be sure, there are a few texts discussed that do not speak about the exodus, such as 1 Kgs 3:1, Ps 68:29–32, and the story of Joseph. Since the book is interested in early biblical literature, at least the inclusion of 1 Kgs 3:1 and story of Joseph poses a problem with regard to the author’s dating of these texts. In the case of 1 Kgs 3:1 Russell sees the time of Hezekiah to be the suitable time for the invention of the theme of Solomon’s diplomatic marriage with Pharaoh’s daughter. The reason would be an explanation for Hezekiah’ pro-Egyptian policies. Two objections arise to this line of thought. On the one hand, this theory assumes that the reference to the diplomatic marriage is seen as a positive remark. If read along with 1 Kgs 11, this text could very well be anti-Egyptian or against the policy of diplomatic marriages. And if this is true, then the time of Josiah or other periods could also be suitable. Even if the text demands a positive perception of a pro-Egyptian policy, Hezekiah’s time is not the only suitable period because Egypt continued to be looked upon an ally until the fall of Jerusalem (and then again much later). As for the story of Joseph, Russell claims that some elements of the story must be earlier than 722. The reader is left, however, both without knowing which parts of the story should be considered early and which parts should be considered late, and also how the dating of this material influences Russell’s construction of the image of Egypt in “early” texts. In addition to the issue of the dating, the story of Joseph portrays Egypt in a different manner than other places in the Bible. Egypt is a place of refuge for the Israelites, and Joseph’s wisdom saves the Egyptians. Furthermore, Joseph marries an Egyptian. Thus the story paints a picture of EgyptianIsraelite relations in which the survival of each depends on the other. This portrayal of Egypt should be contrasted with those streams of tradition that see Egypt only as an enemy. As Russell explains the unique usage of the verb ‫יצא‬in the exodus formula from the Transjordanian traditions, he claims that the use of this

REVIEWS

633

verb designates a liberation from oppression, a notion that might be explained by the memory of the Egyptian imperial hegemony in the Levant. One wonders, however, if the Egyptian hegemony was more severe in the Transjordan than in the Cisjordan or the southern part of the Levant? If the Egyptian empire practiced its hegemony all over the Levant, what prompts each of these geographical locations to remember this hegemony in a different manner? This leads to the use of the other verb ‫עלה‬, in the Cisjordanian-Israelite traditions. The verb is used by the author of 1 Kgs 12:28, when Jeroboam establishes the cult of the golden calves in Bethel. The context of this declaration is striking. The people of Israel are not oppressed by an external power, but rather by a Judahite king (Rehoboam; 1 Kgs 12:1–14). Further, Jeroboam himself was in Egypt, and he returned to Israel in order to become a king over the northern tribes (1 Kgs 12:1–3). How much might Jeroboam’s “movement” from Egypt into Israel have influenced the construction of the formula of the exodus event in the Bethel cult to denote an event of movement as well? The formula is also used by the northern prophet Hosea, who threatens the Israelites with removal from their land (Hos 9:3, 6; 8:13). Here again we see the context of movement imposing itself on the religious and political scenery and possibly on the exodus formula itself. Russell’s book enriches our understanding of the geographical distribution of the biblical traditions, specifically those traditions that concern the memory of the central event of the exodus. The book can be highly recommended to scholars who are interested in the early stages of the formation of the exodus traditions and to those who are interested in the history of Israelite religion, particularly in the preexilic period.

634

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Nicklas, Tobias, Friedrich V. Reiterer, and Joseph Verheyden (eds.), THE HUMAN BODY IN DEATH AND RESURRECTION (Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature, Yearbook 2009; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2009). Pp. x + 457. Hardcover. €98.00 $147.00. ISBN 9783110208801. Reviewed by Anke Dorman University of Zurich The present volume contains papers from the meeting of the “International Society for Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature” held at the University of Regensburg, Germany, December 3–6, 2008. The papers focus on the following questions: “What role does the human body, or rather the (sic) human corporeality play in dealing with death, but also the perception of death and resurrection? Also, which anthropologies are tied together with the respective practices and ideas?” (v). The papers discuss the central topic within the context of texts of classical antiquity, ancient Christianity, and early Judaism. Because of the scope of this journal I will only discuss the ten papers that are embedded in the latter context. The first essay of the volume by Claudia Setzer (“Resurrection of the Body in Early Judaism and Christianity,” 1–12) provides a handy introduction to the historical setting of the belief in bodily resurrection. In its conclusion the essay poses some questions for using these ideas in contemporary theology. The paper consists of three parts. In the first part (2–6), Setzer makes nine general remarks about the historical development of the belief in resurrection of the body. For a complete survey of the idea she refers to the monographs of George Nickelsburg and Alan Segal. 1 Setzer begins her overview with the Hebrew Bible and ends with 1 G. E. W. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (HTS, 26; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972), and A. Segal, Life After Death: A History of the Afterlife in Western Religion (New York: Doubleday, 2004).

REVIEWS

635

Tertullian’s apologetic works on the topic dating to the turn of the 3rd century CE. The references to belief in resurrection in the Hebrew Bible do not display a chronological development nor are they described as a welldefined concept. Setzer opposes the idea that the growth of resurrection belief was a response to martyrdom: “Looking at the whole sweep of belief, martyrdom can be a stimulus to resurrection belief, but is neither its single nor primary cause” (4). The remarks of Setzer’s general historical overview function as an introduction to the second part of her article (6–9). This section explores the function of resurrection belief and its importance for Jewish and Christian communities that hold to it. It appears that the belief in resurrection of the body was an identity marker for divergent communities. The profession of the belief also became associated with various other ideas, such as the belief in God’s providence, divine retribution, and the notion that bodily resurrection is proven by Scripture so only people who hold firmly to the idea interpret Scripture properly. In the third and final part of her paper, Setzer addresses how the ideas outlined in the preceding sections might be used in contemporary theology and humanistic philosophy (9–12). However, our modern way of thinking addresses questions that did not seem to occupy ancient thinkers to the same extent: “[I]n retaining the importance of the body in resurrection, we cannot help but wonder ‘What kind of body?’, ‘Is it male?’, ‘Is it female?’, ‘Of which race is it?’, ‘Do former infirmities continue to exist?’”(9–10). Despite the many differences between contemporary and ancient theology, Setzer thinks it is possible to retain and transform the earlier discussed aspects of resurrection belief “(…) in constructing a contemporary creation theology, retaining some of the fundamental principles of the ancient belief” (11). Thomas Hieke’s paper (“Die Unreinheit der Leiche nach der Tora,” 43–65) is a fine analysis of the Torah regulations concerning ritual impurity generated through contact with a corpse. The paper introduces the topic with the observation that nowhere in the story of Abraham burying Sarah is it said that Abraham became ritually unclean. This is an interesting fact since it is known that Abraham lived as if he already knew and kept the Torah, in which it is clearly stated that contact with a corpse leads to ritual impurity. In the pages that follow Hieke explains how the ideas about ritual impurity of a dead body are addressed in the Torah. It is a bit disappointing, however, that the question about Abraham raised at the beginning remains unaddressed in the rest of the paper. The paper contains three sections. The first section provides an overview of the textual evidence relating to the topic, which can be subdivided into three parts. The first part discusses the topic of ritual

636

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

impurity of a dead body in relation to the priests and the high priest in Leviticus. The second part considers the ritual impurity of a dead body in Numbers. Hieke notes a) the purity of the camp in Num 5, 31 and 19; b) the case of the Nazirite in Num 6; c) the possibility of postponing the celebration of Passover in Num 9; d) the principle law about corpse contamination in Num 19; and 5) the case of war. The book of Deuteronomy is briefly discussed in the third part of the first section. From Deut 21:22–23 he concludes that the land may become defiled because of a dead body. Hieke investigates the structure and interpretation of Num 19 in the second section of his paper. As stated earlier, Num 19 contains the principle law dealing with the question of proper conduct after contact with a dead person (the actual regulation is contained in Num 19:11–22). This text has a three-fold structure that appears first as a general statement and then in more detail. It contains three elements: a) impurity through touching a corpse (Num 19:11 // 19:14–16), b) purification ritual (Num 19:12 // 19:17–19), and c) sanctions for neglect of the purification rite (Num 19:13 // 19:20). After investigating the structure of Num 19, Hieke turns to the interpretation of the regulations in this text. He states that every culture developed various rites to deal with the uncertainty caused by the confrontation with a dead person. According to Hieke it is quite likely that Num 19 incorporates magical practices known from Israel and beyond. These magical practices were probably partly rationalized and integrated into the Priestly system of purity and holiness. Evidence for this statement is found in the offering of the red heifer in Num 19:1–10 and the fabrication of the mē niddā out of its ashes. At the end of his paper, Hieke draws three systematic conclusions. The first two conclusions are related to the world of ideas behind the text. In discussing the need for a ritual to restore the normal life order after contact with a corpse, Hieke rightly pays attention to the question of whether the ritual was practiced everywhere and whether it was even possible to perform it. Connected with this question is the interesting observation that this ritual is especially important when the ideas of an afterlife or of God’s power over death do not exist. From the elaborate description of rituals in Num 19 may also be drawn that the ritual intends to avoid any kind of superstition, most likely the kind associated with the cult of the dead. The last conclusion attempts to draw attention to the application of the biblical ideas about the impurity of a corpse to contemporary culture, arguing that respect be maintained for the mortal remains of human beings. In her article “The Revivification of the Dry Bones: Ezekiel 37:1–14” (67–85) Karin Schöpflin provides new insights into the literary-historical

REVIEWS

637

development of Ezek 37:1–14 and its interpretation. The text describes the revivification of the dry bones, which could be interpreted either as a metaphorical reference to a return to the land of Israel for the people in exile, or literally to an eschatological expectation of the rising of the dead. Schöpflin suggests that the first interpretation belongs to the original historical-political context of the text. Nonetheless, the second interpretation became important in the process of Forstschreibung in the postexilic period. After a short introduction, the paper focuses on the interpretation of Ezek 37:1–14 with special attention to various Hebrew terms relating to the human body and its animation (68–76). In relation to the first, Ezek 37:6–8 contains four nouns referring to the human body: ‫גיד‬, ‫בשר‬, ‫עצם‬, and ‫עור‬. Schöpflin notes that “[i]t is striking that all four nouns designating elements of the human body are only combined in Ezek 37 and Job 10:11” (72), although she does not state whether she thinks that there is a dependency of one text on the other. With respect to the animation of the human body, ‫רוח‬is the key term. Without a ‫רוח‬the material body is not thought to be alive. Schöpflin observes that the two-stage restoration process is in analogy with the non-Priestly creation narrative of Gen 2:7, where the created human body becomes animated by the breath of life. Because in Ezek 37:1– 10 the word of the prophet also plays an essential role (the bones are only restored to life after Ezekiel has conveyed God’s message), an analogy with the Priestly narrative of Gen 1 also exists. Furthermore, “[t]he immediate fulfilment of the prophet’s words reflects a rather late stage in the development of Old Testament concepts of prophecy; it would be dated after the late deuteronomist passage Jer 28:15–17” (75). In the investigation of the compositional history of Ezek 37:1–14 Schöpflin discusses the inconsistency of the mention of unburied bones on the one hand and the opening of the graves on the other. According to Schöpflin Ezek 37:7–9 is an expansion and Ezek 37:10 is “an integral part of the original vision report (Ezek 37:1–5, 6b), or at least of the combination of vision and oracle (Ezek 37:11–13a)” (78). The earliest layer of Ezek 37:1–10 is 37:1–5, 6b, 10, 11–13a and was composed in the early postexilic period. This material has two sources of inspiration: the motif of lament found in Psalms and the oracle of doom in Jer 8:1–2. The earliest text was interpreted metaphorically as referring to the salvation of Israel. The Fortschreibung (which Schöpflin dates to the 3rd or first half of the 2nd century BCE) perceived the revivification of the dry bones as a story about the eschatological resurrection of the dead. The last part of the article discusses the vision attested by the Qumran fragments of Pseudo-Ezekiel (4Q385; 4Q386 1 I; 4Q388 7), in which the

638

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

collective perspective of Ezek 37:1–14 is transformed into an individual one. This text was composed in the 2nd or 1st century BCE and is discussed by Mladen Popović later on in the volume (221–42). Beate Ego’s paper “Death and Burial in the Tobit Narration in the Context of the Old Testament Tradition” (87–103) is not an easy read, although this is not due to the topic Ego discusses. The paper was originally written in German, and it is likely that much of what Ego explained very clearly in her mother tongue was not transmitted comprehensibly in the English translation. Her argument is further complicated by various (mis)spellings of the names of the protagonist Tobit and his son Tobias at the end of the paper (cf. 94, 95, 97). Throughout her paper, Ego points to corresponding ideas about death and burial in Tobit and parallels with earlier Old Testament literature. It is somewhat unsatisfactory that Ego pays little attention to the Greek context of the Tobit story. She briefly mentions the Antigone myth (89), but it is unclear what she intends with this reference. With respect to the prayer of Sarah in Tob 3:10 (93) the text speaks about Hades, but Ego does not explain this term in general, nor its connection with the Hebrew Sheol. The main conclusion that can be drawn from this paper is that the topic of “death and burial” in the Tobit narrative functions as a Leitmotif that intends to illustrate the validity of the act-consequence-relation. Tobit gets himself into trouble by adhering to the Law and burying his fellow Israelites. In the end, however, he is rewarded for his deeds as he is healed from his blindness and his sons promise him a dignified burial. In addition Ego formulates three other conclusions (99–101) after investigating six individual passages dealing with the topic of death and burial in the book of Tobit. Firstly, the importance of a dignified burial not only pervades the Tobit narration, but is an anthropological constant. In the case of Tobit, the burials also function to “(…) counterbalance the chaos of the Diaspora and symbolically restore the incorporation of Sennacherib’s victims into the people of Israel” (99). Secondly, Ego notes specific burial customs: the form of the grave, purification rituals, and supplying the dead with food. Thirdly, the paper raises some possibilities on the idea of afterlife and resurrection of the dead. Ego concludes that the book displays a collective eschatology in the hymn to Jerusalem at the end of the book. The idea of individual resurrection of the dead or an immortal soul “(…) do not yet seem to be an issue in the Tobit narration” (100). Barbara Schmitz (“Auferstehung und Epiphanie: Jenseits- und Körperkonzepte im Zweiten Makkabäerbuch,” 105–42) analyses the concepts of resurrection and epiphany that play an important role in 2 Maccabees. The paper consists of four sections. The first section (105–12) discusses the resurrection narrative in 2 Macc 7 and three shorter references

REVIEWS

639

to resurrection in 2 Macc 12:43–45, 14:46, and 15:12–16. From this analysis two conceptions of resurrection can be drawn. The first conception can be found in 2 Macc 7:9, 14 and 2 Macc 12:43–45 and is an eschatological heavenly exaltation of the dead. The second picture (2 Macc 7:11, 22–23, 27–29, and 2 Macc 14:46) is that of recreation and restitution of the body after death. “Beide Vorstellungen finden sich im letzten Kapitel vereinigt: Beim Traum des Judas erscheinen Onias und Jeremia sowohl als post mortem Erhöhte, als auch als körperlich Restituierte (2Makk 15,12-16)” (111). Schmitz argues that the idea of life after death was generated through the political circumstances as a way out of powerlessness. “Weil die Macht staatlicher Organe an der Grenze des Todes endet, eröffnet die Vorstellung von einem Leben nach dem Tod eine Freiheit, die zu neuen Handlungsspielräumen im Diesseits führt” (112). The second section is devoted to the six descriptions of epiphany in 2 Macc 3:24–26, 33–34; 5:2–4; 10:29–30; 11:8; 12:22; and 15:11–16, 25–36 (112–32). Both resurrection and epiphany deal with crossing the boundary between life and death, although the two concepts operate in opposite directions. Resurrection texts focus on life after death, whereas the heavenly realm enters the present world in the case of epiphanies. Second Maccabees 2:21–22 formulates four categories of epiphany: provenance, addressees, goal, and theological motivation or outcomes of the events. In what follows, Schmitz considers the epiphanies in the light of these four categories. A chart on pp. 128–29 summarizes the results of Schmitz’s analysis. The third section (132–36) draws attention to the forms of human bodies in the context of resurrection and epiphany. Life after death is conceived of as corporal, and the actors in the epiphanies also have carefully constructed bodies. With respect to the latter it is interesting to note that all the individuals appearing in the epiphanies are male, and they are described as strong and beautiful soldiers. The only elderly male persons are Onias and Jeremiah. According to Schmitz this military ideal of strength and beauty is misleading and can only be correctly understood in light of the book’s present-world protagonists: Eleazer, the mother of the seven sons, Razis, Onias, and Judas. Second Maccabees attempts to stress that “(…) die eigentliche Kraft Israels im Halten der Tora und im Festhalten am Tempel liegt—auch und gerade dann, wenn es bis zum Äußersten geht. Die Helden des Zweiten Makkabäerbuches sind die Standhaften, die Schwachen und die zu Tode Gefolterten” (136). With this last statement Schmitz provides a great example of the way the concepts of resurrection and epiphany are connected. Although at first sight the two concepts may appear as two distinct categories, Schmitz clearly shows that they are actually complementary ways of thinking about

640

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the after- or other-world and that they should be understood in relation to one another. The interrelatedness is also expressed at the end of her paper. In the fourth and final section Schmitz investigates how the characteristics of epiphanies, postulated by the text itself, might also account for the resurrection texts in Maccabees and concludes that “(…) die von der Erzählung selbst etablierten Kategorien für die Epiphanien gerade auch von dem anderen Jenseitskonzept, der Auferstehung, erfüllt werden” (137). In the first part of his paper “Erkenntnis und Tod in der antikjüdischen Weisheit” (143–66) Stefan Beyerle discusses the anthropological problem of mythic versus rational understanding (“Erkenntnis”). He mentions the theses of Emma Brunner-Traut and Julian Jaynes as examples of two approaches to the differentiation between understanding and myth in antiquity. Brunner-Traut uses the term “aspective apperception” to describe the ancient Egyptian mindset. Julian Jaynes argues that before human perception changed to consciousness, human beings had a bicameral soul. “Das impliziert, dass der Mensch einmal unbewusst dem Göttlichen folgte, das ihm halluzinatorisch, visuell-visionär und im Hören gegenwärtig war” (147). Beyerle then investigates the thesis postulated by Jaynes—that the Old Testament bears witness to the change from bicamerality to consciousness—in the context of Qoheleth and the Wisdom of Solomon. In the second part of his paper Beyerle uses the book of Qoheleth as an example to illustrate the problem of understanding. Because the book differentiates between human beings on one side and God on the other it is clear that the idea of human consciousness is dawning. The overview demonstrates that Qoheleth occupies an intermediate position between the divine experience of the older wisdom tradition and the hope of revelation found in later apocalypticism. All through Qohelet the notion of understanding is based upon experiences from the human perception of the world, but the boundaries of this understanding are related to God. This idea becomes apparent in the discussion of Qoh 7:23–29 in the last part of this section. The Wisdom of Solomon, the book which Beyerle discusses in the third part of his paper, witnesses a new perspective in wisdom literature with respect to the idea of understanding. Beyerle speaks of an “Eschatologisierung” or “Apokalyptisierung” of the later wisdom tradition (159), in which the empirical-inductive approach is no longer applicable. A new path to understanding is divine revelation. However, the Wisdom of Solomon shows that wisdom is more than revelation alone since it is related to the resurrection of the just. “Das Streben nach weisheitlicher Erkenntnis ist vergeblich, weil doch am Ende ‘Frevler’ wie ‘Gerechte’ sterben. Doch sind in Wirklichkeit die ‘Gerechten’ nur scheinbar tot” (161).

REVIEWS

641

Friedrich Reiterer begins his paper “Die Vorstellung vom Tod und den Toten nach Ben Sira” (167–204) with some basic methodological statements, namely that his investigation is based on the Greek version of Ben Sira, which implies that it is actually the work of Ben Sira’s grandson. The author not only translated the Hebrew version, but also revised the text so as to adjust it to his Hellenistic audience. Reiterer further attempts to stress that Ben Sira is deliberately polyphonic and that its particular formulations make identifying a clear subdivisions of the material a difficult undertaking. What seems impossible for Ben Sira, however, is not true for the present paper. It consists of seven units (1. Terminological Material; 2. Death; 3. Hades; 4. Dying, 5. The Utmost End; 6. The Deceased; 7. Summary), some of which are subdivided into smaller sections, which sometimes are split up again. Unfortunately, Reiterer’s overly systematized presentation does not result in a convenient survey. In the context of the present volume, the most important conclusions seem to be that Ben Sira— influenced by his Alexandrine-Hellenistic environment—deals with death in a very distant manner. Death is inevitable; it just happens to a person, whether one expects it or not. However, death is probably not conceived of as the absolute end for human beings, although Ben Sira is not very explicit about the events after death. In his paper “Afterlife in Jubilees: Through a Covenantal Prism” (205– 19) Richard J. Bautch offers an interesting new perspective on the conception of life after death in a this-worldly setting. The scholarly consensus has been that Jub. 23:29–32 is not a reference to bodily resurrection or physical immortality but to a more general salvation based upon the Deuteronomistic pattern of history. Already at the very beginning of his paper Bautch states that “(…) there are no sure grounds for overturning the consensus view” (206). Yet, at the same time he proposes that Jub. 23:29–32 may contain an underlying notion of life after death through the “covenantal dimension” of the passage (206–7). The focus of the paper is on explaining how the conception of a thisworldly afterlife can be connected to the notion of life after death. Firstly, the passage’s context within Jub. 23:9–31 in relation to the Deuteronomistic pattern of history is explored (209–11). Then Bautch focuses on the text of Jub. 23:20–31 and Jubilees’ conception of covenant (211–18). For Jubilees there is only one covenant. This covenant already existed before creation and will continue to exist beyond the end of time. With respect to the latter, Bautch states that it is “(…) the eschaton, which is coterminous with the afterlife of the blessed and righteous who appear in the closing verses of Jubilees 23” (207). This statement is a little confusing because what Bautch means is that afterlife in Jubilees is this-worldly: there is no actual rising of deceased

642

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

human beings. At the end of his paper this idea is summarized as: “To live on in the memories of family constitutes the this-worldly eschaton that Jubilees celebrates” (218). Mladen Popović (“Bones, Bodies and Resurrection in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 221–42) discusses the theme of resurrection of the human body in four Qumran texts “(…) that say, may say, or could be expected to say something about the human body in death, afterlife and resurrection” (221). After discussing the textual witnesses on the topic (the War Scroll, the Hodayot, the Messianic Apocalypse [4Q521] and three Pseudo-Ezekiel manuscripts [4Q385, 4Q386, and 4Q388]) Popović briefly notes the material evidence of the cemetery and the tombs of the Qumran settlement. The Dead Sea Scrolls contain little information about the resurrection of the dead. This does not mean that they were originally silent about it, but unfortunately texts have not been preserved in their entirety. With respect to the War Scroll, Popović discusses what happened to the bodies of those slain in battle. It can be drawn from various passages of the War Scroll that dead enemies were sometimes left unburied, stripped for spoil, and of course regarded as sources of impurity (223). Although it is said that the sons of darkness are damned, the War Scroll does not mention the form of slain bodies in “(…) the dark places of Abbadon and in the places of destruction of Sheol (1QM 14:17; 4Q491 8–10 14–17)” (224). Because being left unburied was regarded as a terrible fate, Popović rightly concludes that the slain sons of light would probably have been buried. It remains, however, highly remarkable that the War Scroll is not specific about the fate of the slain sons of light. Popović does not clearly elaborate on the fate of righteous warriors killed in the battle. Yet, at the end of the War Scroll section he tentatively suggests that the scroll contained some kind of belief in the revivification of dead warriors (225– 26). Perhaps his proposals were already too uncertain to warrant taking a further step and concluding that if slain righteous warriors were only temporarily dead, then they might not need to be buried in the first place. With respect to the Hodayot Popović notes that the few references to resurrection of the dead can be interpreted in two ways. Firstly, it is possible to interpret the resurrection of the dead as a metaphorical description of a person’s new life after joining the Qumran community. Secondly, it can also be a literal reference to a future eschatological event. Popović agrees with Brooke that these two approaches need not exclude one another (229). On the whole, the Hodayot offer little information on the topic of bodily resurrection. “The Hodayot do not describe what happens to the human body when a person actually dies. They also do not speak in concrete terms about life after death of the body or the transformed state of the body” (228).

REVIEWS

643

The Messianic Apocalypse (4Q521) and three Pseudo-Ezekiel manuscripts (4Q385, 4Q386, and 4Q388) contain a little additional information on the topic. The first text clearly refers to the revivification of dead bodies. The form of these bodies after they have been resurrected remains unclear. This kind of information is contained in the three PseudoEzekiel fragments, which are a reworking of Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones. Popović argues against Johannes Tromp, who is of the opinion that the idea of carnal resurrection is a second century CE Christian invention.2 It is interesting to compare Popović’s discussion on pp. 234–36 about Pseudo-Ezekiel’s transformation of the vision of the revivification of the dry bones in Ezek 37:1–14 with Karin Schöpflin’s essay on this matter earlier in this volume (67–85). Although Popović does not pay attention to the multi-layered character of the text pointed out so clearly by Schöpflin, Popović’s interpretation of the Pseudo-Ezekiel fragments is very adequate. He concludes that “(…) the bones, joints, sinews and skin in PseudoEzekiel may be taken as concrete references to the bodies of righteous ones who are buried and await resurrection in the near future” (236). At the end of his paper, Popović briefly mentions the archaeological remains of the cemetery in Qumran as a material source of information about the idea of bodily resurrection. He concludes—against Milik and Puech—that the Qumran cemetery does not offer any reliable information that might contribute to our understanding of the role played by resurrection in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Alan J. Avery-Peck (“Resurrection of the Body in Early Rabbinic Judaism,” 243–66) clearly outlines that early rabbinic Judaism had no systematic doctrine or well-developed ideas about life after death, resurrection, or the world to come. This seems contradictory since the rabbis at the same time leave no doubt that the belief in resurrection and post-mortem existence is an essential aspect of Judaism. The article does not provide any answers to bridge the gap between these contradictory elements, but it does an excellent job of bringing these inconsistencies into the spotlight. With respect to the theme of the world to come and resurrection, Avery-Peck cites m. Sanh. 10:1 and m. ‘Abot 4:16–17. These texts share the idea that the life in this world is more important than the life to come. Therefore, pious Jews should always live according to the laws of the Torah. “The greatest way to experience life is through commitment to the norms and practice set out in the law: penitence and good deeds. What we 2 J. Tromp, “Can These Bones Live? Ezekiel 37:1–14 and Eschatological Resurection,” H. de Jonge and J. Tromp (eds.), The Book of Ezekiel and its Influence (Aldershot, Ashgate: 2007), 61–78.

644

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

do in this world is in this way overwhelmingly better than the coming one” (250). This concern is also found in texts dealing with life after death. AveryPeck points at the contradictory ideas found in the Babylonian Talmud about post-mortem existence of the body and of the soul (b. Ber. 18 a–b; b. Šabb. 152b–153a;, and b. Yebam. 96b–97a). He explains the absence of a systematic treatment of this topic by stating that the rabbis were “(…) more concerned with the lessons death can teach about how we are to lead our lives than with the mechanics of an afterlife” (259). Although profound theological reflections on resurrection belief are lacking in early rabbinic Judaism, it seems that it was quite important to prove how resurrection can be possible. Examples of these theories can be found in b. Sanh. 90b–91a, Pesiq. Rab. 1:6 and Lev. Rab. IV:V. But these theories, again, are subjugated to the one central concern of the rabbis articulated over and over again by Avery-Peck: that what really counts is how one lives one’s life in the present world.

Annus, Amar and Alan Lenzi, LUDLUL BĒL NĒMEQI: THE STANDARD BABYLONIAN POEM OF THE RIGHTEOUS SUFFERER (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts, 7; Publications of the Foundation for Finnish Assyriological Research, 2; Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2010). Pp. xvi + 72. Hardback. US$35.00. ISBN 9789521013348. Reviewed by Victor Avigdor Hurowitz Ben-Gurion University of the Negev

IS LUDLUL BĒL NĒMEQI WISDOM LITERATURE? For half a century the standard edition of the popular Akkadian composition Ludlul bēl nēmeqi has been that of Wilfred G. Lambert in his classic compendium Babylonian Wisdom Literature (BWL).1 Lambert had at his Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960; reprinted, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 21–62; 283–302. 1

REVIEWS

645

disposal twenty-six fragmentary manuscripts each containing part of a single tablet of the four tablets usually comprising the complete work. The only tablet he could reconstruct nearly entirely and to its full length of 120 lines was the second. Tablets III and IV could be restored only partially, with tablet IV being most problematic with the order of its constituent fragments uncertain. Since Lambert’s publication copious new material has come to light and Ludlul has repeatedly merited translations and studies.2 BWL itself contains an addendum with several additional pieces including one identified by Erle Leichty preserving the first thirteen lines of the work.3 The new volume of Amar Annus and Alan Lenzi reviewed here is based on fifty-five of the fifty-eight known manuscripts, and the composition is now available in nearly its entirety save some lines from tablets III and IV.4 The most exciting new find, to be published shortly in JNES and utilized in this edition for the first time (ms. jk), is a partially preserved six column tablet containing the entire composition, which enables the proper placing of the fragments of tablet IV. This also reveals more or less how the composition ends, although only the ends of the last thirty eight lines (83–120) are preserved. In keeping with the SAACT format, the heart of the new volume is a computer-generated, eclectic cuneiform text, a transcription with a textual apparatus (including citations from the ancient commentary), and a literal English translation aimed at rendering the precise meaning of the Akkadian 2 To the translations of Ludlul listed on pp. xxxviii–xxxix add the modern Hebrew rendition of Y. Hoffman and F. Polak in Y. Hoffman (ed.), A Blemished Perfection. The Book of Job in Context (The Biblical Encyclopaedia Library, 12; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1995), 95–100 (Hebrew). Hoffman discusses the use of catalogues in Job and Ludlul. The English translation of the volume (JSOTSup, 213; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996) discusses Ludlul’s catalogues (91–92) but does not reproduce the translation. To the bibliography add M. Held, “Studies in Biblical Lexicography in Light of Akkadian” part 2, S. E. Loewenstamm (ed.), Studies in Bible Dedicated to the Memory of U. Cassuto on the 100th Anniversary of His Birth (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1987), 104–26 (in Hebrew), which discusses terms for ephemerality in Ludlul II 39–43. Held previously delivered two unpublished papers on these matters (American Oriental Society 1971 and 1981) and also examined the famously enigmatic i-RIM/KIL (II 120; see Annus and Lenzi, xxii no. 38). On grounds of parallelism, style, and usage, Held sides with Landsberger against Cooper in reading īkil (darkened) and dismisses the variant reading i-ri-im adduced by Lambert as a scribal misreading. 3 Ibid., 344–45 4 On p. xliii and chart on p. xlvii note that ms. X also preserves I 87–91 (information courtesy of Alan Lenzi).

