Sin, Suffering, and the Problem of Evil 9783161575389, 3161575385

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Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe Edited by Konrad Schmid (Zürich) ∙ Mark S. Smith (Princeton) Hermann Spieckermann (Göttingen) ∙ Andrew Teeter (Harvard)

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Sin, Suffering, and the Problem of Evil Edited by

Blaženka Scheuer and David Willgren Davage

Mohr Siebeck

Blaženka Scheuer, born 1967; studied Judaic Studies, Modern Hebrew, and Biblical Studies at Lund University; 2005 PhD; since 2009 associate professor/senior lecturer in Biblical Studies at Lund University; 2012 – 2013 visiting scholar at Auckland University (New Zealand); since 2001 Assistant Head of Department for research issues at the Centre for Theology and Religious Studies, Lund University. orcid.org/0000-0002-1683-8911 David Willgren Davage, born 1983; studied Theology at Örebro School of Theology; 2016 PhD; since 2016 associate professor/senior lecturer in Biblical Studies at the Academy of Leadership and Theology and Norwegian School of Leadership and Theology; since 2020 Research Fellow at the University of the Free State, South Africa; 2019 – 2021 Post-doc at Umeå University. orcid.org/0000-0002-7523-7585

ISBN 978-3-16-157538-9 / eISBN 978-3-16-157539-6 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-157539-6 ISSN 1611-4914 / eISSN 2568-8367 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament, 2. Reihe) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2021  Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany.  www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed on non-aging paper by Laupp & Göbel in Gomaringen, and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

‫וכבוד והדר תעטרהו‬ To Fredrik Lindström with much appreciation

Preface It is a great honour and joy to dedicate this volume to our dear friend, colleague, and Doktorvater Professor Fredrik Lindström as a small token of our appreciation. As scholars who have much valued his kind, insightful, and always helpful guidance, and who have benefited from his generous and inclusive attitude, we thought it nothing but fitting to try to put together a volume on one of the topics where Lindström himself has made a great impact. As is well known, his studies have provided creative and bold answers to some of humanity’s most pressing questions. The question of the origin of evil was tackled in his early God and the Origin of Evil: A Contextual Analysis of Alleged Monistic Evidence in the Old Testament (ConBOT 21; Lund: Gleerup, 1983). Here, Lindström convincingly refuted the idea that the God of the Hebrew Bible can be understood in monistic terms. Later, Lindström would also deal at length with the relation between suffering and sin in Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms (ConBOT 37; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1994). In this study, he demonstrated how the temple theology of the original individual complaint psalms understands suffering along quite different lines than the salvation-history paradigm often used to interpret the Hebrew Bible. Fundamental is a positive anthropology, such as the one expressed in Psalm 8, for example, which means that questions like “Why do I suffer?” and “Where is God when we experience suffering and evil?” are not to be answered with recourse to sin. Put differently, there is no causal relation between suffering and sin. Instead, this theology reveals a basic dualism with the presence of YHWH (represented by, most significantly, the temple, the cosmos, and the gift of life) on the one side, and death, chaos, and enemies on the other. Ultimately, then, suffering is understood as a result of YHWH’s absence. Lindström’s scholarly work has not only impacted the way academia has asked and answered the above-mentioned questions, it has also had significant impact on a wider audience. Worth mentioning here is, not least, his influential Det sårbara livet: Livsförståelse och gudserfarenhet i Gamla testamentet (Lund: Arcus, 1998), which builds on insights from Suffering and Sin, as well as several popular articles in Swedish dealing with anthropology, notions of God, and theodicy. As a final example of Professor Lindström’s scholarly legacy that also testifies to his generous attitude towards colleagues and students alike, we would like to highlight OTSEM (Old Testament Studies: Epistemologies and Meth-

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ods), a Northern European network of Hebrew Bible scholars which aims to improve the environment for Hebrew Bible research, focusing particularly on doctoral and post-doctoral research, by inspiring contact and cooperation between members and departments throughout the network. As one of the scholars behind the founding of this network, which has an Annual Meeting that provides opportunities for young scholars to present their work and receive feedback from senior scholars, Lindström has set a clear example of how scholarly discussions can be conducted in a fruitful and constructive way that not only furthers research but also brings people closer together. Ultimately, it is our hope that this volume, which gathers contributions on the interrelated topics of sin, suffering, and evil by friends and colleagues of Lindström, many of whom are connected in some way to OTSEM, will further the scholarly discussion in a way that does justice to Lindström’s innovation, creativity, and generosity. We wish to thank all authors for their excellent contributions, and Mohr Siebeck for all helpful assistance in the process of making this project see the light of day. Last, but not least, our thanks go to Fredrik Lindström. 15th March 2021

Blaženka Scheuer and David Willgren Davage

Table of Contents Preface..............................................................................................................VII Blaženka Scheuer and David Willgren Davage Introduction..........................................................................................................1

Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General John Barton God and Evil in the Hebrew Bible.......................................................................9 Hermann Spieckermann God in Conflict With Evil: Comfort, Repentance, and Compassion as Options of Divine Agency .................................................................................17 Erik Aurelius Sin Without Suffering? On One Function of Intercession in the Biblical Scriptures..............................................................................................35 Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme Downing One’s Destiny: Drinking and Judgement in the Hebrew Bible..........53 Ola Wikander Good Sun, Evil Sun, Eternal Sun: Biblical, Central Semitic, and Afro-Asiatic Perspectives ..................................................................................67 Göran Eidevall Sad as a Bird: On Avian Metaphors in Biblical Depictions of Human Suffering ............................................................................................................85 Kristin Joachimsen Israel’s Sin and Survival in Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 9–10..............................97

Part II: Particular Books in the Hebrew Bible David Willgren Davage Sin Without Grace? A Fresh Look at the Theological Significance of ‫ לרוח היום‬in Genesis 3:8...............................................................................115

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Kåre Berge Subjectivity, the Uncanny Other, and a Deconstructive Reading of Evil in the Exodus Narrative............................................................................139 Corinna Körting Yom Kippur (Lev 16): A Complex Ritual Beyond Space and Time................155 Antti Laato Understanding Ezekiel 18 in Its Literary Context ...........................................171 Karl William Weyde Malachi 3:13–21 and the Problem of God’s Justice in the Time of the Second Temple.................................................................................................183 Else Holt Simul Justus et Peccator: Suffering and Sin in Lamentations .........................207 LarsOlov Eriksson “Give Light to My Eyes”: Psalm 13 Through the Eyes of Some Commentators..................................................................................................225 Åke Viberg Metaphors of Evil: An Application of Cognitive Metaphor Theory on Imagery of Evil in the Book of Psalms.......................................................241 Terje Stordalen Suffering and Identity in the Book of Job........................................................259

Part III: Reception History of Hebrew Bible Traditions Sten Hidal Was There a Doctrine of Original Sin in Early Syriac Christianity? ...............277 Gunnlaugur A. Jónsson Straws and a Tearful Blossom: Sin, Suffering, and Historical Background in Psalm 90 and Iceland’s National Anthem ...............................283 Elisabet Nord Lost For Words: Psalms and Prayer at Dachau................................................299 Blaženka Scheuer Genesis, Artificial Intelligence, and the Future of Evil ...................................319 List of Authors .................................................................................................345 Index of Passages.............................................................................................349 Index of Authors ..............................................................................................370

Introduction Blaženka Scheuer and David Willgren Davage Few themes have had more theological impact on the field of biblical studies than the interrelated sin, suffering, and evil. Obviously, this has to do with the fact that they are also deeply rooted in human experience, and as such, they can be understood not so much as issues to be solved but rather as questions that will need continuous processing over time as each new generation deals with the evils and the suffering of its time. From this follows that the relation between the three themes will be constructed differently over both space and time. But even if discussions are historically contingent, the fundamental experiences seem to remain. What is the relationship between sin and suffering? Or, to put it more bluntly: Whose fault is it that someone suffers? When such questions are asked, especially in the poetic passages of the Hebrew Bible, the context makes clear that what is needed is not always an answer. The question rather carries a more fundamental rhetorical aim: to end the suffering. Similarly, although contemporary discussions often focus on the origin(s) of evil, the biblical authors more commonly have another focus: What are the effects of evil, how is it experienced, and how can it be contained – or, better – removed from the community? Formulated in such a way, there is no way around sin, suffering, and evil that does not pass by anthropology and notions of God. Coloured by human experience over time, the theological processing in the Hebrew Bible has great potential to speak, not only to its own time, but also to provide important perspectives on sin, suffering, and evil to future generations. To further the discussion around these themes, the current volume gathers contributions that tackle the ways in which sin, suffering, and evil are conceptualized and debated in the Hebrew Bible and beyond. More specifically, the volume is divided into three main parts: 1) The Hebrew Bible in General; 2) Particular Books in the Hebrew Bible; and 3) Reception History of Hebrew Bible Traditions. The first part consists of seven contributions. John Barton begins this part by examining texts in the Hebrew Bible where God may be seen as a source of evil, and suggests that while most of the surveyed passages can be understood as not conveying such an idea, there are passages in the book of Job that are best explained in terms of pancausality. Hermann Spieckermann then attempts to shed light on the issue of why God comes into conflict with evil by putting the story of the flood (Genesis 6–9) in

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dialogue with Isaiah 40–55. He shows that a divine attitude towards evil, as well as a divine repentance and compassion, are quite similarly expressed in both contexts and concludes that divine comfort offered to the people and divine repentance from the evil that they suffered are equivalent options of divine agency, possible at any time. The third contribution is by Erik Aurelius. He argues that while suffering in the Hebrew Bible can be seen either as a justified consequence of sin (especially in the prophets and Proverbs), or as a perplexing human experience without any prior sin (especially in the individual complaint psalms and the book of Job), there are also texts that speak of sin that does not lead to any suffering on the part of the sinner. Such a perspective is particularly prominent where intercession on behalf of the sinner(s) is emphasized. This means, Aurelius concludes, that forgiveness – like life itself – is conceived of as a free gift of God rather than something to be earned. Next, Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme analyses texts in the Hebrew Bible where judgement and punishment are represented in terms of drinking or ingesting a fluid. Gudme explores the connection between drinking and destiny as seen from the perspective of psychological anthropology and embodied metaphor theory, and concludes that the idea of ingesting a matter signifies that a person has been transformed into accepting his or her destiny – that is, God’s judgement and punishment. The fifth contribution to the first part of the study is written by Ola Wikander. Wikander places the discussion of suffering in dialogue with forces of “evil” in Northwest Semitic, Safaitic (early North Arabian), and Ancient Egyptian material. He argues that the imagery of the sun as both a symbol of stability and a potential sender of both salvation and destruction is prevalent in these texts, and finds literary expression in a variety of texts in the Hebrew Bible as well. In the penultimate contribution, Göran Eidevall explores the use of avian metaphors in depictions of human suffering in biblical poetry, with particular focus on emotions of sadness or loneliness. He demonstrates how the biblical poets associated these human emotions with particular bird sounds, as well as their habitats in the natural world. Last, Kristin Joachimsen analyses depictions of sin in the prayers in Ezra 9– 10 and Nehemiah 9–10. In light of postcolonial studies that claim that these prayers should be understood from the perspective of Achaemenid imperial ideology, Joachimsen argues that they are framed in a recurrent pattern that includes the people’s failure, divine punishment, and liberation. Depicting the community’s slavery under the Persian Empire as a punishment for people’s sins, Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 9–10 do not speak primarily of pro- or anti-Persia attitudes but instead focus on the basic preconditions for the people’s existence in the land.

Introduction

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The second part of the volume includes nine chapters and the different contributions discuss the topics of sin and suffering in relation to a single book of the Hebrew Bible respectively. First, David Willgren Davage problematizes the common understanding of the elusive phrase ‫ לרוח היום‬in Genesis 3:8 as an “evening wind,” and argues that, if understood in light of both climatology and the theological motif of the presence of YHWH bringing salvation and judgement in the morning, the phrase can be better translated as “morning wind,” conveying the notion of the arrival of YHWH’s saving presence. Kåre Berge then examines the concept of evil in the Exodus narrative in light of literary theory and the notion of the fantastic, which makes the reader aware of the de-homogenizing elements in the story and question any authoritative use of the story. Seen through this perspective, the notion of evil is not understood as an external threat that the Israelites and YHWH must fight, but as internal inconsistencies in the writers’ project of identity formation. The third contribution in this part is by Corinna Körting. Körting examines the detailed ritual instructions for the Day of Atonement in Leviticus 16 and asks what the purpose of this text may have been at a time when the central elements of the ritual – the temple and the ark – were absent. Körting finds that the fact that the ritual instructions are described in such detail serves to create visual and auditory images of the ritual, which in turn engage the worshipping community in the ritual even when it can no longer be physically performed. Next, Antti Laato examines the dynamics of sin, responsibility, and suffering in Ezekiel 18, arguing that if the chapter is read in light of its literary context in the book of Ezekiel, important interpretive perspectives can be uncovered. For example, he argues that the royal focus of chapters 17 and 19 influences the dynamics of Ezekiel 18, and a consequence is that Ezekiel 18 is not to be connected to the doctrine of retribution, but rather to the problem of the continuance of the Davidic dynasty. The fifth chapter is by Karl William Weyde, and focuses on Malachi 3:13– 21. As a late addition to the book of Malachi, Weyde argues that it seems to respond to doubts about God’s judgement, as expressed in the Psalms and Wisdom literature. More specifically, Malachi 3:13–21 represents a Second Temple prophetic voice that claims that a thriving relationship with YHWH is dependent on the people’s observance of the law: those who keep the law will survive the coming judgement, (re)possess the land, participate in a restored cult at Zion, and take part in YHWH’s punishment of the wicked. In the next contribution, Else Holt examines the balance between justified and overwhelming suffering in Lamentations, seen through the lens of trauma theory. Holt demonstrates how the male voice of the book expresses trust in God’s mercy and loyalty, while at the same time articulating that God’s punishment is far too harsh and unjust. This leads Holt to conclude that the male voice

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is not so different from the lamenting female voice as scholars have usually argued. The seventh contribution provides an overview of interaction over time with Psalm 13, especially the expression “Give light to my eyes” in verse 4a, and is written by LarsOlov Eriksson. Through a survey of a large number of commentaries, both Christian and Jewish, Eriksson identifies a number of interpretations of the expression. While some regard it as a prayer about enlightenment from the Torah, others interpret it as a prayer about new life and happiness, or of renewed fellowship with YHWH. The eighth contribution, by Åke Viberg, revisits metaphors of evil enemies in the book of Psalms through the theoretical lens of cognitive metaphor theory. More specifically, he uses Blending Theory to reconceptualize and uncover new meanings imbedded in the metaphors of evil enemies. Highlighted in particular is the notion of danger. Declaring that the evil enemy is dangerous, Viberg argues that the metaphor is seen to describe both the enemy and the concept of evil. The last contribution is from Terje Stordalen. Stordalen focuses on the question of suffering as a potential resource for identity formation in the book of Job. Read in light of a theory of the dialogical self, Stordalen shows how Job’s suffering in fact changes Job from being a respected and wealthy patron of the society who is admired by God into an individual truly aware of human fragility, an individual who does not take his success for granted. The last part of the volume moves beyond the Hebrew Bible, and provides some perspectives on how the Hebrew Bible’s treatment of sin, suffering, and evil have impacted later traditions. First, Sten Hidal shows that in early Syriac Christianity, Genesis 3 is never described as a story of original sin, and suggests that one of the reasons for this might be found in the ascetic movement characteristic for the Eastern Church, which was more focused on the struggle against sin and evil in everyday life. Second, Gunnlaugur A. Jónsson focuses on the Icelandic national anthem, which was composed in 1874. As a song clearly inspired by Psalm 90, he argues that it concerns not only the lyrics of the psalm, but also its assumed historical situatedness – communal affliction and the suffering of the exile. The third contribution is by Elisabet Nord. Nord demonstrates the challenges involved with the praying of imprecatory psalms, as well as the insufficiency of some traditional hermeneutical responses to such passages by providing a geographical contextualization of the recitation of psalms at Dachau Concentration Camp. Last, Blaženka Scheuer explores the ways the dynamics of sin, good, and evil may be understood in a technological future characterized by the implementation of artificial intelligence in society. By re-reading the Eden story in Genesis 2–3 in light of current AI-discourse, Scheuer shows how sin, good, and

Introduction

5

evil are intrinsic to the enterprise of creating an entity that bears the essence of the Creator, while at the same time being fundamentally different from the Creator.

Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General

God and Evil in the Hebrew Bible John Barton A. Pancausality in the Hebrew Bible? Two of the greatest Old Testament theologians of the twentieth century agreed that God’s omnipotence and uniqueness in the Hebrew Bible have, as a consequence, that he is the source of evil as well as of good, however shocking that may sound to a modern Christian. Walter Eichrodt, in an important article published in 1934, wrote: … alles Geschehen ohne Ausname [ist] Gottes Handeln, womit auch der scheinbare Zufall ausgeschlossen und selbst das Böse auf Gottes Willen zurückgeführt wurde … auch Unglück und Böses aller Art als Gottes Werk gilt, von ihm gewirkt und gesandt … So gab es für alles Geschehen nur eine göttliche Kausalität, und die unumwundene Zurückführung auch der dunklen und rätselhaften Seiten des Weltlaufs auf den einen göttlichen Herrn …1

Gerhard von Rad agreed: … das Entsetzliche, das schlechthin Zerstörerische … war … ein Teil des unmittelbaren Handelns Jahwe an der Welt. Israel hat … diesen “Dualismus” als ein innergöttliches Phänomen zu verstehen und zu tragen … das Weltverständnis des alten Israel entscheidend von der Vorstellung von der “Allkausalität” Jahwes geprägt worden ist.2

This thesis is one that Fredrik Lindström sought to demolish in his 1983 work God and the Origin of Evil.3 It is a pleasure to dedicate some further reflections on this theme to Professor Lindström. Parade examples of the alleged “monism,” or “pancausality of God,” in the Old Testament are Isa 45:7, Amos 3:6, and Lam 3:38, where God is the source of ra’, traditionally translated “evil.” I form light and create darkness, I make weal and create evil. (Isa 45:7) Does evil befall a city Unless the LORD has done it? (Amos 3:6) Is it not from the mouth of the Most High That good and evil come? (Lam 3:38) 1

Eichrodt 1934, 48. von Rad 1964, 62–63. 3 Lindström 1983. 2

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But Lindström shows that “evil” in these passages has the force of “misfortune” or “woe,” as modern translations generally recognize: “Does disaster befall a city, unless the Lord has done it?” (Amos 3:6, NRSV); “I make weal and create woe” (Isa 45:7, NRSV). YHWH is not being presented as a dark force creating what we would call “evil,” but as the agent of justified punishment. Such passages demonstrate God’s power to avenge sin; they do not describe him as the source of “evil,” rather as “omnicompetent.” In Isa 45:7 the implication is that YHWH brings “weal” to Israel and “woe” to the Babylonians; it is not describing some kind of cosmic good and evil of which YHWH is supposed to be the source. He deals similarly with the two passages which affirm that God “kills and gives life” (Deut 32:39; 1 Sam 2:6–7), which were used by Luther to stress the inscrutability of divine providence. He makes the simple suggestion, rather obvious once one has had it pointed out, that what is meant is that God gives life to those he favours but kills those of whom he disapproves (as he is often asked to do in the psalms of lament): [1 Sam 2:]6f. have to do with different objects of the divine activity, such that the negative activity is related to the destruction of the enemies of the poet, while the positive divine activity has to do with his rescue from oppression.4

As in Ps 75:7, God “puts down one, and sets up another.” This is not at all a statement that God has a “dark side”5 which is morally indifferent or even the source of evil. Quite the opposite: it affirms that he gives to people according to what they deserve, as indeed the rest of the song of Hannah spells out. “Naturally, the notion that the song attempts to describe a concept of divine pancausality is the purest nonsense.”6 All such texts affirm God’s power, indeed in effect his omnipotence; but they do not say that evil comes from God and are therefore not to be described as “monistic.” There may have been a popular belief in Israel that God was the cause of everything, good and evil alike – we cannot tell. But none of the Old Testament authors, Lindström argues, supports such a belief. Lamentations 3:38 means that God both blesses and punishes, and is not arbitrary; it does not mean that he is the source of “good” and “evil” in general, or that he is “beyond good and evil.” As well as these passages that appear to refer to God as the source of evil, but for which there is thus a different explanation, there are also stories in which God is hostile to human beings: Gen 32:23–33 (Jacob wrestling with the “angel”); Exod 4:24–26 (the “bridegroom of blood” incident); Exod 12:21–23 (the “angel of death”). These are places where it is often claimed that YHWH displays a “demonic” side, following a dictum of Paul Volz, “it is as if the 4

Lindström 1983, 131. For further reflections on this theme, see Dietrich and Link 1997; 2000. 6 Lindström 1983, 136. 5

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demons had been forced into ‘retirement’ by being absorbed into the figure of YHWH.” Lindström has little difficulty in arguing that YHWH has not taken over the characteristics of a demon. This interpretation tends to rest on a sense that the stories in question have a very old, “pre-Yahwistic” Vorlage, possibly as folktales; but Lindström argues that they make perfectly good sense in their present context, and that they present YHWH as behaving in a hostile way towards people for perfectly good reasons – good, at least, within ancient Israelite culture. For example, in the “bridegroom of blood” episode in Exod 4 YHWH is hostile to Moses because he is uncircumcised, which is not an irrational or demonic attitude within the biblical context. Similarly, when YHWH wrestles with Jacob, this is not the “Yahwizing” of an original “ghost” story,7 but reflects YHWH’s judgement on Jacob; and when he vanishes at daybreak, this is similar to other stories where God disappears on being recognized (e.g., Judg 6:22, and compare the resurrection appearances in the Gospels), and does not derive from the idea of a demon or troll who cannot stand the light. Even if we wanted to argue that there are old folktales underlying these stories, we should concede to Lindström that at least as they stand they do not make YHWH “demonic,” but work within the parameters of the Old Testament belief in a good God who is opposed to sinners, and is not the cause of unmotivated evil. In all this Lindström seems to me to have shown that Eichrodt’s “monistic” notion of the Old Testament God is misleading, even though superficially attractive. There are, however, other passages (some discussed by him) that may seem to have a stronger claim to point to “pancausality,” and I shall now proceed to look at some of these to see whether they can be explained in a similar way to those already considered.

B. A Dark Side to God? First, in 1 Samuel: “If it is the LORD who has stirred you up against me, may he accept an offering; but if it is mortals, may they be cursed before the LORD.” (1 Sam 26:19)

Here we have David’s answer to Saul when he has spared Saul’s life, despite Abishai’s offer to spear him, after they have infiltrated Saul’s camp by night. It is quite clear that David regards Saul’s pursuit of him as grossly unjust, a proper reason to curse whoever advised it. But if it comes about through the prompting of YHWH, than there is no arguing with it, and the best one can hope for is that YHWH will accept a sacrifice and, as a result, cease to incite

7

See my discussion in Barton 2009; see also Köckert 2003.

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David’s destruction. There is no thought of saying, in a Job-like way, that YHWH is to be blamed if he is behind Saul’s wrong action; if it is YHWH, then, as Eli had said on an earlier occasion, “It is the LORD; he must do what is good in his own eyes” (1 Sam 3:18). Even if this does not present God as the cause of evil, it certainly shows him to be inscrutable. We know that in some other ancient Near Eastern religions the gods do often act arbitrarily, as indeed they sometimes do in Greek mythology. But very often, on the contrary, they have transparent motives for their actions, and this is because the conception of them is frequently highly anthropomorphic. We can understand their devices and desires because they are so like our own. With YHWH it is sometimes different, and I think that the monotheistic idea that assures us of the existence of a powerful and invincible God does also at times make that God harder to understand than the gods of other nations. The potentially arbitrary side of God cannot be externalized in the form of malign deities; it has to be seen as internal to God himself – which is not so very far from Eichrodt’s point. Even when Judaism developed the character of Satan sufficiently to put the blame on him for at least some human suffering, the asymmetry between him and YHWH meant that this problem remained essentially intact. Staying with Saul, we may also think about the “evil spirit” from God that is said to have tormented him and made him mad (1 Sam 16:14–23). Just as he had previously been inspired by the spirit of YHWH, so now he is taken over by an evil spirit, but that too is said to come from YHWH.8 This spirit overcomes Saul again in 1 Sam 19:9, causing him to throw a spear at David, and here again it is “an evil spirit from the LORD.” And “evil” is surely here the correct translation, since it leads Saul to do a wicked thing, that is, to attempt to murder David, something David does not deserve in the eyes of the narrator. Here it is hard not to think that God is the source of evil. Where in the New Testament evil spirits are explained as the result of the activity of malign demons, in the Old Testament there is, as Eichrodt suggested, no other source than God himself for such manifestations: so that on the face of it this is a case of “monism.” Similar things may be said about 1 Kgs 22, the story of Micaiah ben Imlah and the prophets of Ahab. Here God deliberately deceives the kings of Israel and Judah by sending a “lying spirit” upon the great body of Ahab’s prophets, so that they will persuade the two kings to go into battle against Aram and be defeated. Michaiah, who has stood in God’s council, knows this, but though he explains it, no one believes him. God is here presented as the source of lies told in his name. Even if the end being served is a good one, in the sense that God rightly wishes to see the downfall of wicked Ahab, the means he chooses are 8

See the discussion in Lindström 1983, 78–83.

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morally questionable in that he deliberately deceives Ahab’s prophets through the lying spirit. Again, on the face of it the monistic explanation seems to have a certain plausibility here. In Exodus there is the great theme of the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart. As is well known, sometimes Pharaoh is said to harden his own heart and not let the Israelites leave Egypt, but at other times we read that his heart ‘was hardened’ or even that God hardened his heart, for example in the crucial scene in Exod 14:8 which precipitates the pursuit of the Israelites by the Egyptians and the formers’ deliverance at the Red Sea. The theological account given in Exodus is complicated, in that God wants to rout the Egyptians at the sea, and for that it is necessary for them to pursue the Israelites; and that will happen only if Pharaoh changes his mind and regrets letting them escape. Nevertheless at this point the text does not say that Pharaoh hardened his heart nor even, in the passive, that his heart was hardened, but that God hardened his heart. On the face of it, an evil decision is thus traced back to causation by God. Even more explicit is Ezek 20:25: Moreover I gave them statutes that were not good and ordinances by which they could not live. I defiled them through their very gifts, in their offering up all their firstborn, in order that I might horrify them, so that they might know that I am the LORD.

Here God is the source of the laws according to which the people sacrificed their own children, laws explicitly said to have been “not good.” This passage if any seems to point to a “dark side” of the one God, and to confirm the idea of “monism.” In 2 Sam 24 God is the cause of the census taken by David, for which he is punished. The Chronicler (1 Chr 21) seems to have found a theological problem here, which he sought to mitigate by making Satan rather than YHWH the power that tempted David to do something as sinful as conducting a census. This author may therefore have suspected 2 Sam 24 of espousing “pancauslity,” and deliberately contradicted it by the mechansim of using Satan as the tempter. Second Samuel 24 too therefore seems on the face of it to be a “monistic” passage. Finally we might remember the figure of the Satan, again, in the prose narrative of the book of Job. The Satan is not the devil of later Jewish and Chrsitian belief, but is an agent of God; and precisely for that reason the trials he visits on Job can only in the end be traced back to God himself. The end may, as with Pharaoh’s hardened heart, be the good one of vindicating the integrity of Job. But the means certainly involves objective evil, the death of Job’s children and slaves and his own terrible illness. God is, if not the proximate, certainly the ultimate cause of the evil that befalls Job and his family. The very subordinate character of the Satan makes it impossible to exonerate God by ascribing this evil to causation by some other power. God alone is to blame.

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C. Only the Guilty Suffer? All these examples, however, except for Job, share a feature in common that reduces their offensiveness. This is that in every case the people on whom God brings evil spirits, deceit, suffering, hardening of the heart, temptation to sin, or wicked laws, are already sinners and have turned away from God’s ways. Even David is not entirely innocent, while Saul, Ahab, and Pharaoh are all notoriously wicked; and the people condemned by Ezekiel already have a long trackrecord of sinfulness before they begin to sacrifice their children. I do not believe there are any examples in the Old Testament where God deceives, hardens, tempts, or misinforms an innocent person or group. The infliction of “evil” in these forms thus basically conforms to the same pattern as the examples discussed by Lindström, in that it is understood as a just divine punishment on sinners, rather than demonstrating that God is the source of both good and evil in a “monistic” sense. Pharaoh, Saul, Ahab and the others are not innocent people whom God causes to do evil, but thoroughly wicked people whom God is punishing. Thus Lindström’s main thesis seems to me actually validated rather than called in question by the examples just discussed. At the same time, the modern reader is likely still to feel a problem in all this. Would God really punish people by making them sin more, which is what the examples seem to imply? Even though there is no characterization of God as evil, the theology is alien to much modern sensibility. Pychologically, however, it makes a certain sense. It is as though the ancient writers were aware of the human tendency to get trapped in a bad course of action and go into a downward spiral from which it is hard or even impossible to escape. The difference is that the Old Testament writers attribute this spiral to the action of God, shutting people up in the sinful course on which they are once embarked, with a kind of ratchet effect. Lindström is right that this does not make God the source of evil, but it remains a form of theology different from what many modern people can believe. In teasing it out of the texts one is reminding the reader how far the Hebrew Bible comes from a theological culture different from our own. In a later Christian writer such as Origen “shutting up in sin” is presented as a means of salvation: sinners are condemned to go on sinning until they themselves are revolted by the sin and so come to repentance and forgiveness. Such may already be implied in Ezek 20, where the “laws that were not good” are meant to “horrify” the Israelites. But there is no sign of it in the other passages. In the case of Pharaoh, the hardening of the heart is to enable God to “gain glory” (Exod 14:17) by delivering Israel and killing the Egyptian army, not to make Pharaoh repent. What is lacking in the passages under consideration here is the idea that God is either evil, or arbitrary and inscrutable. The thought of the prophets in partic-

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ular is set against finding God inscrutable: they have an overwhelming concern for theodicy, showing that God’s judgement on sinners (both individuals and nations) is fully justified by people’s sin. On the collective level, their normal response to perceived injustice in the disposition of world affairs is simply to deny that the injustice is real. Nations that suffer must have committed sin: such is the conviction not only of the prophets (Isa 1:5), but also of the writers of the Pentateuchal and Deuteronomistic Histories (Deut 1:43–44; 2 Kgs 17:22–23). Apparently undeserved suffering can be explained in one of two ways. Either appearances are deceptive, and the nation in question is in reality sinful. This explanation is found in Ezek 18 and in the Chronicler’s History (2 Chr 35:21–22), where there is a “doctrine of immediate retribution”: only “the person that sins shall die,” as Ezekiel puts it (Ezek 18:4). Hence any nation or group that suffers is personally to blame, and the prophet’s (or historian’s) task is to identify the sin in question. It is probable that the chief role of prophets was to provide a theodicy in response to the devastating events Israel suffered in their time, whether at the hands of the Assyrians or Babylonians.9 An alternative explanation is that one generation suffers for the sins of its ancestors. This is explicitly denied by Ezekiel, but affirmed in Jeremiah and in the Deuteronomistic History (Jer 16:11; 2 Kgs 23:26). It is also implied in the Decalogue (Exod 20:5). On the individual level it is also common to assume that suffering implies preceding sin, and this is one of the explanations provided by the friends of Job when confronted with his apparently innocent suffering. Eliphaz even goes so far as to describe the particular sins Job “must have” committed (Job 22:5–11). The suffering may be seen as retributive, or as a punishment from which the sufferer can learn, i.e. as educative (Job 5:17–27). The author of Job is far from typical in also implying that suffering can occur wholly in the absence of guilt, and that it is to be to ascribed to an impenetrable divine decree. The individual psalms of lament do indeed often affirm the innocence of the sufferer, but usually blame enemies rather than God for persecuting him. The speeches of YHWH refuse to allow that human beings can understand God’s reasons for bringing disaster (Job 38–41). Here – but perhaps only here! – there really is a “pancausal” understanding of God, greatly at variance with the main lines of thought in the Hebrew Bible. God, for the ancient Israelite authors, never brings trouble on mortals without a good reason. Only in the verse material in Job is an alternative suggested: that God is simply inscrutable. And in the book taken as a whole even that possibility is negated, because the sufferings of Job are interpreted, in the prose tale that frames the verse dialogue, as a test that Job passes. Thus Lindström’s thesis seems to stand up to further probing, and to succeed in delivering a negative verdict on ‘monism’ in the Hebrew Bible. At 9

See Barton 2011.

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the same time, its theology is sometimes alien to much modern Christian perception.

Bibliography Barton, John. 2009. “Jacob at the Jabbok.” Pages 189–195 in Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift für Matthias Köckert. Edited by Anselm C. Hagedorn and Henrik Pfeiffer. BZAW 400. Berlin: de Gruyter. –. 2011. “Prophecy and Theodicy.” Pages 73–86 in Thus Says the Lord: Essays on the Former and Latter Prophets in Honor of Robert R. Wilson. Edited by Stephen L. Cook and John J. Ahn. New York: T&T Clark. Dietrich, Walter and Christian Link. 1997. Die dunklen Seiten Gottes, Band 1: Willkür und Gewalt. 2nd ed. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. –. 2000. Die dunklen Seiten Gottes, Band 2: Allmacht und Ohnmacht. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Eichrodt, Walter. 1934. “Vorsehungsglaube und Theodizee im Alten Testament.” Pages 45–70 in Festschrift Otto Procksch zum sechzigsten Geburtstag am 9. August 1934. Edited by Albrecht Alt et al. Leipzig: Deichert. Köckert, Matthias. 2003. “War Jakobs Gegner in Gen 32, 23–33 ein Dämon?” Pages 160–181 in Die Dämonen/Demons: Die Dämonologie der israelitisch-jüdischen und frühchristlichen Literature im Kontext ihrer Umwelt/The Demonology of Israelte-Jewish and Early Christian Literature in Context of their Environment. Edited by Armin Lange, Herman Lichtenberger, and K. F. Diethard Römheld. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lindström, Fredrik. 1983. God and the Origin of Evil: A Contextual Analysis of Alleged Monistic Evidence in the Old Testament. ConBOT 21. Lund: CWK Gleerup. Rad, Gerhard von. 1964. Das fünfte Buch Mose: Deuteronomium übersetzt und erklärt. ATD 8. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

God in Conflict With Evil Comfort, Repentance, and Compassion as Options of Divine Agency* Hermann Spieckermann A. Why Does God Come into Conflict with Evil? Fredrik Lindström is well known for his vivid interest in pursuing and enlightening fundamental problems of Old Testament theology. In this respect, his two major publications God and the Origin of Evil and Suffering and Sin are characterized by theological passion and exegetical acumen.1 The union of both is a rare gift in recent Old Testament scholarship. The topic treated in this contribution belongs to the realm of Lindström’s scholarly interest. The focus will be on those key texts in the Old Testament which reflect God’s relation towards evil, especially God’s reaction towards the success of evil within the good creation and in the history of his people. The Hebrew word rā‛(â) may not only denote evil and its anthropological manifestation, sin, but also God’s own activity when he counters sin. It may be understood as one aspect of the holistic view characteristic of nearly all civilizations of the ancient Near East. Accordingly, every deed implies a certain consequence; for instance, the Hebrew words ḥaṭṭā’t and ‛āwōn cover the meaning of sin and likewise its consequence, punishment (Isa 40:1–2). However, it is not the same with rā‛(â) “evil.” This indicates a potency which rivals God himself and cannot be sufficiently eliminated by a pattern concentrated on action and its outcome. With the exception of one prominent instance (Isa 45:7), which will be addressed later, evil is not the central topic of Deutero-Isaiah. It is sin and punishment (Isa 40:2; 42:24; 43:22–28; 44:22; 46:8; 48:8; 50:1), again, not as the central topic but as the theological problem which the prophetic circle, identified by the scholarly label Deutero-Isaiah, ventures to overcome in Isa 40:1–52:12.2 *

I am deeply indebted to Dr Marie-Luise Spieckermann for making my thoughts and my English comprehensible. 1 See Lindström 1983; 1994; 1998; 2003, 256–303. 2 The following chapters of the growing work under the name of Isaiah will be considered in due course.

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On the background of the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE and the exile in its wake, Deutero-Isaiah reflects intensely on God’s agency: the way in which he punishes his people, the reason why he confines his punishment, and the aim he pursues with his chosen people among powerful and primarily hostile nations in a world created by himself.3 The true theological centre of Deutero-Isaiah is YHWH’s return from Babylon to Zion-Jerusalem together with the exiled Jews (Isa 40:9–11; 52:7–10). The divine deed marks the end of punishment. In Deutero-Isaiah’s view, God’s return together with the deportees is such an extraordinary act of liberation that it can only be appropriately understood against the background of the primordial work of creation. Therefore, Deutero-Isaiah characterizes God’s return and the repatriation of his people as redemptive creation (Isa 43:1–7).4 YHWH as Creator is already attested in pre-exilic times, though not significantly connected with the tension of good and evil, sin and punishment. In all probability, the topic of creation and universal order proved to be a major challenge to the Jewish community in Babylonia. Jews in exile were confronted with the Babylonian creation myths, Enuma Elish together with related texts, and the Babylonian story of the flood, Atrahasis, perhaps also with its adaptation in the epic of Gilgamesh Tablet XI.5 The Babylonian tradition remained important under Persian rule, which had been unrivalled from at least 539 BCE, the year of the transfer of power in Babylonia to Cyrus the Great. Following Zoroastrian tradition, the Achaemenidian royal ideology, especially in the time of King Dareios I (522–486 BCE), praised Ahuramazda “the wise Lord” as the only deity. All that is good and wise, just and true is connected with his universal dominion. Ahuramazda is, however, forced to fight constantly against the demonic powers of darkness and evil, falsehood and lie, a struggle which mirrors the transformed heritage of the old Mithra cult.6 The Achaemenidian concept of universal divine rulership is obviously dichotomic. Most members of the postexilic Jewish community, wherever they lived, welcomed the Persian dominion in contrast to the preceding dominion of the Babylonians. The Achaemenidian rulers normally refrained from deportation, and accepted reli-

3 According to the present state of research, the traditional unit Isa 40–55 is not understood as the work of one author, but rather as a composition which grew over a long time in the Persian period; see Berges 2008, 43–73; Weidner 2017, 1–28, 229–240. 4 Redemptive creation is a characterization which modifies the title of Stuhlmueller’s book Creative Redemption, see Stuhlmueller 1970. 5 See the editions of Lambert and Millard 1969; Lambert 2013; George 2003. For an overview of the different notions of creation in the ancient Near East and in the Old Testament, see the contributions of Zgoll and Schmid in Schmid 2012, 17–70, 71–120; Spieckermann 2016, 271–292. 6 See Haas and Koch 2011, 80–137.

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gious traditions and habits of their subjects, and were even in favour of repatriation as long as the Persian authority was acknowledged. Due to the recuperation of religious autonomy under Persian rule, the Jewish community in Jerusalem and in the diaspora, especially in Babylonia, was challenged to reconsider its own understanding of YHWH. To conceive YHWH as the universal Creator-God is the result of this process. However, Jewish thinking cannot allow for the possibility that YHWH’s rulership is constantly threatened by evil. For the Jewish community in exile and in the early post-exilic era, YHWH’s unchallenged supremacy is the very basis from which to develop a theological concept of a good creation. Though the good creation is likewise threatened by evil and sin, the battle is not instigated through the rivalry between a good divine power and malicious demons. Rather, it is initiated through the agency of the human being. Created in the image of God (Gen 1:26–27) the human being is capable of taking a decision which also implies counteracting the Creator and changing allegiance from God to evil. In contrast to the important influence of the Babylonian creation tradition and likewise to the Achaemenidian royal ideology centred on Ahuramazda, the growing Jewish monotheism shies away from accepting any dichotomic option. YHWH’s counterpart is his people or the human creature in general, not evil. The discourse on creation in Deutero-Isaiah and in the primeval history (Gen 1–11) took shape more or less simultaneously. Genesis 1–4 starts with the creation narrative of the Priestly Code in Gen 1:1–2:4a and is complemented later by the stories placed in the Garden of Eden and by the tale of Cain and Abel in Gen 2:4b–4:26 (Cain’s descendants included). In contrast to Deutero-Isaiah, all these stories strive to elucidate the relation between good and evil and to demonstrate the ambivalent attitude of the first human beings towards God as well as towards evil. Consequently, the composition follows the tradition attested primarily in Atrahasis and tells the story of the flood. God announces his decision to extinguish the creation and all creatures at the very beginning in the double prologue, Gen 6:5–13.7 In comparison with Babylonian tradition, the reason to create the world is as different as the reason to extinguish it. Both parts of the prologue unanimously take for granted that the inclination of the first generations of human beings towards sin is the very reason for God’s decision. The predominance of the idea of God’s good creation contradicts the Achaemenidian concept of Ahuramazda’s and the king’s constant fight against the evil spirits. God and evil are not the prominent opponents in the primeval story, but rather God and the human being – created in his image and at the

7 The literary-historical relation of the priestly and non-priestly parts of the primeval history are a matter of debate in present research, see for example Gertz 2018, 5–18; Schmid 2019, 269–283. The analysis above, assumed as known, is outlined by Spieckermann 2001, 49–61; Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2017, 258–261, 384–388.

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same time attracted by evil as an agent pretending that there are options for the creature to become like God. Why does God come into conflict with evil? The question heading the introductory chapter can only be answered with reservations. Evil, vaguely related to chaos and darkness, is at least as primeval as God’s creation. The Creator does not come immediately into conflict with evil. The good creation predominates. The conflict flares up when the creature in God’s image opts for gaining divine knowledge contrary to God’s prohibition. The human being is inclined to support evil by committing sin, due to the fatal misjudgement to prove his autonomy in this way. God’s immediate antagonist is not evil, but rather the human creature seduced to make himself the protagonist of evil. Though the story in Gen 1–4 does not express it like this, it gives an unmistakable hint pointing in that direction. The scribes of the composition hesitate to address the relation of evil and sin explicitly. They are not unanimous as to whether or not the first couple gained divine knowledge of good and evil in Gen 3 by disobeying God’s prohibition.8 The first explicit and emphatic reference to evil occurs in Gen 6:5–8, which is the supplemented prologue preceding the priestly prologue of the story of the flood in Gen 6:9–13.9 While the priestly prologue consciously avoids the words ra‛ and rā‛(â) “evil” and stresses the general state of corruption (šḥt, hiphil) and violence (ḥāmās), which almost forces God to destroy (šḥt, hiphil) the earth, the prologue in Gen 6:5–8 emphasizes the defilement of the earth through the human being corrupted by evil. The scribe does not eschew the words ra‛ and rā‛â, but uses them both in the short clause of Gen 6:5: “The Lord saw that the wickedness (rā‛â) of human beings was great on earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only wicked (ra‛) continually.” The human being had become the master of evil (rā‛â), and not of the knowledge of good and evil (Gen 2:9, 17; 3:5). The literary corpus of Deutero-Isaiah and the primeval story deserve closer exploration in terms of evil and sin, and of God’s agency in both cases. They obviously complement each other. It may nearly be excluded that the use of the root nḥm in prominent places is coincidental, given the different conjugations designating quite different actions (piel: comfort, niphal: repent). This theological interrelation is unique in the Old Testament. The assumed interrelation connected with the use of nḥm and, finally, also with rḥm demands a close look 8 There is an obvious contradiction between Gen 3:1–7 (opened eyes make known being naked, hence no divine knowledge) and Gen 3:22 (God’s unfinished soliloquy: the human being “has become like one of us knowing good and evil”). The latter verse belongs to the latest additions in Gen 2–3, which introduce the tree of life and the quest for immortality; for the discussion of the problem see Hartenstein 2005, 277–293. 9 The judgement also occurs at the end of the flood in Gen 8:21. The survivors of the flood did not change their mind, but God did.

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at Deutero-Isaiah and the primeval story.10 The dialogue between both compositions stimulated new theological insights. The following investigation will inspect this pioneering approach.

B. God’s Comfort The core texts of the Deutero-Isaianic composition recognize the returning and repatriating of God as the redeemer. He accomplishes something new, which can only be understood adequately as the counterpart of the creation of the world. Therefore, God’s characterization as Creator (br’, yṣr, ‛śh: Isa 40:26, 28; 41:20; 42:5; 43:1, 7; 44:2; 45:11; 49:5, etc.), and likewise as redeemer (g’l: Isa 41:14; 43:1, 14; 44:16, 22–23; 48:17, 20; 49:7, 26, etc.) is well attested in the Deutero-Isaianic corpus, even as twin epithets (Isa 44:24). The message has come a long way. It echoes the bitter exilic laments like Ps 74 and Lam 1.11 The composition of Deutero-Isaiah presupposes the insight of Jews – in the homeland as well as in exile – that the destruction of the Temple, the loss of the Davidic monarchy, and the deportation could only be properly understood as God’s punishment. The insight goes along with the haunting fear that Israel’s way into exile is hidden from God (Isa 40:27). Precisely against this background the composition of Deutero-Isaiah starts with the call: “Comfort (nḥm, piel), comfort my people, says your God. Speak kindly to Jerusalem and tell her that her forced labour (ṣābā’) is over, that her punishment (‛āwōn) has been paid (rṣh, niphal). For she has received of YHWH’s hand double (kiplayim) of all her sins (ḥaṭṭā’ôt)” (Isa 40:1–2).12 Isaiah 40:1–2 is closely connected with Isa 40:9–11. ’Ĕlōhêkem “your God” (40:1, 9), returning and repatriating, acts as a shepherd who takes care of his flock in exile and, in fact, also of the flock living in the ruins of the homeland. The question emerges: Who is the group addressed by “your God” to transmit God’s comfort? Obviously, it cannot be found among the Jewish community. The people and Jerusalem are the addressees of the message in Isa 40:2, while in Isa 40:9, both Zion and Jerusalem are called mĕbaśśeret “(female) herald of good tidings,” the good tidings being the message of God’s return. Simultaneously, Zion and Jerusalem embody the people addressed by God’s message of comfort. The Septuagint resolved the open question of the transmitters by inserting the priests as addressees of the message in Isa 40:2. The resolution only

10

See DCH V, 663–665; VII, 468–469; Gesenius and Donner 2013, 804–805, 1235–1236. Lam 1:2, 9, 16, 17, 21: no one to comfort; the communal laments are treated by Emmendörffer 1998. 12 For the translation of ṣābā’ and rṣh, niphal, see DCH VII, 68, 543; Gesenius and Donner 2013, 1098, 1264. 11

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testifies to the fact that, already in the second century BCE, the Greek translators wished to resolve the problem of the lacking addressees. The message proclaimed in Isa 40:1–2, 9–11 corresponds to its realization in Isa 52:7–10: ’Ĕlōhayik “your (i.e., Zion’s/Jerusalem’s) God” returns as king. The message of peace (šālôm), of what is good (ṭôb), and of salvation (yēšû‛â) has come true (Isa 52:7). God comforts (nḥm, piel) his people and redeems (g’l) Jerusalem (Isa 52:9). It is obvious that only God is able to perform what he commanded to be announced in Isa 40:1–2. The message and its fulfilment surpass the traditional perception of sin and the usual cultic counteraction through sacrifice. The message of comfort is God’s unique new deed: the repatriation of the exiles, their reunion with the Jews who remained in the homeland, the rebuilding of Jerusalem, with all the nations and even the ends of the earth participating in yēšû‛at ’ĕlōhênû “the salvation of our God” (Isa 52:10). The saviour and redeemer mirrors and envisions the Creator: “But now thus says YHWH, who created you (bōra’ăkā), O Jacob, who formed you (yōṣerkā), O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed (g’l) you; I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isa 43:1). Though the message of Isa 52:7–10 is the true counterpart of the announcement in Isa 40:1–2, 9–11 the original composition of Deutero-Isaiah had already been anticipated in the course of elaborating the tradition (Isa 49:13; 51:3; also 51:12, 19). The Septuagint even adds comfort or consciously changes the proto-masoretic Vorlage in favour of comfort (Isa 40:1, 11; 41:27; 49:10; 51:18). Thus, comfort has become a leitmotif in Deutero-Isaiah. God is determined to punish before he is eager to comfort his people. Though the regular words for sin and punishment are used (‛āwōn, ḥaṭṭā’â), a peculiar statement dominates the text in Isa 40:1–2. Jerusalem’s forced labour (ṣābā’) is an unusual phrasing for the punishment for which the city, as well as its inhabitants, had to pay double – again, a unique formulation referring to a unique dimension of retribution.13 Why does the text choose to include a reminder of the forced labour of the deportees? As God himself is the speaker, it is obviously intended to indicate both: that the Babylonians served as God’s executors of divine punishment and that they did much more than God expected them to do. God is determined to bring the unbearable situation to an end. His comfort is not only expressed in words, but also in a new deed: the shepherd returns together with his dispersed and badly treated flock to ZionJerusalem. The text evokes something which may be called God’s repentance, his regret that he did not step in earlier to end the suffering of his exiled people.14 The verb nḥm, piel, “to comfort,” prominently used here, connotes “to re-

13 The Septuagint version consciously replaces the term for forced labour with convenient theological language: ταπείνωσις “humiliation.” 14 The exile may be characterized as the black hole of the entire book of Isaiah as it is its very centre without being explicitly addressed; see Poulsen 2019, 1–66, 250–257. This is at

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pent” in the conjugation niphal. This meaning may be considered to resonate here as well. Both are central to the message of Deutero-Isaiah: Israel’s sin as the very reason for the punishment of exile, and God’s will to constitute his people anew through an essential, unprecedented deed of redemption which can only be compared with his first deed, the creation. What the redemption involves is clearly and uncommonly expressed in Isa 52:7: peace (šālôm), what is good (ṭôb), and salvation (yēšû‛â). Each of these notions is well known; the combination, however, is unique. Referring to ṭôb, Deutero-Isaiah obviously establishes the connection with the priestly version of the creation narrative in Gen 1. In all probability, both compositions originated in the last third of the sixth century BCE. The connection underscores that God’s act towards his dispersed people in exile is to be conceived as the salvatory counterpart to his primordial deed. While salvation covers a rather broad spectrum of positive divine intervention, the usage of peace is primarily significant in relation to God’s blessing, as attested in Num 6:24–26 and on the amulets of Ketef Hinnom.15 These texts combine the notion of peace with divine light which is also prominent as God’s first act of creation in Gen 1:3–4.16 As the triple characterization of God’s creative redemption is intertextually well established, the statement in Isa 45:7 comes as a surprise, claiming that God’s universal work of creation involves not only light (’ôr) and peace (šālôm) but also darkness (ḥōšek) and evil (rā‛). Only the KJV dares to render rā‛ as evil while other translations prefer renderings less offensive, like woe or calamity. Evil, however, is the only appropriate translation. Isaiah 45:7 is the central part of Isa 45:5–8 which deliberately supplements the two preceding texts which proclaim Cyrus as YHWH’s shepherd (Isa 44:24–28) and his anointed king, appointed to redeem his people (Isa 45:1– 4).17 As YHWH and Cyrus are working hand in hand, the dichotomy of good and evil in Achaemenidian royal ideology challenges the evolving Jewish monotheism. A place for darkness and evil in YHWH’s universal creation has to be found. Isaiah 45:7 is the only proof of the claim in the Old Testament that darkness and evil also originate (br’) from YHWH.18 This may be interpreted as

least true of the second part of the book, namely the expanding composition of DeuteroIsaiah. How far it is capable of shedding light on the arrangement of the whole book needs further exploration. For an overview of the recent state of research on exile, see HalvorsonTaylor 2011; Høgenhaven, Poulsen, and Power 2019. 15 See Renz 1995, 447–456; Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2017, 272–283. 16 There is only one further instance for šālôm, which belongs to the core of the DeuteroIsaianic composition: Isa 41:3 as part of the unit Isa 41:1–5. In all probability, it belongs to those texts in which God points to his salvatory work through the Achaemenidian king Cyrus, whose name is not mentioned (see Kratz 1991, 36–52). 17 See Kratz 1991, 1–35, 72–92. 18 See Lindström 1983, 178–199, with a different view of the problem.

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an attempt to do justice to Deutero-Isaiah’s comprehensive monotheism (see Isa 45:5–6). It surpasses even Achaemenidian notions since the demonic power of evil rivalling Ahuramazda’s good and wise predominance should definitely be excluded. However, to incorporate darkness (ḥōšek) and evil (rā‛) into YHWH’s creation causes serious theological problems. Genesis 1:2–5 shies away and limits itself to transforming darkness into night. Evil is regarded as dangerous to such a degree as not even to be mentioned among the elements of chaos in Gen 1:2. The scribe supplementing Isa 45:5–8 is likewise aware of the danger and identifies in Isa 45:8 righteousness (ṣedeq, ṣĕdāqâ) and salvation (yeša‛) as YHWH’s very aims of creation. Nevertheless, it takes only ten verses for the integration of darkness and evil into God’s creation to meet opposition in Isa 45:18–19. Another scribe praises YHWH for not creating the earth as chaos (tōhû) and for not making his voice heard in secret (sēter) or in a land of darkness (mĕqôm ’ereṣ ḥōšek). In Isa 45:19, YHWH himself continues stressing the monotheistic claim and the irreconcilability of chaos with the divine claim to righteousness (ṣedeq, mêšārîm). According to scribal habits of the time, the comment does not contain any explicit critique of the preceding passage in Isa 45:5–8. Yet, it is beyond doubt that chaos and all its affiliates are not part of YHWH’s creation, let alone his deed of a creative redemption. It is telling that evil is not even mentioned in Isa 45:18–19. Presenting YHWH as the creative redeemer whose work is good and effects righteousness involves banning evil, even from being pejoratively related to YHWH’s agency. YHWH will prove to be unable to dissociate himself permanently from evil, a problem which will be discussed outside the growing composition of Deutero-Isaiah. Within the composition, sin, not explicitly connected with, though undoubtedly related to evil, claims attention. It occurs even in the first chapters of the composition. Right after YHWH has stressed in Isa 43:16–21 that he is about to do something entirely new (43:19), he provides surprising evidence of this intention in Isa 43:22–28. Any institutions or persons holding an intermediary or intercessory function lose significance: the elaborate system of sacrifices, priests, prophets, and even the founding father Jacob.19 The entire world of mediation to maintain and to restore the relationship with God when interrupted by sin is harshly rejected. Now, it is YHWH alone who counters the power of sin: “I, I am He who blots out (mḥh) your transgressions for my own sake (lēma‛ănî), and I will not remember your sins” (Isa 43:25; see 44:21–23). YHWH does not react to sin within an established ritual setting any longer, but acts on his own initiative and for his own sake, prompted by his self-determination to redeem. It is beyond doubt that the message of redemption marks a significant new option of divine agency. Notwithstanding this, the problem remains unresolved whether and 19

See Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2018, 75–83.

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how the divine redemption has an impact on the power of evil and sin. It is obvious that the problem belongs to the central issues of Deutero-Isaiah exchanging insights with the more or less simultaneously growing literary corpus of the primeval history. Therefore, it is necessary to study next how the two compositions interact in shedding new light on the problem of evil and sin, and in finding new ways to understand YHWH’s agency.

C. God’s Repentance As already indicated in the first section, the supplemented prologue to the primeval history in Gen 6:5–8 makes the human being responsible for the success of evil in God’s good creation. The rapid progress of sin in Gen 3:1–6:4 has obviously been conceived as the human’s choice of rā‛ “evil” against ṭôb “good” (Gen 2:9, 17; 3:5, 22). Ṭôb is not used again in the primeval history except for at Gen 6:2. In this instance, it no longer characterizes God’s creation as “good,” but refers to the “daughters of men” perceived as “fair” by the “sons of God” who, for this reason, marry them (see Gen 6:1–4). It is understood as a further manifestation of sin which, for the first time, is explicitly mentioned in the story of Cain and Abel: ḥaṭṭā’t “sin” as an addition to rōbēṣ “a lurking (demon)” (Gen 4:7), an absolutely effective power, since Cain fails “to do well” (yṭb, hiphil), and ‛āwōn, also “sin,” occurring in Cain’s reply (Gen 4:13) to God’s curse (Gen 4:11–12). Ra‛ and rā‛(â) “evil” appear for the last time in the prologue and epilogue of the flood story (Gen 6:5; 8:21) stressing that evil predominates the agency of humankind. The statement marks the devastating contrast to the creation of the human being in God’s image (Gen 1:26–27). It is telling that YHWH’s reaction towards the corruption of humankind is characterized twice through the verb nḥm, niphal, “repent” (Gen 6:6–7). That YHWH repents to have created humankind is unparalleled in the Old Testament.20 Sometimes God repents a certain action (Deut 32:36; Judg 2:18; 1 Sam 15:11, 35; Jer 42:10), but there are also two instances which absolutely exclude that repentance could be part of divine agency; it is regarded to be as inappropriate for God as lying (Num 23:19; 1 Sam 15:29). The reason why the supplemented prologue to the flood story refers to YHWH’s repentance is complex. It demonstrates that the success of evil in God’s good creation by the human being created in the divine image leads YHWH to a fundamental change of mind: to blot out (mḥh) everything he created (Gen 6:7). The global disaster of the flood derives from Mesopotamian tra-

20

The Septuagint does not render nḥm through “repent” in Gen 6:6–7; instead, ἐνθυµέοµαι and διανοέοµαι are used, both signifying “to plan, ponder, think.” According to the translator’s view, divine repentance is not a sufficient reason for the flood.

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dition and is already justified in the priestly part of the prologue in Gen 6:9–13. God’s punishment corresponds to the corruption of the earth (four times šḥt in Gen 6:11–13, hiphil, “to corrupt/destroy,” niphal, “to be corrupt”). God’s judgement precedes Noah’s characterization as ṣaddîq “righteous,” tāmîm “blameless,” hlk, hithpael, ’et-’ĕlōhîm “walking with God” (Gen 6:9). In contrast, the later view in Gen 6:5–8 mentions YHWH’s repentance (nḥm, niphal) first, followed by the verb mḥh “to blot out,” assonant to nḥm, now used to blot out humankind, but also used for YHWH’s announcement in Isa 43:25 to blot out Israel’s sins “for my own sake.” Above all, the verb nḥm connects DeuteroIsaiah and the flood story, where it serves to interpret Noah’s name. Like the names of the heroes of the flood in Mesopotamian tradition, Atrahasis “Exceeding wise,” Ziusudra “Life of distant days,” and Ut(a)-napista/im “I have/he has found life,” Noah’s name is meaningful, even to the degree that it is interpreted twice, the philologically correct interpretation excluded, since it is never mentioned in the Old Testament.21 It is hardly coincidental that the two interpretations of Noah’s name occur in three verses (Gen 5:29; 6:6, 8), all part of the supplemented comment to the priestly version of the flood story. The comment struggles to illuminate the connection between the success of evil in the creation destined to be good and God’s reaction by means of the flood, including the salvation of Noah together with all creatures in the ark. Unlike the balanced presentation of the priestly prologue, the passage Gen 6:6–8 together with Gen 5:29 addresses the divine conflict with evil, deliberately presented as a struggle within God himself. It is the crucial test of his agency; the twofold interpretation of Noah’s name is the substantial element, fraught with the weight of the conflict which threatens God’s advocacy for his creation. In Gen 5:29, an addition to the priestly genealogy from Adam to Noah and his sons in Gen 5, the assonance of Noah’s name and of the verb nḥm, piel, is used to present Noah as the person who is intended to give comfort to future generations in view of God having cursed the ground, the consequence of the disobedience of the first couple. The key terms ’rr “to curse” and ‛iṣṣābôn “toil,” used in Gen 3:17, are reused in Gen 5:29. Though Noah’s name in this way gains extremely positive significance, it cannot be ignored that it is his father Lamech who launches this interpretation. However, according to the same stratum of composition, Lamech is a true descendant of his ancestor Cain as he 21 The name is well attested in several semitic languages (see Gesenius and Donner 2013, 792–794, 799). It is a hypocorism which lacks the theophoric element and contains only the verb nwḥ “rest, repose.” That a deity rests or may rest is extremely welcome in virtually all texts of ancient Near Eastern religions with the exception of the Old Testament (see McAlpine 1987). Only Hebrew anthroponymy shares the view of the ancient Near East that God’s calm in the sense of sleep is desirable. Name-giving can only marginally be controlled through normative theological rules.

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perverts God’s protective threat of sevenfold vengeance (Gen 4:15) into seventy-sevenfold vengeance (Gen 4:23–24). As Lamech plays a role in devastating the creation, it is not much of a surprise that YHWH includes the verb nḥm in the announcement of the flood – this time differently and forcefully, using it twice: Lamech’s hope for comfort (nḥm, piel), manifest in the relief from toil (‛iṣṣābôn, Gen 5:29), has turned into God’s repentance (nḥm, niphal) of having created humankind as the success of evil in the human heart grieves him to the heart (‛ṣb, hithpael, Gen 6:5–6). Readers who have Deutero-Isaiah’s message of YHWH’s comfort for his people in mind understand immediately that Noah is not able to give comfort. Instead, Noah’s name conveys a different message. The supplemented passage concludes with a short sentence: “But Noah (Nōaḥ) found favour (ḥēn) in the sight of YHWH” (Gen 6:8). The Hebrew nouns without vowels offer better evidence than the translation that “Noah” and “favour” consist of the same two letters /n/ and /ḥ/ in reverse order. This is the new interpretation of Noah’s name. There is no comfort in the face of the rapid success of evil among humankind and the flood as God’s response. Noah’s name embodies another message. The flood is not God’s ultimate decision; rather, it is Noah being saved from the flood. While the priestly composition rates him as righteous, blameless, and walking with God (Gen 6:9), the later addition refers to God’s favour bestowed on Noah without giving a reason. The noun ḥēn, “favour” is a derivative of the root ḥnn, “show favour,” “be gracious.” Obviously, God’s favour is a gift which foreshadows more to be hoped for – not, however, within the primeval history, but much later at a turning point in God’s relation to the world and especially to a specific people. This brings us back to the analysis of the growing composition of Deutero-Isaiah.

D. God’s Compassion YHWH’s return to Zion-Jerusalem in Isa 52 is explicitly characterized as the divine deed of comfort and redemption emphatically announced in Isa 40:1 and commemorated in Isa 49:13 and 51:3, 12. Neither these announcements nor the powerful declaration in Isa 43:22–28 to blot out all transgressions “for my own sake” eliminate the remaining reality of sin and the doubts of the punished people about whether the punishing God, who made his people pay double, may be considered trustworthy regarding his promise for comfort and redemption. Both problems are addressed in texts following immediately on from those texts that deal with the theme of YHWH’s return. In Isa 52:13–53:12, the so-called fourth Servant-Song, and Isa 54, we meet two individuals – suffering and not comforted – and, finally, YHWH, addressing his woman Zion-Jerusalem and recalling

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his promise to Noah, now understood as his oath (Isa 54:9).22 Noah serves as witness to assert YHWH’s change to compassion and love. The Servant and Zion-Jerusalem, both simultaneously very close to YHWH and his people, indicate that the burden of sin and suffering is experienced as an enduring problem because YHWH’s return to Zion-Jerusalem has not ended the Jewish exile at all. New answers were urgently needed, primarily on YHWH’s part. Isaiah 52:13–53:12 (henceforth: Isa 53) contains the first answer.23 In the composition of Isa 40–52 the idea had been elaborated that YHWH’s Servant, originally the corporate personality of suffering Israel-Jacob in exile, represents a certain group among the exiled which YHWH entrusts with the mission to disseminate the divine message of justice and salvation throughout the world (Isa 42:1–4; 49:1–6). The mission, hard to execute, causes suffering on the part of the Servant. His suffering entails a growing individualization of the figure of the Servant, already implied in Isa 49:1–6, and finally made explicit in Isa 50:4–9. These texts are part of the growing composition of Deutero-Isaiah as the message of YHWH’s saving justice and peace (Isa 41:10; 45:8; 46:13; 48:18; 51:5, 6, 8; 52:7–10), supposed to be fulfilled but not to be experienced. This tension generates the need for new solutions. Isaiah 53 presents the Suffering Servant as an individual who acts in complete accordance with YHWH. A man of suffering, he was bruised “for our iniquities (peša‛, ‛āwôn),” “the chastisement for the benefit of our peace (šālôm) was upon him” (Isa 53:5). “YHWH has laid (pg‛, hiphil) on him the iniquity of us all” (Isa 53:6); “he was led like a sheep to the slaughter” (Isa 53:7), “although he had done no violence (ḥāmās)” (Isa 53:9). YHWH himself delivers the final judgement: “My Servant as the righteous one (ṣaddîq) shall make many (rabbîm) righteous (ṣdq, hiphil) … yet he bore the sin (ḥêṭ’) of many (rabbîm) and will make intercession (pg‛, hiphil) for the transgressors” (Isa 53:11–12). The Servant is a figure as unique as Noah. Both are righteous and exceptionally close to God. While Noah is elected to survive the deluge caused by the corruption of all creatures through ḥāmās “violence” (Gen 6:9–13), the Servant is put to death for the iniquities of “many,” which means all, decreed by YHWH and consented to by the Servant (twice pg‛, hiphil, in Isa 53:6 and 53:12). The Servant’s complete distance towards ḥāmās “violence” (Isa 53:9) is obviously regarded as essential for his intercession. The intercession of the sinless one for the transgressions of the many in the past, present, and future is presumably meant as YHWH’s ultimate evidence that the returning YHWH has comforted and redeemed his people coram mun-

22 Further references to Noah outside the primeval history occur in Ezek 14:14, 20; 1 Chron 1:4; Sir 44:17–18. 23 The in-depth analysis of Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2018, 151–161, is assumed as known; see also Berges 2015, 212–278; Poulsen 2019, 234–248.

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do (Isa 52:9–10). However, the question arises of why the Servant’s intercession is necessary since, in Isa 43:22–28, YHWH himself had already declared that he would blot out all transgressions for his own sake. In the light of this declaration, another question arises, this time as to whether there is any room left for the Servant’s intercession. To sharpen the question further: Is anybody able to improve on what God promised to do himself? Isaiah 53 testifies to the need to concretize God’s ultimate deed against transgression. Therefore, the Servant is chosen to embody and to perform what God decreed, namely that God himself would take the burden of sin. This idea, however, fundamentally disrupts the theological options of Jewish perception. In the sixth century, Jewish thought fought a hard battle for survival. Strict monotheism gained a victory and proved indispensable to the rising authoritative Jewish tradition to meet the permanent challenge through other religious concepts. This is the reason why the intercession through YHWH’s Servant had been strictly repudiated within the growing corpus of Isaiah. In Isa 59, an unidentified prophetic voice starts with the statement:24 “See, YHWH’s hand is not too short to save (yš‛, hiphil), nor his ear too dull to hear. Rather, your iniquities have been barriers between you and your God …” (Isa 59:1–2). The text stresses at the very beginning that YHWH is capable of saving, a word completely absent from Isa 53. The following list of grave transgressions is addressed to an unidentified, though doubtlessly Jewish audience (Isa 59:1–8). It contains inter alia the accusation of pursuing violence (ḥāmās), evil (ra‛), and thoughts of iniquity (maḥšēbôt ’āwen, Isa 59:6–7), all reminiscent of the double prologue to the deluge (Gen 6:5–13), while peace (šālôm) and justice (mišpāṭ) are completely absent (Isa 59:8). The accusation changes into a confession of sin (Isa 59:9–14), obviously made by the group previously accused. Finally, YHWH himself appears in Isa 59:15b–20. The complicated passage here is relevant only in relation to YHWH being appalled that there is nobody to intervene (’en mapgîa‛, Isa 59:16). It is a distinct reference to the Servant’s function as mapgîa‛ whom YHWH declares to be intercessor for the transgressors once and for all (Isa 53:12). The view is resolutely rejected in Isa 59:15b–20. It is YHWH alone who establishes righteousness, understood as salvation and retribution, and who, finally, will come as redeemer (gô’ēl) to Zion and also to those in Jacob who are turning from transgression. In contrast to the idea of the Servant’s intercession, YHWH’s relation to Zion – shaped as a turbulent story of love in a group of texts in Isa 49–54 – has proved much more helpful in shedding light on the ongoing conflict between God and his people after YHWH’s return to Zion. Isaiah 54 is the crucial text

24

Isaiah 59:1 alludes to two passages in the preceding text. The first is Isa 6:10, the very centre of the message of hardening; the second is Isa 50:2, belonging to the composition of Isa 50 which prepares the idea of intercession in Isa 53.

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whose theological substance is inspired by the preceding reflection on YHWH’s comfort and repentance in Deutero-Isaiah, the primeval history and, last but not least, on YHWH’s steadfast love (ḥesed) elaborated primarily in the book of Psalms. In a passage immediately following Isa 53, YHWH invites a barren, desolate woman to burst into song, for her children will be more numerous than those of a married woman (Isa 54:1).25 The word rabbîm “many” just used in the preceding verse for those who have been rescued through the Servant’s intercession (Isa 53:12) is resumed in order to outdo the number of children of the married woman. There is no doubt that both women are identical, namely an embodiment of Zion-Jerusalem, the married woman as a metaphor for the undestroyed; the barren, desolate woman a metaphor for the destroyed city. YHWH’s barren, desolate beloved needs not be called by name. The matter of concern is her present condition. She is not only barren and desolate but also troubled by the shame of her youth and by widowhood (Isa 54:4), forsaken, grieved in spirit, and cast off (Isa 54:6). The selected traits obviously do not aim at achieving a coherent characterization. Instead, they accumulate options of failure and calamity between lovers which indicate, each and altogether, incurable harm. Surprisingly, YHWH, bō‛ălayik “your husband,” gō’ălēk “your redeemer,” ’ĕlōhayik “your God” (Isa 54:5–6; see 54:8), addresses his beloved: “For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great compassion (raḥămîm gēdōlîm) I will gather you. In overflowing wrath, for a moment I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love (ḥesed ‛ōlām) I will have compassion on you (riḥamtîk)” (Isa 54:7–8). YHWH courts the woman, embodying his people. She is in distress in spite of YHWH’s return to Zion-Jerusalem. YHWH strives to make himself understood, referring implicitly to a presumably well-known formula which concentrates and correlates his being and agency. The formula consists of four basic elements which characterize YHWH as merciful/compassionate (raḥûm) and gracious (ḥannûn), slow to anger (’erek ’appayim), and abounding in steadfast love (rab-ḥesed).26 The divine address in Isa 54:7–8 apparently tries to downplay the wrath and to emphasize compassion and love, even more than in the formula. YHWH’s statement reveals a new view of the deeply disturbed relationship between YHWH and his people during the exile and beyond in post-exilic time. Isaiah 54 does not mention evil (ra‛/rā‛â) or use the manifold vocabulary of sin. Instead, the problem is conceived as the multifaceted failure of love between YHWH and his beloved Zion-Jerusalem, the embodiment of his people. YHWH’s retrospect is only aiming at his solemn assertion that the relation to

25

See Berges 2015, 281–333. Exod 34:6; Joel 2:13; Jonah 4:2; Pss 86:15; 103:8; 145:8; Neh 9:17 etc.; see Spieckermann 2000, 305–327; Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2017, 130–148. 26

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his beloved is ruled by great compassion (raḥămîm gēdōlîm) and everlasting love (ḥesed ‛ōlām). This predominating pair is not sufficiently understood by means of the formula just mentioned. The double use of the root rḥm “have compassion” in Isa 54:7–8 recalls the theological significance of nḥm, piel, “comfort” in the preceding chapters of Deutero-Isaiah, not to forget the pivotal function of nḥm, niphal, “repent” in the supplemented prologue of the deluge in Gen 6:5–8. There is a striking phonetic and semantic affinity between the two Hebrew roots. The phonemes /ḥ/ and /m/ are identical, and the phonetic relation of /n/ (nasal) and /r/ (lingual) is close.27 Both roots are predestined to be connected in order to transform the twofold use of nḥm – “comfort,” piel, in Deutero-Isaiah and connected with Nōaḥ in Gen 5:29 and “repent,” niphal, in the prologue of the deluge in Gen 6:5–8 – into a new theological perspective, which overcomes the enduring tension between the redemptive, new creation and the burden of sin and irredeemability in post-exilic Zion-Jerusalem. The connection between nḥm and rḥm, including Noah, is explicitly put on the theological agenda in Isa 54:9–10 where mê-Nōaḥ “the waters of Noah” are mentioned immediately after the announcement of great compassion and everlasting love.28 Referring in a general fashion to Gen 9:8–17, the divine covenant after the flood according to the Priestly code, YHWH affirms in Isa 54 that his ḥesed “steadfast love” and his bērît šālôm “covenant of peace,” will never be revoked because he is the one who is compassionate towards Zion (Isa 54:10). God who calls his covenant in Gen 9:16 bērît ‛ôlām, “everlasting covenant,” modifies the characterization in Isa 54:10 deliberately.29 Bērît šālôm presumably implies a critical comment on Isa 53:5, where the Servant’s suffering and death is interpreted as his intercession which effects šēlômēnû “our peace.” In contrast, Isa 54:10 stresses with reference to God’s universal promise to Noah that šālôm, “peace, welfare, completeness,” is solely a manifestation of YHWH’s commitment to great compassion and eternal steadfast love (Isa 54:7–8) and to the fulfilment of his promise when he returns (šālôm, ṭôb, yĕšû‛â, Isa 52:7).

27

See Joüon and Muraoka 2009, 19–31; a different phonetic system allows /n/ and /r/ to correlate even more closely, see Meyer 1966, 85. The semantic centre shared by the roots nḥm (piel: “comfort,” niphal: “repent”) and rḥm (piel: “have compassion”) is: to commiserate or sympathize with somebody. On the one hand, it may result in the effort to comfort somebody (nḥm, piel); on the other hand, it may cause the inward effect of suffering or feeling guilty and, consequently, repenting a certain deed (nḥm, niphal). The root rḥm, piel, signifies commiseration regarding the organ reḥem “womb,” where life comes into being accompanied by labor and love. Compassion includes both of these things. 28 In all probability, the phrasing “Noachian deluge/flood” traces back to Isa 54:9, since mê-Nōaḥ is only attested here. 29 While God’s covenant with Phinehas in Num 25:12, also called bērît šālôm, does not seem to be related to Isa 54:10, it is the case with Ezek 34:25 and 37:26, where God’s promise is elaborated in depth.

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YHWH is aware that he meets his beloved in a state of depression where the use of the honorific name Zion might sound derisive. Instead of Zion, last named in Isa 52:7–8, YHWH calls himself mĕraḥămēk “who is compassionate to you” (Isa 54:10) and approaches his beloved as ‛ăniyyâ, “afflicted one,” as sō‛ărâ, “storm-tossed,” and, pointedly, as lō’ nuḥāmâ “not comforted” (Isa 54:11), promising: rab šĕlôm bānayik, “great will be the peace of your children” (Isa 54:13).

E. Conclusion It is YHWH’s compassionate love which proves able to overcome a major challenge in postexilic times, namely to establish confidence in Deutero-Isaiah’s message of comfort for the not-comforted Zion. As the root nḥm covers not only the semantic field “comfort,” piel, but also that of “repent,” niphal, prominently used for YHWH’s decision to send the flood, the question arises as to whether comfort and repentance are equivalent options of divine agency, both possible at any time. The theological exchange between the story of the flood and Deutero-Isaiah clarifies that God’s everlasting covenant after the flood in Gen 9 remains valid as his covenant of peace in Isa 54. It is stamped by YHWH’s compassionate love as his ultimate agency, which was not yet in view in the primeval history. It is obvious that YHWH’s repentance for having created humankind as attested in Gen 6:5–8 (nḥm, niphal), and his compassionate love (ḥesed and word formations of rḥm) in Isa 54 are mutually exclusive. However, the divine option of compassionate love reinforces Deutero-Isaiah’s message of comfort. It is already evident in Isa 49:13, where the roots nḥm “comfort” and rḥm “have compassion” interpret each other. Finally, the connection is underscored through the last promise of comfort in Isa 66:10–14. All who love Jerusalem, identical with Zion (Isa 66:8–9), and who mourn over her, are invited to drink with delight from her consoling bosom (šad tanḥumîm, Isa 66:11). In a subtle and deliberate manner, YHWH himself takes on the task of nursing in Isa 66:12. After all, he is supposed to be the father of the children born by Zion in Isa 66:8–9. YHWH, however, is not presented as a father, but rather as a mother: “As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you” (Isa 66:13). Though maternal imagery is often used for YHWH, this is the only instance in the Old Testament where he is explicitly compared with a mother. In the preceding text (Isa 66:7–9), YHWH and Zion interact closely in giving birth to children – according to and contrary to the regular order. The leading idea, using the imagery of childbirth, is the wonder of creating a new land and a new people. Though reḥem, “womb,” is mentioned nowhere, it is implicitly present everywhere, as also the plurale tantum raḥămîm, “compassion,” which, together with ḥesed, “steadfast love,” signifies in Isa 54:7–8 the innermost divine

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motivation to restore the shattered relation to Zion. In Isa 66, YHWH does not comfort Zion. Instead, YHWH and Zion-Jerusalem, both inseparable and maternal, give birth and raise children, the new-born people. This is the core of divine comfort at the end of the book of Isaiah. Outside the book of Isaiah, divine comfort is outdone by the bold idea that YHWH repents the evil (rā‛â) he was determined to do to his people or to other nations (Exod 32:12, 14; 2 Sam 24:16 = 1 Chr 21:15; Jer 18:8; 26:13, 19; Joel 2:13; Amos 7:3, 6; Jonah 3:9–10; 4:2). Evil is no longer YHWH’s portentous counterpart; rather, it is an option of his own agency. Sure enough, it is as mitigated as his wrath in the formula that he is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.30 There is apparently no option of return to the divine repentance (nḥm, niphal) which caused the flood. Finally, nḥm is ruled by divine comfort (piel), which is to be understood in the light of divine compassion (rḥm, piel).

Bibliography Berges, Ulrich. 2008. Jesaja 40–48. HThKAT. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder. –. 2015. Jesaja 49–54. HThKAT. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder. Clines, David J. A., ed. 1993–2016. Dictionary of Classical Hebrew (DCH). 9 vols. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Emmendörffer, Michael. 1998. Der ferne Gott: Eine Untersuchung der alttestamentlichen Volksklagelieder vor dem Hintergrund der mesopotamischen Literatur. FAT I/21. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Feldmeier, Reinhard and Hermann Spieckermann. 2017. Der Gott der Lebendigen: Eine biblische Gotteslehre. TOBITH 1. 2nd ed. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. –. 2018. Menschwerdung. TOBITH 2. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. George, Andrew R. 2003. The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gertz, Jan Christian. 2018. Das erste Buch Mose Genesis: Die Urgeschichte Gen 1–11. ATD 1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Gesenius, Wilhelm and Herbert Donner. 2013. Hebräisches und aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament. 18th ed. Heidelberg: Springer. Haas, Volkert and Heidemarie Koch. 2011. Religionen des Alten Orients, Teil 1: Hethiter und Iran. GAT I/1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Halvorson-Taylor, Martien A. 2011. Enduring Exile: The Metaphorization of Exile in the Hebrew Bible. VTS 141. Leiden: Brill. Hartenstein, Friedhelm. 2005. “Und sie erkannten, daß sie nackt waren …’ (Genesis 3,7): Beobachtungen zur Anthropologie der Paradieserzählung.” EvTh 65:277–93.

30 Therefore, the suffering servants in Ps 90:13 are able to entreat YHWH: hinnāḥēm ‛al‛ăbādêkā “repent concerning your servants.” The servants replaced evil which God determined and repented to do. Consequently, the plea follows in Ps 90:14: “satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love (ḥesed).”

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Høgenhaven, Jesper, Frederik Poulsen, and Cian Power, eds. 2019. Images of Exile in the Prophetic Literature. FAT II/103. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Joüon, P. Paul and Takamitsu Muraoka. 2009. A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew. SB 27. 2nd ed. Rome: Gregorian and Biblical. Kratz, Reinhard Gregor. 1991. Kyros im Deuterojesaja-Buch. FAT I/1. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lambert, Wilfred G. 2013. Babylonian Creation Myths. Mesopotamian Civilizations 16. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. –. and Alan R. Millard. 1969. Atra-ḫasīs. The Babylonian Story of the Flood. Oxford: Clarendon. Lindström, Fredrik. 1983. God and the Origin of Evil: A Contextual Analysis of Alleged Monistic Evidence in the Old Testament. ConBOT 21. Lund: Gleerup. –. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretation of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. –. 1998. Det sårbara livet: Livsförståelse och gudserfarenhet i Gamla testamentet. Lund: Arcus. –. 2003. “Theodicy in the Psalms.” Pages 256–303 in Theodicy in the World of the Bible. Edited by Antti Laato and Johannes C. de Moor. Leiden: Brill. McAlpine, Thomas H. 1987. Sleep, Divine, and Human in the Old Testament. JSOTSup 38. Sheffield: JSOT. Meyer, Rudolf. 1966. Hebräische Grammatik I. 3rd ed. Berlin: de Gruyter. Poulsen, Frederik. 2019. The Black Hole of Isaiah: A Study of Exile as a Literary Theme. FAT I/125. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Renz, Johannes. 1995. Die althebräischen Inschriften, Teil 1: Text und Kommentar. Handbuch der althebräischen Epigraphik I. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Schmid, Konrad. 2019. Theologie des Alten Testaments. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. –, ed. 2012. Schöpfung. Themen der Theologie 4. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Spieckermann, Hermann. 2000. “God’s Steadfast Love: Towards a New Conception of Old Testament Theology.” Biblica 81:305–327. –. 2001. “Ambivalenzen: Ermöglichte und verwirklichte Schöpfung in Genesis 2f.” Pages 49–61 in Gottes Liebe zu Israel: Studien zur Theologie des Alten Testaments. Edited by Hermann Spieckermann. FAT I/33. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. –. 2016. “Creation: God and World.” Pages 271–292 in The Hebrew Bible: A Critical Companion. Edited by John Barton. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Stuhlmueller, Carroll. 1970. Creative Redemption in Deutero-Isaiah. AnBib 43. Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Weidner, Alexander. 2017. Das Ende Deuterojesajas: Eine literarkritische und redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie zur Entstehung von Jes 40–60. FAT II/94. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

Sin Without Suffering? On One Function of Intercession in the Biblical Scriptures Erik Aurelius A. The Individual’s Life as a Gift Suffering without sin is a common subject in the book of Psalms, namely in the individual complaint psalms in the classical form that they received in pre-exilic times and which, in many but not all cases, they retained in later periods. In these psalms the petitioners constantly complain about their suffering without mentioning any kind of sin on their own part as a possible explanation for the suffering that afflicts them. As Fredrik Lindström has demonstrated in an investigation which is equally as exhaustive as it is thorough and convincing that the idea of individual retribution – for example, suffering as a consequence of sin – is not a familiar idea in the book of Psalms’ individual complaint psalms.1 It is true that the idea that sin results in suffering for the sinner, not only for the victim, is found in numerous variations in proverbs around the world and also in the biblical book of Proverbs. Examples include “YHWH does not let the righteous go hungry, but he thwarts the craving of the wicked” (Prov 10:3) or “Whoever digs a pit will fall into it, and a stone will come back on the one who starts it rolling” (Prov 26:27). This is no doubt an expression of a common human experience. It also probably expresses a common human demand on life: that it be just. But as Lindström has shown, against a widespread assumption among exegetes, the individual complaint psalms in the book of Psalms are not characterized by this idea of individual retribution. Rather, personal suffering is regarded as something unexplainable and irrational. This reflects an opposing but certainly no less common human experience: that life is incalculable. This understanding of life dominates the attitude to suffering found in the individual complaint psalms: God has obviously, but without any discernible reason, withdrawn his life-giving presence from the petitioner, thus leaving room for hostile powers. No attempt is made to explain the inexplicable, for example

1 Lindström 1994. It is a pleasure to dedicate this study to Fredrik Lindström in gratitude for stimulating and clarifying conversations and writing over 42 years.

36

Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General

via the idea of individual retribution which assumes some sin committed by the petitioner as being the cause of his present affliction.2 The typical reaction appears in the recurring questions ‫עד אנה‬/‫עד מה‬/‫עד מתי‬/‫“ כמה‬how long?” and ‫“ למה‬why?”.3 How long, YHWH? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? (Ps 13:2) My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Ps 22:2) Why, YHWH, do you cast me off, hide your face from me? (Ps 88:15, Eng. 14)

As Lindström remarks in his comment on Ps 22, the poet, like his colleagues in Pss 42–43 and Ps 10 (v. 1), maintains his view that YHWH’s absence is basically irrational, that is, the petitioner cannot possibly find the cause of the absence of YHWH’s saving presence in his own behaviour or attitude. As a protest against what commentators usually have to say about the individual complaint psalms’ interpretation of suffering, namely the idea of suffering as a punishment for sin, the petitioner in Ps 22 begins his accusation against God in the form of a question, asking why this has befallen him.4

That God transcends human understanding is no less emphasized when the suffering is not just seen as a result of his absence but is directly tied to his activity, namely his wrath. Thus, in Ps 88:15, “the question ‘Why?’ formulates what is fundamental for all complaint in the individual complaint psalms: the feeling of being treated unjustly, a feeling which is formulated as a protest and an accusation against God.”5 The basic problem for the petitioners in these psalms is that God is incomprehensible in his actions, or, in other words, that life is incalculable and irrational. This could also be expressed with words borrowed from a passage in a rather different context, when God speaks to Moses at Mount Sinai: I will be gracious (‫ )חנן‬to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy (‫ )רחם‬on whom I will show mercy. (Exod 33:19)

2

The idea of suffering as punishment for sin occurs in the collective complaint psalms rather than in the individual ones, except in later additions, as was remarked by Perlitt (1971) 1995, 18–19, emphasized by Spieckermann 1989, 247 n. 22, and demonstrated at length by Lindström 1994, e.g., 239–242, 278–279, 290–291. 3 Occurrences in the book of Psalms: ‫ עד אנה‬Ps 13:2 (bis), 3 (bis); ‫ עד מה‬Ps 4:3; further Pss 79:5; 89:47; ‫ עד מתי‬Ps 6:4; further Pss 74:10; 80:5; 82:2; 90:13; 94:3 (bis); ‫ כמה‬Ps 35:17; further Ps 119:84; ‫ למה‬Pss 10:1; 22:2; 42:10 (bis); 43:2 (bis); 88:15; further Pss 2:1; 44:24, 25; 49:6; 68:17; 74:1, 11; 79:10; 80:13; 115:2. 4 Lindström 1994, 76. 5 Lindström 1994, 202; in Ps 88 God’s wrath is mentioned explicitly in v. 8 (‫ )חמה‬and v. 17 (‫)חרון‬.

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

37

However, this divine self-presentation can at the same time be said to articulate what the great and lasting cause of joy and gratitude is in the individual complaint psalms – namely, that life and all its blessings are pure gifts. Life and its blessings are nothing that the individual should – or could – deserve and thus claim. All this is from God – free and uncalculated gifts of love from the Creator. In Ps 13 the petitioner ends his complaints with an expression of trust and a vow of praise: But I trusted in your steadfast love (‫;)חסד‬ my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to YHWH, because he has dealt bountifully with me. (Ps 13:6)

“The only reason given for the petitioner’s trust (‫ )בטח‬is YHWH’s ‫חסד‬, ‘love,’ the gift of God by which the individual is taken up into the presence of YHWH,” a gift that the psalmist does not in any way claim to have justly achieved by any moral qualifications.6 YHWH’s saving presence is manifested in the temple on Zion: So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory. For your steadfast love (‫ )חסד‬is better than life, my lips will praise you. (Ps 63:3–4, Eng. 2–3)7

Psalm 24, which might be called a short summary of the book of Psalms’ temple theology,8 displays the same attitude as the individual complaint psalms when it states that even righteousness is a gift from God. About the one with clean hands, a clean heart, and clean lips (Ps 24:4),9 it is said: He will receive blessing (‫ )ברכה‬from YHWH and righteousness (‫ )צדקה‬from the God of his salvation. (Ps 24:5)

Without proclaiming any justification of the ungodly, Ps 24 nevertheless declares that righteousness before God is a gift. A comparison with the partly related but, in all probability, distinctly later Ps 15 is illuminating.10 Psalm 15 also talks about righteousness but with the significant difference that it is something to be “done” by man: the ideal individual is one who is ‫הולך תמים ופעל צדק‬

6

Lindström 1994, 101. On the underlying temple theology that has its centre in the book of Psalms, see Spieckermann 1989, 195–262. 8 Cf. Spieckermann 1989, 208. 9 In its present shape, v. 4 has three cola, unlike the surrounding bicola. However, the middle one (MT: “who does not misuse my soul for emptiness”) shows signs of being a later expansion, leaving as original text in v. 4: “He who has clean hands and a pure heart | and does not commit perjury” (see Spieckermann 1989, 198–199). 10 See Spieckermann 1989, 201–204, for this comparison and for the following comments on Ps 24, and cf. Lindström 1994, 386. 7

38

Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General

“walking blamelessly and doing what is right” (Ps 15:2). In the following verses, this is specified in a number of ways and the conclusion runs: “He who does these things shall never waver” (Ps 15:5). In Ps 24, however, even the blameless person described in v. 4 in spite of his clean acts and thoughts and words is not said thereby to be righteous before God and to have a just claim on salvation and life. He stands before God as one who needs – and receives – blessing and righteousness, ‫ ברכה‬and ‫צדקה‬, “from the God of his salvation,” ‫מאלהי ישעו‬ (Ps 24:5).11 To put it shortly: life is not anything you shall achieve, but something you receive. This conviction was to be seriously challenged in the wake of far-reaching political events and their theological interpretation.

B. The People’s Suffering as the Wages of Sin The conquest and destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians in 587 BCE was a political and religious disaster, the impact of which cannot be overestimated. The king, “the breath of our nostrils, YHWH’s anointed, was taken in their pits” (Lam 4:20), and the kingdom of Judah was wiped out from the political map. Since the kingdom of Israel had been conquered by the Assyrians already in 722 BCE, the people of YHWH now disappeared altogether as a political entity. No less fatal, the royal temple in Jerusalem – the centre of YHWH’s lifegiving and protecting presence on earth, “a place for thee to dwell in for ever” (1 Kgs 8:13) – was destroyed. As a consequence, it became doubtful whether YHWH was still an active power to be reckoned with. Thus, the entire religion – faith, trust, prayers, sacrifices, praise, all worship directed to YHWH – could easily disintegrate and, sooner or later, disappear when (at best) cultivated only in small sanctuaries at different places (cf. the repeatedly condemned ‫“ במות‬high places” in 1–2 Kgs).12 Not unlike Kemoš and Moab, YHWH and his peoples Israel and Judah would gradually be reduced to fading memories from a distant past. Such catastrophes were by no means unparalleled in the ancient Near East, when the Assyrians from the eighth century BCE onwards, and after them the Babylonians, directed their armies towards the Mediterranean. What seems to be unparalleled is the fact that YHWH survived the fall of his people – and

11

For further examples in the book of Psalms of the view of life and salvation as undeserved and uncalculated gifts of grace, see Lindström 1994, esp. 379–426, 435–439. 12 See 1 Kgs 3:2, 3; 14:23; 15:14; 22:44; 2 Kgs 12:4; 14:4; 15:4, 35; 16:4; 17:9, 11; 18:4; 21:3; 23:8, 9, 15, 19, 20. This recurring complaint about the “high places” might reflect a real concern after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple. The same historical background can be assumed behind the prohibition of gods other than YHWH.

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

39

therefore the people survived as well. The decisive causes for this unexpected development are usually and with good reason found in the prophetical and historical books of the Bible, more exactly the prophets of doom and the deuteronomistic historians. Throughout their history, the people of YHWH had neglected YHWH and his commandments and turned to other gods. This was the basic and extraordinary message of the prophets of doom: chiefly Amos, Hosea, and Isaiah in the eighth century, Jeremiah around 600 BCE, and, above all, their collectors, interpreters, and expounders who were active in the wake of the disasters of 722 and 587. This was also the message of the theologians and historians who edited the law book Deuteronomy from the sixth century onwards and in its spirit wrote a history of the people of YHWH from the conquest of the land until its loss.13 The result is the peculiar but characteristic biblical picture of YHWH’s people and their history: the Israelites are “constantly in conflict with the demands of their own religion.”14 The fathers hardly knew the standards by which they were to be measured by the sons; this is not unique in history writing and is not necessarily a disadvantage.15 In any case, the conclusion at hand was that the fall of the two kingdoms did not mean what it was normally thought to mean – namely, that YHWH was weaker than the Assyrian or Babylonian gods or that he was deceitful and had abandoned his people. He was neither weak nor deceitful. On the contrary, it was the people who had abandoned their God by breaking his commandments and worshipping other gods. The great powers were nothing but tools used by God to perform the judgement with which his prophets had repeatedly threatened the people if they did not change their ways. In the historical books, the message is stated with particular eloquence in the longer reflections that interrupt the flow of events, for example the epilogue after the fall of Samaria in 2 Kgs 17:7–23.16 The main points in such texts are that YHWH is still the one who pulls the strings in this world and we are getting what we deserve for our deeds.

13

How far this message in the prophetical books derives from the original preaching of the prophets is a matter of dispute but is not decisive here. In the historical books the writing may have started with the period of the monarchy of 1 Sam–2 Kgs; cf., e.g., Steck 1967, 66 n. 3; Kaiser 1992, 88–89, 102; Kratz 2000, 155–255. 14 Smith 1987, 35. The beginnings of this overall view of Israelite history are probably to be found in the retrospective parts of the book of Hosea, namely Hos 9–13; see Kratz 2011, esp. 298–302. On the more developed deuteronomistic view of history, see, e.g., Steck 1967, 63–64, 66–72, 122–124, 137–141, 184–186, briefly summarized in English by Schmid 2010, 378–379. 15 Cf. the remark by Perlitt 1969, 31 n. 4, on the deuteronomists’ gift, “die historische Überlieferung weniger zu eliminieren als zu illuminieren.” 16 Cf. further esp. Josh 23; Judg 2:11–19; 1 Sam 12. Close parallels in the prophetical books are the prose sermons in Jeremiah, e.g., Jer 7; 11:1–17.

40

Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General

From this it followed that it would not be senseless to pray to YHWH after the fall of the kingdoms: he remained in power. The problem for his people was that they had aroused his destructive wrath through all their sins; now a way must be found to deserve something other than punishment. The solution that over the course of time was propagated by leading theologians was to complete the confession of sins with penitence, to pray for forgiveness, to return to YHWH, to repent and take vows of obedience. In one word: ‫שוב‬. The concept occurs in a prominent position in Deut 30, the present conclusion of the entire law collection Deut 5–30. Here, it permeates the first section 30:1–10, one of the latest additions to the book: 1

When all these things come upon you, the blessing and the curse, … and you call them to mind … 2 and return (‫ )שוב‬to YHWH your God and obey his voice … 3 then YHWH your God will restore (‫ )שוב‬your fortunes … 9 YHWH your God will make you abundantly prosperous … 10 … when you return (‫ )שוב‬to YHWH your God with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deut 30:1–3, 9–10)

And towards the end of the history, King Josiah in an equally late or even later insertion is portrayed as the ideal king, or perhaps in fact as the ideal man, a model for the future, with the sole merit that he repented: Before him there was no king like him who returned (‫ )שוב‬to YHWH with all his heart, all his soul, and all his might according to all the law of Moses; nor did any like him arise after him. (2 Kgs 23:25)17

Thus the faith in YHWH and, in consequence, the people of YHWH as well were carried over the abyss of dissolution not least by the idea of divine retribution, of suffering as God’s fair punishment for sin, and of repentance as the remedy by which the sinners again could deserve and hope for the benevolence of God. Similar ideas have left traces in the book of Psalms as well, for example in the lengthy confessions of Israel’s sins in Pss 78 and 106, in collective complaint psalms such as Ps 79, but also in individual psalms, either through the reworking of older psalms as in Pss 38 or 86, or through the writing of new ones like Pss 51 or 130.18 But what about the previously mentioned characteristic conviction of the individual complaint psalms that life and all its blessings are free, uncalculated gifts that cannot by any means be deserved and achieved but only received as gifts of grace? Could Israel’s theologians retain this belief in the wake of the 17 Deut 30:1–10 (where vv. 6–8 might be later inserted) has a short counterpart in Deut 4:29–31. A prominent passage in the same spirit is 1 Kgs 8:29–53, the extensive elaborations of Solomon’s prayer at the consecration of the temple (‫ שוב‬in vv. 33, 35, 47, 48). On these texts, Deut 4:29–31; 30:1–10; 1 Kgs 8; 2 Kgs 23:25; cf. Wolff 1964, 316–324; Steck 1967, 139–141; Aurelius 2003, 57–58, 123–128 (with further references). 18 On the mentioned individual psalms, see Lindström 1994, 238–242, 250–251 (on Ps 38), 360–368 (on Ps 86), 349–360 (on Ps 51), 369–375 (on Ps 130).

41

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

national catastrophe, after the catastrophe had been interpreted as the wages of sin? Could they retain the belief that life is a free gift, when repentance had been preached as the indispensable achievement to be performed?

C. The People’s Forgiveness as a Gift Yes, we can, is the distinct answer from at least some voices in the subsequent development of deuteronomistic theology. The divine self-presentation in Exod 33:19 was quoted above to characterize the understanding of life and its Creator in the individual complaint psalms: ‫וחנתי את אשר אחן‬ ‫ורחמתי את אשר ארחם‬ I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and will show mercy upon whom I will show mercy.

Exod 33:19 has its place precisely in a context of sin and forgiveness that clearly presupposes the fall of the kingdoms and its interpretation as YHWH’s fair punishment. Yet, the passage manages to maintain the view of life, forgiveness, and salvation as pure gifts that do not depend on any qualifications on the part of the recipients – not even repentance. This is made possible by the concept of intercession. The original story in Exod 3219 traces Israel’s sin even further back than the beginning of her history in the Promised Land (cf. Judg 2:10–19), namely to the first encounter with YHWH at Sinai. By this point, Israel is said to have already fallen into conflict with her own religion by making and worshipping a golden calf. As Moses returns from the mountain and discovers the idol, he destroys it, returns to YHWH, and prays for forgiveness. The result is that YHWH postpones the punishment, no more, no less (Exod 32:34). From this core, the story has been elaborated in several stages, partly by extended negotiations between Moses and YHWH in ch. 33, until the present composition of Exod 32– 34 reached its final shape. One of the latest additions is Exod 33:19.20 The divine declaration in v. 19b quoted above expounds the formula ‫“ אל רחום וחנון‬a God merciful and gracious” in Exod 34:6 along the line of YHWH’s self-presentation to Moses in Exod 3:14, ‫“ אהיה אשר אהיה‬I am who I am.”21 The formula in Exod 34:6 serves

19 Presumably Exod 32:1–6, 15aα, 19–20*, 30–34*; cf. Noth 1948, 33; 157–160; Aurelius 1988, 57–68; Konkel 2008, 105–116. 20 See Noth 1962, 257–258. 21 Cf. Holzinger 1900, 114; Childs 1974, 596; Widmer 2004, 159–160.

42

Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General

as a preparation and basis for Moses’s last, youngest, and completely successful intercession at Sinai: If now I have found favour in your sight, o Lord, then may the Lord go in our midst; for it is a stiff-necked people, but pardon (‫ )סלח‬our iniquity and our sin, and ‘inherit’ (‫ )נחל‬us [i.e., take us for your inheritance]. (Exod 34:9)

Here, Israel’s broken relationship with YHWH shall obviously receive a new foundation.22 In the original story, Moses prays for forgiveness (‫נשא‬, Exod 32:32) but only obtains a postponement of the day of reckoning (Exod 32:34). The dialogue in Exod 33:12–17, probably the first elaboration of the story,23 contains no explicit prayer for forgiveness, nor does the later insertion in Exod 32:7–14.24 There, God threatens to annihilate the people immediately (v. 10) and Moses prays that God may change his mind (‫נחם‬, v. 12) about this.25 The prayer is granted (v. 14), but the crucial question of forgiveness remains unsettled. In Exod 34:9, however, Moses prays for forgiveness (‫סלחתנו‬, “forgive us,” thereby identifying himself with the sinners) and is successful. Furthermore, he adds the peculiar prayer ‫“ ונחלתנו‬inherit us,” which underlines that the communion with God will now start anew, from scratch. The noun ‫“ נחלה‬inheritance,” “heritage,” “possession,” is not uncommon in prayers for Israel, God’s “(people and) possession.”26 Ex 34,9 however differs from these usages and is not parallel to the theme of God’s people in 33,13. There the fact that Israel is God’s people is urged as a motive for granting the request. Here, the request is that God “inherit” the people, which implies that at the moment they are not his inheritance.27

Finally, and most remarkably, Moses calls Israel ‫“ עם קשה ערף‬a stiff-necked people.” In Exod 32:9 this accusation justifies that YHWH will annihilate the people, and in Exod 33:3, 5 that he will at least not go up among them. However, in contrast, the same phrase is used in Exod 34:9 as a reason for YHWH precisely to “go up among us.”28 God answers with a solemn promise:

22

On Exod 34:9, cf. esp. Moberly 1983, 88–93; Aurelius 1988, 121–126. Cf. Noth 1962, 253–258; Aurelius 1988, 100–106. 24 It is hardly disputed that vv. 7–14 are inserted in Exod 32, probably in several stages; cf. e.g., Widmer 2004, 57–58; Konkel 2008, 108–110, with abundant references. 25 On ‫ נחם‬cf. the contribution by Hermann Spieckermann in this volume. 26 Deut 9:26, 29; 1 Kgs 8:51, 53; Isa 63:17; Joel 2:17; Mic 7:14, 18; Pss 28:9; 74:2; 94:5, 14; 106:5. On the background of the phrase in the temple theology, see Spieckermann 1989, 128–129. 27 Dunlop 1970, 292. The verb ‫נחל‬, qal, has YHWH as subject only here, in Zech 2:16 (object: Judah), and in Ps 82:8 (object: all peoples). 28 On the understanding of the particle ‫ כי‬before ‫ עם קשה ערף הוא‬in Exod 34:9, see esp. Moberly 1983, 89–90. 23

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

43

I hereby make a covenant. Before all your people I will do such wonders as have not been performed … (Exod 34:10)29

The covenant is established anew. Without reserve the sinners are included in the communion with God. The precondition is neither Israel’s obedience (as in Exod 19:8; 24:3, 7) nor God’s temporary self-control (as in Exod 32:14), but God’s forgiveness. Israel remains what it is, a stiff-necked people, and as such will be carried into the future by God, not on account of any merits of her own but because of someone else’s intercession. Nothing is said in Exod 32–34 about repentance,30 all the more about intercessions. The successive development of the concept of Moses as intercessor in Exod 32–34 has made possible an emphasis on Israel’s perpetual relationship with YHWH without compromising either the holiness of God or the notorious “stubbornness” of the people. The paradoxical relation between the designation ‫“ עם קשה ערף‬a stiffnecked people” as a motive for punishment in Exod 32:9 and as a motive for forgiveness and communion with God in Exod 34:9 has a parallel in the flood story in Gen 6–9.31 At the beginning, in Gen 6:5, the evil of the human heart is said to be the reason for God to bring the flood; at the end, in Gen 8:21, it is the reason for God’s promise never to destroy life on earth again. In Gen 8, God’s grace and mercy abounds after Noah’s sacrifice (Gen 8:20); in Exod 34, it is after Moses’s prayer (v. 9), preluded by the presentation of YHWH as ‫אל רחום‬ ‫“ וחנון‬a God merciful and gracious” (v. 6). “Each time the same question is raised. How, before God, can a sinful world (in general) or a sinful people, even God’s chosen people (in particular), exist without being destroyed?” Both times the answer is God’s grace and mercy “given to an unchangingly sinful people.”32 The view of intercession and of what an intercession can achieve that characterizes Exod 32–34 is not the universally prevailing view of intercession in the biblical scriptures. There are many passages that betray a more optimistic view of human ability to get rid of sin. In a sermon against the prophets in Ezek 13:1–16, God is upset that they do not guard the people against his impending judgement:

29

God’s answer shows closer connections with Moses’s somewhat older prayers in Exod 33:12–17 than with 34:9. It may originally have been written as a continuation to Exod 33:12–17 but in the present text it is no doubt meant to be read as an entirely positive answer to the prayer of Exod 34:9; see Aurelius 1988, 104–106. 30 As Moberly 1983, 90, remarks, “the mourning of 33:4 is remorse rather than repentance,” as in Num 14:39. 31 Cf. Holzinger 1900, 116; Moberly 1983, 91–92; Aurelius 1988, 124–125. 32 Moberly 1983, 92.

