Times of Transition: Judea in the Early Hellenistic Period 9781646021451

Citation preview

Times of Transition

n Faculty of Humanities tudies and Archaeology Institute of Archaeology nt Near Eastern Cultures

‫הפקולטה למדעי הרוח ע"ש לסטר וסאלי אנטין‬ ‫בית הספר למדעי היהדות וארכאולוגיה ע"ש חיים רוזנברג‬ ‫המכון לארכאולוגיה ע"ש סוניה ומרקו נדלר‬ ‫החוג לארכאולוגיה ותרבויות המזרח הקדום ע"ש יעקב מ׳ אלקוב‬

tel aviv university sonia and marco nadler institute of archaeology

mosaics | studies on ancient israel NO. 1

Executive Editor

Oded Lipschits

Managing Editor

Tsipi Kuper-Blau

Editorial Board

Ran Barkai



Erez Ben-Yosef



Israel Finkelstein



Yuval Gadot



Dafna Langgut



Guy D. Stiebel

Graphic Designer

Nurit Rozenfeld

Times of Transition Judea in the Early Hellenistic Period

Edited by

SYLVIE HONIGMAN, CHRISTOPHE NIHAN AND ODED LIPSCHITS

With contributions by Damien Agut-Labordère, Andrea M. Berlin, Boris Chrubasik, Yoav Farhi, Yuval Gadot, Gil Gambash, Yosef Garfinkel, Hervé Gonzalez, Gilles Gorre, Lester L. Grabbe, Sharon C. Herbert, Sylvie Honigman, Reinhard G. Kratz, Igor Kreimerman, Timothy H. Lim, Oded Lipschits, Catharine C. Lorber, Manfred Oeming, Stefan Pfeiffer, Martin Rösel, Débora Sandhaus, Konrad Schmid, Nitsan Shalom, Noa Shatil, David S. Vanderhooft and Benjamin G. Wright

co-published by eisenbrauns | university park, pennsylvania and emery and claire yass publications in archaeology | the institute of archaeology, tel aviv university

Mosaics: Studies on Ancient Israel Cover illustration: P.Cair.Zen. 59004 recto (Photographic

Archive of Papyri in the Cairo Museum Papyri.info, an

open-source archive supported by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation; © Heidelberger Gesamtverzeichnis der griechischen Papyrusurkunden Ägyptens, licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Identifiers: LCCN 2020043869 | ISBN 9781646021147 (hardback)

Names: Judea in the Long Third Century BCE (Conference)

Subjects: LCSH: Bible. Old Testament—History of Biblical

(2014 : Tel Aviv, Israel), author. | Honigman, Sylvie,

events—Congresses. | Jews—History—586 B.C.–70

1965– editor. | Nihan, Christophe, 1972– editor. |

A.D.—Congresses. | Hellenism—Congresses. | Judaea

Lipschits, Oded, editor. | Makhon le-arkheʼologyah ʻa. sh.

(Region)—Antiquities—Congresses. | Judaea (Region)—

Sonyah u-Marḳo Nadler, host institution.

History—Congresses. | LCGFT: Conference papers and

Title: Times of transition : Judea in the early Hellenistic period / edited by Sylvie Honigman, Christophe Nihan and Oded Lipschits ; with contributions by Damien Agut-Labordère [and 25 others].

proceedings. Classification: LCC DS110.J78 J845 2014 | DDC 933/.03—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020043869

Other titles: Mosaics (Makhon le-arkheʼologyah ʻa. sh. Sonyah u-Marḳo Nadler) ; no. 1. Description: [Tel Aviv, Israel] : Emery and Claire

© Copyright 2021 by the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University

Yass Publications in Archaeology, The Institute of

All rights reserved

Archaeology, Tel Aviv University ; University Park,

Printed in the United States of America

Pennsylvania : Eisenbrauns, 2021. | Series: Mosaics: studies on ancient Israel ; No. 1 | “The present volume

Eisenbrauns is an imprint of The Pennsylvania

includes a collection of essays, most of which were

State University Press.

initially presented at an international conference titled

The Pennsylvania State University Press is a member of

‘Judea in the Long Third Century BCE: The Transition

the Association of University Presses.

between the Persian and Hellenistic Periods,’ held at the Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, Tel

It is the policy of The Pennsylvania State University Press to

Aviv University, from May 31 to June 3, 2014”—Preface. |

use acid-free paper. Publications on uncoated stock satisfy

Includes bibliographical references and indexes.

the minimum requirements of American National Standard

Summary: “Proceedings of an international conference held at Tel Aviv University’s Institute of Archaeology in 2014, covering Hellenistic history, the archaeology of Judea, and biblical studies, in order to reappraise and situate Judea within its broader regional and transregional imperial contexts”—Provided by publisher.

for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Material, ansi z39.48–1992.

Contents

Abbreviations

vii

Contributors

XI

Preface

xV

Introduction

Sylvie Honigman

1

I. The Chronological Frame, Politics and Identity

1. The Ptolemaic Period: A Dark Age in Jewish History?

19

2. Numismatic Evidence and the Chronology of the Fifth Syrian War

31

3. The Representation of the Victorious King: Comments on a Dedication of a Statue of Ptolemy IV in Jaffa (SEG 20.467 = CIIP 3.2172)

43

4. Aramaic, Paleo-Hebrew and “Jewish” Scripts in the Ptolemaic Period

53

Lester L. Grabbe

Catharine C. Lorber

Stefan Pfeiffer

David S. Vanderhooft

II. The History of Rural Settlement in Judea

5. Judah in the Early Hellenistic Period: An Archaeological Perspective

63

6. Khirbet Qeiyafa in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods

81

Nitsan Shalom, Oded Lipschits, Noa Shatil and Yuval Gadot YOSEF Garfinkel

7. Coin Circulation in Judea during the Persian–Hellenistic Transition: A View from the Elah Valley

103

8. Political Trends as Reflected in the Material Culture: A New Look at the Transition between the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods

119

Yoav Farhi

Igor Kreimerman and Débora Sandhaus

III. The Workings of Empires in Local and Comparative Perspectives

9. The Harbor of Akko-Ptolemaïs: Dates and Functions

135

10. The Achaemenid–Ptolemaic Transition: The View from Southern Phoenicia

143

Gil Gambash

Andrea M. Berlin and Sharon C. Herbert

  v

vi  

11. Sanctuaries, Priest-Dynasts and the Seleukid Empire

161

12. Gods in the Gray Zone: A Political History of Egyptian Temples from Artaxerxes III to the End of the Argeadai (342–ca. 305 BCE)

177

13. Sacred and Secular Activities in the Egyptian Temple Precincts (temenē) in the 3rd Century BCE

187

14. Searching for the Social Location of Literate Judean Elites in Early Hellenistic Times: A Non-Linear History of the Temple and Royal Administrations in Judea

199

Boris Chrubasik

Damien Agut-Labordère Gilles Gorre

Sylvie Honigman

IV. The Pentateuch: Early Greek Translations and Receptions

15. The Idealization of Ptolemaic Kingship in the Legend of the Origins of the Septuagint

231

16. The Production of Greek Books in Alexandrian Judaism

241

17. The Septuagint: Translating and Adapting the Torah to the 3rd Century BCE

253

18. Greek Historians on Jews and Judaism in the 3rd Century BCE

263

Timothy H. Lim

Benjamin G. Wright Martin Rösel

Reinhard G. Kratz

V. Biblical Texts in the 3rd Century BCE

19. How to Identify a Ptolemaic Period Text in the Hebrew Bible

281

20. No Prophetic Texts from the Hellenistic Period? Methodological, Philological and Historical Observations on the Writing of Prophecy in Early Hellenistic Judea

293

21. The Social Setting and Purpose of Early Judean Apocalyptic Literature: Between Resistance Literature and Literate Hermeneutics

341

22. “To be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated” (Esther 7:4): Historicity and Fictionality of Anti-Jewish Pogrom Stories before the Maccabean Crisis

357

Konrad Schmid

Hervé Gonzalez

Sylvie Honigman

Manfred Oeming

Index of Ancient Sources

375

Index of Geographical Names

384

Index of Subjects

387

Index of Modern Authors

391

Abbreviations

CPJ

Tcherikover, V.A., Fuks, A. and Stern, M., eds. 1957–64. Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum (3 vols.). Cambridge, MA and Jerusalem.

DSS

Dead Sea Scrolls

EH I

The Babylonian Expedition of the University of Pennsylvania

Faucher, T., Meadows, A.R. and Lorber, C., eds. 2017. Egyptian Hoards, I: Ptolemaic Hoards. Cairo.

FGrHist

Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen (later Staatlichen) Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden. Berlin, 1895–.

Jacoby, F., ed. 1923. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. Berlin.

IG XII

Hallof, K. 2000. Inscriptiones Chii et Sami cum Corassiis Icariaque, 1: Inscriptiones Sami insulae: Decreta, epistulae, sententiae, edicta imperatoria, leges, catalogi, tituli Atheniensium, tituli honorarii, tituli operum publicorum, inscriptiones ararum. Berlin and New York.

IGCH

Thompson, M., Mørkholm, O. and Kraay, C.M., eds. 1973. An Inventory of Greek Coin Hoards. New York.

I.Labraunda

Crampa, J. 1969–72. Labraunda: Swedish Excavation and Researches, III: The Greek Inscriptions (2 vols.). Lund and Stockholm.

IM

Israel Museum

I.Magnesia

Kern, O., ed. 1900. Die Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander. Berlin. https://archive.org/details/ dieinschriftenv00berlgoog.

AJ

Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae

ANET

Pritchard, J.B., ed. 1969. Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (3rd ed.). Princeton, NJ.

AP

Cowley, A.E., ed. 1923. Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B.C. Oxford.

Ar.

Letter of Aristeas

BE BGU

BJ

Josephus, Bellum Judaicum

BM

British Museum

C. Ap.

Josephus, Contra Apionem

CBH

Classical Biblical Hebrew

CBS

Collection of the Babylonian Section of the University Museum, University of Pennsylvania

CH

1975–2002. Coin Hoards, I–VIII. London.

CIIP

Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/ Palaestinae. A multi-lingual corpus of the inscriptions from Alexander to Muhammad. Berlin and Boston. 2010–.

C.Ord.Ptol.

Lenger, M.-T., ed. 1964. Corpus des Ordonnances des Ptolémées (C. Ord. Ptol.). Brussels.

  vii

viii  abbreviations

I.Mylasa

Blümel, W. 1987–88. Die Inschriften von Mylasa. Bonn.

LBH

Late Biblical Hebrew

LCL

Loeb Classical Library

Lepsius, Denkmäler

Lepsius, K.R. 1849. Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien. Berlin.

Lev. Rab.

Leviticus Rabbah

ML

Meiggs, R. and Lewis, D.M., eds. 1969. A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century B.C. Oxford.

P.Cair.Zen.

Edgar, C.C., ed. 1925–40. Zenon Papyri, Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire (5 vols.). Cairo.

P.Carlsberg

Papyrus from the Carlsberg Papyrus Collection, University of Copenhagen

P.dem. Recueil 8

Maspero, G. (Gaston). 1911. Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 33: 117–126.

MoA

Mother of Apis Inscriptions (Sacred Animal Necropolis at North Saqqara)

NETS

New English Translation of the Septuagint project

Zauzich, K.-T. 1968. Die P.dem. Schreibertrad ägyptische Schreibertradition in Aufbau, Sprache und Schrift 26 der demotischen Kaufverträge aus ptolemäischer Zeit (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 19). Wiesbaden.

NH

Pliny, Naturalis Historia

P.Lond. 7

NRSV

New Revised Standard Version

OGIS

Dittenberger, W. 1903. Orientis graeci inscriptions selectae: Supplementum Sylloges inscriptionum graecarum. Leipzig (republished: Hildesheim 1959– 60).

Skeat, T.C. 1974. Greek Papyri in the British Museum, 7: The Zenon Archive. Nos. 1930–2193. London.

PM

Porter, B. and Moss, R. 1927– 1939. Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Statues, Reliefs and Paintings. Oxford.

OlD

Hagel, S. and Tomaschitz, K. 1998. Repertorium der westkilikischen Inschriften nach den Scheden der Kleinasiatischen Kommission der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Vienna.

P.Oxy.

The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. 1898–. Published by the Egypt Exploration Society in Graeco-Roman Memoirs. London.

P.Polit.Iud.

Cowey, J.M.S. and Maresch, K., eds. 2001. Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis (144/3–133/2 v. Chr.) (Papyrologica Coloniensia 29). Wiesbaden: Nos. 1–20.

P.Ryl.

Catalogue of the Greek and Latin Papyri in the John Rylands Library, Manchester. 1911–. Manchester.

PBS

Publications of the Babylonian Section of the University Museum, University of Pennsylvania

P.Bud.

Papyrus from the Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest

abbreviations  ix

REB

Revised English Bible

SB

Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Aegypten. 1913–.

SEG

Chaniotis, A. and Corsten, T. 1923– . Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Amsterdam and Leiden.

SNG Copenhagen Suppl.

SNG Copenhagen Suppl. Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum: The Royal Collection of Coins and Medals, Danish National Museum. Supplement: Acquisitions 1942– 1996. Copenhagen. 2002.

SNG [Spaer]

Spaer, A. with Houghton, A. and Lorber, C. 1998. Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum, Israel, 1: The Arnold Spaer Collection of Seleucid of Seleucid Coins. London.

Stern 1974– 84

Stern, M. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 1: From Herodotus to Plutarch (1974); 2: From Tacitus to Simplicius (1980); 3: Appendixes and Indexes (1984). Jerusalem.

TAD

Porten, B. and Yardeni, A., eds. 1986–99. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt. Newly Copied, Edited and Translated into English (4 vols.). Jerusalem.

TJC

Meshorer, Y. 2001. A Treasury of Jewish Coins: From the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba. Jerusalem and New York.

UPZ

Wilcken, U. 1927. Urkunden der Ptolemäerzeit (Ältere Funde). Erster Band: Papyri aus Unterägypten. Berlin and Leipzig.

Contributors

Damien Agut-Labordère is permanent researcher at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique and Head of the Achemenet Program (Collège de FranceCNRS). As an historian, he works on Persian Egypt and, more broadly, on the economic and social history of Egypt in the first millennium BCE. He also takes part in several archaeological missions in the Egyptian Western desert as an expert of the Egyptian Demotic script. Andrea M. Berlin is the James R. Wiseman Chair in Classical Archaeology at Boston University. Her specialty is the archaeology and history of the Near East from the time of Alexander the Great through the Roman era. She co-directed the excavations at Tel Kedesh from 1997–2012. Boris Chrubasik is an ancient historian with a particular interest in the history of the Eastern Mediterranean from the Achaemenid to the early Roman periods. He is Associate Professor in Historical Studies and Classics at the University of Toronto. He recently published Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire: The Men Who Would Be King (Oxford, 2016) and co-edited Hellenism and the Local Communities of the Eastern Mediterranean: 400 BCE–250 CE (Oxford, 2017) with Daniel King. Yoav Farhi is an archaeologist and numismatist who has focused for the past two decades on small finds, especially coins, and mainly from the southern Levant. He gained experience as archaeologist and field numismatist in multiple excavations in Israel and has published to date a book and numerous papers. Farhi earned his Ph.D. at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and later completed post-doctoral programs at Tel Aviv University and Ben-Gurion University of the Negev. Yuval Gadot is the head of the Department of Archaeology and Ancient Near Eastern Cultures at Tel Aviv University. He has co-directed the Lautenschläger Azekah Expedition since 2012 and the Givʿati Parking Lot excavations since 2017.

Gil Gambash is a classical historian, studying the ancient Mediterranean. He is the former chair of the Department of Maritime Civilizations and former director of the Recanati Institute for Maritime Studies at the University of Haifa. He is also the co-founder and director of the Haifa Center for Mediterranean History. His recent research interest focused on imperialism in the ancient Mediterranean, particularly with regard to aspects of maritime connectivity, mobility and logistics. He spent the year 2020 at the Institute of Classical Studies in London as a Leverhulme visiting professor, working on ecological perspectives of Mediterranean societies. Yosef Garfinkel is Yigael Yadin Professor of Archaeology of the Land of Israel at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. For many years he specialized in the proto-historic era, excavating Neolithic and Chalcolithic sites, including Shaʿar ha-Golan and Tel Tsaf. Since 2007 he has been conducting a regional project in the Judean Shephelah, excavating at Khirbet Qeiyafa (2007– 2013), Tel Lachish (2013–2017) and Khirbet al-Raʿi (since 2015) and conducting a surface survey at Socoh (2019). These sites shed new light on the early phases of the Kingdom of Judah. Hervé Gonzalez is a research associate at the Collège de France, working under the Chair in Hebrew Bible and Its Contexts. Two main focuses of his research are prophetic literature of the Bible and the history of the southern Levant in the Persian and Hellenistic periods, on which he has published several articles. Gilles Gorre is Lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Rennes (France).  He is an expert on Ptolemaic Egypt and is interested in particular in the interactions between the temples and Hellenistic monarchy and in comparative studies between the Seleucids and the Ptolemies.   xi

xii  contributors

Lester L. Grabbe is Professor Emeritus of Hebrew Bible and Early Judaism at the University of Hull (England). He has written three volumes of History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period on the Persian, Greek, Hasmonaean and Herodian periods and is currently working on the fourth and final volume, from the death of Herod to Bar Kokhba. Sharon C. Herbert is the Charles K. Williams II Distinguished University Professor of Classical Archaeology and former director of the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology at the University of Michigan. She co-directed the excavations at Tel Kedesh from 1997–2012. Sylvie Honigman is Professor of Ancient History at Tel Aviv University. Her most recent book is a literary and historical interpretation of 1 and 2 Maccabees and the Maccabean revolt. Reinhard G. Kratz is Professor for Hebrew Bible at the University of Göttingen and a member of the Göttingen Academy of Sciences and Humanities. His main fields of research are the textual and compositional history of the literature of the Hebrew Bible, ancient Near Eastern and Israelite prophecy, and ancient Judaism in the Persian and Hellenistic times. His recent major publications are The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (2000; English translation in 2005), The Prophets of Israel (2003; English translation in 2015), Historical and Biblical Israel (22017; English translation in 2015; Italian translation in print in 2020); and Collected Essays I (22013), II (22017) and III (2015).

Edinburgh. He is a leading expert on the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Canon of the Hebrew Bible. He is the Seymour Gitin Distinguished Professor at the W.F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research, Jerusalem, 2018. His most recent book, The Earliest Commentary on the Prophecy of Habakkuk (2020), appeared in the Oxford Commentary on the Dead Sea Scrolls series. Oded Lipschits is Professor of Jewish History in the Department of Archaeology and Ancient Near Eastern Cultures at Tel Aviv University, the director of the Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology and the head of the Ancient Israel Studies program. He has been co-director of the Lautenschläger Azekah Expedition since 2012. Catharine C. Lorber is an independent scholar of Greek numismatics, specializing in the coinage of the Seleucids and the Ptolemies. Christophe Nihan is Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible and History of Ancient Israel at the University of Lausanne, Switzerland. His main interests include the priestly traditions, ancient Israelite and biblical rituals, and prophetic writings. Among other endeavors involving the history of ancient Israel, he has recently co-supervised a large project funded by the Swiss National Fund for Science (No. 160785): “The History of the Pentateuch: Combining Literary and Archaeological Approaches,” managed by the Universities of Zurich, Lausanne and Tel Aviv.

Igor Kreimerman is currently a post-doc fellow of the Minerva Stiftung at the Institut für Ur- und Frühgeschichte und Vorderasiatische Archäologie, Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg. He completed his Ph.D. dissertation at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (under the supervision of Y. Garfinkel and R. Shahack-Gross). He has been involved in the Khirbet Qeiyafa excavation and publication project since 2010 and in the Tel Lachish project since 2013.

Manfred Oeming is Professor for Old Testament Theology and Biblical Archaeology at Heidelberg. His main fields of research are theology and exegesis of the Hebrew Bible, especially Psalms (a commentary in three volumes was completed in 2016) and Job (Job’s Journey, Winona Lake 2015); biblical archaeology (including the Ramat Raḥel excavation project, 2004–2011, and since 2012, the Lautenschläger Azekah Expedition); and hermeneutics (Contemporary Biblical Hermeneutics. An Introduction, Aldershot, Burlington, 2006).

Timothy H. Lim is Professor of Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Judaism at the University of

Stefan Pfeiffer studied history, Egyptology, papyrology, classical archeology and theology at the University of

contributors  xiii

Trier (Ph.D. in 2004 and Habilitation in 2007). From 2010 to 2013 he was Professor for Antiquity and Europe at Chemnitz University of Technology and since 2013 he has held a chair for Ancient History at Martin Luther University of Halle-Wittenberg.

history of the Pentateuch and the reconstruction of the redactional processes that led to its final shape constitute the main focus of his research. His main publications include Genesis and the Moses Story (2010) and The Old Testament: A Literary History (2012).

Martin Rösel teaches Hebrew, Hebrew Bible and history of religions at the University of Rostock (Germany). He received his Ph.D. in 1993 on the GenesisSeptuagint and Habilitation in 1999 on “Adonaj—why God is called ‘Lord’.” He is a member of the editorial board of the “Zeitschhrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft” and Professor Extraordinary of the University of Stellenbosch (South Africa).

Nitsan Shalom is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Archaeology and Ancient Near Eastern Cultures at Tel Aviv University. She is an area supervisor at the Lautenschläger Azekah Expedition and at the Givʿati Parking Lot excavations.

Débora Sandhaus is a Ph.D. candidate at Tel Aviv University (under the supervision of Prof. O. Lipschits and Prof. Y. Gadot). She is involved in the Hazor and Beth Shean excavations and publication projects. She cooperates in the publication of Khirbet Qeiyafa Persian and Hellenistic pottery and in the publication of Khirbet ʿEika. She is the pottery expert of Hellenistic and Early Roman pottery on behalf of the Israel Antiquities Authority and participates in this capacity in the research and publication of several excavations in Jerusalem and the Shephelah area. Konrad Schmid is Professor of Hebrew Bible and ancient Judaism at the University of Zurich. The literary

Noa Shatil is a district archaeologist of the Lower Galilee and Valleys in the Israel Antiquities Authority. She completed her M.A. in the Department of Archaeology and Ancient Near Eastern Cultures at Tel Aviv University. David S. Vanderhooft is Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible at the Morrissey College of Arts and Sciences, Boston College. His research focuses on texts of the Former and Latter Prophets, comparative work with the Neo-Babylonian textual record, and Northwest Semitic epigraphy. Benjamin G. Wright is University Distinguished Professor at Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA. He studies Judaism in the Second Temple period with a focus on the Septuagint and wisdom literature. His most recent book is a commentary on the Letter of Aristeas.

Preface

The present volume includes a collection of essays, most of which were initially presented at an international conference titled “Judea in the Long Third Century BCE: The Transition between the Persian and Hellenistic Periods,” held at the Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University, from May 31 to June 3, 2014. The interdisciplinary conference, which brought together scholars of Hellenistic history, the archaeology of Judea and biblical studies, was a collaborative effort by the Ancient Israel Studies program of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University and the Institut romand des sciences bibliques, Université de Lausanne. Its organization benefited from the financial support of the Israel Science Foundation (Grant No. 2118/14). Further financial support was provided by the Dean of the Faculty of Humanities, as well as by the Rector and the President of Tel Aviv University, the Rosenberg School of Jewish Studies and Archaeology, the Institut romand des sciences bibliques and the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies at the Université de Lausanne, as well as the Swiss National Science Foundation (SNSF). Our deepest

thanks are extended to them all. Heartfelt gratitude is extended to Prof. Thomas Römer for his support and involvement—from the first meeting, discussions and ideas concerning the conference and to its actual organization. We thank him also for his good advice and his cooperation in the efforts to produce this book of collected essays. Many people worked tirelessly to bring this volume to fruition. Nitsan Shalom helped in the organization of the conference and the preliminary editing of the book, Yulia Gottlieb assisted with the plates, Sasha Flit with the photographs and Yafit Kedar provided administrative assistance. The editorial, design and production department of our partners, Penn State University Press, provided useful input throughout the publication process. Nurit Rozenfeld is responsible for the layout and design of the book, and Tsipi Kuper-Blau copy-edited and oversaw production of the volume, from manuscript to its final form. We are grateful to them all. The Editors | February 2020

  xv

Introduction Sylvie Honigman

The present volume contains the proceedings of an international conference titled “Judea in the Long 3rd Century BCE: The Transition between the Persian and Hellenistic Periods,” which was held at Tel Aviv University from May 31 to June 3, 2014. The conference was part of a series of events, each dedicated to Judea in a specific time framework, and five volumes of proceedings have already been published from the series (Lipschits and Blenkinsopp 2003; Lipschits and Oeming 2006; Lipschits, Knoppers and Albertz 2007; Lipschits, Knoppers and Oeming 2011; Grabbe and Lipschits 2011). The term “long 3rd century” in the title of the conference was used to encompass the period ranging from Alexander’s conquest of the region in 332 BCE, through the time of the Diadochi (324–301 BCE) and the Ptolemaic domination (301–198 BCE), to the early years of the Seleucid domination that followed Antiochus III’s conquest in 198 BCE.1 The nomenclature was based on the concept of a “long 19th century” ranging from the French Revolution in 1789 to the outbreak of World War I in 1914—a time-frame familiar to experts of modern European history—and this “long 3rd century” was preferred to “early Hellenistic times,” which we felt was

less informative, and to “pre-Maccabean,” which implicitly invites scholars to engage with the 3rd century in the light of what followed. For the published volume, however, we opted for the phrase “early Hellenistic times” for the sake of clarity. It is not surprising that a conference on this period came late in the aforementioned series of events—it was preceded by a conference on the Maccabean period (Grabbe and Lipschits 2011). Until quite recently, the early Hellenistic period was reputed to be poorly documented in the material evidence and even poorer in textual production. This picture has been gradually revised, as a number of archaeological and literary studies independently began to reveal the late 4th and the 3rd centuries BCE as a period in which decisive processes took place. At the same time, historians of the Hellenistic East have refreshed our understanding of this period in recent years, and in particular have shed new light on the nature of the Hellenistic empires and the relationship between the central power and local entities in ancient imperial settings. The bearings of these works on the specific history of Judea in the early Hellenistic period required renewed investigation.

2  sylvie honigman

When we considered in conjunction the respective changes that have affected these three fields of research individually, it became clear that as a time of transition and change this period needed to be appraised afresh and that a conference on the history and culture of Judea in the “long 3rd century” was now overdue. The Tel Aviv conference aimed to contribute to this reappraisal by bringing together scholars from various disciplines—Hellenistic history, the archaeology of Judea and biblical studies—to confront their views on this period. A central concern was to situate Judea in its broader regional and trans-regional imperial contexts as a means of providing an interpretative framework of its political, social and economic history in the period in question. With this approach in mind, the present volume includes historical studies pertaining to Egypt and neighboring provinces of the Seleucid empire. The present introduction is divided into three sections. First, it offers an overview of the changes in the various fields of research that have helped cast new light on the history and the material and literary culture of Judea in the period in question and that are tackled in this volume. This overview is followed by a summary of the essays included in the volume. Finally, it outlines some of the conclusions that may be drawn from the contributions to the volume, making suggestions on how the data presented in these studies may be brought to bear upon the political, social and cultural history of Judea and indicating various channels for further investigation.

The State of the Research Following the publication of Amélie Kuhrt and Susan Sherwin-White’s From Samarkhand to Sardis in 1993, the historical study of the early Hellenistic era pivoted on the premise that the stately structures in the Hellenistic East were basically a legacy from the Achaemenid empire (Kuhrt and Sherwin-White 1993). While no one nowadays would deny that the Greco-Macedonian kings were indebted to their predecessors, numerous studies published since the early 2000s focusing on both Ptolemaic Egypt and the Seleucid empire have sought to point out both changes and continuities. All in all, the Hellenistic period has come to be treated as a distinct

phase in the longer history of the ancient Near East (see, in particular, Kosmin 2014). In particular, it has been emphasized that the conception of a universal empire that applied under the Achaemenids and then under Alexander gave way to a fragmented system of peerkingdoms vying with each other for territory, power and prestige.2 One consequence of this new system was everpresent warfare—notably, the five Syrian wars that had the southern Levant as their main theater. 3 Also noteworthy is the intense recent research into other differences between the Persian and Hellenistic eras, starting with royal ideology. While earlier studies emphasized the Greco-Macedonian dynasties’ adoption of the local idioms of kingship to buttress their legitimacy, recent studies have brought to light that they also asserted their Greekness (Ma 2003). The scale of population mobility in the eastern Mediterranean in the last third of the 4th century and in the 3rd century was incommensurably greater than in Achaemenid times.4 In accordance with the various social and occupational roles that these immigrants acquired in their new locations, the new settlements that accommodated these migrants addressed several functions, from modest military colonies to full-fledged cities of the polis type (Cohen 2006; Mueller 2006). The new picture of the Hellenistic world emerging in recent years, however, owes some of its most important insights to the new empire studies that have been flourishing since the early 2000s and that seek to advance our understanding of how empires work by comparing historical case-studies either in the narrow timeframe of antiquity or in more global perspectives.5 This approach has produced sophisticated models of the structures of empire, imperial ideology and the relations between imperial power and the local power-holders. The new models theorizing this latter topic complexify the dialectical relation between cooperation and resistance, as well as the cultural impact of empire. Particular useful cross-fertilization has come from studies that address how spatial aspects are brought to bear upon local identities, contributing to the rephrasing of old topics such as “Hellenization” and “Romanization.” Further contributions to the question of identity have emerged from linguistic models, which have been used to map situations of bilingualism, multilingualism and codeswitching among the population. These new angles of

introduction  3

inquiry into Hellenistic times will certainly be pursued further in the near future, but some of the finds are already reflected in recent volumes of collected essays dealing with the dynamics of elites (Lavan, Payne and Weisweile 2016; Chrubasik and King 2017; Chrubasik, this volume). Alongside this new input, various noteworthy revisions have also emerged from the more conventional channels. Among key topics currently being extensively explored is the extent to which members of the native elites were incorporated into the court elites, along with the relations between Greco-Macedonian rulers and temples, on the one hand, and cities, on the other.6 Thanks to the wealth of extant documentation, Ptolemaic Egypt remains a privileged area for investigating old questions afresh. For example, recent studies have revealed how the Greco-Macedonian rulers actively sought to rely on both Greek and Hellenized administrators by encouraging the learning of the Greek language and literacy and were responsible for the far-ranging renewal of the Egyptian elite families, including those linked to the Egyptian temples.7 Strikingly, a key element in the current revision of the archaeological history of Judea and the southern Levant has highlighted that in Hellenistic times the pattern of rural settlements in Judea and neighboring regions was markedly different from that of Persian times, and that the early Hellenistic period—rather than the Maccabean and Hasmonean period—was when significant changes occurred. In archaeological terms, the sites that may be dated to the period ranging from the early 6th century to the establishment of the Hasmonean state in the mid-2nd century BCE have revealed no layers of destruction. Given that the local material culture in the region evolved very gradually, the absence of destruction layers largely prevents archaeologists from moving from a relative to absolute dating of the native material culture, and hence from dating numerous archaeological layers with any accuracy. Dating therefore relies primarily on imported goods. In particular, this dearth of secure chronological markers has seriously hampered our understanding of the transition from Persian to early Hellenistic times, because the objective difficulty in dating occupation layers with precision has resulted in numerous publications dating occupation layers somewhat broadly to “Hellenistic times,” and archaeologists largely tend

to assume that no genuine change occurred between late Persian times and the mid-2nd century. This conviction was moreover bolstered by the fact that sites from early Hellenistic times are underrepresented in archaeological surveys. In recent years, however, this notion of apparently seamless continuity from late Persian to early Hellenistic times up to the Hasmonean period has been dramatically overturned, as the data from archaeological surveys was being supplemented by actual excavations in a significant number of sites that were active during this period—in particular, Ramat Raḥel, Jerusalem, Tel Azekah, Khirbet Qeiyafa and Ramat Beth Shemesh. Likewise, reliable chronological markers have been supplemented by the recent publication of several ceramic assemblages from the sites of Lachish and Khirbet er-Rasm that could be securely dated to precise periods between the 5th and 2nd centuries BCE. Thanks to this growing wave of new finds, it now appears that the change in the pattern of rural settlement previously linked to the formation of the Hasmonean state in fact occurred much earlier, in the Hellenistic period. That said, any precise redating remains elusive. Notably, the two sites of Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah have shed much light on the history of the rural settlement of the region in late Persian and early Hellenistic times, respectively, and have been instrumental in the current reappraisal of the upheavals that occurred in early Hellenistic times. At Khirbet Qeiyafa excavations were conducted between 2007–2013, and at Tel Azekah they are still underway. The two sites are related to one another and appear to have been of strategic importance, thanks to their domination of the fertile Elah Valley and control of a major crossroads at the border between Judea, Philistia and Idumea. The layers of occupation uncovered range from late Persian times to ca. 260 BCE, when the two sites were abandoned, and this particular timespan offers the possibility, for the first time in the archaeological history of Judea, to examine the transition from late Persian, through Macedonian, to Ptolemaic domination. Furthermore, for the first time it was possible to date the seam of transition between two layers and their associated material finds, and the date that emerged roughly coincides with the time of Alexander the Great. This discovery provided the means to distinguish between the

4  sylvie honigman

ceramic assemblages of the late Persian and the Macedonian periods, respectively, thus providing archaeologists with a long-awaited chronological marker for dating contemporary layers in other sites as well. In biblical studies, the significance of the 3rd century has long been downplayed, largely—albeit not exclusively—as a result of the emphasis placed on the Maccabean and Hasmonean periods. The prevailing supposition was that the Maccabean and Hasmonean periods had witnessed a resurgence of literary activity spurred either by resistance to the Seleucid dynasty—in particular to Antiochus IV—and subsequently to the Hasmonean dynasty, or conversely, by royal patronage under the Hasmoneans. More recently, the paradigm has begun to shift, and several studies have argued independently that the early Hellenistic period may have been more important for the formation and transmission of scriptural collections than previously assumed. This reappraisal hinges on the history of the editions of texts, in particular those of the prophetic books of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. It is now well accepted that the structural differences between LXX Jeremiah and LXX Ezekiel and their MT counterparts cannot simply have resulted from the process of translation, but attest to the Greek translators having used different Hebrew prototypes than the proto-Masoretic texts. A logical inference is that the Greek translators in the 2nd century did not consider the proto-Masoretic recension to be the most authoritative text at their time, and this is corroborated by textual studies that have established that the Vorlagen to the LXX texts were earlier than the protoMasoretic editions. Altogether, a variety of clues suggests that by the 2nd century BCE the proto-Masoretic editions of both Jeremiah and Ezekiel were recent texts dating from early Hellenistic times (for detailed discussion, see Gonzalez, this volume). Moreover, these two examples are far from isolated: in recent years the once-prevailing view that the prophetic books were completed in Persian times has been questioned, and some scholars have come to consider a significant part of the prophetic traditions to have been composed in early Hellenistic times. The same applies to sapiential traditions. In particular, a majority of scholars nowadays are inclined to date the Book of Qoheleth to the 3rd century. Other studies have reaffirmed a 3rd-century dating for the translation of the

Pentateuch (and presumably other books as well) into Greek. Finally, some scholars date Chronicles to the late 4th, early or mid-3rd century BCE, and others situate the final composition of MT Ezra-Nehemiah and 1 Esdras in pre-Maccabean Hellenistic times—but the dates of these texts remain the subject of debate. Conversely, several parabiblical traditions that were held to originate in Maccabean times, in particular the Enoch and Levi traditions, have been redated to the 3rd or—for some texts—the late 4th century BCE. Until the mid-1970s the MT Book of Daniel was held to be the earliest Judean apocalypse. Given that this work refers to Antiochus IV’s so-called religious persecution, which occurred in the 160s BCE, and that its composition is held to be contemporary with these events, scholars inferred that there was a causal link between the two, that is, that the apocalyptic genre was primarily resistance literature, which emerged in the context of the Maccabean revolt. The publication by J.T. Milik of Aramaic fragments of the Book of Watchers and the Book of Luminaries that were found among the Dead Sea Scrolls (the Qumran library) and were paleographically dateable to the early 2nd century (that is, prior to the revolt) disproved this causal link (Milik 1976). Based on the Qumran evidence, it appears that the Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36) should be dated to the 3rd century at the latest and that Section 6–16 may even hark back to the time of the Diadochi in the late 4th century BCE. It has been further established that the longer section in the Book of Luminaries (1 Enoch 72–79), purporting to be a heavenly vision revealed to Enoch and explaining the courses of the stars and their meaning, originates in the 5th century BCE, whereas the series of predictions on the end of time and the fates of the righteous and the wicked is deemed to be a 3rd-century addition (80–81). The Apocalypse of Weeks (1 Enoch 93:1–10 and 91:11–17), an historical apocalypse, is usually dated to the early 2nd century, that is, before the Maccabean revolt. These developments suggest that a reassessment of the evidence may provide substantial clues regarding basic issues such as the emergence of new cultural trends in that period, the perception by the local population of continuities and discontinuities between Achaemenid and Hellenistic rulers, and the relation

introduction  5

between homeland(s) and diaspora (center and periphery) and its impact on local communities.

Summary of Essays The Chronological Frame, Politics and Identity Four essays clarify the time-frame covered by the present volume and discuss the documentary evidence. Lester L. Grabbe’s survey of the extant sources for the history of Judea from Alexander the Great to ca. 200 BCE resolutely strikes an optimistic note, while recognizing the critical gaps in our current knowledge. For early Hellenistic times, he argues, research into Judea is still lacking, as both the well-known and the potential sources are as yet under-exploited. The settlement and demographic patterns in Syro-Palestine and Transjordan detailed by the archaeological evidence suggest remarkable continuity between late Persian and early Hellenistic times, and this is true also of their defensive function, of certain economic aspects—as shown by coinage and by stamp impressions on vessel handles—and of cultural features, such as Hellenization, which remained minimal until the 2nd century BCE. For now, a proper overview of the archaeological evidence of this period remains a desideratum. Moreover, our understanding of the period has long been hampered not only by objective difficulties in distinguishing between late Persian and early Hellenistic pottery, but also because in the heyday of “biblical archaeology,” the sites and layers dating from the pre-Maccabean Hellenistic period were largely neglected. Likewise, although literary sources only became abundant in the last two decades of Ptolemaic rule, in connection with the Fourth and Fifth Syrian Wars of 217 and 201–198 BCE respectively, earlier textual sources—both literary and documentary—provide precious data about the imperial administration and social organization of the region. Catharine C. Lorber revises the chronology of the Fifth Syrian War (201–198 BCE), which ended with Antiochus III eventually conquering the province of Syria and Phoenicia from Ptolemy V. The currently accepted chronology, established by Maurice Holleaux in 1908, was largely based on literary sources, which, however,

do not provide a continuous narrative of the war; consequently, both the relative dating and the absolute chronology of the war’s main stages remain disputed. In order to compensate for the lacunae in literary evidence, Lorber draws upon coinage and upon epigraphic and papyrological documents to cast light on a variety of events that occurred in the Seleucid and Ptolemaic realms during these years. Notably, she has adduced evidence from these data relating to military operations that were led elsewhere in this period by either Ptolemaic or Seleucid actors, the timing of which necessarily interfered with the various phases of the Fifth Syrian War, as did the diplomatic activity of the Roman Senate. On the basis of these data, Lorber offers a revised chronology of Antiochus III’s successive two invasions (and of Scopas’ successful repulsion of the first) and identifies the routes taken by Antiochus III in these invasions. Moreover, she establishes that the decisive battle of Panium took place in 198 BCE and was followed by the rapid conquest of the entire province of Syria and Phoenicia in the summer of that year. Stefan Pfeiffer examines afresh the Greek dedication of a statue of Ptolemy IV inscribed on a small plate (CIIP 3.2172) and discusses its broader political and ideological contexts. The inscription was discovered in Joppe, one of the central naval bases of Ptolemaic dominion over their province Syria kai Phoinicia. The importance of the city is evident in the fact that it had its own mint and seems to have achieved the status of a Greek polis. The inscription is of great importance not only because it was the first to have been discovered in the Land of Israel in the 19th century, but also, as shown by Pfeiffer, because of its ideological content. Several problems arise from this text, such as the unusual mention of Ptolemy Philadelphus, Ptolemy IV’s grandfather. More importantly, several aspects shed light on the core of royal representation and the perception of the king’s victories in the Ptolemaic empire. The inscription generates various questions, such as why a priest of the royal cult in Joppe bears the typical Greek name Anaxikles, what information we may gather on royal (re) presentation after the king’s victory at the battle of Raphia, and why Ptolemy is called “Great King,” a title not very common in Hellenistic royal ideology.

6  sylvie honigman

David S. Vanderhooft investigates how monumental and cursive scripts in use across Judea and neighboring regions evolved during the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods and in what sense their evolution was related to the politics of identity. This question first arose in the 1960s, when F.M. Cross identified three distinct script groups, which he dubbed paleo-Hebrew, Aramaic cursive and “Jewish,” respectively. Cross further delineated three chronological phases in the evolution of what he called the “Jewish book hand.” As new evidence appeared, paleographers largely retained Cross’ chronological and notional framework. Jan Dušek, in his revised study of the Semitic inscriptions from Mount Gerizim, was the first to question this system. Following a historiographical discussion of the discipline of paleography since Cross’ attempt to clarify the issues under discussion, Vanderhooft proposes a revised framework of interpretation on the basis of an extensive corpus of epigraphical data. According to Vanderhooft, the introduction and subsequent uses of the monumental Aramaic script in Judah had no ethnic connotation. This is in contrast to the paleo-Hebrew script, the ethnic undertones of which are strongly suggested by its extensive textual use in Torah manuscripts among the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Gerizim stone inscriptions, and, not least, in the Samaritan Pentateuch.

The History of Rural Settlement in Judea Four essays deal with the archaeological history of Judea and neighboring regions. In a joint essay, Nitsan Shalom, Oded Lipschits, Noa Shatil and Yuval Gadot offer a comprehensive survey of the archaeological history of Judea and neighboring regions (including Idumea) from the late 6th to the mid-2nd century BCE. They trace processes of continuity and change in the pattern of rural settlement in these regions in relation to two transitional phases: from the Iron Age to the Persian period and from Persian to Hellenistic times. To study the latter transition, they exploit new finds from recent excavations, and the presentation of the evidence provides an opportunity to discuss methodological issues in the reconstruction of settlement patterns. Based on their detailed surveys of the two transitional phases, the authors emphasize the contrast between the overall continuity in the pattern of

rural settlement in Judea evident in the transition from the late Iron Age to the Persian period, on the one hand, and the drastic changes in the size and pattern of rural settlement following the transition from Persian to Hellenistic times, on the other. Some of the changes previously believed to have occurred only in the Hasmonean period must be redated to the early Hellenistic era, and major changes affected Idumea as well. The authors underscore two pivotal details: the importance of the administrative complex in Ramat Raḥel declined in the 3rd century, whereas Jerusalem started to grow significantly only under Hasmonean rule. Three essays present the finds from Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah and explore their broader bearings upon the history of rural settlement in the region. Yosef Garfinkel presents the data for the late Persian/early Hellenistic stratum uncovered at Khirbet Qeiyafa in 2007–2013. Material remains from these periods were found in each of the excavation areas, directly above the Iron Age stratum. The later constructions extensively reused the Iron Age building material, especially for the massive casemate city wall and the gates. The site yielded a rich assemblage of coins, and their distribution throughout the various excavation areas has made it possible to differentiate between pottery of the late Persian period (4th century BCE) and that of the early Hellenistic period (3rd century BCE). Yoav Farhi’s detailed analysis of the numismatic finds from the two sites shows that these finds are unique in quantity and variety, in comparison to coins from other sites in Judea and the region as a whole. It is still uncertain, however, whether this unique profile is indicative of the intrinsic nature of the sites or whether it should be attributed to the introduction of metal detectors on the excavation site. The coins, in conjunction with other small finds, suggest that the two sites were abandoned ca. 260 BCE, and the numismatic evidence sheds further light on the various types of coins circulating in the region of Judea during the Persian–Hellenistic transitional period. Further studies will help us reconstruct the local and regional circulation patterns of this coinage. Based on an array of data—the strategic location of the sites, their abandonment in the 260s BCE, and possibly the unique quantity and variety of the coins—Farhi’s analysis raises the possibility that the sites in question

introduction  7

formed a Ptolemaic cleruchy—an agricultural site occupied by Ptolemaic reservists. Igor Kreimerman and Débora Sandhaus explain how the new ceramic finds from Khirbet Qeiyafa open up new avenues to rewrite the history of the transition between the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods in the region. The material retrieved from Stratum III at Khirbet Qeiyafa has made it possible for the first time to distinguish between two phases of occupation and their respective associated pottery, as the chronological seam between the two roughly corresponds to the days of Alexander the Great. Thanks to this new chronological marker, Kreimerman and Sandhaus offer revisions in the dating of several sites in the hill country of Judah and Samaria, as well as in the Shephelah. As shown by the authors, this micro-data analysis is crucial to substantiate the currently accepted views on the history of the transition, which are based upon surveys and preliminary excavation reports only. Thanks to their redating of the findings, Kreimerman and Sandhaus refute the current picture of a smooth transition, in which there was a surge in the number of settlements in the Hellenistic period, compared to the Persian period. They show that on the contrary, the various sites throughout the hill country and the Shephelah followed separate trajectories during the transition. In particular, the evidence shows that several sites with an administrative function suffered violent destruction.

The Workings of Empires in Local and Comparative Perspectives Six essays engage with the working of empires through various thematic emphases, placing Ptolemaic Judea into a comparative perspective, both chronological and spatial.8 Gil Gambash examines afresh the history of Akko’s artificial harbor. According to the accepted view, the harbor’s construction is closely connected to the military operations led by the Persians in Egypt. Through a review of the material and literary sources relating both to the history of Phoenicia in Persian times and to the technical aspects of maritime activity in the Mediterranean in ancient times, Gambash dismisses the possibility that the artificial harbor was built in Persian times and that its primary function was military. Akko was destroyed

in 312 and refounded as Ptolemaïs by Ptolemy II Philadelphus, and Gambash proposes that the city’s harbor was built after this time and that the primary motivation for its construction was commercial, not military. To support this theory, Gambash broadens the debate to address in a critical way the prevalent notion that ancient Mediterranean empires acted according to a grand strategy scheme—that is, they were able to devise and implement constant and intelligent reassessment of the polity’s ends and means. Andrea M. Berlin and Sharon C. Herbert reconstruct the history of a complex of interrelated sites in Upper Galilee and the Hula Valley and through it, trace the sweeping changes in the imperial way of government brought by the transition from Achaemenid to Ptolemaic dominion. Around 500 BCE a large building compound was erected at Tel Kedesh, at a time when the region formed the edge of the Tyrian agricultural hinterland. The compound was built under the auspices of the Tyrian royal house and was used to collect agricultural goods from the inland valleys until Alexander’s conquest. At no point is there any material evidence that Persian imperial officials were present either at Tyre or in the compound. Following Ptolemy I’s conquest of the region in 301 BCE, the Hula Valley was transformed into royal land. The palatial compound of Kedesh was thoroughly remodeled into an administrative center for the direct collection of agricultural commodities and was peopled with Ptolemaic officials. Several small agricultural settlements were established in the Hula Valley, a Greek sanctuary replaced the Tyrian one, and a new species of bread wheat was introduced. Through their study of the material evidence, Berlin and Herbert trace the impact of empire on the daily life of inhabitants in a certain territory. Their study also makes the distinctions between the imperial cultures of the Achaemenids and the Ptolemaic dynasty very palpable. Boris Chrubasik proposes an innovative model for understanding the workings of the Seleucid empire, in which the central power and local elites were interdependent. He compares the relations between the Seleucid kings and two local dynasts—the Teucrid priestly dynasty from Olba, Asia Minor, and Jonathan Maccabee. Both case studies illustrate that this privileged relationship between local dynasts and Seleucid kings

8  sylvie honigman

was underscored—not concealed—in inscriptions and writings at the time. This explicitness, Chrubasik argues, resulted from the necessity of this relationship to both parties. On the one hand, the king needed independent dynasts who were strong enough to administer their region, sparing him the need to deploy officials of his own. Dynasts were free to mint coinage in their own names and to found cities and, on occasion, could forget their allegiance to the king, while at the same time, they fulfilled local functions on behalf of the king and were an integral part of the Seleucid empire. On the other hand, the king ensured that royal support was indispensable to the dynasts by exploiting local tensions between competing power-holders—sanctuaries vs. cities in Asia Minor, Simon and John Hyrcanus vs. Ptolemy son of Abubus, and Zenon Cotylas in Judea and Transjordan. Chrubasik’s model allows him to refute the once-popular view that the multiplication of local dynasts and local coinages in the second half of the 2nd century BCE was evidence of the weakening of the Seleucid empire. Damien Agut-Labordère and Gilles Gorre offer two correlated diachronic surveys of the relations between royal power and Egyptian temples in Egypt, from the last (Thirtieth) native dynasty to Ptolemy II Philadelphus. Agut-Labordère sets out to refute the two-fold claim promoted by the ancient historians of Alexander, according to which the second Persian domination (342– 336 BCE) was a time of oppression for the Egyptian temples, whereas Alexander displayed piety towards the Egyptian gods. Taking as his cue two prominent markers of the royal policy toward the Egyptian temples—the royal subsidizing of building works in the temples and the burials of the sacred bulls in Memphis and Armant— he shows that different Persian kings conducted very different policies and that Alexander the Great’s generosity was a short-lived episode. Whereas Alexander’s early successors subsidized the cult of the sacred animals to secure the support of the Egyptian population at large, they neglected the temples out of financial and political calculation. At the same time, the dramatic cuts in the royal subsidies to the temples, which aimed to fill the royal coffers at the expense of the temples, was a long-term tendency. It was initiated shortly after Cambyses’ conquest in 526 BCE and was steadily continued by the pharaohs of the period of

independence in the 4th century BCE and by the Macedonians up to Ptolemy II Philadelphus. Gilles Gorre traces the sweeping changes that affected the Egyptian temples in Ptolemaic times, starting in the reign of Ptolemy II (284–246 BCE), and that resulted in the temples being dispossessed of their key function of administering the country to the benefit of the royal administration. The royal administration installed itself within the temple precincts (temenē), and was to a large extent manned with former temple scribes who had restyled themselves as royal scribes. Three correlated kinds of changes occurred in this process. First, the administrative offices within the temple temenē that had traditionally managed the temples’ internal administration and their land estates were now converted into offices of the royal administration. Second, new buildings were constructed in the temenē in order to meet the needs of the royal administration. Third, new royal officials were installed in the temenē alongside the former temple scribes and came to form new local elites, either along with or instead of the local priests. In several documented cases, as shown by the archaeological evidence, these changes entailed major adjustments in the spatial organization of the temenē and hence, in all likelihood, modifications to the daily religious workings of the temple. As evidence of these evolutions, Gorre offers a detailed analysis of the changes that transformed the spatial organization of the temenos of the god Thot in Hermopolis, Middle Egypt, in the second half of the 3rd century BCE. Sylvie Honigman offers a diachronic survey of the history of the temple and the powers of the high priests from Persian times through the early Seleucid era. Throughout, she underscores the relationship between the temple and royal administrations, with a view to contributing to the debate on the social location of literary genres in Hellenistic times. Her point of departure is the supposition that some works or literary genres were produced by scribes linked to the temple, whereas others were composed by scribes employed in the royal bureaus. While it is plausible that certain works were produced for specific social uses—and hence potentially for specific institutional sites—it does not automatically follow that the literate circles linked to the different institutions—in particular, the temple and the royal

introduction  9

administration—were not only separate, but had distinct cultural trainings—for instance, that one circle was Hellenized, whereas another was not. For Honigman, the premises of the debate require reformulation. On the one hand, all scribes followed the same educational curriculum, facilitating the circulation of personnel between the temple and the royal bureaus. On the other hand, their effective circulation depended upon the relationship between the imperial authorities and the high priest, a relationship that fluctuated considerably over time, and changes from Persian rule through the Ptolemaic to the Seleucid dominations were anything but linear.

The Pentateuch: Early Greek Translations and Receptions Four essays deal with the early receptions and translations of the Pentateuch in Greek. Timothy H. Lim questions two particular statements made in the Letter of Aristeas, namely, that Ptolemy II Philadelphus commissioned the translation and that he bore its costs. To this end Lim surveys what we know of the royal library and the Museum associated with it, as well as the debated issue of whether the cases of extant translations from native languages to Aramaic and Greek may serve as parallels to the translating of the Pentateuch. Finally, he points to key divergences between the accounts about the origins of the Septuagint displayed in the Letter of Aristeas and in Philo’s biography of Moses (2.25–44), respectively. Crucially, Philo’s account mentions neither the library nor Demetrius the librarian, and he implicitly points to the Jews as the initiators of the translation. Lim concludes that the motive for the translation being made at the request of the library that is given in the Letter of Aristeas was not integral to the tradition, but was an addition by the author, aiming to lend greater prestige to the Greek Pentateuch. Benjamin G. Wright examines afresh the historical conditions in which the Greek translations of the Pentateuch books were produced. He proposes to define the Septuagint (i.e., the Pentateuch) as a Greek text. As a consequence, the vertical dimension of the text—that is, the relationship of the (Hebrew) source text to the target (Greek) text—must be taken into consideration

when we assess its horizontal dimension—or in other words, we need to cross-reference the quality of its linguistic features against texts originally composed in Greek. Wright follows in the footsteps of past scholars who have sought to retrieve details regarding the conditions of the production of the translations by closely examining this horizontal dimension. While he endorses their conclusion that the Septuagint vocabulary mixes administrative nomenclature with stylistic and rhetorical flourishes, he questions his predecessors’ inference that the translators were scribes within the Ptolemaic administration. Because of the constraints placed on the translators by the vertical dimension of the translation, the relationship between the Greek of the LXX and the educational levels and social backgrounds of the translators is by no means straightforward, not least because the translators may have had far greater literary skills than their translations reveal. Likewise, the exact Sitz im Leben of the Septuagint at its point of production remains uncertain, because a specifically “functional” translation could meet a variety of purposes, including liturgical and educational uses. Martin Rösel examines how the various translators of the Pentateuch books into Greek took advantage of their translations to adapt the Torah to the cultural needs of the Jewish communities of Alexandria and Egypt in the 3rd century BCE. To this end, he focuses on the numerous passages for which it can be ascertained that the translators knowingly departed from the Hebrew Vorlage they used. These passages show how the translators acclimated terms and concepts borrowed from Platonic philosophy, modernized the Torah’s understanding of man in line with the Greek notion of a mind-body dichotomy, updated geographical knowledge, and synchronized biblical genealogies and chronologies using data from the Greek historiographic and mythographic traditions. Various adaptations to their cultural, Greek and pagan environment can also be discerned, and meanwhile they introduced various religious innovations. That said, the translators aimed to preserve the Torah, not to rewrite it or comment on it, in contrast to the Hellenistic-Jewish literature, the Dead Sea Scrolls and the targumim. Lastly, the strong presumption that the five books were translated in the canonical order—starting with the Book of Genesis— calls into question the view that the translation of the

10  sylvie honigman

Torah was primarily motivated by the need to have a Greek version of the Jewish law and suggests instead that the Jews in Egypt needed a narrative that would explain their presence there. Reinhard G. Kratz investigates the various ethnographic accounts on Jews and Jewish customs that appear in the works of pagan historians writing in Greek. He dwells in depth on passages found in Berossus, Manetho and Hecataeus of Abdera, with a view to assessing their authenticity. Because of their early date—the late 4th and the early 3rd centuries BCE—these references are potentially of crucial importance for the history of the Pentateuch. If genuine, they would provide a terminus ad quem for the date of completion of the Pentateuch. Moreover, they would offer evidence for its early reception among Jews, as well as the existence and circulation among pagan circles of a Greek translation that antedated the Septuagint. However, these quotations only crop up in excerpts preserved in the later authors— from Diodorus Siculus in the 1st century BCE, through Josephus and Julius Africanus, to Eusebius, Photius and Syncellus in the 9th century CE. Kratz applies methods of source criticism borrowed from Pentateuch and biblical criticism to examine the complex process of their textual transmission. Although no definite conclusion can be drawn, he argues that in every passage alluding to biblical history, it is either certain—or, at the very least, possible—that such references were added during the process of transmission. Consequently, Kratz argues, these pagan authors do not offer any reliable external evidence about the history of the Pentateuch.

Biblical Texts in the 3rd Century BCE In the final section, four essays deal with the composition of biblical texts in the 3rd century BCE. As phrased by Konrad Schmid, identifying a text from the Ptolemaic period in the Hebrew Bible is not particularly difficult for those who answer in the affirmative to Niels Peter Lemche’s question: “The Old Testament—A Hellenistic Book?” Whereas Lemche’s stance is perhaps less radical than generally perceived, we may in turn admit that the Hebrew Bible is, in some sense, a Hellenistic book, given that its formation continued into the 3rd and even 2nd centuries BCE. Schmid distinguishes three categories of

texts in the Hebrew Bible that tentatively date from the Ptolemaic period, providing examples for each category. The first category is Hebrew texts that are missing from the earliest Greek translations (especially in Jeremiah— e.g., Jer 33:14–26). The second is of texts alluding to Alexander the Great or transferring tales about Alexander to biblical heroes. Examples for this approach include Zechariah 9:9–10 and 2 Samuel 23:13–17. The third category consists of texts that presuppose the fall of the Persian empire and interpret it as a cosmic judgment (e.g., Isa 34:2–4 and Jer 45:4–5). A final section of the paper briefly discusses other texts from the Hebrew Bible the dates of which are disputed, but which—at least in part— probably originated in the 3rd century: Qoheleth, as well as parts of Daniel, Chronicles and Proverbs. Hervé Gonzalez contends that certain textual units in the corpus of late prophets date from the Hellenistic period. By his reasoning, the general view that the prophetic corpus had been completed in Persian times assumes a clear-cut distinction of time-frame between the composition of the books and their subsequent transmission, and Gonzalez propounds various methodological, philological and historical arguments to challenge this assumption. In particular, the ancient manuscript witnesses (i.e., the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Old Greek and Old Latin translations) show that the textual traditions associated with the prophetic figures remained fluid until late into the Hellenistic era, if not up to the very end of the Second Temple period. Gonzalez therefore claims that we cannot rule out the possibility that certain textual units were in fact composed in the late 4th or the 3rd centuries BCE. Admittedly, the prophetic books contain few, if any, explicit allusions to the Hellenistic period, but this may result from the compositional technique whereby prophetic books were revised and expanded in early Hellenistic times. As changes were introduced in a certain prophetic text, the new sections were composed using terms and motifs borrowed from other sections in the same text, from other prophetic texts, or from other corpora, primarily the Pentateuch and Psalms. This system of composition points to the desire of the late scribes to assert continuity between the new sections and their textual context, thus maintaining the apparent antiquity of the prophetic traditions. Claims that prophets ceased to exist after Persian times, such as

introduction  11

in Zechariah 13:2–6 and Malachi 3:22–24, arguably fulfilled a similar function. This conservative attitude of the late scribes hampers attempts to apply linguistic criteria as a means of dating the prophetic texts. That is to say, the linguistic differences between the Hebrew of the late prophetic texts—which is generally close to Classical Biblical Hebrew—and the Late Biblical Hebrew attested in the books from Esther to Chronicles should primarily be viewed as indicating distinct literary genres and not as a diachronic evolution. Thus, whereas the books from Esther to Chronicles explicitly refer to Persian times, prophetic traditions insist upon their pre-exilic origin. Post-exilic prophets do refer to Persian times, but they also present themselves— sometimes explicitly—as continuing the prophecy of monarchic times. The low number of features of Late Biblical Hebrew in prophetic books arguably serves this claim. As Gonzalez further argues, conservative writing is in fact a salient aspect of literary activity in Hellenistic times, not only in Judea but across the ancient Near East, and was part of a broader trend of preserving, emphasizing and reinterpreting ancient traditions that was spurred by the heightened cultural confrontation entailed by the Hellenistic domination. Whereas the conservative attitude of the scribes who revised the prophetic books in early Hellenistic times explains why the texts do not openly allude to events or characters of their times, the question remains whether subtler allusions to the Hellenistic era can be pinpointed in passages revised or composed in this period. As Gonzalez shows through his discussion of selected examples, the identification of such allusions raises methodological issues. Notably, although it is stimulating as an approach, the suggestion that certain theological ideas can be more particularly associated with Hellenistic times cannot provide us with a definite criterion. Given the methodological complexity involved, the safest way to identify prophetic passages most likely dating from the Hellenistic period remains the meticulous analysis of the texts in question, especially where various kinds of evidence can reasonably be combined into a cumulative argument. This proposed approach is illustrated through the example of Zechariah 9–14. His detailed reading highlights how the text avails itself of previous traditions,

adjusting them accordingly, and by combining this with various historical observations Gonzalez not only shows that the early Hellenistic period is the most likely context of this section, but also that it is best understood as alluding to the troubled times associated with the end of the Persian domination and the military conflict against the Greeks, which is presented as threatening Jerusalem itself (Zech 9). Indeed, the identification of an allusion to Alexander’s conquest at the very beginning of the section (Zech 9:1–8)—as several scholars have suggested—not only explains several details of the text, but also supports its central thesis, namely, that the era of Persian domination would be followed by a more troubled period dominated by another great power, the Greeks, until YHWH drastically intervenes to restore Jerusalem. By this token, Zechariah 9–14 is a good example of how prophetic literature was adapted and expanded in early Hellenistic times in order to uphold its function as a divine revelation about Israel’s future. This conclusion suggests that other prophetic texts announcing critical times before the restoration of Israel could also date from early Hellenistic times, and it calls for further investigations into the way Judean elites adapted their traditions at a time of socio-political and cultural changes. Sylvie Honigman discusses the social setting and nature of early Judean apocalyptic literature. The assumption that apocalypticism is a form of “resistance” literature generated in response to foreign oppression first emerged at a time when the Book of Daniel was believed to be the earliest case of this Judean apocalyptic genre. When later it emerged that certain apocalypses included in 1 Enoch were composed in the 3rd century, decades prior to Antiochus IV’s alleged religious persecution, various commentators upheld this definition. Elsewhere, however, there were others who redefined the apocalyptic genre as an innovative hermeneutic aimed at interpreting the Pentateuch and the prophetic corpora compiled in Persian times. Inevitably, this ongoing debate impinges on our understanding of the political, social and religious history of Judea in early Hellenistic times. In particular, the proponents of the “resistance” paradigm assume that these apocalyptic texts were composed by priests critical of the temple’s Hellenized priestly establishment and of the oppressive foreign rule, to the

12  sylvie honigman

extent that they rejected the temple institution and cult. Conversely, the view that revelatory literature was a matter of hermeneutics makes these speculations redundant. Honigman surveys the premises of these two diverging schools of interpretation and, in particular, questions the “resistance” paradigm. She also examines how different methodological premises can lead to widely divergent understandings of individual apocalyptic texts through the case study of 1 Enoch 6–16. Manfred Oeming surveys the corpus of literary texts dated to pre-Maccabean times, which tell of covert plots to annihilate the Jews. These include the slaughter of the newborns, as recounted in various texts, such as Exodus 1, Manetho’s excerpts in Josephus’ Contra Apionem, the Book of Tobit, the Book of Psalms, the Books of Judith, Daniel and Esther, 3 Maccabees, and 1, 2 and 4 Maccabees. Oeming draws from a mixture of archaeological, numismatic and epigraphical material to refute the claim that the accounts of the mass massacres of Jews had any historical basis. He concludes that the only episodes in which anti-Judaism was tenably manifest were the destruction of YHWH temples in Jerusalem and elsewhere. If this is the case, the historical reasons underlying the frequent assertion among ancient Jewish sources of the mass slaughter of Jews remain to be ascertained. After surveying the main modern theories on this issue, Oeming addresses the question afresh, concluding that this literary motif is largely a reflection of the sense of insecurity experienced by Jews in early Hellenistic times, an anxiety that resulted from complex factors. For Oeming the key to this vision of annihilation is the sense of impending doom and the fear that the self-divinization of the Hellenistic kings under whose rule they lived would lead to calamity for the Jews because of the central commandment for them to venerate YHWH alone.

Insights and Proposals for Further Investigation As demonstrated by the above summaries, the strength of the present volume lies in its multidisciplinary dialogue. This approach allows new interpretive paradigms to emerge and helps advance answers to basic

questions such as why these cultural changes occurred in this period, what social conditions (such as the possible emergence of new elites) allowed such changes at the local level, and what structural conditions (such as the culture of empire, warfare and economic trends) may have played as background factors on the regional and interregional levels. At the same time, the choice of a multidisciplinary approach also poses certain constraints on the endeavor, meaning that the answers provided in the present volume can only be preliminary and partial and much research remains to be done. In an effort to suggest paths for further inquiry, the rest of this introduction offers various insights emerging from the scrutiny of the new data presented in this volume. Several essays in the volume tackle the related issues of continuity and change and of periodization. Interestingly, the various essays that engage with the transition between the Persian and Hellenistic eras advance contrasting views, and hence invite us to apprehend this issue in a nuanced way. Agut-Labordère argues that different kings within a single dynasty— whether Persians or Macedonians in Egypt—could implement very different policies toward the Egyptian temples, while at the same time the transition from one dynasty to the next in Egypt was relatively smooth. Berlin and Herbert show that the transition from Achaemenid to Ptolemaic domination in the Hula Valley brought dramatic changes both in the administrative practices and the daily lives of the local inhabitants. Kreimerman and Sandhaus argue that different settlements in the hill country of Judea and Samaria and in the Shephelah suffered contrasting fates. As archaeology provides new chronological markers to distinguish between layers of occupation dating from late Persian and early Hellenistic times, respectively, we may expect that further studies will contribute to write afresh the history of the transition between the Persian and Hellenistic eras in Judea. At the same time, the present volume is not concerned only with this transition. As noted above, biblical scholars and archaeologists of Judea tend to divide the Hellenistic period between the so-called “early Hellenistic” or “pre-Maccabean” period and “Maccabean times.” As we essay to rehabilitate and reassess the period from Alexander’s conquest to the Maccabean revolt, we should also aim to achieve a higher resolution. Historians of

introduction  13

Egypt are able to distinguish between the time of the Diadochi (or, to use their nomenclature, the GrecoMacedonian period) and that of the Ptolemaic dynasty, starting from Ptolemy II. The history of the administrative complex in Tel Kedesh studied by Berlin and Herbert might point to a similar distinction in the Galilee, as might Honigman’s survey of the history of the Jerusalem high priest’s powers. Similarly, our apprehension of the similarities and differences between the Ptolemaic and Seleucid ways of ruling is in need of further refinement. On the one hand, the material evidence from Tel Kedesh and Ramat Raḥel—to name two prominent administrative sites—is compelling, and the evidence of the Zenon papyri mentioned by Grabbe and the history of the high priest traced by Honigman seem to give further ballast to the notion that the two periods were markedly different. On the other hand, the relevance of Chrubasik’s model to an understanding of internecine tensions between elite families in Ptolemaic Judea that is discussed below may suggest otherwise. At the same time, the redating of several biblical texts to the 3rd century BCE—one of the major threads explored in the present volume—challenges the traditional periodization of Judean history in a bidirectional way. If only because of the sheer amount of evidence he gathers, Gonzalez makes a compelling case that prophecy did not end in Persian times, but that the prophetic corpus continued to expand well into Hellenistic times. Conversely, it is currently well established that some of the most conspicuous cultural trends shaping Judea in Maccabean and Hasmonean times in fact crystallized in the “long 3rd century.” The present volume casts considerable new light on the historical setting in which the literary production of the late 4th and the 3rd centuries BCE took place. Much, however, still remains to be done, and, as shown by the contradictions between the various essays included in this volume, the answers are by no means simple. As a point of departure, we may phrase a few questions that should perhaps be borne in mind in investigations to come. For example, to what extent were the new trends a response to the so-called “Hellenization” at large or prompted—either in an antagonistic mood or, conversely, as a way of emulation—by the ruling culture of the imperial power controlling the region at the time? For

instance, as Gorre, Honigman and Gonzalez argue in separate contributions in this volume, the Ptolemies as a rule aimed to reduce the social and economic power of native temples, and we can easily imagine that such a policy elicited hostile feelings within the circles of the temple personnel and learned scribes. It remains to be seen whether (and if so, how) these tense relations reverberated in the textual production. Alternatively, it may be time to consider the period under discussion here in light of what preceded it, and not only what followed it: less as “pre-Maccabean” and more as “post-Persian.” In this regard, it is noteworthy that some scholars in recent years have suggested that the fall of the Persian empire was a major trigger for intellectual questioning in learned scribal circles across the ancient Near East (Silverman 2012: 26; Waerzeggers 2015). Agut-Labordère’s and Gorre’s surveys of the relations between kings and temples in Egypt from the last native dynasties to the Ptolemies offer comparative material for a consideration of the relations between kings and temples in Judea (and Samaria). Even though there were differences of substance between the temples’ structures in each region, on the one hand, and the status of the king in the respective religious systems of Egypt, Judea and Samaria, on the other, the imperial power that dominated the two regions was the same, and consequently, a common ruling culture underpinned the decisions taken in both. In the perspective of a comparison with Judea, the complex chronology of the changes traced both by Agut-Labordère and by Gorre is certainly of interest. Moreover, Agut-Labordère’s discussion of the (all but linear) economic policy of kings—especially from the Persian dynasty—toward the Egyptian temples will be of interest to scholars studying the Persian decrees inserted in MT Ezra and LXX 1 Esdras. Relevant to the history of Judea in Hellenistic times is Gorre’s description of how Ptolemy II’s establishment of a dense network of royal offices throughout Egypt impinged upon the relationship between the royal administration and those of the temples. First, the offices of the royal administration were located within the temple precincts, a move made possible by the status of pharaohs in Egypt as heads of the Egyptian religious system (and the Ptolemies were pharaohs). Second, while the development of the royal administration required the hiring of new personnel, it

14  sylvie honigman

did not result either in Greeks systematically replacing Egyptians or in Egyptian lay families replacing temple families. New elites indeed emerged—but to a large extent they were composed of Egyptian temple families of lower rank, who replaced the formerly powerful temple families. In this matter, Gorre’s comparison between Petosiris’ and Padykam’s social and career profiles in Hermopolis is particularly inspiring. While it would be bad historical method to simply transpose to Judea the evidence we have for Egypt, Gorre’s discussion may open up new avenues for interpreting the sketchy evidence pertaining to Judea. In his model capturing the workings of the Seleucid empire, Chrubasik not only defines the imperial power and local power-holders as being interdependent, but also outlines the tensions between local power-brokers as an inherent part of the system. Chrubasik’s model also has potential significant impact on our understanding of social tensions in Judea in the 3rd century BCE. First, it may cast light on the tensions between elite families attested in Judea under Ptolemaic domination, primarily those between the Oniads and the Tobiads narrated in Josephus’ Romance of Joseph the Tobiad and the local strongmen disclosed by the Zenon papyri. This suggests a case in which the imperial setting per se—not the identity of the dynasties in power—becomes a decisive factor, indicating that we cannot posit that the Ptolemies and the Seleucids were systematically different. Chrubasik’s model has yet another potential bearing on our study of social tensions in Judea in the 3rd century BCE. Drawing from post-colonial studies, several scholars have revived the paradigm of “resistance to empire” to explain the emergence of apocalyptic literature in this period, and they largely suggest an equation in this literature between attacks against the

priests dominating the temple and attacks against empire. Chrubasik’s model invites us to reconsider this correlation. For instance, attacks against priests emanating from other priestly circles may be read as symbolic weapons in a competition for power, but according to Chrubasik’s model, local power would imply making an alliance with empire. Alternatively, a far more radical shift of paradigm may come from combining both the social and the literary considerations. The historiography of the encounter between the Greco-Macedonian conquerors and the learned scribes of Judea often portrays it in terms of either Hellenization or resistance to it. We need to allow for a wider gamut of responses. In particular, we need to acknowledge that whereas the scribal cultures undoubtedly related to Greek culture in their writings, they may have been primarily concerned with addressing a new aspect of their reality, which was all the more relevant since this was the culture of the new rulers. But thematization does not necessarily equate with resistance. Finally, it is to be hoped that the multidisciplinary and trans-regional approach adopted in the present volume will be deemed worthy of emulation for the same and other periods of time. The present volume has broadened the scope of its inquiry to Ptolemaic Egypt and to the north—namely, Galilee and Asia Minor. It may be worth casting the net even wider. For instance, scholars engaging with the Enochic literature, on the one hand, and with Judean sapiential literature, on the other, have long since engaged in comparative studies including Demotic wisdom literature, and Qumran scholars have been debating various kinds of Hellenistic influences on the organization of the sectarian community. These studies, which are mainly literary, would certainly benefit from more social contextualization.9

NOTES 1. For this date, see Lorber, this volume. 2. This issue is cogently explored by Kosmin 2014. Also useful is Chrubasik 2016. 3. On warfare in the Hellenistic world, see Chaniotis 2005: 57–77. 4. See, for instance, Capdetrey and Zurbach 2012; for Egypt, see Mueller 2006: 165–179. Migrants originated from all over the eastern basin of the Mediterranean, and not only from the Greek world, as shown by papyrological and epigraphical evidence.

5. For volumes covering antiquity, see, for instance, Alcock et al. 2001; Lavan, Payne and Weisweile 2016; Ando and Richardson 2017. 6. On local elites, see Dreyer and Mittag 2011; Feyel et al. 2012. On the Hellenistic courts, see Strootman 2014; Erskine, Llewellyn-Jones and Wallace 2017. On kings, temples and cities, see, for instance, Clancier and Monerie 2014. 7. On the Ptolemies encouraging the learning of Greek, see Clarysse and Thompson 2006: 2.125–133; on the renewal of the Egyptian temple elites, see Gorre 2009.

introduction  15 8. In some essays, the spelling of ancient Greek names follows the increasingly accepted convention in the field of Hellenistic history, based on transliteration from the Greek, rather than from the Latin:

thus, Seleukos/Seleukid, rather than Seleucus/Seleucid, and Antiochos, rather than Antiochus. 9. Newsom 2004 is a pioneering attempt to explore this avenue.

REFERENCES Alcock, S.E., d’Altroy, T.N., Morrison, K.D. and Sinopoli, C.M., eds. 2001. Empires: Perspectives from Archaeology and History. Cambridge, U.K. Ando, C. and Richardson, S., eds. 2017. Ancient States and Infrastructural Power. Europe, Asia, and America (Empire and After). Philadelphia. Capdetrey, L. and Zurbach, J., eds. 2012. Mobilités grecques: Mouvements, réseaux, contacts en Méditerranée, de l’époque archaïque à l’époque hellénistique (actes du colloque de Nanterre, juin 2012) (Scripta Antiqua 46). Bordeaux and Paris. Chaniotis, A. 2005. War in the Hellenistic World. A Social and Cultural History. Malden, MA and Oxford. Chrubasik, B. 2016. Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire. The Men Who Would Be King (Oxford Classical Monographs). Oxford. Chrubasik, B. and King, D., eds. 2017. Hellenism and the Local Communities of the Eastern Mediterranean, 400 BCE–250 CE. Oxford. Clancier, P. and Monerie, J., eds. 2014. Les sanctuaires autochtones et le roi dans l’Orient hellénistique. Topoi. Orient et Occident 19: 11–277. Clarysse, W. and Thompson, D.J., eds. 2006. Counting the People in Hellenistic Egypt (2 vols.). Cambridge, U.K. Cohen, G.M. 2006. The Hellenistic Settlements in Syria, The Red Sea Basin and North Africa. Berkeley. Dreyer, B. and Mittag, P.F., eds. 2011. Lokale Eliten und hellenistische Könige: zwischen Konfrontation und Kooperation. Berlin. Erskine, A., Llewellyn-Jones, L. and Wallace, S., eds. 2017. The Hellenistic Court: Monarchic Power and Elite Society from Alexander to Cleopatra. Swansea, Wales. Feyel, C., Fournier, J., Graslin-Thomé, L. and Kirbihler, F., eds. 2012. Communautés locales et pouvoir central dans l’Orient hellénistique et romain (Études Anciennes 47). Nancy. Gorre, G. 2009. Les Relations du clergé égyptien et des Lagides d’après les sources privées (Studia Hellenistica 45). Leuven. Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. 2011. Judah between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca.

400–200 BCE) (The Library of Second Temple Studies). London. Kosmin, P.J. 2014. The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire. Cambridge, MA and London. Kuhrt, A. and Sherwin-White, S. 1993. From Samarkhand to Sardis. A New Approach to the Seleucid Empire. London. Lavan, M., Payne, R.E. and Weisweile, J., eds. 2016. Cosmopolitanism and Empire: Universal Rulers, Local Elites, and Cultural Integration in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean. Oxford. Lipschits, O. and Blenkinsopp, J., eds. 2003. Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. 2007. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century BCE. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Oeming, M., eds. 2011. The Judeans in the Achaemenid Age: Negotiating Identity in an International Context. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. 2006. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake. Ma, J. 2003. Kings. In: Erskine, A., ed. A Companion to the Hellenistic World. Oxford: 177–195. Milik, J.T., ed. 1976. The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4. Oxford. Mueller, K. 2006. Settlements of the Ptolemies: City Foundations and New Settlement in the Hellenistic World (Studia Hellenistica 43). Leuven. Newsom, C.A. 2004. The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 52). Leiden and Boston. Silverman, J.M. 2012. Persepolis and Jerusalem: Iranian Influence on the Apocalyptic Hermeneutic. New York and London. Strootman, R. 2014. Courts and Elites in the Hellenistic Empires: The Near East after the Achaemenids, c. 330 to 30 BCE. Edinburgh. Waerzeggers, C. 2015. Facts, Propaganda or History? Shaping Political Memory in the Nabonidus Chronicle. In: Silverman, J.M. and Waerzeggers. C., eds. Political Memory in and after the Persian Empire (Ancient Near East Monographs 13). Atlanta, GA: 95–124.

1 The Ptolemaic Period: A Dark Age in Jewish History? Lester L. Grabbe

As is well known, there are many gaps in the history of the Jews during the Persian period. One might think that things changed with the advent of Greek rule over the ancient Near East, but sadly, this is not the case. However, we are not completely ignorant of what was happening to the Jews during the long years that elapsed from the arrival of Alexander the Great until the takeover of Judea by the Seleucids ca. 200 BCE. The aim of this paper is to explore what is known and where the lacunae in our knowledge lie. Although there is much to say about the Jews of Egypt, the focus of this paper, as that of the conference on which is it based, is on Judea. Was the Ptolemaic period a “dark age” in Jewish history?1

Archaeology We begin with archaeology, which is probably our most important primary source, at least where it is available. There are, however, some significant problems with our knowledge of the archaeology of Palestine at this time. First, there is no clear break between the late Persian and the early Hellenistic periods: as important as Alexander’s

conquest and the wars of the Diadochi were to history, they left little impression on the artifactual record (Kuhnen 1990: 38). Second, the Ptolemaic period is sparsely documented in major excavations, the main site being Marisa in Idumea. Most of the other Hellenistic sites represent the Seleucid and Hasmonean periods (Samaria, Beth-Zur and Jerusalem) or have only sparse remains from the early Hellenistic. Other sites in Palestine include Dor and Tel Dan, but neither of these seems to have had Jewish inhabitants during this period. The Hellenistic period is often poorly represented at sites, not least because of damage by later Roman builders. Third, it is not always simple to distinguish late Persian from early Hellenistic pottery, nor late Hellenistic from Roman, not to mention early Hellenistic from late Hellenistic (Kuhnen 1990: 40; Arav 1989: 7–8; Ji and Lee 2004: 178; see also Shalom et al. and Kreimerman and Sandhaus, this volume). Finally, we suffer from a problem that the archaeologists among us might confirm or deny: the Hellenistic period has generally been neglected by archaeologists. In the past, most of the sites were excavated by “biblical archaeologists,” whose interests

20  lester l. grabbe

lay either in the Israelite period or in the Roman period with its NT connections. These problems have led to a sharp difference in interpretation with regard to the economic prosperity and general welfare of Syro-Palestine in the early Greek period, which can be illustrated with two studies. R.H. Smith (1990) points to the lacunae in the archaeological record and argues that they essentially represent low economic status, depopulation in many areas, stagnant growth, and drab existence in the region during the 3rd century—basically during the period of Ptolemaic rule. Smith attributes this woeful situation to Ptolemaic policy, among other causes. In his view, it was only with the coming of Seleucid rule that conditions began to change. A.M. Berlin (1997: 3–5), on the other hand, argues that the country was largely peaceful during this period. Almost all sites with Persian-period settlement continued to be occupied without interruption into the Greek period, with a swift return to comfort and prosperity. The result was generally material prosperity and broad trading connections. My own survey suggests that Berlin is right and that the Ptolemies generally pursued policies that led to growing prosperity in Syro-Palestine, as well as in Egypt (Grabbe 2008: 205–224). It would be a mistake, however, to ignore the complexities involved and not to recognize ups and downs over time and variations between regions. Generally speaking, the region enjoyed peace, but the Syrian wars had a tendency to drain resources. Moreover, Judea probably did continue to experience a lower standard of living through much of the 3rd century than some other sections of the region. The transition between the late Persian and the early Hellenistic period has generally been seen, on the basis of survey results, as basically a smooth one, but I. Kreimerman and D. Sandhaus (this volume) now challenge that perception. Drawing on the finds of recent excavations they argue that the transition was “by no means a smooth one,” and they “call into question the notion of a proliferation of sites in the early Hellenistic period.” If there was indeed a proliferation of sites in the Hellenistic period, it was not necessarily in its early stages. They identify sites that were rebuilt according to a new plan in the transition period or later as including Shechem, Gezer, Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel ʿEton, and probably Samaria and Mount Gerizim. Sites abandoned

during the transition period and suffering violent destruction include Wâdī ed-Dâliyeh, Ramat Raḥel, Jabel Nimra, En-Gedi and possibly Samaria. These sites all seem to have served an administrative function. Settlement does not appear to have been heavy at this time in the northern part of Israel—the Jezreel and BethShean Valleys, the Hula Valley and the Golan Heights (Berlin 1997: 12–13). After a period of intensive settlement in northern Samaria in the Persian period, the population dropped considerably during the Hellenistic (Grabbe 2004: 33; Zertal 1993: 1312). About half the Persian sites show Hellenistic habitation. Exactly the opposite situation pertains for southern Samaria: a sharp decline in the Persian period is then countered by a return to prosperity in the Hellenistic (Finkelstein 1993: 1314). Early Hellenistic settlements in the northern central hills seem to be confined to Samaria and Shechem (including Gerizim) (Berlin 1997: 11). The Ephraim survey included the area between Shechem and Bethel, stretching from the Jordan Valley to the Shephelah (Finkelstein 1988–89). This area had declined considerably in settlement by the 5th century in the Persian period, but an increase had been identified for the Hellenistic period, despite the problems of identifying specifically Hellenistic pottery. The desert fringe and the southern central range had few inhabitants, with a possible decline in the northern area and the foothills in general. This contrasts with a large increase in the southern slopes, with 70 percent of the sites being in the southern part of Ephraim. The coast shows a division between continued Phoenician domination and Greek cultural influences. Core settlements include Apollonia-Arsuf, Tel Michal and Joppe, with satellite settlements reaching from the border with Idumea to the Yarkon River and to the Poleg River, not far south of Carmel. Several constructions were evidently intended for commerce, including depots, customs houses and storage at places as widely dispersed as Pelusium, Gaza, Maresha, Khirbet el-Qôm and Akko, though some storehouse sites (such as Tell Jemmeh and Tell el-Ḥesi) decline through the 3rd century (Berlin 1997: 4–6). Signs of prosperity are indicated by affluent residences in towns such as Gaza, Ashkelon, Tel Mor (Ashdod) and Dor (Berlin 1997: 5). Although tombs are an important artifact accessible to archaeology, we find

the ptolemaic period: a dark age in jewish history?  21

no “identifiably Jewish tombs that date from the third to early second centuries” (Berlin 2002: 141). In Idumea Phoenician presence continued in the form of Sidonian settlements, such as the ones found at Maresha and Jamnia (Isaac 1991). Settlements in this region also appear to have had a border defense function, at least in some cases. Some new settlements that also served as road stations were established on the northern border of the Negev (Berlin 1997: 6). More explicit defenses, however, were organized across the southern border of the region (Berlin 1997: 7–8; Kuhnen 1990: 43–47). Maresha was at one end of a line that stretched to the Dead Sea, with other sites including Beth-Zur and Arad. In Transjordan one of the main sites for this period is naturally ʿIraq al-Amir. There now seems to be evidence that the site was already inhabited in the early Hellenistic period, sometime before the late 3rd or early 2nd century when Hyrcanus Tobiad was active. Qaṣr al-ʿAbd, on the other hand, could have been built in the late 3rd century. There are problems with dating it because it was never completed, but an association with Hyrcanus seems possible in light of present evidence. This assumes that it was a residence, a judgment with which not everyone agrees. Apart from ʿIraq al-Amir, archaeology of the Transjordan in the Hellenistic period is dominated by the cities of the Decapolis (including Philadelphia-Amman, Pella, Gerasa-Jarash and Gadara). Rabbat-Ammon had continued through the Persian period and became the Greek foundation of Philadelphia, but the archaeological remains of the other cities are very scant. Settlement as a whole seems to have been scattered, with subsistence agriculture the main means of survival. For the purpose of describing the archaeology, Judah can be divided into four regions: 1) the Benjamin district, between the Soreq Valley and Bethel, as far east as Jericho; 2) the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts, south of the Soreq Valley and including the Rephaim Valley, Bethlehem and Tekoa; 3) the Beth-Zur district, the central Judean Hills between Bethlehem and Hebron, including the western shore of the Dead Sea; and 4) the Qeʿila district, the northern Shephelah from the Ayalon Valley to the Elah Valley. Of the 192 Judean sites in the Persian period, about 70 percent continued from the Iron Age. Although there was a decline in habitation in

Jerusalem and its immediate environs, in the Benjamin area and the northern and central Judean Hills there was almost complete continuity in rural settlement. The 30 percent growth in Persian-period sites was primarily in the Benjamin district, probably because Mizpah was now the seat of government (Shalom et al., this volume). Jerusalem was the only large settlement in Judea in this period (Berlin 1997: 16; 2002: 141). However, it was evidently small and materially poor throughout the 3rd century, with settlement confined to the southeastern ridge (the old “City of David”), no more than five hectares in area (Berlin 1997: 8; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 34; Reich and Shukron 2007; Shalom et al., this volume). Apart from Jerusalem, the decline of the Persian period changed to a period of increased settlement over the entire area. The population density was never very high: in 60 hectares of settlement there were probably no more than some 15,000 inhabitants. There were few Jewish settlements in the early Hellenistic period, and those few tended to be around Jerusalem (Berlin 2002: 141). It may be argued that the latter part of the 3rd and the early 2nd century saw a dramatic increase in the general prosperity of the city (Grabbe 2008: 218–224). There are several reasons for this proposal. First, we have considerable evidence that many Jews were employed in the Ptolemaic military forces, which would have taken some pressure off land distribution in Judea and perhaps provided a certain flow of cash back to Judea from Egypt. Second, the Tobiad family and perhaps other family enterprises brought new wealth, raising the general prosperity of Jerusalem. A third possible cause, albeit much less certain, is that Jerusalem had become a trading center for the region, with quantities of goods moving through from north to south but also from east to west, as well as Palestinian exports to Egypt and elsewhere. If this growth in prosperity is correct, it does not appear to be reflected in the material record until the later part of the 3rd and the beginning of the 2nd century, to which many stamped Rhodian amphora handles found in Jerusalem are dated. Perhaps one of the most interesting points is that “there is really very little archaeological support for the contention that Judea was thoroughly Hellenized before the middle of the second century B.C.E.” (Harrison 1994: 106). By and large, the early Hellenistic period in Judea

22  lester l. grabbe

seems to be a continuation of the late Persian period, although we do not yet have a good archaeological synthesis for the early Hellenistic period in Judea (Lipschits and Tal 2007: 47). Late Persian and early Hellenistic Judea experienced a continuity in settlement pattern. Judea in the late Persian period may be defined as a rural province with no more than half the number of settlements as in the late Iron Age (Lipschits and Tal 2007: 46–47). In the early Hellenistic period Judea remained a rural province, with significant change coming only in the late 3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE.

Coins and Seals The small silver coinage characteristic of the late Persian period soon ceased in the Egyptian realm after the death of Alexander, to be replaced by bronze coinage. However, for reasons that can only be surmised, silver coinage continued in Judea during the early part of the Ptolemaic period—until ca. 269 BCE (Barag 1994–99). Apparently, Judea was the only region in which such currency was issued after 301 BCE (Barag 1994–99: 29). The coin types include: •

One type with the head of Ptolemy I and yhdh in paleo-Hebrew letters;

•

Another type with the head of Ptolemy I and the legend yhd;

•

Three variants with the head of Ptolemy I, the head of Berenice I and the legend yhd;

•

Two variants with a young bare-headed man (the youthful head of Ptolemy II during his co-regency with Ptolemy I?) and the legend yhd;

•

A type with the heads of Ptolemy I and Berenice I on one side and Ptolemy II and Arsinoe II, along with the legend yhd, on the other.

Useful among the written archaeological finds are the Yehud stamp impressions, many of which have been uncovered in a variety of sites over the years and which date from the 6th to the 2nd centuries BCE (for the definitive study, see Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011). It should be noted that the jars bearing these stamp impressions are of “local” manufacture. Lipschits and

Vanderhooft have refined the typology of the Yehud seals, proposing 17 types, divided into three chronological groups. The first, “early,” group consists of 12 types, dating from the 6th to the 4th centuries (the Babylonian and Persian periods); they will not be further considered here. The second, “middle,” group consists of types 13–15, comprising most of the yhd and yh seals, and constituting 54 percent of the Yehud stamp impressions. They are dated to the 4th and 3rd centuries BCE, indicating administrative continuity between the Persian and the early Hellenistic periods. It is this group that is likely to give us information on the Ptolemaic period. The third, “late,” group consists of type 16 (yh-ligature) and type 17 (yhd plus ṭ). The yh-ligature group seems to be Hellenistic—even late 2nd century (Ariel and Shoham 2000: 152–154). Handles with the cross or with the ṭet symbol and those with paleo-Hebrew yhd-ṭ are also thought to be securely Hellenistic (Ariel and Shoham 2000: 156–161), although earlier than the yh-ligature type. Closer investigation suggests that this group should probably be dated to the Hasmonean period. Lipschits and Vanderhooft have developed a theory to explain the distribution of the stamp impressions. The discovery of the early and middle types mainly around Ramat Raḥel points to it having been the warehousing center. The jars represented taxes in kind and were often used locally, but the regional authorities might have occasionally or even regularly required some of the stock. In the Persian period, however, Jerusalem became the capital of Judea, even if the urban development does not become manifest until the late Persian and early Greek periods. But with Jerusalem as the main center, the finds of Yehud stamp impressions were now concentrated in the Jerusalem area. Jerusalem itself experienced greater autonomy under Ptolemaic rule. With the arrival of the Hasmoneans, we also find the use of paleo-Hebrew script, parallel to that on Hasmonean coinage. Relevant to this discussion—but not included in Vanderhooft and Lipschits’ classification, because they are not Yehud stamp impressions—are the “wheel” impressions and the ones with paleo-Hebrew yršlm. These should probably be dated to the 2nd century BCE. Only three “wheel” stamp impressions were found in Jerusalem (Ariel and Shoham 2000: 155–156). In this city the yhd-ṭ and the yršlm stamp impressions tend to appear

the ptolemaic period: a dark age in jewish history?  23

together and otherwise have the same geographical distribution pattern, at least in the City of David (Ariel and Shoham 2000: 160). The meaning of the ṭet is, unfortunately, uncertain, although it might refer to a volume or weight standard or be an assurance of the quality of the contents.

The Zenon Papyri The Zenon papyri, written by the secretary to Apollonius, Ptolemy II’s finance minister, are probably the next best source for this period, after archaeology. These documents tell us several things about Egyptian administration and the general economy of the time (see, especially, Tcherikover 1937). One of the most interesting is CPJ 1.1, which states: In the 27th year of the reign of Ptolemy, son of Ptolemy, and of his son Ptolemy, the priest of Alexander and of the gods Adelphoi and the kanephoros [carrier of basket with sacred objects] of Arsinoe Philadelphos being those in office in Alexandria, in the month Xandikos, at Birta [the fortress?] of the Ammanitis. Nikanor son of Xenokles, Knidian, in the service of Toubias, sold to Zenon son of Agreophon, Kaunian, in the service of Apollonios the dioiketes, a Sidonian girl named Sphragis, about seven years of age, for fifty drachmai. Guarantor … son of Ananias, Persian, of the troop of Toubias, kleruch. Witnesses: […] Polemon son of Straton, Macedonian, of the cavalrymen of Toubias, kleruch […]. (P.Cair.Zen. 59003 = CPJ 1.1, ellipses part of the original unless in square brackets)

Another document may be quoted here. One of Zenon’s agents was instructed to collect a debt from a village head in Palestine. The reply was as follows: [Alexan]dros to Oryas, greeting. I have received your letter, to which you added a copy of the letter written by Zenon to Jeddous saying that unless he gave the money to Straton, Zenon’s man, we were to hand over his pledge to him (Straton). I happened to be unwell as a result of taking some medicine, so I sent a lad, a servant of mine, with Straton, and wrote a letter to Jeddous. When they returned they said that he had taken no notice of my letter, but had attacked them and thrown

them out of the village. So I am writing to you (for your information). (P.Cair.Zen. 59018 = CPJ 1.6)

This episode, which raises a smile on the face of most readers, seems clear in its basic outline, though many questions of detail remain. Sadly, we do not know where the incident took place, but judging from the name Jeddous (probably Yaddûaʿ), the individual in question was Jewish. Although it may have taken place in Judea itself, Jews presumably lived elsewhere in Palestine, and consequently, we cannot be certain. With their mixture of letters, legal documents, commercial communications, itineraries and petitions, the Zenon papyri provide a good deal of information on Palestine in the 3rd century BCE, as outlined by V. Tcherikover (1937), including the economy, trading infrastructure, military and administration. However, there are still some astounding lacunae in our knowledge. For example, we still do not know the rather basic information of whether Coele Syria had a governor or whether it was administered just like one of the nomes of Egypt.

The Tobiad Romance We now come to one of the most interesting, but also one of the most infuriating, sources at our disposal: the story of the Tobiads. Its exact genre is debated, but it tells the story of Joseph Tobiad, whose family was intermarried with the high priestly Oniad family, who obtained the tax farming rights to Syro-Palestine in the mid-3rd century BCE and amassed a great fortune as a result. Joseph was then displaced from this office by his youngest son Hyrcanus, who continued to exercise power until Antiochus IV came to the throne in 175 BCE, at which point Hyrcanus supposedly committed suicide. It is very clear that the account is legendary, with many exaggerations and improbabilities in the details. It is not so clear, on the other hand, which parts are contributed by Josephus from his own knowledge or imaginings and which came down to him from an external source. For example, are Joseph’s dealings with his uncle Onias II part of the Tobiad account, or did Josephus provide some of the data from his own head? It seems unlikely that Joseph as regional tax farmer had

24  lester l. grabbe

such sweeping powers as represented in the story, and the account of Hyrcanus’ usurpation of Joseph’s office looks contrived. If Joseph was virtual ruler of Coele Syria, he would surely have been mentioned somewhere in our extant Greek sources for this period. The same applies to his successor Hyrcanus. Yet there are several independent accounts that make us reluctant to discount the Tobiad narrative as mere fiction.2 First, there is mention of a Toubias who is likely to be Joseph’s father in the Zenon papyri. This Toubias is head of a cleruchy in “Ammanitis,” which seems to be the region of Ammon in the Transjordanian area. One is, of course, reminded of Tobiah “the Ammonite slave” in Nehemiah (Neh 2:10), and a hypothetical reconstruction of the Tobiad family over a number of generations has been attempted by B. Mazar, with plausible results. Second, we have reference to Hyrcanus Tobiad in 2 Macc 3:11 and to the Tobiad family in 1 Macc 5:1–68 (Mazar 1957). Finally, we have the site of ʿIraq al-Amir across the Jordan, described by Josephus as the seat of Hyrcanus. The site has been extensively excavated, and Josephus’ claim that Hyrcanus built it from scratch seems mistaken; rather, it was built over a period of time (see, especially, Will and Larché 1991). Some of the buildings there are not mentioned in his description. The first phase of Hellenistic settlement apparently stretched from the 3rd century to the second quarter of the 2nd century BCE (Ji and Lee 2004). Thus, Hyrcanus probably expanded a previously existing settlement (see discussion in Grabbe 2008: 295–96). On the façades of caves in the area there are two inscriptions of the name twbyh (“Tobiah”). These have been variously dated from as late as the 3rd–2nd centuries to as early as the 5th century BCE (Lapp and Lapp 1993: 647; Mazar 1957: 141–142; cf. Zayadine 1997: 177). What emerges from the story is the picture of powerful families, such as the Tobiads and Oniads, which dominated society, including with Mafia-style activity when required. With the Tobiads and the Oniads we are familiar from extant sources, but there may have been other controlling families in the region whose existence is now unknown because the sources have disappeared or remain undiscovered. Judea seems to have been, to some extent, a lawless region, far enough from the central

Egyptian government for individuals to have gained and exercised power—whether the village head at the level of the village or by individuals like Joseph or Hyrcanus Tobiad or the Oniad high priests at the provincial level.

Ptolemy II Decrees Parts of two decrees by Ptolemy II (SB 8008 = Bagnall and Derow 2004: No. 64), issued ca. 260 BCE, are preserved among the Rainer papyri in Vienna. They provide some insights into society in Palestine at the time—basically the same period that Zenon was touring through the region: •

The region is divided into hyparchies, and an oikonomos or financial officer was appointed in each to deal with taxation.

•

The village was the basic unit of tax administration, with the village headman (komarch) playing an important role in the process.

•

Registration of property and payment of tax was an annual event, with a variety of taxes.

•

Slaves were an important economic possession, which meant that illegal enslavement of free individuals was a major problem for the region.

The Transfer of Judea to Seleucid Rule The last couple of decades of Ptolemaic rule are known in tolerable detail, though mainly as they pertain to the military campaigns by Antiochus III in his final efforts to regain Syro-Palestine. This illustrates some of our main classical sources. Polybius is one of our most important sources, but is fragmentary for the 3rd century. Diodorus Siculus gives an excellent overview of much of the periods of the Diadochi, but then is episodic. There are other fragmentary accounts, including Pompeius Trogus (in the Epitome of Justinus) and Porphyry’s commentary on Daniel 11 (in extracts from the patristic writer Jerome), along with some useful material in Josephus.

the ptolemaic period: a dark age in jewish history?  25

First came the Fourth Syrian War, culminating in the battle of Raphia in 217 BCE, about which a considerable account by Polybius has been preserved. Despite apparent confidence on Antiochus’ part, the Egyptians defeated him, partly because Ptolemy IV was willing to use native Egyptian troops instead of just Greeks. For the Fifth Syrian War Polybius is available only in fragments, and we have to piece it together from him and a variety of other sources (Holleaux 1942; Gera 1998: 20–35; Huß 2001: 489–492). This conflict is the important one, as it returned Palestine to the Seleucids, which they had claimed since 301 BCE. Ptolemaic Egypt was now under the boy king Ptolemy V (Polybius 15.20.1–4; Justinus 30.2.8). There are indications that some peoples of the region were more willing to accept Seleucid rule than others. Polybius notes that Arab tribes in the region of the Decapolis supported Antiochus III: “The consequence of this series of successes was that the Arab tribes in the neighbourhood, inciting each other to this step, unanimously adhered to him” (Polybius 5.71.1). In addition, “Arabs” formed a part of Antiochus’ forces (5.85.4) (cf. also Honigman 2002). Is it possible that his army included Jews? The main battle was at Panium, near Mount Hermon in the Galilee, in 200 BCE. Unfortunately, Polybius’ main account of the incident has been lost, but he has a section complaining about how the event was inaccurately described by other historians (16.18.2). This gives us some insight into how the battle was fought (cf. the reconstruction of Bar-Kochva 1976: 146–157). After his defeat at Panium, Scopas fled to Sidon, where he was once again besieged by Antiochus, finally surrendering after a long siege, probably in 198 BCE.3 Purposing to retake Judea and the many cities of Syria, Antiochus joined battle with Scopas, Ptolemy’s general, near the sources of the Jordan near where the city now called Paneas was founded, and he put him to flight and besieged him in Sidon together with ten thousand of his soldiers. In order to free him, Ptolemy dispatched the famous generals, Eropus, Menocles and Damoxenus (Vulgate: Damoxeus). Yet he was unable to lift the siege, and finally Scopas, overcome by famine, had to surrender and was sent away with his associates, despoiled of all he had. And as for the statement, “He

shall cast up a mound,” (Dan. 11.15) this indicates that Antiochus is going to besiege the garrison of Scopas in the citadel of Jerusalem for a long time, while the Jews add their exertions as well. And he is going to capture other cities which had formerly been held by the Ptolemaic faction in Syria, Cilicia and Lycia (variant: Lydia). (Porphyry, apud Jerome, Comm. in Dan. on Dan 11:15–16 = FGrHist 260 F 46; translation from Archer 1958: 126)

After the defeat of Scopas, parts of Palestine evidently remained under Ptolemaic control, with Ptolemaic garrisons still to be found in various areas. These had to be taken, including Jerusalem. Josephus makes the following statement: But not long afterwards Antiochus defeated Scopas in a battle near the sources of the Jordan, and destroyed a great part of his army. And later, when Antiochus took possession of the cities in Coele Syria which Scopas had held, and Samaria, the Jews of their own will went over to him and admitted him in their city and made abundant provision for his entire army and his elephants; and they readily joined his forces in besieging the garrison which had been left by Scopas in the citadel of Jerusalem. (Josephus, AJ 12.132–133)4

We do not know Josephus’ source at this point, though it was probably Polybius (Holleaux 1942: 325). In any case, Josephus also quotes Polybius directly: Scopas, the general of Ptolemy, set out for the upper country and during the winter subdued the Jewish nation. … [After Scopas was defeated,] Antiochus took Batanea, Samaria, Abila and Gadara, and after a short time there also came over to him those Jews who live near the temple of Jerusalem, as it is called, concerning which we have more to say, especially concerning the renown of the temple, but we shall defer the account to another occasion. (Polybius 16.39 = Josephus, AJ 12.135–136)

There is evidence for different factions among the Jews, with some supporters of the Seleucids and some of Ptolemaic rule. It has even been suggested that these internal divisions led to some actual fighting among the Jews themselves (cf. Täubler 1946–47). The letter of Antiochus to his general Ptolemy (quoted below) supports

26  lester l. grabbe

the interpretation that the Jews were divided among themselves. A similar statement is made by Porphyry:

artabae of fine flour in accordance with their native law, and one thousand four hundred and sixty medimni of wheat and three hundred and seventy-five medimni of salt. [And it is my will that these things be made over to them as I have ordered, and that the work on the temple be completed, including the porticoes and any other part that it may be necessary to build.]5 The timber, moreover, shall be brought from Judea itself and from other nations and Lebanon without the imposition of a toll-charge. The like shall be done with the other materials needed for making the restoration of the temple more splendid. And all the members of the nation shall have a form of government in accordance with the laws of their country, and the senate, the priests, the scribes of the temple and the temple-singers shall be relieved from the poll-tax and the crown-tax and the salt-tax which they pay. [And, in order that the city may the more quickly be inhabited, I grant both to the present inhabitants and to those who may return before the month of Hyperberetaios exemption from taxes for three years.] We shall also relieve them in future from the third part of their tribute, so that their losses may be made good. And as for those who were carried off from the city and are slaves, we herewith set them free, both them and the children born to them, and order their property to be restored to them. (Josephus, AJ 12.138–144)

During the conflict between Antiochus the Great and the generals of Ptolemy, Judea, which lay between them, was rent into contrary factions, the one group favoring Antiochus, and the other favoring Ptolemy. (Porphyry, apud Jerome, Comm. in Dan. on Daniel 11:14b; translation from Archer 1958: 125)

But there had also been military activity at Jerusalem to take the Egyptian garrison left behind, and the temple had to be repaired at the direction of Simon the high priest (Ben Sira 50:1–4): [1] Greatest among his brothers and the glory of his people was the high priest Simon son of Onias in whose lifetime the house was repaired, in whose days the temple was fortified. [2] He laid the foundation for the high double wall, the high retaining wall of the temple precinct. [3] In his day a reservoir was dug, a cistern broad as the sea. [4] He was concerned to ward off disaster from his people and made the city strong against siege. (REB)

After the battle of Panium, Antiochus III issued a decree that listed the temple personnel and relieved some of their taxes temporarily so that the temple could be repaired of war damage, or so Josephus tells us, with an extensive quotation from the decree (the sections in square brackets are thought by some to be later editorial additions and not part of Antiochus’ original decree): King Antiochus to Ptolemy, greeting. Inasmuch as the Jews, from the very moment when we entered their country, showed their eagerness to serve us and, when we came to their city, gave us a splendid reception and met us with their senate and furnished an abundance of provisions to our soldiers and elephants, and also helped us to expel the Egyptian garrison in the citadel, we have seen fit on our part to requite them for these acts and to restore their city which has been destroyed by the hazards of war, and to repeople it by bringing back to it those who have been dispersed abroad. In the first place we have decided, on account of their piety, to furnish them for their sacrifices an allowance of sacrificial animals, wine, oil and frankincense to the value of twenty thousand pieces of silver, and sacred

This document has generally been taken as authentic (except perhaps for the two sections indicated in square brackets), even if the supposed documents quoted in AJ 12.145–146 and 12.148–153 are rejected. 6 We can summarize the implications of this decree as follows: •

The majority of the Jews seem to have been pro-Seleucid at the time of Antiochus’ invasion.