646

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

text rather than reflecting its poetic qualities. Unfortunately, extant colophons are not provided (eleven manuscript fragments had colophons, three of which are no longer legible). Following the translation are a glossary, an index of names, and a sign index. The volume deviates from the SAACT format mostly in its somewhat extended introduction. This section starts with a detailed discussion of the history of the reconstruction of the text, including comparative charts showing the different approaches; and ends with a list of manuscripts and a useful chart illustrating at a glance the preserved and broken parts of all the manuscripts of each tablet. Sandwiched between these parts is a fine discussion of literary matters including: the identification of the protagonist Šubši-mešrê/â-Šakkan; the date of the composition (last few centuries of the 2nd millennium BCE); an interpretive summary of the narrative with comments on some specific passages; some linguistic and literary features of Ludlul (vocabulary, voice, semantic, grammatical and lexical parallelism, word pairs, multivalence, alliteration, assonance); Ludlul and “Wisdom”; and Ludlul as a religious text. Finally there is an up to date bibliography listing nearly ninety items. The book is a “student’s edition,” and its didactic intent resounds in the simplified sign list at the end, the clear, briefly illustrated discussions of literary issues in the introduction and in sentences solicitous of students such as: “But we hope to alert the reader to features that contribute to the poem’s artistry and will thereby encourage the reader to explore the poem more deeply on their own” (p. xxvi); “Such considerations…will enrich one’s appreciation of the artistry of Ludlul”; (p. xxxi) or “Such careful and sensitive reading will repay with a much fuller appreciation of the author’s artistry” (p. xxxiv). As a “cuneo-biblist” I would like to take this opportunity to discuss briefly two points raised in the introduction (pp. xxxiv–xxxvi) of interest to both biblical scholars and assyriologists relating to the comparative study of Ludlul. 1) Definitive determination of the order of the fragments from tablet IV clarifies the end of the text. Knowing how the work concluded permits reflection on the genre of Ludlul and consequentially the vexed, perennial question of its classification as “wisdom,” a term undoubtedly imposed upon it by supposed similarities to biblical literature. Ludlul divides generically into two sections. The main part, ending somewhere in the break between IV 90 and 101, is Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan’s autobiographical confession. But it is not entirely autobiographical for it includes an appeal in the form of a second person plural imperative to human beings throughout the world: “praise ye Marduk!” (dullā Marduk; IV 82). In other words, other people, hearing the story of suffering and salvation, are also instructed to

REVIEWS

647

praise the deity. The following part, IV 101–20 is preserved fragmentarily, the left side of the column broken off, making complete understanding difficult. Nevertheless some things are clear. The very last words […t]anittaka ṭābat, “your praise is sweet” form an inclusio with the first word ludlul (for collocations of the word pair dalālu//tanittu cf. CAD D: 46b s.v. dalālu a; T: 174a s.v. tanittu A a1), bringing the composition back to where it started and fixing the formal genre of the entire work as a hymn of praise, undoubtedly to Marduk. Ludlul is generically a hymn. The references to Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan in the final section (IV 111, 119) indicate that it is a hymn with a request for the supplicant to which we can compare, for example, the Ishtar hymn with a prayer for Ammiditana.5 There also is a reference to making a lilissu drum (IV 106–7) indicating a cultic situation and that the hymn may have been accompanied by the presentation of a gift to the god, probably by Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan himself. It is, however, a hymn with a twist, namely a didactic bent aimed at a human audience. On the basis of precative verbs in IV 114–17 Annus and Lenzi have suggested that the work ends on a “didactic note,” inviting the reader “to experience the redemptive power and benevolence of Marduk” (xxv–xxvi). To this we add that I 39 (concluding the opening paean), “I will teach (lušalmid) the people that their plea for favor is near,” and III (cited in the commentary but not preserved in a manuscript of tablet III) “Let [the one who] was negligent of Esagil learn from my example” (ina qātīja līmur; lit. “may he see from my hand”) indicate that the purpose of the autobiography is to teach others to learn from the protagonist’s experience. So Marduk is being praised, but praise of Marduk is more for human ears than it is to those of the deity himself. These didactic formulations in both parts of the work as well as the fact that Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan makes recommendations on the basis of his personal experience permit us to characterize cautiously the text as a whole as having central components of “wisdom” in the sense applied to biblical wisdom literature. To be precise, biblical wisdom literature derives its authority and conviction not from divine revelation but from life experience of the individual (cf. Prov 6:6–11; 7:6–7 [MT]; 24:3–34; Eccl) and collective experience of society as transmitted by parents and teachers. Correspondingly, Ludlul’s advice to praise Marduk and enjoy his beneficence is based on the experience of its protagonist. Dreams are crucial in Ludlul, which mentions three consecutive dreams (III 9–47), and Job enjoys a divine epiphany (Job 38:1; 40:6; see also Eliphaz’s dream in Job 4:12–13). However, both are private revelations and are resorted to only 5

P. Thureau-Dangin, RA 22 (1925), 170–72.

648

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

when the ability of human wisdom to understand a peculiar situation has reached its limit. The fact that the protagonist in Ludlul is named may enhance the didactic bent of the composition because it adds weight and credibility to the reality of the experiences described, associating them with a real person. Note that the “Babylonian Theodicy,” which is certainly a work of speculative wisdom (BWL 63–91) is a name acrostic (Saggil-kīnam-ubbib) and the instructions of Šurrupak and Šūpî-awīlim as well as the Egyptian Instructions and the biblical book of Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) all name their protagonists, even though their actual authors may have been anonymous.6 We note as well that Ludlul was copied frequently and in various localities, provided a commentary, cited occasionally, and assumedly known to others indicating that it actually was studied, learned, and internalized.7 All these factors support the classification of Ludlul as “wisdom literature” according to the use of the term in biblical studies. It is didactic/reflective literature concerning the human condition and aimed at regulating human behavior based on human experience. Ludlul may be too Mardukian or Babylocentric to be compared with non-particularistic books of universal appeal such as Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Job, but its aim to promote the worship of a particular god makes it comparable with the biblical wisdom psalms or the post-biblical books of Ben Sira or Wisdom of Solomon which promote YHWHism and devotion to Torah. Ludlul’s specific lesson is of a religious, theological rather than a temporal, pragmatic nature, but it is instruction nonetheless. 2) Although Ludlul may arguably be categorized as “wisdom,” it should not be compared with Job or called a “Poem of the Righteous Sufferer” as is often done. Both Job and Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan suffered immeasurably even while they considered themselves righteous and wondered why they were so afflicted, but this is the full extent of the similarity. In the end Job comes out blameless while Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan is found lacking. In a broken context he speaks of “my sin…my iniquity…my transgression…my 6 For a different explanation of identifying the author see K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, London: Harvard University Press, 2007), 40. 7 See V. A. Hurowitz, “Towards an Image of the ‘Wise Man’ in Akkadian Writings,” L. G. Perdue (ed.), Scribes, Sages, and Seers. The Sage in the Eastern Mediterranean World (FRLANT, 219; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2008), 64–94, (81–82, 86–87). For a citation of Ludlul I 52, 54 in Nabonidus’ Harran A Stele col. 3:1–2 see H. Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Großen samt den in ihrem Umfeld enstandenen Tendenzshriften (AOAT, 256; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001), 493.

REVIEWS

649

negligence” (arnī…initta…šertī…egâtīja; III 58–61), and in fact he was worshipping the wrong god.8 He may have been ignoring Marduk inadvertently or out of ignorance but that was enough. In conclusion, Annus and Lenzi are to be thanked for a significant contribution to the reconstruction, study, and understanding of a major Akkadian literary work and a welcome addition to the growing SAACT series. It will prove valuable to both scholars and students.

Yasur-Landau, Assaf, Jennie R. Ebeling, and Laura B. Mazow (eds.), HOUSEHOLD ARCHAEOLOGY IN ANCIENT ISRAEL AND BEYOND (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East, 50; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011). Pp. v + 452. Hardcover. €155.00; $212.00. ISBN 9789004206250. Reviewed by Cynthia Shafer-Elliott William Jessup University Archaeology of the southern Levant has historically been preoccupied with the excavation of “places of prestige,”1 that is palaces, temples, fortifications and the like. More recently, however, archaeologists and historians have shifted their attention in an attempt to better understand the daily life of ancient Israelites and Judahites and other people groups of the southern Levant. This shift includes altering the focus of research to the

According to I 4–42 bēlī īninanni…Marduk isbusu ittīja, “my lord (my Bel) punished me…Marduk was angry with me,” implying some sort of transgression before the afflictions. 1 C. Meyers, Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). 2 Interest in the actual physical dwelling or house has long been of interest in the archaeology and history of Syro-Palestine (i.e., Shiloh, Herzog, and Stager). However, those who dwelled in these dwellings or the household and the activities that were carried out there have a smaller history. The few exceptions to this are C. Meyers, O. Borowski, D. Schloen, M. Daviau, and J. Hardin and can be viewed as “pioneers” per se. 8

650

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

stage where both the typical and atypical activities of daily life occurred— the home. The archaeological study of the home, or household archaeology, has long been utilized in other archaeologies (i.e., Meso-American, Classical, Roman and Medieval England) but has largely been ignored in the southern Levant.2 Part of the solution to this deficit can be found in the publication of this volume on household archaeology in the southern Levant, Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond edited by Assaf Yasur-Landau, Jennie R. Ebeling, and Laura B. Mazow, which addresses the issue of household through papers dedicated to both theory and application. Contributions utilize a variety of established methods including spatial and functional analysis of architecture (studying the geographical location and distribution of finds in relation to each other or other features and what their possible functions were), artifacts, and ecofacts. Also incorporated are several more scientific approaches, such as zooarchaeological (studying animal remains), geoarchaeological (utilizing geography, geology and other Earth sciences), and micromorphological analysis (studying soil at the microscopic level). A detailed analysis of each paper (eighteen in total) is beyond the scope of this review; however, a brief summary of each is provided. In their introduction, “The Past and Present of Household Archaeology in Israel,” editors A. Yasur-Landau, J. Ebeling, and L. Mazow provide a concise introduction into the history of household research in the southern Levant and how the present volume improves upon it. Differing methodologies and their application to households are at the center of the first three papers. “Understanding Houses, Households, and the Levantine Archaeological Record” by J. Hardin provides the reader with a more detailed background of household archaeology and develops a methodology that employs archaeological, textual, and ethnographic data. In “Household Archaeology in Israel: Looking into the Microscopic Record” R. ShahackGross creates a compelling argument for the use of micromorphology (the microscopic study of soil materials) in identifying the exact location of floors, which is imperative for determining activity areas. N. Marom and S. Zuckerman in “Applying On-Site Analysis of Faunal Assemblages from Domestic Contexts: A Case Study from the Lower City of Hazor” present a zooarchaeological field protocol that was used to investigate the domestic foodways in Late Bronze Age Hazor. The second part of this volume is dedicated to Middle Bronze, Late Bronze, and Iron Age case studies with particular interest in Canaanite and Philistine households. Yasur-Landau researches the effect of politics and urbanization on domestic units in MB fortified settlements in his paper, “‘The Kingdom is His Brick Mould and the Dynasty is His Wall’: The Impact of Urbanization on Middle Bronze Age Households in the Southern

REVIEWS

651

Levant.” In “A Tale of Two Houses: The Role of Pottery in Reconstructing Household Wealth and Composition” N. Panitz-Cohen utilized a distributional analysis and her expertise in pottery analysis to examine household wealth and composition at LB Tel Batash. “Differentiating between Public and Residential Buildings: A Case Study from Late Bronze Age II Tell es-Safi/Gath” by I. Shai, A. Maeir, Y. Gadot, and J. Uziel not only addresses the issue of identifying private versus public buildings within the urban settlement of Gath but also, once a private building has been identified, whether its architectural and artifactual remains can indicate the economic and social status of its household members. Papers in this second section interested in ethnicity and societal understanding include D. Ilan’s paper on “Household Gleanings from Iron I Tel Dan” in which he investigates the familial, economic, and political structures in transition at Tel Dan during the early Iron Age through a spatial and quantitative analysis. “Houses and Households in Settlements along the Yarkon River, Israel, during the Iron Age I: Society, Economy, and Identity” by Y. Gadot investigates several settlements in the borderland region of the Yarkon River resulting in settlement classifications determined by patterns of social and economic organization. In “Early Iron Age Domestic Material Culture in Philistia and an Eastern Mediterranean Koiné” D. Ben-Shlomo combines household and migration archaeology to better understand the provenance and appearance of the Philistines. In particular, “cultural Koiné” is expanded to include the material culture of domestic activities and behavioral patterns that may serve as identity markers. P. Stockhammer investigates Aegean households further in “Household Archaeology in LHIIIC Tiryns” where elite activities, mainly feasting, and the social statues of its participants and nonparticipants are examined. Iron Age II houses are also examined in this second section. J. R. Zorn and A. Brody undertake the sizable task of reviving the Tell en-Nasbeh reports and collection. In his paper, “The Archaeology of the Extended Family: A Household Compound from Iron II Tell en-Nasbeh” Brody conducts a spatial analysis of one compound of Iron Age II houses at Tell en-Nasbeh, paying particular attention to nuclear versus extended family dynamics. Household membership resulting from household economies in both urban and rural environments throughout the kingdoms of Israel and Judah is addressed in A. Faust’s paper titled “Household Economies in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah.” L. Singer-Avitz’s spatial analysis of houses in the pre-planned site of Beersheba in “Household Activities at Tel Beersheba” is likewise concerned with household membership and their activities, but is particularly interested in the gendered nature of those activities. In order to better understand households during the expansion of the Neo-Assyrian empire, V. Rimmer-Herrmann in “The Empire in the

652

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

House, the House in the Empire: Toward a Household Archaeology Perspective on the Assyrian Empire in the Levant,” puts forth a new methodology that seeks to identify changes and continuities in dwellings from the Assyrian imperial provinces. The differing approaches and conclusions between Brody, Faust, Singer-Avitz, and Rimmer-Hermann prove just how rich and diverse household archaeology in the southern Levant can be. The final section of the book investigates religion in the domestic environment. L. Hitchcock in “Cult Corners in the Aegean and the Levant” supplies numerous examples of possible cult corners from Cyprus, the Aegean, and Philistia in both domestic and public contexts arguing that buildings are not necessarily entirely cultic or entirely secular. Gender is at the heart of B. Alpert-Nakhai’s paper on “Varieties of Religious Expression in the Domestic Setting” in which she argues that the concerns and nature of “household religion” were primarily those of the women and thus the female members of the household were the principal practitioners. Finally, in “A Problem of Definition: ‘Cultic’ and ‘Domestic’ Contexts in Philistia,” M. Press attempts to solve the problem of identifying domestic cultic installations through the application various methodological proposals, using dwellings at Tel Miqne and Ashdod as test cases. Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond attempts to address broadly various topics within household archaeology: history of, methodologies, scientific analysis, spatial and functional analysis, ethnicity, family dynamics, cult, and gender. The only deficit I find with the volume is the lack of secondary resources on household data. In his paper, “Understanding Houses, Households, and the Levantine Archaeological Record,” J. Hardin proposes a household archaeological approach that makes use of secondary resources, such as ethnographic, ethnohistoric, ethnoarchaeological, and textual data. These sources are viewed as secondary and can be useful in helping reconstruct ancient households. The archaeology of the southern Levant has historically been dependent upon the biblical text; today’s archaeologists are wary of this dependency, and for good reason. However, as we learn from the mistakes of the past we should not neglect any resource at our disposal that will help in our understanding of the ancients. Some of the authors in this volume mention the importance of secondary resources, such as ethnographic analogies, but few utilize them. However, this approach is not agreed upon by all and will hardly be seen as a deficit by some. The neglect of households and the archaeology of the activities of its members are ambitiously attended to in this volume. Its exceptional breadth of various modes of inquiry coupled with the application thereof justifies the household as a topic of discussion. I would highly recommend this

REVIEWS

653

book for institutions, libraries, scholars, and students interested in any aspect of daily life in the southern Levant, and I very much look forward to the future research projects it will inspire.

Halpern, Baruch, FROM GODS TO GOD: THE DYNAMICS OF IRON AGE COSMOLOGIES (ed. M. J. Adams; FAT, 63; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009). Pp. xiv + 556. Hardback. €114.00. ISBN 9783161499029. Reviewed by Nathan MacDonald University of Göttingen

MAKING THE PAST PRESENT With this volume Halpern joins other eminent scholars, such as Hans Barstad, Hugh Williamson, Patrick Miller, and Bernard Levinson, in publishing a collection of previous published essays in the first series of Forschungen zum Alten Testament. Altogether there are twelve essays published between 1981 and 2007, each provided with a brief vignette placing the essay in a personal and intellectual context.1 With the exception of one of the earliest studies on Judg 4–5, these essays concern the social, cultural, and intellectual changes associated with the eighth and seventh centuries BCE in ancient Israel. The significant intellectual and cultural shifts that take place in this period of Israel’s history inspires the title for Halpern’s volume, From Gods to God, a broad theme around which the essays fit with greater or lesser ease.

These essays add additional color to what is already an engaging volume. My favourite is the introduction to the essay co-written with David Vanderhooft. Halpern relates how Vanderhooft’s “presence in our house coincided with that of two budgies, Martel and Bigfoot, the latter of whom died before he completed the MA” (p. 228). One can only hope that York University awarded Bigfoot the Budgie his degree posthumously. 1

654

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

1. SYNOPSES OF THE ESSAYS IN HALPERN’S VOLUME The first section of the book is entitled “The Rejection of Tradition” and contains four essays. Appropriately, given the title of the book, the first essay is Halpern’s well-known discussion of Israelite monotheism: “‘Brisker Pipes than Poetry’: The Development of Israelite Monotheism” (pp. 13– 56). Taking his cue from Kaufmann, Halpern argues for both more careful thinking about what we mean by monotheism and for the relatively early existence of monotheistic thought and practice in Israel. “Virtually no major component of Israel’s later monotheism is absent from the cult at the turn of the millennium, with the introduction of the kingship” (p. 31). Divine beings are to be found in Yhwh’s suite, but there is no cosmogonic conflict, and Yhwh is already perceived as the universal deity (Halpern rightly critiques the tendency to contrast particularism and universalism). Such monotheism is neither self-conscious nor radical. Halpern traces how this inchoate monotheism became self-conscious and radical in the prophecies of Jeremiah and Deutero-Isaiah. Overall, Halpern provides a much more nuanced and careful restatement of Kaufmann’s views, losing some of Kaufmann’s more questionable assertions, whilst preserving many of his insights. Towards the end of the essay Halpern combines this neoKaufmannian take on Israelite history with Jasper’s account of the so-called Axial Age. In Xenophanes we also find a Spinozian monotheism together with a strong critique of anthropomorphism and symbolic representation of the divine. Here and in Israel we find a step towards the theoretical empiricism of scientific thought and the progressiveness of Western thought. The second essay, “The Baal (and the Asherah) in 7th Century Judah: Yhwh’s Retainers Retired” (pp. 57–97), is closely related to the first. Halpern provides a rich description of the cults of Baal, Asherah, and the host of heaven in late monarchic Judah drawing upon textual and archaeological sources. As part of this analysis Halpern examines the occurrence of “baal” and “asherah” in the biblical text. Although modern readers tend to discern here individual deities, in contrast to the one true God Yhwh, a careful examination reveals that “the Baal” is a collective and Yhwh himself was often called “Baal.” Later monotheism arose not from the rejection of alien deities, but by the rejection of the gods of traditional culture. The third essay, “Yhwh the Revolutionary: Reflections on the Rhetoric of Redistribution in the Social Context of Dawning Monotheism” (pp. 98– 131), begins with a critique of attempts to find a redistributive socialism within the pages of the Bible. In questioning this once popular paradigm for early Israel and the prophets, Halpern holds to almost an opposite extreme

REVIEWS

655

by arguing that we find instead a “reinforcing and even sanctifying [of] the status quo” (104). The divine exaltation of the humble is most frequently deployed with respect to the Israelite king. The prophets critique the state, but support it in doing so. They are, as Talmon puts it, “steam valves for the state.” The second half of the essay, somewhat loosely attached to the first half, is an extended reflection of how the rhetoric of monotheism shares the same dynamic. It is the theological reflex of the social critique. Monotheism as Israel understood it entails the affirmation of one’s own moral responsibility under the one God. But the logical consequence of the demise of the gods in monotheistic rhetoric is the death of all deities and humans’ standing upright in their moral adulthood. Job and Qoheleth become the ancient equivalents of the Enlightenment’s atheists. The fourth essay, “The False Torah of Jeremiah 8 in the Context of 7th Century BCE Pseudepigraphy: The First Documented Rejection of Tradition” (pp. 132–41), understands the falsification of the law in Jer 8:8 as a reference to child sacrifice, a thought that would parallel Ezek 20:25–26. The law that Ezekiel and Jeremiah reject is the complex JE, with its stories about the near sacrifice of Isaac and the death of the firstborn, and its laws about devotion of the firstborn (e.g. Exod 34:19). As the old tradition is rejected, it is replaced with a new tradition: the writings of Deuteronomy, the Deuteronomistic History, and the Priestly material. The second section is entitled “Cultural Transformations and Composition,” a rather broad title that incorporates some of Halpern’s early studies which, especially in the essays on Judg 4–5 and Exod 14–15, but also on the Deuteronomistic Kings, reflect his graduate education at Harvard under Frank Moore Cross. Most of these essays touch upon the question of how the biblical historiographers employed their sources. The first essay in this section, “The Resourceful Israelite Historian: The Song of Deborah and Israelite Historiography” (pp. 145–66), is an exploration of the issues of prose and poetry in Judg 4–5 in which Halpern argues that the prose is an interpretation of the poetry. He explores the differences between the two chapters, such as the number of tribes and the account of Sisera’s death, to see how the poem was interpreted. That the prose historian misconstrued his source is certain, particularly in reifying its metaphors, but he also sought to stay close to it, even as he added details and plugged narrative gaps. The following essay, “Doctrine by Misadventure: Between the Israelite Source and the Biblical Historian” (pp. 167–201), broadens out some of the reflections on “inner-biblical interpretation” that Halpern entertains in his discussion of Judg 4–5. This is done by first rehearsing his understanding of Judg 4–5 and then applying the same basic strategy to the Song of the Sea (Exod 15) and its narrative interpretation. The central issue that Halpern

656

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

identifies is the problem of “reification”: “the essence of the problem remains reification, the semantic depletion of metaphor, or the wilful or ignorant appeal to texts that do not mean what the interpreter means to have meant” (p. 184). In this way Halpern wrestles with a shift from event to text, and the problem of “literalism.” In later biblical texts, such as P, we find a concern about the literal reading of earlier texts (just as we find amongst some Greek philosophers). Metaphor and anthropomorphism are avoided, the literal triumphs, and there is a preference for the reality over the symbol. As can be seen in other essays, this is the first wrestling with what has been a perennial concern for Halpern. The earliest essay in the volume, “Sacred History and Ideology: Chronicles’ Thematic Structure: Indications of an Earlier Source” (pp. 202– 27), makes a case that at certain points, most notably the Solomon material, Kings and Chronicles draw on a common source. The source that Halpern identifies was pro-Solomon and affirmed the eternal grant of the northern tribes to the Davidic dynasty. Further, Halpern argues that the source can be ascribed to someone working during the reign of Hezekiah. This is suggested by allusions to Hezekiah in the source material and by a shift in Chronicles’ concerns after Hezekiah. The following essay, “The Editions of Kings in the 7th–6th Century BCE” (pp. 228–96), co-authored with David Vanderhooft, belongs to the same scholarly tradition. In this case both authors present a clear, comprehensive analysis of the regnal accounts in the book of Kings. On the basis of this they argue for three editions in the ages of Hezekiah, Josiah, and in the exile. The case for three successive versions of the Deuteronomistic History is confirmed by additional investigations into accounts of assassinations, supplementary notes to the kings’ reign, source citations, and the prophecy of Huldah. The essay ends by locating the three versions of the Deuteronomistic History in their social and cultural environment. The final essay in this section, “Why Manasseh is Blamed for the Babylonian Exile: The Evolution of a Biblical Tradition” (pp. 297–335), works with the differences between Chronicles and Kings in their portrayal of Manasseh. In Chronicles Manasseh’s sin is part of an accumulated profanation of land and temple (cf. 2 Kgs 21:25), whilst in the exilic version of the book of Kings, Manasseh is the villain of the piece. His actions cause not only the exile, but also the death of Josiah. According to Halpern, Huldah’s prophecy that Josiah would die “in peace” is reinterpreted by the exilic Deuteronomist as death by one with whom he was “at peace” (i.e. Necho). Again, then, Halpern provides us with a sophisticated account of the composition of biblical books and the re-interpretation of earlier texts.

REVIEWS

657

The third section of the book is entitled “The State’s Rejection of Religion: Revolution and Reformation,” and whilst it contains only one essay, this essay is the longest in the book and one of the most significant. “Jerusalem and the Lineages in the 7thcentury BCE: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability” (pp. 339–424) is an impressive attempt to trace the social and religious changes that resulted from Hezekiah’s failed rebellion against Sennacherib. Halpern gives a richly documented account of Hezekiah’s policy of “hedgehog defence” in which he holed himself up in Jerusalem surrounded by a defensive network of fortified towns. The massive preparations included the forced urbanization of the countryside. This strategic necessity was, in part, justified by an appropriation of the prophetic polemic against the rural cult. Thus, there was a Hezekian reform in which centralization was a crucial factor, but the stimulus was preparation for revolt against the Assyrians. Hezekiah’s preparations shattered the old clan structures that had provided the locus of rural authority, judicial administration, and ancestral devotion. After the Assyrian invasion of 701 BCE a bloated Jerusalem was no more than a rump state, its former territories taken over by the Philistines, Edomites, and others. In Manasseh’s reign a repopulation was undertaken, but this continued to break down traditional familial loyalties, since the resettlement was undertaken by pioneer groups. Under Josiah the centralizing tendency was taken to a new extreme with all priests herded into Jerusalem and the rural cult, which had been re-established under Manasseh, destroyed. The essay maps an enormous social transition that saw traditional loyalties broken up and a new sense of loyalty created between the individual and the state. “The state’s relations with the nuclear family, and more specifically with its adult male heads were direct, now, unmediated— precisely individual” (p. 410). The effects of this individualization become a springboard for Halpern’s broader reflections on the social and intellectual developments within Judah and their relation to the Western religious tradition. The social shifts necessarily change perceptions of the interaction with the divine realm.2 Communal responsibility breaks down and is 2 These shifts are developed in a different manner by Mark Smith. Building on Halpern’s analysis, he argues that the breakdown of traditional clan and family structures led to a shift in the portrayal of the divine world. The understanding of the divine world as a “family” (as in Ugarit) weakens, and we find a system in which individual deities correspond to individual people. “A culture with a diminished lineage system, one less embedded in traditional familial patrimonies due to societal changes in the eighth through sixth centuries, might be more disposed both to hold to individual moral accountability for behavior and to see an individual deity accountable for the cosmos. [I view this individual accountability at

658

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

replaced with individual accountability, so Jeremiah and Ezekiel (In time, this shift will prove problematic as the lack of coordination between individual piety and divine blessing becomes clear, as seen in Job. In this way we find ourselves on the way to an idea of future reward). Alongside this individualization, or different kind of socialization relating the individual to the state, we find a shift from traditional culture to a literate culture. This brought with it a literalistic mentality that distinguished reality from representation: purity from ritual, deity from icon, the one true god from secondary intermediary deities. In these shifts Halpern finds the most suggestive parallel to be the kinds of intellectual and social shifts that took place during and after the Protestant reformation. The fourth section is entitled “The Dynamics of Cosmological Thought in Iron Age Societies” and consists of two essays devoted to Israelite perceptions of the celestial world. In the first essay, “The Assyrian Astronomy of Genesis 1 and the Birth of Milesian Philosophy” (pp. 427– 42), Halpern argues that in P’s creation account the sun, moon, and stars are apertures in the heavenly plates which allow the light above to shine on the earth. The view of the heavens is very similar to what we find in Anaximander of Miletus, where the sun, moon, and stars are holes in giant rotating wheels. These views represent a revolution in cosmological understandings that first arose in seventh-century Assyria. In Israel it produced a revolutionary understanding of the world, which was gradually disenchanted (the stars no longer deities that spent half their time in the underworld and half their time in the heavens), moving towards a regular, Newtonian universe. Ironically, despite Assyrian midwifery, Mesopotamia did not move towards the scientific and monotheistic worldviews that developed in the West (a Jasperian insight). The second essay, “Late Israelite Astronomies and the Early Greeks” (pp. 443–80), continues these reflections, but focuses rather more strongly on the impact these cosmological revolutions had on the perception of the afterlife. The stars no longer revolve under the earth and there is, consequently, no underworld or post-mortem existence. This shift in the understanding of the cosmos at the end of the seventh century is reflected in Josiah’s defilement of tombs and the transformation of the Rephaim from ancient ancestors into the autochthonous inhabitants of the land. the human and divine level as concomitant developments] Accordingly, later Israelite monotheism was denuded of the divine family, perhaps reflecting Israel’s weakening family lineages and patrimonies” (M. S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Background and the Ugaritic Texts [New York: Oxford University Press, 2001], 164).