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Part I: The Hebrew Bible in General

4

Your prophets have been like jackals among ruins, o Israel [em.]. 5 You have not gone up into the breaches [em.] or built up a wall for the house of Israel, so that it may stand in battle on the day of YHWH. (Ezek 13:4–5)

In Ezek 22:30, the same accusation is directed against the whole elite.33 In both of these passages, the metaphor of the breach (‫)פ ֶרץ‬ ֶ is combined with another metaphor, that of building a wall (‫)גָ ַדר גָ ֵדר‬. To judge from the context, this refers not so much to intercession as to preaching of repentance. The poor are oppressed, foreigners are extorted (Ezek 22:29), and the prophets say “shalom,” “it is all right” (Ezek 13:10).34 According to Ezek 13 and 22, God expected repentance as well as intercession and would have needed both in order to prevent the outburst of his wrath. The conviction is obviously the same as is found in many other passages: without the sinners’ repentance, intercession is meaningless.35 In Ps 106, however, there is a reminder of Moses’s intercessions at Sinai that uses the same metaphor of the breach as Ezekiel, but without mentioning the second metaphor of building a wall: Therefore, he said he would destroy them – had not Moses, his chosen one, stood in the breach before him, to turn away his wrath from destroying them. (Ps 106:23)

Thus, unlike Ezekiel, there is no indication here that the intercession is connected with the repentance of the sinners. This is in accord with the underlying story in Exod 32–34 and, in fact, with all the intercessions of Moses for Israel, except the last (and possibly latest) in the story of the bronze serpent in Num 21:4–9.36 Other important intercessions for sinners that do not presuppose their repentance are preserved in Mic 7:14–20 and in Dan 9:3–19.37 The reasons why these intercessions move God to forgive can vary but have in common that they cannot be understood as the sinners’ achievements. In the oldest prayer at Sinai, Moses uses himself, his own life, as an argument: he puts himself at stake telling God that if the sinners are not forgiven, “then blot me (as well) out of your book” (Exod 32:32). This blackmail causes God to at least postpone the punishment. The arguing about God’s special relationship with Moses continues in later elaborations, mainly expressed by the phrase that Moses has “found favour in the sight of” God (Exod 33:12, 13, 16, 17; 34:9). Other recurrent reasons concern God’s special relationship with Israel – that is, his election of Israel, “your people” (Exod 32:11, 12; 33:13, 16; Deut 9:26, 29; Mic 7:14; Dan 9:15, 16, 19), Jerusalem and the temple (Dan 9:16–19), or the 33

On Ezek 13:5 and 22:30, see esp. Schöpflin 2002, 265–273. Cf. Jer 6:14 = 8:11; 14:13–14; 23:17. 35 Cf., e.g., 1 Sam 7:5; 12:19, 23; 1 Kgs 8:33–34, 35–36, 46–51 and also the prohibitions of intercession in Jer 7:16; 11:14; 14:11; 15:1. 36 All Moses’s intercessions for Israel are registered and discussed by Aurelius 1988. 37 See esp. Wilke 2014, 49–66 (on Mic 7) and 67–91 (on Dan 9). 34

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

45

patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob/Israel (Exod 32:13; Deut 9:27; cf. Mic 7:20). According to classical deuteronomistic theology, the history of Israel has condemned the people because it is a history of Israel’s sins. Here, history is instead recalled as a history of God’s saving acts and promises.38 The basic reason, however, for God to grant intercessions and take unchanging sinners up into his presence is his own character. This is stated explicitly first and foremost in the proclamation of YHWH as ‫אל רחום וחנון ארך אפים ורב‬ ‫“ חסד ואמת‬a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” in Exod 34:6 which prepares the way for Moses’s successful prayer in v. 9.39 It is even more explicit in the later exposition in Exod 33:19b: “I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and will show mercy upon whom I will show mercy.” “The statement of sovereign freedom of God in Exod 33:19 asserts God’s capacity to have God’s own reasons, to act in ways that do not fit our rationality, to practice graciousness that falls outside our own lawfulness.”40 The statement is an adequate preparation for Moses’s radical prayer in Exod 34:9 that God shall live with a people that remains sinful, as well as for God’s answer granting the request. It means, in reality, that some leading theologians after the YHWH-people’s loss of king, temple, and all bearings, and the subsequent search for causes in the people’s sinful past and present, had faced the problem of “how a holy God can abide with a sinful people.”41 They found an answer not in the people’s (illusory) ability to change its heart, but in the portrait of Moses who causes God’s intrinsic grace and mercy to overcome the wrath. By depicting the intercessor at Sinai, they managed to insist on Israel’s untroubled relationship with God without diminishing either God’s holiness or the people’s sin. This, in turn, means a return to the original conviction of the psalms that life and all its blessings are nothing but free, uncalculated gifts that cannot be deserved and claimed by any moral or religious qualifications but can only be received as gifts from the merciful and gracious God. In other words, they are nothing you shall achieve but something you receive. A new feature, however, is the message that the uncalculated gifts you receive without any kind of qualification also include forgiveness.

38 Cf. e.g., the references to one or more of the patriarchs in Isa 41:8; Ps 105:8–11, 42; Neh 9:7–8; 2 Macc 1:2–5. 39 In Num 14:17–18 the proclamation of Exod 34:6–7 is included in the prayer, as it is in Mic 7:18–19 in a singular and interesting variant (cf. Jeremias 2007, 230–231; Wilke 2014, 61–63). Cf. also the prayer at Dan 9:18. 40 Brueggemann 1992, 177. 41 Moberly 1983, 67.

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D. The Individual’s Forgiveness as a Gift If the question “sin without suffering?” at the head of this contribution is understood as a question of whether sinners can avoid the due reward for their deeds, the answer in the intercession texts treated here is “yes.” The answer is humiliating and liberating at once: humiliating because Israel cannot do anything by herself to avoid her due reward, rejection from God and destruction, but liberating because Israel henceforth does not live by her own achievements but by God’s grace and mercy. However, if the question is understood as a question of whether sin is acceptable, it can now be stated, against possible misunderstandings, that our texts definitely do not answer the question affirmatively. As all good gifts, God’s forgiveness can be misused, and certitudo – the certainty of unconditional salvation – can be perverted to securitas, a self-assured security where no criticism has a chance to strike the conscience. The portrait of the successfully interceding Moses on Mount Sinai and the prayers in Mic 7:14–20 and Dan 9:3–19 are not to be confused with the Jerusalem shalom-prophets who assure that everything is alright: ‫( שלום שלום‬Jer 6:14; 8:10; Ezek 13:10), “and to everyone who stubbornly follows his own heart they say: ‘No evil shall come upon you’” (Jer 23:17). That God’s forgiveness is a pure gift and does not presuppose the repentance of the sinners implies rather the opposite. That you receive life, forgiveness, salvation without any merits of your own neither presupposes nor signifies that everything is alright with your heart. On the contrary, after intercession and forgiveness in Exod 34:9–10, God takes the people into his service again in Exod 34:11–26, at first through a warning against worshipping other gods in vv. 11– 16 and then through a list of cultic laws “appropriate to Israel’s cultic sin.”42 But sin is manifold, so there is scope for all kinds of encouraging admonitions, “appeals … for gratitude to be shown in action.”43 In other words, there is scope for repentance, although this repentance should not be performed in order to deserve life and mercy, which is neither possible nor needed, but as a sign of gratitude. The self-righteous security, however, seems to follow the humble trust in God’s promises like a shadow. The polemic against it is frequent, not least in the book of Jeremiah. The Temple sermon in Jer 7:1–15 is a well-known instance: 3

Thus says YHWH Sabaoth, the God of Israel: Amend your ways and your doings and I will dwell with you in this place.44 4 Do not trust in this lie, “Here is YHWH’s temple, YHWH’s

42

Moberly 1983, 160. von Rad 1962, 230, on the laws in Deuteronomy. 44 Cf. BHSapp. 43

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

47

temple, YHWH’s temple. …” 9 Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely … 10 and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say: “We are safe!” – only to go on doing all these abominations? (Jer 7:3–4, 9–10)

A later exponent of the same polemical tradition is the figure at the entrance to the New Testament stories about Jesus of Nazareth, namely John the Baptist. In the gospels of Matthew and Luke, the main points in his preaching seem to be preserved without Christian colouring.45 According to Matt 3:7–10 (and the almost identical parallel Luke 3:7–9), the message is quite clear: 7

You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8 Bear fruit that befits repentance. 9 Do not think you can say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor;” for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 10 Now the axe is laid to the root of the trees; every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. (Matt 3:7–10)

Abraham had become the identification figure par excellence for the people. In virtue of his exemplary obedience, he had received promises from God to the benefit of all his descendants (Gen 22:15–18), also actualized in one of Moses’s intercessions at Sinai (Exod 32:13). According to John the Baptist, Abraham’s importance at present is – none. That should provoke and it certainly did. It goes well together with Josephus’s remark that the words of “John the so-called Baptist” had caused the people to be “aroused at the highest degree.”46 In the eyes of John, Israel has heaped such an amount of guilt that she has lost her special position before God. Abraham and the whole history of salvation are of no significance any more. Among the disciples of John the Baptist was Jesus of Nazareth, and John’s radical message might explain a characteristic trait in the preaching of Jesus as reported in the gospels: the absence of the salvation history.47 Compared to contemporary and previous Jewish literature, including biblical scriptures, Jesus is remarkably silent about subjects such as the promises to the patriarchs, the exodus from Egypt, the law of Moses, the election of Israel, of David, of Jerusalem, of Zion. When he mentions any of them, he does so in order to reduce its significance, as in the saying: “Many will come from east and west and lie at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the heirs of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (Matt 8:11–12 par. Luke 13:28– 29).48 This noteworthy absence of the salvation history in the preaching of Jesus is easily understood if he shared the opinion of his teacher John the Baptist that 45

Cf. Becker 1996, 38–58, esp. 40–41; Theissen and Merz 1998, 196–211, esp. 200–206. Flavius Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 18:118; quoted from Theissen and Merz 1998, 187. 47 Cf. Becker 1996, 59–73, 155–168. 48 This is the only reference to the patriarchs that with some certainty goes back to the historical Jesus; cf. Becker 1996, 83–84, 159, 161. 46

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also the most pious parts of Israel have wasted their special status and cannot trust in God’s promises to the fathers any longer. “I am no longer worthy to be called your son,” says the prodigal son (Luke 15:21). At that moment, however, he is already in his father’s arms – not because of the smart little speech he had prepared in order to appease the old man and now just manages to begin, but because of the father’s character, his love, his ‫חסד‬, to say it in Hebrew.49 This is new in relation to John the Baptist. Jesus does not in the first place preach God’s judgement but God’s intervention to save his creatures. But he shares the conviction of John that Israel cannot be saved any longer by referring to the fathers. He does not base the gospel that God will now care for Israel and establish his kingdom, his rule, on anything other than the character of God the Creator who cares for his creatures. “I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and will show mercy upon whom I will show mercy,” the father in the parable of the prodigal son could have said to both his sons. One characteristic feature of the Gospel of Luke is that intercession is ascribed a function in this connection, to be sure with repentance as a desired sequel but clearly not as a prerequisite. The function is thus comparable to that of the previously treated intercessions of Moses. In Luke 13:1–5, Jesus preaches repentance along much the same lines as John the Baptist.50 The formal structure of John’s lecture, “Do not think you can say … for I tell you …” (Matt 3:9 par. Luke 3:8), recurs here: “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners …? No, I tell you …” (Luke 13:2–3; similar vv. 4–5). And the point Jesus makes is in accord with the Baptist: to direct the listeners’ interest away from the question of other people’s sins to the question of their own. But then something quite different follows in Luke 13:6–9, a little parable about intercession: 6

A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7 So he said to the gardener: “For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree and I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” 8 He replied: “Sir, let it alone this year as well, until I dig round it and put manure on it. 9 Perhaps it bears fruit next year; if not, cut it down.”

“Now the axe is laid to the root of the trees,” the Baptist had threatened in Luke 3:9 (par. Matt 3:10). In Luke 13 the same metaphor recurs in the mouth of Jesus with the decisive change that a gardener appears and intervenes on behalf of the barren tree. Neither who the gardener represents nor how the owner answers are told. The ending is open. Apparently, listeners and readers are supposed to

49

Cf. Becker 1996, 188–194, esp. 191–192. Against a common view there is no indication in the parable of Luke 15:11–32 that the prodigal son’s return home was an act of repentance caused by bad conscience. Rather, it was caused by bad living conditions (v. 17); cf. esp. Collmar 1978, 60–61. 50 Cf. esp. Becker 1996, 63–65.

Aurelius: Sin Without Suffering?

49

understand by themselves what it is all about: that Jesus intervenes on behalf of the people, bringing a year of favour, of God’s grace and mercy (cf. Luke 4:16– 21). Now is the time to repent and return to God as a sign of gratitude, as long as it is called “this year.”51 On the eve before the crucifixion, there is a reminiscence of the other of the Baptist’s two metaphors for the impending judgement: the separation of the chaff from the wheat (cf. Luke 3:17 par. Matt 3:12). This time as well, an intercession puts a spoke in the wheel. “Simon, Simon,” says Jesus in Luke 22:31, Satan has demanded to sift (all of) you like wheat, 32 but I have prayed for you that your (own) faith may not fail; and when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers. (Luke 22:31–32)

This is a sign of care and of trust but it is also, of course, simultaneously humiliating.52 Should Simon, called Peter, the “Rock” (cf. Luke 6:14), the leading disciple, need to “turn back” (ἐπιστρέφω) to his Master?53 His protest comes immediately: “I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!” (Luke 22:33). Faith, however, is “a human, and thus a fragile, reality”54 and Peter is not so firm as he imagines. But he is sustained by an intercession – which he has not tried at all to deserve; he was not even aware of needing it. That he is unreliable when put to the test will soon become evident. Jesus has no illusions about him: “I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day until you have denied three times that you know me” (Luke 22:34). That Jesus here, and only here accross all four of the gospels, addresses him by his hon-

51 Cf. Jeremias 1962, 170–171; Schmithals 1980, 151; Schweizer 1984, 220; Bovon 2013, 273, 276–277; Gillner 2015, 143–173. The connection with Luke 3:9 is noted by Aurelius 1988, 209, and also by Wolter 2017, 180, 182, although he thinks, with Lohse 1973, 157, that “this year” for Luke signifies a time that is passed with the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE. But in this case the parable would only confirm the preaching of the Baptist. This is unlikely in view of the remarkable change of the metaphor by the introduction of an intercessor. 52 On Luke 22:31–32, see esp. the thorough analysis by Feldkämper 1978, 206–223; cf. Zech 3:1–7; Job 1–2. The double address with the original name, “Simon, Simon,” appears in the NT only to Peter and to Paul: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” (Acts 9:4; 22:7; 26:14; the exception is the double address to Martha in Luke 10:41, but she has no other name). In this way, Jesus is therefore said to address once each the two protagonists of Acts, both of whom, each in his own way, needs to repent and turn back (double address also Gen 22:11; 46:2; Exod 3:4; 1 Sam 3:10; Matt 23:37; only with a title: Matt 7:21, 22; Luke 6:46; 8:24; cf. Billerbeck 1922, 943; 1924, 258). 53 In Luke and Acts, ἐπιστρέφω is not uncommon in the figurative sense of (or close to) “be converted,” “repent” (cf. Luke 1:16, 17; 17:4; Acts 3:19; 9:35; 14:15; 15:[3] 19; 26:18, 20; further 1 Thess 1:9; 1 Pet 2:25). In the Septuagint it is a frequent rendering for ‫( שוב‬cf. Fabry 2004, 514), for example, in all the important ‫שוב‬-texts mentioned above: Deut 4:30; 30:2, 8, 9, 10; 1 Kgs 8:33, 35, 47, 48; 2 Kgs 23:25. 54 Bovon 2012, 178.

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ourable “rock” name55 sounds like a harsh irony. Nevertheless, Jesus has great plans for him: to “strengthen your brothers,” to take responsibility for encouraging all people in the church in future trials and tribulations.56 The passage may well be regarded as Luke’s parallel to the commissioning of Peter in Matt 16:17–19 and John 21:15–19. But it is made entirely clear in Luke 22:32 that the leading role Peter plays later on in the young church57 does not depend on his own moral or religious merits but on Jesus’s intercession. Thus, the concept of intercession seems to have a similar function here as in the previously treated passages about Moses at Sinai. The intercession of the chosen Servant is regarded as the answer to the question “how a holy God can abide with a sinful people,”58 in this case: abide with a sinful disciple. And that brings this enquiry back to the starting point: the individual’s relationship with God. By recording Jesus’s words to Peter about his intercession and about his subsequent task for Peter, Luke can maintain that Peter is entrusted with a mission in the kingdom of God without compromising either God’s holiness or Peter’s sinfulness. As a result, Luke’s portrait of Peter – an identification figure for disciples in all future – is a portrait of one for whom life, including forgiveness, tasks, and salvation, is not to be achieved or deserved but is something you receive as a gift of grace.

Bibliography Aurelius, Erik. 1988. Der Fürbitter Israels: Eine Studie zum Mosebild im Alten Testament. ConBOT 27. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. –. 2003. Zukunft jenseits des Gerichts: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie zum Enneateuch. BZAW 319. Berlin: de Gruyter. Becker, Jürgen. 1996. Jesus von Nazaret. Berlin: de Gruyter. Billerbeck, Paul. 1922. Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch I: Das Evangelium nach Matthäus. Munich: Beck. –. 1924. Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch II: Das Evangelium nach Markus, Lukas und Johannes und die Apostelgeschichte. Munich: Beck. Bovon, François. 2012. Luke 3: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 19:28–24:53. Translated by James Crouch. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress. –. 2013. Luke 2: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 9:51–19:27. Translated by Donald S. Deer. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress. 55

In Matt 16:18 Πέτρος is no address, no vocative. Στηρίζω and ἐπιστηρίζω, “strengthen,” belong to the vocabulary of early Christian parenesis (Acts 14:22; 15:32, 41; 18:23; Rom 1:11 etc.) and ἀδελφοί “brothers” never means just the apostles but always adherents of Jesus in general (e.g., thirty-six instances in Acts); cf. Feldkämper 1978, 218–219. 57 Luke 24:34 also takes up the early tradition preserved in 1 Cor 15:5 that the risen Christ first appeared to Peter. 58 Moberly 1983, 67. 56

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Brueggemann, Walter. 1992. “The Crisis and Promise of Presence in Israel.” Pages 150–183 in Old Testament Theology: Essays on Structure, Theme and Text. Edited by Patrick D. Miller. Minneapolis: Fortress. Childs, Brevard S. 1974. Exodus: A Commentary. OTL. London: SCM. Collmar, Lars. 1978. Och Gud blev människa: Om att gå in i Bibelns bilder. Stockholm: Proprius. Dunlop, Lawrence. 1970. The Intercession of Moses: A Study of the Pentateuchal Traditions. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Fabry, Heinz-Josef. 2004. “‫ שׁוּב‬šûḇ.” Pages 461–522 in vol. 14 of Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006. Feldkämper, Ludger. 1978. Der betende Jesus als Heilsmittler nach Lukas. Veröffentlichungen des Missionspriesterseminars St. Augustin 29. St. Augustin. Gillner, Jens. 2015. Gericht bei Lukas. WUNT II/401. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Holzinger, Heinrich. 1900. Exodus. KHC 2. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Jeremias, Joachim. 1962. Die Gleichnisse Jesu. 6th ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Jeremias, Jörg. 2007. Die Propheten Joel, Obadja, Jona, Micha. ATD 24/3. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Kaiser, Otto. 1992. Grundriss der Einleitung in die kanonischen und deutero-kanonischen Schriften des Alten Testaments, band 1: Die erzählenden Werke. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Konkel, Michael. 2008. Sünde und Vergebung: Eine Rekonstruktion der Redaktionsgeschichte der hinteren Sinaiperikope (Exodus 32–34) vor dem Hintergrund aktueller Pentateuchmodelle. FAT 58. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kratz, Reinhard G. 2000. Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments: Grundwissen der Bibelkritik. UTB 2157. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. –. 2011 (1997). “Erkenntnis Gottes im Hoseabuch.” Pages 287–309 in Prophetenstudien: Kleine Schriften 2. Edited by Reinhard G. Kratz. FAT 74. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Lohse, Eduard. 1973. “Lukas als Theologe der Heilsgeschichte.” Pages 145–164 in Die Einheit des Neuen Testaments: Exegetische Studien zur Theologie des Neuen Testaments. Edited by Eduard Lohse. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Moberly, R. W. L. 1983. At the Mountain of God: Story and Theology in Exodus 32–34. JSOTSup 22. Sheffield: JSOT. Noth, Martin. 1948. Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. –. 1962. Exodus: A Commentary. Translated by John Bowden. OTL. London: SCM. Perlitt, Lothar. 1969. Bundestheologie im Alten Testament. WMANT 36. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. –. 1995 (1971). “Die Verborgenheit Gottes.” Pages 11–25 in Allein mit dem Wort: Theologische Studien. Edited by Hermann Spieckermann. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Rad, Gerhard von. 1962. Old Testament Theology, vol. 1: The Theology of Israel’s Historical Traditions. Translated by D. M. G. Stalker. Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd. Schmid, Konrad. 2010. “The Deuteronomistic Image of History as Interpretive Device in the Second Temple Period: Towards a Long-Term Interpretation of ‘Deuteronomism.’” Pages 369–388 in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010. Edited by Martti Nissinen. VTSup 148. Leiden: Brill. Schmithals, Walter. 1980. Das Evangelium nach Lukas. ZBK NT 3:1. Zürich: TVZ.

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Schweizer, Eduard. 1984. The Good News According to Luke. Translated by David E. Green. Atlanta: John Knox. Schöpflin, Karin. 2002. Theologie als Biographie im Ezechielbuch: Ein Beitrag zur Konzeption alttestamentlicher Prophetie. FAT 36. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Smith, Morton. 1987. Palestinian Parties and Politics that Shaped the Old Testament. 2nd ed. London: SCM. Spieckermann, Hermann. 1989. Heilsgegenwart: Eine Theologie der Psalmen. FRLANT 148. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Steck, Odil Hannes. 1967. Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten: Untersuchungen zur Überlieferung des deuteronomistischen Geschichtsbildes im Alten Testament, Spätjudentum und Urchristentum. WMANT 23. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Theissen, Gerd and Annette Merz. 1998. The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide. Translated by John Bowden. London: SCM. Widmer, Michael. 2004. Moses, God, and the Dynamics of Intercessory Prayer: A Study of Exodus 32–34 and Numbers 13–14. FAT II 8. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Wilke, Alexa. 2014. Die Gebete der Propheten: Anrufungen Gottes im “corpus propheticum” der Hebräischen Bibel. BZAW 451. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Wolff, Hans Walter. 1964 (1961). “Das Kerygma des Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerks.” Pages 308–324 in Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament. Edited by Hans Walter Wolff. ThB 22. Munich: Kaiser. Wolter, Michael. 2017. The Gospel According to Luke: Vol. 2 (Luke 9:51–24). Translated by Wayne Coppins and Christoph Heilig. BMSEC. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

Downing One’s Destiny Drinking and Judgement in the Hebrew Bible* Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme A. Introduction In this study, I want to explore the links between drinking, judgement, and punishment in a selection of Hebrew Bible texts. I am particularly interested in the perceived connection in these texts between drinking and destiny and the notion that drinking has a transformative effect on the drinker.1 In the context of the overall topic of this volume, sin, suffering, and evil, the present exploration into the conceptualization of judgement and punishment is, in a way, the natural bridge between sin and suffering. In many Hebrew Bible texts, sin or transgression leads to judgement and punishment, and suffering entails. This steady rhythm of sin and its consequences may seem an alien concept to contemporary readers. In some strands of the Hebrew Bible, however, it seems to be a condition of human existence. It is a natural component of the relationship between Israel and their God that YHWH sits in judgement over his worshippers, and that he punishes them for their sin if they are found wanting. The texts of the Hebrew Bible are abundant with examples of judgement and punishments and the present study is by no means intended to be a comprehensive survey of all this material. On the contrary, my focus is quite narrow. I focus exclusively on Hebrew Bible texts, where judgement and punishment are represented as drinking, and I am particularly interested in how agency is distributed between the characters in these texts. I shall begin with the drinking of

* It is with great pleasure that I dedicate this essay to Fredrik Lindström. When I was a new student of theology in Copenhagen roughly two decades ago, the older students were all enthralled by a great book that was all the rage at the time. The reader may think that the book in question was the Bible, since we did study theology, but it was in fact Fredrik’s Det sårbara livet (1998). Everyone read it and loved it and it has influenced generations of Nordic Hebrew Bible students and scholars. This anecdote is a testament to Fredrik’s excellent scholarship, to his legacy, and to his ongoing impact in the field. 1 An earlier version of this study was presented at the conference “Drink and Drinking in the Hebrew Bible” in Copenhagen in August 2018. I would like to thank the other participants for their helpful comments and for a stimulating discussion.

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the bitter water in the Law of Jealousy in Num 5 and move on to discuss the similarities and differences between this text and the drinking of the pulverized golden calf in Exod 32. Then I shall focus on the Cup of Wrath motif, which appears most frequently in the prophetic literature in the Hebrew Bible and finally, I shall consider the relationship between drinking and destiny as seen from the perspective of psychological anthropology and embodied metaphor theory.

B. Liquid Judgement (Num 5:11–31) I shall turn first to the Law of Jealousy in Num 5:11–31.2 This text is often referred to as the law regarding the wife that has gone astray, the Sotah (‫)שטה‬. But since this ritual is in fact intended to determine whether a man’s wife has indeed gone astray, I find it is better to allow the woman in the text to remain innocent until proven guilty and to refer to this passage by the name that is used in the text itself in verse 29, namely the “Law of Jealousy” (‫)תורת הקנאת‬.3 The passage opens with a description of the occasion for the ritual: if a man is overcome with the “spirit of jealousy,” because he suspects his wife of having been unfaithful, this is the ritual procedure to employ. The text specifies that the ritual is relevant both in cases where the wife has and has not been unfaithful to her husband. As long as he is possessed by the spirit of jealousy and has no proof or witnesses to support his suspicion. The following verses describe the ritual proper.4 It is to take place in the sanctuary, before YHWH, and a priest is required to act as ritual expert. The ritual sequence requires two “props.” The first is a special version of the grain-offering (‫)מנחה‬, which is called an offering of envy (‫ )מנחת קנאת‬and an offering of remembrance (‫מנחת‬ ‫ )זכרון‬and is said to bring sin to remembrance (‫)מזכרת עון‬.5 The second prop is “the bitter water that brings a curse” (v. 18). The bitter water is made from socalled “holy” water and dust (‫ )עפר‬from the sanctuary floor, which are mixed in a pottery vessel. A third ingredient is added when the priest makes the woman swear an oath that if she is innocent then the bitter water shall have no effect on her, but if she is guilty then, as the water enters her body, YHWH will make her 2 In a previous study (Gudme 2013), I analyzed the Law of Jealousy both as magical ritual, that is a ritual with a strong focus on efficacy, and as ritual text, that is ritual as a distinct literary genre and as a text that links up intertextually with other texts and tropes in the Hebrew Bible. 3 Cf. Boer 2006; Britt 2007, 5–6; Briggs 2009, 293–294. 4 For a detailed presentation of the ritual sequence in Num 5:11–31, see Gudme 2013, 157–164. 5 For a discussion of the offering of remembrance, see Milgrom 1990, 38–39; Levine 1993, 205–206; Lipton 2009, 112; Gudme 2013, 158–159.

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thigh fall and her womb swell. The oath is written down on a scroll and then the writing is wiped out with the mixture of water and dust. So the bitter water consists of water, dust from the sanctuary floor, and the dissolved words of the oath. The culmination of the ritual sequence occurs when the priest turns the woman’s grain offering into smoke on the altar and then makes her drink the water: When he has made her drink (‫ )השקה‬the water, then, if she has defiled herself and has been unfaithful to her husband, the water that brings the curse shall enter (‫ )בוא‬into her and cause bitterness, and make her womb (‫ )בטן‬swell (‫ )צבה‬and her thigh (‫ )ירך‬fall (‫)נפל‬, and the woman shall become a curse (‫ )אלה‬among her people. But if the woman has not defiled herself and is clean, then she shall be left unpunished and be able to conceive children (vv. 27–28).6

The effect of the water in case of the woman’s guilt has caused some puzzlement and it has led to a multitude of different interpretations. The fallen thigh has been read as a euphemism for the woman’s vagina and interpreted as a prolapsed uterus, and the swollen womb has been read as a sign of a false pregnancy that could have stirred the husband’s suspicions in the first place.7 If indeed the cause for the husband’s suspicion is a pregnancy, then the bitter water has been imagined to bring about a miscarriage.8 Another possibility that has been put forward is that the water causes sterility if the woman is guilty and thus makes her unable to conceive in the future.9 In case of the woman’s innocence it has even been suggested that the water that enters her body will actually make her pregnant – I suppose either with her husband’s or with YHWH’s child – and that the latter half of verse 27 should be read as “she will conceive children” rather than as “be able to conceive.”10 For the present purpose, it is sufficient to conclude that what the text describes somewhat enigmatically as a fallen thigh and a swollen womb is some sort of spectacular and damaging effect on the woman’s reproductive area in case she is guilty of infidelity. If she is innocent, drinking the bitter water will have no effect on her. If we focus on the link between drinking and judgement here, there are three things of particular interest: First, the woman has no agency in the text. She is brought to the sanctuary by her husband. Then she is brought into the Tabernacle by the priest and the priest makes her stand in front of YHWH. Finally, the priest makes her drink the bitter water. Contrary to the woman, the water does

6

All translations of Hebrew Bible texts are from the NRSV. Brichto 1975, 12; Frymer-Kensky 1984, 18–21. 8 McKane 1980, 474; van der Toorn 1988, 436; Levine 1993, 193; Miller 2010, 14. 9 Milgrom 1981, 73. 10 Frymer-Kensky 1984, 19, mentions a proposal by Gray that the woman is in fact being rewarded for her innocence and becomes pregnant as a direct result of the ordeal (cf. Sasson 1972, 250). 7

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have agency. It is said to enter or come into the woman and once inside it will either “cause bitterness” and trigger the curse that will damage the woman’s lower body or it will leave her unharmed. The ritual procedure has a dual purpose. It is intended to determine whether the husband’s jealousy is unfounded or if his wife has in fact been unfaithful. The effect or lack of effect of the water seems to be a sign from YHWH regarding the woman’s guilt or innocence. In this respect, the ritual can be classified as a form of divination since it seeks hidden information from the gods.11 In case the woman is guilty, YHWH’s reply is expected to have a built-in punishment in the shape of the fallen thigh and the swollen womb. In this way, the water may cause judgement both in the sense of determining guilt and in the sense of punishment for transgression.

C. Drinking the Object of One’s Sin (Exod 32:19–20) My second example is part of the Golden Calf narrative in the book of Exodus. Moses has gone to face YHWH on Mount Sinai and in his absence, the people of Israel persuade Aaron to make them a golden calf so that they may worship it. When Moses returns and sees the people dancing in front of the calf, he not only smashes the tablets of the covenant that he has received from YHWH, he also destroys the calf, grinds it to a powder and makes the people drink it: “He took the calf that they had made, burned (‫ )שרף‬it with fire, ground (‫ )טחן‬it to powder (‫)דקק‬, scattered (‫ )זרה‬it on the water, and made the Israelites drink (‫ )השקה‬it” (v. 20). There is some similarity between this passage and the Law of Jealousy in Numbers 5. Most obviously, the theme of making someone drink a drink of water mixed with dust or powder.12 However, as Nathan MacDonald has demonstrated, there are also dissimilarities.13 Apart from the hiphil form of the verb ‫ שקה‬that appears in both texts to describe the coerced drinking (cf. Num 5:27), there are no significant verbal parallels in the two texts. The way in which the drinking-scene is treated is also quite dissimilar. In Num 5, the recipe for the 11

Cf. Boer 2006, 93. A connection between Exod 32:20 and Num 5:11–31 was made already in the Talmud in ‘Abod. Zar. 44a, cf. Bach 1993, 48. See also Britt 2007, for a discussion of the similarities and differences between Num 5 and Exod 32. Philippe Guillaume 2013 and David Frankel 1994 both see evidence of a hidden ordeal ritual in Exod 32, which links the text with Num 5. However, Frankel interprets the object turned into dust and drunk as the tablets of the law rather than the statue of the calf. This interpretation brings the drinking incident in Exod 32 even closer to Num 5, because both examples then include written words that are destroyed, mixed with water, and drunk. 13 MacDonald 2007; 2008a. 12

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bitter water and the drinking of it is described at great length. In Exod 32, the whole procedure is over within a single verse. There may be a connection between the adultery theme in Num 5 and the idolatry theme in Exod 32. The well-known image of idolatry as adultery is present in the continuation of the narrative about the divine tablets in Exod 34, where the people is warned against whoring after other gods. In Exod 32, however, this terminology is completely absent and it may be that Nathan MacDonald is right that the image of idolatry as adultery is not in fact a part of the narrative in Exod 32.14 To some extent, the description of Moses’ destruction of the golden calf by burning it, grinding it to a powder and scattering it, is reminiscent of an ancient Near Eastern literary stereotype, which can be found in curse texts, treaties and ritual texts, and which seems to be invoking an image of utterly destroying an enemy rather than an image of infidelity.15 Most importantly in relation to the topic of the present study, there seems to be no connection between drinking and destiny in Exod 32. Contrary to the bitter water in Num 5, the mixture of Golden Calf powder and water in Exod 32 appears to have no agency and no effect what so ever. Moses makes the Israelites drink and nothing happens. In the subsequent verse, Moses turns to Aaron to reproach him for assisting the Israelites in their idolatry and in the following verses Aaron defends himself. The topic of drinking the pulverized calf does not come up. When Moses finally decides to punish the people and commands the Levites to kill 3,000 of them it has no connection with the drinking of the water. In the final verse of the chapter, YHWH sends a plague against the Israelites as an additional punishment for the Golden Calf and here again there seems to be no connection with the drinking.16 Therefore, in spite of the tantalizing connotations that the drinking of the Golden Calf may evoke, there seems to be no link between drinking and destiny in Exod 32.

D. Drinking and Judgement in the Cup of Wrath Motif My final example is the Cup of Wrath motif.17 It appears in a number of prophetic texts, in a couple of Psalms and in a single verse in the book of Job.18 14

MacDonald 2007, 35–36; idem 2008a, 60–63. Cf. Loewenstamm 1967; Begg 1985. 16 For a discussion of the link between drinking and punishment in Exod 32, see Krašovec 1999, 90–103, and MacDonald 2007, 24, and for a discussion of the question of guilt in Num 5 and in Exod 32, see Bach 1993, 48–49. 17 For a general introduction to this motif, see the entry “Cup” in Ryken, Wilhoit, and Longman 1998, 186; and Raabe 1996, 206–242. 18 Isa 51:17–23; Jer 25:15–29; 49:12–13; 51:7; Lam 4:21; Ezek 23:31–34; Obad 16; Hab 15

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The Cup of Wrath motif is an image of judgement and punishment.19 In the prophetic writings, it is used both of the judgement that YHWH distributes among the foreign nations and of the judgement he passes on Israel and Judah. The effects of the cup of wrath are a mixture of destruction by warfare and violence and a state of utter helplessness and humiliation caused by drunkenness and excessive drinking. For instance in Isa 51, where Jerusalem is addressed by the prophet: You who have drunk (‫ )שתה‬at the hand of YHWH the cup (‫ )כוס‬of his wrath (‫)חמה‬, who have drunk to the dregs the bowl of staggering (v. 17a). These two things have befallen you – who will grieve with you? – devastation and destruction, famine and sword (v. 19).

In Jer 25, we find a similar mix of drunkenness and violence: For thus YHWH, the God of Israel, said to me: Take from my hand this cup (‫ )כוס‬of the wine of wrath (‫)חמה‬, and make all the nations to whom I send you drink (‫ )השקה‬it. They shall drink (‫ )שתה‬and stagger and go out of their minds because of the sword that I am sending among them (v. 15). Then you shall say to them, thus says YHWH of hosts, the God of Israel: Drink (‫)שתה‬, get drunk and vomit, fall and rise no more, because of the sword that I am sending among you (v. 27).

In some of these texts, a link between senseless drunkenness and sexual humiliation is made explicit, such as in Hab 2:15–16, where drinking of the cup leads to exposure of male nakedness and an uncircumcised penis, and in Ezek 23, where Jerusalem is addressed as Oholibah, the sister of Samaria, who is also called Oholah. Oholibah is sentenced to drink from her sister’s cup that contains horror and desolation, and it will make her expose herself and use the sherds of the cup to saw at her breasts. These images seem to draw on experiences both from senseless drunkenness, where people may expose and humiliate themselves like in the story of Noah as wine-grower in Gen 9, and experiences of warfare and conquest, where the defeated could be subjected to violence, humiliation, and rape.20 2:15–16; Zech 12:2; Job 21:20; Pss 60:3; 75:8. 19 The cup of wrath motif has been analyzed in relation to food studies in the Hebrew Bible in two recent publications: Rebekah Welton has a discussion of the motif in her PhD thesis on gluttony and drunkenness in the Hebrew Bible (Welton 2018, 244–258), and in his monograph on the uses of food in the Hebrew Bible, Nathan MacDonald 2008b, 187–191, has a passage on the cup of wrath in a chapter devoted to “Judgement at the Table.” Whereas Welton and MacDonald both focus on the social context of this imagery, on the connotations connected with the banquet scene and on this motif’s relation to hospitality, I have chosen a more “intimate” approach, if you will, and I shall follow the liquid past the lips and into the body in order to see what an embodied reading may yield (see below). 20 Cf. Welton 2018, 252–256. See also van Dijk-Hemmes 1995.

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In the Hebrew Bible, the cup can also carry positive connotations. Perhaps most famously in Ps 23, where the psalmist praises YHWH, because YHWH prepares a table before him in the presence of his enemies, anoints his head with oil and lets his cup overflow.21 The power of the cup of wrath motif probably partly derives from the way in which it inverts social contexts that are customarily associated with joy, hospitality, and generosity. Rebekah Welton has shown how wine, which is usually a symbol of fertility and joy in the Hebrew Bible, is reversed into a symbol of destruction and sexual transgression in the cup of wrath texts.22 Along similar lines, Nathan MacDonald has stressed the pervading positive connotations in connection with hospitality and banquet scenes, not just in the Hebrew Bible but in the ancient Near East in general. According to MacDonald, this inversion or even parody of a hospitality-scene, an “anti-banquet,” which we encounter in the cup of wrath motif, may in fact be an invention of the Biblical authors, a new way of using cup imagery in ancient Near Eastern literature.23 I agree that the provocative and troubling reversal of an otherwise joyous and meaningful social occasion is an important aspect of the cup of wrath motif. However, I shall not concentrate on the social context of the scene here, but rather on the link between drinking and destiny in these texts. The connection between drinking and judgement in the cup of wrath texts is most explicit in Ps 75. Here it is said that YHWH will judge, and that he will put down and punish some and lift up and bless others: But it is God who executes judgement (‫)שפט‬, putting down one and lifting up another. For in the hand of YHWH there is a cup (‫)כוס‬ with foaming well-mixed wine; he will pour from it, and all the wicked of the earth shall drain (‫ )מצה‬it and drink (‫ )שתה‬it until the dregs (vv. 7–8).

But even in the other cup of wrath texts, where YHWH is not explicitly named as a judge, the link between drinking the cup and being subjected to YHWH’s judgement and punishment is clear. In Ezekiel 23 for instance, OholibahJerusalem is sentenced to drink from her sister’s cup, because she has “walked on her sister’s path” and offended YHWH just like her sister Oholah-Samaria did. The consequences of drinking is “horror and desolation.” Generally, in the cup of wrath texts, drinking and guilt go hand in hand, but there is one trou-

21

Arterbury and Bellinger 2005; MacDonald 2008b, 190. Welton 2018, 256–258. 23 MacDonald 2008b, 187–191; cf. also Fishbane 1974, 491; and McKane 1980. For a broad introduction to the function of commensality and banqueting in the ancient Near East, see Ermidoro 2015. 22

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bling exception. In Jer 49:12, where YHWH pronounces his judgement against Edom, it is stressed how both the innocent and the guilty must drink from the cup: “If those for whom there was no judgement (‫ )אין משפטם‬to drink (‫)שתה‬ the cup still have to drink it, shall you be the one to go unpunished (‫ ?)נקה‬You shall not go unpunished; you must drink it.” Drinking the cup is inevitable if YHWH commands it. This is also stressed in Jer 25:28, where YHWH contemplates what will happen if the nations refuse the cup: “And if they refuse to accept the cup from your hand to drink, then you shall say to them: Thus says YHWH of hosts: You must drink!” In the Cup of Wrath texts, there is a close link between drinking and destiny. To drink is to receive YHWH’s punishment and to be destroyed by drunken senselessness and violence. The Cup of Wrath texts do not discern between the agency of the wine and the agency of YHWH. The wine and its effects appear to be an extension of YHWH’s will. Unlike in Num 5, where drinking could leave the woman unharmed, drinking the cup of wrath inevitably leads to destruction and punishment, even in the rare occasion, where the drinker appears to be guiltless. However, like in Num 5 and Exod 32, not drinking is not an option. Drinking the cup of wrath is inevitable.

E. An Embodied Reading As I mentioned above, the link between drinking and destiny is weak or even non-existent in Exod 32, but in The Law of Jealousy and in the cup of wrath texts there are strong links between drinking and destiny. In order to shed light on these links, I have used the work of the psychologist Paul Rozin, who is an expert on the cultural and social psychology of food. In an 1999-article with the delightful title, “Food is Fundamental, Fun, Frightening, and Far-Reaching,” Rozin explores the many influences that food and drink have on us in our daily life.24 The matter that we ingest influences not only our biology, but our minds and world views as well. In this article, Rozin himself is inspired by the philosopher and physician Leon R. Kass and his monograph, The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfection of Our Nature.25 Rozin follows Kass’ description of eating and ingestion as a profoundly transformational act. When we eat or drink something, we transform it, chemically as well as physically. Eating comprises the appropriation, incorporation, and de-formation of a complex other, and its homogenization into components, in preparation for their transformation into a complex same. Eating and ingestion

24 25

Rozin 1999. Kass 1999.

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is laden with affect, because it involves an extremely intimate exchange between the environment and the self.26 As Mary Douglas noted in Purity and Danger, our inner bodies, our physical selves, and the outside world do not usually come into direct contact with each other except when we eat and drink and when we breathe. The protected interior of the human body, which is normally shielded by skin and clothes is “invaded” through these life-essential and transgressive actions.27 When we ingest food and drink, the outside world enters the self and this physical experience has important consequences for our perception of eating and drinking.28 According to Rozin, the old saying “you are what you eat” is not trivial when it comes to our perception of what the outside world does to our bodies, when we ingest it as food and drink. When two entities “mix,” the product displays some combination of the characteristics of the components. According to what one could call “folk psychology,” that is, the hardwired and offline way we think about the world and how it works, this is also true when food or drink is mixed with a person.29 Paul Rozin and Carol Nemeroff conducted a test on a group of college students, and their results showed that the students were more inclined to believe that a cultural group described as “turtle eaters” would have turtle properties than an otherwise identical group described as wild boar eaters.30 Even if it is not actually true, it seems natural and logic to us that our selves intermingle with the substances we ingest, and that these substances change and transform us. In another study, Rozin and Nemeroff explored what we perceive as “the borders of the self,” by testing the relative vulnerability and sensitivity of different body orifices. Among several interesting results, their study showed that apertures such as the ear were perceived as relatively unimportant and with little direct connection to the self of a person, whereas the mouth was commonly perceived as one of the two most important apertures and with a strong connection to a person’s self.31 These studies show that according to “folk psychology,” there is a close connection between specifically the mouth and the self. Furthermore, the food and drink that we ingest is often perceived as being able to transform us in an ontological way that goes beyond chemistry and nutrition. The final component of my embodied reading is derived from embodied metaphor theory.32 Embodied or conceptual metaphors were made famous by 26

Rozin 1999, 10, 13–14. Douglas 2002, 36–50, 141–159. 28 Cf. Rozin 13–16. 29 For folk psychology, see Slingerland 2008, 129–142. 30 Nemeroff and Rozin 1989. 31 Rozin and Nemeroff 1995. 32 For a general introduction to cognitive theories of metaphor, see, for example, Gibbs, 27

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George Lakoff and Mark Johnson in their 1980-monograph, Metaphors We Live By, and in a number of subsequent bestselling publications.33 Embodied metaphor has long since become a common part of the exegete’s toolbox.34 Embodied metaphor theory originates in the field of cognitive linguistics. It rests on the assumption that metaphorical expressions are not merely the results of culturally established conventions of language and thought, but that they are actually rooted in deeply embedded and unconscious conceptual structures in the human brain. Embodied metaphor theory specifically details significant links between bodily experience, abstract thought, and metaphoric language and action. One important development in the study of embodied metaphor is the discovery of primary metaphors.35 These are metaphors that arise from our experiential correlations with the world, and they rely on co-occurrence rather than on just similarity. Primary metaphors form the basis for most complex metaphors. One example of a primary metaphor is the conception that more is up. The understanding of more (increase) as up (verticality) rests on a number of common everyday bodily experiences, such as orientating oneself vertically in space and an experience of quantity. If you add more liquid to a container or if you add stuff to a pile the level goes up. In this way, our bodily experiences create a physical and tangible basis for our understanding of a concept like quantity. This leads to expressions such as the prices have gone up and turn the volume down, where price and volume is quantified in terms of height.36 I am going to skip straight to the point and jump to a primary metaphor, identified by Joseph Grady, who coined the category of primary metaphors in his 1997-PhD thesis, “Foundations of Meaning.” This primary metaphor is accepting is swallowing.37 According to Grady, the metaphorical meaning of swallow has a strong motivation in lived experience. In many of the cases where we are aware of swallowing, and therefore can be said to actually experience it, the physical act is accompanied by and tightly correlated with a cognitive act – a low-level decision to accept and not to spit whatever is in our mouth out – and this act forms another distinguishable aspect of the experience. Therefore swallowing maps onto the act of accepting a proposition in an intellectual

Lima, and Francozo 2004; Slingerland 2004; 2008, 151–218; Grady 2010; Gibbs 2014. In a previous study, I have used conceptual metaphor theory to analyze concepts of life and its place in the body in the Hebrew Bible (see Gudme 2019). 33 Lakoff and Johnson 1980; Lakoff 1987; Johnson 1987; Lakoff and Johnson 1999. 34 A recent example of this is Nicole L. Tilford’s book, Sensing World, Sensing Wisdom: The Cognitive Foundation of Biblical Metaphors (2017), in which Tilford uses conceptual metaphor theory to analyze Hebrew Bible wisdom literature. For more examples, see the contributions in Nikolsky et al. 2019. 35 Gibbs 2014; Tilford 2017, 17. 36 Lakoff and Johnson 1999, 51–53. 37 Grady 1997, 83–86.

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sense, but also onto other situations where acceptance, for instance of a situation, is at issue. In this latter sense, accepting consists basically of a decision not to resist a situation. The primary metaphor accepting is swallowing is behind expressions such as the demotion was a bitter pill to swallow and the new rules were forced down our throats.38 This small journey into the body has taught us three things about human language and perception: First, there is a perceived close connection between the mouth and the self; secondly, there is a widespread notion that food and drink may change us ontologically when ingested; and finally, the primary metaphor accepting is swollowing indicates that there is a close mapping between swallowing and accepting – or at least between swallowing and not resisting – in human cognition.

F. Conclusion: Drinking and Judgement in the Hebrew Bible It is my suggestion that the input we get from a focus on the body, what I have called an embodied reading above, may help us to understand the power of imagery that connects drinking with destiny in the Hebrew Bible, such as the Law of Jealousy in Num 5 and the cup of wrath motif. The perceived close connection between the mouth and the self and the notion that ingested matter may in some way transform us, informs our reading of both the Law of Jealousy and of the cup of wrath texts. YHWH’s agency is strong in these texts and therefore the efficacy of the water and the wine should not surprise us. But the imagery that is chosen to express this agency is probably not accidental. A liquid that is ingested through the mouth and causes a dramatic transformation for the drinker corresponds well with ideas about how the self is connected with the outside world through the mouth and consequently may be changed by substances that enter the body through the mouth. In addition, the close mapping between acceptance and swallowing may add to the perception that drinking is inevitable in the Law of Jealousy and in the cup of wrath texts and that the ones that drink are defeated or at least that any attempt at resistance is futile. As we have seen, the drinking of the Golden Calf in Exod 32 does not fit the drinking-as-destiny scheme. But the primary metaphor accepting is swallowing may help us to understand why the Israelites are made to drink the dust of their idolatrous statue. They are literally made to swallow their defeat, to accept the error of their ways and to give up any resistance they may have when facing their judgement and punishment.

38

Grady 1997, 86, 99.

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Bibliography Arterbury, Andrew E. and William H. Bellinger, Jr. 2005. “‘Returning’ to the Hospitality of the Lord: A Reconsideration of Psalm 23:5–6.” Biblica 3:387–395. Bach, Alice. 1993. “Good to the Last Drop: Viewing the Sotah (Numbers 5:11–31) as the Glass Half Empty and Wondering How to View it Half Full.” Pages 26–54 in The New Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible. Edited by J. Cheryl Exum and David J. A. Clines. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Begg, Christopher T. 1985. “The Destruction of the Golden Calf.” Pages 208–251 in Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung, Gestalt und Botschaft. Edited by Norbert Lohfink. BETL 68. Leuven: University Press. Boer, Roland. 2006. “The Law of the Jealous Man.” Pages 87–95 in Voyages in Uncharted Waters: Essays on the Theory and Practice of Biblical Interpretation in Honour of David Jobling. Edited by Wesley J. Bergen and Armin Siedlecki. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Brichto, Herbert Chanan. 1975. “The Case of the Sota and a Reconsideration of Biblical ‘Law.’” HUCA 46:55–70. Briggs, Richard S. 2009. “Reading the Sotah Text (Numbers 5:11–31): Holiness and a Hermeneutic Fit for Suspicion.” BibInt 17:288–319. Britt, Brian. 2007. “Male Jealousy and the Suspected Sotah: Toward a Counter-Reading of Numbers 5:11–31.” The Bible and Critical Theory 3/1:1–5, 19. Dijk-Hemmes, Fokkelien van. 1995. “The Metaphorization of Woman in Prophetic Speech: An Analysis of Ezekiel 23.” Pages 256–275 in Feminist Companion to the Latter Prophets. Edited by Athalya Brenner-Ilan. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Douglas, Mary. 2002. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concept of Polution and Taboo. London: Routledge. Ermidoro, Stefania. 2015. Commensality and Ceremonial Meals in the Neo-Assyrian Period. Venice: Edizioni Ca’ Foscari. Fishbane, Michael. 1974. “Accusations of Adultery: A Study of Law and Scribal Practice in Numbers 5:11–31.” HUCA 45:25–45. Frankel, David. 1994. “The Destruction of the Golden Calf: A New Solution.” VT 44:330– 339. Frymer-Kensky, Tikva. 1984. “The Strange Case of the Suspected Sotah (Numbers V 11– 31).” VT 34:11–26. Gibbs, Raymond W., Jr. 2014. “Embodied Metaphor.” Pages 167–184 in The Bloomsbury Companion to Cognitive Linguistics. Edited by Jeannette Littlemore and John R. Taylor. London: Bloomsbury. Gibbs, Raymond W., Jr., Paula Lenz Costa Lima, and Edson Francozo. 2004. “Metaphor is Grounded in Embodied Experience.” Journal of Pragmatics 36:1189–1210. Grady, Joseph, E. 2010. “Metaphor.” Pages 188–213 in The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics. Edited by Dirk Geeraerts and Hubert Cuyckens. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grady, Joseph. 1997. “Foundations of Meaning: Primary Metaphors and Primary Scenes.” PhD Diss., Berkeley. Gudme, Anne Katrine de Hemmer. 2019. “Liquid Life: Blood, Life, and Conceptual Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East.” Pages 63–69 in Language, Cognition, and Biblical Exegesis: Interpreting Minds. Edited by Ronit Nikolsky et al. London: Bloomsbury.

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–. 2013. “A Kind of Magic? The Law of Jealousy in Numbers 5:11–31 as Magical Ritual and as Ritual Text.” Pages 149–167 in Studies in Magic and Divination in the Biblical World. Edited by Helen R. Jacobus et al. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Guillaume, Phillippe. 2013. “Drinking Golden Bull: The Erased Ordeal in Exodus 32.” Pages 135–147 in Studies in Magic and Divination in the Biblical World. Edited by Helen R. Jacobus et al. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Johnson, Mark. 1987. The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination and Reason. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kass, Leon R. 1999. The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of Our Nature. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Krašovec, Jože. 1999. Reward, Punishment, and Forgiveness: The Thinking and Beliefs of Ancient Israel in the Light of Greek and Modern Views. VTSup 78. Leiden: Brill. Lakoff, George. 1987. Women, Fire and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: Chicago University Press. –. 1999. Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought. New York: Basic Books. Levine, Baruch A. 1993. Numbers 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AB. New York: Doubleday. Lipton, Diana. 2009. “Feeding the Green-Eyed Monster: Bitter Waters, Flood Waters, and the Theology of Exile.” Pages 102–118 in Embroidered Garments: Priests and Gender in Biblical Israel. Edited by Deborah W. Rooke. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Loewenstamm, Samuel E. 1967. “The Making and Destruction of the Golden Calf.” Bib 48:481–490. MacDonald, Nathan. 2007. “Recasting the Golden Calf: The Imaginative Potential of the Old Testament's Portrayal of Idolatry.” Pages 22–39 in Idolatry: False Worship in the Bible, Early Judaism and Christianity. Edited by S. C. Barton. London: T&T Clark. –. 2008a. “‘Gone Astray’: Dealing with the Sotah (Num. 5.11–31).” Pages 47–64 in Go Figure! Essays on Figuration in Biblical Interpretation. Edited by Stanley D. Walters. Princeton Theological Monograph Series 81. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. –. 2008b. Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament. New York: Oxford University Press. McKane, W. 1980. “Poison, Trial by Ordeal and the Cup of Wrath.” VT 30:474–492. Milgrom, Jacob. 1981. “The Case of the Suspected Adulteress, Numbers 5:11–31: Redaction and Meaning.” Pages 69–75 in The Creation of Sacred Literature: Composition and Redaction of the Biblical Text. Edited by Richard Elliott Friedmann. Berkeley: University of California Press. Milgrom, Jacob. 1990. Numbers. JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. Miller, Daniel. 2010. “Another Look at the Magical Ritual for a Suspected Adulteress in Numbers 5:11–31.” Magic, Ritual and Witchcraft 5:1–16. Nemeroff, Carol and Paul Rozin. 1989. “‘You Are What You Eat’: Applying the Demand-Free ‘Impressions’ Technique to an Unacknowledged Belief.” Ethos: The Journal of Psychological Anthropology 17:50–69. Nikolsky, Ronit et al., eds. 2019. Language, Cognition, and Biblical Exegesis: Interpreting Minds. London: Bloomsbury.

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Raabe, Paul R. 1996. Obadiah: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. The Anchor Yale Bible Commentaries. New York: Doubleday. Rozin, Paul. 1999. “Food is Fundamental, Fun, Frightening, and Far-Reaching.” Social Research 66:9–30. Rozin, Paul and Carol Nemeroff. 1995. “The Borders of the Self: Contamination Sensitivity and Potency of the Body Apertures and Other Body Parts.” Journal of Research in Personality 29:318–440. Ryken, Leland, James C. Wilhoit, and Tremper Longman III, eds. 1998. Dictionary of Biblical Imagery: An Encyclopedic Exploration of the Images, Symbols, Motifs, Metaphors, Figures of Speech and Literary Patterns of the Bible. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity. Sasson, Jack M. 1972. “Numbers 5 and the ‘Waters of Judgement.’” Biblische Zeitschrift 16:249–251. Slingerland, Edward. 2008. What Science Offers the Humanities: Integrating Body and Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Slingerland, Edward. 2004. “Conceptual Metaphor Theory as Methodology for Comparative Religion.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 72:1–31. Tilford, Nicole L. 2017. Sensing World, Sensing Wisdom: The Cognitive Foundation of Biblical Metaphors. Atlanta: SBL. Toorn, Karel van der. 1988. “Ordeal Procedures in the Psalms and the Passover Meal.” VT 38:427–445. Welton, Rebekah. 2018. “‘A Glutton and a Drunkard’: Excessive and ‘Deviant’ Consumption of Food and Alcohol in the Hebrew Bible in relation to the Law of the Rebellious Son (Deuteronomy 21:18–21).” PhD Diss., Exeter University, UK.

Good Sun, Evil Sun, Eternal Sun Biblical, Central Semitic, and Afro-Asiatic Perspectives* Ola Wikander During the summer of 2018, Sweden experienced an epidemic of forest fires due to extreme heat and lack of precipitation, one of which was the hitherto largest conflagration in Swedish history. The direct results of dangerous temperatures and destructive solarity became scaringly apparent. In 2019, heat again reached destructive levels, involving a heat wave that first struck India and then Europe and the rest of the world – and the month of June was the hottest one ever recorded. All this was followed by the devastating Australian bushfires of 2019 and 2020. For me, the work I did when writing my 2014 book Drought, Death, and the Sun in Ugarit and Ancient Israel became very relevant in an existential sense, given the imminent threat of global warming. The reality of the “Evil Sun” became very tangible indeed. In my 2014 book, I discussed instances in which solar imagery in biblical and Ugaritic sources was used both in reference to saving powers, royalty, eternity and other positively-loaded ideas, and as symbols or indicators of death, destruction, decay – and evil. Specifically, I studied how the Ugaritic Sun Goddess Shapshu is both the one who visits and influences the land of the dead (and connects it to the land of the living) and the one who falls under the sway of the god of Death when Baal is dead, sending the destructive rays of drought over the land – and, finally, the one who acts as the referee in the ultimate struggle between Baal (life) and Mot (death), illustrating her liminal nature. I then discussed how these motifs are received and transformed in the Hebrew Bible, integrating the motif of destructive solarity and drought into the character of YHWH himself (and that solarity gradually becoming his weapon and instrument of judgment, as he appropriates even the powers once associated with Mot). * This article is part of my work under the aegis of the Pro Futura Scientia research fellowship, funded by Riksbankens Jubileumsfond and the Swedish Collegium for Advanced Study, Uppsala (SCAS). The first half of the writing was done during my highly stimulating residence at SCAS during the academic year of 2018–2019. I would additionally like to extend my thanks to the Swedish Institute of Classical Studies in Rome, where the rest of the work was carried out – during a period of intense heat! Thanks are also due to Ahmad AlJallad for his positive read-through of my text.

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Here, I wish to revisit these themes from the perspectives of inherited poetic/ literary tropes and motifs, and to widen the perspective, discussing not only Northwest Semitic material but hinting at some possibly historically related parallels from Safaitic (early North Arabian) and even outside the Semitic branch of Afro-Asiatic – namely in Ancient Egyptian. I will be looking at a number of instances in which hitherto unnoticed ancient poetic motifs concerning the Sun and drought may be represented in the Hebrew Bible or in its greater cultural milieu. The questions of suffering and the relationship of the divine to the forces of “evil” – so often and eloquently studied by Fredrik Lindström1 – will thus be analysed using the figure of the Sun as a focal point (pun intended). The character of the Sun, as giver of both light and drought, as ruler of the day as well as traverser of the lands of the dead (so described both in Mesopotamia and Ugarit – with reminiscences in the Hebrew Bible) provides ample material for such study. In this article, as in my 2014 book and other publications, I will be employing what I to refer to as “etymological poetics,” i.e. the study of linguistically inherited poetic motifs and formulae which can go back quite far in history. The basic idea of this methodological approach is the simple observation that story motifs and ideas are often transmitted from generation to generation by means of set phrases, which are often quite resilient to change and can thus be studied using the methodologies of comparative linguistics. One simple example of this principle connecting motifs and etymological material as applied to the ideas of drought and death can be found in the famous Arabic word Ramaḍān, originally the name of a month of heat, derived from the root rmḍ (“to be hot,” “to burn”), which also forms the derived verbal stem irtamaḍa, “to grieve,” “to be consumed by sorrow.” The conceptual link between intense heat and grief is encoded in the linguistic material itself, a pattern which is quite ubiquitous in much ancient Semitic literature. Thus, I will look at a number of pieces of “etymological poetics” connected with the Sun, pieces that may seem disparate but provide additional points of illustrative data for the questions of destructive versus salvific solarity of the type found at Ugarit and in the Hebrew Bible. We shall begin with connections stretching from an Egyptian solar deity, to Arabic, and thence to a biblical place name.

1

Especially in Lindström 1983 and 1994.

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A. The Root *lḏ‘, the Egyptian Sun God, and the Biblical Place Name Leša‘/Lāša‘ In the Ugaritic and Old Testament texts, a number of verbal roots are commonly used to express the theological motif of killing drought; in my 2014 study, I discussed several such examples, such as ṣḥr(r), ḥrr, šḫn, ’bl, and ṯkḥ/škh (see below on the latter), all of which are used poetically to invoke the ancient drought motif and encode it into etymologically resilient formulae. The first of these appears in the thrice-recurring “Refrain of the Burning Sun” in the Baal Cycle, which describes the baleful influence of the Solar Deity during the period when Baal is gone/dead and Mot, divine Death, rules in the land: nrt ilm špš ṣḥrrt la šmm b yd bn ilm mt (KTU 1.6 II 24–25)

Shapshu, the Divine Lamp, glows red-hot, the heavens are weakened in the hands of Divine Mot.2

This recurring passage certainly describes the “Evil Sun” aspect referred to in the title of the present article, vividly painting the sickly, destructive, red glow of the Sun as a danger to all life (literally, as it is caused by the rule of the influence of the god of Death, manifesting his power through the heavenly body that every night transcends the border between the living and the dead and thereby, in a way, “infecting” it).3 However, the Baal Cycle also provides evidence of the “Good Sun” (Shapshu acting as a referee in the final battle between Baal and Mot and granting kingship – another common connotation of the Sun in the 2

I present this translation of the “Refrain,” which appears three times in the Baal Cycle as a marker of the relationship between Baal, Mot, and the world, “as is,” as the philological conundra of the passage are legion. Not least of these is the exact meaning of ṣḥrr, which I render here as “to glow red-hot.” I refer to my in-depth discussion of the formula in Wikander 2014a, 23–47, for much more explicit arguments of the linguistic and poetic problems, as well as references to the substantial Forschungsgeschichte that this passage has amassed. The other two instances of the “Refrain” appear in KTU 1.3 V 17–18 and KTU 1.4 VIII 21–24, in both cases with small differences from the version quoted above. In this and further quotations of Ugaritic passages in the present article, I have dispensed with word dividers and roman-type marking of difficult-to-read letters. 3 A similar instance of the “infected Sun” may be in evidence in the omen text KTU 1.78, which appears to talk of the danger affecting the Sun when identified close to Resheph (i.e., Mars), the “red planet.” For further on this, see my discussion in Wikander 2013 (again with references to the multifarious interpretations that this text has been subjected to – some seeing the text as discussing an eclipse). The idea of a reddish celestial glow (presumably connected to the Sun) being taken as a dangerous omen can be found in other ancient Near Eastern sources as well: see, for example, a celestial omen delivered by the Neo-Assyrian chief scribe Issar-šumu-ereš (text no. 35 in Hunger 1992, 19), which discusses the nefarious implications of an akukūtu(m), a “red glow,” being seen in the sky. One should note, however, that akukūtu(m) has also been interpreted as referring to the Aurora Borealis (see Stephenson and Willis 2004; Ossendrijver 2016, 150, is critical of the latter supposition).

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ancient Near East – to the hero Baal) and, not least, the “Eternal” quality thereof: the fortunes of the various gods vying for power (Yamm, Baal, Mot, Aththar) may change during the story, but Shapshu remains a constant presence during all of this, carrying messages, rescuing Baal’s dead body, ruling the shades of the dead, and administering divine justice. One Semitic word that has not hitherto been much recognized as an expression of the burning Sun is the Arabic verb laḏa‘a, meaning “to burn” (e.g., of fire), “to sting,” or even (by implication) “to offend.” This is unfortunate, as the use of laḏa‘a to express burning heat may be of ancient Proto-Afro-Asiatic provenance. The root is not common within the Semitic sub-family of AfroAsiatic – in fact, there are few clear cognates outside of Arabic (if any). Thus, if the use of this root to describe destructive heat does indeed represent a piece of formulaic poetic inheritance, its appearance in Arabic must be considered an archaism. It is outside the Semitic family that one must look if relevant cognates are to be found – specifically, in Egyptian. In the “newer school” of Egypto-Semitic etymological comparison, one of the theoretical linchpins is the contention (originally going back to Otto Rössler, the founder of the “Neuere Komparatistik”) that the Egyptian ‘ayin phoneme corresponds not to a pharyngeal in Semitic (as is held by the “older” school) but to a dental stop (or, in some versions of the theory, a dental or interdental fricative).4 Using this theoretical framework, Thomas Schneider suggested (in his 1997 article “Beiträgen zur sogenannten ‘Neureren Komparatistik’”) that the Egyptian divine name r‘w (“Sun,” often conventionally rendered as Ra or Rē‘), which has been reconstructed by the “Neuere” school as *Lidaw, goes back to the same verbal root that appears in Arabic as laḏa‘a, (“to burn”).5 If this is so, it would imply that the historical interdental sound had already shifted to a pharyngeal articulation quite early, in order for it to coalesce with the actual historical pharyngeal preserved as the ‘ayin at the end of the Arabic word.6 4

The origin of this theoretical current is Rössler 1971. It is a rather common paradigm in Egypto-Semitic comparison today, though still a very contentious one with many vehement critics (two examples are Steiner 2011, 63–76, and Takács 2011, 34–82). One quite “soft spoken” and level-headed piece of critical discussion concerning the Rösslerian school is Gensler 2015, who points out problems inherent in the “new school,” but without dismissing it out of hand and throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Gensler enumerates (on pp. 194– 195) a number of different possible paths from a dental stop to a pharyngeal (many of which he subjects to criticism). To these, I would like to add the tentative possibility of an early rhotacism of /d/ followed by backing to a uvular/backed rhotic, which was subsequently realized as a voiced pharyngeal (as often happens in modern Danish for the /r/ phoneme, for example – see Ladefoged and Maddieson 1996, 323). I would like to thank Aljoša Šorgo and Doug Henning for discussions about my ideas about these phonological developments. 5 Schneider 1997, 200 (#52). On *Lidaw, see p. 191 in the same publication. 6 There is a quite possible etymological parallel to such a development in the Egyptian

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If Egyptian r‘w (“Sun”) and Arabic laḏa‘a (“burn, sting”) are indeed related,7 this opens the possibility that the poetic motif of the Burning Sun, so well attested in Northwest Semitic, may go back to Proto-Afro-Asiatic times, with the Egyptian Sun word par excellence – even producing the name of the supreme Sun God Rē‘ – then carrying with it the etymological-poetic sense of “Burner” or “Scorcher.” I have previously presented other circumstantial evidence to such effect when discussing the background of the word ṣḥr(r) (“to burn red,” “to glow,” “to scorch”), which is used to describe the destructive role of the Ugaritic Shapshu when she is under the control of the god of death, Mot. I argued in 2014 that the use of that verbal root as a means of expressing the destroying heat of the Sun goes back to common Afro-Asiatic poetic diction, being represented in the Egyptian form dšr, “red,” which is the basis of the Egyptian word for “desert,” dšr.t, “the red land.”8 This use of the “scorching red” root in Egyptian exactly parallels its fate in Arabic, where it forms the basis of the well-known word ṣaḥrā, i.e. “Sahara.” It is interesting to note that Arabic laḏa‘a, while generally meaning “burn,” can also have an additional sense of “being acrid” vel sim. In his dictionary,

numeral “one,” w‘w, if this is indeed cognate with Semitic wḥd, as has been suggested in Loprieno 1995, 71 (and, earlier, Schenkel 1990, 55) – that word, too, would show such a coalescing of a Proto-Afro-Asiatic dental and an actual pharyngeal into the Egyptian ‘ayin. This would, however, mean that the (inter)dental-to-pharyngeal shift would have had to occur in Proto- or Pre-Egyptian times, and – even though the comparison is based in “Neuere Komparatistik” – it would therefore actually invalidate the form *Lidaw as having ever existed as such in Egyptian: the d would have shifted to ‘ayin already, in order for it to absorb the actual inherited pharyngeal, which would probably otherwise have surfaced as an ḥ. Wilson-Wright 2014, 6, is negative towards the equation of the “one” words, again due to skepticism towards the Rösslerian sound correspondence. 7 The competing possible etymology is one represented by scholars outside the Rösslerian school of “Neuere Komparatistik,” namely that represented in Orel and Stolbova 1995, 444 (#2088), to see Egyptian r‘w as related to other words meaning “sun” or “god” in Chadic, such as the West Chadic words ri (in the Geji language) and are (in Sha). They also (with some uncertainty) associate these with Arabic ray‘, “daylight,” a connection which would be quite impossible from the perspective of the “new school,” both because of the ‘ayin in Egyptian allegedly corresponding to an Arabic ‘ayin and not a dental and because of the r sounds (generally, Semitic r-s correspond to the ɜ sound – the misleadingly so-called “Egyptological Aleph”). Also, as a caveat for this etymology, one might refer to the critical perusal of that etymological dictionary in Satzinger 2007. For the anti- or non-Rösslerian suggestions concening r‘w, see also Takács 2011, 60 (who very much disagrees with the “Neuere” etymology discussed here). 8 Wikander 2014a, 48, with n. 103. Here, as there, I would like to refer to Schneider 1997, 208 (#113) and Peust 1999, 116, for the etymological connection between the Semitic and Egyptian roots. Perhaps it bears mentioning that the seeming similarity between Egyptian dšr.t and the English “desert” (especially when the former is sounded using the artificial Egyptological pronunciation as dešret) is completely coincidental.

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Lane quotes the sentence laḏa‘a l-lisāna, “it burned the tongue; was acrid,”9 showing a more general sense of stinging, negative feelings. Schneider defines the verb as having to do with “Feuer usw.,” but it bears pointing out that Lane even has an example in which the situation where the root is used is one of cold as opposed to heat: laḏ‘u l-bardi, which would literally mean “the burning of the cold.” If this multifarious interpretation of “burn” goes back to earlier periods, one could argue that a possible derivation of the Egyptian word for “Sun” from the same root could imply a generally “evil” meaning there too, but this is, of course, unknowable. I mentioned above that there are few clear inner-Semitic cognates of the Arabic (and possibly Egyptian) root. Within Arabic itself, however, there are a number of seeming Nebenformen or sound-alike variants of this root that may be of interest for the present purposes, including ladaġa, lataġa, and lasa‘a, meaning “to sting,” with the last also having a meaning connected to “burning.”10 Of these possible parallel forms of the root, one may be of special interest from the perspective of biblical studies.11 This is Arabic lasa‘a (“sting, burn”). If one “translates” this root according to the regular sound-laws into Hebrew, one comes up with a root l-š-‘. No such verbal root is attested either in Biblical or Mishnaic Hebrew; however, in the Hebrew Bible, there is one word for us to look closer at, namely the geographical name Lāša‘ (which, as pointed out in HALOT [s.v.], may well be a pausal form of a Hebrew word *Leša‘), appearing in Gen 10:19, in a list of Canaanite places near the Dead Sea: Wayhî gĕbûl hakkĕna‘ănî miṣṣîdōn bō’ăkâ gĕrārâ ‘ad-‘azzâ bō’ăkâ sĕdōmâ wa‘ămōrâ wĕ’admâ ûṣĕbōyīm ‘ad-lāša‘ The territory of the Canaanites was from Sidon until one comes to Gerar, all the way to Gaza, until one comes to Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboyim, all the way to Lāša‘ (Leša‘).

The exact location of Lāša‘/Leša‘ is unknown, but later sources – Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and St Jerome among others – identify it with Kallirhoē/Callirhoe, a hot-springs oasis in the modern Ez-Zara Oasis, which is situated at the eastern Dead Sea coast, near the modern day tourist destination of Wadi Zarqa Ma’in in Jordan.12 Estēe Dvorjetski agrees with Borée (1930) and with the above argument in deriving the place name Lāša‘/Leša‘ from the root ls‘, which she trans9

Lane 1863, 3009 (supplement). I would like to thank Haidar Abboud (p.c.) for pointing these possible alternative/ parallel forms out to me. 11 The possible variant lataġa may also have a cognate in the Hebrew Bible. The derivations maltā‘ôt and mĕtallĕ‘ôt (both meaning “jaw-bones”) are counted as related to this root by HALOT (which mentions ladaġa as well). The second one would obviously require a metathesis. 12 See Dvorjetski 2007, 167–170 10

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lates as “bore,” “drill” or “perforate”13 (a terminology that would presumably relate to the topography of the place). However, I would suggest that the other meaning, that of “burning,” may be involved here. This seems especially relevant in view of the connection with hot springs.14 However, the geographical analysis connected with hot springs need not be the end of the story. Note the context in which the name occurs – the classical list of “evil” Canaanite places including Sodom and Gomorrah – and, not least Admah and Zeboyim, two towns singled out as objects of destruction in Hos 11:8 – a tradition studied in detail by Fredrik Lindström, who pointed to the spelling of those names in Hosea as a special, poetic flourish.15 Thus, it could well be argued that the name of this place is meant etymologically to invoke an association with the role of solar burning and destruction (at least in this text), perhaps even as an image of retaliation against perceived sinfulness. The name could then be paraphrased as something along the lines of “Sunburnt to a Crisp,” and the passage cited above from Genesis would then represent a “staircase” of reprehensible places in the mind of the author, culminating in one signifying total, burned-down destruction associated with dangerous solarity or hotness. If this is so, there are a number of different analytical possibilities for explaining how this use of the place name came to be. One of them is to argue that there was an ancient association between the name and hotness (perhaps specifically the springs) and that this association was subsequently connected to the traditions of burning solarity. Another is to imagine a conscious etymologization on the part of the writer, but this runs into problems, as the root is not autonomously attested in Hebrew. A third possibility is to take the “etymological poetic” analysis to its logical conclusion, and note the use of the probable Nebenform root in extra-Semitic Afro-Asiatic (following Schneider’s etymology for the Egyptian Sun God) and then argue that the “hot lake” was also, by association, connected to the ancient association with solar heat inherent in its name.16

13

Dvorjetski 2007, 169. Borée 1930, 26. HALOT (s.v. *leša‘) suggests a connection with Nuḫašše, a Bronze Age name referring to northern Syria. This would demand a great deal of phonetic change: the ḫ-‘ayin correspondence would not be a great problem, as West Semitic ‘ayin and ġayin are often rendered with ḫ-signs in cuneiform, but the n- is stranger in relation to Hebrew l-, and a metathesis is required, too. HALOT points to Modern Aramaic l‘š, which would attest such a metathesis, but the connection still seems tenuous to me. 15 Lindström 2015, 140. Lindström’s illuminating point is that all four names in the list in Hos 11:8 (Ephraim, Israel, Admah and Zeboyim) include the letter ’ālef – this being reason for the latter name being spelt ṣĕbō’îm in Hosea rather than as ṣĕbōyīm, as in the present context. 16 For interesting remarks concerning the methodological questions of etymologically 14

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B. The Destructive Sun, Mot-Style Drought, and Astrological Signs in Safaitic We now move on to early North Arabian materials. In the last few years, possible extra-Ugaritic evidence for the story of Baal and Mot (and, implicitly, drought) may have appeared in the form of a short, Safaitic inscription (KRS 2453) from Qitar al-‘Abd in Jordan, which was subjected to detailed analysis by Ahmad al-Jallad. I find the main part of his argument quite convincing: that the inscription in question provides a condensed poetic précis of the Baal-Mot story in three lines of poetry. The first poetic line describes Mot’s feasting at the time of the disappearance/death of Baal (my translation, but generally following Al-Jallad’s [2015] interpretations, except where noted): l ḥg mt w lẓ ṯrm Mot has feasted, and the scorner dines.

The third line makes reference to the absence of Baal: w h’ b‘l ybt w l h bt w m nm And see: Baal is cut off, he is truly cut off, but does not sleep.17

What Al-Jallad did not discuss, however, is the fact that the remaining line of the Safaitic poem – the middle one – may include a reference to the poetic trope of Mot’s mastery of the Sun. The words run, again speaking of Mot: f mykn ḫlf lyly-h w ’wm-h established is the succession of his days and nights (Al-Jallad’s translation)

Al-Jallad himself interprets this line as a reference to Mot’s “sovereignty over the Earth … symbolized by the alternation of night and day.”18 As far as this transparent or semi-transparent material in onomastic material being used creatively by ancient authors, see Tsitsibakou-Vasalos 2007, esp. 13–95 (concentrating specifically on Homeric instances). She uses the term “Poetic Etymology” to describe the etymological analyses carried out by the poets – a piece of terminology quite similar to the “etymological poetics” I speak of here and in other publications (although not identical in connotation, as I refer explicitly to the survival of ancient poetic phraseology in etymological form). 17 Al-Jallad 2015, 7, translates the final negated verb (m nm) as “[he is] not dead,” presupposing the interpretation espoused by de Moor, that Baal never actually dies during his battle with Mot in the Baal Cycle (see de Moor 1997, 362, and, with the contrary view that Baal really dies [with which I concur], Mettinger 2001, 59–64). The verb itself does, however, simply mean “sleep,” and I prefer not to let my translation imply any specific interpretation of “Baalist ideology” on this point. Note also that another inscription adduced by Al-Jallad (and also mentioned later in this article) mentions “grieving” over Baalshamîn, which to me suggests that the death of the Storm God was thought of as being much more than a ruse. 18 Al-Jallad 2015, 11.

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goes, he is probably right, but I believe that there is a more specific reference hidden within the words: that of the power over the Sun, specifically. The passage of the Sun across the heavens is, after all, the one factor separating night from day, and the Ugaritic Baal Cycle teaches us that Mot’s influence on the Sun goddess, Shapshu, is one of the clearest manifestations of his power, as she brings the great drought to which he subjects the world of the living. I believe, therefore, that the “destructive Sun” may subtextually be in evidence in Al-Jallad’s inscription as well. A further sign in this direction may be gleaned from one of the other parallel Safaitic texts (KRS 169) that Al-Jallad mentions as examples of the motif of drought appearing in the same cultural area. Interestingly, that text mentions the Sun, not outright but through possible reference to its passage through the zodiac: kl’ h-s1my ḥḍ[r] mlḥ f ḏ k[r] f ’mt f y’s1 f h b‘ls1mn r[w]ḥ w s1lm The sky held back [rain] during the stay [of the Sun] in Aquarius, Aries, and Libra – and he grieved: “Baalshamîn, send winds and peace!”

My interpretation of this inscription is based on Al-Jallad’s in his 2014 and 2015 publications; in the former of these, he made the interesting proposal that the three terms mlḥ, ḏkr, and ’mt are, in fact, Safaitic terms for zodiacal signs, a view that I find generally convincing. I would, however, argue further than he does; Al-Jallad sees the above possible zodiacal references mostly as a method of dating (which is certainly part of the intention). I would add that this may again be a way subtextually to invoke the role of the burning Sun here as well, without outright stating it. By mentioning the apparent path of the Sun through the ecliptic, its “evil” role as giver of drought is underscored. Note also that the petitioner invokes Baalshamîn as rain-giver, a reference quite similar to the role of Baal(-Haddu) in the Ugaritic texts – a giver of precipitation who battles the destructive heat manifested through the Sun. Al-Jallad’s identifications of these zodiacal names (especially in his 2014 article and its 2016 sequel) are ingenious; the etymologies are, it must be granted, a bit uncertain, however. The “Aries” word seems to me to be the clearest, ḏ kr being, as Al-Jallad points out, a good match for the corresponding Qumran Aramaic term dkr’. ’Mt for Libra is less certain, but his connection with the Classical Arabic verb ’mt, “to measure,” is certainly not impossible. The most difficult is mlḥ for Aquarius; Al-Jallad opts for connecting it to the common Semitic “salt” word, arguing that the imagery of the “water pourer” (hydrochóos) was reinterpreted in Arabia as a figure carrying a bowl of salt.19 While this is possible (though somewhat tenuous), I would prefer the option that AlJallad rejects – connecting the term to the (ultimately Sumerian-borrowed19 His etymological arguments are found in Al-Jallad 2014, 218–219, and, in greater detail, in Al-Jallad 2016, 91–94.

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through-Akkadian) term mallaḥ (cf. Hebrew mallāḥ) meaning “seafarer,” “seaman.” A possible explanation could be a misunderstanding of the Greek term hydrochóos (“water bearer” or, literally, “water pourer”) as hydr-ochos (pseudo-etymologized as “carried by the water” or literally “having the sea for a chariot”),20 which could then be rendered as “seafarer” (note specifically that óchos, “chariot,” is attested as a poetic term for ships).21 While Al-Jallad sees the Babylonian tradition as underlying the zodiacal names he proposes,22 at least this sign (if correctly identified) could indicate a Greek-speaking influence. Back to the Baalshamîn inscription. Note which astrological signs are used for the dating of the calamity – Aquarius, Aries, and Libra. This is a rather unexpected combination, as the signs are not adjacent (and the timings would belong to different parts of the Safaitic seasonal cycle). Given that this text was written down during a time-period when the sidereal and tropical calculations of the zodiac would have been close to coinciding, we are talking about periods of drought in late January-early February, late March-early April, and late September-October. One possibility is, of course, to view the references to signs as being no more than calendrical definition of the times of year. There could, however, possibly have been a symbolic reason for them from an astrological point of view: Libra and Aquarius are both signs traditionally connected with the element of air, and Aries to fire: none of them are water signs (as is Pisces, the sign intervening between Aquarius and Aries). This would fit the symbolism of drought quite well. Additionally, in certain Hellenistic astrological traditions, Aries is classified as a “dry” and “hot” sign; Libra and Aquarius are, it must be admitted, classified as “wet,” but as “hot” as well (whereas the water signs – Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces – are both “wet” and “cold”). This combination of attributions would fit well for a reference to drought.23 20

Thus, in effect, misinterpreting the compound as an exocentric (bahuvrīhi) one, meaning “he whose B is A.” 21 For the “chariot”-as-“ship” imagery, see Aeschylus, Suppliants 32, which talks of óchos tachyḗrēs, literally “a swift-oared chariot.” The most famous case of using the root in this way goes all the way back to Homeric literature, in which the famous epithet aigíochos used for Zeus probably did not originally mean “Aegis-bearer” (as it is often translated) but rather “carried by an aíx (goat).” On this problem, see, e.g., West 2007, 248 and Faulkner 2008, 106–107. 22 Al-Jallad 2014, 228–229; Al-Jallad 2016, 94. 23 A problem with this argument is that, while both of the above-mentioned systems of sign classification (classical elements and “hot-cold/dry-wet”) are present in antiquity, they are not demonstrably combined before the Arabic-language astrological syntheses of the Middle Ages (the former idea is represented in Vettius Valens and the latter in Claudius Ptolemy, but neither acknowledges the other scheme). On these classification schemes, see Brennan 2013. I would like to thank Martin Gansten (p.c.) for this reference, as well as for pointing out the above-mentioned problem and its textual background. Notwithstanding this difficulty, I find

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Regardless of how one views the nature of the astrological signs mentioned, however, I would argue that it is clear that this textual passage refers to the dual nature of the Sun as “good” and “evil,” and that the petitioner asks for salvation from the results of the latter. In these texts, thus, the Sun seems to take on a similar “creator of light and darkness” imagery (so to speak) to that argued by Lindström (1983) not to be the nature of YHWH in the Hebrew Bible. The texts portray the Sun as good, evil, and eternal at different times. As an opposite type of theological construct, one could mention the “separating” theology of the Priestly creation account of Genesis 1, where Elohim deliberately separates the light from the dark.24 One more reference to sorrow over the absence of Baalshamîn and his rains can be found in another inscription mentioned by Al-Jallad: w wgm ‘l b‘ls1mn s1nt mḥl (WGRR 1) And he grieved over Baalshamîn in a year of scarcity.

The point I want to underscore in these cases as well is the fact that the antagonistic or “positive” (from the emic perspective) roles of the Sun – i.e., its “good” or “evil” characteristics – seem to be functions of its current placement in the symbolic universe of the texts, in a way very similar to what appears to be the case in the Baal Cycle – and, indeed, sometimes in the Hebrew Bible. The Sun becomes a sort of sign-post, showing the state of the universe. The Sun may burn and destroy – or it may signify kingship and (perhaps) life, but it is a constant – eternal – presence.

C. Shamgar Ben-Anat: Anat-Son, Given by the Sun We now move (briefly) to biblical onomastics. One of the most enigmatic personal names in Hebrew Bible – and one about the referent of which very little is actually said – is Shamgar Ben-Anat (šamgar ben-‘anāt), who is mentioned twice in the book of Judges, that great repository of repurposed and not always understood early literary tradition. One of the most interesting – and in my view persuasive – suggestions for the etymology of Shamgar’s name was that suggested in Maisler 1934,25 that it represents a borrowing from the Hurrian name šimig(e)-ari – “Shimige gave” (Shimige being the Hurrian Sun God, i.e. “Heliodotos,” mutatis mutandis), a both the elemental and “qualitative” associations interesting enough to mention, even though their combination cannot be ascertained for this early period. 24 Even more so if one follows Ellen van Wolde 2017’s analysis, that the verb bārā’ in that chapter is actually to be translated “separate.” 25 And followed in, e.g., Feiler 1939; Craigie 1972, 239; and van der Toorn 1999, 773. McDaniel 2003, 47–50, is more skeptical.

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name independently attested in the Nuzi texts. If this etymology is correct – and if the creators of the literary traditions concerning this character were to some degree aware of it – the whole name taken together gains a great deal of theological import: “Sun-Given Son of Anat.” The connection between these two divine beings – the Sun and Anat – in one onomastic unit may seem haphazard. However, if one applies a perspective of “etymological poetics” and at least reckons with the possibility that the author was at some level aware of the etymological meaning of the name (not, presumably, by actual knowledge of Hurrian – which would have been very strange indeed due to simple chronological factors – but by handed down tradition), the possibility of deeper exegetical import suggests itself. The two deities involved, Anat and that of the Sun, are after all clearly described as “partners in crime” (or rather “partners in heroism”) in the most well-known extra-biblical piece of mythological poetry – again, the Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Shapshu and Anat are the ones that rescue Baal’s corpse from the liminal “wilderness” after he has succumbed to Mot’s attack, and they are the ones that provide him with a proper burial. Shapshu tells Anat that she is the one who will “search for Victorious Baal” (abqṯ aliyn b‘l) when he cannot be found, and Anat is the one who actually finds Mot and confronts him (leading to Baal’s return/resurrection). A literary figure who is a “Sun-Given Son of Anat” could therefore be presumed to carry an innate reference to salvific solarity, i.e., to the positive roles of solar deities, when allied with the “good” side of mythological struggle.

D. Poetic Survival and Jerusalem of Gold Finally, we move to recent times, following the stream of tradition into the modern age. One astonishing example of the resilience of poetic motifs – and their tendency to “redetermine” themselves – can be found in the famous song Jerusalem of Gold by Naomi Shemer. In this Modern Hebrew song, which quotes the ’im’eškāḥēḵ Yĕrûšālayim tiškaḥ yĕmînî line from Psalm 137 in its final stanza, almost uncanny resemblances can be found to the ancient “solar drought” motifs. In 2014, I argued (building on many other scholars) that the word tiškaḥ in Ps 137:5 originally was not derived from the same škḥ (“to forget”) that appears in the beginning of the line, but rather a cognate of the Ugaritic ṯkḥ, originally meaning something like “become exceedingly hot” or “wither from heat,” invoking the old drought motif (that root is used for growing hot at Ugarit and would form an excellent object of wordplay with the more common “forget” root, so that the line would have meant something like “If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand burn up,” with the “burning” subtly invoking the Mot-style rule of Death – which means that the phrase would in

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effect become an instance of “and hope to die” self-cursing, which is well attested in the ancient Near East.26 What I would like to point out here is the fact that the same stanza from Shemer’s song also includes poetic material that seems to reinforce a “killing drought” reading of the verb, even though this can hardly have been conscious on the part of Shemer herself: Ki šmekh tzorev et-hasfatayim Ki-nšiqat saraf ’im ’eškaḥekh Yerušalayim ’ašer kullah zahav27 For your name burns my lips, like the kiss of a seraph – if I forget you, Jerusalem, which is all of gold.

This textual passage brings to mind an interesting phonological correlation: that between the roots śārap and ṣarab (giving rise to the Modern Hebrew words saraf, “seraph,” and tzorev, “burns”). These roots – both having a lexical sense related to “burning” – have a remarkably similar structure (first a sibilant,28 then an r, and finally a labial). Note also the Akkadian verb ṣarāpu, which also means “burn” and shows the same root structure. This – perhaps ancient –

26

See Wikander 2014a, 56–65, for the full argumentation and references to relevant earlier literature as well as Ugaritic and Hebrew passages. I also argued that the reflex of *ṯkḥ is in evidence in Ps 102:5 and (in metathesized form) in Ps 18:45–46a. It has recently been brought to my attention that some similar points about Psalm 137 were made in Fishler 1996 (unknown to me when writing Wikander 2014a). Fishler uses some of the same arguments from parallelism and Ibn Ezra’s commentary that I do (Ibn Ezra interprets tiškaḥ as tîbaš, “it will dry up”), but does not make the connection to the Ugaritic verb that was my main object of study nor to the other psalm passages – and neither does he mention Eitan 1928, who brought Ibn Ezra’s remark to the fore at an early point; I would like to thank Aleksey Eliyahu Yuditsky for the reference to Fishler’s article. In Wikander 2017, 133–138, I made the (somewhat speculative) proposal that the Northwest Semitic verbal root appearing in Ugaritic as ṯkḥ and in Hebrew as škḥ (II) has a distant background in a borrowing from an IndoEuropean root. The root in Northwest Semitic appears to mean something like “be exceedingly hot” and (secondarily) “to wither from heat.” It is a root that is frequently used to express the drought motif, both in Ugaritic and Hebrew. My suggestion was that this root may represent a loan from the Indo-European root *dhgwhei- (“to perish, to be destroyed”), itself representing an expansion of simpler root *dhegwh- (“to burn”), and that the Indo-European and Northwest Semitic roots show a parallel poetic development from burning to destroying, an idea used with reference to the possibility or impossibility of destroying fame or memory. 27 Since the text is in Modern Hebrew (though representing a deliberately archaizing example thereof), I have chosen to use a simplified transliteration more suited to the phonology of the modern language. 28 In synchronic terms, at least. Historically, ś was a lateral fricative, but is started to be conflated with sibilants quite early in many Semitic dialects.

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connection in root structure is here used to creative effect by a modern poet, showing the resilience of ancient Semitic poetic wordplay. There are other cases in this text in which it almost looks as though Ugariticstyle poetic motifs appear in the lyrics: U-ve-tardemat ’ilan va-’even švuya ba-ḥalomah ha-‘ir ’ašer badad yoševet u-ve-libbah ḥoma And in the slumber of tree and stone she is caught in her dream – the city that sits alone with a Wall in her midst.

These words are almost hauntingly reminiscent of that perhaps most famous strophe of Ugaritic poetry of all:29 rgm ‘ṣ w lḫšt abn tant šmm ‘m arṣ thmt ‘mm kbkbm abn brq d l td‘ šmm rgm l td‘ nšm w l tbn hmlt arṣ atm w ank ibġyh KTU 1.3 III 26–29

… A word of wood and whisper of stone, a talk between heaven and earth, from the depths to the stars: I understand the lightning that the heavens know not, the word that the people do not know, and the masses of the earth do not understand Come, and I will reveal it!

The point here, obviously, is not that Shemer somehow borrowed these expressions from Ugaritic; she did, however, stand in the poetic tradition inherited from the Hebrew Bible, and thus, her choice of words reflects a multifarious stream of literary expression that includes the Ugaritic writings – in essence, her work forms a part of the great tapestry of Northwest Semitic poetic-formulaic diction, using phraseology inherited from a millennia-long tradition, and this includes the burning/drought/Sun imagery. It is a mistake to presuppose that the literary/poetic tradition of ancient Northwest Semitic (or Semitic in general) just suddenly “stopped” with canonization, subsequent cultural production based on it being relegated to the realm of “reception.”30 Such a division is an artefact of the method of biblical study and does not clearly represent reality. One could even argue that it is a remnant of the idea of the He-

29 I have pointed out the parallel before (in Swedish) in Wikander 2014b, 77–80. I would like to thank Sara Kylander for illuminating discussions concerning it. 30 Indeed, the entire demarcation between “original text” and “reception” is somewhat arbitrary; this is stressed, e.g., by Breed 2014, who uses the concept of “nomadic text[s]” to describe textual entities that have moved through time and have been reused in various different contexts. This argument works quite as well, I would say, in relation to inherited and inheritable poetic motifs – not only for finished texts.

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braica veritas and “scripture alone”-ism being unconsciously reproduced in modern scholarship. Thus, though it would at first seem a bit hard to swallow, I would say that Shemer’s text forms part of the same wide-flowing river of poetic tradition that we find in biblical ideas about the burning Sun, the Ugaritic writings, the Ancient North Arabian inscriptions we have looked at – and that perhaps go back to Proto-Afro-Asiatic times. Perhaps not surprisingly, Jerusalem of Gold also includes the lines u-vam‘arot ’ašer ba-sela‘/’alfê šmašot zorḥot (“and in the caves in the cliff/a thousand suns do shine”), in a way reflecting the “eternal” characteristics of the solar imagery. In all these cases the dual nature of the Sun – as bringer of death and of rulership, destruction and hope – comes to the fore. The motifs and phraseology are ancient: “Sun words” that are good, evil – and, seemingly, almost eternal.

Bibliography Al-Jallad, Ahmad. 2014. “An Ancient Arabian Zodiac: The Constellations in the Safaitic Inscriptions, Part I.” Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 25:214–230. –. 2015. “Echoes of the Baal Cycle in a Safaito-Hismaic Inscription.” JANER 15:5–19. –. 2016. “An Ancient Arabian Zodiac: The Constellations in the Safaitic Inscriptions, Part II.” Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 27:84–106. Borée, Wilhelm. 1930. Die Alten Ortsnamen Palästinas. Staatliche Forschungsinstitute bei der Universität Leipzig. Forschungsinstitut für Orientalistik, Assyriologische Abteilung. Leipzig: Eduard Pfeiffer Verlag. Breed, Brendan W. 2014. Nomadic Text: A Theory of Biblical Reception History. Indiana Series in Biblical Literature. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Brennan, Chris. 2013. “The Planetary Joys and the Origins of the Significations of the Houses and Triplicities.” International Society for Astrological Research Journal 42:1. Craigie, Peter C. 1972. “A Reconsideration of Shamgar Ben Anath (Judg 3:31 and 5:6).” JBL 91:239–240. Dvorjetski, Estēe. 2007. Leisure, Pleasure and Healing: Spa Culture and Medicine in Ancient Eastern Mediterranean. Leiden, MA: Brill. Eitan, Israel. 1928. “An Identification of tiškaḥ yĕmīnī, Ps 137:5.” JBL 47:193–195. Faulkner, Andrew. 2008. The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Feiler, Wolfgang. 1939. “Ḫurritische Namen im Alten Testament.” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 45:221–222. Fishler, Ben-Tzion. 1996. “… ‫תשכח ימיני‬.” Beit Mikra 42/1:52–56. Gensler, Orin D. 1995. “A Typological Look at Egyptian *d > ʕ.” Pages 187–202 in EgyptianCoptic Linguistics in Typological Perspective. Edited by Eitan Grossman, Martin Haspelmath, and Tonio Sebastian Richter. Empirical Approaches to Language Typology 55. Berlin: de Gruyter. Hunger, Hermann. 1992. Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings. SAA 8. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Ladefoged, Peter and Ian Maddieson. 1996. The Sounds of the World’s Languages. Phonological Theory. Oxford: Blackwell.

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Lane, Edward William. 1863. An Arabic-English Lexicon: Derived from the Best and the Most Copious Eastern Sources. 8 vols. London: Williams and Norgate. Lindström, Fredrik. 1983. God and the Origin of Evil: A Contextual Analysis of Alleged Monistic Evidence in the Old Testament. ConBOT 21. CWK Gleerup: Lund. –. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. –. 2015. “‘I Am God and Not Human’ (Hos 11,9): Can Divine Compassion Overcome Our Anthropomorphisms?” SJOT 29:135–151. Loprieno, Antonio. 1995. Ancient Egyptian: A Linguistic Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maisler (Mazar), Binyamin. 1934. “Shamgar ben ‘Anat.” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 66:192–194. Mettinger, Tryggve N.D. 2001. The Riddle of Resurrection: “Dying and Rising Gods” in the Ancient Near East. ConBOT 50. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. McDaniel, Thomas F. 2003. The Song of Deborah: Poetry in Dialect: A Philological Study of Judges 5 with Translation and Commentary. Online: http://tmcdaniel.palmerseminary.edu. Moor, Johannes C. de. 1997. The Rise of Yahwism: The Roots of Israelite Monotheism. Rev. and enlarged ed. BETL 91. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Orel, Vladimir E. and Olga V. Stolbova. 1995. Hamito-Semitic Etymological Dictionary: Materials for a Reconstruction. HdO 1:18. Leiden: Brill. Ossendrijver, Mathieu. 2016. “Translating Babylonian Astronomical Diaries and Procedure Texts.” Pages 125–173 in Translating Writings of Early Scholars in the Ancient Near East, Egypt, Greece and Rome: Methdological Aspects with Examples. Edited by Anette Imhausen and Tanja Pommerening. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 344. Berlin: de Gruyter. Peust, Carsten. 1999. Egyptian Phonology: An Introduction to the Phonology of a Dead Language. Monographien zur Ägyptischen Sprache 2. Göttingen: Peust & Gutschmidt Verlag. Rössler, Otto. 1971. “Das Ägyptische als Semitische Sprache.” Pages 263–326 in Christentum am Roten Meer, Band 1. Edited by Franz Altheim and Ruth Stiehl. Berlin: de Gruyter. Satzinger, Helmut. 2007. “An Egyptologist’s Perusal of the Hamito-Semitic Etymological Dictionary of Orel and Stolbova.” Lingua Aegyptia 15:143–160. Schenkel, Wolfgang. 1990. Einführung in die altägyptische Sprachwissenschaft. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Schneider, Thomas. 1997. “Beiträge zur sogenannten ‘Neueren Komparatistik.’” Lingua Aegyptia 5:189–209. Steiner, Richard C. 2011. Early Northwest Semitic Serpent Spells in the Pyramid Texts. Harvard Semitic Studies 61. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Stephenson, F. Richard and David M. Willis. 2004. “The Earliest Datable Observation of the Aurora Borealis.” Pages 421–428 in Under One Sky: Astronomy and Mathematics in the Ancient Near East. Edited by John M. Steele and Anette Imhausen. AOAT 297. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Takács, Gabor, 2011. Studies in Afro-Asiatic Comparative Phonology: Consonants. Sprache und Orientalität in Afrika 26. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer. Toorn, Karel van der. 1999. “Shimige.” Pages 773–774 in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by Karel van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst. 2nd rev. ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Tsitsibakou-Vasalos, Evanthia. 2007. Ancient Poetic Etymology: The Pelopids: Fathers and Sons. Palingenesia 89. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. West, Martin L. 2007. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Wikander, Ola. 2013. “The Burning Sun and the Killing Resheph: Proto-Astrological Symbolism and Ugaritic Epic.” Pages 73–83 in Sky and Symbol: The Proceedings of the Ninth Annual Conference of the Sophia Centre for the Study of Cosmology in Culture, University of Wales, Trinity Saint David, 4–5 June 2011. Edited by Nicholas Campion and Liz Greene. Ceredigion: Sophia Centre Press. –. 2014a. Drought, Death, and the Sun in Ugarit and Ancient Israel: A Philological and Comparative Study. ConBOT 61. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. –. 2014b. Gud är ett verb: tankar om Gamla testamentet och dess idéhistoria. Stockholm: Norstedts. –. 2017. Unburning Fame: Horses, Dragons, Beings of Smoke, and Other Indo-European Motifs in Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible. ConBOT 62. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Wilson-Wright, Aren. 2014. “The Word for ‘One’ in Proto-Semitic.” JSS 59:1–13. Wolde, Ellen J. van. 2017. “Separation and Creation in Genesis 1 and Psalm 104: A Continuation of the Discussion of the Verb ‫ברא‬.” VT 67:611–647.

Sad as a Bird On Avian Metaphors in Biblical Depictions of Human Suffering* Göran Eidevall The title of this article, “sad as a bird,” may sound strange. Although the sequence of words is perfectly intelligible, and syntactically correct, it does not constitute a common idiomatic phrase in the English language. The same holds for a number of other languages, including my own native tongue, namely Swedish. Whereas the expression “sorgsen som en fågel” (“sad as a bird”) could be seen as innovative, the phrase “glad som en fågel” (“glad as a bird”) would sound familiar. We tend to associate birds in general with gladness rather than sadness. In this respect (as in many other respects), there seems to be an interesting cultural difference between ancient Israelites and modern Europeans.

A. Introduction Within biblical poetry, avian imagery (that is, metaphorical language drawing on notions connected to one or several birds) is frequently used in descriptions of human behaviour and human emotions. This is hardly surprising since birds were visible almost everywhere in the landscape or cityscape inhabited by ancient Israelites. Equally important, bird song must have been a prominent feature in the soundscape. This article explores the use of avian metaphors in depictions of suffering. The textual material consists of a number of passages from the prophetic literature and the Psalms, which express feelings of fear, sadness and/or solitude. In each case, the analysis aims at answering the following questions: Which emotion is associated with the bird mentioned? How can this association be explained with regard to pertinent observations relating to the behaviour (including the song or sound) of this particular bird species? How does the avian metaphor contribute to the text’s depiction of human suffering?

* I gladly dedicate this study to Fredrik Lindström. Thanks, Fredrik, for your friendship and support over the years, and for many successful instances of collegial cooperation.

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B. Birds in the Biblical Landscape The birds have always been there, during the entire history of humankind. Wherever we go on this planet, there are birds in the vicinity: in the forest, on the ocean, in the desert, in the fields, in the villages, even in the city centres. You need not be a dedicated ornithologist to observe them. At times, we may not be actively aware of their presence, because we are accustomed to it. If, for some reason, they would suddenly disappear, we would certainly notice. It would probably be a great shock, a more or less apocalyptic experience. Consider this quote from a description of disaster in the book of Jeremiah: “I looked, and lo, there was no one at all, and all the birds of the air had fled” (Jer 4:25).1 For all of us, birds are an important part of the landscape, as well as the cityscape. More than so, we tend to regard them as our companions. Whenever I sit down on a bench in a city square, or near the sea, I can watch birds: pigeons picking bread crumbles, or seagulls soaring above me. Depending on my mood, I may relate to them in one way or other, perhaps even identify with them. To these observations concerning the ubiquitous presence of birds around human habitations, we may add the probability that birdwatching is a very ancient human practice. Walter Burkert has made the following reflection concerning prehistoric conditions: “one might speculate about aboriginal humans or proto-hominids being scavengers: if so, it was helpful – indeed necessary – for them to observe birds of prey, especially vultures, in order to find food.”2 This is, as admitted by Burkert, pure speculation. He notes, however, that the extant textual sources reveal that birdwatching was an important occupation in early civilizations: “It is striking how widespread the practice of bird-watching is in divination: observation of the flight of birds, especially birds of prey, is evident in the dominant practice of ancient ornithomanteia, as well as ancient poetry.”3 We can therefore safely assume that the inhabitants of Palestine did study the behaviour of birds during the biblical era. This is also, as I intend to demonstrate, indicated by the texts of the Hebrew Bible. Judging from their varied use of avian motifs, the biblical authors seem to have been rather well-informed concerning distinctive features and patterns of behaviour, at least regarding the most common bird species.4 For instance, they knew about differing nesting habits: on mountain tops (Jer 49:16; vulture or eagle), in trees (Ezek 31:6), by rivers and streams (Ps 104:12), or inside buildings

1

Unless otherwise indicated, English translations of biblical texts are cited from NRSV. Burkert 2005, 33. 3 Burkert 2005, 33. 4 For a more detailed discussion, see Eidevall 2006. See also Driver 1955. 2

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(Ps 84:4 [Eng. 3]; sparrow and swallow). They were also aware of the fact that certain birds migrate. In contrast to the people’s alleged ignorance concerning YHWH’s demands, the book of Jeremiah points out that the turtledove and two other migratory birds (which are not easily identified, see the analysis of Isa 38:14 below) “observe the time of their coming” (Jer 8:7). The ostrich’s peculiar behaviour is described in Job 39:13–18. This passage voices some proverbial stereotypes (concerning this bird’s stupidity, v. 17) and misinterpretations (it is stated that the mother ostrich “deals cruelly with its young,” v. 16). In addition, however, it contains several valid observations. Thus, it mentions the ostrich’s habit of laying its eggs in the hot sand, where they are occasionally abandoned, and exposed to dangers (vv. 14–15). Further, it alludes to this bird’s velocity, which exceeds that of a horse (v. 18).5 Detailed descriptions of birdlife, such as Job 39:13–18, are rare in the Hebrew Bible. As a rule, the depictions of various birds and their behaviour are non-literal and brief. The biblical writers used an array of avian metaphors and similes, in order to elucidate a wide range of human attitudes and experiences. Flying away, like a bird on its wings, is a powerful metaphor for freedom in the Psalms (see Ps 55:7–8 [Eng. 6–7]; 124:7). In other contexts, the emphasis is on weakness and vulnerability. A persecuted person could thus be compared with a hunted bird (Ps 11:1; Lam 3:52), and God could be portrayed as a fowler catching birds (his own people) in a net (Hos 7:12).6 As noted by Benjamin Foreman, animal metaphors are often deployed in order to “elucidate human behaviour,” because animals “like humans, breathe, eat, roam to and fro, make noises, have feelings, behave in certain ways, have relationships with other animals, and also die.”7 In the following, I shall focus more narrowly on cases where human emotions of sadness or loneliness are described with the help of avian metaphors and similes. In order to understand the background of this type of imagery, it is necessary to pay attention to one particular aspect of the behaviour of birds: the sounds they make.

C. Bird Song as Part of the Soundscape Like today’s ornithologists, the inhabitants of biblical Palestine were, of course, not just watching the birds. They would listen to them, as well. Bird song was 5

See further Eidevall 2009a. Additional examples of avian metaphors and similes, in the Hebrew Bible as well as in cognate literature, are provided by Berner 2011 and Borowski 2002, 300–301. For detailed interpretations of bird-related imagery (together with other types of animal imagery) in Proverbs, see Forti 2008. Several examples from the Psalms are treated in Forti 2018. 7 Foreman 2011, 3. 6

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probably a prominent and pleasant part of the soundscape: “the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land” (Song 2:12). It is important to keep in mind, however, that some birds can be said to produce noise, rather than beautiful music. Evidently, some scribal circles in Mesopotamia took a keen interest in such matters during the first millennium BCE. In the so-called “Birdcall text,” which has been preserved in two different versions (one from Sultantepe, the other from Assur), around twenty birds are listed.8 The song or call of each species is represented, or reinterpreted, as a phrase in Akkadian – sometimes with retained phonetic transparency, sometimes with a considerable amount of poetic freedom. This “translation” into human language serves more than one purpose. It establishes (or confirms) a link between the bird and a particular deity in the pantheon. While the owl is connected to Ea, the dove is said to be “the bird of Tammuz.”9 At the same time, the text evokes the notion that each of these birds is constantly repeating a specific message to (informed and attentive) human listeners. To cite just one example, the cry of the cock (“the bird of Enmešarra”) is represented as “taḫ-ta-ṭa a-na dtu-tu,” a phrase that means “you sinned against Tutu.”10 Against this background, it is reasonable to assume that also the ancient Israelites observed and memorized the characteristic sounds made by various birds. Possibly, some sages among them even tried to read their songs and calls as messages. Judging from the biblical texts, however, they were above all prone to make associations between certain bird sounds and certain human emotions. I. Moaning and Mourning Like a Dove Mourning and lamenting persons are frequently likened to doves or pigeons in literature from the ancient Near East, including the Hebrew Bible. Apparently, the phrase “to mourn like a dove” belonged to the stock repertoire of Akkadian poetry.11 According to the Birdcall text (see above), one dove or pigeon, called suššuru, was constantly crying out: “How he is desolated!”12

8

For a critical edition of both versions (STT 341 and KAR 125), with translation and philological notes, see Lambert 1970. For some reflections on the images of birds in this text, see Scurlock 2002, 368–369. 9 Lambert 1970, 115. 10 STT 341 line 2; quoted from Lambert 1970, 112–113. Enmešarra and Tutu are the names of two different Mesopotamian gods. The choice of Tutu in this context was clearly dictated by onomatopoetic considerations. 11 See the entry for summatu (“dove”) in CAD. See also Streck 1999, 64 and 175. 12 Lambert 1970, 113. The Akkadian phrase, kīkī muššur, does not resemble the sound of any dove species. Rather, it looks like a verbal expression of a certain sentiment associated with the bird’s call.