•

The king provided a modest allowance for sacrifices, though it is not clear whether this was on a temporary basis or for a longer period.

•

The temple personnel (including members of the gerousia) were relieved from certain taxes; however, the statement that all Jews were granted a tax exemption for three years is in a suspect part of the

the ptolemaic period: a dark age in jewish history?  27

decree. In any case, this would have been only a temporary exemption. •

Taxes for the entire population were reduced by one-third for an indefinite future.

•

Those enslaved in the war were to be freed and have their property returned.

Conclusions The answer to our initial question, whether the Ptolemaic period was a dark age in Jewish history, is—as is so often the case—equivocal: it is both yes and no. There is still much we do not know with regard to this period. On the other hand, we are not completely ignorant: there are a number of good sources and some other usable sources that allow a partial reconstruction of Jewish life and even a certain amount of Jewish narrative history. We have the classical Greek histories, though they are often fragmentary for the 3rd century. Josephus’ narrative is mainly taken up with a paraphrase of the Letter of (Pseudo-)Aristeas and the story of the Tobiads. But there are also a few important inscriptions, such as the decree of Ptolemy II. The Zenon papyri are first-class sources, even if they do not tell us all we would like to know. And

there is always archaeology, which seems so often to be overlooked. One of the reasons archaeology is overlooked, however, is that archaeologists have not always prized the data from the Hellenistic period, and they have not often gone out of their way to make the data accessible to non-archaeologists. Others of our sources are crying out for careful and thorough study, including the Zenon papyri. It is a sad commentary on the state of scholarship when one of the best overall studies on Palestine in the Ptolemaic period remains Victor Tcherikover’s 1937 article in the long-defunct journal Mizraim. Too often historians of this period fall back on stereotyped images of Jewish life and Jewish society. But the Jews of Ptolemaic Palestine were far removed from the rabbinic academies of the early centuries CE or the shtetls of eastern Europe. For example, there were no synagogues, an institution so often considered basic to Jewish life. The first evidence for the synagogue (προσευχή) comes from 3rd-century Egypt, while in Palestine synagogues are evidently post-Maccabean.7 Many Jews were soldiers, either directly in the military or part of a military colony. The 3rd century BCE is a dark age in Jewish history primarily because it is a neglected age. If we want it to be illuminated, we must get to work and do it ourselves.

NOTES 1. In the rest of the paper, specific sources are cited; however, in many cases more information is available in Grabbe 2008. 2. A recent article by Kaye and Amitay (2015) provides evidence of Josephus’ knowledge of this period. They contend that the section of Josephus, AJ 12.154–155, does not originally belong to the Tobiad Romance (154). After this, Antiochus made an alliance and a sacred agreement with Ptolemy, gave him his daughter Cleopatra in marriage, and yielded Coele Syria, Samaria, Judea and Phoenicia to him as a dowry (155). The taxes having been divided up between the two sovereigns, the leading men of each place purchased the right to collect the taxes of their own country, and collecting the prescribed sum, paid it to the sovereigns. I thank Prof. S. Honigman, who brought this article to my attention.

3. For the date of the battle of Panium, see Lorber, this volume. 4. All translations of Josephus are by R. Marcus in LCL. 5. Prof. Honigman reminded me that this sentence corresponds well to the statement of Ben Sira 50:1–4, quoted above. Whether that supports the authenticity of the passage is still a question in my mind. 6. Gauger 1977: 19, 23–24, 61–63, 136–139. Many accept the authenticity of the full document; see, further, Bickerman 2007a; 2007b; 2007c; Marcus 1943; Hengel 1974: 171–172; Grabbe 2001; 2008: 324–326. Also Aperghis 2011; Gauthier 1989: 23–26, who compares the first letter of Antiochus III to Sardis, who provides a grant of wood for repairing war damage to the city (my thanks are extended to Prof. Honigman for bringing these last two items to my attention). 7. For a discussion and extensive references, see Grabbe 2008: 234–238.

28  lester l. grabbe

REFERENCES Aperghis, G.G. 2011. Jewish Subjects and Seleukid Kings: A Case Study of Economic Interaction. In: Archibald, Z.H., Davies, J.K. and Gabrielsen, V., eds. The Economies of Hellenistic Societies, Third to First Centuries BC. Oxford: 19–41. Arav, R. 1989. Hellenistic Palestine: Settlement Patterns and City Planning, 337–31 B.C.E. (British Archaeological Reports International Series 485). Oxford. Archer Jr, G.L. 1958. Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel. Grand Rapids, MI. Ariel, D.T. and Shoham, Y. 2000. Locally Stamped Handles and Associated Body Fragments of the Persian and Hellenistic Periods. In: Ariel, D.T., ed. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, VI: Inscriptions (Qedem 41). Jerusalem: 137–171. Bagnall, R.S. and Derow, P. 2004. The Hellenistic Period. Historical Sources in Translation (2nd ed.) (Blackwell Sourcebooks in Ancient History). Malden, MA, Oxford, Carlton and Victoria, Australia. Barag, D. 1994–99. The Coinage of Yehud and the Ptolemies. Israel Numismatic Journal 13: 27–37. Bar-Kochva, B. 1976. The Seleucid Army: Organization and Tactics in the Great Campaigns (Cambridge Classical Studies). Cambridge, U.K. Berlin, A.M. 1997. Between Large Forces: Palestine in the Hellenistic Period. The Biblical Archaeologist 60: 2–51. Berlin, A.M. 2002. Power and Its Afterlife: Tombs in Hellenistic Palestine. Near Eastern Archaeology 65: 138–148. Bickerman, E.J. 2007a. A Question of Authenticity: The Jewish Privileges. In: Tropper, A., ed. Studies in Jewish and Christian History: A New Edition in English including The God of the Maccabees (2 vols.). Leiden: 295–314. Bickerman, E.J. 2007b. The Seleucid Charter for Jerusalem. In: Bickerman, E.J. Studies in Jewish and Christian History: A New Edition in English including The God of the Maccabees (2 vols.). Leiden: 315–356. Bickerman, E.J. 2007c. A Seleucid Proclamation concerning the Temple in Jerusalem. In: Tropper, A., ed. Studies in Jewish and Christian History: A New Edition in English including The God of the Maccabees (2 vols.). Leiden: 357–375. Finkelstein, I. 1988–89. The Land of Ephraim Survey 1980–1987: Preliminary Report. Tel Aviv 15–16: 117–183. Finkelstein, I. 1993. The Southern Samarian Hills Survey. In: Stern, E., ed. New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, Vol. 4. Jerusalem: 1313–1314. Gauger, J.-D. 1977. Beiträge zur jüdischen Apologetik: Untersuchungen zur Authentizität von Urkunden bei Flavius Josephus und im I. Makkabäerbuch (Bonner biblische Beiträge 49). Cologne and Bonn. Gauthier, P. 1989. Archaeological Exploration of Sardis: Nouvelles Inscriptions de Sardes II (Centre de recherche d’histoire et

de philologie de la IVe Section de l’École Pratique des Hautes Études 3; Hautes études du monde gréco-romain 15). Geneva. Gera, D. 1998. Judaea and Mediterranean Politics 219 to 161 B.C.E. (Brill’s Series in Jewish Studies 8). Leiden. Grabbe, L.L. 2001. Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period. In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 129–155. Grabbe, L.L. 2004. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah (Library of Second Temple Series 47). London and New York. Grabbe, L.L. 2008. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 BCE) (Library of Second Temple Series 68). London. Harrison, R. 1994. Hellenization in Syria-Palestine: The Case of Judea in the Third Century BCE. The Biblical Archaeologist 57: 98–108. Hengel, M. 1974. Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period (2 vols.). London and Philadelphia. Holleaux, M. 1942. La chronologie de la Cinquième Guerre de Syrie. In: Holleaux, M. Études d’épigraphie et d’histoire grecques, III: Lagides et Séleucides (L’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres). Paris: 317–335. Honigman, S. 2002. Les divers sens de l’ethnique ᾿ΑPAΨ dans les sources documentaires grecques d’Égypte. Ancient Society 32: 43–72. Huß, W. 2001. Ägypten in hellenistischer Zeit: 332–30 v. Chr. Munich. Isaac, B. 1991. A Seleucid Inscription from Jamnia-on-the-Sea: Antiochus V Eupator and the Sidonians. Israel Exploration Journal 41: 132–144. Ji, C.-H.C. and Lee, J.K. 2004. From the Tobiads to the Hasmoneans: The Hellenistic Pottery, Coins, and History in the Regions of ʿIrāq al-Amīr and the Wādi Ḥisbān. Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan 8: 177–188. Kaye, N. and Amitay, O. 2015. Kleopatra’s Dowry: Taxation and Sovereignty between Hellenistic Kingdoms. Historia 64: 131–155. Kuhnen, H.-P. 1990. Palästina in griechisch-römischer Zeit (Handbuch der Archaologie, Vorderasien 2, Band 2). Munich. Lapp, P.W. and Lapp, N.L. 1993. ʿIraq el-Emir. In: Stern, E., ed. New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, 2. Jerusalem: 646–649.

the ptolemaic period: a dark age in jewish history?  29 Lipschits, O. and Tal, O. 2007. The Settlement Archaeology of the Province of Judah. In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 33–52. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2011. The Yehud Stamp Impressions: A Corpus of Inscribed Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah. Winona Lake. Marcus, R. 1943. Appendix D. Antiochus III and the Jews (Ant. xii. 129–53). In: Thackeray, H.S.J., ed. Josephus, 7 (Loeb Classical Library). London and Cambridge, MA: 743–766. Mazar, B. 1957. The Tobiads. Israel Exploration Journal 7: 137–145, 229–238. Reich, R. and Shukron, E. 2007. The Yehud Stamp Impressions from the 1995–2005 City of David Excavations. Tel Aviv 34: 59–65. Smith, R.H. 1990. The Southern Levant in the Hellenistic Period. Levant 22: 123–130.

Täubler, E. 1946–47. Jerusalem 201 to 199 B.C.E. on the History of a Messianic Movement. The Jewish Quarterly Review 37: 1–30, 125–137, 249–263. Tcherikover, V.A. 1937. Palestine under the Ptolemies (a Contribution to the Study of the Zenon Papyri). Mizraim 4–5: 9–90. Will, E. and Larché, F. eds. 1991. ʿIraq al Amir: Le Château du Tobiade Hyrcan (2 vols.) (Institut français d’archéologie du Proche-Orient, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 132). Paris. Zayadine, F. 1997. ʿIraq el-Amir. In: Meyers, E.M., ed. The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, 3. New York: 177–181. Zertal, A. 1993. The Mount Manasseh (Northern Samarian Hills) Survey. In: Stern, E., ed. New Encyclopedia of the Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, 4. Jerusalem: 1311–1312.

2 Numismatic Evidence and the Chronology of the Fifth Syrian War Catharine C. Lorber

More than a century has elapsed since the last critical examination of the chronology of the Fifth Syrian War, published by Maurice Holleaux in 1908. Holleaux relied upon literary sources, but recent discoveries and observations suggest that numismatics could be a valuable supplement to the texts. The literary evidence for the Fifth Syrian War is extremely unsatisfactory. Book 16 of Polybius’ Histories, treating the events of 201 and 200 BCE, survives only in fragments, and Book 17, treating the events of 199 and 198, has not survived at all. There is relevant information in Josephus, Livy and Hieronymus, but no continuous narrative anywhere to tie it all together. Holleaux’s analysis of these literary sources led him to the following reconstruction of the history of the war: in the winter of 203/2 Antiochus III and Philip V of Macedon agreed to partition the foreign possessions of the child king Ptolemy V (Polybius 15.20:1–3). In 202 Antiochus III initiated the first campaign of the Fifth Syrian War (Holleaux 1908: 269). He invaded and occupied much of Syria and

Phoenicia, eventually taking Gaza after a long siege, which tied him down until the summer or autumn of 201 (Holleaux 1908: 269–270, 273). In the winter of 201/0 the Ptolemaic general Scopas the Aetolian launched a counter-offensive and recovered the cities taken by Antiochus (Josephus, AJ 12.135; Holleaux 1908: 273–274). He then returned to Egypt, taking part of the Jewish aristocracy with him (Hieronymus, In Danielem 11.13– 14). In the spring of 200 Scopas began his second Syrian campaign, but Antiochus confronted him at Panium and inflicted a crushing defeat on the Ptolemaic army, exterminating the phalanx (Polybius 16.22a; Holleaux 1908: 270–74). Immediately after this victory Antiochus began his reconquest of Coele Syria, taking Batanea, Samaria, Abila and Gadara, and he essentially completed this campaign in the summer and/or autumn of 200 (Josephus, AJ 12.136; Holleaux 1908: 274). The defeated Scopas and ten thousand of his troops retreated to Sidon, where they were besieged (Hieronymus, In Danielem 11.15–16). Alexandria sent three armies to relieve the

I am grateful to Stanley Burstein, Werner Huß, Renzo Lucherini and Mark Passehl for reading earlier drafts of this paper and offering helpful comments. Any errors remaining are my responsibility.

32  catharine c. lorber

trapped troops, but in vain (Hieronymus, In Danielem 11.15–16). Eventually, probably in the spring or summer of 199, famine forced Scopas to surrender and Antiochus allowed him to evacuate his men unharmed (Hieronymus, In Danielem 11.15–16; Holleaux 1908: 275). Mopping up operations―overcoming local pockets of resistance like that of the citadel of Jerusalem, as well as general pacification―filled the final months of 199 and extended into the summer of 198 (Josephus, AJ 12.133; Hieronymus, In Danielem 11.15–16; Livy, History of Rome 33.19.8; Holleaux 1908: 275). Holleaux’s chronology has been almost universally accepted since its publication, with only minor differences in detail. Some scholars follow B. Niese in dating the first invasion of Antiochus III to 201 (Niese 1963: 2.578; Cary 1965: 93; Tcherikover 1970: 75; Gera 1998: 22–23; Hölbl 2001: 136; Huß 2001: 489). Many envision a different rhythm for the Seleucid conquests after Panium. For example, J. Grainger assumed that the inland areas were reoccupied promptly but that coastal cities held out into 199 (Grainger 2010: 260–261). Tcherikover dated Antiochus’ capture of the fortified cities of Coele Syria to 199–198 (Tcherikover 1970: 75). In G. Hölbl’s account, the entire campaign is delayed until the first half of 198 (Hölbl 2001: 136–137). Most elements, however, remain fixed. The decisive battle of Panium is always dated to 200.1 If other events are mentioned at all, they are dated according to Holleaux: the siege of Gaza ended in 201, the Ptolemaic counter-offensive occurred in the winter of 201/0, and Sidon surrendered in 199 (Bar-Kochva 1976: 146; Grainger 1991: 102; Hölbl 2001: 136; Huß 2001: 489, 491; Sartre 2001: 200). In 1976 B. Bar-Kochva argued persuasively that Antiochus must have launched his second campaign of conquest from Damascus, because the site of Panium lies on one side of the easternmost road from Damascus into northern Palestine (Bar-Kochva 1976: 149 with nn. 12–14).2 However Bar-Kochva assumed a coastal route for the first invasion and stated that the Seleucid king left garrisons in key positions before withdrawing to Syria for the winter of 201/0 (Bar-Kochva 1976: 146–147). Coinage, however, seems to indicate that the coastal cities of northern and central Phoenicia remained Ptolemaic through most of the Fifth Syrian War, with the implication, recognized by Grainger, that Antiochus used

an inland route for his first as well as his second invasion.3 The mintmarks of Tripolis, Botrys, Byblos, Berytus, Sidon, Tyre, Dora and Strato’s Tower are found on undated tetradrachms bearing the portrait of Ptolemy V (Fig. 2.1) (Mørkholm 1983: 244–249). O. Mørkholm identified various links between these civic issues and the main coinage of the Fifth Syrian War, which he attributed to a mint traveling with the Ptolemaic army (Mørkholm 1979: 206–208). He proposed dating the entire Fifth Syrian War coinage to 202–200 BCE, reflecting the common view that Ptolemaic military operations essentially ended after the battle of Panium in 200 (Mørkholm 1979: 208). In addition, two coastal cities not included in the first group issued portrait tetradrachms for Ptolemy V with regnal dates: Ioppe produced a small issue of tetradrachms in regnal year 5, equivalent to 201/0 BCE. Then the obverse die, already quite worn, was transferred to Ptolemaïs (Akko), which struck another small issue in regnal year 6, equivalent to 200/199 BCE.4 Portrait tetradrachms of Ptolemy V dated to his seventh regnal year were unknown until very recently. In 2013, two specimens of this date, with the mintmark of Ptolemaïs (Akko), appeared on the numismatic market. One was struck from the same dies as the previously known issue of regnal year 6 (Fig. 2.2:1).5 The obverse die is even more worn in year 7, and the reverse die has been recut to change the date. The second specimen of the year 7 issue (Fig. 2.2:2)6 features an awkward recutting of the old obverse die, which is barely recognizable. These year 7 tetradrachms prove that Ptolemaïs (Akko) was still under Ptolemaic authority for at least part of the year 199/8 BCE. The transfer of an obverse die from Ioppe to Ptolemaïs after 201/0 might perhaps be taken as evidence that Ioppe was attacked or captured before regnal year 6, but this is probably an erroneous inference. There are five obverse die links between the main series of the Fifth Syrian War coinage and the contemporary tetradrachms of the Phoenician cities, reflecting die transfers involving Sidon, Tyre and Berytus.7 Other numismatic evidence also draws our attention to the 7th regnal year of Ptolemy V. Two rare bronze coins of Tyre, one preserved in the Israel Museum and the other in Paris, are exceptional in that they bear an obverse inscription (Fig. 2.3:1).8 The inscription advertises

numismatic evidence and the chronology of the fifth syrian war  33

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Fig. 2.1: Undated tetradrachms of Ptolemy V 1) from Tripolis (formerly Don Doswell collection, photos by C. Lorber) 2) from Byblos (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Dattari collection, Z.2884,310, photos by T. Faucher) 3) from Berytus (Biblothèque nationale de France, no. 363, photos by T. Faucher) 4) from Sidon (Numismatic Fine Arts photo archive, courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group) 5) from Tyre (Triton IX, 9 January 2006, 1081, courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group) 6) from Dora (formerly Don Doswell collection, photos by C. Lorber) 7) from Strato’s Tower (Numismatic Fine Arts photo archive, courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group)

34  catharine c. lorber

one of the cult epithets of Ptolemy V Epiphanes. This title is first attested in the dating protocols of Egyptian documents of 199/8. It appears in its Egyptian form, p3 nṯr ntj pr (“the god who appears”), in P.dem.Louvre 2345 (= P.dem.Schreibertrad. 26), a Theban document dated between 11 December 199 and 9 January 198 (Huß 2001: 529). Documents from Upper Egypt normally name two eponymous priests in their dating protocols, the Alexandrian priest of Alexander and the deified Ptolemies, and the priest of the royal cult of Ptolemaïs in the Thebaid. In this case, however, the protocol is damaged and only the name of the Upper Egyptian priest can be read. The full protocol survives in P.dem.Recueil 8, another Theban document dated between 9 February and 8 March 198.9 Because the dating protocols of Ptolemaic documents name eponymous priests, we can conclude that the fifth Ptolemy was enrolled in the dynastic cult at the beginning of his seventh regnal year, that is, on 12 October 199.10 The Tyrian bronze coins, then, are evidence that Tyre remained under Ptolemaic authority until at least the beginning of the seventh year of Ptolemy V—199/8. The Seleucid bronze coinage of Tyre is dated by the Seleucid era and begins in S.E. 115, equivalent to 198/7.11 The coinage of Tyre thus makes it clear that the city passed from Ptolemaic to Seleucid control in the course of the Julian year 198. Several coin hoards from the Syro-Phoenician region can be dated to the seventh regnal year of Ptolemy V because they contain tetradrachms inscribed with the cult epithet Epiphanes (Fig. 2.3:2) or closely related tetradrachms depicting Ptolemy Soter that share the alpha rho monogram and spearhead symbol of the Epiphanes tetradrachms (Fig. 2.3:3).12 One of these coin hoards is the large Syria 1981 hoard (CH VII 90 = CH VIII 339 = EH I 105), which was dispersed on the numismatic market in the 1980s and repeatedly cited by O. Mørkholm as evidence for the coins used to finance the Ptolemaic side of the Fifth Syrian War. It was recently reconstructed by A. Meadows, who has identified some 950 hoard coins from records deposited in the British Museum (Meadows 2017). The reports of various informants indicate that four specimens of the Epiphanes tetradrachms were included in the hoard, as well as another five specimens of the control-linked tetradrachms (in addition, Meadows concluded that one of the year 7 tetradrachms of Ptolemaïs

originally belonged to this hoard). The most important informant about the Syria 1981 hoard was the late Israeli numismatist A. Spaer, who reported that the hoard came from beyond the Jordan River, perhaps from Syria. Other informants referred to it as a Syrian hoard, and it was under this rubric that it entered the hoard literature. Some lots from the hoard reached the western numismatic market from Lebanon, further supporting a find-spot in Syria (as opposed to Jordan). Two tetradrachms linked to the Epiphanes issue were included in the Balatah hoard of 1960 (IGCH 1588 = EH I 108), which was found in controlled archaeological excavations at the site of ancient Shechem. In the initial publication of this hoard, O.R. Sellers explicitly denied that it could be connected with the conquest of Samaria by Antiochus III. He reached this conclusion because he misinterpreted the control letter M that appears on a tetradrachm of Ptolemy V as a date equivalent to regnal year 12, that is, 193 BCE (Sellers 1962: 89–90). The dating of the coins has now been corrected in a republication of the hoard by E. Carlen, who concluded that the tetradrachms linked to the Epiphanes issue are the latest coins in the hoard (Carlen 2014: esp. 51–52). We can now affirm that the hoard contents fix the conquest of Samaria in the seventh year of Ptolemy V—199/8. A single tetradrachm linked to the Epiphanes issue was present in the small Madaba hoard of ca. 1919 (IGCH 1592 = EH I 112). We can thus affirm that this Transjordanian city remained under Ptolemaic authority until 199/8.13 It is tempting to associate the loss of the Syria 1981 hoard with the catastrophe at Panium, but the location of the battle site in the Golan Heights, occupied by Israel since 1967, is somewhat difficult to reconcile with Spaer’s report that the hoard came from across the Jordan and perhaps from Syria. As an alternative we may look to the testimony of Josephus, who, in AJ 12.136, lists the conquests of Antiochus III as Batanea, Samaria, Abila and Gadara. The Syria 1981 hoard can perhaps be associated with the conquest of Batanea; however, the size of the hoard argues for connecting it with the fall of an important city such as Abila or Gadara, even though both lay in the territory of modern Jordan. The Balatah hoard dates the conquest of Samaria to 199/8. In AJ 12.133, Josephus indicates that the Jews living around Jerusalem surrendered to Antiochus III

1

numismatic evidence and the chronology of the fifth syrian war  35

21

32

Fig. 2.2: From Ptolemais (Akko) 1) year 7 (Morten & Eden 64, 5–6 June 2013, lot 85A, courtesy of Morten & Eden) 2) year 7 (Triton XVI, January 2013, 604, courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group)

1

2

3

Fig. 2.3: Epiphanes coinage 1) Bronze from Tyre (Israel Museum 8658, courtesy of Haim Gitler) 2) tetradrachm (Hess-Divo 307, 7 June 2007, lot 1369) 3) tetradrachm (Carlen Collection, Princeton, NJ; photos by Eric Carlen)

after he conquered Samaria. Thus, 199/8 is the earliest possible date for the surrender of Jerusalem, and indeed, it has been so dated by various historians.14 Finally, the Madaba hoard dates Antiochus’ further conquests east of the Dead Sea to the same year, 199/8. We thus have three hoards fixing the final SyroPhoenician campaign of Antiochus III in the year 199/8, as well as two securely dated coin issues showing that Tyre and Ptolemaïs (Akko) remained Ptolemaic in that year. The numismatic evidence is completely consistent with the statement of Livy (33.19.8), referring to the events of 197, that Antiochus transferred the cities of Coele Syria to his own dominion during the preceding summer. We can press this evidence a bit further. The tetradrachms in question may have been authorized and struck in advance of the start of the seventh regnal year,

but they surely would not have been distributed before its official beginning, i.e., before 12 October 199 BCE. Tetradrachms are generally associated with military pay, so we need not allow for a period of circulation before these tetradrachms reached Samaria, Madaba and other fortified places in the Transjordan. Because the coins carried an important message of royal propaganda, they may have been delivered expeditiously to the garrisons of these and other cities, possibly beginning in October 199. In any case, their presence at several sites of Coele Syria clearly rules out the chronology of Holleaux, who placed its conquest in the year 200. The numismatic evidence also seems incompatible with a chronology that dates the beginning of Antiochus’ campaign of reconquest to 199 and its conclusion to 198. The routes by which the freshly minted tetradrachms were delivered to Samaria

36  catharine c. lorber

and Transjordanian destinations would have crossed the path of the Seleucid invasion, and it is very unlikely that such deliveries would have been completed or even attempted in the midst of an invasion. The battle of Panium had almost certainly not yet occurred by October 199 and the whole province of Syria and Phoenicia was still under Ptolemaic control. In fact, before Holleaux, the reigning chronology for the Fifth Syrian War was that of Heinrich Nissen, who approached the topic from his critical study of Livy. Livy 31.43.5–7 describes a recruiting trip of Scopas to his Aetolian homeland in 199 for the purpose of hiring mercenaries. Livy 33.19.8, as noted above, fixes the conquest of Ptolemaic Syria and Phoenicia by Antiochus III in the summer of 198. Juxtaposing these two passages, Nissen assumed that the Aetolian mercenaries were hired for Scopas’ counter-attack, which he therefore dated to the winter of 199/8, while placing the battle of Panium in 198 (Nissen 1975: 134, n. 3, 142, 326). B. Niese, in 1899, was the first to propose dating Scopas’ counter-attack to the winter of 201/0. In 1906 G. Cardinali defended Nissen’s chronology in the context of his study of the Attalid kingdom (Cardinali 1968: 53–54 with n. 4). He noted that Antiochus III was raiding Pergamene territory at the end of the winter of 199/8 but was warned off by a Roman delegation (Livy, History of Rome 32.8.9–16), and he suggested that the king’s abandonment of his Pergamene campaign was in fact motivated by news of Scopas’ success. The last major historians to favor Nissen’s chronology were G. de Sanctis, writing in 1923, and V. Tcherikover, writing in 1937.15 In my opinion, we can dismiss the idea that Scopas’ counter-attack occurred as late as 199/8. In the spring of 200, amid the Roman preparations for war against Philip V, Ptolemy sent an embassy to Rome offering to undertake the defense of Athens himself, and the senate, in declining, expressed its confidence in the resources of his kingdom (Livy, History of Rome 31.9.1–5). It seems very unlikely that Ptolemy would have made such an offer or that Rome would have expressed confidence in his support if Syria and Phoenicia had been in crisis at the time.16 We can reasonably conclude that Scopas had already recovered and garrisoned the disputed territory and that the government in Alexandria believed that the province was

secure. What remains in question is the date of the battle of Panium. Holleaux’s chronology for the battle of Panium depended principally on his interpretations of the structure of Polybius’ Book 16. The only discussion of the battle occurs in the context of an extended criticism of the Rhodian historians Antisthenes and Zeno in Book 16.17 Holleaux, inferring that Polybius must have read Zeno’s account of the battle in preparation for writing his own description in Book 16, claimed this as evidence that the battle occurred in the years covered by this book, i.e., 201 or 200. Similarly, Polybius’ allusion to the siege of Gaza is part of a passage in Book 16 praising the courage and loyalty of the Gazans. For Holleaux this implied that the siege also belonged to the years covered by Book 16. Furthermore, the position of the passage in the Peirese manuscript of Polybius assured that it belonged in the first of these years, that is, that it ended by the autumn of 201 (Holleaux 1908: 269–270). Even though the passage relating to the battle of Panium (16.17.10–18.3) precedes the one relating to the siege of Gaza (16.22a), Holleaux concluded that the siege was earlier because it is mentioned first by Polybius when he introduces his criticism of Zeno’s battle account (16.18.2): “The above-mentioned author in narrating the siege of Gaza and the engagement between Antiochus and Scopas at the Panium in Coele-Syria…” (quoted from Paton 1926). While Holleaux’s arguments are plausible, they are not conclusive. Holleaux also leveled several criticisms against Nissen’s chronology; of these we need to consider only the ones that pertain to the date of the battle of Panium and Antiochus’ final campaign of conquest in Syria and Phoenicia. First, Nissen rejected the statement in Josephus (AJ 12.135–136) that both the counter-attack of Scopas and the reconquest of Coele Syria by Antiochus were recounted in Book 16 of Polybius. Nissen suggested that Josephus had in fact quoted from Book 17, which should narrate the events of the years 199 and 198. For Holleaux this was impossible, since he felt he had demonstrated that the battle of Panium belonged in Book 16. But let us take a closer look at Josephus here. In AJ 12.135–136 he writes: “…for thus does he speak in the sixteenth book of his history: ‘Now Scopas, the general of Ptolemy’s army, went in haste to the superior parts of the country,

numismatic evidence and the chronology of the fifth syrian war  37

and in the winter time overthrew the nation of the Jews.’ He also says, in the same book, that ‘when Scopas was conquered by Antiochus, Antiochus received Batanea, and Samaria, and Abila, and Gadara; and that, a while afterwards, there came in to him those Jews that inhabited near the temple which was called Jerusalem…’” (quoted from Whiston 1999). Note that only the second quotation from Polybius alludes indirectly to the battle of Panium. It is not too difficult to imagine a minor slip here—that Josephus quoted the second passage from a different book of Polybius, especially since there is a far more egregious error a few lines earlier, in AJ 12.131, where Josephus implies that Antiochus had held Judea since the reign of Ptolemy IV. Holleaux’s second argument against Nissen’s chronology concerned Scopas’ two trips to Aetolia to recruit mercenaries for service in the Ptolemaic army. The first took place in 203 and is explicitly linked by Polybius with the anticipated war with Antiochus (Polybius 15.25.16–18; Holleaux 1908: 277). The second, described by Livy, was in 199 and, in Holleaux’s view, could only have occurred after the siege of Sidon for the purpose of restocking the decimated Ptolemaic army in preparation for a feared assault against Egypt itself.18 This interpretation should be reconsidered in light of the situation in Egypt, which was not well documented at the time of Holleaux’s study. In 199 the Ptolemaic government finally initiated a military response to the Great Revolt of the Thebaid, which had broken out in 207 or 206. We know from Greek graffiti in the Memnoneion of Abydos that the city was under siege in August 199.19 Thebes was recovered for Ptolemy V at the end of 199 or the beginning of 198.20 J. O’Neil already suggested that this campaign was made possible by Scopas’ recruiting mission in Aetolia (O’Neil 2012: 137). It is not very credible that after some five or six years of neglect of the revolt in the Thebaid, a belated attempt to recover Upper Egypt would have been launched at precisely the time when Alexandria feared that the Seleucid army was about to invade Egypt. On the contrary, I believe we can infer that the Ptolemaic state felt secure against a Seleucid attack at this point, and this is another clue pointing to a late date for the battle of Panium. I would suggest that it was precisely because the main military forces of the Ptolemaic state were engaged deep

to the south of Egypt that Antiochus saw an opportunity to invade Syria and Phoenicia again. This strategic advantage opened up in the summer of 199. But the coin evidence suggests that Syria and Phoenicia remained unmolested until late 199 or 198. Indeed, as Cardinali reminds us, Antiochus was campaigning against Pergamum in the winter of 199/8 and could only have begun his invasion of Syria and Phoenicia somewhat later in 198. I would assume that Scopas was sent to confront him with whatever troops could be mustered for the purpose―apparently a phalanx of unknown size bolstered by 10,000 additional troops. Consequently, 198 is the only possible date for the battle of Panium, followed by a rapid conquest of the entire province of Syria and Phoenicia in the summer of that year. This Seleucid blitzkrieg was probably facilitated to some degree by the betrayal of Ptolemy son of Thraseas, a member of an elite family in service to the Ptolemies for four generations (Gera 1987: 68). He is known to us as a Seleucid strategos and high priest with estates near Scythopolis, thanks to OGIS 230 and the Hefzibah inscription (Landau 1966; Fischer 1979; Bertrand 1982; Gera 1987: 66–67; Piejko 1991). Gera dated his defection to between 204 and 201 and suggested that it was motivated by events in Alexandria, specifically the fall of his patron Sosibius and the rising influence of the new regent Tlepolemus (Gera 1987: 66–67, 71–73). According to the first editor of the Hefzibah inscription, Y.H. Landau, the dates preserved in the dossier of correspondence between Ptolemy son of Thraseas and Antiochus III are S.E. 111, 112 and 117, equivalent to 202/1, 201/0, and 195 (Landau 1966: 58–60, ll. 4, 9, 19, 36). But a re-edition of the damaged inscription by Thomas Fischer read the earliest date as S.E. 114, equivalent to 199/8 (Fischer 1979: 131–133, ll. 10, 20; accepted by Piejko 1991: 246, ll. 10, 20). The latest edition by J. Heinrichs confirmed most of Landau’s readings of the dates (Heinrichs 2018). B. Chrubasik subsequently attempted to interpret the historical content of the dossier in the chronological framework proposed here (Chrubasik 2019: 120‒129). He suggested that the first letter, dated 202/1, might represent a discreet offer of defection. In summary, these are my propositions for an improved understanding of the Fifth Syrian War and the Ptolemaic defense and loss of Syria and Phoenicia. We can retain

38  catharine c. lorber

the consensus dates for some early events: the first invasion of Antiochus III in 201 and the successful counter-attack of Scopas in the winter of 201/0. The latter, incidentally, probably required a far larger army than the apparently small force that fought at Panium. Scopas must certainly have reinforced existing garrisons in the recovered cities and towns and have installed new garrisons as appropriate. That the government of Alexandria felt confident in this restoration of stability is suggested by Ptolemy’s offer, in the spring of 200, to undertake the protection of Athens against Philip V and by the launching of the campaign to recover Upper Egypt in 199. This offensive provided the opening for a new invasion by Antiochus III, but at the end of the winter of 199/8 he was campaigning in Asia Minor, so his invasion of Syria and Phoenicia was delayed until sometime later in 198. Scopas failed to stop him at Panium, and the Seleucid king rolled up the entire province in a single campaign season.

Numismatic Postscript The revised chronology of the Fifth Syrian War proposed here allows for new and more satisfying interpretations of the iconography of some coins of Ptolemy V. An overview of Lagid numismatic portraiture in the 3rd century gives the distinct impression that an iconographic protocol prohibited the depiction of the reigning king on silver coins unless they were struck in newly acquired or recovered territory (Lorber 2014: 120–128). Mørkholm’s dating of the main series of portrait tetradrachms of Ptolemy V to the years 202–200 related them to the Fifth Syrian War, but not necessarily to the actual recovery of territory.21 It is now possible to suggest that these portrait coins were closely associated with the counter-offensive of Scopas and that part of them, like the dated tetradrachms of Ioppe and Ptolemaïs (Akko), might belong after this campaign, when the territory occupied by Antiochus III was restored to Ptolemaic rule. Even if some or all of the coins were struck in coastal cities that had not fallen to Antiochus in his first campaign and were therefore not recovered territory, it is easy to understand the participation of the coastal cities in an iconographic program that celebrated the salvation of the province.

The numismatic advertisement of the apotheosis of Ptolemy V as a manifest god in 199/8 (Fig. 2.3:1–2) appeared as something of an embarrassment under the old chronology. R. Hazzard dedicated an article to the proposition that the deification of the young king was an attempt to restore his prestige after the loss of Syria and Phoenicia and the secession of Upper Egypt (Hazzard 1995). Believing that Tyre was one of the last Ptolemaic strongholds in the region, I formerly suggested that the message of the coins was intended for the beleaguered Lagid defenders with the aim of inspiring them to hope for a miraculous divine intervention like the epiphany of Ptolemy IV on the battlefield at Raphia (Lorber 2014: 130). The iconography of certain gold coins is also dissonant if considered in terms of the old chronology. The first such coin is a unique gold mnaieion of an uncertain provincial mint, dated to year 6, i.e., 200/199 BCE.22 Its obverse depicts Ptolemy V with a radiate diadem and thus proclaims his apotheosis as a solar god with powers of regeneration and renewal.23 His grandfather, Ptolemy III, had also been portrayed wearing a radiate diadem on gold mnaieia issued during and after the Fourth Syrian War and distributed in the Raphia donative (Fig. 2.4:1) (Svoronos 1904: Vol. 2, No. 1117; Iossif and Lorber 2012: 211–212; Olivier and Lorber 2013: 99–115; Lorber 2014: 147–148). The reverse type of both kings is a cornucopia bound with the same radiate diadem, looped above the top of the horn so that the horn itself appears radiate; this again is a symbol of rebirth and regeneration (Iossif and Lorber 2012: 208–211). The sharing of the radiate diadem and the identical reverse type leave no room for doubt that in 200/199, Ptolemy V was being compared to the conqueror of the Seleucid kingdom in the Third Syrian War and in a way that also recalled the successful outcome of the Fourth Syrian War. The grandiloquent imagery would risk appearing ludicrous, rather than inspiring, had it been issued at a time when Antiochus III had occupied much of Syria and Phoenicia. The types of this unique mnaieion were elaborated in the following year. The new mnaieia showed the same bust of a radiate Ptolemy, now holding a spear over his shoulder, and added a pair of stars flanking the radiate cornucopia on the reverse (Fig. 2.4:2) (Svoronos 1904: Vol. 2, Nos. 1254, 1257). Although these coins are undated, they share two motifs with the Epiphanes

numismatic evidence and the chronology of the fifth syrian war  39

tetradrachms—the spear(head) and the pair of stars— and this argues strongly for a date in 199/8 (Iossif and Lorber 2012: 212–214; Lorber 2014: 150). In the context of the military disaster implied by the old chronology, it is difficult to understand the repetition of all the themes of the year 6 mnaieion, heightened by the addition of the spear symbolizing victory and doriktetos chora (spearwon land).24 To be sure, Hazzard’s theory of a compensatory apotheosis referred to the undated mnaeieia

as well as to the Epiphanes tetradrachms (Hazzard 1995: 422). P. Iossif and I attempted to make sense of the coin types by arguing that the Lagid administration could not know the future and still hoped for a victory, and that the stars evoked the Dioscuri in their aspect as battlefield saviors (Iossif and Lorber 2012: 214–15). However, it is far more satisfying to interpret the triumphal symbolism as reflective of a belief—ultimately mistaken—that Syria and Phoenicia had in fact been saved from Antiochus III.

Fig. 2.4: Mnaieia 1) Alexandrian issue of Ptolemy IV depicting Ptolemy III (formerly Larry Bonner collection, photos by Catharine Lorber) 2) Alexandrian issue of Ptolemy V (Numismatic Fine Arts photo archive, courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group)

1

2

NOTES 1. Cary 1965: 93; Tarn and Griffith 1952: 24; Tcherikover 1970: 75, 435, n. 101; Schmitt 1964: 14, 29; Will 1967: 2.101; Bar-Kochva 1976: 146; Grainger 1991: 101; Walbank 1992: 78, 101, 109; Hölbl 2001: 136; Huß 2001: 490; Sartre 2001: 200. 2. Bar-Kochva’s view is reflected in Hölbl 2001: 136; Huß 2001: 490; Grainger 2010: 249. 3. Grainger 1991: 100–101. An inland route is also assumed by Hölbl (2001: 136), though without reference to the coinage. 4. The issues of years 5 and 6 have been known for some time. See Brett 1947; also Mørkholm 1981: 5–6; 1983: 244, suggesting attribution of the year 6 coin to Ioppe. 5. Year 7: Morton & Eden 64, 5–6 June 2013, lot 85A. Year 6: Brett 1947: 8, No. 6, Pl. 2:6 (= Mørkholm 1981: 8, No. 3, Pl. 3:2; Numismatic Fine Arts Mail Bid Sale, 18 October 1990, lot 1011 (where the mintmark is clear). 6. Triton XVI, January 2013, lot 604. 7. Mørkholm 1979, die A13, was first used for Svoronos 1904: Vol. 2, No. 1185, a tetradrachm of Sidon portraying Ptolemy IV, and subsequently for six different issues of the main series of the Fifth Syrian War coinage: see Mørkholm 1979, Issues XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV and Numismatic Fine Arts XVIII (1987), lot 266. Mørkholm’s

die A5, depicting the young Ptolemy V, links the main series (Mørkholm Issue IV) and Sidon (Svoronos 1904: Vol. 2, No. 1294). Mørkholm’s die A6, also depicting Ptolemy V, provides a link between the main series (Mørkholm Issues V, VI, VIII and XVI) and Tyre (Svoronos 1904: Vol. 2, No. 1927 and SNG Copenhagen Suppl. No. 1300). Morkholm’s die A3, again depicting Ptolemy V, links the main series (Mørkholm Issues I, III, IV, V) and Berytus (SNG Copenhagen Suppl., No. 1297). These links are documented in Mørkholm 1983: 245–246, Pls. A:4–5, B:2–7. Carlen and Lorber 2019 document a fifth die link between Mørkholm’s die A 19, again depicting Ptolemy V, and Berytus. 8. IM 8658, first published by Lorber 2006; and Paris Y 28470; https:// gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b84873897. I thank Héloïse Aumaître for drawing the Paris specimen to my attention. The two coins differ in that the Jerusalem example has a spearhead on the obverse behind the head of Zeus-Ammon, which is lacking on the Paris piece. Their weights, 12.63 g and 16.21 g respectively, are sufficiently different as to suggest two separate denominations. 9. Minas 2000: 121. This document reveals the surprising information that the priest at Ptolemaïs served the cult of Ptolemy Epiphanes, but the Alexandrian priest served the cult of Ptolemy Eucharistos (in

40  catharine c. lorber Demotic, ntj ir md(.t) nfr.t), Minas 2000: 121–125. The next relevant document is P.dem.Berlin 13593 (= P.Eheverträge 28), a marriage contract from Elephantine dated between 12 October and 10 November 198. In this papyrus the priests of year 7 are still named, but both serve the cult of p3 nṯr ntj pr, the god Ptolemy Epiphanes; Minas 2000: 122. 10. Huß 2001: 529. Lanciers (2014: 276–277) cited P.dem.BM.Andrews 29 as evidence that Ptolemy V was already deified in his sixth regnal year and suggested that his apotheosis was announced during the celebration of the Ptolemaieia, between 3 August and 11 October 199. 11. SNG [Spaer]: No. 662 is described with the date S.E. 114, but the reading is doubtful and requires confirmation. 12. Svoronos 1904: Vol. 2, No. 1249, with the inscription ΕΠΙΦΑΝΟΥΣ, and No. 1250, which is linked by a shared monogram and a shared spearhead symbol (which also appears on the Tyrian bronze). 13. In IGCH and in EH I the burial date of the Madaba hoard is given as ca. 170. This is based on an erroneous attribution of one coin to Ptolemy VI. Jenkins (1967: 69, n. 26) stated that the latest coin in the hoard was of Ptolemy V. The coin reposed at the British Museum, where Jenkins was Keeper of Greek Coins. 14. The surrender of Jerusalem was dated to 198 BCE by Tcherikover (1970: 75) and by Hölbl (2001: 136–137, by implication).

15. De Sanctis 1980: Vol. 4, 118, n. 8; Tcherikover 1937: 9. Jacoby (FGrHist 881; commentary on Porphyry) cited Niese but not Holleaux, suggesting that he also favored the old chronology. 16. The incongruity of the offer was also noted by Meadows (1993: 41), but he proposed a different explanation. 17. Polybius 16.14–20; for the battle, see 16.17.10–18.3. 18. Livy, History of Rome 31.43.5–7; Holleaux 1908: 275, 278. This interpretation is repeated by Will 1967: 2.101; Hölbl 2001: 136; Sartre 2001: 200. 19. Perdrizet and Lefebre 1919: Nos. 32 and 32bis; Alliot 1951: 426; Pestman 1965: 163; Veïsse 2004: 17. 20. P.dem.Schreibertrad. 26 (Thebes, Hathyr, year 7 = 11 December 199 to 9 January 198) bears the name of Ptolemy Epiphanes; see Veïsse 2004: 19. 21. Lorber (2014: 129–30) used the phrase “closely associated with the recovery of territory.” 22. Christie’s sale, 9 October 1984, lot 304. 23. On the rays as symbols of rebirth and renewal; see Iossif and Lorber 2012: 200–207. 24. On the symbolism of the spear, see Iossif and Lorber 2012: 214, 216–218.

REFERENCES Alliot, M. 1951. Le Thébaïde en lutte contre les rois d’Alexandrie sous Philopator et Épiphane (216–184). Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire 29: 421–443.  Bar-Kochva, B. 1976. The Seleucid Army: Organization and Tactics in the Great Campaigns (Cambridge Classical Studies). Cambridge, U.K. Bertrand, J.M. 1982. Sur l’inscription d’Hefzibah. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 46: 167–174. Brett, A.B. 1947. Dated Coins of Ptolemy V, 204–180 B.C. Museum Notes (American Numismatic Society) 2: 1–11. Cardinali G. 1968. Il regno di Pergamo: Ricerche di storia e di diritto pubblico (Studia Historica 54). Rome (originally published in Studia di Storia Antica 5, 1906). Carlen, E.A. 2014. A Review of the Shechem Hoard. Israel Numismatic Research 9: 39–59. Carlen, E.A. and Lorber, C.C. 2019. The Fifth Syrian War Portrait Coinage: A Die Study. Revue belge de numismatique et sigillographie 165: 167‒235. Cary, M. 1965. A History of the Greek World from 323 to 146 B.C. (Methuen’s History of the Greek and Roman World 3; rev. 2nd ed.). London and New York (originally published in 1951). Chrubasik, B. 2019. The Epigraphic Dossier concerning Ptolemaios, son of Thraseas, and the Fifth Syrian War. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 209: 115‒130. Fischer, T. 1979. Zur Seleukideninschrift von Hefzibah. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 33: 121–128. Gera, D. 1987. Ptolemy Son of Thraseas and the Fifth Syrian War. Ancient Society 18: 63–73.

Gera, D. 1998. Judaea and Mediterranean Politics 219 to 161 B.C.E. (Brill’s Series in Jewish Studies 8). Leiden. Grainger, J.D. 1991. Hellenistic Phoenicia. Oxford. Grainger, J.D. 2010. The Syrian Wars (Mnemosyne Supplements: History and Archaeology of Classical Antiquity 320). Leiden. Hazzard, R.A. 1995. Theos Epiphanes: Crisis and Response. Harvard Theological Review 88: 415–436. Heinrichs, J. 2018. Antiochos III and Ptolemy, Son of Thraseas, on Private Villages in Koile Syria around 200 BC: The Hefzibah Dossier. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 206: 272‒311. Hölbl, G. 2001. A History of the Ptolemaic Empire. London. Holleaux, M. 1908. Études d’histoire hellénistique: La chronologie de la Cinquième Guerre de Syrie. Klio 8: 267–281. Huß, W. 2001. Ägypten in hellenistischer Zeit, 332–30 v. Chr. Munich. Iossif, P.P. and Lorber, C.C. 2012. The Rays of the Ptolemies. Revue numismatique 169: 197–224. Jenkins, G.K. 1967. The Monetary Systems in the Early Hellenistic Time with Special Regard to the Economic Policy of the Ptolemaic Kings. In: Kindler, A., ed. International Numismatic Convention, Jerusalem, 27‒31 December 1963: The Patterns of Monetary Development in Phoenicia and Palestine in Antiquity. Tel Aviv and Jerusalem: 53‒74. Lanciers, E. 2014. The Development of the Greek Dynastic Cult under Ptolemy V. Archiv für Papyrusforschung 60: 373–383. Landau, Y.H. 1966. A Greek Inscription Found near Hefzibah. Israel Exploration Journal 16: 54–70.

numismatic evidence and the chronology of the fifth syrian war  41 Lorber, C.C. 2006. The Last Ptolemaic Bronze Emission of Tyre. Israel Numismatic Research 1: 15–20. Lorber, C.C. 2014. The Royal Portrait on Ptolemaic Coinage. In: Lichtenberger, A., Martin, K., Nieswandt, H.-Helge and Salzmann, D., eds. Bildwert: Nominalspezifische Kommunikationsstrategien in der Munzprägung hellenistischer Herrscher. Kolloquium vom 17.–18. Juni 2010 in Münster (Euros 2). Bonn: 111–181. Meadows, A.R. 1993. Greek and Roman Diplomacy on the Eve of the Second Macedonian War. Historia 42: 40–60. Meadows, A.R. 2017. EH 105. The “Syria” 1981 Hoard (CH 7.90, 8.306, 8.311, 8.332, 8.344). In: Faucher, T., Meadows, A. and Lorber, C., eds. Egyptian Hoards I: The Ptolemies. Cairo: 150‒194. Minas, M. 2000. Die hieroglyphischen Ahnenreihen der ptolemäischen Könige: Ein Vergleich mit den Titeln der eponymen Priester in den demotischen und griechischen Papyri (Aegyptiaca Treverensia 9). Mainz. Mørkholm, O. 1979. The Portrait Coinage of Ptolemy V: The Main Series. In: Mørkholm, O. and Waggoner, N.M., eds. Greek Numismatics and Archaeology: Essays in Honor of Margaret Thompson. Wetteren: 203–214. Mørkholm, O. 1981. Some Coins of Ptolemy V from Palestine. Israel Numismatic Journal 5: 5–10. Mørkholm, O. 1983. The Ptolemaic Coinage in Phoenicia and the Fifth War with Syria. In: Van’t Dack, E., van Dessel, P. and van Gucht, W., eds. Egypt and the Hellenistic World: Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Leuven, 24–26 May 1982 (Studia Hellenistica 27). Leuven: 241–251. Niese, B. 1963. Geschichte der griechischen und Makedonischen Staaten seit der Schlacht bei Charonea (3 vols.). Darmstadt (originally published 1893–1903, Gotha). Nissen, H. 1975. Kritische Untersuchungen über die Quellen der vierten und fünften Dekade des Livius. New York (originally published in Berlin, 1863). Olivier, J. and Lorber, C. 2013. Three Gold Coinages of ThirdCentury Ptolemaic Egypt. Revue Belge de Numismatique et de Sigillographie 159: 49–150. O’Neil, J. 2012. The Native Revolt against the Ptolemies (206– 185 B.C.E.): Achievements and Limitations. Chronique d’Égypte 87: 133–149.

Paton, W.R. 1926. Polybius The Histories, 5. Cambridge, MA. Perdrizet, P. and Lefebre, G. 1919. Les graffiti grecs du Memnonion d’Abydos. Nancy. Pestman, P.W. 1965. Harmachis et Anmachis, deux rois indigènes du temps des Ptolémées. Chronique d’Égypte 40: 157–170. Piejko, F. 1991. Antiochus III and Ptolemy Son of Thraseas: The Inscription of Hefzibah Reconsidered. L’Antiquité Classique 60: 245–259. de Sanctis, G. 1980. Storia dei Romani (4 vols.). Florence (originally published in Turin in 1907–23). Sartre, M. 2001. D’Alexandre à Zenobie: Histoire du Levant antique IVe siècle av. J.-C.–IIIe siècle ap. J.-C. Paris. Schmitt, H.H. 1964. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Antiochos’ der Grossen und seiner Zeit (Historia Einzelschriften 6). Weisbaden. Sellers, O.R. 1962. Coins of the 1960 Excavation at Shechem. Biblical Archaeologist 25: 87–96. Svoronos, J.N. 1904. Ta Nomismata tou Kratous ton Ptolemaion (3 vols.). Athens. Tarn, W.W. and Griffith, G.T. 1952. Hellenistic Civilization (3rd ed., revised by the author and G.T. Griffith). London. Tcherikover, V.A. 1937. Palestine under the Ptolemies (a contribution to the study of the Zenon papyri). Mizraim 4–5: 9–90. Tcherikover, V.A. 1970. Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (trans. S. Applebaum). New York (originally published in 1959 in Philadelphia). Veïsse, A.-E. 2004. Les “révoltes égyptiennes”: Recherches sur les troubles intérieurs en Égypte du règne de Ptolémée III à la conquête romaine (Studia Hellenistica 41). Leuven. Walbank, F.W. 1992. The Hellenistic World. London. Walbank, F.W. 2002. Polybius, Rome, and the Hellenistic World: Essays and Reflections. Cambridge, U.K. Whiston, W. 1999. The New Complete Works of Josephus. Grand Rapids, MI. Will, É. 1967. Histoire politique du monde hellénistique (323–30 av. J.-C.), 2: Des Avènements d’Antiochos III et de Philippe V à la fin des Lagides (Annales de l’est Mémoire 22). Nancy.

3 The Representation of the Victorious King Comments on the Dedication of a Statue of Ptolemy IV in Jaffa (SEG 20.467 = CIIP 3.2172) Stefan Pfeiffer

Joppe, modern Jaffa, an old and important port on the coast of ancient Phoenicia, was one of the central bases of Ptolemaic dominion over the province Syria kai Phoinikē.1 As Joppe had already been “the main port of disembarkation for commerce with the interior of Judaea” in pre-Ptolemaic times (Schürer 1979: 110–114), it is likely that it had a similar function in Ptolemaic Koile Syria as well. The importance of the city is evident in the fact that it had its own mint and, according to many scholars, seems to have achieved the status of a Greek polis.2 Sevenster called it a city “completely Graecized under the Ptolemies” (Sevenster 1968: 100), a claim that, nevertheless, cannot be proven by epigraphical or archeological data.

During his excavations in the mid-20th century, Jacob Kaplan found, in a catacomb of a house in Area C in the west of the tell, a small white marble slab (ca. 18 × 31 cm), bearing a Greek inscription (Kaplan 1964; 1972). It is on display in the Museum of Antiquities of Tel Aviv– Jaffa.3 As one of the oldest Greek inscriptions found in the Land of Israel, the inscription is of great importance (Fitzmyer 1991: 135). In the following chapter we will see that its importance also lies in its historical and ideological content. Eran Lupu has provided what may be regarded as a definitive edition of the inscription with an autopsy of the stone. With the help of a squeeze, Walter Ameling has adjusted his readings—only his filling of the lacunae can nowadays be questioned:4

My thanks for remarks and corrections to this article go to Daniel von Recklinghausen and Alexander Flegler.

44  stefan pfeiffer

1. Βασιλέα μέγαν Πτολεμαῖον 2. θεὸν Φιλοπάτορα τὸν ἐγ βασιλέως 3. Πτολεμαίου κα βασιλίσσης 4. Βερενίκης θεῶν Εὐε̣ργε̣τῶν, 5. καὶ Πτ̣ο[λε]μα[ίο]υ βασιλέως 6. [Φιλ]αδ[έλ]φ[ου ἔκγον]ον, 7. Ἀνα̣ξικλῆς 8. [ — — ἱ]ερεὺς τοῦ βασι9. [λέως — ] 10. [ — — ?.] 1. The Great king Ptolemy, 2. the Father-loving God, the son of King 3. Ptolemy and Queen 4. Berenike, the Benefactor [Gods], 5. [and grandson] of Pto[le]my, king 6. [Philadelphos, is honored by] 7. Anaxikles 8. [..., p]riest of the king. Having established the actual status quaestionis regarding the text of the inscription, let us now have a look at its content. The text starts with the name of the king in the accusative case. After mentioning the titles and filiation of the king, the name of the dedicator is given in the nominative. The verb ἀνέθηκεν “he has dedicated” or, as Lupu suggests, ἐτίμησεν “he has honored” can be written but is often omitted (Ma 2007; 2013: 208–215, cf. 45). In Lupu’s opinion, the stone must have completed an honorary stele. However, as there is no other example of such a dedicatory custom, I think it is much more probable that the small plaque (only 5 cm thick) was the front orthostat at the base of a statue.5 The use of accusative is both typical and widespread in the Hellenistic world for dedicatory inscriptions on statues, and there are also other examples of similar small marble plaques supplementing a statue base.6 The small dimensions of the plaque may in turn be due to the need to import white marble, which is not a local stone. Anaxikles would have used the expensive marble for the inscription to show the large amount of money he had invested in honoring his king, while the statue base itself would have been of local stone.

A closer look at the text reveals several minor problems. For example, the mention of the grandfather of Ptolemy IV, Ptolemy II Philadelphos, is unusual. In a nearly contemporary dedication of a statue to Ptolemy IV, Ptolemaios, the strategos of Syria kai Phoinikē, only referred to the parents of the king.7 Additionally, since Ptolemy II is mentioned, it is exceptional that his wife Arsinoe II is omitted. She was of great importance for the Ptolemaic dynasty and the archetype for the other Ptolemaic queens. The inclusion of Ptolemy II, however, is a minor problem. If Werner Huß is correct, it was common practice in Semitic tradition to mention the grandfather (Huß 1977: 140; Boffo 1994: 64). An alternative or complementary explanation may be that Ptolemy II is specifically mentioned because he bore a special relationship to the city of Joppe. He might have been the king who established the port as a Greek polis and gave it the right to mint (Schürer 1979: 111; Tal 2011). The inscription gives rise to three further questions that help to understand royal representation and perceptions of the king’s victories in the Ptolemaic empire. The first question is why a priest of the royal cult in Joppe bears the typical Greek name Anaxikles. The second and, in my view, more important question is what information we can gather about royal (re)presentation after the king’s victory at the battle of Raphia. The third and last question, closely linked to the second, is why Ptolemy is called “Great King,” an uncommon title in Hellenistic royal ideology. Thus, I will now set the dedication from Joppe within its broader political and ideological context.

The Donor First, let us have a look at the donor Anaxikles: he has a typical Greek name that was very seldom found in Egypt or in Koile Syria. It can be translated as “famous ruler.” As in Hellenistic times, onomastics in general and Greek names in particular were seldom indicators of ethnic origin. Anaxikles could have been either an ethnic Greek or a local bearing a Greek name. The first solution, which is plausible at first glance, is that Anaxikles was an ethnic Greek installed by the royal court as a functionary in Joppe. As we know from the Zenon papyri, Ptolemaic

the representation of the victorious king  45

functionaries were active in the cities of Koile Syria, and Anaxikles may have been one of these Alexandrians. Several indications, however, lead to the conclusion that he was not an ethnic Greek: Anaxikles does not mention an administrative function for himself and does not give his ethnikon. This information is found on other inscriptions. For example, an inscription originating from the Beqaa Valley notes that a statue of Ptolemy IV was erected by a certain “Marsyas, son of Demetrios, Alexandrian, chief secretary.”8 The lacuna on the stone from Jaffa has space for only 8 to 10 characters—enough space for a filiation, but not for an ethnikon. This means that the information is not simply missing but was in fact never there. The second possibility, already proposed by Werner Huß, seems therefore more likely to me (Huß 1977: 140): I think that Anaxikles was a member of the local elite who bore a Greek name. I may corroborate this assumption by the following hint: since Joppe presumably became a polis during the reign of Ptolemy II,9 by the time of Ptolemy IV it had already seen a long Greek presence and undergone Hellenization. Joppe was, nevertheless, not a typical Greek city. Despite Hellenization, the citizen body consisted of Phoenicians or Syrians who carried on their local traditions and cults. As Tcherikover put it (1966: 116): The majority of the inhabitants were Syrians who had acquired with facility the external Greek culture, but remained internally as oriental as they had ever been. The people of the Greek city offered their sacrifices and incense not to Apollo and Aphrodite, but to Reshef and Ashtoret, although they called their gods by Greek names.

The possibility that Anaxikles was a local with a Greek name is strengthened by the common practice of indigenous administrators elsewhere taking Greek names. In Egypt, which shared Joppe’s bicultural situation, locals who aspired to a high position within the Ptolemaic administration could, by official permission, choose a second name that was Greek. Such individuals were Egyptian in private documentation, but sometimes Greek in official correspondence (Tallet 2011; Veïsse 2007). Some of these Egyptians chose names that interpreted their Egyptian names. Such is the case recorded on a bilingual mummy cloth. It reads in Greek: “Didymos the younger, son of Apolleros. He is sealed (with images) of

hippokentaurodolphins. The fifth year, the 24th Phamenoth.” The Demotic text is shorter and reads: “Hatres the younger.”10 The Egyptian name Hatres means “the Twin” and refers to the Fayumic cult of the two crocodiles. This name is translated into the Greek name Didymos which also means “the Twin,” but refers to the brothers Castor and Polydeukes.11 If practices in Joppe were analogous to those in Egypt, Anaxikles’ Semitic name might have been ʾdnrm—“Adon is august,” which is a translation of the Greek “the ruler is august” (Huß 1977: 140). Huß has already suggested this interpretation and has also pointed to other instances of double GreekSemitic onomastics (Huß 1977: 140; Donner and Röllig 2002: Nos. 41, 47, 53, 54, 55, 57, 60). For example, a certain Aphrodisios “the one who belongs to Aphrodite,” from Ashkelon had ʿbdštrt “slave of Astarte” as a Semitic name (Donner and Röllig 2002: No. 54). In this case, the Greek name Aphrodisios is obviously the translation of the Semitic name, as Aphrodite is the interpretatio Graeca of Astarte. Anaxikles was a priest of the ruler cult, which supports the probability that he was of local origin. It was common practice in the Ptolemaic empire for the ruler cult to be organized by the local elites and not instituted by the royal court itself; this was the case despite the cult for Alexander the Great, which the Ptolemaic dynasty did organize in Alexandria. Local Egyptian priests, for example, organized ruler and dynastic cults in all Egyptian temples through regular synods. They stipulated honorific decrees for the king and promulgated him as an Egyptian god. The only known example of a Ptolemaic functionary and priest of the ruler cult who was of non-local origin is the strategos of Cyprus, who was also the island’s head of administration.12 Anaxikles was not the head of the administration of Ptolemaic Syria kai Phoinikē—this position was held by a certain Andromachos (Polybius 5.87.6). Thus, evidence by analogy strengthens the hypothesis that Anaxikles was a member of the local elite despite his typical Greek name.

The Battle of Raphia After these preliminaries, I now turn to the historical circumstances that led Anaxikles to erect the statue.

46  stefan pfeiffer

Although Hazzard’s reconstruction of the inscription has been discredited by Lupu, it is still highly likely that his dating of the statue’s creation was correct (Hazzard 2000: 177). The statue appears to have been erected as a result of the victory of the king in the battle of Raphia on June 22, 217 BCE.13 My following remarks are based on the assumption that this is correct, although it is impossible to prove. The war between the Ptolemaic and Seleukid kingdoms had started by 221 BCE, after the death of Ptolemy III. Antiochos III, who came to the throne just before the death of Ptolemy III, may have thought that in the precarious times of succession it would be possible to take revenge for Ptolemy III’s deeds. Among other things, he hoped to reverse the unjust annexation of Koile Syria after the wars of the Diadochi (Polybius 5.67). A victory would have given Antiochos urgently needed legitimation of his kingship. In 221, Antiochos failed because of the insurrection of Molon in the east of his empire (Schmitt 1964: 125–147), but his second attempt, in 219, was much more successful as he managed to seize the whole Ptolemaic province of Koile Syria (Huß 1976: 21–26; Schmitt 1964: 86; Grainger 2010: 195–218). The battle of Raphia followed two years later, as Ptolemy IV attempted to regain the province. Two important sources inform us about the events of the battle of Raphia: Polybius’ account (5.79–86), written two generations later, and the so-called Raphia decree, made by Egyptian priests in 217 BCE to honor Ptolemy IV’s victory in the battle of Raphia. Thus, we are able to reconstruct the events of the battle: After a general mobilization, Ptolemy led his army in 217 BCE towards the Egyptian frontier at Pelousion to liberate the occupied province. Antiochos’ army was already awaiting him at Raphia. Thousands of soldiers stood against each other and nearly 200 war elephants— African forest elephants on the Egyptian side and Indian elephants on the Seleukid side. This was the first great military campaign for the young King Ptolemy. Polybius reports the content of the addresses of both kings (5.83): The armies having been drawn up in this fashion, both the kings rode along the line accompanied by their officers and friends, and addressed their soldiers. ... The substance of the addresses was on both sides very similar. For neither king could cite any glorious and

generally recognized achievement of his own, so that it was by reminding the troops of the glorious deeds of their ancestors that they attempted to inspire them with spirit and courage. They laid the greatest stress, however, on the rewards which they might be expected to bestow in the future.14

Polybius’ account is one from Greek literature and he may have invented the addresses, but it is believable that Ptolemy would have referred to his ancestors, as he himself had little to offer, in contrast to his father, who had almost occupied the entire Seleukid empire. Given Polybius’ account, one might wonder how Ptolemy promised to reward his soldiers—but in fact he did.15 After expelling the enemy from the province, there would have been no chance to plunder it. Perhaps Ptolemy referred mainly to the glorious deeds of his ancestors, and Antiochos, who had already won a great military victory against Molon, invoked the possibility of plundering Egypt. Regardless of their promises, things worked out better for Ptolemy in the end. He himself fought on the front lines, leading the right wing of his phalanx to victory. In the words of Polybius (5.85): But Ptolemy having retired under shelter of the phalanx suddenly came forward and showing himself to his troops caused consternation among the enemy and inspired his own men with increased alacrity and spirit.

The action of Ptolemy leading the phalanx on the front line was comparable to the strategy of Alexander the Great, who, at the head of his cavalry, had attacked the Persian king. Besides his legitimation as an heir to the throne of his father, the young king now had the most important legitimation for his rule, as he had demonstrated his victorious nature (Gehrke 1982). In the text of the Raphia decree this point was rendered theologically by stating that the Egyptian gods themselves had foretold the victory to the king in a dream: They revealed themselves to him, called to him, and gave him an oracle in a dream, that he would prevail over [all] his enemies [and that they would not] abandon him.16

Thus, for the Greeks Ptolemy was comparable to Alexander, whereas for the Egyptians the divine oracle shows the election of the king by the gods. This election

the representation of the victorious king  47

made Ptolemy a legitimate pharaoh—at least according to the Egyptian priests. They describe Ptolemy’s total demolition of Antiochos: Having approached him in that battle, he himself slew, in accordance with the way in which Horus son of Isis smote his enemies in the Beginning; he forced Antiochos to abandon the diadem on his royal cloak, so that they might flee with his..., there being only a few men with [him], in a wretched and humiliated condition.17

Ptolemy was now fully legitimized not only as Macedonian king but also as Egyptian pharaoh: he was Horus on earth, who slew the Sethian Antiochos. And indeed, Antiochos left the Ptolemaic kingdom.

Regaining a Province After Ptolemy IV’s victory, Syria kai Phoinikē was again under Ptolemaic sovereignty.18 Only one fictional source—3 Maccabees—mentions a particular city (Jerusalem) that he visited following his victory. However, he did make a victory journey through the whole province, at least according to Polybius, and therefore presumably visited every important city. The peoples of the region were more than happy to see their legitimate and victorious king, or as Polybius puts it (5.86): The natives of these parts are naturally more prone than others to bestow their affections at the bidding of circumstances. … So now there was no extravagance of adulation to which they did not proceed, honoring Ptolemy with crowns, sacrifices, altars dedicated to him and every distinction of the kind.

Polybius calls the honors an “extravagance of adulation” (ὑπερβολὴν ἀρεσκείας), which shows that in the view of a traditional Greek writer like Polybius, the sacrifices and altars offered in Ptolemy’s honor should have been reserved for the gods.19 The Egyptian priests supplement information on the divine honors: While everyone who was in the towns welcomed him, their hearts being happy, they [were] celebrating and coming out before him with the shrines of the gods… wearing garlands and making burnt offerings and sacrifices.20

In sum, Ptolemy was honored as a savior god who had liberated Syria kai Phoinikē. Polybius, as well as the Egyptian priests, emphasize the apparent local initiation of a ruler cult to Ptolemy following his victory. Polybius suggests that the local response was “bidden,” rather than spontaneous, but we do not know if Ptolemy himself wanted to be regarded as a god. ­In any case, he did not try to hinder his subjects from honoring him in this way. Since a living god had to be pious towards the gods of his subjects, Ptolemy tried to show his devoutness for the local gods. Two sources provide hints for this. The first is the fictional 3 Maccabees already mentioned (cf. Momigliano 1929; Boffo 1994: 65). The overall character of this account nevertheless gives a good impression of what happened when a king visited cities within his kingdom: And when we had granted very great revenues to the temples in the cities, we came on to Jerusalem also, and went up to honor the temple of those wicked people, who never cease from their folly. They accepted our presence by word, but insincerely by deed, because when we proposed to enter their inner temple and honor it with magnificent and most beautiful offerings, they were carried away by their traditional conceit, and excluded us from entering.”21

This account shows that the king wanted to show his piety to the Jewish god, and he acted as he normally would have in other cities. In this case, a conflict arises because it was not possible for the king to make the traditional offerings before the god of the Jews. The second source on the king’s piety to the pagan gods is the Raphia decree. The Egyptian priests report that the king was very ambitious in his desire to be regarded as a pious victor: And of the divine images that had been in the temples and which Antiochos had damaged, he ordered that others should be given as replacements for them and should be installed in their places and he gave much gold and precious stones for them, likewise, moreover, for the sacred objects which had been in the temples and which the same men had taken: he took care to have replacements made for them.”22

48  stefan pfeiffer

It is of special interest that the Egyptian priests mention the devoutness of Ptolemy to the gods of Koile Syria; normally, a pharaoh was only required to show his piety towards the Egyptian gods. Therefore, it is at least possible that Ptolemy did indeed take care of the local Syrian gods. The king acted in this manner because he wanted to be regarded as a second Alexander the Great, who, after having won the battle of Gaugamela, acted in quite a similar way. Being welcomed in Babylon with all possible honors, Alexander “directed the Babylonians to rebuild the temples Xerxes destroyed.”23 Like his role model Alexander, Ptolemy honored the local gods who had been violated by Antiochos, the heir of the Persian king and a second Xerxes. After having reestablished Ptolemaic rule in Syria and Phoenicia and some raids into Seleukid Syria, Ptolemy returned to Egypt after three or four months (Polybius 5.87.6).

The Representation of the Victorious King Due to his victory, Ptolemy received full legitimation both as Hellenistic king and as Egyptian pharaoh. But how was this brilliant victory memorialized? We know that the Egyptian priests recorded it in the aforementioned decree. Here they resolved: That a statue should be set up for pharaoh Ptolemy, living forever, beloved of Isis, which should be called “Ptolemy, Horus who has vindicated his Father, whose prowess is fine” and a statue for his sister Arsinoe, the Fatherloving Gods in each of the temples of Egypt, in the public part of the temple, they being made in the manner of Egyptian work; and a statue should be produced of the local god of the temple, and it should be placed upon the base (?) on which the statue of the Pharaoh stands.24

I consider it probable that not only did the priests erect a monument in honor of the victory, but that the king himself dedicated some kind of monument in Alexandria to depict his prowess in war. No traces of such a monument have been preserved. In my view, the supposed Alexandrian monument stood in relation to the veneration

of Sarapis and Isis, because, as Laurent Bricault has proposed quite convincingly, the king ascribed his victory to this Graeco-Egyptian couple (Bricault 1999: 334). For example, coins were minted for the first time showing the double portrait of Sarapis and Isis and both were labeled as “the saviors” (Bricault 1999: 335). Even a sanctuary for a ruler cult was built in Alexandria where Ptolemy and Arsinoe shared the cult with Sarapis and Isis.25 In my view, the dedication of the temple of Isis (and Sarapis) of Taposiris Magna too was in some way related to the victory of Raphia.26 This close relationship between the cult of Sarapis and Isis and the cult of the royal couple established by the ruler is also reflected in the regained province. The aforementioned inscription of the royal functionary Marsyas that was found in Laboueh, the ancient Libo in Lebanon, reads as follows (SEG 28.1571; Salamé-Sarkis 1986: 207–209): 1. [ὑ]πὲρ βασιλέως 2. Πτολεμαίου καὶ 3. βασιλίσσης Ἀρσινόης 4. θεῶν Φιλοπατ[ό]ρων 5. Σαράπιδι Ἴσιδ[ι σ]ωτῆρσιν 6. Μαρσύας Δημητρίου 7. Ἀλεξανδρεὺς 8. ὁ ἀρχιγραμματεύς. 1. For the benefit of King 2. Ptolemaios and 3. Queen Arsinoe, 4. the Fatherloving gods, 5. (dedicated) to Sarapis and Isis, the saviours, 6. by Marsyas, son of Demetrios, 7. Alexandrian, 8. The chief secretary. Marsyas calls himself an Alexandrian and therefore is clearly not a member of the local elite. But it was not only Ptolemaic officials in the province who were anxious to honor the king. The Raphia decree states: “there were some (i.e., inhabitants of the province) who gave him a gold wreath, promising that they would set up statues (twtw) to him and would build temples (jrpj.w) to him.”27

the representation of the victorious king  49

The Statue of Ptolemy from Jaffa in Context If the assumption of earlier research that Anaxikles erected the statue during Ptolemy’s triumphal visit to Koile Syria is correct, the statue is probably of the type mentioned by the Egyptian priests (Boffo 1994: 64–65). If the dedication was really set originally in Joppe, it is possible that the statue of Ptolemy IV was erected in a temple for the king in which the priest was the cult officiant. It is not clear whether such a temple existed in Joppe, and it is equally plausible that the statue was erected on the agora, in a gymnasion, or even in the temple of a local god. As the queen accompanied her husband during the war, it is, moreover, probable that a separate statue of her was erected in Joppe as well, as was the case in the Egyptian temples. A dedicatory inscription of a statue of Arsinoe III, which was found in Marisa/Maresha, also suggests that a similar statue was likely erected in Joppe. The Marisa statue certainly verifies the account of the Egyptian priests that statues of the king were erected in many places of Koile Syria. The inscription of the Arsinoe statue reads (Huß 1976: 71; SEG 38.1670 [21] = CIIP 4.3513): 1. [Βασιλίσσαν Ἀρσ]ινόην μεγάλην 2. [θεὰν (?) Φιλοπάτ]ο̣ρα τὴν ἐγ βασιλέως 3. [Πτολεμαίου καὶ] βασιλίσσης 4. [Βερενί5. κης θεῶν Εὐεργετῶν -----?]

reading Βερενίκ[---], can be completed to a dedication text for a statue of Arsinoe’s husband.28

Great King Ptolemy This reconstruction of the circumstances surrounding the erection of the statue dedicated to Ptolemy would be invalid if the statue had been erected either before or several years after the war. If the reconstruction is correct, we now can turn to my last question and ask what we can learn about the presentation of the king. In this respect, the epithet of Ptolemy as “Great King” is revealing. This is the Greek translation of the old title for the Persian king (Herodotus 1.188; Aeschylus, Persae 24; Xenophon, Anabasis 2.4.3). The title, like the title “king of kings,” expressed his sovereignty over other rulers.29 As the title alludes to the Persian (and Babylonian) king alone, Anaxikles or even the assembly of Joppe may have allegedly spontaneously compared Ptolemy to the Persian king.30 In my view, however, Ptolemy himself ultimately chose the megas basileus title as an official title in the context of his victory. The title is attested for the first time for Ptolemy’s father: after conquering (albeit temporarily) the whole Seleukid empire Ptolemy III celebrated himself as Great King in the well-known victory inscription from Adoulis: Great King Ptolemy (son) of King Ptolemy and Queen Arsinoe the Brother and Sister Gods, the children of King Ptolemy and Queen Berenike the Savior Gods… having become master of all the land this side of the Euphrates… he crossed the Euphrates River and after

1. The Queen Arsinoe, the great 2. goddess Philopator, the daughter of King 3. Ptolemy and Queen 4. Berenike 5. the benefactor gods [--] It is because Arsinoe is called “Great Goddess” that we can put this dedication in the context of Ptolemy’s victory at Raphia. The form of address alludes to the Great King adulation, which Anaxikles gave to Ptolemy. ClermontGanneau and Huß furthermore assume that a fragment of a second inscription from Marisa, which only has the

subjecting to himself… all the rest of the land up to Bactriane… he sent his forces to Egypt…31

We are entitled to see in the official adulation of Ptolemy III as Great King the archetype of his son’s use of the title, even though he had not augmented his empire but only restored it to its original form. Therefore, I assume that the title was promoted officially. This assumption can be corroborated by the actions of the adversaries of the Ptolemies. After defeating the Ptolemies half a generation later, Antiochos III conquered Koile Syria in 200 BCE, and henceforth, was referred to as Great King (Ma 2005: 272­–276). Antiochos’

50  stefan pfeiffer

assumption of this title can be explained by the dialogical structure of what I call “Hellenistic peer monarchical interaction.” In other words, Antiochos called himself Great King because he had defeated the Great King Ptolemy. In his defeat, Ptolemy would have lost his own right to use the title. It is thus not surprising that another Ptolemy, the son of Thraseas, a former Ptolemaic general and governor of Syria and Phoenicia who had changed sides, was the first to refer to Antiochos as Great King. He did so in a letter he addressed “To the great king Antiochos a hypomnema of Ptolemy, strategos and archpriest” (SEG 29.1613:21–22 [201/0 or 199/98 BCE]; Gera 1987; Jones and Ha­bicht 1989).

And Anaxikles? I concede that we only have a small fragment of an inscription that mentions the erection of a statue of the Great King Ptolemy by a certain Anaxikles who was priest of the king. There is neither a dating nor any reason given why Anaxikles honored Ptolemy, and consequently, the reconstruction of historical circumstances that I have presented is so far unverifiable. However, it is plausible that the statue of the god Ptolemy, the Great King, was

part of a victory monument established by Anaxikles, a member of the local elite of Joppe. He based his ruler cult on the official representation of the king as a legitimate successor of Ptolemy III. In contrast to the Egyptian priests who also took over the royal propaganda and modeled it in the Egyptian way, Anaxikles did not model the king in local fashion. He honored his Macedonian king the typical Greek way, because he wanted to appear as a Greek inhabitant of a Greek city. Thus, it was possible for him to copy and paste the official propaganda of the victorious king, but being a local not interested in a foreign cult, he left out the common Egyptian reference to Sarapis and Isis. Finally, the monument may tell us more about the selfperception of Anaxikles and ultimately of the civic community in Joppe than it does about the self-perception of the king. By dedicating a statue to the king, Anaxikles demonstrated his wealth, his Greek culture, and his close relation to the king, thereby achieving a higher level of prestige than his fellow citizens. He also stood to gain a better position with regard to Ptolemaic functionaries in Joppe. As a priest of the king who had honored him with a prestigious statue, Anaxikles’ actions in other spheres could not be questioned so easily.

NOTES 1. “It thus may generally be assumed that the political and social status of Joppa under its minting rulers was relatively high, and that the city had a central administrative role.” (Fantalkin and Tal 2008: 256); on the administration of Koile Syria in Ptolemaic times, see Huß 2011: 144­–150. 2. Tcherikover 1966: 93–94; Tal (2011: 244) estimates that the city was “founded” by Ptolemy II; Strabo 16.2.28; 1 Macc 14:5. 3. Inv. No. 1993-2061. Lupu 2003: 193, n. 2; cf. CIIP 3.2172, commentary; Pfeiffer 2015: No. 18. 4. Lupu 2003: 193–95; CIIP 3.2172 (ed. Walter Ameling); the first edition was prepared by Lifshitz (1962: 82–84); SEG 20.467; Boffo 1994: No. 4; Lupu corrected l. 2, where Lifshitz had τὸν (υἱὸν) βασιλέως. Lupu’s autopsy reveals that the emendation in Hazzard 2000: 177 is not possible. 5. Ma 2013: 40. An altar cannot be ruled out (cf. CIIP 3.2172, commentary), but is rather implausible. A temple, as Horsley and Notley each suggested, would, in my view, have been dedicated using the dative and not the accusative. See Horsley 1998: 262; Notley 2011: 98. 6. See, e.g., Łajtar and Twardecki 2003: No. 50. Lupu (2003: 195) remarked that whereas “statues are normally dedicated by an inscription on a base on which they stand, the present fragment appears to have belonged to a freestanding stele.”

7. SEG 39.1596b (from Tyros): Πτολεμαῖον Θεὸν Φιλοπάτορα βασιλέως Πτολεμαίου καὶ βασιλίσσης Βερενίκης Θεῶν Ευεργετῶν Θρασέας Ἀετοῦ Εὐσέβειος στρατηγὸς Συρίας καὶ Φοινίκης; IG XII 6.1.348 (from Samos): βασιλέα Πτολεμαῖον θεὸν Φιλοπάτορα βασιλέως Πτολεμαίου καὶ βασιλίσσης Βερενικῆς θεῶν Εὐεργετῶν. 8. SEG 28.1571:6–8: Μαρσύας Δημητρίου Ἀλεξανδρεὺς ὁ ἀρχιγραμματεύς; Salamé-Sarkis 1986. 9. Tcherikover 1966: 93, 110; on the problem of the lack of epigraphical evidence in the whole region, see Millar 1987. 10. “Δίδυμος νεώτερος Ἀπολλέρωτος ἱπποκενταυροδελ̣ ε ίν̣ ο ν ἐσφράγισται (ἔτους) ε Φαμενὼθ̣ κ̣δ” (Boswinkel and Pestman 1978: No. 30); the text is from the 2nd century CE. 11. Quaegebeur 1978: 250. For Egyptian-Greek double names, compare the case-study of Yoyotte 1969; Scheuble 2010: 552 with n. 8 (about the name Maron); Scheuble-Reiter 2012: 135–38; Quaegebeur 1992. 12. Bengtson 1952: 141–46. Ptolemy, son of Thraseas, the Ptolemaic governor of Koile Syria, is also attested as στραταγὸς καὶ ἀρχιερεὺς Συρίας καὶ Φοινίκιας (SEG 29.1613:21–22), but for the first time after his switching sides to the Seleucids. He may also have been in the position of high priest under the Ptolemies (cf. Cotton and Wörrle 2007: 198), but there is no positive evidence for this assumption. 13. Huß 1977: 131; “Natürlich geht aus dieser Inschrift nicht mit Sicherheit hervor, daß der in Jaffa für den Kult des Königs eingesetzte Priester

the representation of the victorious king  51 Anaxikles die Inschrift i. J. 217 in Stein hat schlagen lassen. Doch ist der Gedanke naheliegend, daß Philopator einen königlichen Kult in Jaffa eingerichtet hat, als er nach seinem Sieg bei Raphia mit der Ordnung der kultischen Verhältnisse in Koilesyrien beschäftigt war” (Huß 1976: 72); Lifshitz 1962; Boffo 1994: 64; “It is only reasonable to assume that the installation of the stele was occasioned by the victory at Raphia... and Philopator’s stay in Syria-Palestine” (Lupu 2003: 194–95). 14. All translations from Polybius here and below are by Paton 2011. 15. Raphia decree, Demotic text, l. 30: “he having given 300.000... as reward to his troops.” Translation: Simpson 1996: 252–53. 16. Raphia decree, Demotic text, l. 9; translation: Simpson 1996: 245. 17. Demotic text, l. 12; cf. Simpson 1996: 245. 18. On the dimensions of the province, see den Hertog 1995. 19. Cf. Polybius 22.6.1. As written by Taeger (1957: 386, 410): “Von den hellenischen Geschichtsschreibern dieser Gesamtperiode hat keiner den Glauben an die Vergottung des Menschen als religiöses Erlebnis geteilt. Sehr viele aber haben ihn direkt abgelehnt und bekämpft. Am reinsten verkörpert für uns Polybios die nüchtern-sachliche Haltung dieser Zeit.” 20. Demotic text, l. 16; cf. Simpson 1996: 247. 21. 3 Macc 3:16–18; translation: NRSV (2003).

22. Demotic text, l. 18; cf. Simpson 1996: 247. 23. Arrian 3.16.4. On his welcome in Babylon, see Q. Curtius Rufus 5.1.20–21. 24. Demotic text, ll. 32–33; cf. Simpson 1996: 253. 25. “Σαράπιδος αὶ Ἴσδος θεῶν Σωτήρων καὶ βασιλέως Πτολεμαίου καὶ βασιλίσσης Ἀρσινόης θεῶν Φιλοπατόρων” (Bernand 2001: No. 18); Bricault 1999: 337, n. 16; the king himself seems to have dedicated this temple, see Fraser 1960: 12, n. 4. 26. Cf. the edition of the foundation plaques of this temple: Martinez, Pfeiffer and von Recklinghausen, forthcoming. 27. Demotic text, ll. 16–17 = Simpson 1996: 247. 28. CIIP 4.3514: “[Βασιλέα Πτολεμαῖον μέγαν θεὸν Φιλοπάτορα τὸν ἐγ βασιλέως Πτολεμαίου καὶ βασιλίσσης] Βερενίκ̣[ης θεῶν Εὐεργέτων ---]”; Huß 1976: 71. 29. At least in the way the Greeks understood the title; cf. Plutarch, Demetrios 25.3–4 30. One has to assume, “daß Ptolemaios IV. diesen Titel von seinem Vater übernommen hat, oder, daß Anaxikles von sich aus einen offiziellen Titel Ptolemaios’ III. dessen Sohn beigelegt hat” (Huß 1976: 73). 31. OGIS I 54; translation by Bagnall and Derow 2004: No. 26.

REFERENCES Bagnall, R.S. and Derow, P., eds. 2004. The Hellenistic Period. Historical Sources in Translation. Malden, MA. Bengtson, H. 1952. Die Strategie in der hellenistischen Zeit, 3. Munich. Bernand, É. 2001. Inscriptions grecques d’Alexandrie ptolémaïque. Cairo. Boffo, L. 1994. Iscrizioni greche e latine per lo studio della Bibbia. Brescia. Boswinkel, E. and Pestman, E., eds. 1978. Textes grecs, démotiques et bilingues (Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava 19). Leiden. Bricault, L. 1999. Sarapis et Isis. Sauveurs de Ptolémée IV à Raphia. Chroniques d’Égypte 74: 334–343. Clermont-Ganneau, C. 1900. Inscriptions grecques d’Éleuthéropolis (Palestine). Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 44ᵉ année, N. 5: 536–541. Cotton, H.M. and Wörrle, M. 2007. Seleukos IV to Heliodoros. A New Dossier of Royal Correspondence from Israel. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 159: 191–203. Donner, H. and Röllig, W. 2002. Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften (3 vols.). Wiesbaden. Fantalkin, A. and Tal, O. 2008. Navigating Between the Powers: Joppa and Its Vicinity in the First Millennium B.C.E. Ugarit-Forschungen 40: 225–276. Fitzmyer, J.A. 1991. The Languages of Palestine in the First Century AD. In: Porter, S.E., ed. The Language of the New Testament: Classic Essays (Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement 60). Sheffield: 126–162. Fraser, P.M. 1960. Two Studies on the Cult of Sarapis in the Hellenistic World. Opuscula Atheniensia 3: 20–49.

Gehrke, H.-J. 1982. Der siegreiche König: Überlegungen zur hellenistischen Monarchie. Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 64: 255–256. Gera, D. 1987. Ptolemy Son of Thraseas and the Fifth Syrian War. Ancient Society 18: 63–73. Grainger, J.D. 2010. The Syrian Wars (Mnemosyne Supplements 320). Leiden and Boston. Hazzard, R.A. 2000. Imagination of a Monarchy. Studies in Ptolemaic Propaganda (Phoenix 37). Toronto. den Hertog, C.G. 1995. Erwägungen zur Territorialgeschichte Koilesyriens in frühhellenistischer Zeit. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 111: 168–183. Horsley, G.H.R. 1998. Epigraphy as an Ancilla to the Study of the Greek Bible. A Propos of a Recent Anthology of Inscriptions. Biblica 79: 258–267. Huß, W. 1976. Unter­su­chun­gen zur Außenpolitik Ptolemaios’ IV (Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 69). Munich. Huß, W. 1977. Der “König der Kö­nige” und der “Herr der Könige”. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 93: 131–140. Huß, W. 2011. Die Verwaltung des ptolemaiischen Reichs. Munich. Jones, C.P. and Ha­bicht, Chr. 1989. A Hellenistic Inscription from Arsinoe in Cilicia. Phoenix 43: 341–346. Kaplan, J. 1964. Jaffa’s History Revealed by the Spade. Archaeology 17: 270–276. Kaplan, J. 1972. The Archaeology and History of Tel Aviv-Jaffa. The Biblical Archaeologist 35: 66–95. Łajtar, A. and Twardecki, A. 2003. Catalogue des inscriptions grecques du Musée National de Varsovie. Warsaw.

52  stefan pfeiffer Lifshitz, B. 1962. Beiträge zur palästinischen Epigraphik. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 78: 64–88. Lupu, E. 2003. A New Look at Three Inscriptions from Jaffa, Jerusalem, and Gaza. Scripta Classica Israelica 22: 193–202. Ma, J. 2005. Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor. Oxford. Ma, J. 2007. Hellenistic Honorific Statues and Their Inscriptions. In: Newby, Z. and Newby-Leader, R., eds. Art and Inscriptions in the Ancient World. Cambridge, U.K.: 203–220. Ma, J. 2013. Statues and Cities: Honorific Portraits and Civic Identity in the Hellenistic World. Oxford. Martinez, K., Pfeiffer, S. and von Recklinghausen, D., forthcoming. New Evidence for the Worship of Isis and Osiris from Taposiris Magna. In: Guardian of Egypt: Papers in Honor of Zahi Hawass. Millar, F. 1987. The Problem of Hellenistic Syria. In: Kuhrt, A. and Sherwin-White, S., eds. Hellenism in the East. The Interaction of Greek and Non-Greek Civilizations from Syria to Central Asia after Alexander. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: 110–133. Momigliano, A. 1929. Il decreto trilingue in onore di Tolomeo Filopatore e la quarta guerra di Celesiria. Aegyptus 10: 188–189. Notley, R.S. 2011. Greco-Roman Jaffa and Its Historical Background. In: Peilstöcker, M. and Burke, A.A., eds. The History and Archaeology of Jaffa, 1: Los Angeles: 95–107. Paton, W.R. 2011. Polybius. The Histories, Vol. III, Books 5–8 (revised by Walbank, F.W. and Habicht, C.; Loeb Classical Library 138). Cambridge, MA. Pfeiffer, S. 2015. Griechische und lateinische Inschriften zum Ptolemäerreich und zur römischen Provinz Aegyptus (Einführungen und Quellentexte zur Ägyptologie 9). Münster. Quaegebeur, J. 1978. Mummy Labels: An Orientation. In: Boswinkel, E. and Pestman, P.W., eds. Textes grecs, démotiques et bilingues (Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava 19). Leiden: 232–258. Quaegebeur, J. 1992. Greco-Egyptian Double Names as a Feature of a Bi-Cultural Society: The Case Ψοσνευς ὁ καὶ Τριάδελφος. In: Johnson, J.H., ed. Life in a Multi-Cultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond

(Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 51). Chicago: 265–272. Salamé-Sarkis, H. 1986. Inscription au nom de Ptolémée IV Philopator trouvée dans le nord de la Béqaʿ. Berytus 34: 207–209. Scheuble, S. 2010. Griechen und Ägypter im ptolemäischen Heer— Bemerkungen zum Phänomen der Doppelnamen. In: Rollinger, R., ed. Interkulturalität in der Alten Welt: Vorderasien, Hellas, Ägypten und die vielfältigen Ebenen des Kontakts (Philippika 34). Wiesbaden: 551–560. Scheuble-Reiter, S. 2012. Die Katökenreiter im ptolemäischen Ägypten (Vestigia 64). Munich. Schmitt, H.H. 1964. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Antiochos’ des Grossen und seiner Zeit (Historia Einzelschriften 6). Wiesbaden. Schürer, E. 1979. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135), 2. Edinburgh. Sevenster, J.N. 1968. Do You Know Greek? How Much Greek Could the First Jewish Christians Have Known? Leiden. Simpson, R.S. 1996. Demotic Grammar in the Ptolemaic Sacerdotal Decrees. Oxford. Taeger, F. 1957. Charisma: Studien zur Geschichte des antiken Herrscherkultes, 1. Stuttgart. Tal, O. 2011. “Hellenistic Foundations” in Palestine. In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. Judah between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca. 400–200 BCE) (Library of Second Temple Studies 75). New York and London: 242–254. Tallet, G. 2011. In or out? L’insaisissable frontière entre Grecs et Égyptiens dans la société de l’Égypte lagide. In: Chabaud, G., ed. Classement, déclassement, reclassement de l’Antiquité à nos jours. Limoges: 19–41. Tcherikover, V. 1966. Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews. Philadelphia. Veïsse, A.-E. 2007. Statut et identité dans l’Égypte des Ptolémées: les désignations d’Hellènes et d’Égyptiens. Ktèma 32: 279–291. Yoyotte, J. 1969. Bakhthis: religion égyptienne et culture grecque à Edfou. In: Derchain, P., ed. Religions en Égypte hellénistique et ro­maine. Paris: 127–141.

4 Aramaic, Paleo-Hebrew and “Jewish” Scripts in the Ptolemaic Period David S. Vanderhooft

The present paper asks what data and methods make it possible to examine the historical circumstances of the precursors of the so-called “Jewish script(s),” how these scripts evolved during the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods and in what sense these precursors are or are not related to the Jewish ethnos in the Ptolemaic era. In his classic paper of 1961, “The Development of the Jewish Scripts,” F.M. Cross argued that there was not just a single “Jewish script,” but several subtypes that together comprise it. With respect to chronology and origin, he asserted that “the term ‘Early Jewish’ is used here … to designate the scripts [i.e., script types] developed in Judaea and used by Jews beginning in the Maccabaean period. … It stands in contrast to PalaeoHebrew and to the Aramaic cursive of the late Persian and early Greek periods” (1961: 3, n. 5).1 Cross thus perceived three script groups: Aramaic cursive, PaleoHebrew and “Jewish.”

In a later, general update of his perspectives, Cross assigned the evolution of “the formal Jewish hand (or book hand)” to three chronological phases: “the Archaic [or Proto-Jewish] period (c. 275–150 BCE), the Hasmonean (c. 150–30 BCE) and the Herodian (c. 30 BCE–70 CE)” (Cross 2000: 631). This formal Jewish book hand he called a “distinct national script, not evolved directly from the Old Hebrew, and clearly distinguishable from the Aramaic hand from which it did evolve in the course of the early third century B.C.E.” (Cross 2000: 629; emphasis mine). Thus, an ethnically marked or “national” script evolved from the Aramaic, which was not, strictly speaking, an ethnically marked script. For Cross, one of the earliest exemplars of this distinctive Jewish script, which he assigned to the early part of his phase 1 (thus, early in the period between ca. 275–150 BCE), was the Qumran Samuel manuscript, 4QSamb. In his publication of that text, he described its paleography as follows:

An earlier version of this paper was delivered at the World Congress of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem in a session titled: “Borderlines of Jewish Identity in Antiquity” (July 30, 2013). I am grateful to Jonathan Ben-Dov and Sylvie Honigman for their invitation.

54  david s. vanderhooft The hand of the scribe is formal, small, and exquisite. … With the discovery of the dated Wadi Daliyeh papyri of the late fourth century … and, as well, the great mass of Edomite ostraca from the vicinity of Maresha dated to the late fourth and early third centuries, the earlier end of the bracket, c. 250 B.C.E., is preferred. (Cross et al. 2005: 220)

During the period when Cross’ archaic or proto-Jewish script was evolving, the paleo-Hebrew script existed alongside it, but in more restricted use. “The PaleoHebrew script,” Cross wrote, “died away in the first and second centuries C.E., totally displaced in the Jewish community, and surviving as a sacred script only in the remnant Samaritan community” (Cross 2000: 629). I will return below to a discussion of the significance of the paleo-Hebrew. Other eminent paleographers have, to a large extent, retained Cross’ framework as new evidence has accumulated. J. Naveh, for instance, largely concurred with Cross’ reconstruction of the evolution of the Jewish script, although Naveh moved the use of the label “Jewish script” slightly back in time and removed any qualifiers such as “archaic” or “proto-,” stating that by “the late third century, Hebrew biblical texts were written in the Jewish script” (Naveh 1982: 112; more generally, Naveh 1970; 1973a: 91). As noted, Cross preferred to call this 3rd-century script “archaic or proto-Jewish.” Naveh, on the other hand, was comfortable assigning the “Jewish script” to the late Ptolemaic period. A. Yardeni, in her comprehensive and magisterial Textbook of Aramaic, Hebrew, and Nabataean Documentary Texts from the Judaean Desert and Related Material (2000), likewise labeled the pre-Maccabean script “proto-Jewish.” She thus largely agreed with the periodization and evolutionary scheme adumbrated by Cross and endorsed by Naveh. Yardeni, however, offered additional nuance, arguing that “already in the fourth and third centuries BCE, a non-representative, cursive hand developed alongside the official Aramaic script, and it continued into the Jewish writings of the early second century BCE” (Yardeni 2000: 2:153; emphasis mine). Following Cross, she identified a group of texts as intermediary between the late Achaemenid–early Ptolemaic Aramaic cursive and the properly “Jewish

script” of the Hasmonean era and later. In agreement with Cross, she identified the texts of 4QSamb and also 4QJera, along with the stone inscriptions from Mount Gerizim, as “links between the late Aramaic script and the early Jewish script” (Yardeni 2000: 2:153). E. Eshel, in a survey of the paleography of the Judean Desert scrolls, followed a similar chronological scheme as the one adumbrated by Cross. Eshel reviews the scholarship on “the three types of Jewish scripts”: first, the “formal book hand,” which she assigns to three phases (Archaic, ca. 275–150 BCE; Hasmonean, ca. 150–30 BCE; and Herodian, ca. 30 BCE–70 CE); second, the cursive; and third, the paleo-Hebrew (ca. 250 BCE–135 CE) (Eshel 2014: 334). Eshel’s chronological framework for periodization of the Jewish “formal book hand” is practically identical to that of Cross. As mentioned above, the full publication of the Mount Gerizim stone inscriptions, as recognized by both Yardeni and Eshel, offered an important additional corpus of material to consider in connection with these paleographical questions. The stone blocks represent donations to the Samaritan Gerizim temple complex and bear, typically, dedicatory texts commemorating those donations. The editors classified the scripts that appear on them as “lapidary Aramaic,” “proto-Jewish,” or “neo-Hebrew”; they chose the last term instead of the more conventional designation “paleo-Hebrew,” but as it seems unwieldy and imprecise I will avoid it. The editors dated the “lapidary” script slightly earlier than the proto-Jewish and (about seven) paleo-Hebrew ones (their “neo-Hebrew”) (Magen, Misgav and Tsfania 2004: 37–38). In his study of the Gerizim stone inscriptions, J. Dušek made two important revisions to the paleographical analysis of the editors where it concerns the present subject. First, Dušek argued convincingly from multiple perspectives—historical, archaeological, paleographical and linguistic—that the entire corpus of dedicatory inscriptions should be assigned to the early Seleucid period in Palestine, specifically to the last decades of the reign of Antiochus III (223–187) and perhaps extending as late as the early reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175–164) (Dušek 2012: 59–63; followed by de Hemmer Gudme 2013: 78–84). Thus, this material cannot be dated to the Ptolemaic period, but effectively

aramaic, paleo-hebrew and “jewish” scripts in the ptolemaic period  55

marks its end. Second, Dušek also proposed a revised nomenclature for identifying the scripts. Instead of “lapidary” Aramaic, a term I have also used elsewhere (Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 62–72), Dušek opts for the more technically correct descriptor “monumental,” which, indeed, is preferable. Instead of “neo-Hebrew” he retains the more traditional designation “paleo-Hebrew,” which I likewise think is better. But Dušek also suggests that the label “proto-Jewish” be eschewed in favor of a linguistically neutral designation, “Aramaic cursive.” He suggests that if it is appropriate at all, the designation “proto-Jewish” be “essentially related to the province of Judah… but [the Gerizim] inscriptions visibly come from Samaria and are not associated with Judaea. From the paleographical point of view, this style of Aramaic script is a direct descendant of the official Aramaic cursive used in the Persian period” (Dušek 2012: 5; emphasis mine). Thus, for Dušek, if the term “proto-Jewish” is relevant at all, it ought to have a geographic rather than ethnic referent. Therefore, for paleographers describing the scripts of the Ptolemaic period used in Judah and the surrounding regions, a fairly flexible range of terminology and taxonomic lineages have been proposed to describe the epigraphically attested scripts. Yet it seems clear that the terminology has been influenced both by preexisting historical frameworks and by assumptions about how a script may be characteristic of the Jewish ethnos. Cross, Naveh, Yardeni and, to a lesser extent, Eshel prefer a national or ethnic attribution in particular for the “Jewish script,” while Dušek tends to conceive its affiliation in geographic terms. One could simply shrug off this diversity and assert that “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” but there is a theoretical question at stake here that is relevant for our understanding of the history of the Ptolemaic period. The paleographers named above have not ignored this historical problem, of course. If the framework consolidated by Cross and elaborated by others formed a rough consensus, Naveh could sharply articulate what for him was nevertheless a puzzle, one tied up with assessing scribal practices in the Ptolemaic and early Seleucid eras. Naveh wrote: “We are faced with an extraordinary phenomenon: the Jews, a conservative nation which adhered strictly to its traditional values,

abandoned their own script [i.e., the paleo-Hebrew] in favour of a foreign one [i.e., the Aramaic]” (Naveh 1982: 112). Naveh admitted to struggling with the solution to this puzzle. On the one hand, he suggested that “neither expediency nor ideology… explains the Jews’ preference for the Aramaic script” (Naveh 1982: 114). On the other hand, he proposed that “the Jews began to write Hebrew texts in the Aramaic script only when they felt that their form of the Aramaic script was distinctively Jewish” (Naveh 1982: 122; emphasis mine). This historical quandary bothered Naveh, and he admitted that “this does not constitute an entirely satisfactory explanation as to why the Jews neglected their own traditional mode of writing in favour of the new script” (Naveh 1982: 122). Naveh’s skepticism is well founded, and the problem is exacerbated by the evidence, as we shall see, that from the late 4th century at least, the paleo-Hebrew script was often used in publicly visible texts (seals, coins and dedicatory texts), as well as later in some Torah texts (known from Qumran), precisely to emphasize its antiquity and association with “Jewish life.” Yet the paleographers agree that the Aramaic cursive script of the late Achaemenid and Ptolemaic eras was the forerunner of the formal “Jewish script.” One way to solve this difficulty, for Naveh, was to follow an earlier suggestion of David Diringer (1950), who argued that perhaps the paleo-Hebrew script was sectarian, especially favored, in Diringer ’s reconstruction, by the Sadducees. Emmanuel Tov tentatively concurred with this opinion in an article (1996) and then in his book, Scribal Practices Reflected in the Texts of the Judean Desert. Tov argued that because the paleo-Hebrew scrolls from Qumran do not evince the so-called “Qumran scribal practice,” they were likely brought to the caves from elsewhere. Tov hypothesizes that “the paleo-Hebrew texts found at Qumran came from the circles of the Sadducees who ascribed great importance to the authenticity of the ancient characters” (Tov 2004: 233–234). Thus, the paleo-Hebrew scrolls from Qumran and, for example, Hasmonean coin issues using paleo-Hebrew will have been minted under Sadducee influence (Tov 2004: 122–123). However, the large cache of stone inscriptions from Mount Gerizim, some of them using the paleoHebrew script, undermines this hypothesis.