REVIEWS

659

2. APPRECIATION AND CRITICISM Taken as a whole this is an impressive set of detailed studies written with verve, wit, and erudition. Halpern’s studies are like a master class in a number of fields—textual study, history of Israelite religion, ancient Semitics, archaeology, Near Eastern studies—all in the service of a better understanding of the biblical texts, and perhaps more importantly, the history that birthed them. Halpern’s ability to master such diverse fields and present them in a compelling synthesis is truly remarkable. In his own distinctively iconoclastic manner Halpern is a challenge to so-called minimalist accounts of Israelite history, providing a richly textured social and political context for a Hezekian and Josianic reformation. Any engagement with Judah in the 8th and 7th centuries BCE must wrestle with Halpern’s reconstruction of the history of this period. Nevertheless, I am very uncomfortable with the larger approach that Halpern takes to Israelite monotheism, an approach broached in a number of essays (esp. 1, 3, 6, 10, 11, and 12) and articulated in the book’s title and in the vignettes as the volume’s “metanarrative.” Here, Halpern’s work is strongly informed by Karl Jaspers’ identification of the 9th to 3rd centuries as the “Axial Age,” combined with a teleological view of Western civilization. This is neatly summarized on the dust jacket: An explosion of international commerce and exchange, which can be understood as a renaissance, led to the redefinition of selfhood in various cultures and to reformation. The process inevitably precipitated an enlightenment. This has happened over and over in human history and in academic or cultural fields. It is the basis of modernization, or Westernization, wherever it occurs, and whatever form it takes.

In particular, Halpern is concerned with the reformation element of his threefold typology. Here we have the rejection of tradition and the critique of symbols and the things they symbolize (Sprachkritik). This is essential for establishing a new take on reality, one that leads us whether in the 7th century BCE or the 16th century CE to a more scientific and modern view of the world. I will make my criticisms in two parts: first, I will give some general criticisms of Halpern’s metanarrative; second, I will make some more specific criticisms about his use of Jaspers’ Axial Age and problems with some of his particular interpretations of biblical texts.

2.1 HALPERN’S METANARRATIVE Let me turn, first, to the general criticisms of Halpern’s metanarrative. First, as with all metanarratives Halpern’s represents a take on history and culture

660

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

which is by no means self-evident to those who do not share it. In addition, this particular modernist metanarrative has increasingly been placed under searching critique, even and perhaps especially from those who once operated within it, broadly characterized as “postmodernism.” This is not the place to explore those critiques or their cogency; Halpern is widely read and can be assumed to be familiar with them, only to note that it is less common these days to find such strident expressions of this “metanarrative” as that offered by Halpern. He appears particularly vulnerable to the charge laid against Jaspers by O. Köhler that he is writing a “secularized Heilsgeschichte.”3 With his apparently uncritical lionizing of Westernization, though, Halpern does not seem to share Jaspers’ concern to recognize the advances made by a variety of cultures outside of Western Europe and North America. Second, it is difficult to see how Halpern’s deployment of his metanarrative exhibits his concern as a historian “to understand the ancients in their own terms”, and his scepticism of “studies with more transparent contemporary applications” (p. 99). In my view, one of the most penetrating critiques of modernism has been its failure to come to terms with its own subjectivity. This means amongst other things that modernism did not perceive the extent to which its “unprejudiced” accounts of the past entail justifications of the present political and religious order. Third, a constant theme within the book is a comparison between the cultural and intellectual shifts that took place across modern Europe from the 15th to 18th centuries and what took place in ancient Israel. On the one hand, this gives a great deal of colour to Halpern’s writing—Josiah’s iconoclasm is of Cromwellian scope (p. 411); Jeremiah is the Luther of his day (p. 48); Hezekiah’s garrisons are his New Model Army (p. 357). On the other hand, there is more to this than suggestive historical comparison, for it all serves to suggest that there is an essential historical continuity between the revolution in biblical thought and the events of the Reformation and Enlightenment. This convenient shunting of the intervening period, especially the Middle Ages, into the sidings begs many questions. There is, of course, no question that Western Europe was heir to the Bible, but Halpern vastly foreshortens the genealogy. Thus, when Halpern writes that “the denial of significance to the stars, from Deuteronomy and Jeremiah and P on down, begot a cosmos that was Newtonian, regular, susceptible to scientific understanding” (p. 441), there is a great deal being smuggled in under the words “on down.” I can claim no competence in the intellectual O. Köhler, “Das Bild der Menschheitsgeschichte bei Karl Jaspers,” Saeculum 1 (1950), 477–86 (483). 3

REVIEWS

661

history of the modern period, but from what reading I have done it is clear that the cultural and intellectual shifts in this period were hard won and long in the making, requiring an intellectual exchange across numerous cultures in Europe that could only be achieved with improved transportation, mass printing, and the stimulus provided by the discovery of the wider world. Any comparison to the ancient world can be only heuristic and very limited. Closely related, the problems of reading back our world and concerns into ancient Israel are well known, and it is surprising to see Halpern making such moves without critical reflection. Thus, the prophets are consistently portrayed as people who broke with tradition; they parallel the Reformers in Halpern’s typology. Yet, as has often been observed since the middle part of the twentieth century, the portrayal of the prophets as radial innovators must not be overdone. They saw themselves as heirs of Israelite tradition and defenders of it, even if their reformulations of it might appear in hindsight to be significant breaks with the past. The lack of nuance in Halpern’s portrayal is most especially apparent when he views the prophets as anti-ritual. “Amos,” we are told, “assails ritual” (p. 40); “ritual” and “personal piety” are contrasted (p. 427); “Jeremiah … accuses the Judahites … of substituting ritual for real submission” (p. 45); ritual is “a symbol of submission … not submission itself” (p. 49). Thus, the opponents of the prophets are comparable to Catholics (pp. 2, 48, 53, 416), a line of argument that even a Protestant would now blush to repeat. What Halpern sees anticipating the modern world in the Israelite prophets is the critique of symbol. Although the triumph of the literal can be problematic as it meets the symbolic in that it leads to many misunderstandings, the answer is to pursue radically the literal until the symbolic is excised. As an argument this seems to show a peculiar blindness to the continued life and application of symbols into the modern world. Even Halpern’s triad, Renaissance–Reformation–Enlightenment, is itself a particular kind of symbolic system. There is much that could be said about Halpern’s modernist metanarrative, especially since it is so foregrounded in this book. Nevertheless, since our commitments to a particular metanarrative turn on a wide set of judgements on numerous subjects, it is necessary to set a limit to the comments made. Otherwise, we run the risk of discussing the matter at a level of abstraction that is rarely profitable for biblical studies. Consequently, I want now to turn to some more detailed criticisms of Halpern’s use of the Axial Age and his interpretation of biblical texts. Rather than trying to address all the essays, I want to give particular attention to the last two on Israelite cosmology. They highlight the

662

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

difficulties with an appeal to the Axial Age and also with some of Halpern’s biblical interpretation.

2.2 SHIFTS IN BIBLICAL COSMOLOGY ACCORDING TO HALPERN Halpern’s argument in the last two essays is that we find in late monarchic thinkers evidence of a cosmology that can best be understood by comparison to Anaximander of Miletus. The stars are holes in the sky that revolve on huge wheels. The world is essentially disenchanted, with the gods identified as the stars—now mere holes—and Yhwh seated above the firmament and no underworld below. This view of the world originates in shifts in Assyrian astronomy, but is developed in cultures at or beyond the periphery of the Mesopotamia empires. A number of critiques must be made about this proposal. First, at various points the portrayal is synthetic. This is true on the level of the biblical texts, where Halpern combines texts from P, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah in order to piece together his cosmology. P provides us with the firmament, Ezekiel the vision the wheels, and Jeremiah the gods as “broken cisterns.” More problematic still, it is clear that the shape of the cosmology is provided by Anaximander’s cosmology. In other words, without Anaximander’s help it is difficult to imagine reading the biblical texts in this way. Second, a number of particular expressions in the relevant texts are read in novel ways, and then made to endure more weight than they can bear in Halpern’s interpretative construal. Thus, Jer 31:37 is understood to mean that the earth goes downwards infinitely and that consequently there is no underworld and no postmortem existence. Similarly, the “broken cisterns” of Jer 2:13 are taken to be the gods as stars—holes in the heavens that allow water and light through onto the earth. It is not at all clear to me, or indeed to most other interpreters, that these verses mean what Halpern takes them to mean. Consequently, they become a rather brittle foundation for his larger interpretative edifice. Third, the broad distribution of a common cosmology raises questions of how it was disseminated (a critique also raised against Jaspers’ Axial Age). Halpern suggests that we have an “international culture of deracinated elites” and points to the trips of Greek intellectuals such as Hecateus and Herodotus to Egypt, and Ezekiel’s captivity in Babylon. But, even overlooking some of the problems that classicists still discuss in relation to Hecateus and Herodotus in Egypt, these are quite different foreign adventures to Ezekiel’s enforced captivity. In addition, Halpern holds that this international dialogue and its results were kept “securely under wraps” in the cultural centres of Mesopotamia (p. 443); we never see the

REVIEWS

663

developments towards science and monotheism that we find in Greece and Israel. This, of course, accords with Jaspers’ suggestion that we find the key advances of the Axial Age taking place on the periphery of the cultural world, but absent at the center. More sceptically, though, this looks like an argument of the type “heads I win, tails you lose.” In other words, following Popper, how might this argument be falsified? Halpern can explain the presence and absence of this cosmology. Combine this with the tendency to synthetic portrayals and we find gaps in one place being plugged with textual evidence from another place. Altogether this means that Halpern’s metanarrative of progress and Westernization can always find substantiation, for difficulties in one instance can be made good from elsewhere.

3. CONCLUSION In these inspiring essays Halpern demonstrates the importance of close attention to the biblical text and the value of setting this in a broad historical context informed by the full gamut of historical disciplines. In his own way Halpern also demonstrates the seriousness with which our hermeneutical presuppositions, including our larger understandings of the world, need to be taken. Some of the importance of Halpern’s work lies in its unambiguous utilization of a modernist metanarrative to structure and understand ancient evidence. In a rather stark manner Halpern demonstrates that historical study is always framed by certain preunderstandings. The answer is not to assume that we can jettison those, but rather to try as best we are able to keep them under searching critique. The way in which Halpern has been strongly informed by the Enlightenment is an approach that I have sought to critique in a number of contexts.4 One way in which that paradigm tends to prove problematic is in exactly the sorts of contrasts with which Halpern’s work operates. Symbol is contrasted to reality; cult is contrast to piety and ethics. These contrasts became powerful heuristic tools in the hands of Enlightenment thinkers as critiques of what had preceded. They do not make useful analytical tools, including for the period with which we are concerned. On this point a large measure of agreement could be secured, I think, between anthropologists,

4 N. MacDonald, Deuteronomy and the Meaning of “Monotheism” (FAT, II/1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); N. MacDonald, “Whose Monotheism? Which Rationality? Reflections on Israelite Monotheism in Erhard Gerstenberger’s Theologies in the Old Testament,” R. P. Gordon and J. C. de Moor (eds.), The Old Testament in Its World (OTS, 52; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 158–67.

664

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

theologians, and religious scholars. One of the challenges facing scholars of the ancient world is that of finding better categories. This critique of the larger framework that Halpern employs should not in any way diminish from the individual and combined achievement of this rich collection of essays. They ought to be widely read, and merit more than one reading: there are rich insights to be gained and much to be learned. If, as I believe, there are difficulties with Halpern’s intellectual contextualizing, the challenge is not only to do that better, but also to do as well in the areas of historical reconstruction, where he has set the standard impressively high.5

Sommer, Benjamin D., THE BODIES OF GOD AND THE WORLD OF ANCIENT ISRAEL (New York: Cambridge, 2009). Pp. xv+334. Hardcover. £45.00. ISBN 9780521518727. Reviewed by J. Todd Hibbard University of Tennessee at Chattanooga Benjamin D. Sommer, Professor of Bible at Jewish Theological Seminary in New York City, has set himself the assignment of re-envisoning the nature of divinity in ancient Israel. Given the contentious nature of differing conceptions of the divine, this is not a task to be undertaken lightly. Fortunately for the reader, Sommer is up to the task. Sommer’s thesis is, as the title of the book implies, not that the God of Israel has a body—this Sommer assumes—but that he has several bodies which have various locations. Hence, the two tasks he sets for himself are, first, demonstrating God’s multi-corporeality and, second, exploring its implications for religion associated with the Hebrew Bible (which is not to say only ancient Israelite, but modern religion as well). By way of introduction he lays out simply and effectively that the Hebrew Bible’s depiction of God is as a bodily being; the number of texts that casually make this point are too numerous to allow the reader any other conclusion. 5 This review was undertaken as part of the Sofja-Kovalevskaja project on early Jewish monotheisms supported by the Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung and the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research.

REVIEWS

665

Additionally, he demonstrates that these depictions are likely more than mere metaphors for the authors: they really believed that YHWH was a physical being. Based on this starting point, Sommer lays out three goals for the book. First, he seeks to present the idea of God’s fluidity and multiplicity, both of which were asserted and denied by various authors in the biblical tradition. The contours of the “debate” about these issues in the biblical text are what Sommer attempts to uncover. Second, after uncovering this lost debate, he seeks to explore some implications concerning sacred space and divine embodiment. Finally, he examines some aspects of postbiblical Judaism (and Christianity) in light of these notions. In Chapter 1 Sommer examines conceptions of divine fluidity broadly in the ancient Near East (he points out that no such notion apparently existed among the Greeks). The idea was based on a radical contrast in the ANE between humans and gods. The divine self was fluid in two ways: first, through the fragmentation of divine beings (e.g., Ishtar); and second, through the overlap of divine beings (e.g., Asshur). He points out that it was also the case that some gods possessed the ability to be embodied in multiple objects in the ANE. For example, in the pīt pî and mīs pî rituals one can see how idols or ṣalmu were established as embodiments of a god. These were not simply representations of the god, but incarnations of the divine. These embodiments did not mean, however, that the god’s body ceased to exist in heaven nor that other earthly embodiments were impossible. In the Northwest Semitic tradition, the betyl presents a similar picture: it is both a god and an animated stone with life (not just a house). Canaanite texts reveal similar notions of multiple embodiment centered on a multiplicity of Baals (and, to a lesser extent, El): “[T]hey, too, have shifting and overlapping selves” (p. 28). Interestingly, however, archaic and classical Greece (as well as Virgil) does not evince similar portrayals. This suggests that the idea Sommer is pursuing is not characteristic of all polytheistic religions. Sommer’s task in Chapter 2 is to address how the fluidity model outlined in the previous chapter was manifest in ancient Israel. In support of the idea he notes the multiple geographical manifestations of YHWH found in inscriptions (e.g., YHWH of Teman and YHWH of Samaria in the Kuntillet Ajrud inscriptions). In addition to geographical multiplicity, Sommer argues that YHWH fragments himself (think avatar) such that he takes on multiple embodiments. Two such cases include malāʾkh, which he argues is an example of YHWH’s self-fragmentation, and YHWH’s multiplicity in divine wood such as the asherim. On the basis of the latter, he argues that the much-discussed Kuntillet Ajrud and Khirbet el-Qom inscriptions are not references to a goddess, but rather to wooden cultic

666

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

objects that are repositories of YHWH’s fragmented self. He also argues that YHWH’s multiplicity is present in stone such as maṣṣēbôt and stelae, embodiments that render YHWH’s presence on a scale safely accessible for human beings. In Sommer’s view, the two notions of divine fluidity and multiple embodiment reinforce each other and appear together. He concludes the chapter by noting that these twin conceptions appear to have been especially present in the northern kingdom. Having laid out the model and evidence supporting it in the previous chapters, Sommer explains how Deuteronomic and Priestly (including Ezekiel) texts reject the model in Chapter 3. Key to their rejection is D’s emphasis on the shēm (name) and the prominence given the kābôd (glory) in P as alternative ways of referring to the divine presence. YHWH is not bodily present in either the temple or the Sinai revelation in D’s view. Rather, it is through YHWH’s shēm, here understood simply as a “token of divine attention” (p. 63) that YHWH makes both significant. D emphasizes transcendence while also maintaining an anthropomorphic view of God; these two are held together by D’s insistence that YHWH resides in heaven. Sommer also explains how the Deuteronomic authors reject divine fluidity, focusing especially on Deut 6:4, the Shema and its insistence that YHWH is one (i.e., no YHWH of Samaria, YHWH of Teman, etc.). A different approach is taken in Priestly texts and Ezekiel where the kābôd of YHWH is his body, allowing God to achieve immanence among the people (though at the cost of abandoning his heavenly abode). Unlike the notions of divine embodiment described in Chapter 2, the Priestly texts reject multiple embodiments of YHWH and insist instead on YHWH’s uni-bodiedness and, therefore, his location in a single place. Chapters 4 and 5 address the complex issue of sacred space and God’s bodies. In the first of these Sommer explores how ancient Israel’s conceptions of divine embodiment are reflected in texts dealing with the sacred tent, the ark of the covenant, and the temple. After explaining the differences in the Pentateuch between P’s and E’s conceptions of the sacred tent, he appropriates J. Z. Smith’s categories of locative and centripetal as well as the opposite, utopian (Sommer also calls this centrifugal), to explain the tent’s function. Widening his analytic lens beyond the Pentateuch to the Hebrew Bible as a whole, Sommer contrasts the locative nature of Zion-Sabaoth theology with a locomotive conception of P’s tent. From this perspective the sanctity of the central and immovable temple is contrasted with the mobile tent. The priestly tabernacle, then, can be read as modeling both locative and locomotive conceptions of the divine presence depending on the context in which the texts are read (Pentateuch or Hebrew Bible). Additionally, in contrast to D’s insistence that sacrifice be limited to a singular place chosen by God (thus anticipating the temple

REVIEWS

667

in Jerusalem), P’s notion of central sacrifice is not tethered to one place only. Indeed, Sommer argues stridently against the tendency to locate the Priestly material, and by extension its conception of divine presence, in the aftermath of Jerusalem’s destruction as well. He protests that the common tendency to explain P’s particular theology of divine presence simply as a response to the destruction of the temple misunderstands the timeless quality of P’s theological position. Rather, he sees it as a variant of ZionSabaoth theology, differing from the latter “only in regard to questions of location, duration, and fluidity” (p. 98). Sommer goes on to note how the priestly conception differs even more from D, a tradition, for example, in which there is no tent of meeting or tabernacle. Additionally, D does contain material about the ark, but it is significantly re-envisioned: it is no longer a divine footstool but is rather a box containing the tablets of the covenant. Likewise, the temple in D does not house the divine body but only the divine name. D’s true revisionist understanding of the ark is on display most thoroughly in 1 Samuel 4–6, the ark narrative. In this text, Sommer argues, the older view of the ark in the priestly kābôd theology is abandoned in favor of the view more standard in D. In the fifth chapter Sommer examines how notions of sacred space are manifest in narratives of origins, and especially how these narratives display ambivalent attitudes toward origins. He is particularly concerned with the manner in which the enigmatic priestly narrative of the tabernacle’s dedication in the opening chapters of Leviticus reveals “doubts regarding the constancy of divine presence” (p. 109). His reading of this material is set against JE’s narratives of beginnings, Adam and Eve (Genesis 2–3), Abram (Genesis 12) and Moses (Exodus 2), which reveal different attitudes toward sacred time and space. The priestly texts should express a locative notion valorizing the sacred center, but the disaster involving Nadab and Abihu at the foundation of the tabernacle suggests something else is going on. Sommer suggests that P is suspicious of its own ideology of sacred space. The place of divine presence is always a dangerous place, because the divine kābôd may erupt in unpredictable ways. Consequently, even as the Torah expresses notions of divine presence (be it in P or JE) it simultaneously deconstructs them. The tabernacle is a home for God, but one in which he does not belong. The final chapter finds Sommer donning his theologian hat in order to answer the question, “What do the Hebrew Bible’s fluidity traditions teach a modern religious Jew?” (p. 126). After noting that the antifluidity traditions in P and D dominate the final form of the Hebrew Bible, he notes that fluidity traditions found elsewhere (notably in JE) are still present. He briefly explores the development of these traditions in the

668

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

postbiblical rabbinic literature, the kabbalah and early Christianity. With respect to the latter, Sommer insists that core Christian assertions—the trinity and incarnation—are not theologically impermissible within the world of Judaism, but rather are faithful to the fluidity model of divinity found in ancient Israel. For modern Jews, Sommer demonstrates how biblical notions of fluidity and antifluidity pose challenges for both liberal and conservative Jews, though not in the same way. He concludes by insisting that, contrary to customary positions, it is the fluidity model that offers the strongest statement of monotheism consistent with the personhood of God. The volume concludes with a lengthy Appendix on monotheism and polytheism in biblical Israel. Sommer includes this because the tendency in recent years is to define the debate about Israelite religion as monotheism v. polytheism. This book proceeds from the position that the Hebrew Bible is monotheistic, and Israelite religion was not unusually monotheistic in the biblical period. That said, Sommer also recognizes that much of the recent discussion about these two concepts fails to capture the complexities of the divine portrait in the Hebrew Bible. He begins, therefore, with a (not altogether satisfying) discussion of the proper definition of monotheism. He investigates the question in two ways: monotheism in the religion of ancient Israelite religion and monotheism in the Hebrew Bible. In both cases he argues that the overwhelming evidence supports the idea that Israel was predominantly monotheist (though not exclusively so). He points out, correctly, that the evidence for monotheism is clearer in the case of the Hebrew Bible than in the archaeological, epigraphic and iconographic evidence. He concludes by re-asserting Y. Kaufmann’s argument about monotheism based on the different attitude toward and portrayals of, on the one hand, the gods in the ANE and Greek worlds and, on the other, YHWH. In this reviewer’s view, however, Sommer’s argument is undercut by his failure to include at any point a discussion about the Hebrew Bible’s strident anti-Baal polemic. This short review cannot do evaluative justice to all that is found in the monograph. Suffice it to say that this book is important in the sense that it challenges conventional wisdom by offering a replacement model that is both cogent and largely convincing. The volume is full of insights that will offer scholars much to think about. That is not to say that all will agree with Sommer’s arguments, however. For example, in this reviewer’s opinion, his position that P’s narrative of origins in the early chapters of Leviticus simultaneously expresses and deconstructs its own view is not entirely convincing. Additionally, the discussion of monotheism in the Appendix proceeds from a broad definition of monotheism that not all will share. Other readers will undoubtedly find other issues in the book with which to

REVIEWS

669

quibble, since the book contains so many novel and important arguments. Even where disagreements arise, readers will appreciate Sommer’s rigorous arguments and engaging writing style. Indeed, future considerations of Israelite religion will be forced to contend with this work.

Weeks, Stuart, AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF WISDOM LITERATURE (T&T Clark Approaches to Biblical Studies; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2010). Pp. ix + 165. Paperback. $24.95. ISBN 9780567184436. Reviewed by Scott C. Jones Covenant College As Weeks states in the Preface, his Introduction is not just about providing answers but examining evidence (p. ix). It is this approach which makes it valuable not only to the novice, but to the seasoned scholar as well. At every turn, Weeks reexamines long-standing theories and questions basic assumptions in light of available evidence. Though the book is short, it is clearly the result of years of study and reflection, and virtually every paragraph summarizes decades of discussion on Israel’s wisdom literature. In the course of this review, I aim to clarify Weeks’ contribution to these discussions by fleshing out what he presents in an admirably clear but concise fashion. In the Introduction, Weeks suggests that wisdom is essentially skill or know-how, a quality that may be applied either to material crafts or to living life. It reaches beyond what moderns might call innate intelligence, stressing an apprenticeship in moral education. Wisdom is primarily focused in the individual over the group and the present over the past or future, and its claims to authority are of two sorts: (1) social authority (e.g., popular proverbs), and (2) the authority of an individual who passes wisdom on to others (e.g., Qohelet). Finally, the wisdom books address issues that affect all humans, and not just Israel. They speak broadly of the world and God’s relationship to the world, not just narrowly about covenant, election, or law. Chapter 1 treats Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Aramaic counterparts to Israelite wisdom. Weeks suggests that Sumerian proverb collections may have been gathered together as a reservoir from which the educated could

670

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

draw in order to ornament their speech. Furthermore, he notes that these sayings often seem to have been intentionally arranged as “a genuine literary endeavor” (p. 11). Egyptian instructions likewise show an interest in elevated literary style. Weeks then goes on to question the dated, but still widely held, assumptions associated especially with H. H. Schmid and H. Gese that (1) Israelite instruction evolved from more basic forms to more complex ones and (2) earlier instruction was more optimistic, while later wisdom literature became more skeptical. As he notes, the cognate literature does not support such an evolution, for different styles of sayings are not confined to one type of literature. Furthermore, seemingly skeptical works were transmitted alongside more conventional advice literature. Finally, Israelite wisdom literature should not be treated as something that arose in a distinct wisdom circle, which consciously defined itself over against more historically- oriented literature. Weeks rightly points out that different concerns do not necessarily reflect different ideologies, and that it is very likely that the same group produced both kinds of literature, anyway. Weeks begins his investigation of the Israelite literature in chapter 2 by examining the book of Proverbs. Here he outlines the typical characteristics of the instruction literature (chs. 1–9) and the sentence literature (chs. 10:1– 22:16; 25–29). Though there are noticeable stylistic differences between the two, he says that they should not be considered separate traditions. In connection with the sentence literature, Weeks speaks of an apparent “compositional effort” and “a strong interest in words and sounds, as well as in the meaning of sayings” (p. 28). This observation seems to mesh well with his statements about the arrangement of Sumerian proverbs as “a genuine literary endeavor” (p. 9), but he does not go on to suggest that the sentence literature reflects similar intentional structuring (at least in any thoroughgoing way), as some scholars have recently argued. He concludes, rather, that the sayings were more likely for dipping in, much like almanacs or joke books. The everyday subject matter of these sayings, furthermore, does not reflect a folk background but was simply chosen for its general applicability. Behind the figure of the “foreign woman” in the instruction literature, Weeks sees the threat of apostasy through intermarriage that is a common theme of Torah-piety (e.g., Deuteronomy, Ezra-Nehemiah). While Prov 1–9 is not explicit about this background, he points out that these chapters were read in this fashion from a very early period. He offers that Woman Wisdom in Prov 1–9 is a sort of literary response to the “foreign woman.” That is, the figure of the foreign woman came first, and Woman Wisdom was created as her counterpart. Proverbs 31:10–31 extends this focus on Woman Wisdom with the similarly styled Valiant Wife, and this hymn was likely influenced by the figure of Woman Wisdom in the earlier instruction literature.