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The association between this type of birds and sadness would seem to be based on one specific aspect of their appearance and behaviour: the somewhat moaning quality of their cooing sounds. When we hear a dove or pigeon at a distance, without actually being able to see the bird, it is its voice alone that makes an impression on us. And due to its low and muffled tone, and its monotonous character, the sound of a dove might easily evoke associations to mourning, but also to other situations of pain or affliction – indeed, to all situations where a human being would be inclined to moan. From an ornithological point of view, it is likely that the main source of inspiration for the Mesopotamian and biblical poets, in this respect, was the cooing call of the rock dove (Columba livia). The connection between doves and moaning sounds, evoking notions of mourning, is spelled out in a few biblical passages.13 One of them is Isa 59:11: We growl like bears, all of us, and like doves (‫ )וכיונים‬we moan and groan (‫)הגה נהגה‬.14 We wait for justice, but there is none; for deliverance, but it is far from us.15

Bears and doves are juxtaposed in this extended simile, which is part of a communal prayer, with elements of lament as well as confession. Arguably, these two animals have very little in common that would motivate such a pairing. According to the author of this passage, however, the typical sounds made by bears as well as doves made them into apt points of comparison, in a situation when people were frustrated because of the lack of justice in society. This was, one may conjecture, a situation of mixed emotions. People were angry (like bears) and sad (like doves) at the same time. Another expression of the firmly established link between the dove and lamentation is found in the book of Nahum: It is decreed: She shall be exiled, carried away; her slave girls are crying/moaning (‫)מנהגות‬,16 like the sound of doves (‫)כקול יונים‬, beating their breasts. (Nah 2:8 [Eng. 7])17

In this example, Nah 2:8 (Eng. 7), the element of sadness is even more prominent. The prophet/author depicts the situation in the city of Nineveh (personi13

See further Botterweck 1990, 32–33. The translation “moan and groan” is an attempt to represent the paronomasia in the Hebrew original, ‫הגה נהגה‬. In the same vein, NRSV has “moan mournfully.” 15 My own translation. 16 I take this as a piel participle of the verb ‫ נהג‬II, “cry, moan”; see HALOT and DCH, s.v. Thus also, e.g., O’Brien 2009, 53. Alternatively, one may revocalize and read a pual participle of a homonym, ‫ נהג‬I, “drive, lead.” See BHSapp. 17 My own translation. 14

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fied as a woman), immediately before its downfall (this does not, of course, preclude that it is a vaticinium ex eventu). Possibly representing the population as a whole, the slave girls are said to form a procession, uttering laments that are “like the sound of doves.” The ancient reader, who was familiar with this stock imagery, was supposed to infer that their voices expressed grief and despair. There is, furthermore, no reason to assume that the avian simile extends to the concluding part of the verse, which depicts the slave women performing a specific rite of lamentation, “beating their breasts” (‫ ;מתפפת על־לבבהן‬more literally: “drumming upon their hearts”).18 To the best of my knowledge, a similar behaviour has not been observed among doves. Rather, the references to cooing doves and to the activity of beating, or drumming, create a combined effect, illustrating “the rhyming, onomatopoeic sounds of the handmaids’ grief.”19 Because of the strong emphasis on phonetic similarity between the dove’s call and human moaning, one may ask if the examples discussed above (Isa 59:11 and Nah 2:8 [Eng. 7]) should be labelled (literal) comparisons, rather than (metaphorical) similes. Arguably, though, the expression ‫כיונים‬, “like doves,” would evoke other connotations, as well, in the context of a description of suffering people: connotations ranging from reliability (the dove was known as a good navigator and messenger), and affection (the dove was a symbol of love), to weakness and vulnerability (the dove was easily caught and slaughtered).20 II. Chirping Like the Spirits of the Dead Thus far, the bird similes studied have focused almost solely on the characteristic cooing call of the dove. However, this is not the only connection between birds and sadness in the Hebrew Bible. As shown below, other birds, as well as other aspects of the behaviour of birds, may also appear in metaphors or similes depicting sadness or related emotions. In the next example, from Isa 38:14, the moaning dove is accompanied by one or two other avian species: Like a swift or a thrush (‫)כסוס עגור‬21 I chirp (‫)אצפצף‬, I moan/coo (‫ )אהגה‬like a dove (‫)כיונה‬.

18

I owe the alternative rendering (“drumming on their hearts”) to Coggins 1985, 42. O’Brien 2009, 53. 20 See Eidevall 2007. See also Botterweck 1990, 37, and Riede 2002, 44–45. 21 Unfortunately, the opening clause of this verse contains some textual difficulties. Hence, the translations differ widely. It is even uncertain whether the text originally named two or three different birds. To begin with, one should read ‫ כסיס‬in place of ‫כסוס‬. See BHSapp. The next word, ‫עגור‬, lacks a copula. Moreover, it has no counterpart in the LXX. It might thus be a gloss, inspired by Jer 8:7. Even if one chooses to retain the MT, as I have done, it remains somewhat uncertain whether v. 14aα mentions one or two birds. See below. 19

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My eyes are small/weary (with looking) to the height/sky. O Lord, I am troubled, help me! (Isa 38:14)22

My translation presupposes that two different birds are mentioned in the opening line. This is, however, somewhat uncertain.23 According to the dictionaries, the lexeme ‫ סיס‬denotes either the swift or the swallow.24 As regards the second bird name, ‫עגור‬, the scholarly suggestions (listed in DCH) include crane, swallow, short-footed thrush, wryneck, and golden oriole. Because both ‫ סיס‬and ‫ עגור‬are mentioned in Jer 8:7, where it is said about them that they “observe the time of their coming,” they would seem to be migratory birds. The Hebrew text of Isa 38:14 contains a further clue as to the identity of these two birds. The quality of their song is indirectly described by the verb ‫צפף‬ in pilpel. As shown by its occurrence in Isa 10:14, where it is used about peeping birds (or, more precisely, about birds who dare not peep as the Assyrian king plunders their nest), this verb form, pronounced with the consonants ts-fts-f, is onomatopoeic. It imitates the chirping sound made by several small birds. For this reason, I find it likely that ‫ עגור‬denotes some kind of thrush. As regards ‫( סיס‬a palpably onomatopoeic name), the best option seems to be the swift (Apus apus) with its shrill sound (srri-srri). The point made by the simile in Isa 38:14aα is, apparently, that the speaker (King Hezekiah, suffering from a severe disease) is in such pain that he utters shrill cries, similar to the chirping sounds made by some birds. In addition, we are told, he moans “like a dove” (v. 14aβ). Clearly, this case of poetic parallelism is not based on sound similarities alone. It is possible, of course, to imagine a sick person alternating between these two modes, as he prays and lifts his eyes towards heaven (v. 14bα). However, the word pair ‫“( צפף‬chirp”) and ‫“( הגה‬moan”) may also evoke associations that lead in the opposite direction: down to Sheol! According to Isa 8:19, the spirits of the dead are endowed with voices that are “chirping and muttering/moaning” (‫)המצפצפים והמהגים‬. To this one may add yet a passage from the book of Isaiah. In Isa 29:4 we read (as part of the Ariel prophecy): “your voice will become like (the voice of) a ghost from the earth, and your speech will chirp (‫ )תצפצף‬from the dust.” Some translations (e.g., NIV and NRSV) render the verb ‫ צפצף‬with “whisper” in these two texts, probably because that would come closer to the sound allegedly produced by ghosts. 22

My own translation. The Deir ‘Alla inscription appears to contain a bird name that is spelled ss‘gr. See Hoftijzer and van der Kooij 1976, 200. According to Foreman 2011, 214–215, ‫ סיס עגור‬is therefore best taken as a compound noun, referring to only one species (most probably, the swift). In the light of Jer 8:7, it is nonetheless reasonable to treat ‫ סיס‬and ‫ עגור‬as two different bird names. Thus several modern commentators. See, e.g., Blenkinsopp 2000, 480–481, Wildberger 1982, 1443, and Watts 1987, 56. 24 See HALOT and DCH, s.v. DCH adds the suggestion “golden oriole.” 23

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There is, however, textual evidence from Mesopotamia that the inhabitants of the netherworld were conceived of as bird-like. Joseph Blenkinsopp has summarized the content of these descriptions of the dead as follows: “they are clothed in feathers, chirp like birds, and are nourished on dust and clay.”25 Against this background, I suggest that Isa 38:14 can be interpreted as a variation on a well-known theme from the Psalms. Someone who is stricken by a life-threatening disease depicts how s/he is being dragged down into Sheol.26 On this reading (which finds support in Isa 38:10–11), the supplicant, Hezekiah, does not only, or primarily, liken himself to a twittering thrust or swift. Rather, he is saying: “I am (and, therefore, I sound) like the spirits of the dead.” This can help explain the transition from v. 14a to v. 14bα: “My eyes are weary (with looking) to the height/sky.” One might otherwise get the impression that the avian imagery is dropped rather abruptly. Being able to fly, a bird would have little reason to stare upward to the sky like that. However, if the suffering king depicts himself as being in the process of becoming one of the bird-like denizens of Sheol, whispering or chirping from the earth, this continuation of the simile makes excellent sense. Notably, another corollary of this hypothesis is that the precise identification of the birds mentioned in v. 14a does not affect the interpretation very much.

D. Sad and Lonely as an Owl or a Sparrow My concluding example, from the individual lament that constitutes the first part of Ps 102,27 alludes to observations regarding several different aspects of the behaviour of birds: I resemble an owl (‫ )דמיתי לקאת‬of the wilderness, I am like a little owl (‫ )הייתי ככוס‬among ruins; I lie awake, I have become like a lonely sparrow (‫ )כצפור בודד‬on a roof. (Ps 102:7–8 [Eng. 6–7])28

To begin with, there is a focus on the typical habitat of certain birds. The traditional translation of the bird name mentioned in v. 7a, ‫קאת‬, is “pelican.” But the pelican is not a desert dweller. The point of the metaphor might of course be that the supplicant feels displaced and disorientated, like a pelican far away from fishing water. Alternatively, the stress lies on the desert, as a place far 25

Blenkinsopp 2000, 245. The relevant passages are from Gilgamesh (7:31–54), Ishtar’s Descent (obverse, lines 4–10), and from Nergal and Ereškigal (b III 4–7). See also Streck 1999, 70, 174. 26 See, e.g., Lindström 1994, 439–441. 27 See further Hossfeld and Zenger 2011, 19–23. 28 My own translation.

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away from human civilization, where life-giving resources are lacking. In that case, the text would make excellent sense if the bird called ‫ קאת‬belonged to the fauna of the wilderness. On a closer examination, it turns out that the traditional translation, “pelican,” rests on a rather weak foundation. It is supported by the Septuagint, but not by contextual considerations. Apart from Ps 102, this lexeme occurs four times in the Hebrew Bible: twice in lists of unclean birds (Lev 11:18 and Deut 14:17; without any reference to habits or habitat), and twice in prophetic texts describing cities that have become deserted ruins (Isa 34:6 and Zeph 2:14). Nothing in these texts suggests that the ‫ קאת‬has the characteristic attributes of a pelican. The only firm conclusion one may draw, from the prophetic passages, is that this bird was associated with desolate places. I find it more likely that ‫ קאת‬refers to an owl of some kind.29 This makes perfect sense in Ps 102:7, especially in view of the parallelism between v. 7a (‫ )לקאת‬and v. 7b (‫)ככוס‬. There is general agreement that the word ‫ כוס‬refers to an owl species, probably the little owl (Athene noctua glaux).30 In Ps 102, the supplicant suffers from persecution and social isolation. This is stated in plain words in vv. 9–11. It is thus reasonable to assume that the double simile in v. 7 expresses emotions of loneliness and abandonment. Arguably, owls are well suited for such a metaphorical description, since they often dwell in desolate and uncivilized places. Furthermore, the typical sound of such birds is an eerie “hoo-hoo,” which could be interpreted as mournful. In the Akkadian “Birdcall list,” the owl’s call (represented as tuk-ku tuk-ku) is interpreted as follows: “The owl is the bird of Ea. Its cry is, ‘Lament, lament.’”31 Hence, it is likely that the ancient Israelites connected owls with sadness and mourning. Perhaps with wisdom, as well? Ea was known as a clever and crafty god. Hence, one may conjecture that the supplicant speaking in Ps 102 describes him/herself as a wise person who, having been unjustly ostracized, can do nothing but lament. To this, one may add one further possible association. Owls are creatures of the night. Therefore, the owl simile in v. 7 appears to be intimately linked to the beginning of v. 8: “I lie awake.” Like an owl, the supplicant is lonely, lamenting, and unable to sleep – or, rather, awake while most people are sleeping. In one respect, my translation of the remainder of v. 8, “I have become like a lonely sparrow on a roof,” differs from most other modern English versions: instead of “bird,” I write “sparrow” (thus also JPS). Usually, the lexeme ‫צפור‬ serves as a generic term for all birds, or rather for small birds in general, but

29

According to Driver 1955, 16, the Scops owl is the best candidate. See Eidevall 2006, 468; 2009b. See also Forti 2018, 75–76. 31 Lambert 1970, 115. 30

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sometimes it appears to denote one specific species, the sparrow.32 Here, in Ps 102:8, the point of the simile would seem to be that the bird on the roof, presumably a sparrow, has somehow erred away from (or, been abandoned by) its flock. This is clearly an image of loneliness, but it is also a metaphor for utter helplessness. Such a single sparrow would be an easy target for a hunter or a bird of prey. With regard to the places mentioned, one can detect an interesting development within Ps 102:7–8 (Eng. 6–7). In v. 7, the birds (probably owls of different kinds) are located far away from the city, in the desert or among ruins. As the imagery moves inside the city walls, in v. 8, the sense of isolation remains. As observed by Tova Forti, “the wilderness, ruin, and roof all accentuate the feeling of remoteness.”33 Arguably, the impression of abandonment is even heightened in v. 8. The image of the lonely bird sitting on the roof captures the terrible experience of being outside – near other people, in the midst of the town, yet excluded from human interaction, companionship, and solidarity. In times of crisis, groups of people would gather to perform lamentation rites on housetops (Isa 15:3; 22:1; Jer 48:38).34 By contrast, the “I” of Ps 102:8 is completely alone in his/her sadness. This can, I suggest, be seen as an apt illustration of the state of social death.

E. Concluding Reflections Just like us, the ancient Israelites and Judeans were surrounded by birds. They could hardly avoid observing them. The birds were part of their landscape, as well as their soundscape. This opened up the possibility of identifying, metaphorically, with certain birds. In this article, I have focused on a selection of metaphors and similes from the Hebrew Bible, expressing emotions of sadness and loneliness. Due to the somewhat moaning quality of its cooing, which could evoke the image of a person in grief or pain, the rock dove was firmly linked to sadness and mourning. To “moan like a dove” seems to have been a conventional simile, in ancient Israel and Judah, as well as in Mesopotamia. In one of the passages studied, Isa 38:14, two other species, possibly the swift and some kind of thrush, are mentioned together with the moaning dove. These birds are characterized as chirping. In this case, I suggested that the simile is based on the notion that the inhabitants of the netherworld were bird-like,

32 For further details, see Eidevall 2009c. The phonetic similarity between ‫ צפור‬and “sparrow” (Swedish: “sparv”) is of course intriguing. 33 Forti 2018, 76. 34 As noted by Riede 2002, 51.

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an idea attested in Mesopotamian literature and likely present in other passages in the book of Isaiah. According to my interpretation, the sick person, king Hezekiah, depicts himself as virtually dead already; he peeps like a ghost. In Ps 102:7–8 (Eng. 6–7), emotions of loneliness and isolation are expressed by means of a complex metaphor, involving two owls in desolate places, and one single sparrow on a housetop. In this case, the biblical text alludes to several aspects of the behaviour of the birds mentioned: their habitats (wilderness and ruins), their habits (the owl is a creature of the night, sparrows gather in flocks), and their call (the owl’s sound is lament-like). Some birds were apparently associated with sadness and grief. Birds could, however, also symbolize the good life. In Ps 55:7–8 (Eng. 6–7), the supplicant wishes that s/he had wings and could escape, like a bird, to freedom and safety. In another instance, the people express their relief and gratitude in this way: “We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped” (Ps 124:7). The richness and variety of biblical avian imagery indicates that the ancient Israelites and Judeans regarded the birds as their companions in God’s creation, in both joy and sorrow.

Bibliography Berner, Christoph. 2011. “Birds: I. Ancient Near East, II. Hebrew Bible/Old Testament.” EBR 3:1213–1216. Blenkinsopp, Joseph. 2000. Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AB 19. New Haven: Yale University Press. Borowski, Oded. 2002. “Animals in the Literature of Syria-Palestine.” Pages 289–306 in A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East. Edited by B. J. Collins. Leiden: Brill. Botterweck, Johannes. 1990. “‫ יו ֺנָ ה‬yônâ.” Pages 32–40 in vol. 6 of Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006. Burkert, Walter. 2005. “Signs, Commands, and Knowledge: Ancient Divination between Enigma and Epiphany.” Pages 29–49 in Mantikê: Studies in Ancient Divination. Edited by Sarah I. Johnson and Peter T. Struck. RGRW 155. Leiden: Brill. Coggins, Richard J. 1985. “In Wrath Remember Mercy: A Commentary on the Book of Nahum.” Pages 1–63 in Israel among the Nations. Edited by Richard J. Coggins and S. Paul Re’em. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Driver, G. R. 1955. “Birds in the Old Testament.” PEQ 87:5–20, 129–140. Eidevall, Göran. 2006. “Birds of the Bible.” Pages 467–470 in vol. 1 of New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–2009. –. 2007. “Dove.” Pages 160–161 in vol. 2 of New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–2009. –. 2009a. “Ostrich.” Page 346 in vol. 4 of New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–2009.

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–. 2009b. “Owl.” Page 348 in vol. 4 of New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–2009. –. 2009c. “Sparrow.” Pages 361–362 in vol. 5 of New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 5 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–2009. Foreman, Benjamin A. 2011. Animal Metaphors and the People of Israel in the Book of Jeremiah. FRLANT 238. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Forti, Tova L. 2008. Animal Imagery in the Book of Proverbs. VTSup 118. Leiden: Brill. –. 2018. “Like a Lone Bird on a Roof”: Animal Imagery and the Structure of Psalms. Critical Studies in the Hebrew Bible 10. University Park, Pennsylvania: Eisenbrauns. Hoftijzer, J. and G. van der Kooij. 1976. Aramaic Texts from Deir ‘Alla. DMOA 19. Leiden: Brill. Hossfeld, Frank Lothar and Erich Zenger. 2011. Psalms 3: A Commentary on Psalms 101– 150. Translated by Linda Maloney. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress. Lambert, W. G. 1970. “The Sultantepe Tablets: IX. The Birdcall Text.” Anatolian Studies 20:111–117. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. O’Brien, Julia M. 2009. Nahum. 2nd ed. Readings. Sheffield: Phoenix. Riede, Peter. 2002. Im Spiegel der Tiere: Studien zum Verhältnis von Mensch und Tier im alten Israel. OBO 187. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Scurlock, JoAnn. 2002. “Animals in Ancient Mesopotamian Religion.” Pages 361–387 in A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East. Edited by B. J. Collins. Leiden: Brill. Streck, Michael. 1999. Die Bildersprache der akkadischen Epik. AOAT 264. Münster: UgaritVerlag. Watts, John D. W. 1987. Isaiah 34–66. WBC 25. Waco, TX: Word Books. Wildberger, Hans. 1982. Jesaja: 3. Teilband Jesaja 28–39. BKAT X/3. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.

Israel’s Sin and Survival in Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 9–10* Kristin Joachimsen While the books of Ezra and Nehemiah are infamous for their denigration of outsiders, the two books also scrutinize Israel’s failures in the past and present.1 While studies of sin in the Hebrew Bible have often focused on linguistics or biblical theology, in this contribution, I will approach the books of Ezra and Nehemiah through a composite view of sin.2 In this particular set of texts, sin vocabulary is present but not remarkable prevalent. However, the topic of sin is embedded in dense and multifarious expressions. Disobedience concerns the relationship between Israel and YHWH and is depicted in interaction with the people’s understanding of self and others. The present study analyses expressions of sin as identity markers of Israel in relation to YHWH and others in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10, that is, two episodes that are both characterized by a blend of narrative and prayer. The two prayers, which are commonly labelled by the scholarly constructed genre penitential prayers, are performed by Ezra and the Levites, respectively, and convey confessions of Israel’s past and present sins of not keeping YHWH’s laws. The sins result in divine punishment by the people and is explained as their being controlled by foreign kings. In both prayers, this is further depicted as Israel’s current slavery under Persian kings. A recurrent topic concerns the people’s relationship to the land. If they

* I would like to thank my OT colleagues at MF-Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society and Faculty of Theology at the University of Oslo for useful responses to an earlier version of this study. I would also express my gratitude for the fellowship we have cultivated in the OTSEM network for many years, in which the honoree of this Festschrift, Fredrik Lindström, has been a steadfast member from the very beginning. 1 I support the burgeoning minority of scholars who claims that the books of Ezra and Nehemiah were composed or edited as two independent works. In this discussion, I find arguments about ideological differences most compelling. Among the latest contributions to this discussion, which argue for reading Ezra and Nehemiah as two independent books, see Amzallag 2018. 2 An example of a biblical theological approach to sin is Boda 2009, which includes a chapter on Ezra and Nehemiah. Lam 2016 maps the concepts of sin into four root metaphors within the Hebrew Bible: sin as a “burden” carried by the sinner, sin as an “account” of deeds kept by God, sin as a “path” or “direction” in which one travels, and sin as a “stain” or “impurity” on the sinner.

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follow YHWH’s laws, they will possess the land (forever); if not, their existence in the land is threatened. After an analysis and a comparison of Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 with a particular focus on how sin is depicted, I will discuss two recent contributions that scrutinize Israel’s servitude under the Persian Empire. Both studies read these episodes through the lens of postcolonial perspectives and in tandem with Achaemenid monumental royal inscriptions. Janzen stresses how in both Ezra 9 and Neh 9 Israel’s accommodation to colonial rule coincides with Israel’s keeping of YHWH’s law. He takes Neh 9:36–37 to be an exception from such an accommodation stance, as it reflects “anti-Achaemenid sentiment, perhaps even ‘a pro-independence party.’”3 Jones argues that Ezra 7–10 concerns accommodation, while Neh 9–10 is about resistance to and liberation from the Empire. As I will show, both of these studies tend to accommodate Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 to the scholarly constructed Achaemenid imperial ideology. I would suggest seeking beyond both the “Achaemenidizing” discourse as well as the polarization between pro- or anti-Persia stances. In the literary context of Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10, Persia might be far more decentralized than what these joint readings of the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, and Achaemenid imperial ideology presuppose. The relationship between Israel’s sin, slavery, and survival is framed in a particular, vernacular, Yahwistic and Yehudite perspective, and relates a recurrent pattern of failure, divine punishment, and rescue; in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 it is about the people’s existence in the land, currently under Persian rule.

A. Setting the Scene: Imagining the Past and Present Community In the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, the people and their leaders are presented as responsible for the (re-)construction of cult, kin, temple, laws, community, Jerusalem, and Yehud after the Babylonian exile, while currently living under the Persian Empire. The complex restoration project faces both external and internal challenges, and perhaps, first and foremost, in-between ones. Illustrations of various episodes related to the restoration are, for instance, disputes in terms of unclear genealogies (Ezra 2), who is eligible to take part in the temple restoration (Ezra 4–6), and Passover celebration (Ezra 6), how should the Shabbat be observed (Neh 13:15–18), what is inappropriate marriage practice (Ezra 9–10; Neh 10:30–31 [Eng. 29–30]; 13:23–27), and more generally, the requirement that ‫זרע הקדש‬, “the holy seed” (Ezra 9:2) and ‫זרע ישראל‬, “the seed of Israel” separate from ‫כל בני נכר‬, “all foreigners” (Neh 9:2; cf. 13:3). In addition to this complex – and far from unified – discourse of what constitutes the com3

Janzen 2017, 840–850.

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munity of Israel, the books of Ezra and Nehemiah relate to Empire, in which loyalties to both the Persian king and YHWH are challenged. All this is presented from a particular Yehudite perspective on YHWH and the community of Israel in Yehud. Another characteristic of the complexity of the two books is their blend of genres. Lists, genealogies, prayers, letters, and official documents are cited and embedded in a narrative framework. Documents and narratives are written in both Hebrew and Aramaic, and the narration alternates between first-person and third-person speech.4 Both the blend of topics and genres emphasize the character of the books of Ezra and Nehemiah as episodic rather than continuous and uniform.

B. Ezra 9–10: Sin, Slavery, and the Threat of the Yehudites’ Existence in the Land Ezra 9–10 has received much attention in research, in which the focus is often put on the criticism of the community’s marriage practice, which is conveyed in this episode.5 In the present study on the topic of sin, a larger frame of reference is addressed. While it is common to point to the consequences for the wives of these contested marriages, whom the community agrees on expelling, I will also stress the threat to the Yehudites’ existence in the land should they continue forsaking YHWH’s commandments, including the practice of marrying others. In Ezra 9:1, Israel’s leaders tell Ezra about the miseries in Yehud: neither the people, the priests, nor the Levites have separated themselves from ‫עמי הארצות‬, “the peoples of the lands.”6 These peoples are characterized by their ‫תועבות‬, “abominations,” which are compared to those of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Jebusites, the Ammonites, the Moabites, the Egyptians, and the Amorites. The seriousness of the situation is elaborated: Israel’s men, their sons, and leaders of the community, including their identification as ‫הגולה‬, “the returned exiles,”7 have married daughters of “the peoples of the lands.” This 4

Knowles 2019. See, for instance, Frevel 2011. For a more comprehensive analysis of Ezra 9–10 with focus on the use of the law in relation to the criticism of the marriage practice, see Joachimsen 2018. 6 ‫גוי־הארץ‬, “peoples of the land” (Ezra 6:21); ‫עמי הארצות‬, “peoples of the lands” (Ezra 3:3; 9:1–2; 11; Neh 9:30; 10:28 [Eng. 29]); ‫עמי ארץ‬, “peoples in the land” (Ezra 10:2, 11; Neh 10:30–31 [Eng. 31–32], 9:24 [‫עם־הארץ ;)]עממי הארץ‬, “people in the land” (Ezra 4:4), as well as the Canaanites ‫ישבי הארץ‬, “who lived in the land,” in Neh 9:24. 7 The term ‫( הגולה‬Aram. ‫)גלותא‬, “returned exiles,” is prominent in the book of Ezra (see Ezra 1:11; 2:1; 6:16, 19–21; 8:35; 9:4; 10:6, 7, 8, 16), while it appears only once in the book 5

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marriage practice is labelled ‫מעל‬, “faithlessness,” and implies that ‫זרע הקדש‬, “the holy seed,” becomes mixed (9:2).8 The situation is framed stereotypically, as these wives are considered guilty by association, so to speak, by being compared to the Canaanites and other peoples. As I will show below, in Ezra 9:10– 11, the rejection of this practice is related to the uncleanness which characterizes the peoples of the land. Ezra performs a prayer (Ezra 9:6–15), confessing the people’s sins both in the present and in the past.9 As a punishment for the guilt of the people, the kings, and priests, all of them are surrendered to foreign kings (9:7). YHWH has also shown his people ‫תחנה‬, “favour,” by saving a surviving ‫פליטה‬, “remnant” (9:8; cf. 9:13–15), strengthening them in their slavery. YHWH has made the Persian kings show the people ‫חסד‬, “kindness,” so they can restore ‫מקום קדשׁו‬, “his holy place” and community (9:8–9). Thus, both the foreign kings and the people’s life under imperial dominion are controlled by YHWH and related to the restoration of the temple and the community. However, Israel has forsaken YHWH’s ‫מצות‬, “commandments.” Because of the uncleanness of the land and the peoples they are about to encounter,10 Israel shall neither marry these peoples nor seek their welfare when possessing and

of Nehemiah, namely in the list of ‫העלים משבי הגולה‬, “those who came up from among the captive exiles” (Neh 7:6, par. Ezra 2:1). However, the terminology applied on the community is varied in the book of Ezra; in chaps 9–10 they are called ‫העם ישראל‬, “people of Israel” (9:1), ‫זרע הקדש‬, “the holy seed,” (9:2), Israel (10:1, 2, 10), ‫כל־ישראל‬, “all Israel” (10:5), ‫כל־אנשי־יהודה ובנימן‬, “all men from Judah and Benjamin” (10:9), ‫כל־העם‬, “all the people” (10:9), ‫כל־הקהל‬, “all the community” (10:12, 14), various kinds of leadership, as well as ‫כל‬ ‫חרד בדברי אלהי־ישראל‬, “all who trembled at the word of the God of Israel” (9:4; 10:3), and ‫פליטה‬, “a remnant” (9:8, 13, 15). 8 ‫זרע‬, “seed, offspring,” denotes ancestry in Ezra 2:59 (Neh 7:61) concerning those who could not find their descent in the lists (see also Neh 9:2: “seeds of Israel [‫]זרע ישראל‬ separated themselves from all foreigners”). In the book of Ezra, great emphasis is placed on family relationships – both when it comes to priests, Levites, and the rest of the people, illustrated by, for instance, several (fictional) genealogies (Ezra 2; 7; 8). 9 ‫אשמה‬, “guilt”: Ezra 9:6–7, 13; 10:10, 19; ‫עון‬, “iniquity”: Ezra 9:7, 13; Neh 3:37; 9:2. 10 Cf. ‫ארץ נדה‬, “an unclean land,” ‫נדת עמי הארצות‬, “the uncleanness of the peoples of the lands,” their ‫תועבות‬, “abominations,” and ‫טמאה‬, “impurity.” Scholars have offered various single, all-defining explanations of an impurity discourse in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, like ritual (Fishbane), moral (Klawans) and genealogical (Hayes). Others have suggested combinations of several sorts of impurity. According to Rausche 2012, 458, there is no coherent purity ideology in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, but a discourse on, as well as developments in, purity ideology in these two books. For a brief overview of various contributions to this discussion, see Southwood 2012, 90–92. I agree with Southwood 2012, 91, that in scholarship there is a danger of reductive classifications of the purity ideology in these two books. Like her, I also find it hard to uphold distinctions of ritual, moral, and genealogical varieties, as they are somewhat interwoven. In the present study, I will locate the topics of sin and purity on the broader, ongoing identity discourse in these texts.

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retaining the land (9:10–11; cf. 9:1–2).11 If Israel follows these directions, they will possess the land for their children forever (9:12). Ezra asks rhetorically, first, regarding a possible recurrence of the practice of marrying ‫עמי התעבות‬ ‫האלה‬, “the peoples of these abominations” (9:14, cf. 9:1, 11), and second, in terms of YHWH’s punishment of Israel’s great guilt, which could have been harsher. While the previous violation of YHWH’s commands resulted in the people being controlled by foreign kings, if repeated, the Yehudites’ continued existence in the land is threatened, even ‫לאין שארית ופליטה‬, “without remnant and survivor” (9:14; cf. 9:6–9). Again, Ezra prays and weeps, and the people identify themselves with his prayer and tears (10:1). One of them, Shechaniah, takes action, responds to Ezra, and admits that the people have been faithless by their marriage practice (10:2–4, cf. Ezra 9:2, 4). Shechaniah suggests making an agreement to end this practice by sending away these wives and their children, which is according to YHWH, those who tremble at the commandments of God (10:3–4; cf. 9:4) and the law. Ezra calls the leading priests, the Levites, and all Israel to act according to Shechaniah’s suggestion, and so they swear an oath (10:5–6). ‫כל בני‬ ‫הגולה‬, “all the exiles,” are summoned to attend a meeting in Jerusalem in which the agreement is executed (10:7–8).12 Ezra admonishes the people to confess their guilt to the God of the ancestors, and the whole assembly consent. In sum, in Ezra 9–10, Israel’s past sins concern their forsaking of YHWH’s commandments, which has been punished with being brought into the hands of foreign kings. The people’s sin concerns that they have not safeguarded the purity and holiness of the community, as they have married “peoples of abominations” while entering “an unclean land.” This has resulted in their slavery under Persian kings. If Israel follows YHWH’s guidelines, they will possess the land for their children forever; if they continue this marriage practice, their very existence in the land is threatened. Depictions of the people’s sins and divine punishment are interspersed with YHWH’s favour, rescuing a remnant. The community seeks to solve the situation by agreeing to end the improper marriage practice and send the foreign wives and their children away. Thus, the requirement for separating from others that threaten the holy seed is closely connected both with the identity of the community, and their continued existence in the land, and is assured by a subsequent agreement of the people. 11

In Ezra, holiness and separation are connected. ‫בדל‬, niphal, “separate oneself from,” is related to mixed marriages in Ezra 9:1; 10:8 (exclusion from the community of those who do not turn up to the meeting of solving the marriage crisis), 11, 16, which are regarded as ‫טמאה‬, “uncleanness,” in 9:11 (as well as 6:21), ‫תועבות‬, “abominations,” in 9:1, 11, 14, as well as ‫מעל‬, “being faithless,” in 10:2, 10 (cf. 9:2, 4; 10:6). 12 Nykolaishen 2015 shows how Ezra 10:3 echoes ideas from covenant renewals, as well as how Shecaniah’s suggestion alludes to a new covenant. He concludes, however, that Ezra 10 is basically an exclusive agreement concerning the returned exiles, cf. Deut 7.

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C. Nehemiah 9–10: YHWH’s Care and the People’s Sin and Slavery In Neh 9:1–3, Israel is gathered to mourn and confess ‫חטאתיהם‬, “their sins,” 13 and the ‫עונות‬, “iniquities,” of their ancestors, while ‫זרע ישראל‬, “the seed of Israel,” commit themselves to separate ‫מכל בני נכר‬, “from all foreigners,”14 and they read from “the book of the law of YHWH their God.” Again, foreigners appear by a general term, without ethnicity, cult, or gender specified, and as opposed to Ezra 9 they are not associated with any ‫תועבות‬, “abominations.” What matters is not so much who they are or what they do, so long as it is clear that they do not belong to Israel.15 The Levites perform a prayer (Neh 9:4–37), composite of summaries of God’s acts with his people and others in creation and history (9:6–31) and the present (9:32–37), interspersed with portrayals of the sins of Israel’s ancestors (9:16–17, 26, 29, 34–35). Also, Israel’s current situation is taken into consideration, praying that God must take care of them in their miseries because of their sins (9:32–37). A variety of topics appear, revolving around how Israel is brought out of one land and into another (cf. Abraham in 9:7–9), how they have received the law, food, and land, and how they are punished at the hands of foreign peoples for their sins. Israel became rescued from their sufferings in Egypt and brought out of the land (9:9–11) and received YHWH’s laws, as well as food and land, while wandering in the wilderness (9:12–15). During this wandering, the topic of the people’s rebellion is introduced: they neither listened to YHWH’s commandments nor remembered his saving acts (9:16–17), they were acting stubbornly (9:16, 17, 26, 29), made themselves a molten calf (9:18) and committed great impieties (9:18, 26). While the people’s disobedience brought them back to slavery in Egypt (9:17), YHWH responded with great compassion (9:17; cf. 9:19–25, 27–28, 31), brought them into the land he had promised them, which they occupied from the Canaanites and filled with a multitude of descendants (9:22–25). Again, the people repeat their disobedience by killing YHWH’s prophets (9:26), doing what was evil in the eyes of YHWH (9:28, 35), and not 13 ‫חטאת‬, “sin” in Neh 1:6; 3:37; 9:2, 37; 10:34; ‫חטא‬, qal, Neh 1:6; 6:13; 9:29; 13:26; Neh 13:26, hiphil. 14 Both in Neh 9:2 and in the two other occurrences of ‫בדל‬, “separate,” in Neh 10:28 [Eng. 29]; 13:3, the expression is directed towards “other,” without any closer specification, cf. Ezra 9:1; 10:8, 11. Cf. n. 11 above. 15 In Neh 9, the community is called ‫בני־ישראל‬, “Israelites” (9:1) and ‫זרע ישראל‬, “the seed of Israel,” (9:2), while their past is narrated as what happened to ‫אבתינו‬, “our ancestors” (9:3, 9, 10, 16, 23, 32, 34, 36, cf. Abraham in 9:7 and his descendants in 9:8), different kinds of leadership, as well as “the whole people” (9:32). On the law as identity marker in the book of Nehemiah, see Joachimsen 2014.

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listening to the deity’s laws (9:26, 29, 30, 34). YHWH punished them by handing them over to their enemies and the peoples of the land (9:27–28, 30), and the deity also showed his people care and compassion (9:27–28, 30–31; in 9:31, a risk of destruction might be hinted at, cf. Ezra 9:14). The Levites’ prayer then turns to the present, in which praise of YHWH’s greatness and care is interspersed with a depiction of the hardships of the community from the days of the kings of Assyria until this day (9:32). While YHWH is righteous, faithful, and generous, the community is sinning and neither keeping the law nor caring about the warnings (9:33–35). The prayer ends with the people’s current state as slaves in their own land. The Levites’ prayer is assured by a subsequent agreement of the people, in which the community seeks to solve the situation. The agreement is signed by Nehemiah, the priests, Levites, and the heads of the people (9:38–10:27 [Eng. 10:1–28]), and the terms of the agreement concern keeping the laws (10:28–39 [Eng. 29–40]). Some topics are singled out: they will not marry foreigners (10:30 [Eng. 10:31]) or do business with “the peoples of the land” on the Shabbath (10:31 [Eng. 10:32]). Other topics concern the temple and the service there (10:30–36 [Eng. 10:29–35]). In sum, Neh 9 introduces the people’s confession of sin as well as statements about separating themselves from others, followed by the Levites’ prayer. Their prayer is carried by a pattern of Israel’s continual failure in past and present. In essence, they have behaved arrogantly, have not listened to the commandments, did not remember the deity’s wonders, and did what was evil in the eyes of YHWH. These failures have resulted in YHWH’s punishment, as his people are being handed over to other peoples. Moreover, YHWH has rescued Israel before they again repeat their disobedience.16 In the Levites’ prayer, Israel’s possession of the land is narrated (9:8, 15, 22–25). However, because they did not remember that YHWH had promised they would inherit the land, they returned to slavery (9:17). Moreover, their guilt leads to loss of the land, as the ancestors were handed over to their enemies and the people of the lands (9:28, 30), while the people are currently living as slaves in their own land. Eskenazi shows how, in Neh 9, the people’s identity is constituted by a common memory, or more precisely: “[T]he prayer is constructing and inculcating a memory to be shared.”17 Eskenazi further stresses that this identity formation activates both continuity and break: while the current community identifies with the past, they try to distance themselves from their ancestors.18 Southwood 16

The cyclic presentation of failure, punishment, and rescuing reminds of the Deuteronomistic pattern, cf. Williamson 2007, 168. 17 Eskenazi 2001, §1.7. 18 This is based on Eskenazi’s analysis of the structure of Neh 9. While most scholars take the historical retrospective of the prayer to start in 9:6, key in Eskenazi’s analysis is a separation of 9:11–31 from the preceding. She takes 9:6–10, the topics of creation, the

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elaborates on Eskenazi’s claim, stating: “[R]ather than defining Israel over against homogenized foreign nations the main character which the community defines themselves against is Israel of the past!”19 In my view, both Eskenazi and Southwood overstate the community’s distancing from the past. I regard sin as a continuous issue in Israel’s past and present in this prayer.20 Both in Ezra’s prayer and the prayer of the Levites, the people are a community committed to YHWH’s laws. The prayers also include confessions of Israel’s sin, committed both in the past and the present. In essence, they have not kept YHWH’s commandments, which in Ezra 9 relates to their practice of marrying others. Both prayers convey a pattern of the people’s continual failure, divine punishment, and rescue. Their sins result in punishment, as others control them, at present in Persian servitude. In the Levites’ prayer, the people are living as slaves in the land they have received by YHWH, while in Ezra’s prayer Israel’s continued existence in the land is threatened. Both prayers are followed by agreements to safeguard the community, with keeping the commandments as terms of the agreement.

D. The Vernacularity of Israel’s Sins, Slavery, and Survival under the Empire Recently, both Janzen and Jones have analysed Israel’s servitude under the Persian Empire in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah through the lens of postcolonial perspectives and read in parallel with Achaemenid monumental royal inelection of Abraham and the rescue from Egypt as defining “the basic relation between God and the community, past and present” (§2.12), in which she especially highlights the connection between the past and the present in Neh 9:9–10 and 9:32, 36 (e.g., linking the plight of the ancestors with today), while the historical retrospective in 9:11–31 concerns the ancestors only, and not the current community. I think Eskenazi downplays too much the presentation of the sins of the present community in 9:33, 37 at the expense of the connection between the “us” and the innocent Israel in Egypt. 19 Southwood 2014, 21. 20 This interpretation is more in line with what Southwood states elsewhere about Ezra 9:6–9, where she stresses the continuity, implying that sinning is presented as something that accumulates over time, cf. Southwood 2012, 155–156. Southwood 2012, 152–156, highlights exile as punishment in Ezra 9. Like others, Southwood 2014, 19, stresses that this is not the case in Neh 9. Like Eskenazi, Southwood in this regard refers to Newman 1999, 99–100, who claims that Neh 9:30 is the only (and rather implicit) reference to the exile, and explicates the de-emphasis as “the author’s desire to establish an inalienable claim to the land … Here the punishment for disobedience lies in the fact that the Israelites were put under foreign rule.” At the same time, Southwood 2014, 19, claims that “[a]t each juncture within the ethnic history [of Neh 9], disobedience is met with being away from the land and being oppresses by enemies.”

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scriptions. In both Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10, the topic of sin is, among others, related to depictions of Israel’s current state as ‫עבדים‬, “slaves.” In Ezra’s prayer, the sins from the days of the ancestors, due to their violation of YHWH’s laws, have already led to destruction. The current community has become slaves, even though YHWH extended his favour to them in their servitude of the Persian kings (Ezra 9:8–9). The Levites’ prayer ends with depicting the current community as slaves: 36

See, we are slaves today, we are slaves upon the land given to the ancestors … 37 and its great yield belongs to the kings whom you put over us because of our sins, and they rule over our bodies and our livestock as they wish, and we are in great distress. (Neh 9:36–37)21

In what follows, I will discuss the recent contributions by Janzen and Jones, which both scrutinize Israel’s servitude under the Persian Empire. They interpret Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9 together with Achaemenid monumental royal inscriptions and through the lens of postcolonial perspectives. I. Janzen: Israel’s Accommodation to Colonial Rule Coincides with Israel’s Keeping of YHWH’s Law in Ezra 9 and Nehemiah 9 Janzen claims that both in Ezra 9:8–9 and Neh 9:36–37, the people’s current slavery is a result of the sins of their ancestors.22 The people are slaves, “although God has extended steadfast love to them ‘before the kings of Persia’ in this state of slavery ([Ezra] 9:6–9).”23 According to Janzen, the people’s divine favour and servitude under the Persian rule will end if they violate YHWH’s law, and the deity will leave them “without remnant or survivor” (Ezra 9:10– 15).24 Janzen also states that in both Ezra 9 and Neh 9, Israel’s accommodation to the Empire coincides with the people’s keeping YHWH’s law. This is based on his analysis of Ezra 7–Neh 13 by the lens of Achaemenid imperial ideology as well as postcolonial perspectives. In this imperial ideology, the king acts on behalf of the Achaemenid deity Ahuramazda, in which the divine order and the royal will correspond. The Persian rule seeks to replace turmoil and lies throughout the world with order and truth.25 Thus, the colonized, who are “in turmoil,” need the Achaemenid king to re-establish the divine order.26 This im21

On Israel as slaves in their own land, see also Neh 5 and Joachimsen 2020. Janzen 2016, 44, and Janzen 2017, 844. 23 Janzen 2016, 44. In Janzen 2017, 843, he also states that in Ezra 9:9, slavery under the Persian kings is due to God’s kindness toward the people that has resulted in a rebuilt temple. 24 Janzen 2016, 45. 25 Janzen 2016, 42; 2017, 847, illustrates how yaudantim (“in turmoil”) is replaced by the king’s reinforcement of dāta in DSe 30–41. 26 Janzen 2016, 41. He illustrates the correspondence of the reestablished divine order and the king’s will by referring to DSe 30–34. Janzen 2016, 30, claims that the Persian imperial 22

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plies that “[t]he empire exists to benefit the colonized,” which in Ezra-Nehemiah is articulated in Yahwistic terms.27 Janzen’s analysis might be further related to his portrayal of the hybrid identity of the community of ‫הגולה‬, “the returned exiles,” which is characterized by a blend of imperial hegemony and Judean, Yahwistic heritage.28 He claims that in Ezra 7–Neh 13, the colonized ‫הגולה‬-community is disloyal both to YHWH and to the king: the people are neither keeping the law of YHWH (behaving like their ancestors) nor the Persian law and, like their ancestors, become slaves. It is indeed the community’s failure to keep YHWH’s laws, which explains their colonized status and justifies the Persian Empire’s exploitation of them, including their servitude to the Persians.29 In this regard, Janzen highlights how, at a rhetorical level, the Persian kings are put under the authority of YHWH. He explains the ambivalent relationship between the Persian kings and the restoration project of the Yehudite community as follows: on the one hand, these kings are needed to restore the divine order; on the other hand, YHWH “is in the ultimate control of history and … uses the Persians to carry out the community’s punishment.”30 As Janzen states: “Jerusalem was not destroyed because it was a city of subjects disloyal to the empire; it was destroyed because Israel offended its God (Ezra 5:11–12; 9:7–9; Neh 9:26–37).”31 He relates this to the critical theorist Bhabha’s concept of mimicry, which in this instance discourse portrays colonized peoples as “prone to a disloyalty that harms them and in need of a stabilizing imperial rule that benefits them.” Janzen 2016, 38 exemplifies this by the Achaemenid royal Bisitun inscription, which circulated in many Aramaic copies at least a century after Darius made it, and in which the (colonized) rebels are characterized by lying (drauga), e.g., DB 4:33–35. 27 Janzen 2016, 47, cf. p. 30. Janzen 2017, 839, highlights the same point as regards Neh 8–13, including the prayer in Neh 9:6–37. 28 Janzen 2016. Janzen reads Ezra-Nehemiah as one book, and the community of ‫הגולה‬, “the returned exiles” as a uniform unit going through the whole corpus, and thus risks making the narrative(s) more uniform than is justified, cf. n. 7 above. 29 Janzen 2016, 45. Also in the diplomatic correspondence in Ezra 5–6, the exile is explained as due to the misconduct of the people of Israel towards YHWH, against the accusations in Ezra 4 that the people rebelled against the Persian kings. Cf. the discussion on the role of the exile in n. 21 above. 30 Janzen 2016, 46. 31 Janzen 2016, 37. Moreover, Janzen 2016, 46; 2017, 843–850, explicates how servant is a hybrid concept in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10, by comparing to Achaemenid inscriptions’ use of bandaka- (“subject, servant”), which is “cognate with the Old Persian noun *banda(“bound, fetter”) and used for both high-ranking Persians as well as everyone else within the empire.” This alludes both to the loyalty to and subjection of the Empire; a title of honor and a reference to servitude. Also, Oeming 2006, 571–588, argues that the term ‫ עבדים‬in Neh 9:36 relates to the Persian term bandaka, “loyal subject,” thus expressing loyalty to the Empire. However, Oeming ignores the fact that the people’s slave status is due to their sins (Neh 9:37).

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implies that the colonized disrupts “the categories that authorize and legitimate imperial power” by making the Persian king subject to YHWH.32 Janzen characterizes this “Yahwistic appropriation of Achaemenid imperial ideology” as displaying a “pro-Achaemenid stance.” It is asserted “that the best possible life is one under Persian rule and that the alternative is one of complete disaster.”33 This alternative is expressed in terms like the “great distress” and “no remnant” in Neh 9:36–37,34 which Janzen characterizes as reflecting “antiAchaemenid sentiment,” perhaps even “a pro-independence party.”35 As Janzen states, Israel’s life under the Achaemenid Empire is the best alternative for YHWH’s people. However, he adds: “If the context of [Neh] 9:6– 37 is expanded to include chapter 10, these two chapters might signal that a failed community that sedulously follows the law will win from God the reward of independence from Persia.”36 Thus, this goes against Janzen’s previously established Yahwistic appropriation of Achaemenid imperial ideology. II. Jones: Israel’s Accomodation to the Empire in Ezra 7–10, and Resistance to and Liberation from the Empire in Nehemiah 9–10 While Janzen stresses how Israel, defined as the ‫הגולה‬-community, has accommodated and subdued the Empire and the imperial hegemony in Ezra 7–Neh 13, Jones presents another version of the colonial discourse. Jones focuses on the embedded written documents in Ezra 7 and Neh 10, respectively. He claims that while in Ezra 7 Achaemenid royal propaganda is mimicked, implicitly urging Judeans to trust the Empire, in Neh 7 indigenous Judean writing is invoked to challenge the legitimacy of imperial dominion, looking forward to a day when the imperial oppressors will be overthrown.37 Jones illustrates these different Judean attitudes to the Empire by explaining that while both Ezra 9:9 and Neh 9:36 depict Judeans under the imperial rule as slaves, in Ezra 9:9, this is

32

Janzen 2016, 29, and Bhabha 1994, 112. Janzen 2017, 850. A crucial argument for this is that the Empire has sent Ezra and Nehemiah as leaders, coming from the center of the Empire, to restore the community and implement the law, cf. Janzen 2016, 30–47; 2017, 839–856. 34 Janzen 2017, 856. 35 Janzen 2017, 850–840. Interestingly, Janzen does not relate this minority view, which he explicates as “misguided” from the pro-Achaemenid stance elsewhere in Ezra 7–Neh 13, to a main tension between ‫ הגולה‬and those who remained back in Judah, which is so crucial for his analyses of other parts of the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. Janzen 2017, 856, rather likens the anti-Achaemenid sentiment in Neh 9:36–37 to anti-imperial views of Haggai and Zechariah, that is, prophetic texts in which no ‫הגולה‬-community is singled out, cf. Janzen 2017, 840–850. 36 Janzen 2017, 852. 37 Jones 2018, 161–180. Also, Jones refers to Bhabha’s concept of mimicry in this regard, cf. Janzen in n. 33 above. 33

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followed by expressions of “the good favour that they enjoy before the king on account of Yahweh’s faithfulness.”38 In Neh 9:36–37, on the other hand, the community’s distress is a result of imperial subjugation: “The people are slaves on the land that was promised to their ancestors, and the kings of Persia enjoy its abundant fruit.”39 Jones argues that the book of Ezra generally presents imperial domination as something positive, referring to Ezra 6:22 and 9:9, which he relates to the claim that in Ezra the restoration of the cult is accomplished. “[T]he emperor fulfils the will of Yahweh by supporting Judean legal and cultic practices,” cf. Ezra 9:9: “[Yahweh] has inclined the kings of Persia favourably toward us, to give us life, to raise up the Temple of our God, to restore its ruins, and to give us protection in Judah and Jerusalem.”40 In Nehemiah, however, the community still waits for release from the punishment, which will not take place until the people – as opposed to their ancestors – commit themselves to the law. This is what happens in the covenant renewal that follows Neh 9:36–37: “If the community is in servitude to empire because of its disobedience to the Torah (9:13– 31), it follows that liberation from empire will come from obedience to the Torah.”41 Jones characterizes this covenant renewal document as “anti-imperial.”42 As we saw above, if Janzen read Neh 9 and 10 together, he would also stress that the community will gain divine favour by being independent of the Empire if they follow YHWH’s law. I wonder whether these recurrent ad hoc arguments concerning the pro- and anti-Persian stances might signal that these issues do not hit the core of the episodes. I suggest a slight shift of accentuation, reminding that the slavery in Ezra 9 and Neh 9 is a punishment for sin and that what is at stake is the people’s existence in the land, which is framed in a recurrent pattern of failure, divine punishment, and rescue. III. Israel’s Sin, Slavery, and Survival Framed in a Particular, Vernacular, Yahwistic, and Yehudite Perspective in Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 9–10 The perception and reception of Persia in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 is certainly interesting. I agree with Janzen that what matters is how Persia is placed under the authority of the deity of Israel in these discourses, in which they appropriate their version of the Persian king to legitimate their God YHWH and themselves. In this version, both the foreign kings and the people’s life under imper-

38

Jones 2018, 179–180. Jones 2018, 177–178. 40 Jones 2018, 173. Cf. Janzen’s explication of slavery under the Persian kings as due to God’s kindness toward the people that have resulted in a rebuilt temple in Ezra 9:9 in n. 24 above. 41 Jones 2018, 178. 42 Jones 2018, 178. 39

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ial dominion are controlled by YHWH and related to the restoration of the temple and the community. However, I am not sure how much reading through the lens of Achaemenid imperial ideology illuminates what is going on in these episodes. To fit Neh 9 into the lens of Achaemenid imperial ideology, I occasionally get the impression that Janzen “Achaemenidizes” the Levites’ prayer more than there is basis for. Such analyses might be so concerned with identifying Achaemenid imperial ideology that the accommodation of Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 to the Achaemenid royal monumental inscriptions happens at the expense of both the texts’ and the inscriptions’ vernacularity.43 By extension, the two episodes might be claimed to be more similar to this ideology than what is justified, implying that the Yahwistic “ideology” is downplayed. While the Achaemenid imperial ideology (if there is such a thing) focuses on the legitimacy of the king and the Empire, the books of Ezra and Nehemiah concern a particular view of the relationship between Israel and their deity YHWH. While elements of this imperial ideology are identified by markers like yaudantim (“in turmoil”), drauga- (“lying”), and bandaka- (“subject, servant”),44 Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 speak about sin, slavery, and survival embedded in a recurrent pattern of depicting the relationship between Israel, their deity and their existence in the land. Perhaps the differences between these various media, genre, language, etc. are as significant as the marginal similarities. In the literary context of Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10, Persia might be far more decentralized than what these parallel readings of the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, and Achaemenid imperial ideology presuppose. In Ezra 9–10, Israel’s commitment to YHWH’s commandments leads to the possession of the land as an eternal inheritance, while disobedience threatens the entire destruction of the people (9:11–12, 14–15). Also, in Neh 9, Israel’s possession of the land is narrated (Neh 9:8, 15, 22–25). However, because Israel did not remember that YHWH had promised them to inherit the land, they returned to slavery (Neh 9:17); due to the ancestor’s sin, they were handed over to their enemies and the people of the lands (9:28, 30), while the people are currently living as slaves in their own land. In Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10, both Israel’s sins and YHWH’s punishment involve others. Sin relates to the practice of marrying others and punishment is Israel’s slavery under Persian kings. This, 43 This might be exemplified with how Janzen, for instance, reads a too close correspondence between the Old Persian yaudantim (“in turmoil,” see n. 26 above), drauga(“lying,” see n. 27 above), and bandaka- (“subject, servant,” see n. 32 above) and the expressions for sin, slavery and generally, the arguments and rhetoric performed in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10. Additionally, Janzen does not discuss the differences of media in which the royal monumental inscriptions and the Hebrew literature represent. 44 See n. 26, 27, 32, and 44 above; in all these instances, Janzen maps Achaemenid imperial ideology by referring to terminology applied in Achaemenid monumental royal inscriptions.

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however, is not a matter of pro- or anti-Persia stances, but relates to whether Israel follows YHWH’s laws, further connected to the restoration project. This might be further stressed by the fact that both the foreign kings and the people’s lives under the Empire are controlled by YHWH and related to the restoration of the temple and the community. In these two episodes, both prayers are followed by agreements to safeguard the community, with keeping the commandments as terms of the agreement. The episodes told in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 9–10 suit their own ends telling less about Achaemenid Imperial ideology and more about a particular Yehudite perspective on the community of Israel and their relationship to YHWH, currently living in the Persian Empire.

Bibliography Amzallag, Nissim. 2018. “The Authorship of Ezra and Nehemiah in Light of Differences in Their Ideological Background.” JBL 137:271–297. Bhabha, Homi K. 1994. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge. Boda, Mark J. 2009. A Severe Mercy: Sin and Its Remedy in the Old Testament. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Eskenazi, Tamara Cohn. 2001. “Nehemiah 9–10: Structure and Significance.” JHS 3:1–19. Frevel, Christian, ed. 2011. Mixed Marriages: Intermarriage and Group Identity in the Second Temple Period. New York: Bloomsbury. Janzen, David. 2016. “A Colonized People: Persian Hegemony, Hybridity, and Community Identity in Ezra-Nehemiah,” BibInt 24:27–47. –. 2017. “Yahwistic Appropriation of Achaemenid Ideology and the Function of Nehemiah 9 in Ezra-Nehemiah.” JBL 136:839–856. Joachimsen, Kristin. 2014. “Loven som identitetsmarkør i Nehemja-boken.” Teologisk Tidsskrift 3:251–269. –. 2018. “The Symbolic Function of the Law in Ezra 9–10.” Pages 15–40 in Religion, Law, and Justice: Seven Essays. Edited by H. Rydving and S. Olsson. The Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture. Oslo: Novus. –. 2020. “Cohesion, Distribution and Hybrid Identity in Neh 5.” Pages 116–129 in Bible and Money – Money in the Bible. Edited by Markus Zehnder and Hallvard Hagelia. Sheffield Phoenix. Jones, Christopher M. 2018. “Embedded Written Documents as Colonial Mimicry in EzraNehemiah.” BibInt 26:158–181. Knowles, Melody D. 2019. “Reimagining Community Past and Present in Ezra and Nehemiah.” Pages 276–289 in The Oxford Handbook of the Writings of the Hebrew Bible. Edited by Donn F. Morgan. New York: Oxford University Press. Lam, Joseph. 2016. Patterns of Sin in the Hebrew Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2018. “The Concept of Sin in the Hebrew Bible.” Religion Compass 12:1–11. Newman, Judith H. 1999. Praying the Book: Scripturalization of Prayer in Second Temple Judaism. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Nykolaishen, Douglas J. E. 2015. “Ezra 10:3: Solemn Oath? Renewed Covenant? New Covenant?” Pages 371–389 in Covenant in the Persian Period: From Genesis to Chronicles. Edited by Richard J. Bauch and Gary N. Knoppers. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Oeming, Manfred. 2006. “‘See, We Are Serving Today’ (Nehemiah 9:36): Nehemiah 9 as a Theological Interpretation of the Persian Period.” Pages 571–588 in Judah and the Judeans in Persian Period. Edited by Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Rausche, B. 2012. “The Relevance of Purity in Second Temple Judaism According to EzraNehemiah.” Pages 457–475 in Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Ancient Judaism. Edited by C. Frevel and C. Nihan. Dynamics in the History of Religion 3. Leiden: Brill. Southwood, Katherine. 2012. Ethnicity and the Mixed Marriage Crisis in Ezra 9–10: An Anthropological Approach. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2014. “‘But Now … Do Not Let All This Hardship Seem Insignificant Before You: Ethnic History and Nehemiah 9.’” SEÅ 79:1–23. Williamson, Hugh G. M. 2007. “The Torah and History in Presentation of Restoration in Ezra-Nehemiah.” Pages 156–170 in Reading the Law: Studies in Honour of Gordon J. Wenham. Edited by J. G. McConville and Karl Möller, London: T&T Clark.

Part II: Particular Books in the Hebrew Bible

Sin Without Grace? A Fresh Look at the Theological Significance of ‫ לרוח היום‬in Genesis 3:8 David Willgren Davage Now was the sun in western cadence low | From noon, and gentle airs due at their hour | To fan the earth now waked, and usher in | The evening cool when he from wrath more cool | Came the mild judge and intercessor both | To sentence man: the voice of God they heard | Now walking in the garden, by soft winds | Brought to their ears, while day declined, they heard, | And from his presence hid themselves among | The thickest trees, both man and wife, till God | Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud.1

A. The Problem I. What It Is All About Among the most well-known stories in the Bible is certainly the Eden narrative (Gen 2:4b–3:24). Fundamental for the understanding of sin and the human condition in both Jewish and Christian traditions, no dearth of scholars have attempted to understand the dynamics of the story by suggesting various interpretive paths through it.2 Given the theological significance of the chapters, alongside the functional character of Hebrew narrative,3 many stones have been 1

Milton 2005, 288. Attempts to capture the essence of the message in these chapters have been made by, for example, Budde 1883; Gunkel 1910; von Rad 1961; Steck 1970; Westermann 1976; Wallace 1984; Trible 1985; van Wolde 1989; Barr 1993; Carr 1993; Bechtel 1995; Schmid 2002; Stordalen 2000 (also 2011); and Mettinger 2007. These studies represent a wide array of approaches, from the more traditional diachronic focus, reading the narrative in relation to issues of redaction history of the Pentateuch (so also, e.g., Vermeylen 1980), or attempting to place the narrative in what would have been the socio-political context of J (see, e.g., Holter 1990), to more synchronic foci, approaching the narrative with, for example, narrative, structuralist or semiotic theories (so, e.g., Stordalen 1992), ideological or tradition historical readings (so also, e.g., Brueggemann 1972 or Wenham 1986), or exploring its relation to, for example, similar stories or motifs in the ancient Near East (see, e.g., Mettinger 2007; Walton 2016), or biblical wisdom literature (so, e.g., Mendenhall 1974; most recently Schmid 2018). 3 For this, see, e.g., Amit 2005, 713; cf. Alter 1981. A classic example would be the 2

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turned trying to uncover the events surrounding – and leading up to – the fateful encounter between YHWH God and the two humans in chapter three. At the center stands an intense dialogue between a witty snake and a woman (3:1–5). Persuaded by the snake, the woman eats of the forbidden tree along with the man (v. 6). Their eyes are opened (v. 7), and they hide at the arrival of YHWH God (vv. 8–24). As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the humans had acted in a way that made it impossible for them to remain in the garden. Paradise was lost. But why? Clear answers are elusive, leading Tryggve N. D. Mettinger to state that “there is no consensus on what the Eden Narrative is all about – on its actual theme,”4 but one crucial observation should be made: although Christian tradition in particular interpret this chapter as a story of “original sin,”5 and although many scholars would agree that Gen 3:8–13 is best understood as a trial scene of sorts,6 followed by YHWH God’s judgement (vv. 14–19) and the aftermath (vv. 20–24),7 the story contains no vocabulary for “sin.”8 Why is that? Isn’t this supposed to be the most fundamental example of how human sin causes suffering and death? And what about the curious notion that although YHWH God says in 2:16–17 that the human(s) would “surely die” (‫)מות תמות‬ on the very same day that they ate from the tree (‫)ביום אכלך ממנו‬, the outcome in chapter three is that the humans do not in fact die on that day? Is there an implicit repentance (from sin) on the part of the humans implied in the narrative?9 Should “death” be understood as something other than what is commonly the

introduction of Ehud as a “left-handed man” (‫איש אטר יד־ימינו‬, Judg 3:15) and Eglon as “a very fat man” (‫איש בריא מאד‬, Judg 3:17) in the story of how Ehud succeeds in killing Eglon and saving his people by making specific use of his left-handedness and the size of Eglon’s belly (see vv. 21–22). 4 Mettinger 2007, 5. He does himself propose that “the central theme is disobedience and its consequences” (57) and points to the Deuteronomistic theology of retribution as the backdrop of the story (see, e.g., Deut 11:26–28; 30:15–20). 5 For an overview of issues discussed in rabbinic commentaries, see Morris 1992. 6 See, e.g., already Cassuto 1989, 155: “the Judge of the whole earth calls the man” (followed by, e.g., Wenham 1987, 76); cf. Sailhamer 1992, 106–111 (and Sailhamer 2008, 87–95); Westermann 1994, 252 (“[3:8–24] follows step for step the procedure of a legal action”), etc. 7 See, e.g., Trible 1985, 115–143. Cf. Walsh 1977, 166, who understands v. 8 as “transitional between scenes 4 [3:6–8] and 5 [3:9–13],” thus placing it at the very core of the entire narrative (170). 8 See the discussion in Smith 2019, 49–64; and the contribution of Blaženka Scheuer in this volume, esp. pp. 337–339. 9 So, e.g., Ibn Ezra (referring to Jer 18:7, 9): “According to my thinking the correct interpretation of this verse is to be found in the words of the Rabbinic sages who said that Adam repented” (translation from Strickman and Silver 1988, 70). Obviously, such a notion is quite unlikely, not only because it is not at all mentioned in the text, but also in light of the recent arguments by Lambert 2016.

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plain sense of the word, i.e. that they became (or remained)10 “mortals”? Or is, perhaps, the notion of “day” to be reframed?11 Common to many of the proposed solutions is that the arrival of YHWH God entails judgment. Although the God of the Hebrew Bible can elsewhere be described as merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness (see esp. Exod 34:6),12 grace and forgiveness seems nowhere to be found in the Eden narrative.13 Transgression and disobedience take center stage in most discussions, and the fallout is inevitable. But is the Eden story really a story without grace? To inquire into this issue, I will, in what follows, focus on the way the encounter between YHWH God and the humans – the encounter that followed directly after their disobedience – is introduced. More specifically, I will show how the curious ‫ לרוח היום‬in Gen 3:8 – a “long-standing interpretive crux”14 – provides a yet unexplored piece of the puzzle with the potential of somewhat reframing the interpretation of sin and suffering in this story. II. Presenting the Crux Although most scholars discussing Gen 2–3 deal in some way or another with 3:8, there is one feature of God’s entry into the narrative that is often either mentioned only in passing, or side-stepped entirely. The verse reads as follows: ‫וישמעו את־קול יהוה אלהים מתהלך בגן לרוח היום‬

As such, it is fairly straight forward up until the last construct chain: ‫לרוח היום‬. A literal translation would render the entire verse as something like “And they 10 So, e.g., Mettinger 2007, who stresses that immortality is a divine prerogative, a potential gift from God that was ultimately lost because of human disobedience. 11 Regarding the understanding of ‫“( היום‬day”), consider, for example, Genesis Rabbah 19:8, which interprets the notion of a day in light of Ps 90:4, 10: “Said the Holy One, blessed be He, to them: [‘He will die] le-ruach ha-yom,’ i.e., le-rewach ha-yom (after the day’s respite): ‘behold, I will give him the day’s respite. For thus I spoke to him: ‘For in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die’ (Gen 2:17). Now ye do not know whether that means one day of Mine or one day of yours. But behold! I will grant him one day of Mine, which is a thousand years, and he will live nine hundred and thirty years and leave seventy for his children,’ as it is written The days of our years are threescore years and ten (Ps 90:10).” See also Jubilees 4:29–30, as well as Justin Martyr, Dial. 81:3. For more references and a discussion, see Kugel 1998, 94–144. 12 The “creed” in Exod 34:6–7 is present in various forms in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Num 14:18; Joel 2:13; Jonah 4:2; Nah 1:3; Pss 86:15; 103:8; 145:8; Neh 9:17). For a discussion, see Spieckermann 1990. 13 See, however, Brueggemann 1982, 49. Cf. Kidner 2008, 74, who proposes that God’s “first word to fallen man has all the marks of grace. It is a question, since to help him he must draw rather than drive him out of hiding” (see also Hamilton 1990, 464–465; cf. Brayford 2007, 239). 14 So Niehaus 1995, 155.

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heard the sound of YHWH God walking about in the garden in the wind of the day,” but how should ‫ לרוח היום‬be understood? What does the “wind of the day” signify? And, more significantly, why does the narrator include such a notion in the description of God’s appearance? A brief glance at both Bible translations and commentaries on Genesis paints quite a consistent picture of three main alternatives, all of them pointing to a similar underlying understanding of the phrase: 1) The first alternative is to translate ‫ לרוח היום‬as “in the cool of the day.” This is found in, for example, the Vulgate (ad auram post meridiem, “in the cool after noon”),15 the German Schlachter 2000, and the English ASV, Darby, ESV, JB, JPS, KJV (and NKJV), NAS, NASB, NCV, NIV, and RSV, as well as in older commentaries by, for example, Gerhard von Rad, Carl Friedrich Keil and Franz Delitzsch, Cuthbert A. Simpson, and Walter Russell Bowie, etc.16 2) The second alternative is equally popular, translating ‫ לרוח היום‬as “the evening breeze,” or just “the evening.” This interpretation can be found as early as the LXX, which has τὸ δειλινόν (“towards the evening”/“during the afternoon”), as well as in many of the early versions – such as the Old Latin, which has ad vesperam (“in the evening”) – and the church fathers.17 Also to be mentioned here are the Targums Pseudo-Jonathan and Onkelos, which both have ‫יוֹמא‬ ָ ‫“( ִל ְמנַ ח‬in the repose/decline of the day,” cf. the Syriac ‫ܠܦܢܝـܗ ܕܝـܘܡـܐ‬ ‫ ـ ــ‬, “at the turn[ing] of the day”).18 Modern translations choosing this option include the 15

Alternatively, “in the afternoon breeze,” as alternative 2. von Rad 1961, 86. Keil and Delitzsch 1985, 97, explain that this implies that God arrived “towards the evening, when a cooling wind generally blows,” thus indicating a clear overlap of this translation with alternative 2 above. This overlap is also found much earlier, in the comments of Jerome, who has “cool of the day” and writes that “God sought out Adam, not at midday but in the evening. Adam had already lost the sunlight, for his high noon was over” (translation from Louth 2001, 82; see also, e.g., Luther’s German translation: “da der Tag kühl worden war”). Simpson and Bowie 1952, 507, on the other hand, understand “cool” in reference to God, who is then moving in “great peace and calm,” while the human response is “hot and embarrassed.” See also the more recent Hamilton 1990, 464, with n. 2 on p. 1086. 17 So, e.g., Chrysostom (“evening”). Augustine similarly has “toward evening,” and adds that God was “coming to judge them,” and that “[i]t is fitting that he comes toward the evening, that is, when the sun was already setting for them, that is, when the interior light of the truth was being taken from them. They heard his voice and hid from his sight” (translation from Louth 2001, 83). 18 For Ps.-J., see Maher 1992, 26 (the editor proposes that this reading reflects “the true meaning of the underlying Heb. phrase”). For Onkelos, see McNamara 1988. See also Ibn Ezra (“toward evening,” trans. Strickman and Silver 1988, 69). Unfortunately, nothing remains of interpretations of Gen 3:8 among the Dead Sea Scrolls. 1Q20, the “Genesis Apocryphon,” could plausibly have contained an account of creation, but the sheets are not preserved, so that the extant scroll now starts with the story of Noah. In the Genesis Commentaries (4Q252–254a), the focus is again on Noah, and in 4Q423, frags 1–2, there is a possible allusion to Genesis 3, but not to v. 8 (for these texts, see Vermes 2004). 16

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English CEV, CSB, LGS, MSG, NET Bible, NIV, NRSV, Robert Alter’s translation of Genesis,19 and WYC, as well as the German Schlachter 1951, for example. Interestingly, as for commentaries, they often retain the notion of “cool” in their explanations, although translating ‫ רוח‬as “breeze” in the verse proper. Consider the 1901 edition of Gunkel’s Genesis commentary as an example, where Gunkel proposes that ‫ לרוח היום‬refers to the “kühlenden Wind des Abends, wo er Orientale, der sich während der Hitze im Schatten seines Hauses verborgen hat, spazieren geht.”20 3) The third alternative is to translate the phrase more literally: “the breezy time of the day.” Such a rendering is found in, for example, Aquila, who has τῷ ἀνέµῳ τῆς ἡµέρας (“the breeze of the day”), Symmachus, who has διὰ πνεύµατος ἡµέρας (“through the wind of a day”), and Targum Neophiti, which has ‫“( למשב יומא‬at the blowing of the day,” from the root ‫)נשב‬.21 This option is not widely attested among modern day translations but is found in, for example, LEB, ISV, and YLT. As an early proponent among commentaries, Ephraim A. Speiser argues that the translation “cool of the day” lacks linguistic support, since the preposition ‫ ל‬may be used of time but not of temperature. Translating “breezy time,” he nevertheless proposes that such a notion would indicate a time “toward sundown, when fresh breezes bring welcome relief from the heat.”22 Apparently, then, although criticizing the notion of “cool” as a translation of ‫רוח‬, the notion itself still lingers on as he qualifies the breeze as “fresh” – that is, not as a hot wind, but a cool one. Similar scenarios are found in many commentaries: more literal translations are preferred, only to be unpacked in the comment section as referring to a cool evening wind.23

19

Alter 1996, 12. Gunkel 1901, 15 (emphasis mine). This is not new, however. See, for example, Theodotion, who has a mixture of alternatives 1 and 2: ἐν τῷ πνεύµατι πρὸς κατάψυξιν τῆς ἡµέρας (“in the wind toward the cool of the day”), or n. 16 above. See also CEB: “cool evening breeze,” or the Amplified Bible, as well as the Swedish Bibel 2000 and nuB (“vid den svala kvällsbrisen”). 21 See McNamara 1992, 60, who mentions that it could possibly be translated “scorching heat.” Macho 1968, 14, translates “al soplar el dia.” Moreover, both mention that marginal glosses to the codex suggest the reading “walking about within the garden at the height (‘en lo más fuerte,’ lit. ‘might’) of the day.” According to McNamara 1992, 9, the glosses are all probably “drawn from genuine Targum texts … available to the annotators in the early sixteenth century, some of which are apparently now lost.” See also Grossfeld and Shiffman 2000, 79, where these variants are discussed in relation to Ps.-J. and Onkelos, quoted above. 22 Speiser 1964, 24 (emphasis mine). This view has become influential among commentators. See, e.g., Westermann 1994, 254. Cf. the earlier Meek 1948, 237, who argues that ‫ ל‬is not to be seen as temporal in Gen 3:8 and translates “‘for the breezes of the day,’ or ‘toward the cool of the day.’” 23 See, e.g., Wenham 1987, 77, who suggests that ‫ לרוח היום‬refers to “the afternoon when cool breezes spring up and the sun is not so scorching” (cf., e.g., Goldingay 2010, 48–49). 20

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III. Why a Solution Is Still Needed Presented in this way, all three alternatives above essentially understand the expression in the same way – it refers in some way to an evening wind. However, there are some apparent problems with such a view. I will summarize them into three points of critique: 1) A fundamental problem with the suggested translations is that they fail to provide relevant linguistic and theological parallels. The translation of ‫ רוח‬as “cool” (alternative 1 above) is, for example, unparalleled in the Hebrew Bible, and has no apparent cognates in other Semitic languages.24 The often-adduced text in Gen 18:1, where Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent “in the heat of the day” (‫ )כחם היום‬in fact says little about Gen 3:8 – a different preposition is used, and there is nothing in the relation between these two texts that indicates that they would represent opposite ends on a binary scale. Rather than reflecting an original Hebrew, this reading is more probably to be understood as an interpretation, an outgrowth of the LXX (cf. the Vulgate auram). It builds on the notion of an evening wind, which is also fraught with problems. While it is true that it has wide support in the history of transmission, it is unclear how the translators arrived at this solution. Jeffrey Niehaus, for one, claims that it is little more than “a guess which interpreters have made through the centuries about the meaning of this unusual Hebrew expression.”25 Christopher L. K. Grundke proposes that it may be related to an “alternate verbal stem rwḥ II (‘to be wide’), thus understanding the text to mean ‘in the widening on the day,’”26 but this is ultimately unconvincing in light of the presence of some kind of wind in many of the early versions. A similar critique could also be formulated against the suggestion by Umberto Cassuto. Objecting to a temporal understanding of ‫ ל‬in cases where it is not “linked to an expression having a temporal meaning” (in his view, the text would have had to say something like ‫לאת רוח‬ ‫)היום‬, he first makes the important (and correct) observation that “seeing that the verse expressly comes to fix the time, there must doubtless be a reason for this, and it is inconceivable that this time should have no relation to the actual narrative; but the usual interpretation fails to establish such a connection.”27 As will be seen below, I believe this to be an essential point of critique against the afternoon view. However, Cassuto then provides his own rather speculative solution. In his view, ‫ רוח‬is not to be identified as a noun but as a verb in the infinitive: ‫( רח‬cf. ‫ חם‬in Gen 18). Support for such a view would then be found in the Arabic rāḥa, as well as in the Ugaritic rḥ and thus leads to an understanding of ‫ לרוח היום‬as referring to a “time when the day ‫ ָרח‬rah – is in its second stage, 24

See, e.g., Fabry 2004; Clines 2011a. So also Walton 2016, 35. Niehaus 1994, 263; cf. Niehaus 1995, 156. 26 Grundke 2001, 548–549. 27 Cassuto 1989, 153 (emphasis original). 25

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namely, the afternoon.”28 Curiously, then, he arrives at a very similar understanding of the verse as the one he criticized, and now claims that the mention of the afternoon to which he previously could not find any rationale is motivated by the need to emphasize that “the word of the Lord God was wholly fulfilled”29 (referring to Gen 2:17). In the end, the proposal is unpersuasive. Apart from the fact that the Hebrew Bible does not divide the days in such stages elsewhere,30 the reading also introduces a hapax legomenon whose meaning in the proposed Ugaritic and Arabic stems is not clear.31 2) A second point of critique is that the often-repeated suggestion that ‫לרוח‬ ‫ היום‬refers to a cool breeze in the evening that gives relief from heat is done without any climatological reflections. It is simply taken for granted that a cool evening wind was in the minds of the composers of the text, and that ‫לרוח היום‬ would have been the best way of referring to such an evening wind. Although other options exist, they are never considered. 3) A third and final point relates to the functional character of Hebrew narrative mentioned in the introduction.32 In brief, it is unclear why it would be relevant to inform the reader that God came to the garden in the evening, since it fills no apparent function in the narrative itself apart from maybe “setting the atmosphere.”33 Is it to be considered a detail that could just as well have been omitted? The elaborate and tense narrative speaks against such a view. In light of these three points, the common understanding of ‫ לרוח היום‬referring to an “evening breeze” seems to be little more than a well repeated interpretation with few arguments to support it and, more significantly, one with no actual bearing on the narrative itself other than possibly to set the mood or stage for the ensuing encounter between YHWH God and the humans. So, are there any alternatives? Before proceeding with the investigation, a final, somewhat different proposal needs to be considered. IV. A Storm Theophany? As mentioned above, Jeffrey J. Niehaus criticized the afternoon views for being mere guesses. To propose a way forward he suggests that a clue is found in the fact that the Akkadian ūmu(m), which is a cognate to ‫יום‬, also means “storm”34

28

Cassuto 1989, 154. Cassuto 1989, 154. 30 Although perhaps Nehemiah, who denotes “fourths” of a day (cf. Freedman 2008, 324). 31 See also the critique in Niehaus 1994, 266–267, n. 9. 32 See also n. 3 above. 33 Michelsen 1982, 71. Translation from the Swedish: “[v. 8 har] en stämmingsfull effekt på berättelsen.” 34 According to Sæbø 1990, 8, it is a loan translation from Sumerian, where u(d) means both “day” and “storm.” 29

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and is often used “in divine epithets.” Consequently, a similar meaning could be suggested for ‫יום‬, as is done by some important lexica (it would, for example, make good sense in Zeph 2:2),35 and so, Niehaus proposes the translation “in the wind of the storm.”36 What is depicted in Gen 3:8 is, then, a God advancing “in terrible theophany, in judgment, just like the gods Ninurta, Aššur, or Bel in the Akkadian literature,”37 and to further underscore this, Niehaus translates ‫ כול‬as “thunder” (cf. Exod 20:18) and sees “theophanic overtones” in ‫( התהלך‬cf. Ezek 1:13; Ps 77:16–18).38 Informed by Israel’s theophanic experiences at Sinai, his rendering of Gen 3:8 in its entirety is as follows: “Then the man and his wife heard the thunder of YHWH God going back and forth in the garden in the wind of the storm.”39 Although well argued, the proposal is quite unlikely for a number of reasons. The main objection would be that it would require a rather unusual usage of ‫יום‬. Even if Niehaus is correct that ‫ רוח‬and ‫ קול‬occur together in texts where they are the storm wind and thunder respectively, the context of Gen 3:8 seems to indicate nothing of this (there is, for example, no lightning). In the words of Christopher L. K. Grundke, “[i]f this be a storm theophany, then it is surely the most muted and understated storm imaginable: the theophanic equivalent of a tempest in a teacup.”40 However, even if Niehaus overstated his case, the obser35 Niehaus mentions Koehler and Baumgartner 1974, 2:384 and Holladay 1971, 131, but here could also be added, for example, Kohlenberger and Mounce 2012. On the other hand, BDB, Clines 2011b (vol. 4), TDOT, vol. 6, and others only have one entry respectively. 36 Niehaus 1994, 264; Niehaus 1995, 157. 37 Niehaus 1995, 157 (Niehaus 1994, 264). It thus underscores the focus on judgement also suggested by Kline 2000, 129, who argues that it should be translated “as the Spirit of the day” (understanding ‫ ל‬as “in the capacity of”), so that the “Spirit” is God’s “theophanic Glory,” while “the day” is “the original day of the Lord.” Ultimately, then, the phrase would refer to a “theophanic mode of ‘the Spirit (Presence) of the day (of judgment).’” See also somewhat similarly Sailhamer 2008, 87, who says that “there is nothing in the context to suggest this expression refers to a time of day” and proposes that it is instead similar to the powerful wind blowing in 1 Kgs 19:11 and Job 38:1 (see also Sailhamer 1992, 105–106). 38 Niehaus 1994, 264–265. 39 So Niehaus 1995, 159 (minor variations in Niehaus 1994, 265). Cf. perhaps Walton 2011, 224: “The appearance with the other two words here and the logic of the context make this new rendering a possibility, but one that can only be held tentatively.” However, later, he is more critical: “The problem is that though this Akkadian word is connected with the storm, it is more often a ‘storm demon’ or a deified personification of the storm. Thus, it is difficult to argue that the Akkadian word means ‘storm,’ and one cannot therefore carry it over to a few ambiguous Hebrew occurrences,” and concludes that “the meaning of the text therefore remains obscure and the proposed alternative interpretation … should be judged inadequate. The insufficiency of the alternative does not tacitly support the traditional translation, since that has no support either” (Walton 2016, 35). 40 Grundke 2001, 549; cf. Satyavani 2014, 45–46. See, however, Eliah in 1 Kgs 19:11–14 (Carlson 1969, 435, with n. 2, makes a tradition historical connection to Gen 3:8).

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vation that Gen 3:8 may indicate a storm theophany of sorts, or, perhaps better, a wind related theophany, is probably to the point. But what if there are better parallels than relating the verse to God’s appearance at Sinai? And what if there was a solution on how to understand the problematic ‫ לרוח היום‬that required neither emendation, nor a referring to quite unusual meanings of the words involved?

B. The Solution I. A Rabbinic Clue In discussing the larger theological problem of why the first humans did not die the day of their transgression, Genesis Rabbah 19:8 makes a comment on the “wind of the day” almost in passing: Le-ruaḥ ha-yom. Rab said: He [God] judged him in the east side [of the universe]: Le-ruaḥ ha-yom implies in the side (ruaḥ) which rises with the day [i.e., sun] (‫)לרוח שהיא עולה עם היום‬. Zabdi b. Levi said: He judged him in the west side: Le-ruaḥ ha-yom implies in the side which sinks with the day (‫)לרוח שהיא שוקעת עם היום‬. In Rab’s view, He was severe towards him, just as the more the sun ascends the hotter it becomes. In Zabdi’s view He was lenient toward him, just as the further the sun declines the cooler it grows.41

In this text, there seems to be a fundamental agreement about interpreting ‫לרוח‬ ‫ היום‬as referring to a time of day. Interestingly, though, there is disagreement as to what part of the day: while Zabdi adheres to the view explored above, the evening, Rab rather proposes that God judges Adam in the morning. Could this perhaps be a solution to the crux? Digging a bit deeper, it is soon to be seen that this Midrash is not alone in talking about a morning wind. The view was held also by John Calvin and (perhaps more significantly) Hermann Gunkel.42

41

Translation from Freedman 1961, 1:154. For Calvin, see Calvin 1578, 105–106: “What Jerome translates, ‘at the breeze after midday,’ is, in the Hebrew, ‘at the wind of the day’; the Greeks, omitting the word ‘wind,’ have put ‘at the evening.’ Thus the opinion has prevailed, that Adam, having sinned about noon, was called to judgment about sunset. But I rather incline to a different conjecture, namely, that being covered with their garment, they passed the night in silence and quiet, the darkness aiding their hypocrisy; then, about sunrise, being again thoroughly awakened, they recollected themselves. We know that at the rising of the sun the air is naturally excited; together, then, with this gentle breeze, God appeared; but Moses would improperly have called the evening air that of the day. Others take the word as describing the southern part or region; and certainly ‫( רוח‬ruach) sometimes among the Hebrews signifies one or another region of the world. … But what I have advanced is more true and simple, that what was hid under the darkness of the night was detected at the rising of the sun.” 42

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II. Hermann Gunkel and Climatological Observations As noted above, Gunkel translated ‫ לרוח היום‬with “Abendkühle” in his 1901 edition of his Genesis commentary, but in the third edition in 1910, he had changed his mind. His translation now has a more literal “Tageswinde,” but interesting are the arguments found in the commentary section, where he proposes that this daily wind is to be understood as a morning wind.43 The main points adduced are the following: 1) the evening wind does not occur until a couple of hours after sunset so it would be quite odd to call such a wind the wind of the day; 2) instead, there is a (cool) wind rising from the sea in the morning, after sunrise (probably also mentioned in Song 2:17; 4:6), both in Palestine and Mesopotamia; and 3) an understanding of ‫ לרוח היום‬as a morning wind would fit well with a mythological background: “wenn die Wipfel im ‘Winde des Tages’ rauschen und schauern, ‘geht der liebe Gott durch den Wald.’”44 Interestingly, Gunkel substantiates his claims by referring to Wilhelm Nowack’s Lehrbuch der Hebräischen Archäologie, as well as to other climatological sources, thus providing support for the morning wind in the way I noted was lacking in the evening wind argumentation above.45 It could perhaps be argued that Gunkel’s sources are now quite outdated, thus weakening his argument. However, the opposite is true. Taking into account more updated studies on climatology, there is still solid evidence for a morning wind blowing from the sea after sunrise. Consider, for example, the extensive study by Yair Goldreich, The Climate of Israel: Observation, Research, and Applications, which provides an important and up-to-date reference work based on a massive data set from meteorological and climatological network stations. The study shows conclusively how a morning wind is rising from the sea after sunrise, reaching its peak at midday only to dissipate in the evening.46 Seen in this light, it no longer seems far-fetched to understand ‫לרוח‬ ‫ היום‬as a morning wind. This is noted by Skinner, who mentions that a morning wind “would seem more in accordance with Palestinian conditions” but then curiously adds that “it is manifestly improbable here”(!).47 The comment is puz43

For the whole argument, see Gunkel 1910, 18–19. Gunkel 1910, 19. 45 The whole passage about the morning and evening winds is not quoted by Gunkel, but reads as follows: “Bald nach Sonnenaufgang erhebt sich eine schwache auf dem Meere einsetzende Brise, welche über die Küstenniederungen gegen das Gebirge hinstreicht und an Stärke allmählich bis zur Zeit des Wärmemaximums zunimmt, um dann gegen Abend sich zu legen … Einige Stunden nach Sonnenuntergang beginnt der kühlende Landwind gegen das Meer hin zu streichen, während in den oberen Luftschichten eine Stömung landwärts zieht” (Nowack 1894, 1:51; see also Hann 1897, 1:102). 46 Goldreich 1998, 135–139, see also 48–51. I want to thank Professor Goldreich for helpful comments and literature suggestions. 47 Skinner 1910, 77. Cf. Towner 2001, 46, who claims that the “climatological pers44

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zling since it is not further explained, but can here serve as a reminder that to be a plausible alternative to the “evening wind,” the “morning wind” need also to have some explanatory value in relation to the narrative itself. Climatological observations can only serve as part of an argument. But before turning to that issue, it should also be mentioned that the notion of a morning wind has some parallels in the Hebrew Bible, most significantly in the often-mentioned passage in Song of Songs, Song 2:17a (=4:6a; cf. Gunkel above), and perhaps also the garden song in Song 4:12–5:1. Although it is not entirely straightforward if the “breathing” of the day happens in the evening or morning in Song 2:17 and Song 4:6,48 the notion of shadows fleeing (‫ )ונסו הצללים‬as the day is breathing would seem to indicate that light is now breaking forth, suggesting a morning wind. As for Song 4:12–5:1, the relation to the Eden story has been noted most recently by Yair Zakovich,49 and although it cannot provide any conclusive evidence as to the time of the wind either, the notion that the wind is to “awake” so that fragrance may be experienced and the beloved come to his garden to enjoy its fruits does fit well with the idea of a morning wind while at the same time providing a notable parallel to the garden entry in Gen 3:8. So, if there may be support for a morning wind in Song of Songs, what function would the morning wind serve in the narrative itself? III. Sinai or Zion? So far, the clues have pointed to a possible understanding of Gen 3:8 as conveying an image of the presence of YHWH God in the garden in the morning, and the verse presents this presence as YHWH God “walking about” (‫)מתהלך‬ in the wind. What is the context of this walking about? It was noted above that scholars have pointed to Sinai (Niehaus) or Deuteronomistic theology (Mettinger) as the most relevant conversation partners to this story, but there are clues in the narrative that rather point in another direction, towards Zion, that

pective” in the story is Palestinian, not Mesopotamian, and argues that it therefore needs to be the evening wind by referring to “common knowledge” among people living in the Mediterranean climate. 48 For a discussion, see Exum 2005, 131–133 (who opts for the evening view); cf. Carr 1984, 102–103. 49 According to Zakovitch 2019, 9, the “Garden Song is, in fact, a mirror image of that [i.e., the Eden] story.” Among the parallels are the garden with a man and a woman, water, spices, a breeze, and fruit, and there are possibly interesting reversals happening here: in the Eden Narrative (EN), the garden is locked at the end (Gen 3:24), in the Garden Song (GS), it is locked in the beginning (Song 4:12), but then opened up, also, in EN, the eating of fruit is a cause for expulsion (Gen 3:1–19), but in GS, it is a purpose of the return (Song 4:16–5:1, for these parallels, see Zakovitch 2019, 9–10). Zakovitch also notes that similar parallels have been proposed by rabbinical exegesis in Midrash Tanḥuma Nasso 16 (although erroneously referring to the passage as 19:1).

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is, understanding the garden as YHWH God’s sanctuary.50 Starting with the notion of YHWH God “walking about” (‫הלך‬, hithpael), it is to be observed that the very same verb is used when describing the presence of YHWH in his “dwelling place” (‫ )משכן‬in Lev 26:11–12 (see also Deut 23:14; 2 Sam 7:6–7). Second, it has been noted the activities of the human in Gen 2:15 – ‫ עבד‬and ‫ – שמר‬parallel the activities of the levites serving in the dwelling place (see Num 3:7–8),51 and third, the description of the interior of the temple of Solomon is that of a garden (see, e.g., 1 Kgs 6–7). These three overlaps alone would make plausible that the narrator in Gen 2–3 had the temple as a backdrop for the story, and three additional observations – which are not conclusive in themselves – further strengthen this connection: the four rivers mentioned in Gen 2 can be related to the temple stream (as found in, e.g., Ezek 47:1–12; Pss 1:3; 46:5; Joel 3:18, etc.); the prominent place given to trees creates a connection between garden and sanctuary (see, e.g., Ps 92:12–14); and, finally, the narrative features cherubim (Gen 3:24; cf. 1 Kgs 6:23–29, etc.). In sum, there are good reasons to suggest that the Eden narrative is not primarily oriented towards Sinai but towards Zion (so also in, e.g., Ezek 28:13– 16). If so, it is here that the reason for mentioning a “morning wind” should be sought, in theological traditions related to the temple. IV. Temple and Presence As has been shown convincingly by Fredrik Lindström in Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms,52 the temple theological tradition has an understanding of the relation between sin and suffering 50

For the numerous connections between the garden and Zion, ultimately between creation and the temple, see, for example, Keel, 1997, esp. 128–144; Levenson 1994, 78–127; Wenham 1986; Stager 1999; 2000; Stordalen 2000, 458; Walton 2015, esp. 116–127, and the overview of research in n. 5, p. 227. In the Midrash Tanḥuma mentioned above (n. 49), a connection is made between the arrival of the man in Song 5:1 to the arrival of God in the dwelling place: “[When] Moses arose, he brought down [the Divine Presence] to earth, as stated (in Exod 19:20), ‘And the Lord came down onto Mount Sinai.’ And [so] it is written (in Song 5:1), ‘When I come to my garden, my sister bride.’ When? When the Tabernacle was set up.” A similar connection can also be observed in Genesis Rabbah 21:8, where the expulsion of the humans from the garden is related to the destruction of the Temple, and view possibly tracing back well into the Second Temple period. See, for example, Jub 8:19: “He [Noah] knew that the Garden of Eden is the holy of holies, and the dwelling of the Lord” (cf. 1 En 26:1). There is no need there to decide whether or not the garden is God’s residence, making God ever present (so Levenson 1987), or if it more reasonably mediates God’s presence, although God does not live there (so Stager 1999, 189; Stordalen 2000, 161, 298). The main point is that Eden provides a parallel to Zion. 51 On this, see also Genesis Rabbah 16:5: “… to till it and to keep it … is an allusion to sacrifices,” referring to Exod 3:12 (‫ )תעבדון‬and Num 28:2 (‫)תשמרו‬. 52 Lindström 1994.

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that contrasts with what he calls the “salvation-history perspective.”53 Rather than explaining suffering along the (temporal) lines of human sin and disobedience, temple theology understands suffering in spatial terms – conceptualizing suffering as YHWH’s absence, and salvation as being in YHWH’s protective presence.54 The basic idea is that “ethical merits do not constitute the individual’s relationship with God. Instead, the King of the temple establishes his relationship with man threatened by Death by lovingly providing him gratuitous blessing, protection, and royal dignity.”55 YHWH is the psalmist’s refuge, fortress, strength, king, helper, God, etc., and the temple serves as a manifestation of this protection: 2

YHWH is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. 3 I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised, so I shall be saved from my enemies. (Ps 18:2–3, emphases mine)

To be noted is also that the perspective is on the individual – YHWH is not primarily the God of the people, but of the psalmist herself (see, e.g., Ps 22:2). Ultimately, situations of need – and these abound in the individual complaint psalms – are understood not as the result of ethical failures but as YHWH’s (inexplicable) absence. What is needed, therefore, is not repentance – the psalmist has not sinned or done anything wrong, quite the opposite – but that YHWH turns his face towards the psalmist once again (cf. Ps 71:20) and restore her life (Pss 27:9; 28:1–3; 31:18; 80:4, etc.). As a gift of grace, it is only in the presence of YHWH that life is found, a presence beautifully portrayed in Ps 104 as an existential act of breathing (‫)רוח‬: 29

When you hide your face (‫)תסתיר פניך‬, they are dismayed; when you take away their breath (‫)תסף רוחם‬, they die (‫)יגועון‬ and return to their dust (‫)ואל־עפרם ישובון‬. 30 When you send forth your spirit (‫)תשלח רוחך‬, they are created (‫;)יבראון‬ and you renew the face of the ground. (Ps 104:29–30)

When YHWH’s face shines upon the human, the divine breath (‫ )רוח‬fills her lungs. But when YHWH hides his face, the psalmist no longer has access to the life-giving breath,56 and leaves the land of the living (cf. Isa 38:10–14). To the psalmist, presence lost is nothing less than death, to be engulfed by the powers of chaos (cf. Ps 88), or, in the language of Ps 104 – to return to dust. As such, it is unacceptable. The psalmist has done nothing to deserve it. But while the presence of YHWH is salvation for the psalmist – since it sets the world 53

Lindström 1994, 430. A concise summary can be found in Lindström 1994, 93–97. 55 Lindström 1994, 390. 56 Cf. Lindström 1998, 191: “När man dör andas Skaparen in.” 54

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straight – it is, at the same time, judgment for the wicked, for the very same reason. The problem of the psalmist is, of course, that this order seems reversed. If this is a fair description of temple theology in its early form, it is equally clear that the dynamic would change over time. As psalms were increasingly read in light of canonical history, the concept of sin came to be introduced as a cause for suffering. One consequence of this was the composition of new psalms which included confessions of guilt (e.g. Ps 51), another was that the individual complaint psalms came to be reinterpreted in a way so that the psalmists were no longer innocent.57 To put it more bluntly, in the Second Temple period, the loss of presence came to be understood as the consequence of sin, and so, in every protest could now be heard an admission of guilt. To complete the picture, it should also be mentioned that although the presence of YHWH is understood as life giving – in Ps 8:5 it is even conceived of as an astonishing sign of God’s grace – it could sometimes be experienced as quite burdensome. Consider Job 7:17–18, “What are human beings, that you make so much of them, that you set your mind on them, visit (‫ )פקד‬them every morning, test them every moment?” (emphasis mine),58 or Ps 139, “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?”59 Both Job and the psalmist want to escape (Job 3; cf. Jer 20:7–18, esp. 14–18),60 but as captured by Midrash Tehillim, “stripped of God’s living spirit, man is a lifeless lump of clay, so he cannot flee from God’s spirit and survive.”61 V. Presence and Mornings So far, a relation between presence and life has been established, but in what way does it relate to the morning? It was noted above that such a connection was made in Job 7, and in fact, this is recurrently emphasized in the psalms, although not only in individual complaint psalms. The psalmist in Ps 5:4, for example, hopes that the voice of the psalmist (‫ )קול‬will meet YHWH’s presence in the morning. So too does the psalmist in Ps 119:147 (cf. Pss 46:6; 88:14; 130:6). Similarly, in Ps 57:8–12 (=108:1–5), the psalmist hopes for YHWH’s presence, declaring that she is ready to sing and so “awake the dawn” (‫אעירה‬ ‫)שחר‬.62 To this can be added the observation that YHWH’s ‫ חסד‬is also explicit-

57

For a more detailed presentation of these shifts, see Willgren 2019. For a discussion of these passages and their relation to the anthropology of temple theology, see Spieckermann 1989, 226–253; Lindström 1994, 80–81, 379–426. 59 Cf. Terrien 2003, 876. 60 For these tensions, see the contribution by Stordalen in this volume. 61 Feuer 2013, 1:1637. 62 Cf. Ruppert 2004, 580, who also discusses the relation between the dawn and deities (so also, e.g., Hossfeld and Zenger 2005, 74–75), and also mentions the superscription of Ps 22 58

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ly related to his salvific presence in the morning in Pss 59:17; 90:14; 92:3; and 143:8. There thus seems to exist a connection between the expectation of salvation on the part of the psalmist and the morning. If so, it could be an indication that the referring to a morning wind (‫ )לרוח היום‬in Gen 3:8 was intended to evoke the notion of YHWH’s creative presence (‫תשלח רוחך יבראון‬, Ps 104:30). The relation between salvific presence and morning is not restricted to the Psalms, however. In its most basic form, it transcends specific strands of tradition, and is thus found in, for example, Lam 3:22–23; Zeph 3:5; 2 Sam 23:4; Isa 8:19–20;63 17:14; 33:2; and 58:8–1064 (cf. Jer 21:12; 20:16).65 In fact, it even transcends the Hebrew Bible itself. In a Neo-Assyrian version of the poem Ludlul bēl nēmeqi is found a description of Marduk “the merciful warrior … became angry at night, but his anger dissipated in the morning.”66 Interestingly, an older, Kassite version has an expanded description of the morning, reading “angry at night, his anger dissipates during the day. Whose fury, like violent storm, is a desert, but whose wind is pleasing, like a morning breeze.”67 The translaas a possible indication that “the psalm might later have been interpreted from the perspective of ‘help in the morning’” (582). 63 Talking about people “who will have no dawn.” 64 These verses provide an interesting example of the relation between righteous behavior and the breaking of dawn, including the words “then you shall call, and YHWH will answer.” 65 Similar observations have been made before, by Joseph Ziegler 1950 in particular. Noting that this motif is found primarily “in den Psalmen und psalmähnlichen Liedern,” he proposes a theory of its origins along three overlapping trajectories: 1) the experience of the rising sun (i.e., daylight), which put an end to the nigh, where darkness and terror abound (he refers to, e.g., Isa 38:13; Pss 30:6; 59:7, 15–17; 104:20–23, but also passages like Isa 5:30; 8:22; 59:9; Amos 5:18; Mic 3:6; Lam 3:2, 6; and Ps 143:3); 2) the relation between mornings and “Rechtsprechens” (referring to Jer 21:12; Hos 6:5; Pss 37:6; 101:8, but also 2 Sam 15:2); and 3) the people’s historical experience of salvation in the mornings (e.g., Exod 14:13–31; 2 Kgs 19:35; Isa 17:14; 37:36; Ps 46:6). He was criticized by Christoph Barth 2004 (see also Delekat 1964, 7–9) for combining too many heterogeneous elements under the concept of “help,” for lacking specificity as to the time, that “to deduce the time of God’s help from events and experiences of nature is far from OT thought” (227), and, most significantly, that it is problematic to relate God’s help to the hour of judgement. Instead, Barth proposed that “Salvation is expected … ‘in the morning,’” because morning is something “different, new, and future only in context, i.e., in contrast to night or to (dark) today,” and that “it was primarily the new presence of Yahweh in a theophany and in an oracle which made the morning the time more than any other when the oppressed and ‘Israel’ expected help” (228). So put, it is well in line with my argument, with the addition that the contrast between help and judgement is less of a problem in light of the psalmist’s understanding of the different effects of the presence of YHWH (“salvation” for the psalmist, “judgement” for the enemies). 66 Finn 2017, 72. To be mentioned here is perhaps also the Greek goddess Aura, who was a deity that represented the gentle breeze of the early morning. As is well known, αὔρα means “breeze,” “fresh air,” “morning-air,” etc. 67 Finn 2017, 48 (emphasis mine). For a translation, see also Piccin and Worthington 2015, 122–123, and Lenzi 2011, 499 (for the whole treatment, see 483–501).

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tor’s comments are especially relevant to the discussion here since they overlap with the climatological observations above: “In a land known for its scorching temperatures, the morning breeze must have been an especially comfortable and enjoyable part of the day, thus making it an apt simile for Marduk in a favorable mood.”68 Consider the clear overlaps of thought with Ps 30:6 in particular (cf. also Ps 101:6–8): ‫כי רגע באפו חיים ברצונו‬ ‫בערב ילין בכי ולבקר רנה‬ For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

A final observation can be made in this context, namely that God’s presence in the morning is, in one psalm, Ps 143, described as something audible (cf. ‫וישמעו את־קול‬, Gen 3:8): ‫אל־תסתר פניך ממני השמיעני בבקר חסדך כי־בך בטחתי‬ Do not hide your face from me … Let me hear of your steadfast love in the morning, for in you I put my trust. (Ps 143:8)

In this psalm, the psalmist asks YHWH not to turn his face away and seeks YHWH’s presence so that she may take refuge in him. The psalmist knows that it is in that very presence she will be saved, and this hope is conceptualized as hearing of YHWH’s steadfast love in the morning. She does not ask to hear of God’s ‫( חסד‬so the NRSV) but to actually hear the ‫חסד‬. This may seem odd, and it has been argued that the text should be emended in line with Ps 90:14 (‫שבענו בבקר חסדך‬, “satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love”), but the notion of an audible presence should not be dismissed at hand, especially since there is nothing in the context that would make such a reading impossible.

C. Returning to Eden What the survey has shown so far is that the elusive ‫ – לרוח היום‬commonly understood as a problematic “evening wind” – would make perfect sense if understood as a morning wind, for a number of reasons: 1) it has solid climatological support: while the evening wind is said to blow primarily after sundown, the morning wind comes from the sea in the morning, providing a good fit for a wind of the day; 2) it does not require any emendation of the text, nor any un-

68 Lenzi 2011, 487, who also makes a connection to the psalms (497–498). Cf. also perhaps the idea that the sun, rizing from the horizon, was understood to be “fanned by the moving air, the ‘morning breeze’ perhaps,” in Heimpel 1986, 142, as well as the discussion of line 18 in the hymn to Shamash in n. 44 on the same page.

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usual renderings of either ‫ רוח‬and ‫ ;יום‬3) it performs a clear function in the narrative if understood in relation to the temple theological stress on YHWH’s saving presence, which is expected in the morning. In fact, such a reading would provide unexpected solutions both to the otherwise problematic relation between the death “on that day” (‫ )ביום‬and the fact that the humans do not die, as well as to the absence of grace. But before completing this picture, a note on the preposition is needed. It was mentioned above that ‫ ל‬could be used of time, but not of temperature (so Speiser). Such a use would be well attested in the Hebrew Bible (see, e.g., Gen 17:21; Isa 10:3; Hos 9:5; Ezek 22:14, etc.),69 and although Niehaus argued that not all of these are relevant parallels, since they have some kind of modifier (e.g., ‫לעת ערב‬, Gen 8:11), ‫ לרוח היום‬could quite easily be understood in line with passages having only ‫( ליום‬e.g., Ps 81:4; Prov 7:20). If so, the whole expression could be translated as “in the morning wind” or “at the time of the morning wind.”70 Although this would be a satisfactory reading, I believe that there is yet another possible parallel that should be considered. In the Hebrew Bible, ‫ לרוח היום‬is found only in Gen 3:8 but ‫ לרוח‬is found ten times in total. Most of these passages are not directly relevant for the discussion here (for example, Isa 28:6; Jer 5:13; Ezek 5:2; Job 6:26; 28:25; Prov 25:28; Eccl 5:15; 2 Chr 18:21), but consider Jer 13:24: ‫ואפיצם כקש־עובר לרוח מדבר‬ I will scatter you like chaff driven by the wind from the desert

As in Gen 3:8, ‫ רוח‬is found in the construct singular with the preposition ‫ ל‬and, like Gen 3:8, it follows a qal participle m.s. verb. Since Jer 13:24 is quite straightforward to translate – ‫ רוח‬is clearly instrumental in driving away the chaff – it provides an interesting and illuminating parallel to Gen 3:8 too, indicating that YHWH God is “walking around by the morning wind.”71 If so, ‫ל‬ would not serve as an indication of time – this would instead be accomplished by the understanding of ‫ רוח היום‬proposed above. Rather, ‫ ל‬would indicate that the wind is not just a morning wind, but instrumental to the appearance of YHWH. In other words, ‫ רוח‬contributes to the notion of God’s presence in a way similar to what was observed in relation to Ps 104 above (see, esp. Ps 104:3; cf. perhaps Gen 1:2).

