The Body Lived, Cultured, Adorned: Essays on Dress and the Body in the Bible and Ancient Near East in Honor of Nili S. Fox 0878206086, 9780878206087

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The Body Lived, Cultured, Adorned

Nili S. Fox. Courtesy of The Cincinnati Enquirer/Jeff Swinger

The Body Lived, Cultured, Adorned YZ

Essays on Dress and the Body in the Bible and Ancient Near East in Honor of Nili S. Fox

Edited by

Kristine Henriksen Garroway Christine Elizabeth Palmer Angela Roskop Erisman

Hebrew Union College Press

HEBREW UNION COLLEGE PRESS © 2022 Hebrew Union College Press Typeset in Times New Roman by Angela Roskop Erisman Jacket design by Angela Roskop Erisman Jacket photo credit: A. D. Riddle/BiblePlaces.com Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fox, Nili Sacher, honoree. | Garroway, Kristine Henriksen, editor. | Palmer, Christine Elizabeth, 1970- editor. | Erisman, Angela Roskop, 1972- editor. Title: The body lived, cultured, adorned : essays on dress and the body in the Bible and ancient near east in honor of Nili S. Fox / edited by Kristine Henriksen Garroway, Christine Elizabeth Palmer, Angela Roskop Erisman. Description: Cincinnati : Hebrew Union College Press, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “Dressing and adorning of the body is a prominent motif woven within the writings of the Hebrew Bible. This volume adds to the growing literature on the topic, demonstrating ways in which both dress and the body communicate cultural and religious beliefs and practices. The body’s lived experience is the topic of section one, the body lived. The body and the social construction of identity is discussed in section two, the body cultured, while section three, the body adorned, analyzes the performative nature of dress in the biblical text”-- Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2022030294 (print) | LCCN 2022030295 (ebook) | ISBN 9780878206087 (hardback) | ISBN 9780878207053 (adobe pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Bible. Old Testament--Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Human body--Biblical teaching. | Biblical costume. | Clothing and dress--Middle East. | Identity (Religion) Classification: LCC BS1199.B62 B63 2022 (print) | LCC BS1199.B62 (ebook) | DDC 221--dc23/eng/20220804 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030294 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030295

Contents Forewordix Joan Pines

Abbreviationsxiii Contributorsxvii Introduction: The Body as It Is Lived, Cultured, and Adorned Kristine Henriksen Garroway, Christine Elizabeth Palmer, and Angela Roskop Erisman

1

The Body Lived Consider Her: Body-Talk as a Literary Strategy in the Book of Judges

15

An Embodiment of Silence: The Hand-on-Mouth Gesture in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East

49

Bodies of Hunger: Hunger as an Indicator of Social Instability in the Bible and Ramesside Egypt

81

Drama in the Valley of Achor: Corporal Responses in Joshua 7

121

Sanctified or Stigmatized: Social Branding through Smell in the Ancient Near East

153

Kenneth C. Way

Jordan W. Jones

Michael C. Lyons Hélène Dallaire

Jeffrey Duerler

The Body Cultured King of the Mountains: Reassessing Royal Representation on a Middle Assyrian Cult Pedestal Kyle R. Greenwood

183

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Contents

Bodies in Lieu of Interest: Pledging Slaves as Collateral on Personal Loans in the Neo-Assyrian Period and Beyond

209

Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow: A Study of Biblical Hair Manipulation in Numbers 6:1–21

239

Shaving It All Off: A Demeaning Priestly Prescription for the Levites in Numbers 8

271

The Weeping Lady of Gilat: The Iconography of Affect and Rites of Passage

301

Guy Ridge

Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

Nancy L. Erickson

David Ilan

The Body Adorned An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat: The Style and Significance of Joseph’s Garment

319

Vulnerable Fabrics: Negation of Dress and Power in the Hebrew Bible

361

The Gift that Keeps on Giving: Children and Clothing in the Hebrew Bible

391

Embodied Remembrance: The Inscribed Priestly Seals in Israel’s Worship 

411

And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes: A Peculiar Exegetical Twist on the Sale of Joseph

447

Index

497

Benjamin J. Noonan

Carl Pace

Kristine Henriksen Garroway

Christine Elizabeth Palmer

Jason Kalman

Illustrations Figure 2.1 An Egyptian boy waiting patiently with his hand raised to his mouth. Figure 2.2 A figure raises a hand to the mouth in the presence of deities. Phoenician Seal “Belonging to the king of Zarephath.” Figure 2.3 Sennacherib raises an object to his nose while in the presence of Enlil and Ashur. Bavian Relief of Sennacherib. Figure 2.4 A worshipper faces the god Sin with a hand raised to their mouth. Seal of the governor of Ishkun-Sin. Figure 2.5 Beholding Etana, a surprised man raises his hand to his mouth. Etana Cylinder Seal. Figure 2.6 A dignitary raises his hand to his mouth, bowing before Darius I. Persepolis Relief. Throne Room of Darius I. Figure 6.1 Nemedu A (Ass. 19869; VA 8146). Figure 6.2 Nemedu B (Ass. 200069; Istanbul 7802). Figure 6.3 Rosettes from the Ištar Temple in Aššur. Figure 6.4 Sun-god tablet of Nabû-appla-iddina. Figure 6.5 Orthostat from Tell Halaf. Figure 6.6 Orthostat from Tell Halaf. Figure 10.1 Gilat goddess anthropomorphic ceramic vessel. Figure 10.2a Copper cylinder from Nahal Mishmar. Figure 10.2c Stone “protome-altar” from the Golan Heights. Figure 10.2b Pedestaled, fenestrated bowl from Gilat. Figure 10.3 Ceramic churn from Horvat Beter. Figure 10.4 Stone violin figurine from Gilat. Figure 10.5 Zoomorphic vessel in the form of a ram from Gilat.

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viii Illustrations Figure 11.1 Amorite worshipper with patterned garment (room 132 at Zimri-Lim’s palace). Figure 11.2 The asiatic Ỉbšȝ with patterned garment (tomb 3 at Beni Hasan). Figure 11.3 Syrian with patterned garment (tomb of Ramesses III at Thebes). Figure 14.1 Inscribed Hebrew stamp and scaraboid seals. Iron Age II, eighth–sixth centuries BCE. Figure 14.2 Pectoral of Princess Sithathoryunet (MMA 16.1.3a,b), with detail. Middle Kingdom, ca. 1887–1878 BCE. Figure 14.3 Green jasper seal ring with gold mount (MMA 36.3.187). Table 14.1 Provenance of Priestly Gemstones. Figure 14.4 Cuneiform tablet with nail imprint (MMA 86.11.194). Neo-Babylonian ca. seventh–sixth centuries BCE. Figure 14.5 Necklace of stone seals with modern impressions (OI A18184). Uruk period ca. 4000–3100 BCE. Figure 14.6 Votive banded agate eye-stone (MMA 1994.433) Kassite period, ca. fourteenth century BCE. Figure 14.7 Tell Asmar votive figurines museum display. Early Dynastic I–II, ca. 2900–2600 BCE. Figure 14.8 Tell Asmar male votive figure (MMA 40.156) Early Dynastic I–II ca. 2900–2600 BCE. Figure 14.9 Gudea statue A frontal view and side view (AO 8), ca. 2120– 2110 BCE.

Foreword Joan Pines

I am pleased to participate in this meaningful Festschrift in honor of Nili S. Fox by writing this foreword. As I prepared to write, I reflected on my journey that led me to know Nili, witness her commitment to the School of Graduate Studies (SGS), and understand her impact on her students since she joined the faculty of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC–JIR). My path to the SGS and Nili began in 2002 when I spoke with HUC-JIR president, David Ellenson about my past involvement in the Reform Jewish movement and my desire to do more nationally. He suggested joining the HUC-JIR Central Region Board of Overseers. Acting on his advice turned out to be a transformative decision in my life. At that time, I had a basic knowledge of HUC-JIR’s mission to teach rabbis, cantors, educators, nonprofit workers, and scholars. As I became involved, I discovered more about the vibrant learning community, the impressive world-class faculty, and the passionate students on the Cincinnati campus.  My interest in the SGS, which is dedicated to educating scholars of all faiths, grew. I learned that this remarkable program attracts PhD candidates of many faiths from all over the world. They study with an outstanding faculty, attend classes with rabbinical students, learn about the Jewish roots of Christianity and the influence of Judaism on other religions, and deepen their religious commitments and knowledge. In 2015, my family and I decided it was the right time to make a gift to reflect my commitment and passion to the mission ix

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of HUC-JIR. I sought guidance from the dean of the Cincinnati campus at the time, Jonathan Cohen. He suggested that I concentrate on the SGS due to my interest in interfaith relationships and higher education. This recommendation struck a chord with me because I know education is more than a means of escaping dire social conditions. It enriches the spirit and opens our eyes to all the possibilities of life. It also offers us opportunities to join others in healing our world so that all humankind may receive the benefits of what life has to offer. As I continued in this direction, I spent time with Nili, who was then the director of the SGS, and she won me over! Nili impressed me with her warmth, graciousness, commitment, and knowledge. She shared the pleasure and joy she felt teaching and mentoring her students and the happiness she experienced on that exciting day when they achieved their goal of becoming PhDs. I realized how fortunate the students were to have Nili as their teacher, mentor, and cheerleader. All that I discovered during this gift planning process made a positive and profound impression on me. The decision was thus made to devote our financial support and efforts to the SGS, which eventually became the Pines School of Graduate Studies (PSGS). As I became more involved with the PSGS, I enjoyed the opportunity to interact with the students. I attended classes, panel discussions, and social events, and I witnessed their growth as they progressed through their years of study. I realized that these students were undeniably inspired and motivated by Nili’s concentrated attention and dedication to their achievement. As is evident in the collection of essays in this publication, Nili has had a lasting impact on the alumni who benefited from the exceptional education, resources, and mentorship she provided. As I thought more about the content of this foreword, I focused on the passion, devotion, and love Nili poured into her work and provided her students. I talked about this with my friend and rabbi, Harold Kudan. He does not know Nili, but, as I described her commitment to educating, mentoring, and guiding the PSGS students, he said that there is a Hebrew word he could easily apply to Nili—ḥesed. I had not thought of this, but, as I engaged with



Foreword

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the idea, I realized how this one word is so emblematic of Nili. In its broadest sense, ḥesed can be understood as love, loving-kindness, and fidelity. It is seen as the most consistent, all-embracing act of faith that implies the giving of one’s self to help another without regard to compensation. In a sense, at Judaism’s core is the significance of developing human beings whose principal trait is ḥesed. Nili is a living model of ḥesed. I am grateful for the opportunity to write the opening portion of this book, and I am thankful to Nili for all she has done for the PSGS and its students. I hope you enjoy this Festschrift in honor of my dear friend, Nili S. Fox. Joan Pines is immediate past chair of the HUC-JIR Central Region Board of Advisors, and emeritus member of the National Board of Governors. The Joan and Phillip Pines School of Graduate Studies (PSGS) at HUC-JIR was named with a transformational gift from the Phillip and Joan Pines Charitable Foundation in November 2015. Joan remains an active member of the HUC-JIR community by maintaining strong relationships with PSGS students, administration, and faculty.

Abbreviations AHw ANEP

ANET AuOrS BDB CAD CAL CANE CIS COS DCH DLE

Akkadisches Handwörterbuch. Wolfram von Soden. 3 vols. Wiesbaden, 1965–1981 The Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Testament. 2nd ed. Edited by James B. Pritchard. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994 Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by James B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969 Aula orientalis. Supplementa Brown, Francis, S. R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1956–2006 Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon, http://cal.huc.edu Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. Edited by Jack M. Sasson. 4 vols. New York, 1995. Repr. in 2 vols. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2006 Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum. Paris, 1881– The Context of Scripture. Edited by William W. Hallo. 3 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1997–2002 Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by David J. A. Clines. 9 vols. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 1993–2004 Dictionary of Late Egyptian. Edited by Leonard H. Lesko and Barbara S. Lesko. 4 vols. Berkeley: B.C. Scribe, 1982–1989

xiii

xiv Abbreviations DNWSI DUL2

DULAT

EncJud ePSD

ER ETCSL HALOT

Jastrow KAI KBo

Dictionary of North-West Semitic Inscriptions. Jacob Hoftijzer and Karen Jongeling. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1995 A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition. Gregorio del Olmo Lete and Joaquín Sanmartín. Translated by Wilfred G. E. Watson. 2nd ed. Leiden: Brill, 2015 A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition. Gregorio del Olmo Lete and Joaquín Sanmartín. Translated by Wilfred G. E. Watson. Leiden: Brill, 2003 Encyclopedia Judaica. Edited by Fred Skolnik and Michael Berenbaum. 2nd ed. 22 vols. Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA, 2007 The Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 2006. http://psd. museum.upenn.edu/ Encyclopedia of Religion. Edited by Lindsay Jones. 2nd ed. 15 vols. Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA, 2005 Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, https://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk The Hebrew and Aramiac Lexicon of the Old Testament. Ludwig Koehler, Walter Baumgartner, and Johann J. Stamm. Translated and edited under the supervision of Mervyn E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1994–1999 Marcus Jastrow. A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature. 2 vols. London: Luzac, 1903 Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften. Herbert Donner and Wolfgang Röllig. 2nd ed. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966–1969 Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköi. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1916–1923; Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1954–

KTU RIMA RINAP RlA SAAB TAD TDOT

WÄS

Abbreviations

xv

Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. Edited by Manfred Dietrich, Oswald Loretz, and Joaquín Sanmartín. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995 Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period Reallexikon der Assyriologie. Edited by Erich Ebeling et al. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1928– State Archives of Assyria Bulletin Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt. Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1986–1989 Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. Translated by John T. Willis et al. 8 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974–2006 Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache. Adolf Erman and Hermann Grapow. 5 vols. Leipzig: Hinrichs; Berlin: Akademie, 1926–1931. Repr., 1963

Contributors Sarah Dorsey Bollinger is Associate Professor of Biblical Studies at Evangelical Theological Seminary in Myerstown, Pennsylvania. She also serves as curator of the David A. Dorsey Museum of Biblical Archaeology and as a faculty mentor for Sioux Falls Seminary/Kairos University. Hélène Dallaire is Earl S. Kalland Professor of Old Testament and Semitic Languages at Denver Seminary. She has authored several books, including Joshua in the Expositor’s Bible Commentary (Zondervan, 2017) and The Syntax of Volitives in Biblical Hebrew and Amarna Canaanite Prose (Eisenbrauns, 2014) and is the coeditor of “Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?”: A Grammatical Tribute to Professor Stephen A. Kaufman (Eisenbrauns, 2017). Jeffrey Duerler is an online Adjunct Instructor of Hebrew Bible at Alliance Theological Seminary in metropolitan New York, and he serves as Senior Pastor of LifeSpring Community Christian Church near Cincinnati, Ohio. He has devoted himself to bringing the fruit of scholarly study of Scripture to local faith-based communities. Nancy L. Erickson is Executive Editor of Biblical Languages, Textbooks, and Reference Tools at Zondervan Academic. She is coeditor of Windows to the Ancient World of the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Samuel Greengus (Eisenbrauns, 2014) and coauthor of Basics of Akkadian (forthcoming). Angela Roskop Erisman is Regional Director and Associate Faculty at the Brooklyn Institute for Social Research. She is the author of The Wilderness Itineraries: Genre, Geography, and the Growth of Torah (Eisenbrauns, 2011), which won the Manfred Lautenschläger Award for Theological Promise, as well as The Wilderness Narrative: Religion, Politics, and Biblical Interpretation and Numbers in the New xvii

xviii Contributors Cambridge Bible Commentary series (both Cambridge University Press, forthcoming). Kristine Henriksen Garroway is Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible at the Los Angeles campus of HUC-JIR. She has published books and articles on children in the ancient world including Children in the Ancient Near Eastern Household (Eisenbrauns, 2014), Growing Up in Ancient Israel: Children in Material Culture and Biblical Texts (SBL, 2018), and coedited with John W. Martens, Children and Methods: Listening To and Learning From Children in the Biblical World (Brill, 2020). Kyle R. Greenwood is Administrative Director of the Master of Arts in Organizational Leadership at Development Associates International. He is Associate Faculty of Old Testament at Denver Seminary and Adjunct Associate Professor of Old Testament at Fuller Theological Seminary. David Ilan is the Director of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology at HUC-JIR in Jerusalem, codirector of the Tel Dan expedition, and editor of the journal NGSBA Archaeology. Jordan W. Jones is Assistant Professor of Biblical Studies at Regent University. He is the author of She Opens Her Hand to the Poor: Gestures and Social Values in Proverbs (Gorgias, 2019). Jason Kalman is Professor of Classical Hebrew Literature and Interpretation at HUC-JIR, Cincinnati and a research fellow in the Department of Old and New Testament Studies, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of the Free State, South Africa. Most recently he is the author of The Book of Job in Jewish Life and Thought (HUC Press, 2021). Michael C. Lyons serves as an associate pastor in Cincinnati, Ohio, and teaches as an adjunct professor at HUC-JIR, the University of Cincinnati, and Columbia International University. Michael is also a fellow in the St. Basil Fellowship for the Center for Pastor Theologians. Benjamin J. Noonan is Associate Professor of Old Testament and Hebrew at Columbia Biblical Seminary of Columbia International University. He is the author of Advances in the Study of Biblical Hebrew and Aramaic: New Insights for Reading the Old Testament (Zondervan Academic, 2020) and Non-Semitic Loanwords in the Hebrew



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Bible: A Lexicon of Language Contact (Eisenbrauns, 2019) as well as the coeditor of “Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?”: A Grammatical Tribute to Professor Stephen A. Kaufman (Eisenbrauns, 2017). Carl Pace is the Senior Pastor at Zion United Church of Christ in North Canton, Ohio. Carl has taught Hebrew Bible and ancient Near Eastern studies at various institutions in Ohio, including Ohio State University, Ohio Wesleyan, Walsh University, Malone University, and Grace College and Seminary. He now enjoys giving back to the faith community and beyond by sharing the quality education he received under HUC-JIR faculty like Nili Fox. Christine Elizabeth Palmer is adjunct faculty at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, where she teaches Hebrew Bible and leads archaeological study trips to Israel and Jordan. Her work on dress was recently published alongside Nili Fox’s in Fashioned Selves: Dress and Identity in Antiquity (Oxbow, 2019). She is currently authoring a commentary on Leviticus (Crossway, forthcoming). Guy Ridge has taught courses on ancient religion, history, and languages at Xavier University, Methodist Theological School in Ohio, and HUC-JIR. Kenneth C. Way is Professor of Old Testament and Semitics at Talbot School of Theology, Biola University. He is the author of Donkeys in the Biblical World: Ceremony and Symbol (Eisenbrauns, 2011), Judges and Ruth in the Teach the Text Commentary Series (Baker, 2016), and For Us, but Not to Us: Essays on Creation, Covenant, and Context in Honor of John H. Walton (Pickwick, 2020).

Introduction

The Body as It Is Lived, Cultured, and Adorned Kristine Henriksen Garroway, Christine Elizabeth Palmer, and Angela Roskop Erisman

Dressing and adorning the body is a prominent motif woven within the writings of the Hebrew Bible. The body appears in the earliest consciousness of relationship with God and community (Gen 3:7, 21), both naked and covered, intimating that dress is more than a functional necessity; it is an act invested with social and theological meaning. Throughout the variety of literary genres in the Bible, dress marks ethnicity, signals social status, and constructs and defines gender identities. Actions performed upon dress can be legally binding: they can effect marriage and divorce, inheritance and disinheritance, as well as ordination to and abdication of office. Recent years have seen burgeoning interest in the dressed body within the social sciences as affording a unique angle from which to explore sociocultural phenomena. Dress and embodiment studies in the Hebrew Bible now join this fast-flowing current in recognition of their ability to communicate meaningfully about religious beliefs and practices. In their pioneering article, which defines dress theory, Joanne B. Eicher and Mary Ellen RoachHiggins have proposed an all-encompassing approach to dress that goes beyond textiles and footwear to include ornamentation and 1

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body modifications such as cosmetics, hairdressing, depilation, body piercing, tattooing, and even scented breath. They propose that dress be defined as “an assemblage of body modifications and/ or supplements displayed by a person in communicating with other human beings.”1 This definition recognizes socially constructed meanings in how the body is presented in the multiplicity of relationships it inhabits: kinship, ritual, economic, and political. The essays in this volume explore these relationships as they are brought to bear upon the biblical text. The clothed and adorned body has been at the forefront of Professor Nili S. Fox’s scholarship for the past decade, making Nili—as she asks her students to call her—a leader in the field. In her hallmark approach, she draws on theoretical models from anthropology and archaeology, and she locates the text within its native cultural environment in conversation with ancient Near Eastern literary and iconographic sources. Her interdisciplinary method illuminates the world of the Bible by generating new questions and probing new perspectives on the practice of religion and the construction of identity in the ancient world. What follows is an overview of her influential work on the topic of the body dressed and adorned. Dress is more than a material object. It is a means to understand how society constructs and performs identity, both individual and collective. Nili looks at how dress fashions identity in “Biblical Sanctification of Dress: Tassels on Garments.”2 A garment’s hem is a visible extension of the self and, as such, may serve as one’s proxy in transactions considered legally binding, such as the formation and dissolution of the marriage bond. The biblical injunction to fashion tassels on the edges of one’s garment appears to make use of an existing Israelite practice marking ethnicity. 1 Joanne B. Eicher and Mary Ellen Roach-Higgins, “Definition and Classification of Dress: Implications for Analysis of Gender Roles,” in Dress and Gender: Making Meaning in Cultural Contexts, ed. Ruth Barnes and Joanne B. Eicher (New York: St. Martin’s, 1992), 15. 2 Nili S. Fox, “Biblical Sanctification of Dress: Tassels on Garments,” in Built by Wisdom, Established by Understanding: Essays on Biblical and Near Eastern Literature in Honor of Adele Berlin, ed. Maxine L. Grossman (Bethesda: University of Maryland Press, 2013), 91–109.



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Biblical law imbues this practice with religious meaning so that tassels become both a reminder to perform the commandments associated with religious identity, as well as a deterrent to straying from the covenant (Num 15:38–41). Covenant faithlessness in biblical thought is likened to harlotry. Affixing tassels to the very part of the garment where marriage covenants were enacted invests the sartorial symbol with meaning that calls to mind the marital bond of Israel’s covenant for the wearer and the community alike. In “Gender Transformation and Transgression: Contextualizing the Prohibition of Cross-Dressing in Deut 22:5,” Nili takes on the sociological topic of gender and power relations from the perspective of dress.3 Gendered garb prohibiting cross-dressing in the biblical text is unique in the ancient Near East. Boundaries communicated and enacted through dress speak not only to an ordered society, but also to the belief that the identity of the wearer is woven into dress. Fabrics worn close to the body are thought to retain the person’s essence; the specific prohibition for a female not to wear gendered accoutrements that belonged to a male therefore demonstrates a lack of tolerance for the transference of male gender roles to females in a gender-dimorphic society. Identities are negotiated not only through dress but also through modifications of the body. Nili surveys practices relating to slave markings in Egypt and Mesopotamia in “Marked for Servitude: Mesopotamia and the Bible.”4 From a reversible hair style as a single curled lock to an irreversible corporal marking such as branding and tattooing, inscribing the body materializes a servant’s bond to the temple deity. Reading through the warp and weft of cultural practices shared among Israel and its neighbors, Nili elucidates the nature of slave markings in biblical law (Exod 21:5–6) and sheds new light on the practice. 3 Nili S. Fox, “Gender Transformation and Transgression: Contextualizing the Prohibition of Cross-Dressing in Deut 22:5,” in Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Nili Sacher Fox, David A. Glatt-Gilad, and Michael J. Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 49–71. 4 Nili S. Fox, “Marked for Servitude: Mesopotamia and the Bible,” in A Common Cultural Heritage: Studies on Mesopotamia and the Biblical World in Honor of Barry L. Eichler, ed. Grant Frame et al. (University Park, MD: CDL, 2011), 267–78.

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Tattoos are another way to permanently inscribe the skin, the largest canvas of the body that can be modified in communication with the world. Nili takes on the prohibition of body marking in Lev 19:28 in “Biblical Regulation of Tattooing in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Practices.”5 Contextualizing the law in its broader cultural and biblical milieu, she demonstrates how positive references to tattooing of the name or sign of YHWH are found in exilic texts where they function as a mark of divine protection. The Leviticus prohibition speaks to a priestly ideology of controlling the body to display faithful allegiance to YHWH by ensuring that body marking is limited exclusively to the worship of Israel’s deity. The internal canvas of human emotion and its embodied performance features as one of the earliest explorations of Nili’s interest in the body. In “Clapping Hands as a Gesture of Anger and Anguish in Mesopotamia and in Israel,” she proves that the lived reality of bodily practices is informed by culture and experienced differently across time and place.6 The gesture of clapping depicted in the texts and visual art of the ancient Near East can represent different emotions depending on the social or ritual context. While clapping often carries a positive emotion, lexical study of biblical occurrences shows that different terms behind the gesture signal whether it expresses joy or anguish in its embodied performance. Although emotions may be universal, their expression is culturally shaped. The material artifact of the body is explored in two articles on figurines, “The Striped Goddess from Gilat: Implications for the Chalcolithic Cult” and “Of Rattles and Rituals: The Anthropomorphic Rattle from the Nelson Glueck Collection at the Cincinnati Art Museum.”7 Two distinctive cult objects from different time 5 Nili S. Fox, “Biblical Regulation of Tattooing in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Practices,” in Fashioned Selves: Dress and Identity in Antiquity, ed. Megan Cifarelli (Oxford: Oxbow, 2019), 89–104. 6 Nili S. Fox, “Clapping Hands as a Gesture of Anger and Anguish in Mesopotamia and in Israel,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University 23 (1995): 49–60. 7 Nili S. Fox, “The Striped Goddess from Gilat: Implications for the Chalcolithic Cult,” Israel Exploration Journal 45 (1995): 212–25 and Fox and Angela R. Roskop,



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periods styled as female bodies hold clues to ritual performance. The body of the Gilat figurine is adorned with red stripes that suggest tattooing or body painting; the color red, associated with blood, is multivalent, symbolizing forces of both life and death. Could this goddess have presided over life-cycle ceremonies of birth, death, and rebirth? The unprovenanced anthropomorphic clay object from the Nelson Glueck collection at the Cincinnati Art Museum also appears to be a goddess in artistic continuity with Edomite material culture. Based on archaeological parallels, Nili and her (at the time student) coauthor Angela Roskop Erisman propose that the figurine is a rattle used in ritual contexts, as it is commonly observed that musical instruments depict female deities. The female body is the key to the object’s interpretation: rattle-type instruments shaped like a goddess are played by women who imitate the goddess as part of cultic celebrations and funerary rites. This present volume adds to the emerging discussion on dress and the body with original research by Nili’s students. The essays pay tribute to her academic interests by presenting the multiple facets of the clothed and adorned body in the Hebrew Bible. They bear testimony to her interdisciplinary approach and her inspirational teaching. Blending methodologies from archaeology, anthropology, and biblical studies, the essays offer a fresh perspective on enduring texts through the lens of the body as it is lived, cultured, and adorned. The Body Lived Kenneth C. Way’s chapter sees the body take center stage in the literary strategy of the book of Judges. The vivid physicality in narrative description draws attention to a reversal in the corporeal fortunes of Israel, from subjecting enemy bodies to slaughter and mutilation, to themselves suffering violence and symbolic national dissolution in a concubine’s dismemberment. Ideological reflec“Of Rattles and Rituals: The Anthropomorphic Rattle from the Nelson Glueck Collection at the Cincinnati Art Museum,” Hebrew Union College Annual 70–71 (2000): 5–26.

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tions on relationships of power and ethnic identity are communicated through the rhetorical use of the bodies of self and other. Jordan W. Jones probes power dynamics as fashioned and perpetuated through bodily comportment. Gesture is richly communicative in a society whose members have been acculturated into its language. The lived-in body is socialized into submission before superiors as expressed by the hand-on-mouth gesture pervasive in the ancient Near East. Written texts and visual programs modeling embodied deference act bidirectionally both to document idealized practice and to create it, demonstrating that social hierarchies are culturally produced and reproduced as they are performed in the body. The phenomenology and societal repercussions of the body made vulnerable through starvation is the subject of Michael C. Lyons’s research. Literary sources from Ramesside Egypt and the Bible prove that fragile bodies make for fragile societies. The body’s lived experience incarnates a metaphor of conflict and upheaval that brings to the fore a ruler’s ability to impose order and ameliorate distress. In such a context, the image of YHWH as nourisher and provider speaks meaningfully to the human experience. Hélène Dallaire considers the corporeal expression of emotion in the biblical vignette of Joshua at the Valley of Achor. Emotions of anguish and lament are embodied in postures of abasement, vocalized in groans, and materialized in the tearing asunder of dress. The body’s communication in the public display and enactment of grief is its own language, one that continues to resonate with contemporary relevance. Jeffrey Duerler, taking a phenomenological approach, considers the body as the site through which the world is experienced and judged. He challenges a Western visual bias by demonstrating the significance of olfaction in ancient societies for discernment and social control. Ancient Near Eastern texts on the perception and experience of smell are further illuminated by ethnographic studies to conclude that an individual body can be present to other bodies with its own atmosphere.



The Body as It Is Lived, Cultured, and Adorned

7

The Body Cultured The ideological construction and presentation of the ruling body is the subject of Kyle R. Greenwood’s inquiry. Comparing the cultural production and public display of material images of kingship in two Assyrian pedestals, he brings to bear evidence from both royal annals and the material artifacts to recover the lost identity of the king depicted in the unnamed pedestal. What if the body in society is at someone else’s disposal? Guy Ridge looks at the practice of pledging the bodies of slaves as loan collateral in the Neo-Assyrian period. Extrapolating from the treatment of individual bodies to the implications for the body politic, he redefines our understanding of slavery beyond a purely economic phenomenon to a bodily being-in-the-world, inviting the reader to further reflect on the lived experience of pawned bodies throughout time. Sarah Dorsey Bollinger focuses on a particular aspect of the body in identity formation: hair manipulation in the Nazirite vow. This body modification is effective to both produce and express a transformation of status because hair is a metonym for the self. Consecrated hair creates a visible and public identity across class and gender to grant the Nazirite a temporary ritual status equal to that of the high priest. A holy coiffure carries the clout of the bodily requirements of priestly ordination. Whereas Nazirite hair manipulation expresses agency, hair depilation performed upon the Levites as a dedication rite may signal subservience and humiliation, as argued by Nancy L. Erickson. Hair removal and temporary denuding is a marking of the body attended by a collection of negative associations, including that of the marginalized individual and the foreigner. Reversible body modifications can impose abiding social and ritual hierarchies that become lived realities. Bodies in the world of ancient Israel are not limited to human bodies but include those of material artifacts. David Ilan presents the aesthetics of the Lady of Gilat and asks how archaeological context aids in the interpretation of the figurine’s embodied affect. A figure fashioned from the clay of the earth represents the cycles of the earth and tells a story through its materiality that

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touches on shared human experience. Could this figure embody ritual passages that human bodies in society followed in enactment? The Body Adorned Dress and adornment have the power to elevate the body by their covering or debase it by their removal. On one end of the spectrum, Benjamin J. Noonan’s essay tackles the debate on the nature of Joseph’s garment, the ‫כתנת הפסים‬. Through philological, iconographic, and literary avenues, he arrives at the conclusion that this tunic was a richly variegated garment signaling status and inheritance, and that Joseph’s investiture was nothing less than the bestowal of a firstborn status. The materiality of adornment is performative and has far-reaching implications along social and kinship networks. On the other end of the spectrum, Carl Pace reveals the inherent vulnerability of identity fashioned through dress. Dressing the body is not merely a display of identity but has agency in its creation and de-creation. When garments are seized and destroyed or retained and controlled in biblical texts, power is effectively exercised over the other because dress functions as a surrogate of the self. Dress is the most visible aspect of a person’s presentation to others, making it easily invested with meaning. Kristine Henriksen Garroway deftly leads us to consider the unseen household members who fabricate Joseph’s garment and the invisible bonds of reciprocation in gift-giving culture. Dress materializes relationships and obligations as it is exchanged, as it also brings to light the intangibles of nurture, investment, and even the essence of the giver. Christine Elizabeth Palmer writes on the ritual use of dress, exploring how the twelve signet seals mounted on the high priest’s ceremonial garments are performative in covenant remembrance. The precious stones that represent the tribes evoke a continual embodied remembrance in the sanctuary through the person of the high priest. The priest’s physical body acts as a memorial and



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9

his sacral fabrics as the repository of the community’s collective memory. Finally, Jason Kalman uses the object of the sandal to trace the unfolding reinterpretation of a symbol in the literature of the Jewish community through time. The sale of Joseph by his brothers (Gen 37:28) is framed in later traditions as the exchange of his enslaved body for sandals of status. From the Testament of Zebulon to the Aramaic targumim, early rabbinic midrashim, and medieval liturgical poetry, the sandal is an apt metaphor for a sociohistorical commentary on how textual sources are updated and recontextualized to retain meaning in each successive generation. It is our hope that this volume will contribute to the growing scholarship on dress and the body and, in so doing, honor our mentor, advisor, teacher, and friend. For Further Reading Asher-Greve, Julia, and Deborah Sweeney. “On Nakedness, Nudity, and Gender in Egyptian and Mesopotamian Art.” Pages 125–76 in Images and Gender: Contributions to the Hermeneutics of Reading Ancient Art. Edited by Sylvia Schroer. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 220. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006. Batten, Alicia J. “Clothing and Adornment.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 40 (2010): 148–59. Bender, Claudia. Die Sprache des Textilen. Untersuchungen zu Kleid‑ ung und Textilien im Alten Testament. Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 177. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008. Berner, Christoph, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schulz, and Martina Weingärtner, eds. Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook. London: T&T Clark, 2019. Cifarelli, Megan, ed. Fashioned Selves: Dress and Identity in Antiquity. Oxford: Oxbow, 2019. Cifarelli, Megan, and Laura Gawlinski, eds. What Shall I Say of Clothes? Theoretical and Methodological Approaches to Dress in Antiquity. Boston: Archaeological Institute of America, 2017. Cleland, Liza, Mary Harlow, and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, eds. The Clothed Body in the Ancient World. Oxford: Oxbow, 2005.

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Collon, Dominique. “Clothing and Grooming in Ancient Western Asia.” CANE 1:503–15. Cordwell, Justine M., and Ronald A. Schwarz. The Fabrics of Culture: The Anthropology of Clothing and Adornment. The Hague: Mouton, 1979. Corrigan, Peter. The Dressed Society: Clothing, the Body and Some Meanings of the World. London: SAGE, 2008. Cras, Alban. La Symbolique du vêtement dans la Bible. Pour une théologie du vêtement. Lire la Bible 172. Paris: Cerf, 2011. Eicher, Joanne B., and Mary Ellen Roach-Higgins. “Dress and Identity.” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal 10, no. 4 (1992):1–8. _____. “Definition and Classification of Dress: Implications for Analysis of Gender Roles.” Pages 8–28 in Dress and Gender: Making Meaning in Cultural Contexts. Edited by Ruth Barnes and Joanne B. Eicher. New York: St. Martin’s, 1992. Entwistle, Joanne. The Fashioned Body: Fashion, Dress and Modern Social Theory. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Polity, 2015. Finitsis, Antonios, ed. Dress and Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: “For All Her Household Are Clothed in Crimson.” London: T&T Clark, 2019. Greenberg, Yudit Kornberg. The Body in Religion: Cross-Cultural Perspectives. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2018. Greenspoon, Leonard. Fashioning Jews: Clothing, Culture, and Commerce. Studies in Jewish Civilization 24. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 2013. Joyce, Rosemary A. “Archaeology of the Body.” Annual Review of Anthropology 34 (2005): 139–58. Liebermann, Roseanne. “Clothing and Body Modification in the Hebrew Bible.” Religion Compass 15, no. 3 (2021): https://doi. org/10.1111/rec3.12389. Mandell, Alice, and Jeremy Smoak. “The Material Turn in the Study of Israelite Religions: Spaces, Things, and the Body.” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 19, no. 5 (2019): 1–42. McKay, Heather A. “Gendering the Body: Clothes Maketh the (Wo) Man.” Pages 84–104 in Theology and the Body: Gender, Text and Ideology. Edited by Robert Hannaford and J’annine Jobling. Herefordshire: Gracewing, 1999. Quick, Laura. Dress, Adornment, and the Body in the Hebrew Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021.



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Schneider, Jane. “The Anthropology of Cloth.” Annual Review of Anthropology 16 (1987): 409–48. Schwarz, Ronald A. “Uncovering the Secret Vice: Toward an Anthropology of Clothing and Adornment.” Pages 23–45 in The Fabrics of Culture. The Anthropology of Clothing and Adornment. Edited by Justine M. Cordwell and Ronald A. Schwarz. The Hague: Mouton, 1979. Sebesta, Judith Lynn, and Larissa Bonfante. The World of Roman Costume. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001. Stavrakopoulou, Francesca. “Making Bodies: On Body Modification and Religious Materiality in the Hebrew Bible.” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 2, no. 4 (2013): 532–53. Taylor, Joan E., ed. The Body in Biblical, Christian and Jewish Texts. Library of Second Temple Studies 85. London: T&T Clark, 2015. Hansen, K. Tranberg “The World in Dress: Anthropological Perspectives on Clothing, Fashion, and Culture.” Annual Review of Anthropology 33 (2004): 369–92. Vogelzang, Marianna Egberdina, and Wout J. Van Bekkum. “Meaning and Symbolism of Clothing in Ancient Near Eastern Texts.” Pages 265–84 in Scripta Signa Vocis: Studies about Scripts, Scriptures, Scribes, and Languages in the Ancient Near East, Presented to J. H. Hospers. Edited by L. J. Vanstiphout. Groningen: Forsten, 1986.

The Body Lived

Chapter 1

Consider Her: Body-Talk as a Literary Strategy in the Book of Judges Kenneth C. Way

The composer of the book of Judges has much to say about bodies and their adornment.1 Consider, for example, the detailed descriptions of ambidextrous Benjaminites (Judg 3:15–16, 21; 20:16), costly clothing (Judg 5:30; 8:26; 14:12–13, 19; 17:10), precious jewelry (Judg 8:24–26), unshorn warriors (Judg 5:2; 13:5; 16:22), and obscene gestures (Judg 16:25). YHWH’s spirit uniquely “puts on” Gideon (Judg 6:34), and Gideon may implicitly dress with the ‫( אפוד‬Judg 8:27). Samson’s physique remarkably has no description, but his haircut — like his base behavior — may tragically identify him with the Philistines (Judg 16:17–20). Even YHWH’s physical form is manufactured and manipulated at the shrines of Micah and the Danites (Judg 17:3–4; 18:30–31). This study is offered as a tribute to my Doktormutter, Professor Nili S. Fox, who has permanently marked me in countless constructive ways through her wisdom and gentle approach to pedagogy and mentorship. Fittingly, I wrote this essay on body-talk during the season of my cancer (AML) treatment and recovery, when I was already preoccupied with corporal concerns and was contemplating the meaning of my own body alterations, including hair loss, tattoos (seriously, for radiation!), transplant of bone marrow stem cells, nerve damage, and chronic graft-versus-host disease with cosmetic challenges and dramatic changes to my skin, eyes, weight, and strength. 1 I use the term “composer” to refer to the Deuteronomist(s), redactor(s), editor(s), narrator(s), or poet(s) who purposefully produced the present form of the narrative that we call the book of Judges.



15

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Kenneth C. Way

While enemies’ bodies — to the exclusion of Israelite bodies — are mutilated, mocked, subjugated, and slain in the first half of the book (Judg 1:6–7, 17; 3:17, 21–22, 24, 29; 4:21–22; 5:26–27, 30; 7:25; 8:6, 15, 21), Israelite bodies are sacrificed, raped, altered, mocked, maimed, murdered, dismembered, and exterminated in the second half of the book (Judg 8:7–8, 16, 17; 9:5, 18, 24, 53–54; 11:30–31, 39; 12:5–6; 16:19, 21, 25, 27, 30–31; 19:24–29; 21:10–23). I suggest that the composer employs these copious corporal descriptions as a structuring device to communicate a theological point about Israel. References to the human body are selectively reported and arranged in the narrative to show the disturbing degradation and rampant corruption of Israel, which is increasingly identified with the surrounding nations. The motif of body-talk is a literary strategy that demonstrates the theme of Israel’s “Canaanization” in the book of Judges.2 The bodies in Judges can be individuals or groups; sometimes an individual body may even represent a corporate entity (e.g., Samson as Israel), or a series of individual bodies can represent a single corpus (e.g., the total of twelve judges as Israel’s tribal constitution).3 In any case, the body serves as a choice medium for communication: it speaks; it is revelatory.4 In Judg 1–8, the 2  The term “Canaanization” was coined by Daniel I. Block, Judges, Ruth, New American Commentary 6 (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1999), 58, 73, 75, 143– 44, 250, 473, 583–86. It describes how Israel spiraled downward in their cycles of sin, oppression, and deliverance to the extent that they became indistinguishable from their surroundings. Block identifies the composer’s “central thesis: Israel is in a sorry state of spiritual decline. With the abandonment of the covenant deity, YHWH, and the adoption of Canaanite cultic practices and theology came the absorption of prevailing moral and social values — in short, the Canaanization of Israelite society. The narrator’s call is a prophetic call for renewal and recommitment to the covenant God; it is a reminder of the continuation of YHWH’s gracious saving acts in history”; see Daniel I. Block, “The Period of the Judges: Religious Disintegration Under Tribal Rule,” in Israel’s Apostasy and Restoration: Essays in Honor of Roland K. Harrison, ed. Avraham Gileadi (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1988), 52. 3 Kenneth C. Way, “The Meaning of the Minor Judges: Understanding the Bible’s Shotest Stories,” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 61, no. 2 (2018): 284. 4 Brian R. Doak, Heroic Bodies in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 1, 12, 59, 66, 78, 94–95, 186. Also consider how humanity, as royal image, may function as a medium of divine revelation in Gen 1:26–27 (Doak, Heroic Bodies, 15). Of course, the idea that the human body can function as a means of divine revelation is familiar to Christian theologians through the doctrine of the incarnation.



Consider Her

17

composer employs enemy bodies, while in Judg 8–21, the composer displays Israelite bodies, all for the purpose of demonstrating a downward spiraling trajectory in Israel’s religious life. This trajectory is also evident in the way Israel conceives of YHWH’s body in the latter half of the book.5 YHWH’s body is Canaanized by Israelites, and Israelites are Canaanized as they take the corporal places of their enemies.6 Enemy Bodies (Judges 1–8) The prologue of the book of Judges (1:1–3:6) opens with a gruesome description of corporal mutilation. After the tribes of Judah and Simeon smite ten thousand (or ten contingents of) Canaanites and Perizzites at a place called Bezek, they capture the nameless leader (“the lord of Bezek”) and treat his body the way he infamously treated previously defeated kings.7 They cut off the large digits of his hands and feet (‫)ויקצצו את־בהנות ידיו ורגליו‬, and he dies sometime thereafter in Jerusalem (Judg 1:6–7). Retributive acts of physical mutilation in the aftermath of battle are well attested both in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Judg 8:7; 16:21; 1 Sam 11:2; 5 That YHWH has bodily form(s) in the Hebrew Bible is the premise of a growing corpus of literature. See, e.g., Stephen L. Herring and Garth Gilmour, “The Image of God in Bible and Archaeology,” in Between Israelite Religion and Old Testament Theology: Essays on Archaeology, History, and Hermeneutics, ed. Robert D. Miller II (Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 63–86; Mark S. Smith, “The Three Bodies of God in the Hebrew Bible,” Journal of Biblical Literature 134, no. 3 (2015): 471–88; and Benjamin D. Sommer, The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). 6  By Israel’s Canaanization of YHWH’s body, I am referring to idolatry — i.e., Israel’s tendency to conceive of and approach YHWH in the ways that other nations relate to their gods rather than in the ways YHWH reveals in the Torah through the covenant (see Judg 2:11–3:6). 7 In such military contexts (see Judg 3:29; 4:6, 10, 14; 5:8; 7:3; 8:10; 12:6; 15:11, 15–6; 20:2, 10, 15, 17, 21, 25, 34, 44–46; 21:10), it may be preferable to interpret high, rounded numbers — in multiples of one thousand — hyperbolically or to translate the term ‫ אלף‬as “contingent” or “company,” which would consist of far fewer than a thousand men; see David M. Fouts, “Numbers, Large Numbers,” in Dictionary of the Old Testament: Historical Books, ed. Bill T. Arnold and H. G. M. Williamson (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2005), 750–54; James K. Hoffmeier, Ancient Israel in Sinai (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 153–59; and John H. Walton, Victor H. Matthews, and Mark W. Chavalas, IVP Bible Background Commentary on the Old Testament (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2000), 215, 220, 250, 274, 275.

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2 Sam 4:12; Ezek 23:25) and in ancient Near Eastern texts.8 Also illustrated throughout the martial iconography of Egypt and Assyria, such acts were intended not merely to punish and incapacitate but especially to humiliate the enemy.9 Another important reference to violence against enemy bodies is implicit in Judg 1:17, where the tribes of Judah and Simeon apply the ban (‫ )חר״ם‬to the city of Zephath (called “Hormah” as a result). This fits with the general theme of chapter 1, where Israel fights against external enemies. In chapter 2 the composer also reminds us that YHWH “would deliver them from the hand of their enemies” (‫הוׁשיעם מיד איביהם‬, Judg 2:18).10 Midway through the narrative, this theme of Israel’s war with external enemies is revisited and then reversed in the Gideon cycle (in Judg 6:33–7:25 and 8:1–21, respectively; see below for my elaboration of the Gideon cycle). Then, at the very end of the book, in the second part of the epilogue (Judg 19:1–21:25), the theme of chapter 1 (Israel’s battle with external enemies) is mirrored so that Israel’s military fight is against internal enemies (i.e., civil war). The application of the ban (‫ חר״ם‬in Judg 1:17; 21:11; cf. 20:48; 21:16) and the attention on corporate Israel (Judg 1:1–2:5; 20:1–21:25) are some of the noteworthy literary connections between the opening and closing sections of the book.11 In the body of the book of Judges (3:7–16:31), the most detailed and sustained amount of body-talk is undoubtedly displayed in the Ehud cycle (Judg 3:12–30) featuring the gruesome assassination of the enemy king Eglon, who is stationed at Jericho (presumably 8  See, e.g., “Kurkh Monolith,” trans. K. Lawson Younger, Jr., COS 2.113A:262 and “Ninurta-Kudurrī-uṣur–Suḫu Annals #2,” trans. K. Lawson Younger, Jr., COS 2.115B:280. 9 For humiliation, see Tracy M. Lemos, “Shame and Mutilation of Enemies in the Hebrew Bible,” Journal of Biblical Literature 125 (2006): 225–41. For martial iconography, see illustrations and discussion in ANEP, pls. 340, 348 and Daniel I. Block, “Judges,” in Zondervan Illustrated Bible Backgrounds Commentary: Old Testament, ed. John H. Walton, 5 vols. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009), 2:108, 162–63. 10 All biblical translations are by the author, unless indicated otherwise. 11 For additional literary connections, see David J. H. Beldman, The Completion of Judges: Strategies of Ending in Judges 17–21, Siphrut 21 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017), 94–96 and Kenneth C. Way, Judges and Ruth, Teach the Text Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2016), 13–14.



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19

the referent of “the city of palms” in Deut 34:3; Judg 1:16; 3:13; 2 Chr 28:15). The name Eglon (‫)עגלון‬, meaning “Calf-man” or “Calfish/Calfy,” need not be understood pejoratively as animal names are common in Semitic languages, but the composer may imply a double entendre, as the name can allude to the enemy king as a “calf readied for slaughter,” especially when considered along with other possibly sacrificial allusions in the account (e.g., ‫ויקרב את־המנחה‬, “he presented the tribute” in Judg 3:17 and ‫חלב‬, “fat” in Judg 3:22).12 With his double-mouthed dagger concealed on his right thigh (Judg 3:16), the ambidextrous Benjaminite Ehud approaches the Moabite king under the cover of compliant tribute-bearing (Judg 3:15, 17).13 Although Eglon is often regarded as “very fat” (Judg 3:17, NRSV), the opposite meaning is likely intended here. The term ‫ בריא‬occurs fourteen times in the Hebrew Bible and never denotes obesity but instead refers to health, prosperity, or attractive appearance (see esp. Ps 73:4 and Dan 1:15; the Septuagint even renders the word as ἀστεῖος, “handsome” in Judg 3:17). The composer thus informs us that the oppressor Eglon is not an easy target but a “beefy,” “imposing,” or “strapping” man, which explains why he would have little need for guards (cf. the description of Moabite soldiers as ‫ׁשמן‬, “vigorous” in Judg 3:29) and heightens the dramatic impact of YHWH’s deliverance through Ehud. Likewise, the reference 12 On the sacrificial allusion, see Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 39. On animal names, see additional discussion and examples in Jack M. Sasson, “Ethically Cultured Interpretations: The Case of Eglon’s Murder (Judges 3),” in Homeland and Exile: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Bustenay Oded, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 130, ed. Gershon Galil, Mark Geller, and Alan Millard (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 573–74 n. 9, 590; Jack M. Sasson, Judges 1–12. Anchor Yale Bible 6D (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), 224, 249, 483–84 n. 3; Way, Judges and Ruth, 36; Kenneth C. Way, Donkeys in the Biblical World: Ceremony and Symbol, History, Archaeology, and Culture of the Levant 2 (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 175. 13 Regarding Ehud as ambidextrous, the phrase typically translated “left-handed” (‫אטר יד־ימינו‬, Judg 3:15) is rendered more precisely as “bound right hand/arm.” It does not describe a predisposition from birth but a skill acquired by deliberately restricting use of the right hand in order to train the left hand for tactical military purposes (cf. Judg 20:16; 1 Chr 12:2). As a specially trained assassin, Ehud is therefore the only judge who is demonstrably not left-handed. Incidentally, Jael is described with a right-handed disposition (Judg 5:26), unless the poet is simply using stock figures for the parallelism.

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to the “fat” (‫ )חלב‬closing over the blade (Judg 3:22) should be understood as the internal fat that protects the abdominal organs (see esp. 2 Sam 1:22 and Isa 34:6–7). When Ehud returns with his “secret/divine word” for the king’s ears only, he thrusts his dagger through — not just into — the king’s gut, strategically using his left hand (Judg 3:20–21).14 The term often rendered “belly” (‫)בטן‬ refers to the lower abdomen, and it is possible that Ehud’s calculated thrust was angled upward to sever the aorta and result in “almost immediate incapacitation.”15 The final clause in verse 22 (‫)ויצא הפרׁשדנה‬, which is omitted by the Septuagint (Rahlf’s A), is extremely difficult to interpret because the word ‫ הפרׁשדנה‬occurs nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible, and its meaning remains uncertain (although I suspect it is an anatomical term with directional heh). While the masculine singular subject of the verb ‫ ויצא‬has been creatively supplied as “dung/refuse/entrails,” or even as Ehud — exiting the murder scene toward both hapax legomena — ‫ הפרׁשדן‬and ‫( המסדרון‬Judg 3:23; presumably an architectural term with directional heh)16 — it is more likely that the masculine subject is the blade (‫להב‬, not the fs ‫)חרב‬, that would have exited Eglon’s back.17 This opens a new possibility that Ehud’s calculated thrust could sever Eglon’s spine, also bringing immediate incapacitation. After Ehud locks the doors and walks straight out of the palace, the Moabite servants infamously think their king is relieving himself (Judg 3:24). The expression “he is covering his feet/ legs” (‫ )מסיך הוא את־רגליו‬is clearly a euphemism for defecation, whereby one’s garments could provide privacy by concealing what happens in the seated position (cf. 1 Sam 24:3). The composer probably employs fecal body-talk in this story to elicit disgust

14 For the same collocation (‫תקע‬+‫)ב‬, see Judg 4:21; 16:14; Isa 22:23, 25. 15 Lawson G. Stone, “Eglon’s Belly and Ehud’s Blade: A Reconsideration,” Journal of Biblical Literature 128 (2009): 659. 16 Baruch Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 40, 44, 56–58, 69 n. 3. 17 See the NLT footnote on Judg 3:22 (“Or and it came out behind”).



Consider Her

21

toward Israel’s enemies.18 It is important to point out that this scenario is humorously imagined by the courtiers and is not in reality what is happening.19 There is no extrabiblical evidence to demonstrate that latrines were located in/under throne rooms before Hellenistic times, and it is more likely that the imagined scenario would involve the use of a chamber pot.20 Nevertheless, it is prudent to resist the popular scholarly emphasis on scatological readings of this story, especially for verse 20 (‫ )על הכסא‬and for the subject of the final clause in verse 22. Finally, with help from the Ephraimites, about ten thousand Moabite bodies, “all vigorous and valiant men” (‫)כל־ׁשמן וכל־איׁש חיל‬, are “subdued” (‫ )כנ״ע‬under Israel’s “hand/power” (‫ )יד‬at the fords of the Jordan (Judg 3:29–30).21 The prose account of Deborah and Barak (Judg 4:1–24) opens with YHWH selling the Israelites into the “hand/power” (‫ )יד‬of Jabin who reigns at Hazor, and it closes with God subduing — or, by paronomasia, “Canaan-ing” (?) — Jabin, king of Canaan (‫ויכנע‬ ‫)אלהים ביום ההוא את יבין מלך־כנען‬, while the “hand/power” (‫)יד‬ of the Israelites presses hard against him until they cut him off (Judg 4:2, 23–24).22 It is the woman’s “hand/power” (‫יד‬, Judg 4:9, 21; 5:26), however, that delivers the fatal blow to the enemy’s body 18 Thomas Staubli, “Feces: The Primary Disgust Elicitor in the Hebrew Bible and in the Ancient Near East,” in Sounding Sensory Profiles in the Ancient Near East, ed. Annette Schellenberg and Thomas Krüger, Ancient Near East Monographs 25 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2019), 119–43. 19 Sasson, “Ethically Cultured Interpretations,” 584, 590; Sasson, Judges 1–12, 238, 239. 20 Sasson, “Ethically Cultured Interpretations,” 584–86, 590; Sasson, Judges 1–12, 238–39. It has been suggested that kraters of the two-handled variety might have served as chamber pots in biblical times (David Ilan, personal communication). 21 The verb ‫ כנ״ע‬is used four times for Israel’s foreign oppressors in Judges (3:30; 4:23; 8:28; 11:33), but, ironically, Israel is progressively “subdued” by itself in the second half of the book where, coincidentally, Israel is thematically Canaanized. The composer employs ‫ יד‬as a Leitwort in a number of key phrases in this cycle (Judg 3:15, 21, 28, 30), and the term is employed extensively and variously throughout the Judges narrative (ninety-two times total). On the use of ‫ יד‬in Judg 4, see J. Gordon Harris, Cheryl A. Brown, and Michael S. Moore, Joshua, Judges, Ruth. Understanding the Bible Commentary Series (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012) 176. 22 For further discussion on the appearance of the name “Jabin” in biblical and ancient Near Eastern texts, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 45.

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when Jael drives the tent peg straight through Sisera’s temple and into the ground beneath (‫ותתקע את־היתד ברקתו ותצנח בארץ‬, Judg 4:21). The phrases and scene in verses 21–22 echo the assassination of Eglon (Judg 3:21–25) and foreshadow the demise of Abimelech (Judg 9:52–55).23 The poetic account of this story (Judg 5:1–31) adds that Jael “hammered Sisera, crushed his head, smashed and pierced his temple” (‫והלמה סיסרא מחקה ראׁשו ומחצה וחלפה רקתו‬, Judg 5:26). This ignominious description of Sisera’s death is reminiscent of Egyptian depictions of the pharaoh smashing the heads of his enemies.24 The victorious image of Jael standing over her vanquished foe (Judg 4:21; 5:26–27) is juxtaposed and contrasted with the anxious image of Sisera’s mother in verses 28–30. The motif of a woman peering through her window is commonly associated with opulence, power, and security (see 2 Sam 6:16; 2 Kgs 9:30–32). But, ironically, the image is invoked here to show the imminent reversal of fortune for Sisera’s mother.25 She tells herself that her son’s delay is due to finding and dividing the spoil of conquered women and dyed embroideries for adornment (Judg 5:29–30). Her crass term, “a womb or two” (‫)רחם רחמתים‬, is likely a pejorative designation for women who are viewed as plunder.26 This remark — surprisingly from a woman — implies that Canaanite military victories involved the routine raping of captive women as the means of commandeering vanquished bodies. The poem appropriately concludes in verse 31 with an imprecation on YHWH’s “enemies” (‫ — )אויבים‬like the Canaanites, Jabin, the city of Meroz, Sisera, and Sisera’s mother — and a blessing on YHWH’s “friends” (‫ — )אהבים‬like the willing longhairs (‫בפרע‬ ‫פרעות ביׂשראל‬, Judg 5:2), participating tribes, and individuals like 23 Doak, Heroic Bodies, 80–81, 84–85. 24 K. Lawson Younger, Jr., Judges, Ruth, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2020), 203. 25 For additional discussion of this motif, see Susan Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen: Women in Judges and Biblical Israel (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 155–62. For an ivory example from Nimrud, see ANEP, pl. 131. 26 Similar vocabulary is employed in the ninth-century-BCE Mesha stele (lines 16–17), in which Moabites kill Israelite ‫ רחמת‬at Nebo; see Shmuel Aḥituv, Echoes from the Past: Hebrew and Cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period (Jerusalem: Carta, 2008), 391, 393, 394, 409.



Consider Her

23

Deborah, Barak, and the ethnic foreigners Shamgar and Jael.27 The Gideon cycle (Judg 6:1–8:32) is the structural centerpiece of the book of Judges.28 The first half (6:1–7:25) continues the theme of violence against enemy bodies, and the second half (8:1–32) takes a turn by introducing the theme of violence against Israelite bodies while continuing to describe violence against enemy bodies. Chapter 8 is thus a transitional piece in the book that portrays Gideon more negatively than the two preceding chapters.29 The Gideon cycle begins with YHWH giving Israel into Midian’s strong, oppressive “hand/power” (‫יד‬, Judg 6:1–2; cf. 8:22; 9:17), but YHWH delivers by giving the enemy into Israel’s/Gideon’s “hand/power” (‫יד‬, Judg 6:36, 37; 7:2, 7, 9, 11, 14, 15; 8:3, 6, 7, 15). When the Midianites and their eastern allies encamp in the Jezreel Valley, God does something unusual with Gideon’s body: “Now the spirit of YHWH wore Gideon” (‫ורוח יהוה לבׁשה‬ ‫את־גדעון‬, Judg 6:34). The verb here (‫ לב״ׁש‬in qal) probably means not “to clothe” (typically expressed in hiphil) but “to put on” or “to possess.”30 YHWH’s spirit is therefore not enveloping Gideon; 27 On the foreign ethnicity of Shamgar and Jael, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 43–44, 109. The term ‫ פרעות‬in Judg 5:2 most likely means “locks/hair” (cf. NRSV: “when locks are long in Israel”) rather than “leaders” (cf. NLT, NKJV). The practice of soldiers leaving their hair unshorn during wartime may also be expressed in Ugaritic and may inform the portrayal of Samson as a long-haired Nazirite; see Doak, Heroic Bodies, 92; Mark S. Smith, The Memoirs of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 24; Mark S. Smith and Wayne T. Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Volume 2: Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 114 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 373, 648, 651, 694–95; cf. “The Blessing of Nisaba by Enki,” trans. William W. Hallo, COS 1.163:532 n. 11; Num 6:5; Deut 32:42; Judg 13:5; 16:17; Amos 2:11. 28 For extensive literary analysis, with figures and tables, see Kenneth C. Way, “The Literary Structure of Judges Revisited: Judges as a Ring Composition,” in Windows to the Ancient World of the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Samuel Greengus, ed. Bill T. Arnold, Nancy L. Erickson, and John H. Walton (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 254–55; and Way, Judges and Ruth, 3–5, 58–59, 65, 72–73. 29 Chapter 8 recounts Gideon’s moral/spiritual demise because it shows him to be a self-absorbed leader who fails to properly apprehend divine kingship. The previous themes of Gideon’s doubt and fear are totally absent in this chapter, and the previous themes of his arrogance and desire to control God (see Judg 6:36–40; 7:18) are dominant in chapter 8. 30 Nahum M. Waldman, “The Imagery of Clothing, Covering, and Overpowering,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Studies 19 (1989): 161–70. The same verbal form (‫לבׁשה‬, with spirit as the feminine subject) appears in 1 Chr 12:19; 2 Chr 24:20. See

24

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rather, it is donning or dressing with Gideon — namely, wearing Gideon as an outfit.31 God takes on Gideon’s form/appearance in order to summon the northern tribes (Judg 6:35), perhaps because Gideon is unwilling or incapable of rallying the tribes by himself.32 The spirit’s action here appears to be in fulfillment of YHWH’s promise to provide his presence for Gideon (see ‫אהיה עמך‬, Judg 6:16; cf. 2:18). The Midianites and their eastern allies are a massive body likened to locusts and the sand of the seashore (Judg 6:3, 5, 33; 7:12; 8:10), but the Israelites supernaturally function as “one man” (‫ איׁש אחד‬in Judg 6:16) against the enemy horde that ends up “fallen” (‫ נפלים‬in Judg 7:12; 8:10) as their numbers are reduced from one hundred thirty-five thousand to fifteen thousand.33 The enemy bodies are killed and dismembered as two generals are beheaded (Judg 7:25), “palms” are counted (‫כף‬, Judg 8:6, 15), and two kings — called “Sacrifice” and “Statue/Image” — are captured and killed (Judg 8:12, 21) by Gideon, the “Cutter/Hacker.”34 Judg 6:34 in LXX (ἐνδύω), NLT, and NRSV (“took possession of”); cf. Luke 24:49 (ἐνδύω). 31 What YHWH’s spirit does with Gideon in Judg 6:34 is analogous to how players in Fortnite: Battle Royale may select skins to wear as they equip themselves before entering a match. 32 For further discussion about the spirit’s activity in Judges, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 30. 33 The expression ‫ איׁש אחד‬refers not to the Midianites (as in NJPS, NLT, NRSV) but to the Israelites: “despite Gideon’s lack of official authority the Israelites would fight in concert, unified behind his leadership” (Walton, Matthews, and Chavalas, IVP Bible Background Commentary, 253). 34 For Gideon’s names and titles, see Moshe Garsiel, “Homiletic Name-Derivations as a Literary Device in the Gideon Narrative: Judges VI–VIII,” Vetus Testamentum 43 (1993): 305–6 and Way, Judges and Ruth, 61. The palms of slain foes were often removed and counted by the victors after battles in the ancient Near Eastern world. This practice is attested in Bronze Age archaeology, texts, and reliefs from Egypt; see ANEP, pls. 340, 348; Manfred Bietak, “The Archaeology of the ‘Gold of Valour,’” Egyptian Archaeology 40 (2012): 42–43; Block, “Judges,” 2:108, 162–63; Danielle Candelora, “Grisly Trophies: Severed Hands and the Egyptian Military Reward System,” Near Eastern Archaeology 84, no. 3 (2021): 192–99; “The Tomb Biography of Ahmose of Nekheb,” trans. James K. Hoffmeier, COS 2.1:5–7; and “The Memphis and Karnak Stelae of Amenhotep II,” trans. James K. Hoffmeier, COS 2.3:20. And, for the two royal names (‫)זבח וצלמנע‬, see Garsiel, “Homiletic Name-Derivations,” 308 and Richard S. Hess, “Israelite Identity and Personal Names from the Book of Judges,” Hebrew Studies 44 (2003): 32–35. The coupling of this pair of enemy



Consider Her

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Therefore, Midian is “subdued” (‫ )כנ״ע‬before the Israelites, and they never again raise their collective “head” (‫ראׁש‬, Judg 8:28).35 In summary, the thematic focus of Judg 1–8 is on the violent subjugation of the bodies of Israel’s enemies. Enemy fingers, palms, and toes are chopped. Enemy cities are banned (‫)חר״ם‬. Enemy bellies are stabbed, and enemy kings are mocked, subdued, fallen, and killed. Enemy heads are pegged, smashed, and severed. Enemies rape the bodies of conquered women. And Israelite bodies are occasionally empowered or co-opted by YHWH’s spirit to ensure deliverance when they continue to do the wrong thing in YHWH’s eyes. In Judg 1–8, enemy bodies speak about Canaan(ites) and the outside(rs) — Israel’s toxic surroundings. This is why the imprecation of the song of Deborah and Barak is so fitting: “So may all your enemies perish, YHWH!” (‫כן יאבדו‬ ‫כל־אויביך יהוה‬, Judg 5:31). At the start of the second half of the narrative, however, the composer indicates a thematic shift away from YHWH delivering them “from the hand of all their surrounding enemies” (‫ )מיד כל־איביהם מסביב‬as the Israelites forget YHWH (Judg 8:34). Israelite Bodies (Chapters 8–21) The second half of the Gideon cycle (Judg 8:1–32) introduces the disturbing theme of Israelites torturing and slaughtering fellow Israelites, so that Israel becomes its own enemy as Israelites take on the roles that Canaanites (and other enemy peoples) have in kings (Judg 8:5–7, 10, 12, 15, 18, 21) with the pair of enemy generals (Judg 7:25; 8:3) reflects the composer’s interest in doubling; see Robin Baker, “Double Trouble: Counting the Cost of Jephthah,” Journal of Biblical Literature 137, no. 1 (2018): 33–34, 37 and Doak, Heroic Bodies, 63. For dual bodies and dual body parts see, e.g., Judg 1:6–7, where enemy appendages (arms, legs, and digits) are mentioned twice; Judg 3:8, 10, where the doubly wicked enemy king is mentioned four times; Judg 5:30 (raped, enemy women); Judg 7:25; 8:3 (two enemy generals and their heads); Judg 8:5–7, 10, 12, 15, 18, 21 (two enemy kings); Judg 14:3, 7, where Samson’s eyes are mentioned twice; Judg 15:16 (heaps of enemy corpses); Judg 16:21, 28, where Samson’s eyes are mentioned twice, as well as bronze fetters; Judg 17:6; 21:25, where Israel’s eyes are mentioned twice; and Judg 19:27 (concubine’s hands). 35 Interestingly, when ‫ ראׁש‬is used for humans in Judges, it usually applies to Israel’s enemies in chapters 1–9 (5:26, 30; 7:25; 8:28; 9:57) and to Canaanized Israelites in chapters 9–21 (9:53; 10:18; 11:8, 9, 11; 13:5; 16:13, 17, 19, 22).

26

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the first half of the book. When Gideon the Cutter/Hacker returns with a newfound confidence after defeating the Midianites, he “threshes the flesh” of the men of Succoth with desert thorns and briers (‫ודׁשתי את־בׂשרכם את־קוצי המדבר ואת־הברקנים‬, Judg 8:7), and he kills the men of Penuel (Judg 8:7–9, 16–17) in what appears to be a tyrannical act of revenge against Israelite bodies who were less than supportive of his campaign.36 Starting here, vengeful acts and civil wars seem to characterize the Israelites in the second half of the book.37 Gideon also collects copious spoil from his eastern enemies, including gold jewelry, royal garments, and camel ornaments (Judg 8:21, 24–26) that are used to fund the making of an ephod (‫אפוד‬, Judg 8:27), which he installs in his hometown (presumably near the YHWH altar) to consolidate power and to control access to divine revelation.38 It is clear that the ephod is a scan36 Sasson, Judges 1–12, 359, 361, 511 n. 5 suggests that “threshing the flesh” refers to flailing or carding, while Younger, Judges, Ruth, 256 suggests that it refers to flogging or “flaying, threshing the skin, a terrible torture also attested later in use by the Assyrians. The victims die a gruesome death.” 37 See Judg 8:7–9, 16–17; 9:5, 15, 20, 24, 49–50, 56–57; 12:1–6; 15:3, 7, 11; 16:28–30; 19:22–21:12; cf. Judg 1:7 where acts of revenge seem to characterize the Canaanites. 38 See further discussion on the ephod in Way, Judges and Ruth, 66, 73, 74, 76, 77. See also Victor A. Hurowitz, “What Goes In Is What Comes Out: Materials for Creating Cult Statues,” in Text, Artifact, and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion, ed. Gary Beckman and Theodore J. Lewis (Providence: Brown University, 2006), 20– 21. On the gold jewelry, note that pieces with shapes of rings, crescents, and drips have been excavated from sites like Tell el-ʿAjjul (MB II), Beth Shemesh (LB II), Dan (MB–Iron I) and Megiddo (Iron I); see ANEP, pls. 74–75; Eran Arie et al., “A New Jewelry Hoard from Eleventh-Century BCE Megiddo,” Near Eastern Archaeology 82, no. 2 (2019): 90–101; David Ilan, “The Crescent-Lunate Motif in the Jewelry of the Bronze and Iron Ages in the Ancient Near East,” in Proceedings of the 9th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East: June 9–13, 2014, University of Basel, 3 vols., ed. Oskar Kaelin, Rolf Stucky, and Andrew Jamieson (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2016), 1:137–50; Ornit Ilan, Image and Artifact: Treasures of the Rockefeller Museum (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 2000), 34–39, 56–59. Because the phrase ‫( נזמי זהב‬Judg 8:24) also occurs in the golden calf episode (Exod 32:2–3; cf. Judg 8:26), it may be understood as an intertextual allusion to apostasy. The association of rings with cultic paraphernalia (also attested in Gen 35:4) likely reflects aspects of the worshiper’s relationship to deity; see Nili S. Fox, “Holy Piercing? The Connection between Earrings and Cult Images” (paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research, San Antonio, TX, November 18, 2004). Block summarizes Fox’s paper in Block, “Judges,” 2:165–66. If a sheqel is computed as 11.5 grams, then the total gold spoil in Judg 8:26 is about 43 lb./19



Consider Her

27

dalous blight on Gideon’s record and that it occasioned all Israel’s whoredom (‫ויזנו כל־ישראל אחריו שם‬, Judg 8:27).39 What remains unclear is Israel’s/Gideon’s thinking about this sacred garment: Is the garment conceived as clothing for Gideon, functioning in the capacity of high priest? Or, is the garment conceived as clothing for an implied cult image of YHWH? Alternatively, perhaps Gideon intends to wear and/or manipulate YHWH’s clothing. If the second or third scenario is correct, then the ephod demonstrates syncretistic assumptions about how YHWH mediates his will and presence, thereby illustrating ignorance of (or disregard for) the Decalogue (‫לא תעשה־לך פסל וכל־תמונה‬, Exod 20:4; cf. Deut 5:8). The Abimelech cycle (Judg 8:33–9:57) recounts the tragic aftermath of the Gideon story. Abimelech (meaning, “my father is king”) is ruthless like his late father, Gideon, but much worse. He is aptly described as an “anti-judge” because he oppresses and slaughters fellow Israelites and functions as an agent of injustice.40 Abimelech’s mother is Gideon’s Canaanite/Shechemite concubine (Judg 8:31). This half-blood status sets him against his seventy brothers who are from Gideon’s “legitimate” harem in Ophrah (see Judg 8:30).41 The leaders of Shechem strengthen Abimelech’s “hands” (‫ידים‬, Judg 9:24) by providing the financial capacity for Abimelech to hire reckless and “empty men” (‫אנׁשים ריקים‬, Judg 9:4) who help him to slaughter his seventy half-brothers with a sinkg. As for camels, their neckbands (‫הענקות‬, Judg 8:26) are depicted among the items of tribute presented to Shalmaneser III on the Assyrian Black Obelisk from the ninth century BCE; see ANEP, pls. 351, 353, 355; registers A-3 and C-1. 39 The verb ‫ זנ״ה‬paints an extremely graphic depiction of Israel’s covenant unfaithfulness to her divine husband, namely, Israel metaphorically sells the use of her body to another. In the second part of the prologue (Judg 2:17), the composer prepared his audience that spiritual prostitution was coming. In Judg 8:33 — introducing the Abimelech cycle — it is clear that such activity becomes the new normal for the second half of the book of Judges. 40 Abraham Malamat, History of Biblical Israel: Major Problems and Minor Issues (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 168. The composer does not include Abimelech in the roster of twelve judges, even though his story is framed as the fifth cycle; see Way, Judges and Ruth, 4, 7, 81, 85. 41 Establishing kingship through the slaughter of seventy princes (see Judg 9:18, 24, 56) is a motif that also appears in the Jehu story (2 Kgs 10:6–7) and in the eighth-century-BCE Panamuwa inscription; see “The Panamuwa Inscription,” trans. K. Lawson Younger, Jr., COS 2.37:158.

28

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gle-stone weapon (‫ אבן אחת‬is probably a mace in Judg 9:5, 18).42 After Abimelech “rules” (‫ׂשר״ר‬, not ‫ )ׁשפ״ט‬over Israel for three years, God delivers Canaanized Israel from itself by inciting war between Abimelech and the city of Shechem (Judg 9:22–24, 56). Abimelech slaughters the Shechemites (Judg 9:43–45), burns the Canaanized temple (i.e., the temple of El, Lord of Covenant) that was jammed with Shechem’s gentry (Judg 9:46–49), and then he attacks the Israelite city of Thebez without a stated reason (Judg 9:50).43 From the roof of the Thebez tower, a single nameless woman hurls an upper millstone against Abimelech’s “head” (‫)ראׁש‬, lethally crushing his “skull” (‫)ותרץ את־גלגלתו‬, and Abimelech is finished off when he is stabbed by his armor bearer (Judg 9:51–54).44 This head-crushing incident forms a strong parallel with its literary counterpart in the Deborah/Barak account. In both stories, resolution comes through the heroic efforts of a woman independently killing the enemy by a blow to his head (‫ )ראׁש‬with 42 Seventy sheqels of silver to kill seventy half-siblings strikes me as a “dirty deed, done dirt cheap” (borrowing lyrics from hard rock band AC/DC). The adjective “empty” (‫ )ריקים‬modifies “jars” (‫ )כדים‬in Judg 7:16, but it modifies the word “people” (‫ )ַַאנׁשים‬in Judg 9:4; 11:3; 2 Chr 13:7. Gregory Mobley, The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel (New York: Doubleday, 2005), 2, 36, 37 suggests that such men “lacked sturdy kinship attachments” or “a portion of the family estate,” and that they “compensated by forming pseudofamilies under the patronage of warlords, trading their services for portions of martial harvests and brigandage.” Brian R. Doak, “‘Some Worthless and Reckless Fellows’: Landlessness and Parasocial Leadership in Judges,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 11, no. 2 (2011): 21–22 translates it “landless” or “unemployed” and acknowledges that it can also refer to “moral emptiness,” serving as a pejorative for “low-class” or “peasant.” Sasson, Judges 1–12, 373, 379, 416, 421, 515 translates it “rootless.” Perhaps the adjective refers pejoratively to “godless” men, in contrast with Gideon who was possessed by YHWH’s spirit (Judg 6:34; cf. 2:18; 6:16). 43 “El, Lord of Covenant” is the full identification because Shechem’s deity is called both Baal-Berith (8:33; 9:4) and El-Berith (9:46), indicating that El is the proper name and Baal is the epithet. I describe the temple as Canaanized because YHWH’s covenant that was previously renewed at Shechem (Josh 24:1–28) is here replaced by another covenant associated with El, head of the Canaanite pantheon; see Way, Judges and Ruth, 82. 44 The upper millstone is a small handheld stone, known as the “rider,” which is used to grind grain on the large lower stone, known as the “saddle quern.” Typically made from basalt, an upper millstone weighs between four and nine pounds; see Denise D. Herr and Mary P. Boyd, “A Watermelon Named Abimelech,” Biblical Archaeology Review 28, no. 1 (2002), 34–37, 62.



Consider Her

29

an unconventional weapon (Judg 4:21; 5:26; 9:53). The notable difference is that the enemy is Canaanite (Sisera) in the earlier instance and Israelite/Canaanite (Abimelech) in the later instance. This head reversal demonstrates how Israelite bodies — now Canaanized — are functioning as enemy bodies. The Jephthah cycle (Judg 10:6–12:7), rightly regarded a “text of terror,” shows the sacrifice or slaughter of Israelite bodies by fellow Israelites.45 Like Abimelech, Jephthah emerges as an illegitimate son who surrounds himself with “empty men” (‫אנׁשים‬ ‫ריקים‬, Judg 11:1–3; cf. 8:31; 9:1–5), but he rises to become the “head” (‫ראׁש‬, Judg 10:18; 11:8, 9, 11) in Gilead in order to respond to the Ammonite oppression. Before he battles the Ammonites, Jephthah opens his “mouth” (‫פה‬, Judg 11:35–36) to make a rash vow resulting in the sacrifice of his only child and nameless daughter (Judg 11:30, 31, 34, 39).46 YHWH gives the Ammonites into Jephthah’s “hand/power” (‫יד‬, Judg 11:30, 32; 12:3), and the Ammonites are “subdued” (‫כנ״ע‬, Judg 11:33) before the Israelites. Then a civil war ensues between the Gileadites and the Ephraimites, and Jephthah pushes the Ephraimites back to the fords of the Jordan (Judg 12:1–5). In the aftermath, and based on dialectical diagnostics at the border, the Gileadites slaughter (‫ )ׁשח״ט‬a breathtaking number of Ephraimites: “At that time forty-two thousand from Ephraim fell” (‫;ויפל בעת ההיא מאפרים ארבעים וׁשנים אלף‬ Judg 12:6). The theme of civil war characterizes the second half of the book of Judges, as it is a major focus in chapters 8–9, 12, and 20–21. In all of these dark accounts, YHWH allows the Israelites to destroy themselves as they see fit (cf. Judg 21:25). Also, the Jephthah cycle offers some striking literary contrasts 45 Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 93–116. 46 The name “Jephthah” (‫ )יפתח‬means “He (Will) Open(s).” Although it probably referred to God opening the womb when the name was given at birth, the composer likely employs the name as a pun for the man who frequently opens his mouth in speech. For the former interpretation, see Younger, Judges, Ruth, 315. For the latter, see Judg 11:7, 9, 11, 12, 15–27, 30, 35–36, 38; 12:2–3; J. Cheryl Exum, Tragedy and Biblical Narrative: Arrows of the Almighty (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 48, 53, 60–65; and Moshe Garsiel, Biblical Names (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1991), 105–6.

30

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with the Ehud cycle, which deals with the other Transjordanian oppressors. First, both accounts relate the role of Ephraimites at the fords of the Jordan, positively aiding Ehud in felling/smiting the enemy (Judg 3:25, 27–29) and negatively opposing Jephthah and being slaughtered/felled by the Gileadites-Israelites (Judg 12:1– 6).47 Second, both accounts may depict forms of human sacrifice. The Moabite enemy king Eglon may be viewed as a sacrificial victim (recall the allusive terminology in Judg 3:17, 22), and the Israelite daughter of Jephthah tragically becomes a “burnt offering” (‫עולה‬, Judg 11:31).48 These contrasts are examples of the spiraling pattern of decline in the narrative that moves from synergy to civil war, or from conquest to Canaanization, in the composer’s literary agenda. The Samson cycle (Judg 13:1–16:31) is the seventh and final account in the body of the book of Judges. It is replete with body language about a Danite judge who often acts more like a Philistine than an Israelite. Samson’s anatomical features — eyes, hands, arms, shoulders, hair, head, circumcision, and physical gestures — are mentioned frequently, but his size and muscles are remarkably never described. Instead, the composer frequently 47 In Judg 12:6 the root ‫ נפ״ל‬is notably used in connection with Israelites. Before this point in the narrative, and with the exception of its use with Israel in the prologue (Judg 2:19), the root is consistently associated with Israel’s enemies (see Judg 3:25; 4:16, 22; 5:27; 7:12, 13; 8:10; 9:40). After chapter 9, the root is exclusively used with Israelites (see Judg 12:6; 13:20; 15:18; 16:30; 18:1; 19:26, 27; 20:44, 46). 48 The term ‫ עולה‬is never used metaphorically and always entails slaughter and incineration. Jephthah’s vow (“Whatever/whoever comes out;” ‫היוצא אׁשר יצא‬, Judg 11:31) thus clearly allows for the possibility of human sacrifice. I view this as a Canaanized sacrifice. It is an example of syncretism in which YHWH-worship (as circumscribed in so-called Deuteronomistic and priestly texts) is blended with the local worship practices in Transjordan. Jephthah’s wartime vow is very similar to the one made by Israel in Num 21:1–3, except that in the latter case Israel properly proposes to apply the ban (‫ )חר״ם‬to the Canaanites, and God responds positively, whereas in the former case Jephthah improperly proposes human sacrifice, and God seems to respond negatively by his silence; see Tony W. Cartledge, Vows in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 178–79; Naomi Steinberg, “The Problem of Human Sacrifice in War: An Analysis of Judges 11,” in On the Way to Nineveh: Studies in Honor of George M. Landes, ed. Stephen L. Cook and S. C. Winter (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 123. For further discussion of human sacrifice, see Kristine Garroway, Children in the Ancient Near Eastern Household, Explorations in Ancient Near Eastern Civilizations 3 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 178–97 and Way, Judges and Ruth, 104.



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states that Samson’s strength is supplied by (the spirit of) YHWH (see Judg 13:25; 14:6, 19; 15:14; 16:20, 28), even though the Philistines may assume a magical explanation (see Judg 16:5). Samson’s problems are his penchant for foreign female bodies and for gratifying his own body (instead of valuing communal interests), his identification with uncircumcised outsiders, and his apathy toward his God-given status (marked by uncut hair) and the teachings of the Torah (with ritual restrictions placed on his body).49 These problems, however, are characteristic of the nation of Israel in the context of Judges, and it is likely that the composer intends for Samson’s drama to be a representation, or embodiment, of the nation of Israel.50 The story about Samson’s marriage with the Timnite (chapters 14–15) can be viewed as a thematic contrast to Othniel’s marriage with Achsah (Judg 1:12–15). While Othniel marries a faithful insider, Samson marries a Philistine outsider. It is also ironic that Othniel is a foreigner who assimilates into Israel (Judah), while Samson is an Israelite (Danite) who assimilates into Philistia.51 Samson’s actions in chapter 14 show total disregard for the teachings of Moses and Joshua concerning marriage to outsiders (Exod 34:15–16; Deut 7:3; Josh 23:12). The phrase “from the daughters of the Philistines” (‫מבנות פלׁשתים‬, Judg 14:1) recalls the earlier statement about the inhabitants of Canaan from the second part of the prologue — namely, that the Israelites “took their daughters in marriage and gave their own daughters to their sons, and served their gods” (‫ויקחו את־בנותיהם להם לנׁשים ואת־בנותיהם נתנו‬ ‫לבניהם ויעבדו את־אלהיהם‬, Judg 3:6). The theme of marriage with outsiders, which is illustrated only in the second half of the body of the book (i.e., Gideon-Samson in Judg 8:31; 11:1; 12:9; 14:1– 49 For the motif of interest in the book of Judges, see Elie Assis, Self-Interest or Communal Interest: An Ideology of Leadership in the Gideon, Abimelech and Jephthah Narratives (Judges 6–12) (Leiden: Brill, 2005). Samson is depicted as a one-man army, a kind of Rambo character, who would be celebrated in the contemporary Western cultural milieu. But his radical independence from the corpora of his tribe or nation signals disaster in the strong group culture of the ancient Near East. 50 Doak, Heroic Bodies, 60–61. 51 Judg 1:12–15; 3:9, 11; 14:1–3, 7, 10, 14; 15:1, 10–11; 16:1, 4, 30. For further discussion of the foreign ethnicity of Othniel’s family, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 30–31.

32

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3, 10–11), demonstrates Israel’s spiritual decline and increasing loss of distinctiveness. Samson is a man who repeatedly sees something that is potentially gratifying and impulsively seizes it (Judg 14:1, 2, 8–9; 16:1). Since the Timnite woman is right in his eyes (‫ יׁש״ר‬+ ‫עינים‬, Judg 14:3, 7), he demands to marry her. The problem with his perspective is that it is not what is right “in the eyes of YHWH” (‫בעיני יהוה‬, Judg 2:11; 13:1). Samson’s selfish orientation, as described in this phrase (‫ יׁש״ר‬+ ‫עינים‬, Judg 14:3, 7), also serves a transitional function in the book of Judges, since the epilogue (chapters 17–21) illustrates how each does what is right in his own eyes (‫איׁש היׁשר בעיניו יעׂשה‬, Judg 17:6; 21:25). The story of contact with a lion corpse in Judg 14:6–9 demonstrates Samson’s apathy toward the ritual restrictions placed on his body. His contact with the dead is ritually problematic, although not irreparable given the prescriptions in Num 6:9–12, which describe the necessary steps for restoration. The problem, then, is not that Samson defends himself (in the power of the spirit) against the attacking beast. Rather, the problem is that he keeps it a secret and does not bother to follow God’s ritual instructions (Judg 14:6). What is worse is that his actions spiral downward as he later “turn[s] aside to look at the lion’s carcass” (‫ויסר לראות את‬ ‫מפלת האריה‬, Judg 14:8), extracts some unclean honey for himself, and then passes the impurity to his parents (Judg 14:9).52 These actions show a total disregard for his Nazirite status (see Judg 13:4, 7, 14), and the same deduction can be drawn from his behavior at Ramath-lehi, where he finds and grabs a fresh jawbone from an unclean donkey corpse (‫וימצא לחי־חמור טריה ויׁשלח ידו ויקחה‬, Judg 15:15).53 Chapter 16 opens with Samson’s visit to the Philistine prostitute, which results in the humiliation and exposure of the city of Gaza 52 Similar disrespect toward his parents (contra the Decalogue; see Exod 20:12; Deut 5:16) is already revealed in Judg 14:2–3, where Samson commands his parents with imperative verbal forms (cf. Samson’s use of the cohortative form with the Philistine in-laws in Judg 15:1). 53 For additional musings on why/how a fresh donkey carcass is available to Samson, see Way, Donkeys, 165, 194–96. Nili S. Fox suggests the possibility that animals did not receive proper burial in ancient Israel and Judah; see Way, Donkeys, 195; cf. Jer 22:19.



Consider Her

33

as he displaces the doors of the city “on his shoulders” (‫על־כתפיו‬, Judg 16:3) and carries them about forty miles east to Hebron, possibly with the intention of “embarrassing weak-kneed Judah for turning him over to the Philistines” (see Judg 15:9–13).54 In the next story, Samson’s love for Delilah (Judg 16:4) leads to the compromise of his God-given status (Judg 16:17), the temporary loss of divine power (Judg 16:19–20), and the loss of his eyes and freedom (Judg 16:21). But when the Philistines gouge out Samson’s eyes (‫)וינקרו את־עיניו‬, the composer begins unveiling the scene from YHWH’s eyes/perspective, as the circumstances align and Samson even prays for YHWH’s strength to be avenged for his eyes (Judg 16:28). According to YHWH’s plan (see Judg 14:4), the consequences of Samson’s compromise with Delilah will result in a divinely orchestrated scenario in which approximately three thousand Philistine bodies are slain — more than the number Samson killed during his life (Judg 16:27, 30). As the only woman named in this cycle, Delilah plays a prominent role in the narrative both as the trap for Israel’s last/worst judge and as a parallel to Achsah, who served the opposite function for the first/ideal judge (see Judg 1:11–15). While the text does not identify her ethnicity, one may infer that Delilah is Philistine (or at least non-Israelite) based on her geographical location and her political affiliations.55 While the exact location of Delilah’s home is unknown, she appears to be in Philistine territory (see Judg 16:5, 18). The Sorek Valley (Wadi es-Sarar) is Samson’s primary passageway from Dan to Philistia. The term ‫ ׂשורק‬denotes “choice (grape) vine,” and the valley includes the area of Timnah’s “vineyards” (‫כרמים‬, Judg 14:5). This familiar location may be associated with the motif of Samson’s propensity to flirt with forbidden things (like grape products; see Num 6:3–4; Judg 13:14). 54 Neal Bierling, Giving Goliath His Due: New Archaeological Light on the Philistines (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1992), 112. 55 Alternatively, some have raised the possibility that she is ethnically an Israelite who identifies with Philistia and betrays her own people for an irresistibly large amount of money; see John H. Walton and Kim E. Walton, The Bible Story Handbook: A Resource for Teaching 175 Stories from the Bible (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2010), 141. If so, then she is an example of Canaanization (or in this case, Philistinization).

34

Kenneth C. Way

After a few rounds of toying with one another about the source of his strength, Samson ostensibly tells Delilah “all his heart” (‫כל־לבו‬, Judg 16:17; cf. verses 15, 18), disclosing that his hair has never been cut due to his Nazirite status. Before she shaves “the seven locks of his head” (‫ׁשבע מחלפות ראׁשו‬, Judg 16:19), Delilah calls to Samson to ensure that he is really asleep “on her knees” (‫על־ברכיה‬, Judg 16:19).56 The Israelites and Canaanites are generally known to be hairy people, whereas the Philistines are apparently clean-shaven.57 The shaving of Samson may therefore be a symbolic act whereby Israelite identity is removed and Philistine identity is imposed.58 At the same time, the act of shaving marks a ritual transition from holy to common status (see Num 6:5; Judg 16:17).59 That Samson would so easily capitulate to Delilah and thereby risk losing his corporal sign of ethnic and sacred identity tragically reveals his moral delinquency. Importantly, Samson’s strength leaves him (Judg 16:19) only because YHWH leaves him (Judg 16:20). The source of his strength was always God, not his hair. Samson’s foolish error with Delilah is not that he discloses the secret of his strength per se. Instead, he foolishly presumes (or perhaps gambles with the hypothesis) that he is invincible because God’s power always seems to be present regardless of his apathetic behavior. He probably thinks that shaving will have no consequence since he frequently compromises his Nazirite status.60 While he fully expects to break free from the Philistines as he did on three previous occasions, God seems to view his presumption as a test that has crossed a line. Samson 56 Jack M. Sasson, “Who Cut Samson’s Hair? (And Other Trifling Issues Raised by Judges 16),” Prooftexts 8 (1988): 338. 57 Notice the clean-shaven Philistine faces in the twelfth-century BCE Medinet Habu reliefs; see ANEP, pls. 7, 57, 813 and Block, “Judges,” 2:121. 58 Susan Niditch, My Brother Esau Is a Hairy Man: Hair and Identity in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 69–70. 59 Saul M. Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish and What Do They Signal in Biblical Ritual Contexts,” Journal of Biblical Literature 117 (1998): 615, 621. 60 Notice how Samson has contact with innumerable corpses (Judg 14:6–9, 19; 15:8, 15–16), partakes in feasting that probably involves grape products (Judg 14:10; cf. Amos 2:12), and has his hair shorn (Judg 16:16–22). These are the three elements of voluntary abstinence for a Nazirite (Num 6:3–12).



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temporarily becomes weak because God may be exasperated with him. (God’s exasperation or impatient feeling toward Israel was previously expressed in Judg 10:16, ‫)ותקצר נפׁשו בעמל יׂשראל‬.61 Samson’s loss of physical strength is essentially the withdrawal of YHWH’s spirit/presence, which is a reversal of the pattern described in Judg 2:18 (‫והיה יהוה עם־הׁשפט‬, “YHWH was with the judge”).62 This motif of God’s absence/withdrawal will become dominant as the series of cycles expires and the epilogue unfolds. As is typical of ancient Near Eastern practice, the Philistines treat Samson as a prisoner of war (‫ונקריו את־עיניו… ויאסרוהו בנ־‬ ‫חשתים ויהי טוהן בבית האסירים‬, Judg 16:21).63 Grinding grain is often the work of women, slaves, and animals.64 Prisoners are often humiliated through physical mutilation (cf. Judg 1:6–7) and, in some cases, blindness.65 From a literary standpoint, there may be poetic justice in Samson’s blindness because his eyes are frequently fixed on forbidden objects (see Judg 14:1–3, 7–9; 16:1), and his Canaanized body parts are therefore mutilated in a manner reminiscent of Israel’s enemies (cf. Judg 1:6–7). When “the hair of his head” (‫שער־ראשו‬, Judg 16:22) begins to grow again, the composer may indicate that the tables are about to turn. The remark does not mean that Samson magically regains access to power but that he is transitioning back to his holy Nazirite status and to his function as a divinely empowered judge/deliverer. Next, the composer describes Samson’s physical gestures. The Philistines summon Samson “so that he may entertain” (‫ויׂשחק‬, Judg 16:25a) for them, and Samson apparently delivers when he “acted obscenely before them” (‫ויצחק לפניהם‬, Judg 16:25b). Then 61 Sasson, Judges 1–12, 407, 413–15 and Way, Judges and Ruth, 91–92. The only other place in Judges where this idiom (“his soul was short”) occurs is in the immediate context describing Samson’s impatient feeling toward Delilah (Judg 16:16). 62 J. Cheryl Exum, “The Centre Cannot Hold: Thematic and Textual Instabilities in Judges,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 52 (1990): 425. 63 Harry A. Hoffner, “Slavery and Slave Laws in Ancient Hatti and Israel,” in Israel: Ancient Kingdom or Late Invention?, ed. Daniel I. Block (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2008), 133–34 and Karel van der Toorn, “Judges XVI 21 in the Light of the Akkadian Sources,” Vetus Testamentum 36 (1986): 248–53. 64 Exod 11:5; Judg 9:53; Jer 52:11 (LXX); Lam 5:13. 65 Num 16:14; 1 Sam 11:2; 2 Kings 25:7; Isa 42:7; Jer 39:7; 52:11.

36

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the crowd is said to be “looking at the spectacle of Samson” (‫הראים‬ ‫בׂשחוק ׁשמׁשון‬, Judg 16:27b) — that is, Samson is the object of public ridicule/mockery. Since the form of the verb in verse 25b (‫צח״ק‬ in piel) is used euphemistically elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (see Gen 19:14; 21:9; 26:8; 39:14, 17; Exod 32:6), it seems likely that, when the Philistines bring out Samson for their own amusement, Samson responds with obscene gestures or with behavior that would normally be considered distasteful. A euphemism is intended to conceal; it is therefore difficult to pinpoint a specific gesture or behavior.66 Yet the verbal form used in verse 25b (‫צח״ק‬ in piel) implies that the nature of Samson’s action is insulting, offensive, or obscene to the Philistines.67 In the end Samson utters a desperate prayer for strength (Judg 16:28) that is motivated by a selfish desire for revenge rather than remorse, and YHWH acquiesces because it is part of his providential plan for Samson, Israel, and Philistia (cf. Judg 14:4). YHWH graciously grants Samson’s desperate requests for both life (Judg 15:18) and death (Judg 16:30). Perhaps Samson’s desire to die “with the Philistines” (‫עם־פלׁשתים‬, Judg 16:30) connotes that Samson is still more comfortable in Philistia than in Israel. From literary and theological perspectives, it seems fitting that Samson dies among the people with whom he lives.68 Samson’s divinely ascribed, corporally marked personal identity is incongruent with his “Philistinized” manner of life. This is a sad reality that may parallel Israel’s corporally marked national identity as defined by YHWH’s covenant, which is incongruent with their Canaanized manner of life in the land.69 66 Paul Ellingworth and Aloo Mojola, “Translating Euphemisms in the Bible,” Bible Translator 37, no. 1 (1986): 139–43. 67 For a full lexical analysis of ‫ ׂשח״ק‬and ‫צח״ק‬, see Kenneth C. Way, “The Lost World of Lexical Semantics: Samson’s Spectacle in Judges 16:25,” in “For Us, but Not to Us”: Essays on Creation, Covenant, and Context in Honor of John H. Walton, ed. Adam E. Miglio, Caryn A. Reeder, Joshua T. Walton, and Kenneth C. Way (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2020), 321–34. 68 James L. Crenshaw, Samson: A Secret Betrayed, A Vow Ignored (Atlanta: John Knox, 1978), 29; cf. Block, Judges, Ruth, 469. 69 An example from the Samson story that demonstrates Canaanization/Philistinization on a wider scale is the declaration that “the Philistines are rulers over us” (Judg 15:11). This shows how the tribe of Judah is content with the political status quo (cf.



Consider Her

37

As the body of the book of Judges (3:7–16:31) draws to a close, it is evident that Israel’s apathy and apostasy continue to increase, the human agents of deliverance are increasingly selfish and ignorant, and God’s presence and blessings are increasingly withheld from his people. It is also difficult at this point to distinguish between the practices of Israel and their neighbors. The spiral of spirituality continues to twist downward, and the cyclical pattern of Judg 2:11–19 is broken down.70 While the central body of the book ends here, the extended epilogue will provide an even darker denouement for the narrative. While YHWH’s “eyes” are present in the refrain of the body of Judges (2:11; 3:7, 12; 4:1; 6:1; 10:6; 13:1), only Israel’s “eyes” are present in the refrain of the epilogue (17:6; 21:25).71 The first refrain frames Israel’s spiraling patterns of Canaanization (‫לעׂשות‬ ‫ )הרע‬from YHWH’s perspective of Torah, covenant, and presence, while the second refrain frames Israel’s Canaanization from Israel’s perspective, which lacks divine authority and presence (‫בימים‬ ‫)ההם אין מלך ביׁשראל‬. The clause “do what is right in one’s own eyes” (‫איׁש היׁשר‬ ‫בעיניו יעׂשה‬, Judg 17:6; 21:25) should be understood with reference to Deut 12:8: “You are not to do as we do here today, each doing whatever is right in his own eyes” (‫לא תעׂשון ככל אׁשר אנחנו‬ ‫)עׂשים פה היום איׁש כל־היׁשר בעיניו‬. Instead, Israel is instructed to destroy the Canaanite worship places, to seek out the one place that YHWH chooses, and to refrain from erecting competing shrines for YHWH (like the one created by Micah!). Judges 17 depicts Micah, his mother, and the Levite all doing what seems “right in their own eyes” instead of seeking out what is “right in the eyes of YHWH.”72 Notice especially how the opportunistic Levite does not find a place and is willing to go wherever his job Judah’s opposite posture in 1:1–20) and how Judah tries to sustain the oppressive situation by giving God’s designated deliverer into the enemy’s “hand/custody” (‫יד‬, Judg 15:12–13). 70 Exum, “Centre,” 412, 423, 425. 71 For a full exposition of the compositional significance of these refrains, see Way, “Literary Structure,” 258–60 and Way, Judges and Ruth, 6–7, 21, 42, 148. 72 See, e.g., Exod 15:26; Deut 6:18; 12:25, 28; 13:18; 21:9.

38

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leads him (Judg 17:8–9; 18:19–20), regardless of God’s instructions in the Torah (see Deut 18:6). Evidently, “doing what is right in one’s own eyes” is not only about worshiping other gods but also about worshiping God the wrong way. YHWH is the only deity referenced in Judg 17–18, and that is precisely the problem.73 The depiction of YHWH worship in Judg 17–18 looks no different from Canaanite forms of worship (cf. Exod 32; 1 Kgs 12, where YHWH worship is done the wrong way). The epilogue (Judg 17:1–21:25) begins with two accounts portraying illegitimate cult places — the shrines of Micah (Judg 17:1– 13) and the Danites (Judg 18:1–31) — and the corruption of the Levitical system. Chapters 17 and 18 focus on Israel’s internal/ domestic religious failures, while the prologue of the book of Judges (particularly 2:6–3:6) deals with Israel’s external/foreign religious challenges. In Judg 17–18, YHWH’s body is represented by a physical image overlaid with silver (‫פסל ומסכה‬, Judg 17:3, 4; 18:14), accompanied by ‫ אפוד‬and ‫( תרפים‬Judg 17:5; 18:14, 17, 18, 20), and managed by priestly employees with filled “hand” (‫יד‬, Judg 17:5, 12) — that is, ordained by Micah himself. The manufacture and manipulation of YHWH’s physical form at the shrines of Micah and the Danites (Judg 17:3–4; 18:24, 27, 30–31) is the most alarming reference to YHWH’s body in the Judges narrative. YHWH’s image is the centerpiece of an assemblage that includes an illicit ephod and the anthropomorphic ‫( תרפים‬Judg 17:5; 18:14, 17, 18, 20).74 Like the previous case of Gideon’s sacred garment (Judg 8:27), here it is unclear if the ephod is a vestment intended to be worn by the Levite, by the ‫תרפים‬, or by the image of YHWH. It is possible that the problem with the ephod in the Judges narrative 73 YHWH is the only deity referenced in Judg 17–18, unless the “shrine/house of God” (‫בית אלהים‬, Judg 17:5) is mistaken as a “house of gods.” 74 These two objects were divinatory devices and not objects of worship per se. That they were used for obtaining divine guidance is implicit in Judg 18:5–6 and explicit in 1 Sam 15:23; Ezek 21:21; and Zech 10:2. Divination of this sort is forbidden in the Torah (Deut 18:10, 14). The physical form of ‫ תרפים‬appears to be anthropomorphic and variable in size (Gen 31; 1 Sam 19). Although ‫ תרפים‬may be classified as ‫( אלהים‬Gen 31:30, 32; cf. Judg 18:24), it is more appropriate to regard them not as divine images but as pertaining to the divine realm. For further discussion of ‫תרפים‬, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 146, 147.



Consider Her

39

is that, once again, it demonstrates syncretistic assumptions about how YHWH mediates his will and presence. Although the making of divine images is strictly forbidden in the Torah, the practice is nonetheless frequently attested in ancient Israel.75 The word pair used in Judg 17:3–4 to designate the image may be understood as a hendiadys that describes the method of production — that is, the image is called a ‫ פסל‬because it is initially carved or sculptured (either from wood or stone), but it is further identified as ‫ מסכה‬because the ‫ פסל‬is then overlaid with precious metal (in this case, silver).76 Notably, this precise word pair also appears in Deut 27:15, “Cursed is anyone who makes an overlaid image — abhorrent to YHWH, a work of craftsman’s hands — and sets it up in secret” (‫ארור האיׁש אׁשר יעׂשה פסל ומסכה‬ ‫)תועבת יהוה מעׂשה ידי חרׁש וׂשם בסתר‬. To summarize how YHWH’s body appears in the book of Judges, it is evident that his presence is usually identified as spirit (i.e., ‫רוח יהוה‬, Judg 3:10; 6:34; 11:29; 13:25; 14:6, 19; 15:14; cf. 2:18) and that his spirit may present/dress as a human, temporarily, when and if YHWH wills to do so (see Judg 6:34). In the second half of the book, however, it is evident that Canaanized Israelites represent YHWH on a more permanent basis whenever and however they wish by manufacturing and possibly (un)dressing God’s body at will. This Canaanized representation flies directly in the face of YHWH’s proscription: “you shall not make for yourself a carved image or any likeness” (‫לא תעׂשה־לך פסל ׀ וכל־תמונה‬, Exod 20:4; cf. Deut 5:8).77 75 See, e.g., Exod 32:1–4; Judg 3:19; 17:3, 4; 18:14, 17, 18, 20, 30, 31; 1 Kgs 12:28; Isa 40:19–20; Hos 8:4–6. Divine images are forbidden in Exod 20:4, 23; 34:17; Lev 19:4; 26:1; Deut 4:16, 23, 25; 5:8; 7:5, 25; 12:3; 27:15. 76 A similar manufacturing process is illustrated by a small bronze bull from Canaanite (MB II) Ashkelon that is overlaid with silver; see Block, “Judges,” 2:206. For analysis of ‫מסכה‬, see Stephen L. Herring, “A ‘Transubstantiated’ Humanity: The Relationship between the Divine Image and the Presence of God in Gen. I 26f.,” Vetus Testamentum 58 (2008): 14; Herring, “Moses as Divine Substitute in Exodus,” Criswell Theological Review 9, no. 2 (2012): 56, 58; and Hurowitz, “What Goes In,” 4. 77 God apparently prefers to mediate his revelation and presence through humans, not through images made by humans, because humans are designated as the only legitimate images of God in Gen 1:26–27; see Herring, “‘Transubstantiated’ Humanity,”

40

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The extended epilogue (Judg 17:1–21:25) continues with stories representing the moral nadir of the book of Judges. Chapters 19–21 have thematic parallels with the first part of the prologue (1:1– 2:5), and these bookends form an inclusio for the whole narrative. Chapter 19 shares four significant features with chapter 1:78 Both mention corporal dismemberment — one is a partial and just act against a Canaanite enemy (Judg 1:6–7; cf. 7:25); the other is a total and unjust act against an Israelite woman (Judg 19:29).79 Both mention married couples — one has names and exemplifies faithfulness (Judg 1:11–15; cf. 3:9), the other is nameless and embodies Israel’s apostasy (Judg 19:1–30).80 Both mention a woman transported by a donkey — one dismounts with her own voice heard (Judg 1:14–15); the other is only passively mounted with deafening silence (Judg 19:28).81 Finally, both mention the failures of the tribe of Benjamin — one by cohabitating with Jebusites (Judg 1:21), the other by gang rape in Gibeah (Judg 19:22–26). The nameless Levite in chapter 19 may be the most despicable individual of the entire book, even more so than the opportunistic Levite (Jonathan) from chapters 17–18!82 This Levite is apparently a man of status with multiple wives, a servant, and a number of pack asses. But he is also callously self-absorbed and is complicit in raping, murdering, and dismembering the body of his reclaimed concubine (Judg 19:25–29; 20:4–6). Upon arrival in Gibeah, the Levite tells the old man that he is on his way to “the house of YHWH” (‫בית יהוה‬, Judg 19:18), presumably at Shiloh, but the Septuagint reads “my home/house” (τὸν oἶκόν μου).83 The Greek tradition might be preferred if one seeks harmonization 1–15 and John H. Walton, Old Testament Theology for Christians (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2017), 150. 78 Tammi J. Schneider, “Achsah, the Raped Pîlegeš, and the Book of Judges,” in Women in the Biblical World: A Survey of Old and New Testament Perspectives, ed. Elizabeth A. McCabe (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2009), 43–57. 79 Beldman, Completion, 100–102 and Doak, Heroic Bodies, 61, 67. 80 Beldman, Completion, 103–5. 81 Beldman, Completion, 99. 82 Cf. Exum, “Centre,” 427. 83 It is also possible that this “house of YHWH” is at Bethel (cf. Judg 20:18, 26; 21:2).



Consider Her

41

with Judg 19:29 (‫ביתו‬, “his house/home”) and/or if one posits an early scribal practice of abbreviating the divine name.84 In the immediate context (Judg 19:18), however, the Levite may emphasize his special status and mission in order to procure some hospitable lodging for the night. Furthermore, there may be little, if any, distinction between his home and his place of employment in the hill country of Ephraim. It seems likely that the butchery of the human victim in “his house” (Judg 19:29) is actually performed in the Levitical quarters of the sanctuary, which makes this story the second instance in Judges where a Canaanized Israelite sacrifices an Israelite body (cf. Judg 11:29-40). The nocturnal urbanites from Benjaminite Gibeah are characterized in the text as ‫( אנׁשי בני־בליעל‬Judg 19:22; cf. 20:13), best translated as “worthless fellows.”85 They are “men without honor. The moral sense of the idiom is reflected by the kinds of people so characterized: murderers, rapists, false witnesses, corrupt priests, drunks, boors, ungrateful and selfish folk, rebels, and those who do not know Yahweh.”86 There is some ambiguity in Judg 19:25 regarding which man seizes the concubine and sends her outside to the worthless fellows (‫)ויחזק האיׁש בפילגׁשו ויצא עליהם החוץ‬, but this appears to be for dramatic suspense. That the Levite master likely shoved his spouse out the door is implied by the heartless portrayal of the Levite in the morning when he finds her “fallen at the house entrance with her (two) hands on the threshold” (‫נפלת‬ ‫ )פתח הבית וידיה על־הסף‬and she gives no answer as he commands her to “Get up!” (Judg 19:26–28). Although the Greek version unnecessarily adds “for she was dead” (ὃτι ἦν νεκρά; 19:28), the Hebrew text leaves her vital status ambiguous.87 If she was already dead on the doorstep, the Levite is at least an accessory to murder 84 Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 3rd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 238. In favor of the MT, see Trent C. Butler, Judges, Word Biblical Commentary 8 (Thomas Nelson, 2009), 408–9, 423 and Natalio Fernández Marcos, Judges, Biblia Hebraica Quinta 7 (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2011), 108*. 85 Barry G. Webb, The Book of Judges, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 466. 86 Daniel I. Block, Deuteronomy, NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012), 334; cf. Deut 13:13. 87 Marcos, Judges, 109*–10*.

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(see Judg 19:25). If she was still alive when he “stepped out to continue on his way” (‫ויצא ללכת לדרכו‬, Judg 19:27), then she died either on the donkey’s back or on the chopping block. Regardless of the timing, homicide occurs — note the composer’s remark in Judg 20:4 (with ‫ ;)רצ״ח‬cf. Exod 20:13; Deut 5:17 — and the Decalogue is implicitly violated.88 Upon arrival at his butchery facility, the Levite takes the knife, divides his concubine’s corpse into twelve pieces (‫וינתחה‬ ‫)לעצמיה לׁשנים עׂשר נתחים‬, and distributes her throughout all the territory of Israel (Judg 19:29; 20:6). Gale A. Yee comments that the Levite “becomes the agent of a grotesque anti-sacrifice that desecrates rather than consecrates” as the “woman’s raped and battered body replaces the sacrificial animal.”89 The practice of sending a dismembered body as a dramatic call to assembly is attested in only one other biblical passage (the king sends oxen parts to all the Israelites in 1 Sam 11:7) and in one letter from the eighteenth-century BCE Mari royal archives (the king sends the decapitated head of a human prisoner).90 In all three of these cases, the symbolic act is used as a threat or conditional curse to muster tribes for war.91 The recipients of her pieces respond in shock and awe, exclaiming: “Such a thing has never happened or been seen from the day the Israelites came up out of the land of Egypt until 88 See the discussion in David Noel Freedman, The Nine Commandments: Uncovering a Hidden Pattern of Crime and Punishment in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 114–18. 89 Gale A. Yee, “Ideological Criticism: Judges 17–21 and the Dismembered Body,” in Judges and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies, ed. Gale A. Yee, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 155. Yee’s “anti-sacrifice” is an apt synonym for “Canaanized sacrifice” because this human sacrifice, like Jephthah’s, reflects ignorance or rejection of Torah and/or syncretism of enemy theology with Israelite theology. 90 See ARM 2.48:13–24; Block, “Judges,” 2:215; and Jack M. Sasson, From the Mari Archives (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 226. 91 Daniel Bodi, “The Mustering of Tribes for Battle in 1 Samuel 11 and in ARM 2.48 and the Donkey as the Hebrew Royal Symbol in Light of Amorite Customs,” Histoire militaire ancienne, revue internationale 5 (2017): 7–16, 25. A possible later example of this rite is recorded by Herodotus (Histories 7.39–40) where King Xerxes marches his army between human body parts; see Robert B. Strassler, ed. The Landmark Herodotus: The Histories (New York: Anchor, 2009), 515.



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43

this day! Consider it/her, take counsel, and speak” (Judg 19:30): ‫לא־נהיתה ולא־נראתה כזאת למיום עלות בני־יׂשראל מארץ מצרים עד‬ ‫היום הזה ׂשימו־לכם עליה עצו ודברו‬.92 This is the most explicit and alarming instance of body-talk in the book of Judges. All Israel is confronted, tribe by tribe, to reflect and deliberate on the meaning of the concubine’s pieces (see Judg 20:7). Because Israel perpetrated this violence on itself, the composer likely employs the concubine’s dismembered body to anticipate and represent Israel’s dismembered body.93 Among the litany of abhorrent actions in this story, the victimization of women ranks high: a woman’s body is expendable, exploited, and exterminated (Judg 19:24–29; 20:4–6).94 Violent rape of an Israelite woman is here perpetrated by Israelite men (‫וידעו אותה ויתעללו־בה כל־הלילה עד־הבקר‬, Judg 19:25), whereas rape is previously, and ironically, associated with Canaanite practice in the first half of Judges (see Judg 5:30). The R-rated story of the Levite’s concubine is one of the most troubling of the so-called texts of terror in the Bible, and the composer recounts it here in order to disturb and jar the audience/reader.95 Disorder 92 For the (de)merits of the much longer Greek text here, see Bodi, “Mustering,” 10 and Marcos, Judges, 56, 110*. The antecedent of the feminine singular pronoun in “consider it/her” is either the concubine’s corpse (Judg 19:29) or the meaning of her death and dismemberment, variously identified as ‫( זאת‬Judg 19:30), ‫( הרעה הזאת‬Judg 20:3), ‫( זמה ונבלה‬Judg 20:6), ‫( הנבלה‬Judg 20:10), ‫( רעה‬Judg 20:13). 93 Doak, Heroic Bodies, 59, 94–95; Bradley J. Embry, “Narrative Loss, the (Important) Role of Women, and the Community in Judges 19” in Joshua and Judges, ed. Athalya Brenner and Gale A. Yee (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), 261, 266; Jennifer M. Matheny, “Mute and Mutilated: Understanding Judges 19–21 as a ‫ משל‬of Dialogue,” Biblical Interpretation 25 (2017): 627, 629–30, 640; and Yee, “Ideological Criticism,” 157. Matheny comments: “this Levite and ‫ פילגש‬represent a story of national and theological crisis and transition, failed leadership and a dismembered Israel” (640). 94 For my litany, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 161–62. It is no wonder that the prophet Hosea views the infamous Gibeah events as the epitome of Israel’s corruption (Hos 9:9; 10:9). 95 Matheny, “Mute and Mutilated,” 629, 637 remarks: “the toxicity of these chapters is intentional — and in Bakhtin’s term, dialogic,” and the “discordant ending is an invitation for Israel’s response, an invitation to answer.” For both ancient Israel and today, the treatment of women can serve as “a barometer of the spiritual climate of a nation, society, …family,” or congregation; see Daniel I. Block, “Unspeakable Crimes: The Abuse of Women in the Book of Judges,” Southern Baptist Journal of Theology 2, no. 3 (1998): 54; see also Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Whispering the Word:

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dominates the scene as each person lives by his own rules (see Judg 17:6; 21:25; cf. 19:24). Indeed, the epilogue of the book of Judges portrays the crescendo of Canaanization. The focus of chapter 20 is on Israel’s civil war. Whereas the first chapter of Judges stresses Israel’s foreign wars and the ban (‫)חר״ם‬ against Canaanites, chapters 19–21 stress Israel’s ban against itself. YHWH fights on Israel’s behalf in chapter 1, but he fights against Israel in chapter 20 because they are thoroughly Canaanized. Among the many specific literary connections between chapters 1–2 and 20–21, the application of the ban (Judg 1:17; 20:48; 21:11, 16) and the emphasis on all Israel (Judg 1:1–2:5; 20:1–21:25) are most relevant to the literary strategy of body-talk.96 Interestingly, the large-scale slaughter of Israelite bodies in chapters 20–21 is foreshadowed in the (second half of the) centrally positioned Gideon narrative, where Gideon slaughters Israelites on a smaller scale (Judg 8:1–21).97 The convocation of (almost) all Israel is a first in the book of Judges. Ironically, the dismembered body of the concubine is the occasion for this gathering of the unified body of Israel, which is about to dismember itself (see Judg 21:6). The phrase used here to describe Israel’s unity, “as one man” (‫כאיׁש אחד‬, Judg 20:1, 8, 11), is previously employed in Judg 6:16 (cf. 1 Sam 11:7), but here there is no judge/deliverer (divine or human) at the helm, only the depraved Levite who presumes to lead in royal prerogative by summoning the tribes for battle. The very large number in Judg 20:2, 17, most likely referring to four hundred contingents of soldiers, is the largest Israelite army ever assembled in the book of Judges. Israel’s “determination and thoroughness” in this battle surpasses “anything seen in Israel’s wars against the Canaanites elsewhere in Judges.”98 This is an inverted conquest scenario in Hearing Women’s Stories in the Old Testament (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005), 64–67, 124 n. 91 and Way, Judges and Ruth, 56–57, 162–64, 175–76, 178. 96 For a total of seven literary connections, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 165. 97 Way, Judges and Ruth, 4 (table 1) and Gregory T. K. Wong, Compositional Strategy of the Book of Judges: An Inductive, Rhetorical Study (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 129– 30. 98 Webb, Book of Judges, 478; cf. Younger, Judges, Ruth, 461.



Consider Her

45

which Israel stands in the place of Canaan and is therefore justly smitten by YHWH.99 The key theological statement in this chapter is the composer’s remark: “YHWH injured Benjamin before Israel” (‫ויגף יהוה ׀ את־בנימן לפני יׂשראל‬, Judg 20:35; cf. 21:15) — that is, YHWH gives the Israelites the victory that they want, but, ironically, the critically injured enemy is also Israelite. Israel wins its battle against the Benjaminites only because Israel loses the war against the Canaanites. Corporate Israel is YHWH’s enemy in this story because Israel is morally indistinguishable from Canaan. YHWH therefore stands against Israel and partially destroys them (or at least helps them to do so) as a necessary act of judgment. YHWH lets Israel execute justice as they see fit (Judg 20:28, 35), but Israel’s actions providentially fulfill YHWH’s judgment against the whole nation (Judg 21:3, 15). The final chapter of Judges continues the themes of chapters 19– 20. It also shares some of the same themes with the opening chapters of Judges. Both passages show Israel at war — one is against outsiders (Judg 1:1–36; cf. 6:33–7:25) and the other is against insiders (Judg 21:8–12; cf. 8:1–21). Both passages show the application of the ban (‫ — )חר״ם‬one is Torah compliant (Judg 1:17) and the other is Torah corrupted (Judg 21:10–11; cf. 20:48; 21:16).100 And both passages emphasize wives and marriage — one is idyllic (Judg 1:11–15), and the other is horrific (Judg 21:1–25; cf. 19:1–30).101 Additionally, both passages emphasize the involvement of all Israel (Judg 1:1–2:5; 20:1–21:25). The curious remark about “Shiloh which is in the land of Canaan” (Judg 21:12) may be a subtle rhetorical reminder that, even though the Israelites live in the land, the Canaanites and their influence are still ever present (cf. Amorite in Judg 1:36; Amalekite

99 For the inverted conquest theme, see Butler, Judges, lvii–lxiv and Embry, “Narrative Loss,” 259–60. 100 See Beldman, Completion, 94–96. For additional discussion of the ban, see Way, Judges and Ruth, 174. 101 See Beldman, Completion, 102–3. Notice how the Kenizzite Caleb swears to give his daughter in marriage (Judg 1:12), while the collective Israelites swear the exact opposite (Judg 21:1).

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in Judg 12:15).102 One may justifiably ask: Did the Israelites not already “take possession of the land” (Judg 2:6; cf. Deut 32:49; Josh 18:1; 21:43)? This reference to Canaan brings the entire narrative full circle, as it recapitulates the theme of Canaanization from the prologue.103 Also, the composer explains that by giving Israel victory against the Benjaminites (Judg 20:28, 35), “YHWH had made a rupture in the tribal-body of Israel” (‫עׂשה יהוה פרץ בׁשבטי יׂשראל‬, Judg 21:15). As an act of judgment against Canaanized enemy Israel, YHWH allows them to slaughter each other, although he does not command total annihilation (see Judg 20:48). Instead of YHWH relenting because of their groaning (see Judg 2:18), his stern approach to Israel here is ironically contrasted with Israel’s pity toward the Benjaminites (see Judg 21:6, 15). Israel’s grief about the tragic outcome should, however, not be confused with repentance. The Israelites actually blame YHWH for the rupture (Judg 21:3, 6, 16–17) rather than take personal responsibility.104 Finally, the “elders” (‫זקנים‬, Judg 21:16) make for a pathetic literary comparison to the elders who serve YHWH in Judg 2:7. They are morally no different from the Levite and the old host in chapter 19. This is yet another example of the pattern of moral declivity in the overarching narrative.105 In the final three chapters of Judges, what starts as a private family problem escalates to the public sphere as an urban gang rape and homicide, which leads to a national civil war, which turns into tribal genocide, which spawns more genocide and more violence against hundreds of women, and there the story tragically

102 Way, Judges and Ruth, 17, 111, 173 and Way, “Meaning,” 282. 103 The term “Canaan(ite)” occurs seventeen times in the prologue (Judg 1:1, 3–5, 9–10, 17, 27–30, 32–33; 3:1, 3, 5); cf. Lawson G. Stone, “Judges,” in Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, ed. Philip W. Comfort, 20 vols. (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House, 2012), 3:479. 104 Wong, Compositional Strategy, 217 suggests that YHWH’s action in Judg 21:15b expresses “Israel’s perspective rather than the narrator’s,” but this is unlikely considering how the composer presents God’s actions in the previous chapter (especially in Judg 20:35); cf. Block, Judges, Ruth, 573 and Lapsley, Whispering, 60–61. 105 Younger, Judges, Ruth, 475–76.



Consider Her

47

ends.106 Israel’s comprehensive Canaanization is expressed in legal casuistry as they apply the ban on their own terms (Judg 20:48; 21:10–11; cf. Deut 7; 20), kidnap girls’ bodies as needed (Judg 21:20–23; see Exod 21:16; Deut 24:7), and regard young women’s bodies as rightful objects of spoil, no different from the depraved perspective of Sisera’s mother (see Judg 5:30).107 Such repulsive attitudes and behaviors characterize Israel in this “dark age,” and, sadly, life goes on as usual as the Israelites go home, apparently content with the outcome (Judg 21:23–24; cf. 9:55). Judges does not have a happy ending. Israel’s problem in chapter 21 is the threat of Benjaminite extinction due to genocide and rash oaths, and Israel’s own solution is more genocide and the seizure of virgin bodies for Benjamin. The composer could not be clearer about why all of this has happened: “In those days there was no king in Israel; each would do what was right in his own eyes” (Judg 17:6; 21:25; cf. 18:1; 19:1). This refrain provides a “moral assessment” and “gives an important clue to the text artisan’s intention and invitation to active reading or hearing, inviting response.”108 The thematic focus of Judges 8–21 is the continuation of the violent subjugation of bodies, except that Israel takes the place of the enemy and incurs the wrath of itself and YHWH. Israelite bodies are threshed, prostituted, stabbed, slaughtered, and fallen. Their heads are smashed, and their eyes are gouged out. Israel’s bodies are mocked, sheared, and married to outsiders who worship other gods. Israelites are apathetic about or ignorant of YHWH’s Torah and covenant. Israelite bodies may dress with divine clothes, and they dress and steal divine images made by their own hands. YHWH’s spirit occasionally empowers Israelite bodies to ensure a modicum of deliverance, but YHWH also leaves and lets Israel violate and dismember itself because they eschew YHWH’s authority and do the right thing in their own eyes. Israelite daughters are sacrificed and their women are raped, 106 Block, Judges, Ruth, 515–16. 107 Michael J. Smith, “The Failure of the Family in Judges, Part 1: Jephthah,” Bibliotheca Sacra 162 (2005): 282, 284. 108 Matheny, “Mute and Mutilated,” 630–31.

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murdered, dissected, distributed, and exterminated by Israelites. A nearly united Israel bans (‫ )חר״ם‬their own urban bodies and they nearly amputate one of their tribal members by genocidal initiatives. In Judg 8–21, Israelite bodies speak about corporate Canaanization (alternatively, Amoritization, Amalekization, or Philistinization) — that is, cultural and religious assimilation with their surroundings, and Israelite bodies communicate covenant jeopardy that is self-inflicted. This is why the composer reveals that “YHWH had made a rupture in the tribal-body of Israel” (‫עׁשה יהוה פרץ בׁשבטי יׂשראל‬, Judg 21:15). Conclusion The body is revelatory; it does indeed “talk.” The composer of Judges clearly uses corporal motifs to communicate a theological message: YHWH’s body is Canaanized by Israelites, and Israelites are Canaanized as they take the corporal places of outsiders/ enemies. The composer depicts Israelites in the roles of the Canaanites. Specifically, Israelite bodies in chapters 8–21 are treated the way enemies (Canaanites or other outsiders) are treated in chapters 1–8. The Canaanite enemy who is dismembered at the beginning of the book of Judges is displaced by the nation of Israel, which is dismembered at the end. Israel becomes the enemy, and Israel is treated as such through its application of the ban (‫)חר״ם‬. The ban and the civil war in the closing chapters serve ironically as YHWH’s judgment because corporal Israel becomes progressively like its neighbors in both behavior and belief. YHWH is, after all, the ultimate ‫ ׁשפט‬who brings justice to Israel.109

109 Way, Judges and Ruth, 7–8, 95, 97–99, 165, 168–69, 172, 174, 176.

Chapter 2

An Embodiment of Silence: The Hand-on-Mouth Gesture in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East Jordan W. Jones

Six hundred armed men charged through the countryside of Ephraim, marching toward a prosperous Canaanite city that had been dug into an economically strategic patch of earth. Having no land to call their own, the Danites formed an army that could capture the city of Laish, a paradise with a lush, jungle-like ecology, rich with plant and animal life fed from the headwaters of Mount Hermon. Five of their scouts had previously discovered the settlement of a man named Micah in the hill country not far from the prized city. Micah was a man who, in syncretistic fashion typical of his time and setting, worshiped YHWH alongside other gods, having built a household shrine with graven images. He also hired a Levite named Jonathan to be his personal priest. The scouts met the newly appointed priest and were given, through his divine prescience, all assurances that they could spy out Laish in safety. After surveying the land, the scouts gave their Danite comrades the all-clear to move through the rolling hills of Ephraim toward the target city. They first stopped again at Micah’s house, and, while the army stood outside by the entrance of the settlement, five men snuck in, unbeknownst to Micah, and stole

49

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his graven images and religious implements, which they would later use to establish the Danite cult center in Laish. When confronted by a surprised Jonathan, who inquired, “What are you doing!?”, they made him an offer he could not refuse — ‫החרׁש‬ ‫ׂשים־ידך על־פיך ולך עמנו והיה־לנו לאב ולכהן‬, “Shut up! Put your hand on your mouth! And come with us so that you can be our father and priest” (Judg 18:19).1 Facing the promise of prosperity if he accepted or the certitude of death if he refused, Jonathan happily complied with the command and fell silent. As a result, his descendants became priests in the subsequently conquered city of Laish (later renamed Dan) for generations. The fate of Jonathan was secured by his willingness to respond with silence, an act clearly understood by the body idiom (or real gesture) of placing one’s hand over one’s mouth (‫)ׂשים יד על־פה‬. Various forms of gestural deference like this appear in ancient Near Eastern texts and art, but these have not been explored at length. The goal of this essay is to demonstrate how this particular gesture, as it appears in both the Hebrew Bible and ancient Near Eastern corpora (Egyptian, Levantine, and Mesopotamian texts and art), functions as an embodiment of silence — that is to say, how it is used as an indicator of deference or awe as depicted through idealized representations of lower-ranking persons in ancient Near Eastern literature and art. While each cultural context is distinct and offers its own nuances not necessarily shared by the others, a general meaning of deference is observed across the board, one that reflects a common understanding of the appropriate way to behave before a superior. Embodiment and Gesture Egyptian, Levantine, and Mesopotamian societies saw the ideal child or any person of lower rank (including those in a compromised position, like Jonathan) as one whose hand remained on his or her mouth in the presence of adults, officials, or deities. In the case of Jonathan, military power overstepped his divine appoint1 Unless otherwise specified, all translations of primary texts are my own.



An Embodiment of Silence

51

ment, and he found himself in a situation where this gesture was the path to survival. The desire to maintain social order and ranking, an evident ethos in the ancient Near East, compelled scribes and artisans to promulgate this image of the ideal lower-ranking person — the person whose hand is raised to their mouth in utter deference. While feelings of deference, awe, or humility function as underlying emotions that trigger the gesture, silence is the implied result. Over time, the lived-in bodies of real persons were no doubt shaped by these literary and artistic representations of social propriety. What makes gesticulation unique in the discussion of embodiment is its ability to preserve meaning over time. While discussions of dress and ornamentation in ancient art and mortuary archeology often lead to conclusions about the identity of the represented or real individual based on the signs employed by their dress, this approach has at times risked ignoring the real possibility of “intergenerational transmission” of objects and dress from ancestors to descendants.2 For example, a child or grandchild in artistic and burial settings may be adorned with inherited materials that do not accurately represent that child’s real status in the world. A similar problem is encountered in the interpretation of gesture in literature and art, which faces the complication of needing to distinguish between contexts, particularly whether the gesture is ordinary/habitual or ceremonial in nature. Nevertheless, the meaning of nonverbal communicative acts has in several cases proven to transcend time and culture, and the hand-on-mouth gesture is one such instance of this.3 The study of nonverbal communication is, of course, a significant discipline in its own right. Keith Thomas writes that the study of gesture in particular “is primarily the business of anthro2 Rosemary A. Joyce, “Archaeology of the Body,” Annual Review of Anthropology 34 (2005): 139–58. 3 For a comparative study of gestures in Proverbs and analogous texts from the ancient Near East, see Jordan W. Jones, She Opens Her Hand to the Poor: Gestures and Social Values in Proverbs, Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and Its Contexts 30 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2019). Although expanded and modified for the present study, some of the research presented in this chapter regarding the hand-on-mouth gesture was originally published in this volume.

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pologists, linguists, and social psychologists. They are concerned with gesture as a form of non-verbal communication.”4 Studies in anthropology have recognized the bias in how Westerners have traditionally viewed communication, casting a sense of shame on nonverbal or gestural aspects of language by viewing them as primitive and uncultured. For example, the northerners of early modern Europe regularly looked down on southerners, such as the French and Italians, accusing them of gesturing far too much.5 The sentiment was true in certain contexts from the classical period as well: “Fritz Graf reminds us that among the Romans gesticulation was thought to be more characteristic of slaves than freemen, while a recent account of gesture in France states that its use as an accompaniment of conversation is much more extensive among the working classes than among the bourgeoisie.”6 Sherman Wilcox notes, however, that, in contrast to those who formerly dismissed gesture as primitive and unnecessary in communication, linguists today “are no longer quite so certain that there is a categorical distinction between gesture and language.”7 Acknowledging the relevant role gesture plays in communication will allow scholars to view its representations as key indicators of meaning in literature and art. Although certain gestures have proven to preserve their basic meaning across time and culture, the application of studies on nonverbal communication to ancient literature is welcome and needed, since “we no longer speak the body language of the past and much of it has to be painstakingly reconstructed. We cannot 4 Keith Thomas, “Introduction,” in A Cultural History of Gesture, ed. Jan N. Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992), 4. 5 Thomas, “Introduction,” 9. 6 Thomas, “Introduction,” 10. 7 Sherman Wilcox, “Sign and Gesture,” in Metaphor and Gesture, ed. Alan Cienki and Cornelia Müller (Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins, 2008), 273. See also Raphael Schneller, “Many Gestures, Many Meanings: Nonverbal Diversity in Israel,” in Advances in Nonverbal Communication, ed. Fernando Poyatos (Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins, 1992), 216, who writes: “the general assumption that NVL [nonverbal language] is just a secondary supplement to speech, mainly emphasizing and often also illustrating the spoken word, neglects the fact that these two functions form only a small part of its various contributions to human interaction, both qualitatively and quantitatively.”



An Embodiment of Silence

53

intuitively know that when Charlemagne pulled his beard he was expressing grief or that, for Quintilian, the slapping of the thigh meant not exhilaration but anger.”8 While later scholars may have difficulty understanding and properly appreciating gesticulation, James P. Holoka notes that the ancients “knew very well that bodily movements and gestures were an important channel of communication.”9 Although he is writing specifically about the Greeks and Romans here, Holoka’s words are equally relevant for biblical and ancient Near Eastern contexts. Gestures and body idioms occur frequently in ancient Near Eastern texts of various genres. In the Code of Hammurabi, for example, there is a legal term for accusation in cases of adultery: ubana tarāṣu, “to point the finger.” Someone accused of infidelity might have a finger pointed against them: ubānum eliša ittariṣma.10 It is difficult to know whether expressions such as these were physical gestures commonly employed by Mesopotamians or merely idioms that hark back to the time of their literal use. Regardless of the answer, we can safely assume that at some point these expressions did take physical form.11 8 Thomas, “Introduction,” 10. See also Eugene S. McCartney, “Smiting the Thigh, A Widespread Gesture of Grief,” Classical Outlook 19, no. 6 (1942): 57–58 and Meir Malul, “More on Pachad Yitschaq (Genesis 21:42, 53),” Vetus Testamentum 35 (1985): 192–200. For the Hebrew gesture of anger, see Nili S. Fox, “Clapping Hands as a Gesture of Anger and Anguish in Mesopotamia and in Israel,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University 23 (1995): 49–60. 9 James P. Holoka, “Nonverbal Communication in the Classics: Research Opportunities,” in Advances in Nonverbal Communication, ed. Fernando Poyatos (Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins, 1992), 242. He concludes that if scholars could be “sensitized to the special communicative potentials of nonverbal behavior through familiarity with modern research, classicists would be ideally equipped to detect and elucidate material largely overlooked until now” (247). 10 Martha T. Roth, Harry A. Hoffner, and Piotr Michalowski, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor, Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World 6 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 1995), 106, §132. 11 Regarding idioms, see Victor H. Matthews, “Making Your Point: The Use of Gestures in Ancient Israel,” Biblical Theology Bulletin 42, no. 1 (2012): 20. Matthews remarks that the biblical authors’ use of anatomical idioms and euphemisms does not necessarily mean an actual gesture is performed. I am arguing that such idioms and euphemisms did once have original gestural applications before they fell out of use and became merely figures of speech. Depictions of gesticulation in ancient art hint toward this.

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Gestures occur frequently in the Bible as well. Expressions such as ‫תוקע כף‬, “strike the hand”; ‫קרץ עין‬, “wink the eye”; or ‫כפה‬ ‫פרשה‬, “spread open the hand” require the attention of scholars if their meaning and overall importance to the biblical text is to be understood. Such gestures not only inform us of the customs of daily life in ancient Israel but may also serve as windows into the social values system of Israelite culture.12 In this way, social values may inform literary and artistic representations that, in turn, influence real persons to gesticulate in such a way that they embody the said forms. In the case of the hand-on-mouth example, that ideal form would be deference resulting in silence. The Hebrew Expression ‫ׂשים יד על־פה‬ Before examining the gesture itself, consideration should be given to the broader concept of shutting one’s mouth in the Hebrew Bible. The act of shutting one’s mouth may have included the hand-onmouth gesture many more times than is specifically mentioned in the text.13 Attitudes of inferiority, shame, or humility can inspire deference, while feelings of shock and amazement are represented by a physical response of awe by the onlooker. More specifically, such feelings prompt a person to embody silence by shutting their mouth, sometimes involving a metaphorical “muzzle” or “door” over the mouth (see Pss 39:1; 141:3; Prov 13:3; Micah 7:5).14 In 12 Thomas, “Introduction,” 6 states: “There are two reasons why the study of gesture is of more than purely antiquarian interest. The first is that gesture formed an indispensable element in the social interaction of the past. The second is that it can offer a key to some of the fundamental values and assumptions underlying any particular society; as the French historians would say, it illuminates mentalité.” Thomas presses the point further by stating, “[t]o interpret an account for a gesture is to unlock the whole social and cultural system of which it is a part” (11). See also J. Eugene Botha, “Exploring Gesture and Nonverbal Communication in the Bible and the Ancient World: Some Initial Observations,” Neotestamentica 30, no. 1 (1996), who writes, “Like other forms of language, gesture can also be indicative of social values, social boundaries, status, and the like” (4). 13 An extreme extension of this gesture may be seen in the prostrating act of putting one’s mouth in the dust (Lam 3:29; Gen 3:14; Isa 65:25); see John A. Davies, Lift Up Your Heads: Nonverbal Communication and Related Body Imagery in the Bible (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2018), 41. 14 Davies, Lift Up Your Heads, 45.