56  david s. vanderhooft

There is an ancient analogue to this modern paleographical debate, articulated already in the Mishnah, but most forcefully in the Babylonian Talmud: ‫בתחלה ניתנה תורה לישראל בכתב עברי ולשון הקודש חזרה וניתנה‬ ‫להם בימי עזרא בכתב אשורית ולשון ארמי ביררו להן לישראל כתב‬ ‫אשורית ולשון הקודש והניחו להדיוטות כתב עברית ולשון ארמי‬ ‫מאן הדיוטות אמר רב חסדא כותאי מאי כתב עברית אמר רב חסדא‬ .‫כתב ליבונאה‬

Sanhedrin 21b is well known because it codifies a later rabbinical perspective on the origin of the script used for authoritative texts: Originally the Torah was given to Israel in Hebrew characters and in the sacred [i.e., Hebrew] language; later, in the times of Ezra, the Torah was given in “Ashshurith” script and Aramaic language. [Finally], they selected for Israel the “Ashshurith” script and sacred [i.e., Hebrew] language, leaving the Hebrew characters and Aramaic language for the hedyototh. Who are meant by the “hedyototh”?—R. Ḥisda answered: The Cutheans [i.e., Samaritans—D.S.V.]. And what is meant by Hebrew characters?—R. Ḥisda answered: The libunaʾah script (Epstein 1935–48).

By “Ashshurith” the rabbis referred to what we call the “Aramaic cursive.” This later rabbinic polemic may have exerted a strong influence on modern paleographers’ attribution of script types during the late Achaemenid and early Hellenistic eras. Let me continue by developing a brief and relatively straightforward analogy with the situation in Judah at the beginning of the Persian period. Hebrew had been used in Judah throughout the mid-6th century. At least by the end of that century, a transition occurred inasmuch as epigraphs intended for public contexts—e.g., seals and coins—were almost exclusively inscribed in the Aramaic script and language. The same script was likewise in similar use throughout the Persian Near East, including in the Mesopotamian heartland during the mid-6th century (Sass and Marzahn 2010: 149–150). Meanwhile, cursive Aramaic texts were already known from the Levant in the early 6th century, e.g., in the Adon papyrus from the Philistine region (but not, so far, from Judah) (Porten 1981). The date for the introduction of the

monumental Aramaic script into Judah is relatively well calibrated on historical, archaeological and paleographical grounds and occurred, as I and others have argued elsewhere, in about the last third of the 6th century (Vanderhooft 2011; Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 62–72; Avigad 1976). Meanwhile, scribal training for Judeans burgeoned throughout the Persian empire. In the early 5th century, we learn of a certain “Gedalyah” who was “scribe chancellor” of the governor of Babylon and Ebir Nari (Stolper 1989). Thus, when Yehud seals began to be used in the Persian province of Judah on the handles of jars, the craftsmen who produced the seals exclusively used the Aramaic monumental script, even in cases where the model for the layout of a given seal was clearly in continuity with the tradition of Hebrew seal engraving that prevailed in the late Iron Age kingdom of Judah. The same is evidently true of Samaria to the north, although Hebrew may have persisted for a time there too. The Hebrew script typical of the late Judean kingdom becomes invisible to us in epigraphs, with the possible exception of just a private seal or two (Peilstöcker and Sass 2001: 205–206). And yet, crucially, this shift from Hebrew to Aramaic script goes unremarked in our ancient sources and does not seem to have entailed any particular anxiety; it was probably seen as a neutral technical innovation (Vanderhooft 2011: 539). By contrast, the situation at the end of the Persian period and the beginning of the Ptolemaic period is, in view of the above discussion, different and more complex. The first coins of Judah in the 4th century used what we call Aramaic monumental script (Gitler and Lorber 2006). It is not clear, however, that the craftsmen thought that they were writing in “Aramaic” script; they were just using the normal script of the day. On the other hand, the script that was recognized as having a valence pertaining to “identity” within the Judean community, as well as in the Samaritan community, was the paleoHebrew script. By the end of the 4th century we see paleo-Hebrew in use on coins and seals and, eventually, in some manuscripts among the Dead Sea Scrolls, although largely restricted to Torah manuscripts and one copy of Job (Naveh 1973a: 91; Tov 2004: 228–234). The Gerizim inscriptions of the early 2nd century I have already mentioned. Yet it is important to note that this paleo-Hebrew script begins to appear even before the

aramaic, paleo-hebrew and “jewish” scripts in the ptolemaic period  57

Ptolemaic period on coins, and, perhaps, if the analysis of the Yehud stamp impressions carried out by Lipschits and me is correct, on jar handles too. Let me briefly discuss the script of one group of the jar stamp impressions that Lipschits and I have labeled type 13, one of our “intermediate” Yehud seal types which we assigned to the 4th and 3rd centuries (Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 253–268). At least ten seals belong to this type and were used to produce as many as 105 known jar impressions. Paleographic execution is fairly poor for most of the ten subtypes, but the model for all subtypes of type 13 is clear. The legend is the toponym yhd. Whether the yod is Aramaic or Hebrew is often uncertain (as these are often indistinguishable), and it can appear with or without an elongated bottom stroke. The he can be Aramaic, but, more often, it is the three-bar type characteristic of paleo-Hebrew (and in one case, subtype 13c, it is even a sort of hybrid). The three-bar type of he was otiose in the Aramaic monumental tradition during this period, so this form is quite important because it clearly exhibits Hebrew influence. The dalet is Aramaic, but was sometimes incised onto the seal in reverse. The appearance especially of paleo-Hebrew forms of he in seals of type 13 suggests that the type should be dated to no earlier than the 4th century BCE, when, as we have seen, the paleo-Hebrew script began to emerge (Cross 1961: 3, n. 4). This is also the period when three-letter versions of the province name in Aramaic appear on Yehud coins, supporting the attribution to this period (Meshorer 2001). At about the same time that Judean craftsmen were producing such seals and minting coins with mixed scripts (some characters definitively paleo-Hebrew, some Aramaic), we also find the use of an elegant Aramaic cursive in the Ketef Yeriḥo papyrus, which dates from the last part of the 4th century (Eshel and Misgav 1988). Across the border to the north, in Samaria, a beautiful Aramaic cursive is used extensively in the Wadi Daliyeh papyri (Dušek 2007). At Tell Nimrîn in Transjordan, a group of ostraca of the 4th century likewise uses the Aramaic cursive (Dempsey 1996). Of course, many ostraca from Arad, Beersheba, Tel Maresha and Idumea have been published that likewise attest to the widespread use of the Aramaic cursive in the late 4th century and continuing into the 3rd century.2 This Aramaic script, in

use therefore throughout Judea, Samaria, Idumea and Transjordan, presumably did not activate any particular “ethnic” self-consciousness during this period. It is simply the water in which the local scribes swam, the mechanical idiom of the local scribal establishments.3 We may compare this to the phenomenon of Jewish scribes in Cyprus during the late 5th and the 4th centuries writing in Phoenician. Several grave inscriptions found near Kition prove that a Jewish scribal family in the region adopted the local Phoenician script, presumably as part of their technical training (Hadjisavvas and Dupont-Sommer 1984; Vanderhooft 2011: 533–534). We do not seem to be in a position to suggest that scribal practices in Aramaic, whether using the monumental or the cursive, imply a specific ethnic consciousness immediately before or during the early Ptolemaic era. This is apparently not true of paleo-Hebrew, as other scholars have acknowledged (e.g., Hamilton 2014; Yardeni 2014). We recognize its use specifically on coins and seals in late Achaemenid and early Hellenistic contexts. Its first extensive textual use is attested in Torah manuscripts among the Dead Sea Scrolls, in the writing of the Tetragrammaton in a variety of Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Gerizim stone inscriptions. Were other, longer, texts being copied and preserved in paleo-Hebrew earlier, throughout the Persian era and down into the Ptolemaic? It is difficult to be certain. Tov, however, has argued that Dead Sea Scroll “manuscripts written completely in paleo-Hebrew characters reflect a different and far stricter approach to scribal precision than texts” written in the “Jewish” (for Tov, the Aramaic cursive) script (Tov 2004: 231). Meanwhile, the use of paleo-Hebrew for writing the Tetragrammaton indicates that scribes viewed the script as having some prestige aspect that the more usual Aramaic cursive scripts lacked. In 4QpIsae the scribe may have left a space for the later insertion of the Tetragrammaton, and others have speculated that a more senior scribe might have been called upon to write it. As noted by Tov, however, the use of the paleo-Hebrew script for the Tetragrammaton in fact runs counter to the later rabbinic polemic against using the Hebrew script for authoritative texts (hence Tov’s Sadducean attribution) (Tov 2004: 231). At Gerizim, of course, no such polemic later developed, and the paleo-Hebrew script is apparently understood to have been the prestige script already by

58  david s. vanderhooft

the early 2nd century. Indeed, as noted by Dušek, at least one of the paleo-Hebrew stone inscriptions, No. 384, is ruled with double vertical column lines, a practice that would become normative in manuscripts of the Samaritan Pentateuch (Dušek 2012: 54–58). How, then, can we summarize this evidence pertaining to the relationship between script distribution and the Jewish ethnos of the Ptolemaic era? If the Aramaic script was simply the normative mechanism of local scribes in the late Achaemenid and early Hellenistic eras, did Judean scribes consider it to be “foreign,” as Naveh formulated the problem? This seems unlikely. The Aramaic script was simply their stock in trade. Cross and Yardeni argued that the Aramaic cursive evolved organically into the “Jewish” book hand that predominates in texts of the Hasmonean period and later—which is no doubt correct, but was it already recognized in the late 3rd century as “Jewish”?

I doubt that we are in a position to know, and the later Talmudic polemic scarcely solves the question. Meanwhile, the paleo-Hebrew script, possibly a revived script that began to appear in the 4th century, clearly did signal that a seal, coin, or text for public display was associated with Judah, Judean officials, or (both in Judah and at Mount Gerizim) Yahwistic religion (Torah manuscripts and Temple stone donations alike). Does this make paleo-Hebrew, then, more “Jewish” than the Aramaic cursive? I believe that in an abstract sense, it does. If this is correct, the paleo-Hebrew script is the one that is—to borrow a linguistic concept—the marked script in relationship to the Jewish ethnos. Perhaps, then, it would be better to relinquish the association of the Aramaic script and its daughter types in Judea during their formative stages with notions of “Jewishness,” and instead focus both on their functions and on their relative distributions.

NOTES 1. Note already in Cross’ presentation the intersection of geography (“Judaea”), ethnicity (“Jewish”) and chronology (“Maccabaean period”). 2. See, for example, from Beersheba, Naveh 1973b; from Arad, Naveh 1981; also Ephʿal and Naveh 1996; Lemaire 1996; 2002; Porten and

Yardeni 2014; 2016; for a survey of the distribution of Aramaic in the Persian period, Dušek 2013. 3. Compare here also the perspectives of Lemaire 2006; Kottsieper 2007; Schniedewind 2006.

REFERENCES Avigad, N. 1976. Bullae and Seals from a Post-Exilic Judean Archive (Qedem 4). Jerusalem. Cross, F.M. 1961. The Development of the Jewish Scripts. In: Wright, G.E., ed. The Bible and the Ancient Near East. Garden City, NY: 133–202 (reprinted in 2003. Leaves from an Epigrapher’s Notebook. Collected Papers in Hebrew and West Semitic Palaeography and Epigraphy [Harvard Semitic Studies 51]. Winona Lake: 3–43). Cross, F.M. 2000. Paleography. In: Schiffman, L.H. and VanderKam, J.C., eds. Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Oxford: 629–634. Cross, F.M., Parry, D.W., Saley, R.J. and Ulrich, E.C. 2005. Qumran Cave 4. XII: 1–2 Samuel (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 17). Oxford. Dempsey, D. 1996. Ostraca and a Seal Impression from Tell Nimrîn, Jordan. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 303: 73–78. Diringer, D. 1950. Early Hebrew Script versus Square Script. In: Thomas, D.W., ed. Essays and Studies Presented to Stanley Arthur Cook. London: 35–49.

Dušek, J. 2007. Les manuscrits araméens du Wadi Daliyeh et la Samarie vers 450–332 av. J.-C. (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 30). Leiden. Dušek, J. 2012. Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim and Samaria between Antiochus III and Antiochus IV Epiphanes (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 54). Leiden. Dušek, J. 2013. Aramaic in the Persian Period. Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 2: 243–264. Ephʿal, I. and Naveh, J. 1996. Aramaic Ostraca of the Fourth Century BC from Idumaea. Jerusalem. Epstein, I. 1935–48. The Babylonian Talmud. Complete English Edition. London. Eshel, E. 2014. Paleography of the Semitic Judean Desert Scrolls. In: Hackett, J.A. and Aufrecht, W.E., eds. “An Eye for Form.” Epigraphic Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross. Winona Lake: 334–351. Eshel, H. and Misgav, H. 1988. A Fourth Century B.C.E. Document from Ketef Yeriḥo. Israel Exploration Journal 38: 158–176.

aramaic, paleo-hebrew and “jewish” scripts in the ptolemaic period  59 Gitler, H. and Lorber, C. 2006. A New Chronology for the Ptolemaic Coins of Judah. American Journal of Numismatics 18: 1–41. Hadjisavvas, S. and Dupont-Sommer, A. 1984. Cinq stèles funéraires découvertes sur le site d’Ayious Georghios à Larnaca-Kition, en 1979. Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus, 101–115. Hamilton, G.J. 2014. Paleo-Hebrew Texts and Scripts of the Persian Period. In: Hackett, J.A. and Aufrecht, W.E., eds. “An Eye for Form.” Epigraphic Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross. Winona Lake: 253–290. de Hemmer Gudme, A.K. 2013. Before the God in This Place for Good Remembrance. A Comparative Analysis of the Aramaic Votive Inscriptions from Mount Gerizim (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 441). Berlin. Kottsieper, I. 2007. “And They Did Not Care to Speak Yehudit”: On Linguistic Change in Judah during the Late Persian Era. In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 95–124. Lemaire, A. 1996. Nouvelles inscriptions araméennes d’Idumée au Musée d’Israël (Transeuphratène Supplement 3). Paris. Lemaire, A. 2002. Nouvelles inscriptions araméennes d’Idumée. Vol. 2 (Transeuphratène Supplement 9). Paris. Lemaire, A. 2006. Hebrew and Aramaic in the First Millennium B.C.E. in the Light of Epigraphic Evidence (SocioHistorical Aspects). In: Fassberg, S.E. and Hurvitz, A., eds. Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives. Jerusalem and Winona Lake: 177–196. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2011. The Yehud Stamp Impressions: A Corpus of Inscribed Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah. Winona Lake. Magen, I., Misgav, H. and Tsfania, L. 2004. Mount Gerizim Excavations, 1: The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan Inscriptions. Jerusalem. Meshorer, Y. 2001. A Treasury of Jewish Coins. Nyack NY. Naveh, J. 1970. The Development of the Aramaic Script (Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities V.1). Jerusalem. Naveh, J. 1973a. An Aramaic Tomb Inscription Written in PaleoHebrew Script. Israel Exploration Journal 23: 82–91.

Naveh, J. 1973b. The Aramaic Ostraca. In: Aharoni, Y., ed. BeerSheba I: Excavations at Tel Beer-Sheba, 1969–1971 Seasons. Tel Aviv: 79–82. Naveh, J. 1981. The Aramaic Ostraca from Arad. In: Aharoni, Y. Arad Inscriptions. Jerusalem: 153–176. Naveh, J. 1982. Early History of the Alphabet. An Introduction to West Semitic Epigraphy and Palaeography. Jerusalem. Peilstöcker, M. and Sass, B. 2001. A Hebrew Seal from Jaffa and the Hebrew Script in the Post-First Temple Period. ʿAtiqot 42: 199–210. Porten, B. 1981. The Identity of King Adon. The Biblical Archaeologist 44: 36–52. Porten, B. and Yardeni, A. 2014. Textbook of Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea, 1. Winona Lake. Porten, B. and Yardeni, A. 2016. Textbook of Aramaic Ostraca from Idumea, 2. Winona Lake. Sass, B. and Marzahn, J. 2010. Aramaic and Figural Stamp Impressions on Bricks of the Sixth Century B.C. from Babylon (Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 127). Wiesbaden. Schniedewind, W.M. 2006. Aramaic, the Death of Written Hebrew, and Language Shift in the Persian Period. In: Sanders, S.L., ed. Margins of Writing, Origins of Cultures. Chicago: 141–151. Stolper, M. 1989. The Governor of Babylon and Across-The-River in 486 B.C. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 48: 283–305. Tov, E. 1996. The Socio-Religious Background of the PaleoHebrew Biblical Texts Found at Qumran. In: Cancik, H., et al., eds. Geschichte–Tradition– Reflexion. Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag. Tübingen: I.353–374. Tov, E. 2004. Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 54). Leiden and Boston. Vanderhooft, D.S. 2011. ʾel-mĕdînâ ûmĕdînâ kiktābāh: Scribes and Scripts in Yehud and in Achaemenid Transeuphratene. In: Knoppers, G.N., Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. The Judeans in the Achaemenid Age: Negotiating Identity in an International Context. Winona Lake: 529–544. Yardeni, A. 2000. Textbook of Aramaic, Hebrew and Nabataean Documentary Texts from the Judaean Desert and Related Material. B: Translation, Palaeography, Concordance. Jerusalem. Yardeni, A. 2014. Understanding the Alphabet of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Development, Chronology, Dating. Jerusalem.

5 Judah in the Early Hellenistic Period: An Archaeological Perspective Nitsan Shalom, Oded Lipschits, Noa Shatil and Yuval Gadot

The four and a half centuries between the destruction of the First Temple (early 6th century BCE) and the foundation of the Hasmonean state (mid-2nd century BCE) are a well-defined period both historically and archaeologically.1 This period has distinct beginning and end points based on historical sources: the biblical texts— including the historiographic descriptions, prophecies and lamentations over the destruction of Jerusalem—and the apocryphal Books of Maccabees, with their description of the Hasmonean revolt. These beginning and end points are clearly recognizable in the archaeological record as well. Marking the beginning are the Babylonian destruction layers at central Judahite sites, characterizing the region at the end of the First Temple period and representing the material culture that developed during the 7th century BCE. Marking the end are the destruction layers and construction projects of the first Hasmonean rulers, sealing the material culture that characterized the Early Hellenistic period and heralding the start of a new era for Judah. The long chronological phase between the early 6th and the mid-2nd century BCE, constituting the bulk of the Second Temple period, lacks destruction layers. Such

layers could have provided anchors for defining sub-periods and diverse stages of development of the material culture; their absence poses a major problem for archaeological research. Thus, while there is relatively detailed historical information about the geopolitical processes that took place during this period, the slow and gradual development of the material culture means that we are unable to identify specific stages in this culture during this period.2 The difficulty of dating these stages is not a technical one. Numismatic finds from the 6th to the 2nd centuries BCE have been recovered from most of the sites in question; the typology of stamp impressions on storage-jar handles has been well researched; and the local and imported pottery is well known for its use over long periods. The difficulty stems from the fact that no destruction layers that would testify to internal developments during this period have been excavated and documented. Until recently, the few remains uncovered have come from fills under late Hellenistic layers, from refuse pits and from other secondary contexts. Archaeologically, this means that the material culture for each sub-phase between the 6th and 2nd centuries BCE could not be clearly characterized.

64  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot

Archaeology did not have the tools to draw clear distinctions between sub-phases in the Persian or early Hellenistic periods. In recent years, there has been a significant surge in archaeological research of the early Second Temple period. The renewed excavations at Ramat Raḥel and Tel Azekah, as well as excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa and the Ramat Beth Shemesh sites, alongside publications of important contemporaneous complexes excavated at Lachish and Khirbet er-Rasm, have led to the exposure of rich ceramic assemblages well dated to specific periods within the 5th–2nd-century time span.3 The assemblages were dated with the help of numismatic finds, imported pottery and stamped jar handles. These advances in research have enabled archaeologists to return to excavated or surveyed sites, which were dated very generally to the Persian period, to the Persian–Hellenistic transition, to the Hellenistic period, or even more generally to the Second Temple period, and to try and assign them more precisely to specific sub-phases.

Methodology The main goal of this article is to identify changes in settlement patterns in Judah between the 6th and 2nd centuries BCE and to examine the importance of the period from Alexander’s 332 conquest until the Maccabean revolt of 167 BCE within this time span.4 For this purpose, a database of data pertaining to this period was created from the excavations and surveys in this region. The data from within the province of Judah was analyzed in an effort to differentiate between the processes that took place in the various districts (pelekh) of the province (Fig. 5.1): the Benjamin, Jerusalem, Beth Hakkerem, Beth-Zur and Qeʿila districts. The territory of each district can be reconstructed as follows:5 •

The Benjamin district (Pelekh Mizpah) lies north of Wadi Og and the Soreq Valley and south of Bethel (and including it), and also covering the area of Jericho;

Fig. 5.1: Map of the districts of Judah

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  65

•

The Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts extend south of Wadi Og and the Soreq Valley and include the area of the Rephaim Valley, Bethlehem and its environs, as well as Tekoa in the east;6

•

The Beth-Zur district—the central Judean Hills— lies south of Bethlehem and north of Hebron and includes the western shore of the Dead Sea.

•

The Qeʿila district—the northern Shephelah— extends from the Ayalon Valley in the north to the Elah Valley in the south.7

The data collected from these regions was compared with the data gathered from parts of the bordering provinces of Idumea and Samaria. The data for Idumea comes from the south and southwest of Judah, in the southern Shephelah (south of the Elah Valley to the area of Maresha, Lachish and their respective agricultural hinterlands). This region constituted the southern part of the Kingdom of Judah in the First Temple period, and under Babylonian, Persian and Ptolemaic rules it became the center of the province of Idumea (Lipschits 2004a: 157–170, 211–213, 258–267; Stern 2005; Kloner and Stern 2007). The province of Samaria was located northwest of Judah, and the data gathered from there comes from Gezer, Lod, Ono and Modiʿin in the northern Shephelah (the Ono–Lod Valley), which was part of the Kingdom of Israel until its final destruction in 720 BCE. This area became part of the province of Samaria under Assyrian rule and remained thus throughout the Persian period. Demographic and territorial changes occurred in this region in the early Hellenistic period, and its demography, settlement pattern and political history at this time testify to the upheavals it suffered. The area eventually acquired a Judean demographic majority in the Hasmonean period (Lipschits 1997). The generation of maps of ancient settlement patterns on the basis of our database has compelled us to deal with several methodological issues.8 First, although the short-term ceramic assemblages found over the last decade were excavated in clear stratigraphic and chronological contexts and are therefore well dated, at most archaeological sites in Judah only meager finds from the Persian and early Hellenistic periods have been discovered, with very few sites yielding architectural finds and occupation layers. It is very difficult to

determine exactly when the settlement was inhabited at these sites and even more difficult to define its nature and size. This information is an important component in the identification of spatial demographic trends.9 Second, similar problems arise when attempting to analyze data from surveys. Lipschits and Tal noted the high level of continuity in pottery style from the Iron Age through the Persian period to the early Hellenistic period, making it difficult to differentiate between them (Lipschits and Tal 2007: 36). Moreover, because of the similarities in shape and form and the continuation in local pottery production, many surveyors are unable to sufficiently distinguish between Persian and early Hellenistic pottery. Consequently, they use general chronological definitions when dating sites, such as the “Hellenistic period” (without drawing a distinction between early and late phases), or even the “Second Temple period.”10 In order to deal with these difficulties and create a database that was as accurate as possible, we followed five general guidelines:11 1.

First, we endeavored to include in the database only sites dating from the Persian or early Hellenistic periods, based on their excavation or survey results. Sites clearly belonging to the Hasmonean period were not included. We also omitted sites that were initially defined as "Second Temple period," but further investigation showed that they in fact belong to the Early Roman period.

2. Second, we used standardized definitions for the dating of the sites: the Persian period (late 6th and 5th centuries BCE); the Persian–Hellenistic period (4th century BCE); and the early Hellenistic period (3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE).12 3. Third, we evaluated the measure of continuity in the transition between periods based on the dating of ceramic finds. For each Persian period site, we examined whether it was already inhabited in the Iron Age and continued to be settled in the Hellenistic period as well, and we looked into which Hellenistic period sites were already inhabited in the Persian period. Although the finding of pottery from two consecutive periods at a certain site does not guarantee continuous settlement, it may indicate a

66  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot

trend of continuity and is therefore meaningful in the reconstruction of settlement processes. 4. Fourth, it is our assumption that large settlements were usually established in the same spot, one stratum on top of the other. This is because complex considerations play a part in selecting the site of a large settlement, including its strategic location near an important road or junction and control over the surroundings, proximity to water sources, existing fortifications, and often historical memory and traditions of cult and sanctity that are linked to the place. In contrast, farms and villages are often reestablished in nearby places in the agricultural territory and not on the exact same spot, especially after a chronological gap between two settlement phases. Consequently, we are often able to identify a change in rural settlement patterns after settlement gaps. Admittedly, in many cases it is impossible to determine with certainty whether villages and farms located in the same region and detected in surveys existed simultaneously or, conversely, were inhabited one after the other, with short chronological gaps between their respective periods of activity. Such gaps cannot be identified in the archaeological record.13 That said, while we cannot rule out the possibility that a farm or a village was rebuilt on top of older remains after a period of abandonment, when we examine a large number of rural settlements and the settlement pattern over a large area, the probability that this was the case is lower. Methodologically, therefore, we may reasonably assume that when we see continuity in the location of a rural settlement, this implies consecutive occupation or at least quick recovery after an abandonment and a short settlement gap (Faust 2003: 38–39; 2007: 26–27; Lipschits 2004b: 102–105). 5. Finally, Lipschits and Tal noted that, with the exception of administrative centers and a few military forts, most of the sites surveyed in this research are less than a hectare in size.14 Jerusalem itself at this stage was a small town, no larger than 5 hectares.15

This article focuses on the number of settlements in each area, assuming that most sites included in the database are small settlements, consisting of a single or at most several structures. The main goal of this article is to discuss the question of continuity between the periods on the basis of this data, while identifying changes in site distribution between the various administrative units and pointing out general demographic trends.

The Starting Point: The Rural Settlement in Judah in the Persian Period— Continuity and Change A total of 192 sites of the Persian period were located in four regions of Judah: 64 in the Benjamin district, 52 in the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts (considered here as a single region), 39 in the Qeʿila district and 37 in the Beth-Zur district (Fig. 5.2). These four regions were quite similar in size. Around 70% of the settlements inhabited in the Persian period were founded in the Iron Age. This strongly supports the argument for continuity between the two periods in the rural settlement across Judah, despite the destruction of Jerusalem and of the military and urban systems of Judah, the exile of the Judahite elite to Babylon, and the conversion of the kingdom into a province.16 Nonetheless, numerous rural sites were destroyed during and following the destruction of Jerusalem. Entire regions (mostly the southern and eastern areas, including the Negev and the southern Judean Hills, the Jordan Valley and the western littoral of the Dead Sea) became virtually deserted. Due to the destruction of Jerusalem, Judah lost its southern and eastern peripheries, and Edomite and semi-nomadic Arab tribes began to invade these regions from the south. The rural settlement of Judah tapered down to a small area north of Jerusalem (the Benjamin district), to the area south of it (especially around the Rephaim Valley and Bethlehem environs and southward up to the vicinity of Beth-Zur), and to a small narrow area in the northern Shephelah (from the Elah Valley in the south to the area of Beth Shemesh in the north). There was an apparent decline in settlement in Jerusalem’s environs as well. Conversely, in the Benjamin district and in the northern

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  67

Persian Period Sites in Judah

Beth-Zur District 19%

Benjamin District 34%

Fig. 5.2: Percentage of Persian period sites in Judah by district

Qeʿila District 20%

Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem Districts 27%

and central Judean Hills (the Beth Hakkerem and BethZur districts), we note almost complete continuity in the rural settlement.17 In sum, the settlements that outlived the destruction of Jerusalem—in the Benjamin district north of the city and in the northern and central Judean Hills to its south, as well as in the northern Shephelah—continued into the Persian period. Changes in the settlement patterns in these areas were minimal, pointing to a general trend of continuity in the rural settlement, and not a random and limited phenomenon, even if the number of active sites was generally lower than in the Iron Age.18 In the Persian period relatively few new settlements were established—around 30% of all rural Persian period sites did not exist in the First Temple period. The ratio between the number of sites that continued from the Iron Age into the Persian period and the number of new sites established in the Persian period in the different districts can be calculated as between 1.5:1 and 3.9:1 (Table 5.1). This ratio is an indication of the level of change and innovation in the settlement pattern of the Persian period. The rate of settlements that continued to be inhabited from the Iron Age was 59–79% in the various districts, and no more than a third of the settlements were newly

established in the Persian period (with the exception of the Benjamin district, where 41% of the sites were new). The relatively large proportion of new sites established in the Persian period in the Benjamin district constitutes evidence of the region’s prosperity in this period. Conversely, the high ratio of ongoing sites to new ones in the northern Shephelah (the Qeʿila district) points to a very slow recovery rate and the establishment of only a few new agricultural settlements. The situation in the Beth-Zur, Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts was similar to the situation in the northern Shephelah. An examination of the decline in the number of sites around Jerusalem in the Persian period in its broad historical context suggests that it should be viewed as a return to the natural state of affairs in the region. In the Iron Age IIC, the area was overpopulated, most probably due to the establishment of Ramat Raḥel and the development of new villages, farmsteads and agricultural royal estates following the loss of the Shephelah (Lipschits and Gadot 2008; Gadot 2011: 56–58). With the collapse of the monarchic system, the number of sites around Jerusalem decreased to a level that was in keeping with the natural capacity of the region. Indeed, compared to the Iron IIA and Iron IIB (as opposed to the Iron IIC), the number of sites in the Persian period is, in fact, quite

68  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot Table 5.1: The districts of Judah in the Iron Age–Persian transition: number and ratio of new and ongoing sites Total Number of Sites Number of Sites in the Persian Period Continuing from the Iron Age

Continuity Rate Number of New Sites Ratio between in the Persian Period Ongoing and New Sites

Benjamin (Mizpah District)

64

38

59%

26

1.5:1

Jerusalem and Beth 52 Hakkerem Districts

39

75%

13

3:1

Northern Shephelah (Qeʿila District)

39

31

79%

8

3.9:1

37

26

70%

11

2.4:1

Central Judean Hills (Beth-Zur District)

large (Gadot 2015). The historical explanation for this large number is that from the 6th century until at least the mid-5th century BCE, the Benjamin district was the demographic center of Judah, in which one third of all Judean sites (64 of 192) were concentrated. During this period, Mizpah (Tell en-Naṣbeh) in Benjamin was the governor’s seat and the capital of the province (Blenkinsopp 1998: 42 and n. 48; Lemaire 2003: 292; Lipschits 2006: 34–37). In light of this, it transpires that the region was relatively prosperous, and this accounts for the relatively large number of new settlements established there (Lipschits 2011b; 2015). Between the 6th and 4th centuries Jerusalem’s population consisted of at most a few hundred inhabitants, whereas the surrounding areas continued to thrive.19 This prosperity is undoubtedly related to the continued flourishing of the administrative center of Ramat Raḥel throughout the First Temple period and the Babylonian and Persian periods. Its dominance is evident from the large number of holemouth and storage jars found in excavations at the site, many bearing stamp impressions. In addition to lmlk stamp impressions, excavators retrieved storage-jar handles with “private” stamp impressions from the late 8th–early 7th centuries BCE, concentric-circle incisions from the mid-7th century BCE, rosette stamp impressions from the late 7th–early 6th centuries BCE, lion stamp impressions from the 6th century BCE, yhwd stamp impressions from the late 6th to mid-2nd century BCE, and yršlm stamp impressions from the 2nd century BCE (Lipschits 2018; forthcoming; Freud 2018). The stamp impressions

constitute evidence that the Ramat Raḥel complex was used as the central collection center for the agricultural produce of the region (Lipschits, Gadot and Oeming 2012; Lipschits, Gadot and Langgut 2012; Lipschits, Gadot and Freud 2016). It was part of an administrative system established in the late 8th century BCE for the collection of agricultural products in order to pay tribute to the ruling empire (Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 45–46; Lipschits 2018; forthcoming). The Judean Shephelah was the economic, administrative and demographic center of Judah in the 8th century BCE. Ultimately, however, it did not recover from its successive destructions. Although by the late 7th century the region was experiencing partial recovery from the destruction it had endured during Sennacherib’s 701 BCE campaign, the Babylonian invasion in the early 6th century BCE delivered a severe blow to the important administrative and military centers of the region (Koch and Lipschits 2010). Surveys have shown that relatively few settlements survived in the Judean Shephelah up until the Persian period (when its northern sector became the Qeʿila district) (Lipschits 2004a: 254–260, 295–305). In other words, the area did not regain its previous central position in the agriculture and economy of the province.20 In view of the limited economic capacity of the Judean Hills and the close ties and internal balance between the Judean Shephelah and the Benjamin district throughout the long history of Judah, the collapse of the Shephelah at the end of the Iron Age was probably one of the reasons why Benjamin continued to be the most populated region in Judah.

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  69

The picture becomes further complicated when we consider the data from the Ono–Lod Valley and the southern Shephelah, two regions bordering on Judah to its west.21 In the Persian period, these regions had 77 and 55 sites, respectively. At the beginning of this period, the number of settlements in the Ono–Lod Valley and the area extending as far as Gezer increased. This was apparently related to the settlement processes in the Benjamin district and the flourishing of the coastal region. The economic and settlement potential of the Ono–Lod Valley, compared to its relatively scarce population, attracted immigration from the Benjamin region and perhaps from southern Samaria (Lipschits 1997). These changes form the backdrop to the geopolitical processes that this area underwent between the time of Alexander the Great and the end of the Ptolemaic period, and they account for the presence of Jews in the area prior to the transference of Ekron and the areas of Lydda, Ramataim and Aphairema to Jonathan Maccabee’s control.22 The data from the surveys suggests a great deal of continuity in the settlement of the southern Shephelah south of the Elah Valley. About 80% of the Persian period sites in this area continued from the Iron Age, with very few new settlements established there in the Persian period. The ratio between ongoing and new sites in this region is, therefore, very high (4:1) (Table 5.2). This is, in fact, the highest ratio in all the regions examined. Although we do not have clear historical and archaeological data to support this claim, it seems likely that the penetration of the Arab and Idumean tribes into this region was gradual, and that it occurred mainly at the end of the Persian period and early in the Hellenistic period (Langgut and Lipschits 2017). The ratio between ongoing and new sites in the Persian period presented above may be compared to the situation

that prevailed in subsequent periods of the settlement history of Judah. Such a comparison will offer a better picture of the extent of continuity and change in each region and in each period.

Changes in the Rural Settlement of Judah in the Hellenistic Period The number of sites in Judah nearly doubled in the Hellenistic period, increasing from 192 documented sites in Persian times to 383 (Table 5.3; Fig. 5.3). When the sites in the two regions bordering the province of Judah— the Ono–Lod Valley and the southern Shephelah—are added, the numbers rise from 324 in the Persian period to 632 in the Hellenistic.23 The most dramatic change in the transition to the Hellenistic period is manifest in the Benjamin district, where the number of settlements increased from 64 to 171 (Fig. 5.4). Moreover, the percentage of sites in this region out of the total number of sites in Judah increased from 34% in the Persian period to 45% in the Hellenistic. In the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts, the number of settlements also increased significantly—from a total of 52 sites in the Persian period to 86 in the Hellenistic, but the percentage of sites in this region out of the total number of settlements in Judah declined (27% of all sites in Judah were in these districts in the Persian period, compared to only 22% in the Hellenistic period). In the northern Shephelah (the Qeʿila district) there was a similar rise in number of settlements (from 39 to 77), with the percentage of sites in this region out of the total number of Judahite sites remaining similar (20% in both periods). While the number of settlements in the BethZur district increased slightly (from 37 to 49), their relative percentage decreased (from 19% to 13%).

Table 5.2: The regions bordering Judah in the Iron Age–Persian transition: number and ratio of new and ongoing sites Total Number of Sites in the Persian Period Ono–Lod Valley

Southern Shephelah

77 55

Number of Sites Continuing from the Iron Age

Continuity Rate

56

73%

44

80%

Number of New Sites in the Persian Period

Ratio between Ongoing and New Sites

21

2.7:1

11

4:1

70  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot

Hellenistic Period Sites in Judah

Beth-Zur District 13% Qeʿila District 20%

Fig. 5.3: Percentage of Hellenistic period sites in Judah by district

Benjamin District 45%

Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem Districts 22%

Table 5.3: Number of sites in the various districts of Judah in the Persian and Hellenistic periods

Benjamin (Mizpah District)

Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem Districts

Number of Sites in the Persian Period 64

52

Northern Shephelah (Qeʿila District)

39

Total

192

Central Judean Hills (Beth-Zur District)

37

The number of sites in the regions bordering on Judah also increased in the Hellenistic period. In the Ono–Lod Valley the change was moderate (from 77 to 100), an increase similar to that observed in the northern Shephelah (the Qeʿila district). In contrast, in the territory that belonged to the Idumean province in the southern Shephelah, there was a dramatic rise in the number of sites (from 55 to 149), paralleling the increase in the Benjamin district. Overall, these two areas exhibit the most significant growth in the Persian–Hellenistic transition. In all the regions examined above, 185 of the 324 Persian period sites continued into the Hellenistic period (i.e., a 57% rate of continuity)—consequently, 447 Hellenistic sites out of 632 were new (ca. 70%; Tables 5.4 and 5.5). Of the Persian period sites, 62–70%

Number of Sites in the Hellenistic Period

171 86 77

49

383

continued to be settled without interruption in the Hellenistic period in three regions.24 In the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts, on the other hand, only 24 out of 52 sites (46%) continued to be inhabited. An examination of site continuity compared to the large number of new sites established in the Hellenistic period attests to a major change in the settlement pattern of most regions. It also allows us to compare patterns of continuity and change in the Hellenistic period with such patterns in the Persian period. It should be stressed once again, however, that it is not yet possible to pinpoint precisely when in the Hellenistic period the new sites were established. In the Beth-Zur district 26 new sites were established in the Hellenistic period, many more than in the Persian period (11). The ratio between ongoing and new sites in

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  71

the Hellenistic period is lower than in the preceding period (0.9:1 compared to 2.4:1 in the Iron Age–Persian period transition). The ratio between ongoing and new sites in the Beth-Zur district in the Hellenistic period is the highest in the province (Table 5.4). These data show that this region was particularly conservative, with the fewest changes in the arrangement of rural settlements as compared to all other areas.25 The overall picture in this region is one of relative continuity and gradual development from the Persian to the Hellenistic period. In contrast, all other regions of Judah went through dramatic changes in the transition between the periods, albeit not necessarily for similar reasons. In the northern Shephelah (the Qeʿila district), the relatively large

number of new sites completely modified the settlement pattern, as shown by the ratio between continuing and new sites (0.5:1 compared to 3.9:1 in the transition from the Iron Age to the Persian period).26 In the Benjamin district, despite the general continuity of settlement (70% of Persian period sites continued into the Hellenistic period), many new sites were established, more than doubling the number of settlements and changing the pattern completely, as is evident also in the ratio between ongoing and new sites (0.3:1 compared to 1.5:1 in the transition from the Iron Age to the Persian period).27 Only a quarter of all Hellenistic period sites in Benjamin continued from the Persian period.

Persian Period Sites vs Hellenistic Period Sites in Each District

Persian Period Sites vs Hellenistic Period Sites in Each District

180

180

160

160

Fig. 5.4: Comparison of the number of Persian and Hellenistic period sites in each district

140

140

120

120

100

100 80 80 60 60 40 40 20 20 00

Benjamin Benjamin

Jerusalem Jerusalem andand BethBeth Hakkerem Hakkerem

Qeʿila Qeʿila

Number of sites in the Persian period

Beth-Zur Beth-Zur

Number of sites in the Hellenis�c period

Number of sites in the Persian period

Number of sites in the Hellenistic period

Table 5.4: The districts of Judah in the Persian–Hellenistic transition: number and ratio of new and ongoing sites Number of Sites in the Persian Period Benjamin (Mizpah District)

64

Northern Shephelah (Qeʿila District)

Number of Sites Continuing into the Hellenistic Period

Continuity Number of New Sites Rate in the Hellenistic Period 70%

126

Ratio between Ongoing and New Sites

45

0.3:1

Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem Districts

52

24

46%

62

0.4:1

39

26

67%

51

0.5:1

Central Judean Hills (Beth-Zur District)

37

23

62%

26

0.9:1

72  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot

A similarly sharp change in the settlement system is seen in the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts: less than half of the settlements that existed in Persian times persisted into the Hellenistic period, yet the number of settlements in this period rose significantly (from 52 sites in the Persian period to 86 in the Hellenistic period).28 The ratio of 0.4:1 between ongoing and new settlements is close to the ratio in the Benjamin district. In the Jerusalem area, the combination of a low measure of continuity (46%) and a rise in the number of sites leads to the conclusion that only about a quarter of the sites that were inhabited in the Hellenistic period originated in the Persian period. This is the most extensive change in the rural settlement in the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts, even more dramatic than in the transition from the Iron Age to the Persian period. A drastic change occurred in the area around Maresha and Lachish, as well (Table 5.5). Not only was there an impressive growth in the number of sites, but the measure of continuity from the Persian period to the early Hellenistic period was very low, indicating a drastic change in the settlement pattern.29 There was a total of 123 new sites in this area. The ratio between ongoing and new sites is the lowest of all regions examined (0.2:1), even lower than those of the Benjamin district and of the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts. In the Ono–Lod Valley the extent of continuity in rural settlement in the Persian–Hellenistic transition is significantly lower than in the transition between the Iron Age and the Persian period (53% compared to 73%; see Tables 5.2 and 5.5). In this region almost triple the number of new sites was established (59 compared to 21 new sites in the Persian period), and the ratio between ongoing and new sites (0.7:1) attests that in this area too, there was a sharp change in the system of rural settlements, much greater than the change in the transition from the Iron Age to the Persian period.30

At first glance, the data presented above seems to give rise to a contradiction. On the one hand, in all the districts of Judah the number of settlements increased significantly, indicating that the rural settlement system was flourishing. On the other hand, the ratio of ongoing sites from the Persian period compared to the general number of Hellenistic period sites was low—and it is particularly low in the Jerusalem, Beth Hakkerem and Benjamin districts. When these two trends are considered in conjunction, it appears that the growth in the Hellenistic period is not a direct continuation of the settlement system that evolved in the Iron Age and continued into the Persian period. In other words, far from being a natural development, the growth in the Hellenistic period represents a new system altogether. To some extent, this new system incorporated the previous one, given that most Persian period sites continued to exist in the Hellenistic period, but many new sites were added. This means that the transition from Persian to early Hellenistic times was the most definitive and formative stage in the settlement history of Judah and its neighboring regions in the Shephelah. The Ono–Lod Valley is known for its complex history and for the demographic and geopolitical changes that took place during the Persian period and especially in the early Hellenistic period. We may assume that the main crisis in the settlement of this region occurred at the beginning of the Hellenistic period, and it was at this time that the settlement pattern that included a Jewish majority, which characterized the area throughout the Hellenistic period, was created. In the southern Shephelah, and particularly around Maresha and Lachish, there was a real revolution in settlement, with less than 20% of the early Hellenistic sites originating in the Persian period, and all other sites reflecting the settling of Arab and Idumean elements, which became the most important component of the province.

Table 5.5: The regions bordering Judah in the Persian–Hellenistic transition: number and ratio of new and ongoing sites

Ono–Lod Valley

Southern Shephelah

Number of Sites in the Persian Period

Number of Sites Continuing into the Hellenistic Period

Continuity Rate

55

26

47%

77

41

53%

Number of New Sites in the Hellenistic Period

Ratio between Ongoing and New Sites

123

0.2:1

59

0.7:1

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  73

Synthesis: The Historical Significance of the Data The above survey of the history of the rural settlement in Judah from the end of the Iron Age to the Hasmonean period shows that it managed to maintain relative stability through long periods of time, regardless of the significant geopolitical changes in the region. It thus exhibited great resilience at a time when empires were rising and falling and the urban system underwent profound changes. The changes impacting the rural settlement were gradual, with new settlements established alongside the existing ones over time. The first conclusion to be derived from the above data is the apparent continuity between the end of the First Temple period and the Persian period. This is especially true in the Benjamin district, the area of Ramat Raḥel and the Rephaim Valley, but is also very much the case in the area of Beth-Zur, which became the southern boundary of the province of Judah. In the Judean Shephelah and the Judean Hills, despite the devastation of the urban system and the damage to the rural settlement, with many settlements destroyed and abandoned, most rural Persian period settlements endured from the Iron Age, and only about a quarter were new. An examination of each individual region shows that the Benjamin district saw many new settlements established in the Persian period. This is evidence of the thriving of the Mizpah district in this period—an archaeological conclusion that is in keeping with our historical information on the importance and position of this region under Babylonian rule and in the early Persian period. During this period, the northern Shephelah (the Qeʿila district) also began to recover from the immense crises it suffered in the late 8th and the early 6th centuries BCE. While survey data indicates that demographically, the Shephelah did not regain its previous status, recent excavations demonstrate that during the Persian period (especially towards the end of the period), at least in parts of the Shephelah, grain economy developed, probably alongside the more traditional economy based on olive orchards and vineyards. This is evident from the many granaries typical of the sites of this period. The relative weakness of the Judean Shephelah (the

Qeʿila district) in the early Persian period provides another explanation for the thriving of the Benjamin district and its continued importance. The central Judean Hills (the Beth-Zur district) maintained its stability with a slow and gradual recovery. This stability is also typical of the Jerusalem environs, including the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts. We believe that the reason for this stability, in a period when Jerusalem was only a temple city with a small population, relates to the role of Ramat Raḥel, which was the main administrative center where agricultural produce from the region was collected in this period. The Ono–Lod Valley began to thrive in the Persian period, probably as a result of immigration from the mountain region, especially from Benjamin. However, changes in this area were slow and gradual in the Persian period, with the main change taking place in the early Hellenistic period. In the southern Shephelah, the Babylonian destruction marked the beginning of a process of immigration of Arab and Idumean elements into the region, as far north as the area of Maresha, but certainly not beyond the boundary of Judah in the Elah Valley. However, this region also underwent slow and gradual change, with the major transformation taking place only in the Persian–Hellenistic transition. The most meaningful and drastic change in the rural settlement in Judah in the second half of the first millennium BCE occurred during the Persian–Hellenistic transition and in the Hellenistic period itself. However, as emphasized above, there is insufficient data to pinpoint the establishment of new sites within the time span from the late 4th to the 2nd century BCE. In previous studies it was argued that the main settlement boom in Judah should, generally speaking, be dated to the 2nd century BCE (Tal 2006: 1–3, 125–129, n. 7; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 38). However, the measure of continuity between the Persian and Hellenistic periods, described above, enables us to reexamine the dating of the great wave of settlement in the Hellenistic period and the change in the pattern of rural settlement. The data presented shows that in some regions of Judah the change was gradual and can be explained as a decline in settlement, followed by a great boom in the late Hellenistic period. In other regions there was a pronounced surge in the establishment of new settlements as early as the early Hellenistic period,

74  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot

and these joined the older sites that dated back to the Persian period and, in some cases, even to the Iron Age. In light of these variations, each region merits a separate discussion, and it would be unwarranted to try to draw a uniform picture. The central Judean Hills in the south of the province (the Beth-Zur district) is especially prominent in terms of stability and continuity of its settlement. Not many new sites were established in the Hellenistic period, and there was continuity in the existence of settlements in the transition between the two periods. This picture contrasts with the situation in other regions of Judah. It may be assumed that the Beth-Zur district, with its limited agricultural and settlement potential, remained marginal, as political changes, such as the ones that took place in the 2nd century BCE, unfolded in the province. As mentioned above, the number of rural sites in the Benjamin district more than doubled in the Hellenistic period, and the region included almost half of all rural sites in Judah. This points to a more pivotal role for this area in this period. The continuity and gradual nature of the settlement processes in this region suggest that these sites survived throughout the early Hellenistic period. This conclusion is in keeping with the finds from the main excavations conducted in the area. For example, a renewed discussion of the excavation of Tell el-Ful showed that the main Hellenistic activity in this site dates from the second half of the 3rd and the beginning of the 2nd century BCE (Finkelstein 2011: 113–114). In the area of Maresha, the number of rural settlements also tripled in the Hellenistic period, and a new settlement pattern emerged around the center of the province of Idumea. About half of the rural settlements in this area continued to exist in the Persian–Hellenistic transition, but many new sites were also established in the Hellenistic period. As a result, only ca. 15% of the Hellenistic settlements go back to the Persian period. In view of the analysis of the data retrieved from the excavations at Maresha, we may assume that most of the changes in settlement in this area had already occurred in the early Hellenistic period and that this was a defining phase for the formation of the settlement pattern in this region (Kloner 2003: 13–15; Tal 2006: 27–29). In the Ono–Lod Valley there was a sharp decline in the settlement pattern—sharper than in the transition

from the Iron Age to the Persian period. Many new sites were established, and there was a relatively low rate of continuity from the Persian period. Although we did not include the archaeological information from the excavations in the Modiʿin area in the database, it seems that most changes in this region should be linked to the great flourishing of settlement that took place in the hills of western Samaria, north of the Modiʿin region. In excavations conducted in recent years, many farmsteads dated to the 4th and 3rd centuries were found in the area of Mazor and in the hills of Rosh Haʿayin (Turge 2012; Turge and Gandelman 2008; Shadman 2014). The farmsteads discovered further south, in Ramat Beth Shemesh, may be part of the same momentum. The use of a bathtub integrated in the construction is a prominent feature, characteristic of all farmsteads, from western Samaria in the north to Tel Azekah and Khirbet Qeiyafa in the south (Katz 2012). These changes in settlement pattern were the basis of the geopolitical processes that took place in the region, starting from the Persian period and more intensely between the days of Alexander the Great and the end of the Ptolemaic period. A more complex picture arises from analysis of the settlement pattern in the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts. On the one hand, there is a major growth in the number of sites in this region, but on the other hand, the continuity rate from the Persian period is relatively low. This indicates that the settlement growth did not occur in the early part of the Hellenistic period and that the Persian–Hellenistic transition was in fact characterized by a decline in settlement. Indeed, finds from excavations in Jerusalem and Ramat Raḥel support the view that a sharp decline in rural settlement occurred in the Persian– Hellenistic transition. Analysis of the pottery and stamped handles found at Ramat Raḥel points to a decline in the site’s importance and centrality in the early Hellenistic period (Lipschits et al. 2011: 34–37; Tal 2016). The absence of imported vessels typical of the 3rd century BCE and the sharp decline in the number of yhwd stamp impressions of Types 15 (the last of the middle types, dated to the early Hellenistic period) and 16 (the first of the late types, dated to the beginning [?] of the 2nd century BCE) are particularly notable (Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 574–655). Similarly, finds from the early Hellenistic period in Jerusalem are rare. At this

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  75

stage, the Western Hill was not yet settled, and Strata 8 and 7B at the City of David show no evidence of development in the city’s status and size. It seems that the City of David was fortified only in the late 2nd or even the early 1st century BCE.31 On these grounds, it seems that as in the Persian period, Jerusalem was mainly a temple city with a cultic center throughout the early Hellenistic period. The fact that relatively few handles bearing Rhodian stamp impressions were found on the Western Hill is evidence that this area developed very late (Ariel 1990: 21–25; 2000: 267–269; Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2007: 112). The findings from excavations in Jerusalem and Ramat Raḥel suggest that the rural settlement pattern that was in place at the end of the Hellenistic and the Early Roman periods developed only during the 2nd century BCE, within the framework of the consolidation of the Hasmonean state (Lipschits and Tal 2007: 38–47; Gadot 2011: 56–58). At this point the administrative system also changed and was renewed, and from this time on, Jerusalem was at the center of this system (Bocher and Lipschits 2011: 211).

The Place of the Early Hellenistic Period in the Geopolitical Processes in Judah With the end of Persian rule in Judah, many of the territorial arrangements, some of which had existed since Assyrian rule, were canceled and Judah underwent significant administrative, political, territorial and demographic changes for the first time since the end of the 8th century BCE. In this sense, the time span between the end of the Persian period and the Maccabean revolt held great importance in the formation of the settlement

pattern of Judah for the rest of the Second Temple period, especially in the marginal regions of Judah and in the areas of contact between different populations. The great settlement wave around Maresha should be dated to this stage. This includes primarily the accelerated penetration of Idumean and Arab tribes from the south, who were to form the core population of the province of Idumea. At the same time, a large population of Judean origin was settling in the Ono–Lod Valley, and as a result, the two regions on either side of the Shephelah were by then establishing new and different ethnic identities. These ethnic changes were paving the way for the detachment of these regions from the provinces (previously kingdoms) to which they had for centuries belonged and their transference to the neighboring provinces later in the Hellenistic period. Even if immigration to these regions had begun with the destruction of Judah and continued during the Persian period, the definitive stage in this geopolitical transition undoubtedly occurred during the early Hellenistic period. We also date the sharp decline in the number of rural settlements and the change in settlement pattern in the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts to this time. As mentioned above, throughout this period no more than a few hundred families lived in Jerusalem. This population could not form the base of the relatively large rural settlement that existed around it (a population that was greater than in the Iron Age IIA and IIB); therefore, the new rural development must be linked to the central role of Ramat Raḥel. By the same token, the sharp decline in the size of the rural settlement must be related to the decline in Ramat Raḥel’s importance, a process that occurred in the 3rd century BCE, probably under Ptolemaic rule.

NOTES 1. A Hebrew version of this article was published in 2014 (Lipschits et al. 2014). The present article is based on the updated database established by Nitsan Shalom as part of her research for her M.A. thesis, under the supervision of Prof. Oded Lipschits (Shalom 2017). While the number of sites differs slightly between this article and its Hebrew version, most of the conclusions and suggestions made in 2014 remain valid. 2. The geopolitical processes of the period include the rise and fall of empires, crucial battles, changes in the system of imperial rule, significant transformations in the boundaries of Judah and in its

internal administrative organization, religious and social changes and much more. See updated review and summary in Lipschits 2018. For a general review of the early Hellenistic period, see Tal 2006: 1–3 and his discussions of the various components of the material culture. On the resemblance and slow development of the various types of local pottery throughout the centuries, see Lipschits 2004a: 224–240; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 36. 3. For Ramat Raḥel, see Lipschits et al. 2011; Lipschits, Gadot and Freud 2016; Lipschits, Oeming and Gadot 2020. For Tel Azekah, see Lipschits, Gadot and Oeming 2012; 2017. For Khirbet Qeiyafa, see

76  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot Garfinkel and Ganor 2009; Garfinkel, Ganor and Hasel 2014. For Ramat Beth Shemesh sites, see Kogan-Zehavi 2014. For Lachish, see Fantalkin and Tal 2006. For Khirbet er-Rasm, see Faust and Erlich 2011. See also the sites mentioned in Tal 2006: 125–129. 4. To some extent, this article is an updated and geographic and chronological elaboration on the discussion already presented in Lipschits and Tal 2007, which focused on the place of the 4th century BCE in the development of the settlement in Judah. 5. Based on the detailed discussion in Lipschits 2015. 6. Due to their small size and proximity, these two districts are treated together. 7. For a delineation of the districts and a review of the research and different opinions on the question of Judah’s boundaries and internal divisions, see Lipschits 2004a: 157–213, esp. 201–202; 2015. 8. Lipschits and Tal 2007: 34–38. On the problems of reconstructing demographic and settlement processes based on archaeological surveys, see London 1992; Lipschits 2003: 324–326; 2004a: 241, n. 1. 9. Obviously, fewer people lived at a site a few hectares in area than at a site measuring dozens of hectares. It must be taken into account, however, that the character of the settlement also impacts the number of inhabitants. For example, a military and administrative fort would have had fewer inhabitants than a village of similar size. A detailed discussion of the considerations regarding each site cannot be offered here. On the development of this research, see below, n. 11. 10. On the problems of dating early Hellenistic finds, see Tal 2006: 1–3, 125–127; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 36. 11. In creating this database, Nitsan Shalom examined afresh the published dating propositions of excavated sites in light of new information and new insights, in an effort to refine them. This comprehensive revision of the date allowed her to analyze the sites’ characteristics on a more solid base and made settlement hierarchy research possible (Shalom 2017). See the summary of the results in Shalom and Lipschits (forthcoming). 12. For a more detailed examination of the published chronological statements relating to the settlement sites of the period, see Shalom 2017. 13. On this phenomenon in the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, see Tal 2006: 125–128. 14. Lipschits and Tal 2007: 35–36. The farmsteads uncovered in the excavations of Kogan-Zehavi (2014) in the hills of Ramat Beth Shemesh confirm this assumption. Two adjacent farmsteads were discovered at Khirbat el-Keikh; three structures were found at Khirbat Shumeila. Even though Khirbat Shumeila extended over an area of 2.5 hectares, both sites were farmsteads with small populations. 15. On this, see Geva 2007: 56–57; Lipschits 2009; 2011a; Finkelstein 2009; 2010; and Reich 2011: 317–321. 16. It is possible, however, that some sites were reestablished after a settlement gap in the 6th century BCE. See Lipschits 2011b; 2015, with further references. 17. For a detailed survey of the relevant data, see Stern 2001: 431–434; Lipschits 1999; 2004a: 245–254, 272–283; 2015. 18. This is in contrast to Faust’s arguments (2003). See Lipschits 2011b; 2015. 19. See references above, n. 15. 20. This is despite the fact that excavations in recent years have shown the Shephelah to have been much more densely populated than suggested by earlier surveys, as it appears that settlement from the relevant periods was underrepresented in surface data. The

excavations of Tel Azekah uncovered an impressive settlement stretching across the entire tell and dating from the late Persian period (Lipschits, Gadot and Oeming 2017: 19). This runs counter to the results of a thorough survey that had been conducted prior to the excavation and had disclosed no clues to the existence of this Persian period settlement (Emmanuilov 2012). Similarly, an important late Persian stratum was excavated at Khirbet Qeiyafa (Garfinkel, Ganor and Hasel 2014; Sandhaus 2009). Finally, a system of Persian period farmsteads was discovered in the salvage excavations at Ramat Beth Shemesh; see Kogan-Zehavi 2014. It is noteworthy that this settlement recovery dates mostly from the second half of the Persian period and towards the end of the period. See also Shalom 2017: 80–82. 21. The sites from the bordering regions were not reexamined in so detailed a manner as the sites within Judah (Shalom 2017). Consequently, we must assume that the number of sites in the bordering regions, and hence, the ratio between the number of sites there and within Judah, was in fact lower than the currently available data would suggest. 22. Some scholars (especially Kasher 1975: 204–208; 1993: 31–35; 2011) argued for temporary border changes between the time of Alexander the Great and the end of the Ptolemaic period. Goldstein (1976: 410–411) further suggested that the Jewish claims to the regions of Lydda, Ramataim and Aphairema were based on Alexander’s gift. For our concerns, it suffices to say that even if these border changes had occurred, they were only temporary. See, further, Kasher 1988: 92; Schwartz 1991: 49–50, 57–58; Naʾaman 1995: 23; Lipschits 1997: 10–11 with further references. 23. On the number of sites in the regions outside Judah, see above, n. 21. 24. In the Benjamin district, 70% of the Persian period settlements continued to exist into the Hellenistic period; in the Qeʿila district the percentage was 67%; and in the Beth-Zur district, it was 62%. 25. In the Beth-Zur district, the number of sites rose from 37 to 49 in the transition between the Persian and Hellenistic periods. A total of 23 sites continued to exist, while 26 new sites were established. 26. In the Qeʿila district, the number of sites grew significantly—from 39 to 77. A total of 26 Persian period sites continued into the Hellenistic period, while 51 new settlements were established. 27. In the Benjamin district, a significant growth in the number of sites was observed (from 64 to 171). A total of 45 Persian period sites continued into the Hellenistic period, along with the establishment of 126 new ones. 28. In the Jerusalem and Beth Hakkerem districts, only 24 sites outlived the transition from Persian to Hellenistic times, while 62 new sites were established. This means that 72% of all Hellenistic period settlements were new. 29. In the southern Shephelah the number of sites increased from 55 to 149. Only 26 out of 55 Persian period sites continued to exist in the Hellenistic period (47%), and 123 new sites appeared. 30. In the Ono–Lod Valley 41 out of 77 Persian period sites were maintained into the Hellenistic period (53%), while 59 new sites were established. 31. Shiloh 1984: 23–24; 1990: 2–3; Geva 2003: 526; 2006: 14–15; 2007: 57. Recently, however, ongoing excavations at Givʿati Parking Lot have revealed remains of what appears to be a public building on the western slope of the City of David ridge, dated to the early Hellenistic period. See Gadot, Polokoff and Shalev 2018: 47.

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  77

REFERENCES Ariel, D.T. 1990. Imported Stamped Amphora Handles. In: Ariel, D.T., ed. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, II: Imported Stamped Amphora Handles, Coins, Worked Bone and Ivory, and Glass (Qedem 30). Jerusalem: 13–98. Ariel, D.T. 2000. Imported Greek Stamped Amphora Handles. In: Geva, H., ed. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, I: Architecture and Stratigraphy, Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report. Jerusalem: 267–283. Blenkinsopp, J. 1998. The Judaean Priesthood during the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction. Catholic Biblical Quarterly 60: 25–43. Bocher, E. and Lipschits, O. 2011. Initial Conclusions from the Study of the YRSLM Stamp Impressions on Jar Handles. New Studies on Jerusalem 17: 199–217 (Hebrew). Emmanuilov, S. 2012. The History of the Settlement at Tel Azekah in Light of Archaeological Survey (M.A. thesis, Tel Aviv University). Tel Aviv (Hebrew). Fantalkin, A. and Tal, O. 2006. Redating Lachish Level I: Identifying Achaemenid Imperial Policy at the Fifth Satrapy. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 167–197. Faust, A. 2003. Judah in the Sixth Century B.C.E.: A Rural Perspective. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 135: 37–53. Faust, A. 2007. Settlement Dynamics and Demographic Fluctuations in Judah from the Late Iron Age to the Hellenistic Period and the Archaeology of Persian Period Yehud. In: Levin, Y., ed. A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbors During the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. London: 23–51. Faust, A. and Erlich, A. 2011. The Excavations at Khirbet er-Rasm, Israel: The Changing Face of the Countryside (British Archaeology Reports International Series 2187). Oxford. Finkelstein, I. 2009. Persian Period Jerusalem and Yehud: A Rejoinder. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9: 2–13. Finkelstein, I. 2010. The Territorial Extent and Demography of Yehud/Judea in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. Revue biblique 117: 39–54. Finkelstein, I. 2011. Tell el-Ful Revisited: The Assyrian and Hellenistic Periods (with a New Identification). Palestine Exploration Quarterly 143: 106–118. Freud, L. 2018. Judahite Pottery in the Transitional Phase between the Iron Age and the Persian Period: Jerusalem and Its Environs (Ph.D. dissertation, Tel Aviv University). Tel Aviv (Hebrew). Gadot, Y. 2011. The Rural Settlement along Nahal Rephaim from the Middle Bronze Age until the Hellenistic Period: A Fresh Look from Kh. er-Ras. New Studies on Jerusalem 17: 43–62 (Hebrew).

Gadot, Y. 2015. In the Valley of the King: Jerusalem’s Rural Hinterland in the 8th–4th Centuries BCE. Tel Aviv 42: 3–26. Gadot, Y., Polokoff, A. and Shalev, Y. 2018. Gold Jewelry from the Early Hellenistic Period in Jerusalem. In: Meiron, E., ed. City of David: Studies of Ancient Jerusalem: The 19th Annual Conference (City of David and Ancient Jerusalem Studies 13). Jerusalem: 41–50. Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. 2009. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem. Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. 2014. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem. Geva, H. 2003. Summary and Discussion of Findings from Areas A, W and X-2. In: Geva, H., ed. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, II: The Finds from Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report. Jerusalem: 501–522. Geva, H. 2006. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, III: Area E and Other Studies, Final Report. Jerusalem. Geva, H. 2007. Estimating Jerusalem’s Population in Antiquity: A Minimalist View. Eretz-Israel 28: 50–65 (Hebrew), 11* (English summary). Goldstein, J.A. 1976. I Maccabees—A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. New York. Kasher, A. 1975. Some Suggestions and Comments Concerning Alexander Macedon’s Campaign in Palestine. Beit Mikra 20: 187–208 (Hebrew). Kasher, A. 1988. Canaan, Pleshet, Greece and Israel: Jews and the Hellenistic Cities in the Second Temple Period (332 BCE–70 CE). Jerusalem (Hebrew). Kasher, A. 1993. The Journey of Alexander the Great in the Land of Israel. In: Rappaport, U. and Ronen, I., eds. The Hasmonean State: The History of the Hasmoneans during the Hellenistic Period. Jerusalem: 13–35 (Hebrew). Kasher, A. 2011. Further Revised Thoughts on Josephus’ Report of Alexander’s Campaign to Palestine (Ant. 11. 304–347). In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. Judah between East and West—The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca. 400–200 BCE). London: 131–157. Katz, H. 2012. He Shall Bathe in Water; Then He Shall Be Pure: Ancient Immersion Practice in the Light of Archaeological Evidence. Vetus Testamentum 62: 369–380. Kloner, A. 2003. Maresha Excavations Final Report I: Subterranean Complexes 21, 44, 70 (Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 17). Jerusalem. Kloner, A. and Stern, I. 2007. Idumea in the Late Persian Period (Fourth Century B.C.E.). In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 139–144.

78  nitsan shalom, oded lipschits, noa shatil and yuval gadot Koch, I. and Lipschits, O. 2010. The Kingdom of Judah at the End of the First Temple Period in Light of the Rosette Stamped Jar Handles. Cathedra 137: 7–26. [Hebrew] Kogan-Zehavi, E. 2014. The Rural Settlement in the Judean Foothills in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, in Light of the Excavations in Ramat Beth Shemesh. In: Stiebel, G.D., Peleg-Barkat, O., Ben-Ami, D. and Gadot, Y., eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region: Collected Papers, 8. Jerusalem: 120–133 (Hebrew). Langgut, D. and Lipschits, O. 2017. Dry Climate during the Early Persian Period and Its Impact on the Establishment of Idumea. Transeuphratѐne 49: 135–162. Lemaire, A. 2003. Nabonidus in Arabia and Judah in the Neo-Babylonian Period. In: Lipschits, O. and Blenkinsopp, J. eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake: 285–298. Lipschits, O. 1997. The Origins of the Jewish Population of Modiʿin and Its Vicinity. Cathedra 85: 7–32 (Hebrew). Lipschits, O. 1999. The History of the Benjaminite Region under Babylonian Rule. Tel Aviv 26: 155–190. Lipschits, O. 2003. Demographic Changes in Judah between the Seventh and the Fifth Centuries B.C.E. In: Lipschits, O. and Blenkinsopp, J., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake: 323–376. Lipschits, O. 2004a. The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule. Jerusalem (Hebrew). Lipschits, O. 2004b. The Rural Settlement in Judah in the Sixth Century BCE: A Rejoinder. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 136: 99–107. Lipschits, O. 2006. Achaemenid Imperial Policy, Settlement Processes in Palestine, and the Status of Jerusalem in the Middle of the Fifth Century BCE. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian (Achaemenid) Period. Winona Lake: 19–52. Lipschits, O. 2009. Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9: article 20, http://www.jhsonline.org/Articles/article_122 .pdf. Lipschits, O. 2011a. Jerusalem between Two Periods of Greatness: The Size and Status of Jerusalem in the Babylonian, Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. Between East and West—The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca. 400–200 BCE). London: 163–175. Lipschits, O. 2011b. Shedding New Light on the Dark Years of the “Exilic Period”: New Studies, Further Elucidation, and Some Questions Regarding the Archaeology of Judah as an “Empty Land”. In: Kelle, B., Ames, F.R. and Wright, J.L., eds. Interpreting Exile: Interdisciplinary Studies of Displacement and Deportation in Biblical and Modern

Contexts (SBL Ancient Israel and Its Literature Series). Atlanta: 57–90. Lipschits, O. 2015. The Rural Economy of Judah during the Persian Period and the Settlement History of the District System. In: Miller, M.L., Ben Zvi, E. and Knoppers, G.N., eds. The Economy of Ancient Judah in Its Historical Context. Winona Lake: 237–264. Lipschits, O. 2018. The Age of Empires: History and Administration in Judah in Light of the Stamped Jar Handles. Jerusalem (Hebrew). Lipschits, O. Forthcoming. Age of Empires: The History and Administration of Judah in the 8th–2nd Centuries BCE in Light of the Storage-Jar Stamp Impressions (Mosaics: Studies on Ancient Israel). Tel Aviv and University Park, PA. Lipschits, O. and Gadot, Y. 2008. Ramat Raḥel and the Emeq Rephaim Sites—Links and Interpretations. In: Amit, D. and Stiebel, G.D., eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region: Collected Papers, 2. Jerusalem: 88–96 (Hebrew). Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y., Arubas, B. and Oeming, M. 2011. Palace and Village, Paradise and Oblivion: Unraveling the Riddles of Ramat Raḥel. Near Eastern Archaeology 74: 2–49. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Freud, L. 2016. Ramat Raḥel III: Final Publication of Yohanan Aharoni’s Excavations (1954, 1959– 1962) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 35). Tel Aviv. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Langgut, D. 2012. The Riddle of Ramat Raḥel: The Archaeology of a Royal Persian Period Edifice. Transeuphratène 41: 57–79. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Oeming, M. 2012. Tel Azekah 113 Years After: Preliminary Evaluation of the Renewed Excavations at the Site. Near Eastern Archaeology 75: 195–207. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Oeming, M. 2017. Tel Azekah after Four Seasons of Excavations: Expected and (Especially) Unexpected Results. In: Lipschits, O. and Maeir, A.M., eds. The Shephelah during the Iron Age—Recent Archaeological Studies. Winona Lake: 1–25. Lipschits, O., Oeming, M. and Gadot, Y. 2020. Ramat Raḥel IV: The Renewed Excavations by the Tel Aviv–Heidelberg Expedition (2005‒2010). Stratigraphy and Architecture (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 39). Tel Aviv and University Park, PA. Lipschits, O., Shalom, N., Shatil, N. and Gadot, Y. 2014. Judah in the “Long Third Century” – An Archaeological Perspective. In: Stiebel, G.D., Peleg-Barkat, O., Ben-Ami, D. and Gadot, Y., eds. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region: Collected Papers, 8. Jerusalem: 134–152 (Hebrew). Lipschits, O. and Tal, O. 2007. The Settlement Archaeology of Judah between the 5th and 3rd Centuries B.C.E. In:

judah in the early hellenistic period: an archaeological perspective  79 Lipschits, O. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the 4th Century BCE. Winona Lake: 33–52. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D. 2007. Jerusalem in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Light of the Yehud Stamp Impressions. Eretz-Israel 28: 106–115 (Hebrew), 12*–13* (English summary). ­ Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D. 2011. Yehud Stamp Impressions: A Corpus of Inscribed Stamp Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah. Winona Lake. London, G.A. 1992. Tells: City Center or Home? Eretz-Israel 23: 71*–79*. Naʾaman, N. 1995. The Historical Background of the Philistine Attack on Ahaz in Chronicles. In: Kasher, A. and Oppenheimer, A., eds. Dor Le-Dor: Studies in Honor of J. Efron. Jerusalem: 11–26 (Hebrew). Reich, R. 2011. Excavating the City of David. Where Jerusalem’s History Began. Jerusalem. Sandhaus, D. 2009. Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Pottery. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem: 209–225. Schwartz, J.J. 1991. Lod (lydda), Israel: From Its Origins through the Byzantine Period (5600 B.C.E.–640 C.E.). Oxford. Shadman, A. 2014. Rosh Haʿayin (South). Ḥadashot Arkheologiyot 126—Excavations and Surveys in Israel, http://www .hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id =5448&mag_id=121. Shalom, N. 2017. Changes in the Settlement Pattern in Judah between the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods (M.A. thesis, Tel Aviv University). Tel Aviv (Hebrew). Shalom, N. and Lipschits, O. Forthcoming. Judah during the Transition between the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Regional Processes. In: Held, W. and Kotitsa, Z.,

eds. The Transition from the Achaemenid to the Hellenistic Period in the Levant, Cyprus and Cilicia: Cultural Interruption vs Cultural Continuity? Proceedings of the Symposium in Marburg 12–15 October 2017 (Marburger Beiträge zur Archäologie 6). Marburg. Shiloh, Y. 1984. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1982 (Qedem 19). Jerusalem (Hebrew). Shiloh, Y. 1990. Stratigraphical Introduction to Parts I and II. In: Ariel, D.T., ed. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, II: Imported Stamped Amphora Handles, Coins, Worked Bone and Ivory and Glass (Qedem 30). Jerusalem: 1–12. Stern, E. 2001. Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, II: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732–332 B.C.E.). New York. Stern, I. 2005. Idumaea in the Persian Period: The Interaction between Ethnic Groups as Reflected in the Material Culture (Ph.D. dissertation, Bar-Ilan University). Ramat Gan. Tal, O. 2006. The Archaeology of Hellenistic Palestine: Between Tradition and Renewal. Jerusalem (Hebrew). Tal, O. 2016. Pottery from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods. In: Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Freud, L., eds. Ramat Raḥel III: Final Publication of Yohanan Aharoni’s Excavations (1954, 1959–1962) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 35). Tel Aviv: 266–271. Turge, H. 2012. Settlement Remains from the Late Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods at Khirbat Burnat (Southwest). ʿAtiqot 69: 1–67 (Hebrew). Turge, H. and Gandelman, P. 2008. Khirbat Burnat. Ḥadashot Arkheologiyot—Excavations and Surveys in Israel 120, http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng .aspx?id=923&mag_id=114.

6 Khirbet Qeiyafa in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods Yosef Garfinkel

Khirbet Qeiyafa is located ca. 30 km southwest of Jerusalem in the western part of the Upper Shephelah (grid ref 14603–12267), on the summit of a hill that borders the Elah Valley on the north (Figs. 6.1–6.2). This is a regionally strategic location near the junction of two major routes: the east–west road leading from Philistia and the coastal plain to the hill country, and the north–south road leading from Lachish to Beth Shemesh. Khirbet Qeiyafa was reoccupied in the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods, after having been abandoned for nearly 600 years following the destruction of the Iron Age city (10th century BCE). The site’s prominent location between administrative districts (Judah, Idumea and Philistia) and above a major road junction gave it its importance in the late Persian– early Hellenistic era. The fall of the Persian empire and Alexander’s conquest did not have a direct impact on Khirbet Qeiyafa. The numismatic finds show that the site was resettled ca. 350 BCE, during the late Persian period, and ultimately deserted around 260 BCE. This is clearly a case in which the life of an individual site does not directly correspond with major geopolitical events. On the basis of the numismatic and ceramic evidence, two phases were discerned at the site: the assemblages of Area C fall

within the late 4th century BCE, while the ones uncovered in Areas B and D are dated to the early 3rd century BCE. It is not clear, however, when each of these phases began. Either the phase uncovered in Area C was built and then deserted prior to the phase uncovered in Areas B and D, or else both phases occurred at more or less the same time, with that of Area B and D continuing after the abandonment of that of Area C. These findings enable us, for the first time, to draw a clear distinction between the late Persian and the early Hellenistic phases at Khirbet Qeiyafa.1

The Architecture The site of Khirbet Qeiyafa is not a classic Near Eastern tell, a multi-layered mound with a thick accumulation of remains caused by human activity, but rather a shortlived site with only a shallow accumulation. Many of its ancient remains stand to this very day. In addition, about 30% of the site’s area consists of exposed bedrock lacking any archaeological accumulation. The excavations revealed meaningful architecture from three periods: the Iron Age IIA, the late Persian–early Hellenistic and the

82  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.1: Map of Judah in the Persian period, showing the location of Khirbet Qeiyafa (based on Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 29, Map 3)

Fig. 6.2: Aerial view of Khirbet Qeiyafa (view to the south, toward the Elah Valley)

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  83

late Roman–Byzantine era. The remains of the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods are designated as Stratum III (Fig. 6.3). To date, this chapter in the history of Khirbet Qeiyafa has received only brief attention (Stiebel 2010). The construction of a massive casemate city wall in the Iron Age—fortifications encompassing an area of 2.3 ha on the hilltop (Garfinkel and Ganor 2009; Garfinkel, Ganor, and Hasel 2012; 2014)—gave Khirbet Qeiyafa its present shape. This wall dominated the site in the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods as well, with the new settlement confined to the area of the Iron Age city. In most places the late Persian–early Hellenistic layer is found immediately below the surface. The thickness of the accumulated remains and the type of human activity they reflect vary from one area to another.

In some places a thin layer of soil with a scatter of potsherds is indicative of activity in an open area between buildings, while in other places scanty remains of walls apparently reflect simple dwellings. Large buildings were constructed in three areas: C, D and F. An enclosing wall with two gates, in the west and the south, surrounded the settlement in this stage.

The Western Gate The western gate of Area B in the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods represents reuse and modification of the earlier Iron Age gate (Figs. 6.4–6.5; Garfinkel and Ganor 2009: 78–84; Kang 2014: 66–76; Garfinkel, Kreimerman and Zilberg 2016: 122–130):

Fig. 6.3: Plan of Khirbet Qeiyafa Stratum III

84  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.4: The western gate (Area B) in the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods (view to the west)

1.

The inhabitants of the later period apparently did not need a gate as broad as the Iron Age gate (3.8 m) and therefore blocked almost half of its entrance with Wall B313, reducing it to a width of only 2 m;

2. A higher threshold (B320) was now constructed from three large flat stones on top of the large Iron Age stone threshold; 3. A new floor (B235) covered the Iron Age floor and drainage channel in the entrance area; 4. A new drainage channel (B244) was created in the southern side of the western gate; thus, two drainage channels are visible today—the northern, Iron Age,

channel and the southern channel of the late Persian– early Hellenistic periods; 5. Only the northern two of the four Iron Age gate chambers remained in use in the later period; 6. The southwestern chamber was blocked by the construction of Wall B219 and incorporated in a large building, becoming a paved silo (B238); 7. The southeastern chamber was blocked by the construction of Wall B221; most of its walls were dismantled, and the area became part of and open courtyard (Floor B266), with a tabun (B245) constructed over the remains of a wall of the Iron Age chamber.

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  85

Fig. 6.5: Plan of the western gate area after the gate was blocked

At a certain point in the late Persian or the early Hellenistic period, this gate went out of use and a large installation blocking access was constructed on the road leading to it (Kang 2014: 66–76). The gate area, lower than its environs, became a refuse dump and was covered by a considerable quantity of potsherds and a few animal bones.

The Southern Gate In Area C, the original Iron Age gate was completely blocked in the late Persian period and was integrated into a large building constructed within the earlier gate and gate piazza (Fig. 6.6). A new gate was built ca. 20 m to the east, on top of an Iron Age casemate (Fig. 6.7; Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 103–107). Since the surface within the settlement was ca. 3 m higher than the surface outside the gate, the difference in height was compensated for by an access corridor (ca. 10 m long and 3 m wide), leading from west to east. The later gate thus almost completely destroyed the earlier Iron Age remains here. Since the corridor was sunk into the Iron Age debris, stone retaining walls had to be constructed in order to prevent the collapse of earth into the passageway. We dismantled these walls during excavation.

The Peripheral Wall The western gate of Khirbet Qeiyafa, clearly visible in aerial photographs, rests on the outer face of the Iron Age casemate city wall and was constructed of small and medium-sized limestone blocks. The original Iron Age wall was 4 m thick, whereas the later wall had a thickness of only ca. 1.5 m (Garfinkel and Ganor 2009: Figs. 5.20–5.22). A few Iron Age casemates were cleared in the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods and were reused for various activities, as is evident from the floors of this period detected and from the lack of Iron Age debris. In most of the casemates, however, no late Persian–early Hellenistic floors were detected, although potsherds of these periods were found among the rich Iron Age deposits. This suggests, in my opinion, that the Iron Age debris was not systematically cleared but that collapsed stones were removed to be used in the construction of new buildings. After the abandonment of the site, the peripheral wall crumbled over time. Most of the upper part of the wall visible today is clearly not the original construction, but it preserves the wall’s original outline. The local farmers apparently continued to maintain this wall as a terrace wall, marking ownership of agricultural land.

86  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.6: Late Persian–early Hellenistic remains in Area C: a large complex was built in the western part of the area above the Iron Age gate; the gate of this period is located in the center of the area, with fragments of small buildings found to its east

Fig. 6.7: The southern gate (Area C) in the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  87

The Large Building in Area D This structure was excavated during three seasons by a team from Southern Adventist University, under the direction of Michael Hasel. A large complex (700 m2), consisting of three adjacent units, was uncovered (Fig. 6.8), abutting the western gate in the north and the casemate city wall in the west (Hasel 2014a; 2014b). The northern and central units each had a large courtyard (A and I respectively), with several small rooms around them. The southern unit (P) was much smaller, composed of one room that functioned as an olive press. On the western side of each unit a long corridor runs along the Iron Age casemate wall. In some cases, the ancient casemates were incorporated into the later building, while others were blocked and not reused. In the northernmost courtyard a large cave was quarried into bedrock; the cave remained in use until the Islamic period, as attested by potsherds found in it. Various installations were found in the building: four tabuns, a large silo and two plastered bathtubs (Figs. 6.9–6.10). The third unit, in the south, is an oil press, in which over 1,600 olive pits were found (Figs. 6.11–6.12; Hasel 2014b). It included an installation for pressing olives, four stone weights placed in a row and four additional stone weights, some incorporated into the walls in secondary use. The floor and walls of the room were covered with a thick layer of white lime plaster. This is the only room in the entire late Persian–early Hellenistic

Roo

Room Ro om

m

H

Courtyard

Roo

m

A

G

Roo

J

m

K

L

B

CasemateD

Casemate E

Another particularly large structure (ca. 370 m2) was built within the Iron Age southern gate and the nearby gate piazza (Fig. 6.13; Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 107–120). This building (C100) consists of 20 spaces, including large courtyards containing several cooking installations. A glass scaraboid seal bearing the image of an Egyptian goddess standing on a lion (see below) was found in the front courtyard (A). This courtyard opens onto two casemates of the Iron Age city wall, which were cleared of Iron Age debris and in which late Persian–early Hellenistic floors were found. From the courtyard one can also access an inner part of the building via Room D. The inner part includes an array of several courtyards

O prelisve s

F

Silo

The Large Building in Area C

Room M

Room Room C

stratum in which the floor and walls had been carefully plastered, probably to prevent loss of oil that splashed to the sides or spilled during the production process. The building in Area D, the largest structure of this period known at the site, is unique in several respects: it had an olive-oil production center in one of its wings and contained numerous silos. A particularly large number of coins was found in it, as well as sherds of Attic pottery and a fragment of a stone vessel made of dark schist of some kind. These artifacts are a clear indication of prosperity and the accumulation of wealth; hence, this appears to have been the residence of the most important family of the site during this period.

P

Room N Casemate O

Fig. 6.8: The large building complex in Area D

88  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.9: Two tabuns in the building complex in Area D, in room J (left) and room K (right) (view to the east) 

Fig. 6.10: Plastered bathtub in the building complex in Area D, built adjacent to a wall

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  89

Fig. 6.11: Aerial view of the olive-oil press uncovered in the building complex in Area D (view to the south)

and many rooms, three of which were originally casemates of the Iron Age wall. In the westernmost casemate, a partition wall was constructed, dividing it into two rooms (R and T); a silo was installed in the eastern part (Room T) and a cooking stove in the open western part. The building contained many installations, including a stone basin near the entrance, tabuns, a bathtub and silos (Figs. 6.14–6.15).

The Large Building in Area F A large Iron Age storage building with two rows of pillars was uncovered in Area F (Kochavi 1998), of the type known as the “tripartite pillar building.” It had been cleared and reused in the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods, with most of the original pillars removed and the building divided into two units. A well-defined living

90  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.12: Detail of the olive-oil press in the building complex in Area D

Courtyard

A

Room

basin

E

D

Room P

Room Room

G

Room

K

B

J

Room

F

bath

Room

Q

R

C

Room

S T

L

Casemate

O

Room

Room

M inst.

Room

Casemate

Fig. 6.13: The large building complex in Area C

N

H

I

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  91

Fig. 6.14: Plastered bathtub in the building complex in Area C, built adjacent to a wall (view to the east)

Fig. 6.15: Tabun in Room R of the building complex in Area C (view to the east)

92  yosef garfinkel

floor was exposed in the southern unit, and a plastered bathtub was found in the northern one (Figs. 6.16–6.18).

Additional Building Remains Evidence for the construction of small and relatively simple structures and installations was found in Area B, to the north of the large building in Area D (Figs.

6.19–6.20; Kang 2014), and in the eastern part of Area C (Fig. 6.21; Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 120–128). The evidence includes remains of walls, some floors and an occasional stone-lined silo. These walls do not form parts of complete buildings or even, in some cases, of complete rooms. This stratum, which is near the surface, has largely been destroyed over the years. The presence of lime kilns in the nearby Area A suggests that many of the walls were dismantled and burnt to produce lime.

Fig. 6.16: Aerial view of reused Iron Age pillar building in Area F (view to the west)

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  93

Fig. 6.17: Late Persian–early Hellenistic floor in the southern part of the large building in Area F (view to the south)

Fig. 6.18: Plastered bathtub in the large building complex in Area F, built adjacent to a wall (view to the east)

94  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.19: The casemate city wall and fragments of small late Persian–early Hellenistic buildings in the northern part of Area B

A unique phenomenon was observed in Building C4 of the Iron Age (Area C), which had 12 rooms. While a rich destruction layer containing Iron Age vessels was found in most of the rooms, Room D exhibited a completely different picture: debris of the late Persian–early Hellenistic period alone extended down to a plastered floor (Fig. 6.22). Apparently, a basement was dug here in the later period,

utilizing the walls of the Iron Age room. The debris of this room yielded a concentration of 10 bronze arrowheads. Some of the late Persian–early Hellenistic walls were constructed in a style not seen in other periods at the site: long narrow stones laid at an angle on their ends, creating a kind of herringbone effect, are sometimes incorporated into the walls (Fig. 6.23).

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  95

Fig. 6.20: Rounded silo of the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods built against the Iron Age casemate city wall in Area B (view to the south)

Fig. 6.21: The casemate city wall and fragments of small late Persian–early Hellenistic buildings in the northern part of Area C

96  yosef garfinkel

Fig. 6.22: Aerial view of Room D in Building C4, which was completely cleared in the late Persian–early Hellenistic period to become a basement; note bench and silo constructed adjacent to the eastern wall (view to the north)

Fig. 6.23: Late Persian–early Hellenistic wall built with long narrow stones laid at an angle on their ends, creating herringbone effect

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  97

The Finds

Stone Vessels

The settlement of the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods was abandoned in an orderly fashion, and the inhabitants took their household utensils with them. We did not uncover many objects from the final days of the site on the floors of the buildings; instead, we found sherds, coins, metal objects and fragments of stone vessels that had been discarded.

In the excavation report for the 2007–2008 seasons, only a few stone vessels were reported (Garfinkel 2009: 192). At the end of the project, the stone tool assemblage of the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods numbers over two hundred items,3 most found discarded in various fills or debris and only ca. 15% found complete on building floors. The most common types of tools in the assemblage are lower and upper grinding tools made of basalt, limestone querns and mortars and flint hammerstones.

Coins The quantity and quality of the coins found in Stratum III—nearly two hundred specimens in all—make Khirbet Qeiyafa a very important site for the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods. Some of the coins were presented in preliminary publications (Farhi 2009; 2011; 2014), and the final report has now been published (Farhi 2016). Thorough analysis of the coins has revealed differences between various parts of the site: it appears that Area C, in the south, was abandoned in the late 4th century BCE (the late Persian period), whereas the abandonment of Areas B and D, in the west, occurred somewhat later, in the early 3rd century BCE (the early Hellenistic period). Thus, Khirbet Qeiyafa was abandoned gradually, not as the result of an abrupt event.

Pottery Unlike the Iron Age stratum, in which we uncovered many hundreds of restorable vessels, the settlement of this period yielded mainly potsherds. The assemblage excavated in the 2007–2008 seasons has been published (Sandhaus 2009). Meticulous analysis of the pottery at the end of the project by D. Sandhaus and I. Kreimerman has revealed differences between assemblages recovered from different parts of the site. The numismatic evidence suggests that these differences may have chronological implications: that the pottery of Area C in the southern part of the site is earlier in date, within the late 4th century BCE, while the pottery of Areas B and D in the west dates from the early 3rd century BCE. The analysis of these two pottery assemblages allows us to propose, for the first time, a clear distinction between the pottery of the late Persian period and that of the early Hellenistic period.2

Metal Objects Some bronze and iron artifacts were found, including fibulae and kohl sticks (Fig. 6.24; Nenner-Soriano 2009). A concentration of arrowheads was found in a single room in Area C, apparently the contents of a single quiver that was left behind (Fig. 6.25; Yahalom-Mack et al. 2020).

Figurines Two solid horse figurines were uncovered, both handmade out of clay. One (Fig. 6.26) has already been published (Erlich 2009). Similar heads have been reported from Maresha (ca. 12 km south-southwest of Khirbet Qeiyafa), where excavations uncovered a group of horse rhyta, all with handmade heads decorated in a similar technique, resulting in a naïve and stylized appearance (Erlich and Kloner 2008: 73–74, Pls. 44–47). Given these similarities, the horse heads from Khirbet Qeiyafa likely came from a rhyton or some other zoomorphic vessel. The entire assemblage of eight items—figurines and decorated pottery vessels—was recently published (Erlich 2018).

Writing Evidence for writing in this era is meager, compared to the two inscriptions uncovered in the Iron Age city, and consists only of a few Aramaic letters written in ink on pottery. The inscriptions were published recently (Yardeni 2018).

Seals Two stamp seals were found, both in the shape of an Egyptian scarab, and have been published. One is a glass

98  yosef garfinkel

seal, engraved in Phoenician style (Fig. 6.27; Schroer and Wyssmann 2012; 2018). It depicts an Egyptian goddess standing on a lion and holding a spear, along with an altar; similar seals were found at Ibiza and Carthage. The other seal, engraved on a green stone, depicts a man riding a horse (Fig. 6.28; Farhi 2011: 20; Farhi and Rabinovich 2018). A collection of seven signet rings and two bronze seals was found as well (Farhi and Rabinovich 2018).

Animal Bones Only the assemblage from the first two seasons, consisting of 210 bones, has been published so far (Kehati 2009). The assemblage is dominated by sheep/goat (21.43%)

and cattle (34.76%). If we take into account bone fragments too (the identification of which is not as certain as that of the complete bones), these groups become even more dominant: “possible sheep/goat” constitutes 44.29% of the assemblage and “possible cattle” 50.95%— accounting for 95.24% of the bones. In addition to the overwhelming dominance of these two groups, the assemblage contained one first phalanx of a camel, a metatarsus and tibia of a gazelle, a metatarsus of a cervid, an upper molar of an equid, a mandible (without teeth) of a small fissiped, two valves of Glycymeris insubrica (a marine shell) and one ulna of a bird, probably a chukar. As in the Iron Age, no pig bones were identified in the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods.

Fig. 6.24: Fibulae and kohl sticks made of bronze

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  99

Fig. 6.25: Four of 12 bronze arrowheads uncovered in one room in Area C, apparently the contents of a single quiver

Fig. 6.26: Solid handmade clay horse figurine 

Fig. 6.27: Glass scaraboid seal engraved in Phoenician style, depicting an Egyptian goddess, standing on a lion and holding a spear, along with an altar

Fig. 6.28: Stone scaraboid seal depicting a man riding a horse

Summary

In the late Persian–early Hellenistic periods Khirbet Qeiyafa was situated on the juncture between several administrative districts: Judah, Idumea and Philistia. Once the Ptolemaic dynasty of Egypt had consolidated its control over the Levant, a new administrative organization was formulated and Khirbet Qeiyafa was abandoned. The complete absence of any coins postdating Ptolemy II Philadelphus indicates, from an archaeological point of view, that this process took place at an early stage of the Ptolemaic dynasty.

The site of Khirbet Qeiyafa was never settled on a large scale for a long period. It was in use for a generation or so in the Iron Age, part of the site was settled in the late Persian period, and another part was inhabited during the early Hellenistic. The place was apparently chosen for occupation for strategic reasons because of its proximity to an important road junction. Once the political landscape had changed, for some reason, the population left the place, suggesting that they had no particular attachment to it in the first place.

100  yosef garfinkel

NOTES 1. For background on the period, see, e.g., Lipschits and Oeming 2006; Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011. 2. For a detailed account of the pottery, see Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015; Kreimerman and Sandhaus, this volume.

3. The stone vessels were analyzed and prepared for final publication by Haggai Cohen-Klonymus (Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem).

REFERENCES Erlich, A. 2009. The Terracotta Figurine of a Horse. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem: 225–226. Erlich, A. 2018. The Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Terracotta Figurines. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 4: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Art, Cult and Epigraphy. Jerusalem: 343–354. Erlich, A. and Kloner, A. 2008. Maresha Excavations Final Reports II: Hellenistic Terracotta Figurines from the 1989– 1996 Seasons (Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 35). Jerusalem. Farhi, Y. 2009. The Coins. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem: 231–241. Farhi, Y. 2011. Rare Coins and Seals of the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods from Khirbet Qeiyafa. Qadmoniot 44: 17–20 (Hebrew). Farhi, Y. 2014. A Preliminary Report on the Coins and Selected Objects. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 375–390. Farhi, Y. 2016. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 5: Excavation Report 2007–2013. The Numismatic Finds: Coins and Related Objects. Jerusalem. Farhi, Y. and Rabinovich, A. 2018. The Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Finger Rings and Seals. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 4: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Art, Cult and Epigraphy. Jerusalem: 321–331. Freikman, M. and Garfinkel, Y. 2014. Area C. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 93–226. Garfinkel, Y. 2009. Stone and Metal Artifacts. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007– 2008. Jerusalem: 175–194. Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. 2009. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem. Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. 2012. The Iron Age City of Khirbet Qeiyafa after Four Seasons of Excavations. In: Galil, G., Gilboa, A., Maeir, A.M. and Kahn, D., eds. The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries B.C.E.: Culture and History, Proceedings of the International

Conference Held at the University of Haifa, 2–5 May, 2010 (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 392). Münster: 149–174. Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. 2014. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem. Garfinkel, Y., Kreimerman, I. and Zilberg, P. 2016. Debating Khirbet Qeiyafa: A Fortified City in Judah from the Time of King David. Jerusalem. Hasel, M.G. 2014a. Area D. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 227–308. Hasel, M.G. 2014b. The Olive Press Installation. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 319–332. Kang, H.-G. 2014. Area B. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 61–91. Kehati, R. 2009. The Faunal Assemblage. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 201–208. Kochavi, A. 1998. The Eleventh Century BC Tripartite Pillar Building at Tel Hadar. In: Gitin, S., Mazar, A. and Stern, E., eds. Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BC. Jerusalem: 468–478. Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M. 2006. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2011. The Yehud Stamp Impressions. A Corpus of Inscribed Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah. Winona Lake. Nenner-Soriano, R. 2009. Metal Artifacts. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007– 2008. Jerusalem: 227–230. Sandhaus, D. 2009. Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Pottery. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem: 209–225. Sandhaus, D. and Kreimerman, I. 2015. The Late 4th/3rd Century B.C.E. Transition in the Judean Hinterland in Light of the Pottery of Khirbet Qeiyafa. Tel Aviv 42: 251–271.

khirbet qeiyafa in the late persian and early hellenistic periods  101 Schroer, S. and Wyssmann, P. 2012. Eine Göttin auf dem Löwen aus Hirbet Qeyafa. Zeitschrift des Deutschen PalästinaVereins 128: 158–169. Schroer, S. and Wyssmann, P. 2018. A Late Phoenician Scaraboid. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 4: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Art, Cult and Epigraphy. Jerusalem: 333–341. Stiebel, G.D. 2010. “By the Way”—Khirbet Qeiyafa in the Classical and Late Periods. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region—Collected Papers 4: 161–169 (Hebrew).

Yahalom-Mack, N., Herzlinger, G., Bogdanovsky, A., Tirosh, O., Garfinkel, Y., Dugaw, S., Lipschits, O. and Erel, Y. 2020. Combining Chemical and Lead Isotope Analyses with 3-D Geometric-Morphometric Shape Analysis: A Methodological Case Study of Socketed Bronze Arrowheads from the Southern Levant. Journal of Archaeological Science 118: 105147. https://doi.org/10.1016/j .jas.2020.105147. Yardeni, A. 2018. Three Inscriptions from the Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Period. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 4: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Art, Cult and Epigraphy. Jerusalem: 355–360.

7 Coin Circulation in Judea during the Persian–Hellenistic Transition A View from the Elah Valley Yoav Farhi

The recent excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa (Fig. 7.1) and the ones currently underway at Tel Azekah (Fig. 7.2) have disclosed occupation layers dating from the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods, rich with small finds.1 The strategic locations of these two sites—above the fertile Elah Valley (Fig. 7.3), close to the border between Judea, Philistia and Idumea, and adjacent to major routes leading to Jerusalem and to the north, south and west—support the assumption that they were important sites under successive Persian, Macedonian and Ptolemaic rule. On the basis of the numismatic evidence and the small finds, the two sites are presumed to have been abandoned ca. 260 BCE. This dating, in conjunction with the strategic locations of the sites and the profile of the numismatic finds, gives rise to the possibility that during the Ptolemaic period these sites functioned as farmsteads occupied by Ptolemaic soldiers. Indeed, a military settlement established close to fertile land that it could farm is consistent with the institution of Ptolemaic cleruchies.2

The numismatic finds from these two sites are so far unique, both in quantity and variety, compared to other sites in Judea and in the region in its entirety. This, however, might be the result not only of the sites’ strategic location and their possible foreign population (see below), but also of the method of retrieval of the finds in the Tel Azekah and Khirbet Qeiyafa excavations. A metal detector, which assists archaeologists in finding tiny metal objects, was systematically used by the author, and hundreds of coins and various metal objects were indeed retrieved thanks to this method, which is not standard in all archaeological excavations. These finds shed light upon the various types of coins that were in circulation in the region of Judea during the transitional period from Persian to Hellenistic dominations and allow us to reconstruct the local and regional circulation patterns. In this article I offer a survey of the numismatic finds of these two sites before drawing various conclusions. It should be noted that the following discussion is preliminary, since not all the finds from Tel Azekah have been studied to date.

I would like to extend my thanks to Y. Garfinkel and his team for permission to use the photographs pertaining to Khirbet Qeiyafa and to O. Lipschits and his team for permission to use the photographs pertaining to Tel Azekah. I am grateful to C.C. Lorber for her significant assistance in identifying the Ptolemaic coins and for sharing her knowledge about this period with me.

104  yoav farhi

Fig. 7.1: Khirbet Qeiyafa: view to the north (photograph by Sky View)

The Finds The finds from Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah include local and foreign coins, primarily of silver and bronze (very few are silver-plated bronzes), as well as various hacksilber (irregularly cut silver) pieces. The coins range from the late 6th to the second quarter of the 3rd century BCE and have been divided into several groups according to their chronology and provenance: 1.

Archaic and Classical Greek coins (late 6th to late 5th centuries BCE)

2. Athenian tetradrachms (5th to late 4th/early 3rd centuries BCE)

3. Local coins from the mints of Philistia (Gaza, Ashdod and Ashkelon), Judea, Samaria and possibly Idumea (4th century BCE) 4. Coins from Phoenicia (4th century BCE) 5. Coins from remote Persian-period mints (4th century BCE) 6. Coins of the early Hellenistic period: Macedonian and “satrapal” (struck in the names of Alexander the Great and his successors, late 4th to early 3rd century BCE) and Ptolemaic coins (late 4th to the second quarter of the 3rd century BCE) 7.  Hacksilber

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  105

Fig. 7.2: Tel Azekah: view to the north (photograph by the Lautenschlager Azekah Expedition)

Fig. 7.3: Map of the Elah Valley (based on Google Earth with edits by Itamar Ben-Ezra, Tel Aviv University)

106  yoav farhi

Archaic and Classical Greek Coins This early group consists of four coins, all of which were found at Khirbet Qeiyafa and originated in various extraregional mints. They are: half of a silver-plated coin, apparently from Idalion in Cyprus and most likely dating from the end of the 6th century BCE (Fig. 7.4:1); a coin from the island of Chios, dating from the beginning of the 5th century BCE (Fig. 7.4:2); a quarter of an Athenian tetradrachm of the mid-5th century BCE (Fig. 7.4:3); and a coin from Samos of the late 5th or early 4th century BCE (Fig. 7.4:4). No coins of this group are known so far from Tel Azekah. These early coins are quite rare in the region, with only a dozen Archaic and early Classical issues reported from controlled archaeological excavations in Israel.3 The fact that three of the coins (Fig. 7.4:1–3) were deliberately cut in antiquity and the fourth (Fig. 7.4:4) has a deep test cut suggests that they were used not as actual coins but as hacksilber, that is, bullion to be weighed in commercial transactions (see below and discussions in Gitler and Tal 2006a: 14; Farhi and Gadot 2012: 4). Such coins, especially cut ones, are usually found in hoards alongside silver ingots and other silver pieces used as bullion,4 rather than as strays (see, e.g., Kraay and Moorey 1968; Price and Waggoner 1975; van Alfen 2004–2005). These early coins may have arrived in Judea soon after their minting, in the late 6th or 5th century BCE, that is, during the transitional stage predating the beginning of a monetary economy in the southern Levant. Alternatively, they may have come to the region as late as the 4th century BCE.

Athenian Tetradrachms Eight coins of this group are noted here: two found at Azekah and six at Khirbet Qeiyafa. The main stage in the development of the local monetary economy in this region in antiquity apparently took place during the late 5th and the 4th centuries BCE, when silver coins began to be struck in Philistia, Samaria, Judea and possibly Idumea. The coins minted in the major cities of the region—Gaza, Ashdod, Ashkelon, Samaria and Jerusalem—were, in most cases, of lesser denomination

than the main coin of that period (the tetradrachm, originally struck in Athens, but imitated in the Southern Levant as well) and were used mostly in and around the cities in which they were struck. International trade, as well as all large-scale local trade, made use of the Athenian tetradrachm and its imitations. These coins bore the image of Athena on the obverse and Athena’s owl on the reverse.5 As noted above, two such “international” coins have been found to date at Tel Azekah. Both are silver plated and date from the second half of the 5th century BCE (Fig. 7.5). The six found at Khirbet Qeiyafa are all of the same type (pi-style) and date from the second half of the 4th century BCE (353–295 BCE; Fig. 7.6).6

Local Coins Coins from Philistia (Gaza, Ashdod and Ashkelon)

In total, 36 coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa and five from Tel Azekah were ascribed to mints in Philistia. Four or five of them can be attributed to specific cities, because they bear either the symbol of the mint (Gaza) or letters related to the abbreviated name of the city (Ashdod and Ashkelon).7 The other coins do not bear any identifying symbol and are assigned to Philistia in general (see below). With the exception of two silver-plated bronzes, all coins are tiny, small-denomination silver coins (mainly obols, 6–7 mm in diameter) and most imitate the Athenian type. Many such coins are known from the antiquities market, and they are rarely found in controlled excavations. Some of these are extremely rare and are apparently earlier than the rest of the coins from Philistia (ca. 400 BCE). These are: an obol assigned to Ashdod (Fig. 7.7:1), which displays the portrait of a bearded man on its obverse and a bull alongside two Aramaic letters on its reverse; an obol and a quarter obol assigned to Ashkelon (Fig. 7.7:2), with the portrait of Athena on their obverse and the Athenian owl alongside Aramaic letters on their reverse; and a quarter obol with the head of Athena on its obverse and a bird with a human head on its reverse (Fig. 7.7:3). As noted above, most of the Philistian coins belong to a group of coins defined by Gitler and Tal (2006a: 146–147) as Athenian-style imitations that do not bear North-west Semitic letters (Fig. 7.7:4–5). These specimens belong to

2 1

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  107

1

2

3

4 1

2

3

4

3

4 2

Fig. 7.4: Archaic and Classical Greek coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: Nos. 1–4) 1) a silver-plated coin from Idalion, Cyprus 2) a coin from Chios 3) an Athenian quarter tetradrachm 4) a coin from Samos

Fig. 7.5: Silver-plated Athenian tetradrachms from Tel Azekah 1) Emmanuilov 2012: 52 (= Gitler and Tal 2014: 17, No. 8) 2) unpublished (Reg. No. 81210/60)

1

2

3

4

Fig. 7.6: Athenian tetradrachms from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: Nos. 6, 7, 9, 10)

a subgroup classified by Gitler and Tal as “Type IX, classical, profiled-eye Athena” (2006a: 152). Since the coins in this group lack any inscription or mark assigning them to a minting authority, it is impossible to attribute them to any specific mint with certainty, and their local

provenance is established through comparison with locally excavated coins, stray finds and hoards. Similar coins were ascribed to Samaria on the basis of their find spots (Meshorer and Qedar 1991: 37, 78–80, Nos. 269–334; 1999: 40). While we cannot determine with certainty whether

108  yoav farhi

1

2a

2b

3

4

5

Fig. 7.7: Obols and their fractions from Philistia 1) obol from Khirbet Qeiyafa, assigned to Ashdod (Farhi 2016: No. 14) 2) obol (a) and quarter obol (b) from Khirbet Qeiyafa assigned to Ashkelon (Farhi 2016: Nos. 15–16) 3) quarter obol from Khirbet Qeiyafa, assigned to unknown mint in Philistia, with human-headed bird on its reverse (Farhi 2016: No. 49) 4) obol from Khirbet Qeiyafa assigned to unknown mint in Philistia (Farhi 2016: No. 26) 5) hemiobol from Tel Azekah, assigned to unknown mint in Philistia (unpublished, Reg. No. 80527/60)

the coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah were issued in Philistia, Samaria, or elsewhere, the sites’ location may suggest a Philistian provenance. Gitler and Tal list 51 Philistian coins previously retrieved from controlled archaeological excavations in this region (2006a: 49–62). Of these, 20 are isolated coin finds, while the rest belong to a hoard from Ashkelon (Gitler 1996; Gitler and Tal 2006a: 53). Thus, the 36 coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa assigned to Philistia form the largest group of isolated Philistian coins known so far from a single site.