REVIEWS

671

In Chapter 3, Weeks suggests that the book of Job was Jewish in origin, but was set in patriarchal-period Edom in order to explore the book’s themes without reference to Israel. Though it is disassociated from Israel, the book of Job is not designed to answer general human questions about the nature of suffering. In fact, it goes out of its way to present Job as a special case, not an “Everyman.” While the book does canvass big issues, it does not mean that it is meant to solve them. Perhaps like the Egyptian Dialogue Between a Man and His Ba, the book simply reflects the main character’s physical and psychological state. Weeks also cautions against interpreting the conversation between God and the Satan about Job’s character as a searching inquiry about the motivation of human piety. As he says, “…for all we know God and the Satan have had similar conversations about others many times before” (p. 53). Though Weeks tends to interpret the Book of Job holistically, he believes that some reassignment of speeches is necessary in the third cycle. To Weeks, however, the particulars of such reassignment probably do not matter overmuch “because the material gives no reason to suppose that any of the characters involved are introducing anything new and unexpected” (p. 61). He is similarly non-committal about the nature of the Elihu speeches. Though he believes they are secondary and could be left out without missing much, he also states that they add something new to the book if they are included. Weeks suggests that Job’s “confession” in 42:6 may reflect a restoration of Job’s self-esteem after seeing God and that God’s statement in 42:7 is best translated as “you have not told me it is settled (‫)נכונה‬, as has my servant Job” (p. 67). He concludes that Job is not a theodicy and that it probably does not have a central message at all. The most one can say is that it points to the limits of human categories. God is not held to a notion of divine justice, and “whatever rules we might think he works by, the reality is that no rules constrain him” (p. 70). Weeks treats Ecclesiastes in ch. 4, noting that “there is famously little consensus about its purpose and meaning” (p. 72). His treatment here, however, is perhaps the most penetrating analysis in the book. Qohelet’s royal memoir in ch. 1 and the epilogue in ch. 12 both point to the fact that experience is the root of his advice, even if that experience is bitter. Weeks suggests that Qohelet’s apparent bitterness is due to his recognition of limited perspectives. Time, it seems, is highlighted in the opening cosmological theme in ch. 1. Weeks states: In a world that is permanent, nothing really ends and nothing really starts, but everything is part of a continuing process. Humans are temporary residents in this world: with limited lifespans and limited memories, they can only see, in effect, a snapshot. This can mislead

672

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES them into thinking that something has just started or finished when it is merely a phase in a process… (pp. 74–75)

And so Weeks believes that, for Qohelet, “The issue is not that the world is irrational or disorderly, but that human perception of the world is limited and short-sighted” (p. 82). Qohelet, then, is not exactly a “skeptic.”1 Qohelet has grasped the basic insight that the ways of the world and the ways of God are greater than humans can understand, but he is frustrated about it, since this restriction in scope means that humans cannot fully understand their role in the bigger picture. His answer, however, is that humans must learn to take pleasure in what they can perceive. Life, however brief, must be lived on a smaller scale. This theology is also evident in Weeks’ treatment of the term ‫הבל‬, which, as he notes, is a metaphor central to the book, but one that carries multiple associations. If there is an over-arching way of speaking of the term’s meaning, Weeks suggests the ideas of deception or illusion. That is, it points to the fact that humans expect one sort of thing (e.g., to understand the world at a cosmological level) but are constantly disappointed (e.g., they can only grasp the whole momentarily, or they can only grasp a small portion of it). The most naturalistic expression of this deception is found in the meaning of ‫הבל‬as “vapor” (see C.-L. Seow and D. B. Miller), while the result of this deception is the somewhat more logical judgment of “absurdity” (see M. V. Fox et al.). Chapter 5 treats “Other Jewish Wisdom Literature,” a title which reflects the difficulty of definition. Weeks tends to treat wisdom literature as those corpora that share a mode of thought and discourse rather than those which bear a family resemblance in form. It is worth noting that this way of talking about ancient Near Eastern “wisdom” finds a close analogue in the Mesopotamian material, in which “wisdom” concepts and expressions are in no way limited to instructions or dialogue literature. The practical result, however, is that a discussion of “wisdom” in Israelite literature may become quite broad and encompass a great number of things beyond those traditionally designated as “wisdom books” by modern scholars. Weeks is quite conservative in what he includes in chapter 5, however, as he treats wisdom Psalms, Ben Sira, Baruch 3:9–4:4, Wisdom of Solomon, and wisdom at Qumran. In the discussion of wisdom Psalms, Weeks points out that different psalms draw on themes associated with advice literature to different degrees. But one link that is fairly constant is between wisdom, personal piety, and law (p. 88). The same conceptual framework may be In this connection, note Weeks’ forthcoming monograph, Ecclesiastes and Skepticism (LHBOTS, 541; London: T&T Clark, 2011). 1

REVIEWS

673

seen in Ben Sira, Baruch 3:9–4:4, and some of the wisdom material at Qumran. In Wisdom of Solomon, wisdom is still more universal and philosophical—something from which all rulers of the earth could learn. Much of the wisdom literature at Qumran evidences themes reminiscent of Proverbs, though some texts engage in the discourse of righteousness and wickedness with a still more eschatological, even apocalyptic, flavor. Due to the fragmentary nature and diverse characteristics of much of this literature, Weeks rightly warns that the existence of a “wisdom corpus” from Qumran is far from clear. After having suggested in ch. 5 that common concepts, not common literary forms, may help us identify wisdom literature, Weeks goes on in ch. 6 to review those concepts set forth by previous scholars: (1) underlying secularism, (2) antipathy to ideas of history and nation, and (3) concepts of creation and world order. More than forty years ago, William McKane suggested that wisdom was originally secular in nature. Contrary to McKane and others, Weeks stresses that Jewish wisdom literature was always religious. Furthermore, the famous silence of the wisdom literature in the Hebrew Bible about covenant and national history does not mean that the wisdom literature avoided such things as a matter of principle (note especially Wisdom of Solomon). Rather, the focus of the wisdom literature in the Hebrew canon is on the individual more than the community or nation. Furthermore, Prov 1–9 and Qohelet are hardly cut off from the discourse of reward and punishment and eschatological judgment. Wisdom theology is also commonly tied to creation theology, but Weeks points out that the theme of creation in the wisdom literature is not so much about creation as such, but about the world order that results from creation. Many have suggested that this world order is a closed system in which certain deeds lead inexorably to certain consequences. Weeks rightly points out that this so-called “act-consequence nexus,” as classically formulated by Klaus Koch, is much too reductionistic, and it discounts dynamic divine activity for an abstract principle of causation. While the sages, moreover, draw on their personal observation of creation, Weeks is cautious about calling them “empiricists,” since it runs the risk of secularizing “wisdom thought” and imposing a foreign dichotomy between “natural theology” and “revelation” on this literature. Weeks concludes that, while we may say that there is a creation theology which may be teased out of the wisdom literature, this does not mean that the sages were consciously preoccupied with a developed theology of creation. According to Weeks, some of what scholars have identified as “creation theology” in wisdom literature may, in fact, be the result of its universal perspective. The wisdom literature portrays the Israelite God as god of the world, and thus, as creator. In the end, Weeks believes, wisdom literature is held together by its common

674

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

presentation of God, and he suggests that we should perhaps look at these texts not so much as the products of a particular tradition of thought as much as the products of a similar mode of discourse. The final chapter treats the origin and place of the wisdom literature. Wisdom literature, as Weeks notes, “is essentially a literary phenomenon” (p. 128), and for that reason it has been linked closely with royal counsellors, a scribal class, and with schools.2 Weeks, however, questions the degree to which speaking of a “scribal class” in ancient Israel is helpful, for a scribal class does not seem to have been as clearly demarcated as in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia—at least in light of the Israelite evidence available. On the whole, Weeks regards the attempts to connect the wisdom literature with royal administration or with schools as unproven, and he stresses once again that wisdom terminology is not the sole currency of an elite band of “the wise.” Weeks is right to point to the “broad interconnectedness of biblical literature” (p. 140), and this interconnectedness commends caution when attempting to determine how one tradition colors another. Contrary to the impulses of previous scholars, he warns that these traditions are, in fact, not as distinct as formerly believed. So one should not assume that various literate classes separated themselves by the kinds of literature they wrote or the kinds of questions they asked.3 The ability of wisdom to provide a familiar structure, and the fact that wisdom literature, like other ancient Israelite literature, arose from scribal culture, suggests that we need not speak so much of “wisdom influence” on law, apocalyptic, etc., but of basic, overlapping interests. So both wisdom and law offer moral exhortation; and apocalyptic, like Karel van der Toorn’s recent suggestion that Israelite literature was the product of temple scribes should perhaps be added to this list (Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007]). 3 Note here the interdisciplinary nature of Mesopotamian scribal education and the cooperation among specialists in different branches of learning (S. Parpola, “Mesopotamian Astrology and Astronomy as Domains of Mesopotamian ‘Wisdom,’” H. D. Galter [ed.], Die Rolle der Astronomie in den Kulturen Mesopotamiens. Beiträge zum 3. Grazer Morgenländischen Symposion (23.–27. September 1991) [Grazer Morgenländische Studien 3; Graz: RM Druck und Verlagsgesellschaft, 1993], 47– 59). Parpola states, “In my opinion it is essential to consider these disciplines not in isolation but as integral parts of this larger whole, and to realize that as parts of an integrated system of thought, the different subdisciplines of … ‘wisdom’ were in constant contact and interaction with each other” (p. 52). By analogy, biblicists should be wary of distinguishing a separate class of Israelite sages. Furthermore, we might view Israelite wisdom literature as reflecting the discourse of one “wisdom” discipline among many others—albeit one which reflects self-consciously on the nature of wisdom and how to acquire it. 2

REVIEWS

675

wisdom, focuses on God as universal, supreme, and at work in the world in ways that only the wise can perceive. As a mode of discourse within an interconnected web of literary culture, it would be natural for other types of writing to draw on themes typically associated with wisdom, while not themselves being wisdom literature (see p. 143). This seems to fit well with Gerald Sheppard’s proposal which Weeks reviews positively. For Sheppard, the nascent biblical canon reflects the fact that wisdom has become more than a corpus of literature, developing into a hermeneutical construct for the interpretation of traditions well beyond that corpus. So while the wisdom books themselves have “shared interests and … distinct approach” (p. 137), the idea of wisdom as discourse or even as a hermeneutic can— and should be expected to—reach far beyond that limited corpus. This book is the best available introduction to the wisdom literature. Though it is not theologically oriented, Weeks’ discussion clearly has important implications for those who are more theologically inclined. Weeks is learned, judicious, and fair, and his judgments are characterized by common sense in the very best possible way. It is a must-read for anyone who is interested in the wisdom literature.

Evans, Paul S., THE INVASION OF SENNACHERIB IN THE BOOK OF KINGS: A SOURCE-CRITICAL AND RHETORICAL STUDY OF 2 KINGS 18–19 (VTSup, 125; Leiden & Boston: Brill, 2009). Pp. xiv+230. Hardcover. €93.00 / US$138.00. ISBN 9789004175969. Reviewed by Gordon Oeste Heritage Theological Seminary This volume is a slightly revised version of Paul Evans’ 2008 doctoral dissertation. Evans provides a fresh assessment of the use of source-critical and narrative-critical approaches for understanding the story of Sennacherib’s 701 BCE invasion during the reign of King Hezekiah. The work ranges across the entire Hezekiah narrative in Kings, though its primary focus rests upon a close examination of 2 Kgs 18:13–19:37. Evans also examines the relationship of 2 Kings 18–19 to Assyrian sources and the

676

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Deuteronomistic History (DH) before setting out a methodological proposal for using narrative texts in historical study. The introductory chapter briefly lays out the state of current historical research on 2 Kings 18–19, highlighting the key role of the Stade-Childs1 source-critical analysis, which discerned two sources in the biblical account: Account A (2 Kgs 18:13–16) and Account B (2 Kgs 18:17–19:37), which is further divided into two units (B1—18:17–19:9a, 36; B2—19:9b–35). Evans then briefly explores the uses of the Hezekiah-Sennacherib narrative in historical reconstruction and in understanding the process of the composition of the DH, before laying out his own methodology for examining this passage. Ultimately, Evans seeks to highlight the inadequacy of traditional source-critical approaches to historical reconstruction and the values of narrative-criticism as a basis for historical understanding. Thus, Evans seeks not to provide an all-encompassing reconstruction of Sennacherib’s 701 BCE invasion but “to determine more clearly what evidence the biblical account in 2 Kings provides for the historian” (p. 37). Chapter One tests the Stade-Childs analysis of the HezekiahSennacherib narrative and finds the supporting arguments of unequal value. Evans found that some source-critical criteria lacked authentication (e.g. stylistic differences, divergent perspectives), while the strongest evidence for multiple sources rested upon parallels between the B1 and B2 accounts. Evans then proceeds with his own, alternate source-critical analysis, positing that the use of a similar methodology should produce similar results (p. 64), though given the differing assumptions among interpreters about the nature of the biblical text and how to apply the method, one might rather expect diversity. Evans uncovers two independent traditions (labeled ‫ א‬and ‫)ב‬, which are themselves composed of multiple other sources (some labelled rather tongue-in-cheek J, E, P, D). Yet Evans finds even his own analysis lacking, rightly suggesting that source-critical methodology may be “more in the category of art than science” (p. 85), though a similar assessment may be made of rhetorical analyses, which sometimes also produce differing interpretations. Chapter Two uses a variety of rhetorical-critical (or more commonly, narrative-critical) tools like plot structure, characterization, and the use of Leitwörter and type-scenes to show how 2 Kgs 18:13–19:37 may be read as a unified, coherent, literary whole. It is somewhat curious, however, that point of view is not directly included in the analysis, particularly when comparing the Rabshakeh’s speech with the oracles of Isaiah or Hezekiah’s 1 Bernhard Stade, “Miscellen: Anmerkungen zu 2 Kö. 15–21,” ZAW 6 (1886): 156–89; Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 2/3; London: SCM, 1967), 69–103.

REVIEWS

677

prayer. The combined effect of Evans’ analysis is cumulatively convincing, though some arguments are stronger than others. For example, Evans notes how an ABBAAB chiastic structure using the verbs “hear” (‫ )שמע‬and “return” (‫ )שוב‬cuts across (and thus unites) 2 Kgs 19:7–9, which is typically adduced as the “seam” between the B1 and B2 sources (pp. 119–121). Such a chiastic structure may indeed be found in 19:7–9, but the presence of additional, intervening verbs ( ‫מצא‬in v. 8, ‫יצא‬in v. 9, and ‫שלח‬in v. 9) suggest that this is not a “tight” chiasm. Moreover, as the chiasm would have forced hearers to pick out this rather complex structure from among other verbs, one might also wonder if Evans’ exclusion of the verb ‫ שמע‬in 19:6 from the chiasm is somewhat arbitrary. Its proximity to the three other uses of ‫ שמע‬in the chiasm at least raises the question of whether the original audience would have been able to differentiate it from the subsequent uses of the verb in the proposed chiasm. Perhaps Evans’ most provocative and stimulating contribution comes when he applies a close reading strategy to the Hezekiah-Sennacherib narrative in his third chapter. The appearance of Sennacherib’s emissaries in Jerusalem after 2 Kgs 18:15–16 suggests that Hezekiah had paid the tribute imposed by Sennacherib, which seems confusing at first. However, Evans insightfully points out that mention of Hezekiah’s payment of gold is not explicitly related. Its absence in the narrative prompts the visit of the Assyrian emissaries in the immediately-following verse and so mitigates the necessity of seeing 18:17 as the beginning of a different source (pp. 143– 51). Evans also argues, contrary to the Assyrian sources, that 2 Kings 18– 19 does not describe the presence of a besieging force against Jerusalem, noting that the ‫חיל כבד‬, “large army” (18:17a), which accompanies the Assyrian emissaries, may also denote a small military continent (cf. 2 Kgs 6:14, 19–20). Moreover, Dtr would have been guilty of portraying Isaiah as a false prophet (cf. 2 Kgs 19:32–34) had Sennacherib besieged the city (p. 160). Additionally, the account contains none of the vocabulary associated with siege warfare. Given the ideological commitment within Assyrian annals of not intimating any hints of failure and Dtr’s emphasis on fulfilled prophecy, Evans’ arguments are cogent. However, the biblical intimation of an Assyrian siege of Jerusalem may yet remain open, as an admittedly difficult, roughly contemporary prophecy in Mic 4:14 [ET 5:1], may refer to an Assyrian siege of Jerusalem in 701 BCE.2 2 Cf. Charles S. Shaw, The Speeches of Micah: A Rhetorical-Historical Analysis (JSOTSup 145; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 136–37, 139; Bruce Waltke, A Commentary on Micah (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2007), 263, 296–98.

678

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The fourth chapter applies these observations to a reconstruction of the events described in 2 Kings 18–19. Evans acknowledges that the Hezekiah-Sennacherib narrative is a theological work, but one must then “assess the ideology of the various events purported to have occurred according to 2 Kings 18–19 rather than assess the ideology of the various ‘sources’” (pp. 173–74). The Hezekiah-Sennacherib account in 2 Kings then finds support (with some differences) when viewed against Assyrian sources, but is also shown to contain reliable material not relayed in Assyrian sources (e.g., the defeat of the Assyrian army). Evans concludes by highlighting the value of a rhetorical approach for not only appreciating the role of 2 Kings 18–19 within the DH, but also its usefulness in assessing the message of the passage and thus its role in historical reconstruction. The contribution of this work lies at multiple levels. Evans’ close reading of 2 Kings 18–19 provides many helpful and insightful observations on both the structure and the logic of the text, paying close attention to what is both explicitly stated, and what is implied in the text. Contrary to many rhetorical and narrative-critical studies, which shy away from questions of historicity, Evans not only shows the compatibility of such approaches with historical reconstruction, but makes a strong case for the methodological priority of such analyses for uncovering Dtr ideology, which then facilitates a judicious and effective historical analysis. This is an important work whose significance extends beyond only those interested in reading the Hezekiah-Sennacherib narrative well to those wrestling with reading the ideology of the DH and the use of biblical texts in an effective historical methodology.

Ballhorn, Egbert, ISRAEL AM JORDAN: NARRATIVE TOPOGRAPHIE IM BUCH JOSUA (BBB, 162; Bonn: Bonn University Press im Verlag Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011). Pp. 520. Hardback. €64.90. ISBN 9783899718065. Reviewed by Ernst Axel Knauf University of Bern This book is a close reading of Joshua focusing on the aspect of “narrated space.” After the presentation of the book’s layout (“Introduction,” pp. 13– 21) and a digression into “historiography within cultural science” (pp. 23–

REVIEWS

679

71), the author diligently explains his concept of space and narrated space, culminating in Foucault’s construct of “heterotopy.” If I understand it correctly—one is never so sure when it comes to Foucault—this is some sort of a “sacramental” interpretation of space. For example, a church has geographical coordinates that can be read from any GPS; it is, as architecture, part of a material cityscape; and, at the same time, a location in which God is present—a spatial feature not indicated by the GPS. Ballhorn briefly discusses concepts of space (like the opposition of center and periphery), which he does not use in his analysis (“From Historiography to Topography: ‘Spatial Turn,’” pp. 73–134). Thus prepared, he (and his readership) embark on a journey through the “narrated space” (or “the space of narration,” created by the narrative) of Josh 1–21 (pp. 135–346). The reading is holistic, a very necessary antidote to the redaction-critical tradition in Joshua (or rather, “Former Prophets”) studies, but never harmonistic. Ballhorn is very sensitive to the plurality of views and voices to be encountered in Joshua, and he highlights the “subversive” contradictions (e.g., Josh 2 and 9) to the proclamation of “all the land” becoming “all Israelite” (Josh 10:40–42; 11:16; 21:43–45). The fifth and central chapter focuses on Josh 22, “Israel at the Jordan” (“at the Jordan again,” the reviewer would like to add; pp. 347–472), including a section on Josh 23– 24. The conclusion (“Israel’s Land as a Space for Torah,” pp. 473–97) is well prepared by the preceding chapters. The progression of Ballhorn’s argument is careful and slow, also slowing down the reader to a pace that is much more appropriate to ancient Hebrew scripture than the hasty perusal for “content.” The slower one moves, the more one sees. Alois Musil, who moved through Transjordan on camel back, saw the landscape in more detail than Nelson Glueck, who moved by car. This is also the case for reading, so some repetition is welcome to accustom the audience to the new point of view, and new art of viewing. Joshua transforms the real land of Canaan into a “landscape of memory” constituted by “places of memories” that are produced by the narrative implementation of Torah. The “land” is only half the focus of Joshua, the other half is Torah, or the interpretation and application of Torah; it is amazing how Ballhorn brings the two together. From beginning to end, the author argues on a very sophisticated theological level, which, of course, is a challenge rather than a turn off for the theologically-engaged reader. The language is unpretentious. As far as I am informed, Ballhorn is the first to point out with equal precision how decentralized Israel in the book of Joshua appears; probably because the usual reader (and commentator) likes (or would like) to jump from Josh 12, if not 11, to Josh 22, if not 24. Ballhorn’s observation links Joshua in quite an unexpected manner to Judges and hones the reader’s sensibility to the basic difference

680

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

between Joshua and Judges: Joshua “inculturates” the Torah into the memory of the land; Judges presents a land that had expelled or forgotten Torah. Contrary to the assertion on p. 374, I do not think that Josh 22:1 is consecutive to Josh 21:43; the narrative sequence is broken by ʾaz yiqtol (long form) at the beginning of 22:1. It is of course true that Josh 21:43 necessitates Josh 22 insofar as the Transjordanian tribes cannot return to their eastern possessions unless formally dismissed from the duty imposed on them by Moses in Num 32. Thus, Josh 22:1 is an example of non-linear narrative, jumping back in narrated time to Josh 21:42: with the distribution of the Levitical cities, the conquest of the land is now really, verily, totally completed, and the Transjordanians may go. If I have any problems with this splendid book, it is Ballhorn’s use of the term and concept of “historiography.” He is well aware of the “mythical elements” in “biblical historiography,” but it takes him a while to concede that “biblical historiography” is not identical with “secular historiography” (p. 47; as if, in the secular world of the 21st century CE inhabited by all academic disciplines there were another option available). “History,” which serves as the foundation of “the future” (p. 442; the physical present is pregnant with a very high number of possible futures, of which only one will be realized), or “history, which is fundamental for obligations that shape the present,” (p. 460) is myth, and there is nothing bad about myth in religion: without myth (and song), religion would be speechless (as it actually is in large parts of Europe, where religion has long since been replaced by theology). The interpretation of Torah and Former Prophets as “historiography” is based on an Hellenistic misunderstanding (already implicit in Chronicles) and inherited by Christianity. We would do well to learn from midrash that Abraham could meet Nebuchadnezzar, because in the mythical world all figures are potentially contemporary. This is not to deny that some sources from Samuel–Kings did qualify as (ancient Near Eastern) historiography, but the prophetic books Samuel and Kings do not.1 The bibliography is somewhat Eurocentric. At several points, various articles by Nadav Na’aman would have been helpful, and M. Halbwachs2 would have deserved more consideration than his German popularizer, if not vulgarizer, J. Assmann. 1 The aspect of “myth in Joshua” (and in theology) is well treated by D. S. Earl, Reading Joshua as Christian Scripture (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2010), 14–48. 2 La Topographie légendaire des évangiles en terre sainte. étude de mémoire collective (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1941); in German Stätten der Verkündigung im Heiligen Land (trans. S. Egger; Edition discours 21; Konstanz: UvK, 2003).

REVIEWS

681

Notwithstanding these and other minor details, this is the best book on Joshua that I have read so far. It is a prime example of sober and decent narratological analysis; it shows ways of “doing theology with the Bible” beyond unfounded historicism on the one hand and unlimited religious subjectivism on the other; and it should prove seminal for studies of Genesis, Exodus, Numbers and perhaps Judges in the same vein.3 Egbert Ballhorn did an excellent job “mapping” the narrative space of Joshua, helping and inviting future travelers to that region. I am deeply impressed.

Linafelt, Tod, Claudia V. Camp, and Timothy Beal, (eds.), THE FATE OF KING DAVID: THE PAST AND PRESENT OF A BIBLICAL ICON (LHBOTS, 500; London: T & T Clark, 2010). Pp. 352. Hardback. $170.00. ISBN 9780567515469. Reviewed by Johannes Klein Fagaras, Romania Volume 500 of the (former) JSOT Supplement Series is a collection of essays in honor of David M. Gunn. The title alludes to two well-known works by Gunn—The Fate of King Saul (1978) and The Story of King David (1980)—and it reveals an unsolved puzzle in the research concerning king David. In the introduction, titled “On David and David,” the volume is considered as a tribute to both Davids: “the one who remains distant (in time and otherwise), and the one we are glad to have more near” (XXVI). The scholarly gifts are arranged in five parts. Part I “Relating to David” subsumes the studies in literary criticism, in which David is viewed in relation to other characters. Part II “Canonizing David” investigates the significance of David’s growth from a literary character to an icon. Part III “Singing David” addresses David as the harper of 1 Samuel and as songwriter of the Psalms. Part IV “Receiving David” is comprised of essays

3 On Deuteronomy there is now Michaela Geiger, Gottesräume. Die literarische und theologische Konzeption von Raum im Deuteronomium (BWANT 183; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2010).

682

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

dealing with reception history. Part V “Re-locating David” consists of two essays that return the honored David to his islands of origin. In Part I, Jan Jaynes Quesada (“King David and Tidings of Death: ‘Character Response’ Criticism,” 3–18) observes that no other biblical character receives so many reports of death as David does. He describes the reactions of David towards the deaths of Saul, Jonathan, and Abner as “Mourner-in-chief.” After the death of Ishbaal David shows his commitment to justice. In contrast to the mournful reactions towards the death in the House of Saul, the reactions towards Uriah’s death are dispassionate, calm, and flippant. The deaths of the Bathsheba’s first child, Amnon, and Absalom are considered by the author as “wages of sin.” David pays for his crimes in a symmetrical way. All these scenes are investigated using the method of close reading, more precisely “Character Response Criticism” and portray David as the Lord’s anointed and as a survivor. In “David and Ittai” (19–37), Francis Landy examines the encounters of David with Ittai and Zadok (2 Sam 15:17–29), which exemplify the dialectic between inside and outside. This reading teases out the symbolic, intertextual, and ethnic complexities of the passage, showing the king’s complicated relationship with the Lord and rejecting the classification of the narrative as pro- or anti-Davidic. Mary Shields (“A Feast Fit for a King: Food and Drink in the Abigail Story,” 38–54) sees the story of David and Abigail in 1 Sam 25 as an example of David’s relationships with women. Her analysis focuses on the details of food and drink and compares Abigail with Woman Wisdom in Proverbs. She concludes that the transition of David from a guerilla warrior to the kingship was enabled by Abigail’s wisdom. David Penchansky assumes that readers seek to understand the motivations of characters and to construct possible scenarios explaining unusual or ambiguous features of the story. In his essay “Four Vignettes From the Life of David: Recollections of the Royal Court” (55–65), he takes “four vignettes from the life of David,” that are problematic stories as written in 1 and 2 Samuel. He attempts to develop plausible reconstructions that might adequately explain the motivations for the characters’ actions. For example, the vignette of David and Michal reveals that interpreters have disagreed in their understanding of 2 Sam 6:23: “and Michal the daughter of Saul had no child to the day of her death.” The author shows three possible interpretations: (1) God punished Michal with infertility; (2) David punished Michal by not sleeping with her; (3) Michal, angry over her ill treatment, refused David intimate relations. The author prefers the third because it accounts for David’s abuse of Michal.

REVIEWS

683

Randall C. Bailey (“Reading Backwards: A Narrative Technique for the Queering of David, Saul, and Samuel,” 66–81) shows at the beginning of his article that all readers read the texts with personal, cultural, gender, sexual, class, and racial pre-understandings and questions. He concentrates on repeated but fleeting textual details and draws attention to the way in which readers’ ideological perspectives predetermine how they will interpret such texts. He alludes to the problem that readers are trained to read in line with the canons of hetero-normativity. His conclusion is that a queer reading is indeed not the only reading of the texts about Samuel, Saul, Jonathan and David, but it is nonetheless a plausible one. In Part II, Walter Brueggemann’s “Heir and Land: The Royal ‘Envelope’ of the Books of Kings” (85–100) argues that scholarship in the wake of von Rad focused too narrowly on one-dimensional questions of authorial intent. Brueggemann instead highlights the canonical shape of the books of Kings by reference to the view of Davidic reality at the beginning and the end of the two books. He offers a heuristic and intertextual reading interpreting God’s promise cited by David in 1 Kgs 2:1–4 in light of 2 Kgs 25:27–30, concluding that in the sixth century Jehoiachin displaced David as primary cipher for interpretive disputes concerning Israel’s future. In “A Broken Hallelujah: Remembering David, Justice, and the Cost of the House” (101–22), Danna Nolan Fewell contrasts the Chronicler’s story of David with the story described in the books of Samuel. She reads them as two co-existent competing historical narratives with different approaches to remembering the past and envisioning the future. Chronicles reconstructs a “digestible” past with its protagonist, a one-dimensional David. The Samuel narratives, on the other hand, are filled with complex personalities and complicated events representing a postexilic act of memory. Philip R. Davies (“Son of David and Son of Saul,” 123–132) begins by inviting the reader to consider Saul as a failed David, respectively a “beta version” of the ideal king. However, he writes primarily about Saul of Tarsus and Jesus, the “son” of David, suggesting an intentional connection between these antagonists, quite probably by Luke as the author of Acts, and possibly tracing back to Saul/Paul himself. The title “Messiah,” one of the titles of Jesus in the New Testament, is absent in the writings of Saul/Paul. Davies suggests that the apostle was overly proud of his name and his ancestry, thereby offering a psychological profile of Saul/Paul as someone who avoids kingly titles. Part III opens with Carole R. Fontaine’s article, “The Sharper Harper (1 Sam 16:14–23): Iconographic Reflections on David’s Rise to Power,” 135–52) which offers a survey of the representation of harpers in Egyptian and Assyrian art. She shows that the harper was a stock figure in the royal

684

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

courts of Syro-Palestine and its neighbors. This figure appeared in victory processions, banquets, liturgical celebrations, and even military prophecies. The harper had a privileged view of court intrigues, military strategies, and ideological manipulation of the divine. From this viewpoint the motif of “David as harper” is more than just a story about folk remedies for depression; it also portrays David in a position with access to knowledge that would not be known to him while pasturing animals. Robert Culley’s “David and the Psalms: Titles, Poems, and Stories” (153–62) explores the interplay between the psalms that mention David and the stories of Saul and David and argues that both deal with people in danger, but describe the problem in different ways. While the psalms are complaints by an individual in a difficult situation, the stories are replete with details of the difficult situations in which David faces known enemies. While the psalms project a view of danger and rescue from within the midst of danger, the stories describe a movement from danger to rescue, identifying specific characters and places. R. Christopher Heard also calls attention to the relationship between the David of Psalm 51 and the David of the narrative whose crimes of murder and adultery elicit the need of penitence. In his “Penitent to a Fault: The Characterization of David in Psalm 51” (163–74) he suggests that the title of the psalm shows the prayer in an ironic light. The David of Psalm 51 engages in misdirection, obscuring the social dimensions of his crimes by emphasizing his relationship with God. He hides his particular sin within a confession of lifelong sinfulness. Heard calls his interpretation “suspicious” and “cynical” because it arises by taking the superscription seriously as an indication of the narrative context in which the psalm should be read. For David J. A. Clines (“Psalm 23 and Method: Reading a David Psalm,” 175–84) Psalm 23 is the quintessential Davidic psalm, pointing out the fact that David, the shepherd of sheep, imagines himself as the sheep of a shepherd. Clines considers his essay a sampler of methods for reading— rhetorical criticism, deconstruction, gender criticism, materialist criticism, postcolonial criticism, and psychoanalytic criticism. The reading hinders the innocent delight displayed by the psalmist in the protection of God, and his sincere expression of a proper creaturely dependence on the Almighty. But according to Clines, this problematic innocence should not become a reason to deny the fact that Psalm 23 is an exquisite and incomparably attractive poem, on which, unfortunately, an aura of unquestionable piety has settled. In Part IV, Yvonne Sherwood’s “King David between the Renaissance and the Reformation, the Secular and the Sacred, and Samuel and Psalms” (187–207) investigates the poem “A poetic preface to David’s Penitential Psalms” written by Theodore of Beza prior to his conversion. This poem is

REVIEWS

685

a composite theater in which David and Bathsheba meet Venus, Cupid and Hera, dramatizing the Renaissance/Reformation merger between humanitas and divinitas. In “From Babylon to David and Back Again: The Sexually Charged History of a Victorian Drawing” (208–28), Burke O. Long looks into the reception history of the pen and ink drawing of the Anglo-Jewish artist Simeon Solomon originally entitled “Babylon,” with a quote from Jer 51:7 alongside the title, and exhibited first in London during the winter 1859–60. After the loss of the title and reference to Jer 51 in the acquisition by the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery in 1925, the drawing was known as “King David,” and in 1964 it was associated with David and Abishag (1 Kgs 1:1–4). In the 1980s Simon Reynolds reproduced the drawing with the title “David Playing to King Saul,” Emmanuel Cooper with the title “David playing before Saul.” Soon thereafter, Gayle Seymour restored the original association with ancient Babylon. This trajectory suggests different ideational spaces configured between visual image and biblical text. Correct or not, a title grounds identity, and invites a viewer to construct meaning. It results that the artist, artistic expression, and critical interpretation are cultural productions that involve persistent issues of human sexuality negotiated through imagining the Bible and ancient West Asia. David Jobling’s “‘David on the Brain’: Bertolt Brecht’s Projected Play ‘David’” (229–40) analyses the work of the young Bertold Brecht (aged 21– 23), who was preoccupied with the biblical characters David and Absalom, Bathsheba and Uriah, and Saul and Jonathan. The later abandoned fragments of “David” include adumbrations of Marxist themes. For example king David finds salvation in what is “material,” or an old man says that the monarchy is unfavorable when compared with the premonarchical order. J. Cheryl Exum (“A King Fit for a Child: The David Story in Modern Children’s Bibles,” 241–59) considers how it is possible to tell Bible stories in a manner suitable for small children. She observes that the many collections of Bible stories for children make decisions about how to present “unsavory” material. The solutions range from simple omission to tasteful reshaping. Her review of the collections focuses on two questions: (1) Do the retellings give a sense of the complexity of David’s character and the ambiguity of his motives during his rise from shepherd boy to king over Israel? (2) How do these retellings deal with “unsuitable material,” in particular David’s crimes of adultery and murder and the dire misfortunes that befall his house as punishment? She concludes that the omissions and softenings produce a David who is better man, but one who is less complex, less interesting, and less appealing than the character in the Bible. They also create a “better” but less interesting God. She goes on to

686

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

demonstrate that children’s books do not have to have a simplistic view of the world. In “Michal and David: Love between Enemies?” (260–70) Athalya Brenner constructs a sketch of Michal and David’s relationship. She observes, however, that this is difficult because information about Michal is not only fragmentary but also only provided in relation to various male figures. Brenner therefore arranges the fragments in such a way that they will make sense for “her,” not only for her male kin, thereby offering different perspectives on her relationship to David, Saul, and Jonathan. In Part V, Judith E. McKinlay uses the methodological tools of literary, feminist, and ideological criticism, in the context of postcolonial reading of biblical narratives. Her “Through a Window: A Postcolonialist Reading of Michal” (273–88) reads the Michal narrative in dialogue with the historical novel The Book of Secrets by Fiona Kidman. She concludes that 2 Sam 6:12b–23 displays the hope that dominating powers will not have the last word because there is always another view through the window. In “David W[e]aves” (289–301) Jione Havea argues for an understanding of storytelling as a cooperative effort whose primary purpose does not lie in sharing information. It should instead be viewed as an event in which people find meanings, identities, and realities that transform in each retelling, depending on how the listeners chart the course of the story. He employs this approach for the retelling of the story of Bathsheba as a story with multiple voices. The volume provides a very good representation of recent scholarship on king David in the wake of David M. Gunn. He was on the forefront of three revolutions in the interpretation of David: narrative criticism and biblical narratology beginning in the late 1970s, feminist criticism and gender theory in the 1980s and early 1990s, and the current rise of cultural studies and reception history. These perspectives are well represented in the volume by the various scholars and provide a good picture of the influence of Gunn’s scholarly efforts.