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55

the Hebrew and other ancient Near Eastern examples, a resulting silence is implied by this gesture, but it is nuanced in at least two ways: as an act of deference or as an intentional or unintentional expression of awe. The gesture appears in several places in the Hebrew Bible: Judg 18:19; Mic 7:16; Prov 30:32; Job 21:5; 29:9; 40:4. The expression ‫ׂשי״ם יד על־פה‬, “to place hand over mouth” (sometimes with ‫ ל‬instead of ‫ )על‬connotes silence as its most basic inference, although the gesture may be triggered by feelings of deference or awe depending on the specific context in which it occurs. As Mayer Gruber puts it, “[c]onnotations such as reverence or astonishment are supplied by the context rather than by the gesture itself.”15 A helpful example from first-century CE Jewish literature is when Solomon joins with his bride, Wisdom, and surmises that his sapiential powers will be such that all those in the hearing of his voice will χεῖρα ἐπιθήσουσιν ἐπὶ στόμα αὐτῶν, “lay a hand upon their mouth.”16 They are simultaneously shocked by his wisdom and prudentially hushed. The Hebrew Bible contains several comparable examples. Judges 18:19 ‫ׂשים־ידך על־פיך‬ In Judg 18:19, as Jonathan is being seized, the priest is told ‫החרׁש‬ ‫ׂשים־ידך על־פיך‬, “Shut up! Put your hand over your mouth!” As stated in the introduction, the sense here is that the priest should keep his mouth shut lest he say something foolish that would result in him missing out on a promotion. Another example of this, although it lacks the gesture, is seen in Job 13:5, which states, ‫מי־יתן‬ ‫החרׁש תחריׁשון ותהי לכם לחכמה‬, “Oh that you would keep utterly silent, since for you it would be wisdom.” By adopting a posture of silence, the compromised Jonathan has spared his own life.

15 Mayer I. Gruber, Aspects of Nonverbal Communication in the Ancient Near East, Studia Pohl: Dissertationes Scientificae de Rebus Orientis Antiqui 12 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1980), 289. 16 Joseph Reider, trans., Book of Wisdom, Jewish Apocryphal Literature (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1957), 122–23.

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Micah 7:16 ‫ישימו יד על־פה‬ In Micah 7:16 the prophet speaks of YHWH’s future judgment of the wicked and redemption of his people, at which time ‫יראו‬ ‫גוים ויבׁשו מכל גבורתם ישימו יד על־פה אזניהם תחרׁשנה‬, “the nations shall see and be ashamed despite all their might. They shall place their hands on their mouths; their ears shall become deaf.” Micah 7:16 and Judg 18:19 place the gesture in parallel with the verb ‫ׁשח״ר‬, “to be deaf,” which implies that the specific purpose of the gesture here is for the nations to become silent, not merely awed.17 No passage of sound will be permitted; they may neither hear, nor speak. Silence is the result. Proverbs 30:32 ‫יד לפה ׂשי״ם‬ Another helpful example of this gesture occurs in Prov 30:32: ‫אם־נבלת בהתנׂשא ואם־זמות יד לפה‬, “If you have been wickedly foolish by exalting yourself, or if you have schemed, [put] your hand to your mouth.”18 As commentators point out, this verse is lacking the verb ‫ ׂשי״ם‬contained elsewhere with this expression and, as such, should be supplied here. Roland E. Murphy notes, “The gesture of hand to mouth is broad enough to indicate various reactions. In Job 21:5 it appears to designate being appalled, but here it is a clear command: Silence! This reaction is suggested by the motivation described in the next verse.”19 Those who fail to restrain foolish speech end up suffering for it. Michael V. Fox cleverly paraphrases verses 32–33 as “shut up” or else “you’ll get a bloody nose”!20 17 See also Gruber, Aspects, 289. 18 The term ‫ נב״ל‬refers to more than mere foolishness. It involves a wickedness combined with stupidity. See also Gen 34:7; 2 Sam 13:12–13; Job 2:9–10. On “put,” see Bruce K. Waltke, The Book of Proverbs: Chapters 15–31 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 462, n. 82. See also Crawford H. Toy, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Proverbs, International Critical Commentary on the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments (Edinburgh: Clark, 1977 [1899]), 537. 19 Roland E. Murphy, Proverbs, Word Biblical Commentary 22 (Nashville: Nelson, 2000), 237. 20 Michael V. Fox, Proverbs 10–31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Anchor Bible 18B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 881–82. See



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57

Another interpretation claims that ‫ ׂשי״ם‬is not implied; instead, the genitive phrase ‫ יד לפה‬may modify the verb ‫זמות‬, meaning, “If you have schemed with silence.”21 William McKane, however, extends the protasis of the conditional clause, arguing that one perpetrates wickedness by means of “silent intrigue.” The absence of a preposition such as ‫ ב‬before ‫ יד‬makes this interpretation difficult to follow. It seems more likely that the verb ‫ ׂשי״ם‬has been elided. Although the Septuagint does not retain the gesture itself, its interpretation clearly associates “hand on mouth” with disgrace rather than “silent intrigue.” The text reads ἐὰν πρόῃ σεαυτὸν εἰς εὐφροσύνην καὶ ἐκτείνῃς τὴν χεῖρά σου μετὰ μάχης ἀτιμασθήσῃ, “If you give yourself to pleasure and stretch out your hand after strife, you will be dishonored.” The passive form of the verb ἀτιμάζω, “to dishonor” reflects the translators’ understanding of ‫יד לפה‬ ‫ ׂשי״ם‬as connoting shame and disgrace — or better, perhaps, the avoidance of shame. In this case it is humility, often associated with deference, that leads the fool to gesture silence. Job 21:5 ‫וׂשימו יד על־פה‬ Marvin Pope calls the example in Job 21:5 “the gesture of awe and stupefaction” (Couroyer: “stupéfaits”).22 Job tells his friends, ‫פנו־אלי והׁשמו וׂשימו יד על־פה‬, “Turn to me and be appalled. Put your hand to your mouth” (Job 21:5). The interpretation of Job 21:5 by David J. A. Clines leaves room for the possibility that Job was also calling for a degree of deference, respectful acknowl-

also Tremper Longman III, Proverbs, Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006), 533. 21 William McKane, Proverbs, A New Approach, Old Testament Library (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970) argues: “The phrase ‘hand to mouth’ is more probably to be taken with zammōtā (Gemser, Ringgren, Scott); the alternatives then are brash and voluble self-assertiveness and silent intrigue” (665). 22 Marvin H. Pope, Job, 3rd ed., Anchor Bible 15 (New York: Doubleday, 1990), 157. See also Mitchell J. Dahood, “Northwest Semitic Philology and Job,” in The Bible in Current Catholic Thought, ed. John L. McKenzie (New York: Herdner and Herdner, 1962), 64 and Bernard Couroyer, “Mettre sa main sur sa bouche’ en égypte et dans la bible,” Revue biblique 67, no. 2 (1960): 197.

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edgement, or “consolation” in addition to his call for them to be amazed or horrified. As he puts it: if [Job’s friends] were not just to see him physically but to recognize what is before their faces — an innocent man who is being made to suffer by God like one of the wicked — they would be “appalled” or “dumbfounded” (JB) and “clap [their] hand[s] to [their] mouth[s]”; the silence that would strike them then would be the silence that Job requires of them (v 2a), a silence that would count as consolation (v 2b).23

This is taken a bit further by Robert L. Alden, who makes the connection with Job 29:9 and 13:5, “Out of respect for Job the elders in the gate used to ‘cover their mouths with their hands’ (29:9), something he now asked his friends to do (see 13:5).”24 For a visual depiction of this expression of awe, many point to a Babylonian cylinder seal depicting a scene from the Legend of Etana (figure 2.5).25 Mitchell J. Dahood describes the scene: “Etana [is] trying to rise skywards on eagle’s wings, while both men and beasts look on in amazement. All fix their gaze on the ascending figure and one of the men holds his hand to his gaping mouth in a gesture of amazement.”26 There remains the evident possibility that Job is calling for both awe and self-restraint, as his condition is appalling, and his friends’ advice never seems to stop. They are called upon to pity him and join him in his questioning of YHWH, and not to open their mouths to provide additional scathing remarks. The Septuagint of Job 21:5 contains basically the same gesture, only with σιαγόνι, “jaw” rather than στόμa, “mouth,” the latter appearing in the Septuagint of Judg 18:19; Mic 7:16; and Job 23 David J. A. Clines, Job 21–37, Word Biblical Commentary 18a (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2015), 524. 24 Robert L. Alden, Job, New American Commentary 11 (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1993), 221. 25 ANEP, 333, §695. See the section on the gesture in art, appearing later in this chapter. 26 Dahood, “Northwest Semitic Philology,” 64. See also Clines, Job 21–37, who puts no more into the gesture than awe and consolation, as he notes: “The gesture of clapping the hand to the mouth (as in 29:9; 40:4; Mic 7:16) then corresponds exactly to the silence of amazement (not exactly that ‘to speak would be useless or unwise,’ as NJB)” (524).



An Embodiment of Silence

59

29:9; 40:4. In Job 29:9, “hand” is replaced with the term δάκτυλον, “finger.” Bernard Couroyer provides a helpful list of manuscripts, showing which traditions offer “hand” and which offer “finger” for each of the eight occurrences of this gesture in the Hebrew text.27 In either case, the deferential sense of the gesture is retained. In many cases of comparing the Hebrew Bible with the Septuagint, lexical precision is not expected, especially with body idioms that may not perfectly translate into Greek or that the translators would rather interpret theologically. Job 29:9 ‫וכף יׂשימו לפיהם‬ In Job 21:5, Job is calling for his friends to gesture in a way that communicates awe and sapiential silence at their friend’s horrendous state, but Job 29:9 presents the same gesture with a different motivation: ‫ׂשרים עצרו במלים וכף יׂשימו לפיהם‬, “Princes restrained their words and they placed a hand to their mouths.” The people in Job’s hearing are stunned into silence as they listen to the great wisdom pouring from his mouth. As Norman C. Habel notes: “When he arrives at the city gate, youths shrink back in awe (v. 8a), elders defer to him (v. 8b; see Lev 19:32) and distinguished citizens cease arguing their case (vs. 9–10). Job’s word is acknowledged as authoritative.”28 There is a clear sense of “worshipful respect” for Job, as one would expect to see in a courtroom before a judge.29 The conditions warranting speech from even the upper classes, the ‫ ׂשרים‬and ‫נגידים‬, are absent owing to Job’s stirring insight: “Why would they speak when a man of such obvious wisdom and piety has the floor?”30 Once again, the nuances connoted by the gesture 27 Couroyer, “Mettre sa main,” writes, “D’où provient cette divergence de traduction et pourquoi, à trois reprises, la Vulgate a-t-elle substitué ‘doigt’ à ‘main’ modifiant ainsi notablement l’image biblique?” (199). Of the six verses that contain this gesture, two of them have slight variations from MT to LXX (Job 21:5; 29:9) and one is radically different (Prov 30:32). 28 Norman C. Habel, The Book of Job: A Commentary, Old Testament Library (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 409. 29 John Gray, The Book of Job (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2010), 356. 30 Tremper Longman III, Job, Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012), 275.

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here are likely twofold: awe for Job’s wisdom and deference motivated by an avoidance of shame (shame that would come from saying something foolish). Silence is the only appropriate response. Job 40:4 ‫ידי ׂשמתי למו־פי‬ The need for deference appears also in Job 40:4. Job tells YHWH, ‫הן קלתי מה אׁשיבך ידי ׂשמתי למו־פי‬, “Behold, I am small. How do I respond to you? I put my hand on my mouth.” At the beginning of the book’s dialogue, ‫פתח איוב את־פיהו‬, “Job opened his mouth” to bring his complaint before YHWH. Finally, having heard from YHWH toward the end of the book, he now shuts his mouth with his hand. As Gregory Yuri Glazov notes, Job 3:1 and 40:4 share a verb in common — ‫( קל״ל‬in the piel, “to curse,” in Job 3:1 and the qal, “to be small,” in 40:4).31 He goes on to say that, “[i]f the meaning of the mouth-closing gesture here at xl 4 involves self-diminution and humiliation, its antithesis to the ‘mouth-opening’ at iii 1 would imply that the mouth-opening there connotes self-aggrandizement which is how many, including Job’s friends, interpret it.”32 This view is to be contrasted with what Glazov calls the “atheistic interpretation” of Job’s gesture (promoted by John B. Curtis), which sees the gesture as an intentional act of revulsion toward YHWH’s speech.33 Tremper Longman calls this approach an “absurd and unsupported interpretation,” citing Job’s explanation in 40:5: ‫ולא אוסיף‬, “I will not (speak) again.”34 Job’s gesture may, however, contain a degree of both “humiliation” and “revulsion,” which would mean that he has spoken too soon and, hence, misinterpreted YHWH’s speech.35 He is humbled by 31 Gregory Yuri Glazov, “The Significance of the ‘Hand on the Mouth’ Gesture in Job XL 4,” Vetus Testamentum 52 (2002) notes: “The verbal link with iii 1 illustrates what semantic studies of the gesture note: that the mouth-closing gesture at xl 4 is semantically antithetical to the ‘opened the mouth’ phrase at iii 1’” (32). 32 Glazov, “Significance,” 32. See also Gruber, Aspects, 289. 33 John B. Curtis, “On Job’s Response to Yahweh,” Journal of Biblical Literature 98, no. 4 (1979): 497–511. 34 Longman, Job, 439. 35 David J. A. Clines, Job 38–42, Word Biblical Commentary 18B (Nashville: Nelson, 2011), 1139. See also Glazov, “Significance,” 40, who argues that the “hand on mouth” response to YHWH was brought on by fear and humiliation (Job 9:20, 30–24;



An Embodiment of Silence

61

YHWH’s statement of power and possibly even discontent with it; nevertheless, he resigns to simply keep his mouth shut. It is possible that Job’s gesture also communicates awe before YHWH (like the princes who shut their mouths after hearing Job’s wisdom in Job 29:9), but, if so, this cannot be the main thrust of the statement. Job’s later humiliation is a realization that he has no right to question YHWH.36 That this gesture signifies humiliation “is by the way a relatively well accepted signification of the gesture in the Bible and elsewhere.”37 Job’s attitude is an admixture of awe and humility, which inspires his deferential response of silence. As the above examples from the Hebrew Bible make clear, ancient Israelite authors were interested in promoting the idea of silence embodied before superiors, at times resulting from deference, at times awe, and occasionally both. The Ugaritic Expression ʾapk byd In the Legend of King Kirta, Ilḥu, the son of Kirta, troubles himself over the prospect of his father’s death. Kirta instructs his son to put his hand to his nose as he approaches his ʾadn, “lord” on the ṣrrt, “heights.” The text is damaged, which has led some scholars to interpret it very differently. Cyrus Gordon reconstructed the end of the first line as ʾap kbyd; improvements on his reading followed. John Gray, for example, proposed ʾapk byd.38 Johannes C. de Moor’s 1979 article credits Wilfred Watson with what he considered the most convincing translation of qḥ ʾapk byd, 13:20–21, the latter of which states, ‫ואמתך אל־תבעתני‬, “may the dread of you not terrify me!”), and by Job actually expressing his dissatisfaction with YHWH’s response. 36 Charles Muenchow, “Dust and Dirt in Job 42:6,” Journal of Biblical Literature 108, no. 4 (1989): 609–10. 37 Glazov, “Significance,” 32. 38 Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook, 192, 125:41 and Gray, KRT Text, 19, 125:41, respectively. My transcription here (ʾapk byd) follows older readings and differs from KTU (tpk b yd; 45; 1.16 i 41–42). See also John Gray, The KRT Text in the Literature of Ras Shamra (Leiden: Brill, 1955), 19, 125:41–42; Cyrus H. Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook: Grammar, Texts in Transliteration, Cuneiform Selections, Glossary, Indices, rev. ed., Analecta Orientalia 38 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1998), 192 (text 125, lines. 41–42); and Gray, Book of Job, 356.

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“Take your nose in your hand.”39 A problem occurs in the word paired with ʾap “nose” on the next line — brlt “throat” — because there are no other examples of ʾap paired with brlt, the latter being a synonym of npš.40 Another problem occurs in lines 47–48 when Ilḥu follows his father’s instructions by taking his mrḥ in his hand, a term that de Moor identifies as a synonym for ʾap but primarily means “lance, spear.”41 Could this be another way of obeying Kirta’s command to show deference? The expression qḥ .ʾapk byd was identified by Watson as an “entreaty gesture”; he based his conclusion on Gruber’s understanding of Akkadian labān appi.42 Gruber demonstrates that labān appi may involve the agent holding an object in the hand that is reaching up to their nose, such as in the Bavian relief in which Sennacherib greets the gods Ashur and Enlil (figure 2.3). This is also thought to be an explanation of Ezek 8:16–17 where, in the presence of YHWH, men put a branch to their nose. So Watson translates KTU 1.16 i 41–42 as “Take your nose in your hand, Your (‘branch’?) in your right hand.”43 John A. Davies mentions the images of individuals in cultic settings who hold branches to their noses when in the presence of a deity.44 His suggestion that it may be an “idiomatic allusion to an obscene gesture” to express an “insulting attitude towards God” seems unlikely, especially since we are talking about a religious artistic motif. Edward L. Greenstein suggested a quite different reading: qḥ . tpk byd // [m]rqṣtk . bm . ymn, “Take in your hand your timbrel, // Your dance drum in your right.”45 He states that these lines have sparked much disagreement thanks to a crack in the 39 Johannes C. de Moor, “Contributions to the Ugaritic Lexicon,” UgaritForschungen 11 (1979): 644. 40 DUL2, 85. The noun ʾap (when it means “anger”) can, however, be paired with qṣrt npš “shortness of spirit.” 41 DUL2, 567. 42 Wilfred G. E. Watson, “A Suppliant Surprised,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University 8 (1976): 105. 43 Watson, “Suppliant,” 105. 44 Davies, Lift Up Your Heads, 38. See also ANEP, §281. 45 Edward L. Greenstein, “New Readings in the Kirta Epic,” Israel Oriental Studies 18 (1998): 112.



An Embodiment of Silence

63

tablet, making the first word of the second line, brlt, difficult to read. With newer photographs, he claims that the confusion is cleared up a bit. Those who interpreted the first line as ʾapk, “your nose” have traditionally followed by reading the second line as brltk, “your neck,” but, since brlt is normally elsewhere paired with npš, “[o]ne would have to be a speaker of Ugaritic and not merely a scholar of Ugaritic to justify” pairing ʾap with brlt.46 The argument from de Moor, however, would suggest that mrḥ // grgr, “nostrils (mrḥ II) // throat” in lines 47–48 fit well with ʾap // brlt “nose // throat” in lines 41–42.47 KTU, although identical with Greenstein’s reading of the first line, qḥ . tpk b yd, has retained the older reading for the second line: brltk . bm . ymn.48 Dennis Pardee follows this reading, translating tpk as “tambourine” but leaving the translation for brlt blank.49 It is difficult to proceed with certainty when a text is damaged, when subjectivity becomes so great a factor. If the older reading of the text could be retained, then it could be argued that Kirta is asking his son to qḥ .ʾapk byd, “take your nose in your hand” as you lk . šr . ʿl ṣrrt , “go [to your] lord on the heights” (line 43), which, if viewed in conjunction with Akkadian labān appi, would be the appropriate gesture of deference (and, hence, silence) before a god or someone of higher authority. The Akkadian Expression ina labān appi The inscription recounting Sargon II’s eighth campaign is styled as a letter to the god Ashur and further serves to demonstrate the king’s humility before the gods. After conquering Mannea, he describes standing before Nergal, Adad, and Ištar in utter gratitude and humility, with his hand to his nose: ina labān appi u utninni maḫaršun azzizma, “in humility (Lit. “touching the nose”) and

46 Greenstein, “New Readings,” 112. 47 de Moor, “Contributions,” 644–45. 48 KTU 45; 1.16 i 41–42. 49 “The Kirta Epic,” trans. Dennis Pardee, COS 1:340, i 46f.

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An Embodiment of Silence

65

supplication I stood before them.”50 Megan Cifarelli calls labān appi “a ceremonial act that expresses humility and intensified begging for mercy in the presence of divinity.”51 The expression appa labānu, “to spread the hand on the nose” is sometimes written with the Sumerogram kir4.šu.gal2, meaning literally “to place the hand on the nose” (see further discussion in the section below titled “Sumerian Expression”).52 The verb labānu, written in other contexts as du, “spread,” often means “to make bricks,” as in spreading mud, but, when used with appu, “nose,” it forms the body idiom “to spread (or “touch”) the hand on the nose.”53 The gesture appa labānu is meant “to express humility toward gods, kings and human beings. Though listed among the synonyms for praying, appa labānu seems to denote the gesture accompanying a supplication, a prayer for mercy, the expression of complete obedience, etc.”54 Yet it is not altogether clear that audible begging/prayer was exactly simultaneous to the gesture; it may be that supplication followed the silent act. The Chicago Assyrian Dictionary provides a plethora of other examples of this gesture in a variety of contexts, each being so similar that they do not warrant individual mention: humans gesturing to other humans,

50 Textes cunéiformes du Louvre 3:161. See also “utnēnu,” CAD 20:336, “uzuzzu 4b” 20:379 and “labānu B” 9:11 and François Thureau-Dangin, Une Relation de la huitième campagne de Sargon, Textes Cunéiformes 3 (Paris: Guethner, 1912), 161. For a recent study of the Sargon II texts, see Grant Frame, The Royal Inscriptions of Sargon II, King of Assyria (721–705 BC) (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2021). 51 Megan Cifarelli, “Gesture and Alterity in the Art of Ashurnasirpal II of Assyria,” Art Bulletin 80, no. 2 (1998): 216. In discussing the raised fist gesture in Assyrian art of Ashurnasirpal II, Cifarelli adds that “[t]he royal inscriptions of a later Assyrian king, Sargon II, suggests that prisoners of war approached the king in the laban appu attitude. The consistency with which tributaries — particularly their higher-ranking leaders — are represented with their fists raised in this gesture, and its marked resemblance to laban appi, strongly suggest that the raising of fists, in conjunction with the crouched posture, was in fact a ceremonial stance or ritual act by which these peoples formally submitted and perhaps pledged fealty to the Assyrian king” (216–17). 52 René Labat, Manuel d’épigraphie akkadienne. Signes, syllabaire, idéogrammes (Paris: Geuthner, 1976), 49. The sign ka can be written a number of ways, such as kir4, kiri3, or kiri4 (Gudea Cylinder). 53 “labānu A,” CAD 9:8–10. 54 “labānu B,” CAD 9:12.

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humans gesturing to the gods, and gods gesturing to other gods.55 As here, the verb commonly appears as an infinitive following ina. There are, however, examples where the verb is finite, as in appa ana mitūtu alabbin, “I was humbling myself (lit. touching the nose) to death!,” where alabbin is G durative.56 Although there is likely an added ceremonial function in the gesture, at its core it is consistent with what we find in Biblical Hebrew: a reaction of deference before authority resulting in an embodiment of silence. The Egyptian Expression iw ḥmsi.k ḏrt.k m r.k The wisdom text popularly titled Satire of the Trades records a man’s effort to instruct his son on the benefits of the scribal profession as contrasted with the horrors (if we are indeed to take this as satire) of other ordinary occupations.57 When the son enters another man’s house to speak with him, the disciple needs to remain patient and mindful — iw ḥmsi.k ḏrt.k m r.k, “You shall sit with your hand over your mouth.”58 The young man must ḥmsi, “sit” with ḏrt.k m r.k, “your hand on your mouth” — as Helck translates the phrase, “so sollst du mit deiner Hand an deinem Mund dasitzen,” providing the prospective sḏm.f sense of ḥms.k, “should sit” rather than translating it as a command.59 To rudely interrupt would be imprudent and frowned upon.60 The motivation for the gesture in this context is not awe for the deity or authority but deference, a calculated respect that one employs in order to avoid shame or embarrassment. The evidence for this comes in the following lines, which state, “Do not ask him for anything, / Only do as he tells you, / Beware of rushing to the 55 “labānu B,” CAD 9:12. 56 “labānu B,” CAD 9:11. 57 Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 1:184. 58 Papyrus Sallier II:9; see Wolfgang Helck, Die Lehre des Dw3-Ḫtjj, 2 vols. (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1970), 2:128–29 and Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973–75), 1:190. 59 Helck, Die Lehre, 129. 60 Gray, Book of Job, 293. Gray also mentions that, “In Egyptian legal convention [this gesture] signified that a litigant desisted from his case (293).”



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table!”61 In a similar biblical warning, the owner of the house is considered dangerous; hence, the disciple is warned to ‫בין תבין‬, “consider carefully” before indulging himself at the dinner table of such a ruler, for the food itself is deceptive ‫( לחם כזבים‬Prov 23:1–3). For the sake of his health, the wise Egyptian boy does well to cover his mouth before the elder. The example here from Egypt demonstrates that the social value of deference toward authority, leading to silence, existed across cultures and was desirable for young people in the company of elders. The Sumerian Expression [g]u3-de2-a [...] ka šu im-ma-ĝal2 In the Gudea cylinders, it is revealed that Gudea, ruler of Lagash, has discovered through dreams that he is to build a new temple to the god Ningirshu. In the lines under consideration here, Gudea is entering the temple to make bricks. As he enters, he is sure to raise his hand to his mouth: [g]u 3 - de 2 -a [...] ka šu im-maĝal 2 , “Gudea [...] put his hand to his nose.”62 Richard Averbeck elaborates on the context: “line 9 refers to the gesture which Gudea was making with his right hand while Ningishzida (his personal god) was leading him before the god(s) in the context of worshipful pious activity (lines 15–16).”63 He points to Gudea Cylinder A 8:14, 18:9, and B 8:19 as containing the expression k ir i 4 (ka, kag 2 ) šu gál, “to place the hand on the nose” with CA 8:14 and CB 8:19 referring to prayer, but CA 18:9 occurs “in a context of worship and presentation before the god(s), a situation that is not limited to prayer.”64 The sign for “nose” is listed

61 Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 1:190. 62 Dietz Otto Edzard, Gudea and His Dynasty, Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Early Periods 3/1 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 80; 18:6a, 9. 63 Richard Averbeck, “A Preliminary Study of Ritual and Structure in the Cylinders of Gudea,” 2 vols. (PhD diss., Dropsie College, 1987), 465. 64 Averbeck, “Preliminary Study,” 464.

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in René Labat’s Manuel d’épigraphie akkadienne as ka, but is also written in the Gudea Cylinder as k ir i 4 .65 As already discussed, ka šu ĝal2 serves as the Sumerogram for appa labānu in Akkadian.66 Sometimes the verb tag, “to touch” appears in the expression rather than ĝal2 “to be, exist.”67 Dietz Otto Edzard translates “raised his hand to his mouth (in salute).”68 The prepositional phrase “in salute” (added by Edzard for clarity) is in keeping with the broader understanding of this gesture in Sumerian, which is one of prayer and obeisance. Indeed, the proper way to worship or pray before a god is with one’s hand to the face or nose, but the gesture could also refer to the spontaneous response of awe when in the presence of a deity. Humble respect for someone of higher authority is clearly in view, leading to an understood gesture of silence. Another example of this gesture is found in Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta. Enmerkar is commissioned by his master to take a message to the lord of Aratta. The herald journeys over seven mountains, and the text provides the refrain ka šu ḫumu-na-ab-ĝal 2 , “put your hand to your nose.”69 Samuel Noah Kramer translates “Prostrate yourself like a young singer, Awed by the dread of the great mountains.”70 The term Kramer translates as “prostrate” is ka šu [...] ĝal 2 . This gesture is an appropriate response from Enmerkar when he is in the presence of ḫu r-sag-gal-gal, “the great mountains.” Most other examples of ka šu ĝal2 involve the worshipper standing before a deity, but 65 Åke W. Sjöberg, ed., The Collection of Sumerian Temple Hymns, Texts from Cuneiform Sources 3 (Locust Valley, NY: Augustin, 1969), 6, 105. Sjöberg is cited by Averbeck, “Preliminary Study,” 464. See also Labat, Manuel, 49, §13. 66 “kiri šu ĝal” [PAY HOMAGE TO] in ePSD. 67 See also “kiri šu tag” [PAY HOMAGE TO] in ePSD. See also “A Hymn to Inanna as Ninegala” c.4.07.4, line 158, giri 17 šu ba-ab-tag-e (ETCSL) in reference to a young man entering into the presence of deity. 68 Edzard, Gudea, 80; 18:9. 69 Samuel Noah Kramer, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta: A Sumerian Epic Tale of Iraq and Iran, Museum Monographs (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1952), 13, lines 110–12. See also Sol Cohen, “Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta” (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1973), 69, lines 111–12. 70 Kramer, Enmerkar, 13.



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in Sumerian literature the ḫur-sag “mountain/mountain range” is given special significance, functioning at times as an epithet for deities or as their dwelling place.71 Sol Cohen translates the verb as an indicative rather than an imperative, “they will humbly salute,” where “salute” is ka šu ĝal 2 . The remainder of Cohen’s translation is very different than Kramer’s. Regardless of specific interpretations such as “prostrate,” “salute,” “pray,” etc., a general implication of the gesture remains: humble awe in the presence of something great, in this case, a divine mountain range. David Musgrave provides comparable examples of the fear or awe before a deity that resulted in worshippers hiding their faces, such as in the Sumerian hymn An Adab to Nergal for Šu-Ilīšu: igi ḫuš u 3 -ni-g u r 3 -u 3 igi nu-bar-re kalam-ma, “when you lift your furious face, upon it people cannot look.”72 A similar passage refers to the deities being unable to view the face of Enlil.73 As Musgrave records it, “mù š.za d ig i r ig i nu.ba r. re.dam, no god can ever see your face,” this passage being spoken of a person (Šulgi).74 The insistence that humans (or lesser deities) not look directly at the face of a god is likely related to the gesture of placing the hand to the nose or face. The gesture is more than merely a humble salute born out of propriety when standing before a god; it is equally a physical reaction of fear, awe, abasement, and shielding oneself from the deity’s bright presence. So, Averbeck concludes, “[i]t is plain that kiri4 šu…gal2 is commonly used as a synonym for prayer but, properly speaking, it

71 See also “šadû,” CAD 17/1:49. Mountains are religiously significant throughout ancient Near Eastern literature. 72 David Musgrave, “Viewing Deity in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Literature” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, 2010), 22. Musgrave points to other examples of this face-hiding phenomenon: “The same words are spoken of Šulgi in A Praise Poem of Šulgi (Šulgi D; ETCSL 2.4.2.04), line 389.” See also Davies, Lift Up Your Heads, 34, who discusses the various contexts in biblical and ancient Near Eastern texts where someone intentionally hides their face (33–36), which is not quite the same as the gesture of silence under review here. Interesting is the example of Rebekah veiling her face when she realizes she is approaching her husband, Isaac (Gen 24:65). 73 ETCSL, “Enlil in the E-kur” (Enlil A) 4.05.1, line 138. 74 Musgrave, “Viewing Deity,” 22 n. 36.

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denotes a special reverential gesture used to express subordinate position before gods and men.”75 The gesture in Sumerian compositions is appropriately designated for times when inferiors are in the presence of superiors, be they gods or a divine mountain range that represents the gods. They respond with deference or awe, both signified by the gesture silence. Social Values Embodied Through Gesture The gesture of placing one’s hand upon one’s mouth is an expression deference resulting in silence in the Semitic, Egyptian, and Sumerian examples. This is especially true when a worshipper is in the presence of a deity. In a few instances, it was noted how the gesture primarily communicates awe and reverence before royalty or a deity, as when Gudea “put his hand to his nose” ([g] u3-de2-a [...] ka šu im-ma-ĝal2) when in the presence of the gods. The proximity of the nose to the mouth argues for a synonymous interpretation of the gesture — namely, to silence oneself in the presence of authority. The gesture is often deployed in an attempt to avoid shame, whereby a person puts his hand to his mouth in order to trap stupid or evil speech inside. Upon hearing Job’s self-justifying speech, the mighty men in his presence exercise this right, as does Job upon hearing the speech of YHWH (Job 40:4). A similar sense is found in Prov 30:32, where a man has acted foolishly, exalted himself, and devised evil (‫)אם־נבלת בהתנׂשא ואם־זמות‬, so he is summoned to shut up by putting his hand to his mouth, or else he will get what he deserves — a fist to his nose (‫ומיץ־אף יוציא‬ ‫!)דם‬76 Impatience in young persons may inspire them to act with inappropriate haste, as in Satire of the Trades, where a young man 75 Averbeck, “Preliminary Study,” 468. 76 See Judg 18:19 and Otto Plöger, Sprüche Salomos, Biblischer Kommentar Altes Testament 17 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1984), 367–68. Plöger takes verses 32–33 to mean that the best way to avoid a fight is to put your hand over your mouth, or the natural consequences of pressing an issue (verse 33) will be a bloody nose.



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is instructed to be patient before speaking too quickly to a man who is busy helping others: iw ḥmsi.k ḏrt.k m r.k, “so you shall sit with your hand on your mouth.” The gesture in biblical and ancient Near Eastern examples conveys a range of related meanings — wise self-restraint and/or reverence and/or awe — all resulting in silence. Again, Prov 30:32–33 provides what is perhaps the least formal and most practical sense of all, paraphrased “slap your hand onto your mouth before your indiscretion starts a war and puts you to shame.” As Alden puts it, [q]uarrels often begin when fools hold greedy or stupid positions. The problem could end quickly if they would just “clap their hands over their mouths” but the more tenaciously they hold on, the more belligerent they become. It begins when they fall in love with themselves and their ideas and it ends in a bloody battle in which righteousness rarely triumphs.77

No man should be the cause of chaos in Israelite society, for such a label would bring great dishonor to him. In her discussion of character ethics, Anne Stewart lists “honor” as a one of four major “paradigms of motivation” in Proverbs: “Honor, whether a literal conferral of rank or privilege or a figurative symbol of esteem or approval, highlights the role of emotion and social relationship in moral motivation.”78 Honor is often related to the acquisition of wealth but not always, since “honor also encompasses social respect that may come from displaying one’s wisdom or enjoying divine blessings (e.g., [Prov] 3:33; 10:7; 11:26; 13:15).”79 The shame that comes from dishonor is a powerful motivator to keep one’s hand firmly affixed to one’s mouth. The hand to mouth gesture is never seen as a negative or socially despised act. In fact, those who perform this act are preserving themselves and others, either by concealing the damning contents of their thoughts or by expressing great humility before a superior. 77 Robert L. Alden, Proverbs: A Commentary on an Ancient Book of Timeless Advice (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1983), 212. 78 Anne W. Stewart, Poetic Ethics in Proverbs: Wisdom Literature and the Shaping of the Moral Self (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 110. 79 Stewart, Poetic Ethics, 110.

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Figure 2.1 An Egyptian boy waiting patiently with his hand raised to his mouth. Tomb of Neferhotep. Revue d’Égyptologie 4 (1940): pl. 2. Illustration by Rachel E. Jones.

Such a person acknowledges that “the world arranges itself into a scale of value within which every entity has its place,” chief among which is “the immensity of God, who is acknowledged as the highest value,” notes Walther Zimmerli.80 Because he understood his place in the social order, as well as the higher ranking of YHWH versus the lower ranking of humans, Job put his hand to his mouth upon hearing YHWH’s speech. There is, however, less hope for the “man who is reckless with his words” (Prov 29:20).

The Hand-On-Mouth Gesture in Ancient Near Eastern Art The following selection of figures is representative of the larger corpus of hand-on-mouth images from ancient Near Eastern art. Additional examples are listed in the accompanying footnotes throughout this section. The figures are presented East to West, beginning with a painting from Egypt, then a Northwest Semitic seal inscription, and finally examples from Mesopotamia and Persia. The Gesture in Egyptian Art A number of instances in Egyptian art show the hand held to the mouth, but silence is not implied. These include funerary 80 Walther Zimmerli, “Concerning the Structure of Old Testament Wisdom,” in Studies in Ancient Israelite Wisdom, ed. James L. Crenshaw (New York: Ktav, 1976), 175–207, 198.



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scenes, where the gesture is a sign of mourning.81 In a scene from the tomb of User-het (figure 2.1), however, an Egyptian boy waits patiently to receive a haircut. He puts his hand to his mouth.82 If this is indeed an example of the hand-over-mouth gesture, it would most closely match the context provided by the Satire of the Trades, where a lad is to exercise patience and respect to an elder by putting his hand over his mouth. The Gesture in Northwest Semitic Art

73

Figure 2.2 A figure raises a hand to the mouth in the presence of deities. Phoenician Seal “Belonging to the king of Zarephath.” Pierre Bordreuil, “Les premiers sceaux royaux phéniciens,” in Atti del II Congresso Internazionale di Studi Fenici e Punici, 3 vols. (Rome: Consiglio Nazionale Delle Ricerche, 1991), 466, §1e. Illustration by Rachel E. Jones.

Finding an artistic corollary to the example from Ugarit is not easy. Fewer examples of gesticulation in art have been recovered from this part of the world, and this seal may be one of the only examples of the hand-on-mouth gesture (figure 2.2). A Phoenician scarab seal (possibly from the sixth century, although of uncertain provenance) depicts the Egyptian deities Nephthys and Isis flanking an “infant Horus,” below which are three human figures whose hands are raised to their mouths in astonishment.83 The 81 Brigitte Dominicus, Gesten und Gebärden in Darstellungen des Alten und Mittleren Reiches, Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 10 (Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1994), 66. In scenes of ritual sacrifice, the hand is held to the mouth for purposes of recitation or singing, presumably to project one’s voice (87, 128, 103ff). Likewise, the hand is held up to the mouth in order to shout at the inception of various crop harvests (99). See also Othmar Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography in the Book of Psalms, trans. Timothy J. Hallett (New York: Seabury, 1978), 97, §124. 82 ANEP, 24, §80. 83 Pierre Bordreuil, “Les premiers sceaux royaux phéniciens,” in Atti del II Congresso Internazionale di Studi Fenici e Punici, 3 vols. (Rome: Consiglio Nazionale Delle Ricerche, 1991), 2:466, §1e. See also Nahman Avigad and Benjamin Sass, Cor-

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inscription above the scene reads “Belonging to the king of Zarephath.” The Gesture in Mesopotamian Art The evidence from Assyrian art indicates that touching one’s hand to the nose does not appear to be graphically distinct from putting one’s hand to the mouth.84 Gruber acknowledges “a longstanding controversy as to the Figure 2.3. Sennacherib raises an identity of the gesture,” citing object to his nose while in the presence Erich Ebeling, Wilfred G. of Enlil and Ashur. Bavian Relief of Lambert, and W. von Soden, Sennacherib. André Parrot, The Arts of Assyria, trans. Stuart Gilbert and James who explained the gesture as Emmons (New York: Golden, 1961), 73, referring to prostration.85 The §81. Illustration by Rachel E. Jones. Chicago Assyrian Dictionary,86 however, does not offer “prostration” as an explanation, and Gruber argues that the reason for this is seen in the flimsy basis upon which it was first identified as prostration and the artistic demonstration of Sennacherib performing appa labānu in the Bavian relief, where he does not prostrate himself but holds an object up to his nose (figure 2.3).87 Accompanying Sennacherib’s image is the inscription labīn pus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1997), 264, §712 and Bordreuil, “Les premiers sceaux,” 463–68. 84 Thorkild Jacobsen, “The Water Supplies of Nineveh,” in Sennacherib’s Aqueduct at Jerwan, ed. Thorkild Jacobsen and Seton Lloyd, Oriental Institute Publications 24 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1935), 38 n. 46. 85 Mayer I. Gruber, “Akkadian labān appi in the Light of Art and Literature,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Studies 7 (1975): 73. 86 “labânu,” CAD 9:12. 87 Jacobsen, “Water Supplies,” 38, n. 46. Gruber, “Akkadian labān appi” notes: “It should be observed that in the Bavian relief Sennacherib not only holds his hand before his mouth but also holds an object in his hand, perhaps a branch. The addition



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appi, which Gruber translates “the gesture of entreaty.”88 The gesture is clearly performed while standing and hence cannot refer to full prostration. In the several examples covered in Gruber’s article, it is clear that the minor nuances distinguishing prayer from entreaty from supplication could all be gathered under the umbrella of one person showing deference to another, the latter typically being a deity.89 The Mesopotamian worshipper expresses awe by covering his face with his hand, either as a spontaneous reaction of fear or as a calculated act of reverential propriety.90 The Bavian relief of Sennacherib depicts him greeting Enlil and Ashur while performing labān appi.91 Countless scenes from Mesopotamian art show a train of worshipers approaching the king or deity with arms extended toward the throne, palms facing skyward as if holding something, likely a gesture of offering.92 The deity or king extends his or her hand toward the subjects in a nearly identical fashion, as if to receive an offering. In some instances — and this is particularly of the branch does not, however, change the gesture from appa labānu” (78). For a fuller discussion of the branch to the nose gesture, see H. W. F. Saggs, “The Branch to the Nose,” Journal of Theological Studies 11, no. 2 (1960): 318–29, esp. 321, where Saggs argues that the gesture is not proskynesis, as seen in the Persian reliefs that show an inferior individual bowing with their hand to their mouth in deference to a king. Nevertheless, the many examples of the branch gesture imply the same type of deference seen in proskynesis. In the branch gesture, however, there is an added symbolic cultic element. 88 Gruber, “Akkadian labān appi,” 78. 89 See also ePSD entry kiri šu ĝal [PAY HOMAGE TO], which provides the definition “submission.” 90 For more on the royal and ritual act of the hand-to-mouth gesture in Mesopotamian and Persian art, see Jamsheed K. Choksy, “Gesture in Ancient Iran and Central Asia II: Proskynesis and the Bent Forefinger,” Bulletin of the Asia Institute, New Series 4 (1990): 201–2. 91 André Parrot, The Arts of Assyria, trans. Stuart Gilbert and James Emmons (New York: Golden, 1961), 73, §81. 92 See also the three-dimensional sculptures of offering bearers in André Parrot, Sumer: The Dawn of Art, trans. Stuart Gilbert and James Emmons (New York: Golden, 1961), 328, §404 (A–C); Dominique Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art (London: British Museum, 1995), 135, §110; 145, §117; 226, §194 (a); Claudia E. Suter and Christoph Uehlinger, eds., Crafts and Images in Contact, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 210 (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005), 222, §16–17; and Henri Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970), 172, §198; 175, §200.

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Figure 2.4. A worshipper faces the god Sin with a hand raised to their mouth. Seal of the governor of Ishkun-Sin. Dominique Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art (London: British Museum Press, 1995), 81, §60a. Illustration by Rachel E. Jones.

true for smaller reliefs and seals — it is not always clear whether the subjects are covering their mouths or extending their hands in offering toward the superior.93 There are also many examples of individuals holding both hands up as if to shield their face in a worshipful posture, but it is not clear that they are specifically attempting to cover their mouths.94 Interpreting the various kinds of hand-lifting gestures in presentation scenes from Mesopotamia is “a complex and unresolved issue in Mesopotamian art,” and scholars like Christopher Frechette have pointed out that, at the very least, such gestures are meant to evoke a favorable response from the king or deity.95 Deference is certain in such instances of the gesture, and silence is implied. In the famous relief of the Babylo-

93 See, e.g., Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 40, §30. 94 Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art, 81, §60 (a); 102, §82 (b); 126, §103; Frankfort, Art and Architecture, 103, §110; and ANEP, 98, §306. The standard worship gesture from Egypt is both arms raised with palms facing downward, not toward the mouth; see Mahmoud el-Khadragy, “The Adoration Gesture in Private Tombs up to the Early Middle Kingdom,” Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 29 (2001): 187–201. 95 Christopher D. Frechette, “Reconsidering ŠU.IL2.LA(2) as a Classifier of the Āšipu in Light of the Iconography of Reciprocal Hand-Lifting Gestures,” in Proceedings of the 51st Recontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. Robert D. Biggs, Jennie Myers, and Martha T. Roth (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2008), 47. Quotation from Melissa Eppihimer, “Representing Ashur: The Old Assyrian Rulers’ Seals and Their Ur III Prototype,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 72, no. 1 (2013): 45. Frechette discusses Rudolf Mayr’s interpretation of the hand-before-mouth gesture in such scenes as a gesture of greeting and respect, possibly even a form of salute. Frechette also cites Irene Winter’s suggestion that the hand before mouth gesture was a form of greeting (46 n. 31); see Rudolf Mayr, “The Seal Impressions of Ur III Umma” (PhD diss., Rijksuniversiteit te Leiden, 1997), 49 and Irene Winter, “The King and the Cup: Iconography of the Royal Presentation Scene on Ur III Seals,” in Insight through Images: Studies in Honor of Edith Porada, ed. Marilyn Kelly-Buccellati, Biblioteca Mesopotamica 21 (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1986), 253–68.



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nian king Nabu-apla-iddina from Sippar, the worshippers stand in a line before Shamash. The first person is clasping the wrist of the second, who is raising the one hand of offering, while the third worshipper in line holds up both hands in symbolic praise.96 None of the worshippers, however, appear to be specifically covering their mouths. Other images include a single hand that is held up to the mouth with the palm facing out toward neither the gesturer nor the recipient of the gesture but to the side. This is the posture of the first of three worshippers on a cylinder seal from the governor of Ishkun-Sin, where the god Sin is depicted.97 While the figure closest to Sin is lifting his hand with his palm facing to the side, the individual immediately behind (figure 2.4) is performing the hand-on-mouth gesture. The final worshipper appears to be performing the same gesture with both hands. A less dubious example from Mesopotamia is the Legend of Etana, depicted on multiple seals (figure 2.5).98 Here a man stands aghast at the flight of Etana, covering his hand with his mouth in awe. The most obvious example of the hand covering the mouth is the Persepolis relief of Darius I.99 Although this image is from Persia and hence occurs outside of the text corpus under consideration in this study, its large size and graphic clarity make it an ideal prototype for a gesture that is otherwise primarily relegated to more ambiguous West Semitic and Assyro-Babylonian examples. James B. Pritchard writes regarding figure 2.6: “Before the king are two incense burners and a dignitary dressed in the Median costume (see No. 26). His right hand is raised to his mouth 96 Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art, 169, §135; ANEP, 178, §529. See also Hammurabi’s posture before Shamash in Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art, 100, §78; Keel, Symbolism, 288, §390; Frankfort, Art and Architecture, 120, §134; ANEP, 77, §246, §515; and Parrot, Sumer, 305, §373. 97 Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art, 81, §60 (a–c) and Keel, Symbolism, 199, §272. 98 Keel, Symbolism, 198, §271; Anton Moortgat, The Art of Ancient Mesopotamia (New York: Phaidon, 1969), plate F, §6; Collon, Ancient Near Eastern Art, 78, §59 (f); ANEP, 221, §694; 222, §695; and Parrot, Sumer 188, §226. 99 ANEP, 159, 303, §463. For more on the royal and ritual act of the hand-to-mouth gesture in Mesopotamian and Persian art, see Choksy, “Gesture,” 201–2.

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in a gesture of respect.”100 Erich F. Schmidt calls the Median’s gesture one of “respectful speech,” so the gesture may have preceded any speaking on the part of the king’s subject, who is showing deference to the king, allowing him to speak first.101 More recent interpreters like Jamsheed K. Choksy likewise understand the gesture as denoting deference.102 The hand-on-mouth gesture is possibly on display in several other places in ancient Near Eastern art.103 As stated above, further research is warranted.

Figure 2.5. Beholding Etana, a surprised man raises his hand to his mouth. Etana Cylinder Seal. ANEP 221, §695. Illustration by Rachel E. Jones. 100 ANEP, 159, 303, §463 and Erich F. Schmidt, The Treasury of Persepolis, Oriental Institute Communications 21 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939), 22, §14. 101 Schmidt, Treasury, 24. 102 Choksy, “Gesture,” notes: “Hence, the Greek notion of proskynesis as a gesture of raising the hand with the palm turned toward the face and lips coincided with the Iranian practice as depicted on the apadāna audience scenes although the recipient was different” (202). See also Margaret Cool Root, “The Parthenon Frieze and the Apadana Reliefs at Persepolis: Reassessing a Programmatic Relationship,” American Journal of Archaeology 89, no. 1 (1985): 109. While Root does not stop to comment specifically on the hand-on-mouth gesture featured here (her article actually focuses more on the hand-over-wrist gesture), she does mention this throne room scene in her discussion of what she calls Persians’ “despotism” displayed in the reliefs as subjected nations bring their offerings in utter deference before their overlord. 103 Keel and Uehlinger, Gods, 46, §40b; Keel, Symbolism, 143, §191; Parrot, Sumer, 279, §346; 77, §86; 118, §113, 309, §382; 320, §396 (A); 334, §410; Moortgat, Art, plate G, §8; Seton Lloyd, The Art of the Ancient Near East (London: Thames & Hudson, 1961), 140, §102; ANEP, 177, §526; 222, §700–701; and Avigad and Sass, Corpus, 273, §735. Parrot, Sumer, 118 notes that it is “a curious gesture… this was the act of humility appropriate to persons of royal blood, who were thereby exempted from bowing down in the dust.” There are several places where the gesturer makes the shape of a fist with his hand as it is raised before his lips, which may symbolize blowing a kiss, similar to the statue of the praying man from Larsa; see Keel, Symbolism, 315, §420 and Moortgat, Art, §218. Cifarelli, “Gesture and Alterity,” 217 argues that



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Conclusions Gesture plays a crucial role in communication and at times even replaces the spoken word. Representations of gesture in literature and art cannot be ignored if scholars are to reconstruct meaning on the most intimate levels. Gestures in general can sometimes accompany speech, as in the case of ratifying a pledge in which the two parties strike hands in agreement (Prov 6:1; 11:15; 17:18; 22:26), but the hand-on-mouth gesture is meant to replace speech, at least temporarily. In the Semitic, Egyptian, and Sumeri- Figure A dignitary an examples discussed in this study, the gesture 2.6. raises his hand of placing one’s hand upon one’s mouth embod- to his mouth, ies silence, as it is considered the acceptable and bowing before Darius I. Persepolis expected response stemming from attitudes of Relief. Throne Room of Darius I. deference or awe. 159, §463. The examples discussed in this essay are in- ANEP Illustration by dicative of the broader use of this gesture in Rachel E. Jones. ancient Near Eastern texts. It communicates awe, whether intentional or not, or it represents an effort to express deference. The expression in Judg 18:19 and Prov 30:32 is best understood as a silence resulting from calculated self-restraint. The disciple is warned to shut his mouth lest his foolish speech result in undesirable consequences such as shame and disgrace. In Job 21:5, the righteous sufferer calls upon his unhelpful friends to put their hands on their mouths in stupefaction over his appalling state. As Longman states, “[j]ust the sight of him should cause them to shut their mouths in horror.”104 The examples in Job 29:9 and 40:4 also indicate awe, the latter being perhaps more calculated on Job’s part. Glazov claims that the gesture in 40:4 extends from a “discretionary fear of self-incrimination.”105 the fist gesture is the result of intentional cultural differentiation in art during a time when Assyria fell briefly into enemy hands. 104 Longman, Job, 275. 105 Glazov, “Significance,” 38.

While Couroyer claims that searching for this gesture in Akkadian and Ugaritic texts has proven unsuccessful, I maintain that we include the possible Ugaritic, Assyrian, and Sumerian notions of putting a hand to one’s nose in prayer/entreaty due to its physiological and conceptual similarity.106 The Ugaritic example of qḥ . ʾapk byd, if the older reading is maintained, would also be a form of calculated awe before a superior, as in the many Akkadian examples of appa labānu. In Egypt, the gesture ḏrt.k m r.k is clearly an intentional sign of respect. Texts like these pair well with Proverbs, where such social proprieties are expected, especially from younger people. The Sumerian gesture is almost certainly meant to express prayer as a mode of deference, given that terms for prayer occur in parallel with ka šu gal2. It is not a stretch, however, to understand this gesture as also expressing awe when in the presence of a god. The action is both premeditated (as it is the known, appropriate physical response) and spontaneous as the worshipper is exposed to the deity’s glorious presence. Silence was embodied by real people living in ancient Levantine, Egyptian, and Mesopotamian cultures through the gesture of placing one’s hand over one’s mouth. While each context and subcontext reveals unique features particular to the circumstances in which each gesturer found themselves, the consequence was the same: to raise the hand up to the mouth in the expected posture of silence. Influenced by idealistic representations of the gesture in ancient literature and art, the adolescent, lower-ranking, or compromised person (like Jonathan) was expected to understand their role in society and the need to respond appropriately in circumstances calling, ultimately, for silence.

106 Couroyer, “Mettre sa main,” 206.

Chapter 3

Bodies of Hunger: Hunger as an Indicator of Social Instability in the Bible and Ramesside Egypt Michael C. Lyons

The ancient Egyptian and Near Eastern literary motif of bodily hunger and its opposite, satiety, communicated either a society’s instability (hunger) or stability (satiety). This motif reflects the phenomenological experience of bodily hunger that people faced during famine. To exemplify these physiological and psychological experiences, I will focus on bodily hunger in two different corpora as case studies: texts from Egypt’s Ramesside Dynasties (Nineteenth and Twentieth) and the Hebrew Bible. The Egyptian corpus comes from a period during which we know famine and hunger ravaged Egypt. Firsthand accounts of hunger do not always survive from the ancient world. In the case of Ramesside Egypt, an unusually high number do, which gives us a useful collection of material related to hunger in the ancient world. The corpus of biblical texts provides far more crafted and deliberate accounts of hunger, often in retrospect. By looking at both corpora, we can gain a fuller and more diverse understanding of the phenomenological experience of bodily hunger in the ancient world.

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I will first explore the phenomenological experiences of hunger recorded in the respective texts.1 I will then examine how the phenomenological experience of hunger disrupted ancient eastern Mediterranean societies such as Egypt, Israel, and Judah. Those struggling from hunger in Ramesside Egypt responded to their physical changes and fears in distinct political and social ways that undermined the stability and order of Egyptian society. I will demonstrate how we can see further occurrences of instability in ancient Israel and Judah as recorded in the Hebrew Bible. The final section of this essay will show how the phenomenological experience of hunger and its effect on society appears as a literary motif in both Ramesside texts and in the biblical corpus. I will particularly look at how this motif plays a role in shaping the ideology of the pharaoh’s or YHWH’s ability to provide for the people and how it reflects the phenomenological experiences of hunger presented in other texts. The motif runs bidirectionally: hunger reflects a society enduring great disorder, whereas hunger’s opposite, satiety, reflects a society that is prospering. The Phenomenology of a Starving Human Body This essay first describes the phenomenological experience of starvation among those living in the ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern cultures. A phenomenology of hunger includes both perceived physiological changes and pangs of hunger and psychological distresses like anxiety and fear of death.2 I begin by I joyfully offer this paper in honor of Dr. Nili S. Fox, whose devotion and loyalty to students has inspired me, and whose appreciation for biblical, Egyptian, and ancient Near Eastern studies has enriched me. 1 Ann V. Murphy, “‘The Will to Live and the Meaning of Life’: Hunger as Vulnerability in French Existential Phenomenology,” Journal of the British Society for Phenomenology 49 (2018): 194 rightly notes that few have examined the phenomenology of hunger, especially as a motif. This lack of scholarly attention is particularly true when it comes to ancient Egyptian, ancient Near Eastern, and biblical literature, where a phenomenology of hunger remains underdeveloped. This paper is one attempt at beginning a discussion of this important motif. 2 On phenomenology, see esp. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phénoménologie de la perception (Paris: Gallimard, 1945).



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briefly discussing what we know happens physiologically and psychologically to a body during chronic hunger or starvation. Then I will discuss hunger and famine during the late Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties (ca. 1213–1078 BCE), including how Egyptians perceived their hunger and understood the causes and solutions of their hunger.3 Finally, I will identify phenomenological experiences of hunger in the biblical text and discern how they compare with hunger as reflected in the Egyptian texts. What Happens to a Starved Body? Scholars have observed that the lines between hunger, malnourishment, starvation, and famine are not clear.4 The road to starvation does not follow a straight line. Famine, moreover, does not always imply widespread death by starvation, while many other indicators of famine appear aside from hungry bodies.5 Yet starvation grips the human imagination unlike any other indicator of famine, as exemplified by its role in literary works such as Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness or John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. Perhaps the powerful emotions evoked by starvation come from the fact that everyone can identify with feeling hungry, 3 I consider the late Nineteenth Dynasty as beginning with the reign of Merneptah, immediately after Ramesses II. I follow the chronology as set forth in Benedict G. Davies, Life within the Five Walls: A Handbook to Deir el-Medina (Wallasey: Abercromby, 2018), 392; cf. Yigal Bloch, “Setting the Dates: Re-Evaluation of the Chronology of Babylonia in the 14th–11th Centuries B.C.E. and Its Implications for the Reigns of Ramesses II and Hattusili III,” Ugarit-Forschungen 42 (2010): 41–95, who suggests Ramesses II was enthroned in 1290 BCE instead of 1279. This would shift Merneptah’s reign upward by eleven years. 4 Peter Altmann, “Feast and Famine: Theoretical and Comparative Perspectives on Lack as a Backdrop for Plenty in the Hebrew Bible,” in Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, ed. Peter Altmann and J. Fu (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 151; Robert Dirks, “Social Responses During Severe Food Shortages and Famine,” Current Anthropology 21 (1980): 22; Michael C. Lyons, “Famine: Textual Evidence from Late Bronze–Early Iron Age Eastern Mediterranean Cultures” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, 2018), 16–17; and Cormac Ó Gráda, Famine: A Short History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 6. 5 On the false belief that famine equates to widespread starvation deaths, see Alexander de Waal, Famine That Kills: Darfur, Sudan, rev. ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). For examples of other famine indicators — such as migrations, labor collapses, or crime — see Lyons, “Famine,” 18–19.

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so the fear of starvation acts like a primordial ghost haunting the human imagination. We all fear the vulnerability that arises from long-term hunger. Chronic hunger leading to starvation destabilizes a human being. The quest for survival becomes the all-consuming thought of the starved person.6 Abraham Maslow identified this exceptionally well over seventy-five years ago when he stated: For the man who is extremely and dangerously hungry, no other interests exist but food. He dreams food, he remembers food, he thinks about food, he emotes only about food, he perceives only food and he wants only food. The more subtle determinants that ordinarily fuse with the physiological drives in organizing even feeding, drinking or sexual behavior, may now be so completely overwhelmed as to allow us to speak at this time (but only at this time) of pure hunger drive and behavior, with the one unqualified aim of relief.7

Modern famine and vulnerability studies affirm Maslow’s graphic description of a starved body.8 Chronic hunger that leads to 6 John R. Butterly and Jack Shepherd, Hunger: The Biology and Politics of Starvation (Hanover, NH: Dartmouth College Press, 2010), 158. There are degrees of starvation, however, and in the earliest stages some may still prioritize creating sustainable futures beyond just satiety; e.g., in certain African famines farmers chose to go hungry instead of selling or eating their livestock; see Alexander de Waal, “A Re-Assessment of Entitlement Theory in the Light of the Recent Famines in Africa,” Development and Change 21 (1999): 474–75. 7 Abraham Maslow, “Theory of Human Motivation,” Psychological Review 50 (1943): 374; cf. the phenomenology of hunger proposed by Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology, trans. Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Washington Square, 1956 [1943]), 503, who argues that hunger does not alter a person like other desires, especially sexual desire. Yet this does not comport with “first person narratives of hunger,” as pointed out by Murphy, “‘Will,’” 196. My study of the phenomenological response to hunger in Egyptian and biblical texts affirms that Sarte minimizes hunger’s effect on a person. 8 See, e.g., M. K. Bennett, “Famine,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, ed. David L. Sills (New York: MacMillan, 1968), 322–26; David Arnold, Famine: Social Crisis and Historical Change, New Perspectives on the Past (New York: Blackwell, 1988); Michael J. Watts and Hans G. Bohle, “Hunger, Famine and the Space of Vulnerability,” GeoJournal 30 (1993): 117–25; Alison S. Pyle and Omar Abdel Gabbar, “Household Vulnerability to Famine: Survival and Recovery Strategies among Berti and Zaghawa Migrants in Northern Dafur, Sudan, 1982–1989,” GeoJournal 30 (1993): 141–46; James Vernon, Hunger: A Modern History (Cam-



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starvation upends the perception of life and self, causing a person to think and act in ways that break their normative behavior or thought patterns. Ann Murphy asserts that “a phenomenology of hunger reveals that there are radical and pervasive distortions in the perception and understanding of both self and other that accompany the reality of being chronically deprived of food.”9 She then rightly argues that hunger disembodies the very foundation of our perceptions of ourselves.10 Biologically, the starved body goes through a physical transformation. William Dando describes starvation as “the state of extreme lack of food that induces death by long-continued deprivation of that which the human body needs to maintain life.”11 In the early stages of starvation, people might seek out famine foods such as uncultivated plants or animal feed. Yet these unnatural foods can disrupt the digestive system’s normal function, spawning a plethora of digestive disorders, including chronic diarrhea and inflammation. Beyond digestive disorders, the starved body can experience a drop in basal metabolism, while blood pressure might decline, and the pulse of starved bodies slows down. Outward signs appear, too, like dry and cold skin, red eyes, or the sensation of burning feet and hands. Bones become more brittle. Physical swelling can occur, such as the swelling of body tissues, the stomach, or even ankles and feet.12 Starved bodies can also lead to unstable and irrational mental capabilities, including excessive emotional agitation, depression, dramatic mood changes, and even schizophrenia for the children of starved pregnant mothers.13 bridge: Harvard University Press, 2007); and Alexander de Waal, Mass Starvation: The History and Future of Famine (Medford, MA: Polity, 2018). 9 Murphy, “‘Will,’” 196. 10 Murphy, “‘Will,’” 200–201. 11 William A. Dando, “Hunger and Starvation,” in Topics and Issues, vol. 1 of Food and Famine in the 21st Century, ed. William A. Dando, 2 vols. (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2012), 272. 12 For these biological signs of starvation and more, see Dando, “Hunger and Starvation,” 273; Dirks, “Social Responses,” 23–24; and Butterly and Shepherd, Hunger, 157–78. 13 Ezra S. Susser and Shang P. Lin, “Schizophrenia after Prenatal Exposure to the Dutch Hunger Winter of 1944–1945,” Arch Gen Psychiatry 49 (1992): 983–88; and

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The body also begins to cannibalize itself during starvation, leading to dramatic weight loss.14 In severe famines, people typically lose 15–35 percent of their pre-famine weight. Once the starved body moves beyond the 35 percent threshold, any more weight loss results in death.15 Cannibalization begins as the body burns fatty acids from body fat. It subsequently burns muscle and lean tissues, and then it draws energy from the least important organs. During the final stage of starvation, a body attempts to protect the most critical biological systems like the nervous system and the heart.16 Yet complete starvation overcomes even these critical functions of the body. Death ensues. Starvation also frequently intensifies as the stages of famine progress in a community. As Robert Dirks first highlighted, famine progresses through three stages, although these cannot always be clearly demarcated: alarm, resistance, and exhaustion.17 Hunger and food insecurity begins in the alarm stage, which is marked by skirmishes over food, the practice of hoarding, and emigration. Uprisings against governments are a likely response during the alarm stage, while communities still have the physical will to protest. The resistance stage marks the deepening crisis of hunger. Labor markets typically collapse, and violent crime owing to food scarcity rises.18 Hunger begins to impel people to sell off property and any accessories to buy food. The third stage, exhaustion, completes the progression of famine. Starving people now flee community or social bonds and seek instead any means to stay alive. Self-preservation becomes all consuming. The will to live may vanish, and practices like prostitution and cannibalism, Susser, Richard Neugebauer, and Hans W. Hoek, “Schizophrenia after Prenatal Famine: Further Evidence,” Arch Gen Psychiatry 53 (1996): 25–31. 14 Butterly and Shepherd, Hunger, 163. 15 Dirks, “Social Responses,” 23 and Butterly and Shepherd, Hunger, 58. 16 Dando, “Hunger and Starvation,” 273. 17 Dirks, “Social Responses,” 26–31 and Lyons, “Famine,” 13–14. See also Pyle and Gabbar, “Household Vulnerability,” who note three distinct stages of famine in Sudan. 18 See Maslow, “Theory,” 374; Ó Gráda, Famine, 52–56; Arnold, Famine, 85–86; and Brian Murton, “Famine,” in The Cambridge World History of Food, ed. Kriemhild Coneè Ornelas, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 2:1418.



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which were once socially unacceptable, may intensify. Severe emaciation can appear widespread. Hunger in Twentieth Dynasty Egypt Ancient Egypt knew all too well this threat of starvation, having faced famines for millennia. One such period of famine occurred during the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age transition, otherwise known as the collapse of the Late Bronze Age (ca. 1200 BCE). When famines broke out during this volatile period, Egyptian records preserved phenomenological experiences of hunger and starvation. Extant texts, particularly from Deir el-Medina, record these hunger cries.19 Among famine indicators in the textual record of the ancient Near East and eastern Mediterranean, texts that describe physiological indicators are surprisingly few. Yet, when cries of hunger and other physiological and psychological indicators appear, these texts leave behind significant phenomenological data about human struggle with hunger or starvation. In what follows, I will briefly survey the phenomenological reports of hunger in Ramesside Egypt in the late Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties (ca. thirteenth–eleventh centuries BCE). The earliest report of hunger in the Ramesside period derives from O. CGC 25644, dated to either the end of the Nineteenth Dynasty or beginning of the Twentieth.20 Despite being difficult to follow, the letter suggests that the author sent food because some people had died of hunger: “So, since people who are there have died from starving, I have sent one […-measure] of barley and one 19 They also left many textual references that suggest famine other than bodily hunger; see Lyons, “Famine.” 20 Benedict G. Davies, Merneptah and the Late Nineteenth Dynasty, vol. 4 of Ramesside Inscriptions: Translated and Annotated. Notes and Comments, 7 vols. (Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley Blackwell, 2014), 278. The difficulty of dating the text lies in determining the identity of Ptahshedu, the recipient of O. CGC 25644. Prosopographical studies suggest that he might be the same person who appears in the records from year 5 of Seti II through the reign of Ramesses III. But other identities possess the same name; see Benedict G. Davies, Who’s Who at Deir el-Medina: A Prosopographic Study of the Royal Workmen’s Community (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1999), 228–29. Davies does not discuss the present text in his prosopographical study.

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[…-measure] of emmer” (lines 6–7a).21 Perhaps this exemplifies the motif of a benefactor exaggerating the hunger of a recipient before the benefactor sends food. But in O. CGC 25644 it is not clear that this hunger is merely a rhetorical flourish, for the letter originates in a period during which we know that Egypt struggled with hunger, famine, and insufficient grain supplies. The context of famine should at least give us pause before discarding it. It seems likely that the author sent food because people were truly starving, and, if they were starving, they surely vocalized their anguish. O. CGC 25644 does not, however, describe starvation from the perspective of those who are starving and thus does not exactly display a phenomenology of hunger in ancient Egypt. We must turn to O. Chicago 16991 for that firsthand perspective, which dates to years 16–29 of the reign of Ramesses III (d. ca. 1156 BCE). After a customary introduction of praise, prayers, and greetings, Neferhotep describes the great need that he and his coworkers faced at Deir el-Medina: A further informing to my lord, thus: We are very much in need!22 All supplies for us that come (from) the Treasury, that (come) from the granary, (or) that (come from) the storehouse remain clean(ed out)23 — no light (thing) is a load of rubble! 21 For translating “so, since people…” at the beginning of line 6, I follow James Allen’s suggestion (personal communication); cf. Edward Wente, Letters from Ancient Egypt, Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World 1 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1990), 143–44, who apparently reads an imperative of an expected short form of the weak verb ḏrἰ, “to be firm,” at the beginning and translates “please stop” (those who are dying from starvation). On the verb, see Leonard H. Lesko, ed., A Dictionary of Late Egyptian, 2nd ed. (Berkeley: B.C. Scribe, 2002), 2:270, 272. 22 For a discussion of the meaning of gȝb.w, (v 7b–8) “very much in need,” which strongly suggests starvation, see Lyons, “Famine,” 33 n. 40. 23 On the difficulties of this phrase, see Edward Wente, “A Letter of Complaint to the Vizier To,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 20 (1961): 257m. I am following a suggestion by James Allen (personal communication) to take wȝḥ…wʿb as “to remain clean(ed out).” The term wʿb (v 9) normally implies purity according to Lesko, Dictionary, 1:94, but Wente, “Letter of Complaint,” 257 suggests that it may imply “clear out.” Wente, Letters, 51 later translates it as “have been allowed to run out.” For Gustave Lefebvre, “A Pure Place,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 25, no. 2 (1939): 219, wʿb can indicate an unoccupied tomb, so by analogy it may be legitimate to see the storage places as unoccupied. The term wʿb may then be a stative, what Alan H. Gardiner, Egyptian Grammar: Being an Introduction to the Study of Hieroglyphs



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Six oipe-measures of grain were also taken from us, to give them to us as six oipe-measures of dirt. Let my lord make for us a way to stay alive! Indeed, we are really starving; we are not alive at all! It (i.e., food rations) is not given to us in any form whatever.24 (v 7b–12)

O. Chicago 16991 contains the words of the dying themselves. Even if hyperbole, the language of this letter provides phenomenological perspectives of hunger and starvation.25 The letter infers that people saw their sole need in terms of food, reminiscent of Maslow’s depiction.26 They did not consider the structural events involved in their starvation (e.g., government policies), only that the normal food storage supplies had no food for their needs — and they were desperate. The letter ends by emphasizing three times what was at stake: life itself. They need food to “keep alive” (line 11a). The language of sʿnḫ, “to keep alive,” tapped into similar famine language around the ancient Near East and eastern Mediterranean.27 This language emphasized the phenomenological experience of a starving person focused only on staying alive via food at any cost. They also exclaim that they are dying, or starving, as I translate it (line 11b). They again cry out that they are not alive at all (lines 11b–12a). Their experience of hunger drove them to seek food more than anything else and to appeal to their starved bodies, which became harbingers of their death. Other Ramesside texts besides O. CGC 25644 and O. Chicago 16991 preserve phenomenological reports of hunger, (London: Oxford University Press, 1957), §315 calls an old perfective that qualifies the subject of the passive verb (as also suggested by Wente). However, this category may apply only to Old Kingdom Egyptian. For a discussion of the stative, see James P. Allen, The Ancient Egyptian Language: An Historical Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 109 and 121. 24 Translation adapted from Kenneth A. Kitchen, ed., Ramesside Inscriptions: Translated and Annotated. Translations, 7 vols. (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1993), 5:436–37. 25 On the possibility of hyperbole, see Pascal Vernus, Affairs and Scandals in Ancient Egypt, trans. David Lorton (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003), 55 n. 20. 26 See the section above entitled “What Happens to a Starved Body.” 27 For the semantic equivalents, see Lyons, “Famine,” 34 n. 45.

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although not as dramatic as O. Chicago 16991. For example, P. Turin 1880 — the so-called Strike Papyrus from year 29 of Ramesses III — records the workers protesting and stating, “We are hungry,” three times (r. 1:2; 2:3; 3:14). As in O. Chicago 16991, the workers complain in r. 2:2–6 that they have no fish or vegetables, suggesting that they were lacking their daily food provisions (ḥtrἰ, “provisions”). They perceived their situation in similar terms of the need to be kept alive in O. Chicago 16991, asking that “the means of life might be made for us” (r. 2:5, ἰry.tw n.n ʿn ʿnḫ). Once again, the lack of food led to hungry bodies who viewed their starvation as a threat against life itself. The threat of starvation owing to no food supplies appears again in the reigns of the pharaohs after Ramesses III. In O. Nicholson Museum R. 97, men plea that they are hungry because of no vegetables or fish (v 1–3, dated to the reigns of Ramesses IV–VI, ca. 1156–1138 BCE). P. Turin 1999 + 2009, from years 13–14 of Ramesses IX (d. ca. 1111 BCE), records that the workmen are hungry (vs 1:4), noting this time that they are idle and not working, waiting for fresh grain supplies. Then P. Turin 1884+, from year 16 of Ramesses IX, states three times that the men are hungry, lacking food. But the hunger pains kept coming. In year 17 of Ramesses IX, P. Turin 1945+ records five instances of hunger, and a sixth instance of hunger appears in the mouth of the workmen themselves: “We are in need! We are hungry! Nobody gives us the provisions allocated to us by pharaoh, l.p.h.” (line B9/9).28 The workers were angry and desperate for food. They were upset that the state was not taking care of their needs. The danger they faced resurfaced again in an undated text from the reign of Ramesses IX, where the workers state, “We are dying of hunger!” (tw.n ḥr mwt n ḥqr, O. DeM 607, line 2). Fear of death seized the community. Their mortality loomed large through their empty stomachs. These cries of hunger and starvation by the Deir el-Medina workmen were well known in the late Twentieth Dynasty and 28 Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, 6:420–28; see also O. DeM 10284, which mentions the provisions of a pharaoh.



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were unlikely to be exaggerations. If these cries were exaggerations, officials would likely have dismissed them as such. The supervisors and elite instead recognized the likelihood of hunger among the workforce. During the reign of Ramesses XI, for example, a certain Dhutmose directed his subordinates to make sure they provided grain for the workmen. He commands: “Send them to fetch the grain lest the workmen […] become hungry and [id]le in the commission from pharaoh, l.p.h., and they place any dispute against you” (P. Bibliotheque Nationale 198, III, r. 6b–8a).29 Dhutmose knew that hunger — and, more seriously from his perspective, delays in building projects — would break out among the workers if they had no grain. His fear about the workforce echoes the perspective of the workers in the preceding texts: when they were starving, they believed the only solution was to protest for adequate food. A group of court documents from the reign of Ramesses XI also attests to people starving. P. BM 10052 rev. 10:7, 11:7–8, and P. BM 10403 rev. 3:5b–8 describe defendants attesting to their starvation, which motivated them to participate in criminal activity. I will more fully examine these texts in a subsequent section.30 Hunger in Biblical Literature The Bible records few phenomenological reports about hungry and starved bodies, although it does include plenty of famine stories and references to the consequences and threats of hunger. This section is limited to biblical examples that purport to give firsthand accounts of those who endured hunger and starvation, like the Egyptian texts do.31 I will survey four examples from the 29 One could read line 7 as rmṯw, “people,” but it is probably a shortened form of rmṯ-ἰst, “workmen”; see Lesko, Dictionary, 1:271–72. The following lacunae, a hole in the papyrus, might complete the word. 30 See the section titled “How Hunger Disrupted Ancient Egypt and Israel” below. 31 I do not aim to discern the historical validity of these phenomenological reports; rather, I accept these texts based on phenomenology and testimony; on testimony, see Iain W. Provan, V. Philips Long, and Tremper Longman, A Biblical History of Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003), esp. chapter 3; C. A. J. Coady, Testimony: A Philosophical Study (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992); and Paul Ricoeur, Memory, Histo-

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narratives (Gen 42; Gen 47; Exod 16; 2 Kgs 6–7) and then four examples from nonnarrative texts, each from Lamentations.32 Famine and hunger struck “the world” in the Joseph story. In Gen 42, Jacob learns that Egypt had grain during the famine, so he urges his sons to travel to Egypt for grain. He did not use the precise language of “hunger” (e.g., ‫רע״ב‬, “to be hungry”), but his language surely exhibits the fear of starvation. He urges: ‫רדו־ׁשמה וׁשברו־לנו מׁשם ונחיה ולא נמות‬, “Go down there and buy grain for us from there so that we might live and not die” (Gen 42:2b). Jacob’s fear of dying is precisely the phenomenological experience seen in the Egyptian workers from Deir el-Medina (e.g., O. Chicago 16991; P. Turin 1880, r. 2:5; O. DeM 607). Just like the Egyptians, Jacob frames his hunger in terms of life and death. The solution is to do whatever it takes to get grain, even if it means traveling to Egypt.33 The language of dying during famine — that is, of starvation — reappears in the Joseph story, but this time in the mouth of the Egyptians. The Egyptians come to Joseph, stating: ‫הבה־לנו‬ ‫לחם ולמה נמות נגדך‬, “Give us food; now why should we die before you…?” (Gen 47:15b).34 Similar words reoccur the following year in Gen 47:19. Again, the phenomenological reports of starvation are like the Deir el-Medina records. In Gen 47, the Egyptians both request food and admit their fear of dying. The question of hyperbole notwithstanding, the language reflects that people understood all too well that the pangs of hunger and starvation foreshadowed death.35 ry, Forgetting, trans. Kathleen Blamely and David Pellauer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004). 32 One can certainly consider more examples, such as Neh 5:1–5. 33 See Gen 43:2 where, again, the narrator mentions famine and Jacob’s solution of buying food (although not hunger or death), and Gen 45:7, where Joseph acknowledges their experience in terms of life and death. Genesis 25:29–34 has similar overtones. 34 Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000), 448 helpfully points out that ‫הבה‬, “give!” occurs elsewhere in desperate situations, such as Gen 30:1. 35 This same phenomenological response to famine appears in Neh 5:2. See also Jer 38:9–10, where officials fear that Jeremiah will starve to death.



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Exodus 16 offers a third example of a phenomenological report of hunger. Having just experienced the spectacular events of the exodus, the Israelites hastily resort to complaining in the wilderness.36 Their complaint is a response to starvation, as the Israelites believe that they will die of hunger: ‫ויאמרו אלהם בני יׂשראל מי־יתן מותנו ביד־יהוה בארץ מצרים בׁשב־‬ ‫תנו על־סיר הבׂשר באכלנו לחם לׂשבע כי־הוצאתם אתנו אל־המדבר‬ ‫הזה להמית את־כל־הקהל הזה ברעב‬ Then the Israelites said to them [Moses and Aaron], “If only we had died by the hand of YHWH in the land of Egypt, when we dwelled by the meat pot, when we ate bread to satiety! For you brought us out to this wilderness to put all this assembly to death by starvation!” (Exod 16:3).

Death seemed inevitable to the Israelites if they could not obtain food. The text invokes the raw experiences of hunger that the ancient reader would have associated with the wilderness. Fear of starvation hung over the wilderness zones. Even if hyperbole on the part of the Israelites, the language itself could relay the irrationality of fear that comes from even the threat of starvation. This fear led the Israelites to quickly rebel against the very one who had rescued them from slavery. When faced with starvation, slavery suddenly did not look so bad after all. The final example of a narrative report about phenomenological hunger comes from the famine narrative of 2 Kgs 6–7. The Arameans come and lay siege to Samaria, inducing the Samarians to experience a host of disruptions owing to hunger, which I will examine below.37 Most relevant for phenomenology is the story in 2 Kgs 7:3–20, where four diseased beggars go to the Aramean

36 Nahum M. Sarna, Exploring Exodus: The Heritage of Biblical Israel (New York: Schocken, 1986), 116–20. 37 See the section entitled “Hungry Bodies Disrupting Israel.”

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camp even though the enemy might kill them. Their motivation? They fear dying from starvation: ‫ויאמרו איׁש אל־רעהו מה אנחנו יׁשבים פה עד־מתנו אמרנו נבוא‬ ‫העיר והרעב בעיר ומתנו ׁשם ואם־יׁשבנו פה ומתנו ועתה לכו ונפלה‬ ‫אל־מחנה ארם אם־יחינו נחיה ואם־ימיתנו ומתנו‬ So they said to one another, “What are we (doing) sitting here until we die? If we say, ‘Let us enter the city’ — but the famine is in the city and we will die there. Yet if we stay here, then we will die. So now come and let us surrender to the Aramean camp. If they keep us alive, we will live; but if they put us to death, then we will die” (2 Kgs 7:3–4).38

The men believe that they have only two choices: die by starvation or die by becoming prisoners of war. To signal the beggars’ fear of dying, the author uses a common phrase seen in ancient Near Eastern and Egyptian famine texts, when in verse 4 the men state, ‫אם־יחיינו נחיה‬, “If they keep us alive…”39 Modern translations often render “spare us” instead of “keep us alive” (e.g., ESV, NASB, NIV), which clouds the double entendre at work in their speech. On the one hand, the beggars hope that the Arameans will not kill them, and thus “spare” them from death. Yet, in a famine context, the piel of ‫ חי״ה‬also means to keep someone alive during famine by providing for their needs.40 Their needs here seem to be limited to avoiding death by starvation, even if death comes in another way — an ironic expression of self-preservation in the face of severe hunger. Facing death, they risk their lives by going over to the enemy camp, hoping that the Arameans will prevent them from starving.

38 For a similar meaning of ‫נפ״ל‬, normally “to fall” but here “to surrender,” see Jer 21:9; 39:9. 39 For an Egyptian example, see O. Chicago 16991 in the preceding section of this paper. For a discussion of the language, “to keep alive,” see Lyons, “Famine,” 321–22. 40 Similarly, in Gen 47:25, the hiphil of ‫חיה‬, “to cause to live,” appears for preserving the lives of the Egyptians during famine by enslaving them. See also Ps 33:19 and the use of the piel of ‫חיה‬, “to make alive,” to preserve those in famine, as well as Neh 5:2–5, which uses the language of enslaving to keep children alive during famine. I will examine these more fully below in the section Hungry Bodies Disrupting Israel.



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Instead of death, the four beggars find life, but not because the Arameans preserve them. The camp is empty. They return to the city and report the strange situation to the gatekeepers, who convey the message to the king. But the king does not believe it. He suspects that the Arameans are deceiving the people, because ‫ידעו‬ ‫כי־רעבים אנחנו‬, “they know that we are starving” (2 Kgs 7:12).41 His own hunger prevented him from seeing the situation clearly. Non-narrative literature in the Hebrew Bible also records phenomenological experiences of hunger and starvation. Lamentations records the chief example of these experiences, including at least four texts that reflect the physiological effects of starvation: 1:11; 2:19; 4:8–9; 5:9–10.42 The first, Lam 1:11, depicts a people exhausted by hunger: ‫כל־עמה נאנחים מבקׁשים‬ ׁ‫לחם נתנו מחמודיהם (מחמדיהם) באכל להׁשיב נפש‬, “All her people are becoming exhausted, seeking bread. They sold their precious things in exchange for food to cause the life-force to return.” The image of people becoming exhausted (‫ )נאנחים‬likely reflects the exhaustion stage of famine.43 The exhaustion stage, coming after alarm and resistance, is the final phase that a community experiences during a famine. Community collapses and individualism dominates during this final stage. Lamentations 1:11 depicts the process as ongoing, or ingressive, evidenced by the stative niphal form of ‫אנ״ח‬, “to be exhausted.”44 Their bodies are wasting away from lack of food. A similar image appears with 41 The flexible semantic range of ‫רע״ב‬, “to be hungry, starve” is illustrated in 2 Kgs 7:12. While some modern translations offer “to be hungry” here (e.g., ESV, NASB), the context surely demands a translation that reflects the people’s starvation. See the NIV, which rightly interprets starvation here. 42 See also Lam 4:4–5 for images of children begging for food. 43 The motif of exhaustion (evident in the term ‫אנ״ח‬, here translated as “exhausted”) runs throughout Lam 1; see 1:4, 8, 21, and 22 (nominal form) in addition to verse 11. See Exod 2:23 and Ps 6:7 for other crisis situations to which this verb applies. 44 For a similar use of the niphal, see Gen 6:12 with ‫נׁשחתה‬, “becoming corrupt,” and a helpful explanation of the niphal by Steven W. Boyd, “The Binyanim (Verbal Stems),” in “Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?” A Grammatical Tribute to Professor Stephen A. Kaufman, ed. Hélène Dallaire, Benjamin J. Noonan, and Jennifer E. Noonan (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017), 85–125, esp. 97–100 and Stephen A. Kaufman, review of The Function of the Niph’al in Biblical Hebrew in Relationship to Other Passive-Reflexive Verbal Stems and to the Pu’al and Hoph’al in Particular, by P. A. Siebesma, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 56 (1994): 572–73.

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the nominal form, ‫אנחה‬, “groaning,” in Ps 31:11 (better translated “wasting away” here), where the noun at the end of the first line functions as a parallel to the verb ‫עׁש״ׁש‬, “to be weak.”45 In this case, the image conveys bones wasting away. Psalm 102:6 and Job 3:24 also suggest that the noun reflects a wasting away of the body in food-deprived contexts.46 This explains why those who are exhausted in Lam 1:11 seek food and sell their “precious things” so that they can live and not die.47 In their exhaustion, hunger drove people to think only about consuming food. The second phenomenological depiction of starvation in Lamentations appears in 2:19. The verse begins with an exhortation to cry out to the Lord for one’s children. The writer expresses concern for the children because ‫העטופים ברעב בראׁש כל־חוצות‬, “they are ones who are emaciated because of starvation at the top of every street.”48 The term ‫( עטוף‬from ‫)עט״ף‬, which I translate “emaciated,” probably refers to sickly or malnourished children. A few verses earlier, Lam 2:11–12 suggests the same image using the same root associated with lack of food and drink, but now 2:19 associates the verb directly with starvation (‫)רע״ב‬. This is not a surprise, for the Hebrew Bible elsewhere associates the verb with emaciation. Genesis 30:42 suggests this when it refers to a flock that is not strong but weak. Psalm 107:5 directly links the verb with starvation: ‫רעבים גמ־צמאים נפׁשם בהם תתעטף‬, “starving, even thirsting, their life ebbed away.”49 Starvation surely afflicted the children of Lamentations, which resulted in them becoming emaciated. The poem graphically describes the children as starving right before the reader’s eyes. The writer weeps over the effects of famine and starvation.

45 “‫עׁשׁש‬,” HALOT 1:898. 46 The meaning of ‫אנ״ח‬, “to be exhausted,” in the niphal, may also relate to Akkadian anāḫu, “to be exhausted.” See “anāḫu,” CAD 1/2:101–5. 47 “Precious things” likely refer to the sale of children. I will discuss this more fully in the following section of this essay. 48 Cf. ESV, “who faint for hunger…,” which might minimize the physicality of the emaciation. 49 NIV rightly also translates ‫ עט״ף‬here as “ebbed away.”



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But the graphic descriptions only intensify in Lamentations. Lamentations 4:8–9 and 5:10 offer a third and fourth phenomenological report describing the physiological effects of hunger and starvation that Judeans experienced. In Lam 4:8–9, the writer portrays the bodies of people as physically emaciated and disfigured because of hunger. The author painfully writes: ‫חׁשך מׁשחור תארם לא נכרו בחוצות צפד עורם על־עצמם יבׁש היה‬ ‫כעץ טובים היו חללי־חרב מחללי רעב ׁשהם יזובו מדקרים מתנובת‬ ‫ׂשדי‬ Their form became darker than soot; they were unrecognizable in the streets. Their skin shriveled up on their bones; it became dry like wood. More pleasant were those slain by sword than slain by starvation; those who wasted away, pierced from (the lack) of the field’s produce.50

Then Lam 5:10 adds to this picture, lamenting, ‫עורנו כתנור נכמרו‬ ‫מפני זלעפות רעב‬, “Our skin has become hot like an oven because of starvation’s rage.” The words sink in like despair for the reader. Lamentations 4:8–9 and 5:10 somberly describe emaciation.51 The people’s skin had changed color and their bodies had cannibalized themselves. Self-preservation does not even show up. Only the outline of their bones remains. This transformation happens in severe starvation after the body can no longer compensate for food loss. I am not aware of such a biological description of starvation in Egyptian literature. But these two passages in Lamentations do echo the starvation found in a Mesopotamian work, The Poem of the Righteous Sufferer. In this poem, the supplicant cries out, “My hunger was [pro]longed, my thr[oa]t closed up… Through lack of food, my countenance had chan[ged], My flesh had wasted away, my blood drai[ned]. My bones became visible, covering [my

50 Alternatively, ‫ יזובו‬might be translated as “who bleed slowly,” as does Adele Berlin, Lamentations, Old Testament Library (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 99. 51 Butterly and Shepherd, Hunger, 163–68. The “skin and bones” effect of starvation here in Lamentations may derive from marasmus.

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sk]in, My tissues were inflamed, affli[cted] with jaundice.”52 Surely the people described in Lamentations could have identified with such a cry of starvation. They, too, felt the terror of starvation in their bodies. Their physical bodies were literally transformed because of hunger. The poems of Lamentations impress upon the reader the dark isolation that starvation brings. How Hunger Disrupted Ancient Egypt and Israel Examples of the starving body in the diverse corpora of Egyptian and biblical literature leave no doubt about the horrors one faced in the ancient world when starving. The phenomenology of hunger laid out above shows how starvation drives people to do anything to mitigate their hunger. Yet bodily hunger spawned turmoil beyond the emaciated body; it tore apart the entire social and economic fabric of a community. As John Field rightly observes, “[a]bnormally high mortality may be the hallmark of famine but societal breakdown is its essence.”53 Hunger produces “social devastation.”54 The desperate strategies to mitigate hunger in ancient Egypt and the Near East led to social disruptions. The following section of this essay will illustrate these disruptions by examining how hungry bodies disrupted the Twentieth Dynasty in ancient Egypt. These disruptions — recorded in the administrative and legal Egyptian texts — are evidenced especially by crime, corruption, and open rebellion. But social disruptions are not unique to hunger in Egypt. A survey of biblical literature will demonstrate how hunger also disrupted Israelite and Judean 52 Amar Annus and Alan Lenzi, Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, SAACT 7 (Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2010), 37, 2:87–94. It may be better to render e-ṣe-et-tum us-su-qat6 a-ri-ma-at maš-[ki] in line 93 as “My bones became visible, covered (only) by ski[n].” The physical description of this suffering person also recalls the emaciations from starvation in Atra-ḫasis II, iv:12–18, as discussed by Debra A. Chase, “ina šitkuki napišti: Starvation (Kwashiorkor-Marasmus) in Atra-ḫasīs,” Journal of Cunieform Studies 39 (1987): 241–46. 53 John O. Field, “Understanding Famine,” in The Challenge of Famine: Recent Experience, Lessons Learned, ed. John O. Field (Sterling, VA: Kumarian, 1993), 4. 54 Murphy, “‘Will,’” 197.



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societies, evidenced by a different set of disruptions: migration, slavery, and cannibalism. Hungry Bodies Disrupting Egypt Turmoil and chaos characterized the Twentieth Dynasty in Egypt.55 Famine was just one of many problems that contributed to the demise of the Ramesside legacy. Borders were under attack. Armies were defeated in foreign lands. What began in the Nineteenth Dynasty in the glorious reign of Ramesses II ended with Ramesses XI ushering in the Twentieth Dynasty’s collapse. Hunger was not the only thread unraveling the empire, but it was a crippling one. The struggle for food and the effects of starvation contributed to the violent dismembering of the Egyptian social structures. Egypt had seen hunger do this in earlier periods, which were then memorialized in writings like the Dialogue of Ipuwer.56 Now, in the Ramesside period, hungry bodies once again threatened the integrity of Egypt. Three examples of hunger-induced disruption are especially prominent in the literature of the Twentieth Dynasty: crime, corruption, and open rebellion. Documents from Egypt record many crimes involving the quest for food. These crimes typically fall into two categories: petty crime and organized crime. O. BM 5637, an oracle request dated to either the end of the reign of Ramesses III or beginning of the reign of Ramesses IV, records a good example of petty crime 55 The literature is vast on this subject. See, e.g., Leonard H. Lesko, “Egypt in the 12th Century B.C.,” in The Crisis Years: The 12th Century B.C.: From beyond the Danube to the Tigris, ed. William A. Ward and Martha Joukowsky (Dubuque, IA: Kendal/Hunt, 1992), 151–56; Vernus, Affairs and Scandals; Pierre Grandet, “New Kingdom: Twentieth Dynasty,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, ed. Donald B Redford (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001): 2:538–43; Christopher Eyre, “Patronage, Power, and Corruption in Pharaonic Egypt,” International Journal of Public Administration 34 (2011): 701–11; Kathryn M. Cooney, “The End of the New Kingdom: How Ancient Egyptian Funerary Materials Can Help Us Understand Society in Crisis,” in The Ramesside Period in Egypt: Studies into Cultural and Historical Processes of the 19th and 20th Dynasties. Proceedings of the International Symposium Held in Heidelberg, 5th to 7th June 2015, ed. Sabine Kubisch and Ute Rummel, Sonderschriften des Deutsches Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 42 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 63–87. 56 P. Leiden I 344 recto, e.g., 4:14–5:2; 6:1–4; 9:1 and Roland Enmarch, The Dialogue of Ipuwer and the Lord of All (Oxford: Griffith Institute, 2005).

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involving food. The supplicant requests compensation of stolen items from a man’s house. Nearly all the stolen items were food, and the thefts occurred during a period already known for hunger and food theft.57 Indeed, P. Turin 1966+, dated to the same period, also records how gangs were looting food.58 But crime became far more organized. The infamous tomb robbery texts illustrate how a network of Egyptians systematically robbed tombs, which led to a cultural crisis not seen before in ancient Egypt.59 Many of these texts allude to hunger motivating these crimes, which fits with anthropological reports about how crime frequently exceeds normal rates during famine.60 P. BM 10052 rev. 11:7–8, for example, sets a famous reference to hunger in the context of theft.61 Lines rev. 11:4–8 contain Irynufer’s testimony, whom the authorities question about silver that her husband had evidently received illegitimately. In lines 7–8, we read: “They — that is, these officials — said to her [Irynufer], ‘What about the silver that Paineḥsi worked for Sobkemsaf?’ She said, ‘I obtained it in exchange for barley, in the year of the hyenas when one was starving.’”62 Irynufer believed that she could mitigate the offense by appealing to the time when people were starving. At minimum, this suggests a well-known social connection between theft and starvation. It also underscores her 57 See, e.g., O. Chicago 16991, which I surveyed above. For a later example, see P. Milan 0.9.40126 from the reign of Ramesses XI, which records theft of food in the context of food shortages. 58 Davies, Life, 328. 59 On the tomb robberies, see T. Eric Peet, The Great Tomb Robberies of the Twentieth Egyptian Dynasty (Oxford: Clarendon, 1977); Cyril Aldred, “More Light on the Ramesside Tomb Robberies,” in Orbis Aegyptiorum Speculum: Glimpses of Ancient Egypt, Studies in Honor of H. W. Fairman, ed. John Ruffle (England: Aris & Phillips, 1979), 92–99; and Kathryn M. Cooney, “Private Sector Tomb Robbery and Funerary Arts Reuse According to West Theban Documentation,” in Deir el-Medina Studies: Helsinki, June 24–26, 2009 Proceedings, ed. Jaana Toivari-Viitala, Saara Uvanto, and Turo Vartiainen (Helsinki: Suomen Egyptologinen Seurary, 2014), 16–28. 60 See, e.g., Knut Hamsun, Hunger (Lawrence, KS: Digireads.com Publishing, 2008), 29, who states that hunger caused him to commit immoral acts that he previously never would have considered. 61 See P. BM 10052 v. 10:7 and P. BM 10403 v. 3:5b–8 for further examples. 62 For r-ḏbȝ, “in exchange for,” (v 11:7) see Lesko, Dictionary, 2:266. The term ḏb3, “to repay,” frequently occurs for compensation or payment in Egyptian bartering.



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perception that self-preservation during starvation can justify crime. The strange link between hyenas and starvation highlights how starved bodies contributed to a collapse of Egypt’s social order. Hyenas belonged to a world of chaos, as Egyptian iconography and ancient Near Eastern texts suggest.63 The Sumerian epic Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, for example, suggests that hyenas will no longer live in a renewed, paradise-like world: ud.ba muš nu.gal2.am3 giri2 nu.gal2.am3 kir4 nu.gal2.am3 ur.maḫ nu.gal2.am3, “In those days, there being no snakes, being no scorpions, being no hyenas, being no lions” (lines 136–37).64 When the testimony from the tomb robberies links starvation, hyenas, and theft, we can infer an Egyptian societal collapse where order no longer reigned.65 Egypt was in trouble. Besides petty and organized crime, corruption associated with food and hunger appears in the administrative and legal texts. From the same periods for which we have records of hunger and starvation came problems with corrupt measures in the grain trade.66 Embezzlement of grain also occurred during periods of hunger and food shortage, which P. Turin 1887 highlights from the reigns of Ramesses IV and V (ca. 1156–1145 BCE).67 After the lengthy account of a ship captain’s embezzlement, the document 63 On the relevant Twentieth Dynasty iconography, see O. DeM 2211, 2219, 2228, 2229, 2294, 2298 (2x), 2726, 2824, 2844 and Salima Ikram, “The Iconography of the Hyena in Ancient Egyptian Art,” Mitteilungen des Deutsches Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 57 (2001): 127–40. 64 kir4, “hyena,” or būṣu in Akkadian. See Bendt Alster, “Dilmun, Bahrain, and the Alleged Paradise in Sumerian Myth and Literature,” in Dilmun: New Studies in the Archaeology and Early History of Bahrain, ed. Daniel T. Potts, Berliner Beiträge zum Vordern Orient 2 (Berlin: Reimer, 1983), 57–58 and the potential biblical examples in Isa 13:22, 34:14, and Jer 50:39. 65 See also P. BM 10053 II rev. 3:10–11 and P. BM 10403 rev. 3:5–8. 66 See, e.g., O. Leipzig 2 and P. Geneva D 191. The latter text also suggests that the Egyptians had little grain to supply Amun’s offerings. 67 Alan H. Gardiner, “Ramesside Texts Relating to the Taxation and Transport of Corn,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 27 (1941): 60–62; T. Eric Peet, “A Historical Document of Ramesside Age,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 10, no. 2 (1924): 116–27; Vernus, Affairs and Scandals; Serge Sauneron, “Trois personnages du scandale d’Éléphantine,” Revue d’égyptologie 7 (1950): 53–62; and A. J. Peden, The Reign of Ramesses IV (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1994), 109–16.

102 Michael C. Lyons

concludes: “He (i.e., the ship captain) made use of them (i.e., the grain) for his own self and did not bring (any) of them to the Granary of Khnum” (v 2:14b).68 The captain’s actions are exactly what one would expect during a time of hunger, when self-preservation turns one against neighbors and the state. Corruption also took the form of Egyptian elites withholding food from the rank-and-file, especially the workers at Deir el-Medina, even when the elites knew that hunger was rampant. For example, the vizier brushes aside the workforce’s concern of hunger in P. Turin 1880, a text recording many of the fears of the hungry workers. Despite the hunger crisis, P. Turin 1880 also notes that the sed-jubilee festival is being prepared and celebrated (see r. 2:18–20). Jubilee celebrations involved massive amounts of grain, grain that officials possibly diverted from Deir el-Medina workers. The cries of the hungry were ignored. Likewise, P. Turin 1999 + 2009 reports that the elites receive grain rations in Thebes (rev. 1:14–17), all while the workers are idle and hungry. Egyptian corruption intensified when hunger abounded, and the ruling elites were the ones who benefited most.69 Corruption involving elites benefiting from famine and food shortages occurred throughout the ancient world and still occurs today in modern famines.70 Crime and corruption are not the only examples of how hunger disrupted ancient Egypt. Hunger and starvation also led to worker rebellions and protests.71 Beginning their protests at least by the 68 Translation adapted from Bezalel Porten, The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 45– 56. 69 See also P. Turin 1898+. Corruption among the elites in how they treated commoners during famine also appears in the literary text A Tale of Woe (P. Pushkin 127), which may be a veiled account of the final days of the Ramesside period; see Ad Thijs, “‘I Was Thrown Out from My City’: Fecht’s Views on Pap. Pushkin 127 in a New Light,” Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 35 (2006): 307–26. 70 Jack Shepard, The Politics of Starvation (New York: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1975), 60. 71 Dominique Valbelle, Les ouvriers de la tombe. Deir el-Médineh à l’époque Ramesside (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1985), 190–93; Paul J. Frandsen, “Editing Reality: The Turin Strike Papyrus,” in Studies in Egyptology: Presented to Mariam Lichtheim, ed. Sarah Israelit-Groll, 2 vols. (Jerusalem:



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reign of Ramesses III (ca. 1187–1156 BCE), workers protested the food shortages and hunger that they faced at Deir el-Medina during the Twentieth Dynasty famine(s).72 Texts recording the infamous protests in year 29 of Ramesses III especially link hunger with the protests. The workers insist, for example, that they are protesting because they in fact have no food and are starving (P. Turin 1880 r. 2:2–5; O. CGC 25530; O. IFAO 1255 + O. Varille 39). The workers bemoan the same conditions in O. Nicholson Museum R.97 in the course of another protest during the reigns of Ramesses IV–VI (ca. 1156–1138 BCE). Many other texts emphasize unrest, conflict, and open rebellion that are closely linked with fears of food shortages and hunger throughout the Twentieth Dynasty.73 Hungry bodies destabilized Egypt, or at least they exacerbated the ongoing difficulties experienced by the pharaohs striving to bring maʾat to the land of Egypt during the Twentieth Dynasty.74 Labor at Deir el-Medina faced recurrent setbacks owing to hunger, and food prices became unpredictable, which created further volatility in the New Kingdom.75 Recurring crime, corruption, and open rebellion dotted the entire Twentieth Dynasty because Magnes, 1990), 1:166–99; Matthias Müller, “Der Turiner Streikpapyrus (pTurin 1880),” in Band 1 Texte zum Rechts- und Wirtschaftsleben, Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments. Neue Folge, ed. Bernd Janowski and Gernot Wilhelm (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2004), 165–84; and Davies, Life, 318–25. 72 P. Berlin P 23300 b recto might indicate that protests began earlier in the reign of Merneptah; see Hans-Werner Fischer-Elfert, “A Strike in the Reign of Merneptah? Plus The Endowment of Three Culture Statue(tte)s on behalf of the Same King at Deir el-Medina (Pap. Berlin P. 23300 and P. 23301),” in Forschung in der Papyrus­ sammlung. Eine Festgabe für das Neue Museum, ed. Verena M. Lepper (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2012), 47–73. 73 See, e.g., O. CGC 25644; O. Berlin P. 10633; O. DeM 890; O. DeM 44; P. Turin 1999 + 2009; P. Turin 1945+; and P. Turin 1898. 74 Jan Assmann, Maʾat. Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im alten Äegypten (Munich: Beck, 1990) and Emily Teeter, The Presentation of Maat: Ritual and Legitimacy in Ancient Egypt (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997). 75 On idle workers and labor stoppages owing to hunger or lack of grain rations, see, e.g., O. CGC 25533; P. Milan 0.9.40126; and P. Turin 1888 + 2085. On the unpredictability of food prices, see Jaroslav Černý, “Prices and Wages in Egypt in the Ramesside Period,” Cahiers d’Histoire Mondiale 1, no. 4 (1954): 903–21; and Jac J. Janssen, Commodity Prices from the Ramessid Period (Leiden: Brill, 1975).

104 Michael C. Lyons

of hungry and starved bodies. Self-preservation overshadowed any attempts to bring peace and order to Egyptian society. Hungry Bodies Disrupting Israel Egypt’s experience of hunger disrupting society is reflected throughout the ancient Near East during times of famine and starvation.76 As we have seen, crime, corruption, and open rebellion occurred during famines in Egypt as an explosive response to hunger and the fear of starvation. The same is likely true for the ancient Israelites, although the textual evidence for these three specific disruptions is more limited in the biblical corpus. Theft and hunger, for example, appear linked in Prov 6:30: ‫לא־יבוזו לגנב‬ ‫כי יגנוב למלא נפׁשו כי ירעב‬, “They do not despise a thief when he steals to fill himself when he is starving.” Likewise, corruption during starvation might be displayed in Amos 4, and rebellion over hunger may be hinted at in Isa 8:21. Yet these three expressions of disruption — crime, corruption, and rebellion — are not the only ways hunger disrupted ancient societies. In an effort to expand the scope and see the breadth of social collapse due to bodily hunger, I want to highlight three different social effects from starved bodies that occur in the biblical literature: migration, slavery, and cannibalism. Israelite society, too, suffered because of hunger. The first appearances of hunger in biblical literature describe migration as a recurring effect of hunger. Famine migration is quite common around the world and appears in at least three stories in Genesis: Abraham’s journey to Egypt (Gen 12:10), Isaac’s move to Gerar (Gen 26:1), and Jacob’s sojourn to Egypt (Gen 46:5–7).77 In the broader theological context of the stories, hunger 76 See, e.g., the famine in Babylon during the Neo-Babylonian period, discussed by Kristin Kleber, “Famine in Babylonia: A Microhistorical Approach to an Agricultural Crisis in 528–526 BC,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 102 (2012): 219–44. See also the texts from Late Bronze Age polities that experienced famine in Lyons, “Famine.” 77 For an example outside of biblical literature, see especially the famine migrations during the Late Bronze and early Iron Ages, discussed in Pekka Pitkänen, Migration and Colonialism in Late Second Millennium BCE Levant and Its Environs: The Making of a New World (New York: Routledge, 2019); Peter M. Fischer and Teresa Bürge, eds., “Sea Peoples” up-to-Date: New Research on Transformations in



Bodies of Hunger 105

in Genesis generates emigration, which threatens God’s promise to give the land to Abraham’s offspring.78 For each family, the threat of starvation outweighed concern for remaining in the land of promise. Yet emigration simultaneously preserved that promise for the seed of Abraham.79 The patriarchs were not alone in fearing starvation. Hungerinduced migration also occurs in 2 Kgs 8 and Ruth 1. In 2 Kgs 8:1–6, Elisha declares that God is bringing a seven-year famine on the land, which recalls the seven-year famine in Joseph’s Egypt.80 Elisha then urges the Shunammite woman to emigrate so that she can survive the famine (2 Kgs 4:8–37). Her migration evidently threatened her rights over her house and land, for she has to appeal to the king upon her return for her property to be restored. The fear of starvation and subsequent emigration nearly forced her to lose everything. The story of the Shunammite woman recalls the story of Ruth, which also includes famine emigration and return. In Ruth 1, famine strikes the land of Judah, so Elimelech abandons his property in Bethlehem to sojourn with Naomi to Moab. Much like the the Eastern Mediterranean in the 13th–11th Centuries BCE. Proceedings of the ESF Workshop Held at the Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna, 3–4 November 2014, Denkschriften der Gesamtakademie/Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften 81 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2017); and Jan Driessen, ed., An Archaeology of Forced Migration Crisis: Induced Mobility and the Collapse of the 13th c. BCE Eastern Mediterranean, Aegis 15 (Louvain: Peeters, 2018). For modern examples, see Dirks, “Social Responses,” 27; Arnold, Famine, 91–95; and Ó Gráda, Famine, 81–89. On hunger in these three Genesis stories, see Jürgen Kegler, “Hunger,” in Essen und Trinken in der Bibel. Ein literarisches Festmahl für Rainer Kessler zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Michaela Geiger and Rainer Kessler (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagsaus, 2009), 319–29, esp. 320–21. 78 An earlier instance of famine producing emigration might occur in Gen 4:12, where Cain’s punishment links an unfruitful ground with Cain’s wandering of the earth. 79 Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36, trans. John J. Scullion, Continental Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 162–63. 80 See also the so-called Famine Stele from Ptolemaic Egypt, which recalls a seven-year famine in Old Kingdom Egypt, translated in Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973–75) 3:94–103, and the pattern in Ugarit of Baʿlu departing for seven years, which causes drought and famine (e.g., KTU 1.19 1:38–46). See also Cyrus H. Gordon, “Sabbatical Cycle or Seasonal Pattern? Reflections on a New Book,” Orientalia 22 (1953): 79–81.

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stories of the patriarchs, as well as of the Shunammite woman, hunger drives the family away from the promised land — ironically away from Bethlehem, ‫בית לחם‬, “the house of bread.” Their emigration results in a threat to the future line of David (Ruth 4:18–22) and also leads to Naomi’s bitter self-assessment of her life (Ruth 1:20–21). Upon returning to the land, Naomi faces difficult questions of land tenure and property rights. Besides migration, starved bodies lead to slavery in some biblical stories. The Bible records forms of slavery associated with starvation in two narratives: Gen 47:13–26 and Neh 5:1–5.81 In Gen 47, the narrator reports that no food was in the land (verse 13), which itself is a common motif for famine in the ancient world.82 Driven by hunger, the people exchange their precious metals (e.g., silver) for food (Gen 47:14). The people then exchange their livestock for food (Gen 47:15–17) when depleted of their silver. But hunger and famine continue. Desperate and having nothing left to give for food, the Egyptians sell themselves to Pharaoh (Gen 47:21), perhaps meaning for corvée labor. Their hungry bodies are reduced to mere commodities, all in a frantic attempt to survive starvation. This transforms the Egyptian economy in the narrative, for Pharaoh now owns the land and the people (except the priestly land, Gen 47:22). Nehemiah 5:1–5 also relates a story about slavery and hunger. This time hunger strikes the Jews in Yehud during Nehemiah’s administration. Residents first pledge their properties to the elite 81 The motif also occurs in nonnarrative biblical literature; see, e.g., Lam 1:11 and my discussion in Lyons, “Famine,” 224 n. 185. Slavery during famine was also prevalent in the ancient Near East, evident in, e.g., slavery during famines in Emar as depicted in texts like AuOrS1 25. See also Sophie Démare-Lafont, “Eléments pour une diplomatique juridique des textes d’Emar,” in Trois millénaires de formulaires juridiques dans le monde ouest-sémitique, actes de la table ronde organisée par A. Lemaire et S. Démare-Lafont, ed. Sophie Démare-Lafont and André Lemaire (Genève: Droz, 2010), 43–84; Lena Fijałkowska, “Family in Crisis in Late Bronze Age Syria: Protection of Family Ties in the Legal Texts from Emar,” in La Famille dans le Proche-Orient ancien. Réalités, symbolisms et images. Proceedings of the 55th Rencontre Assyriologique International, Paris, 6–9 July 2009 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 383–96. 82 On the phrase “no food was in the land,” see Michael C. Lyons, “Requests for Food-Provisions in RS 94.2523 and RS 94.2530: Reconsidering pad.meš as Metal Ingots,” Altorientalische Forschungen 46 (2019): 15–21, esp. 19–20.



Bodies of Hunger 107

because of their debts, following a common strategy seen already in Gen 47. When disruptions continue, the need to be kept alive from starvation motivates residents to send their children into slavery, a slavery that was likely related to debt pledges.83 The weeping and distress of parents reaches the ears of Nehemiah, and he responds with anger and equal distress (Neh 5:6–13). In both Gen 47 and Neh 5, the language “to keep alive” figures prominently in forcing the people to sell themselves (Gen 47) or their children (Neh 5) into slavery. This frantic strategy to mitigate hunger occurs elsewhere in Egyptian and ancient Near Eastern literature.84 For example, the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age corpora employ semantic equivalents for this phrase during a time when we know famine ravaged the eastern Mediterranean. These occurrences appear throughout the eastern Mediterranean: Egypt, Hatti, Emar, and Ugarit.85 The prospect of entering slavery for food was an exchange people were willing to make when faced with starvation. As Simone de Beauvoir argues, food becomes more critical than freedom for the starved person.86 Legal texts use the same language to imply that one person subjugates another to preserve them during famine. Slavery then 83 On debt pledges, see Guy L. Ridge, “Interest-Bearing Loans in the Hebrew Bible and the Western Provinces of the Neo-Assyrian Empire” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, 2018), 52–55 and his essay in this volume. 84 Some of what follows was originally presented in Michael C. Lyons, “Late Bronze–Early Iron Age Texts and the Hebrew Bible in Light of Modern Anthropological Indicators of Famine,” (paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Denver, CO, 17 November 2018). 85 In Egyptian texts, sʿnḫ, “to keep alive,” e.g., O. Chicago 16991, P. Anastasi VI, P. Turin 1880, and Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription. In Hittite texts, the causative form of ḫuiš-/ḫueš-, “to be alive,” meaning “to cause (someone) to be alive,” e.g., Hittite Law 172 (KBo 6.26). This law regulates the practice of keeping people alive during famine. In Emarite texts, most commonly, bulluṭu, “to make alive,” (D-stem from balāṭu, “to be alive”), e.g., ASJ 13 37. In contrast with the other corpora, no semantic equivalent for “to keep alive” appears in a famine context in Ugaritic texts, but that is not to say that a general semantic equivalent does not exist; see, e.g., ḥwy, “to make alive,” in the D-stem in KTU 1.17 VI:30–33 (but not related to famine). The documents from Ugarit do, however, include two Akkadian texts that use bulluṭu, “to make alive,” in a famine context, and both are international letters: RS 94.2002 + 2003 (from Egypt) and 94.2571 (from Hatti). 86 Simone de Beauvoir, Force of Circumstance (New York: Putnam, 1964); noted also by Murphy, “‘Will,’” 203.

108 Michael C. Lyons

becomes a mechanism to prevent starvation; or, more negatively, the elite can enslave and gain the service of others during a tragedy like famine. We see this at Emar, the ancient Syrian city on the Euphrates, where the terminology often refers to keeping children alive during a famine by adopting or enslaving them, much like what we see in Neh 5.87 In Bronze Age Egypt, Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription shrewdly uses the language “to keep alive” when Merneptah describes sending grain in ships to keep alive the Hittite land (line 24).88 Merneptah transforms the phrase “to keep alive” into a state-tostate transaction in which Egypt preserves Hatti, probably at the expense of Hatti owing Egypt. This is an important reconfiguration of the phrase that Victor Hurowitz missed in his influential article on famine in the story of Joseph.89 What he saw as the biblical innovation in Gen 47:25 of a population placing themselves into servitude in order to be kept alive actually has precedent in the Karnak Inscription. Yet in Gen 47, Pharaoh enslaves his own population this time! The expression “to keep alive” appears in biblical famine texts other than Gen 47 and Neh 5. For example, let us return to the story of 2 Kgs 7. In verses 3–4, the four lepers decide that they will put their lives into the hands of the enemy, hoping that the Arameans will keep them alive — that is, they use the formulaic language implying that another will preserve them by way of slavery during a famine. Ironically, when the lepers reach the camp, instead of the Arameans keeping them alive by enslavement, they find the camp empty and they become in many respects the conquerors. In both the Mediterranean and biblical texts, this expression “to keep alive” during famine suggests a change in 87 See Lyons, “Famine,” chapter four, which surveys the relevant Emar texts and discusses the phenomenon of child slavery during famine. See also Kristine H. Garroway, “Neither Slave Nor Free: Children Living on the Edge of a Social Status,” in Windows to the Ancient World of the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honor of Samuel Greengus, ed. Bill T. Arnold, Nancy L. Erickson, and John H. Walton (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 121–37. 88 See further the section below, entitled “Pharaoh’s Ability to Provide.” 89 Victor A. Hurowitz, “Joseph’s Enslavement of the Egyptians (Genesis 47:13–26) in the Light of Famine Texts from Mesopotamia,” Revue biblique 101 (1994): 355–62.



Bodies of Hunger 109

status for the one kept alive — even if there is an unexpected change in status, as in 2 Kgs 7. As if migration and slavery were not enough to destabilize society during starvation, biblical literature also records a third devastating effect of starvation: cannibalism.90 The most prominent instance of this in biblical narrative brings us back yet again to 2 Kgs 6–7. During the Aramean siege of Samaria (when the lepers go out in 2 Kgs 7), food prices hyperinflate (2 Kgs 6:25), leading to greater and more deleterious starvation. One woman cries out in her hunger to the king, asking for help (2 Kgs 6:26–27). She exclaims: ‫האׁשה הזאת אמרה אלי תני את־בנך ונאכלנו היום ואת־בני נאכל‬ ‫מחר ונבׁשל את־בני ונאכלהו ואמר אליה ביום האחר תני את־בנך‬ ‫ונאכלנו ותחבא את־בנה‬ This woman had said to me, “Give your son so that we might eat him today, while my son, we will eat tomorrow.” So, we boiled my son and ate him. Then I said to her on the next day, “Give your son so that we might eat him.” Yet she hid her son! (2 Kgs 6:28–29).

Not only were bodies consuming themselves in the starvation process, but people literally consumed the bodies of others because of their starvation. The king tears his clothes in distress (2 Kgs 6:30). He laments the tragic circumstances into which Israel has descended because of siege-induced starvation. But the king cannot help, which strongly exposes the further erosion of the community. The people are helpless. The king has failed in his responsibility to feed them.91 The presence of starved bodies in Samaria grieves the 90 Like the other effects of starvation, cannibalism also occurs in ancient Near Eastern literature. Mursili I’s campaign to Syria, e.g., speaks of men eating those who die or killing for food those perceived as fat (KBo 3.60 II:2–5). Cannibalism also shows up in the Mesopotamian epic Atra-ḫasis (VI:7–10) when the gods use famine to reduce human population. Note other examples in “būru,” CAD 2:343. Anthropology has recognized how cannibalism appears in the final stages of famine, for starvation pushes one toward complete individualism; see Ó Gráda, Famine, 63–68. 91 Marvin A. Sweeney, I & II Kings: A Commentary, Old Testament Library (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 311.

110 Michael C. Lyons

people and leads to the destabilization of the town, including the desperate action of consuming human flesh. Cannibalism evidently returned to the people of Israel, but this time in Judah during the fall of Jerusalem. During the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem, famine breaks out in the city until food runs out (2 Kgs 25:3). It may be from this experience that Lamentations describes the disruption that starvation causes in the city, including cannibalism. For example, the author cries to YHWH: ‫אם־תאכלנה נׁשים פרים עללי טפחים‬, “Should women devour their fruit (i.e., the fruit of their womb), children born healthily?” (Lam 2:20). And again, the author wails: ‫ידי נׁשים רחמניות בׁשלו ילדיהן‬ ‫היו לברות למו בׁשבר בת־עמי‬, “The hands of compassionate women boiled their (own) children; they [the children] became food for them because of the collapse of the daughter of my people” (Lam 4:10). Whether metaphorical or literal descriptions of cannibalism, the reader of these lyrics is supposed to be horrified. The need for self-preservation stripped the people of any remnants of social order. Israel’s way of life collapsed in the fall of Jerusalem, best evidenced by the collapse of maternal instincts when these starved mothers eat their children. The scene vividly recalls the foreboding warning of Lev 26, which promises that God will disrupt the food supply and cause great hunger when the people do not repent (26:26). Hunger will then lead to the unthinkable: ‫ואכלתם בׂשר בניכם ובׂשר בנתיכם תאכלו‬, “Then you will eat the flesh of your sons, and the flesh of your daughters you will eat.” And so they did. In both 2 Kgs 6 and Lamentations, the unthinkable described in Leviticus happens. Hunger disrupts Israelite and Judean society in the most incomprehensible way: starving mothers devour their children. The scene also recalls the divine punishment promised in Deut 28:52–57. There YHWH describes how he will deconstruct Israel’s society when they do not repent. Siege-induced famine will lead to an equally horrific act of cannibalism. Those who you least expect will become consumed with self-preservation, refusing to give food even to their spouse and children — clamoring instead to keep even the flesh of their children for themselves because of their own shocking starvation.



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These biblical examples of migration, slavery, and cannibalism illustrate how the writers of the Hebrew Bible understood that starved bodies disrupted the social world of ancient Israelites. In each case, hunger and starvation threatened the status quo and led to an unraveling of Israel’s society. Famine, as well as its threat of starvation, undermined the order and strength of the community of the people of YHWH, much like it did in Ramesside Egypt. Hunger destroyed Israel’s way of life. Motifs of Hunger (or Satiety) and Their Effects in Egyptian and Biblical Literary Texts We have now seen both the phenomenology of the starving body and how hunger disrupted societies as depicted in Egyptian and biblical literature. These texts highlight the prevalence of hunger in both corpora and show how starvation was known to the authors. In this final section of my essay, I will demonstrate how the phenomenology of a starved body and the well-known destabilizing effects of hunger upon society led to a motif in ancient literature using hunger or its opposite, satiety. I will explore this in two parts. First, I will look at how Ramesside Egyptian literature propagandized hunger and satiety to exalt the pharaoh’s position in Egypt. Using this motif conveyed that the pharaoh could help society flourish through satisfying its hunger. I will then examine how the biblical authors use the same means to convey the superiority of Israel’s God, YHWH. Like the pharaoh in ancient Egypt, YHWH also caused society to flourish by satisfying the hunger of his people. Pharaoh’s Ability to Provide Many royal and monumental texts from Ramesside Egypt convey the power of the pharaoh to satisfy hunger and thus establish order in society.92 I will limit myself to three examples: CGC 34504

92  The use of hunger and starvation for state propaganda is not unique to Egypt but appears throughout ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean cultures; see Irene

112 Michael C. Lyons

(Manshiyet es-Sadr stela), Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription, and O. Turin N. 57001. CGC 34504, a stela erected in the eighth year of Ramesses II (ca. 1279–1213 BCE) at Manshiyet es-Sadr, records the pharaoh addressing workers at a royal quarry. His speech boasts that the workers would prosper because he provided their sustenance. He states: I am Ramesses II, Meriamun, who brings up the (new) generations by sustaining them! (So), supplies abound before you and there is no “Oh, for (more) of it!” Food is in plenty all around you! I shall deal with your needs in every respect, so that you shall work for me devotedly. I am your enduring patron for your needs — the supplies for you are weightier than the work, in (my) desire (to) nourish and foster you! I know that your labors are energetic and efficient, and that only on a full stomach are people glad to work on it. The granaries groan for you with grain, so that not a day need be spent lacking victuals, each of you is sated by the month.93

As propaganda, Ramesses II makes use of the fears of starvation to exalt the pharaoh as the provider of the workers. The workers will not go hungry because of the pharaoh’s great power. The granaries will be so full that the workers will lack nothing. This stela stood as a visible reminder that the pharaoh’s strength and resolve nullified the threat of bodily hunger. The workers did not have to fear anymore. The second example, Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription, also boasts the pharaoh’s supreme abilities to prevent starvation. The inscription details Merneptah’s victory over the Libyan incursion. Libyan troops had penetrated the land, but Merneptah repelled them. The text ends by describing the spoils from the war. Two lines within the inscription contrast the starvation of Libya and Hatti with Merneptah’s potency to provide nourishment. In line 22, the inscription observes why the Libyans invaded Egypt: J. Winter, “Ornament and the ‘Rhetoric of Abundance’ in Assyria,” Eretz-Israel 27 (2003): 252–64 and Altmann, “Feast and Famine,” esp. 161–64. 93  Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, 2:164, lines 11b–14.



Bodies of Hunger 113

“[…significant lacuna…] their chief. To fill their bellies daily do they spend the day wandering and fighting. To seek the necessities of their mouths do they come to the land of Egypt. Their hearts….”94 The Libyans were starving, so they sought food.95 They must have believed that Egypt possessed an abundance of food.96 Merneptah probably wrote this detail to boast that Egypt did not lack food like the Libyans. After all, he was the almighty pharaoh who provided food for near and far! Merneptah reiterates this point in line 24, when he argues his supremacy extends even to providing food to the far-away Hittites, saying: “[…significant lacuna…] put an end to the Pedjutishu. It is in order to keep alive this Hittite land that I have caused grain 94  The idiom mḥ + ẖt, “to fill the belly/stomach,” for eating corresponds semantically to several expressions in ancient Near Eastern literature, including the Bible; see ‫ומעיך תמלא‬, “and fill your stomach” in Ezek 3:3; ‫מלא כרׂשו‬, “he filled his belly” in Jer 51:34; ‫וימלא קדים בטנו‬, “and fill his belly with the east wind” in Job 15:2 (cf. 20:23); cf. ‫תׂשבע בטנו‬, “his belly is satisfied,” in Prov 18:20. Biblical literature also describes the belly lacking food: ‫ובטן רׁשעים תחסר‬, “but the belly of the wicked lacks” in Prov 13:25; see also Ezek 7:19. In Akkadian the idiom appears in karša malû, “to fill the belly”; see “malû,” CAD 10/1:177a, ša amēli muttapraššidi mali karassu, “a hunter gets his belly filled.” See also Hayim Ben-Yosef Tawil, An Akkadian Lexical Companion for Biblical Hebrew: Etymological-Semantic and Idiomatic Equivalents with Supplement on Biblical Aramaic (New York: Ktav, 2009), 212–13. Biblical and Akkadian texts evidently do not use this phrase as a famine indicator. The term wḫȝ, “to seek,” + a food related item (here hrt, “necessities”) may imply a serious need for food. See the same phrase in O. DeM 303. The term hrt is used for “necessities” in “the necessities of their mouths.” It can refer to possessions or needed belongings, among other things. But by writing r.sn (or r[w].sn), “their mouths,” it probably indicates food here; see Colleen Manassa, The Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah: Grand Strategy in the 13th Century BC, Yale Egyptological Studies 5 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 34, who transliterates r3.sn here, adding the aleph sign, and Raymond O. Faulkner, ed., A Concise Dictionary of Middle Egyptian (Oxford: Griffith Institute, 1962), 203. 95  Kenneth A. Kitchen, “The Arrival of the Libyans in Late New Kingdom Egypt,” in Libya and Egypt: C1300–750 BC, ed. Anthony Leahy (London: SOAS Centre of Near and Middle Eastern Studies and the Society for Libyan Studies, 1990), 20 argues that hunger and need for fertile land drove the Libyans to Egypt. See also Fiona Simpson, “Evidence for Late Bronze Age Libyan Culture at the New Kingdom Egyptian Fortress of Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham,” in Current Research in Egyptology 2000, ed. Angela McDonald and Christina Riggs, BAR International Series 909 (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2000), 97–102. But see the reassessment of the Egyptian ideology of Libyans in Juan C. Moreno García, “Invaders or Just Herders? Libyans in Egypt in the Third and Second Millennia BCE,” World Archaeology 46, no. 4 (2014): 610–23. 96 For a similar motif, see P. Anastasi VI 4:13–5:2, which depicts the Šasu coming to Egypt for the life-giving waters of the pharaoh.

114 Michael C. Lyons

to be sent in ships. Behold, I am the one [to whom] the gods gave all nourishment.”97 The inscription uses the common famine language used in the phenomenological descriptions of starvation I surveyed above — namely, sʿnḫ, “to keep alive.” Above I argued that Merneptah transformed this ancient Near Eastern legal language to show how he had “enslaved” Hatti to Egypt by his superior ability to provide food.98 His supremacy became more poignant as he boasted that the gods themselves had given him this ability. Speaking to a world that knew the phenomenological reality of hunger and starvation, Merneptah propagandized an image of himself as the one who could stop the chaos of starvation. In doing this, he reinforced the maʾat ideology that the pharaohs sought to demonstrate. Besides CGC 34504 and Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription, one more example demonstrates how the Ramesside pharaohs used a hunger motif to convey the ideological apologetics of their reign. In a hymn celebrating the reign of Ramesses IV (ca. 1156– 1149 BCE), a series of reversals in fortune take place because of the power and splendor of Ramesses. Those reversals include hunger and thirst. O. Turin N. 57001 states: “The ones who were hungry are (now) satisfied and contented, the ones who were thirsty are (now) drunken” (r. 2).99 Egyptian ideology held the pharaoh responsible for feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty. If there was hunger and thirst, Egyptians could blame 97 Translation adapted from Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 34. Breasted’s translation, “…bringing to an end the Pedetishew, whom I caused to take grain in ships” (emphasis mine) seems doubtful in that Merneptah would conquer the group and then use them for a mission to Hatti; see James Henry Breasted, Ancient Records of Egypt (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2001 [1906]), 3:§580. Benedict G. Davies, Egyptian Historical Inscriptions of the Nineteenth Dynasty, Documenta Mundi. Aegyptiaca 2 (Jonsered: Paul Åström, 1997), 157 follows Breasted’s use of the relative clause. I agree with Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 37, who suggests that ἰ.dἰ.ἰ, “I have caused…to be sent,” (from rdἰ, “to let, give”) is the modal emphatic sḏm.f (also called the prospective emphatic) instead of the relative form. For this modal/prospective form, see Jean Winand, Etudes de néo-égyptien. La morphologie verbale, Aegyptiaca Leodiensia 2 (Liège: Centre Informatique de Philologie et Lettres, 1992), §§420–35. 98 See “Hungry Bodies Disrupting Israel.” 99 Cf. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, 6:66–67.



Bodies of Hunger 115

either on a weak pharaoh.100 The hymn in praise of Ramesses IV thus stresses that he is able to reverse the effects of famine, ensuring the stability of his reign (or so he hoped). These three Egyptian texts — CGC 34504, Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription, and O. Turin N. 57001 — demonstrate the propaganda that Ramesside pharaohs used to convince the population that the pharaohs enriched their lives. Textual propaganda depicted the pharaoh’s ability to stabilize communities through satisfying bodily hunger, among many other expressions. The readers of the propaganda most likely knew the power of starvation to destabilize community; many had experienced it themselves, and many feared it. But the pharaohs hoped to convince the people that they could pacify even the greatest storms of famine and hunger. YHWH’s Ability to Provide Much as Egyptian literature depicts the pharaoh, biblical literature depicts YHWH, the divine king of Israel, as powerful and benevolent enough to feed his people and prevent starvation (e.g., Ps 145:15–16). YHWH, like the pharaoh, demonstrated the stability of his divine reign by satisfying bodily hunger.101 The biblical authors articulated this motif through both the theologicalhistorical narratives that describe YHWH’s role in Israel’s history and general theological characteristics ascribed to YHWH in prophetic literature and the writings (e.g., Psalms and Proverbs).102 The most prominent depictions of YHWH providing for his hungry people in the theological-historical narratives appear in the wilderness traditions. In Deut 8:1–10, for example, Moses reminds the people that God intends for their hunger in the wilderness 100 Jacquetta Hawkes, The First Great Civilizations: Life in Mesopotamia, the Indus Valley, and Egypt (New York: Knopf, 1973), 341. This probably partially explains the downfall and rebellion against the pharaohs in the Twentieth Dynasty. 101 On the ideology of YHWH as king, see Exod 15:18; 19:5–6 and the enthronement psalms, esp. Pss 47, 93, 95–99. 102 “Theological-historical narrative” is my own term for Israel’s historiography preserved in the Hebrew Bible; see also John H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament: Introducing the Conceptual World of the Hebrew Bible, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2018), 189–212.

116 Michael C. Lyons

to humble them, while he feeds them with manna (8:3; see also Neh 9:15). Learning to trust God for food in the wilderness will lead then to living in the new land — namely, Canaan — where God will provide abundantly for their food needs: ‫ואכלת וׂשבעת‬ ‫וברכת את־יהוה אלהיך על־הארץ הטבה אׁשר נתן־לך‬, “Then you will eat and be satisfied, and you will thank YHWH your God for the good land which he gave you” (Deut 8:10). The absence of hunger and want (Deut 8:9) will produce thanksgiving to YHWH for his provision.103 The motif of YHWH being a God who can push back hunger and starvation also occurs throughout the prophetic literature and the writings. Because there are many examples, I will limit myself to two, one from each corpus: Isa 49:10 and Ps 33:18–19. Isa 49:8–13 describes how God will reverse his people’s shame. He will show them compassion and grant them victory. He will reverse the social calamity and injustice the people face, including bodily hunger: ‫ואמצי אלו ובערי אל‬, “they will not be hungry and will not be thirsty” (Isa 49:10). This reversal echoes the same ideology of Ramesses IV in O. Turin N. 57001 and depicts YHWH with similar royal ideological intentions. We saw earlier how hunger and starvation quickly unraveled an ancient society, including Israel.104 YHWH addresses these concerns of societal unraveling in Isa 49 by promising that a new day will dawn. This passage may also recall the wilderness traditions, suggesting that God will lead the people on a new journey, which will not involve hunger this time.105 Satiety will mark this new day. Hunger and thirst will be absent.106 God’s restored reign will eliminate the threat of starvation that haunts those living in ancient Israel. 103 When God is the object of ‫ברך‬, “to bless,” it means to thank God; see Arnold B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel. Textkritisches, sprachliches und sachliches, 7 vols. (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1908–1914), 2:275. 104 See the section titled “How Hunger Disrupted Ancient Egypt and Israel.” 105 J. Alec Motyer, The Prophecy of Isaiah: An Introduction and Commentary (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1993), 391. 106 For similar images in the prophets, see Isa 58:7–10; Isa 65:13; Ezek 34:25–21, etc. The image of there being no thirst may also depend on the previous oracle in Isaiah (Isa 48:21).



Bodies of Hunger 117

The second example, Ps 33, speaks about God’s role in reversing hunger from a different angle than the prophetic texts. This hymn praises the great strength of YHWH and his supremacy in salvation for his people. Near the end, the psalmist exemp­ lifies YHWH’s greatness by citing his power for those facing starvation: ‫הנה עין יהוה אל־יראיו למיחלים לחסדו להציל ממות נפׁשם‬ ‫ולחיותם ברעב‬, “Look, the eye of YHWH is toward those who fear him, toward those awaiting his loyal love, so that he might deliver their life from death and keep them alive during famine” (Ps 33:18–19). Like Merneptah’s Karnak Inscription and Gen 47, the psalmist evokes the legal language of keeping someone alive during a time of starvation or famine (‫לחיותם ברעב‬, “to keep them alive during famine/starvation”). Verses 18–19 display an awareness of how hunger disrupted the stability of a community, leading some to sell themselves to another who would keep them alive. The final line of verse 19 corresponds to the first line, that God would deliver a person from death. In view of the second line’s focus on ‫רעב‬, “famine; starvation,” the reference to death probably refers to starving to death. Despite the tyranny of hunger, Ps 33 exclaims that YHWH is great enough to rescue the devoted follower from starvation. This motif of YHWH preserving the faithful through times of hunger appears throughout the Psalms: see, for example, Pss 37:18–19; 107:5, 9, 36; 146:7. The follower of YHWH did not need t o fear t he t er r ifying menace of st ar vat ion anymore, according to the psalmist. These three texts — Deut 8:1–10, Isa 49:10, and Ps 33:18– 19 — illustrate that the biblical writers capitalize on the phenomenological experiences of hunger and the disruption it caused in communities. Like the Egyptian texts about the pharaoh, the biblical writers portray YHWH as able to step into the chaos of famine and starvation and establish order and stability by satisfying the hungry.107 As the king of Israel, YHWH insisted that 107 Yet the ideological tenor of YHWH also diverges from the pharaoh’s propaganda, for the biblical texts convey that at certain times the God of Israel did not prevent starvation; in fact, he afflicted it upon the people as discipline. See, e.g., Jer 11:22. See also Lamentations, where the author laments that God acted in such a way to permit Jerusalem to fall into starvation.