Coins from Judea (Yehud Coins)

The 17 coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa belonging to the group of Yehud coins (after the Persian name of the sub-satrapy of Judea) and the three coins of this group from Tel Azekah can be divided into three subgroups, all dating from the 4th and early 3rd centuries BCE: coins of the Persian, Macedonian and Ptolemaic periods. All are generally associated with the Jerusalem mint. Most of the Yehud coins date from the late Persian period, before 332 BCE. Almost all are of the well-known type imitating Athenian coins and of the common value

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  109

of that time (obol/gerah,8 0.35–0.56 g, 6–8.5 mm).9 On the obverse we find a head, usually of helmeted Athena (Fig. 7.8:1), but in some cases of the Persian king wearing a jagged crown. The reverse bears a standing owl, with a lily (the symbol of Jerusalem) instead of an olive spray to its left, and to its right the legend yhd (Yehud) in paleoHebrew or Aramaic script, instead of the Greek legend AΘE. The three coins from Tel Azekah—all hemiobols— are of two types: two specimens bear the head of the Persian king on the obverse and a falcon with open wings on the reverse (Fig. 7.8:2), while the third has a lily on the obverse and a bird on the reverse. These types are extremely rare, and these coins are the only ones known from controlled excavations so far. The rarest coin in this subgroup is a quarter shekel from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Fig. 7.9). Only three other specimens of this denomination are known; all are unprovenanced, but two are from the same die as the present coin. Three of the Yehud coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa date from the Macedonian period. They differ substantially from the first subgroup in their lighter weight (0.19–0.23 g) and smaller diameter (6–7 mm), and they are struck on thinner and more circular flans. This type bears a frontal face on the obverse and a standing owl flanked by the

paleo-Hebrew legend yḥzqyh hpḥh (“Yeḥizkiyah the governor”) on the reverse (Fig. 7.10).10 On the basis of a metrological study, it has been suggested that this type of Yeḥizkiyah coin (e.g., TJC 22) was struck under the Diadochi and is later than several other types (the earliest was TJC 26, followed by TJC 24, 25 and 25a), which, according to their stylistic and artistic features and metrology, were struck in the Persian period and under Alexander the Great (Gitler and Lorber 2008: 70, 73–74). Two quarter obols from Khirbet Qeiyafa form the third subgroup, dating from the Ptolemaic period (Fig. 7.11). These coins usually bear the head of the king (Ptolemy I or II) on the obverse and an eagle with spread wings on the reverse, and they are dated to 302/1–294 BCE.11 Yehud coins, especially the ones bearing the legend “Yeḥizkiyah the governor” and the ones from the Ptolemaic period, are exceedingly rare in archaeological excavations. The list of provenanced Yehud coins published by D.T. Ariel shows that only 23 come from either a controlled archaeological excavation or a known find spot (for example, the Tell Jemmeh [Tel Gamma] hoard).12 The group of 17 Yehud coins uncovered at Khirbet Qeiyafa is the largest known to date from a controlled excavation; together, the finds from Khirbet Qeiyafa

0

1

1

1 Fig. 7.9: Yehud quarter shekel from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 53)

2 2

Fig. 7.8: Yehud coins 1) obol from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 54) 2) hemiobol from Tel Azekah (unpublished, Reg. No. 51428/60)

Fig. 7.10: Yehud Yeḥizkiyah coin from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 65)

110  yoav farhi

and Tel Azekah represent an important addition to the scanty record of Yehud coins from controlled archaeological excavations. The recovery of Yehud coins alongside Philistian issues at Khirbet Qeiyafa, Tel Azekah and other sites (see below) provides evidence for the simultaneous circulation of both types in the Persian province of Yehud. This evidence supports Gitler’s view that these small denominations (Yehud and Philistian coins, as well as the Samarian issues of similar denominations) supplied the daily cash in Samaria, Judea and Philistia and were used together in overlapping geographical regions (Gitler 2006b: 322). Similar assemblages of both Yehud and Philistian coins deriving from controlled archaeological excavations are known from only four other sites in Judea: Ḥorvat Berekhot, Khirbet er-Ras, Ḥorvat ʿEtri and Beth-Zur.13 No similar assemblages are known so far from any site in Philistia. This supports the assumption that the settlements at Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah were part of Judea during the period under discussion. Coins from Samaria

One obol from Khirbet Qeiyafa was attributed to Samaria on the basis of its reverse, which bears what appears to be two Aramaic letters, probably bd (Fig. 7.12). Samarian coins are rarely found in controlled excavations, and the

few that are known were retrieved from only a few sites (Farhi 2010: 26–27). This is why it has been suggested that Samarian coins circulated mostly in Samaria (Gitler and Tal 2006b: 57). The find from Khirbet Qeiyafa, however, considered in conjunction with two Samarian coins from Jerusalem, suggests that these coins may have circulated in Judea as well.14 Coins from Idumea (?)

Three drachms, all of the same peculiar type, were found at Khirbet Qeiyafa (Fig. 7.13), and a similar one was uncovered at Tel Azekah. They were struck from worn obverse dies, which had been recut and repolished. As a result, the obverse of the coins is simply dome-shaped and no trace of Athena’s head or helmet is recognizable. It has been suggested that these peculiar Athenian-style local coins were issued by an Idumean mint south of Judea (Gitler, Tal and van Alfen 2007). Only two coins of this type have been published thus far from controlled excavations: one from Ḥorvat ʿEtri in the Shephelah and the other from Tell Jemmeh, in the northwestern Negev, ca. 10 km southeast of Gaza.15 Ḥorvat ʿEtri, 5 km south of Khirbet Qeiyafa, constitutes the northernmost find spot of this type to be documented.16 It has been suggested that this group of coins circulated within the boundaries of Idumea in the later part of the Persian period. The

0

Fig. 7.11: Yehud quarter obol of the Ptolemaic period from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 69)

1

Fig. 7.12: Obol of Samaria from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 13)

Fig. 7.13: Drachm from Khirbet Qeiyafa assigned to Idumea (Farhi 2016: No. 50)

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  111

recent find of these coins at Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah extends the northern boundary of their circulation area, indicating that they circulated in Judea as well, while the find from Tell Jemmeh suggests that these coins may have originated in Philistia, and not Idumea.

the other, is the first of its type to be found in Israel.17 Bronze coins were very rare in Judea in the 4th century, particularly before the days of Alexander the Great. Given the worn state of the coin, it is possible that it arrived in Judea some decades after it was struck.

Coins from Phoenicia

Coins of the Early Hellenistic Period

Excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa yielded two coins of Phoenicia, both of well-known types: one is a shekel of Tyre (Fig. 7.14:1), displaying a deity riding a seahorse on its obverse and an owl on its reverse, and the other is an obol of Sidon (Fig. 7.14:2), with a war-galley on its obverse and a king slaying a lion on its reverse. Coins of Phoenicia are usually found in the Galilee or along the coast, but are not a common find in Judea (Lemaire 1995).

This group includes silver and bronze coins minted in the names of Alexander the Great and his half-brother Philip III; “satrapal” coins, probably from Babylon; and Ptolemaic coins struck in the names of Ptolemy I and Ptolemy II.

Other Coins from Remote Persian-Period Mints One small bronze coin, uncovered at Tel Azekah, was identified as a coin of the city of Dardanos in Troas (Asia Minor) and was dated to the mid-4th century BCE (Fig. 7.15). This coin, with a cock on one side and a rider on

Coins Struck in the Names of Alexander the Great and His Successors

Six coins discovered at Khirbet Qeiyafa and six at Tel Azekah were struck in the names of Alexander the Great and his successors. The Khirbet Qeiyafa finds consist of five silver coins—two tetradrachms (one illustrated in Fig. 7.16:1), one hemidrachm and two obols, one in the name of Alexander and the other under an unknown 11 in the East (see below)—and one bronze coin, of satrap the shield/helmet type (Farhi 2016: 51–53, Nos. 70–75).

22

1

Fig. 7.14: Coins of Phoenicia 1) shekel of Tyre from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 11) 2) obol of Sidon from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 12)

2

Fig. 7.15: Bronze coin of Dardanos, Troas, from Tel Azekah (unpublished, Reg. No. 51342/60)

112  yoav farhi

The Tel Azekah finds consist of three silver coins—a drachm in the name of Alexander (Fig. 7.16:2) and two “satrapal” obols (see below)—as well as three bronze coins of the shield/helmet type. While silver coins (especially tetradrachms and drachms) bearing the names of Alexander the Great and his successors are known from archaeological excavations in Israel, small silver fractions and bronze coins in the name of Alexander the Great are rarer. The latter are often ascribed to the military activity that took place in the region during Alexander’s reign and especially following his death. Such bronze types are traditionally thought to have been struck until ca. 310 BCE and possibly as late as ca. 305, when the Diadochi began issuing coins in their own names and types. Satrapal Coins

Two coins from Tel Azekah (one illustrated in Fig. 7.17) and one from Khirbet Qeiyafa are from an eastern mint, probably Babylon, and belong to a group of coins that is 1

1

considered “local” or “satrapal” because they are thought to have been struck on a standard that was more in line with the coinage that had prevailed in the Levant and the East prior to the arrival of Alexander, in contrast to the Alexander-type coinage that was struck in Babylon on the Attic standard and was used throughout his empire. The coins are dated from ca. 328 to ca. 312/1 BCE and were struck under one or more of the satraps who governed Babylonia successively in those years. The coin presented here displays a deity seated to left on one side and a lion walking to left on the other. These types of coins from Babylon are not common finds in controlled excavations in Israel. One was uncovered at Ḥorvat ʿEtri in the Shephelah, eliciting the claim that it offered historical evidence of economic and family ties between the returnees to Zion and the Jews who had remained in Babylonia in the late 4th century BCE (Eshel and Zissu 2006: 826–828, No. 8). In fact, we have no idea how and when these coins arrived in the Shephelah and whether they were brought by Jewish or non-Jewish travelers or by soldiers. These coins from 1

2

2

Fig. 7.16: Coins struck in the name of Alexander the Great 2 1) tetradrachm from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: No. 70) 2) drachm from Tel Azekah (unpublished, Reg. No. 30514/60)

Fig. 7.17: Satrapal coin from Tel Azekah (unpublished, Reg. No. 51315/60)

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  113

Babylon are of small denomination and thus not of major economic significance. They may have circulated as small change in the local markets alongside the Philistian and Yehud coins, possibly until the Ptolemaic period. The above-mentioned coins struck in the names of Alexander the Great and his successors probably arrived at the two sites before the Ptolemaic period. In view of the strategic location of these sites—especially Khirbet Qeiyafa—we cannot rule out the possibility that the coins were brought there by Macedonian soldiers. Ptolemaic Coins

In total, 29 royal Ptolemaic coins, all in the names of Ptolemy I and Ptolemy II, were found at Khirbet Qeiyafa, and 16 were uncovered at Tel Azekah.18 Two of the coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa and one from Tel Azekah (Fig. 7.18:1) are silver tetradrachms. The rest are bronze coins of Series 1 and Series 2, issued under Ptolemy I (Fig. 7.18:2) and Ptolemy II (Fig. 7.18:3–4), before the reform that added central cavities to the flans. At least five coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa were minted on Cyprus (Farhi 2016: 59, Nos. 85–89). Since Cypriot coins are not common in Israel, their presence may suggest some

3

Cypriot connection, possibly of a military nature. At least seven coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa and two from Tel Azekah were struck during the reign of Ptolemy II, the latest ones dating no later than 265–261 BCE. To conclude, the Ptolemaic coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah are crucial for dating the end of the early Hellenistic occupation phase of these sites. Since no Ptolemaic coin postdates ca. 261 BCE, it may be concluded that the first phase of occupation during the Persian–Hellenistic periods at these sites ended during the reign of Ptolemy II, probably no later than the 260s BCE. The reason for this change is yet unknown, but suggestions will be raised below.

Hacksilber The term hacksilber (irregularly cut silver) describes broken pieces of silver ingots, coins, jewelry and other silver objects that were used as currency. Material in this form was weighed on scales against standardized weights for the purposes of exchange or payment, and this usage continued after coinage became the main means of exchange and different coinage systems had developed.19

4

Fig. 7.18: Ptolemaic coins 1) silver tetradrachm of Ptolemy I from Tel Azekah (unpublished, Reg. No. 40482/60) 2) bronze coin of Ptolemy I from Tel Azekah (unpublished, Reg. No. 50031/60) 3–4) bronze coins of Ptolemy II from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: Nos. 98, 104)

114  yoav farhi

1

2

3

4

Fig. 7.19: Hacksilber pieces from Khirbet Qeiyafa (Farhi 2016: 165, Nos. 619–622)

The excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa yielded nine pieces of silver ingots and other silver pieces, as well as 15 pieces of silver jewelry, either complete or broken (Farhi 2016: 161–166; Shalev and Shilstein 2016); from Tel Azekah we have five pieces of silver ingots so far. In addition, the earliest coins found at Khirbet Qeiyafa, the three cut Archaic Greek coins (Fig. 7.19) and the coin from Samos with the deep test cut (Fig. 7.4:4) were probably used as hacksilber (see above). Similar fragments of silver ingots of various kinds and diverse silver pieces are usually known from hoards rather than as stray finds.20 Since these hacksilber pieces were found in both sites as strays, throughout all the excavated areas rather than as a hoard, it is impossible to determine whether all or some of the jewelry pieces were used in their original function until they were lost or were used as a means of payment. Since the use of hacksilber pieces—some of which are similar to the ones found at Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah—is known from the Bronze and Iron Ages, it is impossible to determine the period in which these objects were made. However, the numismatic finds from these two sites and a comparison with hoards and stray finds that include similar hacksilber pieces from the 6th–4th centuries BCE suggest that most (if not all) of these hacksilber pieces were brought to these sites in the 4th century BCE. It is thus possible that these objects—including some of the jewelry pieces—were used for payment during the transitional period that preceded the shift to coins as the main means of exchange and possibly also continued into the late 4th century BCE.

Concluding Remarks The finds from Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah show that during the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods, until the days of Ptolemy II, various large silver coins

from non-local mints—such as Athenian “owls,” Tyrian shekels and Macedonian and Ptolemaic tetradrachms— circulated in this region alongside small silver coins that came primarily from the local mints of Philistia, Judea and possibly Idumea and Samaria, but also from Phoenicia and Babylon. Moreover, these silver coins were supplemented by hacksilber pieces. Macedonian, Ptolemaic and a few other bronze coins were also circulating in the region during this period and slowly replaced the small local silver coins as the main currency for minor transactions. We should bear in mind that the conquest of the region by Alexander the Great was a crucial turning point for the monetary circulation in Judea and its environs. In 332 BCE, after a two-month siege, Alexander the Great took Gaza, sold its citizens into slavery, inhabited it with new residents and fortified the city.21 This episode marked the end of minting in Gaza, the main source of Philistian coins. These events in Gaza and the region must have affected Ashkelon and Ashdod, which probably stopped minting as well. A year later Samaria rebelled against Alexander while he was in Egypt, and Alexander punished the offenders and settled Macedonian colonists in Samaria (Schürer 1979: 160–161; Kasher 1988: 21). This was the end of the Persian-period minting in Samaria. Thus, within a very short period of time, Philistia and Samaria, the two main centers of coins for local circulation in the region during the Persian period ceased to function. The mint of Jerusalem was the only one in the region that continued to produce coins of small denominations intended for local circulation during the Macedonian and Ptolemaic periods. These coins were issued in small quantities and used mainly in Judea. A small group of Yehud coins from the Macedonian period uncovered at Tell Jemmeh in Philistia (Rahmani 1971)22 suggests that during this period Yehud coins from Jerusalem came to substitute the small change previously produced by the mint of Gaza.

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  115

The total lack of late Ptolemaic and Seleucid coins in Khirbet Qeiyafa suggests that the site was abandoned during the reign of Ptolemy II, probably no later than the 260s BCE, and was not inhabited again for at least 150 years. The same was the case in Tel Azekah, to judge from the areas on the top of the mound that were excavated. This phenomenon has now been established as certain in the Elah Valley through the thorough numismatic study of these sites. These finds shed light on other areas of Judea as well, where no such study has so far been conducted. It is hoped that further research will determine the possible reasons for the abandonment of these and other sites and will suggest possible implications.23 In particular, it cannot yet be conclusively determined whether the inhabitants of these two and similar sites were of local origin during the Persian,

Macedonian and Ptolemaic periods. Finds such as seals and finger rings with Phoenician motifs,24 as well as some of the numismatic finds, such as the Phoenician coins, the variety of small silver denominations from different mints and the group of Ptolemaic coins from Cyprus, suggest—although they do not conclusively establish— the presence of non-local people at these sites. No other sites in Judea that were inhabited during the Persian and early Hellenistic periods have been studied so intensively from the numismatic point of view. The numismatic evidence is crucial for pinpointing the stratigraphy within the Hellenistic period and might help us shed light on the inhabitants of the sites as well. It is my hope that future studies, focusing on the numismatic data from this area, will offer a better understanding of some of the issues raised in this paper.

NOTES 1. Excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa, conducted from 2007 to 2013, were directed by Yosef Garfinkel, Saar Ganor and Michael Hasel on behalf of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. For the final publication series, see Garfinkel and Ganor 2009; Garfinkel, Ganor and Hasel 2014. For the final publication of the numismatic finds, see Farhi 2016. Excavations at Tel Azekah, ongoing since 2012, are directed by Oded Lipschits, Manfred Oeming and Yuval Gadot on behalf of Tel Aviv University. For a preliminary report, see Lipschits, Gadot and Oeming 2012. 2. Cleruchs in Ptolemaic and Seleucid territories alike were military settlers endowed by the king with a plot of land (kleros), which would provide them with a livelihood and a home base when not employed on active service. 3. Gitler and Tal 2006a: 13–16; Farhi and Gadot 2012. Some 30 additional Archaic and early Classical issues are listed as stray finds (Gitler and Tal 2006a: 17–22). 4. Both hacksilber pieces and pieces of silver jewelry were found as strays at Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Azekah. 5. Greek and Roman historians refer to the Athenian tetradrachms as “owls.” See Jones 1993: 39, Nos. 56–58; 2007: 63, Nos. 55–58. 6. For this coin type and other finds from Israel, see Gitler and Tal 2006a: 23–30. For updated studies, see Kroll 2011a; 2011b; 2013; Ponting, Gitler and Tal 2011; Gitler and Tal 2014. 7. For the most comprehensive research regarding Philistian coins, see Gitler and Tal 2006a. For some recent studies, see Fischer-Bossert 2010; Tal 2013; Gitler and Tal 2014 (all with further references). For the suggestion that the Philistian coins of Gaza, Azotus and Ashkelon were struck in a collective mint, see Gitler and Tal 2009. 8. It has recently been suggested that the denominational system used for the Yehud coins in the late Persian period was based on the shekel rather than on the Greek obol standard (Ronen 2003–06: 28–29; Tal 2007). This type of coin was probably known as meʿah or gerah, rather than obol.

9. For the most up-to-date study of this type, see: https://www .menorahcoinproject.com/yhd-05.htm 10. For a study of the Yeḥizkiyah coins of Judea, see Gitler and Lorber 2008. For further discussion of this type and its denomination, see Ronen 1998. 11. See Farhi 2016: Nos. 68–69. For the chronology of the Ptolemaic coins of Judea, see Gitler and Lorber 2006. For the introduction of Ptolemy’s portrait, see Lorber 2012. 12. Ariel 2002: 287–294, esp. 287–288, Table 3. Several additional Yehud coins appear in a list of hoards published by Gitler and Lorber (2006: 25–28), none from a secure provenance. 13. Ḥorvat Berekhot: personal communication by D.T. Ariel (Israel Antiquities Authority). Excavations at this site, located in the southeastern part of present-day Jerusalem, were conducted by Z. Adawi (Israel Antiquities Authority), and the coins (as yet unpublished) were identified by D.T. Ariel. I wish to thank them both for their kind permission to include this information here. Excavations at Khirbet er-Ras, in the southern part of present-day Jerusalem, were conducted by Y. Gadot and the coins (as yet unpublished) were identified by Y. Farhi. For an earlier coin from this site, see Farhi and Gadot 2012. On Ḥorvat ʿEtri, see Eshel and Zissu 2006: 825–828. Finally, on Beth-Zur, see Sellers 1933: 71–74, Nos. 1–5, 9. 14. For one of the Jerusalem coins, see Farhi 2010: 27, Fig. 5. The other one, which is from the City of David, is still unpublished (IAA No. 153419; Ariel 2016). 15. For Ḥorvat ʿEtri, see Eshel and Zissu 2006: 826–827, No. 3 (= Gitler and Tal 2006a: 53, Table 3.3, Fig. 3.19:3). For the Tel Gamma (Tell Jemmeh) coin, see Ariel 2014: 1023–1024, No. 1. 16. Another coin of this type is documented as a stray find from the northwestern slopes of Tel Mareshah; Gitler, Tal and van Alfen 2007: 50, No. 9. 17. For a Roman-period coin of this city found in a cave in the western Galilee, see Bijovsky 1997: 44, No. 1.

116  yoav farhi 18. For the coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa, see Farhi 2016: 55–65, Nos. 76–104. Two Yehud coins from Khirbet Qeiyafa were struck under Ptolemy I or Ptolemy II (see above). These are not royal Ptolemaic coins but local coins of very low denomination, intended for use as small change in the local markets rather than for circulation throughout the region. 19. Hacksilber hoards in the Levant date from as early as the Middle Bronze Age II, but are more common from the Iron Age I to the Persian period. See Gitler 2006a, with numerous references. For further studies on hacksilber, see Balmuth 2001; Kletter 2003; Thompson 2003. 20. S ee, for example, Gitin and Golani 2001 (7th century BCE); Gitler 2006a (4th century BCE). For an updated list of hacksilber

hoards from the Levant and Egypt dating from the Archaic and Classical periods (6th to 4th centuries BCE), see Gitler 2006a: 6–7, Table 1. 21. See Q. Curtius Rufus 4.6.23–30; Arrian 2.27.7. For additional bibliography, see Schürer 1979: 99; Kasher 1988: 18, 20, n. 8. For further Greek sources concerning Alexander the Great’s siege and capture of Gaza, see Stern 1974: 447. 22. For other Macedonian-period coins from this site, see Ariel 2014. 23. Research into this matter is currently being conducted by Catharine Lorber and myself. 24. For the seals and finger rings, see Farhi 2014: 389, Fig. 14.9; Farhi and Rabinovich 2018.

REFERENCES Ariel, D.T. 2002. The Coins from the Surveys and Excavations of Caves in the Northern Judean Desert. ʿAtiqot 41(2): 281–304. Ariel, D.T. 2014. Coins from the 1978–1990 Excavations at Tell Jemmeh. In: Ben-Shlomo, D. and Van Beek, G.W., eds. The Smithsonian Institution Excavation at Tell Jemmeh, Israel, 1970–1990 (Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology 50). Washington, D.C.: 1023–1025. Ariel, D.T. 2016. The Circulation of Locally Minted Persian-Period Coins in the Southern Levant. Notae Numismaticae— Zapiski Numizmatyczne 11: 13–62. Balmuth, M.S., ed. 2001. Hacksilber to Coinage: New Insights into the Monetary History of the Near East and Greece (American Numismatic Society Numismatic Studies 24). New York. Bijovsky, G. 1997. The Coins. In: Abu-ʿUqsa: A Burial Cave from the Roman Period East of Givʿat Yasaf. ʿAtiqot 33: 43–45 (Hebrew), 10*–11* (English summary). Emmanuilov, S. 2012. The History of the Settlement at Tel Azekah in Light of Archaeological Survey (M.A. thesis, Tel Aviv University). Tel Aviv (Hebrew). Eshel H. and Zissu B. 2006. Two Notes on the History and Archaeology of Judea in the Persian Period. In: Maeir, A.M. and de Miroschedji, P., eds. “I Will Speak the Riddle of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday. Winona Lake: 823–831. Farhi, Y. 2010. A Silver-Plated Samarian Coin from Tel Dor. Israel Numismatic Research 5: 21–30. Farhi, Y. 2014. A Preliminary Report on the Coins and Selected Small Finds. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 375–390. Farhi, Y. 2016. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 5: Excavation Report 2007–2013. The Numismatic Finds: Coins and Related Objects. Jerusalem.

Farhi, Y. and Gadot, Y. 2012. Aegina in Jerusalem: A “Turtle” Stater from Southern Jerusalem. Israel Numismatic Research 7: 3–6. Farhi, Y. and Rabinovich, A. 2018. The Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Finger Rings and Seals. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 4: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Art, Cult, and Epigraphy. Jerusalem. Fischer-Bossert, W. 2010. Notes on the Coinages of the Philistian Cities. In: Huth, M. and van Alfen, P., eds. Coinage of the Caravan Kingdoms: Studies in Ancient Arabian Monetization (American Numismatic Society Numismatic Studies 25). New York: 133–196. Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. 2009. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem. Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G. 2014. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem. Gitin, S. and Golani, A. 2001. The Tel Miqne-Ekron Silver Hoards: The Assyrian and Phoenician Connections. In: Balmuth, M.S., ed. Hacksilber to Coinage: New Insights into the Monetary History of the Near East and Greece (American Numismatic Society Numismatic Studies 24). New York: 27–48. Gitler, H. 1996. New Fourth-Century Coins from Ascalon. Numismatic Chronicle 156: 1–9. Gitler, H. 2006a. A Hacksilber and Cut Athenian Tetradrachm Hoard from the Environs of Samaria: Late Fourth Century B.C.E. Israel Numismatic Research 1: 5–14. Gitler, H. 2006b. A Hoard of Persian Yehud Coins from the Environs of Ramallah. Nvmisma 250: 319–324. Gitler, H. and Lorber, C.C. 2006. A New Chronology for the Ptolemaic Coins of Judah. American Journal of Numismatics (2nd Series) 18: 1–41. Gitler, H. and Lorber, C.C. 2008. A New Chronology for the Yehizkiyah Coins of Judah. Schweizerische Numismatische Rundschau 87: 61–82.

coin circulation in judea during the persian–hellenistic transition  117 Gitler, H. and Tal, O. 2006a. The Coinage of Philistia of the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC: A Study of the Earliest Coins of Palestine (Collezioni Numismatiche 6). Milan and New York. Gitler, H. and Tal, O. 2006b. Coins with the Aramaic Legend ŠHRW and Other Unrecorded Samarian Issues. Swiss Numismatic Review 85: 47–60. Gitler, H. and Tal, O. 2009. More Evidence on the Collective Mint of Philistia. Israel Numismatic Research 4: 21–37. Gitler, H. and Tal, O. 2014. More than Meets the Eye: Athenian Owls and the Chronology of Southern Palestinian Coinages of the Persian Period. Israel Numismatic Research 9: 15–27. Gitler, H., Tal, O. and van Alfen, P. 2007. Silver Dome-shaped Coins from Persian-period Southern Palestine. Israel Numismatic Research 2: 47–62. Jones, J.R.M. 1993. Testimonia Numaria: Greek and Latin Texts concerning Ancient Greek Coinage, I: Texts and Translations. London. Jones, J.R.M. 2007. Testimonia Numaria: Greek and Latin Texts concerning Ancient Greek Coinage, II: Addenda and Commentary. London. Kasher, A. 1988. Canaan, Philistia, Greece and Israel. Relations of the Jews in Eretz-Israel with the Hellenistic Cities (332 B.C.E.–70 C.E.). Jerusalem (Hebrew). Kletter, R. 2003. Iron Age Hoards of Precious Metals in Palestine— An “Underground Economy”? Levant 35: 139–152. Kraay, C.M. and Moorey, P.R.S. 1968. Two Fifth Century Hoards from the Near East. Revue numismatique (6e série) 10: 181–235. Kroll, J.H. 2011a. Athenian Tetradrachm Coinage of the First Half of the Fourth Century BC. Revue belge de numismatique et de sigillographie 157: 3–26. Kroll, J.H. 2011b. The Reminting of Athenian Silver Coinage, 353 B.C. Hesperia 80: 229–259. Kroll, J.H. 2013. On the Chronology of the Third-Century BC Athenian Silver Coinage. Revue belge de numismatique et de sigillographie 159: 33–44. Lemaire, A. 1995. La circulation monétaire phénicienne en Palestine à l’époque perse. In: Fantar, M.H. and Ghaki, M., eds. Actes du IIIe Congrès International des Études Phéniciennes et Puniques, Tunis, 11–16 Novembre 1991, II. Tunis: 192–202. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Oeming, M. 2012. Tel Azekah 113 Years After: Preliminary Evaluation of the Renewed Excavations at the Site. Near Eastern Archaeology 75: 196–206.

Lorber, C.C. 2012. Dating the Portrait Coinage of Ptolemy I. American Journal of Numismatics (2nd Series) 24: 33–34. Meshorer, Y. and Qedar, S. 1991. The Coinage of Samaria in the Fourth Century BCE. Los Angeles. Meshorer, Y. and Qedar, S. 1999. Samarian Coinage. Jerusalem. Ponting, M., Gitler, H. and Tal, O. 2011. Who Minted Those Owls? Metallurgical Analyses of Athenian-styled Tetradrachms Found in Israel. Revue belge de numismatique et de sigillographie 157: 117–134. Price, M. and Waggoner, N. 1975. Archaic Greek Coinage: The Asyut Hoard. London. Rahmani, L.Y. 1971. Silver Coins of the Fourth Century from Tell Gamma. Israel Exploration Journal 21: 158–160. Ronen, Y. 1998. The Weight Standards of the Judean Coinage in the Late Persian and Early Ptolemaic Period. Near Eastern Archaeology 61: 122–126. Ronen, Y. 2003–06. Some Observations on the Coinage of Yehud. Israel Numismatic Journal 15: 28–31. Schürer, E. 1979. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C–A.D. 135) (new revised English edition). Edinburgh. Sellers, O.R. 1933. The Citadel of Beth-Zur. Philadelphia. Shalev, S. and Shilstein S. 2016. XRF Analysis of Silver Coins and Various Silver Objects. In: Farhi, Y. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 5: Excavation Report 2007–2013. The Numismatic Finds: Coins and Related Objects. Jerusalem: 167–174. Stern, M. 1974. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, I: From Herodotus to Plutarch. Jerusalem. Tal, O. 2007. Coin Denominations and Weight Standards in FourthCentury BCE. Palestine. Israel Numismatic Research 2: 17–28. Tal, O. 2013. Aspects in the Study of the Coins and Mints of Palestine during the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. Cathedra 150: 23–36 (Hebrew). Thompson, C.M. 2003. Sealed Silver in Iron Age Cisjordan and the “Invention” of Coinage. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 22: 67–107. van Alfen, P.G. 2004–05. Herodotus’ “Aryandic” Silver and Bullion Use in Persian-Period Egypt. American Journal of Numismatics (2nd Series) 16–17: 7–46.

8 Political Trends as Reflected in the Material Culture A New Look at the Transition between the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods Igor Kreimerman and Débora Sandhaus

The transition from the Persian to the early Hellenistic period is well recorded in the historical sources. The 4th century BCE was characterized by instability in the Persian empire. According to the literary sources, when Alexander the Great conquered the region in 332 BCE, he faced major military resistance only at Tyre and Gaza. In addition, soon after the conquest, a revolt broke out in Samaria and was quickly quelled. From Alexander’s death in 323 until 301 BCE, the land was under dispute until it became part of the Ptolemaic empire (Meyers and Chancey 2012: 7–17; Lipschits et al. 2014: 135; Shalom et al., this volume). Politically, these historical events had far-reaching consequences. But how did these changes affect the local communities and the daily lives of the common people? On this, the historical sources provide little information, whereas archaeology supplies us with a

wealth of data. An archaeological approach to the question would therefore seem promising. Until recent years, however, no distinction was drawn between local pottery of the Persian period and of the early Hellenistic. Furthermore, most of the studies dealing with the settlement dynamics of the period were based on surveys. The problematic nature of data originating in surveys has been highlighted in several studies; it has led to inaccurate dating as well as a very broad classification for periods (see, e.g., Faust and Safrai 2005; Garfinkel and Ganor 2010; Paz et al. 2010: 39). The Persian and Hellenistic periods, in particular, were not divided into early and late phases (Faust 2007: 28–29; Lipschits et al. 2014: 134; Shalom et al., this volume). Consequently, the impact of a short event such as the transition between periods has been little discussed, and the Persian–Hellenistic transition has

We extend our thanks to Prof. Oded Lipschits for kindly inviting us to participate in the international conference at Tel Aviv University. This paper was written with the support of the Jack, Joseph and Morton Mandel School for Advanced Studies in the Humanities of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University and the Israel Antiquities Authority. We are grateful to Prof. Yosef Garfinkel, Mr. Saar Ganor and Prof. Michael G. Hasel for allowing us to use the unpublished material from the excavation of Khirbet Qeiyafa.

120  igor kreimerman and débora sandhaus

been discussed only in broad terms (Carter 1999: 233–248; Finkelstein 2010; Lipschits and Tal 2007; Faust 2007). In a recently published paper we argued that two distinct occupation phases can be identified in Stratum III at Khirbet Qeiyafa: the mid- to late 4th century BCE, approximately until the time of Alexander the Great, and the early 3rd century BCE, tentatively until the days of Ptolemy II (Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015; on Khirbet Qeiyafa, see Garfinkel, this volume). On the basis of the proposed dates from Khirbet Qeiyafa we then examined the material from other sites and proposed new dates for several sites in the hill country and the Shephelah. As mentioned above, the differences between the phases of the 4th and the 3rd centuries are crucial since the earlier phase represents the end of the Persian period and the later one the beginning of the Hellenistic. Such a subdivision offers us a unique opportunity to examine whether and how the political change influenced daily life in the provinces of Judah/Judea and Samaria. Given that the borders of these provinces are under fierce debate, we examined the sites in both the hill country and the Shephelah, in order to accommodate even the most maximalist view (e.g., Lipschits 2005; Stern 2001; Ussishkin 2006). In the current paper, we continue to examine the pottery of relevant sites, expanding our previous analysis, in order to further confirm the existence of these two phases. Then we examine whether our new chronological distinction is mirrored in the architecture of the sites. These can be classified into three categories: 1) sites that existed continuously in the two periods; 2) sites that were inhabited in both phases but were rebuilt according to a new plan in the second; and 3) sites that were abandoned at the transition between the periods. Methodologically, the classification is based upon two criteria: 1) the presence of sufficient architectural remains that can be securely attributed to these periods; and 2) the publication of detailed stratigraphy and pottery plates accompanying the architectural analysis. Consequently, we excluded from our analysis sites in which the pottery sherds or stamp impressions uncovered could not be associated with architectural remains, as well as sites in which such finds originated from fills, pits, or an unclear stratigraphic context. Furthermore, we did not include data originating from surveys.

It should be pointed out that our new dating of these sites is based upon key pottery types, whereas in many cases, numismatic and other data are lacking. Consequently, the newly proposed dates cannot be considered as secure as the dates of Stratum III at Khirbet Qeiyafa. As demonstrated below, our study suggests that complex processes were at play in the transition between the late Persian and the early Hellenistic periods and that contrary to the common assumption, this transition was by no means a smooth one. Furthermore, our findings call into question the notion of a proliferation of sites in the early Hellenistic period.

Review of Local Pottery Assemblages in Recent Publications Before turning to the main thesis of the paper, we would like to propose a new dating for the assemblages of several sites published after our initial analysis (Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015). These include the pottery of Tel ʿEton, a fortress near Rosh ha-ʿAyin and the late material from Lahav, as well as the material included in the updated and more detailed publication of Ḥurvat ʿEres (Faust, Katz and Eyall 2015; Haddad et al. 2015; Cole 2015; Mazar and Wachtel 2015). The pottery of the new sites was compared to the main types of the two phases of Stratum III at Khirbet Qeiyafa (Table 8.1). As a result of our finds, we have compiled an updated table (Table 8.2), combining the data from our previous analysis (Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015: Table 1) and the present one.

Settlement Change between the Two Phases It is evident that most of the sites continued to exist in the two phases (Fig. 8.1; Table 8.2); an understanding of the precise nature of this transition, however, requires a critical review of the stratigraphic changes.

Sites That Existed Continuously We include sites in this category if one of the following conditions occur: 1) the site exhibits a single architectural

political trends as reflected in the material culture  121 Table 8.1: Proposed datings for the pottery of various sites (based on Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015) VesselI Bowl

Bowl

Bowl Bowl

Krater

Jug

Late Persian

Storage jar*

Fig. 2:3

Fig. 12:6

Fig. 2:5

Fig. 12:16,17

Fig. 2:1

Fig. 2:4

Fig. 3:1

Fig. 3:4

Storage jar Storage jar

Mortarium

Large bowl

Lamp

Twin vessel

Fig. 3:3

Fig. 3:8 Fig. 3:9

Fig. 3:10

Fig. 5:3

Storage jar

Fig. 5:1

Fig. 5:4 Fig. 5:5

Fig. 5:8

Cooking pot

Fig. 5:10

Cooking pot Lamp

Lamp

Fig. 11:2,5

Fig. 13:4

Fig. 14:21 Fig. 13:14

Fig. 13

Fig. 13:1

Pl. 1:12 Pl. 1:7

Fig. 5:11

Fig. 10:7–13

Pl. 2:1

Fig. 9:8

Fig. 9:2 Fig. 9:11

Pl. 2:10 Fig. 14:4,6,18 Fig. 14:10

Fig. 14:8,16,24 Fig. 13:1–2

Fig. 5:9

Fig. 5:12

Fig. 12:1,4

Pl. 20:7 Pl. 20:1,15

Pl. 2:14

Fig. 5:6

Cooking pot*

~Pl. 22:14

Fig. 10:1

Fig. 14:14

Fig. 4:1

Storage jar* Storage jar

Fig. 14:6–7

Fig. 3:11–12

Fig. 4:3–5

Storage jar

Fig. 9:9

Fig. 3:13

Fig. 4:2

Lahav, Phases 4–3 (Cole 2015)

Fig. 13:22

Fig. 3:7

Krater Bowl

Pl. 1:2

Fig. 12:10

Fig. 2:6

Storage jar

Storage jar*

Jabel Nimra Tel ʿEton Lahav, (Hizmi and (Faust 2015) Phase 5 Shabtai 1994) (Cole 2015)

Fig. 2:8

Fig. 3:2

Cooking pot*

Early Hellenistic

Ḥurvat ʿEres (Mazar and Wachtel 2015)

Storage jar*

Jug

I

Khirbet Qeiyafa Rosh ha-ʿAyin (Sandhaus and (Haddad et al. Kreimerman 2015) 2015)

Pl. 21:35 Fig. 13:2 Fig. 13:1

Pl. 20:17,29

Fig. 13:4

Fig. 9:22

Pl. 23:1 Pl. 22:10

Pl. 21:20

Fig. 14:28

The asterisk indicates vessels that appear in both periods. The specific variants that appear in the drawings in Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015 are more common (yet not exclusive) to the phases that they are in.

phase, whereas the pottery assemblage contains shapes characteristic of both the Persian and the early Hellenistic periods; and 2) two distinct architectural phases are identified within the same building, each phase displaying pottery of a different period.

the Persian period, probably during the 5th or 4th century BCE, as part of the Persian expansion policy, and its abandonment to the early 3rd century BCE (Haddad et al. 2015), a dating with which we concur.

Rosh ha-ʿAyin

A large building uncovered here was interpreted as a fortress, with two distinct phases, represented by raised floors and the addition of a new wing, dated to the late

A large building, interpreted as administrative in function, was uncovered. The excavators date its construction to

Har Adar

122  igor kreimerman and débora sandhaus

Bowl

Late Persian

Bowl

Fig. 2:3

Bowl

Fig. 2:4

Bowl

Fig. 2:5

Krater

Fig. 2:6

Krater

Fig. 2:7

Jug

Fig. 2:8

X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

Mortaria

Fig. 3:11–12

X

X

Lamp

Fig. 4:1

X

Decorated vessels

Fig. 4:3–5

X

Bowl

Fig. 5:1–2

Storage jar Fig. 5:3

Fig. 5:11

Lamp

Fig. 5:12

X

Lahav 4–3

Lahav 5

En-Gedi IV

Tel ʿEton

Jabel Nimra

Tell el-Ḥesi V

Lachish I

Beth-Zur I

Beth-Zur II

Holyland Hotel

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X

X

X

X

X

X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

Storage jar Fig. 5:4–6

Lamp

X

X

X X

X

X

X X

Fig. 3:10

Fig. 5:10

X

X

Cooking pot

Cooking pot

X

X

Fig. 3:9

Fig. 5:9

X

X

X

Storage jar Fig. 3:7–8

Cooking pot

X

X

Jug

Fig. 5:8

X

X

X

X

X

Storage jar Fig. 3:6

Cooking pot

X

X X

Storage jar Fig.3:4–5

Fig. 5:7

City of David 8

X

Storage jar Fig. 3:2–3

Jug

City of David 9

Jewish Quarter

Ḥurvat ʿEres

Wâdī ed-Dâliyeh

Har Adar

Gezer III

Fig. 2:1–2

Storage jar Fig. 3:1

Early Hellenistic

Gezer IV

Rosh ha-ʿAyin

Shechem III

Shechem IV

Shechem V

Khirbet Qeiyafa

Vessel

Table 8.2: Comparanda of pottery assemblages of various sites (an updated version of Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015: Table 1)

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X

X

X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X X

X

X

X

X

X

X?

X?

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X?

X

X

X

X

X?

X X

No. of types similar to Kh. Qeiyafa early phase

4

4

6

3

4

3

2

4

6

2

11

3

6

2

1

5

5

5

6

9

3

1

No. of types similar to Kh. Qeiyafa late phase

0

1

4

3

0

3

1

3

5

7

3

8

1

2

1

2

1

0

2

2

2

2

political trends as reflected in the material culture  123

Fig. 8.1: Map depicting transition between the late Persian and the early Hellenistic periods

4th–early 3rd century BCE. Most of the pottery forms appearing at Har Adar have counterparts at Khirbet Qeiyafa, but since the Har Adar assemblage is limited mostly to storage jars, a clear chronological correlation is difficult on the basis of the pottery. Numismatic evidence provides a terminus post quem of 321 BCE for the abandonment of the building (Dadon 1997; Gitler 1997: 80–81). The building was probably in use continuously during the transition between the 4th and 3rd centuries. Ḥurvat ʿEres

Mazar and Wachtel date the fortress of Ḥurvat ʿEres to the second half of the 4th century BCE (Mazar and Wachtel 2015: 239–240) and suggest that it was part of a system of small forts in the Judahite province that was

built during the Persian period and remained in use in the early Hellenistic period. However, they stress the difficulty in dating local pottery assemblages of this time frame and note that the absence of coins or imports precludes a more precise dating. Our analysis of the pottery published by Mazar and Wachtel supports their claim that the site continued into the early Hellenistic period; we suggest that it was built in the late Persian period and most probably abandoned in the early 3rd century BCE. It seems, therefore, that the transition between the periods did not affect activity at the fort. Tel Azekah

Two structures were excavated in Area W1. Both were constructed in the late Persian period and continued without interruption into the early Hellenistic period

124  igor kreimerman and débora sandhaus

(early to mid-3rd century BCE) (Lipschits, Gadot and Oeming 2012; Shatil 2016: 113, 127). On the basis of a preliminary analysis of the coins and the pottery, the sub-phases of the buildings correspond to the two phases recorded at Khirbet Qeiyafa (Shatil 2016: 113, 127; personal communication by Yoav Farhi [coins] and Noa Shatil [pottery]). In Area S another structure was excavated. It was constructed in the late Persian period, but its date of abandonment is unclear due to poor preservation of the floors (Shatil 2016: 110). Thus, Azekah seems unaffected by the late Persian–early Hellenistic transition.

Sites Rebuilt according to a New Plan Shechem

Three distinct Persian–Hellenistic strata were identified at Shechem: Stratum V was dated to the late 6th–early 5th centuries BCE, Stratum IV to ca. 325–250 BCE and Stratum III to 250–190 BCE. A comparison of the pottery to that of Khirbet Qeiyafa suggests that Shechem Strata V and IV contain types that appear only in the earlier phase of Khirbet Qeiyafa, whereas Stratum III displays types typical of both Khirbet Qeiyafa phases (Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015: 268, Table 1). On these grounds, we suggest refining the date of Shechem Stratum IV to the very late 4th–very early 3rd century BCE. The absence in Stratum IV of pottery of the latest phase of Khirbet Qeiyafa suggests that Shechem Stratum IV was abandoned prior to this phase. Indeed, this is keeping with the numismatic evidence, since the latest coins from Shechem, securely attributed to Stratum IV, are from the reign of Ptolemy I (Lapp 2008: 150–151). Stratum III should be broadly correlated with the later phase at Khirbet Qeiyafa, although it may have been constructed somewhat earlier and perhaps continued into the early 2nd century BCE. The main evidence for Stratum V lies in its artifacts, rather than its architecture or stratigraphy (Campbell 2002: 299–309). Stratum IV, on the other hand, features widespread building activity, including the reuse of MB fortifications and the construction of new dwellings, most evident in Fields VII and IX. In some places two phases were identified, on the basis of floor raising and minor architectural changes (Campbell 2002: 311–342). In

Stratum III the site underwent a complete reorganization. New buildings were built along totally new lines, while previous buildings were dismantled and their stones robbed. Once again, two phases were identified (Campbell 2002: 311–342). A violent destruction, evident only in the fortifications and in Field I, probably heralds the end of Stratum IV (Campbell 2002: 313, 334). No evidence of destruction was found in other areas. Gezer

The strata relevant to our discussion are Strata IV and III. Stratum IV, represented mainly by ephemeral remains, along with some fills and several tombs, was dated, on the basis of pottery parallels and handles stamped with yhwd and yršlm impressions, to the 5th and 4th centuries BCE (Dever, Lance and Wright 1970: 65–68; Dever et al. 1974: 83–86; Gitin 1990: 18–20, 31–32, 229–237; Dever 1986: 128; Gilmour 2014: 16–17; Barag 2014). Stratum III is characterized by massive clearing and filling activity, followed by the construction of domestic units organized according to a new plan. Although the stratum is generally attributed to the 3rd–early 2nd centuries BCE, there is no conclusive evidence for the date of its construction. In our opinion, the presence of some clearly early Hellenistic pottery forms and the finding of Ptolemy I and Ptolemy II coins make it possible that the beginning of the stratum overlaps with the latest phase at Khirbet Qeiyafa (Dever, Lance, and Wright 1970: 65–68; Dever et al. 1974: 83–86; Gitin 1990: 18–20, 31–32, 229–261; Dever 1986: 128; Gilmour 2014: 16–17; Barag 2014). Khirbet Qeiyafa

The site was occupied in both the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods. The former is represented mainly in Area C, where several domestic structures were uncovered, one of them very large (ca. 480 m2) (Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 101–128). Some activity also took place in this period in the vicinity of the western gate (Area B), where the main entrance to the settlement was probably located (Garfinkel and Ganor 2009: 73–78; Kang 2014: 66–76). The numismatic evidence suggests that Area C was abandoned in an organized manner

political trends as reflected in the material culture  125

during the late 4th century BCE, most probably in the days of Alexander the Great (Farhi 2014; Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015: 251–254). After a short occupation gap the site was resettled in different areas—Areas B, D and F (Kang 2014: 66–76; Hasel 2014: 241–275; Kreimerman, in preparation). In Area D a massive building (ca. 450 m2) was uncovered. Other domestic activity was revealed in Areas B and F, but the structures here were evidently smaller. This occupation phase ended during or shortly after the reign of Ptolemy II (Farhi 2014; Sandhaus and Kreimerman 2015: 251–254).

Ramat Raḥel

Tel ʿEton

A massive two-phase building was excavated at the site, the early phase dated to the 6th and 5th centuries BCE and the later phase to the late 5th to the end of the 4th century BCE. The building was destroyed by a fierce conflagration, linked by the excavators to the Macedonian conquest (Hizmi and Shabtai 1994). The pottery in the plates corresponds to the early phase of Khirbet Qeiyafa, with no parallels in the later phase. We are inclined, therefore, to concur with the analysis of the excavators, and indeed, it seems most probable that the site was destroyed at the Persian–Hellenistic transition.

The excavators dated the activity at the site mainly to the 4th century BCE and perhaps also to the very beginning of the 3rd century BCE. They pointed out that although some of the types predate the 3rd century BCE, there was one type of storage jar that did not appear any earlier (Faust, Katz, and Eyall 2015: 113). Our analysis supports their assessment. Moreover, most of the types shared with Khirbet Qeiyafa can be limited to the early phase of the site. On these grounds, we propose that most of the activity in the excavated areas took place in the 4th century BCE, with some activity, however, evidently occurring in the 3rd century BCE, perhaps in a more limited scope or in an unexcavated area of the site. In this respect the situation might resemble Stratum III at Khirbet Qeiyafa, in which the activities of the two distinct chronological phases occurred in different areas of the site.

Sites Abandoned during the Transition Wâdī ed-Dâliyeh

A cave in this wadi was occupied for a short time, and at least some of the occupants found their death there. According to the excavators, it was used as a shelter for refugees fleeing Samaria after Alexander’s conquest (Lapp and Lapp 1974: 7–29). The assemblage finds counterparts in the earlier phase at Khirbet Qeiyafa, which is in keeping with the excavators’ interpretation.

A large administrative complex built in the early Persian period was uncovered at the site. Some evidence for a violent destruction at the end of this period was identified, but as the processing of the pottery is still underway, it is as yet impossible to establish a more accurate date for its abandonment. The fate of the site after the destruction is unclear. It is possible that there was some sporadic activity there in the early Hellenistic period and that the site regained its glory only in the late Hellenistic period (Lipschits et al. 2011: 34–37). Jabel Nimra

En-Gedi

Some Stratum IV buildings were described by the excavators as having been constructed in the early Persian period and continuing in use until 350–340 BCE (Matskevich and Stern 2007: 193–197; Stern 2007: 198–242). The assemblage consists of complete restorable vessels, suggesting a rapid abandonment or destruction. A large structure, built according to a completely different plan, was attributed to the Hellenistic period (3rd–2nd centuries BCE). However, since no pottery was presented and the coins are no earlier than the Seleucid period, there appears to be a gap in the settlement of the site between the late 4th and the early 3rd century BCE.

Other Sites Although these sites cannot be compared to Khirbet Qeiyafa, they are presented here either because they are key sites for the study of the Persian or early Hellenistic

126  igor kreimerman and débora sandhaus

periods in the highlands or the Shephelah, or because even though an accurate dating cannot be established on the basis of their pottery alone, they can be dated on the basis of numismatic evidence or other means. Samaria

Although the site was extensively excavated by two expeditions, there is, unfortunately, no good correlation between the architectural and material remains. Although pottery of both the Persian and early Hellenistic periods was found, it is impossible to delineate the exact changes that took place at the site in the transition between the periods solely on the basis of the archaeological finds (for the pottery, see Crowfoot, Crowfoot and Kenyon 1957). The literary sources point to a Samaritan rebellion shortly after Alexander’s conquest, when the city was destroyed and resettled by Macedonian soldiers (Crowfoot, Kenyon, and Sukenik 1942: 24–31; Kenyon 1942; Cross 1974; Magen 2007). Mount Gerizim

The site served as a cultic precinct in the Persian and Hellenistic periods. The establishment of the site is securely dated to the mid-5th century BCE (Magen 2007: 157–212). Although hardly any pottery from later phases was published, the numismatic data demonstrates that the site functioned continuously until the late 3rd century BCE, at which point it was rebuilt according to a new plan (Magen 2008: 167–180; 2007: 192). Tirat Yehuda

Several architectural buildings were uncovered at the site. According to the excavators, the site was established in the Iron Age and possibly reused during the Persian, Ptolemaic and Seleucid periods. Even if this dating is accepted, there is no evidence for late Persian and early Hellenistic pottery in the published assemblages. The vast majority of the vessels recovered were from the later phase, destroyed between 180 and 140 BCE, probably by the Hasmoneans (Yeivin and Edelstein 1970). Khirbat Burnaṭ

At least two farms and another building, presumably a stronghold, were uncovered at the site and are attributed

to the Persian–early Hellenistic period (Torge 2012: 65*). Unfortunately, the buildings are still unpublished. Scanty remains uncovered beneath a late Hellenistic structure in Area 8A were published, confirming that some activity had taken place at the site during the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods (Torge 2012). However, since the pottery originates in fills with no clear affiliation to any architectural structure, it does not shed any light on the nature of the transition between the two periods. Jerusalem

A detailed review of the finds uncovered in Jerusalem until 2009 was published by Lipschits, and a summary of the finds from the Persian period was published by Geva (Lipschits 2009; see there for detailed publications; Geva 2012). The evidence suggests that the Western Hill was abandoned during the Persian period. The scholarly consensus is that only the upper part of the City of David was inhabited at that time. To date, there is not enough evidence to discuss the nature of the settlement in each of the periods, let alone the changes that took place in the transition between them. In Shiloh’s excavations some remains of dwellings with a few floors attributed to the Persian–early Hellenistic period were published; however, there is still insufficient evidence (Berlin 2012; Zuckerman 2012; De Groot and Bernick-Greenberg 2012). Khirbet er-Ras

In one of the excavation areas, remains of two buildings, abandoned in the early Persian period, were uncovered. Another area revealed a building built in the late Persian period and probably continuing into the early Hellenistic (personal communication by Yuval Gadot, Liora Freud and Efrat Bocher). So far, only a limited amount of pottery has been published, which does not permit a more precise dating (Gadot 2015). Khirbat el-Keikh

According to the excavator, this settlement was constructed in the early Persian period at the latest and continued without interruption until the Early Roman period (Kogan-Zehavi 2009; 2014a; 2014b). A detailed

political trends as reflected in the material culture  127

analysis of the pottery is still in its early stages; consequently, a more precise dating is not yet possible. Khirbat Shumeila

A large building, built in the Persian period, was excavated. It continued in use until the early Hellenistic period without interruption and was apparently abandoned shortly afterwards. In another excavation area, two buildings were uncovered, constructed, according to the excavator, in the early Hellenistic period and sealing some Persian pits (Kogan-Zehavi 2014b). As a detailed analysis of the pottery is still underway, a more precise date for the activity at the site is as yet unavailable. Beth-Zur

Although it is difficult to attribute the pottery to a stratified context, numismatic evidence along with the pottery suggest that the site was occupied both in the Persian and Hellenistic periods, possibly without interruption (Sellers et al. 1968). Lachish

Level I at Lachish was divided into three phases on the basis of the stratigraphy in the Residency area: 1) a Persian-period settlement is attested by the presence of pits; 2) the Residency itself; and 3) a deterioration phase, represented by additional pits and by secondary use of architectural elements such as column drums from the Residency (Ussishkin 2004: 95–96). Remains of Level I were also found in almost every other area of the site, including, most notably, the Solar Shrine and the area of the city gate. Any effort to date Level I encounters two main problems: the correlation between the remains in the various areas and the dating of each of the phases. It is widely accepted that the earliest Level I settlement was mostly represented by pits and that the fortifications should be associated with the Residency. However, some scholars believe that the Residency and the Solar Shrine were built contemporaneously, while others claim that the shrine was built only after the Residency was abandoned and that it should be dated to the deterioration phase (Ussishkin 2004: 96–97; Fantalkin and Tal 2004: 2191).

Absolute dates were recently offered on the basis of the imported pottery. It was suggested that as most of the imported vessels could be securely dated to the 4th century BCE, the earlier types should represent heirlooms and that consequently, the major construction of the Residency and fortifications could have taken place only in the 4th century BCE (Fantalkin and Tal 2004: 2188– 2190). It should be noted, however, that almost all the imported pottery published in the report originates from the gate area (GE) or the section in Area S (Fantalkin and Tal 2004: Figs. 30.8–30.9). Only two sherds originated from the Residency in Area Pal, one of which came from a Level IV context (Fantalkin and Tal 2004: Figs. 30.8:1, 30.9:4). Hence, the newly published finds cannot date the construction of the Residency. In subsequent papers Fantalkin and Tal suggest that it is most likely that the vast majority of the Attic pottery from Starkey’s excavations originated from the Residency (Fantalkin and Tal 2006: 172–173; 2012: 139–141). Further, they suggest that Tufnell’s dating of the Attic pottery should be lowered to the very late 5th or the early 4th century BCE, according to the new analysis of the pottery from the Agora. However, they bring no concrete parallels to support their claim. Given these problems, we find it impossible to suggest a firm absolute dating for the construction of the Residency. While the local pottery from the pits could be reevaluated, the pits that appear in the plates are not from the Residency and are not sealed by later structures; thus, they cannot resolve the uncertainty. Furthermore, it should be emphasized that not all the pits are contemporaneous: at least one of them even contains late Hellenistic sherds (Fantalkin and Tal 2004: Figs. 30.6:10,11,20). As for the Solar Shrine, it is evident that it was used in the Hellenistic period. However, as the published pottery from Aharoni’s probes is very limited (Aharoni 1975: Pl. 51), it is impossible to determine whether the entire shrine was built in the Hellenistic period or whether it was initially built in the Persian period with only some repairs carried out in the Hellenistic period (cf. Aharoni 1975: 3–11; Ussishkin 2004: 95–96; Fantalkin and Tal 2004: 2191). All in all, it seems that Lachish I represents both the Persian and the Hellenistic periods, but the exact nature of the transition cannot be established.

128  igor kreimerman and débora sandhaus

Lahav

Strata 5 and 4 present a limited assemblage, and the site is located far south of Khirbet Qeiyafa; consequently, a comprehensive comparison is impossible. A reevaluation of the pottery from Qadum, Tell el-Fûl, the Holyland Hotel excavations and Tell el-Ḥesi shows that only pottery forms of the early phase of Khirbet Qeiyafa have parallels in these sites. However, earlier shapes, typical of the 6th and 5th centuries BCE, were also found at all these sites. In the case of Qadum and the Holyland Hotel, the assemblages included complete vessels characteristic of the early Persian period (Stern and Magen 1984; Ben-Arieh 2000). The assemblage of Tell el-Fûl is very typical of the 6th and early 5th centuries BCE, followed by a gap until the late 3rd or early 2nd century BCE (Lapp 1981; Finkelstein 2011). In the case of Tell el-Ḥesi, the Attic pottery was dated to no later than the 5th century BCE (Bennett and Blakely 1989: 354–355). It is clear, therefore, that these sites were abandoned, probably in the 5th century BCE and certainly no later than the early 4th century BCE, and thus have no direct bearing upon the nature of the transition between the Persian and Hellenistic periods.

Conclusions Settlement dynamics and the development of Judah and Samaria under Persian and Hellenistic rules have recently been discussed by several scholars. The common impression emerging from these studies is that the transition between the periods was smooth and that most of the sites exhibit great continuity (Tal 2006: 15–163; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 47–48; Shalom et al., this volume). Moreover, the notion that the Hellenistic period saw a great rise in the number of settlements compared to the Persian period is widely accepted (Carter 1999: 233–248; Faust 2007; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 47–48; Shalom et al., this volume). It should be pointed out, however, that most of these studies qualify the results by stressing that data derived from surveys and brief excavation reports should be used with caution. In this light, we would like to analyze the data presented in this study. Fig. 8.1 summarizes the results

of our analysis in visual form. As is evident from the description above, the transition was not uniform throughout the hill country and the Shephelah. A few sites, such as Jabel Nimra, Ramat Raḥel, Wâdī ed-Dâliyeh, En-Gedi and perhaps Samaria, suffered a violent destruction. Since all these sites had an administrative function, it seems that the changes in the political regime primarily affected the structures related to the administration. Echoes of the political changes can, however, be seen in some domestic sites as well. Khirbet Qeiyafa, Shechem, Gezer and Tel ʿEton were rebuilt in the transitional period according to a new plan, which included the abandonment of old buildings and the construction of new ones. In these four settlements, it is unclear what happened to the inhabitants during the transition. Did they take part in the reconstruction of the sites or did they leave, to be replaced by others? Khirbet Qeiyafa may supply some clues to this question. First, the settlement of the earlier phase (Area C) was abandoned in an organized manner and the doors and openings of the houses were sealed (Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 108–118; Garfinkel, this volume). Second, there is evidence for a short gap between the two episodes of settlement. Third, the new structures were eventually built in a different area of the site, while the previous buildings were left unsettled. Taken together, these three clues suggest that the inhabitants had to leave and that others came in their place. It is unclear whether the same happened in Shechem, Gezer and Tel ʿEton. In any event, the fact that a settlement existed in both phases does not necessarily mean that the transition was a smooth one. Other sites continued to be populated without any settlement gap. Among these are Mount Gerizim, Ḥurvat ʿEres, Rosh ha-ʿAyin, Har Adar, Azekah and perhaps Khirbet er-Ras, Khirbat el-Keikh and Khirbat Shumeila. Surprisingly, none of the sites could be securely determined to have been established in the early Hellenistic period. Nevertheless, according to our reassessment of the data, we cannot rule out the possibility that Ḥurvat ʿEres and Har Adar were built only in the early Hellenistic period and not in the late Persian period. This proposition has far-reaching consequences as it would mean that some of the supposedly Persian citadels were in fact Ptolemaic, and

political trends as reflected in the material culture  129

indeed, such a re-dating was recently suggested with regard to Naḥal Tut in the north (Alexandre 2014). This issue requires more detailed study. In any event, it is clear that if there was indeed a proliferation of sites in these areas during the Hellenistic period, this did not take place in the very early phase of the period. Precisely when this proliferation occurred is a subject that merits a comprehensive study. The overall picture that arises is one of a complex process affecting both the administrative and domestic sectors. It was by no means either uniform or smooth. These findings run counter to the conclusions of some of the above-mentioned studies. This is not surprising when one considers the different focus of our research. The previous studies tried to reconstruct settlement dynamics on the basis of a large number of sites, and consequently, had to resort to sources such as surveys and briefly published excavations, sources that enabled the outlining of general spatial and chronological patterns but were unable to achieve a more refined level of

resolution. Our study, in contrast, focused on a small number of sites that are well documented, thanks to extensive and detailed published reports. Only an exhaustive analysis, which takes into consideration the pottery, architecture, numismatic finds, stamp impressions and other finds, will be able to tell the complete story. Given this focus, the settlement pattern of other sites merits further inquiry. Our study suffers from a few shortcomings. Given that only a few sites were examined, it cannot be determined to what extent they are representative of the sites of this period. Furthermore, quantitative trends cannot be deduced from the data at hand. It is conceivable that the findings from new excavations in the Shephelah will change the picture that is emerging with regard to the transition between the Persian and the early Hellenistic periods. It is our hope that this paper will serve as a starting point for additional studies that will further our understanding of the nature of the Persian– Hellenistic transition.

REFERENCES Aharoni, Y. 1975. Investigations at Lachish: The Sanctuary and the Residency (Lachish V) (Publications of the Institute of Archaeology 4). Tel Aviv. Alexandre, Y. 2014. An Agricultural Depot Fort at Naḥal Tut from the Time of Alexander the Great’s Conquest of the Levant. In: Aviam, M., ed. “From Watch Tower to Fortified City.” Forts and Fortresses in Northern Israel from the Canaanite to the IDF (Land of Galilee 3). Tzemach: 55–64 (Hebrew). Barag, D. 2014. The Coins from Gezer. In: Gilmour, G. Gezer VI: The Objects from Phases I and II (1964–1974). Winona Lake: 245–250. Ben-Arieh, S. 2000. Salvage Excavations near the Holyland Hotel, Jerusalem. ʿAtiqot 40: 1–24. Bennett, W.J. and Blakely, J.A. 1989. Tell el-Hesi, The Persian Period (Stratum V). Winona Lake. Berlin, A. 2012. The Pottery of Strata 8–7 (The Hellenistic Period). In: De Groot, A. and Bernick-Greenberg, H., eds. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985, Directed by Yigal Shiloh, VIIB: Area E: The Finds (Qedem 54). Jerusalem: 5–30. Campbell, E.F. 2002. Shechem III: The Stratigraphy and Architecture of Shechem/Tell Balâṭah, 1: Text (American Schools of Oriental Research Archaeological Reports 6). Boston.

Carter, C.E. 1999. The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement 294). Sheffield. Cole, D.P. 2015. Lahav V: The Iron, Persian, and Hellenistic Occupation within the Walls at Tell Halif, Excavations in Field II: 1977–1980 (Reports of the Lahav Research Project, Excavations at Tell Halif, Israel 5). Winona Lake. Cross, F.M. 1974. The Papyri and Their Historical Implications. In: Lapp, P.W. and Lapp, N.L., eds. Discoveries in the Wâdī ed-Dâliyeh (Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 41). Cambridge, MA: 17–29. Crowfoot, J.W., Crowfoot, G.M. and Kenyon, K.M. 1957. The Objects from Samaria. London. Crowfoot, J.W., Kenyon, K.M. and Sukenik, E.L. 1942. The Buildings at Samaria. London. Dadon, M. 1997. Har Adar. ʿAtiqot 32: 63–79 (Hebrew), 39*–40* (English summary). De Groot, A. and Bernick-Greenberg, H., eds. 2012. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985, Directed by Yigal Shiloh, VIIB: Area E: The Finds (Qedem 54). Jerusalem. Dever, W.G. 1986. Gezer IV: The 1969–71 Seasons in Field VI, the “Acropolis” (2 vols.; Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology 4). Jerusalem. Dever, W.G., Lance, H.D., Bullard, R.G., Cole, D.P. and Seger, J.D. 1974. Gezer II: Report of the 1967–70 Seasons in Fields

130  igor kreimerman and débora sandhaus I and II (Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology 2). Jerusalem. Dever, W.G., Lance, H.D. and Wright, G.E. 1970. Gezer I: Preliminary Report of the 1964–66 Seasons (Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology 1). Jerusalem. Fantalkin, A. and Tal, O. 2004. The Persian and Hellenistic Pottery of Level I. In: Ussishkin, D., ed. The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 22). Tel Aviv: 2174–2194. Fantalkin, A. and Tal, O. 2006. Re-dating Lachish Level I: Identifying Achaemenid Imperial Policy at the Southern Frontier of the Fifth Satrapy. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 167–197. Fantalkin, A. and Tal, O. 2012. Judah and Its Neighbors in the Fourth Century BCE: A Time of Major Transformations. In: Ro, J.U., ed. From Judah to Judea: Socio-economic Structures and Processes in the Persian Period (Hebrew Bible Monographs 43). Sheffield: 133–196. Farhi, Y. 2014. A Preliminary Report on the Coins and Selected Small Finds. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 375–390. Faust, A. 2007. Settlement Dynamics and Demographic Fluctuations in Judah from the Late Iron Age to the Hellenistic Period and the Archaeology of Persian-Period Yehud. In: Levin, Y., ed. A Time of Change: Judah and Its Neighbors during the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. London: 23–51. Faust, A., Katz, H. and Eyall, P. 2015. Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Remains at Tel ʿEton. Tel Aviv 42: 103–126. Faust, A. and Safrai, Z. 2005. Salvage Excavations as a Source for Reconstructing Settlement History in Ancient Israel. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 137: 139–158. Finkelstein, I. 2010. The Territorial Extent and Demography of Yehud/Judea in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. Revue biblique 117: 39–64. Finkelstein, I. 2011. Tell el-Ful Revisited: The Assyrian and Hellenistic Periods (with a New Identification). Palestine Exploration Quarterly 143: 106–118. Freikman, M. and Garfinkel, Y. 2014. Area C. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 93–226. Gadot, Y. 2015. In the Valley of the King: Jerusalem’s Rural Hinterland in the 8th–4th Centuries BCE. Tel Aviv 42: 3–26. Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. 2009. The 2007–2008 Excavations. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008. Jerusalem: 69–116.

Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. 2010. Khirbet Qeiyafa in Survey and in Excavations: A Response to Y. Dagan. Tel Aviv 37: 67–78. Geva, H. 2012. Remarks on the Archaeology of Jerusalem in the Persian Period. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region 6: 66–79 (Hebrew). Gilmour, G. 2014. Gezer VI: The Objects from Phases I and II (1964–1974) (Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology 10). Winona Lake. Gitin, S. 1990. Gezer III: A Ceramic Typology of the Late Iron II, Persian and Hellenistic Periods at Tell Gezer (Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology 3). Jerusalem. Gitler, H. 1997. The Coins from Har Adar. ʿAtiqot 32: 80–81 (Hebrew), 40* (English summary). Haddad, E., Tendler, A.S., Shadman, A., Torge, H. and Itach, G. 2015. An Administrative Building from the Persian Period East of Rosh ha-ʿAyin. Israel Exploration Journal 65: 50–68. Hasel, M.G. 2014. Area D. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009– 2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 227–308. Hizmi, H. and Shabtai, Z. 1994. A Public Building from the Persian Period at Jabel Nimra. In: Erlich, Z.H. and Eshel, Y., eds. Judea and Samaria Research Studies: Proceedings of the 3rd Annual Meeting—1993. Ariel: 65–86 (Hebrew). Kang, H.-G. 2014. Area B. In: Garfinkel, Y., Ganor, S. and Hasel, M.G., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 2: Excavation Report 2009– 2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E). Jerusalem: 61–91. Kenyon, K. 1942. The Summit Buildings and Construction. In: Crowfoot, J.W., Kenyon, K.M. and Sukenik, E.L., eds. The Buildings at Samaria. London: 91–139. Kogan-Zehavi, E. 2009. Khirbat el-Keikh. Ḥadashot Arkheologiyot (Excavations and Surveys in Israel) 121. http://www .hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id =1093&mag_id=115. Kogan-Zehavi, E. 2014a. Khirbat el-Keik. Ḥadashot Arkheologiyot (Excavations and Surveys in Israel) 126. http://www . h a d a s h o t - e s i . o rg . i l / r e p o r t _ d e t a i l _ e n g . a s p x ? i d =13681&mag_id=121. Kogan-Zehavi, E. 2014b. The Rural Settlement in the Judaean Foothills in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, in Light of the Excavations in Ramat Bet Shemesh. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region 8: 120–133 (Hebrew). Kreimerman, I., in preparation. Area F. In: Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S., eds. Khirbet Qeiyafa, 3: Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas A, F W). Jerusalem. Lapp, N.L. 1981. The Third Campaign at Tell el-Ful: The Excavations of 1964 (Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 45). Cambridge, MA.

political trends as reflected in the material culture  131 Lapp, N.L. 2008. Shechem IV: The Persian–Hellenistic Pottery of Shechem/Tell Balâṭah (American Schools of Oriental Research Archaeological Reports 11). Boston. Lapp, P.W. and Lapp, N.L. 1974. Discoveries in the Wâdī ed-Dâliyeh (Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 41). Cambridge, MA. Lipschits, O. 2005. The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O. 2009. Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations. Journal of Hellenic Studies 9: article 20. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y., Arubas, B. and Oeming, M. 2011. Palace and Village, Paradise and Oblivion. Unravelling the Riddles of Ramat Raḥel. Near Eastern Archaeology 74: 1–41. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Oeming, M. 2012. Tel Azekah 113 Years After: Preliminary Evaluation of the Renewed Excavations at the Site. Near Eastern Archaeology 75: 196–206. Lipschits, O., Shalom, N., Shatil, N. and Gadot, Y. 2014. Judah in the “Long Third Century”—An Archaeological Perspective. New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region 8: 134–152 (Hebrew). Lipschits, O. and Tal, O. 2007. The Settlement Archaeology of the Province of Judah: A Case Study. In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 33–52. Magen, Y. 2007. The Dating of the First Phase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in Light of the Archaeological Evidence. In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 17–29. Magen, Y. 2008. Mount Gerizim Excavations II: A Temple City. Jerusalem. Matskevich, S. and Stern, E. 2007. Stratigraphy of Stratum IV. In: Stern, E.  En-Gedi Excavations I (Final Report 1961– 1965). Jerusalem: 193–197. Mazar, A. and Wachtel, I. 2015. Ḥurvat ʿEres: A Fourth-Century BCE Fortress West of Jerusalem. Israel Exploration Journal 65: 214–244. Meyers, E.M. and Chancey, M.A. 2012. Alexander to Constantine: Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, 3 (The Anchor Yale Bible Reference Library). New Haven CT and London. Paz, Y., Okita, M., Tsukimoto, A., Hasegawa, S., Lim, S.K., Sugimoto, D.T., Onozuka, T., Tatsumi, Y. and Yamafuji, M. 2010. Excavations at Tel Rekhesh. Israel Exploration Journal 60: 22–40.

Sandhaus, D. and Kreimerman, I. 2015. The Late 4th/3rd Century BCE Transition in the Judean Hinterland in Light of the Pottery of Khirbet Qeiyafa. Tel Aviv 42: 251–271. Sellers, O.R., Funk, R.W., McKenzie, J.L., Lapp, P. and Lapp, N. 1968. The 1957 Excavation at Beth-Zur: Conducted by McCormick Theological Seminary and the American School of Oriental Research in Jerusalem (Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 38). Cambridge, MA. Shatil, N. 2016. The Pottery of the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods from the Renewed Excavations at Tel Azekah: Typology, Chronology and Identity (M.A. thesis, Tel Aviv University). Tel Aviv. Stern, E. 2001. Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, 2: The Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian Periods (732–332 BCE) (The Anchor Bible Reference Library). New York. Stern, E. 2007. En-Gedi Excavations I (Final Report 1961–1965). Jerusalem. Stern, E. and Magen, Y. 1984. A Pottery Group of the Persian Period from Qadum in Samaria. Bulletin of the American Schools of Archaeological Research 253: 9–27. Tal, O. 2006. The Archaeology of Hellenistic Palestine: Between Tradition and Renewal. Jerusalem (Hebrew). Torge, H. 2012. Settlement Remains from a Settlement of the Late Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods at Khirbat Burnaṭ (Southwest). ʿAtiqot 69: 1*–68* (Hebrew), 157–169 (English summary). Ussishkin, D. 2004. A Synopsis of the Stratigraphical, Chronological and Historical Issues. In: Ussishkin, D., ed. The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973– 1994) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University). Tel Aviv: 50–119. Ussishkin, D. 2006. The Borders and De Facto Size of Jerusalem in the Persian Period. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 147–164. Yeivin, Z. and Edelstein, E. 1970. Excavations at Tirat Yehuda. ʿAtiqot 6 (Hebrew Series): 56–69 (Hebrew), 6* (English summary). Zuckerman, S. 2012. The Pottery of Stratum 9 (The Persian Period). In: De Groot, A. and Bernick-Greenberg, H., eds. Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985, Directed by Yigal Shiloh, VIIB: Area E: The Finds (Qedem 54). Jerusalem: 31–50.

9 The Harbor of Akko-Ptolemaïs: Dates and Functions Gil Gambash

This article examines various issues related to Akko’s artificial harbor, in particular the date of its construction—most likely somewhere in the early Hellenistic period—and the functions it was meant to serve. The hypothesis presented here runs counter to much that has been put forward by modern research; consequently, a short introduction on the state of the research is warranted. Despite the lack of convincing evidence, the construction of a Phoenician harbor in Akko has been dated to as early as the 6th century BCE. More generally, Achaemenid Akko has long been thought to have served as a logistical center and regular rallying point for Persian armies and fleets whenever they campaigned against a frequently rebelling Egypt. Relevant material evidence to support these claims is, however, scarce and uncertain, and the corpus of written sources has been studied superficially and interpreted incorrectly. Thus, a conjecture by M. Dothan, followed closely by A. Raban, ascribed the origins of the harbor to Cambyses and his invasion of the Levant and Egypt to around 525 BCE (Dothan 1976; 1985; Raban 1985; 1995). In the absence of competing theories, this conjecture has become widely

accepted by scholars from a variety of fields, whose research touches upon the issue.1 Recent reevaluations of the material and written sources show that there is little ground for assuming Persian development and regular usage of Akko (Galili et al. 2010). Until recently, no attempt was made, for example, to explain the alleged development of a strategic facility such as an artificial harbor in a region that rebelled frequently and often slipped out of the control of the Achaemenid rulers (Gambash 2014). The earliest mention of Akko in the Persian-Egyptian context comes from Diodorus Siculus, who describes the campaign of 374 BCE, which was called upon by Artaxerxes II in response to an Egyptian revolt (15.41.3): “The Persian army gathered at the city of Ake, numbering two hundred thousand barbarians led by Pharnabazus, and twenty thousand Greek mercenaries under the command of Iphicrates. Of the fleet, the triremes numbered three hundred, and the thirty-oared ships two hundred. And great was the number of those carrying food and other supplies.”2 The campaign ended with failure, and Artaxerxes II, who ruled until the age of 86, dying as late as in 358, never repeated his attempt to reclaim Egypt.

136  gil gambash

Thus, Artaxerxes II’s interest in Akko would have been limited to the single campaign of 374—hardly a fitting scenario for the development of an artificial harbor. Moreover, modern evaluations of this episode often neglect the fact that the gathering fleet reported by Diodorus, which ultimately counted 500 war vessels alone, would have been significantly too large to fit solely within the area of any given artificial port, let alone that of Akko. As must have happened before in the history of the city, maritime activity—military as well as commercial—would have used existing anchoring facilities, not only at the mouth of the River Beleus (present-day Naʾaman) but in the greater area of the Bay of Akko (e.g., Josephus, BJ 2.189–190). Alternatively, ships could have been hauled up to the ground on sandy shores, common in the area of Akko. Such a practice was adopted regularly by far-sailing fleets, for the dual purpose of preserving them in the event of a long wait and of carrying out routine maintenance work. Greek crews—as we learn from Thucydides, for example—used to haul and careen their triremes when away from home on long missions, as long as they were not threatened by enemy attacks (7.12.3–4):3 Our fleet was originally in first-rate condition, the ships sound and the crews full. But now, as our enemy is well aware, our galleys are soaked for having been exposed to the sea for so long, and our crews wasted. For we cannot haul our vessels ashore and careen them, because the enemy fleet is equal or even larger to our own, and we are constantly expecting an attack.

Returning to Persia’s volatile sixth satrapy, Artaxerxes III Ochus, the son and heir of Artaxerxes II, is known to have launched multiple campaigns against a still independent Egypt, starting in 351 (Diodorus Siculus 16.40–51). The last of these, taking place in 344/43, ultimately saw the Persian empire regaining control over Egypt. Ochus’ long reign and persistent activity on the Egyptian front would have given him plenty of time to invest in developing logistical abilities in the region of the Levant. Our sources, however, present significant difficulties in imaging him developing the area of Akko. The reason is the occurrence of a Phoenician revolt in 345/44. Much of Phoenicia broke away from the Persian empire and joined the Egyptian rebellion. The

Persian fleet that had been assembled by Ochus to subjugate this widespread revolt included 300 triremes and 500 supply vessels (Diodorus Siculus 16.40–51). Given these circumstances, it is most likely that the army and the fleet gathered in Syria or in Asia Minor, which remained safely under Persian control. If at all, Akko could have regained the central position it briefly possessed earlier in the 4th century only after the quelling of the revolt and the removal in 343 of its leader Nectanebo II. The short timespan left for the Achaemenids to rule the Levant and Egypt before Alexander’s conquest of 332 would hardly have allowed for development projects of the scope of artificial harbors to be planned and carried out before the rise of the Macedonian threat in the west, less than a decade later. Only a single other written source refers directly to Persian activity in Akko (Strabo 16.2.25–27): εἶθ’ ἡ Πτολεμαίς ἐστι μεγάλη πόλις ἣν Ἄκην ὠνόμαζον πρότερον, ᾗ ἐχρῶντο ὁρμητηρίῳ πρὸς τὴν Αἴγυπτον οἱ Πέρσαι. Strabo’s Greek may be read as indicating a repetitive habit: “Then follows Ptolemaïs, a large city, formerly called Ake; it was the place of rendezvous for the Persians in their expeditions against Egypt.” 4 However, the statement could also be read to imply a single use of Akko by Persian armies: “this city was used by the Persians as a base of operations against Egypt.”5 In such a case, Strabo was probably referring to the campaign of Artaxerxes II in 374, reported by Diodorus Siculus and discussed above. To be sure, even if meant as a repetitive action, there is no need to go back all the way to Cambyses to explain Strabo’s words; as we have seen, the 4th century alone supplied multiple occasions for Persian usage of Akko, and the perennial geopolitical instability in the region would have led the Persian administration to employ Akko as an ὁρμητήριον—a makeshift place of rendezvous—rather than to develop it as a port town with an artificial harbor. There can be, therefore, little doubt that the construction of Akko’s harbor had to await the early Hellenistic period. The beginning of this time-frame and the invaluable coastal survey of Pseudo-Scylax, compiled sometime towards the end of the 4th century, should thus be our starting point. Notably, whereas this survey mentions the city of Ake, it does not identify any harbor in relation to it. Moreover, we can dismiss the possible objection that

the harbor of akko-ptolemaïs: dates and functions  137

this is an argumentation ex silentio, because the text defines settlements, among other criteria, by the harbors they did or did not possess. Various aspects of this challenging text are still under debate, not least its possible date and the nature of the sources used by its author (Shipley 2011). Some of the areas depicted in the Periplus, such as the Black Sea, match the reality of the 5th century. Others, however, such as Italy and Illyria, correspond to the early 4th century. Knowledge of the south of Asia Minor may be dated to ca. 380 in Pamphylia and to as late as 330 in Lykia, which is therefore seen by modern scholars as a terminus post quem for the text (Flensted-Jensen and Hansen 1996: 137–138). The Periplus includes 733 toponyms, which are categorized by the author himself. Consistency in employing these categories is regularly kept, and, where the text can be compared to other contemporary sources, accuracy is usually proven. Relevant here is the category of the “city with a harbor” (πόλις καὶ λιμήν), which would have included Akko had the town had an artificial harbor. Part of the list supplied by the text for Syria-Phoenicia reads as follows (Pseudo-Scylax 104.2–3): “Trieres, ⟨a city⟩ with a harbor. Berytos (Beirut), a city with a harbor. […] Sidon, a city with an enclosed harbor. … Belonging to the Tyrioi is the city of Sarapta. The city of Tyros, having a harbor within a fort. … Palaityros, a city; and a river flows through the middle. And a city of the Tyrioi, ⟨Ekdippa⟩, with a river. And Ake (Akko), a city. Exope, a city of the Ty⟨rioi. Karmelos (Carmel)⟩, a mountain sacred to Zeus.”6 The fact that Akko is mentioned in this list demonstrates the importance acquired by the city, possibly also as a result of the stay of Pharnabazus’ army there in 374. However, the fact that the author of the Periplus does not mention a harbor indicates that he did not recognize there facilities of the sort and scope available in other port towns, such as Tyre and Sidon. Sarapta, which also appears in the list as a city without a harbor, demonstrates the problem. The city appears already in the Annals of Sennacherib (ANET, 287–288). However, there is no evidence for the existence of a harbor functioning in any of its three natural anchorages prior to the Roman period. This is probably the result of the strong influence that the neighboring Tyre and Sidon exercised alternately over its economic activity and cultural contacts with the

Mediterranean world (Lipiński 2004: 295–296).7 Akko need not have been any different from Sarapta around the time of Alexander, and the survey offered by PseudoScylax, including its omissions regarding these two places, suggests as much. In the Hellenistic period, Phoenicia and Palestine often served as a major battling ground, particularly in the protracted struggle between the Ptolemaic and Seleucid dynasties. The important role of Akko in the events of the period is highlighted by its destruction by Ptolemy I in 312 (Diodorus Siculus 19.93.7). As he retreated from Coele Syria, Ptolemy destroyed all significant settlements, including Gaza. Significantly, we find the place resettled during the reign of Ptolemy II Philadelphus, now under the name of Ptolemaïs (Letter of Aristeas 115). Literary evidence referring to Akko during this period is telling (Kashtan 1988). Callimachus, a scholar and poet active in Alexandria during the reign of Ptolemy II, already mentions the city by its new name; so does another Hellenistic scholar, Nicanor of Cyrene, who is said by Athenaeus to have written a work on the changes of names (μετονομασίας) (see Harpocration, Lexicon, s.v. “Ake”). Demetrius of Magnesia—a grammarian active in the 1st century BCE—states that the name Ake used to refer only to the acropolis (Harpocration, Lexicon, s.v. “Ake”). If accurate, this notation may well suggest that Hellenistic Ptolemaïs was larger than—or perhaps even removed from—the original town, which was located on the tell (Cohen 2006: 213). Could the addition of a new Phoenician harbor be part of the reason for the renaming and relocation of the city? Evidence of notable economic maritime activity in the 260s and 250s may be found in a papyrus reporting the shipment of gifts from Akko to Pelusium by Zenon of Philadelphia—who between 261 and 256 was the commercial agent of Apollonius, Ptolemy II’s finance minister, outside Egypt (P.Lond. 7.2141).8 Moreover, commercial activity involving southward traffic via Akko is evident from numerous finds of northern Aegean imports. A mint is known to have been based here for as long as the Ptolemies ruled the place, until the late 3rd century (Hazzard 1995: 31–32). And Herodas—another 3rd-century poet based in Alexandria—speaks of a cargo of grain also originating in Akko, large enough to relieve the place of its destination of “cruel famine” (Herodas 2.16).9

138  gil gambash

If Akko had not inherited an artificial harbor from the Persian period, the well-acknowledged economic demand for such a facility must eventually have been met at some point between the late 4th and early 2nd centuries BCE. By the 2nd century, the author of the work purporting to be the Letter of Aristeas ascribes to the city, in addition to its centrality, a commodious harbor:10 For the land is suitable both for agriculture and for commerce, and the cities are skilled in many arts and miss nothing that is carried over the sea. It also has suitable and spacious harbors at Ascalon, Joppa, and Gaza, as well as at Ptolemaïs, which was founded by the King. It is situated in a central position next to the other places mentioned above, and is not too distant from them. (Letter of Aristeas 114–116)

But who would have acted towards meeting the need for a commercial harbor? Was it the city authorities, who would have been motivated by local market forces and aiming to increase the city’s prosperity? Or the central government of the empire, embodied in the figure of the Ptolemaic king himself? The lack of evidence does not permit a definitive answer. We must recall that often in the Mediterranean, rulers of empires contributed towards the development of provincial facilities, not so much out of a direct need for the benefits that could be derived from the projects themselves, as for the symbolic capital that could be gained from carefully directed munificence. The Ptolemies certainly developed Alexandria’s commercial capacities, as Rome did Ostia’s, but, just as the need for grain in the Roman capital probably had nothing to do with the building of, say, Caesarea by Herod, it should remain doubtful that the Ptolemies of the 3rd century orchestrated the building of Akko in support of the Egyptian economy (Gambash 2013). Levantine market forces would have taken care of Egypt’s needs much more efficiently. Could it be that the new harbor at Akko was designated to serve a military-strategic need? This question brings up the problem of grand strategy in the ancient world. Most scholars would accept a definition of grand strategy as “the constant and intelligent reassessment of the polity’s ends and means” (Kennedy 1991: 6). Concerning the application of the idea to antiquity, the nature of the discussion and the main features of its development are

sufficiently well known and do not require detailed exposition here. The debate was sparked by the American strategist E. Luttwak in 1976, and the question of whether such a thing as a grand strategy ever existed in the ancient world remains very much alive.11 Luttwak recognized in the Roman world a transformation in imperial frontiers, from little-defined zones in the 1st century into fixed boundary lines in the 2nd century, distinct and set to follow natural barriers such as rivers and mountain chains, and supplemented, where required, with lines of close fortifications. This rigid system, according to his hypothesis, had to adjust itself to a more flexible strategy of defense in depth, designed in the 3rd century to meet the intensifying threat of foreign invasions. It should be noted that while Luttwak chose for his book the title of The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire, his actual sphere of investigation was only the frontiers of the Roman empire. Once started, however, the debate did not limit itself to the issue of frontiers, or, for that matter, to the Roman empire alone, as scholars began to examine the motivation and capability of ancient imperial administrations more generally to formulate, apply and adhere to such an intricate scheme as a grand strategy.12 The discussion soon took a decisive turn against the notion that a grand strategy could have existed in antiquity (Millar 1982; Isaac 1990; Whittaker 1994). An outspoken critic of Luttwak, C.R. Whittaker enumerates a whole series of factors which, in his view, are required to be implicated in the evaluation of a grand strategy and which were not found in developed form in the ancient world (Whittaker 2004: 32): the posting and movement of legions; the efficient use of manpower; central military inventories; muster roles and orders of battle; information services, such as maps and strategic reports; support services; logistical organization; officers and committees for supply and planning; the construction of roads, colonies and alliances; planning; appreciation of the various roles of diplomacy; policing and military action and the need for defense in depth; and finally, a central decision-making process; rational objectives of war; and discrimination between wars of survival and wars of glory. Although this list does not refer directly to the maritime sphere, various elements included in

the harbor of akko-ptolemaïs: dates and functions  139

it—concerning support services, logistical organization, transportation arrangements and the central orchestration of such projects—would imply the presence of statecontrolled resources, such as fleets, harbors and maritime routes. Essentially, if there existed no grand strategy in the running of ancient Mediterranean empires, there could be no well-planned, centrally-controlled background for the building and maintenance of fleets and artificial harbors. In the specialized field of maritime history, a picture prevails—a good few decades after the emergence of Luttwak’s hypothesis—of grand strategy at work. The research of maritime activity often assumes, albeit not necessarily consciously, the existence of a central government constantly and intelligently reassessing ends and means to that effect. The phenomenon pervades most major aspects of the field, from the study of maritime trade and the various means serving it to that of military naval forces and the way in which they were built, maintained and employed (e.g., Pryor 1987). Looking at specific cases, I have claimed that such conjectures are often misguided (Gambash 2013; 2014; 2017). Caesarea Maritima, to name one important example, shows, upon close scrutiny, that it could in effect support few of the strategic roles imagined for it by modern scholars, seeking to link the planning and building of this port city to central Roman policies and to Augustus’ imagined Mediterranean master-plan. It is far more likely that Caesarea owed its defining characteristics to Herod’s own needs—and, perhaps above all, to his style. To return to Akko, the constant tension between the Seleucid and Ptolemaic empires could easily have brought about the presence there of armies and fleets. A case in point is the capture of the city by Antiochus III in 219 BCE. Polybius supplies the following details about the event: When Theodotus and Panaetolus met [Antiochus] with their friends he received them courteously, and took over from them Tyre and Ptolemaïs, and the war material in these places. This included forty vessels, of which twenty were decked and admirably equipped, and none with less than four banks of oars, and the rest made up of triremes, biremes, and cutters. These he

handed over to the care of his admiral Diognetus. (Polybius 5.62.2–4)

It is certainly no striking news that Egyptian warships were present at Tyre and Akko during wartime. If an artificial harbor already existed in Akko at this time, as it did in Tyre, it would also not have been surprising to see small contingents of a larger fleet using it as a temporary anchoring place. It must be emphasized, however, that a harbor would not have been a necessity. As shown above, maritime activity of all its various sorts could have used less sophisticated facilities, or natural features, for its purposes. Thus, the warships mentioned by Polybius could have been brought to the ground in the bay area of Akko, which was already famous in antiquity for its sandy beaches.13 If we are to imagine Akko as the regular stationing place for Ptolemaic warships, however, we need to be seeking not so much a harbor as permanent installations for sheltering the ships when on the ground—known as shipsheds. By the Hellenistic period shipsheds had become a familiar feature in the eastern Mediterranean, serving as essential facilities in harbors that hosted war-fleets on a permanent basis. In a recently published catalogue of Mediterranean shipsheds, a rock-cut construction at Dor was interpreted as a shipshed, possibly Hellenistic, and containing compartments for three ships (Blackman and Rankov 2014: 335–339). This was the only shipshed attested in the catalogue along the shoreline of Israel. It should hardly come as a surprise that this is the tally for the entire length of the southern Levant, which witnessed considerable maritime activity during the Persian and Hellenistic periods. Mediterranean states and empires that employed large navies either assembled them ad hoc for specific campaigns, as the Persians did on the Egyptian front, or else concentrated them in a single home-base, like Athens in Piraeus. It is far less common to find contingents of such fleets permanently stationed in frontier areas. On the other hand, it should be noted that small coastal cities—Dor would be a case in point—could contain shipsheds in small numbers, for the likely purpose of hosting light vessels in public service—for protection against pirates, for coastal policing and for transportation of officials.

140  gil gambash

Another, recently discovered, piece of evidence is pertinent to this discussion. The preliminary report on excavations conducted in the northern part of the bay of Akko14 contains a description of a rectangular building close to the waterline, its stone floor slanting towards the sea. The building has been dated to the Hellenistic period and interpreted as a shipshed (Sharvit, Planer and Buxton 2013). It has not been included in the catalogue mentioned above, probably because of the late timing of its publication. Given the picture depicted above, we should approach this find with extreme caution, albeit also with great hope. In my opinion, it would be precarious to ascribe, without further evidence, the presence of a shipshed in Akko to a military harbor, which would have been planned and built by the Ptolemies. The passage quoted above from Polybius, mentioning the presence of warships in Akko, does not constitute evidence for the presence of shipsheds and permanent military facilities there. Based on our knowledge of 3rd-century Akko, regional geopolitics and ancient

imperialism in general, the most reliable outline of the harbor’s development that we may tentatively draw is the following: the city of Akko-Ptolemaïs became prosperous under the auspices of the Ptolemies, thanks to the temporary stability they managed to restore to the region early in the 3rd century; growing commercial activity introduced the need for a modern artificial harbor, a need that was soon met, possibly also thanks to Ptolemaic munificence; and when tension arose on the Syrian border again, the harbor was used by royal fleets as a temporary front base. We hope that additional excavations will shed light on the broader context of the rectangular building recently discovered in the harbor. If it was indeed part of a broader complex of facilities and shipsheds of a military nature, we would be witnessing a truly rare situation in the 3rd century BCE—a frontier-line harbor that was developed and maintained by a central power. Until positive evidence is provided regarding the function of this building, however, we should maintain caution and ascribe it to small-time local needs.

NOTES  1. Of note are Asheri’s commentary on Herodotus 3.4.3 (Asheri, Lloyd and Corcella 2007: 401) and Ruzicka’s recent survey of the PersianEgyptian struggle (Ruzicka 2012: 67). Other examples include Katzenstein 1979: 27; Inlow 1979: 50–51; Miller and Hayes 1986: 450; Blenkinsopp 1988: 62; Dandamaev 1989: 73; Haggi and Artzy 2007: 82; and Davies and Finkelstein 1984: 70–71. These accounts make do with quoting Dothan’s and Raban’s hypothesis, or, at best, the two sources that inspired them—Diodorus and Strabo, discussed here below. Commendable caution is taken by Wallinga (1993: 124). 2. τῆς δὲ τῶν Περσῶν δυνάμεως ἀθροισθείσης εἰς πόλιν Ἄκην, ἠριθμήθησαν τῶν μὲν βαρβάρων εἴκοσι μυριάδες, ὧν ἦρχε Φαρνάβαζος. τῶν δὲ μισθοφόρων Ἑλλήνων Ἰφικράτης ἡγεῖτο δισμυρίων. Καὶ ναῦς ἠριθμήθησαν τριήρεις μὲν τριακόσιαι, τριακόντοροι δὲ διακόσιαι. τῶν δὲ τὴν ἀγορὰν καὶ τὴν ἄλλην παρασκευὴν κομιζουσῶν πολὺς ἦν ἀριθμός. Unless stated otherwise, translations are supplied by the author. 3. See also Thucydides 6.66 and 8.11. 4. The translation is by Hamilton and Falconer 2010. The key is the reading of the imperfect ἐχρῶντο, here taken to indicate an action in the past performed more than once. 5. Indeed, this is the translation by Jones 1959–61. See also the translation offered by Radt 2005: “sie wurde von den Persen als Stuetzpunkt gegen Aegypten gebraucht.” If Strabo’s imperfect was not meant to represent a recurring action, it may well have been employed for the purpose of suggesting that the action had occurred over a period of time—as was indeed the case, for example, in the 370s (see below).

6. Τριήρης ⟨πόλις⟩ καὶ λιμήν. Βηρυτὸς πόλις καὶ λιμὴν. […] Σιδὼν πόλις καὶ λιμὴν κλειστός. […] Τυρίων πόλις Σάραπτα. [ἄλλη] πόλις Τύρος λιμένα ἔχουσα ἐντὸς τείχους. […] Παλαίτυρος πόλις, καὶ ποταμὸς διὰ μέσης ῥεῖ, καὶ πόλις Τ[υρίων Ἔκδιππα] καὶ ποταμὸς. καὶ Ἄκη πόλις, Ἐξώπη πόλις Τυ[ρίων. Κάρμηλος] ὄρος ἱερὸν Διός… (text and translation from Shipley 2011). 7. For the archaeology of the Roman port, see Pritchard 1978: 49–70. 8. See Lawall 2013. On the Zenon papyri, see Grabbe, this volume; Berlin and Herbert, this volume. 9. Thales’ ship of grain is said to have been worth five talents. Its destination was probably the island of Kos; see Nairn 1904: 15. 10. ἐργάσιμος γὰρ κὰι πρὸς τὴν ἐμπορίαν ἐστὶ κατεσκευασμένη ἡ χώρα, καὶ πολύτεχνος ἡ πόλις, οὐ σπανίζει δὲ οὐδὲν τῶν διακομιζομένων διὰ τῆς θαλάσσης. ἔχει γὰρ καὶ λιμένας εὐκαίρους χορηγοῦντας, τόν τε κατὰ τὴν Ἀσκαλῶνα καὶ Ἰόππην, καὶ Γάζαν, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ Πτολεμαίδα τὴν ὑπὸ τοῦ βασιλέως ἐκτισμένην. μέση δὲ κεῖται πρὸς τοὺς προειρημένους τόπους, οὐκ ἀπέχουσα τούτων πολύ. 11. Luttwak 1976. For support of the hypothesis, see, for example, Ferrill 1991: 71–85; Mattern 1999. For a thorough survey of the debate and its development, see Whittaker 2004: 28–49. 12. See, for example, the discussion on Achaemenid Persia in Harrison 2010: 44–47. 13. Strabo speaks in general terms of the sandy beach between Akko and Tyre (16.2.25). Josephus is more explicit in his description of Akko’s sandy beaches, which were constantly replenished by the winds (BJ 2.189–190). 14. The excavation was conducted between 2008 and 2012 by the Israel Antiquities Authority, directed by Y. Sharvit.

the harbor of akko-ptolemaïs: dates and functions  141

REFERENCES Asheri, D., Lloyd, A. and Corcella, A. 2007. A Commentary on Herodotus, Books 1–4. Oxford. Blackman, D. and Rankov, B. 2014. Shipsheds of the Ancient Mediterranean. Cambridge, U.K. Blenkinsopp, J. 1988. Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary. Louisville, KY. Cohen, G.M. 2006. The Hellenistic Settlements in Syria, the Red Sea Basin, and North Africa. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London. Dandamaev, M.A. 1989. A Political History of the Achaemenid Empire. Leiden. Davies, W.D. and Finkelstein, L. 1984. The Cambridge History of Judaism, 1: The Persian Period. Cambridge, U.K. Dothan, M. 1976. Akko: Interim Excavation Report First Season, 1973/4. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 224: 1–48. Dothan, M. 1985. A Phoenician Inscription from ʿAkko. Israel Exploration Journal 35: 81–94. Ferrill, A. 1991. The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire. In: Kennedy, P.M., ed. Grand Strategies in War and Peace. New Haven: 71–85. Flensted-Jensen, P. and Hansen, M.H. 1996. Pseudo–Skylax’ Use of the Term Polis. In: Hansen, M.H. and Raaflaub, K.A., eds. More Studies in the Ancient Greek Polis (Papers from the Copenhagen Polis Centre 3). Stuttgart: 137–167. Galili, E., Rosen, B., Zviely, D., Silberstein, N. and Finkielsztejn, G. 2010. The Evolution of Akko Harbor and Its Mediterranean Maritime Trade Links. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 5: 191–211. Gambash, G. 2013. Caesarea Maritima and the Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire. Skyllis 13: 53–58. Gambash, G. 2014. En Route to Egypt: Akko in the Persian Period. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 73: 273–282. Gambash, G. 2017. Servicing the Mediterranean Empire— Non-state Actors and Maritime Logistics in Antiquity. Mediterranean Studies 25: 9–32. Haggi, A. and Artzy, M. 2007. The Harbor of Atlit in Northern Canaanite/Phoenician Context. Near Eastern Archaeology 70: 75–84. Hamilton, H.C. and Falconer, W. 2010. The Geography of Strabo, Literally Translated with Notes. Charleston, SC. Harrison, T. 2010. Writing Ancient Persia. London and New York. Hazzard, R.A. 1995. Ptolemaic Coins: An Introduction for Collectors. Toronto. Inlow, E.B. 1979. Shahanshah: A Study of the Monarchy of Iran. Delhi. Isaac, B.H. 1990. The Limits of Empire: The Roman Army in the East. Oxford. Jones, H.L. 1959–61. The Geography of Strabo. London.

Kashtan, N. 1988. Akko-Ptolemaïs: A Maritime Metropolis in Hellenistic and Early Roman Times, 332 B.C.E.–70 C.E. as Seen through the Literary Sources. Mediterranean Historical Review 3.1: 37–53. Katzenstein, H.J. 1979. Tyre in the Early Persian Period (539–486 B.C.E.). The Biblical Archaeologist 42: 23–34. Kennedy, P.M., ed. 1991. Grand Strategies in War and Peace. New Haven. Lawall, M.L. 2013. Two Amphorae from the Swedish Cyprus Expedition in the National Museum of Denmark: Late Archaic through Late Classical Cypriot Trade. In: Lawall, M.L. and Lund, J., eds. The Transport Amphorae and Trade of Cyprus. Aarhus: 51–60. Lipiński, E. 2004. Itineraria Phoenicia (Orientalia Lovansiensia Analecta 127). Leuven. Luttwak, E.N. 1976. The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire: From the First Century CE to the Third. Baltimore. Mattern, S.P. 1999. Rome and the Enemy: Imperial Strategy in the Principate. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London. Millar, F. 1982. Emperors, Frontiers and Foreign Relations, 31 B.C. to A.D. 378. Britannia 13: 1–23. Miller, J.M. and Hayes, J.H. 1986. A History of Ancient Israel and Judah. Louisville, KY. Nairn, J.A. 1904. The Mimes of Herodas. Oxford. Pritchard, J.B. 1978. Recovering Sarepta: A Phoenician City. Princeton, NJ. Pryor, J.H. 1987. Commerce, Shipping, and Naval Warfare in the Medieval Mediterranean. London. Raban, A. 1985. The Ancient Harbours of Israel in Biblical Times. In: Raban, A., ed. Harbour Archaeology: Proceedings of the First International Workshop on Ancient Mediterranean Harbours. Caesarea Maritim 24–28.6.83 (British Archaeology Reports International Series 257). Oxford: 11–44. Raban, A. 1995. The Heritage of Ancient Harbour Engineering in Cyprus and the Levant. In: Karageorghis, V. and Michaelides, D., eds. Proceedings of the International Symposium Cyprus and the Sea: Organized by the Archaeological Research Unit of the University of Cyprus and the Cyprus Ports Authority, Nicosia 25–26 September 1993. Nicosia: 139–88. Radt, S.L. 2005. Strabons Geographika: Buch XIV–XVII, Text und Übersetzung (4). Göttingen. Ruzicka, S. 2012. Trouble in the West: Egypt and the Persian Empire, 525–332 B.C.E. New York. Sharvit, J., Planer, D. and Buxton B. 2013. Preliminary Findings from Archaeological Excavations along the Foot of the Southern Seawall at Akko, 2008–2012. Michmanim 24: 39–52 (Hebrew).