69

More examples are found in Brown, Driver, and Briggs 2005, 516–517 (6a). Cf. the discussion in Bandstra 2008, 185, who also notes the possibility of understanding ‫ ל‬as specifying purpose “because of the breeze.” 71 Cf. perhaps similarly Fabry 2004, 384: “the verb ‫( הלך‬here the hithpael ptcp., walking about in the garden) can be associated as a verb of motion with the wind: possibly the narrator wishes to suggest a manifestation of God in the wind.” See also Niehaus 1994, 266, n. 9, who argues that it should be translated “in,” thus not fixing the time but describing the manner of YHWH’s coming. 70

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Ultimately, then, it must be concluded that ‫ לרוח היום‬is no peripheral temporal indicator. This wind, which the narrative relates to both the presence of YHWH God and the morning, is filled with theological significance. Most fundamentally, it shows that the Eden story shares a spatial understanding of salvation and judgment with the temple theological tradition. By locating the encounter between YHWH God and the humans in the morning, the narrative addresses the issue of presence and loss of presence. In the logic of the narrative, the dialogue with the snake and the eating from the tree takes place during the night – a time when the man is “with” (‫ )עם‬the woman. Then, in the morning, as with every morning in the garden,72 the humans hear the sound of YHWH God’s merciful presence (cf. Ps 143:8) as YHWH God is walking about by the morning wind (cf. Ps 104:3).73 The reader knows about the transgression, and by mentioning the “morning wind,” the narrator reveals that this story is indeed not without grace. In line with the re-interpretation of the complaint psalms in light of canonical history sketched above, the divine, lifegiving presence was not far away even when the humans were guilty. This time, however, the humans flee (v. 9). They try to remove themselves from YHWH God’s presence. But as in Ps 139:7, there was really nowhere to hide, and their actions had dire consequences. Instead of a possible re-enactment of the first creative work, where darkness and chaos are turned into light and order, instead of a new start in line with YHWH’s mercy and grace (Exod 34:6), available every morning, YHWH God drives them away from the garden (Exod 34:7; contra Ps 23:6). They return to dust (Gen 3:19; cf. 2:7; Ps 104:29). On the very same day that they ate from the tree,74 they died – not by becoming “mortal,” but by being removed from YHWH’s presence. In the words of Midrash Tehillim, they could not flee from YHWH’s spirit and survive. As the story goes, that fateful day would eventually come to an end, but as a new would soon dawn, it would bring with it the hope to once again “hear of your steadfast love in the morning” (Ps 143:8). For “the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lam 3:22–23).

72

The hithpael is here to be understood as conveying iterative and habitual behavior (this is often noted in commentaries, see, e.g., Speiser 1955). 73 Thus, the ‫ קול‬need not be linked specifically to “footsteps” (as is often made, see, e.g., Skinner, with reference to 2 Sam 5:24; 1 Kgs 14:6; 2 Kgs 6:32; Ezek 3:12; Joel 2:5), but more generally to the sound of God’s appearance, driven by the morning wind. 74 Cf. Fabry 2004, 384, where the relation between wind and judgement is also observed: “it is significant that ‫היום‬, ‘the day,’ is a traditional topos for Yahweh’s intervention. There is good reason to see a specific allusion to Yahweh’s words in 2:17: ‘In the day that you eat of it you shall die.’ Thus the phrase in 3:8 means … ‘the wind of the very same day …’” (my emphasis). The interpretation “morning wind” would thus indicate that the day started in the evening, as in Gen 1 and other places (cf. Green 2008; McGuire 2008; Sæbø 1990).

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Freedman, Rabbi Dr. H., ed. 1961. Genesis in Two Volumes. Midrash Rabbah. London: Soncino Press. Goldingay, John. 2010. Genesis for Everyone: Part 1, Chapters 1–16. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Goldreich, Yair. 1998. The Climate of Israel: Observation, Research and Applications. Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press. Green, Yosef. 2008. “When Does the Day Begin?” JBQ 36/2:81–87. Grossfeld, Bernard and Lawrence H. Shiffman. 2000. Targum Neofiti 1: An Exegetical Commentary to Genesis Including Full Rabbinic Parallels. New York: Sepher-Hermon Press. Grundke, Christopher L. K. 2001. “A Tempest in a Teapot? Genesis III 8 Again.” VT 51/4:548–551. Gunkel, Hermann. 1901. Genesis: Übersetzt und Erklärt. HKAT 1. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht. –. 1910. Genesis: Übersetzt und Erklärt. 3rd ed. HKAT 1. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht. Hamilton, Victor P. 1990. The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17. NICOT. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Hann, Julius. 1897. Handbuch der Klimatologie, III Band: Spezielle Klimatologie. 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Verlag von J. Engelhorn. Heimpel, Wolfgang. 1986. “The Sun at Night and the Doors of Heaven in Babylonian Texts.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 38/2:127–151. Holladay, William L. 1971. A Concise Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Leiden: Brill. Holter, Knut. 1990. “The Serpent in Eden as a Symbol of Israel’s Political Enemies: A Yahwistic Criticism of the Solomonic Foreign Policy?” SJOT 1:106–112. Hossfeld, Frank-Lothar and Erich Zenger. 2005. Psalms 2. Translated by Linda M. Maloney. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress. Keel, Ohtmar. 1997. The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms. Translated by Timothy J. Hallett. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Keil, C. F. and F. Delitzsch. 1985. The Pentateuch: Three Volumes in One. Commentary on the Old Testament in Ten Volumes 1. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kidner, Derek. 2008. Genesis. Kidner Classic Commentaries 1. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic. Kline, Meredith G. 2000. Kingdom Prologue: Genesis Foundations for a Covenantal Worldview. Overland Park, KS: Two Age Press. Koehler, Ludwig and Walter Baumgartner. 1974. Hebräisches und Aramäisches Handwörterbuch zum alten Testament. Leiden: Brill. Kohlenberger, John R. and William D. Mounce. 2012. Hebrew-Aramaic Dictionary of the Old Testament. Accordance: OakTree Software. Kugel, James L. 1998. Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It was at the Start of the Common Era. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lambert, David A. 2016. How Repentance became Biblical. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lenzi, Alan, ed. 2011. Reading Akkadian Prayers and Hymns: An Introduction. Society of Biblical Literature Ancient Near East Monographs 3. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Levenson, Jon D. 1987. Sinai and Zion. New York: Harper San Fransisco. –. 1994. Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence. New Jersey: Princeton University Press.

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–. 2018. “The Ambivalence of Human Wisdom: Genesis 2–3 as a Sapiential Text.” Pages 275–286 in “When the Morning Stars Sang”: Essays in Honor of Choon Leong Seow on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday. Edited by Scott C. Jones and Christine Roy Yoder. Berlin: de Gruyter. Simpson, Cuthbert A. and Walter Russell Bowie. 1952. “The Book of Genesis.” Pages 437– 829 in The Interpreter’s Bible, Volume I: General Articles on the Bible; General Articles on the Old Testament; The Book of Genesis; the Book of Exodus. Edited by George Arthur Buttrick. The Interpreter’s Bible 1. New York: Abingdon. Skinner, John. 1910. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis. The International Critical Commentary. New York: Scribner’s Sons. Smith, Mark S. 2019. The Genesis of Good and Evil: The Fall(Out) and Original Sin in the Bible. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Speiser, E. A. 1955. “The Durative Hithpa’el: A Tan-Form.” JAOS 75:118–121. –. 1964. Genesis. AB 1. New York: Doubleday. Spieckermann, Hermann. 1989. Heilsgegenwart: Eine Theologie der Psalmen. FRLANT 148. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht. –. 1990. “Barmherzig und gnädig ist der Herr.” ZAW 102:1–18. Stager, Lawrence E. 1999. “‫ירושלים וגן־עדן‬/Jerusalem and the Garden of Eden.” Pages 183– 194 in Eretz-Israel: Archaeological, Historical and Geographical Studies, Volume 26, Frank Moore Cross Volume. Edited by Baruch A. Levine, et al. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. –. 2000. “Jerusalem as Eden.” BAR 20:37–47. Steck, Odil Hannes. 1970. Die Paradieserzählung: Eine Auslegung von Genesis 2,4b–3,24. BibS(N) 60. Neukirschen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Stordalen, Terje. 1992. “Man, Soil, Garden: Basic Plot in Genesis 2–3 Reconsidered.” JSOT 53:3–26. –. 2000. Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical Hebrew Literature. CBET 25. Leuven: Peeters. –. 2011. “The God of the Eden Narrative.” Pages 3–21 in Enigmas and Images: Studies in Honor of Tryggve N. D. Mettinger. Edited by Göran Eidevall and Blaženka Scheuer. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Strickman, H. Norman and Arthur M. Silver, eds. 1988. Ibn Ezra’s Commentary on the Pentateuch: Genesis (Bereshit). New York, NY: Menorah Publishing Company. Sæbø, Magne. 1990. “‫יוֹם‬.” Pages 7–32 in vol. 6 of Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006. Terrien, Samuel. 2003. The Psalms: Strophic Structure and Theological Commentary Volume 2: Psalms 73–150. ECC. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Towner, W. Sibley. 2001. Genesis. Westminster Bible Companion. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Trible, Phyllis. 1985. God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality. OBT 2. Philadelphia: Fortress. Vermes, Geza. 2004. The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English. London: Penguin. Vermeylen, J. 1980. “Le récrit du paradis et la question des origines du pentateuque.” Bijdragen Tijdschrift voor Filosofie en Theologie 41:230–250. Wallace, H. N. 1984. The Eden Narrative. HSM 32. Atlanta: Scholars. Walsh, Jerome T. 1977. “Genesis 2:4b–3:24: A Synchronic Approach.” JBL 96/2:161–177. Walton, John H. 2011. Genesis. The NIV Application Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Academic.

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–. 2015. The Lost World of Adam and Eve: Genesis 2–3 and the Human Origins Debate. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity. –. 2016. Genesis. Zondervan Illustrated Bible Backgrounds Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Academic. Wenham, Gordon J. 1986. “Sanctuary Symbolism in the Garden of Eden Story.” Pages 19–25 in Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies. Edited by World Union of Jewish Studies. Jerusalem: Jerusalem Academic Press. –. 1987. Genesis 1–15. WBC 1. Nashville: Thomas Nelson. Westermann, Claus. 1976. Genesis. 1. Teilband: Genesis 1–11. BKAT 1. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. –. 1994. Genesis 1–11. Translated by John J. Scullion S. J. A Continental Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress. Willgren, David. 2019. “Canonical Tamings of Suffering: On How Paratextual Activities Reshapes the Relationship between God and Human in Psalm 71.” Pages 176–207 in God and Humans in the Hebrew Bible and Beyond: A Festschrift for Lennart Boström on his 67th Birthday. Edited by idem. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Wolde, Ellen J. van. 1989. A Semiotic Analysis of Genesis 2–3. SSN 25. Assen: Van Gorcum. Zakovitch, Yair. 2019. The Song of Songs: Riddle of Riddles. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark. Ziegler, Joseph. 1950. “Die Hilfe Gottes ‘am Morgen.’” Pages 281–288 in Alttestamentliche Studien: Friedrich Nötscher zum Sechzigsten Geburtstag. Edited by H. Junker and J. Botterweck (eds.). BBB 1. Bonn: Peter Hanstein Verlag.

Subjectivity, the Uncanny Other, and a Deconstructive Reading of Evil in the Exodus Narrative* Kåre Berge A. Where Does Evilness Reside? The notion of evilness in the Exodus narrative is personalized in the character of Pharaoh, who also appears as an anti-hero in the story.1 Hence, a cursory reading of the text puts evilness in the hands of “the other,” the non-Hebrew/ non-Israelite peoples and characters. This is also the most common understanding of the text in commentaries. As such, the evil is represented as something that the Israelites, or rather their patron deity, have to fight, conquer, and destroy in order to set the Israelites free and promise them a land “flowing with milk and honey” (Exod 3:8). There is a thematic link in the plot between the killing of the infants by throwing the male babies into the river, admittedly most clearly linked to chapter 2 (Moses in the basket), and the Egyptian army killed by the water (14:28), which indicates an interest of the text in the ultimate evil (military annihilation).2 The whole story appears as an “inverted” tragedy (i.e., the flip side of the rescue-story), in which the anti-hero Pharaoh, who pretends to be wise (1:10), acts foolishly (10:7) and eventually leads his army into destruction. At one point in the narrative, even Pharaoh himself admits that he is the wicked or an evildoer (9:27). The Passover celebration as a ‫ חקת עולם‬in Exod 12:14, the ordinance forever, is a memorial of how God smote the Egyptians but “delivered our houses.” The Israelite, or biblical countermeasure to this appears in Exod 15:26 (NRSV): He said, ‘If you will listen carefully to the voice of the Lord your God, and do what is right in his sight, and give heed to his commandments and keep all his statutes, I will not bring

* Parts of this article were read at the EABS annual meeting 2018 and revised here. I present this as a tribute to Fredrik Lindström, long-term friend and colleague, in my recollection of many joint seminars, post-seminars, and scholarly discussions not the least in the OTSEM meetings. This article touches, somehow, on issues of suffering and evil, a subject central to Fredrik’s scholarly investigations. 1 Berge 2012. 2 The remarkable fact that genocide disappears from the storyline when Moses is saved, and replaced by the notion of slavery, is astutely noted in commentaries. One mostly refers this to the motif-history of “the birth of the hero.”

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upon you any of the diseases that I brought upon the Egyptians; for I am the Lord who heals you.”

Again, the picture seems clear: evilness is “on the other side” in the Exodus project of creating an Israelite identity. Another problem is that the identity of the characters and even of a clear plotline is blurred. Recent studies of “the fantastic” in the narrative, in particular the one by Laura Feldt, represent a new twist on this issue.3 The special contribution of Feldt’s work is that she replaces a mythical reading of the miracle stories in the Exodus narrative with the notion of the fantastic. One implication of applying the literary-critical category of the fantastic to the Exodus narrative is that it invites interpreting evilness in the story more as an emotional impulse of the Uncanny within the authors/readers than as something attributed to “outsiders.” As a consequence, presentations of evilness in the text appear more as an investigation of internal, often unconsciously present inconsistencies and breaks in the writers’ project of identity formation. The upshot of this becomes visible when it is combined with elements in the text that invite a pedagogical reading. In this perspective, the readers are invited to ransack their own ethical thinking and moral actions, in order to make the right, or rather, human decision between good and evil in the diverse situations of daily life. Even appeal to law and stipulations (‫ מצות‬and ‫חקים‬, Exod 15:26) cannot relieve the readers from the burden of making decisions between good and evil, which may be less than clear-cut and sometimes even challenging the factual legal stipulations. In order to reach these conclusions however, we need to go “the long way” through theory and readings of “the fantastic” in the story, which appears in combination with a subversive reading of the narrative.

B. Obscuring Identities and Elements that Disorient Laura Feldt argues that the narrator of the Exodus story is the only speaker who is never disoriented. However, even at the level of narration, narrator and narratees, there are confusion and disorientation. The narrator does not explain how the different terms of the deity – ‫האלהים‬, ‫אלהים‬, ‫מלאך יהוה‬, and ‫ – יהוה‬relate in Exod 3:1–5. Are they different divine beings or just different terms for God? The “name-formula” ‫“( אהיה אשר אהיה‬I am who I am”) in v. 14 is left unexplained in the biblical text, and so is also YHWH’s sudden appearance as the violent killer-god in 4:24–26. Further indications of confusion are the double picture of the incalcitrant Pharaoh who refuses to let the people go and his lack of insight in the situation, once caused by his own heart, once by YHWH him3

Feldt 2014.

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self. Also, in Exod 12:23, YHWH himself will walk through the land of Egypt, striking all the Egyptians, killing their firstborn; in the same verse however, it is ‫המשחית‬, which seems to be some kind of demonic destroyer, who does not walk into the homes of the Israelites because he sees the blood on the doorposts. Eventually, Moses is ‫“ לאלהים‬as God,” which may be substituted by “God” simply. In this case, even the borderlines between Moses and God are blurred. To my mind, this begs for an explanation along lines different from Jan Assmann’s cultural memory, we also need another take on it than through common understandings of identity. We need to look carefully at the disruptions, ambivalences, and contradictions in the text. This I will do from the perspective of literary studies and notions of the fantastic. I agree that the purpose of the Exodus narrative is to express identity. However, while most models of identity-formation and education regard identity as an external notion to be inculcated, the model I apply regards identity as an internal phenomenon, closely connected with subjectivation or subject-ness (see below), but also disruption and disturbance. Instead of seeing narratives of identity-formation as something that creates norms, often an important part of identity, this study regards social structures and norms as pre-given in the identifying “I/We,” in part as the unconscious and uncanny. The narrational attempt to create or explicate an Israelite identity in Exodus redirects attention to the constitutive features like subjectivity and identity, by making them strange, unfamiliar and new. Identity denotes comparison with something external, either norms or other groups of humans. In the Exodus narrative, the external is Pharaoh, the Egyptians, and the evilness in Egypt. Subjectivity is about encountering the existential possibilities of being-in-the-world. All this indicates that identity-formation should be replaced by the conditions of being a subject as a perspective to explore in the Exodus story.

C. The Fantastic as a Mode Before continuing, a comment should be made to the genre of the Exodus narrative. A common denominator of the text has been myth or charter myth, the former represented by Otto Rank, the latter points in direction of Malinowski and social studies. Laura Feldt is as far as I know, the first who really explores the relevance of fantasy theory to this narrative. The fantastic is mostly treated as a literary genre,4 mostly a modern, post-romantic one and hardly reaching back before the 1700s.5 In this article, I use the fantastic as a mode more than as a genre. The relevance of this kind of theory is argued for by Feldt. In the 4 5

Todorov 1973. So especially Jackson 2005.

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Exodus narrative, the supernatural features, for example the miracle of the rod turned into a snake and back again (which is presented as natural magic in the competition with the Egyptian sorcerers), and the appearance of God himself in or as a burning bush, appeal to the fantastic, even when it has been commonplace to regard the term and its related “the uncanny” as something that remains when God disappears. I have no intent of trying to make the Hebrew Bible become modern. However, I think Feldt has rightfully demonstrated that the notion of the fantastic opens a path to the ambiguity, indeterminacy and uncertainty in the Exodus narrative, maybe even its monstrosity (although Feldt declines to see supernatural monsters in this text). This also corresponds to the general trend in religious studies, which somehow seems to replace theory of myth with that of fantasy literature. For instance, Feldt questions the differentiation between fantasy and religion: To my mind, this differentiation rests on an inadequate view of religious narrative assuming it to be monological and in and of itself determinative of what people believe – in opposition to other types of literature which are apparently different; it seems also to assume that the religious recipient is very passive. Further, religious narrative is often associated with a project for closure, or an attempt to fix meaning, also in the study of religion. … In recent years, the boundaries between supernatural entertainment narrative and traditional religious narrative have become blurred.6

Another interest in my article is that I want to link poetics of subversion with politics of subversion, in fact, as it appears in deconstructive pedagogy.

D. The Subversive Poetic Function of the Fantastic Now, when interpreting the function of the fantastic in the Exodus narrative, Feldt connects this to notions of identity formation through construction of cultural memory. The point is however, that fantastic events create ambiguity, disorientation, doubt, and confusion. In order to create belief and orientation, one needs interpretation. In fact, there is a level of focalization and narration in the story, where “Israel is staged as forming a strong collective self,” and this is in the “narration or interpretation by Moses or the narrator.”7 So, the problem of the text, according to her, is: how do we secure belief and orientation of the collective self? This clearly is an important and relevant catch on the Exodus narrative. As already indicated, my approach is different. It does not follow the idea of cultural memory and identity-building. It starts from the notion of desire as per-

6 7

Feldt 2014, 3–4. Feldt 2014, 161.

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haps the most characteristic in modern fantasy literature. According to Jackson, fantasy can manifest desire, but it can also conceal it, according to R. Jackson: The fantastic traces the unsaid and the unseen of culture; that which has been silenced, made invisible, covered over and made “absent.” The movement from the first to the second of these functions, from expression as manifestation to expression of expulsion, is one of the recurrent features of fantastic narrative, as it tells of the impossible attempt to realize desire, to make visible the invisible and to recover absence. Telling implies using the language of the dominant order and so accepting its norms, re-covering its dark areas.8

So, what I am looking for through notions of fantasy are narrative effects and forms that manifest deeper cultural issues, something that also resembles Freuds’ notion of the uncanny. Contending that fantastic literature has even by some, been defined as “that in which the question of the unconscious emerges,” Jackson identifies the fantastic as a literature which attempts to create a space for a discourse other than a conscious one. It is an attempt to find a language for desire: For it is in the unconscious that social structures and “norms” are reproduced and sustained within us, and only by redirecting attention to this area can we begin to perceive the ways in which the relation between society and the individual are fixed.9

The Exodus narrative, read as a charter myth, is part of an ideology. If ideology is the imaginary ways in which humans experience the real world, those ways in which humans’ relation to the world is lived through various systems of meaning such as religion, family, law, moral codes, education, culture, etc., Jackson also contends that this is not something simply handed down from one conscious mind to another; but is profoundly unconscious. It is this connection between ideology of Exodus and human subjectivity which is of concern in this article.

E. Subjectivity Replacing Identity What occupies my interest is what is constitutive of subjectivity (to use an expression from Slavoj Žižek, see below). The other point is that “the subject is always decentered” (a phrase from Lacan). This is linked to the things that we don’t know that we know, which links up with the Freudian unconscious. The Freudian project, so to speak, is to deconstruct its appearance in fantasy, which is, in fact, just this unconscious, the unknown knowns, which determine our acts and feelings. It is an interpretation, or rather an occupation, of the fantasy that regulates the universe of a person’s self-experience, of something that is

8 9

Jackson 2005, 4. Jackson 2005, 62.

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primordially repressed (in Freud’s terms). In Žižek’s terms when interpreting Lacan: “what characterizes human subjectivity proper is, rather, the gap that separates the two, namely the fact that fantasy, at its most elementary, becomes inaccessible to the subject. It is this inaccessibility that makes the subject ‘empty,’ as Lacan put it.”10 So, where to start? I go back to the paragraph about the identity of the deity, or rather, the impression that “God” is more than one. There is in the text, a resistance to any reduction of the deity to one. Is there God and ‫מלאך‬, YHWH and the Destroyer, or are they the same; is YHWH and “the deity”’ (‫)ה = אלהים‬ the same; and what about the fire, which never consumes the bush, is this just a symbol or is it YHWH’s burning wrath, which does not consume, after all? What about the dual character of Pharaoh? All this point away from what Helene Cixous writes: The machine of repression has always had the same accomplices; homogenizing, reductive, unifying reason has always allied itself to the Master, to the single, stable, socializable subject, represented by its types or characters.11

Jackson goes on saying: “In fantastic works where the ‘I’ is more than one, there is a resistance to such reduction.”

F. Fantasy Sustaining or Destabilizing Moral Order There is nothing special about the marvelous in religious myth. As Jackson states, it is tolerated and legalized in religion; there is nothing destabilizing in it, quite to the contrary, it presents the “other” as the negative, black area, the evil, demonic, barbaric.12 It is, as such, muted into a stabilizing discourse by filling up a lack, “making up for an apprehension of actuality as disordered and insufficient.”13 This is its transcendent and compensatory function. This is also what she calls “theologism,” logocentrism, and idealism. What she means by this remains unclear, but its upshot is that the fantastic in religious myths may sustain cultural and hegemonic ideas of good and evil and expel energies which may question the morality of the established cultural order. The destabilizing effect occurs first when we “secularize” the forces and instabilities in the narrative; when the plurality of God’s essence really stands out in its own force. Jackson states that the emergence of modern fantastic (in association with the horrific) emerges in periods of relative stability, what she also calls a cultural repression, which generates “oppositional energies which are expressed 10

Žižek 2006, loc. 839. According to Jackson 2005, 176. 12 Jackson 2005, 173. 13 Jackson 2005, 173. 11

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through various forms of fantasy in art.”14 If this is valid, one should not expect to find readings of Exodus for its fantastic, in our time, which is much more occupied by instability both politically and with regard to climate change; or at least it should be relegated to the religious or theological field of transcendence and compensation as described above. However, the world is desperately in need of subversive “readings” in order to question destructive hegemonies and authoritarian “truths.” The following citation from Jackson’s book shows how she apprehends the difference between a religious/magical and a “secular” longing for otherness: Whereas fantasies produced from within a religious or magical thought mode depict the possibility of union of self and other, fantasies without those systems of belief cannot realize absolute “truth” or “unity.” Their longings for otherness are apprehended as impossible, except in parodic, travestied, horrific or tragic form. Like its mythical and magical predecessors, then, the fantastic desires transformation and difference. Unlike its transcendental counterparts (found in recent “faery” literature), the fantastic refuses to accept supernatural fictions: it remains non-nostalgic, without illusions of superhuman intervention to effect difference.15

Jackson concludes that the modern fantastic novels “represent dissatisfaction and frustration with a cultural order which deflects or defeats desire, yet refuse to have recourse to compensatory, transcendental other-worlds.” It dissolves an order experienced as oppressive and insufficient. Is it possible to combine the obviously religious narrative of Exodus with this “secular” way of reading the story as fantastic literature, in spite of Jackson’s implied argument to the contrary? Instead of trying to domesticate and homogenize the Exodus story and its characters, we could start reading it as a desire for something excluded from cultural order, for the non-thetic in Julia Kristeva’s sense, the energies that are made invisible in the ordered world, or repressed. As Jackson says with reference to Kafka: “To introduce the fantastic is to replace familiarity, comfort, das Heimlich, with estrangement, unease, the uncanny:”16 It is to introduce dark areas, of something completely other and unseen, the spaces outside the limiting frame of the “human” and “real,” outside the control of the “word” and of the “look.”

G. No Fixed Point in the Exodus Narrative Assmann’s concept of cultural memory is insufficient because he deals with the relationship between history and memory, not with incoherent memory-texts.

14

Jackson 2005, 179. Jackson 2005, 180. 16 Jackson 2005, 179. 15

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The coherence-breaks in the picture of God is critically important, because if the notion of the deity, God, is to be questioned not only as ambivalently moving from a voice of vocation to a deathly threat, but also from an external being to something identical with his representative (Moses), then we do not have the divinely sanctioned, authoritative pedagogy of identity-formation, which scholars of religion-pedagogy would find in Exodus. If Moses is “a God” to Aaron, we are close to the Freudian or the Lacanian or even the Durkheimian norms of the society or Super-Ego. It does not invalidate Exodus as a pedagogical or didactic text, but the didacticism in it must be understood to go in another direction, one of a much more open and risky business, one which encourages decisions among a number of interpretive possibilities. Eventually, the sign that YHWH will be with Moses, Exod 3:12, is also strange because it comes after the completion of the task given to Moses. We need to look carefully at the disruptions, ambivalences, and contradictions in the text. This article questions any acceptance of the Exodus narrative for educational and identity-forming purpose, which does not notice the signs of instability and subversion also present in the text, or any such reading which relegates it to educationally irrelevant levels of the text. It has to relate to the different voices in the text, voices which in redaction-critical scholarship have been attached to different literary sources. It also questions readings of this text for the purpose of inculcating an authoritative sense of community. Instead of thinking that the constructive function of the biblical text is to provide orientation through inducing or inculcating belief, which somehow presupposes a stable Ego, a coherent character, and a stabile content of the text, this article questions this stability in the text, its characters, and in the character of the readers. In her Freudian reading of the Exodus narrative, Ina Pardes states that to envision the nation of Israel in Exodus is to read it metaphorically as the birth myth’s triumph of the hero over the “evil” father who tried to prevent its birth. “Pharaoh, the antinatal force with respect to both Moses and the nation, is defeated” through the ten plagues and Pharaoh eventually suffers from a symmetrical punishment.17 The metaphorical birth of a nation equals the physical birth of the Moses hero, which is cast in the mythical form of what Otto Rank describes as The Myth of the Birth of the Hero, another work linked to Freud. By this biography-approach on Israel, personification is important, and following this, also the ambivalence that lies at its base, an ambivalence pictured in father and son, also including the ambiguity of sexual identity. From here, Ina Pardes inevitably comes to the psychological dimension of Israel’s identity and its focus on the traumatic murder. 17

Pardes 2000, 25.

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The Lacan-Freudian perspective is also the bottom-line in the midrashic and psycho-analytic reading of Exodus by Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg.18 On a deeper level, Zornberg’s issue with the Exodus text is a struggle with the concept of the father – this appears in the many killings, of male infants, of children, of firstborns, first by Pharaoh, then by God and then by the Destroyer. What she sees in the text is an attempt to get free from this Oedipus-syndrome of the Father, the picture of a violent father-God. This is the “unthought known” in the narrative. If her reading deconstructs the idea of the authoritative father-figure of God in the text, and of patriarchy, it paves the way to the de-centered Ego I have talked about, it deconstructs any inculcation of an authoritative, uniform community-identity founded in the violent Father-God. From this perspective, also the evilness connected to Pharaoh “creeps into” the character of Israel and needs to be treated as the uncanny within the subjectivity of the Israel presented in the text. Many scholars would say that Zornberg’s reading is not scientific. There is something right in it, because it is disconnected from the rules and constraints of interpretation and understanding, as we know this in a reading based on historical criticism. Furthermore, it is theologically motivated and based on a theological conviction. Because the text is God’s, and God’s work encompasses all, one has to fill out all the gaps and contradictions in the text, and the heterogeneities must be read. This she compares to the psychoanalytic project,19 that is, the retrieval of unconscious traces from within the biblical narratives, it is, so to speak, the hidden sphere that endangers the totalitarian structure, it is a look for a separate, hidden story (Zornberg points, for instance, to the absence of the women, which results in a story about just this, the women, a story that is found in midrashic literature but barely in the biblical text).

H. De-Constructive Pedagogy: Some Remarks What is at stake in the occurrence of deconstruction is an attempt to bring into view the impossibility to totalize, the impossibility to articulate a self-sufficient, self-present center from which everything can be mastered and controlled. … What gives deconstruction its motive and drive is precisely its concern for, or to be more precise, its wish to do justice to what is excluded.20

This citation stems from the Dutch pedagogian Gert Biesta. It sets the stage for the kind of deconstruction that I want to add to poetics in this article. It is what is called deconstruction’s ethico-political concern. That Derrida is occupied

18

Zornberg 2001. Zornberg 2001, 188. 20 Biesta 2001, 47. 19

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with ethics and political ethics, at least in his later works, becomes clear in his treatment of identity and community, for example, the following statement: I don’t much like the word community, I am not even sure I like the thing.21

The Derrida-citation is from John Caputo’s book, Deconstruction in a Nutshell, a rather panegyric celebration of Derrida but nevertheless a relevant presentation of aspects of his writings.

I. Subjectivity – Not Character Formation – as a Perspective on Exodus Subjectivity is never homogenously formed by the external norms, there is always something Other in it, which de-centers the subject from these norms.22 This corresponds to Hélène Cixous’ critique of the term “character.” Cixous asks: What does character mean? She answers by referring it to “the unknown of the text” rather than its recognizable development and by linking it to the Ego.23 Writes Cixous: As an “imaginary nature,” the “Ego” is a function of unawareness that makes knowledge and ideology possible. In fact, the “socialization” of the subject, its insertion into the social machine, can be accomplished only at the price of controlling the production of the imaginary, by repressing the production of the unconscious that poses a threat to the established order, with the Ego relegated to its “civil” place in the social system … It is precisely this open, unpredictable, piercing part of the subject, this infinite potential to rise up, that the “concept” of “character” excludes in advance. Actually, if “character” is the product of a repression of subjectivity … then the imperishable text can be recognized by its ability to evade the prevailing attempts at reappropriating meaning and establishing mastery, with which the myth (for it is a myth) of “character” collaborates insofar as it is a sign, a cog in the literary machinery.24

This is also a critique of attempts to regard the didacticism of Exodus, or in the Bible as a whole, as character formation in terms of Stanley Hauerwas, for instance.25 There is certainly more to say about character, but I do follow her attempt to liberate the subject from, what she calls, “the homogenizing, reductive, unifying reason” which “has always allied itself the Master, to the single, stable, socializable subject, represented by its types and characters … where the thesis and concepts of Order were imposed.”26 A reading of the Exodus narra-

21

Caputo 1997, 107. Žižek 2006, loc. 839. 23 Cixous and Prenowitz 2011, 41. 24 Cixous and Prenowitz 2011, 42. 25 Hauerwas 1981. 26 Cixous and Prenowitz 2011, 46–47. 22

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tive should allow for the Other in a person, what remains when society has got its share, for the problematic and de-stabilizing in the subject. This is also where Derrida’s comments on identity and community becomes relevant. If identity and community presuppose that we throw up a defense, if communio means something fortified on all sides, a com (common) munis (defense), as Derrida seems to think, the self-protecting element in community is ethically problematic. Building up such a community fits well with the double genocide in the Exodus text. So, one of our first deconstructive tasks would be to deconstruct the picture of community and identity in much readings of the biblical text. The self-protective element is clearly present in the Exodus story, for example, in the Pesach ritual of the blood on the doorposts. You have better stay inside! It seems difficult to construct much on Derrida because he seems to be more parasitic than offering a foundation from where to go, by wanting to have it “both ways” or “neither ways” as a typical feature in his writings. Still there is an ethical concern for something not deconstructable, which is the Levinasian Other, democracy, and justice, whatever that is, and hospitality. This is on what I will build. Gert Biesta, in a study of the pedagogical implications of Derrida’s “deconstruction,” states that education “is more than just a technical enterprise,” it exceeds enculturation, socialization, and domestication; in this it is concerned with otherness, and we could also add, it is more about the attitude of the teacher than of the possible behavior of the children.27 In another work, Biesta discusses teaching in its significance for subject-ness.28 To exist, according to him, is being exposed to what and who is other. Following Hannah Arendt’s notion of action, Biesta holds that subject-ness is connected with taking action, whose consequence always depends on how others will take up our actions. Hence, our subject-ness is not in our own hands; it depends on other subjects. The ultimate consequence of this is, he states, that “theory cannot replace the existential question; theory can never replace the existential challenge.”29 This connects to the fact that the world is not a construction of our mind or our desires, “but actually has an existence and hence an integrity of its own.” Hence his phrase “the encounter with resistance.”

27

Biesta 2001, 34. Biesta 2017, 3. 29 Biesta 2017, 13–14. 28

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J. The Human Faculty of Judgment The reference to Hannah Arendt is relevant. As is well known, her issue was to reveal, and avoid for the future, the banality of evil, an evilness that hides behind the lawful, and to apply it to our subject, could hide beneath the project of identity-making. To prevent this banality of evilness, we need to re-think education. An important reflection by Arendt is illuminating. She asks: what happens to the human faculty of judgment when it is faced with occurrences that spell the breakdown of all customary standards and hence are unprecedented, not foreseen in the general rules, not even as exceptions from such rules? She answers: … only if we assume that there exists a human faculty which enables us to judge rationally without being carried away by either emotions or self-interest, and which at the same time functions spontaneously, that is to say, is not bound by standards and rules under which particular cases are simply subsumed, but on the contrary, produces its own principles by virtue of the judging activity itself …30

So, where to start our deconstructive Exodus-reading, in order to fight evilness, if the border between good and evil is not clear-cut, not even in identity formation? I suggest we start where the way is blocked. This is a typical feature that goes through the text, and it is closely related to the miracle elements or the fantastic. This is the case in the first instance, when the Israelites are suffering and crying in Egypt (Exod 2:23–25), but it appears more clearly in chapters 3, 4, and 5: Even because of this, God has to intervene through miracles or fantastic events, which are announced already in chapter 3. In chapter 7, it appears in the magical competition; in the plagues as a response to Pharaoh’s blocking the way out of Egypt, and eventually when the Israelites are blocked by the Reed Sea, also solved through the fantastic event. If we go back to Derrida, in his reflection on justice, he finds the necessity of acting just where acting is blocked: “The experience of the impossible is the experience of the aporia of the non-road, the need to act where the way is blocked, the urgency of acting in the midst of paralysis.”31 The other thing, which Derrida also sets into play, is the notion of the unforeseeable. In Derrida’s understanding of time, there is no telos but only difference, no deep essence to keep things on the course. In a way, his understanding of GrecoRoman time, as he calls it, is that it is, essentially, circular, because the New is not really new, it works within a pre-set, archeo-teleological horizon.32 This somehow relates to a modernist climate where prophecy and church proclamation has been replaced by secular, political planning and calculation; in fact, 30

Arendt 2003, 27. Derrida referred to and interpreted by Caputo 1997, 134. 32 At least in Caputo’s presentation of Derrida (1997, 118). 31

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modern politics depends on this calculable prevision of what will come. In a modern concept, time cannot include prophecy and miracles, the fantastic has to be relegated to something different, as we also have to do with religious belief. A real linear time however, in Derrida’s sense, holds room for that which nobody foresaw, what really surprises. In the Exodus narrative, I would say that the miracles or the fantastic match this second, linear concept, because you cannot bring miracles, not even the prophetic prevision of the miracles, into historical time as a part of it.

K. Justice Transcends Law Now, there is another issue in Derrida’s thinking, which is extremely relevant to our reflection here. That is the difference between law and justice. Law has to be deconstructed in order to make justice come. Law is predictable, general, set. Having it deconstructed opens for revision of the law. However, justice cannot be predicted but has to be decided and acted upon in each individual case. It is not a thing which can be planned or described in advance. Justice is the absolutely unforeseeable. So, it is deconstruction of law that makes justice possible, because it comes out of a tension, a demand, an aporia, even a paralysis.33 Justice is “impossible” because it cannot be planned, thought about in a general way, predicted through a general system of laws or rules to be learned. This is no small issue. Law may support evil actions, even lead into it. To prevent evilness, law always needs to be deconstructed, be compared to what is just in the meeting with individual persons, on the one hand, and education, preparation for such meetings on the other. Acting out justice means not to act according to rules and laws, but to have acquired sufficient insight into, for example, law and society, to be sensitive to the individual situations and needs of the Other, so as to be able to act wisely in the specific situations.

L. Conclusion: The Risky Affair of Teaching Morality in the Face of Evil Reading the killing of the Hebrew infants in Exod 1–2, and the annihilation of the firstborns of the Egyptians while the Israelites are hiding inside, make it abundantly important to know who belongs to the Israelites and who does not. Both of these, when reading the narrative as a mental identity-marker, presuppose a stable Ego and another, just as stable Other or Outsider, but this makes

33

Again, according to Caputo’s interpretation of Derrida (1997, 133).

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the Other just a case, an exemplar of something general, easily connected with evilness. This is what Derrida, and in the wake of his writings also Biesta, questions. According to Biesta, Derrida aims at “uncovering our preconceived understanding of identity as self-sufficient presence.”34 Identity presupposes alterity, but none of these should be presented as pure, self-sufficient, selfpresent. Deconstruction is, in Derrida and according to Biesta, a response to the concrete Other, and an attempt to do justice to the other. It is an attempt to recognize the alterity of the Other as the absolutely other, as unique and irreducibly singular. Now, where does this lead our deconstructive reading of evilness in Exodus? First, Todorov refers the fantastic to hesitation. The fantastic in the Exodus-narrative makes us hesitate, stop, induces doubt in the reader, not only about the fantastic itself, but about the story as a whole as well as its characters. Hesitation is one basic element in Biesta’s pedagogy: no pedagogical practices should proceed without hesitation, doubt, a stop which makes the pedagogue refrain from just thinking that the learner is one exemplar of another. Hesitation is clearly present in the Exodus narrative, as is clear in the burning bush episode. Second, Biesta regards pedagogy as risky work, just because identity is de-centered, it is the risk of becoming adrift. The risk is also implied in God’s order to Moses to go, and in the claim to “let my people go.” The risk is always there, as we see also in the cry from the Israelites on the shore of the sea: why did we leave this country? In conclusion, a deconstructive reading of Exodus makes us aware of the decentering, de-homogenizing elements in the story. This reading questions the authoritative, hegemonic didactical use of the story. It also puts the notion of evilness back into the identifying subject. The didacticism discovered by this reading is something different from “inculcation” of knowledge. It is wisdom teaching, but wisdom to act according to the singularity of situation and in deep respect of the complete and surprising Otherness of the Other. The ethical challenge of such a reading of Exodus starts when law and rule stops.

Bibliography Arendt, Hannah. 2003. Responsibility and Judgment. Edited by Jerome Kohn. New York: Schocken Books. Berge, Kåre. 2012. “The Anti-Hero as a Figure of Memory and Didacticism in Exodus: The Case of Pharaoh and Moses.” Pages 145–160 in Remembering and Forgetting in Early Second Temple Judah. Edited by Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

34

Biesta 2011, 44.

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Biesta, Gert J. J. 2001. “Preparing for the Incalculable: Deconstruction, Justice and the Question of Education.” Pages 32–54 in Derrida and Education. Edited by Gert J. J. Biesta and Denise Egéa-Kuehne. London: Routledge. –. 2017. The Rediscovery of Teaching. London: Routledge. Caputo, John D., ed. 1997. Deconstruction in a Nutshell: A Conversation with Jacques Derrida. New York: Fordham University Press. Cixous, HeìleÌne and Eric Prenowitz. 2011. Volleys of Humanity: Essays 1972-2009. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Feldt, Laura. 2014. The Fantastic in Religious Narrative from Exodus to Elisha. London: Routledge. Hauerwas, Stanley. 1981. A Community of Character: Toward a Constructive Christian Social Ethic. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Jackson, Rosemary. 2005. Fantasy. London: Routledge. Pardes, Ilana. 2000. The Biography of Ancient Israel: National Narratives in the Bible. Berkeley: University of California Press. Todorov, Tzvetan. 1973. The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre. Cleveland: Case Western Reserve University Press. Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb. 2001. The Particulars of Raptures: Reflections on Exodus. New York: Schocken Books. Žižek, Slavoj. 2006. How to Read Lacan. Kindle edition. London 2006, Granta Books.

Yom Kippur (Lev 16) A Complex Ritual Beyond Space and Time Corinna Körting Suffering and Sin is the title of Fredrik Lindström’s outstanding study on the relationship between suffering and guilt according to the psalms. It is a milestone in psalm research specifically and is important for theological studies in general. And it is still relevant. Fredrik Lindström breaks open the prominent idea of a direct relation between suffering and sin, and shows that human loss of life cannot be captured in these categories.1 Suffering cannot be explained in terms of cause and effect. However, sin has an impact. Sin means disturbance of God’s life-giving order, intentionally or unintentionally. It stands between man and God. Sacrifice and atonement re-establish this order and enable God’s presence in the temple. The Yom Kippur ritual is the climax of this cultic activity. Yet, what happens if the most important object for the ritual performance no longer exists?

A. Introduction Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement, is to be regarded as the central celebration of the Second Temple period (520/515 BCE–70 CE). The biblical legislation around Yom Kippur dates from post-exilic times (approximately from the fifth century BCE). The name ‫( יום הכפרים‬Lev 23:27; 25:9) effectively captures the central theme of the day itself. The actions required for atonement (‫כפר‬, piel) determine the course of the whole day.2 Yom Kippur is to take place on the tenth day of the seventh month; that is, ten days after the new year’s festival Rosh Hashana in the month of Tishri, and five days before Sukkot (Lev 23:27, 32). With Lev 16, an entire chapter of the Hebrew Bible is dedicated to the performance of the ritual. It lists a range of sacrifices, defines the location for the 1 Lindström 1993, 12–13. This article has been written in order to honour Fredrik Lindström and to thank him for his friendship. 2 A breach in observance will be severely punished with expulsion from the community. See Körting 1999, 113–114; also Boda 2009, 56–57.

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offerings, and provides instructions on the codes of dress and cleanliness which should be observed by all taking part in the ritual. Giving Lev 16 a closer look, it becomes obvious that the text combines in one comprehensive ritual all that tradition regards as important for atonement, to create an entirely new start for the priesthood, people, and temple in cleanness and holiness once a year.3 Its basic structure gives information on sacrifices for Aaron and his house. The sacrifices for the people generally follow the same pattern, although involving different animals. As well as to Aaron and the people, atonement also applies to the sanctuary and the altar – they all need to be cleansed. The whole “collection” covers burnt offerings, the atonement ritual, which requires a blood rite, the use of incense and also, of course, the ritual of the scapegoat, in which the sins of the people are transferred to a goat who is sent out of the camp and into the desert.4 The text of Lev 16 and, therefore, the ritual activities it prescribes are deeply connected with the revelation on Sinai. According to the priestly tradition, the instructions for building the temple were given on Sinai (Exod 25–31 and 35– 40). The inauguration of the priesthood and central rituals continue along these lines (Lev 1–7; 8–10; 11–15). Leviticus 16 proves to be the central chapter or peak of the priestly Torah and priestly activity.5 The comprehensive character of the legislation as well as the observation that it is given on Sinai could be enough of an explanation for the very specific character of the structure and content of Lev 16. Everything necessary to reach full atonement for the high priest and his family, the people, and the temple precincts is mentioned and proves to be part of the revelation given on Sinai, transmitted by Moses alone. The ritual is part of the “constitutional law” God has given to his people. However, there is a gap which still needs to be filled – the gap between the requirements according to a ritual text on the one hand and the difficulties of conforming to them in the actual performance of the complex ritual on the other hand. More specifically, along with a lack of detail on the actual procedure,6 there is also doubt concerning the very existence of a cultic object essential to the performance. We are talking here about the ‫ – כפרת‬the mercy seat – in the Holy of Holies.7 According to the text, the central blood rite must be carried out 3

See Körting 1999, 162–172; Gane 2005, 218–220. For the complex literary history of Lev 16, which also mirrors the diversity of the ritual traditions combined in Lev 16, see Körting 1999, 119–131; Pfeiffer 2001, 314–316; Nihan 2007, 340–379. 5 See Gane 2005, 217; Körting 2006a, 233–242. Due to a narrative structure, this holds true even if one regards Leviticus as a separate book, see Nihan 2007, 69–95, 96–105. 6 Hieke 2014 has formulated this carefully, pointing to gaps in the description of the ritual (565). 7 See Liss 2004, 19–25; Hieke 2014, 574f. He speaks about the “eigentümliche 4

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at the ‫ כפרת‬to obtain atonement. Therefore, this raises the question of what kind of literature we are looking at, and what effect a description of a ritual can have if it lacks any practicability.8 What is the text supposed to achieve in the absence of the mercy seat and, tightly connected to it, the ark? What if the space was empty?9 What are the pragmatics of such a ritual text?10 Remembrance of the ark goes way back in Israel’s history. At first an object which appeared to hold great significance for a clan or a group in Israel as a representation of the deity of that group (1 Sam 4),11 the ark ultimately became a cult object with significance for the whole of Israel, and was therefore brought into the temple after its construction (1 Kgs 8). As a representation of YHWH in the temple, however, the ark – or the concept of the ark – “met” another image, namely the divine throne as the cherubim throne. Isaiah (see Isa 6) and the Psalms praise the God of Israel as being seated on the cherubim throne. The ark became part of this image either as placed underneath the throne, or as a footstool. In Lev 16, we find a variation of this idea because the cherubim throne is reduced to a covering panel placed on the ark. This appraisal of the ark is contrasted with, among other things, the lack of interest in the ark in prophecy (but see Jer 3:16) and in testimonies from the late Second Temple period. Josephus reports that the Holy of Holies was empty (B.J. 5.219); Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ report on the plundering of the temple lists numerous objects that were taken from it, but the ark was not one of them (1 Macc 121–124), nor is it depicted in the portrayal on the arch of Titus. The Babylonian Talmud places the ark among the contents of the First Temple, but not of the Second.12

Unbestimmtheit der Texte” (“peculiar indeterminacy of the texts”) when mentioning the ‫כפרת‬. 8 Finkelstein 1981, 14–20, takes up the phenomenon of the lack of practical relevance for the Mesopotamian legal texts. See also Liss 2004, 11. 9 See also Porzig 2009, 38f., 296, 298. The ark is only used as the vessel for transporting the ‫כפרת‬. See also Gese 1977, 105: “er sprengte einfach aufwärts, als ob die kăpporät existierte” (“he burst upwards, as though the kăpporät existed”). 10 Milgrom 1991, 45, says that “the ritual complexes of Lev 1–16 make sense only as aspects of a symbolic system.” However, in his analysis, Milgrom nevertheless singles out ritual activity. Grabbe 2003, 219, states that Leviticus was never a practical manual but a theological work. Cranz 2017 points to the fact that ritual instructions in the priestly source are terse and abbreviated in comparison with ancient Near Eastern texts (18). Yet, the question of the practicability of Lev 16 remains. 11 Porzig 2009, 289–291. 12 M. Yoma 21b: “In five points, the First Temple differed from the second. And these were: the ark and the kopporæt and the cherubim, the fire and the šeknāh and the holy ghost and the Urim and Thummim.”

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Is Lev 16 partially fiction?13 Does the text aim at a symbolic examination of atonement? Is the ark, and in connection with it the ‫כפרת‬, a symbol, contributing to the concept of aniconic worship, existing only in texts?14 Was Lev 16 always intended to be a text beyond space because the individual provisions for the steps of the ritual cannot be practically implemented? During the third century CE, the situation was even more complex. The ark and, indeed, the entire temple were absent, and still the Mishnah, tractate Yoma, reshaped the ritual instruction for Yom Kippur in order to make it more practicable, yet, with the decisive difference that the Mishnah reflects upon the absence of ark and temple. In order to come closer to the text’s pragmatics, we shall have a look at both Lev 16 and Yoma, concentrating on the aspects of space and time which are considered in many ways in the ritual, since “space [and time] lies at the foundation of ritual activity and is crucial for a favourable outcome.”15

B. Space and Time in Leviticus 16 With a concentrated focus on the significance of space and time for the Yom Kippur ritual, I would like to briefly go into the text of Lev 16. I. Space In Lev 16, space is predominantly defined on the horizontal plane, broken through only by the vertical for the rising smoke, or the cloud.16 Space is divided and declared as internal and external, and boundary areas are established, as with the entrance to the Holy of Holies and the curtain behind which Aaron may pass to apply the blood of the sin offering. Interior and exterior are organized around a centre, the Holy of Holies,17 which also leads us to consider centre and periphery. From the centre, the sacredness of the space continues to decrease as access to different groups of people increases. All the aspects which are indispensable for a priestly concept of space are present. However, this is not necessarily enough help to establish exactly how to move and where to go to perform the ritual.

13

See Porzig 2009, 289–299. Leviticus 16 establishes cult within text; see Liss 2004, 32. The human ability of symbolic transformation is an important part of the discussion, whether concerning a general worldview or specifically the ritual. Cherubim are a symbolic expression of God’s presence as king and are central for the Jerusalem cult (Janowski 2003, 17–19). Yet, in this case, they would be a verbal expression of a symbol. 15 Cranz 2017, 29. 16 See Körting 2006a, 229–232. 17 See also Janowski 2006, 46f. 14

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1. Courtyard, Main Hall, and the Altars According to Lev 16:3, general information is given in the sense of a headline. “Thus shall Aaron come into the holy place (‫)אל־הקדש‬: with a young bull for a sin offering and a ram for a burnt offering.” The specific place where the bull should be offered is not mentioned, only the fact that this needs to be done. The first precise information for where he shall stand and how he shall act is found in v. 7: “He shall take the two goats and set them before the LORD at the entrance of the tent of meeting (‫)לפני יהוה פתח אהל מועד‬.” The goats shall be presented at the entry to the ‫אהל מועד‬, the tent of meeting. “Entry to the ‫”אהל מועד‬ is a rather precisely described place and ‫ לפני יהוה‬is getting to the heart of the matter. After all, this is the place where YHWH wants to be present, where he meets with the people. In addition, the place “entrance to the tent of meeting” marks a liminal space, the boundary between inside and outside. Offering the ram belongs to the outside: “He shall bathe his body in water in a holy place (‫)במקום קדוש‬, and put on his vestments; then he shall come out (‫ )ויצא‬and offer his burnt offering and the burnt offering of the people, making atonement for himself and for the people” (v. 24). These examples make obvious that Lev 16 describes space on different levels. In v. 3, the more general “to the holy place” (‫ )אל־הקדש‬seems to be enough;18 however, for the presentation of the goats, the more precise “entry to the tent of meeting” (‫ )פתח אלה מועד‬is used. 2. The Holy of Holies The descriptions of space continue in relation to the other parts of the ritual. Aaron is (again)19 told to slaughter the bull (v. 11) which is expected to be done in the courtyard. Then “He shall take a censer full of coals of fire from the altar before the LORD (‫)מעל המזבח מלפני יהוה‬, and two handfuls of crushed sweet incense, and he shall bring it inside the curtain (‫( ”)והביא מבית לפרכת‬v. 12). This he shall take from a place inside the sanctuary, where the “altar before the Lord,” the incense altar, is positioned.20 His way from the courtyard to the sanctuary receives no description. Neither does the text say anything about the challenge of carrying the blood, taking the censer (pan) of coals, and opening the veil at the same time.21 But there is yet another boundary, another line Aaron needs to cross, which seems more important and is given greater emphasis – 18 On the use of ‫ קדש‬or ‫ קדש הקדשים‬in Lev 16 and other passages, see Körting 2006a, 223–224. 19 A redactional repetition; see Körting 1999, 123–124, 388; Nihan 2007, 342–343. 20 See Körting 2006a, 233–235. 21 While the intention is quite clear, the practice is not. On how difficult it must have been to handle the censer, the fire, the incense, and the curtain, see Milgrom 1991, 1025–1031; Hieke 2014, 581.

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Aaron must step behind the curtain which separates the Holy of Holies from the rest of the sanctuary. This is repeated in the text for the sin offering of the people, the one goat: “He shall slaughter the goat of the sin offering that is for the people and bring its blood inside the curtain (‫ )אל־מבית לפרכת‬and do with its blood as he did with the blood of the bull, sprinkling it upon the mercy seat and before the mercy seat” (v. 15). Why is it more important to mention that Aaron has to go behind the curtain than it is to detail his entrance into the temple/tent of meeting? Reading Lev 16:12–15 against the general instructions for sin offerings – the ‫( חטאת‬Lev 4– 5) – it becomes obvious that the blood of the sin offering must be applied to different places depending on the status of the person or group that the sin offering shall atone. The higher the status, the closer to the Holy of Holies. For the Israelite, the blood should be sprinkled on the altar outside the Holy of Holies; for high priests it should be applied to the curtain, from the outside.22 On Yom Kippur, Aaron goes behind the curtain. This step is initiated by taking a censer of glowing coals from the altar, meaning the altar of incense.23 The incense scattered on the coals creates a cloud24 which rises over the ‫“ כפרת‬mercy seat” that is over the ark.25 The most frequent translations for ‫ כפרת‬are “cover” or “mercy seat/ throne.”26 Its exact appearance is described in Exod 25:17–22 as being an object made of pure gold, 2.5 cubits by 1.5 cubit. The height and depth are not described. The measurements are therefore presumed to be referring to a panel or 22

See Körting 1999, 162–165. See Körting 2006a, 233–235. 24 The cloud of incense which Aaron carries into the Holy of Holies envelops the ‫ כפרת‬so that Aaron does not die. Aaron must be protected against seeing God, which would be deadly for him. God wraps himself in the cloud (see Körting 2006a, 230–232). 25 Milgrom 1991, 1014, calls it a “solid gold slab (3.75 feet by 2.25 feet) atop the ark, at the edges of which were two cherubim.” The basic meaning of ‫“ כפרת‬mercy seat” goes back to the root ‫“ כפר‬to wipe off, to cover” and extrapolates to culminate in “to atone.” The translation for ‫ כפר‬is also under discussion. Generally translated as “to atone” in priestly ritual context, etymological studies try to go beyond this in order to get a deeper understanding of the meaning. Milgrom 1991, 1079–1080, prefers, in equivalence with the Akkadian kuppuru, the translation “to rub off, wipe.” “To cover,” as Douglas 1993/1994, 116, suggests, is difficult to prove because it is only used in old Arabic in profane contexts. In the Koran it is mentioned as “to cover/to atone” (see Janowski 1982, 90). He himself suggests “to stay” with “sühnen” which might as well include “to wipe” or “to cover,” however, without proof of its etymology (Janowski 1982, 101f.). Utzschneider 1996, 96–119, reads ‫ כפר‬in connection with ‫“ כ ֶֹפר‬ransom.” An overview over the discussion is given by Körting 1999, 165–172, or, more recently, by Cranz 2016, 120f. 26 “Cover” is to be found with NRSV, NJPS; “mercy seat/throne” with RSV, KJV. In German, the same range of meaning can be found: “Deckplatte” (Zürcher); “Gnadenstuhl” (Luther 2017); “Sühneplatte“ (Einheitsübersetzung). The LXX uses ίλαστήριον, the Vulgate “propitiatorium.” 23

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plate. Yet, it bears the cherubim, which are known from the ancient Near East as the pillars of a royal or divine throne. It is not an easy matter to bring together the three-dimensional nature of the cherubim throne with a two-dimensional panel. However, according to Exod 25, the cherubim should spread their wings over the ‫כפרת‬.27 Perhaps they were carved into the panel. The “mercy seat” or “cover” is the place where the blood of the sin offerings must be applied. This place “between the two cherubim” on a thin panel of pure gold is “the transitional place between the heavenly and the earthly world, where God grants man the possibility of atonement and thus enabling life.”28 Another line has to be crossed. What happens? Blood is the carrier of the life-force (see Lev 17:11). It has only been “permitted” by God for use on the altar to bring atonement. In this place, with the greatest possible proximity to God, the life-force is used against the mortality of sin.29 Whether the blood is intended to wipe away sin or to cover over it is of secondary importance, as it is the life-force in the blood that makes the atonement effective. According to Lev 16:13, the ‫ כפרת‬is upon the covenant (‫)על־העדות‬. This refers to the ark of the covenant (see Exod 16:34; 25:22; 27:21; 30:6, 36) which, according to Deut 10:1–5, contained the tablets bearing the ten commandments.30 These too were once held in the temple (1 Kgs 8), in the narrow entry complex to the divine throne.31 In v. 2, the same object is called ‫הארן‬, the ark. Again, it seems that the text aims to combine various traditions.32 What happens in the Holy of Holies is clearly defined in terms of space. However, it takes place out of sight in several ways. The cloud shrouds the ark behind the curtain to the Holy of Holies in an empty temple (Lev 16:17). 3. Desert and Camp: Azazel The section which enjoys most attention concerns the part of the ritual in which the high priest lays his hands on the head of the goat of the people, which is still alive, confesses the sins over it, places the sins on the goat, and then sends it out into the wilderness. In this case, the movement from centre to periphery is of importance. Leviticus 16 mentions three times (vv. 10, 21, 22) that the sec27

See Schäfer-Lichtenberger 2000, 237–239; Liss 2004, 21–25. Willi-Plein 1993, 109. In German: “‘Zwischen den Keruben’ auf einer dünnen Platte reinen Goldes, ist für P der Übergangsort von himmlischer und irdischer Welt, an dem Gott den Menschen die Möglichkeit der Versöhnung gewährt und damit Leben ermöglicht.” 29 Körting 1999, 119–134, 162–190. This concept is not to be confused with the idea of substitution. See also Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2011, 313–315. 30 Schäfer-Lichtenberger 2000, 236–237; Porzig 2009, 26–28. 31 See Janowski 2003, 16f. 32 See also Otto 2012, 988–989, who points to the change of the ark from a former thronefoundation “Thronuntersatz” to a container for the tablets in Deuteronomy. 28

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ond goat shall be sent into the wilderness: “but the goat on which the lot fell for Azazel shall be presented alive before the LORD (‫ )לפני יהוה‬to make atonement over it, that it may be sent away into the wilderness to Azazel (‫לשלח אתו לעזאזל‬ ‫( ”)המדברה‬v. 10),33 for “the goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a barren region; and the goat shall be set free in the wilderness (‫( ”)במדבר‬v. 22). Similar rites can be seen in the bird ritual of Lev 14,34 and elimination rites are known to us from northern Syria and south Anatolia as well. Either they serve as a vehicle, taking the miasma of the unclean onto themselves and bearing it, or they serve as a substitute, i.e., suffering the fate of the person(s) they represent in their place. We also see pure elimination rites – of which the scapegoat rite is one – in the Hittite plague rituals. The plague is imposed on animals and they must carry it off. The elimination rite associated with the goat highlights the significance of space, as here the two areas of centre and periphery – inhabited space and uninhabited chaos – come into play. The goat, bearing the failings of the people, must leave the inhabited space, carrying their sins out into the wilderness where they can no longer be a threat. Finally, space in Lev 16 is delineated through the designation of centre and periphery, holy and profane, living space and hostile environment.35 The boundaries are, in parts, clearly defined, such as the use of the curtain to separate the Holy of Holies. However, in other parts, the lack of precise information (see Aaron’s movement, vv. 11–12)36 provides a more conceptual separation between the holy and profane. II. Time: Not Just at Any Time The festive event is repeated annually. Principally, a sin offering can be performed whenever necessary. Yet, the culmination of rituals on Yom Kippur is limited to once a year. Actually, this provision (Lev 16:29) is hardly surprising. There are other important festivals that take place once a year. More surprising, however, is the justification given in Lev 16:1–2:

33 It is under discussion whether Azazel has to be understood as a daemon (Nihan 2007, 351–354), or a rocky abyss (see Driver 1956, 97f.). It might point to the function of the goat, as in the translation of the LXX and the Vulgate as well as in the modern languages of English and French: the one who carries away, “bouc émissaire” or “scapegoat” (see Hieke 2014, 578). Alternatively, Azazel could be translated as “for the removal of divine wrath” (‫עזז‬, “to be or become angry”). A detailed etymological explanation can be found in Janowski 1993, 285–289. 34 See Körting 1999, 176–177; Cranz 2017, 126–131. 35 See also Cranz 2017, 103–105. 36 Gane 2005, 220, 222, calls it “abbreviation.”

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The LORD spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron (‫)אהרי מות שני בני אהרן‬, when they drew near before the LORD and died. The LORD said to Moses: Tell your brother Aaron not to come just at any time (‫ )אל־יבא בכל־עת‬into the sanctuary inside the curtain before the mercy seat that is upon the ark, so that he shall not die (‫ ;)ולא ימות‬for I appear in the cloud (‫ )בענן‬upon the mercy seat.

This depicts what is reported in Lev 10. The sons of Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, bring into the Holy of Holies a false fire – probably fire that does not conform to the provisions. As a result, they must die. Entry into the Holy of Holies, stepping directly into the presence of God, is thus not only restricted in terms of space but also in time. To retain the life-preserving and safeguarding presence of God in the Holy of Holies, it must be protected. Time and space become a protective shield around the divinity of God, as is the cloud. This protection ultimately also applies to Aaron. In later Jewish tradition, the idea of the perilousness of an immediate proximity to God, being in the direct presence of divinity, is further developed. As only the high priest is permitted to enter the Holy of Holies, and then only once a year, anyone else who tries to do so must inevitably die. But if the high priest were to die in the Holy of Holies, what is to be done? The medieval Zohar responds that a rope should be tied around the high priest’s ankle to allow him to be pulled out should he be unable to leave the Holy of Holies on his own.37 The cleansing of the sanctuary, of the priesthood (e.g., Aaron),38 and of the people must take place once a year; an annual new beginning for all time. The celebration of the day, the ritual activity, is divinely arranged. It is not about who has sinned, or how much, or whether they are aware of their sins or not. It is presupposed that Israel will continue to sin, and still Israel’s encounter with the divine will be ongoing due to the reconciliation on Yom Kippur.

C. Space and Time According the Mishnah Tractate Yoma The instruction in Lev 16 is a combination of vague and precise details concerning the ritual performance and it includes a missing cultic object. In later times, after the loss of the Second Temple, it is entirely impossible to perform the ritual. However, the Mishnah tractate Yoma, most probably from the third century CE, responds to these challenges. 37 See Zohar, Emor 102a: “R. Isaac said: ‘A cord was tied to the feet of the High Priest before he entered the Holy of Holies, so that if he died suddenly within they should be able to draw him out’” (Sperling and Simon 1949). 38 Verse 32 speaks of an anointed priest (‫ )הכהן אשר־ימשח‬who should carry out his father’s duty. Generally, particularly in later Jewish tradition, reference is made to a high priest (‫)הכהן הגדול‬. This office is bound up with both cultic and political interests, although it first appears in the Persian period (Weyde 2015, 1045–1047).

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I. Space: The Cardinal Directions and Jerusalem in the Centre Yoma complements the biblical instructions in Lev 16, particularly in terms of ensuring the seamless conduct of the day of atonement.39 It discusses the preparation of substitutes for the animals and for the high priest himself, as well as the repetition of steps in case they were not carried out correctly. Additionally, the “initiation” of a week of preparations is now essential for the process. Further confessions of sin and blessings add to the ritual process known from Lev 16. Space plays an important role in Yoma insofar as the descriptions of the altar and the Holy of Holies are now allocated cardinal points. When discussing the preparation of the sacrificial bull, it reads: He came over to his bullock. Now his bullock was set between the Porch and the Altar. Its head was to the south and its face to the west. And the priest stands at the east, with his face to the west. And he puts his two hands on it and states the confession. And thus did he say … (m. Yoma 3:8)40

In relation to “Thus shall Aaron come into the holy place (‫)אל־הקדש‬: with a young bull for a sin offering …” (Lev 16:3), we have a much more precise definition of what needs to be done. By stating that the bull stands on a north-south axis, the text makes it clear that its hind quarters should not be facing the altar.41 Additionally, it must be noted that a confession of sins has been inserted at this point. Another example should be mentioned, the atonement at the altar which stands before YHWH: And he went out toward the altar which is before the Lord (Lev 16:18). This is the golden altar. He began to purify [the altar] [by sprinkling the blood]42 in downward gesture. From what point does he start? From the northeastern corner, then to the northwestern, southwestern, and southeastern ones … (m. Yoma 5:5)43

This makes it indisputable that Yoma formulates the process more precisely, filling in the gaps of the biblical text. But that is not all. It provides the reader and the listener with a three-dimensional mental picture, bringing the architecture of the temple and the temple complex to life through movement.44 While this was only partially the case in Lev 16, Yoma provides more comprehensive

39

A brief overview is to be found in Hieke 2014, 602–603.; Neusner 1982, 63–65. Translation according to Neusner 1982, 85. 41 See Meinhold 1913, 44. 42 This is the incense altar; in Exod 39:38; 40:5, 26; Num 4:11; 1 Kgs 7:48, mentioned as the “golden altar.” 43 Translation according to Neusner 1982, 99–100. 44 See Neusner 1979, 112; Marx 2012, 45–46. 40

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detail. The movements of the high priests can be re-enacted down to the detail of up-and-down versus circular movements when sprinkling blood on the altar. Taking this further, while Lev 16 already places great significance on internal and external spaces (the life-preserving interior of the camp in contrast with the chaotic external space of the desert), we now have additional coordinates. The cardinal points orient the sanctuary and the steps of the ritual within a cosmic system with a global perspective.45 This repeated tying of the cosmic dimension of the ritual to a specific location, the mention of Jerusalem, pulls the treatise into line with reality. The goat was handed over to the man assigned with taking it away, and then it is said: The eminent people of Jerusalem used to accompany him to the first booth. There were ten booths from Jerusalem to the ravine, a distance of nine ris – seven and a half to a mile. (m. Yoma 6:4)46

II. Time: The Sabbath Yoma also specifies the temporal processes of Yom Kippur, integrating them into the usual run of events at the temple. Thus, the ritual is prefaced by reference to the Tamid sacrifice (i.e., fixed, constant sacrifice every morning and evening). Time plays a significant role in terms of the sequence of events to be followed. However, one major challenge, also posed by Yoma, is the problem of collision between the Sabbath and Yom Kippur. While the Roš Haš š anah and Sukkah tractates have special rules for the other major festivals in the seventh month should they fall on the Sabbath,47 these are implicit in Yoma. The distance between the huts on the way to the ravine was designed in such a way that one could reach a hut without breaking the Sabbath. From each hut, a new companion could accompany the one taking the sacrificial goat. Only he himself had to break the Sabbath for his task. III. Going Beyond Space: The Public Reading The high priest’s public reading is a new invention in Yoma. It predominantly comprises Lev 16, but also includes the relevant sections from other festival calendars, namely Lev 23:27–32 and Num 29:7–11. The lecture is stated to take place after the atonement ritual (m. Yoma 7:1). In order to be public, “the high priest came [in the Women’s court].”48 It must be given special attention, as the Roš Haš š anah and Sukkah tractates mentioned previously do not have a read-

45

On cardinal directions, see also Janowski 2006, 40. Translation according to Neusner 1982, 108. One mile is about one kilometre. See Meinhold 1913, 60–61. 47 See. m. Roš Haš ., m. Sukkah 4:1–5:4. 48 “Women’s court” is, however, an addition made by Neusner 1982, 112. 46

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ing. They do, however, contain a reference, lacking in Yoma, to what should be done while the temple does not exist.49 This is especially noteworthy as one must assume that the temple had already been destroyed when the treatise was written. This then raises the question of whether the reading is a reaction to the loss of the temple. It must be noted that a replacement of the ritual was surely not desirable, but that the lecture could certainly make up for a lot of what was lacking with the absence of the temple. Let us approach this from another perspective. Much of what happens on Yom Kippur is invisible to all but the high priest. The people only participate in the fasting and refraining from work. Yoma provides some assistance for the difficulty posed by not being able to see everything, for example, with regard to the scapegoat rite, by providing that towels should be waved when the goat had reached the desert. The passage continues: Now how did they know that the goat had come to the wilderness? … There was a crimson thread tied to the door of the sanctuary. When the goat had reached the wilderness, the thread would turn white, “as it says, Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow” (Isa 1:18). (m. Yoma 6:8)50

It could therefore be said that the reading of the scripture served to provide the listeners with an image of what they could not see themselves – a complete ritual,51 a mental picture of the space that the high priest enters and the vast desert into which the scapegoat is sent. Even if the reading is not intended as a replacement for the ritual, for those listening it takes on an important function because it includes them in the process, even though the effectiveness of the ritual does not depend on them.

D. Leviticus 16: Origin Story and “Ritual Instructions” The theme of this volume is “suffering, sin, and evil.” This chapter discussed neither suffering nor evil. Yet, the enablement of life through liberation from guilt is as central for a priestly temple orientated theology as it is for the praying individual searching for forgiveness.52 In a Christian perspective, it is not the last word that has been spoken. “Paul says in Romans 3:25 that God established Christ Jesus ‘for faith as atonement (ἱλαστήριον) in his blood …’”53 It is

See m. Roš Haš . 4:1 or m. Sukkah 3:12. Translation see Neusner 1982, 110. 51 The m. Yoma 7:2 also reflects on this. Those who see how the bull is burnt may not hear the reading, and those who listen to the reading may not see the bull being burnt. 52 See Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2011, 310. 53 See Feldmeier and Spieckermann 2011, 311. 49 50

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also not the only word the God of Israel has spoken about atonement according to the Hebrew Bible, yet, it is a central one. Leviticus 16 prepones instructions for the ritual of Yom Kippur that appear to date from the time of the Second Temple to the beginning of the history of God with his people. It does not describe just any ritual, but one divinely revealed on Sinai, transmitted by Moses alone. With it, we are not completely in the realm of myth, but the boundaries do start to blur. It is not about the beginning of the world, about heroes and gods; it is about the beginning of a very specific history. The authority of Moses and the divine immediacy of the revelation are intertwined with the sanctity of the temple, forming an original event in the history of God with his people – granting atonement, reconciliation. This intention may also explain why the ritual text contained in Lev 16 is not about detailed instruction54 but about presenting the various individual rites that make up its essential principles. Recognizing borders and the crossing of those borders, as well as centre and periphery, is indispensable for a ritual to reach atonement. Yet, that the text aims for more than a theoretical mediation of principles becomes clear when reading the Mishnah. Neither Lev 16 nor Yoma understand the atonement they speak about as symbolic. While Lev 16 provides a framework for the ritual by gathering the breadth of ritual tradition and bringing it to its peak,55 Yoma makes the ritual more practicable by providing more details. Thus far, an unusual form of a ritual text has taken shape. This does not clarify the problem of the missing ark for ritual practice, however. Even Yoma makes a brief reference to the lack of the ark: Once the ark was taken away, there remained a stone from the days of the earlier prophets, called Shetiyyah. It was there fingerbreadth high. And on it did he put [the fire-pan]. (m. Yoma 5:2)56

In the subsequent text, the ark serves to locate the curtain – by being opposite it. The priest seems to sprinkle the blood randomly into the room, from top to bottom seven times, without paying attention to where it lands (m. Yoma 5:3). It certainly does not state that the ark would be sprinkled with blood.

54 However, there are overlaps which differ from those described by Sørensen 2009, 38ff. His analysis of ritual texts from the field of the Egyptian cult of the dead points out that texts and instructions teach how rituals are to be performed, even after death. “As for him who knows this book on earth, or it is put in writing on the coffin … he shall go out into the day …” (Faulkner 1989, 73). The rituals are never carried out. 55 Peter Welten writes that, to some extent, the ark marks the way of YHWH to Jerusalem into the temple (Welten 1979, 182). For Lev 16, this means that ritual practice mixes with traditional, symbolic talk of God’s presence among his people. 56 Translation according to Neusner 1982, 97. See also Milgrom 1991, 1029.

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Yoma reacts to the lack of the ark with practising a ritual as precisely as possible, albeit with the one missing element. The ritual in itself is still valid under specific circumstances.57 Finally, what comes as a surprise is the implementation of the lecture. It is not described as a reaction to the loss of the temple, rather as a reaction to the difficulty that not everything that takes place can be seen. However, this idea of participation through reading definitely became important when the temple was lost. Yoma continues what was started in Lev 16; principles serving the necessity of atonement once a year are combined with precise information for ritual activity. The problem of the missing ark has been solved due to the understanding that sprinkling the blood behind the curtain was sufficient. The loss of the temple – meaning the loss of ritual space – has been addressed differently. Reading makes it possible to participate beyond space but still in due time.

Bibliography Boda, Mark J. 2009. A Severe Mercy: Sin and Its Remedy in the Old Testament. Vol. 1, Siphrut. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Cranz, Isabel. 2017. Atonement and Purification. FAT II/92. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Douglas, Mary. 1993/1994. “Atonement in Leviticus.” JSQ 1:109–130. Driver, Godfrey R. 1956. “Three Technical Terms in the Pentateuch,” JSST 1:97–105. Faulkner, Raymond O. 1989. The Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. London: British Museum Press. Feldmeier, Reinhard and Hermann Spieckermann. 2011. God of the Living: A Biblical Theology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Finkelstein, Jacob J. 1981. The Ox That Gored. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Gane, Roy. 2005. Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Gese, Hartmut. 1977. “Die Sühne.” Pages 85–106 in Zur biblischen Theologie: Alttestamentliche Vorträge. Edited by Hartmut Gese. Munich: Kaiser. Grabbe, Lester. 2003. “The Priests in Leviticus: Is the Medium the Message?” Pages 207–224 in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception. Edited by Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A. Kugler. VTSup 93. Leiden: Brill. Hieke, Thomas. 2014. Levitikus 16–27. HThKAT. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder. Janowski, Bernd. 1982. Sühne als Heilsgeschehen: Studien zur Sühnetheologie der Priesterschrift und zur Wurzel KPR im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament. WMANT 55. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchner Verlag. –. 1993. Gottes Gegenwart in Israel. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchner Verlag. –. 2003. Der Gott des Lebens: Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments. Vol. 3. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. 57 We might compare this with the flour-‫ חטאת‬in the case of the impossibility to provide an animal for the ‫( חטאת‬Lev 5:11–13). Milgrom 1991, 306f.; Cranz 2017, 114 n. 29.

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–. 2006. “‘Du hast meine Füße auf weiten Raum gestellt’ (Psalm 31,9). Gott, Mensch und Raum im Alten Testament.” Pages 35–70 in Mensch und Raum von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart. Edited by Antonio Loprieno. Munich: Saur. Körting, Corinna. 1999. Der Schall des Schofar: Israels Feste im Herbst. BZAW 285. Berlin: de Gruyter. –. 2006a. “‫ל־ה ַכּפּ ֶֹרת‬ ַ ‫ ִכּי ֶבּ ָענָ ן ֵא ָר ֶאה ֵע‬: Gottes Gegenwart am Jom Kippur.” Pages 221–246 in Festtraditionen in Israel und im Alten Orient. Edited by Erhard Blum and Rüdiger Lux. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. –. 2006b. “Sach 5,5–11: Die Unrechtmäßigkeit wird an ihren Ort verwiesen.” Bib 87:477– 492. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell. Liss, Hanna. 2004. “Kanon und Fiktion. Zur literarischen Funktion biblischer Rechtstexte.” BN 121:7–38. Marx, Dalia. 2012. “Der fehlende Tempel: Der Stellenwert des zerstörten Tempels in der Kultur des Volkes Israels.“ Pages 41–63 in Pilgern: Innere Disposition und praktischer Vollzug. Edited by Susanne Talabardon, Jenny Vorpahl, and Johann Ev. Hafner. Würzburg: Ergon Verlag. Meinhold, Johannes. 1913. Joma: Text, Übersetzung und Erklärung. Die Mischna. Frankfurt am Main: Töpelmann. Milgrom, Jacob. 1991. Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AB 3. New York: Doubleday. Neusner, Jacob. 1979. “Map without Territory: Mishnah’s System of Sacrifice and Sanctuary.” History of Religion 19/2:103–127. –. 1982. A History of the Mishnaic Law of Appointed Times, Part 3. Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 34. Leiden: Brill. Nihan, Christophe. 2007. From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus. FAT II/25. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Otto, Eckart. 2012. Deuteronomium 4,44–11,32. HThK.AT. Freiburg: Herder. Pfeiffer, Henrik. 2001. “Bemerkungen zur Ritualgeschichte von Lev 16.” Pages 314–326 in Kulturgeschichten: Altorientalische Studien für Volkert Haas zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by T. Richter et. al. Saarbrücken: SDV. Porzig, Peter. 2009. Die Lade Jahwes im Alten Testament und in den Texten vom Toten Meer. BZAW 397. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, Christa. 2000. “‘Sie wird nicht wieder hergestellt werden’: Anmerkungen zum Verlust der Lade.” Pages 229–241 in Mincha: Festschrift R. Rendtorff. Edited by Erhard Blum. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Sperling, Harry and Maurice Simon, eds. 1949. The Zohar. London: Soncino. Sørensen, Jørgen Podemann. 2009. “Ritual Text as Knowledge and as Performance.” Pages 39–49 in Text and Ritual: Papers Presented at the Symposium Text and Ritual. Edited by Anne Katrine Gudme. Copenhagen: Københavns Universitet. Utzschneider, Helmut. 1996. “Vergebung im Ritual.” Pages 96–119 in Abschied von der Schuld? Zur Anthropologie und Theologie von Schuldbekenntnis, Opfer und Versöhnung. Edited by Richard Riess. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Welten, Peter. 1979. “Lade – Tempel – Jerusalem: Zur Theologie der Chronikbücher.” Pages 169–183 in Textgemäss: Aufsätze und Beiträge zur Hermeneutik des Alten Testaments. FS E. Würthwein. Edited by A. H. J. Gunneweg and O. Kaiser. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

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Weyde, Karl William. 2015. “High Priest.” Pages 1045–1047 in Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception. Edited by Hans-Josef Klauck et al. Berlin: de Gruyter. Willi-Plein, Ina. 1993. Opfer und Kult im alttestamentlichen Israel. SBS 153. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk.

Understanding Ezekiel 18 in Its Literary Context Antti Laato A. Introduction Professor Fredrik Lindström has made several important contributions concerning central theological problems in the Hebrew Bible. In his dissertation, he discussed the problem of evil which, in some texts of the Hebrew Bible, is related to the essence of God.1 In his major opus on the book of Psalms, he raised important theological questions concerning suffering and sin.2 Lindström has also popularized these themes in his Swedish book which deals with life with, and experience of, God in the Hebrew Bible.3 The aim of this article is to offer a contribution to the research area in which my colleague and friend has been shown to be a real expert. I will discuss the problem of sin, responsibility, and suffering as expressed in Ezek 18. Instead of penetrating deeply into the interpretation of Ezek 18 – an area where scholars have already made several important contributions4 – my aim is to propose that the literary context should be considered when this locus classicus of sin, responsibility, and suffering is interpreted. In his dissertation, Lindström has emphasized the importance of contextual reading. I contend that it is the literary context which may help us uncover important interpretive perspectives to understand the text under discussion.

B. Ezekiel 18 and Its Royal Context The beginning of Ezek 18 refers to the short complaint attributed to the people of Israel and which was circulated in the exile (Ezek 18:2; see also Jer 31:29): “Parents have eaten sour grapes and children’s teeth are blunted!” This pejorative complaint is an expression of the suffering of the exile and God’s justice based on an older Israelite idea of retribution, according to which the iniquities of parents fall upon their children (Exod 20:5; 34:7; Num 14:8; Deut 5:9). A 1

Lindström 1983. Lindström 1994. 3 Lindström 1998. 4 See commentaries, and the following studies: Matties 1989; Mein 2001; Mol 2009. 2

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similar attitude of desperation is also expressed in Lam 5:7: “Our ancestors sinned; they are no more, and we bear their iniquities.” Ezekiel 18 contains a new theological treatment of this old idea of family retribution by introducing the concept of individual responsibility, and in this way, it aims to confront the complaint of Ezek 18:2. Even though Ezek 18:2 is parallel to Jer 31:29, the contexts of these two texts as well as the theological solutions are strikingly different. In the context of Jer 31:29, the central idea of the new covenant is that YHWH is active in creating new life and loyalty among the people. On the other hand, Ezek 18 aims to clarify the importance of repentance toward YHWH. Lindström rightly notices that the outcome of the new covenant in Jer 31:31–34 parallels Ezek 36:26–27.5 This raises the important question as to why a similar theological solution, according to which a new human being will – more or less spontaneously – do the will of YHWH in the future, is not found in Ezek 18. Could the context of Ezek 18 explain the different treatment of the pejorative complaint (Jer 31:29; Ezek 18:2) in the book of Ezekiel? If that is the case, we should be particularly attentive to the fact that Ezek 18 has been edited between chapters 17 and 19, both of which deal with royal figures. Scholars agree that the historical contexts of Ezek 17 and 19 are related to the crisis of the exile in Judah, i.e., to the period 598–586 BCE. The identities of the kings in Ezek 17 seem to be clear, while scholars disagree which kings are referred to in Ezek 19. Ezekiel 17 contains a riddle (ḥîdâ) or parable (māšāl) in Ezek 17:2–10, which is interpreted in Ezek 17:11–21. “A great eagle” (= Babylon) took “the top of the cedar tree” from Lebanon (i.e., from the royal house of Jerusalem),6 and deported it to “the country of merchants,” i.e., to Babylon (Ezek 17:2–4, 12). This refers to the exile of Jekoniah in 597 BCE. After this event, the eagle “took one of the country’s seeds” and put it on the throne, but the new king later caused a rebellion against the eagle. This king is Zedekiah (Ezek 17:5–10, 13–21). After the parable, there is a new text (Ezek 17:22–24), which in terms of keywords and content is clearly related to the parable, particularly to Ezek 17:2–4, indicating a hope that there would be a new beginning for the royal family of Jekoniah. This positive interpretive scenario towards the family of Jekoniah in Ezekiel is understandable because both the Deuteronomistic tradition in 2 Kgs 25:27–30 and the historical episode of Zerubbabel, the grandchild

5

Lindström 1998, 199. See also Raitt 1977; Leene 2014. The royal house was compared with a garden (Jer 21:13–14) and was called Lebanon (see Jer 22:6–7, 23; Isa 10:33–34) because of the royal building projects which aimed to introduce the divine garden in Jerusalem. The royal palace itself was called, according to 1 Kgs 7:2, Lebanon-Forest-palace, indicating the connection between Lebanon and the royal house. Concerning Jer 21:13–14; 22:6–7, 23, see especially Holladay 1986, 577–579, 583– 584, 600–603. Concerning Isa 10:33–34, see Barth 1977, 55–72; Nielsen 1989, 123–143. 6

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of Jekoniah (as accounted for in Haggai and Zechariah, as well as in Ezra-Nehemiah), imply a similar benevolence to Jekoniah. Ezekiel 19 contains two literary units which are thematically interrelated. In Ezek 19:1–9 the mother of royal princes is compared to a lioness who worked intensively to get her two whelps into the leading position. She managed in her efforts but, in both cases, nations came and caught the young lions, and so the lioness’s plans became futile. In Ezek 19:10–14 the royal mother is compared with “a vine full of shoots” which became “stout stems for sceptres of rulers.” However, the vine “was furiously uprooted” and the fire destroyed its stems. There is much that speaks for the lioness with the two whelps to be referring to Hamutal, the wife of Josiah, who gave birth to two princes, Shallum and Zedekiah, who became kings but were dethroned.7 The contextual reading indicates that, in Ezek 17 and 19, we have the figures from three different generations. The first generation is Hamutal (and Josiah), the second generation Shallum and Zedekiah (and Jehoiakim), and the third generation Jekoniah (the son of Jehoiakim). This presentation of three generations corresponds to the content of Ezek 18 where father, son, and grandchild are presented. The only relevant royal line which fits this depiction and the literary context is Josiah → Jehoiakim → Jekoniah. However, the first two are not addressed directly in Ezekiel, and therefore, introducing them in Ezek 18 is not self-evident. Even though Josiah is never mentioned expressis verbis in Ezekiel, I have argued elsewhere that the date “thirtieth year” in Ezek 1:1 has been calculated from the year of Josiah’s reform (so also in the Targum). This indicates that Josiah’s reform is a central theological starting-point from which to understand the covenantal theology in the present form of the book of Ezekiel.8 There is an additional similarity between Ezek 17 and Ezek 18: the real focus is laid on the third generation, i.e., Jekoniah. He can return to YHWH and live – something which could make the promise in Ezek 17:22–24 relevant for him (or his family). If Josiah can be indirectly introduced in Ezekiel by a chronological note, what, then, can be said about Jehoiakim who is never mentioned by name in Ezekiel? Can we assume that he is referred to in Ezek 18 as the second genera-

7 For this view, see especially Lang 1981, 102–103, 111–113. Zimmerli 1969, 424, disagrees and argues that Ezek 19:1–9 refers to the deportation of Shallum in 609 BCE and that of Jekoniah in 598 BCE. The logic in the text assumes that the lioness (= queen mother) has two whelps (= royal princes) which are destroyed, while Ezek 17:22–24, in turn, indicates a more positive attitude towards Jekoniah. In addition, there are clear linguistic parallels between Ezek 19:8–9 and Ezek 12:13 (which clearly refer to the fate of Zedekiah). Therefore, I cannot follow Zimmerli’s view. 8 For this, see more closely Laato 2015, 53–61. This implies that the dating of Ezek 40–48 to Jekoniah’s twenty-fifth year of captivity is the Jubilee year (calculated from the year of Josiah’s reform).

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tion – that is, as the son of the righteous man who began to live in a godless way? In order to understand the dynamic of three generations in Ezek 18, we must take into consideration the book of Jeremiah and its statements on Josiah and his family lines. Such a comparison may prove to be fruitful because scholars have often argued that there are connections between the theology in Jeremiah and Ezekiel even though the former followed Deuteronomistic theology and the latter the priestly theology.9 The three generations in royal line 1) Josiah, 2) his three sons Jehoiakim, Shallum, and Zedekiah, and 3) Jekoniah, the son of Jehoiakim, are treated differently in the book of Jeremiah. Josiah is regarded as a righteous king in Jer 22:15–16, which is understandable because the book of Jeremiah has traditionally been linked with the Deuteronomistic theology.10 In the case of Jehoiakim (Jer 22:13–19; 36:30–31) and Jekoniah (Jer 22:24–30), Jeremiah argues that there will be no hope for this royal line. No one from it will ever sit on the throne of Jerusalem. Instead of this doomed royal line, Shallum is treated in a more positive way in the poetic passage of Jer 22:10, but the prose interpretation in Jer 22:11–12 contains a straightforward criticism. The relationship between Zedekiah and the historical Jeremiah on the one hand, and the picture of Zedekiah given in the present form of the book of Jeremiah on the other, is a well-known interpretive problem.11 It seems to me that a more positive attitude (especially implied in Jer 32–34)12 has moved towards a negative one in the treatment of Zedekiah (especially in Jer 21).13 This being the case, it is significant that while Shallum and Zedekiah are condemned harshly in Ezekiel, they are treated more positively in Jeremiah. And, mutatis mutandis, while Jekoniah and his father are rejected and their roy-

9 At the International Society of Biblical Literature conference in 2019, held in Rome, Georg Fischer presented an important paper, “A Contest in Prophetic Mission: Ezekiel and Jeremiah,” where he discussed this problem. I collected a lot of references from his presentation. See further Raitt 1977; Leene 1995; 2000; 2001; 2014; Rom-Shiloni 2005; 2012; Rochester 2012. Scholars often seem to argue that borrowings are made from Ezekiel to Jeremiah. My evaluation is that the book of Jeremiah is multilayered (as seen from different MT and LXX versions) and there is good reason to assume that Jeremiah material which was circulated was also influential in the formation of the Ezekiel material. Nevertheless, I think scholars are right to emphasize that the present Masoretic version of Jeremiah has been influenced by the book of Ezekiel (cf. also my conclusions at the end of this article). 10 See, e.g., Weippert 1973; Thiel 1973; 1981. 11 See, e.g., the following characterizations of Zedekiah: a relatively positive picture of Zedekiah is presented in Begg 1986; a negative picture in the present form of the book of Jeremiah is argued in Stipp 1996; finally, Zedekiah is regarded as a puppet in neo-Babylonian policy in Sarna 2000. 12 In Jer 34:17–22 an explanation is given as to why the prophet’s attitude changed. 13 For this discussion, see Laato 1992, 100–103.

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al line is cursed in Jeremiah, the situation is strikingly different in Ezekiel, as can be seen in Ezek 17:22–24. In order to explain this dichotomy in the biblical traditions, there is reason to discuss the textual evidence in Jeremiah more closely and to consider the positive traditions concerning Zerubbabel (who belonged to the royal line of Jehoiakim and Jekoniah).

C. Jekoniah in the Book of Jeremiah The best way to proceed is to begin with Jer 22:24–30, which is a critical statement against Jekoniah. In this text, Jekoniah is rejected by YHWH with the statement that even if the king were a signet ring on the right hand of YHWH, YHWH would wrench it off (Jer 22:24). In terms of textual history, the verses 28–30 are interesting because the MT and the LXX differ from each other:14 Distinctive for the MT

Common to Both

Distinctive for the LXX

Is he a shoddy broken pot, this man Koniah, a crook that no one wants? Why is he ejected,

Why are he and his offspring ejected, hurled into a country they know nothing of? O land, land, land,

he knows nothing of? O land, land Listen to the word of YHWH!

YHWH says this, List this man as: childless a man who has no success in his lifetime,

man since none of his offspring will succeed in occupying the throne of David, or ruling in Judah again.

In verse 28, the LXX renders the sentence in the singular and contains no counterpart to the Masoretic readings hā’îš hazzēh and hû’ wězar‘ô. In this case, the MT’s expanded readings can be regarded as originating from v. 30, where Jekoniah is referred to as hā’îš hazzēh and where reference is also made to Jekoniah’s offspring (these words are also in LXX Jer 22:30). In verse 30, the phrases kōh ’āmar YHWH and lō’ yiṣlah běyāmāyw are absent from the LXX. The first phrase is, in fact, an unnecessary repetition since v. 29 has already established that the following material is the word of YHWH. 14 Concerning the text of Jer 22:28–30, see, e.g., McKane 1986, 546–552; Fischer 2005, 645–674, esp. 670–672.

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The second phrase is also an expansion, the aim of which was to reinterpret vv. 28–30. While the archetype for the LXX refers to the idea that no one from Jekoniah’s family will ever assume the Davidic throne, the archetype for the MT alters this idea so that Jekoniah will not live to see any of his progeny inherit the throne. This being the case, it seems that there is a tendency in the MT to shift the focus of Jeremiah’s curse onto Jekoniah’s offspring in such a way that it concerned only Jekoniah’s own lifetime.15 The later reworked interpretation seems to indicate a time when it became clear that Jekoniah’s family was the only surviving branch of the House of Josiah (see 2 Kgs 25:27–30). An additional historical detail may help to explain why the harsh criticism of Jekoniah was softened in the Masoretic Text tradition. Jekoniah’s grandson Zerubbabel was active in the building project of the second temple and expectations ran high that he could restore the dynasty of David in Judah (Hag 2:20–23; Zech 4). Haggai 2:23 seems to contain a direct allusion to Jer 22:24 (see the motif of “the signet ring”) and indicates that Zerubbabel (or at least the possibility of him restoring the dynasty of David) was opposed by the utterance of Jer 22:24– 30. In his prophecy concerning Zerubbabel (Hag 2:20–23), the prophet Haggai refers to Jer 22:24 and proclaims that Jeremiah’s words of doom against Jekoniah’s family are no longer valid because YHWH will make Zerubbabel like a signet ring. This led to the textual reworking of Jer 22:24–30. With some minor additions, the idea was introduced in the text that Jeremiah’s doom was only for the lifetime of Jekoniah and not to be an overall curse against the dynastic line of Jekoniah. Let me summarize the textual evidence as far as I understand it. The book of Jeremiah contains both positive and negative attitudes towards Zedekiah, and the only relevant assumption is that the positive has moved towards the negative. Both Jehoiakim and Jekoniah are condemned in Jeremiah, but in Jer 22:24–30, there is some later textual reworking which attempts to soften this criticism by limiting it to relate to Jekoniah’s lifetime only. Jekoniah will not see his offspring take the throne in Jerusalem, but the question of whether

15 According to Carroll 1986, 441, this anti-Jekoniah tendency is only one strand of Jeremiah because the book ends with a more positive picture of that king: Jer 52:31–34. However, this Deuteronomistic passage is not completely identical to 2 Kgs 25:27–30. At the end of Jer 52:34, there is an important addition ‘ad yôm môtô which is not preserved in 2 Kgs 25:30. This addition in Jer 52 becomes understandable in the light of Jer 22:26. Jekoniah died in Babylon as Jeremiah had predicted. In this sense, the book of Jeremiah differs from the Deuteronomistic History, where the hope that Jekoniah will return to Jerusalem and take the throne still appears to exist (2 Kgs 25:27–30 does not refer to the death of Jekoniah). It is, however, a plausible assumption that the aim of Jer 52:31–34 was to moderate Jeremiah’s proclamation of doom against the whole family of Jekoniah. Perhaps Jer 52:31–34 already contains the notion that the prophet’s doom in Jer 22:24–30 concerns only Jekoniah and was fulfilled in his lifetime.

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someone else in the coming generation will do so is left open. As far as Jer 23:5–6, 30:8–9, and 33:14–16 (this latter is not attested in the Septuagint) are concerned, it seems that the Davidic dynasty will have hope in the future and, moreover, the only surviving royal line is Jekoniah’s. Later, in the Persian period, the legitimacy of Zerubbabel was called into question on the basis of tradition which must be the judgement presented in Jer 22:24–30 (see Hag 2:20– 23). Haggai emphasizes that Zerubbabel will become a signet ring – the metaphor mentioned above which is used in Jer 22:24 to reject Jekoniah, the grandfather of Zerubbabel. This positive attitude toward Zerubbabel may have inspired the textual reworking which is visible in the Masoretic version of Jer 22:24–30.

D. Confronting Deuteronomistic Retribution Theology Next, I will deal with the question as to why both Jehoiakim and his son Jekoniah are doomed in Jeremiah traditions (and then softened in the MT version of Jeremiah). One explanation is given in Jer 22:13–19. Jehoiakim did not follow the religious reform of his father, Josiah. This reform is characterized in Jer 22:15–16 with the words: “Did he [Josiah] do justice and righteousness? He used to examine the cases of the poor and needy …” The expression “to do justice and righteousness” as well as the demand that the king must save the needy and ill-treated humans are programmatic statements in Jer 22:3 which speak about the possibility of the dynasty of David sitting on the throne of Jerusalem. The expression “to do justice and righteousness” is also used in Jer 23:5 and 33:15, which speak about the future ideal king of the Davidic dynasty.16 This characterization, therefore, can easily be related to the Deuteronomic programme which Josiah, according to 2 Kgs 22–23, performed in Jerusalem. In the present form of the book, Jeremiah is clearly regarded as a supporter of the Deuteronomic programme of Josiah. Another text which is critical towards Jehoiakim is Jer 36, which must be interpreted in the light of its parallel in Jer 26, and which is also dated to the reign of Jehoiakim. Both texts are clearly related to Deuteronomistic theology. This being the case, Jehoiakim was an example of a bad king who, according to the Deuteronomic programme, could not have received blessing in his life. Jekoniah, his son, was therefore condemned accordingly, as is expressed, for example, in Deut 5:9: “… for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and fourth generation of those who reject me.” If Deuteronomic retribution theology, according to which the son is pun16 It is worth noting that the expression appears also in the texts of royal context (2 Sam 8:15; 2 Kgs 10:9; 1 Chr 18:14; 2 Chr 9:8).

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ished for the sins of his father, explains the treatment of Jekoniah, there is no need for Jeremiah to argue what evil was committed by Jekoniah. The book of Jeremiah never mentions the details of the evil acts of Jekoniah. As Carroll rightly notes, Jekoniah was king for only three months, and only in the besieged city of Jerusalem, so he did not have much time to do bad things – and nothing which would justify criticism against him.17 Therefore, a good explanation is that Jekoniah was condemned because of the Deuteronomic retribution theology: a sinner will not have blessing in his life. Neither will his offspring. This background and perspective from Jeremiah and Haggai of Jekoniah and his family present us with a new opportunity to understand why Ezek 18 has been edited between two texts which have a royal focus. As we have already seen, Ezek 17:22–24 suggests that the positive scenario of the House of David must concern the family of Jekoniah, the only surviving line of the House of Josiah (and David) at the time of the exile (2 Kgs 25:27– 30). This positive attitude toward Jekoniah’s family is also apparent in the genealogy of David preserved in 1 Chr 3:17–24. As the episode of Zerubbabel demonstrates, the family of Jekoniah was opposed because of Jeremiah’s doom prophesy in Jer 22:24–30, which, in turn, was related to Jehoiakim’s rejection of the Deuteronomic programme. In Ezekiel, individual responsibility (see Ezek 3:17–21; 18; and 33:1–21) was an important theological cornerstone. The generation of the exile has a hope if it returns to YHWH. I am keen to interpret Ezek 18 in its literary context. I contend that the redactional position of Ezek 18 between Ezek 17 and 19 was made deliberately. How, in this interpretive scenario, can we understand the content of Ezek 18?

E. Jekoniah – A Sinner or a Son of the Sinner? In Ezek 18 the Deuteronomistic retribution theology concerning sin, responsibility, and suffering is challenged. This challenge has not been done directly because, in its present literary context, Ezek 18 has not taken an individual and his responsibility in theological focus. Instead, Ezek 18 deals with how the Davidic dynasty can continue to exist after the crisis of the exile. For this reason, Ezek 18 has the frames Ezek 17 and Ezek 19, both of which deal with Davidic kings. It was this royal focus which gave the writer the opportunity to demonstrate why Deuteronomistic retribution theology cannot be applied when the sufferings of the exile (Ezek 18:2) are discussed. First, the future of the dynasty of David as attested in Ezek 34, 37, and 40– 48 is related closely to covenantal thinking. This covenant implies that the Da17 Carroll 1986, 441: “What could a young king three months on the throne have done to warrant such hostility?”

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vidic prince must be loyal to YHWH and his priests, which parallels well the Deuteronomic ideal in Deut 17:14–20. This explains why, in the present form of the book of Ezekiel, the chronology has been calculated from the reform of Josiah (Ezek 1:1). If this is the case, the righteous father in Ezek 18 represents Josiah.18 Second, the behaviour of the righteous man is expressed four times with an idiomatic saying, “do justice and righteousness” (Ezek 18:5, 19, 21, 27), which in Jer 22:15–16 has been used about Josiah and in the programmatic exhortation to the House of David (Jer 22:3; 23:5; 33:15). Third, the question formulated in Ezek 18:19 (“Why should not the son suffer for the iniquity of the father?”) seems to refer to the retribution theology presented in Deut 5:9 and elsewhere (see also Exod 20:5; 34:7; Num 14:8). It was this Deuteronomistic retribution theology which was used to reject Jekoniah (because of his father’s sins), as I have argued. Fourth, when Ezek 17–19 is read as a larger literary unity, it becomes clear that it shares the anti-Zedekiah attitude which belongs to the later textual stratum in Jeremiah. Additionally, Ezek 17–19 does not agree with the anti-Jekoniah attitude preserved in the Jeremiah traditions. In my view, the answer of the book of Ezekiel to the anti-Jekoniah view presented in Jeremiah traditions is found in the idea of individual responsibility. Every man is responsible to YHWH for his own deeds and not for those of his father. This is illustrated in Ezek 18 by means of the relationship between father, son, and grandson. The father is depicted as righteous, the son as godless, and the grandson as the one who, seeing all the evil things done by his father, is moved to return to YHWH and follow his commandments as his grandfather had done before him. Ezekiel 18 is intentionally placed between chapters 17 and 19 because its content is connected to the problem of the continuance of the Davidic dynasty. The composer has noted in the frames (Ezek 17 and 19) that the sons of Hamutal (and Josiah), Shallum and Zedekiah, have no offspring and thus no future on the throne of Jerusalem. The only possible continuation of the House of David is through Jekoniah (Ezek 17:22–24), whose line, however, is rejected in Jeremiah traditions. By adding Ezek 18 immediately after the pro-Jekoniah pronouncements in Ezek 17:22–24, the redactor of Ezek 17–19 wanted to formulate an apology for Jekoniah who, according to traditions preserved in Jeremiah, must suffer because of his father’s sins (see Jer 22:24–30 and the curse uttered to Jehoiakim in Jer 36:30–31). If this assumption is correct, then the father, the son, and the grandson in Ezekiel 18 must stand for the Davidic

18 It is worth noting that in Ezek 17, Zedekiah is apparently criticized when he became disloyal to the Babylonian king even though he had given oath in the name of YHWH – something which follows typical vassal treaty tradition in the ancient Near East. For this, see Tsevat 1959, 199–204.

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kings: the righteous father Josiah and his evil son Jehoiakim. The grandson, who sees all the evil done by Jehoiakim, is Jekoniah. The composer of Ezek 17–19 wanted to set the curse uttered against the family of Jekoniah in Jeremiah traditions in a new light: it is possible for Jekoniah (and his offspring) to inherit the throne in Jerusalem if he (or one belonging to his family) turns from evil and follows YHWH’s commandments. The above-mentioned interpretation of Ezek 18 is possible only in its present royal context provided by Ezek 17–19. Other details in Ezek 18 indicate that it is based on older Ezekielian material (cf. Ezek 3:17–21 and 33:1–21) which has been used by the composer of Ezek 17–19 to justify the dynastic line Josiah → Jehoiakim → Jekoniah as legitimate in spite of the curse against this Davidic line in Jeremiah traditions.19 The redactional unit, Ezek 17–19, suggests that it can be read in the inner-biblical relationship with the book of Jeremiah. In such a reading, the central role of Josiah becomes apparent and he typifies the righteous king, even in Ezekiel. In addition, it shows that the theological framework of Ezek 17–19 may also have influenced the present MT version of the book of Jeremiah, where criticism against Jekoniah has been softened.

Bibliography Barth, Hermann. 1977. Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit: Israel und Assur als Thema einer produktiven Neuinterpretation der Jesajaü berlieferung. WMANT 48. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Begg, Christopher. 1986. “Zedekiah and the Servant.” ETL 62:393–398. Carroll, Robert P. 1986. Jeremiah: A Commentary. OTL. London: SCM. Fischer, Georg. 2005. Jeremia 1–35. HThKAT. Freiburg: Herder. Holladay, William L. 1986. Jeremiah 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah Chapters 1–25. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress. Laato, Antti. 1992. Josiah and David Redivivus: The Historical Josiah and the Messianic Expectations of Exilic and Postexilic Times. ConBOT 33. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. –. 2015. Guide to Biblical Chronology. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Lang, Bernhard. 1981. Kein Aufstand in Jerusalem: Die Politik des propheten Ezechiel. SBB 1. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk. Leene, Henk. 1995. “Unripe Fruit and Dull Teeth (Jer 31,29; Ez 18,2).” Pages 82–98 in Narrative and Comment: Contributions to Discourse Grammar and Biblical Hebrew Presented to Wolfgang Schneider on the Occasion of His Retirement as a Lecturer of Biblical Hebrew. Edited by Eep Talstra et al. Kampen: Kok. –. 2000. “Ezekiel and Jeremiah: Promises of Inner Renewal in Diachronic Perspective.” Pages 150–175 in Past, Present, Future: The Deuteronomistic History and the Prophets. Edited by Johannes C. de Moor and Harry F. van Rooy. OTS 44. Leiden: Brill. 19

Ezek 33:10–21 is especially important because, in that text, the expression “do justice and righteousness” has also been used (Ezek 33:14, 16, 19) and the text deals with a similar problem of suffering in exile because of parents who have sinned (Ezek 33:10).