118 Michael C. Lyons

he would not allow his faithful to hunger (see Prov 10:3). Like the pharaoh, he provided for their deepest phenomenological and physiological needs of hunger. The biblical writers testify that YHWH was indeed trustworthy. He would feed his people. Summary In his book, Heroic Bodies in Ancient Israel, Brian Doak insightfully notes that “[b]odies tell stories and create realities, and then encode the values visually; not merely a functional tool or a vacant display, bodies function as both tool and display.”108 Although Doak refers to heroic bodies, the same must be true for hungry bodies in ancient Egyptian and Near Eastern literature, including the Bible. This essay has mapped out a literary representation of hungry bodies in two different corpora: the Ramesside Egyptian literature and the Hebrew Bible. It first examined what a phenomenology of hunger is and described the process of starvation. We saw that starvation involves both a physical and psychological process that includes the body cannibalizing itself and the mind being seized by the terror of death. Self-preservation becomes the all-consuming mindset. The textualization of starvation in the Egyptian and biblical corpora suggests a phenomenology of hunger that the ancient world knew well. People lived in fear of hunger and what hunger could do to their bodies. But we saw, too, that hunger has profound effects on more than just one’s body. Both Egyptian and biblical texts illustrate that persistent hunger and starvation always led to catastrophic instability. Crime, corruption, rebellion, migration, slavery, and cannibalism, among other troubles plagued hungry towns and cities. The catastrophe of famine did not remain on the phenomenological level. While hunger was experienced in these societies, the very idea of hunger or satiety was used as a literary motif to signal to readers the effectiveness of a leader. In the case of Egypt and 108 Brian R. Doak, Heroic Bodies in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 12.



Bodies of Hunger 119

Israel, the identity of both the pharaoh and YHWH as providers of nourishment may derive in part from these phenomenological realities of hunger and social disruption that became a literary motif. The Egyptian and biblical authors mitigated the constant threat of famine and starvation by a welcomed ideology of the pharaoh and YHWH as king. As kings, they delivered their people from the fear of starvation. Their kingship brought satiety and thus restored social order. Good kingship, it was believed, defeated starvation.

Chapter 4

Drama in the Valley of Achor: Corporal Responses in Joshua 7 Hélène Dallaire

The night before my mother goes into the ground I try to eat in my hotel near Kennedy, but since Sept. 11th the restaurant is temporarily closed. In the still-open souvenir shop I find a t-shirt that fits me. A youth M preshrunk 10–12, An I ♥︎NY t-shirt. I go up to my room. On the wall above my bed is a print Of a colonial lower Manhattan and outside my window Is bumper to bumper traffic. My mother is a photograph, a hoarse voice on the answering machine, a crocheted afghan of primary-colored squares girded with black wool, a small coleus with pink-spotted leaves outside apt. 306, a man in the street with a hole in his throat, 121

122 Hélène Dallaire a silver ring with a moonstone on my index finger. I pull a t-shirt over my head, claw at the red heart, but the fabric won’t rip. I’m forced to use the small blade on my nail clipper to make a slit. Now my hands can tear the heart That hides the one that beats.  —  Willa Schneberg, “Rending the Garment”

The loss of a mother, a broken heart, unique memories, and the tearing of a garment. Such is the depiction of the deep mourning and sorrow that Willa Schneberg experienced at the loss of her mother. Her heart is broken. Her garment is torn.1 Expressions of mourning and loss are universal. Since the beginning of times, grief and sorrow have been felt by humans around the globe. In this essay, I will show how Joshua’s emotional and corporal responses of grief and sorrow at the loss of life during the battle at Ai (Josh 7), were neither unique nor novel. His acts of tearing a garment, wailing, throwing dust and ashes, and falling on his face are well documented as expressions of grief in biblical and ancient Near Eastern traditions. Joshua’s reaction to the events at Ai reflect culturally appropriate emotional and corporal responses of deep distress and sorrow. Mourning Rituals According to Maurice Lamm, the tearing of garments by mourners is one of the most noticeable expressions of grief in the Jewish community today.2 This act is considered

1 Willa Schneberg, “Rending the Garment,” Women’s Review of Books 24, no. 4 (July 2007): 17. 2 Maurice Lamm, “Keriah: The Rending of Garments,” Chabad. org, https://www. chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/281558/jewish/Keriah-The-Rending-of-Garments. htm.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 123 an opportunity for psychological relief. It allows the mourner to give vent to his pent-up anguish by means of a controlled, religiously sanctioned act of destruction. Maimonides…notes with sharp insight that this tear satisfies the emotional need of the moment, or else it would not be permitted as it is a clear violation of the biblical command not to cause waste.3

The torn-garment tradition has a long history. Its roots go back millennia, to biblical and even prebiblical times. Mourning the loss of a loved one is universal. Grief has been experienced by all: young and old, men and women, rich and poor, king and pauper. The grief and sorrow of mourners finds expression in countless ways, from complete emotional numbness, to inward mental and physical agony, and even through public cries of lament. These manifestations differ from individual to individual based on societal norms, individual dispositions, family traditions, and cultural contexts.4 In the Hebrew Bible, grieving appears in many forms. Individuals rend their garments (Gen 37:34), groan (Ezek 21:6), cry (2 Sam 13:19), lament (Lam), put on sackcloth (2 Sam 3:31), wear mourning garb (2 Sam 14:2), remove shoes (2 Sam 15:30; Ezek 24:17), refrain from wearing cosmetics (2 Sam 14:2), fall to the ground (Josh 7:6), put dust on their heads (Job 2:12), sit in the dirt (Isa 47:1), fast (2 Sam 1:12), eat special foods (Ezek 24:17, 22), lie on the ground (2 Sam 12:16), sit in silence (Job 2:13), cover the lower part of their faces (Ezek 24:17, 22), beat their breasts

3 Lamm, “Keriah.” 4 From ancient times until today, people groups around the world have embraced special mourning rites and traditions. For example, the Andaman Islanders use clay to cover their bodies following the death of one of their own. The Kwakiutl from British Columbia cut the hair of the mourners. In the nineteenth century, Egyptian Muslim women, children, and hired wailing women were heard uttering bitter cries of lament. In Palestine, relatives of the dead in rural and urban communities dye their shirts blue or black. During the mourning period, women refrain from braiding their hair and wearing jewelry. Bedouin women dishevel their hair and throw dirt on their heads, a practice well attested in biblical times. Bedouin men do not shave their beards for several weeks; see Aref Abu-Rabia and Nibal Khalil, “Mourning Palestine: Death and Grief Rituals,” Anthropology of the Middle East 7, no. 2 (2012): 1–18.

124 Hélène Dallaire

(Ezek 21:12), and stop eating (2 Sam 3:35).5 In her work on biblical mourning customs, Yael Shemesh notes that these and other mourning rites play a major psychological function: they help mourners retain some degree of stability and structure in their lives at a time when their familiar world seems to have collapsed around them and the ground is disappearing from under their feet. Such practices help them internalize and adjust to their new status as orphans, widows or widowers, bereaved parents, etc., and redefine their relations with the deceased and those around them. In addition, of course, they make it possible for them to express their grief and unburden themselves of some of their pain.6

Clothing Speaks Expressions of emotion, including grief and sorrow, are often linked to articles of clothing. Clothing is symbolic and meaningful. It speaks of self-image, ascribed image, social and cultural role for rich and poor alike, and fulfills many other functions. What is done with or to clothing can speak of personal emotions — positive and negative — and often reveals emotions such as grief, 5 On rending garments, Melanie Köhlmoos, “Tearing One’s Clothes and Rites of Mourning,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schultz and Martina Weingärtner (New York: T&T Clark, 2019), 303 notes that “in the Old Testament, …tearing one’s garment is not restricted to bereavement. Severe sickness, defeat, or loss also require the rite. Hence, tearing one’s garment is a part of Israel’s cultural system of coping with catastrophes of any kind.” Regarding sitting in silence, Eileen Ward, “Mourning Customs in 1, 2 Samuel,” Journal of Jewish Studies 23 (1972): 17–20 and Baruch Levine, “Silence, Sound, and Phenomenology of Mourning in Biblical Israel,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University 22 (1993): 95–96 point out that silence was probably not a traditional mourning rite in Israel but a natural expression of shock related to the bereavement of sudden loss. On refraining from food, see Edwin M. Yamauchi and Marvin R. Wilson, “Mourning and Weeping,” in Dictionary of Daily Life in Biblical and Post-Biblical Antiquity, ed. Edwin M. Yamauchi and Marvin R. Wilson (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2017), 1232–61. 6 Yael Shemesh, “‘Do Not Bare Your Heads and Do Not Rend your Clothes’ (Leviticus 10:6): On Mourning and Refraining from Mourning in the Bible,” in Leviticus and Numbers, Texts @ Contexts Series. Eds. Athalya Brenner and Archie Chi Chung Lee (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2013), 41.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 125

confusion, anguish, success, fun, humor, or joy. Cultural-anthropological studies have demonstrated that clothing discloses the individual’s cultural identity, social status, power, gender, political biases, economic class, cultic affiliation, sexual politics, level of sophistication, mood, emotional state, and more.7 In Scripture, garments are torn for various reasons.8 In some cases, a garment is torn when it is ripped off of someone’s body, as in the case of Elijah and Elisha (2 Kgs 2:12), where Elisha grabs the mantle of Elijah.9 In other cases, it appears as a metaphor for the taking away or ripping away of a kingdom or rulership (e.g., 1 Sam 15:28; 2 Kgs 17:21), thus indicating a diminishing of social status and loss of territorial inheritance.10 In the case of Tamar, the tearing of the garment indicates grief, humiliation, and deep sorrow after she was raped by her brother Amnon (2 Sam 13:19). In 1 Kgs 11:30–32, the garment of Ahijah, the prophet of Shiloh, is ripped into twelve pieces, signifying the division of the kingdom under the reign of Jeroboam I. In grief, Job rips his garment, 7 Jopie Siebert-Hommes, “‘On the Third Day Esther Put on her Queen’s Robes’ (Esther 5:1): The Symbolic Function of Clothing in the Book of Esther” (unpublished manuscript, 2001), 1. This manuscript is a revised version of a paper presented at a session of the Hebrew Bible Section at the Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting in Rome, July 2001. See also Heather A. McKay, “Gendering the Discourse of Display in the Hebrew Bible,” in On Reading Prophetic Texts: Gender-Specific and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Kijk-Hemmes, ed. Bob Becking and Meindert Dijkstra, Biblical Interpretation 18 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 171. 8 Occurrences of garment tearing are found primarily in narrative prose texts. They appear in the Torah (e.g., Gen 37:29, 34; 44:12–12; Lev 10:1–7; 13:45; 21:10; Num 14:1–9), in the Prophets (e.g., Judg 11:34–35; 1 Sam 4:12; 2 Sam 1:11–12; 3:31; 13:19, 30–31; 1 Kgs 21:20–27; 2 Kgs 2:12; 5:7–8; 6:26–30; 11:14; 18:37//Isa 36:22; 19:1//Isa 37:1; 22:11; Jer 41:5) and in the Writings (e.g., Job 1:20; 2:12; Esth 4:1; Ezra 9:5; 2). Additional occurrences of garment rending are found in Deuterocanonical books (e.g., Jdt 14:16, 19; 1 Macc 2:14; 3:47; 4:39; 11:71; 13:45). 9 Morris Jastrow, Jr., “The Tearing of Garments as a Symbol of Mourning, with Especial Reference to the Customs of the Ancient Hebrews,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 21 (1900): 25 notes: “there are indications that among the ancient Arabs likewise the custom prevailed of stripping oneself as a sign of mourning and distress. In the Kitab al-Aghani, there is a story of a woman who in her grief removes her clothing; of a certain Musab b. al-Zubair it is related that he followed a corpse, stripped of his lower garments; and a woman who warns her people of some impending disaster takes off her garments and cries out, ‘I am the naked warner.’” 10 Andrew Wilson, “The Clothes Make the Man,” Christianity Today (March 2019): 32.

126 Hélène Dallaire

shaves his head, and falls on the ground as a sign of mourning for the loss of family members (Job 1:20). Moved by Job’s grief, his friends Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar join in the mourning rite by tearing their own clothing. Reuben, the eldest son of Jacob, after allowing Joseph to disappear at the hands of his brothers, and convinced that his plan to rescue Joseph had failed, tears his clothes in mourning (Gen 37:29). This episode could indicate that Reuben indeed cared for his young brother Joseph. Yet it could also be viewed as a remorseful gesture to atone for the heinous offense of sleeping with his father’s concubine Bilhah (Gen 35:22). According to Obiorah M. Jerome and Favour C. Uroko, two things must have motivated Reuben’s action of tearing his clothes at Joseph’s seeming death: first was his position as the eldest of his brothers, and second was his love and concern for Joseph whom he referred to in the narrative as hayyeled, “the boy,” indicating the tender age of his younger brother.”11

Clothing has always had a voice and a message, and what one does with garments is significant. Today, the fashion industry is a highly lucrative business. Garments are designed to make individuals look slimmer, taller, wealthier, more successful, more voluptuous, and aesthetically attractive. Fashion expresses culture, trends, personality, and much more. Clothing even has a religious voice. Maurice Autané notes: Dans notre société, le port de signes religieux est de retour. Des jeunes catholiques portent une croix visible et une partie du jeune clergé adopte le col romain, le vêtement noir ou gris, voire la soutane. Dans d’autres confessions religieuses, on se distingue par le foulard ou le voile intégral.12 In our society, the wearing of religious symbols is becoming increasingly popular. Some young Catholics wear a visible 11 Obiorah M. Jerome and Favour C. Uroko, “Tearing of Clothes: A Study of an Ancient Practice in the Old Testament,” Verbum et Ecclesia 39, no. 1 (2018): 3, https:// doi.org/10.4102/ve.v39i1.1841. 12 Maurice Autané, review of La Symbolique du vêtement dans la Bible. Pour une théologie du vêtement, by Alban Cras, Service Biblique Catholique: Évangile et vie.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 127 cross while young clergy members are now choosing to don the clerical collar, and the black or grey robe. In other religious groups, the veil or scarf is worn as a sign of religious identity.

Clothing in the Ancient Near East According to Richard Medina, the judgment of the peoples of the ancient Near East on clothing differs radically from that of our Western conception of it. For them clothing is an extension of an individual’s personality. The removal of clothes is considered much more serious than a mere physical matter…. The stripping or removing of the garment could signal a breakup with the material world, loss of status or identity, or loss of divine protection, and a great shame.13

Ancient Near Eastern literature reveals the significance of special apparels. Alicia Batten highlights the meaning of garments in the Gilgamesh epic and notes that, exchanging dirty clothes for clean ones and adorning oneself has a positive effect on other people, although when the hero of the epic, Gilgamesh, did this after a battle, it caused the goddess Ishtar to fall in love with him, eventually leading to disaster. But the effect of his elegant attire was clearly quite powerful. Unsoiled, undamaged clothes and stylish appearance are thus generally associated with positive characteristics and circumstances, whereas wearing dirty garments connotes humility, degradation and death. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the

Bible Service, le portail de référence en France de la lecture biblique. https://www. bible-service.net/extranet/current/pages/1752.html. 13 Richard W. Medina, “Job’s Entrée into a Ritual of Mourning as Seen in the Opening Prose of the Book of Job,” Die Welt des Orients 38 (2008): 204.

128 Hélène Dallaire dead are dressed in dirty clothes, whereas the brave and strong are clean and oiled.14

A Nuzi text reveals that a divorced woman could be stripped of her garment and driven away naked.15 This precedent is not attested in legal texts within the Hebrew Bible. Rather, in cases of divorce, the man was simply responsible for giving the woman a certificate of divorce and sending her away (Deut 24:1). In Assyrian literature, people who were conquered were sometimes undressed in humiliation. For example, Esarhaddon, king of the Neo-Assyrian empire, boasted: “I provided the naked with clothing and let them take the road to Babylon.”16 In Ugaritic literature, we learn that a son who lost his inheritance normally had to forfeit his costly garment.17 This concept is also seen in Hittite Law #171, where we read that, if a mother removed her son’s garments, she was disinheriting him. If her son came back into her house, she could take the garment, place it on her son, and make him an heir once again.18 According to Medina, in several Akkadian texts, the removal of garments denoted identification with the dead. This can be seen, for example, in the Descent of Ishtar in which, as she enters the netherworld, according to the rites there, she is stripped of all her jewelry

14 Alicia J. Batten, “Clothing and Adornment,” Biblical Theology Bulletin 40, no. 3 (2010): 149. 15 Ryan C. Hanley, “The Background and Purpose of Stripping the Adulteress in Hosea 2,” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 60, no. 1 (2017): 90–91 and John Huehnergard, “Biblical Notes on Some New Akkadian Texts from Emar (Syria),” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 47 (1985): 431. 16 Edwin M. Yamauchi and Marvin L. Wilson, “Clothing,” in Dictionary of Daily Life in Biblical and Post-Biblical Antiquity, ed. Edwin M. Yamauchi and Marvin R. Wilson (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2017), 326. 17 RS 17.159: 30. See Christine Neal Thomas, “Reconceiving the House of the Father: Royal Women at Ugarit,” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 2014), 171, http://nrs. harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:12274554. 18 H. Craig Melchert, “On Sections 56, 162, and 171 of the Hittite Laws,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 31, no. 1 (1979): 64.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 129 and garment at each of the seven gates. By her nakedness she becomes assimilated with [the] dead.19

This concept also appears in the literature of Herodotus, Aeschylus, and Xenophon that deals with the Persian empire.20 Items of clothing have no external voice, yet, as mentioned above, they undeniably speak. Heather A. McKay writes that “garments speak silently, but speak they do.”21 Her critical research on clothing and adornment in the Bible points out that items of clothing frequently have an indispensable function in the development of the biblical storyline. She notes that “the importance of the dress items can be recognized from the length and depth of detail of descriptions and of the role of the objects in the narrative.”22 Clothing in Biblical Narratives Garments play a significant role in Scripture.23 The putting on, transfer, or removal of an item of apparel often signifies the 19 Medina, “Job’s Entrée,” 204. 20 Harry L. Levy, “Rending the Garments as a Sign of Grief,” Classical Weekly 41, no. 5 (1947): 73. 21 Heather A. McKay, “Gendering the Body: Clothes Maketh the (Wo)man,” in Theology and the Body: Gender, Text and Ideology, ed. Robert Hannaford and J’annine Jobling (Herefordshire: Gracewing, 1999), 94. 22 McKay, “Gendering the Body,” 94. 23 Hebrew has numerous terms for clothing, some more significant than others. Items of clothing were undoubtedly of various shapes, thicknesses, designs, and significance, but, as Holger Gzella, “Nudity and Clothing in the Lexicon of the Hebrew Bible” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schulz, and Martina Weingärtner (New York: T&T Clark, 2019), 229 notes, “it is impossible to map the lexical data onto the known pictorial representations and archaeological remnants of dresses in any coherent way.” The Hebrew terms include: ‫“( אדרת‬cloak, mantle, garment”), ‫ בגד‬II (“clothes, garment”), ‫“( גלום‬wrap, garment”), ‫ חגורה‬,‫“( חגור‬belt, girdle, loin cloth”), ‫“( חצן‬fold of garment, hem”), ‫“( כתנת‬garment”), ‫“( כסות‬covering, clothing”), ‫“( לבוׁש‬put on clothes, wear”), ‫“( מד‬garment, clothes”), ‫ מדוה‬II (“garment”), ‫“( מלבוׁש‬raiment, attire”), ‫מעטה‬ (“wrap, mantle”), ‫“( מכלל‬gorgeous garment”), ‫“( מכסה‬covering”), ‫“( מטפחת‬cloak”), ‫“( מחלצה‬festive garments”), ‫“( מלתחה‬wardrobe”), ‫“( משי‬costly garments, silk”), ‫סדין‬ (“costly garments, linen wrap”), ‫“( סות‬vestment”), ‫“( פתיגיל‬fine clothing”), ‫“( צבע‬colorful, dyed garments”), ‫“( שול‬fold of garment, hem”), ‫“( שעטנז‬woven fabric”), ‫שמלה‬ (garment, cloth), ‫“( שבל‬flowing skirt”), ‫“( שית‬garment, attire”), ‫“( תחרא‬corselet”), ‫“( תלבשת‬raiment, garment”). The ‫( מעיל‬a coat, robe, longer outer garment open at the front), is worn by important people like kings and princes (1 Sam 15:27; 18:4; 24:5,

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putting on, transfer, or removal of authority, the cover-up of an undesirable action, or the lowering of someone’s social status.24 The destruction of a garment normally points to a negative emotion. The change from one garment to another can indicate manipulation, change of role, change of social context, etc. The putting on and removal of a special garment may indicate the beginning or end of a political or religious act or the confirmation or rejection of a political or religious role. The biblical text provides numerous examples of biblical characters who wear distinctive garments, for special purposes. For example, Goliath displays his power by wearing a bronze helmet (‫ )קובע נחשת‬and armor (‫)שריון‬, scaly from head to toe (1 Sam 17:5). Samuel is first introduced to the reader as wearing a linen ephod (‫)אפוד בד‬, hinting at a priestly function (1 Sam 2:18). Saul wears a royal robe (‫ )כנף‬that symbolizes authority (1 Sam 24:6).25 As revealed in the Adam and Eve narrative, clothing — in this case a natural leafy covering (‫ — )עלה תאנה‬can be used to hide nakedness and cover shame (Gen 3:21). According to Jerome and Uroko, Adam and Eve’s woven loincloths express their newly discovered need for modesty.26 Nestor Turcotte notes that le vêtement, dès l’origine, a un double rôle: il cache et il manifeste. Il voile et dévoile. L’être humain avait été créé parfait; sa nudité n’était pas un manque, mais l’expression de sa ressemblance avec Dieu. Après la faute, l’homme a perdu quelque chose qu’il tente maladroitement de combler. C’est ainsi qu’il accepte l’aide de Dieu qui lui demande de se couvrir. La honte de la nudité apparaît donc comme une conséquence du péché.

11; Ezek 26:16; Job 1:20; 2:12), daughter of David (2 Sam 13:18), and high priests (Exod 28:31; 29:5; 39:22; Lev 8:7). 24 Roy R. Jeal, “Clothes Make the (Wo)man,” Scriptura 90 (2005): 685. 25 The robe worn by Saul is identified as an exterior garment worn over an inner tunic by men of rank (e.g., Saul, Jonathan, princes, Job, Samuel, Ezra, David, Samuel); see Wilson, “Clothes,” 32. 26 Jerome and Uroko, “Tearing,” 3.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 131 C’est le début d’une ère nouvelle où l’homme, séparé de Dieu, est aussi séparé de ses semblables et divisé en lui-même.27 Garments, since their origin, have played a double role: they hide and they reveal. They cover and they uncover. Humans were created perfect; their nudity did not express lack, but rather the expression of the divine image in them. After the fall, humans lost an feature they perpetually try to recreate. It is for this reason that they accept God’s request that they cover themselves. The shame of their nudity seems to indicate a consequence of sin. It is the beginning of a new era where humans, separated from God, are also separated from others and alienated internally from themselves.

In the Joseph narrative, Jacob’s first son by his preferred wife Rachel is demoted from favorite child to commoner when his brothers strip him of his royal garment (‫כתנת פסים‬, Gen 37:23). The violent ripping away of Joseph’s robe symbolizes that his status of privileged son is torn away. Joseph is further demeaned by having to wear prison garbs as an inmate in Potiphar’s prison (Gen 41:14). In grief, Jacob tears his garment when he hears that his favored son is presumed dead due to the seemingly vicious attack of wild beasts (Gen 37:31–34). A strong bond connected Jacob and his young son, because he was the son of his old age, the firstborn to his favorite wife Rachel (Gen 29:30; 37:3). Joseph’s dignity is later restored when he receives new garments (‫)בגדי־שש‬, the ruler’s signet ring, and a gold necklace from Pharaoh, whose dreams he correctly interpreted (Gen 41:41–42). Later on, when the cup of divination is discovered in the mouth of Benjamin’s sack (Gen 44:12–13), the brothers rend their clothes and return to Joseph’s house in Egypt, knowing full well that they may have to leave Benjamin in Egypt to work as servant in the house of Joseph, thereby once again breaking Jacob’s heart. Finally, after Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers, he shows them favor, acceptance, and forgiveness by giving them new garments (‫שמלה‬, Gen 45:22). 27 Nestor Turcotte, review of La symbolique du vêtement dans la Bible. Pour une théologie du vêtement by Alban Cras, Laval théologique et philosophique 68 no. 3 (2012): 718–20, https://doi.org/10.7202/1015269ar.

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In the Judah and Tamar narrative (Gen 38), Tamar wears prostitute garments (‫ )צעיף‬to trick her father-in-law Judah. In this case, the garment is used for enticement and manipulation. In 1 Sam 17:38, Saul places his garment (‫)מד‬, his bronze helmet (‫קובע‬ ‫)נחשת‬, and his body armor (‫ )שריון‬upon David as a subliminal sign that he will eventually become king. In 1 Kgs 19:24, Saul strips naked, an indication that he has lost the divine authority that had previously been bestowed upon him. In 2 Kgs 25:29, we find Jehoiachin, former king of Judah, released from prison by Evil-Merodach, king of Babylon, and disrobed of his jail garment (‫)בגדי כלאו‬, implying that he received a new and better garment in order to sit at the Babylonian king’s table for the rest of his life. Clothing in Joshua 7 Two types of garments appear in Josh 7. The first one (‫אדרת שנער‬, “a beautiful garment from Babylonia”)28 is directly linked to the ‫“( חרם‬sacred items,” “items devoted to God”) of Jericho, and the second one (‫ )שמלה‬is a garment worn and torn by Joshua.29 If the 28 Cognates of the nouns ‫“( אדרת‬magnificent garment”) and ‫“( אדר‬glory, magnificence,” Mic 2:8) appear in Ugaritic as ’adr, meaning “splendid, excellent item”; in Phoenician as ’dr, meaning “powerful”; in Assyrian and Babylonian as ādiru, meaning “full of awe, reverent” (“ādiru,” CAD 1/1:128), and in Jewish Aramaic as ’idrūtâ, meaning “glory, distinction.” Cognates of the verb ‫“( אדר‬to be high, noble, majestic, glorious,” e.g., Exod 15:11) appear in Assyrian as adâru, meaning “to be noble, majestic, glorious” (“‫אדר‬,” BDB, Logos software). This special type of garment (‫)אדרת‬ is worn by Elijah, who pulls it over his face after hearing the still small voice of God on Mount Horeb (1 Kgs 19:13). It is later worn by Elisha, after Elijah is raptured in a chariot of fire (2 Kgs 2:8, 13–14). Both Elijah and Elisha strike the Jordan with this type of garment (‫)אדרת‬, and in both cases the waters of the river part to the right and to the left. In Jonah 3:6 we read that the king of Nineveh wore this type of beautiful garment (‫)אדרת‬. The word ‫ שנער‬is normaly associated with a location in southern Mesopotamia, more specifically with Babylon (e.g., Gen 10:10). The word appears eight times in the Hebrew Bible and is identified with the location of the Tower of Babel (e.g., Gen 11:2). 29 The taboo against ‫ חרם‬is strongly emphasized in numerous biblical texts: e.g., Josh 22:22; 1 Sam 15:3 (Amalek); 1 Kgs 20:42 (Ben Hadad); Lev 27:21, 28–29; Num 18:14; Deut 7:25; Ezek 22:29 (laws related to ‫)חרם‬. For in-depth studies on the ‫חרם‬, see Philip D. Stern, The Biblical Herem: A Window on Israel’s Religious Experience, Brown Judaic Studies 211 (Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 1991); Christian Hofreiter, Making Sense of Old Testament Genocide: Christian Interpretations of Herem Passages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018); William J. Webb and



Drama in the Valley of Achor 133

garment that Achan stole had indeed made its way from Babylonia to Canaan, it must have been of great value, beautiful, and rare. Based on the cognates and derivatives of ‫אדרת‬, the garment was magnificent and far from ordinary. Achan seems to have recognized its uniqueness and beauty and allowed himself to snatch it, even though it had been declared ‫ חרם‬along with everything else in Jericho. The introduction to Josh 7 provides a startling contrast between the spectacular military triumph at Jericho and the devastating military defeat at Ai. The victory over Jericho was anticipated, especially because the spies who had investigated the city had returned to Joshua with a good report (Josh 2:23–24). The city of Ai (“the ruin”) should not have presented a problem for Joshua and his men. However, disaster occurs during a terse engagement with its inhabitants, and thirty-six Israelite men unexpectedly perish during the battle (Josh 7:5). The defeat at Ai and the loss of men provide the impetus for the events that are described in Josh 7. There we learn that sacred items devoted to God (‫ )חרם‬were violated. Achan, the son of Carmi, of the tribe of Judah, committed a serious offense by blatantly disobeying Joshua’s instructions and taking from the items that were forbidden and strictly devoted to God (Josh 6:18). When confronted by Joshua, Achan replies, “I saw in the plunder a beautiful robe from Babylonia (‫)אדרת שנער‬, two hundred sheqels of silver and a wedge of gold weighing fifty sheqels, I coveted them and took them” (Josh 7:21).30 The special garment from Babylonia (‫ )אדרת שנער‬is later to be destroyed along with the culprit Gordon K. Oeste, Bloody, Brutal and Barbaric? Wrestling with Troubling War Texts (Downers Grover, IL: IVP Academic, 2019); and Hyung Dae Park, Finding Herem? A Study of Luke-Acts in the Light of Herem, Library of New Testament Studies (New York: T&T Clark, 2007). 30 According to Richard S. Hess, Joshua, TOT Commentaries (Downers Grover, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1996), 152, “[t]exts listing textiles, silver and gold are not uncommon in the Ancient Near East. Items such as these can be found in inventory lists from many places, including the West Semitic cities of fourteenth- and thirteenthcentury BC Emar, Ugarit and Alalakh. Such items are found in Amarna inventory lists of the fourteenth century which record gifts exchanged between Egypt’s Pharaoh and the Mitannian and Babylonian sovereigns. Whether by trade or theft, it is easy to imagine such materials appearing in a Palestinian town.”

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and his family. Because the sacred items in Jericho were not to be touched nor taken without permission, at God’s command, misappropriation of these objects by Achan invited severe consequences upon him and his clan. By divine law, when an individual misappropriated the ‫“ — חרם‬sacred item(s)” or “item(s) devoted to God” — he or she became ‫חרם‬, and a sentence of death was imposed upon the individual. In the opening of Josh 7, the reader discovers what Joshua does not yet know — namely, that Achan acted unfaithfully towards the devoted things (‫ )חרם‬in Jericho. As a result of Achan’s sin, God burns with anger and prepares to enact swift judgement upon Israel. Unaware of the reason for the defeat at Ai, Joshua reacts in a dramatic way, with deep expressions of grief and sorrow. Heartbroken and distraught by the events that just took place, Joshua rends his garment (‫)שמלה‬, falls on the ground, puts dust on his head, and laments loudly before God. He remains there until God abruptly interrupts his grievance and reveals to him that there is sin in the camp. Joshua’s extreme response to the devastating events at Ai includes mourning practices that are well attested in biblical literature and in the literature of the ancient Near East. As noted by Ann Löhnert, “military victories were attributed to divine favour, while defeats were considered to be caused by — and to cause — divine abandonment.”31 In appropriate fashion, Joshua rends his garment and pours out his heart before God, fearing that he and the Israelites have been abandoned by God. Joshua is well aware that without the presence of God in their midst, there is no future victory for Israel. In Scripture, God is the one who determines what is to be done with his personal property — the ‫חרם‬. Joshua had forbidden his men to touch the spoil of Jericho, for the city and all that is in it are to be devoted to the Lord…keep away from the devoted things, so that you will not bring about 31 Ann Löhnert, “Manipulating the Gods: Lamenting in Context,” in The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture, eds. Karen Radner and Eleanor Robson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 409.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 135 your own destruction by taking any of them. Otherwise you will make the camp of Israel liable to destruction and bring trouble (‫ )עכר‬on it (Josh 6:17–18).32

The spoil of war in Jericho belonged to God and was not to be touched, taken, or misused. Achan ignored Joshua’s directives and sinned against God by taking the sacred items secretly, without permission, and hiding them among his belongings. Sadly, Achan was not the only one held accountable for this grievous offense. One man had transgressed, but, according to divine adjudication, all Israel had been unfaithful. Joshua had warned the people that whoever took from the devoted items (‫ )חרם‬of Jericho would become accursed (‫ )חרם‬and would bring trouble (‫ )עכר‬on Israel (6:18). Achan, the offender, disobeyed the strict orders, stole from items that included a beautiful garment, and became accursed. Consequently, he brought trouble (‫ )עכור‬to the camp of Israel. According to Matthew Michael, “the Achan incident helps to generate or gather a communal and cultic solidarity against a member of the community who has forfeited his individual right to exist in the community by sabotaging the religious and political aspirations of the entire community.”33 Achan became “a traditional icon of rebellion or unfaithfulness to Yahweh.”34 Unfortunately, Achan eventually suffers the same fate as Jericho. He, his family members, and the items taken from Jericho are completely destroyed.

32 Jacob Milgrom, “The Concept of Maʿal in the Bible and the Ancient Near East,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 96, no. 2 (1976): 239 notes that, at Mari, “the term asakkam akālum [= Hebrew ‫ לקח חרם‬or ‫ ]אכל קדש‬appears in contexts related to violations of sancta [holy place] and oaths. Is it an antecedent of biblical maʿal?” He points out that the designation asakkum (= ‫ )חרם‬is commonly imposed upon the spoil of war by the god or the king. 33 Matthew Michael, “The Achan/Achor Traditions: The Parody of Saul as ‘Achan’ in 1 Samuel 14:24–15:35,” Old Testament Essays 26, no. 3 (2013): 742. 34 Michael, “Achan/Achor Traditions,” 738.

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The ‫ מעל‬and the Mourning Rites The offense committed by Achan is identified as a ‫מעל‬, an unfaithful or treacherous act committed against God.35 A ‫ מעל‬is considered a betrayal of trust or violation of one’s legal obligations towards another party. Most biblical examples of this type of breach of trust take place between God and humans. In Josh 7, Achan alone broke faith and committed a grave sin. His actions showed disrespect toward what is holy and were indeed a violation of the fundamental covenantal oath that existed between God and his people. Achan is considered the villain par excellence. He becomes an icon of rebellion and disloyalty.36 According to Jacob Milgrom, “maʿal…means trespassing upon the divine realm either by poaching on his sancta [holy place] or breaking his covenant oath; it is a lethal sin which can destroy both the offender and his community.”37 From God’s perspective, even if only “one man is the offender…the entire people are viewed as having committed the trespass…. Corporate guilt and individual

35 The word ‫ מעל‬appears forty-four times in Scripture. In each case, the offense is committed against God. In Num 5:6–7, we read that anyone who wrongs another in any way and so is unfaithful (‫ )למעל מעל‬to the Lord, that person is guilty and must confess the sin he has committed. The ‫ מעל‬unfaithfulness is equated to rebellion or revolt (‫ )מרד‬by Eliezer the priest, who accuses the eastern tribes of turning away from God on their way back to their tribal allotments (Josh 22:22). The Hebrew word ‫מרד‬ occurs only once in Scripture, only in this passage. The only other noun form ‫מרדות‬ based on this root also only appears once, in 1 Sam 20:30. The root occurs primarily as a verb, with cognates in Arabic ‫“( َم َر َد‬be bold and audacious in acts of rebellion or ܰ disobedience”), Ethiopic መረደ (“attack”), and Aramaic ‫ מרד‬and Syriac ‫“( ܡܪܕ‬rebellion”); see “‫מרד‬,” BDB, Logos software. 36 In the MT of 1 Chr 2:7, his name is changed from Achan to Achar, meaning “trouble,” a real depiction of who he really was. Robert L. Hubbard, “‘What Do these Stones Mean?’: Biblical Theology and a Motif in Joshua,” Bulletin for Biblical Research 11, no. 1 (2001): 18 attributes the name change from Achan to Achor in 1 Chr 2:7 to a scribal error, with the nun transposed to a resh. The LXX and Syriac render his name as Achar instead of Achan in Josh 7:1, 18–20, 24; 22:20; and 1 Chr 2:7. There is an obvious wordplay between the name “Achan” and the word “Achor.” In Josh 7 we read that after Achan transgressed with the ‫חרם‬, the punishment took place in the Valley of Achor (“trouble”). According to Richard S. Hess, “Achan and Achor: Names and Wordplay in Joshua 7,” Hebrew Annual Review 14 (1994): 94–96, the name of the Valley of Achor refers to Achan, whose nickname became Achor after his offense. 37 Milgrom, “Concept,” 239.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 137

responsibility go hand in hand in this story.”38 As a result, God’s blazing anger is not only unleashed on the individual culprit, it is released on an entire community — on Achan’s family and on all who belonged to him. As dictated by God, the rest of the community serves as the collective and public executioner of the sinner and his family. According to Joshua Berman, “the ascription of blame to an entire people for the infraction of a nondescript individual found in the account of the sin of Achan (Joshua 7) is without parallel in the Hebrew Bible and in the legal and treaty literature of the ancient Near East.”39 Berman points to the Mosaic law where adherence to each law is the responsibility of the individual.40 This, he notes, is consistent with what we find in the great law codes of the ancient Near East, such as the law code of Lipit Ishtar or of Eshnunna from the nineteenth century BCE, or in the Law of Hammurabi from the eighteenth century BCE. None of these collections allow for the punishment of an entire polity due to the infraction of an individual.41

Yet Berman’s view can be disputed by pointing out that the corporate blame of Israel for the sin of a few is evident throughout the Hebrew Bible, especially in prophetic literature. Punishment for the injustices of some was often imposed on the whole, on the perpetrator as well as on the innocent. For example, the entire generation that left Egypt died in the wilderness because some Israelites chose to believe the fear-inducing report of the ten spies. In prophetic literature, innocent victims are sent in exile to Assyria and Babylon because of the abuses and sins of others, especially those of the leaders. William Webb and Gordon Oeste note that “when the real culprit(s) — the person(s) most responsible 38 Marten H. Woudstra, The Book of Joshua, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981), 120. 39 Joshua Berman, “The Making of the Sin of Achan (Joshua 7),” Biblical Interpretation 22 (2013): 115. 40 Berman, “Making,” 116. 41 Berman, “Making,” 116.

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for the wrongful/rebellious actions — are caught and punished (death for the instigator[s] and often his/their immediate families), there is a sense that sufficient punishment for the crime has been completed.”42 The practice of collective or household punishment seems foreign to our modern understanding of justice, but it is culturally appropriate in the ancient Near Eastern world. Ancient Near Eastern literature provides numerous examples of corporate divine retribution for the sin of ‫מעל‬. In Hittite literature, ‫ מעל‬was executed in the misappropriation or expropriation of what belonged to the holy (e.g., the temple). It was committed by temple personnel, farmers, and herdsmen. The offense was often perpetrated with sacrificial offerings (e.g., animals, garments, metal tools). Animals that were to be offered to the god(s) were sometimes taken, slaughtered, eaten, put under a yoke, sold, or exchanged without permission.43 Gold, silver, and bronze utensils were unlawfully taken, converted into ornaments, or sold. The punishment imposed on trespassers was death, at the hands of either humans or the gods.44 This serious offense was “the misappropriation of sancta [holy place] by keeping, eating, using, selling, gifting, delaying or exchanging the temple’s animals, fields or grain, by expropriating, altering or wearing the temple’s implements or garments, or by changing the time fixed for rites.”45 Additional offenses listed in Hittite literature, where collective punishment was imposed on a culprit and their household, included angering the king, using magic against a leader, concealing the identity of a sorcerer, withholding the best part of the temple sacrificial meat for oneself, and disobeying a king or his official.46 In the Instructions for Temple Officials, we read about corporate punishment for the temple offenses of a few: “If…anyone arouses 42 Webb and Oeste, Bloody, Brutal and Barbaric?, 190. For a complete discussion on this topic, see by Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D: Corporate (In)Justice: The Ancient-World Context of Joshua 7,” https://ivpress.com/Media/Default/Downloads/Excerpts-and-Samples/5249-Appendixes.pdf. 43 Milgrom, “Concept,” 243. 44 Milgrom, “Concept,” 243. 45 Milgrom, “Concept,” 245. 46 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 49, table A.8.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 139

the anger of a god, does the god take revenge on him alone? Does he not take revenge on his wife, his children, his descendants, his kin, his slaves, and slave-girls, his cattle (and) sheep together with his crop and will utterly destroy him?”47 As noted by Milgrom, “for both cleric and layman, master or slave, the doctrine of collective culpability is reserved exclusively to divine justice; it never functions in the jurisprudence of man.”48 In the Hebrew Bible, the one who commits ‫ מעל‬is struck down by God. In Hittite literature, offenders are punished by the gods. If humans fail to enforce the punishment, the gods will ensure that the penalty is exacted on the offender.49 As in Josh 7, “Hittite gods punish not only the offender but also his household.”50 In the Hittite text “The Plague Prayers of Mursilis,” we learn of the unfaithful and treacherous acts committed by the Hattians and the punishment that was inflicted upon them by the gods.51 A terrible pestilence came upon the people of Hatti because they had failed to continue giving offerings to the river Mala. The Hattians had ignored their obligations to the storm god and broke their oath to the gods. Consequently, a plague broke out in Hatti among the Egyptian prisoners who had been taken captive, and many of them transmitted the plague to the Hattians, who eventually died.52 This corporate punishment is attributed to the storm god, toward whom the Hattians had displayed disrespect, and toward whom the oath responsibilities had been disregarded. In Egypt, curses on individuals and/or their entire households were pronounced by dead kings who threatened with severe punishments those who raided the king’s tomb.53 Vassals of Egypt who rebelled or led a revolt against the pharaoh (e.g., Pepi II, Ahmose I, Thutmose II, Rameses II, Rameses III) were put to death, along 47 “Instructions to Priests and Temple Officials,” trans. Gregory McMahom, COS 1:218. 48 Milgrom, “Concept,” 246. 49 Milgrom, “Concept,” 246. 50 Milgrom, “Concept,” 246. 51 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 50. 52 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 50. 53 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 44.

140 Hélène Dallaire

with their households.54 Similar consequences were enacted upon the one who caused mischief, stole from the temple or royal foundation, harmed statues, deserted the army, or perjured himself.55 This practice was also common in Babylonia and Assyria, where “collective punishment was the vicarious extension of punishment to the offender’s household.”56 The idea was to blot out the name and memory of the lawbreaker from the community. This tradition applied to the crimes of the father or husband but not to the offenses of the mother or wife.57 The collective punishment found in the Achan narrative was imposed upon Achan and his family because the spoil of war (‫ )חרם‬in Jericho was violated. Achan alone stole what belonged to God. He committed a treacherous act against God (‫)מעל‬, and, sadly, he brought about divine judgment upon himself and upon his entire family. Joshua and the Drama at the Valley of Achor Achan’s sin arouses God’s fury. God could not allow Israel to proceed with their settlement in the land of Canaan without first dealing with the stolen ‫ חרם‬in the camp. Until this iniquity was atoned for and the stolen items destroyed, the Israelites were powerless before their enemies. God could not allow them to proceed with their mission. Divine favor was gone. No battle could be won. The first attempt to overtake Ai was certainly a disaster. Thirty-six military men lost their lives, and, unbeknownst to Joshua, the treacherous act (‫ )מעל‬of Achan brought about this devastating outcome. After he learns about the loss of his men at Ai, Joshua’s demeanor changes completely. It is suddenly transformed from a state of poise to one of despair and grief. He demonstrates his sorrow with mourning rites that are well known and documented in the biblical 54 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 45, table A.4. 55 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 45, table A.5. 56 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 46. 57 Webb and Oeste, “Appendix D,” 48.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 141

world. Joshua tears his garment, falls face-down on the ground before the ark, sprinkles dust on his head, and blurts out a loud and bold accusatory complaint before God. He releases an intense and public outcry. For the first time, Joshua is overtly grief stricken. His response to the events at Ai is poignant and severe, and it reflects that of a mourner whose grief is overwhelmingly painful. As noted by Jerome and Uroko, Joshua “was greatly moved by the death of those under him…. Death of his subjects motivated Joshua’s action of tearing his clothes.”58 Joshua’s display of emotions and enactment of mourning rituals may also be expressions of discouragement and defeat, wondering why God did not grant him victory in battle and fearing that the campaign in Canaan had now become hopeless. The verb ‫“ קר״ע‬to rend, tear” is used primarily for the tearing of garments, mainly by men, generally without specifying which part of the garment is torn.59 This verb frequently implies the violent rending or complete removal of an article of clothing, either out of distress or out of anger.60 As noted by Melanie Köhlmoos, “experiencing utter personal, social, or political catastrophe calls for tearing one’s garment, even more so when it is not expected, such as in the case of rape (2 Sam 13:19), defeat (Josh 7:6), or the announcement or experience of utter calamity.”61 When the garment is removed or torn, the individual often covers himself or herself with sackcloth. The sackcloth may have replaced the regular clothing or may have been worn as a supplementary garment over ordinary clothes. As noted by Morris Jastrow, “in the combination of the tearing of garments with the putting on of sackcloth, the former act represents the preparation for the latter, and the essential feature of the observance is the return at a time 58 Jerome and Uroko, “Tearing,” 4. 59 The Arabic cognate ‫( قَ َر َع‬qaraʿa) signifies “to strike head or bell, beat drum, gnash teeth.” 60 Jastrow, “Tearing,” 24. Jastrow states that “the Jews in Persia still tear off their upper garment in the time of mourning and bare themselves to the waist; but elsewhere in the Orient it was the custom, as early as the days of Jesus, merely to tear off a piece of the garment, and this custom was still further modified until a mere rent in a seam was regarded as answering all requirements” (36). 61 Köhlmoos, “Tearing,” 310.

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of grief and distress to the fashions prevailing in more primitive days.”62 McKay notes that, “sometimes, events — such as tearing, impregnation with ash, or exposure to rain and wind — ‘befall’ the clothing objects and these ‘events’ create pivotal points in the narrative.”63 Tearing clothes seems strange in our Western culture, where clothing often reveals social status, body health, and emotional state. First impressions are often based on what people wear and the condition of the worn garments. As mentioned above, tearing clothes often represented sorrow in biblical times. According to Medina, “this practice was used as an external manifestation of personal or communal dolorous experience, still practiced among Jews today.”64 Most of the individuals who are seen tearing their clothes in the Hebrew Bible were leaders, prophets, kings, or royal officials. Although commoners probably practiced this mourning ritual, the textual evidence that supports this assumption is limited. In Josh 7, the rending of Joshua’s garment indicates deep sorrow. It is an intentional act and expression of deeply felt emotions. It is by no means a passive experience. Rather, it is deliberate and purposeful. So far, Joshua has been mostly silent. Never has he complained nor shown any hint of discontent in leading Israel into the promised land. Finally, after losing thirty-six men in battle, he erupts with a surprising diatribe and falls headlong before God. Joshua rending his garment points to his emotional state and also predicts the death of the one who had caused grief and sorrow: Achan. Joshua was not only grieving the loss of the men who perished at Ai, but he was also, unknowingly, foretelling the impending death of Achan and his family. Mourning rites similar to those attested in Josh 7 appear throughout ancient Near Eastern literature. For example, in Ugaritic literature, the death of Baʿlu, the well-known Canaanite storm god, became cause for mourning among the gods.65 The 62 Jastrow, “Tearing,” 26. 63 McKay, “Gendering the Body,” 93. 64 Medina, “Job’s Entrée,” 204. 65 KTU 1.5 VI 11–25.



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impact of his death on nature, the land, agriculture, and life itself was great. This extreme grief is described by ʾIlu and ʿAnatu.66 ʾIlu pours dirt of mourning on his head, dust of humiliation on his cranium. For clothing, he is covered with a garment. With a stone he scratches incisions on his skin, with a razor he cuts cheeks and chin. He harrows his upper arms, plows his chest like a garden, harrows his back like a garden in a valley. He raises his voice and cries aloud: “Baʿlu is dead.67

ʿAnatu arrives at where Baʿlu was fallen to the earth; for clothing, she is covered with a girded garment. With a stone she scratches incisions on her skin, [with a razor] she cuts cheeks and chin. [She harrows] her upper arms, plows her chest like a garden, harrows her back like a garden in a valley. Ba‘lu is dead. What is to become of the people?68

Adad-Guppi, mother of Babylonian king Nabonidus and grandmother of Belshazzar (Dan 5), changes from expensive royal garments into sackcloth after the city of Harran and its temple are destroyed by the Medes, under the leadership of Umman-manda. In her autobiography, Adad-Guppi writes: “I did not put on a garment of excellent wool, silver, gold, a fresh garment…. I was clothed in a torn garment. My fabric was sackcloth.”69 When Adad-Guppi died, her son Nabonidus ordered a period of mourning during which kings, princes, and governors of foreign nations gathered to grieve her loss. They performed familiar bereavement rituals, including putting dust upon their heads, cutting themselves, and wearing mourning garments.70

66 See KTU 1.5 VI 11–25 and KTU 1.5 VI 30–1.6 I 9, respectively, and Medina, “Job’s Entrée,” 198. 67 See KTU 1.5 VI 11–25 and Medina, “Job’s Entrée,” 197–99. 68 See KTU 1.5 VI 30–1.6 I 9 and Medina, “Job’s Entrée,” 197–99. 69 “The Adad-Guppi Autobiography,” trans. C. J. Gadd and Tremper Longman III, COS 1:478. 70 Yamauchi and Wilson, “Mourning and Weeping,” 1243–44.

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Ancient Egyptian mourning practices included the tearing of garments, along with “smearing the dead and one’s face with dust, baring and beating breasts, …crouching low or other symbolic postures.”71 During the Old Kingdom, men and women wept, tore out their hair, rent their garments, put ashes or dirt on their heads, and threw themselves on the ground.72 In earlier Egyptian texts, men were stoic and refrained from expressing emotions. After the Amarna period, however, men are depicted as expressing sorrow and pain at the death of loved ones. 73 In Greek literature of the Roman period (unknown from pre-Roman Greek literature), we find frequent references to the practice of tearing garments as a sign of grief in Roman culture. We have evidence that Roman leaders rent their garments to express grief over the loss of troops in battle (Caesar), to try to appease angry crowds (Octavian, Augustus), and in grief after a military battle (Pompey, Augustus).74 This practice was also performed by those who learned about the death of friends and/or family members. In Virgil’s writings, the Trojan leader Aeneas rends “his garments in grief at the destruction of his ships; [and] in mourning over the suicide of his queen.”75 In some cases, someone else’s garment was rent to dishonor or discredit the individual. This was a “custom of humiliating an offender by ripping his garments to the waist.”76 The two garments mentioned in Josh 7 are significant. The first item of clothing (‫)אדרת שנער‬, the beautiful garment from Mesopotamia, is stolen secretly by Achan in disobedience of divine instructions. This precious and costly garment serves as an instrument of the downfall of Achan and his family. The second

71 Christopher B. Hays, Death in the Iron Age II and in First Isaiah, Forschungen zum Alten Testament 79 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 69. 72 Yamauchi and Wilson, “Mourning and Weeping,” 3:400–401. 73 Hays, Death, 69. 74 Levy, “Rending,” 73–74. 75 Levy, “Rending,” 74. There are many more examples of rending the garment as a gesture of sorrow in Greek literature (e.g., Ovid, Proserpina, Petronius, Statius, Juvenal, Nero, Fadilla, Septimius Severus). 76 Levy, “Rending,” 73.



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garment (‫)שמלה‬, worn by Joshua, is torn in grief and mourning.77 The term ‫ שמלה‬is quite common in the Hebrew Bible. It appears in the Torah, Prophets, and Writings. In most cases, it refers to an outer garment that can be easily removed or changed (e.g., Exod 12:34; Isa 9:6; Ruth 3:3).78 Such is the case in this narrative. We can presume that Joshua rends this outer garment and not his inner attire. For the second time Joshua rends a garment as a sign of grief and mourning. Decades earlier, shortly after the spies had returned from investigating the land of Canaan, the Israelites refused to believe the positive report of Caleb and Joshua. Instead, they believed the disheartening report of the other ten spies. The Israelites succumbed to a profound sense of fear at the report that the Anaqim were in the promised land. Dejected and hopeless, the people wept aloud and grumbled against Moses and Aaron. They plotted together, threatened to choose a new leader, and planned to return to Egypt. Caleb and Joshua attempted to calm the people, but to no avail. The two spies — Caleb and Joshua — tore their clothes in grief (Num 14:6) and tried to reassure the people, once again, that the land was exceedingly good, and that the Lord would lead them safely into that fruitful land. The people became angry and talked of stoning them. After hearing the news about the defeat at Ai and rending his garment, Joshua falls on his face to the ground before the ark of the covenant.79 As a rule, the expression of falling on one’s face 77 This term has an Arabic cognate ٌ‫( َش ْملَة‬šamlatun) that signifies an “enclosure,” an “envelope,” or a “cloak.” A similar word for “garment,” with metathesis of the lamed and mem (‫)שלמה‬, also appears in the Torah, Prophets, and Writings (e.g., Exod 22:25; 1 Kgs 11:29; Cant 4:11). 78 A ‫ שמלה‬may cover embarrassment (e.g., Gen 9:23), be used in manipulation (e.g., by the Gibeonites in Josh 9:5, 13), be worn as a good-smelling garment (e.g., Cant 4:11), serve as a blanket (e.g., Exod 12:34; Judg 8:25; Deut 21:10), and be worn by people in leadership (Isa 3:6–7) or by commoners (men and women; e.g., Josh 9:5, 13; Ruth 3:3). This type of garment was miraculously preserved during the forty years in the wilderness (e.g., Deut 8:4; 29:4; Neh 9:21). It also refers to good-quality Egyptian clothing (Gen 45:22; Exod 3:22; 12:35), Canaanite clothing (Josh 22:8), and Israelite clothing (1 Kgs 10:24//2 Chr 9:24). 79 Other examples of falling face down on the ground before a person of authority include Joseph’s brothers (Gen 44:14; 50:18), Saul before the prophet Samuel (1 Sam 28:14, 20), the man who announced Saul’s death to David (2 Sam 1:2–4), the prophets

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(‫נפ״ל‬, “to fall prostrate”) indicates an act of humiliation, selfabasement, respect, or deference.80 In most contexts, someone of lower social status falls before someone of higher social status. In Ruth 2:10, Ruth prostrates herself in deference before Boaz, her new employer and future husband. When Mephibosheth, son of Jonathan, son of Saul, comes before David, he falls on his face in devotion to David and says, “[I am] your servant!” When David shows him favor and invites him to eat at his table for the rest of his life, Mephibosheth bows down again and responds with “What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?” (2 Sam 9:6–8). In 1 Kgs 18:7, 39, the prophet Obadiah encounters the prophet Elijah. In deference to him, Obadiah bows down to the ground and says, “Is this really you, my lord Elijah?” (1 Kgs 18:7). Abigail, the wife of a wealthy man named Nabal, is an intelligent and beautiful woman whose husband is known to be gruff and disagreeable (1 Sam 25:3, 10–17). The first time she encounters David, she quickly gets off her donkey and falls down (‫)ותפל‬ with her face to the ground. She recognizes that David is a good man and the future king of Israel. First, she intercedes for her husband — the fool — and then she pronounces prophetic words over David regarding his future appointment as king over Israel. Abigail’s actions, words, and demeanor show great respect and admiration for David, who took her as a wife after Nabal’s death. In a number of theophanies, individuals fall to the ground on their faces in awe at the sight of the divine messenger. At the age of ninety-nine, Abraham receives a visitation of the Lord and falls prostrate (‫ )ויפל‬before God twice — once when God confirms his covenant with him and promises to greatly increase his descendants (Gen 17:1–3), and a second time when God tells him that of Baʿal before Elijah (1 Kgs 18:39), the Shunammite woman before Elisha (2 Kgs 4:37), and Esther before King Xerxes (Est 8:3). God’s response to Joshua’s lament is one of reversal. Joshua falls on his face (‫על־פניו‬ ָ ‫ )ויפל‬and God responds: “Get up! Why have you fallen flat on your face?” (‫ )קם לך למה זה אתה נפל על־פניך‬According to God, the time to mourn is not yet. God’s response to Joshua exudes far more confidence than what Joshua blurted out in his complaint and rhetorical questions. 80 The verb ‫ נפ״ל‬is common in most Semitic languages. In Ugaritic and Aramaic the meaning is the closest to the Hebrew. In Akkadian, napālum can also mean “to destroy or demolish.”



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Sarah will become pregnant and give birth to a son (Gen 17:17). After hearing the news, Abraham not only falls on his face, he also breaks out in laughter at the news that Sarah will bear a child at the age of ninety. Centuries later, when Joshua encounters the commander of the Lord’s army, he falls headlong on the ground (‫ )ויפל יהושע אל־פניו ארצה‬in reverence and asks the messenger: “What message does my Lord have for his servant?” (Josh 5:14). Joshua recognizes quickly that the emissary has come directly from God and consequently responds with a gesture of deference and respect. The practice of falling at the feet of someone out of respect is well known in the ancient Near East. For example, in the Amarna letters — correspondence between Egyptian rulers and vassals — we find a collection of letters written by King RibHaddi of Byblos to the reigning pharaoh during the mid-fourteenth century BCE. Many of Rib-Haddi’s epistolary greetings include “I fall at the feet of my lord, my Sun, seven times and seven times.”81 This greeting also appears in the letters from ʿAbdiAštirta, ruler of Amurru, to the Egyptian pharaoh.82 Although Rib-Haddi and ‘Abdi-Aštirta were not physically falling on their faces to the ground, the greeting in their letters shows a level of submission and respect toward their superiors. Prostrate before the ark of the Lord, Joshua and his officials put dust on their heads. This mourning custom is not limited to the use of dust (‫עפר‬, e.g., Job 2:12; Lam 2:10). In some cases, dirt or soil (‫אדמה‬, e.g., 1 Sam 4:12; 2 Sam 1:2; 15:32) and ashes (‫אפר‬, e.g., Est 4:1, 3; Ezek 27:30) are used by mourners in the grieving ritual.83 Dust and ashes (‫ עפר‬and ‫ )אפר‬often appear together, possibly as a merism used to highlight the serious nature of the grief.84 Dust is often used metaphorically to indicate humiliation. 81 See, e.g., EA 68, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79, 81, 83 and William L. Moran, ed. and trans., The Amarna Letters (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), 137–53. 82 See, e.g., EA 60, 63, 64, 65 and Moran, Amarna Letters, 131–36. 83 Mourners may sit (e.g., Job 2:8; Jon 3:6) or roll (e.g., Jer 6:26; Ezek 27:30) in ashes. 84 In self-abasement, Abraham declares that he sees himself as nothing but dust and ashes (Gen 18:27). Job is reduced to dust and ashes by those who once respected him

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Following his dramatic gestures with the torn garment, the physical self-abasement on the ground, and the dust, Joshua discharges a loud and startling grievance in the presence of God. He suddenly utters his profound disappointment in an audacious address that sounds accusatory and probing toward God. Before questioning God’s motives, Joshua releases a dramatic sigh: “Alas, Sovereign Lord” (‫)אהה אדני יהוה‬.85 The word ‫ אהה‬is a case of onomatopoeia that highlights the obvious despair and anguish of Joshua.86 According to Adolph Harstad, the interjection is usually “spoken to God to express deep repentance and grief. The derivation of the Hebrew term is uncertain. If it is onomatopoetic, it may reproduce the sound of a deep exhaled breath.”87 A similar sigh of desperation is uttered by Jephthah who — after seeing his daughter, his only child, come out of his house (Judg 11:34–35) and knowing that he would have to sacrifice her as a burnt offering (Judg 11:30–31) — tears his clothes and emits a loud shriek (‫אהה‬ 11:35, ‫ )בתי‬similar to that voiced by Joshua. Vocal expressions of but now mock, detest, afflict, and terrorize him (Job 30:1–19). After listening to God’s lengthy rebuke, Job repents in dust and ashes (Job 42:6). Ezekiel prophesies that the people of Tyre will sprinkle dust on their heads and roll in ashes as they mourn the loss of their earlier success in the maritime and trade industries (Ezek 27:1–30). 85 The same expression appears in Judg 6:22 when Gideon has a face-to-face encounter with a messenger of the Lord. He fears death after having seen the angel of the Lord “face-to-face.” 86 There are additional such interjections in Hebrew: First: ‫( אללי‬ʾallay), an onomatopoeia that expresses wailing or a cry of distress, with cognates in Arabic and Ethiopic; see Mic 7:1: “‘Woe to me!’ For I have become as when the summer fruit has been gathered.” Second: ‫( אבוי‬ʾabôy) an exclamation of pain as in Prov 23:29: “Who has woe (‫ ?)אוי‬Who has sorrow (‫ ”?)אבֹי‬Third: ‫( אוי‬ʾōy) an interjection “woe!” with Syriac cognate, considered a passionate expression of grief and despair and often accompanied by the dative (preposition + pronoun suffix), as in Isa 6:5: “Woe for I am undone”; see also Isa 24:16; Jer 10:19; 15:10; 1 Sam 4:7, 8; Jer 3:13; 6:4; 4:31; 45:3; Lam 5:16; Num 21:29; Jer 13:27; Ezek 16:23; Isa 3:9; Hos 7:13; 9:12; Ezek 24:6, 9; Num 24:23. Fourth: ‫( הא‬hēʾ) an interjection with cognates in Aramaic, Syriac, and Arabic, as in Ezekiel 16:43b: “Hey, I will surely bring down on your head what you have done, declares the Sovereign Lord.” Fifth: ‫( הה‬hāh) an interjection and expression of woe, “alas!,” as in Ezek 30:2: “Son of man, prophesy, and say, ‘thus says the Lord God: Wail, Alas for the day!’” And, finally: ‫( הו‬hô) an interjection “Ah!,” as in Amos 5:16: “In all the squares there shall be wailing, and in all the streets they shall say, “Alas! Alas!” 87 Adolph L. Harstad, Joshua, Concordia Commentary (St. Louis: Concordia, 2004), 309.



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grief are well known in the biblical world. Weeping and wailing were often central to mourning. Edwin M. Yamauchi and Marvin R. Wilson note that the Semitic peoples of the biblical world gave rather wide play to the expression of human emotion. In contrast with the culture of the modern western world, which tends to suppress or restrain the open venting of feelings, Semitic cultures encouraged visible and public expressions of emotion. Such was especially the case when it came to weeping. The very act of weeping was a tangible, vocal display of joy or sorrow. The emotion expressed was typically strong and intense, and the expression often involved deep sobbing or loud crying.88

In the ancient Near East, because the welfare of a community depended on the benefaction of the god(s), cries of lament were often released before the god(s), especially after disaster, trouble, or loss had occurred. Loss in a military battle was directly linked to and often blamed on divine abandonment. In Mesopotamia, mourners were expected to let their laments be known with a loud voice, “a responsibility significant enough that mourning was sometimes stipulated as a legal responsibility of adopted children.”89 Mesopotamian literature provides a glimpse into the reaction of those who were defeated in military campaigns. In The Cursing of Agade, we read the vocal reaction of survivors who witnessed the slaughter of the inhabitants of Naram-Sin’s kingdom and its capital city, Akkad, at the hands of the Elamites: The old women who survived those days, the old men who survived those days and the chief lamentation singer who survived those years set up seven balaĝ harps/drums…. The old women did not restrain the cry “Alas for my city!” The old men did not restrain the cry “Alas for its people!” The

88 Yamauchi and Wilson, “Mourning and Weeping,” 3:389. 89 Hays, Death, 40.

150 Hélène Dallaire lamentation singer did not restrain the cry “Alas for the Ekur!” Its young women did not restrain from tearing their hair.90

In this story, the entire populace is distraught and laments in order to “attract the gods’ sympathy, to make them return and provide a new beginning for the community.”91 Because peace could only be restored by the god(s), it was imperative for the inhabitants to remind them vocally and insistently of their responsibility toward the community. The cry of the mourners was introduced with a sigh of desperation — “Alas!” — similar to that expressed by Joshua. Conclusion Joshua is justified in his dramatic outburst, loud gestures, and outcry before God. His corporal display of emotions — through tearing his garment, prostrating himself before God, placing dust on his head, and releasing a dramatic cry — reflects his deep grief and sorrow. His torn garment is a testimony to the gravity of the offense Achan committed in Jericho. Death is imminent not only for the culprit but for his entire family. The stolen beautiful garment has lost its value and is destroyed with the offender. In the Valley of Achor (“trouble”), the beautiful stolen garment — evidence of ‫ — מעל‬is consumed along with the offender and his family. The disturbing episode at the Valley of Achor is remembered by Phinehas years later, during the crisis between the eastern and western tribes at the Jordan (Josh 22:20). The eastern tribes, who were returning home after assisting the western tribes with settlement in Canaan, built a massive altar on the shore of the Jordan river. This structure became the cause of the conflict between the eastern and western tribes. Phinehas, son of Eleazar the priest, and the leaders of the western tribes feared that trouble (‫ )עכור‬would come to the children of Israel and that some of them would perish for what seemed to be a flagrant offense against God. They came to the site of the structure and 90 ETCSL 2.1.5, ll. 196–206 and Löhnert, “Manipulating, 410. 91 Löhnert, “Manipulating,” 410.



Drama in the Valley of Achor 151

accused the men of the eastern tribes saying: “Did not Achan the son of Zerah break faith in the matter of the devoted things, and wrath fell upon all the congregation of Israel? And he did not perish alone for his iniquity” (Josh 22:20). The events of Josh 7 were never forgotten. The pain lingered. In prophetic literature, the Valley of Achor is mentioned as a place of death, sorrow, and mourning that, in the eschaton, will become a fruitful place for God’s people. It will be a door of hope for communal restoration and an opportunity for redemption from the events described in Josh 7. In Isa 65:10, the prophet speaks of the Valley of Achor as a peaceful place where the people and their herds will find rest. In Hos 2:15, God will allure his bride, Israel, to the desert and speak tenderly to her. He will give her back her vineyards and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. These prophetic texts show a reversal from the original meaning of “trouble” in Josh 7, where the horrors of the gruesome execution of an entire family took place, to a place of hope and divine blessing where the Israelites will find peace and tranquility. Joshua’s drama before the ark and the events that ensued provide a painful spectacle of grief, mourning, and death. The traditions that surround such pain have long been recognized and are still practiced today. Joshua may not have rent an I ♥︎NY t-shirt, as Schneberg did at the loss of her mother. But the rending of his garment reveals that the pain was no less intense for him when some of his men perished at Ai. He felt responsible for their death. He grieved as anyone would grieve. And he left a legacy that reminds the reader that all loss is significant, painful, and to be honored.

Chapter 5

Sanctified or Stigmatized: Social Branding through Smell in the Ancient Near East Jeffrey Duerler

The human body emits, imbibes, and evaluates smells: the foul, the fragrant, and everything in between. Increasing attention to the physiology and psychology of the olfactory sense confirms that sweet aromas and foul stenches are primarily social constructs. Their idiosyncratic nature and intrusive character patterned the relationships between individuals and groups in the ancient Near East just as they do today. Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Israelite cultures upheld a general dichotomy of positive aromas and negative stenches, and this bifurcation characterized deities, humans, and their relationships, as well as natural substances, products, and more. Logical appeals to the sense of smell, sensuous metaphors, and a common stock of idiomatic expressions were artfully expressed to further ideological agendas. Perhaps less obvious, though, is the crucial psychological and sociocultural role smell played in interpersonal relationships. Thanks to the contributions of the social sciences and access to a variety of Akkadian, Egyptian, and Hebrew texts, a thorough and comparative assessment of olfactory references demonstrates that the sense of smell was an effective social branding tool in

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the ancient Near East. As a means of knowing, the human olfactory system served a diagnostic, revelatory function in disclosing a person’s identity, attractiveness, or condition. Moreover, the physiological nature of olfaction elevated its prominence among the senses for popular symbolic castigations of personal adversaries, political nemeses, and varied menaces to the moral fabric of society. After making a case for the effects of physiology on the psychology of smell, the use of smell in ancient Near Eastern social branding will be established through a survey of textual evidence demonstrating the revelatory and judging functions of olfaction.1 Sociocultural realities assumed by texts are always more complex than they appear, so the process used to understand them requires the use of a variety of tools: linguistic, historical, literary, sociological, and anthropological. Data and theories from the social sciences are a helpful addition to the repertoire of conventional 1 Approximately 250 of the more prevalent and explicit smell-related words in Akkadian, Egyptian, and Hebrew texts from no later than the Achaemenid Empire were examined in context. The geographic and time restraints (particularly the loose terminus ante quem) for this study are selective but not altogether arbitrary. While there are olfactory references in other languages (e.g., Ugaritic and Hittite), the quantity and accessibility of Akkadian, Egyptian, and Hebrew terms provides a manageable body of material for this evaluation. For the Akkadian, this includes baʾāšu (“to smell bad”), bīšu (“malodorous”), buʾšu (“stench”), erīšu/erēšu/irīšu (“scent, fragrance”), eṣēnu (“to smell”), and nipšu (“smell”). Egyptian terms include ʿntyw (“myrrh”), ntr snṯr/snṯr (“incense”), idt (“sweet savor, fragrance”), ḫny (“odious”), ḫnm (“smell, odor, smelly, fragrance”), ḫnš (“to stink”), šnš (“smelly”), sṯy (“smelly, fragrance”). The Hebrew includes ‫“( בא״ׁש‬to stink”), ‫“( ְבּאשׁ‬stench”), ‫“( רי״ח‬to smell”), and ‫ֵר ַיח‬ (“smell”). Ample research has already been conducted on incense and perfume terminology. See especially E. T. Cuthbert F. Atchley, A History of the Use of Incense in Divine Worship (London: Longmans, 1909); Nigel Groom, Frankincense and Myrrh: A Study of the Arabian Incense Trade (New York: Longman, 1981); and Kjeld Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 38 (Leiden: Brill, 1986). See also Mikhal Dayagi-Mendeles, Perfumes and Cosmetics in the Ancient World (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 1989); P. T. Crocker, “Apothecaries, Confectionaries, and a New Discovery at Qumran,” Buried History 25 (1989): 36–46; Marcel Detienne, The Gardens of Adonis: Spices in Greek Mythology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994); F. N. Hepper, “Trees and Shrubs Yielding Gums and Resins in the Ancient Near East,” Bulletin of Sumerian Agriculture 3 (1987) 107–14; A. Lucas, “Cosmetics, Perfumes and Incense in Ancient Egypt,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 16 (1930): 41–53; Michael Zohary, Plants of the Bible (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); and Friedrich Blome, Die Opfermaterie in Babylonien und Israel (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1934), 274.



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interpretive strategies. Likewise, explorations of social dimensions are far more useful when employed in conjunction with more traditional interpretive tools. For this reason, contemporary anthropological studies are provided as examples and in footnotes throughout. The hope is that scholars who normally concentrate on ancient Near Eastern texts will benefit from a broader contextualization while sociologists, social historians, and others involved in sensory studies will appreciate access to sources beyond the more common references from the Greco-Roman period and classical literature. Ancient Near Eastern literature is rich with olfactory references, but it is usually only the most popular incense or perfume-related references that are cited. The Physiology and Psychology of Olfaction Webs of family, kinship, marriage, friendship, neighborhood, and business relationships serve as the basis of society, and ancient Near Eastern olfactory dynamics influence these patterned relationships between individuals and groups. Historical and cultural investigations of smell do not attempt to answer the question of what scents existed in the past. Rather, today’s historical and social-scientific research focuses on how smells were and are perceived. The foundational assumption is this: smells are intrinsically meaningless, but, because of social and cultural constructions, people are socialized into valuations of fragrant or foul.2 Smells are therefore imbued with cultural meanings, as Yael Avrahami notes, “[t]here are very few universal good and bad tastes, pleasant and unpleasant sounds, beautiful and ugly appearances. Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so aroma is in the nose of the beholder, and so forth.”3 Modern psychological studies have 2 Anthony Synnott, The Body Social: Symbolism, Self and Society (New York: Routledge, 1993), 190. Clare Brant, “Fume and Perfume: Some Eighteenth-Century Uses of Smell,” Journal of British Studies 43, no. 4 (2004): 446 illustrates the same sentiment: “The ‘odour of sanctity,’ for instance, may be sweet to Christians and repellent to everyone else. Smelling a rat may be pleasing if you are a detective.” 3 Yael Avrahami, The Senses of Scripture: Sensory Perception in the Hebrew Bible, Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 545 (New York: T&T Clark, 2012), 114.

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demonstrated some measure of plasticity in adults’ odor hedonics due to a Pavlovian stimulus contingency, but the fundamentals of odor hedonics are arguably acquired in childhood through individual and cultural experience.4 The idiosyncratic nature of the sense of smell helps to explain its prominent application in varied aspects of interpersonal relationships. For example, odors are a public, shared experience. Scent can be both pervasive and ephemeral so that combination understandably produces personal and subjective reactions.5 Smells also defy objective evaluation and representation in words and pictures, as demonstrated by the lack of a specialized, independent vocabulary or scientific classificatory system. Olfaction is a subliminal stimulus that can function beneath conscious perception. Smell often goes unnoticed, yet, when a disagreeable odor is perceived, the nose cannot be shut in the same manner that eyes can be closed. Hearing something that one does not want to hear through the ears is like smelling something bad through the nose, as neither organ has a closing feature like the eyes. The significant difference, though, is that the nose is closely associated with breathing, and breathing is and always has been considered a most basic element of life.6 Additionally, because the boundaries of the human frame are permeable and smell actually enters a person, olfaction has an intrusive character. Scent is transgressive, as both aromas and stenches may cross boundaries, turn corners, and permeate walls. The sense of smell, more advanced in animals, is nonetheless powerful for humans who may perceive potent smells at some distance, like it or not. For this reason, smell has been considered more apt in identifying spiritual truth than the “superficial” sense of sight.7 4 Frank Baeyens and Amy Wrzesniewski, “Toilet Rooms, Body Massages, and Smells: Two Field Studies on Human Evaluative Odor Conditioning,” Current Psychology 15, no. 1 (1996): 77–96. 5 Uri Almagor, “Odors and Private Language: Observations on the Phenomenology of Scent,” Human Studies 13, no. 3 (1990): 253–74. 6 Avrahami, Senses, 124–25. 7 Constance Classen, Worlds of Sense: Exploring the Senses in History and Across Cultures (New York: Routledge, 1993), 7.



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Due to the link between the olfactory system and the limbic system, smell has strong spontaneous and reflexive effects on memories and emotions, whether positive or negative, and this visceral experience often transcends or supersedes logical reasoning in a way that is different than other forms of sensory perception. As Havelock Ellis notes, “[p]ersonal odors do not, as vision does, give us information that is very largely intellectual…they make an appeal that is mainly of an intimate, emotional, imaginative character.”8 Anthony Synnott calls smell a “potent wizard” in this respect and an effective tool for glorification of the self and depreciation of the other.9 Additionally, studies have shown the effect of aromas on work performance, personal well-being, and sexual relations.10 The physiology and psychology of olfaction factors into its role in ancient Near Eastern interpersonal relationships along two important lines: as a means of knowing (a revelatory role) and as a means of stereotyping (a judging role).11 In The Body Social, Synnott identifies three types of smell: natural body odor (such as sweat), manufactured odor (such as perfumes), and symbolic odor.12 The first two categories pertain to the revelatory, diagnostic role of olfaction for a person’s identity or condition, whereas the third is strategically leveraged to create and re-create typecasts for individuals or whole groups of people. The literal use of olfaction 8 Havelock Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, 6 vols. (Philadelphia: Davis, 1921), 3:82. 9 Synnott, Body Social, 187, 192. 10 William S. Cain, “History of Research on Smell,” in Tasting and Smelling, ed. Edward C. Carterette and Morton P. Friedman, Handbook of Perception 6a (New York: Academic Press, 1978), 197–229; Steve Van Toller and George H. Dodd, eds., Perfumery: The Psychology and Biology of Fragrance (New York: Chapman & Hall, 1988); and Piet Vroon, Smell: The Secret Seducer (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1994). 11 Susan Ashbrook Harvey, Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 77 investigates the late antique Christian use of sense perception, specifically olfaction, as a means of religious knowledge. More specifically, olfaction served an epistemological function to reveal unseen aspects of the divine-human relationship. This was a shift away from the religious significance of aromatics to establish or reinforce the divine-human relationship. 12 Synnott, Body Social, 182.

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in distinguishing others based on smell will be considered first, followed by the symbolic, stereotyping function applied in social branding. Revelatory Function All humans emit and perceive smells, which is one of the reasons smell has such a powerful, universal role in social interaction. Often overlooked, most people are unaware of their own odor fingerprint, although they regularly notice others’ scents.13 Natural body odors, including sweat, odors from orifices, and sexual odors convey the essence of a person’s identity. In the ancient Near East, the positive personal odor of another as an identifying mark is suggested in an Old Assyrian letter in which a political servant of the king of Mari indicates that he regrets the absence of “the smell of my master” in his house.14 Whether metaphorical or metonymic, this language reflects an underlying cultural assumption that an individual is known via his aroma. More figuratively, the scent of a beautiful girl’s hair is associated with aromatic oils in the Egyptian Tale of Two Brothers: “its [the lock of hair] scent was very sweet.”15 Akkadian love lyrics make jest of a woman’s unwelcome flatulence (“Why did you break wind and feel mortified? Why did you stink up her boyfriend’s wagon like a wi[ld ox]?) and warn about “the smell of her armpit.”16 The disgusting smell of urine upon a treaty-breaker’s breath is given as a curse

13 See Gabrielle J. Dorland, Scents Appeal: The Silent Persuasion of Aromatic Encounters (Mendham, NJ: Dorland, 1993), chapter 5 for many examples of ancient/ preindustrial recognition that everyone has a unique odor determined by diet, age, sex, health, and character, status, and morality. 14 RHA 35 71:3. 15 Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 2:207 and “The Tale of Two Brothers,” trans. Miriam Lichtheim, COS 1.40:187. 16 Wilfred G. Lambert, “The Problem of the Love Lyrics,” in Unity and Diversity: Essays in the History, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East, ed. Hans Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University, 1975), 122 col. B 11–12, 17.



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in a Neo-Assyrian treaty.17 Conveying the opposite, erotic Hebrew love lyrics speak of the maiden’s clothes as exuding the fragrance of Lebanon’s cedars (Song 4:11), and, more intimate yet, her breath is said to be like apples (Song 7:9). The “fluid of the gods” phraseology for aromatic oils is common in Egyptian texts, which frequently discuss divine scent, although it is not apparent with Akkadian descriptions of deities. The Hebrew Bible offers no explicit indications of God’s personal aroma despite other anthropomorphic conceptions of him, although indirect evidence of his fragrance could be inferred by the aromas cloaking his house and servants.18 The Egyptian Satire on the Trades highlights occupations known for their foul smell: the smith, farmer, stoker, and cobbler/leather-worker.19 No similar olfactory castigation of specific vocations is known from Akkadian and Hebrew texts, although that does not necessarily mean that smell was not used to demean particular occupations. The identification of Jacob’s garments as smelling like Esau, who worked in the outdoors (Gen 27:27), may provide some indication that certain professions had a distinctive aroma in Israel. Two Hebrew metaphorical usages of olfaction for the kinesthetic sense indicate intimate distance. Within the Samson cycle of Judg 13–16, the use of the verb ‫“( רי״ח‬to smell”) is uniquely applied in the story of Delilah seeking to coax the secret of Samson’s strength (Judg 16:9). Delilah tests the brute’s word by tying him with seven fresh thongs/bowstrings, but he breaks the cords as easily as a strand of fiber snaps when it “smells” fire. This seems to indicate close intimate contact with or proximity to something, a spatial nuance versus an olfactory one. Job 14:9 is similar, as the proxemic relationship of roots to water is uniquely conveyed through the same olfactory terminology (‫מריח מים‬ 17 D. J. Wiseman, “The Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon,” Iraq 20, no. 1 (1958): 603– 5. 18 P. A. H. de Boer, “An Aspect of Sacrifice: II. God’s Fragrance,” in Studies in the Religion of Ancient Israel, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 23 (Leiden: Brill, 1972), 37–47 argues that it was not an unknown or preposterous concept. 19 “Dua-Khety or the Satire on the Trades,” trans. Miriam Lichtheim, COS 1.48:123–24.

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‫)יפרח ועשה קציר כמונטע‬. This brings to mind the social theory of proxemics first expounded by cultural anthropologist Edward T. Hall.20 He examined the influence of space in interpersonal communication, suggesting that intimate space exists within one and a half feet of an individual where olfactics play a profound role. Further study of spatial relationships in these early periods may lend more or less support to the idea that an intimate relationship involves imbibing the scent of another individual. Constance Classen, David Howes, and Synnott demonstrate how non-Western cultural greetings and interchanges associate one’s smell with one’s essential self: among the Ongee of the Andaman Islands, the tip of the nose is touched to refer to “me,” as it represents the olfactory organ and one’s odor, the means of defining the individual self. They greet with “How is your nose?” not “How are you?” Also by way of example, in India the traditional method of greeting is to smell a person’s head.21 Olfactory discernment functions well in personal greetings because smell is carried by the breath of life, it renders an involuntary emotional effect on the recipient, and it invokes a more intimate perception than vision, touch, or hearing because it is physically assimilated into the body. For these reasons, people in many (perhaps most) cultures practice the perfuming of one’s surrounding layer of air in a characteristic way to render a scent impression that is not only recognizable but also agreeable.22 The aesthetic use of natural and manufactured fragrances as odorants (perfumes) must have been vital in interpersonal relationships from the earliest times, although it is not always clear how different applications of aromatics were meant to produce varied effects.23 The Akkadian Epic of Gilgamesh 20 Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1969), 131–64. 21 Constance Classen, David Howes, and Anthony Synnott, Aroma: The Cultural History of Smell (London: Routledge, 1994), 113–14. 22 Georg Simmel, “Culture of Interaction: Sociology of the Senses,” in Simmel on Culture: Selected Writings, ed. David Frisby and Mike Featherstone (London: Sage, 1997), 118. 23 A perfume is generally considered any natural or manufactured fragrance that is intentionally applied to give the human body, food, objects, and living spaces a pleas-



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provides a literary window into cultural practices such as body perfuming with fragrant oil. Interestingly, this is treated as commonplace alongside such images as wearing new clothes, throwing a stick, kissing one’s wife, and disciplining one’s child (Gilg. XII 17, 36). In the Hebrew Bible, the ingredients and instructions for using holy anointing oil given in Exod 30:22–33 indicate that personal application for nonritual use must have been, in fact, quite common, otherwise the prohibition would be irrelevant (verses 32–33). These examples substantiate the cultural tradition of perfuming the body.24 They do not, however, clarify what is revealed by that action. Song of Songs, however, communicates the captivating allure of the beautiful maiden by tapping into a plethora of sensory depictions including the fragrance of her oils as superior to all kinds of luxuriant spices (Song 4:10). Similarly, Egyptian instructions highlight aphrodisiacal functions of personal anointing, as the fragrance of myrrh upon a man has seductive power: “When a man smells of myrrh his wife is a cat before him.”25 These texts identify romantic or sexual attraction with the use of certain aromatic oils. The literal use of the olfactory sense to project someone else’s contrived odor is stressed in the highly literary pericope of Gen 27, where Jacob steals his older brother’s blessing by impersonating him. Smell trumps sight, hearing, and touch to become the penultimate means of identity discernment. Interestingly, thanks to what we now know from a physiological perspective, olfaction is ant scent. In providing archaeological evidence for perfume in the ancient Near East, Deborah A. Green, The Aroma of Righteousness: Scent and Seduction in Rabbinic Life and Literature (University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 2011), 21 suggests that perfumery had more to do with dry skin and the social convention of smelling attractive than masking displeasing odors, at least for Mediterranean antiquity. 24 The Egyptians demonstrated great sophistication in the use of artificial fragrances; e.g., hieroglyphics on the walls of the temple at Edfu present a recipe for the preparation of the “twice-good” perfume known as kyphi. Its principle ingredients were honey, wine, cyprus, grapes, myrrh, broom, stoenanthe, saxifrage, saffron, juniper, cardomom, patience, and calamus, and these were ground into a smooth consistency and put through a fine sieve to make the most odorous part of it into a paste with the addition of oasis wine. See William Kaufman, Le Grand livre des parfums (Paris: Minerva Vilo, 1974) and Annick le Guérer, Scent: The Mysterious and Essential Powers of Smell, trans. Richard Miller (New York: Kodansha International, 1992), 35. 25 Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3:171, line 11.

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unique in terms of its sensitivity and longevity compared to other senses. Odor molecules glide back into the nasal cavity behind the bridge of the nose where they are absorbed by the mucosa, which contains five million receptor cells that fire impulses to the brain’s olfactory bulb or “smell center.” The neurons in the nose are constantly replaced, about every thirty days, which differs from neurons in the eyes or ears, which, if damaged, are irreparable. The sense of smell is thus not only more acute but also less susceptible to injury or to the impairments of old age.26 Multiple examples of olfactory discernment in Akkadian medical texts involve the āšipu, a healing expert whose diagnostic and prognostic handbook included both magical duties (exorcism) and the medical treatment of ailments (though even these undertakings might also address the spirits whose activity produced the problem).27 These practitioners made home visits and used their senses to observe clinical symptoms, laying hands on their patients, testing their temperature, noting the color of feces and urine, watching movement, and listening to breathing and bowel sounds. This diagnosis also involved smelling the odor of such things as urine, breath, ears, and infected wounds.28 26 Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses (New York: Random House, 1991), 10. 27 To illustrate the complementary application of what we might consider medical and magical treatment methods, see CT 23 36:58ff where a šiptu (an incantation, spell, or charm used for apotropaic or healing purposes) immediately follows. Although cryptic from our perspective and not explicitly olfactory in reference, it bears direct symbolic associations with the prior affliction. 28 Henry Frederick Lutz, “A Contribution to the Knowledge of Assyro-Babylonian Medicine,” American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 36 (1919): 81:50; R. Campbell Thompson, Assyrian Medical Texts from the Originals in the British Museum (London: H. Milford, Oxford University, 1923): 23,1:11; 52,9:5; Thompson, Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets, &c., in the British Museum. Part XXII (50 Plates), 50 vols (London: Harrison and Sons, 1906), 23:36:58, 64; Thompson, Assyrian Medical Texts, 34,5:5; and Franz Köcher, Die BabylonischAssyrische Medizin in Texten und Untersuchungen, 6 vols., Keilschrifttexte aus Assur 4 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1971): 1:3 iv 14; 268:3′. See also Jo Ann Scurlock and Burton R. Andersen, Diagnoses in Assyrian and Babylonian Medicine: Ancient Sources, Translations, and Modern Medical Analyses (Chicago: University of Illinois, 2005), 8–9. To date, olfaction is still considered a useful and important diagnostic tool in modern Western medical practice; see Dorland, Scents Appeal, 195–98. I found it interesting that, with all the references to stomach, digestion, intestinal, and anus problems, which include symptoms of flatus, no reference to foul odor is given there;



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Anthropological accounts suggest strong-smelling aromatic medicines and remedies such as fumigation in the Akkadian medical texts were believed to expel or repel the disease-causing demons.29 The diagnostic function of olfaction takes on a spiritual dimension in a collection of Akkadian incantations/exorcisms, where the foul stench of evil spirits is compared to a basement reeking of rat dung.30 Akkadian medical texts are inimitable for the ancient Near East with respect to odor evaluations in magico-medical practice. The Hebrew Bible provides a somewhat comparable set of diagnostic and therapeutic instructions for various types of skin disease (Lev 13). Yet only sight and touch are used for identification and not smell.31 The reference to the psalmist’s reeking wounds comes close, but this appears to be a symbolic evaluation more than a medical one (Ps 38:5). To summarize so far, Akkadian, Egyptian, and Hebrew textual references demonstrate how the human olfactory sense has a clear revelatory function in interpersonal relationships. Perfumes are intentionally used by both genders to create a positive impression. Unintentional scent is also an identifying feature, whether it be for the aroma of someone who is away from home, the erotic fragrance of physical features such as hair and breath, or the distinguished odor of an occupation that is sometimes but not always foul. In specialized medical contexts, smell is used to diagnose physiological condition.

see R. Campbell Thompson, “Assyrian Medical Prescriptions for Diseases of the Stomach,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 26, no. 2 (1929): 7–92. 29 Dorland, Scents Appeal, 183–95 dedicates an entire chapter (chapter 8, “Fragrant Elixers”) to the importance of olfactory diagnoses and treatments in ancient, medieval, and modern preindustrial cultures of the Amazon, Africa, Asia, and New Guinea. Unpleasant or putrid-smelling odorous materials or herbal remedies are often used to repel diseases/spirits and cure the afflicted. 30 CT 16 34:215. For anthropological examples of good and evil spirits being associated with fragrance and stench, see Classen, Worlds, 94–96. 31 Perhaps more texts would reveal a diagnostic function of olfaction in Israelite society.

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Judging Function Description inevitably morphs into prescription as smell is translated from physical sensations to powerful symbolic assessments.32 Perceiving someone as malodorous (whether literally or figuratively) is a highly effective means of creating, enforcing, and reinforcing stereotypes. Competing parties have been doing this to each other throughout history, with the dominant class characterizing itself as pleasant-smelling or inodorate and the subordinate one as foul-smelling.33 Moral categories of “good/bad” or “righteous/ evil” are symbolically used to construct and undergird class, race, gender, and age stereotypes, which serve as scapegoats for the antipathy of another individual or group.34 Prior to investigating ancient Near Eastern texts for the use of odor valuations for the “other” as a means of moral branding that justifies attitudes and practices of bigotry based on economic status, ethnicity, gender, and/or age, it is helpful to briefly survey broader cultural and historical evidence to more effectively assess whether ancient Near Eastern texts reveal a similar stereotyping function. Social historians have shown how various ethnicities have been the brunt of olfactory labeling to reinforce racial inferiority, such as the Jews under Hitler’s regime. In How Race is Made, Mark Smith tracks the manufacture of offensive sensory stereotypes from the late eighteenth century to the late 1950s by southern whites to justify slavery, segregation, and other forms of racial oppression.35 Women have been the brunt of scent-typing as well, often in relation to the odor of menstruation. Classen summarizes the more complex olfactory symbolism applied to subcategories of women in the West: sluts and prostitutes are associated with stench; 32 Anthony Synnott, “A Sociology of Smell,” Canadian Review of Sociology 28, no. 4 (1991): 444. 33 Constance Classen, “The Odor of the Other: Olfactory Symbolism and Cultural Categories,” Ethos 20, no. 2 (1992): 136. 34 This has been noted by twentieth-century novelists such as George Orwell who writes that the “real secret of class distinction in the West…is summed up in four frightful words… The lower classes smell”; see George Orwell, The Road to Wigan Pier (London: Victor Gollancz, 1937), 159. 35 Mark M. Smith, How Race Is Made: Slavery, Segregation, and the Senses (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006).



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maidens and wives or mothers have pleasant, non-threatening smells; and the corrupting influence of attractive seductresses is associated with sweet and spicy fragrances.36 Alain Corbin shows the widespread role of odor as an icon of social identity and difference in mid-eighteenth-century France, where the rich and ruling class expressed a lowering threshold of tolerance for stench, as seen in public health policy, urban regulations (pertaining to waste, burial, etc.), and town planning.37 Clare Brant’s survey of eighteenth-century travel writing likewise demonstrates the use of smell as “an index of cultural difference and measure of contempt.”38 Anthropologists document how symbolic olfactory codes are used in different cultures to express and regulate cultural identity and difference.39 The pastoralist Dassanetch of southwest Ethiopia, for instance, have perpetuated a rigorous olfaction class division with the Dassanetch fishermen, who are characterized as foul-smelling like fish. Even though the fishermen regularly enter the water of the river, they are said to perpetually stink.40 Meanwhile, the herders perpetuate the “positive” smell of cattle upon their bodies by washing their hands in cattle urine, smearing manure on the men’s bodies, and rubbing ghee on nubile girls and fertile women as a form of perfume.41 Classen summarizes 36 Classen, Worlds, 86–94. For more on gender and smell, see Constance Classen, “Engendering Perception: Gender Ideologies and Sensory Hierarchies in Western History,” Body and Society 3, no. 2 (1997): 1–19; Dorland, Scents Appeal, chapter 4 (“The Essence of Femininty”); Classen, Howes, and Synnott, Aroma, 162–9; Phillip Vannini, Dennis Waskul, and Simon Gottschalk, The Senses in Self, Society, and Culture: A Sociology of the Senses (New York: Routledge, 2012), 139–42; Synnott, Body Social, 201–2; and Sander Gilman, Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race, and Madness (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, 1985), 114. 37 Trades that caused unpleasant odors (including tanning, fulling, and dying) were moved outside the walls along with cemeteries, hospitals, and butcher shops; see Alain Corbin, The Foul and the Fragrant: Odor and the French Social Imagination, trans. Miriam Kochan, Roy Porter, and Christopher Prendergast (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986), 100. 38 Brant, “Fume and Perfume,” 456. 39 For theoretical framework, see Almagor, “Odors.” 40 Uri Almagor, “The Cycle and Stagnation of Smells: Pastoralists-Fishermen Relationships in an East African Society,” Revue des études sémitiques 14 (1987): 114. 41 Almagor, “Cycle,” 109.

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how the Suya of Brazilian Mato Grosso symbolically distinguish both gender and age through odor classes. Adult men who live in the men’s house in the village plaza are “bland” or inodorate (the highest degree of culture), old men/women are “pungent,” boys and girls are “strong smelling,” and women and the tribal leader are “very strong smelling,” the lowest degree of culture. Here olfaction establishes degrees of culture and socialization, with adult men who live in the men’s house of the village being dominant while women rank low because they threaten the men’s ideal social life and are associated with nature because of their fertility. The tribal leader, surprisingly, is also “strong smelling,” but this is due to his association with nature, an anomalous status in a conformist society.42 Among the Kapsiki and Higi of north Cameroon and northeast Nigeria, social stratification and discrimination are mediated through cultural definitions of dirt and cleanness and their olfactory labels. This small-scale society is divided between the normal Kapsiki and the malodorous “blacksmith” class — namely, those who work with forging metals as well as other technical and ritual specializations including music, divination, magic/medicine, pottery, leatherworking, and funerals. The low status on the social hierarchy is thought to be related to their role as undertakers working with the quintessential vile odor: the decaying corpse.43 As seen in these examples, smell functions as a stereotyping device to delineate the superiority of one group or the hierarchical relationship of society. While there is some empirical basis for different races and social groups having different characteristic odors due to diet and genetics, it is evident in most such cases that the stench ascribed to the other is far less a response to an actual perception of the odour of the other than a potent metaphor for the social decay it is

42 Classen, Worlds, 85–86. 43 Walter E. A. Van Beek, “The Dirty Smith: Smell as a Social Frontier Among the Kapsiki/Higi of North Cameroon and North-Eastern Nigeria,” Africa 62.01 (1992): 38–58.



Sanctified or Stigmatize 167 feared the other, often simply by its being ‘other,’ will cause to the established order.44

These examples raise the question: does ancient Near Eastern textual evidence support the use of smell as a social branding tool for economic status, ethnicity, gender, and/or age? In exploring the sexual and economic subordination of women in archaic, patriarchal states from the earliest written history (fourth millennium BCE), Gerda Lerner provides no evidence of marginalization through olfactory stereotypes.45 Similarly, Zainab Bahrani’s investigation of sexuality and gender conceptions in the historical documents and archaeological ruins of the ancient Near East heralds no specific examples of gender-based typecasting through odor in Assyro-Babylonian society.46 An investigation of olfactory-based lexical terms in Akkadian and Hebrew also produces little empirical basis for suggesting that the sense of smell was used to propagate gender-based stereotypes or hierarchies, contrary to evidence from other cultures and periods.47 Derogatory references are made to the offensive smell of a woman’s flatulence and armpits in a somewhat baffling Late Assyrian literary text dealing with love lyrics between Marduk and Ishtar, but this negative olfactory description runs counter to the enthusiastic response of the male towards this visibly attractive woman.48 Similarly, foul smell does not appear to factor into descriptions of the “other” along age classifications. The New Kingdom Egyptian mythical contendings of Horus and Seth reference an insult invoking the bad-smelling breath of a youngster, in this case a deity: “you are feeble in body, and this office is too big for 44 Classen, Worlds, 80. 45 Gerda Lerner, The Creation of Patriarchy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). 46 Zainab Bahrani, Women of Babylon: Gender and Representation in Mesopotamia (New York: Routledge, 2001). 47 Constance Classen, “Foundations for an Anthropology of the Senses,” International Social Science Journal 49, no. 153 (1997): 409. 48 W. G. Lambert, “The Problem of the Love Lyrics,” in Unity and Diversity: Essays in the History, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East, ed. Hans Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1975), 120 col. B 12, 122 col. B 9, 17.

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you, you youngster whose breath smells bad.” This may insinuate that youth were symbolically associated with repellent breath, or it may provide an example of a mixed metaphor that united two or more different slurs including negative olfaction and youthfulness (which may not have been otherwise associated) for a heightened affront.49 On the contrary, there is evidence that perceptions of the female include fragrant aromas, at least in the erotic imagery of Song of Songs, where the maiden’s perfume, garments, and breath entice her male lover (1:12, 4:10–11, 7:9). He, too, is characterized by pleasing scents, as his oils arouse the maidens (1:3). This corresponds with an Egyptian mention of the man’s aphrodisiac already mentioned: fragrant myrrh.50 While women were associated with gardens, spices, and pleasant scents in the ancient Near East, scent-laden depictions were attributed to men as well, suggesting that the context of erotic love is a more significant factor than gender in these instances.51 The sensory images of the seductress in Prov 5 and 7 include deceptive taste (5:3–4), touch (5:20, 7:13, 18), hearing (7:5, 14–21), and sight (7:10, 16). Depictions of the temptress as having sprinkled (‫ )נו״ף‬her bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon (7:17) match modern, Western descriptions of the alluring immoral woman whose exotic, spicy fragrance lures the unsuspecting. Yet characterizations of the prostitute in prophetic writings like Jer 3–4 and Ezek 16 center on visual features such as clothing, jewelry, and makeup without providing any suggestion of odor that does not correspond with the sociological theory that harlots were associated with stench.52 In contrast to gender and age, the symbolic application of malodor to distinguish socioeconomic class has more empirical basis in the ancient Near East. As referenced above, the Egyptian Satire on the Trades casts several occupations in negative olfactory terms: the metalsmith who works the forge, the toiling 49 Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 2:216. 50 Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3:171. 51 For rabbinic interpretations, see Green, Aroma, 97. 52 See the recapitulation of the theory in Classen, Worlds, 88.



Sanctified or Stigmatize 169

farmer whose swollen fingers reek, and the reed collector who works among and acquires the smell of foul-smelling marshes. The cobbler, too, is looked down upon because of his work with nauseating vats of oil used with tanning animal hides.53 These designations are not just descriptors of varied trades; they all apply to occupations of a lower socioeconomic class. Susan Ashbrook Harvey documents how pleasing fragrances provided a means for differentiating social classes in classical antiquity, as “the degree to which one could control that environment indicated levels of wealth, status, and power.”54 The employment of ritual fragrance was a means of reinforcing social groupings in ancient Israel. The unique juxtaposition of prescriptions for priests and proscriptions for regular Israelites in Exod 30:22–26 suggests that the Israelite priests are given exclusive access to a specific aromatic recipe, thus segregating this group from the populace. As the only ones allowed to wear this fragrance, they stand apart by their scent as a group holy and elected by God.55 The professional perfumer/apothecary mentioned here (Exod 30:25, 35) is elusive in description but would have come from a priestly family (1 Chr 9:30; Neh 3:8). Other depictions of this business either provide no clarity or suggest otherwise (Eccl 10:1; 1 Sam 8:13), according to Deborah A. Green.56 Additionally, she argues, the four narratives centered on priestly authority or reassertion of power after insurrection draw attention to themes of authority, exclusivity, and restriction.57 The proper application of fragrant incense in the hands of legitimized priests functions symbolically as a powerful form of apology and appeasement.58 The priests’ command of fragrance in Israel distinguishes their status and power, perhaps similar to the Mesopotamian kings’ exclusive possession of rare, 53 “Dua-Khety or the Satire on the Trades,” COS 1.48:123–24 and Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 2:169. 54 Harvey, Scenting Salvation, 192. 55 Green, Aroma, 71. 56 Green, Aroma, 72. 57 Lev 10 (Nadab and Abihu), Num 16 (the rebellion of Korah), Num 17 (the plague narrative after the rebellion), and 2 Chr 26 (Uzziah’s encroachment upon the temple). 58 Green, Aroma, 77–83.

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expensive, aromatic building materials to publicize their rank and sovereignty. In summary, most symbolic olfactory references to the “other” as a means of exclusion or distinction represent personal or political stereotyping more than gender, age, and class. The evilsmelling “other” may refer to an ethnic foreigner or an insider who already is or becomes a social outcast because of his actions. In this way, the frequent Hebrew references employing various forms of the verb ‫“( בא״ׁש‬to stink”) are figuratively applied to communicate the odious and repulsive nature of the individual or collective group. The Hebrew expressions “to be odious” and “to make oneself or another odious” are usually applied in narratives as direct quotes and always when two factors are in play: settings that presume an extreme, violent reaction to some offensive act; and situations involving power dynamics with a real or perceived stronger and weaker party. Although sometimes couched in terms of ethnic identity and political or national affiliation, the more fundamental issue behind this figurative, stock expression is a posturing of power dynamics and immanent threat to those who are abhorrent to a stronger entity. In the same way that a noxious smell invokes an immediate and involuntary reaction to turn away or in some other way eliminate the source of the reek, to be malodorous to a more powerful adversary is to have a death sentence. For example, the foreigner Jacob fears violent retaliation from local Canaanites and Perizzites against his minority clan (Gen 34:30); the suffering Israelites wail about their loathsomeness to their ruthless slave master, Pharaoh (Exod 5:21); the fledgling Israelites hear rumors of their abhorrence to the ominous Philistines (1 Sam 13:4); Achish muses to himself that the fugitive David has earned the hatred and antagonism of his people (1 Sam. 27:12); the sons of Ammon recognize that they have become noxious to the more dominant Israelites and brace themselves for punitive action (2 Sam 10:6, 1 Chr 19:6); and Ahithophel counsels the political upstart, Absalom, to make himself irreparably odious to his father (2 Sam 16:21). The application of this idiomatic expression to the mouths of trepidatious speakers, perhaps not accidently in Samuel, seems to be



Sanctified or Stigmatize 171

an intentional decision to use an olfactory-based verb instead of others like ‫“( מא״ס‬to reject, despise”).59 Because literal applications of the verbal root ‫ בא״ׁש‬frequently reference something dead, dying, or rotting (Exod 7:18, 21; 8:10; 16:20; and Isa 50:2), Green suggests the objectifying application to people is designed to imply that they are already dead or in some state of decomposition to the rest of society, and that disgust is uniquely engendered among the majority, the ruling class, or the leadership.60 In each instance, there is a jockeying for power and some presumption of weaker and stronger parties. In the same way that a literal foul odor perceived by the human body’s olfactory system initiates an immediate visceral reaction of disgust and avoidance, the figurative Hebrew expression “to stink” involves performing some shocking, reprehensible deed that evokes the ire and wrath of a more powerful other, and this always presumes imminent conflict. First-millennium Akkadian royal correspondence shows a similar use of negative, olfactory-based idiomatic expressions involving the sociopolitical standing of individuals or parties.61 Often, “evil-smelling” words have been spoken about the king, to the king, or in the palace, but in one letter from Ashurbanipal to the people of Babylon, the king implores the people not to make their reputation stink to him.62 By the same token, the New Kingdom 59 Avrahami, Senses, 104. The narratives of 1 and 2 Samuel are no stranger to rhetoric. Consider persuasive speeches such as 1 Sam 8:10–18 (Samuel’s lecture on the implications of a monarchy), 1 Sam 25:23–31 (Abigail’s dissuasion of David’s rash response on Nabal), 2 Sam 12:1–6 (Nathan’s parable of the lamb), and 2 Sam 16:15– 17:14 (two royal counselors competing for Absalom’s ear). 60 Green, Aroma, 95. 61 Neo-Babylonian and Late Babylonian letters show that the idiomatic expression applies in other contexts as well, as slander in the form of “odorous/bad” words are spoken against workers by locals (YOS 3 19:21), to the šangu (chief temple administrator) about an individual accused of theft (BIN 1 43:18), and about other individuals who are being slandered (BIN 1 22:6, 31; 75:13; CT 22 155:11). 62 About the king: Anastasius Schollmeyer, Sumerisch-Babylonische Hymnen und Gebete an Šamaš (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1912), 47:3; Robert Francis Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters Belonging to the Kouyunjik Collections of the British Museum, ed. Leroy Waterman, 14 vols. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1892), 460:4. To the king: Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters, 290:6; 498 r. 9; 716:27, r. 3; 1374:12; Clarence Elwood Keiser, Letters and Contracts from Erech Written in

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Egyptian model letter, The Craft of the Scribe, applies the phrase “You have made my name stink” in a direct quote related to the internationally active scribe’s reporting role.63 The Akkadian royal letters exploit idiomatic expressions with an olfactory sense (“odious words” or “odious name/reputation,” if rendered etymologically) to further rhetorical aims. The context presented by these epistles involves some degree of emotional fervency, paranoia, dire circumstances, and (often) scrambling for allegiances. The symbolic application of malodor has political connotations, as demonstrated, but olfaction is also used in the ancient Near East to communicate repulsion and disgust towards moral reprobates. In this way, the sense of smell is naturally the supreme human sense used to distinguish a person’s moral nature. In describing how the human senses are used as a means for subjective, moral judgment, Avrahami points out the deficit (compared to the other senses) in biblical examples where a human subject uses a smell metaphor for moral judgment. She cites Isa 11:3 as one exception, although it is applied to a future, utopian period.64 This text merits a more comprehensive analysis because it can be considered the most compelling example of the use of smell as a means of judgment in the Hebrew Bible. Isaiah 11:1–9 is a prophetic proclamation or announcement of salvation through the coming reign of a “shoot/branch” from the “stump/stock of Jesse.” This future reign of peace is manifested in the sociopolitical order by means of birth or ascension of a new, ideal king from the line of David (verses 1–5) and in the order of creation by establishing peace and tranquility among all creatures, the Neo-Babylonian Period, Babylonian Inscriptions in the Collection of James B. Nies, Yale University 1 (New Haven: Yale University, 1918), 1 22:6, 31. In the palace: Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters, 283:10, r. 5. Ashurbanipal letter: Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters, 301:22. 63 “The Craft of the Scribe (3.2),” trans. James P. Allen, COS 3.2:314. 64 Avrahami, Senses, 172 refers the reader to her own dissertation and that of Kurek-Chomycz: Yael Avrahami, ‫מכלול החושים ודרכי פעולתו באפיסטמולוגיה המקראית‬ ‫ עיון מיוחד בחושי הראייה והריח‬: (PhD diss., University of Haifa, 2008), 181–82 and Dominik Kurek-Chomycz, “Making Scents of Revelation: The Significance of Cultic Scents in Ancient Judaism as the Backdrop of Saint Paul’s Olfactory Metaphor in 2 Cor. 2:14–17” (PhD diss., Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2008) 10–12.



Sanctified or Stigmatize 173

including predators and prey (verses 6–9). The juxtaposition of these two realms connects justice, mercy, and peace in human society with harmony in the natural order. In describing the credentials of this ideal ruler, verse 2 identifies three pairs of gifts. The first pair, wisdom and understanding, suggests a practical wisdom that enables him to rightly discern and deal with political and judicial matters. The second set of terms, counsel and might, refers to diplomatic and military authority. The third pair, knowledge and the fear of the Lord, adds a new dimension, that of religious devotion to the Lord. These qualities for the ideal ruler are followed by a description of his administrative activities: ‫והריחו ביראת יהוה ולא־למראה עיניו ישפוט ולא־למשמע‬ ‫אזניו יוכיח‬. Translators have struggled with the first clause, as the Masoretic Text offers no help from textual variants, leading some to suggest emendations or a dittographic error.65 For those who accept the text as it stands, the literal reading — “And his smelling [is] in/with the fear of YHWH” — is inexplicable, so a derived meaning is provided along the lines of “And his delight is in the fear of YHWH.” In his article, “The Nose Knows: Bodily Knowing in Isaiah 11.3,” Ian D. Ritchie uses a talmudic passage (b. Sanh. 93b) and Ibn Ezra quote as evidence that early and medieval Jewish commentators accepted a literal sense of the verb: The ear is sometimes deceived in hearing sounds, which are only imaginary; the eye, too, sees things in motion, which in reality are at rest; the sense of smell alone is not deceived. He will properly investigate the question before him “by his piety”; he will not judge according to what he seems to see

65 Jeremiah Unterman, “The (Non)Sense of Smell in Isaiah 11.3,” Hebrew Studies 33 (1992): 17–23 proposes that ‫“( והריחו ביראת יהוה‬he will smell in/with the fear of the Lord”) in Isa 11:3 is the result of a series of copyist errors including a scribal dittography related to the use of ‫ רוח‬in the previous verse: ‫“( רוח דעת ויראת יהוה‬the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord”) and another copyist’s addition of a yod to coordinate this now anomalous form.

174 Jeffrey Duerler or to hear, because the testimony of the witnesses might be false.66

Ritchie goes on to suggest the readings of the Septuagint (έμπλήσει, “shall fill him”) and Targum (‫ויקרביניה‬, “will approach him”) reflect a sensorial shift that has been identified in Greek thought after Plato. He argues that the problem is not exegetical but hermeneutical; this “olfactory avoidance syndrome” is a result of our modern ocularcentric worldview. If the first clause does in fact suggest this future ruler will “smell” in the fear of the Lord, the next two phrases provide the antithesis. By stating “he will not judge by what he sees with his eyes or decide by what he hears with his ears,” the text sets up an intentional contrast between sensory modalities used for discernment; sight and hearing are rendered inadequate in comparison to smelling. The use of smelling as a means of discernment fits the context better than a derived meaning such as “delight in,” because of this sensory contrast. With more metaphorical language involving facial features coming in verse 4 — striking the earth with the rod of his mouth and slaying the wicked with the breath of his lips — we are inclined to understand “smell” metaphorically. Highlighting the modality of smelling over against seeing and hearing could indicate a bias toward olfaction comparable to the modern bias toward sight and hearing as the most accurate senses. Either way, recent social-scientific and literary studies add a new measure of understanding of how smell functions as a means of discernment and indicator of intangible or spiritual qualities. Isaiah 11:3 shows that this coming, utopian ruler will have special enablements to judge deeper than what is perceived on the surface, and this will ensure that the poor and needy have full protection under the law. Green explains that “God’s chosen one will not be fooled by his eyes or his ears. He will be able to see past and hear through lies and deception and will know the truth.”67 This sensory 66 Ian D. Ritchie, “The Nose Knows: Bodily Knowing in Isaiah 11.3,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 25, no. 87 (2000): 66–68 and M. Friedländer, ed. and trans., Ibn Ezra on Isaiah (Spring Valley, NY: Philipp Feldheim, 1873), 60. 67 Green, Aroma, 113.



Sanctified or Stigmatize 175

perception of ancient pedigree, she says, is a form of intuition or acquiring knowledge that confounds Western philosophical and psychological approaches, and it comes from none other than God himself.68 Scripture conveys the Lord’s prerogative to perceive the inner state of a person, group, or act through the sense of smell, as evidenced by the repulsive aroma of Israelite assemblies (Amos 5:21–2) that elsewhere were deemed a sweet aroma to him. This is the superior ability to perceive the things of the heart lurking beneath outwardly appropriate actions. Ritchie compares the description of the anointed one’s superior olfactory ability with recent anthropological studies of olfactory discernment in African religion and the Islamic world where, for example, “chief sniffers” stand at the entrance to or kneeling area of the worship area to discern the intentions of would-be participants.69 Egyptian theology also attributes discernment to the olfactory sense, as the nose, eyes, and ears all work together to transmit situational realities to the heart, the decision-making center of a god.70 One Neo-Assyrian prophetic oracle that compares the goddess Ishtar to a keen-smelling animal provides another instance of divine discernment that transcends the visual surface of things.71 The goddess is said to have the ability to sniff out enemies of King Esarhaddon in the palace, for “[m]ankind is deceitful; I am the one who says and does.”72 The sense of smell, sometimes considered the most animalistic of the senses, here detects what the eyes cannot see. Vision and hearing are later employed in this prophecy as a means of detecting imminent risk from deceptive traitors, as seen in other oracles, illustrating how all three senses work together. If the Hebrew verb ‫ יבאיש‬in Prov 13:5 is translated without emendation as “he stinks,” a symbolic olfactory judgment is levied at the wicked man who embraces falsehood. This proverb 68 Green, Aroma, 113. 69 Ritchie, “Nose,” 64–65. 70 “From the Berlin ‘Hymn to Ptah,’” trans. James P. Allen, COS 1.14:121. 71 Simon Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, State Archives of Assyria 9 (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1997), 2.3 ii 10′, 20′. 72 Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, 2.3 ii 17′–18′.

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follows a cluster of proverbs linked with catchwords such as ‫נפש‬ (“desire,” “craving,” “life”) in Prov 13:2, 3, 4 and ‫“( פה‬mouth” or “lips”) in Prov 13:2, 3. Verse 2 taps into gustatory and auditory imagery when it says the mouth produces “fruit” (speech) that nourishes others. Because speech bears good or bad fruit, verse 3 emphasizes the need to control the mouth as the organ of speech. Verse 4 follows up on the idea of desire when it speaks of the sluggard’s craving being disappointed, whereas those who work hard are satisfied. Verse 5 returns to the topic of speech with a classic antithetical couplet involving the righteous and the wicked: ‫דבר־שקר ישנא צדיק ורשע יבאיש ויחפיר‬, “A righteous man hates falsehood, but a wicked man acts disgustingly and shamefully” (Prov 13:5, NRSV). The first line speaks to an emotion that characterizes the righteous: hating a deceitful word (see also Prov 8:13 and Ps 119:163). The second half addresses a consequence that, we assume, is the result of the opposite — loving a deceitful word. If translated literally, the wicked man is said to “stink” and be ashamed. The former verb is a hiphil imperfect 3ms, and some scholars may propose it is a byform of the root ‫“( בו״ׁש‬to be ashamed”), translating it accordingly as a synonym with ‫ויחפיר‬, “to be or bring disgrace.” However, a figurative translation from the verb ‫ בא״ׁש‬as it actually reads is more likely, as associations of bad smell and lies are quite common. More debatable is the sense of this pair of hiphil verbs (‫)יבאש ויחפיר‬, which can be rendered ingressive (“become…”) or causal (“cause…”). Is the proverb suggesting that the wicked become odious and disgraceful by their love of false words? Or is it saying that the wicked cause a stench and disgrace upon others by loving falsehood? Both are legitimate options here. Either way, olfaction discerns moral standing. Similar castigations are rendered in the Egyptian Instruction of Any for the person who leaves when chiefs enter (a suspect behavior), is gluttonous (5,18 and 25,18–19), is sexually loose (9,2), is unavailable to his boss (10,12–13), befriends fools (13,19–20), is greedy (15,7), prideful (27,17), shameful or foolish (25,18–19),



Sanctified or Stigmatize 177

and arrogant (27,17).73 Added to this list of immoral actions and attitudes is drunkenness, uttering offensive words, and anger.74 Further, an Egyptian hieroglyphic inscription states: “He whose odor is unpleasant shall be punished and ostracized.”75 These examples illustrate how, in the ancient Near East, moral order is revealed by moral odor, and character faults are expressed through constructions of smell. The projection of symbolic stench to construct any category of “other” for the purposes of group preservation has as its basis the animalistic nature of olfaction for the purposes of selfpreservation.76 Together, the ubiquitous quality of the sense of smell and the irrepressible, overpowering effect that disgust has upon the human psyche explain its prominence as a metaphor used to describe and prescribe the outsider, “other,” or enemy. That said, there are also occasions when the attribution of foul odor is turned upon oneself. Classen describes this scenario: “Significantly, individuals who feel themselves to be cut off from society can sometimes attribute a foul odour to themselves. Such persons imagine that their bodies give off putrid emanations, often because of an inherent fault or evil within themselves, which cause them to be socially isolated.”77 This self-identification of “otherness” through a fetid smell is evidenced in ancient Near Eastern wisdom literature. In the Egyptian Dispute Between a Man and His Ba, a man compares his reputation to the reek of carrion and dead fish on a hot day and 73 “Instruction of Any,” trans. Miriam Lichtheim, COS 1.46:110 and Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 2:137, 3:189 and 205, 3:192, 3:193, 3:196, 3:197, 3:205, and 3:207, respectively. 74 For offensive words, see “Instruction of Any,” trans. Miriam Lichtheim, COS 1.46:112. For anger, see Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3:165. 75 Guérer, Scent, 30. 76 See David Howes and Marc Lalonde, “The History of Sensibilities: Of the Standard of Taste in Mid-Eighteenth Century England and the Circulation of Smells in Post-Revolutionary France,” Dialectical Anthropology 16, no. 2 (1991): 125–35 for the suggestion that the symbolic importance of smell and taste (the so-called discriminating senses) increase when social boundaries are threatened. 77 This disorder is particularly found in Japan, according to Classen, Worlds, 98, as timid young men constantly wash and deodorize themselves and avoid contact with others because they believe they emit extremely repugnant odors.

178 Jeffrey Duerler

offensive-smelling natural habitats and their animals. Even more intriguing, his litany of self-criticism includes for comparison the foul stench of a wife who has been slandered to her spouse, the noxious identity of a child whose biological father is discovered to be one hated by his father, and the malodor of a town that is traitorous to the king.78 In Ps 38, the full gamut of sensory experience is exploited to communicate the sufferer’s condition. He feels pain, burden, weakness, fatigue, and throbbing. He groans and sighs, sensing his prostrate position and failing sight and hearing. In verse 5, the nasty reek of open lesions serves a dual function to highlight both the sufferer’s physical misery and the emotional anguish experienced from his social isolation (the result of his altogether reprehensible condition). It is hard to make the case that smell is the most intense depicter of suffering here, although it most certainly adds to the miserable plight. Conclusion This comparative survey of olfactory references in Akkadian, Egyptian, and Hebrew texts demonstrates that the sense of smell was an effective social branding tool in the ancient Near East, although in different ways than one might surmise based on the categories frequently flagged by contemporary social historians and anthropologists. According to the ancient Near Eastern texts at our disposal, there is little empirical basis for suggesting that the sense of smell was used to propagate stereotypes or hierarchies based upon gender or age, although there is clear and compelling evidence to indicate its application in socioeconomic and political arenas. Additionally, order (or lack thereof) was revealed through odor, as moral standing was expressed and reinforced through cultural constructions of smell. Ancient Near Eastern texts provide evidence for the use of olfaction to discern the moral character/nature of another person or group. In this way, smells have a derived meaning where the moral categories of “good/bad” 78 “The Dispute Between a Man and His BA,” trans. Miriam Lichtheim, COS 3.146:323; and Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 1:166.



Sanctified or Stigmatize 179

or “holy/evil” are built on the operative presupposition that “what smells good is good, and what smells bad is bad.” This heuristic approach applies to the words, deeds, character, reputation, and moral essence of others. Some comparisons between and within Akkadian, Egyptian, and ancient Israelite cultures can be offered here, although they must remain quite tentative due to the limited evidence. First, with respect to divine scent, only Egyptian texts provide explicit characterization. All three societies, however, reflect individuals’ use of fragrant aromas. Egyptian and Israelite texts seem to offer a more direct association of pleasing scents with sexuality and eroticism. Meanwhile, Akkadian medical documents uniquely feature the sense of smell as a diagnostic tool. Evidence of foul stenches associated with trades are featured in Egyptian literature, while the Hebrew Bible and Akkadian letters connect fragrant aromas with positions of power and privilege. The two areas where all three corpora align are the use of olfactory idiomatic expressions to convey intense animosity and threat between two parties, one occupying a position of identifiable strength and superiority and the other being weak and vulnerable, and moral discernment applied by deities or human beings toward the reprobate. Egyptian and Hebrew texts reflect a self-application of this vile state. Phenomenologically, the olfactory sense has the profound ability to distinguish and interpret the invisible, thus rendering it the perfect rubric to discern and judge both friend and foe as sanctified or stigmatized. The olfactory sense is ideally suited to render someone (another individual, group, or even oneself) as safe or suspect because of its idiosyncratic features. Ancient Near Eastern writings evidence stench stereotypes functioning as a perfect metaphor of antipathy along ethnic, economic, political, and moral lines because smell, of all the human senses, has the most direct link to the limbic portion of the brain, where instinctive, involuntary, visceral reactions are formed.

The Body Cultured

Chapter 6

King of the Mountains: Reassessing Royal Representation on a Middle Assyrian Cult Pedestal Kyle R. Greenwood

During Walter Andrae’s excavations of Assur in 1935, six nemēdū (cult pedestals) were unearthed. Three were discovered in room 6 of the Ištar temple (Ass. 19869; Ass. 19835; Ass. 19868), one outside the Ištar temple (Ass. 20069), and two in the gateway of the Aššur temple (Ass. 17178+17883; Ass. 17177).1 While three of the socles bear inscriptions (Ass. 19869; Ass. 17178+17833; Ass. 17177), only two are engraved with images in relief (Ass. 19869; Ass. 20069). Due to their artistic depictions, the latter two pedestals are the most recognizable from the Middle Assyrian period and have received the most attention in the literature. The more familiar of the two Middle Assyrian cult pedestals is Ass. 19869, the so-called Nusku pedestal of Tukultī-Ninur-

This essay developed out of a brief discussion in my dissertation, for which Nili S. Fox served as second reader. I am delighted to give it a fuller treatment here and trust that Nili is honored in turn. 1 Walter Andrae, Die jüngeren Ischtar-Tempel in Assur, Wissenschaftliche Veröfferentlichungen der deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 58 (Osnabrück: Otto Zeller, 1967 [1935]), 57–73. On the architectural history and stratigraphy of Nineveh’s Ištar temple, see Julian Reade, “The Ishtar Temple at Nineveh,” Iraq 67 (2005): 347–90.



183

184 Kyle R. Greenwood

ta I (1243–1207 BCE), henceforth signified as Nemedu A.2 In a two-frame presentation scene, the king is first depicted approaching the altar, and then kneeling before the pedestal (see figure 6.1). The scene portrays Tukultī-Ninurta I approaching an image of the very platform containing the inscription, with a symbol of the deity resting on Figure 6.1. Nemedu A (Ass. 19869; that platform. The base of the VA 8146). Vorderasiatisches Museum. Illustration by Abby Amstutz. platform bears a dedicatory inscription that names both the king responsible for the inscription and the deity to whom the inscription and pedestal are dedicated. Irrespective of the complexities associated with the iconography of the Nusku cult pedestal, the inscription makes clear that the king who dedicated the pedestal was none other than Tukultī-Ninurta I.3 Along with this well-known pedestal of Tukultī-Ninurta, a second cult platform similar in shape and style to the Nusku pedestal is the lesser-known Nemedu B (Ass. 20069) from the same period (see figure 6.2). This pedestal depicts a king paying obeisance in the presence of a pair of mythical creatures, presumably laḫmū.4 2 The designations Nemedu A and Nemedu B follow Stephanie M. Langin-Hooper, “Performance and Monumentality in the ‘Altar of Tukultī-Ninurta,’” in Approaching Monumentality in Archaeology, ed. J. F. Osborne, Institute for European and Mediterranean Archaeology, Distinguished Monograph Series 3 (Albany: SUNY, 2014), 385–407, who corrected the designations of Andrae, Die jüngeren Ischtar-Tempel. 3 For more on these complexities, see “Inscription on Nemedu A” below. 4 Starting in the Middle Assyrian period, the laḫmū were frequently depicted as protective spirits guarding the gates of temples, palaces, and even private homes; see F. A. M. Wiggermann, “Exit TALIM! Studies in Babylonian Demonology, I,” Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) Ex oriente lux 27 (1981–82): 90–105 and Wiggermann, Mesopotamian Protective Spirits: The Ritual Texts, Cuneiform Monographs 1 (Gröningen: Styx, 1992), 164–66. According to Wiggermann, laḫmū are hairy wild men. However, as Richard S. Ellis, “The Trouble with ‘Haries’,” Iraq 578 (1995): 159–65 has attempted to demonstrate, ancient Mesopotamian scribes did not seem restrained in how they represented the role and function of



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An unspecified emblem is represented by six images — two adorning the heads of the anthropomorphic laḫmū flanking the king, two on standards held by the laḫmū, and two on each of the horns of the pedestal. The pedestal contains no inscription to identify the six symbols, the mythical creatures, or the king. Although the identity of the Figure 6.2. Nemedu B (Ass. 200069; king is not declared on Neme- Istanbul 7802). Ancient Orient Museum, Photo by Osama Shukir du B, it is generally assumed Istanbul. Muhammed Amin FRCP (Glasg). that the royal figure on the Illustration by Abby Amstutz. pedestal is also Tukultī-Ninurta I, and there is good reason to believe so.5 Both Nemedu A and Nemedu B were discovered in archaeological layers attributed to Tukultī-Ninurta I in or near the Ištar temple; the two platforms are nearly identical in shape, and the kings have similar postures.6 Due to these affinities with Nemedu A, as well as the anonymous nature of Nemedu B and the presence of additional cult pedestals in room 6 of the Ištar temple, there has been little reason to suspect that a king other than Tukultī-Ninurta I was also responsible for this second pedestal. There are, however, a number of differences that should at least be taken into consideration. First, Nemedu B is over forty-five centimeters taller than Nemedu A. Second, Nemedu A is composed of gypsum, while Nemedu B is made of limestone. Third, the laḫmū. As such, Ellis urges similar restraint on the part of modern scholars. Note, however, that the laḫmū are sometimes depicted naked and sometimes with kilts, as is the case on Nemedu B. 5 See, e.g., Langin-Hooper, “Performance and Monumentality”; Tallay Ornan, “Who is Holding the Lead Rope? The Relief of the Broken Obelisk,” Iraq 69 (2007): 59–72, esp. 65; Anton Moortgat, Die Kunst des Alten Mesopotamien. Die klassische Kunst Vorderasiens (Köln: M. Schauberg, 1967), 247; and Andrae, Die jüngeren Ischtar-Tempel. 6 Andrae, Die jüngeren Ischtar-Tempel, 67 and 72.

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the king represented on Nemedu A is depicted holding a scepter, whereas the king on Nemedu B is likely grasping a sword. Fourth, although both royal figures are shown in similar postures, the kings themselves are portrayed with some slight variations. Fifth, whereas Nemedu A bears a dedicatory inscription at its base, Nemedu B depicts a victory scene in which bound captives are led through a mountainous terrain. Sixth, Nemedu A was found inside the Ištar temple, while Nemedu B was excavated outside the Ištar temple doorway, at the northeast corner of the eastern gate watchtower. None of these disparities alone would necessarily give pause to the standard assignment of royal patronage for Nemedu B to Tukultī-Ninurta I. Considering the cumulative effect of these differences, however, along with the fact that Nemedu B is technically anonymous, it is worth reconsidering the king associated with it. Material Witnesses Up to this point, I have merely demonstrated in broad strokes the similarities and differences between Nemedu A and Nemedu B. I will now look more specifically at the iconography of these two socles, not only in what they present, but also how they are presented. The first issue to ponder is that of archeological provenance and its significance for interpretation. Next, I will investigate the posture, pose, gestures, and dress of the kings represented on each. The third category of inquiry will be that of divine representation, specifically the identity represented by the divine emblems on each pedestal. This will be followed by an analysis of the inscription on Nemedu A and its relationship to the corresponding iconography. Finally, I will consider the victory scene depicted at the base of Nemedu B and assess its relevance in light of royal proclamations made during the Middle Assyrian period.



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Provenance As previously stated, the archaeological context of Nemedu A was room 6 of the Ištar temple, while that of Nemedu B was outside the temple’s eastern gate watchtower doorway. During the Middle Assyrian period the northern entrance of the Ištar temple lay within twenty meters of the Sîn-Šamaš temple. Stephanie M. Langin-Hooper makes the case that the location where Nemedu B was unearthed was also its original context.7 Furthermore, she contends that this was also the original context for Nemedu A, where it granted the monument public prominence as it commemorated the relationship between god and king. As convincing and logically satisfying as Langin-Hooper’s argument is, the proximity of Nemedu B’s archaeological provenance with the Sîn-Šamaš temple leaves open the possibility that the pedestal’s original context is connected to this temple rather than the Ištar temple. If this is the case, perhaps the pedestal was formerly dedicated to Šamaš, deposited in the Sîn-Šamaš temple, and subsequently displaced during the destruction of the SînŠamaš temple.8 Ultimately it came to rest — whether intentionally or by happenstance — within close proximity to the adjacent structure, the Ištar temple. Unfortunately, the pedestal bears no inscriptions that definitively associate it with Sîn, Šamaš, or Ištar. Royal Representation on Nemedu A and Nemedu B The presentation scene on Nemedu A appears to be an innovation in Near Eastern art in that it is self-referential. The worshipper, in particular the king, pays obeisance before the very pedestal that is depicted in the scene. The king, identified as Tukultī-Ninurta I (1244–1208), is shown in two poses. The first depicts him in profile, approaching the altar from the left, thus facing the right. The second depicts him kneeling before the altar. The king is adorned in typical Assyrian royal garb, wearing a fringed, ankle-length robe secured by a belt. His hairstyle fits the convention 7 Langin-Hooper, “Performance and Monumentality,” 385–407. 8 The relevance of Šamaš will be addressed under “Divine Representation on Nemedu A and Nemedu B.”

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of Assyrian kings for this era as well, with curled mustache, beard, and shoulder-length hair.9 In his left hand he holds what appears to be a scepter or mace. In both poses, his right arm extends parallel to the ground, bending ninety degrees upward at the elbow such that his forearm is perpendicular to the ground. On his right wrist there appears to be a bracelet. The finer details in Nemedu B are more difficult to decipher due to the deteriorated condition of the limestone material. There has nonetheless been sufficient preservation of the relief to make some observations. The presentation scene is a traditional scene with a king standing in profile between two laḫmū, facing the laḫmū on the left of the register. Like Tukultī-Ninurta I, the king is adorned in typical Assyrian royal garb, wearing an ankle-length robe secured by a belt. It is difficult to detect fringes due to material degradation. His hairstyle also fits the convention of Assyrian kings for this era, with curled mustache, beard, and shoulder-length hair. His left hand, positioned near his waist, is either empty or perhaps grasps an implement that has been lost due to corruption. His right arm angles downward at approximately 45 degrees from the shoulder, bending approximately 135 degrees at the elbow such that his forearm extends upward, perpendicular to the ground. He is not wearing a crown, nor does he appear to be wearing sandals. Both kings exhibit hallmark characteristics of Assyrian kings in their apparel, physical appearance, and posture. There are a few dissimilarities between the two, such as the direction of their pose, the position of their right hand, and possibly the implement in their left hand.10 None of the similarities or differences are, however, sufficient enough to draw any conclusions regarding the identity of the king on Nemedu B.

9 Dominique Collon, “Clothing and Grooming in Ancient Western Asia,” CANE 1:593–15. 10 Whether the figures are holding separate implements is not germane to the discussion, as kings may appear with a rope, a cup, a weapon, a scepter, or emptyhanded; see, e.g., Michelle I. Marcus, “Art and Ideology in Ancient Western Asia,” CANE 4:2487–505.



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Divine Representation on Nemedu A and Nemedu B Each cult pedestal is flanked by divine symbols. Nemedu A displays two rosettes, one on each of the two horns of the altar (see figure 6.1). Although Figure 6.3. Rosettes from the Ištar Temple in Aššur, after Jeremy Black the eight-pointed rosette has and Anthony Green, Gods, Demons historically been associated and Symbols of Ancient Mesopotamia: Illustrated Dictionary (Austin, TX: with Inanna/Ištar due to the An University of Texas, 2000), no. 128. deity’s connection with Venus, Illustration by Abby Amstutz. the number of points on the rosette is not an essential feature of the emblem, as attested by the various styles found in the Ištar temple excavations.11 It is, however, important to note that the rosettes displayed on Nemedu A correspond nicely to the collection of rosettes uncovered from the Ištar temple (see figure 6.3). The pedestal’s provenance inside the Ištar temple further establishes its association with the goddess. By contrast, the symbols on Nemedu B are different from the rosettes seen on Nemedu A and are not characteristic of Ištar rosettes attested elsewhere. On this pedestal, the divine is represented by 11 Andrae, Die jüngeren Ischtar-Tempel, pls. 46–47. Similarly shaped frit rosettes decorated the cella of an unknown temple in Kar-Tukultī-Ninurta. Among the many temples within the city, only the temple of Assur has been positively identified; see Khaled Nashef, “Archaeology in Iraq,” American Journal of Archaeology 96 (1992): 301–23. Reinhard Dittmann, “Kar-Tukultī-Ninurta,” The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, 5 vols., ed. Eric M. Meyers (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 3:269–71, postulates that the temple may have belonged to the goddess Šarrat-nipḫi; see also Nashef, “Archaeology,” 311–12. This feature of nonuniformity in the number of points on a rosette holds true in Judah as well, where examples with as few as six petals and as many as sixteen petals have been discovered; see Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 353. For an overview of the features and characteristics of Inanna/Ištar, see Ursula Seidl, “Inanna/Ištar (Mesopotamien), B, In der Bildkunst,” RlA 5 (1976): 87–90; Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Noah Kramer, Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer (New York: Harper & Row, 1983), 186–87; Jamie Moreno and Ana María Tapia, La Religion mesopotamica y Inanna/Ištar. Origen y evolución de una figura religiosa, Cuadernos Judaicos 14 (Santiago: Universidad de Chile, 1984), figs. 26–27; Tallay Ornan, “The Goddess Gula and Her God,” Israel Museum Studies in Archaeology 3 (2004): 13–30; and David T. Sugimoto, ed., Transformation of a Goddess: Ishtar–Astarte–Aphrodite, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 263 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014).

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four lines intersecting at the epicenter of each disk (see figure 6.2). This symbol bears little resemblance to the rosettes of Nemedu A, nor does it bear any resemblance to other known divine symbols. According to Tallay Ornan, the pedestal is intentionally devoid of representation of any major deity, anticipating the practice in NeoAssyrian monumental art in which major deities play a minor role.12 Francesca Baffi Guardata, on the other hand, states unequivocally that the emblems are solar disks.13 Likewise, Henri Frankfort refers to the emblems as a “sun symbol.”14 Furthermore, with contemporary Babylonian kudurrus as a point of reference, one should expect a complementary relationship between the figures on the pedestal and the iconography on its base.15 In this light, it is likely that the six radial disks have some correspondence to the captivity scene depicted at the base of the pedestal, to which I will return shortly. Although the disks on Nemedu B do not have the classic solar disk characteristics — namely, the four-pointed star with four sets of rays emanating from its epicenter — they bear some resemblance in form to others that are unmistakably symbols of Šamaš. One prominent example of the classic solar disk is found on the sun-god tablet from Sippar (see figure 6.4). Of particular interest for this image with respect to Nemedu B is the manner in which the sun disk is elevated. While J. A. Brinkman and Thorkild Jacobsen see the sun disk hanging in a fixed position from a canopy, 12 Tallay Ornan, “In the Likeness of Man: Reflections on the Anthropocentric Perception of the Divine in Mesopotamian Art,” in What is a God? Anthropomorphic and Non-Anthropomorphic Aspects of Deity in Ancient Mesopotamia, ed. Barbara Neveling Porter (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 115–17. 13 Francesca Baffi Guardata, “Relievo: Assur,” in Archeologia della Mesopotamia l’età Cassita e Medio-Assira, ed. Francesca Baffi Guardata and Rita Dolce, Archaeologica 88 (Rome: Bretschneider, 1990), 200–204. 14 Henri Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient, 5th ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), 135. 15 See, e.g., Ursula Seidl, Die babylonische Kudurru-Reliefs. Symbole Mesopotamischer Gottheiten, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 87 (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 1989), 198; Kathryn E. Slanski, The Babylonian Entitlement Narûs (Kudurrus): A Study in Their Form and Function, American Schools of Oriental Research Books 9 (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2003), 142–43; and Ornan, “Who is Holding?,” 64.