REVIEWS

687

George, Mark K., ISRAEL’S TABERNACLE AS SOCIAL SPACE (AIL 2; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009). Pp. xiii + 233. Softcover. US $29.95. ISBN 9781589831254. Reviewed by A. J. Culp Denver Seminary How are we to understand the enigma that is the tabernacle? Is it some kind of blueprint for our own sanctuaries? Is it a catalogue of items with enduring messianic and eschatological symbolism? Or is it a product of Priestly writers trying to secure their own privilege and prominence in ancient Israel? Mark George’s Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space does not set out to prove or dispel any of these ideas per se, but rather to navigate a more nuanced way. He does so by analyzing the tabernacle as Israel’s social space. In his first chapter, George aims to show why applying spatial theory to the tabernacle narratives is a fruitful endeavor. A central question is this: What is the purpose of the tabernacle narratives? Indeed, there are numerous ideas about how and why these accounts came into their current shape. But in George’s view, the reason for the uniqueness of the tabernacle narratives remains unclear. The issue becomes even more poignant when the tabernacle accounts are compared to other building narratives: “the tabernacle narratives are unlike any other building text in the Hebrew Bible, because they are both longer and more detailed than them” (p. 1). Beyond differences in length, George avers that another more crucial dynamic is at work: while the others focus on the construction of place, the tabernacle narratives emphasize the creation of space. The tabernacle is the center of Israel, but Israel is transient; thus her defining center is not a place but a space that travels with her. This distinction, therefore, shows that the text is ripe for the kind of approach that George employs. George also discusses his assumptions in this first chapter. Perhaps most interesting of these is that the tabernacle need not have been real. Indeed, George acknowledges that the tabernacle reflects material findings from the ANE, but he does not believe its existence is necessary to the Priestly writers’ project. That project is creating a mental conception of sacred space for Israel in exile. So long as the space is materially plausible

688

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

(i.e., believable in terms of ANE practices and materials), the goal is accomplished. What is curious, though, is how George uses the connection to material evidence somewhat unevenly. Sometimes he leverages it to confirm the exilic dating directly (p. 10), while in at least one case, in which the aspect is prior to the Neo-Babylonian period, he suggests it shows the exilic writers’ genius (p. 173)! In chapter two, George lays out his methodology for analyzing social space. He begins with a helpful discussion of what is, in the first place, social space. This type of space is the kind that a society produces. Here one can think of anything from the layout of roads to that of rooms in houses, or the placement of parks to the arrangement of cities. The value of such items is that, in their spatial makeup, they reveal the very values and ideas of the culture that formed them. In other words, space is not a “neutral substance or medium” but a “human creation and project, reflecting social ideas and practices…[that] can be read and analyzed critically” (p. 19). To analyze space then, George suggests, we must understand its constituency. Here he introduces the main theorist with whom he interacts: Henri Lefebvre. Lefebvre was a French Marxist philosopher of the 20th century; his main work on space, in English, appeared in 1991.1 Helpfully, George notes that even though Lefebvre’s work is interwoven with Marxist ideas, his spatial poetics is not inherently so. George takes Lefebvre’s “conceptual triad” and tweaks its terminology: he calls them spatial practice, conceptual space, and symbolic space. Spatial practice refers to the physical reality of space, including things such as dimensions and arrangement and also the practice of implanting and using them. Conceptual space, then, is the mental configurations that undergird spatial practice; it is the cultural concepts that materialize in physical space. And symbolic space is the “socially significant meanings ascribed to space” (p. 27), that is, the ideas, values, and affections encoded into particular spaces. We should note, too, that George modifies Lefebvre’s approach by running it through the so-called New Historicism. Of the assumptions that come with this, the most peculiar to me is that no cultural expression should be privileged above another. That is, there should be no distinction between “high” and “low” culture. Granted, there is value in saying that no expression should be excluded or ignored, for all play their parts. But one wonders if it can truly be maintained that, for example, the tabernacle and a Lefebvre, The Production of Space (trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith; Oxford: Blackwell, 1991). 1

REVIEWS

689

common tent have equal weight in shaping the Israelite conceptualization of space. With his spatial poetics in place, George moves to apply it to the tabernacle. He devotes a chapter to each leg of the conceptual triad. For the first leg of spatial practice, George emphasizes the reciprocal how: how the Priestly writers shaped the tabernacle space and how, in turn, the tabernacle shaped Israel. He argues that the tabernacle betrays five spatial practices that are especially important: inventories (raw materials, assemblage, and skills required), item descriptions, arrangement, portability, and orientation of space. Most of these are unremarkable and are attested in other ANE structures, George notes. But there are differences, too, and these highlight the distinctiveness of the tabernacle’s spatial practice. A couple of examples illustrate this. First, like other ANE building projects, the tabernacle evokes ideas of royal construction. But unlike these, it replaces the typical royal sponsor with the generosity of the people. It is the people themselves, not a king, who provide the necessary materials and skills for the tabernacle building. What is more, the impetus for the project is not forced labor, as in most other ANE examples, but the generous heart of the people (Exod 35:5, 21, 22; 36:2). Secondly, the tabernacle is unique in its emphasis on orientation and portability. In contrast to the house in Nemed-Issar, whose construction centers on location, the tabernacle is based on orientation. The reason is perhaps obvious: for a fixed structure, location is very important, but for one that moves, location is ever changing. Instead, the tabernacle space requires orientation-patterns by which it can be consistently reassembled, both internally (the inner arrangement and items) and externally (the cardinal orientation to the world). Wherever the Israelites found themselves, they could assemble the tabernacle space consistently. This leads to the notion of portability. Also in contrast to the house in Nemed-Issar is the fact that the tabernacle needed to be portable. Disassembling, packing, transporting, and reassembling are all essential to the tabernacle’s spatial practice. George says this is evident in a variety of ways, but none more striking than objects that, for the sake of lightness, were made not of pure metal but of wood overlaid with metal: the ark (Exod 25:23–24), the table for the bread of the Presence (25:23–24), the incense altar (30:1, 3), and even the altar of burnt offering (27:1–2). The altar for burnt offerings, whose wooden core would have broken down quickly, especially shows that portability was of higher priority than longevity. For the triad’s second element of conceptual space, George emphasizes the tabernacle’s horizontal configuration. This contrasts other holy spaces, in the Bible and elsewhere, that use vertical differences to represent distinctions in social status. In such cases, the holy place is higher

690

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

in elevation than the other parts; and, correspondingly, the priest(s) who service(s) that place enjoy(s) a higher social status. But the tabernacle’s horizontal configuration means that it represents these things not through elevation but through its layout. Typically, this layout is understood in terms of spaces representing levels of holiness and, as such, corresponding levels of accessibility: court space (for all Israelites), holy space (for Moses, priests, and Aaron [high priest]), and the most holy place (for Moses and Aaron). (George notes that there is also common space, which operates as that which is outside of the tabernacle and includes the Israelite camp and everything beyond it). George argues, however, that the idea of holiness is not the best model for understanding the tabernacle’s conceptual space. Instead, he suggests the space is orientated around a taxonomic system of inclusion/exclusion: the congregation, descent, and hereditary succession. These may be conceived of as concentric circles that define classes of people, with the congregation being the largest and hereditary succession the smallest. For George, the congregation is not just the descendents of Jacob but more broadly those who recognize Yahweh, and both men and women (Exod 12:48). To be identified in this class allows one access to the tabernacle courts’ space. However, the next area, the holy space, requires something more. It requires, chiefly, that one be a descendent of Aaron, but also implicitly that one be male. Only this subset of the congregation—Aaron and his sons (the priesthood)—is permitted to enter the holy space. And the final area, the most holy space, is restricted even further by hereditary succession. A subset of both the congregation and descent, hereditary succession dictates that only the eldest son of Aaron (the high priest) can enter the most holy place. For the triad’s third and final leg of symbolic space, George focuses on the circulation of “social energies.” The idea of social energies comes from Stephen Greenblatt2 and refers to the way in which cultures imbue symbols with ideas, values, and affective qualities. More specifically, it denotes the process by which a society uses the energies of the surrounding culture for its own purposes. This appears similar to the scholarly practice of viewing the tabernacle against the backdrop of ANE culture. But George notes an important difference. While comparative studies analyze how an entity relates to broader culture, that of social energies examines more narrowly how one culture employs and transforms its latent ideology. For the tabernacle, then, George is interested in how the Priestly writers drew upon, and reinterpreted, the existing cultural symbols to create their own symbolic space. Greenblatt, Shakespearean Negotiations: The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988). 2

REVIEWS

691

George especially uses the ANE practice of building inscriptions and deposits as a conceptual backdrop (viewed through the ideas of Richard Ellis).3 The building inscription was a formal record of royal or sacred construction: from the decision to build, through laying the foundation, to actually erecting the structure. The tabernacle narratives in Exodus, George says, are of this genre. But under the broader canopy of building inscriptions is another item: building deposits. These were items, of various form and content (often inscribed), placed inside the foundations of the building. Their purposes were multiple, but two important ones were sanctifying the space and commemorating its significance. Within the tabernacle, George argues, the ark, kappōret (atonement covering), and tablets serve this same function. He makes an interesting argument to support his claim. In Exod 31:18, Moses is given two “tablets of the edut,” traditionally translated as “testimony” and understood as the Decalogue. George, however, argues that the text is intentionally ambiguous here and should be translated “inscription.” Thus it would say “tablets of the inscription,” providing clear evidence that the tablets are a building deposit. For me this argument is not persuasive, and not even necessary. George’s premise can hold true without it: that the tabernacle uses the energies of building inscriptions and deposits, to some degree, to circulate its own social energies. Namely, it shows the tabernacle as divine space, with Yahweh’s deposit within; this space travels with Israel everywhere and she centers her life around it. Other than the usual scholarly quibbles, I found few issues with George’s work. Perhaps the one that came up the most, though, was the lack of visuals or illustrations. I realize that some of us benefit from these more than others, but for something like conceptual space visuals seem universally helpful. A visual for each part of the spatial triad, incorporated into a final one illustrating the larger dynamics, would go a long way in helping readers envision the tabernacle as social space. With that said, there is much to commend. Chiefly, I see George’s work as a fine example of interdisciplinary biblical scholarship. Traditional scholarship has at times struggled to accomplish such studies, feeling constrained to focus on passages narrowly and perform lengthy exegesis. As George demonstrates, however, there is mileage in a broader approach. His method is one that selects key theorists and then applies them to the text, incorporating biblical scholarship as is appropriate. The result is not an exegesis per se, but a reading of the tabernacle through the lens of spatial poetics. This kind of approach is further beneficial, I suggest, because it Ellis, Foundation Deposits in Ancient Mesopotamia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968). 3

692

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

provides expositors and pedagogues a useable conceptual framework. I think of the difficulty that ancient spaces pose to modern audiences—the tabernacle, temple, and Ezekiel’s temple vision. A spatial reading might help people bridge contexts, in the sanctuary and classroom alike.

Crenshaw, James L., OLD TESTAMENT WISDOM: AN INTRODUCTION (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 2010). Pp. xviii+308. Softcover. US$29.95. ISBN 9780664234591. Reviewed by Ryan P. O’Dowd Cornell University, Ithaca, NY In its third edition, James Crenshaw’s Old Testament Wisdom will reach a fourth decade of readers. Crenshaw has largely left intact the shape and text of the chapters, though, as he indicates in his preface, this edition includes several new features. The works cited section has been updated to include recent research. He has also added a chapter on the acquisition of knowledge, a section on wisdom literature at Qumran, a discussion of how the Gospels depict Jesus’ use of Job and Ecclesiastes in his teachings, a renewed treatment of “wisdom psalms,” and a discussion of wisdom literature from Emar and Ugarit in ancient Syria. The book ensconces Crenshaw as one of the leading wisdom scholars of our age. In a long and distinguished career he has given us a clear example of a way to conduct research that honors both critical and theological commitments. The introduction and first two chapters present wisdom both from a conceptual perspective and from within Crenshaw’s view of the development of the ancient wisdom tradition. These chapters take us back to Crenshaw’s earliest work in the late 1960s where he labored diligently to protect wisdom as a distinct genre, clearly set apart from law, history, prophets, and cult. For Crenshaw, “wisdom is the reasoned search for specific ways to assure well being and the implementation of those discoveries in daily existence” (p. 16); in the language of the wisdom literature, the goal is to impart “life.” Crenshaw assumes the evolutionary development of Israelite religion, postulating that an independent social class of wisdom scribes emerged and

REVIEWS

693

compiled the wisdom documents we have today. With his sophisticated literary perspective, he argues that passages like Job 28 and 42 as well as the epilogues in Ecclesiastes were additions to previously established texts. While these are well-received theories today, Crenshaw follows others in the risk of being too confident in the results of the short-lived critical disciplines. For one, Crenshaw must assume that he is able to piece together literary development of texts with scant manuscript evidence to work with. He also has to assume a remarkable level of insight into the abilities and intentions of the ancient writers, often knowing better than they, how a text fits or does not fit into a literary context. Chapters 3 through 7 present introductory studies of Israel’s ancient wisdom texts. Though brief, these chapters in no way detract from the richness in these biblical texts. Crenshaw uses his own perspectives to navigate the most debated issues in scholarship yet without overwhelming the reader with forced opinions. According to Crenshaw, Proverbs aims to impart knowledge of universal order. Armed with this knowledge, readers are empowered to pursue the well-lived life. Proverbs is the most optimistic wisdom literature, though it has many sections that show an awareness of the limits of human knowledge, the corruptness of human nature, and the freedom of the divine will. Contrary to the beliefs of many scholars today, Crenshaw believes that the book rejects the modern distinction between secular and sacred and thus also refuses to accept the common idea that early, secular wisdom was later infused with the piety of Israel’s post-exilic history. All wisdom is written from a distinctly religious perspective. In contrast to the optimism in Proverbs, Job and Ecclesiastes represent Israel’s crisis literature. Job is portrayed as wisdom in search of divine presence—a search propelled by two overriding questions: “Does disinterested piety exist and what explains innocent suffering?” (p. 103). Crenshaw also offers his readers helpful connections between the many genres in the book (narrative, lament, dirge, and debate) and suggests ways in which they help us to appropriate the book as wisdom for today. The chapter on Ecclesiastes bears witness to the extraordinary expertise Crenshaw has gained in his many years as a scholar. For him, Ecclesiastes is pessimistic complaint literature, responding to the naïve assumptions of traditional wisdom. He believes that the opinions of the two epilogists (Eccl 12:9–14) have been added to Qohelet’s previously independent text, resulting in a final text that encourages a healthy skepticism. His arguments, now well known across the discipline, are nuanced here to answer new questions that have arisen in modern scholarship.

694

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

In chapter 6, Crenshaw makes use of the most recent insights we have into to the date and provenance of Sirach in order to provide a convincing account for how the two traditions of law and wisdom came together in this text as they did: along with the piety and mercy in the Torah and the universal sense of reality in the wisdom school, Ben Sira borrows forms of debate in Qohelet and perspectives in Hellenism to create a new portrait of faith relevant for Israel in his day. In this world where Israel’s doubts are mounting, “theology prevailed over the experiential tradition,” and Ben Sira leaves readers with the sure expectation of a day of future mercy (p. 176). Chapter 7 treats the Wisdom of Solomon (Wisdom), wisdom in Psalms, and wisdom in other apocryphal and rabbinic literature. In all of these texts, wisdom plays a transitional role in the emergence of Christianity, connecting the mediating nature of Greek logos with Hebrew wisdom, and thus providing for a way to bridge the felt gap between mortals and God. According to Crenshaw, Logos, born in the God man Jesus, is the final step in this bridge, allowing for God’s full revelation of wisdom to humanity. A new addition, Chapter 8 captures the wisdom literature’s depiction of the human pursuit of the knowledge of God. Here Crenshaw exhibits the great extent of his learning as he ably tackles the complicated relationship between wisdom, revelation, nature, conscience, and natural theology as they have emerged in the history of ideas. Whereas the mood of the Enlightenment encouraged a comprehensive pursuit of knowledge, the wisdom literature is essentially able to anticipate its eventual failure, reminding us of the limits of human experience and knowledge. Wisdom thus has ethical lessons for our epistemology, leading us to adopt a humble perspective of “mutual giving and receiving” in the pursuit of knowledge. Crenshaw concludes this remarkable chapter: “I for one am eternally grateful that Israel’s sages did not abandon reason for faith but tried to the best of their ability to actualize a reciprocating touch that even Michelangelo did not envision when depicting the origin of humankind” (p. 225). Chapter 9 offers a theological summary of “Wisdom’s Legacy,” which, Crenshaw suggests, consists of three lessons: (1) a skepticism of doubting thoughts amidst an affirming faith, (2) an alternative to the overly optimistic structures of the Yahwistic worldview, and (3) an ability to cope with the realities of faithful religion in the midst of an increasingly complex world. The final chapter gives a brief comparison of Israelite wisdom with its Egyptian and Mesopotamian neighbors. Typical of Crenshaw’s writing the book is eloquent and clear though, in an increasingly technological age, one wonders how texts like this will be received by undergraduates of the future. We can hope that it reinvigorates

REVIEWS

695

a love for language and good writing that takes time both to compose and to savor. There are only a few minor faults that I can add to the brief criticism of historical method above. Crenshaw’s chapter on Ecclesiastes typifies a minor weakness in his overall methodology. Perhaps so convinced by his own view, he fails to represent fully the arguments for reading Ecclesiastes as a whole as well as perspectives on the rhetoric and irony in Qohelet’s individualistic and pessimistic tone. He also takes for granted the rather simple caricature of Deuteronomy (and Torah) as a tradition grounded in the absolute causality between deed and reward, despite the clear signs we get in Deuteronomy that Israel was not chosen for its greatness or merits (7:6–8; 9:6–8). (On the contrary, Israel’s election in the past and rescue from a future day of apostasy are both grounded in Yahweh’s free determination to love whomever he wills [30:1–20]). This caricature of course allows Crenshaw to separate wisdom, law and prophecy into their often overly neat categories. He needs to say more in answer to scholars who argue that a shared worldview exists between wisdom and law. These of course hardly detract from a time-tested masterpiece. The book is essential to everyone with even the remotest of interests in the wisdom literature.

Meadors, Edward P., IDOLATRY AND THE HARDENING OF THE HEART: A STUDY IN BIBLICAL THEOLOGY (London: T & T Clark, 2006). Pp. 224. Hardback. £22.99. ISBN 9780567025739. Reviewed by Rob Barrett University of Göttingen Resonating with the prophet’s theological struggle, Meadors ranges across both Old and New Testaments as he seeks “to provide a biblical, theological answer to Isaiah’s question, ‘Why, O Lord, do you cause us to stray from your ways, and harden our heart from fearing you’ (Isa 63:17a)?” (Preface; italics original). Meadors’s concern is that this divine action “appears on the surface to contradict the doctrine of God’s love and the whole enterprise of Christian evangelism” (56). His thesis is that “the biblical answer” is clear and pervasive: “The hardening of the heart is most

696

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

often quite simply God’s disciplinary punishment for the specific sin of idolatry” (Preface). The argument consists of a clear and detailed examination of a wide range of biblical texts, following a straightforward outline. The first two chapters introduce the book’s central ideas. Chapter 1 walks through the foundational texts from which the thesis emerges: Pss 115:4–8; 135:15–18; Deut 28–29; Exod 20:2–6; Lev 26; Isa 6:9–11; and Jer 5:19–22. Chapter 2 examines the vocabulary and concepts of idolatry and the heart. From chapter 3, Meadors carefully works through the biblical material. Chapters 3–5 cover the Old Testament, with one chapter each devoted to Pharaoh, the Joshua–Kings and the Chronicles histories, and the latter prophets (including Daniel). Chapters 6–11 examine the New Testament with chapters on the gospels, Acts, Rom 1–2, Rom 9, Rom 10–11, and Revelation. The former material is naturally of more interest to readers of this journal and is the focus of this review, but Meadors also works in depth with the NT’s use of the OT material. The book closes with a chapter of conclusions and contemporary applications. The conclusions nicely reflect back on the three theological questions that motivated Meadors from the beginning: Does God harden hearts arbitrarily, unconditionally, or indiscriminately? Why does God harden hearts? Is salvation possible for the hardened? He finally turns his attention to forms of idolatry he finds to be serious threats within the contemporary church—personal pride, theological error, and excessive focus on worship form and style. The value and persuasiveness of the book hinges on the acceptance of Meadors’s methodology for developing “biblical theology,” a notoriously difficult area. Unfortunately, he nowhere explicitly presents his method or argues for it against its alternatives. It is left to the reader to discern the coherence and strength of the argument. His approach begins with ostensibly clear biblical statements, from which he constructs an apparently rigid rule for the parameters of divine activity. This rule, variously termed a “paradigm,” “theological axiom,” or “pattern,” is then pressed upon a wide range of texts in order to confirm its overarching validity. This forced alignment requires flexibility both in adapting the rule to the texts and the texts to the rule. After having thus confirmed that the pattern is pervasively followed throughout the Bible, Meadors can conclude that it represents a biblical, theological truth. A closer examination of this process illuminates some important ways this method works itself out. First, it is important to realize that the phenomena Meadors seeks to understand are not fundamentally textual. His interest consists not in rhetorical patterns, literary portrayals, or thematic developments within the biblical literature as such. Rather, he

REVIEWS

697

seeks to describe the dynamics of the objective reality described by and lying behind the biblical text. This enables him, for example, to count Pharaoh as an idolater. Meadors writes, “Ancient Egyptians and their kings believed that amulets and spells could provide help and protection both in this life and in the afterlife. Hence, it is historically valid to incorporate Exodus into our study of idolatry and the hardening of the heart” (18). “As a practitioner of amulets, Pharaoh represents the premier biblical example of the fate that awaits those who place trust in pagan deities and idols. A devotee of amuletic idols and a patron and priest of idol laden temples, he thus suffered the hardening of his inner will” (35). This logic reflects a reconstruction of the historical Pharaoh rather than an exploration of the way the text represents him. So Pharaoh’s presumed idolatry upstages the Bible’s own portrayal. With this approach, Meadors discerns connections between idolatry and the hardening of the heart even where the textual linkage is quite weak or non-existent. Of course, in terms of historical reconstructions of the periods in question, nearly the entire world—both outside and even inside Israel—could be labelled idolatrous and used as evidence for the proposed thesis. Second, once Meadors has articulated his axiom—that God hardens the hearts of idolaters—he is willing to be quite flexible in his definitions of both idolatry and hardening in order to identify the presence of these phenomena. This is most evident in regards to idolatry. He begins with a narrow definition: the worship of created things (2). Taking up Yehezkel Kaufmann’s definition, idolatry is “the belief that divine and magical powers inhere in certain natural or manmade objects and that man can activate these powers through fixed rituals” (2). This definition is quite confining, so Meadors later expands it to include worship of other gods, worship of created objects, and syncretism with paganism (13). But in the course of the argument, many other sins also gain the label of idolatry. For example, Hophni and Phinehas are idolaters because they “replaced obedient worship with disobedient worthlessness” (42). Other cases of idolatry emerge from a literalistic reading of idolatry rhetoric. Saul is an idolater because Samuel says, “[R]ebellion is as the sin of divination, and insubordination is as iniquity and idolatry” (1 Sam 15:23) (44). Covenantal apostasy and moral corruption are idolatry because the Bible likens idolatry to adultery and prostitution (57–58). External religiosity is idolatry because of Isa 66:3 (63). Meadors also expands the range of offenses that come under the umbrella of idolatry through the common theological generalization that idolatry consists in substituting something less than God for God. So, when citing another author’s list of offenses that bring on obduracy in Isaiah (arrogance, immorality, idolatry, injustice, and false prophecy), Meadors labels them all idolatry “in the sense that each involves

698

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

a substitute for God—pride, immoral appetites, selfish-ambition, and selfseeking prophecy” (74 n. 25). In the end, Meadors expands “idolatry” in his idolatry-hardening axiom to include generalized notions of “volitional rebellion against God” and “defy[ing] his covenant plan” (173–74). Or, in another place, idolatry means “stand[ing] in the way of the progress of the covenant and its promises” rather than being “committed to Yahweh alone” (39). Now idolatry is undoubtedly a malleable and complex concept within the biblical literature as it moves smoothly between literal and metaphorical references. Idolatry often functions rhetorically to sharpen critiques of a wide range of offenses. Within the Bible, idolatry characterizes offenses in realms as disparate as personal morality and national foreign policy. A methodological difficulty with the present volume is that the author’s own flexible use of the concept of idolatry compounds these biblical complexities rather than clarifying the concept and its usage. When Meadors claims that heart hardening follows from idolatry, it is almost impossible to distinguish this from a claim that hardening follows from sin. In fact, Meadors reformulates the axiom in this way himself: “Sin caused hardening is evident throughout the OT” (173). Not unexpectedly, similar techniques are used at the other pole of the axiom: the hardening of the heart. Sometimes this reflects the explicit language of the Bible, as in the case of Pharaoh. But in most of Meadors’s study he equates the hardened heart with “sensory depletion,” an idea drawn from G. K. Beale, who argues that idolaters become like their idols through what he calls “sensory-organ malfunction” (cf. Ps 115:4–8; 135:15– 18). Meadors adopts this perspective with enthusiasm and then largely ceases to distinguish between the two phenomena. For example, in his conclusion, Meadors writes, “[H]ardening and sensory depletion are symptoms that diagnose the presence of idolatrous sin,” and “[H]ardening and sensory depletion are forms of chastisement that aim to provoke repentance and destroy pride” (174, 175). Once the concept is transformed in this way, there is considerable room for spiritualized figuration. For example, for those so “hardened,” their “spiritual understanding grows dull, so that sinners lead misinformed, degenerate lives” (9). As with the broadening of idolatry to encompass nearly all sin, the idea of the hardened heart is broadened to mean “disobedience.” This appears most explicitly when Meadors interprets the Hebrew idiom “did not listen”—meaning “did not obey”—as a case of “sensory malfunction” (e.g. in Judg 2:17, 19–22 [40]). By broadening the definitions in this way, the thesis that idolatry leads to hardened hearts nearly becomes a tautology: sinners are disobedient. A third significant methodological move is the way Meadors appeals to context in order to claim the presence of idolatry where it is otherwise

REVIEWS

699

absent. While admitting that “idolatry is not the only cause of hardening in the Bible,” Meadors maintains that “idolatry is rarely distant in context” (3). Since idolatry has a substantial presence in much biblical material, this is likely true overall. But the particular reasoning is sometimes questionable. For example, Meadors understands Eli to have experienced “the reversal of fortune that Moses promised would characterize those who forsake Yahweh for idols.” But where is Eli’s idolatry to be found? Meadors reasons that Samuel’s threat of Eli’s downfall is described as something that will make people’s ears tingle (1 Sam 3:11), a phrase which only appears elsewhere in relation to judgment against idolaters (2 Kgs 21:12; Jer 19:3) (42). The book’s argument proceeds by articulating a dynamic pattern derived from one set of biblical texts and then providing detailed readings of a wide variety of other texts as viewed through that particular lens. It is somewhat ironic that Meadors seems to step at least partially into one of the modern theological idolatries that he identifies. He faults theologians for “[p]rioritizing select passages that on the surface seem to substantiate their preexisting systems” and then “turn[ing] their prioritized texts into governing hermeneutical keys for interpreting the entire Bible” (185–86). Of course, the practice of positing patterns as analytical tools is a necessary mainstay of biblical scholarship. The complexity of the texts demands it. Each proposal must, however, be evaluated based on its analytical power, that is, its ability to enrich the subsequent reading of each of the texts in their particularly. Alternatively, if the goal is the construction of “biblical theology,” the test is not only whether the proposed theological truth has significant support from the biblical texts (within a particular hermeneutical framework), but also whether the claimed pattern—in this case, the idolatry-hardening pattern along with all of its malleability—is sharp enough in the end to be a useful theological tool. In any case, Meadors is to be complimented for grappling with the extremely difficult subject of idolatry in the Bible and providing a collection of passages and readings that will be of use to anyone interested in the topic.1 1 As a postscript, two observations that appeared subsequent to Meadors’s book might be of interest to readers. First, G. K. Beale, in his full work on the “idolaters become like idols” theme (We Become What We Worship: A Biblical Theology of Idolatry [Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2008]) refers to the present volume and notes that one cannot find in the Bible the image of an idolater’s heart becoming stone-hard like the heart of an idol (Beale, 21). Such an image, if present, would strengthen Meadors’s argument considerably. Second, since Meadors relies upon Egyptian historical background in his discussion of Pharaoh’s heart hardening, an observation of Othmar Keel on the Egyptian Cult of the Dead should be noted: in

700

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Fischer, Alexander Achilles, VON HEBRON NACH JERUSALEM: EINE REDAKTIONSGESCHICHTLICHE STUDIE ZUR ERZÄHLUNG VON KÖNIG DAVID IN II SAM 1–5 (BZAW, 335; Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2004). Pp. viii + 386. Hardback. € 109.95. ISBN 9783110178990. Reviewed by Jeremy M. Hutton University of Wisconson, Madison

OF DAVID’S ACTIONS AND THE DAVIDIC REDACTION Von Hebron nach Jerusalem comprises Alexander Fischer’s Habilitationsschrift, completed while at the University of Jena. Written under J. Conrad, J. van Oorschot, and ultimately U. Becker at the FriedrichSchiller-Universität Jena, where Fischer currently teaches, this book demonstrates a strong competency in the finely tuned redaction-critical methodology for which German-language biblical scholarship is known. In this treatment of 2 Samuel 1–5 Fischer disagrees strongly with the traditional Göttingen position familiar to Americans, which assigns nearly all the redactional layers of the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) to the exilic and postexilic periods: although he admits these various layers (grouped roughly into Dtr and DtrS [supplements] redactional strata), Fischer seeks to recover a pre-Deuteronomistic stage of redaction in the book of Samuel. Throughout the book, one recognizes the influence of one scholar whom Fischer names, Otto Kaiser (under whom, it may be noted, both Becker and van Oorschot studied). As will be demonstrated in the following summary, Von Hebron nach Jerusalem displays a theoretical dependence on Kaiser’s work that underlies interpretive decisions, sometimes even clandestinely. The book is thus a deft melding of tight, careful stylistic and lexical studies with the broader theoretical and literary program characteristic of Kaiser’s work. Fischer has selected 2 Samuel 1–5 as his primary object of study; these chapters comprise a particularly fruitful series of texts, falling as they do between the two large traditionally-recognized corpora of the “History of an inversion of Ezek 36:26, a hardened heart is seen as advantageous, as the perishable heart of flesh is replaced with a more enduring heart of stone (Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus, [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007], 2:886–87).