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–. 2001. “Blowing the Same Shofar: An Intertextual Comparison of Representations of the Prophetic Role in Jeremiah and Ezekiel.” Pages 175–198 in The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist. Edited by Johannes C. de Moor. OTS 45. Leiden: Brill. –. 2014. Newness in Old Testament Prophecy: An Intertextual Study. OS 64. Leiden: Brill. Lindström, Fredrik. 1983. God and the Origin of Evil: A Contextual Analysis of Alleged Monistic Evidence in the Old Testament. ConBOT 21. Lund: Gleerup. –. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretation of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. –. 1998. Det sårbara livet: Livsförståelse och gudserfarenhet i Gamla testamentet. Lund: Arcus. Matties, Gordon H. 1989. Ezekiel 18 and the Rhetoric of Moral Discourse. SBLDS 126. Atlanta: Scholars Press. McKane, William. 1986. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah Volume 1: Introduction and Commentary on Jeremiah I–XXV. ICC. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Mein, Andrew. 2001. Ezekiel and the Ethics of Exile. Oxford Theological Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mol, Jurrien. 2009. Collective and Individual Responsibility: A Description of Corporate Personality in Ezekiel 18 and 20. Studia Semitica Neerlandica 53. Leiden: Brill. Nielsen, Kirsten. 1989. There Is Hope for a Tree: The Tree As Metaphor in Isaiah. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Raitt, Thomas M. 1977. A Theology of Exile: Judgment/Salvation in Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Philadelphia: Fortress. Rochester, Kathleen M. 2012. Prophetic Ministry in Jeremiah and Ezekiel. CBET 65. Leuven: Peeters. Rom-Shiloni, Dalit. 2005. “Facing Destruction and Exile: Inner-Biblical Exegesis in Jeremiah and Ezekiel.” ZAW 117:189–205. –. 2012. “Ezekiel and Jeremiah: What Might Stand Behind the Silence?” HEBAI 2:203–230. Sarna, Nahum. 2000. “The Abortive Insurrection in Zedekiah’s Day (Jer. 27–29).” Pages 281–294 in Studies in Biblical Interpretation. Edited by Nahum Sarna. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society. Stipp, Hermann-Josef. 1996. “Zedekiah in the Book of Jeremiah: On the Formation of a Biblical Character.” CBQ 58:627–648. Thiel, Winfried. 1973. Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25. WMANT 41. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. –. 1981. Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45. WMANT 52. NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Tsevat, Matitiahu. 1959. “The Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Vassal Oaths and the Prophet Ezekiel.” JBL 78:199–204. Weippert, Helga. 1973. Die Prosareden des Jeremiabuches. BZAW 132. Berlin: de Gruyter. Zimmerli, Walter. 1969. Ezechiel: 1. Teilband Ez 1–24. BKAT 13/1. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.

Malachi 3:13–21 and the Problem of God’s Justice in the Time of the Second Temple* Karl William Weyde In his well-informed book Suffering and Sin (1994), Fredrik Lindström discussed important aspects of God’s presence and role in situations of man’s (acute) suffering and illness, with emphasis on the individual complaint psalms in the Hebrew Bible. Lindström’s important contribution to the clarification of this topic is that divine presence, like life itself, is something that cannot be claimed, but that can only be given by God to a suffering or threatened person. Moreover, the loss of God’s presence in a life-threatening situation remains as something uncalculated and irrational.1 Closely related to these issues is the question of God’s justice: Why, in some cases, does God not manifest his willingness or ability to help his people or the needy, or to judge the wicked and evildoers? Malachi 3:13–21 is one of the texts that deal with these questions, and its message provides a significant answer, which can also affect similar questions in other prophetic books, as well as in wisdom traditions and complaint psalms, some of which Lindström examined in his study. It may therefore seem pertinent on this occasion to take a closer look at Mal 3:13–21 (Eng. 3:13–4:3).2 13

You have spoken harsh words against me, says the LORD. Yet you say, “How have we spoken against you?” 14 You have said, “It is vain to serve God. What do we profit by keeping his command or by going about as mourners before the LORD of hosts? 15 Now we count the arrogant happy; evildoers not only prosper, but when they put God to the test they escape.” 16 Then those who revered the LORD spoke with one another. The LORD took note and listened, and a book of remembrance was written before him of those who revered the LORD and thought on his name. 17 They shall be mine, says the LORD of hosts, my special possession on the day when I act, and I will spare them as parents spare their children who serve them. 18 Then once more you shall see the difference between the righteous and the wicked, between one who serves God and one who does not serve him. 19 See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the LORD of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch. 20 But for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in

* It is an honour and a pleasure to dedicate this article to Fredrik Lindström, a highly esteemed colleague and a good friend. 1 Lindström 1994, especially 65–128, 379–426. 2 English translations of Bible texts are from NRSV.

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its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall. 21 And you shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet, on the day when I act, says the LORD of hosts.

A. Malachi 3:13–21: A Peculiar Passage in the Book of Malachi The passage in Mal 3:13–21 conveys a message that focuses on the approaching day of YHWH, when he will judge the wicked and arrogant, and save the righteous – those who revere God and serve him (vv. 14, 16–21). On that day, the question of God’s justice, which the addressees have raised (vv. 14–15), will be answered. This topic does not easily connect to the five previous passages, with the exception of Mal 2:17–3:5, which deals with a similar problem (2:17) and communicates that those who break the law and do not fear YHWH will be judged (3:5).3 This point of similarity may indicate that the message in Mal 3:13–21 elaborates on that in Mal 2:17–3:5,4 and perhaps stems from a later hand.5 With regard to terminology, the passage in Mal 3:13–21 differs from the previous ones. It will be shown below that it is replete with terms and phrases that are frequently used in the Psalms and the wisdom literature, whereas the materials in the previous passages by and large connect with terminology that first and foremost occurs in the Pentateuch, to some degree in the Prophets, and only in a few instances in the Psalms and the wisdom literature.6 3

There is broad consensus among scholars that the book can be divided into six units: 1:2–5; 1:6–2:9; 2:10–16; 2:17–3:5; 3:6–12; 3:13–21. Each of them is composed of the same tripartite structure: a statement, a counter-question, and an answer to (a reason for) the initial statement. These units are framed by the superscription in 1:1 and by the additions in 3:22– 24, which conclude this book as well as the book of the Twelve Prophets. 4 Cf. Schart 1998, 295–297; Noetzel 2015, 204, 237–238. 5 See Koenen 1994, 60–67, and the arguments for this suggestion in the following paragraphs of this section. It is a matter of scholarly discussion whether Mal 3:13–21 was added only a short time after the origin of the five previous passages in the book of Malachi, or (much) later. For instance, Blenkinsopp 2006, 57–58, 71–72, 200, argues that Mal 3:13– 18(19–21) reflects the situation during the first century of Iranian control of Judah. Similarly, Wöhrle 2008, 261–262, argues that the Malachi passage reflects a social crisis in the Persian period, whereas Kessler 2011, 75–77, suggests that the whole book, including 3:13–21, originated in the late Persian period (fourth century). Others, such as Steck 1991, 53–58, 99– 106, 197, date Mal 3:13–21 to the second part of the third century, between 240 and 220 BCE. Cf. Schart 1998, 297–299, 306, who argues that the books of Jonah and Malachi were the two latest additions to what we call the book of the Twelve Prophets. 6 It is one of the characteristics of the passages in the book of Malachi that their messages make use of and combine a wide range of traditions, above all from the Pentateuch and the Prophets, and to some degree from the Psalms and the wisdom literature – thus Mal 1:2–5: mainly from the Pentateuch and the Prophets; 1:6–2:9: mainly from the Pentateuch and the

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These differences correspond to the topics in each of the previous passages: Mal 1:2–5 connects to the story of Jacob and Esau in Genesis; Mal 1:6–2:9 focuses on the priests’ failure to give correct instruction and their violation of the law and of the covenant of Levi; Mal 2:10–16 deals with mixed marriages and divorces in the light of the law; Mal 2:17–3:5 is concerned with the purification of the offerings and the coming of YHWH’s messenger; and Mal 3:6–12 asks for the gifts for the Temple, which the law requires of the people, the fulfilment of which will give “an overflowing blessing” to the land (v. 10). By comparison, in Mal 3:13–21, the contrast between the righteous and the wicked is outlined, which is also a recurring topic elsewhere, especially in the Psalms and the wisdom literature. Moreover, YHWH’s promise in Mal 3:12, “you will be a land of delight,” seems to resume the chain of thought in Mal 1:2–5: “I have loved you.” The promise in Mal 3:12 confirms that YHWH is faithful, and it forms a contrast to YHWH’s rejection of Edom, the “wicked country” (Mal 1:4) in the first passage. Thus, Mal 3:12 marks a fitting end of YHWH’s argument from history in Mal 1:2–5.7 This connection, as well as the fact that Mal 3:13–21 does not immediately follow the passage in Mal 2:17–3:5, on which it seems to elaborate, may indicate that the sixth passage is a later addition to the assumed-older materials in the book.8 In support of this suggestion, one should mention that Mal 3:13–21 gives a remarkable interpretation of the idea of YHWH’s election: in the future judgeProphets, but also from the Psalms (vv. 1, 14) and the wisdom traditions (2:5–7); 2:10–16: from the Pentateuch and the Prophets; 2:17–3:5: mainly from the Pentateuch and the Prophets (with the exception of 2:17, which comes close to ideas and terms in psalms and wisdom material); 3:6–12: from the Pentateuch and the Prophets. See further Lear 2018, 11–24; Weyde 2000, 57–65, 281–283, and the summaries of each chapter in part two; cf. also Kessler 2011, 63–66, 272–275, who, in his survey of intertextual connections in the book of Malachi, fails to mention that Mal 3:13–21 in this regard differs from the previous passages. Some of the above-mentioned characteristics are apparent in Noetzel’s detailed study, but she comments only briefly on the peculiarities of Mal 3:13–21 and connects them first and foremost to royal ideology in the Hebrew Bible and in texts from surrounding cultures, see Noetzel 2015, 211–212, and further the analysis of Mal 3:20 below. 7 Cf. Koenen 1994, 61–62; Meinhold 2006, 34, 299, as well as Snyman 2015, 155. 8 Cf. Kessler 2011, 295, who contends that Mal 3:2–3, 6, 17–21 describe stages in the events of salvation in the last days. Koenen 1994, 62–67, especially 63–64, argues that 3:2–4 and 3:13–21 are two later additions (“zwei verschiedene Fortschreibungen,” 63) to 2:17–3:1a, 5, and that the author of the former addition makes use of the idea of YHWH’s day in the latter. We find it more probable, however, that the chronology goes in the opposite direction; cf. similarly Noetzel 2015, 237–238. As for Mal 3:13–21, Wöhrle 2008, 247–251, distinguishes between a Grundschicht (vv. 13–15, 19) and later additions to it by the redactors (vv. 16, 17–18, 20–21). This assumed distinction is closely connected to his theory about different layers in the growth of the book of Malachi, which it is unnecessary to comment on for the issue discussed in this article.

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ment, only the righteous – those who serve YHWH – will be YHWH’s “special possession” (‫סגלה‬, v. 17).9 By comparison, YHWH’s assurance of his faithfulness, which is outlined in the previous passages, as well as the designation “the sons of Jacob” in 3:6, do not indicate any other understanding of the election idea than that expressed in Exod 19:5 and Deut 7:6 and 14:2, where the term ‫ סגלה‬is applied to YHWH’s chosen people as a whole. If, then, Mal 3:13–21 is a later addition, several questions arise: What function does it have? Was it added only to elaborate on Mal 2:17–3:5 and answer questions raised there? Or does the passage also respond to doubts about God’s justice, which are frequently expressed elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, especially in the Psalms and the wisdom literature, with which it shares much of its terminology? In this contribution, we shall try to answer these questions, which have attracted the attention of scholarship on the book of Malachi only to a small degree.10 It may appear fruitful to start with some further observations on the terminology in Mal 3:13–21.

B. Malachi 3:13–21: Answering Doubts about God’s Justice I. Questioning God’s Justice (Malachi 3:13–15) The complaint of the addressees, “It is vain to serve God. What (‫ )מה‬do we profit by (‫ )כי‬keeping his command or by (‫ )כי‬going about as mourners before the Lord of hosts?” (v. 14), has a remarkable parallel in Job 21:14–15, where the wicked (v. 7), in Job’s speech (cf. v.1), are quoted asking: “What (‫ )מה‬is the Almighty, that (‫ )כי‬we should serve him? And what (‫ )מה‬profit do we get if (‫)כי‬ we pray to him?” These wicked reject God and have not spoken of God aright; their plans are repugnant to Job (vv. 14, 16). Similarly, YHWH reacts negatively to the scepticism of the addressees expressed in the Malachi passage: “You have spoken harsh words against me” (v. 13). Moreover, in both texts those who complain claim that they serve (‫ )עבד‬God. The question “what … profit?” also occurs in a lament in the Psalms (Ps 30:10 [Eng. 9]), and the phrase “walk about mournfully” (v. 14) is used elsewhere in questions characteristic of laments, in which the psalmist complains

9 See Weyde 2000, 362–363; Snyman 2015, 168–169; cf. similarly Kessler 2011, 81, who correctly maintains that Mal 3:13–21 gives a new dimension (“eine neue Perspektive”) to the definition of Israel, since the passage introduces a division between the righteous and the wicked. 10 Noetzel 2015, 235–238, briefly remarks that Mal 3:13–21 concludes the discussion of the topic “YHWH’s Day” in the book of the Twelve Prophets, and that it questions the “Reziprozität von Tun und Ergehen” in the wisdom traditions.

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that YHWH has forgotten and rejected him (Pss 42:10 [Eng. 9]; 43:2; see also 38:7, 22 [Eng. 6, 21]; Job 30:28; cf. vv. 20–21). “Now we count the arrogant happy” (v. 15; cf. v. 12). The verb “count happy” (‫ אשר‬II, piel) does not occur in other prophetic texts. However, it is used in piel in Gen 30:13, Ps 72:17, Job 29:11, Prov 31:28, and Song 6:9, and in pual in Ps 41:3 (Eng. 2) and Prov 3:18. In other words, it is used mainly in psalms and wisdom traditions, and in most of these instances the verb ‫ אשר‬II characterizes persons who obey the law of YHWH.11 The addressees of Mal 3:15 cannot be included in this category, since they count the arrogant happy; therefore, their words are an offence to YHWH (v. 13). Moreover, by maintaining that evildoers prosper (‫בנה‬, niphal), the addressees hold a view that runs counter to that expressed in several passages in the Psalms and the wisdom literature: in Ps 28, the psalmist ends his prayer by expressing his belief that YHWH will break down the wicked (‫רשעים‬, v. 3) and build them up (‫בנה‬, qal) no more (v. 5). A similar confidence in divine justice is reflected in Job 22:15–19, where Eliphaz, after having spoken of the sad end of the wicked (‫ )רשעים‬and the good fortune of the righteous (‫)צדיקים‬, argues that, if Job returns to the Almighty, he will be restored (‫בנה‬, niphal, v. 23). Eliphaz’s words respond to Job’s complaint referred to above (Job 21) and they express the traditional view on the righteous and the wicked; Job is wicked, therefore he must return to the Almighty, only then will he be restored (Job 22:5, 23). However, Eliphaz’s response does not satisfy Job, who continues to complain bitterly that God does not appear (Job 23–24). Job, as well as the addressees of Mal 3:13–15, question – and even protest against – the traditional view that God judges evildoers. Finally, that evildoers escape (‫מלט‬, niphal) when they put God to the test (Mal 3:15) runs counter to what the addressees should know from history. In the wilderness their ancestors tested YHWH and put him to the proof, though they had seen his work. Consequently, they were severely punished, and later generations were admonished not to act in the same way (Ps 95:8–11). Also, the terminology in the Malachi passage comes close to that in Prov 11:21, which conveys a message in agreement with that in Ps 95: “Be assured, the wicked will not go unpunished, but those who are righteous (‫ )צדיקים‬will escape (‫מלט‬, niphal).” A similar view often occurs in descriptions of the wicked and the righteous elsewhere in the wisdom traditions.12 All these examples shed light on and emphasize the gravity in YHWH’s accusation of the addressees: “You have spoken harsh words against me” (Mal

11 See the descriptions in Pss 41:2; 72:12–14; Job 29:14; Prov 3:1; 31:13–20; Song 6:9 (“perfect,” i.e., in accordance with the law). Only in Gen 30:13 does it seem that ‫ אשר‬II is used without including the idea that the person in question (Leah) observes the law. 12 See Prov 19:5; 28:26; cf. Job 22:30; Eccl 7:26.

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3:13). Their words are in conflict with what they should know from their history and from the doctrine of retribution. However, the addressees quoted in Mal 3:14–15 are not alone with their lack of confidence in YHWH’s justice. Their view comes close to that expressed elsewhere, particularly in the wisdom traditions, but also in prophetic literature (e.g., Ps 73:3–14; Job 21:7–15; Eccl 7:15; 8:10, 14; cf. 9:2; Jer 12:1–2; Hab 1:13). Thus, problems related to YHWH’s justice had been gnawing at the people for generations and had not been solved. In the cases of Job (21; 23–24; 31) and the psalmist in Ps 73, the question of God’s justice is crucial.13 II. YHWH’s Answer (Malachi 3:17–21) The assertion that YHWH will judge the evildoers and arrogant is replete with words and phrases that are used in other, and quite different, traditions. The day (‫ )היום‬that comes will burn them up and they will be stubble (‫קש‬, v. 19): similar images are found in the Prophets, in descriptions of YHWH’s judgement of foreign peoples on YHWH’s day (Obad 18; Joel 2:5; cf. Isa 42:25). However, the plea in Ps 83:14–15 (Eng. 13–14) is also interesting, since it describes the destruction of YHWH’s enemies not only by the noun “stubble” (‫ )קש‬but also by the two verbs for “burn” (‫ בער‬and ‫)להט‬, which provide a remarkable similarity with Mal 3:19.14 Moreover, in YHWH’s judgement, the righteous will tread down the wicked, who will be ashes (‫ )אפר‬under their feet (v. 21). The noun “ashes” is also used in Ezek 28:18 to describe the king of Tyre after YHWH had judged him. Similarly, in Isa 41:2, those punished by King Cyrus, who acts on behalf of YHWH, are compared with dust (‫ )עפר‬and stubble (‫)קש‬.15 That YHWH’s destruction of the arrogant and evildoers by fire will leave them neither root nor branch (v. 19b) is imagery which resembles descriptions of punishment in other prophetic texts (e.g., Isa 5:24; Amos 2:9; Hos 9:16). However, the word combination in Mal 3:19b (‫ )שרש וענף‬connects even more to wisdom traditions, where a similar imagery refers to the destruction of the wicked (‫ רשע‬or ‫ )רשעים‬and to the enduring salvation of the righteous (‫)צדיקים‬ (Job 18:5, 16; Prov 12:3, 12; cf. Job 8:13–19; 29:18–19). This contrast, including the terminology applied to the two categories, also occurs in Mal 3:18. In 2 Sam 23:3–4, solar imagery is applied to the king (David), who rules justly: he “is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless

13

On Ps 73 and its close connection to wisdom theology, particularly to the problem of divine justice in the book of Job, see Hossfeld and Zenger 2000, 335–337, 353–354. 14 These two verbs are also parallels in Ps 106:18 and Isa 42:25. 15 The meaning of the noun ‫“( עפר‬dust”) seems to come close to that of ‫“( אפר‬ashes”), see Gen 18:27 and Job 30:19. The announcement of judgement in Isa 5:24 also makes use of several terms and much of the same imagery as used in the announcement in Mal 3:19, 21.

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morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land” (v. 4).16 After the fall of the monarchy, the closely related idea of the light that breaks forth like the dawn refers to YHWH’s intervention for the one who obeys the law and thus is righteous and fears YHWH (Isa 58:8–10; Ps 112:1, 3–4, 10). Such a man is also described in contrast to the wicked (‫רשע‬, Ps 112:10). The prediction in Mal 3:20 seems to express a similar view: “But for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness (‫ )שמש צדקה‬shall rise, with healing in its wings.”17 Further, it should be noted that the verb rise (‫)זרח‬, which in Mal 3:20 has the sun of righteousness as the subject, occurs with YHWH as the subject in Deut 33:2 and Isa 60:2, in the latter text with reference to YHWH’s light and glory, which will come for the salvation of Jerusalem (vv. 7, 10–14). Finally, in Ps 84:12 (Eng. 11), YHWH is called sun and shield. The examples connect the terminology of Mal 3:20 primarily with poetic texts, especially psalms, which all describe YHWH’s coming for salvation. Thus, the prediction of the rising of the sun of righteousness probably refers to a similar act of YHWH. The phrase “with healing in its wings” (‫ )מרפא בכנפיה‬is unique in the Hebrew Bible. However, in several psalms the imagery of wings refers to YHWH’s protection of the righteous – those who observe the law and fear YHWH’s name. In some texts, these righteous are contrasted to the godless (‫)רשעים‬, by whom they are oppressed, and they ask for YHWH’s protection (Pss 17:1–9; 36:2, 11–13 [Eng. 1, 10–12]; 61:5–6 [Eng. 4–5]; 91:4–8).18 This profile of “wings” fits well together with the reference of “healing,” which in theological contexts describes YHWH’s salvation for his people (Isa 30:26; Jer 8:15; 14:19; 33:6; cf. 2 Chr 36:16). In Mal 3:20 these two words are combined, which thus emphasizes that YHWH’s salvation for the righteous will take place. Moreover, this word combination characterizes the rising sun of righteousness, and this imagery resembles that of another unique biblical phrase, “the wings of the dawn/morning” (‫ )כנפי־שחר‬in Ps 139:9, which in this wisdom psalm refers to the rising sun.19 The survey has shown that Mal 3:13–21 is replete with terminological connections to many psalms and wisdom texts in which YHWH’s justice in relation to law observers and law breakers is at stake. In some cases, it is also

16 See also the imagery in YHWH’s promise to the throne of David in Ps 89:37–38 (Eng. 36–37); cf. Ps 72:5–7. 17 Thus, in these texts, as well as in Mal 3:20, the connection to royal ideology was weakened; cf. Weyde 2000, 374–376; Kessler 2011, 290–293. However, Noetzel 2015, 211– 236, especially 225–232, interprets many of the metaphors in Mal 3:13–21 in the light of royal ideology in surrounding cultures. 18 As for the imagery of wings with reference to YHWH’s protection, see also Deut 32:11; Pss 57:2 (Eng. 1); 63:8 (Eng. 7). 19 A similar idea and terminology occur in Job 3:9 and 41:10 (Eng. 18); see further van der Woude 1971, 835; Dommershausen 1984, 245.

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questioned and opposed. It may seem that the message in Mal 3:17–21 gives an answer to such queries. This suggestion shall be pursued when we now turn to two wisdom psalms that were not included in the discussion above: Ps 1 and Ps 119. These are of particular interest in this context since they, in their high esteem of the law, also describe a contrast between the righteous and the wicked, and refer to them by means of the same terminology as that used in the Malachi passage. Is there a connection between these texts and Mal 3:13–21?

C. Malachi 3:13–21 and Psalms 1 and 119 In his commentary on Malachi, S. D. (Fanie) Snyman comments on common concepts or themes in Mal 3:13–21 and Ps 1, the most prominent common feature perhaps being the contrast made between the righteous (‫ )צדיק‬and the wicked (‫ )רשע‬in their relationship to the torah (Ps 1:1–2, 4–5; Mal 3:18, 20). The phrases “count happy” (‫ )מאשרים‬in Mal 3:15 and “happy are” (‫ )אשרי‬in Ps 1:1 also create a link between the two texts.20 Moreover, Snyman contends that both texts have been influenced by wisdom traditions in such a way that a relationship is established, the distinction between the righteous and the wicked being the clearest piece of evidence for this relationship.21 To these correct observations one can add that the Malachi passage has even more terminological links to another wisdom psalm, Ps 119, especially in its use of other terms expressing the above-mentioned contrast. Both texts produce parallels to “righteous” and “wicked” respectively. As for one of them, the parallel between “arrogant” (‫ )זדים‬and “wicked” (‫ )רשעים‬in Mal 3:15, 18, 21 often occurs in Ps 119.22 Elsewhere, a parallel between “arrogant” (‫ )זדים‬and 20

Another conceptual point of similarity according to Snyman is the description of the wicked. In Mal 3:19 they are stubble ready to be burned; in Ps 1:4 they are likened to chaff that the wind drives away. These characteristics are close to one another in meaning, see Snyman 2015, 175–178, quotation 175. The similarities between the two texts have not attracted the same attention in some of the other recent studies of Malachi. Thus, Noetzel 2015, 214, only mentions the tree metaphors shared by both texts. Kessler 2011, 288, argues first and foremost for a connection between Ps 1 and Mal 3:22, but also mentions the plant metaphors which this psalm shares with Mal 3:13–21, and he contends, like Hossfeld and Zenger 1993, 45, that Pss 1 and 2, as a prelude to the book of Psalms, were familiar with these texts in Malachi. See similarly Hartenstein and Janowski 2012, 45–46. We shall come back to the question of the chronological relationship between Ps 1 and Mal 3:13–21 in Section D below. 21 See Snyman 2015, 178–179, who refers to the distinction between the righteous and the wicked expressed in Prov 11:21. As for other links between Mal 3:13–21 and the wisdom traditions, see Meinhold 2006, 379; Weyde 2000, 352, 369–370, and Section B above. 22 Cf. Scharbert 1977, 552. Almost half of the biblical instances of the term ‫ זדים‬are in Ps 119.

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“wicked” (‫ )רשעים‬only occurs in Isa 13:11. Moreover, in Ps 119, these two terms, just as in Mal 3:19–20, are also used in contrast to “revere/fear” (‫)ירא‬ YHWH/YHWH’s name (vv. 63, 74, 79: ‫ ;ירא‬vv. 61, 95, 110: ‫ ;רשעים‬vv. 21, 51, 69, 78, 85, 122: ‫)זדים‬. Similarly, in Prov 10:27 and Eccl 8:12–13, a contrast is established between wicked and YHWH-fearers in the description of their respective years of life. Thus, in all these occurrences, of which most are in the wisdom literature, the terms in question refer to a person’s relationship to YHWH.23 As for the phrase “evildoers”/“do evil” (‫)עשה רשעה‬, it occurs only in Mal 3:15, 19. However, the noun “evil” (‫ )רשעה‬is used fourteen times in the Hebrew Bible, in some instances in contrast to “justice” (‫)צדקה‬,24 and this usage corresponds to the frequently attested contrast between righteous (‫ )צדיק‬and wicked (‫)רשע‬, of which a great many occurrences are in the wisdom traditions, above all in Proverbs.25 The terminology in Mal 3:18–19, 21 can be included in these examples.26 Moreover, since the terms ‫ צדיק‬and ‫ רשע‬in Mal 3:18 are used in parallel with the phrases “serve God” and “not serve God” (cf. vv. 14–15), it is obvious that these two terms have a religious reference, as they also have in several instances elsewhere, above all in psalms and wisdom texts.27 The phrase “serve God” seems to be of special significance in Mal 3:13–21 because of its position in the passage. It first occurs in the complaint of the addressees (v. 14a), where it relates to their main concern – they serve God – and then the phrase recurs in YHWH’s answer to their complaint, where it concludes the first part of YHWH’s promise (v. 18). These servants of YHWH claim that they keep YHWH’s command (v. 14). Again, the terminology has parallels in Ps 119, where the speaker often calls himself the servant (‫ )עבד‬of YHWH (vv. 17, 23, 38, 49, 65, 76, 84, 122, 124, 125, 135, 140, 176).28 Being YHWH’s servant, he observes YHWH’s words, law, decrees, precepts, and statutes (vv. 14–18, 23, 31, 34, 63, 93, 124–125, 127, 135, 176). And he is a companion of those who revere [fear] YHWH (vv. 63, 74; cf. vv. 38, 79), which implies that he, YHWH’s servant, reveres [fears] YHWH (and YHWH’s name).

23

Cf. similarly Noetzel 2015, 223–224. Ezek 18:20, 27; 33:12, 19; Prov 11:5; 13:6; cf. Deut 9:4–5; 25:1–2. 25 There are more than eighty instances in the Hebrew Bible where a contrast is expressed by the terms ‫ צדיק‬and ‫רשע‬, half of which occur in Proverbs. See, e.g., Prov 10:3, 24, 30; 12:3, 12; further Ringgren 1993, 680–681. 26 Cf. Kessler 2011, 286; Snyman 2015, 170. 27 See, with particular reference to ‫רשע‬, Pss 10:3–11; 28:3–5; 37:20, 28; 68:2–3 (Eng. 1– 2); 129:4–5; 145:20; Job 8:22; Prov 10:27; Eccl 8:13, further Ringgren 1993, 679–680, 681– 682. 28 Of twenty-seven occurrences in the Psalms, where the term “servant” is used as Selbstbezeichnung, the thirteen above-mentioned are in Ps 119; cf. Ringgren 1986, 1000. 24

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This description of YHWH’s servant in Ps 119 comes close to that in the Malachi passage (Mal 3:14; cf. vv. 16, 18, 20). In other words, the contrasts between serving YHWH and revering him on the one hand, and being wicked and arrogant on the other, are expressed by the same phrases in these two texts.29 Perhaps some further observations on the phrases “servant(s) of YHWH” and “revere YHWH” in the Psalms can shed more light on their significance in the Malachi passage. This takes us to the next section.

D. Malachi 3:13–21: Responding to Complaints of YHWH’s Servants in the Psalms? In Ps 119, the phrase “revere YHWH” refers to one who obeys the law; he walks in YHWH’s ways and delights in his commandments (vv. 63, 74, 79). In several other psalms, this phrase is also connected with law observance (Pss 19:8–10 [Eng. 7–9]; 103:17–18; 112:1; 128:1).30 Similarly, according to Mal 3:14b–20, those who revere YHWH argue that they have kept his command; they have obeyed the law.31 As noted by Joseph Blenkinsopp, the designation ‫ עבד‬or ‫ עבד יהוה‬is one of the most frequent ways in which those whose voices we hear in the Psalms refer to themselves.32 We add to his observations that in almost all of these psalms the servant (or servants) of YHWH is in a state of crisis, in which he complains and prays for YHWH’s help;33 in some of the instances he is also contrasted with the wicked (Pss 27:9; 31:17 [Eng. 16]; 34:22–23 [Eng. 21–22]; 35:16–19, 27; 69:18–21 [Eng. 17–20]; 79:2, 8–10; 89:47–51; 90:13, 16; 102:15, 29 [Eng. 14, 28]; 109:20, 28–29; 143:2, 12).34 Thus, these psalms seem to reflect a situation similar to that in Mal 3:14–15, and in most cases the com-

29 A similar terminology, which refers to a contrast between the insolent (‫ )זדים‬and the servant (‫ )עבד‬of YHWH, can be found in Ps 86:2–4, 14, 16. 30 Ps 19, like Ps 119, has strong connections to late wisdom theology, see Hossfeld and Zenger 1993, 129–130, 134. 31 These YHWH-fearers are to be identified with those who are addressed and quoted in Mal 3:13–15, see Kessler 2011, 279–280. 32 See Blenkinsopp 2006, 200. In addition to the above-mentioned occurrences of “servant” in Pss 19, 86, and 119, he includes Pss 27:9; 31:17 (Eng. 16); 35:27; 69:18 (Eng. 17); 109:28; 116:16; 143:2, 12. The plural “servants” is found somewhat less frequently: 34:23 (Eng. 22); 69:37 (Eng. 36); 79:2, 10; 89:51; 90:13, 16; 102:15, 29 (Eng. 14, 28); 105:25; 113:1; 134:1; 135:1, 14 (see page 200, n. 72 in Blenkinsopp’s book). 33 Cf. Ringgren 1986, 1000. 34 Only Pss 113:1, 134:1, and 135:1, 14, in which YHWH’s servants are exhorted to bless/ praise YHWH, are without references to a situation of crisis (although in 135:14 it cannot be excluded).

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plaint or prayer is not answered.35 In this regard, Mal 3:17–21, which relates a response of YHWH, differs from the psalms. Further, it should be mentioned that the promise in Mal 3:18 is not necessarily concerned with cultic-religious issues, which means that the phrases “serve God”/“not serve God” can have a broad meaning there.36 In this regard, the terminology can also connect to the use of the term “servant” in the above-mentioned psalms. The survey of these laments shows that the doctrine of reward and retribution, which is promoted by Pss 1 and 119, was by no means undisputed. When the speaker of Ps 119:77–78 says “Let your mercy come to me, that I may live; for your law is my delight. Let the arrogant be put to shame, because they have subverted me with guile; as for me, I will meditate on your precepts,” he expresses a confidence in that doctrine which is questioned in many other psalms. The view put forward in Ps 1, that those who observe the law prosper whereas the wicked will perish, runs counter to the experiences of those who complain in the above-mentioned laments, and also of those whose voices are heard in Ps 73:3–14; Job 21:7–15; Eccl 7:15; 8:10, 14 (cf. 9:2); Jer 12:1–4; and Hab 1:12– 13. In the light of these texts, one cannot exclude the possibility that the message in Mal 3:13–21 responds to the question of God’s justice, which is often raised in the above-mentioned texts, particularly in psalms. This interpretation implies that YHWH’s promise related in Mal 3:17–21 has a further reference than only the scepticism of those who are quoted in the opening words of the passage (vv. 14–15); it also aims at trying to overcome the doubts of those who express their views in many of the psalms and wisdom texts, and whose life experiences did not go well together with the message conveyed in Ps 1. Suggesting this interpretation, we also challenge the view taken by several scholars that Ps 1 presupposes the knowledge of, and thus alludes to, Mal 3:13– 21.37 Perhaps it is the other way round, which would mean that the Malachi passage responds to and, as it may seem, amplifies the message of Ps 1 by paying attention to the experiences of the righteous, of those who revered and served YHWH, and whose belief in the doctrine of divine reward and retribution had been deeply challenged and tested.

35

It seems that only Pss 34:23 (Eng. 22), 69:37 (Eng. 36), and 102:29 (Eng. 28) explicitly relate that YHWH will redeem his servants. 36 See Ringgren 1986, 991, who, commenting on Mal 3:13–21, states: “ein kultisches Dienen ist stringent nicht erwiesen.” Cf. similarly Meinhold 2006, 361; further Kessler 2011, 276: the phrase “serve YHWH” has a broad meaning and includes both cultic and ethical aspects. 37 See, e.g., Hossfeld and Zenger 1993, 45, 48; Kessler 2011, 288; Hartenstein and Janowski 2012, 45–46.

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Responding to this crisis, the message in Mal 3:13–21 emphasizes that in the future, on the coming day when YHWH acts, those who call his justice into question shall experience that YHWH is reliable. On that day, his servants – the righteous – who obey the law shall be his special possession, his chosen people, and they shall even participate in the divine punishment of the wicked. Thus, the passage gives an eschatological answer to the frequently expressed doubt in YHWH’s justice by transferring its implementation to the coming day of YHWH. It shall be added that, by introducing this future dimension of YHWH’s judgement, the author of Mal 3:17–21 does not contradict the message of Ps 1, for the metaphor in v. 4b (“but are like chaff that the wind drives away”) can also have future connotations: the wicked will not stand in the future judgement (‫משפט‬, v. 5a), whereas the one who delights in the law of YHWH will prosper.38 A similar idea of a future judgement occurs in another wisdom psalm, Ps 73:17–28.39 Neither of these psalms, however, gives any information about the time for the implementation of the judgement; in this regard, they are rather vague and do not answer the question of when YHWH will judge. The Malachi passage clarifies the issue by connecting YHWH’s judgement of the wicked and salvation of the righteous to the coming day of YHWH. However, since the Malachi passage introduces this eschatological dimension in the description of YHWH’s actions, it also has connections with prophetic texts. This takes us to the next point.

E. The Function of Malachi 3:13–21 in the Prophetic Traditions The idea of a coming day of YHWH’s judgement and salvation occurs in several prophetic passages in which the target of the divine action is either Israel/Judah (Jerusalem) or a foreign nation (or nations), or both (Isa 2:6–22; 13:6–16;

38

See Hartenstein and Janowski 2012, 40–42: the term ‫ משפט‬can have a double reference; both to judgement in court now (Torgerichtsbarkeit) and to the final judgement (Endgericht, 42). One should note that the phrase οὐκ ἀναστήσονται (Ps 1:5) in the LXX (as well as other phrases in the Greek translation of vv. 4–6) probably refers to an eschatological judgement (rise from the dead?), see Hartenstein and Janowski 2012, 42, 48–50. Cf. Snyman 2015, 178: “there might be a hint of an eschatological judgement in Psalm 1 …, but it is difficult to decide whether a present day judgement is meant, meted out by humans, or if an eschatological judgement by God is envisaged.” 39 Cf. Hossfeld and Zenger 2000, 348–354, who emphasize the different time references that occur in Ps 73:23–24: past, presence, future. The end of the wicked will be an eschatological revelation of God’s justice (354). See also Hartenstein and Janowski 2012, 49– 50, who contend that the intertextual connection between Ps 1:5 and Ps 73:23–24 in the LXX also indicates that the Greek translation offers an eschatological interpretation of Ps 1:4–6.

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22:1–14, 15–25; 25:6–9; 26:1–11; 29:17–21; 63:1–6; Ezek 7:2–4, 5–27; 13:5; Joel 1:1–15; 2:1–11; 4:1–21 [Eng. 3:1–21]; Amos 5:18–20; 8:9–14; 9:11–15; Obad 8–15; Mic 4:1–8; Zeph 1:14–18; 2:1–3; 3:8–18; Zech 12:2–13:6; 14:1– 21). In these texts the phrase “on that day” (of judgement) is often used and, in some instances, is qualified as the day of YHWH’s indignation, wrath, and (fierce) anger, or the day of vengeance (e.g., Isa 63:4; Ezek 7:19; Zeph 2:2; 3:8); the day is coming or is near/draws near (e.g., Joel 1:15; 2:1), and “the day” can also be paralleled by terms such as “the end” and “the time” which “has come” or “is upon you” (e.g., Ezek 7:2–3, 6–7, 10, 12, 19). Malachi 3:13– 21 should be included in this cluster of texts.40 It should be noted that only a few of these passages say that, on that day, only a part of YHWH’s people will be punished (the false prophets, Ezek 13:8– 16) or saved (the remnant of Israel, Zeph 3:13; one-third, Zech 13:7–9). Of special interest is Isa 26:1–6, which relates a song of victory for the strong city, which will be sung in Judah “on that day” (v. 1). It says that the just (‫ )צדיק‬people, who trust YHWH, shall live there in peace, but that YHWH casts the lofty city to the dust and that the feet of the poor and needy trample it. This message is elaborated in the following verses, which describe a contrast between the righteous (‫ )צדיק‬who trusts in YHWH and survives, and the wicked (‫)רשע‬, who deals perversely in the land of uprightness and will be consumed by fire (vv. 7– 11).41 It appears from this survey of the texts referring to a coming day of YHWH that only Isa 26:1–11 has some points of similarity with Mal 3:13–21. However, there are other prophetic passages which describe a contrast between the righteous and the wicked without relating their future to the coming day of YHWH’s judgement and salvation.42 This contrast, which they share with Mal 3:13–21, indicates that it may appear fruitful to look at their message as well.43 40 Koenen 1994, 9–123, includes Mal 3:13–21 in another cluster of texts, in which the salvation of the righteous follows after the annihilation of the sinner. These texts are, in the order discussed by Koenen, Amos 9:7–10; Isa 29:17–21; Zeph 2:1–3, 4–7, 8–11; 3:11–13; Ezek 20:32–38; Mal 3:13–21; Ezek 34:17–22; Jer 30:23–24; Isa 56–66 (selected passages); 1:27–28; 25:1–5; 26:1–6, 7–12; 33:23–24. However, only a few of these passages connect YHWH’s future actions to YHWH’s day. It seems more appropriate to compare Mal 3:13–21 with the prophetic passages, in which YHWH’s coming day of judgement and/or salvation is a common feature. This approach includes only some of the texts that were examined by Koenen and also includes some other prophetic texts. We shall briefly comment on these texts here. 41 See also Zech 14:1–21, where it is predicted that some of the nations who came against Jerusalem shall survive the war (v. 16). 42 In some of these texts the contrast is expressed by other phrases, see the following comments. 43 Koenen 1994, 124–220; cf. 272, includes these passages in another cluster of texts,

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In Isa 3:10–11 the good fate of the righteous (‫ )צדיק‬is contrasted with the bad fate of the wicked (‫ ;)רשע‬the former are fortunate, they shall eat the fruit of their labours, whereas the latter are unfortunate, for what their hands have done shall be done to them. Similarly, the two almost identical statements in Isa 48:22 and 57:21 maintain that there is no peace for the wicked (‫)רשעים‬. Isaiah 50:10–11 describes a contrast between the one who fears (‫)ירא‬ YHWH and trusts in his name, and others who are kindlers of fire and, by YHWH’s hand, shall lie down in torment. Jeremiah 17:5–8 outlines the contrast between the blessed, who trusts in YHWH, and the cursed, who trusts in mere mortals, by applying phrases and ideas that also occur in Prov 29:25 and Pss 1:3 and 2:12. In Hos 14:10 (Eng. 9), which is the concluding verse of the book, it is stated that the ways of YHWH are right and that the upright (‫ )צדיקים‬walk on them, but that transgressors (‫ )פשעים‬stumble on them. It is asked: Who is wise (‫)חכם‬, so he understands these things? In Nah 1:2–8, it is said that YHWH in his wrath takes vengeance on his adversaries and rages against his enemies; in a day of trouble, he is good, a stronghold who protects those who take refuge in him, but makes a full end of his adversaries (vv. 2, 7–8). In this description there are terminological and theological connections to some psalms (e.g., Nah 1:2 and Ps 94:1; Nah 1:3 and Ps 18:10 [Eng. 9]; Nah 1:5 and Ps 97:4–5; Nah 1:7 and Ps 9:10–11 [Eng. 9–10]).44 Habakkuk 1:2–17 relates a lament about YHWH who is silent when the wicked (‫ )רשע‬surrounds the righteous (‫צדיק‬, v. 4) and swallows those who are more righteous than they (v. 13). To this complaint YHWH answers that he will surely judge the proud, but the righteous (‫ )צדיק‬shall live by his faith (2:2–5). In his analysis of many of the same texts, Klaus Koenen concludes that Mal 3:13–21 differs from the passages that predict salvation for the righteous after the annihilation of the sinner since it presents a contrast between righteous and wicked, which it adopted from the wisdom tradition. Moreover, he contends

which relate what always happens to the righteous and the evildoer respectively; the message of these passages is thus valid at all times and in some cases the prophetic word has been disconnected from its original historical situation. These passages are Isa 3:10–11; 48:22; 50:10–11; Jer 17:5–8; Ezek 9:1–11; 14:12–23; 18:1–32; 33:10–20; Hos 14:10; Nah 1:2–8. Koenen also includes the three chapters in the book of Habakkuk in this cluster and argues that an assumed Grundschicht of the book was later reworked and expanded in the light of the experiences during the Babylonian Exile (156–157, 163–164). However, for the purpose of our examination, it suffices to comment only on Hab 1:2–17. We also leave out the Ezekiel texts, since they first and foremost focus on the total judgement of the wicked inhabitants of Jerusalem (Ezek 9; 14), and on the possibility the wicked have to repent (Ezek 18; 33); cf. Koenen 1994, 169–184. 44 The alphabetical psalm in Nah 1:2–8 reaches a climax in verses 7–8; cf. Koenen 1994, 165–166.

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that the Malachi passage, like the wisdom tradition, makes statements that are valid at all times, but a difference is that the message in Mal 3:17–21 was connected with the idea of YHWH’s coming day of judgement and thus transformed into eschatology.45 These conclusions are in agreement with what can be concluded after our observations, but they require some supplements and modifications. On the one hand, Mal 3:13–21 draws on prophetic expectations of what will happen on YHWH’s day of punishment and salvation, including the notion that only a part of YHWH’s people will be saved on that day, which is emphasized by the unique application of the phrase “my special possession” only to the righteous (v. 17). On the other hand, the Malachi passage also has affinities to prophetic texts which outline a contrast between righteous and wicked, and convey a message of retribution and reward valid at all times. Like these texts, Mal 3:13– 21 applies terms, phrases, and images from psalms and wisdom texts, but the description also creates new word combinations, and it states that the day itself shall be instrumental in the punishment of the wicked and in the burning of them. To some extent, this image and others in the passage resemble that of the assumed-late song of victory in Isa 26:1–11.46 Malachi 3:13(16)–21 thus conveys a unique message about the future day of YHWH when he will appear and will show his justice by judging the wicked and saving the righteous. One issue requires further comments. It is related to the phrase “serve YHWH,” which, as we observed above, has a key position in Mal 3:13–21 and provides a connection with the terminology of several psalms of lament. However, its equivalent “servant of YHWH” occurs in Isa 65:6–16 and 66:14, where it refers to those who observe the law, and who are contrasted with YHWH’s enemies who do what is evil in YHWH’s sight. Are these terminological similarities significant to the interpretation of Mal 3:13–21? And is the message of the Malachi passage significant to the interpretation of the Isaiah texts?

F. Malachi 3:13–21 and Isaiah 65–66: Two Responses to the Question of God’s Justice Scholars have long since observed points of similarity between Mal 3:13–21 and Isa 65–66. For instance, in several recent studies, Joseph Blenkinsopp contends that the servants of YHWH in Mal 3:13–21 may be associated with those

45

Koenen 1994, 52–67, esp. 65–66; cf. 239. See also n. 40 and 43 above. Cf. the widespread scholarly opinion that the so-called Isaiah Apocalypse (Isaiah 24–27) contains some of the latest materials in the book of Isaiah; see, for instance, Steck (1991, 80– 83, 196), who dates the assumed-earlier parts of Isa 24–27 to the last years of the fourth century BCE. For references to recent research on these chapters, see Maier 2016, 221–222. 46

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referred to by the same designation in Isa 65:8–16 and 66:14. In the Isaiah chapters, it is stated that these servants of YHWH will escape an annihilating judgement of a rebellious people who walk in a way that is not good and who provoke YHWH continually (Isa 65:2–3). The servants of YHWH are also called YHWH’s chosen and they are the progenitors of a people who will inherit the land and settle there (Isa 65:9). YHWH’s promise to them, especially the words in Isa 65:13–14, is perhaps a response to the taunt directed at those who tremble (‫ )חרדים‬at YHWH’s word (Isa 66:5). This would imply that the titles “my [YHWH’s] servants” and “those who tremble” are alternative designations for the same people. The future salvation of YHWH’s servants is contrasted with the bad fate of those who forsake YHWH, who are also called his enemies (Isa 66:6, 14). In Ezra 9:4 and 10:3, the word “tremble” identifies Ezra’s support group in his rejection of intermarriage (Ezra 9–10), and it may be that these tremblers are the same as those mentioned in Isa 66:5. According to Blenkinsopp, Mal 3:13–18(19–21) is roughly contemporary with Isa 65–66 and Ezra 9–10. The passages reflect tensions in Judah (Yehud) in the mid-fifth or early fourth century BCE. However, one cannot exclude the possibility that Isa 65–66 and Mal 3:13–21 reflect later situations, perhaps in the end of the fourth or the beginning of the third century BCE.47 Another common feature is that the servants of YHWH described in Mal 3:13–21 and Isa 65–66 observe the law. In Mal 3:14 their law observance is explicitly expressed, whereas in Isa 65:3–16 it is presupposed since YHWH’s servants are contrasted with those who worship other gods and whose cult practice is condemned. There are, however, differences between the messages of Isa 65:8–16 and Mal 3:13–21, which imply that the servants of YHWH are described from different perspectives. While their inheritance of the land and its peace and richness is a central issue in the former text (Isa 65:9–10; cf. 66:10–14), the question of God’s justice is at stake in the latter.48 The passages in Isa 65–66 respond to the complaint about the destroyed land, its city and temple, which is recorded in Isa 63:17–18 and 64:7–11, and the servants are promised a repossession of the land.49 These responses constitute the last of several, slightly dif47 See Blenkinsopp 2006, 57–58, 71–72, 199–200, and especially Blenkinsopp 2009, 196– 204, where he discusses whether these texts are “suggestive of early Second Temple sectarianism or quasi-sectarianism” (201). On the other hand, Steck 1991, 56, 91–106, 197, contends that Isa 65–66 was added to the Isaiah materials between 302/301 and 270 BCE, and that Mal 3:13–21 was added to the other Malachi passages between 240 and 220 BCE. As for the discussion of the date of Mal 3:13–21, see also n. 5 above. 48 Moreover, Mal 3:13–21 has nothing to say about the future of other peoples, which is a central issue in Isa 66:18–24 (and Zech 12–14); cf. Kessler 2011, 298–299. 49 Cf. recently Tiemeyer 2014b, 57–70, especially 67–69, who contends that the joint text

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ferent reactions to the complaint: first a positive one (Isa 60:1–63:6), and then a critical voice (Isa 65–66).50 It is generally agreed that the two last chapters in Isaiah clearly connect with topics from Isa 40 onwards and provide an editorial summary of chapters 40–66.51 The future of the servants of YHWH described in Isa 65 fits well with the view held by, for instance, Joseph Blenkinsopp that there is affinity between these servants and the servants who are referred to in many psalms, most clearly in evidence in those psalms which focus on the repossession of the land and the rebuilding and restoration of Zion (Pss 69:36–37 [Eng. 35–36]; 102:13–17, 29 [Eng. 12–16, 28]; Isa 65:9).52 Several passages in Isa 65 explicitly state that YHWH’s servants will remain in their land. This new future includes the restoration of the cult, the joint participation of YHWH’s servants and foreigners in the temple worship, and the judgement of YHWH’s enemies. They will be punished by YHWH, he will deal retribution to them, he will come in fire, and he will pay back his anger in fury (Isa 65:8–16; 66:5–6, 12–14, 15–17, 18– 21). In this description it seems that YHWH alone will execute judgement without including his servants in his actions. of Isa 63:7–66:24 dialogues with an intended audience and acknowledges their thoughts, yet tries to convince them that their understanding of reality and of God is incorrect (65:1–2): they, rather than God, are responsible for their situation. Tiemeyer also argues that the lament in Isa 63:7–64:11 is the referential text of other materials in Isa 56–66 as well as in 40–55; she pays special attention to the short laments of (Daughter) Zion in chapters 49–55 (esp. 49:14–24), and maintains that several passages there seek to provide answers to important questions in these laments, such as: Why is God silent? Why has he left his city in ruins? Why does God appear unwilling to save his people? Different voices complain about the same matters. Thus, the authors of Isa 49–55 aimed at responding to the type of complaints voiced by the lament in 63:7–64:11 and to the key theological issues that it raises. Their answer is that God will indeed save those who lament if they live their lives in accordance with his will. 50 Tiemeyer 2014b, 58–60, 64; see also 60–63 for her view on the chronological relationship between Isa 59:1–15; 60:1–63:6; and 63:7–64:11. Cf. also Isa 57, where the righteous are contrasted with the wicked (vv. 1, 20), and where it is said that whoever takes refuge in YHWH shall possess the land and inherit YHWH’s holy mountain (v. 13), whereas the wicked will be judged (v. 21). 51 Moreover, there is broad consensus among scholars that Isa 65–66 forms the editorial conclusion(s) of the book of Isaiah as a whole and connects with chapters 1–2. See, for instance, Steck 1991, 29–30, 91–99; Paul 2012, 590–591, 609–611; cf. Stromberg 2011, 51– 52, 67, 248–249; Berges 2012a, 41, 451, 483–484, 501–502, 504, 508, 512–513; Berges 2012b, 82–87; Tiemeyer 2014a, 34–35. 52 Blenkinsopp 2006, 200–201; cf. Berges 2000, 1–18. Moreover, Blenkinsopp 2006, 197– 198, contends that Isa 65–66 gives the final answer to the question of the fate and identity of the servant, which is a topic that prevails through the materials in Isa 40–55 and 56–66. Cf. also Simian-Yofre 1986, 1003–1010; further Zehnder 2014, 276–277, who shows that there are clear differences between the servants in Isa 56–66 as compared to the servant in Isa 40– 55.

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By comparison, the passage in Mal 3:13–21 deals with doubt in God’s justice, which is expressed by the righteous, those who serve YHWH. Its message connects to a central topic in the psalms, in which YHWH’s servants lament that YHWH is hidden and does not answer their complaint. As observed in the previous sections, its message also has connections to wisdom texts and prophetic traditions which convey a similar disbelief in God’s justice. The Malachi passage responds to the despair of YHWH’s servants and to their doubt in YHWH. It conveys the message that, on the coming day of YHWH, they shall be his possession and experience his salvation, and they shall even participate in the judgement of the wicked and tread them down (Mal 3:21). Thus, two voices are heard in Mal 3:13–21 and Isa 65–66, which focus on different aspects of the future of YHWH’s servants. However, they converge in the idea that those who observe the law, YHWH’s servants, will continue to be YHWH’s elected and survive his judgement of the wicked.53 As argued in Section A, Mal 3:13–21 is a later addition to the other passages in the book of Malachi. Perhaps the analysis above can shed light on our next question: Who produced this passage?

G. Malachi 3:13–21 and Its Place in Second Temple Theology In search of an answer, we shall once again briefly comment on the other assumed-older materials in the book of Malachi. If scholars are right in contending that they originated among the cultic personnel at the Second Temple in Jerusalem, presumably among the priests54 who lived in the same theological environment as the author of the book of Chronicles,55 one should ask whether

53

That two texts portray different aspects of the same topic – and also give different answers to questions raised in them – is a phenomenon which is not restricted to Isa 65 and Mal 3:13–21. It also happens, for instance, in Isa 62:1–7 and Ps 45, where the descriptions of Zion as royal figure, as bride and queen, have several aspects in common. However, the path Zion takes in order to gain her high status differs in these two texts; they “show two ways to overcome the past, to reach a new future, two ways for Zion to become queen” (see Körting 2014, 103–123, quotation on 123). 54 This is a debated issue in recent research, to which different answers have been given, see, e.g., Schaper 2004, 180–182, 185–187: the passages in Malachi stem from dissident priests, who were antagonists of the Zadokite priests; Kessler 2011, 79–80: the passages originated among preachers and interpreters of the traditions, presumably the Levites; similarly, Nogalski 2016, 208–212. Weyde 2015, 248–250, contends that the Malachi passages originated among either priests or Levites. 55 An argument in support of this interpretation is the mode of expression in the superscription in Mal 1:1, which has several parallels in the terminology of Chronicles; see Weyde 2000, 58–61, 63–64.

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these circles were also responsible for producing Mal 3:13–21. Some arguments may point in that direction. First, this cultic personnel, which is described in the book of Chronicles, was not only in charge of conducting the sacrifices but also of song and music (1 Chr 16:4–36; 25:1–7), and of teaching: they spoke and gave instructions with prophetic authority, since, on certain occasions, the spirit of YHWH came upon a priest or a Levite who then, like the prophets earlier, introduced a message by saying “thus says YHWH” (2 Chr 20:14–19). It is explicitly stated that the Levites were the prophets of the Chronicler’s time (2 Chr 34:30; cf. the parallel in 2 Kgs 23:2).56 These cultic leaders based their words on a variety of traditions.57 Second, the problem of theodicy is also at stake in Chronicles, the author of which based his solution on a particular concept of divine justice: it is the sinner who is punished and the righteous man who is rewarded. Every human being is responsible for how he conducts his life.58 Moreover, retribution in Chronicles has a forward-looking or eschatological character; it is basically a call to repentance and hope in YHWH’s restoration.59 In line with these doctrines, the author of Mal 3:13–21 responds to those who questioned their truth: YHWH’s servants, who keep his command, are righteous and will survive on the coming day of YHWH’s judgement of the wicked. His answer expresses a theology, which is compatible with central views in Chronicles. These features may suggest that Mal 3:13–21 originated in the same milieu as Chronicles. Its author applied a variety of traditions,60 as did the author of Chronicles, in order to respond to those who doubted in YHWH’s justice and expressed their disbelief in him. And this task was carried out with prophetic authority, as indicated by the frequently repeated formula “says YHWH” (Mal 3:13, 17, 19, 21). By inserting this formula, the author linked Mal 3:13–21 to the previous passages in the book.61 A significant theological implication of the above analysis is that Mal 3:13– 21 gives evidence of the strong prophetic authority in post-exilic Jerusalem, which is also attested in Chronicles. The passage provides solutions to problematic and disputed aspects of God’s justice in relation to his law-abiding servants, to which the Psalms and the wisdom traditions may seem to give no clear

56

Cf. Labahn 2012, 242–248; Ben Zvi 2019, 421–426. See, for instance, how different traditions are used and combined in the song of the Asaphites recorded in 1 Chr 16:7–36. See further Labahn 2012, 242–248 et passim. On the teaching activity of the Levites as presented in Chronicles, see Weyde 2000, 63–67. 58 On this concern in Chronicles, see Japhet 1997, 150–165, especially 162–165; see also Ben Zvi 2019, 395–398; cf. 359–360. 59 See Kelly 1996, 156–185, 225–233, 236–237; Ben Zvi 2019, 376–386. 60 Cf. Sections A and B above. 61 See the frequent occurrences of formulas marking divine speech in Mal 1:2 (twice), 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14; 2:2, 4, 8, 16; 3:1, 5, 7, 10, 11, 12. 57

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answer. Its message is that an enduring good relationship of YHWH’s servants to YHWH is based on their observance of the law. If they take this path, they will survive on the coming day of judgement when YHWH acts, and they will be his special possession. YHWH will not only spare them but will also let them take part in his punishment of the wicked. Isaiah 65–66 adds another aspect to this promise: YHWH’s servants will repossess the land and participate in a restored cult on Zion together with foreigners who worship YHWH. Similarly, the late passage in Isa 26:1–11 focuses on the good future of the righteous and the punishment of the wicked. Finally, it is probably not without significance that Isa 65–66 forms the (editorial) conclusion(s) of the book of Isaiah,62 and that Mal 3:13–21 is the last passage in the book of Malachi. Their literary position emphasizes the importance of their message and may indicate a mounting tension between the righteous and the wicked in the time of the Second Temple. Whether this situation reflects the Persian or the Hellenistic period,63 these texts as well as the abovementioned examples from Chronicles not only confirm that the prophetic authority remained strong but also that prophetic voices contributed significant solutions to central issues in the YHWH religion of their time.

H. Summary The question of God’s justice was crucial and called for a solution in the time of the Second Temple. The question occurs, among others, in Mal 2:17–3:5, where it was met with the announcement of the coming day of the appearance of YHWH’s messenger (Mal 3:1–2), who is to purify the leaders of the Jerusalem temple cult. After that, YHWH will come and judge those who have violated the law and not feared YHWH (Mal 3:3–5). The passage in Mal 3:13–21 adds further dimensions to these issues by giving more information on what will happen on the day when YHWH acts (vv. 17–21): it focuses on those who will be saved – those who revere (fear) YHWH and serve him. They shall be his special possession. Passages in other prophetic books also predict the salvation of the righteous and the punishment of the wicked on the coming day of YHWH. This idea is developed in Mal 3:13–21, which elaborates on the contrast between the wicked and the righteous. A similar contrast occurs in some prophetic texts as well, but more often in the Psalms and the wisdom tradition, especially in Pss 1 and 119, with which Mal 3:13–21 shares much of its terminology. In the

62

Cf. the discussion of Isa 65–66 in Section F above (esp. n. 51, 52). Cf. the different dates that have been suggested for these passages in Sections A, E, and F above (esp. n. 5, 46, 47). 63

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Malachi passage, this contrast is connected with the idea of the coming day of YHWH’s judgement and salvation. Thus, the contrast between righteous and wicked became part of the eschatological message. Another peculiarity is that YHWH’s judgement will include the active participation of YHWH’s servants in the destruction of the wicked. Conveying this message, Mal 3:13–21 also responds to the question of God’s justice which is often raised in the Psalms (in laments, as well as in other psalms). However, these texts give an ambiguous answer to that question. There are points of similarity between this passage and the (editorial) materials in Isa 65–66, which contributes a solution of its own to the problem of God’s justice by promising the restoration of Zion and the repossession of the land by YHWH’s servants. By comparison, Mal 3:13–21 emphasizes that God’s justice will be apparent on the coming day of judgement and salvation, when YHWH (God) will act. This message implicitly presupposes that every man is responsible for obeying YHWH’s command (Mal 3:13–15) and will be rewarded according to this principle, which is in line with a central doctrine in the book of Chronicles. Malachi 3:13–21 probably originated among priests and Levites in the Second Temple and provides an example of their prophetic authority, which is also a central idea in Chronicles. In their instruction and preaching, this temple personnel interpreted the law and other traditions in order to answer questions such as those about God’s justice and the future of his servants.

Bibliography Ben Zvi, Ehud. 2019. Social Memory Among the Literati of Yehud. BZAW 509. Berlin: de Gruyter. Berges, Ulrich F. 2000. “Who Were the Servants? A Comparative Inquiry in the Book of Isaiah and the Psalms.” Pages 1–18 in Past, Present, Future: The Deuteronomistic History and the Prophets. OtSt 44. Edited by Johannes C. De Moor and Harry F. van Rooy. Leiden: Brill. –. 2012a. The Book of Isaiah: Its Composition and Final Form. Translated by Millard C. Lind. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1998. Hebrew Bible Monographs 46. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. –. 2012b. Isaiah: The Prophet and His Book. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Blenkinsopp, Joseph. 2006. Opening the Sealed Book: Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. –. 2009. Judaism: The First Phase: The Place of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Origins of Judaism. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Dommershausen, Werner. 1984. “‫כּנָ ף‬.” ָ Columns 243–246 in ThWAT IV. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Hartenstein, Friedhelm and Bernd Janowski. 2012. Psalmen. BKAT XV/1,1. NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlagsgesellschaft.

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Hossfeld, Frank-Lothar and Erich Zenger. 1993. Die Psalmen I: Psalm 1–50. Die Neue Echter Bibel. Würzburg: Echter. –. 2000. Psalmen 51–100: Übersetzt und ausgelegt. HThKAT. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder. Japhet, Sara. 1997. The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought. BEATAJ 9. Frankfurt am Main: Lang. Kelly, Brian E. 1996. Retribution and Eschatology in Chronicles. JSOTSup 211. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Kessler, Rainer. 2011. Maleachi: Übersetzt und ausgelegt. HThKAT. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder. Koenen, Klaus. 1994. Heil den Gerechten – Unheil den Sündern! Ein Beitrag zur Theologie der Prophetenbücher. BZAW 229. Berlin: de Gruyter. Körting, Corinna. 2014. “Isaiah 62:1–7 and Psalm 45 – or – Two Ways to Become Queen.” Pages 103–123 in Continuity and Discontinuity: Chronological and Thematic Development in Isaiah 40–66. FRLANT 255. Edited by Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer and Hans M. Barstad. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Labahn, Antje. 2012. Levitischer Herrschaftsanspruch zwischen Ausübung und Konstruktion: Studien zum multi-funktionalen Levitenbild der Chronik und seiner Identitätsbildung in der Zeit des Zweiten Tempels. WMANT 131. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlagsgesellschaft. Lear, Sheree. 2018. Scribal Composition: Malachi as a Test Case. FRLANT 270. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Maier, Michael P. 2016. Völkerwallfahrt im Jesajabuch. BZAW 474. Berlin: de Gruyter. Meinhold, Arndt. 2006. Maleachi. BKAT XIV/8. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Noetzel, Jutta. 2015. Maleachi, ein Hermeneut. BZAW 467. Berlin: de Gruyter. Nogalski, James. 2016. “How Does Malachi’s ‘Book of Remembrance’ Function for the Cultic Elite?” Pages 191–212 in Priests and Cults in the Book of the Twelve. Edited by LenaSofia Tiemeyer. Ancient Near Eastern Monographs 14. Atlanta, GA: SBL Press. Paul, Shalom M. 2012. Isaiah 40–66: Translation and Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Ringgren, Helmer. 1986. “‫ע ַבד‬.” ַ Columns 982–997, 999–1003 in ThWAT V. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. –. 1993. “‫ר ַשׁע‬.” ָ Columns 675–684 in ThWAT VII. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Schaper, Joachim L. 2004. “The Priests in the Book of Malachi and their Opponents.” Pages 177–188 in The Priests in the Prophets: The Portrayal of Priests, Prophets and Other Religious Specialists in the Latter Prophets. Edited by Lester L. Grabbe and Alice O. Bellis. JSOTSup 408. London: T&T Clark. Scharbert, Josef. 1977. “‫*זוּד‬.” Columns 550–556 in ThWAT II. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Schart, Aaron. 1998. Die Entstehung des Zwölfprophetenbuchs: Neubearbeitungen von Amos im Rahmen schriftenübergreifender Redaktionsprozesse. BZAW 260. Berlin: de Gruyter. Simian-Yofre, Horacio. 1986. “‫ע ַבד‬.” ַ Columns 1003–1010 in ThWAT V. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Snyman, S. D. (Fanie). 2015. Malachi. HCOT. Leuven: Peeters. Steck, Odil Hannes. 1991. Der Abschluß der Prophetie im Alten Testament: Ein Versuch zur Frage der Vorgeschichte des Kanons. BThSt 17. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Stromberg, Jacob. 2011. Isaiah After Exile: The Author of Third Isaiah as Reader and Redactor of the Book. Oxford Theological Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Tiemeyer, Lena-Sofia. 2014a. “Continuity and Discontinuity in Isaiah 40–66: History of Research.” Pages 13–40 in Continuity and Discontinuity: Chronological and Thematic Development in Isaiah 40–66. Edited by Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer and Hans M. Barstad. FRLANT 255. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. –. 2014b. “The Lament in Isaiah 63:7–64:11 and Its Literary and Theological Place in Isaiah 40–66.” Pages 52–70 in The Book of Isaiah: Enduring Questions Answered Anew. Essays Honoring Joseph Blenkinsopp and His Contribution to the Study of Isaiah. Edited by Richard J. Bautch and J. Todd Hibbard. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Weyde, Karl William. 2000. Prophecy and Teaching: Prophetic Authority, Form Problems, and the Use of Traditions in the Book of Malachi. BZAW 288. Berlin: de Gruyter. –. 2015. “The Priests and the Descendants of Levi in the Book of Malachi.” AcT 35:238– 253. Woude, Adam Simon van der. 1971. “‫כּנָ ף‬.” ָ Columns 833–836 in THAT I. Munich: Kaiser. Wöhrle, Jakob. 2008. Der Abschluss des Zwölfprophetenbuches: Buchübergreifende Redaktionsprozesse in den späten Sammlungen. BZAW 389. Berlin: de Gruyter. Zehnder, Markus. 2014. “The Enigmatic Figure of the ‘Servant of the Lord’: Observations on the Relationship Between the ‘Servant of the Lord’ in Isaiah 40–55 and Other Salvific Figures in the Hebrew Bible.” Pages 231–282 in New Studies in the Book of Isaiah: Essays in Honor of Hallvard Hagelia. Edited by Markus Zehnder. PHSC 21. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias.

Simul Justus et Peccator Suffering and Sin in Lamentations Else Holt For a long time, Lamentations 3 has been considered by Old Testament scholars to be a form-critical, redaction-critical, and theological outsider in the book of Lamentations. Many commentators have focused on the male speaker’s higher consciousness of sin and repentance as opposed to the lamenting female voice. In this article, I shall discuss this understanding of Lam 3, then present a renewed reading of the poem, and conclude with a discussion of the balance between justified suffering and overwhelming (unjustified?) suffering in Lam 3, seen through the lens of trauma. About twenty-five years ago, after the publication of his magisterial dissertation, Fredrik Lindström and I discussed how best to approach the matter of theology of the Old Testament texts, especially, of course, in the book of Psalms. I, for my part, advocated an approach that took the final form of the text as its point of departure and its core issue. I was hesitant about the very detailed, “verified” results presented through redaction critical studies and wanted to stick to the object we indubitably possess: the text in its final form. Not surprisingly, Lindström, on the other hand, strongly supported an approach that took the growth of the texts, the Fortschreibung, into consideration. That way, he claimed, scholars would be able to identify and describe the theologies hidden behind the final form of the psalm, and thus have access to more than one theology, the theology of the psalm in its final form. In retrospect, I admit that Lindström was not totally off course. Recognizing the diverse theological layers of a text adds to the understanding of the dynamics of the text, its development, and the various historical impetuses that over time have influenced the implied users of the text. All this is very valuable from a heuristic perspective. This notwithstanding, in the present article I want to concentrate on the final form of our core text, Lam 3. This might seem a daring project. One of the most influential expositions, Claus Westermann’s Die Klagelieder from 1988, argues for a redactional development of the text which consists of three independent parts: 1) an individual lament psalm, vv. 1–25 with a fragmentary closing vv. 64–66; 2) a fragmentary national lament, vv. 42–51; and 3) a fragmented individual psalm of praise, vv. 52–58. To the three main parts are added two “Erweiterungen,” vv. 26–41 and 59–63. Both additions refer to the individual

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lament, and for Westermann this referentiality indicates that the lament is defining for the entire poem.1 A number of scholars follow Westermann,2 while others urge an original literary coherence.3 Many scholars, however, agree that Lam 3 differs theologically from the surrounding chapters with its alleged focus on sin and repentance, and with its male speaking voice as a corrective to the lamenting female voice(s) of chapters 1–2 and 4. Whether this is the case is the question explored in the reading of Lam 3 that forms the core of this article.

A. The Nature of Acrostics I share the point of view that Lam 3 is a coherent literary unit. There are different reasons for that. First of all, as an acrostic, Lam 3 presents itself as a poetic unity, woven together by the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet, each used (and thus emphasized) in the three verses of each stanza.4 Consequently, even if different form critical genres can be identified in the poem, as did Westermann, the complete poetic form points to a unified origin. According to Westermann, the acrostic is artificial (“künstlich”) and thus should not be taken into consideration.5 Westermann does not argue for this comprehension, however, and two simple questions emerge to the reader: Who would have written an original half acrostic with a peculiar form (stanzas of three verses per letter) and using only the first 8 (9) letters ‘aleph-ḥet/ṭet (vv. 1–25) plus possibly the last, tau (vv. 64– 66)?6 Why leave out the letters ṭet/yod-sin/shin? Secondly, if the now average conception of the growth of Lamentations is correct, and I believe it is, then chapter 3 is created as a comment on the surrounding four poems in Lamentations,7 of which poems 1–2 and 4 are alphabetic acrostics, while poem 5 has twenty-two stanzas, the number of the letters in the Hebrew alphabet. This makes Westermann’s remark about an “artificial” (and thus trivial) literary form even more peculiar. If weighed against each other, should not the overall acrostic character of the poems weigh heavier in the assessment of Lam 3 than different form critical Gattungen, the existence of which can easily be explained otherwise? Elie Assis has analysed the function of the acrostics in Lamentations. In his view the acrostics are, indeed, not 1

Westermann 1990, 141–142. See, e.g., Middlemas 2006. 3 See, e.g., O’Connor 2002, 46; Morrow 2007, 112. 4 On the acrostics in Lamentations, see, e.g., Assis 2007. 5 Westermann 1990, 142. 6 Cf. Westermann’s form critical division, see above. Another peculiarity in Westermann’s form critical division is the inclusion of the first ṭet-verse, v. 25, which in my opinion is more naturally read as part of the paraenesis, vv. 25–33 and 34–39. 7 Cf., e.g., Middlemas 2006. 2

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“künstlich.” On the contrary. Assis refers to a plethora of scholars who understand the acrostics in Lamentations, and especially in Lam 3, as literary conveyors of meaning: the ordered and fixed alphabet contrasts with the destruction of the temple (Kenneth C. Hanson). The author used an alphabetic acrostic in order to focus the message of the book (Bo Johnson). The author’s objective was to control and to give form to the poems since there is no clear progression of thought, and the acrostic structure delimits and shapes the material and is designed as a literary means, intended to emphasize the first part of each line (Delbert R. Hillers). And finally, F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp notes that the acrostic gives a feeling of dynamism and direction.8 Adele Berlin’s overall opinion of the poems in Lamentations can be added to Assis’s list: It is perhaps a sublime literary touch that the poems of this book, which express the inexpressible, use such a formal and rigid style, whose controlling structural device is the very letters that signify and give shape to language. The world order of Lamentations has been disrupted; no order exists any longer in the real world. But as if to counteract this chaos, the poet has constructed his own linguistic order that he marks out graphically for us by the orderly progression of the letters of the alphabet.9

For Assis himself, the acrostics in Lamentations testify to an author’s (or authors’) artistic intentionality. “Lamentations is anything but spontaneous,” he asserts.10 He describes “the very purpose of the acrostic form” as a means … employed in order to create an unparalleled tension between the deep emotional mode and the contemplated structure, with the aim of conveying the idea that, contrary to the genre of dirges, Lamentations is a rational reflection on the horrifying situation. The acrostic form was adopted so that the book would interact with the reader not only on an emotional level but on a rational one as well. The atmosphere of contemplation expressed through acrostics is meant to lead the reader to uncover a message and meaning beyond the deep expression of pain.11

For Assis, then, Lamentations is an artistic – but not an artificial, “künstlich” – composition. The poems are not emotional outbursts, but intellectual reflections: The acrostic structure is designed to characterize the poetry in the book as balanced and well thought out. This need derives from the contrast between the Book of Lamentations and the genre to which the laments belong, a type of poem characterized by emotional outburst, associative thoughts, sorrow, and weeping that cannot be restricted or constrained. The author or authors of Lamentations created tension between form and content in order to transmit to the

8

References in Assis 2007, 713–714. Berlin 2002. 10 Assis 2007, 718. 11 Assis 2007, 717–718 (my emphasis). 9

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reader the feeling that understanding the book depends not only on emotional identification with what is described but also, as with any other poetry, on analysis and study of the poem.12

In this way, Assis acknowledges the intellectual connection to wisdom thinking in Lam 3 especially. But in my opinion, he underestimates the importance of the veins of pain in the poems, “the emotional outburst, associative thoughts, sorrow, and weeping that cannot be restricted or constrained,” to quote his own description.

B. The Nature of Lamentations 3 The above arguments lead us to the third consideration, that of the dynamics between Lam 3 and the surrounding poems, Lam 1–2; 4, and 5. Jill Middlemas sums up the discussion as follows: The parenetic section [i.e., Lam 3:19–39] is distinguished in two ways from the rest of the poems: through the portrait of the deity as divine savior rather than as divine warrior and by the inclusion of a paradigmatic figure whose message is the redemptive nature of suffering like that more commonly associated with the suffering servant of Deutero-Isaiah. Taken together, these factors support Westermann’s contention that the third poem derives from a different hand from the rest of the material.13

The difference between Lam 1–2 and 3 is especially emphasized in the volume that was my own first introduction to the study of the book of Lamentations, Tod Linafelt’s short but important monograph Surviving Lamentations from 2000.14 Linafelt focuses on the voice of Zion in the first two poems as a text that is … more about the expression of suffering than the meaning behind it, more about the vicissitudes of survival than the abstractions of sin and guilt, and more about protest as a religious posture than capitulation of confession.15

By this focus, Linafelt hopes to “counteract the pervasive devaluing of chapters 1 and 2 in favor of chapter 3.” He writes: Claims that suffering is a punishment for sin or that a submissive spirit is more important than the voicing of pain and grief have become, at the end of the twentieth century … increasingly untenable, if not patently indefensible.16

12

Assis 2007, 719. Middlemas 2005, 183. Middlemas refers to Westermann 1990, 65–71, and to her later article of 2006. 14 Linafelt 2000. 15 Linafelt 2000, 4; Linafelt’s emphases. 16 Linafelt 2000, 4. 13

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Linafelt’s aim is to move the focus of the understanding of the whole book of Lamentations from a theology of submission and repentance to a theology that voices pain and grief, a female theology so to speak, embodied in the figure of Daughter Zion.17 He accuses his predecessors – from Kraus and Gottwald to Plöger, Westermann, and Hillers – of “valuing lament only insofar as it leads to something that is less strident and mournful, and more conciliatory and hopeful,” and of emphasizing “an attitude of submission, which then is presented as a model of behavior for readers both ancient and modern.”18 Hereby, he makes an important contribution to a theology that embraces the legitimacy of suffering for the believer. But at the same time, he silences the voice of the man (Hebrew haggeber) who struggles to understand his fate in Lam 3. I concur with the first aim, to encourage a theology that makes space for lament and pain, and I agree that the voices of despair should be privileged for a while in scholarship and in Old Testament theology (and as convincingly demonstrated by Linafelt, the twain cannot be separated). However, I also believe that the voice of the geber has the right to be heard and to be reinterpreted.19 Therefore, in the following, I shall present my reading of Lam 3 without much reference to my predecessors, trying to find a fresh approach to the mindset of the man of the poem. The hermeneutical points of departure for my reading of the text and theology of Lam 3 are as follows: 1) Lamentations 3 is a unified poem, written in response to Lam 1–2, 4, and 5 by a single author. 2) The author of Lam 3 uses the form and language of already well-known genres (cf. Westermann) to articulate his theological considerations and message. 3) The author of Lam 3 is part of an intellectual milieu, different from that of the surrounding poems, but close to that of Ps 51.

This leads to a preliminary dating of Lam 3 as later than that of the surrounding poems and closer to the community of returnees after 520 BCE. But it would be unwise to be more precise than that and, at the end of the day, the dating is of minor importance to the understanding of the theological message.

17

Cf. Mandolfo 2007. Linafelt 2000, 11–12. Linafelt is especially disappointed with Westermann, who in an excursus in Klagelieder “maintains a strong advocacy for the significance of lament language in its own right” but who “in his own writing of chapters 1 and 2 is hardly less pious sounding and conciliatory toward God than those of previous scholars. … Westermann links the hope for reconciliation with an admission of guilt” (Linafelt 2000, 14–15). 19 In what follows, I am partly inspired by Middlemas 2021. 18

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C. Lamentations 3: A Reading I. ‘anî haggeber – I Am the Man (Lamentations 3:1–20) The two words that open Lam 3, ‘anî haggeber, “I am the Strongman/the hero,” brusquely introduce the antithesis and the correspondence to the previous main voice, that of vulnerable Daughter Zion: “I am the strong man, but I, too, was hurt by God.”20 In heavily metaphoric language, he describes how God did not protect him like he was supposed to do as the geber’s personal protective deity. He speaks of his personal experience,21 starting every verse in the first stanza (vv. 1–3) with a reference to the first-person speaker: ‘anî, I, ‘ôtî, me, ‘ak bî, thus against me. Verses 1–3 form an inclusio that emphasizes God’s maltreatment of the lamenter: A1 (v. 1) he makes me suffer B (v. 2) he makes me sit in darkness A2 (v. 3) he turns against me

This introduction sets the tone for the remainder of the chapter: the lamenter sits in a darkness imposed on him by God. The following stanzas (vv. 4–9) are governed by first person references, too: 4

He has made my flesh and my skin waste away, and broken my bones; 5 he has besieged and enveloped me with bitterness and tribulation; 6 he has made me sit in darkness like the dead of long ago.

20 According to Elizabeth Boase, the “change of voice in chapter 3 foregrounds a different realm of suffering. The descriptions of Daughter Zion in Lam 1 emphasize the interior wounding of rape and violation, while Lam 3 emphasizes the exterior wounding of weapons, imprisonment, and torture (3:1–19). This represents a movement from the domestic to the public, from the citizenry to the military, from predominantly female suffering to male suffering” (Boase 2016, 59). 21 Throughout the history of research, efforts have been made to identify the geber; for an overview, see Renkema 1998, 348–352. I concur with Renkema that the geber is not a single individual but represents a collective personality, “a representative of the people who have been forced to endure all of this affliction” (Renkema 1998, 352). The geber functions as the implied speaker, the literary persona of Lam 3, understood not as a historical person but as the anonymous male voice of the suffering. However, I disagree with Renkema’s dating of Lam 3 in near proximity to the events in 587 BCE, understanding the geber to be an eyewitness to the events. He does embody “the devout individuals who are tormented by their experiences, questions and doubts,” as Renkema writes (351), but this does not necessarily mean that the author himself experienced the fall of Jerusalem. Lamentations 3 is rather an example of voicing the memory of communal trauma; see Holt 2014. But we will hardly ever be able to identify the historical author.

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7

He has walled me about so that I cannot escape; he has put heavy chains on me; 8 though I call and cry for help, he shuts out my prayer; 9 he has blocked my ways with hewn stones, he has made my paths crooked.22

The verses are mapped by metaphors from the domain of confinement. The geber is starved and tortured (v. 4), besieged and enveloped (v. 5), he sits in darkness (v. 6), is walled in and chained (v. 7), his ways are blocked (v. 9), and his captivator does not even listen to his prayers of deliverance (v. 8). Structurally, the part of the pericope that uses primary metaphors of incarceration23 (vv. 5–9) is enveloped by terms of confinement: A1 (v. 5) besieged and enveloped B1 (v. 6) sits in darkness A2 (v. 7) walled in and chained B2 (v. 8) unheard A3 (v. 9) ways blocked with hewn stones

Ironically, while the lamenter is shut in, his prayers are shut out by God. Thus, the lamenter metaphorically appears as helplessly confined in the darkness of distress and misery, kept within the walls of divine abandonment. The following verses transfer the scene from the indoors to the outdoor space. Verses 10–11 present God as a lurking predator who has torn its prey and then left it helpless, while vv. 12–13 paint the picture of God as an archer, practicing his skills and aiming against the geber who is dehumanized and turned into a target for his arrows. Verse 14 stands alone, complaining that the geber has “become the laughingstock of all my people.”24 However, the mocking of the geber by his neighbours seems to be prompted by God’s attacks on him.25 Verses 15–16 apply metaphors from the domain of eating and drinking: 15

He has filled me (hiśbî‘ānî) with bitterness, he has sated me (hirwānî) with wormwood. 16 He has made my teeth grind on gravel, and made me cower (hikpîšānî) in dust26 (‘eper).

22 All translations from the Hebrew Bible are according to NRSV unless otherwise indicated. 23 The imagery of sickness in v. 4 is attributed to and explicated by the governing metaphor of incarceration in vv. 5–9. The geber is sick as a consequence of his incarceration. 24 The stanzas are paratactic; this means that the connection between the statements is not explicated but must be inferred from the context. Cf. Adele Berlin: “The connection between lines is implicit but unmarked, or marked ambiguously” and “parataxis makes determining the relationships difficult, because paratactic lines resist connection” (Berlin 2002, 5). 25 Cf., e.g., the mocking of the lamenter by his neighbours in Ps 22:7–9. 26 NRSV: “ashes.” I translate “dust” as a parallel to “gravel,” v. 16a.

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What God makes the geber eat and drink is not healthy and fulfilling but destroying and deadly; it is not the nice sharing of a meal among friends in the dining room, but a force-fed meal. In v. 16, the metaphor evolves to explication: all the force-feeding is a matter of humiliation and suppression. Poetic parallelization, like in the surrounding verses, persists in this verse through the hendiadys, gravel and ashes, that links the metaphoric vehicle and target: he who is forced to allow his teeth to grind on gravel is as utterly humiliated as he who cowers in dust. The final four verses of the pericope (vv. 17–19) sum up the result of God’s misdeeds; the geber ponders his misfortune over and again, his life is miserable, for he cannot help but think it over so that his soul despairs. This section conveys deeply felt despondency and lack of potency. It is a poetic characteristic of the pericope that there is a structural discrepancy between the stanzas, indicated by the triple acrostic, and the meaning bearing subsections, indicated by metaphors. The triple acrostic stanzas are vv. 10– 12, 13–15, 16–18, and 19–21. As demonstrated above, the meaning bearing subsections are shorter: vv. 10–11, God as predator; vv. 12–13, God as an archer; v. 14, human mockery; vv. 15–16, divine force-feeding; and vv. 17–20, the geber’s personal misery. The pace of the poem intensifies into staccato accusations and description of the geber’s situation. The poetic form discloses a clash between the orderly mode of expression and the poet’s inner turmoil. The aspired balance fails to prevail, and the poem is marked by disruption, also present in the spill-over of meaning from one acrostic stanza to the next in a kind of enjambment of meaning, as shown by Berlin. She understands “the ‘enjambment’ of ideas and images across the alphabetic boundaries” as “a counterweight to the formal structuring of the acrostic” which “keeps the poem moving forward.”27 I want to take her argument further and claim that the disruption points to an underlying sense of loss of meaning, characteristic of traumatization. I shall return to this in the final part of this article. Some interpreters understand Lam 3:1–21 or parts thereof as shaped in the imagery of the good shepherd and as a reversal of Ps 23. Pierre J. P. van Hecke claims that the first six verses may appropriately be called an “anti-psalm 23.”28 Based on detailed linguistic and metaphoric analysis, he argues that Lam 3 is an intentional revision/reversal of Ps 23 by the authors of Lamentations: Rather than reacting overtly and directly against the twenty-third psalm, e.g., by stating explicitly that God was no longer the people’s shepherd, the authors carefully chose their wording and themes, subtly but unmistakably making allusions to the psalm.

Berlin goes one step further, claiming that the “shepherd-verses” comprise of Lam 3:1–13:29 27

Berlin 2002, 85. van Hecke 2002, 264. 29 With reference to Hillers 1992, 124, but without reference to van Hecke. 28

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God, the shepherd of this chapter, is the antithesis of the good shepherd. He has a rod that harms, that forces the sheep into dark places. The sheep feels walled in, imprisoned, caught in a maze, unable to find a straight path. God himself is the bear and the lion endangering the sheep. Instead of shooting the wild animals, God shoots the sheep.30

Berlin, however, continues by interpreting this bad shepherding to be a metaphor for being exiled. Lamentations 3:1–21 is “best understood as a poetic representation of the forced march into exile,” she writes.31 She refers to the presentation of prisoners of war in Neo-Assyrian texts and reliefs which “typically show the male captives with their hands, and sometimes their feet, bound in chains.” Berlin paraphrases Bustenay Oded, according to whom “the depictions are an artistic convention to represent the submission of the captives.” “Lamentations 3 may be a literary counterpoint,” she continues, “where similar conventional descriptions are used to dramatize the misery of the exiles from their own point of view.”32 Thus, for Berlin, there is an overflow from the shepherd metaphor to the harsh realities of forced migration. In my opinion, however, the governing metaphor of vv. 4–9 is that of confinement in a dungeon, as shown above, and not, or not only, that of bad shepherding, as also emphasized by Renkema.33 It might, of course, very well be a matter of blended metaphors – van Hecke’s results are rather persuasive – but it would be too far reaching to claim that the imagery is based on practical experience by the author. The basic message in Lam 3:1–20 is that YHWH as an individual, personal God (not primarily as the national God) has failed to be the guardian of the geber as he might be expected to be. Instead, he has turned into his enemy who discloses himself as a bad shepherd, a jailer, a wild animal, and, in the end, as a disappointing God. The desolation enunciated in the last part of the lament pre-empts and leads toward the considerations in vv. 21–33 about God’s everlasting characteristics and qualities (his “Eigenschaften,” so to speak). The memory of his affliction and homelessness (zǝkor ‘onyî ûmrûdî, v. 19) haunts the lamenter and is unavoidable, so that he must think over his loss of confidence in God without end. It makes him sick, but there is no way around it. II. The Steadfast Love of the LORD Never Ceases (Lamentations 3:21–33) The second section, Lam 3:21–33, has the loss of hope and confidence as its point of departure. In a section fraught with dogmatic assertions, the geber tries to convince himself about God’s steadfast love and mercy in spite of the punishment that he has received. The division into the separate subsections is hard 30

Berlin 2002, 86. Berlin 2002, 86. 32 Berlin 2002, 87. 33 Cf. Renkema 1998, 252–264. 31

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to determine as there is a spill-over of content between vv. 24 and 25, but I venture to suggest an enveloped structure of the pericope: A1 (vv. 21–24) I will wait34 for the Lord because of his loyalty (ḥesed)35 and mercifulness. B (vv. 25–30) Description of the God-fearing and obedient person. A2 (vv. 31–33) Declarations of God’s everlasting mercy.

The reports in this section of the geber’s deliberative mind encircle the dogmatic affirmations about God’s ḥesed and mercy. Thus, the fearful mind with its awareness of the severe punishment is still the focus of the text but now it is coloured by two additional issues: God’s mercy and the reception and acceptance of divine discipline. Of the three subsections, B is the largest, consisting of six verses, and its focus is on the benefit of discipline. This thought world of punishment as good for the faithful, resembles the thought world of the socalled psalms of the ṣaddiqîm (the righteous), for example, Pss 73 and 141.36 The idea that punishment is good for you and is a duty, though not the delight, of the good parent (father) might seem puzzling in today’s world, but it is rather important in this group of psalms, as it also is elsewhere. As programmatically phrased in Prov 13:24: “Those who spare the rod hate their children, but those who love them are diligent to discipline them.”37 That God’s punishment is a part of his nurturing of the people is also evident from, for example, Hos 2 and Amos 4:4–13, where his withdrawal of water and food is understood as a means of discipline that should make the people return to God. I understand Lam 3:25–30 on the backdrop of this comprehension: “Do sit down and wait patiently for God’s punishment to stop. It is good for you, and God punishes out of his love and mercifulness.” The geber tries to persuade himself to show patience and endurance during his tribulations and to console himself that the punishment will not endure forever, for “the Lord is good to those who wait for him” (Lam 3:25). And then he adds (subsection C): 32

Although [God] causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love (ḥasdô); 33 for he does not willingly (millibbô) afflict or grieve anyone.

34 Subsection A1 is a circle construction: the verb ‘ôḥîl, “I will wait,” governs the first and the last verses (21 and 24) in the subsection and binds it together as an “envelope”construction. Likewise, zôt ‘ašîb el libbî (v. 21) and ‘omrâ nafšî (v. 24) are parallels. In the centre of the envelope are assertions of God’s qualities. Thus, subsection A1 displays the same structure as section II at large. 35 Following Glueck, I understand ḥesed as a description of “die gemeinschaftgemäße Verhaltungsweise Gottes.” Put shortly: God’s loyalty (Glueck 1961, 35, et passim). 36 Levin 1993; cf. Holt 2019. 37 Cf. Prov 13:1: “A wise child loves discipline, but a scoffer does not listen to rebuke.”

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The pain is at the centre of the section (subsection B), but grief is surrounded by a sought-for confidence in the promises of God’s merciful deeds (subsections A and C). The pain, then, is not turned down; it is still there and must be waited out. The lament is legitimate (as urged by Linafelt concerning Lam 1–2) and the section does not contain any admittance of guilt or proclamation of penitence. Hope is not based on rightful action by the human. Hope relies on God’s character as a God of grace and loyalty. This proclamation of hope stands at the exact centre of the chapter and emphatically adds hope (against hope?) to the proclamation of pain so important in the entire collection of poems. I disagree with Westermann and Morrow that the intent of Lam 3 is influenced by a Deuteronomistic theology of sin and suffering.38 Here, at the centre of the poem, trust in divine forgiveness outdoes the confession of guilt. III. Is It Not from the Mouth of the Most High That Good and Bad Come? (Lamentations 3:34–41) The trust in God’s grace permeates section III (Lam 3:34–41) as well, but as opposed to sections I and II, there is also a focus on the righteousness of the punishment. This is put in more general terms than the preceding lament, talking about “all the prisoners of the land” (v. 34) and “a man”39 as representing humans as such. Section III consists of three interrelated subsections that lead from pious affirmations of God’s judicial omniscience via his right to punish to a call to return: A (vv. 34–37) YHWH knows about all punishments meted out B (vv. 38–39) Isn’t YHWH behind all punishment? C (vv. 40–41) Let us return to God

Like in section I (vv. 1–20) in particular, we find an enjambment of meaning spilling over from one acrostic subsection to the next. At the same time, the triple acrostic subsections are held together by grammatical form, in vv. 34–36 by three construct infinitives with lamed; in vv. 37–39 by two rhetorical questions enveloping a proclamation; and in vv. 40–41 by two cohortatives: “let us …”40 Thus, the clash between the inner turmoil and the outward calm that we saw in section I appears, but this time it is restrained by the admission of 38

Morrow 2007, 112, with reference to Westermann 1990, 180. See also O’Connor 2002,

52. 39

geber v. 34, ‘ādām v. 35, geber and ‘ādām v. 39. The transition from individual use of the noun geber to the collective at this place points to the representative character of the speaking voice of Lam 3, haggeber. 40 I understand the third nûn-verse as belonging to the following section, Lam 3:42–55 (57).

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guilt which leads to the call to self-examination and return to God. The clash is suggestive of the following section, Lam 3:42–52, to which I shall return below. Here in section III, we recognize the well-known theology of sin-and-suffering causality pronounced by the lamenter. This theology, the theology of Deuteronomy and Job’s friends, justifies God’s deeds and leads to the confession of sin in vv. 40–41. The nexus between sin and punishment (leading to suffering) is also explicit in a few psalms, of which Ps 51, a late individual psalm of penitence, is exemplary: 4

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. 5 For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. 6 Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are justified in your sentence and blameless when you pass judgment. 7 Indeed, I was born guilty, a sinner when my mother conceived me. 8 You desire truth in the inward being; therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart. 9 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.41

By the means of duplication through poetic parallelism, the supplicant confesses his transgressions and emphasizes the justice of God’s punishment. The completeness of his sinfulness is expressed through cultic language (“wash me, cleanse me, purge me”) and through the structure of the pericope. The petition for cleansing envelops the confessions of sinfulness and the contrast between human sin and divine righteousness, which is at the very centre of the pericope.42 As opposed to Lam 3, Ps 51 does not utter any kind of lament, only admission of sin and trust in God’s will to cleanse and forgive and thus transform the supplicant’s life. But the same confidence in God’s forgiveness of sins lies beneath Lam 3:40–41: 40

Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord. 41 Let us lift up our hearts as well as our hands to God in heaven.

After having acknowledged the justice of God’s punishment (v. 40), the lamenter calls for the congregation to pray for forgiveness (v. 41). The lamenter urges the audience/community, introduced for the first time in the poem in vv. 34–39, to a collective act of confession and prayer, believing that their prayers

41 42

Verse-count according to the MT. For an exegetical analysis of Ps 51, see Holt 2017.

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will be heard. The same transition of focus from the individual to the collective can be identified in Ps 51 where the supplicant vows to “teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you” (Ps 51:15–17).43 Kathleen M. O’Connor claims that when the geber indirectly chides his compatriots for complaining through his use of rhetorical questions in vv. 37– 39, “he has forgotten his own lengthy complaint at the poem’s beginning (3:1– 19).”44 This might very well be the case. But if it is so, in the following section he forgets his own scolding of the neighbours as fast as he forgot his lament. The consolation that stems from God’s righteousness does not last long. IV. You Have Not Forgiven (Lamentations 3:42–54) Section IV re-tells the story of the affliction, returning to the genre of lament. This time, though, the lament is a combination of collective and individual lament.45 This duality exposes the duality of the implied speaker, the persona that embodies the suffering of the people, recorded from a male perspective. Verse 42 prosaically describes the situation: “We have transgressed and rebelled | and you have not forgiven.” Verse 42a takes the consequences of the call to return in vv. 40–41, admitting to the people’s sinfulness, while v. 42b establishes that God did not forgive. The two half-verses follow an identical pattern with emphasis on the subject through the personal pronoun. Renkema translates efficaciously: “We, we have sinned and were rebellious; you, you have not forgiven!”46 This proclamation is a severe accusation in continuation of the description of the divine ḥesed and mercy in the preceding sections. The lamenter expected God to forgive, but he did not forgive.47 The way God withheld his forgiveness is unfolded in the following twelve verses. In semantics

43 The second part of the individual lament Ps 22 (Ps 22:22b–32) also broadens the focus from the individual’s lament to his inclusion of the congregation, of all humanity both dead and alive, even of the whole universe in his praise for God’s salvation. 44 O’Connor 2002, 52. 45 Westermann divides section 4 into two parts, vv. 42–51 as a fragmented Volksklage (communal lament) and vv. 52–58 as the torso of a narrative praise (Dankpsalm). (Westermann 1990, 152–156). As far as I can see, the fragmentation of both speaks against Westermann’s classification. 46 Renkema 1998, 430, 432. 47 Renkema emphasizes the absurdity of God’s attitude: “… at the level of content there is evidence here of profound disappointment contained within the significance and context of √‫ סלח‬in the OT. … Indeed, the verb is not used for mutual forgiveness between human persons; ‫סלח‬, to forgive is specifically God’s work, and to such an extent that the ‘forgiving disposition’ can be referred to as a divine characteristic. God forgives with pleasure [cf. Ps 865, 1033, 1304, Isa 554] and it is a rare (and mostly late) occasion, therefore, that we find mention of his apparent refusal to forgive [cf. Deut 2919, II Kgs 244, Jer 57]. The present colon is one of those rare examples” (Renkema 1998, 432).

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and metaphors close to that of the lament genre in the book of Psalms, the geber describes God’s responsibility for, and failure to intervene in, the calamities that have struck him and the people. After the introduction (v. 42) follows an avalanche of accusations: God, you have wrapped yourself in anger, so that no prayer can pass through (v. 43–44); you have made us filth among the nations (v. 45); you have made us spoil (vv. 46–47, the metaphoric domain is hunting). After that follows a description of the geber’s emotion (vv. 48–51) which is caused by God’s absence. The geber cries without ceasing because of the destruction of his people (bat ‘ammî).48 Verses 52–53 resume the imagery of hunting down and add the gruesome image of stoning. And finally, everything is summed up in the repetition of the water imagery: “Water closed over my head; I said, ‘I am lost’” (v. 54). Verses 55–57 form the coda of the section. As a follow up to the declaration of hopelessness in v. 42 (“you have not forgiven”) and the accusations of divine unconcern in vv. 43–54, the geber now speaks about the conversion of the situation: 55

I called on your name, O Lord, from the depths of the pit; 56 you heard my plea, “Do not close your ear to my cry for help, but give me relief!” 57 You came near when I called on you; you said, “Do not fear!”

Interestingly, there is no declaration of guilt, only a lengthy prayer for hearing. In his destitution, the geber calls out to God and God hears him. The message of this small passage, then, is that, at the end of the day, God will hear the pleading voice of the suffering. Verses 55–57, thus, are very close to the genre of thanksgiving but also, according to Renkema, “just as strikingly to that of the prayer of supplication found in Israel’s liturgy.”49 This is the background for the closing section of Lam 3. V. Pay Them Back for Their Deeds, O Lord (Lamentations 3:58–66) Being assured that God has heard his prayers, the geber (who has seized the use of the noun after v. 39) turns directly to God. Following the Septuagint and the Peshitta, many modern translations and commentators translate the qatal-forms (perfects) of vv. 55–57 and 58–63 as representations of the past, recounting how God has already taken up the geber’s cause and redeemed his life.50 48

Verses 48–49 and 52 are reminiscent of God’s lament in Jer 8:23 and the extant water imagery in Ps 42. 49 Renkema 1998, 450. He continues: “Once again the community is able to hear her actual experience translated into more classical terminology since the language of the liturgy is, by its very nature, more open to such use.” 50 According to Westermann, vv. 52–58 have “einen Aufbau, der den berichtenden

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Renkema, however, argues that since the water is still up to the geber’s neck (3:54),51 one should not be misled by the perfects in 355–63 and interpret the liberation as (at least partially) a thing of the past. … Indeed the perfects in the present text can just as well signify present meaning … allowing us to understand the entire text as a prayer beginning with expressions of faith on the basis of which the ‫ גֶּ ֶבר‬has consistently appealed to the heart of YHWH. He is confident that YHWH will hear, see and save.52

Thus, the closing prayer for justice and revenge over the enemies can be understood as a prayer for future intervention from God (so the Authorized Danish Translation from 1992) or, following Renkema, as a description of the present situation first, “You, Adonai, battle always for my soul …” (vv. 58–63), and then as a prayer, “You shall pay them back, O YHWH …” (vv. 64–66).53 By any means, the geber’s lament ends with a note of confidence in YHWH’s power and readiness to use it for the sake of the people, personified by the geber. This confidence rises from the theology of mercifulness and loyalty, claimed and reclaimed throughout the lament. The geber seems to have been able to persuade himself of trustworthiness of the older traditions of God’s redemptive acts, and as is the case in the closing of Lam 4 (4:21–22) and in the so-called Oracles against the Nations in prophetic literature, fantasies of revenge help restore or keep up the spirit of the downtrodden.

D. The Nature of Trauma in Lamentations 3 My reading of Lam 3 suggests that the geber is less penitent and more brokenhearted than generally acknowledged by earlier commentators. The clash between the ordered acrostic structure and the inner turmoil points to a process that mirrors an attempt to cope with the loss of a religious compass – in other words, a (failed?) search for theodicy. Thus, as indicated by recent scholarship, Lam 3 can be understood as trauma literature.54 The loss is experienced as the people’s communal trauma, represented in the poem by the geber’s desolation and bewilderment. Lamentations 3 oscillates between despair and willed trust Lobpsalmen (Dankpsalmen) Satz für Satz enspricht” (Westermann 1990, 154). In the following three verses (59–61), “[die] Formulierung mit dem dreimalige ‘du hast …’ schließt diese Versgruppe ganz eng an den ebenso formulierte V. 58 an: ‘Du hast mein Leben erlöst!’” (Westermann 1990, 156). 51 Renkema understands Lam 3:55–60 as one unit (Canticle IV): “Prayer to YHWH” (Renkema 1998, 449). In my opinion, however, his considerations are effective also with a diffe rent perception of units. 52 Renkema 1998, 450. 53 Renkema 1998, 456–473. 54 See, e.g., O’Connor 2002; Boase 2014; 2016.

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in the traditional and ritual assurances of God’s mercy and ḥesed. Only in a few instances do we find confessions of sin. Lament of the harshness of the punishment is far more fundamental than confession, despair far more fundamental than trust. Only the last two sections of the poem express trust in divine interference. But there, the focus is not on the withdrawal of the punishment; rather, the relief comes through the punishment of the enemies. It is as if the geber transmits the identification of the evildoer from God to the human (anonymous) enemy. He cannot cope with the enormity of the loss of divine protection; God must hear his prayers, for there is no one else to appeal to. Even the punishment, as unrightfully overwhelming as it is, must be a token of divine providence, for “it is good for you to bear the yoke in youth, to sit alone in silence when the Lord has imposed it” (vv. 26–27). Elizabeth Boase has identified this phenomenon as “educative theodicy.” 55 In a later article,56 Boase describes the voices of the book of Lamentations as “fragmented,” thus, as argued above, as chaotic and bewildered. The fragmentations point to a “fragmented victim community.” According to Boase, the trajectory from Lam 1 to 5, including the change of speaking voices from the “neutral” narrator and Daughter Zion in Lam 1–2, via the masculine voice of the geber in Lam 3 to the collective lament of Lam 5, indicates that “the poetry of Lamentations draws the fragmented victim community together as a unified whole.”57 The reestablishment of a fragmented community is one of the main reasons for creating literature like Lamentations.58 Lamentations is trauma narrative, or – as phrased by Tod Linafelt – “Survival Literature,” i.e., literature that helps you survive the insufferable, comprehend the incomprehensible, and make sense of the insensible.59 Building on Jeffrey C. Alexander’s theory of collective trauma,60 Boase identifies the attribution of responsibility for an experienced trauma, in the case of Lamentations the fall of Jerusalem and its temple, as another of the “representations necessary in the creation of a compelling trauma narrative.”61 In Lamentations, “primary responsibility is placed in the hands of God” and “God is described not only as causing the wounding – the trauma – but also as continuing to inflict suffering through the failure to see and respond to the people and refusing to forgive.”62 As seen above, the responsibility is not only ascribed to God; the geber, the personification of the people, 55

Boase 2008, 463–464. Boase 2016. 57 Boase 2016, 60. 58 Not, as claimed by Morrow, to explain away and rationalize the suffering, see 209 above. 59 Cf. Linafelt 2000. 60 Alexander 2012. 61 Boase 2016, 60. 62 Boase 2016, 61. 56

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must also bear some responsibility. But the responsibility is protested in the opening lament of Lam 3:1–20, and God’s punishment is declared far too harsh and out of character in Lam 3:42–54, just like in the preceding chapters of Lamentations, where Daughter Zion insists on her weeping and wailing.63 The message of Lam 3, then, is not the existence of a just balance between sin and suffering. On the contrary. The geber may be a sinner – peccator – but in Lam 3 he also claims the right to be a just accuser of a God who has failed, and even continues to fail, to live up to his responsibility as a God of personal and communal protection, the God of ḥesed and mercy. At the end of the day, big boys do cry.

Bibliography Alexander, Jeffrey C. 2012. Trauma: A Social Theory. Cambridge: Polity. Assis, Elie. 2007. “The Alphabetic Acrostic in the Book of Lamentations.” CBQ 69:710–724. Berlin, Adele. 2002. Lamentations: A Commentary. OTL. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Boase, Elizabeth. 2008. “Constructing Meaning in the Face of Suffering: Theodicy in Lamentations.” VT 58:449–468. –. 2014. “The Traumatized Body: Communal Trauma and Somatization in Lamentations.” Pages 162–176 in Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond. Edited by Eve-Marie Becker, Jan Dochhorn, and Else Kragelund Holt. Studia Aarhusiana Neotestamentica 2. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. –. 2016. “Fragmented Voices: Collective Identity and Traumatization in Lamentations.” Pages 49–66 in Bible Through the Lens of Trauma. Edited by Elizabeth Boase and Christopher G. Frechette. Atlanta: SBL. Glueck, Nelson. 1961. Das Wort Ḥesed im alttestamentlichen Sprachgebrauche als menschliche und göttliche gemeinschaftgemässe Verhaltungsweise. Zweite unveränderte Auflage. Berlin: Töpelmann. Hecke, Pierre J. P. van. 2002. “Lamentations 3,1–6: An Anti-Psalm 23.” SJOT 16:264–282. Hillers, Delbert R. 1992. Lamentations. AB 7A. New York: Doubleday. Holt, Else K. 2014. “Daughter Zion: Trauma, Cultural Memory and Gender in OT Poetics.” Pages 162–176 in Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond. Edited by Eve-Marie Becker, Jan Dochhorn, and Else Kragelund Holt. Studia Aarhusiana Neotestamentica 2. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. –. 2017. “Psalm 51 as a Penitential Prayer: Exegetical Remarks.” Pages 110–121 in Functions of Psalms and Prayers in the Late Second Temple Period. Edited by Mika S. Pajunen and Jeremy Penner. BZAW 468. Berlin: de Gruyter. –. 2019. “‘Let the righteous strike me; let the faithful correct me’: Psalm 141 and the Enclave of the Ṣaddiqîm.” SJOT 33:185–202.