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both Ursula Seidl and Kathryn E. Slanski interpret the image as demonstrating the active positioning of the sun disk by the priest, leading it into or out from its place.16 Similarly, Christopher Woods understands the image as the enshrinement (šutruṣu) of Figure 6.4. Sun-god tablet of Nabûthe sun disk in the presence appla-iddina. British Museum (BM of the deity it represents.17 91000). Illustration by Abby Amstutz. Drawing on parallels from the Hammurabi stele, Woods demonstrates that the figure in the Sippar tablet that is seated on the throne beneath the canopy is the sun god himself.18 He is thus both represented by the sun disk and by an enthroned anthropomorphic royal figure. Beneath the throne stand two divine bison-men, renowned associates of the sun god, supporting the throne’s legs.19 Elsewhere in Mesopotamian art, bison-men are seen flanking either a pole or a single date palm tree crowned with the sun disk, a feature that Woods calls “a common motif.”20 Similarly, Nemedu B depicts two divine beings flanking poles crowned with what could reasonably be identified as sun disks. The parallels between the Sippar tablet and Nemedu B are imprecise, to be sure. For one, the disks themselves are not 16 J. A. Brinkman, “A Note on the Shamash Cult at Sippar in the Eleventh Century B.C.,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 70 (1976): 183–84; Thorkild Jacobsen, “The Graven Image,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. Patrick D. Miller, Jr., Paul D. Hanson, S. Dean McBride (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 15–32, esp. 20; Ursula Seidl, “Das Ringen um das richtige Bild des Šamaš von Sippar,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 91 (2001): 121–32; and Kathryn E. Slanski, “Classification, Historiography and Monumental Authority: The Babylonian Entitlement Narûs (Kudurrus),” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 52 (2000): 95–114. 17 Christopher E. Woods, “The Sun-God Tablet of Nabû-apla-iddina Revisited,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 56 (2004): 23–103, esp. 51. 18 Woods, “Sun-God Tablet,” 54. 19 Wiggermann, Mesopotamian Protective Spirits, 174. 20 Woods, “Sun-God Tablet,” 59–62, esp. figs. 25–27.

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identical. Second, the divine creatures in the Sippar tablet are unmistakably bison-men, while the beings on Nemedu B appear to have human feet, which suggest that they are instead laḫmu.21 This suggestion is further substantiated Figure 6.5. Orthostat from Tell Halaf. Metropolitan Museum of Art. by their long locks of hair, in Illustration by Abby Amstutz. contrast to the horned headdress adorned by bison-men. Third, it is unclear how the poles on Nemedu B are to be construed, whether as doorposts, crudely fashioned date palms, or standards. The association of the divine symbols on Nemedu B with Šamaš also has an analogy from Guzana (Tell Halaf), where two orthostats bear resemblance to the iconography of our second cult pedestal.22 The first orthostat depicts a winged disk elevated on a standard by two bison-men (see figure 6.5). The second orthostat likewise shows two bison-men, along with a third creature, raising a similarly fashioned winged disk on a standard (see figure 6.6). This third creature — a hairy, human-like “hero” — is supporting one arm of each of the bison-men with each of his arms.23 It does not share any of the defining characteristics of the bison-men. Instead of having horns, a tail, hooved feet, and backward-bending hind legs, it is clothed, and it has human feet and forward-bending legs.24 In fact, while the identity of the “hero” cannot be stated definitively, it does share similar features with 21 Baffi Guardata, “Assur,” 202 identifies the creatures on Nemedu B as bull-men (uomini-toro), despite there being no apparent bovine hooves or tail. If she is correct, though, it would certainly make for a more compelling correspondence between Nemedu B and instances of the sun disk elevated by bovine creatures. 22 Winfried Orthmann, Die aramäisch-assyrische Stadt Guzana. Ein Rückblick auf die Ausgrabungen Max von Oppenheims in Tell Halaf, Schriften der Max Freiherr von Oppenheim-Stiftung 15 (Harrassowitz: Wiesbaden 2005), 59. 23 Orthmann, Die aramäisch-assyrische Stadt, 59 refers to this hairy creature as “der held.” 24 Technically speaking, backward-bending hind legs on most four-legged animals are anatomically similar to human legs. The backward-facing joints are equivalent to human ankle joints, which are also backward-facing.



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the laḫmū of Nemedu B, including that of raising a divine symbol on a standard. The winged disk has a long and storied history in Mesopotamian art, with its first attestation on an eighteenth-century BCE cylinder seal from Syria.25 The winged disk makes its first known appearance in Figure 6.6. Orthostat from Tell Assyrian art on the Broken Halaf. Tell Halaf Museum, Berlin. Obelisk of Aššur-bēl-kala, Illustration by Abby Amstutz. nearly a century and a half after Tukultī-Ninurta I. It is not uncommon on stamp seals, monuments, or rock reliefs for the winged disk to be supported or raised by bull-men, apkallus, or other mythical creatures. Although the emblem is most notably recognized as a depiction of Aššur, it has also been associated with Marduk, Sîn, and Ṣalmu, among others.26 Most notably for our purposes, the winged disk has been identified in some Assyrian texts as Šamaš on the stele of Sargon from Larnaka, Sennacherib’s Bavian and Judi Dagh reliefs, and the stele of Bēl-Ḫarrān-bēlu-uṣur.27 In the case of the orthostats from Tell Halaf, Ornan purports that it is “more than probable” that the winged disk represents Šamaš.28 She bases her assertion on the pervasiveness of solar symbolism in the vicinity of Guzana, 25 Tallay Ornan, “A Complex System of Religious Symbols: The Case of the Winged Disc in Near Eastern Imagery of the First Millennium BCE,” in Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean Art of the First Millennium BCE, ed. Claudia E. Suter and Christoph Uehlinger (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 207–41, esp. 208. 26 Ornan, “Complex System,” 217–23. 27 Ornan, “Complex System,” 212. See also Seidl, Die babylonischen Kudurru-Reliefs, 235. 28 Ornan, “Complex System,” 227. It is worth noting that four emblems are depicted on the face of the standard’s base, beneath the winged disk, that bear some resemblance to rosettes. Each of the two emblems on the left have seven points, while the two on the right each have six points. Ornan, “Complex System,” 225 notes that the rosette is associated with the fertility goddess, most notably Ištar, and that it is frequently paired with the sun disk.

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as well as the prevalence of representations of bull-men supporting celestial bodies in Hittite art. Moreover, Seidl has noted some borrowing of Middle Assyrian art in these Hittite orthostats.29 In summary, the symbols on Nemedu B cannot be definitively identified. The only affinity they share with the rosette is that they contain radial lines within a disk, and they share no affinities with the rosettes found in the Ištar temple. They have some correspondence with the winged sun disks at Tell Halaf, especially the fact that they are raised by mythical features, which suggests that they might be wingless solar disks that represent the sun-god Šamaš. Inscription on Nemedu A One of the most glaring differences between Nemedu A and Nemedu B is what is displayed on their bases. Whereas Nemedu A bears an inscription identifying the king as Tukultī-Ninurta I and the deity as Nusku, the base of Nemedu B captures a victory scene in one of the king’s westward campaigns. The inscription on Nemedu A reads as follows: né-me-ed dnusku sukkal.maḫ šá é-kur na-ši giš.gidru eš-re-ti mu-zi-iz igi daš-šur ù dbad šá u4-me-šàm-ma te-es-le-et mgiš.tukult-ti-dnin-urta man na-ra-mi-šú Cult platform of the god Nusku, chief vizier of Ekur, bearer of the just scepter, courtier of the gods Aššur and Enlil, who daily repeats the prayers of Tukultī-Ninurta, the king, his beloved.30

The inscription declares that Nusku was nāši ḫaṭṭi [giš.gidru] ešreti, “the bearer of the just scepter.” Normally, Nusku’s divine

29 Seidl, “Das Ringen,” 123–24. 30 RIMA 1, A.0.78.27, 1–3.



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symbol is that of a lamp, but that is not the case here.31 F. A. M. Wiggermann posits that the symbol in the relief is that of a scepter to coincide with Nusku’s role as bēl ḫaṭṭi [en.gidru], “lord of the scepter,” an epithet often associated with viziers.32 Zainab Bahrani likewise sees a connection between the role of vizier by Nusku and the “bearer of the scepter.” She argues that Nusku was first and foremost a dream god, and that the pedestal is a visual and literal representation of Nusku’s role in divinatory omens through dream actuality.33 Representation on Nemedu B The base of Nemedu B depicts a victory scene in which captives are led through mountainous terrain by rope.34 In all likelihood the victory scene suggests a correspondence between the king depicted in the presentation scene and the king responsible for the capture of the roped men. No Middle Assyrian king had a monopoly on boasting of military success in the mountains of the Nairi lands. Tukultī-Ninurta I was no stranger to the mountains, 31 Jeremy Black and Anthony Green, Gods, Demon and Symbols of Ancient Mesopotamia: An Illustrated Dictionary (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000), 145. On the apparent discrepancy between the image of Nusku on the platform and the usual depiction of Nusku as a lamp, see Tallay Ornan, “In the Likeness of Man: Reflections on the Anthropocentric Perception of the Divine in Mesopotamian Art,” in What is a God? Anthropomorphic and Non-Anthropomorphic Aspects of Deity in Ancient Mesopotamia, ed. Barbara Neveling Porter (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 93–151, esp. 114–16; Zainab Bahrani, The Graven Image: Representation in Babylonia and Assyria, Archaeology, Culture, and Society (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 187–96; M. P. Streck, “Nusku,” RlA 9 (2001): 629–33; Oscar White Muscarella, “Royal Monument: Cult Pedestal of the God Nusku,” in Assyrian Origins: Discoveries at Ashur on the Tigris. Antiquities in the Vorderasiatisches Museum, Berlin, ed. Prudence Harper, Evelyn Klengel-Brandt, Joan Aruz, and Kin Benzel (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1995), 112–13. and F. A. M. Wiggermann, “The Staff of Ninšuburra: Studies in Babylonian Demonology, II,” Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) Ex oriente lux 29 (1985–86): 3–34. 32 Streck, “Nusku,” 631. On the symbol as scepter, see Wiggermann, “Staff,” 10. 33 Bahrani, Graven Image, 185–201. She also notes the chiastic structure found in both the Tukultī-Ninurta I pedestal and the Šumma âlu omens and suggests that the repetition of Nusku’s prayer back to Tukultī-Ninurta I completes the binary function typically found in the omen texts, in which “If a, then b; if not b, then not a.” 34 Ornan, “Who is Holding?,” 63.

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claiming on several occasions to have traversed rocky terrain to overtake heavily fortified territories.35 His typical description of defeat is that he cut them down, causing their blood to flow into the caves, valleys, and ravines. In one text, Tukultī-Ninurta I states that he “fastened bronze clasps to the necks of those same kings of the lands Nairi (and) brought them to Ekur, the great mountain, the temple of my support, into the presence of the god Aššur, my lord.”36 This text alone is reason enough to suppose a correlation between Nemedu B and Tukultī-Ninurta I. It is, however, worth considering another candidate for whom such captivity scenes play a more prominent role in his royal inscriptions. A century later, Tiglath-pileser I (1115–1077) introduced innovations to royal annals, in which he implemented specific geographical and chronological markers. Simonetta Ponchia observes that no topographical notation is given for the areas from which submission and/or tribute are obtained without fighting…, thus adding evidence to the hypothesis that the geographical description is inserted here mainly to focus on military tactics and to stress the relevance of the conquests achieved by the prowess of the king and his army.37

In other words, geographical and chronological information served a literary function as much as a historiographic function.38 Nonetheless, as the “opener of the remote regions in the mountains,” Tiglath-pileser I made numerous forays into the mountainous regions, making several claims of subduing and taking captive 35 RIMA 1, A.0.78.5, 23–47; A.0.78.20; A.78.23, 85–87; A.0.78.24, 41–52; A.0.78.25, rev. 9–24. 36 RIMA 1, A.0.78.23, 50–53. Grayson’s translation of A.0.78.20 contains the same phrase. However, A.78.0.20 is completely reconstructed from A.0.78.23 and A.0.78.24, following E. Weidner, Die Inschriften Tukulti-Ninurtas I und seiner Nachfolger, Archiv für Orientforschung 12 (Graz, 1959), with little confidence in the details of the translation. 37 Simonetta Ponchia, “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part I,” Kaskal 1 (2004): 139–77, esp. 153. 38 On the use of itineraries as a literary feature, see Angela R. Roskop, The Wilderness Itineraries: Genre, Geography, and the Growth of Torah, History, Archaeology, and Culture of the Levant 3 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 50–135.



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their kings and families.39 A few assertions within his annals are much more explicit regarding how he transported his hostages and captives. In one text, he states: “I captured all of the kings of the lands Nairi alive. I had mercy on those kings and spared their lives. I released them from their bonds and fetters in the presence of the god Šamaš.”40 In another text, he boasts: “I subdued 30 of their kings. Like oxen I attached to their nose ropes (and) took them to my city [Assur].”41 Tiglath-pileser I’s numerous ventures into the mountainous terrain and his claims of placing captives in bonds, fetters, and ropes makes him another contender for the royal patron of Nemedu B. Only a few other Middle Assyrian kings recorded military campaigns in the mountains.42 In a very corrupt text, Arikdīn-ili (1329–1320) appears to have ventured into the mountain regions and presumably brought captives back to Assur.43 Adadnērāri I (1307–1275) claimed to have seized Šattuara, king of Hannigalbat, and carried him captive back to Assur.44 Šalmaneser I (1274–1245) embarked frequently into the mountains, but most of his descriptions are tucked within the epithet portion of his annals. In his most descriptive highland victory, he states: “I butchered their hordes (but) 14,000 of them (who remained) alive I blinded (and) carried off.”45 Finally, Aššur-bēl-kala (1074– 1057) claimed to have traversed “routes which were impassable, whose barriers even the [winged] birds of the sky could not pass, the barriers through which no king or prince who preceded me 39 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, ii 86. On Tiglath-pileser I’s mountain adventures, see RIMA 2, A.0.87.1; A.0.87.2; A.0.87.3; A.0.87.4; A.0.87.10; A.0.87.12; A.0.87.13. On his claims of capturing kings, see RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, i 84–85, ii 24–29, ii 47–48; v 77–81; vi 46–48; A.0.87.2, 18–20, 36; A.0.87.3, 6–15; A.0.87.2: 27, 35–36, 5′–8′; A.0.87.3: 12–15; A.0.87.4: 31–33, 37–40; A.0.87.10: 24–25; A.0.87.13: 8′–9′. 40 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, v 9–11. 41 RIMA 2, A.0.87.2, 26–27. 42 Following J. N. Postgate, “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur,” World Archaeology 23 (1992): 247–63, esp. 248, the Middle Assyrian period spans the reigns of Aššur-uballiṭ I (1365–1330) through Tiglath-pileser II (967–935). 43 RIMA 1, A.0.75.8. 44 RIMA 1, A.0.76.3, 4–14. 45 RIMA 1, A.0.77.1, 73–76.

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had marched.”46 Only in two broken texts, however, do we see any interest in taking captives. His primary propagandistic expressions involve his hunting exploits or erecting monuments of himself. In light of the evidence from the royal annals, then, only Tukultī-Ninurta I and Tiglath-pileser I remain viable options as the king associated with Nemedu B. Summary At this point it would be helpful to restate what is known and what is unknown regarding the royal patron of Nemedu B. We know that it was discovered in the vicinity of the Ištar temple in a Middle Assyrian context. We know that the figure portrays all the physical characteristics of an Assyrian king. We know that the figure is not explicitly identified, giving reason to at least inquire about his identity. We suspect with good reason that the figure in the presentation scene is the same as the one who led the captives by rope through the mountains. We know that several Middle Assyrian kings led military campaigns into the mountains, and that the most likely candidates for the victory scene are Tukultī-Ninurta I and Tiglath-pileser I. Finally, we note that, although the divine emblem on Nemedu B is somewhat anomalous, it bears several features that are attributed to Šamaš — in particular, that it is a disk raised on a standard by a nonhuman creature — leading at least a few iconographers to conclude that the emblems signify Šamaš. Given what we know, do not know, and can surmise from Nemedu B, we are now positioned to consider the possibility that a king other than Tukultī-Ninurta I is the royal patron of Nemedu B. Furthermore, if Tukultī-Ninurta I is not the king of Nemedu B, then our search for an alternate candidate should begin with that king’s associations with Šamaš and/or military campaigns in the mountains.

46 RIMA 2, A.0.89.2, 12′–14′.



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Šamaš in the Middle Assyrian Period If the emblems on Nemedu B are, in fact, representative of Šamaš, what purpose do they serve? More importantly, how do they relate to the captivity scene at the pedestal’s base? Although Šamaš performs the same primary functions in the Middle Assyrian period as the deity does in other eras, one particular role is especially informative with respect to the identity of the royal patron of Nemedu B. Because these functions are interrelated, however, I will begin with a brief survey of the role of Šamaš in the Middle Assyrian period. The primary role of Šamaš is to determine and dispense justice. This cosmic responsibility is no doubt linked to the god’s nature as the sun, whose rays extend to all corners of the earth, such that nothing (including injustice) can escape its watchful gaze.47 Šamaš is the god who traverses the skies at day, keeping an omnipresent eye on the comings, goings, and doings of humanity, and surveys the underworld at night. In Assur, Sippar, Larsa, and Giršu, the temple of Šamaš was called é.babbar, “shining house,” which attests to the deity’s role as distributor of both light and justice.48 For kings, the deity’s penetrating vision enabled him to deliver oracles regarding the kings’ prospects for success. Nothing is hidden from the sun’s rays — at least during the day!49 Early in the Middle Assyrian period, Arik-dīn-ili renovated the Šamaš temple “in order that the harvest of my land might prosper,” reflecting the necessity of the sun for a good crop.50 With the 47 Wolgang Heimpel, “The Sun at Night and the Doors of Heaven in Babylonian Texts,” Journal of Cunieform Studies 28 (1986): 127–51, esp. 146 and Piotr Steinkeller, “Of Stars and Men: The Conceptual and Mythological Setup of Babylonian Extispicy,” in Biblical and Oriental Essays in Memory of William L. Moran, ed. Augustinus Gianto, Biblica et Orientalia 48 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2005), 11–49. 48 Andrew R. George, House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia, Mesopotamian Civilizations 5 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1993), 70–71. 49  According to Heimpel, “Sun,” 129, “[T]he setting sun is seen as a god who comes home in the evening after a day’s work of crossing the heavens. His vizier meets him, his wife greets him and serves him dinner.” Because Šamaš did not render decisions at night, the divinations of “great gods of the night” were sought during the hours of darkness. 50 RIMA 1, A.0.75.1, 15–16.

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temple itself in disrepair, Šamaš was left without a throne, which Arik-dīn-ili called “the high place where the decisions of the land were once made.” 51 The temple needed to be repaired so Šamaš could continue to render the decisions of the land as dutu di.kud an ki-ti, “the judge of heaven (and) underworld.”52 As divine judge, Šamaš had jurisdiction over virtually every aspect of justice. According to one Middle Assyrian law dealing with witchcraft, an eyewitness may override the testimony of a secondhand witness. If the secondhand witness had already reported to the king as if he were an eyewitness, and the actual eyewitness disputes the testimony, the secondhand witness may confirm his own testimony by swearing before dgud.dumu dutu, “the divine Bull-the-Son-of-the-Sun-God.”53 Although the king was not considered divine at any point in the Middle Assyrian period, it appears that dutu (the sun god) refers to the king, while d gud (the divine bull) refers to the king’s son, as suggested by the phrase, “you are bound by oath to the stipulations of the agreement to which you swore by the king and by his son.”54 This law, then, suggests that the king, as the one who presides over legal issues, participates in the role of decreeing divine justice on earth as Šamaš would decree from heaven. The justice of Šamaš extended to oaths, ensuring that the terms of contracts were upheld. In the Tukultī-Ninurta epic, the Assyrian king brings to Šamaš his complaint that the Kassite king, Kaštiliaš, had failed to comply with the agreements of a previous treaty between Assyria and Babylon. So Tukultī-Ninurta petitioned Šamaš:

51 RIMA 1, A.0.75.1, 20–6. 52 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, 7; A.0.87.2, 4. 53 Martha T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor, 2nd ed., Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World 6 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1997), 172, MAL A ¶ 47, col. vii, lines 1–31 and Otto Schroeder, Keilsschriftexte aus Assur Verschiedenen Inhalts, Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 35 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1920), col. vii, line 16. 54 Roth, Law Collections, 172–3, MAL ¶ 47, col. vii, lines 1–31.



King of the Mountains 201 ša-maš en [x] ni-iš-ka ap-ta-ku gal-ut-ka áš-ḫu-ut šá la-a ṣi-[x x] e-ti-iq ma-ḫar [x-(x)]-ka ši-pa-aṭ-ka aṣ-ṣur e-nu-ma [a/i-na] ma-ḫar i-lu-ti-ka i[š-ku]-nu ri-kíl-ta ab-buú-ni ú-kín-nu ma-mi-ta aš be-ri-šu-nu gal-ut-ka is-saq-ru ša iš-tu maḫ-ra di.ku5 ab-be-e-ni la-a muš-pe-lu-ú qu-ra-du at-ta ù ša i-na-an-na a-mer-er ki-na-ti-ni mul-te-še-ru dingir at-tama am-mi-nim-ma-a iš-tu maḫ-ra man Kaš-ši-i e-ṣur-ta-ka ši-paaṭ-ka ip-su-us ul iš-ḫu-[ut (x)] ma-mit-ka e-tiq ši-pa-ra-ka z/ṣa-bur-ta iḫm[i-i] ú-še-eq-l[i-l]a gi-la-ti-šu maḫ-[ra]-ka dŠá-maš di-na-an-ni

d

O Šamaš, lord…, I kept your oath, (and) I feared your greatness…. He who is/does not […] transgressed before your […], (but) I safeguarded your judgment. When our fathers made an agreement before your divinity, (and) established an oath between them, they invoked your greatness. You are the hero, who since times past were the judge of our fathers, not changing (verdicts), and you are the god who now watches over our loyalty, setting (things) right. Why, then, since times past has the king of the Kassites contravened your plan (and) your judgment? He has not feared your oath, has transgressed your command, has schemed falsehood. He has committed crimes against you, O Šamaš: be my judge.55

The premise of Tukultī-Ninurta’s prayer is simple. Because he maintained his faithfulness to the treaty, he deserves victory. Kaštiliaš, who reneged on the pact, deserves defeat. In fact, just prior to meeting in battle, Kaštiliaš repented of the sin of violating the oath of Šamaš and cried out “The oath of Šamaš afflicts me!”56 It is this sense of justice to which Tukultī-Ninurta appeals, so it was Šamaš who will eventually command Tukultī-Ninurta 55 Peter Machinist, “The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I: A Study in Middle Assyrian Literature” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1978), 74–79, col. IIA, lines 13′–21′. 56 Machinist, “Epic,” 94–95, col. IIIA, obv. line 29′. The precise meaning of sagû is uncertain (CAD 15:27), but it presumably has a similar connotation to its parallel word saḫāpu, “to cover, overwhelm, to spread over” (CAD 15:33).

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to wage war with Babylon.57 When the Assyrian king finally confronts Babylon militarily, it is Šamaš who issues the command for battle. The epic then briefly describes the divine warriors and the weapons they will wield in the fight. Aššur will be at the vanguard and bring “the fire of defeat.” Enlil will send flaming arrows. Anu will wield the mace. Sîn, “the heavenly light,” “imposes the paralyzing weapon of battle.” Adad will bring wind and flood. Then, Šamaš, “lord of judgment, dimmed the eyes of the armies of the land of Sumer and Akkad.” 58 Peter Machinist, citing evidence from Neo-Assyrian texts, particularly Esarhaddon’s vassal treaties, suggests that the weapon of dimming the eyes used by Šamaš was a solar eclipse, which had served as an omen for the defeat of Elam by Ashurbanipal.59 Perhaps, though, the descriptive metaphor might be dim of judgment rather than dim of sight. The lord of judgment thus confounds the judgment of Assyria’s enemies such that the armies of Kaštiliaš make poor battlefield decisions and become incapable of strategically outwitting Tukultī-Ninurta and his forces. During the Middle Assyrian period, most major deities were credited by Assyria’s kings with contributing to their military successes. For Tukultī-Ninurta I, the military role of Šamaš was relegated to the king’s battles with Kaštiliaš in Babylonia. It does not extend to his battles in the mountains. During the reign of Tukultī-Ninurta, that role fell to Aššur, the deity most prominently affiliated with the winged disk.60 As I demonstrated earlier, however, the winged disk was associated with a number of deities, including Šamaš. Furthermore, the disks on Nemedu B are not winged disks that could be mistaken for Aššur but solar disks raised on standards. In short, the emblems on Nemedu B do not 57 Machinist, “Epic,” 119, col. IIIA, rev. line 30′. 58 Machinist, “Epic,” 118–19, col. IIIA, rev. lines 33′–38′. 59 Machinist, “Epic,” 356. For the treaties of Esarhaddon, see Donald J. Wiseman, “The Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon,” Iraq 20 (1958): 1–99, + pls. 1–53, esp. 59–60 and Rykle Borger, “Zu den Asarhaddon-Verträgen aus Nimrud,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 54 (1961): 173–96, eps. 187. 60 RIMA 1, A.0.78.1: iii 37–9; A.0.78.2: 34–35; A.0.78.3: 4–6; A.0.78.4: 1′–5′; A.0.78.6: 2–3, 12; A.0.78.7: 1–2; A.0.78.8: 6′; A.0.78.10: 15–23; A.0.78.16: 7–11; A.0.78.18: 3–4, 16–17; A.0.78.20: 7′–8′; A.0.78.26: 7–9.



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correspond to Tukultī-Ninurta’s campaigns into the mountains. In no other extant text from the reign of Tukultī-Ninurta does Šamaš play a role in the military defeat of Assyria’s enemies. This was not the case with Tiglath-pileser I, for whom Šamaš played an integral role, particularly in his campaigns to the Nairi lands. On two separate occasions Tiglath-pileser declared that Šamaš, as judge of heaven and earth, “espies the enemy’s treachery and exposes the wicked,” traversing the skies and revealing the injustice of Tiglath-pileser’s enemies.61 In these two texts, Šamaš is called qurādu, “warrior,” and either approves or commands a military campaign.62 In the case of the latter, he is merely recounting his own conquest of Babylon, so the epic of Tukultī-Ninurta may be providing historical precedent for attributing the command to Šamaš — that is, Tiglath-pileser may be justifying his expansion to the south vis-à-vis the moral depravity of Kaštiliaš, who failed to keep the oath of Šamaš. Yet there can be no such justification in the annals recounting his campaigns into the Nairi lands. i-na u4-mi-šu-ma 25 dingir.mes-ni ša kur.kur.meš ši-na-ti-na ki-šit-ti qa-ti-ia ša al-qa-a a-nu ú-tu-’u-ut é dnin.líl ḫi-ir-te gal-te na-mad-di da-šur en-ia da-nim diškur dinanna áš-šu-ri-te é.kur.meš-at uru-ia da-šur ù dinanna.meš kur-ti-ia lu-ú áš-ru-uk At that time, with the exalted might of the god Aššur, my lord, with the firm approval of the god Šamaš, the warrior, with the support of the great gods with which I have ruled properly in the four quarters and have no rival in battle nor equal in conflict, at the command of the god Aššur, my lord, I marched to the lands Nairi whose distant kings, on the shore of the Upper Sea in the west, had not known submission. I pushed through rugged paths and perilous passes, the interior of which no king 61 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, i 7–8; A.0.87.2, 4. 62 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, iv 45; A.0.87.4, 5.

204 Kyle R. Greenwood had previously known, blocked trails and unopened remote regions.63

The text boasts that Tiglath-pileser defeated sixty kings of the Nairi lands, conquered their towns, and brought back booty and spoils of war. The Assyrian ruler concludes his account of this campaign by stating: nap-ḫar lugal.meš-ni na-i-ri bal-ṭu-su-nu qa-ti ik-šud a-na lugal.meš-ni ša-a-tu-nu re-e-ma ar-ša-šu-nu-ti-ma na-piš-ta-šu-nu e-ṭí-ir šal-lu-su-nu ù ka-mu-su-nu i-na ma-ḫar dutu en-ia ap-ṭu-ur ma-mi-it dingir.meš-ia gal.meš a-na ar-kàt ud.meš a-na u4-um ṣa-a-te a-na ìr-ut-te ú-tam-mi-šu-nu-ti kur.kur

I captured all of the kings of the lands Nairi alive. I had mercy on those kings and spared their lives. I released them from their bonds and fetters in the presence of the god Šamaš, my lord, and made them swear by my great gods an oath of eternal vassaldom.64

In the account of his campaigns to the Nairi lands, Tiglath-pileser is said to go “with the exalted might of the god Aššur,” “with the firm approval of Šamaš,” and “with the support of the great gods,” but “at the command of the god Aššur, (my) lord.”65 The “firm approval” (anna kēna) Šamaš provides is often associated with omen divination or extispicy.66 This becomes especially clear in the Neo-Assyrian period, but here there seems to be a precursor to the practice. Diviners would petition the sun god for answers to their binary questions. As bēl dīni (“lord of the verdict”), Šamaš 63 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, iv 45. 64 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, v 8–16. 65 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, iv 43–46, 52. 66 Akkadian annu refers to a “positive divine answer to query (usually through extispicy),” and is frequently associated with Šamaš; see CAD 1/2:134 and Ivan Starr, Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria, State Archives of Assyria 4 (Helsinki: Helsinki University, 1990).



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rendered queries with either “yes” or “no.”67 The consent for war by Šamaš is likely that which would have been reached through extispicy or other divinatory means.68 Šamaš is not acting as an instigator of war against the Nairi lands. Rather, as the deity who sees all, he affirms the king’s decision to embark on the campaign. Synthesizing Text and Image On the whole, the similarities between the iconography on Nemedu B and the Middle Assyrian annals align remarkably well with the military campaigns into the Nairi lands by Tiglath-pileser I. First, they both take place in mountainous regions, with the imagery of the mountainous terrain on the pedestal depicted in classic form as rocks or boulders. In Tiglath-pileser’s annals these regions are rugged, perilous, blocked, unopened, remote, and virgin territory. Second, the victory scene shows “a row of captives… led in mountainous surroundings,” a scene that is consistent with Tiglath-pileser’s statements that he “captured all of the kings of the lands Nairi alive,” “released them from their bonds and fetters,” and “like oxen I attached to their nose ropes (and) took them to my city [Assur].”69 Finally, Tiglath-pileser’s campaign concludes by stating that he made these sixty kings swear an oath of vassaldom before Šamaš, a declaration that is consistent both with the fact that Šamaš was the deity who divined Tiglath-pileser’s success in the mountain regions and with the suggestion that Šamaš is the deity represented on Nemedu B. As previously mentioned, Tukultī-Ninurta likewise marched into mountainous regions, razing cities, receiving tribute, and taking captives. In one text, Tukultī-Ninurta boasts of his army’s 67 Ulla Susanne Koch, “Three Strikes and You’re Out! A View in Cognitive Theory and the First Millennium Extispicy Ritual,” in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World, ed. Amar Annus, Oriental Institute Seminars 6 (Chicago: Oriental Institute, 2010), 43–59, esp. 51–52. 68 For a study on Šamaš as the god who determines fates, see Janice Polosky, “The Sun-God Rising and Fate Determination” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 2002). 69 The first quotation is from Ornan, “Who is Holding?,” 63.

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ability to overcome arduous terrain to bring the land of Qutu into submission. kur qu-ti-i né-su-ti šá ar-ḫu-šu-nu šu-up-šu-qa-ma a-na mete-eq um-ma-ni-ia [lā naṭú] a-šar-šu-nu ig(?)-x-[…] ú a-na uz-zi murub4-ia iš-hu-tu-ma a-na gìr-ia ik-nu-šu [g]un ù mada-at-ta ugu-šu-nu áš-ku-un

The land of the distant Qutu, the paths to which are extremely difficult and the terrain of which [is unsuitable] for the movement of my army, they (the inhabitants) […] took fright at the ferocity of my warfare and bowed down at my feet. I levied tribute and impost upon them. 70

Moreover, in several instances Tukultī-Ninurta vaunts his supremacy over these mountainous regions by recounting the tribute he receives from them or the number of captives he has taken back to Assur. In only one instance, however, does Tukultī-Ninurta make his foes swear before a deity. After capturing the princes of Abulê, Tukultī-Ninurta “made them swear by the great gods of heaven (and) underworld,” after which he exacted tribute from them and released them to their lands.71 Although Tukultī-Ninurta did take some captives, he was just as apt to either kill his foes or exact tribute from them. With the possible exception of the reconstructed text A.0.78.23, in which he “fastened bronze clasps to the necks of those same kings of the lands Nairi,” there are no preserved instances in which he takes alive all his defeated rivals as captives, and there are no examples in which he made captives swear by Šamaš, or any other single deity. Conclusion Due to its identifying inscription there is no question that Nemedu A belongs to Tukultī-Ninurta I. In light of the many similarities between Nemedu A and Nemedu B, the consensus is that Nemedu B also belongs to Tukultī-Ninurta I. However, 70 RIMA 1, A.0.78.1, iii 8–iv 36. 71 RIMA 1, A.0.78.1: ii 27–28.



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as I have attempted to demonstrate here, there are enough questions surrounding Nemedu B to consider whether that assessment is definitive or sustainable. Chief among those concerns are the anonymity of the king on Nemedu B, the victory scene at its base, and the expressed symbolism of its six disks. Moreover, it bears repeating that Nemedu B was unearthed at the northeast corner of the Ištar temple doorway, a mere twenty meters from the Šamaš temple. Having potentially been displaced from its original context in the Šamaš temple, its recovery near the Ištar temple has undoubtedly influenced its attribution to the wrong king. Both Tukultī-Ninurta and Tiglath-pileser boasted of successful military campaigns into the mountainous regions to Assyria’s north. Tukultī-Ninurta marched exclusively into the Zagros Mountains at the command of Aššur, while Tiglath-pileser ventured into these Nairi lands with the divine wisdom of Šamaš. Given the parallels between Tiglath-pileser’s annals of his campaigns into these regions and the various iconographic features on the anonymous cult pedestal, I propose that the royal patron of the Nemedu B should be reconsidered, and that a prime candidate is Tiglath-pileser I. Perhaps Tiglath-pileser had the cult platform crafted as a dedication offering to Šamaš, who, by divination, protected his armies in their campaigns to the Nairi lands. If this is the case, the six disks may be representative of the omnipresent eye of Šamaš, who dispensed proper wisdom and judgment before the mountain battles by offering his firm approval via omen divination.

Chapter 7

Bodies in Lieu of Interest: Pledging Slaves as Collateral on Personal Loans in the Neo-Assyrian Period and Beyond Guy Ridge

Interest-bearing debt has proven to be a scourge to human society for over four thousand years. As virtually all modern Westerners have experienced, long-term lending arrangements with regular payments of interest have a way of making one feel trapped and hopeless. It is perhaps no surprise, then, that individuals would pursue options for avoiding the payment of interest on debt if they had the means to take advantage of those options. In the Neo-Assyrian period, standard lending practices allowed creditors and debtors the opportunity to codify in contract form the explicit details of a debt agreement, including the existence and rate of interest. Under certain circumstances, the debtor could avoid paying interest on the debt in question. One of the most common ways to forgo interest payments was to substitute a pledge of collateral against the debt. At first blush such a solution might seem logical and preferable to being saddled with recurring interest payments. But what if the thing pledged against the debt was not a thing at all? What if that thing were actually a human being — a human being you just so happened to own? This essay explores the practice of pledging a slave against 209

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one’s personal debt explicitly for the purpose of avoiding interest payments in the Neo-Assyrian period. This practice was not confined to antiquity, so here I will also engage with modern examples of the same phenomenon. Ultimately, I will propose a series of broad conclusions derived from this study related to our perception of slaves, their physical bodies, and slavery as a form of labor. A study of Neo-Assyrian debt notes can contribute to our modern efforts to reconstruct the social practices and economic systems of the ancient Near East. In addition, when compared to more recent socioeconomic systems of slavery and pledging in Africa and the American South, I suggest that we can refine our theoretical approach to understanding social phenomena from an anthropological perspective in any period of human history. Specifically, by shifting the theoretical focus of studies of slavery from the economic sphere of labor to the physical body of the enslaved person, scholars will be better equipped to understand and reconstruct both the ancient and more recent phenomena under discussion in this essay. The tendency to reduce slavery to a form of labor has in part led to an overgeneralization of the complex and diverse economic systems in the ancient Near East. I propose that a stronger methodological foundation will help to mitigate categorical errors of this type. The inferences derived from this study commend a more nuanced approach to the economic history of the ancient Near East as a whole, as well as a more rigorous methodology for describing and analyzing slavery in various periods of human history. This effort will require some background information. To begin, I will discuss the way modern scholars have approached Neo-Assyrian debt notes as objects of study, followed by some examples and brief commentary on specific debt notes that will treat the practice of pledging slaves against personal debt. I will then proceed to discuss the ramifications of this study for the primary ongoing debate within ancient Near Eastern economic history regarding the usefulness of modern modes of economic analysis when dealing with ancient economies. This topic itself requires a brief introduction to the controversy I intend to address, which will precede my own conclusions on the matter. I will



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then turn my attention to modern examples of pledging slaves against debt from Africa and the American South. By comparing the Neo-Assyrian practice (as reconstructed from the available debt notes) to the modern practice in Africa and the American South, I plan to identify the consistent typological characteristic of the phenomenon that is the key to understanding its operation: the human body. I will then offer suggestions regarding the significance of this study for further work in the realm of both economic history and anthropology related to the study of the ancient Near East. Neo-Assyrian Debt Notes Assyriologists commonly classify Neo-Assyrian debt notes as legal texts. The first critical editions of Neo-Assyrian legal documents were produced around the turn of the twentieth century.1 It would be decades until J. Nicholas Postgate offered an up-to-date treatment of Neo-Assyrian legal documents meant to complement those previous works. In 1976, he published a small handbook of sorts entitled, Fifty Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents.2 This handy volume remains the best English-language introduction to the topic. Part of Postgate’s most significant contribution to the study of Neo-Assyrian legal texts was his effort to better classify the known material and establish some (previously lacking) methodological controls for the study of these tablets. For my purposes, the most important developments made by Postgate had to do with I humbly submit this contribution in honor of Nili S. Fox, in recognition of and with gratitude for her mentorship and tutelage. She is among the best scholarship has to offer. 1 These are treated en masse in C. H. W. Johns, Assyrian Deeds and Documents, 2nd ed., 4 vols. (Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, 1898–1923). This work was superseded by Josef Kohler and Arthur Ungnad, Assyrische Rechtsurkunden (Leipzig: Eduard Pfeiffer, 1913), which became the standard edition of most of the known NeoAssyrian legal documents for quite some time. Kohler and Ungnad not only published the principal editions of the texts themselves, but also included insightful commentary on how to read and interpret the often laconic and always formulaic legal texts in question. 2 J. N. Postgate, Fifty Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1976).

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the texts previously assumed to be interest-bearing loans, which he classified under the more general heading of “contracts.”3 As far as I know, Postgate was the first to question the wisdom of interpreting all texts mentioning debt as reflecting true loans. Instead, he argued, we may properly label a tablet as recording a true loan, as opposed to any other kind of debt, only if the formulaic phrase ina pūḫi ittiši, “he has taken (the tablet) as a replacement (for the thing loaned),” is present.4 Without this phrase, Postgate thought it impossible to determine the nature of the debt in question.5 More recently, several scholars have added to the compendium of Neo-Assyrian legal texts, updating our access to fresh principal editions. Most notably, Theodore Kwasman published his now-standard text, Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents in the Kouyunjik Collection of the British Museum, in 1988, and its texts were updated and expanded upon in subsequent editions in the State Archives of Assyria series.6 Karen Radner has produced a number of notable studies on Neo-Assyrian debt notes, including a thorough treatment of legal documents found in private archives from

3 Postgate, Fifty Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents, 32–55. 4 Postgate, Fifty Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents, 33 and 37. 5 For a more recent iteration of this perspective, see J. N. Postgate, “Middle Assyrian to Neo-Assyrian: The Nature of the Shift,” in Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten, ed. Hartmut Waetzoldt and Harald Hauptmann (Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1997), 159–68. 6 Theodore Kwasman, Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents in the Kouyunjik Collection of the British Museum (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1988). Kwasman was unsatisfied with the way he organized his material in this work and later contributed to a significant effort to improve upon it. First, he and Simo Parpola published a new volume of many of the same legal texts from Nineveh covering documents from a royal context during the reigns of various Neo-Assyrian kings from Tiglath-Pileser III to Esarhaddon; see Theodore Kwasman and Simo Parpola, Legal Transactions of the Royal Court of Nineveh, Part I: Tiglath-Pileser III through Esarhaddon, State Archives of Assyria 6 (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1991). Raija Mattila then published a sequel volume dealing with the remaining period of Neo-Assyrian history until Nineveh’s collapse; see Raija Mattila, Legal Transactions of the Royal Court of Nineveh, Part II: Assurbanipal through Sin-šarru-iškun, SAA 14 (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 2002). Both of these volumes were published by the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project and were designed to offer scholars new and improved principal editions of Neo-Assyrian legal texts from the Assyrian heartland.



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the Neo-Assyrian period.7 She studiously avoids the tendency to label every debt note as a loan — an ongoing practice, despite the protests of Postgate — and opts for the term Obligationsurkunden instead.8 She has also published a relevant private archive from Assur in the Neo-Assyrian period.9 My own research has largely focused on the legal documents collected from the western provinces of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, not those found in the Neo-Assyrian heartland. Several scholars (including Radner) have recently contributed to the field by publishing principal editions of debt notes written in both Akkadian and Aramaic from these provinces, some of which I will use in my discussion below. In summary, a number of Assyriologists over the past century have created a veritable treasure trove of data for enterprising scholars to sift through and use in their efforts to reconstruct the social history of the ancient Near Eastern world. Until recently, this work has been underutilized by those outside of Assyriology proper, resulting in a correctable lack of understanding. This essay offers one example of how such work can be applied to broader sociocultural studies.10 7 Karen Radner, Die Neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden als Quelle für Mensch und Umwelt, State Archives of Assyria Studies 6 (Hesinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997). 8 Radner, Die Neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden, 21. I am skeptical of Postgate’s theory regarding the evaluation of debt notes based on the presence or absence of the phrase ina pūḫi ittiši. In my own research I have come across Neo-Assyrian debt notes in which the envelope of the tablet and the inner tablet disagree on this issue; the phrase appears on one of them but not on the other. I am not the first scholar to recognize such a discrepancy, as Radner pointed out this methodological flaw nearly twenty years ago, but she still generally follows the precedent established by Postgate. See Karen Radner, “The Neo-Assyrian Period,” in Security for Debt in Ancient Near Eastern Law, ed. Raymond Westbrook and Richard Jasnow, Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 265–88, esp. 266. There are other reasons to question such a restrictive posture on interpretation, but this phenomenon is the most persuasive to my mind. 9 Karen Radner, Ein Neuassyrisches Privatarchiv der Tempelgoldschmiede von Assur, Studien zu den Assur-Texten 1 (Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag, 1999). 10 For a more thorough treatment of the history of scholarship on this matter, see Guy L. Ridge, “Interest-Bearing Loans in the Hebrew Bible and the Western Provinces of the Neo-Assyrian Empire” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 2018), from which portions of this article have been adapted.

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A Relevant Example I include here an example taken from the ancient city of Gūzāna (modern Tell Ḥalaf) to demonstrate the formulaic nature of Neo-Assyrian debt notes. (Obv.) 10 gin2 kingusila ku3.babbar sag.d[u] ša I10-˹za˺-ba-di I ra-ḫi-me-dingir a Isa-ma-ip-ṣa-ni àna pu-u-ḫi it-ta-ṣu11 ku3. babbar a-na 3-su-šú gal Ia-10-šit-ri (Rev.) en šu.2.meš ša12 ku3.babbar iti [sig4] ud.15.kam igi Iaš-šur-uš2-bal-liṭ igi Idingir-ia-ḫi-ri igi Imi-di-iʾ igi Ina-ga-ḫa-u.u13 igi Iza-kir lúa.ba (Obv.) Ten and five-sixths sheqels of silver, capital, belonging to Adda-zabadi, Raḫī mi-il, son of Samaipṣani, has taken (it) as a loan. The silver, according to its third, shall increase. Apladad-šitrī (Rev.) is the guarantor of the silver. Month of Simānu, fifteenth day. Witness: Aššūr-mētu-balliṭ. Witness: Iliaḫī ri. Witness: Midiʾ. Witness: Nagaḫa-Dādi. Witness: Zakir, the scribe14

Here the creditor, Adda-zabadi, makes a loan of ten and fivesixths sheqels of silver to Raḫīmi-il at a rate of 33 percent interest. 11 This is an unusual spelling for a common phrase, but it is not unknown; see “našû,” CAD 11/2:98. For the general phonological consensus on this form, see Jaakko Hämeen-Anttila, A Sketch of Neo-Assyrian Grammar, State Archives of Assyria Studies 13 (Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2000), 100. The phonetic shift supposedly comes about when the radical š is forced into adjacent contact with the original final ʾ. Such a scenario does not occur in the G perfect 3cs form of našû, like one usually finds in Neo-Assyrian loan texts, but it does occur in the G perfect 3mp form, causing the hypothetical *ittašʾû to become ittaṣû. Why the plural appears in this line instead of the singular is a mystery; one wonders whether the scribe did not unconsciously read the father’s name in the line above as if it were listing another debtor rather than highlighting the genealogy of the single debtor mentioned in line 3. 12 This follows Ungnad’s transliteration, but the sign in his autographs here is iš, not ša. 13 Ungnad apparently read the final two signs as the logogram man, meaning šarru, and transliterates the name accordingly. More recent prosopography identifies the final signs as referring to the deity Dadi; see L. Pearce, “Nagaḫa-Dādi,” Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, ed. Simo Parpola et al. (Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1998–2012), 2:921. 14 Tell Halaf II 2279; TH 116. See Johannes Friedrich et al., eds., Die Inschriften vom Tell Halaf, Archiv für Orientforschung 6 (Berlin: n.p., 1940), 65–66. The transliterations provided here are adapted from Ungnad’s work therein. The translations are my own unless otherwise stated.



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Apladad-šitrī has agreed to stand as surety for the loan. The date and names of witnesses are also recorded. All of these elements are paradigmatic of the Neo-Assyrian debt note in general, as described above. How to Avoid Interest While interest on loans and other types of debt appears frequently in the Neo-Assyrian debt notes available to us, there are plenty of examples in which it is not present or is explicitly avoidable. Many texts either do not mention interest at all, without any explanation for its absence, or list interest as applicable only if the loan or debt is not repaid by a certain date. This latter stipulation is common and raises the possibility that interest was often employed as a kind of penalty on late repayments.15 But the prospect of interest could be avoided altogether with an explicit prohibition against it in the legal contract itself. The phrase kūm rubbê, “in lieu of interest” could be inserted into the contract to substitute for the repayment of interest on a loan or debt.16 The same outcome could be achieved by stating explicitly that there will be no interest on the debt in question, followed by a statement of the pledge. For example, consider the following fragmentary text: (Obv.) [la] i-rab-bi [Is]e–tab-ni–p[ap] [ar]ad-šú ša-par-t[ú] [i-n]a pu-ḫi i-[it-ši] (Rev.) [itu].kin [u4–x–kam/kam2] (Obv.)…shall not increase. Sēʾ-tabnī -uṣur, his slave, (is) the pledge. He has taken (it) as a loan. (Rev.) Month Ulūlu,… day…17

Commenting on this text, Radner points out that “[a]ntichretic loans, replacing interest by the usufruct of the pledge, most often 15 See, e.g., VAT 14448 = SAAB V/1–2 no. 8. 16 Radner, Die Neuassyrischen Privatrechtsurkunden, 370–72; see also Radner, “Neo-Assyrian Period,” 271. 17 TSF 97 F 200/196; see Luc Bachelot and Frederick Mario Fales, eds., Tell Shiukh Fawqani: 1994–1998, 2 vols. (Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e libreria, 2005), 2:645 (no. 36). The beginning of the tablet is broken and the rest of the tablet after the text

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in the shape of a pledged person’s labour, are a frequent feature in the Neo-Assyrian Period.”18 Slaves were not always the people pledged against debt, but enough examples exist to demonstrate that it was not an unusual practice. Postgate argued that it was far more common to find someone pledging a family member against a debt rather than a slave and interpreted this as evidence that “those needing to borrow are less likely to be the owners of slaves.”19 But the private archives explored in the past few decades by Assyriologists demonstrate that many loans were given by wealthy moneylenders to other people of means; for example, we know of moneylenders taking loans themselves.20 Not only that, but debt notes that explicitly identify a loan as being given for commercial purposes are well known.21 So it is not surprising that slave-owners are represented among the borrowing class of individuals in the Neo-Assyrian records, nor is it surprising that they sought to avoid paying interest on their loans by leveraging financial assets already within their possession. It is precisely this practice that interests me here. Various debt notes from the Neo-Assyrian period demonstrate how interest could be avoided through the use of a slave as collateral. A tablet tentatively dated to 646 BCE from Nineveh records the pledge of a servant against a debt of thirty sheqels of silver without any mention of interest.22 The text expressly states that the owner of the slave is legally responsible for any death or escape from custody while the slave is pledged and in the service of the creditor.23 A female slave is pledged against a debt of fifty presented here is missing. I follow the autographs and transliterations provided therein. Given the highly formulaic nature of the text, my translation differs little from that of Radner in Bachelot and Fales, Tell Shiukh Fawqani, 2:645. 18 Radner in Bachelot and Fales, Tell Shiukh Fawqani, 2:645. 19 Postgate, Fifty Neo-Assyrian Legal Documents, 48. 20 See, e.g., the debt notes of one Śehr-nūrī from ancient Maʾallānāte (modern site unknown) discussed in Ridge, “Interest-Bearing Loans,” 148–57. 21 See, e.g., MS 2189. 22 ADD 68 = SAA 14 97. 23 See lines 3–4 on the reverse side of the tablet.



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minas of copper without mention of interest in another Ninevite tablet from 642 BCE.24 Here again the creditor is free from any financial responsibility for death or escape by the slave in question.25 A slave couple is pledged against a debt of three minas of silver, and interest is explicitly precluded in a text from 668 BCE.26 Finally, an Aramaic debt note discovered at ancient Burmarina (Tell Shiukh Fawqâni, on the eastern banks of the Euphrates northeast of modern Aleppo near the border with Turkey) records an exchange in which three men pledge a slave against a debt that they had (apparently) previously taken with interest.27 It seems that the amount of interest that would be paid is contingent upon the redemption of the slave in question.28 These are just some examples of the types of arrangements made between creditor and debtor in which slaves are used as collateral against the principal sum of the debt. For the purposes of this essay, I would like to focus on two aspects of this phenomenon: the first, economic, and the second, social. Economic Implications I have already discussed my first proposal regarding the economic implications of this practice for our understanding of NeoAssyrian society. As stated above, the use of slaves as collateral demonstrates the relative wealth of the debtors immortalized in these tablets. The assumption that only, or even principally, the poor or indigent were taking on loans during the Neo-Assyrian period, both within and outside of the Assyrian heartland, is 24 ADD 61 = SAA 14 101. 25 See lines 5–8 on the obverse side of the tablet. 26 ADD 65 = SAA 6 307. 27 TSF F 204 I/3. 28 See the comments of Fales and Ezio Attardo in Bachelot and Fales, Tell Shiukh Fawqani, 2:658: “The whole clause thus implies that, if anyone of the debtors wanted to redeem the pledged man, the cost would be one mina; on the other hand…, the redeemer’s share of (the) original interest rate on the 8 sheqels of silver owed by the three military (men) would be reduced to/by one-half.”

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inaccurate. Productive business loans were made routinely, and wealthy moneylenders were known to take loans themselves. The second argument I would like to advance is that debt notes like those surveyed above can contribute to dispelling a popular notion that profit motivation did not exist at any time or place in the ancient Near East. To understand the significance of this argument, some background information on a longstanding scholarly debate is necessary. For over a century, scholars have argued over the degree to which ancient and modern economies can be compared. Opinions on the matter bifurcated, producing two schools of thought: the primitivist and the modernist. As one might expect, primitivists contended that ancient economies were distinct from modern economies and needed to be interpreted in a manner that respected their fundamental differences (which they held to be multitudinous). Modernists, naturally, argued just the opposite, averring that ancient economies behaved similarly to modern ones and should be evaluated using the standard neoclassical economic tools (albeit modified to some degree). The argument revolved around concepts such as self-regulating markets, profit motivation, and supply and demand. Eventually, a third camp of self-proclaimed Marxist theorists muddied the waters even further by introducing their views of linear, historical evolution of economic stages and modes of production. Out of this midtwentieth century scholarly farrago came one of the most influential economic historians of our time: Karl Polanyi.29 Polanyi was a Hungarian socialist who spent much of his adult life living and teaching in the West.30 Polanyi’s work was heavily influenced by his experience in World War I, the following crisis years preceding World War II, and World War II itself.31 His first and perhaps best-known work, The Great Transformation, 29 Maria Eugenia Aubet, Commerce and Colonization in the Ancient Near East, trans. Mary Turton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 7–39. Aubet engages in a more detailed history of this debate, from which I have drawn heavily for my own brief survey here. 30 Anne Chapman, “Karl Polanyi (1886–1964) for the Student,” in Autour de Polanyi. Vocabulaires, théories et modalités des échanges, ed. Philippe Clancier and Francis Joannes. (Paris: de Boccard, 2005), 17–32. 31 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 20.



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seeks to explain the rise of fascism and renewed world conflict after World War I.32 In it, he essentially argues that the market separated the economy from its previous nature as embedded in social institutions, making everyone a slave to its workings and eventually causing the collapse of society. It was, in short, incompatible with social well-being and democracy.33 In the 1950s, he coordinated an effort to produce studies of ancient economies without reference to market forces, which he argued did not exist prior to the modern period; Aubet notes that, “its aim was to monitor the main theses set out in The Great Transformation.”34 This effort led to the publication of an edited collection of articles entitled, Trade and Market in the Early Empires,35 the work most directly relevant to economic historians of the ancient Near East.36 Maria Eugenia Aubet summarizes Polanyi’s position concisely: [C]lassic economic theory and its basic concepts like surplus, protectionism, supply and demand, the profit motive, competitiveness and profitability were only applicable to the modern market economy and were of no use for analysing premodern societies. The “formal” framework of classic economic theory could not be other than a creature of nineteenth-century liberalism.37

Polanyi himself made use of ancient Near Eastern materials in his effort to develop his theses. Unfortunately, some of his examples eventually served to undermine his work significantly. Most notably, he relied heavily on the material recovered from Kaneš, a merchant colony from the Old Assyrian period in Anatolia. Aubet succinctly describes the misguided nature of this choice: Possibly Polanyi selected the least suitable example to document his model of administered trade because his interpreta32 Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation (Boston: Beacon, 1944). 33 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 21–22. 34 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 23. 35 Karl Polanyi, Conrad M. Arensberg, and Harry W. Pearson, eds., Trade and Market in the Early Empires (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1957). 36 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 23. 37 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 24.

220 Guy Ridge tion of the trade in Kanesh is one of the things that have most helped to discredit his work. The transcription and analysis of thousands of cuneiform tablets from the private archives of the Assyrian traders living in Kanesh, mostly by Larsen and Veenhof in the 1970s, have given an unequivocal demonstration of the private, complex and self-serving character of that trade. In it, private and entrepreneurial initiative dominated, silver acted as “currency,” there was fluctuation and speculation in prices, investment, calculation of profit margins, losses and gains, credit with interest, hoarding of silver and substantial gains on the part of certain known merchants. The activity was not managed by the palace in Assur but by private merchants and firms whose sole aim was profit.38

Polanyi’s works formed a distinct school of thought, known as “substantivism.” This movement viewed economic activity as holistically embedded in society, functioning according to the social norms and expectations unique to each particular society. In opposition to this view, a group known as “formalists” argued that the desire to exert the least amount of effort or expenditure to secure the greatest return is a principle universal to humankind, so expected behaviors driven by such a principle (such as profit motivation) would exist in every human society regardless of the historical period.39 This dichotomy marks a third stage in the development of ancient economic history. In my view, Aubet rightly perceives this current controversy as a renewed version of the previous debate between primitivists and modernists.40 While some scholars have recently attempted to argue that the primitivist/substantivist and modernist/formalist debates are passé, a brief glance at works published on ancient Near Eastern economic history since the start of the new millennium clearly demonstrates that the old bifurcation still dominates the field.41 38 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 35. 39 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 24. 40 Aubet, Commerce and Colonization, 25. 41 Marvin Lloyd Miller, “Cultivating Curiosity: Methods and Models for Understanding Ancient Economies,” in The Economy of Ancient Judah in Its Historical Context, ed. Marvin Lloyd Miller, Ehud Ben Zvi, and Gary N. Knoppers (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 3–23.



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It is my contention that the Neo-Assyrian debt notes under discussion here help to put to rest one of the lingering pieces of misinformation present in various fields of academia regarding ancient humanity and its markets. It is still in vogue to question the very existence of profit motivation in antiquity, especially in the ancient Near East. I have no interest in waging a battle for or against any particular camp, but I do want to stress how reductionist and overly simplistic this argument continues to be. Certainly it is true that some textual evidence from the ancient Near East should raise serious questions about a wholesale evaluation of ancient Near Eastern economies through a neoclassical lens.42 At the same time, however, one can look at the evidence from Kaneš, as Aubet rightly points out, and see that nearly all of the old familiar concepts one learns in undergraduate economics courses today were present in the Old Assyrian merchant colonies.43 To this latter category I would add the Neo-Assyrian debt notes. For those who have opposed the suggestion that profit motivation drives the use of interest on debt in the ancient Near East, one common response has been to claim that it was used not in order to make more money but as a kind of legal fiction, sometimes meant to perpetually enslave the debtor to the service of the creditor through means of permanent debt slavery.44 While this argument may be persuasive in some places and at some times throughout ancient Near Eastern history, it is not universally true. The above example of Old Assyrian Kaneš refutes such a sweeping 42 Piotr Steinkeller, “Money-Lending Practices in Ur III Babylonia: The Issue of Economic Motivation,” in Debt and Economic Renewal in the Ancient Near East, ed. Michael Hudson and Marc Van De Mieroop (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2002), 109–38. 43 Klaas R. Veenhof, “Silver and Credit in Old Assyrian Trade,” in Trade and Finance in Ancient Mesopotamia, ed. Jan Garrit Dercksen (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Achaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul, 1999), 55–83 and Veenhof, “‘Dying Tablets’ and ‘Hungry Silver’: Elements of Figurative Language in Akkadian Commercial Terminology,” in Figurative Language in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. Mindlin, M. J. Geller, and J. E. Wansbrough (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1987), 41–75, esp. 62–64. 44 Steinkeller, “Money-Lending Practices,” 109–38, who relies in part on the work of Moses Finley. For a more recent example of this banner being raised, see Roland Boer, The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2015), 156–63, esp. 162 n. 39, as well as his general comments on profit in antiquity on 186–87.

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characterization, as does the evidence presented here regarding Neo-Assyrian debt notes. The debt notes cited above and those similar to them from the Neo-Assyrian period demonstrate that legal fictions were not necessary in order to secure labor via debt in mid-first millennium Mesopotamia and Syria-Palestine. If labor was more important or equally acceptable to the creditor, as opposed to making money off the loan through interest, then the terms of the legal contract explicitly stated this fact. Pledges of slaves or family members were accepted in lieu of interest, without any hint that this was somehow extralegal or frowned upon by the elites of the day. Furthermore, productive business loans are well represented and commonplace. The obvious purpose of those transactions was to generate more money, as Klaas R. Veenhof has ably demonstrated regarding the relevant Old Assyrian texts. This leads me to a more general proposal based on the textual data: at some places and in some time periods in the ancient Near East, modern economic paradigms are genuinely helpful in reconstructing the daily lives of our ancient ancestors; at other places and time periods they are not helpful, and other heuristic tools are necessary. I consider this approach to have the benefits of being simple, corroborated by concrete evidence, and amenable to what one might call “common sense.” In short, I think that the ongoing disagreements over ancient economies have been too generalized, causing both sides to overlook serious problems with their own theories in light of the varied and distinctive evidence that appears throughout the ancient world. An approach that takes each case on its own terms and reads the available texts closely is far preferable to the sweeping theoretical constructs that have been employed for over a century. One additional unintended consequence of this debate has affected modern scholarship’s approach to the study of slavery in antiquity. Throughout much of the analysis discussed above, slavery is treated as a form of labor, which makes sense given the focus on economic theory that has driven scholars in the past. But this conceptualization of slavery is itself reductionist, and it obscures a more nuanced and more accurate understanding of



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what has been a ubiquitous phenomenon. By equating slavery to labor, scholars are treating the practice on a level of abstraction that ignores the real implications and components of a significant societal ill. This abstraction undermines our ability to appreciate the corporeal nature of the practice. The key to appreciating slavery as a phenomenon is not to treat it as an academic construct or discrete component in a theoretical model; the key to understanding slavery is to recognize that the slave is not labor but a human being. The thing producing profit is not labor, it is a human body. The following section elucidates this argument. Social Implications: Defining Slavery For the effect of these Neo-Assyrian texts on our understanding of the social world of the ancient Near East, I will turn to the recent work of anthropologists specializing in debt and slavery. Specifically, I intend to use the theoretical approach of Alain Testart, augmented by research from other anthropologists and sociologists whose work might inform my own study. Testart spent a great portion of his career researching the social phenomenon of slavery.45 Perhaps his greatest contribution to a study like this one is his methodologically precise definition of the term “slavery.” He argues that, due to the influence of Marxist theory on anthropological studies, slavery has commonly been conceptualized as a form of labor, which guarantees its place within an economic rubric of analysis. But he contends that labor is only one small facet of the way slaves are used, and that the “pluralité d’utilisation” of slaves is too often overlooked by scholarship.46 For Testart, the proper mode of study for approaching slavery is focused on the social position of slaves rather than their economic position — specifically, understanding the separation

45 A revised collection of Testart’s works on the topic was published in 2018, providing scholars with a convenient resource for using his theories of slavery; see Alain Testart, L’Institution de l’esclavage. Une approche mondiale, rev. Valérie Lécrivain (Paris: Gallimard, 2018). 46 Testart, L’institution, 11–29, esp. 14–15.

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of slaves from their various social relationships.47 The best methodological approach for truly understanding slavery is centered on a juridical or legal analysis rather than one focused solely on economics.48 Testart thus defines a slave in the following manner: The notion of slave can be usefully defined as an existing status that differentiates it from other social categories. The legal content of this status has varied from one society to another, but was everywhere based on a common principle: in one way or another, a slave is an outcast. He or she is excluded from a social feature or dimension considered essential by the society in question. Once again, that dimension differs from one society to another, as does the form of exclusion: in primitive societies (if we accept that such societies are characterized by the predominance of kinship), the slave is excluded from kinship ties; in ancient societies, he was excluded from both kinship and citizenship; in Islamic societies, he was excluded from kinship and, depending on his origin, could also be excluded from the religious group, and so forth.49

The practical effect of this definition is that most of the social phenomena identified by scholars as forms of slavery are, according to Testart, anything but. Debt slavery is perhaps the most obvious example in this regard, a topic which he spent much time studying and explicating. For my purposes, the most important distinction he makes is between true slavery and what he calls “pawning” (mise en gage).50 The difference between the two phenomena can be found in the fact that the person pledged as collateral against a debt (or pawned, in Testart’s idiom) is legally still considered to be a free individual, even if they are in a de facto slavelike relationship with the creditor. This reality is demonstrated by the fact that, at any time, the pledged person can be free of their obligations to the creditor if the debt in question is repaid. From Testart’s perspective, this situation is further confirmed by the 47 Testart, L’institution, 124–25. 48 Testart, L’institution, 13–14. 49 Alain Testart, “The Extent and Significance of Debt Slavery,” Revue française de sociologie 43 (2002): 173–204, quote 176. 50 Testart, L’institution, 115 and Testart, “Extent and Significance,” 176–77.



Bodies in Lieu of Interest 225

fact that, unless explicitly stipulated in a legal arrangement, the labor of the pledged person does not count toward paying off the principal of the debt. The true slave, on the other hand, is owned outright by the slaveowner and cannot be given his freedom without the slaveowner’s explicit and legal consent.51 Testart cites a description of this legal arrangement found within the society of the Rhade located primarily in southern Vietnam. In their culture, they describe the practice of pledging a person against a debt with the phrase “mis son corps en gage” — that is, he placed his body in pledge.52 Testart considers this to be an apt description of the legal situation he is attempting to elucidate, and I have to agree. The person pledged against a debt is fundamentally in a position in which his or her body is at the disposal of the creditor for however long it takes for the debt to be repaid. In the case of female pledges, this often goes beyond the issue of labor and enters into the realm of sexual and reproductive exploitation as well.53 Testart’s methodological rigor and clarity is exceedingly helpful in my effort to better illuminate the practice of pledging slaves against a debt during the Neo-Assyrian period, albeit only to a point. Testart has explicitly noted that the use of someone who is already a slave as a pledge against a debt is a sociologically different phenomenon than pledging oneself against a debt. Unfortunately, he states quite candidly that such a scenario was outside of his scope of interest.54 So, then, to better understand the Neo-Assyrian practice in question here, I will use Testart’s methodology as a foundation but move beyond his theory to explore the social significance of slavery.

51 Testart, L’institution, 122–27 and Testart, “Extent and Significance,” 176–77. See also Toyin Falola and Paul E. Lovejoy, “Pawnship in Historical Perspective,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 1–26, esp. 4. 52 Testart, L’institution, 128, here citing the work of Anne de Hautecloque-Howe, Les Rhadés. Une société de droit maternel (Paris: CNRS, 1987). 53 Testart, L’institution, 116. 54 Testart, “Extent and Significance,” 179.

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Modern Analogy Given that our sources for the Neo-Assyrian practice of pledging slaves as collateral against personal loans are restricted mostly to debt notes from the period, perhaps the best methodological avenue available for pursuing an anthropological appreciation of the practice lies in the realm of analogy. Over the past century, cultural and economic anthropologists discovered a similar practice, to which they often refer as “pawning,” prevalent in the modern era in both Africa and Southeast Asia.55 In addition, even closer to home for those of us living in the United States, Bonnie Martin has conducted a survey — the first of its kind — of the practice of mortgaging slaves in the American South in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.56 Thanks to these studies, scholars now have the ability to compare the way slaves were pledged as collateral against debt in various places and eras of human history. I intend to use the studies on Africa and the American South to sketch a picture of the practice in the modern era, in the hope that an anthropological analysis of the phenomenon will then aid us in our understanding of the Neo-Assyrian practice. According to Toyin Falola and Paul E. Lovejoy, pawnship was treated as a kinship responsibility in Africa, where the family members being pawned were expected to bear the burden of the debt accrued by their relative(s) for a limited period of time (until repayment). These societies had ideological commitments regarding kinship that would theoretically translate to certain protections for the pawned family member but, in reality, often 55 For the former, see Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola, eds., Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003). For the latter, see specific studies such as Nicolas Lainez, “The Contested Legacies of Indigenous Debt Bondage in Southeast Asia: Indebtedness in the Vietnamese Sex Sector,” American Anthropologist 120 (2018): 671–83. 56 Bonnie Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine: Mortgaging Human Property,” Journal of Southern History 76 (2010): 817–66. Martin states that she is expanding upon the more geographically narrow studies of Russell R. Menard, “Financing the Lowcountry Export Boom: Capital and Growth in Early South Carolina,” William and Mary Quarterly 51 (1994): 659–76; David Hancock, “‘Capital and Credit with Approved Security’: Financial Markets in Montserrat and South Carolina, 1748–1775,” Business and Economic History 23 (1994), 61–84; and Richard Holcombe Kilbourne, Jr., Debt, Investment, Slaves: Credit Relations in East Feliciana Parish, Louisiana, 1825–1885 (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1995).



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fell short.57 Regarding the practice of pledging a slave as collateral against debt instead of a family member, they write the following: As already noted, slaves could be pawned, but when masters arranged to use slaves as collateral, they were acting on the basis of their investment in slaves as property. Usually, slaves could serve this function only if they were acculturated and therefore members of society as well, albeit of servile status. In a sense, pawned slaves were being treated like quasi-kin. Otherwise, a master would be more likely to sell the slave in order to pay a debt or to raise capital.58

As African nations transitioned into market economies, pawnship became more prevalent as a bridge from the use of slavery in the premarket economy to the use of financial credit in the market economy.59 Recognizing that more work needs to be done in this area, Falola and Lovejoy propose that it seems like the practice of pawning slaves against one’s debt was more common in societies that were “more extensively monetized than economies in which slavery was not very important.”60 Generally speaking, there was a clear theoretical distinction between pawns and slaves in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century African societies, even if in practical reality they could often be treated in the same manner.61 But evidence of pawning slaves instead of free kinsmen does exist throughout the region.62 Here I will discuss several relevant examples.

57 Falola and Lovejoy, “Pawnship,” 10–11. 58 Falola and Lovejoy, “Pawnship,” 4–5. 59 Falola and Lovejoy, “Pawnship,” 20. 60 Falola and Lovejoy, “Pawnship,” 9–10. 61 See the essays in Lovejoy and Falola, Pawnship, particularly those by Paul E. Lovejoy and David Richardson, Robin Law, Ebiegberi J. Alagoa and Atei M. Okorobia, Toyin Falola, and Felix K. Ekechi. Ekechi’s article includes a truly fascinating (and slightly heartbreaking) first-hand account of the author, who grew up in a family that owned pawns for a period of time. 62 Falola and Lovejoy, “Pawnship,” 6.

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Pawning slaves for commercial ventures was practiced in Sierra Leone as early as the eighteenth century.63 Allen M. Howard points out that the distinction between pawns and true slaves was blurred, in part because of the use of slaves in pawning: While pawns were differentiated from slaves by the nature of the original contract, markers they wore, and other means, the line between pawns and slaves often was thin. Slaves were pawned, slaves were used to redeem pawns, and pawns as well as their children could become enslaved, even sold, if not redeemed.64

In the West African emirate of Ilorin, some sparse evidence suggests that the practice of pledging one’s slave as collateral against a debt was relatively uncommon, presumably for economic and logistical reasons, as Ann O’Hear reports: Some slaves as well as free persons were pawned in Ilorin, even after the beginning of the colonial period. A report from 1917 notes that in the first half of that year there were “2 cases tried under the sections which deal with slavery; both of which were cases of pawning a slave.” Ilorin informants, however, note that there could be problems with pawning slaves, and the general impression gained from their testimonies is that the practice was not very common. It is said, for example, to have been done in emergency situations. It is also said to have been preferable to sell the slave, or the child of one’s slave, outright, because “a slave would react against [being pawned] and would look for a means to escape,” or, as another informant puts it, “a slave in such a position was considered sold” anyway: “Slaves would never be returned.” Yet, still another informant claims that it was better to adopt a temporary measure like pawning, rather than selling one’s slave. The situation with respect to pawning slaves elsewhere is uncertain,

63 Allen M. Howard, “Pawning in Coastal Northwest Sierra Leone, 1870–1910,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 267–82, esp. the quote of John Matthews on 272. 64 Howard, “Pawning,” 275.



Bodies in Lieu of Interest 229 but Oroge only once mentions anything which could even possibly refer to such a practice.65

Similar concerns ensured that slaves were the pawn of last resort for individuals in colonial Ghana.66 Beverly Grier notes: “a slave, for whom money had been paid, might run away” from the creditor.67 In the Edo society, slaves, children, and women were the most common types of pawns employed (a pawn was called an iyoha), although pawnship in general was relatively uncommon.68 Different rules applied to slaves used as pawns regarding creditor and debtor rights, as can be seen in the case of contrasting their experiences with those of otherwise freepersons serving as collateral against a debt: The status of the iyoha in society was clearly defined; hence the saying “iyoha ore ovien, ogha zegbe ere, orie,” meaning that the iyoha was not a slave, but that if he freed himself (by repayment of the loan through amnesty) he would be gone… If the iyoha was a slave and unmanageable, then he or she could be sold in order to recover the money, if the creditor was unable to secure a replacement. In such a case, it was left to the debtor to buy back his slave at whatever price.69

This recognized difference in status also affected the rights of the creditor over any children born to a female slave serving as an iyoha.70 With the advent of the colonial period, British attitudes hostile to slavery and pawning significantly affected these 65 Ann O’Hear, “Pawning in the Emirate of Ilorin,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 137–63, quote 143–44. 66 Beverly Grier, “Pawns, Porters, and Petty Traders: Women in the Transition to Cash-Crop Agriculture in Colonial Ghana,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 299–324. 67 Grier, “Pawns,” 306. 68 Uyilawa Usuanlele, “Pawnship in Edo Society: From Benin Kingdom to Benin Province under Colonial Rule,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 225–37. 69 Usuanlele, “Pawnship,” 227. 70 Usuanlele, “Pawnship,” 229.

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phenomena in society. Abolition forced upon them by the British resulted in former slaves becoming more likely to pledge themselves as collateral against loans necessary to secure the money required to support themselves and their families.71 The Yoruba society of western Africa maintained a system similar to pawnship known as iwofa.72 While not entirely the same as the system of pawnship discussed above, slaves could be used as pledges or iwofa in both scenarios.73 A slave could be an iwofa under two distinct circumstances, one which is new to the present discussion, and another which will sound quite familiar. Fadipe reported that slaves, with their master’s permission, could pawn themselves in order to raise the money for their redemption, though he gives no indication of how prevalent manumission was during the nineteenth century. In addition, a borrower could substitute a slave to work as the iwofa in his or her place… Providing a slave iwofa did not give the creditor any property rights in the slave, creditors could not sell the slave to satisfy the debt. Creditors, nonetheless, had full disposal of the slave’s labor since the slave iwofa resided in the creditor’s compound. The way in which pawnship and slavery intersected gave borrowers greater flexibility in obtaining loans. Long-distance traders, for example, could obtain loans along the line of their trade routes by easily depositing a slave iwofa with each creditor.74

In summary, regarding the material on pawnship in precolonial and colonial western Africa, I would like to highlight a few key characteristics and what they might contribute to our understanding of the phenomenon in question dating back to the Neo-Assyrian period of the Near East. First, it was generally more common in 71 Usuanlele, “Pawnship,” 232–33. 72 E. Adeniyi Oroge, “Iwofa: An Historical Survey of the Yoruba Institution of Indenture,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 325–56. 73 Judith Byfield, “Pawns and Politics: The Pawnship Debate in Western Nigeria,” in Pawnship, Slavery, and Colonialism in Africa, ed. Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003), 357–85. 74 Byfield, “Pawns and Politics,” 360–61.



Bodies in Lieu of Interest 231

these African societies for otherwise freepersons to be pledged against a debt. This is undoubtedly in part because many loans were taken out of necessity due to poverty. But it is also worth noting that, in some of these cultures at least, the pawning of slaves was a significant part of credit acquisition for business ventures. The same principles appear to be the case in the materials available to us from the Neo-Assyrian period, as I have noted above. The examples cited from Africa also speak to other considerations that might lead slaveowners to avoid using their slaves as collateral on debt, such as the prospect of the slave escaping or becoming a behavioral problem for the creditor. At least the former scenario was recognized by our Neo-Assyrian predecessors in contracts that explicitly inform the debtor that the creditor was not to be held liable in the event of death or escape of the slave while in the creditor’s possession. It is therefore likely that Neo-Assyrian slaveowners weighed this consideration, as did people in later African societies, when deliberating whether or not to use a slave as collateral for a personal loan. While the idea of pawnship as described here may seem unsurprising in a setting of precolonial western Africa to many readers today, Martin’s study on the use of slaves as collateral for personal loans in the American South during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is likely to be both surprising and disturbing. She conducted a study of thousands of mortgage documents from Virginia, South Carolina, and Louisiana during the colonial and national periods of the American South prior to the Civil War. Her overall findings were astounding and previously unappreciated. The data she collected suggests that, while human collateral made up a significant minority of the pledges offered against loans or debt during this period, it accounted for a majority of the capital raised.75 Her analysis leads her to argue that the use of slaves as collateral for loans or purchased through a mortgage agreement greatly contributed to the development of the overall economy of the American South in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries:

75 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 821–22, 836–46.

232 Guy Ridge If it had not been legally and socially permissible to buy slaves with mortgages that made those same slaves the collateral for their own purchase, slave ownership and staple production would have grown more slowly, as would the wealth that both created. Similarly, if those who already owned slaves had not been able to reassure lenders with human collateral, they would not have been able to borrow so quickly or so much of the significant cash and credit they needed to buy additional slaves and land in order to expand their operations. The international and interregional slave trades would have expanded more slowly. With fewer slaves, growth in the production of rice, tobacco, and cotton would have been slower, giving wealthy international marketers less to manage and finance. Local and regional southern economies and, later, the economy of the United States would have developed more slowly as well. Instead, slaves were worked financially as well as physically, with the result that production, personal wealth, local and regional economies, and human bondage grew faster.76

In a significant departure from the manner in which slaves were apparently used as collateral in the Neo-Assyrian period, the use of slaves as collateral in the American South reflected more closely modern equity loans — that is, slave owners could finance a line of credit by offering their slaves as collateral in case of default, but they would maintain possession of the slaves and their output during the life of the loan, unless and until they were unable to repay the loan on-time and were forced to surrender the pledged slaves.77 This was in addition to the ability to purchase a slave on credit using a mortgage.78 To drive home the lived reality of this phenomenon, Martin includes an anecdote relating to an eight-year-old boy named Jacques. Jacques was purchased through a mortgage agreement in 1833. By 1837, Jacques had been collateral on at least four different mortgage agreements, some of them overlapping.79 Martin 76 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 866. 77 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 823. 78 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 822. 79 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 859–61.



Bodies in Lieu of Interest 233

uses this episode to highlight the effect this system had on the slaves who experienced it in the American South, rather than just reflecting upon its effect on the local and regional economies. Despite the terrible trauma this scheme certainly visited upon slaves, even former slaves are found to have employed its use as a means to financial gain.80 Clearly, the use of slaves as collateral in America offered better terms for debtors than it did in the Neo-Assyrian period, where the standard expectation was for creditors to enjoy the productivity of the slaves in question during the life of the loan in lieu of receiving monetary interest payments. Yet the overall premise remains the same: slaves are treated as economic property that can be leveraged for financially favorable terms in a transaction on credit. A remarkable consistency appears among the examples of ancient and modern practices examined here. A Common Denominator As one might expect, there are both a number of similarities and differences between the practices of human collateral noted above from different times and places. Some of the similarities are superficial, and some of the differences are quite substantial. But, from my perspective, there is one typological element that can be found in each of these cultures: the actual thing being pledged is a body. Testart rightly critiques the majority of studies on slavery as being reductionist for treating slaves as nothing more than labor. Some of the recent studies cited here are also guilty of that mistake. The colloquialism of the Rhade people quoted by Testart stands out as being exceptionally self-aware and accurate: “he placed his body in pledge.”81 This interpretation is made clear by the treatment of female slaves offered in pledge. Female slaves in general, and specifically those used as pledges against debt, were often victims of sexual exploitation at the hands of their masters or

80 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 824–25. 81 Testart, L’institution, 128; see page 225 above.

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their masters’ creditors for both pleasure and reproduction.82 This practice should not be conceptualized under the category of labor. It is the slave’s body that produces the labor and, in the case of female slaves, the potential for creating new bodies to produce more labor. Furthermore, as the evidence from the cultures surveyed above demonstrates, slaves used as pledges were assets that could be leveraged for financial gain. In the case of the Neo-Assyrian examples, the use of a slave as collateral could avoid payments of interest. Whereas in the more economically complex environment of the American South, a slave could be mortgaged multiple times while still being worked by his or her master, producing financial gain and labor simultaneously. Any discussion of the practice of pledging or pawning slaves as collateral on debt should therefore recognize that the body is the element of value, whereas labor is merely a derivative thereof. A full-fledged analysis of pledged slaves through the theoretical lenses developed by scholars in the field of body studies is both beyond the scope of this article and this scholar, but I would like to conclude with a few inferences for our understanding of the Neo-Assyrian practice. First, if we appreciate the fact that the slave’s body is the object of pledge, we are more likely to appeal to and seek to understand the lived experience of that slave than if we were merely to consider the slave abstractly as a form of labor. The best example of this pursuit among the sources outlined above is perhaps Martin’s discussion of eight-year-old Jacques from Louisiana. Sources are often too scarce for us to replicate the kind of detailed attention Martin was able to dedicate to this poor young man, but with the development of Neo-Assyrian prosopography, it is potentially viable for scholars to at least attempt to trace the use of individual slaves over the course of time in any given archive containing administrative or legal texts.83 82 For this practice among slaves in general in the ancient Near East, see Martin Stol, Women in the Ancient Near East, trans. Helen and Mervyn Richardson (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), 168–71, 205–8. 83 See the excellent resource in Simo Parpola, Karen Radner, Raija Mattila, Rüdiger Schmitt, and Ran Zadok, eds., Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, 4 vols. (Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1998–2017).



Bodies in Lieu of Interest 235

A second inference is that once again we are given a picture of how the misogynistic, patriarchal culture of the ancient Near East inherently created vulnerabilities for women that did not exist for men. This inference promotes the need for a study of female pledges in particular, with an eye for determining the way their lives were affected by being pledged by their masters to a creditor. Martin has pointed out the increased vulnerability of family separation caused by pledging in the American South, but the risk of permanent separation in the Neo-Assyrian period would have been even greater, given that the slaves in question were in the employ of the creditor during the life of the loan or debt from the outset.84 The third and final inference I would like to highlight may be the most significant. This theoretical shift to the body as opposed to labor has ramifications for the economic analysis of the ancient Near East in general that I discussed briefly above. By reducing the ancient Near Eastern slave to the category of labor, scholars fall into the broader trap of generalizing economic trends that were in reality diverse and difficult to harmonize. There has been a tendency to lump slavery into the broader discussion of labor in analyses of the economic systems of the ancient Near East, which can have the effect of distorting the actual reality of slavery in practice. As I have argued in the case of the NeoAssyrian period, the practice of pledging slaves against one’s personal loans or other debts explicitly for the purpose of avoiding interest payments demonstrates that profit motivation, not labor, was the objective of creditors charging interest. A conceptual understanding of the slave as a body being pawned rather than abstract labor would help correct the false generalizations popular among economic historians across the ideological spectrum.85 Instead of then making profit motivation 84 Martin, “Slavery’s Invisible Engine,” 862–64. 85 In addition to those scholars who cite Marxist influences mentioned previously, consider the neoclassical underpinnings of works such as David Warburton, Macroeconomics from the Beginning: The General Theory, Ancient Markets, and the Rate of Interest, Civilisations du Proche-Orient (Neuchâtel: Recherches et publications, 2003). Neoclassical approaches are also guilty of generalizations, just in the opposite direction of Marxist studies.

236 Guy Ridge

the key to understanding ancient economies, we should practice restraint by approaching each time period and society afresh. Certainly, there are many similarities to be found, but highlighting the continuities apparent in the region should not be done at the expense of appreciating the distinctions among or understanding the complexity of each society’s economic system. Conclusion I have used a narrow example of one particular ancient Near Eastern phenomenon to achieve several ends. This essay highlights the way in which administrative records documenting particular economic practices could shed light on the broader economic system of the region while cautioning us against overgeneralizing the implications. I also compared and contrasted this ancient practice with its more recent descendants in the modern era, allowing us to gain an appreciation for the typological character of the practice of pledging slaves against debt. In turn, I have argued that the characteristic common to this practice in each of the regions and time periods discussed here has been the fact that the slave’s body is the true item of value standing security for the debt, a fact which should have significant implications for our evaluation of the practice in the Neo-Assyrian period and beyond.

Chapter 8

Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow: A Study of Biblical Hair Manipulation in Numbers 6:1–21 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

The Nazirite vow legislation detailed in Num 6:1–21 has long captured the attention of scholars, in part due to the intriguing focus on the vow-taker’s special hair treatments. Indeed, the hair rituals associated with the vow are the central focus.1 The Nazirite’s hair is “the symbol of his separation to God” (Num 6:7), and throughout the duration of the vow his or her ever-lengthening hair must remain uncut until it is finally shorn off and ritually burned at the sanctuary at the vow’s conclusion.2 If the Nazirite’s hair is accidentally defiled, the vow-taker must shave and restart the process of ritual hair growth in order to reinstate the vow. This study is adapted from a chapter of my dissertation, Sarah Dorsey Bollinger, “Women’s Ritual Hair Manipulation in the Hebrew Bible” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 2018). It is with great honor that I dedicate this essay to my dissertation advisor and professor, Nili S. Fox. I would also like to give special thanks to my two reviewers, who enhanced this study greatly with their valuable feedback and insights. 1 Baruch Levine, Numbers 1–20, Anchor Bible 4A (New York: Doubleday, 1993), 215 notes regarding the importance of hair in the Nazirite vow: “Without a doubt, the most distinctive feature of the rites of the nāzîr is the disposition of the nāzîr’s hair, reflecting the widespread significance of hair in the phenomenology of religion.” 2 According to Num 6:2, women as well as men (‫ )איׁש או־אׁשה‬could take the vow.



239

240 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

No other narrative or legislation displays such a variety of ritual hair treatments or elevates the hair to a specific symbol of ritual consecration. By employing a multifaceted approach to analyzing the various shades of meaning in ritual symbol, this essay shows that hair functions in the Nazirite rituals as a powerful metonymic representation of the whole body, and that the Nazirite’s hair affords the vow-taker a status of consecration comparable to that of the high priest. As with a sacrificial animal that is set aside to be devoted to God, the Nazirite’s hair functions within the vow as the locus of the vow-taker’s voluntary devotion of the self, concluding in symbolic self-sacrifice. This essay examines the hair rituals involved in the Nazirite vow by adapting Victor Turner’s method for studying modern ritual practices through three levels of symbol analysis: exegetical, operational, and positional.3 Since Turner’s model was developed for the study of ritual symbols through fieldwork and live interaction with existing cultures, it must be adapted to the study of purely textual references to a ritual system that is no longer practiced. As such, components of the exegetical analysis focus on the narrator’s perspective regarding the meaning of the rituals.4 The operational analysis views the symbol of hair within 3 In the three-pronged approach of Victor Turner, The Forest of Symbols (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1967), the “exegetical” level of analysis examines the meaning of the symbol according to those living within the culture, the “operational” level examines the physical steps and actions associated with the symbol in the larger ritual process, and the “positional” level examines how the symbol fits within the larger context of other symbols in the same culture and outside of the culture. Turner’s mode of analysis offers the benefit of exploring meaning in ritual actions and symbols through multiple lenses, therefore providing a fuller picture of the rich meaning embedded in biblical hair rituals. 4 Susan Niditch, My Brother Esau Is a Hairy Man: Hair and Identity in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 82 equates the biblical narrator with the native of a modern culture in Turner’s exegetical step: “What does the ‘native informant,’ the biblical narrator, reveal about Nazirite status?” Michael B. Hundley, Keeping Heaven on Earth: Safeguarding the Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 35–36 adopts a version of this mode of biblical ritual analysis in what he calls the level of “use,” which he explains as “the participant’s view on why ritual is being done.” Like Niditch, Hundley looks to the biblical author’s statements to discern the native cultural perspective valued in anthropological fieldwork: “The author or authority behind the text gives the official, agreed-upon interpretation.”



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 241

the context of the larger ritual process in Num 6, with special attention to what the hair rituals reveal about the individual and Israelite society. Finally, the positional analysis offers insights into the hair practices involved in the Nazirite vow from other biblical and extrabiblical texts that reference similar hair practice. Rather than isolating one meaning of the Nazirite’s hair manipulation, the combined viewpoints of this mode of analysis offer a rich picture of multilayered significance imbued in the hair rituals of the vow. The Nazirite legislation in Num 6:1–21 divides into three distinct sections. In the first section (verses 1–8), the vow is introduced as a voluntary vow of separation available to men and women, and the requirements of the individual during the vow’s term are specified: abstentions from wine and all grape products/ parts and fermented drink, special hair treatment and consecration, and avoidance of corpse defilement even for a close relative. In the second section (verses 9–12), the text lists requirements for a Nazirite who is accidentally defiled by contact with a corpse; his hair is defiled, and he must go through a period of cleansing that ends with head-shaving, offerings, and rededication/restarting of the vow. In the final section (verses 13–21), the legislation details the rituals attending the completion of the vow. This lengthy portion prescribes the Nazirite’s shaving of their dedicated hair at the sanctuary’s entrance, ritual burning of the hair within the sanctuary, and the attending offerings and sacrifices offered by the priest. Even a cursory reading of the Nazirite law shows the ritual significance of the vow-taker’s hair, but closer examination reveals exciting insights into this unique marker of Nazirite holiness. Exegetical Analysis: The Narrator’s Perspective on the Nazirite’s Hair The exegetical analysis focuses on the narrator’s perspective regarding the meaning of the rituals. In the Nazirite vow, one can discern the narrator’s perspective in part by examining the placement of the vow in its literary context and the chosen set

242 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

of hair terms employed within the text of the vow.5 The Nazirite vow is the only biblical vow that involves hair in any way, and the placement of the Nazirite legislation in Num 6, separated from other biblical legislation dealing with vows, emphasizes the uniqueness of this vow among the other vows available to the Israelite community.6 In contrast to other vows, the Nazirite vow involved a period of special personal restriction and consecration, marked in large part by hair treatment.7 A close analysis of the biblical author’s hair terminology within the context of the vow legislation reveals that hair is the most prominent symbol of Naziritism. The sheer volume and variety of hair terms used in the Nazirite vow legislation indicate a clear narrative focus on head hair at each stage of the vow. Hair and hair-related terms in the text include a total of sixteen occurrences of the following words: ‫תער‬, “razor”; ‫ראׁש‬, “head hair”; ‫ׁשער‬, “hair”; ‫פרע‬, “loose locks”; ‫“ גד״ל‬to grow,” and ‫“ גל״ח‬to

5 As one seeks to discern an author’s perspective on a ritual (Turner’s “native” perspective), it is typically valuable to examine any stated goals and situational language in the text pertaining to the ritual in question. In the interest of space, I have focused here on the author’s choice of hair terminology in the vow. For a more thorough study, see Bollinger, “Women’s Ritual Hair Manipulation,” 279–97. 6 Vows (‫ )נדרים‬to Israel’s deity are legislated elsewhere in more general terms in Lev 27 and Num 30:1–16, and in terms of their fulfillment by sacrifice in various places (e.g., Lev 7:16; 22:17–25, etc.); see Tony Cartledge, Vows in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 147 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 25. 7 Whether the vow is to be understood as a pledge that is conditional upon God’s response or an unconditional promise that serves purely as a demonstration of devotion to the deity remains a point of debate; see a defense of the perspective that the vow was conditional in Tony Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 51 (1989): 409–22. The opposing view, that the vow was an unconditional promise, is argued by Ronald de Vaux, Religious Institutions, vol. 2 of Ancient Israel (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961), 466 and more recently by Stuart Chepey, Nazirites in Late Second Temple Judaism: A Survey of Ancient Jewish Writings, the New Testament, Archaeological Evidence, and Other Writings from Late Antiquity, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 60 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 196–97. Roy Gane, Leviticus, Numbers, NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004), 533 concludes that the lack of specification in Num 6:1–21 suggests that a Nazirite vow could be conditional or unconditional in the biblical context. See m. Naz. 2:8 for a reference to distinguishing between conditional and unconditional Nazirite vows.



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 243

shave” (also ‫“ התגלח‬to have oneself shaved”).8 In addition, the word ‫ נזר‬occurs thirteen times throughout the passage, sometimes referring to Nazirite-type consecration and other times referring to the consecrated hair itself. The extensive use of hair terms throughout the passage clearly indicates the central importance of hair as a symbol in the Nazirite law. Unusual and key hair terms that provide insight into the narrator’s perspective on the symbol of hair in Num 6:1–21 include the much-discussed term ‫“ פרע‬loose, disheveled hair” and the verb ‫ גד״ל‬in the instructions for “growing” (?) the hair during the vow, which occur together in an important phrase detailing an instruction for the Nazirite’s hair treatment during the vow. A third key hair word in the passage is the special term for consecrated hair, ‫נזר‬, which may have suggestive connections to the high priest’s crown, also called a ‫( נזר‬Exod 29:6; 39:30; Lev 8:9). The meaning of the noun ‫( פרע‬typically translated “loose hair”) is significant. This noun is used only once in the Nazirite legislation, where it is placed syntactically as the first element in the construct chain that serves as the object of the verb ‫ גד״ל‬in the phrase ‫( גדל פרע שער ראש‬Num 6:5, roughly translated “he shall grow the loose locks of the hair of the head”). Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner define ‫ פרע‬as “loosely hanging and unplaited hair on the head,” a nominal form from the verbal root ‫פר״ע‬ “to hang loose [hair], dishevel.”9 The same term is used in Ezek 8 The nouns ‫ ראׁש‬,‫ש ֹער‬, and ‫ פרע‬all indicate general areas or specific portions of hair. The term ‫ ש ֹער‬is the general term for “hair”; it encompasses all human body and head hair, and even animal hair. The term ‫ראׁש‬, with the basic meaning of “head,” is also the specific term for “head hair.” Koehler and Baumgartner give “hair of the head” as the third definition of ‫ראׁש‬, and the term is used at least twenty-eight times in the Hebrew Bible for “head hair” (e.g., Lev 13:45; 14:8, Deut 21:12, Judg 13:5, 2 Sam 18:8, 2 Kgs 9:30, Job 1:20), making it as common a hair term as ‫ׂשער‬, the general term for hair (“‫ר ֹאׁש‬,” HALOT 2:1165). Leviticus 14:9a lists ‫ ראׁש‬as a type of hair to be distinguished from other facial and body hair: “On the seventh day he must shave off all his hair (‫ ;)ׂשער‬he must shave his head hair (‫)ראׁש‬, his beard, his eyebrows, and all of his [other] hair….” The term ‫ פרע‬will be discussed below. The term ‫“ גד״ל‬to grow,” may perhaps mean “to braid/twist.” See discussion below. 9 “‫ּפ ַרע‬,” ֶ HALOT 2:970. “‫ּפ ַרע‬,” ֶ DCH 6:773 defines this word as “long hair.” See Richard L. Goerwitz, “What Does the Priestly Source Mean by ‫ ”?פרע את הראש‬Jewish Quarterly Review 86, nos. 3–4 (1996): 377–94 for the unique argument that the verb ‫ פר״ע‬refers to “shaving the head” rather than loosening/disheveling/growing.

244 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

44:20 in the requirement of priests to refrain from shaving their head hair or growing it long: ‫וראׁשם לא ופרע לא יׁשלחו כסום יכסמו‬ ‫את־ראׁשיהם יגלחו‬, “They shall not shave their heads and loose locks they shall not send out [grow?], rather they shall trim their head hair.”10 Since the prescription in the Nazirite vow to grow the hair would not require the word ‫ ;פרע‬in other words, ‫  גדל שער‬ ‫ראש‬, “grow the hair of the head” would be sufficient, as would the preceding mandate to not cut the hair in Num 6:5a — the inclusion of the word may specify the display of the hair in some way, perhaps reflecting the verbal notion of dishevelment or loosening in the root ‫פר״ע‬.11 If this is the case, the growing, long hair of the Nazirite is also required to be loose or disheveled (or both) as a highly visible symbol of the vow.12 Another possibility is that the term is dictated by a different understanding of the verb ‫גד״ל‬, which will be discussed below. The two verbal hair terms of the passage are ‫“ גדל‬to grow” and ‫( גלח‬also ‫“ )התגלח‬to shave.” The verb ‫ גל״ח‬refers to the general action of shaving or cutting short the hair, employed for both body and head hair.13 The verb ‫( גד״ל‬here piel) is used in connection to hair only in this verse; elsewhere it means “to raise” children (1 Kgs 11:20, Isa 1:2) on the basis of the qal “to grow up, become 10 See also the more enigmatic references to this term (or homonym) in Deut 32:42 and Judg 5:2, which describe the (long-haired?) enemies of Israel (Deut) and warriors of Israel (Judg). These unique references lead Cline to suggest a separate word, ‫ֶּפ ַרע‬ II, meaning “leader, chief” (“‫ ֶּפ ַרע‬I” and “‫ ֶּפ ַרע‬II,” DCH 6:773–4; see “‫ּפ ַרע‬,” ֶ HALOT 2:971). 11 See Gary Bailey, “Hair in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East” (PhD diss., Amridge University, 2014), 49, who also notes that the addition of ‫ פרע‬is unnecessary for the simple requirement of the growing the hair long: “‫ ּפרע‬is used as an adjective to show that it is specifically the ‘loosed’ hair that is to grow long.” 12 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 216 translates accordingly: “he is to remain sacred, allowing the hair of his head to grow loose.” 13 The verb ‫ גל״ח‬is the most common lexeme in the Hebrew Bible for expressing hair removal, used twenty-three times. In Gen 41:14, Joseph is shaved prior to meeting Pharaoh in Egypt. A person suffering from skin disease is shaved (only the affected spot) as part of the diagnostic process and then fully shaved (head, body, beard, and eyebrows) during the purification process (Lev 13:33; 14:8–9). Priests are required to refrain from certain types of shaving (Lev 21:5). Samson admits that his strength will be stopped by shaving, and Delilah then betrays him by shaving him (Judg 16:19, 22). See also 2 Sam 10:4; 1 Chr 19:4; Isa 7:20; Jer 41:5; Ezek 44:20.



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 245

strong” (Gen 21:8, Judg 13:24, Ruth 1:13).14 In connection to the concept of a child’s growth, the term perhaps refers to making the hair grow (‫ )גד״ל‬by refraining from cutting. A second and more probable option is that ‫ גד״ל‬refers to twisting or plaiting of the hair, based on a secondary root known from later Hebrew and other languages.15 If ‫ גד״ל‬does refer to plaiting the hair in this text, the requirement to grow the hair would still be present in the prohibition of head shaving in the first half of Num 6:5, while the ‫ גדל‬clause would explain what is to be done with the growing hair: ‫כל־ימי נדר נזרו תער לא־יעבר על־ראׁשו עד־מלאת הימם‬ ‫אׁשר־יזיר ליהוה קדׁש יהיה גדל פרע ׂשער ראׁשו‬, “All of the days of his Nazirite vow, a razor shall not pass over his head; until the completion of the days that he is consecrated to the Lord, he will be holy; he shall plait the long (or loose) hair of his head.” This interpretation would also correlate with the seven locks or braids of Samson’s hair (‫ׁשבע מחלפות ראׁשו‬, Judg 16:13, 19), which composed his hairstyle, and which Delilah first weaved into a loom and ultimately shaved off with a razor to subdue Samson. Because ‫“ גד״ל‬to plait” is not used elsewhere in reference to hair in the biblical text, this option remains somewhat uncertain.16 Yet this interpretation finds further support in evidence discussed below. 14 “‫ גדל‬I,” HALOT 1:179. ‫ גד״ל‬in the piel can also mean “to exalt” a person or “make [them] great” with words of honor and praise (Ps 69:31, Est 3:1; 5:11, 1 Chr 29:12), based on the qal “to become great, wealthy, important” (“‫ גדל‬I,” HALOT 1:179). 15 “‫ גדל‬II,” HALOT 1:179. See also the nominal derivative, ‫ּגָ ִדל‬, meaning “tassel” on a cloak (Deut 22:12) or “wreaths of chainwork” designed for the capitals of the temple pillars (1 Kgs 7:12), both examples referencing the act of braiding or twisting (“‫ּגָ ִדל‬,” HALOT 1:180). Because there is no definite word for “braid” or the verbal act of “braiding” in the Hebrew Bible, it is difficult to discern references to the practice, although it likely existed; see Eccl 4:12b: ‫והחוטה מׁשלׁש לא במהרה ינתק‬, “a cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.” However, the typical words for “braid” and “to braid” in later Hebrew and various dialects of Aramaic are based on the root ‫גד״ל‬, and this further indicates that the Nazirite was in fact required to braid his or her loose locks of hair; see the verb g.d.l., “to braid,” nouns mgdl, gdwl, and gdwlh, “braid,” and adjective gdyl; see “‫ ּגָ ַדל‬II” Jastrow, 213. The languages and dialects that use the root ‫ גד״ל‬for the meaning “to plait” include Mishnaic Hebrew, Jerusalem Aramaic, Common Palestinian Aramaic, Syriac, Mandaic, and Ethiopic; Arabic jadala means “to twist tight” (“‫ּגָ ִדל‬,” HALOT 1:180; “‫ גדל‬II,” HALOT 1:179; cf. “‫ ּגְ ַדל‬II,” Jastrow, 213). 16 A third possibility is that ‫ גד״ל‬expresses the verb’s secondary meaning, “to exalt” and thus refers to the heightened status of the Nazirite’s hair. Because the Nazirite’s hair marks his or her special consecration and high priest-like holiness to God during

246 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

The final key hair term in the Nazirite law is ‫נזר‬.17 Over half of the word’s twenty-five occurrences are in Num 6:1–21, where the word moves between meaning “Nazirite consecration” and “consecrated Nazirite hair” in particular (the Nazirite’s ‫ נזר‬is shaved in Num 6:19).18 Instances of the term being used to refer to a “crown” (outside of Num 6) indicate the word’s preoccupation with the region of the head. Importantly, a crown (‫ )נזר‬is part of the headgear specified for the high priest in Exod 29:6 and 39:30, which is described as ‫נזר הקדש‬, “the holy crown”; it is made of pure gold and inscribed with the words ‫“ קדש ליהוה‬holy to the Lord.”19 The ‫ נזר‬of the high priest thus explicitly signifies his special status and separation in relation to God. In his study of the term, Gary Bailey writes: “the hair of the Nazirite served the same purpose as the diadem [‫ ]נזר‬and the anointing oil of the priest. That is, they both signified separation to God in a special way.”20 Because the shared word invites comparison to the high priest’s golden crown, the use of this term suggests that the long hair of the Nazirite represented a secondary (and temporary) path to the highest level of Israelite holiness.21 The ‫ נזר‬of the Nazirite is comparable to the priest’s or king’s crown in that it ritually

the vow, it would not seem inappropriate for the text to describe this special function of the hair in terms of exaltation, and thus could be translated in Num 6:5b: “he will be holy; he shall exalt the loose hair of his head.” 17 “‫נֵ זֶ ר‬,” HALOT 1:684 lists two primary definitions, including: 1) “consecration, dedication” and 2) “crown, diadem, head-band,” with the “long hair on the head due to consecration” and “his consecrated head (and hair)” as subdefinitions under “consecration. “‫נֵ זֶ ר‬,” DCH 5:651 offers three definitions, including: 1) “consecration, separation, Naziriteship”; 2) “hair (of consecration); and 3) “crown, diadem.” 18 See Jer 7:29a: ‫גזי נזרך והׁשליכי וׂשאי על־ׁשפים קינה‬, “Shear off your consecrated hair and throw it away, take up a lament on the bare mountains.” 19 See Lev 8:9. The word ‫ נזר‬can also refer to a royal crown worn by the king of Israel (or Judah), as in 2 Sam 1:10; 2 Kgs 11:12; 2 Chr 23:11, etc. 20 Bailey, “Hair,” 103. 21 Because the royal crown of the king of Israel/Judah is also called a ‫נזר‬, there may be connections to the king’s specially treated head (and hair) as well. Like the high priest, the king is anointed with oil. The ‫ נזר‬of the high priest and king demarcates their distinct roles of leadership and consecration, as well as their separate status within the community. The ‫ נזר‬of the Nazirite vow-taker may carry the same set of distinctions.



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 247

symbolizes the special vow of devotion he or she has taken, here by growing and displaying the natural adornment of the head. The hair terms used in the Nazirite vow legislation indicate a clear focus on head hair in the vow as a meaningful symbol of the Nazirite’s separation and devotion. The terms indicate that hair is a ritual symbol capable of being the sole visual marker of the vow-taker. Furthermore, the hair terms suggest that the Nazirite’s long hair was thought of positively as a part of the person that could be comparable to a crown of royalty or of the high priesthood. This is surprising given the reality that disheveled and uncut hair also seems to be a symbol of great impurity in the hair practice required of the skin-diseased person in Lev 13:45. This incongruity may indicate that the Nazirite did, in fact, wear his or her hair styled in braids, as suggested by the secondary interpretation of the term ‫גדל‬. In summary, the exegetical analysis reveals a number of important insights regarding the hair rituals of the Nazirite vow. Hair terminology in the Nazirite vow is prolific, with multiple types of hair manipulation required for the head hair throughout the vow’s stages. Ritual hair growth and potential treatment by braiding (‫ )גדל‬are unique to this law, and the enigmatic term ‫ נזר‬links the Nazirite’s hair to the crown of the high priest. The extensive and varied use of hair terminology reveals the great importance of hair as the most prominent symbol of Naziritism. Operational Analysis: Hair Treatment in Context The meaning of a ritual action is often better understood by examining the action within its ritual context. What can be learned about the Nazirite’s hair treatments by observing them within the complex of rituals that are performed in the larger ritual process? Attention is given to the ritual actors, space, actions, and impact in the vow’s opening requirements for Nazirite behavior and the requirements pertaining to the vow’s completion rituals.22 The 22 For the sake of space, the shaving (and accompanying rituals) required if accidental corpse defilement occurs is not discussed.

248 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

following discussion of hair treatments within the larger ritual processes of the Nazirite vow continues to highlight the central importance of hair as the vow’s primary symbol and, furthermore, draws out the metonymic relationship between the vow-taker’s hair and the person as a whole. Ritual Process, Actors, and Space The ritual actor of the first stage of the legislation is the Nazirite alone.23 This singular focus on the vow-taker suggests the personal nature of the vow as an act of devotion and self-restriction that primarily concerned the individual and the deity. The ritual space of the Nazirite during the vow is also not specified.24 For the Nazirite, ritual space involves moving through the community and fulfilling normal roles while maintaining a stature of special consecration to God by abstaining from certain activities. The ritual space of the Nazirite allows the community to be constantly reminded of the individual’s vow and its implications.25 Because the Nazirite functioned outside of any defined ritual space, in contrast to the priests, the only visible boundary marker of the Nazirite was his or her hair.26 This reality adds a layer of importance to the Nazirite’s hair treatment as the marker of the vow-taker’s distinction in their community. 23 Rolf Knierim and George Coats, Numbers, Forms of Old Testament Literature 4 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 91 note of the lack of an initiatory ritual in the text: “while a presumable ritual initiating the nazirate [sic] is not mentioned – it is probably implied in the ritual declaration of the vow.” 24 See the helpful discussion of ritual space in Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status in the Priestly Theology, JSOTSup 91 (Sheffield, JSOT Press, 1990), 32–33. Gorman writes: “Ritual actions are generally effective and meaningful only when performed in an appropriate spatial setting” (32). 25 The lack of specified locale, along with limited restrictions, has led scholarship to assume that the Nazirite continued to function within society, maintaining full participation in familial and vocational roles. Jacob Milgrom, The JPS Commentary: Numbers ‫( במדבר‬New York: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 355 writes: “The biblical Nazirite, though an ascetic, is definitely not a hermit. He does not lead a monastic existence apart but, to the contrary, is an active participant in all his familial and communal affairs.” 26 The distinction between Nazirites and the priesthood is quite definite here regarding the ritual space inhabited by the distinct groups.



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 249

Abstaining from Hair Cutting (Hair Growth): Ritual in Context Growing the hair is a slowly emerging symbol compared to the instant effect of shaving, trimming, or tearing out portions of hair. Hair grows at an average rate of five to six inches per year, which equals close to half an inch per month.27 If growth is the only hair requirement during the vow, this symbolic marker would be hard to recognize in the initial months, particularly if taken by an already long-haired person. It thus seems likely that the Nazirite’s hair was worn in a way that visually displayed this important symbol of the vow, likely through distinct braiding, as argued above.28 The slow nature of the symbol also suggests the vow was frequently taken for a longer period of time, such as a year or more, contrary to the practice of thirty-day Nazirite vows later detailed in the Mishnah: “[a] Nazirite-vow that is vowed without fixed duration is binding for thirty days” (m. Naz. 6:3; see also m. Naz. 1:3; 3:1–4, etc.). The ritual state of the Nazirite throughout the duration of his or her vow involves abstention from wine and grape products, hair cutting, and corpse impurity. What can be discerned about the Nazirite restriction regarding the shaving of head hair within the combination of these three requirements? The combination of avoiding corpse impurity (even for close family) and drinking wine is found elsewhere only in the restrictions required for the high priest, and for regular priests to some degree.29 The Nazirite’s 27 Otto Braun-Falco, Gerd Plewig, Helmut Heinrich Wolff, and Walter Burgdorf, Dermatology 2nd ed. (Berlin: Springer, 1991), 1101. 28 Loose and uncovered hair would not be noticeable for some time if the vow was taken by a short-haired man, who would likely have worn his hair uncovered anyway. Growth may have been more obvious if hair was trimmed regularly (such as monthly), although Absalom is described as trimming his hair only once a year (2 Sam 14:26). 29 Philip Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 106 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1992), 50 writes: “The Nazirite vow was open to all Israelites, male or female, priest or lay. The vow entailed restrictions similar to those which the high priest had to observe.” See Jenson for a chart comparing the Nazirite and high priest in terms of their overlapping categories of status (“holy to YHWH/God”), dedication (of the head in both), purity restrictions (no corpse defilement), and abstention from wine (50). Jacob Milgrom, Cult and Conscience, Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 18 (Leiden; Brill, 1976), 67 n. 240 notes: “His [the Nazirite’s] taboos raise him to the level of the high priest.”

250 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

abstention from grapes seems to be even more severe than the requirements for priests or high priests because it involves all stages of the grape and not just wine/strong drink: eating and drinking any grape product is forbidden and does not seem to be mitigated as it is for the priests, who must refrain from drinking wine and strong drink only when serving at the sanctuary. These two abstentions suggest that the Nazirite is comparable in holiness to a high priest who never leaves the sanctuary.30 The loose or braided, growing hair of the Nazirite, however, distinguishes this person from the high priest, whose ‫נזר‬, “crown” is either a literal golden tiara or a reference to his oil-anointed head that marks his consecrated status as high priest (Lev 21:12). The ‫ נזר‬of the Nazirite — their mark of consecration comparable to the high priest — is their hair.31 Ritual Impact of Nazirite Hair Growth What was the impact of female Nazirite hair growth and how did it function within the community of Israel? The hair treatment of the Nazirite publicly and visually announced the special vow of separation taken voluntarily by an Israelite woman or man. Loose and unkempt hair is associated with the skin-diseased person in Lev 13:45, a person who is must be completely separated from society. In contrast, the Nazirite’s hair communicates ritual separation within society, likely denoted by braiding.32 The 30 Lev 21:12 states that the high priest was not to leave the sanctuary precisely on account of his consecration: ‫ומן־המקדׁש לא יצא ולא יחלל את מקדׁש אלהיו כי נזר ׁשמן‬ ‫מׁשחת אלהיו עליו אני יהוה׃‬, “He shall not go out from the sanctuary, and he shall not profane the sanctuary of his God, for the consecration (or ‘crown’) of the anointing oil of his God is on him: I am the Lord.” Abstinence from all stages of the grape required of the Nazirite may be linked to the fact that his or her consecration is tied not to any locale but to the holiness imbued in the growing hair itself. Perhaps there is an analogy between the growing hair that culminates in special shaving and devotion to God and the growing grape that is ripened to the point of harvest and then processed for wine and other foods for the community. 31 Interestingly, loose or disheveled hair (‫ )פרע‬is actually forbidden to priests, at least as a sign of mourning (Lev 21:10). See also Ezek 44:20, wherein priests are required to keep their hair trimmed. 32 An interesting comparison is the Sikh male of northern India, who is considered holy and must not cut his hair from birth until death but is also allowed to marry and



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 251

hair signified to the community the Nazirite’s special status of holiness and personal devotion to God. Female participation in the hair symbol of Naziritism is surprising, particularly because this and the other abstentions involved in the vow mimic the holy status and separation of the high priest.33 The hair treatment may therefore ritually express a highly significant role open to women (as well as men) within the worshipping community of biblical Israel.34 Women could not serve as priests, but through the Nazirite vow they could attain a level of holiness comparable to the high priest.35 No other ritual in the biblical text accomplishes such a statement of gender equality as here, with the potential for female Nazirites to attain a status of holiness equal to the holiest man in all of Israel.36 For females in the Bible and ancient Near East, hair often indicated marital status and social position. If the female Nazirite indeed wore her hair uncovered and braided, the symbol of her societal role was altered in order to instead mark her status as a person consecrated to God. This powerful symbol functions within society. The Sikh, like the Nazirite, is a ritually distinct person of holier status who nevertheless functions and lives within society. Unlike the Nazirite (of Num 6), of course, the Sikh’s status is lifelong. Patrick Olivelle, “Hair and Society: Social Significance of Hair in South Asian Traditions,” in Hair: Its Power and Meaning in Asian Cultures, ed. Alf Hiltebeitel and Barbara D. Miller (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998), 11–49, esp. 26–27 argues that the hair of Sikh males reflects their dual role as persons who are separate from but remain within society. Sikh hair is never cut, but it is also not neglected; the length of hair therefore reflects separation, but the treatment of the hair, which is regularly washed, oiled, combed, and wrapped in a turban, reflects the fact that they live within society. 33 Jenson, Graded Holiness, 50 writes: “The holiness of the Nazirite was only temporary and non-communicable and so not confined to the sanctuary or to the priesthood. Nevertheless, he was subject to restrictions during his vow which put him on a par with a ministering high priest.” 34 Niditch, My Brother Esau, 88, however, notes that the inclusion of women in the vow is part of the later priestly legislative effort to limit the power entailed in the vow: “The very availability of the vow to women makes it less of a threat.” 35 Jenson, Graded Holiness, 142 notes of women’s status in Israelite worship: “The cult was of great significance to all Israel, including the women. For many cultic actions women had an equal status with men, although they could not become priests… It is explicitly stated that women as well as men could undertake a Nazirite vow and become holy.” 36 The vow also afforded men of any status and familial background the ability to achieve this high level of holiness, an opportunity otherwise unavailable to those outside of priestly families.

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marked God as a more important authority over women than her father or her husband. Because a woman could presumably take such a vow of her own volition, the Nazirite vow was an impressive means of female self-expression and authority over the self. However, it is possible that the Nazirite vow of a female could be nullified according to the legislation in Num 30:1–16, which applies to unmarried daughters or wives. 37 If successfully taken, how may this vow have impacted the female Nazirite’s domestic life? Would her duties to the household during this time have changed in any way? One might assume that the change in status during the time of the vow would indeed have affected the woman’s daily life to some degree. Hair Rituals in Context at the Conclusion of the Vow The final section of the Nazirite legislation deals with the extensive ritual process of the vow’s conclusion. At this point, the Nazirite reaches the end of the vow’s duration and comes to the sanctuary to offer set sacrifices and offerings, to shave his or her hair, and to burn the shorn hair on the altar. The concluding ritual can be divided into the following four phases: the Nazirite’s presentation of offerings at the sanctuary entrance, the priest’s offering of the various sacrifices before the Lord, the Nazirite’s hair ritual, and the priest’s final wave offering. Ritual Actors, Time, and Space The conclusion of the vow includes the priest as a ritual actor in addition to the Nazirite and is defined by a set of actions that occur one after another as a highly momentous “once and done” ritual performance.38 The ritual space is the sanctuary, with reference to the entrance (‫ )פתח אהל‬and (by inference) the sacrificial altar in the sanctuary courtyard. The priest officiates the ritual, making 37 The vow of a widowed or divorced woman could not be nullified in this way (Num 30:9); see Niditch, My Brother Esau, 85. 38 Knierim and Coats, Numbers, 89 note: “the predetermined end of a nazirate [sic] does not quietly fade away but is subject to an official, ritually performed termination.”



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the various sacrifices, but the Nazirite plays a surprisingly active role as well. Although the sanctuary is the realm of the priest’s authority, action passes back and forth between priest and Nazirite.39 While the Nazirite presents the offerings and shaves at the entrance to the tent of meeting, the hair burning brings the locus of the action inside the cultic area.40 The Nazirite takes his or her shorn hair and places it on the altar, on the fire of the ‫ׁשלמים‬ sacrifice. The movement of action between the Nazirite and the priest, and particularly the Nazirite’s action in placing their hair on the altar, suggests distinct fields of authority within the cultic precincts.41 While the priest oversees the sacrifices and offerings that are his responsibility, the Nazirite oversees the treatment of his or her consecrated hair, which is his or her own responsibility, even as it pertains to the sacrificial altar.42 The Nazirite’s hair offering, including approaching and placing the hair on the altar, implies ritual authority that is otherwise restricted to the priesthood. Just as the Nazirite’s restrictions during the vow mimic those of the high priest, the Nazirite’s approach to the altar and offering at the conclusion of the vow reflect the role of the priests serving in the sanctuary.

39 This contrasts with the fully passive role of the woman accused of adultery in the sotah ritual in Num 5. In that context, the priest is the main actor and subject of all of the many verbs of action except for the woman’s spoken acquiescence to the oath in Num 5:22. 40 Milgrom, JPS Commentary: Numbers, 49 argues that the entrance of the tent of meeting (‫ )פתח אהל מאד‬refers to “the area between the entrance and the altar, the area permitted to the lay worshiper when he brought his offerings. The Second Temple provided a special room in the outer court, where the Nazirites had their heads shaved and boiled the meat of their offering of well-being.” 41 Milgrom, JPS Commentary: Numbers, 49 argues that the hair was placed not on the altar but under the cook-fire between the altar and the sanctuary entrance (see m. Nazir 6:8). See further discussion of this question below. Rules for the priests in general as well as the high priest in Lev 21 reveal several points of correspondence with the Nazirite legislation related to hair treatment, holiness, and defilement, as well as reference to approaching to the altar. 42 While the priest is the one who is required to dishevel the sotah’s hair in the ritual of Num 5:18, the priest never touches the Nazirite’s hair in Num 6. The Nazirite shaves, takes, and places his or her own hair in Num 6:18; only in 6:19 does the priest return to the action as a named subject.

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Nazirite Hair Rituals in Context: Shaving and Burning After making a fellowship offering, the Nazirite shaves his or her hair and places it on the altar fire: ‫וגלח הנזיר פתח אהל מועד את־ראׁש‬ ‫נזרו ולקח את־ׂשער ראׁש נזרו ונתן על־האׁש אׁשר־תחת זבח הׁשלמים‬, “Then the Nazirite shaves his consecrated head at the entrance of the tent of meeting, takes the consecrated head hair, and places it on the fire that is under the well-being sacrifice” (Num 6:18). Placed at the center of the vow-completion ritual, couched between the sacrifices offered to God and the wave offering for the priest, the hair ritual is highlighted as the most important component of the ritual process. The hair is acted upon in three ways: shaving (‫)גל״ח‬, taking (‫)לק״ח‬, and placing on the fire (‫)נת״ן על־האׁש‬. These actions refer to the hair’s removal, transport, and destruction. The shaving ritual is a solemn event; the symbol of the Nazirite’s special consecration is finally being removed and will now be destroyed by the sacred fire of the sanctuary altar.43 The text indicates that the Nazirite shaves his or her own head (‫וגלח‬ ‫)הנזיר פתח אהל מועד את־ראׁש נזרו‬. The hair is carefully gathered, perhaps in a ceramic bowl, as it is shorn with a razor section by section from the person’s head. The hair is likely twisted into braids as she or he begins to cut it off, one braid at a time. The requirement that shaving be performed at the entrance of the sanctuary suggests that the event is a public one, with family members in attendance. The vow-taker then carries the shorn hair in his or her hands to the fire under the well-being offering (‫)ׁשלמים‬. The Nazirite probably walks alone, leaving family members behind as he or she approaches the more restricted area of the sacrificial altar and the attending priests.44 This part of the ritual in particular 43 Niditch, My Brother Esau, 85 notes: “The Nazirite vow, like other vows, however, is pictured to be undertaken with full seriousness, a kind of vow worn on the body, and one which must be properly completed. Awareness of the deep significance and often sacrificial nature of vows allows for an understanding of the way the hair is offered up.” 44 There is some question as to whether the Nazirite legislation requires placement of the hair on the sacrificial altar or on a separate cook-fire within the courtyard area of the sanctuary. Given that no cooking pot is mentioned and that the altar fire is certainly in use for all three sacrifices, it seems the more straightforward interpretation of



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suggests a level of equality with the priesthood. On the altar, the fire has already perhaps consumed most or part of the ‫ חטאת‬and ‫ עלה‬sheep offerings required of the vow’s completion and is now burning up the smoky fat portion of the ‫ שלמים‬ram: the large fat tail and the fatty innards. Using tongs,45 the freshly-shaved Nazirite places the hair in the fire and quickly smells the pungent odor of burning hair as it is consumed along with the fat of the ‫ ׁשלמים‬offering. The part of the body that marked his or her special holiness as a Nazirite is now being burned up, given fully to God.46 The hair offering is the climax of the vow’s termination, followed by the final wave offering and the celebratory meal of the fellowship offering. Surely this is a time of joyful celebration before God, celebrating his faithfulness in fulfilling the conditions of the vow, and/or for God’s acceptance of the Nazirite’s offering and period of devotional consecration. Hair as Offering One of the key discussions around the Nazirite hair rituals is how the burning of the hair is to be understood. Eliezer Diamond notes: “There has long been a debate as to whether the placement of the Nazirite’s hair in the fire constitutes a sacrifice or simply an appropriate means of disposing of a holy and therefore forbidden the text is to indicate the altar fire for the placement of the shorn hair. Levine, Numbers 1–20, 226 writes in agreement: “He [the Nazirite] places his shaved hair on the altar fire, under the last of the sacrifices to have been placed there. This is the sense of ʾašer taḥat ‘which was under,’ namely into the fire burning under the šelāmîm offering.” Gane, Leviticus, Numbers, 535 writes similarly: “the Nazarite must shave his or her head and put the hair on the altar fire under the well-being offering. Thus, the token portion of the offeror that represents separation to the holy Lord is sacrificed to him.” Cf. Milgrom, JPS Commentary: Numbers, 49. Because the Nazirite’s status has been raised to a level of holiness comparable to the high priest, and the ‫ חטאת‬offering (along with ‫ )עלה‬may even have added a level of consecration that allowed priestly function, the Nazirite’s use of the altar may be quite acceptable in this special circumstance. On the basis of Samuel’s service at the tabernacle and likely Nazirite status, Jacob Licht, ‫ פרקים א־י‬:‫( פירוש על ספר במדבר‬Jerusalem: Magnes, 1983), 85 argues that Nazirites could and did serve in the sanctuary. 45 For biblical reference to the use of tongs (‫ )מלקחים‬in association with cultic items, see Isa 6:6. 46 Gane, Leviticus, Numbers, 535.

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object.”47 Is the hair burned to safely destroy an object of holiness that is being put out of use?48 Or is the hair burned as an offering (perhaps a form of self-offering) to God?49 Those who maintain that the hair burning is an act of conscientious disposal refer to the concern for ill-use of such hair, which has become holy during the period of the vow. This perspective clearly focuses the weight of ritual import on the shaving of the hair rather than its intentional burning.50 But the idea that the hair is simply being 47 Eliezer Diamond, “An Israelite Self-Offering in the Priestly Code: A New Perspective on the Nazirite,” Jewish Quarterly Review 88, nos. 1–2 (1997): 10. 48 This perspective — namely, that burning the hair functions to safely destroy the holy hair as part of the Nazirite’s desanctification process — is followed by Timothy Ashley, The Book of Numbers, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 148; Martin Noth, Numbers: A Commentary, trans. J. D. Martin, Old Testament Library (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1968), 57); A. Noordtzij, Numbers, trans. Ed van der Maas, Bible Student’s Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983), 62, 65; and John Sturdy, Numbers, Cambridge Bible Commentary (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 53. This perspective is also followed by the rabbis in m. Naz. 6.8; y. ʿOr. 3.2, 63a; and b. Tem. 34a, as noted in Diamond, “Israelite Self-Offering,” 10 n. 44. Although Milgrom, JPS Commentary: Numbers, 356 does not deny that the hair is an offering, he differentiates the hair burning from the other sacrifices and also argues that the hair is burnt under a temporary cook-fire and not on the altar. He also points out that “the hair, which may not be desanctified, must be burnt,” thus voicing agreement with the perspective that the hair is burned because it continues to be holy and not primarily because it is an offering. This idea may be comparable to the concept of ‫ — חרם‬namely, removal from personal use and dedication to God through destruction. Support for the non-offering perspective may be inferred from the fact that the priest does not offer the hair, the altar is not specifically mentioned (although it is not for the other offerings either), and the hair is never directly referred to as an offering (‫קרבן‬, etc.). Nevertheless, the actions of the Nazirite may indicate that the hair is being treated as an offering (albeit an unusual one) and perhaps as a part of the well-being offering. 49 For this view, see esp. Roy Gane, “The Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering,” in Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible, ed. Baruch Schwartz et al., Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 474 (New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 9–17; and Diamond, “Israelite Self-Offering,” 1–18. The interpretation of the hair-burning as an offering to God is also supported by Marcus Jastrow, “The ‘Nazir’ Legislation,” Journal of Biblical Literature 33 (1914): 274; George Buchanan Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers, International Critical Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1903), 68; and Gane, Leviticus, Numbers, 535; cf. R. Dennis Cole, Numbers, New American Commentary (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2000), 126, who argues that the hair is burned and “rendered totally unto God” to prevent defilement of what was specially consecrated and holy to God. 50 The question of whether the focus of the hair ritual is on the shaving or the burning is important but difficult to discern. The hair shaving may be the main focus as the action that desanctifies the Nazirite. Yet the Nazirite obviously offers the hair at the



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 257

destroyed seems quite unlikely if the hair was actually burned on the sacrificial altar, as there is no evidence that the altar functioned as a mere garbage disposal for items tainted with holiness.51 Even if burned in a temporary cook-fire and not on the altar, the unusual attention to how the hair is disposed of after removal in addition to the requirement that the hair be burned along with the well-being offering suggest that the action involves more than just disposal.52 The ritual context of the hair treatment also indicates the likelihood that the hair is intended at least in part as an offering: it is burned on the fire under the ‫ ׁשלמים‬offering directly after the ‫ עלה‬,‫ׁשלמים‬, and ‫ חטאת‬sacrifices are offered by the priest. Following the hair ritual, the priest performs yet another offering, the wave offering for the priestly portion. The ritual context clearly places the hair ritual in the middle of a series of offerings, quite possibly as the climax of the offerings devoted to God. Roy Gane notes: “Whether the Nazirite puts his hair on the altar fire… or whether he puts in on a cook fire, the act is prescribed and therefore part of the sacrificial procedure.”53 The context of the ritual process thus indicates that the hair is treated as one of the offerings, likely the most important one, in the Nazirite vow’s completion ritual. If the hair indeed functions as an offering to God, it can be understood as a votive offering; the Nazirite vow is symbolized by the hair (‫ )נזר‬consecrated to God throughout the duration of altar after shaving, a priest-like action that probably requires her continued state of holiness. Most likely, the Nazirite continues in her holy status as a Nazirite until the hair is offered and burned up on the altar. When the hair representing the consecration (and the Nazirite status itself) is burned away, the vow is truly complete. The removal of hair and burning may thus be best understood as one complex ritual action, functioning in tandem as both desanctification of the Nazirite and offering to God. The holiness given by God is returned to God in smoke on the altar. 51 There is, however, the possibility that the Nazirite’s hair, having acquired the holiness associated with this special vow, was given to the sanctuary (as the proper locus for holy items) at the conclusion of the vow because it should not continue to exist for common use. For comparison, see the treatment of incense censors of Korah and the other rebels in Num 16:36–40. The ritual context of the hair-burning among other offerings may argue against this perspective, as discussed below. 52 For discussion of the practice of offering hair to gods at temples or cultic sites in contexts outside of the Hebrew Bible, see the positional analysis below. 53 Gane, “Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering,” 15.

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the vow, at the conclusion of which the vowed hair is given wholly to God in the form of an enhanced well-being (‫ )ׁשלמים‬offering. Like the well-being offering, of which only a representative portion is given to God on the altar while the rest is returned to the offerer, the Nazirite gives a portion of him- or herself — the hair — and keeps the rest!54 The relationship between the two offerings is ritually established by their proximity: the hair and well-being offering share the same fire. The hair-burning at the vow’s conclusion may therefore be understood to symbolize an offering of the self to God.55 Gane writes of the hair offering: “the token portion of the offerer that represents separation to the holy Lord is sacrificed to him. No wonder the hair has been special: Unlike the rest of the Nazirite, it is permanently dedicated to God!”56 Susan Niditch writes in agreement: “the hair is invested with the vow-taker’s very person, his or her DNA, we might say, and thus is a way in which the Nazirite offers himself or herself to the deity. The offered item is a substitute for the most valuable sacrifice of all, one’s own person.”57 Overall, it seems quite likely that the hair burning at the conclusion of the Nazirite vow is intended as an offering to God. This argument is supported by the ritual context of the action, the meaning of the hair as a symbol of the person’s consecration throughout the vow, and the notion that a person’s hair could represent the whole self. The hair offering may symbolize the Nazirite’s self-offering entailed in the full duration and conclusion of the vow.58 Gane writes: “The irrevocable and therefore 54 Niditch, My Brother Esau, 85 instead compares the hair offering to the ‫עלה‬: “Like a whole burnt offering to the Lord, a special variety of sacrifice which is totally consumed by the flame, rising up to God in the smoke (see Leviticus 1:9), the hair needs to be transported to him in full by the fire.” 55 Diamond, “Israelite Self-Offering,” 4. 56 Gane, Leviticus, Numbers, 535. 57 Niditch, My Brother Esau, 85. 58 Regarding the ancient perception of the Nazirite vow as a form of self-offering, Chepey, Nazirites, 182 notes: “Nazirites are furthermore perceived, according to sources such as Philo, Josephus, and the Tosefta, as a type of dedicated self-offering. Philo and Josephus, both in the context of discussing temple offerings, state that those who made the vow dedicated their very person.”



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 259

permanent dedication of hair would consecrate the Nazirite, pars pro toto, to a higher level of holiness. This extraordinary votive gift of symbolic self-sacrifice to YHWH (cf. v. 2) is as close as the Israelite cult comes to human sacrifice.”59 Ritual Impact of Concluding Hair Rituals: Society and Individual On an individual level, the shaving and burning of the Nazirite’s hair may have had a profound emotional impact on the person.60 The difficult restrictions of the vow are brought to an end by the person’s own hand as the vow-taker shaves his or her head.61 The hair shaving functions to ritually separate the person from Nazirite status, a severe hair treatment that utterly removes the symbol of Naziriteship and would continue as a reminder of this transition while the hair regrows. Burning the hair would add a strong note of finality to the already intense symbol of total removal. During the time of regrowth, the man or woman likely passes through a liminal stage of readjustment to his or her role as a layperson and diminished status of holiness. Taking one’s hair to the altar and burning it confirms the Nazirite’s right to approach the altar and perform a priest-like duty in offering their hair to God, an action 59 Gane, “Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering,” 14. The removal and destruction of the hair also effectively signals the conclusion of the vow. The recognition that a holy item that goes out of use should also be made unavailable due to potential misuse may also be in view in the hair-burning. Niditch, My Brother Esau, 85 writes: “Holy hair cannot remain on earth once the period of sacred status has passed, nor can it remain attached to the now ordinary, wine-drinking person.” 60 Frimet Goldberger, a modern ex-Hasidic woman who was required to shave her head (and keep it shaved) after her wedding night, describes her experience: “I remember the first time I felt the cold, prickly air on my newly shaved head. I remember looking in the mirror. I remember staring at the pile of auburn hair in the vanity sink of the cozy basement apartment I now shared with my husband of less than a day. I remember my mother gathering the hair into a garbage bag and disposing of it, unaffectedly”; see Goldberger, “Ex-Hasidic Woman Marks Five Years Since She Shaved,” Forward, November 7, 2013, https://forward.com/culture/187128/ex-hasidic-woman-marks-five-years-since-she-shaved/. Goldberger was part of a Satmar Hasidic congregation that required married women to keep their head shaved, a practice not followed by all Hasidic expressions of Judaism. 61 The Nazirite’s agency in shaving and offering the hair shows another connection to the well-being (‫ )ׁשלמים‬offering, because it is a freewill offering.

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that likely inspired personal devotion and a sense of one’s own capabilities. From a societal perspective, the hair rituals effect the completion of a vow that may have been funded and supported by the Nazirite’s family and perhaps by the village. The cost of the offerings required to complete the vow suggests a support system beyond an individual, particularly for a woman, who would generally be a dependent.62 Perhaps the Nazirite functioned in a special role of service in her community as a person the village could claim as one of their own who was consecrated to God. If so, the completion of the vow may have been bittersweet and the woman a source of pride for her family and community at a time of both celebration of the vow’s successful fulfillment and loss regarding the special service of the vow-taker. As noted above, the vow’s inclusion of female vow-takers is surprising, particularly in light of the correspondences between the Nazirite’s restrictions and those of the high priest. This vow seems to allow Israelite women as well as non-priestly men to achieve a status of holiness that is comparable in certain ways only to the high priest. Despite limitations to women’s vows (cancellation rights held by the father or husband according to Num 30), the real potential for some women to devote themselves as a Nazirite is noteworthy and may have further implications about views of women in Israelite society. Implications of the Operational Analysis In summary, the operational analysis highlights the unprecedented centrality of hair in the Nazirite legislation of Num 6:1–21. As a key component in all stages of the vow, hair is easily the 62 Milgrom, JPS Commentary: Numbers, 358 notes several cases of Second Temple period Nazirites whose vow completion rites were funded by others: “the cost for the vow could be assumed by others, whereas all other vows had to be fulfilled by the votary himself. Thus Rabbi Simeon ben Shetaḥ [first century BCE] split the costs of the sacrifices for the three hundred Nazirites with King Jannai (y. Ber. 11b), and King Agrippa ‘arranged for a very considerable number of nazirites to be shorn’ (Josephus, Ant. 19.6.1).” The apostle Paul also funds the purification rites for four polluted Nazirites, along with himself, so that they may shave and continue their vows (Acts 21:23–26). These examples may reflect an earlier practice of communally funding Nazirite vows.