142  gil gambash Shipley, G. 2011. Pseudo-Skylax’s Periplous: The Circumnavigation of the Inhabited World—Text, Translation, and Commentary. Exeter. Wallinga, H.T. 1993. Ships and Sea-power before the Great Persian War: The Ancestry of the Ancient Trireme. Leiden.

Whittaker, C.R. 1994. Frontiers of the Roman Empire: A Social and Economic Study. Baltimore and London. Whittaker, C.R. 2004. Rome and Its Frontiers: The Dynamics of Empire. London and New York.

10 The Achaemenid–Ptolemaic Transition The View from Southern Phoenicia Andrea M. Berlin and Sharon C. Herbert

On November 23, 260 BCE, a man named Zenon departed the port of Alexandria for a trip to Palestine. He did not travel for the obvious reasons that people go off to other lands—he was not a tourist nor a soldier nor a diplomat— but instead pursued a more mundane obligation: to check on the various agricultural holdings of King Ptolemy II Philadelphus and to record and properly file assessments of their accounts. In other words, Zenon was a bureaucrat, a type of figure whose activities and notes would generally fall well below the threshold of scholarly interest and historical importance. As it happens, however, an astonishing amount and array of Zenon’s records survive, in the form of over 2,000 papyrus fragments that he had carefully tucked away at his home in the Egyptian town of Philadelphia, modern Darb el-Gerza. Since their recovery in 1914, these various affidavits, leases, letters, loans and receipts have claimed the attention of historians and have elevated Zenon himself from a low-level functionary to an unparalleled resource on the detailed workings of Ptolemaic administration. There exist dozens of papyri that relate to Zenon’s trip and business dealings in Palestine; here we focus on one:

P.Cair.Zen. 59004 (Fig. 10.1). This papyrus, which dates from early summer 259 BCE, is a simple expense account, recording the receipt of ἄλευρον, “milled wheat”—in other words, flour. Zenon carefully recorded each place visited and the quantities supplied to his team: 11 towns, each matched with a number and an explanation of the unit of collection. Initially the unit was an artaba, comprising 30 choinikes, or about 24 litres. About midway through the journey this artaba was replaced by a unit containing 40 choinikes, which is so recorded in the remainder of the document. Zenon began his journey at the little harbor town of Strato’s Tower, where he landed on February 1, 259 BCE, and picked up five artabas of flour, probably to top off what had been used in the journey from Alexandria. His next stop was Jerusalem, where he took on another six artabas, and from there he proceeded down to Jericho, where he had need of another five. From another papyrus, P.Lond. 7.1930, we know that Zenon next travelled to Tyros, modern-day ʿIraq el-Emir, and from there to Philadelphia (modern-day Amman). We pick him up again in our flour account at Abila, which may be the Abila of the Decapolis,

144  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

ἀλεύρ̣[ων ἐν Στράτω̣ν̣[ο]ς πυ(ροῦ) ἀρ(τάβαι) Ἱεροσολ̣ύμ̣[οις] ἐν Ἐριχο[ῖ] ἐν Ἀβέλλ̣οις Σουραβιτ. .οις ἀρ(τάβαι) Λακάσοις Νόηι Ειτου̣ι̣ Βαιτιαν̣άτ̣ο̣ις Κυδίσωι ἐν Πτολεμαίδι (γίνονται) ἀρ(τάβαι) οθ ὃ (γίνεται) ἀναμετρούμενον τῆι τεσσαρακονταχοινίκωι ἀρ(τάβῃ) ἡ ἀρτάβη

ε ϛ ε γ θ ιδ ι ζ ιδ β δ

Fig. 10.1: P.Cair.Zen. 59004 recto (© Heidelberger Gesamtverzeichnis der griechischen Papyrusurkunden Ägyptens)

although other possibilities also exist. Here he took on three artabas only and continued on to several sites whose locations are currently unknown; it is possible that Noai is modern-day Nawa, a village in the Hauran, which in antiquity was eastern Gaulanitis. Eventually he returned to Palestine proper, going first to Beth Anath, where he acquired 14 artabas (he was apparently running on empty by that point), stopping at nearby Kedasa, where he topped off with two more, and then, on June 21, 259 BCE, exiting the country at Ptolemaïs, where he picked up four artabas to see him safely home (Tcherikover 1937; for chronology, see esp. 3–6). In addition to the documentary confirmation of these specific place names, this and other papyri from the Zenon archive offer several insights into Ptolemaic administration in Palestine. First, the list itself indicates the localities of approved supply spots, of varying degrees of formality—from government depots in cities, such as Jerusalem, to the abodes of local clients, such as that of Tobiah, to royal estates, such as Beth Anath. Second, the papyri reveal the existence of a number of new positions and occupations, from Apollonios, the Ptolemaic officer

who oversaw the management of imperial holdings and commerce, to his envoys, agents and managers, to tenant farmers employed on various royal properties in Alexandria (Tcherikover 1937: 21–24; Kloppenborg 2006: 284–290, 359–364, 367–376). Third, the papyri reflect rather astonishing attention to mundane minutia. Two artabas of flour? A precise notation of which type of artaba, so as to document quantities down to the amount necessary for a single loaf of bread? Overall, the Zenon papyri reveal a well-oiled—or in this case wellfloured—bureaucratic infrastructure. On the face of it, bureaucracy may appear an essentially trivial subject—simply the tedium of administrative rules and record-keeping. In the case of governmental bureaucracy, however, there is more at stake than a dry accounting might suggest. That is because a governmental bureaucracy—the system by which resources are assessed, managed and allocated from and among people—is at its core the embodiment of political culture. Governments are both revealed through their bureaucracies and, more significantly, judged by them— by the society on whom that bureaucracy is imposed. As

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  145

long as a society continues to go along with a governmental bureaucracy, the system and culture remain strong. When social support disappears—whether vocally via revolution or tacitly by non-compliance, the government becomes hollowed from the inside out. It may take time to topple, but the die is cast. In studying the past, we have a tendency to “flatten out” this connection, to understand the relationship between government and society as linear and top-down, brought into being and maintained by just one or a few powerful people. There is no doubt that individuals can make an enormous immediate impact—but it is people en masse, society at large, who sustain a system. Even when the political order is that of empire and province, ruler and subject, colonizer and colonized, social support—or at least the absence of social unrest— remains necessary for the maintenance of stability. In the case of both the Achaemenid and Ptolemaic empires, the peoples living under their authority throughout Palestine were colonized and therefore at the mercy of the bureaucratic systems imposed on them. However, in a significant way, the governments were also at the mercy of their peoples—because political stability depended on social support.1 These musings lead us back to Zenon, his records and Ptolemaic bureaucracy. The evidence reflects a system that was palpable, fastidious and broadly pervasive. In multiple localities those who were ruled came into regular contact with their superiors. One might hypothesize that social buy-in for such a system was shallow; this, indeed, was Tcherikover’s interpretation of the apparent welcome that many in the region gave to Antiochus III when he took control in 198 BCE, after the battle near the Paneion.2 It is more likely, however, that the Seleucid ability to exert ready control was due to the willingness, if not the outright need, of local communities to come to terms with whoever was in power.3 In considering the possible social reception of Ptolemaic rule, however, we need to begin at the beginning. What can we reasonably postulate about the impact of the new political system that was laid over Palestine in 301 BCE? In order to answer this question, we need to pose two others. First, what was the nature of the political and bureaucratic system that it replaced? And second, how much of that system did the Ptolemies

borrow, and how much did they newly develop and impose? Placing the political change within a social context will help us imagine its human correlates—new social undercurrents, ripple effects and stress points. Archaeological evidence provides a fresh vantage point from which to consider the transition from Achaemenid to Ptolemaic rule in southern Phoenicia. This evidence derives from several sites in Israel’s Upper Galilee and Hula Valley: Mizpe Yammim, Tel Kedesh, Tel Anafa and the Sanctuary of Pan at Banias (see below, Fig. 10.2). Mizpe Yammim is a Phoenician, probably Tyrian, border shrine and watch tower on a mountain top in the southeastern corner of Upper Galilee (see below, Fig. 10.3) (Berlin and Frankel 2012). The shrine and tower were built together in the late 6th or early 5th century BCE and used until the later 4th century—precisely the period of Achaemenid power. Tel Kedesh is a huge mound in the northeastern corner of Upper Galilee, immediately overlooking the Hula Valley (see below, Fig. 10.4). Here we have recently completed excavation of an enormous compound—a combination of palatial center and depot for the collection of agricultural commodities—that dominates the southern end of the tel. This structure was built around 500 BCE and used more or less continuously until ca. 143 BCE, when it was abruptly abandoned (Berlin and Herbert 2013; 2015). Tel Anafa, a small mound in the northern Hula Valley (see below, Fig. 10.8), housed a few families in the 3rd century BCE who farmed, raised sheep and produced woven goods (Herbert 1994: 13–14; Berlin 1997: 18–19). Finally, the Sanctuary of Pan (see below, Fig. 10.9) is a rural cultic spot at the foot of Mount Hermon, overlooking one of the sources of the Jordan River; it seems to have been established within the 3rd century BCE (Berlin 1999). In Achaemenid times all of these sites lay within the Beyond-the-River satrapy; in Ptolemaic times, they all lay at the northeastern edge of that empire’s territory. Their remains provide ground-level real-time views of the human surroundings in which the transition from Achaemenid to Ptolemaic rule played out. We believe that the archaeological evidence supports two broad conclusions. The first pertains to Achaemenid realpolitik. The constructions at Mizpe Yammim and Tel Kedesh appear to have been founded and operated under the auspices of the Tyrian royal house. Their locations

146  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

Fig. 10.2: Map of Upper Galilee and Hula Valley (adapted by Andrea M. Berlin from OpenStreetMap as adapted by NordNordWest/Wikipedia)

mark the eastern edge of Tyrian territory. That territory turns out to have been both extremely large and oriented inland, two characteristics that run counter to previous assumptions. All of this reveals an expansive regional presence, as well as the capacious degree of political and social autonomy that the Tyrians enjoyed under Achaemenid rule. The second conclusion is that Ptolemaic realpolitik was a very different game. In the later 4th or very early 3rd century BCE the Kedesh compound was remodeled into a true administrative center for the direct collection of agricultural commodities. Tel Anafa and several other small rural settlements in the Hula Valley housed tenant farmers, who worked the area as royal estates for imperial enrichment. The sanctuary at Mizpe Yammim was abandoned, and at the same time the sanctuary to Pan was established at the far northeastern corner of the Hula Valley. Unlike the shrine at Mizpe Yammim, the Paneion

was an imperially sanctioned cult dedicated to a new deity alien to the locals. Within short order therefore, Ptolemaic control effectively turned a zone of regional autonomy into imperial territory, dominated by a palpable foreign presence. In our conclusions, we offer brief musings on the possible social consequences of such a move. First, however, we present the evidence upon which we base the above conclusions.

Mizpe Yammim in the Achaemenid Era Mizpe Yammim is an isolated mountain peak at the southeastern corner of Upper Galilee, at the topographic edge of that region’s territory (Fig. 10.3). As the name (“viewpoint over the seas”) indicates, the vista from the top encompasses both the Sea of Galilee to the southeast and the Mediterranean to the west. On the summit there

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  147

Fig. 10.3: The sanctuary at Mizpe Yammim, looking north (photo by Andrea M. Berlin)

are three constructions: a high, strongly built square stone platform, which seems to have served as the foundation for a watch tower; a temenos wall enclosing a wide terrace; and a broadroom shrine with interior stone platforms and benches. The shrine contained two stone altars, on top of and around which visitors left offerings. Some of those offerings were exotic objects from Egypt or evoking Egyptian deities—a slate palette, a schist statuette group depicting Isis, Osiris and Horus, a bronze Osiris, a bronze Apis bull, and a bronze situla engraved with a secondary Phoenician inscription to Astarte—but the great majority were small, mundane ceramic perfume juglets made in Tyre. Enormous quantities of animal bones reflect feasts and possibly sacrifices. The source of the dedicatory juglets, along with the Phoenician inscription on the situla, suggests visitors from the coast. The dateable objects are from the early 5th through the mid-4th century BCE.

The site’s strategic position, coupled with the watch tower on the peak, sited to be readily visible from the road below as well as to allow a view of approaching caravans and travelers, suggests an official establishment. No trace of domestic occupation was found here; it seems to have functioned essentially as a guard post and a border marker. The remains here form the southernmost point for a series of additional sites. Moving north from Mizpe Yammim along the eastern edge of the Upper Galilee plateau there is the reoccupied building at Ayelet ha-Shahar, possibly the center of an extended settlement the residents of which used the ancient citadel mound at Hazor as their necropolis (Kletter and Zwickel 2006: 179; Bonfil and Greenberg 1997: 161). Ca. 10 km northwest there was a large village at Kerem Ben Zimra, another strategically located spot with spectacular views in every direction,4 and a further 10 km to the north lay the mound of Kedesh.

148  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

Fig. 10.4: The compound at Tel Kedesh, looking south (photo by SkyView Ltd., courtesy of the University of MichiganUniversity of Minnesota Excavations at Tel Kedesh)

Kedesh in the Achaemenid Era At the far southern end of the lower mound we have excavated the remains of an ambitious structure (56 m from east to west × 40 m from north to south, giving an overall size of 2,240 m2; Fig. 10.4) (Herbert and Berlin 2003; Berlin and Herbert 2012; 2013; 2014). The eastern sector is marked by two substantial lengths of white limestone blocks with circular setting marks, meaning that they were stylobates that originally supported columns; short column shafts were found in later walls built nearby. One stylobate framed a π-shaped colonnaded entry court facing east (Fig. 10.5). Once inside the entry court, one passed between the two columns on the western stylobate into a large openair courtyard dominating the western half of the building. This courtyard had a thick floor of crushed whitewashed limestone, with a drainage channel in the southeastern corner. Around the courtyard there were various narrow

rectangular or square spaces. Remnants of earlier walls are identifiable from the occasional in situ appearance of large ashlar blocks of fine hard-grained white limestone, identical in material and size to the blocks making up the stylobates. In several respects this building’s substantial size and elaborate plan evoke the Residency at Lachish (Tufnell 1953: 131–135; Ussishkin 2004: 95–97). Both structures are wide and rectangular in shape, accessed from the short side, with a large interior courtyard the entrance of which was framed by columns and with long narrow spaces to the sides and in the rear. Both buildings featured free-standing interior columns, although differing in form: at Lachish the columns were built up with short drums, whereas at Kedesh they were constructed of longer shaft sections. Imported Greek pottery found in fill deposits dates the building’s construction to ca. 500 BCE. Of 248 fragments of Attic pottery, 170 are narrowly dateable,

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  149

Fig. 10.5: The plan of the compound at Tel Kedesh in the Achaemenid era (courtesy of the University of MichiganUniversity of Minnesota Excavations at Tel Kedesh)

with the earliest dated to ca. 510–480 BCE and the latest to ca. 300 BCE. There is no discernable gap in the appearance of Attic imports, which suggests continued usage of the building from ca. 500 through the end of the Persian period. Most of the vessels are cups and bowls for individual dining and drinking, although a fair number of small flasks for perfumed oil (lekythoi) was also found. Altogether there are few artifacts from the 5th- and 4th-century occupation; it appears that the residents cleared out in an organized fashion, leaving little behind. The finds fall into three groups: small personal luxuries; utilitarian household goods; and commercial or

administrative items. The personal luxuries include fragments of two dishes of polished hard stone, glass and alabaster perfume bottles, two bronze bracelets with animal finials, a pair of silver earrings, a faience amulet in the form of Horus, two small lumps of kohl, two glass seals and a green jasper scarab. Most of these were quite common amenities in the region at this time, and as such, they reveal little beyond the fact that their owners were of moderate means. The glass seals and the scarab point to a more specific cultural affiliation. One seal shows the Persian king, identifiable by his jagged crown and long folded robe,

150  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

dominating two lions in a pose known as “Lord of the Animals.” The other one portrays the Phoenician deity Melqart smiting two lions. The jasper scarab displays a finely carved head in profile, helmeted and bearded, with a long aquiline nose and full lips: a powerful person with eastern characteristics. Scarabs of this material and style were produced by Phoenician workshops (Boardman 2003). The owner(s) of these three items were most likely well-connected Phoenicians who admired and identified with the dominant Persian political culture. The household goods include bronze tools—two chisels, a pruning knife and a sickle—along with bowls, cooking vessels, pitchers and jars. Petrographic analysis indicates two sources for the utilitarian pottery. Most of the bowls and pitchers, as well as over 90 percent of the jars, were made in the eastern Upper Galilee and the Hula Valley, whereas almost all of the cooking vessels came from coastal suppliers. This combination suggests that the residents were reasonably self-sufficient, but that they were also connected to coastal suppliers via a regularly plied route west to the sea. Taken in conjunction, the entry court, the personal luxury items and the coastal cooking vessels offer an impression of public ceremony, individual comfort, Persian style and Phoenician—specifically Tyrian—affiliation. Two final finds offer important additional information. The first of these are jars, which appear in remarkable quantity: we found fragments of over two thousand jars, constituting over 65% of the Persian period assemblage (Stone 2012: 101, 316). Over 90% of the Persian-period jars at Kedesh were made in the immediate vicinity of the site; petrographic analysis shows that these containers come from the nearby Hula Basin. They exhibit two forms: one has a narrow neck and body and a single handle and is suitable for transporting liquids, probably

wine or oil, and the other is a bulky, bag-shaped holemouth jar that seems more suitable for grain and other dry bulk commodities. The predominance of these locally manufactured storage and transport vessels strongly suggests that at least one regular activity at the site was the collection and redistribution of agricultural produce. A final item is a stamped sealing that originally bound a papyrus document (Fig. 10.6). The impression, stamped by a conical stone seal, shows two rampant gazelles, their heads turned outward, and a tall stylized sunflower between them. Each has only one foreleg. A lunate crescent hangs in the space above the sunflower. The type of seal and image style are Neo-Babylonian. An almost identical seal stamped 13 tablets in the famous Murašu archive from Nippur, a collection of business records from a well-connected entrepreneurial family dating between 427 and 404 BCE. Whereas Kedesh is nowhere named in any of the Murašu documents, Tyre is cited: six tablets mention Tyre or Tyrians in the context of business transactions.5 This single sealing may support several further inferences. First, the similarity of the design with other Murašu sealings suggests that the seal that stamped it belonged to a member of the Murašu family or to one of their business associates. Second, since all the Murašu documents are clay tablets but the Kedesh object sealed papyrus, it is unlikely that the papyrus document was written and stamped in Nippur. Instead, it would seem that it was the seal itself—or, to be more precise, its owner—that traveled. This indicates direct contact between Nippur and our area. Third, since it is Tyre rather than Kedesh that is attested in the archive, it seems more likely that Tyre was the destination of the seal’s owner and consequently the origin of the document in question. Taken together, these points

Fig. 10.6: Achaemenid-era sealing (K99 I002) (courtesy of the University of Michigan-University of Minnesota Excavations at Tel Kedesh)

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  151

suggest that the sealing came to Kedesh by way of a commercial document sent from Tyre. We have dubbed this large structure at Kedesh the Persian–Hellenistic Administrative Building (PHAB). What was its function, and who was in charge? Its enormous size and colonnaded entry court reflect a ceremonial function. The quantity of locally made transport jars suggests that another activity was the collection and shipment of agricultural products. The location and orientation—at the southeastern corner of the mound and facing eastward—indicate that it was designed to receive visitors and goods from the Kedesh Valley and, likely, the nearby Hula Basin. The pottery and small finds reflect occupants with some means, with coastal market connections, and specifically, with Tyrian cultural and economic affiliations. Taken in conjunction, the evidence suggests a Phoenician or, more properly, Tyrian property, with a palatial eastward-facing façade and a commercial westward-directed orientation, by which agricultural goods were collected from fertile inland valleys and shipped to the coast. The likeliest explanation is that the PHAB was built under the auspices and for the direct benefit of the Tyrian royal house. The establishment of a place like the PHAB, with its clear economic benefits, must have been approved by Achaemenid officials. But approval is, on its own, a shallow interpretation. Can we tighten the focus? In this particular case, can we clarify to what extent the Tyrian kings were autonomous or beholden to their Achaemenid superiors?

Achaemenid Governance and Tyrian Kings During the two and a half centuries or so of Achaemenid rule, the organization and oversight of imperial governance shifted. At the time when the shrine at Mizpe Yammim was established and the PHAB was built, this entire area lay within the joint satrapy of Babylonia and Eber-Nahari, with the capital at Babylon, as shown by BM 74554, a tablet dated to October 4, 486 BCE (Stolper 1989). Within one or two generations of the construction of the PHAB, and certainly by 420 BCE, Eber-Nahari had become a separate jurisdiction (Stolper 1989: 298).

The nearest attested high Achaemenid official to this zone is the pakida at Damascus, known from a supply letter dated to the final decade of the 5th century BCE (Driver 1957: 1–2, 5).6 On the evidence of both historical and numismatic sources, the Tyrian royal house lasted throughout this period, with its various organizational structures (Elayi 2006: esp. 21–25). When Cyrus came to power, the king on the Tyrian throne was Hiram (Josephus, C. Ap. 1.157– 158); this Hiram was the third ruler of that name in the Tyrian line. At the time of the battle of Salamis, in 480 BCE, the Tyrian fleet was commanded by its king Matten, son of Hiram (Herodotus 7.98). The last Tyrian king was ʿzmlk, as attested by various classical authors, as well as by his coinage, which carries his initial.7 There is at present no on-the-ground evidence in Phoenicia for the presence of Persian imperial officials. On the contrary, both epigraphic and material remains, such as weights and measures, reflect the continuity of local Phoenician administrative, economic, legal and religious control. V. Jigoulov has characterized Achaemenid administration among the coastal Phoenician cities as “managed autonomy” (Jigoulov 2009: 138–39). J. Elayi defines the organization as “a segmentary juxtaposition of quasi-autonomous… city-states… [whose] central kernel [was] formed by… Arados, Sidon, and Tyre” (Elayi 1982: 84–85).8 These political interpretations are in keeping with the archaeological evidence presented above. The combination of the fortified watch tower and shrine at Mizpe Yammim, the enormous ceremonial and administrative building at Kedesh and the clear Tyrian connections evidenced by the finds at both sites strongly suggests that Tyre controlled the Upper Galilee as far as its eastern edge throughout the Achaemenid era.9 This massive land grant likely occurred at the end of the 6th century BCE, when Darius I oversaw the reorganization of the Achaemenid empire; at this same time, the city of Sidon was awarded control of Dor and Joppa and their respective agricultural hinterlands.10 Identifying the Persian-era occupants and administrators of these sites as Tyrian helps explain the clear evidence for their organized abandonment in the later 4th century BCE. Hearing of the approach down the coast of Alexander and his forces, the residents would not have remained in

152  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

poorly defended rural locales. Prior to their city’s siege in 332 BCE—a siege probably mounted at the express instruction of the Achaemenid king (Grainger 1992: 35–36)—they would have returned home.

Kedesh and the PHAB in the Days of the Ptolemies How much of the Achaemenid political and administrative structure did the Ptolemies retain, and how much did they newly develop and impose? We recall the picture provided by Zenon: that groups of Ptolemaic agents moved throughout the region, overseeing affairs and collecting supplies; that these agents worked under the direct jurisdiction of a high imperial officer, making them, in effect, only one step removed from the king himself; and that even the smallest details were worth their attention and time to record. From Zenon’s flour receipt, we know that by the mid-3rd century BCE, Kedesh was functioning as a Ptolemaic supply depot. From our excavations, we can extend and amplify the picture in three ways—to determine when active Ptolemaic control began, what activities Ptolemaic officials carried out here, and how that evidence advances our understanding of the system and character of Ptolemaic governance in the area. When did the Ptolemies take over the PHAB? The evidence consists of closely dateable Attic pottery. Of the total corpus, 13% dates from the final quarter of the 4th century BCE. This suggests reoccupation almost immediately after the 301 BCE battle of Ipsos, the settlement agreement of which included Ptolemy I’s control of Tyre and its territory. When Ptolemaic officials arrived at Kedesh, the PHAB had lain abandoned for around thirty years. While it is impossible to know in what condition the new occupants found the structure, we can tell what they chose to maintain and what changes they made. They kept the PHAB’s footprint and the large open western courtyard, and they changed almost everything else. The most significant alteration was to the entrance area. They closed off the building’s colonnaded eastern entry court, took down the columns and divided the space into a series of small chambers, using the column shafts as building

material. They moved the access to the PHAB to the north side, through a fairly modest single portal and into a long hallway demarcated on either side by the formerly colonnaded, but now bare, stylobates. To the right they inserted a large room, the walls of which were built of debased kurkar limestone and covered by finely finished stucco; we identify this as a formal reception area. Using the same debased limestone, they also built a series of rooms to the north, south and west of the large western courtyard (Fig. 10.7). What activities were carried out by Ptolemaic officials at the PHAB? We can make deductions based upon the finds in the building and upon its remodeled plan. From careful excavation and comprehensive retrieval and analysis of pottery, we have identified most of the components of the utilitarian ceramic corpus of the Ptolemaic era. As in the Persian-era Tyrian phases of use of the PHAB, during the 3rd century the great majority of pottery consisted of large jars. We found almost 4,000 jar fragments, comprising just over 40% of the ceramic corpus of this period (Stone 2012: Figs. 3.13, 3.14). All were made in the immediate environs, in forms designed for the bulk storage of agricultural commodities, indicating that Ptolemaic officials continued to use the PHAB as a depot for the collection, and probably also shipment, of agricultural products. The remodeled rooms south of the courtyard were given thick plaster floors, which supported a series of plastered bins of various sizes and shapes. The rooms to the north and west also received plaster floors. In their final use phase these rooms held unusually large storage jars with a capacity of ca. 130 liters. Residue analysis of two jars showed that they held bread wheat (Triticum aestivum). This is an unusual grain for this time and place; at most sites the common wheat strain found is Triticum durum. In an earlier study, we provided evidence that Tr. aestivum should be identified with the strain known from Ptolemaic papyri as “Syrian wheat,” the cultivation of which began during the reign of Ptolemy II Philadelphus—under whose auspices Zenon visited Kedesh (Berlin et al. 2002). We postulated that under Ptolemy II, parts of the Hula Valley were drained and turned over to agricultural experimentation. Finally, how does the evidence of the PHAB’s remodeling and use advance our understanding of the

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  153

Fig. 10.7: The plan of the compound at Tel Kedesh in the Hellenistic period (courtesy of the University of Michigan-University of Minnesota Excavations at Tel Kedesh)

system and character of Ptolemaic governance in the area? The relevant evidence is the site’s 3rd-century BCE pottery, which reveals supply routes as well as something of the nature of daily life. Along with the location and type of area settlements, these allow us to situate the PHAB within its regional context. Apart from the large storage jars mentioned above, the 3rd-century pottery of the PHAB consists of household items acquired by the occupants from a wide variety of sources. From the Hula Valley they had utility vessels such as water pitchers and grinding bowls of spatterpainted ware (Stone 2012: 164). From the region between Tyre and Akko-Ptolemaïs they had jugs and juglets for

table use, made of semi-fine ware. Cooking pots and casseroles of sandy cooking ware came specifically from Akko-Ptolemaïs. From somewhere in the Carmel coastal plain they had bowls and saucers for individual dining (Stone 2012: 165–66). The appearance of so many non-container vessels from coastal suppliers indicates a regularly traveled route, a picture nicely reified by Zenon’s receipt, which shows the city of Akko-Ptolemaïs to have been his next pick-up stop after Kedesh. What about the character of daily life, at least as reflected by pottery and small finds? The steady traffic from the coast indicated by the cooking and table vessels might suggest that PHAB officials also had a regular

154  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

supply of Mediterranean niceties, such as imported wine and fancier dishes—but the material remains reveal precisely the opposite. The breakdown of pottery counts by origin from the entirety of the 3rd century BCE is astonishing: of 8,346 total fragments, a mere 26 are of foreign origin, including only three Aegean amphorae and seven Tyrian baggy jars (Stone 2012: 168–169). The importation of Attic pottery ceased completely, and no other eastern Mediterranean table wares appeared in its place.11 Finally, unlike the Persian-era Tyrian residents, who had enjoyed an array of small material luxuries, their Ptolemaic successors made do with only the most basic of goods. All this is of a piece with the dismantling of the PHAB’s elaborate colonnaded entry court, the use of a grittier debased limestone for the new wall constructions and the division of open spaces into smaller rooms and chambers. In Ptolemaic times, the PHAB was a less elegant and more work-a-day establishment.

Tel Anafa in the Time of the Ptolemies Early in the 3rd century BCE, at the same time that the Ptolemies had repurposed the PHAB, several small settlements appeared in the Hula Valley, the most extensively excavated and published of which is Tel Anafa (Fig. 10.8) (Herbert 1994: 13–14; Berlin 1997: 18–19). The new settlement here was modest and basic: a few two- and three-room houses built with untrimmed

boulders, interspersed with irregularly-shaped open courtyards. Residents laid down pebbles for flooring inside; in the courtyards outside they tamped down dirt. They subsisted on wild pig and deer, as well as cattle, which they herded. A collection of loom weights, found together and lined up in a single room, provides evidence of their industry. Fifteen coins of Ptolemy I enable us to date the settlement. Pottery vessels are almost the only remaining possession of these people, and these too are simple and utilitarian: small bowls and saucers for tableware and cooking pots, grinding bowls and large water pitchers for kitchen and household use. All of these were made of spatter-painted ware, manufactured in the Hula Valley (Berlin 1997: 7–9). The only imported items were some 20 small perfume bottles from the area around Tyre. Such bottles would have been easily transported by caravans, following a route similar to the one taken by Zenon. The fact that these few small bottles are the most luxurious finds remaining from Tel Anafa’s 3rd-century BCE settlers reveals just how restricted their resources were. Who lived at Tel Anafa in the 3rd century BCE? While it is not impossible that people from the coast moved here, their mundane and unsophisticated household goods hardly reflect that zone’s cosmopolitan culture. Even the kitchen wares of these settlers are markedly limited. Whereas people at coastal sites and in the PHAB at Kedesh were making meals in both narrow-mouthed cooking pots and wide-bodied casseroles, the residents

Fig. 10.8: Tel Anafa, looking north (courtesy of the University of Missouri-University of Michigan Excavations at Tel Anafa)

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  155

of Tel Anafa had nothing but cooking pots at hand, which probably meant more monotonous meals. The ceramic connections between the Hula Valley and Kedesh, along with the discovery at the latter site of the experimental cultivar Tr. aestivum—likely grown here in the valley— combine to suggest that these new settlements were connected to the Ptolemaic takeover of the PHAB. Farmers at Tel Anafa and elsewhere supplied the imperial administrators at Kedesh, as well as laboring on the behalf of the state.

The Paneion in the Days of the Ptolemies A new religious landscape appeared concurrent with the Ptolemaic takeover of the PHAB and the small farming settlements in the Hula Valley. The Tyrian shrine at Mizpe Yammim was abandoned, while a rural shrine to the Greek god Pan was established beneath the cliffs of Mount Hermon, at the far northeastern corner of the Hula Valley (Fig. 10.9). The Paneion occupies a 250-foot long narrow terrace, at one end of which is a huge natural cave and beneath which one of the sources of the Jordan River issues forth.12 There are no architectural remains from this era. Evidence that it was a sanctuary comes from Polybius, who cites a shrine of Pan (τὸ πάνειον) as the location of the battle between Antiochus III and Ptolemy V, which resulted in control of the region passing to the Seleucids (Polybius 16.18.2, 28.1.3).

A fair amount of pottery dating from this period reflects visitors’ activities (Berlin 1999: 29–31). The pottery comes from soil deposits between the bedrock outcrops in front of the cave, which was probably the setting, or at least the backdrop, for the earliest cult activity. It consists of only small worn fragments that rarely mend together, the residue of simple offerings, periodically cleared from open-air altars and swept over the sloping hill (thus accounting for the lack of joining fragments and restorable vessels). Almost all of the pottery is made of Hula Valley spatter-painted ware, evenly divided between cooking vessels, most with signs of use, and small saucers and bowls for food and drink. While some may have been proffered as dedications (the cooking vessels presumably holding some food), they are more likely debris from dining activity, which could be thought of either as “ritual dining” or more informally as picnicking.13 There is neither epigraphic nor literary evidence for the identity of the founders of the Paneion. Nonetheless, several aspects point to the shrine having been a Ptolemaic establishment. First is the deity honored: a Greek god, alien to the area, and specifically one favored by the Ptolemies.14 Second is the location, close to the edge of newly claimed Ptolemaic territory. Siting a sanctuary as a declaration of border control is a practice common to many societies from ancient until modern times: in the words of G. De Rapper (2010: 259), “shrines can be seen as places where the social production of the border takes

Fig. 10.9: The Paneion (photo by Andrea M. Berlin)

156  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

place.”15 Third is the timing: both literary and material remains attest to the Paneion’s appearance just now, in the 3rd century BCE. Finally, there is the overall geographic logic: with the claiming of the PHAB as an imperial administrative center and the Hula Valley as King’s Land, situating a Greek shrine here completes the assertion of a new cultural authority. It was a happy circumstance for the Ptolemies that there was a spot so suitable for Pan here: wild and beautiful, with looming mountain and rushing water, well removed from any settlement.16

The Transition from Achaemenid to Ptolemaic Rule The constellation of remains from Kedesh, Tel Anafa and the Paneion—a depot for large-scale collection and storage of agricultural commodities, the appearance of a new Ptolemaic cultivar, demonstrable linkages between Kedesh and the Hula Valley, the appearance of small, poor farming settlements in the valley, and finally, the establishment of a new Greek cult site at the valley’s edge—reveals the contours of Ptolemaic control in this corner of southern Phoenicia. Early in the Ptolemaic era, probably as soon as military affairs quieted and diplomatic relations were attained, the king sent a high official to claim some or all of the Hula Valley as King’s Land, to be farmed on behalf of the crown. That the Ptolemies took over tracts of property throughout this region for their own benefit is well known from other records and letters in Zenon’s archive. The most famous is the large Galilean estate at Beth Anath, where tenant farmers cultivated wine, figs and wheat.17 It is likely no coincidence that the foundation of the Paneion coincided with the desertion of the little Phoenician sanctuary atop Mizpe Yammim. A new order was at hand—both on the ground and on high. This new order subjected the peoples living throughout this area to a radically different system of governance, one that cannot have been welcome. Under the Achaemenids, the arrangement had been expansive local autonomy in almost every sphere, under a traditional monarchical system of long-standing (Elayi 2006: 21–25). In worldview and practice, Achaemenid governance is nicely captured in a phrase by Flaubert

cited by Elayi and Sapin (1998: 146): “present everywhere, and visible nowhere.”18 The Ptolemies turned this approach upside-down, abruptly and decisively. In his prescient study of 1937, Tcherikover saw in Zenon’s records clear evidence that “Egyptian bureaucracy [had] gained a firm footing in Palestinian life.” He concluded with a terse and incisive characterization of the new administration’s practices and their pernicious impact: Trade is in the hands of the state; the officials of the minister of finance guard the grain and oil exports; private initiative is checked from developing freely by Egyptian mercantilism and is kept within narrow bounds. The landed property, to be sure, is partly in the hands of the sheikhs and partly in those of the newlyfounded cities; but the lion’s share remains in the hands of the king;… upon which dwell native leaseholders who cultivate the land under the supervision of royal officials. A host of officials are scattered over the entire country… the Egyptian bureaucracy, then, has gained a firm footing also in Palestinian life. (Tcherikover 1937: 56–57)

At the beginning of this paper we noted that, just as in modern times, governments in the past were at the mercy of the people they represent—political stability has always depended upon social support. It is one thing, however, to describe bureaucracy and government and another to assess its social impact. One reason for this is that the two subjects require us to train our gaze upon two different points in time. When thinking about the social effects of political change, the moment of immediate imposition is the wrong place to look. Such effects, after all, take time to develop. In studying these issues in the modern world, sociologists and political scientists agree that to find the roots of a movement one needs to go back two or more generations. The same holds true for us viewing the past: when we consider the social impacts, the ripple effects, of the newly palpable Ptolemaic bureaucracy—with its pervasive system of land appropriation, tenant farming and close recordkeeping—what we really need to do is to fast forward a few generations. When we do that we find a movement the seeds of which may have been planted in early Hellenistic times.19

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  157

NOTES 1. Tcherikover 1937: 47–49. We recognize that this formulation implies a society of autonomous individuals, whereas—as Sylvie Honigman points out to us—in antiquity we ought better to regard societies as composed of communities headed by their elites (Honigman 2014: 298–311). We largely agree: in saying that political stability depended on social support, we mean that this support was primarily that of decision-making elites. We would not wholly eliminate a sense of individual roles, however. Even when elites were devoting energy and attention to negotiating upward, with ruling officials, and also sideways, with competing factions, they could not have been completely deaf and blind to the fact that their community consisted of individuals who were capable of only so much and could be pushed only so far. There are many superb discussions about the nature of Hellenistic society and the character of imperial rule; the current strong consensus is that the Hellenistic kings were one side of a constant set of negotiations: empire as interaction (as the tip of the iceberg: Ma 2002; Honigman 2014: esp. 297–299). These discussions, robust and complex as they are, are largely based on textual and epigraphic evidence. In this paper, we advance archaeological remains as also germane to these issues, especially because in this case they illuminate a region and community poorly attested in the written record. 2. Thus Tcherikover 1937: 56–57. For the date of the battle of Paneion, see now Lorber, this volume. 3. We thank Sylvie Honigman for her clarification and framing of this point. 4. A. Berlin thanks the site’s excavators, Emmanual Eisenberg and Alon de Groot, for a tour and helpful discussion of the local topography. 5. These are: BE 9 77 (CBS 5423); BE 9 79 (CBS 5342); BE 10 33 (CBS 5204); BE 10 71 (CBS 5339); PBS 2/1 197; and PBS 2/1 189. See Stolper 1985: 76; Ephʿal 1978: 80. For a full study of this bulla, see Brandl et al. 2019. 6. Driver defines pakida as “a high, possibly the highest officer under the satrap” (p. 16). 7. Arrian, Anabasis 2.15.6–7.24.5; Diodorus Siculus 17.40–45; Plutarch, Alexander 24–25; Curtius 4.2–4. 8. See Clermont-Ganneau 1921; Galling 1938: 66–90, esp. 89; 1964: 193–195; Greenfield 1985: 131; Elayi and Elayi 1999: 40. 9. This is in contrast to Elayi’s assertion that “it is not very likely that [the Phoenicians] were much interested in the interior beyond the coastal range because they were a people of seafarers whose activities during the Persian period were mainly maritime” (1982: 85–86). 10. As is revealed by the inscription on the sarcophagus of the Sidonian King Eshmunazar II (ANET: 662), as well as the observations of the 4th-century BCE Greek author Pseudo-Skylax (Periplous: see Galling 1938: 89; 1964: 193–194; Greenfield 1985: 131). 11. This is especially notable because it is in marked contrast to the wide array of imported items, including both commodities and table wares, that appear in the Ptolemaic levels of most other sites in the region, such as Beth Yeraḥ-Philoteira, Scythopolis, Samaria and Dor. 12. The sanctuary terrace itself was the site of active excavations from 1988 to 1994: Maʿoz 1993; 1995; 1996. Although Persian period vessels were found, these do not necessarily indicate that this was a cult spot at this time (Wilson and Tzaferis 1998: esp. 56; cf. Tzaferis 1992: 132*–133*. The Persian period vessels—cooking pots, jars and a perfume bottle—were all found in domestic contexts elsewhere in this region and could also derive from a temporary encampment. 13. On dining in sanctuaries in general, see MacMullen 1981: 36–38.

Both table and kitchen vessels could be “official” possessions of a cult, as, for example, in a 4th-century BCE inventory from a sanctuary of Hera in Boetia, Greece (Tomlinson 1980). Within a cave in the precinct of Poseidon at Isthmia, 4th-century BCE cooking pots, casseroles, kraters and jugs were found in a pithos situated in a deep hole dug into the ground (Broneer 1962: 4–7). At the Paneion, however, the lack of buildings that could have held such goods makes it more probable that they were brought by visitors. 14. Best attested by a long-lived shrine in the Wadi Hammamat with Ptolemaic dedicatory inscriptions; see Bard 1999: 870. 15. Regarding the siting of shrines on borders as an ancient Greek practice, see Morgan 2003: 89–90 and passim. 16. Close archaeological surveys in the environs show that the closest settlements were small farmsteads in the northern Golan Heights, on the slopes of Mount Hermon, and in the Hula Valley. For Golan settlements, see Hartal 1989: 7–8 (English), 126–127 (Hebrew). For Mount Hermon, see Dar 1993: 17–22. For information about settlement in the Hula Valley we thank Idan Shaked (formerly of the Israel Antiquities Authority). 17. Tcherikover 1937: 37–41; Kloppenborg 2006: 359–364, 367–376. Kloppenborg calculates that the “Beth Anath estate was of considerable size, perhaps as large as 55 ha. (550 dunams),” significantly larger than the vineyards attested in Iron Age Israel (2006: 370). 18. See also Weinberg’s description of Achaemenid government as one that included “provinces and autonomous or semi-autonomous formations” (Weinberg 1997: quote on 97). 19. This conclusion was already framed by Tcherikover (1937: 56–57): “[As to] the answer of the population to this policy of the government… we know that the twofold conquests of Palestine by Antiochus III met with no strong opposition on the part of the population… [and that while] the concessions to the natives made by the Ptolemies were not large enough to attach them permanently to Egypt, yet they were sufficient to further the active movements for autonomy in the country. Out of these movements there developed later, in the second century, the great national-political currents which directed their objective against Hellenism.” Kloppenborg (2006: 289–290) carries the implications of these practices forward and connects them with the parable of the Tenants in the synoptic gospels (especially Mark 12) and certain aspects of the social justice movement also known as Christianity. He sums up the socioeconomic impact of the Ptolemaic creation of large estates and the imposition of strict bureaucratic oversight as follows: “The creation of large estates… had profound effects on the structure of the economy: by reorienting production from local consumption to an export economy; by creating and exploiting a class of underemployed non-slave labourers; by forcing smallholders to marginal land… Collaterally, of course, such accumulation of land… meant a shift in the patterns of labour from freehold family farms practicing polyculture, to tenancy, slavery, and day labour in support of exportoriented monoculture of wine and oil. … It seems fair to suppose that the majority of the best lands were held by the élite and cultivated by slaves or tenants. Labour structures were accordingly realigned… to a newer reality of tenant-based agriculture.” When considering local responses two generations after the end of Ptolemaic rule, it is, of course, first of all essential to acknowledge the workings of the new Seleucid regime and their own particular imperial strategies, especially the reciprocal negotiations between local elites and the royal authority. On this point, see Chrubasik, this volume, and, in detail, Honigman 2014: 297–311.

158  andrea m. berlin and sharon c. herbert

REFERENCES Bard, K., ed. 1999. Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt. New York. Berlin, A.M. 1997. Tel Anafa II, i: The Hellenistic and Roman Pottery: The Plain Wares (Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 10.2.1). Ann Arbor. Berlin, A.M. 1999. The Archaeology of Ritual: The Sanctuary of Pan at Banias/Caesarea Philippi. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 315: 27–46. Berlin, A.M., Ball, T., Thompson, R. and Herbert, S.C. 2002. Ptolemaic Agriculture, “Syrian Wheat,” and Triticum aestivum. Journal of Archaeological Science 30.1: 115–121. Berlin, A.M. and Frankel, R. 2012. The Sanctuary at Mizpe Yammim: Phoenician Cult and Territory in the Upper Galilee during the Persian Period. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 366: 25–78. Berlin, A.M. and Herbert, S. 2012. Excavating Tel Kedesh: The Story of a Site and a Project. Archaeology 65.3: 24–29. Berlin, A.M. and Herbert, S. 2013. Tel Kedesh. In: Master, D.M., ed. The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Archaeology. Oxford: 373–381. Berlin, A.M. and Herbert, S. 2014. A New Administrative Center of the Persian and Hellenistic Periods at Tel Kedesh of the Upper Galilee. Qadmoniot 145: 72–80 (Hebrew). Berlin, A.M. and Herbert, S. 2015. Kedesh of the Upper Galilee. In: Fiensy, D. and Strange, J., eds. Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods 100 B.C.E.–200 CE, 2: The Archaeological Record of Galilean Cities, Towns, and Villages. Minneapolis: 419–436. Boardman, J. 2003. Classical Phoenician Scarabs: A Catalogue and Study. Oxford. Bonfil, R. and Greenberg, R. 1997. Area A. In: Ben-Tor, A. and Bonfil, R., eds. Hazor V: An Account of the Fifth Season of Excavations, 1968. Jerusalem: 15–176. Brandl, B., Ouyang, X., Berlin, A.M. and Herbert, S.C. 2019. A Persian Period Bulla from Tel Qedesh, Israel and Its Implications for Relations between Tyre and Nippur. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 382: 211–241. Broneer, O. 1962. Excavations at Isthmia 1959–1961. Hesperia 31: 1–25. Clermont-Ganneau, C. 1921. Le paradeisos royal achéménide de Sidon. Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 30: 106–109. Dar, S. 1993. Settlements and Cult Sites on Mount Hermon, Israel (British Archaeological Reports International Series 589). Oxford. De Rapper, G. 2010. Religion on the Border: Sanctuaries and Festivals in Post-Communist Albania. In: Valtchinova, G., ed. Religion and Boundaries. Studies from the Balkans, Eastern Europe, and Turkey. Istanbul: 247–265.

Driver, G.R. 1957. Aramaic Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. Oxford. Elayi, J. 1982. Studies in Phoenician Geography during the Persian Period. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 41: 83–110. Elayi, J. 2006. An Updated Chronology of the Reigns of Phoenician Kings during the Persian Period (539–333 B.C.E.). Transeuphratène 32: 11–43. Elayi, J. and Elayi, A.G. 1999. Nouveaux poids phéniciens. Transeuphratène 17: 35–43. Elayi, J. and Sapin, J. 1998. Beyond the River. New Perspectives on Transeuphratene (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplementary Series 250). Sheffield. Ephʿal, I. 1978. The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th Centuries B.C.: Maintenance and Cohesion. Orientalia NS 47: 74–90. Galling, K. 1938. Die syrisch-palästinische Küste nach der Beschreibung bei Pseudo-Skylax. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 61: 66–96. Galling, K. 1964. Studien zur Geschichte Israels im persischen Zeitalter. Tübingen. Grainger, J. 1992. Hellenistic Phoenicia. New York. Greenfield, J.C. 1985. A Group of Phoenician City Seals. Israel Exploration Journal 35: 129–134. Hartal, M. 1989. Northern Golan Heights. The Archaeological Survey as a Source of Regional History. Qazrin (Hebrew). Herbert, S.C. 1994. Tel Anafa I, i: Final Report on Ten Years of Excavation at a Hellenistic and Roman Settlement in Northern Israel (Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 10.1). Ann Arbor. Herbert, S.C. and Berlin, A.M. 2003. A New Administrative Center for Persian and Hellenistic Galilee: Preliminary Report of the University of Michigan/University of Minnesota Excavations at Tel Kedesh. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 329: 13–59. Honigman, S. 2014. Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochus IV. Berkeley. Jigoulov, V.S. 2009. Administration of Achaemenid Phoenicia: A Case for Managed Autonomy. In: Knoppers, G.N. and Grabbe, L.L., eds. Exile and Restoration Revisited. Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd. London: 138–151. Kletter R. and Zwickel, W. 2006. The Assyrian Building of ʿAyyelet ha-Šaḥar. Zeitschrift des deutschen PalästinaVereins 122: 151–186. Kloppenborg, J.S. 2006. The Tenants in the Vineyard: Ideology, Economics, and Agrarian Conflict in Jewish Palestine (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 195). Tübingen. Ma, J. 2002. Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor (rev. ed.). Oxford.

the achaemenid–ptolemaic transition  159 MacMullen, R. 1981. Paganism in the Roman Empire. New Haven, CT. Maʿoz, Z. 1993. Banias. In: Stern, E., ed. The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Jerusalem: 136–143. Maʿoz, Z. 1995. Banias, Temple of Pan—1991/1992. Excavations and Surveys in Israel 13: 2–7. Maʿoz, Z. 1996. Banias, Temple of Pan—1993. Excavations and Surveys in Israel 15: 1–5. Morgan, C. 2003. Early Greek States Beyond the Polis. New York. Stolper, M. 1985. Entrepreneurs and Empire: The Muras̆ û Archive, the Muras̆û Firm, and Persian Rule in Babylonia. Istanbul. Stolper, M. 1989. The Governor of Babylon and Across-the-River in 486 B.C. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 48: 283–305. Stone, P.J. 2012. “Provincial” Perspectives: The Persian, Ptolemaic, and Seleucid Administrative Center at Tel Kedesh, Israel in a Regional Context (Ph.D. dissertation. University of Cincinnati). Cincinnati.

Tcherikover, V.A. 1937. Palestine under the Ptolemies. A Contribution to the Study of the Zenon Papyri. Mizraim IV–V: 9–90. Tomlinson, R.A. 1980. Two Notes on Possible Hestiatoria. Annual of the British School at Athens 75: 221–224. Tufnell, O. 1953. Lachish III: The Iron Age. London. Tzaferis, V. 1992. The “God Who Is in Dan” and the Cult of Pan at Banias in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods. Eretz-Israel 23: 128*–135*. Ussishkin, D. 2004. The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 22). Tel Aviv. Weinberg, J. 1997. Transmitter and Recipient in the Process of Acculturation: The Experience of the Judean CitizenTemple-Community. Transeuphratène 13: 91–105. Wilson, J. and Tzaferis, V. 1998. Banias Dig Reveals King’s Palace. Biblical Archaeology Review 24(1): 54–61, 85.

11 Sanctuaries, Priest-Dynasts and the Seleukid Empire Boris Chrubasik

“Die ersteren stützten sich auf die weltliche Macht der Seleukiden, mit den Makkabäern aber stritt Gott” (Bickerman 1937: 138)

Of “First Friends” and “Brothers of Kings” In the first half of the 1st century BCE,1 in the northern uplands of the Kalykadnos Valley in Rough Kilikia, a local priest received a statue and an honorific decree (OlD 100): [Ὀ] ִλβέων ὁ δῆμος καὶ [Κα]ννᾶται ἀρχιερέα [μ] ִέγαν Ζη νᾶν ִ Ζηνοφά[ν]ου τοῦ Ζηνοφάνου τὸν ἀδελφὸν τῶν βα[σ]ιλέων, ἀρετῆς ἕνε[κ]εν καὶ εὐνοίας ἧς ἔχω[ν] [εἰ]ςִ αὐτοὺς διε ִτ[έ] ִλ[ει].2 The people of Olba and the Kannatai (honor) the great high priest Zenas, son of Zenophanes, son of

Zenophanes, the Brother of the Kings, for his virtue and his continuing goodwill towards them.

This civic decree, found near the sanctuary of Zeus Olbios, did not merely emphasize Zenas’ goodwill towards the community of the Olbeans and the Kannatai, but mentioned his titles of “great high priest” and “Brother of the Kings” as well. The kings in question are most likely the late Seleukid rulers, Philip I (reigned 95–75 BCE) and Philip II (reigned 67–62 BCE), and the title “Brother of the Kings” was a royal title in the Seleukid court.3 Either for the community, for the priest, or indeed for both, the title of “Brother of the Kings” had a semantic value that was worth emphasizing and merited its inclusion in the inscription. It is this local reference to a relationship with the king—and thus, with the central state—that has inspired this present chapter. By drawing on two local case studies from Rough Kilikia and Judea, this study focuses on priest-dynasties and argues that for these local agents a

I am indebted to Andreas Bendlin, Elizabeth Ferguson, Sylvie Honigman and John Ma for their valuable comments on earlier versions of this paper, even if they do not always agree. Any mistakes and shortcomings are entirely my own.

162  boris chrubasik

connection to the central state was valuable, on some level, for the public image of their position. It is the purpose of this chapter to place the priest-dynasts within the framework of the Seleukid state and to argue that their relationship with the Seleukid center was an integral element of Seleukid control. By comparing these case studies with further examples of priestly estates and other dynasts within the Seleukid territories, this study not only argues that priest-dynasts and their relationship with the Seleukid center was a phenomenon of the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE, but shows how such case studies can be used to analyze the role of local agents in the Seleukid empire as a whole from its early existence. Thus, it will demonstrate how these agents may contribute to a reexamination of the relationship between the central and local levels and how this advances our understanding of the Seleukid empire. Let us return to Zenas, the great high priest, “Brother of Kings” and honoree of the above inscription, and to his priestly family in particular. Although the reference to a papponymic in the inscription does not necessarily bear special significance, it is nonetheless possible that it was meant to emphasize the priest’s family—the ruling priest-dynasty of the region.4 In his survey of Rough Kilikia, Strabo (14.5.10) describes the priests of the temple of Zeus as dynasts of the region, and while his account is highly conflated, the epigraphy of Olba indicates that this priestly family, with their distinctly theophoric names of Zeus or the Luwian god Tarhunt, controlled the sanctuary of Zeus at Olba from at least the late 3rd century until the time of Tiberius.5 In addition to their sanctuary, they controlled the neighboring region, reaching considerably northwards up the Kalykadnos Valley. Another inscription from the late 2nd or early 1st century details the repair of roofs by the “great high priest” Teukros, son of Zenophanes, which had previously been given by King Seleukos Nikator (OlD 36). Although this inscription purports to indicate a royal benefaction to the sanctuary in the first decades of the 3rd century, a recent ceramic survey in the sanctuary revealed no Hellenistic materials prior to the mid-2nd century; consequently, it is uncertain whether this reference to King Seleukos Nikator should be seen as a reliable indication of the age of the sanctuary (Kramer 2012: 67–68).

The commemoration of the sanctuary’s long-standing relationship with Hellenistic kings in this particular inscription, however, is perhaps indicative of the priestdynasts’ role in late 2nd-century Kilikia—a role further elaborated on by the Hellenistic author Diodorus Siculus. Diodorus writes about a Kilikian from the mid-2nd century called Zenophanes, who was “at odds” (ἀλλοτρίως διέκειτο) with the Seleukid king Demetrios I due to a previous disagreement, and “friendly disposed” (φιλανθρώπως) towards Eumenes I of Pergamon—who had previously helped the dynast—and for this reason he assisted Eumenes’ successor Attalos II in dispatching a new usurper to the Seleukid empire (Diodorus Siculus 31.32A). Diodorus’ description offers us a glimpse into the possibilities of dynasts as independent agents: a local Kilikian dynast, in all likelihood to be identified as one of the priest-dynasts of Zeus Olbios, has a political voice. He was “at odds” with the king who ruled over his territory, and in the late 2nd century he was in contact with kings remote from his own dynasteia, assisting them in their enterprises. It is possible that the Zenas mentioned in the inscription above was made a “Brother of Kings” under similar circumstances. The history of the Teukrid priests offers both a spotlight on a local sanctuary and an example of priestly dynasts who controlled a certain geographically peripheral yet geopolitically important region and its population for a significant period of time; as dynasts, they were their own political agents with their own political voice, yet also an administrative part of the empire. At the same time, they made reference to past Seleukid benefactions, perhaps also to emphasize that they could now perform these benefactions themselves (OlD 36), and at least in the 1st century they are described with the honorific court title of “Brother of Kings.” Thus, they were not only dynasts within an empire, but were interested in displaying their relationship with the central state. However, the precise background to their position as lords over their sanctuary and the nature of their ongoing relationship with the central state elude us.6 There are, nevertheless, other 2nd-century examples of priests who displayed a relationship with the Seleukid state, and the best—if oft misunderstood—example is that of the temple elite of Jerusalem.

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  163

In 150 BCE, when the Seleukid pretender Alexander Balas finally overthrew his rival Demetrios I and the latter died in battle, one of the first diplomatic successes of the new king in the Levant was a sumptuous wedding in Akko-Ptolemaïs, where he not only received his bride, a princess of the Ptolemaic royal family, but also forged an alliance with the bride’s father, Ptolemy VI (1 Macc 10:56–66).7 Our main source of the event, 1 Maccabees, also narrates that aside from the royal wedding, Alexander summoned Jonathan—who was by then the Maccabean leader and the recently appointed high priest of Jerusalem—to Ptolemaïs. According to this narrative, Alexander gave Jonathan a purple robe, seated him at his side, “inscribed him among his First Friends” (ἔγραψεν αὐτὸν τῶν πρώτων φίλων), and made him stratēgos and meridarchos (1 Macc 10:63,65). During this early relationship between Alexander Balas and Jonathan, the Maccabees had taken Jerusalem and parts of Judea under their control, but they were not without opposition. The episode at the wedding at Akko-Ptolemaïs is not the first mention of a close relationship between Alexander Balas and the Maccabean group. A few years prior to the events described, both Alexander Balas and his rival Demetrios I had tried to obtain the support of the Maccabean rebels in order to gain the upper hand in their competition for control over the Seleukid empire.8 For the author of 1 Maccabees, these encounters were important. The narrative frames the letter of Demetrios I as the first communication between the Seleukid king and the Maccabean leaders, acknowledging the position of the Maccabean rebels as a political entity and describing Jonathan as “his ally” (σύμμαχος); this letter was supposedly used by Jonathan to gain more influence in Jerusalem (1 Macc 10:2–10). Immediately after this passage, 1 Maccabees continues with a letter from Alexander Balas to the Maccabean leader, in which Alexander appointed Jonathan as high priest and named him a royal philos (1 Macc 10:18–20). Regardless of how one wishes to interpret the intersacerdotium—the approximately seven-year vacancy of the high priesthood from the death of Alkimos—the narrative suggests that Jonathan donned the holy garments of the high priesthood only after having been appointed by a Seleukid king (regardless of how many warring Seleukid kings there were in the land; 1 Macc 10:18–21).9 1 Maccabees stresses

that in these two instances Jonathan used written Seleukid authority to achieve his aims. It is not the purpose of this article to retell the stories of 1 Maccabees—instead, the way 1 Maccabees constructs Hasmonean legitimacy to both the high priesthood and the leadership of the people in Judea is highly instructive of the Maccabees’ position in this early period.10 J. Ma’s structuralist reading of these letters in 1 and 2 Maccabees is one of the few sophisticated historical analyses of these passages, demonstrating how the letters in 1 Maccabees display the weakness of the Seleukid state in the mid-2nd century. Despite the formal tone of the royal letters, Alexander Balas, like other Seleukid kings and usurpers, had nothing to offer, since when Alexander wrote his letter granting concessions, he was not yet king. Instead, the pretender created a discourse of royal language that acknowledged the position of the Maccabees and hence his own position as king (Ma 2000: 101–103).11 While Ma’s interest in these letters is focused on the position of the Seleukid kings, their discourses and these discourses’ relationship to historical reality, the weakness of the Seleukid kings and usurpers does not necessarily equate with Maccabean strength. True, the power of the Maccabees was formidable: they controlled fortresses, occupied Jerusalem and, as demonstrated by the letters from Demetrios I and Alexander Balas, gained the full attention of the Seleukid kings. Yet while it is natural that the narrative of 1 Maccabees strongly emphasizes Maccabean success, the work also demonstrates the limitations of Maccabean power. Despite the narrative’s emphasis on Maccabean power, it stresses that it was only after Jonathan had been appointed by the king that he took the high priesthood and traveled to Ptolemaïs to receive and display his Seleukid honors. It would have been possible to edit out these references to the Seleukid royal house had the author of 1 Maccabees (or the court narrative on which this work was based) wished to portray the Maccabean ascent as un-Seleukid. Instead, he uses the wedding at Ptolemaïs to demonstrate Jonathan’s superiority over his adversaries: Jonathan was honored by the king, while those “lawless men” (ἄνδρες παράνομοι), who also came from “Israel” to Alexander Balas to denounce the Maccabean leader, were ignored (1 Macc 10:61). Therefore, the very mention of royal

164  boris chrubasik

grants in this narrative on the legitimacy of the Maccabean house must be seen as deliberate and is indicative that they had a semantic value. The narrative of 1 Maccabees should be placed in its ancient Near Eastern context, in which sanction by kings as well as the close relationship between kings and sanctuaries were fundamental. Even so, the mention of Seleukid grants was a conscious choice and arguably added to— or at least did not detract from—the legitimacy of the Maccabean leader. 12 The Seleukid state, in the personification of the king, was useful in this part of the narrative. Furthermore, if these royal grants have at least some basis in historical reality—and to my mind, it is very likely that they do—we must ask why Jonathan traveled to Ptolemaïs and waited to be acknowledged as high priest if the Maccabees were so powerful. The answer to the question why the Seleukid kings are part of the Maccabean narrative, and also potentially part of the Maccabean political display in this period, can be found in the Judean opposition to the Maccabees. Alongside the “pestilent men” (ἄνδρες λοιμοί) who were present at the wedding in Ptolemaïs (1 Macc 10:61), the group of the “teacher of righteousness” and their selfexile from Jerusalem can potentially be placed in this period.13 Although perhaps not surprising, it is nevertheless worth stating that the Maccabees were not as powerful as suggested by the narratives of 1 and 2 Maccabees, and this internal instability explains why we continue to see evidence of a Seleukid-Maccabean relationship even after the proclaimed independence of the people of Judea by Jonathan’s successor Simon ca. 140 (see also Chrubasik 2016: 178–184). While this internal instability does not mean that the Maccabees required continuous Seleukid support, it suggests that their position could have been significantly destabilized had the Seleukid kings supported other groups in Jerusalem. Maccabean leadership was openly challenged not only by Simon’s assassination around 134, but also by the suggested public support of his murderers and by the presence of local power bases alongside the Maccabees.14 The precarious position of the Maccabees within Jerusalem and their efforts to monopolize the relationship with the Seleukid king may also account for the good relations between John Hyrkanos and Antiochos VII. The Seleukid kings’ continued presence in Judean politics—and perhaps not

only on the side of the Maccabees and their supporters— can be seen further when—perhaps in 88—one group in Jerusalem called upon the Seleukid prince Demetrios III for support.15 From Demetrios I and Alexander Balas onward the Seleukid kings accepted the central position of the Maccabees, as well as the semi-independent status of the people of Judea, but it was only with this acknowledgement and their local usage of the image of a powerful Seleukid king that the Maccabees were able to hold their opponents in Jerusalem at bay. In light of these considerations, the Maccabean position appears to be more powerful and extensive, albeit not systemically different from that of the high priests before them, who were caught between the central Seleukid control and internal rivalries.16 It is, of course, doubtful whether the Seleukid center still received regular taxes from Judea after the Maccabees had gained control. Yet even the late alliance between John Hyrkanos and Antiochos VII and their joint campaign into Parthian Babylonia demonstrate that the people of Judea could be called upon to supply manpower if needed.17 This observation should not necessarily lead to a suggestion that the Seleukid state was stronger than in the previous periods, and in fact, perhaps we should do away with these binary oppositions altogether: both groups were “weak” and “strong” at the same time and dependent upon one another: the precariousness of the Maccabean position may explain their continued interest in monopolizing the relationship (or ritualized non-relationship) with the Seleukid center.

The King and Local Agents: From Central to Local Interests Before venturing into the relationship between the Seleukid king and his local agents, it is worth briefly sketching the central structure in which these agents were placed. The Seleukid state was an empire headed by a king, and the role of the king in the functioning of Hellenistic kingdoms has been emphasized in scholarship. He was the best in all aspects of royal conduct.18 While the Seleukid king reigned alone, he had a circle of friends, who, as the high power-holders of the empire, oversaw the more local strata of government in his absence. From

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  165

at least the late 3rd century BCE onwards, the Seleukid kings preferred to emphasize the command structure of the empire publicly, and the administrative channels, from the central to the local levels, can be investigated today through a number of dossiers.19 The most recently discovered dossier is a series of letters inscribed on one stone, now in the Israel Museum, concerning a certain Olympiodoros and suggesting the reorganization of the supervisory positions of Koile Syria kai Phoinikia in the later reign of Seleukos IV in 178.20 The earliest text in the dossier is a letter from King Seleukos to his chancellor Heliodorus, detailing the appointment of Olympiodoros. This royal letter is followed by a letter from Heliodorus to a local governor, Dorymenos, who, in return, advises a certain local agent, Diophanes, to follow the details of the letter in a final brief that was inscribed at the top of the stele.21 This dossier and the other extant ones may serve as examples of the administrative apparatus of the Seleukid state, with many levels of royal officials. At the same time, the dossier illustrates the flexible functioning of empire. The Seleukid state had taken over the Ptolemaic provinces of Syria and Phoinikia, a conquest that was sealed with the Seleukid victory at Paneion in 198.22 However, as indicated by the Olympiodoros dossier, a central organizational shift within these provinces may have occurred only twenty years later.23 The reasons for this delay in the administrative changes of the Seleukid provinces can be traced in the position of a certain Ptolemaios, son of Thraseas, who, on the eve of the conquest by Antiochos III, managed to establish himself as a local agent as stratēgos and archiereus—either a position he had previously held under the Ptolemies or one that he now claimed for the first time.24 A general who was also a high priest is not attested elsewhere in the Seleukid empire, but this incorporation of elements from the Ptolemaic administration is not necessarily surprising; it demonstrates that in this aspect, as in others, the Seleukid state was dynamic, indicating that previous structures could be incorporated as long as local control and the tax extraction were maintained. Whereas we cannot, of course, rule out the possibility that certain regulations between the tenure of Ptolemaios, son of Thraseas, and the reorganization documented in the Olympiodoros dossier were issued, even though we

have no evidence of them, the example of the Seleukid Levant clearly shows both that individuals (such as Ptolemaios) who were not standard officials of the Seleukid hierarchy could be incorporated in it and that subsequent adaptations of prior arrangements could occur. This survey of the Seleukid administrative structures demonstrates that while the Seleukid state had a general system under which the empire was ruled, the system accommodated adaptability and versatility.25 The relationship between the Seleukid kings and the people of Judea fits precisely into this pattern. Soon after the takeover of the former Ptolemaic provinces, the Seleukid kings actively sought to establish a close relationship with the high priests of Judea; the tax exemptions from Antiochos III, the dedications by Seleukos IV and the friendship that Alexander Balas offered to Jonathan can be placed within this context (Honigman 2014: 303–310; but cf. Bickerman 1980). In this system, the high priest of Jerusalem remained in control of the area under his influence and served as an interlocutor between the central state and the local community. While Seleukid officials might have been sent to the sanctuary as administrators, the role of the high priest was not curtailed.26 The actions of Jason, brother of the Jewish high priest Onias III, whereby (according to 2 Maccabees) he asked the Seleukid king Antiochos IV for the high priesthood and the establishment of a polis, constitute evidence of the tensions inherent in the position of the high priesthood (2 Macc 4:7–12): on the one hand, Jason and those around him attempted to maintain support within Jerusalem, in particular among those local groups that were interested in some elements of the polis. On the other hand, Jason’s offer to increase the annual taxation on the sanctuary demonstrates the high priest’s interest in a strong relationship between the high priesthood and the central state.27 In this regard, the priest-dynasts of Jerusalem and those of Rough Kilikia are similar to other local agents in the Seleukid empire: the polis served as a prime local node for regional administration and tax collection below the Seleukid officials, particularly in many parts of western Asia Minor.28 Alongside the poleis there were local dynasts, such as the Attalids of Pergamon, who were an integral part of the administration of the Seleukid state, and it is worth bearing these dynasts in mind when

166  boris chrubasik

considering the priest-dynasts discussed above. Like the frataraka in the Persis and the Diodotids in Bactria, the Attalids could mint their own coinage, found their own cities, act as local benefactors, and at times forget their allegiance to the Seleukid king, but by and large they fulfilled local functions and were still part of the Seleukid empire.29 While, of course, the high priests of Jerusalem and the Teukrid priests of Rough Kilikia had far less political weight than their dynastic counterparts in western Asia Minor and the Persis, their overall role must not have been necessarily different. Our knowledge of the elite of Jerusalem and the inner-community disputes exceeds our information on most other communities in the eastern Mediterranean, but the eventual break of Maccabean Jerusalem with the Seleukid kings should not suggest that this outcome was inevitable. One could argue that the only difference between the high priests of Jerusalem and the many other agents within the eastern Mediterranean was that the Maccabees were the only local dynasts (apart from the Attalids) about whom we have an internal narrative. The authority of the priest-dynasts and the acceptance of this authority both by their peers and their own communities were based on the priests’ relationship with a divinity that had a long-established religious identity. The Attalids’ position had been based on the control over the stronghold of Pergamon, their surrender to the approaching Seleukos I (Pausanias 1.10.4), and, according to one story, their possession of a substantial treasure enabled Philetairos and his successors to act as local agents in their own right (Strabo 13.4.1). It is ultimately difficult to establish whether these are indeed the reasons, or at least some of the reasons, why Philetairos continued to hold his position or whether some of these explanations—such as the proverbial treasure of the Attalids—were based upon an Attalid myth on their origins and rise to kingship. Similarly, with regard to most other dynasts of the Seleukid empire, we do not know whether they already held their positions in the wake of Seleukid control or obtained them later. While the origin of dynasts is, of course, an important aspect for their individual histories, when it comes to explaining the phenomenon of local dynasts this issue seems to me to be of secondary importance.30 In

contrast, the Seleukid state’s dynamic nature and its ability to reimagine its relationship with a local region after the emergence of a dynast seems structurally more valuable. Emerging dynasts were often left in their positions, and those dynasts that had already been in place at the time of the Seleukid conquest were not necessarily treated in a different manner. Thus, if we return briefly to the Attalids, the basic narrative of their position may be used to explain the position of dynasts more generally: the Attalids controlled a certain fortress and some territory in the early days of Seleukid control. It was the local control exercised by dynasts, such as the Attalids, that was deemed attractive to the Seleukid state and its administration, and they were therefore confirmed in their position. The existence of local agents such as these dynasts allowed the Seleukid kings to entertain a smaller administrative apparatus, and in a highly heterogeneous empire, local agents could not only act quicker, but often knew better what was required on the local level.31 Thus, the priest-dynasts of Olba were honored as euergetai by the communities around their sanctuaries (OlD 86 and 100), just as Philetairos had been approached by the community of Cyme to supply weapons and was honored in return (SEG 50.1195). Certainly in the case of Judea, but also presumably in early Hellenistic Kilikia, the priests could—in an ideal case—bridge a potential linguistic and cultural gap between the central state and a region of marked cultural difference.32 So far I have developed my argument from the perspective of the central state—an empire that endowed, supported and at times dispossessed local power—and this model works smoothly, in particular for the central state.33 An additional crucial question for the Seleukid state, however, was how to retain a relationship with the local dynasts. While the priest-dynasts of Rough Kilikia and the high priests of Jerusalem fall into this model of local dynasts, their local stories significantly enhance our understanding of the relationship between local and central power and offer an interesting perspective on this phenomenon: their stories demonstrate a local interest in displaying a relationship with the central state, and thus they attest to a second layer within the model of local control in the Seleukid empire.

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  167

Tensions, Pressures and the Seleukid State Local agents—whether priests, dynasts or priestdynasts—could be under pressure from within their own communities. It was E.J. Bickerman’s great achievement to identify domestic problems as the main reason for the Maccabean revolt: in his Der Gott der Makkabäer he portrayed a community in which the elite was fighting for power within the state, drawing upon different support, as evoked in the epigraph to this article (Bickerman 1937: 136–138).34 But even if both 1 and 2 Maccabees describe the high priests between Onias III and Jonathan as impious and constantly changing, the history of the Maccabean high priests reads very similar, as I have demonstrated above: the Maccabees were not unchallenged. Perhaps more than any other ancient source, the first two books of Maccabees offer an insight into a local community and into the tensions and pressures that were at play both in gaining the central position within that community and in monopolizing the relationship with the Seleukid state. Yet if we take the troubles of mid-2nd-century Jerusalem as a guide, it seems that power relationships in other regions of the Seleukid empire followed a comparable pattern. A dossier of inscriptions displayed in the Karian sanctuary of Labraunda on the southern spur of Mount Latmos depicts a protracted conflict between the sanctuary and the nearby polis of Mylasa in its fertile plain.35 The macropolitics of mid-3rd-century Asia Minor, the collapse of Seleukid control, the expansion of Ptolemaic possessions on the coast, the rise of the Attalids, and the rise and fall of Antiochos Hierax might have influenced the duration of the dispute.36 The conflict ultimately revolved around the question of whether the sanctuary of Labraunda was ruled by a family of priests and was therefore independent, or whether it was part of the polis of Mylasa.37 This question was important regarding the sacred land of the sanctuary and its income, and this is what is emphasized in both the language of the priests and that of the city.38 The question was also crucial, however, for the position of the sanctuary’s priest: was Korris, the priest, his own agent who could write to kings and administer his sanctuary and its land “out of ancestral rights” (διὰ προγόνων; I.Labraunda

1:3), or was he a member of the polis who had overstepped his role and who, according to the language of the city, even outright misinformed the king (I.Labraunda 3:18– 19)? While the Seleukid king had initially favored the priest (I.Labraunda 1), the local dynast Olympichos later supported the polis (I.Labraunda 3–5) and Mylasa eventually gained control over the sanctuary. Since the language of the dossiers follows the main events of the conflict between city and sanctuary, resulting in the incorporation of Labraunda, we nonetheless must be wary of accepting the polis’ narrative of events at face value just because it was successful.39 The family of Korris continued to be active as part of the elite of Mylasa. The priests’ prominent position may in fact be visible when Strabo describes the 1st-century priests of Labraunda as “the most distinguished citizens” (οἱ ἐπιφανέστατοι τῶν πολιτῶν) who held their offices for life (Strabo 14.2.23).40 It is probably impossible to determine the underlying dynamics—that is, whether 3rd-century Mylasa exploited a lack of central power to its advantage in order to gain royal support to incorporate an originally independent sanctuary (a move initially successfully opposed by the priests) or whether the priests had used the same political scenario to reimagine their sanctuary’s position before Labraunda was reincorporated by the city with the support of a local agent (although I favor the former scenario). The ceramic finds at Labraunda suggest increased activity from the earlier part of the 6th century onward, and likewise the Karian community of Mylasa is certainly far older than its earliest mention in Herodotus.41 It is, however, only with the Hecatomnid building program in Labraunda (which included the expansion of the sacred way) and the use of Greek public inscriptions in Hecatomnid Mylasa (e.g., I.Mylasa 1–3) that we obtain information about both places, without knowing much about their relationship.42 Yet based on their geographical connection, the implied relationship, as indicated in Herodotus (1.171), and more particularly the continued presence of the priests’ family among the Mylasan elite (Debord 2011: 143–145; also, e.g., I.Mylasa 102), we may speculate about the social position of the priests and it is not too hypothetical to locate Korris’ social environment within the social elite of Mylasa. The petitions to kings and local power-holders were narrating a relationship between kings, cities and sanctuaries,

168  boris chrubasik

emphasizing the existence of different political entities (and the city questioned, in this instance, the sanctuary’s nature as an entity). In reality, however, both the members of the city and the priests in all likelihood came from the same social group and as such were competing for social influence within their communities, drawing upon outside kings and dynasts to support their claims.43 While the conflict therefore included the content of the petitions, it also concerned the internal relationship within the elite of Mylasa.44 Of course, this dispute is merely one instance in a region where different agents tried to gain the support of the central state or its organs. However, the case of Labraunda and Mylasa is not the only example of a region having multiple competing agents. The sanctuary of the Phrygian god Mēn Askaënos was long seen as part of the nearby Hellenistic foundation of Antiocheia near Pisidia (Mitchell 1998: 7).45 Yet at least in the Hellenistic period, this does not seem to be the case. The Phrygian Nikanor dossier, dating from 209 and detailing Antiochos III’s appointment of the high priest Nikanor to the shrines in Asia Minor, stipulates that copies of the dossier should be displayed in local sanctuaries, one of which was the sanctuary of Mēn Askaënos (SEG 54.1353).46 It is defined as one of the sanctuaries in the region around the plain of Cillanium (ll. 12–14), clearly describing the plain south of the ridge of the Sultan Dağ. If the sanctuary had belonged to the city at this time, it would have been described differently in the language of the inscription and therefore we should presumably also see this sanctuary (and potentially the others too) as its own agent. The geography of the region is revealing: being located on the crossroads of the southern route to the Taurus mountains and the plain of Afyon and in relative proximity to the 3rd-century Galatian settlements in the north, the region was geopolitically very important.47 It is hardly surprising that the Seleukid kings established royal city foundations—Antiocheia and Seleukeia—south of the Sultan Dağ.48 Likewise, the support north of the ridge of a local dynast, who seems to have founded the cities of Philomelion (perhaps on the site of the former Thymbreion) and Lysias should be seen in this light: a local agent who could ensure local security.49 Although divided by the Sultan Dağ, Phrygia Paroeia north and south of the ridge was often perceived in antiquity as a single

region with two fertile plains with the notable cities of Antiocheia and Philomelium (cf. Strabo 12.8.14), and it has been stressed that the agricultural fertility both north and south was caused by the ridge (Mitchell 1998: 1). It was clearly a single administrative zone, according to Antiochos III’s directives in the dossier mentioned above, and although the Roman authorities later incorporated Philomelium first in the province of Kilikia and subsequently in that of Galatia, while Antiocheia was part of the province of Pisidia, this late division should not concern us.50 Antiocheia and Philomelium were connected by a road, and the (admittedly quite late) 3rd-century CE association of the tekmoreioi xenoi ventured beyond their sanctuary south of the Sultan Dağ into the northern plain.51 It is therefore relatively safe to interpret the Paroeia north and south of the ridge as a single region in both strategic and economic terms. In this area the Seleukid kings favored local agents. However, the Paroeia in particular may reveal more than that: with the presence of two royal foundations, a dynastic foundation (Philomelium), and a dynast who held estates, as well as at least one sanctuary that seems to have functioned as an independent agent, there were quite a large number of local actors. Their presence could potentially lead to local tensions, and one might venture to suggest that this entangled scenario was part of a plan: that in fact the Seleukid rulers favored not only local agents, but also multiple actors within a small space. The sanctuary of Zeus Olbios in Rough Kilikia is uninformative in this regard. We do not know whether the Teukrid priest-dynasts were challenged over their position by the central administration or by a rival family. Similarly, we have no evidence about the respective interests of the people of Olba and the Kannatai beyond the grants of honors to Teukros’ family; the history of the priest-dynasts of Zeus Olbios appears to be one of monolithic stability. Yet it is precisely in circumstances such as the episode of 2nd-century Jerusalem and in the conflict between the polis of Mylasa and the sanctuary of Labraunda that the positions of local agents could be challenged and required ratification or confirmation by the central state. And this is where we find the central state engaging with the local level. Seleukos II confirmed the rights of the priest Korris at Labraunda against an encroaching city (I.Labraunda 1), while the dynast Olympichos and Philip V later supported Mylasa against

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  169

a priest who lied (I.Labraunda 3–5). In these scenarios the relationship was created by the need for ratification. It was no longer based solely on the king’s interest in local agents, but also on the local agents’ interest in the central state, and in this way it became reciprocal. For Labraunda and Mylasa, the central power was needed to decide about the status of the sanctuary, and it was the royal act—or the act of the dynast Olympichos, who as a local power invoked the king’s name, although he may have had no contact with him—that declared whether Korris’ claims to ancestral rights were justified, implying that the city was taking away land, or whether the priest’s rights were allegations supported by forged letters.52 If we follow the narrative of 1 Maccabees, it was important for Jonathan to be made high priest by an external king and likewise a First Friend. Similarly, the evidence in the inscriptions from Labraunda illustrates the tensions at the local level and the actors’ attempts to gain control. Moreover, it shows that even when decisions had been made, they were not final: in a letter by Philip V, dated to perhaps 20 years after the initial letters, this king expelled the Chrysaoreis, a Hellenistic Karian koinon, from the sanctuary (I.Labraunda 5:15–18), surely indicating that even after the decision that the sanctuary belonged to Mylasa had been made, the priests had not given up, but instead had involved a different group to ascertain their claim to the sanctuary.53 In the case of Labraunda and Mylasa, as well as Jerusalem and Rough Kilikia, the interest of the local agents in local control may be explained both through the economic advancement of the sanctuary and the political competition within their region. Alongside local dynasts, such as the Attalids, the priest-dynasts in Labraunda and Rough Kilikia, as well as the high priests of Jerusalem, used their respective positions to be the biggest local actors and the strongest of an elite group. But while their status vis-à-vis local competitors was the most important aspect from the standpoint of the local actors, for the central state it was the link between the center and the local agent that was of crucial importance. And although the priests of Labraunda, as well as the numerous agents in the Paroeia, do not necessarily fall into the same category as my examples from Rough Kilikia and Judea, the multiple agents in the latter two regions may help us to elucidate how the Seleukid state

could maintain control over their local agents. While the Seleukid kings favored local independence, only a link between central state and local agent could ensure that the local actors would not grow too strong, and thus would remain interested in fulfilling their role within the central framework, not only guaranteeing local stability and control, but also delivering local revenue.54 As noted above, we have no evidence about the social environment of the priest-dynasts of Rough Kilikia, and the Hasmonean narratives of 1 and 2 Maccabees naturally do not devote much space to the Judean elites who opposed the ascent of the Maccabean family. However, as argued above, opposition is nonetheless palatable in 1 and 2 Maccabees and may be further pinpointed in the reconstruction of the period. Moreover, one of the important results of S. Honigman’s recent analysis of 2 Maccabees is perhaps her acknowledgement of the prolific role that the high priest Menelaos must have played in Judean politics before his death in the initial stages of the Maccabean revolt (Honigman 2014: 76, 217–220; see also Ma 2013b). The displayed relationship between the Seleukid kings and the Maccabean leaders, Jonathan and John Hyrkanos, is explicit in the Maccabean narratives and must be placed in the context of local opposition within Jerusalem. Reciprocity between local agents and the central state requires an interest on both sides—of the state in local actors and of local actors in a relationship with the kings. Consequently, the possibility of tensions at the local level is an integral part of this model. The interest of the local agents in the central state could be maintained in two ways—these are, of course, only ideal types. First, a priest-dynasty could be replaced with a competing family, and the example of Jerusalem with its internal rivalries—such as the Maccabean revolt and the murder of the high priest Simon after the Maccabees had monopolized the central position of Jerusalem—illustrates the potential for change in the high priesthood. Second, even if the position of the priestdynasties was not challenged, other pressures could arise, or be created, or at least consciously maintained without being resolved. One example is the tension between the priests of Labraunda and the city of Mylasa, both local agents and both vying for control over the local area. Their conflict was framed in the language that one of the sides involved was acting against the traditional rules of

170  boris chrubasik

the communities, but it is hard to establish whether this was indeed the case. My last example in the region of Paroeia, with the temple of Mēn Askaënos and a Hellenistic city nearby, and a local dynast and another community on the other side of the Sultan Dağ, documents the presence of at least three local agents, all, in one way or another, supported by the Seleukid state. They all tried to control their possessions and regions of interest and could keep one another in balance. In many cases, the mere potential of local competition must have been enough to create an incentive for the local rulers to seek a relationship with the central state, and in ideal circumstances, tensions did not need to escalate. The kings honored the local agents with royal titles, making them “Friends,” “First Friends,” or even “Brothers,” and they inserted them into the state hierarchy. In short, local independence, local competition and local ambition were an integral part of empire.

Complicating Models: Towards a Complex History of the Seleukid Empire Thus far I have argued that control in the Seleukid kingdom consisted of multiple small layers of local actors, and that sanctuaries and dynasts played a large role in this structure. I have made diachronic arguments and compared local phenomena in the 3rd and 2nd centuries respectively. Of course, the Seleukid state was not static, but dynamic, and I have to acknowledge that the Seleukid empire of ca. 160 was also structurally quite different from that of, say, ca. 260. The poliadization of Jerusalem and Babylon was presumably triggered by changes in the empire’s administration, and while—so far—I would still read them as very local initiatives, they can serve as a litmus test that some elements of the empire had clearly changed (e.g., Clancier and Monerie 2014; note also Honigman 2014: 356–359). That said, it should be clear from the discussion above that despite these changes in the Seleukid state, 2nd-century dynasts were quite similar to their 3rd-century counterparts. The fact that local agents styled themselves increasingly as “kings” and “great high priests” was not a sign of either the inflation of Seleukid titles or the weakness of the central state. Instead, it was a structurally deliberate

decision to favor the independence of local actors for the fulfilment of local needs. Although they were much smaller in scale than many of the dynasts of the 3rd century, the priest-dynasts of Kilikia and the high priests of Jerusalem were not a distinctive feature of the late Seleukid empire, and I would argue that the difference was really only one of size. Structurally, they were similar to the Attalids of Pergamon or the frataraka of the Persis, that is, local dynasts who administered their region locally: they were agents on the spot.55 The Seleukid state endowed or confirmed local agents with a certain amount of control, and the sanctuaries of Anatolia and the Levant, with their long-established traditions, possessed an already existing administrative framework into which the central state could easily tap. Nevertheless, my discussion also reveals the limitations of models regarding the Seleukid administrative state. The example of Jerusalem demonstrates that the tensions at the local level actually helped the Seleukid state to hold control of the empire. The examples of the smaller sanctuaries from Asia Minor do not provide us with the same wealth of evidence regarding the relationship between local agents and central power, but, as argued above, the geostrategic location of independent sanctuaries in the direct vicinity of cities with dynasts close by may indicate that in many of these local stories, local competition was an integral part of daily life and a systemic part of central control. When rivalries were absent, local players saw no interest in remaining part of the central structure, and they actively tried to slip away—asserting their independence, even if only for a short period of time, and neglecting their payment of taxes. Thus, the priest-dynasts of Kilikia and the high priests of Judea ultimately disclose a multi-layered model of power within the Seleukid state: local agents powerful enough to fulfil local functions and the possibility of tensions at the local level. While there is no explicit evidence that the Seleukid state deliberately fostered local tensions, the evidence from 3rd-century Asia Minor strongly suggests that the Seleukid kings did not actively prevent these scenarios. Based on this observation, it appears that the benefits of local tensions might have been too advantageous to have been merely accidental. In my view the interplay in this model between the two layers—strong local agents and local agents weakened

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  171

by local tensions—adequately captures what happened on the ground. The kings’ interest in local strength and weakness, however, is also slightly self-contradictory, creating perhaps another local example of Hellenistic paradoxa (Ma 2008). In addition to the paradox of local power that was at once supported and weakened by the kings who encouraged competitors, it should further be acknowledged that local competition was more complex than so far described. If priests and dynasts were often placed by kings in a context of local competition—either with elites vying for the same position or with elites attempting to gain authority over a certain geopolitical area by different means—it is crucial to bear in mind that these elite groups did not necessarily speak in a unified voice. The evidence from Labraunda and Jerusalem clearly shows that normative discourses of right and wrong or of lawful and unlawful are not helpful to interpret the events and that categories of diplomatic language cannot describe these local phenomena. What we see are social competitors who—in the case of Labraunda—frame their political opposition in a normative discourse. In the case of 2nd-century Judea, the author of 2 Maccabees framed his narrative within the parameters of righteous and wicked, a discourse between Ioudaismos and Hellenismos (Honigman 2014: 52–54 and 65–288). But while the author of 2 Maccabees created this world and the local actors at Mylasa and Labraunda spoke about normative rules, these discourses do not necessarily reflect historical reality. In fact, it is very likely that they had nothing, or at least very little, to do with it.56 The social actors in the worlds of Labraunda and Jerusalem attempted to overcome their adversaries and to establish themselves at the heads of their communities. Surely these social actors had different political opinions, and it is highly plausible that only some of these opinions were preserved in the surviving evidence: the Maccabees used their military achievements, their sense of tradition and opposition to the Seleukid state to gain support within Judea. Yet at the same time, they acted within a framework of Seleukid control and— at the very least in their own historiography—also emphasized Seleukid imperial titles to their advantage. Therefore, while their language of local politics— praising Ioudaismos and vilifying Hellenismos—may

have been in opposition to that of the high priests who ruled between Onias III and Jonathan and who had transformed Jerusalem into a polis, their actual political practice did not necessarily follow the lines and actions implied by these discourses of power. The crucial element for the Judean high priest Jonathan, the priest-dynast Zenas, and Korris the priest of Labraunda was the advancement of their social position and of social and political stability within the local context. They acted within the imperial framework, but the empire was secondary, and perhaps this, too, may explain why changes in policies were often located at the local level and were not necessarily related to imperial events. Even though the multi-layered model proposed in this paper helps us to approach the political and social structures of the Seleukid empire, its limitations and the possibilities of local tensions are clear.

Conclusion I have discussed in detail two examples of local agents in the 2nd century and have set these priest-dynasts within the broader context of dynasts and priestly estates in the 3rd and 2nd centuries within the Seleukid kingdom. The priest-dynasts of Rough Kilikia and the high priests of Jerusalem not only fulfilled local functions for the Seleukid state, but they also viewed their relationship with the Seleukid center as a crucial element for the stability of their local positions. These local examples may serve to illustrate a revised model of empire, combining the two conflicting layers of local agents who are hubs of local strength yet weakened by the imperial center, and this model more adequately captures the structure and nature of the Seleukid state. Alongside the Seleukid administrative grid, the coherence of the Seleukid empire was ensured through the complex relationship between local elites, their communities and the central state. Local power, local coinage and local independence were not signs whereby to measure the weakness of the Seleukid kingdom; rather, the larger and smaller dynasts and their local dynasteia were an integral part of it. In fact, the secession of local dynasts is a normal aspect of any empire, and it was in the interest

172  boris chrubasik

of the Seleukid kings for local rulers also to be interested in a close relationship with the center. It was only through revolt and military achievements that the Maccabees could gain the attention of the Seleukid kings and be acknowledged as the leaders of the people of Judea. Yet the importance of the high priesthood for the Maccabees was undeniable, and their position was challenged locally. The construction in 2 Maccabees of Judas as the “true” high priest in opposition to the anti-priest Menelaos is a clear example of the importance of the high priesthood in the Hasmonean construction of their own legitimacy (Honigman 2014: 217–219, 134–135). At the same time, according to the narrative of 1 Maccabees, Jonathan obtained the high priesthood for his family and overcame his internal adversaries by using his relationship with the Seleukid state. He was also depicted as a royal friend incorporated in the Seleukid hierarchy. While the Maccabees created their kingship in opposition to the Seleukid state, this creation was only possible because the Seleukid kings did not favor any other Judean group. It is revealing that this special model of local control was in all likelihood finally abandoned only under Vespasian in the 70s CE. For the administration of the Roman provinces, the Greek city alone was employed as a guarantor of structure and control. It was in this period that the political successors of the priest-dynasts

of Rough Kilikia—like the high priests in Jerusalem— lost their power and that a city, Diocaesarea, was founded in the vicinity of the sanctuary; the temple itself became a civic temple.57 A.H.M. Jones brings my argument to the point, and his statement is worth quoting in full: ...and in general cities were better subjects of the Roman people than dynasts. Dynasts intrigued and fought against one another, died leaving disputed successions or heirs who were minors, and in general required constant supervision; cities went on for ever and were generally content to maintain their privileges. (Jones 1971: 257)58

Regardless of what the current scholarly view on Roman administration and cities is,59 Jones summarizes ex negativo the argument of this paper: dynasts, priestdynasts and many local agents were advantageous for the Seleukid state precisely because the potential of local tensions enabled the Seleukid kings to retain local control. The history of the Teukrid priest-dynasts of Rough Kilikia is small and local; however, it exemplifies how through the close study of the literary and documentary evidence we can not only interpret these local agents in a more adequate way, but also how these small case-studies improve our methodological understanding of how to approach a social, political and cultural history of the complex and heterogeneous regions that made the Hellenistic world.

NOTES 1. All dates, unless otherwise indicated, are BCE. This paper is closely related to two other articles: on the relationship between central and local power, see Chrubasik 2013; on pre-Maccabean Jerusalem, see Chrubasik 2017. 2. Vérilhac and Dagron 1974 is the editio princeps, with commentary and photograph (text available in SEG 26.1451). The most recent collection for the inscriptions concerning Olba is OlD. The inscription cited here is a limestone statue base, broken at the left and right bottom corners. 3. Vérilhac and Dagron 1974: 237. See also the note in Savalli-Lestrade (1998: 89–90), who places the inscription most likely in the second quarter of the 1st century BCE. For a historical reconstruction, see Ehling 2008: 249–251. 4. The history of these dynasts has been discussed by Trampedach 1999; 2001; and Gotter 2001. 5. In fact, some inscriptions (e.g., OlD 1) may date from the late 3rd century. On the names, see Trampedach 1999: 93–95. On the Roman period, see Gotter 2001: 296–305.

6. On the foundation story of the sanctuary, see Trampedach 1999: 96–100. 7. On Alexander Balas and the 2nd-century Levant, see Chrubasik 2016: 129–135, 173–200. 8. For a reconstruction combining the narratives of 1 Maccabees and Josephus (although not devoid of speculation and not always convincing), with further references, see Ehling 2008: 145–164. 9. For a summary on the question of the intersacerdotium, on the absence of the high priest, and its meaning for worship in the temple, see VanderKam (2004: 244–250), who also discusses Stegemann’s original thesis that we should view the “teacher of righteousness” as the missing high priest (see, e.g., Stegemann 1971: 209–220; 1994: 205–206). The necessity of the high priest for Yom Kippur, in particular, is one of the underlying reasons for Stegemann’s insistence on a high priest during this period, which is ultimately not convincing. Burgmann (1980: 148–151) has demonstrated how the “Tempeldienst” could continue in times without a high priest. I am grateful to R.G. Kratz (Göttingen) for personal communication on this topic.

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  173 10. The narrative of 1 Maccabees has recently been excellently discussed in Honigman 2014. See also Williams 2001. 11. On the letters in 2 Maccabees, see, further, Ma 2012; 2013b; 2019. 12. On the embedded nature of kingship within the social environment of the author of 1 Maccabees, see now Honigman 2014: 68, 95–118. Honigman’s contention that the politics of Jonathan in 1 Maccabees could serve as a counter-image to the victorious Simon does not fully analyze the Jonathan passages, nor does it explain the usage of Seleukid sanctions; see Honigman 2014: 168–169. 13. E.g., Stegemann 1971: 208–220. Wise (2010, esp. 118), however, dates the Qumran community to the 1st century BCE. 14. This seems to be the most plausible reading of Josephus, AJ 13.229–235. 15. See Josephus, AJ 13.376–379 (also in BJ 1.92–95), with 4QpNah fr. 3–4 coll. 1.2–3. For recent literature on this episode, see Dąbrowa 2010. 16. For the pre-Maccabean high priests of Jerusalem, see now Honigman 2014: 345–377; and this volume; and Chrubasik 2017. 17. On the Parthian wars, see Fischer 1970; see also Chrubasik 2016: 178–184. 18. See, e.g., the important articles by Austin 1986; Gehrke 2013. See, further, Ma 2003; 2013a. 19. For these dossiers regarding the appointment of a certain Nikanor, see SEG 37.1010 (with SEG 54.1237) and SEG 54.1353. Read with Dignas 2002: 46–56; Ma 2002: 122–150; Capdetrey 2007: 277–306. 20. For the dossier, see SEG 57.1838. Editio princeps by Wörrle and Cotton 2007, with Gera 2009; Jones 2009. See also now Honigman 2014: 329–331. 21. A second copy of the dossier, also from Tel Maresha, has now been identified and is currently being prepared for publication. I am grateful to G. Finkielsztejn (Israel Antiquities Authority) for this information. 22. For this dating, see now Lorber, this volume. For the political ramifications, see Chrubasik 2019: 123–129. 23. Eckhardt (2016) persuasively downplays the magnitude of these shifts. 24. For the dossier, see now Heinrichs 2018 (formerly published as SEG 29.1613); to be read with Chrubasik 2019. On Ptolemaios, see also Gera 1987. 25. For Kosmin (2014: 122), this use of existing structures or local adaptations allows us to draw conclusions on the quality of imperial administration; I, however, am far less certain of this. 26. For a representative of the king in Jerusalem, similar to the paqdu in Babylon and Uruk, see Honigman 2014: 330–331. 27. Honigman (2014: 360–61) proposes that the king was the active agent, whereas Jason was constructed as the instigator to suit the narrative of 2 Maccabees. While this interpretation is compelling, Honigman nonetheless concedes that Jason must have been the one interested in the establishment of the polis. For a different reconstruction, see Chrubasik 2017. 28. For the taxability of poleis, see, for instance, Thonemann 2013: 17–18; Chrubasik 2017: 98. 29. Chrubasik 2013; 2016: 25–63. Cf. Engels 2017: 307–347 (a slight reworking of a previous article). However, his emphasis on Achaemenid continuity, especially through a lens of what he describes as “feudalism,” is not accepted here. For the frataraka, see the discussion in Müseler 2018 (offering details of the decisive debate in Klose and Müseler 2008, Curtis 2010 and Engels 2017: 247–306). Note the revised summary in Engels 2017. See, however, a different view by Plischke (2014: 310–311, with further literature).

30. On the issue of origins, see mainly the collected material in Billows 1995 and Kobes 1996. 31. Cf. Thonemann (2013: 15–17), whose distinction between Seleukid and Attalid use of “local strongmen” is too narrow. 32. On self-Hellenization, see Chrubasik 2017: 108. 33. This image is (not surprisingly) similar to the one portrayed in Hall 2012: 306–307. 34. Even if Bickerman’s analysis of these groups is no longer convincing, the internal strife remains: see, e.g., criticism in Bringmann 1980; Honigman 2014: 11–13. 35. On the description of Mylasa and its surroundings, see note in Strabo 14.2.23. The dossier is discussed in an exemplary way in Dignas 2002: 59–66, 95–106; see also 204–217. 36. For a brief narrative, see Ma 2002: 39–50; see, further, Chrubasik 2016: 58–59. 37. For a dispute between an indigenous priest and intruding polis, see the debate in Debord 2011, in which the author summarizes his previous arguments. See also Debord 1982. The initial independence of the sanctuary is also suggested by Hellström 2009. Cf. Crampa (1972: 194–195), for whom the sanctuary had always been part of the city. 38. For the priest’s language, see I.Labraunda 1:2–5. For the language of the city in the response of Olympichos, see I.Labraunda 3:9–14 and 4:7–9. 39. As, indeed, is done by Crampa 1972: 194–195. This issue has also been noted by Dignas 2002: 65–66. 40. On the priestly family of Labraunda, see Debord 2011: 136–137. See also the different reconstruction by Crampa (1972: 200–201). The example of Pollis, son of Hierokles, who held the priesthood of Zeus Labraundeus among other magistracies in the 1st century, suggests that the priesthood was already annual at this time (I.Mylasa 326). The annual priesthoods are explicitly attested in the 2nd century CE (I.Labraunda 59:A3). 41. While some sub-geometric and some Anatolian pieces seem to date to the 7th century, the larger part of Archaic pottery seems to firmly fit within the mid- to late 6th century; see Jully 1981: 33. See, however, the recent finds at the Open Air Sanctuary near the Split Rock northwest of the temple of Zeus, suggesting a presence at the site from the late Chalcolithic period or the Early Bronze Age (Karlsson et al. 2014: 31–32). On Mylasa, see, e.g., Rumscheid 1999, with further references. 42. On the sacred way, see Baran 2011. For the Hekatomnid building programme, see the Labraunda excavation volumes; note also Gunter 1985. For the physical connection between Mylasa and the sanctuary, see Williamson 2013: 6–18. 43. Dignas (2002: 204–217) outlines how the 2nd-century CE sanctuary also might have been used for polis-internal advancement by the Mylasean elite. For Debord (1982: 52–53), the Labraundan case was a sign of competition between different but equal systems. The existence of these systems is very plausible. Yet one should not underestimate the potential of overlap between the social worlds of Labraunda and Mylasa and how these different systems could have been used by a competing elite. 44. For the continued importance of the sanctuary for Mylasa, see Williamson 2013: 13–18. 45. See Mitchell 1998 for Pisidian Antioch in general and for the archaeology of the sanctuary; note further Cohen 1995: 278–281. 46. See above, n. 19. 47. On Galatian settlements during this period, see, e.g., Mitchell 1993: 51–58.

174  boris chrubasik 48. On geographic importance and limited evidence, see Mitchell 1998: 5–6. 49. Kobes 1996: 220–23. On Philomelium and Lysias, see also Cohen 1995: 319–321 and 311–313, respectively. On the position of Toriaion and geopolitics, see Thonemann 2008. 50. Strabo frequently mentions the cutting of cultural zones by Roman provinces. See, in an exemplary way, Mitchell 1993: 170–176. I am grateful to Stephen Mitchell for discussion on this and related topics. 51. This is not the place to investigate the network of this association. The komai of Phrygian Synnada, centered around the village of modern Sağır, were certainly very prominent among its members, and so were others beyond the ridge. See now Hallmannsecker 2018: esp. 67–68 for an overview. For the texts, see, e.g., Ramsay 1906, with references to earlier publications, a map, and considerations on topography. That article is a republication of the inscriptions in Sterrett 1888: Nos. 366–388. Note Ruge 1934, who offers a concordance for the various labels for the inscriptions. 52. On Olympichos, see, e.g., the commentary in Crampa 1969: 86–96; and Robert and Robert 1983: 147–150. For speech acts, see, for instance, Ma 2000: 75–85, inspired by Millar 1992: e.g., 637. 53. The conflict between Mylasa, the priests and the Chrysaoreis again emphasizes the possibility of different discourses. While at least in

267, Mylasa itself was a member of the koinon (I.Labraunda 43), in the present instance, the league is treated as a distinct entity (it is of course possible that Mylasa was no longer a member). On the Chrysaoreis, see Gabrielsen 2011. 54. Whereas the relationship between central and local levels is considered by Hall (2012: 307) and Dreyer and Mittag (2011: 292–295), the need for reciprocity to make this system work is undervalued. 55. On the possibilities and limitations of local agents, see Förster 1992. 56. This is the major problem of Bickerman’s Reformjuden, excellently analyzed by Honigman 2014. 57. For the changeover from Teukrid priests to external dynast, and, ultimately, to polis structure, see Gotter 2001: 296–303. The marginality of the temple in the layout of the new polis is described in Gotter 2001: 296 and is visible in Kramer 2012: 55, Map 1. 58. It is fitting that K. Trampedach, who, with U. Gotter, introduced me more than a decade ago to the Teukrid priests, also reminded me of this passage when discussing the structure of this chapter. 59. A more complex scenario of Roman administration is described in Gotter 2001: 303–305, 310–315.

REFERENCES Austin, M.M. 1986. Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy. The Classical Quarterly 36: 450–466. Baran, A. 2011. The Sacred Way and the Spring Houses of Labraunda Sanctuary. In: Karlsson, L. and Carlsson, S., eds. Labraunda and Karia: Proceedings of the International Symposium Commemorating Sixty Years of Swedish Archaeological Work in Labraunda. Uppsala: 51–98. Bickerman, E.J. 1937. Der Gott der Makkabäer. Untersuchungen über Sinn und Ursprung der Makkabäischen Erhebung. Berlin. Bickerman, E.J. 1980. La charte séleucide de Jérusalem. In: Bickerman, E.J. Studies in Jewish and Christian History, 1. Leiden: 44–85. Billows, R.A. 1995. Kings and Colonists: Aspects of Macedonian Imperialism (Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition). Leiden. Bringmann, K. 1980. Die Verfolgung der Jüdischen Religion durch Antiochos IV. Ein Konflikt zwischen Judentum und Hellenismus? Antike und Abendland 26(2): 176–190. Burgmann, H. 1980. Das umstrittene Intersacerdotium in Jerusalem, 159–152 v. Chr. Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 11(2): 136–176. Capdetrey, L. 2007. Le pouvoir séleucide: territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique, 312–129 avant J.-C. Rennes. Chrubasik, B. 2013. The Attalids and the Seleukid Kings, 281–175 B.C.E. In: Thonemann, P., ed. Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State. Oxford: 83–119. Chrubasik, B. 2016. Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire: The Men Who Would Be King. Oxford.