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Cf. Linafelt 2000, 35–61.

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Levin, Christoph. 1993. “Das Gebetbuch der Gerechten: Literargeschichtliche Beobachtungen am Psalter.” Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 90:355–381. Linafelt, Tod. 2000. Surviving Lamentations: Catastrophe, Lament, and Protest in the Afterlife of a Biblical Book. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mandolfo, Carleen R. 2007. Daughter Zion Talks Back to the Prophets: A Dialogic Theology of the Book of Lamentations. Semeia Studies 58. Atlanta: SBL Press. Middlemas, Jill. 2005. The Troubles of Templeless Judah. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2006. “Did Second Isaiah Write Lamentations III?” VT 56:505–525. –. 2021. “Thi din ulykke er stor som havet: Klagesangene og håb.” Pages 377–396 in Gud og os: Teologiske læsninger af Det Gamle Testamente i det 21. århundrede. Edited by Anne Katrine Gudme and Jan Dietrich. Copenhagen: Bibelselskabets forlag. Morrow, William S. 2007. Protest Against God: The Eclipse of a Biblical Tradition. HBM 4. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. O’Connor, Kathleen M. 2002. Lamentations and the Tears of the World. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Renkema, Johan 1998. Lamentations. HCOT. Leuven: Peeters. Westermann, Claus 1990. Die Klagelieder: Forschungsgeschichte und Auslegung. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.

“Give Light to My Eyes” Psalm 13 Through the Eyes of Some Commentators LarsOlov Eriksson A. Introduction Many years ago, I had an encounter with a woman in the western part of Ethiopia. I met her outside a small village church. She was poor, and her husband was severely ill. It is no exaggeration to say that her suffering was written all over her appearance, but there was one exception: her eyes were shining. Radiantly shining. In her suffering, she had experienced how her eyes were given light, and this was no doubt a consequence of her having had her prayers answered. Suffering can show itself in many ways, so also prayers out of suffering. The biblical language of suffering is in one way very varied but, at the same time, it is also repetitious. Words, petitions, descriptions recur when the biblical authors talk about suffering or refer to suffering. All this can easily be seen in the complaint psalms in the Old Testament, and in the following article, I want to study one of these expressions, a unique prayer in Ps 13 – a prayer that relates to the encounter described above – that YHWH would give light to the eyes of the psalmist in his suffering (v. 3; Eng. v. 2). The article has two main parts and a conclusion. In the first part (B), I give a short introduction to Ps 13 and situate the expression “give light to someone’s eyes” within the context of the Hebrew Bible. In the second, and longer part (C), I study how some commentators from different times and traditions have interpreted this specific prayer. As will become clear when I summarize the findings in a conclusion (D), there are many interesting similarities to be observed.

B. Psalm 13: A Typical Individual Complaint Psalm It is commonly held that Ps 13 is typical of its genre. The words of Hermann Gunkel are often, in one way or another, referred to or quoted, a “Muster eines Klageliedes des einzelnen.”1 Richard J. Clifford calls it “a textbook example of

1

Gunkel 1926, 46. For an example of a reference, see Zenger 1993, 96.

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an individual lament,”2 while Rolf A. Jacobson uses the words “a model for prayer” when it comes to complaint and accusation.3 Walter Brueggemann and William H. Bellinger, Jr. state: “Of all the psalms of lament and complaint, Psalm 13 is the clearest, purest example of the genre.”4 One of the few to dispute the common designation of Ps 13 as an individual complaint psalm is Hans-Joachim Kraus, who instead simply calls it a “Gebetslied” since it, according to him, does not contain any lamentation or complaint.5 In an article subtitled “a suggested typology of function,” Walter Brueggemann tries to go beyond traditional form criticism and therefore proposes a new way of designating the psalms.6 His intention is to detect more clearly the purpose behind the psalms, not only to classify their form. The prayers in the book of Psalms were written with an intention; they were written to be used in a sociological setting within the life of the believing community. This leads to a suggested typology along the line orientation–disorientation–reorientation.7 The traditional complaints, both corporate and individual, belong to the second group: psalms of disorientation. And in another article,8 Brueggemann discusses in some detail this group of psalms, among them Ps 13. He argues that these psalms should be understood as acts of faithfulness, even if they may look like desperate cries of persons who lost their trust in YHWH.9 When Fredrik Lindström briefly treats Ps 13 in his voluminous Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms,10 he concludes that Ps 13 is an example of an individual complaint psalm where the problem is the absence of YHWH, and he finds no connection between sin and illness in the psalm.11 Lindström’s interest is theological. The overall intention of his study is to question the commonly supposed connection between sickness and sin in the individual complaint psalms. As far as the structure of Ps 13 is concerned, commentators generally agree on how to divide the psalm into smaller parts. According to the Hebrew numbering of the text the structure is as follows:12 v. 1; vv. 2–3; vv. 4–5; v. 6.

2

Clifford 2002, 85. Jacobson 2014, 162. 4 Brueggemann and Bellinger, Jr. 2014, 75. 5 Kraus 1978, 240. 6 Brueggemann 1995b. 7 Brueggemann 1995b, 9. 8 Brueggemann 1995a. 9 Brueggemann 1995a, 71; see also Brueggemann 1984, 58–60. 10 Lindström 1994, 97–101. 11 Lindström 1994, 101, 454–456. 12 For a more detailed discussion about the structure of Ps 13, see Auffret 1982. In the following I use the numbering of the Hebrew text when I refer to Ps 13. 3

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The first section, vv. 2–3, contains the questions “How long,” the second section, vv. 4–5, the plea to YHWH to give attention and answer, and the third section, v. 6, is an expression of trust and confidence. Almost all commentators observe the sharp change of tone in this last section compared to the first two main parts of the psalm.13 Within the second section of Ps 13, we find the words “Give light to my eyes,” v. 4b. The plea to give light to the eyes of the psalmist stands parallel to the first prayer in the section, “Look on me and answer,” v. 4a. And this prayer in turn stands in contrast to the question “How long will you hide your face from me” in v. 2b.14 In the Hebrew Bible, a few examples can be found of this last motif, referring to or reminding of the words in the priestly blessing in Num 6:25 about YHWH’s face shining towards someone.15 There are also a few instances in the Hebrew Bible of similar expressions, using the same verb and noun. In 1 Sam 14:27 we read about Jonathan eating honey with the result that “his eyes brightened.”16 In Ps 19:9 (Eng. 19:8) it is stated that YHWH’s commands give light to the eyes. In Prov 29:13 the author says that YHWH “gives sight to the eyes” of both the poor and the oppressor. And in a long prayer Ezra states that “our God gives light to our eyes” (Ezra 9:8b). But, as mentioned, the expression in the form of a petition is found nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible. In Ps 13:4b the prayer that YHWH would give light to the eyes of the psalmist stands in contrast to “sleep in death.” This indicates that the metaphor of light to the eyes stands for life as opposed to death. And this in turn is dependent on God no longer hiding his face from the one who prays.17

C. A Diachronic Overview of Commentaries I. Early Christian Commentaries Going through the expositions of Ps 13 in different commentaries, the interpretations are often very short. Not much seems to be necessary to say, as if the psalm were self-explanatory. This applies particularly to the phrase in focus here. Augustine, for example, who writes from a markedly Christian point of

13

For examples, see Goldingay 2006, 208; Zenger 1993, 98. Grogan 2008, 59. But Grogan is by far not the only commentator to note these contrasts within the psalm. 15 See for example Ps 31:17 (Eng. 31:16); 119:135; Dan 9:17. 16 See also 1 Sam 14:29. 17 Lindström 1994, 147, 454–456, connects the prayer that YHWH would “see to” the psalmist with the experience of the absence of God. 14

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view, simply states that in Ps 13:4a “[t]he eyes of the heart must be understood, that they be not closed by the pleasurable eclipse of sin.”18 In the series Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Ps 13 is treated very briefly, and the phrase “lighten my eyes” is illustrated by references to eight early Christian interpreters and preachers.19 Chrysostom talks more generally about the abandonment of God as a form of discipline, something to the advantage of a Christian. Theodoret of Cyr says that at night he is overwhelmed by problems, and that the only help there is comes from God. In his prayer he fears that, unless God helps him, his sleep will turn into death. Eusebius of Caesarea declares first that the face of God is full of light, but if a person has turned away from God that person lives in darkness, since his “eyes within, namely, the thoughts of the mind, can see nothing.” Cassiodorus – in a similar way as Augustine – sees the “pleasure of the flesh” as a threat; these pleasures close the eyes of the heart, that is, they bury the light of faith. In his commentary on the Gospel of John, Origen refers to Ps 13:4a as a prayer of “the prophet.” The church father interprets the prayer as a prayer of enlightenment of the intellect. And God is both willing and able to give light in this sense to a person, since God is “the light of the mind.” Cyril of Alexandria writes in a letter with reference to 1 Cor 13:12 that we see in an obscure manner and know only in part, therefore it is a proper prayer to ask God to light up our eyes so we don’t sleep in death. To sleep in death here means nothing other than to “slip away from the rightness of holy doctrines” as they can be found in “the divinely inspired Scriptures.” Diodore of Tarsus understands the prayer in Ps 13:4a as a prayer to be freed from misfortune in order to be able to see things as they are and not as they seem to be when you are in trouble. Taken together the early Christian fathers interpret the expression “Give light to my eyes” as a prayer for enlightening a person’s thoughts, intellect, and inner being. It is in general understood as a prayer about spiritual clear-sightedness. Sin is a clear component in some, that is, something internal, while others speak of threats outside of the supplicant. Variation was also observed as to whether the phrase is to be understood eschatologically or ethically. II. Early Jewish Commentaries Turning to early Jewish commentaries, two works are most often mentioned in relation to the interpretation of the Psalms: the Midrash Tehillim and the Targum on Psalms. In both cases, the texts are difficult to date, but they certainly belong to the first millennium CE. In his two volumes The Midrash on Psalms, 18

Augustine 1888, 46. Blaising and Hardin 2008, 105–106. I restrict myself here to referring to the short notices in this general work as a background to the modern commentaries treated later in this article. 19

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the translator William G. Braude discusses the dating of Midrash Tehillim and reaches the conclusion that the final edition of the texts probably was done as late as the ninth century CE.20 But, of course, the method of midrash is much older, and the Midrash Tehillim contains – as do most midrashim – a mixture of many things.21 Similarly, the Targum of Psalms is, like the Midrash Tehillim, difficult to date. The two collections may be of about the same age, and they might also draw upon common traditions.22 After some reasoning, David M. Stec concludes that the date of composition for the Targum of Psalms remains highly uncertain. Perhaps it was composed some time between the fourth and sixth century CE, “but this is little more than guesswork.”23 And most probably the material in the Targum belongs to more than one period. Unfortunately, although the phrase “Give light to my eyes” is cited in the Midrash Tehillim as “lighten mine eyes,” the actual words are not commented upon at all. Instead, the very last words of the verse in Ps 13:4b are explained in the following way: “lest I sleep the sleep of death … that is, lest I be worn out in the stupor of banishment among the kingdoms,”24 which indicates that the verse was understood in terms of exilic suffering. In the Aramaic translation of Ps 13:4b, however, the Targum makes a small but significant addition to the Hebrew text: “… enlighten my eyes with your law.”25 The addition mirrors the interest the targumim show in the law. There are several similar additions in other psalms, and they belong to the interpretative way of reading which is typical of the Targums.26 Noteworthy in this context is that such an understanding of the verse overlaps with what was seen above in relation to Cyril. III. Reformation Commentaries Martin Luther held several series of lectures on the Psalms, and he of course interpreted the Bible as a Christian. For him the entire Hebrew Scripture was a book about Christ:27 Christ was not only foretold in the Psalms, he was also present in them, and the words of some psalms were seen as Christ’s own words. Luther puts the literal meaning of a specific psalm alongside a spiritual meaning and sees no contradiction in the two ways of reading. But Luther does

20

Braude 1959, xi. Braude uses the word “mélange,” Braude 1959, xvii. 22 Stec 2004, 2. 23 Stec 2004, 2. 24 Braude 1959, 179. 25 Stec 2004, 43. 26 Stec 2004, 4–5. 27 For a short introduction to Luther’s interpretation of Scripture, see Althaus 1966, 72– 102. 21

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not only see Christ present in the Psalms; to him, the complaint psalms in particular also bear witness to the suffering Christians faced in Luther’s own time in the form of persecution. The Psalms are thus not only history (looking back) and prophecy (looking to the future), but contemporary (talking to Luther’s own time), and he calls the book of Psalms “the finest book of examples for the saints on earth.”28 In 1530 Luther published interpretations of the 25 first psalms of the book of Psalms. The exposition follows the Latin text, where the beginning of Ps 13:4b reads “Illumine oculos meos.” When Luther interprets these words, he simply says that it is a prayer that God would make him – Luther uses the pronoun “mich”29 – happy again and make his face/person strong and brave.30 John Calvin’s commentaries on the biblical books are rightfully famous. He uses his grammatical knowledge of Hebrew and Greek – and of course Latin, the language in which he wrote his expositions – in order to grasp the theological understanding of the Scriptures. But he is also interested in the practical aspects; he does not write for the learned only but for the interested. His commentary on the Psalms in Latin (1557) was soon after its publication translated into both French (1563) and English (1571). In a lengthy preface to his commentary, Calvin directs himself to “the godly and ingenious readers.”31 He describes his personal background and circumstances. At the end of his preface, Calvin compares his life with king David’s and begs his readers to receive his commentary with “some measure of favour.”32 When commenting on Ps 13, Calvin first notes that in a way it is very similar to Ps 12, and most of his commentary is devoted to the first verses. The phrase “Give light to my eyes,” Calvin says, “signifies the same thing in the Hebrew language as to give the breath of life, for the vigour of life appears chiefly in the eyes.”33 The two reformers Luther and Calvin both read the Hebrew Bible as a book for Christians in their own time. The message of the Psalms is not historical but contemporary. And regarding the prayer of enlightened eyes, it is a prayer about vigour, strength, happiness, and ultimately about (re)new(ed) life when facing suffering and persecution. 28

Quoted after Althaus 1966, 100. Possibly relevant in this context is that two years earlier, Luther had lost his first born daughter. 30 Luther 1913. I follow here the text in the Weimar edition of Luther’s works. The words in German are: “Illumina, id est, macht mich widder frolich, gib mir ein wacker angesicht.” WA 31, 306. 31 Calvin 1845, xxxv. 32 Calvin 1845, xlviii. 33 Calvin 1845, 184–185. 29

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IV. Some Commentaries From the 19th and Early 20th Centuries In the late 1800s and early 1900s, the discussion about the emerging historical critical method in biblical scholarship was intense. Several commentaries on the Psalms were published around the middle and latter part of the 19th century. Franz Delitzsch wrote from an orthodox Lutheran position, and his commentaries on a large number of books in the Hebrew Bible were in their time widely read and studied. In his exposition of Ps 13, he highlights the prayer “Give light to my eyes” as a prayer for new life, a new life made visible in brightness of the eyes. This light, writes Delitzsch, “is the light of love beaming from the divine countenance,”34 thus overlapping with Calvin above. Friedrich Baethgen, writing on the Psalms in the series Handkommentar zum Alten Testament, devotes about one page to Ps 13. On the prayer “Give light to my eyes” he notes that the eyes of the psalmist have grown dim because of worries, and therefore the person praying is dependent on help from YHWH unless he loses sight altogether.35 On the whole, Baethgen seems more interested in Hebrew grammar than in the content of the psalm. Bernhard Duhm published his commentary on the Psalms in Kurzer HandCommentar zum Alten Testament. Much like Baethgen, Duhm is very interested in the Hebrew wording, and he is generally not hesitant to suggest alterations of the Masoretic text. His esteem of Ps 13 is high; he calls it a plain and beautiful psalm.36 When he explains the prayer about enlightened eyes, he understands the phrase “enlightened eyes” as a parallel to a happy life. He therefore sees the prayer in the psalm as a prayer that YHWH would give the psalmist new courage to face life.37 In 1914 Rudolf Kittel’s commentary on the Psalms appeared as part of the series Kommentar zum Alten Testament (KAT). Like many other series of commentaries, KAT is both a translation and a commentary. Kittel sees the psalmist as a person attacked by enemies, that is, enemies because of inner disagreement. He interprets the situation as a struggle between a group of pious persons and a group of ungodly people; in the first group there are all those who worship YHWH earnestly, and in the second group are those who are influenced by gentile thoughts.38 The prayer in Ps 13:4a is translated into German “mache heiter meine Augen” with the literal translation given in a footnote: “mache heiter” is literally “erhelle.” A further explanation to the expression is that shining eyes reveal strength and joy of life.39 All this information is given in a

34

Delitzsch 1871, 200–201. Baethgen 1897, 35. 36 Duhm 1899, 39. 37 Duhm 1899, 38. 38 Kittel 1914, 41. 39 Kittel 1914, 41. 35

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short note to the translation. In the commentary proper of the psalm, the line is not touched upon at all. The scholars mentioned here all have a special interest in the language of the Psalms. Their focus is very much on the Hebrew text. Their interpretation of the words “Give light to my eyes” is mostly understood in a very straightforward way as a prayer for happiness and joy or – when related to a more pious reading – as a sign of happiness reflecting the light of God. V. Some Scandinavian Commentaries Looking at the Scandinavian exegetical tradition in the 20th century, there are some very influential biblical scholars, who have all contributed to the study of the book of Psalms.40 The Danish professor Aage Bentzen writes in his commentary on the book of Psalms that Ps 13 is a rather simple and colourless psalm. It depicts a situation in which an individual suffers from deadly sickness, and the prayer that his eyes be given light is a way of asking either for renewed life or for God to give “the soul” back to the person praying.41 In the second case Bentzen refers to 1 Sam 14:29 as a parallel.42 Professor Helmer Ringgren from Uppsala wrote in the late 1980s and early 1990s a commentary on the Psalms in connection with the work on a new translation of the Bible into Swedish.43 His commentary appeared in three volumes, and in the exposition of Ps 13 he discusses the translation of the phrase “give light to my eyes” and explains the expression to mean “make me happy,” since an enlightened eye is a sign of life, happiness, joy, and health.44 In a short volume from 1990, the Danish scholar Eduard Nielsen comments on a selection of 31 psalms of different genres.45 Psalm 13 is presented as a typical individual lament. When commenting upon the phrase “Give light to my eyes,” Nielsen compares this expression to the similar wording in Ps 19:9 (Eng. 19:8) and interprets it as a way of praying for happiness and health in a situation dominated by illness.46 40

The Norwegian scholar Sigmund Mowinckel, who is perhaps the most famous of this generation of Scandinavian exegetes, never wrote a commentary on the Psalms even if he published several studies on the book. See, e.g., Mowinckel 1962. 41 Bentzen 1939, 52, 93–94. 42 The most recent commentary on the book of Psalms in Scandinavia is the three-volume set in Danish (Holt and Nielsen 2002). Hans J. Lundager Jensen is the author of the article on Ps 13, which he calls a case study, but the prayer about having the eyes enlightened is not commented upon at all (Lundager Jensen 2002, 51–52). 43 Ringgren 1987; 1994; 1997. The translation of the entire Hebrew Bible into Swedish was finished in 1999 and published in 2000. 44 Ringgren 1987, 82, 84. 45 Nielsen 1990. 46 Nielsen 1990, 32.

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I will end this section by referring to two Scandinavian commentaries on the book of Psalms written partly from a more devotional point of view. The first is Norwegian and part of a series of commentaries on the entire Bible. In the two volumes on Psalms, Klara Myhre writes about Ps 13 and – referring to other passages in the Hebrew Bible – notes that the metaphor about enlightened eyes has a background in the fact that dull eyes are a sign of suffering in the form of illness and sorrow. On the other hand, bright eyes signal a situation in life characterized by joy, blessing, and energy.47 The second commentary is Danish and, like the previously mentioned Norwegian work, a two-volume set in the Credo series. The author of the entire commentary is Jørgen Bækgaard Thomsen. In his exposition of Ps 13, he says about the prayer “Give light to my eyes” that it is a comprehensive prayer about healing and new energy. It does, however, go even deeper and can be understood as a prayer for renewing of the fellowship with YHWH himself.48 The Scandinavian writers on the book of Psalms all follow the tradition from the reformation and later and see the prayer about enlightened eyes as a prayer about renewed life, happiness, and energy. A person’s eyes are a mirror of his or her personal wellbeing, a life without suffering. VI. Some Recent International Commentaries In the last forty or so years we have seen an impressive amount of biblical commentaries being published, most of them in well-known series covering either the Hebrew Bible or the entire Christian Bible. It is notable that modern commentaries are often lengthy; sometimes they appear in more than one volume. In the following, I restrict myself to a few examples representing different decades. The first commentary is Mitchell Dahood’s rather odd commentary in the Anchor Bible series. It was first published in 1965 and is, as declared in the presentation, a translation with notes.49 Dahood himself writes in the introduction that his work “is not a commentary on the Psalms in the traditional sense of the word; a better term would perhaps be a prolegomenon to a commentary.”50 His presentation of the translation of the Hebrew text of the Psalms with notes is much dependent on his eminent knowledge of Ugaritic, and Dahood on several occasions presents “new” readings of the Hebrew text.

47

Myhre 1985, 107. Bækgaard Thomsen 1999, 102. 49 In later volumes in the series the presentation is similar, but the shift seems more and more to be towards a regular commentary with much space devoted to interpretation of the text in focus. 50 Dahood 1965, xvii. 48

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Dahood’s understanding of the words “Give light to my eyes” – by him translated “Enlighten my eyes” – is partly traditional. He says that the expression may have a twofold meaning. The first is a prayer of restored health, with a reference to Ps 38:11; the second is a plea for eternal life, with a reference to Ps 36:9–10.51 It might at this point be of importance to note that according to Dahood himself, the perhaps most significant contribution to biblical theology which his translation, “based on the new philological principles,” presents, is his understanding of the concepts/ideas of resurrection and immortality in the Hebrew Bible.52 In 1961 Hans-Joachim Kraus published the first edition of his massive commentary on the Psalms in the series Biblischer Kommentar Altes Testament. A fifth and thoroughly revised edition appeared in 1978. His commentary represents traditional historical critical exegesis at the same time as it in its structure opens up for new ways of writing a biblical commentary. The work is learned, and the reader is expected to know Hebrew in order to be able to follow the arguments. When Kraus interprets the prayer “Give light to my eyes,” he refers to Calvin and understands the phrase as a prayer for new strength to live (“Lebenskraft”). He writes about eyes which have lost the ability to shine because of suffering through trouble and sickness. At the end, it is only YHWH who can give a weary eye its brightness back. The prayer is a prayer to be able to see the light of life, a light which comes from YHWH. When the person praying is close to death, the only help there is comes from above, and it all depends on God not hiding his face from the psalmist any more, Ps 13:2b.53 As far as structure is concerned, the international series Word Biblical Commentary has many similarities to the German Biblischer Kommentar. The commentary on the book of Psalms comes in three volumes written by three different scholars. The first of these is authored by Peter C. Craigie and appeared in 1983. A second edition came in 2004 with a rather comprehensive supplement and update written by other scholars, since Craigie died in an accident already in 1985. The commentary proper in the second edition is not changed compared to the first edition. Of some interest might be that Craigie is one of the few authors to consequently be in dialogue with Dahood and the latter’s understanding of the Hebrew text. In his commentary on Ps 13, Craigie notes that the prayer in vv. 4 and 5 takes up the themes of the lament in the beginning of the psalm. The prayer for enlightened eyes is a prayer about restoration of health and deliverance from grief, since dim eyes are a sign of ill health and grief. The prayer, however,

51

Dahood 1965, 78. Dahood 1965, xxxvi. 53 Kraus 1978, 243. 52

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goes deeper. It is in reality “a desire to return to close fellowship with the Lord.” Therefore the prayer is a prayer about health, both spiritually and physically.54 In the German series Die Neue Echter Bibel: Kommentar zum Alten Testament mit der Einheitsübersetzung, Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger have together written the commentary on the book of Psalms. Zenger interprets Ps 13 and remarks that the psalm is closely connected with both Ps 12 and Ps 14 by a similarity in vocabulary.55 When expounding the content of the prayer in Ps 13:4a, Zenger first rejects the interpretation that it is a prayer for recovery from an eye disease of some kind, nor is it a prayer that a spiritual blindness of the heart should end. Instead, the phrase must be understood from the background of tired eyes as a metaphor for deadly sickness; the words “Give light to my eyes” are best understood as a plea for new strength to live, new courage to face life.56 A few years after Hossfeld and Zenger published the first part of their commentary, another well-established German expert on the Psalms, Klaus Seybold, published his one-volume commentary in the series Handbuch zum Alten Testament. Seybold’s work is a replacement of Hans Schmidt’s commentary from 1934. Similar to its predecessor, Seybold’s commentary is fairly short, only a couple of pages long for Ps 13. The interpretation proper of Ps 13 is not much more than a paraphrase of the text of the psalm. And the prayer in Ps 13:4a is simply seen as a wish of the psalmist that YHWH should listen to him and give him health.57 In 2006 the first volume of three to the Psalms by John Goldingay was published. Together the three volumes contain almost 2000 pages of text. The commentary is part of a series called Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms. The individual psalms are treated under two headings “Interpretation” and “Theological Implications.” Each psalm is also given in a translation by the author of the commentary. When Goldingay interprets Ps 13, he starts by saying that it “arises out of a deep sense of abandonment.”58 According to Goldingay, the phrase “Give light to my eyes” suggests encouragement, “the encouragement that comes from knowing that YHWH has paid attention and answered.”59 He continues by commenting that brightness in the eyes in this case actually is “an anticipatory reflection of a change in circumstances.”60 In the theological implications Goldin54

Craigie 2004, 142. Zenger 1993, 97. 56 Zenger 1993, 98. 57 Seybold 1996, 64. 58 Goldingay 2006, 204. 59 Goldingay 2006, 207. 60 Goldingay 2006, 207. 55

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gay returns to this interpretation and once again underlines that when God brightens the eyes of a person praying, he in reality promises to take action.61 If Goldingay’s work on the Psalms is voluminous, the same can be said about the commentary by Allen P. Ross in the series Kregel Exegetical Library. This is, like Goldingay’s, a work in three volumes, and it is also more than 2000 pages long. The commentary is not primarily aimed at the academic world, instead it is written for pastors, teachers, and serious students of the Bible.62 The commentary is well structured and the exegesis is presented very much in expository form. The interpretation of each psalm ends with a section called “Message and Application.” When Ross comments on the prayer “Give light to my eyes,” he discusses the possibility that it is a petition to be illuminated through instruction. Here, however, it seems more likely that it has to do with reviving “the physical strength and moral energy” of the person praying.63 Ross comes to this conclusion by comparing the passage in the psalm with 1 Sam 14:27–29; Prov 29:13; and Ezek 9:8. Together with Nancy deClaissé-Walford and Beth LaNeel Tanner, Rolf A. Jacobson has written a commentary on the Psalms in The New International Commentary on the Old Testament series. It is – literally – a heavy one-volume commentary aimed at both scholars and “women and men of faith who desire to hear God’s voice afresh through the Old Testament” – to quote Robert L. Hubbard, Jr., the general editor, in his preface to the series. Rolf A. Jacobson is the author of the commentary on Ps 13, and he notes in the beginning of his exposition that the psalm is “spoken from a situation of severe crisis” of which nothing specific is known.64 But the psalmist – in Jacobson’s text a she – understands the crisis as “a spiritual and theological crisis” (italics his). The prayer in Ps 13:4b about illumined eyes is not given much attention. Jacobson calls it an “I request” and relates it formally to verse 3a, where he finds an “I complaint.”65 Reading the above selection of recent commentaries on the Psalms gives a mixed impression. It is evident that a biblical commentary can appear in many different shapes depending on the interest of the commentator. The understanding of the prayer “Give light to my eyes” is also varied. For some of the commentators the phrase is more or less passed over without comment, for others it is taken – in a situation of suffering of some kind – as a quest for health, change

61

Goldingay 2006, 209. Ross 2011, 12. 63 Ross 2011, 367. 64 Jacobson 2014, 158. 65 Jacobson 2014, 160–161. 62

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in circumstances, moral energy, new courage to live on, or renewed fellowship with YHWH. In one case it is understood as a prayer for eternal life.

D. Conclusion When Lindström dealt with Ps 13 in his book Suffering and Sin, it was in order to see if there was a connection between sin and illness in the psalm. He could, however, not find such a connection. Instead, the problem in Ps 13 was an experience of the absence of YHWH. In my study of the expression “Give light to my eyes” in verse 4a, I have consulted a large number of commentaries from the last two millennia. Several different interpretations were observed, and interesting is that they were often shared across traditions and confessional communities. The earliest Christian commentaries understand the phrase as a prayer for spiritual clear-sightedness, and ethical living, with one interpreter highlighting the importance of doctrine and Scripture. This was shared with the Targum, where the prayer was related to enlightenment from the Torah. Exclusive for the Jewish tradition was the understanding of suffering in terms of exile. A common interpretation, shared by the reformers and later commentaries, both from the 19th and early 20th centuries and recent times, was to understand the phrase as a prayer for new life and happiness. Here also belong the notions of joy and courage. In a few commentaries, it is also interpreted as a prayer about renewed fellowship with YHWH, and it was also noted that the idea of resurrection and eternal life was occasionally suggested. All in all, the prayer about enlightened eyes in Ps 13, an individual complaint psalm, is understood as a sincere plea to YHWH to end the suffering of the psalmist by renewing the life situation, something which – as with the Ethiopian woman mentioned in the introduction to this article – will be visible in the eyes of the person praying.

Bibliography Althaus, Paul. 1966. The Theology of Martin Luther. Translated by Robert C. Schultz. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress. Auffret, Pierre. 1982. “Essai sur la structure litteraire du Psaume 13.” Pages 195–206 in La Sagesse a bâti sa maison: Études de structures littéraires dans l’Ancien Testament et spécialement dans les Psaumes. OBO 49. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Augustine. 1888. Expositions on the Book of Psalms. A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church. First Series 8. Editor Philip Schaff. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Reprinted 1996.

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Bækgaard Thomsen, Jørgen. 1999. Salmenes Bok I. Credo Kommentaren. Copenhagen: Credo Forlag. Baethgen, D. Friedrich. 1897. Die Psalmen. HKAT II/2. 2nd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Bentzen, Aage. 1939. Fortolkning til de gammeltestamentlige salmer. Copenhagen: G. E. C. Gads forlag. Blaising, Craig A. and Carmen S. Hardin, eds. 2008. Psalms 1–50. Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. Old Testament 7. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Braude, William G. 1959. The Midrash on Psalms I. Yale Judaica Series 13. New Haven, IN: Yale University Press. Brueggemann, Walter and William H. Bellinger, Jr. 2014. Psalms. NCBC. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Brueggemann, Walter. 1984. The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary. Augsburg Old Testament Studies. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Publishing House. –. 1995a. “From Hurt to Joy, from Death to Life.” Pages 67–83 in The Psalms and the Life of Faith. Edited by Patrick D. Miller. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. –. 1995b. “Psalms and the Life of Faith: A Suggested Typology of Function.” Pages 3–32 in The Psalms and the Life of Faith. Edited by Patrick D. Miller. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Calvin, John. 1845. Commentary on the Book of Psalms I. Calvin’s Commentaries 4. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker. Translated by James Anderson. Reprinted 2003. Clifford, Richard J. 2002. Psalms 1–72. AOTC. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. Craigie, Peter C. 2004. Psalms 1–50. WBC 19. 2nd ed. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson. Dahood, Mitchell. 1965. Psalms I: 1–50. AB 16. New York, NY: Doubleday. Delitzsch, Franz. 1871. Psalms. Commentary on the Old Testament by C. F. Keil and F. Delitzsch 5. Translated by Francis Bolton. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Reprinted 1976. Duhm, Bernhard. 1899. Die Psalmen. KHC 14. Freiburg im Breisgau: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck). Goldingay, John. 2006. Psalms 1: Psalms 1–41. BCOTWP. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. Grogan, Geoffrey W. 2008. Psalms. The Two Horizons Old Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Gunkel, Hermann. 1926. Die Psalmen. Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament II/2. 4th ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Holt, Else K. and Kirsten Nielsen. 2002. Dansk kommentar till Davids Salmer I–III. Copenhagen: Forlaget ANIS. Jacobson, Rolf A. 2014. “Psalm 13: Waiting on the Lord.” Pages 158–163 in The Book of Psalms. Edited by Nancy L. deClaisse-Walford, Rolf A. Jacobson, and Beth Tanner. NICOT. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kittel, Rudolf. 1914. Die Psalmen. KAT 13. 1st and 2nd ed. Leipzig: A. Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Kraus, Hans-Joachim. 1978. Psalmen 1: Psalmen 1–59. BKAT 15/1. 5th ed. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Lundager Jensen, Hans J. 2002. “Salme 13 (Case Study).” Pages 51–52 in Dansk kommentar till Davids Salmer I. Edited by Else K. Holt and Kirsten Nielsen. Copenhagen: Forlaget ANIS.

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Luther, Martin. 1913. “Auslegung der 25 ersten Psalmen.” Pages 258–383 in Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe 31/1. Edited by J. K. F. Knaake et al. Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus. Mowinckel, Sigmund. 1962. The Psalms in Israel’s Worship I–II. Translated by D. R. ApThomas. Oxford: Blackwell. Myhre, Klara. 1985. “Salme 13 Hvor lenge, Herre?” Pages 106–108 in Klara Myhre et. al. Salmenes bok I. Bibelverket. Oslo: Luther Forlag & Lunde Forlag. Nielsen, Eduard. 1990. 31 utvalgte salmer fra Det gamle Testamente. Frederiksberg: Forlaget ANIS. Ringgren, Helmer. 1987. Psaltaren 1–41. Kommentar till Gamla testamentet. Upsala: EFSförlaget. –. 1994. Psaltaren 42–89. Kommentar till Gamla testamentet. Stockholm: EFS-förlaget. –. 1997. Psaltaren 90–150. Kommentar till Gamla testamentet. Stockholm: EFS-förlaget. Ross, Allen P. 2011. A Commentary of the Psalms: Volume 1 (1–41). Kregel Exegetical Library. Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel. Seybold, Klaus. 1996. Die Psalmen. HAT I/15. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck). Stec, David M. 2004. The Targum of Psalms: Translated With a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes. The Aramaic Bible 16. London: T&T Clark. Zenger, Erich. 1993. “Psalm 13: Drängende Klage in grosser Bedrängnis.” Pages 96–99 in Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger. Die Psalmen I: Psalm 1–50. NEchtB 29. Würzburg: Echter Verlag.

Metaphors of Evil An Application of Cognitive Metaphor Theory on Imagery of Evil in the Book of Psalms Åke Viberg A. Introduction The aim of this article is to revisit the old and vexed problem of images of evil in the individual psalms of lament in the book of Psalms through the more recent understanding of the concept of metaphor. Who or what do these images refer to, and why are they used in such drastic ways? The purpose is not to enter the problem along traditional ways, as the subject is vast and multifaceted.1 Instead, we will limit the analysis to an application of Cognitive Metaphor Theory and in particular Blending Theory to try to better understand these metaphorical images. Evil in all its forms is hard if not impossible to handle in the abstract. Therefore, we find in the Old Testament (OT) that evil is made concrete in various physical forms through a process of objectification by means of a metaphor. It can be enemies, sickness, or wild animals. Through this metaphorization, evil is related to something physical that can be related to, perhaps handled, and even overcome.2 Even though it can appear to be almost impossible to understand what these images stood for in the mind of an ancient Israelite, we can still attempt to reach a better understanding of precisely why these images were chosen. The dominant technique in the psalms of lament was to retain through images the impending threat of evil as the personification of evil. Evil and wickedness are perceived as a personal enemy, as an enemy ready to attack, or 1

See Mowinckel 1921; Keel 1969; Kraus 1979, 156–170; Lindström 1994, 6, 81–85; Eidevall 2005. Lindström’s thesis is that “in taking a position on the controversial question of who the enemies are in the individual complaint psalms … we cannot ignore the demonic color and the characteristics of suprahuman evil that are used in the descriptions of the enemy.” 2 Of course, the major objectification of evil is the later personification of evil in the form of the Satan, “accuser” (1 Chr 21:1; Zech 3:1–2). This also was carried out using the metaphor “accuser.”

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as enemy accusers plotting the downfall of the psalmist. In turn, this personified enemy is dehumanized usually by association to animals. The personified, dehumanized enemy is depicted as reducing the psalmist to an animal-like existence void of humanity. In order to approach the subject of evil in the psalms of lament we need to first understand the various concrete expressions in which this imagery takes form.

B. Enemies in Psalms of Lament While “enemy” (‫אויב‬, ‫ )שר‬in the OT usually refers to the national enemies of Israel (Josh 23:1; 24:11), the word is also used to designate personal enemies (Exod 23:4; Judg 16:23; 1 Sam 18:29; and especially in the book of Psalms). An enemy is one who seeks to harm, steal from, or otherwise complicate the life of a person, including individuals or matters of concern to that person. The community or national laments focus on threats by military foes, famine, drought, or some pestilence. Enemies threaten the city of God (Pss 46:6; 48:4; 76:5–6). These enemy powers are characterized as “kingdoms,” “princes,” or “kings.” They are the people who wage war against God’s people (Pss 2:2, 8, 10; 18:47– 48; 45:5; 72:11; 110:5; 144:2). National laments portray catastrophe as having already struck (Ps 44:11). The city is sacked and becomes no more than a heap of stones (Pss 79:1; 102:14). The ravaging of the countryside is seen as an event of cosmic proportions (Ps 80:12–13). God intervenes for his king and aids him to defeat and destroy the enemies (Pss 2:5, 8–9; 21:8–9; 110:2–3, 5; 144:1–2). Faith is expressed through a declaration that the God of Israel reigns over the hostile powers and strips them of all power (Pss 96:5; 135:15–18). Regarding the enemies of the individual psalms of lament, the situation is more complex. The terms include “enemy,” (‫אויב‬, Pss 3:7; 6:10; 7:5; 9:3, 6; 13:4; 17:9; 31:8, 15; 41:5, etc.), “foe” (‫שר‬, Pss 3:1; 13:4; 23:5; 27:2; 31:11, etc.), “evildoers” (‫מרעים‬, Pss 26:5; 27:2), and “the wicked” (‫רשעים‬, Pss 3:7; 9:17; 10:2–4; 11:2, 6; 12:8; 17:9; 26:5, etc.). The foes of the individual are the godless and the persecutors (Pss 5:9; 9:6; 14:1). We can not determine the particular identity of these enemies. Earlier attempts to identify the enemies in the Psalms suggested false accusers, sorcerers and demonic forces, foes of the king, or party strife within the Israelite community. The opponents are described in stark terms, with strong and negative imagery. Two areas where readers often meet the “enemies” in the Psalms are in the institution of divine judgment and the innocence of the sick. In judicial cases, the enemy powers appear as accusers and persecutors, using lies, slander, and false witness to accuse the victim of breaking the law. The one who is unjustly accused submits to the verdict rendered by God through the priest (Pss 7:8;

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26:1–2; 35:22–24). By accusations and slander, the enemies of the sick person are eager to focus on a commonly held causal relationship between guilt and sickness (Pss 32:1–4; 38:3–11; 39:8, 11). The “enemy” may even refer to death itself as a force hostile to life (Pss 31:7–8, 12). This poetic language is open and metaphorical and speaks to situations of distress. Finally, there are the metaphors and similes that the psalmist uses for the wicked in a general sense. The wicked sprout up like grass (Ps 92:7; in contrast to the righteous who are like palm or cedar trees, vv. 12–13), they are as grass (Ps 37:2, 20), like chaff, dust, or the mire of the streets (Pss 1:4; 18:42) or they are as a dream (Ps 73:20). They are like trappers, setting snares for the righteous (Pss 141:9; 142:3). They wear curses like clothing (Ps 109:18). Especially frequent is the comparison of the wicked to the lion (Pss 7:2; 10:9; 17:12; 22:13, 21; 35:17; 57:4). They may also be compared to bulls (Ps 22:12), dogs (Pss 22:16, 20; 59:6–7, 14–15), the wild ox (Ps 22:21), wild beasts (Ps 74:19), a boar (Ps 80:13), a serpent (Pss 58:4; 140:3), even bees or a blazing fire (Ps 118:12). Their tongue is like a razor (Ps 52:2) or a sword (Ps 64:3); their words are like arrows (Ps 64:3). One day they shall be shattered like a smashed rock (Ps 141:7). The language in curses against the enemy is especially colourful: “May these lions have their teeth broken and be defanged” (Ps 58:6); “May they disappear, like water running away, like grass trodden down, like a snail disappearing into the slime, or a birth that is aborted” (Ps 58:6–8); “May they be as impermanent as smoke or wax before a fire” (Ps 68:2), or “as grass on a roof” (Ps 129:6); “May they be blown away like whirling dust and chaff” (Ps 83:13); “Let them be like a forest consumed by a fire” (Ps 83:14–15), “like dung ground into the earth” (Ps 83:10); “May their name be blotted out of the book of the living” (Ps 69:28); and “May dishonour and shame be their clothing” (Ps 109:29). The variety and vividness of the imagery in the book of Psalms are evidence of the lively imagination that animates this poetry. As obvious in this overview, the “enemy” could be used in so many ways and with so many added figurative descriptions that it is hopeless to pinpoint any particular reference.3 The question is: why is the particular imagery used, and what does it say about how the ancient author thought about evil? Thus the need for an attempt to understand the imagery in relation to the enemy in individual lament psalms from the point of view of cognitive metaphor theory, especially Blending Theory.

3

I would agree with Lindström 1994, 6, n. 11, in his comment on Keel 1969, 185–190, that it is more relevant to ask not so much who the enemies are, but more how the petitioner experiences the threat of the enemy.

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C. Metaphor Theory and Tools for Metaphorical Analysis Religious language is metaphorical. When we talk about God, we need metaphors to be able to imagine God. Well known roles and attributes from everyday life as from political and family relations and from nature are used to say something about God. When we read the Bible, we relate to ancient metaphors. The Bible is rich in metaphors and the manner in which we understand metaphors is crucial to our understanding of the texts in the Bible. Metaphors do not only have a descriptive function; they are also a way of constructing our understanding of the world and they evoke emotions and faith. Metaphor is no longer seen as a mere ornamentation of poetic language, but as a foundational part, not only of our language, but of the way we think. An enormous amount of research has gone into the study of metaphor from the perspectives of cognition, both psychological and linguistic. In the area of Cognitive Metaphor Theory, as a part of Cognitive Linguistics,4 this has been most fruitful in understanding not only what the metaphor means from a literal point of view, but particularly how it opens up an understanding of the cognitive process behind the selection and use of a particular metaphor.5 There are two models that are used to achieve this, one that uses the language of Transference and one that speaks of Blending.6 Source Domain

→

Target Domain

Figure 1

The model of Transference works with the concept of Domains, a Source Domain and a Target Domain. The source domain is the area of thinking that is being used explicitly, in speech or in writing. The Target Domain is the area of thinking that is being described indirectly. Certain parts of the Source Domain are then being transferred over onto the Target Domain. In the famous words of Lakoff and Johnson, “The essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another.”7 Using the common metaphor god is

4

See Evans 2019. For applications of Cognitive Metaphor Theory and Blending Theory on the Old Testament, see, e.g., Jindo 2005, 2010; Pantoja 2017; Shead 2011; Southwood 2018; van Hecke 2011; Yoder ; de Joode and van Loon 2014. 6 The literature on metaphor is vast. See, e.g., Kittay 1987; Aaron 2002; van Hecke 2005; Fludernik 2011; Labahn 2013; Cho 2018. For recent studies on the use of metaphor in the Old Testament, see, e.g., Brown 2002; Cohen 2003; Hecke 2005; van Hecke 2005; MoughtinMumby 2008; O’Brien 2008; Moore 2009; van Hecke and Labahn 2010; DiFransico 2011; Gudme and Hjelm 2011; van Hecke 2011; Lam 2016; Cho 2018; Hawley 2018. 7 Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 5. 5

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king, the Source Domain is KING, the thing which we are making use of in the metaphor. The Target Domain is GOD, the thing we are thinking about and attempting to speak about. In the language of Cognitive Metaphor Theory, certain parts of our thinking regarding the word king are then transferred to our use of the word god, thus extending our thinking regarding the word god, and subsequently its meaning, beyond what the word would normally stand for. The metaphor is therefore seen not as a mere ornamentation of language but supplies a profound understanding of the cognitive content behind the use of the word god. However, the binary model of Source Domain and Target Domain is insufficient, since it implies that what is achieved in terms of meaning in the metaphor is already in the two domains.8 But there are meanings related to KING that can only be found in a more elaborate scheme, meanings that relate to areas of power, role, and space, and which is not in the domain GOD. Blending Theory uses a different and more elaborate scheme to carry out a fuller understanding of a metaphor.9 It speaks of Spaces; Generic Space, two (or more) Input Spaces as the equivalents of Source Domain and Target Domain in Cognitive Metaphor Theory, and a Blended Space, or simply Blend. Generic Space has information that is abstract enough to be common to all Input Spaces. Specific parts of the Generic Space are connected to their more concrete counterparts in the Input Spaces, which makes possible an identification of counterparts between the Input Spaces. Generic Space works as a template for shared meaning between the Input Spaces in order to clarify identification of counterparts. Each Input Space has distinctive characteristics and the structure of these together are called a Frame. The Blended Space is where new or emergent meaning, or structure, is contained. This is information that is not contained in either of the Input Spaces. The Blend takes meanings from all Input Spaces, but goes further and supplies more meaning, and so separating the Blended Space from the Input Spaces. And it is the recognition of this added meaning in the Blend that is the main advantage of the Blending Theory scheme. The metaphorical cognitive process starts with a comparison, or mapping, between the two Input Spaces, where similarities and differences are recognized. Similar functions, characteristics, and roles from the Input Spaces are generalized in the Generic Space. In the Blend the distinctive characteristics of the Input Spaces are blended together in a selective process, guided by the Generic Space. In Blending Theory, a Blend, as a metaphor, could be un-

8

See Evans 2019, 527–528. For a recent and exhaustive introduction to Blending Theory and its scheme, see See Evans 2019, 526–548. The groundbraking work was Fauconnier and Turner 2002a. See also Fauconnier 1994; Turner 1996; Fauconnier 1997; Turner 2001; Fauconnier and Turner 2002b; Parrill et al. 2009. 9

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packed and the Input Spaces and the Generic Space can be derived from the Blended Space.10 Generic Space

Input Space I

Input Space II

Blended Space Figure 2

Turning back to our metaphor GOD IS KING, GOD and KING are the two Input Spaces which hold the two areas of knowledge that are formed in a cognitive process. The Generic Space would include the knowledge of structural similarities between the two Input Spaces, such as power, ruler, authority, protection, space, and time. The Blended Space holds the result of the cognitive process of selecting relevant characteristics of both GOD and KING that, because of the Generic Space, forms a meaningful Blend. What is important to note is that in this Blend, a surplus of meaning is created which makes the Blend more than the sum of the Input Spaces. The value of this theory is that it tries to understand the cognitive process that forms a metaphor, even on a pre-conscious level. It also allows us to trace the construction of the metaphor through the blending process, as something that is beyond the sum of the parts of the Input Spaces.11 Other relevant terms are Mismatch, Counter-Factual Statements and anthropomorphism. First, in the comparison between the Input Spaces of GOD and KING there is an obvious counter-factual statement, since God is obviously not a king. If the disharmony is of a lesser quality, we speak of a mismatch. Secondly, what is taken over from one Input Space to another and creating a counterfactual statement in the Blend, such as GOD IS A KING, could also result in the reverse order by projecting back into the other Input Space. The new and still Counter-factual statement is then THE KING IS A GOD.12 Thirdly, a result that will be relevant in the following analysis of lament psalms is Anthropomorphism,

10

The lines between the Spaces in the following illustrations are meant to illustrate relationship, not transference. 11 Shead 2011. See Evans 2019, 528. 12 Since there are several examples in the ancient Near East of divine kingship, this might be a clue to how that notion came to be thought out. And as I will argue, this has some bearing on the metaphors studied here.

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where human characteristics are attributed to a non-human entitiy. A conceptual Blend is achieved from an Input Space HUMAN and the other ANIMAL, and the counter-factual characteristic is achieved only in the Blend.13

D. Metaphor in the Psalms of Lament I. Example 1: Psalm 22:13–19 (Eng. 22:12–18) 13

Many bulls encircle me, strong bulls of Bashan surround me; 14 they open wide their mouths at me, like a ravening and roaring lion. 15 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; 16 my mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death. 17 For dogs are all around me; a company of evildoers encircles me. My hands and feet have shrivelled;14 18 I can count all my bones. They stare and gloat over me; 19 they divide my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.15

The largest number of psalms in the book of Psalms fall under the heading lament, although the label complaint communicates more clearly what this type of psalm expresses. The heart of a complaint psalm is a description of the suffering of the psalmist and a plea, or even demand, for deliverance. Many complaint psalms also contain petitions and vows of praise. Frequently, there is also a statement of confidence that God will come to the rescue. Psalm 22 is a well-

13 This is in most cultures highly conventionalised so that no new Blend has to be created. There is already a schematic Blend available for further use, e.g., talking animals, see Evans 2019, 528, 541–542. 14 This is not the place to try to solve the old crux of MT ‫כארי ידי ורגלי‬, lit. “as a lion my hands and my feet.” For a survey of alternatives, see deClaissé-Walford, Jacobson, and Tanner 2014, 230, n 26. Seybold 1996, 96, “wickeln”; Hossfeld and Zenger 1993, 147–148, “durchbohren,” but considers v. 17b (MT) as secondary due to the displaced short form ‫ ארי‬in contrast to the longer form ‫ אריה‬in vv. 14, 22. 15 The translation used throughout is the NRSV.

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formed representative of the individual complaint psalm type, especially notable within the Christian community because it was quoted by Jesus as he was being crucified. The psalm can be divided as follows: 1) The psalmist begins with a typical complaint addressed to God because of his evil enemies (vv. 2–11) 2) A petition follows where the psalmist pleads to God to make his presence known (v. 12) 3) The psalmist then moves to a vivid description of the trouble that he experiences (vv. 13–19) 4) Then follows another petition for God’s help (vv. 20–22) 5) The writer offers an expression of confidence (vv. 23–26) built around a vow of praise (vv. 23, 26) and looks forward to the time that he will have overcome his problems through the intervention of God 6) The psalm ends by encouraging everyone to praise God (vv. 27–32)

The psalm moves from personal complaint to anticipation of salvation. The change comes when the psalmist makes a vow to give God the credit for helping him once his problem is overcome (v. 23). He will let everyone know that God is the one who made deliverance possible. The remarkable feature of this psalm, and ones like it, is the psalmist’s firm confidence that God will come to the rescue. In expressing this confidence, the complaint psalm becomes a psalm of thanksgiving in advance. As all psalms of lament, Ps 22 abounds with figurative language. In vv. 13– 19, it is even hard to find anything that is not figurative in some sense. This has always been the reason for the problem of identifying the enemies that are described by the psalmist. It may even open up the more profound question if not the notion of being threatened by enemies is not itself some form of figurative language. But for now, we will look more closely at the figurative language of vv. 13–19 and in particular its metaphors and seek to apply Blending Theory to them. The implicit Input Space I contains EVIL ENEMY and “I,” which must be spelled out in order to clearly formulate the metaphors. The metaphorical descriptions of how ENEMIES relate to the psalmist (v. 13) are interrupted by a figurative description of the psalmist being close to death (vv. 14–15), and the two scenes are brought together at the end in a climax as the enemies maltreat the nearly dead psalmist (vv. 17b–18). The metaphorical descriptions of ENEMIES are as follows, spelled out more clearly: 1) My enemies are bulls that encircle me/My enemies are strong bulls of Bashan that surround me (v. 13) 2) My enemies are ravening and roaring lions that open their wide mouths at me (v. 14) 3) My enemies are dogs that are around me (v. 17a) 4) My enemies are a company of evildoers that encircles me (v. 17b) 5) My enemies stare and gloat over me/divide my clothes among themselves/cast lots for my clothing (vv. 18b–19)

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Generic Space Individuals, humans and animals, threatening characters and behaviour

Input Space I

Input Space II

Evil enemies, the psalmist, “I”, suffering

Bulls, strong, surrounding their prey. Lions, ravening, roaring, open mouths at their prey. Wild dogs, surrounding their prey. Prey (in some helpless form)

Blended Space The enemies as dangerous, threatening and evil animals, surrounding their prey, the psalmist

Figure 3

In vv. 17b–18 the scene shifts from threatening animals to humans, which puts it outside the metaphorical frame in vv. 12–17a. It is not so much a metaphor as a hyperbole, as the psalmist is described as good as dead, which is why the clothes are taken away by thieves. Input Space I contains items such as the characters EVIL ENEMIES and the psalmist, referred to here as the “I” in the psalm. Input Space II contains vivid descriptions of wild animals getting ready to attack and consume their prey by surrounding and opening their mouths. The Generic Space holds the common abstract traits of both the Input Spaces, such as individuals in both human and animal form, and threatening characters and behaviour in the form of both enemies and wild animals. In the Blended Space we find the result of the cognitive process whereby the differences between the Input Spaces are transcended and even ignored through a process of selection from both Input Spaces. The enemies are now apparently without difficulties wild and threatening animals, and the psalmist is now the helpless prey that is being attacked by the wild animals. But the Blended Space also contains a surplus of contrafactual meaning such as wild animals being evil, through the mapping of EVIL ENEMIES to WILD ANIMALS, an example of anthropomorphism in the Blend. This is not found in Input Space II but becomes alive in the Blend between the two Input Spaces. The evil enemies are by means of the Blend characterised as not only evil but life-threateningly dangerous, which is no doubt the main objective of these highly figurative passages in individual psalms of lament. But there is also a Backward projection, where the lion becomes not only dangerous but also evil.

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The author makes use of a common scene from the surrounding cultural setting, where wild animals of various sorts seeking prey were part of everyday life.16 This common scene is then blended together with the present situation where the psalmist experiences some form of crisis. We could compare with Gen 4:7, ‫לפתח חטאת רבץ‬, “sin is lurking at the door,” where a Blend is made between the danger of being bitten by a snake at the door and the abstract concept of “sin.” “Sin” is then understood as something threatening and in the metaphorical expression it is externalized as a threatening animal.17 It is tempting to compare this with how the crisis of the psalmist is externalized using metaphor in the form of wild animals threatening their prey. The analysis of Ps 22:13–19 through the use of Blending Theory has then provided a fresh and innovative understanding of the metaphorical language used, and especially a deeper and more profound insight into the relevance of the metaphorical use of the wild animals in relation to their prey. II. Example 2: Psalm 35:15–17 15

But when I stumbled, they rejoiced, and gathered together; they gathered together, striking18 at me, and I did not understand; they kept tearing at me;19 16 they impiously mocked increasingly, gnashing at me with their teeth. 17 How long, O LORD, will you look on? Rescue me from their ravages, my life from the lions!

Psalm 35 is generally considered as an individual psalm of lament, but as always, the psalm has some further distinctive characteristics, such as war and

16

For animals used in metaphors of the enemy in the Psalms, see Brown 2014, 136–44. There is also a surplus of contrafactual meaning being created in the Blend when the snake is not only threatening but also evil, hence its suitability as a symbol of personified evil, a case of anthropomorphism (Rev 12:9, 20:2). 18 MT ‫ נכים‬is an odd form presumably from ‫נכה‬, “strike.” Kraus 1972, 275, considers it “unverständlich,” and prefers reading ‫נָ ְכ ִרים‬, “strangers,” where for some reason the ‫ ר‬has been lost. HALOT suggests a plural of ‫נָ ֶכה‬, “broken.” This is in line with LXX µάστιγες, “sickness,” which is an interpretation of the strikes the psalmist is suffering. Craigie and Tate 2004, 283, 285; deClaissé-Walford, Jacobson, and Tanner 2014, 333, follow 4Q98 2 7, ‫תכים‬, “oppressors,” which does not seem necessary, although the variation between ‫ נכים‬and ‫ תכים‬is hard to explain. Seybold 1996, 145, has “geschlagene,” but it is hard to understand where the passive sense comes from. The simplest alternative is still the MT with a variant of a participle plural. 19 Lit. “they tore at me and did not cease.” The verb ‫דמו‬, originally “be quiet” is here taken in the elaborate sense of “cease.” 17

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battle. In the wake of those characteristics the psalm has often been seen as a royal song with the king in first person, describing his wars and tribulations. The psalm can be divided into three parts: 1) The psalmist prays for God’s help in battle, speaks of the downfall of the enemy, and looks forward to the praise that will come from victory (vv. 2–10) 2) Then comes a lament that describes the enemies, a prayer for rescue and more expectance of praise after rescue (vv. 11–18) 3) Then follows a prayer regarding enemies with hopeful assurance that the prayer will be answered (vv. 19–28)

We will study the use of metaphorical language in vv. 15–17 in the lament section of the psalm to see if the use of Blending Theory can help understand more fully the metaphorical language. It is at once clear that there are several metaphors involved, creating a metaphorical cluster that would take some unravelling, and it is here that Blending Theory in particular can be of help. Generic Space Individuals, humans and animals, threatening characters and behaviour

Input Space I

Input Space II

The psalmist, “I”, suffering, stumbling evil enemies, striking, mocking, rejoicing

Prey, lions, tearing, ravaging, threatening with gnashing of teeth, gathering around their prey

Blended Space The enemies as evil and threatening lions, surrounding their prey, the psalmist

Figure 4

Again, we find that the author makes use of a common cultural motif, namely the lion as a dangerous and threatening wild animal.20 They surround their

20

The lion is the most common animal that is used in the psalm’s figurative language. Its predatory strength was common knowledge in the ancient Near Eastern cultures. Not the least do we find the lion in iconographical material, see Strawn 2005; Dick 2006. References to the lion in a figurative sense abound in the Old Testament (e.g., Gen 49:9–10; Prov 30:30; Hos 13:7, Amos 3:8; Isa 31:4; Ezek 19:2–9; Mic 5:8; Nah 2:11–12; Job 38:39–40).

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stumbling prey. The fact that the Generic Space is gathered from this area of life shows how the thinking of the author, and expressed as the experience of the psalmist, is formed in terms of the conflict they could see in their nearby surroundings. Wild animals are thought of as being dangerous and life-threatening. In that cultural situation this was an altogether common scene, which is probably why it is used, not only as an eloquent illustration in the poetic language, but because it formed the basis for the cognitive process whereby the author thought of danger and acute problems. In their thinking and understanding they intuitively looked to their perception of nature as a way of understanding and thinking about their life in difficult and life-threatening situations. The Generic Space includes the abstract items that are common to the two Input Spaces, individuals both humans and animals and threatening characters and behaviour. Input Space I contains the suffering and stumbling psalmist, together with the evil enemies and their mocking and rejoicing. Input Space II contains the vivid imagery of dangerous lions that tear and ravage, gnash their teeth and gather around their prey. The Blended Space is created by a selection of the Input Spaces, where the enemies suddenly are dangerous lions, and the lions are evil. This is not found in either of the Input Spaces but is a surplus of contrafactual meaning that is created in the Blend. By accomplishing this new meaning through the Blend, the enemies are not only evil, but also dangerous.21 And through the process of backward projection, the lion is now evil as well as dangerous. This is another case of anthropomorphism, of which there are several in relation to the lion in the Old Testament and in ancient Near Eastern literature and iconography. Again, this is most likely the reason for the animal imagery, to make the “evil enemy” not only evil in an abstract sense but also dangerous to the point of life-threatening. III. Example 3: Psalm 57:5–7 (Eng. 57:4–6) 5

My life!22 I must lie down among lions that devour human beings;23

21

Janowski 2013, 113–115, notes this emphasis on the wild instead of domestic animals. Here and in v. 7 ‫נפשי‬, “my nefesh” is used as a pronoun, a conventional metonymy, which might associate to the life-threatening situation that is being described. For the stylistic framing by the two forms, see Tate 1990, 74. Because of its emphatic placement at the start of the sentence, I would prefer to see it as an independent exclamation, “My life!,” or casus pendens (GKC §143), whereby the psalmist above all fears for his life. It could also be seen as the overall theme of the psalm; “It is a matter of life or death!” 23 The phrase is problematic, and the solutions are many. LXX seems to have read a different text, καὶ ἐρρύσατο τὴν ψυχήν µου ἐκ µέσου σκύµνων, “and he rescued my soul from among whelps. I slept, though troubled.” It would seem that the verse starts with a nominal clause, “I am in the midst of lions,” followed by a cohortative form, “I must lie down.” The following participle means “devour” (HALAT, ‫ להט‬II), which, if the clause is read as a 22

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their teeth are spears and arrows, their tongues are sharp swords. 6 Be high above the heavens, God. May your glory be high over all the earth. 7 They prepared a net for my steps; They bowed24 me down. They dug a pit before me, but have fallen into it themselves.

Ps 57 is most often classified as an individual lament, but it more than a typical psalm of that category. The strong emphasis on confidence in the whole psalm gives it the added character of thanksgiving and even hymn. There is imagery that would put the psalmist in the temple (v. 2), already at the end of the complaint and moving on to giving thanks. The psalm can be divided as follows: 1) A cry for help (v. 2) that goes on to an assurance of God’s answer to the prayer (vv. 3–4) 2) The section of complaint and petition characteristic of individual complaint psalms (vv. 5–7) 3) Finally some more strong statements of confidence and a vow to praise God (vv. 8–11)

We will apply Blending Theory to the complaint section in vv. 5–7. These verses are rich with figurative language and the attempt is to better understand the cognitive processes more fully behind the choices of metaphorical language and the construction of clusters of metaphors. The psalmist starts with a dramatic exclamation, “My life!,” which clearly states what is at stake; it is a matter of life or death! Then follows a description of a situation where the psalmist is lying among lions, clearly running the risk of being devoured by such wild animals. These lions are then suddenly described in military imagery. An interlude follows that asks God to be the high and mighty God (v. 6). Then the imagery is picked up again, only this time the scene is a hunt where the hunter is setting up a net and digging a pit to catch the prey. This cluster of metaphors of lion, soldier, hunter, can be cleared up in the following way by means of a Blend:

dependent clause, would make the meaning of the phrase “lions that devour humans.” Hossfeld and Zenger 2005, 68, 73–74, prefer to relate the devouring to both human and animal enemies and translate “I must lie down among cannibals,” an altogether unlikely translation. The phrase ‫ להטים בני אדם‬could also be taken as a nominal clause, “the devouring ones are humans,” so deClaissé-Walford, Jacobson, and Tanner 2014, 487; cf. Gerstenberger 1988, 231, which would make the identification of the devouring lions as humans explicit. However, that is a more unusual syntactical construction. Although the syntax is unclear, the best solution is to relate the prefix form to the earlier nominal clause and consider the last phrase as a description of the lions, see, e.g., Kraus 1972, 411; Seybold 1996, 228. 24 The verb ‫ כפף‬is taken as a collective singular, as a variation of the earlier plural, ‫הכינו‬.

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Generic Space Individuals, humans and animals, threatening characters and behaviour

Input Space I

Input Space II

The psalmist, “I”, threatened by evil enemies

Lions threatening and eating their prey. Hunters digging a pit, setting a net. Soldiers fighting with swords, spears, arrows

Blended Space The enemies as dangerous, threatening and evil animals, surrounding their prey, the psalmist

Figure 5

The Blending Space in this case is actually a cluster of three metaphors. It is characteristic of the metaphorical language of the psalms how these images are mixed together. Whereas the lion looks to devour its prey, it is not known to cast a net nor dig a pit to catch it. Nor does the lion wield swords, spears, or a bow. The author mixes the metaphorical framework, or Input Spaces, and places the lion as a hunter in the larger context of hunting with the reference to the hunter. And then again, the context is widened even further with the image of the soldier, which transforms the understanding from hunting to fighting to the death. Through the selection process where the Blending Space is created by means of parts of the Input Spaces, the enemies are as dangerous lions and hunters to their specific prey, and as deadly soldiers to their enemies. But there is also a surplus of contrafactual meaning being created in the Blend through the selective process of blending parts of the Input Spaces into the Blending Space. Now the lion, the hunter and the soldier are not only wild and dangerous but also evil. Again, the imagery is picked up from the close and familiar cultural surroundings of wild animals on the hunt, hunters setting traps for their prey, and soldiers wielding their weapons in war. The cognitive process whereby this Blending Space is formed is through the close association between moments of life-threatening crisis and these dramatic situations in the cultural context. These situations involving devouring lions, hunters, and soldiers become the substance out of which the cognitive process creates an understanding of life-

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threatening crisis. In that sense, it is not only that the “evil enemy” is portrayed as lions, hunters and soldiers in a mere ornamental sense, but that in a very real sense they, together with their characteristics, come to form the understanding of “life-threatening enemy” at a very profound and even pre-conscious and cultural-specific level.

E. Conclusion This study has attempted to apply Blending Theory, a developed form of Cognitive Metaphor Theory, to the problem of the metaphorical descriptions of the so-called “enemies” in the individual psalms of lament in the Old Testament. The value of this theory is that it allows us a technical and controlled way of unpacking metaphors, although in a rather cumbersome way. Above all, Blending Theory starts with the assumption that metaphor is not a mere ornamentation of language, but instead forms part of the very process of cognitive formation of language. How these metaphors were chosen would therefore give us an understanding of how these “enemies” were perceived, and even more, what function they had in the thinking of the authors of these psalms. It is clear from these examples that the added content of meaning in the Blended Space is the notion that evil enemy is dangerous. “Danger” is what was needed to be said of the evil enemy and accomplished through these contrafactual descriptions, as an understanding, and possibly even a necessary characteristic, of what is evil. This process of thinking, whereby the meaning of danger was added to to evil enemy in the Blended Space as a new and innovative yet contra-factual meaning. This shows the value of Blending Theory, even to such a profound and ellusive subject as evil in the psalms of lament.

Bibliography Aaron, David H. 2002. Biblical Ambiguities: Metaphor, Semantics, and Divine Imagery. Leiden: Brill. Brown, William P. 2002. Seeing the Psalms: A Theology of Metaphor. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Cho, Paul K. K. 2018. Myth, History, and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cohen, Mordechai Z. 2003. Three Approaches to Biblical Metaphor: From Abraham Ibn Ezra and Maimonides to David Kimhi. Leiden: Brill. Craigie, Peter C. and Marvin E. Tate. 2004. Psalm 1–50. WBC 19. 2nd ed. Nashville: Nelson. De Joode, Johan and Hanneke van Loon. 2014. “Selecting and Analyzing Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible: Cognitive Linguistics and the Literary.” Pages 39–52 in Klaas Smelik and Karolien Vermeulen (eds.), Approaches to Literary Readings of Ancient Jewish Writings. Leiden: Brill.

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deClaissé-Walford, Nancy L. et al. 2014. The Book of Psalms. Eerdmans: Grand Rapids. Dick, Michael B. 2006. “The Neo-Assyrian Royal Lion Hunt and Yahweh’s answer to Job.” JBL 125:243–270. DiFransico, Lesley R. 2016. Washing Away Sin: An Analysis of the Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and Its Influence. Leuven: Peeters. Eidevall, Göran. 2005. “Images of God, Self, and the Enemy in the Psalms: On the Role of Metaphor in Identity Construction.” Pages 55–66 in Pierre van Hecke (ed.), Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. BETL 87. Leuven: Peeters. Evans, Vyvyan. 2019. Cognitive Linguistics: A Complete Guide. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Fauconnier, Gilles. 1994. Mental Spaces: Aspects of Meaning Construction in Natural Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. –. 1997. Mappings in Thought and Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fauconnier, Gilles and Mark Turner. 2002. The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities. New York: Basic Books. Fludernik, Monika. 2011. Beyond Cognitive Metaphor Theory: Perspectives on Literary Metaphor. New York: Routledge. Gerstenberger, Erhard S. 1988. Psalms, Part 1: With an Introduction to Cultic Poetry. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Gudme, Anne Katrine de Hemmer and Ingrid Hjelm. 2015. Myths of Exile: History and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. Copenhagen International Seminar. London: Routledge. Halvorson-Taylor, Martien A. 2011. Enduring Exile: The Metaphorization of Exile in the Hebrew Bible. Leiden: Brill. Hawley, Lance R. 2018. Metaphor Competition in the Book of Job. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hecke, Pierre van, ed. 2005. Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. BETL 87. Leuven: Peeters. –. 2011. From Linguistics to Hermeneutics: A Functional and Cognitive Approach to Job 12–14. Leiden: Brill. – and Antje Labahn, eds. 2010. Metaphors in the Psalms. Leuven: Peeters. Hossfeld, Frank-Lothar and Erich Zenger. 1993. Die Psalmen: 1, Psalm 1–50. Würzburg: Echter-Verlag. –. 2005. Psalms 2: A Commentary on Psalms 51–100. Minneapolis: Fortress. Janowski, Bernd. 2013. Arguing with God: A Theological Anthropology of the Psalms. Translated by Armin Siedlecki. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Jindo, Job Y. 2005. “On Myth and History in Prophetic and Apocalyptic Eschatology.” VT 55:412–415. –. 2010. Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah 1–24. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Keel, Othmar. 1969. Feinde und Gottesleugner: Studien zum Image der Widersacher in den Individualpsalmen. Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk. Kittay, E. F. 1987. Metaphor: Its Cognitive Force and Linguistic Structure. Oxford: Clarendon. Kraus, Hans-Joachim. 1972. Psalmen 1–63. BK 15/1. Neukirchen-Vlyun: Neukirchener Verlag. –. 1979. Theologie der Psalmen. Neukirchen-Vlyun: Neukirchener Verlag. Labahn, Antje. 2009. Conceptual Metaphors in Poetic Texts: Proceedings of the Metaphor Research Group of the European Association of Biblical Studies in Lincoln. Piscataway: Gorgias.

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Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lam, Joseph. 2016. Patterns of Sin in the Hebrew Bible: Metaphor, Culture, and the Making of a Religious Concept. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Moore, Anne. 2009. Moving Beyond Symbol and Myth: Understanding the Kingship of God of the Hebrew Bible Through Metaphor. New York: Peter Lang. Moughtin-Mumby, Sharon. 2008. Sexual and Marital Metaphors in Hosea, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mowinckel, Sigmund. 1921. Psalmenstudien 1: Åwän und die individuellen Klagepsalmen. Kristiania: Videnskabsselskapet. O’Brien, Julia M. 2008. Challenging Prophetic Metaphor: Theology and Ideology in the Prophets. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Pantoja, Jennifer Metten. 2017. The Metaphor of the Divine as Planter of the People: Stinking Grapes or Pleasant Planting? Leiden: Brill. Parrill, Fey et al. 2009. Meaning, Form, and Body. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Seybold, Klaus. 1996. Die Psalmen. HAT I/15. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Shead, Stephen L. 2011. Radical Frame Semantics and Biblical Hebrew: Exploring Lexical Semantics. Leiden: Brill. Southwood, Katherine. 2018. “Metaphor, Illness, and Identity in Psalms 88 and 102.” JSOT 43:228–246. Strawn, Brent A. 2005. What is Stronger than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East. Fribourg: Academic. Tate, Marvin E. 1990. Psalms 51–100. WBC 20. Waco: Word Books. Turner, Mark. 1996. The Literary Mind. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2001. Cognitive Dimensions of Social Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Yoder, Tyler R. 2016. “Fishers of Fish and Fishers of Men: Fishing Imagery in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East.” JBL 133:627–646.

Suffering and Identity in the Book of Job* Terje Stordalen Susannah Ticciati’s title Job and the Disruption of Identity: Reading Beyond Barth evokes modernist perceptions of the dynamic between suffering and identity: Identity is seen as a relatively stable phenomenon, and experiences of suffering may contribute to de-stabilizing the self.1 As opposed to this, Ticciati argues that Job’s identity is constituted by disruptions and reformations – with a fundamental relationship to God as a core in that ever-changing identity: Job is “created” and “elected,” and the deity demonstrates a fundamental solidarity with his creatures, also sharing their disruption. Her analysis thus reflects the recent understanding of identity as continuously formed through relations and roles. While it is easy to sympathize with this orientation, Ticciati’s position still implies that the experience of suffering is fundamentally something that needs to be overcome in order to build a viable identity. In reality, however, suffering individuals may develop a sense of identification with their suffering.2 The protagonist of the book of Job seems to do just that: “I resume my mourning over dust and ashes.”3 So, could suffering in fact be a potential resource for identity formation, and do we see reflexes of that in the book of Job? I believe so, and I hope making this argument can help give back suffering individuals some of their agency. First, however, two theoretical lenses for reading need to be presented.

A. Identity Theory: Dialogical Self Theory The concept “identity” is multivalent.4 The word covers meanings like “distinguishing character,” “sameness,” “psychological orientation,” “experienced in* It is a privilege to offer this study in honour of a friend and colleague who, more than most, has contemplated issues of suffering and identity in classical Hebrew literature. 1 Ticciati 2005. 2 Korhonen and Komulainen 2017, 19, 26–36, speak of “a commitment to the gradual undertaken survivor-position.” See further Schmitt 1981. The ability to identify with suffering has deep roots in Jewish culture, cf. Benbassa 2010. 3 Job 42:6: ‫ונחמתי על עפר ואפר‬. See discussion of this verse at the end of this essay. 4 The Oxford English Dictionary lists no less than fifteen different meanings, organized into seven main categories (Oxford English Dictionary Online).

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dividual coherence,” or “group characteristics.” The concept applies to individuals as well as to groups, and many theories see a connection between the two. Competing psychological, socio-psychological, and collective memory theories contest to provide answers to the question of how (individual and/or collective) identity is formed and maintained.5 There seem to be three particularly important arenas for individual identity formation: 1) people’s perceptions and narratives of themselves; 2) individuals being defined/identified by social roles and the performance of these roles; and 3) individuals appropriating (or protesting) group identity and collective memory. In postcolonial identity theory the notion of a well-defined and stable self is questioned. One such theory is the “Dialogical Self Theory” (DST). I present here some aspects of that theory, which will support the ensuing reading of the book of Job. This theory posits that “the self might be better conceived not as a single entity with a true core but as a multifaceted structure, constituted by a diversity of positions that could be endowed with a voice and encouraged to narrate their own stories.”6 The theory was formulated by Hubert Hermans in the 1990s7 and relies on James’s and Mead’s theories of the self and Bakhtin’s insights on dialogical processes.8 Psychologists argue on empirical grounds that the dialogical self is not simply a modern phenomenon.9 Indeed, dialogical reasoning and communication seem to be typical features of oral cultures and were in common use throughout the ancient Near East. This mode of thinking, speaking, and writing was only eclipsed by the rise of popular literacy in Europe in the seventeenth century.10 Confidants in therapy may narrate their self as a landscape of I positions conversing with a population of Me-voices and Other-voices. Peter Raggatt interprets this as “dialogical triads” consisting of I, Me, and Other-positions.11 The distinction between I and Me positions is fundamental to psychological identity theory and derives from the classical study of George Herbert Mead.12 5 McLean and Syed 2015 describe the field of identity formation study as internally fragmented and with strong oppositions. Important theorists appearing in most accounts of individual memory are George Herbert Mead, William James, and Erik Eriksson. For a resumé of ongoing discussion see for instance Burke and Stets 2009a; Schwartz et al. 2011; Vignoles et al. 2011; McLean and Syed 2014; Hammack 2015. 6 Gonçalves and Konopka 2019, 14. 7 Cf. Hermans et al. 1992; Hermans and Kempen 1993. See a review of the historical background in Barresi 2002. For a summary, see Hermans 2002; Konopka et al. 2019. 8 Hermans 2011, referring to James 1890; Mead 1934; Bakhtin 1984. Beebe 2002 argues that the theory is also connected to Jungian psychoanalysis. 9 Thus Halen and Janssen 2004. 10 See Stordalen 2014 and Perry 1993, 188–90 (with further literature); entries in HasanRokem 1990; Reinink and Vanstiphout 1991. 11 Raggatt 2014, 107f. 12 Cf. Burke and Stets 2009b, 19–23.

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The contribution of DST is, first, the emphasis upon a multi-voiced and de-centred self and, secondly, the social nature of both I and Me positions. All these positions are internalized from the social world – a point that has received much attention within dialogical self theory,13 and which was emphasized even more in sociocultural studies based on Vygotsky’s and Bakhtin’s work.14 Voices in the dialogical self speak from specific positions (in time, space, and social landscapes) and they are addressed to other voices within the self that hold similarly specific positions. Raggatt probed this clinically and concluded that early experiences, like learning to distinguish between the I and the Me, provide a paradigm for how human beings keep developing their self-perception. He analyses voice exchange using Bakhtin’s concept of the chronotope: specific voices dialoguing in a specific place and time to generate a particular fictional world.15 A chronotope may consist of several I-voices, Mevoices, and Other-voices/objects/incidents. To the person in question these voices and their conversation display a sense of cohesion.16 Importantly, all such voices are part of the self; the I that narrates the story of the conversation takes the perspective of different voices and sees itself through them. There is a gradual transition between I and Me, and I and You. This inner dialogue was theorized and tested through the “dialogical self’s round table theory.” This theory indicated that certain voices of the self converse more intensely with other positions, rendering the self as a multinodal “round table.”17 In sum, a voice is an “emotionally grounded and personally constructed … focus on one’s life in the here-and-now,”18 and a chronotope is a constellation of voices perceived to be conversing on the same topic. To Mikhail Bakhtin, voices are not simply words – they are utterances located in time and space, and they are embodied. Voices in the self reflect an “experiential immediacy of life such as an immediate revulsion of the grotesque, a breathless arrest at the sublime, an irresistible care and commitment to another.” Bakhtin’s analysis of the grotesque in the work of Rabelais, holds that it has “the task of bringing readers into embodied awareness” of what is described. The grotesque (or similar) evokes “an experience of life that is not reducible to discursive rejoinders” and which extends beyond the narrated situation.19

13

See for instance Josephs 2002; Joerchel 2013; Gube 2016; Freeman 2017. Wertsch 1991, esp. ch. 2. 15 For the concept, see Bakhtin 1981, 84–258, and further (and very helpfully) Bemong et al. 2010. 16 Raggatt 2014, 114. 17 Bokus et al. 2017. 18 Josephs 2002, 162. 19 For all this see Cresswell and Baerveldt 2011, citations 264, 266, and 270, cf. 265–268. 14

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B. A Discourse on Job’s Self One might readily accept that dialogical theory is applicable to the book of Job. Several interpreters apply Bakhtinian theory to this book,20 which obviously relies on literary and argumentative strategies anchored in dialogical reasoning.21 But does it make sense to say, as I do below, that the primary topic of the book is, in fact, a discourse on Job’s self? After all, the majority view still seems to be that the book is about explaining the origin of suffering or providing a theodicy for Job’s God. To motivate the following reading, therefore, let me start by pointing out how linguistic statistics verify a strong textual preoccupation with the self of the hero. At the most intense, Job refers to himself up to 266 times per 1000 words.22 The friends refer to themselves much less frequently,23 and they also refer less frequently to Job than he refers to them.24 So Job is the character most preoccupied with personage. Interestingly, the deity has the lowest score of self-references in the book: less than 11 on average. Elihu is the only character in the book that emulates Job’s intensity of self-reference. His first speech peaks at 90, and he has an average of 55. Clearly, Elihu is challenged by the foregoing discourse and believes he needs a justification to speak. Perhaps this explains the extensive self-reference? Interestingly, a high percentage of self-reference is found also in laments and hymns of confidence in the book of Psalms; that is, in texts where the speaker is challenged and needs to defend, and sometimes redefine, himself.25 In short, Job’s extensive self-references seem to reflect cultural perceptions of the significance of suffering and grief. These were perceived to reflect negatively back on the affected person, which created a need – and a socially recognized space – for the speaker to justify himself and so make lengthy self-references. This, along with the explicit focus on Job’s character,26 renders it plausible that a discourse on Job’s self is, in fact, a centrepiece of the book. 20 This was most forcefully promoted by Newsom 2002; 2003; see further idem 2007. For the wider reception of Bakhtin in biblical scholarship, see Boer 2007; Green 2000; 2005. 21 For argumentation and literature, see Stordalen 2006; 2021. 22 These statistics measure the count of first-person verbs, suffixes, and pronouns within each chapter of the book. The average for Job is around 100, and he never scores below 56 per 1000 words. 23 The average for the three friends is around 18. In his first speech, Eliphaz reaches 34, perhaps a sign that his self is being challenged (cf. below)? 24 Job refers to them on average around 20 times per 1000 words; they are between 8 (Bildad) and 20 (Eliphaz). 25 Ps 18 scores 160; Ps 31 goes at 160; Ps 41 has 170; Ps 44 has 155, and so forth. Interestingly, the sapiential poem Ps 119, which is all about forming character, scores the highest: 185. 26 ‫והיה האיש ההוא תם וישר וירא אלהים וסר מרע‬, “And this man had integrity and was upright, fearing God and turning away from evil” (1:1).

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C. A Population of Voices in Job’s Self Historically, biblical exegesis has been a programmatically modernist project aimed at sanitizing the premodern Bible for modern faith.27 It comes as no surprise, therefore, that the guild of interpreters who engaged the book of Job were largely influenced by a modern perception of identity as a stable and wellbounded phenomenon. Accordingly, conflicting voices and inconsistent speech – of which there is a good deal in the book of Job – were typically interpreted as indications of a complex history of composition.28 Even in more recent interpretations of the book, the fact that the hero openly leads an internal dialogue is scarcely noticed.29 The intention here is to begin filling that void in biblical scholarship. The Job of the opening narrative speaks in one voice only: the voice of iconic, parodic piety.30 Reporting on his habit of providing a burnt offering “in case his children had blessed [i.e. cursed] God in their heart”; the narrator remarks that Job “always acted like that” (‫ככה יעשה איוב כל הימים‬, 1:5).31 Indeed, when responding to the two initial tests (1:21–22 and 2:10) Job keeps up the characteristic profile of the pious man (cf. 1:1, 8; 2:3). This man has an utterly coherent self, but only at the cost of appearing estranged from his own loss and nonsensical to his wife. The change of voice starts in chapter 3. The author – who had Job use the euphemism “bless” (‫ )ברך‬to denote “curse” (‫)ארר‬32 – now puts the word “curse” in his mouth.33 The man who avoided even naming “you-know-what,” has attained a new voice. This new Job speaks in several contradicting voices: his different voices have differing perceptions of his situation and strategies. As seen above, psychotherapy clients may provide narratives of conversations between inner voices. These voices were first internalized from the social world and now serve as perspectives for the narrating I of the autobiography. The inner voices know and evaluate each other, and their conversation constitutes the

27

See for instance Sheehan 2013. See representatively Fohrer 1963, 29–42; Pope 1973, xxiii–xxx. 29 In the most recent major attempt at providing a dialogical reading of the book of Job, namely that by Hyun 2013, the author records that Job’s voice is inconsistent, but he ascribes that to the fact that Job is dialoguing with the friends – not with himself. 30 Vogels 1994. 31 Clines 1989, 15: “Job’s piety is scrupulous, even excessively so, if not actually neurotically anxious.” 32 This euphemism appears to have been cultural custom, see 1 Kgs 21:10, 13; Ps 10:3 (Clines 1989, 16). Clines believes the intended Hebrew root should have been ‫קלל‬, but the quote here in chapter 3 indicates differently. 33 ‫יקבהו אררי יום העתידים ערר לויתן‬: “Let [the day] be cursed by those who are prepared to stir up Leviathan!” (3:8). 28

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forming of the self. Something like this also emerges in Job. In some passages he wants to die (3:11, 21; 7:15–16), and he seems convinced that death would be the end of all (14:10–14). In other passages he is bent on living to lead a case against God and the friends (10:2; 13:7–8, 18; 23:4), even toying with the idea that death is not the final defeat (16:16; 19:27). He airs the view that no human could survive a case against Shaddai (10:7; 19:7–8), but he also hopes that meeting before the deity might, in fact, save him (13:16; 16:19–20). In one case, we literally hear the echo of an imagined divine voice which gives a shred of hope to Job’s Me: “Would he use his great power to contend with me? Certainly not; he would pay attention to me!” (23:6).34 The ardent listener may hear in this utterance how the voice of hopeful Job is inspired by his perception of how the deity might respond in such a situation – a classic case of a dialogical self. The new Job speaks as much to himself as to the friends. The two addresses opening the two parts of the dialogue (chs. 3 and 29–31) both have the form of soliloquies.35 More importantly, the hero often explicitly leads an internal dialogue with himself and with others (see for instance 9:25–29; 14:13–22; 19:23– 27). He has several dialogues with the deity, and he narrates stories of how he would imagine a dialogue with God should have been (for instance in chs. 10 and 23). Since the major problem for the proponent in this part of the book is that the deity is absent, the God speaking in Job’s dialogues must be a voice in Job’s self.36 In similar ways, he converses with Me-voices, for instance the Me targeted by Shaddai (6:4) and defined by the silence of the deity (6:8). At one point, Job construes God’s attacks to indicate that the deity sees him as a “sea monster” (7:12). Nowhere in the book does the deity suggest that, so this reflects Job’s perception of God’s mind.37 Similarly, Job responds to his friend’s monologues by claiming that he never asked for anything from them (6:22–23). No friend makes that accusation, so this is again Job’s calculation of the friends’ minds – he responds to a voice emerging in his self. It is a muchnoted fact that the speeches of the book do not cogently respond to each other.38 Different explanations could be given for this,39 and perhaps the situation was

34

With Clines 2006, 576, I take the verb ‫ שים‬in the last half of the verse to be elliptical: “set [his attention] on me.” 35 Thus Murphy 1981, 22–23, 38–39. For these as opening speeches, see already Fohrer 1963, 36f, and recently Stordalen 2016, 112–113; idem 2021. 36 For instance, Clines 1989, 239–240, notes these addresses, but makes no point of the fact that Job speaks to a deity who is not there. 37 Again, this point is lost by most interpreters, for instance Habel 1985, 162–163; Clines 1989, 188–189; Wilson 2007, 70. 38 Course 1994 reviews earlier scholarship and argues on linguistic and rhetorical grounds for some sense of cohesion. 39 Hoffman 1996, 58–64, 116–131, discusses various reasons for the disconnects, ranging

Stordalen: Suffering and Identity in the Book of Job

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generated by several different conditions. However, one lead may also be taken from the fact that speakers “quote” other speakers for utterances that are not given in the book.40 This could reflect a state where speakers quote inner voices representing their calculation of the mind of the opponent, or the perceived implication of his position, rather than a verbatim rendition of his words.41

D. Chronotopes in the Making of Job’s Self The dialogical self theory imagines the inner dialogue as a round table conference where a voice may converse more intensely with some voices and less so with other.42 Raggatt suggests charting these interactions as chronotopes – streams of dialogical exchange that promote differentiation and dynamics to the self.43 In the following, I provide a rough draft of how one may perceive voices in the book of Job (some of them seem external, but most of them are internalized) as clustering into chronotopes. Since we are not able to actually interview the proponent, the attempt is necessarily explorative. However, I have designed the chronotopes under the influence of Bemong et al.’s discussion and in analogy with the case study presented by Raggatt, who was able to refer to the live autobiography of his patient “Charles.”44 I have taken my narrative framework from the biography of the book (Job 1–2; 42:7–17) and from the autobiography, which is most explicit in chapters 29–31. Each chronotope is anchored in a specific time/place complex in the life of the hero. I perceive these complexes to be salient in the totality of this literary universe – chronotopes that imply a particular fictional self of the hero.45 I. Job, God’s Blessed and Timid Client This Joban self is all over the introductory narrative as a “naturalized” version of the perfect client of God.46 In the frame tale it is spoken by the narrator and the deity. Within the dialogue, it is explicitly voiced – for instance by Eliphaz (4:3–4). More importantly, reflections of social roles and performances contributing to the continuous formation of this self occur throughout the speeches

from heterogeneous composition to stylistic and genre-specific convention. He also concludes that there is a sense of cohesion. 40 In addition to Job mentioned above, see for instance Bildad in 18:3; Elihu in 33:8–9. 41 With Gordis 1965, 174–175. 42 Bokus et al. 2017. 43 Raggatt 2014, 113–114. 44 Bemong et al. 2010; Raggatt 2014. 45 Cf. Bemong et al. 2010, 4. 46 For a recent view of patron-clientship in the biblical world, see Boer 2015, 105–109.

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of all four friends. This self is explicit in Job’s soliloquy of his pious past (Job 29), where he portrays the deity as consulting in his tent (29:4). This chronotope harbours contesting voices, such as that of Mrs. Job (2:9). The pious man is also targeted by the narrator, who describes Job as ridiculously anxious about his children and then responding insensitively to the catastrophe. The most fundamental counter voice in this chronotope, however, is that of Hassatan, who points to the benefits of a pious clientship as the real motivation for Job’s pious self. Interestingly, Job comes very close to confirming Hassatan’s argument in his lament over the blessed past that is lost (ch. 29). So, the book harbours a dialogue even on the monological Job!47 The deity seems initially to have been charmed – but not entirely convinced (cf. 2:3–6) – by the upright Job. Job, however, does not play out this self in proximity to God. This self plays out in the world of family ritual (1:5), family life (1:4; 1:21–22; 2:9–10), and in the sapiential colloquium gathering in 2:11– 13. The deity’s final verdict is that the three friends, who literally incorporate the ideal of timid piety, have been wrong in some sense (42:7–9). I take this as a signal that the blessed and timid Job is the one self that the deity of this literary universe is the least comfortable with. II. Job, the Challenged Wise Man Throughout the book Job performs the role of a ‫ – חכם‬a wise man, well-educated, with sober manners, and a high social standing.48 Job and his friends develop a contest over who is the better wise man.49 The moment in time and space for this chronotope is the speech opening the first dialogical cycle. At the heart of the controversy between Job and his friends lies a question formulated in his first speech (3:20): “Why is light given to one who suffers, and life to a bitter self?” At this point in time, Job is haunted by loss and bodily suffering, and by having to face that “which he fears the most” (3:25). But he is also agitated by the fact that he does not understand (3:26). Because of his vexation he no longer manages to discipline his mouth (6:2–3) – he utters “thoughtless speech” (6:11–13).50 Being alienated from his own life, house, and place (7:1–2, 7, 10) brings his pious guard down and he speaks words that he simultaneously fears (7:11–12; 13:13–16). At one point, Zophar is almost ready to sympathize, but falls back on conventional wisdom (20:2–3). Overall, the friends are disgusted with

47

A similar point, seeing also the “frame tale” as part of the dialogical composition is now also made by Hyun 2013. 48 For a profile on wisdom teachers, see still Blenkinsopp 1995; Grabbe 1995. 49 See Job 11:6; 12:2; 13:5; 15:8; 26:3; 32:7, 9, 13. 50 The importance of the speaker’s self-control to the socialization of sages is evident for instance in Job 23:1; Prov 25:11. See further Bühlmann 1976; Stordalen 2020.

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Job’s undisciplined speech and see him as a chatterbox.51 They are programmed to speak with self-control and good timing; thus they try to reproach Job and convert him, for he does not behave like the wise man he should be (cf. 4:2–6). Job, on the other hand, claims that his speech is in fact wise, or at least truthful (12:3–4; 13:1–4). In order to defend it, he invokes a sense of the “experiential immediacy of life.”52 He claims to be speaking not only from the position of reason, but also from anguish, pain, and despair: “So I will not restrain my mouth, I shall speak in the anguish of my spirit, complain in my bitter self” (7:11, cf. 23:1). Speaking from this place, he rebukes his fellow sages for being so consumed with their sense of meaning in life that they are unable to recognize his anguish and despair: “You would even cast lots over the orphan, and bargain over your friend” (6:27).53 This, to him, is proof that they are not as wise and well-tempered as they think they are. The challenged sage ends up criticizing the moral universe of his fellow sages for not being able to recognize the fact that life can be out of balance. Imagining Job’s inner voices seated at a round table, a spatial constellation now begins to emerge. The narrating voice of the hero has his three (four) friends immediately close. In the first chronotope, they are engaged in a dialogue of mutual understanding, with a discourse giving heed to tradition and convention. Mrs. Job and Hassatan sit further away at the table, practically shut out of the conversation. In the second chronotope, the challenged wise man begins to speak with voices that echo those of Mrs. Job and Hassatan. The friends, however, seem to think that they are still dialoguing with the Job of the first chronotope. The narrating hero is not indifferent towards his fellow sages. He keeps speaking their jargon and using their genres in an attempt to convince them – it is important for him to be recognized as part of their guild. Yet in this chronotope Job seems to be speaking past the friends, engaging voices on the other side of the table. III. Job, the Plaintiff Already in chronotope 1 there is a subtext suggesting that the problem is not that Job lacks understanding; rather, the problem is that he understands all too well what is going on. Evoking the mode of traditional lament, Job’s reply to Eliphaz refers to his suffering as “arrows from Shaddai” and “terror from Eloah” (6:4). If you hear this utterance from the position of chronotope 1, it simply illustrates “receiving the bad” from Elohim (cf. 2:10) – the ultimate pious gesture. But there is a logical substructure to the conventional lament that does not escape the erudite hero, a logic that renders the deity responsible for 51

Job 8:2; 11:2–3; 15:2–6; 18:2; 34:35, etc. Cresswell and Baerveldt 2011, see discussion above. 53 See vv. 24–27. Cf. similarly Job 6:14–15; 12:2–4; 13:1–12; 16:2–6; 19:2; 21:2; 26:2. 52

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Job’s suffering. Already in his first response to Eliphaz, Job’s exploration of wisdom (chronotope 2) develops into a dialogue with his inner voice of God. Chapter 7 begins as a general address, but a “you” emerges in v. 7. From v. 11 the hero refrains from suppressing his dialogue with this “you,” which turns out to be the deity.54 This very first address to the divine is different from that initially aimed at the friends; it is no simple, unsolicited reflection based on the immediacy of life. Already the first address is rich in sapiential erudition pointed against tradition. In 7:12 Job asks if the deity considers him to be a sea monster, alluding to the mythology of divine combat also reflected in chapter 41.55 In vv. 17–21 Job presents a reversal of Ps 8.56 If there is a “reversal” of Job in this book,57 it is here, at the point where Job steps out of the world of conventional religion and wisdom, investing his full faculties to promote what is perceived by his friends as “the other side.” The discourse around the plaintiff is dominant in this part of the book. In his next speech (ch. 9), Job outlines the legal and moral landscape associated with this chronotope. He knows it is impossible for a human to raise a case against the deity, and yet he cannot refrain from doing just that. He also cannot escape the conclusion that the deity is immoral, and human life (or at least Job’s life) is meaningless. Job is still exceedingly erudite in this undertaking, but he behaves beyond the socially acceptable. He seems to be leaving the courteous world of the sages behind. He is a plaintiff, and no longer a client of the deity (and his court on earth). All four friends, and eventually also the deity, give voice to the opposite side in this chronotope, each of them engaging whatever aspect of the complex their individual voice is concerned with. Mrs. Job and Hassatan do not speak after the reversal, but one might revisit their voices in chronotope 1 and hear their echoes in the Job of chronotope 3 (it would be too much to summarize all that here). While the voices of the friends remain the same in this chronotope as in the first, Job’s voice is very different. The deity speaking in Job’s self as well as in chapters 38–41 certainly must be different than the one in chapters 1–2. Again, the issue of developing selves seems to lie at the heart of the plot.

54 Clines 1989, 183, aptly remarks concerning vv. 1–6 that “if these words are not spoken to God, they are spoken in the direction of God: they are for God’s hearing” (italics in the original). Like most other commentators, Clines seems to presuppose that the deity, being “most distant, most silent,” is nevertheless able to hear. However, Job does not seem to share that presumption at this point in the book. He is talking to his inner voice. 55 See Clines 1989, 189f, for an up-to-date overview of the relevant West Semitic mythology and its reflexes in biblical literature. 56 Lindström 1994, 80–81, 379–426; cf. recently Schmid 2007, 258. 57 van Wolde 1994.

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IV. Job the Mourner The purpose of the friends convening in chapter 2 is to offer comfort (‫)נחם‬. Their full week of silence seems like a social ritual for mourning.58 So, the chronotope of the mourning Job also emerges while chronotope 1 is in force. However, it does not end there: When the discourse starts, Job declares that the friends’ comfort is of little worth, since they keep speaking nonsense (16:2; 21:34). Throughout his last speech he gives voice to hurt and mourning (30:31), and a line stretches from that point to the end of the dialogue. Job 42:2–6 is linguistically complex, and it holds a text-critical problem that is often neglected. I have elsewhere argued to translate these verses to the effect that Job has accepted the immoral nature of divine power (v. 2 reading: “You know you can do anything; nothing is impossible for you”). He gives up the conversation and returns to his mourning (v. 6 reading: “Therefore: Enough! I resume my mourning over dust and ashes”).59 Having made this move, Job again receives mourning visitors (42:11). These are his local associates, perhaps those scorning him in chapter 30. This time, however, they offer gifts, taking part in a conventional ritual aimed at bringing Job out of his grief and back into everyday life.60 Even the deity appears to take part in this rehabilitation – with generous gifts. The voice of the mourning Job runs as a counterpoint beneath all chronotopes in the book. It repeatedly resorts to corporeal discourse,61 and it is the most explicitly embodied voice of this literary universe. Its horizon is the experience of catastrophe and the immediate need for care and love. This voice asks for compassion, not justice, and for recognition rather than justification: “Lift your faces towards me!” (6:28); “Why do you not forgive my transgression and remove my sin?” (7:21); “Your hand shaped and made me, and now you turn around to destroy me?” (10:8); “Oh, that you would give me refuge in sheol, hide me until your wrath is past, give me a statute, and then remember me!” (14:13). The connection to bodily experience of life brings literary energy to all other movements of the book. This chronotope represents “the materiality of the body speaking its mother tongue” – providing resonance and recognition to the entire literary universe.62 Such resonance has pre-linguistic elements. This is 58

Clines 1989, 63–65; Anderson 1991, 82 (n. 69), 84. Stordalen 2015, esp. 188–197, with further literature. See different views of this utterly complicated text for instance in van Wolde 1994; Krüger 2007. 60 Anderson 1991, 84–87. 61 Jones 2013 gives a good overview of the role of corporeal discourse in the semantic discourse of the book. I intend here to point also to the phenomenological timbre of body language. 62 Folkvord and Lauschke 2015, which highlight the (in a wide sense) aesthetic dimension represented in experiencing human interaction. I am a little more optimistic than they are on the possibility of evoking a memory or a recognition of these dimensions also through words. 59

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no longer a master of words – a sage – speaking; it is simply an embodied human being.

E. Epilogue The final narrative is puzzling and it complicates all attempts to read the book of Job as a discourse on the problem of suffering and righteousness. Superficially, the original status of Job is restored and normal life resumes. Is this to indicate that Job is vindicated (cf. 42:7), so that there is indeed a fundamental (if not always immediate) correspondence between righteousness and the good life? Or does it indicate that the contest with Hassatan is resolved, and life goes on as before? In either case, one is struck with a sense that, after such a tremendous drama, the conclusion should hardly be that nothing has changed. But Job has changed. (God too, perhaps, but that is not the point here.) Through his experience of loss, suffering, social dismay, and existential fear, Job has discovered facets in himself that were silenced and suppressed in his blessed past. That past echoes in Job’s soliloquy in chapters 29 and 30. This text documents the social and symbolic violence needed to keep the “blessed” universe of Job the elder in place.63 Precisely because Job was such a successful client of God (1:1–3), he also became a patron in his town: he commanded respect and silence in the town’s gate (29:7–10), he enjoyed praise from all his clients (29:11–17, 21–25), and, serving as the prime voice of the local community, he seriously scorned the “misfits” (30:1–5). That same symbolic violence, however, also motivated his “empty, pious slogans” in 1:21–22 and 2:10.64 By chapter 42 a new self has emerged with a dialogical alertness and a distrust towards conventional truth – a self with awareness of human fragility. This should prevent Job from exercising social and symbolic violence in the same, self-evident manner as before (this may be indicated in his giving inheritance rights to his daughters). In this sense, the ending of the book is nothing like the beginning. While the second Job doubtlessly enjoys his wealth and happiness, he can no longer believe that he had in fact earned it. He also can no longer think that his piety will protect him and his family from misfortune. Returning to the issue of suffering and identity: It is clear that Job’s suffering does not destroy his identity. On the contrary, suffering is the all-important catalyst for Job to develop a wiser, more flexible, and resilient self. I do not suggest that, were we able to interview him, the proponent of the book would have said that suffering was good. But I do suggest that by investing himself in the way he did, Job gained something that we all could all recognize as very valuable. 63 64

Stordalen 2016, 120–23. See again Vogels 1994.

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Bibliography Anderson, Gary A. 1991. A Time to Mourn, A Time to Dance: The Expression of Grief and Joy in Israelite Religion. Philadelphia, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Bakhtin, Mikhail. 1981. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Edited by Michael Holquist. Translated by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. University of Texas Press Slavic Series 1. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. –. 1984. Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Translated by Caryl Emerson. Theory and History of Literature 8. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Barresi, John. 2002. “From ‘the Thought is the Thinker’ to ‘the Voice is the Speaker’: William James and the Dialogical Self.” Theory and Psychology 12:237–250. Beebe, John. 2002. “An Archetypal Model for the Self in Dialogue.” Theory and Psychology 12:267–280. Bemong, Nele et al., eds. 2010. Bakhtin’s Theory of the Literary Chronotope: Reflections, Applications, Perspectives. Ghent: Academia. Benbassa, Esther. 2010. Suffering as Identity: The Jewish Paradigm. Translated by G. M. Goshgarian. London: Verso. Blenkinsopp, Joseph. 1995. Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel. LAI. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Boer, Roland, ed. 2007. Bakhtin and Genre Theory in Biblical Studies. SemeiaSt 63. Atlanta, GA: SBL. Boer, Roland. 2015. The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel. LAI. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Bokus, Barbara et al. 2017. “The Dialogical Self’s Round Table: Who Sits at It and Where.” Psychology of Language and Communication 21:84–108. Bühlmann, Walter. 1976. Vom rechten Reden und Schweigen: Studien zu Proverbien 10–31. Freiburg im Breisgau: Universitätsverlag/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Burke, Peter J. and Jan E. Stets, eds. 2009a. Identity Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2009b. “The Roots of Identity Theory.” Pages 18–32 in Identity Theory. Edited by Peter J. Burke and Jan E. Stets. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clines, David J. 1989. Job 1–20. WBC 17. Dallas, TX: Word Books. –. 2006. Job 21–37. WBC 18A. Nashville, TN: Nelson. Course, John E. 1994. Speech and Response: A Rhetorical Analysis of the Introductions to the Speeches of the Book of Job (Chaps. 4–24). CBQMS 25. Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association. Cresswell, James and Cor Baerveldt. 2011. “Bakthin’s Realism and Embodiment: Towards a Revision of the Dialogical Self.” Culture and Psychology 17:263–277. Fohrer, Georg. 1963. Das Buch Hiob. KAT 16. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn. Folkvord, Ingvild and Marion Lauschke. 2015. “‘The Materiality of the Body Speaking Its Mother Tongue’: About Dialogues and Phenomena of Resonance.” International Journal for Dialogical Science 9:159–175. Freeman, Mark. 2017. “Worlds Within and Without: Thinking Otherwise about the Dialogical Self.” Journal of Theoretical and Philosophical Psychology 37:201–213. Gonçalves, Miguel M. et al. 2019. “Introduction.” Pages 14–18 in Handbook of Dialogical Self Theory and Psychotherapy: Bridging Psychotherapeutic and Cultural Traditions. Edited by Agnieszka Konopka et al. Oxon: Routledge.

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Gordis, Robert. 1965. The Book of God and Man: A Study of Job. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Grabbe, Lester. 1995. Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press. Green, Barbara. 2000. Mikhail Bakhtin and Biblical Scholarship: An Introduction. SemeiaSt 38. Atlanta, GA: SBL. –. 2005. “Bakhtin and the Bible: A Select Bibliography.” Perspectives in Religious Studies 32:339–345. Gube, Jan. 2016. “Sociocultural Trail within the Dialogical Self: I-Positions, Institutions, and Cultural Armory.” Culture and Psychology 23:3–18. Habel, Norman C. 1985. The Book of Job. OTL. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster. Halen, Cor van and Jacques Janssen. 2004. “The Usage of Space in Dialogical Self-Construction: From Dante to Cyberspace.” Identity: An International Journal of Theory and Research 4:389–405. Hammack, Philip L., Jr. 2015. “Theoretical Foundations of Identity.” Pages 11–30 in The Oxford Handbook of Identity Development. Edited by Kate C. McLean and Moin Syed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hasan-Rokem, Galit. 1990. “The Aesthetics of the Proverb: Dialogue of Discourses from Genesis to Glasnost.” Proverbium 7:105–116. Hermans, Hubert J. M. 2002. “The Dialogical Self as a Society of Mind: Introduction.” Theory and Psychology 12:147–160. –. 2011. “The Dialogical Self: A Process of Positioning in Space and Time.” Pages 656–678 in The Oxford Handbook of the Self. Edited by Shaun Gallagher. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hermans, Hubert J. M. and Harry J. G. Kempen. 1993. The Dialogical Self: Meaning as Movement. San Diego: Academic. Hermans, Hubert et al. 1992. “The Dialogical Self: Beyond Individualism and Rationalism.” American Psychologist 47:23–33. Hoffman, Yair. 1996. A Blemished Perfection: The Book of Job in Context. JSOTSup 213. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Hyun, Seong Whan Timothy. 2013. Job the Unfinalizable: A Bakhtinian Reading of Job 1–11. Biblical Interpretation 124. Leiden: Brill. James, William. 1890. The Principles of Psychology. London: Macmillan. Joerchel, Amrei C. 2013. “Cultural Processes within Dialogical Self Theory: A Socio-Cultural Perspective of Collective Voices and Social Language.” International Journal for Dialogical Science 7:137–155. Jones, Scott C. 2013. “Corporeal Discourse in the Book of Job.” JBL 132:845–863. Josephs, Ingrid. 2002. “‘The Hopi in Me’: The Construction of a Voice in the Dialogical Self from a Cultural Psychological Perspective.” Theory and Psychology 12:161–173. Konopka, Agnieszka et al. 2019. “The Dialogical Self as a Landscape of Mind Populated by a Society of I-Positions.” Pages 20–30 in Handbook of Dialogical Self Theory and Psychotherapy: Bridging Psychotherapeutic and Cultural Traditions. Edited by Agnieszka Konopka et. al. London: Routledge. Korhonen, Maija and Katri Komulainen 2017. “Analysing Three-Dimensional MeaningMaking of the Ruptured Life-Course: Case Study of the Adoption of Disability Identity as Multivoiced Process.” International Journal for Dialogical Science 10:19–42.