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 261

most important symbol of Nazirite status, and it also functions as a symbol of the self (part representing the whole). While the growing hair serves as a visual symbol of the Nazirite’s special holiness, shaved hair represents transition and separation from Nazirite status in the vow’s conclusion (as well as in the case of defilement). The hair burning required of the Nazirite at the end of the vow likely functions as a kind of offering to God that is performed by the priest-like Nazirite, even as a woman. Any person — female or male, priest or layperson — could take this special vow of devotion to God and offer a sacrifice of the self by presenting one’s hair on the altar at the vow’s conclusion. Positional Analysis: Comparative Data The final component of Turner’s symbol analysis is the positional analysis. The positional analysis as adapted here offers insight into hair practices involved in the Nazirite vow from other biblical and extrabiblical ancient texts that reference similar hair practices to those found in the vow legislation in Num 6. The Samson Narratives The most important comparative biblical text for the hair rituals of the Nazirite legislation in Num 6:1–21 is the Samson narrative of Judg 13–16.63 As with the Nazirite legislation, hair is central to the story of the Nazirite Samson. Hair is key to the beginning and duration of Samson’s Nazirite status (hair is grown), it is key to the accidental interruption of that status (hair is shaved by Delilah, causing Samson’s loss of strength), and it is also key (to a degree) to the end of his Nazirite status, because it coincides with his final 63 Another interesting comparison to the requirement to shave and burn the hair is God’s requirement of the prophet Ezekiel to shave and burn his hair in Ezek 5:1–4. After Ezekiel weighs the hair, he divides it into thirds; each third represents the various ways in which God will punish his remaining people in Jerusalem. A third of the hair is burned at the center of the city, a third is struck with the sword all around the city, and a third is thrown to the wind (Ezek 5:2). Although Ezekiel’s hair actions clearly have a different meaning, an important similarity to the Nazirite ritual is the use of hair to represent the whole human; in Ezekiel’s case his hair is embodied to represent the people of Jerusalem.

262 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

act of strength and ensuing death (shorn hair begins to regrow). The relationship between the expression of Naziritism in the Samson narrative and the Nazirite law in Num 6:1–21 is debated, and it is clear that there are significant differences between the lifelong and divinely mandated Nazirite status of Samson and the temporary and voluntary vow available to all Israelites in Num 6.64 As noted above, many argue that the Numbers legislation is a much later law that constitutes a new approach to the known and ancient practice of Naziritism. Whatever the relationship between Num 6 and Judg 13–16, the importance of hair growth as a symbol of Naziritism is central to both expressions.65 The description of Samson’s hair as “seven braids [locks?] of his head-hair” (‫שבע‬ ‫ )מחלפות ראׁשו‬lends further evidence to the possibility that the Num 6:5 requirement was for the vow-taker to braid (‫ )גד״ל‬their loose hair rather than simply grow it. 66 64 Daniel I. Block, Judges, Ruth, New American Commentary 6 (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1999), 403 notes four key differences in Samson’s version of Naziritism as compared to the legislation of Num 6: 1) the Nazirite status of Samson is divinely imposed rather than voluntarily chosen; 2) Samson’s mother is obligated to follow the terms of the vow until Samson’s birth; 3) the vow is not temporary but remains in effect from before birth until Samson’s death; 4) abstention from unclean food is added to the three legislated abstentions. One could add to these differences that Samson was not required to bring final sacrifices to the sanctuary or shave his hair as an offering to God because there was no conclusion to his vow other than death. See discussion of these in Robert Chisolm, A Commentary on Judges and Ruth (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2013), 393–96. 65 Chisolm, Commentary, 394 notes of hair in the Samson narrative: “The only regulation specifically mentioned by the angel pertained to Samson’s hair; it was not to be cut.” Hair growth is referenced only rarely in the Hebrew Bible; see 2 Sam 14:26; Dan 4:30. 66 See the discussion of ‫ גד״ל‬with the meaning of “to braid” in note 18 above. However, the verb ‫ גד״ל‬may also refer simply to growth, as noted in discussions above. Samson’s hair descriptor is most interesting. The word ‫ מחלפות‬occurs only twice in the Hebrew Bible, both in this context (Judg 16:13, 19). The same word occurs in Phoenician and Ugaritic, also with the meaning of a delineated portion of hair. The word mḫlpt in Ugaritic is defined as “plait, ringlet” (“mḫlpt,” DULAT, 2:539) and occurs in the story of Aqhat in a broken text in which “locks of head hair” (pdm rišh), “braids” (mḫlpt), and “not tying/braiding” (l [a]sr) are part of description of mourning over the dead Aqhat and probably refer to intentionally unbound or disheveled hair (KTU 1.19 II 31–34); see Nicholas Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998), 300–301, nos. 223–24 and “pd” and “ʾ-s-r,” DULAT, 2:661; 1:114. The root ‫ חל״ף‬has associations with “grass” (‫ ֵח ָלף‬is a kind of grass in later Hebrew; see “‫ חלף‬II,” HALOT 1:321) or “reeds” (Akk. elpitu “reed” and Galilean Aramaic, Syriac, and Mandean ḥlp “a type of reed or grass”; see CAL, s.v. “‫)”חלף‬.



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 263

Other Biblical Comparative Material Looking at similar biblical hair rituals outside of the expressions of Naziritism, the various hair treatments of Num 6 are unique in the areas of ritual hair growth and hair offering/burning, while shaving in the vow follows typical lines of meaning in the Hebrew Bible.67 Hair shaving as part of intense purification processes is evidenced in the purification rituals of the skin disease sufferer in Lev 14:8, 9; in the purification rites of the Levites in Num 8:7; and perhaps in the shaving of the captive wife in Deut 21:12, all of which reflect transitions of several degrees from impurity to greater purity or holiness, as in the case of the Nazirite shaving following corpse impurity. Shaving at the conclusion of the Nazirite vow may reflect a similar shift (although here of desanctification) but largely indicates the important transition itself at the conclusion of the Nazirite vow. Similar meanings of transition are also intended in the shaving in Lev 14:8 and 9; Num 8:7; and Deut 21:12. Ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean Comparisons Looking more broadly for the hair rituals of the Nazirite vow, ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean material reveals strong evidence of votive hair offerings in a ninth-century BCE Phoenician inscription and in the ancient Greek description of Achilles’s devoted hair in the Iliad, one example of many references to Greek hair offerings. Hair that is intentionally grown and/or worn loose or disheveled indicates ritual separation from society in the form of mourning in Egypt and Mesopotamia, and in connection to wildness (and danger) in the description of the demoness Lamashtu and perhaps in the figure of Enkidu.68 Ancient Near Eastern These definitions may have some connection to the reed-like appearance of braided locks of hair or twisted locks of hair (‫ )מחלפות‬that proceed from the head like sprouting grass. 67 For an overview of the significance of hair shaving in the Hebrew Bible, see Bollinger, “Women’s Ritual Hair Manipulation” 61–65. 68 Enkidu is the friend of Gilgamesh from the Epic of Gilgamesh. He is raised among animals in the wild and must be coaxed to join human civilization through the efforts of a female prostitute, Shamhat. Gregory Mobley, “The Wild Man in the

264 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

shaving rituals testify to the broad concept of shaving as a means of purification — such as the shaving practices of Egyptian and Sumerian priests, as well as Hittite temple kitchen personnel — or in connection to induction into an important religious status, as with the Baʿal-priestess of Emar, who is specifically instructed to shave at the entrance of the temple, just as the Nazirite does when they complete their vow. The Phoenician inscription and Homeric reference to votive hair offerings will be considered in some detail due to their striking correspondence to multiple elements of the Nazirite vow. One of the most important texts relating to the Nazirite vow is a Phoenician inscription discovered in excavations of a large Phoenician temple of Astarte at Kition in Cyprus.69 The inscription was found written on the outside of a broken offering bowl

Bible and the Ancient Near East,” Journal of Biblical Literature 116, no. 2 (1997): 217–33 writes of Enkidu: “In his primitive state, he is naked and covered with hair”; see also R. Campbell Thompson, The Epic of Gilgamesh: Text, Transliteration, and Notes (Oxford: Clarendon, 1930), I ii 36–38. Enkidu is clearly separated from human society, and perhaps his hairiness aptly symbolizes this separation as a prototype of “the savage outsider to urban culture” (Mobley, “Wild Man,” 223). Mobley also compares Enkidu to the laḫmu, a male figure that is represented in Mesopotamian art as naked and bearded with six braids, three on each side of his head (223). This figure is often shown in scenes in which he battles animals, with or without a weapon. Mobley writes: “This figure, which appears throughout the Near East from the third millennium into the first, has been called variously the naked hero, the six-locked hero, the master of the beasts, and, by E. Unger, the wild man (Wilder Mann). On the basis of the relatively few instances of correspondence between the image and text, F. A. M. Wiggermann suggests that the Akkadian name for this figure was laḫmu, ‘the hairy one’” (223); see also F. A. M. Wiggermann, “Exit TALIM! Studies in Babylonian Demonology, I,” Jaarbericht van Het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) Ex Oriente Lux 27 (1981–1982): 90–105 and Eckhard Unger, “Mischwesen,” Reallexikon der Vorgeschichte, 16 vols. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1927), 8:205–6. The laḫmu figure’s six braids and warrior-like pose may correspond to the biblical depiction of the seven-braided head of Samson. 69 The bowl was uncovered in 1969 during excavations at Kition on the southeastern coast of Cyprus, directed by M. Vassos Karageorghis. Original publication of the inscription is by André Dupont-Sommer, “Une inscription phénicienne archaïque récemment trouvée à Kition (Chypre),” in Mémoires de l’Institut national de France 44, no. 2 (1972): 294, no. 1. See also Maria Giulia Guzzo Amadasi and Vassos Karageorghis, Fouilles de Kition III. Inscriptions phéniciennes (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, Cyprus and Zavallis Press, 1977), 55. The inscription is housed at the Cyprus Museum in Nicosia (inv. Kit. 1435).



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 265

and was dated to the ninth century BCE.70 Although fragmentary, the inscription refers to hair (šʿr) and shaving (glb) and appears to be a description of a hair offering presented at the temple and originally contained in the inscribed bowl: 1 [lz]kr ml šʿr z glb wypg[ʿ brbt ʿš]trt wʿ[štrt šmʿ qly] 2 3

wytqr[b ʿ]yt ml š wk[bš ʾt š] ʿr z yt bt ml šʾ dd [z ml]

4 ml šʿ[r z] t[…] | | | | | | | bnd[r] tmš71 (1) [For a me]morial: ML72 shaved this hair and petiti[oned Lady A]starte and A[starte listened to his voice]… (2) And it was sacrifi[ced, and a]s for ML, a sheep and a young ra[m with this h]air. As to the house of ML a sheep …[?] (4) ML th[is ha]ir… (the number seven) 7 by a vow of Tamassos(?)73

The inscription likely refers to a votive hair offering that was given in the form of a shorn lock or head of hair along with a number of sheep to fulfill a vow to Astarte.74 Like the Nazirite ritual at the completion of the vow, the sacrifice of three sheep may accompany 70 Thirteen pieces of the red-slipped and flared bowl were found in excavations, representing one-third of the original bowl; see Dupont-Sommer, “Une inscription phénicienne,” 275. The bowl itself is quite wide and shallow, 24.5 cm in diameter at the top and 8.5 cm at the bottom, with a height of 5 cm (276). 71 The transcription follows the reconstruction of the text by Dupont-Sommer, “Une inscription phénicienne,” 281, including the first four of six lines; the last two lines are quite broken and unclear. 72 Dupont-Sommer, “Une inscription phénicienne,” 282 argues that “ML” is a shortened form of the offerer’s name, despite its unusual character. The lemma “ml” DNWSI, 627 (see “mlš1”, DNWSI, 646) suggests that “ml” means “lock (of hair)” and thus interprets the inscription as an offering specifically of a ml šʿr “lock of hair,” and thus: “he shaved and offered this lock of hair….” The large size of the bowl (almost ten inches in diameter at the rim; see no. 72) would seem to allow for more than a lock of hair and could perhaps allow for a full set of head hair. 73 Dupont-Sommer, “Une inscription phénicienne,” 291 suggests that the hairofferer, ML, had made a pilgrimage to the Astarte temple in Kition from his home in Tamassos in order to offer his vowed hair and accompanying sacrifices. 74 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 233 concurs that the inscription, although broken, “speaks about hair that was shaved and dedicated to a goddess in payment of a petitionary vow.” He translates the first and second lines on the inscription: “(1) …the hair, which he shaved. And he petitioned Rabbat ‘Ashtart, and ‘Ashtart heard his voice… (2) And it was sacrificed… a head of sheep and a young lamb.”

266 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

the hair offering. If the hair was offered in the inscribed bowl, perhaps it remained in the bowl and was not burned as in the Nazirite legislation.75 Another interesting feature of this enigmatic text is the inclusion of the number “seven” in seven short strokes. If the number seven refers to the offered hair, perhaps it refers to the number of hair locks or braids that were shaved off and placed in the bowl, reminiscent of Samson’s seven shorn locks or braids.76 Although the Phoenician offering bowl inscription is quite broken, the text provides an important witness to the existence of votive hair offerings to a deity in the ninth-century BCE Phoenician culture, a close neighbor to the cultural world of biblical Israel.77 Hair offerings are also frequently attested in Greek literature.78 In the Iliad, the warrior Achilles’s long hair was dedicated by 75 Lucian, Syr. d. 60 writes that he had offered his hair as a child and assumed his hair was still in the temple where it was placed. 76 This is a very tenuous suggestion, but the number is intriguing in the context of a hair vow in which hair is shorn and offered at a temple. Perhaps this a piece of evidence that Samson’s unique hairdo was not randomly chosen by him but was associated with his Nazirite status. 77 Dupont-Sommer, “Une inscription phénicienne,” 292 argues that hair offerings were a common practice, referencing a separate Phoenician inscription from Kition that refers to barbers (glbm pʿlm ʿl mlʾkt) in a list of various categories of temple workers. He suggests that these temple barbers would be responsible for shaving an offerer’s hair. 78 Christopher Hallpike, “Hair,” ER 6: 3738–41 writes: “[Hair sacrifice] was once very common, particularly among the ancient Greeks and Romans, who established relations with various gods by placing locks of hair on their altars”; see also Louis Gray, “Hair and Nails,” in Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, 12 vols. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1919), 6: 474–77; Ernst Guhl and W. Koner, Everyday Life of the Greeks and Romans (New York: Crescent, 1989), 172; and the overview of the Greek practice of hair offerings in Chepey, Nazirites, 192–93. Chepey notes: “According to ancient Greek literary sources and epigraphic remains, the practice of vowing one’s hair to the gods was a widespread phenomenon within Greek culture of this period” (192). In addition to Achilles’s devoted hair, Lucian, Syr. d. 55 refers to the practice of shaving the head and eyebrows along with a sheep sacrifice to the gods at Hierapolis, and to the practice of shaving at annual temple rituals in Byblos (Syr. d. 6). Fourth-century CE writer Sallustius references hair offerings in his treatise on Greek religion: “Since we have received everything from the gods and it is right to pay the giver some tithe of his gifts, we pay such a tithe of possessions in votive offerings, of bodies in gifts of hair and adornment, and of life in sacrifices”; see Sallustius, On the Gods and the World, 1.6, trans. by Gilbert Murray, Four Stages of Greek Religion (New York: Columbia University Press, 1912), 208. Writing in the second century CE, Greek author Pausanias, Descr. 2.11.6 refers to a statue of Hygieia, goddess of health, that is covered in offerings of women’s hair and garments. Pliny the Elder, Nat. 16.85 refers to



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 267

his father, Peleus, to be given as a votive offering to the River Spercheius upon Achilles’s safe return from the war with Troy (Il. 23:144ff). Upon the death of his friend Patroclus, however, Achilles instead “cut off his golden, loose hair, the luxuriant growth that he had maintained for the river Spercheius” (ξανθὴν ἀπεκείρατο χαίτην, τήν ῥα Σπερχειῷ ποταμῷ τρέφε τηλεθόωσαν, Il. 23:141–42) and lay it in his dead friend’s hands on the funeral pyre, recognizing that he [Achilles] would never return home to fulfill his vow. Achilles describes his father’s vow in a speech to the river Spercheius when he cuts his hair at Patroclus’s pyre: Σπερχεί᾽ ἄλλως σοί γε πατὴρ ἠρήσατο Πηλεὺς κεῖσέ με νοστήσαντα φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν σοί τε κόμην κερέειν ῥέξειν θ᾽ ἱερὴν ἑκατόμβην, πεντήκοντα δ᾽ ἔνορχα παρ᾽ αὐτόθι μῆλ᾽ ἱερεύσειν ἐς πηγάς, ὅθι τοι τέμενος βωμός τε θυήεις. ὣς ἠρᾶθ᾽ ὃ γέρων, σὺ δέ οἱ νόον οὐκ ἐτέλεσσας. ‘Spercheius, without purpose did my father Peleus vow to you that when I had returned home to that place, my beloved native land, I would cut off my head hair for you and offer a holy sacrifice, and would sacrifice fifty uncastrated rams on that spot, into your running waters at your dedicated land and fragrant altar. So vowed the old man, but you did not fulfill his desire.’ (Il. 23:144–49)

Like the Nazirite of Num 6, Achilles’s hair is specially dedicated for a temporary vow, the fulfillment of which involved the shaving and offering of the dedicated hair as well as animal sacrifice to the god. It also seems that Achilles grew or “nursed” (τρέφε) his hair during the time of the vow (Il. 23:142). Achilles’s recognition that the river god Spercheius would not fulfill the condition of the vow by bringing him safely home is part of the reason he cut his hair for another purpose. In light of Num 6 and the requirement for a Nazirite to shave the dedicated hair upon acquiring corpse defilement, the situation surrounding Achilles’s canceled vow — his involvement in his friend’s funeral and direct contact with his body — is quite intriguing. Furthermore, Achilles cuts a ca. five-hundred-year-old lotus tree in Rome where the vestal virgins hung locks of their hair.

268 Sarah Dorsey Bollinger

off his hair (or a lock of his hair) and places it on the funeral pyre, where it will be burned up along with the body of Patroclus (Il. 23:215–18). Thus, votive hair dedication, hair shaving at the time of vow completion, hair cutting at the vow’s cancellation in connection to contact with a corpse, and hair burning are all addressed in this text. It is noteworthy that Achilles’s father, Peleus, is the one who made the vow, but in regard to his son Achilles’s hair and fate. This practice has echoes of Hannah’s vow to dedicate her future son, likely to be a Nazirite, and is reminiscent of the shared aspects of the vow required of Samson’s mother during her pregnancy. The impressive overlap of this Homeric passage with the hair rituals and context of the Nazirite vow evidence the broader practice of ancient votive hair rituals comparable to the legislation of Num 6. Implications of the Positional Analysis The positional analysis reveals that the hair rituals of the Nazirite legislation in Num 6:1–21 are a blend of distinctive ritual practices and rituals that are attested elsewhere both in the biblical text and in extrabiblical data. Comparison to the Samson narrative reveals key differences between the Nazirite vow of the Numbers legislation and the Naziritism of Samson, including differences of duration, termination, and abstentions (potentially). These differences may or may not reflect the later date of the legislation, but hair is clearly central to both expressions of the vow. Samson’s seven locks or braids may indicate that such a style was also intended in the Numbers legislation. Despite correlations, the burning of the Nazirite’s hair in Num 6 is a unique ritual practice in the Hebrew Bible. The Phoenician bowl inscription and the example of Achilles’s dedicated hair provide important comparative evidence of votive hair offerings. In both cases, it seems that the hair is offered after a request to a deity has been fulfilled and also (possibly) constitutes a gift of the self. In both examples, hair burning does not seem to be the mode of offering, as it seems to be in the Nazirite legislation. However, Achilles’s hair (and the hair of Patroclus’s other friends) is burned along with



Hair as Ritual Symbol in the Nazirite Vow 269

the funeral pyre, perhaps as a symbol of the mourners dying (in part) with Patroclus. Conclusion The use of Turner’s three-part method of symbol analysis applied to the hair rituals of the Nazirite vow legislation in Num 6 reveals the multivocality of the symbol of hair in biblical ritual; various meanings emerge from the multiple ways in which hair is manipulated and the various meanings of each type of manipulation. The exegetical analysis shows that hair was a profound symbol of religious devotion in a uniquely placed vow, holy enough to represent a level of consecration comparable to the high priest! Prolific hair terminology in the vow likely includes the unique requirement of ritual hair braiding (‫)גדל‬, an interpretation that finds support at various levels of analysis. Components of the operational analysis (examining the ritual in context of the ritual process) indicate that the hair burning required of the Nazirite likely functioned as an offering, placed as it is in the middle of a string of other offerings, and likely represented a self-sacrifice to God with the offered hair standing in for the whole person. Furthermore, because the Nazirite’s requirements employ clear parallels with the requirements of the priesthood, hair in the Nazirite vow is employed as a powerful symbol that laypersons — including women as well as men — could temporarily and voluntarily achieve a level of holiness and distinction comparable to the high priest. Finally, the positional analysis (comparison to similar rituals in biblical and extrabiblical texts) supports the meaning of hair as a symbol of special consecration or separation (as with Samson). The Phoenician bowl inscription and Achilles’s vowed hair both illustrate the conceptual world of the Nazirite hair offering: hair was an appropriate gift for a deity, a gift that represented the offerer himself or herself and seemed to thereby establish a special connection between deity and offerer. As the most complex example of hair ritual in the Hebrew Bible, the Nazirite vow is an astounding example of the power of the hair

to signify the self and to serve as the only component of the body that can be offered to God as a votive and devotional sacrifice.

Chapter 9

Shaving It All Off: A Demeaning Priestly Prescription for the Levites in Numbers 8 Nancy L. Erickson

Depilation and other bodily manipulation, whether tattooing, laceration, or circumcision, are common to the ancient cultures of the Near East and have a precedent from earliest civilizations. The hair shaving prescriptions in Num 8:7 that prepare the Levite for service in the cultic sphere are, then, at home for the biblical and extrabiblical writers. The Levitical rite, however, is “an odd duck” when it comes to biblical cultic prescriptions where priests otherwise are prohibited from shaving their heads while serving the cult (‫לא יקרחו קרחה בראשם‬, “[the priests] must not shave their heads”)1 and must maintain a trimmed hairstyle (‫כסום יכסמו‬ ‫את־ראשיהם‬, “they should trim [the hair on] their heads”).2 Fullbody shaving like that required of the Levite for cultic service 1 All English translations are the author’s own unless otherwise noted. 2 The expression “odd duck” is inspired by Nili S. Fox, to whom this essay is dedicated. While Deut 22:5 may be even more of an odd duck than the prescription in Num 8:7, the latter’s striking expectation of depilation specifically for cultic service is uncharacteristic in the biblical texts. See Nili S. Fox, “Gender Transformation and Transgression: Contextualizing the Prohibition of Cross-Dressing in Deut 22:5,” in Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Nili S. Fox, David Gilad-Glatt, and Michael J. Williams (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 49–71.

271

272 Nancy L. Erickson

is otherwise prescribed for those with skin disease, where the individual shaves and is thus incorporated back into the community. Instead, the Levite requires depilation for cultic service. The prescription is not unlike the well-known priestly practices in ancient Egypt. Nonetheless, the very task of full-body shaving is a downgrading act, even if the end goal of the rite is viewed positively. Further, the experience itself yields an undistinguished and prepubescent appearance, if only temporarily. The suggestion here is that the shaving prescription for the Levites in Num 8:7 is indeed a demeaning act for the biblical writer. Requiring the Levites to shave their entire bodies prior to service in the cult underscores the distinctively subservient role of the Levites to the other cult officiants, notably the Aaronide priests. Depilation serves to punctuate a rite otherwise primarily associated with skin disease and a non-Israelite people group (Egypt) while at the same time provoking shame. This essay will address four issues: the Levitical office prescribed in Num 8 against the backdrop of the priestly role, the prescription to shave the entire body for the Levites, descriptions of shaving rites in the biblical and extrabiblical corpora, and broader notions of the meaning of shaving. Priests and Levites Discussion of the Levites abounds in Numbers. This book is in many ways the domain of the Levites, and it is here that we learn their primary duties, the various family heads, and Levitical prescriptions. Numbers 1–4 describes the encampment of the Levitical clans and details the duties of the Levites, including guarding and removing the tabernacle. These chapters also indicate the exclusion of the Levites from the census of the Israelite people; they are instead registered separately (reiterated in Num 26). Numbers 8 prescribes the consecration of the Levites and their cultic role. Additional descriptions of tithes, levies, and obligations of the Levites are noted in Num 18, and final encampment regulations are indicated in Num 35. These descriptions of and prescriptions for the Levitical class in the book of Numbers yield an important distinction between the Levites



Shaving It All Off 273

and the priests — namely, a hierarchical structure that indicates the subordination of the Levites to the Aaronide priests. Such clear articulation of the priestly class is not found elsewhere in the Torah and highlights a certain entanglement of the biblical perspective regarding Aaron and his sons, the priestly office, and the tribe of Levi.3 Two primary biblical perspectives on the relationship of the Levites to the priesthood are apparent in the Torah. First, Aaron and his sons, from the tribe of Levi, are specifically designated for priesthood in Exod 28–30 (‫לכהן לי‬, “as priests to [YHWH]”), and the book of Exodus does not mention the Levites being assigned the role of priests — or any cultic role for that matter.4 Instead, a repetition of ‫אהרון ובניו‬, “Aaron and his sons,” confirms the assumption of an Aaronide priesthood. Further, there is no mention of subordination of the Levites under the priesthood of Aaron. Likewise, the book of Leviticus knows only of Aaron and his sons when it comes to prescriptions for and descriptions of the priesthood. Mention of the Levites in Leviticus pertains only to owned property. The second view assumes that all Levites are priests. The Levites are designated as “Levitical priests,” ‫הכהנים‬ ‫הלוים‬, an expression distinct to the book of Deuteronomy.5 For the Deuteronomist, the tribe is not only given cities within each of the designated land allotments rather than receiving their 3 Baruch A. Levine, Numbers 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Anchor Bible 4A (New York: Doubleday, 1993) has an engaging discussion on the history of the Levites according to the biblical texts; see esp. 279–90. The Levites are mentioned in Exod 6:14–25 (the genealogy of Aaron), 32:26–29 (the golden calf scenario), 38:21 (the tabernacle account), and Lev 25:32–24 (Jubilee legislation), but, according to Nathan MacDonald, Priestly Rule: Polemic and Biblical Interpretation in Ezekiel 44, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 476 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 91, “in every case there are good grounds for thinking that we have instances of Fortschreibung that reflect the later perspective of the book of Numbers.” 4 The relative absence or acknowledgment of a tribe of Levi outside the Torah prompts some scholars to question whether or not a tribe of Levi existed. Levine, Numbers 1–20, 280–86 proposes that if a tribe of Levi did exist, it must have developed from family-based professional groups. He posits further that any notion of an entire tribe being dedicated for cultic service is unrealistic. 5 The expression also appears in Josh 8:33; 2 Chr 5:5; 23:18; 30:27; Jer 33:21; and Ezek 43:19.

274 Nancy L. Erickson

own allotment, but is also set aside specifically to serve the cult (Deut 10:8–9). No distinction is indicated among those of the Levitical tribe and no hierarchical division is presumed. Reference to Aaron in the book of Deuteronomy is limited to his association with the sin of the golden calf in the wilderness and his burial. The book of Numbers, however, knows quite plainly of an ordering of cultic officiants. Numbers 3:6 directs Moses to ‫הקרב‬ ‫את־מטח לוי והעמדת אתו לפני אהרן הכהן ושרתו אתו‬, “Bring the tribe of Levi and set them before Aaron the priest that they may assist him” (cf. 18:2). Prescription continues in the following verses, which lay out the duties of the Levites for assisting Aaron and his sons (‫נתונם נתונם המה לו‬, “[the Levites] are entirely given to [Aaron],” 3:9), who are appointed by Moses for “priesthood” (‫כהונה‬, 3:10; 18:1). Further, Aaron’s son Eleazar is placed as “chief leader” (‫ )נשיא נשיא‬over the Levites (3:32). Aaron and his sons are to directly handle and care for the cultic implements (4:5–15; 18:5), while the Levites are prohibited from approaching the implements and altar of the sanctuary (18:3). Instead, the Levites are gifts to the Aaronide priesthood for work in the tent of meeting: ‫נתנים‬ ‫לאהרן…באהל מועד‬, “as gifts to Aaron…in the tent of meeting” (8:19). Additional commentary on the division of the Levites and the priesthood in the book of Numbers is apparent in the rebellion stories in Num 16–17.6 Moses accuses Korah, a leader of the Kohathite clan, and the Levites of grumbling about their subordinate cultic role (16:8–11) and thereby seeking the priestly office of Aaron and his sons. The scenario results in the delegitimization of the Kohathites and exclusive right of the Aaronides to the priesthood. The distinction that the book of Numbers makes between the Levites and Aaronide priests gives “the strong impression of being a via media between the

6 The story is a composite narrative. For thorough discussion of how the threads might be untangled and suggestions for two potential recensions, see Jacob Milgrom, The JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers (New York: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 414–23.



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two main textual corpora that constitute the Pentateuch.”7 The result is a stratified and hierarchical presentation of the priesthood. Baruch A. Levine concludes: “We are presented with a class of cultic servitors known as Levites who are genealogically related to the Aaronide priests yet subservient to them and differentiated in terms of their functions.”8 The Levitical Rite In addition to the explicit descriptions throughout the book of Numbers that indicate a hierarchical structure within the cult, the very rite of consecration of the Levites in chapter 8 points to their subordinate position to the Aaronide priesthood. The Levitical prescription of shaving in Num 8:7 is situated amid a larger narrative indicating Levitical purification acts for service of the cult in Num 8:5–26.9 Where verses 5–22 describe the ritual for consecrating the Levites, both prescriptive and descriptive, verses 23–26 describe the Levites’ work — namely, to serve in the labor of the tent of meeting and assist Aaron and his sons (‫ושרת את־אחיו‬ ‫באהל מועד‬, “[The Levites] should assist [Aaron’s] sons in the tent of meeting”).10 Members of the Israelite community are to lay their hands on the Levites, designating them as representatives of the community who will perform the work of the sanctuary, and the Levites are to receive expiation through the sacrifice of two bulls as a purification burnt offering (8:8–12).11 Aaron is then to 7 MacDonald, Priestly Rule, 148–49, quote 149. For MacDonald, the origins of the distinction between the priests and Levites must be sought in the book of Numbers. 8 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 286. 9 The material is priestly. For careful discussion of textual transmission and sources for the book of Numbers, see Levine, Numbers 1–20, 52–84. Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 105 assigns Num 8 to H. 10 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 61, 368–69 views Num 8:5–22 as a chiasm, in which verses 5–7a and 22b form the introduction and conclusion, respectively. Verses 7b–15 detail the prescriptive procedure, verses 20–22 detail the description, and the centerpiece is the rationale for the rite in verses 16–19. 11 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 273 highlights the importance of the order of the sacrifices: ‫ חטאת‬served to remove impurity, and then the ‫ עלה‬served as an act of worship. A similar sequence of sacrifices may be found in Lev 8.

276 Nancy L. Erickson

dedicate the Levites and set them apart (‫הבדלת את־הלוים‬, “Set the Levites apart,” 8:14) as gifts for the Aaronide priesthood (8:19). The ritual in Num 8 begins with direction for Moses to “cleanse [the Levites]” (‫וטהרת אתם‬, verses 5–6). The formulaic instruction continues at the beginning of verse 7, ‫וכה־תעשה להם לטהרם‬, “And thus you should do to them to cleanse them.” This is followed by specific directives for water purification, hair shaving, and clothing, all with the intent of ‫טה״ר‬, “to cleanse.” Moses is commanded to do three things: ‫הזה עליהם מי חטאת‬, “Sprinkle purifying water on them”; ‫העבירו תער על־כל־בשרם‬, “Have [the Levites] shave their entire body”; and then have the Levites ‫כבסו בגדיהם‬, “wash their clothes.” The unique expression ‫מי חטאת‬, “purifying water,” is probably connected to ‫חטאת היא‬, “it is purification from sin,” in Num 19:9, referring to the water mixed with the ash of a red cow and used for purification.12 While the directive for water purification is given to Moses, the subject changes for the following actions, whereby the Levites are responsible for shaving themselves and laundering their clothes. Notably, the ordering of the rite appears counterintuitive, as there is little sense in sprinkling water of purification prior to shaving and washing clothing; whether the sprinkling happens on the clothing or on the body, the ensuing actions would render the purified waters obsolete. Nonetheless, the three components of the Levitical rite entail sprinkling, shaving, and laundering, and together they render the Levite ‫טהר‬, “cleansed,” moving the participant into a liminal state from which they will emerge in their new role as cultic servants. The prescription for the Levites to shave the body, ‫העבירו תער‬ ‫על־כל־בשרם‬, rendered more literally as “passing over the entire body with a razor,” denotes an act unique to cultic preparation in the biblical texts. The primary noun in the prescription of shaving is ‫ תער‬and occurs just thirteen times in the biblical corpus. The noun falls into two semantic categories: “sheath” (especially with the inseparable prepositions and ‫חרב‬, “sword”) and “razor 12 This follows the suggestion of Levine, Numbers 1–20, 274–75, 463–64. Similarly, see Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 6, 438–43, who equates ‫מי חטאת‬ with ‫מי נדה‬.



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or knife,” a cutting instrument.13 The full expression of shaving in Num 8:7, ‫העבירו תער על־כל־בשרם‬, comes closest to YHWH’s instruction to the son of man in Ezek 5:1: ‫קח־לך חרב חדה תער‬ ‫והעברת על־ראשך ועל־זקנך‬..., “Take a sharp sword, a razor…and pass [it] over your head and your beard.” Both texts describe the act of shaving with the verbal root ‫עב״ר‬, “to pass over,” plus ‫תער‬, “razor.” In Ezekiel, the analogy of passing over the head and beard with sharp instruments denotes ensuing doom for the house of Israel. The symbolism of shaving is thus characterized as fully destructive for the prophet. Following the prescriptions of sprinkling, shaving, and laundering, the intention of the Levitical rite is reiterated, ‫והטהרו‬, “so they will be cleansed” (Num 8:7). It is a ritual of cleansing and purification. The description of heeding the command in Num 8:21 indicates that the Levites indeed were purified: ‫יתחטאו‬, “[the Levites] purified themselves,” and ‫יכבסו בגדיהם‬, “washed their clothes.” Interestingly, no mention of hair shaving is indicated in the description. Perhaps the act is assumed with the expression ‫ויכפר עליהם אהרן לטהרם‬, “And Aaron made atonement for them to cleanse them” (Num 8:21).14 The description in Num 8:21 of the prescription in verse 7 highlights Aaron’s role in the Levitical rite. Moses is absent from the description. Instead, it is Aaron who presents the readied Levites before YHWH, and it is Aaron who atones for their purification. The emphasis on Aaron’s priestly role over that of the Levites takes precedence over the accuracy of observing the rite itself. Nonetheless, depilation is prescribed, and the purpose of the ritual is for the Levites to be ‫טהר‬, “cleansed,” for cultic servitude, albeit subordinately. The verbal root ‫טה״ר‬, “to cleanse,” is at home in cultic contexts and appears in ritual laws dealing with uncleanness, issues regarding 13 “‫תער‬,” HALOT 2:1770–71. There are other ways to express hair shaving in Biblical Hebrew. Notably, the root ‫ גל״ח‬indicates “to shave.” See G. Johannes Botterweck, “‫ ּגִ ַּלח‬gillach,” TDOT 3:5–20 for a full discussion. Its use is noted below in the discussion of Lev 21 and Ezek 44 as well as Num 6 and Lev 13–14. The root ‫ קר״ח‬is also associated with the act of shaving and means “to make bald.” Its use is noted below with reference to priestly mourning in Lev 21; see “‫קרח‬,” HALOT 2:1140–41. 14 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 65 agrees, noting that “shaving [v. 7] must also be implied.”

278 Nancy L. Erickson

clean and unclean animals, and ceremonies regarding clean places and objects.15 Descriptions are associated broadly with the cult in the biblical texts. Yet ritual involving initiation specifically of the Aaronide priesthood is exclusively “for the purpose of holiness,” ‫לקדש‬. Much has been made of comparing the Levitical rite in Num 8 with the priestly rites of Aaron and his sons in Exod 28–29 and Lev 8–9. In Exod 28–29, rites regarding the clothing and ordination for the Aaronide priesthood are indicated. Likewise, Lev 8–9 describes priestly ordination for Aaron and his sons. Both passages indicate ritual action that moves Aaron and his sons into a transitional state from which they will emerge in their new priestly role. Broadly speaking, the rites include washing, sacred vestments and insignia, oil, blood, and sacrifices, all for the purpose of sanctification, ‫לקדש‬, “for holiness,” notably not ‫לטהר‬, “for cleansing.” Missing from these particular prescriptions of cultic initiation is anything regarding hair maintenance. Commentators have wrestled with the relationship between the Aaronide and Levitical initiation rites as much as they have with understanding heirarchy within the priesthood. Most view a certain discord between the ordination rites and attempt to account for the distinct material in Num 8. George Buchanan Gray views the Levitical rite in Num 8 as a parallel passage to the consecration of priests in Exod 29, although he proposes that the Num 8 passage has been expanded, partly to emphasize Aaron’s priestly and superior role and partly to assimilate Num 8 to Num 3:5–13.16 Philip J. Budd suggests that the Num 8 text incorporates an older, otherwise unknown Levitical tradition (esp. verses 7–8) so as to present a new view of the relationship between the Aaronide priests and Levites.17 Levine tackles the issue in depth. While 15 Biblical references that fall into the categories noted here are numerous. For a fuller explanation of the verbal root and its many occurrences in the biblical texts, see Helmer Ringgren, “‫ ָט ַהר‬ṭāhar,” TDOT 5:287–96. 16 George Buchanan Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers, International Critical Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark,1912), 78. 17 Philip J. Budd, Numbers, Word Biblical Commentary 5 (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1984), 93. I heartily disagree with Budd’s opinion regarding the relationship between the Levitical rite and the Aaronide priesthood — namely, that “there is no



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he believes that Num 8 is modeled on Lev 8–9, although “with marked differences reflecting the lower status of the Levites,” he also suggests that Num 8 more closely resembles Exod 29, a parallel record of the investiture of the Aaronide priests that he believes is likely based on Lev 8.18 For Levine, a primary description of the initiation of the Aaronide priesthood in Lev 8 produced a secondary prescriptive account of the same occasion in Exod 29.19 The Exod 29 passage in turn provided a model for the initiation rites of the Levites in Num 8. Levine’s argument is based on his understanding of the function of descriptive and prescriptive narrative, noting that descriptions often precede prescriptions in written text.20 For Levine, this means that the ordination rites in Leviticus precede those in Exodus and Numbers. In contrast to viewing Num 8 as an associated but unique Levitical rite, Jacob Milgrom argues that there is such a significant disparity between the consecration of the Aaronide priests in Exod 29 and Lev 8 that the texts should not be compared whatsoever to the Levitical rite in Num 8.21 He views the rituals ‫לקדש‬, “for holiness,” versus those ‫לטהר‬, “for cleansing,” as so opposed to one another that they do not correlate. Instead, the Levites are a task force that simply require purification not sanctification.22 Further, Milgrom views the Levitical rite in Num 8 as laden with symbolism, an act hardly intended to be performed.23 Because Milgrom views the rituals as so disparate he misses the relationship between the casted subordinate Levite and the superior Aaronide priesthood. While the priestly rites in Lev 8–9 share elements with strong reason for supporting that the author is stressing the inferiority of Levites in the distinctive features of the rite” (93). He also comments that “it is too much to think of the downgrading of Levites here [8:5–26]” (91). Budd’s assessment is shortsighted and misses the nuancing of the prescriptive rite for the Levites in Num 8:7. See below for the argument presented here. 18 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 81, quote 66. 19 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 81. 20 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 81 posits the ordering of descriptive and prescriptive texts based on comparative ancient Near Eastern evidence. 21 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 61. 22 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 61. 23 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 61.

280 Nancy L. Erickson

those of the Levites in Num 8 — indeed both contribute to our understanding of the Israelite cult — the acts and outcomes are decidedly different, as Milgrom notes. The Levites are not consecrated but only dedicated. They do not officiate, they only serve. They do not don sacred clothes, nor are they sprinkled with blood and oil. Instead, the Levites wash their clothes and are sprinkled with purifying water. The priests are not prescribed hair maintenance, but the Levites must shave their entire bodies. All of these distinctions are notable and point to the subordinate position allocated to the Levitical officiants. Levine interprets the descriptions as a “consistent downgrading of the terms of status applicable to the Levites.”24 Hair and Shaving Rites in the Biblical Texts The act of shaving the entire body is not one that commentators linger on, yet its absence in the priestly rites and presence in the Levitical rite is especially noteworthy.25 The biblical writers freely make note of hair and hair maintenance, and the occurrences suggest a breadth of meaning. Absalom’s long and apparently weighty hair (2 Sam 18) symbolizes his strength and maleness, indicating his status as a charismatic warrior. So, too, Samson’s hair is a sign of his strength (Judg 13–16). Further, he and Samuel are designated as Nazirites, individuals committed, among other things, to not cut their hair (1 Sam 1; Judg 13).26 The psalmist (Ps 68) identifies Israel’s enemies with hairy crowns or heads, an identifying feature of a particular people group. The Song of Songs, on the other hand, highlights the hair as a symbol of beauty (Song 5, 6, 7). Ezekiel 16:7 identifies hair growth as a sign of transition into puberty. Garments made of hair are also described throughout the biblical narratives. Such hairy clothing is usually associated as an identifying marker of the prophet (1 Kgs 1; Zech 13:4). 24 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 81. 25 Treatment along these lines — namely, that the shaving rite is part of the Levitical prescription but missing from the Aaronide initiation rites — is surprisingly lacking in current scholarship. 26 See below for further discussion.



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Regarding hair cutting and shaving, two categories of biblical texts stand out: those dealing with hair on the face and head and those dealing with the entire body. There are numerous examples of the former category. The head is one of the most exposed parts of one’s body and allows changes in status or other distinctions to be easily recognized by an outsider. Examples from the biblical narratives and their meanings vary widely. Some descriptions indicate involuntary action (2 Sam 10; cf. 1 Chr 19; Deut 21:12), others voluntary (2 Sam 18). Still others are primarily concerned with cleanliness, and others with rites of mourning (Isa 15:2, 22:12; Jer 16:6, 41:5, 48:37; Amos 8:10; Mic 1:16; Job 1:20; Ezra 9).27 Some examples denote ritual and, of these, some are descriptive and some prescriptive. Other descriptions are primarily symbolic (Jer 7:29; Ezek 5; Isa 7:20). In the latter category of shaving the entire body, there are just two examples in addition to the Levitical prescription in Num 8: Gen 41 details Joseph’s shaving, and Lev 13–14 stipulate shaving rites that pertain to skin disease. Among the descriptions of head and face shaving, those associated with the cult are of particular importance for understanding the cultic rite in Num 8. This includes the priestly prohibition to shave in Lev 21:5 and the Levitical prescription for hair maintenance in Ezek 44. In Lev 21:5 “the priests, the sons of Aaron,” ‫הכהנים בני אהרן‬, are prohibited from making their heads bald (‫לא־יקרחו קרחה בראשם‬, “They must not shave their heads”) or shaving the edges of their beards (‫זקנם לא יגלחו ופאת‬, “They must not shave the edges of their beards.”) The prohibition is in the context of mourning rites and pertains to upholding priestly “holiness” (‫ )קדש‬so as to perform cultic duties. Whereas 27 Mourning rites entail garment and bodily manipulation, including face and head depilation. Melanie Köhlmoos, “Tearing One’s Clothes and Rites of Mourning,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schulz, and Martina Weingärtner (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 303–14 describes the mourner in a liminal state, “being dead and alive at the same time” (312). Köhlmoos further notes that the partially naked body and shaved head denote partial nudity and a reduced status, “being part of the normal and humiliated body simultaneously” (311). The suggestions follow work on garments, particularly torn garments that denote a lesser status, by Claudia Bender, Die Sprache des Textilen. Untersuchungen zu Kleidung und Textilien im Alten Testament, Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 177 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008), 139–41.

282 Nancy L. Erickson

mourners are permitted hair depilation, the priests are forbidden. The prohibition assumes that there would have been hair to shave, so we can postulate that the Aaronide priests were unshaven. In the same passage, the high priest is prohibited from allowing his hair to become loose: ‫לא יפרע את־ראשו‬, “He must not let loose his hair” (Lev 21:10).28 This prohibition assumes that there was hair to maintain and that said hair was otherwise well groomed. Additional information about prescribed hair maintenance in Ezek 44:15–20 provides insight into priestly hairstyle and regulations, although here the direction is for the priestly sons of Zadok (‫הכהנים הלוים בני צדוק‬, “the Levitical priests, the sons of Zadok”; verse 15). They are neither to shave their heads nor to let their hair grow long (‫ישלחו וראשם לא יגלחו ופרע לא‬, “They must not shave their heads and they must not let their locks grow long”) but must maintain a trimmed hairstyle: ‫כסום יכסמו את־ראשיהם‬, “They are to trim their heads” (Ezek 44:20). The direction in Ezekiel elucidates the descriptions in Lev 21: priestly appearance was unshaven yet also not wild. The larger passage of chapters 40–48 in the book of Ezekiel describes the prophet’s vision of a new temple and cult. Incidentally, the text knows of a hierarchical priestly group; it distinguishes between a subordinate group of Levites who went after idols in the past (Ezek 44:10) and who are not permitted to approach YHWH as priests (‫ולא־יגשו אלי [אדני יהוה] לכהן לי‬, “They must not come near to me [YHWH Adonay] as priests,” 44:13) and “the Levitical priests, the sons of Zadok” (‫ הכהנים הלוים בני צדוק‬in 44:15) who are permitted to approach the deity (‫המה יקרבו אלי‬, “They will come near me,” 44:15). The reference to distinct groups of priests and the accompanying priestly descriptions have prompted scholars to conjecture the relationship between the material in Ezekiel and that of the priestly rites in the Torah. The priestly descriptions in Ezekiel, then, add to the entanglement of biblical perspectives of the priestly office noted above. Notably, the Aaronide priesthood is conspicuously absent from the priestly rites in Ezekiel. 28 In the context of head hair, ‫ פרע‬denotes unplaited or loosely hanging hair; see “‫פרע‬,” HALOT 2:970.



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Instead, the priesthood of Zadok is elevated. Levine suggests that the absence of the Aaronide priests not only in Ezekiel but also in any preexilic biblical source outside of the Torah points to a late postexilic development of the Aaronide priesthood.29 Nathan MacDonald suggests the compositor of Ezek 44 was familiar with the book of Leviticus but knew a text that was “typologically earlier than that which we now have in the MT.”30 He highlights the dependence of priestly stratification apparent in Ezekiel on pentateuchal precursors.31 The priestly regulations in Lev 21 and Ezek 44 highlight the unique requirement for the Levites to fully shave their body in Num 8. Further, the requirements in Leviticus and Ezekiel, whether for the Aaronide priests or the Zadokites, do not entail depilation for cultic servitude. Another case of prescriptions related to hair cutting and shaving involves the rites associated with the Nazirite. The Nazirite vow is expressed in the birth stories of Samuel and Samson (1 Sam 1; Judg 13) but takes legal form in Num 6:1–21, the only description in the Hebrew Bible of a vow to become a Nazirite.32 The rite describes the permission of a male or female to take the “vow of a Nazirite,” ‫נדר נזיר‬, “for separation to YHWH,” (‫ להזיר יהוה‬in 6:2). Regulations for the vow prescribe cleanliness and prohibit strong drink and shaving the head: ‫תער לא־יעבר על־ראשו‬, “A razor must not be used on his head” (6:3–8). Instead, the Nazirite is to grow long locks: ‫פרע שער ראשו גדל‬, “He must let the locks of hair on his head grow long” (6:5). The sole physical and distinctive feature denoting the Nazirite, then, is hair. It is the uniqueness of the uncut hair that is the mark of the Nazirite and necessarily 29 Levine, Numbers 1–20, 104–5. 30 MacDonald, Priestly Rule, 86. 31 MacDonald, Priestly Rule, 148–49. 32 Tony W. Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 51 (1989): 409–22 proposes two “types” of Nazirites apparent in the biblical corpus: lifelong and temporary. For him, lifelong or early Nazirites include Samson and Samuel, while temporary or late Nazirites include those following the prescriptions in Num 6:1–21. Dolores G. Kamrada, Heroines, Heroes and Deity: Three Narratives of the Biblical Heroic Tradition, Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 621 (Bloomsbury: T&T Clark, 2016), 94 suggests that Cartledge is lacking an integrated perspective and that the Nazirites cannot easily be harmonized under two types.

284 Nancy L. Erickson

distinguishes the votary from others in the community, presumably with cut and/or trimmed hair.33 The Nazirite would otherwise not be sui generis. Rather, the shaving prescription yields an apparent physical sign of status. While the Nazirite vow is “for separation” (‫)להזיר‬, the prohibition to shave the head is specifically identified as an act of “being holy” (‫ קדש יהיה‬in 6:5). Further, the Nazirite is to avoid uncleanness because the consecration itself is on the very head of the individual, as holy hair: ‫נזר אלהיו על־ראשו‬, “His consecration to God is on his head” (6:7). The Nazirite vow also includes ritual provisions for its temporary status.34 Once the vow is terminated, whether the period is accidentally or intentionally aborted, the holy hair is to be shaved off: ‫ראשו גלח‬, “Shave his head” (Num 6:9, 18). Upon intentional closure of the vow, the shaved hair is then burned, signaling the end of separation to YHWH and movement back into community. Susan Niditch comments that the ending rite of shaving the head, hair being the very marker of the Nazirite, “would have been the more dramatic and sudden indication of transition.”35 A clean shaven head was perhaps far more noticeable, distinctive, and less common than the long locks of the vowed Nazirite. Indeed, head shaving was the exception to usual practice in ancient Israel. The striking shaving imagery in both Num 6 (the head) and 8 (the entire body) would not have been lost on the biblical writer. 33 Susan Niditch, My Brother Esau Is a Hairy Man: Hair and Identity in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 34–50 comments that men’s hair beginning in the premonarchic period was shoulder length. What is particularly interesting about Niditch’s observation and the prescriptions noted above is that, if the usual practice in ancient Israel was to trim and groom one’s hair, there would have been minimal physical distinction between the priesthood and the rest of the community, because the priesthood, too, maintained their hair (see discussion above). In other words, hair rites for the Aaronide priesthood did not distinguish or set them apart from the community. This is opposed to the unique shaving rites of the Levites. 34 Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?,” 415 also remarks on the temporary aspect of the Nazirite vow, noting that “other biblical and ancient Near Eastern vows were routinely conditional.” 35 Susan Niditch, “Defining and Controlling Others Within: Hair, Identity, and the Nazirite Vow in a Second Temple Context,” in The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor of John J. Collins, ed. Daniel C. Harlow, Karina Martin Hogan, Matthew Goff, and Joel S. Kaminsky (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 67–85, quote 84.



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The two accounts speak to the same cult. For Niditch, the inclusion of the Nazirite vow was an attempt to balance the apparent hierarchical roles of the priesthood with other charismatic and holy men.36 The vow provided a voluntary outlet for men and women who otherwise would not have access to participation in the cult.37 Further, the temporary aspect of the vow allowed any one person in the community to “display his or her piety and to experience temporarily that holiness that rightly belongs to priests as their hereditary purview.”38 Notably, the Nazirite shaving rite bears linguistic resemblance to the Levitical prescriptions in Num 8, where both the noun ‫תער‬, “razor,” and the verb ‫עב״ר‬, “to pass over,” are employed. For the Nazirite, the language indicates prohibition (Num 6:5), yet for the Levite it denotes prescription (Num 8:7). The later prescription for the Nazirite to shave (Num 6:9, 18) uses the verbal root ‫גל״ח‬. In an article primarily concerned with Samson’s role as Nazirite, Dolores G. Kamrada discusses the implications of Samson’s cut hair.39 “As a result of hair-cutting, Samson also appears to ‘lose himself’ — his own personality, his warrior role and/or even his male status.”40 Kamrada addresses the felt humiliation of Samson and that the incident of shaving recalls “the shaving of the Levites that directly preceded their consecration ritual.”41 She labels the depilation events as “humiliating initiation,” an expression explored in further detail below.42 36 Niditch, “Defining and Controlling,” 79. Niditch makes no mention here of the Levitical rite in Num 8 or the subordinate role of the Levites. Elizabeth W. Goldstein, Impurity and Gender in the Hebrew Bible (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 34 notes that the biblical narratives do not spell out the advantage of being a Nazirite, but that imagination suggests there might come a time in an individual’s life where he or she desired to get close to the deity. 37 Niditch, “Defining and Controlling,” 76–77, 85 highlights the opportunity the vow provided for women to gain sacred status. As a temporary vow, it offered a conduit for female inclusion. 38 Niditch, “Defining and Controlling,” 79. 39 Kamrada, Heroines, esp. 66–100. 40 Kamrada, Heroines, 95. 41 Kamrada, Heroines, 96. 42 Kamrada, Heroines, 96.

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Descriptions and prescriptions of shaving the entire body appear just three times in the biblical texts. First, in Gen 41:14 Joseph shaves before reentering the service of Pharaoh: ‫יגלח‬, “he shaved.” He also “changed his clothes,” ‫שמלתיו ויחלף‬. Explicit reference is not made to what part of Joseph’s body he shaves, but he likely shaves his whole body, a practice well-entrenched in Egyptian life (see more below). By shaving, Joseph “transforms himself from a foreigner to an Egyptian.”43 More specifically, Lisbeth S. Fried suggests that Joseph’s shaved body mimics that of the Egyptian priesthood, an issue of being wʿb, “pure.”44 Second, in Lev 13–14 the ritual act of shaving the entire body is required for those with certain skin diseases at various stages of their healing. Two scenarios of shaving are addressed in Lev 13:29–37 and 14:1–32. In Lev 13:29–37, if an itch affliction considered ‫צרעת‬, “skin disease” is identified, the individual is to offer sacrifices, “shave himself” (‫ )התגלח‬except for the afflicted area, and then remain isolated for seven days (Lev 13:33). If after the seven days the individual is deemed clean by the priest (‫טהר‬ ‫אתו הכהן‬, “The priest pronounces him clean,” 13:34), the individual then changes his clothes and is reincorporated back into the community. Otherwise the individual is deemed unclean with no specific instructions for reincorporation back into the community.45 Chapter 13 continues to address skin disease, but full body shaving is not a remedy (verses 38–59). Of interest, though, is Lev 13:52, where a garment of hair that is identified with ‫צרעת‬, “skin disease,” must be burned, a measure of complete removal of the affliction. Leviticus 14:1–32 describes rites regarding an individual identified with skin disease, ‫מצרע‬. If upon inspec43 Lisbeth S. Fried, “Why Did Joseph Shave?” Biblical Archaeology Review 33, no. 4 (2007): 36–41, quote 37. 44 Fried, “Why Did Joseph Shave?,” 38–39. Freid compares the completely shaven Egyptian priests to the Levites in Num 8:7 (40). Ringgren, TDOT 5:288–89 also notes the similarity in meaning and context between Egyptian wʿb and Hebrew ‫טהר‬ in Lev 13–14. 45 The solution may be found in the descriptions of an ensuing ailment, Lev 13:44– 46. There the ‫ צרוע‬is pronounced unclean (‫ )טמא‬and death surely awaits him (‫בראשו‬ ‫נגעו‬, verse 44). The afflicted individual is to mourn (verse 45) and dwell outside the city for the rest of his life or until clean (verse 46).



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tion the “priest” (‫ )כהן‬deems the individual healed of the disease, then he or she must ritually “clean themselves,” ‫טהר‬, in order to reenter the community (Lev 14:8).46 The rite prescribes washing clothes, depilation, and bathing (‫את־בגדיו וגלח את־כל־שער‬...‫כבס‬ ‫ורחץ בימים‬, “He must wash…his clothes and shave all hair and bathe in water”) and allows reentry into the community but not into the family unit. After another seven days, the individual must shave off all their hair, wash their clothes, and bathe: ‫יגלח את־‬ ‫כל־שערו את־ראשו ואת־זקנו ואת גבת עינין ואת־כל־שערו יגלח וכבס‬ ‫את־בגדיו ורחץ את־בשרו במים‬, “He must shave off all his hair: he must shave his head, his beard, his eyebrows, and all of his hair. He must wash his clothes and bath his body in water” (Lev 14:9). The second prescription is more explicit than the first, indicating that all of the hair — hair on the head, beard hair, and eyebrow hair — must be shaved. This final rite deems the individual “clean,” ‫טהר‬, after sacrifices are offered. Interestingly, the order of rites prescribed here is intuitive, as opposed to the Levitical rite in Num 8. Depilation is followed by laundered clothes and bathing. The act of shaving in the scenarios of Lev 13 and 14 is a “marker of the aggregation process,” as it moved the afflicted individual back into the community.47 Timothy R. Ashley rightly observes a similarity between the rites of the leper in Lev 14 and those of the Levite in Num 8.48 While the rite of the leper aims aggregation to the community, however, the Levitical rite moves the individual toward service in the cult. 46 Frank H. Gorman, Jr., “Ritualizing, Rite and Pentateuchal Theology,” in Prophets and Paradigms: Essays in Honor of Gene M. Tucker, ed. Stephen Breck Reid, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 229 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996), 173–86 addresses the experience of the afflicted individual, noting that evaluation (by the priest) in such a way that expulsion may be the consequence “is a brutal form of analysis that fails to consider and take seriously the specific and particular experience of social exile and marginalization” (177). 47 Saul Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish and What Do They Signal in Biblical Ritual Contexts?” Journal of Biblical Literature 117, no. 4 (1998): 611–22, quote 620. Olyan further notes that shaving in Lev 13–14 is “clearly a required component of the afflicted individual’s movement from suspected ‫ מצרע‬to normal community member and marks the progress of his aggregation from the first stage of suspicion to the last stage (the final week of separation)” (619). 48 Timothy R. Ashley, The Book of Numbers, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 167–74.

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The third description of full-body shaving in the biblical text is in Num 8:7 and has been addressed above. The two examples of depilation, Gen 41 and Lev 13–14, demonstrate that such an act is not enigmatic within ancient Israelite culture, yet the rite is not common in the biblical texts. What is distinctive to the Levitical rite in Num 8 is the coupling of full-body shaving and issues regarding the Israelite cult. Where Joseph is aggregated into the Egyptian community, particularly Pharaoh’s household, and the individual with skin disease is aggregated into the community, the Levite moves toward incorporation into the cult. This is the odd duck for the biblical corpus — namely, full body shaving for cultic servitude. With that said, one may note that the movement of the individual with skin disease into the community and that of the Levite into the cult is one of cleansing (‫)טה״ר‬. Both rites utilize full body shaving as a component of being clean; they are perceived similarly, depilation moves toward ‫טהר‬, being “cleansed.” Of interest is the seeming negative connotation that may be associated with full body shaving and skin disease. While the act moved the individual into community, it is nonetheless associated with disease. By extension, it may be that the Israelite cult associated any full-body shaving with negative scenarios. While I argue below that the very act and experience of shaving the entire body is demeaning, it may also be that the biblical perception (how the act itself is regarded) of shaving the full body was disparaging. Whether or not such a view is attested in the extrabiblical corpora will be addressed below. Hair and Shaving Rites in the Ancient Near East Hair commentary and shaving rites are apparent in the literatures and iconography of the ancient Near East. The plethora of references suggests that expression through hair was not uncommon but a natural means to communicate identity or a change or transition in status. The well-known eighth-century BCE Lachish reliefs, for example, depict most Assyrian and Judean men with full beards and trimmed hair. Those with shaven faces appear to hold a cultic position. Similarly, the large-scale hunting reliefs



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from the North Palace of Nineveh (seventh century BCE) depict groomed hairstyles. Egyptian men, however, appear clean shaven in iconography from at least the time of the Old Kingdom. Men shaved their facial hair, beard, and mustache and wore a false goatee on special occasions.49 Wigs were also common and used by the upper class and priests.50 Numerous other reliefs from across the Levant indicate hairstyles associated with particular people groups and societal roles during a specific time period. All communicate identity at varying levels. A handful of ancient Near Eastern texts and images denote the act of hair cutting and shaving. Like the biblical texts, examples vary widely. The Laws of Hammurabi describes shaving as a punishment: “as to that man, they shall flog him in front of the judges and shave [ugallabu] half of his hair” (LH §127:30–34). The punitive act is not unlike that of Hanun described in 2 Sam 10 and 1 Chr 19, where the Ammonite king partially shaves the beards of David’s servants. Further, a ninth-century BCE inscription on a cultic bowl found in a Cypriot temple indicates that the container once held donated hair. The hair was evidently a memorial to the goddess Astarte.51 Offerings of hair are also attested in later Babylon, Syria, Greece, and Arabia.52 Ziony Zevit posits that the famous pithoi from Kuntillet ʿAjrud attest shaving, notably pithos B.53 He speculates that the shaven individuals may be compared to the rites of shaving in Lev 13–14.54 The Pyramid Texts attest the Egyptian practice of hair shaving, although the context is limited to rites for the deceased. Expressions include “shaving [šʾq] the

49 Aylward M. Blackman, “Purification (Egyptian),” in Gods, Priests and Men: Studies in the Religion of Pharaonic Egypt by Aylward M. Blackman, ed. Alan B. Lloyd (New York: Kegan Paul International, 1998), 3–21. 50 Priests would don a wig as they reentered the community upon rotation of their cultic duties. Blackman, “Purification,” 6–15. 51 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 356–57. 52 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 357 provides further documentation. See also ANET, 339–40. 53 Ziony Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches (New York: Continuum, 2003), 392–405. 54 Zevit, Religions, 393.

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hair,” “shaving [šʾq] the neck,” and “shaving [šʾq] the head”55 Another depiction of shaving is attested on the walls of Ankhmahor’s tomb at Saqqara.56 The scenes date to the Sixth Dynasty and portray ritual purification of Ankhmahor’s two sons into priesthood.57 The illustrations and text are located on a door thickness as the chapel of Ankhmahor’s tomb is entered and display at least four priestly rites of initiation: manicure and pedicure, body shaving, circumcision, and pubic shaving.58 Depilation rites are a usual prescription for Egyptian priests.59 It is a required component of wʿb, “purity,” and cultic servitude. Similar depictions of full-body and pubic shaving are attested in other Old Kingdom tombs, in the tomb of Khentika, and in the tomb of Niankhkhnum/Nj-‘nḫḪnmw and Ḫnmw-ḥtp.60 The caption in the latter tomb simply states šʾq, “shave.”61 Herodotus comments on the depilation rites of Egyptian priests: “the priests shave themselves all over their body every other day, so that no lice or any other foul thing may come to be upon them when they minister to the gods” (Herodotus, Hist. II:37). Further, “they are religious excessively” and “perform [the 55 The translations follow Stefan Grunert, “Nicht nur Sauber, sondern rein. Rituelle Reinigungsanweisungen aus dem Grab des Anchmahor in Saqqara.” Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 30 (2002): 137–51. 56 Two particular scenes in Ankhmahor’s tomb have received much scholarly attention. Both scenes were once thought to depict two different stages of the rite of circumcision. Newer interpretation, however, understands the second scene to entail a priestly shaving rite. The shift in interpretation may be attributed to Ann Macy Roth, Egyptian Phyles in the Old Kingdom: The Evolution of a System of Social Organization, Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 48 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). Her rendering of the scene and text indicate the shaving of a ka-priest (not that a ka-priest was the one doing the shaving) and priestly initiation (see esp. 66–68). Mohamed Megahed and Hana Vymazalová, “Ancient Egyptian Royal Circumcision from the Pyramid Complex of Djedkare,” Anthropologie 49, no. 2 (2011): 155–64 also address the shift in interpretation, primarily noting the work of Grunert, “Nicht nur Sauber.” 57 Notably, the initiated priests in the scene are depicted as being shaved — that is, someone else is shaving them for the purpose of purification. This is opposed to the textual description of the Levitical rite, that the Levites must shave themselves. 58 Megahed and Vymazalová, “Ancient Egyptian Royal Circumcision,” 159. 59 Serge Sauneron, The Priests of Ancient Egypt, trans. David Lorton (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2000), esp. 35–42 and Grunert, “Nicht nur Sauber,” 150. 60 Grunert, “Nicht nur Sauber,” 141–42. 61 Roth, Egyptian Phyles, 68.



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rite] (one may almost say) of infinite number” (Herodotus, Hist. II:37). Full-body shaving was a usual practice for priestly initiation to cultic servitude. Both the comment from Herodotus and extant texts indicate that the purpose of the ritual was wʿb, “purity,” and subsequent aggregation to the cult. The shaving rite served as one component of the process of moving the participant into a liminal state from which they would emerge in their new role as priest. The physical appearance of an entirely shaved individual, not just the head and facial hair, identified the priest as separate from the community. Aylward M. Blackman points to evidence that the upper class also shaved their entire bodies.62 Shaving ritual, then, was not uncommon in ancient Egypt, whether it was the regular practice of shaving the head and facial hair or the priestly (and possibly upper class) rite of shaving the entire body. Depilation of varying degrees was typical among ancient Egyptians, and full-body shaving identified those associated specifically with the cult. Certainly, shaving practice was well known in the ancient world, including in ancient Israel. Interestingly, the widespread phenomenon in Egypt lends to a positive association for the rite. Whereas ancient Israelite literature attests a limited expression of full-body shaving, where it is perhaps associated primarily with disease, shaving is embraced in ancient Egypt with no particularly adverse connotation. Full-body shaving is also attested in Mesopotamian texts, although with less frequency. Just two scenarios are of note: the namburbi ritual texts and a text from Emar. First, the namburbi ritual tablets include approximately 140 texts in Standard Babylonian, dating between the late eighth century and late sixth century BCE.63 The collection consists of handbooks for the performance of private apotropaic rites with the intent to undo 62 Blackman, “Purification,” 6 notes shaving and depilation as the fifth and sixth rite in a series of secular observances and actions, apparently “evidence for thinking that depilation was practised by the upper classes and priests in the Old and Middle Kingdoms.” Blackman also notes that part of Sinuhe’s toilet upon return to civilization consisted in the removal of body hair (6). See also Alan H. Gardiner, Notes on the Story of Sinuhe (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1916), 111. 63 The sheer number of texts indicates that they played an essential role in cultic life, at least in this period and space.

292 Nancy L. Erickson

or avert portended evil.64 The term itself, namburbi, indicates “ritual for undoing it.”65 Some of the perfunctory acts in the many texts include a prescription to shave. The act is accompanied by washing the body and laundering clothes.66 The purpose of the rite is to move the threatened individual toward quddušu, “holiness.”67 Richard I. Caplice notes that the intention is to “separate [the individual] from the profane and place him in a special relation to the divine.”68 The references to full-body shaving are minimal in these texts, but the appearance of the act is noteworthy for our study of Num 8. The namburbi texts are not limited to the cult but seem to be more adjacent in meaning to the shaving rites associated with skin disease in Lev 13–14. For the namburbi ritual, like the rites pertaining to skin disease discussed above, the perception of the act of depilation is necessarily associated with negative scenarios. Second, a cultic text from Emar details the shaving of a high priestess upon her installation. Dan Fleming suggests that shaving the entire body of the priestess indicates submission to divine authority.69 He further cites Victor Turner’s view that “symbolic submission is characteristic of the liminal period.”70 Understanding full-body shaving to indicate submission seems intuitive to the context — namely, humanity approaching the divine. But what else may be said specifically of the Israelite act? Milgrom notes that, while the act may function to effect and mark submission to 64 Richard I. Caplice, The Akkadian Namburbu Texts: An Introduction, Sources from the Ancient Near East 1, no. 1 (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1974). 65 “namburbû,” CAD 11/1:224–25 and Caplice, Akkadian Namburbu Texts, 7. 66 Caplice, Akkadian Namburbu Texts, 10. 67 “quddušu,” CAD 13:294–95 and “qadāšu” CAD 13:46–47. 68 Caplice, Akkadian Namburbu Texts, 10. 69 Dan Fleming, The Installation of Baal’s High Priestess at Emar, Harvard Semitic Studies 42 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 181–82. Shaving of cultic officiants in Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian sources is also attested; see “gullubu,” CAD 5:129–31. In addition, Rykle Borger, “Die Weihe eines Enlil-Priesters,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 30 (1973): 163–76 addresses a particular Mesopotamian text that ties shaving of purification to elaborate incantations over the shaving knife. 70 Fleming, Installation, 181–82; Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish,” 614; and Victor Turner, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1967), 93–111.



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the deity, the rite also functions to separate the individual from the community.71 Depilation is an outward physical sign that is intended to solicit response from both the deity and the community. Of the extrabiblical examples addressed, the Levitical prescription to entirely shave the body in Num 8:7 comes closest to the regular priestly practices required in ancient Egypt.72 What is striking about the two scenarios is that while depilation was customary in Egypt, cultic shaving of the entire body was an oddity in ancient Israel. One may question the motivation behind the act required in Num 8:7. Was it incorporated into the Levitical rite in order to associate the practice with the well-known Egyptian rite? If so, would this have been a positive or negative association with the Egyptian cult? Regardless, the lack of depilation prescriptions for cultic servitude in the biblical narratives, the association of the act with skin disease, and the degrading context of the Levites in the book of Numbers all point to a negative association with the practice. And perhaps the subordinate shaving act in Num 8:7 is indeed explicitly related to the well-known Egyptian rite and, by association, is degrading biblical commentary on the Egyptian practice. The connection is then further support of the subservient, demeaning, and even outsider role of the Levites, a depiction carefully cast in the book of Numbers. What Do Shaving Rites Mean? Body manipulation has been the subject of numerous studies of late, not to mention the current volume. Such manipulation “functions to distinguish individuals and classes of persons and to communicate such status distinctions in a clear manner.”73 The physical acts attest a range of meaning. The extant Hathor tattoos on Egyptian priestesses and faience served as a shared marker. While noting distinctive status, the tattoos also identified an individual with the Hathor cult. Similarly, the famous Asiatic 71 Milgrom, JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, 62. 72 Fried, “Why Did Joseph Shave?,” 38–39 agrees. 73 Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish,” 613.

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hairstyle distinguished an entire people group, or class, from other groups and at the same time also identified such individuals with a group or class. Further, the many extant Egyptian scenes that depict a fully shaven individual, with or without false hair, identified that individual with the priesthood. But what exactly does full-body shaving mean? What does it mean for the actor, and what is the perceived meaning for the observer? Further, are there are any patterns to shaving rites? How do those that are fully shaved appear? Is it solely a rite of purification or separation? Many models and methods for approaching and understanding body manipulation and ritual in the ancient Near East have been suggested. The approaches vary across the disciplines of sociology, psychology, anthropology, women’s studies, iconography, and religious history.74 Gerald A. Klingbeil addresses two primary methods: cognitive and social function.75 He resolves to label his own method as a cognitive social function approach, a blending of models that includes his attempt to accommodate the importance of both form and content.76 Following Frank Gorman’s social function approach, Klingbeil notes that “specific situations require specific rituals and thus stress the relationship between context and action.”77 Niditch, too, promotes those studies and methods that resist one-to-one correspondences between hair, hair cutting or shaving, and meaning and instead offer room for complexity

74 Of particular note in the area of hair and identity, see Irene J. Winter, “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs,” Visual Communication 7, no. 2 (1981): 2–38; Cynthia R. Chapman, The Gendered Language of Warfare in the Israelite-Assyrian Encounter, Harvard Semitic Monographs 62 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004); Megan Cifarelli, “Gesture and Alterity in the Art of Ashurnasirpal II of Assyria,” Art Bulletin 80 (1998): 210–28; Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish”; Gregory Mobley, “The Wild Man in the Bible and the Ancient Near East,” Journal of Biblical Literature 116 (1997): 217–33; and Niditch, My Brother Esau. 75 Gerald A. Klingbeil, Comparative Study of the Ritual of Ordination as Found in Leviticus 8 and Emar 369 (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 1998), 15–18 surveys three studies: Lawson and McCauley’s cognitive approach, Gane’s cognitive approach and general system theory, and Gorman’s social functions approach. 76 Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 19–21. 77 Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 20.



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and even complication.78 The idea follows Turner’s symbolic analysis, which proposes that the cultural context and even personal framework of the hair rite in question are critical in understanding the meanings and messages of hair — that is, short hair does not always mean social control, nor does long hair always indicate freedom. Rather, hair can mean many things simultaneously and can operate on various levels. Symbolism of hair and hair ritual must be addressed contextually with the acknowledgement of fluidity across ancient Near Eastern cultures.79 In addition to his social function approach, Gorman highlights the limitations of rites preserved in the biblical narratives. He observes that ritual details are lacking, that there is no concerted effort to prescribe every minute action, and that the rite is then left “open for individual and creative enactment.”80 While “there is a basic ‘patterning’ presented in the text…it does not present ‘a’ pattern which can then be transformed into ‘the’ pattern.”81 Rather, texts detail what is necessary for the rite to be enacted and leave room for individual interpretation and “creative variation.”82 Gorman further suggests that texts such as Lev 13–14 indicate that “ritualizing is an open-ended set of possibilities and not a formal scheme to be repeated without variation.”83 Finally, he cautions that “theological discourse must reflect the open-ended and uncertain worlds produced by concrete texts and focus less on the quest for the unified world” of the biblical narratives.84 Notably, the order of the ritual acts prescribed in Num 8:7, which 78 See esp. Niditch, My Brother Esau and Niditch, “Defining and Controlling.” 79 The expressed openness must be due in part to earlier scholarship that overgeneralized and focused solely on a particular aspect of hair and meaning. Emphases include equating hair with the seat of the soul or associating hair exclusively with sexual connotations. For the former, see Ernest Crawley, The Mystic Rose: A Study of Marriage (London: Methuen, 1927), 275. For the latter, see Edmund R. Leach, “Magical Hair.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 88.2 (1958): 147–64. 80 Gorman, “Ritualizing,” 181. 81 Gorman, “Ritualizing,” 181. 82 Gorman, “Ritualizing,” 181. 83 Gorman, “Ritualizing,” 180. 84 Gorman, “Ritualizing,” 181.

296 Nancy L. Erickson

appears counterintuitive, confirms Gorman’s thesis. Further, the description in Num 8:21 of the prescription in 8:7 does not follow precisely, and such inconsistency speaks to the creative variations that Gorman supposes. Classifying and labeling ritual types is, however, informative and provides a framework within which to discuss and interpret ritual. Klingbeil follows Arnold van Gennep’s primary classification — rites of separation, rites of transition, and rites of incorporation — but finds a balance in Turner’s emphases on the process of the rite, highlighting the liminal stage.85 Other labels include initiation rites, rites of passage, rites of transformation, and temporary rites. In Gorman’s assessment of Lev 13–14, he labels the rite as one of restoration, where the formerly unclean individual is incorporated back into the larger social body.86 For Saul Olyan this movement indicates a rite of aggregation.87 The sentiment is the same but the emphasis differs: for Gorman, it is restoration, and for Olyan, aggregation. The ritual attests both and confirms the fluidity with which the rite is understood. Olyan classifies the shaving rite in Num 8 as either a rite of separation or a rite of aggregation.88 The ritual entails both connotations — namely, separation from the community and aggregation into the role of cult officiant. Further, the rite in Num 8:7 is one of subordination, a rite of subservience. Regarding the specific experience of shaving the entire body, there are two informative categories: the temporary aspect and the insinuation of shame. In terms of the temporary aspect, hair shaving is an outward sign, expressing a noticeable and observable physical change. Where once hair was present, it is gone. However, hair grows back. The act allows for temporary change so 85 Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 24–26; Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960); and Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969). 86 Gorman, “Ritualizing,” 179–81. 87 Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish,” 621. See also Nathan MacDonald, “The Priestly Vestments,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schulz, and Martina Weingärtner (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 303–14, 435–48. 88 Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish,” 621–22.



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that the hair denotes a transitory or temporary state. Regardless of the many ways that hair shaving may function in a particular context, the commonality is that shaving effects a change in an “individual’s status and serves as a public, temporary marker of this status change.”89 In this manner, hair manipulation functions like ritual clothing. It, too, is momentary. Just like the Egyptian sm priest, who dons the leopard skin on and off throughout the wpt r ritual, and as the Aaronide priests don sacred garb on and off throughout their cultic service, hair also is a temporary marker of change and status, and it can be transformative.90 Its manipulation can alter, even if only for a short time, an individual’s status and draw attention to a change or transition. Further, because hair will grow back, shaving, even full-body shaving, can, in days to come, appear as though it never happened. Vows ended, like those of the Nazirite, and statuses changed can disappear or become null when the hair reverts. It is a flexible way of marking change. A fine example of this is the biblical rite associated with mourning. The rite permits the mourner to shave their head, or, rather, make it “bald” (‫)קרח‬. As the hair grows back, emotional recovery takes place. Once the hair returns, it is as though there was never a mourning period. Likewise, because hair grows back, the act may also be considered reversible. Edmund R. Leach notes that, unlike other forms of bodily manipulation such as circumcision or tattooing, shaving functions “as a metaphor for the reversal of social time that is called for in rites of transition.”91 Subsequently, the full body shaving prescription for the Levites in Num 8:7 denotes a rite that lent itself to temporary viability, so much so that perhaps a time would come that the Levites would no longer shave and thus no longer deemed clean for participation in the 89 Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish,” 621. He also states: “shaving is well attested cross-culturally in rites of transition that effect only a temporary change in the individual’s status (e.g., mourning rites)” (612). 90 Nancy L. Erickson, “Dressing Up: Role-Playing in the Egyptian wpt r Ritual and a Contextualized View of the Biblical Priesthood,” Advances in Ancient Biblical and Near Eastern Research 1, no. 3 (2021): 11–27. 91 Edmund R. Leach, Culture and Communication: The Logic by which Symbols Are Connected. An Introduction to the Use of Structuralist Analysis in Social Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 61.

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cult. The biblical text does not describe such a scenario, nor does it explicate whether or not depilation was ongoing, but the rite allows for the possibility. This permission suggests the uncertainty of the position of the Levites. Further, full body shaving leaves the Levite vulnerable to a reversion of status. In terms of shame, full-body shaving necessarily requires nudity, a state Katharina Pyschny describes “as first and foremost a sign of the lack or loss of status, (physical or military) defeat, humiliation, depravations, and death.”92 Removing the hair from an entire body is not a quick or pain-free process and necessitates fully exposed skin, where either the nude individual shaves himself or is shaved by someone else. The event itself necessitates vulnerability, especially if the act is completed by someone other than the shaved individual. This appears to be the case with the Egyptian priestly ritual of shaving, indicated by the associated imagery that portrays the shaved individual standing and the other kneeling beside them with a shaving tool. The Levitical rite, however, indicates that the Levites shaved themselves: ‫העבירו תער על־כל־בשרם‬, “Have them shave their entire body.” Regardless of the number of participants, the very act solicits vulnerability. Further, because the physical result of shaving the entire body renders an individual without hair, a matured male may appear as premature, or prepubescent, a degrading if not shameful transition for an adult male. The shaving act, then, results in a demeaned participant. For the prescription in Num 8:7, this follows the trend of Levitical subordination to the Aaronide priesthood. The selection to incorporate depilation for the Levites produced degraded and ultimately subservient cult officiants via “humiliating initiation.”93 In addition, because the Levitical rite is prescribed for an entire group, the appearance of the group upon complete depilation would appear markedly similar. Unique physical appearance would be absent and former identity removed. 92 Katharina Pyschny, “Concepts and Contexts of Female and Male Nudity in the Iconography of the Southern Levant,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schulz, and Martin Weingärtner (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 127–62, quote 142, emphasis original. 93 Kamrada, Heroines, 96.



Shaving It All Off 299

Conclusion on Levitical Shaving The Levitical priests are uniquely positioned in the book of Numbers as subordinate cult officiants, subject to service of the Aaronide priesthood. The prescriptions in Num 8:7 confirm the subservient status, and the specific rite of shaving the entire body for the purpose of cultic service highlights the Levitical role. The Levites hold a degraded position, where full-body shaving is otherwise associated in the biblical texts with individuals with disease. The practice evokes a negative connotation. The Levites are further associated with the non-Israelite practice of depilation, a usual act for priesthood in Egypt. In addition, the very rite of full-body shaving suggests the transitory aspect of the Levitical role. The requirement allows for the temporary position to be lost or reverted. And the experience of the rite suggests a shaming process. While the end result of “cult officiant” may seem a positive position for the Levite, the liminal stage is demeaning. What is more, the end result of cult officiant indeed is not necessarily a positive position for the Levite as they function subordinately to the priesthood, occupied by Aaron and his sons. The full body shaving act, then, is an unwelcome odd duck for the Levites — cultic servants degraded in the process.

Chapter 10

The Weeping Lady of Gilat: The Iconography of Affect and Rites of Passage David Ilan

Figurines seem to rivet our attention more than most other manifestations of ancient material culture. They are by nature devices intended to focus attention, to evoke a feeling, and to effect an action. These are underlying, foundational assumptions in all figurine research.1 This short article, in honor of my colleague Nili S. Fox, is an attempt to interpret a particular figurine (which she wrote about in 1995) with these assumptions as an underpinning.2 The Chalcolithic terra-cotta female figurine/anthropomorphic vessel from Gilat is one of the more written-about objects in Levantine archaeology (see figure 10.1). Its iconography comprises a rich and precious text, which, when analyzed within the framework of its archaeological context, reveals ideas, beliefs, and 1 Peter Ucko, Anthropomorphic Figurines of Predynastic Egypt and Neolithic Crete, with Comparative Material from the Prehistoric Near East (London: Andrew Szmidla, 1968); Maria Gimbutas, The Goddesses and Gods of Old Europe (London: Thames & Hudson, 1982); Douglass W. Bailey, Prehistoric Figurines: Representation and Corporeality in the Neolithic (London: Routledge, 2005); and Richard G. Lesure, Interpreting Ancient Figurines: Context, Comparison, and Prehistoric Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 2 Nili S. Fox, “The Striped Goddess from Gilat: Implications for the Chalcolithic Cult,” Israel Exploration Journal 45 (1995): 212–25.



301

302 David Ilan

perhaps behaviors of Chalcolithic people. Scholars have arrived at various interpretations of the figurine’s symbolism, some more nebulous, others more specific. A number have pointed out the theme of fertility, and a few have noted mortuary implications.3 More recently it has been recognized that the Lady is weeping.4 Herein lays the more specific tale of the present interpretation. The interpretation of Levantine Chalcolithic iconography tends to be intuitive, with some reliance on ethnographic analogy.5 What is lacking is an explicit system of inquiry. A useful and venerable methodology is available from the field of art history: that of Erwin Panofsky.6 This methodology is applied in the present paper. Panofsky distinguishes three strata, or phases, of iconological analysis: preiconographical description, in which forms, objects, and expression are identified and described; iconographical analysis — namely, the identification of themes or concepts that 3 On fertility, see David Alon, “A Chalcolithic Temple at Gilath,” Biblical Archaeologist 40 (1977): 65; Ruth Amiran, “Note on the Gilat Vessels,” Atiqot 11 (1976): 119; Fox, “Striped Goddess,” 225; Claire Epstein, The Chalcolithic Culture of the Golan, Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 4 (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 1998), 221; Helga Weippert, “Kultstatten als Orte der Begegnung am Beispiel des Chalkolithischen Heiligtums von Gīlat,” Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 114, no. 2 (1998): 106–36; Catherine Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels: The ‘Lady’ and the ‘Ram’ Effigies,” in Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat, Israel, ed. Thomas E. Levy (London: Equinox, 2006), 750–51; and Dina Shalem, “Iconography on Ossuaries and Burial Jars from the Late Chalcolithic Period in Israel in the Context of the Ancient Near East” (PhD diss., Haifa University, 2008). On the mortuary implications, see Fox, “Striped Goddess,” 223. 4 Much of what is presented here was delivered in David Ilan, “Temples, Treasures, and Subterranean Villages: Death’s Dominion in the Chalcolithic of Canaan,” paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research, Chicago, November 16–19, 1994. See also Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels,” 746 and Shalem, “Iconography,” 139. 5 David Alon, “Two Cult Vessels from Gilat,” Atiqot 11 (1976): 116–18; Ruth Amiran and Miriam Tadmor, “A Female Cult Statuette from Chalcolithic Beer-Sheba,” Israel Exploration Journal 30 (1980): 137–39; Fox, “Striped Goddess”; Alexander H. Joffe, J. P. Dessel, and Rachel S. Hallote, “The Gilat Woman: Female Iconography, Chalcolithic Cult, and the End of Southern Levantine Prehistory,” Near Eastern Archaeology 64 (2001): 8–23; Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels”; and Dina Shalem, “Motifs on the Nahal Mishmar Hoard and the Ossuaries: Comparative Observations and Interpretations,” Journal of the Israel Prehistoric Society (Mitkufat Haʾeven) 45 (2015): 217–37. 6 Erwin Panofsky, Studies in Iconology: Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1939), 3–17.



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 303

Figure 10.1. Gilat goddess anthropomorphic ceramic vessel. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

convey images, stories, and allegories; and iconographical interpretation, or the identification of “intrinsic meaning or content… apprehended by ascertaining those underlying principles which reveal the basic attitude of a nation, a period, a class, a religious

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or philosophical persuasion — unconsciously qualified by one personality and condensed into one work.”7 Panofsky developed this methodology for his analysis of Renaissance art, which is much nearer to our own time and worldview than is Chalcolithic art. We must admit, therefore, that its adoption for an earlier, more obscure period requires a great deal more speculation than is the case for the Renaissance.8 Nonetheless, Panofsky’s approach is still widely referenced today in various permutations, and, with regard to iconographic and iconological analysis, some theoretical and operational framework is better than none at all. As for the Gilat figurine, the first stratum of analysis — that of preiconographical description — has largely been accomplished by others.9 Certain nuances will need to be highlighted for the purposes of this essay. Previous studies have attempted iconographical (or, better, iconological) analysis as well, for example, identifying the meaning of forms such as the churn, the stool, the stand, and genitalia. The following explication will adopt some of the analyses of previous studies but will suggest an alternative, more specific one. Finally, iconological interpretation has also been attempted by previous authors (see note 3), suggesting overall themes — mainly the centrality of fertility and the pastoral economy. This study will propose a more holistic, homogeneous underlying principle and a religious narrative, both of which derive from the themes identified. Preiconographical Description and Iconological Analysis: Review and Comments on the Figurine’s Attributes Detailed descriptions of the vessel have been published several times in the past, most recently by Catherine Commenge in the 7 Panofsky, Studies, 7. 8 For criticism of Panofsky’s framework, regarding pre- and post-Renaissance art, in particular, see Ernst H. Gombrich, Symbolic Images (London: Phaidon, 1972) and Paul Taylor, Iconography without Texts (London: Warburg Institute, 2008). 9 Alon, “Two Cult Vessels” and Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels.”



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 305

final report of the finds from the archaeological site of Gilat.10 Salient features are highlighted below, features that convey the religious narrative. The Gilat Lady is both a vessel and a figurine. As a vessel, it is a container — hollow from the top down to the stool upon which she sits. As a figurine, its attributes are both plastic and painted. We begin with the plastic. The figurine’s modeled attributes are anatomical, including ears, nose, fingers and toes. But it is the lady’s nudity — her breasts, protruding navel, and genitalia in particular — that have led to the emergence of a consensus regarding its emphasis on sexuality and fecundity, regardless of whether one sees the figurine as representing a deity or a mortal. Several scholars believe that her barrel shape indicates that the Lady is pregnant.11 She is seated on a circular object of antithetical converging cones, a form that suggests several possible analogies with roots in Chalcolithic material culture: antithetical V-shaped bowls, copper cylinders (“crowns”), fenestrated stands, and Golan-type stone heads (see figure 10.2).12 Inspired by parallel objects and contexts from Chalcolithic Cyprus, David Alon and Thomas E. Levy proposed that the seat is a birthing stool, a device commonly found in preindustrial societies that recognize the squatting position as the optimal one for parturition.13 The case can be bolstered by a review of how widespread the birthing stool motif is in ancient Near Eastern literature and iconography. Birthing stools of one kind or another are attested in third-millennium Mesopotamian texts,14 Egyptian 10 Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels.” 11 David Alon and Thomas E. Levy, “The Archaeology of Cult and the Chalcolithic Sanctuary at Gilat,” Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 2 (1989): 193 and Fox, “Striped Goddess,” 225. 12 For more on these see Yorke M. Rowan and Jonathan M. Golden, “The Chalcolithic Period of the Southern Levant: A Synthetic Review,” Journal of World Prehistory 22 (2009): 1–92. 13 Alon and Levy, “Archaeology,” 193 and Wenda R. Trevathan, Human Birth: An Evolutionary Perspective (Albuquerque: New Mexico State University Press, 1987), 103–4. For the Cypriot objects, see Edward Peltenburg, “A Cypriot Model for Prehistoric Ritual,” Antiquity 62, no. 235 (1988): 289–93. 14 Inez Bernhard and Samuel Noah Kramer, “Enki und die Weltordnung,” Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Friedrich-Schiller-Universität Jena 9 (1959): 239. See

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Figure 10.2a. Copper cylinder from Nahal Mishmar. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

Figure 10.2b. Pedestaled, fenestrated bowl from Gilat. Courtesy of Tom Levy. Figure 10.2c. Stone “protome-altar” from the Golan Heights. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

Middle and New Kingdom contexts,15 Hittite birth rituals,16 and in Ugaritic literature and Hebrew Scripture.17 The woven motif on the sides of most of the rings may indicate that such stools lines 402–4 referring to Nintur’s role as midwife and her birthstone badge, as quoted by Thorkild Jacobsen, Treasures of Darkness (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976), 109. 15 Ann Macy Roth, “The Psš-Kf and the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony: A Ritual of Birth and Rebirth,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 78 (1992): 145 and Alan Shulman, “A Birth-Scene (?) From Memphis,” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 22 (1985): 97–103. 16 Gary Beckman, Hittite Birth Rituals: An Introduction, Sources from the Ancient Near East 1/4. (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1978). 17 Atzila Talit-Razenberg, ‫לידה בכלל ואבנים בפרט‬-‫מושבי‬, Beit Mikra: Journal for the Study of the Bible and Its World 133 (1992): 248–53.



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 307

were made of basketry; comparable motifs can be found in New Kingdom portrayals from Egypt.18 Given such grounding in ancient Near Eastern literature (not to mention ethnography) the birthing stool proposal seems particularly apt. The vessel held on the figurine’s head and balanced by its right arm is identified as a churn (see figure 10.3), a vessel used to process milk for the production of secondary dairy products such as yogurt or butter.19 One scholar has proposed that it is a water container.20 It could also be a wine bag. In any case, the fertility theme is viewed as crucial to what is signified. Grasped in the crook of the woman’s left arm is another, smaller, biconical vessel. This appears to be a fenestrated stand

Figure 10.3. Ceramic churn from Horvat Beter. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority. 18 Shulman, “Birth-Scene.” 19 Alon, “Two Cult Vessels”; Amiran and Tadmor, “Female Cult Statuette”; and Rivka Merhav, ‫שרבטי אלים במטמון נחל משמר‬, in ‫מחקרים בארכיאולוגיה ובהיסטוריה של‬ ‫ מוגשים למשה דותן‬: ‫ארץ ישראל‬, ed. M. Heltzer, A. Segal and D. Kaufman (Haifa: Haifa University Press, 1993), 40. 20 “Man is certainly more in need of a rain-goddess than a butter-making goddess”; see Ruth Amiran, “The Gilat Goddess and the Temples of Gilat,” in L’urbanisation de la Palestine à l’âge du Bronze Ancien, vol. 1/2 of Bilan et perspectives des recherches actuelles, ed. Pierre de Miroschedji, BAR International Series 527 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 59. See also Weippert, “Kultstatten,” 120–21.

308 David Ilan

(see figure 10.2b). What is its role? Such stands are found most frequently in burial and ritual contexts.21 Functionally, it is a raised bowl, which suggests the placement of contents for display; it would not be an object of easy mobility when the bowl was filled. We shall return to the mortuary/ritual, contextual aspect below, for this, too, is a crucial element of our interpretation. The Gilat Lady is adorned with red painted eyes (circles with pupils in the center), hair locks (longer in the back, shorter in front of the ears), what may be layers of cloth supporting the churn on her head, and a series of horizontal, and some vertical, lines.22 The vertical lines emanate from the eyes. In addition, the churn above and the stool below are both painted almost completely. The right arm also seems to have a bigger splotch of paint around the elbow zone. The figurine’s painted decoration may well reflect a cultural milieu in which tattooing or body painting was commonplace.23 But are these painted lines just the portrayal of a mortal woman’s scarred or painted finery — that associated with a marriage ceremony or other rite of passage?24 In an object so laden with symbols, one should ask whether the lines, too, are signifiers. The key may lie in how the lines are organized. Where do they emanate from? Is their organization part of a narrative structure? And, if so, does this narrative reflect more foundational attitudes of Chalcolithic society and culture?

21 Edwin C. M. van den Brink, Yorke M. Rowan, and Eliot Braun, “Pedestalled Basalt Bowls of the Chalcolithic: New Variations,” Israel Exploration Journal 49, nos. 3–4 (1999): 161–83. 22 On the layers of cloth supporting the churn, see Miriam Tadmor, “Naturalistic Depictions in the Gilat Sculptured Vessels,” Israel Museum Journal 5 (1986): 7. 23 Alon, “Two Cult Vessels”; Fox, “Striped Goddess”; and Joffe, Dessel, and Hallote, “The Gilat Woman.” 24 One study has challenged the predominant view that the figurine represents a deity, seeing it rather as expressing “human concerns, such as ceremonial life passages and/or highly specific aspects of ‘fertility’” (Joffe, Dessel, and Hallote, “The Gilat Woman,” 9). The authors use their analysis as a springboard for a broader treatment of Chalcolithic ritual behavior, social organization, and ideology. While this approach has merit, it does not make use of important contextual data, which lead us back to interpretations involving the cycle of life and death and the agency of deity.



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 309

The only straight vertical lines are those descending from the figurine’s eyes. A number of other lines emanate from these, encompassing the body horizontally. Progressing to theme, the Lady is weeping, her tears flowing in the form of a stream connected to other lines traversing her body that one might interpret as tributary streams, irrigation ditches, or furrows in a planted field.25 Why is the Lady weeping? In both Mesopotamian and Egyptian mythologies (and most others as well) weeping is associated with mourning for the dead. Examples abound. In the Pyramid Texts (spell 535), the Egyptian goddesses Isis and Nepthys weep for the dead Osiris. In Sumerian mythology, the fifth song of the composition Thorkild Jacobsen has called “O Lord, Great Noble Child, Exalted Above and Below” is a lament by Damu’s (Dumuzi’s) mother, who fears that her son may not return to the land of the living.26 Inanna, in her infinite variety, is a rain goddess, too.27 The iconography of the Gilat Lady is thus imbued with two aspects: that of fertility and sexuality identified by past authors (signaled by her possible natal state, the birthing stool, and the churn she carries on her head), and that of death and mourning (signaled by the biconical stand and the weeping motif). This interpretation may stand on its own as reasoned speculation. But it is the figurine’s archaeological context that enhances the mortuary aspect of the figurine’s message. The Gilat Sanctuary as a Mortuary Temple The architecture and layout of the Gilat sanctuary are a continuing source of frustration to anyone who examines the published (and even unpublished) documentation. The published final report reveals a jumbled layout of limited coherence, in stark contrast

25 The idea that the lady is weeping has been briefly remarked upon by Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels,” 746 and adopted by Shalem, “Iconography,” 48, 139 (English abstract 8). Shalem also notes two other artifacts that seem to show weeping women: an ossuary and a figurine (38, 48, 74, 116, 139). 26 Jacobsen, Treasures, 68. 27 Jacobsen, Treasures, 136–37.

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to the easily comprehended plan of the well-known Chalcolithic sanctuary at Ein Gedi.28 The Gilat sanctuary contains more than ninety human burials in and around the sanctuary, of all ages and sexes, usually interred in circular pits.29 At least forty-three pedestaled bowl specimens of basalt and two hundred ceramic versions were recovered at Gilat.30 These artifacts occur frequently in burial contexts.31 Large numbers of fragments were counted at the Ein Gedi sanctuary, which Yorke Rowan and I have interpreted as a mortuary temple.32 Pedestalled bowls also occur in so-called cultic contexts in the Beer-sheba valley sites, almost always in the subterranean chambers, pits, and silos.33 Alon and Miriam Tadmor have both alluded to the resemblance of this vessel’s form to the antithetical, biconical shape of the copper rings in the Cave of the Treasure.34 The fact that no stone or pottery fenestrated/pedestaled stands/ bowls were found in the Cave of the Treasure leads one to wonder whether the copper rings had a similar function. In a similar vein, Claire Epstein suggested that the stone heads from the Golan

28 Thomas E. Levy, Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat (London: Equinox, 2006) and David Ussishkin, “The Ghassulian Shrine at Ein Gedi,” Tel Aviv 7 (1980): 1–44. 29 Patricia Smith et al., “Death and the Sanctuary: The Human Remains from Gilat,” in Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat, ed. Thomas E. Levy (London: Equinox, 2006), 327–66. 30 Yorke M. Rowan et al., “Gilat’s Ground Stone Assemblage: Stone Fenestrated Stands, Bowls, Palettes and Related Artifacts,” in Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat, ed. Thomas E. Levy (London: Equinox, 2006), 598–99 and Catherine Commenge, “Gilat’s Ceramics: Cognitive Dimensions of Pottery Production,” in Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat, Israel, ed. Thomas E. Levy (London: Equinox, 2006), 398–99. 31 Rowan et al., “Gilat’s Ground Stone Assemblage.” 32 David Ilan and Yorke M. Rowan, “The Judean Desert as a Chalcolithic Necrop­ olis,” Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 28, no. 2 (2015): 182–84. For the fragments, see Ussishkin, “Ghassulian Shrine.” 33 For a partial inventory of sites where fenestrated/pedestaled stands/bowls were found (with references) see Alon and Levy, “Archaeology,” table 8. 34 Alon, “Two Cult Vessels” and Tadmor, “Naturalistic Depictions,” 7–8.



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 311

Chalcolithic are the compeers of the pedestaled and fenestrated bowls.35 A large number of socalled violin figurines (see figure 10.4) were found at Gilat (N=53), more than all other Chalcolithic sites combined. Due to their schematic nature, their interpretation is generally treated with caution. Those who hazard an interpretation see them as representing a female deity based on later Cycladic parallels and on the inference that a fertility cult Figure 10.4. Stone violin figurine from Gilat. Courtesy of the prevailed in Chalcolithic soci- Israel Antiquities Authority. ety.36 It was Yigael Yadin who first suggested that the violin figurines correspond to the fronton displayed on many ossuaries, an idea taken up by Rivka Gonen, who saw the fronton as portraying a goddess who guards the gateway to the realm of the dead.37 To my mind, violin figurines are effigies of the dead manufactured for ritual action.38 In essence, then, the Gilat sanctuary is a mortuary temple, filled with primary burials and small bones left behind in the wake of the collection of larger bones for subsequent secondary

35 Claire Epstein, “Aspects of Symbolism in Chalcolithic Palestine,” in Archaeology in the Levant: Essays in Honour of Kathleen Kenyon, ed. Roger Moorey and Peter Parr (London: Aris & Phillips, 1978), 29–32. 36 Gimbutas, Goddesses and Gods, 152–59; Rivka Gonen, “The Chalcolithic Period,” in The Archaeology of Ancient Israel, ed. Amnon Ben-Tor (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 64–65; Alon and Levy, “Archaeology,” 185–90; and Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels.” 37 Yigael Yadin, “Note on the Violin-Shaped Figurine from Gilat,” Atiqot 11 (n.d.): 121 and Gonen, “Chalcolithic Period,” 76. 38 This idea will be developed further in David Ilan and Yorke M. Rowan, The Archaeology of Chalcolithic Religion in the Southern Levant (forthcoming).

312 David Ilan

burial elsewhere, in ossuaries.39 Aside from the skeletal remains themselves, it contains all the paraphernalia of ritual action associated with mortuary behavior: remains of feasting, food storage, special evocative artifacts (fenestrated stands, figurines), effigies, and even fragments of ossuaries. Rowan and I have recently proposed that ossuaries were intended as the vehicles of regeneration — reincarnation — clay being the material from which human beings are created in most mythologies.40 The ossuaries and the bones they contained were conceived of as seeds, planted in the earth (the tomb), with the earth being the mother goddess and the tomb her womb. Commenge points out that the Gilat Lady is obviously an attention-focusing device, a central component of ritual communication.41 The figurine/vessel is hollow; it must have contained a liquid. Which liquid? Milk, water, or an alcoholic or other psychotropic drink? Commenge remarks that consumption of the liquid contents would likely have fulfilled the vessel’s function, perhaps imparting the powers held by the goddess.42 Perhaps women drank from this vessel as a means of inducing fertility or protection during childbirth. Or perhaps the liquid was an offering to the goddess. In the same chamber as the Gilat Lady (or in one nearby; it is not clear from the publications), a zoomorphic vessel in the form of a ram was discovered (see figure 10.5). Helga Weippert and Catherine Commenge suggest dual, complementary functions, one female and one male — in essence, a divine duo — following 39 David Ilan and Yorke M. Rowan, “Deconstructing and Recomposing the Narrative of Spiritual Life in the Chalcolithic of the Southern Levant (4500–3600 B.C.E.),” in Beyond Belief: The Archaeology of Religion and Ritual, ed. Yorke M. Rowan (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 102. 40 David Ilan and Yorke M. Rowan, “Expediting Reincarnation in the Fifth Millennium BCE: Interpreting the Chalcolithic Ossuaries of the Southern Levant,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 38, no. 3 (2019): 248–70. 41 See Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels,” 750, where she cites Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (London: Pelican, 1973) and Edmund R. Leach, Culture and Communication: The Logic by which Symbols Are Connected. An Introduction to the Use of Structuralist Analysis in Social Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 45. 42 Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels,” 752.



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 313

Figure 10.5. Zoomorphic vessel in the form of a ram from Gilat. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

the Neolithic prototype elaborated by Jacques Cauvin.43 Peta Seaton and Dina Shalem have followed this line of thinking.44 Catherine Commenge goes so far as to suggest that the female was held to have created the male. While the male element (deity) was certainly considered crucial to the propagation of life and deserving of its own explication (see the sources cited in note 3), it is of less concern to us here. We are more concerned with the specific role of the female deity. The Gilat temple’s storage facilities, concentration of wealth, and possible centrality in an exchange network are part of our story. The ancestors and the gods who watched over them sanctioned 43 Weippert, “Kultstatten”; Commenge, “Anthropomorphic and Zoomorphic Vessels,” 751–53; and Jacques Cauvin, The Birth of the Gods and the Origins of Agriculture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 22–23, 66. 44 Peta Seaton, Chalcolithic Cult and Risk Management at Teleilat Ghassul: The Area E Sanctuary, BAR International Series 1864 (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2008), 128–38 and Dina Shalem, “Cultural Continuity and Changes in South Levantine Late Chalcolithic Burial Customs and Iconographic Imagery: An Interpretation of the Finds from Peqi‘in Cave,” Journal of the Israel Prehistoric Society (Mitkufat Haʾeven) 47 (2017): 151.

314 David Ilan

the exercise of power and provided legitimacy to priests and moiety leaders.45 The Gilat sanctuary most likely maintained the economic and social functions inferred by Levy. But it was foremost a mortuary temple, as was the Ein Gedi temple in the Judean Desert.46 The Gilat temple was probably a tribal center serving a defined territory, but it served the life-cycle goddess. The Gilat Lady is portrayal of that goddess and of her actions. Conclusion: Iconographical Interpretation The Gilat figurine’s elaborate iconography and archaeological context urge us to speculate further afield than we are normally disposed to do. Her message of fertility and fecundity has been widely recognized, but she also exhibits mortuary motifs that have been less obvious; only iconological analysis and interpretation reveal them. Clearly, the figurine was intended to express the nexus between the two.47 The objects included in the figurine’s composition (churn, stand, stool) and the context in which these objects most frequently occur (tombs and temples) suggest that religious beliefs and, most probably, a prescribed framework of ceremonial behavior concerning the cycle of life and death were referenced by the Gilat lady. It would also appear that these ritual and religious references were prevalent and paramount throughout the southern Levant.48 One suspects that the Gilat lady, together with the ram with cornets and other now-missing paraphernalia, may have been a narrative device that illustrated religious parables much like the wall and furniture paintings of Byzantine and Renaissance churches. 45 Thomas E. Levy, “Conclusion: The Evolution of a Levantine Prehistoric Regional Cult Center,” in Archaeology, Anthropology and Cult: The Sanctuary at Gilat, ed. Thomas E. Levy (London: Equinox, 2006), 831–48. 46 Ilan and Rowan, “Judean Desert.” 47 Cf. Fox, “Striped Goddess,” 223. 48 Yorke M. Rowan and David Ilan, “The Meaning of Ritual Diversity in the Chalcolithic of the Southern Levant,” in Cult in Context: Reconsidering Ritual in Archaeology, ed. D. Barrowclough and C. Malone (Oxford: Oxbow, 2007), 249–56; Ilan and Rowan, “Deconstructing and Recomposing”; and Shalem, “Motifs.”



The Weeping Lady of Gilat 315

What story is she is telling? This is how I would reconstruct it: The Lady is the earth mother goddess who oversees the cycle of life and death. You cannot have one without the other; all living things must die to ensure that new things will be born. When a loved one dies, the goddess mourns with us. She weeps. Her tears create the rainfall and the rivers, and the rain makes the land fertile. With rainfall, the pastures flourish and our livestock grazes and flourishes. We have milk, meat, and wool aplenty. We can harvest rainwater and dig irrigation channels from the springs and rivers to irrigate our crops. The seeds we plant sprout in the wet earth and our crops feed us. When a person dies, the flesh must return to the earth, whence it came. The bones are collected when the flesh is gone, and they are buried in the womb of the earth mother — in a tomb. With time, the bones will rearticulate and the flesh will regenerate. Bones (at least some people’s bones) are buried in an ossuary of earth or stone to facilitate this regeneration, this reincarnation. Through the earth mother’s munificence, a new life is born and the cycle continues. This is the harmony of the universe. But this harmony can be disrupted and bad things can happen if we fail to play our part. The life-cycle rituals must be expedited and the earth mother must be tended to. The Weeping Lady of Gilat is perhaps the oldest recognizable depiction of emotion in our iconographical corpus. It is a portrayal of grief and mourning, on the one hand, and the process of birth and sustenance, on the other. Six thousand years later, she is still telling us how life and harmony are sustained. Perhaps we should listen.

The Body Adorned

Chapter 11

An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat: The Style and Significance of Joseph’s Garment Benjamin J. Noonan

The biblical figure of Joseph has intrigued readers of Scripture for centuries. His story, furthermore, has inspired great works of literature, music, theatre, and film. From Thomas Mann’s fourvolume Joseph und seine Brüder (1933–1943) to George Frideric Handel’s oratorio Joseph and His Brethren (1743) to Rembrandt van Rijn’s etching Joseph Telling His Dreams (1638), Joseph and his story have had profound impact on modern Western culture.1 Indeed, few biblical characters have influenced Western society and the arts more than Joseph. One particular element of Joseph’s story that has especially captivated people’s attention is the garment that Jacob gave to Joseph, represented in Hebrew as ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬in Gen 37:3, 23, It is with great appreciation that I offer this article to Nili S. Fox, whose investment in me as a student at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion has helped to make me the teacher and researcher that I am today. My hope is that this article exemplifies the integration of textual, archaeological, and iconographic studies that Nili expertly modeled for us. All translations are my own. 1 Nahum M. Sarna et al., “Joseph,” EncJud 11:411–13 and Iain Provan, Discovering Genesis: Content, Interpretation, Reception, Discovering Biblical Texts (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), 170, 188–89.



319

320 Benjamin J. Noonan

32 (cf. 2 Sam 13:18–19).2 The King James Version’s translation of ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬as “coat of many colours” is largely responsible for today’s popular belief that Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬was a multicolored garment, an understanding vividly represented in the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice (first performed in 1968). Yet the identity of Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬remains disputed, as summarized by Bill T. Arnold: “The precise nature of Joseph’s [garment] is rather famously impossible to identify.”3 Specifically, two issues remain unresolved: the style of the garment and the significance of Joseph’s investiture with this garment. In this essay, I revisit both of these perplexing issues. I argue that, despite modern objections to the contrary, Joseph’s garment was indeed a multicolored one. I then demonstrate that, far from simply representing a mere gift to a father’s favorite son, this multicolored garment effected Jacob’s granting of firstborn status to Joseph. The Style of Joseph’s Garment I begin my analysis of Joseph’s garment by investigating its style. Following a brief suggestion by William F. Albright, I argue that Joseph’s garment was a patterned, multicolored one.4 After exploring previously proposed etymologies for ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬, I support this characterization through both lexical and iconographic considerations. Lexically, usage of ‫ פס‬in postbiblical Hebrew and Aramaic as well as cognate evidence indicates that ‫(ה)פסים‬ means “(the) portions, (the) pieces” and therefore denotes stripes, paneling, or checkers when used in the collocation ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬. Iconographically, representations of clothing from both within 2 This collocation appears as ‫( כתנת פסים‬without the definite article) in Gen 37:3 and as ‫( כתנת הפסים‬with the definite article) in Gen 37:23, 32. Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible this collocation appears only in 2 Sam 13:18–19: ‫( כתנת פסים‬without the definite article) in verse 18 and ‫( כתנת הפסים‬with the definite article) in verse 19. 3 Bill T. Arnold, Genesis, New Cambridge Bible Commentary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 318. 4 William F. Albright, “From the Patriarchs to Moses: I. From Abraham to Joseph,” Biblical Archaeologist 36 (1973): 31–32.



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 321

and outside of Syria-Palestine confirm that such a garment was worn throughout the Northwest Semitic world, especially by elites. Previously Proposed Etymologies Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬in the Ancient Versions

The ancient versions reveal the earliest etymological explanations of Joseph’s ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬. The majority of them understood the garment to be composed of different colors or materials. The Old Greek (χιτὼν ποικίλος, “multicolored tunic”), Old Latin (tunica varium, “variegated tunic”), and Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, Targum Neofiti, and the Fragment Targum (each reading ‫פרגוד מצייר‬, “painted coat”) take Joseph’s garment as multicolored. Somewhat similarly, the Vulgate (tunica polymitus, “tunic of many threads”) considers Joseph’s garment as made of different strips of material.5 Each of these ancient translations understands ‫ (ה)פסים‬to mean “strips, portions,” as this term most often does in later Rabbinic Hebrew. However, the other ancient versions (generally those representing later traditions) attest to a different interpretation of Joseph’s ̈ ‫ܟܘܬܝܢܐ‬, “long-sleeved tunic”), garment. The Peshitta (‫ܕܦܕܝ ܬܐ‬ Aquila (χιτὼν ἀστράγαλων, “tunic covering the ankles”), and Symmachus (χιτὼν χειριδωτός, “sleeved tunic”) each consider Joseph’s tunic a long garment that covers either the hands or feet. This interpretation of Joseph’s garment presumably understands ‫ (ה)פסים‬in light of various Aramaic terms that can mean “palm” (cf. Biblical Aramaic ‫“ פס‬palm” in Dan 5:5, 24). These same two interpretations are also attested in the ancient versions for 2 Sam 13:18–19, the only other place in the Hebrew Bible where the expression ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬occurs. Both the Peshitta (‫ܟܘܬܝܢܐ ܡܚܛܒܬܐ‬, “striped tunic”) and Targum Jonathan (‫כתונא דפסי‬, “striped tunic”) describe Tamar’s garment 5 This also seems to be the understanding of Targum Onqelos’s ‫כיתונא דפסי‬, “striped tunic”; see Bernard Grossfeld, The Targum Oneqlos to Genesis, Aramaic Bible 6 (Wilmington, DE: Glazier, 1988), 126. Because it presumably uses the Aramaic cognate of Hebrew ‫פס‬, however, I do not include it here as evidence for this interpretation.

322 Benjamin J. Noonan

in terms of its color and material.6 All the other ancient versions of 2 Sam 13:18–19, though, understand the garment in terms of its length (cf. Josephus, Ant. 8.171). This is evident in the Vulgate’s talaris tunica, “tunic stretching to the ankles” as well as the Septuagint, which attests to several similar variant readings: χιτὼν καρπωτός, “tunic extending to the wrist” (Codex Vaticanus, Aquila, and Origen); χιτὼν ἀστραγαλωτός, “tunic covering the ankle” (attested in several Septuagint manuscripts, including the miniscule codices 19, 82, 93, and 108); and χιτῶνα χειριδωτός, “sleeved tunic” (Symmachus).7 Most modern commentators have followed the understanding that Joseph’s garment was a long tunic that covered the wrists and ankles rather than taking it as a multicolored garment. But scholars have also offered a number of other suggestions. I now survey and evaluate the various modern proposals on the etymology of ‫(ה)פסים‬, interacting with the scholarly literature and providing bibliography, before offering my own explanation of its etymology. A Long-Sleeved Garment?

The etymology of ‫ (ה)פסים‬most popular in the modern era takes Joseph’s garment as a long-sleeved tunic that reached to the wrists and ankles.8 This understanding connects ‫ (ה)פסים‬with Biblical 6 The Peshitta reads ‫ ܟܘܬܝܢܐ ݂ܡܚܛܒܬܐ‬only in 2 Sam 13:19; extant manuscripts omit 2 Sam 13:18. 7 No extant Old Latin manuscripts contain 2 Sam 13:18–19. 8 See, e.g., Claudia Bender, Die Sprache des Textilen. Untersuchungen zu Kleidung und Textilien im Alten Testament, Beiträge zur Wissenschaft von Alten und Neuen Testament 177 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008), 110; Alban Cras, La Symbolique du vêtement dans la Bible. Pour une théologie du vêtement, Lire la Bible 172 (Paris: Cerf, 2011), 60; Aldina da Silva, La Symbolique des rêves et des vêtements dans l’histoire de Joseph et de ses frères, Héritage et projet 52 (Saint-Laurent: Fides, 1994), 39–40; S. R. Driver, The Book of Genesis, 10th ed., Westminster Commentaries (London: Methuen, 1916), 322; John Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis, 2nd ed., International Critical Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1930), 444; Hermann Gunkel, Genesis, trans. Mark E. Biddle, Mercer Library of Biblical Studies (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 390; Claus Westermann, Genesis 37–50: A Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1986), 37; and Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary, trans. John H. Marks, Old Testament Library (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972), 351; cf. David Toshio Tsumura, The Sec-



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 323

Aramaic ‫פס‬, “palm,” attested only in Dan 5:5, 24, as well as the derived feminine form attested in later dialects of Aramaic. This feminine form can denote either the palm of the hand or the sole of the foot and is attested in Targumic Aramaic as ‫ פיסה‬or ‫פסה‬, in Babylonian Gaonic Aramaic as ‫פיסתא‬, in Syriac as ‫ܦܣܬܐ‬, and in Mandaic as pasanta.9 This connection is problematic, however, because the word ‫פס‬ does not normally mean “palm (of the hand)” or “sole (of the foot)” in the Semitic languages when it occurs all by itself. In Rabbinic Hebrew, ‫ פס‬typically only means “palm” and “sole” within the collocations ‫ פס יד‬and ‫פס רגל‬, respectively (e.g., Sipra Lev. 10.9; Yal. Sam. 143). Otherwise, it means “portion, strip.”10 The same is true of Aramaic, in which ‫ פס‬means “portion, strip” and normally only means “palm” and “sole” when used in the expressions ‫פס‬ ‫ ידא‬and ‫( פס רגלא‬e.g., Tg. Neb. 1 Kgs 18:44; b. Yebam. 115a).11 Biblical Aramaic ‫ פס‬likewise means “palm” not by itself but in the collocations ‫( פס ידה‬Dan 5:5) and ‫( פסא די־ידא‬Dan 5:24). There is thus little evidence that ‫ פס‬normally meant “palm” or “sole” by itself in either ancient Hebrew or Aramaic. We would instead expect the feminine, not the masculine, form of the word to be used to express the meaning “palm” or “foot,” as is typical of Hebrew and Aramaic. These two observations call into question any understanding of ‫ (ה)פסים‬as “(the) palms” or “(the) feet.” This etymology does seem to have the support of the Peshitta as ond Book of Samuel, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2019), 208–9; A. Graeme Auld, I & II Samuel: A Commentary, Old Testament Library (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2011), 475–76; and A. A. Anderson, 2 Samuel, Word Biblical Commentary 11 (Dallas: Word, 1989), 175. 9 Jastrow, 1168; Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods, 2nd ed. (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2020), 874; Sokoloff, A Syriac Lexicon: A Translation from the Latin, Correction, Expansion, and Update of C. Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 1215; and E. S. Drower and Rudolf Macuch, A Mandaic Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1963), 361. 10 Jastrow, 1191. The exceptions are instances of wordplay, in which ‫ יד‬and ‫ רגל‬are most probably omitted from the normal collocations ‫ פס יד‬and ‫ פס רגל‬because doing so would affect the wordplay (e.g., Gen. Rab. 78.12; Yal. Prov. 938). 11 Jastrow, 1191 and Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period, 3rd ed. (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2017), 496.

324 Benjamin J. Noonan

well as Aquila and Symmachus, but these renderings do not necessarily determine the matter, especially because they generally represent a later tradition. A Veil?

Although defining ‫ (ה)פסים‬as “palms” or “soles” has been most popular in the modern era, this etymology has not gone unchallenged. Most recently, Heath D. Dewrell has argued that ‫(ה)פסים‬ represents not the plural of ‫*פס‬, but a qattîl-pattern noun of the root ‫ *פס״ם‬that means “veiling garment.”12 He compares Akkadian pasāmu, which means “to cover, hide” in the G stem and “to veil, hide the face” in the D stem.13 He finds support for his etymology in MAL §§40–41, which associate the presence or absence of a veil — denoted by the term paṣānu, the Assyrian form of the verb pasāmu — with a woman’s status. According to Dewrell, a cognate relationship between pasāmu and ‫ (ה)פסים‬is confirmed by the latter’s connection with the sexual and social status (i.e., virgin royalty) of Tamar in 2 Sam 13. Yet Dewrell’s etymology faces difficulties at both the morphological and conceptual levels. He says that the qattîlpattern “is relatively common in Hebrew” but fails to mention that this particular pattern is used for actant rather than active nouns.14 This difference is significant because actant nouns in the Semitic languages are adjectival, as examples from Hebrew like ‫צדיק‬, “righteous, just” and ‫אדיר‬, “mighty” demonstrate.15 If ‫פסים‬ were from a root ‫ פס״ם‬meaning “to veil” as Dewrell alleges, it should mean “veiled” (actant) rather than “veiling” (action). This 12 Heath D. Dewrell, “How Tamar’s Veil Became Joseph’s Coat: The Meaning of ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬,” Biblica 97 (2016): 161–74. Wilfred G. E. Watson, Lexical Studies in Ugaritic, Aula Orientalis Supplementa 19 (Sabadell: Editorial AUSA, 2007), 100–101 similarly connects Ugaritic psm, “veil” (in the expression lbš psm rq, KTU 4.205:5) with Akkadian pusummu, “veil” and compares these terms with Hebrew )‫(ה‬ ‫פסים‬. His argumentation is not nearly as developed as Dewrell’s, however. 13 “pasāmu,” CAD 12:217–18 and “pasāmu(m),” AHw 838 and “pussum/nu,” AHw 882–83. 14 Dewrell, “How Tamar’s Veil Became Joseph’s Coat,” 166. 15 Joshua Fox, Semitic Noun Patterns, Harvard Semitic Studies 59 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 267–69.



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 325

is confirmed by the observation that the corresponding actant form in Akkadian, namely pussumu, pussunu, means “veiled” rather than “veiling.”16 Thus, despite Dewrell’s contention otherwise, the similarity of ‫ פסים‬to pasāmu is only coincidental.17 Dewrell’s etymology also cannot be sustained conceptually. His argumentation is based on the assumption that Tamar’s veil was a symbol of her sexual status — namely, her virginity. However, in the ancient Near East, including Israel, veiling was a symbol of a woman’s appurtenance in that it marked membership in a patriarchal family, not necessarily virginity (cf. MAL A §41; Gen 24:65). This is not to say that there was a oneto-one correspondence between wearing a veil and marital status; brides often received their veil upon betrothal before they were officially married, and wearing a veil was most common among the upper classes.18 Nevertheless, it is clear that the veil 16 “pussunu,” CAD 12:537 and “pussum/nu,” AHw 882–83. Akkadian pussumu follows the pattern of a D stem verbal adjective, as would be expected for the meaning “veiled.” The noun for “veil” is instead pusummu (CAD 12:537–38 and AHw 883). 17 Dewrell, “How Tamar’s Veil Became Joseph’s Coat,” 164–66 makes much of the appearance of the Akkadian term in the Middle Assyrian Laws, which he alleges provides a comparative parallel to Tamar’s clothing in 2 Sam 13. The Middle Assyrian Laws, however, use (as expected) the Assyrian form paṣānu rather than the Babylonian form pasāmu. The lexical parallel between the Middle Assyrian Laws and ‫פסים‬ is thus not as close as it might seem at first glance. Another potential argument against Dewrell’s proposal comes from the possibility that the root behind Akkadian pasāmu, which occurs in Assyrian dialects as paṣānu, appears in West Semitic as ṣnp, “to wrap” (cf. Biblical Hebrew ‫צנ״ף‬, “to wind, wrap,” ‫צניף‬, “turban,” and ‫מצנפת‬, “headband”). If correct, it could be argued that Hebrew speakers would probably not create a noun from the East (pṣm) rather than West (ṣnp) Semitic form of this root, especially because a noun referring to a wrapped garment and based on the West Semitic form of the root already existed in Hebrew (i.e., ‫)צניף‬. 18 Karel van der Toorn, “The Significance of the Veil in the Ancient Near East,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom, ed. David P. Wright, David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 327–39 and Matitiahu Tsevat, “The Husband Veils a Wife (Hittite Laws §§197–98),” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 27 (1975): 237–40. The veil’s symbolism was thus similar to that of placing a cloak over a woman to be wed, a well-attested ancient Near Eastern practice; see Ezek 16:8; Hos 2:11 (ET 2:9); Ruth 3:9; and ARM 26.251:16–18. See also Paul A. Kruger, “The Hem of the Garment in Marriage: The Meaning of the Symbolic Gesture in Ruth 3:9 and Ezek. 16:8,” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 12 (1984): 79–86; Åke Viberg, Symbols of Law: A Contextual Analysis of Legal Symbolic Acts in the Old Testament, Coniectanea Biblica: Old Testament Series 34 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1992), 136–44; and Meir Malul, “‫עיונים‬

326 Benjamin J. Noonan

symbolized appurtenance rather than virginity per se, which creates conceptual difficulties for Dewrell’s proposal.19 Other Proposals

In addition to the proposals that ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬denotes a longsleeved garment or a veil, the scholarly literature attests to many other etymologies for ‫(ה)פסים‬. Some of these etymologies are not as popular as the two already discussed, but they remain influential and continue to find advocates in the secondary literature. I thus evaluate them here before putting forth my own etymology. E. A. Speiser compares ‫ (ה)פסים‬with Akkadian pišannu, which denotes a cultic garment to which metal appliqués could be attached.20 This Akkadian term occurs in the expression gada pi-šáan-ni, in conjunction with the Sumerogram gada, in BIN 2.126:5.21 Because gada corresponds with Akkadian kitû, and because kitû can be connected with Biblical Hebrew ‫כתנת‬, Speiser argues that gada pi-šá-an-ni is the equivalent of ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬in Genesis. Among other things, the most significant problem with this etymology is that it cannot explain the use of an a-class vowel for Akkadian i, the doubled samek of the Hebrew form, and the lack of representation of the Akkadian -annu ending.22 ‫ משמעותם‬,‫ח ֶצן‬/‫ן‬ ֵ ‫ החיק והח ֶֹצ‬,‫ דיון במושגים כנף הבגד‬- ‫בסימבוליקה משפטית מקראית‬ ‫ושימושיהם המשפטיים במקרא ובמזרח־הקדום‬,” Shnaton 9 (1985): 197–98. 19 As van der Toorn, “Significance,” 338 points out, the veil could be a symbol of chastity. Yet such a meaning naturally derives from the veil’s primary connection with appurtenance and therefore symbolizes something different than virginity: “This second function is related to the first, insofar as appurtenance to an upper-class male implied that a woman fell under his authority; she was not free to dispose of her body at will.” 20 Ephraim A. Speiser, Genesis, Anchor Bible 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 289–90. 21 James Buchanan Nies and Clarence Elwood Keiser, Historical, Religious and Economic Texts and Antiquities, vol. 2 of Babylonian Inscriptions in the Collection of James B. Nies, 10 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1920), pl. xlvii. On Akkadian pišannu, see CAD 12:427 and AHw 868. 22 Another difficulty with Speiser’s etymology is the use of Hebrew samek for Akkadian š. If from Akkadian, this word would need to come from the Assyrian rather than Babylonian dialect because Hebrew uses shin for Babylonian š and samek for Assyrian š; cf. Paul V. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew, Harvard



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 327

P. Kyle McCarter, Jr. proposes that ‫ (ה)פסים‬is related to Biblical Hebrew ‫א ֶפס‬, ֶ “extremity, end.”23 He finds support for taking ‫ֶא ֶפס‬ as a bodily extremity (i.e., an appendage) because ‫ א ֶֹפס‬appears in Ezek 47:3 with the meaning “ankle.”24 He then argues that ‫ַּפס‬ is a variant for ‫א ֶפס‬, ֶ as demonstrated by the variation between the toponym ‫ ֶא ֶפס ַַּד ִִּמים‬in 1 Sam 17:1 and ‫ ַּפס ַַּד ִִּמים‬in 1 Chr 11:13. In 1 Chr 11:13, however, the absence of the alef could be due to the preposition bet that comes before, and therefore the variation between ‫ ֶא ֶפס‬and ‫ ַּפס‬in this toponym does not demonstrate definitively that the ‫)ּפ ִּסים‬ ַ ‫(ה‬ ַ of Genesis is a variant of ‫א ֶפס‬. ֶ 25 George E. Mendenhall instead connects ‫ (ה)פסים‬with Ugaritic pḏ, which he takes to represent the divine glory represented in Akkadian by the term puluḫtu.26 This etymology, however, depends on an idiosyncratic reading of KTU 1.2 i:18–19, 34–35, and Ugaritic pḏ is more plausibly cognate with Hebrew ‫ פז‬and means “gold,” not “glory.”27 Not only are the consonant correspondences between ‫ פז‬and pḏ exactly as expected,28 taking pḏ as “gold” fits Yamm’s request that the gods hand over Baʿal along with his possessions: gold is elsewhere included among the spoils of battle (KTU 1.3 iii:39–46), and Anat later claims to have disposed of the gold of Baʿal’s enemies (KTU 1.3 iv:47).29 Semitic Studies 47 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 156. The problem with this is that pišannu is limited to Neo-Babylonian texts and is not attested in Assyrian. 23 P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary, Anchor Bible 9 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 325–26. 24 In rabbinic texts, ‫ ֶא ֶפס‬does appear with the meaning “ankle” (b. Yoma 77b). A form more closely connected with Biblical Hebrew ‫א ֶֹפס‬, namely ‫אּופ ַסיִ ם‬, ְ also appears in Mek. Rabbi Ishmael Exod 16:14 (Vayissa §3). See Jastrow, 31, 106. 25 Cf. David Toshio Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 438. 26 George E. Mendenhall, The Tenth Generation: The Origins of the Biblical Tradition (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), 54–55. 27 Cf. Gregorio del Olmo Lete and Joaqín Sanmartín, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition, trans. Wilfred G. E. Watson, 3rd ed., 2 vols., Handbuch der Orientalistik 112 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 654. 28 Ugaritic ḏ should correspond to Hebrew zayin, not samek as Mendenhall’s theory requires; see John Huehnergard, An Introduction to Ugaritic (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2012), 26. 29 Mark S. Smith, Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU 1.1–1.2, vol. 1 of The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, 3 vols., Supplements to Vetus Testamen-

328 Benjamin J. Noonan

Robert Eisler suggests that ‫ (ה)פסים‬is a textual corruption of Rabbinic Hebrew ‫פספס‬. Through comparison with Akkadian paspasu, he alleges that ‫ פספס‬denotes a multicolored garment.30 But there are several problems with this hypothesis. Eisler’s definition of “multicolored” is based on Franz Delitzsch’s incorrect understanding of Akkadian paspasu as “peasant, peacock,” and, even if Akkadian paspasu did denote a multicolored bird, there would be no convincing reason to associate it with later Rabbinic Hebrew ‫פספס‬, which comes from Greek ψῆφος, “pebble.”31 Furthermore, there is no evidence from any of the ancient versions to suggest that ‫ פספס‬became ‫ פס‬through haplography in both Gen 37 and 2 Sam 13. Finally, the sole scholar to propose a non-Semitic origin for ‫ (ה)פסים‬is Manfred Görg. He connects the word in question with Egyptian psı̓ and ps, which he alleges can relate to dyeing. But the verb psı̓ typically means “to cook,” and the noun ps means “cook, baker.”32 Both Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache and Ägyptisches Wörterbuch suggest that psı̓ may be connected with dyeing fabric in several Middle Kingdom texts, but this is by no means certain.33 Similarly, their identification of ps as “dyer” in tum 55 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 293–94. 30 Robert Eisler, “Der bunte Rock Josephs,” Orientalistische Literaturzeitung 11 (1908): 368–71. 31 Samuel Krauss, Griechische und lateinische Lehnwörter im Talmud, Midrasch und Targum, 2 vols. (Berlin: Calvary, 1898–1899), 2:470–72. On Delitzsch’s incorrect understanding, see Friedrich Delitzsch, Assyrische Studien. Assyrische Tiernamen mit vielen Excursen und einem assyrischen und akkadischen Glossar (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1874), 105–6. It is now known that Akkadian paspasu instead means “duck”; see CAD 12:222–24 and AHw 839. 32 Rainer Hannig, Ägyptisches Wörterbuch, 2 vols., Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 98, 112 (Mainz: von Zabern, 2003–2006), 1:475, 2:940–41; Hannig, Großes Handwörterbuch Ägyptisch–Deutsch (2800 bis 950 v. Chr.). Die Sprache der Pharaonen, 6th ed., Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 64 (Mainz: von Zabern, 2015), 311; and WÄS 1:551–52. 33 In line 6 of The Stela of Rudjʿaḥau (BM EA 159), psı̓ occurs in conjunction with sšr.w “linen” and perhaps means “starched linen”; see Raymond O. Faulkner, “The Stela of Rudjʿaḥau,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 37 (1951): 49–50; Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Autobiographies Chiefly of the Middle Kingdom: A Study and an Anthology, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 84 (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 71; and Wolfgang Schenkel, Memphis, Herakleopolis, Theben. Die epigraphischen Zeugnisse der 7.–11. Dynastie Ägyptens,



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 329

the phrase ps ı̓nsı̓ “red linen” is far from proven.34 Even assuming that these few instances of psı̓ and ps should be connected with dyeing fabric, the fact remains that in the vast majority of cases these words have to do with cooking, which renders Görg’s hypothesis unlikely. Joseph’s Garment as a Patterned, Multicolored Garment As the preceding survey demonstrates, there exists a plethora of proposed etymologies for ‫(ה)פסים‬. But each one faces difficulties and ultimately fails to provide a convincing explanation of Joseph’s garment. What all these proposals have failed to take into account is that a perfectly good etymology for ‫ (ה)פסים‬already exists, as Albright briefly observed decades ago: “The only otherwise attested meaning for the word passim [i.e., ‫ ](ה)פסים‬in Northwest Semitic is that of tablet-shaped objects.”35 Scholars have largely ignored Albright’s proposal, perhaps because he did not develop it as fully as he could have. Regardless of the reason, Albright’s suggestion remains the most convincing explanation of ‫(ה)פסים‬. Accordingly, I now revisit the lexical and iconographic evidence for Albright’s proposal and develop his argumentation substantially. Similar to Albright, I conclude that Joseph’s garment was a patterned, multicolored garment, most probably one with stripes, panels, or checkers.

Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 12 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1965), 293–94. In the Beni Hasan tomb inscription 15 (row 2, position H on the frieze found on the north wall of the main chamber) and the Beni Hasan tomb inscription 17 (row 2, position G on the frieze found on the north wall of the west half), psı̓ occurs along with nw.t, “yarn, thread” and depictions of linen manufacturers; see Percy E. Newberry, G. Willoughby Fraser, and Francis Llewellyn Griffith, Beni Hasan, 4 vols., Archaeological Survey of Egypt 1st, 2d, 5th, 7th Memoirs (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1893– 1900), 47, 57, pls. 4, 13. The pictures do not clearly depict the dyeing of linen. 34 Wilhelm Spiegelberg, “Varia,” Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 19 (1897): 92–93 and Spiegelberg, Die aegyptische Sammlung des Museum Meermanno-Westreenianum im Haag (Strassburg: Trübner, 1896), 8. The collocation ps ı̓nsı̓ occurs in line 3 of side A of a decorated wooden panel (from the Egyptian Collection of the University College of London) amidst mention of other professions. 35 Albright, “From the Patriarchs to Moses,” 32.

330 Benjamin J. Noonan The Lexical Evidence

Morphologically speaking, ‫ (ה)פסים‬looks like the plural of a qall-pattern noun from the root ‫פס״ס‬. Such a root’s existence in Biblical Hebrew is debated, but it is attested in later Rabbinic Hebrew with the meaning “to distribute” (e.g., t. ʿUq. 1.5).36 This same root appears in Jewish Literary Aramaic as ‫ פסס‬and in Syriac as ‫ܦܣܣ‬, in both cases meaning “to allot, pay.”37 It even appears in Egyptian as psš, “to divide, apportion.”38 Together these forms point to a common Afro-Asiatic root meaning “to divide, distribute.”39 As a derived nominal form from this root, Biblical Hebrew ‫ (ה)פסים‬should therefore mean “(the) portions, (the) pieces” or the like. Indeed, investigation of the noun ps, derived from the root pss, as it appears in the Semitic languages supports such a conclusion.