Chrubasik, B. 2017. From Pre-Makkabaean Judaea to Hekatomnid Karia and Back Again. The Question of Hellenization. In: Chrubasik, B. and King, D., eds. Hellenism and the Local Communities of the Eastern Mediterranean, 400 BCE–250 CE. Oxford: 83–109. Chrubasik, B. 2019. The Epigraphic Dossier Concerning Ptolemaios Son of Thraseas, and the Fifth Syrian War. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 209: 115–130. Clancier, P. and Monerie, J. 2014. Les sanctuaires babyloniens à l’époque hellénistique: évolution d’un relais de pouvoir. Topoi 19: 181–237. Cohen, G.M. 1995. The Hellenistic Settlements in Europe, the Islands, and Asia Minor. Berkeley. Crampa, J. 1969. Labraunda: Swedish Excavation and Researches, III.1: The Greek Inscriptions Part I: 1–12 (Period of Olympichus). Lund. Crampa, J. 1972. Labraunda: Swedish Excavation and Researches, III.2: The Greek Inscriptions Part II: 13–133. Stockholm. Curtis, V.S. 2010. The Frataraka Coinage of Persis: Bridging the Gap between Achaemenid and Sasanian Persia. In: Curtis, J. and Simpson, St J., eds. The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the Ancient Near East. London and New York: 379–394. Dąbrowa, E. 2010. Demetrios III in Judea. Electrum 18: 175–181. Debord, P. 1982. Aspects sociaux et économiques de la vie religieuse dans l’Anatolie gréco-romaine. Leiden. Debord, P. 2011. Who Is Who in Labraunda. In: Karlsson, L. and Carlsson, S., eds. Labraunda and Karia: Proceedings of the International Symposium Commemorating Sixty Years

sanctuaries, priest-dynasts and the seleukid empire  175 of Swedish Archaeological Work in Labraunda. Uppsala: 133–147. Dignas, B. 2002. Economy of the Sacred in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor. Oxford. Dreyer, B. and Mittag, P.F., eds. 2011. Synthese. In: Dreyer, B. and Mittag, P.F., eds. Lokale Elite und hellenistische Könige: zwischen Kooperation und Konfrontation. Berlin: 287–298. Eckhardt, B. 2016. The Seleucid Administration of Judea, the High Priesthood and the Rise of the Hasmoneans. Journal of Ancient History 4: 57–87. Ehling, K. 2008. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Späten Seleukiden 164–63 v. Chr.: Vom Tode Des Antiochos IV. bis zur Einrichtung der Provinz Syria unter Pompeius. Stuttgart. Engels, D. 2017. Benefactors, Kings and Rulers. Studies on the Seleukid Empire Between East and West (Studia Hellenistica 57). Peeters. Fischer, T. 1970. Untersuchungen zum Partherkrieg Antiochos VII. im Rahmen der Seleukidengeschichte. Tübingen. Förster, S. 1992. Die mächtigen Diener der East India Company: Ursachen und Hintergründe der britischen Expansionspolitik in Südasien, 1793–1819. Stuttgart. Gabrielsen, V. 2011. The Chrysaoreis of Caria. In: Karlsson, L. and Carlsson, S., eds. Labraunda and Karia: Proceedings of the International Symposium Commemorating Sixty Years of Swedish Archaeological Work in Labraunda. Uppsala: 331–345. Gehrke, H.-J. 2013. The Victorious King: Reflections on the Hellenistic Monarchy. In: Luraghi, N., ed. The Splendors and Miseries of Ruling Alone: Encounters with Monarchy from Archaic Greece to the Hellenistic Mediterranean (Studies in Ancient Monarchies 1). Stuttgart: 73–98. Gera, D. 1987. Ptolemy Son of Thraseas and the Fifth Syrian War. Ancient Society 18: 63–73. Gera, D. 2009. Olympiodoros, Heliodoros and the Temples of Koile Syria and Phoinike. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 169: 125–155. Gotter, U. 2001. Tempel und Großmacht: Olba/Diokaisareia und das Imperium Romanum. In: Jean, E., Dinçol, A.M. and Durugönül, S., eds. La Cilicie: Espaces et pouvoirs locaux, deuxième millénaire av. J.-C.-quatrième siècle ap. J.-C. Actes de la table ronde internationale d’Istanbul, 2–5 Novembre 1999. Paris: 289–325. Gunter, A.C. 1985. Looking at Hecatomnid Patronage from Labraunda. Revue des Études Anciennes 87: 113–124. Hall, J.A. 2012. Imperial Universalism—Further Thoughts. In: Bang, P.F. and Kolodziejczyk, D., eds. Universal Empire: A Comparative Approach to Imperial Culture and Representation in Eurasian History. Cambridge, U.K.: 304–309. Hallmannsecker, M. 2018. News from the Xenoi Tekmoreioi. Philia 4: 67–73.

Heinrichs, J. 2018. Antiochos III and Ptolemy, Son of Thraseas, on Private Villages in Syria Koile around 200 BC: The Hefzibah Dossier. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 206: 272–311. Hellström, P. 2009. Sacred Architecture and Sacred Identity. In: Rumscheid, F., ed. Die Karer und die Anderen. Bonn: 267–290. Honigman, S. 2014. Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochos IV. Berkeley. Jones, A.H.M. 1971. The Cities of the Eastern Roman Provinces (2nd ed.). Oxford. Jones, C.P. 2009. The Inscription from Tel Maresha for Olympiodoros. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 171: 100–104. Jully, J.J. 1981. Labraunda: Swedish Excavations and Researches, II.3. Archaic Pottery. Lund. Karlsson, L., Kullberg, J.B., Vergnaud, B. and Freccero, A. 2014. Labraunda 2012–2013. Preliminary Report on the Work at the Sanctuary, with a New Reconstruction of the Sanctuary by Jesper Blid Kullberg and an Appendix by Frederik Tobin. Opuscula: Annual of the Swedish Institutes at Athens and Rome 7: 23–59. Klose, D.O.A. and Müseler, W. 2008. Statthalter, Rebellen, Könige. Die Münzen aus Persepolis von Alexander dem Großen zu den Sasaniden. Munich. Kobes, J. 1996. Kleine Könige: Untersuchungen zu den Lokaldynasten im Hellenistischen Kleinasien 323–188 v. Chr. St. Katharinen. Kosmin, P.J. 2014. The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire. Cambridge, MA. Kramer, N. 2012. Der Keramiksurvey im Stadtgebiet von Diokaisareia. Berlin. Ma, J. 2000. Seleukids and Speech-Act Theory: Performative Utterances, Legitimacy and Negotiations in the World of the Maccabees. Scripta Classica Israelica 19: 71–112. Ma, J. 2002. Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor. Oxford. Ma, J. 2003. Kings. In: Erskine, A., ed. A Companion to the Hellenistic World. Oxford: 177–195. Ma, J. 2008. Paradigms and Paradoxes in the Hellenistic World. Studi Ellenistici 20: 371–385. Ma, J. 2012. Relire les Institutions des Séleucides de Bikerman. In: Benoist, S., ed. Rome, a City and Its Empire in Perspective: The Impact of the Roman World through Fergus Millar’s Research. Leiden: 59–84. Ma, J. 2013a. Hellenistic Empires. In: Bang, P.F. and Scheidel, W., eds. The Oxford Handbook of the State in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean. Oxford: 324–357.

176  boris chrubasik Ma, J. 2013b. Re-examining Hanukkah. http://marginalia .lareviewofbooks.org/re-examining-hanukkah/ (accessed 20 January 2016). Ma, J., 2019. Notes on the Restoration of the Temple. In: Oetjen, R., ed. New Perspectives in Seleucid History, Archaeology and Numismatics. Studies in Honor of Getzel M. Cohen (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 355). Berlin: 80–93. Millar, F. 1992. The Emperor in the Roman World: 31 BC–AD 337 (2nd ed.). London. Mitchell, S. 1993. Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor. Oxford. Mitchell, S. 1998. Geographical and Historical Introduction. In: Mitchell, S. and Waelkens, M., eds. Pisidian Antioch: The Site and Its Monuments. London: 1–18. Müseler, W. 2018. The Dating and the Sequence of the Persid Frataraka Revisited. Koinon. The International Journal of Classical Numismatic Studies 1: 84–106. Plischke, S. 2014. Die Seleukiden und Iran: die seleukidische Herrschaftspolitik in den östlichen Satrapien. Wiesbaden. Ramsay, W.M. 1906. The Tekmoreian Guest-Friends: An AntiChristian Society on the Imperial Estates at Pisidian Antioch. In: Ramsay, W.M., ed. Studies in the History and Art of the Eastern Roman Provinces. London: 305–377. Robert, J. and Robert, L. 1983. Fouilles d’Amyzon en Carie. Paris. Ruge, W. 1934. Xenoi Tekmoreioi. Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 5A: 158–169. Rumscheid, F. 1999. Mylasas Verteidigung: Burgen statt Stadtmauer? In: Schwandner, E.-L. and Rheidt, K., eds. Stadt und Umland. Neue Ergebnisse der archäologischen Bau- und Siedlungsforschung. Mainz: 206–222. Savalli-Lestrade, I. 1998. Les Philoi royaux dans l’Asie hellénistique. Geneva. Stegemann, H. 1971. Die Entstehung der Qumrangemeinde. Bonn. Stegemann, H. 1994. Die Essener, Qumran, Johannes der Täufer und Jesus. Freiburg, Basel and Vienna.

Sterrett, J.R.S. 1888. The Wolfe Expedition to Asia Minor (Papers of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens 3). Boston. Thonemann, P. 2008. Cistophoric Geography: Toriaion and Kormasa. Numismatic Chronicle 168: 43–60. Thonemann, P. 2013. The Attalid State, 188–133 BC. In: Thonemann, P., ed. Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State. Oxford: 1–47. Trampedach, K. 1999. Teukros und die Teukriden. zur Gründungslegende des Zeus Olbios Heiligtums in Kilikien. Olba 2.1: 93–110. Trampedach, K. 2001. Tempel und Großmacht: Olba in Hellenistischer Zeit. In: Jean, E., Dinçol, A.M. and Durugönül, S., eds. La Cilicie: Espaces et pouvoirs locaux, deuxième millénaire av. J.-C.-quatième siècle ap. J.-C. Actes de la table ronde internationale d’Istanbul, 2–5 Novembre 1999. Paris: 269–288. VanderKam, J.C. 2004. From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile. Minneapolis and Assen. Vérilhac, A.-M. and Dagron, G. 1974. Une nouvelle inscription du temple de Zeus a Diocésarée Uzuncaburç Cilicie. Revue des études anciennes 76: 237–242. Williams, D.S. 2001. Recent Research in 1 Maccabees. Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 9: 169–184. Williamson, C.G. 2013. Public Space Beyond the City. The Sanctuaries of Labraunda and Sinuri in the Chora of Mylasa. In: Dickenson, C.P. and van Nijf, O.M., eds. Public Space in the Post-Classical City: Proceedings of a One Day Colloquium Held at Fransum 23rd July 2007. Leuven, Paris and Walpole, MA: 1–36. Wise, M.O. 2010. The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement. In: Collins, J.J. and Lim, T.H., eds. The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Oxford: 92–122. Wörrle, M. and Cotton, H.M. 2007. Seleukos IV to Heliodorus: A New Dossier of Royal Correspondence from Israel. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 159: 191–205.

12 Gods in the Gray Zone A Political History of Egyptian Temples from Artaxerxes III to the End of the Argeadai (342–ca. 305 BCE) Damien Agut-Labordère

In 343/342 BCE, after several unsuccessful attempts to reconquer Egypt, the Persian armies, led by Artaxerxes III Ochos, finally defeated the Egyptian troops of Nakhthorheb (Nektanebo II) in the eastern Delta.1 The last king of the Thirtieth Dynasty was forced into exile and left Egypt for Nubia, while the Persian administration, headed by the satrap Pherendates, was reinstalled in Memphis (Matthey 2012: 114–218). According to the classical tradition, the second Persian domination was a time of oppression for the Egyptian temples. Diodorus Siculus (16.5.2) states that Ochos plundered the sanctuaries and blackmailed the priests. This outbreak of violence reached its peak with the murder of an Apis bull, reported in Aelianus’ Varia Historia (cf. also Curtius 4.7.1). In contrast, Arrianus, in his depiction of Alexander’s royal entry to Egypt, emphasizes the conqueror’s piety toward the Egyptian gods and more particularly the Apis bull.2 These well-known texts need no further commentary in the context of this paper. Here I focus on their impact on modern historiography of the second Persian domination. Bracketed between two periods during which, according to the accepted view, the Egyptian

temples enjoyed the support of the rulers—the last native dynasty (380–342 BCE) and the rule of the Argeadai (332–305 BCE)—the second Persian domination is perceived by ancient and modern historians as a “dark age” in Egyptian history, albeit one of short duration. I question this dramatic view and, more generally, the notion that the transition from the second Persian domination to the early Macedonian period (i.e., the time of the Argeadai) was a shift from darkness to light. As demonstrated by the diachronic survey of building activity in the temples and of the royal support for the funerals of sacred animals—the main markers of royal religious policy—the contrast between Persian and Macedonian dominations was overstated by the classical authors. The chronology of the changes can be further refined to show both contrasts between kings within each period and a relatively smooth transition between the two periods. Finally, inquiry into the royal policy of access to the quarries of building stones suggests that the suspension of temple construction in Persian and early Macedonian times was not primarily due to technical circumstances, but was the outcome of the dire financial straits faced by the temples, as the result of a policy

178  damien agut-labordère

initiated by Cambyses shortly after 526 BCE and of sharp cuts in royal donations to the temples.

The Construction of Temples and Burial of Sacred Bulls: The Ups and Downs of Royal Religious Policy To investigate the royal policy toward the Egyptian religious institutions diachronically, two historical markers are particularly useful: the construction works carried out in the temple precincts, which can be dated via royal inscriptions, and inscriptions commemorating funerals of sacred animals—a typical feature of the first millennium BCE.

I begin with a survey of the construction activities documented from the rule of the last native pharaoh, Nakhthorheb (360–342 BCE), to Alexander IV (323– 311 BCE). As expected, during the second Persian domination, all building activity related to the temples was discontinued (Arnold 1999: 137). More surprising is the fact that the subsequent recovery under the Argeadai was only partial: in this period, the level of building activity, measured by the number of monuments proportional to the regnal years of each king, appears to have been one third lower than under Nakhthorheb (Table 12.1; Fig. 12.1).3

1 Fig. 12.1: Buildings and building components engraved with royal names from Nakhthorheb (360–342 BCE) to Alexander IV (323–311 BCE) (based on the number of temples and naoi in which a royal name is attested in a hieroglyphic inscription, irrespective of the scale of the works) 1) in absolute numbers 2) proportionate to regnal years

2

Table 12.1: Buildings and building components engraved with royal names from Nakhthorheb to Alexander IVI Nakhthorheb

Darius III (in Egypt)

Alexander the Great (in Egypt)

Philip III

Alexander IV

12

9

5

Number of items

37

Number of items proportionate to regnal years

18

4

6

9

6

8

2.05

0

0

1.33

1.5

0.625

Weighted value I

Artaxerxes III (in Egypt) 0

0

The list is based on the outdated—albeit at the time accurate—list published by Kienitz (1954: 214–230), which surveyed the main sites in which the king’s name is attested. Klotz (2011: 37) provides a recent bibliographical overview of temple construction and restoration by the kings of the Thirtieth Dynasty. A comprehensive and updated list of the building works carried out by the Argeadai was recently published by I. Ladynin (2014). As the inscription of the priests Ankhpakhered and Keefkhaimen on the northwestern wall of Luxor temple mentions both names of Alexander the Great and Philip Arrhidaeus (PM II 335 [212]; Abder-Raziq 1983), this inscription was counted twice.

gods in the gray zone  179

A diachronic overview of the number of hieroglyphic inscriptions and demotic graffiti evidencing the extraction of hard stone by royal officials during the second Persian domination further confirms that building activities were interrupted during this period and, even more crucially, that the recovery that followed Alexander the Great’s conquest was moderate (Table 12.2; Fig. 12.2). Turning now to the inscriptions related to the cult of the sacred bulls—the Apis bulls and their mothers in Memphis and the Boukhis bulls in Armant—one notes a similar trend (Table 12.3; Fig. 12.3). Contrary to what might be expected from reading the classical authors, the second Persian domination is not characterized by the complete absence of royal inscriptions and monuments relating to the burial of sacred bulls. Two items are documented: a sarcophagus bearing the name of the short-lived Egyptian Pharaoh Khabbabash

(PM III² 804), and—even more unexpectedly—an inscription found in the catacombs of the mother of Apis, in all likelihood mentioning Darius III.4 Conversely, the peak of data in the first decades of the Hellenistic period can be explained by the coincidental death of two sacred animals—the cow Taesis and a Boukhis bull—in the days of Alexander the Great (Bosch-Puche 2012: 256–262). Therefore, the evidence after his reign is more representative, and indeed, it parallels the trend observed regarding the scope of building activity: an average that is lower than during the period of independence. The results of the diachronic study based on these two historical markers may be summarized as follows. While, as expected, the second Persian domination is characterized by the sudden and complete suspension of all building activity in the Egyptian temples, the burial of sacred bulls does not evince the same trend. These

Fig. 12.2: The number of royal inscriptions from Egyptian quarries, 402–303 BCE

Table 12.2: Royal inscriptions in Egyptian quarries from 402 to 302 BCE Number of inscriptions Demotic inscriptions

Hieroglyphic or hieratic inscriptions

402–393 BCE 392–383 BCE

382–373 BCE

372–363 BCE

362–353 BCE

332–323 BCE

1

10

8

4

2

2

Tura and Masara (Spiegelberg 1905: 222 and 229, No. 4)

Tura and Masara (Lepsius, Denkmäler I: 223 [A]; 223 [B]; Spiegelberg 1905: 223 and 229, No. 13; 226 and 233, No. 33; 223 and 229, No. 14; Devauchelle 1983: 174, No. 83; 175, No. 48; Malek and Smith 1983: 46–47, No. 7; 46–47, No. 8)

Tura and Masara (Spiegelberg 1905: 224 and 229, No. 15; 224 and 230, No. 19; 224 and 231, No. 21; 225 and 231, No. 25) Wadi el-Nakhla (Spiegelberg 1904: 159, No. 29; 159, No. 31)

Wadi el-Nakhla (Clédat 1902: 69 and Pl. VI, No. 6; 69 and Pl. VI, No. 7; 69 and Pl. VI, No. 8; 69 and Pl. VII, No. 27)

Wadi Hammamat (Thissen 1979: 65, No. 2) Deir Abu Hennes (Depauw 2014: 14)

Tura and Masara (Toukh et-Karamous) (Spiegelberg 1905: 222 and 229, No. 4)

Tura and Masara (Daressy 1911: 267)

Tura and Masara (Brugsch 1867: 91) Wadi Hammamat (Couyat and Montet 1912: 43, No. 26 and Pl. VIII)

Tura and Masara (Toukh et-Karamous) (Devauchelle 1983: 170, No. 1)

180  damien agut-labordère

Fig. 12.3: Evidence pertaining to the burials of the Apis and Boukhis bulls

Table 12.3: Stelae, funerary material (e.g., sarcophagi and inscribed vases) and quarrymen’s graffiti in the catacombs of Apis bulls and mother of Apis in northern Saqqara 382–373 BCE

372–363 BCE

362–353 BCE

342–333 BCE

332–323 BCE

312–303 BCE

Number

7

6

8

2

12

3

References

Devauchelle 1994: 106 (Berlin Inv. 2127); 106 (Louvre IM 3337); Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 6–11

Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 12; 18 and 19; 136–137; Emery 1967: 143 and Pl. 22.2

Devauchelle 1994: 107 (Louvre IM 3372); 107 (Louvre IM 17); 107 (Louvre SN 7); 107 (Louvre IM 67); 107 (Louvre IM 4199); Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 16 and 17; 54

Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 48; PM III² 804

Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 21–30; 133; Bosch-Puche 2012: 256–262 (BM EA 1697/1719); Andrews 2002: 28 (BM EA 35635)

Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 31–34

exhibit relatively smooth continuity between the second Persian domination and the early Macedonian period. Conversely, the data pertaining to building activity does not support the claim of classical sources that the early Macedonian period was a good time for the Egyptian temples. Altogether, the royal donations to the temples and the sacred animals under the Argeadai appear to be modest in comparison with the Thirtieth Dynasty.

Questioning the Supposed Contrast between the Second Persian Domination and the Time of the Argeadai The above quantitative study of the data pertaining to the relations between kings and temples supports the conclusion that overall, the transition from the second Persian period to the early Macedonian one was smooth. Further refinement of this analysis suggests, on the one hand, that the rule of Darius III in Egypt was less harsh

than that of Artaxerxes III before him and on the other hand, that the favorable attitude of Alexander the Great toward the Egyptian temples was short-lived. In his thorough study of Alexander the Great’s attitude towards the cult of the sacred animals, Bosch-Puche (2012) convincingly argues that the cult of the Boukhis bull at Armant was suspended entirely under Artaxerxes III (342–338 BCE), but resumed with the reign of Darius III (336–332 BCE).5 To some extent, Darius III’s policy can be seen as resuming the accommodating policy toward a selection of Egyptian religious institutions that had been adopted by Cambyses in 526 BCE and followed by Darius I—a policy sometimes misinterpreted as being an effect of the supposed “Persian religious tolerance.” If the data pertaining to Darius III’s reign, therefore, contradicts the judgment of the ancient classical authors on the second Persian domination, does Artaxerxes III’s tough policy attested by the two markers that concern us here— the building activity in temples and the burial of sacred animals—justify such a judgment? If one takes the broader

gods in the gray zone  181

diachronic view advocated here, the answer must be in the affirmative. In this perspective, the policy of Artaxerxes III was no different from the policy initiated by Xerxes and continued by the Great Kings down to Artaxerxes II. During these nine decades (from 486 BCE to ca. 400 BCE), there is no evidence of building activity in any temple anywhere in Egypt or of any graffiti in the quarries, and there is, moreover, a gap in the chronological list of the Apis bulls.6 Furthermore, given the reappearance of commemorative stelae and inscriptions at the very beginning of the period of independence (ca. 400 BCE to 343/342 BCE), it is unlikely that this gap is merely the outcome of the coincidental distribution of the extant evidence. Rather, with Artaxerxes III’s reconquest in 342 BCE, the Egyptian temples returned to the situation that had existed throughout most of the 5th century BCE. Consequently, the suspension of all building activity and the scarcity of commemorative inscriptions during the second Persian domination should be viewed not as a collective punishment meted out by the Persian authorities to Egyptian priests, but as the resumption of the policy that had been the rule during the first Achaemenid domination of Egypt. Not only should the judgment of the classical (and modern) authors on the second Persian domination be reappraised, but Alexander’s policy towards the Egyptian temples should be reassessed. As seen above, in the early Macedonian period the building activities in the temples resumed, but at a lower rate than under the Thirtieth Dynasty. This conclusion is in keeping with Chauveau and Thiers’ remarks in their important study (2006) on the construction activities and iconographic programs carried out in the Theban temples under the reigns of Alexander the Great and Philip III Arrhidaios. As they point out, these activities were part of a program devised by the Theban priests themselves. While the period was evidently propitious to such initiatives, this program was a response to strictly local cultural needs.7 Consequently, as stated by Chauveau and Thiers (2006: 399): “the Egyptian material remains of the Macedonian period must be seen as tokens of the piety of priests towards their local deities. The alleged clues that have been taken to hint at the Macedonian kings using royal, pharaonic powers to build new cultic places are not compelling.”8

However, Chauveau and Thiers’ view was recently questioned by Bosch-Puche. Based on the evidence relating to the cults of the Apis bull, of the mother of Apis and of the Boukhis bull under Alexander the Great, BoschPuche (2012) contends that Alexander took a genuine interest in the Egyptian cults and more specifically in the cults of sacred animals, as well as in royal Egyptian tradition. In Bosch-Puche’s view, this conclusion is further supported by the care given in the development of Alexander’s pharaonic names (2013; 2014). A closer look suggests that the disparity between the interpretation of Chauveau and Thiers and that of BoschPuche may be explained by the nature of the evidence. Whereas the building activities in the temples were not necessarily carried out in response to specific circumstances, the stelae and inscriptions related to the cult of the sacred animal were obviously prompted by the death of one of these animals. Consequently, the number of texts related to sacred animals issued in any given period of time was perforce primarily determined by accidental factors. The high number of documents from the days of Alexander the Great may be accounted for by the coincidental deaths of two sacred cows in Memphis and Armant in those years; therefore, this number does not, in and of itself, point to Alexander’s personal devotion to the sacred animals (Fig. 12.3 and Table 12.3). Conversely, given that the inscriptions documenting royal building activities in temples are less subject to fortuitous circumstances, they offer more reliable clues for the identification of changes in the policies of individual kings and dynasties towards the temples. In addition, it should be emphasized that given the high cost of “construction in stone” (see below), building or restoring a temple was far more expensive to the royal treasury than ensuring a worthy burial for sacred cows. Therefore, while the high number of stelae and archaeological items relating to sacred animals under the Argeadai attests that the temples were able to conduct their activities on a regular basis during this period, this evidence per se falls short of fostering the conclusion that the Argeadai provided outstanding political and financial support to the Egyptian temples. From a political standpoint, the allocation of funds to the cults of the sacred animals allowed the royal power to gain the support of the Egyptian population at large at little cost, whereas the building and restoration of temples was primarily, if not exclusively, a response to the

182  damien agut-labordère

expectations of the priests and came at a far greater cost. The ratio between political benefit and financial cost explains why royal support went primarily to the cults of the sacred animals.

The Reasons for Suspension of Building Activities in the Temples: The Evidence from the Quarries Most of the markers allowing the investigation of political life in ancient Egypt—building stone blocks, granite sarcophagi and stelae—are closely connected to the practical conditions of stone extraction and transportation. Therefore, before proceeding further, it is necessary to rule out the possibility that the variations noted in the graphs above were purely the result of the royal policy of either keeping the quarries in operation or closing them. While nothing is known of the legal requirements relating to mining and quarrying activities during the Saite and Persian periods, the graffiti and depinti of Ptolemaic times attest that access to quarries required the official agreement of the strategos.9 Consequently, one might assume that the royal administration used the supply of hard stone as an easy means to control the building activities of the temples. By this logic, the complete interruption of building activities during the second Persian domination—and indeed, during most of the first domination as well—could be interpreted as a consequence of the satrap’s explicit prohibition on using the quarries of Egypt for the building needs of the temples.10 This hypothesis, however, is unlikely for three reasons. First, on the assumption that the extraction and transportation of the blocks were carried out by teams of workers provided by the temples themselves, the king could maintain the quarries open at no cost. It is, therefore, highly unlikely that all the quarries of Egypt were kept closed by the Persian kings from Xerxes (486–465 BCE) to Amyrteus (ca. 404–399 BCE)—that is, during the timespan of nine decades during which no building activity is documented in any temple. Second, this hypothesis has no impact on the second marker of royal religious policy in Egypt—the burial of sacred animals. It therefore leaves unexplained why no Apis bull burial was documented during the same years that lacked any building activity.

Finally, the hypothesis that the quarries were closed by the Persians fails to explain why building activity was resumed only at a low pace under the Argeadai. While the building programs attested in Thebes and Hermopolis in the early Macedonian period offer positive evidence that no prohibition on using the quarries was enforced at that time, the number and scale of construction sites during this period, as noted above, remained well beneath their level under the Thirtieth Dynasty.11 Consequently, while we cannot completely rule out the possibility that the satraps of Egypt kept the quarries out of use during significant parts of the First and Second Persian periods, when it comes to accounting for the modest level of construction work under the Argeadai, one definitely needs to seek an explanation elsewhere. The simplest explanation may be that while the royal administration did not formally prevent access to the quarries, the temples were not given sufficient financial support to bear the cost either of the construction works and decoration of the new buildings or of the stone extraction and transportation from the remote locations of the quarries situated at the fringe of the Egyptian deserts.12 Although extraction costs could be lowered by using the quarries located on the Nile banks instead, significant financial means were still needed in order to transport the stone to the building sites (Shaw 1998; 2013; Adams 2001). Few temples had fleets of large boats, and the requisition of work animals from their land estates to ensure transportation would have impacted their agricultural incomes. Under such conditions, the temples could afford to finance the digging of underground galleries—as we see in Memphis and Armant—by their own means, whereas they had to renounce building new edifices or designing hard-stone items, such as naoi and sarcophagi. Under the rule of the Argeadai, the Egyptian temples appear to have been in dire straits. It must have become very difficult for them to finance construction activity from their own resources, and the priests were probably too poor to organize any substantial local fund raising.13 However, it is unlikely that this situation was a legacy specifically of the second Persian domination. Rather, the difficult financial situation of the temples was primarily the result of the protracted Persian policy toward the Egyptian temples. From Cambyses in the last

gods in the gray zone  183

decades of the 6th century BCE, the Great Kings promoted a policy of limited royal donations to the temples, aimed at preserving the resources of the Persian royal treasury at the expense of the temples. Moreover, it is noteworthy that the pharaohs of the period of independence in the 4th century BCE continued a similar policy, because the threat of a full-scale Persian invasion incurred heavy expenses in strengthening the country’s defense (Agut-Labordère 2011).

The Economic Weakness of the Egyptian Temples under the Argeadai as the Consequence of a Protracted Trend The Persian conquest of Egypt in 526 BCE was immediately followed by the promulgation of Cambyses’ decree that drastically reformed the grants to the temples. The regular royal grants in timber, textile, poultry, seeds and silver were cancelled outright, while the grants in cattle were diminished by half. Consequently, the temples were forced to buy these raw materials at high cost in order to preserve the priests’ economic production and hence their incomes (Agut-Labordère 2005). At the same time, the royal (and private) donation stelae advertising gifts of land made to the temples disappeared, a hint that a general prohibition of donations to the temples was promulgated by Cambyses at the outset of the conquest (Meeks 1979). Through these steps, the Persian power aimed to preserve the royal income by halting the transfer of goods from the king’s estates to that of the temples. As far as we can tell, donation stelae did not reappear with the return of native kings at the beginning of the 4th century, suggesting that the Persian policy was upheld by the kings of the Twenty-Eighth through the Thirtieth Dynasties. Moreover, the two extant versions of Cambyses’ decree postdate the second Persian domination, a clear indication that this text was still relevant at the time. The decree included a list of privileged temples that continued to receive the same grants as before Cambyses’ reform, and this list must be the reason why the decree continued to be copied. Although the independent pharaohs of the 4th century BCE reopened the stone quarries and (probably) subsidized the construction of several sacred buildings,

they maintained the harsh restrictions on donations to the temples that had been imposed by Cambyses and were so profitable to the royal treasure. The royal greed at the expense of the temples was manifest particularly clearly at the very end of the independence period in the 4th century BCE. As shown convincingly by Meyrat, the Apis that died in 351 BCE— year 10 of King Nakhthorheb—received a very poor burial. Its sarcophagus was small and was laid in a slightly enlarged passage, not under a vault of its own. According to Meyrat, the fact that this bull died during a campaign waged by Nakhthorheb and Artaxerxes Ochos against one another could explain this cheap funeral, as “war efforts were too high at the time to allow for a lavish burial” (Meyrat 2014: 306–309). It is evident that far from marking a sharp change, the ten years of the second Persian domination, during which royal subsidies to the temples were almost entirely suspended, followed a century and a half of financial restrictions. This long-term trend could easily explain why building activities in the temples of Egypt were resumed only at a modest level in the aftermath of the Macedonian conquest: in the absence of any substantial royal subsidies, the Egyptian temples were unable to procure the hard stone necessary to engage in large-scale construction works. Even if the political situation of the Egyptian priests improved with the Macedonian conquest, the treasuries of the temples remained empty.

Conclusion: The Temples Remained in the Gray Zone Even after Alexander’s Conquest Despite Alexander’s generosity toward the Egyptian cults, the Argead period at the very end of the 4th century BCE continued the long-term trend, initiated by Cambyses in the late 6th century BCE, whereby the royal power gradually appropriated the temples’ economic assets.14 By either drastically reducing or completely suspending their economic support to the temples, the kings both increased their wealth and led the temples to progressive, albeit unavoidable, economic decline. As shown by the above diachronic survey of the building activities and cultic commemorative inscriptions, this trend continued at least

184  damien agut-labordère

until the accession of Ptolemy I in 305 BCE and probably throughout his reign. The real turning point came later. As demonstrated by G. Gorre (this volume), the reforms led by Ptolemy II (283–246 BCE) began a new chapter in the royal policy toward the Egyptian religious institutions. Before his reign, the Persian, Egyptian and first Macedonian kings endorsed, in varying degrees, the tough budgetary policy initiated by Cambyses, because it was so beneficial to the royal finances. From a methodological standpoint, this conclusion highlights the need for modern scholars to consider all available documents—not only the classical authors— and to cross-check the data they offer. Furthermore, the relevance of each category of evidence must be precisely defined. For instance, the number and size of temples built in hard stone in ancient Egypt at any given period is a reliable marker of the relations between kings and temples, because the extraction of stone in the desert fringes and its transport to the Nile Valley required the

active support of the king. By minimizing psychological factors—such as the supposed piety or impiety of certain kings—this comprehensive approach may allow us to reach a less naïve understanding of the political history of ancient Egypt. Reliable information pertaining to the personalities of Cambyses, Darius I, Artaxerxes III and Alexander the Great is too scarce to shed any light on how they personally perceived Egyptian religion. In contrast, we have plenty of evidence allowing us to trace the evolution in power relations between kings and temples. In this respect, the Macedonian conquest of Egypt did not offer a radical departure from the supposed “Persian impiety” instituted by Cambyses and endorsed by the independent kings of the 4th century BCE. Like Cambyses and Darius I, it appears that the (modest) benevolence of Alexander towards Egyptian gods and priests was primarily motivated by the political situation prevailing in his time, rather than by his personal love for the gods of Egypt.

NOTES 1. Regarding the sources on the invasion of 343–342 BCE, see, most recently, the bibliography in Meyrat 2014: 303–304. 2. On these texts, see Ladynin 2005: 103–13. On Alexander’s entry, see Briant 2003: 173–186. 3. Nakhthorheb’s enthusiasm for building temples is echoed in the literature of Hellenistic Egypt. The tale known as the Dream of Nectanebo (see UPZ 1.81 for the Greek version and P.Carlsberg 424, 499, 559 and 562 for demotic fragments) narrates how Peteise, the best sculptor in the country, was hired to complete the carving of the hieroglyphic texts on the wall of a temple in Sebennytos. See Hoffmann and Quack 2007: 162–165. 4. MoA 71/22 H5–2884 [5267] = No. 48. This inscription refers to the burial of the cow Taesis: see Smith, Davies and Frazer 2006: 37, n. 18, 121, n. 85; Davies 2006: 23, n. 33, 49, n. 44; Smith, Andrews and Davies 2011: 145–146, with Fig. 13 (No. 48), Pl. 62. 5. Ladynin (2005) identified the king Ḫšryš(ȝ) mentioned in the so– called Satrap Stela with Artaxerxes III. If this assumption is correct, it implies that the temple of Buto was despoiled of part of its estates by Ochos, and not Darius III. 6. For the list of bulls, see Vittmann 2011: 414–415. The complete absence of any documents in stone over a period of nine decades could perhaps be taken to mean that during this period, the Apis funerary items were made in perishable materials, such as wood, as indeed, was the case during the New Kingdom. See Mariette 1887: 13. 7. “Cette reconstruction s’inscrit dans un programme des clergés thébains qui, s’ils ont bénéficié, à l’évidence, d’une période propice à ces réalisations, ne l’ont fait que dans un cadre pratique et cultuel strictement local” (Chauveau and Thiers 2006: 398–399). 8. “La documentation égyptienne de l’époque macédonienne doit être étudiée pour ce qu’elle est le plus souvent: le témoignage de la ferveur

de clergés envers une divinité locale. Les indices d’un usage des prérogatives royales pharaoniques dans la mise en place de lieux cultuels ne sont pas probants” (Chauveau and Thiers 2006: 399). 9. As evidenced in Graff. 133, ll. 6 and 12 from Gebel Teir, dated to late Ptolemaic times; see Cruz-Uribe 1995: 54–56. See probably also in Graff. Gebel el-Sheikh el-Haridi: Spiegelberg 1913 (Psais son of Palal who opens the quarry is also strategos of the Panopolite). 10. A rock inscription in the limestone quarry of Nagaa Al-Ghabat (in the south of Abydos), dated to year 5 of Nakhtnebef, explicitly indicates that the king could prohibit stone extraction; Meeks 1991. 11. On Thebes and Hermopolis, I rely upon the convincing study by Ladynin (2014). However, even in Thebes, Ladynin points out that “the Theban building of the Argeadai seems to be the natural continuation of the program launched still under Dynasty XXX” (2014: 235). 12. The fact that the agreement to extract stone was not accompanied by adequate support was a departure from the pharaonic tradition, in which the building of a mnw “monument” by the kings was systematically supported by endowments (Taufik 1971). Hieroglyph carvers could be paid by the temples’ administrators (dem. mr-šn), as shown by P.Bud. E51.2172A (Clarysse and Luft 2012: Text 1, 321–322). See also P.Carlsberg 409 (Schentuleit 2006: 487 [Index]). On the exploitation costs of the stone quarries in the eastern desert, see Maxfield 2001. 13. Thiers 2009: 241–243. An example of construction funded through a collection from private donors in Roman times is found in Klotz 2009. In the Greek world, see Davies 2001; Chankowski 2014: esp. p. 44 on public offerings. 14. For a more detailed discussion of this trend, see Agut-Labordère and Gorre 2014.

gods in the gray zone  185

REFERENCES Abder-Raziq, M. 1983. Ein Graffito der Zeit Alexanders des Grossen im Luxortemple. Annales du Service des antiquités de l’Égypte 69: 211–218. Adams, C.P. 2001. Who Bore the Burden? The Organization of Stone Transport in Roman Egypt. In: Mattingly, D.J. and Salmon, J., eds. Economies beyond Agriculture in the Classical World. London: 171–192. Agut-Labordère, D. 2005. Le sens du Décret de Cambyse. Transeuphratène 29: 9–16. Agut-Labordère, D. 2011. L’oracle et l’hoplite: les élites sacerdotales et l’effort de guerre sous les dernières dynasties indigènes, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 54: 627–645. Agut-Labordère, D. and Gorre, G. 2014. De l’autonomie à l’intégration. Les temples égyptiens face à la couronne des Saïtes aux Ptolémées. In: Clancier, P. and Monnerie, J., eds. Les sanctuaires autochtones et le roi dans l’Orient hellénistique (Topoi 19). Paris: 17–55. Andrews, C.A. 2002. A Memphite Miscellany: Four New Demotic Texts. In: Ryholt, K., ed. Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies (Copenhagen, 23–27 August 1999). Copenhagen: 27–34. Arnold, D. 1999. Temples of the Last Pharaohs. Oxford. Bosch-Puche, F. 2012. Alejandro Magno y los cultos a animals sagados en Egipto. Aula Orientalis 30: 243–276. Bosch-Puche, F. 2013. The Egyptian Royal Titulatury of Alexander the Great, I: Horus, Two Ladies, Golden Horus and Throne Names. The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 99: 131–154. Bosch-Puche, F. 2014. The Egyptian Titulatury of Alexander the Great, 2: Personal Name, Empty Cartouches, Final Remarks, and Appendix. The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 100: 89–109. Briant, P. 2003. Quand les rois écrivent l’histoire: la domination achéménide vue à travers les inscriptions officielles lagides. In: Grimal, N., ed. Événement, récit, histoire officielle: l’écriture de l’histoire dans les monarchies antiques. Paris: 173–186. Brugsch, H. 1867. Das ägyptische Troja. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 5: 89–93. Chankowski, V. 2014. Réparer les idoles, entretenir les lieux de culte. L’économie de la restauration dans les sanctuaires du monde grec. In: Bourgeois, B., ed. Thérapéia. Polychromie et restauration de la sculpture dans l’Antiquité (Technè 40). Paris: 42–45. Chauveau, M. and Thiers, C. 2006. L’Égypte en transition: des Perses aux Macédoniens. In: Briant, P. and Joannès, F., eds. La transition entre l’empire achéménide et les royaumes hellénistiques (Persika 9). Paris: 375–404. Clarysse, W. and Luft, U. 2012. L’Égypte en transition: des Perses aux Macédoniens. In: Zivie-Coche, C. and Guermeur, I.,

eds. “Parcourir l’éternité.” Hommage à Jean Yoyotte, 1. Turnhout: 325–335. Clédat, J. 1902. Notes archéologiques et philologiques. Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 2: 41–70. Couyat, J. and Montet, P. 1912. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du Ouâdi Hammâmât. Cairo. Cruz-Uribe, E. 1995. The Demotic Graffiti of Gebel Teir. San Antonio. Daressy, G. 1911. Inscriptions des carriers de Tourah et Masarah. Annales du service des antiquités de l’Égypte 11: 257–268. Davies, J.K. 2001. Rebuilding a Temple: The Economic Effects of Piety. In: Mattingly, D.J. and Salmon, J., eds. Economies beyond Agriculture in the Classical World. London: 209–229. Davies, S. 2006. The Sacred Animal Necropolis at North Saqqara: The Main Temple Complex. The Archaeological Report. London. Depauw, M. 2014. An Anonymous Pharaoh: The Revolt against Teos illustrated by a Deir Abu Hennis Graffito. In: Lippert, S.L. and Stadler, M.A., eds. Gehilfe des Thot. Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zu seinem 75. Geburtstag. Wiesbaden: 13–20. Devauchelle, D. 1983. Notes sur les inscriptions démotiques des carrières de Tourah et de Mâsarah. Annales du service des antiquités de l’Égypte 69: 169–182. Devauchelle, D. 1994. Les stèles du Sérapéum de Memphis conservées au musée du Louvre. In: Bresciani, E., ed. Acts of the Fifth International Conferencefor Demotists, Pisa 4th–8th September 1993 (Egitto e Vicino Oriente 17). Pisa: 95–114. Emery, W.B. 1967. Preliminary Report on the Excavations at North Saqqara 1966–7. The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 3: 141–145. Hoffmann, F. and Quack, J.F. 2007. Anthologie der demotischen Literatur. Berlin. Kienitz, F.K. 1954. Die politische Geschichte Ägyptens vom 7. Bis zum 4. Jahrhundert vor der Zeitwende. Berlin. Klotz, D. 2009. Logeia-receipts and the Construction of Deir Shelwit. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 168: 252–256. Klotz, D. 2011. A Naos of Nectanebo I from the White Monastery Church (Sohag). Göttinger Miszellen 229: 37–52. Ladynin, I. 2005. “Adversary Ḫšryš(ȝ)”: His Name and Deeds according to the Satrap Stela. Chronique d’Égypte 80: 87–113. Ladynin, I. 2014. The Argeadai Building Program in Egypt in the Framework of Dynasties’ XXIX–XXX Temple Building. In: Grieb, V., Nawotka, K. and Wojciechowska, A., eds. Alexander the Great and Egypt. History, Art, Tradition. Wiesbaden: 223–228.

186  damien agut-labordère Malek, J. and Smith, M. 1983. Henry Salt’s Egyptian Copies and Drawings. Göttinger Miszellen 64: 35–52. Mariette, A. 1887. Le Sérapéum de Memphis. Paris. Matthey, P. 2012. Pharaon, magicien et filou: Nectanébo II entre l’histoire et la légende (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Geneva), Geneva. Maxfield, V.A. 2001. Stone Quarrying in the Eastern Desert with particular Reference to Mons Claudianus and Mons Porphyrites. In: Mattingly, D.J. and Salmon, J., eds. Economies Beyond Agriculture in the Classical World. London: 143–170. Meeks, D. 1979. Les donations aux temples dans l’Égypte du premier millénaire av. J.-C. In: Lipiński, E., ed. State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East II. Proceedings of the International Conference organized by the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven from 10th to the 14th April 1978 (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 6). Leuven: 605–685. Meeks, D. 1991. Oiseaux des carrières et des cavernes. In: Verhoeven, U. and Graefe, E., eds. Religion und Philosophie im alten Ägypten. Festgabe für Philippe Derchain zu einem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Juli 1991 (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 39). Leuven: 233–241. Meyrat, P. 2014. The First Column of the Apis Embalming Ritual. Papyrus Zagreb 597–92. In: Quack, J.F., ed. Ägyptische Rituale der griechisch-römischen Zeit. Tübingen: 263–337. Schentuleit, M. 2006. Aus des Buchhaltung des Wein Magazins im Edfu-Tempel. Der demotische P.Carlsberg 409. Copenhagen. Shaw, I. 1998. Exploiting the Desert Frontier. The Logistics and Politics of Ancient Egyptian Mining Expeditions. In: Knapp, B., Pigott, V.C. and Herbert, E.W., eds. Social Approaches to an Industrial Past. The Archaeology and Anthropology of Mining. London: 242–258.

Shaw, I. 2013. “We went forth to the Desert Land …”: Retracing the Routes between the Nile Valley and the Hatnub Travertine Quarries. In: Förster, F. and Riemer, H., eds. Desert Road Archaeology in Ancient Egypt and Beyond. Cologne: 521–532. Smith, H., Andrews, C. and Davies, S. 2011. The Sacred Animal Necropolis at North Saqqara. The Mother of Apis Inscriptions, 1: The Catalogue; 2: Commentaries and Plates. London. Smith, H.S., Davies, S. and Frazer, K.J. 2006. The Sacred Animal Necropolis at North Saqqara: The Main Temple Complex. The Archaeological Report. London. Spiegelberg, W. 1904. Demotische Miscellen, XXV–XXIX. Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 26: 154–165. Spiegelberg, W. 1905. Die demotischen Inschriften der Steinbrüche von Ṭurra and Maʿṣara. Annales du Service des antiquités de l’Égypte 6: 221–233. Spiegelberg, W. 1913. Eine Urkunde über die Eröffnung eines Steinbruchs unter Ptolemaios XIII. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 51: 65–75. Taufik, S. 1971. ἰr=f mnw als Weihformel Gebrauch und Bedeutung. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Abteilung Kairo 27: 227–234. Thiers, C. 2009. Observations sur le financement des chantiers de construction des temples à l’époque ptolémaïque. In: Preys, R., ed. 7. Ägyptologische Tempeltagung. Structuring Religion. Wiesbaden: 231–244. Thissen, H.J. 1979. Demotische Graffiti des Paneions im Wadi Hammamat. Enchoria 9: 63–92. Vittmann, G. 2011. Ägypten zur Zeit der Perserherrschaft. In: Rollinger, R., Truschnegg, B. and Bichler, R., eds. Herodot und das Persische Weltreich. Wiesbaden: 373–429.

13 Sacred and Secular Activities in the Egyptian Temple Precincts (temenē) in the 3rd Century BCE Gilles Gorre

In this paper I explore the coexistence of sacred and secular activities in the Egyptian temenē (“temple precincts”) in the 3rd century BCE. By secular activity, I mean that in Ptolemaic times, civil and military royal officials came to use the temenē as their place of work.1 During the two periods of Persian domination (525–404 and 343–332 BCE), the Egyptian temples lost their traditional function of mediating between the central administration and the local population. Later, through a new set of reforms, Ptolemy II (284–246 BCE) turned them into integral parts of the country’s administration and instruments for the diffusion of the dynastic cult for the new ruling family.2 More precisely, I examine the consequences of the Ptolemaic policy on Egyptian temples. Three main changes may be distinguished. First, the administrative buildings in the temple complexes— which traditionally served to manage the temples’ internal administration and their land estates—were turned into offices running the administration of the country in the service of the king (and not only the god). Admittedly, the temples had been administrative centers as “centers of the public life” since pharaonic times, to quote J. Quaegebeur (1979). The innovation of the Ptolemaic

period was that, on the one hand, temple scribes no longer served as administrators of the district in which their temple was located and, on the other, the civil and military administrators of the district gained control over the temples that stood in their administrative districts. This change is particularly well attested in southern Egypt, albeit from the end of the 2nd century BCE on, thanks to extant papyri and inscriptions (Gorre 2009: 513–556). It must have occurred earlier in the northern part of the country as well, alongside the material changes that affected several temples and that started in the late 3rd century. Second, and as a consequence of the first change, royal officials, in particular military and financial, were installed in the temenē and came to form the new local elite, either alongside or in the place of the local priests.3 Third, new buildings were constructed in the temenē in order to meet the needs of the royal administration and, in some cases at least, their construction entailed major changes in the spatial organization of the temenē.4 This list of consequences prompts two observations, which will serve as guidelines in this study. First, these consequences reflect not only the incorporation of the temples in the administration of the country by the

188  gilles gorre

Ptolemaic power, but are also a clear hint that the king increased his control over the temples. Second, they show that the prevailing modern view according to which the Egyptian temenē underwent either no changes at all, or very few, in the final centuries BCE is erroneous.5 This last view may be explained by two combined factors. On the one hand, the Ptolemaic period followed a time of intense building activity in the temples: the Egyptian temenē reached their widest extension under the last Egyptian dynasty (the Thirtieth Dynasty, 380–343 BCE).6 On the other hand, extensive building activities started again in Upper Egypt in the late Ptolemaic era (that is, in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE), as the major temples of Edfu, Esna, Ombos and Philae were either built or completed.7 The fact that the Ptolemaic period started and ended with wide-scale building activities in the temples is what generated the erroneous impression that the temenē remained unaffected by change. As I will show in the first section of my paper, this impression is neatly contradicted by the history of the temenos of Hermopolis, Middle Egypt, in the 3rd century BCE. Moreover, I argue that there was a direct link between the architectural changes that occurred in this site, and which are attested by the archaeological evidence, and administrative reforms, which are documented in inscriptions and papyri. As we will see in the second section, far from being an isolated case, the changes that affected the temenos in Hermopolis are representative of the fate of other Egyptian temenē, particularly in the Delta (Lower Egypt), in the Ptolemaic period.

Hermopolis (el-Asmunein) in Middle Egypt Hermopolis is of particular interest for several reasons. First, it was one of the largest cities in Ptolemaic Egypt— more accurately, probably the fourth one, after Alexandria and the former pharaonic capitals of Memphis and Thebes.8 Second, it is well documented: both the town and the temenos were excavated by Jeffrey Spencer of the British Museum in the 1980s and 1990s (Spencer 1989). Moreover, the extensive papyrological evidence allows us to identify the city’s various areas and buildings. Finally, the French and Egyptian excavations led in the

early 20th century uncovered the necropolis, in which the prominent families of the city were buried.9

The Hermopolitan temenos Thanks to the excavations of the British Museum, we are able to reconstruct the temenos of Thot, Hermopolis’ god, in early Ptolemaic times. At this time, its general organization appears to have been traditional. Its main gates were in line with the main temple, forming the temenos’ axis. Moreover, the temenos was organized concentrically, with the main temple standing at its center.10 In other words, the closer to the main temple, the holier the space. In this traditional organization, access to the center of the temenos was restricted to the priests. By the end of the dynastic period (in the 4th century BCE), wide-scale building works had been carried out in the Hermopolis temple, as everywhere else in Egypt. These works included a wall delineating the temenos’ sacred space and the hypostyle hall that stood in front of the temple. This hall was built under Nectanebo II, the last Egyptian king (360–343 BCE), and decorated in the name of Philip Arrhidaios (323–317 BCE) at the beginning of the Ptolemaic period. The first securely dated change in the 3rd century BCE was the building in the Greek style of the temple of the living gods, Ptolemy III (246–222 BCE) and his wife Berenice II Euergetai “Benefactors.” This temple was built before the last quarter of the 3rd century.11 According to Spencer, the new temple was linked to a new street, which can therefore also be dated to the late 3rd century BCE. On the southern side, at least, the new street cut through the temenos enclosure wall, whereas, as Spencer suggested, on the northern side, it may have gone through a gate dating back to pharaonic times. Moreover, administrative buildings were erected alongside this new street within the temenos space (Spencer 1989: 74). The location of these administrative buildings next to the dynastic temple and the partial destruction of the temenos wall leave no doubt that the new street was a public street, and not only a processional road.12 In addition, the layout of this street—which in Roman times became the cardo—entailed thorough changes in the spatial organization of the temenos.13 Some of the ancient pharaonic buildings were destroyed, and

sacred and secular activities in the egyptian temple precincts in the 3rd century bce  189

their stones were reused to pave the way.14 Moreover, the street disrupted the axial line that was formed by the main temple and the temenos gates. The main gate of pharaonic times was disused, and the processional road that followed the same axial line outside the temenos disappeared.15 As a result, instead of being walled off from the secular world as it used to be, from the 3rd century BCE on the main temple stood alongside the public street. Whereas the temple formerly stood at the center of a holy space of restricted access, the spatial organization of the temenos was now centered on the new street, and not on the temple. Papyri and inscriptions further document innovations in the cityscape of Hermopolis: the Greek temple of Ptolemy III was dedicated by the katoikoi hippeis, Greek cavalrymen who were settled in Hermopolis (FischerBovet 2014a: 340–341). The temenos of Thot was referred to as the phrourion of the king, that is, the royal administrative and military center.16 The new street was called Hermes’ dromos, according to the identification of the Egyptian god Thot to Hermes by the Greeks (Spencer 1989: 74–75). One administrative building that was built alongside the new street and on the site of the dismantled enclosure wall was identified as the dikasterion, the law court.17 Finally, the main temple was designated as Hermes’ temple. Taken together, these details mean that while the temenos had become the royal administrative and military center—as indicated by its being designated as the phrourion—cultic activity had not disappeared from it altogether. At the same time, even if it seems that some pharaonic aspects of the cult were maintained, the new position of the temple—as part of a secular space, and not at the center of a protected sacred space—must have entailed changes in the cultic practices.18 The new spatial situation of the temple further suggests that there was more than a mere Graeca interpretatio in the substitution of the Greek name of Hermes for the local Egyptian god, Thot. Insofar as changes in the cultic praxis occurred, various aspects in the god’s identity must have also been affected.19 While the papyrological evidence may be problematic—given that the earliest extant papyri date from the 1st century BCE—my dating of these sweeping changes in the spatial organization of Hermopolis temenos to the 3rd century BCE is supported by several

additional clues. The first, as we have seen above, is the archaeological evidence linking the temple of Ptolemy III with the dromos of Hermes. The second is the change in the social composition of the local prominent families that occurred in the 3rd century BCE.

The Change in the Prominent Families of Hermopolis My evidence about these families comes from the Hermopolis necropolis, Tuna el Gebel, which was excavated at the beginning of the 20th century. The oldest tombs are dated to the late 4th century BCE, and the necropolis remained in use until Christian times. In the older part of the necropolis, the two most impressive family tombs are those of Petosiris and Padykam, the two men who were successively the most prominent persons of their time in Hermopolis.20 The tomb of Petosiris is commonly dated to the reign of Ptolemy I, in either the late 4th or the early 3rd century BCE, whereas Padykam lived later in the 3rd century BCE. On the basis of the architectural similarities between the two tombs the possibility that the two men lived far apart in time is indeed excluded, although unfortunately, no accurate dating can be given. Despite their equal social prominence and their having lived a few decades apart, their respective careers were strikingly different. Petosiris belonged to a local dynasty of high priests, was at the head of the internal administrations of the Hermopolis temples and, as chief priest of Thot, was in charge of the cult both of Thot and of all deities related to him. In contrast, Padykam was related to a temple family of financial scribes. His administrative activity in the temples was limited to a scribal function in the maintenance of the sacred animals, and his rank in the priestly hierarchy was modest. In addition, as scribe of the king in the temples, Petosiris had powers over all the sanctuaries of Hermopolis, while at the same time (officially at least), his powers did not extend outside the temples. In contrast, Padykam was the royal scribe for the taxes in the nomos “administrative district” of Hermopolis—his Egyptian title being equivalent to the Greek title of grammateus basilikos of the Hermopolite nomos. As such, he ranked second only to the strategos, the governor of the nomos in the hierarchy of royal

190  gilles gorre

district officials. As is clear from this comparison, Petosiris, the most prominent man in Hermopolitan society at the time of Ptolemy I, was the head of the main local temple—that of Thot—whereas Padykam, the most prominent man in Hermopolitan society slightly later in the 3rd century, was the highest-ranking official in the Ptolemaic financial administration.

Hermopolis: A Summary To conclude on Hermopolis, the archaeological, papyrological and prosopographical evidence supports the view that thorough changes occurred in the social, religious and administrative organization of the city. First, as a Ptolemaic military and administrative center (phrourion of the king), the spatial organization of the temenos underwent sweeping changes to accommodate the installation of royal administrative facilities in it. These changes resulted in the overlap between secular and sacred spaces, a neat break with the pharaonic tradition. Second, these administrative buildings may be taken as evidence that from the 3rd century on, royal Ptolemaic officials—that is, either ethnic Greeks or Hellenized Egyptians, like Padykam—intruded into the temenos. Thus, as shown by Petosiris’ and Padykam’s tombs and careers, in the 3rd century BCE prominent royal officials replaced the high-ranking temple officials at the head of the society of Hermopolis. Third, if we consider the traditional religious life of the city, it appears that the pharaonic temples were at least partly preserved. At the same time, the very fact that the temenos was referred to as the phrourion of the king, as attested by papyri, implies that its space was primarily defined according to its administrative and military functions and not its religious ones. Therefore, the question arises how the cultic practices traditionally associated with pharaonic temples were affected by these changes. For example, given that secular activities were carried out close to the temple, we may wonder how the purity rules that traditionally applied in the sacred space of Egyptian temenē could possibly be implemented. In particular, it is very doubtful that the royal Ptolemaic officials who worked on a daily basis in the Hermopolis temenos followed these purity rules.21 Therefore, this daily presence of royal personnel in the

temenos at the very least seems incompatible with the cultic practices as performed under the last Egyptian dynasty—when, as shown above, the temenos was walled off and a strict separation between secular and sacred spaces was enforced.22

Beyond Hermopolis: Dating the Spatial and Function Transformation of Egyptian temenē A crucial question is whether the transformation of the Hermopolis temenos from an enclosed sacred space to a partly open and secular one, as just described, was an isolated case, or whether it is representative of a wider evolution.23 To be more precise, the question is when this evolution started—there is no question that the shift was ultimately general, and in late Roman times, several temenē of Egyptian temples were transformed into military camps.24 It is not easy, however, to determine when this shift towards the secular use of the temenē began on a large scale. In particular, we lack data securely dating from Ptolemaic times. Nonetheless, several clues provided by recent studies hint that the shift indeed started in Ptolemaic—and even in early Ptolemaic—times.

Hints Pointing to Ptolemaic Times First, in a recent investigation based on a quantitative study of the ceramic material, A. Berlin was able to trace a change during Ptolemaic times in the cultural practices of the population inhabiting an area of the site of Elephantine connected to the local temple, by delineating the change of the type of pottery from Egyptian to Greek (Berlin 2013).25 An additional clue is provided by the archaeological remains of Greek baths, which have been the subject of several studies in recent years and which can be dated with accuracy (Fournet et al. 2012). During the excavations led by the Egyptian antiquities service in Karnak, Upper Egypt, Greek baths were uncovered facing the main entrance of Karnak temple—the main temple in the city of Thebes (Boraik 2010). These baths are dated to between the late 3rd and the early 2nd century

sacred and secular activities in the egyptian temple precincts in the 3rd century bce  191

BCE, the lower date being more likely. Even though, strictly speaking, they do not belong to early Ptolemaic times, they offer a good example of how the archaeological remains of Greek baths may be used as evidence that secular activities were introduced in temples. This is because the installation of baths is evidence of a new, Greek, cultural practice and therefore hints at the presence of either Greeks or Hellenized Egyptians nearby who used these baths. In the case of Thebes, various additional findings indeed point to the presence in the Karnak temple complex in the early 2nd century BCE of a new population that worked for the king, and not only for the god. Fiscal papyri from this period document both the presence of a garrison in the city and the replacement of the temple granaries, which were headed by temple scribes, with royal granaries, which were headed by royal scribes, for the purpose of collecting taxes in kind—the harvest tax (Vandorpe 2000a; 2000b). In addition, recent excavations uncovered a mint of bronze coins from the 2nd century BCE, which was located within the temple temenos (Faucher 2011). Bronze coins were used in the payment of taxes in cash to the royal treasury and probably also in the payment by the royal treasury of subsidies to the temples and salaries to royal officials (Gorre 2014).26 The historical context for the settlement of this Greek population in Thebes at this time was undoubtedly the Ptolemaic reconquest of southern Egypt in the 180s BCE, which put an end to the revolt of the region in the late 3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE (on this revolt, see Veïsse 2004). We may reasonably propose that there was a direct connection between the construction of Greek baths in Thebes, the settlement of the garrison and the installation of facilities related to the Ptolemaic fiscal administration, and that these baths were indeed used by the soldiers and royal officials, who, in all likelihood, included both Greeks and Hellenized Egyptians. Moreover, the location of the mint of bronze coins is evidence that at least part of the royal administrative activities took place within the temenos. The fact that the baths were located close to the main entrance of the temenos seems to point to the same conclusion—although admittedly they were located in front of the temenos and not inside it, 27 thereby leaving room for some uncertainty. Moreover, their date—the first part of the 2nd

century—falls later than the accepted delineation of early Ptolemaic times, in the 3rd century BCE.

Egyptian temenē in the Delta In contrast with Upper Egypt, sites located in the Delta offer examples of the intrusion of secular activities in Egyptian temenē that definitely date from early Ptolemaic times, as shown by recent urban studies. Unlike in Hermopolis, most of the temenē in the Delta are documented exclusively through archaeological evidence, given that no papyri from this area were preserved. Furthermore, several areas of the Delta, in particular the western area, are either poorly documented in the Ptolemaic period altogether, or else the data are not easy to interpret.28 Nonetheless, on the basis of the extant evidence, two distinct processes of evolution regarding the Egyptian temenē may be identified. First, some temenē underwent an evolution similar to that of Hermopolis. This was the case in Diospolis Kato, the Arabic Bouto (eastern Delta) and Athribis.29 A second kind of evolution, documented in Bouto (western Delta), Mendes-Thmouis and Daphnae, was the separation between the urban center and the temenos—whereas before the Ptolemaic conquest the temenos formed the core of the cities.30 In these last three sites, the reshaping of the temenos’ spatial organization started in the reign of Ptolemy IV (222– 205 BCE), according to the archaeological evidence.31 Moreover, the process of separation between the religious core and the urban settlement certainly started in the Ptolemaic period, although no precise date can be offered. On the face of it, it seems that this process was more progressive than the pattern of evolution documented in Hermopolis, Diospolis Kato, Bouto and Athribis, but this impression may result from our difficulties in precisely dating the evidence. In addition, various clues—such as the construction of Greek baths, of new streets cutting through the sacred areas and of buildings of Greek style—may be taken as evidence that secular activities were being carried out in these temenē. In sites where the development of secular activities was effected through the spatial separation between temple and urban settlement, we have very scant evidence about the evolution of the temples’ cultic

192  gilles gorre

activities after the dynastic cult was introduced under the reigns of Ptolemy II and Ptolemy III and members of the royal family received the same honors as those offered to the local deities. Finally, although in some instances the main temple of the temenos seems to disappear altogether, in most sites the pharaonic temples continued to function.32 That said, as in Hermopolis, the development of secular activities in the temenē must have entailed changes in the cultic practices. Whereas they were the central focus as long as the temenē were sacred spaces of limited access, they could only lose this position following the spatial reorganization of the temenē. Moreover, in the 1st century BCE the stones of several pharaonic temples were reused in the construction of new buildings, possibly, albeit not necessarily, religious ones.33 The fact that royal activities intruded in the temenē of the Delta in such an easy way may be explained by two factors. The first is the relative weakness of the Egyptian temples in this region. Since the 4th century BCE, these temples had suffered from several military invasions. Moreover, unlike the temples of the south, they were not major economic centers, in particular because their land estates were much smaller—this was certainly the case in Ptolemaic times, and perhaps already in late dynastic times just prior to the Ptolemaic conquest.34 Second, the Ptolemies devoted particular attention to the Delta and the northern part of the country for military and fiscal reasons (Yoyotte, Charvet and Gompertz 1997: 214). In the Delta, the royal intrusion in the temenē seems to have been particularly heavy in towns that were of strategic importance to Ptolemaic rule. The kings’ interest in these towns in the eastern Delta was related to their need to control the eastern border, and in the central Delta, it was to control the Nile’s distributaries.35 These royal interferences in the Egyptian temenē of the Delta meant both the intrusion of a Hellenized population, most often soldiers, and the construction of Hellenistic-style buildings.36 These demographic and material changes entailed cultural changes in the temenos, and in all likelihood cultic changes as well, in particular the introduction of new practices. The appearance of new practices is indeed attested in Athribis, where numerous terracotta figurines of the child-god Harpocrates were discovered during the Polish excavations of the site

(Myśliwiec and Krzyżanowska 2009). These terracotta figurines became increasingly common through the earlier part of the 3rd century BCE and displayed increasing Greek influences, in particular from the Dionysiac iconography (Szymańska 2005: 75–90). Harpocrates is Horus as child. Now whereas Horus was indeed Athribis’ local deity, he was worshipped there as Khentykhety and as a falcon, warrior and solar god—but not as a child god.37 Since the 6th century BCE, Harpocrates had been known in Athribis as a minor god, but in Ptolemaic times he acquired a prominent position in popular devotion (Vernus 1978: 460–461). This change may be explained by the identity of those who now used the temenos: Greeks and Hellenized Egyptian soldiers (Myśliwiec 1996: 36).38 As the cult of Harpocrates was popular among those, they logically identified the local Horus with Harpocrates and depicted Horus in a Greek way, regardless of the fact that this identification was at odds with the local religious traditions.39 However, this evolution did not entail the disappearance of the pharaonic temple of Khentykhety, which is documented until the late 2nd or early 1st century BCE. By this time it was headed by high Ptolemaic officials, some of whom demonstrably came from the local priestly elite.40 In conclusion, we may apprehend the issue of non-priestly personnel and secular activities intruding into the temples through the wider angle of the relations between temples and Hellenistic kings. To some extent, royal interference in temples in Ptolemaic times continued a time-old pharaonic tradition. As centers of the public life in dynastic times, the temples used to be the main administrative centers, and taxes, in particular, were collected in the temples’ granaries. The novelty in Ptolemaic times was in the ways of royal intervention in the temenē. The latter were adapted to the Greek praxis of government. As a result, while taxes continued to be collected in the temples, royal granaries managed by Greek-speaking administrative personnel replaced the granaries and scribes of the temples. This new praxis of government entailed thorough changes in the temenē, as from the 3rd century BCE onward, Greek and Hellenized Egyptian royal officials worked there alongside the priests who served the local gods. These local priests were not necessarily hostile to the presence of the

sacred and secular activities in the egyptian temple precincts in the 3rd century bce  193

newcomers. As shown by the example of Padykam in Hermopolis, some Egyptians could find a royal career to be more attractive than the service of the gods, and it is a well-established fact that in Ptolemaic times some priests chose to work for the king.41

Identifying the Beginning of This Evolution: Ptolemy II’s Reforms This evolution clearly began as a consequence of Ptolemy II’s reforms in the 270s and 260s: the payment to the temples of newly-instituted royal subsidies supporting the dynastic cult entailed the subordination of the temples to the royal fiscal administration.42 The temples also paid taxes to the king, and in the event of failure to do so, the royal administration could take over the control of their internal administration. This is what happened to the temple of Edfu in 223 BCE, as documented in the papyrological archives of the praktor Milon, a judicial officer who was sent there by the royal administration.43 This episode is particularly striking because it concerns a temple from southern Egypt—a region where, in numerous aspects, the temples had preserved their autonomy from royal intrusion. Milon’s archives illustrate the success of Ptolemy II’s reforms in the 260s. The main purpose of these reforms was to bring the temples under the tight control of the royal administration. The means to do so may be described as an adaptation of the Greek system of euergetism, whereby wealthy citizens or Hellenistic kings subsidized various aspects of public life in Greek cities. The new system, however, was based on an impressive set of narrowly interconnected steps.44 The first step was the introduction of the royal cult in the Egyptian temples, after 273 BCE. To finance this cult, Ptolemy instituted royal subsidies to the temples. In order to index these subsidies on a stable source of incomes, Ptolemy II implemented a tax reform in 264/63 BCE. In particular, the taxes on fruits and vineyards that were formerly paid to the temples were now levied on behalf of the king. In addition, these taxes were paid partly in kind and partly in bronze coinage—an additional innovation. The bronze coins were given back to the temples as royal subsidies to the royal cult. These religious and financial reforms were complemented by a two-fold

reform of personnel. First, in Memphis Ptolemy II promoted the high priest of Ptah to head the priestly hierarchy of Memphis district and, at least in title, to head the priests of all the temples of Egypt. This position was an innovation, and the high priest of Ptah was furthermore entrusted with the introduction of the royal cult in the temples. Second, the inner administration of individual temples was also affected. Contrary to what might be expected, Ptolemy II did not entrust either the performance of the royal cult or the management of the royal subsidies linked to it to the high priests of the temples, but rather entrusted both aspects to priests belonging to families of lower rank. The consequence was a change in the internal hierarchies of the temples: the old priestly families who headed the temples lost royal support and with it, their social status, whereas new families were promoted in their stead. As we see, as an outcome of these reforms, the king subsidized the cult of Egyptian temples, but this was to balance the fact that he had appropriated their revenues. The added value of this system was that the temples became subject to royal control and economically dependent upon the king for their daily needs. These reforms were the occasion of a double change of personnel—within the temples themselves and through the establishment of a royal administration that replaced the temples’ administrations in the levy of taxes.45 In the perspective of a comparison with Hellenistic Judea, two aspects are worth emphasizing. First, it is wrong to believe that the Ptolemies promoted a network of royal administration but left the temples unchanged. Their reforms affected both the temples and the royal administration. Second, as just noted, these administrative reforms did not result in the emergence of secular Greek personnel. In the temples, the socially-entrenched priestly families were replaced with priestly families of lower rank, which benefitted from social promotion. I now come to the establishment of a network of royal administration that took over the levy of taxes throughout Egypt. On the face of it, this step required new personnel, and while this step prompted the emergence of new elites, these came from the same circles as those who used to manage the temples’ administrations—in some documented cases, they were the very same individuals. To put it differently, those who used to serve the gods

194  gilles gorre

in the temples now served the king in the royal administration. In numerous cases, they even served the god and the king simultaneously. To understand this social overlap, we may think of two explanations. The first is a pragmatic one—temple scribes possessed the required technical and intellectual competence to serve as administrative officials. They were already literate in demotic, and all they had to do was to learn the Greek language and alphabet. Conversely, in the time of Ptolemy II, Greeks possessing the required training to serve as officials were few, and the king could by no means rely only upon Greek immigrants to staff his administration.

The second reason has to do with the traditional way of life of the Egyptian priests and temple personnel. As a rule, priestly and temple functions were only held parttime, and during the rest of the year, priests were busy elsewhere—for instance, in the royal administration. Arguably, the Egyptian case offers a parallel with the Judean one, as kohanim and Levites were also divided in classes who served part-time in the temple. Moreover, according to the second Book of Chronicles, Levites regularly acted as judges and notarial administrators at the city gates. Consequently, they possessed both the necessary competence and the time to serve in the royal administration as well.

NOTES 1. In accordance with Sommerville 1998: 250, I use the term “secular” to refer primarily to the transfer of administrative functions from temple scribes to royal scribes and, more generally, to the installation of royal fiscal and military representatives within the temples’ sacred spaces. 2. On the Egyptian temples during the periods of Persian domination, see Agut-Labordère, this volume. On Ptolemy II’s reforms, see p. 193. The dynastic cult of the Ptolemies was first established in the 260s, following the death of Arsinoe II (Ptolemy II’s wife), who was deified as Philadelphia. For the creation of the dynastic cult as a starting point of close relationships between the dynasty and the temples, see Gorre 2009: 606–611. For the dating of the creation of the dynastic cult, see Cadell 1998. 3. For the emergence of this new elite, see Gorre 2009: 593–604; 2013. 4. These buildings must be distinguished from the administrative buildings used for the internal administration of the temples. Traditionally, an area within the temenos was assigned to workshops, storehouses and the housing of the temple personnel. See Masson 2014 for the study of a storehouse; and Leclère 2008: 590–592 on the issue of two kinds of spaces coexisting within the temenos. In pharaonic times, these administrative buildings located within the temenē were used mostly for the needs of the temples, whereas in Ptolemaic times, the royal administrative personnel in the temples worked for the king. 5. A recent example of this questionable view may be found in the otherwise fundamental study of Thebes in Roman times by Klotz (2012). Based on his observation that there was strong continuity in the identity of the gods worshipped in the temples of Thebes since the pharaonic period through Roman times (the Theban gods and their main features are listed on pp. 49–224), Klotz criticizes the studies (reviewed on pp. 1–9) that pointed to a sharp decline of the temples in Roman times. According to Klotz, this prevailing view derives from “a general lack of understanding of Egyptian temple history” (p. 7), whereas in truth, the temples underwent “a veritable renaissance of activity” (p. 405) in Roman times. However, Klotz’s statement that “in general, the Roman period accounts of Thebes are either quite positive or simply neutral” (p. 30) is questionable. For instance, it overlooks Tacitus’ reference to the temples’ priorem

opulentiam (Annales 2.60, quoted in Klotz 2012: 22). Similarly, Klotz’s claim that the ruin of Thebes in the 1st century BCE, as described by Pausanias (Periegesis 1.9.3), had no consequences on the temples themselves (“If the citizens of Thebes were no longer wealthy, they nonetheless could not complain about the state of their temples,” pp. 28–29) is puzzling. On pp. 227–380, he surveys the building works that were carried out in the emperors’ names in the Theban temples from Augustus to Constantine. After a preliminary remark that “while naturally the resources for Egyptian temple construction during the Roman Period will have been reduced considerably since the pharaonic period, one must remember that the total size of new buildings is not a reliable index for religious prosperity” (p. 226), the author overstates the significance of these works. For instance, it is questionable to see the portico that was built in front of the Ptolemaic pylon of the little temple of Medinet Habu and expanded by Antoninus Pius—the main construction work of this emperor who, according to Klotz, was “by far the most prolific builder at Thebes” (p. 382)—as the sign of a “renaissance,” given that this portico is a relatively minor item in the building as a whole. In truth, the most significant sign of continuity between dynastic and imperial times is the “reputation of Thebes”: in Chapter 3, the author emphasizes that the geographical texts that were engraved in the temples of Upper Egypt described the city as “the prototypical Egyptian district upon which all other cities and temples were modeled” (p. 48). However, these inscriptions are primarily an intellectual construction, which reflects “l’imaginaire sacerdotal” (that is, the priests’ self-representation, and representation of their temples), and not the actual demographic, administrative and economic situation of Ptolemaic and Roman times. See Yoyotte 1983: 217, 219. 6. To be precise, all building activity had already been suspended during the decade of the second Persian occupation (343–332 BCE), but this period was too short to be significant. On the period 380–332 BCE, see Agut-Labordère, this volume. 7. Although the construction of the Edfu temple had started in the 3rd century BCE, it was interrupted by the revolt of the Thebaid in 206 BCE and resumed only after the region was pacified in the 180s. It was completed by the mid-1st century BCE.

sacred and secular activities in the egyptian temple precincts in the 3rd century bce  195 8. In the 1st century BCE Hermopolis may have been bigger than Thebes in terms of population size, as a consequence of the revolt of the end of the 2nd century and the Ptolemaic reconquest. 9. The French excavations in the 1920s were headed by Gustave Lefebvre (1924) and the Egyptian ones in the 1930s by Samir Gabra (1941). 10. For the traditional organization of Egyptian temenē, see Leclère 2008: 587–647. 11. Subsequently, a Christian basilica was built in its place; see Bailey 1984: 43. 12. See Spencer 1989: 74: “it is clear from the Greek documents that the Dromos was the principal north-south street of the Greco-Roman city.” 13. Contrary to the excavators’ original hypothesis, the British excavations of 1982–1984 showed that the dromos followed a distinct axis, in comparison with the Late Dynastic temple of Thot. The new axis ran from the central doorway of the pronaos through the Sphinx gate. See Spencer 1989: 74. 14. See Spencer 1989: 74: “This new line took the street across the eastern part of the New Kingdom temple of Thot, all of which, including the east wing of the Ramesses II pylon, was demolished to clear space for the paved way and its dependent buildings.” For the reusing of talatat (Amarna) blocks presumably removed from the pylon of the Ramesside period, see Bailey 1984: 31, 44–45. 15. See Spencer 1989: 75: “The shift in axis brought about by the construction of the Dromos rendered both the Sphinx Gate and the entrance south of it through the enclosure wall redundant. … The Sphinx Gate could hardly have continued to be regarded as a significant monumental entrance when half of the Ramesses II pylon to which it was attached had been swept away, together with the entire eastern side of the Ramesside temple behind it.” According to Mueller (2006: 105–121, esp. 119–121), the Ptolemaic town planning usually inserted temples in the urban fabric and consequently dromoi lost their initial function. I thank Christelle Fischer-Bovet for this reference. 16. BGU 3.1002:7: φρουρίου μεγάλου Ἑρμαίου νυνὶ φρουρίου βασιλέως, “the phrourion of the great Hermes temple, nowadays the phrourion of the king.” 17. Bailey objected to this identification of the building as a dikasterion, a law court, but his reservations may be refuted. First, Bailey proposed to identify the type of buildings in question, which he describes as large basilica with… four aisles” (1984: 31), as komasteria, that is, processional buildings (on komasteria, see Husson 1999). Bailey (1984: 42–43) identified the Hermopolite building as a komasterion on the basis of a Greek papyrus of the mid-3rd century CE (P.Vindob.Gr. 12565), which he held to be a description of the Hermopolis city. However, as shown by J. Gascou (2007: 700), it is far from certain that the city described is indeed Hermopolis. In addition, Bailey (1984: 44–45) argued that the new dromos was primarily a processional road, even though its location was distinct from the old processional road. However, as shown above, the new layout of the dromos of Hermes entailed major architectural changes, supporting the notion that the temenos no longer functioned as a sacred space. Finally, the basilica building type per se is not incompatible with a dikasterion, and a papyrus of 89 BCE (P.Ryl. 2.68) precisely mentions a dikasterion being located alongside the dromos of Hermes (dikasterion is the reading of the text editors: see www.Trismegistos.org/text/5286). In its late stage (to the 2nd century CE), the building studied by Bailey had foundation stones that came from earlier Ptolemaic buildings (Bailey 1984: 33), and it was located near the temple of Ptolemy III. Given these data,

it is tempting to identify this Roman building as a reconstruction of the Ptolemaic dikasterion that was initially erected near the main Greek temple of the city. 18. According to J. Scheid (1995: 424), the internal organization of sacred spaces are the material results of cultic practices, and the latter in turn reflected the orders of beings. By this logic, changes in the organization of a sacred space are a secure hint that correlated changes in the cultic practices and in the pattern of the world order also occurred. Although Scheid’s discussion bears upon Roman religion, it can be applied perfectly to Egyptian religion as well— and hence to our understanding of Hermopolis—given that the Roman and Egyptian religions equally meet Scheid’s definition as “ritualistic.” 19. As shown by Fowden (1986: 45), Hermes Trismegistos in Roman times was a far cry from the pharaonic Thot. Referring to the way Graeca interpretatio operates, he notes: “Egyptian ideas, once articulated in Greek, inevitably acquired new dimensions and lost old ones.” 20. For a detailed study of these two men, see Gorre 2009: Nos. 39 and 40; 2010. 21. Even if the most detailed records about ritual purity and rules restricting access to temples are from Roman times, there can be no doubt that they were of primary concern in Ptolemaic times too. On these records, see, for example, Dieleman 2005: 211–220. 22. One of Petosiris’ most important duties was precisely the restoration of the enclosure wall. According to his biographical inscription, he protected the temenos from secular intruders; see Gorre 2009: 181–183. On this recurrent topic in Late Dynastic times, see, further, Thiers 1995. 23. The location of the Greek graffiti in the Ptolemaic temple of Philae constitutes evidence that access to the temple was not restricted, given that many were found on the external walls of Isis’ temple. However, the graffiti are less numerous within the temple itself. See Bernand 1969: 46–47. In contrast with the “theoretical” plan of a pharaonic temenos, it appears that in Philae at least, only the stone temple of the main deity was held as a sacred space with restricted access. 24. One of the best-known examples is the temple of Opet in southern Thebes, the modern name of which, Luxor, derives from the Latin castrum, “military camp.” On this case study, see El-Saghir et al. 1986; and Charloux et al. 2012. In fact, the installation of military settlements in Egyptian temenē started as early as Ptolemaic times. See Dietze 2000. 25. Unfortunately, as pointed out by Berlin, the method she used to obtain such a conclusive effect cannot be replicated elsewhere, due to technical limitations. Quantitative study is only possible if all the ceramic material excavated—and not only samples—was stored, classified according to types and ultimately published. These three conditions are rarely met, even in recent excavations. 26. However, in the light of new data, the introduction of the new bronze coinage in series 6 (Gorre 2014: 112, n. 98) should be dated to 204/203 BCE, and not 197 BCE, as I stated there. For the new data, see Gorre and Lorber, forthcoming. 27. Baths dated to the mid-2nd century on the basis of the paleography of the graffiti found in them were located within the temenos. See Pillet 1923: 107–109. As the graffiti show, these baths were a place of debauchery, whereas temenē must be preserved from sexual impurity. See Aimé-Giron 1923. 28. For example, in Sais we have no hint of any building activity in the temenos under the Ptolemies. The fact that the stones of the temples were reused in the 1st century BCE is evidence that the temenos was

196  gilles gorre abandoned during the Ptolemaic period, but we do not know when. For the western part of the Delta, see now Trampier 2014. However, given that his study is mostly based on surveys, the data relating to the activity of the temenē cannot be dated in any precise way. 29. See Leclère 2008: 301 (Diospolis Kato), 495 (Bouto), and 255–259 (Athribis). In Athribis the evolution is not entirely clear, given that the accurate location of the main temple is unknown. That said, a large house with peristyle was built close to the 6th-century temple on Kom A of the site at the beginning of the Ptolemaic period, and Kom B was entirely occupied by workshops in which Hellenisticstyle pottery was produced. 30. See Leclère 2008: 212–213 (Bouto) and 530 and 535 (Daphnae). In Thmouis (the name of the Hellenistic settlement), the urban center was relocated in an area that was originally only a suburb, while the old pharaonic site of Mendes declined. See Redford 2010: 194–201. On the notion that temenē were the core of the cities in pre-Hellenistic times, see Leclère 2008: 616: “les temples constituaient les véritables noyaux des agglomérations. … Ils en formaient avant tout le center symbolique et généraient concrètement les éléments structurants de l’espace urbain, les enceintes et les voies processionnelles”; the temenos was the “point focal du bâti urbain” (author’s translation: “the temples were veritable cores of the cities. … They were above all the symbolic center and concretely generated the structural elements of the urban space, the walls and processional ways”; “the focal point of urban architecture”). In Tanis, in the eastern Delta, the relocation concerned the religious, and not the urban, center, with the ex-nihilo construction of a new temenos at the end of the Ptolemaic period. This temenos became the main religious center of Tanis after the (at least partial) dismantling of Amun temple. For the archaeological evidence, see Brissaud 1995; 2007. 31. For the references for each site, see Leclère 2008. Some of these cities (particularly Bouto and Diospolis Kato) were foci of rebellions in the early 2nd century BCE; see Veïsse 2004: 7–11. We cannot rule out the possibility that this reshaping was one cause of these revolts. 32. Cases in which the main temples disappeared are (seemingly) Bouto in the western part of the Delta, and Bouto—that is, the Arabic Bouto—in the eastern part, both under the reign of Ptolemy IV. In Tukh el-Qaramous, the large temenos (450 × 390 m) seemingly disappeared as early as the mid-3rd century BCE; see Redon 2014: 47–49. 33. In Bouto, a public bath may have been built with stones from the temple; see Leclère 2008: 213. In Tanis, stones of the Amun temple may have been reused for the new temple of Horus; see Brissaud 2007: 229: “On est tenté d’imaginer que les souverains hellénistiques qui construisaient le grand temple d’Horus de Mesen dans le centre du Tell furent enclins à réduire considérablement l’architecture du temple d’Amon pour fournir des matériaux nécessaires à leur projet” (author’s translation: “It is tempting to imagine that the Hellenistic kings who built the great Horus temple of Mesen in the center of the Tell were inclined to considerably reduce the architecture of the Amon temple to provide the materials needed for their project”).

34. See Monson 2012: 79–93, on the question of the distribution of land ownership in the Ptolemaic period. For the question of lands donations to the temples, see Agut-Labordère, this volume. 35. On the eastern Delta, see Redon 2014: 51–52. On the central region, cf. the case of Buto in the early Ptolemaic period, which is documented by the Satrap stele; see Schäfer 2011. For the significance of this outstanding document for the relations between the temples and the Ptolemaics, see, further, Gorre 2009: 485–487; 2017; AgutLabordère and Gorre 2015: 36–51. 36. On Athribis, see n. 29 above. 37. On Khentykhety, see Lietze 2002: 279–280. On Harpocrates, see Lietze 2002: 281–282. 38. On the Athribis garrison, see Redon 2014: 52–54. 39. For the Graeca interpretatio of Horus as Dionysos-Harpocrates, see Malaise 1993: 152–153 (interpretatio of Khentykhety as Harpocrates). However, the traditional god Khentykhety did not disappear; see below, n. 40. 40. In the late 2nd century BCE, one of the most prominent priests of the Kentykhety temple was the strategos Dorion, who had inherited his priestly titles from his mother. This hereditary transmission is typical of the royal military and fiscal personnel who had been heading the Egyptian temples since the 2nd century BCE. On Dorion, see Gorre 2009: No. 54. In 96 BCE, the temple was granted a decree of asylum, a royal measure protecting temples against intrusions from the outside, first and foremost by royal officials. Despite the rhetorical phrasing of the decree enhancing the Athribis temple, these asylum decrees should not be mistaken for tokens of the Egyptian temples’ vitality. Quite to the contrary, they signal their need for protectors. In most cases, these decrees were granted in response to petitions made by a high royal official who was linked to the temple—in Athribis, the financial official (dioiketes). See FischerBovet 2014b: 145. See, further, Fischer-Bovet’s discussion of the significance of these asylum decrees (Fischer-Bovet 2014b: 139–140). I also discuss the case of Athribis in Gorre 2017. 41. For other examples, see Gorre 2009: 579–604. 42. From the 260s on, the revenues from the apomoira tax were specifically earmarked for the financing of these subsidies, and either in the late 3rd or the early 2nd century BCE, other taxes known as syntaxeis were added to support the various expenses of the cult; see Vandorpe 2005: 168–169. These regular revenues could be supplemented by special payments collected on special occasions, such as royal birthdays, births, coronations and victory celebrations, as illustrated by the archives of Ptolemaios, who lived enclosed in the Serapeum of Memphis. Ptolemaios’ main activity was to submit petitions to the royal fiscal representatives concerning the payment of salaries for the performance of rituals; see Agut-Labordère 2011; Legras 2011: 181–182. 43. On Milon’s archives, see Clarysse 2003. 44. I have explored the interconnections between these reforms in detail elsewhere; see Gorre 2014. 45. I have studied this change of personnel in Gorre 2009: 557–603.

REFERENCES Agut-Labordère, D. 2011. La ΠΑΡΑΘΗΚΗ au Serapeum: les (petites) affaires de Ptolemaios. In: Jördens, A. and Quack, J.-Fr., eds. Ägypten zwischen innerem Zwist und äuẞerem Druck Die Zeit Ptolemaios’ VI. bis VIII. Internationale

Symposium Heidelberg 16.–19.9.2007. Wiesbaden: 276–291. Agut-Labordère, D. and Gorre, G. 2015. De l’autonomie à l’intégration, les temples égyptiens face à la couronne des Saïtes aux Ptolémées VI–IIémes s. av. J.-C. In: Clancier, P.

sacred and secular activities in the egyptian temple precincts in the 3rd century bce  197 and Monerie, J., eds. Rois et sanctuaires à l’époque hellénistique (Topoi 19). Paris: 13–51. Aimé-Giron, N. 1923. Sur des graffiti grecs découverts à Karnak par M. Pillet. Annales du service des antiquités de l’Égypte 23: 139–142. Bailey, D.M. 1984. Ahsmunein (1983) (British Museum Occasional Paper 53). London. Berlin, A.M. 2013. Something Old, Something New: Native Culture under Ptolemaic Rule. In: Fenn, N. and RömerStrehl, C., eds. Networks in the Hellenistic World. According to the Pottery in the Eastern Mediterranean World and Beyond (British Archaeological Reports 2539). Oxford: 229–237. Bernand, A. 1969. Les Inscriptions grecques de Philae. Paris. Boraik, M. 2010. Excavations of the Quay and the Embankment in Fsront of Karnak Temples: Preliminary Report. Cahiers de Karnak 13: 65–78. Brissaud, P. 1995. Tanis. Exploration. Esquisse d’une évolution urbaine. Dossier d’Archéologie 210: 47–57. Brissaud, P. 2007. Tanis: étude du fond du temple d’Amon. In: Goyon, J.-C. and Cardin, C., eds. Actes du neuvième congrès international des Égyptologues, Grenoble 6–12 septembre 2004 (Orientalia lovaniensia Periodica 150). Leuven: 225–232. Cadell, H. 1998. À quelle date Arsinoé II est-elle décédée? In: Melaerts, H., ed. Le culte du souverain dans l’Égypte ptolémaïque au IIIème siècle avant notre ère (Studia Hellenistica 34). Leuven: 1–4. Charloux, G., Angevin, R., Marchand, S., Monchot, H., Oboussier, A., Roberson, J. and Virenque, H. 2012. Le Parvis du temple d’Opet à Karnak. Cairo. Clarysse, W. 2003. The Archive of the Praktor Milon. In: Clarysse, W. and Vandorpe, K., eds. Edfu: An Egyptian Provincial Capital in the Ptolemaic Period: Brussels, 3 September 2001. Brussels: 17–27. Dieleman, J. 2005. Priests, Tongues and Rites. The London-Leiden Magical Manuscripts and Translation in Egyptian Ritual (100–300 C.E.) (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 153). Leiden and Boston. Dietze, G. 2000. Temple and Soldiers in Southern Ptolemaic Egypt: Some Epigraphic Evidence. In: Mooren, L., ed. Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World. Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Bertinoro 19–24 July 1997 (Studia Hellenistica 36). Leuven: 77–89. El-Saghir, M., Golvin, J.-C., Reddé, M., Hegazy, E.-S. and Wagner, G. 1986. Le Camp romain de Louxor. Cairo. Faucher, T. 2011. Un atelier monétaire à Karnak au IIe s. av. J.-C. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 111: 143–163. Fischer-Bovet, C. 2014a. Army and Society in Ptolemaic Egypt. Cambridge, U.K.

Fischer-Bovet, C. 2014b. Les conséquences des réformes de l’armée lagide. In: Veïsse, A.-E. and Wackenier, S., eds. L’armée en Égypte aux époques perse, ptolémaïque et romaine (Cahiers Aigyptos 2). Geneva: 137–170. Fournet, T., Lucore, S., Redon, B. and Trümper, M. 2012. Catalog of Greek Baths. In: Trümper, M. and Lucore, S., eds. Greek Baths and Bathing Culture: New Discoveries and Approaches (Babesch Supplement 23). Leuven: 269–334. Fowden, G. 1986. The Egyptian Hermès. A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind. Cambridge, U.K. Gabra, S. 1941. Rapport sur les fouilles d’Hermopolis ouest. Cairo. Gascou, J. 2007. Review of The City in Roman and Byzantine Egypt, by Richard Alston. Topoi 15: 699–702. Gorre, G. 2009. Les Relations du clergé égyptien et des Lagides (Studia Hellenistica 43). Leuven. Gorre, G. 2010. Les élites sacerdotales d’Hermopolis et le pouvoir gréco-macédonien. In: Moreno Garcia, J.-C., ed. Élites et pouvoir en Égypte ancienne (Cahiers de Recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et d’Égyptologie de Lille 28). Lille: 359–372. Gorre, G. 2013. Self-representation and Identity of the Egyptian Priests. In: Stavrianopoulou, E., ed. Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period (Mnemosyne Supplements 340). Leiden and Boston: 99–114. Gorre, G. 2014. La monnaie de bronze lagide et les temples égyptiens. Annales 69: 91–113. Gorre, G. 2017. Communautés nouvelles ptolémaïques et téménè deltaïques. In: Kayser, F. and Médini, L., eds. Communautés nouvelles en Egypte hellénistique et romaine. Chambéry, France: 105–134. Gorre, G. and Lorber, C. Forthcoming. The Survival of the Silver Standard. In: Faucher, T., ed. Money Rules. Cairo. Husson G. 1999. Komastèrion et quelques termes d’architecture religieuse du grec d’Égypte. In: Blanc, A. and Christol, M., eds. Langues en contact dans l’antiquité. Paris: 125–129. Klotz, D. 2012. Caesar in the City of Amun: Egyptian Temple Construction and Theology in Roman Thebes (Monographie Reine Elisabeth 15). Turnhout. Leclère, F. 2008. Les Villes de Basse Égypte au Ier millénaire av. J.-C.: Analyse archéologique et historique de la topographie urbaine (Bibliothèque d’Égyptologie 144). Cairo. Lefebvre, G. 1924. Le Tombeau de Pétosiris. Cairo. Legras, B. 2011. Les Reclus grecs du Sarapieion de Memphis. Une enquête sur l’hellénisme égyptien (Studia Hellenistica 49). Leuven. Lietze, C., ed. 2002. Lexikon der Ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 114, Vol. V). Leuven. Malaise, M. 1993. Le faucon et la chouette d’Harpocrate. In: Cannuyer, C. and Kruchten, J.-M., eds. Individu, société et spiritualité dans l’Égypte pharaonique et copte. Brussels: 147–158.

198  gilles gorre Masson, A. 2014. Offering Magazines on the Southern Bank of the Sacred Lake in Karnak: The Oriental Complex of the Twenty-Fifth–Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. In: Pischikova, E., Budka, J. and Griffin, K., eds. Thebes in the First Millennium BC. Cambridge, U.K.: 587–602. Monson, A. 2012. From the Ptolemies to the Romans: Political and Economic Change in Egypt. Cambridge, U.K. Mueller, K. 2006. Settlements of the Ptolemies. City Foundations and New Settlement in the Hellenistic World. Leuven. Myśliwiec, K. 1996. Athribis entre Memphis et Alexandrie. Dossier d’Archéologie 213: 34–43. Myśliwiec, K. and Krzyżanowska, A. 2009. Tell Atrib 1985–1995. Warsaw. Pillet, M. 1923 Rapport sur les travaux de Karnak 1922. Annales du service des antiquités de l’Égypte 23: 99–138. Quaegebeur, J. 1979. Documents égyptiens et rôle économique du clergé en Égypte hellénistique. In: Lipiński, E., ed. State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 5–6). Leuven: 707–729. Redford, D. 2010. City of the Ram-Man: The Story of Ancient Mendes. Princeton, NJ. Redon, B. 2014. Le maillage militaire du Delta égyptien. In: Veïsse, A.-E. and Wackenier, S., eds. L’armée en Égypte aux époques perse, ptolémaïque et romaine (Cahiers Aigyptos 2). Geneva: 45–80. Schäfer, D. 2011. Makedonische Pharaonen und hieroglyphische Stelen Historische Untersuchungen zur Satrapenstele und verwandten Denkmälern (Studia Hellenistica 50). Leuven. Scheid, J. 1995. Les espaces cultuels et leur interpretation. Klio 77: 424–432. Sommerville, C.J. 1998. Secular Society/Religious Population: Our Tacit Rules for Using the Term Secularization. Journal

for the Scientific Study of Religion 37: 249–253. Spencer, J. 1989. Excavations at El-Ashmunein II: The Temple Area. London. Szymańska, H. 2005. Terres cuites d’Athribis. Monographie Reine Elisabeth 15. Turnhout. Thiers, C. 1995. Civils et militaires dans les temples. Occupation illicite et expulsion. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 95: 493–516. Trampier, J. 2014. Landscape Archaeology of the Western Nile Delta (Wilbour Studies 2). Atlanta, GA. Vandorpe, K. 2000a. Paying Taxes to the Thesauroi of the Pathyrites in a Century of Rebellion (186–88 BC). In: Mooren, L., ed. Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World. Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Bertinoro 19–24 July 1997 (Studia Hellenistica 36). Leuven: 405–436. Vandorpe, K. 2000b. The Ptolemaic Epigraphe of Harvest Tax (shemu). Archiv für Papyrusforschung 46: 169–232. Vandorpe, K. 2005. Agriculture, Temples and Tax Law in Ptolemaic Egypt. Cripel 25: 165–171. Veïsse, A.E. 2004. Les “révoltes égyptiennes”: Recherches sur les troubles intérieurs en Égypte du règne de Ptolémée III à la conquête romaine (Studia Hellenistica 41). Leuven. Vernus, P. 1978. Athribis. Textes et documents relatifs à la géographie, aux cultes, et à l’histoire d’une ville du Delta égyptien à l’époque pharaonique (Bibliothèque d’Égyptologie 74). Cairo. Yoyotte, J. 1983. Sites et cultes de la Basse Égypte occidentale. Annuaires de l’École Pratique des Hautes Études 91: 217–221. Yoyotte, J., Charvet, P. and Gompertz, S. 1997. Strabon. Le Voyage en Égypte. Paris.

14 Searching for the Social Location of Literate Judean Elites in Early Hellenistic Times A Non-Linear History of the Temple and Royal Administrations in Judea Sylvie Honigman

By the late 4th century BCE the Jerusalem high priesthood was held by a dynasty—variously described as “Aaronide,” “Zadoqite,” or “Oniad”—which traced its genealogy through Jeshua son of Jehozadaq, the first post-exilic high priest, back to Israel’s first high priest, Aaron. While in historical terms, some scholars have raised doubts about a high priest already existing in the first generation of the returnees (that is, before the rebuilding of the temple) and others have questioned the notion that the high priesthood had been hereditary from the outset, the Oniad dynasty effectively endured for quite a few generations, from the Macedonian period at the latest, until its overthrow in 172 BCE.1 By the late 4th century BCE the principle of cultic centralization had become a major tenet of Judean religious practice and belief, and although it was never fully achieved, all the cultic sites were controlled by Aaronide families.2 In Judea,3 the Jerusalem temple had become a major focus of popular piety—and the temple on Mount Gerizim in

Samaria enjoyed a similar status. Likewise, it has been argued that the Aaronides’ dynastic claims over the temple were a key factor in the scripturalization of the Torah and Prophets, and by all accounts the late 4th century was a pivotal moment in this evolution (Watts 2013). Not only was the composition of the Pentateuch entirely concluded and that of the main prophetic corpora partially completed, but both the Torah and Prophets were gaining authoritative status.4 Moreover, the Torah was becoming a communal heritage, and not merely the purview of the priests. As a result, the rules of priestly purity started to be extended to the rest of the Judeans.5 The so-called religious history of Judea is usually studied separately from that of the so-called secular functions of the Jerusalem temple and its high priestly dynasty. In this article, I contend that cultic and non-cultic aspects—administrative and economic for the temple and political and administrative for the high priest— closely interacted in a substantial, albeit complex, way.

In writing this article I am much indebted to conversations with Hervé Gonzalez, Gilles Gorre, Oded Lipschits and Christophe Nihan, whom I thank for these fruitful exchanges. I wish to thank Christophe Nihan also for reading an earlier draft of this article and offering invaluable comments. The final version is my sole responsibility.

200  sylvie honigman

Moreover, this interaction was constrained by the imperial setting, and there is no question that the imperial order took precedence over internal social and religious developments in defining the roles of both the temple and its high priest in non-cultic realms. Thus, when we study changes over time, it is essential to bear in mind that each imperial dynasty—Persian, Macedonian, Ptolemaic and Seleukid—had its own ruling culture, resulting in varying degrees of incorporation of the local elites and institutions in the imperial apparatus in each period, be it in Judea or elsewhere. In particular, the place conceded to local temples in the imperial order differed under each dynasty, and consequently, the imperial setting significantly impinged upon the interaction between cultic and non-cultic aspects as they might have otherwise developed under strictly indigenous rule. Nevertheless, even in this context of asymmetrical power relations, some factors of interaction played in the opposite direction as well. As far as we can discern, the place that traditionally devolved upon the king in local (Judean, Egyptian, or Babylonian) religious systems impacted the way that the imperial administration acted in and towards temples.6 Likewise, the religious prestige among the population that the various temple institutions enjoyed in each province and each period was a variable to reckon with in this interaction between temples and imperial power.7 By this logic, religious aspects must be taken into account when we investigate the changing administrative and economic role of the Jerusalem temple or the changing balance of power between the high priest and the imperial administration in Judea in the Second Temple period. In a nutshell, whereas the religious prestige of the temple and its high priest seems to have increased steadily throughout this period, the story of their political, administrative and economic roles was anything but linear. Even though, as just stated, imperial changes were the main cause in these variations, the Jerusalem temple and—even more clearly—the Oniad dynasty displayed a remarkable resilience, in particular in the difficult days of Ptolemaic domination. Whereas in Egypt, under the Ptolemies, the temples lost their administrative and economic role—and the old temple families that had been serving as chief priests since Achaimenid or even dynastic times were soon swept away—in Jerusalem the Oniad dynasty survived the

emergence of new, rival, elites, and the Jerusalem temple was able to recover a seemingly prominent administrative and economic role immediately upon the Seleukid conquest. In this paper, I trace the changing relations of the Jerusalem temple and its high priestly dynasty with the imperial administrative apparatus—and their changing position within this apparatus—from Persian to early Seleukid times. My discussion is organized first chronologically and—for Ptolemaic times—topically. I begin by summarizing what we know of the administrative structures of Yehud8 in the middle and second half of the 5th century BCE, based on the Books of EzraNehemiah and the Elephantine papyri. Next, I examine various sources of evidence pointing to the rise of the high priest’s powers at the expense of the governor’s in the late 4th century BCE. Although there are hints that this shift may have started in the very last decades of Persian domination, the evidence primarily points to the Macedonian period9 and, more precisely, to the decades of power vacuum at the time of the Diadochi’s wars, as the period when the high priest’s powers peaked. Third, I investigate the administrative and economic status of the Jerusalem temple in the 3rd century, which, as far as we can discern, declined in comparison to the previous decades due to the reestablishment of a strong imperial rule—although some of its activity was nonetheless maintained. A key factor in this relative decline, I argue, was the Ptolemaic correlated incitement to the emergence of new elites and the creation of an unusually dense administrative network—a ruling policy that the Ptolemies, starting with Ptolemy II, first implemented in Egypt with high success. Moreover, the overblown royal administration and, in particular, the presence of (relatively) numerous Greeks in the southern Levant must have entailed changes in the structure of patronage. The power strategies of these old and new (literate) elites between the two major institutions of Judea—the temple and the royal bureaus—in Ptolemaic times and these new opportunities for social patronage are the subject matter of my last section. One should bear in mind that this topic has potential bearings on how some scholarly circles apprehend the issue of the social location of literary genres and texts, in particular sapiential works and apocalypses. To this end, these scholars map distinct

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  201

social groups among the literate elites of Judea—both priestly and lay—as being linked either to the temple or the royal bureaus in an exclusive way, or else at the margins of society. Contrary to this approach, I explore the possibility that literate elites circulated in quite a fluid way between the temple and royal bureaus. By this token, the relations between social groups and institutions depended upon multiple variables, some of which undoubtedly escape us, and consequently, the question of the social location of texts must be approached in a different manner.