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Krüger, Thomas. 2007. “Did Job Repent?” Pages 217–229 in Das Buch Hiob und seine Interpretationen: Beiträge zum Hiob-Symposium auf dem Monte Verità vom 14.–19. August 2005. Edited by T. Kruger et. al. ATANT 88. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. McLean, Kate C. and Moin Syed, eds. 2014. Oxford Handbook of Identity Development. Oxford Library on Psychology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McLean, Kate C. and Moin Syed. 2015. “The Field of Identity Development Needs and Identity: An Introduction to the Volume.” Pages 1–10 in The Oxford Handbook of Identity Development. Edited by Kate C. McLean and Moin Syed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mead, George H. 1934. Mind, Self, and Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Murphy, Roland E. 1981. Wisdom Literature: Job, Proverbs, Ruth, Canticles, Ecclesiastes, and Esther. FOTL 13. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Newsom, Carol A. 2002. “The Book of Job as Polyphonic Text.” JSOT 97:87–108. –. 2003. The Book of Job: A Contest of Moral Imaginations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2007. “Re-Considering Job.” CurBR 5:155–182. Perry, Theodore A. 1993. Dialogues with Kohelet: The Book of Ecclesiastes, Translation and Commentary. Philadelphia, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Pope, Marvin H. 1973. Job: Introduction, Translation, and Notes. AB 15. New York: Doubleday. Raggatt, Peter T. F. 2014. “The Dialogical Self as Time-Space Matrix: Personal Chronotopes and Ambiguous Signifiers.” New Ideas in Psychology 32:107–114. Reinink, G. J. and H. L. J. Vanstiphout, eds. 1991. Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East: Forms and Types of Literary Debates in Semitic and Related Literatures. OLA 42. Leuven: Department Oriëntalistiek. Schmid, Konrad. 2007. “Innerbiblische Schriftdiskussion im Hiobbuch.” Pages 241–261 in Das Buch Hiob und seine Interpretationen: Beiträge zum Hiob-Symposium auf dem Monte Verità vom 14.–19. August 2005. Edited by T. Kruger et. al. ATANT 88. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Schmitt, Raymond. 1981. “Suffering and Wisdom,” Journal of Religion and Health 20:108– 123. Schwartz, Seth J. et al., eds. 2011. Handbook of Identity Theory and Research. New York: Springer. Sheehan, Jonathan. 2013. The Enlightenment Bible: Translation, Scholarship, Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Stordalen, Terje. 2006. “Dialogue and Dialogism in the Book of Job.” SJOT 20:18–37. –. 2014. “Dialogism, Monologism, and Cultural Literacy: Classical Hebrew Literature and Readers’ Epistemic Paradigms.” The Bible and Critical Theory 10:1–20. –. 2015. “The Canonical Taming of Job (Job 42:1–6).” Pages 187–207 in Wisdom: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar. Edited by John Jarick. LHBOTS 618. London: Bloomsbury. –. 2016. “Imagining the Memory of an Elder: Job 29–30.” Pages 111–127 in Leadership, Social Memory and Judean Discourse in the Fifth–Second Centuries BCE. Edited by Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman. Worlds of the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean. Sheffield: Equinox.

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–. 2020. “Speaking of Suffering: Das Hiobproblem Reconsidered.” Pages 425–434 in Fromme und Frevler: Studien zu Psalmen und Weisheit. Festschrift für Hermann Spieckermann zum 70. Geburtstag. Edited by Corinna Körting and Reinhard Gregor Kratz. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. –. 2021. “Polyfon teologi: Når YHWH siterer Leviatan (Job 41, 4–26).” Pages 289–308 in Gud og os: Teologiske læsninger af Det Gamle Testamente i det 21. århundrede. Edited by Anne Katrine Gudme and Jan Dietrich. Copenhagen: Bibelselskabets forlag. Ticciati, Susannah. 2005. Job and the Disruption of Identity: Reading Beyond Barth. London: T&T Clark. Vignoles, Vival et al. 2011. “Introduction: Toward an Integrative View of Identity.” Pages 1– 27 in Handbook of Identity Theory and Research. Edited by Seth J. Schwartz et al. New York: Springer. Vogels, Walter. 1994. “Job’s Empty Pious Slogans (Job 1, 2–22; 2, 8–10).” Pages 369–376 in The Book of Job. Edited by W. A. M. Beuken. BETL 114. Leuven: Peeters. Wertsch, James V. 1991. Voices of the Mind: A Sociocultural Approach to Mediated Action. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Wilson, Gerald H. 2007. Job. NIBCOT 10. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Wolde, Ellen J. van. 1994. “Job 42, 1–6: The Reversal of Job.” Pages 223–250 in The Book of Job. Edited by W. A. M. Beuken. BETL 114. Leuven: Peeters.

Part III: Reception History of Hebrew Bible Traditions

Was There a Doctrine of Original Sin in Early Syriac Christianity? Sten Hidal A. Introduction No part of the early Church was so little influenced by Greek theology as the Syriac-speaking Christianity, at least up to the fifth century. Knowledge of the Greek language was, as far as we know, spread among the clergy, but that did not necessarily involve access to writings in Greek. Whether the theologians in the Syriac Church were in any way familiar with Greek philosophy is another matter. A highly eclectic form of philosophy – including psychology – seems to have formed a commune bonum east of Antioch in those days.1 When texts from the Old Testament are commented upon, it is often possible to trace a Jewish tradition in the background. The use of haggadot is well developed. But there is also a tendency towards a more literal exposition abstaining from both typology and allegory. Sometimes – as in the case of Ephrem the Syrian – this comes close to the principles of the Antiochene exegetical school.2 As is well known, there is no doctrine of original sin in the mainstream Jewish tradition. With “original sin,” I understand a view according to which the transgression of the divine command in Eden by Adam and Eve resulted in a guilt which was transmitted to all coming generations.3 This transgression does not only lead to mortality, but also to a permanent blame. This guilt or culpa is not only an imitation of what happened in the Paradise; it involves being a part of a vast dominion of sin and evil. The means of transmitting this guilt is associated with human nature and, since Augustine, is closely connected to the act of procreation. Augustine is an important name in the history of this doctrine of original sin.4 However, it was certainly not unknown before him. In nuce this doctrine is found in the argument of Paul in Romans 5:12–21 concerning Adam and Christ. The apostle discerns an analogy between the two, Adam and Christ: “As

1

Possekel 1999. Hidal 1974. 3 For “sin” in patristic writings, see Bernardino 1992, 781–782. 4 Anrup 1943. 2

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by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by one man’s obedience many will be made righteous” (Rom 5:19). It is a remarkable fact that the very first proclamation of the doctrine of original sin is seen in a Jewish document: 4 Ezra 7:118. There we read: “O, Adam, what have you done! For though it was you who sinned, the fall was not yours alone, but ours also who are your descendants!” Compare this to 4 Ezra 3:21: “The first Adam, burdened with an evil heart, transgressed, and was overcome, as were also all who were descended from him.” Indeed, in the fourth book of Ezra there are passages with a certain similarity to Pauline theology. It is also possible that early forms of Jewish mysticism may have speculated about a universal fall of primaeval mankind. Psalm 51:7 is sometimes mentioned, but this verse is in no way related to the later doctrine of original sin. Nevertheless, this argument of Paul in Romans does not amount to a full doctrine of original sin. It stands rather isolated in the New Testament, as is convincingly shown by James Barr: “It seems likely that the emphasis on the typology of Adam and Christ is a Pauline creation, absent from Jesus’s own teaching and absent from any other currents of New Testament thought.”5 The letter to the Romans did not have a strong Wirkungsgeschichte in the early Church. This may be part of the explanation of why a specific doctrine of the transmission of the guilt incurred by Adam and Eve has developed only in a later period. In the handbooks, mention is made of Melito of Sardes, Tertullian, and Origen. But what about the early Syriac church?

B. The Odes of Solomon The Odes of Solomon can be dated to the beginning of the second century after Christ. It is not clear that Syriac was the original language of this work – Greek is another candidate. But since the Syriac version is the most commonly used, I prefer to regard the Odes as emanating from the Syriac Christian community. Only some odes are preserved in Greek (and Coptic). If we look at the content of the Odes, human sin is very seldom mentioned. Human weakness and inability, yes, but nowhere sin as a transgression of a divine command. Human frailty is constantly depicted as ignorance, thus in 7:21: “Ignorance shall be deleted from the earth, because knowledge of the Lord will descend upon it” (see also 11:8; 18:11; and 28:14).6 Several scholars interpret the Odes of Solomon as a gnostic text – above all, Lattke. Gnosticism is, admittedly, a very vague term, but also with a wide definition, it is difficult to find traces of an explicit gnostic understanding of the 5 6

Barr 2013, 378. Lattke 2011. All translations from Syriac are my own.

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world in the Odes. Much can be understood as influence from the Johannine tradition, and the writings found in Qumran provide us with another example.

C. Aphrahat Aphrahat, “the Persian sage,” lived in Persia in the first half of the fourth century. We know next to nothing about his life, but he seems to have been the spiritual director of a group of “sons and daughters of the covenant,” a form of nucleus community in ancient Syriac Christianity. Twenty-three theological essays or demonstrationes, as they are called with a Latin term, are preserved. Aphrahat is interesting because he is totally uninfluenced by Greek theology and philosophy. In Dem. 23:3 we read: “Because man chose to listen to the serpent, the first man has been punished by becoming subdued to the serpent, and the curse has been transferred to all his descendants.”7 This is probably to be understood as a consequence of what is said in Gen 3:14–19 (above all mortality) and not as a hereditary blame – that is, as original sin in its proper sense.

D. Ephrem the Syrian The main figure in Syriac Church history is, unquestionably, Ephrem the Syrian (303–373).8 In him we can see the Church east of Antioch concentrated in one person. But it is important to be aware that not all writings attributed to him are genuine; this applies particularly to the hymns connected to the liturgical year. No other person in the ancient Church (except John Chrysostom) has had as many writings attributed to him as Ephrem. What we can first observe in Ephrem is how he ascribes an almost unlimited freedom to the will.9 This church father is extremely hostile towards all forms of determinism, particularly the form associated with Bardaisan, a contemporaneous Syriac philosopher who regarded himself as Christian but was branded by Ephrem as a heretic. The stress laid on free will, no doubt, comes from the ascetical movement that Ephrem (and Aphrahat above) was part of. It is of paramount importance for an ascetic to be able to direct his will according to God. Every limitation of the free will must be fatal, and this certainly has consequences for the nascent doctrine of original sin.

7

Pierre 1989, 877–884. For an orientation, see Brock 1992. Ephrem’s texts are published in CSCO. The translations are my own. 9 See Kremer 2017. 8

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And so we find in Ephrem’s writings, both the poetic and the prosaic ones, several far-reaching statements concerning human free will. Some examples include: “Our enemy’s power depends on our free will. Our will gives him power or weakness” (Sermones I, 2:889); and “The illness of the sin came from our free will, not from any necessity” (Sermones II, 1:137). In the collection Contra Haereses, hymns 11 and 28 are devoted in their entirety to the freedom of will. In one of the hymns from the period in Nisibis, we read: “You should complain about your will, that allowed you to sin, so that you were punished” (Carm. Nis. 5:18). Of course, the poet does not deny that a man commits many sins in his lifetime, but it is possible for an ascetic to “die from sin” in a spiritual sense. Of the bishop Abraham Kidunaia, Ephrem says: “Before he died, he had died from sin” (Abr. Kid. 5:12). He did not have to suffer any more because of what happened in the garden of Eden. That Ephrem is of the same conviction in his prose writings is evident in his commentary on Genesis. The first three chapters in Genesis are provided with an exhaustive commentary, but there is no hint that the transgression of the divine command in Eden had any far-reaching consequences, let alone that the human will was damaged. What happened in Paradise was serious enough, but not irreparable: Ephrem sees the possibility of repentance for Adam and Eve after “the fall.” They had surrendered to a small temptation; they could be restored by their own will and God’s grace. No disaster had occurred. Those who claim that the divine image was severely damaged in Gen 3 often advocate this using Gen 5:3: “When Adam was a hundred and thirty years old, he became the father of a son, in his likeness, as his image, and he called him Seth.” For Ephrem, this verse is no problem. Seth was created to be like Adam, but it is not said that this likeness was conferred on him by means of physical procreation. And since the likeness of God in Adam was not damaged, let alone deleted, it is in no way the case of transmitting an original sin. But there remain two texts to be discussed. The first text is Gen 4: Cain and Abel. The story of the first fratricide is highly important according to the church father, and is in no way to be dismissed as an unfortunate sequel to Gen 3. Ephrem gives a full account of the content in the biblical text, adorned with several haggadic comments. In this story we can see the first concrete act of breaking God’s law – a fratricide. Here, we also have for the first time a word for “sin,” in Gen 4:7. The two chapters, Gen 3 and 4, are constructed in a parallel way. It therefore seems logical to draw the following conclusion: “Was das Fehlen einer Lehre von der Erbsünde betrifft, ist zu beachten, dass Adams und Kains Sündenfall in Ephräms Augen gewissermassen parallele Phänomene sind.”10

10

Kremer 2017, 215.

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It must nevertheless be said that neither Gen 3 nor Gen 4 can be seen as proof-texts for a doctrine of original sin. Since Ephrem rarely quotes the letter to the Romans, he did not have access to that opportunity either. But there is still another text in the Old Testament of interest: the intriguing notice about the angelic marriages in Gen 6:1–4. This story can be interpreted as a sort of celestial fall with analogies in Gen 3 and 4. Ephrem is concerned that “the sons of God” are interpreted as sons of Seth and not as any angelic beings, but what happened is seen as yet another incident leading to the deluge.

E. Conclusion The conclusion so far is: there is no doctrine of original sin in the early Syriac speaking Church. The texts are, admittedly, not many and, apart from Ephrem, not very extensive, but also after Ephrem the same picture emerges. The anonymous Genesis commentator edited by Levene is difficult to date, but stands clearly in the tradition after Ephrem.11 To him, the only consequence of “the fall” in Eden is hereditary mortality. Why was a doctrine of original sin not developed in Syria, in spite of the Pauline argument in Romans? One part of the explanation is surely to be found in the ascetical movement, which was so strong in the eastern church. When life is seen as a perpetual struggle against sin and evil, you are not so interested in what once happened in Eden. The battle is now, the enemy must be defeated before one dies. Perhaps also the practice of baptizing infants developed later in this part of Christianity. One motive in promoting baptism of infants was probably an emerging doctrine of original sin. The guilt of this sin was seen as eradicated through baptism, but the concupiscence remained. Actual sin was taken very seriously in Syria. But those who wrote about what we can call anthropological theology did not see any connection between the fall of Adam and Eve and what we now experience, but that in no way diminished their ethical rigour.

Bibliography Anrup, Nils Erik. 1943. Augustinus lära om arvsynden. Lund: Gleerup. Barr, James. 2013. “The Authority of Scripture: The Book of Genesis and the Origin of Evil in Jewish and Christian Tradition.” Pages 376–389 in Bible and Interpretation: The Collected Essays of James Barr. Volume I: Interpretation and Theology. Edited by John Barton. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

11

Levene 1951.

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Bernardino, Angelo di. 1992. “Sin.” Pages 781–782 in Encyclopedia Patristica, Volume II. Edited by Angelo di Bernardino for the Institutum Augustinianum. Cambridge: Clarke. Brock, Sebastian. 1992. The Luminous Eye: The Spiritual World Vision of Saint Ephrem the Syrian. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Hidal, Sten. 1974. Interpretatio Syriaca: Die Kommentare des heiligen Ephräm des Syrers zu Genesis und Exodus mit besonderer Berücksichtigung ihrer auslegungsgeschichtlichen Stellung. ConBOT 6. Lund: Gleerup. Kremer, Thomas. 2017. Mundus Primus: Die Geschichte der Welt und des Menschen von Adam bis Noach im Genesiskommentar Ephräms des Syrers. CSCO 128. Leuven: Peeters. Lattke, Michael. 2011. Die Oden Salomos: Die Griechisch–Koptisch–Syrisch mit deutscher Übersetzung. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Levene, Abraham. 1951. The Early Syrian Fathers on Genesis. London: Taylor’s Foreign Press. Pierre, M. J., trans. 1989. Aphraate le Sage Persan: Les Exposés. Sources Chrétiennes 359. Paris: Cerf. Possekel, Ute. 1999. Evidence of Greek Philosophical Concepts in the Writings of Ephrem the Syrian. CSCO 102. Leuven: Peeters.

Straws and a Tearful Blossom Sin, Suffering, and Historical Background in Psalm 90 and Iceland’s National Anthem Gunnlaugur A. Jónsson In the Hebrew Bible, the presence of God in his sanctuary is described as one which is reliable and protective.1 This is an essential part of what is termed as the “Zion theology,” which plays an important role in the Old Testament and features in some of the psalms in the book of Psalms (Pss 46, 48, 76, 84, 87).2 In times of crisis, therefore, the community of ancient Israel would gather at the sacred place. Headed by their priests and other leaders, the community would express their crisis in prayer to YHWH in order to seek his intervention and deliverance. And even though the temple was destroyed with the fall of Jerusalem to Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian army in 587 BCE, people did not stop coming together to pray and express their problems and afflictions in a kind of public lamentation. This holds true both for those who were left in Judah and those who were forced into exile in Babylon. In Judah, the prayers were probably held among the ruins of the Jerusalem sanctuary (Jer 41:5). But even in the golah it was possible to perform ritual lamentation, although gentile territories were traditionally considered cultically unclean.3 Since there could be no sacrifices when there was no temple, the main emphasis was necessarily on the oral element of worship.4 It has been suggested that this might be the setting from which the communal lament of Ps 90 arose.5 However, the actual background of Ps 90 has not been precisely identified.6 But the long duration of the situation might point to

1

Kraus 1989, 215. For a discussion of the Zion theology, see most recently Laato 2018. 3 See Albertz 2003, 141, who quotes 1 Sam 26:19; Jer 5:19; 2 Kgs 5:17; Ps 137:4. 4 Westermann 1969, 6. 5 Brueggemann and Bellinger 2014, 391; Kraus 1989, 214. It has to be pointed out that there is no consensus among OT scholars that Ps 90 should be so categorized. Fredrik Lindström is among the scholars who think otherwise. Lindström 1994, 146, n. 42, claims that Ps 90 is “not a prayer in its real sense, but a reflection of wisdom comparable to Ps 39.” 6 Kraus 1989, 214. 2

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the Babylonian exile, and it has actually been suggested that the “seventy years” in verse 10 may even be a reference to the exile. Jeremiah predicted that the exile would last seventy years (Jer 25:11), and his poem (Jer 29:10) pleads for the restoration of national life, as in the case of communal laments such as Pss 44, 74, and 77.7 Through the ages, readers have found rich and diverse sentiments and interpretations in Ps 90. The author of 2 Pet 3:8 perceived in his portrayal of God’s nature an explanation of the apparent delay of the coming of the Lord: “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day …”8 This passage is traditionally read at funerals – occasions where we are likely to reflect on our own condition, mortality, and fate.9 Isaac Watts (1674– 1748) transposed Ps 90 as the well-known hymn “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past,” which has featured at a number of royal occasions up to the present day.10 Psalm 90 will also sound familiar to most Icelanders, even those who rarely – or never – read the Bible. The reason is that the Icelandic national anthem was inspired by Ps 90, which, at least at first sight, appears to be mainly concerned with the relations between God and time and between mortals and time, as well as with the significance of these relations for God and mortals. This article discusses Ps 90 in comparison with the Icelandic national anthem, which takes the psalm as its inspiration. The aim is not to present a detailed exegesis of Ps 90; well-founded theories are readily available and I have no intention of disputing these. The emphasis here will rather be on what is specific to my own interpretation, together with a brief discussion of the principal themes of the text. The focus will be on the historical background of the texts, together with what is the main theme of this book: the question of suffering and sin. The structure of the article will be as follows. After a short introduction to the Icelandic national anthem and its origin, an exegetical discussion of the anthem and Ps 90 is presented and is followed by a comparison of the two texts and their backgrounds.

7

Clifford 2003, 96. Clifford 2005, 190. 9 Mays 1994, 289. 10 Isaac Watts is often dubbed the “Father of English Hymnody.” He is credited with writing about 750 hymns, many of which remain in use and have been translated into numerous languages (see Gillingham 2008, 159–161). The first verse of Watts’s hymn runs as follows: “Our God, our help in ages past | Our hope for years to come | Our shelter from the stormy blast | And our eternal home.” 8

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A. The Icelandic National Anthem The Icelandic national anthem, Ó, guð vors lands (Eng. “O, God of our Country”) was originally written as a hymn on the occasion of the nationwide celebrations held in 1874 to commemorate the millennium of Iceland’s settlement. Religious services were held all across the country and the text for sermons delivered on that day by a decree of the Bishop of Iceland was Ps 90, vv. 1–4 and 12–17. This text inspired the anthem that the Reverend Matthías Jochumsson (1835–1920), one of Iceland’s most beloved poets of all time, wrote while he was in Britain in the winter of 1873–1874. The music was composed by his old friend Sveinbjörn Sveinbjörnsson (1847–1926), the first Icelander to make an international career as a composer. For most of his working life Sveinbjörnsson lived in Edinburgh, where, in fact, he wrote the music to Jochumsson’s hymn. While independence of Iceland was still a thing of the distant future, there was no question of there being a national anthem in the usual sense. However, this hymn composed by Jochumsson and Sveinbjörnsson was later adopted as the national anthem of Iceland. It happened in the year 1944, when Iceland voted to end its personal union with Denmark and become a republic. This Millennial Hymn of Iceland, later to become the country’s national anthem, comprises three verses or stanzas, although usually only the first verse is sung on official occasions: Oh, the God of our land! Oh, the land of our God! We praise your holy, holy name! From the solar systems we will tie you a crown, your armies, a timely collection. One day is a thousand years to you, and thousand years; a day, and no more. An eternal (small)flower with a tear in its eye, that praises its god, and then dies. Iceland’s thousand years, Iceland’s thousand years! An eternal (small)flower with a tear in its eye, that praises its god, and then dies. Oh God, oh God! We fall far down and sacrifice your burning, burning soul, Father, our Lord from generation to generation, we tell our most important tales. We tell and we thank for a thousand years, for you are our only shelter. We tell and we thank with tears in our eyes, for you created our fortune wheel. Iceland’s thousand years, Iceland’s thousand years!

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Our dark and cold mornings, our fallen tears, that warm up with the rising sun. Oh, the God of our land! Oh, the land of our God! We live as waving, waving straws. We die, if you aren’t the light and the life, that lifts us from the dust. Oh, be the sweetest every morning, our leader through troubled times. And at night-time, be our heavenly rest and our protector, and our lord on this road. Iceland’s thousand years, Iceland’s thousand years! The nation shall grow with drying tears, it will mature in God’s way.

The anthem was first performed at a commemorative service in Reykjavík Cathedral on Sunday 2 August 1874 in the presence of King Christian IX of Denmark, who was visiting Iceland for the millennium celebrations. He used the occasion of his state visit to present Iceland with a constitution which effected substantial improvement to the country’s legal status. It was one of the most important milestones in Iceland’s progress towards reclaiming the independence it had lost in 1262–1264 and preceded the Home Rule Government in 1904, sovereignty in 1918 and, finally, independence and the establishment of the Republic of Iceland on 17 June 1944.

B. An Introduction to Psalm 90 I. The Genre: A Communal Lament Psalm 90 is most often considered to be a communal lament.11 The initial words “our refuge” and “our dwelling place,” according to another ancient tradition, indicate that there is not only one person speaking. But even though the psalm expresses the sentiments of a community, it seems clear that the composition is the careful work of a single poet.12 The psalmist seems to believe that God has forgotten him and his people, or even that God is hiding. However, no enemy is mentioned in Ps 90; instead, the grief is associated with human mortality, and, later on in the Psalm, with the wrath of God and the resulting affliction. The psalmist argues that even the oldest members of the community have never experienced anything but affliction

11 12

Ringgren 1997, 498. Murphy 2000, 129.

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and divine wrath.13 But, as usual, the final words of the lament are not of toil and trouble, and the psalm ends with a prayer for relief and optimism. Walter Brueggemann has the following words of wisdom to impart about the importance of this genre of psalms: The communal laments are not so numerous in the Psalter, but they are important for the nurture of responsible faith. The recovery of the personal psalms is a great gain, but unless communal laments are set alongside, the record of personal religion can serve only privatistic concerns – and that is no doubt a betrayal of biblical faith. To gain access to these psalms, therefore, we need to think through the public sense of loss and hurt and rage that we all have in common.14

Certainly, there are scholars who do not share the view that this psalm belongs in the category of communal laments. Some scholars describe it as belonging to a mixed type. Among them was the very influential German scholar, Hermann Gunkel (1862–1932). In his opinion, Ps 90 was “woven together by hymnic and general complaint attitudes” and had “been expanded by a communal complaint” (cf. Ps 90:13).15 Here, however, a position will be taken alongside the scholars who do place the psalm in the category of communal laments despite the inclusion of certain wisdom elements. The question “How long?” in v. 13 is among the features of the psalm which are typical of communal laments. II. The Dating of the Psalm Dating the Psalms is never easy. In the case of Ps 90, it has sometimes been claimed that v. 2 is an indication that the psalmist knew the Priestly creation story (Gen 1:1–2:4), usually dated to the time of the Babylonian exile. However, the relationship could just as well be to Job 38:8, as the creation seems in both cases to be compared to childbirth. Kraus is among the scholars who argue that the psalm should probably be dated late (even postexilic). But he adds, correctly, that, like the book of Job, it contains very ancient elements.16 Samuel Terrien is among the scholars who have attempted to date all the Psalms, even though he recognises how difficult this is and is therefore always cautious in his conclusions. He believes that the affinities between Ps 90 and the poem in Job “might indicate the last years of the kingdom of Judah and even the beginning of the exile, when the catastrophes of 598 and 587 BCE prompted the survivors to reflect on the hiddenness of YHWH.”17

13

Clifford 2003, 99. Brueggemann 1984, 68. 15 Gunkel 1998, 95. 16 Kraus 1989, 215. 17 Terrien 2003, 646. 14

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The conclusion in his article is to relate the afflictions described in Ps 90 with the Babylonian exile. But since the psalm indicates that the suffering and difficulties described have been ongoing for a long time, it is assumed that Ps 90 reflects the situation at, or toward, the end of the exile. Taken theologically, the exile is presented in the Old Testament as the death of everything that gave identity to the life of ancient Israel. The destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE meant the total loss of the main public institutions. The temple was razed, the city walls were dismantled, and the Davidic monarchy came to an ignoble end. The destruction meant the termination of Judah’s political identity. In the exile, however, Israel found it possible to affirm that YHWH is a God who gathers exiles home.18 Of the Babylonian exile (587–538 BCE), it has been said by the principal expert on its history, Rainer Albertz, that “[o]f all the eras in Israel’s history, the exilic period represents the most profound caesura and the most radical change. Its significance for subsequent history can hardly be overstated. Here, the religion of Israel underwent its most severe crisis, but here, too, was laid the foundation for its most sweeping renewal.”19 III. The Placement of Psalm 90 The honourable placement of the Psalm is noteworthy.20 Psalm 90 begins book four (Pss 90–106) and looks back to the last poem of book three with its topics of the brevity of life (Ps 90:3–6; cf. Ps 89:47–48) and divine wrath (Ps 90:7– 10; cf. Ps 89:46). Ascribed to Moses, this psalm’s placement encourages the reader’s reflection on God’s dealings with Israel from its earliest days, both in mercy and judgement.21 We usually say that book four begins with a psalm that contemplates human life and mortality in a way that is reminiscent of the wisdom books. But here it is helpful to keep in mind the words of Sigmund Mowinckel of Norway (1884– 1965), who wrote the following in connection with Pss 90 and 139: … [w]e read them as contemplations of the eternity or the omnipresence of God – but that is not what the poems seek to convey. They speak of a definite situation, and it is in order to make God intervene in this situation that they speak of his eternity and omniscience.22

18

Brueggemann 2002, 70–71. Albertz 2003, 1. 20 It should be pointed out that we are not dealing here with the Qumran scrolls of Psalms. For a very valuable discussion of the Psalms in the scrolls, see Willgren 2016, who is critical of the canonical approach. He claims that “the ‘Book’ of Psalms does not primarily provide a literary context for individual psalms, but rather preserves a dynamic selection of psalms …” (392). 21 Grogan 2008, 158. 22 Mowinckel 1982, 24. 19

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It has rightly been pointed out that traditions connected with Moses and the Pentateuch are prominent in the fourth book of the book of Psalms.23 That may be the main explanation of why this is the only psalm attributed to Moses in the book of Psalms.24 This is evident, for instance, in Ps 95, which refers to the forty years in the wilderness (v. 10). The expression in Ps 97:2, “Clouds and thick darkness are all around him,” is at least reminiscent of Sinai. Psalm 100:3 says “We are his people, and the sheep of his pasture,” an expression which has obvious connections with the Pentateuch. The same is true of Ps 103:7: “He made known his ways to Moses, his acts to the people of Israel.” Psalm 105:8 mentions the covenant: “He remembers his covenant forever.” The same psalm counts the plagues in Egypt (vv. 27–36). Finally, we point out this expression in Ps 106:9: “He rebuked the Red Sea, and it became dry, and he led them through the deep as through a desert.” These examples should be sufficient to prove that many themes from the Pentateuch appear in book four of the book of Psalms, although we have mentioned only a few of them.25 It is also interesting to contemplate the relationship of Ps 89, which is the last psalm of the third book of the book of Psalms, and Ps 90, which is the first psalm of book four. Unquestionably, there is a notable relationship between these two psalms. There can be no doubt that the Davidic monarchy was disrupted by the Babylonian incursion into Jerusalem in 587 BCE. To that extent, vv. 38–51 in Ps 89 reflect historical reality. It is the prevalent opinion of scholars that Ps 89 describes the fall of Jerusalem in 587 BCE to the armies of Nebuchadnezzar (604–562 BCE), the most powerful and best-known king of the Babylonians, and the destruction of the temple. This event was interpreted by the ancient Israelites to mean that YHWH had turned his back on his people: 38

But now you have cast off and rejected; you are full of wrath against your anointed. 39 You have renounced the covenant with your servant; you have defiled his crown in the dust. 40 You have breached all his walls; you have laid his strongholds in ruins. 41 All who pass by plunder him; he has become the scorn of his neighbours.

23

Zenger 2000, 161–190. It need not come as a surprise that some of the psalms are connected with Moses in the superscript. But why Ps 90? Davidson 1998, 299, suggests that Moses is the only person mentioned in the Old Testament who asked God to change his mind. This he did according to Exod 32:11–12, where the same Hebrew verbs are used as in Ps 90:13. 25 Tate 1990, 438, has also explored the connections between Psalm 90 and various other Mosiac texts in the Pentateuch. 24

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This description seems to correspond to the two dramatic events already mentioned, i.e., the destruction of Jerusalem and the beginning of the Babylonian exile. A little later in the same psalm, in vv. 46–47, we read: 46

How long, O YHWH? Will you hide yourself forever? How long will your wrath burn like fire? 47 Remember how short my time is! For what vanity you have created all the children of man!

It is hardly a coincidence that these verses contain phrasing that is close to the phrasing of Ps 90. It is much more likely that the placement of Ps 90 immediately after Ps 89 is the result of conscious editorial activity on the book of Psalms.

C. Exegetical Analysis of Psalm 90 I agree with Clifford regarding the division of the psalm.26 The poem has three parts: eternal God versus short-lived humans (vv. 1–6); divine wrath without limit of time (vv. 7–12); prayer for restoration (vv. 13–17). I. Divine Eternity Versus Human Mortality (vv. 1–6) The psalm begins with a prayer and praise to God, the Creator. He has been a dwelling place throughout all generations. This creed, which describes God’s majesty and what he is capable of, probably makes the toil and troubles described in the central part of the psalm even more lamentable. The lament here highlights the contrast between God’s eternity and the mortality of human beings. It is probably safe to assert that this first part of the psalm deals with God and humans, matters which are of concern to all people, while the second part is more characteristically Israelite, connecting YHWH and Israel.27 Verse 4 could stand as a common denominator for the first part of the psalm: For a thousand years in your sight Are but a yesterday when it is past, Or as a watch in the night.

The idea that humans become dust is found in several places in the Old Testament, for example, in Gen 3:19. This is not the only place in the Old Testament where humans are compared to grass. A well-known example is found in Isa 40:6–7:

26 27

Clifford 2003, 96. Tate 1990, 457, quoting Gunkel.

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6

All flesh is grass and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. 7 The grass withers, the flower fades, But the word of our God will stand forever.

Here, grass is used as a metaphor for the mortality of human beings, as in Ps 90, and is contrasted with the eternal God. The mortality of humans is the main theme of vv. 1–6. Clifford has emphasized, rightly so in my mind, that it is important to distinguish divine anger, which is the theme of Ps 90:7–12, from mortality, which is the theme of vv. 1– 6. The two are distinct themes.28 II. Divine Wrath Without Limit of Time (vv. 7–12) The topic of the wrath of God plays an important role in the second part of Ps 90. This part is often omitted from Christian worship.29 The psalmist is aware that God’s punishment is deserved: “You have set our iniquities before you | our secret sins in the light of your presence.”30 In verse 12, we are at the heart of Ps 90: “So teach us to number our days | that we may get heart of wisdom.” Martin Luther translated this passage somewhat freely: “Teach us to reflect on the fact that we must die, so that we become wise.”31 This prayer is generally understood to express the wish for humans to understand the brevity of human life, that is to say in contrast with the eternity of God, and draw appropriate conclusions. Clifford has put forward an unusual interpretation of vv. 11–12, which he suggests is key to understanding the psalm, and I tend to think he is correct in his insight. Verses 11–12 do not, in his view, pray for a deeper realization of mortality and frailty so that one may be submissive to God: “[r]ather the suffering community prays to know how much longer the affliction will last … Knowing the duration of the affliction helps one to bear it.”32 And Kraus, without coming to this same conclusion, has said that “the people obviously suffer from an affliction of long duration.”33 Goldingay is thinking along similar lines: “One could imagine (for instance) people who experienced the fall of Jerusalem and have been in a miserable state for decades … Ps 90 relates to an

28

Clifford 2003, 99. It has been pointed out that vv. 7–9 and 11–12 are left out of “the Book of Common Worship” (Miller 1986, 125). 30 Rogerson and McKay 1977, 199. 31 Translated by Limburg 2000, 309. 32 Clifford 2003, 97. 33 Kraus 1989, 217, discussing v. 13 and pointing to Exod 32:12 and Deut 32:36 as parallels. 29

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ongoing experience of God’s wrath, which it links with an awareness of waywardness in the community’s history that justifies this.”34 Clifford’s interpretation is in fine harmony with the nearest context, which is always a good sign. The topic of the wrath of God is the main theme in that context, together with the question “How long?”. When the psalmist asks God to teach him and the community to count the days, this is a good indication that the question being asked concerns the duration of the affliction, that is to say when the misery of the exile will cease. This understanding gives the psalm an enhanced historic relevance. However, this interpretation does not exclude the traditional understanding of the importance of contemplating the number, and thereby the substance, of one’s days in order to use them well. III. Prayer for Restoration (vv. 13–17) As is usual in the psalms of lament the conclusion is more optimistic than the main body. The psalm becomes a prayer. The poet calls out to YHWH to take a different turn than in v. 3. In v. 15 the community prays that now, after a long time of distress, they may experience an equally long time of joy.35 The strong concluding prayer seems to carry a hopeful tone. Perhaps the affliction of exile provides the background for this petition for a future of hope and thriving.36

D. Comparison: Psalm 90 and The Icelandic National Anthem As noted earlier, the Icelandic national anthem was a hymn written for a particular occasion, and it probably did not occur to either the poet or the composer that it might one day become a national anthem; more than a generation elapsed before this came about.37 It is quite obvious why the Bishop of Iceland chose Ps 90 as the appropriate text for the sermons delivered on 2 August 1874, the day when the millennium of Iceland’s settlement was to be commemorated. The thousand years is the main motif taken from Ps 90, hence the words “Iceland’s thousand years” which recur in all three verses and which were, in fact, included in the title of the original edition of the poem and the music (1874): “A Hymn in Commemoration of Iceland’s Thousand Years.” The phrase “for you are our only shelter” in the second verse of the Icelandic hymn is quite similar to the very beginning of Ps 90: “Lord, you have been our dwelling place.” The sentence “Oh, be the sweetest every morning” in the third 34

Goldingay 2008, 29–30. Kraus 1989, 217. 36 Cf. Brueggemann and Bellinger 2014, 393. 37 Thorsteinsson 1957. 35

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verse of the Icelandic hymn is reminiscent of Ps 90:14: “Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love.” These connections do not come as a surprise, given the fact that the national anthem is composed under the influence of this psalm. Interestingly, the Icelandic historian Gunnar Karlsson begins his book Iceland’s 1100 Years (2000) by referring to and briefly discussing the Icelandic national anthem. Here is what he has to say about its substance: “In the poem Pastor Matthías contrasts the tearful ‘Iceland’s thousand years’ of the past with the hopefully prosperous ‘Iceland’s years to come.’”38 The lyrics of the anthem mirror the arduous living conditions and suffering in the history of the Icelandic people without mentioning any specific event. The theme of suffering is therefore certainly part of the anthem. This theme is not more prevalent than when the people are compared to “an eternal (small) flower with a tear in its eye that praises its god, and then dies.” The second verse speaks of “our dark and cold mornings,” referring to the cold climate, where the sea ice, long, harsh winters and short days often made life difficult for Icelanders. In the third verse, the Icelandic people are compared to “waving straws,” similar to the grass in Ps 90:5. The poet also prays on behalf of his people and confesses: “We die, if you are not the light and the life that lifts us from the dust.” The final word is taken from Ps 90. And as Ps 90 ends with a prayer for relief, so the poet of the national anthem ends by praying that the life of the nation “shall grow with drying tears, it will mature in God’s way.” It is worth mentioning that the poet Matthías Jochumsson had been struggling with personal problems when he composed the anthem. He “had been in a state of mental distress over the loss of his second wife and being at the time, as so often in his early life, torn by an inner religious struggle.”39 Natural disasters, famine, and poverty are a part of Iceland’s history. But these difficulties are not ascribed to the “wrath of God” in the national anthem. Indeed, it is not even mentioned, unlike in Ps 90. The same applies to human sins. The anthem does, in fact, say of God that “you created our fortune wheel,” but this is not expressed as a lament. On the contrary, it is expressed in the context of gratitude: “We thank with tears in our eyes for you created our fortune wheel.” Psalm 90, on the other hand, recounts not only the long-standing difficulties of ancient Israel, but links the sins of the nation and the wrath of God. Here, however, it is worth remembering that Fredrik Lindström has shown that many

38 39

Karlsson 2000, 1. Thorsteinsson 1957.

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of the psalms that voice trouble and suffering do not acknowledge sin or guilt. Thus, sin, according to the Old Testament psalms, does not, and cannot, function as a great moral explanation of all troubles.40 The “flower” in verse 1 and the “waving straws” in verse 3 “are images that the Icelandic poet of the anthem has obtained from Ps 90” and which stand in harmony with the “grass that flourishes in the morning and is renewed” but “in the evening it fades and withers” (vv. 6–7).41 The Icelandic national anthem and Ps 90 have in common the praise to God, the Creator, whom they know as a dwelling place, a refuge, or a shelter from generation to generation. The emphasis in both instances is on contrasting divine eternity and human mortality. The wrath of God plays an important role in Ps 90 but it does not appear in the Icelandic hymn. The Icelandic anthem was composed at a turning point in Icelandic history. On the one hand, Icelanders were celebrating the millennium of the settlement of their country, since it was in 874 that the first settler, Ingólfur Arnarson, is considered to have taken permanent residence in Reykjavík. Also, in January 1874, the Danish king had announced that he would bring Iceland a constitution when he visited for the millennial festival, and this he did.42 The constitution was generally welcomed. While not meeting all the wishes and demands of the Icelanders, it represented an important step towards greater freedom and independence. On the other hand, a wave of emigration had begun from Iceland at this time, mostly to North America. There were many reasons for the emigration:43 difficult living conditions combined with volcanic eruptions, cold farming weather, a series of devasting earthquakes, and lack of opportunities. People were simply seeking a better future for themselves and their descendants. In general, the exodus from Iceland to America reflects the same movement from Europe, in the typically microscopic style of Iceland.44 “The tears” in all three stanzas of the anthem echo the various difficulties and hardship in the history of Iceland. An Icelandic historian has said that the hymn of praise that was premiered in the Reykjavík Cathedral in August 1874 played an important role in the nation’s struggle for independence. It was at the “heart of the struggle and revolved around the miracle of survival on the edge of the world for a thousand years.”45

40

Lindström 1994; Brueggemann 2002, 196–197. Jónsson 2014, 388. 42 Hjálmarsson 1993, 114–115. 43 Hjálmarsson 1993, 120–121. 44 Karlsson 2000, 234. 45 Valdimarsdóttir 2006, 273. 41

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E. Psalm 90 and the Celebrations of the West Icelanders After 1870, large numbers of Icelanders uprooted themselves and emigrated to North America. Arduous living conditions due to successive years of bad farming weather together with various natural disasters and poverty had led to a widespread emigration to America, similar to the great exodus from various European countries earlier. By this time, travel from Iceland had also become easier than ever, and the governments of Canada and the United States had encouraged immigrants from Europe.46 The thousand years of settlement in Iceland were, therefore, celebrated not only in Iceland; on the same day, the first church service of Icelandic emigrants was held in North America in a commemorative event which has been said to have been “without a doubt the beginning of the ecclesiastic history of the West Icelanders.”47 West Icelanders (as they are still called in Iceland) have for decades lived very much of their social and cultural lives in an Icelandic manner. In many areas they had their own congregations, with Icelandic clergymen, and their own distinct communities.48 On the day that Iceland’s settlement was celebrated in the autumn of 1874, one of the first pastors among the Icelanders across the Atlantic, Reverend Jón Bjarnason (1845– 1914), held a service in Milwaukee, taking as the subject of his sermon the text of Ps 90, where he emphasized that God had for all these thousand years been Iceland’s refuge. He also had this to say: “Whoever forgets his motherland, or sees himself as above the effort of preserving part of his national origin which is good and godly because he finds himself in a foreign country seeking a means of living, comes close to forgetting God.”49

F. Conclusions As understood here, Ps 90 is seen as a response to a long duration of distress experienced by the people of ancient Israel, and it is suggested that this distress was most likely the Babylonian exile. According to this interpretation, Ps 90 is a model of a prayer for people who have waited long and patiently for God to bring prosperity to their community. When the national anthem of Iceland was composed, various catastrophes in Iceland’s history had forced a great number of Icelandic people to the drastic decision to emigrate and to give up the misery in their own homeland and seek a better future in the New World.

46

Hjálmarsson 1993, 120–121. Óskarsson 1999, 38; Jónsson 2014, 389. 48 Karlsson 2000, 238. 49 Bjarnason 1946, 217. 47

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So, in the historical background of both Ps 90 and the Icelandic national anthem, we see a communal affliction and an exile of part of the population. Since the composition of the Icelandic national anthem is based on Ps 90, it is reasonable to perceive various affinities in phrasing between the two texts. Thus, the anthem features the similes of the flower and the waving straws. The author of the national anthem draws a contrast between the tearful “thousand years” of Iceland’s past with the hopefully prosperous “thousand years to come.” The difficulties of the past history of the nation are not ascribed to sin. On the contrary, the poet pastor Jochumsson expresses the confession on behalf of his nation that it lives as a waving straw and will die if God is not its light, life, and leader in the toil of the days. On the other hand, in Ps 90 the current difficulties of ancient Israel are ascribed to the justifiable wrath of YHWH, roused by the sins of the people. It has been proposed here that the difficulties were most likely the occupation of Judah and Jerusalem by the Babylonian armies and the exile that followed. Both hymns end as prayers and on an optimistic note. Both have in common that their background is rooted in historic watersheds – on the one hand, that of Ancient Israel, when the holy city of Jerusalem had fallen and a part of the nation was in exile; on the other hand, when, in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, Iceland celebrated a thousand years of settlement. The placement of Ps 90 as the first psalm of the fourth book of the book of Psalms gives it a certain special status, and the hymn that was first sung in the Reykjavík Cathedral on 2 August 1874 was destined to become the national anthem of Iceland, giving it, as such, a special status.

Bibliography Albertz, Rainer. 2003. Israel in Exile. The History and Literature of the Sixth Century B.C.E. Translated by David Green. Atlanta: SBL Press. Bjarnason, Jón. 1946. Rit og ræður. Winnipeg: Hið Evangeliska Lúterska kirkjufjelag Íslendinga í Vesturheimi. Brueggemann, Walter. 1984. The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary. Minneapolis: Augsburg. –. 2002. Reverberations of Faith: A Theological Handbook of Old Testament Themes. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Brueggemann, Walter and William H. Bellinger Jr. 2014. Psalms. New York: Cambridge University Press. Clifford, Richard J. 2003. Psalms 73–150. Nashville: Abingdon. –. 2005. “Psalm 90: Wisdom Meditation or Communal Lament?” Pages 190–205 in The Book of Psalms: Composition and Reception. Edited by Peter W. Flint and Patrick D. Miller, Jr. VTSup. Leiden: Brill. Davidson, Robert. 1998. The Vitality of Worship: A Commentary on the Book of Psalms. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

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Gillingham, Susan E. 1994. The Poems and Psalms of the Hebrew Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –. 2008. Psalms Through the Centuries. Oxford: Blackwell. Goldingay, John. 2008. Psalms. Volume 3: Psalms 90–150. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Grogan, Geoffrey W. 2008. Psalms: The Two Horizons Old Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Gunkel, Hermann. 1998. An Introduction to the Psalms. Completed by Joachim Begrich. Translated by James D. Nogalski. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press. Hjálmarsson, Jón R. 1993. History of Iceland: From the Settlement to the Present Day. Reykjavík: Iceland Review. Jónsson, Gunnlaugur A. 1996. “The Old Testament in Icelandic Life and Literature.” Studia Theologica 50:109–124. –. 2014. Áhrifasaga Saltarans. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag. Karlsson, Gunnar. 2000. Iceland’s 1100 Years: A History of a Marginal Society. Reykjavík: Mál og menning. Kraus, Hans-Joachim. 1989. Psalms 60–150: A Commentary. Translated by Hilton C. Oswald. Minneapolis: Augsburg. Laato, Antii. 2018. The Origin of the Zion Theology. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark. Limburg, James. 2000. Psalms. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Mays, James L. 1994. Psalms. Interpretation. A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Louisville: John Knox. Miller, Patrick D. 1986. Interpreting the Psalms. Philadelphia: Fortress. Mowinckel, Sigmund. 1982. The Psalms in Israel’s Worship. Translated by D. R. AP-Thomas. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Murphy, Roland E. 2000. The Gift of the Psalms. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Óskarsson, Óskar Hafsteinn. 1999. Vesturfararnir og Gamla testamentið. Um áhrif og notkun Gamla testamentisins hjá Vestur-Íslendingum kringum síðustu aldamót. Reykjavík: Háskóla Íslands, Guðfræðideild. Ringgren, Helmer. 1997. Psaltaren 90–150. Kommentar till Gamla testamentet. Stockholm: EFS-förlaget. Rogerson, John W. and John W. McKay. 1977. Psalms 51–100. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tate, Marvin E. 1990. Psalms 51–100. Nashville: Nelson. Terrien, Samuel. 2003. The Psalms: Strophic Structure and Theological Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Thorsteinsson, Steingrímur J. 1957. The Icelandic National Anthem: Foreword to a Special Edition by Prime Minister’s Office. Reykjavík: Government of Iceland. Valdimarsdóttir, Thorunn Erlu. 2006. Upp á sigurhæðir: Saga Matthíasar Jochumssonar. Reykjavík: JPV útgáfa. Westermann, Claus. 1969. Isaiah 40-66. A Commentary. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press. Willgren [now Davage], David. 2016. The Formation of the ‘Book’ of Psalms: Reconsidering the Transmission and Canonization of Psalmody in Light of Material Culture and the Poetics of Anthologies. FAT II/88. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

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Zenger, Erich. 2000. “The God of Israel’s Reign over the World (Psalms 90–106).” Pages 161–190 in The God of Israel and the Nations: Studies in Isaiah and the Psalms. Edited by Norbert Lohfink and Erich Zenger. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press.

Lost For Words: Psalms and Prayer at Dachau Elisabet Nord There are times in one’s life when we find ourselves at a loss for words. For many, a visit to a former concentration camp brings forth a feeling of being deprived of words – yet filled with an urgent need not to remain silent, as if indifferent to the crimes committed and commemorated at a certain geographical location. In such circumstances of mute distress, many have found that through the Psalms one can inherit a language for that which has left us momentarily speechless.1 Psalms also have the advantage of being “common ground” in that they are and have been used for prayer by both Jews and Christians for centuries in response to circumstances of loss, dismay, and lament. It is therefore not surprising that it is precisely words from the Psalms that have been used (although in different ways) in the religious memorials erected at Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site – not only in an effort to commemorate the sins and sufferings of the past but also to warn future generations of the evil that man is capable of. The purpose of this essay is to explore the various ways in which psalms have been used in the mental and theological processing of the Shoah2 at Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site. As shown below, the use of psalms in this particular geographical location is noticeable in three out of the five religious memorials erected on the grounds of the former concentration camp.3 In the Protestant as well as the Jewish memorial, passages from the

1 As argued by Jacobson 2001, 90–91, there is something irreplaceable to be gained when Psalms are used liturgically: “Indeed, precisely because some of us arrive at worship burned out, with no oil of our own remaining in our reservoirs, we need to burn our lamps with borrowed oil. And in the psalms such oil is to be found in plenty.” 2 I prefer the Hebrew term “Shoah” over the English language term “Holocaust” which derives from the Greek holocaston since the latter is used in the LXX for the whole burnt offering commanded by God (Lev 1). Unlike Holocaust, the Hebrew term Shoah (šô’â), “destruction,” implies no redemptive or positive purpose for the crimes committed during World War II. For a developed discussion of the semantic and theological connotations of Holocauset vs. Shoah see Garber 1994, 51–66. 3 Apart from several smaller commemorative markers (for a brief overview see Marcuse 1999 and Hoffman-Curtis 1998), five religious buildings have been erected at Dachau memorial site, or in close vicinity to the former concentration camp: The Todesgangs-Christi Chapel inaugurated in 1960 by the Catholic church, the Carmelite Convent Heilig Blut from

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Psalms have been physically integrated into the architectural features of the buildings, thereby underlining the different architects’ understandings of the function of religious memorial buildings in this particular setting – spanning from the recognized need for reconciliation to the necessity to constitute both warning and hope for the future. Particularly noteworthy here is what specific passages from the Psalms that have been chosen by the architects, as well as their reasoning behind their choice of words for this setting, since this partially reveals the different theological views on and the processing of sin, suffering, and evil within Jewish and Protestant tradition. Psalms are also noticeable in the Carmelite convent, situated just outside the boarders of the former camp-area. However, while Psalms proved to be a vital resource for the architects working on this site, providing them with words that could underline what they aimed at communicating with the word-less art that is architecture, the traditional – liturgical – use of Psalms turned out to be challenging for the Carmelite sisters.4 Given the unusual geographical location of this convent, the so called “imprecatory psalms”5 with their calls for the violent death of enemies constituted a significant challenge for the sisters who recited psalms regularly as part of the Divine Office. Being present and serving in the context of a former concentration camp, with the explicit aim of establishing a living symbol of hope where there has been so much horror in the past, requires both a hermeneutical and pastoral sensitivity towards psalm passages dealing with enmity and violence. Of course, every time a biblical text is featured in a liturgical setting, that liturgical context adds new interpretative layers to the text. This general observation becomes particularly evident at the Carmelite convent in Dachau where Christians gather to pray for the victims of the Shoah, often painfully aware of the impact that traditional Christian theology has had on Jewish-Christian relations. In a context such as this, where the consequences of enmity and violence against humanity is so palpable, it soon became evident 1964, the Evangelische Versöhnungskirche inaugurated 1967, the Jewish memorial from 1967, and the Russian-Orthodox chapel Auferstehung unseres Herrn from 1995. 4 The Carmelite order is a mendicant order that has contemplation through prayer as its spiritual focus. The order is divided into three branches; the First Order is the friars, the Second order is the nuns (who are cloistered, as in Dachau), and the Third Order consists of laypeople who continue to live in the world and are allowed to be married. They participate in the charism of the order by liturgical and contemplative prayers, including the Divine Office where psalms (and other biblical texts) are recited daily. 5 It should be noted that the term “imprecatory psalm(s)” (sometimes “cursing psalms” or “psalms of vengeance”) can and have been critiqued from various standpoints, especially by those who argue in favor of not omitting “difficult” psalms from contemporary lectionaries and prayer-books. Cf., for example, Zenger 1996, viii, who questions whether the term is appropriate since these psalms “do not curse; they present passionate lament, petition, and desires before God.” Still, the terminology is broadly accepted and therefore used here whenever psalms containing prayers for violence against enemies is discussed.

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for the sisters that alterations to the liturgical texts had to be made in order for the liturgy to function as intended, i.e. as a spiritual refuge and a sign of hope for the future. As will become evident below, the sisters’ experience with praying Psalms at the memorial site reflects both the general challenges of using Psalms liturgically and the insufficiency of some of the traditional hermeneutical responses to imprecatory psalms.

A. Approaching the Area The outline of this geographically demarcated study on the reception of Psalms at Dachau Memorial Site is laid out as a virtual tour with three stops. We begin our tour with a short and general overview of the area. The camp, located approximately 16 kilometers northwest of the medieval town of Dachau, was the first in the Nazi concentration camp system. As such, it functioned as a prototype for other camps and as a “school of violence” under the supervision of Heinrich Himmler, who later became the supervisor of the entire concentration and extermination camp network. It has been estimated that over 200 000 were imprisoned at Dachau during the time that the camp was in operation (March 1933–April 1945). Held captive here were some of the regime’s more prominent political prisoners, including political leaders from occupied countries and numerous religious leaders. Records kept at the camp show that 2,579 Catholic clergymen were imprisoned at Dachau, of which 1,780 came from Poland and around 450 were from Germany and Austria.6 It is therefore not surprising that Catholic clergymen were among the first to erect commemorative markers at the site. Nor is it surprising that the commemorative communities (consisting of former prisoners and their families) interpreted the history of the concentration camp within a theological framework. This theological frame of reference originates from the fact that many prisoners with a religious disposition interpreted their own sufferings either as a martyrdom or as a reliving of Christ’s Passion. Naturally, this early theological frame of reference is also reflected in the various memorials within the camp area and in the choice of artworks for these buildings. When studying the memorials at Dachau, one must bear in mind that the buildings erected at this memorial site are a product of their time, and do not always reflect contemporary understandings or commemorations of the Shoah. In fact, the site of the concentration camp served as a refugee settlement until the early 1960s and was only made into an official place of remembrance in 1965.7

6

Marcuse 2001, 1–3, 221. For a short overview of the early post-war history of the concentration camp memorial site, see Kappel 2016, 15–20. 7

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Therefore, each building provides insights into the ever changing development of ways that the Shoah has been commemorated, by different communities, from the 1960s and onwards.8 An early and prominent example of an explicitly theological interpretation of the prisoners’ sufferings, expressed through architectural features, is the Catholic Mortal Agony of Christ Chapel. This small but centrally located memorial, designed by Josef Wiedemann (1910–2001), stands at the far end of the long camp road. It was built in only four months in 1960, and was consecrated by bishop Johannes Neuhäusler on Friday the fifth of August the same year. The choice to dedicate the chapel on a Friday is significant and exemplifies the theological interpretation of the sufferings that the prisoners endured in this camp and others like it. In the words of Neuhäusler: At the very hour when our Lord suffered his mortal agony and overcame our death through his death, the memory of the suffering and death of so many people was called to mind in face of the Mortal Agony of Christ Chapel.9

Once this Catholic memorial was completed, Neuhäusler suggested that German Jewish and Protestant organizations should construct their own monuments in the immediate vicinity of the chapel. A protestant church on the west and a Jewish memorial on the east side of the chapel. In 1967, seven years after Neuhäusler’s proposal, both memorials stood ready. In both of these buildings, passages from the Psalms have been carefully integrated into the architecture, providing visitors insight as to what each architect wished to communicate with their buildings. We begin our investigation of the use and reception of Psalms through architecture and prayer at Dachau at the protestant memorial, located in the north-west part of the memorial site.

B. First Stop: The Church of Reconciliation The completion of the Church of Reconciliation was not without obstacles. First, representatives of the German Protestant Church (Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland) deemed it inappropriate to erect a protestant memorial in Bavaria with its predominantly Catholic population. In fact, the construction of a chapel at Bergen-Belsen was thought of as a preferable option. It was also argued that since the Catholic Mortal Agony of Christ Chapel did not have any overtly Catholic symbolism it could serve as a memorial for Protestants as well. The turning point came when a group of Dutch Protestants began to lobby for a Protestant memorial, and in 1964 the design by Helmut Striffler (1927–2015)

8 9

As also identified by Marcuse 2001, 1; and Kappel 2016, 8–9. Neuhäusler quoted in Kappel 2016, 26.

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was eventually chosen and approved by those responsible for the Protestant memorial project. The church was consecrated three years later, in April 1967.10

Image 1: The Church Of Reconciliation (Wikimedia Commons)

The Church of Reconciliation is probably the best known of the memorials at Dachau, due to its distinctive architectural features. Built almost entirely out of grey cement and partially sunk into the ground, the large building blends with the bare and flat surroundings of the camp area now covered in coarse gravel. Striffler’s intention with his design was to create an inconspicuous underground room for prayer that was distinctly different to and marked off from the forms of Nazi architecture.11 As such, the walls of the church are curved, with right angels deliberately avoided throughout the building. Striffler describes his building as a counterpole to all the installations of terror. He says of his work: After so much abuse of right angles, I felt it was impossible to use them for a building in the camp. At first, I thought it would be totally impossible to create a building without being drawn into the use of these right angles. The church that was to be built there had to be without any monumentality, but at the same time to overcome the primitive regularity of the camp world. The form of the Church of Reconciliation is therefore an answer, a counterpole to all the installations of terror. It is dug into the merciless surface of the camp as a living track, as a

10 11

Marcuse 2001, 279–282; Kappel 2016, 48–53. Hoffmann-Curtis 1998, 39.

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sheltering furrow against the inhumane exposure which one senses again and again even today if one walks through the camp.12

For Striffler, architectural form and physical experience are closely intertwined. Consequently, the church itself is best described as a series of rooms that are passed through as if on a path leading gradually downwards and up again. The elongated building is recessed one story below ground level and can be entered from either end. Both passageways in and out of the church have quotes from the Psalms integrated into the architecture. On one side, a heavy bronze portal bears a quote from Ps 57:2 inscribed in German, Polish, Dutch, and French: “Zuflucht ist unter dem Schatten deiner Flügel.” The quote was chosen by Striffler to reflect his idea that this building should “afford a short breathing space, a gesture of help, to visitors to the camp as they make their way through it.”13 Having passed through the depths of the church and experienced how the concrete floor slowly begins to rise again, just inside the west exit (at the highest point within the architectural interior of the church) the visitor encounters yet another quote from the Psalms. Mounted in black bronze letters on the grey rough cement wall are the words from Ps 130:1–5: 1

Aus der Tiefe rufe ich, Herr, zu dir. Herr, höre meine Stimme! Laß deine Ohren merken auf die Stimme meines Flehens! 3 So du willst, Herr, Sünden zurechnen, Herr, wer wird bestehen? 4 Denn bei dir ist die Vergebung, daß man dich fürchte. 5 Ich harre des Herrn; meine Seele harret, und ich hoffe auf sein Wort. 2

The choice of words from the Psalms for this memorial is both predictable and surprising. On one hand, the words from Ps 57 that speak of shelter and forgiveness could be seen as contradictory – even inappropriate – in a context such as this, so reminiscent of danger and the lack of protection. On the other hand, the short passage integrates well with the protective atmosphere of the recessed church and its intended theological purpose – to be not only a memorial but also a place of reflection and atonement. In light of this, the choice of Ps 130 is particularly fitting for a building of this kind. The psalm, known as De Profundis after its opening words in the Latin translation, has a remarkable history in Christian spiritual life. The title points to its usefulness for all who find themselves in the depths of existence and at a loss for words. It is also one of the seven penitential psalms traditionally used in services and disciplines of re-

12 13

Striffler, quoted in Kappel 2016, 56. Striffler, quoted in Marcuse 2001, 283.

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pentance.14 The psalm recognizes the human situation. Life is lived in danger and in experiences of “the depths.” Here ‫ מעמקים‬is used metaphorically, as an abbreviation of the expression “the depths of the sea” (Isa 51:10; Ezek 27:34; Ps 69:3 [LXX 68:3]). The psalm expresses the basic character of human existence. As also noted by Lindström when he addresses Ps 130 in Suffering and Sin, this is not a prayer stemming from personal need but a prayer that captures the human predicament. All are in the depths, and everyone is dependent on the fact that YHWH forgives sins. This is also articulated in the psalm itself through the change from first person (vv. 1–2) to third (v. 3) which implies that the poet is reflecting over his situation in view of God’s relationship with man. No difference is made here between sinner and non-sinner; all are dependent on the fact that YHWH does not count iniquities but does forgives sins. The psalm embraces the general human experience that sin causes an existence in the depths, and that all are in need of YHWH’s forgiveness. What is presupposed here is that human sin is a permanent existential problem. Man cannot stand (‫מי יעמד‬ Ps 130:3b [LXX 129:3]) before YHWH because of his sins. As summarized by Lindström: “the real affliction in the poem is the sin which characterizes all human existence and the experience of guilt which arises from it.”15 Seen from this perspective, the choice of Ps 130 for the Protestant memorial is only natural. However, the use of a traditional penitential psalm in this particular context is also thought provoking since it poses the question of the limits of forgiveness and the possibility of atonement. This issue was also raised during the process of naming this church. The original suggestion, “Church of Atonement” (“Sühnekirche”) reflected the intention and wish that the church was to commemorate all victims of the Nationalist Socialist rule but also provide a place where worshippers were called on to do penance and to seek God’s forgiveness. (“Sühnen” can mean both to atone for specific sins and to free from general guilt).16 This name was rejected early on since it brought with it the wrong associations. It was argued that foreign Protestants and former prisoners did not need to atone, nor be freed of guilt. The focus needed to be on commemoration. In addition to this, it was also pointed out that the crimes committed during the Shoah were so atrocious that no expiation is possible. The next suggestion “Church of the Expiation of Christ” (“Sühne-Christi Kirche”) was also rejected because it resembled the name of the Catholic chapel too closely. It also implied that Christ’s sacrifice had already expiated the guilt, leaving no need for people to actively atone themselves. Finally, the name “Versöhnungskirche” was chosen based on the argument that it focused on the goal of commemoration, not the process by which it was to be reached.17 14

See, e.g., Limburg 2000, 447, who also mentions the use of Ps 130 at Dachau. Lindström 1994, 371–372. 16 Kappel 2016, 49. 17 Marcuse 2001, 281. 15

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C. Second Stop: The Jewish Memorial

Image 2: The Jewish Memorial (Wikimedia Commons)

The next example of how a passage from the Psalms has been incorporated into the architectural features of a building can be found at the Jewish memorial located at the north-west corner of the former camp area.18 The memorial was designed by Hermann Zvi Guttmann (1917–1977) and completed in 1967, the same year that the Church of Reconciliation was inaugurated. Guttmann was one of the most successful architects of Jewish community buildings in Germany at the time. His work was strongly influenced by Expressionist architecture, reflected in this building through its elevated parabolic shape. An 18 meter-long ramp leads downward from ground level to the interior floor 1, 8 meters below ground (symbolizing the depth of a grave). The slightly vaulted roof of the building slopes upwards towards the apex of the parabola. The 10meter-wide subterranean opening of the building is blocked by a gate of barbed iron bars, leaving the interior open to the elements. The door handles are 18 The building is a memorial and not a synagogue. According to Jewish custom, it is not permissible to erect a synagogue (or any other building) over the mortal remains of the dead. Graves are laid out for eternity and are to be marked as such, preferably using a tombstone. Therefore, in 1964, a more traditional Jewish monument was put up near a field of graves on the grounds of the former camp area. The monument is a 5-meter-tall stone tower with a star of David and “Remember the Victims” in English, Hebrew, and German inscribed on it. The structure is crowned with a menorah (Hoffmann-Curtis 1998, 40; Marcuse 2001, 268).

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formed as two olive branches, symbolizing the hope of a flourishing, beautiful Israel, alluding to Hos 14:6–7 and representing the sign of God’s reconciliation with Noah. For many visitors, the dark underground room at the end of the long ramp, behind the gate of barbed iron bars, creates associations with the lightless gas chambers. In the darkest, narrowest and deepest part of the structure,19 the visitor’s view is drawn upwards along a strip of light marble hewn at Peki’in, Israel. From above, on the highest point and through a small opening in the roof, light beams into the otherwise dark space.20 Guttmann’s intention with his architectural design is similar to that of Striffler in that the visitor is led on a route and that the structure is sunken into the ground. Guttmann’s main intention with his recessed building was not to imitate the gas chambers (as often thought) but to symbolize the underground hiding places many Jews used to escape the Nazis. In that sense, the structure is reminiscent of the Church of Reconciliation in that it provides the visitor with a physical feeling of finding shelter below ground, but unlike the Protestant memorial this building does not invite the visitor to seek absolution. On the contrary, it functions as a warning. This is particularly emphasized by the quote from Ps 9:20, chiseled (in German and Hebrew) into the building, just above the entrance.21 Stelle, oh Ewiger, ihnen eine Warnung hin! Erfahren sollen die Völker, dass sie Sterbliche sind.

Guttmann’s choice of psalm-quotation sparked some discussion. As reported by Marcuse, a German survivor argued that the choice of words was inappropriate because Ps 9 was a “psalm of vengeance.” Guttmann’s response and reasoning in this regard was that the Dachau monument was addressed not only to Jews but to all peoples. In the end (after having consulted Dr. Ophir Yarden from Yad Vashem) a compromise was reached in that a smaller, additional inscription was put up on the interior wall to clarify that the monument is intended to commemorate the exceptional fate of the Jews, and not only to warn future generations of the atrocities that humans are capable of.22 As will become evident on our third stop of our tour through the reception of Psalms at Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site, the use of imprecatory

19 Cf. the use of physical depth in the architectural outlay of the Church of Reconciliation described above. 20 For a more detailed description of the Jewish memorial see Kappel 2016, 66–74, or Marcuse 2001, 270–271. 21 Hoffmann-Curtis 1998, 40–41, and Kappel 2016, 70–74. 22 The inscription reads: “Monument of warning to commemorate the Jewish martyrs who died in the years of the Nationalist Socialist rule of terror 1933–1945. Their death is a warning and obligation for us. Erected by the Regional Association of Israelite Cultural Communities in Bavaria in the year 1966/5727” (quoted in Marcuse 2001, 269).

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psalms in the context of Shoah memorials is not only a sensitive issue at the Jewish memorial, it also sparked discussion and critical reflection early on in the establishment of the Carmelite convent, which shall be our last stop.

D. Third Stop: The Carmelite Convent of the Precious Blood Dachau

Image 3: The Carmelite Convent of the Precious Blood Dachau (Wikimedia Commons)

At the border of the former camp-area stands a guard tower that has been rebuilt so that it now forms the entrance to the Carmelite convent of the Precious Blood Dachau. Although the architectural outlay of the convent does deserve mention, our interest in the reception of Psalms is not connected to the form of the building itself but rather to the religious life of the sisters who reside there.23

23

For a comprehensive outline of the architectural design of the convent, see Kappel 2016, 36–47. It should be noted that the establishment of the Carmelite convent at Dachau in the 1960s stands in marked contrast to the controversies that surrounded the establishment of a Carmelite convent at Auschwitz in the late 1980s. The main reason for this is that Dachau had not been an extermination factory, therefore it was not as closely associated with Hitler’s plan to annihilate all Jews. Dachau came to represent brown-collar crimes in general and not

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Let us therefore proceed directly into the convent church where the services are held and Psalms are recited daily as part of the liturgy of the hours. Leaving the broad and open space of the memorial site behind us, having walked down into and through the Protestant and Jewish memorials, we enter through the northern camp watch tower to reach the quiet convent forecourt. Directly in front of us is the church gable with its glazed upper part. This elongated church is fitted with glazed gables at both ends so that the building is opened towards the camp-area but also reaching beyond it, almost as if into another dimension – connecting the present with past and future. In this sparsely decorated church, the congregation, both nuns and laity, gathers for prayer separated only by an intricately wrought dividing grating. The nuns’ choir as well as part of the convent area are cloistered and not accessible to visitors. The rest of the church however, is open to all who are in search of a quiet place for contemplation. For Carmelites, the spiritual focus is contemplation through prayer, community and service.24 As a contemplative order, the Carmelites consider prayer to be the central purpose of their life and work. This includes both personal prayer and the corporate recitation of the Divine Office. The convent’s official introduction states: The Carmel of the Precious Blood was founded in 1964 at Dachau and it adjoins the former concentration camp. It was the intention of the foundress, Mother Maria Theresia of the Crucified Love, to make this place, where there has been so much horror in the past, into a place of offering and prayer, and to establish here a living symbol of hope. The essential task of the Carmel is to stand before God in intercessory prayer. To do so in this place is to make a special contribution to the ministry of reconciliation in Christ and to help to bear the sufferings of the past and the present. This requires openness to the multiplicity of needs commended to our prayers, and also readiness to let others share in our liturgy and in our experience of faith and prayer.25

As will be made evident below through the words of Sr. Gemma (born Ursula Hinricher, 1932–1990), this pastoral sensitivity towards the needs of others, combined with the wish to pray the Divine Office with all who wish to partake in the liturgy, proved to be a significant challenge from the beginning of the sisters’ presence and prayer at Dachau.26 As outlined in an article written by the prioress Sr. Gemma, the nuns prayed the Divine Office in Latin at first (as was customary before the reform of the Liturgy). However, in 1965 not more than a

judeocide or the Shoah in particular (Marcuse 2001, 240–241). For more information on the resistance towards the establishment of a Carmelite convent at Dachau see, e.g., Charlesworth 1994. 24 See also above, n. 4. 25 “Carmel of the Precious Blood Dachau,” short introduction, https:/ /dachau.karmelocd.de /dokumente/upload/Karmel_Heilig_Blut_Dachau_englisch.pdf. 26 The history behind the establishment of the convent is summarized in Smith 1997.

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year after the establishment of the convent, the sisters requested and were given permission to pray in German.27 Their request was based mainly on the pastoral concern for the increasing number of tourists that visited the convent in search for a quiet place where they could process their impressions and actively partake in communual prayer in their own language. However, as reported by Sr. Gemma, to pray in the vernacular also had its disadvantages. Sure, it brought forth much of the richness of the Psalms, but it also unmasked some passages that the sisters deemed unsuitable for their specific context and calling in Dachau. Sr. Gemma summarizes the complexity of reciting Psalms at the memorial site in the following manner: In der unmittelbaren Nähe des KZ sahen wir uns außerstande, Psalmen, die vom strafenden, zürnenden Gott, von der Vernichtung der Feinde in oft grausamen Bildern sprachen, die Vernichtungs- und Vergeltungswünsche zum Inhalt hatten, vor Menschen auszusprechen, die aufgewühlt und innerlich erschüttert vom Lagerbesuch in unsere Kirche kamen. Es ist ja oft so, daß diese Menschen nicht nur bewegt sind von der Grausamkeit und Brutalität, die ihnen in der Dokumentation des KZ-Museums und im Erleben der KZ-Stätte selbst begegnen, sondern auch von eigenen Gefühlen des Hasses und der Rache ob des grauenvollen Geschehens an dieser Stätte. Unsere Kirche ist der einzig ruhende Pol des Lagergeländes. Durch den nördlichen Wachturm treten die Touristen nach der Besichtigung des Lagers in den Vorhof von Kirche und Kloster. Viele halten inne und suchen in unsere Kirche zu Ruhe zu kommen. Es ist wohl verständlich, daß in solches Innehalten hinein weder Fluchpsalmen noch – verse, weder Vernichtungs- noch Vergeltungswünsche gesprochen werden können.28

In the Carmelite convent, as in the other buildings discussed above, we find the need to consider both the particular history of this camp as well as the emotional needs of the visitors. In such circumstances, the Psalms have proven to be an important resource as they provide modes of expression for those times when words are often scarce. At the same time, the graphic language of enmity and violence that can be found throughout the Psalms also challenges the entire intention of prayer at this place. The sisters soon realized that because of the geographical context of their convent, alterations needed to be made in order for the liturgy to function as intended. Consequently, in 1965 the sisters asked not only for permission to pray in the vernacular but also for permission to omit from their liturgy psalms and passages that they deemed inappropriate, at least on those occasions when visitors from outside took part in the communal prayer. Julius Döpfner, the Cardinal and Archbishop of Munich and Freising, granted the sisters permission to do so on the condition that they reported back their experiences with their locally customized liturgy.29 27

The sisters’ request coincided with that of several other communities at this time, as exemplified in Bugnini 1990, 559–561, which helped prepare the way for the switch from Latin to vernacular. 28 Hinricher 1980, 55. Also referred to and quoted in Zenger 1996, 20–21. 29 As reported in Hinricher 1980, 55–56.

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It so happened that the sisters’ experience of reciting the Psalms at Dachau (and the critical reflection that followed from it) coincided with the liturgical work of the Roman Catholic Church in the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council. Therefore, the reception of the Psalms at the Carmel of the Precious Blood Dachau could be said to form a window into the thoroughgoing work of renewing the Divine Office, exemplifying both the need for and consequences of this liturgical renewal. In fact, the sisters’ negotiation and local revision of the liturgy occurred just as the process of revising the Divine Office was at its first phase (1964–1965).30 The work was led by eight study-groups, three of which were in charge of the distribution of the Psalms among the various hours. The intention from the start was to maintain all 150 psalms so that the entire book of Psalms could be recited over a two-week period, but this was soon challenged by those who argued in favor of omitting imprecatory psalms and passages (as well as some historical psalms that were suggested to be used as readings instead). In fact, for the working groups, the question of the integrity of the book of Psalms proved to be “the most serious and trickiest problem of them all.”31 According to Bugnini who has compiled a comprehensive summary of the liturgical reform, the group dealing with the structure of the Office was in favor of using all the psalms, “lest the revised Breviary venture into uncertain waters.”32 The same initial hesitation towards omitting imprecatory prayer from the liturgy can also be detected in Sr. Gemmas’ reflections on the matter. It is her firm conviction that the choice of omitting passages from the communal liturgy cannot be made by an individual. The decision needs to be a joint one, both substantiated and understood by the entire community. Of equal importance is the need to incorporate exegetical knowledge of the Psalms and their origin into the decision-making. Sr. Gemma notes that there is much to be said in favor of not omitting “difficult” passages from liturgy. However, despite these exegetically sound arguments (e.g., recognizing the integrity of the text), one needs also to acknowledge that these psalms have a historical Sitz im Leben that hinders them from being easily transferable into considerably different circumstances – i.e. used for prayer in a modern setting far removed from the

30

For a comprehensive outline of the liturgical renewal, see Bugnini 1990, 491–519. Bugnini 1990, 494. 32 Bugnini 1990, 494. One “middle way” suggested by the working groups was to limit the use of imprecatory psalms to “certain seasons of the year when they are interpreted as prophetic rather than as imprecatory” (Bugnini 1990, 494, n. 10). For obvious reasons, this middle way was not an option at Dachau given the (Christian) reception history of enmitypsalms (especially during Easter) when a psalm such as Ps 109 could be interpreted as a prophecy against Judas, and by extension Jews at large. This allegorical approach to Ps 109 (to give but one example) is still withheld within (Christian) Orthodox tradition where the psalm is to be interpreted as part of the Good Friday liturgy as a prophecy over Judas (see Mihăilă 2012, esp. 227–229). 31

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psalm’s historical origin. Thus, the performative aspect of reciting psalms cannot, and should not, be underestimated. In the words of Sr. Gemma: Denn sobald man die Psalmen vom bibeltheologischen, literarischen und hermeneutischen Prinzip her betrachtet, gibt es keine Schwierigkeit, sie als Ganzes zu nehmen; unter diesem Aspekt fällt jede Streichung und Auslassung schwer und gibt das Gefühl, den Text zu entstellen, ihm nicht gerecht zu werden. Und doch besteht ein großer Unterschied zwischen einer bibeltheologischer Betrachtungsweise und dem gemeinsamen Beten der Psalmen. Es gibt viele Texte der Heiligen Schrift, die uns fremd sind, die als Gebet unbrauchbar sind, die aber deswegen nicht weiniger zur Heiligen Schrift gehören als andere. Das Faktum, daß der Psalter als ganzer zur Heiligen Schrift gehört, besagt aber nicht, daß alle Psalmen in allen Teilen als Gebet der Kirche geeignet sind. Ja gerade, wenn man sie von ihrem Ursprung und ihrer Entstehung her betrachtet und weiß, daß sie großenteils im Kult beheimatet sind und dort ihren Mutterboden haben, können sie nicht ohne weiteres auf ganz andere Situationen und Lebensgefühle übertragen werden. Etliche Psalmen entsprechen kaum dem Lebensgefühl eines Christen, auch wenn das Alten Testament als direkte Hinführung zu Christus betrachtet wird.33

Sr. Gemma goes on to stress the significant difference between reciting psalms in communal prayer, as opposed to private contemplation, arguing that those in favour of retaining imprecatory psalms had not experienced the public and performative recitation of psalms, at least not in the vernacular!34 As noted by Bugnini, the working groups engaged in the renewal of the Breviary made a similar observation. As phrased by the president of the ninth general meeting of the Concilium held in 1967: “The spiritual discomfort caused by expressions of anger and revenge, even when the exegetes have properly situated them in the development of revelation, is felt especially by the younger people and by those who say the Office in the vernacular.”35 As it turned out, a growing number of members of the working groups wanted the regular cycle of the Liturgy to contain only a selection of psalms, partly based on how other (non-Catholic) communities had handled the imprecatory psalms in recent years, but also with reference to the difficulties that could be foreseen from praying psalms in the vernacular.36 Eventually, the decision was taken in 1968 by Pope Paul VI that three psalms were to be omitted altogether from the Breviary (Pss 58, 83, and 109) and that passages from 19 other psalms were to be put in parenthesis, just as had been done at Dachau years before.37

33

Hinricher 1980, 56. Hinricher 1980, 56. 35 Quoted from Bugnini 1990, 508. 36 Bugnini 1990, 499–500, 508–512. 37 If of interest, the omissions are as follows, beginning with psalms that have had only one verse removed: Pss 5:11; 54:7; 55:16; 110:6; 141:10; 143:12. Four psalms have had 1,5–2 verses omitted: Pss 28:4–5; 31:18–19; 40:15–16; 56:7b–8. Six psalms have had 3–5 verses omitted: Pss 21:9–13; 63:10–12; 79:6–7, 12; 137:7–9; 139:19–22; 140:10–12. Three psalms 34

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Despite the fact that the new official version of the Liturgy of the Hours had omitted some of the harsher imprecatory psalms, there were still passages that the sisters deemed both impossible and inappropriate to pray given their specific geographical location and calling at Dachau. One such prominent example is a passage from Ps 18 that reads: 37

I pursued my enemies and overtook them; and did not turn back until they were consumed. 38 I struck them down, so that they were not able to rise; they fell under my feet. 39 For you girded me with strength for the battle; you made my assailants sink under me. 40 You made my enemies turn their backs to me, and those who hated me I destroyed. 41 They cried for help, but there was no one to save them; they cried to the LORD, but he did not answer them. 42 I beat them fine, like dust before the wind; I cast them out like the mire of the streets. (Ps 18:37–42, NRSV)

Needless to say, such words cannot be recited within the vicinity of a former concentration camp where so many people have been struck down and beaten to death, and where ashes have been scattered and trodden to the ground. As pointed out by Sr. Gemma, this psalm is commonly recognized as a royal psalm of thanksgiving attributed to king David. As such, it could be argued to be less challenging, despite its references to violent submission of the enemies in vv. 31–42, since the words of the speaker are then tied to an isolated event in the past and not (as easily) transferred onto multiple other scenarios of enmity.38 Such an overall understanding and interpretation of the psalm gives it a historical and typological mode, descriptive of an individual’s deliverance from his predicament and not prescriptive – at least not explicitly stated as such. The same applies to the traditional hermeneutical approaches of reading (imprecatory) psalms typologically, allegorically and/or as prophecies, with Christ as subject. But as also pointed out by Sr. Gemma, such a hermeneutical approach to Ps 18 does not rid the psalm of its contextually based hermeneutical difficulty in a sufficient manner: So ist also das sogenannten Beten im übertragenden Sinn keine echte Möglichkeit, aus dann nicht, wenn man Christus diese anstößiger Verse in den Mund legt und dabei seinen Kampf mit Satan und Dämonen im Auge hat. Solche Interpretationen hinken in dem meisten Fällen und sind vor allem für die gemeinsame Rezitation der Psalmen, bei der diese Verse laut gebetet und auch so gehört in Ohr und Herz kommen, nicht brauchbar.39

have had more than 3 verses omitted: Pss 35:3a, 4–8, 20–21, 24–26; Ps 59:6–9, 12–16, and Ps 69:23–29. See, e.g., Holladay 1996, 305; or Silber 2013, 117. 38 Hinricher 1980, 57. 39 Hinricher 1980, 58.

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Thus, for the sisters at the Carmel of the Precious Blood Dachau, the alterations made for the Liturgy of the Hours were not sufficient, nor were the traditional hermeneutical approaches to “difficult” imprecatory psalms and exegetically based observations presented by numerous acclaimed scholars. For the sisters, the crucial point was the associations that these historical prayers brought forth within their particular geographical context. It was these contextually based associations that led them to the conclusion that certain psalms – and more than those currently omitted from the official liturgy – had to be put in brackets. Again, in the words of Sr. Gemma: Es ist nun einmal so, daß assoziative Momente oft den Ausschlag dafür geben, daß manche Psalmen und Psalmverse für uns an dieser Stätte nicht betbar sind – Associationen, die sich an Bilder anlehnen, die Wirklichkeit und Geschehnisse der KZs damals und heute ausdrücken und die hier in unserem Karmel gegenwärtig gehalten werden durch unsere Leben und Gebet. Zu alldem müssen wir damit rechnen, daß Touristen oft nur kurz unsere Kirche betreten und evtl. als einziges Gebet diese oder ähnliche Verse hören. Was werden sie denken von Menschen, die bewußt an diese Stätte gegangen sind, um den Menschen ein Zeichen der Hoffnung zu geben, um deutlich zu machen, daß der Tod nicht das letzte Wort hat, auch nicht der gewaltsame, grauenvolle Tod, sondern daß der Sieg Jesu Christi, sein Sterben, Tod und Auferstehen, im tiefsten alle Feinde und alla Feindschaft überwunden hat, auch wenn wir in unserer grausamen Welt so wenig davon spüren. Wie können wir denjenigen, die dies grauenvolle Unheil verübten oder denen, die auch heute noch in vielfachen Formen auf der Welt Menschen unterdrücken und foltern, dasselbe wünschen und von Gott erbitten, was hier geschah!40

As a consequence, the 16 sisters residing in the Carmelite convent continued – and still continue – to avoid praying passages from the Psalms that are otherwise not omitted from the liturgy (i.e. put within brackets to mark that these passages can be skipped). This applies to Ps 18:37–42, but also to other shorter passages such as Pss 2:9; 3:8b; 10:15; 11:6; 44:6; and 68:22, 24.41 Thus, in order for the liturgy to function as intended at the Carmel of the Precious Blood Dachau – words needed to be lost. There are passages in the Psalms that simply cannot be used in this setting, despite all the otherwise exegetically sound arguments that have been put forward against the current and general custom of omitting passages from the Divine Office, as well as other prayer-books and lectionaries. Despite the fact that Psalms have provided people with modes of expressions for those circumstances when words are scarce, there are still circumstances when it is appropriate – even necessary – to embrace the silence. To allow oneself to be and pray at a loss for words.

40

Hinricher 1980, 57. Hinricher 1980, 57, and confirmed through e-mail correspondence with Sr. Elija Boßler in June 2018. 41

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E. Leaving the Area Our tour through the reception of the Psalms at Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site have come to an end. We have made three stops along our way where we have investigated how individual psalms have contributed to – but also challenged – the theological and mental processing of the Shoah at this memorial site. As was shown, passages from the Psalms constituted a vital resource for the architects working on the Jewish and the Protestant memorials. Helmut Striffler, the architect behind the Protestant Church of Reconciliation, chose and integrated into his work passages from Pss 130 and 57. His choice of words underline his overall intention with his design – i.e. to create a sheltering place for reflection and atonement that would blend into the bare and flat surroundings of the camp area, whilst also distinguish the building from the right angles that had been characteristic to the Nazi architectural layout of concentration camps. The choice of Ps 130:1–5 is particularly fitting in this context and for Stiffler’s architectural layout. This traditional penitential psalm brings together both the theological recognition of the universal human need for repentance and the physical as well as emotional experience of being in “the depths.” The latter is architectonically underlined by the visitor’s physical experience of moving gradually downwards and upwards through the church itself. This idea of an architectural outlay that leads the visitor downwards to a protected and enclosed space for reflection is also found in the Jewish memorial drawn by Zvi Guttmann. He chose to integrate the words from Ps 9:20 into his creation by chiselling them into the arch-shaped entrance. His choice of words reflects an aim and intention of this building that is different from the Protestant church. The emphasis here is on warning for future generations against evil, rather than the need for reconciliation or repentance, which is understandable given that this building is intended to function as a memorial and not a place of worship. Guttmann’s choice of words did spark some discussion, not because of this element of warning that now marks the structure but because the passage stems from one of the “psalms of vengeance.” The question of whether the use of such psalms in the context of Shoah memorials is appropriate was also noticeable at our last stop on our tour through the former camp area. At the Carmelite Convent of the Precious Blood Dachau, psalms have not been integrated into the physical dimensions of the church building, but the liturgical use of the Psalms through the recital of the Divine Office constitutes a central aspect of the devotional life of the sisters residing at Dachau. It was precisely this liturgical praxis that proved to constitute a significant hermeneutical challenge. Given the unusual geographical location of this convent, the sisters soon realized that alterations to their service needed to be made in order for the liturgy to function as intended. Here, just as in the two buildings discussed above, the wish and overall aim was to provide visitors

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with a place of contemplation and refuge where they could process the emotions sparked by the visit to the memorial grounds. In order to facilitate this, two alterations where necessary. Firstly, it was deemed preferable that the recital of the Divine Office was done in the vernacular so that all who wished to partake in the prayer could do so more freely. Secondly, imprecatory passages had to be omitted due to the particular geographical context of the convent. It so happened that the sisters’ experience of reciting the Psalms at Dachau, and the critical reflections that followed from it, coincided with the liturgical reform of the Roman Catholic Church that followed the Second Vatican Council. Consequently, the sisters’ reception of the Psalms at this place and time forms a window into a much larger debate on the appropriateness and relevance of imprecatory psalms for contemporary worship. This particular geographical location, more than anything, exemplifies the impact that context has on the interpretation of texts. The place and time in which a psalm is recited has the ability to significantly alter the way it is understood, regardless of the reader’s knowledge of otherwise strong and sound hermeneutical and exegetical approaches that have developed in response to “difficult psalms.” Sometimes, not even the best exegetical knowledge is enough in the presence of certain words at a certain time and place. That is when we find ourselves at a loss for words – and that is when words need to be lost.

Bibliography Bugnini, Annibale. 1990. The Reform of the Liturgy: 1948–1975. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical. “Carmel of the Precious Blood Dachau.” Short introduction. Online: https://dachau.karmelocd.de/dokumente/upload/Karmel_Heilig_Blut_Dachau_englisch.pdf. Charlesworth, Andrew. 1994. “Contesting Places of Memory: The Case of Auschwitz.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 12:579–593. Garber, Zev. 1994. “Why Do We Call The Holocaust ‘The Holocaust’? An Inquiry into the Psychology of Lables.” Pages 51–66 in Shoah: The Paradigmatic Genocide: Essays in Exegesis and Eisegesis. Studies in the Shoah 8. Lanham: University Press of America. Hinricher, Gemma O. C. D. 1980. “Die Fluch- und Vergeltungspsalmen im Stundengebet: Überlegungen zu 15 Jahren Erfahrung mit dem gemeinsamen Chorgebet im Karmel Dachau.” Bibel und Kirche 2:55–59. Hoffman-Curtis, Katrin. 1998. “Memorials for the Dachau Concentration Camps.” Oxford Art Journal 21/2:23–44. Holladay, William Lee. 1996. The Psalms Through Three Thousand Years: Prayerbook of a Cloud of Witnesses. Minneapolis: Fortress. Jacobson, Rolf A. 2001. “Burning Our Lamps With Borrowed Oil: The Liturgical Use of the Psalms and the Life of Faith.” Pages 90–98 in Psalms and Practice: Worship, Virtue, and Authority. Edited by Stephen Beck Reid. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical. Kappel, Kai. 2016. Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site: Religious Memorials. 2nd ed. München: Deutscher Kunstverlag.

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Limburg, James. 2000. Psalms. Westminster Bible Companion. Louisville: John Knox Press. Lindström, Fredrik. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell. Marcuse, Harold. 2001. Legacies of Dachau: The Uses and Abuses of a Concentration Camp, 1933–2001. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mihăilă, Alexandru. 2012. “The Prayer Against the Enemies: A Hermeneutical Problem in the Orthodox Exegesis.” Sacra Scripta 10/2:223–241. Silber, Ursula. 2013. “‘Whatever Is in Parenthesis We Do Not Include in Our Prayers?!’: The Problematic Nature of the ‘Enemy Psalms’ in Christian Reception.” European Judaism 46/2:116–132. Smith, Maria-Theresia. 1997. “Life in Places of Nazi Terror: Carmelite Women in Dachau and Berlin.” Way Supplement 89:115–125. Zenger, Erich. 1996. A God of Vengeance? Understanding the Psalms of Divine Wrath. Translated by Linda M. Maloney. Louisville: Westminster John Knox.

Genesis, Artificial Intelligence, and the Future of Evil Blaženka Scheuer 3

But God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.” 4 But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die; 5 for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Gen 3:3–5)1 We stand on the brink of a technological revolution that will fundamentally alter the way we live, work, and relate to one another. In its scale, scope, and complexity, the transformation will be unlike anything humankind has experienced before. We do not yet know just how it will unfold, but one thing is clear: the response to it must be integrated and comprehensive, involving all stakeholders of the global polity, from the public and private sectors to academia and civil society.2

Evil, and to a greater extent sin, is not a minor matter in the Hebrew Bible. The words used to convey the concept of sin are among the more frequent words in the Hebrew Bible, and the metaphors depicting sin can be found in most traditions of the Bible. The understanding and interpretation of these words and metaphors has been shifting throughout history, depending on the cultural and historical context of the interpreter.3 Writing in the beginning of the twenty-first century, at the start of the fourth industrial revolution,4 we might inquire about the manner in which the ideas of sin and evil can be interpreted in a society inundated with technological triumphs within the field of Artificial Intelligence (AI). Vivid representations of the dangers and potential evils that AI might bring into the world, as well as the cruelty of humans towards AI agents, human-like robots in particular, have been common themes in popular culture.5 1

The English translations of the Hebrew Bible in this article are taken from the NRSV unless otherwise stated. 2 Schwab 2015, https://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/2015-12-12/fourth-industrial-revo lution (retrieved on 1 Sept, 2020). 3 Thus, for example, Lam 2016. Paula Fredriksen notes that the early Christian ideas about sin are characterized by “dramatic mutations,” see Fredriksen 2012, 1. 4 Coined by the chairman of the World Economic Forum, Claus Schwab, the phrase Fourth Industrial Revolution stands for the current development where innovation is based on a combination of technologies such as robotics, artificial intelligence, the Internet of Things, etc., a development described as “a fusion of technologies that is blurring the lines between the physical, digital, and biological spheres.” See Schwab 2015, https://www.foreignaffairs.co m/articles/2015-12-12/fourth-industrial-revolution. 5 As presented in films such as The Matrix, The Terminator, Her, or the HBO series

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Is it a good or an evil enterprise to create human-like artificial agents? If AI takes over control of the world, would that be regarded as evil? Can humans commit crimes or sin against robots? And, vice versa, can AI agents commit sin and be held responsible?6 Certainly, there are no simple answers to these questions, but they must be asked nevertheless. In this article, I do not aim to write a list of crimes, sins, or evils that might arise following the wider implementation of AI in society. I leave that to the specialists, the scholars of law, ethics, systematic theology, or philosophy of religion. As an exegetical contribution, though, I would like to reflect upon the dynamics of sin, good, and evil in the very idea that underpins the enterprise of creating an entity that bears an essence of the creator, but which is fundamentally different from the creator. I call it an exegetical contribution because my consideration of the subject matter will be based on a rereading of the creation story in Gen 2–3 in order to identify ways in which it resonates with current AI discourse.7 In the following, therefore, I shall proceed in three steps. First, I shall touch upon the connection between AI and religion and outline some issues that the creation of AI and its implementation in society give raise to in terms of dynamics between promises and treats (goods and evils). Second, I shall reread the Eden story in Gen 2–3 in view of the AI discourse. Lastly, I shall consider the ways of thinking about the concepts of good and evil in a technological future.8

Westworld, to mention just a few. For a short review of representation of AI in films, see Murphy 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/08/movies/ai-humans-robots-technology.ht ml. 6 Related questions are asked about challenges to our legal system as well as about ethics involved in the implementation of AI in society. Concepts such as “robot rights” or “laws of robotics” have been discussed for decades. 7 By AI discourse I refer here to the way that AI researchers conceptualize, talk about, and present AI. 8 These issues have been discussed by scholars of systematic theology, ethics, and philosophy of religion, and it is time for the exegetes to join in. Effective implementation of AI into society requires that AI be integrated into not just legal and social frameworks, but also cultural frameworks of a given society. Biblical texts, stories, and traditions based on these texts and stories are cultural products that provide a frame of reference and a moral compass for millions of people. If AI is to be trusted when implemented in society, it needs to be contextualized within these cultural frameworks and the discourses on AI must somehow resonate with the stories and traditions of the Bible as well as other foundational religious texts and stories.

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A. Why Artificial Intelligence and Religion? The interaction between religion and AI is taking place on a daily basis in virtually all parts of the world. Voice-controlled smart speakers such as Alexa, Google Assistant, and Siri can answer questions about the existence of God and the nature of religious beliefs, while mobile apps construct personalized schedules for daily prayer, customized readings of the religious texts, and the possibility to confess one’s sins in a two-way conversation with a bot.9 AI has a tremendous impact on human life and considering the fact that around 80% of the world’s population view themselves as religious, it is only expected that AI systems also have considerable impact on the religious lives of people and communities. But AI does more with religion than just offer technical support. In her introduction to the special issue on AI and religion in the Journal of Implicit Religion, Beth Singler draws attention to the fact that AI might have a reinvigorating effect on religion.10 Technical advances within AI create opportunities for religious experience outside traditional religious contexts and stimulate new religious or religiously inspired movements; The Way of the Future, The Order of the Cosmic Engineering, and The Turing Church of Transcendent Engineering, to mention just a few. While these new movements, with specific belief systems and adhering rituals, often reject the notion of God in the sense understood by theist religions, some of them speak of AI-deities likely to arise in the future.11

9 As an example, lists of the best Bible apps, apps for living a Christian life, and various confession apps are accessible on most app stores. In a similar manner, apps for Muslim users are available that point the direction towards Mecca, schedule prayer timetables, and adjust fasting times during Ramadan, depending on the geographical location of the devotee. In fact, devotional apps are available for the practitioners of most of the world’s religions. 10 Singler 2017a, 215–231. 11 See, for instance, the following quote: “We hasten to add to this in the same breath that, at the same time, the OCE does espouse the conviction that in the (arguably) very far future one or more natural entities – i.e., entities existing within our present universe – are highly likely to come into being – plausibly resulting from the agency of our and other species – which will to all intents and purposes be very much akin to ‘god’ conceptions held by theist religions. We refer to conceptions of personal, omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent super–beings, ‘deities’ or ‘gods’,” http://turingchurch.com/2012/01/02/order-of-cosmic-engin eers/. While the question of the legal status of these movements is still debated, the first like movement in the world to be recognized as a religious organization is the Sweden-based Missionary Church of Kopimism. In January 2012, the movement was registered as a religious organization by Kammarkollegiet, a Swedish administrative authority under the Ministry of Finance. The organization believes in the sanctity of information and sees the search for knowledge and information-sharing as a sacred act (see https://kopimistsamfundet. se/english).

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The more pressing reason for scholars of religion and theology, including Hebrew Bible studies, to engage with AI might perhaps be the fact that AI challenges some of the most central religious ideas and theological reasoning.12 Advances in AI technology, the development of AI robots in particular, encourage questions about idolatry and hubris, and problematize notions of God.13 If we can reproduce human faculty for reason, human intelligence, what remains of the quintessence of the humanity?14 Is a human merely a collection of data? What, then, sets the creators apart from that which they create? Likewise, should AI robots be perceived as persons and, as such, have individual rights and responsibilities? These questions are important to ask, not in a naïve belief that AI robots are in fact just like humans, but, as Beth Singler affirms, “because of our tendency to anthropomorphize and because of the simplicity of programming the ability to express such a desire for rights to a robot’s vocabulary.”15 Naturally, these questions about human essence are not new, merely challenged anew. Concerns with the quintessence of humanity, of the human role in and relationship to the rest of creation, and human concern with death and potential afterlife are issues that peoples, authors, editors, and redactors of the Hebrew Bible reflected upon as well. The stories documented in the Hebrew Bible reflect complexities of life as experienced by individuals and societies millennia ago. It is therefore fascinating to reread these stories in light of the developments and challenges of our time. Anne Foerst argues that biblical stories, as well as different aspects of AI, can be viewed as symbolic representations of reality, and when studied in dialogue, “they enrich each other and create a new perspective on human reality.”16

12 Themes and concepts such as imago Dei, eschatology, apocalypticism, and the question of human salvation have been particularly discussed. For a review and discussion of existing research, see Green 2018, and Dorobantu 2019. For studies of specific themes, see Benanti 2019; Geraci and Robinson 2019; Buell 2019; Midson 2017; and McGrath 2011. 13 See, for instance, Herzfeld 2002, 313; Geraci 2007, 961–80; and Midson 2017. 14 For a useful overview of different views on personhood in relation to AI and humanoid robots, see Foerst 1998. 15 Singler 2017a, 227. Singler refers to the example of Sophia, a Hanson Robotic model of android who was the first robot to receive a citizenship granted to her by Saudi Arabia in 2016. Singler notices also that there is “a perceived threat of AI to the specific understandings regarding personhood” to which religious communities react in diverse ways. Singler 2017a, 225. 16 See Foerst 1998, 109. In this article, Foerst discusses different frameworks to dialogue between science and theology and presents an epistemological framework for the dialogue that understands all descriptions of reality as symbolic. The distinction between a symbol and that which is symbolized is most clearly elaborated by Descartes, and is used for AI by Haugeland 1985.

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I. Artificial Intelligence: Possibilities and Challenges The AI field covers and draws upon rather vast areas of research, such as machine learning, machine reasoning, mathematics, computer science, linguistics, robotics, and so on.17 AI can be described broadly as “systems that display intelligent behaviour by analysing their environment and taking actions – with some degree of autonomy – to achieve specific goals.”18 AI systems operating today are called weak or narrow AI (ANI) because they are developed and programmed to simulate or imitate human thinking in order to achieve assigned goals. ANI is programmed to perform a single task, operating on the basis of a specific set of data within a pre-determined range.19 The two additional types of AI, both seen as hypothetical development in the near or distant future, are labelled strong or general AI (AGI), and Artificial Superintelligence (ASI). AGI is a system that would not only simulate human intelligence but would actually think for and by itself, a system that would have the same cognitive abilities as humans do. ASI, on the other hand, would have a mind of its own, making decisions and improving itself beyond human control.20 Much like technological developments throughout history, AI research is motivated by AI’s potential for benefitting societies and helping human life to flourish. AI can do this either through enhancing human intelligence to perform their tasks better, or to do the work instead of humans all together. AI is used to help our day-to-day lives through optimization of personal lifestyle, companionship, and assistance, but it also has the potential for solving global problems with the environment, health care, the economy, and so on. On the other hand, some of the most pressing societal concerns in respect of the development and 17 In the case of AI robots, for example, a combination of two research fields is utilized: AI as a branch of computer science and robotics as a branch of technology. The combination of the two yields artificially intelligent robots – that is, robots that are controlled by AI programmes. Software robots, however, such as chatbots, are computer programmes and are not robots in the real sense. 18 This definition is produced by the European Commission Independent High-Level Expert Group on Artificial Intelligence, A Definition of AI: Main Capabilities and Disciplines. Definition Developed for the Purpose of the AI HLEG’s Deliverables. 19 Complex AI systems, such as those of self-driving cars, are the product of a combination of a number of ANI in one system. Although such AI can seem highly capable of performing complex tasks, it does not operate on the basis of emotions or self-awareness. 20 Predictions about such development of AI are based on views about the speed of technological progress, such as computer scientist Ray Kurzweil’s “Law of Accelerating Returns”: “The evolutionary process of technology seeks to improve capabilities in an exponential fashion. Innovators seek to improve things by multiples. Innovation is multiplicative, not additive. Technology, like any evolutionary process, builds on itself. This aspect will continue to accelerate when the technology itself takes full control of its own progression” (Kurzweil 2001).

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implementation of AI in society today relate to the risks of increasing unemployment, surveillance and privacy violations, disinformation, and the development of autonomous weapons.21 Given the considerable potential for bringing harm to individuals and humanity, then, such risks must be contained. The focus of research communities and organizations is therefore on safety of the created systems. II. Safety, Human-Centrism, and the Question of Responsibility Since 1942, when American science fiction author and professor of biochemistry at Boston University, Isaac Asimov, wrote three laws of robotics,22 the laws and regulations to be applied to the production of AI systems have been expanded, rephrased, and adjusted to the technical developments within AI research.23 In 2010, experts and scholars from the fields of law, arts, social sciences, technology, and industry, composed a set of ethical guidelines for scholars in charge of the development of AI and robotics. At the centre of the guidelines was concern for the “public trust and confidence” that the robots will be introduced in society “to the maximum benefit of all of its citizens.”24 In a similar manner, in a 2018 call to governments and industries to consider the ethical implications of advances in AI technologies, Rev. Steven Croft, the bishop of the Church of England and a member of the House of Lords select

21 For the existential challenges latent within current AI research and development, see Liu, Lauta, and Maas 2018. The European Commission works for a unified approach to the question of safety with the societal implementation of AI. In addition, the possibility of mistakes and accidents in AI that might cause unintentional harm when implemented in society are discussed in Amodei et al. 2016. For the success of AI in society, it is important to be attentive to existential challenges which are latent within present AI research and development, see Hin-Yan, Lauta, and Maas 2018. 22 The story was included in his 1950 collection of short stories published previously in the American magazines Super Science Stories and Astounding Science Fiction between 1940 and 1950 (see Asimov 1950). The laws are: 1) A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm; 2) A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law; 3) A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law. 23 Asimov’s laws were fictional rules that expressed general concerns for the threat that autonomous machines might pose to humans; they were not laws designed to work in programming a safe AI. Rather, Asimov used the three laws in his stories to prove the creativity of the robots in bypassing the rules and acting against them, thus illustrating the ability of humans to circumvent the prescribed limitations to their behaviour. 24 Winfield et al. 2017, 124.

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committee on AI, issued ten commandments of AI,25 in which matters of fairness, transparency, and safety for humans were in focus. These ethical guidelines clearly state that safety with AI can only be maintained if AI remains human-centred: the machines must operate under human control. Thus, a human-centric perspective towards AI is at the core of the Ethics Guidelines for Trustworthy Artificial Intelligence presented by a European Commission High-Level Expert Group on AI on 8 April 2019.26 The guidelines state that AI must be lawful, ethical, and robust – i.e., that it must comply with laws and regulations, it must follow the prescribed ethical principles, and it must be robust so that it does not cause harm to humans by mistake.27 These regulations and ethical guidelines put humans at the centre of a world in which human and artificial agents can co-exist. Maintaining human-centric AI defines, in turn, the line of responsibility and accountability. The guidelines state that an AI agent cannot legally be liable for any errors or injuries that it causes to humans, animals, or to the environment. The accountability must at all times lie with the humans who are responsible for creating and supervising the system. In sum, with the development of AI, we humans, being the rulers of the ordered world, are in a process of creating a global labour force which will work for us, interact with us, and be companions to us. These labourers are created from a mixture of raw material, such as carbon fibre, plastic, and silicon, as well as something of human essence – that which we call human intelligence. The created entities are a solution to some of our problems, but are also potential threats that must be contained in order to make sure that the goals and objectives of the created artificial systems and agents stay aligned with the goals and objectives of their human creators. Since one of the main characteristics of intelligent agents is unpredictability, i.e., that they are capable of change and adaptation, human control of AI cannot be taken for granted but must be attained continually. The awareness of potential problems and safety concerns with AI presented above resonate well with problems and concerns imbedded in ancient narratives about the creation of humans by deities. We find them in the Hebrew Bible, but also in ancient Mesopotamian epics about the creation of the world.