36 Jastrow, 1198. Regarding Biblical Hebrew, some scholars have argued that the form ‫ ַפּסּו‬in Ps 12:2 (ET 12:1) is in error and should be emended to either ‫ספּו‬, ָ from the root ‫סו״ף‬, “to come to an end” (cf. Tg. Ps. 12:2) — see, e.g., Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 1–59, trans. Hilton C. Oswald, Continental Commentaries (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 206–7 and Nancy de Claissé-Walford, Rolf A. Jacobson, and Beth LaNeel Tanner, The Book of Psalms, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 152) — or ‫א ְפסּו‬, ָ from ‫אפ״ס‬, “to end, be no more” — see, e.g., Mitchell Dahood, Psalms I:1–50, Anchor Bible 16 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 73. The alternative is to connect ‫ פס״ס‬in Ps 12:2 with later Rabbinic Hebrew ‫פס״ס‬, which can mean “to be cut off, be gone” in addition to “to distribute” (Jastrow, 1198) similar to Akkadian pasāsu “to break, cancel, annul” (CAD 12:218–21 and AHw 838); cf. Hayim Tawil, An Akkadian Lexicon Companion to Biblical Hebrew: Etymological-Semantic and Idiomatic Equivalence with Supplement on Biblical Aramaic (New York: Ktav, 2009), 300. Even if ‫ פס״ס‬genuinely means “to come to an end” in Ps 12:2, this meaning can easily be connected with the meaning “to divide, distribute” (see further below), and therefore my argumentation here is not affected. 37 Jastrow, 1198; Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, 499; and Sokoloff, Syriac Lexicon, 1211. 38 Hannig, Ägyptisches Wörterbuch, 1:478, 2:943–44; Hannig, Großes Handwört­ erbuch, 312; WÄS 1:553–54; and DLE 1:157. 39 Cf. Gábor Takács, Etymological Dictionary of Egyptian, 3 vols., Handbuch der Orientalistik 48 (Leiden: Brill, 1999–2007), 2:512. This Afro-Asiatic root also presumably lies behind Akkadian pasāsu, “to break, cancel, annul,” Jewish Aramaic ‫פס״ס‬, “to desecrate,” and Mandaic pss, “to destroy” (CAD 12:218–21; AHw 838; Jastrow, 1198; Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, 499; and Drower and Macuch, Mandaic Dictionary, 375). By semantic development these cognates have taken on a different (but related) meaning than “to divide, distribute.”



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 331

As I have already pointed out, ‫ פס‬has this exact meaning in later Hebrew. In Rabbinic Hebrew ‫ פס‬means “portion, piece” and often refers specifically to a rectangular strip.40 Genesis Rabbah exploits this meaning when it explains Biblical Hebrew ‫(ה)פסים‬ as ‫פס ים‬, “strip of the sea,” stating that YHWH tore the Reed Sea into strips before the Israelites (Gen. Rab. 84). That Rabbinic Hebrew ‫ פס‬often has a rectangle-shaped referent is also evident from texts like m. ʿErub. 2:1, in which it denotes a plank-shaped object (ten handbreadths high and six handbreadths wide) used as a post. The definition “portion, piece” also presumably lies behind the aforementioned usage of ‫ פס‬in collocations with ‫יד‬, “hand” and ‫רגל‬, “foot” because ‫ פס‬represents a “portion” or “piece” of these appendages. In various dialects of Aramaic ‫ פס‬likewise denotes a fragment or piece of something.41 It occurs in a second-century BCE Nabatean contract with the meaning “portion” in the expression ‫פס ראש‬, where it denotes a portion of the principal (5/6Ḥev 36 = P. Starcky 9).42 In Galilean Jewish Aramaic ‫ פס‬occurs once with reference to a strip-like portion of food eaten from a dish 40 Jastrow, 1191. 41 DNWSI 921; Jastrow, 1191; Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, 496; Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 873; and Sokoloff, Syriac Lexicon, 1208. Samaritan Aramaic ‫ פס‬occurs with reference to Joseph’s garment and is adopted from Biblical Hebrew ‫ ;(ה)פסים‬see Abraham Tal, A Dictionary of Samaritan Aramaic, 2 vols., Handbuch der Orientalistik 50 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 2:691. Imperial Aramaic ‫( פסשרת‬TAD B 3.11:7) was formerly divided as ‫פס שרת‬ “portion of the remainder” — see Emil G. Kraeling, The Brooklyn Museum Aramaic Papyri: New Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. from the Jewish Colony at Elephantine, Publications of the Department of Egyptian Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953), 253; cf. “‫ּפס‬,” ַ HALOT 946 — but is now thought to be a single word derived from Old Iranian *pasča-dāta or *pasča-rāti, both meaning “after-gift”; see Jan Tavernier, Iranica in the Achaemenid Period (ca. 550–330 B.C.): Lexicon of Old Iranian Proper Names and Loanwords Attested in Non-Iranian Texts, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 158 (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 409; Walther Hinz, Altiranisches Sprachgut der Nebenüberlieferungen, Göttinger Orientforschungen 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1975), 184; and Bezalel Porten and H. Z. Szubin, “A Dowry Addendum (Kraeling 10),” Journal of the American Oriental Society 107 (1987): 234. 42 Ada Yardeni, ‫ עבריות ונבטיות ממדבר יהודה וחומר קרוב‬,‫( אוסף תעודות ארמיות‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 2000), 1:265, 270 and Jean Starcky, “Un contrat nabatéen sur papyrus,” Revue biblique 61 (1954): 164, 166, 177. In Starcky’s original publication of this text, the word ‫ פס‬appears in line 2 of what he called “Fragment C.”

332 Benjamin J. Noonan

(Lamentations Rabbah 130:10), and the related form ‫ פיס‬occurs frequently in the Talmud with the meaning “piece, fragment” (e.g., b. Bek. 43b).43 Likewise, in Syriac the word ‫ ܦܣܐ‬denotes a “lot” (e.g., Peshitta Lev 16:8; Ps 22:19) as well as “postule” (Ḥassan bar Bahlul, Lexicon Syriacum 1584:1), both senses connected with “portion, piece.” Outside Hebrew and Aramaic, the word ‫ פס‬occurs in the Semitic languages only in several Punic and Neo-Punic inscriptions (CIS I 165 [=KAI 69]:18, 20; I 167 [=KAI 74]:11; I 3916 [=KAI 75]:6; I 6000bis:8; KAI 165:2).44 In these inscriptions ‫ פס‬denotes a flat, oblong-shaped monument used either to record a sacrificial tariff (CIS I 165, 167, 3916) or to seal a sepulcher (CIS I 6000bis; KAI 165).45 As explained by Hélène Benichou-Safar, the usage of ‫ פס‬to denote such a tablet-shaped object in Punic is a natural extension of the meaning “portion, piece” attested throughout the Semitic languages.46 As such, the attestations of ‫ פס‬in Punic parallel the usage of this word in both Hebrew and Aramaic. Cognate evidence thus demonstrates that the Northwest Semitic noun ps denotes a portion or piece of something — often a rectangle-shaped portion — as we would expect in light of a derivation from the common root pss, “to divide, distribute.” Biblical Hebrew ‫ (ה)פסים‬should have a similar, if not identical, meaning to ps as it occurs throughout Northwest Semitic. Such a conclusion seems especially inescapable because ‫ פס‬has the meaning “portion, strip” in later Rabbinic Hebrew. The collocation ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬in Biblical Hebrew therefore very literally means “tunic of (the) portions” or “tunic of (the) pieces.” 43 In Leviticus Rabbah, ‫ פס‬appears twice with the meaning “spade, shovel” (Lev. Rab. 554:5; 555:1), perhaps because of the palm-like shape of this object; see Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, 496. 44 The word is spelled as ‫ פס‬in each text except for KAI 165, where it is spelled as ‫ פעס‬with medial ayin, representing a vowel rather than a pharyngeal; cf. DNWSI 921 and Herbert Donner and Wolfgang Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften, Band 2: Kommentar, 3rd ed. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1968), 154. 45 Hélène Benichou-Safar, Les Tombes puniques de Carthage. Topographie, structures, inscriptions et rites funéraires, Études d’antiquités africaines (Paris: Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1982), 192–93. 46 Benichou-Safar, Les Tombes, 194.



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 333

Only one question remains: To what kind of garment does this refer? Most probably, as Albright argued, ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬, “tunic of (the) portions, tunic of (the) pieces” denotes a garment in which rectangular stripes, panels, or similar shapes were sewn together.47 It is likely that the patterning of such a garment would be multicolored; indeed, it seems almost necessary for a patterned garment to be multicolored because its patterning would only be visible if comprised of different colors. Patterned garments in antiquity were multicolored, as I demonstrate in the next section, and even today striped and checkered clothing uses different colors to enhance the patterning. The stripes or panels that comprised Joseph’s garment were therefore almost certainly multicolored. In sum, the lexical evidence from later Rabbinic Hebrew and from Northwest Semitic cognates — specifically Aramaic and Punic — indicates that Biblical Hebrew ‫ (ה)פסים‬denotes stripes, paneling, or checkers when used in the collocation ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬. Most likely, the patterning it describes was multicolored, as would be expected for a patterned garment. This etymology is supported by the many ancient versions that understood ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬ similarly (i.e., the Septuagint, Old Latin, Vulgate, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, Targum Neofiti, and the Fragment Targum). The Iconographic Evidence

Having analyzed the lexical evidence for taking ‫ (ה)פסים‬as meaning “stripes” or “panels,” I now survey ancient Near Eastern iconography for evidence of patterned, multicolored garments analogous to Joseph’s ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬. Notably, depictions of Northwest Semitic peoples, particularly those of high social status, demonstrate that garments patterned with stripes, panels, checkers, and the like were commonly worn in the ancient Levant. This observation supports my lexical argument that Joseph’s ‫כתנת‬ ‫ (ה)פסים‬was a patterned, multicolored garment. The sole ancient Near Eastern analogue that Albright adduced in support of taking Joseph’s garment this way comes from 47 Albright, “From the Patriarchs to Moses,” 32.

334 Benjamin J. Noonan

Zimri-Lim’s palace at Mari, which dates to ca. 1775 BCE.48 The two main extant registers from the wall painting discovered in room 132 (André Parrot’s “Audience Hall”) depict worshippers bringing their offerings. These individuals wear garments made up of rectangular panels of red, gray, brown, black, yellow, and white cloth that are sewn together (see figure 11.1).49 Although not noted by Albright, the wall painting from court 106 presenting Zimri-Lim’s investiture depicts garments of a similar style and color.50 Despite the cultic nature of these scenes, the patterns and colors they depict likely represent authentic Amorite clothing styles.51 If Figure 11.1. Amorite so, the scenes from Zimri-Lim’s palworshipper with patterned garment (room 132 at Zimriace provide evidence for patterned, Lim’s palace). Reproduced multicolored garments analogous to by Seth Berry (www. SethBerryDesign) from André Joseph’s ‫כתנת (ה)פסים‬. Parrot, Palais. Peintures The authenticity of the scenes from murales, vol. 2, no. 2 of Zimri-Lim’s palace is confirmed by Mission archéologique de Mari, 5 vols., Bibliothèque Egyptian iconography, which regulararchéologique et historique 69 ly depicts Asiatics wearing patterned, (Paris: Geuthner, 1958), pl. xvii. multicolored clothing. Perhaps the best example of such garments comes from the Middle Kingdom provincial tombs at Beni Hasan, located near the Nile River about twenty kilometers north of modern-day Minyeh. Of 48 Albright, “From the Patriarchs to Moses,” 31–32. 49 André Parrot, Palais. Peintures murales, vol. 2, no. 2 of Mission archéologique de Mari, 5 vols., Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 69 (Paris: Geuthner, 1958), 73–81, pl. xvii. 50 Parrot, Palais, 53–58, pls. viii–xi. 51 Phyllis Saretta, Asiatics in Middle Kingdom Egypt: Perceptions and Reality, Bloomsbury Egyptology (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2016), 66–67.



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 335

particular interest here is the north wall of tomb 3, which depicts a group of fifteen Asiatics (ʿȝmw) before the nomarch Khnumhotep II during the reign of Senwosret II (early nineteenth century BCE).52 They bring with them their wares, specifically identified as msḏm.t, “eye paint” by the accompanying inscription.53 The Asiatics depicted in tomb 3 wear a variety of dif- Figure 11.2. The Asiatic Ỉbšȝ with garment (tomb 3 at Beni ferent garments, but all have patterned Hasan). Reproduced by Seth Berry stripes, meanders, and chev- (www.SethBerryDesign) from Percy rons. All the garments are E. Newberry, G. Willoughby Fraser, and Francis Llewellyn Griffith, colored with at least red and Beni Hasan, 4 vols., Archaeological white, and several also contain Survey of Egypt 1st, 2d, 5th, 7th (London: Egypt Exploration blue. Leading the group is an Memoirs Fund, 1893–1900), 1: pl. xxxi. individual designated as Ỉbšȝ (Abishai) who wears the most elaborate garment of the group (see figure 11.2). His red, white, and blue fringed robe is decorated with vertical stripes that contain chevron and wavy line patterns.54 Little reason exists to question the overall authenticity of this scene, including the clothing it depicts.55 Thus, like the clothing depicted at Zimri-Lim’s palace at Mari, the garments depicted in 52 Newberry, Fraser, and Griffith, Beni Hasan, 1:69, pl. xxxi. On this scene, see Janice Kamrin, “The Procession of ‘Asiatics’ at Beni Hasan,” in Cultures in Contact: From Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C., ed. Joan Aruz, Sarah B. Graff, and Yelena Rakic (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), 156–69. 53 Newberry, Fraser, and Griffith, Beni Hasan, 1:69, pl. xxxviii. 54 Saretta, Asiatics, 88–89. 55 Kamrin, “Procession,” 158 and Susan Cohen, “Interpretative Uses and Abuses of the Beni Hasan Tomb Painting,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 74 (2015): 36. After surveying various abuses of the Beni Hasan scene, Saretta, Asiatics, 87–106 examines various ancient Near Eastern analogues to the clothing depicted at tomb 3 at Beni Hasan and demonstrates that, despite the possibility of stylized depiction, the clothing represented matches what is known of Northwest Semitic clothing.

336 Benjamin J. Noonan

Figure 11.3. Syrian with patterned garment (tomb of Ramesses III at Thebes). Reproduced by Seth Berry (www.SethBerryDesign) from Ippolito Rosellini, I monumenti dell’Egitto e della Nubia. Disegnati dalla spedizione scientificoletteraria Toscana in Egitto distribuiti in ordine di materie interpretati ed illustrati, 9 vols. (Pisa: Capurro, 1832–44), atlas 1: pl. clviii.

tomb 3 at Beni Hasan attest to Northwest Semitic peoples’ wearing of patterned, multicolored clothing in antiquity. Other iconography contains similar depictions of Northwest Semitic clothing. An excellent example comes from the twelfth-century BCE tomb of Ramesses III at Thebes, where four Syrians are depicted wearing patterned garments with the colors green, blue, red, white, and black (see figure 11.3).56 This style of clothing is typical of other New Kingdom depictions.57 For example, a fourteenth-century BCE scene from the Theban tomb of Huy (tomb 40), viceroy of Kush during the reign of Pharaoh Tutankhamun, depicts Syrians with this type of garment bringing tribute before the pharaoh.58 Glazed tiles from Ramesses III’s twelfth-century BCE palace at Medinet Habu likewise show Syrians with patterned garments (e.g., JE 36457a).59 The Egyptians thus consistently represent Northwest Semitic peoples wearing

56 Ippolito Rosellini, I monumenti dell’Egitto e della Nubia. Disegnati dalla spedizione scientifico-letteraria Toscana in Egitto distribuiti in ordine di materie interpretati ed illustrati, 9 vols. (Pisa: Capurro, 1832–44), atlas 1: pl. clviii. 57 James B. Pritchard, “Syrians as Pictured in the Paintings of the Theban Tombs,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 122 (1951): 38–39, 41. 58 Norman de Garis Davies and Alan H. Gardiner, The Tomb of Huy, Viceroy of Nubia in the Reign of Tutʿankhamūn (No. 40), Theban Tombs Series 4 (London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1926), pl. 19. Similarly, a Syrian captive inscribed on a walking stick from Tutankhamun’s own tomb wears this type of clothing; see Howard Carter and A. C. Mace, The Tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen, Discovered by the Late Earl of Carnarvon and Howard Carter, 3 vols. (London: Cassell, 1923–33), 1: pl. lxx A. 59 Uvo Hölscher, The Mortuary Temple of Ramsess III, vol. 3 of The Excavation of Medinet Habu, 9 vols., Oriental Institute Publications 54–55 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1941–1951), 2: pl. 30b.



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patterned, multicolored garments.60 The scene from the Fifth Hour “Book of Gates” in the thirteenth-century BCE mortuary tomb of Seti I depicts Asiatics alongside Egyptians, Libyans, and Nubians. Although the garments the Asiatics wear in this scene are fringed kilts that do not cover the whole body, they are likewise patterned with blue, red, black, and white stripes and checkers.61 This indicates that, notwithstanding the possibility of stylized depictions, Northwest Semitic peoples actually wore patterned, multicolored garments in antiquity.62 The occasional discovery of patterned, multicolored clothing of Syrian design and manufacture in the land of Egypt, such as that found in the tomb of Tutankhamun, confirms such a supposition.63 Furthermore, although native Northwest Semitic iconographic evidence is scant, several Northwest Semitic representations of dress do parallel the depictions from Mari and Egypt.64 The fragmentary remains of a painting from the Middle Bronze Age 60 Ann Macy Roth, “Representing the Other: Non-Egyptians in Pharaonic Iconography,” in A Companion to Ancient Egyptian Art, ed. Melinda K. Hartwig, Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015), 166, 170–71. 61 Rosellini, I Monumenti, atlas 1: pl. clv. 62 Cf. Anthony Green, “Clothing,” Dictionary of the Ancient Near East, ed. Piotr Bienkowski and Alan R. Millard (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000), 76 and Henry Frederick Lutz, Textiles and Costumes among the Peoples of the Ancient Near East (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1923), 160–63. 63 Grace M. Crowfoot and Norman de Garis Davies, “The Tunic of Tutʿankhamūn,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 27 (1941): 113–30; cf. E. J. W. Barber, Prehistoric Textiles: The Development of Cloth in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages with Special Reference to the Aegean (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 159–62. 64 Two other possible pieces of iconographic evidence are the ninth-century BCE Black Obelisk, which presumably depicts Jehu the son of Omri bowing before Shalmaneser III (ME 118885), and the late eighth-century BCE Lachish reliefs from Sennacherib’s Southwest Palace, which show Judean deportees (ME 124907–124911). They are not, however, necessarily helpful for our purposes. As for the Black Obelisk, Jehu’s outer garment seems to be removed, and there is question as to whether or not the individual portrayed is actually Jehu; see Irit Ziffer, “Portraits of Ancient Israelite Kings?” Biblical Archaeology Review 39, no. 5 (2013): 41–43. The Lachish reliefs reveal some evidence of faint patterns on some of the depicted clothing, but, given the propagandistic nature of the scene, scholars debate the usefulness for understanding ancient Judean clothing designs; see Christoph Uehlinger, “Clio in a World of Pictures — Another Look at the Lachish Reliefs from Sennacerib’s Southwest Palace at Nineveh,” in “Like a Bird in a Cage”: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE, ed. Lester L. Grabbe, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 363 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2003), 221–307.

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palace at Tell Sakka (approximately five kilometers northwest of Damascus, Syria) show the upper half of a patterned Amorite garment.65 The fourteenth-century BCE banquet scene on an ivory plaque from Tell el-Farʿah (South) and several of the mid-twelfth-century BCE Megiddo ivories (e.g., PAM 38.780 and OIM A 22271) portray local Canaanite rulers wearing patterned garments.66 The ninth-century BCE wall painting 9 (found at the entrance-court of building A) from Kuntillet ʿAjrud and the painted sherd from Ramat Raḥel (found within the local palace), which dates to the eighth or seventh century BCE, similarly depict enthroned individuals wearing patterned garments.67 The Hebrew Bible likewise affirms the patterned, multicolored nature of Northwest Semitic clothing. Judges 5:30 uses the terms 65 Ahmed Ferzat Taraqji, “Nouvelles découvertes sur les relations avec l’Égypte à Tel Sakka et à Keswé, dans la région de Damas,” Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie 144 (1999): 37. 66 William Matthew Flinders Petrie et al., Beth-Pelet (Tell Fara), 2 vols., Publications of the Egyptian Research Account 48, 52 (London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt, 1930–32), 1: pl. lv and Gordon Loud, The Megiddo Ivories, Oriental Institute Publications 52 (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1939), pls. 4 (##2a–2b), 32 (#160). 67 Pirhiya Beck, “The Drawings and Decorative Designs,” in Kuntillet ʿAjrud (Ḥorvat Teman): An Iron Age II Religious Site on the Judah-Sinai Border, ed. Liora Freud (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2012), figs. 6.39, 36.39a and Yohanan Aharoni, Excavations at Ramat Raḥel: Reports of the Excavations Carried Out by the Joint Expedition of the University of Rome and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Cooperation with the Israel Department of Antiquities and the Israel Exploration Society), 2 vols., Serie archeologica 2, no. 6 (Rome: Centro di studi semitici e dell’antico Oriente, 1962–64), 1: pl. 28. Some scholars argue that the Kuntillet ʿAjrud seated figure represents a king — see, e.g., Pirhiya Beck, “The Art of Palestine during the Iron Age II: Local Traditions and External Influences (10th–8th Centuries BCE),” in Images as Media: Sources for the Cultural History of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (1st Millennium BCE), ed. Christoph Uehlinger, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 175 (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 180– 81 — whereas others do not — see, e.g., Ziffer, “Portraits,” 43–51. Similarly, several scholars have identified the seated individual on the Ramat Raḥel sherd as the king of Judah — e.g., Aharoni, Excavations, 1:43 and Gabriel Barkay, “Royal Palace, Royal Portrait? The Tantalizing Possibilities of Ramat Rahel,” Biblical Archaeology Review 32, no. 5 (2006): 44 — whereas others consider him a Judean dignitary but not necessarily the king — see. e.g., Izak Cornelius, “Revisiting the Seated Figure from Ḫirbet Ṣāliḥ/Rāmat Rāḥēl,” Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 131 (2015): 29– 43 and Elizabeth Bloch-Smith, “Israelite Ethnicity in Iron I: Archaeology Preserves What Is Remembered and What Is Forgotten in Israel’s History,” Journal of Biblical Literature 122 (2003): 415–16.



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‫צבע‬, “colored, dyed” as well as ‫רקמה‬, “weaving, embroidery” with reference to the plunder Sisera acquires from the inhabitants of Canaan. The term ‫ רקמה‬elsewhere can denote luxurious Levantine clothing, including the garments of the elites who live along the coast (Ezek 16:10, 18; 26:16; 27:16; Ps 45:15 [ET 45:14]). Extrabiblical texts also confirm that multicolored garments were valued by the elite inhabitants of the ancient Levant. For example, Akkadian texts use the word birmu, which denotes a multicolored trim attached to a variety of luxurious garments, with reference to clothing worn by those in the Levant and areas under Amorite control (e.g., ARM 9.29:7; AT 416:31; HSS 13.247:19, 22; 431:48; 15.221:2; JEN 314:3; RINAP 1.15:3; 3.4:56).68 This brief survey demonstrates that extant iconography from both Syria-Palestine and the rest of the ancient Near East consistently depicts Northwest Semitic elites wearing patterned, multicolored clothing, and textual evidence confirms this depiction.69 The patterning found on their clothing frequently contains stripes, panels, and various other shapes. Demonstrating that Northwest 68 On Akkadian birmu, see CAD 2:257–58 and AHw 129. 69 Cf. Allison Thomason, “Clothing and Nudity in the Ancient Near East: Archaeological and Iconographic Aspects,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 114 and Green, “Clothing,” 76. In recent years, scholars have rightfully pointed out that there may not be a one-toone correspondence between reality and the way ancient Near Eastern iconography depicts items such as clothing; see, e.g., Christoph Uehlinger, “Neither Eyewitnesses, Nor Windows to the Past, but Valuable Testimony in Its Own Right: Remarks on Iconography, Source Criticism, and Ancient Data-Processing,” in Understanding the History of Ancient Israel, ed. H. G. M. Williamson, Proceedings of the British Academy 143 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 173–228 and Bethany Joy Wagstaff, “Redressing Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: Material-Cultural Approaches” (Ph.D. diss., University of Exeter, 2017), 147–62. They have also rightfully critiqued the uncritical usage of nonnative iconography to inform Syro-Palestinian iconography; see, e.g., Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 162–90. In the case of patterned, multicolored garments, however, we have ample evidence from multiple time periods — namely, both the second and first millennia BCE — and multiple places — from both within and outside of Syria-Palestine — to conclude that they were most probably worn by Northwest Semitic elites. The correspondence of this iconographic evidence with the textual evidence further supports this conclusion. Although caution is certainly warranted in deducing clothing styles from ancient iconography, then, there is no sound justification for rejecting its usefulness regarding Northwest Semitic patterned, multicolored garments and the identification of Joseph’s garment, contra Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 157–62.

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Semitic elites wore patterned, multicolored garments does not prove that Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬was a garment of this type. However, taken in conjunction with the lexical evidence that ‫(ה)פסים‬ means “stripes, panels,” it becomes likely that Joseph’s garment was a patterned, multicolored garment of the same type. The Significance of Joseph’s Garment Having demonstrated that Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬was a patterned, multicolored garment, I turn now to the question of what this garment signified. I argue that it effects Jacob’s bestowal of the firstborn inheritance upon Joseph. Clothing in the ancient Near Eastern world frequently represented one’s social status, and several ancient Near Eastern texts prescribe legal acts with clothing to enact inheritance rights. When viewed within this framework, Gen 37–50 arguably depicts Joseph as the acting heir; the primary conflict of the narrative is the struggle for the firstborn inheritance, and Joseph’s social status is tied to clothing throughout the narrative. Clothing as a Symbol of Status in the Ancient Near East Similar to today, clothing in antiquity functioned as much more than a means to cover and protect oneself against the environment. Rather, it conveyed specific identities or aspirations to those identities and was even the means of realizing them.70 This is because, as an extension of personhood, dress both communicates and effects specific ideologies and relationships.71 Clothing functions cross-culturally like a language that people use to represent their

70 Alicia J. Batten, “Clothing and Adornment,” Biblical Theology Bulletin 40 (2010): 148. 71 Terence Turner, “The Social Skin,” in Beyond the Body Proper: Reading the Anthropology of Material Life, ed. Margaret M. Lock and Judith Farquhar, Body, Commodity, Text (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), 83–103 and Kate Soper, “Dress Needs: Reflections on the Clothed Body, Selfhood and Consumption,” in Body Dressing, ed. Joanne Entwistle and Elizabeth Wilson, Dress, Body, Culture (Oxford: Berg, 2001), 13–32.



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values, aspirations, style, and status.72 It should not surprise us, then, that in the ancient world dress served as a means of constructing identity just as it does today. Ancient Near Eastern literature attests to a close association between identity and style of dress. Decorative clothing indicated elevated status and was therefore especially associated with kings and the gods. Kings wore crowns and other royal apparel as a symbol of their status. They gave luxurious clothing as gifts in order to establish diplomatic relations with each other (e.g., EA 14 iii:11–33; 22 ii:36–42, iii:24–25, iv:11–15; cf. Gen 24:53; 2 Chr 9:24) and took lavish garments as tribute or plunder (e.g., RINAP 1.15:1–5; 3.4:55–58; 4.1 ii:72–80; cf. Josh 7:21; Judg 5:30).73 Even the gods’ clothing served to construct their identity. For example, by donning specific items of dress before descending into the netherworld, Inanna reinforces her queenly status as a high-ranking war and fertility goddess (Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld, 18–25).74 Similarly, the Hebrew Bible frequently portrays clothing as a marker of one’s status.75 Kings and queens wore crowns and regal garments as a symbol of their royal identity (1 Kgs 22:10; 2 Sam 12:30; Jer 13:18; Ps 45:9, 14–15 [ET 45:8, 13–14]; Song 3:11; Esth 5:1), and the elite wore red and purple clothing along with fine jewelry (2 Sam 1:24; Isa 3:18–21). Israel’s priests donned fine 72 Mary Ellen Roach and Joanne B. Eicher, “The Language of Personal Adornment,” in The Fabrics of Culture: The Anthropology of Clothing and Adornment, ed. Justine M. Cordwell and Ronald A. Schwarz (The Hague: Mouton, 1979), 7–21 and Batten, “Clothing and Adornment,” 148. In using the term “language,” I do not intend to imply that clothing can be reduced entirely to signs and meanings. On the potential dangers of doing so, see Michael Carter, “Stuff and Nonsense: The Limits of the Linguistic Model of Clothing,” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body, and Culture 16 (2012): 343–54. 73 Cf. Marianna Egberdina Vogelzang and Wout J. van Bekkum, “Meaning and Symbolism of Clothing in Ancient Near Eastern Texts,” in Scripta Signa Vocis: Studies about Scripts, Scriptures, Scribes, and Languages in the Ancient Near East Presented to J. H. Hospers, ed. H. L. J. Vanstiphout (Groningen: Forsten, 1986), 271–72. 74 Terry Tanaka, “Dress and Identity in Old Babylonian Texts” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 2013), 20–65. 75 Cf. Christine E. Palmer, “High Priestly Dress in Ancient Israel: Symbolism and Instrumentality” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 2015), 52–65.

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linen undergarments, multicolored tunics, and sashes and turbans made from fine linen (Exod 28:39–43; Ezek 44:18); in addition to these garments, the high priest wore a multicolored ephod and breastplate with gold rings and twelve gemstones (Exod 28:5–6, 8, 15–28, 31–33). Prophets wore garments made of animal hair as a symbol of their prophetic office (1 Kgs 19:13, 19; 2 Kgs 1:8; 2:8, 13–14; Zech 13:4; cf. Matt 3:4; Mark 1:6), and soldiers carried weapons and a warrior’s belt (1 Sam 18:4; 2 Sam 18:11; 20:8). The separate statuses of men and women were even distinguished by clothing in ancient Israel (Deut 22:5).76 Furthermore, in keeping with the adage “clothes maketh the man,” putting on special types of clothing could elevate one’s social status. For example, veiling a woman or spreading a cloak over her conferred upon her the status of wife (MAL A §41; ARM 26.251:16–18; Gen 24:65; Ezek 16:8; Hos 2:11 [ET 2:9]; Ruth 3:9).77 Kings and royal officials were given regal apparel when installed into office (RINAP 5.7 ii:56ʺ–60ʺ; 2 Kgs 11:12; cf. 2 Sam 1:10), investiture initiated Israel’s priests into the priesthood (Exod 29:5–9; Lev 8:13, 30), and individuals were given lavish clothes when promoted in rank (Gen 41:42; Esth 8:15; Dan 5:29) or when their fortunes were restored (RINAP 4.104 v:22–23; 2 Kgs 25:27–30; Zech 3:1–10). Elevated status could even be passed from one individual to another through clothing. For example, the high priest passed on his office through transference of the priestly vestments (Num 20:26, 28), Jonathan gave up his right 76 Nili S. Fox, “Gender Transformation and Transgression: Contextualizing the Prohibition of Cross-Dressing in Deuteronomy 22:5,” in Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Nili S. Fox, David A. Glatt-Gilad, and Michael J. Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 49–71. Fox plausibly argues that Deut 22:5 prohibits women from wearing clothing and other accoutrements that would serve as symbols of male authority. 77 Aldina da Silva, “Symbolique des vêtements dans les rites du marriage et du divorce,” Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 26 (1993): 15–21 and Viberg, Symbols, 136–44. In contrast, the cutting of the hem can symbolize validation of a divorce in ancient Near Eastern texts (e.g., CT 45.86:16–28; BAP 91:3; A 7757:14ʹ–16ʹ); see J. J. Finkelstein, “Cutting the sissiktu in Divorce Proceedings,” Die Welt des Orients 8 (1976): 236–40; Meir Malul, Studies in Mesopotamian Legal Symbolism, Alter Orient und Altes Testament 221 (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1988), 197–208; and Samuel Greengus, “The Old Babylonian Marriage Contract,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 89 (1969): 515.



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to the throne by giving David his clothing (1 Sam 18:4; cf. 1 Sam 23:17), Elisha became Elijah’s successor by receiving the cloak of his mentor (1 Kgs 19:19; 2 Kgs 2:13–14), and YHWH said he would give to Eliakim Shebna’s position as royal steward by transferring Shebna’s garments to him (Isa 22:20–21).78 What is also worth highlighting here is not just the general association between clothing and status but also the close correlation between social status and clothing style. Specifically, luxurious clothing signified a higher status, whereas plain clothing or the absence of clothing denoted a lower social status. This is because luxurious clothing took a great deal of time, resources, and effort to manufacture, whereas plain clothing did not. One particularly costly feature of luxurious clothing, largely due to the cost of dye in antiquity, was patterning.79 For this reason, garment patterning marked social status, as summarized by Eleanor Guralnick: “Garment decorations incorporate a systematic symbolism of status in the material world.”80 Ancient Near Eastern iconography confirms the connection between garment patterning and social status. I have already noted many examples of ancient Near Eastern iconography depicting the Northwest Semitic elite in patterned, multicolored garments, as well as textual evidence demonstrating that the elite often wore luxurious clothing in the Levant. Such a use of patterned dress is not limited to the Northwest Semitic world but is attested throughout the ancient Near East. In both Mesopotamia and Egypt, kings and the gods regularly appear with highly patterned dress, 78 On Jonathan and David, see Ora Horn Prouser, “Suited to the Throne: The Symbolic Use of Clothing in the David and Saul Narratives,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 71 (1996): 31–32 and Viberg, Symbols, 127–35. On Elijah and Elisha, see Martin Schott, “Elijah’s Hairy Robe and the Clothes of the Prophets,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 479–82 and Claude Coulot, “L’investiture d’Élisée par Élie (1R 19, 19– 21),” Revue des sciences religieuses 57 (1983): 81–92. 79 On dyeing and all that it entailed in the ancient Near East and Mediterranean, see Barber, Prehistoric Textiles, 223–43. 80 Eleanor Guralnick, “Fabric Patterns as Symbols of Status in the Near East and Early Greece,” in Reading a Dynamic Canvas: Adornment in the Ancient Mediterranean World, ed. Cynthia S. Colburn and Maura K. Heyn (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2008), 100.

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whereas those of lower status have less patterning on their clothes or completely plain clothing.81 To summarize, ancient Near Eastern clothing can raise or reduce someone’s personality or status; it is on the one hand an external expression of his inner identity, on the other hand a mark of his status in the society in which he moves…. It informs us about the dignity and the function of a person in society.82

Those of high status wore patterned clothing that reflected their high status. Furthermore, donning a patterned garment effected advancement in status, and status could be transferred by transferring garments from one person to another. Clothing and Inheritance in the Ancient Near East Having explored how patterned garments expressed high social status throughout the ancient Near East, I turn now to clothing’s use in symbolic legal acts regarding inheritance. I have already noted how a particular office could be transferred from one person to another by transferring clothing (e.g., Num 20:26, 28; 1 Sam 18:4; 1 Kgs 19:19; 2 Kgs 2:13–14; Isa 22:20–21). The rationale behind this is undoubtedly clothing’s role in marking status and constructing identity, which necessarily links the clothing one wears with his or her office and authority.83 By transferring dress that represented one’s authority, that position of authority was also transferred.

81 Cf. Carmen Joy Imes, “Between Two Worlds: The Functional and Symbolic Significance of the High Priestly Regalia,” in Dress and Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: “For All Her Household Are Clothed in Crimson,” ed. Antonios Finitsis, Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 679 (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 38–51. On the patterning of garments in the ancient Near East, see Florence Eloise Petzel, Textiles of Ancient Mesopotamia, Persia and Egypt (Corvallis, OR: Cascade, 1987), 28–62, 95–116, 167–207. 82 Vogelzang and van Bekkum, “Meaning and Symbolism,” 266. 83 Cf. Paul Koschaker, “Kleidersymbolik in Keilschriftrechten,” in Actes du XXe Congrès international des orientalistes: Bruxelles, 5–10 septembre 1938 (Leuven: Bureaux de Muséon, 1940), 117–19.



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It is not surprising, then, that ancient Near Eastern texts refer to the use of clothing in claims to property and inheritance. Ancient Near Eastern culture was patricentric in that the oldest living male typically served as the center of the household, ensuring the survival of all the members of his family. When he died, his sons typically received his inheritance as natural heirs, with the firstborn often receiving a larger portion of the inheritance than his brothers. In some instances, however, the patriarch could disinherit an heir or select an heir other than the firstborn to inherit a greater share of his property.84 Wills and declarations of divorce attest to such a process throughout the ancient Near East, and, most notably for our purposes, sometimes these documents record symbolic legal acts involving clothing. The relevant evidence comes from Nuzi, Emar, el-Qiṭār, and Ugarit. Four wills (ṭuppi šīmti) from Nuzi record fathers’ wishes regarding the distribution of property after their deaths: HSS 5.71, HSS 19.1, HSS 19.10, and JEN 444.85 One important concern in each of these wills is the widow’s rights to her late husband’s property. In order to prevent the property from leaving the family, the widow is entitled to her share as long as she does not remarry. If she does remarry, she loses the right to receive her share of her first husband’s estate. To enact her disinheritance — including her own peculium, designated by the term qannu, “hem” — her sons strip her of her clothing and force her to leave the house naked (HSS 5.71:33–36; 19.1:14; 19.10:23–25, 37–39; JEN 444:19–23).86 84 Raymond Westbrook, “The Character of Ancient Near Eastern Law,” in A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law, ed. Raymond Westbrook, 2 vols., Handbuch der Orientalistik 72 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 1:56–62. 85 An Old Babylonian text from the kingdom of Ḫana (BRM 4.52) prescribes nakedness in connection with divorce and inheritance (lines 11–15). Accordingly, some scholars have considered the situation it describes as parallel to the texts from Nuzi; see, e.g., Elena M. Cassin, “Pouvoirs de la femme et structures familiales,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 63 (1969): 136–39. The texts are not entirely similar, however: the Ḫana text is not a will, the situation it envisages takes place when the husband is alive rather than dead, it does not contain any injunction for family members to strip the wife’s clothes, and the stripping it prescribes is arguably for the purpose of humiliation rather than to symbolize disinheritance as in the Nuzi texts; see Malul, Studies, 125–38. 86 Malul, Studies, 122–38.

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Five legal texts from Emar and its vicinity, each of them wills, likewise speak to clothing’s use in legal symbolic acts regarding inheritance: RA-77 2, RA-77 3, Msk 7228 (Emar 5), Msk 73267+73269 (Emar 30), and Msk 73272 (Emar 31).87 In each one a family member who leaves the household is asked to place a garment on a stool. Similar to the Nuzi texts, two of the wills prescribe this symbolic legal act for a woman who marries another man and would jeopardize her dead husband’s estate were she to receive her portion (RA-77 2:18–24; RA-77 3:14–17). The three other wills prescribe that the garment be left on the stool for analogous situations in the case of the death of a family’s father (Msk 73272:13–15) or mother (Msk 7228:17–22; Msk 73267+73269:8–13). In each instance, removing one’s garment effects disinheritance and alienation from the family.88 Similar to these wills from Emar is a thirteenth-century BCE text from el-Qiṭār.89 This legal text lists the inheritors of a man’s estate and says that if any of them does not agree with the terms of the will, that person must put their clothes on a chair (túg.ḫi.a i-na muḫ gišgu.za li-iš-ku-un, lines 16–17). After doing so they are to leave the house without any legal status or membership in the family. Once again, then, the symbolic legal act of removing one’s garments indicates that the individual has been disinherited and no longer has any share in the patriarchal household.90 Finally, three Akkadian texts from Ugarit mention the use of clothing in inheritance rights: RS 8.145, RS 17.159, and RS 20.146. In RS 8.145 and RS 20.146, both wills, a son who has dishonored his father is to place his naḫlaptu-garment on the door bolt and 87 The two texts RA-77 2 and RA-77 3 were taken illicitly from Emar and brought to the United States, where they found their way into the hands of a private collector in New York City. They were published along with the three other texts belonging to the same private collection in John Huehnergard, “Five Tablets from the Vicinity of Emar,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 77 (1983): 11–43. 88 Huehnergard, “Five Tablets,” 30–31 and John Huehnergard, “Biblical Notes on Some New Akkadian Texts from Emar (Syria),” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 47 (1985): 432–34. 89 On this text, see Daniel C. Snell, “The Cuneiform Tablet from El-Qiṭār,” Abr-Nahrain 22 (1983–84): 159–70 and Thomas L. McClellan, El-Qitar: A Bronze Age Fortress on the Euphrates, Subartu 41 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019), 288–90. 90 Snell, “Cuneiform Tablet,” 164.



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then leave the house (RS 8.145:22–23; 20.146:8–10). The act of placing the garment on the door bolt effects the son’s forfeiture of his rights and privileges as a member of the family, including his rights to inheritance. RS 17.159 is a divorce document between Ammistamru, king of Ugarit, and his wife. Ammistamru requires that, if his son Utrisharruma leaves with his mother, he also forfeits his rights to the throne. To enact his disinheritance, he is required to leave his garment (ṣubātu) on a stool before departure.91 As these examples demonstrate, clothing could enact inheritance in the ancient Near East. This is because clothing marked status and identity, including one’s membership in a family that entailed inheritance rights. By putting on or removing clothing symbolic of inheritance privileges, then, a person could formally accept or relinquish those privileges. The use of clothing to enact inheritance rights provides a possible sociocultural context to Jacob’s giving the ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬to Joseph, so I turn now to demonstrating that Joseph’s garment effected his role as the acting heir.92 Joseph’s Garment as a Symbol of the Firstborn Inheritance The Sons of Jacob Narrative and the Vertauschungmotiv

To demonstrate that Joseph’s garment effected his status as the heir of Jacob, it is first necessary to situate Joseph’s clothing within the broader context of the sons of Jacob narrative (Gen 37–50).93 The book of Genesis frequently highlights sibling rivalry and the so-called Vertauschungmotiv (“exchange of the firstborn blessing motif”), which directly relates to the patriarchal inheritance.94 91 Malul, Studies, 93–97, 102–10, 114–16. 92 Cf. F. Brent Knutson, “Political and Foreign Affairs,” in Ras Shamra Parallels: The Texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible, ed. Loren R. Fisher, 3 vols., Analecta Orientalia 49–51 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1972–81), 2:122–23 and Stan Rummel, “Clothes Maketh the Man: An Insight from Ancient Ugarit,” Biblical Archaeology Review 2, no. 2 (1976): 7–8. 93 I prefer the designation “sons of Jacob narrative” over the traditional “Joseph story” and use the former throughout this article because it more closely matches the biblical text’s own designation for Gen 37–50, as introduced by the toledot formula in Gen 37:2 (‫)אלה תלדות יעקב‬. 94 Benedikt Hensel, Die Vertauschung des Erstgeburtssegens in der Genesis. Eine Analyse der narrativ-theologischen Grundstruktur des ersten Buches der Tora,

348 Benjamin J. Noonan

Given the Vertauschungmotiv’s centrality within the book of Genesis, we would expect it to play an important role in Gen 37–50. Indeed, the sons of Jacob narrative has this motif as one of its primary concerns. The very end of the Jacob narrative contains the short comment that Reuben slept with his father’s concubine Bilhah (Gen 35:22) just prior to listing a brief genealogy of Jacob’s twelve sons (Gen 35:23–26). Reuben sleeping with Bilhah is arguably an attempt to usurp his father’s patriarchal authority, a theme that occurs elsewhere throughout the Hebrew Bible (2 Sam 3:6–7; 12:8; 16:20– 22; 1 Kgs 2:13–25). By introducing Reuben’s preemption of the firstborn privileges and then listing Jacob’s sons, the text prepares the reader for the primary problem of the following narrative: only one right of the firstborn can be passed on, but Jacob has twelve sons. The opening toledot formula to Gen 37–50 reminds the reader of this problem in that it introduces the narrative as the account of Jacob’s descendants (‫ )תלדות יעקב‬rather than an account of one of Jacob’s sons in particular (Gen 37:2). The narrative then recounts several elements that look back to previous rivalry stories: conflict and hatred between siblings (Gen 37:2, 4, 8, 11, 18–20, 23–24), preferential treatment of a son other than the firstborn (Gen 37:3–4), and foreshadowing of one son’s superiority over the others (Gen 37:5–12).95 Furthermore, the actions of Reuben and Judah in Gen 37:12–36 are best explained as rivalry for the right of the firstborn: by trying to restore Joseph to Jacob, Reuben arguably seeks to regain the firstborn status he lost by sleeping with Bilhah (Gen 37:21–22), but by suggesting that Joseph be sold Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 423 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 45–238. The importance of the Vertauschungmotiv for the overall structure of Genesis is evident in this motif’s association with the toledot genealogies (Gen 2:4; 6:9; 10:1; 11:10, 27; 25:12, 19; 36:1, 9; 37:2) that structure the book of Genesis (Hensel, Die Vertauschung, 35–42). 95 Josef Sykora, The Unfavored: Judah and Saul in the Narratives of Genesis and 1 Samuel, Siphrut: Literature and Theology of the Hebrew Scriptures 25 (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2018), 17–20 and Joel S. Kaminsky, “Reclaiming a Theology of Election: Favoritism in the Joseph Story,” Perspectives in Religious Studies 31 (2004): 147–49.



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instead, next-in-line Judah thwarts Reuben’s plans and thereby secures his own status as firstborn (Gen 37:26–27).96 Similar portrayals of favoritism and conflict appear throughout the narrative, showing that the sibling rivalry introduced in Gen 37 continues to remain important (Gen 42:36–38; 43:8–14, 33–34; 44:18–34; 49:3–4, 8–12, 22–26; 50:15–21). Joseph as Jacob’s Heir

The Vertauschungmotiv thus serves as an important backdrop, if not the central motif, for the sons of Jacob narrative.97 Within this framework, the narrative portrays Joseph as Jacob’s heir. A subtle hint of Joseph’s status appears early on in the narrative when Jacob commissions Joseph to check on his brothers’ shepherding of the flock (Gen 37:12–14). The reason why Joseph’s brothers initially go without him cannot simply be that Joseph was younger and therefore not able to shepherd with them, for the narrative earlier records that he had shepherded with some of his brothers and was therefore capable of doing so (Gen 37:2). Rather, Jacob sends Joseph as a representative bearing his own authority: the authority of the patriarchal household. Especially when viewed against the backdrop of Joseph’s dreams, which depict Joseph’s future preeminence over his brothers, it seems that Joseph represents his father’s authority as the future heir in the early stages of the narrative.98 96 Joel S. Kaminsky, Yet I Loved Jacob: Reclaiming the Biblical Concept of Election (Nashville: Abingdon, 2007), 60. As I argue in more detail below, Judah is next in line after Reuben because Simeon and Levi have also disqualified themselves from receiving the firstborn privileges due to their actions at Shechem (Gen 49:5–7). Unlike Judah and Reuben, however, Simeon and Levi apparently never tried to regain the status they lost. 97 Hensel, Die Vertauschung, 182–226; Kaminsky, Yet I Loved, 72–75; and Gary Edward Schnittjer, The Torah Story: An Apprenticeship on the Pentateuch (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006), 157–60. 98 Some scholars see additional evidence of Joseph’s future preeminence in Gen 37:2, which reads ‫היה רעה את־אחיו בצאן‬, “he was shepherding the flock with his brothers”; see, e.g., Ron Pirson, The Lord of the Dreams: A Semantic and Literary Analysis of Genesis 37–50, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 355 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002), 29–30; Sykora, Unfavored, 23; and Duane L. Christensen, “Anticipatory Paronomasia in Jonah 3:7–8 and

350 Benjamin J. Noonan

Although the earlier portion of the narrative provides only subtle hints at Joseph’s role as the heir of Jacob, the final chapters of the book of Genesis portray Joseph as Jacob’s heir much more explicitly. When approaching death, Jacob summons Joseph and commissions him to bury his body in the land of Canaan rather than in Egypt (Gen 47:28–31). Deathbed narratives elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible recount a leader’s appointment of a successor (e.g., 1 Kgs 2:1–11). This observation indicates that Jacob gives his instructions to Joseph not only because Joseph was Pharaoh’s vice-regent and had the resources and authority to execute his request, but also because Jacob considered Joseph his heir and successor.99

Genesis 37:2,” Revue biblique 90 (1983): 263. Here ‫ את‬could be taken either as the preposition meaning “with” or as the definite direct object marker. Although the verb ‫ רע״ה‬elsewhere takes its direct object with the preposition bet when meaning “to shepherd” (Gen 37:13; 1 Sam 16:11; Ps 78:71), it more frequently takes its direct object with ‫( את‬Gen 30:36; 37:12; 48:15; Exod 3:1; 1 Sam 17:15; 2 Sam 5:2; 7:7; Jer 3:15; 23:2; Ezek 34:2, 8, 10, 14, 23 [2×]; Mic 5:5 [ET 5:6]; Zech 11:4, 7, 9; Song 1:8; 1 Chr 11:2; 17:6). Interestingly enough, when accompanied by ‫ את‬the verb ‫ רע״ה‬sometimes metaphorically means “to rule” or “to lead” (2 Sam 5:2; 7:7; Jer 3:15; 23:2; Ezek 34:23 [2×]; Mic 5:5 [ET 5:6]; 1 Chr 11:2; 17:6). Although the interpretation of Joseph’s dreams is not necessarily self-evident — see Jan-Dirk Döhling, “Die Herrschaft erträumen, die Träume beherrschen. Herrschaft, Traum und Wirklichkeit in den Josefsträumen (Gen 37,5–11) und der Israel-Josefsgeschichte,” Biblische Zeitschrift 50 (2006): 3–8 and Pirson, Lord, 42–52 — the dreams do clearly portray the preeminence of Joseph over this brothers; see Sykora, Unfavored, 21–22. 99 Barend Jacobus Van der Merwe, “Joseph as Successor of Jacob,” in Studia Biblica et Semitica. Theodoro Christiano Vriezen qui munere professoris theologiae per XXV annos functus est, ab amicis, collegis, discipulis dedicata (Wageningen: Veenman, 1966), 225. Viewing this scene as Jacob’s appointment of Joseph as the heir helps make sense of several interesting features in Gen 47:28–31. Jacob shows unusual respect to Joseph as indicated by the phrase ‫“ אם־נא מצאתי חן בעיניך‬if I have found favor in your eyes” (Gen 47:29). Because the expression ‫“ מצא חן בעיני‬to find favor in the eyes of” elsewhere appears within requests from a lesser to a greater and is accompanied by bowing down before the superior party (e.g., Gen 18:2–3; 33:6–8; Exod 34:8–9; 2 Sam 14:22; 16:4; Ruth 2:10), it is possible that ‫“ ַה ִּמ ָּטה‬the bed” in the difficult expression ‫( וישתחו ישראל על־ראש המטה‬Gen 47:31) should be repointed to ‫“ ַה ַּמ ֶּטה‬the staff” (cf. the Septuagint’s ῥάβδος and the Peshitta’s ‫ܚܘܛܪ‬, both meaning “rod”), which by metonymy frequently also means “tribe.” If so, Jacob arguably considers Joseph the new paterfamilias (i.e., “the head of the tribe”), the successor of his household; see Sykora, Unfavored, 51–53 and Raymond de Hoop, “‘Then Israel Bowed Himself…’ (Genesis 47.31),” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 28 (2004): 467–80.



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Jacob’s subsequent blessing of the sons of Joseph further confirms that he appointed Joseph his heir. Jacob explicitly states that both Ephraim and Manasseh are considered as his own sons, just as Reuben and Simeon are, and that the territory of any other future sons of Joseph will fall within the authority of Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen 48:5–6). In doing so, Jacob adopts both Ephraim and Manasseh as his own sons and grants Joseph a double share of the inheritance: one share for each son.100 Jacob also allots extra land to Joseph as a tangible symbol of his firstborn status (Gen 48:22).101 The use of the expression ‫על־אחיך‬, “above your brothers” within Jacob’s bestowal of the land therefore reflects Joseph’s preeminence as firstborn among his siblings.102 Jacob likewise recognizes Joseph’s firstborn status when he blesses him along with his other sons. Although biologically the firstborn, Jacob does not grant Reuben the rights of the firstborn because Reuben slept with his concubine Bilhah (Gen 49:3–4; cf. Gen 35:22). Simeon and Levi, the next two in line for the birthright, are similarly excluded because they deceived and killed the inhabitants of Shechem (Gen 49:5–7; cf. Gen 34:25–28). Rather than giving the birthright to next-in-line Judah, however, Jacob instead gives it to Joseph, whom Jacob calls the ‫נזיר אחיו‬, “one set apart from his brothers” (Gen 49:26). This expression is best understood as a statement of Joseph’s special firstborn status, as

100 Van der Merwe, “Joseph,” 226; Gary N. Knoppers, “The Preferential Status of the Oldest Son Revoked?” in Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible: Essays in Honour of John Van Seters, ed. Steven L. McKenzie and Thomas Römer, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 294 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000), 119; and Sykora, Unfavored, 54. 101 Van der Merwe, “Joseph,” 225; Knoppers, “Preferential Status,” 118–19; and Sykora, Unfavored, 58–60. The meaning of ‫ שכם‬in Gen 48:22 is somewhat unclear. It could refer to the city of Shechem, but the explanation that Jacob took it from the Amorites with his sword and bow does not match the account earlier in Genesis or later in Joshua (Gen 33:19; Josh 24:32). The alternative is to take ‫ שכם‬as meaning “mountain-ridge” (i.e., a shoulder-shaped piece of land) even though it does not have this meaning anywhere else in the Hebrew Bible. 102 Joseph’s special status above his brothers remains true regardless of whether ‫א ַחד‬, ַ which appears to be in construct form but is not accented as such, is taken to modify ‫ שכם‬or is grouped with ‫על־אחיך‬.

352 Benjamin J. Noonan

indicated by the parallel blessing in Deut 33:16–17 that associates this description of Joseph with a firstborn bull (‫)בכור שור‬.103 The narrative that follows shows that Joseph became the paterfamilias upon the death of his father. Joseph makes the funeral arrangements for his father, as would be the responsibility of the head of the household.104 The text highlights Joseph’s primary role throughout this process: Joseph commands the embalming (Gen 50:2–3), receives permission from Pharaoh to depart for Canaan (Gen 50:4–6), leads the funeral procession (Gen 50:10–11), and finally returns to Egypt accompanied by his brothers (Gen 50:12–14). The pericope also regularly refers to Jacob as ‫אביו‬, “his father” (Gen 50:2, 7–8, 10, 14 [2×]); ‫אבי‬, “my father” (Gen 50:5 [2×]); and ‫אביך‬, “your father” (Gen 50:6) from Joseph’s perspective rather than his brother’s perspective, further emphasizing Joseph’s special status.105 Finally, the statement that Joseph lived in Egypt (Gen 50:22) parallels the earlier statement that Jacob lived in Egypt (Gen 47:27) and thereby identifies Joseph with his father Jacob and his position as head of the household.106 Finally, evidence from outside the book of Genesis confirms that Joseph was made Jacob’s heir and successor. First Chronicles 103 Hensel, Die Vertauschung, 223; Knoppers, “Preferential Status,” 119–20; Sykora, Unfavored, 102–3; and Raymond de Hoop, Genesis 49 in Its Literary and Historical Context, Oudtestamentische Studiën 39 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 217. The word ‫נזיר‬ comes from the root ‫נז״ר‬, “to consecrate, set apart” and refers to someone or something set apart (Lev 25:5, 11; Num 6:2, 13, 18–21; Deut 33:16; Judg 13:5, 7; 16:17; Amos 2:11–12; Lam 4:7). It would be wrong to argue that ‫ נזיר‬has connotations of royalty simply because ‫נזר‬, “crown” also derives from the root ‫נז״ר‬, contra Kristin M. Swenson, “Crowned with Blessings: The Riches of Double-Meaning in Gen 49,26b,” Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 120 (2008): 423; the meaning of the latter cannot necessarily be imported into the former. Rather, as a qātīl-pattern noun, ‫ נזיר‬is best generally rendered as “one set apart” rather than “prince” or the like; the only instance in which ‫ נזיר‬could possibly denote a royal figure is in Lam 4:7, but such a referent remains to be demonstrated. 104 Van der Merwe, “Joseph,” 227. 105 Sykora, Unfavored, 61. 106 Van der Merwe, “Joseph,” 227–28. Other similarities between Jacob and Joseph confirm this identification: Joseph adopts his grandson Machir’s sons as his own just as Jacob adopted his sons Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen 50:23; cf. Gen 48:14–20), Joseph predicts the exodus and instructs that his bones be taken to Canaan just as Jacob did (Gen 50:24–25; cf. Gen 47:29–31; 48:21), and Joseph is embalmed just as Jacob was (Gen 50:26; cf. Gen 50:2–3).



An Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 353

5:1–2 explicitly states that Jacob appointed Joseph as the recipient of firstborn rights above both Reuben and Judah.107 This passage notes that, although Reuben was technically the firstborn in terms of birth position, he forfeited his firstborn rights when he slept with his father’s concubine Bilhah (cf. Gen 35:22). Likewise, although stronger than his brothers and the one from whom kingship eventually came, Judah did not receive the firstborn status. Rather, as explicitly stated by the Chronicler, the rights of the firstborn went to Joseph (‫)והבכרה ליוסף‬. Joseph’s Garment and His Status as Heir

If the Vertauschungmotiv serves as a central theme for the sons of Jacob narrative, and if the sons of Jacob narrative portrays Joseph as Jacob’s heir to the patriarchal household, then Jacob’s granting of the ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬to Joseph plausibly relates to inheritance and the firstborn privileges.108 This function for the garment matches the ancient Near Eastern use of clothing to enact inheritance as discussed above. Most significantly, the sons of Jacob narrative itself contains several clues that Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬effected his father’s desire to make him the heir, the most important of

107 Importantly, there is a difference between the title of firstborn (designated by ‫ )בכור‬and the status and rights of the firstborn (designated by ‫ ;)בכורה‬see Bradford A. Anderson, “The Inversion of the Birth Order and the Title of the Firstborn,” Vetus Testamentum 60 (2010): 655–58. 108 Several scholars have suggested this possibility, although no one has developed it fully; see, e.g., Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Atlanta: John Knox, 1982), 300, 304; Bruce K. Waltke and Cathi J. Fredericks, Genesis: A Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001), 500; Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (New York: Free Press, 2003), 514–15; Martin Sicker, Jacob and His Sons: The End of the Patriarchal Era (Lincoln: iUniverse, 2007), 6–9; Judah Goldin, “The Youngest Son or Where Does Genesis 38 Belong,” Journal of Biblical Literature 96 (1977): 38; da Silva, Symbolique, 38–40; Eric I. Lowenthal, The Joseph Narrative in Genesis (New York: Ktav, 1973), 16–17; Jon D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son: The Transformation of Child Sacrifice in Judaism and Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 57–58; and Kelly Furman, “His Story Versus Her Story: Male Genealogy and Female Strategy in the Jacob Cycle,” in Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship, ed. Adela Yarbro Collins, Society of Biblical Literature Biblical Scholarship in North America 10 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), 110.

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which is the explicit reason given for Jacob’s preference of Joseph in Gen 37:3. The biblical text links Jacob’s bestowal of the ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬with Jacob’s favoritism for Joseph over all his other sons (Gen 37:3). His favoritism is expressed with the verb ‫אה״ב‬, which echoes the other sibling rivalry narratives in Genesis in which the patriarch’s or matriarch’s love expresses favor of the one who is chosen over another (Gen 22:2; 25:28; 29:30, 32; 44:20).109 This indicates that Jacob’s love for Joseph constitutes not merely affection but also his preference for Joseph over his other sons. Furthermore, because the patriarch’s heir is the recipient of such favoritism elsewhere in the ancestral narratives, Jacob’s love for Joseph arguably also reflects his selection of Joseph as heir.110 The text’s explicit mention of why Jacob loved Joseph confirms what Jacob’s favoritism entailed: ‫כי־בן־זקנים הוא לו‬, “because he was a son of old age to him” (Gen 37:3). The few commentators who make note of this statement point out its surprising nature: Benjamin, not Joseph, is Jacob’s youngest son, so why not designate Benjamin the ‫ בן־זקנים‬rather than Joseph? They then explain away this anomaly by arguing that Jacob preferred Joseph over Benjamin because his favorite wife, Rachel, died giving birth to Benjamin.111 But this only explains Jacob’s preference for Joseph, not why Joseph is designated specifically as ‫בן־זקנים‬. It also does not account for Benjamin receiving the similar appellation ‫ילד‬ ‫ זקנים‬when he is said to be loved by Jacob later in the narrative (Gen 44:20). The word ‫זקנים‬, which abstractly denotes a time of life like other qətûl-pattern nouns, occurs elsewhere only in the Abraham narrative (Gen 21:2, 7).112 Here it expresses the stage of Abraham’s 109 Sykora, Unfavored, 18. 110 Cf. Van der Merwe, “Joseph,” 228–29. 111 See, e.g., Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 18–50, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 407 and Kenneth A. Mathews, Genesis 11:27–50:26, New American Commentary 1B (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2005), 689. 112 Fox, Semitic Noun Patterns, 212 and Constance Wallace Gordon, “Qətûl Nouns in Classical Hebrew,” Abr-Nahrain 29 (1991): 85. This pattern originated from ProtoSemitic *qutūl. Other examples in Biblical Hebrew include ‫בחורים‬, “youth”; ‫בתולים‬,



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life when Isaac was born. What is noteworthy is the emphasis on Abraham’s rather than Sarah’s old age; although Sarah gives birth to Isaac when she herself is quite old, both times the term is used of Abraham’s old age rather than Sarah’s, even when Sarah herself speaks (‫ילדתי בן לזקניו‬, “I bore the son of his old age”). Also noteworthy is that ‫ זקנים‬was not used earlier in the narrative to describe Ishmael’s birth (Gen 16), nor is it used later in the narrative to describe the birth of Abraham’s other children (Gen 25:1–5), even though Abraham was arguably old in both instances.113 The common denominator behind each occurrence of ‫זקנים‬ is not merely old age but old age as it relates to the favored son, the one whom the patriarch selects to be his heir.114 Leon Kass summarizes the implications of this observation: “Only if taken figuratively does the reason for preference make sense: Joseph is the son who Jacob believes will best take care of the problem that arises because of Jacob’s old age, the problem of succession.”115 By saying that Jacob loved Joseph more than his other sons because he was a ‫בן־זקנים‬, then, the biblical text communicates that Jacob selected Joseph out of all his sons to be his heir and successor.116 This explains why Jacob gave the ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬to Joseph, because in giving a gift like a special garment Jacob would give part of “virginity”; ‫כלולת‬, “time of betrothal”; ‫ נעורים‬and ‫נערות‬, “youth, time of youth”; and ‫עלומים‬, “youth.” 113 Regarding Abraham’s other children born through Keturah, Abraham was even older than he was when he gave birth to Isaac because these children were born after Isaac. 114 Kass, Beginning, 514; Sicker, Jacob, 7–8; and Hensel, Die Vertauschung, 197. Jacob presumably appointed Benjamin as his heir some time after he thought Joseph was dead. If correct, this would explain why Benjamin is designated as ‫ בן־זקנים‬in Gen 44:20. 115 Kass, Beginning, 514. 116 This interpretation may be implicit in the renditions of ‫ ֹכי־בן־זקנים הוא לו‬in the Targums. Targum Onqelos reads ‫ארי בר חכים הוא ליה‬, “because he was a son of wisdom to him,” perhaps implying that Jacob saw Joseph as wise and suitable for an heir (cf. Josephus, Ant. 2.9; Philo, Joseph 4); Targum Pseudo-Jonathan reads ‫ארום איקונין‬ ‫דיוסף דמיין לאיקונין דיליה‬, “because the likeness of Joseph’s image resembled his own likeness,” perhaps indicating that Joseph was similar in nature to Jacob and therefore a natural choice for the heir (cf. Gen. Rab. 84.8); see Sicker, Jacob, 8.

356 Benjamin J. Noonan

his personhood to Joseph — in this case, his role as the head of the patriarchal household.117 The immediate context supports reading Gen 37:3 as Jacob appointing Joseph as his heir. As I have already noted, the toledot formula in the preceding verse (Gen 37:2) raises the question of who will be the heir by introducing the narrative as the genealogy of Jacob (‫)תלדות יעקב‬, the patriarch who had not one son but twelve. The problem of the heir thus frames the statement that Jacob loved Joseph more than all his sons and made him the ‫( כתנת (ה)פסים‬Gen 37:3). Furthermore, the use of the name ‫ישראל‬, “Israel” rather than ‫יעקב‬, “Jacob” in Gen 37:3 highlights Joseph’s preeminence as firstborn because the name Israel tends to be used when speaking of Jacob as the head of patriarchal household (e.g., Gen 43:6, 8, 11; 46:1, 8; 48:13 [2×] 20–21; 49:2, 28).118 Notably, the name “Israel” appears in Gen 37:13 when Jacob sends Joseph to go check on his brothers but then “Jacob” rather than “Israel” appears in Gen 37:34, once Jacob thinks that Joseph is dead and therefore cannot succeed him. In addition to the immediate context, the broader context of the sons of Jacob narrative supports reading Gen 37:3 as a statement of Jacob’s appointment of Joseph as firstborn. There exists a close relationship between Joseph’s clothing and fortunes throughout the narrative: Joseph is stripped before being sold into slavery (Gen 37:23), the clothing Joseph received while serving as Potiphar’s steward is pulled off when he is accused of rape (Gen 39:12–13) and he subsequently dons a prisoner’s garment (Gen 41:14), Joseph receives new clothing when called before Pharaoh (Gen 41:14), and, finally, Pharaoh clothes Joseph with fine linen when he makes Joseph vice-regent of Egypt (Gen 41:42).119 In each 117 Hensel, Die Vertauschung, 217–18; Benno Jacob, Das erste Buch der Tora. Genesis (Berlin: Schocken, 1934), 696–97; and Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 224–27, 239–42. 118 Sykora, Unfavored, 23 and Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 241. On the use of ‫ישראל‬, “Israel” versus ‫יעקב‬, “Jacob,” see Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50, Word Biblical Commentary 2 (Waco, TX: Word, 1994), 351. 119 Victor H. Matthews, “The Anthropology of Clothing in the Joseph Narrative,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 65 (1995): 25–36; Jonathan R. Huddleston, “Divestiture, Deception, and Demotion: The Garment Motif in Genesis 37–39,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 98 (2002): 47–62; and Emmanuel O. Nwaoru,



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of these instances the status marked by Joseph’s clothing is clearly social in nature, representing his authority (or lack thereof) over others. So Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬arguably also effects his social authority over others, specifically his position as the future heir of the patriarchal household.120 The correspondence between the brothers’ deception of Jacob and Jacob’s earlier deception of Isaac confirms the connection between Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬and his status as appointed heir. Several parallels exist between these two acts of deception, but “Change of Garment: A Symbolic ‘Rite of Passage’ in the Joseph Narrative (Gen 37; 39; 41),” Biblische Notizen 143 (2009): 5–22. 120 Some scholars suggest that Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬represents his religious status; see, e.g., Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 259–99; Bernhard Lang, “Joseph the Diviner: Careers of a Biblical Hero,” in Hebrew Life and Literature: Selected Essays of Bernhard Lang, Society for Old Testament Studies Monograph Series (Farnham: Ashgate, 2008), 95–96, 98; E. C. B. MacLaurin, “Joseph and Asaph,” Vetus Testamentum 25 (1975): 34–35; and Adrien Janis Bledstein, “Tamar and the ‘Coat of Many Colors,’” in Samuel and Kings, ed. Athalya Brenner, Feminist Companion to the Bible (Second Series) 7 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 70–78. Among other things, they typically argue that a garment marking religious status suits Joseph’s role as a ritual specialist throughout the narrative, that Joseph’s brothers needed to remove his garment before casting him into the pit because his clothing functioned apotropaically, and that the pit into which he is thrown serves as a symbol of the underworld. Such argumentation, however, is subject to several points of critique. First, although Joseph does have the ability to interpret dreams, the biblical text is explicit that this ability stems not from Joseph but from God (Gen 40:8; 41:16), and Joseph never reveals the meaning of his own dreams (Gen 37:5–11). Joseph’s possession of a divination cup (Gen 44:2) does not prove that he is a diviner because the statements that he uses the cup are designed to test his brothers (Gen 44:5, 15). Joseph’s marriage to Asenath (Gen 41:45) likewise proves nothing because his service to Pharaoh is presented as political, not religious. Second, although the text of Genesis does emphasize the brothers’ tearing of the garment prior to their throwing Joseph into the pit (Gen 37:23– 24), it never says that it was necessary for them to do so before they could throw him into the pit. Rather, the emphasis on their tearing is plausibly explained as an act of hatred for what the garment symbolized. The brothers’ dipping of the garment in blood (Gen 37:31) is arguably done to trick their father into thinking Jacob is dead (cf. Gen 37:31–32), not to desecrate the garment’s ritual potency. Third, although the term ‫בור‬, “pit” does refer to the realm of the dead in several instances (e.g., Isa 14:15; Ezek 32:23; Ps 30:4 [ET 30:3]), it also frequently refers simply to a pit or cistern (e.g., Exod 21:33; Deut 6:11; Jer 2:13; Ps 7:16 [ET 7:15]). Just because ‫ בור‬can denote the grave does not mean that it does in Gen 37, especially because the text describes ‫בור‬ as a cistern by mentioning that there was no water in it (Gen 37:24). Any alleged parallel between the stripping of Joseph and the stripping of Ishtar prior to her entering the netherworld is pure speculation because stripping someone of their clothing is not inherently a religious act; the function and symbolism of removing clothing needs to be determined by a text’s context rather than the act itself.

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the most notable regards clothing: the brothers deceive their father by killing a goat (‫ )שעיר עזים‬and dipping Joseph’s garment in its blood (Gen 37:31), similar to how Jacob deceived his own father by means of the skin of goats (‫ )ערת גדיי העזים‬and by donning his brother Esau’s clothing (Gen 27:15–16).121 The primary motive behind Jacob’s deception of Isaac was to take away Esau’s special status in the family, a status directly related to his position as the firstborn. Given the parallels between Jacob’s deception and the brothers’ deception, their motivation was probably also to take away their brother’s special firstborn status in the family. A final significant mention of clothing in the sons of Jacob narrative is Joseph’s provision of new clothing to his brothers after he revealed himself to them (Gen 45:22). Here Joseph singles out Benjamin by giving him five sets of clothes and three hundred sheqels of silver, which echoes his earlier gift of a fivefold portion to Benjamin when he and his brothers dined with Joseph (Gen 43:33–34).122 Joseph’s singling out of Benjamin parallels his father’s favoritism and therefore indirectly raises the question of status within the family.123 Furthermore, by clothing his brothers and giving them silver, Joseph brings resolution to the family and effectively reverses their earlier stripping of his ‫ ;כתנת (ה)פסים‬as their benefactor, he shows his authority as the paterfamilias and ties their identities to his.124 If Joseph’s clothing of his brothers relates to family status and privilege, it is reasonable to conclude that his brothers’ stripping of the ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬also relates to family status. 121 Laurence A. Turner, Genesis, 2nd ed., Readings: A New Biblical Commentary (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2009), 165; Waltke and Fredericks, Genesis, 504–5; and Dean Andrew Nicholas, The Trickster Revisited: Deception as a Motif in the Pentateuch, Studies in Biblical Literature 117 (New York: Lang, 2009), 59. 122 Mathews, Genesis 11:27–50:26, 792. 123 When Joseph’s brothers dine with him, they are seated before him in the order of their age, ‫הבכר כבכרתו והצעיר כצערתו‬, “the firstborn according to his position as the firstborn and the youngest according to his position as the youngest” (Gen 43:33). This emphasis on birth order and position within the family further establishes the connection between the issue of firstborn status and the clothing that Joseph gives his brothers. 124 Nwaoru, “Change,” 19–20 and da Silva, Symbolique, 163.



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Joseph’s and Tamar’s Garments Compared

Having demonstrated that Joseph’s garment effected his firstborn status, I now briefly explore the relationship between Joseph’s ‫( כתנת (ה)פסים‬Gen 37:3, 23, 32) and the garment of David’s daughter Tamar, which is also designated by ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬in 2 Sam 13:18–19. The functions of both garments need not be identical, but there should exist at least some overlap between their functions for any understanding of Joseph’s garment to be correct.125 The question that remains to be explored, then, is this: If Joseph’s garment indicated his firstborn privileges, how does this function relate to the function of Tamar’s garment? As was the case with Joseph’s garment, the biblical text gives the reason why Tamar wore hers: ‫כי כן תלבשן בנות־המלך הבתולת‬ ‫מעילים‬, “for thus the virgin daughters of the king wore robes” (2 Sam 13:18). Tamar’s garment serves as an outward marker of her status as one of the virgin daughters of King David — in other words, that she belongs to the royal household and falls under its protection.126 The common denominator between this function and the function of Joseph’s garment is therefore not royalty or virginity but membership in a particular family and “ownership” by the patriarch of that family. Just as Joseph’s garment marks his elevated membership within Jacob’s household and therefore represents Jacob’s protection of him as the future heir, so does Tamar’s garment mark her royal status within the household of David, under whose protection she remains prior to marriage.127 125 Dewrell, “How Tamar’s Veil Became Joseph’s Coat,” 166–73 argues that coherence between the functions of Joseph’s garment and Tamar’s garment is unnecessary, instead contending that ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬in Gen 37:3, 23, 32 represents a scribe’s later addition to bolster the parallels between the sons of Jacob narrative and the succession narrative. Notwithstanding the intertextual relationship between these two narratives, there exists little textual evidence for such a hypothesis, especially because Joseph’s ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬is an integral part of the sons of Jacob narrative even if it only appears three times in the opening chapter. 126 Kristine Henriksen Garroway, Growing Up in Ancient Israel: Children in Material Culture and Biblical Texts, Archaeology and Biblical Studies 23 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2018), 179. 127 Garroway, Growing Up, 179 and Heather A. McKay, “Gendering the Discourse of Display,” in On Reading Prophetic Texts: Gender-Specific and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes, ed. Bob Becking and Meindert Dijkstra, Biblical Interpretation Series 18 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 187, 194–95.

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Taking Joseph’s garment as a marker of his firstborn privileges therefore has great explanatory power not only for making sense of the text of Genesis but also for understanding Tamar’s garment in 2 Sam 13:18–19: both garments can be understood in terms of membership in the patriarchal household. The coherence of the resulting picture serves as indirect evidence for the plausibility of my understanding of Joseph’s garment, especially because other explanations of the ‫ כתנת (ה)פסים‬have failed to account for its usage in both Genesis and Samuel. Conclusion The nature of Joseph’s garment, denoted in Hebrew as ‫כתנת‬ ‫ (ה)פסים‬, has puzzled interpreters for centuries. Two questions in particular continue to be debated in the modern era: what Joseph’s garment looked like and why Jacob gave the garment to Joseph. The scholarly literature attests to a wide variety of answers to these to questions, unfortunately with little consensus. Both the style and significance of Joseph’s garment thus remain disputed even as popular culture continues to offer its own interpretations and representations in literature, music, theatre, and film. Reexamination of Joseph’s garment within its ancient Near Eastern context nevertheless provides a way forward. The term ‫ (ה)פסים‬is related to several Northwest Semitic terms meaning “portion, strip,” indicating that Joseph’s garment was patterned with stripes, paneling, or the like. Joseph’s garment therefore resembled the multicolored clothing worn by Northwest Semitic elites depicted in ancient Near Eastern iconography. As an elite garment, it effected his special social status and identity as Jacob’s heir. This function reflects the ancient Near Eastern use of clothing to enact inheritance rights and well suits the sons of Jacob narrative, which portrays Joseph as the paterfamilias and consistently connects Joseph’s clothing with his authority over others.

Chapter 12

Vulnerable Fabrics: Negation of Dress and Power in the Hebrew Bible Carl Pace

The increased interest in the function of clothing and other forms of dress in biblical studies on display in this volume follows in the wake of a longer commitment to working out the significance of dress in the field of anthropology. As such, anthropological study has much to teach students of the ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, especially about the way dress shapes and is shaped by power relations within and among social groups. The present essay will focus on how a combination of anthropological theory and ancient texts elucidates the meaning of the negation of dress, defined here as the removal, destruction, damaging, or alteration of dress items and dress kits. As dress can be broadly conceived as “an assemblage of modifications of the body and/or supplements to the body,” there are many avenues by which to approach this issue, including although not limited to dressing down, removal of dress items, shaving, cutting/scarification, and even the transformation of bodily odors.1 I offer some humble reflections on this topic in homage to my doctoral advisor 1 Mary Ellen Roach-Higgins and Joanne B. Eicher, “Dress and Identity,” Clothing and Textiles Research 10, no. 4 (1992): 7. On odor as part of a dress kit, see uses of the metaphor stench = social abhorrence in Gen 34:30; Exod 5:21; 1 Sam 13:4; 27:12; 2 Sam 10:6; 16:21; and Job 19:17.



361

362 Carl Pace

and friend, Nili S. Fox, who taught us much about synthesizing anthropological perspectives and biblical studies. We encounter within the corpus of the Hebrew Bible many mentions of the damage, loss, and taking of items of dress. Certain instances of the garment motif in Genesis feature destruction or loss of control over garments and personal effects. In Gen 37:23, Jacob’s sons strip Joseph of his unique sleeved tunic (‫)כתנב הפסים‬, which they will later dip in goat’s blood to facilitate their deception about Joseph’s fate (Gen 37:31). Joseph further experiences the dangers of out-of-control-clothing in the story of Potiphar and his wife (Gen 39). And in the well-known Judah and Tamar vignette between Gen 37 and 39, we learn that Judah, too, hands over control of several personal artifacts to ironic effect. In Exod 22:27 we encounter a prohibition limiting the use of a garment taken in pledge for a debt: one must return the garment before the sun sets lest the creditor deprive the debtor of nighttime covering and risk drawing down divine justice. And, while some texts encourage the use of garments as pledges (Prov 20:16 and 27:13), other texts (Deut 24:17) limit their use or complain of abuses (Amos 2:8). The tension among these texts reveals concern over disposition of dress. In an entirely different legal context, the ‫ חליצה‬ritual in Deut 25:7–10 describes how a kinsman unwilling to fulfill the levirate responsibility will be denounced publicly before the elders through the removal of his sandal, a negation of dress used to shame and transform his identity, demonstrating how control over and loss of articles of clothing carry weight. In addition to the loss of control over articles of dress, we also encounter episodes in which articles of dress are torn, cut, or otherwise damaged. Saul tears Samuel’s cloak in 1 Sam 15:27–28 to devastating effect. And Saul’s trouble with clothing is not restricted to his mishandling of Samuel’s cloak. In fact, Ora Horn Prouser has concluded that “clothing is a hostile agent to Saul.”2

2 Ora Horn Prouser, “Suited to the Throne: The Symbolic Use of Clothing in the David and Saul Narratives,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 21 (1996): 33.



Vulnerable Fabrics 363

He offers his armor to David, who sets it aside (1 Sam 17:38–39).3 In 1 Sam 19:24, Saul once again loses his clothing in a prophetic frenzy.4 David cuts off a significant part of Saul’s cloak in secret and uses it to taunt Saul (1 Sam 24:5–6), later repeating the feat with a stolen spear and water jug (1 Sam 26:11–12), which he then uses to shame Abner (1 Sam 26:15–16) and demonstrate his power over Saul (1 Sam 26:22–23). Saul even loses his clothing after a fashion when the ritual specialist of En-Dor mentally undresses him from his disguise (1 Sam 28:8–12).5 And his story ends with his dead body being stripped (1 Sam 31:8–10) and his crown and armlet taken off and given to David (2 Sam 1:10). It seems that the narrator of Samuel has intentionally worked in various scenarios for the exchange of clothing to symbolize Saul’s diminishing. The whole rise of David and fall of Saul is mapped as “David continually accumulates clothing while Saul abuses, destroys or loses clothing.”6 Indeed, the narrator’s fixation with clothing and its disposition is highlighted again and again, clearly marking his understanding that clothing, power, status, and fate are intertwined.7 David, too, has continued encounters with problematic clothing. In 2 Sam 10, David sends messengers to offer condolences on the death of the king of Ammon. Out of suspicion toward David’s purpose in sending envoys, however, Hanun of Ammon has David’s servants partially shaved and cuts their garments to expose their buttocks, sending them back in a state of shame that 3 Prouser, “Suited,” 33 thinks that David refuses Saul’s armor because bestowal of garments on another signifies power over another and he did not want to be in Saul’s debt. 4 Prouser, “Suited,” 32. 5 Prouser, “Suited,” 33. 6 Prouser, “Suited,” 29–30, 33. An exception to this general rule is 2 Sam 6:20, where David uncovers himself in worship. There the narrator affirms the action by giving David divine approval. 7 Saul’s son Jonathan strips off his own garments to give to David (1 Sam 18:4). David’s wife Michal uses clothing to mask David’s escape (1 Sam 19:13). When Saul slaughters the priests of Nob, they are identified by the clothes they wear (‫נשא אפוד‬ ‫בד‬, in 1 Sam 22:18). Saul as a hero is celebrated as one who clothes women with his spoils (2 Sam 1:24); most of this was noted already by Prouser, “Suited,” 33–34.

364 Carl Pace

David views as a casus belli. Why David, who earlier in his story did similar things, should respond this way is worthy of inquiry. Finally, in a story similar to the episode of the robe of Saul and Samuel, the Shilonite prophet Ahijah tears his own cloak to demonstrate how God is breaking apart the kingdom of Israel and giving part to Jeroboam (1 Kgs 11:29–32). As in the case of Samuel’s robe and the clothing of David’s envoys, there is a curious misalignment between whose garments are damaged and whom this damage affects. For the sake of space I will not engage the various passages that describe denudation, a very common form of negation of dress in the Hebrew Bible and in the ancient Near East more broadly, and one that is especially relevant against the backdrop of certain biblical anthropologies establishing a clothed state as normative for humanity (e.g., Gen 3).8 Likewise the Hebrew Bible is full of negations of dress in the tearing of garments in mourning. But the purpose of this essay is to redress a perceived overreliance on the reductive language of “mere” symbolism and to reconfigure textual analysis around different ideas about the relationship between clothing and personhood revealed by anthropological theory and comparative textual work. For the sake of brevity and focus, this essay will focus more particularly on the disposition and control of dress artifacts. In each of the above cases, we have ample reason to see the negation of dress as a significant form of communication and power negotiation. To further untangle their messages, a turn to the anthropology of clothing is warranted. Clothing and Identity in Anthropological Perspective Anthropologists and philosophers have already explored the connection between a person and her or his possessions. According to Russell Belk, consumer behavior is rooted in the concept that

8 “When clothing is firmly established as a permanent social habit, temporary nudity is the most violent negation possible of the clothed state”; see Ernest Crawley, “Dress,” Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, ed. James Hastings, 13 vols. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1912), 5:60.



Vulnerable Fabrics 365

“we are what we have.”9 Belk goes on to argue: “Apparently, in claiming that something is ‘mine,’ we also come to believe that the object is ‘me,’” an identity complex reflected in feelings of anger and violation associated with thefts of personal objects.10 “Our fragile sense of self needs support, and this we get by having and possessing things because, to a large degree, we are what we have and possess.”11 Alfred Gell makes similar arguments in his study of the agency of art and artifacts.12 Marilyn Strathern’s theory of the “dividual self” and the idea of an “inter-subjective self” proposed by Elizabeth Hallam, Jennifer Lorna Hockey, and Glennys Howarth follow a parallel course.13 Such anthropological thinking extends what Jean-Paul Sartre had earlier argued about the nature of the self. In fact, it nearly replicates certain of his statements: “I am a body precisely in so far as I make myself be indicated by things”; “[f]ar from the relation of the body to objects being a problem, we never apprehend the body outside this relation”; and “[t]he pen and the pipe, the clothing, the desk, the house — are myself.”14 The same concept of possessions as part of the self was discussed even earlier by William James, who referred to the self as the 9 Russell W. Belk, “Possessions and the Extended Self,” Journal of Consumer Research 15 (1988): 139. 10 Belk, “Possessions,” 141–42. 11 Yi-Fu Tuan, “The Significance of the Artifact,” Geographical Review 70 (1980): 62–72. 12 “The person is understood as the sum total of the indexes which testify, in life and subsequently, to the biographical existence of this or that individual”; see Alfred Gell, Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), 222–23. 13 Marilyn Strathern, The Gender of the Gift: Problems with Women and Problems with Society in Melanesia, Studies in Melanesia 6 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988); Strathern, After Nature: English Kinship in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). For a review of the scholarship on the dividual self, see Antje Linkenbach and Martin Mulsow, “Introduction: The Dividual Self,” in Religious Individualisation: Historical Dimensions and Comparative Perspectives, ed. Jörg Rüpke et al. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2019), 232–344 and Elizabeth Hallam, Jennifer Lorna Hockey, and Glennys Howarth, Beyond the Body: Death and Social Identity (London: Routledge, 1999), 182. 14 Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology, translated by Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Washington Square, 1956 [1943]), 340, 344, 591, respectively.

366 Carl Pace

sum of what a person calls his own — “not only his body and his psychic powers, but his clothes and his house, his wife and children, his ancestors and friends, his reputation and works, his lands, and yacht and bank-account.”15 All agree that a person is more than just a biological form; the idea of “person” is extensive and permeates the immediate context and equipment associated with the physical body, even when it is absent. The concept of the body as terminating at the skin barrier is simply an early modern notion.16 How, though, does clothing factor into this? At the beginning of the last century, it was common for an average American to possess a small and selective wardrobe, as evidenced in the typically small closets and storage areas of most houses in the period. Indeed, it would seem that the idea of regularly changing garments and having multiple outfits is a rather recent innovation in human society. The rarity of clothing as a basic assumption when working with ancient Near Eastern sources seems to be backed by the highly prized nature of clothing reflected in gift-giving traditions in the ancient Near East.17 Due to the rise in the availability of affordable clothing, Westerners today have a fundamentally changed relationship with clothing and dress. On a recent episode of National Public Radio’s Marketplace Money, a report on changes in consumer behavior among Millennials and Gen Z described how younger Americans are purchasing fewer high-end clothing items and moving toward a different model. Under this new model, young people seek 15 William James, The Principles of Psychology, 2 vols. (New York: Henry Holt, 1890), 1:291–92. 16 Janelle S. Taylor, “Surfacing the Body Interior,” Annual Review of Anthropology 34 (2005): 747. 17 Victor H. Matthews, “The Anthropology of Clothing in the Joseph Narrative,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 20, no. 65 (1995): 30. See also 2 Kgs 5:5, 22 and 2 Kgs 10:22. Esther 6:8 reports the special gift of clothing that had been already worn by royalty (suggesting the conveyance of personal attributes to the new bearer). Garments are a standard item representing wealth in Zech 14:14. The significance of clothing is also underlined in the awe of the queen of Sheba at the livery of Solomon’s servants in 2 Chr 9:4. One might also think of comments made much later about the superfluity of two garments (“whoever has two tunics should share with one who has none,” Luke 3:11) and Josephus’s reports that the Essenes would change garments only when the old ones wore out (Josephus, J.W. 2.8.4).



Vulnerable Fabrics 367

to own a basic clothing kit, consisting of jeans and t-shirts, and then supplement this basic kit by renting various pieces suitable to the occasion. The most noteworthy aspects of their dressing kit, then, are neither owned nor associated permanently with the person.18 In such a cultural moment (and given prevailing philosophical attitudes), it is likely that many today would not understand ancient Israelite attitudes toward a dress kit. But in premodern history, rarity of garment changes meant that the average person would be seen in the same basic dress kit over prolonged periods of time. This means that the associations between a person and her or his dress kit would be deepened and that elements of the dress kit would not be easily distinguished from the person or their identity. Under such circumstances, dress is more than just a medium for communication.19 Clothing helps define, support, and reinforce social rank and power.20 It is a “social skin” that communicates identity and structures social relationships, and defines the surface and frontier of the self, especially as individuals acquire identities through social interaction.21 Tim Ingold and Ian Hodder have argued that humans and material things have entanglements that complicate notions of agency and objectivity.22 In this line of thought, a person is a fabric of the 18 For a related story from NPR, see Stacey Vanek Smith, “Clothing Retailers Explore An Alternative To Fast Fashion: Rentals,” National Public Radio (NPR), February 27, 2020, https://www.npr.org/2020/02/27/810095453/clothing-retailers-explore-an-alternative-to-fast-fashion-rentals. 19 Roach-Higgins and Eicher, “Dress and Identity,” 10 and Terence S. Turner, “The Social Skin,” HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 2, no. 2 (2012): 487. 20 Nili S. Fox, “Gender Transformation and Transgression: Contextualizing the Prohibition of Cross-Dressing in Deuteronomy 22:5,” in Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Nili Sacher Fox, David A. Glatt-Gilad, and Michael J. Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 50–51; see also Marilyn E. Burton, “Robed in Majesty: Clothing as a Metaphor for the Classical Hebrew Semantic Domain of ‘‫כבוד‬,’” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 293. 21 Turner, “Social Skin,” 486 and Roach-Higgins and Eicher, “Dress and Identity,” 12. 22 Ian Hodder, “The Entanglements of Humans and Things: A Long-Term View,” New Literary History 45, no. 1 (2014): 19–36; Hodder, “Human-Thing Entanglement: Towards an Integrated Archaeological Perspective,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 17 (2011): 154–77; and Tim Ingold, Bringing Things to Life: Cre-

368 Carl Pace

bodily self along with their indexes of agency — especially for our purposes, items of dress.23 While a modern American might lack a perception of dress as self (due to the increased distance between dress kits and persons), today we are increasingly conscious of our digital footprint, a noncorporeal aspect of our identity that can create trouble when it becomes completely alienated from our awareness, open to manipulation to whatever end by external agents.24 As a working premise, I suggest that this is roughly parallel to how the average ancient Near Easterner felt about her or his personal effects and clothing. As Janelle S. Taylor points out, “[o]ne of the problems inherent in an ‘anthropology of the body,’ is the tendency to presume, rather than ask, what a body is and where its significant boundaries are located.”25 In this essay, I will argue that, in the contexts of ancient Israel and the ancient Near East, dress should be understood as an extension of the human body and that this aspect of dress makes it both critically important for control of the self and vulnerable to the dangerous control of others. Whatever happens to one of these things affects all the others. But the catch to this is that, unlike parts of the body, which are not easy to separate off, and personality and identity, which are largely immaterial, personal effects and elements of dress can easily be taken and alienated from the ative Entanglements in a World of Materials. NCRM Working Paper, Vital Signs: Researching Real Life (University of Manchester; ESRC National Centre for Research Methods, 2008), 2–14. Credit for this observation as it applies to clothing belongs to Bethany Joy Wagstaff, “Redressing Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: Material-Cultural Approaches” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 2017), 43–47. 23 So John Robb, “Towards a Critical Otziolography,” in Social Bodies, ed. H. Lambert and M. McDonald (Oxford: Berghahn, 2009), 124: “The human body is never complete, but always an unfinished project; effectively, the ensemble of things accomplishes a complex and ongoing work of material completion of the social body.” 24 Yet research on secondhand clothing reveals that, in the minds of many modern consumers, the association of a person with items of dress is proportional to the increase in proximity to the body and is accompanied by an “aversion to strangeness persist[ing] despite laundering or sterilization”; see Dominique Roux and Michaël Korchia, “Am I What I Wear? An Exploratory Study of Symbolic Meanings Associated with Secondhand Clothing.” Advances in Consumer Research 33 (2006): 29. In fact, some people refuse to wear secondhand clothing because the clothing is permanently associated with its former wearers (33). 25 Taylor, “Surfacing,” 749.



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person to whom they point and whose personality/identity they help to create. Elements of dress thus present a particular vulnerability for that person in terms of how their power and persona is expressed and how they are incorporated into a society. Instances in the Hebrew Bible where elements of dress are manipulated, captured, threatened, or destroyed demonstrate that, in the culture described in the Hebrew Bible, these were an effective means of controlling and attacking a person and shifting power relations. Dress in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East Although we should not generalize Near Eastern practices from one culture to another, examining the way in which dress is conceptualized more broadly can provide possibilities for how we might interpret a particular culture’s approach to dress.26 After all, the texts at our disposal without a doubt stand closer to the texts of the Hebrew Bible in time and culture than we do. In our case, agreements between anthropological literature and ancient Near Eastern texts allows us to triangulate an approach to the Hebrew Bible. The significance of dress lies in the fact that body is the place where “ideologies of identity, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, age, and status are performed and negotiated.”27 Because the body is more than just “a socially-constructed presence” but is also “a recursively engaged social ‘project,’” it is continuously brought into being and reformed through all sorts of social rituals, especially rituals related to body and dress.28 In the ancient Near East at large, “clothing was considered normative, nakedness was 26 With a hat-tip to our honoree, Fox, “Gender Transformation,” 51. 27 Francesca Stavrakopoulou, “Making Bodies: On Body Modification and Religious Materiality in the Hebrew Bible,” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 2, no. 4 (2013): 532. 28 Stavrakopoulou, “Making Bodies,” 533. For more on the use of clothing to transform the body, see Fox, “Gender Transformation,” 51. For dress changes as ritual reclassification, see Saul Olyan, “Add, Subtract, or Do Neither: The Role of Somatic Manipulations in Biblical Rites of Reclassification,” in Dem Körper eingeschrieben. Verkörperung zwischen Leiberleben und kulturellem Sinn, ed. Matthias Jung, Michaela Bauks, and Andreas Ackermann (Wiesbaden: Springer, 2016), 203.

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situational, and nudity restricted to specific contexts and spheres.”29 And we encounter in text and iconography a spectrum between highly elaborated dress and nakedness, which corresponds to social power on the high end and social nonexistence on the low. An unclothed body (at least in the wrong context) is an uncultured body, raw and not subsumed into the society. It is for criminals and enemies, “others.” In the Hebrew Bible, beyond the utilitarian purpose of clothing (protection from the elements) and the basic premise of modesty (Gen 3:7, 10), clothing was used to designate status and social role, to demarcate not only special moments and spaces (1 Kgs 22:10) but also legal responsibility (Ruth 3:9; Ezek 16:8), or to indicate a successor (Num 20:28; 1 Kgs 19:19; 2 Kgs 2:13–14; Isa 22:21).30 Beyond the use and significance of clothing, we also see that dress exists on a continuum with the natural body, reinforcing the principle that a clear line cannot be drawn between body and dress. This is especially notable in instances of destruction or inversion of dress. In the Ugaritic Baʿal Cycle, the god El mourns his son Baʿal’s demise by moving off his throne and on to the ground, at which point “he pours the dirt of mourning on his head, the dust of wallowing on his head; as clothing he covers with a mizrt-garment” (yṣq.ʿmr un.lrišh. ʿpr.plṯt lqdqdh.lpš.yks mizrtm, CAT 1.5 VI 14–17).31 We have two elements of dress (dust and mizrt-garment).32 Then El “rips his skin with a stone, lacerates double-tracks with a razor, cheeks and chin, furrows the length of his arm. He plows his chest like a garden, like a valley he furrows his back.” (ġr.babn ydy.psltm.byʿr yhdy.lḥm.wdqn yṯlṯ. 29 Julia Asher-Greve and Deborah Sweeney, “On Nakedness, Nudity, and Gender in Egyptian and Mesopotamian Art,” in Images and Gender: Contributions to the Hermeneutics of Reading Ancient Art, ed. Sylvia Schroer, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 220 (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 125–76, esp. 125 30 Matthews, “Anthropology,” 27. Matthews assumes that social standing and household membership would have been marked in clothing (31). 31 Simon B. Parker, Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World 9 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 149. 32 For the language of “somatic manipulation,” see Olyan, “Add, Subtract, or Do Neither,” 209. Olyan does not consider changes to dress “somatic,” underlining why this present treatment is necessary.



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qn.ḏrʿh[.]yḥrṯ kgn.aplb kʿmq.yṯlṯ bmt, CAT 1.5 VI 17–22).33 The movement from spatial relocation of the body to alteration of dress to cutting blurs the boundary between space, dress, and body and reveals exactly what we expect from the vantage of anthropology: dress and body are not easily separable in the construction of the person.34 Negation of Dress This interweaving of body and dress in the person explains why negation of dress — again, defined as the removal, destruction, damaging, or alteration of dress items and dress kits — attends changes of identity and persona. Consider the punitive disassociation from one’s garments in a will from Ugarit: Now as for my two sons, Yadlinu is the elder, and Yanḥamu is the younger. Whosoever among them takes a stand against Pidaya [my wife] in court or dishonors Pidaya, their mother, he must pay 500 sheqels of silver to the king, and he must hang his garment on the door-bolt and depart into the street (u3 tug2gu2.e3-šu i-šak-kan2-ma a-na gišsag.kul u3 i-paṭ2-ṭar a-na sila) (RS 8.145, rev. 4–13).35

The legal procedure in which the removal of clothes indicates renunciation of family rights appears in other texts as well.36 At 33 Parker, Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, 149–50. 34 As one reviewer noted, this narrative is complicated by the occurrence not only of destructive elements (tearing of flesh) but also of seemingly constructive elements like dressing in mizrt and adorning with ash. While these last two elements are mechanically additive, they aim to reduce/lower the individual and subtract status. While the mechanics differ from typical negations of dress, the end results are the same and thus qualify as “negation of [standard/unmarked] dress.” In any case, the point here is that body and dress are used together to demonstrate transformations of personal status, suggesting that they are part of one system. 35 Translation by Jacob Lauinger and Matthew Rutz, “Akkadian of the Eastern Mediterranean World,” Open Richly Annotated Cuneiform Corpus, http://oracc.iaas. upenn.edu/aemw/ugarit/P503265/html. See also F. Thureau-Dangin, “Trois Contrats de Ras-Shamra,” Syria 18 (1937): 246, lines 4–13. 36 See also RS 20.146: túggu2[.e3-šu i]na gišsuqqiri išakkan [u] itteṣi ana sūqi, Open Richly Annotated Cuneiform Corpus, http://oracc.iaas.upenn.edu/aemw/ugarit/ P503861/html; see also Jean Nougayrol et al., Ugaritica V. Nouveaux textes accadi-

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Nuzi, widows who wish to marry a man outside of the existing family were to lay their clothing on a stool before leaving the house, thus surrendering a claim on the former estate.37 Similarly, in the divorce resolution for Ammistamru, the king of Ugarit, and the daughter of Pendi-shena of Amurru, we are told that their son, crown prince Utri-Sharrumma, must “place his garment on the stool and leave” if he decides to follow his mother or place her on the throne of Ugarit.38 The alienation from one’s garments means being alienated from the house as a punitive measure in the context of loyalty and family membership. In these cases, leaving the garment means leaving an identity behind, losing a significant aspect of the social self. Because punitive measures often work on the basis of deterrence, we see that losing this important social skin is highly undesirable. Another use of negation of dress in marital law occurs in cases of divorce in the Mesopotamian tradition. To effect a divorce, a husband may cut the hem of his wife’s garment.39 The ritual took place in the presence of witnesses, meaning that this garment destruction was intended for visual consumption, a reminder of the essential interplay between dress and social perception.40 ens, hourrites et ugaritiques des archives et bibliothèques privées d’Ugarit, Mission de Ras Shamra 16 (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1968), 176–78, text 83, obv. 8–10. 37 This is attested in two wills from Nuzi, JEN 444:22 and HSS 5 71:35; see also M. Stol, “Women in Mesopotamia,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 38, no. 2 (1995): 133. For Assyriological abbreviations, see CAD 21. 38 [tug2]-šu i-na giššu2.a li-iš-ku-[un] li-it-ta-lak (RS 17.159 obv. 26–27) and tug2šu i-na giššu2.A [li-iš]-ku-un a-šar ša3-šu lil-lik (RS 17.159 rev. 3–4; MRS 9 126). 39 J. J. Finkelstein, “Cutting the sissiktu in Divorce Proceedings,” Die Welt des Orients 8 (1975): 236–40 and Samuel Greengus, “The Old Babylonian Marriage Contract,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 89, no. 3 (1969): 505–32. Tablet 7 of the Sumerian-Akkadian bilingual lexical series ana ittišu includes cutting the hem among phrases related to divorce (ana ittišu 7 ii 48–51; K 00251, 5R 24, 1, consulted on ORACC/Digital Corpus of Cuneiform Lexical Texts, http://oracc.museum.upenn. edu/dcclt/P382246). Cutting the hem is also used in ritual texts as a magical divorce from illness or evil; see Tzvi Abusch and Daniel Schwemer, Corpus of Mesopotamian Anti-Witchcraft Rituals vol. 1, 7.6.4:24′, http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/cmawro/Q004450. 40 Texts elsewhere attest to the ritual tying of hems between partners, which may lie in the background of the hem-cutting divorce ritual: thus sí-sí-ik-ti a-bi-im ù ma-ri-im [a]-na da-re-e-tim ra-ka-si-im, “to tie forever the hems of father and son” (A.3354, http://www.archibab.fr/4dcgi/listestextes3.htm?T9230) and é an-nu-um iš-tu pa-na-



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The hem of a garment is indeed significant in a number of ways that mark it as an extension of personality and authority.41 In the Old Babylonian period, the hem could be used to sign a tablet.42 Texts in Akkadian, Ugaritic, Aramaic, and Biblical Hebrew demonstrate that seizing the hem of a powerful person is an important practice, typically as an indication of loyalty or in the context of a plea or appeal from an inferior social party to a superior.43 Conversely,

nu-um-ma é-ka ù sí-sí-ik-ti é an-ni-im it-ti sí-sí-ik-ti-ka ra-ak-sa-at, “This house has long been your house and the hem of this house is tied up with your hem,” (A.3838, http://www.archibab.fr/4dcgi/listestextes3.htm?T23201). Translations of Akkadian texts are the author’s own unless otherwise indicated. 41 Prouser, “Suited,” 27. This is also discussed by Jacob Milgrom, The JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 410. For more on this, see Ronald A. Brauner, “Old Aramaic and Comparative Semitic Lexicography,” Gratz College Annual of Jewish Studies 6 (1977): 25–33; Edward L. Greenstein, “‘To Grasp the Hem’ in Ugaritic Literature,” Vetus Testamentum 32 (1982): 217–18; Paul A. Kruger, “The Hem of the Garment in Marriage: The Meaning of the Symbolic Gesture in Ruth 3:9 and Ezekiel 16:8,” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 12 (1984): 79–84; Meir Malul, “‫ דיון‬- ‫עיונים בסימבוליקה משפטית מקראית‬ ‫ משמעותם ושימושיהם המשפטיים במקרא ובמזרח־‬,‫ח ֶצן‬/‫ן‬ ֵ ‫ החיק והח ֶֹצ‬,‫במושגים כנף הבגד‬ ‫הקדום‬.” Shnaton 9 (1985):191–210; and Ferris J. Stephens, “The Ancient Significance of ṣiṣith,” Journal of Biblical Literature 50 (1931): 59–70. 42 An Old Babylonian tablet from Sippar in the time of Ammiditana features such a hem impression (BM 81023; https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1891-0509-1161). It is commonly suggested that the hem must have a unique weave pattern or decoration to allow for recognition of the signatory (pace Matthews, “Anthropology,” 26), but this overlooks ancient Near Eastern pars pro toto attitudes toward things and their impressions and the magic of personal association. “One of the most distinctive aspects of ancient thought is the notion that a part can stand for a whole, pars pro toto”; see Eric Meyers, Jewish Ossuaries: Reburial and Rebirth. Secondary Burials and Their Ancient Near Eastern Setting, Biblica et Orientalia 24 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1971). 43 qa-ra-an ṣú-ba-at Zi-i[m-ri-li-im] [ṣ]a-ba-at ša qa-bé-šu e-pu-úš … a-na qabé-e ma-ti-ia qa-ra-an ṣú-ba-at be-lí-ia aṣ-ba-at be-lí qa-ti la i-na-pa-aṣ, “‘Seize the coattail of Zimri-Lim! Do what he says!’ …Upon the pronouncement of my land, I seized the coattail of my lord. My lord must not repulse my hand” (ARM 6.26:3′–9′), translation by Wolfgang Heimpel, Letters to the King of Mari (Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 484. For discussion and references, see Donald J. Wiseman, “Abban and Alalaḫ,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 12, no. 4 (1958): 124–29 and Greenstein, “‘To Grasp,’” 217–18. One may also grasp the hem of a deity, as in the case of Adad-guppi, who grabs the hem of Sin, and Sargon II, who holds the hem of the goddess Nanaya; see, respectively, “The Adad-guppi Autobiography,” trans. Tremper Longman III, COS 1:147 and the Nanaya Hymn of Sargon II in Alasdair Livingstone, ed., Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea, State Archives of Assyria 3 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1989), 4 rev. ii 18, http://oracc.org/saao/P334931/.

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releasing the hem is a sign of abandoning loyalties.44 At Old Babylonian Mari, the hem of a prophet (āpilum) is sequestered along with his hair in order to confirm his oracle through an extispicy cross-check.45 The importance of possessing the hem is further underlined in an Old Babylonian letter in which a missing hem or hemmed garment is the subject of a judicial oath sworn before Marduk: “Concerning the son of Ilšu-ibišu, neither hem(med garment) nor anything else was found in his possession. Let them adjudicate by a trial of Marduk who enlivens you” (aššum dumu dingir-šu-i-[b]i-[š]u ú-ul sí-is-sí-ik-tum ú-ul mi-im-ma i-na qá-ti-šu ṣa-bi-it di-nam ša dmarduk ša ú-ba-al-la-[ṭú]-ka [li]di-[nu-šu]).46 This is quite unlike the examples we have above of what I have termed “negations of dress,” where the intent is clearly to remove or destroy an element of dress. But it demonstrates the importance and significance of garments and their connection to their owners. Another context in which control over a person’s garment hem is in play is the Mesopotamian magical traditions. It is clear from a survey of Mesopotamian anti-witchcraft literature that control of a person’s clothing was a very significant way of leveraging power over that person. Texts record the capture of hair, the tearing off of garment hems, and the capture of whole garments for the purposes of causing magical harm. Two representative examples should suffice. The first states: “[Sorcerers] have torn

44 šumma qaran ṣubāt Abban uwaššaruma qaran ṣubāt šarrim šānîm iṣabbatu, “If the edge of Abban’s garment he releases and grasps the hem of another king’s garment (Iarim-Lim shall forfeit the town and territories that Abban gave him)”; see Wiseman, “Abban and Alalaḫ,” 129. 45 See, e.g., the letter of Inib-šina to Zimri-Lim, which mentions sending hair and fringe in association with taking oracles, discussed in Marti Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World 12 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2003), 36. I follow the conclusions of Matthew J. Lynch, “The Prophet’s šārtum u sissiktum ‘Hair and Hem’ and the Mantic Context of Prophetic Oracles at Mari,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 13, no. 1 (2013): 11–29, who argues that the materials were necessary for cross-checking through extispicy. 46 Fritz Rudolf Kraus, Altbabylonische Briefe im Umschrift und Übersetzung, 14 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1972–), 5:31 no. 75.



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off my hem, have turned to evil against me” (ša sissiktī ibtuqū ana lemutti izzīzūni).47 The second: ēpištu… ša ina bīt ašlāki iššû ṣubāt[ī ša ibtuqu sissiktī]… ša ina bīt ašlāki iššû lū ṣubāssa ša ibtuqu lū sissi[ktaša] The witch (ēpištu)… who carried off my garm[ent] from the launderer, [who tore off my hem]… may what she carried off from the fuller’s house be her (own) garment, may what she tore off be [her] (own) hem.48

The appearance of other magically potent materials closely associated with the person (eper šēpīya, “the dust of my feet” and ṣillī ina igāri, “my shadow from the wall”) further demonstrates the existence of materials on a continuum of personality.49 From the brief review above it is clear that ancient Near Easterners had ample reason to be concerned about the disposition of their dress, whether on the body or separated from it. In some cases, being separated from a garment terminated the relationship between person and garment. In others, alienation from a garment did nothing to sever the connection, and the textile on its own created vulnerability for the owner. In some cases, negation of dress is performed by the owner of a garment, and in others by an opponent. Regardless of actor, it is clear that attention to personal effects and their disposition is of critical importance. Several scholars have already investigated the significance of dress in the Hebrew Bible.50 Fewer, though, have inquired what 47 Abusch and Schwemer, Corpus, 8.4.1:33, Open Richly Annotated Cuneiform Corpus, http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/cmawro/Q004219. 48 Abusch and Schwemer, Corpus, 7.8.5:2, 9, 20–21, Open Richly Annotated Cuneiform Corpus, http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/cmawro/Q004209. Note how the witchcraft is countered by asking that the materials she has taken be considered as her own (a magical inversion). The text also mentions that the sorceress takes combed out hair, spit, and the dust of the victim’s footprints, and similar texts expand on the list of elements that “presence” a person, such as name and personal measurements. 49 Tzvi Abusch, The Magical Ceremony Maqlû: A Critical Edition, Ancient Magic and Divination 10 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), VI, 55, http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/ cmawro/Q002710. 50 Christoph Berner et al., eds., Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook (London: T&T Clark, 2019); Antonios Finitsis, ed., Dress and Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: “For All Her Household Are Clothed in Crimson” (London: Blooms-

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it means to negate dress. Prouser’s treatment of clothing in the David-Saul cycle of stories in 1 Samuel stands out. There we learn that “the accumulation or the receiving of garments in the Bible is considered a positive indicator, while the loss of clothing or nakedness is seen as negative.”51 Likewise, Friedhelm Hartenstein’s treatment of Gen 2–3 includes commentary about the loss of clothing.52 But the majority of scholarship on clothing is focused on interpreting manipulation of clothing in merely symbolic terms. Yet, given what anthropology has revealed about clothing and how interwoven it is with personality and power, and the role of clothing in ancient magic, it is instead likely that dress manipulation was more than symbolic; it was concrete and immediate in effect, actually changing the patient of the action.53 Let us return to some of the biblical texts mentioned above to see how they may look different when viewed from an anthropological perspective and compared with other ancient Near Eastern texts. Joseph’s Garments in Genesis 37 and 39 An oft-studied example of dress manipulation in the Hebrew Bible is the use of clothing in the Joseph story, focused on the disposition of his sleeved tunic (‫ )כתנת הפסים‬in Gen 37 and the left-behind garment in Gen 39. Treatments of this story by Victor H. Matthews and Franziska Ede are typical of the approach of most scholars,

bury T & T Clark, 2019); Alban Cras, La Symbolique du vêtement dans la Bible. Pour une théologie du vêtement, Lire la Bible 172 (Paris: Cerf, 2011); Claudia Bender, Die Sprache des Textilen. Untersuchungen zu Kleidung und Textilien im Alten Testament, Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 177 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008); Sabine Aletta Kersken, Töchter Zions, wie seid ihr gewandet? Untersuchungen zu Kleidung und Schmuck alttestamentlicher Frauen, Alter Orient und Altes Testament 351 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2008); Prouser, “Suited,” 27–37; Matthews, “Anthropology”; and Edgar Haulotte, Symbolique du vêtement selon la Bible (Paris: Aubier, 1966). 51 Prouser, “Suited,” 30. 52 Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Clothing and Nudity in the Paradise Story (Gen 2–3),” Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 357–78. 53 For a similar approach to these issues, see Wagstaff, “Redressing.”



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who focus on the symbolic meaning of garments.54 While reference to the symbolic has much explanatory power, I argue that we are missing nuances of the story that relate to the entangled, interwoven nature of people and their dress. With Matthews, we can affirm that being granted a garment and having it removed both play important roles and that the clothing motif serves to mark significant changes in status for Joseph.55 But in keeping with my observations above, we can also argue that the loss of clothing has a direct causative impact on Joseph’s well-being. Matthews is on the right track in his observation that the brothers’ removal of Joseph’s robe resembles the divestiture of Inanna on her descent to the netherworld.56 But he directs attention exclusively toward the issue of status transformation, overlooking the way such clothing loss would be perceived as personal transformation by the story’s original audiences. No doubt he is correct to emphasize the transformative role of garments, but, as with other scholars, this is conceptualized as a merely symbolic process. I suggest that for Joseph, as for Inanna, this stripping away or negation of dress really is a stripping away of self, power, and agency and a real, not symbolic, lessening of the person that increases their vulnerability with every layer of the self that passes into the control of the other. Ede likewise sees clothing as a literary motif and symbol in her treatment of Gen 37–39, overlooking the reason clothing can function in such a way.57 The reason a negation of Joseph’s dress places him on a lower social level and makes him personally vulnerable is that dress and person are not easily separated. The thesis presented above, that clothing and person are not easily separated, is indicated when, in Gen 37:31, Jacob assumes that 54 Matthews, “Anthropology” and Franziska Ede, “The Garment Motif in Gen 37– 39,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 389–402 55 Matthews, “Anthropology,” 28–29. 56 Matthews, “Anthropology,” 31. In the Descent of Inanna, the goddess seeks to enter the underworld but must pause at each of the seven gates to divest herself of an article of dress, a process that also robs her of protection and power. For a translation of this story, see “Innana’s Descent to the Netherworld,” ETCSL, https://etcsl.orinst. ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.1.4.1#. 57 Ede, “Garment Motif,” 389–402.

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whatever has happened to the robe has happened to Joseph, hinting at the interconnection between person and garment. The reader is left with an understanding of what can come of a garment dispossessed from its owner. Joseph’s encounter with Potiphar’s wife (Gen 39) leads to him abandoning his garment (Gen 39:12). The danger of losing control of one’s clothing is immediately made apparent in Gen 39:15–18, when the wife uses the garment as proof of Joseph’s malfeasance. The author there also makes a point about the placement of the garment next to her while awaiting her husband’s return, which suggests that the proximity of Joseph’s garment to her body is equivalent to (and proof of) Joseph’s invasion of her body space. Rather than insisting on a symbolic interpretation, there is no reason to reject a concrete reading of these texts. It is the brothers’ control over the tunic and Potiphar’s wife’s control of Joseph’s garment that gives them power over Joseph.58 I would argue that power is not symbolic but real. It is true that, having lost his garments, he will also lose the status connected with the robe. Ede argues that this is a momentary disruption in the social equilibrium that will self-correct; the disrobed man will lose his honor and place.59 But we should understand the garments as enhancing the status itself, not just symbolizing it.60 And we can see that simply losing one’s garments is not sufficient to lose one’s honor; it is the loss of these materials to the control of another, who appropriates it for purposes antithetical to their owner. Judah’s Belongings (Genesis 38) In the well-known vignette between Gen 37 and 39, we learn that Judah, too, hands over control of several personal artifacts. Most commentators understand that these items are insignia, but there is more to the story. Comparison with ancient Near Eastern 58 Ede, “Garment Motif,” 393. 59 Ede, “Garment Motif,” 400. 60 Here I am thinking with Burton, “Robed,” 293, who argues that we can sidestep metaphor and talk about possession of clothing as possession of glory directly.



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texts has demonstrated that Jacob’s seal was a religious and legal surrogate.61 Martina Weingaertner argues that the use of Judah’s personal affects in Gen 38 is part of a “juridical discourse” rather than a symbol, but this overlooks the personal and dramatic elements of the narrative.62 John Petersen argues that the artifacts were “the signs of his masculine dignity,” yet also that Judah’s loss of the staff, cord, and seal were “an insignificant business expense.” 63 Although Petersen does draw out the oddness of Judah’s seeming disregard for these items, his suggestion that they were insignificant is an egregious miss. Indeed, the dramatic failure of Judah to consider the dangers of losing control of these artifacts must be grasped in a full reading of this story. Why does Judah not reclaim these items? For fear of ridicule, according to Gen 38:22. Judah stresses that he has acted in good faith, so there is no dishonor on his part. Yet he also reveals that reclaiming these objects would lead to his dishonor or shame. Would pressing the issue have disclosed a shameful visit to a ‫זונה‬ rather than the higher quality ‫ קדשה‬he claimed to visit? Or would such shame be an imposition of the modern reader’s morality? Here is where an understanding of the personal significance of dress artifacts makes an inroad. The use of dress artifacts in an economic pledge and the desire to recover them upon payment here resembles the well-known biblical injunctions about the use of a cloak as collateral for a loan (Exod 22:27; see the next section of this essay), also mentioned in the Metsad Hashavyahu inscription.64 The contrast between the insistence on returning the cloak in Exod 22:27 (and the 61 Ephraim A. Speiser, Genesis, Anchor Bible 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1986), 298. 62 Martina Weingaertner, “The Symbolism of Vestimentary Acts in Gen. 27, Gen. 38, and 1 Sam. 17,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 412. 63 John Petersen, Reading Women’s Stories: Female Characters in the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 139 and 130, respectively. 64 In this inscription (also called the Yavneh Yam ostracon), we are introduced to the complaint of an unnamed reaper regarding a garment taken on account of a perceived failure (‫)ויקח את עבדך‬, which has unjustly been held for several days (‫זה ימם‬ ‫ ;)לקח את בגד עבדך‬see Shmuel Aḥituv, Echoes from the Past: Hebrew and Cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period (Jerusalem: Carta, 2008), 156–63.

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aforementioned inscription) and the relinquishing of the artifacts in Gen 38 is striking. Judah’s fear of ridicule stems from the fact that pursuing the reclamation of his artifacts would be a tacit declaration that he was not able to control part of his identity.65 His folly is made clear in not recognizing how dangerous his actions are. And, as most ancient Near Easterners would fear, Tamar uses them not magically but judiciously against Judah nonetheless. This reading of the entangled personal significance of Judah’s artifacts helps to explain his refusal to pursue his belongings and further illustrates his folly and humiliation in this important transitional passage of the Joseph cycle. The Pledged Garment (Exodus 22:25–26) Having just mentioned the use of garments in pledge, let us backtrack to Exod 22:25–26. There we encounter a prohibition limiting the use of a garment taken in pledge: ‫ כי‬:‫אם חבל תחבל שלמת רעך עד בא השמש תשיבנו לו‬ ‫לבדה הוא שמלתו לערו במה ישכב והיה כי‬ ‫כסותה‬ ‫הוא‬ ‫יצעק אלי ושמעתי כי חנון אני‬ If you distrain the garment of your fellow, you must return it before sunset. For it is his only covering, it is his garment for his skin; in what shall he lie down? And so it shall be when he cries out to me that I will hear him, for I am gracious.

The importance of retaining control over one’s garments is stressed in the religious and legal consequence of an unreturned garment: depriving the debtor of nighttime covering risks drawing down divine justice upon the distrainor. The Deuteronomic version of this precept further identifies that one must not sleep in the pledge of a poor man (‫)ואם איש עני הוא לא תשכב בעבטו‬, clearly indicating that the ‫ עבט‬is a garment parallel to the ‫שמלה‬ 65 An anonymous reader raised the possibility that it was his sexuality over which Judah lost control. This is a fascinating possibility, considering not only the use to which Judah puts these objects but also the possibility of marital rites of tying involving the ‫( פתיל‬as in Babylonia), the fact that a seal is mentioned in our only biblical love song (Song 8:6), and (more conjecturally) the phallic nature of a staff.



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in which the neighbor of Exod 22 sleeps. Proverbs 20:16 and 27:13 encourage the taking of such garment pledges (‫ערב‬-‫בגדו כי‬-‫לקח‬ ‫)זר ובעד נכרים חבלהו‬, but Deut 24:17 imposes a limit on their use, which cannot be taken from a widow (‫לא תטה משפט גר יתום ולא‬ ‫)תחבל בגד אלמנה‬.66 Likewise Amos 2:8 complains that garment pledges are being misused in a ritual setting (‫ועל־בגדים חבלים יטו‬ ‫)אצל כל־מזבח ויין ענושים ישתו בית אלהיהם‬.67 So much ink spilled over garments taken in pledge certainly signifies a concern over the disposition of dress items. The interpretation of this precept often turns on what the text itself indicates, that a refusal to return the distrained garment is excessively abusive to the debtor, who requires the garment for covering the skin and for sleep. That would be the end of the matter if it were not for the fact that “members of a culture often are too involved in what they are doing to interpret their cultures impartially” — that is, while the author of Exod 22 sees the issue as related to covering and sleep (perhaps for nighttime warmth), there may be more to uncover here.68 Thus Anja Klein sees the pledge of the cloak as marking the person publicly as a debtor through denudation.69 Edgar Haulotte likewise sees the distraint of the garment as marking the debtor in a state of servitude and lower status via dress.70 In such cases, this legal precept forbids making a person appear publicly as a debtor. This is problematic, though, in that carriage of debt over multiple days, months, and years is clearly not a problem in the view of biblical law; only retention of the garment is forbidden. When we consider the 66 The encouragement to take garments in distraint in Proverbs likely connects to the fact that foreigners are involved in the transaction, so normal social parameters are off. My thanks go to an anonymous reader for this suggestion. 67 Because Deut 22:1–3 discusses not only the disposition of a garment but also livestock, it does not offer us a window on the notion of garment as self. But it does mark the significance of garments as prized possessions. 68 Conrad Kottak, Mirror for Humanity: A Concise Introduction to Cultural Anthropology (New York: Macgraw-Hill, 2006), 47 comments on the difference between emic and etic approaches. 69 Anja Klein, “Clothing, Nudity, and Shame in the Book of Ezekiel and Prophetic Oracles of Judgment,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 324. 70 Haulotte, Symbolique, 75–76

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Deuteronomic elaboration of the precept, that one should not “sleep in the pledge,” we see that what is troubling the legislator(s) is the performative use of the garment by the distrainor, doing with the garment what the owner should be able to do — that is, the phrase ‫ לא תשכב בעבטו‬is not to be thought of as a mere rephrasing of the Covenant Code’s ‫ עד בא השמש תשיבנו לו‬but should be understood to mark exactly why retaining the garment overnight is a problem: it alienates the personal item from the owner, and the distrainor’s use (and not just retention) of the garment destabilizes the person thus made vulnerable through his clothing. The Ḥalitsah Ritual (Deuteronomy 25:7–10) In an entirely different legal context, we find one example of permissible negation of dress. The ḥalitsah ritual in Deut 25:7–10 describes how a kinsman unwilling to fulfill the levirate responsibility will be denounced publicly before the elders when the widow removes his sandal and spits in his face (‫וחלצה נעלו מעל רגלו‬ ‫)וירקה בפניו‬.71 This will serve as a public example to other men in levirate situations, and the man (and his house) will be identified as one whose sandal was removed (‫ונקרא שמו בישראל בית חלוץ‬ ‫)הנעל‬.72 This will be a continual reminder marking his identity as one who could not control or retain his garments, a negation of dress used to shame and transform an identity, demonstrating the power involved in control of garments.73 71 For a broader discussion of footwear in ancient Israel, see Joachim J. Krause, “Barefoot Before God: Shoes and Sacred Space in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 315–22 and the literature cited there. 72 This is a particularly challenging text for the present thesis, as we lack information about the ultimate disposition of the sandal in question. Did the widow keep it? Was it returned? Also, what aspects of his personhood are thus controlled? I suggest that the removal of the sandal deprives the person of the ability to own or control the heritable land by treading upon it (following Josh 1:3). See also Zvi Koenigsberg, “Gilgal: YHWH’s Footprints in the Land of Israel,” TheTorah.com (2020), https:// thetorah.com/article/gilgal-yhwhs-footprints-in-the-land-of-israel. 73 The somewhat similar passage in the book of Ruth (Ruth 4:7) will not be treated here except to note two things: 1) Removal of a sandal is used there also to mark a refusal to take on a new identity. 2) The removal of shoes does not have a monolithic



Vulnerable Fabrics 383

David Controls Saul’s Artifacts (1 Samuel 24 and 26) As mentioned in the introduction, beyond loss of control over articles of dress, we also encounter the tearing, cutting, and damaging of garments and personal effects. Saul’s tearing of Samuel’s robe is a famous example (as is the similar story of Ahijah and Jeroboam), but one which I will set aside for the moment, for reasons that will be clear momentarily. Rather, the focus here will be on the episodes in which David violates Saul’s person through dress negation in 1 Sam 24 and 26. David’s surreptitious cutting of the edge of Saul’s garment in 1 Sam 24 is a well-known and oft-studied passage in the Hebrew Bible. Engaged in his hunt for David, Saul descends to the Judean wilderness near Ein Gedi. Finding one of the many caves in the region, Saul enters to relieve himself, ignorant of David and his men in the rear of the cavern. Persuaded by his men to act precipitously against Saul, David creeps out of obscurity and cuts off the edge of Saul’s robe (‫ויקם דוד ויכרת את כנף המעיל אשר לשאול‬ ‫ בלט‬in 1 Sam 24:5). The fact that this action is not innocent is made clear immediately, as David is “heart-struck” by his deed (1 Sam 24:6), reporting to his men that this was a forbidden act against YHWH’s anointed (1 Sam 24:7). Yet this admission of guilt does not prevent David from showcasing his prowess immediately following the encounter: ‫הנה היום הזה ראו עיניך את אשר נתנך יהוה היום בידי במערה ואמר‬ :‫להרגך ותחס עליך ואמר לא אשלח ידי באדני כי משיח יהוה הוא‬ ‫ואבי ראה גם ראה את כנף מעילך בידי כי בכרתי את כנף מעילך ולא‬ ‫הרגתיך דע וראה כי אין בידי רעה ופשע ולא חטאתי לך ואתה צדה‬ ‫ ישפט יהוה ביני ובינך ונקמני יהוה ממך וידי לא‬:‫את נפשי לקחתה‬ ‫תהיה בך‬ “Look, today your own eyes see that YHWH handed you over to my control in the cave, and he said to kill you, but I was moved to pity, and thought, ‘I won’t raise my hand against my lord, for he is the anointed of YHWH.’ So my father, look, really, look at the edge of your robe in my hands, for when I cut interpretation; the taking off of one’s shoes, as with any article of clothing, is highly contextual.

384 Carl Pace off the edge of your robe, I did not kill you! Know and see that I have done no evil or sin, and I haven’t sinned against you, while you have hunted me to take my life” (1 Sam 24:11–12 [MT])74

The significance of David’s actions has certainly been noted by commentators. Bill T. Arnold rightly considers the excision of the edge/hem of Saul’s robe as more than just a sign of David’s mercy.75 Robert D. Bergen (among others) sees David’s taking of a part of Saul’s robe as “symbolic aggression” that signifies the transfer of power from Saul to David, something that Saul himself suggests as a possible interpretation (1 Sam 24:21 [MT]).76 Others have argued that the hem-cutting is a symbolic attack on the person of the king, perhaps even a symbolic castration that emasculates Saul.77 It should be noted that these interpreters’ use of the language of symbolism is heavy and overlooks the concrete function of clothing in constituting personhood in the ancient Near East. For example, Walter Brueggemann indicates that David does not actually touch Saul’s person, not realizing that his clothing is part of his person.78 Ultimately, such elaborate interpretations are largely unnecessary, as the hem of the garment was plainly associated with 74 Translations of biblical texts are the author’s own unless otherwise indicated. 75 Bill T. Arnold, 1 and 2 Samuel, NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2014), Google eBook, s.v. 1 Sam 24:1–22. 76 Robert D. Bergen, 1, 2 Samuel, New American Commentary (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1996), 239. See also Robert P. Gordon, “David’s Rise and Saul’s Demise: Narrative Analogy in 1 Samuel 24–26,” in Hebrew Bible and Ancient Versions: Selected Essays of Robert P. Gordon (London: Ashgate, 2006), 15–16. Bergen, 1, 2 Samuel, 239 also sees the cutting of the robe as putting Saul out of compliance with the command of Num 15 and Deut 22:12, rendering his royal robe unwearable. 77 Robert Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel (New York: Norton, 2000), 148 and Robert P. Gordon, I and II Samuel: A Commentary. (Exeter: Paternoster, 1986), 179. The castration interpretation is from Walter Brueggeman, First and Second Samuel, Interpretation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 168 but is based upon David M. Gunn, The Fate of King Saul: An Interpretation of a Biblical Story, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 14 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980). Gunn’s original idea may have a basis in the narrative connection between David’s threat-by-trim and Saul’s special request not to eliminate his heirs/household. 78 Brueggeman, First and Second Samuel, 168.



Vulnerable Fabrics 385

personhood and authority, as discussed above and made evident in ancient Near Eastern texts.79 Thus David Toshio Tsumura, following Abraham Malamat, sees the piece cut from Saul’s robe as “a kind of ‘identity card.’”80 Following Donald J. Wiseman, both Tsumura and Robert P. Gordon argue that David’s cutting of Saul’s hem was a sign of disloyalty and rebellion.81 Ronald A. Brauner, too, argued that it not only removed Saul’s sovereignty over him but also weakened Saul by eliminating the possibility of anyone’s grasping his hem in loyalty.82 It is appealing to see David’s cutting off of Saul’s hem as a declaration of revolt, although this may be an overextension of the evidence.83 It is clear that something very significant is happening when David cuts off Saul’s hem. Prouser senses real duplicity in David’s protest that he means Saul no harm. 84 David publicizes his stealth taking of Saul’s cloth piece for his own benefit, and Saul himself seems to discern the real meaning of David’s actions (transfer of power).85 Because the hem simultaneously embodies Saul and his authority, its separability from Saul’s body gives David plausible 79 Martin Noth, “Remarks on the Sixth Volume of Mari Texts,” Journal of Semitic Studies 1 (1956): 330 long ago thought that the Mari texts revealed the kind of evil David had done to Saul. 80 David Toshio Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007), 566 and Abraham Malamat, “Intuitive Prophecy — A General Survey,” in Mari and the Bible (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 59–82. 81 Tsumura, First Book of Samuel, 144; Gordon, “David’s Rise,” 16; based on Donald J. Wiseman, “Alalakh,” in Archaeology and Old Testament Study: Jubilee Volume of the Society for Old Testament Study 1917–1967, ed. David Winton Thomas (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 128–29. 82 Brauner, “Old Aramaic and Comparative Semitic Lexicography,” 25–33. 83 While Wiseman’s earlier work on Alalakh does detail grasping/releasing (wuššurum/ṣabātum) of the hem as indicating loyalty/disloyalty, there is no mention of cutting the hem. Cutting the fringe is mentioned as a way to break a political relationship in a letter from Mari ([sí-s]í-ik-tam bu-tu-uq-ma nu-ku-ur-ta-k[a šu]-te9-dima “cut the hem and make known your hostility” (ARM 26.2:313 obv. 12, Archibab.fr, http://www.archibab.fr/4dcgi/listestextes3.htm?T7481; translation my own). But J.M. Durand, “Trois études sur Mari,” Mari. Annales de recherches interdisciplinaires 3 (1984): 170 thinks that the command to “cut the fringe” here refers to Haya-sumu divorcing Kirum, daughter of Zimri-Lim, and thus rupturing the relationship. 84 Prouser, “Suited,” 29. 85 Prouser, “Suited,” 33.

386 Carl Pace

deniability; he knew he was doing something significant but attempted to pass it off as less so. But, while David claims that cutting off the hem of the garment was harmless, the first readers must have puzzled at how he could make this claim. A reader sensitized to the meaning of garments in ancient Israel would find this frankly laughable, if not outrageous. Cutting off and taking possession of Saul’s hem would have put David in power over Saul. But the author of Samuel rather enjoys playing with the character of David, now making him a model, now showing him to have less admirable qualities. And all of these ideas necessarily follow for David’s taking of Saul’s spear and water jug in 1 Sam 26.86 Just as David used the part of Saul’s garment to taunt Saul (1 Sam 24:5–6), he uses the spear and water jug taken from Saul to shame Abner (1 Sam 26:15–16) and to demonstrate his power over Saul (1 Sam 26:22–23). Again, rather than striking at Saul directly (1 Sam 26:9), David chooses to exploit the vulnerability of the separable artifacts — hem, spear, water jug. The only way that David can escape charges of wrongfully harming Saul via the fabric of his person is that Saul would be too foolish to press the issue — another biblical character failing to keep adequate control over his persona and thus falling under the power of another. Damage to a Prophet’s Garments (1 Samuel 15 and 1 Kings 11) Thus far, we have encountered a number of passages where a person is made vulnerable through negation of dress and the alienation of his personal effects, but the next three examples problematize the straightforward approach attempted thus far. In 1 Sam 15, we read about Saul tearing Samuel’s cloak, leading to devastating personal consequences — but to Saul, not Samuel: “And he grabbed the hem of his robe and tore. YHWH has torn the kingship of Israel from you today to give it to one of your fellows who is better than you.” (‫ויחזק בכנף־מעילו ויקרע׃ ויאמר אליו שמואל‬ 86 On the social significance of Saul’s spear, see 1 Sam 22:6, where it appears as a notable part of his regalia.



Vulnerable Fabrics 387

‫ קרע יהוה את־ממלכות ישראל מעליך היום ונתנה לרעך הטוב ממך‬in 1 Sam 15:27–28). Sidestepping the question of what was torn and why, the focus here should instead be on the fact that, unlike the above examples, the person who suffers harm as a result of this garment destruction is Saul. This is not because the cloak is not bound to Samuel; in fact, Prouser points out that the cloak is “the only external attribute ascribed to him in the book of Samuel,” given to him in childhood, ripped by Saul, and recognizable from beyond the grave.87 Rather, we have an entirely different framework for reading the significance of negation of dress: Saul (1) rips (2) Samuel’s (3) cloak (4) = God (1′) rips away (2′) Saul’s (3′) kingdom (4′). Similar to the destruction of Samuel’s cloak, in 1 Kgs 11:29–32, the Shilonite prophet Ahijah tears his own cloak to demonstrate how God is breaking apart the kingdom of Israel and giving part to Jeroboam, although operating in a slightly different framework: Ahijah (1) rips up (2) Ahijah’s cloak (3) = God (1′) breaks up (2′) the kingdom (3′). Something has happened in these two instances to subvert the normal cultural expectation that damage to a garment injures its owner, and in its place we have a totally different epistemology of the action. Perhaps the damaging of the robe in the cases of Samuel and Ahijah is a different matter because, as elites, they have access to more clothing. But, if so, we should have expected Saul to be beyond harm. So why do these episodes appear to diverge from the normal pattern? It is because as representatives of God and as mediators between God and nation, the prophet’s body — like Ernst Kantorowicz’s “bodies of the king” — is a different body, to be understood in a mystical sense — that is, what happens to a prophet can, and will, refer to matters larger than the fortunes of his/her person.88 In support of this thesis, consider Isa 20, in which the prophet Isaiah goes about Jerusalem naked (or nearly so). A normal person would encounter great personal shame in such an action, but the prophet’s nudity produces national, not 87  Prouser, “Suited,” 29. 88 Ernst Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957).

388 Carl Pace

personal, shame.89 This suggests that being a prophet means having a different kind of body, one that deflects threats and reconfigures them along a different hermeneutical line.90 Hanun’s Attack on David through Clothes (2 Samuel 10) A final problem passage is the story of David’s envoy to Hanun of Ammon. In 2 Sam 10, we learn that, out of suspicion toward David’s purposes in sending envoys, Hanun has David’s servants partially shaved and their garments cut to expose their buttocks, sending them back in a state of shame (‫ויקח חנון את־עבדי דוד ויגלח‬ ‫)את־חצי זקנם ויכרת את־מדויהם בחצי עד שתותיהם וישלחם‬. Perhaps because his peaceful actions are so dramatically misinterpreted, David’s response to Hanun is to view his actions as a casus belli. His response to the envoys is also noteworthy: he sends them away to Jericho until their beards regrow (2 Sam 10:5), suggesting that it would lessen their shame to recover their bodily forms at a distance from the capital in Jerusalem. Sending them into hiding will prevent a new social identity (as shamed men) from overwriting their original one (as servants of the king). 91 As his representatives, however, it may be his own identity that David is protecting from an overwrite. After all, the decision to interpret Hanun’s actions as a casus belli suggests that it was a much more significant issue than the offense against the private men. Because David’s envoys to Hanun represent David, the negation of their dress has implications for David, and possibly for the whole state. It is worth considering that because a person’s social 89 For more on this, see Andrea Beyer, “Nudity and Captivity in Isa 20 in Light of Iconographic Evidence,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible: A Handbook, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T & T Clark, 2019). 90 An anonymous reader has offered the viable suggestion that the prophetic body in Jeremiah specifically could represent YHWH, while in Ezekiel it might represent Israel. 91 Ripped or torn male clothing may be seen to represent the permeability of the female, so it is possible that destroyed male dress is feminizing. P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary, Anchor Bible 8 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980), 270 n. 4 thinks that at least 2 Sam 10:4–5 is a symbolic castration and emasculation. What is noteworthy is David’s vehement response, as if the attack were against his own body.