REVIEWS

701

David’s Rise” and the “Succession Narrative.” The former was previously adjudged to have ended at 2 Sam 5:10, possibly with the rearrangement of 5:17–25 behind 5:3 (p. 6). The latter, initially taken by Rost to have comprised 2 Samuel (7*); 9–20 + 1 Kings 1–2, bears much in common with 2 Sam 2:8(12)–4:12 (p. 6). But this earlier passage (2:8[12]–4:12) seems to have been incorporated into its present position by the framing elements in 2:1–7(11) + 5:1–12, according to Fischer (p. 8). Thus, the two large corpora have only appeared to occupy the same series of chapters in the first section of 2 Samuel, while at the same time failing to effect a smooth transition between the years of David’s rule in Hebron and those in Jerusalem. In fact, avers Fischer, neither of the two corpora extended into these first five chapters of 2 Samuel: “Neither did the History of David’s Rise possess (besäße) an unequivocal ending with 5:10, nor the Succession Narrative a satisfying beginning with 2:8 or 2:12” (p. 8).2 The short etiological episode in 5:6–8 forms the only bridge between the two bodies of literature, but, as Fischer points out, it alone can hardly bear the full weight of the transition from Hebron to Jerusalem (pp. 7–8). This eponymous movement thus serves both as the point of departure and as the focal point of Fischer’s study. From the beginning, Fischer challenges the received nature of the two large traditional corpora. All previous attempts to understand the nature of the materials contained in 2 Samuel 1–5 has failed, he claims, because “They assume the two narrative works to be fixed units, whose beginning or end they only postulate, but cannot prove” (p. 9). Citing the recent work of R. Kratz (of the University of Göttingen),3 Fischer lobbies for a model in which small units of text were brought together through the insertion of much redactional material only at a later point in the development of the traditions (in comparison to earlier models). Accordingly, the putative “unit” formerly known as the History of David’s Rise must be conceptualized as a congeries of short, originally independent traditions that have been worked together to form the connective material between episodes in David’s life, the full narration of which (including the inauguration of the monarchy itself) now stretches from 1 Samuel 1–1 Kings 2. It is this foundational assumption concerning the nature of the book of Samuel’s development, laid out in the book’s Introduction (pp. 1– Unless otherwise noted, all translations into English from the book under review or from the biblical text are my own. 3 For English speakers, this work is most easily accessible in R. G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (trans. J. Bowden; London: T&T Clark, 2005); translation of Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments (Uni-taschenbücher, 2157; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000). 2

702

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

12), from which Fischer begins and which influences the findings of the following chapters’ redactional study. Over the span of the five following exegetical chapters (pp. 13–268) and an extensive concluding chapter (pp. 269–329), Fischer crafts an argument asserting the pre-Deuteronomistic collection and redaction of at least a few of the constituent traditions of Samuel. This redactional level, which Fischer designates the “DavidRedaktion” (marked by the siglum Red [David]), can be isolated throughout the span of chapters 2 Samuel 1–5. Fischer traces also a subsequent Deuteronomistic overlay that stretched across the books of Samuel (Dtr [Samuel]), an undifferentiated group of late-Deuteronomistic additions (DtrS), and finally a series of short post-Deuteronomistic additions. Being primarily concerned with the original intent of the earliest of these editorial works, Fischer seeks to demonstrate that the redactional work of Red (David) was in fact a pro-Davidic composition completed in the Davidic Court of Jerusalem during the early-to-mid seventh century BCE. Because Fischer’s volume proceeds chapter-by-chapter with a closely argued redaction-critical method, it is unnecessary to offer a detailed review here of the numerous interpretive decisions the author makes during the course of each chapter. Passages are generally handled as units, discussed in a relatively intuitive order, and marked according to their spans and reconstructed strata at the beginning of each discussion. The book is well organized, and readers will have little trouble finding the section pertinent to the text on which they are working. The following discussion is therefore dedicated to a close analysis of a few of Fischer’s theoretical assumptions and the nature of the interpretive decisions he has made. This analysis should not necessarily be taken as an attempt to refute Fischer’s claims; instead, it is intended to provide a basic overview of the model within which Fischer is already working, and to determine the degree to which the assumption of that model constrains the interpretive options available to him. There are points in the discussion at which I obviously disagree with Fischer’s analysis; my primary hope is that readers will understand this disagreement as a mark of my sincere appreciation of Fischer’s detailed and thoughtful comments on the development of 2 Samuel 1–5. Perhaps equally important is my hope that this review will help to bring an important work of German-language scholarship into a more prominent position in Anglophone circles; in this regard, the effort is somewhat belated, but, I hope, not entirely futile. Through the detailed and thorough nature of this study, I hope to make this book accessible to a much wider audience, even if my comments often give voice to a contrary opinion. In chapter one, we are provided with several intriguing insights into Fischer’s methodological presuppositions. Beginning with the opening phrase of 2 Samuel 1:1, ‫ויהי אחרי מות שאול‬, a syntactic structure that

REVIEWS

703

elsewhere marks the beginning of a book (Josh 1:1; Judg 1:1), Fischer systematically pulls apart the literary markers of the text and subjects them to scrutiny. He finds in the opening verses of 2 Samuel traces of two separate hands. The first, found in vv. 1aα, 2aα2βγ, comprises the original text: (1aα) And after the death of Saul, (2aα2βγ) a man from the camp came, who had been with Saul; his clothes were torn, and dirt was on his head…

The second Fischer isolates in vv. 1aβγb, 2aα1b, and attributes to the Red (David). (1aβγb) When David returned from striking the Amalekites, David remained in Ziklag two days. (2aα1) And on the third day… (b) when he came to David, he fell to the ground and did obeisance.

This second hand harks back to 1 Samuel 30, and accordingly attempts to exonerate David from any implications in Saul’s death. Although Fischer correctly rejects earlier attempts to divide these two hands between two constituent sources running the length of 1–2 Samuel, his determination of the relative priority of the two sets of verses appears somewhat anomalous. He is, in my estimation, correct in his assessment that “The first introduction [i.e., v. 1aα] forms the bridge to the narrative of Saul’s death in the slaughter at Gilboa, and is attached directly to 1 Sam 31:12(13)” (p. 14). But did this immediate continuation of the story necessarily come first? It could equally well comprise a redactional suture drawing together 1 Samuel 31* with the narrative continuation of 1 Samuel 30* that picks up again with vv. 1aβγb, 2a. Moreover, there is no syntactic marker preventing v. 2aα2 from being read as a cohesive unit along with v. 2aα1: (1aβγb) When David returned from striking the Amalekites, David remained in Ziklag two days. (2aα1) And on the third day, (2aα2) a man from the camp came, [who had been] with Saul; (2aβγ) his clothes were torn, and dirt was on his head.4

As noted above, Fischer recognizes the fact that these latter verses pick up on the action of 1 Samuel 30, but attributes them to a secondary redactor: “It is obvious that the second introduction to the battle with the Philistines 4 Viewing v. 1aα as redactional would in no way disrupt Fischer’s observation that the opening to 2 Samuel was only subsequently seen as a fitting device for book delimitation, and inserted as well into Josh 1:1 and Judg 1:1.

704

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

harks back (zurücklenkt) to the events in Ziklag narrated in 1 Sam 30. It does this with a particular interest: while Israel is utterly destroyed in the north, David fights in the south for his personal and political survival” (p. 14).5 Although the nature of the “zurücklenken” remains somewhat ambiguous here, the prevailing assumption is that we are dealing with short episodes that were first collected and interpreted as a narrative arc only by the redactor.6 But if, as I would argue, 1 Samuel 30* and 2 Sam 1:1aβγb, 2a belong to the same Grundschrift, having been split and placed around 1 Samuel 31*, the story continues without oddity and without complication. It is told entirely from David’s point of view, noting his rejection from the Philistine lines (1 Samuel 29*), his return to Ziklag and corresponding pursuit of the Amalekites (1 Samuel 30*), and his receipt of the news of Saul’s death (2 Samuel 1*). It would only be natural for this final episode to have picked up with ‫ודוד שב מהכות את־העמלק‬. Thus, Fischer has not proven that v. 1aα bears any more necessary priority over v. 1aβγb than the classical position has proved the opposite, nor has he showed that the “addition” in v. 2aα1 is, in fact, an addition to v. 2aα2 at all. Moreover, if the reconstruction provided here is accurate, the pro-Davidic tendencies of the narrative picking up in v. 1aβγb (which Fischer has correctly identified; pp. 14–15), inhere specifically within the Grundbestand of 1 Samuel 29–30* + 2 Sam 1*, and need not be relegated to the work of a supposed proDavidic redactor. At the same time as Fischer’s source-division of vv.1–2a may be countered, he keenly senses that the use of -‫ויהי ב‬and ‫ וישתחו‬in v. 2b are secondary features. The former temporal marker “arouses the impression…that the narrative begins again” (“erweckt…den Eindruck, als setze die Erzählung nochmals ein,” p. 16). Indeed, it is the repetition of the temporal clause - ‫ויהי ב‬that creates this impression; therefore, Fischer’s relegation of both clauses beginning - ‫(ויהי ב‬in v. 2aα1 and v. 2b) to the same supplementary redactional level is odd. More likely is the inherence of the former to the Grundbestand, and the secondary addition of the latter (as well as of the same clause in v. 1aα). Nonetheless, Fischer’s qualification of v. 2b as additional is apposite. The verb ‫חוה‬is used with a human object of 5 “Daß die zweite Einleitung über die Philisterschlacht hinaus zu dem in I Sam 30 berichteten Geschehen in Zicklag zurücklenkt, liegt auf der Hand. Sie tut dies mit einem besonderen Interesse: Während Israel im Norden vernichtend geschlagen wird, kämpft David im Süden um sein persönliches und politisches Überleben.” 6 This criticism disappears if Fischer’s assertion that the “zurücklenken” of the “second” introduction means only that these verses refer to 1 Samuel 30 and were, in fact, written by the same hand. But this does not seem to be the argument.

REVIEWS

705

devotion throughout the History of David’s Rise and the Succession Narrative, he observes; for the most part, these occurrences come in passages that are to be relegated to strata of redaction. However, the Deuteronomistic strata normally use the verb to indicate the (illicit) veneration of deities other than YHWH in Joshua, Judges, and Kings (e.g., the DtrG evaluations in 1 Kgs 16:31; 22:54; 2 Kgs 21:3, 21; and the DtrS instances in Josh 23:7, 16; etc.7), while the verb is used overwhelmingly for the purpose of describing the legitimate veneration of a human overlord in the book of Samuel (e.g., 2 Sam 9:6, 8; 14:4, 22, 33; etc.8). Fischer’s careful and studious reading of the text has provided a commendable avenue of interpretation: in pointing to this redactional layer running throughout the length of Samuel, betrayed by its particular use of the verb ‫חוה‬, Fischer has adduced evidence for a redactional stratum already prior to the DtrG redaction. But even if Fischer is correct here in pointing to v. 2b as secondary vis-à-vis v. 2aα2, his dedication to maintaining v. 1aα as the original introduction to the Grundbestand forces his hand: despite having adduced markers of different hands composing vv. 2aα2βγ and 2b, Fischer must unite these two verselets as part of his single pre-Deuteronomistic redactional layer on top of a single source document. From the very beginning, then, we must recognize that Fischer’s assumptions concerning the fragmented nature of the source material of Samuel have influenced the interpretive decisions made: his finely-grained analysis of 2 Sam 1:1 does not seek to account for larger trends within the chapters leading up to 2 Samuel 1. The a priori reliance on a supplementary model (and concomitant eschewal of a block model) constrains the interpretive judgments he must make concerning the relative ordering of what could very well be coherent passages (i.e., 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1* over against 1 Samuel 31*), each of which was composed as part of an originally separate narrative. This constraint in turn precludes the appropriate recognition of 2 Sam 1:1aα as a redactional suture uniting the two blocks. A model featuring only a single Grundbestand is irreconcilable with the tensions Fischer correctly recognizes within the first few verses of 2 Samuel 1: the natural conclusion of the observation concerning the secondary nature of - ‫ויהי ב‬in v. 2b is that there is evidence for a pre- (or perhaps proto-) Deuteronomistic redactional layer on top of the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1. But the simultaneous recognition that the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1 (i.e., vv. 1aβγb, 2a) does not necessarily follow on 1 Samuel 31 means that v. 1aα can also be attributed to this pre7 8

Fischer collects these occurrences at p. 16, n. 13. For Fischer’s full list, see p. 17, nn. 16–17.

706

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Deuteronomistic supplemental stratum, and was, in fact, added precisely in order to connect the two blocks of text at the pre-Deuteronomistic level. Despite this initial disagreement with Fischer’s analysis of 2 Sam 1:1–2, I may concur rather readily with much of his explanation of the “messenger scene” throughout the remainder of the chapter (pp. 18–40). Several indicators suggest a source-critical separation of the following verses: (a) Fischer observes that the messenger is portrayed in two different manners: he is both a member of Saul’s army (vv. 2aα2βγ, 3b) and an Amalekite who happened to be passing by the scene of the battle (vv. 6a, 8b, 13b). (b) David’s reaction to the news of Saul’s and Jonathan’s deaths (first divulged in v. 4) occurs only in v. 11 after the young man’s extended account of his encounter with Saul (vv. 5–10; pp. 19–20). (c) The earlier verses’ concern with both Saul and Jonathan (‫ ;וגם שאול ויהונתן בנו מתו‬v. 4) is contradicted by the concern of the later verses only with the person of Saul himself (although cf. the inclusion of Jonathan in v. 5). (d) Fischer points to the variation of narrative style in the two sets of verses: vv. 3–4 are narrated paratactically, while vv. 5–10 are hypotactic in style (p. 20). (e) Finally, the lexical alternation between ‫ איש‬in v. 2 and ‫ נער‬in vv. 5, 6, and 13 comprises a minor indicator of source-critical differentiation. Although each one of these observations could be explained adequately on its own as an authorially-intended tension, the convergence of the three suggests that vv. 5–10, 12aβbα2, 13–16 are to be attributed to the same secondary stratum (which Fischer names as the Red[David]; pp. 23–40). This attribution of vv. 5–10, 12aβbα2, 13–16 to the preDeuteronomistic layer is entirely agreeable to me, but we must examine a few of Fischer’s methodological assumptions accompanying this attribution. Most important is the position accorded to Jonathan in Fischer’s reconstructed Grundbestand. Jonathan features as an object of primary concern to the Israelite messenger in v. 4; Fischer argues that this concern is in keeping with 1 Samuel 31, thus affirming the source-critical consecution of 1 Samuel 31*–2 Samuel 1*. This impression, however, strikes me as misguided. First Samuel 31 lists Jonathan only as one of Saul’s three sons (e.g., the enumeration “Jonathan, Abinadab, and Malki-shua, the sons of Saul” in v. 2; “Saul and his three sons” in vv. 6, 8; “Saul and his sons” in v. 7; “the body of Saul and the bodies of his sons” in v. 12). Even there, the narrator’s primary concern is with the person of Saul: in the episode comprising vv. 3–6 the narrator focuses on Saul alone, and although the sons are mentioned throughout the remainder of the chapter, the Philistines take only “[Saul’s] head (‫ )ראשו‬and … his equipment (‫”)כליו‬ (v. 9), and hang “his body (‫ ”)גויתו‬from the wall of Beth-shean (v. 10). Even the Jabeshites hear “about him (‫[ …)אליו‬about] what the Philistines had done to Saul (‫( ”)לשאול‬v. 11). Only in v. 12 do the sons—all three of

REVIEWS

707

them!—become the objects of action again. This focus on the singular person of the king and almost incidental mention of Jonathan among his brothers stands in diametric opposition to the bulk of 2 Samuel 1, where Jonathan features as the only named son of Saul, and nearly ubiquitously alongside his father (e.g., vv. 4, 5, 12bα1, 17, 19–27). Instead of viewing the frequent mention of Jonathan as an indicator of textual unity, the various modes of his mention displayed in 1 Samuel 31–2 Samuel 1 demand the opposite conclusion.9 We have evidence here for two originally separate Grundbestände that have been combined through the employment of a series of redactional joints cinching together the disparate strands of the larger narrative (2 Sam 1:1aα, 2b, 5–10, 13, etc.). We may recognize in the preceding analysis the results of Fischer’s a priori assumption of a solely supplementary model. First, he attributes 2 Sam 1:1aα to the Grundbestand by necessity in order to account for the perceived commonalities between the two chapters. But secondly, we recognize here the intellectual influence of Otto Kaiser. In an essay published in 1990, Kaiser argues for an interpretation of the History of David’s Rise as a relatively unified composition in which Jonathan features as the primary bridge figure mediating the kingship to David; in this model, all passages featuring Michal (the other bridge figure of 1–2 Samuel) are secondary to the HDR.10 The problem with this model is that most of the episodes featuring Michal have an equally valid claim to being original to the text, as Ina Willi-Plein has subsequently argued.11 In the end, however, 9 For a recent and complementary discussion of the dual origin of 1 Samuel 31– 2 Samuel 1, see J. M. Hutton, The Transjordanian Palimpsest: The Overwritten Texts of Personal Exile and Transformation in the Deuteronomistic History (BZAW, 396; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2009), 286; see earlier A. van der Lingen, David en Saul in I Samuel 16–II Samuel 5: Verhalen in politiek en religie (Gravenhage: Boekencentrum, 1983). This fundamental bifurcation of the HDR is, of course, hardly agreed upon by scholars of Samuel, as is evidenced by Walter Dietrich’s recent review of my work (review of The Transjordanian Palimpsest, RBL 2011, accessed online http://bookreviews.org/pdf/7887_8621.pdf). 10 O. Kaiser, “David und Jonathan: Tradition, Redaktion und Geschichte in I Sam 16–20: Ein Versuch,” ETL 66 (1990), 281–96. For a discussion, see Hutton, Transjordanian Palimpsest, 237–38. 11 I. Willi-Plein, “ISam 18–19 und die Davidshausgeschichte,” in David und Saul im Widerstreit—Diachronie und Synchronie im Wettstreit: Beiträge zur Auslegung des ersten Samuelbuches (ed. W. Dietrich; OBO, 206; Fribourg: University Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 138–71; see also, eadem, “Michal und die Anfänge des Königtums in Israel,” in Congress Volume, Cambridge, 1995 (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup, 66; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 401–19, (407, n. 18); and eadem, “Frauen um David: Beobachtungen zur Davidshausgeschichte,” in Meilenstein:

708

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the most expedient explanation of the functions of these two bridge figures is to posit the existence of two long-running Histories of David’s Rise: Jonathan features as the “bridge figure” in one and David’s marriage to Michal as the mechanism of the monarchy’s transfer in the other.12 Not surprisingly, this bifurcation of the children of Saul serving as mediators of power to David overlaps with the bifurcation between narratives surrounding Saul’s death posited above: it is possible to correlate 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1* with the former narrative (the Jonathan-based one) and 1 Samuel 31* with the latter (the Michal-based one). In short, Fischer’s implicit reliance on Kaiser’s work, particularly the assumption of a single Grundbestand in which Jonathan features as the transmitter of monarchic authority from Saul to David, effectively limits the interpretive choices available: accordingly, 2 Samuel 1* must follow on 1 Samuel 31 (instead of deriving from a different source); 2 Sam 1:1aα must be part of the Grundbestand (instead of redactional material joining the two); and consequently, 2 Sam 1:2aα1 must be adjudged secondary, despite its clear thematic correspondence with the remainder of v. 2a*. To summarize, Fischer’s analysis of vv. 5–10, 13–16 appears to me to be correct insofar as he deems these verses secondary to the Grundbestand of the chapter and asserts their reliance on 1 Sam 31:1–7 (pp. 22–23). But Fischer claims this secondary text as part of a seventhcentury attempt to exonerate the Davidic House, and to introduce the theme of David’s innocent inheritance of the Israelite crown: “the editor (Bearbeiter) recast the interface (eine Schnittstelle besetzt) through the appearance of the Amalekite and anchored the transfer of the kingdom in the literary connection” (p. 31). But if the aforementioned correlation of 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1 as part of the same original text is correct, then the Bearbeiter introducing the Amalekite in 2 Sam 1:5–10, 13–16 had a much more intricate project to complete: two separate storylines required interweaving such that neither lost its integrity. The narrative comprising 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1* already worked to absolve David from Saul’s death (by placing him in southern Judah at the time of the battle). What the Bearbeiter accomplished with the introduction of the Amalekite in 2 Samuel 1* was the final legitimation of David spanning both narratives at the same time. Whereas David had already proven himself to be a competent killer of Amalekites (1 Samuel 30*), Saul’s ironic death at the hand of an Amalekite is composed as another episode subordinate to the same theme and Festgabe für Herbert Donner (ed. S. Timm and M. Weippert; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995), 349–61. 12 Hutton, Transjordanian Palimpsest, 228–88.

REVIEWS

709

implicitly compares David’s prowess with Saul’s weakness.13 Contrary to Fischer’s argument, David’s innocence in Saul’s death was a hallmark of the narrative from the beginning; the redactional layer of 2 Samuel 1* actually served to extend it over both constituent narratives of David’s Rise. Finally, a point must be made here concerning the interaction of the book under review with Fischer’s other work. Fischer deftly points in this chapter to the introduction of the designation of Saul as the ‫משיח יהוה‬in v. 14 (p. 34); this designation is to be found in his schema in the preDeuteronomistic “Davidic Redaction.” This assignment is sensible and has much in common with other redactional schemas attributing the motif of the anointment of kings to a pre-Deuteronomistic stratum associated with a cadre of self-appointed prophetic “overseers” of the monarchy.14 Subsequently, however, Fischer has assigned an episode of the same character (1 Sam 9:11–13, 14b–17, 20–21; 10:1, etc.) to the Deuteronomistic Historian on the basis of terminology and syntax (esp. the term ‫ ;נגיד‬see also the lengthy discussion of the term on pp. 217–21).15 As I have argued in a review of that piece in this journal, Fischer’s analysis admits of some revision. Passages he considers there to have been formulated by the Deuteronomistic Historian (e.g., 1 Sam 9:16 and 10:1) are centered on the “anointing” motif, and in some cases (e.g., 1 Sam 9:20–21) are themselves subject to source-critical division into pre-Deuteronomistic and Deuteronomistic strata.16 In keeping with this observation, Fischer’s 13 One may suggest that portions of the other Amalekite episode in the story, 1 Samuel 15*, were introduced simultaneously with this redaction in order to anchor the beginning of Saul’s failure in the same theme. 14 See, e.g., L. Schimdt, Menschlicher Erfolg und Jahwes Initiative: Studien zu Tradition, Interpretation und Historie in Überlieferungen von Gideon, Saul und David (WMANT, 38; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1970), 58–102; B. C. Birch, “The Development of the Tradition on the Anointing of Saul in I Sam 9:1– 10:16,” JBL 90 (1971), 55–68; idem, The Rise of the Israelite Monarchy: The Growth and Development of 1 Samuel 7–15 (SBLDS, 27; Missoula, Mont.; Scholars Press, 1976); and especially A. F. Campbell, Of Prophets and Kings: A Late-Ninth Century Document (1 Samuel 1–2 Kings 10) (CBQMS, 17; Washington DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1986), esp. 18–21; and Hutton, Transjordanian Palimpsest, esp. 328–42. 15 A. A. Fischer, “Die Saul-Überlieferung im deuteronomistischen Samuelbuch (am Beispiel von I Samuel 9–10),” in Die deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerke: Redaktions- und religionsgeschichtliche Perspektiven zur “Deuteronomismus”-Diskussion in Tora und Vorderen Propheten (ed. M. Witte et al.; BZAW, 365; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 169–77 (170). 16 J. M. Hutton, “Deuteronomistic History or Histories? New Approaches to Deuteronomy–Kings: A Review of M. Witte, K. Schmid, Doris Prechel, and Jan

710

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

earlier schema in Von Hebron nach Jerusalem, in which the designation of the king as the “anointed one” is assigned to the pre-Deuteronomistic level, is preferable in my opinion, although I would include in that stratum many uses of ‫נגיד‬as well. The second chapter of 2 Samuel follows immediately on the first and simultaneously prepares for the third. Of the three units comprising the first half of this chapter (vv. 1–4a, 4b–7, and 8–11), Fischer finds here none that existed on its own prior to the compilation of the larger text. The entirety of 2 Samuel 2 thus fulfills the role of a bridge, bearing ties both forward and backward, as well as of ordering David’s geographic and status transitions (pp. 43–46). Accordingly, the beginning of the Succession Narrative can no longer be found at 2:8, as some have maintained.17 Fischer judges nearly the entirety of this first section (vv. 1–10a) to have been composed by Red(David) (pp. 50–85), with only vv. 10b–11 added by a late-Deuteronomistic hand (pp. 85–93). The second section, however, is comprised of an older battle account overlaid with redactional insertions (vv. 12*, 15bα2, 17, 25–29, 32b) designed to incorporate it into the present bridge chapter. According to Fischer, the first subsection (vv. 1–4a) demonstrates a clear distinction from Deuteronomistic theology, insofar as it promotes the use of an oracular device for the discernment of the divine will (v. 1). The device is not explicitly named here, but elsewhere the DtrH has apparently interpreted the use of such an oracular device as a substitute for the ark on occasions when the latter was not available: “DtrH has probably recognized the ephod as an occasional replacement for the ark, as long as it [i.e., the ark] had not yet been conveyed by David to Jerusalem after having fallen Christian Gertz (eds.), Die deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerke: Redaktions- und religionsgeschichtliche Perspektiven zur “Deuteronomismus”-Diskussion in Tora und Vorderen Propheten (BZAW, 365; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2006),” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009). Available also in print in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures VI. Comprising the Contents of the Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, vol. 9 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2010), 781–809. 17 E.g., M. H. Segal, “The Composition of the Books of Samuel,” JQR 55 (1964–1965), 318–39, (322–24); H. Schulte, Die Entstehung der Geschichtsschreibung im Alten Israel (BZAW, 128; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972), 138–78; D. M. Gunn, The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation (JSOTSup, 6; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1978), 63– 84; O. Kaiser, “Beobachtungen zur sogenannten Thronnachfolgeerzählung Davids,” ETL 44 (1988), 5–20, (8–15); S. K. Bietenhard, Des Königs General: Die Heerführertraditionen in der vorstaatlichen und frühen staatlichen Zeit und die Joabgestalt in 2 Sam 2–20; 1 Kön–2 (OBO, 163; Fribourg: University Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 134.