The Administrative Structure of Yehud/Judea in the Mid-5th Century BCE On the basis of archaeological evidence, it seems that the region of Judah acquired the status of an administrative entity—a province—within the satrapy of Transeuphratène in the last third of the 6th century BCE, at the time when seals and bulla impressions began to bear the name of the province (yhd, “Yehud”) or of officials with the title of governor (peḥā).10 From Nebuchadnezzar II’s conquest in 586 BCE, the regional capital was established in Mizpah and the main shrine was in Bethel (Lipschits 2006: 34; Sérandour 2009: 88). While scholars continue to debate whether the transfer of the capital to Jerusalem was the cause or the consequence of the rebuilding of the temple, there is broad agreement that these changes occurred in the mid-5th century BCE.11 Despite its recovered status of capital, Jerusalem remained a small urban center in Persian times. In the mid-5th century— nearly one century into Persian rule—its urban site covered no more than six hectares and was exclusively located in the upper part of the City of David, in the vicinity of the temple, with an estimated population of about 1,500. It was most likely essentially composed of priests and assorted temple servants, landed aristocracy and ruling social classes.12

Imperial and Local Administrations in the Latter Half of the 5th Century BCE The origins of the high priesthood remain obscure. It has been speculated that this institutional innovation accompanied the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple, but

the chronological correlation between the two is in fact only inferred from their functional link, and is not positively documented. Likewise, the original way of appointment of the high priest is debated. In the days of the native monarchy the various shrines were administered independently, and the king either appointed or confirmed the chief priests who stood at the head of each one. In contrast, the high priesthood of Jerusalem in Persian times, at least if we take the ancient sources literally, was a hereditary office, implying that the governor had no say in the appointment of the incumbent.13 This picture, however, has been questioned, not least because the narrative of Ezra-Nehemiah strongly suggests that by the mid-5th century BCE the high priest was subordinate to the governor. Given the latter’s regal powers, there are grounds to believe that the high priest was originally appointed by the governor.14 Whatever the case, the institution of the high priesthood resulted in the innovative juxtaposition of two spheres of jurisdiction.15 On the one hand, the governor— who was either a Persian or a member of the local elite—was appointed by the Persian administration and was subordinate to the satrap of Transeuphratène.16 As the representative of the Persian king, this governor possessed the main royal prerogatives, in particular that of building the temple and other urban monuments, imposing order and justice and ensuring the regular payment of tribute to the central Persian treasury. Conversely, we may speculate that the powers of the Jerusalem high priest were originally restricted to family cult, religious practices and customary law—although it may be anachronistic to assume a neat delineation between their respective spheres of powers. Whatever the initial setting, it seems that in subsequent times each side sought to increase its sphere of intervention.17 The administrative apparatus of Yehud is usually reconstructed on the basis of Ezra-Nehemiah, supplemented with the Aramaic papyri from Elephantine.18 Ranking below the governor, the provincial administration was composed of the governor’s family (Neh 4:17, 5:10,14) and “officials” (sǝgānīm)—numbering about 150 at the time of Nehemiah, most of whom belonged to prominent Judean families, along with foreigners. These officials ate at the governor’s table, a means of payment that replicated the model of the Great King’s and satrapal

202  sylvie honigman

courts (Neh 5:17; cf. also Neh 2:16, 4:8,13, 5:17; Ezra 9:29) (Fried 2004: 189, with further references). Outside the administrative center, the province was divided into administrative regions (pelek; Neh 3:9,12,14–19) headed by “presidents” (śārīm). The imperial apparatus also included a few military commandments (Neh 2:9, 7:2). The governor’s court and his administration were financed through a special tax (Neh 5:14,18).19 The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah also mention prominent men, who are variously dubbed ḥōrîm “prominent men” (Neh 2:16), śābē yᵊhūdāyē and zᵊqēnîm “elders of the Judeans” (in Aramaic, Ezra 5:5,9; and in Hebrew, Ezra 10:8,14), and rāʾšē hāʾābōt “heads of the fathers’ houses” or “clans” (e.g., Ezra 2:68; Neh 8:13). Based on a comparison with the šibū documented in Babylonian texts of the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods, L. Fried has convincingly argued that these elders were the citizens who possessed land within a certain district and were entitled to sit as witnesses in the judicial courts to hear cases of property disputes and private cases of a local nature. In the Book of Ezra, they appear as witnesses in divorce cases heard by provincial judges upon the governor’s order (Ezra 10:8,14).20 Fried lists four incidents narrated in the Book of Nehemiah that attest to a power struggle between the governor and the high priest, unambiguously showing that the former had the upper hand (Fried 2004: 207–208). In particular, Nehemiah expelled Tobiah the Ammonite from a temple room that had been handed over to him by Eliashib during the governor’s absence (Neh 13:4–9). While Eliashib does not seem to be the high priest, it is unlikely that chambers in the temple could be assigned without the latter’s consent, and Nehemiah’s ejection of Tobiah may be understood either as a move aimed at asserting the governor’s authority within the temple at the high priest’s expense or at reasserting his authority against the high priest’s attempt to increase his own control on the temple administration during the governor’s absence.21 Strikingly, the institutions mentioned in Antiochos III’s decree for Jerusalem dating from the aftermath of the conquest (198 BCE), which is quoted in Josephus’ AJ 12.138–144, seem, on the surface, very similar to the ones found in the Book of Ezra-Nehemiah.22 The royal letter is formally addressed to the imperial governor,

Ptolemaios (son of Thraseas) (AJ 12.138), who is entrusted with carrying out the royal orders—including repairing the temple’s building and porticoes—whereas “the council of Elders [gerousia], the priests, the scribes of the temple and the temple-singers” are mentioned as benefiting from a tax exemption. 23 However, this impression of continuity is misleading, because what mattered was not the permanence of local institutions per se, but the extent to which they were integrated into the imperial apparatus—and in this respect, variations between the Achaimenid, Ptolemaic and Seleukid periods were great, owing to the different ruling cultures of the successive dynasties. In particular, the economic status of the temple in the imperial organization was all but constant.

The Financing of the Temple in the Mid-5th Century BCE The temple’s sources of revenues and its administrative status in Persian times remain a matter of debate. The overall picture may be clarified, however, by progress in our understanding of the comparative evidence relating to other parts of the Persian empire, on the one hand, and a comprehensive examination of the testimony provided by the literary sources relating to Jerusalem, on the other. Under the native monarchy, the Jerusalem temple was a royal institution, located as it was in the royal capital. Whereas the powers of the chief priest were limited to his cultic functions, the king assumed the main responsibilities vis-à-vis his patron deity: the duty to build the temple was exclusively his, and he also cared for the material needs of the temple, supplying goods for the cult and entertaining its personnel. Individual gifts and donations completed the temple’s revenues.24 According to a series of royal decrees inserted in MT Ezra and LXX 1 Esdras, the royal duties towards the temple were taken over by the Persian kings. However, these decrees are late forgeries, and based on comparative material, the historical picture seems to have been far gloomier.25 As a rule, the beneficence actually displayed by Achaimenid rulers towards some temples of subject peoples met ad hoc needs and was by no means a general policy.26 Thus, the imperial subsidies to temples in Egypt and Babylonia were much lower relative to the economic

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  203

support they enjoyed under the late native dynasties. Whereas a substantial number of the temples that had enjoyed prestigious status under native kingship in these two regions were faced with the end of royal donations and fiscal exemptions, the Persian authorities singled out carefully selected temples that they continued to support.27 Against this background and given the marginal status of Judaea in the Persian empire, it seems reasonable to believe that if Darius and Artaxerxes had ever granted subsidies to the temple, this decision must have been limited in time. Consistently with this lack of imperial support to provincial temples, it seems that the imperial administration did not systematically incorporate temples into its provincial administrative apparatus, for instance for the purpose for collecting taxes—far from it.28 Some, if not most, of the taxes owed to the Achaimenid king were collected through administrative structures that were independent from them. As shown by P. Bedford on the basis of the Nehemiah Memoir, this was certainly the case in the province of Yehud.29 As Persian governor, Nehemiah was in charge of all taxes in the province, and except for the tax of the governor’s table, he does not seem to have had any power of reform relating to the imperial taxes.30 In addition, as demonstrated by the episode of Nehemiah expelling Tobiah from the temple chamber quoted above, the governor in Nehemiah’s days had the upper hand when it came to the administration of the temple and its personnel (Bedford 2015: 344–348). The fact that the governor’s office, not the temple institution, was in charge of collecting the imperial taxes can only buttress the notion that the Jerusalem temple did not enjoy regular royal subsidies. Insofar as the temple was not integrated in the imperial state apparatus and given the marginal economic and strategic importance of Yehud, it is difficult to understand why the imperial authorities would have invested in it. Leaving the Persian decrees aside, the evidence provided by the Book of EzraNehemiah regarding the temple’s revenues is consistent with this inference. The book as a whole mentions individual donations coming both from the local population and the Judean community settled in Babylonia. In the Nehemiah Memoir, Nehemiah, in his second mission to Jerusalem, instituted a reform of the taxes that were paid to the temple in order to ensure a

regular source of income to the temple. According to Bedford, the new system continued to be based on informal—that is, voluntary—taxation, given that, in contrast to the imperial administration, the temple administration did not have the power to levy compulsory taxes, but Nehemiah’s reform aimed to strengthen the leverage of social pressure in order to generalize the practice of voluntary donations (Bedford 2015: 347–348). Admittedly, some caution is needed, because we have no means of knowing whether the picture of the temple’s revenues provided by the literary sources was exhaustive or selective. However, the circumstantial evidence—that is, the fact that the imperial taxes were collected by the governor—strongly suggests that even if the picture is selective, the missing part did not include royal subsidies; of course, this circumstantial evidence corroborates the view that the Persian decrees were forgeries.

Conclusion Along with its economic bearings, Nehemiah’s fiscal reform may have been responsible for an even more fundamental shift: through the systematized payment of voluntary taxes to the temple, the traditional royal duty to care for the material needs of the temple was taken over by the Judean community at large. The establishment of these economic ties between the temple and the community must have been accompanied by a corresponding shift in the religious status of the Jerusalem temple. From a royal institution aimed at legitimizing kingship in the monarchic period, the temple in the 5th century BCE became the focus of popular piety. We can only surmise that these shifts moreover either accompanied, or facilitated, the increased prestige of the high priest, as well as the cultic centralization around the Jerusalem temple, which seems to have come into being by the late 4th century BCE.31 Conversely, in my view, these religious changes, and in particular the incorporation of the temple in popular devotion, are key factors to an understanding of why both the temple and its high priest ultimately turned into major political, administrative and economic institutions in Judah by the end of the 4th century BCE. More precisely, when the turmoil of the late 4th century generated a political and administrative vacuum, the

204  sylvie honigman

temple and high priest possessed the legitimacy to step in. Archaeological and numismatic finds are the main sources of evidence for a study of this evolution.32

Signs of Change in Late Persian and Macedonian Times Changes in the Status of the High Priest: The Chronological Frame Let us start from the end. As I have argued elsewhere, the eulogy of the high priest Simon, son of Onias, in the Wisdom of Ben Sira (50:1–21) offers evidence that by the time of the work’s composition—in the very first years of Seleukid domination over Judea—the Jerusalem high priest had come (at least symbolically) to enjoy the regal status previously reserved to the governor, alongside his (slightly more) traditional angelic status.33 This text opens with a catalogue of architectural items that were either built or repaired by Simon in his lifetime: he fortified the temple, laid the foundations for the high retaining walls of the temple enclosure, and dug a water cistern (1–3). Through its careful selection of items, this list unambiguously proclaims the high priest as holding the regal prerogative of building the temple and associated urban monuments. When did the high priest acquire this status? Based on the so-called Temple papyrus from Elephantine mentioned above—407 BCE—the high priest’s powers remained very limited by the end of the 5th century, and the decision to build or repair temples belonged to the governor.34 The Jerusalem high priest had cultic responsibilities in the Jerusalem temple, probably some legal powers related to ritual matters, but no political powers at all—much like the situation described in the biblical texts relating to the chief priest of Jerusalem in the monarchic period (Bedford 2015: 344–351). Consequently, the decisive changes in the status of the high priest occurred between 407 and the very beginning of Seleukid domination. The circumstances of this evolution may be more precisely pinned down thanks to two sources of material evidence. One is the quantitative analysis of the geographical and chronological distribution of jar handles (jars being

containers for agricultural products) bearing an official stamp, proving that the temple acquired an increased administrative function in the latter half of the 4th century BCE; the other is numismatic evidence, which casts light on the changing balance of power between the governor and the high priest.

The Partial Incorporation of the Temple in the Imperial Administration: The Evidence of the Yehud Stamp Impressions The archaeological evidence corroborates the notion that in Persian times, taxes in Judah were collected through administrative apparatuses that were separate from the temple. Excavations have uncovered an impressive administrative complex in Ramat Raḥel—erected on a strategic site some 4 km south of the City of David— which has been tentatively identified with the biblical Beth Hakkerem.35 The site had been used as an imperial administrative center since the Neo-Babylonian conquest in 586 BCE, but the building of a palace and garden paralleled only by the palace and garden in the administrative center of the city of Samaria strongly suggests that at some point in the Persian period— presumably when Jerusalem regained its religious function—Ramat Raḥel became the governor’s new place of residence in Yehud, replacing Mizpah in this function (Lipschits et al. 2017: 112). Activity in the center sharply declined in the 3rd century. Although finds of Ptolemaic and Seleukid coins indicate that it remained in use, no evidence has been identified to suggest that it was inhabited by a representative of either the Ptolemaic or Seleukid central power and no imported Greek ceramics typical of this period have been uncovered at the site.36 Ramat Raḥel regained part of its function as a (minor) administrative center for the collection of agricultural products for a short period in the 2nd century BCE (the early Hasmonean period), at a time when Jerusalem had become the main administrative center of Judea (Lipschits et al. 2011: 37; 2017: 112–114, 117–118). The administrative history of the site (and of the province as a whole) is primarily documented by the finding of ceramic containers and related stamp impressions on jar handles, which under Achaimenid rule displayed the Aramaic name of the province,

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  205

Yehud—hence their modern labelling as “yhwd (Yehud) stamp impressions.”37 Based on the chronological and geographical distribution of the Yehud stamp impressions, it appears that from the 6th to the 4th centuries BCE (i.e., the Achaimenid and Macedonian periods), Ramat Raḥel was the main, if not sole, administrative center for collecting Yehud’s agricultural products, primarily wine and olive oil. These agricultural products were subsequently traded through Ashkelon on the Palestinian coast to meet the payment in cash of the imperial tribute.38 However, the local administrative power withheld a surplus of 5–10% of the production, apparently from the royal estate of Moẓa, in order to meet expenses. Part of these surpluses served to pay salaries in kind to officials in the various secondary administrative centers of the province39—in which substantial quantities of Yehud stamp impressions were uncovered—and another part was sold to private individuals, which would account for the tiny percentage of Yehud stamp impressions found in private houses. The scarcity of Yehud stamp impressions from the first two centuries of Persian rule documented in the City of David suggests that the Jerusalem temple was either barely or not at all part of the imperial administrative apparatus. However, the number of yhwd-stamped jars that found their way to the City of David increases dramatically toward the very end of the Persian domination, and this figure rises through the 3rd century. On the basis of quantitative data gathered on these receptacles, it appears that the City of David became the second administrative center and, while still far less important than the Ramat Raḥel complex, it outshone the rest of the secondary centers.40 Allowing for a gap of one or two decades, the chronology of the shift in status of the City of David (that is, of the temple), as evidenced by the quantitative data of the Yehud stamp impressions, roughly coincides with the change in status of the Jerusalem high priest, which is in turn documented by the numismatic evidence.

Judean Coinage and the Shift from Governor to High Priest Coins are considered to provide key evidence for the rise of the high priest’s powers. The earliest Judean coins

were minted from ca. 375 BCE, through the Macedonian period (333/2–302/1), into the reign of Ptolemy II, and the mint fell into disuse sometime after Ptolemy II’s reform of 261/0.41 They are identifiable through legends featuring the name of the province in Aramaic—spelled yhd and more rarely yhwd—in the Persian and Macedonian periods and in Aramaic (yhd, yhwd) and (after 261/0 BCE) in Hebrew (yhdh, “Yehudah”) in the Ptolemaic period.42 The use of these coins appears to have been strictly local, as suggested by the finding of only small or minute denominations and by the fact that no Yehud coins have so far been found outside the province. Typical of an open currency system, coins of the major urban and commercial centers of the coast were used for regional trade.43 Thus, coins of late Persian times from Gaza, Tyre, Sidon and Arados are found in relatively large numbers in Judah (Ronen 1998: 126). One series in particular has drawn special attention, because the legends on the coins include, alongside the name of the province, the names of the officials in charge of the mint, either with or without their title. To date, three such legends are known: yḥzkyh “Yeḥizqiyah” (associated with coin types TJC 24, 25, 25a and 26), yḥzkyh hpḥh “Yeḥizqiyah the governor” (TJC 22 and 23) and ywḥnn hkwhn “Yoḥanan the priest” (TJC 20, attested by a unique coin). 44 These legends have been taken to indicate that at some point in time, the authority to strike coinage was transferred from the governor to the high priest. However, developments might not have been as straightforward as that, so before we reach any conclusions, the evidence must be reviewed in greater detail. Although the absolute dating of these coins remains uncertain, Gitler and Lorber have determined a reasonably refined chronological sequence by combining criteria of weight standards, iconography and style—the most decisive chronological criterion being that of the weight standards.45 In Persian times, the Judean coinage followed the Persian weight standard of the šeqel (or Persic stater, with an average weight of 11.4 g), which was divided into 24 gerah (with an average weight of 0.48 g). At some point after Alexander’s conquest, it was replaced with the Attic weight standard, which was based on the tetradrachm (with an average weight of 16.5 g) and its subdivision into 24 obols (with an average weight of

206  sylvie honigman

0.72 g). The shift probably occurred not immediately after the conquest, but in the times of the Diadochi. Observing that the reform resulted in the production of lighter monetary units (the quarter obol, averaging 0.18 g in weight, instead of the half gerah, with an average weight of ca. 0.24 g), allowing “one third more coins to be struck from a given quantity of bullion,” Gitler and Lorber suggested that the change was motivated by the spate of “economic hardship and fiscal inadequacy” that accompanied the wars of the Diadochi. Moreover, given that the Attic weight standard had quickly become a universally accepted monetary system under Alexander, the reform facilitated exchanges. In both cases the rationale was primarily economic and not political (Gitler and Lorber 2008: 73–74). By combining this fundamental criterion with iconographic and stylistic features, Gitler and Lorber demonstrated that the earlier coins were the ones featuring the name of Yeḥizqiyah without a title.46 In the earliest (coin type TJC 26, a half gerah, i.e., ca. 0.24 g), the head of the Persian king wearing a jagged crown is depicted on the reverse, indicating that this type is earlier than 332 BCE, with stylistic considerations pointing to late Persian times. Three additional coin types issued according to the Persian weight standard (two of a half gerah and one of a quarter gerah) and bearing the name of Yeḥizqiyah in the legend (TJC 24, 25 and 25a) date either from late Persian times or from the days of Alexander.47 In contrast, the two coin types bearing the legend of “Yeḥizqiyah the governor” (TJC 22–23) relate to the Attic standard (their weight of ca. 0.18 g indicating the quarter obol), as does the unique coin of type TJC 20 featuring “Yoḥanan the priest.” This means these three series were issued after Alexander’s conquest. Coin type TJC 21 displaying the name of the province in Aramaic (“Yehud”) and Hebrew (“Yehudah”) belongs in the same years. In relative chronological sequence, Gitler and Lorber place TJC 20 and 21 after the “Yeḥizqiyah the governor” types (TJC 22–23), even though their respective iconographies are very similar, suggesting that these four types are very closely related in time.48 Three additional types (TJC 14, 28 and 27) must be inserted after them in the Macedonian sequence. These types must be earlier than 301—the date of Ptolemy Soter’s final

conquest of the region—since they do not exhibit the emblematic Ptolemaic eagle on their reverse. On the basis of Gitler and Lorber’s reconstruction, it appears that Yeḥizqiyah was governor of the province of Judah at the time of Alexander’s conquest in 332, and according to a pattern well documented through the literary and documentary evidence, the governor was confirmed in his position by the conqueror.49 Yeḥizqiyah saw to the monetary reform introducing the Attic standard, which, as just noted, was most likely effected in the context of the Diadochi’s wars (324/3–302/1). These years of political and military turmoil must have enabled him to accrue considerable power and prestige, since the length of his rule as governor (and his political resilience) made him an anchor of stability in a chaotic world, and the display of his title as governor on contemporary coins may reflect precisely that. At some point under the Diadochi—perhaps upon the death of Yeḥizqiyah—the high priest Yoḥanan replaced him as the provincial minting authority, displaying his own title on coins—indeed, the title “the priest” may be an equivalent to “the high priest.”50

The Historical Background to the Shift from Governor to High Priest The fact that only one specimen of the “Yoḥanan the priest” coin type has been retrieved to this day may suggest that the high priest’s supervision of the local mint was short-lived.51 Nevertheless, the chronological setting of this experiment is noteworthy, because the scenario of a high priest taking advantage of a time of weak royal authority (or of power vacancy) to fill the vacuum is attested elsewhere. As shown by G. Gorre in this volume, in the late 4th century BCE the chief priest of the temple of Thot in Hermopolis, Middle Egypt, retained his office as lesonis for seven years instead of the regular one year, and on the façade of his tomb, he had himself represented performing rites and ceremonies that were the king’s exclusive privilege. The fact that in his biographical inscription Petosiris ascribes his appointment to the god and not to the king confirms that this usurpation occurred when the king was far away. In his biography Petosiris indeed mentions the hardships and sufferings of the

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  207

Second Persian Domination, and this was apparently the time when he appropriated his regal powers.52 Similarly, it was shown that two funerary mounds located near Uruk in southern Babylonia, dating from the 3rd century BCE, imitated the style of the royal burial mounds of the Argeads at Aigai (Vergina, Macedonia). H. Baker suggests that the occupants of the two mounds were most plausibly Anu-uballiṭ (alias Nikarchos) and Anu-uballiṭ (alias Kephalon), who held functions at the head of the city of Uruk and the Bīt Reš (the temple of Anu) in ca. 244–214 and 201–182 BCE, respectively. If this identification is correct, the style of their burial monuments would imply that “Nikarchos and Kephalon styled themselves as more than high officials, in fact rather as local rulers” (Baker 2013: 52–53, quote on p. 53). Moreover, the use of a tumulus associated with other ones as a burial monument “had strong dynastic associations,” which are all the more noteworthy since the two men belonged to the same family clan—the descendants of Aḫʾûtu (Baker 2013: 55). Finally, Anu-uballiṭ-Kephalon supervised rebuilding works in the Bīt Reš complex (in 202 BCE), thereby assuming as governor a privilege that in Mesopotamia traditionally belonged to the king (Monerie 2012: 330–332; Clancier and Monerie 2014: 190–191, 207–208). By the second half of the 3rd century BCE, the Seleukids had long neglected the city, and a local family stepped into their place, possibly with dynastic ambitions.

Conclusion: The High Priest in the Chaos of the Early Macedonian Period Corroborating clues seem to indicate that by the late 4th century the high priest’s powers in Judea—both religious and administrative—had increased in a substantial way.53 In addition, the temple cult had been supported by communal taxes since Nehemiah’s reforms, and this economic reform was presumably an important milestone in transforming the temple into a central object of popular piety. Moreover, based on the geographical and quantitative distribution of the Yehud stamp impressions, it seems that the role of temple scribes in the imperial administration had grown considerably—indeed, the increased number of stamped jars that made their way to the City of David could be taken to mean that temple

personnel had begun to receive payments in kind as employees in the provincial administration. It appears that the governor who had overseen the transition from the Persian empire to Macedonian domination was not replaced, presumably due to the turmoil of the wars of the Diadochi, and—as happened in Hermopolis under similar circumstances and in Uruk decades later—the Jerusalem high priest stepped into the vacuum, taking over the supervision of the local mint and presumably other economic functions as well. Both in Hermopolis and Uruk, these usurpations were short-lived. Shortly after the demise of Petosiris, the prominent man in Hermopolis was Padykam, who was fully incorporated in the royal administration (see Gorre, this volume). In Uruk, prominent men from the Aḫʾûtu clan disappear from the extant sources after the death of Antiochos III (Monerie 2012: 346–351; Clancier and Monerie 2014: 220–222). To some extent, the Jerusalem high priest’s usurpation of the administrative and economic powers of the governor was short-lived too— the unique “Yoḥanan the priest” coin suggests that the high priest’s ambitions to supervise the mint were quickly forestalled. However, in comparison with Hermopolis and Uruk, the correlated religious prestige of the Jerusalem temple and high priest made a difference: although the regal status of the high priest declined and the temple—to some extent at least—lost its newly acquired economic functions to the Ptolemaic administration, the decline was only partial. The rest of my discussion will focus on Ptolemaic times.

The Administrative and Economic Status of the Jerusalem Temple in Ptolemaic Times The establishment of a strong imperial power after 301 BCE inevitably curtailed the political rise of the high priest. From Ptolemy II Philadelphos (283–246 BCE), the Ptolemaic dynasty ruled Egypt by means of a strong royal administration, following the deliberate weakening of the administrative and economic structures of the temples—or rather, their incorporation into the royal apparatus (Gorre 2009; Gorre and Honigman 2013; 2014; Manning 2010). It is hard to avoid the impression that

208  sylvie honigman

Ptolemy II or his successor tried to extend their way of governing Egypt to the satrapy of Syria and Phoinike. In particular, this meant strengthening the administrative and economic institutions that were not dependent upon the temples, encouraging new elites to compete with the well-established ones and diverting competent personnel from the temple administration to their service to supplement Greek administrators. The (scarce) evidence from the 3rd century documents both (retrospectively) the powers that the temple and the high priest had gained and (prospectively) the changes that were imposed by the Ptolemies to suit their ruling culture. As a preliminary to our discussion of these changes, it will be useful to outline the Ptolemaic way of governing Egypt.

Ptolemaic Rule and the Egyptian Temples The second aspect of Ptolemy II’s reforms was the transfer of many of the administrative functions of the temples to the royal administration. As explained by Gorre in this volume, this move was effected by installing the royal bureaus and the army within the temple precincts, inciting the temple scribes to move from the service of the deity to that of the king (that is, as royal scribes), and transforming the temple granaries, in which taxes in kind were collected, into royal ones. Like Padykam in Hermopolis, these royal officials issued from the temples retained priestly functions alongside their royal ones—but to judge from the order in which these men recorded their various functions in their biographies, the latter took precedence, despite these biographies being engraved on statues erected in the temple complexes. At lower administrative levels, the former temple scribes who had switched their allegiance to the king were posted in different temples from their original ones. The reasons for this transfer of personnel were pragmatic. Although there were Greeks in Egypt, there were hardly enough who had mastered the required technical skills to fulfill administrative posts—not least since the fiscal system in Egypt was far more complex than anywhere in the Greek world. Greek immigrants were primarily employed as reservists in the army. In contrast, the temple personnel already had the adequate training, and it must have been trivial for them to switch

from Aramaic to Greek as their main foreign language alongside hieratic and demotic. In the second half of the 3rd century, the Ptolemies encouraged the acquisition of Greek literacy through a (modestly) lower rate in the poll tax, obviously to ensure the necessary manpower for their administration. However, those who benefited from this fiscal measure can be shown to have been both Greeks and Egyptians.54 Additional aspects of Ptolemy II’s reforms concerned the levy and collection of taxes. The payment of certain taxes was monetized, and a correlated system of tax farming was instituted. More precisely, the system of tax collection and farming was mixed. On the one hand, the rights to collect specific taxes were auctioned through public bids. The tax farmers were private individuals— Greeks who were familiar with monetary economy—and were expected to deliver cash payments to the state in advance of the collection of the revenues. On the other hand, the actual collection of the farmed taxes was effected by royal officials—both Greek and Egyptian— who assisted the tax farmers in this task.55 Moreover, certain taxes that used to be collected by the temples, and whose revenues belonged to them, were transferred from the temples to tax farmers. The levy, collection and income of these taxes were appropriated by the royal administration to the detriment of the temples, and from 259 BCE, this income was returned to the temples as subsidies to finance the cult of Arsinoe Philadelphos.56 Finally, the monetization of certain taxes was the occasion for the royal administration to introduce the usage of bronze coinage throughout Egypt. As shown by Gorre, the temples, as foci of the public life in Egypt, were instrumental in the diffusion of this coinage, the value of which was strictly fiduciary (Gorre 2014). The royal subsidies financing the royal cult in the temples were made in bronze, and, in turn, the temples used this currency to effect payments to the numerous individuals who held either a cultic or a material function in a temple and who were entitled to a salary. The bronze coins that were thus put in circulation were subsequently used by these recipients to pay taxes. Through various studies, Gorre has shown that the various reforms carried out by Ptolemy II in Egypt in the 270s and 260s may be seen to form a coherent set (Gorre 2009; 2014; and this volume; Gorre and Honigman 2013;

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  209

2014). Three correlated aspects of his analysis are particularly relevant to our arguments here. They bear upon the social changes that affected the personnel of the Egyptian temples, Ptolemy II’s reform of the royal administration and his reform of the system of tax collection. Within the temples, the reforms of personnel consisted in the eviction of the old socially entrenched temple families and the emergence in their stead of temple families of lower social rank. Since the latter owed their raise in status to the king, they could be expected to be more loyal and more compliant with the king’s demands than the old powerful families. The occasion for this change was the introduction in the temples after 273 of the dynasty cult to Arsinoe Philadelphos, as the performance of the related cultic duties and the management of the subsidies allocated by the king to the cult were entrusted to these new men and not to the former temple chief priests (Gorre and Honigman 2013; 2014, with bibliography). As demonstrated by this summary, the relations between the temples and the royal administration that resulted from Ptolemy II’s reforms must be assessed in a nuanced way. Whereas the temples as administrative and economic institutions were weakened, the result was the symbiotic incorporation of the temple facilities and personnel into the royal administrative apparatus, and not their insulation. On the one hand, it was impossible for the Ptolemies to transpose this system wholesale to other parts of their empire. As pointed out by Gorre, the Ptolemies in Egypt had a free hand to interfere with the internal affairs of the temples because as pharaohs they were the chief religious authority in all the country’s temples (Gorre and Honigman 2013; Gorre 2019). They enjoyed no such status in any of the cultic systems of southern Syria, and certainly not in Judea. On the other hand, we may reasonably presume that the Egyptian experience influenced both their attitude and concrete treatment of temples in their imperial possessions. Thus, the Egyptian picture invites us to apprehend the relations between the royal administration and the Jerusalem temple in a nuanced way. The sources documenting the administrative and economic history of Judea under Ptolemaic domination are not numerous, but are well known. Following a brief survey, I will focus on their interpretation, tackling three

issues in particular: how the high priest gained and lost control of paying the tribute to the king, as documented by the Romance of Joseph the Tobiad; the monetary reforms of Ptolemaic times and their possible consequences on the temple economy, as documented by the numismatic evidence and by Zechariah 11:4–14, respectively; and the economic function of the temple, as documented by references to the temple porticoes and by the Yehud stamp impressions.57 We have no evidence about the political status of the high priest in this period—as noted above, we can only presume that it declined sharply.

The High Priest and the Tribute: The Romance of Joseph the Tobiad Josephus’ Romance of Joseph the Tobiad (AJ 12.156–236) and the Rainer papyrus (SB 8008) offer evidence that the Ptolemies exported to Syria and Phoinike the system of tax farming in which they had experimented in Egypt. The Romance further casts light upon the changing economic powers of the high priest. It is widely accepted that the chronology of the story as edited by Josephus is muddled; a few words on this matter are therefore warranted. A convincing reconstruction was recently proposed by N. Kaye and O. Amitay, who argued that Josephus’ summary of the story of Joseph the Tobiad starts in AJ 12.156, whereas AJ 12.154–155 refers to the arrangement of 193 BCE through which Antiochos III sought to put an end to the protracted enmity between the Ptolemies and the Seleukids. Antiochos gave his daughter Cleopatra in marriage to Ptolemy V, and as dowry he gave Ptolemy part of the revenues of “Koile-Syria, Samaria, Judea, and Phoinike” (AJ 12.154). Josephus himself collated the two episodes according to his own (erroneous) understanding of his sources (Kaye and Amitay 2015). Once sections 154–155 are put aside, we can safely situate the story of Joseph the Tobiad in the era of Ptolemaic domination—a decisive clue being that Joseph was accompanied by a Ptolemaic squad of two thousand foot soldiers when he came to levy taxes in Askalon/Ashkelon (AJ 12.180), as pointed out by Sartre (2014: 18). That said, the story remains difficult to date with precision (see below).

210  sylvie honigman

Josephus’ account implies that Onias II, as high priest, was responsible for the payment of the provincial tribute—presumably to the provincial governor (AJ 12.158–159). In the absence of explicit evidence, it is reasonable to surmise that the high priest acquired this major economic responsibility at around the same time when he took over the governor’s minting authority— that is, in the tumultuous era of the Diadochi. He retained this function after 301 and presumably throughout Ptolemy I’s reign.58 However, at an unknown date, the high priest was dispossessed of his control over the imperial taxes. According to the Joseph Romance, the levy of the imperial taxes was auctioned through a public bid, and the system of tax farming was introduced in the satrapy. Thanks to Ptolemy II’s ordinances for the registration of livestock and slaves of ca. 260 BCE (P.Rainer = SB 8008 = C.Ord.Ptol. 21–22), we know that taxes were paid collectively by villages and that villages’ taxes were contracted to tax farmers of lower rank.59 The date of this reform is hard to establish because of the basic contradiction between the (inferred) chronology of the Romance and the evidence of Ptolemy II’s ordinances. To avoid chronological inconsistencies with the arrangement of 193 BCE, Josephus edited out all chronological clues from his own account of the life of Joseph the Tobiad when he conflated the two episodes. In particular, he refers to the Alexandrian king as “Ptolemy,” omitting the usual cultic epithet(s) that served as means of identification. As a result, the approximate dating of the career of Joseph the Tobiad can only be inferred retroactively from Josephus’ statement that Joseph died shortly after Seleukos IV became king (187 BCE).60 Joseph could have been active under Ptolemy V (204–200 BCE), Ptolemy IV (221– 204), or Ptolemy III (246–221) at the earliest. The decrees of Ptolemy II, however, attest that tax farmers of lower rank were operating in villages by 260 BCE. Unless we surmise that the system of tax farming was experimented in the Levantine satrapy prior to its introduction in Egypt, the chronology appears to be irretrievably muddled—and therefore, we can only situate this reform in the Ptolemaic period.

Ptolemaic Coinage in Judea As shown above (pp. 205–206), the shift to the Attic system in Judea seemingly dates from the early years of the Diadochi, but oddities soon resurface. First, the Attic system in Judea was maintained well into the Ptolemaic era, even though Ptolemy I adopted a slightly lower weight standard based on the Phoenician system.61 The Ptolemaic standard was used in all Egyptian and provincial mints, setting the Ptolemaic coinage of Judea apart, even in the satrapy of Syria and Phoinike (Ronen 2003; Gitler and Lorber 2006: 4). Second, throughout the early history of the Judahite/Judean coinage, local issues were consistently of pure silver, whereas in Persian times all important commercial cities in the region that had a mint—Gaza, Samaria, Tyre and Sidon—struck silver-plated coins. Likewise, silver issues in Judea persisted when, starting with Ptolemy II’s reform of 261/0, bronze coinage came to replace silver and silverplated coins of small denominations everywhere else in the Ptolemaic empire.62 This continuation of silver is all the more strange given that Judean coinage was limited to small denominations, for which bronze appeared to be far handier. Based on these distinctive features, Y. Ronen has suggested that the Yehud coins were used for payment to the Jerusalem temple, pointing to the stipulation in the Mishnah (t. Shekalim 2:4) that the temple dues were to be made in pure silver and according to the šeqel weight standard.63 By this logic, the Judean coinage would offer evidence of the overlap between the temple’s religious status and its economic function. This interpretation, however, is dubious.64 While stressing that the “anomalous metrology of the Ptolemaic coinage of Jud[ea] underscores its exceptional character as a coinage authorized by local authorities, in contrast to the centrally controlled royal Lagid coinage,” H. Gitler and C. Lorber remarked that the continued use of the Attic standard by the Judean local authorities “was perhaps simple conservatism” and a symptom of its strictly local usage.65 Moreover, following a series of reforms aimed at adjusting the currencies that were used in the satrapy of Syria and Phoinike with the system that was used elsewhere in the territories under Ptolemaic control, the Jerusalem mint ceased to be used under Ptolemy II. Rather than a formal

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  211

decision from above to close the mint, its suspension may have been an indirect consequence of Ptolemy II’s currency reform of 261/0, which introduced both new precious metal coin types and larger bronze denominations, both in Egypt and the empire.66 Three new mints were opened (at Akko-Ptolemaïs, Joppe and Gaza) alongside the older mints of Tyre and Sidon, and the increased supply of coins may simply have made the Judean coinage obsolete (Gitler and Lorber 2006: 13–16). With local minting discontinued, it is hard to believe that the temple authorities would have been able to oppose payment in bronze coinage—had they wished to at all— pace the Mishnah stipulation.67 While the real reasons for these monetary changes elude us, there may be a literary echo in Zechariah 11:4– 14 of the discontent generated in certain circles of Judea by the Ptolemaic introduction of bronze coinage and institution of tax farmers. If this interpretation is correct, we presumably have a hint that these reforms were detrimental to the temple economy.

Zechariah 11:4–14 Zechariah 11:4–14 speaks of sheep merchants who exploit the flock to become rich, whereas the shepherds hired by the merchants to tend the flock have no pity for the sheep, which are doomed to slaughter. The prophet becomes a shepherd of the flock, and after the sheep merchants give him his wages—by “weighing out thirty šeqels of silver”—he casts this money into the temple foundry upon God’s order (11:12–13). This passage must be examined in two steps. First, based on his dating of Zechariah 9–14 to Ptolemaic times, H. Gonzalez argues that the unusually elaborate two-tiered system of economic exploitation described—by purchasers and sellers of sheep and by their shepherd employees—alludes to the complex administrative system in the region that was introduced under the Ptolemies (Gonzalez 2017: 47–62).68 The sheep merchants seem to be either foreigners located in Judea (since they bless Yhwh; Zech 11:5) or locals linked to a foreign power, whereas the shepherds appear to be Judeans participating in the system of economic exploitation of the population. According to Zechariah

9–10 and 12–14, this foreign power must be the Greco-Macedonians.69 Second, the image of the good shepherd (the prophet) casting his 30-šeqel wages into the temple foundry may be explained through Zechariah 13:7–9—a passage that seems to have originally followed 11:4–14 and that uses the imagery of refining silver and gold to symbolize the purification of the community (literally, the sheep). After the shepherd is beaten to death, the sheep are to be divided, with two thirds sent off to perish and one third allowed to live. Similarly, the good shepherd’s casting of his wages into the temple foundry refers to the purification of the silver. As argued by Gonzalez, this reference to the temple foundry as the place to refine precious metals can be read as a contentious allusion to the Jerusalem mint issuing a coinage of pure silver, whereas the contemporary Ptolemaic issues in precious metals were alloys and the fiduciary money of bronze was introduced. Altogether, this section may be read as a critical comment both on the greediness of the Ptolemaic officials and on the Ptolemaic fiscal and monetary policy. This critical comment suggests that the institution of tax farmers (and possibly also the discontinuation of the Jerusalem mint) deprived the temple of part of its economic power and that the tax farmers were chosen among elite members external to the temple—a striking parallel to the Romance of Joseph the Tobiad. At the same time, two sources of evidence suggest that the temple did not lose all of its economic activity and, more crucially, that it retained some of its administrative role within the imperial state apparatus.

The Temple’s Economic Activity in the 3rd Century BCE As I have argued elsewhere, there are several consistent clues that commercial activity took place in the porticoes of the Jerusalem temple (Honigman 2014: 340–342). Although explicit mentions thereof appear only in the Synoptic Gospels at a much later period (Matthew 21:12; Mark 11:15–16; Luke 20:45), 2 Maccabees 3:4–5— relating to the reign of Seleukos IV (187–175 BCE)—alludes to a quarrel between the high priest Onias III and one Simon—a representative of the king in the temple administration—over the agorano­mia of the city.

212  sylvie honigman

As shown by comparative evidence, agoranomia referred to taxes levied on commerce.70 The fact that the ago­ranomia “of the city” was in the hands of the priestly person­nel of the temple is evidence of their control over certain economic activities—that is, either a market was located in the temple precinct or else their control extended to the whole city. Likewise, Antiochos III’s pointed interest in rebuilding the temple’s porticoes in his decree of 198 BCE (AJ 12.141) was presumably motivated by the latter’s economic function (Aperghis 2011: 26). This activity was not Antiochos’ innovation: thanks to Zechariah 14:21, evidence that the temple was a trading place can be traced back to Ptolemaic times. Admittedly, this commercial activity may have been primarily related to the temple’s sacrificial function, but we cannot rule out the possibility that the temple supported a (modest) regional fair.71

Conclusion: The Status of the Temple and the High Priest in Ptolemaic Times As we have seen in this section, each kind of source— archaeological, numismatic, papyrological and literary—follows a slightly different chronology. Despite these discrepancies, the following reconstruction may be proposed. According to the Ramat Raḥel excavators, the site lost much of its administrative function in the 3rd century BCE (Lipschits et al. 2011: 37; 2017: 113). In view of the numismatic evidence, it may be suggested that its decline occurred slightly earlier, i.e., in the Macedonian period, as a direct consequence of the disappearance of the last governor, Yeḥizqiyah. For a while, the high priest Yoḥanan usurped the governor’s powers, minting coinage in his name and (according to the Joseph Romance) assuming the responsibility of collecting the imperial taxes. Meanwhile, he presumably sought to turn the City of David into the province’s capital. However, this move was soon curtailed by the Ptolemaic power, at the latest with the introduction of the system of tax farming. Ptolemy II’s ordinances provide a terminus ante quem in ca. 260 BCE. Strikingly, Ramat Raḥel regained none of its former splendor, corroborating the notion that the system of tax farming instituted by the Ptolemies broke up with the Persian system of tax levying.

According to the Ramat Raḥel excavators, “likely… during Ptolemaic rule, and certainly in the transition to Seleucid rule, Ramat Raḥel lost its central role to the capital, Jerusalem” (Lipschits et al. 2017: 113). However, in view of the overall evidence, the correlation between the decline of Ramat Raḥel and the rise of Jerusalem may have been less straightforward than they suggest. On the one hand, the system of tax farming as described in the Romance of Joseph does not necessarily support the inference that Jerusalem immediately benefited from Ramat Raḥel’s decline. All in all, we may reasonably assume that the temple’s administrative and economic roles were weakened by the establishment of an overblown royal administration, the newly introduced system of tax farming and the closure of the Jerusalem mint—all these steps may have occurred under Ptolemy II.72 On the other hand, the Tobiads seem to have used the administrative facilities of the Jerusalem temple to store the monetary product of their tax collection before its dispatch to Alexandria (2 Macc 3:11). Moreover, the quantitative study of the Yehud stamp impressions attests to the continued administrative role of the temple in Ptolemaic times. As shown above, the number of Yehud stamp impressions found in the City of David increased in late Persian times, and the proportion of Yehud stamp impressions found there out of the total corpus remained stable through the very beginning of the 2nd century BCE. According to these data, as Ramat Raḥel declined, the Jerusalem temple became the main administrative center of the region—of far greater importance than the secondary centers in Tell en-Naṣbeh, Nebi Samwil, Gezer, Rogem Gannim, Jericho and En-Gedi.73 The evidence relating to the high priest himself is likewise balanced. Ben Sira was composed only a few years following Antiochos III’s conquest of Koile Syria, and therefore we may compare the eulogy of the high priest Simon, son of Onias, which starts by recording his building activities (50:1–3), with Antiochos III’s decree. As pointed out by B. Eckhardt, the king in it directed his instructions to Ptolemaios, son of Thraseas, his governor. By this logic, the imperial governor, and not the high priest, was entrusted with rebuilding the porticoes and repairing the temple (AJ 12.141) (Eckhardt 2016). Should we view the decree as refuting the historical trustworthiness of Ben Sira’s claims,

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  213

and should we infer from it that the high priest’s powers were weak at the time of Antiochos III’s settlement? In my view, the picture that can be drawn by juxtaposing these two texts is more complex than a mere contradiction, because royal euergetism in the Seleukid realm was an important means of (political) communication between kings and local communities. If the new ruler was eager to display his goodwill by granting subsidies, it is hard to imagine the Judean leaders refusing them, as this could run counter to both political and economic common sense. At the same time, however, royal euergetical subsidies were not a reason to deny the high priest the image of a temple builder in texts aimed for the local audience, according to the old native cultural codes. Those were simply adapted to the Greco-Macedonian ruling culture, and the function of builder was split between the imperial king and the high priest—that is, the king had the porticoes rebuilt and (presumably) received an honorific decree in acknowledgment, whereas the high priest fortified the temple to manifest his (quasi-)regal status, and he was accordingly praised in Ben Sira. Zechariah 11:4–14 may suggest a degree of local discontent with regard to these innovations. This evolution in Judea—if my interpretation is correct—is hardly surprising. As we have seen, Ptolemy II’s reforms strengthened the royal central power at the expense of the Egyptian temples, and the ruling culture of the Ptolemaic dynasty that was shaped by these reforms presumably made the Ptolemies reticent to allow temples in their imperial possessions to wield too much power. In this context, the unabated religious prestige of both the Jerusalem temple and its priestly personnel was presumably of little weight—or maybe even played against them. That said, as we have just seen, the Jerusalem temple appears to have nonetheless retained some administrative and economic activity. Ultimately, the overall balance between losses and gains continues to remain beyond our grasp, but despite some hardships it appears that in the long run the Jerusalem high priest was able to hold onto his prominent role—in contrast to what happened in Hermopolis and Uruk, for instance (see above, pp. 206–207). Whereas the foregoing inquiry into the temple’s administrative and economic functions in the 3rd century was moderately conclusive, the continuing debate among

biblical scholars regarding the social location of texts invites us to scrutinize the extant sources for the social identity of the old and new elites who served in the temple and the royal administration, respectively. Although we lack hard facts, I wish to offer some comments and to suggest new avenues of inquiry to better comprehend the question of the social location of texts.

Local Elites between King and Temple in the Ptolemaic Era As demonstrated by the above survey of Ptolemy II’s reforms in Egypt, the social changes that they entailed must be apprehended in a nuanced way (above, pp. 208–209). Specifically, the modern categories of priestly vs. secular elites appear to be inadequate in many ways. While Ptolemy’s reforms aimed to weaken the temples as administrative and economic institutions in order to create a strong royal administration, this was done by the incorporation of the temples’ facilities into the royal administrative apparatus, rather than by the establishment of entirely new separate ones. Similarly, whereas the old, powerful priestly families that traced their genealogies back through the Persian domination to late Pharaonic times disappear from the archaeological and textual record under Ptolemy II and III, they were replaced in the temples by other temple families— demonstrating that a change of elites could also be an internal matter (Gorre 2009).74 Moreover, to staff the royal bureaus, the kings drew former temple scribes into their service, because these had the skills necessary to run the royal administration, whereas Greek immigrants were not only insufficient in numbers to meet the needs entirely, but also lacked adequate training and, ultimately, were more useful as soldiers. The Egyptian recruits were simply enrolled in royal offices located in temples other than theirs. Although this picture of the complex relations between temple and royal administrative circles in Ptolemaic Egypt cannot be simply transposed to Judea—not least because of basic structural differences between Egyptian and Judean temple societies—it can nonetheless serve as a caveat against the assumption that the social circles linked to the temple and the royal administrations

214  sylvie honigman

respectively can be characterized in simple terms and hence can be easily differentiated.75 Our premise should be that the circulation between the two institutions— temples and royal offices—was fluid.76 Following the necessary period of adaptation, the Ptolemaic takeover generated major changes in the operation of the imperial government in Judea. The administrative network put in place by the Ptolemies was dense—a sharp contrast with the practices of the Achaimenids before them and the Seleukids after—and it cast an unusually tight control over their subjects and provincial revenues. 77 Correlatively, the Greek representatives of empire who were present in the regions—both as resident officials and touring agents (Zenon)—were unusually numerous. I identify these two changes—a dense administrative network and a notable Greek presence—as potentially key factors in the social dynamics that affected the native society of Judea under Ptolemaic domination. The royal administration needed staffing, and the presence of powerful foreigners offered possibilities to create new ties of patronage that potentially competed with the traditional ones. At the highest level of society, the context of the Syrian wars may have amplified these social dynamics further—because there were two dynasties competing for local partisans— whereas at the lowest levels, the administrative picture in Ptolemaic Egypt that emerges from the papyrological evidence may have been valid in Judea too. In Egypt, the physical presence of royal administrators in each nome (administrative district) offered the possibility for peasants to escape the social control of local prominent men whom they felt to be oppressive, by offering an alternative network of patronage.78 The consequence may also have been new opportunities for social mobility. Given the paucity of sources, we are dependent upon models to both frame and supplement the concrete data they supply, if we wish to reconstruct these social dynamics. Admittedly, the results can be only speculative, but given the stakes—the advancement of our understanding of the social location of texts—the abundance of models offered to inform our imagination can only be beneficial. I believe that alongside Gorre’s description of Ptolemaic Egyptian society summarized above (pp. 208–209), B. Chrubasik’s model of how empire interlocked with local family politics in Seleukid

Asia Minor and Judea, presented in this volume, may also cast light, as a conceptual tool, on the social dynamics of Judea under the Ptolemies—despite the basic difference just noted between the Ptolemaic and Seleukid ruling methods.

Chrubasik’s Model Chrubasik’s basic contention is that the central imperial power and local elites were mutually dependent (Chrubasik 2013; 2016; and this volume). On the one hand, the king needed independent dynasts—like the priest-dynasts of Asia Minor and the Maccabees and Hasmoneans in Judea—who were strong enough to administer their region, relieving the king of the need to deploy officials of his own in these regions. On the other hand, the king played upon local tensions between competing power-holders at the local level, to the point that these tensions were a structural part of the Seleukid system of governing their empire. Chrubasik suggests that these tensions were essential to ensure that royal support was indispensable to the dynasts—without Seleukid support, the dynasts would have been in a far weaker position to outdo their rivals at home. Obviously, some aspects of this model must be adapted to Ptolemaic conditions—in particular, the Ptolemies were uninterested in strong local dynasts. However, Chrubasik’s insight that the king’s interest interlocked with local family politics remains applicable. My working assumption will be that this proposition is true both of old and new elites. Whereas royal support opened up the opportunity for new elites to emerge, the need for royal support prompted old elites to adapt. Old and new prominent men vied with one another to invest the various—old and potentially new—sites of power. An additional difference, as we shall see below, is that the royal administration in the Ptolemaic realm seems to have reached out to villages. However, the quantitative difference does not need to affect the model qualitatively. When our historical imagination is informed with Chrubasik’s (and Gorre’s) models, the documentary sources appear to offer quite a few examples of the new patronage networks that operated in Judea under Ptolemaic rule. Before we touch upon the issue of patronage, let us review the evidence attesting to the

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  215

unusually dense administrative network that accompanied Ptolemaic domination.

The Inflated Administration of the Ptolemies The difference between the Achaimenid and Ptolemaic ways of managing imperial territories is analyzed in precise terms in A. Berlin and S. Herbert’s contribution to this volume, in which they retrace the history of the administrative complex that they excavated at Tel Kedesh, Upper Galilee. In Achaimenid times the region formed the edge of the agricultural hinterland of the Phoenician city of Tyre and was administered in an autonomous way under the authority of the Tyrian royal family. Around 500 BCE a large building compound was erected in the heart of the region, under the auspices of the Tyrian royal house. The building was divided between a palace and a commercial and administrative section, to which agricultural goods from the inland valleys were collected and from there shipped to the coast. While the compound must have been built with the approval of the Achaimenid officials, there is at present no material evidence for the physical presence of Persian imperial officials, either in Phoenicia in general or in Tyre or Kedesh in particular. In contrast, within a few years of Ptolemy I’s conquest of southern Syria in 301, the Hula Valley was transformed into king’s land. The palatial complex of Kedesh was reshaped into an administrative center for the direct collection of agricultural commodities, and the agricultural life was subjected to heavy-handed administrative control by Ptolemaic officials. Several small settlements were established in the Hula Valley to house the imperial administrators employed at Kedesh and the tenant farmers of the royal estate. Notably, both officials and farmers were Tyrians. Berlin and Herbert’s analysis of the archaeological finds at Tel Kedesh offers a means to corroborate Ptolemy II’s two ordinances for Syria and Phoinike issued ca. 260 BCE (SB 8008), which regulated taxation pertaining to cattle and slaves and detailed the administrative structures through which these taxes were collected.79 It appears that the satrapy was divided into hyparchies, each with its own oikonomos, or financial officer. The basic unit for fiscal purposes was the village, and the levy was supervised by the komarches, or village

headman, and tax contractors (Grabbe 2008: 292; 2011). When they are read with the model of modern bureaucracies in mind, Ptolemy II’s ordinances may be taken to mean that royal officials operated in every single village throughout the satrapy. Of course, caution is in order, but in the most economically productive and/or the most easily accessible areas, representatives of the imperial administration could well have been ubiquitous indeed—and this picture is indeed borne out by the archaeological evidence in Tel Kedesh. For simple demographic considerations, we can rule out the possibility that all these officials were Greeks—as in Egypt and in Tel Kedesh, royal officials at the level of the villages were native.80 The social implications of this administrative practice—which, based on the parallel of Tel Kedesh, was a neat change as compared to Persian ruling practices—must have been far-reaching, in particular because it perforce generated new networks of patronage and, at least potentially, new opportunities for social mobility.

New Networks of Patronage and the Emergence of New Elites Josephus’ description of the tense relations between the high priest Onias II and his nephew Joseph, son of Tobias, when Joseph seized the opportunity of his mission to Alexandria to outbid—not to say play against—his uncle provides us a concrete illustration of Chrubasik’s model. Whereas literary sources naturally focus on leading families, there are hints in the extant documentary evidence that this well-known example was a typical, rather than exceptional, one. The Rainer papyrus indirectly allows us a glimpse into the social dynamics that were at play at a lower level of society—that of the komarchai (village headmen): …to the oikonomos assigned in each hyparchy, within 60 days from the day on which the [ordinance] was proclaimed, the taxable and tax-free [livestock] … and take a receipt. […] Those holding the tax contracts for the villages and the komarchai shall register at the same time the taxable and tax-free livestock in the villages, and their owners with fathers’ names and place of origin…. (SB 8008, Col. 1, ll. 1–18, translation by Bagnall and Derow 1981: No. 64)

216  sylvie honigman

We may surmise that these komarchai were already village chiefs before the Ptolemaic conquest, meaning that they should probably be identified with the heads of clans—or parts of clans—who are mentioned in the lists of Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles—as it is well known, these clans were both genealogical and territorial entities.81 Whereas these village headmen enjoyed relative autonomy in Persian times—extrapolating from Berlin and Herbert’s comments on Tyre summarized above— upon the installation of the Ptolemaic order they seized the opportunity to be hired in the administrative network that was being created. They had nothing to lose and probably something to gain—in the form of some kind of economic compensation for their trouble, an additional source of social prestige and new social connections. These new connections may have included the local tax contractors—we do not know whether these were enrolled locally or were outsiders—and certainly would have included the oikonomos of the hyparchy in which their village was located. At the upper scales of the hierarchy—and possibly already at the level of the oikonomoi—one must have found Greeks, possible prominent men originating in neighboring regions, and native novi homines. For the most powerful or the most enterprising, these foreigners— whether Greek or not—offered new social and business opportunities. The Zenon papyri provide a glimpse of these village chiefs from a different angle by revealing the respective relations of four such men with Zenon— who was a touring agent in the service of Apollonios, Ptolemy II’s dioketes “financial minister,” and not a resident official—in 259–258 BCE. The four men in question—Toubias in Transjordan, Ieddous in Judea (or Idumea) and the brothers Kollochoutos and Zaidelos in Idumea—were not komarchai in the sense of Ptolemaic officials—if at least this technical translation is correct. In an influential note, S. Schwartz famously described them as follows: “village strongmen”—that is, well-to-do landowners, living in areas relatively remote from centers of government authority, who were influential enough locally and zealous enough of their own prerogatives to resist successfully official interference in their villages or farms. (Schwartz 1993, quote on p. 306)82

Although geography may have been a factor in the troubled interaction between Zenon and three of these men, the distinction between these “strongmen” and the Rainer papyrus’ komarchai should perhaps not be pushed too far. Not only were the relations with Toubias positive, but the very business transactions of the three others with Zenon attest that they were all but left alone. Toubias controlled a tract of land, referred to as “Toubias’ land,” in the Ammanitis (Transjordan). He was placed at the head of a cleruchy of cavalrymen—a settlement of reservists for the royal army—whereas a kinsman, according to Josephus’ Romance, was incorporated into the royal administration of the satrapy as a tax farmer. Not only did Toubias supply Zenon and his fellow travelers with donkeys and horses, as was expected from his position, but in a gesture of homage typical of a relation of patronage, he made a gift of slaves to Apollonios, Ptolemy II’s dioiketes and Zenon’s patron, and sent exotic animals to the king himself, albeit through Apollonios.83 Although the man was presumably already powerful before the Ptolemaic conquest, his careful maintenance of his relations with the king in person and with powerful men in Alexandria is evidence that these ties were a lever for him to strengthen his social position further. The two other cases documented in the Zenon papyri are even more interesting, given that they show that ties between the king’s representatives and village chiefs could go wrong. The brothers Kollochoutos and Zaidelos, who were settled in Idumea, had sold slaves to Apollonios through Zenon.84 The slaves escaped and returned to the brothers’ place. When they were contacted again, the brothers demanded 100 drachmas for returning the slaves to their new master. Zenon had to enlist the aid of several local officials to try and get the fugitives back. Finally, one Ieddous, who lived in southern Judea or Idumea and owed money to Zenon, assaulted Zenon’s agent and the agent of a local official and threw them out of his place when they showed up to collect the debt.85 As emphasized by former commentators, the Kollochoutos and Zaidelos brothers and Ieddous must have held positions of some authority to risk defying Zenon—the personal agent of a man who was second only to the king in Alexandria—and the local royal officials. This would mean that their status in the local

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  217

society was very similar to that of Toubias, on the one hand, and to the komarchai of the Rainer papyrus, on the other. However, while all these men had had occasion to come into contact with Greek agents, Toubias prominently and the komarchai more modestly had seized the opportunity to increase their power. We may wonder whether the defiant attitude displayed by Ieddous was out of sheer boldness or was also due to a lack of political (and economic) acumen. The man was not strong enough to keep away from the king’s representatives—given that he had borrowed money from Zenon—and seemingly was not far-sighted enough to turn these ties to his advantage. Finally, the Hefzibah inscription may add some additional scraps of evidence about how empire could interlock with local society in concrete terms. The Hefzibah inscription displays a dossier of official documents recording the privileges and exemptions that King Antiochos III had granted the villages composing the dorea “landed estate” owed by Ptolemaios, son of Thraseas, who was a provincial governor and high priest (strategos kai archiereus).86 The letters date between ca. 202/1 and ca. 195 BCE, and they document the multiplicity of officials, whose provinces in the administration of justice potentially overlapped: Ptolemaios, as the dorea’s owner; the oikonomos; the toparchos; the strategos; and the garrison commanders.87 It is beyond our reach to ascertain whether their overlapping powers were to the peasants’ benefit or detriment, but the letters suggest that horizontal alliances of the philia type and vertical ties of patronage could easily develop at the local level. As the cases of Toubias and Josephus’ Joseph the Tobiad suggest, Ptolemy II’s need for powerful local men who were ready to serve his interests with loyalty encouraged their incorporation into the imperial apparatus. They also provided Ptolemy II with the possibility of setting up an alternative administrative network that was independent of, and to an unknown extent supplanted, the temple prerogatives that had outlived the days of the Diadochi. Although no certainty is possible, there is a strong presumption that the most powerful of these village chiefs were members of the gerousia documented in Antiochos III’s decree. Members of the gerousia would have been personally interested in strengthening their social position

further by establishing personal ties with either the king in person, his philoi like Apollonios, the provincial governor, or Greek officials of lower rank.88 That said, it is far from certain that the gerousia under Ptolemaic rule already enjoyed the administrative prerogatives that following Antiochos III’s settlement (see n. 23). I would not rule out the possibility that members of the priestly college did the same. One incentive may have been tensions between priestly families. Certain literary sources of the 3rd and 2nd centuries—primarily, the Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36) and the Aramaic Testament of Levi—are commonly interpreted as evidencing controversies between priestly families on matters of genealogical purity, which targeted the families dominating the temple. Critics could have been interested in gaining an alternative position of social power from which to utter their views about how to reform the temple. One obvious avenue was to incorporate the royal administration.89

The Circulation of Personnel between the Temple and Royal Administrations As a complement to my last remark, I wish to conclude my discussion of the power strategies of old and new elites in Judea with some theoretical arguments that make the case, I believe, for the (potentially fluid) circulation of skilled administrative personnel between the temple and royal bureaus. As already noted, this postulate of circulation between these two institutions is intended as a critical comment on studies which—in a no less speculative way than mine—take for granted that the personnel employed in both institutions had distinct social profiles. Education

The first argument is that of education: the way to employment in the temple and royal administrations was conditioned on the same forms of prior training, which aimed at guaranteeing literate enculturation. The primary purpose of ancient educational curricula was to inculcate moral values, not technical skills. The most advanced stages also aimed to endow the sons of the social elite with the sort of literacy that was socially relevant—that is, that gave access to the literary heritage forming the

218  sylvie honigman

cultural memory of each society, irrespective of these young scions’ future place of employment.90 The curricula in literate education that can be reconstructed in the various ancient Mediterranean societies—Greece, Mesopotamia, Egypt and Judah/Judea—appear to be fairly similar. They included three stages: students first learned lists of letters, monosyllabic segments and words. At the intermediary level, gnomic material was introduced, serving both to improve knowledge of grammar and to inculcate the basic moral values of the society in question. While wisdom literature—and in Judea, in Hellenistic times, Torah instruction—met these basic educational needs, advanced education made use of a wide range of texts, including administrative contracts and letters, poetic compositions and historiography.91 Although a degree of specialization in the reading material seems to have occurred at this advanced stage, the lines dividing the two categories were not what we might expect today: whereas priests added cultic instructions to their curriculum, there is no evidence that there existed distinct curricula aimed at would-be administrators, on the one hand, and would-be temple scribes obligated to guarantee the preservation and transmission of the literary and cultural heritage of a given society, on the other. It should be noted that the modern distinction between literary and documentary texts was alien to ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern societies, a fact that is amply borne out by the ancient systems of storing written knowledge, clearly documented by archaeological finds. As studies have demonstrated, the modern distinction between libraries and archives—respectively preserving literary works and administrative documents—did not exist in ancient times.92 K. Zinn’s studies on the spatial distribution of storage loci in Egyptian temple complexes based on archaeological evidence, and down to Hellenistic and Roman times, are particularly instructive in this regard (Zinn 2007; 2011).93 The way material was stored for safekeeping was purely functional and did not involve distinctions by genre: texts that were not of immediate need were relegated to archives located in the outer, less sacred, part of the temple precincts, where the workshops were also situated. Such material was stored for posterity (and not discarded altogether) as a testament to the Pharaoh’s Maat, and since this included judiciary matters,

legal material was preserved alongside literary and ritual texts. Texts required for ongoing or immediate use— administrative items relating to pending trials, ritual texts and literary works—were stored closer at hand in the main temple building, in the most sacred area of the temple complex. The papyrological evidence casting light upon Greek literate education in Hellenistic Egypt confirms this logic. Whereas school education exclusively used literary, mainly poetic, works, whatever technical skills were necessary for work in the royal administrative offices— including technical jargon and set contract formulas—were acquired in these offices, through a phase of apprenticeship.94 Ptolemaic scribes liked to display their literary knowledge and rhetorical skills when they composed administrative letters, and it is not rare to find dry administrative formulae interspersed with Homeric terms or images borrowed from the Athenian tragic authors (Aitken 2014). It has been cogently argued that the royal offices of Ptolemaic Egypt were also a place of literary activity. Texts of all genres—and not only wisdom—were circulated through the bureaus, and some were possibly composed there (Thompson 1987). Similarly, translations of demotic works of wisdom were carried out there, possibly also of the Pentateuch books.95 Altogether, the documentary sources from Ptolemaic Egypt offer explicit evidence that texts circulated quite freely in society. The same texts—in their original language or in translation—could make their way from Egyptian temples and Greek schools to royal bureaus, and from there to private houses.96 One institutional reason suggests, moreover, that the circulation of individuals was potentially as fluid as that of texts. Part-Time Occupation in the Temple

In several religious systems of ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern societies, access to space within temple precincts was graduated according to personal status. Only priests of the higher ranks could gain access to the most sacred areas (the altar or the divine statue), whereas the assorted personnel entrusted with minor cultic functions or maintenance activities were admitted freely to the rest of the temple complexes. At all levels of this sacred hierarchy, members of the temple personnel spent part of their time there and the rest of their occupational

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  219

time in secular loci.97 In the case of Egypt, as shown by the biographies of Egyptian priests, many of the temple staff spent most of their professional life outside, carrying out administrative and military functions, while maintaining cultic duties in the temples.98 According to 1 Chronicles 24:1–19, Judean priests were divided into 24 classes that served in the temple in rotation. A similar organization applied to Levites (1 Chron 24:20–31), temple musicians and gatekeepers (1 Chron 25–26). This means that whatever their category, the temple personnel worked in the temple only part of the time and the rest was spent elsewhere.99 Given this system, it is reasonable to surmise that the same men worked both in the temple administration and in the royal bureaus, doing basically the same sort of work.

Conclusion Wisdom literature in the ancient Near East underwent significant changes between Persian and early Hellenistic times. In particular, increasing attention was devoted to the present and to economic categories— such as those of rich and poor alongside those of wise and fool. It has been reasonably argued that this cognitive shift was linked to the emergence of a new economic mentality, prompted by the economic and social changes of the time.100 The fact that in Judea this shift is exemplified both in Qoheleth—a work that was composed in the 3rd century BCE, whose author is located by modern commentators outside the temple— and in Ben Sira—a work composed in the very early 2nd century, whose author is held to be linked to temple families—may be taken to indicate that the elites gravitating around the temple and those whose business was elsewhere were equally affected by the economic and cultural changes of their times.101 By this logic, the shift in the attitude reflected in sapiential works of Hellenistic times is consistent with the archaeological and literary evidence presented in this article, which attests that the temple, as an economic institution, was— in however modest a way—incorporated in the economic circuits of the 3rd century.

Unfortunately, given the scarcity of the available evidence, it is hard to discern whether this economic integration was strictly independent of the imperial administrative apparatus or whether—as perhaps suggested by the finding of Yehud stamp impressions in the City of David—the temple economy was of a mixed type. The fact remains that whereas in Hermopolis, the episode of the late 4th-century period in which the chief priest of the main local temple stepped into the political vacuum was short-lived (as it was in Uruk in the 2nd century), the fate of the Jerusalem high priesthood followed a quite distinct pattern. The different religious status enjoyed by the Hermopolis chief priest and the Jerusalem high priest vis-à-vis the king may explain, to some extent, this different evolution. As pharaohs, the Ptolemies were the heads of the Egyptian religious system, and consequently, they had a fairly free hand to carry out reforms in the internal administrative, financial and even cultic life of the temples (Gorre and Honigman 2013; Gorre 2019). In contrast, the Jerusalem high priest was the head of the Judean religious system, a position that was undoubtedly strengthened further by the temple’s enhanced place in popular devotion. Arguably, Antiochos III’s decree of 198 BCE for Jerusalem offers the most telling evidence that the temple personnel in Jerusalem maintained their prestige—both religious and social—throughout Ptolemaic times, despite the institution in the 3rd century of a tight administrative network and a system of tax farming that encouraged the emergence of new elites. Alongside Antiochos III’s concern to ensure that the destroyed temple porticoes were promptly rebuilt in 198, he granted certain tax exemptions to the “priests, temple scribes, and sacred singers”—admittedly, together with the Council of Elders, which is mentioned first.102 These special tax concessions suggest that the new order of Antiochos III was a decisive turning point towards increasing the integration of the temple and the high priest into the imperial apparatus. This new direction, however, did not take full effect until after the Oniad dynasty had fallen and the Hasmoneans had taken over.103

220  sylvie honigman

NOTES 1.

By “Macedonian period” I refer to the decades from Alexander’s conquest in 332 to Ptolemy I’s final conquest of the region in 301 BCE. The basic study on the succession of the high priests in connection with the Second Temple is VanderKam 2004. For a more critical review of the literary sources, see Rooke 2000. For the beginnings of the dynasty, see also Watts 2013:1. Using Eisenstadt’s model of the political systems of empires (Eisenstadt 1963), Fried (2004: 201–203) persuasively argued that the hereditary transmission of the high priesthood must have been a later development. 2. Primarily, Jerusalem, Mount Gerizim, and later, Leontopolis. Another temple is documented in Khirbet el-QÔm, in Idumea. See Watts 2007; and 2013. 3. In this article, “Judea” is used as the basic term to refer to the region across time periods. When specific nomenclature is useful, “Judah” is used to denote the region in pre-Hellenistic times and “Yehud” to refer to the corresponding administrative province within the Achaimenid empire, whereas “Judea” denotes both the region and the technical name of the corresponding administrative unit in Hellenistic times. The use of “Judah/Judea” insists on the chronological continuity between the pre-Hellenistic and Hellenistic times. 4. On prophetic corpora, see Gonzalez, this volume. 5. On the Torah as a communal heritage, see Carr 2005: 201–214. On the extension of the rules of purity, see Himmelfarb 2006; Nihan 2013. As argued by Berlin (2014), at this early date it was manifest in the material culture by the absence of imported wares. Positive ethnic markers, such as ritual baths and stone vessels, appeared only much later. 6. For a comparison between Ptolemaic Egypt and Seleukid Judea in this matter, see Gorre and Honigman 2013. See, further, AgutLabordère and Gorre, respectively, in this volume. 7. In Egypt, for instance, the Ptolemies linked their dynasty’s fate to the Serapeion of Memphis and later also to the temple of Horus in Edfu, at the expense of temples which, like that of Amon in Thebes, had been the main support of royal institution in Pharaonic times. The Serapeion was a symptom of the rising popularity of animal cults in Egypt. On the Ptolemaic religious policy in Egypt, see Gorre 2019. 8. On nomenclature, see above, n. 3. 9. For the delineation of the “Macedonian period,” see above, n. 1. 10. This archaeological evidence thus seems to authenticate the use of the title of governor in the literary (biblical) sources. See further below, n. 16. 11. According to Lipschits (2006), one clue to this dating is Nehemiah’s rebuilding of the city walls. In the Persian period a provincial capital was called birtā (in Aramaic), meaning “fortified town,” usually with a garrison within it. Jerusalem is called birtā in Neh 2:8 and 7:2. For the debate on cause and consequence, Edelman (2005: 332–351) advocates the view that the capital transfer was the consequence, while dating this transfer to the reign of Artax­erxes I (565–525 BCE); most scholars, however, defend the view that the activity of the cultic center was resumed because of an internal Judean (or Jerusalemite) dynamic and that this revival was a decisive factor in the relocation of the capital from Mizpah to Jerusalem. See, for instance, Lipschits 2006: 30–40; Bedford 2001: 132–157, 183–230; 2015: 341–343; Nihan 2010. 12. On these demographic data, see Lipschits 2006: 30–35; Lipschits and Tal 2007: 34.

13. This view is defended, for instance, by Sérandour 2009: 88–89. 14. Fried 2004: 201–203. In Book 11 of AJ Josephus consistently presents each new high priest as being the son of his predecessor (AJ 11.158, 297, 302, 347). However, it is difficult to know whether this representation had a historical basis or was the product of a late rereading of the past intended to support the Oniad dynasty’s genealogical claims. One specific claim aired by Josephus in precisely this section of his narrative—namely, that the Samarian temple on Mount Gerizim was founded in the days of Alexander the Great (AJ 11.202–212)—has been disproven by the archaeological excavations at this site; we may therefore be justified in suspecting further historical inaccuracies in it. 15. For this survey of the early history of the high priest’s function in this paragraph and the following one, I am indebted to Sérandour (2009: 88–89), although I depart from him in some aspects. 16. Surveys of the governors attested either in the literary or documentary evidence may be found in Albertz 1994: 446; Fried 2004: 183–187; Sérandour 2009: 84. Fried’s claim (2004: 187) that the available evidence allows us to reconstruct the complete and accurate list of governors is very optimistic. On Yeḥizqiyah, see pp. 205–206. 17. For a survey of the literary evidence documenting a protracted conflict between the governor and the high priest, see Fried 2004: 203–209, 212. Fried also offers an enlightening structural analysis of this conflict, which she interprets as a typical example of a competition for power between the ruler and members of the aristocracy, based on Eisenstadt’s model. 18. Most important within Ezra-Nehemiah is the so-called Nehemiah Memoir (roughly, Neh 1:1–7:5, 11:1–2, 12:27–43 and 13:4–31), because most scholars accept that it was composed at a date close to the events it narrates. Most, if not all, of the other sections of the book date from Hellenistic times. On the various systems of delineating the Memoir, see Fitzpatrick-McKinley 2015: 172–174. 19. This sketch in the present and following paragraphs is based on Fried 2004: 188–202 and Albertz 1994: 446–447. I am also indebted to Christophe Nihan (personal communication, December 2016). 20. See Fried 2004: 192–193. Albertz (1994: 446–447) speculated the existence of three Yehudite institutional bodies alongside the governor and Persian officials: a council of elders, a council of priests and a popular assembly (qāhāl, cf. Ezra 10:1,12; Neh 5:7,13), which was summoned on an irregular basis. This and similar reconstructions projecting the legalistic culture of modern states onto ancient Yehud are cogently refuted by Fried (2004: 188–193), based on a wide-ranging corpus of comparative evidence. Alongside her alternative interpretation of the function of the elders summarized in the text above, Fried points out that the qāhāl in Ezra 10:1 appears to be composed of men, women and children, precluding the possibility that it was a legislative assembly. Likewise, the so-called Temple papyrus from Elephantine (TAD A4.7 = Porten et al. 1996: B19) does not necessarily support the theory that there existed institutional bodies in Yehud. The papyrus preserves the draft of an official petition that was sent in November 407 by the heads of the Judean community in Elephantine to Bagohi (l. 1), the governor of Yehud, to authorize the reconstruction of the Yaho temple in Elephantine, which had been destroyed in 410 BCE. The petitioners mention a previous letter that they had dispatched in 410 BCE to “the high priest Yehoḥanan and his associates, the priests in Jerusalem; and to Ostanes, the kinsman of Anani; and to the leading men among the Jews” (ll. 18–19), and another letter to

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  221

21. 22. 23.

24. 25. 26.

27.

28. 29. 30.

31. 32.

Delaiah and Shelemiah, the sons of Sanballat, the governor of Samaria (l. 29, translation from K.C. Hanson in http://www .kchanson.com/ANCDOCS/westsem/templeauth.html). As suggested to me by Christophe Nihan (personal communication), the heads of the Elephantine community may have contacted the high priest, priests and prominent men in Jerusalem with the request that they support their petition to the governor, and not because they formed official institutions. The response to the petition (TAD A4.9 = Porten et al. 1996 B21) was sent by Bagohi and Delaiah, suggesting that they alone had the power to decide. See the opposing interpretations of Fried 2004: 207, and, for instance, Bedford 2015: 344–348. For the date of the conquest, see Lorber, this volume. On this decree, see Eckhardt 2016; on the claim that Antiochos III’s settlement of 198 introduced fundamental changes, rather than continuing earlier policies, see Honigman et al. 2017: 164–178. Scholars have made much of the absence of the high priest in this list, but Eckhardt (2016: 62–63) is certainly right to downplay this matter. For fiscal purposes, the high priest is included among the priests. I follow the summary by Bedford (2015: 337). See there, n. 1, for further bibliography. On the Persian decrees, see Schwiderski 2000; Grätz 2004; Grabbe 2006. As noted in Bedford (2001: 140–146; 2015: 340–342). Instances of decrees from Persian times granting tax exemptions to temples are rare, and those that have been adduced for comparison with the Persian decrees in the Ezra books (MT and LXX) are problematic. Darius’ (Greek) letter to Gadatas restating that sacred gardeners from Apollo’s shrine were exempt from the tribute and corvée (I.Magnesia 115 = ML 12) is most likely a forgery from Roman times; see Briant 2003. The Letoon Trilingual Inscription, from the sanctuary of Leto near Xanthos in Lycia, which is certainly genuine, has bearing on narrow matters. See Briant 1998; Fried 2004: 140–154. For a general overview, see Grabbe 2004: 534–541; Fried 2004; Fitzpatrick-McKinley 2015: 70–76. On Egypt, see Klinkott 2007; Agut-Labordère and Gorre 2014; Agut-Labordère 2016; and in this volume; Krebsbach 2016. It seems that the temples favored there were related to the cults of sacred animals to which popular piety was precisely turning. On Babylonia, see Waerzeggers 2004; Jursa 2007; Tolini 2014; FitzpatrickMcKinley 2015: 54–65; 2016. According to Caroline Waerzeggers (personal communication, May 2011), Cyrus’ initial goodwill policy may be explained by his need to win over the temples’ cooperation in the aftermath of the conquest. His generous policy was discontinued by his successors, and the discontent of the temple personnel seems to have been a factor in the Babylonian revolt. See Bedford 2001: 140–146; 2007: 14–20; 2015: 340–342. I endorse Bedford’s view, contrary to my position stated in earlier studies. My survey is indebted to Bedford 2001; 2007; 2015. Those included the three taxes payable to the Persian administration (middâ/mindâ, bělô and hălāq, or tribute, poll tax and land tax respectively; see Ezra 4:13; 7:24). On Nehemiah’s reform of the governor’s table, see Bedford 2007: 9, 14–15, 19; 2015: 344–346. On the cultic centralization in Jerusalem, and on the increased prestige of the high priest, see Watts 2007; 2013. As noted by Rooke (2000: 219), the late Persian, Macedonian and Ptolemaic periods are not covered by biblical sources. The few non-biblical literary sources that we possess are not reliable, and I therefore leave them aside in my discussion. On Josephus’ Antiquitates Judaicae, Book 11, see Rooke 2000: 220–225. On

33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38.

39. 40.

41. 42. 43.

Hecataeus of Abdera’s quote, preserved through Diodorus Siculus and Photius’ Bibliotheca, see Rooke 2000: 243–250; Zamagni 2010; and Kratz, this volume. Honigman 2014: 114–115. The equation between the Jerusalem priests and angels of the celestial court was a well-established topic by the 3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE. The decisive clue in Ben Sira is the description of Simon and his ceremonial vestment as glorious (50:5–11). On the portrayal of Simon as an angel in Ben Sira 50, see Flechter-Louis 2004. I thank Christophe Nihan for this reference. In her claim that the high priest acquired extended political powers only in the Maccabean period, Rooke overlooked the symbolic significance of this evidence (Rooke 2000: 261–264, with n. 51). Rooke is correct, however, when she takes argument with modern scholars who credited Simon with carrying out the repairs of the temple as stipulated in Antiochos III’s decree (Josephus, AJ 12.138–144). See pp. 212–213. On this papyrus, see above, n. 20. On the history of the Ramat Raḥel site, see Lipschits, Gadot and Langgut 2012; Lipschits et al. 2011; 2017. On the identification of the site, see Lipschits et al. 2017: 15–18, 112. Compare the discontinuity between Achaimenid and Ptolemaic administrative structures at Tel Kedesh; see Berlin and Herbert, this volume. On these stamp impressions, see Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2007a; 2007b; 2011; for revised data and conclusions, see Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2014; for further revisions, see Tal 2016. For a summary, see Lipschits et al. 2017: 99–105. Alongside late Yehud stamp impressions dateable to the 2nd century, a few dozens of yršlm stamp impressions dating from the Hasmonean period were also found at Ramat Raḥel, documenting the final phase of the site’s existence. See Lipschits et al. 2011: 38; 2017: 114–115. Part of the overview presented in this section derives from a personal communication by Oded Lipschits (March 2016), to whom I am grateful. See, further, Lipschits et al. 2017: 98, 105. According to Lipschits and Vanderhooft (2007a), whereas the Persian administration encouraged the urbanization of the Mediterranean coast, it was keen to maintain or reinforce the agricultural production of the hilly hinterland in Samaria and Judah in order to supply food for the troops. This tendency was reinforced when following the end of the first Persian domination in Egypt in 404 BCE, the southern Levant became a border area of major strategic importance. Alongside the City of David, six secondary centers have been identified: Tell en-Naṣbeh, Nebi Samwil, Gezer, Rogem Gannim, Jericho and En-Gedi. According to Lipschits (forthcoming), a total of 78% of the 647 Yehud stamp impressions uncovered are from Ramat Raḥel and the City of David. Of these, 372 are from Ramat Raḥel (57.5% of the total number), including 127 (34%) belonging to the early types, dating from the 6th and 5th centuries BCE, and 212 (47%) to the middle types, dating from the 4th and 3rd centuries; and 135 are from the City of David, with 17 belonging to the early types (12.5%), and 59 (44%) to the middle types. The six secondary centers (see above, n. 39) yielded 78 (12%) of all the Yehud stamp impressions. See Lipschits, forthcoming; cf. Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2011: 15; 2007b. For the latter date, see Gitler and Lorber 2006: 7, 12–14. On the legends, see TJC: 197–200; for Ptolemaic times, see also Gitler and Lorber 2006: 7, 13–14. For the notion of open vs. closed currency systems, see Thonemann 2015: 115–118.

222  sylvie honigman 44. See Gitler and Lorber 2008: 64–70 and recapitulative table on p. 70. 45. The pioneering study is that of Ronen (1998), whose conclusions are refined by Gitler and Lorber (2008: 73–74). 46. For their reconstruction of the relative chronological order of the Yeḥizkiyah series, see Gitler and Lorber 2008: 65–69, with table on p. 70; for their tentative discussion of absolute chronology, see pp. 73–74. 47. For the date of TJC 25, see, further, Gitler and Lorber 2006: 6–8. 48. For this order, see, further, Gitler and Lorber 2006: 8–9. 49. For literary sources, see Briant 1993. Gitler and Lorber (2006: 73) survey examples of local coinages that continued to be struck according to the Persic standard alongside Alexander’s new imperial coinage of Attic standard. We may compare the fate of Yeḥizkiyah with Ptolemaios, who was governor of Koile Syria on behalf of Ptolemy V and was confirmed in his position by Antiochos III after 198 BCE. On the Hefzibah inscription documenting Ptolemaios’ situation after 198, see Chrubasik 2019. 50. According to Knoppers (2003), the title “the priest” appears in Chronicles as a common designation for high priests. 51. Assuming, of course, that this coin is genuine. 52. On Petosiris’ career, see, further, Gorre 2009: No. 59, pp. 285–296; 2009/10; and this volume. 53. For his religious powers, see the introduction to this article. 54. For the chronology of the changing rates of the salt tax, see Clarysse and Thompson 2006: 2, 44–52; for categories of people exempted from its payment, 2, 52–59. For an Egyptian scribe classified as an exempted “Greek,” see Thompson 2001. 55. On this system of tax farming, see Manning 2010: 152–157; Thompson 2008: 31–32. 56. On these reforms, see Gorre, this volume; and Thompson 2008: 32–33, both with further bibliography. 57. For a detailed survey of the evidence, see Grabbe 2008; Gonzalez 2017. For a survey and interpretation, see Grabbe 2011; and this volume. 58. Agut-Labordère and Gorre (2014) argued that in Egypt itself, the major economic changes occurred only under Ptolemy II. Through his group of reforms in the 270s and 260s, this king set up the Ptolemaic version of the royal economy—the purpose of which is the long-term exploitation of a country’s revenues. In contrast, Ptolemy I behaved as a conqueror, exploiting Egypt’s resources in predatory fashion. There is no reason to believe that Ptolemy I cared more for the organization of peripheral territories like Syria and Phoinike than Egypt. 59. SB 8008, Col. 1, ll. 17–18, English translation in Bagnall and Derow 1981: No. 64 (= Grabbe 2008: 55–56). See also Grabbe, this volume. 60. Josephus’ synchronism between the deaths of Joseph and Onias II is suspect, however, as noted by Sartre (2014: 18). Onias II is known only through the Joseph Romance. See Rooke 2000: 257–265. 61. On the Ptolemaic vs. the Attic standards, see Le Rider and de Callataÿ 2006: 111–114, 131–132; Thonemann 2015: 115–123. 62. See Gitler and Lorber 2006: 14–15: “Jerusalem was virtually the only mint of the Ptolemaic kingdom to strike silver fractions while the Lagid kings were promoting the use of bronze coinage with a similar range of values.” 63. Ronen 1998: 125, n. 5; 2003: 30. It is debatable whether ancient minting primarily responded to economic needs or whether symbolic considerations could influence a monetary policy in a decisive way. Thonemann (2015: 43–107) defended the view that issues of identity could interfere, whereas other numismatists have

64.

65.

66. 67.

68.

69. 70. 71.

72. 73. 74.

75.

76.

strong reservations against this (K. Konuk, personal communication, October 2016). It is hard to accept Ronen’s speculation that the stipulation of the Mishnah—a corpus of prescriptive legal decisions compiled in the early 3rd century CE—genuinely reflected the actual practice of Persian and early Hellenistic times. Gitler and Lorber 2006: 5: “They did not share the Crown’s need to stretch or conserve their supply of silver, because the coinage of Jud[ea] was not used to finance military campaigns or other major state outlays, nor was it a medium of foreign trade.” According to Catharine Lorber (personal communication, June 2018), silver coinage of small denomination may have served to pay guards. For the date of 261/0, see Gitler and Lorber 2006: 7, 12–14. Bearing in mind Ronen’s suggestion that the peculiarities of the Jerusalem mint were dictated by mandatory requirements regarding the payments made to the temple, Gitler and Lorber aired the possibility that “instead of closing down, the Jerusalem mint may actually have increased output to its highest level of the Ptolemaic period. About 60% of all the Ptolemaic coins of Judah we have recorded are of coin type 16,” that is, dating after the reform of 261/0. See Gitler and Lorber 2006: 15–16, quote on p. 16. I thank the author for making this article available to me before publication. On the Ptolemaic dating of Zech 9–14, see Gonzalez 2013; and this volume. Gonzalez (2013: 17) dates the terminus ad quem for the compilation of Zech 9–14 to the beginning of the 2nd century BCE. For the reading of “purchasers” and “sellers” in Zech 11:7 and 11:11 in addition to 11:5, see Gonzalez 2013: 28, n. 99. Explicit reference to Greek enemies is found in Zech 9:13. In 9:11– 17 the Greeks are the chief enemies, who pose a direct threat to the city of Jerusalem. See Gonzalez 2013: 19–20. On the agoranomia in 2 Macc 3:4–5, see Honigman 2014: 329–342. I owe this suggestion to Hervé Gonzalez (personal communication, June 2014). It is well known that major sanctuaries in the ancient Mediterranean and Near East functioned as regional and transregional fairs. On Asia Minor, see Debord 1982. On the notion of an overblown royal administration, see discussion of SB 8008 on p. 215. See, further, pp. 209–210. For these statistics, see Lipschits and Vanderhooft 2007b; 2011. As emphasized by Gorre (personal communication, June 2014), the phrase “temple families” is more appropriate than “priestly families.” Priests should be specifically defined by their access to the higher spheres of the sacred within the temple precincts—in particular, their access to the divine statues—but numerous other categories of people had access to the temple precincts at large. The limitation of these traditional approaches is exposed by the contradictory ways in which the notion of Hellenization is instrumentalized by modern scholars. Depending upon the personal sensitivity of the scholars in question, we are served with claims that the temple was run by conservative priests, whereas the Hellenized and economically dynamic sector of society allied with the royal bureaus (e.g., Hengel 1974; Bringmann 1983) or, conversely, that the priests Hellenized and collaborated with empire, whereas dissident priests and faithful scribes rejected the hierocratic establishment and prepared for the Maccabean revolt (e.g., Horsley 2005). The most extreme case of equating literary genres with social groups is G. Boccaccini’s theory. For a summary, see VanderKam 2007. Similarly, the distinction between administrative personnel and literary scribes in the temple should not be pushed too far. See pp. 207–209.

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  223 77. See the discussion of SB 8008 on pp. 215–216. 78. Manning (2010: 147–151) offers a vivid picture of the tensions between officials that characterized the Ptolemaic administration. 79. The Rainer papyrus (SB 8008); see above, pp. 215–216. 80. The Semitic names of the personnel who signed the official ostraca from Idumea support a similar conclusion (Avner Ecker, personal communication, March 2015). On the onomastics of 4th-century ostraca, see, for instance, Porten and Yardeni 2006. 81. On the overlap between kingship and territoriality in the genealogy of Judah in the Book of Chronicles, see Wright 2006. A similar overlap underpins the lists of Ezra-Nehemiah. Cf. the list in Ezra 2, concluding with the notation that “the singers, the gatekeepers, and the temple servants lived in their towns, and all Israel in their towns” (Ezra 2:70). Cf. Neh 7 (with 7:73) and 11:1–24. Neh 10:32–39 may be held as confirming that the families were also economic—and fiscal—units. Note, however, that Neh 11:25–36 follows a strictly geographical, and not genealogical-spatial, logic. 82. Schwartz further compared them with the Hasmoneans in Modiʿin, who are documented in the 2nd century. 83. Supply of beasts of burden: P.Cair.Zen. 59802 = CPJ 1.2c = Durand 1997: No. 7, l. 2; gift of slaves: P.Cair.Zen. 59076 = CPJ 1.4 = Durand 1997: No. 30; gift of exotic animals: P.Cair.Zen. 59075 = CPJ 1.5 = Durand 1997: 29. See also Grabbe 2011: 74. 84. P.Cair.Zen. 59015 verso = Durand 1997: No. 42. See also Grabbe 2011: 74. 85. P.Cair.Zen. 59018 = CPJ 1.6 = Durand 1997: No. 23 = Grabbe 2008: 303. See Schwartz 1993: 306; Grabbe 2011: 74. 86. SEG 29.1613. English translation in Austin 2006: No. 193 = Grabbe 2008: 56–57. 87. Letter D: “I request that written instructions be sent [so that] disputes arising in [my] villages and involving peasants [with] each other should be [settled] by my agents, but those arising with peasants from [the] other villages should be investigated by the oikonomos [and the official] in charge [of the district (topos)], and if/[they concern murder] or appear [to be] of greater significance they should be referred to the strategos in Syria [and] Phoenicia; the garrison commanders [and those] in charge of the districts (topoi) should not [ignore] in any way those who call for their [intervention]” (translation from Grabbe 2008: 56–57). 88. Pfeiffer (this volume) comments on the case of Anaxikles, a prominent man in the city of Joppe, who was “priest of the king.” We may surmise that Anaxikles used the royal cult to establish personal ties either with the king himself or at least with the higher administrators of the satrapy. 89. Admittedly, the notion that literary texts reflect controversies between priestly families must be handled with caution—quite a few scholars have pushed the argument so far as to claim that the critics rejected the temple altogether. For a more balanced interpretation of the contentious overtones that can be detected in the Book of Watchers and the Aramaic Testament of Levi, see Himmelfarb 1999; 2002. On the (assumed) competition between Aaronides and Zadoqites, see also Nihan 2010, with further bibliography, and for a critical reassessment, Knoppers 2003.

90. Scholars who have engaged with the issue of literacy in the ancient world distinguish between basic (or functional) literacy and advanced literate training. The former consisted in writing one’s name and reading simple, basically informative messages—skills that were useful in daily transactions, but did not ensure social power. The ability to handle and compose complex texts—either literary or administrative, like contracts—was the exclusive purview of the social elite. See, for instance, Thomas 2000. For my summary in this paragraph I am indebted to Carr 2005. The concept of cultural memory was coined by J. Assmann (see 2011). 91. According to Carr (2005: 201–214), changes in the educational curriculum occurred in Judea in Hellenistic times. The Torah— priestly lore—was taught at an early stage of education, whereas wisdom literature was relegated to a later stage. 92. On libraries in the Greco-Roman world, see Casson 2001; Coqueugniot 2013. For the ancient Near East, see Pedersén 1998. 93. I thank Deborah Sweeney for drawing my attention to Zinn’s work. 94. See, in particular, Thompson 1978; 1992; 1996. For a survey, see Honigman 2016: 59–65, with further bibliography. 95. For translations from the demotic, see Thompson (Crawford) 1978: 196. For the Pentateuch books, see Aitken 2014; 2016; and B.G. Wright, this volume. 96. Greek literary texts were found in private houses of priestly families. See van Minnen 1998: 108–109, 155. For scientific and literary texts making their way from an administrative bureau to the private papers of a Macedonian living in the Serapeum of Memphis, see Thompson 1987. 97. For Babylonia, see, for instance, Kuhrt 1990. In the Arsinoite nome (Fayum, Egypt), 5–10% of the population had some occupational tie with a temple, according to Clarysse and Thompson 2006: 2.48– 49, 177–186. I borrow this reference from Gorre 2014: 97. 98. For biographies of Ptolemaic times, see Gorre 2009. 99. The Book of Chronicles’ date of composition is disputed, with suggestions ranging from Persian to Hasmonean times. Knoppers concludes a date in the mid-3rd century “as the latest reasonable time for composition” (2004: 1.101–117, quotation on p. 111) given that citations of Chronicles are found in writings of the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE. For my purpose, even a late dating of the work supports the inference that the organization of the temple personnel in classes was in place in early Hellenistic times. 100. For attempts to describe and interpret these cultural changes in demotic wisdom, see Vernus 1993: 121–149; Agut-Labordère 2013. I thank Agut-Labordère for pointing out these references to me. On social aspects in Ben Sira, see, for instance, Wright 2008. 101. For Qoheleth, see Krüger 2004. 102. Josephus, AJ 12.141 (ἀπολυέσθω δ’ ἡ γερουσία καὶ οἱ ἱερεῖς καὶ γραμματεῖς τοῦ ἱεροῦ καὶ ἱεροψάλται ὧν ὑπὲρ τῆς κεφαλῆς τελοῦσιν καὶ τοῦ στεφανιτικοῦ φόρου καὶ τοῦ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων). 103. On the integration of the high priest in the Seleukid administrative apparatus starting from Jonathan Maccabee in the 150s, see Chrubasik, this volume; 2016: 125, 138–139; Eckhardt 2016.

224  sylvie honigman

REFERENCES Agut-Labordère, D. 2013. “L’argent est un sortilège.” Penser la richesse en Égypte ancienne à travers la Sagesse du Papyrus Insinger (VIe siècle av. J.-C.- Ier siècle apr. J.-C.). In: Baroin, C. and Michel, C., eds. Richesse et Sociétés (Colloques de la Maison Archéologie & Ethnologie, René-Ginouvès 9). Paris: 53–65. Agut-Labordère, D. 2016. Political Piety-for-Predation Policy: Persian and Egyptian Gods during the Achaemenid Period. In: Edelman, D.V., Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. and Philippe, G., eds. 2016. Religion in the Achaemenid Persian Empire. Emerging Judaisms and Trends (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 17). Tübingen: 319–328. Agut-Labordère, D. and Gorre, G. 2014. De l’autonomie à l’intégration: Les temples d’Égypte face à la couronne, VI– II siècle av. J.-C. Topoi 19(1): 17–55. Aitken, J.K. 2014. The Language of the Septuagint and Jewish– Greek Identity. In: Aitken, J.K. and Paget, J.C., eds. The Jewish–Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire. Cambridge, U.K.: 120–134. Aitken, J.K. 2016. The Septuagint and Egyptian Translation Methods. In: Kraus, W., van der Meer, M.N. and Maiser, M., eds. XV Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Munich, 2013 (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 64). Atlanta: 269–293. Albertz, R. 1994. A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period (2 vols.). Louisville. Aperghis, G.G. 2011. Jewish Subjects and Seleukid Kings: A Case Study of Economic Interaction. In: Archibald, Z.H., Davies, J.K. and Gabrielsen, V., eds. The Economies of Hellenistic Societies, Third to First Centuries BC. Oxford: 19–41. Assmann, J. 2011. Cultural Memory and Early Civilization. Writing, Remembrance and Political Imagination. Cambridge, U.K. Austin, M.M., ed. 2006. The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest: Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation (2nd ed.). Cambridge, U.K. Bagnall. R.S. and Derow, P., eds. 1981. Greek Historical Documents: The Hellenistic Period (Society of Biblical Literature Sources for Biblical Study 16). Atlanta. Baker, H.D. 2013. The Image of the City in Hellenistic Babylonia. In: Stavrianopoulou, E., ed. Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period: Narrations, Practices, and Images. Leiden and Boston: 51–65. Bedford, P.R. 2001. Temple Restoration in Early Achaemenid Judah. Leiden, Boston and Cologne. Bedford, P.R. 2007. The Economic Role of the Jerusalem Temple in Achaemenid Judah: Comparative Perspectives. In: Bar-Asher, M., Rom-Shiloni, D., Tov, E. and Wazana, N., eds. Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language. Jerusalem: 3*–20*.

Bedford, P.R. 2015. Temple Funding and Priestly Authority in Achaemenid Judah. In: Stökl, J. and Waerzeggers, C., eds. Exile and Return. The Babylonian Context (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft). Berlin and Boston: 336–351. Berlin, A.M. 2014. Household Judaism. In: Fiensy, D.A. and Strange, J.R., eds. Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods, 1: Life, Culture and Society. Minneapolis: 208–215. Briant, P. 1993. Alexandre à Sardes. In: Carlsen, J., Due, B., Steen Due, O. and Poulsen, B., eds. Alexander the Great. Myth and Reality. Rome: 1–15. Briant, P. 1998. Cités et satrapes dans l’empire achéménide: Xanthos et Pixôdaros. Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 142: 305–347. Briant, P. 2003. Histoire et archéologie d’un texte. La Lettre de Darius à Gadatas entre Perses, Grecs et Romains. In: Giorgieri, M., Salvini, M., Trémouille, M.-C. and Vannicelli, P., eds. Licia e Lidia prima dell’ellenizzazione. Atti del convegno internazionale Roma, 11–12 ottobre 1999. Rome: 107–144. Bringmann, K. 1983. Hellenistische Reform und Religionsverfolgung in Judäa: Eine Untersuchung zur jüdisch–hellenistischen Geschichte (175–163 v.Chr.). Göttingen. Carr, D.M. 2005. Writing on the Tablet of the Heart. Origins of Scripture and Literature. Oxford. Casson, L. 2001. Libraries in the Ancient World. New Haven. Chrubasik, B. 2013. The Attalids and the Seleukid Kings, 281–175 B.C.E. In: Phonemann, P., ed. Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State. Oxford: 83–119. Chrubasik, B. 2016. Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire. The Men Who Would Be King (Oxford Classical Monographs). Oxford. Chrubasik, B. 2019. The Epigraphic Dossier concerning Ptolemaios, Son of Thraseas, and the Fifth Syrian War. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 209: 115–130. Clancier, P. and Monerie, J. 2014. Les sanctuaires babyloniens à l’époque hellénistique: Évolution d’un relais de pouvoir. In: Clancier, P. and Monerie, J., eds. Les sanctuaires autochtones et le roi dans le Proche-Orient hellénistique: Entre autonomie et soumission. Topoi 19(1). Paris: 181–237. Clarysse, W. and Thompson, D.J. 2006. Counting the People in Hellenistic Egypt (2 vols.). Cambridge, U.K. Coqueugniot, G. 2013. Archives et bibliothèques dans le monde grec. Édifices et organisation, Ve siècle avant notre ère–IIe siècle de notre ère (British Archaeological Reports International Series 2536). Oxford. Debord, P. 1982. Aspects sociaux et économiques de la vie religieuse dans l’Anatolie gréco-romaine. Leiden.

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  225 Durand, X. 1997. Des Grecs en Palestine au IIIe siècle avant JésusChrist: Le dossier syrien des archives de Zénon de Caunos (261–252). Paris. Eckhardt, B. 2016. The Seleucid Administration of Judea, the High Priesthood and the Rise of the Hasmoneans. Journal of Ancient History 4: 57–87. Edelman, D.V. 2005. The Origins of the “Second” Temple: Persian Imperial Policy and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem. London and Oakville. Eisenstadt, S.N. 1963. The Political Systems of Empires. New York. Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. 2015. Empire, Power and Indigenous Elites. A Case Study of the Nehemiah Memoir (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 169). Leiden and Boston. Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. 2016. Continuity between Assyrian and Persian Policies toward the Cults of their Subjects. In: Edelman, D.V., Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. and Philippe, G., eds. 2016. Religion in the Achaemenid Persian Empire. Emerging Judaisms and Trends (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 17). Tübingen: 137–171. Flechter-Louis, C.H.T. 2004. The Cosmology of P and Theological Anthropology in the Wisdom of Jesus ben Sira. In: Evans, C.A., ed. Of Scribes and Sages: Early Jewish Interpretation and Transmission of Scripture, 1: Ancient Versions and Traditions. London and New York: 69–113. Fried, L.S. 2004. The Priest and the Great King. Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire. Winona Lake. Gitler, H. and Lorber, C. 2006. A New Chronology of the Ptolemaic Coins of Judah. American Journal of Numismatics, Second Series 18: 1–41. Gitler, H. and Lorber, C. 2008. A New Chronology for the Yehizqiyah Coins of Judah. Schweizerische Numismatische Rundschau 87: 61–82. Gonzalez, H. 2013. Zechariah 9–14 and the Continuation of Zechariah during the Ptolemaic Period. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 13, article 9. doi: https://doi.org/10.5508/jhs.2013 .v13.a9. Gonzalez, H. 2017. Zacharie 9–14 et le temple de Jérusalem. Observations sur le milieu de production d’un texte prophétique tardif. Judaïsme ancien / Ancient Judaism 5: 23–77. Gorre, G. 2009. Les relations du clergé égyptien et des Lagides (Studia Hellenistica 45). Leuven. Gorre, G. 2009/10. Les élites sacerdotales d’Hermopolis et le pouvoir gréco-macédonien. Cahiers de recherches de l’Institut de papyrologie et d’égyptologie de Lille 28: 359–372. Gorre, G. 2014. La monnaie de bronze lagide et les temples égyptiens: La diffusion de la monnaie de bronze en Thébaïde au IIIe siècle av. J.-C. Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 69: 91–113. doi: https://doi.org/10.1353/ahs.2014.0004.

Gorre, G. 2019. Des temples, des hommes et des dieux: L’intégration des temples égyptiens dans la politique lagide. Les politiques comparées des Lagides et des Séleucides envers les temples: d’Edfou au Mont Garizim… et retour (Mémoire d’habilitation à diriger des recherches). Paris. Gorre, G. and Honigman, S. 2013. Kings, Taxes and High Priests: Comparing the Ptolemaic and Seleukid Policies. In: Bussi, S., ed. Egitto dai Faraoni agli Arabi: atti del convegno Egitto: amministrazione, economia, società, cultura dai Faraoni agli Arabi, Milano, Universita degli Studi, 7–9 gennaio 2013. Pisa and Rome: 105–119. Gorre, G. and Honigman, S. 2014. La politique d’Antiochos IV à Jérusalem à la lumière des relations entre rois et temples aux époques perse et hellénistique (Babylonie, Judée et Égypte). In: Feyel, C., Graslin Thomé, L., Mileta, C. and Mittag, P.F., eds. Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV (Journées d’études franco-allemandes, Nancy 17–19 juin 2013). Nancy and Paris: 301–338. Grabbe, L.L. 2004. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah (Library of Second Temple Studies 47). London and New York. Grabbe, L.L. 2006. The “Persian Documents” in the Book of Ezra: Are They Authentic? In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 531–570. Grabbe, L.L. 2008. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 B.C.E.) (Library of Second Temple Studies 68). London and New York. Grabbe, L.L. 2011. Hyparchs, Oikonomoi, and Mafiosi: The Governance of Judah in the Ptolemaic Period. In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. Judah between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca. 400–200 B.C.E.). London: 70–90.  Grätz, S. 2004. Das Edikt des Artaxerxes: Eine Untersuchung zum religionspolitischen und historischen Umfeld von Esra, 12–26. Berlin and New York. Hengel, M. 1974. Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period (2 vols.). London. Himmelfarb, M. 1999. Levi, Phinehas, and the Problem of Intermarriage at the Time of the Maccabean Revolt. Jewish Studies Quarterly 6: 1–24. Himmelfarb, M. 2002. The Book of the Watchers and the Priests of Jerusalem. Henoch 24: 131–135. Himmelfarb, M. 2006. A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism. Philadelphia. Honigman, S. 2014. Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochus IV. Berkeley.