Vulnerable Fabrics 389

body represents both the culture that shapes it and the individual’s membership in that culture, both personal and collective meanings are likely to be found in inversions of clothing practices. If so, the meaning of such inversions/negations are most likely to bifurcate depending on the agent of the inversion; if a group insider negates a person’s dress, it is an attack on that person’s membership in the culture or class, but if an outsider negates the dress, as is the case with Hanun, it is easier to see that as an insult against the whole culture, or at least against David, the figurehead of that culture. This would go a long way toward explaining why David responds the way he does to Hanun’s mistreatment of the two servants, in spite of the irony of his own entanglements with negation of dress (1 Sam 24). Conclusion This review of the anthropological literature, ancient Near Eastern texts, and texts from the Hebrew Bible has identified the various ways in which people and their personal effects, especially items of dress, are an interwoven fabric that participates in their agency, power, and status. Ancient Near Eastern and biblical texts further offer several instances in which attacks are made against people through the vulnerable fabrics of their selves, made more accessible through the separable skin constituted in their personal effects, most specifically their dress. Legal/symbolic interpretations of negation of dress only tell part of the story. Rather than reading negation of dress as merely symbolic, I have argued that it could affect actual changes in a person’s self or power. This argument is established on the basis of the consistent concern over the disposition of clothing in biblical and nonbiblical texts and the role of clothing in ancient magic. Negation of dress should thus be understood as a calculated and concrete method of gaining and exercising power over others. Although this way of viewing negation of dress has been largely overlooked by modern interpreters, who typically divert to strictly symbolic interpretations, the authors of the Hebrew Bible were quite aware and often employed negation of dress in

390 Carl Pace

creative literary ways. The crafty biblical character knows that power and status can be manipulated, challenged, disrupted, or destroyed more easily than through a direct confrontation. All it requires is to lie in wait for the opportunity to seize the hem, artifact, or seal. Attention to the concrete meaning of dress as self and the attendant concrete harm caused by interfering with, dispossessing, and destroying garments and belongings enriches our understanding of the drama of texts in the Hebrew Bible and the culture that created them.

Chapter 13

The Gift that Keeps on Giving: Children and Clothing in the Hebrew Bible Kristine Henriksen Garroway

Gifts have meaning. In contemporary Western culture we give gifts on birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, weddings, and other ceremonial occasions. Then there are those gifts we give “just because.” There is no expectation that the receiver returns a counter-gift because we understand gifts to be voluntary. The only strings attached are those that wrap the package. As anthropological and archaeological studies have discovered, this notion of gift-giving is quite different from gift-giving in other societies where there is an obligation to give a counter-gift. Joseph’s socalled coat of many colors (Gen 37:3) provides an opportunity to examine gift-giving in the Hebrew Bible. Using childist interpretation, I investigate the question of who produced the garment in this case study and to whom the expected counter-gift would have been returned. Childist theory also calls for a focus on age, which provides a new lens for reading the story and potential answers to the seemingly absent counter-gift in the narrative.



391

392 Kristine Henriksen Garroway

Theoretical Undergarments of the Study Childist theory is a relative newcomer in the field of biblical criticism. It counts feminist criticism as its mother field, so many of the questions it asks are similar, but they are not the same. As feminist criticism seeks to give voice to the silent other, so, too, does childist criticism. Yet here the fields begin to diverge. Whereas feminist criticism seeks to point out the androcentric nature of texts, childist criticism notes the very adult-centric nature of texts and textual interpretation. Rather than focusing on the adults present in the narrative, childist criticism asks the reader to think about the children in the text and reassert agency to them. Finally, childist criticism points to the inherent value a child has and the importance of that value in the biblical world. A child’s value can be multivalent: economic, social, religious, emotional, and so forth. Because each child had value, each child was also vulnerable. Childist criticism therefore seeks to address the interplay between a child’s value and their vulnerability. These are the pillars of childist criticism: noting a child’s value and vulnerability, shifting from an adult-centric to a child-centric gaze, reasserting agency, and giving a voice to the silent other.1 Identifying children in the biblical text can be a bit tricky, because the Bible favors the use of relational terms (e.g., ‫ בת‬or ‫)בן‬ that can refer to grown adults as well as young children. Yet it is possible to understand characters in the biblical text as children by paying attention to the context in which they appear. Children as an anthropological category are understood here as individuals who are not married and still living in the natal household.2 For the biblical world, the terms used to refer to children are 1 It is my pleasure to offer this essay as a small token (“counter-gift”) of my appreciation for everything Nili has done for me, first as an advisor and now as a mentor and colleague.  Kristine Henriksen Garroway, “Conclusion,” in Children and Methods: Listening To and Learning From Children in the Biblical World, ed. Kristine Henriksen Garroway and John W. Martens, Brill Series in Jewish Studies 67 (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 217–22. 2 Kristine Henriksen Garroway, Children in the Ancient Near Eastern Household, Explorations in Ancient Near Eastern Civilizations 3 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 18; Garroway, Growing Up in Ancient Israel: Children in Material Culture and Biblical Texts, Archaeology and Biblical Studies 23 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2018), 6–9.



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plentiful and often refer to relative ages and social stages rather than chronological ages. Terms range from the more generic ,‫ילד‬ ‫ בן‬,‫ילדה‬, and ‫ בת‬to more specific ‫ תף‬,‫ינוק‬, or ‫בתולה‬.3 Just as we must shed our contemporary Western notions of what it means to give a gift, so, too, must we reorient ourselves when discussing children. The lives of children in antiquity were not like the lives of children today. Childhood as a peaceful period of time where children go to school, grow up, and then enter the workforce and/or get married is a relatively modern concept.4 Focusing on children in the biblical text and reorienting the gaze toward children requires understanding the biblical child. Many new studies present various aspects of a child’s life.5 For this current essay it is necessary to understand that children participated in the household economic system from a very early age. The household could not run properly without contributions from all members.6 The following analysis encourages the reader to approach the text of Gen 37 with an eye to Joseph’s age. In this way, it engages with one pillar of childist interpretation in particular, that of refocusing the discussion to a child-centric view. The Joseph narrative with its coat of many colors has been the subject of many studies and even a popular musical. Yet studies often overlook Joseph’s age as a primary factor in the story of the coat. If age is referenced, 3 See the extensive bibliography and word study by Julie Faith Parker, Valuable and Vulnerable: Children in the Hebrew Bible, Especially the Elisha Cycle, Brown Judaic Studies 355 (Providence, RI: Brown University, 2013), 41–76. 4 Most influential in this regard is the work of Philippe Ariès, Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life, trans. Robert Baldick (New York: Vintage, 1962). 5 For extensive bibliographies on studies paying attention to children, see Shawn Flynn, “Children in the Hebrew Bible: A Field in Growth,” Religion Compass 12, no. 8 (2018), 1–11. https://doi.org/10.1111/rec3.12267; Julie Faith Parker, “Children in the Hebrew Bible and Childist Interpretation,” Currents in Biblical Research 17, no. 2 (2019): 130–57; and Kristine Henriksen Garroway, “Children in the Biblical World: The Next Generation of Childhood and Biblical Studies,” Religion Compass (May 26, 2020): https://doi.org/10.1111/rec3.12354. 6 Garroway, Children; Laurel W. Koepf-Taylor, Give Me Children or I Shall Die: Children and Communal Survival in Biblical Literature (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), 27–28; Grete Lillehammer, “A Child is Born: The Child’s World in an Archaeological Perspective,” Norwegian Archaeological Review 22 (1989): 89–105; and J. Sofaer Derevenski, “Where Are the Children? Accessing Children in the Past,” Archaeological Review from Cambridge 13, no. 2 (1994): 7–20.

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it is quickly passed over in favor of other aspects in the narrative. The relationship between parent and son, adult and child, is one that will be explored below as it relates to the process of making the coat, giving the gift, and returning a counter-gift. One final note on childist interpretation: regardless the number of pillars addressed in a childist analysis, engaging in childist interpretations remains an interdisciplinary activity. Laurel Koepf-Taylor has likened such an interpretation to a coffee house where ideas are shared, new solutions are developed, and new understandings arise.7 Childist interpretation can also be understood as a lens that is applied alongside other criticisms in order to focus the conversation. For the purposes of this particular childist investigation, anthropology and to a lesser extent archaeology will comprise the major voices in the conversation. The study of gift-giving has captured the attention of anthropologists.8 Marcel Mauss’s work The Gift presented gift-giving as an obligatory part of life.9 Members of a community were obliged to both give and receive gifts. Once a gift was given, a counter-gift was mandated. Building on Mauss’s work, Pierre Bourdieu asked “Why give?” and concluded that, while one might be required to give gifts, the response to the gift could differ so that people have the ability to “choose the conduct appropriate to each situation.”10 This notion is especially pertinent to the current study. Bourdieu contends that people have the obligation to respond to the gift, but the response could be a positive or a negative one. The positive response would be what Mauss described as the obligatory counter-gift. A negative response could result from a flat refusal to 7 Koepf-Taylor, Give Me Children, 9. 8 Bronislow Malinowski, Argonauts of the Western Pacific (New York: Dutton, 1961). 9 Marcel Mauss, The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies (New York: Norton, 1967). Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Elementary Structures of Kinship, trans. James Bell, John von Sturmer, and Rodney Needham (Boston: Beacon, 1969) and Lévi-Strauss, Introduction to the Work of Marcel Mauss, trans. Felicity Baker (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987) reworked Mauss and also understood gift-giving as a means of creating and maintain social relationships. 10 Pierre Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 100.



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respond (a snub) or the incapacity to respond (a dishonor).11 Timing is also key in the gift and counter-gift process, for an individual remains in debt to the giver until they return the counter-gift.12 Scholars today understand Mauss’s work less as a general theory and more as a set of questions or, as Michael Satlow explains, a heuristic category through which we might observe antiquity.13 A theory of gift-giving in the biblical world has not been comprehensively undertaken. This study thus approaches the question of gift-giving using the known anthropological models. Of course, one issue with Mauss’s theory is that his explanation of gift-giving addresses gifts between two men.14 The pressing questions for the present discussion becomes: Can children be the recipients of gifts? If so, do we see evidence that they are subject to the same rules governing gift-giving? The narrative of Joseph and his coat of many colors will serve as a case study. Introducing the Gift: The Coat of Genesis 37 This, then, is the line of Jacob: At seventeen years of age, Joseph tended the flocks with his brothers, as a helper to the sons of his father’s wives Bilhah and Zilpah. And Joseph brought bad reports of them to their father. Now Israel loved Joseph best of all his sons, for he was the child of his old age; and he had made (‫ )עשה‬him an ornamented tunic (Gen 37:2–3, JPS).

A brief overview of the text and the key words will serve here as the basis from which to situate the analysis that proceeds below.15 Regarding terms for age, it was stated above that the biblical text 11 Bourdieu, Logic, 101. 12 Bourdieu, Logic, 106 and Roger Sansi, Art, Anthropology and the Gift (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015), 103. 13 Michael Satlow, “Introduction,” The Gift in Antiquity, ed. Michael Satlow (Somerset: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 6. 14 The societies that Mauss studied understood women and children as objects, as gifts that could be given; see Mauss, Gift, 10. 15 In questioning the presence of the counter-gift, the study explores different kinds of counter-gifts, as well as the possibility that a counter-gift was not needed. For other studies that use Mauss’s work as a heuristic category see Satlow, “Introduction.”

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generally refrains from using chronological ages to identify children. Joseph’s story stands out in this regard. Genesis 37:2 relates his age; he is seventeen years old.16 Genesis 37:2 also describes him as a ‫ נער‬and Gen 37:3 as a ‫בן‬. The use of ‫ נער‬has been debated for a long time. Bereshit Rabbah argues that we are given no new information by stating he is seventeen years old and a ‫נער‬.17 Rashi states that the extra information means he was a youth and did things associated with youth, like primp and spend time on his appearance.18 Most modern commentaries, exemplified here by Victor Hamilton’s reading, note that ‫ והוא נער‬could mean “he was yet a lad” but more likely means “assistant.”19 Joseph was not an independent herder at the time but helped his brothers in the field. The relationship between verses 2 and 3 is a bit awkward. Claus Westermann states: “These verses do not follow easily on verse two. We find here the suture between the beginning of the Joseph story and the exposition which the narrator takes over from the Jacob story.”20 Westermann’s comment highlights the disjunction in the text, something I will revisit below. Yet the hiccup in the text fits nicely in literary terms with the notion of the ‫כתנת פסים‬ functioning as a gift; Jacob’s social persona, developed in the previous chapters, is carried over (via the ‫ )כתנת פסים‬and given to the Joseph narrative in the chapters to come. The final phrase pertinent to the discussion is the ‫כתנת פסים‬ which Jacob made for Joseph on account of his love for him.21 16 Everett Fox, The Five Books of Moses: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy (Dallas: Word, 1995), 175 points out the literary artistry: Joseph lived with Jacob for his first seventeen years of life, and then Jacob lives with Joseph for his last seventeen years of life. 17 Gen. Rab. 84:7. 18 Rashi to Genesis 37:2. 19 Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 18–50, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 403. 20 Claus Westermann, Genesis 37–50: A Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion (Minneapolis: Ausburg, 1982), 36. 21 Textual variants offered leave it unclear whether the verse should read as a vav consecutive ‫ויעשה‬, thus continuing the narrative chain of events, or remain as MT has it in the perfect ‫ועשה‬. The concern is that the perfect might dictate a repetitive event (“Jacob used to make…”); see Gordon Wenham, Genesis 16–50, Word Biblical Commentary 2 (Waco, TX: Word, 1994), 347. Ephraim A. Speiser, Genesis, Anchor



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Translations for ‫ כתנת פסים‬include a wide spectrum: “ornate robe” (NIV), “robe of many colors” (ESV), “varicolored tunic”’ (NASB), “richly embroidered tunic” (ISV), “coat of many colors” (KJV/ JPS/ ASV/ ERV), “special robe with long sleeves” (God’s Word Translation), “long colorful tunic” (Hamilton), “fine woolen tunic” (Rashi), “long/ sleeved tunic” (Westermann and Martin Noth).22 Because the Hebrew is obscure, many English translations rely upon the Greek and Latin, which speak of a colorful tunic: chitṓna poikílon and tunicam ploymitam. Those attempting to render the Hebrew turn to cognate languages.23 Some translations reflect the postbiblical Hebrew word ‫פס‬, meaning palm of foot or hand — namely, a long-sleeved and long hemmed garment. Suffice it to say, this was not an ordinary tunic but a specially crafted one that carried a certain status. The Materiality of the Coat The symbolism of the coat has not been lost on scholars. Clothing in general is used in the biblical text as a means of affirming or reinforcing social norms, enhancing or adorning the person who is important or attractive, and showing the role or status of a character.24 Anthropologically speaking, clothing was traditionally understood as having a functional purpose, but now it is

Bible 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 289 argues for a circumstantial aspect with the perfect. 22 Rashi comes to his translation through a connection with Esth 1:6. 23 I direct the reader to the extensive bibliography and exhaustive study of ‫כתנת‬ ‫פסים‬, various cognates, and possible meanings given by Benjamin Noonan in this volume. 24 Heather A. McKay, “Gendering the Discourse of Display,” in On Reading Prophetic Texts: Gender-Specific and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes, ed. Bob Becking and Meindert Dijkstra, Biblical Interpretation Series 18 (London: Brill, 1996), 181–82. On crossing gender and social norms by cross-dressing, see also the discussion by Nili S. Fox, “Gender Transformation and Transgression: Contextualizing the Prohibition of Cross-Dressing in Deuteronomy 22:5,” in Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Nili Fox, David Glatt-Gilad, and Michael J. Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 49–72, esp. 50–51.

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understood as part of the discourse of display.25 Clothing carries meaning. This is doubly important when clothing is a gift, for it conveys the meaning of the clothing itself, the meaning of the gift, and the social persona of the gift giver. The motif of clothing is prominent within the Joseph narrative, signaling changes in status. The narrative is not naïve when it comes to clothing but “presupposes the great social significance of dress; for thousands of years it has been one of the most striking and powerful indications of social rank.”26 In his commentary, David Cotter states: What is important about the garment, however, is not its appearance but what it means in the overall dynamics of the family. It was the symbol of the father’s preference for Joseph and a symbol that was easily read by Jacob’s other sons… So the coat, intended by its donor probably simply as a gift, serves to poison yet further the atmosphere in this already emotionally fraught family.27

This is not a case of passing the mantle from master to student à la Elijah to Elisha (2 Kgs 1). This is a case of favoritism. Favoritism, couched as love, drives the production and presentation of the coat to the beloved child.28 The materiality of an object becomes an important avenue of investigation when thinking about gifts. In anthropological terms, a gift is imbued with some of the giver’s social persona so much so that one cannot separate the gift from the giver.29 Bethany Joy Wagstaff’s 2017 study addresses the coat specifically as a gift and urges us to think deeper about what it means that Jacob “made”

25 McKay, “Gendering the Discourse,” 171. 26 Westermann, Genesis 37–50, 37. 27 David Cotter, Genesis, Berit Olam 1 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 272–73. 28 For a more in-depth discussion of the symbolism of the ‫כתנת פסים‬, see the essay by Benjamin Noonan in this volume. 29 See also Marilyn Strathern, The Gender of the Gift: Problems with Women and Problems with Society in Melanesia, Studies in Melanesia 6 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988).



The Gift that Keeps on Giving 399

(‫ )עשה‬the coat, and as well as what the coat represents.30 Wagstaff understands use of the word ‫ עשה‬here to mean that Jacob was an artisan, the one who crafted the textile.31 She understands the wording — the garment is made and not given — to be a carefully worded choice. For her, the biblical author uses “a culturally loaded term,” one that points to the imbuing of the ‫כתנת פסים‬ with Israel’s own authority, thus giving the object agency. Use of this term has relevance for the “broader social engagements and contexts of textile production.”32 The creation of textiles is a long process, one that requires time, energy, resources, and skill.33 In the ancient Near East, a garment like a coat would be made of wool or linen. The production of a wool coat begins when the sheep is sheered, wool is cleaned, and the yarn is spun. If the coat is linen, production begins when the flax plant is sown, harvested, and spun into thread. Textile production does not begin at the moment of weaving but occurs at a much earlier point in the textile’s life. Depending on the textile, and for our purposes here, a garment made of either wool or linen would be used. This means that, for wool, creation arguably begins when the sheep is sheared. The wool must then be cleaned and spun into yarn. For linen, the flax plant must be planted and harvested, and the flax spun into usable thread. Wagstaff does not address the dyeing process, but if the coat in question were multicolored, as is often taken to be the case, the raw material may have been dyed. The existence of dyed textiles can be seen on the brightly colored fabrics found at tenth-century BCE copper mining site of Timnah, and from the mollusks found at Tel Dor.34 30 For the traditional understanding that Jacob merely commissions or purchases the garment, see the review of scholarship in Bethany Joy Wagstaff, “Redressing Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: Material-Culture Approaches” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 2017), 226–33. 31 Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 228, and 228 n. 608. 32 Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 234. 33 Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 107–40. 34 Daniella Bar-Yosef Mayer and Yana Vitalkov, “Mollusk Shells from the Late Bronze Age IIB in Area G,” in Excavations at Dor, Final Report, Volume IIB — Area G, The Late Bronze and Iron Ages: Pottery, Artifacts, Ecofacts and Other Studies, ed. Ayelet Gilboa, Ilan Sharon, Jeffery Zorn, and Sveta Matskevich, Qedem Reports 10

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The Counter-Gift? Starting with Wagstaff’s observation that the coat was made by Jacob, we can ask whether Mauss’s theory of gift and counter-gift can be seen in this narrative. If so, then a counter-gift should be given to Jacob. Yet no counter-gift is immediately given. Where is the counter-gift? Does Joseph simply ignore this practice? Bourdieu states that, in a gift-economy, to ignore the obligation of a counter-gift shames the recipient. This notion of honor and shame is picked up by Victor H. Matthews in his investigation of unwanted gifts in the biblical narratives.35 Matthews provides many incidents of givers gifting recipients with gifts they cannot possibly requite. For example, Jacob sends Esau “an apparently continuous stream of animals…as evidence of nearly unlimited wealth” in order to show his superior position.36 This gift is so grand that Esau likely cannot return it, so he tries to defer his brother’s gift by stating that he has enough. Does Jacob offer another too-grand gift in the ‫?כתנת פסים‬ Textile as a Gift from Parents to Child: The Delayed Counter-Gift Here one can pause and ask how Joseph’s age affects this reading. Does Joseph avoid protesting because he is too young to know how to deflect the gift? Perhaps he has not had the time to develop his rhetorical skills. Masculinity studies in the Hebrew Bible describe immature men as impetuous and lacking solidarity with grown

(Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2018) 333–40; Naama Sukenik et al., “Early Evidence (late 2nd Millennium BCE) of Plant-Based Dyeing of Textiles from Timnah, Israel,” PLOS ONE (June 28, 2017): https://doi. org/10.7371/journal.pone.0179014. Daniel Browning, “The Textile Industry of Iron Age Timnah and its Regional and Socio-Economic Contexts: A Literary and Artifactual Analysis” (PhD diss., Southwest Baptist Theological Seminary, 1988), 36–43 provides a detailed discussion and bibliography concerning the cultivation of red, yellow, blue, and purple dyes in ancient Israel. 35 Victor H. Matthews, “The Unwanted Gift: Implication of Obligatory Gift Giving in Ancient Israel,” Semeia 87 (1999): 91–104. 36 Matthews, “Unwanted Gift,” 97.



The Gift that Keeps on Giving 401

men.37 Joseph’s bad reports regarding his brothers arguably indicate that he does not get along with his older brothers. Running home to tell his father these reports and then later lording his dreams over his brothers seems rather impetuous. A mature man speaks with wisdom and knows how to use persuasive speech.38 Joseph’s maturity and rhetorical skills, if he has any, are not showcased in these events. Another reason for an absent counter-gift could be that Joseph does not have the means to return a gift due to his young age and place in the household. Joseph’s youth is also showcased in his attachment to his parents.39 Jacob favors Joseph, and Joseph desires to please his father. So, even if he cannot return a gift of the same magnitude, does Joseph shame himself by not returning any counter-gift to Jacob, a father who showers him with love and gifts? This is one possibility, but an unsatisfying one considering Joseph’s prominence in the remainder of the narrative. If anything, it is the brothers who act shamefully, not Joseph. There must be a better answer than simply ignoring the issue of the counter-gift. Joseph is a child, a dependent. The discussion of key words noted that Joseph’s chronological age is given in verse 2: he is seventeen. His social age is also given: he is a ‫נער‬, a helper or an assistant. While the definition of “helper/servant” makes the most sense in this context, the term ‫ נער‬also connotes youth. The text makes it clear that Joseph is still living under his father’s roof and that he is not married. Studies of ancient Near Eastern social structures demonstrate that children are legal, social, and economic dependents of their parents until they are married.40 A childist exploration might pause here to ask at what point Joseph received the gift. Was it at the age of seventeen when Joseph brought bad reports of his brothers? We might question Jacob’s parenting if Joseph brought bad reports and Jacob rewarded him as his favorite with a special coat. More likely, the two events in 37 Stephen Wilson, Making Men: The Male Coming of Age Theme in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 54, 136. 38 Wilson, Making Men, 33. 39 Wilson, Making Men, 137. 40 Garroway, Children.

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verses 2 and 3 are not related but are parts of different versions of the story.41 With this in mind, we can ask when Jacob “made” the coat. If the two verses belong to different versions, it is possible that Joseph received the coat while he was still growing into adulthood — namely, while he was still a ‫נער‬. It is important to know when the coat was given to Joseph, because that might reveal whether there were social expectations placed on a child to reciprocate a gift. If there were, then one might answer the dilemma of a missing counter-gift in the narrative as follows: Joseph received the coat at seventeen, but the events of his demise happened rapidly, not allowing him the time to procure an appropriate gift. Another option might be that, as a dependent in the house, a child would not be in a social position to requite a gift until he was considered an independent adult. Here Bourdieu’s comment on timing the counter-gift is relevant. He comments that one who receives a gift but delays the counter-gift is obliged to the giver until the counter-gift is made. Understanding the gift in this way strengthens the family system, as it ties the son, Joseph, to the father, Jacob, with an even stronger bond for a period of time until he is grown and the gift can be requited. As the novella progresses, Joseph is said to grow up, get married, and rise to the rank of vizier over Egypt. We now see that the coat is not the only gift in the Joseph narrative. Gary Stansell comments on the gift exchanges that fly back and forth between Joseph and his family.42 He understands the initial gift from Jacob as the one in Gen 43:11: “some balm, and some honey, gum, laudanum, pistachio nuts and almonds.”43 The return gift from Joseph is extravagant in comparison: “To his father he sent the following: ten donkeys loaded with the good things of Egypt, and ten female donkeys loaded with grain, bread, and provision for his 41 Use of the “generations” trope, the varying names of Jacob, and the “scene” changes are often viewed as signs of diachronic development in the text; see, inter alia, Wenham, Genesis 16–50, 349–50 and Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary, trans. John H. Marks, Old Testament Library (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972), 347–50. 42 Gary Stansell, “The Gift in Ancient Israel,” Semeia 87 (1999): 65–70. 43 Translation from NJPS.



The Gift that Keeps on Giving 403

father on the journey” (Gen 45:23). Stansell explains the discrepancy between the quantity and quality of the gifts as follows: “Not unexpectedly, the counter-gifts are much greater than the initial modest gifts sent by the patriarch and thus signs that exhibit the honour and political power of the giver.”44 True, the counter-gift is greater and signals Joseph’s new position. Yet it also hints at the fact that Joseph is now in a position to properly repay the very first gift Jacob gave to him — which, in my reading, is not the one in Gen 43:11 (balm, honey, gum, ladanum, pistachio nuts, and almonds) but the one in Gen 37:3 (the coat). We may even understand the gifts given to Benjamin to be a part of the counter-gift. The narrative takes pains to make clear that Benjamin is still living under his father’s protection and authority — namely, that Benjamin is a ‫נער‬. The three hundred pieces of silver and the five garments given to Benjamin (Gen 45:22) would enter into Jacob’s household. Here we should pause to highlight the textile: Joseph returns not one but five pieces of clothing.45 The counter-gift is lavish, but it is a counter-gift for two gifts. It returns the one in Gen 43:11 and the one in Gen 37:3. Understood in this way, the counter-gift is not inappropriate or so grand that it shames the recipient. The counter-gift is thus not lacking, only delayed. Textile in the Making: Jacob’s Workshop Thus far, the essay has argued that the counter-gift should be given to Jacob based on Wagstaff’s idea that Jacob is an artisan who made the gift. But who exactly is this artisan? Is it one person or many? Male(s) or female(s)? Just as multiple individuals were a part of Michelangelo’s workshop, yet he was credited with the final piece, other people were likely involved in the production of the ‫כתנת פסים‬. With the many steps involved to go from raw 44 Stansell, “Gift,” 73. 45 “Fine clothes were a much-appreciated gift in biblical times, but here they may also be a gesture of reconciliation, for Joseph’s tunic had been the occasion of strife years before” (Wenham, Genesis 16–50, 429). Here we might also think about who was included in making the objects that Joseph returned as a counter-gift. Who were the people in his workshop?

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material to finished product, it seems improbable that Jacob would be the only person involved in making the coat. Apart from locations that had dedicated workshops for textile production, the archaeological evidence suggests that textiles were produced in the domicile.46 The discovery of loom weights and spindle whorls inside settlements suggest that weaving and other textile-related activities occurred in the household.47 Studies of gendered spaces in households demonstrate that women, who are closely tied to the domicile, perform tasks that are based within it. Women do not work alone but often accomplish laborintensive tasks such as bread making, child rearing, and textile production using group labor. Household space is both gendered space and social space.48 Texts from Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Ugarit, as well as the Hebrew Bible, all reference weaving and textile production as the purview of women.49 Ethnographic and cross-cultural studies also show that textile production is primarily the job of women.50 In a study of almost two hundred agricultural societies, food preparation and weaving were female-dominated 46 Locations including the Shephelah and Beth-Shean valleys, as well as Timnah, have been identified as industrial textile workshops; see Carol L. Meyers, “Material Remains and Social Relations: Women’s Culture in Agrarian Households of the Iron Age,” in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palestina, edited by William G. Dever and Seymour Gitin (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 433; Browning “Textile Industry” (throughout); and Susan Ackerman, “Digging Up Deborah: Recent Hebrew Bible Scholarship on Gender and the Contribution of Archaeology,” Near Eastern Archaeology 66 (2003): 180–81. 47 See Wagstaff, “Redressing,” 131 and bibliography therein. See also Lily Singer-Avitz, “Textile-Related Objects,” in Beer-Sheba III: The Early Iron IIA Enclosed Settlement and the Late Iron IIA–Iron IIB Cities, Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology, Tel Aviv University (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016), 1305–23; Shlomo Bunimovitz and Zvi Lederman, “Iron Age Artifacts,” in Tel Beth-Shemesh: A Border Community in Judah. Renewed Excavations 1990–2000: The Iron Age, Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology, Tel Aviv University (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016), 560–602; and Itzhaq Beit-Arieh and Liora Freud, “Small Finds from the Iron Age,” in Tel Malḥata: A Central City in the Biblical Negev, Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology, Tel Aviv University (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 627–52. 48 Meyers, “Material Remains,” 428–29. 49 Meyers, “Material Remains,” 433. 50 Ackerman, “Digging Up Deborah” and Carol L. Meyers, Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 2013.



The Gift that Keeps on Giving 405

activities.51 Analyzing this study, Carol Meyers found that it showed “loom-weaving to be a woman’s activity in 84%, and spinning in 87%, of the societies in which they occur.” Among those societies where men also participated in textile production, the participation was again divided along gender lines: men were fullers or shearers, while women spun, wove, and embroidered.52 Based on all this data, we should think about the ‫ כתנת פסים‬as being created not by one person but by many. Producing a Finely Made Garment Since the ‫ כתנת פסים‬was a garment of prestige, it was likely made from fine yarn, which means that more time and energy went into producing it. The preparation of the yarn or flax would also require a highly skilled artisan. If the garment was made from fine woolen yarn, then savvy initial choices needed to be made, such as what part of the sheep the wool was taken from or how long the wool was beaten or combed. If the yarn was dyed, then knowledge of dyeing was needed. The only other reference to the ‫ כתנת פסים‬comes in 2 Sam 13, where it is described as the garment of a princess.53 Because royalty wore the finest clothing, we might assume that the garment was made by skilled artisans who knew how to work a fine weave. If Joseph’s garment is of similar quality, then it, too, would be of a fine, evenly constructed weave. Considering that it is a garment worthy of notice, it may have had decoration of some sort, perhaps multiple colors or embroidery on top. The creation of the ‫כתנת פסים‬, therefore, seems to be the work not of one person, but of multiple people. Ethnographic and cross-cultural studies show men engaged in the textile production on the early end of the spectrum, either planting and harvesting the flax, or with herding, raising, and plucking the 51 Meyers, “Material Remains,” 433. “The mission of the Human Relations Area Files (HRAF) is to promote understanding of cultural diversity and commonality in the past and present”; see Human Relations Area Files, https://hraf.yale.edu/. 52 Meyers, “Material Remains,” 433. 53 P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary, Anchor Bible 9 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 325–26.

406 Kristine Henriksen Garroway

sheep. Women were the primary players once the raw material was harvested; they prepared the material, spun it, and wove it into the desired kind of textile. The skill needed to create a fine garment would take years of practice to develop. When thinking about the sentence ‫ועשה לו כתנת פסים‬, “He (Israel/Jacob) made for him (Joseph) a ‫כתנת פסים‬,” then, we might best understand the making as taking place in “Jacob’s workshop” in the same way we might understand Michelangelo producing a sculpture in his workshop. Who were the people in Jacob’s workshop? If the garment contained wool, then this would include Jacob and his sons, as they participated in herding the sheep. The preparation and execution would have been the work of women. Considering the relationship between Jacob, Leah, and Rachel (Gen 29:30–31), it seems unlikely that Jacob would request that Leah help prepare a ‫ כתנת פסים‬for Joseph. 54 However, it would make sense for Rachel to participate in the creation of a garment for her beloved son. If the ‫ כתנת פסים‬represented a mark of particular social status, even the election of the next head of the family, then Rachel would be the logical helpmate.55

54 George Mendenhall, The Tenth Generation: The Origins of the Biblical Tradition (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1973), 55 argued that the ‫כתנת פסים‬ was “a garment…associated with the highest social or political status”; this represents a popular belief; see also McCarter, II Samuel, 325. Looking at cross-cultural studies, McKay, “Gendering the Discourse,” 179 states that all societies know fine dress and can identify those in power. In wearing the ‫כתנת פסים‬, Joseph’s status would be known by all who saw him. Rachel, as the loved wife, is still the second wife. Leah’s eldest child would have been in line to inherit as the next head of the family. The gift of the ‫ כתנת פסים‬could very well have signaled the upending of the traditional system. Jacob’s blessings in Gen 49 are witness to the love he has for Joseph and the disfavor into which his eldest, Reuben, had fallen. 55 The only other time we find a woman giving a gift of clothing is in 1 Sam 2:19. Hannah makes a little robe for her son, Samuel, that she gifts to him every year. The lexical similarity between the two narratives is also noteworthy. Hannah made the little robe for her son ‫ומיל קטן תעשה לו אמו‬. Both Gen 37:3 and 1 Sam 2:19 use the verb ‫עש״ה‬, “to make.” Whereas we envision Joseph’s mother taking part in the making process, 1 Samuel specifically says that Samuel’s mother is a part of the process. In much the same way as I suggest that Rachel took part in Joseph’s gift, we may also think of Elkanah taking part in Samuel’s gift. Hannah would have needed to get the raw materials for the garment, and it is logical that her husband would have provided them.



The Gift that Keeps on Giving 407

The Gift and Counter-Gift Revisited I posit that the gift given to Joseph was given by both parents, and that both parents took part in producing the textile. This reading goes against how most scholars have understood Gen 37:3, and for good reason: scholars have failed to take into consideration Joseph’s age. Commenting on the function of clothing and gendering the discourse of display, Heather A. McKay states that gifts of clothing are gifts of honor given from one man to another. She then cites as an example Jacob’s gift to Joseph.56 She is correct that the gift is one of honor, but I would suggest that the gift was given to a youth, a ‫נער‬, not a man. Moreover, it was not a man, but a man and a woman who produced the gift to give to their beloved child. Understanding Rachel as a part of the gift-giving and garment making process has many merits. In the first place, it solves practical difficulties regarding the textile expertise needed to create the ‫כתנת פסים‬. As was pointed out, women are traditionally understood to have been the ones who were trained in textile making. Furthermore, the anthropology of gift-giving holds that part of the individual’s social persona is invested in the gift. A gift from both parents would therefore hold elements of both parents’ social personas. Not only would Jacob be imparting some of himself, but so would Rachel. This would make a gift more meaningful, as the ‫ כתנת פסים‬embodied the personhood of the creator and giver. The desecration of the gift is also more impactful (Gen 37:31). Joseph’s brothers rend the coat and cover it in animal blood. In doing so, they dishonor not only their father but also their mother.57

56 McKay, “Gendering the Discourse,” 187. 57 Such a reading could have new implications for how the brothers are understood; they may well fall into the category of the ‫בן סורר ומורה‬. For more on the biblical construction and development of this legal category, see Joseph Fleishman, “Legal Innovation in Deuteronomy XXI 18–20,” Vetus Testamentum 53, no. 3 (2003): 311–27. Notably, Joseph’s brothers in this story are all his half-brothers. Furthermore, the only two named brothers are half-brothers from Leah the unloved/hated wife (Gen 29:31). Dishonoring the loved wife (Rachel) by desecrating a gift she helped make might also be a way of “throwing shade” on Rachel and highlighting a dislike they inherited for all things Rachel.

408 Kristine Henriksen Garroway

Including Rachel in the making process means that we need to think about her with respect to the counter-gift process as well. One might argue that no counter-gift was required because she was a woman. This again seems the easy way out. There is another more elegant option, based on the idea that Joseph’s counter-gift was delayed. I would argue that a counter-gift was required both for Jacob and for Rachel. In the case of the delayed counter-gift laid out above, Joseph returns gifts to his father after he has reached a position in life — Egyptian vizier — that affords him the means needed. Joseph repays Jacob seemingly two-fold for his tribute in Gen 43:11. As discussed, Joseph’s counter-gifts are meant to repay both the gift in Gen 43:11 and the original gift in Gen 37:3. During his reunion with his brothers, however, Joseph also gives a gift to Benjamin (Gen 45:22). The gift given to Benjamin is not on par with the ones given to his brothers; it specifically includes five changes of clothing. Once again, textiles play a central role.58 Joseph’s gift to Benjamin seems to initially transgress the rules of gift-giving.59 First, Joseph gives a gift that is too grand; one change of clothing would be sufficient. Second, in giving a grand gift, Joseph gains the upper hand; now Benjamin is indebted to him. Third, the inappropriate gift could result in Benjamin’s dishonor if he cannot return a gift of equal value. Joseph, a clever man, would appear to have committed a social faux pas.60 Yet, if we keep in mind who Benjamin is, then the five garments Joseph presents to him take on a more significant role than first expected. Benjamin is the only other son of Rachel and is still living under his father’s protection (Gen 42:4). Losing Joseph almost broke Jacob’s heart, and 58 Joseph “gives” gifts (‫נתן‬, BDB 678). Here the sense of the word combines BDB’s meaning a) to give personally, deliver, or hand to and b) to bestow upon. Joseph hand-delivers a gift that bestows the counter gift on Benjamin. 59 The rules of gift-giving are laid out in Matthews, “Unwanted Gift,” 95. 60 Westermann, Genesis 37–50, 147 notes the unstated relationship between the gifts of clothing and the ‫כתנת פסים‬. Joseph’s gifts are ones of forgiveness, reconciliation, and blessing. This view is followed by Hamilton, Book of Genesis, 586–87 and Wenham, Genesis 16–50, 429. The significance of the clothing often fades to the back of the recognition scene in Gen 45; e.g., Speiser, Genesis and von Rad, Genesis do not reference the clothing at all.



The Gift that Keeps on Giving 409

losing Benjamin would accomplish nothing less (Gen 42:36–38; 44: 19–23). Jacob’s attachment to the sons of Rachel, the loved wife,rather than the sons of Leah, the “unloved” wife (Gen 29:31), is notable. Jacob’s comment that Benjamin was “the only one left” is a heart-wrenching acknowledgment that Rachel and Joseph are both gone. Benjamin has become not only the living memory of Rachel but also the proxy through which Joseph returns his counter-gift to his mother. Like the original gift, the gifts to Benjamin are textiles.61 The five changes of clothing can now be interpreted not as a grand gift but as a meaningful counter-gift on par with the value of the ‫כתנת פסים‬. Summary Gift giving in ancient societies worked much differently than it does in the modern Western world. The gift-giving act was one piece of a much larger process. A gift carried with it some of the giver’s own social persona. The materiality of an object, such as a textile, is complex. A textile is not something purchased off a store shelf, but an item produced over a long period of time. Raw materials must be acquired and made into usable thread, after which a knowledgeable hand must weave it into a piece of fabric that can be fashioned into a garment. The story of the ‫כתנת‬ ‫ פסים‬in Gen 37 is not a simple story of a father giving a beloved son a gift. It is a story of making in which the father and mother both participate. As producers and givers of the gift, the father and mother both require a counter-gift. The expected counter-gift is noticeably absent. A childist reading explored three different reasons for the missing counter-gift, each based in a different anthropological theory. These readings stand out as childist because they focus on the age of the gift’s recipient as a primary factor. As a result, they flipped the reading from the adult-centered focus of previous 61 Targum Onqelos reads “long robes of clothes,” based on the Latin stola. The stola is a garment that is goes down to the ankles (Hamilton, Book of Genesis, 585). This reading makes the connection more obvious between the clothing given to Benjamin and the ‫ כתנת פסים‬given to Joseph.

410 Kristine Henriksen Garroway

readings to a child-centered one. I have explored three possible explanations for the absent counter-gift. The first was that the gift was ignored. As a ‫ נער‬Joseph displayed many qualities of a child, chief among which are a lack of self-awareness and an attachment to his parents. Joseph’s youth made him unaware of the expectation to return a gift, so he did not. The second suggested interpreting the ‫ כתנת פסים‬as a piece of participation art worn by Joseph. As a youth, his beauty would have been embellished by the special garment, bringing honor and glory to the makers of the ‫כתנת פסים‬. In this case, a counter-gift was unnecessary because Joseph also participated in the artistic enterprise. The final possibility is that the counter-gift was delayed. This last option seems to have the most advantages, especially when age is factored into the equation. Joseph was given a gift arguably produced by both parents, a gift that highlighted their love for him. To return a gift so grand would require both the means and knowledge to acquire an appropriate gift. Delaying the gift until he reached manhood would be a logical choice. At this point Joseph would be able to repay both his father and mother. Taking a closer look at the reconciliation scenes in Gen 42–45 uncovered very elegant, almost exorbitant gifts: two for Jacob and one for Benjamin. Following the rule of gift-giving, these elaborate gifts should have brought dishonor, as they were too grand to repay. Yet a childist approach helps solve the presence of these gifts by remembering the debts the young Joseph carried into his adult life. These gifts are counter-gifts for the ‫כתנת פסים‬. In Gen 45:23, Joseph repays his father for the ‫ כתנת פסים‬and for Jacob’s second gift in Gen 43:11. Joseph gives a change of clothing to each of his brothers (Gen 45:22) but gives more clothing to Benjamin. With his mother’s death, Joseph gives to Benjamin the counter-gift that should have been hers. By reading the narrative of the ‫ כתנת פסים‬using childist theory and anthropological theories of gift-giving, the ‫ כתנת פסים‬truly becomes a gift that keeps on giving.

Chapter 14

Embodied Remembrance: The Inscribed Priestly Seals in Israel’s Worship Christine Elizabeth Palmer

In the biblical text, where descriptions of dress are rare, priestly apparel unfolds in a tapestry of rich detail over seventy verses, specifying materials, colors, weaves, and ornamentation for fabrication (Exod 28; 39). The breastpiece and its jewels take pride of place at the heart of the biblical account in the most extended and meticulous detail. Furthermore, where ritual texts are laconic and restrained on the nature of instrumentality, a purpose statement is articulated for the gemstones: they serve ‫לזכרון‬, as a continual memorial before the divine presence. Yet for all the dedicated text, questions remain: What do the stones look like? What is their purpose? How are they meant to be a memorial? The study of dress is a welcome perspective that proves fruitful for engaging these questions.1 Dress theory, once only the interest 1 The inclusive definition of dress adopted here is from Joanne B. Eicher and Mary Ellen Roach-Higgins, “Definition and Classification of Dress: Implications for Analysis of Gender Roles,” in Dress and Gender: Making Meaning in Cultural Contexts, ed. Ruth Barnes and Joanne B. Eicher (New York: St. Martin’s, 1992), 15 as “an assemblage of body modifications and/or supplements displayed by a person in communicating with other human beings.” To speak of dress is necessarily to speak of the dressed body, so this essay treats priestly dress as embodied.



411

412 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

of art historians, has grown into a cross-disciplinary field that touches on all aspects of lived culture.2 Scholarly discourse that once treated dress as a symbolic language in need of decoding has developed into a conversation over the materiality and agency of dress to actively construct culture. Rather than viewing clothing, ornamentation, and body modifications as static reflections of identity and status, interest now centers on how dress is performative in constructing identity or enacting transformation of status. This greatly aids the interpretive task for Hebrew Bible, specifically in the area of ritual studies, where performance is the key to understanding belief systems. Ritual in the Bible may be understood as “enacting meaning in one’s existence in this world. It is a way of construing, actualizing, realizing, and bringing into being a world of meaning and ordered existence. Ritual is, thus, seen as a means of enacting one’s theology.”3 Considering the ritual apparel of Israel’s priesthood through the lens of dress theory complements textual studies by contextualizing it within practice; this approach moves our understanding of the gemstones beyond a textual artifact to a material object with agency. Priestly dress has agency in the performance of Israel’s worship and in the enactment of Israelite theology.4 2 Karen Tranberg Hansen, “The World in Dress: Anthropological Perspectives on Clothing, Fashion, and Culture,” Annual Review of Anthropology 33 (2004), 369–92. 3 Frank H. Gorman, Jr., The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status in the Priestly Theology, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 91 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 232. 4 Recent studies have moved beyond the symbolism of priestly dress to explore its instrumentality. Nathan MacDonald, “The Priestly Vestments,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner, Manuel Schäfer, Martin Schott, Sarah Schulz, and Martina Weingärtner (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 435–48, considers the compositional layers of priestly traditions in Exod 28 and Lev 16. He views dress as connecting the future with the past: the ephod represents the past, when tribes were envisioned as a unified entity constituting Israel, while the breastpiece represents the future in its oracular function that replaces Moses as YHWH’s mouthpiece. The high priest’s effective service is instrumental in bringing Israel’s vision of its past into their future. For Carmen Joy Imes, “Between Two Worlds: The Functional and Symbolic Significance of The High Priestly Regalia,” in Dress and Clothing in the Hebrew Bible: “For All Her Household Are Clothed in Crimson”, ed. Antonios Finitsis, Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 679 (London: T & T Clark, 2019), 29–62, instrumentality is located in the ritual qualification and access that priestly garments actualize. High priestly investiture qualifies Aaron to bridge the worlds of human and



Embodied Remembrance 413

This essay proposes to recover the materiality of the inscribed stones of priestly apparel for the purpose of situating them within a known world of cultural artifacts and their use. The material objects will be identified as signet seals and their dedication to the sanctuary as votive seal deposition, a practice well known in the world of the ancient Near East. Priestly embodiment of the seals in a ritual context informs their instrumentality: worn during the rites of worship, they serve as surrogates for all Israel, memorializing them through their engraved names and actualizing YHWH’s covenant blessing. The Gemstones of High Priestly Dress Israel’s high priest officiates in layered attire that is progressively more costly and visually appealing from the inside out. His head is crowned with a linen headdress distinguished by a frontlet of pure gold and inscribed with the dedication “holy to YHWH.” His robe is dyed in prestige Tyrian blue and ends in an ornamented hem of alternating golden bells and pomegranates. Over the robe he dons the ephod, fabricated of blue, purple, and scarlet threads and interwoven with gold. Its shoulder pieces are embellished with two carnelian stones engraved with the names of the tribes of Israel in birth order, six names on each stone. Over the ephod hangs a pouch of the same weave containing oracular media used in priestly ministry. Twelve stones mounted in gold filigree settings adorn the breastpiece, each engraved with the name of a tribe of Israel. The gemstones are the most visible accessory of the elaborate assemblage.5 These are not simply precious stones. The divine as the mediator between YHWH and his people. Laura Quick, Dress, Adornment, and the Body in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021), 103–13 draws on anthropological models to broach identity construction through priestly dress. Dress has the power to both conceal and reveal — it obscures the identity of the individual in order to construct a corporate identity that represents the nation through dress. The high priest represents all Israel, and the service he performs is on their behalf. 5 The stones that adorn priestly dress were meant to be part of a complete ensemble and, as such, should not be interpreted as stand-alone articles of dress but understood within the context of the ritual instrumentality of priestly dress as an assemblage. For a fuller treatment, see Christine Elizabeth Palmer, “High Priestly Dress in Ancient

414 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

textual presentation implies they are signet seals engraved with the names of the tribes of Israel: ‫חרׁש אבן פתוחי חתם תפתח‬, “as a seal carver engraves signets” (Exod 28:11). Seals are known material artifacts in the world of ancient Israel and are far more likely to be represented in the textual traditions than gems embroidered onto dress. Recovering the Material Object: Exodus 28:15–30 Seals are a hallmark of ancient Near Eastern culture, valued as a means of making recognizable marks of ownership or office, signaling status, and legally representing their owner.6 Seals were prominently displayed upon one’s person as an identifying emblem, drilled through and hung around the neck by a suspension cord, pinned on an outer garment with a toggle pin, or worn as a ring in a setting. The two main types of seals in use were stamp seals, cut in square or rounded shapes with an engraved design or inscription, and cylinder seals, shaped as a small tube and rolled over larger surface areas to leave a continuous glyptic frieze. The stones of the priestly breastpiece correspond to the stamp seal type, abundant in both textual and material artifacts of ancient Israel that testify to its ubiquitous use in royal, administrative, legal, and personal contexts (figure 14.1).7 Israel: Symbolism and Instrumentality” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 2015), 214–66. 6 Holly Pittman, “Cylinder Seals and Scarabs in the Ancient Near East,” in CANE 3: 1589. 7 The earliest seals in Syria-Palestine are Middle Bronze scaraboid stamp seals. They are abandoned by the early Iron Age in favor of rounded seals with smooth, polished surfaces on which figural motifs and inscriptions are engraved. By the eighth century, a trend in aniconism begins to emerge. Although at its onset there is a combination of image and inscription, by its end figural representations are replaced with the owner’s name and often a patronymic. The latter type finds correspondence with the biblical description. The most comprehensive record of Hebrew seals remains Nahman Avigad and Benjamin Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1997). Since the volume compiled by Avigad and completed by Sass, multiple other private collections have been published, bringing the count to an estimated 1000 seals. For a discussion, see Matthieu Richelle, “Elusive Scrolls: Could Any Hebrew Literature Have Been Written Prior to the Eighth Century BCE?” Vetus Testamentum 66, no. 4 (2016), 559–60.



Embodied Remembrance 415

Figure 14.1. Inscribed Hebrew stamp and scaraboid seals. Iron Age II, eighth–sixth centuries BCE. Israel Museum display (author’s photograph).

The seals are set in gold mountings and affixed to an article of dress freely translated as the “breastpiece,” designating how it was worn on the dressed body.8 Material reconstructions of the breastpiece assume that it is patterned after Egyptian pectorals, rectangularly shaped pendants that hang around the neck and rest on the breast.9 These pectorals are fashioned as gold frames of openwork cloisonné with precious stone inlays, most commonly 8 A range of possible etymologies have been suggested that are based more on interpretative nuance than clear cognates. The Akkadian haṣānu, “to shelter, to protect” and hiṣnu, “protection,” CAD 6:129–30 comes over into Hebrew as ‫חצן‬, “bosom, fold of garment” as in Isa 49:22 and Neh 5:13 (HALOT, 344). There is much to commend ‫ חׁשן‬as etymologically related to ‫ חצן‬on the basis of the breastpiece’s fabrication as a folded cloth pouch (Exod 28:16) that rests on Aaron’s bosom (Exod 28:30). The term “breastpiece” is generally preferred in most translations because it avoids the metallic interpretation of “breast-plate” and emphasizes location over function. 9 See, e.g., Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, Anchor Bible 3 (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 505–7 (note image on 503); William H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40, Anchor Bible 2A (New York: Doubleday, 2006), 44; Thomas Staubli, Kleider in biblischer Zeit (Switzerland: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2012), 71; and Cornelis Van Dam, The Urim and Thummim: A Means of Revelation in Ancient Israel (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns 2007), 71–76.

416 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

lapis lazuli, turquoise, and carnelian and sometimes colored glass paste. The pectoral pictured in figure 14.2 contains 372 pieces of cut stone laid out in a mythological scene. Although the general shape and ornamentation may suggest a strong identification, the description of the breastpiece preserved in the biblical text clearly departs from royal pectorals. Instead of a rigid metal frame for gemstone inlays, the textual artifact rather envisions a textile accessory Figure 14.2. Pectoral of Princess Sithathoryunet (MMA 16.1.3a,b), with for hanging the seals of the detail. Middle Kingdom, ca. 1887–1878 twelve tribes that also doubles BCE. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund and Henry Walters, 1916. as a pouch to contain lots for divination. That the stones are meant to be interpreted as seals is further reinforced by the description of the breastpiece that draws on terminology associated with the wearing of signets. The square fabric pouch that spans the breadth of the chest is suspended from a ring fastening, or ‫טבעת‬, whose etymology is an Egyptian loanword for a ring mount: ḏbʿ.t (Exod 28:23, 26–28).10 This ring mount fastening corresponds to the characteristic swivel mount of Late Bronze–Iron Age stamp seals unearthed in excavations in the southern Levant and Egypt (figure 14.3).11 Running through the pouch’s ring fastenings are blue cords on its lower edge of the type used for suspending seals (Exod 28:28) and twisted gold 10 Yoshiyuki Muchiki, Egyptian Proper Names and Loanwords in North-West Semitic (Atlanta: SBL Press, 1999), 247. Pharaoh’s signet ring (Gen 41:42) and the seal of the king of Persia (Esth 3:10, 12; 8:2, 8, 10) are designated as ‫;טבעת‬A. 11 Avigad and Sass, Corpus, no. 55, no. 118, no. 276 in bronze swivels; no. 235 in a silver swivel; and no. 381 in a gold mount setting.



Embodied Remembrance 417

wire chains on its upper edge, connecting the breastpeice at the shoulders to two carnelian stones.12 The stones are engraved with the names of the tribes, six per stone. On the pouch itself, twelve semiprecious stones in gold wire settings are hung in four rows of three seals each, in- Figure 14.3. Green jasper seal ring scribed with the names of the with gold mount (MMA 36.3.187). twelve tribes of Israel. The New Kingdom, ca. 1479–1458 BCE. The Metropolitan Museum gold wire settings may have of Art, Rogers Fund, 1936. been executed in the typical fashion for stamp seals: a wire running through the perforated center encircled the stone to form a setting like that of a ring bezel, with side wires wrapped around the ends of the base to finish the look. How they were mounted on the breastpiece is not made explicit — understandably so, because personal seals were such a prolific artifact of the ancient world that they hardly required explanation. The seals were likely affixed to the fabric pouch by either a cord or fibula. Inscribed Hebrew stamp seals in the archaeological record are relatively small, averaging about 12–17 millimeters in length. Unless the sacral stones are considerably larger than traditional seals, the appearance of the breastpiece would be mostly fabric. To adequately create a visual impression where the stones predominate, they would have to be three times the size of traditional seals. If the priestly gemstones are instead crafted in the tradition of votive seals, however, they would measure larger, like the 12.5 x 3.2 centimeter cylinder seal of the god Adad. The sturdy breastpiece folded double and hung by weight-bearing gold fasteners and twisted gold chains at its top could support the larger seals 12 The word ‫ ׁשהם‬is rendered as “onyx” in many translations (JPS “lapis lazuli”) but is likely a loan word from the Akkadian sāmtu, a dark red stone associated with carnelian. The prestige stone from the Indus valley was second only to lapis lazuli in preference for beads, amulets, and seals.

418 Christine Elizabeth Palmer Stone ‫אדם‬ ‫פטדה‬ ‫ברקת‬ ‫נפך‬ ‫ספיר‬ ‫יהלם‬ ‫לׁשם‬ ‫ׁשבו‬ ‫אחלמה‬ ‫תרׁשיׁש‬ ‫ׁשהם‬ ‫יׁשפה‬

Etymology Semitic Nubian Akkadian Egyptian Sanskrit uncertain Egyptian Akkadian Egyptian Phoenician Akkadian Hurrian

Provenance Egyptian desert, Anatolia Red Sea, Ethiopia India, Anatolia, Iran Sinai Peninsula Afghanistan, Indus Valley uncertain Libya, Egypt Egypt Egypt Cordoba and Salamanca in Spain Anatolia, Iran, Indus valley Irano-Arabian mountains, possibly Lebanon

Table 14.1. Provenance of Priestly Gemstones. Drawn from gemstone identifications in Christine Elizabeth Palmer, “High Priestly Dress in Ancient Israel: Symbolism and Instrumentality” (PhD diss., Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 2015).

(Exod 28:14). To summarize, twelve signet seals in gold wire settings hang on the breastpiece, which itself hangs from the shoulders by fastenings and cords associated with personal seals. The high priest thus carries all the seals as an array in the customary manner ‫על‬ ‫“ לבו‬over his heart” (Exod 28:29; cf. Song 8:6), an idiom recognizable in the Akkadian ki na4 kišib ina libānika, “like a seal on your heart” (ABL 1042:5).13 The unique piece of apparel resembles a collective seal: the names of the tribes are represented individually on their signets and also appear as a group of twelve on the breastpiece, speaking to Israel’s collective identity materially displayed through the names of their eponymous ancestors. The biblical catalog of priestly dress presents an impressive array of gemstones, including lapis lazuli, turquoise, and carnelian, all of which are prolific in jewelry and ornaments of the ancient 13 See “kunnuku,” CAD 8:544.



Embodied Remembrance 419

world. Some of the names remain difficult to classify in modern gemological terms because in antiquity precious stones were named according to their properties that were readily discernible by sight — luster, color, sheen — as well as through cognates from the country of origin (see table 14.1). This lends insight into cultural values, suggesting that beauty and rarity were significant criteria for the selection of the priestly gemstones. For example, lapis lazuli, the deep blue stone with gold spangles popular in inlays, amulets, jewelry, and glyptic, was one of the most highly prized stones in the ancient Near East, listed only after gold and silver in Egyptian catalogs of precious materials. Its Egyptian name, ḫsbḏ, preserves the place of its origin in Badakhshan (present-day Afghanistan), one of the few sources of the stone in the world. Spanish topaz, ‫ תרׁשיׁש‬in the biblical text, is a name associated with the trade city of Tarshish from which it was imported, either Cordoba or Salamanca, famous for black and yellow varieties of topaz. Gemstones in the priestly texts suggest foreign trade from India to the far reaches of the Mediterranean basin for valued stones of beauty and status. Their prestige is attributed no less to their distant origin than to their beauty. The stones are fashioned into objects of aesthetic appeal as they are worked en cabochon—namely, cut and polished without facets into a convex, rounded shape. They are then engraved with the names of the tribes of Israel. The most common engraving technique for seals was intaglio, an etching into the stone in the negative that produced a raised impression in the positive that could be read when the seal was stamped on soft clay or wax. There is a class of glyptic, however, that is engraved in the reverse so the inscription could be viewed directly on the stone — namely, dedicatory seals. Israel’s signets may have been engraved in this manner. A passage relating to temple décor uses similar terminology to that for seals to describe the engraving technique for carved palmettes and composite creatures on cedar wood, which are presumably executed as raised relief (1 Kgs 6:29). Skill in workmanship is invoked throughout the text to highlight that this is no ordinary apparel, nor are these common signet seals. They are crafted by the artisan Bezalel, who has been endowed

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with “the Spirit of God, with wisdom, understanding, knowledge, and all craftsmanship to devise skilled designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, and in engraving stones for setting…” (Exod 31:3–5). The breastpiece is literally ‫מעׂשה חׁשב‬, “skillful work,” in the preeminent textile weave that produces figural designs of cherubim on the sanctuary veil and inner curtains. The pouch is woven with specialized expertise that brings together wool yarns, fine twisted linen, and gold threads into artful design. What begin as objects of value are further elevated into objects of excellence through expert skill and divine empowerment. Coveted stones transformed by skilled workmanship makes these particularly appropriate gifts for YHWH. Toward a Contextualized Interpretation Scholarship to date has interpreted the seals as markers of the status that legitimize the sacred authority of the priestly office.14 Adornment has long been recognized as a communicative symbol signifying social roles and political power.15 Seals crafted of valuable, oftentimes exotic materials and embellished with gold certainly speak of power and prestige. What has been underappreciated, however, is that the seals are part of an assemblage of ceremonial apparel whose agency is expressed within a ritual context. That their significance transcends external markers of status is suggested in a number of ways. First, according to the priestly texts, the seals are catalogued as ‫( תרומה ליהוה‬Exod 25:2, 7; 35:21), together with precious metals and fine fabrics that are used for the construction of the divine dwelling. As such, they are dedicated offerings to YHWH, 14 Zwickel, “Die Edelsteine,” 46, and Christoph Uehlinger, “Northwest Semitic Seals, Iconography, and Syro-Palestinian Religions of Iron Age II: Some Afterthoughts and Conclusions,” in Studies in the Iconography of Northwest Semitic Inscribed Seals, ed. Benjamin Sass and Christoph Uehlinger, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 125 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 274. 15 Mary Ellen Roach and Joanne Bubolz Eicher, “The Language of Personal Adornment,” in The Fabrics of Culture, ed. Justine M. Cordwell and Ronald A. Schwarz (The Hague: Mouton, 1979), 7–21. It is not uncommon for the image of a signet to figuratively refer to a high official. The Judean king Jehoiachin is spoken of as ‫חותם‬ ‫על–יד ימני‬, “a signet ring on my right hand” (Jer 22:24; see also Hag 2:23).



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objects relinquished by male and female donors (Exod 35:22), to be transferred to the domain of the deity.16 The gemstone offerings are worked into inscribed seals that belong to the sanctuary and are best understood as dedicated objects rather than personal symbols.17 As dedicated objects, they acquire the sanctuary’s holiness and must henceforward remain in its precincts (Ezek 42:14; 44:19). Second, the signets are permanently mounted in gold settings on ceremonial dress, suggesting they are not intended for sealing but for display. They are not functional as seals in an administrative sense but, as an offering of human workmanship and worship, they make their own appeal in the same manner as sacrifices on the altar. The inscribed seals may be understood as an offering of a more permanent nature, unlike other sacrificial offerings that are “consummated during the process of the offering, be it through burning, pouring, sprinkling or slaughtering, votive offerings are supposed to be permanent or holding some sort of ‘presence’ of the aspect they symbolise.”18 The priestly seals as a permanent offering recall the ancient Near Eastern practice of depositing votive seals for display before the deity to petition the favor of the gods.19 16 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 415. 17 Personal seals of priests have in fact survived in the archaeological record. One example is a round blue chalcedony set in a silver finger ring with the inscription ‫לחנן בן חלקיהו הכהן‬, “Belonging to Hanan son of Hilkiyahu, the priest” (no. 28 in Avigad and Sass, Corpus, 59). Both Hanan’s name and his patronymic appear in the biblical text associated with priestly families: Hanan[iah] is a priest at the time of the rebuilding of Jerusalem (Neh 12:12, 41), and Hilkiahu is the high priest at the time of Josiah’s reforms credited with the discovery of the Torah scroll in the Temple (2 Kgs 22:8). 18 Christian Frevel, “Gifts to the Gods? Votives as Communication Markers in Sanctuaries and other Places in the Bronze and Iron Ages in Palestine/Israel,” in “From Ebla to Stellenbosch”: Syro-Palestinian Religions and the Hebrew Bible, ed. Izak Cornelius and Louis Jonker (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2007), 30. 19 Ignace J. Gelb, “Typology of Mesopotamian Seal Inscriptions,” in Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East, ed. McGuire Gibson and Robert D. Biggs, Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 6 (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1977), 112. To my knowledge, the first person to suggest that the priestly seals have a votive function is Jeffrey H. Tigay, “The Priestly Reminder Stones and Ancient Near Eastern Votive Practices,” in Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language, ed. Moshe

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Finally, priestly dress is embedded within a ritual context. This is true in both narrative portrayal and cultic performance. Descriptions of priestly dress are found within the narrative context of the sanctuary’s construction (Exod 28; 39), the priesthood’s ordination (Lev 8:7–9), and the reinstitution of the sacred service (Zech 3:3–5), all of which imply the ritual instrumentality of dress. In ritual practice, sacral apparel is worn only at the appointed times of service performed inside the sanctuary, where lay Israelites have no access. The primary audience for viewing the seals is thus envisioned to be YHWH. The fashioning of ritual dress makes this evident: the fact that the signets are mounted on the breastpiece suggests that they are viewed from YHWH’s inaccessible throne room before which the priest directly stands when engaged in ritual service, while their mounting on the shoulders suggests that they are viewed from his heavenly abode above. The inscribed stones are directed toward YHWH for the purpose of his viewing and remembering his people Israel: “So Aaron shall bear the names of the sons of Israel in the breastpiece of judgment upon his heart as he enters the sanctuary as a regular remembrance before YHWH” (Exod 28:29). As YHWH beholds the tribes’ tokens, he remembers his people with favor. The dedicated seals materialize the nation’s perpetual prayer and petition for blessing before the divine presence. To contextualize the practice of dedicatory seal offerings within the wider cultural milieu of the ancient Near East, an overview of votive practices in ritual contexts will be sketched in brief through a few select vignettes. Votive Seals of Mesopotamia and the Levant Seals speak strongly of identity.20 For this reason, they lend themselves to dedicatory offerings. Intimately identified with the Bar-Asher, Dalit Rom-Shiloni, Emanuel Tov, and Nili Wazana (Jerusalem: Bialik, 2007), 339–55. 20 The importance of seals to betoken identity is well attested in biblical texts. As one example of many, Judah’s seal legally represents him and unequivocally identifies him (Gen 38:18, 25). By surrendering his seal, cord, and staff to the disguised



Embodied Remembrance 423

worshiper and conveying an aspect of their being, seals deposited in ritual contexts especially have the power to materialize a petition for blessing before the divine presence. Seals and Personal Agency The personal agency of signets is made evident in Assyrian dream omens that interpret the loss of a seal as portending the loss of one’s self: “If [a man] wears a seal with his name and one takes it Figure 14.4. Cuneiform tablet with away, his son will die.”21 The nail imprint (MMA 86.11.194). dream omen literature reflects Neo-Babylonian ca. seventh–sixth centuries BCE. The Metropolitan the value of seals as the most Museum of Art, Purchase, 1886. personal representation of one’s identity, even as children are a physical continuation of one’s own life and family. A. Leo Oppenheim in fact understands the agency of seals as an extension of one’s self, just like a son might “extend the personal experience of the father beyond the natural limitations.”22 A glyptic object and article of dress may tangibly represent the person and stand as their surrogate. In the absence of a seal, one can substitute the impression of a fingernail, a personal imprint of one’s own body. A cuneiform tablet from the Ebabbar archive of Sippar records an account of silver disbursements that is “signed” with a fingernail impression on its left edge (figure 14.4). It is not that the fingernail is an Tamar, he commits to meeting his obligation by giving into her power a token of his person. The seal he leaves behind stands in his stead. 21 Cited in William W. Hallo, “Seals Lost and Found” in Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East, ed. McGuire Gibson and Robert D. Biggs, Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 6 (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1977), 58. 22 Quoted in Hallo, “Seals,” 58.

424 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

identifying mark in the sense that it uniquely differs from other fingernail impressions as would a fingerprint. Rather, it is a physical mark of one’s person, an extension of one’s self, that is impressed into the clay. The imprint left by a personal touch and direct contact with one’s body is considered equivalent to that left by a seal. The garment hem could also serve as an acceptable surrogate in lieu of a seal, as seen during the Old Babylonian period in the vicinity of Sippar and Mari. Sometimes inscriptions were added over the hem’s imprint with the phrase “the hem of PN” (sissikti PN), or alternately “the seal impression of PN” (kišib PN), demonstrating that in legal contexts seals and hems were interchangeable.23 Seals and hems, intimately associated with the wearer and at the edges of the boundaried self, serve as a natural extension of the self.24 Votive Seals in Ritual Contexts Votive seals abound in Mesopotamian temple inventory lists. For example, Old Babylonian text LB 1090 preserves a list of clothing and ornaments dedicated to Ištar of Lagaba, among which are 13 cylinder seals (kunukku) and stamp seals (rittum), gold, and breast ornaments.25 Another text, YBT IV.296, enumerates a staggering 217 cylinder seals of precious stones dedicated to Inanna, underscoring the popularity of the practice.26 Material remains fill out the world of the texts and provide further perspective into the ritual use of seals. Excavations at the 23 J. Renger, “Legal Aspects of Sealing in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East, McGuire Gibson and Robert D. Biggs, Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 6 (Malibu: Undena, 1977), 77 and Meir Malul, Studies in Mesopotamian Legal Symbolism, Alter Orient und Altes Testament 221 (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1988), 299. For an example, see BM 81023. 24  The hem lends itself to performative use in legal-symbolic acts such as establishing or dissolving marriage contracts, raising debt claims, and sealing legal agreements. Nili Fox, “Biblical Sanctification of Dress: Tassels on Garments,” in Built by Wisdom, Established by Understanding: Essays on Biblical and Near Eastern Literature in Honor of Adele Berlin, ed. Maxine L. Grossman (Bethesda, MD: University of Maryland Press, 2013), 91–109 suggests that Israel’s practice of placing tassels as signifiers of the covenant with YHWH may be informed by the hem’s use in marriage. 25 W. F. Leemans, Ishtar of Lagaba and her Dress (Leiden: Brill, 1952). 26 Leemans, Ishtar, 29.



Embodied Remembrance 425

temple of Inanna-Kitîtum at Ischali (1862–1750 BCE) have yielded a large variety of cylinder seals and stamp seals, particularly in the cella that housed the cult image. Finds include a marble stamp seal, several “antique” Early Dynastic cylinder seals, as well as an amethyst seal dedicated to Inanna-Kitîtum measuring 2.7 x 1.4 cm (Ish. 34:45).27 The votive’s iconography pictures an interceding goddess in flounced dress and horned headdress with a female head in the parallel register. Its inscription reveals that a woman named Mattatum had reinscribed her personal seal to dedicate it as a votive: “Mattatum, daughter of Ubarrum, for her recovery to Kitîtum presented (this seal).”28 A room adjoining the cella through a two-leaf door that could be closed contained clay tablets describing the gold and precious stones dedicated to Inanna, suggesting that this space had served as a treasury where the goddess’s garments and jewelry were stored. Cylinder seals, stamp seals, variegated beads, amulets, and ostrich shell fragments were among the finds. What is of interest beyond the deposition of votive seals in a ritual context is how the seals may have been displayed. Henri Frankfort proposes that the dedicated seals were strung as necklaces to deck the cult statue for festival processionals.29 A terra-cotta plaque (Ish. 34:124), one of a collection of 145 such artifacts recovered from the temple of Inanna, appears to confirm this hypothesis. The plaque depicts the goddess in frontal view, cloaked in a textured robe with elaborate hem and crowned with a frontlet and horned headdress. She grasps multiple strings of necklaces hanging around her neck that may represent how the cult statue would have appeared bedecked with votive seals.30 An example of such a necklace comes from the Shara temple of Tell Agrab 27 Harold D. Hill and Thorkild Jacobsen, Excavations at Ischali. Old Babylonian Public Buildings in the Diyala Region, Oriental Institute Publications 98 (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago Press, 1990), 91. For an image, see Henri Frankfort, Progress of the Work of the Oriental Institute in Iraq 1934/35, Oriental Institute Communications 20 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1936), 43. 28 Hill and Jacobsen, Excavations, fig. 68. The seal originally contained Mattatum’s title but was erased to add the dedicatory inscription. 29 Frankfort, Progress, 85. 30 Pictured in Frankfort, Progress, 89, fig. 67.

426 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

Figure 14.5. Necklace of stone seals with modern impressions (OI A18184). Uruk period ca. 4000–3100 BCE. Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (author’s photograph).

(figure 14.5). Stone stamp and cylinder seals are perforated and strung together with lapis lazuli beads to adorn the neck of the cult image. The practice of displaying seals draped on the cult statue is corroborated by inscriptions like the one recovered from a ritual context in the Esagil temple of Marduk. The seal is a lapis lazuli votive (VA Bab 646) dedicated to Marduk by Marduk-zakiršumi I (ca. 854–819 BCE).31 It is bored lengthwise and was originally fitted with gold mountings through which passed a cord for hanging the seal around the statue’s holy neck (kišādi elli).32 It is one of the largest seals recovered to date, measuring 19.4 x 3.8 cm, and is engraved with an extended inscription. Seals dedicated 31 Collon, First Impressions, no. 785. 32 Votive seals of precious stones deposited around the neck of cult statues are generously represented in the literature. See “kišādu,” CAD 8:447–49 and William W. Hallo, “‘As a Seal upon Thy Arm’: Glyptic Metaphors in the Biblical World,” in Ancient Seals and the Bible, Occasional Papers on the Near East 2/1 (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1983), 12.



Embodied Remembrance 427

to the gods are typically larger than personal signets and carved in raised relief so that the petitionary inscription could be read by the gods from the seal itself rather than by its impression. Cut into the seal is an image of Marduk astride the mušḫuššu, riding upon the watery depths. His divine dress is embellished with symbols that find resonance with the golden appliqués of the garments of the gods described in temple inventories: rosettes (aiaru), disks (nipḫu), and square ornaments with incised or embossed designs (tenšia).33 Discs the size of small shields hang around his neck by long chains. The text that accompanies the image entreats the god’s favor for health, progeny, a long reign, and the defeat of the king’s enemies: a-na damar.utu… amar.utu-mu-mu lugal šú nun pa-liḫ-šu ana tin zi.meš-šu silim numun-šú gíd.da ud.meš-šú gin bala-šú sà-kap lú.kúr-šú ù [šal]-meš du.[meš] ma-ḫar-šu da-riš na4.kišib na4.za.gìn eb-bi šá ina kù.gi ḫuš.a ki-niš kun-nu-ú si-mat gú-šu kù ú-še-piš-ma ba

d

For the god Marduk…. Marduk-zākir-šumi, king of the world, the prince who reveres him, in order to ensure his good health and the well-being of his descendants, to prolong his days, to confirm his reign, to defeat his enemy, and to live in safety in his (the god Marduk’s) presence forever — had made and presented to Marduk this seal of shining lapis lazuli, which is duly and carefully manufactured in red gold, as an item fitting for his holy neck.34

The personal artifact of the king touches Marduk’s image, precious stone on precious stone. It lays on his chest with the engraved name before his eyes. The gleaming blue lapis lazuli and shining red gold attract the god’s attention for favor and flourishing, which in biblical idiom is analogous to blessing. The name of the king 33 A. Leo Oppenheim, “The Golden Garments of the Gods,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 8 (1949): 172–93. 34 Text and translation from Grant Frame, Rulers of Babylonia from the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC), Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Babylonian Periods 2 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1995), 104–5.

428 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

and his god are memorialized together on the glyptic object that evokes a performance written into the king’s own appellation: “Marduk pronounced the name.” In a variation on the theme, dedicatory gemstones could be offered instead of seals to Figure 14.6. Votive banded agate keep alive the memory of the eye-stone (MMA 1994.433) Kassite devotee through a metonym: period, ca. fourteenth century banded agate “eye-stones” BCE. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1994. were carefully selected with a white exterior and dark interior to resemble the human eye. The votive eye-stone pictured in figure 14.6, which was offered by the Babylonian king Kurigalzu to the goddess Ninlil, has a hole bored through the middle so that it could be strung around the neck of the cult statue.35 The stone materializes the implicit petition to be looked upon by the gods with favor. Another eye-stone dedicated by the same king (AO 21306) records the petition for life and good health in an inscription across its pupil-like interior: “[To] Adad his [lord] [Kuriga]lzu [son of Burna]buriyas for his good health gave (this).”36 West Semitic votive seals show that the practice extended into the Levant. An example is an Ammonite scaraboid of white, brown, and gray banded agate dating from the seventh century that is engraved with the inscription: ‫אבנדב ׁש נדר לעׁשת בצדן‬ ‫]…[ תברכה‬, “…Abinadab who vowed to ʿst in Sidon. May she bless him.”37 Prayers for blessing are just another expression of the petition for long life and an enduring memory. 35 Others, such as the Louvre’s AO 31020 are mounted in a gold setting, presumably also to bedeck the cult statue. 36 W. G. Lambert, “An Eye-Stone of Esarhaddon’s Queen and Other Similar Gems,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 63 (1969): 67. 37 Avigad and Sass, Corpus, no. 876. The name ʿst is thought to be a hypocoristic of the goddess Astarte. Votive inscriptions have also been identified among Phoenician and Aramaic seals (see Corpus, nos. 716, 757).



Embodied Remembrance 429

Ancient Near Eastern dedicatory seals offer multiple points of comparison with the seals of Israelite high priestly apparel. The objects are valuable — precious stones and gleaming metals —  expertly crafted by artisans to create an aesthetic appeal for divine favor. Stones from distant lands are set in gold mountings and attach to ceremonial dress to hang over the heart of the high priest as is customary for votives in ritual settings to hang around the neck of the cult image. Israel’s dedicated seals may have been larger than personal signets and their engraving could even be interpreted as executed in raised relief like the seals of Mattatum and Marduk-zākir-šumi. Their uncommon workmanship would have set them apart from seals of daily use. “We can understand votive objects and vessels as a transfiguration of a commonplace object into something sacred by means of these choice materials and fine methods of manufacture,” Zainab Bahrani writes, “but also by means of inscribed declarations that speak out and perform their status.”38 The inscribed names of the twelve tribes represent the nation through their individual signets that collectively put on display a kaleidoscopic petition for blessing before YHWH’s presence. Votive Statues as Embodied Memorials The most embodied prayers for life and blessing are votive statues, which, like seals, are sculpted of precious stone, inscribed with a petition that names the donor, and serve as an extension of the individual. Votive statues are ritually enlivened through naming that they may be able to speak to the gods. The permanence of the donor’s name is the most important aspect in the petition for life and blessing sought by the sacred gift. Early Dynastic Statues The earliest corpus of votive statuary dates to the Early Dynastic period (ca. 2900–2350 BCE). Approximately 550 sculptures of 38 Zainab Bahrani, The Infinite Image: Art, Time and the Aesthetic Dimension in Antiquity (London: Reaktion, 2014), 209.

430 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

Figure 14.7. Tell Asmar votive figurines museum display. Early Dynastic I–II, ca. 2900–2600 BCE. Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (author’s photograph).

nonroyal, private individuals have been recovered from the temple contexts of ancient Sumerian city-states, perhaps the best-known collection being the hoard of twelve effigies from Tell Asmar, both male and female, dedicated to stand in perpetual prayer in the stead of their donors (figure 14.7). The statues were found carefully buried in a trench next to an altar. Their burial speaks to the sanctity with which the statues had been invested and still retained in their material bodies. A characteristic example is statue 9, a standing male worshiper with clasped hands (figure 14.8).39 The figure is carved out of gypsum with detail of a tufted skirt etched into its conical base. Long, flowing hair that is rendered in ridges falls on either side of a wavy beard painted black with bitumen. The worshiper’s hands are clasped in front of him, the right hand resting over the 39 Henri Frankfort, Sculpture of the Third Millennium B.C. from Tell Asmar and Khafājah, ed. John Albert Wilson and Thomas George Allen, Oriental Institute Publications 44 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939), 24; pls. 18–20, 24A.



Embodied Remembrance 431

curled fingers of the left. The greatest detail is given to the most expressive and suggestively performative aspect of the image: its iconic eyes are inlayed with shell and black limestone and its eyebrows are carved out as a channel that was once filled with inlay. The eyes communicate a rapt attention and singular focus before the aweinspiring presence of the gods.40 What is offered to the deity mirrors what is expected in return: the attentiveness of the worshiper seeks to be reciprocated with attentiveness and blessing from Figure 14.8. Tell Asmar male votive figure (MMA the gods.41 40.156) Early Dynastic I–II The standing figures are the earliest ca. 2900–2600 BCE. The objects to bear modest inscriptions that Metropolitan Museum of Art, Fletcher Fund, 1940. name their donor. About 90 out of the 550 dedicated statues are inscribed with names on their bodies (primarily on the shoulder), that mark them as the image (ṣalmu) of the worshiper.42 The simplicity of the sculptures belies their agency. An image, as Bahrani has argued, is more than a mimetic representation; it best may be expressed as an embodiment or materialization of one’s essence.43 A sculpture in the round is 40 Irene J. Winter, “The Eyes Have It: Votive Statuary, Gilgamesh’s Axe, and Cathected Viewing in the Ancient Near East,” in Visuality Before and Beyond the Renaissance: Seeing as Others Saw, ed. Robert S. Nelson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 36. 41 The correspondence is reflected linguistically, where the Akkadian karābu expresses the gamut of giving adoration (2a), making a material offering (5) and invoking the gods in prayer before their images (3b), as well as receiving blessing in return (1a). See karābu, CAD 8:192–98. 42 Jean M. Evans, The Lives of Sumerian Sculpture: An Archaeology of the Early Dynastic Temple (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 117. 43 Zainab Bahrani, The Graven Image: Representation in Babylonia and Assyria, Archaeology, Culture, and Society (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 121–48. See also Marian Feldman, “Knowledge as Cultural Biography: Lives of Mesopotamian Monuments,” in Dialogues in Art History, from Mesopotamian to Modern: Readings for a New Century, ed. Elizabeth Cropper (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 46.

432 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

regarded as a form of one’s presence, something of one’s double, where the essence of the devotee is materially manifested.44 Images thus have the power to make the absent person present by embodying something of his person and identity, as much in the Early Dynastic figural representations as in the case of personal seals, hems, and nail imprints.45 The statue assumes and makes present the identity of the donor in the sacred precincts of the temple. Discussions on the agency of votive statuary have rightly emphasized their installation in the inaccessible reaches of the sanctuary where the common worshiper could not enter, and where the image alone could stand before the deity to offer prayer. Yet a more nuanced understanding has recently emerged. In mapping findspots, it has been demonstrated that the installation of images was not limited to the sanctuary but included other more public areas of the temple precinct.46 The worshiper’s effigy was placed not only where the donor could not appear, but also where the donor would be expected to appear and offer worship, such as large courts and entrances. This suggests that fashioning a representation to offer worship in perpetuity is as significant as gaining access into the divine presence. The materiality of the statues speaks with affective power in the permanence of their pious prayers. Carved of stone and set on solid bases, the figures are sturdy and durable, communicating a permanence to the worshiper’s devotion. Gudea of Lagash Continuity of the votive sculptural tradition is encountered eight hundred years later in the objects of religious devotion left behind by Gudea, ensi of Lagash (ca. 2150–2125 BCE). Gudea’s prolific statuary brings embodied petition to a fullness of expression through the use of incised text on twenty-one effigies of himself 44 Bahrani, Infinite Image, 211. 45 Bahrani, Graven Image, 128. 46 Evans, Lives, 158.



Embodied Remembrance 433

that he dedicates to the pantheon of Lagash.47 The surviving commemorative statues testify to the ruler’s foresight in having them crafted of durable material. Inscriptions tell of procuring exotic diorite, a dark stone brought from the mountains of Magan (present day Oman) to fashion objects of excellence. What made diorite desirable material was the stone’s hardness; as the difficulty of lapidary work increased, so did the sculpture’s value. More significantly, diorite could not be melted down and reused, making it the perfect material out of which to fashion the likeness of a ruler who would be remembered: alan-e ù k ù-nu za-gìn nu-ga-àm ù ur uda-nu ù an-na-nu zabar-nu king-g̃ á lú nu-ba-g̃ á -g̃ á na4.esi-àm, “For this statue nobody was supposed to use silver or lapis lazuli, neither should copper or tin or bronze be a working (material). It is (exclusively) of diorite” (B vii.49–54).48 Gudea’s nearly life-sized images in diorite are expressly for the purpose of making him physically present in the temple before the gods. In stylized poses cast in the tradition of earlier Mesopotamian dedicatory votives, he stands before the gods with clasped hands (figure 14.9a). His name is inscribed on his right shoulder in statue A (figure 14.9b), together with the pious deed for which he wishes to be remembered: “Gudea, ruler of Lagash, who built the Eninu of Ningirsu.”49 Gudea’s votive statues detail in their dedicatory inscriptions their fashioning (alan t u), naming (mu-šè sa 4), and temple installation (é-a k u 4 ).50 Statues are ritually animated to become efficacious, with naming being the indispensable element that enlivens them to their ritual function.51 It is upon naming that the 47 Claudia Suter, Gudea’s Temple Building: The Representation of an Early Mesopotamian Ruler in Text and Image, Cuneiform Monographs 17 (Groningen: Styx, 2000), 29. This number represents the statues recovered to date, which find their place among 2,500 inscribed artifacts dedicated by Gudea. For a catalog of the statues and their inscriptions, see Suter, Gudea’s Temple Building, 328–33. 48 Dietz Otto Edzard, Gudea and His Dynasty. Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Early Periods 3/1 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 36. 49 Edzard, Gudea, 29. 50 Suter, Gudea’s Temple Building, 39. 51 Karen Radner, Die Macht des Namens. Altorientalische Strategien zur Selbsterhaltung, Santag 8 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2006), 60.

434 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

Figure 14.9. Gudea statue A frontal view and side view (AO 8), ca. 2120–2110 BCE. © 2018 Musée du Louvre / Mathieu Rabeau. Permalink: https://collections.louvre.fr/ark:/53355/cl010119546.

image becomes the living manifestation and embodiment of the ruler, which can then communicate with the gods. Gudea “gives word” to his effigy to speak to Ningirsu, his body of precious stone standing as his surrogate before the deity to speak on his behalf in all perpetuity: g u- de-a alan-e inim im-ma-su m-mu alan lug̃ a l-g̃ u 10 ii-na- du 11 alan-na inim-šè im-ma- dab 5 , “Gudea gives word to the statue: ‘Statue, would you please tell my lord…’ He installed the statue (in order) to convey messages” (B vii. 21–25; 47–48).52 Gudea, whose name is eternal (mu-gil-sa; Bii.5; Cii.5; D i:8), gives his statues names that are an expressed prayer; the name is performative, setting in motion the wish of the royal donor for long life and an enduring dynasty.53 Through 52 Edzard, Gudea, 35–36. 53 Statues A, B, C, H, I, K, and N; see Radner, Die Macht, 43–55. The inscription on the right shoulder of statue M dedicated to Geštinanna, reads: “He fashioned a statue for himself. ‘It stands in (constant) prayer’” (Edzard, Gudea, 56). Statue C, dedicated to Inanna, depicts Gudea in the posture of a standing worshiper with hands



Embodied Remembrance 435

these avenues he is efficaciously presenced before the deity: “image and name, and the organic body of a person were all ways of encountering that person.”54 The longest votive text is found on statue B, a seated figure styled as an architect with a blueprint, measuring scale, and stylus on his lap. The text that runs across Gudea’s body concludes with a curse on anyone who would attempt to desecrate his statue: should anyone destroy the effigy installed to memorialize the ensi’s name, the same shall be repaid to him (the perpetrator’s name will be blotted out): t u k u m x (šu.tur)-bi mu-bi šu u r u 12 - dè gèšt u (giš.pi + túg) ḫé- em-ši-du mu-ni é- dingi r-ra-na-t a dub-ta ḫé-em-ta-g̃ a r, “If in fact (his) mind is fixed on erasing this inscription, let his (own) name (disappear) from the house of his (personal) god (and) be removed from the tablets!” (ix. 12–16). The ultimate destruction of identity is to blot the name, and thus annihilate the very existence of the donor. But to perpetuate the name is to perpetuate life. The votive statue’s inscribed materiality assures a permanence of intercession, which in turn translates into the permanence of Gudea’s lineage. Mesopotamia’s votive statuary is a more fully realized expression of personal seals. A body of stone fashioned in a petitionary posture and situated in sacred space serves as a ṣalmu to embody the donor’s identity and give it material expression on holy ground. To sculpt a body or craft a seal is to concretize an expression of worship. To engrave those objects with a name is to bring them to life. In Israel, the high priest’s body is fashioned into a memorial through dress and ornamentation, with the donors’ names engraved on his shoulders and breast. His role is analogous to a ṣalmu, albeit as a living substitute, representing Israel in the inaccessible realms of the sanctuary and also embodying their worship.

clasped and is named: “Let Gudea, the builder of the house, have a long life” (Edzard, Gudea, 39–40). 54 Bahrani, Graven Image, 128.

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Stones Inscribed for Remembrance Remembrance is central to life lived in the covenant. As in the cultural world of their neighbors, Israel’s remembrance is tied to the perpetuation of the name viewed as a manifestation of the self. A theology of remembrance is enacted in Israel’s worship through the priestly stones, whose presence at the appointed times of ritual performance brings the twelve tribes into communion with YHWH through their tokens. Remembrance in Biblical Israel In Israel’s cultural construction of memory, it is evident that embodied performance of collective memory is at the heart of the covenant with YHWH. Memorials are woven into Israel’s communal life in recitations of creeds that instruct the next generation (Deut 6:4–7), meals that celebrate YHWH’s deliverance (Exod 12:14), or stone markers that recall the fulfillment of his promises (Josh 4:7). They are also woven into dress. Israel is enjoined to affix tassels on the edges of their garments — a twisted cord of blue-purple wool woven into the fringed hem of white linen threads —  in order to prompt remembrance of the commandments: ‫והיה לכם לציצת וראיתם אתו וזכרתם את כל מצות יהוה‬ ‫( ועׂשיתם אתם‬Num 15:39).55 Remembrance is not a passive mental state but is grounded in concrete materials such as the tassels that generate remembrance, which in turn lead to the performance of the commandments. Above all, remembrance is tied to perpetuation of one’s name, the significance of which in representing the essence of the self cannot be overstated. The name is “a person’s objective, outwardly visible being, which appears to others and makes its presence

55 In antiquity, the tassel’s prescribed cord of blue could be achieved only by dying woolen threads, producing a wool and linen mixture otherwise forbidden to ordinary Israelites on account of its holiness (Lev 19:19). It is this sacred mixture reserved exclusively for the sacred textiles of tabernacle coverings and high priestly garments (Exod 26:31; 28:31, 37) that prompts remembrance of the commandments by which Israel is made holy, set apart in dress and by observance of the law as a holy nation (Exod 19:6).



Embodied Remembrance 437

felt.”56 To perpetuate one’s name is synonymous with life, whereas to blot it out and eradicate its memory is tantamount to annihilation (Exod 17:14; Deut 9:14; Job 18:17; Ps 9:5). The hope for an enduring name finds the pinnacle of its expression in the most personal embodiment of all — one’s own children and children’s children. Perpetuation of the family line is the driving force behind customs such as levirate marriage, an arrangement that is built upon the belief that the deceased, in the metonym of his name, lives on through his descendants: ‫ולא ימחה ׁשמו מיׂשראל‬, “so that his name may not be blotted out from Israel” (Deut 25:6). To die with no children is to no longer live on, a prospect so dire that Lot’s daughters are driven by desperation to preserve their lineage through their father (Gen 19:30). The family obligation to preserve the name of deceased kin as embodied through descendants is unquestionably tied to the notion of an afterlife.57 Ruth’s steadfast loyalty to Naomi is praiseworthy because it endures beyond the grave to “raise a name” (‫ )להקים ׁשם‬that would outlast death (Ruth 4:5). The recorded genealogies still speak to her act of family loyalty and the son whose name would come to have great renown (Ruth 4:14). Remembrance is named and embodied in order to live on. In the absence of a lineal descendant, concrete memorials must instead perpetuate the name and assure a “life” after death. Absalom erects a monument to his memory, saying: ‫אין לי בן בעבור‬ ‫הזכיר ׁשמי ויקרא למצבת על ׁשמו ויקרא לה יד אבׁשלם עד היום הזה‬, “I have no son to pronounce my name in remembrance, so he called the pillar after his own name and it is the monument of Absalom to this day” (2 Sam 18:18).58 Absalom’s memorial is a substitute for the son he lacks; instead of a living descendant invoking his 56 P. A. H de Boer, Gedenken und Gedächtnis in der Welt des Alten Testaments (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1962), 17 in the original: “das tatsächliche, äußerlich sichtbare Sein, das sich zeigt und das sich geltend macht.” 57 Herbert Chanan Brichto, “Kin, Cult, Land and Afterlife — A Biblical Complex,” Hebrew Union College Annual 44 (1973): 1–54, esp. 24–28. 58 The hiphil ‫ הזכיר‬takes on the nuance “to mention, profess” the name (“‫זכר‬,” HALOT 1:270), as the Akkadian zakāru “to invoke, name, proclaim” (CAD 21:17– 21). Brevard Childs, Memory and Tradition in Israel, Studies in Biblical Theology 37 (Naperville, IL: Allenson, 1962), 13 understands the name as being uttered in speech.

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name in remembrance, the object materializes an act of performance, likely even inviting performance. Could it be that those who passed it uttered aloud the name of Absalom? A pair of inscribed votive altars from a later time period (132 CE) are instructive, as they provide a more complete articulation of how the donor intended the objects to prompt his memorialization. The text indicates that oral performance enacts the desired remembrance. It reads: “These two altars have been made by PN…to DN…. And remembered be PN…before DN…and remembered be everyone who visits (or passes by) these altars and says, ‘Remembered be all these for good.’”59 Formulaic petitions and pronouncements of the name are performed before the deity whose remembrance causes the donor to live on. Visible tokens such as monuments, dedicated statues, and votive seals materialize and mediate remembrance by serving as “aids in communicative intercourse between humans and the gods.”60 Most importantly for our inquiry, they make it so that “memory for the individual [i]s thus not tied up with the continuation of a particular family, but with the cult of the city gods.”61 A votive object installed in the deity’s presence invests all hope in a divine remembrance that transcends natural kinship. This very expectation is cultivated in Israel’s covenant with YHWH. Isaiah’s poetic verse articulates the hope that YHWH will reverse the epitome of hopelessness in barrenness by his own faithfulness in remembrance. For the eunuch whose hope has been cut off, children will not be the means of his memorializing, but YHWH himself: ‫ונתתי להם‬ ‫ אׁשר לא יכרת‬/ ‫ ׁשם עולם אתן לו‬/ ‫ יד וׁשם טוב מבנים ומבנות‬/ ‫בביתי ובחומתי‬, “I will give to them, in my house and within my walls, / a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; / A lasting name I will give to him, / that shall not be cut off” (Isaiah 56:5). YHWH will keep his

59 John F. Healey, “‘May He Be Remembered for Good’: An Aramaic Formula,” in Targumic and Cognate Studies: Essays in Honour of Martin McNamara, ed. Kevin J. Cathcart and Michael Maher, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 203 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996), 183. 60 Gerdien Jonker, The Topography of Remembrance: The Dead, Tradition and Collective Memory in Mesopotamia (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 90. 61 Jonker, Topography, 90.



Embodied Remembrance 439

name alive if the eunuch holds fast to the covenant that binds them in kinship (verse 4). Remembrance is physically located in the ritual context of the temple (“in my house and within my walls”), where memorial stelae or votives were installed in the ancient world. “Thus, the placement of the commemorative monument for the eunuch in the architectural space of the Jerusalem temple creates a shared ritual space,” observes Kerry Sonia, “ensuring that the eunuch’s memory will endure under the ongoing care of Yahweh.”62 The memorial object speaks to a permanence of the eunuch’s name that will outlast remembrance through genealogy because YHWH’s remembrance is assured to endure beyond that of natural kinship. As with the ‫יד וׁשם‬, priestly seals inscribed with the names of the tribes are permanent fixtures in the sanctuary as an expression of connecting remembrance to YHWH. The hope they articulate is that the nation will live on in his presence for blessing in perpetuity. Embodiment and Ritual Performance In the ritual context of Israel’s worship, a permanence of presence is achieved through embodiment. The priestly signet seals are not simply deposited in the sanctuary but are an embodied ritual artifact, affixed to the high priest’s dress and carried on his person. Investiture is an integral component of the ordination rite and fashioning of his ritual body (Exod 28:3; Exod 29:5–9; Lev 8:10–11, 30). The high priest is ordained as dressed — both he and his apparel are consecrated for participation in the world of the divine dwelling over a seven-day period, during which time he remains clothed in the garments that confer upon him the priesthood (Lev 8:33; Exod 29:29–30). The high priest is anointed with sacral oil exclusive to the sanctuary, as is his dress (Exod 29:7).63 He is 62 Kerry M. Sonia, “In My House and within My Walls: The Shared Space of Yahweh and the Dead in Israelite Religion,” in With the Loyal You Show Yourself Loyal: Essays on Relationships in the Hebrew Bible in Honor of Saul M. Olyan, ed. T. M. Lemos et al. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 354 (emphasis mine). 63 The image of oil profusely flowing over the head, beard, and robes is vividly rendered in poetry: “It is like fine oil on the head, running down upon the beard, the beard of Aaron, which runs down upon the collar of his ceremonial robes” (Ps 133:2).

440 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

then sprinkled with a mixture of oil and sacrificial blood, as is his dress (Exod 29:21). Subsequently, both the priest’s body and its layered coverings are perceived as having been transformed from ordinary objects into holy objects belonging to YHWH’s estate. Investiture is “not a preliminary ‘preparation’ for the ritual, donned by the priest only so as to set about his cultic duties…the wearing of these garments inside the tabernacle becomes an act of ritual significance.”64 Investiture is a sacral-ritual act that enables the high priest to appear ‫לפני יהוה‬, a technical term in priestly literature designating the divine presence localized within the sanctuary. Investiture is further instrumental in the performance of the regular rites of worship within the sanctuary that include bearing the names of Israel on the shoulders and breastpiece, bearing the means of judgment by divine lots, and bearing the iniquity of the dedicated offerings upon the frontlet, all ritual acts marked by the technical phrase ‫( לפני יהוה תמיד‬Exod 28:29–30, 38). When the high priest dons sacral apparel for service, his body becomes the most inscribed body in Israel: six names on each of his shoulders, twelve over his heart, and one more besides on his forehead engraved on a gold frontlet — twenty-five names in all. While no permanent body markings such as branding, tattooing, or scarification are permitted (Lev 19:28; 21:5),65 the priest’s body is indeed marked — not directly on the surface of his skin, but Ceremonial anointing is instrumental in effecting and publicly expressing consecration, divine election, and empowerment for service. It is the ritual act par excellence that sets the high priest apart from the rest of the priesthood, conferring upon him the titles of “the anointed priest” (Lev 4:3; 16:32; Num 35:25) and “the priest who is preeminent among his brothers, on whose head has been poured the anointing oil and who has been ordained to wear the garments” (Lev 21:10). 64 Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1985), 212. 65 The Holiness Code prohibits body markings that are permanent for priests, mandating a bodily wholeness that is reflective of ritual holiness. Nili Fox, “Biblical Regulation of Tattooing in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Practices,” in Fashioned Selves: Dress and Identity in Antiquity, ed. Megan Cifarelli (Oxford: Oxbow, 2019), 89–104 has shown, however, that inscribing the body is sometimes sanctioned so long as body marking is limited exclusively to Yahwistic worship. In light of the hereditary nature of the priestly office, removable body markings on headpieces and breast ornaments enables their continual reuse and guarantees their ritual efficacy throughout the generations.



Embodied Remembrance 441

on the gold leaf plate worn on his forehead and on the polished signets mounted upon his shoulders and breast. In a ritual context, the communication of these inscriptions extends beyond fashioning an identity for the high priest, although this is an important aspect of his investiture.66 The inscriptions represent a physical presencing of every Israelite within the sanctuary. Their names must be inscribed on their ritual mediator if they are to be memorialized; it is only as the seals are worn and carried into sacred space that they are brought into communion with YHWH to materialize a petition for blessing. Remembrance is embodied at the appointed times of YHWH’s invitation when twice daily the high priest attired in sacral apparel enters the sanctuary to tend the lampstand and offer incense. He comes dressed in Israel’s signets, bearing their names ‫לזכרן לפני‬ ‫( יהוה תמיד‬Exod 28:29). English translations render this expression in a variety of ways, all of which suggest unbroken continuity: “remembrance at all times” (JPS), “continuing memorial” (NIV), “continual remembrance” (NRSV).67 The tradition of Near Eastern votive seals and donor images invites us to consider the priestly mediator both in terms of embodying access into the inaccessible realms of the divine dwelling as well as in terms of representatively enacting the rites of worship on behalf of all Israel. At the time of the sacred service, the tribes are made present through their identifying seals and legal surrogates to become participants in worship. They are more than just symbolically present; they are physically presenced as if they themselves were standing before YHWH. The shared ritual space they inhabit is more personal than holy ground: they are brought into communion with their God 66 Christine Palmer, “Israelite High Priestly Apparel: Embodying an Identity between Human and Divine,” in Fashioned Selves: Dress and Identity in Antiquity, ed. Megan Cifarelli (Oxford: Oxbow, 2019), 117–27. See also Imes, “Between Two Worlds,” 29–62. 67 The regular performance of the divine service includes acts such as the daily offering of the morning and evening sacrifice (Exod 29:42), burning incense on the golden altar (Exod 30:8), kindling the altar’s fire (Lev 6:6), tending the lampstand (Exod 27:20), and the weekly arranging of loaves on the table of the presence (Exod 25:30). The ordering of YHWH’s house, the preparation of his table, and priests to serve in the divine estate are all signs and symbols of his covenant presence in Israel’s midst.

442 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

written onto the ritual body of their priestly mediator. Inscribed with the names of both covenant partners, the high priest’s ritual embodiment brings them together in space and time in one physical body. The daily repetition of the sacred service perpetuates the covenant relationship and creates an enduring nature to remembrance. The same rites performed day after day in the same fixed ritual script forge an unbroken continuity with the past that lends an eternal quality to Israel’s worship. The high priest appears “eternal” in dress passed down from father to son in the hereditary office of the priesthood (Exod 29:29; Num 20:28). The iconic dress defines the office, making for a seamless transition from anointed priest to successor, so while people “may not be able to recognize the high priest’s face, they would always remember the elaborate clothes that mark his office.”68 He is robed in effulgent garments whose fabrication makes them appear unchanging — fashioned of color-fast fabrics, untarnishable gold leaf, and durable precious stones.69 In their materiality, the seals communicate a permanence of presence, engraved with names that cannot be altered or effaced (see also Isa 49:16). Furthermore, in their embodied materiality the gemstones are situated in sacred space during sacred time, both of which communicate dimensions of the eternal, so that the seals acquire the character of an enduring memorial. Each successive high priest inscribes the body through the same frontlet and signet seals in unbroken continuity. Each successive generation assumes the same ritual postures, gestures, and speech in the rites scripted within the sanctuary. Worship is predictable, repeatable, and seemingly timeless. 68 Michael B. Hundley, Keeping Heaven on Earth: Safeguarding the Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle, Forschungen zum Alten Testament II/50 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 74. 69 The prestige blue-purple dye produced from the Murex trunculus, a marine snail indigenous to the Mediterranean, was the only color-fast dye in antiquity. In Akkadian, the dye is known as takiltu, related to the adjective taklu/takālu, “consistent, steadfast, reliable” (CAD 18:63, 83), reflecting its steadfast, consistent, and fade-resistant quality. The yarn features prominently in Israelite priestly dress, interwoven with red-purple, crimson, and linen yarns in the ephod, breastpiece, sash, and the hem’s decorative pomegranates.



Embodied Remembrance 443

In this ritual context, the inscribed seals reach beyond mnemonics to prompt the enactment of cultic remembrance. To invoke YHWH’s remembrance is to awaken his divine favor and call upon his active blessing, provision, and care. The dedicated seals “speak” at the appointed times of ritual performance, pronouncing the names of the tribes of Israel epigraphically. Remaining strictly within the bounds of the text, Yehezkel Kaufmann envisions priestly service in the holy atmosphere of the sanctuary as wordless, memorably characterizing it as “the kingdom of silence…. P makes no reference to the spoken word in describing temple rites. All the various acts of the priest are performed in silence.”70 Israel Knohl agrees.71 Yet they assume that ritual scripts of the biblical text capture the fullness of enacted performance in a way they were never intended.72 Enacted remembrance in Israel’s worship could have involved enunciated verba solemnia that customarily accompanied ritual performance in the ancient world.73 Memorials (‫ )זכרן‬that were committed to writing — whether YHWH’s judgment of their enemies or covenant faithfulness toward them — also appear to have involved recitation (Exod 17:14; Mal 3:16).74 Gerdien Jonker proposes that communication with the deity through the medium of writing 70 Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel From its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile, trans. and abr. Moshe Greenberg (New York: Schocken, 1972), 303. 71 Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1995), 149. 72 David P. Wright’s methodological caution is instructive when he writes: “Calling a text that describes or prescribes ritual performance a ‘ritual’ is akin to calling a piece of paper with staves, black dots, and tails ‘music’ or a booklet with character names and what they are to say along with stage instruction a ‘play,’ or a verbal description of events of an earlier age a ‘history’”; see David P. Wright, “Ritual Theory, Ritual Texts, and the Priestly-Holiness Writings of the Pentateuch,” in Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion: Essays in Retrospect and Prospect, ed. Saul M. Olyan (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2012), 197. 73 De Boer, Gedenken und Gedächtnis, 23. De Boer takes the priestly ‫ זכרן‬as a mentioning of the name (39). The root ‫זכר‬, from which the abstract noun ‫ זכרן‬derives, occurs in all branches of Semitic with the meaning “to remember,” with the exception of Akkadian, where zakāru means “to mention, name, invoke” as an audible action. 74 Another memorial enactment labeled as ‫ זכרן‬includes audible blasts of trumpets (Num 10:10), suggesting that oral performance in memorializing is a viable possibility.

444 Christine Elizabeth Palmer

serves to reproduce epigraphically what was once uttered orally.75 Viewed this way, the engraving on the signet seals concretizes ritual enactment to perpetuate the names of the sons of Jacob for covenant blessing (Lev 26:45).76 The oral performance that is recorded in the textual traditions of Israel’s worship takes place at the conclusion of the service, when the high priest, inscribed with names that have spoken on Israel’s behalf, now speaks on behalf of YHWH (Num 6:24–26; see Lev 9:22; 2 Chr 30:27). He stands at the altar to pronounce a blessing in language that is performative, actualizing blessing and inscribing the covenant community with the divine name as it is enunciated: “So [he] shall put my name upon the people of Israel and I will bless them” (Num 6:27). Blessing is none other than enduring peace, flourishing, and the perpetuation of the lineage of the sons of Jacob, most recognizable in the covenant’s formulaic expression: “I will turn toward you and cause you to be fruitful and multiply” (Lev 26:9). Like the petitions for long life expressed on Near Eastern votive seals and statues of devotees, divine blessing is effectuated through the embodied agency of the high priest who stands as a living memorial in God’s presence. Conclusion Recovering the materiality of the priestly gemstones reveals that they are to be identified as inscribed personal seals ubiquitous in the cultural world of the ancient Near East. Crafted out of valuable and distinctive materials and fashioned through divinely inspired human workmanship, they become fitting offerings for YHWH’s divine estate. Israel’s signets are situated in a ritual context analogous to that of Mesopotamian votive seals that hang around the neck of the cult image to materialize the memory of the donor in perpetuity. In Israel’s experience, it is the high priest who dons the 75 Jonker, Topography, 72. 76 See similar expressions in Aramaic inscriptions petitioning a perpetuation of the memory for blessing and peace: “Indeed may DN remember,” “May DN remember PN for good,” and “May DN remember PN for peace” in Healey, May He Be Remembered, 179.



Embodied Remembrance 445

seals. At the appointed times of the sacred service, the covenant sons of Jacob are physically presenced for remembrance, and the priest’s body becomes the shared ritual space that Israel and YHWH both inhabit through their inscribed names. Clothed in sacral apparel, the high priest functions as an embodied memorial through which Israel has a permanent audience before YHWH. As long as the physical stones endure, their inscriptions remain, and a high priest embodies them, then Israel will forever live in YHWH’s presence.

Chapter 15

And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes: A Peculiar Exegetical Twist on the Sale of Joseph Jason Kalman

According to the Hebrew text of Gen 37:28, Joseph’s brothers sold him to a caravan for the sum of twenty pieces of silver. Already in antiquity interpreters wondered how the brothers divided their profits and what they acquired with their respective shares. In what follows, the evolution of an exegetical tradition that Jacob’s sons used their ill-gotten gains from the sale of Joseph to acquire footwear is traced from antiquity through the fifteenth century with close readings of the Testament of Zebulun, Byzantine piyyutim, the targumim, Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, and Tanḥuma. The reformulation of the narrative is then analyzed in both the piyyut and the related midrash Eleh Ezkerah (“these things I remember”) and the biblical commentaries of the Tosafot. Establishing the independence or interdependence of these varied sources is not the goal. In some cases, the line between two sources is clear. In other cases, what the connection is can be reconstructed. In still others, the accounts are parallels which may or may not share a common source. The purpose here is to plot the accounts and to explain the variations. The texts generally agree that the story of the sale of Joseph involved his brothers acquiring shoes, but the details

447

448 Jason Kalman

changed over time and across space. In each case, the following readings of these sources pay attention to the changing symbolic and economic value of shoes in varied Jewish settings and the impact they had on the evolution of story of the sale of Joseph by his brothers. Examination of available economic and pricing data along with literary sources from the varying periods and places in which these texts were produced shows that, as the cost of shoes and slaves increased, the details had to change as the story of the sale was retold. Audiences were appropriately sensitive to their respective economic circumstances and the changing role of footwear as a marker of social status, so new explanations for why and how the brothers acquired shoes had to meet these changing expectations. The darshanim, liturgical poets, and commentators who perpetuated the story found creative ways to keep it current as the changing market for shoes and slaves transformed the buying power of “twenty pieces of silver.” This reception history demonstrates that through time Jews remained highly attuned to the changing symbolic and economic value of shoes, and particularly their role in marking social standing and status. The Testament of Zebulun The earliest extant version of a Jewish narrative in which the acquisition of shoes is intertwined with the sale of Joseph is found among the books of the Pseudepigrapha. In the Testament of Zebulun, which is one of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, likely composed by Hellenized Jews in the second century BCE in Syria or Egypt, the brothers make a rather extravagant acquisition with the proceeds from the sale of their brother. Zebulun recalls: I had no share in the price received for Joseph, my children. But Simeon, Gad, and our other [six] brothers accepted the money, bought shoes for themselves, their wives, and their children. “We will not use the money for eating, which is the price of our brother’s blood, but we will trample it underfoot in response to his having said he would rule over us. Let us see what comes of his dreams.” Accordingly, it is written in



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 449 the book of the Law of Moses that anyone who is unwilling to raise up posterity for his brother, his shoe should be removed and one should spit in his face. Joseph’s brothers did not want their brother to live, and the Lord removed Joseph’s shoe from them. For when they arrived in Egypt their shoes were removed by Joseph’s servants before the gate, and thus they did obeisance to Joseph in the manner of the Pharaoh. Not only did they do obeisance, but they were spit upon, prostrating themselves forthwith before him. And thus they were humiliated before the Egyptians. After that the Egyptians heard all the wicked things that we had done to Joseph.1

The Testament uses the motif of shoes in a variety of ways, producing a robust scaffold for the narrative. The shoes are not a supplemental detail but a core element of the narrative that holds a variety of elements together. First, in addition to the shoes, rich clothing and dress imagery appears throughout the text. Second, the shoes are central to the Testament of Zebulun’s framing of the story as the dissolution of a levirate marriage through the “shoe-loosening” ceremony of ḥalitsah. Although the Testament is explicit in this parallel, the narrative does not map perfectly (e.g., a single shoe is removed in ḥalitsah, while all the sources here are about pairs of footwear) and the relationship between the two is largely symbolic. Third, the shoes are highlighted in several instances to link the actions of the characters, the brothers, and the deity, who trample their enemies and their ambitions under foot. Finally, the shoes become markers for changes in socioeconomic status in a manner consistent with the historic period and locale. The Symbolic Use of Clothing in the Testament of Zebulun In addition to the brothers’ shoes, the Testament of Zebulun weaves a rich tapestry of clothing and dress images throughout the text. Joseph’s tunic, a gift from his father, is identified both in the biblical text and the Testament (T. Zeb. 4:9–10) as a source of contention between Joseph and his brothers. In order to take 1 Howard Clark Kee, “Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,” in vol. 1 of The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 805.

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Joseph’s tunic to Jacob, they strip their brother and put a slave’s garment on him. This was also a point of contention because Simeon, in his anger, preferred to destroy the garment and leave Joseph naked, starving, and suffering (T. Zeb. 4:10–13). Reuben, upset by what was done to Joseph, rends his clothes as a sign of mourning (T. Zeb. 4:5). To compensate for stripping and selling Joseph, Zebulun later stole a garment from his own household to clothe a naked stranger (T. Zeb. 7:1–2). Collectively these elements tie the Testament firmly to its Second Temple context in which exposing oneself, exposing another, being exposed, and witnessing exposure of a person all have ramifications for social and religious standing.2 Further, the use of clothing to symbolically mark changes in status is evidenced in other examples among the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.3 Clothing in the narrative of the Testament of Zebulun is used to highlight reversals of fortune. Joseph begins with the fancy cloak his father gave him, has it stripped from him by his brothers, and, left naked, is eventually given a slave’s garment. The brothers humiliate Joseph by trampling on his dreams with their new shoes, and they are later humiliated by the removal of their own shoes.4 The brothers wear old shoes and then acquire new shoes, only to have them removed to stand barefoot and shamed before Joseph in the Pharaoh’s palace. Zebulun’s lack of compassion for Joseph, who is stripped and cast into a pit, is recompensed by his concern for a naked person whom he dresses with clothing from his own household. Although the Testament of Zebulun is consistent with other Second Temple literature in its elaborate use of clothing to mark transitions in status, position, and character, in the case of the Joseph narrative it builds on a solid foundation in the biblical narrative. As the favored child, Joseph is given a robe 2 For a general discussion see Jessi Anita Orpana, “Clothing and Nudity in Second Temple Literature,” in Clothing and Nudity in the Hebrew Bible, ed. Christoph Berner et al. (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 343–52. 3 Maurice John-Patrick O’Connor, “Satan and Sitis: The Significance of Clothing Changes in the Testament of Job,” Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 26, no. 4 (2017): 305–19. 4 Calum M. Carmichael, “A Ceremonial Crux: Removing a Man’s Sandal as a Female Gesture of Contempt,” Journal of Biblical Literature 96, no. 3 (1977): 322 n. 2.



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by his father (Gen 37:3) only to lose it when sold into servitude by his brothers (Gen 37:12–28). When he rises to the pharaoh’s court, he is given new clothing to accord with his position (Gen 41:42–43). In that new position, he gives his brothers, who have been drawn to Egypt by famine in Canaan, new garments when he makes himself known to them (Gen 45:22).5 Levirate Marriage and the End of Joseph’s Bloodline The Testament of Zebulun shows significant concern with the idea that Joseph’s brothers would cut off his bloodline. First, Simeon and Gad attempt to kill Joseph (T. Zeb. 2:1–6). Shielded by a crying Zebulun, Joseph is spared immediate death when Reuben convinces his brothers to throw him in a well Jacob had dug (T. Zeb. 1:7). Here Joseph would ultimately have died, but the brothers would not have been the immediate cause of death. Finally, they sell him to the Ishmaelites, which the Testament portrays as fratricide (T. Zeb. 3:5).6 The concern with bloodlines is reinforced in the Testament when it explains why Zebulun’s offspring were preserved (T. Zeb. 3:3–5) while Joseph’s other brothers’ children were killed in an act of divine retribution. In contrast to his brothers, Zebulun had tried to recompense his role in the sale of Joseph by acting compassionately to people and animals (e.g., clothing the naked man) and teaching his children to do the same (T. Zeb. 5:1–5). In keeping with the tendency of each of the twelve patriarchs’ testaments to focus on a different emotion or set of emotions, Zebulun’s account of his life focuses on pity and compassion. Most notably in this context, “[t]he Testament of Zebulun resists any empowerment of the self over suffering others. Far from being an ethical attitude that enhances the portrait of an 5 On clothing as a marker of status changes in the Joseph narrative and its broader implications for understanding other biblical narratives, see Victor H. Matthews, “The Anthropology of Clothing in the Joseph Narrative,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 20, no. 65 (1995): 25–36. 6 Its concern may have been shaped by inner-Jewish communal disputes concerning participation in the first-century rebellions against Roman authority in Syria and Palestine. These disputes were symbolically treated as fratricide. See Moshe Aberbach and David Aberbach, The Roman-Jewish Wars and Hebrew Cultural Nationalism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000), 33, 137.

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exceptionally moral character…compassion is here the expression of a basic human need, stemming from the recognition of one’s own vulnerability.”7 The Testament condemns the brothers’ rise, which was possible only because they laid Joseph low. In leaving Joseph to die, or by selling him and announcing his death to their father, the brothers would functionally end Joseph’s bloodline, because he was unmarried and had no progeny. Here the Testament of Zebulun shares a view akin to that of the rabbinic sages as portrayed in m. Sanh. 4:5 where the sages deduce from Cain’s killing of his brother Abel that a murderer is liable for the death of the individual and “his posterity to the end of the world.”8 The Testament presents the cutting off of Joseph’s line by way of analogy using the biblical model of levirate marriage and ḥalitsah (Deut 25:5–10). Although infrequently discussed in Second Temple literature but noted in the synoptic gospels, the institution of levirate marriage is regarded by the then-contemporary historian Josephus (Ant. 4, 8:23) as significant for the preservation of families.9 The rarity of discussion of levirate marriage in works from the Second Temple period has led some scholars to suggest that the concept undermined the ideal found in contemporary sources that “men as well as women should have only one sexual partner.”10 Yet the Testament is not concerned at all with sex in its symbolic use of levirate marriage imagery; it focuses instead on the concern for the preservation of bloodlines. Levirate marriage was an obligation. The refusal of a brother to produce an heir for his deceased sibling led to a ceremony of public shaming. A key element of the ḥalitsah ceremony was the removal of the man’s shoes before his brother’s widow spit in his face, dissolving their 7 Françoise Mirguet, “Emotional Responses to the Pain of Others in Josephus’s Rewritten Scriptures and the Testament of Zebulun: Between Power and Vulnerability,” Journal of Biblical Literature 133, no. 4 (2014): 855. 8 Herbert Danby, The Mishnah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933), 388. 9 Dvora E. Weisberg, Levirate Marriage and the Family in Ancient Judaism (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2009), 37–39. 10 Esther Marie Menn, Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38) in Ancient Jewish Exegesis, Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 51 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 148.



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otherwise obligatory relationship. She asserted before the town elders that he refused to preserve his brother’s line, and his family line was permanently renamed “The house of him who had his shoe loosed.” (Deut 25:10) In the Testament of Zebulun, after Joseph’s servants removed his brothers’ shoes, they were spit upon and dishonored, and the Egyptians, like Deuteronomy’s town elders, hear of the brothers’ misdeeds. Although in Deuteronomy the shoe is removed by the deceased’s widow so as to begin the humiliation of the unwilling brother-in-law, in the Testament of Zebulun God begins the ḥalitsah ritual: “the Lord removed Joseph’s shoe from them” (T. Zeb. 3:5). In selling Joseph, the brothers affronted God. God’s act of removing their shoes was the utmost humiliation and an attack on their social standing in front of Joseph. William Loader holds that levirate marriage symbolism is part and parcel of the Testament’s commitment to procreation.11 Esther Menn, however, argues more convincingly that the metaphorical use of ḥalitsah in the Testament of Zebulun hints that Deuteronomy’s levirate marriage laws lost their “prescriptive force and instead [become] commentary on a particular biblical event.”12 This loss of prescriptive force may have resulted from an anxiety already evident in the biblical sources, which arose from hesitancy on the part of men to take on the obligation of levirate marriage. As Dvora Weisberg concludes: “Concerns for the self trump fraternal loyalties. However unpleasant the shaming ceremony described in Deuteronomy 25 might have been, it offered a formal, legal escape for the unwilling levir.”13 The author of the Testament may have been drawn to levirate marriage as a theme because of the biblical account of Er, Onan, Shelah, Judah, and Tamar, which

11 William Loader, Philo, Josephus, and the Testaments on Sexuality: Attitudes Towards Sexuality in the Writings of Philo and Josephus and in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriachs (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 414. 12 Menn, Judah and Tamar, 148. 13 Dvora E. Weisberg, “The Widow of Our Discontent: Levirate Marriage in the Bible and Ancient Israel,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 28, no. 4 (2004): 429.

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interrupts the biblical account of the sale of Joseph.14 Although this connection may have appeared a natural fit to the author of the Testament of Zebulun given the juxtaposition of the chapters, the sale of Joseph is completely absent from the Testament of Judah, thus disconnecting the activities of Gen 38 from Gen 37 and 39.15 The fact that the Testament of Zebulun explains the ritual as part of the Law of Moses (T. Zeb. 3:4) suggests that, while public shaming would have resounded with the presumed audience, their knowledge of this aspect of biblical law was limited at best. Trampling an Enemy Underfoot Joseph rose to power despite his brothers’ scheming. They had purchased shoes and trampled his dreams in Canaan. In Egypt, his dreams fulfilled, he lorded over them while they stood barefooted, those same shoes having been removed by his servants. In the ancient Near East, the shod foot was a sign of superiority and dominance.16 The brothers acquiring shoes to trample Joseph fits an imperial image known from across the Ancient Near East to Egypt and the Mediterranean. Representations of the king or gods sitting, standing, striding, or otherwise trampling upon personifications of Egypt’s traditional enemies or their symbolic equivalent occur frequently and are a long-lived feature of pharaonic iconography. The trampling of enemies occurs, for example, as a motif on statues and statue bases, as an architectural element, and in two-dimensional representations on the soles of sandals, coffins, and the like.17 Imperial imagery of the monarch’s dominion demonstrated through the image of his enemy underfoot, especially under a sandaled foot, is attested throughout the ancient world and figures prominently in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., 1 Kgs 5:3, 14 On levirate marriage in the context of the Judah and Tamar narrative see Menn, Judah and Tamar, 55–64. 15 Menn, Judah and Tamar, 113–14. 16 Christine Palmer, “Unshod on Holy Ground: Ancient Israel’s ‘Disinherited’ Priesthood,” in Fashioning Jews, ed. Leonard Greenspoon, Studies in Jewish Civilation 24 (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 2013), 3. 17 Joshua Roberson, “The Trampled Foe: Two New Examples of a Rare Amuletic Form,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 96, no. 1 (2010): 221.



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Josh 10:24).18 The parallel between the brothers’ desire to trample Joseph’s dreams would have been enough to establish resonance with the broader imagery, but their doing so in shoes makes the case even stronger, as the shod feet of rulers is prominent in the extant reliefs and in biblical passages about God’s dominion (e.g., Ps 60:8–12).19 The brothers’ trampling of Joseph would also have reminded ancient readers of apotropaic magic in the visual culture of the ancient Near East, Egypt, and the Mediterranean. Treading on Joseph would have warded off his future rule over them, as portended in his dream. Roman mosaics and amulets were used in a similar manner: ancient peoples would literally or figuratively trample on them to ward off enemies, envy, or the evil eye. Various categories of evidence…combine to show that the metaphor of trampling upon evil, and more particularly on envy, was familiar both in popular thought and in visual imagery in the later centuries of the Empire…[T]hough the name of the deity, hero, or saint who does the trampling differs from religion to religion, the underlying idea hardly changes.20

The brothers’ treading on their foe is a sign in the Testament of Zebulun of human beings’ descent into transgression. Not only had they cut off their brother’s line with the sale, they likewise stamped out the possibility he could lord over them, denying the content of his prophetic dreams. The Testament counters their actions measure for measure. Zebulun warns his children of a future in which God would descend and trample Joseph’s enemies: “And thereafter the Lord himself will arise upon you…and every spirit of error will be trampled down.” (T. Zeb. 9:8–9).21 The image of God treading on his enemies resonates with Ps 60:8–12 18 Palmer, “Unshod,” 3–6. 19 Palmer, “Unshod,” 3–4. 20 Katherine M. D. Dunbabin, “Inbide Calco Te… Trampling Upon the Envious,” in Tesserae. Festschrift für Josef Engemann, ed. Ernst Dassman and Klaus Thraede (Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1991), 33. The article provides a cross-cultural review of the imagery of treading foes under foot. 21 Kee, “Testaments,” 807.

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and with the imperial imagery discussed above. The image also extended well into the Christian realm with the Christ figure “depicted standing on the head of a lion, serpent, or other iconographic representation of his foes.”22 In the Testament of Zebulun, the image serves to balance the narrative. Joseph’s dreams were prophetic. To deny their fulfillment, as the brothers did, was to deny divine will. Just as they used their new shoes to trample Joseph’s dreams, God would trample them or their descendants. The Symbolic and Monetary Value of Shoes What must the audience have thought when the brothers bought two dozen pairs of shoes, assuming eight pairs for the brothers, eight pairs for their wives, and eight pairs for one of each of their children? In any case, this is a very conservative estimate given the lineage described in Gen 46. (How they hid this from Jacob is more difficult to ascertain.) More than just humiliating Joseph, the audience would have recognized the brothers’ actions as even more grievous. Studies suggest that close to 70 percent of the population lived at or below the subsistence level in the early Roman period.23 The idea of selling a family member into servitude would have been a known practice understood as a desperate act to feed and clothe a family.24 The brothers, by contrast, sell Joseph for profit and then show off their successful sale by providing new shoes in abundance, making their new wealth immediately apparent to onlookers. Given the high levels of poverty, in which most people were inadequately clothed, and in which many went 22 Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis, Ravenna in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 73–74. 23 Faith Pennick Morgan, Dress and Personal Appearance in Late Antiquity: The Clothing of the Middle and Lower Classes, Late Antique Archaeology Supplementary Series 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 31. Although many of the sources from the period were produced by members of the upper classes who tended to see those below them as a homogenous mass, recent scholarship has worked to define the various types of poor (e.g., itinerant poor as opposed to those who could remain in one community) and their respective proportions; see Ben-Zion Rosenfeld and Haim Perlmutter, “The Poor as a Stratum of Jewish Society in Roman Palestine 70–250 CE: An Analysis,” Historia. Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte 60, no. 3 (2011): 273–300. 24 Morgan, Dress, 31.



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barefoot because of the great expense of clothing, new shoes on a whole family would have been a clear public expression of a change in status or situation.25 At the very least, the brothers’ act of conspicuous consumption was aspirational for a status later undone by the famine and their descent to Egypt. Although the Testament of Zebulun makes no claim to the specific amount of money that changed hands, the Testament of Gad insists on thirty pieces of gold. Here there may be a Christian accretion with the Hebrew Bible’s twenty pieces adjusted to match, and therefore foreshadow, Judas selling out Jesus for thirty pieces of silver (Matt 26:15).26 The correction may also be an effort to harmonize the Hebrew and the Septuagint. The Septuagint identifies the exchange as twenty pieces of gold. As an aside, the varying sale prices in the sources led early Christian writers to explain that, because the story of Joseph foreshadowed the sale of Jesus by Judas, the varying prices were a sign of the varying ways in which people valued Jesus. That Joseph, based on the Septuagint, was sold for a higher price (twenty pieces of gold) than Jesus (thirty pieces of silver) indicated to early church fathers that people improperly value Jesus.27 The difference between the sale price in the Septuagint and in the Hebrew Bible is typically attributed to inflation. As it turns out, the average price for a slave in the time and place of the LXX translator was considerably higher than the twenty silver pieces mentioned in the Hebrew text… The intended denomination is undoubtedly the shekel, which was equivalent to the Greek didrachma. Papyrus evidence from iii B.C. indicates that the χρύσεος/χρυσούς [gold coin] was equiv25 Morgan, Dress, 31. 26 For a summary of the debates concerning the impact of the Church’s preservation and transmission of the Testaments along with other texts of the Pseudepigrapha see Tom de Bruin, The Great Controversy: The Individual’s Struggle Between Good and Evil in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and in Their Jewish and Christian Contexts, Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus/Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments 106 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 27–35. 27 For examples from Ambrose and others see Mark Sheridan, ed., Genesis 12–50, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Old Testament 2 (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2002), 238–39.

458 Jason Kalman alent to twenty silver drachmas or ten didrachmas. Thus the Greek translator set a price that would have been more in line with the going rate in iii B.C. Alexandrian slave markets.28

By this calculation, the Hebrew Bible was taken to intend the brothers to collect twenty silver didrachmas. The Septuagint gave them twenty gold coins with a value ten times greater (i.e., 200 didrachmas). In T. Gad 2:3–5, Judah and Gad receive thirty gold coins (fifteen times more than the Hebrew Bible) but they keep ten for themselves and report a sale price of twenty gold pieces to their brothers. Whether twenty or thirty gold pieces, the buying power of the purchase price was far greater in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs than in Hebrew Genesis. Other sources put the conversion rate of silver to gold as 12:1, increasing the sale price and profit even further.29 This would have made the brothers substantially richer than at the Hebrew Bible’s count at two hundred and forty pieces of silver versus the initial twenty. If the late price provided by Lam. Rab. 1:1.13 (7–10 silver dinars) is used, solely for argument’s sake, the brothers could have acquired between twenty-four and thirty-four pairs of shoes.30 Given that Zebulun only includes eight brothers in the scheme to sell Joseph 28 Robert J. V. Hiebert, “Translation Technique in the Septuagint of Genesis and Its Implications for the NETS Version,” Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 33 (2000): 88. This may explain the use of gold in place of silver here but does not explain why the Septuagint translates the thousand pieces of silver given to Abraham in Gen 20:16 as one thousand didrachmas or the three hundred pieces of silver given to Benjamin in Gen 45:22 also as gold. This may explain Hiebert’s assumption concerning the sheqel/didrachma and that the Benjamin gift was entirely inflated, as the garments are also described as “exceptional” while those given to the brothers are not. Similar scholarly concern has arisen around the cost of redeeming slaves in the Letter of Aristeas (reported as twenty drachmae) and the various representations of that sale in Josephus and elsewhere. See Benjamin G. Wright, The Letter of Aristeas, Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 139–40. The dispute here is noteworthy in that the Letter of Aristeas and Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs stem from common, if not identical, milieus. 29 Daniel Sperber, Roman Palestine 200–400: Money and Prices, 2nd ed. (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1991), 40. 30 Establishing clear pricing for shoes is difficult because texts do not usually indicate individual prices, and it is difficult to contrast across time, place, quality, and style. For the rabbinic period, a pair of boots is accounted for at Dura Europus before the third century CE for twenty-two dinars (Sperber, Roman Palestine, 209). At the beginning of the fourth century CE, women’s shoes in Roman Egypt sold for sixty dinar, and after 314 their price multiplied exponentially; see Louis C. West, “The



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(T. Zeb. 3:2), that would have been at least enough for each of them, their wives, and one child each to have new shoes.31 The brothers were explicitly showing off their newfound profits when the entire family went about wearing new shoes. In this, the Testament of Zebulun is consistent with the understanding of the biblical episode attested by Philo, another contemporary Egyptian Jew. For Philo, the sale of Joseph by his brothers is indicative of the vice of his own contemporaries who, moved by greed, were willing to sell off their own brethren as slaves. According to Philo, slave dealers are bad because they are “greedy” and “untrustworthy” in speech. He applies to Jewish law the Greek and Roman stereotype that the speech of slave sellers is untrustworthy because greed motivates them to lie. Philo points to the biblical episode of the selling of Joseph into slavery (Gen. 37:12–28), the brothers’ lie about it to their father, and their delight in greed: “When they [sc. Joseph’s brothers] said that he [Joseph] had been sold, and showed the price that had been paid, ‘A fine business you have embarked on,’ he [Judah] said, ‘Let us divide the profits. We have competed with the slave traders (andrapodistai) for the prize of wickedness” (Ios. 18). Greed made the brothers untrustworthy, competing in the vice of the slave traders with whom they dealt.32

Here the acquisition of the shoes was an outward expression of their self-satisfaction. In the context of the Testament of Zebulun, the brothers’ purchase of shoes is no mere afterthought. Their new footwear, which was acquired and then lost, highlights their rise and fall mapped against Joseph’s descent into the pit and ascent to Egyptian authority. Rich with symbolism, the Testament of Zebulun’s account of Cost of Living in Roman Egypt,” Classical Philology 11, no. 3 (1916): 302, 310. For further discussion of the Lamentations Rabbah text, see pages 464–65 below. 31 The count likely results from excluding Zebulun, Reuben, Benjamin, and Joseph; see Harm W. Hollander and Marinus de Jonge, The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Commentary, Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudipigrapha 8 (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 260. 32 James Albert Harrill, Slaves in the New Testament: Literary, Social, and Moral Dimensions (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 137–38.

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the sale of Joseph would have resonated with an audience aware of Jewish marital law but all the more so for people attuned to the cultural signals of a community where shoes made the man. For all the rich symbolism and the thickness of the Testament of Zebulun’s engagement with it, however, the tradition that Joseph was sold for shoes is all but absent from the extant literary record of Jewish life for the subsequent four hundred years. Whether it then reappeared or someone invented the idea anew remains an open question. Joseph’s Sale Price in Early Rabbinic Sources The theme of selling Joseph for shoes did eventually make its way into rabbinic culture, yet the theme was present in none of the earliest sources — neither the Mishnah, Tosefta, or the tannaitic midrashim nor the Talmuds or their contemporary midrashim (e.g., Genesis Rabbah and Pesiqta de Rab Kahana) mention it. This is not to say these texts showed no interest in the sale of Joseph or the amount of silver involved in the transaction. A tradition relating the sale of Joseph to the biblical ritual of the redemption of the firstborn and the half-sheqel contribution to the temple is found in all the major texts that preserve the traditions attributed to Palestinian Amoraim. According to Gen. Rab. 84:18, and they sold joseph to the ishmaelites for twenty sheqels of silver.

The Holy One, blessed be He, said: “You sold Rachel’s son for five selas; therefore shall every one of you set aside five selas for the redemption of the firstborn, reckoned according to the Tyrian maneh.” R. Judah b. R. Simon said: God said to the tribal ancestors: “You sold Rachel’s son for five selas, therefore shall each of you give a beka”; thus it is written, A beka a head, that is, half a sheqel (Exod 38:26).33

The same tradition appears in Pesiq. Rab Kah. 2:12, y. Šeqal. 9:2, and Tanḥuma (Buber) Ki Tissa 7. The text here makes the rabbinic currency conversion of four sheqels to a sela, and then splits the 33 Harry Freedman and Maurice Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah: Genesis, trans. Harry Freedman, 3rd ed. (London: Soncino, 1983), 783.