REVIEWS

711

into Philistine hands” (p. 52).18 Although Fischer makes this allowance, it is not clear to me how, exactly, he benefits from doing so. Perhaps this interpretive move is designed to defend the frequent interchange between the ark and the ephod as original to the text and even perhaps historically grounded (e.g., 1 Sam 14:18 LXXB εφουδ vs. MT ‫ ;האפד‬in 23:9 ‫ ;האפוד‬and in 30:7 ‫ ;ארון האלהים‬note also 1 Kgs 2:26 LXXB κιβωτὸν τῆς διαθήκης κυρίου and MT ‫ ;ארון אדני אלהים‬cf. 1 Sam 14:3; 23:6)? I am not sure that this answer is any more compelling, however, than explaining the apparent oscillation between the two as having been wrought by a DtrH who was attempting to purge the use of the ephod for such purposes from Israel’s increasingly normative texts.19 In either case, Fischer is probably correct to suggest, “the greater portion of the oracle scenes belongs to the pre-Dtr tradition” (p. 52). Unfortunately, given the uneven nature of the purported replacement of references to the ephod (the ark appears only in 1 Sam 14:18 MT; 1 Kgs 2:26), it is difficult to arrive at a satisfactory solution and we may want to defer definitive judgment until additional evidence has been produced. Less agreeable is Fischer’s inclusion of this episode in the same redactional layer as the “Amalekite” redaction in 2 Sam 1:5–10, 13–16 (plausibly assigned to the pre-Deuteronomistic Red[David] and discussed above). One notes first the anointing of the king by the people of Judah. This anointing is qualitatively different from that assumed in 1 Sam 10:1. It is this prophetic anointing in private that qualifies the recipient as the ‫משיח‬ ‫יהוה‬, subordinating the crown-designate directly under God and establishing him as “untouchable.” We saw above that this anointing of Saul plays out in the “Amalekite” redaction of 2 Samuel 1*. Conversely, it is the men of Judah who perform the anointing of David in 2 Sam 2:4a, which occurs in public and with no indication of divine approval or initiative. Fischer’s attempt to subsume these two traditions into the same redactional stratum seems forced in my opinion. It does not, however, seem unlikely that this episode is pre-Deuteronomistic; one must question whether we perhaps have here evidence of multiple pre-Deuteronomistic traditions— either multiple traditions that were brought together by a pre18 “Wahrscheinlich hat DtrH den Efod als einen Ersatz für die Lade zeitweise anerkannt, solange sie in Philisterhand gefallen und noch nicht von David nach Jerusalem überführt worden war.” 19 Fischer cites here T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie: David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (AASF B, 193; Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1975), 42. The problem, of course, is of long-standing duration, and has been dealt with by several interpreters (see, e.g., P. R. Davies, “Ark or Ephod in 1 Sam xiv. 18?,” JTS 26 [1975]: 82–87).

712

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Deuteronomistic redactor, or another redactor between Fischer’s posited Red(David) and Dtr? The following episode is equally ill disposed to incorporation in the pre-Deuteronomistic redactional schema Red(David), which assignment Fischer makes in two steps: first, he handles vv. 4a, 7b (pp. 56–63), then second, vv. 4b–7a (pp. 63–69). We may handle these two portions in reversed order. First, we should notice the three-fold appearance of ‫אשר‬ with uncommon meanings within a span of four verses. In v. 4b the word serves to introduce a substantival subordinate clause,20 while in vv. 5 and 6 it introduces causal clauses.21 These uses of ‫אשר‬are relatively uncommon in Samuel, in part because the former, at least, increased in LBH.22 Although not necessarily diagnostic for the dating of the passage, this linguistic datum is noteworthy, and should draw our attention to the fate of Saul’s remains in the other passage in which we hear of them, 2 Sam 21:1–14. There, the narrator mentions “Saul’s bones and (the bones) of Jonathan his son (‫ )את־עצמות שאול ואת־עצמות יהונתן בנו‬three times (vv. 12, 13a, and 14aα),23 in all of which the bones are the object of someone else’s action. As Simeon Chavel has pointedly observed, all three of these verses/verselets (vv. 12–13a, 14aα) form a series of secondary glosses to the base narrative of 2 Sam 21:1–14*, which is concerned only with the seven sons of Saul slaughtered at the behest of the Gibeonites.24 Chavel notes the complexity of the tradition’s development: …the text in 1 Sam 31:1–2 Sam 2:7 seems to have undergone a process of expansion from a story exclusively about Saul’s death and remains, to one that in 1 Sam 31:8, 12–13 includes those of his three sons (probably GKC §157c; R. Williams, Hebrew Syntax: An Outline (2nd ed.; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), 76 §464; IBHS, 644 §38.8b; B. T. Arnold and J. H. Choi, A Guide to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 171–72 §5.2.1. This analysis sidesteps the suggestion of P. Kyle McCarter (II Samuel, 81) that the usage of ‫ רשא‬is synchronically “recititive” in order to introduce direct speech. 21 GKC §158b; IBHS, 640 §38.4a; Williams, Hebrew Syntax, 77 §468; Joüon, 638 §170e; Arnold and Choi, Guide, 178–79 §5.2.5. 22 M. F. Rooker, Biblical Hebrew in Transition: The Language of the Book of Ezekiel (JSOTSup, 90; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 111–12. 23 Verse 14a MT shortens the locution to ‫את־עצמות שאול ויהונתן בנו‬, but LXXB preserves the longer form, consonant with vv. 12 and 13: τὰ ὀστᾶ Σαουλ καὶ τὰ ὀστᾶ Ιωναθαν τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ. 24 S. Chavel, “Compositry and Creativity in 2 Samuel 21:1–14,” JBL 122 (2003), 23–52. 20

REVIEWS

713

because in 1 Sam 31:1–7 the three fight and fall beside him), and then to one that in 2 Sam 1:4, 5, 12, 17–27 puts the spotlight on Saul and Jonathan (probably under the impact of the addition of David’s lament, in 2 Sam 1:17–27). In the final result, it appears that, while David focuses in on Saul and Jonathan, the Philistines have absconded with, and the Jabeshites have returned, the remains of Saul’s sons Abinadab and Malkishua as well. The reinterment story in 2 Sam 21:12–13a, 14aα, though, speaks exclusively of Saul and Jonathan, creating the impression that the people of Jabesh-gilead do not have the bones of any other members of the royal family.25

Although it was composed without a full study of the development of 2 Samuel, Chavel’s posited “process of expansion” is nonetheless quite reasonable. However, I must differ by assigning 1 Samuel 31 and 2 Sam 21:12–13a, 14aα to two different tradita. I would agree that the narrator’s concern in 1 Sam 31:1–13 is primarily with the fate of Saul’s head (v. 9), accoutrements (vv. 9, 10), and body (v. 10), no matter the accompanying fate of his three sons (also mentioned in vv. 8, 12–13). What Chavel did not take into account, however, was the parallel History of David’s Rise in which Jonathan featured as the sole son of Saul (cf. 2 Samuel 1*, discussed above). Positing that there was no development in the traditum, but rather two parallel streams of tradition, we are then confronted with the conundrum of explaining the persistence of a Jabeshite tradition (proper to the first HDR represented in 1 Samuel 31*) within which are found only “Saul and … Jonathan his son” (constituent units of the second HDR). The answer, of course, is quite simple: as Chavel recognized, it would have been easy for an editor to insert the phrase “and (the bones) of Jonathan his son (‫ ”)ואת־עצמות יהונתן בנו‬into 2 Sam 21:12, 13a, and 14aα in order to bring the tradition into alignment with the “Saul-Jonathan” source represented throughout the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1*. Perhaps this phrase even replaced an original ‫“(ואת־עצמות בנו‬and the bones of his sons”).26 But why was this emendation necessary so far removed from the nexus of the intertwined Histories of David’s Rise? Again, the answer seems trifling. Comparison of the content of 2 Sam 21:12–13a, 14aα with that of 1 Sam 31:1–13 and 2 Sam 2:4b suggests that David’s beneficence towards the bones of Saul originally found its expression immediately after Saul’s death.

Ibid., 48–49. Even closer, graphically, would have been the archaic spelling of banāw, ‫בנו‬ (as in, e.g., 1 Sam 30:6; cf. ‫ואנשו‬in 1 Sam 23:5 and Lachish 3: rev. 1–2 [=17–18; ca. 600 BCE]). 25 26

714

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Elsewhere I have reconstructed the continuation of the original tradition as follows: (1 Sam 31:13) They took his bones (assuming ‫ )עצמתיו‬and buried (them) under the tamarisk in Jabesh, and they fasted seven days. (2 Sam 2:4b) When it was told to David that the men of Jabesh had buried Saul, (21:12*) David went and took the bones of Saul from the town nobles of Jabesh-gilead (‫ )בעלי יביש גלעד‬who had stolen them from the wall (reading του τείχους with LXXL and ‫שורא‬with Tg. Jon.) of Beth-shean where the Philistines had hung them (repointing MT as ‫ ) ָתלּום‬on the day the Philistines struck Saul at Gilboa. (v. 13a*) He brought up from there the bones of Saul, (v. 14aα*) and he buried them (emending to ‫)ויקברם‬ in the land of Benjamin, at Zela, in the grave of Kish his father.27

This assignment is all more plausible when we recognize that Saul’s hometown was not originally Gibea (as in 1 Sam 11:4), but rather Zela (known from Josh 18:28), as played upon already in the early Narrative of Saul’s Rise: in 1 Sam 10:2 MT the seer (in subsequent recensions, Samuel) predicts that Saul will meet two men in an otherwise unknown Zelzah. 28 This early Narrative of Saul’s Rise was known already by the author(s) of the History of David’s Rise encompassing 1 Samuel 31, thus suggesting that an original episode comprised of 2 Sam 2:4b + 21:12-13a*, 14aα* is entirely plausible. Thus, we may confirm with Fischer that in 2 Samuel 2, the present vv. 5–7a are in fact subsequent to the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1*, although v. 4b is consonant with a posited early episode continuing 1 Sam 31:1–13. I might, however, prefer a later date for vv. 5–7a than would Fischer; the uncommon uses of ‫אשר‬mentioned above may be an indication of late-seventh (?) or early-sixth century (i.e., Deuteronomistic) or later date. Because it shows no particular thematic or lexical disjunction to the preceding vv. 5–7a, v. 7b likely belongs with those verses. Fischer’s reasons for handling vv. 4a, 7b together depend on these verses’ common knowledge of David’s anointing at the hands of the Judahites. But it is not necessary that a single redactor composed both verses: v. 7b could just as Hutton, Transjordanian Palimpsest, 287. The name ‫צלצח‬bears some resemblance to ‫צלע‬, but it is difficult to discern a logical process whereby one derived from the other. Confirming the graphic and phonetic similarities between the two town names, we may point to the translation of LXXB in 1 Sam 10:2 (ἁλλομένους “springing”), which is used again in 10:10 to render ‫(ותצלח‬ἥλατο); see J. M. Miller, “Saul’s Rise,” 159–60; and fuller discussion in Hutton, Transjordanian Palimpsest, 342–45. 27 28

REVIEWS

715

easily have been composed with an earlier v. 4a in view. Again here a blockand-supplement model provides a more satisfactory reading of 2 Sam 2:4–7: If we posit (as suggested above) that v. 4a derives from a parallel strand to the History of David’s Rise forming 1 Sam 31:1–13 + 2 Sam 2:4b, then when the tradition originally following 2:4b was displaced as 2 Sam 21:12– 13a, 14aα, the way was cleared for the addition of 2:5–7, which clearly had the tradition of David’s anointing in v. 4a available for inclusion. In short, while I agree in principle with much of Fischer’s judgment of these verses (vv. 4–7*) as secondary to the original Grundbestand of the chapter, I must distinguish myself on two fronts. First, v. 4a may have served as the source, not the partner, of the anointing traditum in v. 7b. The latter verselet seems to me to comprise a complete unit with vv. 4b (reframed), 5–7a. Second, the type of anointing described in both v. 4a and v. 7b is qualitatively different from that assumed in 2 Sam 1:14, 16 (which is founded upon the secondary 1 Sam 10:1; and is reflected in 16:1–13; etc.). In short, Fischer has correctly concluded that whoever composed 2 Sam 2:4b–7a was aware of 1 Sam 31:11–13, but did not produce an immediate continuation of it (p. 64). Fischer is similarly correct, I concur, in his identification of David’s overtures towards the Jabeshites both as an invitation to solidify a parity treaty (rather than a vassal treaty; p. 67) and as a clandestine proposal to the northern kingdom to ease its tensions with Judah (p. 68). In the following verses (vv. 8–11), the biblical text portrays Abner’s counter-moves to secure Transjordan and northern Israel from David’s invasive entreaties. In his discussion of these verses, Fischer proves himself an adroit interpreter of philological and archaeological data. Abner is introduced in v. 8; although we have met him previously in the text of Samuel (1 Sam 14:49–51; 17:55–58; etc.), Fischer makes the pointed observation that we have never really yet seen Abner as the general of Saul’s army in the field (p. 70). Abner’s expanded role in this chapter and the following corresponds to the literary function he serves as the martial sponsor of Ishboshet. The latter, Fischer notes, does not have the same literary background as Abner: he is introduced here for the very first time (contrary to scholarly views that equate ‫אישבשת‬with the name ‫ישוי‬of 1 Sam 14:49; pp. 71–73). Because this character is “firmly anchored only in 2 Sam 2:8–11,” Fischer suggests that we might have here a fictive person, whose name is a combination of Yishwi and Mephibosheth (p. 73). The historicity of this character’s rump government is equally up for grabs, since it has left no discernible traces in the archaeological record, even if it is historically plausible (pp. 74–75). Fischer demonstrates his acute awareness of the historical geography of ancient Palestine in a pair of excurses on, respectively, the expanse of Ishboshet’s kingdom (pp. 76–77) and the geography and history of Mahanaim (pp. 81–84). Through these short

716

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

digressions, Fischer is able first to make the case for concluding that Ishbosheth did not control territory further to the north of the Jezreel valley (pp. 77–78), even as “the Philistines unexpectedly leave the stage, and make place for the following confrontation, in which Ishbosheth, as the heir of Saul installed by Abner, and David, as the future king of Israel, confront one another” (p. 78). This recognition leads to another—namely, that the portrayal of Abner and Ishbosheth’s move to Mahanaim is not that of an act of asylum from the Philistines, but rather of a move to block David’s overtures to the Jabeshites. These verses (vv. 8–10a) thus comprise a literary bridge between the (now reworked) end of the narrative concerning Saul’s death in 2 Samuel 1 and the developing narrative in 2 Sam 3:1–4:12, anticipating three major themes of the following chapters: (a) the foiling of David’s plan to assimilate the Jabeshites into his nascent kingdom; (b) “the dynastic legitimation of Ishbosheth”; and (c) the political and military machinations of Abner (p. 85). The preceding analysis has demonstrated that, despite the overall soundness of this assessment of vv. 8–10a, Fischer’s identification of 2 Sam 2:1–11 as a “compositional unity” (kompositionelle Einheit; pp. 69, 93) and the assignment of this passage’s composition to Red(David)—the possible assignation of only vv. 10b–11 to DtrS notwithstanding (pp. 85–93)— overlooks a number of conflicts within his reconstructed redactional schema and does not conform well with the literary evidence at hand. Nonetheless, this chapter is indicative of Fischer’s project as a whole: his meticulous textual analysis and strong background in Syro-Palestinian historical geography and archaeology present the reader with a detailed, well-informed discussion that ought never be treated lightly. Fischer’s discussion of chapters three, four, and five proceed largely in the same manner, with excellent literary observations compelling a generally credible, if sometimes schematically-forced, redactional analysis. The detail with which Fischer makes his argument is formidable. A single item worthy of analysis remains: the means whereby Fischer dates his Red(David) to the seventh century. A significant element of the argument is comprised by Fischer’s reading of 2 Sam 5:6–8 (the episode of the takeover of Jerusalem, discussed on pp. 222–43). Through a very careful analysis of the passage, even citing cognate data from reports of citytakeovers in the Mediterranean world, Fischer reconstructs the tactical coup recounted in 2 Sam 5:6–8: the term ‫נגע‬+ ‫ ב‬+ ‫(צנור‬v. 8aα), he argues, means simply “to reach [the city] through the Ṣinnor”—the Ṣinnor being a construction of some sort (p. 238). Despite this rather traditional reading of the crux, Fischer’s analysis is new: he analyzes the popular belief that the Ṣinnor should be identified with Warren’s Shaft, the “nearly vertical, 13m…shaft, which was also supposedly foolishly unguarded” (p. 239). Such

REVIEWS

717

a suggestion, he opines, is more likely “a fairly improbable conquest narrative, fueled by romantic adventure-fantasy” (“eine von romantisierender Abenteuerphantasie gespeiste und ziemlich unwahrscheinliche Eroberungsgeschichte,” p. 239). The stairs leading to Warren’s Shaft would have lain outside the city walls of the tenth century— by approximately 8m, according to the data Fischer cites29—but even more debilitating to the historical credibility of this thesis is Fischer’s assertion that Warren’s shaft is most directly comparable to the types of water system found, for example, at Hazor and Megiddo. Moreover, the most recent data seem to show that the upper end of Warren’s Shaft was only discovered in the mid-eighth century, as the formerly horizontal tunnel was lowered.30 If the identification of the Ṣinnor with Warren’s Shaft is correct, these data suggest a date for the episode’s (idealized and fictional) composition in the eighth century, rather than in the tenth century, when it is purported to have taken place (pp. 241—42). First, how else should the author have portrayed David’s entry into a city considered impenetrable (even in the mid-eighth century),31 Fischer asks, than by picturing the aspiring monarch as exploiting the most common weakness of any city—its waterworks? Second, the steps leading to Warren’s Shaft lay within the city walls of the eighth-seventh centuries, allowing the author to posit that David’s successful ascension of the vertical shaft could have deposited him undetected in the heart of the city (even if this reconstruction fancifully partakes in the assumption that the Shaft would not have been kept under guard). And finally, with the completion of Hezekiah’s tunnel—which, not incidentally, verifies the observation that the residents realized Warren’s Shaft was not impervious to attack!—the outdated Shaft would naturally have a claim to being the older (and more exploitable) water system. Fischer’s well reasoned argument thus concludes: “2 Sam 5:6–8 allows one to recognize no more and no less than that someone [working during] the late monarchic period imagined the conquest of Jerusalem through the

29 Fischer (p. 239 n. 108) credits Vincent with the observation, although does not explicitly cite the source here; instead, he refers the reader to G. Dalman, “Zion, die Burg Jerusalems,” PJB 11 (1915), 66–67. 30 Fischer cites R. Reich and E. Shukron, “The System of Rock-Cut Tunnels Near Gihon in Jerusalem Reconsidered,” RB 107 (2000), 5–17. 31 For what became in the eighth century a common topos of Zion’s impenetrability, see, e.g., J. J. M. Roberts, “The Davidic Origin of the Zion Tradition,” and “Zion in the Theology of the Davidic-Solomonic Empire,” in ibid., The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Collected Essays (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 313–30, 331–47.

718

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Warren’s Tunnel System and attributed this sudden attack to David’s cunning” (p. 242). Fischer’s analysis here displays a certain cunning of its own. Yet despite the prudence of this exposition, it does rely heavily on a number of postulations: first, that we have correctly understood the phrase ‫ויגע צנור‬in 2 Sam 6:8 as referring to a waterworks of some kind; second, that the term did in fact refer to Warren’s Shaft, and not to some other conduit of lesser stature that has not yet been found, or which has not been preserved in the archaeological record; third, that the archaeological excavations of Jerusalem—and especially of its tenth-century remains—have been correctly conducted and interpreted (a proposition that seems ever more tenuous in light of the continuing claims to the contrary from parties on differing sides of the debate32); and fourth, that Fischer’s textual analysis of the stratification of 2 Samuel 5 is both accurate and credible. These four caveats should cause us significant concern if we are trying to determine a date for the Red(David) primarily on the basis of 2 Sam 5:6–8. I would make only a few more brief comments on the thesis of this project; these comments center on the book’s rejection of the postulated large narrative complexes isolated in twentieth-century biblical scholarship (as propounded already in the Introduction). Fischer seems implicitly to conflate the issues of contemporaneity and textual boundaries in his juxtaposition of the two areas of investigation on p. 9: In opposition, the alternative that there were never such absolute textual boundaries [between the large corpora, such as 2 Sam 2:8(12) or 5:10 ] draws the existence of such historical works completely into question. In current scholarship, the impression is growing stronger and stronger that we are no longer dealing with a [History of David’s Rise] or Succession Narrative at all as independent and approximately contemporaneous historical texts, but rather with parts of a larger and considerably later contextual presentation (Darstellungszusammenhang).

But it is not at all clear that these two areas of study require such interconnectedness outside of the scaffolding of recent argumentation. 32 I would point here only to the recent proposal by Israel Finkelstein, Ido Koch, and Oded Lipschits that the tenth-century occupation of Jerusalem lies entirely under the Temple Mount and has not yet seen a single spade’s worth of excavation (“The Mound on the Mount: A Possible Solution to the ‘Problem with Jerusalem,’” JHS 11 [2011], art. 12); and to the even more recent suggestion by Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron that the Siloam Tunnel was completed significantly before the reign of Hezekiah, in the early eighth century (“The Date of the Siloam Tunnel Reconsidered,” TA 38 [2011]: 147–57).

REVIEWS

719

Although several recent works have indeed challenged the inherent unity of the History of David’s Rise,33 these works have generally proceeded from a starting position that already assumes significant stages of redactional augmentation, rather than a block model holding the predominant juxtaposition of episodes from two different complexes and tied together only by a relatively light set of redactional insertions.34 As I have attempted to show above (particularly in the discussion of Fischer’s first chapter), positing the possibility of a block-and-supplement model, in which two parallel Histories of David’s Rise have been juxtaposed and then overlaid with unifying redactional material, provides an equally satisfactory and compelling understanding of the composition history of Samuel as does the fragment-and-supplementary model. Despite my hesitation to endorse Fischer’s stratification and dating of the text wholeheartedly, I find it quite encouraging that he is, in essence, arguing for a pre-Deuteronomistic composition designed to draw together significant swaths of Samuel before the Deuteronomists’ various redactional enterprises took place. As I opined above, the textual and historical arguments Fischer marshals in Von Hebron nach Jerusalem are cogent and compelling—indeed, often ingenious—even if one does not always agree with his conclusions; the arguments always deserve careful scrutiny (as I have only imperfectly been able to demonstrate with this review). This volume is well crafted, and, for the most part, is clearly written enough to be useful for scholars whose native tongue is not German. Fischer’s “Zusammenfassung und Ausblick” (pp. 269–39) provides a schematic analysis of the remainder of the book of 2 Samuel, attempting to sketch the rough contours of the Red(David) as that text is found throughout the remainder of the book; one can only hope that those who choose to follow Fischer in this line of questioning handle the material as thoroughly and as capably as he. Finally, the author has graciously included two tables with text-critical and redaction-critical data (pp. 332–33); a series of Textpräparationen of the sections under discussion (2 Samuel 1–5; pp. 334–42); a magnificent bibliography subdivided by genre (general resources, commentaries, articles, etc.; pp. 343–68); as well as citation and subject indices (pp. 369–86). These reference resources alone are of great value to the scholar of Samuel, and deserve regular consultation. It is an honor to have had the opportunity to review this work—as belatedly as this review appears—and I look forward to interacting with the author’s work in the future. 33 E.g., K.-P. Adam,Saul und David in der judäischen Geschichtsschreibung (FAT, 51; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). 34 See above, n. 8.

720

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Tiemeyer, Lena Sofia, FOR THE COMFORT OF ZION: THE GEOGRAPHICAL AND THEOLOGICAL LOCATION OF ISAIAH 40–55 (VTSup, 139; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2010). Pp. xvi + 414. Hardback. €130.00; $185.00. ISBN 9789004189300. Reviewed by Mark Leuchter Temple University One of the more dependable staples of modern research on the formation of the book of Isaiah is the notion that the second major unit of material, Isaiah 40–55 (usually identified as “Deutero” or “Second” Isaiah) derives from the hand of an individual prophet, living in Babylon toward the tail end of the exilic period and writing with a sense of an imminent restoration of his people to their homeland. There have been many adjustments to this basic model, including issues surrounding the dating of its contents, the social location of the author, the expanse of material that should be included in these categorizations, and for some, redactional strata within these chapters pointing to waves of successive authorship. Nevertheless, virtually all scholars have agreed that the unit comprising Isaiah 40–55 remains the starting point for any analysis, a textual “control” against which all other variables may be evaluated. Tiemeyer’s monograph has much in common with these lines of inquiry, but with one crucial difference; namely, it challenges the presupposition that Isaiah 40–55 originated in an exilic context. Rather, Tiemeyer argues, the work is more likely a product of a homeland Judahite community, reflecting and addressing the concerns of that community vis-à-vis the end of Babylonian rule and the period of restoration under Persia. Tiemeyer’s lengthy monograph (414 pages + front matter) goes into thorough detail in fleshing out the basis for the aforementioned proposal and then identifying its implications for the understanding not only of Isaiah 40–55 but the book as a whole. The monograph is divided into 13 chapters: an introduction, an eleven chapter analysis, and a conclusion. The introduction presents a brief history of scholarship into the study of the Deutero-Isaiah and an overview of the monograph’s major points of order

REVIEWS

721

in the ensuing chapters. The analysis begins in earnest in chapter 1, which addresses the question of authorship, compositional strata, and literary shaping of the work. Within the course of the discussion, Tiemeyer more closely engages the history of scholarship and identifies the various proposals regarding how Isaiah 40–55 should be read, to whom it should be ascribed (a single author or multiple authors?), and its rhetorical unity. The chapter concludes that rather than crediting a single individual with authorship of the work, it is better to view it as the product of a group of authors that nevertheless forms a rhetorical unity, a carefully orchestrated “reading drama” (p. 51) that interfaces with perspectives well entrenched in Judah rather than Babylon. Chapter 2 goes on to examine conditions for life in Judah during the Neo-Babylonian period. Tiemeyer takes account of the most current archaeological and sociological research that demonstrates a significant population remaining in the homeland after the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE. Tiemeyer is careful to note that while life did not carry on in a normal sense in the wake of the that destruction, the tail end of the Babylonian period saw a return to some sense of routine. Under such circumstances, a society which could produce works like Lamentations could also yield a group that could produce Isaiah 40–55, perhaps first on the oral level and textualized subsequently (p. 68). She also considers the possibility of literate resources among the exilic communities. However, she concludes, the evidence does not necessarily weigh heavily in favor of the exilic communities being more capable of producing a text like Isaiah 40–55 (p. 73). A homeland community was just as capable (p. 75). The question of homeland Judahite authorship as likely (as opposed to just possible) is the subject of the next several chapters. Chapter 3 addresses the issue of Babylonian imperial culture and the appearance of Akkadian concepts and lexical influence in Isaiah 40–55. Tiemeyer begins by raising the issue that most studies have presupposed Babylonian provenance as the background to these terminological and ideological features. In her discussion she identifies where this presupposition falls short. Especially significant is her observation that a writer need not be in Babylon to show familiarity with Mesopotamian culture and language. Tiemeyer walks the reader through the abundance of evidence for such familiarity in late preexilic contexts (p. 130), and draws the rather logical conclusion that if one may speak of preexilic Judahite texts as knowing and deploying Akkadian loanwords, rhetorical styles, and conceptual motifs, the argument for a Babylonian provenance for Isaiah 40–55 based on these features loses potency. Chapter 4 goes on to provide evidence for a decidedly Judahite perspective throughout Isaiah 40–55, identifying spatial/geographic notices and references to traditions of sacrifice and temple service that either favor

722

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

a Judahite origin for the author or which, at least, do not demand an exilic setting (p. 152). Chapter 5 considers the exodus motif in Isaiah 40–55. Though Tiemeyer agrees that this concept is found in the work, she critiques the view that the expression of this concept conceives of the so-called “second exodus” therein as a genuine geographical move through the wilderness back to Zion. First, it is set against a panoply of rhetorical and conceptual devices in Isaiah 40–55 and is not, in Tiemeyer’s view, thecentral motif of the book. Second, Tiemeyer makes the salient point that the exodus is not necessarily a physical journey (p. 165) but functions metaphorically and even mythically. Though there are references to a Diaspora audience, these references are not inherently part of an exodus motif and do not argue exclusively for seeing the authorial circle behind Isaiah 40–55 as anticipating a return from geographic exile to their distant homeland as a second exodus. Rather, the exodus motif may pertain more to shifting conditions and ideologies than to geography. After a preliminary discussion about the orientation of Isaiah 40–55 as a Judahite “reading drama” (chapter 6), Tiemeyer spends several chapters discussing the disparate characters and images within the work as vehicles for a Judahite group’s self-expression (chapters 7–9). Jacob-Israel is identified as the homeland community, not that of the exiles, the figure of Zion-Jerusalem is not a metaphor for the exiles but refers to the actual inhabitants of the region (though returnees from exile receive mention, it is always a lower rhetorical priority), and the relationship between God, the prophet’s own self references, and the figure of the suffering servant possesses more contact with the homeland perspective in Lamentations than with perspectives in any literature we may associate with the exilic experience or golah community. Chapter 10 looks to the prologue of Isaiah 40–55, identified as Isa 40:1–11, in relation to the larger work: it foreshadows motifs found in the ensuing chapters and establishes the basis of their perspective, namely, that the “comfort” afforded to the prophet’s audience will come in the guise of God returning to Zion (p. 345). Finally, Chapter 11 explores the relationship between Isaiah 40–55 and Lamentations, identifying allusions to the latter within the former and considering the function of these allusions from a Judah-centered point of view. As Tiemeyer argues, Isaiah 40–55 provides a new context in which the contents of Lamentations are addressed, transforming its terms into a new discourse where Zion is restored, its people are on the precipice of a promising age of renewal (p. 356), and those returning from exile may share in this restoration (p. 360). Thus, in keeping with her proposal at the beginning of the book that Isaiah 40–55 was composed between 539– 520 BCE (p. 6), the rhetoric of the work speaks to a mixed community on

REVIEWS

723

the verge of rebuilding the Jerusalem temple and thus ushering in the very restoration that the work’s prophetic authors anticipated. A brief concluding chapter addresses the implications of the study for reconstructing the social, political, and theological trends in Yehud toward the end of the sixth century BCE, as well as what this means for the study of “Third/Trito” Isaiah (Isaiah 56–66) as a separate literary unit. Tiemeyer’s examination is extremely detailed and thoroughly engaging. She treats the evidence in a judicious and fair manner, and remains flexible enough in the evaluation of details to allow for variations in interpretation. Her proposal and analysis of the source material significantly challenge scholarly assumptions regarding the social and geographic location of the author/s of Isaiah 40–55. This challenge, of course, does not yield a closed case. For example, her observation that late preexilic Judahites could know and use Akkadian literary conventions leads to the possibility that this same logic could work in the other direction, i.e., an exiled Judahite could utilize memories regarding the homeland even while he or she was separated from it, and create a “Judahite” text even while living in Mesopotamia. If this is admitted, then her proposed dating of Isaiah 40–55 to 539–520 BCE could be pushed earlier into the traditional late exilic setting. However, this does not detract from the merit of her argument, which poses just as credible a model for the origin of Isaiah 40–55 and the world of its authors based on the evidence. The overall impact of Tiemeyer’s discussion forces the reader to ask serious questions not only regarding the assumptions one brings to the formation of the book of Isaiah but, indeed, to other texts often dated axiomatically to this-or-that period. For this reason and others, future research into Isaiah 40–55 (and other texts from the exilic or early Persian period) will need to reckon with Tiemeyer’s substantial contribution to the ongoing conversation.