25

The ten-point plan or Ten Commandments were issued as part of a speech at a Westminster eForum Keynote Seminar, “Artificial Intelligence and Robotics: Innovation, Funding and Policy Priorities,” held on 27 February 2018. 26 The expert group is set up by the European Commission and the guidelines can be downloaded in a number of languages: https://ec.europa.eu/digital-single-market/en/news/ ethics-guidelines-trustworthy-ai. 27 European Commission Independent High-Level Expert Group on Artificial Intelligence, 2019b.

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B. Troubled Creators – Troublesome Creation The ancient epics of Atrahasis and Enuma Elish describe how gods were in need of a rest and decided therefore to create a labour force that would do the heavy work for them and provide them with food. Yet, for an entity to be able to do the work of the gods and to appreciate their needs, that entity must have understanding and ability to do so. They must be able to move and have knowledge of that which is expected from them. In other words, they must have life and intelligence. Both stories, therefore, tell that humans were created of a particular blend consisting of the clay of the earth and divine flesh and blood. For this purpose, in both stories, a deity was sacrificed: Wê-ila in Atrahasis and Qingu in Enuma Elish. But note the choice of the gods to be sacrificed: the deities, Qingu and Wê-ila, were not chosen randomly but were those among the gods who had understanding, grit, spirit, personality, or intelligence.28 The following lines from the Atrahasis epic illustrate the point well: Wê-ila, who had personality. They slaughtered in their assembly. From his flesh and blood Nintu mixed clay. For the rest [of the time they heard the drum], From the flesh of the god [there was] a spirit. It proclaimed living (man) as its sign, And so that this was not forgotten [there was] a spirit. … You have slaughtered a god together with his personality.29

These stories present humans as creatures that are like gods, not only in the fact that they have life but also in the fact that the divine inspiration, spirit, and determination runs through their veins. This made humans purposeful but also disruptive and scheming: the humans proved to be vital and grew in number, and became a blaring crowd, disturbing the slumber of the creator gods.30 The epic of Arahasis continues to describe, therefore, how gods conspired initially

28

The slain rebel deity in Arahasis is the god who had ṭēmu (I. 223). For different interpretations of the word, see Oden 1981, 202. 29 Atrahasis, tablet I, lines 223–230 and 239. Lambert and Millard 1999, 59. For Enuma Elish, see Lambert 2013, 110–113. 30 Oden 1981, 201–202, argues that ṭēmu which the humans inherited from the slain rebel god should be interpreted as “scheming,” i.e., human ability to plot against deities.

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to destroy the humans, deciding in the end to constrain them by means of a strict regulation of female fertility. Humans had to be controlled. Stories like these characterized the cultural and conceptual milieu in which the authors and editors of Gen 2–3 composed their version of the creation of the world and the humans within it. I. Intelligent Agents of Eden The Eden story (Gen 2–3) describes humans as beings sculpted from the dust of the ground (Gen 2:7), infused with the divine breath (Gen 2:7), and set to cultivate the land (Gen 2:4:5–8, 15) and organize the animal world into a coherent system (Gen 2:19–20). There is no indication here to the idea that the Creator was in need of a work force – humans were not created to work instead of the creator. Rather, as the story unfolds, we find out that humans were to be something of a companion, a conversational partner to God (Gen 3:8–13).31 Like the Mesopotamian stories of creation, humans are in Gen 2 created from a mixture of matter and divine essence, a mixture of dirt and divine breath (n︎əšāmâ, Gen 2:7).32 Difficult to translate in a single word, the word n︎əšāmâ, much like the expression “the wind/spirit of God” (rûaḥ ’ĕlōhîm), seems to describe the perpetual motion by which God creates but also controls everything: Then the channels of the sea were seen, and the foundations of the world were laid bare at your rebuke, O LORD, at the blast of the breath of your nostrils. (Ps 18:15) By the breath of God they perish, and by the blast of his anger they are consumed. (Job 4:9) By the breath of God ice is given, and the broad waters are frozen fast. (Job 37:10)

When such motion fills the clay statue it transforms it into a nefeš ḥayyâ, a living being (Gen 2:7). However, life is not the only divine attribute that comes with n︎əšāmâ. This part of the divine in humans has two additional functions. On one hand, it brings knowledge, intelligence, or wisdom expressed through human ability to understand instruction (Gen 2:16–17; 3:3), to categorize the animal world (Gen 2:19–20), to assess the Creator’s improvements of the creation (Gen 2:23), and to appreciate wisdom as a desirable thing (Gen 3:6).33 31 A similar lack of direct reasons as to why God creates humans is visible in Gen 1. The expression “let us create humans in our image” communicates intent and will but offers no reason for it. God seems to have created humans because he could and because he wanted to. 32 The breathing of life into the clay statue is not unique to the Hebrew Bible. In Greek mythology Prometheus formed human bodies out of clay while Athena breathed life into them. 33 In a related manner, Cynthia Chapman argues that the divine breath endows the human “with authoritative speech that he is intended to use to guard the garden,” Chapman 2019, 243. This is in line with Koch’s reasoning who interprets the word n︎︎əšāmâ as Sprachgeist, the human ability to speak, see Koch 1989, 50–60.

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Later on in the Hebrew Bible, n︎əšāmâ is declared to be the source of intellectual faculties in humans expressed in Job 32:7–8: “I said, ‘Let days speak, and many years teach wisdom.’ But truly it is the spirit in a mortal, the breath (n︎︎əšāmâ) of the Almighty that makes for understanding.”

On the other hand, the divine n︎əšāmâ in humans works as a control system through which the Creator can supervise the created entities, scrutinizing continuously their inner processes: The human spirit is the lamp of the LORD, searching every inmost part. (Prov 20:27)34

In sum, sharing the worldview with the ancient epics of creation, the Eden story describes the human as an entity created from raw material infused with divine essence. Slightly different from the other epics, the Eden story pictures the divine essence as divine breath that gave life and intelligence to humans, and provided means for the Creator to supervise and control the created system. In AI language, divine n︎əšāmâ was a source of movement and intelligence for the humans, but also a security system for the Creator in order to enable the alignment of goals. Through n︎əšāmâ, human preferences could be aligned with the Creator’s. Creating intelligent agents, however, came with a risk. It seems that the Creator could not predict how the humans will behave. We shall now turn to the rule that would safeguard a flourishing life in Eden. II. The Safety Rule of Eden We saw above that in order for AI to be beneficial for society, it must be strictly human-centric, operating under human control. Its goals and objectives must be in alignment with those of its creators. Laws and regulations surrounding the development of AI systems and their implementation in society centre, therefore, on this particular rule. Looking at the Eden story from this perspective, we note that there was only one safety rule in Eden: not to attempt to attain the “knowledge of good and evil” (Gen 2:16–17).35 A successful breach of that rule would immediately lead 34

For discussion of the Hebrew text, see the short note by Loewenstamm 1987, 221–224. In a similar manner, God’s spirit supervises the humans, as in Ps 139:7: “Where can I go from your spirit?” 35 In scholarship, the expression “knowledge of good and evil” has been interpreted as merism that refers to unlimited knowledge – a kind of knowledge reserved for the divine beings. Unlimited knowledge and eternal life are divine prerogatives that can only be bestowed upon humans in rations and at the creator’s will. See, for instance, Stordalen 2000, 242–249; Mettinger 2007, 49–58. However, the point of the knowledge of good and evil in

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to death and the system would be shut down. Why was a limitation of the scope of their knowledge so important considering that the humans were already knowledgeable and intelligent? What was it in particular that God did not want humans to know? Reading the Eden story as a myth of human maturation from childhood to adulthood, Lyn Bechtel suggested that the human couple was not ready to take in the world in all its complexities, illustrated here by a reference to human sexuality.36 The prohibition against gaining the knowledge of good and evil is an expression of God’s wish to protect the humans from information and facts which might harm them. Once sexual awareness is acquired, humans pass from childhood to adulthood, with intimate knowledge about themselves and about each other. This is a suggestive reading of Gen 2–3, and probably one of the ways the story can and has been understood. However, the prohibition against eating of the tree of knowledge was unlimited in time, and the humans, with the little knowledge they had, would have been able to procreate anyhow. Another line of reasoning plays upon the idea of an experiment: the Creator needed to know whether the new created entities were robust and reliable. Terje Stordalen and Tryggve Mettinger are two scholars that have argued in this direction, presenting slightly different answers regarding the purpose of the experiment. For Stordalen, the purpose was to ascertain human trust in God: for life in Eden to function optimally, the created entities needed to trust their Creator. Consequently, the problem for God was not that the humans acquired knowledge and became like gods in that respect, but that the humans acquired such knowledge on their own, and against God’s warning. Stordalen concludes: “The calamity in Eden is not appropriately labelled uproar but rather faithlessness and distrust.”37 Mettinger argues the other way around, stating that the purpose of the experiment was to ascertain human trustworthiness: it was a test of human obedience to God.38 For Mettinger, breaking the rule of Eden was in fact an act of deliberate rebellion against God: Human disobedience in the Eden Narrative is seen to consist not only of not doing the will of God but also of deliberately doing what is contrary to his will, perpetrating an act of infringement on the divine realm.39

Gen 2–3 is that the humans became like God (Gen 3:22), suggesting that divine knowledge was the effect of eating from the tree of knowledge, not unlimited knowledge. Thus also Smith 2019, 38–41. 36 Bechtel 1995. In a similar manner also Krü ger 2008, 95–109. 37 So Stordalen 2000, 242–249. 38 So Mettinger 2007, 49–58. 39 Mettinger 2007, 55–56. Mettinger reads Gen 2–3 in light of Deuteronomistic covenant theology (71).

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Again, suggestive and possible readings, both of these perspectives imply that knowledge was not a problem in itself, but rather that it was a means of establishing reliability in the created system. And yet, two facts point out knowledge as the problem: the choice of a word pair “knowledge of good and evil,” and by the fact that the first piece of information they attained – an awareness of their nakedness – led to fear and the wish to distance themselves from God. What knowledge was evil and how could attaining it risk the safety of/in Eden? To answer these questions, I will now turn to the events in Gen 3 and interpret them in AI perspective. III. Intelligent Communication and the Problem of Nudity As we enter Gen 3, we find ourselves at the beginning of something new. Once the animals have been created (Gen 2:19) and the human split in two (Gen 2:21–22), life in Eden seems to have reached something of a blissful routine (Gen 2:24–25). Everything was good and the system was in harmony (Gen 2:25). That is, until the created intelligent agents started to communicate with each other. The scene that opens this chapter is well documented in scholarship, in popular culture, and in art. We assume that the scene takes place under the tree of knowledge. The serpent is there, although it was probably standing next to the woman not twisted around a branch (Gen 3:14). The communication starts with a misunderstanding and questioning of the rules of the system: “Did God really say …?” (Gen 3:1). Created only after the rule of Eden was imposed upon the human, the serpent must have heard the humans talk about the rule and might have been genuinely interested about the principle that governed the garden. God should have updated the information as the creation progressed and was enhanced. The woman corrects the serpent: God did not forbid them from all of the trees of the garden, just this one. God gave no explanation. He only stated the consequences: should they eat of the tree of knowledge, the humans would die. As far as the woman knew, the rule of Eden was for the safety of humans primarily. The communication intensifies at this point and the serpent shares what he knows about the reason of the rule: the humans would not die but rather become god-like. There is no need to invest the serpent with malevolent intentions; he was merely sharing the information that a device for self-update was available to humans. The serpent discloses that God knew this and did not want humans to evolve in this direction. As far as the serpent knew, the prohibition was stipulated primarily for the Creator’s safety. The next scene, Gen 3:6–8, features the tree, the woman, and the man. The serpent seems to have withdrawn. It is here that we generally see the climax of the Eden story: the woman takes a moment to analyse the new data, to make a

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decision, and to act autonomously. The instant the man ate the fruit (Gen 3:6b) changes everything. A moment earlier, the humans gazed up at the tree in wonder, admiring the beauty of its fruit, marvelling at the prospect of possessing divine wisdom. Now, they gaze down at their bodies as the divine knowledge filled their entire being in bewilderment: they were naked. Earliest interpretations of nakedness in both Jewish and Christian traditions were focused on the question of human sexuality.40 This is an understandable and plausible interpretation since sexuality is suggested in other ways in Gen 3, besides the mentioning of nakedness. The serpent is a common motif in erotic stories in antiquity, the word yāda‘, “knowledge,” also describes a sexual act as “knowing a woman/a man” (Gen 4:1; 19:8). Accordingly, Lyn Bechtel sees in the human realization of their nakedness an abrupt transformation into sexually mature adulthood, a fact not negative in itself.41 Also Terje Strordalen sees here a beneficial effect of knowledge, noticing that awareness of their nakedness “has a positive function in removing human ignorance … the human couple has gained the insight that one should not appear naked before YHWH.”42 However, with the exception of Song of Songs, to be naked in the Hebrew Bible is generally not connected with sexual attraction or love, and the humans did not, upon clothing themselves, go out to meet their Creator joyfully. Rather, nakedness in the Hebrew Bible is linked with negative feelings, such as shame and humiliation,43 and in Gen 3:7–8 seems to be profoundly upsetting for the human couple who, upon hearing God’s footsteps, hide in fear in spite of the fact that they had covered themselves (Gen 3:7, 10).44 So, why was the first consequence of the divine knowledge an awareness of the nakedness of the human body, and why were the first humans so upset by it? The adjective ‘êrōm, “naked,” relates to the verb ‘ûr, “lay bare, expose,” and suggests that their naked bodies exposed something which humans were not aware of before gaining the knowledge of good and evil. The last verb of verse 6, “and he ate,” is first followed by a passive verb in verse 7, “and their eyes were opened,” and then an active verb in v. 7, “and they knew.” The humans ate of the forbidden tree, they attained the same knowledge that the Creator had, and could therefore see themselves through the Creator’s eyes. What they saw was that they were creatures, not creators. They now knew that while they were 40

For an overview of different interpretations of nudity in this text, see Soggin 1975, 108–

109. 41 Bechtel 1995, 12, states that the “tree could be called ‘the tree of mature knowledge of life,’ and it is only prohibited for children. … An immature view of life is fine, even essential, for children, but inadequate for adults.” 42 Stordalen 2000, 229. 43 Moreover, Brenner 1997, 42, stresses the fact that in the Hebrew Bible “the number of depictions of female nakedness far outstrips those of male nakedness” (cf. Satlow 1997). 44 As also argued by Bird 1997, 187–188.

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like gods in knowledge, they were not like gods in body. In body, they were like plants and animals, reproducing through a combination of male and female.45 The focus on their genitals exposed their sameness with that which they were in charge of: the animals which they named and classified, and the earth which they cultivated. The humans were utterly humbled (Gen 3:10).46 Expressed in AI language, human intelligence prior to their eating of the tree of knowledge was of a weak or narrow kind. They performed single tasks according to a predetermined arrangement. Once they ate of the fruit of knowledge, the humans attained strong or general intelligence, gaining self-awareness and knowing reality in the way that their Creator does. However, the divine knowledge is immense and as their intelligence reaches divine level, the first realization must necessarily concern the inadequacy of their physical form: the infinite knowledge is not apt for a finite frame. In other words, while the acquired general intelligence marks their sameness with the Creator (Gen 3:22), the nakedness of their bodies exposes the incontrovertible difference between them. God in the Hebrew Bible cannot be naked. Once they became like gods in knowledge and intelligence, the human body becomes a liability. IV. Theological Singularity and Death One of the more intriguing concepts in AI debates is the concept of technological singularity.47 It is the point at which AI changes into AGI and ASI, becoming a self-aware system that surpasses the total complexity of human cognitive abilities and starts upgrading itself at a blistering pace, enhancing its abilities beyond human control. This point would have tremendous impact on societies and on human life and would mark a breakdown of civilization.48 In the words 45 In a similar manner, Bruce Naidhoff 1978, 9, argued: “A body of earth is no longer suitable for a being with the mind of god.” 46 That knowledge is accompanied with anguish and painful insights is a perspective on knowledge further elaborated upon in Ecclesiastes (Eccl 1:16–18). For intertextual references between the two biblical books, see Seufert 2016, 75–92. 47 The concept was first used by mathematician John von Neumann (PhD) in the 1950s, here quoted by Stanislaw Ulam 1958, 5, upon von Neumann’s death: “the ever accelerating progress of technology … gives the appearance of approaching some essential singularity in the history of the race beyond which human affairs, as we know them, could not continue.” See also Bostrom 2014, who argues that the creation of an artificial intelligence with humanlevel intelligence will be followed fairly soon by the existence of an almost omnipotent superintelligence, with potentially disastrous consequences for humanity. This is why a top priority for AI research must be to find ways to imbue strict moral codes in AI systems in order to prevent such a scenario. For a critical response, see Davis 2014. For a general introduction to the concept, see Shanahan 2015. 48 See further Korotayev and LePoire 2020 who offer a vast scope of interdisciplinary perspectives on the concept of singularity within global history. Hey also offer views on potential future scenarios involving singularity.

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of Ray Kurzweil, it would be a “technological change so rapid and so profound that it represents a rupture in the fabric of human history.”49 A highly controversial yet intriguing subject, the point of technological singularity would mark a point at which humans would be made redundant and obsolete. The concept of singularity lends itself well to interpreting the events in Gen 3. Armed with insight of their partial divinity, the humans realize that they are simply not dressed for the task of handling general intelligence: divine knowledge does not fit into the clay statue. The Creator’s question “Have you eaten …?” is answered by a chain of excuses and explanations that ultimately lead back to the source of accountability: the serpent tricked the woman, and the woman gave her man the fruit to eat, but it was the Creator who had created a system that could fall through like that (Gen 3:12–13). The Creator must accept that the created intelligent agents shared information to attain knowledge which could make the Creator redundant: something of a theological singularity has occurred. The consequences are dire: the principals that guided human life in Eden, principles that regulated the relationship between the created entities, collapsed. Harmony reverted to chaos, companionship to power struggle and strife for control (Gen 3:15–18). The Creator targeted the root cause of the collapse of Eden: the communication between the three intelligent entities – the serpent, the woman, and the man – was severely disabled. Later on, at the end of the Primeval History, in Gen 11, humans will once again endeavour to infringe on the domain of the Creator. And again, the Creator disrupts human ability to communicate. The problem with the human body remained to be solved and the Eden story suggests that there were two ways of doing that: either the humans could upgrade further so that their bodies could properly accommodate the attained divine knowledge, or the humans must die. The Creator chose the second option. V. Death on Hold Death is often interpreted in terms of punishment for human disobedience: God “drove out the man; and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life” (Gen 3:24). However, as Mark Smith pointed out, the Hebrew verb gārash, “drive out, expel,” is not a term for punishment but is a term that “expresses a fallout in interpersonal relations.”50 Rather than being punished with death, the humans were prevented from attaining eternal life (Gen 3:22). The difference might be small, but it is important because it shifts the focus from retribution to responsibility, from punishment to compassion.

49 50

Kurzweil 2001, n.p. Smith 2019, 62.

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First, the humans did not die immediately, and as Phyllis Bird argues, the consequences were milder than the humans could have faced: instead of death, the humans faced mortality. The humans were able to procreate before dying, thus obtaining life for themselves, in a manner of speaking:51 death for the human, life for humanity. Second, divine affection for humans is shown in God’s initiative to shield human nakedness and cover the sign of their weakness with “garments of skin,” kotnôt ‘ôr (Gen 3:21).52 Later on, when God was to dwell among the Israelites, they are instructed to use ‘ôr, “skin,” to cover the domains of his presence – the Tabernacle (Exod 25:5) and the Ark of the Covenant (Num 4:6). Hence, expelled from the companionship with the Creator in the Garden of Eden, the human body remains a domain of the Creator’s presence in the world outside Eden, a domain the Creator wishes to protect.53 Third, the Creator’s compassion for the humans is also shown in the very decision to limit the days of human life. Between the unlimited knowledge and limited body there is a severe dissonance. To live forever in such dissonance would be a wretched and grim existence. The creator decides to revoke his creation and recycle its major parts:54 By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return. (Gen 3:19)

After a long life of struggle, death comes as a relief to humans. Fredrik Lindström describes it eloquently: “When a person dies, the Creator breathes in.”55 In conjunction with compassion, the divine actions seem also to be governed by safety concerns. If the humans were able to attain both knowledge and life then the security of not only the created but also the divine world would be jeopardized. We noted above that general knowledge and eternal life are divine prerogatives. If the tree of knowledge made humans into “nearly gods,” the tree of life would complete the transformation and the hierarchy between God and humans, between the Creator and that created, would be erased. Armed with both knowledge and life, these new divinities would challenge their Creator and a power struggle in the divine world would be inevitable. The Mesopotamian epics discussed above, Atrahasis and Enuma Elish, present vivid images of di-

51

Bird 1997, 190. For different suggestions in Jewish traditions as to what kind of material was used by God to make clothes for the humans, see Schneider and Seelenfreund 2012. 53 The priestly account expresses a similar idea, reiterating that the humans are indeed an image of God (Gen 1:27; 5:1–2). 54 The idea that death is a divine recycling process can be found in poetry and in the wisdom tradition of the Hebrew Bible such as in Ps 104:29; Job 34:14; or in Eccl 12:7: “the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the breath returns to God who gave it.” 55 My translation from Swedish: “När man dör andas Skaparen in” (Lindström 1998, 191). 52

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vine wars prior to the creation of humans. The created order would recede back into chaos. Once upgraded in knowledge, human propensity to trespass upon the Creator’s sphere would grow stronger, as indicated by the story of the tower of Babel in Gen 11.56 Obviously, God of Eden did not want humans to transform into his divine enemies. Summing up, we have seen that the trouble in Eden started as the intelligent entities began communicating with each other, sharing the information between themselves, and in light of that, reevaluating the validity of the one safety rule of Eden – not to eat of the tree of knowledge. We saw that the transformation from created entities to semi-deities through the acquisition of divine knowledge led to an upgrading of human ability to know themselves as the Creator does, to see themselves for what they truly were. A theological singularity thus occurred which seriously threatened creator-centrism and led to a breakdown of life in Eden and the Creator’s decision to disturb the communication between the created intelligent agents, and, in the end, to recall his creation. In AI terms, the Creator pulled the plug on his creation.

C. Creation and the Dynamics of Good and Evil Biblical stories of creation, Gen 2–3 in particular, mirror the manner in which humans perceived themselves and their role in the world across generations before the times they were composed. Since then, these narratives have continued to shape views on some of the most central questions of human existence. Today, the narrative of Gen 2–3, its essential motifs and concepts, are being remixed and retold in the AI discourse, not as a story of God and human, but as a story of human and the machine. With its idea of a new creation that is like, yet not the same as the creators, and with its focus on matters of safety, on human-centrism, and risks for singularity, AI discourse evokes ideas of creation and of the relationship between the creator and the created found in Gen 2–3.57 Ending this study, I will revisit the question of sin and evil in Eden story and consider some insights that Eden story might yield regarding the dynamics of good and evil in a human society characterized by the creation of AI and its implementation in society.

56 As argued skilfully by Oden 1981, 211, who reads Gen 1–11 as a report of human aspirations for divine status. 57 Increasing numbers of studies point to the merging of religious thought and scientific research within the field of AI and robotics. See, for example, Geraci 2008.

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I. Evil in the Dwellings of God? The appearance of the word evil (raʻ), in Eden comes as something of a surprise: “Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow … the tree of the knowledge of good and evil” (Gen 2:9). Certainly, on the narrative level it functions as a catchword that drives the story forward and conveys that which is going to come. At the same time, read after the account of creation in Gen 1, the word evil appears in Gen 2:9 as a concretization of that which the reader up to that point already suspected – namely, that there is something on the far end of good. In the account of creation in Gen 1, God exclaims six times, one for each day and step of creation, that the created order was good (Gen 1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25), summarizing it for the seventh time as “very good” (Gen 1:31). Such regular reiteration and validation of “the good” in the creative process in Gen 1 reminds the reader that “the good” was not a given outcome of God’s creative activity. It is important to note that the word “evil” does not stand on its own in Gen 2–3. Neither the snake nor the humans, nor their eating of the forbidden tree, are described as evil in Gen 2–3. The word evil occurs only in the expression “knowledge of/knowing good and evil” (Gen 2:9, 17; 3:5, 22). By contrast, the word ṭôb, “good,” appears alone in the woman’s assessment of the tree: it was good in every respect (Gen 3:3). By implication, the creation of the animals and of the human couple (Gen 2:19–23), are also regarded as good since both are a correction of the “not good” of human aloneness (Gen 2:18). Thus, the only three entities that are defined as good in the Eden story – the tree of knowledge, the animals (the serpent), and the woman – are the three entities that began an interaction that pushed towards the breach of the safety rule of Eden (Gen 3:6). In other words, out of the accumulation of good came the unpredictable! So, there is good but no evil in Eden. In Mark Smith’s words, “primordial good is prior to evil in human experience.”58 The Eden story states that God, by creating the tree of knowledge, created a possibility for humans to know evil, as well as good, suggesting that the tree was a gate to a different existence, possibly the world beyond the garden – an existence where evil can be known.59 In his study of evil in the Hebrew Bible, Fredrik Lindström has shown that biblical texts resist any generalizations about the origin of evil.60 The Eden story is no exception. However, it demonstrates that humans could not discover evil without divine help. Mark Smith argues that, in Gen 2–3, “the deity is credited for generating the precondition for human good and evil in the form of its

58

Smith 2019, 85. In the cultural world of the Eden story, trees are understood to be liminal spaces in which a human can experience the divine. See, for instance, Zakariassen 2019. 60 Lindströ m 1983, 241. 59

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knowledge.”61 The preconditions for knowing evil are given in Eden, yet once the humans attained this knowledge, the garden became an alien place to them. II. No Sin in Eden The question about sin is less complicated: there is simply no word for sin in the Eden story. None of the words for sin which are abundant later on in the Hebrew Bible62 are mentioned in connection to the creation of humans, nor do they occur in the account of human actions in Gen 3.63 The first word for sin, ḥaṭṭā’t, comes in the Hebrew Bible narrative only after the expulsion from Eden, in Gen 4:7, when God explains Cain’s plan to murder his brother Abel in terms of not doing good and letting sin get the better of him: If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.

Like a famished animal, sin is biding its time, waiting to strike at the right moment, as an impending consequence of Cain’s not “doing well/good.”64 Whether it will succeed or not seems to be in Cain’s power to resolve. That the Eden story lacks any direct reference to human sin is not lost on interpreters.65 Lyn Bechtel argues that “the ‘sin and fall’ interpretation is not original to the text, but develops very slowly during the last few centuries of the first millennium BCE.”66 Nonetheless, Mark Boda argues that sin enters Eden through human disobedience of God’s commandment (Gen 2:16–17), through their listening to, instead of ruling over, the beasts of the field (Gen 3:1), and in their desire to breach the limits of their nature and become like gods.67 Just as Cain could decide whether or not to act out against his brother, 61

Smith 2019, 56. About twenty different Hebrew words are used for sin in the Hebrew Bible. In English translations of the Hebrew Bible the word “sin” occurs in its nominal or verbal form about 300 times. 63 Nonetheless, apostle Paul ascribed to Adam the first act of sinning (Rom 5:12–21), and Augustine described the human act of eating the fruit from the forbidden tree of Eden as the first and original sin of the humanity. For the background and development of the idea of original sin in Augustine’s writings, see Buonaiuti 1917, 159–175; Burns 1988, 9–27; and Papageorgiou 1995, 361–378. 64 The metaphor used for sin is that of an animal lurking or lying down (rbṣ), as noted by scholars. The metaphor seems to point back to another beast lurking to sway human will. The snake was in fact the beast that waited patiently for the right moment to strike. Without explicitly identifying human actions as sin in Gen 3:6, and without identifying the snake with evil, the choice of words in Gen 4:7 connects the two events. Falling for temptation then and now leads to evils and expulsion from Eden. See Boda 2009, 19–20. 65 See Smith 2019, 49–64. 66 Bechtel 1995, 4. 67 Boda 2009, 18. Boda defines sin at the outset of his study, specifying that “what is in 62

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the humans in Gen 3 had the power to decide whether or not to take the fruit from the tree of knowledge (Gen 3:6). Seen in this light, sin in the Eden story is shown, not told.68 Why, then, do the authors/redactors of Gen 2–3 not explicitly point to sin as the root of evil and of human usurpation of divine knowledge? Why wait until Gen 4? If we, in view of Gen 4:7, see the word sin as a symbol or a sign of something evil (i.e., not good) that lies in wait and is ready to destroy human life and relationships, then a warning for sin presupposes an understanding of what evil is. Before actually knowing evil, humans would not have been able to recognize the warning. Mark Smith argues along similar lines, pointing to the paradox of Gen 3, namely that “moral knowledge only comes after – and because – the woman and the man do not listen to God.”69 So, to say that it would be a sin to disobey God and eat of the tree of knowledge would not mean much to the humans in Gen 3. In fact, it would be as odd as the threat of death: the humans could not have known what it means to die. This could explain the effortlessness with which both woman and man disregarded divine instruction in the first place. They simply had no way of knowing the scope of disaster that would follow. The issue with the absence of sin in Eden might be illuminated from yet another point of view. Scholars have long recognized the fact that Eden is depicted as a sacred sanctuary, as a temple or a sacred space in which YHWH walks among the humans (cf. Lev 26:12; Deut 23:15).70 According to the classical temple theology, when the fundamental circumstances of human existence are concerned, the categories of sin and punishment are not useful. In his study of the individual complaint psalms, Fredrik Lindström has stressed the fact that the existential crisis of the humans – their suffering and threat of death – is not explained with reference to their sin or their sinful nature, but with reference to the incomprehensible absence of God.71 Such a view is also found in psalms of confidence, argues Lindström further, where the threat from death and the prospect of liberation by YHWH represent “the theological dualism in classical temple theology, in which (the symbol of) sin is deliberately of little interest.”72

view is … a violation in thought, word, or deed against another party (divine, human, creation) that breaks a divinely ordered norm,” Boda 2009, 11. 68 As argued by Collins 2019, for example, who uses Meir Sternberg’s distinction between showing and telling, stating that “we do not need to be told; we see it happening” (168). For categories of showing and telling, see Sternberg 1985. 69 Smith 2019, 72. 70 For the references and main lines of argument, see Stordalen 2000, 307–310. See also Kang 2020, 89–99; Schachter 2013, 73–77; and Wyatt 2014, 1–35. 71 Lindström 1994, 444–460. 72 Lindström 2020, 22. Hermann Spieckermann 1989, 268–269, has argued that these references in Ps 23 point to the temple in Jerusalem, the dwelling place of YHWH.

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Read in this light, rather than focusing on the matter of human sin, the Eden story focuses on the difference between a life in the Creator’s presence and a life without, instructing the reader never to take the Creator’s presence for granted but to seek it over and over again. This instruction runs through all of the Hebrew Bible traditions and can be found in Psalms, in prophetic literature, and in wisdom books (Ps 63:1; Jer 29:13; Prov 8:17; 1 Chron 16:11). Rather than a story of the original sin, Gen 2–3 is a story about the original loss of God’s presence, a problem which biblical traditions never really managed to resolve.73 III. The Future of Sin and Evil The story of creation in Gen 2–3 is an attempt to explain not only the root cause of evil, sin, and suffering, but also all the frustrations and tensions of human existence. The story has been interpreted in different ways in religious traditions, in literature, and in art. Standing at the beginning of the fourth technological revolution, how can the Eden story inform our understanding of the dynamics of good and evil in a world characterized by the creation of AI and its implementation in society? First, the story of the creation of humans in Gen 2–3 considered above demonstrates that the creation of humans – that remarkable union of the divine and the earthly, of movement and matter, that extraordinary creation of something that is like the creator but not quite – is good, not evil. However, good does not equal perfect: the God of the Eden story did not create a sterile perfection but a world which was open for improvement, development, and upgrading. The first enhancement in Eden led to the creation of animals (Gen 2:19), and the second to splitting the human in two and the creation of the human couple (Gen 2:20–21). The last enhancement in Eden had dire consequences, resulting in something of a theological singularity beyond which humans were able to enhance themselves without divine help. This leads to the second point, namely that risks are inherent to every process of innovation, not least in creation of an image of a creator who knows good and evil (Gen 3:22). The Eden story makes a clear point that the creation of human, however good and promising, was an enterprise that came with a considerable risk from the start. Why God was willing to take such a risk is a question that the authors and editors of the Hebrew Bible, unlike the authors and editors of the Mesopotamian myths, did not provide an answer to. Third, evil was not the cause, nor was it the only effect of the self-upgrading of the created agents. The usurpation of divine knowledge and the loss of eter73

Those texts of the Hebrew Bible where creation theology is particularly pronounced – Psalms, Deutero-Isaiah, Ecclesiastes, and Job – consider the reason behind God’s absence but never provide clear answers. For references to the concept of “original sin,” see above, n. 63.

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nal life in Gen 2–3 is not an example of human evil or of sin, but an example of the unpredictability inherent in any system that combines divine and earthly. The problem with humans in the Eden story was not their malice but their competence, to paraphrase Stephen Hawking’s famous assessment of the dangers of AI.74 The humans were trying to optimize a function that the Creator programmed for them. Once their competence was enhanced, human unpredictability was amplified, as shown in the stories of human development in Gen 4–11. On the one hand, we have the fierce Cain (Gen 4:8), the vengeful Lamech (Gen 4:23–24), and the evil humankind (Gen 6:5). On the other hand, we have the lives and deeds of Abel, Enoch, and Noah, whose goals were in alignment with the Creator’s.75 Good is also an effect of amplified knowledge. There is no reason to think that the fundamental dynamics of good and evil will change in the technological future. To the best of human knowledge – ours or that of the authors of Gen 2–3 – evil predates any creation and originates with the creator, not the created. This is not the same as to say that the creator is evil. Rather, evil is an element in the creator’s world into which an intelligent agent is created. Evil is, therefore, a factor any creator must count with. This is where the concept of sin finds its true objective. For, again, the self-enhancement of humans was not a sinful act, but an amplification of knowledge already invested in them. Once the safety rule of Eden was breached and the humans were expelled from the garden, a new set of rules was required for the Creator to help his creation keep chaos and evil at bay. The warning given to Cain before killing his brother (Gen 4:10), the instructions to Noah after the flood (Gen 9), and the laws of the Pentateuch can all be seen as safety rules issued by the Creator in order to keep the creation Creator-centred. Hence, while the dynamics of good and evil remain the same, the notion of sin is likely to find new dimensions of meaning in our endeavour to ensure that AI systems continue to operate under human control.

Bibliography Amodei, Dario et al. 2016. Concrete Problems in AI Safety. ArXiv:1606.06565 [Cs]. Online: http://arxiv.org/abs/1606.06565. No page. Asimov, Isaak. 1950. I, Robot. New York: Gnome Press. Bechtel, Lyn M. 1995. “Genesis 2.4b–3.24: A Myth about Human Maturation.” JSOT 67:3– 26.

74 See Hawking 2016, https://www.reddit.com/r/science/comments/3nyn5i/science_ama_se ries_stephen_hawking_ama_answers/. 75 In the language of the Hebrew Bible, it is expressed as being “looked favourably” upon (Gen 4:4; 6:8), or “walking with God” (Gen 6:9).

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Benanti, Paolo. 2019. “Artificial Intelligences, Robots, Bio-Engineering and Cyborgs: New Challenges for Theology?” Concilium 3:34–47. Bird, Phyllis. 1997. “Genesis 3 in Modern Biblical Scholarship.” Pages 174–193 in Missing Persons and Mistaken Identities: Women and Gender in Ancient Israel. Edited by Phyllis Bird. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Boda, Mark J. 2009. A Severe Mercy: Sin and Its Remedy in the Old Testament. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bostrom, Nick. 2014. Superintelligence: Paths, Dangers, Strategies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brenner, Athalya. 1997. The Intercourse of Knowledge: On Gendering Desire and “Sexuality” in the Hebrew Bible. Leiden: Brill. Buell, Denise K. 2019. “Posthumanism.” The Oxford Handbook of New Testament, Gender, and Sexuality. Edited by Benjamin Dunning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Buonaiuti, Ernesto. 1917. “The Genesis of St. Augustine’s Idea of Original Sin.” HTR 10/2:159–175. Burns, J. Patout. 1988. “Augustine on the Origin and Progress of Evil.” Journal of Religious Ethics 16/1:9–27. Chapman, Cynthia R. 2019. “The Breath of Life: Speech, Gender, and Authority in the Garden of Eden.” JBL 138/2:241–262. Collins, John C. 2019. “The Place of the ‘Fall’ in the Overall Vision of the Hebrew Bible.” Trinity Journal 40/2:165–184. Davis, Ernest. 2014. “Ethical Guidelines for a Superintelligence.” Artificial Intelligence 220. Dorobantu, Marius. 2019. “AI and Theology Review Article: Recent Advances in Artificial Intelligence (AI) and Some of the Issues in the Theology and AI Dialogue.” ESSSAT News & Reviews 29/2:4–15. European Commission Independent High–Level Expert Group on Artificial Intelligence. 2019a. “A Definition of AI: Main Capabilities and Disciplines. Definition Developed for the Purpose of the AI HLEG’s Deliverables.” Online: https://ec.europa.eu/digital-singlemarket/en/news/definition-artificial-intelligence-main-capabilities-and-scientific-disciplines. European Commission Independent High–Level Expert Group on Artificial Intelligence. 2019b. “Ethics Guidelines for Trustworthy AI.” Online: https://ec.europa.eu/digital-singlemarket/en/news/ethics-guidelines-trustworthy-ai. Foerst, Anne. 1998. “Cog, a Humanoid Robot, and the Question of the Image of God.” Zygon 33/1:91–111. Foerst, Anne. 1999. “Artificial Sociability: From Embodied AI Toward New Understandings of Personhood.” Technology in Society 21/4:373–386. Fredriksen, Paula. 2012. Sin: The Early History of an Idea. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Geraci, Robert M. 2007. “Robots and the Sacred in Science and Science Fiction: Theological Implications of Artificial Intelligence.” Zygon 42/4:961–980. –. 2008. “Apocalyptic AI: Religion and the Promise of Artificial Intelligence.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 76/1:138–166. – and Simon Robinson. 2019. “Introduction to the Symposium on Artificial Intelligence and Apocalypticism.” Zygon 54/1:149–155. Green, Erin. 2018. “Robots and AI: The Challenge to Interdisciplinary Theology.” PhD diss., Toronto School of Theology. Online: https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/bitstream/ 1807/93393/1/Green_Erin_E_201811_PhD_thesis.pdf.

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Haugeland, John. 1985. Artificial Intelligence: The Very Idea. Cambridge, MA: MIT. Hawking, Stephen. 2016. “The Real Risk With AI Isn’t Malice but Competence,” Science AMA Series: Stephen Hawking AMA Answers, Online: https://www.reddit.co m/r/science/ comments/3nyn5i/science_ama_series_stephen_hawking_ama_answers/. Herzfeld, Noreen L. 2002. “Creating in Our Own Image: Artificial Intelligence and the Image of God.” Zygon 37/2:303–316. Kang, Seung-Il. 2020. “The Garden of Eden as an Israelite Sacred Place.” Theology Today 77/1:89–99. Koch, Klaus. 1989. “Der Gü ter Gefä hrlichstes, Die Sprache, Dem Menschen Gegeben … Ü berlegungen Zu Gen 2:7.” Biblische Notizen 48:50–60. Korotayev, Andrey and David LePoire, eds. 2020. The 21st Century Singularity and Global Futures: A Big History Perspective. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Krü ger, Thomas. 2008. “Sü ndenfall?: Ü berlegungen Zur Theologischen Bedeutung Der Paradiesgeschichte.” Pages 95–109 in Beyond Eden: The Biblical Story of Paradise (Genesis 2–3) and Its Reception History. Edited by Konrad Schmid and Christoph Riedweg. Tü bingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kurzweil, Ray. 2001. “The Law of Accelerating Returns.” Online: https://www.kurzweilai.net /the-law-of-accelerating-returns. –. 2004. “Kurzweil’s Law (Aka “The Law of Accelerating Returns”).” Online: https:/ /www.kurzweilai.net/kurzweils-law-aka-the-law-of-accelerating-returns. Lam, Joseph. 2016. Patterns of Sin in the Hebrew Bible: Metaphor, Culture, and the Making of a Religious Concept. New York: Oxford University Press. Lambert, Wilfred G. 2013. Babylonian Creation Myths. Mesopotamian Civilisation series, vol. 16. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. – and Allan R. Millard. 1999. Atra-Ḫasīs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lindströ m, Fredrik. 1983. God and the Origin of Evil: Contextual Analysis of Alleged Monistic Evidence in the Old Testament. Lund: Liber. –. 1994. Suffering and Sin: Interpretations of Illness in the Individual Complaint Psalms. ConBOT 37. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. –. 1998. Det så rbara livet: Livsfö rstå else och gudserfarenhet i Gamla testamentet. Lund: Arcus. –. 2020. “The Path of Life – For the Wise Only? On Psalm 16 and How to Avoid Sheol Below.” Pages 19–30 in Fromme und Frevler: Studien zu Psalmen und Weisheit. Festschrift für Hermann Spieckermann zum 70. Geburtstag. Edited by Corinna Körting and Reinhard Gregor Kratz. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Liu, Hin-Yan, Kristian Cedervall Lauta, and Matthijs M. Maas. 2018. “Governing Boring Apocalypses: A New Typology of Existential Vulnerabilities and Exposures for Existential Risk Research.” Futures 102:6–19. Loewenstamm, Samuel E. 1987. “Remarks on Proverbs 17:12 and 20:27.” VT 37/2:221–224. McGrath, James F. 2011. “Robots, Rights, and Religion.” Religion and Science Fiction 5:118–153. Mettinger, Tryggve N. D. 2007. The Eden Narrative: A Literary and Religio-Historical Study of Genesis 2–3. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Midson, Scott. 2017. “Robo-Theisms and Robot Theists: How Do Robots Challenge and Reveal Notions of God?” Implicit Religion 20/3:299–318.

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Murphy, Mekado. 2020. “5 Movies to Watch if You Have Trouble With Technology.” New York Times. Online: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/08/movies/ai-humans-robots-technology.html. Naidoff, Bruce D. 1978. “A Man to Work the Soil: A New Interpretation of Genesis 2–3.” JSOT 3/5:2–14. Oden, Robert A. 1981. “Divine Aspirations in Atrahasis and in Genesis 1–11.” ZAW 93/2:197–216. Papageorgiou, Panayiotis. 1995. “Chrysostom and Augustine on the Sin of Adam and Its Consequences.” St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 39/4:361–378. Satlow, Michael L. 1997. “Jewish Constructions of Nakedness in Late Antiquity.” JBL 116/3:429–454. Schachter, Lifsa Block. 2013. “The Garden of Eden as God’s First Sanctuary.” JBQ 41/2:73– 77. Schneider, Stanley and Morton Seelenfreund. 2012. “Kotnot or (Genesis 3:21): Skin, Leather, Light, or Blind?” JBQ 40/2:116–124. Schwab, Klaus. 2015. “The Fourth Industrial Revolution.” Foreign Affairs. Online: https:/ /www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/2015-12-12/fourth-industrial-revolution. Seufert, Matthew. 2016. “The Presence of Genesis in Ecclesiastes.” WTJ 78/1:75–92. Shanahan, Murray. 2015. The Technological Singularity. Cambridge, MA: MIT. Singler, Beth. 2017a. “An Introduction to Artificial Intelligence and Religion for the Religious Studies Scholar.” Implicit Religion 20/3:215–231. Singler, Beth. 2017b. “fAIth: The Most Avid Believers in Artificial Intelligence Are Aggressively Secular – Yet Their Language Is Eerily Religious. Why?” Aeon. Online: https:/ /aeon.co/essays/why-is-the-language-of-transhumanists-and-religion-so-similar. Smith, Mark S. 2019. The Genesis of Good and Evil: The Fall(Out) and Original Sin in the Bible. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Soggin, Alberto. 1975. “The Fall of Man in the Third Chapter of Genesis.” Pages 88–111 in Old Testament and Oriental Studies. BibOr 29. Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Spieckermann, Hermann. 1989. Heilsgegenwart: Eine Theologie der Psalmen. FRLANT 148. Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Sternberg, Meir. 1985. The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Stordalen, Terje. 2000. Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical Hebrew Literature. Leuven: Peeters. Ulam, Stanislaw. 1958. “Tribute to John von Neumann.” Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 64/3:1–49. Vogels, Walter. 1994. “The Human Person in the Image of God (Gn 1,26).” Science et Esprit 46/2:189–202. Winfield, Alan et al. 2017. “Principles of Robotics: Regulating Robots in the Real World.” Connection Science 29/2:124–129. Wyatt, Nick. 2014. “A Royal Garden: The Ideology of Eden.” SJOT 28/1:1–35. Zakariassen, Kari. 2019. “‘My people consult their tree …’: Human-Divine Interaction in Arboreal Spaces in the Ancient Levant.” PhD diss., University of Oslo.

List of Authors Erik Aurelius Bishop of Skara, Sweden, 2004–2012, now retired. Previously professor of Biblical Theology at the Georg-August-University of Göttingen, Germany. Among his special areas of research are the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets (Joshua–2 Kings). John Barton Emeritus Oriel and Laing Professor of the Interpretation of Holy Scripture in the University of Oxford, and Senior Research Fellow at Campion Hall, Oxford. His most recent book is A History of the Bible: The Book and Its Faiths (Allen Lane, 2019). Kåre Berge Professor emeritus of Old Testament, affiliated with Faculty of Theology, University of Oslo as research fellow. Retired from his professorship at NLA University College, Bergen, in 2020. He has written numerous articles on the books of Exodus and Deuteronomy, and has also been co-chairing an EABSgroup on cultural memory. He is currently co-chairing the EABS-group “The Core of Deuteronomy.” Göran Eidevall Professor in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Exegesis at Uppsala University. He is the former president of the Swedish Exegetical Society and the author of, among others, Prophecy and Propaganda: Images of Enemies in the Book of Isaiah (Eisenbrauns, 2009) and Amos: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Yale University Press, 2017). LarsOlov Eriksson Lecturer emeritus in Exegetical Theology at Johannelunds teologiska högskola and associate professor in Old Testament Exegesis at Uppsala University. He is the author of several books, including “Come, Children, Listen to Me”: Psalm 34 in the Hebrew Bible and in Early Christian Writings (1991), commentaries on Paul’s letter to the Philippians (1994) and the Gospel of John (2007), and an introduction to the Apocrypha of the Old Testament (1999). He has also edited more than twenty books on subjects related to Biblical Studies and Church History.

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Anne Katrine de Hemmer Gudme Professor in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament at the University of Oslo. She has published several articles on ritual and religion in the Hebrew Bible and is the author of Before the God in this Place for Good Remembrance (2013). Sten Hidal Professor emeritus in biblical exegesis, particularly the Old Testament, at Lund University. He has written about the interpretation of the Old Testament in the Ancient Church and in the 20th century, about biblical anthropology and was a member of the Swedish Bible translation board for eight years. Else Holt Associate professor emeritus at Aarhus University. She has published primarily in the field of the books of Jeremiah, Lamentations, and Psalms. She is the author of Narrative and Other Readings in the Book of Esther (Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2021), and co-editor of, amongst others, Jeremiah Invented: Constructions and Deconstructions of Jeremiah (Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), and Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014). Kristin Joachimsen Professor in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament at Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society. Her expertise focuses on material located in Persian/Hellenistic times (the books of Isaiah, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, and Ruth). She applies theoretical perspectives related to memory, postcolonial studies, gender, identity, and the Other. Gunnlaugur A. Jónsson Professor of Old Testament Studies at the University of Iceland, member of the Icelandic Translation Committee of the Old Testament between 1990 and 2007, and editor of Studia Theologica Islandica. His works include Genesis 1:26–28 in a Century of Old Testament Research (1988) and Áhrifasaga Saltarans (eng. The Reception History of the Psalter, 2014). Corinna Körting Prof. Dr. Dr. h.c. at Hamburg University. She is author of, among others, Schall des Schofar: Israels Feste im Herbst (de Gruyter, 1999) and Zion in den Psalmen (Mohr Siebeck, 2006). Antti Laato Professor in Old Testament Exegesis with Judaic Studies at Åbo Akademi University. He is editor of Studies in the Reception History of the Bible (Pennsyl-

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vania State University Press) and Studies on Children of Abraham (Brill, Leiden). Among his recent publications are Guide to Biblical Chronology (2015), and The Origin of the Israelite Zion Theology (2018). Elisabet Nord Doctoral student in Old Testament Exegesis at Lund University, Sweden, currently working on a project centered on contemporary responses to and interpretations of imprecatory psalms, under the supervision of Prof. Fredrik Lindström. Blaženka Scheuer Associate Professor of Old Testament Exegesis at Lund University, Sweden and president of the Swedish Exegetical Society. In her research she explores the literary and ideological dimensions of the zoomorphic names of two of the Hebrew Bible female prophets – Deborah (“bee”) and Huldah (“weasel”). Her most recent article on the subject is “Animal Names for Hebrew Bible Female Prophets” (Literature & Theology, 2017). Hermann Spieckermann Prof. Dr. Dr. hc at Georg-August-University, Göttingen. He is author of, among others, Lebenskunst und Gotteslob in Israel (2014, study edition 2018), Der Gott der Lebendigen. Eine biblische Gotteslehre (2011, ET: God of the Living, 2011, together with R. Feldmeier), and Menschwerdung (2018, ET: God Becoming Human, 2021, together with R. Feldmeier). Terje Stordalen Professor of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies at the University of Oslo; head of the national and cross-disciplinary PhD school Authoritative Texts and Their Reception; member of the Steering Committee of centre for Family Law, Policies, and Practices, Aalborg University. His most recent volume, co-edited with Øystein LaBianca is Levantine Entanglements: Cultural Productions, Long-Term Change, and Globalizations in the Eastern Mediterranean (Equinox 2021). Karl William Weyde Prof. dr. theol. Professor emeritus of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament at MF Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society in Oslo. Among his research interests are post-exilic prophecy and cultic issues in the HB/OT. His publications include Prophecy and Teaching: Prophetic Authority, Form Problems, and the Use of Traditions in the Book of Malachi (de Gruyter, 2000), The Appointed Festivals of YHWH: The Festival Calendar in Leviticus 23 and the

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sukkôt Festival in Other Biblical Texts (Mohr Siebeck, 2004), and articles in books, Festschriften, journals, EBR, and WiBiLex. Åke Viberg Assistant Professor in Old Testament Exegesis at Stockholm School of Theology. He is the author of, among others, Symbols of Law: A Contextual Analysis of Legal Symbolic Acts in the Old Testament (1992), and Prophets in Action: An Analysis of Prophetic Symbolic Acts in the Old Testament (2007). Ola Wikander Reader and Senior Lecturer in Old Testament Exegesis at Lund University, and Pro Futura Scientia Fellow at the Swedish Collegium for Advanced Study, Uppsala. He is the author of many books and articles, among them Drought, Death, and the Sun in Ugarit and Ancient Israel: A Philological and Comparative Study (2014) and Unburning Fame: Horses, Dragons, Beings of Smoke, and Other Indo-European Motifs in Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible (2017), as well as several translations of Ancient Near Eastern texts. David Willgren Davage Postdoctoral researcher at Umeå University and Research Fellow at the University of the Free State, Bloemfontain, South Africa. He is editorial secretary of Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok, and the author of, among others, The Formation of the ‘Book’ of Psalms: Reconsidering the Transmission and Canonization of Psalmody in Light of Material Culture and the Poetics of Anthologies (Mohr Siebeck, 2016). His current project focuses on the development of an Isaianic discourse in the Second Temple period.

Index of Passages Hebrew Bible Genesis 1–11 1–4 1–3 1 1:1–2:4 1:1–2:4a 1:2–5 1:2 1:3–4 1:4 1:10 1:12 1:18 1:21 1:25 1:26–27 1:27 1:31 2–3 2 2:4b–4:26 2:4b–3:24 2:7 2:9 2:15 2:16–17 2:17 2:18 2:19–23 2:19–20 2:19 2:20–21 2:21–22 2:24–25 2:25

3 19, 335* 19–20 280 23, 77, 132*, 327*, 336 287 19 24 24, 131 23 336 336 336 336 336 336 19, 25 334* 336 117, 126, 329*, 335–336, 338–340 126, 327 19 115 132, 327 20, 25, 336 126 116, 327–328, 337 20, 25, 117*, 121 336 336 327 330, 339 339 330 330 330

3:1–19 3:1–7 3:1–6 3:1–6:4 3:1 3:2–3 3:3–5 3:3 3:5 3:6–8 3:6 3:6b 3:7–24 3:7–8 3:7 3:8–24 3:8–13 3:8

3:9–13 3:10 3:12–13 3:14–19 3:14 3:15–18 3:17 3:19 3:21 3:22 3:24 4–11 4 4:1

20, 280–281, 330–331, 333, 337–338 125* 20* 116 25 330, 337 20*, 320, 327 319 327, 336 20, 25, 336 116*, 330 327, 331, 336, 337*, 338 331 116 331 331 116 327 115, 117–119*, 120 122*, 123, 125, 129–131 116* 331, 332 333 279 330 333 26 132, 290, 334 334 20*, 25, 329*, 332–333, 336, 339 125*, 126, 333 340 280–281, 338 331

350 4:4 4:7 4:8 4:10 4:11–12 4:13 4:15 4:23–24 5 5:1–2 5:3 5:29 6–9 6:1–4 6:2 6:5–13 6:5–8 6:5–6 6:5 6:6–8 6:6–7 6:6 6:7 6:8 6:9–13 6:9 6:11–13 8 8:11 8:20 8:21 9 9:8–17 9:16 10:19 11 17:21 18 18:1 18:27 19:8 22:11 22:15–18 30:13 32:12 32:14 32:23–33 46:2

Index of Passages 340* 25, 280, 337*, 338 340 340 25 25 27 27, 340 26 334* 280 26, 27, 31 43 25, 281 25 19, 29 20, 25, 26, 31, 32 27 20, 25, 43, 340 26 25* 26 25 27, 340* 20, 26, 28 26–27, 340* 26 26, 43 131 43 20*, 25, 43 32, 58, 340 31 31 72–73 335 131 120 120 188 331 49* 47 187* 33 33 10 49*

Exodus 1–2 1:10 2 2:23–25 3 3:1–5 3:4 3:8 3:12 3:14 4 4:24–26 5 7 9:27 10:7 12:14 12:21–23 12:23 14:8 14:13–31 14:17 14:28 15:26 16:34 19:5 19:8 19:20 20:5 20:18 24:3 24:7 25–31 25 25:5 25:17–22 25:22 27:21 30:6 30:36 32–34 32 32:1–6 32:7–13 32:9 32:11–12

151 139 139 150 150 140 49* 139 126*, 146 40, 140 11, 150 10, 140 150 150 139 139 139 10 141 13 129* 14 139 139–140 161 186 43 126* 15, 171, 179 122 43 43 156 161 334 160 161 161 161 161 41, 43, 44 41, 42*, 56*, 57*, 60, 63 41* 42 42*, 43 44, 289*

351

Index of Passages 32:12 32:13 32:14 32:15aα 32:19–20 32:20 32:30–34 32:32 32:34 33:3 33:4 33:12–17 33:12–13 33:13 33:16–17 33:16 33:19 33:19b 34 34:6–7 34:6 34:7 34:9–10 34:9 34:10 34:11–26 35–40 39:38 40:5 40:26 Leviticus 1–16 1–7 1 4–5 5:11–13 8–10 10 11–15 11:18 14 16

16:1–2 16:3 16:7

291 45, 47 43 41* 41*, 56 56* 41* 42, 44 40, 42 42 43* 42, 43* 44 44 44 44 36, 41, 45 45 43, 57 45*, 117* 30*, 41, 45, 117, 132 132, 179 46 42*, 43*, 44–45 43 46 156 164 164 164

157 156* 299* 160 168* 156 163 156 93 162 155, 156–159*, 162–164, 165*, 167*, 168 162 159, 164 159

16:10 16:11–12 16:11 16:12–15 16:12 16:13 16:15 16:17 16:21–22 16:22 16:24 16:29 17:11 23:27–32 23:27 23:32 25:9 26:11–12 26:12

161–162 162 159 160 159 161 159 161 161 162 159 162 161 165* 155 155 155 126 338

Numerus 3:7–8 4:6 4:11 5 5:11–31 5:27–28 5:27 6:24–26 6:25 14:8 14:17–18 14:18 14:39 21:4–9 23:19 25:12 28:2 29:1–11

126 334 164 54, 56*–57*, 60, 63 54*, 56* 55 56 23 227 171 45* 117*, 179 43* 44 25 31* 126* 165*

Deuteronomy 1:43–44 4:29–31 4:30 5–30 5:9 7 7:6

15 40* 49* 40 171, 177, 179 101* 186

352

Index of Passages

9:4–5 9:26 9:27 9:29 10:1–5 11:26–28 14:2 14:17 17:14–20 23:14 23:15 25:1–2 29 30 30:1–10 30:1–3 30:2 30:8–10 30:9–10 30:15–20 32:11 32:36 32:39 33:2

191* 42*, 44 45 42*, 44 161 116* 186 93 179 126 338 191* 219* 40 40* 40 49* 49* 40 116* 189* 25, 291 10 189

Joshua 23

39*

Judges 2:10–19 2:11–19 2:18 3:15 3:17 3:21–22 6:22

40 39* 25 116* 116* 116* 11

1 Samuel 2:6–7 3:10 3:18 4 7:5 12 12:19 12:23 14:27–29 14:27

10 49* 12 157 44* 39* 44* 44* 236 227

14:29 15:11 15:29 15:35 16:14–23 19:9 26:19

227*, 232 25 25 25 12 12 11, 283*

2 Samuel 5:24 7:6–7 8:15 15:2 23:3–4 23:4 24 24:16

132* 126 177* 129* 188 129, 189 13 33

1 Kings 3:2 3:3 6–7 6:23–29 7:2 7:48 8 8:2 8:13 8:29–53 8:33–36 8:33 8:35 8:46–51 8:47–48 8:51 8:53 14:6 14:23 15:14 19:11–14 19:11 21:10 21:13 22 22:44

38 38 126 126 172* 164 40*, 157, 161 161 38 40* 44* 49* 49* 44* 49* 42* 42* 132* 38 38 122* 122* 263* 263* 12 38

2 Kings 5:17

283*

Index of Passages 6:32 10:9 12:4 14:4 15:4 15:35 16:4 17:7–23 17:9 17:11 17:22–23 18:4 19:35 21:3 22–23 23:2 23:8 23:9 23:15 23:19 23:20 23:25 23:26 24 25:27–30 25:30

132* 177* 38 38 38 38 38 39 38 38 15 38 129* 38 177 201 38 38 38 38 38 40*, 49* 15 219* 172, 176*, 178 176*

1 Chronicles 1:4 3:17–24 16:4–36 16:7–36 16:11 18:14 21 21:15 25:1–7

28 178 201 201* 339 177* 13 33 201

2 Chronicles 9:8 18:21 20:14–19 34:30 35:21–22 36:16

177* 131 201 201 15 189

Ezra 1:11

99*

2 2:1 3:3 4–6 4 4:4 5–6 5:11–12 6 6:16 6:19–21 6:21 6:22 7 7–10 8 8:35 9–10

9 9:1–11 9:1–2 9:1 9:2 9:4 9:6–15 9:6–9 9:6–7 9:7–9 9:7 9:8–9 9:8 9:8b 9:9 9:10–15 9:10–11 9:11–12 9:11 9:12 9:13–15 9:13 9:14–15 9:14 9:15 9:24 10

353 98, 100* 99–100* 99* 98 106* 99* 106* 106 98 99* 99* 99*, 101* 108 100*, 105–106, 107* 98, 107 100* 99* 97–98, 99*, 101, 105, 106*, 108, 109*, 110, 198 98, 104*, 105, 108 101 99*, 101 99, 100–102 98, 100*, 101* 99–101* 198 100 104*, 105 100* 106 100, 100* 100, 105 100, 100* 227 105*, 107, 108* 105 100*, 101 109 101* 101 100 100* 109 101, 101*, 103 100* 99* 101*

354 10:1–2 10:1 10:2–4 10:2 10:3–4 10:3 10:5–6 10:5 10:6–8 10:6 10:7–8 10:8 10:9 10:10 10:11 10:12 10:14 10:16 10:19 11 Nehemiah 1:6 3:27 3:37 5 6:13 7 7:6 7:61 8–13 9–10

9 9:1–3 9:1 9:2 9:3 9:4–37 9:6–37 9:6–31 9:6–10 9:6 9:7–9 9:7–8 9:7

Index of Passages 100* 101 101 99*, 101* 101 100–101*, 198 101 100* 99* 101* 101 101*, 102* 100* 100*, 101* 102* 100* 100* 99* 100* 99*

102* 100* 102* 105* 102* 107 100 100* 106* 97–98, 102, 105, 106*, 107–108, 109*, 110 98, 102–105, 108–109 102 102* 98, 100*, 102* 102* 102 106*, 107 102 103* 103* 102 45* 102*

9:8 9:9–11 9:9–10 9:10 9:11–31 9:12–15 9:15 9:16–17 9:16 9:17 9:18 9:19–25 9:22–25 9:23 9:24 9:26–37 9:26 9:27–28 9:28 9:29–30 9:29 9:30–31 9:30 9:31 9:32–37 9:32 9:33–35 9:33 9:34–35 9:34 9:35 9:36–37 9:36 9:37 9:38–10:27 9:38 9:43 10 10:28–39 10:28 10:30–36 10:30–31 10:30 10:31 10:34

102*, 103, 109 102 104* 102* 103–104* 102 103, 109 102 102* 30*, 102–103, 109, 117* 102 102 102–103, 109 102* 99* 105 102–103 102–103 102–103, 109 103 102, 102* 103 99*, 102–103, 104*, 109 102, 102* 102 102*, 103, 104* 103 104* 102 102* 102 98, 105, 107*, 108 102*, 104*, 106*, 107 102*, 104*, 106* 103 107 103 107–108 103 99*, 102* 103 98, 99* 103 103 102*

355

Index of Passages 13 13:13 13:15–18 13:23–27 13:26

105–106, 107* 98, 102* 98 98 102*

Job 1–2 1:1–3 1:1 1:4 1:5 1:8 1:21–22 2 2:3–6 2:3 2:9–10 2:9 2:10 2:11–13 3 3:8 3:9 3:11 3:20 3:21 3:25 3:26 4:2–6 4:3–4 4:9 5:17–27 6:2–3 6:4 6:8 6:11–13 6:14–15 6:22–23 6:24–27 6:26 6:27 6:28 7 7:1–6 7:1–2 7:7 7:10

49*, 265 270 262*, 263 266 263, 266 263 263, 266, 270 269 266 263 266 266 263, 267, 270 266 128, 263*, 264 263* 189* 264 266 264 266 266 267 265 327 15 266 264, 267 264 266 267* 264 267* 131 267 269 128, 268 268* 266 266, 268 266

7:11–12 7:11 7:12 7:15–16 7:17–18 7:21 8:2 8:13–19 8:22 9 9:25–29 10 10:2 10:7 10:8 11:2–3 11:6 12:2–4 12:2 12:3–4 13:1–12 13:1–4 13:5 13:7–8 13:13–16 13:16 13:18 14:10–14 14:13–22 14:13 15:2–6 15:8 16:2–6 16:2 16:16 16:19–20 18:2 18:3 18:5 18:16 19:2 19:7–8 19:23–27 19:27 20:2–3 21:2 21:7–15 21:14–15

266 267–268 264, 268 264 128 269 267* 188 191* 268 264 264 264 264 269 267* 266* 267* 266* 267 267* 267 266* 264 266 264 264 264 264 269 267* 266* 267* 169 264 264 267* 265* 188 188 267* 264 264 264 266 267* 188, 193 186

356 21:20 21 21:34 22:5–11 22:5 22:15–19 22:30 23–24 23 23:1 23:4 23:6 26:2 26:3 28:25 29–31 29 29:4 29:7–10 29:11–17 29:11 29:14 29:18–19 29:21–25 30 30:1–5 30:19 30:28 30:31 31 32:7–8 32:7 32:9 32:13 33:8–9 34:14 34:35 37:10 38–41 38:1 38:8 39:13–18 41 41:10 41:17–21 42 42:2–6 42:2

Index of Passages 58* 187–188 269 15 187 187 187* 187–188 187, 264 266*, 267 264 264 267* 266* 131 264–265 266, 270 266 270 270 187 187* 188 270 269–270 270 188* 187 269 188 328 266* 266* 266* 265* 334* 267* 327 15 122* 287 87 268 189* 268 270 269 269

42:6 42:7–17 42:7–9 42:7 42:11 Psalms 1 1:1–2 1:1 1:3 1:4–5 1:4 2 2:1 2:9 2:12 3:8b 4:3 5:4 5:11 6:4 8 8:5 9 9:10–11 9:20 10:1 10:3–11 10:3 10:15 11:1 11:6 12 13

13:1 13:2 13:2b 13:3 13:3a 13:4–5 13:4a 13:4b 13:6 14

259*, 269 265 266 270 269

190*, 193, 202 190 190 126, 196 190 190* 190* 36* 314 196 314 36* 128 312* 36* 268 128 307 196 307, 315 36* 191 263* 314 87 314 230, 235 37, 225, 226*, 227–228, 230–231, 232*, 233–237 226 36, 36*, 226–227 227, 234 36*, 225–227 236 226–227, 234 227–228, 231, 235, 237 227, 229–230, 236 37, 226–227 235

Index of Passages 15 15:2 15:5 17:1–9 18 18:2–3 18:10 18:15 18:31–42 18:37–42 18:45–46a 19 19:8–10 19:9 21:9–13 22 22:2 22:7–9 22:22b–32 23 23:6 24 24:4 24:5 27:9 28 28:1–3 28:3–5 28:4–5 28:9 30:6 30:10 31 31:17 31:18–19 31:18 34:22–23 34:23 35:3a 35:4–8 35:16–19 35:17 35:20–21 35:24–26 35:27 36:2 36:9–10 36:11–12

37 38 38 189 262*, 313 127 196 327 313 313–314 79* 192* 192 227, 232 312* 36, 128, 219* 36*, 127 213* 219* 59, 214, 338* 132 37*, 38 37 37, 38 127, 192* 187 127 191 312* 42* 129*, 130 186 262* 192*, 227* 312* 127 192 192–193* 313* 313* 192 36* 313* 313* 192, 192* 189 234 189

37:6 37:20 37:28 38 38:7 38:11 38:22 39 40:15–16 41 41:2 41:3 42–43 42 42:10 43:2 44 44:6 44:24 44:25 45 46 46:5 46:6 48 49:6 51 51:7 51:15–17 54:7 55:7–8 55:16 56:7b–8 57 57:2 57:8–12 58 59:6–9 59:7 59:12–16 59:15–17 59:17 60:3 61:5–6 63:1 63:3–4 63:8

357 129* 191 191 40* 187 234 187 283* 312* 262* 187* 187 36 220* 36*, 187 36*, 187 262*, 284 314 36* 36* 200* 283 126 128, 129* 283 36* 40*, 128, 211, 218*, 219 278 219 312* 87, 95 312* 312* 304, 315 189*, 304 128 312 313* 129* 313* 129* 128 58* 189 339 37 189*

358 63:10–12 68:2–3 68:17 68:22 68:24 69:3 69:18–21 69:18 69:23–29 69:36–37 69:37 71:20 72:5–7 72:12–14 72:17 73:3–14 73 74 74:1 74:2 74:10 74:11 75 75:7–8 75:7 75:8 76 77 77:16–18 78 79 79:2 79:5 79:6–7 79:8–10 79:10 79:12 80:4 80:5 80:13 81:4 82:2 82:8 83 83:14–15 84 84:4 84:12

Index of Passages 312* 191 36* 314 314 305 192 192* 313* 199 192–193* 127 189* 187* 187 188, 193 188*, 216 21, 284 36* 42* 36* 36* 59 59 10 58* 283 284 122 40 40 192, 192* 36* 312* 192 36*, 192* 312* 127 36* 36* 131 36* 42* 312 188 283 87 189

86 86:2–4 86:14 86:15 86:16 87 88 88:8 88:14 88:15 88:17 89 89:37–38 89:38–51 89:46–47 89:46 89:47–51 89:47–48 89:47 89:51 90–106 90 90:1–6 90:1–4 90:1 90:2 90:3–6 90:3 90:4 90:5 90:6–7 90:7–12 90:7–10 90:7–9 90:10 90:11–12 90:12–17 90:12 90:13–17 90:13 90:14 90:15 90:16 91:4–8 92:3 92:12–14

40*, 192*, 219* 192* 192* 30*, 117* 192* 283 127 36* 128 36* 36* 289–290 189* 289 290 288 192 288 36* 192* 288 283*, 284, 286–288, 289*, 290–296 290–291 285 294 287 288 292, 294 117*, 290 293 294 290–291 288 291* 117*, 284 291* 285 291 290, 292 33*, 36*, 192*, 287, 289*, 291* 33*, 129, 293 292 192* 189 129 126

Index of Passages 94:1 94:3 94:5 94:14 95 95:8–11 95:10 97:2 97:4–5 100:3 101:6–8 101:8 102 102:5 102:7–11 102:7–8 102:7 102:8 102:13–17 102:15 102:29 103 103:7 103:8 103:17–18 104 104:3 104:9 104:12 104:20–23 104:29–30 104:29 104:30 105:8–11 105:8 105:25 105:27–36 105:42 106 106:5 106:9 106:18 106:23 108:1–5 109 109:20 109:28–29 109:28

196 36* 42* 42* 187, 289 187 289 289 196 289 130 129* 92–93 79* 92 92, 94–95 93 94 199 192* 192*, 193*, 199 219* 289 30*, 117* 192 127, 131 131–132 132 86 129* 127 132, 334* 129 45* 289 192* 289 45* 40, 44 42* 289 188* 44 128 311*, 312 192 192 192*

110:6 112:1 112:3–4 112:10 113:1 115:2 116:16 119 119:14–18 119:17 119:21 119:23 119:31 119:34 119:38 119:49 119:51 119:61 119:63 119:65 119:69 119:74 119:76 119:77–78 119:78 119:79 119:84 119:85 119:93 119:95 119:110 119:122 119:124–125 119:124 119:125 119:127 119:135 119:140 119:147 119:176 124:7 128:1 129:4–5 130 130:1–5 130:1–2 130:3

359 312* 192 189 189 192* 36* 192* 190–193, 202, 262* 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191–192 191 191 191–192 191 193 191 191–192 36*, 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191 191, 227* 191 128 191 87, 95 192 191 40*, 219*, 304, 305*, 315 304, 315 305 305

360

Index of Passages

130:3b 130:6 134:1 135:1 135:14 137 137:4 137:5 137:7–9 139 139:7 139:9 139:19–22 140:10–12 141 141:10 143 143:2 143:3 143:8 143:12 145:8 145:20

305 128 192* 192* 192* 78, 79* 283* 78 312* 128, 288 132, 328* 189 312* 312* 216 312* 130 192* 129* 129–130, 132 192*, 312* 30*, 117* 191

Proverbs 3:1 3:18 7:20 8:17 10:3 10:24 10:30 10:27 11:5 11:21 12:3 12:12 13:1 13:6 13:24 19:5 20:27 25:11 25:28 26:27 28:26 29:13 29:25

187* 187 131 339 35, 191* 191* 191* 191* 191* 187, 190* 188, 191* 188, 191* 216* 191* 216 187* 328 266* 131 35 187* 227, 236 196

31:13–20 31:28

187* 187

Ecclesiastes 1:16–18 5:15 7:15 7:26 8:10 8:13 8:14 9:2 12:7 18:12–13

332 131 188, 193 187* 188, 193 191 188, 193 188, 193 334* 191

Song of Songs 2:12 2:17 2:17a 4:6 4:6a 4:12–5:1 4:16–5:1 5:1 6:9

88, 125* 124–125 125 124–125 125 125 125* 126* 187*

Isaiah 1–2 1:5 1:18 3:10–11 5:24 5:30 6 6:10 8:9–20 8:19 8:22 10:3 10:14 10:33–34 13:11 15:3 17:14 22:1 24–27 26:1–11 28:6

199* 15 166 196* 188* 129* 157 29* 129 91 129* 131 91 172* 191 94 129* 94 197* 197, 202 131

361

Index of Passages 29:4 30:26 33:2 34:6 37:36 38:10–14 38:10–11 38:13 38:14 40–66 40–55 40–52 40 40:1–52:12 40:1–2 40:1 40:2 40:6–7 40:9–11 40:9 40:11 40:26 40:27 40:28 41:1–5 41:2 41:3 41:8 41:10 41:14 41:20 41:27 42:1–4 42:5 42:24 42:25 43:1–7 43:1 43:7 43:14 43:16–21 43:19 43:22–28 43:25 44:2 44:16 44:21–23 44:22–23

91 189 129 93 129* 127 92 129* 87, 90–92, 94 199 18*, 199* 28 199 17 17, 21–22 21–22 17, 21 290 18, 21–22 21 22 21 21 21 23* 188 23* 45 28 21 21 22 28 21 17 188* 18 21–22 21 21 24 24 17, 27, 29 24, 26 21 21 24 21

44:22 44:24–28 44:24 45:1–4 45:5–8 45:5–6 45:7 45:8 45:11 45:18–19 46:8 46:13 48:8 48:17 48:18 48:20 48:22 49–55 49–54 49:1–6 49:5 49:7 49:10 49:13 49:14–24 49:26 50 50:1 50:2 50:4–9 50:10–11 51 51:3 51:5–6 51:8 51:10 51:12 51:17–23 51:17a 51:18 51:19 52 52:7–10 52:7–8 52:7 52:9–10 52:9 52:10

17 23 21 23 23–24 24 9, 10, 17, 23 24, 28 21 24 17 28 17 21 28 21 196* 199* 29 28 21 21 22 22, 27, 32 199* 21 29* 17 29* 28 196* 58 22, 27 28 28 305 22, 27 57* 58 22 22, 58 27 17, 22, 28 32 22–23, 31 29 22 22

362 52:13–53:12 53 53:5 53:6 53:7 53:9 53:11–12 53:12 54 54:1 54:4 54:5–6 54:6 54:7–8 54:8 54:9–10 54:9 54:10 54:11 54:13 55 56–66 57 57:1 57:13 57:20 57:21 58:8–10 59 59:1–15 59:1–8 59:1–2 59:1 59:6–7 59:8 59:9–14 59:9 59:11 59:15b–20 59:16 60:1–63:6 60:2 62:1–7 63:7–66:24 63:7–64:11 63:17–18 63:17 64:7–11

Index of Passages 27–28 28, 29*, 30 28, 31 28 28 28 28 28–30 27, 29–32 30 30 30 30 30–32 30 31 28, 31* 31*, 32 32 32 219* 199* 199 199* 199* 199* 196*, 199* 129, 189 29 198 29 29 29* 29 29 29 129* 89–90 29 29 199* 188 200* 199* 199* 198 42* 198

65–66 65 65:1–2 65:2–3 65:6–16 65:8–16 65:9–10 65:9 65:13–14 66 66:5–6 66:5 66:6 66:7–9 66:8–9 66:10–14 66:11 66:12–14 66:12 66:13 66:14 66:15–17 66:18–21

197–199*, 200, 202*, 203 199, 200* 198 198 197 198–199 198 198–199 198 33 199 198 198 32 32 32, 198 32 199 32 32 197–198 199 199

Jeremiah 3:16 4:25 5:13 5:19 6:14 7 7:1–15 7:3–4 7:9–10 7:16 8:7 8:10 8:11 8:15 8:23 11:1–17 11:14 12:1–4 12:1–2 13:24 14:11 14:13–14

157 86 131 283* 44*, 46 39* 46 47 47 44* 87, 90, 91* 46 44* 189 220* 39* 44* 193 188 131 44* 44*

363

Index of Passages 14:19 15:1 16:11 18:7 18:8 18:9 20:7–18 20:16 21 21:12 21:13–14 22:3 22:6–7 22:10 22:11–12 22:13–19 22:15–16 22:23 22:24–30 22:24 22:26 22:28–30 23:5–6 23:5 23:17 25 25:11 25:15–29 25:15 25:27 25:28 26 26:13 26:19 29:10 29:13 30:8–9 31:29 31:31–34 32–34 33:6 33:14–16 33:15 34:17–22 36 36:30–31 41:5

189 44* 15 116* 33 116* 128 129 174 129* 172* 177, 179 172* 174 174 174, 177 174, 177, 179 172* 174–175, 176*, 177–179 175–177 176* 175*, 176 177 177, 179 44*, 46 58 284 57* 58 58 60 177 33 33 284 339 177 171–172 172 174 189 177 177, 179 174* 177 174, 179 283

42:10 48:38 49:12–13 49:12 49:16 51:7 52 52:31–34 52:34 57 Lamentations 1–5 1–2 1 1:2 1:9 1:16 1:17 1:21 3

3:1–25 3:1–21 3:1–20 3:1–19 3:1–13 3:1–3 3:2 3:4–9 3:4 3:5–9 3:6 3:10–12 3:10–11 3:12–13 3:13–15 3:14 3:15–16 3:16–18 3:16 3:17–20 3:17–19 3:19–39 3:19–21 3:19

25 94 57* 60 86 57* 176* 176* 176* 219*

222 208, 210–211*, 217, 222 21, 212* 21* 21* 21* 21* 21* 207–211, 212*, 214–215, 217*, 218, 220–223 207–208 214–215 212, 215, 217, 223 212*, 219 214 212 129* 212–213, 215 213* 213* 129* 214 213–214 213–214 214 213–214 213–214 214 214 214 214 210 214 215

364 3:21–33 3:21–24 3:21 3:22–23 3:24–25 3:24 3:25–33 3:25–30 3:25 3:26–41 3:26–27 3:31–33 3:34–41 3:34–39 3:34–37 3:34–36 3:34 3:35 3:37–39 3:38–39 3:38 3:39 3:40–41 3:40 3:41 3:42–55 3:42–54 3:42–52 3:42–51 3:42 3:42a 3:42b 3:43–54 3:43–44 3:45 3:46–47 3:48–51 3:48–49 3:52–58 3:52–53 3:52 3:54 3:55–57 3:57 3:58–66 3:58–63 3:59–63 3:64–66

Index of Passages 215 216 216* 129, 132 216 216* 208* 216 208*, 216 207 222 216 217 208*, 218 217 217 217* 217* 217, 219 217 9,10 217*, 220 217–219 218 218 217* 219, 223 218 207, 219* 219–220 219 219 220 220 220 220 220 220* 207, 219–220* 220 220* 220–221 220 217* 220 220–221 207 207–208, 221

3:52 3:55–60 3:58 4–5 4 4:20 4:21–22 4:21 5 5:7 Ezekiel 1:1 1:13 3:12 3:17–21 5:2 9 9:1–11 9:8 12:13 13 13:1–16 13:4–5 13:5 13:10 14 14:4 14:12–23 17–19 17 17:2–10 17:2–4 17:5–10 17:11–21 17:12 17:13–18 17:22–24 18 18:1–32 18:2 18:4 18:5 18:19 18:20 18:21

87 221* 221* 211 208, 210, 221 38 221 57* 208, 210, 222 172

173, 179 122 132* 178, 180 131 196* 196* 236 173* 44 43 44 44* 44, 46 196* 28 196* 179–180 172–173, 178, 179* 172 172 172 172 172 172 172, 173*, 175, 178–179 15, 171–174, 178–180, 196* 196* 171–172, 178 15 179 179 191* 179

365

Index of Passages 18:27 19 19:1–9 19:8–9 19:10–14 20 20:1 20:25 22 22:14 22:29 22:30 23 23:31–34 27:34 28:13–16 28:18 31:6 33 33:1–21 33:10–21 33:10–20 33:10 33:12 33:14 33:16 33:19 34 34:25 36:26–27 37 37:26 40–48 47:1–12

179, 191* 172–173, 178–179 173* 173* 173 14 28 13 44 131 44 44* 58–59 57* 305 126 188 86 196* 178, 180 180* 196* 180* 191* 180* 180* 191* 178 31* 172 178 31* 173*, 178 126

Daniel 9 9:3–19 9:7 9:15–16 9:16–19 9:18 9:19

44* 44, 46 227* 44 44 45* 44

Hosea 2 6:5 7:12

216 129* 87

9–13 9:5 9:16 11:8 14:6–7 14:10

39* 131 188 73* 307 196*

Joel 2:5 2:13 2:17 3:18

132*, 188 30*, 33, 117* 42* 126

Amos 2:9 3:6 4:4–13 5:18 7:3 7:6

188 9–10 216 129* 33 33

Obadiah 16 18

57* 188

Jonah 3:9–10 4:2

33 30*, 33, 117*

Micah 3:6 7 7:14–20 7:14 7:18–19 7:18 7:20

129* 44* 44, 46 42*, 44 45* 42* 45

Nahum 1:2–8 1:2 1:3 1:5 1:7–8 1:7 2:8

196* 196 117*, 196 196 196, 196* 196 89–90

366

Index of Passages

Habakkuk 1:2–17 1:4 1:12–13 1:13 2:2–5 2:15–16

196* 196 193 188, 196 196 58*

Zephaniah 2:2 2:14 3:5

122 93 129

Haggai 2:20–23 2:23

176–177 176

Zechariah 2:16 3:1–7 4 12–14 12:2

42* 49* 176 198 58*

3:1–2 3:1 3:2–4 3:2–3 3:3–5 3:3 3:5 3:6–12 3:6 3:7 3:10 3:11 3:12 3:13–21

3:13(16)–21 3:13–18(19–21) 3:13–15 3:13 3:14–15 3:14

Malachi 1:1 1:2–5 1:2 1:4 1:6–2:9 1:6 1:8 1:9 1:10 1:11 1:13 1:14 2:1 2:2 2:4 2:8 2:10–16 2:14 2:16 2:17–3:5 2:17–3:1a 2:17 2:5–7

184*, 200* 184*, 185 201* 185, 201* 184*, 185 201* 201* 201* 201* 201* 201* 201* 185* 201* 201* 201* 184–185* 185* 201* 184–185*, 186, 202 185* 184, 185* 185*

3:14a 3:14b–20 3:15 3:16–21 3:16 3:17–21 3:17–18 3:17 3:18–19 3:18 3:19–20 3:19 3:19b 3:20–21 3:20 3:21 3:22–24 3:22 3:23

202 186, 201* 185* 185* 202 187 184, 185*, 187, 201* 184–185* 185*, 186 186, 201* 185, 201* 201* 185, 187, 201* 183, 184–186*, 189–190*, 191–192, 193*, 196–197, 198*, 200*, 201–203 197 184*, 198 185*, 187, 203 186–188, 201 184, 188, 191, 192–193 184, 186, 191–192, 198 191 192 187, 190–191 184 185*, 186, 192 185*, 188, 190, 193, 197, 202 185* 186, 197, 201 191 188, 190–193 191 185*, 188, 188*, 190*, 191, 201 188 185* 185*, 189*, 190, 192 188, 188*, 190–191, 200–201 184* 190* 187

367

Index of Passages

Ancient Near Eastern Texts Atrahasis I 223–230 I 239

18, 326, 334 326* 326*

The Sultantepe Tablets The Birdcall Text 88 Enuma Elish

18, 326, 334

Hymn to Shamash

130*

Gilgamesh VII 31–54 XI

92* 18

Ishtar’s Decent Obverse, lines 4–10 92* Nergal & Ereškigal B III:4–7 92* KTU 1.3 III 26–29 1.3 V 17–18 1.4 VIII 21–24 1.6 II 24–25 1.78

80 69* 69* 69 69*

Dead Sea Scrolls 1Q20 4Q98 2 7

118* 250*

4Q252–254a 4Q423 frg 1–2

118* 118*

New Testament Mattew 3:7–10 3:9 3:10 3:12 7:21–22 8:11–12 16:17–19 16:18 23:37

47 48 48 49 49* 47 50 50* 49*

Luke 1:16–17 3:7–9 3:8 3:9 3:17 4:16–21 6:14 6:46

49* 47 48 48–49* 49 49 49 49*

8:24 10:41 13 13:1–5 13:2–3 13:4–5 13:6–9 13:28–29 15:11–32 15:21 17:4 22:31–32 22:31 22:32 22:33 22:34 24:34

49* 49 48 47 48 48 48 47 48 48 49* 49* 49 50 49 49 50*

John 21:15–19

50

368 Acts 3:19 9:4 9:35 14:15 14:22 15:3 15:9 15:32 15:41 18:23 22:7 26:14 26:18 26:20 Romans 1:11

Index of Passages

49* 49* 49* 49* 50* 49* 49* 50* 50* 50* 49* 49* 49* 49*

3:25 5:12–21 5:19

166 277, 337* 278

1 Corinthians 13:12 5:5

228 50*

1 Thess 1:9

49*

1 Peter 2:25

49*

2 Peter 3:8

284

50*

Deuterocanonical Works and Pseudepigrapha 1 Enoch 26:1

126*

4 Ezra 3:21 7:118

278 278

Jubilees 4:29–30 8:19

116* 126*

1 Maccabees 121–124

2 Maccabees 1:2–5

45*

Odes of Solomon 7:21 11:8 18:11 28:14

278 278 278 278

Sirach 44:17–18

28*

157

Rabbinic Works Mishnah Roš Haššanah 4:1

165 166*

Sukkah 3:12 4:1–5:4

166* 165*

Yoma 3:8 5:2 5:3 5:5 6:4 6:8 7:1

158, 163–168 164 167 167 164 165 166 165

369

Index of Passages 7:2 21b

166* 157*

Talmud ‘Abodah Zarah 44a 56*

Midrash Genesis Rabbah 16:5 19:8 21:8

126* 117*, 123 126*

125* 125* 126* 128, 132, 228–229

Targum Neophiti

119

Onkelos

118–119

Tanḥuma Nasso 16 19:1 49

Psalms

228–229

Tehillim

Pseudo-Jonathan

72, 118–119

Index of Authors Aaron, David H. 244 Albertz, Rainer 283, 288 Alexander, Jeffrey C. 222 Al-Jallad, Ahmad 74–77 Alter, Robert 115, 119 Althaus, Paul 229–230 Amit, Y. 115 Amodei, Dario 324 Amzallag, Nissim 97 Anderson, Gary A. 269 Anrup, Nils Erik 277 Arent, Hanna 149–150 Arterbury, Andrew E. 59 Asimov, Isaak 324 Assis, Elie 208–210 Auffret, Pierre 226 Aurelius, Erik 40–44, 49 Baerveldt, Cor 261, 267 Baethgen, D. Friedrich 231 Bach, Alice 56–57 Bakhtin, Mikhail 260–262 Bandstra, Barry 131 Barresi, John 260 Barr, James 115, 278 Barth, Christoph 129 Barth, Hermann 172 Barton, John 11, 15 Baumgartner, Walter 122 Bechtel, Lyn M. 115, 329, 331, 337 Becker, Jürgen 47–48 Beebe, John 260 Begg, Christopher T. 57, 174 Bellinger Jr., William H. 59, 226, 283, 292 Bemong, Nele 261, 265 Benanti, Paolo 322 Benbassa, Esther 259 Bentzen, Aage 232 Ben Zvi, Ehud 201 Berge, Kåre 139 Berges, Ulrich 18, 28, 30, 199 Berlin, Adele 209, 213–215

Bernardino, Angelo di 277 Berner, Christoph 87 Bhabha, Homi K 107 Biesta, Gert J. J. 147, 149, 152 Billerbeck, Paul 49 Bird, Phyllis 331, 334 Bjarnason, Jón 295 Blaising, Craig 228 Blenkinsopp, Joseph 91–92, 192, 197–199, 266 Boase, Elizabeth 212, 221–222 Boda, Mark J. 97, 155, 337–338 Boer, Roland 54, 56, 262 Bokus, Barbara 261, 265 Borée, Wilhelm 72–73 Borowski, Oded 87 Bostrom, Nick 332 Botterweck, Johannes G. 89–90 Bovon, Franҫois 49 Bowie, Walter Russel 118 Braude, William G. 229 Brayford, Susan 117 Breed, Brendan W. 80 Brennan, Chris 76 Brenner, Athalya 331 Brichto, Herbert Chanan 55 Briggs, Charles A. 131 Briggs, Richard S. 54 Britt, Brian 54, 56 Brock, Sebastian 279 Brown, Francis 131 Brown, William P. 244, 250 Brueggemann, Walter. 45, 115, 117, 226, 283, 287–288, 292, 294 Bühlmann, Walter 266 Budde, Karl 115 Buell, Denise K. 322 Bugnini, Annibale 310–312 Buonaiuti, Ernesto 337 Burke, Peter J. 260 Burkert, Walter 86 Burns, J. Patout 337

Index of Authors Bæckgaard Thomsen, Jørgen 233

Dvorjetski, Estẽe 72–73

Calvin, John 123, 230–231, 234 Carlson, R. A. 122 Carr, David 115 Carr, G. Lloyd 125 Carroll, Robert P. 176, 178 Caputo, John D. 147, 150–151 Cassuto, Umberto 116, 120–121 Chapman, Cyntia R. 327 Charlesworth, Andrew 309 Childs, Brevard S. 41 Cho, Paul K. K. 244 Cixous, Hélène 148 Clifford, Richard J. 225–226, 284, 287, 290–291 Clines, David J. A. 21, 120, 122, 263–264, 268–269 Coggins, Richard J. 90 Cohen, Mordechai Z. 244 Collins, John C. 338 Collmar, Lars 48 Course, John E. 264 Craigie, Peter C. 77, 234–235 Cranz, Isabel 157–158, 160, 162, 168 Cresswell, James 261, 267

Eichrodt, Walter 9, 11–12 Eidevall, Göran 86, 90, 93–94, 241 Eitan, Israel 79 Emmendörffer, Michael 21 Eriksson, Erik 260 Ermidoro, Stefania 59 Eskenazi, Tamara Cohn 103–104 Evans, Vyvyan 244–247 Exum, J. Cheryl 125

Dahood, Mitchell 233–234 Davage, David, see Willgren (Davage) Davidson, Robert 289 Davis, Ernest 332 deClaissé-Walford, Nancy L. 236, 247, 250 Delekat, L. 129 Delitzsch, Franz 118, 231 Dick, Michael 251 Dietrich, Walter 10 DiFransico, Lesley R. 244 Dijk-Hemmes, Fokkelien van 58 Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W. 209 Dommershausen, Werner 189 Donner, Herbert 21, 26 Dorobantu, Marius 322 Douglas, Mary 61, 160 Driver, Godfrey R. 86, 93, 162 Driver, S. R. 131 Duhm, Bernard 231 Dunlop, Lawrence 42

371

Fabry, Heinz-Josef 49, 120, 131–132 Fauconnier, Gilles 245 Faulkner, Andrew 76 Faulkner, Raymond O. 167 Feiler, Wolfgang 77 Feldkämper, Ludger 49–50 Feldmeier, Reinhard 19, 23–24, 28, 30, 161, 165 Feldt, Laura 140–142 Feuer, Avrohom Chaim 128 Finkelstein, Jacob J. 157 Finn, Jennifer 129 Fischer, Georg 174–175 Fishbane, Michael 59, 100 Fishler, Ben-Tzion 79 Fludernik, Monika 244 Foerst, Anne 322 Fohrer, Georg 263–264 Folkvord, Ingvild 269 Foreman, Benjamin A. 91 Forti, Tova L. 93–94 Francozo, Edson 61 Frankel, David 56 Fredriksen, Paula 319 Freedman, David Noel 121 Freedman, Rabbi Dr. H. 123 Freeman, Mark 261 Frevel, Christian 99 Frymer-Kensky, Tikva 55 Gane, Roy 156, 162 Garber, Zev 299 Gensler, Orin D. 70 George, Andrew R. 18 Geraci, Robert M. 322, 335 Gerstenberger, Erhart S. 253

372

Index of Authors

Gertz, Jan Christian 19 Gese, Hartmut 157 Gesenius, Wilhelm 21, 26 Gibbs Jr, Raymond W. 61–62 Gillingham, Susan E. 284 Gillner, Jens 49 Glueck, Nelson 216 Goldingay, John 119, 227, 235–236, 292 Goldreich, Yair 123 Gonҫalves, Miguel M. 260 Gordis, Robert 265 Gottwald, Norman K. 211 Grabbe, Lester 157, 266 Grady, Joseph E. 62–63 Green, Barbara 262 Green, Erin 322 Green, Yosef 132 Grogan, Geoffrey W. 227, 288 Grossfeld, Bernard 119 Grundke, Christopher L. K. 120, 122 Gube, Jan 261 Gudme, Anne Katrine de Hemmer. 54, 62, 244 Gunkel, Hermann 115, 119, 123–125, 225, 287, 290 Guillaume, Phillippe 56 Haas, Volkert 18 Habel, Norman C. 264 Halen, Cor van 260 Halvorson-Taylor, Martien A. 23 Hamilton, Victor P. 117–118 Hammack Jr., Philip L. 260 Hann, Julius 123 Hanson, Kenneth C. 209 Hardin, Carmen S. 228 Hartenstein, Friedhelm 20, 190, 193–194 Hasan-Rokem, Galit 260 Hauerwas, Stanley 148 Haugeland, John 322 Hawking, Stephen 340 Hawley, Lance R. 244 Hayes, Christine 100 Hecke, Pierre J. P. van 214–215, 244 Heimpel, Wolfgang 130 Hermans, Hubert J. M. 260 Herzfeld, Noreen L. 322 Hidal, Sten 277

Hieke, Thomas 156, 159, 162, 164 Hillers, Delbert R. 209, 211, 214 Hinricher, Gemma O. C. D. 310, 312–314 Hjálmarsson, Jón 294–295 Hjelm, Ingrid 244 Hoffman-Curtis, Katrin 299, 303, 306–307 Hoffman, Yair 264 Hoftijzer, J. 91 Holladay, William Lee 122, 172, 313 Holt, Else 212, 216, 218, 232 Holter, Knut 115 Holzinger, Heinrich 41, 43 Hossfeld, Frank Lothar 92, 128, 188, 190, 192–194, 235, 247, 253 Hubbard Jr, Robert L. 236 Hunger, Hermann 69 Hyun, Seong Whan Timothy 263, 266 Høgenhaven, Jesper 23 Jackson, Rosemary 141, 143–145 Jacobson, Rolf A. 226, 236, 247, 250, 253, 299 James, William 260 Janssen, Jacques 260 Janowski, Bernd 158, 160–162, 165, 190, 193–194, 252 Janzen, David 98, 105–109 Japhet, Sara 201 Jeremias, Joakim 49 Jeremias, Jörg 45 Jindo, Job Y. 244 Joachimsen, Kristin 99, 102, 105 Joerchel, Amrei C. 261 Johnson, Bo 209 Johnson, Mark 62, 244 Jones, Christopher M. 107–108 Jones, Scott C. 269 Jónsson, Gunnlaugur 294–295 Joode, Johan de 244 Josephs, Ingrid 261 Joüon, P. Paul 31 Kaiser, Otto 39 Kang, Seung-Il 338 Kappel, Kai 301–305, 307–308 Karlsson, Gunnar 293–295 Kass, Leon R. 60 Keel, Ohtmar 126, 241, 243

Index of Authors Keil, C. F. 118 Kelly, Brian E. 201 Kempen, Harry J. G. 260 Kessler, Rainer 185–186, 189–193, 198, 200 Kidner, Derek 117 Kittay, E. F. 244 Kittel, Rudolf 231 Klawans, J. 100 Kline, Meredith 122 Knowles, Melody D. 99 Koch, Heidemarie 18 Koch, Klaus 327 Koeler, Ludwig 122 Koenen, Klaus 185, 195–197 Kohlenberger, John R. 122 Konkel, Michael 41–42 Konopka, Agnieszka 260 Komulainen, Katri 259 Korhonen, Maija 259 Korotayev, Andrey 332 Kooij, G. van der 91 Krašovec, Jože 57 Kratz, Reinhard Gregor 23, 39 Kraus, Hans-Joachim 211, 226, 234, 241, 250, 253, 283, 287, 291–292 Kremer, Thomas 279–280 Krüger, Thomas 269, 329 Kugel, James L. 117 Kurzweil, Ray 323, 333 Köckert, Matthias 11 Körting, Corinna 155–156, 159–162, 200 Laato, Antii 173–174, 283 Labahn, Antje 201, 244 Lacan, Jacques 143–144, 147 Ladefoged, Peter 70 Lakoff, George 62, 244 Lam, Joseph 97, 244, 319 Lambert, David A. 116 Lambert, Wilfred G. 18, 88, 93, 116, 326 LaNeel Tanner, Beth 236, 247, 250, 253 Lane, Edward William 72 Lang, Bernard 173 Lattke, Michael 278 Lauschke, Marion 269 Lauta, Kristian Cedervall 324 Lear, Sheree 185

373

Leene, Henk 172, 174 Lenzi, Alan 129–130 LePoire, David 332 Levene, Abraham 281 Levenson, Jon D. 126 Levin, Christoph 216 Levine, Baruch A. 54–55 Lima, Paula Lenz Costa 62 Limburg, James 291, 305 Linafelt, Tod 210–211, 217, 222–223 Lindström, Fredrik. 9–12, 15, 17, 23, 35–38, 40, 53, 68, 73, 77, 85, 92, 97, 126–128, 139, 155, 171–172, 183, 207, 226–227, 237, 241, 243, 268, 283, 293–294, 305, 334, 336, 338 Link, Christian 10 Lipton, Diana 54 Liss, Hanna 156–158, 161 Liu, Hin-Yan 324 Lohse, Eduard 49 Loewenstamm, Samuel E. 57, 328 Longman III, Tremper. 57 Loon, Hanneke van 244 Loprieno, Antonio 71 Lundager Jensen, Hans J. 232 Louth, Andrew 118 Luther, Martin 130, 160, 229–230 Maas, Matthijs M. 324 MacDonald, Nathan 56–59 Macho, Alejandro Diez 119 Maddieson, Ian 70 Maher, Michael 118 Maier, Michael 197 Maisler (Mazar), Benjamin 77 Mandolfo, Carleen R. 211 Marcuse, Harold 299, 301–307, 309 Marx, Dalia 164 Matties, Gordon H. 171 Mays, James L. 284 McAlphine, Thomas H. 26 McDaniel, Thomas F. 77 McGrath, James F. 322 McGuire, J. Amanda 132 McKane, William 55, 59, 175 McKay, John W. 291 McLean, Kate C. 260 McNamara, Martin 118–119

374

Index of Authors

Mead, George Herbert 260 Meek, Theophile James 119 Mein, Andrew 171 Meinhold, Arndt 185, 190, 193 Meinhold, Johannes 164–165 Mendenhall, G. E. 115 Mertz, Annette 47 Mettinger, Tryggve N. D. 74, 115–117, 328–329 Meyer, Rudolf 31 Michelsen, Leif M. 121 Middlemas, Jill 208, 210–211 Midson, Scott 322 Mihǎilǎ, Alexandru 311 Milgrom, Jacob 54–55, 157, 159–160, 167–168 Millard, Alan R. 18, 326 Miller, Daniel 55 Miller, Patrick D. 291 Milton, John 115 Moberly, R. W. L. 42–43, 45–46, 50 Mol, Jurrien 171 Moore, Anne 244 Moor, Johannes C. de 74 Morris, Paul 116 Morrow, William S. 208, 217, 222 Moughtin-Mumby, Sharon 244 Mounce, William D. 122 Mowinckel, Sigmund 232, 241, 288 Muraoka, Takamitsu 31 Murphy, Mekado 320 Murphy, Roland E. 264, 286 Myhre, Klara 233 Naidoff, Bruce D. 332 Nemeroff, Carol 61 Neusner, Jacob 164–167 Newman, Judith H. 104 Newsom, Carol A. 262 Niehaus, Jeffrey J. 117, 120–122, 131 Nielsen, Eduard 232 Nielsen, Kirsten 172, 232 Nihan, Christophe 156, 159, 162 Nikolsky, Ronit 62 Noetzel, Jutta 185–186, 189–191 Nogalski, James 200 Noth, Martin 41–42 Nowak, Wilhelm 123

Nykolaishen, Douglas J. E. 101 O´Brien, Julia M. 89–90, 244 O´Connor, Kathleen M. 208, 217, 219, 221 Oded, Bustenay 215 Oden, Robert A. 326, 335 Oeming, Manfred 106 Orel, Vladimir E. 71 Óskarsson, Óskar Hafsteinn 295 Ossendrijver, Mathieu 69 Otto, Eckart 161 Pantoja, Jennifer Metten 244 Papageorgiou, Panayiotis 337 Pardes, Ilana 146 Parrill, Fey 245 Paul, Shalom M. 199 Perlitt, Lothar 36, 39 Perry, Theodore A. 260 Peust, Carsten 71 Pfeiffer, Henrik 156 Piccin, Michaela 129 Pierre, M. J. 279 Plöger, Otto 211 Pope, Marvin H. 263 Porzig, Peter 157–158, 161 Possekel, Ute 277 Poulsen, Fredrik 22–23, 28 Power, Cian 23 Prenowitz, Eric 148 Raabe, Paul R. 57 Rabelais, François 261 Rad, Gerhard von 9, 46, 115, 118 Raggatt, Peter T. F. 260–261, 265 Raitt, Thomas M. 172, 174 Rausche, B. 100 Reinink, G. J. 260 Renkema, Johan 212, 215, 219–221 Renz, Johannes 23 Riede, Peter 90, 94 Ringgren, Helmer, 191–193, 232, 286 Robinson, Simon 322 Rochester, Kathleen M. 174 Rogerson, John W. 291 Rom- Shiloni, Dalit 174 Ross, Allen P. 236 Rozin, Paul 60–61

Index of Authors Ruppert, L. 128 Ryken, Leland 57 Rössler, Otto 70 Sailhamer, John H. 116, 122 Sarna, Hahum 174 Sasson, Jack M. 55 Satlow, Michael L. 331 Satyavani, Puttagunta 122 Satzinger, Helmut 71 Schachter, Lifsa Block 338 Schaper, Joachim L. 200 Scharbert, Josef 190 Schart, Aron 184 Schenkel, Wolfgang 71 Schmid, Konrad 18–19, 39, 115, 268 Schmithals, Walter 49 Schmitt, Raymond 259 Schneider, Stanley 334 Schneider, Thomas 70–73 Schwab, Klaus 319 Schwartz, Seth J. 260 Schweizer, Eduard 49 Schäfer-Lichtenberger, Christa 161 Schöpflin, Karin 44 Scurlock, JoAnn 88 Seelenfreund, Morton 334 Seufert, Matthew 332 Seybold, Klaus 235, 247, 250, 253 Shanahan, Murray 332 Shead, Stephen L. 244, 246 Sheehan, Jonathan 263 Shiffman, H. 119 Simian-Yofre, Horacio 199 Silber, Ursula 313 Silver, Arthur M. 116, 118 Simon, Maurice 163 Simpson, Cuthbert A. 118 Singler, Beth 321–322 Skinner, John 123, 132 Slingerland, Edward 61–62 Smith, Maria-Theresia 309 Smith, Mark S. 116, 329, 333, 336–337 Smith, Morton 39 Snyman, S. D. (Fanie) 185–186, 190–191, 194 Soggin, Alberto 331 Southwood, Katherine 100, 104, 244

375

Speiser, E. A. 119, 131–132 Sperling, Harry 163 Spieckermann, Hermann 18–19, 23–24, 28, 30, 35, 37, 41, 117, 128, 161, 166, 338 Stager, Lawrence E. 126 Stec, David M. 229 Steck, Odil Hannes 39–40, 115, 197–199 Steiner, Richard C. 70 Stephenson, F. Richard 69 Sternberg, Meir 338 Stets, Jan E. 260 Stipp, Hermann-Josef 174 Stolbova, Olga V. 71 Stordalen, Terje 115, 126, 128, 260, 262, 264, 266, 269–270, 328–329, 331, 338 Strawn, Brent A. 251 Streck, Michael 88, 92 Strickman, H. Norman 116, 118 Stromberg, Jacob 199 Stuhlmueller, Carrol 18 Syed, Moin 260 Sæbø, Magne 121, 132 Sørensen, Jørgen Podemann 167 Takács, Gabor 70–71 Tate, Marvin E. 252, 289–290 Terrien, Samuel 128, 287 Thiel, Winfred 174 Thiessen, Gerd 47 Thorsteinsson, Steingrímur J. 292–293 Ticciati, Susannah 259 Tiemeyer, Lena-Sofia 198–199 Tilford, Nicole L. 62 Todorov, Tzvetan 141, 152 Toorn, Karel van der 55, 77 Towner, W. Sibley 123 Trible, Phyllis 115–116 Tsevat, Matitiahu 179 Tsitsibakou-Vasalos, Evanthia 74 Turner, Mark 245 Ulam, Stanislaw 332 Utzschneider, Helmut 160 Valdimarsdóttir, Thorunn Erlu 294 Vanstiphout, H. L. J. 260 Vermes, Geza 118

376

Index of Authors

Vermeylen, J. 115 Vignoles, Vival 260 Vogels, Walter 263, 270 Vygotsky, Lev 261 Wallace, H. N. 115 Walch, Jerome T. 116 Walton, John H. 115, 120, 122, 126 Watts, John D. 91 Weidner, Alexander 18 Weippert, Helga 174 Welten, Peter 167 Welton, Rebekah 58–59 Wenham, Gordon J. 115–116, 119, 126 Wertsch, James V. 261 Westerman, Claus 115–116, 119, 207–208, 210–211, 217, 219–221, 283 West, Martin L. 76 Weyde, Karl William 163, 185–186, 189– 190, 200–201 Widmer, Michael 41–42 Wikander, Ola 69, 71, 79–80 Wildberger, Hans 91 Wilhoit, James C. 57 Wilke, Alexa 44–45 Willgren (Davage), David 128, 288

Williamson, Hugh G. M. 103 Willi-Plein, Ina 161 Willis, David M. 69 Wilson, Gerald H. 264 Wilson-Wright, Aren 71 Winfield, Alan 324 Wolde, Ellen J. van 77, 115, 268–269 Wolff, Hans Walter 40 Wolter, Michael 49 Worthington, Martin 129 Woude, Adam Simon van der 189 Wyatt, Nick 338 Wöhrle, Jakob 185 Yoder, Tyler R. 244 Zakariassen, Kari 336 Zakovitch, Yair 125 Zehnder, Markus 199 Zenger, Erich 92, 128, 188, 190, 192–194, 225, 227, 235, 247, 253, 289, 300, 310 Ziegler, Joseph 129 Zimmerli, Walter 173 Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb 147 Žižek, Slavoj 143–144, 148