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five selas among the ten involved brothers. Two items here are worth noting. The first is that the sources assign currency where none is mentioned in the biblical text: Joseph is sold for twenty pieces of silver. The second is that the sources understand the sale of Joseph and the amount involved as part of a theological construct in which the number of pieces and the currency have ritual significance. What is insignificant is what the brothers did with their profits in the short term. The absence of the “sold for shoes” motif is noteworthy in that evidence from other sources shows it circulated among Palestinian Jews in the period of the Amoraim. In this new place and time, Joseph was also described as having been sold for shoes. Yet the deep symbolism so evident in the Testament of Zebulun is mostly absent from these later accounts. Early Piyyut Although earlier midrashic sources make no mention of the shoes, the theme was not a late innovation. By late antiquity or the early Middle Ages, the idea that Joseph was sold for shoes had already taken hold among Jewish poets from the Mediterranean to Iraq. The earliest identifiable reference to the sale of Joseph in rabbinic circles comes not from midrash but from liturgical poetry.34 In a supplement to his poetry intended to adorn the public reading of Gen 44:18ff, the paytan Yannai (fifth–sixth centuries, Palestine) added a poem: “Woe to us for the Day of Judgement! Woe to us for the Day of Rebuke.” The poem forces the reader to engage with the question of communal recompense for the sale of Joseph. In the seventh stanza Yannai writes: “Before his [Joseph’s] face they [the brothers] trembled, when he said, ‘I am your brother!’ / ‘A lad you sold for your pairs of sandals.’”35 Putting these words 34 I am grateful to Tova Beeri and Laura Lieber for their help with this material. 35 Translation from Laura Suzanne Lieber, Yannai on Genesis: An Invitation to Piyyut, Monographs of the Hebrew Union College 36 (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 2010), 744. The best printed version identifies a lacuna at the end of this line; see Zvi Meir Rabinovitz, The Liturgical Poems of Rabbi Yannai According to the Triennial Cycle of the Pentateuch and the Holidays, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Mossad

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in Joseph’s mouth, Yannai’s poem makes clear his full knowledge of the negotiations and the outcome of the sale. Although here the shoe tradition is embedded late in the poem, the next generation of liturgical poets gave it priority in recounting the story of Joseph. A piyyut attributed to Pinchas HaKohen (eighth century, near Tiberias) is framed as a dialogue between Joseph and Judah at the time of their reconciliation (Gen 44:18–47:27). The poem opens with Joseph describing his brothers’ crimes, “A brother for shoes you sold / Hatefully against his blood you rose up.” The paytan returns to the theme in the fourth stanza: “Cruelly you sold him to violent men / To Ishmaelites for the sake of shoes.” In both sections of the poem, but especially the opening line, the author relied on the audience’s knowledge of this tradition, as it is left entirely unexplained. Further, opening with the tradition and then repeating it highlighted its importance to the poet but not its meaning. Several later liturgical poems opened with near identical formulations. Shlomo Sulaiman Alsinjari (ninth–tenth centuries, Iraq) opens his piyyut with “A brother you sold for shoes” and Yosef Albardani, the chief cantor of the central synagogue of Babylonia in the tenth century, begins his version with “Brothers, sellers of a brother for shoes.”36 Four anonymous renderings of similar poems have also been identified.37 Altogether, these poems make clear that the theme of the sale of Joseph for shoes resonated beyond the study hall to the synagogue, where the public encountered it. In all three poems with identifiable authors, the brothers purchase shoes and dip Joseph’s tunic in blood. The inversion of his beautiful coat destroyed while the brothers acquire new footwear would not appear to have been lost on an audience for whom clothing and footwear were limited and expensive. Joseph’s diminished Bialik, 1985), 1:245 line 140. Yet the reading as translated here by Lieber is confirmed by Cairo Genizah fragment Paris, AIU IV.C.321. 36 For a substantial comparison (and translation) of these along with other piyyutim about the story of Joseph, see Yosef Yahalom, “The Drama of Joseph and His Brothers in Piyyut Literature,” in Studies in Arabic and Hebrew Letters in Honor of Raymond P. Scheindlin, ed. Jonathan Decter and Michael Rand, Gorgias Precis Portfolios 1 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2007), 249–60. 37 Menahem Zulay, “‫מקור וחיקו׳ בפיוט‬,” Sinai 25 (1949): 32–52.



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status would be seen as counterbalanced by the brothers rise in status. Several of these liturgical compositions share another feature tied directly to the shoe imagery. In both HaKohen’s first stanza and Alsinjari’s seventh stanza the brothers rise or stand on or against the blood of their brother. In the latter, Joseph’s brothers worry that in his role as second to the pharaoh he might stand on their blood (sixth stanza). The image of trampling on their brother resonates with the earlier treatment of this motif in the Testament of Zebulun but is not shared with later versions (discussed below). Neither does this shared imagery necessarily indicate anything approaching the poets’ explicit knowledge of the Testament. It merely suggests the circulation of a tradition about Joseph’s having been sold for shoes among Jews in the Mediterranean and Middle East. If so, how then should its absence from contemporary rabbinic sources be explained? Rabbinic Attitudes about Footwear When the tradition that Joseph was sold for shoes appeared in piyyut and later rabbinic sources it did so without any of the contextualization found in the Testament of Zebulun. The particular reason for the absence remains unclear. Some of the material from Testament literature or earlier material on which it relied appears to have been known in rabbinic circles, although no extant evidence establishes that the Testament of Zebulun circulated.38 As such, the fact that it was unknown in rabbinic circles could explain the absence even while the basic tradition concerning the sale was transmitted. It is also possible that the more extensive tradition was known but the context it provided did not resonate with a later audience. As noted, the key features of the narrative 38 For discussion, see Martha Himmelfarb, “R. Moses the Preacher and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,” AJS Review 9, no. 1 (1984): 55–78; John C. Reeves, “Exploring the Afterlife of Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Medieval Near Eastern Religious Traditions: Some Initial Soundings,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 30, no. 2 (1999): 148–77; and Himmelfarb, “Comparative Perspectives: Alternative Modes of Transmission, Rabbinic and Post-Rabbinic Jewish,” in A Guide to Early Jewish Texts and Traditions in Christian Transmission, ed. Alexander Kulik et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 431–48.

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surrounding the sale for shoes is the parallel drawn between the brothers’ actions and their eventual humiliation with levirate marriage and the ḥalitsah ritual. The fact that this element is completely absent from the piyyutim and rabbinic sources from this period suggests that the shaming element of the ritual was deliberately diminished over time. Beginning with the Mishnah (ca. 200 CE) the sages made the ḥalitsah ritual a more neutral mechanism for ending an undesired legal obligation in a manner akin to divorce.39 As such, the brothers’ humiliation at the hands of the Egyptians would no longer have made sense as analogous to the humiliation due the recalcitrant man who refused to marry his brother’s widow. For the later audience, the sale of Joseph for shoes without the ḥalitsah imagery may have been enough given their considerable attentiveness to the role the shoes played as markers of social standing in both rabbinic and broader communities. Embedded in a story in Lam. Rab. 1:1.13 (fourth century, Palestine), which details the retaliation an Athenian suffered for mocking Jerusalemites, is evidence concerning the cost, repair, and importing of shoes. According to the story, a Jerusalemite was given board by a man in Athens: In the morning the two of them went out to walk in the marketplace. One of his [the Jerusalemite’s] sandals broke, and he said to a workman, “Take this tremis and repair this sandal.” He did it for him. The next day the two of them went out to walk in the market-place, and the other sandal broke. He said to the Athenian, “Take this tremis and go and get the workman to repair my sandal.” He asked, “Are, then, sandals so expensive with you?” “Yes.” “How many dinars?,” he inquired. “Nine or ten,” he replied, “and when they are cheap seven or eight dinars.” He said to him, “If I were to come to you with

39 Weisberg, Levirate Marriage, 117–19.



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 465 a stock of sandals, could you sell them for me?” “Certainly,” he answered…40

By Catherine Hezser’s accounting, sandals then had a cost of approximately seven to ten days’ wages for a laborer.41 The repair work, at the cost of a tremis, was remarkably expensive. A tremis, one third of an aureus, was equivalent to about eight silver dinars or the price of a pair of shoes as described in the text. In the context of the story, the overpayment for repair was to create a dynamic in which the Athenian would be inspired by economic opportunity to return to Jerusalem. But the price of the shoes appears consistent with other sources discussed herein. The high cost of footwear meant that it sat in the liminal space between need and want, between necessity and luxury, as suggested by the blessing the Talmud assigns to the act of putting on shoes. According to b. Ber. 60b, the wearer should recite “Blessed is He who has supplied all my needs.” The shoes met the last need on the list and could be done without if other needs had not been met. The tractate b. Šabb. 112a explains that Rabbi Judah and his son shared a single pair of sandals. Sometimes one would go out in them, and sometimes the other. Certainly, leather shoes were not affordable for everyone, and basic sandals would have been more common.42 According to b. Šabb. 34b, having more than a single pair of sandals or shoes was uncommon. According to b. Giṭ. 68b, shoes that could last seven years were an aspiration. Clearly, from the text of Lamentations Rabbah, their endurance relied on frequent repair. If b. Šabb. is to be believed, even a single pair of sandals may not have been available to everyone. Despite the cost, for the sages, “to be without shoes in everyday life, however, was to be something less than honorable. Implying immediate contact with impure things, it meant dire poverty or

40 A. Cohen, Midrash Rabbah: Lamentations, 3rd ed. (London: Soncino, 1983), 79. 41 Catherine Hezser, “The Halitzah Shoe: Between Female Subjugation and Symbolic Emasculation,” in Jews and Shoes, ed. Edna Nahshon (Oxford: Berg, 2008), 60. 42 Hezser, “Halitzah Shoe,” 53.

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slavery.”43 For the Talmud (b. Šabb. 152a), shoes separate human beings from animals. When a Sadducee saw that R. Joshua was wearing no shoes, he taunted him: ‘He (who rides) on a horse is a king, upon an ass, is a free man, and he who has shoes on his feet is a human being; but he who has none of these, one who is dead and buried is better off.’”44

Having no shoes, the sage was forced to reply that he found his glory in his beard, his wife, and being a child of God. Although this may have been so, b. Šabb. 152a does not give up on the idea that shoes are essential for human dignity. Proper clothing was likewise seen in this way, and Jewish men could be kept from participation in public ritual acts for being raggedly dressed.45 The Talmud asserts that for a sage to wear patched shoes is to suffer the same indignity as being nude or barefoot publicly (b. Šabb. 114a). Yet the Talmud also recognized the unlikelihood of having the luxury of donning patchless shoes, and R. Aha b. Nahman rules that a sage should not go out with patches on his patches. According to a similar discussion in b. Ber. 43b, going abroad in patched shoes is among six things inappropriate for a sage. The discussion that follows, which defines the meaning of patches, refers to a patch on top of another patch, and only on the upper part of the shoes, not the sole. Further, the rule applies only when the shoes are worn in public, not at home, and only in the dry season. In the rainy season, multiple patches are acceptable. Whichever way the text is read, it supports both the idea that the sages viewed wearing shoes as necessary to their dignity and the idea that maintaining shoes at a level appropriate for public viewing was not always possible. So important were shoes to 43 Gildas H. Hamel, Poverty and Charity in Roman Palestine, First Three Centuries C.E., Near Eastern Center Studies 23 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 87. 44 Translation cited from Hamel, Poverty and Charity, 87. See also his discussion of shoes and dignity. Although he is primarily concerned with Roman Palestine, the Babylonian text has broader implications. 45 Hamel, Poverty and Charity, 85.



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their sense of dignity, however, that b. Šabb. 129a endorses selling one’s house to acquire shoes (and his shoes to acquire a meal with wine or meat if needed).46 Further, b. Pesaḥ. 113b indicates that one who denies himself shoes (although he can afford them) is placed in ban by heaven. Both the Mishnah and Talmud attest that the rabbis not only discussed shoes and sandals generically but were quite aware of Greco-Roman footwear and its various designs and constructions (e.g., m. Šabb. 6:1; m. Yebam. 12:1–2). Because of Roman conquest, the styles of shoes produced in Rome were carried to and eventually duplicated throughout the provinces. The wide variety of footwear known to and worn by the Jews in Roman Palestine is well documented from archaeological excavations, including that of the Cave of Letters.47 All evidence points to Jews wearing clothes and footwear that largely left them indistinguishable from their non-Jewish neighbors.48 The rabbinic sages also appear to have appropriated the attitudes of the Romans concerning shoes and status. The rabbinic sources suggest that what was on a person’s feet attested to their societal standing. In Rome, rank and status were expressed by a formal code of dress. Equestrians wore equestrian shoes (calcei equestres), senators wore senatorial shoes (calcei senatorius) and patricians wore patrician shoes (calcei patricii). “Consequently ‘to change one’s shoes’ (calceos mutare) became a metaphorical expression 46 On shoes in rabbinic culture, see Hezser, “Halitzah Shoe” and Jacob Nacht, “The Symbolism of the Shoe with Special Reference to Jewish Sources,” Jewish Quarterly Review 6, no. 1 (1915): 1–22. 47 Lucille A. Roussin, “Costume in Roman Palestine: Archaeological Remains and the Evidence from the Mishnah,” in The World of Roman Costume, ed. Judith Lynn Sebesta and Larissa Bonfante (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 188. On the difference between Jewish men and women’s footwear, see Katarina Galor, “What Were They Wearing?: Jewish Women and Social Practice in Classical and Late Antiquity,” in Gender and Social Norms in Ancient Israel, Early Judaism and Early Christianity: Texts and Material Culture, ed. Michaela Bauks, Katarina Galor, and Judith Hartenstein (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019), 37–53. 48 Steven Fine, “How Do You Know a Jew When You See One? Reflections on Jewish Costume in the Roman World,” in Fashioning Jews: Clothing, Culture, and Commerce, ed. Leonard Greenspoon, Studies in Jewish Civilization 24 (West Lafayette, IN: Perdue University Press, 2013), 20.

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for ‘becoming a senator.’”49 In addition, regulated pricing meant that the shoes became more expensive at each rank. In terms of patricians’ shoes, “the maximum price…(150 denarii) was set 50 percent higher than that for senatorial shoes (100 denarii) in Diocletian’s Price Edict of 301 CE, and 114 percent higher than that for equestrian shoes (70 denarii).”50 It is clear that at least some of the Roman concern for the link between footwear and status made its way to rabbinic circles. The rabbis aspired to be more than peasants, and halakhah around footwear suggests that through clothing they could help achieve that goal. By contrast, Gildas H. Hamel suggests that, in early Christian sources, Jesus’s demands of his disciples regarding clothing and footwear was intended to bring them closer to the poor and needy in appearance. By asking his disciples to limit themselves to a single tunic and no footwear, he intended that they appear like the peasants.51 Rabbinic sources encouraged an imitation of the upper classes, even while their dress and shoes sometimes betrayed their actual socioeconomic status. The rabbinic sense of dignity is, as Hamel suggests, about honor and respect but also carries with it the distinction between slave and master. The text of b. Qidd. 22b (following t. Qidd. 1:5) asserts that a slave transfers himself into the property of a master by removing the new master’s shoes or by putting shoes on the master. The absence of the “Joseph sold for shoes” tradition from the explicitly rabbinic sources may have resulted from the conflict between the positive attitude of these rabbinic sources to the acquisition of shoes (particularly in rulings concerning the proper behavior of sages) and the wrong people (i.e., Joseph’s brothers) rewarding themselves with shoes for selling their righteous brother. The sale of Joseph by his brothers for shoes highlights a significant change in power. The brothers stand over Joseph. The masters wear shoes, and the beloved dreamer, now a slave, does 49 Jonathan Edmonson, “Public Dress and Social Control in Late Republican and Early Imperial Rome,” in Roman Dress and the Fabrics of Roman Culture, ed. Jonathan Edmonson and Allison Keith (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), 27. 50 Edmonson, “Public Dress,” 27. 51 Hamel, Poverty and Charity, 75.



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not. This symbolism was at the core of the source material in which the sale of Joseph for shoes first appeared in the extant Jewish exegetical tradition. The brothers changed their shoes, and, while they did not become Roman senators, their status rose, at least temporarily. The image of Joseph’s brothers glorying in their new shoes might have been understood as a critique of this element in the rabbinic culture of dress. As time passed, however, late rabbinic sources did come to incorporate the tradition of the sale of Joseph for shoes, which, from liturgical evidence, seems to have become rather well known, with new meaning apart from the earlier symbolism Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, and Midrash Tanḥuma The relationship of the three late rabbinic texts discussed here remains a topic of much scholarly debate. Most scholars agree that the three postdate the arrival of Islam to Palestine and that the oldest material is likely from the seventh or eighth century. Whether Targum Pseudo-Jonathan relied on Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer and Tanḥuma or influenced them is also an open question.52 For convenience the material is sequenced here from least detailed concerning the sale of Joseph to the most expansive. This ordering makes no claim concerning the earliness or lateness of any of the texts but establishes the eventual promotion of the “sale of Joseph for shoes” motif in rabbinic sources. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and Ancient Currency Conversion According to Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, Gen 37:28 explains what happened after the brothers cast Joseph into the pit. “Now, Midianite men, merchants, passed by, and pulling Joseph they raised him up out of the pit. They sold Joseph to the Arabs for twenty silver

52 For a summary of the various positions, see Michael Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis, Aramaic Bible: The Targums (Collegeville, MN: Michael Glazier, 1992), 11–12.

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meah, and they bought sandals from them.”53 Here the brothers buy the sandals from the same merchants who acquired Joseph. Although the Hebrew Bible provides no description or currency value for the silver the brothers used, the targum’s choice of the silver maʾah appears appropriate. Meʾah/maʾah is taken generically as a small coin or weight that corresponds to a small monetary value in various dialects of Aramaic.54 A difficulty arises because the targum is inconsistent in its currency selections. In the targum to Gen 20:16, Abraham is given one thousand selas of silver by Abimelech rather than maʾin, although the Hebrew does not mention the weight or measurement of silver. It is not entirely clear why the targum inflates the value of the silver given to Abraham but offers no explicit comment on value for the price paid for Joseph. The inflation of one, however, is the devaluation of the other. In the context of the targum, it is possible that the brothers’ desire to rid themselves of Joseph may have trumped their profit motive. Elsewhere in the targumim, the devaluation becomes even more clear as the maʾah transitioned from generic coin to specific currency. According to Targum Neofiti to Exod 30:13, twenty maʾin equal one sela (where the Hebrew has the sanctuary sheqel as equal to twenty gerahs). More consistently the targumim render the gerah as the maʾah. The maʾah thereby became identified with smallest silver coin known to the rabbis of the talmudic period, the obol of Tyre which is one-sixth of a silver dinar.55 Because the tradition that Joseph was sold for twenty sheqels or five selas circulated widely, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan perhaps inadvertently expresses a low value for the sale of Joseph compared to the currencies and amounts used here and elsewhere in the corpus. The fact that the targum adds the embellishment concerning the acquisition of shoes without explanation suggests that it was already known to the audience.

53 Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, 126. 54 Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon, http://cal.huc.edu. 55 Sperber, Roman Palestine, 29, 194–95.



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Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer and Amos 2:6 As with Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, the passage from Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer (eighth or ninth century) is rather self-contained and makes no mention of the value of the acquisition, only that Joseph is sold for enough money for each brother to buy shoes. The text of Pirqe R. El. 38 states: (The brethren) sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver, and each one of them took two pieces of silver (apiece) to purchase shoes for their feet, as it is said, “Thus saith the Lord… Because they have sold the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes” (Amos 2:6).56

Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer is not particularly concerned with the price, only in tying the righteous man, Joseph, to silver and shoes per Amos 2:6. That each brother took an equal slice of the profits is consistent with the other tradition concerning the relationship of the sale of Joseph and the half sheqel for the temple, because each brother took an equal share. The economics in Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer are somewhat fuzzy. In contrast to the Testament of Zebulun’s assertion that the brothers acquired shoes for themselves and their families, here and in later renderings the brothers acquire shoes for themselves — ten or eight pairs depending on the version, and in the latest versions only four pairs — suggesting an increase in the cost of shoes relative to profit from the sale of Joseph. From antiquity through the Middle Ages, slaves and shoes remained consistently expensive. The acquisition of ten pairs of shoes makes the purchase in Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer appear rather more luxurious than the targum’s maʾin might suggest. Another contemporary witness to the tradition, however, appears to have it both ways — Joseph is sold for a pittance, but it was enough for ten pairs of shoes.

56 Gerald Friedlander, Midrash Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer (The Chapters of Rabbi Eliezer the Great) (New York: Bloch, 1916), 292–93.

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Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu and a Quranic Parallel The Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu (printed version) dates in its extant form to the eighth or ninth century. Its account in Vayyeshev is somewhat more elaborate than Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer: When a group of Ishmaelites passed by, they said to each other: come, and let us sell him to the Ishmaelites (Gen 37:27). They took him to the edge of the desert, where they sold him for twenty pieces of silver. Each one obtained, thereby, two pieces of silver with which to purchase a pair of shoes. If you are surprised that a youth as handsome as he was sold for merely twenty pieces of silver, remember that when he was hurled into the pit, he was so fearful of the snakes and scorpions within it that his features were altered. The blood rushed from him, and his countenance turned pale. Therefore, they were forced to sell him for twenty pieces of silver, a pair of shoes for each of them.57

In contrast to Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer and Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, the Tanḥuma is explicit in explaining that Joseph’s price was very low. The idea that snakes and scorpions inhabited the pit is present in much earlier rabbinic sources. Genesis Rabbah 84:16, along with Tg. Ps.-J. to Gen 37:23, b. Šabb. 22a and b. Ḥag. 3a also record that snakes and scorpions inhabited the dry pit, deriving this from the redundancy in the passage: “the pit was empty, having no water in it.” Yet no earlier known midrashic tradition explains Joseph as having yielded a low price (and certainly not because of a fear-induced change in countenance). Tanḥuma begins with the claim of Joseph’s handsomeness, which is already evidenced in Gen 39:6: “And Joseph was of beautiful form, and fair to look upon.” Genesis Rabbah 86:6 reports that Joseph’s beauty came from his mother, Rachel. In contrast with rabbinic sources, Islamic sources exaggerate his good looks and these, as in Tanḥuma, become intertwined with the price of sale. Ahmad ibn Hanbal, the eighth-century jurist, reports that Muhammad claimed that God gave Joseph “half of the beauty given to man57 Samuel A. Berman, Midrash Tanhuma-Yelammedenu: An English Translation of Genesis and Exodus (New York: Ktav, 1996), 224.



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kind.”58 Al-Kisāʾīʾ’s The Tales of the Prophets reports that “the earth itself shone from his beauty, and the light of prophethood gleamed from his eyes and penetrated the very walls of Egypt, filling the entire country with light.”59 Al-Kisāʾīʾ explains that the brothers sold Joseph as a slave (because the drop into the pit did not kill him as intended) for the sum of eighty dirhems. Because of his beauty, he was sold to Potiphar “for a price beyond reckoning” after bids of seventy thousand dinars and Joseph’s weight in gold, silver, and gems had been declined!60 The brothers’ profits appear meagre indeed. The Quran, sura 12:20 records: “And they sold him for a small price, a number of dirhams, (for) they had no interest in him.”61 How al-Kisāʾīʾ decided that the brothers (minus Judah) shared eighty dirhems remains unclear. Abū Isḥāḳ Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ibrāhīm al-Nīsābūrī al-Thaʿlabi, the Baghdadi scholar of Persian origin (d. 1035 or 1036), reports disagreement among the earlier sages concerning the sale price of Joseph: So they sold him to Malik, as God says, “And they sold him as worthless for a few paltry dirhams” (12:20) — that is, they sold him for a measly sum that was an outrage, an unlawful act, because naming a price for a free man is a sin… Scholars have disagreed about the number of dirhams for which they sold Joseph. Ibn Masʾud, Ibn ʿAbbas, Qatadah, and al-Suddī maintained that it was twenty coins, which they divided among themselves, two coins to each. Mujahid said twenty-two dirhams, while ʿIkrimah said forty. They sold him for this amount because they attached no value to him, not

58 Roberto Tottoli, The Biblical Prophets in the Qur’an and Muslim Literature, Routledge Studies in the Quran (London: Routledge, 2002), 120. 59 W. M. Thackston, The Tales of the Prophets of Al-Kisa’i, Library of Classical Arabic Literature 2 (Boston: Twayne, 1978), 172. 60 Thackston, Tales, 171–72. 61 Arthur J. Droge, The Qurʼān: A New Annotated Translation (Sheffield: Equinox, 2017), 143.

474 Jason Kalman knowing the high esteem and lofty rank that God accorded him.62

The Quran or other early Islamic sources may be the source for Tanḥuma, but Tanḥuma may have been merely responding to common economic changes. What is clear in the Tanḥuma is a mismatch between the assertion that the price was low, on the one hand, and that the brothers could buy ten pairs of shoes with the proceeds of the sale, on the other. For the Quran, the price of twenty pieces of silver for acquiring a slave would necessarily have been understood as low. (Note that the increasing numbers up to eighty dirhams were also thought of as meagre.) Although available data allows only limited assertions, the price of a slave in Constantinople in the mid-sixth century was between thirty and seventy solidi (sing. solidus). In tenth-century Egypt the rate was thirty dinars. The Cairo Genizah documents attest to prices between ten and one-half and eighty gold dinars from the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. Although a precise price comparison is not possible, slaves were acquired in gold from areas north of and in Egypt, and Joseph was sold for a rather limited amount of silver, so his low cost is clear. In Islamic lands, the dirhem (when a full silver coin) traded at 13.333 to the gold dinar, whereas, as a later coin of low silver content alloy, it traded between 36 and 40 to the gold dinar.63 Thus, for both the Quran and the later midrashic sources, twenty pieces of silver would certainly have been a pittance for a slave. The sum was also low for acquiring shoes for the brothers. By the early Middle Ages, the cost of inexpensive shoes was approximately one-fourth of a gold dinar.64 Given this price, the twenty pieces of silver (if equal to dirhems) might have bought about six pairs of shoes or so; even accounting for increased cost 62 William M. Brinner, “Arāʾis al-Majālis fī Qisas al-Anbiyā” or “Lives of the Prophets”: As Recounted by Abū Isḥāq Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ibrāhīm alThaʾlabī, Studies in Arabic Literature 24 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 195. 63 Shelomoh Dov Goitein, Economic Foundations, vol. 1 of A Mediterranean Society, 6 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999 [1967]), 359–60. 64 Shelomoh Dov Goitein, Daily Life, vol. 4 of A Mediterranean Society, 6 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999 [1983]), 164.



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over time, it is unlikely that they could have bought ten pairs as suggested by the midrash. In any case, the amount would have appeared a pittance to late antique or early medieval readers. The fact that a few pairs of shoes were a pittance to pay for a slave should not, however, be taken to diminish the value of shoes. These remained expensive, just not as expensive as slaves. Fitting a family of four, even with the most basic shoes, could consume half a month’s income or more. Within the Islamic realm, the idea that clothing and shoes indicated societal standing and rank is well attested, as is an appreciation for shoes. Medieval Muslims enjoyed a range of luxury imports: Shoes and sandals could be of any of a number of leathers, colors, and designs. Elegant footwear included East African sandals… thick shoes from Cambay in India, Yemeni furry shoes… fine sandals… light checkered shoes… Hāshimī boots … and the curved shoes of the secretarial class…. It was permissible to wear shoes in such color combinations as black and red and yellow and black. Boots of red leather or black leather are also stylish.65

Discourse related to shoes and their prices likely would not have been lost on the Jewish audience, at least in Islamic lands, where “among the bourgeoisie of Genizah times there was a real cult of footwear.”66 Large numbers of shoes and other personal objects were imported. Given the kind of attitudes to clothing and footwear attested both in rabbinic literature and within the Muslim world, these post-conquest narratives pass over the shoe elements in the Joseph narratives rather quickly. It might be argued that there is a dissonance between the treatment of the shoes and actual attitudes toward them. Rabbinic literature attests to an appreciation for shoes as symbolic of standing (and of divine protection), but nothing in these late midrashim hints at any of this. Although 65 Yedida Kalfon Stillman and Norman A. Stillman, Arab Dress: A Short History, Themes in Islamic Studies 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 44–45. On attitudes to footwear in premodern Islam, see Hadas Hirsch, “Footwear: Manners, Rituals, Culture and Fashion in Early Islam,” Anthropologija 17, no. 2 (2017): 37–50. 66 Goitein, Daily Life, 162–63.

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other sources connect the shoes to an improvement in the brothers’ standing, here the dissonance would suggest they bought the lowest quality shoes (or else twenty pieces of silver would not have gone as far in acquiring shoes for all the brothers). As such, the footwear became representative of the brothers’ failed business transaction along with their absolute disdain for their sibling. This version would have resonated much differently for this generation of rabbinic sages than their predecessors. Rather than a critique of a rabbinic culture of dress in which fine shoes were admired, here the critique is explicitly of Joseph’s brothers alone. Although the sources above clearly evidence the circulation in the Roman and Byzantine Mediterranean of the tradition that Joseph was sold for shoes, by the Middle Ages it also circulated widely among the Jews of Christian Europe and even became embedded in the Yom Kippur liturgy of Ashkenazi Jewry. Piyyut Eleh Ezkerah and Midrash Eleh Ezkerah Likely composed in the wake of the first crusade, the liturgical poem Eleh Ezkerah explains the martyrdom of the ten rabbinic sages as a punishment for the unrecompensed sale of Joseph by his ten brothers. According to the poem, the Roman ruler began studying Torah. When he came to the law concerning kidnapping (Exod 21:16), he began plotting against the Jews. He became arrogant against the great [Sages] and ordered that his palace be filled with shoes, and sent for ten great sages, who plumbed the law and its principles through analytical discussion. [He commanded:] “Judge this case authentically, and state the decision without perverted deceit — rather you must elucidate it truthfully and clearly: [What is the law] if a man is found to have kidnapped a member of his Jewish brethren, and he enslaved him and sold him?… They answered him, “The kidnapper is to die.” Said he, “then what of your ancestors who sold their brother, to a cara-



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 477 van of Ishmaelites they peddled him, and gave him away for shoes.”67

The idea that Exod 21:16, or its parallel in Deut 24:7 concerning kidnapping, should be applied to the story of Joseph has earlier precursors in rabbinic sources (e.g., Gen. Rab. 84:16). So, too, does the suggestion that later generations of Jews were required to recompense the unpunished sale of Joseph (e.g., Midr. Prov. 1). Despite the ongoing use of this piyyut in the Yom Kippur liturgy, the idea of later generations paying for the crimes of earlier generations did not sit well with many Jewish communities — not least in the Middle Ages, when a tendency arose for Christians to argue that Joseph’s sale foreshadowed the betrayal and killing of Jesus, for which Jews deserved ongoing punishment.68 Within the poem, the sale of Joseph by his brothers for shoes is highlighted by the ruler’s efforts to fill the palace with shoes. In this the ruler taunts the sages with the symbol of the crime they were due to recompense. Recent scholarship has maintained that the liturgical poem provided the scaffolding for the construction of the midrashic collection identified as Midrash Eleh Ezkerah. Although the piyyut was based on an earlier prose version of the story of the ten martyrs, the poem rather than these early prose narratives served as the structural base for the later more elaborate retellings in Midrash Eleh Ezkerah.69 What is perhaps the 67 Translation from Arnold Lustiger and Michael Taubes, eds., Yom Kippur Machzor: With Commentary Adapted From the Teachings of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (New York: K’hal Publishing and Orthodox Union, 2006), 639. Precisely what type of footwear they acquired is an open question. The texts in which a sale of this sort are described most commonly use the term ‫נעליים‬/‫ נעל‬and sometimes ‫מנעלים‬. The former is typically taken as a shoe (but may also include a sandal) and the latter as footwear, which may also refer to a cloth sock. The term ‫סנדלים‬/‫ סנדל‬is used in Tg. Ps.-J. to Gen 37:28. 68 Raʿanan S. Boustan, “The Contested Reception of the Story of the Ten Martyrs in Medieval Midrash,” in Envisioning Judaism: Studies in Honor of Peter Schafer on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday, ed. Raʿanan S. Boustan et al. (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 369–94. On its resonance in the Middle Ages, see Rella Kushelevsky, Tales in Context: Sefer Ha-Maʾasim in Medieval Northern France (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2017), 395–97. 69 For a summary, see Raʿanan S. Boustan, From Martyr to Mystic: Rabbinic Martyrology and the Making of Merkavah Mysticism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 32–35. For the initial assessment with textual evidence, see Gottfried Reeg,

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earliest version of the prose story is found in a twelfth-century manuscript of Midrash Shir HaShirim (not to be confused with Song Rabbah).70 Herein the wicked emperor reaches the verse from Exodus concerning the kidnapping and sale of a fellow Israelite and addresses the Sanhedrin: “I desire to exact punishment from you for the sale of Joseph.”71 In this rendering, the emperor neither fills his home with shoes nor describes Joseph as having been sold for shoes, suggesting the text preceded both the piyyut and later Midrash Eleh Ezkerah. Midrash Eleh Ezkerah: The Expanded Version Following the piyyut, the midrash expanded rather substantially over time and by the fifteenth century reached what may be its most elaborate form. Translated here is the opening element of the frame story without the subsequent account of the martyrs.72 A.

Once he [the emperor] sat and studied Torah and he found written: “He who kidnaps a man etc…” (Exodus 21:16) B. He went and covered the entire palace with shoes and adhered them to the walls. C. He sent for Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel and his companions and said to them, “What is the law concerning one who kidnaps a man and sells him?”

Die Geschichte von den zehn Martyrern, Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum 10 (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1985), 51–52. 70 The midrashic collection may be as old as the seventh century. Boustan, “Contested Reception,” 375 has argued that the account of the ten martyrs therein may be as old as the sixth century. 71 Eliezer Halevi Grunhut, Midrash Shir HaShirim, 2nd ed. (Jerusalem: Wilhelm Gross, 1971), 3a–3b. 72 This expanded account appears in two different recensions of Midrash Eleh Ezkerah (Reeg’s recensions IV and V). Recension IV is found in MS Parma de Rossi 473 and MS Kaufmann 259 (both from the end of fifteenth century). Recension V is found in a printed version dating to Constantinople 1515–20, as well as two manuscripts, MS JTSA Lutzki 899a (1774) and MS Warsaw 895 (eighteenth century). See Reeg, Die Geschichte, 25–27. The text is broken into lettered sections purely for ease of reference.



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D. They said to him, “Capital punishment.” E. He said to them, “If so, then you must die. Accept the judgement of heaven upon you.” F. They asked him, “Why?” G. He said to them, “For the sake of Joseph’s brothers who sold Joseph.” (Gen 37:28) And it is written: “For they sell the righteous for silver and the poor for shoes.” (Amos 2:6) H. For this reason this wicked man covered his home with shoes, so they would know for what items Joseph was sold, as it is said, “For shoes…” (Amos 2:6), “for the value of shoes.” I. Is it possible that a man as beautiful as Joseph they would sell for twenty pieces of silver? J. Rather, at the time when they put Joseph in the pit, they stripped him and cast him naked into the pit, “they stripped Joseph etc…” (Gen 37:23) K. And it is written: “and the pit was empty, there was no water in it.” (Gen 37:24) L. There was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it. When Joseph saw himself among these creatures, he became sad and said, “Woe is me, that I will not be saved from these creatures. Because of his dread and fear, his beauty and appearance were lost, but the Holy One Blessed be He closed the mouths of the creatures, and they did not harm him. M. When Joseph’s brothers saw the caravan of Ishmaelites, they drew him out of the pit naked and sold him thus. N. Said the Holy One Blessed be He: “Shall a righteous one such as this stand naked before humankind?” O. They say he had an amulet hanging around his neck, and the Holy One Blessed be He sent Gabriel, and he removed a garment from it, and he wore it.

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P. When Joseph’s brothers saw this, they said to these same Ishmaelites: “Return this garment to us for we sold him naked to you.” Q. The Ishmaelites replied, “we will not return it to you,” and this continued until they gave them an additional four pairs of shoes [in exchange for the garment]. R. In this same garment he was brought to Egypt, and in it they sold him, and in it he was imprisoned, and in it he was brought before Pharaoh, and in it he ruled over Egypt. S. And this same evil emperor knew they sold him for shoes and said to them, “Accept the judgment of heaven.” T. They said to him, “If Joseph’s brothers sold him, what is our transgression, and why would you kill us?” U. He said to them, “If Joseph’s brothers were alive today, I would apprehend them and try them, but now when they are not alive I will bring judgement on you, for you are equally culpable as Joseph’s brothers in the selling of him.”73 A number of this midrash’s component parts are found in much earlier rabbinic sources. Two late midrashim, Tanḥuma and Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, provide a substantial scaffold for the discussion of Joseph, and the medieval Islamic discussion of Joseph also appears to have made its way via Spain to France and then to this midrash. The opening lines A–F match the previously discussed accounts, as do the final lines S, T, and U.

73 Translation mine from Midrash Eleh Ezkerah (version 2) in Adolf Jellinek, Beit haMidrash, 6 vols. (Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1967 [1853]), 6:19–30. See also Judah David Eisenstein, Ozar Midrashim, 2 vols. (New York: Biblioteca Midraschica, 1915) 2:443–44.



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Lines G–J: A New Gloss Lines G–J build on the shoe tradition attested in the piyyut Eleh Ezkerah, although, in contrast to it, they explain that Joseph was sold for a monetary amount equal to the value of shoes. Like Tanḥuma, they add that this amount was a pittance because Joseph was an attractive young man. The midrash, like Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, offers Amos 2:6 as the biblical prooftext for connecting the selling of a righteous man into servitude for silver and shoes. Line H includes both a midrashic teaching and a gloss: Joseph was sold, Amos 2:6 is the prooftext, and the connection to the emperor’s actions in filling his house with shoes is then explained. The gloss may have been added because some earlier versions of this midrash did not include the prooftext or the explanation. For example, an earlier version asserts that the emperor ordered his palace filled with shoes, but, when describing the sale of Joseph, the connecting material between the second half of lines G and S in the extended version are absent: “‘Because of Joseph,’ the emperor answered, ‘whom his brothers kidnapped and sold. If his brothers were still alive, I would judge them. Since they are not, you will bear the sin of your forefathers.’”74 The emperor’s actions in filling his palace with shoes appears disconnected from the narrative without reference to the idea that Joseph was sold by his brothers for shoes as explicitly explained in the later version. The extended Midrash Eleh Ezkerah introduces shoes into the sale of Joseph twice, and in contradictory ways. Line H declares “for the value of shoes,” but line Q has the caravaners trading pairs of shoes with Joseph’s brothers. Briefly, the depiction of Joseph’s sale in lines G–I has Joseph exchanged for shoes, while later, in lines N–Q, shoes are part of a supplemental payment in exchange for the garment Joseph wears.

74 David Stern, “Midrash Eleh Ezkerah or The Legend of the Ten Martyrs,” in Rabbinic Fantasies, ed. David Stern and Mark J. Mirsky, Yale Judaica 29 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998 [1990]), 147–48. Translation follows the Hebrew text of Jellinek, Beit haMidrash, 2:64–72 and is identified by Reeg, Die Geschichte, 16–17 as Recension 1 of which the earliest manuscript is from the late fifteenth century.

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Lines J–L: Midrashic Precursors Midrash Eleh Ezkerah can be identified as a limited expansion of traditions and themes already in circulation among rabbinic Jews. Some of these are identifiable already in texts from fourth-century Palestine, as is notable in lines J, K, and L. As shown, the snakes and scorpions are already represented in Gen. Rab. 84:16 and other early midrashic sources. Similarly, Gen. Rab. 84:16 understands the various repetitions and specifications in Gen 37:23 as referring to the different pieces of clothing the brothers remove from Joseph. They remove his cloak, his tunic, his shirt, and his undergarment. Yet the assertion that Joseph became ugly as a result of fear of the creatures in the pit is likely a late addition to the midrashic narrative because there, as in Tanḥuma, it serves to explain the low price the brothers received for Joseph. The earlier narratives and poetry about the sale of Joseph did not make this same assumption and therefore did not have to offer an explanation for the devaluation. Lines M–R: An Angelic Garment with Islamic Parallels In Lines M–R, the expanded Midrash Eleh Ezkerah explains that God could not stand to let a righteous man be degraded by standing naked and sent Gabriel to dress him. Gabriel removed a garment from an amulet worn by Joseph, and this garment, after some dispute, was bartered for four pairs of shoes. In this construction, in contrast to Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer and Tanḥuma, the brothers acquire the shoes in addition to the silver rather than with it. In keeping with Amos 2:6, the brothers here receive silver and shoes, not one for the other. The introduction of Gabriel, the amulet, the garment, and the supplemental acquisition of it with shoes are found in other medieval Jewish sources but seemingly only those from among the Tosafists of France.75 A late version of the sale of Joseph for shoes 75 The connection of Gabriel to magic-like prophylactic amulets has a long tradition; see Gideon Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic: A History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 312. Similarly, biblical figures have often had magical items assigned to them; e.g., Solomon had a seal-ring used in exorcising demons. See Lidija Novakovic, Messiah, the Healer of the Sick: A Study of Jesus as the Son of David in the Gospel of Matthew, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament



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appears in Midrash HaGadol, a fourteenth-century anthology from Yemen. Midrash HaGadol repeats in similar wording the narrative as it appears in Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer.76 It includes none of the supplemental material concerning whether this was a large or small sum, and nothing concerning Joseph’s appearance, nor an angelic garment suggesting that these expansions were not circulating yet in the East. As a terminus a quo for the appearance of the supplemental material among Jews in Christian Europe, the midrashic thesaurus Yalqut Shimoni, identified in most current scholarship as the product of thirteenth-century Ashkenaz, likewise recounts the sale of Joseph. In its version (section 142), Joseph is thrown naked into a pit containing snakes and scorpions. He is drawn from the pit and sold to the caravaners for twenty pieces of silver, with which each brother buys shoes. The absence of any of the elaborations here or in the commentaries of Rashi or his immediate students suggests that the expansive version of the narrative was not yet ingrained in France and Ashkenaz. By the late thirteenth century, however, works attributed to the Tosafists began to record versions of the narrative which included discussions of Joseph’s low price, his loss of beauty, his angelic protector, his bargaining brothers, and the trade for shoes. The thirteenth-century French commentator Hezekiah ben Manoah (Hizkuni) repeats Tanḥuma’s question concerning the low price received for Joseph and recounts how Joseph became green with fear from the snakes. As a result of his diminished appearance, his brothers settled for the twenty pieces of silver with which they each bought shoes (Hizkuni on Gen 37:28).77 The anthology Moshav Zeqenim (ca. 1300, France) summarizes the matter simi-

170 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 102–3. The novelty here is that an amulet connected to Gabriel is assigned to Joseph with no extant evidence that such a tradition appeared earlier in Jewish sources. 76 Mordecai Margalioth, ‫ ספר בראשית‬:‫( מדרש הגדול על חמשה חומשי תורה‬Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1975), 2:636–37. 77 Charles B. Chavel, ‫( חזקוני על התורה‬Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1981), 142.

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larly.78 The anthology Hadar Zekenim (provenance unclear, likely late thirteenth-century France) records two different explanations for the acquisition of the shoes. The first passage explains: Initially they sold the youth for only twenty pieces of silver because his face became green from fear of the snakes in the pit. They lifted him out of the pit, and his attractiveness returned to him when he was separated from the snakes. When his brothers saw that his appearance returned to him, they appraised him and could not give him [to the Ishmaelites] for twenty pieces of silver and wanted to lower him [back] into the pit. The Ishmaelites [also] gave them shoes and they finally raised Joseph from the pit.79

According to this account, like the expanded Midrash Eleh Ezkerah, the brothers engaged in two different rounds of negotiation. Based on the initial assessment of him (in his state of fear), his value was assessed at twenty pieces of silver. When his beauty returned, the brothers successfully negotiated a higher sale price: the silver plus some pairs of shoes. In contrast to the midrash, here both the shoes and the silver form part of the purchase price for Joseph. In a subsequent passage, the anthology includes a different explanation that is recognizable from the expanded Midrash Eleh Ezkerah: Joseph had an amulet around his neck. Raphael came and made a garment from it and dressed him in it. And when they raised him from the pit to sell him to the Ishmaelites they saw that he had a garment and his brothers began to quarrel and said, “We sold him naked.” The Ishmaelites gave them shoes in exchange for the garment and they took him with his garment.80

Why the angel here is identified as Raphael is unclear, although given the protective dimension of the act, the “healing” angel is 78 Solomon David Sassoon, ed., ‫( ספר מושב זקנים על התורה‬London, 1959), 71. 79 ‫( הדר זקנים‬Livorno: Moshe Yeshuah ben Yaakov Tuviyana, 1840) at 17a. Translation mine. 80 ‫ הדר זקנים‬at 20a. Translation mine.



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 485

appropriate.81 The midrashic tradition concerning Joseph and his brothers highlights Gabriel as the intercessor, but Gabriel also appears in other parts of the story in earlier rabbinic sources. For example, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Gen 37:15 identifies the man whom Joseph met while attempting to locate his brothers as Gabriel. Numbers Rabbah 14:5 has Gabriel act as Joseph’s guardian angel, making his service in Egypt possible. Here the passage draws on this same imagery and rabbinic concern: the naked Joseph needs to be clothed.82 God sends an angel to intercede, which he does by transforming an amulet into a garment or drawing a garment out of Joseph’s amulet. In contrast to the elaborate Midrash Eleh Ezkerah, the angel here dresses Joseph while in the pit. A similar account is found in the anthology Imre Noam, attributed to the fourteenth-century French or Spanish scholar Jacob di Ilescas. It is found in midrash that he had an amulet around his neck, and Raphael came and made a garment from it and dressed him when they raised him from the pit to sell him to the Ishmaelites. They saw that he had a garment, and the brothers began to quarrel. They said: “We sold him naked.” The Ishmaelites gave them shoes in exchange for the garment and they took him in the garment.83

The passage offers little new information, although it likewise asserts that Raphael and not Gabriel intervened. Yet the passage is followed by a remarkable comment: “On this basis the paytan84 of Eleh Ezkerah wrote, they sold him for shoes.”85 In other words, 81 Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 2nd ed., 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2003), 1:336 n. 52. As Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic, 197–98 has noted, the names of multiple angels, including Raphael and Gabriel, frequently appeared together on amulets from late antiquity and may have been somewhat interchangeable. 82 On rabbinic aversion to public nudity, see Michael Poliakoff, “‘They Should Cover Their Shame’: Attitudes Toward Nudity in Greco-Roman Judaism,” Source: Notes in the History of Art 12, no. 2 (1993): 56–62. 83 Jacob di Ilescas, ‫( אמרי נועם‬Jerusalem, 1969) at 29. Translation mine. 84 This formulation appears in other contemporary sources; e.g., Rashbam uses it in his commentary to Deut 32:10 85 di Ilescas, ‫אמרי נועם‬, at 29.

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Imre Noam assumes that the expansions were known to the author of the liturgical poem, although he cannot identify the midrashic source for them by name and simply assumes it to be from a rabbinic source. In contrast to modern scholarship, he assumed that the midrash was the basis for the poem. A difficulty arises in that no Jewish evidence before the late thirteenth century knows of the expansion concerning Joseph, an angel, and a special garment. As with the notion that Joseph was sold for a pittance, that Joseph wore an amulet that was eventually the source of his clothing may find its roots in Islamic sources. Raphael may have been cited in the Jewish sources in order to distinguish the Jewish version from the Islamic tale, where Gabriel has the starring role. According to the account of al-Thaʿlabi, earlier Islamic sages taught: that when Joseph was thrown into the well, the well became light for him and its water sweet, so he could do without food or drink. Then God sent him an angel who loosened his bonds. When Abraham was stripped of his clothes and thrown into the fire naked, Gabriel brought him a shirt made from the silk of the Garden and clothed him in it. That shirt remained with Abraham, and when he died, Isaac inherited it. When Isaac died, Jacob inherited it from him, and when Joseph grew up, Jacob put that shirt in an amulet and placed it on Joseph’s neck to protect him from the evil eye. He never parted from it. When he was thrown into the pit naked, the angel came to him with the amulet. He took out the shirt, dressed Joseph in it, and kept him company by day.86

A similar version of the account appears in the stories of the prophets by Ibn Muttarif al-Tarafi (997–1062), the Andalusian Islamic scholar.87 This locates the tradition concerning Joseph’s 86 Brinner, “Arā’is al-Majālis,” 190. 87 See Roberto Tottoli, The Stories of the Prophets by Ibn Mutarrif al-Tarafi, Islamkundliche Untersuchungen 253 (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz, 2003), 70–75. I am grateful to Prof. Tottoli’s collegiality in sharing scans of the material with me and for additional suggestions concerning this narrative. For discussion of al-Tarafi’s narrative, see Shari Lowin, Arabic and Hebrew Love Poems in al-Andalus, Culture and Civilization in the Middle East (New York: Routledge, 2014), 238–39 and Shalom Goldman, The Wiles of Women/The Wiles of Men: Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife in Ancient Near Eastern, Jewish, and Islamic Folklore (Albany: SUNY, 1995), 24–25. Precursors to



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 487

amulet and the angel two centuries earlier than its first recorded version in a Jewish context. Andalusia certainly could have been the corridor for the transmission of the material eventually to the Jews of Christian Europe. The movement of sacred objects from generation to generation beginning in paradise is a frequent trope in Islamic literature but is atypical in rabbinic sources.88 Although, as Shari Lowin notes, earlier rabbinic sources about Abraham having a special amulet or gem (b. B. Bat. 16b) and Jacob preparing an amulet for Asenath (Pirqe R. El. 38) are known, the latter may have resulted from Islamic influence, and neither is described as having been passed from father to son.89 The similarity of the description of the amulet in the expanded Eleh Ezkerah and al-Thaʿlabi is noteworthy. In both these sources the amulet is hollow, and the angel draws the garment out. Only al-Thaʿlabi’s version provides an explanation for why Joseph has a hollow amulet with a garment within.90 By contrast, the Tosafot sources all imagine a solid amulet that is transformed by the angel into the garment. The most substantial variation is the subsequent narrative: the Tosafot texts claim that the brothers renegotiated with the caravaners for a price that included either the “new” garment Joseph was wearing or Joseph’s improved appearance (the latter certainly relies on a tradition like that recorded in Tanḥuma). The Islamic sources provide no such narrative and do not discuss trading shoes at all. Within the Tosafot context, the additional garment this version are found in the account of al-Kisai; see Thackston, Tales, 167–72. This rendering includes the transmission of special garments from the patriarchs to Joseph and Gabriel protecting Joseph in the well but does not intertwine the two elements as in other accounts. 88 Shari Lowin, “The Cloak of Joseph: A Qiṣaṣ al-Anbiyāʾ Image in an Arabic and a Hebrew Poem of Desire,” Mizan 2, no. 1 (2017): n. 19 89 For a comparison of the Tosafot versions and the Islamic material, see Lowin, “Cloak.” On midrashic engagement with Islam see Carol Bakhos, Ishmael on the Border: Rabbinic Portrayals of the First Arab, Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Religion (Albany: SUNY, 2006), 85–128. 90 A hollow pendant-type necklace is probably best understood as an amulet case similar to other examples from the medieval Islamic world; for example and discussion, see Marilyn Jenkins and Manuel Keene, Islamic Jewelry in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1983), 66.

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as a trade for the shoes may have to do with the recognition that the silver was inadequate for such a purchase given the economy as French Jews knew it. By the early fourteenth century, prices saw perhaps as much as 800 percent inflation because of famine, with similar price increases in the Rhine region and elsewhere. Wages rose but not commensurately.91 Although trading a cloak or shirt for four pairs of shoes may seem like a good deal, all of this must be understood as part of a discourse in which most people had limited access to clothing and footwear. French peasants and laborers likely bought new clothing only once a year and may have pawned clothes to pay debts.92 Shoes did not last, and even high-quality shoes needed frequent repair.93 Aside from the economic dimension, practices of Jewish piety preferred simple garments, and rabbinic authorities discouraged the use of clothing as a depiction of socioeconomic status. What is exceptionally clear is that medieval Jews were highly attuned to the cues embedded in clothing, headwear, and footwear.94 As such, the audience for these narratives would most certainly have noted the brothers’ newly acquired shoes (although they may also have been sympathetic to the brothers’ unwillingness to give up a valuable garment even while the text presents them as quarrelsome rather than conscientious businessmen). The brothers’ renegotiation and trade in this narrative is still intended to highlight their greed. Donning new shoes, either by all 91 William Chester Jordan, The Great Famine: Northern Europe in the Early Fourteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 50–60. 92 Sarah-Grace Heller, Fashion in Medieval France, Gallica 3 (Cambridge: Brewer, 2007), 66 argues: “The laws and the texts both show that desire for new sets of clothes on a regular, yearly basis was present in thirteenth-century French culture.” That this was an aspiration rather than the case suggests at least some wore clothes for longer periods. On pawning clothing see page 167. 93 Heller, Fashion, 163. 94 On medieval European clothing, see Elizabeth Coatsworth and Gale R. Owen-Crocker, Clothing the Past: Surviving Garments from Early Medieval to Early Modern Western Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2018). On Jews and clothing in medieval France and Germany, see Louis Rabinowitz, The Social Life of the Jews of Northern France in the XII–XIV Centuries, as Reflected in the Rabbinical Literature of the Period, 2nd ed. (New York: Hermon, 1972), 62–68 and Elisheva Baumgarten, Practicing Piety in Medieval Ashkenaz: Men, Women, and Everyday Religious Observance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014), 172–94.



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 489

or only some of the brothers, would have been an act of publicly announcing newfound profits. Further, holding onto one cloak was not nearly as beneficial as new shoes for more of them. In these late versions of the narrative, however, the profits did not result from the sale of Joseph alone, as the angelic garment was also traded. In this way, the earlier midrashic traditions that Joseph had been sold for a pittance and that the brothers acquired shoes could both remain true even while the economy and pricing changed. Early Kabbalistic Traditions Parallel to its circulation in France, the story of Joseph’s sale for shoes was current in Jewish mystical circles in Spain, where it travelled two distinct paths. The more straightforward use of the motif is found in a passage from Zohar Hadash, which remains in manuscript and is attributed to the early kabbalist, Joseph Angelet (thirteenth century, Saragossa). As in Eleh Ezkerah, the Zohar passage identifies the death of ten martyrs as punishment for the sale of Joseph. (It also adds the destruction of the temple and later exiles to the punishment.) The brothers committed three sins: (1) they took his cloak; (2) per Amos 2:6, they sold him for silver, but not for shoes!; and (3) “for the sake of shoes” was taken to mean that they kicked him with their shoes when they cast him into the pit.95 Here the violence is reminiscent of the trampling in the Testament of Zebulun. The seventeenth-century anthology of kabbalistic passages Yalqut Reuveni preserves a variety of selections concerning the sale of Joseph for shoes. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Gen 37:28 is cited in Vayyeshev #114, and the passage from Zohar Hadash is recorded in Vayyeshev #115. Vayyeshev #104 offers the teaching “Let us sell him to the Ishmaelites and let our hands not be upon him. Metatron was a shoemaker.” Following the teaching, it recommends that the reader turn to the discussion of Metatron 95 The passage is translated by Nathan Wolski and Joel Hecker in Daniel C. Matt, ed., The Zohar Pritzker Edition, 12 vols. (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2017), 12:536. For comparison with the works of Angelet, see Ronit Meroz, “‫ר׳ יוסף‬ ‫ ”אנג׳לט וכתיו ׳הזוהריים׳‬Teudah 21–22 (2007): 374.

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in Bereishit. There, according to passage #765, Metatron was another name for Joseph, who was sold for shoes (per Amos 2:6). The passage is attributed to the eleventh–twelfth century Midrash Abkir, which is now lost. Although the explanation for the sale is not included, the passage is juxtaposed with a teaching in #764 that Metatron was a shoemaker. The argument flows as follows: Enoch was fulfilled in Metatron because of his promotion of the divine name through his diligent work as a cobbler.96 Enoch/Metatron’s shoemaking is then connected to Joseph, who was sold for shoes and was understood as a reincarnation of Enoch.97 The mystical-symbolic value of shoes and their place in reincarnation is detailed in Zohar 3:180, beginning with a discussion of the significance of Ruth 4:7’s claim that commercial transactions between Israelites were marked by passing a sandal from one party to the other. The discussion continues with the topic of the ḥalitsah shoe and the role of levirate marriage in preserving the soul of the deceased brother. Transactions with shoes, levirate marriage, and reincarnation are thus all symbolically intertwined such that a transaction fulfilled by transmission of a shoe unifies the divine sefirot (emanations) of Tiferet and Shekhinah.98 Rabbinic sources into the Middle Ages and the early modern period continued to endorse ḥalitsah as an appropriate legal practice and even encouraged it to avoid levirate marriages. In mystical circles where the understanding of levirate marriage as a mechanism for the transmigration of souls was promoted, however, the prioritizing of ḥalitsah was adamantly opposed. An unwilling levir not only risked cutting off his deceased brother’s bloodline but prevented the reincarnation of his soul in the offspring who

96 Moshe Idel, “Enoch is Metatron,” Immanuel 24–25 (1990): 237. 97 Jonathan Benarroch, “‘The Mystery of (Re)Incarnation and the Fallen Angels’: The Reincarnations of Adam, Enoch, Metatron, (Jesus), and Joseph — An Anti-Christian Polemic in the Zohar,” Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 44, no. 2 (2018): 117–47. 98 On shoes and their mystical significance see the notes collected in Daniel C. Matt, ed., The Zohar: Pritzker Edition, 12 vols. (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2016), 9:190–95.



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 491

would be conceived in the new marriage.99 Although the precise role these traditions concerning the sale of Joseph played in medieval mysticism remain obscure, they evidence the continued circulation of the motif. Was Joseph the Poor Man Sold for Shoes? Among the issues that remain is the precise relationship between the tradition that Joseph was sold for shoes and Amos 2:6. Many scholars have connected the acquisition of shoes by the brothers in the Testament of Zebulun to the biblical verse in Amos 2:6.100 First, the assumption that the introduction of the shoes necessarily relied on a specific biblical prooftext is simply incorrect. Amos 2:6 may have inspired the author of the Testament of Zebulun, but the extensive discussion of ḥalitsah suggests other possibilities. Reference to Amos 2:6 or the variant 8:6 neither appear nor are alluded to in any early Jewish literature from the Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Josephus, Philo, or rabbinic literature, with the exception of the two late passages that discuss the sale of Joseph described above101 It is a distinct possibility that Amos 2:6 did not resonate with early readers. Second, the brothers’ sale of Joseph for gold rather than silver (per the Hebrew Bible) in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the Septuagint also complicates the direct connection to Amos 2:6. Even in the Septuagint, Amos 2:6 refers to silver. If the author of the Testament of Zebulun had intended for his narrative to resonate with Amos 2:6, switching 99 For an explanation, see Moshe Hallamish, An Introduction to the Kabbalah (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999), 281–309. For the historical debate concerning prioritizing halitza over levirate marriage, see Brian Ogren, Renaissance and Rebirth: Reincarnation in Early Modern Italian Kabbalah (Leiden: Brill, 2009). 100 See, e.g., James L. Kugel, “The Testament of Zebulun,” in Outside the Bible, ed. Louis H. Feldman, James L. Kugel, and Lawrence H. Schiffman, 3 vols. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2013), 2:1780. 101 See the references to Amos in Bradley H. McLean, Citations and Allusions to Jewish Scripture in Early Christian and Jewish Writings Through 180 C.E. (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 1992); Steve Delamarter, A Scripture Index to Charlesworth’s The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002); and David L. Washburn, A Catalog of Biblical Passages in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2003).

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the currency from silver to gold only further buried the allusion. Finally, the author may have initially chosen footwear for its cultural resonance without any specific biblical source in mind. The imagery of shoes in the Testament of Zebulun is woven into a far more intricate exegetical tapestry than what a reference to Amos provides. The robust nature of the levirate marriage and the ḥalitsah imagery that provides scaffolding for the narrative suggests that the author had more in mind than a single verse from the minor prophets. The vocabulary Targum Pseudo-Jonathan chooses to describe Joseph’s sale also differs substantially from Amos 2:6. Its use of the term sandal (Aramaic: sandal) rather than shoe (Aramaic: naʾal) is suggestive, particularly because the fifth-century Targum Jonathan to Amos 2:6 and 8:6 both translate “for the sake of shoes” as “for the sake of an inheritance.”102 Because the targum to Genesis uses sandals and the targum to Amos does not understand either verse as referring to shoes, it is unlikely that Amos 2:6 served as the basis for the earliest manifestations of the sale of Joseph for shoes motif — although not impossible, because the early liturgical poetry suggests otherwise. In Yannai’s “Woe to Us,” the use of ‫נעליכם‬, “your shoes/sandals” may suggest a connection to Amos 2:6, but the reference is more explicit in later poetic renderings of the “sold for shoes” tradition. HaKohen mimics Amos 2:6 in explaining that Joseph was sold to the Ishmaelites “for the sake of shoes.” Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer appears to be the first text to explicitly cite Amos 2:6 as a prooftext to support its assertion that Joseph was sold for shoes. By contrast, in discussing the sale of Joseph, Tanḥuma uses language akin to Amos 2:6. Yet Tanḥuma (Noah) explicitly connects Joseph and Amos 2:6, using the verse to establish Joseph’s righteousness, but makes no mention of shoes.103 Piyyut Eleh Ezkerah likewise uses Amos-like language to explain that Joseph was given away for shoes. Both versions of 102 Kevin J. Cathcart, Targum Jonathan to the Minor Prophets, Aramaic Bible: The Targums (Collegeville, MN: Michael Glazier, 1989), 79, 93. 103 Berman, Midrash Tanhuma-Yelammedenu, 50.



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 493

Midrash Eleh Ezkerah referenced above cite Amos 2:6, the extended version multiple times. Both Yalqut Shimoni and Midrash HaGadol, relying on Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer and Tanḥuma, allude to Amos 2:6, although the various witnesses to Tosafot’s comments are inconsistent. Moshav Zekenim cites Amos, but Hizkuni, Hadar Zekenim, and Imre Noam do not. The various kabbalistic traditions noted above also explicitly refer to Amos 2:6. The definitive citation of Amos in these later texts may depend on whether Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer or Tanḥuma served as their source, but the pattern is not cut and dried. What is clear, as previously discussed, is that the imagery of the Testament of Zebulun did not pass on to later generations with the idea that Joseph was sold for shoes. None of the later sources refer to levirate marriage, or ḥalitsah, or even trampling Joseph’s dreams beneath their feet. The ḥalitsah material may have inspired the author of the Testament of Zebulun but not the later audience for traditions in which Joseph was sold for shoes. Most likely, Amos 2:6 was adopted, or more explicitly asserted, as a prooftext for a well-established but misunderstood tradition about Joseph and his brothers. Frequently, the view that Amos was the source of the tradition is supported by recourse to the practice among Ashkenazim and Sephardim, Yemenites and Italians to read Amos 2:6–3:8 as the haftarah for Parashat Vayyeshev, placing the two texts in parallel. However, the parallel may have nothing to do with shoes and may relate Joseph’s sale generally to Amos’s sale of the righteous, as Tanḥuma (Noah) would have it. Further, the fact that the piyyutim described above (excluding Eleh Ezkerah) were composed for recitation with a different parashah — namely, Vayyigash — leaves an open question about when Amos 2:6–3:8 was recited as the haftarah in antiquity and the Byzantine period.104 Finally, the Testament of Zebulun asserts that Joseph was sold for gold, the piyyutim for silver. Neither ever asks if too little was paid for Joseph. This question stems from a later period and may be tied to a misreading of Amos 2:6. Although biblical scholars 104 For a brief discussion of the piyyutim and the haftarah for the sale of Joseph, see Yahalom, “Drama,” 252.

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have often interpreted the verse to mean that the righteous and poor were sold for a pittance, the most recent scholarship on the issue has forced a reconsideration. Note, for example, Shalom Paul: “the assumption that sandals must have been so cheap and so insignificant an item that they eventually became synonymous for an extremely small amount of money is completely an ad hoc interpretation. The entire line of reasoning is substantially without any foundation and has misguided most exegetes.”105 In fact, what is clear is that Amos’s shoes were never without value. Avi Shveka, who reviews the previous debates about the value of shoes in Amos 2:6, has noted that, in Hittite law, a pair of shoes was the reward for a person who returned a runaway slave. Shveka describes the shoes as “a modest reward.”106 In this case, the shoes must have had enough value that one would exert the effort to return a slave rather than keep or release him or her. This may well have been the case, but none of the Joseph narratives suggest only a single pair of shoes. In contrast to Paul’s reading, a pair of shoes may have been a small thing, but the four to ten pairs discussed in the various sources are no longer a modest amount and certainly not reflective of a pittance. The resulting variations may result from the fact that the exegetes did not really understand how or why shoes entered the story of the sale of Joseph to begin with. Shoes within rabbinic culture had a rather substantial place in both the self-perception and the public perception of the wearer. Especially when they exemplified luxury. These later narratives suggesting Joseph was sold for a pittance do not precisely fit the prooftext. In fact, they may have skewed later interpretations of Amos 2:6.

105 Shalom Paul, Amos: A Commentary on the Book of Amos, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1991), 78; cf. Duane A. Garrett, Amos: A Handbook on the Hebrew Text, Baylor Handbook of the Hebrew Bible (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008), 57. 106 Avi Shveka, “‘For a Pair of Shoes’: A New Light on an Obscure Verse in Amos’ Prophecy,” Vetus Testamentum 62 (2012): 102.



And a Poor Man for a Pair of Shoes 495

Conclusion Ben-Zion Rosenfeld and Haim Perlmutter make the case that Jews of the Roman period were highly attuned to the cost of merchandise and who could afford to purchase it. This resulted, at least in part, from the fact that Jewish society distinguished between various types and levels of poverty based on available liquid currency (e.g., two hundred zuz to acquire fourteen meals).107 This close watch on the market may also be reflected in rabbinic knowledge about the economic and symbolic value of garments, adornment, and footwear, on the one hand, and the cost of slaves and price of servitude, on the other. This kind of awareness in antiquity and the Middle Ages appears to have been key in the transformation of Jewish presentations of the idea that Joseph’s brothers purchased shoes with their profits from selling him into servitude. As the price of shoes and slaves rose, and as the symbolic value of shoes as markers of status was perpetuated, the story of Joseph and his garments, his brothers and their shoes, resounded throughout the Jewish world. The Testament of Zebulun explains that the brothers spent their ill-gotten gains extravagantly on shoes for themselves and their families. The brothers’ sale of Joseph is imagined as equivalent to cutting off his bloodline, and their eventual humiliation in Egypt is compared to the ḥalitsah ceremony used to end a levirate marriage. In both the Testament and the ceremony, men are shamed with the removal of their shoes. In the extant literary evidence from the five hundred years following the composition of the Testament of Zebulun, the motif of “Joseph sold for shoes” does not appear. When it reappeared in Jewish liturgical poetry around the late fifth or early sixth century, the earliest source’s framing material, which gave shoes a particular meaning, appears to have been lost as a result of changing attitudes to these rituals in later periods of Jewish life. The symbolic value of shoes as an indicator of social status and power, however, especially as depicted in rabbinic sources, allowed the image to continue to resonate with Jewish audiences. In the liturgical poetry of Byzantine Jews, 107 Rosenfeld and Perlmutter, “Poor.”

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Joseph identifies himself as the one whose brothers sold him for shoes. The poets had to rely on the Hebrew Bible’s depiction of the sale for twenty pieces of silver and show no interest in how many pairs of shoes the brothers acquired. Late midrashim, in contrast to the Testament of Zebulun, lamented the low price the brothers received for Joseph and reported the brothers buying fewer pairs of shoes. Later medieval liturgical poetry and midrash perpetuated the image of Joseph’s brothers selling him for shoes. Yet twenty pieces of silver no longer had the buying power it had in antiquity, and shoes remained expensive. To account for the change in value, medieval and early modern sources explained the shoes as a supplement to the original purchase price and reshaped the story to explain the brothers’ acquisition of both silver and shoes. The image of shoes, especially new ones, as markers of an increase in wealth or a rise in position continued to make the tradition relevant. Shoes as symbols continue to have significance in the religious life of Jews. Halakhah obligates people to consider their choice of footwear on Yom Kippur, and the story of the sale of Joseph—“Said he, ‘then what of your ancestors who sold their brother, to a caravan of Ishmaelites they peddled him, and gave him away for shoes’”—remains part of the recitation of the Yom Kippur mussaf liturgy.108 For as long as this tale remains a part of Yom Kippur ritual, exegetical creativity will be needed to explain it and make it meaningful.109

108 Translation from Lustiger and Taubes, Yom Kippur Machzor, 639. 109 The historical record is rich with efforts to help previous generations understand and appreciate this text. Recently, Jason Radine, “Shoeless on Yom Kippur,” TheTorah.com (2021). https://thetorah.com/article/shoeless-on-yom-kippur, has suggested that the combination of not wearing leather shoes along with the liturgical recitation should remind Jews on Yom Kippur that their own comfort cannot come from lording it over others. “Shoeless teshuvah (repentance) on Yom Kippur can make for a symbolic commitment to the rejection of the domination of others for one’s own comfort. Perhaps bare soles can bare the soul.”

Index Modern Authors Aberbach, D. Aberbach, M. Abu–Rabia, A. Abusch, T. Ackerman, D. Ackerman, S. Aharoni, Y. Aḥituv, S. Alagoa, E. J. Albright, W. F. Alden, R. L. Aldred, C. Allen, J. Almagor, U. Alon, D. Alster, B. Alter, R. Altmann, P. Amadasi, M. G. G. Amiran, R. Andersen, B. R. Anderson, A. A. Anderson, B. A. Andrae, W. Annus, A. Arensberg, C. M. Arie, E. Ariès, P. Arnold, B. T. Arnold, D. Asher-Greve, J. Ashley, T. Assis, E. Assmann, J. Atchley, E. T. C. F. Attardo, E. Aubet, M. E.



451 451 123 372, 375 162 22, 404 338 22, 379 227 320, 329, 333–34 58, 70 100 88–89, 172 156, 165 302, 304–5, 307–8, 310–11 101 19, 384 83, 112 264 302, 307 162 323 353 183–85, 189 98 219 26 393 17, 23, 320, 384 84, 86, 105 370 256, 287 31 103 154 217 218–21

Auld, A. G. Autané, M. Averbeck, R. Avigad, N. Avrahami, Y. Bachelot, L. Baeyens, F. Bahlul, Ḥ. bar Bahrani, Z. Bailey, D. W. Bailey, G. Baker, R. Bakhos, C. Barber, E. J. W. Barkay, G. Batten, A. Baumgarten, E. Baumgartner, W. Beauvoir, S. de Beck, P. Beckman, G. Beit–Arieh, I. Bekkum, W. J. van Beldman, D. J. H. Belk, R. Benarroch, J. Bender, C. Benichou-Safar, H. Bennett, M. K. Bergen, Robert D. Berlin, Adele Berman, Joshua Berman, Samuel A. Berner, Christoph Bernhard, Inez Beyer, Andrea

323 126 66–69 72, 77, 414, 416, 421, 428 155–56, 171–72 215–17 156 332 167, 195, 429, 431–32, 435 301 244, 246 25 487 337, 343 338 127–28, 340–41 488 243 107 338 306 404 341, 344 18, 40, 45 364–65 490 281, 322, 376 332 84 384 97 137 472, 492 375 305 388

497

498 Index Bietak, Manfred Bierling, Neal Black, J. Blackman, A. M. Bledstein, A. J. Bloch, Y. Bloch-Smith, E. Block, D. I.

24 33 195 289, 291 357 83 338 16, 18, 24, 26, 34, 36, 39, 41–43, 46–47, 262 Blome, F. 154 Bodi, D. 42–43 Boer, P. A. H. de 159, 437, 443 Boer, R. 221 Bohak, G. 482, 485 Bohle, H. G. 84 Bollinger, S. D. 7, 239, 242, 263 Bordreuil, P. 72–73 Borger, R. 202, 292 Botha, J. E. 54 Botterweck, G. J. 277 Bourdieu, P. 394–95, 400, 402 Boustan, R. S. 477–78 Boyd, M. P. 28 Boyd, S. W. 95 Brant, C. 155, 165 Braun, E. 308 Braun, R. A. 373 Braun-Falco, O. 249 Brauner, R. A. 385 Breasted, J. H. 114 Brichto, H. C. 437 Brink, E. C. M. van den 308 Brinkman, J. A. 190–91 Brinner, W. M. 474, 486 Brown, C. A. 21 Browning, D. 400, 404 Brueggemann, W. 353, 384 Bruinn, T. de 457 Budd, P. J. 278–79 Bunimovitz, S. 404 Burgdorf, W. 249 Bürge, T. 104 Burton, M. E. 367, 378 Butler, T. C. 41, 45 Butterly, J. R. 84–86, 97 Byfield, J. 230 Cain, W. S. 157 Candelora, D. 24 Caplice, R. I. 292

Carmichael, C. M. Carter, H. Carter, M. Cartledge, T. W. Cassin, E. M. Cathcart, K. J. Cauvin, J. Černý, J. Chapman, A. Chapman, C. R. Chase, D. A. Chavalas, M. W. Chavel, C. B. Chepey, S. Childs, B. Chisolm, R. Choksy, J. K. Christensen, D. L. Cifarelli, M. Claissé-Walford, N. Classen, C. Clines, D. J. A. Coady, C. A. J. Coats, G. Coatsworth, E. Cohen, A. Cohen, S. Cohen, S. Cole, R. D. Collon, D. Commenge, C. Cooney, K. M. Corbin, A. Cornelius, I. Cotter, D. Coulot, C. Couroyer, B. Cras, A. Crawfoot, G. M. Crawley, E. Crenshaw, J. L. Crocker, P. T. Guralnick, E. Curtis, J. B. Dallaire, H. Dahood, M. J. Danby, H.

450 336 341 30, 242, 283–84 345 492 313 103 218 294 98 17, 24 483 242, 258, 266 437 262 74, 76–77 349 64, 77, 294, 440–41 330 156, 160, 163–68, 177 57–58, 60 91 248, 252 488 465 67–68 335 256 74–76, 188, 426 302, 304–5, 309–13 99–100 165 338 398 343 57, 59, 78–79 126, 131, 322, 376 337 295, 364 36 154 343 60 6 57–58, 330 452

Dando, W. Davies, B. G. Davies, J. A. Davies, N. D. Dayagi–Mendeles, M. Delamater, S. Delitzsch, F. Deliyannis, D. M. Démare-Lafont, S. Derevenski, J. S. Dessel, J. P. Detienne, M. Dewrell, H. D. Diamond, E. Dirks, R. Doak, B. R. Dodd, G. H. Döhling, J.-D. Dominicus, B. Donner, H. Dorland, G. J. Driessen, J. Driver, S. R. Droge, A. J. Drower, E. S. Duerler, J. Dunbabin, K. M. D. Dupont-Sommer, A. Durand, J. M. Ebeling, E. Ede, F. Edmonson, J. Edzard, D. O. Ehrlich, A. B. Eicher, J. B. Eisenstein, D. Eisler, R. Ekechi, F. K. El-Khadragy, M. Ellingworth, P. Ellis, H. Ellis, R. S. Embry, B. J. Enmarch, R. Eppihimer, M. Epstein, C. Erickson, N. L. Erisman, A. R.

Index 499 85–86 83, 87, 100, 103, 114 54, 62, 68 336–37 154 491 328 456 106 393 302, 308 154 324–26, 359 255–56, 258 83, 85–86, 105 16, 22–23, 25, 28, 31, 40, 43, 118 157 350 71 332 158, 162–63, 165 105 322 473 323, 330 6 455 264–66 385 73 376–78 468 66–67, 433–35 116 1–2, 341, 361, 367, 411, 420 480 328 227 75 36 157 184–85 43 99 75 302, 310 7, 23, 45, 297 5, 196

Evans, J. M. Exum, J. C. Eyre, C. Fales, F. M. Falola, T. Faulkner, R. O. Feldman, M. Field, J. Fijałkowska, L. Fine, S. Finkelstein, J. J. Fischer, P. M. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. Fleishman, J. Fleming, D. Flynn, S. Fouts, D. M. Fox, E. Fox, J. Fox, M. V. Fox, N. S.

Frame, G. Frandsen, P. J. Frankfort, H. Fraser, G. W. Frechette, C. Fredericks, C. J. Freedman, D. N. Freedman, H. Frevel, C. Freud, L. Fried, L. S. Friedlander, G. Friedrich, J. Furman, K. Gabbar, O. A. Gadd, C. J. Galor, K.

431–32 29, 35, 37, 40 99 215–17 225–30 113, 328 431 98 106 467 342, 372 104 103 407 292 393 17 396 324, 354 56 2–4, 15, 26, 32, 53, 211, 239, 271, 301–2, 305, 308, 314, 319, 342, 361, 367, 369, 392, 397, 424, 440 64, 427 102 74–75, 190, 425, 430 329, 335 75 353, 358 42 460 421 404 286, 293 471 214 353 84, 86 143 467

500 Index Gane, R. García, J. C. M. Gardiner, A. H. Garrett, D. A. Garroway, K. H. Garsiel, M. Gelb, I. J. Gell, A. Gennep, A. van George, A. R. Gilman, S. Gilmour, G. Gimbutas, M. Ginzberg, L. Glazov, G. Y. Goerwitz, R. L. Goitein, S. D. Goldberger, F. Golden, J. M. Goldin, J. Goldman, S. Goldstein, E. W. Gombrich, E. H. Gonen, R. Gordon, C. W. Gordon, C. Gordon, R. P. Görg, M. Gorman, F. H. Gottschalk, S. Graf, F. Gray, G. B. Gray, J. Gray, L. Green, A. Green, D. A. Greengus, S. Greenstein, E. L. Greenwood, K. R. Grier, B. Griffith, F. L. Groom, N. Grossfeld, B. Gruber, M. Grunert, S. Grunhut, E. H. Guardata, F. B.

242, 255–59, 294 113 88, 101, 291, 336 494 30, 108, 359, 392–93, 401 24, 29 421 365 296 199 165 17 301, 311 485 60–61, 78 243 474–75 259 305 353 486 285 304 311 354 61, 105 384–85 328–29 248, 287, 294–96, 412 165 52 256, 278 59, 61, 65 266 195, 337, 339 161, 168–69, 171, 174–75 342, 372 62–63, 373 7 229 329, 335 154 321 55–56, 60, 62, 72–73 290 478 190, 192

Guérer, A. le Guhl, E. Gunkel, H. Gunn, D. M. Guralnick, E. Gzella, H. Habel, N. C. Hall, E. T. Hallam, El. Hallamish, M. Hallo, W. W. Hallote, R. S. Hallpike, C. Halpern, B. Hämeen-Anttila, J. Hamel, G. H. Hamilton, V. P. Hamsun, K. Hancock, D. Hanley, R. C. Hannig, R. Hansen, K. T. Haran, M. Harper, R. F. Harril, J. A. Harris, J. G. Harstad, A. Hartenstein, F. Harvey, S. A. Hashavyahu, M. Haulotte, E. Hawkes, J. Hays, C. B. Healey, J. F. Hecker, J. Heimpel, W. Helck, W. Heller, S.-G. Hensel, B. Hepper, F. N. Herr, D. D. Herring, S. L. Hess, R. S. Hezser, C. Hiebert, R. J. V. Hill, H. D. Himmelfarb, M. Hinz, W. Hirsch, H. Hockey, J. L. Hodder, I.

161, 177 266 322 384 343 129 59 160 365 491 23, 423, 426 302, 308 266 20 214 466, 468 354, 396–97, 408 100 226 128 328, 330 412 440 171 459 21 148 376 157, 169 379 376, 381 115 144, 149 438, 444 489 199, 373 65 488 347–49, 352, 355–56 154 28 17, 39 24, 133, 136 465, 467 458 425 463 331 475 365 367

Hoek, H. W. Hoffmeier, J. K. Hoffner, H. A. Hofreiter, C. Hohler, J. Hollander, H. W. Holoka, J. P. Hölscher, U. Hoop, R. de Howard, A. M. Howarth, G. Howes, D. Hubbard, R. L. Huddleston, J. R. Huehnergard, J. Hundley, M. B. Hurowitz, V. A. Idel, M. Ikram, S. Ilan, D. Ilan, O. Imes, C. J. Ingold, T. Jacob, B. Jacobsen, T. Jacobson, R. A. James, W. Janssen, J. J. Jastrow, M. Jastrow, M. Jr. Jeal, R. R. Jellinek, A. Jenkins, M. Jenson, P. Jerome, O. M. Joffe, A. H. Jones, J. W. Jonge, M. de Jonker, G. Jordan, W. C. Joyce, R. A. Kalman, J. Kaminsky, J. S. Kamrada, D. G. Kamrin, J. Kantorowicz, E. Karageorghis, V. Kass, L. R. Kaufman, S. A. Kaufman, W. Kaufmann, Y.

Index 501 86 17, 24 35, 53 132 211 459 53 336 350, 352 228 365 160, 165, 177 136 356 128, 327, 346 240, 442 26, 39, 108 490 101 7, 21, 26, 302, 310–12, 314 26 344, 412, 441 367 356 72–73, 190–91, 306, 309, 425 330 365–66 103 256 125, 141–42 130 480–81 487 249, 251 126, 130, 141 302, 308 6, 51 459 438, 443–44 488 51 9 348–49 283, 285, 298 335 387 264 353, 355 95 161 443

Kee, H. C. Keel, O. Keene, M. Kegler, J. Keiser, C. E. Kersken, S. A. Khalil, N. Kilbourne, R. H. Kitchen, K. A. Kleber, K. Klein, A. Klingbeil, G. A. Knierim, R. Knohl, I. Knoppers, G. N. Knutson, B. Koch, U. S. Köcher, F. Koehler, L. Koenigsberg, Z. Koepf-Taylor, L. W. Köhlmoos, M. Koner, W. Korchia, M. Koschaker, P. Kottak, C. Kraeling, E. G. Kramer, S. N. Kraus, F. R. Kraus, H.-J. Krause, J. J. Krauss, S. Kruger, P. A. Kugel, J. L. Kurek-Chomycz, D. Kushelevsky, R. Kwasman, T. Labat, R. Lainez, N. Lalonde, M. Lambert, W. G. Lamm, M. Lang, B. Langin-Hooper, S. M. Lapsley, J. E. Lauinger, J. Law, R. Leach, E. R. Lederman, Z. Leemans, W. F. Lefebvre, G.

449, 455 71, 75–77, 189 487 105 171, 326 376 123 226 89–90, 112–14 104 381 294, 296 248, 252 275, 443 351–52 347 205 162 243 382 393–94 124, 141, 281 266 368 344 381 331 67–68, 189, 305 374 330 382 328 325, 373 491 172 477 212 64, 67 226 177 73, 158, 167, 428 122–23 357 184–85, 187 43, 46 371 227 295, 297, 312 404 424 88

502 Index Lemos, T. M. Lenzi, A. Lerner, G. Lesko, L. H. Lesure, R. G. Levenson, J. D. Lévi-Strauss, C. Levine, B.

Levy, Harry L. Levy, Thomas E. Licht, Jacob Lichtheim, Miriam

Lieber, L. S. Lillehammer, G. Lin, S. P. Linkenbach, A. Lloyd, S. Loader, W. Long, V. P. Löhnert, A. Longman, T. III Loud, G. Lovejoy, P. E. Lowenthal, E. I. Lowin, S. Lucas, A. Lustiger, A. Lutz, H. F. Lynch, M. J. Lyons, M. C. MacDonald, N. MacLaurin, E. C. B. Mace, A. C. Machinist, P. Macuch, R. Maher, M. Malamat, A. Malinowski, B. Malul, M.

18 98 167 88, 91, 99–100 301 353 394 124, 239, 244, 255, 265, 273, 275–76, 278–79, 280, 283 129, 144 305, 310–11, 314 255 65–66, 105, 158–59, 161, 168–69, 177–78, 328 461–62 393 85 365 77 453 91 134, 140 57, 59–60, 78, 91, 143, 154, 373 338 225–30 353 486–87 154 477, 495 162, 337 374 6, 83, 86–89, 94, 104, 106–8 273, 275, 283, 296, 412 357 336 201–2 323, 330 469–70 27, 385 394 53, 325, 342, 345, 347, 373, 424

Manassa, C. Mankowski, P. V. Marcos, N. F. Marcus, M. I. Margalioth, M. Martin, B. Maslow, A. Matheny, J. M. Mathews, K. A. Matt, D. C. Matthews, V. H.

Mattila, R. Mauss, M. Mayer, D. B. Mayr, R. McCarter, P. K. Jr. McCartney, E. S. McKane, W. McKay, H. A. McKenzie, J. L. McKenzie, S. L. McLean, B. H. McClellan, T. L. Medina, R. Megahed, M. Melchert, H. C. Menard, R. R. Mendenhall, G. E. Menn, E. M. Merhav, R. Merleau-Ponty, M. Meroz, R. Meyers, C. L. Meyers, E. Michael, M. Michalowski, P. Milgrom, J.

Miller, M. L. Miller, R. D. II Mirguet, F.

113–14 326 41, 43 188 483 226, 231–35 84, 86, 89 43, 47 354, 358 489–90 17, 24, 53, 356, 366, 370, 373, 376–77, 400, 408, 451 212, 234 394–95, 400 399 75 327, 388, 405–6 53 57 125, 129, 142, 359, 397–98, 406–7 57 351 491 346 127–29, 142–43 290 128 226 327, 406 452–54 307 82 489 404–5 373 135 53 135–36, 138– 39, 248–49, 253, 255–56, 260, 274–77, 279–80, 289, 292–93, 373, 415, 421 220 17 452

Mobley, G. Mojola, A. Moor, J. C. de Moore, M. S. Moortgat, A. Moran, W. L. Moreno, J. Morgan, F. P. Motyer, J. A. Muchiki, Y. Muenchow, C. Müller, M. Murphy, A. V. Murphy, R. E. Murray, G. Murton, B. Muscarella, O. W. Musgrave, D. Muslow, M. Nacht, J. Nashef, K. Neugebauer, R. Newberry, P. E. Nicholas, D. A. Niditch, S.

Nielsen, K. Nies, J. B. Nissinen, M. Noonan, B. J. Noordtzij, A. Novakovic, L. Noth, M. Nwaoru, E. O. O’Connor, M. J.-P. Oeste, G. K. Ó Gráda, C. Ogren, B. O’Hear, A. Okorobia, A. M. Olivelle, P. Olmo Lete, G. del Olyan, S. M. Oppenheim, A. L. Ornan, T.

Index 503 28, 263–64, 294 36 61–63 21 76–77, 185 147 189 456–57 116 416 61 103 82, 84–85, 98, 107 56 266 86 195 68 365 467 189 86 329, 335 358 34, 240, 251–52, 254, 258–59, 284– 85, 294–95 154 326 374 8, 397–98 256 482 256, 385, 397 356, 358 450 133, 137–40 83, 86, 105, 109 491 228–29 227 251 327 34, 287, 292– 94, 296–97, 369–70 423, 427 185, 189–90, 193, 195, 205

Oroge, E. A. Orpana, J. A. Orthmann, W. Orwell, G. Owen-Crocker, G. R. Pace, C. Park, H. D. Parker, J. F. Palmer, C. E. Panofsky, E. Pardee, D. Parker, S. B. Parpola, S. Parrot, A. Paul, S. Pearce, L. Pearson, H. W. Peden, A. J. Peet, T. E. Peltenburg, E. Perlmutter, H. Petersen, J. Petrie, W. F. P. Petzel, F. E. Pirson, R. Pitard, W. T. Pitkänen, P. Pittman, H. Plewig, G. Plöger, O. Polanyi, K. Poliakoff, M. Polosky, J. Ponchia, S. Pope, M. Porten, B. Postgate, J. N. Pritchard, J. B. Propp, W. H. C. Prouser, O. H. Provan, I. W. Pyle, A. S. Pyschny, K. Quick, L. Rabinovitz, Z. M. Rabinowitz, L. Rad, G. von Radine, J.

229–30 450 192 164 488 8 133 393 8, 341, 413, 418, 441, 454–55 302, 304 63 370–71 175, 212, 234 74–77, 334 494 214 219 101 100–101 305 456, 495 379 338 344 349–50 23 104 414 249 69 218–20 485 205 196 57 102, 331 197, 211–13, 216 76, 336 415 343, 362–63, 373, 376, 385, 387 91, 319 84, 86 298 413 461 488 322, 402, 408 495

504 Index Radner, K. Reade, J. Reeg, G. Reeves, J. C. Reider, J. Renger, J. Richardson, D. Richelle, M. Ricoeur, P. Ridge, G. Ringgren, H. Ritchie, I. D. Roach-Higgins, M. E. Robb, J. Roberson, J. Röllig, W. Root, M. C. Rosellini, I. Rosenfeld, B. Roth, A. M. Roth, M. T. Roussin, L. A. Roux, D. Rowan, Y. M. Rummel, S. Rutz, M. Saggs, H. W. F. Sanmartín, J. Saretta, P. Sarna, N. M. Sartre, J.-P. Sass, B. Sasson, J. M. Sassoon, S. D. Satlow, M. Sauneron, S. Schenkel, W. Schott, M. Schmidt, E. F. Schmitt, R. Schneberg, W. Schneider, T. J. Schneller, R. Schnittjer, G. E. Schollmeyer, A. Schroeder, O. Schwemer, D.

212–13, 215–16, 234, 433–34 183 477–78, 481 463 55 424 227 414 91 7, 107, 213 278, 286 173–75 1–2, 341, 361, 367, 411, 420 368 454 332 77 336–37 456, 495 290, 306, 337 53, 200 467 368 305, 308, 310–12, 314 347 371 73 327 334–35 93, 319 84, 365 72, 77, 414, 416, 421, 428 19, 21, 26, 28, 34–35, 42 484 395–96 101, 290 328 343 77 234 122, 151 40 52 349 171 200 372, 375

Scurlock, J. Seaton, P. Seidl, U. Shalem, D. Shemesh, Y. Shepherd, J. Sheridan, M. Shulman, A. Shveka, A. Sicker, M. Siebert-Hommes, J. Silva, A. da Simmel, G. Simon, M. Simpson, F. Singer-Avitz, L. Sjöberg, Å. W. Skinner, J. Slanski, K. E. Smith, M. M. Smith, M. S. Smith, M. J. Smith, P. Smith, S. V. Snell, D. C. Soden, W. von Sokoloff, M. Sommer, B. D. Sonia, K. Soper, K. Speiser, E. A. Sperber, D. Spiegelberg, W. Stansell, G. Starcky, J. Starr, I. Staubli, T. Stavrakopoulou, F. Steinberg, N. Steinkeller, P. Stephens, F. J. Stern, D. Stern, P. D. Stewart, A. Stillman, N. A. Stillman, Y. K. Stol, M. Stone, L. G. Strassler, R. B.

162 313 189–91, 193–94 302, 309, 313–14 124 84–86, 97, 102 457 306–7 494 353, 355 125 322, 342, 353, 358 160 460 113 404 67 322 190–91 164 17, 23, 327 47 310 367 346 73 323, 330–32 17 439 340 326, 379, 396, 408 458, 470 329 402–3 331 204 21, 415 369 30 199, 221 373 481 132 70 475 475 234, 372 20, 46 42

Strathern, M. Streck, M. P. Sturdy, J. Sugimoto, D. T. Sukenik, N. Susser, E. S. Suter, C. E. Sweeney, D. Sweeney, M. A. Swenson, K. M. Sykora, J. Synnott, A. Szubin, H. Z. Tadmor, M. Takács, G. Tal, A. Talit-Razenberg, A. Tanaka, T. Tanner, B. L. Tapia, A. M. Taraqji, A. F. Taubes, M. Tavernier, J. Tawil, H. B. Taylor, J. S. Testart, A. Thackston, W. M. Thijs, A. Thomas, K. Thomas, C. N. Thomason, A. Thompson, R. C. Thureau-Dangin, F. Tigay, J. H. Toorn, K. van der Tottoli, R. Tov, E. Toy, C. H. Trible, P. Tsevat, M. Tsumura, D. T. Tuan, Y.-F. Turcotte, N. Turner, L. A. Turner, T. Turner, V. Uehlinger, C.

Index 505 365, 398 195 256 189 400 85–86 74, 193, 433 370 109 352 348–52, 354, 356 155, 157, 160, 164–65 331 302, 307–8, 310 330 331 306 341 330 189 338 477, 495 331 113, 330 366, 368 223–25, 233 473, 487 102 51–54 128 339 162–64, 264 64, 371 421 35, 325–26 473, 486 41 56 29 325 322, 327, 385 365 130–31 358 340, 367 240, 242, 261, 269, 292, 295, 296 74–75, 77, 189, 337, 339, 420

Ucko, P. Unger, E. Ungnad, A. Unterman, J. Uroko, F. C. Ussishkin, D. Usuanlele, U. Valbelle, D. Van Beek, W. E. A. Van Dam, C. Van Toller, S. Vannini, P. Vaux, R. de Veenhof, K. R. Vernon, J. Vernus, P. Viberg, Å. Vitalkov, Y. Vogelzang, M. E. Van der Merwe, B. J. Vroon, P. Vymazalová, H. Waal, A. de Wagstaff, B. J.

Waldman, N. M. Waltke, B. K. Walton, J. H. Walton, K. E. Warburton, D. Ward, E. Washburn, D. L. Waskul, D. Watson, W. Watts, M. J. Way, K. C.

Webb, B. G. Webb, W. J. Weidner, E. Weingaertner, M. Weippert, H. Weisberg, D. E. Wenham, G. J. Wente, E.

301 264 211, 214 173 126, 130, 141 310 229–30 102 166 415 157 165 242 220–22 84 89, 99, 101 325, 342–43 399 341, 344 350–52, 354 157 290 83–85 339, 356–57, 368, 376, 398–400, 403–4 23 56, 353, 358 17, 18, 23–24, 33, 39, 115 33 235 124 491 165 61–62, 324, 327 84 5, 16, 18–19, 21, 23–24, 26–28, 30–31, 32, 35–38, 43–46, 48 41, 44 132, 137–40 196 379 302, 312–13 452–53, 464 92, 356, 396, 402–3, 408 88–89

506 Index West, L. C. Westbrook, R. Westermann, C. Wiggermann, F. A. M. Wilcox, S. Williamson, H. G. M. Wilson, A. Wilson, Marvin R. Wilson, S. Winand, J. Winter, I. Winter, J. Wiseman, D. J. Wolff, H. H. Wolkstein, D. Wolski, N. Wong, G. T. K.

458 345 105, 322, 396–98, 408 184, 191, 195, 264 52 17, 339 125, 130 124, 128, 143–44, 149 401 114 75, 294, 431 112 159, 202, 373–74, 385 249 189 489 44, 46

Woods, C. Woudstra, M. H. Wright, B. G. Wright, D. P. Wrzesniewski, A. Wyatt, N. Yadin, Y. Yahalom, Y. Yamauchi, E. M. Yardeni, A. Yee, G. A. Younger, K. L. Jr. Zadok, R. Zevit, Z. Ziffer, I. Zimmerli, W. Zohari, M. Zulay, M. Zwickel, W.

191 137 458 443 156 262 311 462, 493 124, 127, 143–44, 149 331 42–43 18, 22, 27, 29, 44, 46 234 289 337–38 71 154 462 420

Primary Texts Hebrew Bible Genesis 1:26–27 2–3 2:4 3 3:7 3:10 3:21 4:12 6:9 6:12 9:23 10:1 10:10 11:10 11:27 12:10 16 17:1–3 17:17 18:2–3 18:27

16, 39 376 348 364 1, 370 370 1, 130 105 348 95 145 348 132 348 348 104 355 146 147 350 147

19:14 36 19:30 437 20:16 458 21:2 354 21:7 354 21:8 245 21:9 36 22:2 354 24:53 341 24:65 68, 325, 342 25:1–5 355 25:12 348 25:19 348 25:28 354 25:29–34 92 26:1 104 26:8 36 27 161 27:15–16 358 27:27 159 29:30 131, 354 29:30–31 406 29:31 407, 409

30:1 30:36 30:42 31 31:30 31:32 32 33:6–8 33:19 34:7 34:25–28 34:30 34:40 35:4 35:22 35:23–26 36:1 36:9 37 37–39 37–50 37:2 37:2–3 37:3 37:3–4 37:4 37:5–11 37:5–12 37:8 37:11 37:12 37:12–14 37:12–28 37:12–36 37:13 37:18–20 37:21–22 37:23 37:23–24 37:24 37:26–27 37:27 37:28 37:29 37:31 37:31–32 37:31–34 37:32

Index 507 92 350 96 38 38 38 354 350 351 56 351 361 170 26 126, 348, 351, 353 348 348 348 328, 357, 362, 376, 378, 393, 409, 454 377 340, 347–48 347–49, 356, 396, 401–2 395–96, 402 131, 319–20, 354, 356, 359, 391, 396, 403, 407–8, 451 348 348 357 348 348 348 350 349 451, 459 348 350 348 348 131, 319–20, 356, 359, 362, 479, 482 348, 357 356–57, 479 349 472 9, 447, 479, 483 125–26 357–58, 362, 377 357 131 319–20, 359

37:34 38 38:18 38:22 38:25 39 36:6 39:12 39:12–13 39:14 39:15–18 39:17 40:8 41 41:14 41:16 41:41–42 41:42 41:42–43 41:45 42 42–45 42:2 42:4 42:36–38 43:2 43:6 43:8 43:8–14 43:11 43:33 43:33–34 44:2 44:5 44:12 44:12–13 44:14 44:15 44:18 44:18–34 44:18–47:27 44:19–23 44:20 45 45:7 45:22 45:23 46 46:1 46:4–7 46:8

123, 125 132, 379–80, 454 422 379 422 362, 376, 378, 454 472 378 356 36 378 36 357 281, 288 131, 244, 286, 356 357 131 342, 356, 416 451 357 92 410 92 408 349, 409 92 356 356 349 356, 402–3, 408, 410 358 349, 358 357 357 125 131 145 357 461 349 462 409 354–55 408 92 131, 145, 358, 403, 408, 410, 451, 458 403, 410 456 356 104 356

508 Index 47 47:13–26 47:14 47:15 47:15–17 47:18–19 47:19 47:21 47:22 47:25 47:27 47:28–31 47:29 47:29–31 47:31 47:35 48:5–6 48:13 48:14–20 48:15 48:20–21 48:21 48:22 49 49:2 49:3–4 49:5–7 49:8–12 49:22–26 49:26 49:28 50:2 50:2–3 50:4–6 50:5 50:6 50:7–8 50:10 50:10–11 50:12–14 50:14 50:15–21 50:18 50:22 50:23 50:24–25 50:26

92, 106–8, 117 106 106 92 106 117 92 106 106 108 352 350 350 352 350 94 351 356 352 350 356 352 351–52 406 356 349–50 349–50 349 349 351 356 352 352 352 352 352 352 352 352 352 352 349 145 352 352 352 352

Exodus 2:23 3:1 3:22

95 350 145

5:21 170, 361 6:14–25 273 7:18 171 7:21 171 8:10 171 11:5 35 11:2 132 12:14 436 12:34 145 12:35 145 15:11 132 15:18 115 15:26 37 16 92–93 16:3 92 16:20 171 17:14 437, 443 19:5–6 115 19:6 436 20:4 27, 39 20:12 32 20:13 42 20:23 39 21:5–6 3 21:16 47, 476–78 21:33 357 22 381 22:25 145 22:25–26 380 22:27 362, 379 25:2 420 25:7 420 25:30 441 26:31 436 27:20 441 28 411–12, 422 28–29 278 28–30 273 28:3 439 28:5–6 342 28:8 342 28:11 414 28:14 418 28:15–28 342 28:16 415 28:23 416 28:26–28 416 28:28 416 28:29 418, 422, 441 28:29–30 440 28:30 415 28:31 130, 436

28:31–33 342 28:37 436 28:38 440 28:39–43 342 29 278–79 29:5 130 29:5–9 342, 439 29:6 243, 246 29:7 439 29:21 440 29:29 442 29:29–30 439 29:42 441 30:8 441 30:22–26 169 30:22–33 161 30:32–33 161 30:25 169 30:35 169 31:3–5 420 32 38 32:1–4 39 32:2–3 26 32:6 36 32:26–29 273 34:8–9 350 34:15–16 31 34:17 39 35:21 420 35:22 421 38:21 273 39 411, 422 39:22 130 39:30 243, 246 Leviticus 1:9 258 4:3 440 6:6 441 7:16 242 8 275, 279 8–9 278–79 8:7 130 8:7–9 422 8:9 243, 246 8:10–11 439 8:13 342 8:30 342, 439 8:33 439 9:22 444 10 169 10:1–7 125

Index 509 13 13–14

163 277, 281, 286–89, 292, 295–96 13:29–37 286 13:33 244, 286 13:34 286 13:38–59 286 13:44 286 13:44–46 286 13:45 125, 243, 247, 250, 286 13:46 286 13:52 286 14 287 14:1–32 286 14:8 243, 263, 287 14:8–9 244 14:9 243, 263, 287 16 412 16:8 332 16:32 440 19:4 39 19:19 436 19:28 4, 440 19:32 59 21 253, 277, 282–83 21:5 244, 281, 440 21:10 125, 250, 282, 440 21:12 250 22:17–25 242 25:5 352 25:11 352 25:32–34 273 26:1 39 26:9 444 26:26 110 26:45 444 27 242 27:21 132 27:28–29 132 Numbers 1–4 3:5–13 3:6 3:9 3:32 4:5–15 5 5:6–7 5:18 6

272 278 274 274 274 274 253 136 253 241–42, 246, 251, 253, 261–63, 267–69, 277, 284

510 Index 6:1–8 6:1–21

241 239, 241–43, 246, 260–62, 268, 283 6:2 239, 283, 352 6:3–4 33 6:3–8 283 6:3–12 34 6:5 23, 34, 243–46, 262, 283, 284–85 6:7 239, 284 6:8–11 274 6:9 284–85 6:9–12 32, 241 6:13–21 241 6:18 253–54, 284–85, 352 6:18–21 352 6:19 246, 253 6:24–26 444 6:27 444 8 272, 275, 278–81, 283, 285, 287–88, 292, 296 8:5–6 276 8:5–7 275–76 8:5–22 275 8:5–26 275, 279 8:7 263, 271–72, 277, 279, 285, 288, 292, 295–99 8:7–8 278 8:7–15 275 8:8–12 275 8:14 276 8:19 274, 276 8:21 277, 296 8:22 275 8:23–26 275 10:10 443 14:1–9 125 14:6 145 15 384 15:38–41 3 15:39 436 16 169 16–17 274 16:14 35 16:36–40 257 17 169 18 272 18:1 274 18:2 274 18:3 274 18:5 274 18:14 132

19:9 276 20:26 342, 344 20:28 342, 344, 370, 442 21:1–3 30 21:29 148 24:23 148 26 272 30 260 30:1–16 242, 252 30:9 252 35 272 35:25 440 Deuteronomy 4:16 39 4:23 39 4:25 39 5:8 26–27, 39 5:16 32 5:17 42 6:4–7 436 6:11 357 6:18 37 7 47 7:3 31 7:5 39 7:25 39, 132 8:1–10 115, 117 8:3 116 8:4 145 8:9 116 8:10 116 9:14 437 10:8–9 274 12:3 39 12:8 37 12:25 37 12:28 37 13:13 41 13:18 37 18:6 38 18:10 38 18:14 38 20 47 21:9 37 21:10 145 21:12 243, 245, 263, 281 22:1–3 381 22:5 3, 271, 342 22:12 384 24:1 128 24:7 47, 476

24:17 25 25:4–10 25:6 25:7–10 25:10 27:15 28:52–57 29:4 32:10 32:42 32:49 33:16 33:16–17 34:3

Index 511 362, 381 453 452 437 362, 381 453 39 110 145 485 23, 244 46 352 352 19

Joshua 2:23–24 4:7 5:14 6:17–18 6:18 7 7:1 7:5 7:6 7:18–20 7:21 7:24 8:33 9:5 9:13 10:24 18:1 21:43 22:8 22:20 22:22 23:12 24:1–28 24:32

133 436 147 135 133, 135 122, 132–34, 136–37, 139, 142–44, 151 136 133 123, 141 136 133, 341 136 273 145 145 455 46 46 145 136, 150–51 132, 136 31 28 351

Judges 1 1–2 1–8 1–9 1:1 1:1–20 1:1–36

40, 44 44 16, 25 25 46 36 45

1:1–2:5 18, 40, 44–45 1:1–3:6 17 1:3–5 46 1:6–7 25, 16–17, 35, 40 1:7 26 1:9–10 46 1:11–15 33, 40, 45 1:12 45 1:12–15 31 1:14–15 40 1:16 19 1:17 16–18, 44–46 1:21 40 1:27–30 46 1:32–33 46 1:36 45 2:6 46 2:6–3:6 38 2:7 46 2:11 32, 37 2:11–19 37 2:11–3:6 17 2:17 27 2:18 18, 24, 28, 35, 39, 46 2:19 30 3:1 46 3:3 46 3:5 46 3:6 31 3:7 37 3:7–16:31 18, 37 3:8, 10 25 3:9 31, 40 3:10 39 3:11 31 3:12 37 3:12–30 18 3:13 19 3:15 19, 21 3:15–16 15 3:16 19 3:17 16–17, 19, 30 3:19 39 3:20 21 3:20–21 20 3:21 15, 21 3:21–22 16–17 3:21–25 22 3:22 19, 20, 21, 30 3:23 20 3:24 16–17, 20 3:25 30

512 Index 3:27–29 3:28 3:29 3:29–30 3:30 4 4:1 4:1–24 4:2 4:6 4:9 4:10 4:14 4:16 4:21 4:21–22 4:22 4:23 4:23–24 5:1–31 5:2 5:8 5:26 5:26–27 5:27 5:28–30 5:29–30 5:30 5:31 6:1 6:1–2 6:1–7:25 6:1–8:32 6:3 6:5 6:16 6:22 6:33 6:33–7:25 6:34 6:35 6:36 6:36–40 6:37 7:2 7:3 7:7 7:9 7:11 7:12 7:13

30 21 16–17, 19 21 21 21 37 21 21 17 21 17 17 30 20–22, 29 16, 22 30 21 21 22 15, 22–23, 244 17 19, 21–22, 25, 29 16, 22 30 22 22 15–16, 22, 25, 43, 47, 338, 341 22, 25 37 23 23 23 24 24 24, 28, 44 148 24 18, 45 15, 23–24, 28, 39 24 23 23 23 23 17 23 23 23 24, 30 30

7:14 23 7:15 23 7:16 28 7:18 23 7:25 16, 24–25, 40 8 23 8–9 29 8–21 17, 48 8:1–21 18, 44–45 8:1–32 23, 25 8:3 25 8:3 23 8:5–7 25 8:6 16, 23–24 8:7 17, 23, 26 8:7–8 16 8:7–9 26 8:10 17, 24–25, 30 8:12 24–25 8:15 16, 23–25 8:16 16 8:16–17 26 8:17 16 8:18 25 8:21 16, 24–26 8:22 23 8:24 26 8:24–26 15, 26 8:25 145 8:26 15, 26 8:27 15, 26–27, 38 8:28 21, 25 8:31 27, 29, 31 8:33 27–28 8:33–9:57 27 8:34 25 9–21 25 9:1–5 29 9:4 27–28 9:5 16, 26, 28 9:15 26 9:17 23 9:18 16, 27–28 9:20 26 9:22–24 28 9:24 16, 26–27 9:40 30 9:43–45 28 9:46 28 9:46–49 28 9:49–50 26 9:50 28

9:51–54 28 9:52–55 22 9:53 25, 29, 35 9:53–54 16 9:55 47 9:56 27–28 9:56–57 26 9:57 25 10:6 37 10:6–12:7 29 10:16 35 10:18 25, 29 11:1 31 11:1–3 29 11:3 28 11:7 29 11:8 25, 29 11:9 25, 29 11:11 29 11:12 29 11:15–27 29 11:29 39 11:29–40 41 11:30 29 11:30–31 16, 148 11:31 29–30 11:32 29 11:33 21, 29 11:34 29 11:34–35 125, 148 11:35 148 11:35–36 29 11:38 29 11:39 16, 29 12 29 12:1–5 29 12:1–6 26, 30 12:2–3 29 12:3 29 12:5–6 16 12:6 17, 29–30 12:9 31 12:15 46 13 280, 283 13–16 159, 261–62, 280 13:1 32, 37 13:1–16:31 30 13:4 32 13:5 15, 23, 25, 243, 352 13:7 32, 352 13:14 32–33 13:20 30

Index 513 13:24 13:25 14 14–15 14:1 14:1–3 14:2 14:2–3 14:3 14:4 14:5 14:6 14:6–9 14:7 14:7–9 14:8 14:8–9 14:9 14:10 14:10–11 14:12–13 14:14 14:19 15:1 15:3 15:7 15:8 15:9–13 15:10–11 15:11 15:12–13 15:14 15:15 15:15–16 15:16 15:18 16:1 16:3 16:4 16:5 16:9 16:13 16:14 16:15 16:16 16:16–22 16:17 16:17–20 16:18 16:19 16:19–20

245 31, 39 31 31 32 31, 35 32 32 25, 32 33, 36 33 31–32, 39 32, 34 25, 31–32 35 32 32 32 31, 34 32 15 31 15, 31, 34, 39 31–32 26 26 34 33 31 17, 26, 36 36 31, 39 32 17, 34 25 30, 36 31–32, 35 33 31, 33 31, 33 159 25, 245, 262 20 34 35 34 23, 25, 33–34, 352 15 33–34 16–17, 25, 34, 244–45, 262 33

514 Index 16:20 31, 34 16:21 16–17, 25, 33, 35 16:22 15, 25, 35, 244 16:25 15–17, 35–36 16:27 16–17, 33, 36 16:28 25, 31, 33, 36 16:28–30 26 16:30 31, 33, 36 16:31 30 16:30–31 16–17 17 37 17–18 38, 40 17–21 32 17:1–13 38 17:1–21:25 38, 40 17:3 38–39 17:3–4 15, 38–39 17:4 38–39 17:5 38 17:6 25, 32, 37, 44, 47 17:8–9 38 17:10 15 17:12 38 18:1 30, 47 18:1–31 38 18:5–6 38 18:14 38–39 18:17 38–39 18:18 38–39 18:19 50, 55–56, 58, 69, 78 18:19–20 38 18:20 38–39 18:24 38 18:27 38 18:30 39 18:30–31 15, 38 18:31 39 19 40, 46 19–20 45 19–21 40, 44 19:1 47 19:1–30 40, 45 19:1–21:25 18 19:18 40–41 19:22 41 19:22–26 40 19:22–21:12 26 19:24 44 19:24–29 16, 43 19:25 41–43 19:25–29 40 19:26 30

19:26–28 41 19:27 25, 30, 42 19:28 40–41 19:29 40–43 19:30 43 19:31 43 20 44 20–21 29, 44 20:1 44 20:1–21:25 18, 44–45 20:2 17, 44 20:3 43 20:4 42 20:4–6 40, 43 20:6 42, 43 20:7 43 20:8 44 20:10 17, 43 20:11 44 20:13 41, 43 20:15 17 20:16 15, 19 20:17 17, 44 20:18 40 20:21 17 20:25 17 20:26 40 20:28 45–46 20:34 17 20:35 45–46 20:44 30 20:44–46 17 20:46 30 20:48 18, 44–47 21 47 21:1 45 21:1–25 45 21:2 40 21:3 45–46 21:6 44, 46 21:8–12 45 21:10 17 21:10–11 45, 47 21:10–23 16 21:11 18, 44 21:12 45 21:15 45–46, 48 21:16 18, 44–46 21:16–17 46 21:20–23 47 21:23–24 47 21:25 25, 29, 32, 37, 44, 47

1 Samuel 1 280, 283 1:24 363 2:18 130 2:19 406 4:7 148 4:8 148 4:12 125, 147 8:10–28 171 8:13 169 11:2 17, 35 11:7 42, 44 13:4 170, 361 15 386 15:3 132 15:23 38 15:27 129 15:27–28 362, 387 15:28 125 16:11 350 17:1 327 17:5 130 17:15 350 17:38 132 17:38–39 363 18:4 129, 342–44, 363 19 38 19:13 363 19:24 363 20:30 136 22:6 386 22:18 363 23:17 343 24 383, 388 24:1–22 384 24:3 20 24:5 129, 383 24:5–6 362, 386 24:6 130, 383 24:7 383 24:11 130 24:11–12 384 24:21 384 25:3 146 25:10–17 146 25:23–31 171 26 383, 386 26:9 386 26:11–12 363 26:15–16 363, 386 26:22–23 363, 386 27:12 170, 361

Index 515 28:8–12 28:14 28:20

363 145 145

2 Samuel 1:2 147 1:2–4 145 1:10 246, 342, 363 1:11–12 125 1:12 123 1:22 20 1:24 341 3:6–7 348 3:19 141 3:31 123, 125 3:35 124 4:12 18 5:2 350 6:16 22 6:20 363 7:7 350 9:6–8 146 10 281, 289, 363, 388 10:4 244 10:4–5 388 10:5 388 10:6 170, 361 12:1–6 171 12:8 348 12:16 123 12:30 341 13 324, 328, 405 13:12–13 56 13:18 130, 322, 359 13:18–19 319–22, 360 13:19 123, 125, 322 13:30–31 125 14:2 123 14:22 350 14:26 249, 262 15:30 123 15:32 147 16:4 350 16:15–17:14 171 16:20–22 348 16:21 170, 361 18 280–81 18:8 243 18:11 342 18:18 437 20:8 342

516 Index 1 Kings 1 280 2:13–25 348 5:3 454 6:29 419 7:12 245 10:24 145 11:29 145 11:29–32 364, 387 11:30–32 125 12 38 12:28 39 18:7 146 18:39 146 19:13 132, 342 19:19 342–44, 370 19:24 132 20:42 132 21:20–27 125 22:10 341, 370 2 Kings 1 398 1:8 342 2:8 132, 342 2:12 125 2:13–14 132, 342–44, 370 4:8–37 105 4:37 146 5:5 366 5:7–8 125 5:22 366 6 110 6–7 92–93, 109 6:25 109 6:25–27 109 6:26–30 125 6:28–29 109 6:30 109 7 109 7:3–4 94, 108 7:3–20 93 7:12 95 8 105 8:1–6 105 9:30 243 9:30–32 22 10:6–7 27 10:22 366 11:12 246, 342 11:14 125

11:20 17:21 18:37 22:8 25:3 25:7 25:27–30 25:29

244 125 125 421 110 35 342 132

Isaiah 1:2 244 3:6–7 145 3:9 148 3:18–21 341 6:5 148 6:6 255 7:20 244, 281 8:21 104 9:5 145 9:6 145 9:13 145 11:1–5 172 11:1–9 172 11:2 173 11:3 172, 174 11:4 174 11:6–9 173 13:22 101 14:15 357 15:2 281 19:1 125 20 387 22:11 125 22:12 281 22:20–21 343–44 22:21 370 22:23 20 22:25 20 24:16 148 34:6–7 20 34:14 101 36:22 125 37:1 125 40:19–20 39 42:7 35 47:1 123 48:21 116 49 116 49:8–13 116 49:10 116–17 49:16 442 49:22 415

50:2 56:4 56:5 58:7–10 65:10 65:13

Index 517 171 439 438 116 151 116

Jeremiah 2:13 357 3–4 168 3:13 148 3:15 350 4:31 148 6:4 148 6:26 147 7:29 246, 281 10:19 148 11:22 117 13:18 341 13:27 148 15:10 148 16:6 281 21:9 94 22:19 32 22:24 420 23:2 350 33:21 273 38:9–10 92 39:7 35 39:9 94 41:5 125, 244, 281 45:3 148 48:37 281 50:39 101 51:34 113 52:11 35 Ezekiel 3:3 113 5 281 5:1 277 5:1–4 261 5:2 261 7:19 113 8:16–17 62 16 168 16:7 280 16:8 325, 342, 370 16:10 339 16:18 339 16:23 148

16:43 21:12 21:6 21:21 22:29 23:25 24:6 24:9 24:17 24:22 26:16 27:1–30 27:16 27:30 30:2 32:23 34:23 34:25–31 40–48 42:14 43:19 44 44:10 44:13 44:15 44:15–20 44:18 44:19 44:20 47:3

148 124 123 38 132 18 148 148 123 123 130 148 339 147 148 357 350 116 282 421 273 277, 283 282 282 282 282 342 421 244–45, 250, 282 327

Hosea 2:11 2:15 7:13 8:4–6 9:9 9:12 10:9

325, 342 151 148 39 43 148 43

Amos 2:6 471, 479, 481–82, 489–94 2:6–3:8 493 2:8 362, 381 2:11 23 2:11–12 352 2:12 34 4 104 5:16 148 5:21 175 8:10 281

518 Index Jonah 3:6

132

Micah 1:16 281 2:8 132 5:5 350 7:1 148 7:5 54 7:16 55–56, 58 Haggai 2:23

420

Job

Zechariah 3:1–10 3:3–5 10:2 11:4 11:7 11:9 13:4 14:14

342 422 38 350 350 350 280, 342 366

Malachi 3:16

69:31 245 73:4 19 78:71 350 93 115 95–99 115 102:6 96 107:5 96, 117 107:9 117 107:36 117 119:163 176 133:2 439 141:3 54 145:15–16 115 146:7 117

443

Psalms 6:7 95 7:16 357 9:5 437 12:2 330 22:19 (Syr.) 332 30:4 357 31:11 96 33 117 33:18 117 33:18–19 116–17 33:19 94 37:18–19 117 38 178 38:5 163, 178 39:1 54 45:9 341 49:14–15 341 45:15 339 47 115 60:8–12 455 68 280

1:20 125–26, 130, 243, 281 2:9–10 56 2:12 123, 125, 130, 147 3:1 60 3:24 96 9:20 60 9:30–34 60 13:5 55, 58 13:20–21 61 14:9 159 15:2 113 18:17 437 19:17 361 21:5 55–59, 78 21:8 59 21:9–10 59 21:32–33 56 29:9 55, 58–59, 61, 78 30:1–19 148 40:4 55, 59–60, 69, 78 40:5 60 42:6 148 Proverbs 3:33 70 5 168 5:20 168 6:1 78 6:30 104 7 168 7:5 168 7:10 168 7:13 168 7:14–21 168



Index 519

7:16 168 7:17 168 7:18 168 8:13 176 10:3 118 10:7 70 11:15 78 11:26 70 13:2 176 13:3 54, 176 13:4 176 13:5 175–76 13:15 70 13:25 113 18:20 113 20:16 362, 381 22:26 78 23:1–3 66 23:29 148 27:13 362, 381 29:20 71 30:32 55–56, 69, 78 30:32–33 70

Lamentations

Ruth

1:6 3:1 3:10 3:12 4:1 4:3 5:1 5:11 6:8 8:2 8:3 8:8 8:10 8:15

1 105 1:13 245 1:20–21 106 2:10 146, 350 3:3 145 3:9 325, 342, 370 4:5 437 4:7 382, 490 4:14 437 4:18–22 106 Song of Songs 1:3 168 1:8 350 1:12 168 3:11 341 4:10 161 4:10–11 168 4:11 145, 159 5 280 6 280 7 280 7:9 159, 168 8:6 380, 418

1:4 95 1:8 95 1:11 95–96, 106 1:21–22 95 2:10 147 2:11–12 96 2:19 95–96 2:20 110 4:4–5 95 4:7 352 4:8–9 95, 97 4:10 110 5:9–10 95 5:10 97 5:13 35 5:16 148 Ecclesiastes 4:12 245 10:1 169 Esther 397 245 416 416 125, 147 147 341 245 366 416 146 416 416 342

Daniel 1:15 4:30 5 5:5 5:24 5:29

19 262 143 321, 323 321, 323 342

Ezra 2 125 9 281 9:5 125

520 Index Nehemiah 3:8 5 5:1–5 5:2 5:2–5 5:6–13 5:13 9:15 9:21 12:12 12:41

12:2 19 12:19 23 17:6 350 19 281, 289 19:4 244 19:6 170 29:12 245

169 107–8 92, 106 92 94 107 415 116 145 421 421

2 Chronicles 5:5 273 9:4 366 9:24 145, 341 13:7 28 22:11 246 23:18 273 24:20 23 26 169 28:15 19 30:27 273, 444

1 Chronicles 2:7 3:30 5:1–2 11:2 11:13

136 169 353 350 327

Ancient Near Eastern Sources Adad–Guppi Autobiography 143, 373 Akkadian Namburbu Texts 291–92 Alalakh Texts AT 416:31

339

Amarna Letters

133

EA 14 iii:11–33 EA 22 ii:36–42 EA 22 iii:24–25 EA 22 iv:11–15 EA 60 EA 63 EA 64 EA 65 EA 68 EA 74 EA 75 EA 76 EA 78 EA 79 EA 81 EA 83

341 341 341 341 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147

Ammonite votive seals

428

A Praise Poem of Šulgi 2.4.2.04

68

Archives royales de Mari 6.26:3′–9′ ARM 9.29:7 ARM 26.2:313 obv. 12 ARM 26.251:16–18

373 339 385 325, 342

Assyrian and Babylonian Letters 283:10, r. 5 301:22 1042:5

172 172 418

Assyrian Deeds and Documents 61 217 65 217 Assyrian Prophecies 2.3 ii 10′, 20′ 2.3 ii 17′–18′ Atraḫasis Epic

175 175



Index 521

VI:7–10 109 Baʿal Cycle CAT 1.5 VI 14–17 CAT 1.5 VI 17–22

370 370

1 22:6 1 22:31 2 126:5

172 172 326

VAT 14448 YBT IV.296 YOS 3 19:21

Cuneiform texts from Boghazköy

3.60 II:2–5 Babylonian Inscriptions (James B. Nies Collection) The Cursing of Agade

Bēl–Ḫarrān–bēlu–uṣer stele 193 Beni Hasan Tomb Inscription 334–36 17 r.2, p.G

329

Broken Obelisk of Aššur–bēl–kala 193 Code of Hammurabi

137, 191

LH 127:30–34 289 Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum I 165 I 167 I 3916 I 6000bis

332 332 332 332

The Craft of the Scribe 3:2

172

Cuneiform Texts AO 21306 AO 31020 BAP 91:3 BIN 1 22:6 BIN 1 22:31 BIN 1 43:18 BIN 1 75:13 BM 81023 BRM 4.52 CT 16 34:215 CT 22 155:11 CT 23 36:58 CT 23 36:64 CT 45.86:16–28 El–Qiṭār tablet LB 1090

428 428 342 171 171 171 171 373, 424 345 163 171 162 162 342 346 424

215 424 171

2.1.5, ll. 196–206

109 149 150

Dispute Between a Man and His BA 177 Egyptian Old Kingdom Tombs Ankhamahor 290 Ḫnmw–ḥtp 290 Khentika 290 Nj–‘nḫ–Ḫnmw 290 Egyptian New Kingdom Tombs Ramesses III Seti I Tutankhamun Emar Texts

336 337 337 106, 108, 291–92, 294, 346

RA–77 2 346 RA–77 2:18–24 346 RA–77 3 346 RA–77 3:14–17 346 ASJ 13 37 107 AuOrS1 106 Msk 7228 346 Msk 7228:17–22 346 Msk 73267+73269:8–13 346 Msk 73272 346 Msk 73272:13–15 346

Enlil A 4.05.1, line 138

68

Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta 67, 101 Epic of Gilgamesh

127, 263

I ii 36–38 XII 17, 36

264 161

522 Index Instruction of Any

Epic of Tukulti–Ninurta I IIA, 13′–21′ IIIA, 29′ IIIA, 30′ IIIA, 33′–38′

201 201 202 202

Esagil Temple Seals VA Bab 646

426

Famine Stele

105

Gilat Goddess

301, 304–5, 308, 312, 314–15

Gudea Texts Cylinder A 8:14 Cylinder A 18:9 Cylinder B 8:19 Statue B ii. 5 Statue B vii. 21–25 Statue B vii. 47–48 Statue B vii. 49–54 Statue B ix. 12–16 Statue C ii. 5 Statue D i. 8

66 66 66 434 434 434 433 435 434 434

Hittite Law 171 128 173 107

5,18 176 9,2 176 10,12–13 176 13,19–20 176 15,7 176 25,18–19 176 27,17 176–77 Instructions to Priests and Temple Officials Ištar Temple Pedestals Ass. 17177 Ass. 17178+17833 Ass. 19835 Ass. 19868 Ass. 19869 (Nemedu A) Ass. 20069 (Nemedu B)

67

Hymn to Ptah

175

69:18 69:20 74:11 75:6 165 165:2

332 332 332 332 332 332

Karnak Inscription

107–8, 112–14

Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit

Ish. 34:45 Ish. 34:124

425 425

Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld

377

18–25

341

1.2 i:18–19 1.2 i:34–35 1.3 iii:39–46 1.3 iv:47 1.5 VI 11–25 1.5 VI 30–1.6 I 9 1.16 i 41–42 1.16 i 47–48 1.17 VI:30–33 1.19 1:38–46 1.19 2 31–34 4.205:5

Inib-šina to Zimri-Lim

374

The Kirta Epic

Inanna–Kitîtum cylinder seals

183 183 183 183 183–87, 189–90, 194, 206 183–99, 202, 205–7

Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften

Hymn to Inanna as Ninegala c.4.07.4, line 158

138

327 327 327 327 142–43 143 61–63 62–63 107 105 262 324 63



Index 523

Kuntillet ʿAjrud Inscriptions 338 Pithos B

289

Lachish Reliefs

288, 337

Laws of Eshnunna

137

Laws of Lipit Ištar

137

Letter from Inib–šina to Zimri Lim

374

Letter from Išhi–Dagan to Zimri Lim(A. 3354)

372

Letter to Zimri Lim (A.3838) 373 Manshiyet es-Sadr Stela (CGC 34504)

112, 114–15

Mari and Egypt Iconography ME 118885 ME 124907–124911

337 337

Medinet Habu Palace JE 36457a

336

Megiddo Ivories OIM A 22271 PAM 38.780

338 338

Middle Assyrian Laws

325

A §41 47, col. vii

342 200

Nanaya Hymn of Sargon II 373 Nuzi Texts HSS 5.71 HSS 5.71:33–36 HSS 5.71:35 HSS 13.247:19 HSS 13.247:22 HSS 13.431:48 HSS 15.221:2 HSS 19.1 HSS 19.1:14

345 345 372 339 339 339 339 345 345

HSS 19.10 HSS 19.10:23–25 HSS 19.10:37–39 JEN 314:3 JEN 444 JEN 444:19–23 JEN 444:22

345 345 345 339 345 345 372

Old Assyrian Letters RHA 35 71:3

158

Old Babylonian Letters 5:31

374

Ostraca from Deir el-Medina O. Berlin P. 10633 O. BM 5637 O. CGC 25530 O. CGC 25533 O. CGC 25644 O. Chicago 16991

103 99 103 103 87–89, 103 88–90, 94, 100, 107 O. DeM 44 103 O. DeM 303 113 O. DeM 607 89 O. DeM 890 103 O. DeM 2211 101 O. DeM 2219 101 O. DeM 2228 101 O. DeM 2229 101 O. DeM 2294 101 O. DeM 2298 101 O. DeM 2726 101 O. DeM 2824 101 O. DeM 2844 101 O. IFAO 1255 103 O. Nicholson Museum R.97 90, 103 O. Leipzig 2 101 O. Turin N. 57001 112, 114–16 O. Varille 39 103 Phoenician Inscriptions Inv. Kit. 1435

264

Plague Prayers of Mursilis

139

Pyramid Texts

289–90

Spell 535

309

524 Index Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia (Assyrian) 1, A.0.75.1, 15–16 1, A.0.75.1, 20–26 1, A.0.75.8 1, A.0.76.3 1, A.0.77.1, 73–76 1, A.0.78.1: ii 27–28 1, A.0.78.1, iii 8–iv 36 1, A.0.78.1: iii 37–9 1, A.0.78.2: 34–35 1, A.0.78.3: 4–6 1, A.0.78.4: 1′–5′ 1, A.0.78.6: 2–3 1, A.0.78.6: 12 1, A.0.78.7: 1–2 1, A.0.78.8: 6′ 1, A.0.78.10: 15–23 1, A.0.78.16: 7–11 1, A.0.78.18: 3–4 1, A.0.78.18: 16–17 1, A.0.78.20 1, A.0.78.20: 7′–8′ 1, A.0.78.23 1, A.0.78.23, 50–53 1, A.0.78.23, 85–87 1, A.0.78.24, 41–52 1, A.0.78.25, rev. 9–24 1, A.0.78.26: 7–9 1, A.0.78.27, 1–3 1, A.0.78.5, 23–47 2, A.0.87.1 2, A.0.87.1, 7 2, A.0.87.1, i 7–8 2, A.0.87.1, i 84–85 2, A.0.87.1, ii 24–29 2, A.0.87.1, ii 47–48 2, A.0.87.1, ii 86 2, A.0.87.1, iv 43–46 2, A.0.87.1, iv 45 2, A.0.87.1, iv 52 2, A.0.87.1, v 8–16 2, A.0.87.1, v 9–11 2, A.0.87.1, v 77–81 2, A.0.87.1, vi 46–48 2, A.0.87.2 2, A.0.87.2, 4 2, A.0.87.2, 18–20 2, A.0.87.2, 26–27 2, A.0.87.2: 27 2, A.0.87.2: 35–36 2, A.0.87.2, 36

199 200 197 197 197 206 206 202 202 202 202 202 202 202 202 202 202 202 202 196 202 206 196 196 196 196 202 194 196 197 200 203 197 197 197 197 204 203–4 204 204 197 197 197 197 200, 203 197 197 197 197 197

2, A.0.87.2: 5′–8′ 2, A.0.87.3 2, A.0.87.3, 6–15 2, A.0.87.3: 12–15 2, A.0.87.4 2, A.0.87.4, 5 2, A.0.87.4: 31–33 2, A.0.87.4: 37–40 2, A.0.87.10 2, A.0.87.10: 24–25 2, A.0.87.12 2, A.0.87.13 2, A.0.87.13: 8′–9′ 2, A.0.89.2, 12′–14′

197 197 197 197 197 203 197 197 197 197 197 197 197 198

Royal Inscriptions of the Neo–Assyrian Period 1.15:1–5 1.15:3 3.4:55–58 3.4:56 4.1 ii:72–80 4.104 v:22–23 5.7 ii:6ʺ–60ʺ

341 339 341 339 341 342 342

Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib Bavian and Judi Dagh

193

Rudjʿaḥau Stele BM EA 159

328

Sargon Stele

193

Satire of the Trades

65, 159, 169

Sippar Tablet

191

Tale of Two Brothers

158

Tell Asmar statues

430

Tell el–Farʿah

338

Tell Halaf orthostats

192–94

TH 116

214

Tell Sakka

338

Tell Shiukh Fawqani



Index 525

204 I/3 97 F 200/196

217 215

Theban Tombs Huy

336

Ugarit Texts MRS 9 126 RS 8.145 RS 8.145, rev. 4–13 RS 8.145:22–23 RS 17.159 RS 17.159 rev. 3–4 RS 17.159:30

372 346 371 347 346–47 372 128

RS 20.146 RS 20.146:8–10 RS 94.2002 + 2003 RS 94.2571

346, 371 347 107 107

Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon

159

1–53 59–60

202 202

Yavneh Yam ostracon

379

Zimri–Lim’s Palace, r. 132

334

Papyri P. Anastasi VI

107, 113

P. Starcky 9

331

P. Berlin P 23300

103

P. Turin 1880

P. Bibliotheque Nationale

198, 91

90, 102–3, 107

P. BM 10052

91, 100

P. Turin 1887 2:14

101–02

P. BM 10053

101

P. Turin 1888+2085

103

P. BM 10403

91, 100–101

P. Turin 1898

102–3

P. Turin 1945

103

P. Geneva D 191

101

P. Turin 1966+

100

P. Leiden I 344

99

P. Turin 1999+2009

102–3

P. Milan 0.9.40126

100, 103

P. Sallier II:9

65

P. Pushkin 127

102

Deuterocanonical and Pseudepigraphical Texts Judith 14:16 14:19

125 125

1 Maccabees 2:14 3:47

125 125

4:39 11:71 13:45

125 125 125

Testament of Gad

457

2:3–5

458

Testament of Judah

454

526 Index Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs 448, 450, 458, 491 Testament of Zebulun

447–49, 450–61, 463, 471, 489, 491–93, 495–96

1:7 2:1–6

451 451

3:2 3:3–5 3:4 3:5 4:5 4:9–10 4:10–13 5:1–5 7:1–2 9:8–9

459 451 454 451, 453 450 449 450 451 450 455

Ancient Jewish Writers Josephus, Antiquitates judaicae

Josephus, Bellum judaicum

2.9 355 4.8.23 452 8.171 322 19.6.1 260

2.8.4

366

Philo, de Iosepho 4 18

355 459

Greek New Testament Luke

Matthew 3:4 26:15

342 457

366 24

Acts

Mark 1:6

3:11 24:49

342

21:23–26

260

Rabbinic Texts m. Eruvin 2:1

331

m. Nazir 1:3

249

2:8 3:1–4 6:3 6:8

242 249 249 253, 256

6:1

467

m. Yebamot 12:1–2

467

t. Qiddušin 1:5

m. Sanhedrin 4:5

m. Šabbat

452

468



Index 527 3a

t. Uqtzin 1.5

330

y. Berakot 11b 260 y. Orlah 3:2 63a

256 256

y. Šeqalim

460

113b

467

b. Qiddušin 22b

468

b. Šabbat

487

472 465 465 466 467 466

332

b. Sanhedrin 93b

173

b. Bekhorot 43b

b. Pesaḥim

22a 34b 112a 114a 129a 152a

b. Baba Batra 16b

472

b. Berakot

b. Temurah

43b 60b

466 465

34a b. Yebamot 115a

b. Giṭṭin 68b

465

323

b. Yoma 77b

b. Ḥagigah

256

327

Targumic Texts Targum Neofiti

Targum Jonathan Amos 2:6 Amos 8:6

492 492

Targum Onqelos Gen 29:31 Gen 44:20

409 355

Targum Nebi’im 1 Kgs 18:44

323

Exod 30:13

470

Targum Pseudo–Jonathan Gen 20:16 Gen 37:15 Gen 37:23 Gen 37:28 Gen 44:20

470 485 472 369, 477, 489 355

Other Rabbinic and Later Jewish Works Genesis Rabbah 78.12

323

84 84:7

331 396

528 Index 84:8 84:16

355 472, 477, 482 460 472

84:18 86:6 Leviticus Rabbah 554:5 555:1

332 332

Lamentations Rabbah 1:1.13 130:10

458, 464 332

Mekilta d’Rabbi Ishmael Exod 16:14

327

Midrash Abkir

490

Midrash Eleh Ezkerah

477–78, 481–82, 484–85, 492

Midrash HaGadol

483, 493

Midrash Proverbs 1

477

Midrash Song of Songs

478

Numbers Rabbah 14:5

485

Pesiqta de Rab Kahana 2:12 460 Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer

447, 469,

471–72, 480–83, 492–93 38

471, 487

Sifra Leviticus 10:9

323

Tanḥuma (Buber) Ki Tissa 7 460 Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu

480–82, 487, 492–93

Vayyeshev

472

Tosafot Hadar Zekenim Hizkuni Imre Noam Moshav Zeqenim

484, 493 483, 493 485, 493 483, 493

Yalqut Reuveni Bereishit #764 Bereishit #765 Vayyeshev #104 Vayyeshev #114 Vayyeshev #115

490 490 489 489 489

Yalqut Shimoni

483, 493

Prov 938 Sam 143

323 323

Zohar 3:180

490

Zohar Hadash

489

Other Greek and Latin Texts Herodotus, Historiae II:37

290–91

Homer, Iliad

263

23:141–42 23:142 23:144ff

267 267 267

23:144–49 23:215–18

267 268

Lucian, De Syria dea 6 266 55 266 60 266



Index 529

Pausanias, Graeciae description

1.85

2.11.6 266

266

Sallustius, On the Gods and the World

Pliny the Elder, Naturalis historia

1.6 266

Piyyutim Eleh Ezkerah

Pinchas HaKohen

476–77, 481, 485, 487, 489, 492 462–63, 492

Shlomo Sulaiman Alsinjari 462–63 Yannai

461, 492

Yosef Albardani

462

Geniza Texts AIU IV.C.321

462

Arabic Texts Abū Isḥāḳ Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ibrāhīm al–Nīsābūrī al–Thaʿlabi 473, 486–87 Ahmad ibn Hanbal Al–Kisāʾīʾ, The Tales of the Prophets

472

Al–Qurʾān, Yusuf 12:20

473

Ibn Muttarif al–Tarafi

486

473