724

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Jindo, Job Y., BIBLICAL METAPHOR RECONSIDERED: A COGNITIVE APPROACH TO POETIC PROPHECY IN JEREMIAH 1–24 (HSM, 64; Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2010). Pp. xv + 343. Hardcover. US$39.95. ISBN: 1575069369. Reviewed by Paul Kang-Kul Cho Harvard University Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah 1–24 is a revised Jewish Theological Seminary of America dissertation (2006) written under the supervision of Stephen A. Geller and revised under the guidance of Michael Coogan and Peter Machinist. The book advances an exegetical approach for analyzing biblical metaphors that combines cognitive linguistics and poetics and demonstrates the efficacy of this approach by analyzing the prophetic metaphors of Jeremiah 1–24. Whereas past treatments of biblical metaphors have tended to view metaphors as rhetorical ornaments, Jindo’s book argues that metaphors are fundamentally cognitive, having to do with the thought-world of the poet or prophet (Chapter 2). Using this insight, Jindo makes an attractive argument for the unity of Jeremiah 1–24 at the conceptual level (Chapters 4 and 5). Jindo states that his proposed approach is “a synthesis of studies conducted in a variety of disciplines, mainly in cognitive linguistics and poetics” (p. 27 n. 7, Jindo’s emphasis). The many insights and suggestions in the book testify to the wealth of the growing literature on cognitive linguistics and poetics from which Jindo draws to formulate his approach. To give an example which is central to Jindo’s work, he transposes the debate about Mesopotamian and Israelite city-laments from genre studies to a cognitive linguistic framework. He proposes that the verbal and literary commonalities between these corpora of laments are not necessarily indicative of a common genre1, but rather of a common way of thinking— As argued for and against respectively by W. F. Dobbs-Allsopp (Weep, O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible [BibOr, 44; 1

REVIEWS

725

the existence of a “fundamental metaphor they lived by”: THE COSMOS IS A STATE (p. 145).2 The simplicity of this move belies the power of Jindo’s use of cognitive linguistics here. Jindo effectively argues in this way that Jeremiah shares with his Mesopotamian contemporaries not only a common mode of expression but, more importantly, a common thoughtpattern, represented by the global metaphor: THE COSMOS IS A STATE. This metaphor, under which Jindo subsumes all the local metaphors found in Jeremiah 1–24, is the concept that frames and structures Jindo’s discussion of the unity of Jeremiah in Chapters 4 and 5, as we will see below.3 Jindo’s claim that his approach is a synthesis, on the other hand, is an overstatement. The book’s theoretical trappings are a medley of theories, often suggestive, at times contradictory, but something short of a systematic synthesis. Technical terms, concepts, and their relationships are not always clearly defined in Jindo’s eclectic theoretical discussion. For example, Max Black’s interactive theory of metaphor undergirds Jindo’s method of analyzing a metaphor as a trope that helps us understand one domain (what Black calls the target domain) by means of a “model” from another (the source domain).4 For example, according to the global metaphor above, Jeremiah might conceptualize the COSMOS (target domain) in terms of the STATE (source domain). Since this aspect of Black’s theory is important to Roma: Editrice Pontifico Istuto Biblico, 1993]) and Adele Berlin (“Review of Weep, O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bibleby F. W. Dopps-Allsopp,” JAOS 115 [1995], 319). 2 For a full discussion of this issue, see pp. 71–74 and pp. 142–147; see also pp. 255–260 for further suggestions along this line. 3 Jindo prioritizes concepts over metaphors in order to resist the “tendency [of cognitive linguists] to (over)emphasize the significance of metaphor” (p. 29 n. 11). Jindo overreacts and needs to provide a more robust defense of this reprioritization. His defense of the position on p. 29 n. 11 is inadequate. This point bears noting because of two reasons. First, if a metaphor is just one way of giving expression to a prior concept, then Jindo’s claim that metaphors cannot be paraphrased cannot be maintained (p. 5; p. 45 n. 43). If the concept is primary, then it is possible to formulate more than one metaphor to express that concept, which means that any given metaphor can be stated in other words, paraphrased. The second, weightier reason is that the reprioritization creates the Sun and turns metaphors into heliotropes. The assumption of the prior existence of concepts before metaphors introduces a questionable hierarchy between the (metaphorical) concept and the (subordinated) metaphors that fill out the world defined by the concept. 4 See Max Black, Models and Metaphors: Studies in Language and Philosophy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962).

726

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Jindo, Jindo follows Black in defining a model as “a type of (conceptual) structure or pattern of relationships” (p. xiv; see p. xiv n. 3). However, he rejects Black’s equally important pair of terms “frame” and “focus” (p. 30 n. 13; p. 51 n. 54) and reserves the term “frame” for a different pair of terms: “frame” and “script” (pp. 48–52, discussed below). Such eclecticism leads to disorienting gaps within an established set of terms and to an unhelpful proliferation of terms and doublets. What should the reader make of the implied equation of “metaphor” with “model” in the title of Chapter 4, “Global Metaphor in Jeremiah 1–24: the Destruction Model,” or the equation of “the frame of reference” (Harshav’s term5) with “metaphorical model” (Black’s term6) (p. 250)? Synthesis of scholarly discourse and vocabulary across several disciplines is difficult, so the book’s inelegance in this regard is understandable. But this does render the book less useful for those seeking an introduction to cognitive linguistics and poetics, though Jindo’s ample bibliography should prove a good starting point. The terminological difficulty aside, the basic theoretical framework for the proposed approach (Chapter 2) and description of method (Chapter 6) are accessible and constitute an advance in the field. A summary description of the method can be found on pp. 250–251 (repeated verbatim from pp. 238–239) and is quite clear. In regards to theory, Jindo makes three key points in Chapter 2. The first point is that the metaphors a prophet uses to describe a historical event (target domain) themselves create, or at least point to, a parallel reality (source domain), which Jindo describes variously as poetic, prophetic, or conceptual. Jindo makes passing acknowledgements of the fictive nature of the poetic world. At the same time, he appears to assume that the poetic world is as real as and perhaps even more important than historical events. It is, after all, in the poetic world that YHWH and Jeremiah speak, act, and lament. Furthermore, because of the imputed independence and unity of the source domain, even a single metaphor (e.g., “the seed of Abraham” in Isa 41:8) implies the existence of two independent domains (TREE and HUMAN LIFE) and necessarily activates all related correspondences between the source domain (TREE) and the target domain (HUMAN LIFE) (see p. 33). “[T]he phenomenon of metaphor involves systematic correspondences between two conceptual domains” (p. 34). The weakness of this way of analyzing metaphor is that it 5 See Benjamin Harshav, “Poetic Metaphor and Frames of Reference: With Examples from Eliot, Rilke, Mayakovsky, Mandelshtam, Pound, Creely, Amichai, and the New York Times,” in Explorations in Poetics (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 32–75. 6 See Black, Models and Metaphors.

REVIEWS

727

separates what the ancient prophets certainly did not: historical event and poetic reality. And the strength of Jindo’s maximalist view of metaphor is that it allows for a rich discussion of the unity of Jeremiah 1–24 in Chapters 4 and 5, which at times borders on over-reading on account of the same. The second key point is a consequence of the maximalist view of metaphor, adopted from Benjamin Harshav’s essay “The Structure of NonNarrative Fiction.”7 Harshav, building on the work of Russian Formalists, distinguishes between the Text Continuumand the Reconstructed Level of texts. Harshav’s Text Continuum is akin to, but not identical to, what Russian Formalists call sjuzhet, the way a literary text presents a story. And the Reconstructed Level is like the fabula, the reader’s reconstruction of that story. Harshav writes, “Characters, plot, ideas, time, space, style, etc., are built by the reader from discontinuous elements in the text and are reorganized according to their inherent principles (e.g., time elements are reorganized in their chronological order, ideas in their logical order, streets or trees in a spatial order, etc.).”8 Jindo applies the distinction between Text Continuum and Reconstructed Level to the analysis of Jeremiah’s poetic prophecies. The received text of Jeremiah is the Text Continuum. And the poetic reality, the source domain of the prophetic metaphors, is the Reconstructed Level. By supplementing cognitive linguistics with Harshav’s poetics, Jindo lays the ground for ascribing the characteristics of narrative (plot and character) to the poetic world of Jeremiah’s non-narrative oracles. This brings us to the third key point. Jindo argues that the poetic reality (source domain) as constituted by the metaphors is “a conceptually integrated structure” composed of a “frame” and a “script” (p. 50; see the helpful chart on p. 99 that analyzes Jeremiah in these terms). The concept of “frame” here seems to be synonymous to what Jindo elsewhere calls “domain.” A frame contains elements (or characters) that are proper to it. So the frame DIVINE ASSEMBLY contains the elements: divine judge, sinner, intercessor, executioner, etc. The concept of frame, with its elements, organizes the second half of Chapter 4, where Jindo presents his readerly reconstruction of the characters of the historical drama of Judah’s destruction as characters (elements) of the poetic drama of the divine assembly (frame): YHWH as divine judge; the people of Judah as defendant; Jeremiah as intercessor; etc. (pp. 100–142). The concept of “script,” akin to the concept of fabula, 7 “The Structure of Non-Narrative Fiction: The First Episode of War and Peace,” in Explorations in Poetics (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 174– 209. 8 Ibid., 179.

728

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

structures Chapter 5 where Jindo analyzes the plant metaphors within a reconstructed narrative order (script). The unstated thesis for Chapters 3, 4, and 5 is that Jeremiah (1–24) is a unity. In Chapter 3, Jindo, following Alexander Rofé, argues that the Hebrew text of Jeremiah exhibits signs of structural unity “with a clear logic of progression,” marked by editorial devices such as inclusion, concentricity, and transitional patterning (p. 57).9 This, then, serves as the justification for looking for cognitive unity in the following chapters. There are two main sections to Chapter 4, the topics of which we have broached above. In the first section, Jindo introduces the global metaphor: THE COSMOS IS A STATE. The metaphor contains the insight that the divine assembly (target domain) is made up of the same members (elements of a frame) and functions in the same manner (script) as a human royal court (source domain). Within this global metaphor, Jindo identifies what he calls “the destruction model,” in which we find the cast of characters acting out a fairly uniform script concerning the destruction of a city: “(1) JUDICIAL DECISION/LAWSUIT; (2) DESTRUCTION/WARFARE; (3) LAMENTATION/ AFTERMATH” and “(4) RESTORATION” (p. 78). Jindo presents an array of texts from Mesopotamia to demonstrate that the Mesopotamians perceived and experienced the historical destruction of cities according to this “global metaphorical model,” i.e., the Epic of Atrahasis, the Curse of Agade, and the Poem of Erra (p. 71; see pp. 84–91). He argues that Israelite texts, including Jeremiah, share this conceptual pattern. In the second section of the chapter, Jindo analyzes Jeremiah 1–24 as a text whose writer(s) experienced, perceived, and represented the destruction of Judah according to the “destruction model” with helpful notes on the differences between the Mesopotamian exemplars and Jeremiah. He does this, curiously, by reconstructing the participating characters (elements of the frame) but not the narrative story (script). He does offer a suggestive, if gapped, chart with both the “frame” and “script” components on p. 99, about which he comments: “the frame and the script of the destruction model are fully manifest in Jeremiah” (p. 99). Nevertheless, a detailed analysis of the “script” would have strengthened his argument for unity. Chapter 5 somewhat compensates for Chapter 4’s lack of an analysis of the script, since the analysis of the (local) plant imagery follows the narrative flow of the script (pp. 179–221). It should be noted, however, that this script is assumed and never argued for in detail. In the first half of Chapter 5, Jindo identifies a central metaphorical concept: THE LAND OF 9

70).

See “Excursus 2: Transitional Patterning in the Book of Jeremiah” (pp. 69–

REVIEWS

729

ISRAEL IS YHWH’S ROYAL GARDEN (p. 161). He then subsumes all plant and horticultural metaphors under it. Undoubtedly, Jeremiah shared with other biblical writers the notion that Israel belonged to God in one way or another and that the land was at times thought of as God’s royal garden (pp. 152–179). However, this observation does not necessarily mean, as Jindo assumes, that all plant imagery in Jeremiah participates in this “fundamental metaphor they lived by.” Jindo again commits the maximalist fallacy in pursuit of an integrative reading. This penchant for coherence, fortunately, does not detract from the attractiveness of Jindo’s close analysis of the plant imagery. Though the examples are not always as clear nor the garden as thickly populated as one might wish, Jindo succeeds in unveiling a highly suggestive coherence of the Text Continuum and the Reconstructed Level that deserves attention and further study. He takes care, too, to integrate other important metaphors into his discussion of the relationship between YHWH and Israel, such as the marriage metaphor (pp. 179–182) and metaphors from the domain of warfare (pp. 185–205). A particularly elegant suggestion for unity is the observation that the plant imagery in Jeremiah 4–6 and 8–9 follows “the agricultural calendar: ‘tilling’ and ‘sowing’ (4:3–4), ‘pruning’ (5:10), ‘harvesting’ (6:9), ‘ingathering’ (8:13), ‘end of ingathering’ (8:20), and ‘after the ingathering’ (9:21)” (p. 185). The fact that the horticultural order parallels the script of the destruction model (cf. p. 99) adds to this elegance. In regards to Chapters 4 and 5, I remain suspicious of the distinction Jindo makes between global metaphors (i.e., THE COSMOS IS A STATE) and local metaphors (i.e., ISRAEL IS YHWH’S GARDEN). To say that the former has to do with the structure of Jeremiah because it is that through which the writers understand the world (p. 73) and that the latter privies us to the perspective of the literary characters (p. 238) is unconvincing and introduces a false hierarchy. Despite this and other shortcomings, in my opinion, Chapters 4 and 5 are Jindo’s most valuable contributions to the ongoing discussion about the relationship between thought, metaphor, language, and reality and considerably advance the way we think about metaphors in the Hebrew Bible. These chapters also present an integrative reading of Jeremiah 1–24 that deserves consideration. There remains, however, one more issue concerning Chapters 3–5. Granting for now that Jindo is correct that Jeremiah (1–24) is coherent at the structural (Chapter 3) and conceptual (Chapters 4 and 5) levels, this does not tell us how these different levels of coherence relate to each other. There may be a way in which these different kinds of coherences reinforce and bolster each other, making Jeremiah more a unity than Jindo realizes. It is also possible that these coherences do not have anything to do with each other. What exactly does structure have to do with conceptual metaphors?

730

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

As Jindo recognizes, an editorial hand was responsible for the structural unity of Jeremiah. However, the conceptual unity may not belong to the editor or even to the writers of Jeremiah as individual genii but to them as members of a cultural phenomenon. Jindo states that his study is synchronic in nature (p. 75). The diachronic is the “path not taken” (p. 2). Thus, he sidesteps some of these issues about who and when and where. But the questions remain: Is there dependence between structural unity and cognitive unity, one way or the other? Who is responsible for the structural unity of the Book of Jeremiah, and is the same person or group responsible for its cognitive unity? Answering these questions may not have made all the difference, but it would have made a certain difference for the better. In the end, this book is a fine contribution to the on-going discussion about biblical metaphors, touching on such fundamental issues as the nature of language, thought, and reality. It also represents a fresh reading of the Book of Jeremiah as a coherent unity. It is a learned work, and the bibliographies on the various topics it deals with, often presented in the informative footnotes, are valuable in themselves. Its major weaknesses, the lack of theoretical synthesis and clear definitions of terms and its underexamined overemphasis on concepts and the conceptual world, do not detract from the book’s overall achievement. It is my pleasure to recommend the book to both those interested in the topic of biblical metaphor and the Book of Jeremiah.

INDEX

731

INDEX “My Brother Esau is a Hairy Man”: Hair and Identity in Ancient Israel (NIDITCH), 513 “Some Worthless and Reckless Fellows”: Landlessness and Parasocial Leadership in Judges, 23 “You are My Son”: The Reception History of Psalm 2 in Early Judaism and the Early Church (JANSE), 596 Ahn, John, x, 600, 602 Allen, Leslie C., viii, 511 Altmann, Peter, viii, xiii, 488 An Introduction to the Study of Wisdom Literature (WEEKS), 671 Anderson, Gary A., 415 Andrason, Alexander, v, 181 Annus, Amar, x, 646 Assis, Elie, v, 1, 151 Avigdor Hurowitz, Victor, x, 646 Bachmann, Veronika, v, x, 83, 85, 97, 611 Baines, Shannon, x, 608 Ballhorn, Egbert, xi, 681 Baranowski, Krzysztof J., 467 Barrett, Rob, xi, 698 Barrick, W. Boyd., ix, 583 Basics of Biblical Hebrew Grammar (PRATICO & VAN PELT), viii, 523 Beal, Timothy, xi, 684

Behold Your King: The Hope for the House of David in the Book of Zechariah (PETTERSON), 476 Bernat, David A., 431 Bernier, Jonathan, 434 Biblical Hebrew Wayyiqtol: A Dynamic Definition, 181 Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah 1–24 (JINDO), 506, 727 BMH as Body Language: A Lexical and Iconographical Study of the Word BMH When not a Reference to Cultic Phenomena in Biblical and Post-Biblical Hebrew (BARRICK), 583 Boccaccini, Gabriele, viii, 517 Bosworth, David A., x, 608 Brown, Adam, 480 Butler, Trent C., 421, 431 Camp, Claudia V., xi, 684 Campos, Martha E., v, 53 Centro y Periferia en el mundo antiguo: El Negev y sus interacciones con Egipto, Asiria, y el Levante en la Edad del Hierro (1200–586 a.C.) (TEBES), 456 Chung, Youn Ho, ix, 541

732

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Community Identity in Judean Historiography: Biblical and Comparative Perspectives (KNOPPERS & RISTAU), 604 Comparison With David as a Means of Evaluating Character in the Book of Kings, 159 Compositional Strata in the Priestly Sabbath: Exodus 31:12–17 and 35:1–3, 394 Conway, Mary L., viii, 523 Cook, John, 440 Corley, Jeremy, viii, 520 Cotrozzi, Stefano, 467 Couey, J. Blake, x, 615 Cox, Claude, viii, 520 Crane, Ashley S., 471 Crenshaw, James L., xi, 694 Culp, A. J., xi, 689 Das Hohelied Salomos zwischen Poesie und Erzählung: Erzähltextanalyse eines poetischen Textes (FISCHER), 575 David’s Elite Warriors and Their Exploits in the Books of Samuel and Chronicles, 107 Davis, Ellen F., viii, 526 Day, John, x, 622 de Hulster, Izaak J., viii, 529 Della Casa, Romina, 456 Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift für Matthias Köckert (HAGEDORN & PFEIFFER), 483 Doak, Brian R., v, 23 Dorman, Anke, x, 636 Duggan, Michael W., ix, 552 Duguid, Iain M., 471 Earl, Douglas, ix, 567 Ebeling, Jennie R., x, 419, 651, 652

Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception: Aaron–Aniconism (KLAUK ET AL.), 427 Enduring Exile: The Metaphorization of Exile in the Hebrew Bible (HALVORSONTAYLOR), 600 Enoch and Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (BOCCACCINI & IBBA), 517 Evans, Paul S., xi, 678 Everyday Law in Biblical Israel: An Introduction (WESTBROOK & WELLS), 437, 556 Expect the Unexpected: Aspects of Pragmatic Foregrounding in Old Testament Narratives (COTROZZI), 467 Feasts and Festivals (TUCKETT), viii, 488 Finkelstein, Israel, vi, 319, 422, 721 Fischer, Alexander Achilles, xi, 703 Fischer, Stefan, ix, 575 Fleming, Daniel E., viii, 501 For The Comfort of Zion: The Geographical and Theological Location of Isaiah 40–55 (TIEMEYER), 723 Frisch, Amos, v, 159 From Gods to God: The Dynamics of Iron Age Cosmologies (HALPERN), 655 Ganzel, Tova, v, 137, 152, 536, 537 Garsiel, Moshe, v, 107 George, Mark K., xi, 689 Gile, Jason, ix, 535 God in Translation: Deities in CrossCultural Discourse in the Biblical World (SMITH), 552 Grabbe, Lester L., 421

INDEX Green, Deborah A., 449 Haar Romeny, Bas ter, x, 615, 621 Hadjiev, Tchavdar S., 443 Hagedorn, Anselm C., 483 Halpern, Baruch, xi, 655 Halvorson-Taylor, Martien, x, 600 Hayes, Elizabeth, ix, 583 Hibbard, J. Todd, x, xi, 622, 666 Holmstedt, Robert D., vi, x, 355, 388, 389, 628, 629 Hopf, Matthias, ix, 575 Horsley, Richard A., 434 Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond (YASURLANDAU ET AL.), 651 Hutton, Jeremy M., xi, 703 Hutzli, Jürg, ix, 406, 589 Ibba, Giovanni, viii, 85, 517 Iconography and Biblical Studies: Proceedings of the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS / SBL Conference, 22–26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria (DE HULSTER & SCHMITT), 529 Idolatry and the Hardening of the Heart: A Study in Biblical Theology (MEADORS), 698 Images of Egypt in Early Biblical Literature: Cisjordan-Israelite, Transjordan-Israelite, and Judahite Portrayals (RUSSELL), 631 In the Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance (HORSLEY), 434 Ingram, Doug, ix, 544 Isaiah in Context: Studies in Honour of Arie van der Kooij on the

733 Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (MEER ET AL.), 615 Israel am Jordan: Narrative Topographie im Buch Josua (BALLHORN), 681 Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze II to Iron IIa (c. 1250– 850 B.C.E.) Volume 1. The Archaeology (GRABBE), 421 Israel’s Restoration: A TextualComparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36–39 (CRANE), 471 Israel’s Tabernacle as Social Space (GEORGE), 689 James, Elaine T., 418 Janse, Sam, x, 596 Jeremiah: A Commentary (ALLEN), 511 Jindo, Job Y., viii, xi, 506, 727 Job (Trebolle Barrera & Pottecher), 580 Jones, Scott C., viii, x, xi, 473, 501, 596, 671 Kang-Kul Cho, Paul, xi, 727 Kiel, Micah D., 415 Kim, Hyuk-ki, viii, 506 Klauk, Hans-Josef, 427 Klein, Anja, ix, 547 Klein, Johannes, xi, 684 Knauf, Ernst Axel, xi, 424, 681 Knoppers, Gary N., x, 604 Koch, Ido, vi, 319, 721 Konkel, August H., 473 KUSATU (Kleine Untersuchengen zur Sprache des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt), 440 Lalleman, Hetty, viii, 511 Lenzi, Alan, x, 646, 647 Leuchter, Mark, xi, xiii, 19, 606, 723

734

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Lieber, Laura S., 449 Linafelt, Tod, xi, 684 Lipschits, Oded, vi, xiii, 143, 144, 145, 319, 721 Lot and His Daughters (Gen 19: 30– 38). Further Literary & Stylistic Examinations, 343 Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer (ANNUS & LENZI), 646 Lyons, Michael A., ix, 535, 536, 547 MacDonald, Nathan, xi, 655 Marzouk, Safwat, x, 631 Matthews, Victor H., ix, 437, 564 Mazow, Laura B., x, 651, 652 McConville, J. Gordon, ix, 567 McGinn, B., 427 Meadors, Edward P., xi, 698 Meer, Michaël van der, x, 615 Mendes-Flohr, P., 427 Milstein, Sara J., viii, 501 Moberly, R. W. L., 458 More than Meets the Ear: Discovering the Hidden Contexts of Old Testament Conversations (MATTHEWS), 564 Nakhai, Beth Alpert, 418 Nathan der Prophet: Eine Untersuchung zu 2 Samuel 7 und 12 und 1 Könige 1 (OSWALD), 589 Nicklas, Tobias, x, 636 Niditch, Susan, viii, 513 Nihan, Christophe, viii, xiii, xiv, 395, 398, 483 O’Dowd, Ryan, ix, 544 O’Dowd, Ryan P., xi, 694 Oeste, Gordon, xi, 678

Old Testament Wisdom: An Introduction (CRENSHAW), 694 Oswald, Wolfgang, ix, 589 Petterson, Anthony R., 476 Pfeiffer, Henrik, 483 Piquer Otero, Andrés, ix, 580 Pottecher, Susana, ix, 580 Pratico, Gary D., viii, 523 Prophecy and the Prophets in Ancient Israel (DAY), 622 Pyles, Anthony R., x, 628 Reading Joshua as Christian Scripture (EARL), 567 Reiterer, Friedrich V., x, 636 Rezetko, Robert, vi, 243, 302, 393, 629 Richelle, Matthieu, 443 Ristau, Kenneth A., x, 604 Rowe, Jonathan Y., viii, 513 Rumors of Wisdom: Job 28 as Poetry (JONES), 473 Russell, Stephen C., 631 Ruth: A Handbook on the Hebrew Text (HOLMSTEDT), 628 Schiffman, Lawrence, ix, 570 Schmitt, Rüdiger, viii, 529, 531 Schriftauslegung im Ezechielbuch: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Ez 34–39 (KLEIN), 547 Schweitzer, Steven J., viii, x, 526, 604 Scriptural Exegesis: The Shapes of Culture and the Religious Imagination, Essays in Honour of Michael Fishbane (GREEN & LIEBER), 449 Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible (DAVIS), 526

INDEX Semantics and the Semantics of ‫ברא‬: A Rejoinder to the Arguments Advanced by B. Becking and M. Korpel, 243 Seow, C.-L., 427 Shafer-Elliott, Cynthia, x, 651 Shalom-Guy, Hava, vi, 301 Sign of the Covenant: Circumcision in the Priestly Tradition (BERNAT), 431 Sin: A History (ANDERSON), 415 Skemp, Vincent, viii, 520, 521 Smith, Mark S., ix, 552 Smith, Richard G., 480 Sommer, Benjamin D., xi, 666 Spieckermann, H., 427 Stackert, Jeffrey, vi, 394, 396, 404, 409 Stone Greenport, Tim, 458 Structure and Meaning in the Third Vision of Amos (7: 7–17), 53 Studies in the Greek Bible: Essays in Honor of Francis T. Gignac, S.J. (CORLEY & SKEMP), 520 Suk Yee Lee, Anna, 476 Sutskover, Talia, vi, 343 Swanson, Dwight D., ix, 570, 572 Tebes, Juan Manuel, 456 The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel (SOMMER), 666 The Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36): An Anti‐Mosaic, Non‐Mosaic, or even Pro‐Mosaic Writing?, 83 The Buried Foundation of the Gilgamesh Epic: The Akkadian Huwawa Narrative (FLEMING & MILSTEIN), 501

735 The Call Narratives of Gideon and Moses: Literary Convention or More?, 301 The Cambridge Introduction to Biblical Hebrew with CD-ROM (WEBSTER), viii, 492 The Composition and Redaction of the Book of Amos (HADJIEV), 443 The Courtyards of the House of the Lord: Studies in the Temple Scroll (SCHIFFMAN), 570 The Fate of Justice and Righteousness During David’s Reign: Narrative Ethics and Rereading the Court History According to 2 Samuel 8:15– 20:26 (SMITH), 480 The Fate of King David: The Past and Present of a Biblical Icon (LINAFELT ET AL.), 684 The Human Body in Death and Resurrection (NICKLAS ET AL.), 636 The Invasion of Sennacherib in the Book of Kings: A Source-Critical and Rhetorical Study of 2 Kings 18–19 (EVANS), 678 The Mound on the Mount: A Possible Solution to the “Problem with Jerusalem”, 319 The Narrative Effect of Psalms 84– 89, 285 The Shattered Dream. The Prophecies of Joel: A Bridge Between Ezekiel and Haggai, 137 The Sin of the Calf: The Rise of the Bible’s Negative Attitude Toward the Golden Calf (CHUNG), 541

736

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The Story within a Story in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (BOSWORTH), 608 The Theology of the Book of Genesis (MOBERLY), 458 The Typological Classification of the Hebrew of Genesis: Subject-Verb or Verb-Subject?, 355 The Wisdom of Torah: Epistemology in Deuteronomy and the Wisdom Literature (O’DOWD), 544 The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East (NAKHAI), 418 Tiemeyer, Lena Sofia, xi, 723 Toffelmire, Colin, ix, 564 Tooman, William A., vii, ix, 449, 535, 537, 547 Transforming Visions: Transformations of Text, Tradition, and Theology in Ezekiel (TOOMAN & LYONS), 535 Trebolle Barrera, Julio, ix, 580 Tuckett, Christopher, viii, 488 Ueberschaer, Frank, viii, 529 Une analyse comparée d’Esther TM et LXX: Regard sur deux récits

d’une même histoire (VIALLE), 611 van Keulen, Percy, x, 615, 617 Van Pelt, Miles V., viii, 523 van Peursen, Wido, x, 615, 620 van Wolde, Ellen, vi, 243, 260 Verheyden, Joseph, x, 636 Vialle, Catherine, x, 611 Von Hebron nach Jerusalem: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie zur Erzählung von König David in II Sam 1–5 (FISCHER), 703 Walfish, B. D., 427 Wallace, Robert E., vi, 285 Webster, Brian L., viii, 492 Weeks, Stuart, xi, 671 Wells, Bruce, vii, ix, 437, 556 Werline, Rodney A., viii, 148, 517 Westbrook, Raymond, vii, ix, 437, 556 Westerholm, Stephen, 427 Wray Beal, Lissa M., ix, 541 Wright, David P., ix, 413, 556, 559 Yasur-Landau, Assaf, x, 651 Zacharias, H. Daniel, viii, 492 Zechariah 8 and its Allusions to Jeremiah 30–33 and DeuteroIsaiah, v, 1