226  sylvie honigman Honigman, S. 2016. Intercultural Exchanges in the Hellenistic East: The Respective Roles of Temples, Royal Administrative Offices, Royal Courts, and Gymnasia. In: Ben Zvi, E. and Levin, C., eds. Centres and Peripheries in the Early Second Temple Period (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 108). Tübingen: 49–78. Honigman, S., Ecker, A., Finkielsztejn, G., Gorre, G. and Syon, D. 2017. The Southern Levant in Antiochos III’s Time: Between Continuity and Immediate or Delayed Changes. In: Feyel, C. and Graslin Thomé, L., eds. Antiochos III et l’Orient (Colloque franco-allemand, Nancy 6–8 juin 2016). Nancy and Paris: 161–207. Horsley, R.A. 2005. The Politics of Cultural Production in Second Temple Judea: Historical Context and Political-Religious Relations of the Scribes who produced 1 Enoch, Sirach, and Daniel. In: Wright, B.G. III and Wills, L.M., eds. Conflicted Boundaries in Wisdom and Apocalypticism. Atlanta: 123–145. Jursa, M. 2007. The Transition of Babylonia from the Neo-Babylonian Empire to Achaemenid Rule. In: Crawford, H., ed. Regime Change in the Ancient Near East and Egypt: From Sargon of Agade to Saddam Hussein. New York: 73–94. Kaye, N. and Amitay, O. 2015. Kleopatra’s Dowry: Taxation and Sovereignty between Hellenistic Kingdoms. Historia 64: 131–155. Klinkott, H. 2007. Xerxes in Ägypten. Gedanken zum negativen Perserbild in der Satrapenstele. In: Pfeiffer, S., ed. Ägypten unter fremden Herrschern zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz (Oikumene 3). Frankfurt am Main: 34–53. Knoppers, G.N. 2003. The Relationship of the Priestly Genealogies to the History of the High Priesthood in Jerusalem. In: Lipschits, O. and Blenkinsopp, J., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake: 109–133. Knoppers, G.N. 2004. 1 Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible). New York and London. Krebsbach, J. 2016. Achaemenid Persian Patronage of Egyptian Cults and Religious Institutions in the Twenty-seventh Dynasty: A Study of Political Acumen in the Ancient World. In: Edelman, D.V., Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. and Philippe, G., eds. 2016. Religion in the Achaemenid Persian Empire. Emerging Judaisms and Trends (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 17). Tübingen: 329–348. Krüger, T. 2004. Qoheleth: A Commentary (Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible). Minneapolis. Kuhrt, A. 1990. Nabonidus and the Babylonian Priesthood. In: Beard, M. and North, J., eds. Pagan Priests: Religion and Power in the Ancient World. Ithaca: 119–155.

Le Rider, G. and de Callataÿ, F. 2006. Les Séleucides et les Ptolémées. L’héritage monétaire et financier d’Alexandre le Grand. Paris. Lipschits, O. 2006. Achaemenid Imperial Policy, Settlement Processes in Palestine, and the Status of Jerusalem in the Middle of the Fifth Century B.C.E. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 19–52. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y., Arubas, B. and Oeming, M. 2011. Palace and Village, Paradise and Oblivion: Unraveling the Riddles of Ramat Raḥel. Near Eastern Archaeology 74: 2–49. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y., Arubas, B. and Oeming, M. 2017. What Are the Stones Whispering? Ramat Rahel: 3000 Years of Forgotten History. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Langgut, D. 2012. The Riddle of Ramat Raḥel: The Archaeology of a Royal Persian Period Edifice. Transeuphratène 41: 57–79. Lipschits, O. and Tal, O. 2007. The Settlement Archaeology of the Province of Judah: A Case-Study. In: Albertz, R., Knoppers, G. and Lipschits, O., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 33–52. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2007a. A New Typology of the Yehud Stamp Impressions. Tel Aviv 34: 12–37. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2007b. Yehud Stamp Impressions of the Fourth Century B.C.E.: A Time of Administrative Consolidation? In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 75–94. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2011. The Yehud Stamp Impressions: A Corpus of Inscribed Stamp Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah. Winona Lake. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2014. Continuity and Change in the Persian Period Judahite Stamped Jar Administration. In: Frevel, C., Pyschny, K. and Cornelius, I., eds. A “Religious Revolution” in Yehûd? The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case. Fribourg and Göttingen: 43–66. Manning, J.G. 2010. The Last Pharaohs. Egypt under the Ptolemies, 305–30 BC. Princeton and Oxford. van Minnen, P. 1998. Boorish or Bookish? Literature in Egyptian Villages in the Fayum in the Graeco–Roman Period. Journal of Juristic Papyrology 28: 99–184. Monerie, J. 2012. Notabilité urbaine et administration locale en Babylonie du sud aux époques séleucide et parthe. In: Feyel, C., Fournier, J., Graslin-Thomé, L. and Kirbihler, F., eds. Communautés locales et pouvoir central dans l’Orient hellénistique et romain. Nancy and Paris: 327–352.  Nihan, C. 2010. The Emergence of the Pentateuch as “Torah.” Religion Compass 4: 353–364. Nihan, C. 2013. Forms and Functions of Purity in Leviticus. In: Frevel, C. and Nihan, C., eds. Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World

searching for the social location of literate judean elites in early hellenistic times  227 and Ancient Judaism (Dynamics in the History of Religions 3). Leiden and Boston: 311–367. Pedersén, O. 1998. Archives and Libraries in the Ancient Near East, 1500–300 B.C. Bethesda. Porten, B., Farber, J.J., Martin, C.J., Vittmann, G., Maccoull, L.S.B. and Clackson, S., eds. 1996. The Elephantine Papyri in English. Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change. Leiden, New York and Cologne. Porten, B. and Yardeni, A. 2006. Social, Economic, and Onomastic Issues in the Aramaic Ostraca of the Fourth Century B.C.E. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 457–488. Ronen, Y. 1998. The Weight Standards of the Judean Coinage in the Late Persian and Early Ptolemaic Period. Near Eastern Archaeology 61: 122–126. Ronen, Y. 2003. Some Observations on the Coinage of Yehud. Israel Numismatic Journal 15: 28–31. Rooke, D.W. 2000. Zadok’s Heirs. The Role and Development of the High Priesthood in Ancient Israel. Oxford. Sartre, M. 2014. Histoire et mémoire(s) des Maccabées. In: Baslez, M.-F. and Munnich, O., eds. Autour des livres des Maccabées: La mémoire des persécutions. Paris and Leuven: 1–20. Schwartz, S. 1993. A Note on the Social Type and Political Ideology of the Hasmonean Family. Journal of Biblical Literature 112: 305–317. Schwiderski, D. 2000. Handbuch des nordwestsemitischen Briefformulars: Ein Beitrag zur Echtheitsfrage der aramäischen Briefe des Esrabuches. Berlin. Sérandour, A. 2009. Histoire du judaïsme aux époques perse, hellénistique et romaine: De Cyrus à Bar Kokhba. In: Römer, T., Macchi, J.-D. and Nihan, C., eds. Introduction à l’Ancien Testament. Geneva: 83–121. Tal, O. 2016. Pottery from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods. In: Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y. and Freud, L. Ramat Raḥel III: Final Publication of Yohanan Aharoni’s Excavations (1954, 1959–1962) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 35). Tel Aviv: 266–271. Thomas, R. 2000. Writing, Reading, Public and Private “Literacies:” Functional Literacy and Democratic Literacy in Greece. In: Johnson, W.A. and Parker, H.N., eds. Ancient Literacies. The Culture of Reading in Greece and Rome. Oxford: 13–45. Thompson (Crawford), D.J. 1978. The Good Official of Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Maehler, H. and Strocka, V.M., eds. Das ptolemäische Ägypten. Akten des internationalen Symposions, 27.–29. September 1976 in Berlin. Mainz am Rhein: 195–202. Thompson, D.J. 1987. Ptolemaios and the “Lighthouse”: Greek Culture in the Memphite Serapeum. Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 213, N.S. 33: 105–121.

Thompson, D.J. 1992. Literacy and the Administration in Early Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Johnson, J.H., ed. Life in a MultiCultural Society. Egypt from Kambyses to Constantine. Chicago: 323–326. Thompson, D.J. 1996. Literacy and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Bowman, A.K. and Woolf, G., eds. Literacy and Power in the Ancient World. Cambridge, U.K.: 67–83. Thompson, D.J. 2001. Hellenistic Hellenes: The Case of Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Malkin, I., ed. Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity. Washington, D.C.: 301–322. Thompson, D.J. 2008. Economic Reforms in the Mid-Reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus. In: McKechnie, P. and Guillaume, P., eds. Ptolemy II Philadelphus and His World. Leiden and Boston: 27–38. Thonemann, P. 2015. The Hellenistic World: Using Coins as Sources. Cambridge, U.K. Tolini, G. 2014. Les sanctuaires de Babylonie à l’époque achéménide. Entre légitimation, soumission et révoltes. Topoi 19(1): 123–180. VanderKam, J.C. 2004. From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests After the Exile. Minneapolis. VanderKam, J.C. 2007. Mapping Second Temple Judaism. In: Boccaccini, G. and Collins, J.J., eds. The Early Enoch Literature. Leiden and Boston: 1–20. Vernus, P. 1993. Affaires et scandales sous les Ramsès. Paris. Waerzeggers, C. 2004. The Babylonian Revolts against Xerxes and the “End of Archives.” Archiv für Orientforschung 50: 150–173. Watts, J.W. 2007. The Torah as the Rhetoric of Priesthood. In: Knoppers, G.N. and Levinson, B.M., eds. The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance. Winona Lake: 319–331. Watts, J.W. 2013. Scripturalization and the Aaronide Dynasties. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 13, article 6 (doi:10.5508/ jhs.2013.v13.a6). Wright, B.G., III. 2008. Praise Israel for Wisdom and Instruction: Essays on Ben Sira and Wisdom the Letter of Aristeas and the Septuagint (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 131). Leiden and Boston. Wright, J.W. 2006. Remapping Yehud: The Borders of Yehd and the Genealogies of Chronicles. In: Lipschits, O. and Oeming, M., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake: 67–89. Zamagni, C. 2010. La tradition sur Moïse d’“Hécatée d’Abdère” d’après Diodore et Photius. In: Borgeaud, P., Römer, T. and Volokhine, Y., eds. Interprétations de Moïse: Égypte, Judée, Grèce et Rome (Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture 10). Leiden: 133–169. Zinn, K. 2007. Libraries and Archives: The Organisation of Collective Wisdom in Ancient Egypt. In: Cannata, M. and Adams, C., eds. Current Research in Egyptology 2006. Proceedings of the Seventh Annual Symposium Which Took

228  sylvie honigman Place at the University of Oxford, April 2006. Oxford: 169–176. Zinn, K. 2011. Temples, Palaces and Libraries: A Search for an Alliance between Archaeological and Textual Evidence. In: Gundlach, R. and Spence, K., eds. 5. Symposium zur

ägyptischen Königsideologie / 5th Symposium on Egyptian Royal Ideology. Palace and Temple: Architecture— Decoration—Ritual, Cambridge, July, 16th–17th, 2007. Wiesbaden: 181–202.

15 The Idealization of Ptolemaic Kingship in the Legend of the Origins of the Septuagint Timothy H. Lim

“I am informed,” responded the keeper of the books to the king, “that the laws of the Jews also are worthy of transcription and of being included in your library” (Letter of Aristeas 10).1 In the Letter of Aristeas Ptolemy the son of Ptolemy commissions a translation of the Jewish laws from Hebrew to Greek, when he is informed by Demetrius that there is a gap in the royal collection of the library of Alexandria. In a subsequent memorandum to the king, Demetrius explains: The books of the Law of the Jews together with some few others are wanting. It happens that they are written in Hebrew characters and in the Hebrew tongue, and they have been committed to writing somewhat carelessly and not adequately, according to the testimony of experts, for they have never benefited by a king’s forethought. (Ar. 10)

Having been informed that the books had to be translated and not merely copied, Ptolemy sends an embassy to the Jerusalem Temple, requesting the assistance of Eleazar, the High Priest. The royal embassy, headed by trusted and honored courtiers Andreas and Aristeas, brought dedicatory offerings and gifts—including 20 golden and

30 silver flagons and a table of dedication of pure gold— and 100 talents of silver for the repair of the Temple (Ar. 40–41, 50–82). In response, the High Priest dispatches to Alexandria 72 exemplary elders who possess skills in the law for the purpose of completing the task (Ar. 39). The embassy returned from Jerusalem with the rolls of the law inscribed in Jewish letters in letters of gold (Ar. 179), the translators were feted with a banquet that lasted seven days (Ar. 181–300), and each elder was given three talents of silver and a slave for his participation in the symposium of the king (Ar. 294). After the translation was completed in 72 days and to great acclaim, Ptolemy sent the translators back to Jerusalem with further remunerations, consisting of three fine costumes, two talents of gold, a valuable sideboard and dining room furnishings (Ar. 319). To Eleazar the High Priest, the king sent 10 couches with silver legs, 30 talents of silver, 10 costumes, a purple robe, a magnificent crown, 100 fine woven linen, bowls, plates and golden dedicatory utensils (Ar. 320). The Letter of Aristeas’ account of the origins of the Septuagint (hereafter LXX) is, according to S. Honigman, a charter myth written in the mid-2nd

232  timothy h. lim

century BCE by an otherwise unknown Jewish author with the nom de plume of Aristeas (Honigman 2003). This well-known legend is set in the days of Ptolemy Philadelphus (283–246 BCE) and in his royal court and library of Alexandria. Accordingly, it was his initiative, prompted by Demetrius the royal keeper, that set in motion the process that culminated in the translation known as the LXX. By invoking the concept of charter myth, Honigman signals the fictive nature of the composition, a diegesis or literary narrative, without denying the historical basis of this account. Few scholars today would deny that the Letter of Aristeas is historical to some degree. The challenge is to disentangle history from its literary intertwinement. It is widely agreed, for instance, that “Demetrius” was incorrectly named as the librarian of Alexandria, since he never held that role. Instead, he was advisor to Ptolemy Soter and in fact supported Ptolemy Ceraunus, and not Ptolemy Philadelphus, in the sibling rivalry over succession (Hadas 1951: 96, n. 8). There is also little doubt that the Letter of Aristeas adheres to literary and rhetorical conventions and includes embellishments on the munificence of the Hellenistic king. Other issues, however, divide scholarly opinion. Is this an historically plausible depiction of the origins of the LXX? In the Letter of Aristeas the Ptolemaic monarch is idealized in a way that not only makes him acknowledge Jewish laws as divine, but also leads him to expend considerable resources to have these laws translated to fill a gap in his library. Was it the custom of Hellenistic kings to bear the costs of translating foreign works into Greek? Did Ptolemy commission the translation project? In the following, I will suggest that it was unlikely that the translation project of the Hebrew scrolls to Greek was commissioned and paid for by Ptolemy. It was not a request of the library or the librarian. I will discuss how the library of Alexandria might have built up its collection and question the claim that there was a policy of commissioning foreign works into Greek. Rather, the initiative for the translation likely came from the Greekspeaking Jews of Alexandria, who attributed the project to Ptolemy Philadelphus, an act that is consistent with a discernible pattern of Jews in the Persian and Hellenistic periods writing themselves into imperial history.

The Library of Alexandria We know surprisingly little about the library of Alexandria and the institution closely associated with it, the Musaeum. They were symbols of the culture and power of the Ptolemaic dynasty, and the fortunes of both institutions ebbed and flowed over time.2 The Musaeum was a combination of a religious center devoted to the worship of the Muses, a synodos and a literary society. Founded by Ptolemy Soter, probably on the advice of Demetrius of Phalerum, it was patterned after the Musaeum of Lyceum. According to Strabo (17.793–94; 64/63 BCE–21 CE), the Musaeum of Alexandria was part of the royal quarter; it had its own cloister, an arcade and a large house for common meals for the learned community of men that lived there. A priest, appointed by the king, presided over the society and royal funds financially supported the community with endowments and pensions. Two main branches of learning, corresponding broadly to our natural sciences and the humanities, were pursued at the Musaeum. Scientific research into various aspects of the physical world was carried out, as was literary, textual and philological study (Fraser 1972: 1.324–325). Timon of Phlius (320–230 BCE), a skeptical philosopher in Athens, ridiculed the community as “a crowd of cloisterlings who get fed as they argue away interminably in the chicken coop of the Muses” (Barnes 2000: 62). By the 2nd century BCE, the intellectual activity of the Musaeum had declined, as a result of Euergetes II’s persecution in 145 BCE of the population of Alexandria who had supported Cleopatra II in the struggle for succession. He expelled the learned men of Alexandria— philosophers, doctors and scientists, including the Homeric scholar and librarian Aristarchus. The reputation of the Musaeum, however, seemed to have recovered by the 1st century BCE, for Strabo could report that many of those who loved learning visited Alexandria and resided there with pleasure (17.793–794). The history of the library of Alexandria is shrouded in legendary lore, and much remains disputed or simply unknown. There are good reasons, however, to surmise that it was organized according to the principles of Aristotle’s private library at Lyceum. It was curated by a librarian, a royal appointment, who also frequently

the idealization of ptolemaic kingship in the legend of the origins of the septuagint  233

tutored the king’s children.3 The exact location of the library, however, is much disputed. According to later sources (Epiphanius and John Tzetzes, the Byzantine grammarian), there were two libraries: the first was situated within the royal palace and another, smaller, library was later built in the Serapeum. In the Ptolemaic period, however, there was probably no separate library building; it presumably formed part of another building, most likely the Musaeum, according to P.M. Fraser (Fraser 1972: 1.324–325; see now Georges, Albrecht and Feldmeier 2013). The library had lofty ambitions of becoming the center of culture and learning in the oikoumene. In the words of the anonymous author of the Letter of Aristeas, the library was well endowed with an acquisitions policy that had in its sights “all the books in the world” (Ar. 9). According to the Letter of Aristeas there were more than 200,000 books in the collection and the library was looking to increase that number to 500,000 books (Ar. 10). Tzetzes put the number at 532,800: the external library contained 42,800, while the palace library held 400,000 mixed books and 90,000 rolls containing only one work. The library acquired the books in several ways. Athenaeus of Naucratis (fl. 200 CE) describes how Ptolemy Philadelphus purchased and transferred to Alexandria not only the works of the philosophers, poets and leading figures, but also the volumes that he had purchased at book markets in Athens and Rhodes (Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 1.3). According to Galen, a 2nd-century CE Greek doctor, Ptolemy III Euergetes had a policy of impounding books from ships that docked in the port of Alexandria, making copies of the seizures and switching the copies for the originals to return to the owners. In the library catalogue, these books were labeled “from the ships.” A similar insidious policy would involve what we would call a dubious interlibrary loan. Unlike the system of borrowing from another library and returning the same books, Ptolemy Euergetes would request rolls from Athens, have copies made, retain the originals and swap the works of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides for their duplicates. The library of Alexandria must have had a policy of requisition of books to maintain and build up its collection, and buying books from book markets would

have been one way forward. It would be difficult, however, to imagine how the surreptitious procedure described by Galen could be sustained. The swapping of copies for originals must have been an exception rather than the rule, since the game would be up once this subterfuge was discovered. Another source of book production would surely have been the coterie of charakitai, cloisterlings who scribbled away on papyri, whom Timon so disparagingly and cruelly caricatured. It is thought that Euclid, the mathematician, had written his book Elements and formulated his principles of geometry in Alexandria. It is also possible that some of the charakitai served as translators. Eratosthenes translated chronological tables from the Egyptian records. Pliny reported that Hermippus, a contemporary of Callimachus in Alexandria, wrote on magic and commented on two million verses of Zoroaster (NH 30.4), a feat that could have been accomplished only if the Avestan original had been translated into Greek.4

Translation of Foreign Books into Greek Was there a policy of commissioning the translation of foreign works into Greek? E. Bickerman stated that modern scholars were occluded by an optical impairment in seeing the Alexandrian translation as a unique undertaking. “In fact,” he admonished, “the task of the Seventy took its place in a long tradition of translation” (Bickerman 1988: 103). He pointed to several examples of bilingualism and translation, noting especially the histories of Berossus and Manetho. Berossus was a Babylonian priest who wrote a history of his country from Creation to the time of Alexander the Great, and Manetho, a high priest and scribe of the sacred shrines of Egypt (whom Josephus later attacks), recounted the history of Egypt from the time of the Pharaohs to the Macedonian conquest. Both men, contemporaries of the LXX translators, wrote their histories with the intention of counteracting the fabulous tales of the orient then circulating in the Greek world. Berossus dedicated his compilation to Antiochus I, and Manetho worked for Ptolemy II. Bickerman pointed out that there was a long tradition of the translation of legal and official documents, as

234  timothy h. lim

evidenced by the sending out of the royal commands in the Book of Esther to every people of the empire in its own script and language, the publication of Darius’ deeds in Persian, Elamite and Aramaic, and the trilingual recording of a Lycian satrap’s decision on matters relating to temple worship. J. Mélèze-Modrzejewski likewise argued that the LXX translation should be seen in the context of the Ptolemaic dynasty’s attitude to the national traditions of the native Egyptian population (Mélèze-Modrzejewski 1997: 99–106). He observed that unlike other ancient Middle Eastern societies (e.g., Sumer, Babylon and the Hittite kingdom), Egypt did not codify its own laws. However, in the third year of his reign (519 BCE), the Persian king Darius I commissioned the wise men of Egypt to record the Egyptian law in writing. This codification project lasted 16 years and was officially published in two languages, Aramaic and Demotic Egyptian.5 A copy of the Demotic version, dating from the Ptolemaic era, turned up in the excavations of Hermopolis West in 1938– 1939 and was published in 1975. This same “case book” was subsequently translated from Demotic into Greek. In 1978, J. Rea published P.Oxy. 46.3285, which appears to be a copy of the original case book that had been translated into Greek. Rea dated this copy to the 2nd century CE, but suggested that the original translation was made under the reign of Ptolemy II. “From the viewpoint of legal history,” MélèzeModrzejewski concluded, “the two translations [i.e., of the case book and Jewish laws] do have much in common, since they belong to the same Ptolemaic judiciary system as it was functioning in the third century BCE” (MélèzeModrzejewski 1997: 106). In his book Heritage and Hellenism, E.S. Gruen asked how likely it was that Ptolemy II would commission the translation of Jewish laws and pay for it from the royal purse. He criticized the examples adduced by Bickerman and Mélèze-Modrzejewski as inexact parallels, stating that “Philadelphus may indeed have broad cultural interests, and he certainly welcomed additions to the library. But that is a far cry from commissioning a fullscale translation of a lengthy text just to add a Greek version to the shelves” (Gruen 1988: 209, n. 67). There are several related issues that may be distinguished. There is little doubt that it was customary

for documents to be translated in an official capacity. In the multilingual ancient Near East, official documents were regularly translated to facilitate diplomacy and communication (e.g., 2 Kings 18; Ezra 4:7). Ancient kings in general, and the Ptolemies in particular, required documents to be rendered into a language that they understood and used officially. Disputed, however, are the cases adduced by Bickerman and Mélèze-Modrzejewski. Do they parallel Ptolemy’s supposed commissioning of the translation of the Torah into Greek? Berossus used ancient sources that had to be translated to compose his History of Babylonia, published in 278 BCE.6 Likewise, Manetho, who flourished in the times of Soter and Philadelphus, composed his History of Egypt using Egyptian sources that he himself had translated into Greek.7 These translations are not parallels to the LXX, since they are renderings into Greek of the sources that Berossus and Manetho summarized in their histories. Better is Darius I’s codification of Egyptian law and the subsequent translation from Demotic to Greek in the reign of Ptolemy II, but we do not have an account of the circumstances of that translation. It is a possible, but not necessary, inference that Ptolemy Philadelphus commissioned the translation. Mélèze-Modrzejewski admits as much when he states that “[w]hat is lacking is an Egyptian Aristeas, to transmit the glory of the exploits to future generations” (Verbrugghe and Wickersahm 1996: 106). Gruen has identified an important problem: the unprecedented commissioning and payment of the translation of the laws of an ethnic minority within Ptolemaic Alexandria. These were not the laws of the Egyptians, but the laws of a group who lived in Alexandria, albeit a sizeable one.8 Why would Ptolemy Philadelphus pay for the translation? As Gruen puts it (1998: 208–210), “[t]he Jewish law code was hardly of burning interest to the Ptolemaic court.” Instead, Gruen followed the widely held view that it was the Greekspeaking Jews of Alexandria, now unable to read Hebrew with ease, who commissioned the Greek translation for liturgical and pedagogical purposes. Palestinian scholars may have been drafted in to facilitate the project, but nothing else in the Aristeas account is plausible historically.

the idealization of ptolemaic kingship in the legend of the origins of the septuagint  235

Jewish Initiative and Royal Auspices Philo’s account of the legend of the origins of the LXX provides some corroboration that Greek-speaking Jews of Alexandria had commissioned the translation project. In this version, well known for its miracle of word-forword agreement, despite the elders working in isolation, the translation project arose from the concerns of anonymous individuals. Philo’s account of the legend of the LXX is recorded in book two of his biography of Moses (De Vita Mosis 2.25–44). In book one, he recounted the birth, early life, and activities of Moses; the exodus from Egypt; the wanderings in the wilderness; and the challenges that the Israelites faced. In the second volume, Philo focused on Moses’ role as legislator, high priest and prophet, based on the Platonic principle that states would flourish only if kings were philosophers or philosopher-kings (2.2). According to Philo’s account, the books were translated into Greek not because the librarian requested them, but because the collection of Jewish laws was given by Moses, “the best of all lawgivers in all countries” (De Vita Mosis 2.12), and this legislation, once made available in Greek translation, would be universally recognized for their superiority.9 The sabbath would garner the respect of all nations, which would abandon their own ancestral customs in favor of them (2.44). The main differences between Philo’s account and that of the Letter of Aristeas include the procedure of the translation project (inspired or agreed), the nature of the banquet, and the annual festival on the island of Pharos. Philo did not acknowledge the Letter of Aristeas, but it is likely that he knew it or a version of the legend.10 The commissioning of the project was carried out by Ptolemy, who dispatched an envoy to the high priest and king of Judea, requesting that he choose meritorious persons for rendering the Law into Greek (De Vita Mosis 2.31). But the original idea arose not from the king, but from some anonymous individuals, as described in sections 25–30, which are not found in the Letter of Aristeas. On the origins of the translation, Philo explained: Then it was that some people, thinking it a shame that the laws should be found in one half only of the human race, the barbarians, and denied altogether to the

Greeks, took steps to have them translated. In view of the importance and public utility of the task, it was referred not to private persons or magistrates who were very numerous, but to kings, and amongst them the king of highest repute. Ptolemy, surnamed Philadelphus, was the third in succession to Alexander, conqueror of Egypt. (De Vita Mosis 2.27–29)

Philo’s account states that the initiative for the translation project arose anonymously (τινες) and that the matter was referred to the king on account of its importance (μέγα) and public interest (κοινωφελές). He does not specify the identity of these anonymous people, but they must have been included among “the barbarians.”11 Philo uses here, as elsewhere in his writings, a literary custom that divides the peoples of the known world into just two categories: the Greeks and the barbarians (De Cherubim 91; De Josepho 56; Legatio ad Gaium 8). His biography of Moses was addressed to the Greek men of letters, who would have known no other convention. Philo’s identification of “some people” is a likely reference to the Greek-speaking Jews of Alexandria, who could understand the laws written in “the Chaldean tongue” and thought it a shame that one half of the human race was denied access on account of language. A translation was needed to make these laws accessible to the whole of humanity, but the task would not be entrusted to private individuals or magistrates, but to the king of kings, Ptolemy Philadelphus. The attribution of this commission is noteworthy. The initiative of the translation project did not come from an acquisitions request of the library and librarian. Philo did not mention the library, even though it had most likely survived the Alexandrian wars, nor Demetrius, the famed peripatetic philosopher, even though one would have expected him to do just that.12 Instead, the project was referred or ascribed (ἀνετέθη) to the king, but Philo did not say that Ptolemy provided the funds for it or that this translation project could be counted among the king’s deeds. Philo was evidently an admirer of Ptolemy, describing him as the “head of the kings” (De Vita Mosis 2.30). But he did not specify what deeds the king had achieved in his lifetime. He referred to the proverbial use of the adjective “Philadelphian” to

236  timothy h. lim

describe acts of an especially great scale, but he did not name a single act that the king had achieved in his lifetime. Instead, Philo praises Ptolemy for intellectual monuments “of his greatness of mind” (μνημεῖα τῆς μεγαλοφροσύνης; De Vita Mosis 2.29). Like Theocritus’ Encomium of Ptolemy Philadelphus (Idyll 17), Philo’s praise of the king was conspicuous by its absence of specific royal accomplishments. Ptolemy II, posthumously given the epithet “Philadelphus,” was the co-regent and regent of Alexandria in the 3rd century BCE. He was not a man of war, but of culture. He was not a man of deeds, but of learning, especially of the scientific kind.13 Theocritus the poet praised the deceased king for his love of the Muses, but he did not wax lyrical about any military conquest.14 The lack of specifics led F. Cairns to judge that Theocritus could not “insert a section of Ptolemy’s personal military prowess, since Ptolemy was, in fact, a weak and somewhat effete man personally, and any attempt to fly in the face of this fact would have produced a credibility gap” (Cairns 1972: 111). R. Hunter, however, has pointed to the praise of Ptolemy’s military exploits in Theocritus’ Encomium of Ptolemy Philadelphus as possibly bridging this credibility gap. In this poem, vv. 85–94 and 102–103, Theocritus praises this king for having taken slices of various areas of the Near East—“all the sea and the land and the crashing rivers are subject to Ptolemy”—and for being skilled with the spear. Hunter argues that the relatively subdued praise of Ptolemy’s deeds and, indeed, the absence of cardinal virtues, common to rhetorical conventions and Greek kingship theory alike, are explained by the poet’s desire to portray Ptolemy as both Greco-Macedonian basileus and Egyptian pharaoh.15 It seems unlikely that Ptolemy Philadelphus was known only as an intellectual and not also as a ruler who fought wars and commissioned and funded projects. Several noteworthy monuments and buildings were built or extended during his reign, including the lighthouse, the agora, the stadium, the hippodrome, the theater, the library and Musaeum (McKenzie 2007: 41–52). Most recently, a news item has reported the uncovering of a limestone temple, dedicated to Isis, at Gabal el-Nour in Beni Suef built during the reign of Ptolemy II. A cartouche of the king has been dug up, and the external walls of the

temple’s eastern side are decorated with figures of Ptolemy and the Nile god Hapy.16 In Philo’s version of the legend, then, the translation project arose from a perceived need to make the laws accessible to the entire known world by rendering them from a minority language to the lingua franca of the Hellenistic world. These anonymous “barbarians” were members of the Alexandrian Jewish community, who set out the plans of the translation of the Jewish laws, and they are most likely the ones who paid for it. They thought that it was unfortunate that their laws were unknown to Greeks because of the language in which they were written. It was a matter of public interest, and the project should be carried out under the auspices of the king. Philo likely knew the Letter of Aristeas, but he also appeared to have other sources. In his biography of Moses he explained his method. He tells the story of Moses as “I have learned it, both from the sacred books (βίβλων τῶν ἱερῶν), the wonderful monuments of his wisdom which he has left behind him, and from some of the elders of the nation (τοῦ ἔθνους πρεσβυτέρων); for I always interwove what I was told with what I read (τὰ γὰρ λεγόμενα τοῖς ἀναγινωσκομένοις ἀεὶ συνύφαινον), and thus believed myself to have a closer knowledge than others of his life’s history” (De Vita Mosis 1.4).17 Though this passage refers specifically to the use of the biblical texts with ancestral traditions, the method described in it likewise applies to the legend of the LXX. In composing his account of the origins he interwove what he read in writing, the Letter of Aristeas or a version of it, with what he knew from oral tradition. Thus, Philo claims that he knew the history of Moses more closely (ἀκριβῶσαι) than others. The claim for greater accuracy must likewise have extended to the legend of the LXX.

The Library and the Translation Philo’s account of the origins of the LXX helps explain one of the anomalies of the version in the Letter of Aristeas: the absence of the completion of the library’s request once the translation had been completed. The library (βιβλιοθήκη) is mentioned four times in the

the idealization of ptolemaic kingship in the legend of the origins of the septuagint  237

opening sections (Ar. 9, 10, 29 and 38), but is absent in the denouement of the story (Ar. 308–321). Instead, Demetrius assembled the Jewish community on the island where the translation took place and, in the presence of the translators, read out the Greek rendering to great ovation. In turn, the translation was read out to the king, who marveled at the intellect of the lawgiver Moses. But there is no comment, as one would expect, on how the Jewish laws, now accurately rendered into Greek, would be added to the royal books and find a prominent place in the library (cf. Ar. 10, 38). The acquisition of the library is another motif used by the Letter of Aristeas to embellish an original translation project initiated by the Jewish community in Alexandria. The anonymous author, in the mid-2nd century BCE, wrote the Jewish translation project into the history of the Ptolemaic kingship. The Ptolemaic monarch is idealized as deeply respectful of the Jewish laws, which he acknowledges as divine, and he is portrayed as having spent considerable funds from his treasury just to have a translated copy of them on his library shelves. The motif of the library request was not integral to the version of the Letter of Aristeas. The author added it to accord greater glory to the Greek translation, and he assigned the position of chief of the library to the peripatetic scholar Demetrius—wrongly, as it turned out. Philo dispensed with the motif not because the library had been burnt, but because it was not part of the story that he knew.

Writing Themselves into Imperial History The account of the Letter of Aristeas in describing the translation of the Jewish law with the royal imprimatur of Ptolemy Philadelphus is only partially reliable if one takes seriously the independent version of Philo. The initiative came from anonymous Jews who referred the project to the king.

This pattern of writing themselves into imperial history has been documented by Gruen. In addition to the Letter of Aristeas, Gruen discussed how Jews wrote themselves into the campaign of Alexander the Great; Hecataeus of Abdera described how, after the battle of Gaza in 312, many Jews voluntarily returned to Egypt with Ptolemy I Soter; a story preserved in Josephus recounts how Ptolemy III Euergetes visited Jerusalem and sacrificed to the Lord, rather than to the Egyptian gods; 3 Maccabees concocts a legend that places the Jews at the center of the kingdom of Ptolemy IV Philopator; the tale of the Tobiads depicts Ptolemy V Epiphanes as dependent upon the wit of the Jews, who swear allegiance to the throne; and in Antiquitates Judaicae Josephus relates how Andronicus convinced Ptolemy VI Philometor to rule in the Jews’ favor in the dispute with the Samaritans and the Temple on Mount Gerizim (Gruen 1998: 189–245).18

Conclusions Philo’s version of the LXX legend has not received the historical attention that it deserves. The miracle of the exact agreement of the translation has attracted disproportionate attention from scholars seeking to trace the Wirkungsgeschichte of the legend to the neglect of an historically plausible account of the commission (cf. Jellicoe 1968: 38–41; Harl, Dorival and Munnich 1994: 46–47). Before he recounted the tale that he knew from the Letter of Aristeas, he provided an historically plausible explanation that the initiative for the translation had come from some unnamed people who ascribed the project to the king whom Philo deeply admired. Ptolemy II was a man of culture and would have been open to the translation of Jewish laws into Greek under his auspices. But the plan most probably came from the Jewish community in Alexandria, which not only attributed it to the Ptolemaic king, but also paid the costs of the translation.

238  timothy h. lim

NOTES 1. Translation by Hadas 1951: 97. 2. Erskine 1995: 38: “these two institutions encapsulate the ideology and policy of the early Ptolemies”; see also Murray 2008. 3. The list of librarians is found in P.Oxy. 10.1241. 4. According to G. Syncellus, a Greek chronicler writing in the late 8th century, Ptolemy Philadelphus “collected the books of all the Greeks as well as of the Chaldeans, Egyptians, and Romans, having the foreign-language ones translated into Greek” (Chronographia 1.516, 3–10). Tzetzes states that Ptolemy Philadelphus had “the foreign books translated into Greek script and language.” These reports, however, are not independent accounts, and they have been influenced by the reception of the Septuagint legend in Christian tradition. Syncellus’ account, for instance, depends heavily on Josephus and Epiphanius (Wasserstein and Wasserstein 2009: 129). Tzetzes also refers to the legend: “the Hebrew books were done by seventy-two Hebrew translators who were experts in both languages.” 5. The account of the codification is preserved on an Egyptian papyrus, now housed at the Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris (see Spiegelberg 1914). 6. Berossus had “translated into Greek works of astronomy and the philosophy of the Chaldeans” (Josephus, C. Ap. 1.129) and had used “many public records” in writing his history (Eusebius, Chronicon, p. 6, 1.8–p. 9, 1.2, quoted in Verbrugghe and Wickersahm 1996: 43. 7. “Manetho had written in Greek the history of his homeland, translating, as he himself says, from the priestly writings” (Josephus, C. Ap. 1.73). 8. Estimates of the number of Jews in Alexandria are largely guesswork, but there is no doubt that the population must have been large. Josephus mentions the “Delta” region where Jews lived (cf. Josephus, BJ 2.487–488, 495), but they clearly did not live only in that neighborhood. Philo reports that a great many synagogues are to be found in every district of the city (Legatio ad Gaium 132). 9. English translations here and elsewhere in the article are by Colson 1935.

10. See Najman and Wright 2017, in which the authors explore the distinctiveness of Philo’s account in relation to the process, product and prophetic hope of the translation. 11. Otherwise, how would these anonymous people know that the Jewish laws were worthy of translation into Greek? 12. The library of Alexandria was probably damaged or its annex burned in the war between the joint forces of Cleopatra and Julius Caesar, and Ptolemy XIII, in 48/47 BCE. However, it was unlikely to have been destroyed completely. The destruction of the library of Alexandria is obscured by the many legends surrounding it. According to Seneca, Livy, Plutarch and Cassius Dio, the library was burnt during this war, but Strabo visited Alexandria and, writing only 20 years after the incident, did not mention any destruction of the library. The museum-library was probably destroyed in the days of Marcus Aurelius. Ammianus Marcellinus reports that in 272 CE, civil strife in Alexandria resulted in the tearing down of the walls of Brucheum, the dwelling place of its most distinguished men (Historiae 22.16.15; see Barnes 2000). 13. Ancient testimonies attest to Philadelphus’ interest in the study of rare and wild animals and their habitats (Fraser 1972: 2.466). 14. “The intermediaries of the Muses sing of Ptolemy in return for his benefactions” (Encomium 115–116), as quoted in Hunter 2003: 89, 184–185. 15. Hunter (2003: 23–24, 46–53) supports this judgment by pointing to the Greek character of the poem. 16. See, now, the recently excavated temple in Beni Suef (http://english .ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/9/40/101704/Heritage/Ancient–Egypt /King–Ptolemy–II–temple–uncovered–in–Beni–Suef.aspx). 17. In Hypothetica 7.6 Philo states that there are, in addition to the biblical laws, ten thousand other precepts that refer to unwritten customs (ἔθοι ἀγράφοι) and laws (νομίμοι). 18. Gruen does not discuss Philo’s version of the origins of the LXX, nor does he consider that this phenomenon is restricted to Hellenistic Judaism. Jews also wrote themselves into the history of the Babylonian and Persian kings.

REFERENCES Barnes, R. 2000. Cloistered Bookworms in the Chicken-Coop of the Muses: The Ancient Library of Alexandria. In: MacLeod, R., ed. The Library of Alexandria: Centre of Learning in the Ancient World. London and New York: 61–77. Bickerman, E.J. 1988. The Jews in the Greek Age. Cambridge, MA. Cairns, F. 1972. Generic Composition in Greek and Roman Poetry. Edinburgh. Colson, F.H. 1935. Philo, Vol. 6. Cambridge, MA. Erskine, A. 1995. Culture and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt: The Museum and the Library of Alexandria. Greece & Rome 42: 38–48. Fraser, P.M. 1972. Ptolemaic Alexandria (3 vols.). Oxford. Georges, T., Albrecht, F. and Feldmeier, R., eds. 2013. Alexandria. Tübingen. Gruen, E.S. 1998. Heritage and Hellenism. The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition. Berkeley, CA.

Hadas, M. 1951. Aristeas to Philocrates (Letter of Aristeas). New York. Harl, M., Dorival, G. and Munnich, O., eds. 1994. La Bible grecque des Septante du judaïsme hellénistique au christianisme ancien. Paris. Honigman, S. 2003. The Septuagint and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria: A Study in the Narrative of the Letter of Aristeas. London. Hunter, R. 2003. Theocritus. Encomium of Ptolemy Philadelphus. Berkeley, CA. Jellicoe, S. 1968. The Septuagint and Modern Study. Oxford. McKenzie, J. 2007. The Architecture of Alexandria and Egypt 300 BC–AD 700. New Haven, CT. Mélèze-Modrzejewski, J. 1997. The Jews of Egypt. From Ramses II to Emperor Hadrian. Princeton, NJ.

the idealization of ptolemaic kingship in the legend of the origins of the septuagint  239 Murray, O. 2008. Ptolemaic Royal Patronage. In: McKechnie, P. and Guillaume, P., eds. Ptolemy II. Philadelphus and His World. Leiden: 9–26. Najman, H. and Wright, B.G. III. 2017. Perfecting Translation: The Greek Scriptures in Philo of Alexandria. In: Baden, J., Najman, H. and Tigchelaar, E., eds. Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls. John Collins at Seventy (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 175). Leiden: 897–915.

Spiegelberg, W. 1914. Die sogenannte demotische Chronik des Pap. 215 der Bibliothèque Nationale zu Paris (Demotische Studien 7). Leipzig. Verbrugghe, G.P. and Wickersahm, J.M. 1996. Berossos and Manetho. Introduced and Translated. Native Traditions in Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt. Ann Arbor. Wasserstein, A. and Wasserstein, D.J. 2009. The Legend of the Septuagint. From Classical Antiquity to Today. Nashville.

16 The Production of Greek Books in Alexandrian Judaism Benjamin G. Wright

“[I]t is a flawed assumption to treat the so-called Judaeo-Hellenistic works as a separate category… is it really necessary to maintain a category of texts labeled Judaeo-Hellenistic literature? It seems more desirable to define a work such as [the Letter of Aristeas] simply as ‘Alexandrian literature.’” (Honigman 2003)

In the conclusion to her important monograph on the Letter of Aristeas, S. Honigman (2003) argues that to relegate Alexandrian Jewish works to the category of Judeo-Hellenistic or Jewish-Hellenistic literature effectively walls them off from their surrounding Alexandrian environment in much the same way that the author of the Letter of Aristeas envisions Moses as having given the Jews laws that “fenced us around with unbroken palisades and iron walls so that we might not intermingle at all with any other nations” (Ar. 139). As works of Alexandrian literature, however, they can be “reintegrated” into their Hellenistic environment and examined for their participation in debates that took place among a learned Alexandrian elite.1 I have thought much about Honigman’s assessment of the Letter of Aristeas since I recently finished a commentary on that work, and for those 2nd-century Jewish compositions that employ Greek literary genres, forms, style and rhetoric, I think that she is right. Not only the Letter of Aristeas but a host of other Jewish works in Greek can be considered as Hellenistic-Alexandrian texts whose content happens to be Jewish and whose authors are likely addressing other literate Jews.2 It also struck me, however, that we might

ask about the extent to which the object of Aristeas’ narrative, the translation of the law into Greek, the Septuagint (henceforth LXX), might also be characterized as Alexandrian literature.3 This is no simple question. The main difference between the LXX and other Jewish texts—and an obstacle to such a characterization—lies in the fact that the LXX is a translation and not a work of Greek composition. For the LXX, I would propose that we shift the language slightly and ask about the extent to which we can talk about this corpus as a Greek book or more precisely a collection of Greek books.4 I do not mean my suggestion to circumvent Honigman’s proposal, but I would argue that for the Letter of Aristeas and other Jewish compositions in Greek—take, for example, Ezekiel the Tragedian’s Exagogē—the use of Greek literary forms and genres allows us to look at them as Hellenistic or Alexandrian literary texts that treat Jewish concerns. Because it is a translation and not a composition, the LXX presents additional difficulties, primarily because of its close relationship to its Hebrew source text. Since the LXX translators tended to work at the level of words and phrases (generally described as isomorphism) and only infrequently

242  benjamin g. wright

at the broader levels of clauses or sentences, the Hebrew source text exerted a significant influence on the form of the resulting Greek text.5 Thus, the LXX is Alexandrian literature inasmuch as it was produced in Alexandria, most likely by Alexandrian Jews, but for the LXX this characterization does not mean what Honigman intends for works like the Letter of Aristeas. Moreover, it cannot do the descriptive work that we might like, since any comparison with works such as Aristeas or Ezekiel’s Exagogē immediately exposes the differences between them and the LXX. Asking about how the LXX translations are Greek books, however, pushes us to think about the Greek nature of these translations and what that “Greekness” consists of. Taking this perspective also requires, in my opinion, that we adopt two approaches to the question. The first would be to look at the LXX at its point of production, focusing on the LXX itself. That is, we need to look at the textual-linguistic makeup of the translations in order to assess the degree to which the translators were concerned about the “Greekness” of their product. The second would be to consider how the LXX was constructed and used in its subsequent reception history.6 What did later Alexandrian Jewish writers make of the LXX, and how did it function for them?

The Septuagint as a Collection of Greek Books Translations differ fundamentally from compositions in that the source text always has an effect on the resulting target language text. In an original Greek composition, the words of the text have a one-dimensional horizontal relationship, in which morphemes are knitted together into syntactical units to produce meaning. Translations, by contrast, are two-dimensional, having the horizontal relationship, of course, but also a vertical relationship with the source text that often interferes with the horizontal. This interference manifests itself in two ways: negative interference occurs when the formal features of the source language determine the features of the target language to the extent that the target language becomes ill-formed by the standards of that language; and positive interference occurs when the normal features of the target

language are distributed at odds with their conventional distribution in that language.7 It is important to note that all translations are subject to interference, which can result in an ill-formed text when judged by the literary standards of the target language. When we think about the “Greekness” of the translations that make up the LXX, we must bear in mind both their vertical and horizontal dimensions. To ignore the vertical dimension is to treat the translation as a composition. Thus, for example, G. Horrocks calls the LXX (here referring to the entire translation corpus) an example of the “surviving ‘vernacular’ literature of the period.” He notes that the Greek of the LXX is “that of the ordinary, everyday written Greek of the times,” although he does recognize the existence of “Hebraisms” (Horrocks 2010: 106). However, in a short example taken from 4 Reigns/2 Kings 18:17–21, he discusses the parataxis that characterizes this section and writes: “[A]lthough this [i.e., the parataxis] certainly reflects the organization of the original text, it is also characteristic in some degree [emphasis added] of all mid- to low-level writing in the koine, and in fact constitutes a feature of unsophisticated non-literary language throughout the history of Greek” (Horrocks 2010: 107). While he does tip his cap in the direction of the Hebrew and acknowledge the non-Greek use of kai to introduce the main clause of a conditional sentence (an example of negative interference), a close comparison of the Hebrew and Greek texts shows that the translator in this section has followed his source text quite closely and that the parataxis of the Greek more likely results from the vertical dimension (the representation in the target language of the features of the source language), rather than from consideration of style on the part of the translator, even though extensive parataxis can be observed in Greek composition. He also notes “the decline in the range of the dative,” which he compares to Polybius, and finds the development “apparent” in the use of prepositions with the verbs of saying, trusting and disobeying in this passage. Again, however, close comparison of the Greek with the Hebrew indicates that the translator has paid close attention to his Hebrew source and rendered it in an isomorphic manner, including the prepositions that are required in Hebrew after these verbs. Rather than this passage serving as evidence for the decline of the dative, which

the production of greek books in alexandrian judaism  243

might be the case if we were dealing with a composition in Greek, the translator has privileged the vertical dimension of the text and rendered in his translation the prepositions that were in his source. The two-dimensional nature of the LXX translations has produced scholarly assessments of the Greek that fall at different ends of a spectrum. At the one end, emphasizing the vertical, scholars of the LXX have universally recognized that its Greek is not “ordinary Greek in any of its registers.”8 At the other end, focusing on the horizontal, since the work of G.A. Deissmann in the early 20th century, scholars have also understood that the Greek of the LXX generally adheres to the standards of the koine of the period, interference from the vertical dimension notwithstanding (Deissmann 1901). Thus, although Horrocks downplays the vertical dimension of the text too much, most Septuagint scholars share his general conclusion that the Greek of the LXX is that of the koine of the period. Yet important questions remain, such as: What kind of Greek does the LXX represent? What can we say of the education of the translators who produced it? Why was the translation made? How was it intended to function? To be honest, I do not think that we can answer all of these questions with much certainty, because we have so little evidence for the LXX at its point of production, and later works, such as the Letter of Aristeas, that ostensibly offer answers to such questions do not provide reliable information. With these considerations in mind, we can look at the horizontal dimension of the LXX translations to consider them as Greek books. I do think that it matters what specific features of the language we examine. Certainly, when one considers large-scale units such as literary form and discourse, the Greek of the LXX is not literary, but if we look at smaller units—vocabulary, syntax and style at the level of morpheme, phrase and clause, for instance—we can see the translators’ sensitivities to the language, some of which suggest attempts to include literary flourishes in the translation within the constraints of a generally isomorphic translation approach. Before looking at the more literary elements in the LXX and considering what they might indicate, recent work that has refined the general consensus about LXX language is noteworthy. I do not profess to be exhaustive here; instead, I will point to several studies that make the

point from different angles.9 T. Evans undertook a detailed study of the syntax of the verbal systems in the Greek Pentateuch. His conclusion is significant for the Greek of the LXX: “The use of aspect, tense, and mood in the Greek Pentateuch represents essentially idiomatic Greek, in accord with the usage of the early Koine vernacular” (Evans 2001: 259). Negative interference is relatively infrequent, although not completely absent, and is for the most part relegated to several recurring Hebrew formations—such as the Hebrew infinitive absolute or periphrastic tense forms using Hebrew ‫היה‬ plus the participle—but in many, even most, cases interference from the Hebrew is positive rather than negative (Evans 2001: 260–262). With respect to vocabulary, J. Lee’s seminal book, A Lexical Study of the Septuagint Version of the Pentateuch, has demonstrated that the vocabulary of the pentateuchal translations is that of the koine vernacular of the time. Words unattested outside of “biblical Greek” constituted a small percentage of the overall vocabulary and even many of them likely reflected normal Greek usage (Lee 1983).10 An example given by Lee in a later study (2003) illustrates the situation. In the Pentateuch, three words are used in the sense of “to order”: ἐντέλλομαι, συντάσσω and προστάσσω. Notable in its absence is the classical verb κελεύω. After comparing LXX usage with the documentary papyri, Lee concludes that the verbs used in the LXX Pentateuch have become “more formal and official sounding than κελεύω” and that the translators use them because they have the right “flavor,” the older verb being more appropriate to literary contexts (Lee 2003: 517–523 on “order” words). J. Joosten, also looking at LXX vocabulary, has shown that many words in the LXX derive from colloquial, rather than from classical, Greek or literary koine. Thus, for example, alongside the classical word ὄνος, the translators use ὑποζύγιον to refer to a donkey or an ass, a meaning that occurs in the documentary papyri, although in classical Greek it denoted a beast of burden in general (Joosten 2012: 186).11 If Lee’s conclusion about “order” words and Joosten’s about colloquial vocabulary can be extended to the rest of the translations of the Pentateuch, we have an indication of the linguistic register that the LXX translators either desired to achieve or employed as their usual language.

244  benjamin g. wright

These brief examples suffice to illustrate the overall harmony between the Greek of the LXX and contemporary koine—but that is not the end of the story. At the same time that the translators of the Pentateuch employed colloquial words and basic Greek syntax, they also occasionally offer us some stylistic and rhetorical flair. Methodologically, however, we must exercise caution in these cases. J.K. Aitken expresses the problem well (2011: 510): The difficulty lies in determining whether a feature is a choice made by the translator for stylistic effect or the result of translating a Hebrew verse that already reflected such style (for example, word order) or that naturally arose from translating the Hebrew (for example, a stereotyped rendering). Thus, to identify a feature in the Greek as rhetorical, one must first decide whether the feature could have been generated unintentionally by a translator aiming at a standard rendering of the Hebrew.12

Yet a surprising number of passages reflect the translators’ concerns for style and rhetoric. I will mention three studies here that highlight the phenomenon. Joosten has argued that the grammatical shift in Greek between the two clauses of Exodus 20:5—from οὐ plus the future tense in the first clause to οὐ μή plus the aorist subjunctive in the second clause to render two Hebrew clauses with ‫ לא‬plus a yiqtol form—represents the translator’s choice to create a “pleasing effect.” Moreover, although it reads as good Greek style, this latter construction seems to be an invention of the translator created precisely for stylistic purposes (Joosten 2011: 17–20). Staying with Exodus, D.L. Gera examined the translation of the Song at the Sea (Exod 15) for the character of its Greek and concluded that although the translator did not use meter or Homeric terminology (other than one or two terms) to render the poetry of the source text, he endeavored in several ways to communicate the poetic flavor into Greek. One of his methods was to choose words that were intended to reflect the sound of the Hebrew, as in v. 14, for example, where the Greek ὠργίσθησαν renders the Hebrew ‫ירגזין‬, although the Greek “became angry” does not really render well the Hebrew “tremble” (Gera 2007: 115). Throughout the poem the translator employed compound verbs with the prefix κατα-, creating assonance, when

the simplex forms are more common in the LXX and would have worked just as well (Gera 2007: 116).13 Aitken has recently looked at rhetorical devices throughout the Pentateuch, identifying several different kinds. In Genesis 1:2, in order to translate the Hebrew phrase ‫( תהו ובהו‬tōhû wĕbōhû), for which there is no real equivalent in Greek, the translator paired the adjectives ἀόρατος and ἀκατασκεύαστος. Aitken observes that the alphaprivative adjectives ending in -τος are not the only possibilities for rendering the Hebrew phrase and that the combination produces assonance, while the increasing number of syllables from the first word to the second is euphonic (Aitken 2011: 507). In Deuteronomy 1:30, the translator rendered the Hebrew isomorphically, but introduced a lovely Greek assonance: ὁ προπορευόμενος πρὸ προσώπου ὑμῶν. Three verses later he translated the same Hebrew expression ὃς προπορεύεται πρότερος, showing not only assonance but also an interest in variation (Aitken 2011: 512). Finally, in parallel stichoi in Deuteronomy 32:2, the translator chose the nouns ὑετός, δρόσος, ὄμβρος and νιφετός. Three of the terms are common in epic poetry, and the combination of νιφετός and ὄμβρος occurs in Homer and Hesiod. Moreover, the translator introduced variatio into the verse with two different adverbial renderings of the Hebrew ‫כי‬. The Deuteronomy translator’s use of these devices suggests that he was aiming for literary effect (Aitken 2011: 513).14 On the basis of these examples and other passages like them, what can we say about the “Greekness” of the LXX translations? If we bear in mind their vertical relationship with their Hebrew source texts, then certainly from the standpoint of their coherence with vocabulary, grammar and syntax of the koine of Ptolemaic Egypt and the translators’ patent attempts to incorporate literary sensitivity at points, we can think of them as Greek books. In doing so, we can recognize all the while their special nature as translations, even as we compare them to works of original Greek composition, both literary and documentary, in order to understand better their horizontal dimension and to integrate them better into their Alexandrian environment.15 Justifying the label is only half the battle, however. It seems to me that we have to ask what we can learn from these Greek translations

the production of greek books in alexandrian judaism  245

about the translators (and perhaps the Alexandrian Jewish community) that produced them. Looking at the examples above, we can see that the Greek of the LXX is “eclectic,” to use Aitken’s terminology (Aitken 2014). That is, while we do find the colloquial language identified by Joosten, the traces of rhetorical flourish offer tantalizing clues that indicate that the translators had acquired sufficient education to produce them. As noted above, a comparison with Hellenistic Greek authors immediately reveals the differences between the Greek of the LXX and literary Greek. Yet non-literary does not mean non-educated Greek, and the selection of evidence produced here and in other studies of LXX Greek suggests “educated Greek” as perhaps a more satisfactory characterization.16 However, the connection between the Greek in the LXX and the educational levels and social backgrounds of the translators is not a straightforward one. Joosten has concluded from his assessment of the colloquial and non-literary character of the LXX vocabulary that the translators did not come from an educated social background, and he proposes that they might have been soldiers, given the use of military terminology that he finds (Joosten 2006). Aitken argues that the Greek rhetorical features that can be identified in these translations point beyond the translators being bilinguals who spoke Greek (Aitken 2014: 129); in a society that was largely illiterate, the fact that the translators wrote in Greek at all provides evidence that they had received an education and had learned at least a modicum of literary technique. Children learned to read and write through Homer, and learning Greek as a foreign language entailed learning Greek literature. Part of the educational curriculum, even at the lowest levels, would have involved copying, sometimes paraphrasing in one’s own words, classical writers, particularly Homer. Moreover, there were lists of Homeric vocabulary that formed part of the educational curriculum and played an important role in Alexandrian Homeric scholarship, and these might well have been available to the translators of the Pentateuch.17 Even some basic rhetorical training could have been included at these levels of the educational system. Thus, for Aitken, the combination of vernacular Greek and features that signal education points to scribal training

as a likely social context for the translators: “The Septuagint translators are comparable to the more skilled of these Egyptian bureaucratic scribes, displaying no evidence of having achieved the highest level of education, but having acquired enough rhetorical skills and learned enough of classical literary vocabulary to use it in their work” (Aitken 2014: 132).18 In looking to the Ptolemaic bureaucracy as a place of comparison for the educational levels of the translators, Aitken regards the LXX translations as more properly Ptolemaic than peculiarly Jewish, since the translators use contemporary vocabulary, their translation techniques accord with Demotic translation into Greek (see below), they display scribal habits found in documentary texts, and they indulge in the occasional literary flair (Aitken 2014: 133).19 One question, which I cannot take up in full in this paper, is where the Jewish translators would have received such training. It is not likely that they were trained in the same places as the Ptolemaic bureaucrats and scribes, since that training largely took place in Egyptian temple culture.20 Moreover, in the first century or so of Ptolemaic rule in Egypt, “[t]hrough education… and tax breaks, the new Greek rulers encouraged the adoption of their language within the administration of Egypt” (Thompson 1994: 77). As part of this Ptolemaic policy of education in Greek, intended to staff the expanding Ptolemaic administration, some Jews likely would have acquired their education through private teachers, which seem to have been relatively plentiful, or perhaps in a city like Alexandria, certain Jews gained access to the gymnasium and received their education there. We do not know, however, whether Jews would have established Jewish educational institutions, where texts like the LXX might be taught, which paralleled educational institutions in the broader culture.21 The papyri from Heracleopolis point to Jews having had some institutional locus for scribal training, however, whether via private teachers or through formal institutions. Thus, for example, P.Polit.Iud. 4 preserves a complaint of a certain Philotas of the politeuma, who asserts that a woman who was promised to him was then given to another man in violation of an oath taken by the father. The salient point here is that the scribe who wrote the complaint was likely a Jewish scribe—since the papyrus alludes to Jewish legal practice, employing language

246  benjamin g. wright

from the Septuagint—who would have had to receive formal scribal training (in Jewish literature and legal practice, and outside Alexandria at that).22 In general, though, Aitken’s assessment makes the best sense of the eclectic nature of the LXX’s Greek and is generally convincing. It also avoids (as does Joosten’s position) creating grand-scale theories of the LXX (largely based on the Letter of Aristeas) and making assumptions about whether the Alexandrian Jewish community in the 3rd century BCE was even capable of undertaking the enterprise. Such an assumption is expressed emblematically by T. Rajak, when she writes: “The Alexandrian Jewish community could hardly yet have had the means to support its own institutions of learning or its scholarly class. We hear nothing in Aristeas of wealthy Jews supporting the translation enterprise: if any such figures had existed, they would scarcely have failed to achieve recognition in the record” (Rajak 2009: 88).23 It also obviates the need to import scholartranslators from Judea, whom some have seen as the only people who could have carried out this project (see, for example, van der Kooij 1998). Despite the attractiveness of Aitken’s portrait of the translators, I would offer a caution here and return to the perception of translations as having two dimensions. Aitken himself has presented evidence that the translations in the LXX are consistent with Egyptian translations from Demotic into Greek, although, as he observes, the comparanda are not literary translations, which most often rewrite or expand the original. He observes that the textual-linguistic makeup of the Egyptian translations compares favorably with the LXX in that they both adhere closely to their source in word order, maintaining consistency of lexical equivalents and parataxis while at the same time tolerating a certain amount of freedom and variation, transliteration and literary flourish and sometimes an interpretive rendering. Aitken concludes from this evidence: “This balance between consistency and formal equivalence, on the one hand, and a degree of freedom, on the other, is a marker of the Septuagint as much as the Egyptian translations. The Egyptian translations have been described as functional rather than an exercise in elegant composition, and the same can be said of the Septuagint, although occasional elegance can be found in both” (Aitken 2016: 292).

To express Aitken’s assessment in the terms I have used, for the Egyptian translations like the LXX, the vertical dimension of translation, i.e., the relationship of the source text to the target text, has dictated in many respects how these translators approached translation, and general adherence to the source text seems to be characteristic of Ptolemaic translation. If the Egyptian translations were functional—as the Septuagint likely was as well—we would not expect a high level of literary language, no matter what the educational level of the translators. The requirements of the enterprise, as indicated by the translators’ close attention to the source text and as judged by the relative frequency of interference, both positive and negative, placed constraints on what a translator might be able to do. We might envision, then, a translator of the sort proposed by Aitken, who has enough education to function in ways similar to members of Ptolemaic scribal class, but nothing really precludes the possibility that the translators had more ability than their translations allow us to see. For writers such as Ps.-Aristeas and Ezekiel the Tragedian, the quality of their Greek offers the best evidence from which to judge their education. By dint of their nature as translations produced by the conventional methods of translation in Egypt, the LXX translations very well might (and I emphasize might) obscure more than illuminate who the translators were. 24 The same, however, might hold true for all scribes, since often the same individuals would have written/copied literary works as well as administrative documents. Finally, a brief note on this last point is warranted. If the LXX translations merit favorable comparison with the Egyptian translations studied by Aitken and they thus function similarly, we are no closer to determining the precise Sitz im Leben of the LXX at its point of production. Certainly a functional translation would work well in liturgy or education, for example, and so some theories about the LXX’s origins remain tenable. It also becomes more difficult to take seriously a narrative such as the Letter of Aristeas, the historical veracity of which can be questioned on other grounds, when it imagines a highly sophisticated text, translated at royal behest, to be placed in the Alexandrian library. The question of the LXX’s origins thus remains an open one.

the production of greek books in alexandrian judaism  247

The Septuagint as a Greek Book in Alexandrian Jewish Literature The translation of the Pentateuch into Greek was a momentous achievement. It inaugurated, as far as we can tell, a thriving literature in Greek within the Alexandrian Jewish community, and it eventually was employed administratively, as indicated by the Jewish papyri from Heracleopolis. To paraphrase V.A. Tcherikover, the scriptures in Greek became a Greek book (Tcherikover and Fuks 1957: 43).25 Indeed, the Septuagint seems to have served as a springboard for Jewish literary production in Alexandria. It is the earliest evidence of Jewish literary activity in Alexandria, and almost all subsequent Alexandrian Jewish writers are indebted to it in some way. Several names and fragmentary remains are preserved, mostly in Christian Church Fathers—Philo the Epic Poet, Artapanus, Aristeas the Exegete and Aristobulus, to name just a few—but two examples make the point. Even as early as the later part of the 3rd century BCE, a writer known as Demetrius the Chronographer already relies upon the LXX for his chronology, using it as an authoritative source while at the same time reading the text critically in order to resolve obvious difficulties in the text.26 Although he shortens and paraphrases the biblical account, he demonstrates enough literary connection to the LXX narrative for it to be certain that he knew the LXX. Moreover, Demetrius writes in a period of a general flourishing of Greek historiography, and his work is evidence of an emerging literary consciousness among Alexandrian Jews. A century or less later, we encounter Ezekiel the Tragedian, who composed a tragedy in iambic trimeter, the Exagogē, focusing on the events of Exodus 1–15, and who clearly had acquired a high level of Greek education.27 Like Demetrius, Ezekiel employs a Greek literary form— in Ezekiel’s case, the tragedy—at the same time revealing intimate knowledge of the LXX, often using exact language from the Greek scriptures. Unlike Demetrius, Ezekiel betrays an extensive knowledge of Greek classical writers, being thoroughly familiar with a range of authors, including Euripides and Aeschylus (Holladay 1989: 303). In Ezekiel, we meet a man trained in Greek literature, who appears to have received an extensive

Greek education, who used that education to write about Jewish concerns and for whom the LXX was apparently important enough a Greek book that he saw its story as sufficiently critical raw material for his work to be mined along with the classical authors. Unfortunately, like the other authors mentioned above, the works of Demetrius and Ezekiel were preserved only in fragmentary form, and so we do not know what the complete texts looked like, let alone possess any reliable information about their authors.28 With the Letter of Aristeas, however, we are in a somewhat better position, since the entire text survives, although we know nothing specific about the author, who obscures his own identity behind the mask of a Gentile courtier of Ptolemy II Philadelphus.29 This work narrates the earliest and fullest account of the legend of the translation of the LXX. While it has little claim to historicity, its construction of the LXX offers significant insight into the perception of the LXX among Alexandrian Jews as a Greek book.30 The story is well known: Ptolemy II desires to have all the books of the world in the Alexandrian library, but the Jewish Law is not there because it requires translation. The king authorizes his librarian, Demetrius of Phalerum, to get the translation done. The pseudepigraphical narrator, Aristeas, is part of a delegation to Jerusalem to bring back Jewish translators to perform the job. After a long travel section and an apologia in which Eleazar, the Jewish high priest, allegorizes the Jewish food laws, Aristeas returns to Alexandria with the translators, whom the king fêtes with a series of symposia. The translators are then taken to an island, where they produce the translation by working and then comparing their results in order to arrive at a final translation. Upon its completion, the Jewish community accepts the translation as its sacred scripture, the king honors the translation, and he sends the translators back to Jerusalem. Many questions and issues surround this text, but here two features of Aristeas concern me. First, by the second half of the 2nd century BCE, the Greek Pentateuch had indeed become a Greek book, although it comprised multiple volumes. Whereas authors such as Ezekiel the Tragedian use the LXX as a source for their works, Aristeas’ story has the translators work as a team to produce a translation of the Jewish “legislation” (νομοθεσία), which Demetrius copies in multiple volumes

248  benjamin g. wright

or books (τῶν βιβλίων). Second, not only is the LXX a singular Greek work in the Letter of Aristeas, but it is a piece of high literature, comparable to texts composed in Greek. The prospective inclusion of the translation in the Alexandrian library, where it would reside along with the great works of Greek literature, certifies the high literary quality of the LXX. In Aristeas’ construction, any Greek reader should be able to see and compare the LXX with Homer, for example, and judge the quality of the Jewish Law. In the memorandum from Demetrius to Ptolemy concerning the absence of the Jewish “legislation” from the library, Demetrius calls the Jewish law “philosophical and uncorrupted inasmuch as it is divine” (Ar. 31). When the newly arrived translators present the Hebrew scrolls to the king, he bows before them (Ar. 177), and when presented with the translation, he bows as well (Ar. 317). The translators themselves are portrayed as men who have been trained in both the Hebrew Law and Greek literature (Ar. 121), and even more, they outstrip the king’s own philosophers during the questions and answers of the symposia. Finally, the translation is accomplished “well (καλῶς), piously (ὁσίως), and accurately in every respect (κατὰ πᾶν ἠκριβωμένως)” (Ar. 310). All of these claims construct a translation that ranks as a work of high literature that both the king and the Jewish community accord high cultural status.31 Just as important to the author of the Letter of Aristeas, the LXX functions as the bedrock of identity for Jews, but particularly for elite Jews, like Ezekiel the Tragedian or himself, who apparently had found a comfortable place in the broader Hellenistic environment of Alexandria. The author establishes the LXX’s role in several ways. First, from the very beginning it stands as a replacement for the Hebrew text that possesses all the characteristics of the Hebrew original. By having the Jewish community adopt the LXX as its sacred scripture (Ar. 310–311), the author establishes its authoritative place for the Jews. Second, the speech of the high priest Eleazar in which he allegorizes the Jewish food laws offers a rationale for following them that stems from Moses’ own intentions when he gave the law.32 Eleazar’s emphasis on the “real” meaning of the food laws for moral formation connects the values held by the Jews with the ones held by enlightened Gentiles, such as Aristeas and Ptolemy.

Third, the use of a Gentile narrator accomplishes more than providing a veneer of verisimilitude to the narrative. The figure of the royal courtier Aristeas as the storyteller assures Jews that they could participate as Jews in the broader cultural world of Alexandria and that those Gentiles with whom they interact get Judaism. That is, right up to the king himself, these enlightened Gentiles understand that certain Jewish practices, although ostensibly setting Jews apart, in fact point to a set of values held in common by Jews and Gentiles. Furthermore, Gentiles accept and approve of the centrality of the Law in Greek for the Jews, which establishes those Jewish practices and embodies the common ideals of monotheism, piety and high moral standards.33

Conclusion It seems to be something of an irony that the initial steps in a process that resulted in a robust literary production among Alexandrian Jews, who learned and readily employed Greek literary forms and techniques to treat Jewish concerns, were taken by translations that cannot really stand along with this subsequent output as works of Greek literature in the sense that Honigman has offered in the epigram beginning this paper, despite the claims of the Letter of Aristeas. However, if we keep in mind the two-dimensional nature of the LXX and the constraints with which the translators worked, the Pentateuch in Greek, at its point of production, does emerge as a collection of Greek books, which only a short while later, in a work like the Letter of Aristeas, was perceived as a Greek book with all the qualities of high literature. In the 1st century CE, Philo of Alexandria, in his De Vita Mosis 2.41, would portray the translators as “prophets and priests of the mysteries, whose sincerity and singleness of thought have enabled them to go hand in hand with the purest of spirits, the spirit of Moses”—essentially representing them as little Moseses who bestowed the Torah again, this time in Greek. Unfortunately, the people who translated these texts remain nameless and faceless, and they probably never imagined the impact of their work in its reception history. The benefit of hindsight, however, enables us to appreciate the momentous nature of their achievement.

the production of greek books in alexandrian judaism  249

NOTES 1. Honigman 2003: 147 (which also contains the quote cited above in the epigram). I am grateful to Prof. Honigman, who read an earlier version of this paper and provided helpful critique and suggestions. 2. The question of audience is an important one. Most scholars believe that the primary audience for these works was other literate Jews, but it is certainly not out of the question that non-Jews might have engaged with these texts. For a discussion of the Letter of Aristeas, as an example, see Tcherikover 1958; Wright 2015: 62–74. 3. In this paper, I use the term Septuagint in its more restricted meaning of the translation of the Pentateuch, which scholars usually place in Alexandria in the 3rd century BCE. 4. A difficult problem is whether we talk about the LXX, as if it were one book, or whether we consider it a corpus of translations. In this paper, I will talk about the LXX as a collection of translations when looking at its point of production where presumably the works were translated separately. For later Jewish authors, like Ps.-Aristeas, the LXX was a single expression of the Law of Moses, and thus I will speak of the LXX as a book with respect to those writers. To speculate, I wonder whether the transition from the Mosaic books as a collection of individual works to the idea of the Law of Moses as a single work might provide a context for the Letter of Aristeas. When and how that transition takes place in the Second Temple period is an interesting question. 5. See the work of the New English Translation of the Septuagint project (NETS) for these characterizations. Specifically, see Pietersma 2002; 2006; Pietersma and Wright 2007. 6. This distinction between production and reception was axiomatic in the NETS project, resulting in the publication of A New English Translation of the Septuagint and in the commentary series currently underway. See Pietersma 2002. 7. For discussions of interference, see Pietersma 2002; Boyd-Taylor 2011; Wright 2010. All of these discussions are based on the work of G. Toury; see, primarily, Toury 1995. 8. Rajak 2009: 133. I will not deal with the issue of the LXX as a spoken Jewish-Greek dialect. Any number of studies have shown that there was no such spoken language. 9. There is an enormous body of literature on the Greek of the LXX, extending from Deissmann to the present. I cannot even begin to list all of these studies. Those highlighted here establish the basic point that the Greek of the LXX is essentially koine. The complications will become apparent presently. 10. See his concluding chapter for a summary of his findings. 11. Joosten has argued that since some of these words seem to derive from a military context, the social background of the translators might well be that of soldiers. I will comment on the social background of the LXX translators below. 12. See the same caveat expressed in Joosten 2011. Such confusion is the origin of Horrocks’ error in the example cited above. 13. See Gera’s article for other ways the translator incorporated literary elements into his rendering of the poem. 14. See Homer, Iliad 10.6, Odyssey 4.56 and Hesiod frg. 266, l. 11. The pair occurs before the LXX only in Herodotus (8.98) and Polybius (36.17). 15. See Aitken 1999 for remarks about naming the Greek of the LXX and the implications of what we call this Greek. 16. Aitken (2014: 128) recommends the term, originally used by J.A.L. Lee in his Oxford 2011–2012 Grinfield lectures. I have taken the term from Aitken, not having had access to Prof. Lee’s lectures (Lee 2018).

Aitken also notes that the definition of “literary” can be somewhat fuzzy. For that reason, I am comparing the LXX to works like the Letter of Aristeas and Ezekiel’s Exagogē, where we can see a clear and discernible difference in the character of the Greek. 17. See, for example, Lycophron’s Alexandra, in which he uses Homeric hapax legomena that almost certainly originated in such lists. My thanks are extended to Sylvie Honigman for this point. 18. For education in this period, see Cribbiore 2001; Morgan 1998. For rhetoric in antiquity, see Kennedy 1994; Worthington 2010. 19. For a different, but essentially complementary, argument about translation as a scribal activity, see Wright 2014. 20. See the various individuals who are at the same time priests and royal scribes given in Gorre 2009; thus, for example, Pachoumis (pp. 86–87), Patous (pp. 88–89), Dioscourides (249–254) and Dorion (pp. 263–269). 21. On private teachers, see Clarysse and Thompson 2006. Thus, for example, the author of the Letter of Aristeas is familiar both with Greek philosophical texts and with the LXX, and, as noted below, Ezekiel the Tragedian knows both Greek playwrights and the LXX. These men certainly did not learn the LXX in the gymnasium or through a Gentile teacher. In what contexts within the Alexandrian Jewish community would they have learned these texts in order to use them as they do? 22. For the text of the papyrus, see Cowey and Maresch 2001: 56–71. See also Honigman 2002; Kugler 2011. 23. Moreover, we do know of 3rd-century BCE Jews who had risen to public careers. See, for example, Tcherikover and Fuks (1957), who note that even in the 3rd century BCE, Jews could be present in almost every social stratum of Ptolemaic Egypt. In my opinion, Aitken’s explanation is preferable as an alternative—and accounts better for evidence such as P.Polit.Iud. 4—than (1) common scholarly claims that argue that the Jewish community in the 3rd century BCE could not have supported such a large undertaking as the translation of the Pentateuch, and (2) Rajak’s contention (2009: 152–153) that the language of the LXX is deliberately foreignizing. 24. In an earlier article, I had argued that the LXX translators might have been using models of translation that we see in the ἑρμηνεύς in Ptolemaic and Roman papyri. I concluded, however, that they might not have had written models from which to work. In light of Aitken’s research, I would have to revise those conclusions, although I still think that the ἑρμηνεύς remains a viable figure. See Wright 2002. 25. Tcherikover’s exact sentence reads: “It was not only the Bible in Greek, it was a Greek Bible in its thought and expression.” Here he refers to the actual translation, and to a certain extent this is true, but see above for the caveats about translations and their vertical dimension. 26. See Holladay 1983: 51–91; Hanson 1985. The fragments of Demetrius are preserved in Eusebius’ Preparatio Evangelica Book 9, taken from Alexander Polyhistor, and Clement of Alexandria’s Stromata Book 1. Demetrius is usually dated to the reign of Ptolemy IV in the late 3rd century BCE and is thus the earliest Jewish writer known in Greek. 27. See Jacobson 1983; Holladay 1989: 301–529; Robertson 1985. Like Demetrius, Ezekiel has been preserved in Eusebius’ Preparatio Evangelica Book 9 (from Alexander Polyhistor) and Clement of Alexandria’s Stromata Book 1. 28. The fragmentary nature of these works, as well as their preservation second- or even third-hand in Christian authors raises several problems and questions. The most important for this paper is the

250  benjamin g. wright possibility of interference in the course of their reception among later authors. For example, to what extent in the course of transmission did writers or scribes copying their texts recognize possible allusions or references to biblical passages and harmonize them toward the form of the biblical text? 29. For the text of Aristeas, see Pelletier 1962. See also Honigman 2003; Wright 2015.

30. On the issues connected with the historical veracity of the Letter of Aristeas and its pervasive influence on reconstructions of LXX origins, see Wright 2006; 2011; 2015. 31. For the broader argument, see Wright 2006; 2013; 2015. 32. On this way of arguing about Moses’ intention, see Najman 2003. 33. For more detailed argument, see Wright 2013; 2015.

REFERENCES Aitken, J.K. 1999. The Language of the Septuagint: Recent Theories, Future Prospects. Bulletin of Judeo-Greek Studies 24: 24–33. Aitken, J.K. 2011. The Significance of Rhetoric in the Greek Pentateuch. In: Aitken, J.K., Dell, K.J. and Mastin, B.A., eds. On Stone and Scroll: Essays in Honour of Graham Ivor Davies (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 420). Berlin: 507–521. Aitken, J.K. 2014. The Language of the Septuagint and Jewish– Greek Identity. In: Aitken, J.K. and Paget, J.C., eds. The Jewish–Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire. Cambridge, U.K: 120–134. Aitken, J.K. 2016. The Septuagint and Egyptian Translation Methods. In: Kraus, W., van der Meer, M.N. and Meiser, M., eds. XV Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Munich 2013 (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 64). Atlanta, GA: 269–293. Boyd-Taylor, C. 2011. Reading between the Lines: The Interlinear Paradigm for Septuagint Studies (Biblical Tools and Studies 8). Leuven. Clarysse, W. and Thompson, D.J. 2006. Counting the People in Egypt, 2: Historical Studies (Cambridge Classical Studies). Cambridge, U.K. Cowey, J.M.S. and Maresch, K. 2001. Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis (144/3–133/2 v. Chr.) (P.Polit. Iud.). Wiesbaden. Cribbiore, R. 2001. Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. Princeton, NJ. Deissmann, G.A. 1901. Bible Studies: Contributions Chiefly from Papyri and Inscriptions to the History of Language, the Literature and the Religion of Hellenistic Judaism and Primitive Christianity. Edinburgh. Evans, T. 2001. Verbal Syntax in the Greek Pentateuch: Natural Greek Usage and Hebrew Interference. Oxford. Gera, D.L. 2007. Translating Hebrew Poetry into Greek Poetry: The Case of Exodus 15. Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 40: 107–120. Gorre, G. 2009. Les relations du clergé égyptien et des Lagides d’après les sources privées (Studia Hellenistica 45). Leuven. Hanson, J. 1985. Demetrius the Chronographer. In: Charlesworth, J.H., ed. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2. Garden City, NY: 843–854.

Holladay, C.R. 1983. Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, 1: Historians (Society of Biblical Literature Texts & Translations 20). Chico, CA. Holladay, C.R. 1989. Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, 2: Poets (Society of Biblical Literature Texts & Translations 30). Atlanta, GA. Honigman, S. 2002. Soldiers and Civilians in Ptolemaic Egypt: The Jewish Politeuma at Heracleopolis (Review of Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Heracleopolis [144/3–133/2 v. Chr.] [P.Polit.Iud.]). Scripta Classica Israelica 21: 251–266. Honigman, S. 2003. The Septuagint and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria. London. Horrocks, G. 2010. Greek: A History of the Language and Its Speakers (2nd ed.). Chichester. Jacobson, H. 1983. The Exagoge of Ezekiel. Cambridge, U.K. Joosten, J. 2006. Le milieu producteur du pentateuque grec. Revue des études juives 165: 349–361. Joosten, J. 2011. Rhetorical Ornamentation in the Septuagint: The Case of Grammatical Variation. In: Bons, E. and Kraus, T.J., eds. Et sapienter et eloquenter: Studies on Rhetorical and Stylistic Features of the Septuagint (Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments 241). Göttingen: 11–22. Joosten, J. 2012. Language as Symptom. Linguistic Clues to the Social Background of the Seventy. In: Jossten, J. Collected Studies on the Septuagint: From Language to Interpretation and Beyond (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 83). Tübingen: 185–194. Kennedy, G.A. 1994. A New History of Classical Rhetoric. Princeton, NJ. van der Kooij, A. 1998. Perspectives on the Study of the Septuagint. Who are the Translators? In: García Martínez, F. and Noort, E., eds. Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism: A Symposium in Honour of Adam S. van der Woude on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday (Vetus Testamentum Supplement 73). Leiden: 214–229. Kugler, R.A. 2011. Dispelling an Illusion of Otherness? Juridical Practice in the Heracleopolis Papyri. In: Harlow, D.C., Goff, M., Hogan, K.M. and Kaminsky, J.S., eds. The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor of John J. Collins. Grand Rapids, MI: 257–270.

the production of greek books in alexandrian judaism  251 Lee, J.A.L. 1983. A Lexical Study of the Septuagint Version of the Pentateuch (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 14). Chico, CA. Lee, J.A.L. 2003. A Lexical Study Thirty Years on, with Observations on “Order” Words in the LXX Pentateuch. In: Paul, S.M., Kraft, R.A., Schiffman, L.H. and Fields, W.W., eds. Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 94). Leiden and Boston: 513–524. Lee, J.A.L. 2018. The Greek of the Pentateuch: Grinfield Lectures on the Septuagint 2011–2012. Oxford. Morgan, T. 1998. Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (Cambridge Classical Studies). Cambridge, U.K. Najman, H. 2003. Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplement 77). Leiden. Pelletier, A. 1962. Lettre d’Aristée a Philocrate: Introduction, Texte Critique, Traduction et Notes, Index Complet des Mots Grecs (Sources Chrétiennes 89). Paris. Pietersma, A. 2002. A New Paradigm for Addressing Old Questions: The Relevance of the Interlinear Model for the Study of the Septuagint. In: Cook, J., ed. Bible and Computer: The Stellenbosch AIBI Conference. Proceedings of the Association Internationale Bible et Informatique “From Alph to Byte” University of Stellenbosch 17–21 July, 2000. Leiden: 337–364. Pietersma, A. 2006. LXX and DTS: A New Archimedean Point for Septuagint Studies? Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 39: 1–11. Pietersma, A. and Wright, B.G. 2007. To the Reader of NETS. In: Pietersma, A. and Wright, B.G., eds. A New English Translation of the Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included under That Title. New York: xiii–xx. Rajak, T. 2009. Translation and Survival: The Greek Bible of the Ancient Jewish Diaspora. Oxford. Robertson, R.G. 1985. Ezekiel the Tragedian. In: Charlesworth, J.H., ed. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2. Garden City, NY: 803–819. Tcherikover, V.A. 1958. The Ideology of the Letter of Aristeas. Harvard Theological Review 51: 59–85.

Tcherikover, V.A. and Fuks, A. 1957. Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, 1. Cambridge, MA. Thompson, D.J. 1994. Literacy and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Bowman, A.K. and Woolf, G., eds. Literacy and Power in the Ancient World. Cambridge, U.K.: 67–83. Toury, G. 1995. Descriptive Translation Studies and Beyond (John Benjamins Library 4). Amsterdam and Philadelphia. Worthington, I., ed. 2010. A Companion to Greek Rhetoric (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World). Oxford. Wright, B.G. 2002. The Jewish Scriptures in Greek: The Septuagint in the Context of Ancient Translation Activity. In: Knobloch, F.W., ed. Biblical Translations in Context (Studies and Texts in Jewish History and Culture 10). Bethesda, MD: 1–18. Wright, B.G. 2006. The Letter of Aristeas and the Reception History of the Septuagint. Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 39: 47–67. Wright, B.G. 2010. Moving Beyond Translating a Translation: Reflections on A New English Translation of the Septuagint (NETS). In: Hiebert, R., ed. “Translation Is Required”: The Septuagint in Retrospect and Prospect (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 30). Atlanta, GA: 23–39. Wright, B.G. 2011. The Letter of Aristeas and the Question of Septuagint Origins Redux. Journal of Ancient Judaism 2: 304–326. Wright, B.G. 2013. Pseudonymous Authorship and Structures of Authority in the Letter of Aristeas. In: Xeravits, G.G., Nicklas, T. and Kalimi, I., eds. Scriptural Authority in Early Judaism and Ancient Christianity (Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies 16). Berlin: 43–62. Wright, B.G. 2014. Scribes, Translators, and the Formation of Authoritative Scripture. In: de Troyer, K., Law, T.M. and Liljeström, M., eds. In the Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes: Studies in the Biblical Text in Honour of Anneli Aejmelaeus (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology 72). Leuven: 3–29. Wright, B.G. 2015. The Letter of Aristeas: “Aristeas to Philocrates” or “On the Translation of the Law of the Jews” (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature). Berlin.

17 The Septuagint: Translating and Adapting the Torah to the 3rd Century BCE Martin Rösel

In the invitation to the 2014 conference on the “long 3rd century BCE,” this period was characterized as “a time of transition and change.” Unquestionably, one of the most important changes that took place in or shortly before the 3rd century was the switch from Hebrew and Aramaic to Greek as the language of cult and religion in the Jewish communities in Egypt. We do not know exactly when and where this development began,1 but the dating of the translation of the LXX to the 3rd century based on linguistic criteria is indirect evidence that a Jewish community had settled in Alexandria under Ptolemy II at the latest. Scholars are unanimous that “the translation of the Hebrew Pentateuch into Greek was a cultural innovation,” because, to the best of our knowledge, there has been no comparable translation of such a religious or literary text before (Rajak 2011: 27). What do we know about the history of the Septuagint in the 3rd century, and what does the Septuagint tell us about this century? To answer these questions, I will briefly summarize the results of recent research on the origins and the early history of the Septuagint. Then I will survey some examples of how the translators or their religious community understood the biblical text on

which they were working. I use the term “Septuagint” (hereafter LXX) in its narrow sense denoting the Greek Pentateuch only, because only these texts definitely originate from the 3rd century.

Preparing the Way: The Prehistory of the Greek Pentateuch We do not even know exactly when the translation of the Torah began. According to the Letter of Aristeas it was under the reign of King Ptolemy II (283/2–246 BCE), a time frame that is generally accepted. It is in keeping with the fact that the language and vocabulary of the LXX are similar to the linguistic characteristics of the Zenon papyri (Lee 1983).2 A more precise dating—both absolute and relative—of the individual books of the LXX remains a desideratum.3 Contrary to what is intimated by the Letter of Aristeas, the Pentateuch was not translated as a single unit at the same time and according to the same standards. A close comparison of the translation technique makes it clear that the five books were translated separately by different

254  martin rösel

translators. A special case is the Greek Book of Exodus, which was rendered by two translators.4 In all likelihood, the five books were translated in the canonical order.5 Genesis was the first book to be translated, a deduction safely confirmed by the peculiarities of the chronology in Genesis 5 and 11 and by the fact that the cultic terminology was apparently not fixed at that time, accounting for the notable differences with the Books of Exodus to Deuteronomy (Rösel 1994: 142, 191). That said, it remains unclear why and on what occasion the books were translated and how they were used. We may infer from the fact that Genesis was translated first that the LXX was not translated because of the need for a Greek version of the Jewish law (pace Mélèze-Modrzejewski 1995: 10). Conversely, we may easily imagine that the Greek Genesis suited the Jews’ need to narrate why there was a Jewish population in Egypt—without the antiEgyptian undertones of the Exodus story (Kreuzer 2004). In the Letter of Aristeas we find several allusions to translations that supposedly existed before the LXX as we now have it. Although none of these translations survived, it seems likely that at least some passages of the Torah had been circulated in Greek renderings from an early date. Unfortunately, we can only speculate which texts might have been translated separately—for example, blessings, some psalms, or the Joseph story.6 That said, a book like Genesis could not have been translated without substantial preparations (Rösel 1994: 254–260).7 One hint is that from the outset key terms of the Jewish religion were translated consistently—for instance, ‫ צְ דָ קָ ה‬as δικαιοσύνη (Gen 15:6), ‫ הֶ ֱא ִמין‬as πιστεύω (Gen 15:6) and ‫ ּבְ ִרית‬as διαθήκη (Gen 9:13). These equivalents must have been in accordance with their usage in the religious community in Alexandria— that is, they presuppose the prior shift from Hebrew and Aramaic to Greek in daily life and religious practice and a period of oral translation through which the characteristics of the language were coined. Similarly, some of the actualizations that we find in the extant book may stem from this prehistory of the written translation, such as the identification of ‫ ֲא ַר ִּמי‬as Σύρος (Gen 25:20), ‫ ַּפּדַ ן ֲא ָרם‬as Μεσοποταμία and ‫ אֶ ֶרץ־ּגֹ ׁשֶ ן‬as γῆ Γεσεμ Ἀραβίας (Gen 45:10)—Arabia here being the name of the eastern desert of Egypt in Ptolemaic times.

The very high coherence displayed by the Greek Genesis is further exemplified by the fact that even rare words were rendered with the same equivalents throughout,8 and, moreover, there are only a few cases in which the translator misunderstood the parent Hebrew text. We may reasonably assume, therefore, that an early lexicon—such as bilingual word lists—was made in preparation for the translation. Such lists were known in the ancient Near East from Sumerian times on, and it is therefore likely that Hebrew–Greek glossaries were available in the 3rd century. Moreover, we know that sophisticated aids to study and interpret Homer were developed in the Mouseion and the Library in Alexandria, suggesting that the Jewish translators had models of how to begin their task.9 Finally, at about the same time Berossos and Manetho compiled their respective Babyloniaka (ca. 290–278?) and Aigyptiaka (prepared under Ptolemy III; 246–222 BCE), which were in part translated from older sources.10 Thus, the translation of Genesis fits into this context of retelling the early history of a people in Greek. We may easily imagine that these writers and translators were faced with similar textual problems and used similar strategies and techniques to resolve them—a close comparison of these texts is still a desideratum.11 The language used in the Greek Pentateuch offers several characteristics. Most important are influences from Aramaic, especially in religious terminology—for instance, πάσχα (Exod 12:11), σάββατα (Exod 20:10) and μαννα (Num 11:6).12 Other important aspects are elements of Egyptian colloquial vocabulary, which strongly indicate that the translators originated from Egypt, and not Palestine. 13 Moreover, since the translators show an inclination for military nomenclature even in non-military contexts, J. Joosten has suggested that this group consisted of soldiers (Joosten 2012a: 188–191; on this matter, see further Wright, this volume), but the translators’ familiarity with Greek philosophy (see further below) argues against this possibility. It is possible that the translator of the Book of Genesis called himself ἑρμηνευτής, because in Genesis 42:23 this unusual term is used to designate the translator who mediated between Joseph and his brothers (Rösel 1994: 244; Harl 1986: 280). In sum, these compelling clues leave no doubt, in my view, that the Pentateuch was

the septuagint: translating and adapting the torah to the 3rd century bce  255

translated by Egyptian Jews, and not by translators from Palestine, as claimed in the Letter of Aristeas and as advocated by E. Tov, whose main argument, relating to the text-type of the underlying Hebrew text, is not persuasive (Tov 2010: 22). We do not know whether the translation was an organized project—and if so, in what way—for instance, under the authority of the Jerusalem High Priest, as considered by A. van der Kooij (2013). Whatever the case, it is hardly conceivable that the translation came into being without the agreement or support of the Jewish community in Alexandria.

In the Beginning: The Greek Genesis We may now turn to consider how the first translator and his community understood their Bible and what kinds of changes may be detected through a close comparison of the Hebrew and Greek texts. I will concentrate on passages where the differences are clearly a matter of translation, and not of a deviating Vorlage (on this, see Cook 2001). Our first example is the account of the creation in Genesis 1 and 2. The translator was apparently alert to the problem that there are two different narratives of the creation and tried to harmonize between the texts by making shrewd use of Plato’s philosophic concept whereby there is a world of ideas and a world of matter. Thus, the Greek text of Genesis 1 describes the creation of the world of ideas, whereas Genesis 2 narrates the creation of the material world that we see before us— thereby eschewing the inconsistency. This strategy may be spotted in several instances, of which the second verse of the Bible is already instructive: In MT Genesis 1:2 we read that the earth was “without form and void” (‫)ּתֹ הּו וָבֹ הּו‬. According to the LXX, the earth was “invisible and unfurnished” (ἀόρατος καὶ ἀκατασκεύαστος); the word “invisible” is one of Plato’s keywords to describe the world of ideas, whereas “unfurnished” refers to the state of the matter—in the beginning it was there, but in a chaotic state.14 Moreover, a detailed analysis discloses that the translator used the Platonic dialogue of Timaios as a dictionary of sorts: several rare words used in the Greek Genesis are also attested in this work.15 He also gave several hints that the

text of Genesis 1 and 2 must be understood as a sequence of actions. Whereas the Hebrew text in Genesis 2:3 reads that God blessed the seventh day because he rested from all the work ‫אֲׁשֶ ר־ּבָ ָרא אֱֹלהִ ים ַלעֲׂשֹות‬, the Septuagint has it quite differently: “he left off from all his works that God had begun to make” (ὧν ἤρξατο ὁ θεὸς ποιῆσαι; NETS translation). Thus, in the Greek version only the first part of the creation has been finished; Genesis 2:4–25 can therefore be understood as a complement, not a competing concept of creation. Similarly, the adverb ἔτι was added in 2:9: καὶ ἐξανέτειλεν ὁ θεὸς ἔτι ἐκ τῆς γῆς πᾶν ξύλον (“God furthermore made to grow”). By means of these deviations, the translator produced a smoother connection between the two accounts. Readers familiar with the platonic tradition about the creation of the world must have been impressed that the biblical account was confirmed by this prominent philosopher. Not surprisingly, only a century later we read in the text of the Hellenistic Jewish philosopher Aristoboulos that “Plato has borrowed from Moses” (frg. 3 in Eusebius).16 Another interesting connection between biblical stories and contemporary Greek philosophical ideas may be found in the account of the flood, in which the Hebrew word ‫“( מַ ּבּול‬flood”) was translated as κατακλυσμός (“deluge”; e.g., Gen 7:6). At first sight, this word choice merely seems to be an adequate translation. However, upon closer examination it appears that the Greek word has a specific connotation. Again, in Plato’s Timaios (Tim 22a–g, 39d) it refers to the astronomical theory of a Great Year, or Platonic Year, according to which deluges and catastrophes occur when the planets and stars leave their regular tracks— thus Atlantis was drowned by a kataklysmos. Again, the Greek text brings the biblical tradition in line with the philosophical knowledge of its time.17 Numerous other renderings bear evidence that the translator had some knowledge of the philosophical, historical and religious literature of the surrounding culture. At times they did not hesitate to adopt these ideas. For instance, the account of the tower in Babylon in Genesis 11 testifies to the translator’s knowledge of Herodotus’ description of the city (Herodotus 1.179), whereas the ‫“( נְ פִ ילִ ים‬Nephilim/giants”) and ‫ּגִ ּבֹ ִרים‬ (“heroes”) in Genesis 6:4 (cf. Gen 10:8–9 and 14:5) were identified with the γίγαντες (“giants”) of Greek

256  martin rösel

mythology.18 Especially interesting is an extensive correction of the chronological data in Genesis 5+11. In the Greek version, the lifetime of the primeval patriarchs was modified: from Adam to Enoch in Genesis 5, they father their firstborn 100 years later than in the Hebrew version, as do the patriarchs from Arpachshad to Serug in Genesis 11. As a result of the insertion in the list of a second father called Kenan, as well as minor modifications in the dates of the others, Abraham in the Greek version appears to be born 1,366 years later than in the Hebrew. When this calculation is combined with the chronological data from Exodus, 1 Kings and Ezra, the result is that the second temple was built in anno mundi 5,000. We may surmise that this long chronology was intended to bring the biblical chronology in line with the Egyptian reckoning of dynasties. According to Manetho’s Aigyptiaka, the Pharaohs reigned for about 3,000 years. Since, according to Genesis 10:6, Mizraim, the founder of Egypt, was born after the flood, the long chronology of the LXX was necessary to avoid a discrepancy between the biblical and the Egyptian traditions.19 It is noteworthy that a similar attempt to synchronize between Egyptian and Greek historical timelines can be seen in the work of Manetho, who equated between kings—for example, Memnon and Amenophis (Verbrugghe and Wickersham 2001: 108, 141).

Adapting the Torah The differences discussed above between the Greek and the Hebrew texts show the translator’s willingness to adapt the Greek text to the culture of the times, and this strategy to bring the text to the reader recurs in numerous instances in all five books of the Greek nomos. A few examples will suffice to illustrate this. As shown above, geographic data were updated: Chiddekel, the third river of paradise in Genesis 2:14, was explicitly identified with the Tigris River; Edom is translated as Idumea (Gen 36:16), and the city of On is correctly rendered by its Greek name, Heliopolis (Gen 41:45). Numerous Hellenistic designations for professions can be found, especially in the Joseph story (for more examples, see Pfeiffer 2008). Most strikingly, the word ‫“( הָ רֹ פְ ִאים‬doctors”) in Genesis 50:2 was translated as

ἐνταφιαστής, which designates the (in Egypt wellknown) “embalmer.” According to the Greek Book of Numbers, the tribes of Israel are not segmented into clans (‫)מ ְׁשּפָחָ ה‬, ִ but into demoi (cf. δήμους in 1:20), which was the usual designation for ethnic groups in Hellenistic Egypt (Dorival 1994: 160–161). In the account of the wandering through the desert, the way of life of the Israelites was similarly adapted to contemporaneous times: whereas in the Hebrew text of Numbers 19:14 they lived in tents, the LXX has them live in houses. Thus, it appears that outdated or unknown elements of the Scriptures were identified with contemporary terms.20 No less interestingly, the translator of Deuteronomy was manifestly eager to tone down texts voicing hostility toward foreign nations: for instance, in 7:16, Israel will consume not all the people, but the booty/plunder of all the people;21 and in 21:10, the booty is taken away—not the captives. These changes may have been introduced out of consideration for the translator’s multi-ethnic environment in Alexandria (Dogniez and Harl 1992: 165, 245). Numerous similar modernizations may be noted. A well-known example is the replacement of the owl in the list of unclean animals in the Book of Leviticus with the ibis (Lev 11:17).22 Because the ibis was the holy bird of the Egyptian god Thot, the pious Jewish translator wished to insert the bird of this pagan god in the official list of detestable animals and therefore discarded the owl. Conversely, the hare is missing from the Greek lists of unclean animals (Lev 11:6; Deut 14:7), obviously because the usual Greek translation of Λαγώς sounded too similar to the byname “Lagos” of the Ptolemaic king Ptolemy I.23 The Egyptian background of the translation is further reflected in God’s blessing after the flood (Gen 8:22). In the Hebrew text God promises that “seedtime and harvest… summer and winter” shall not cease, a statement fitting the agricultural year in Israel. The LXX has “summer and spring,” which at first sight is quite astonishing. This, however, corresponds to the Egyptian agricultural year, which had only three seasons: the inundation of the Nile, the sowing and harvesting of spring, and the heat of the summer (Gardiner 2005: 203–205). Therefore, it is easy to understand why the translator chose “spring” to designate the third season of the Egyptian year.

the septuagint: translating and adapting the torah to the 3rd century bce  257

The example of the ibis in particular is evidence that there were limits to how far the translator could go to adapt the texts to the new milieu—in this case, the problem of idolatry. Another crucial line that was not crossed is the notion of God.

Translating the God of Israel This last consideration brings me to one of the most important characteristics of the Greek Bible—the naming of God. The LXX translated the ineffable name of God, the tetragrammaton, as kyrios (“Lord”), reflecting the reading Adonaï for the tetragrammaton in the Hebrew Bible. Kyrios is used in an absolute meaning, without a depending genitive. This was unusual in contemporary Greek, because gods who were hailed as “Lords” were always Lord of a city, a land, or a people (Foerster and Quell 1938; Frenschkowski 2008: 766–775). The biblical God now became the absolute Lord, thereby claiming absolute power. Moreover, several modifications in the depiction of God may be noted (Rösel 2007b). It appears that the translator had a theory of the two names of God expressing distinct characteristics: “Lord” is used when God acts in a merciful way, and “God” is used to refer to His powerful actions. One striking example is offered in Genesis 38:7: whereas the Hebrew text has: “And Er, Judah’s firstborn, was wicked in the sight of the Lord (YHWH); and the Lord (YHWH) put him to death,” the Septuagint reads: “And Er, the firstborn of Judas, was wicked before the Lord (κύριος); and God (θεός) killed him.” Although the Hebrew text has in both cases YHWH, the translator uses θεός (“God”) for the smiting God. This differential use of the two names is frequent from Genesis 4:4 on24 and therefore cannot be seen as merely accidental. Furthermore, these deviations do not occur in the Greek Genesis only. A similar reluctance to formulate that the Lord killed someone can be noted in Numbers 16:5+11 and Deuteronomy 2:14, where θεός (“God”) was used even though the Vorlage had the tetragrammaton. This same concept also underpins the well-known translation of Exodus 15:3, where the Lord is no longer an ‫“( ִאיׁש ִמלְ חָ מָ ה‬warrior”), but συντρίβων πολέμους, “breaking the wars” (Schmitz 2014). This

translation is in line with Psalms 46:10, according to which the Lord is ‫“( מַ ְׁשּבִ ית ִמלְ חָ מֹות‬makes wars cease”). The translators were evidently strengthening an idea that was already present in the Hebrew Bible. Additional modifications have bearing upon several other aspects of the picture of God: it is no longer possible to see God, but only the place where he stood (Exod 24:10; cf. 19:3: Moses goes up to the mountain of God, and not to God himself); even the mere mention of the name of the Lord—and not just blasphemy of the name (Lev 24:16)—entails the penalty of death; and even Moses was not buried by God himself, as narrated in Deuteronomy 34:6, but by the people—the translator changed the singular to plural in the verb, to avoid the notion that God could bury someone (McCarthy 2007: 168). A final example of the translator’s attempts to tone down strange aspects in the picture of God can be seen in the story of Cain and Abel: because God did not accept the offering of Cain, the latter became angry and killed his brother. But why did God reject Cain’s offering? The Greek translation gives the solution (Gen 4:7): “Have you not sinned if you have brought it rightly, but not rightly divided it? Be still!” The Hebrew text, on the other hand, reads: “If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door.” The solution for the problem is that Cain has not divided his offering correctly, and therefore God is not unjust (Rösel 1994: 100–107). Another important aspect is the distinction between the God of Israel and the gods of the peoples. Where the plural ‫ ֱאֹלהִ ים‬refers to foreign gods, the disparaging εἴδωλον is used as a translation (Num 25:2); “idol” becomes a collective name for all heathen gods like the ‫( ְּת ָרפִ ים‬Gen 31:19), ‫( ֶפסֶ ל‬Exod 20:4) or ‫( ֱאלִ יל‬Lev 19:7). Another feature is that the knowledge of kyrios and access to Him is restricted to Israel, as illustrated by the Balaam narrative in Numbers 22–24 (Wevers 1999). Here the translator gives rise to the impression that the foreign seer is a prophet of the Lord of Israel, by translating the tetragramm as theos.25 Finally, this distinction is broadened to the realm of cult, where the translators introduced a neat distinction by rendering ַ‫“( ִמזְּבֵ ח‬altar”) as βωμός to refer to pagan altars (Exod 34:13; Deut 7:5), and θυσιαστήριον to designate an Altar of the Lord. This

258  martin rösel

distinction is used most effectively in the story of Balaam, who makes offerings on seven βωμούς (“pagan altars”; Num 23:1), with the implication that he cannot be a true prophet of the Lord.26

Emerging Messianism I can only briefly refer to another important plexus of ideas that characterizes the LXX from the 3rd century on: its evolved messianism. The translators patently introduced the hope for a messiah into texts that did not originally mention it.27 Two important examples may suffice. In Genesis 49 where all the tribes of Israel are blessed by Jacob, the blessing for Judah reads (v. 10): “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until tribute comes to him; and the obedience of the peoples is his.” In the Greek version, the picture is considerably different: “A ruler shall not fail from Judah, nor a prince from his loins, until there come the things stored up for him; and he is the expectation of nations.” First, the development from the signs of power to a powerful person—the Messiah— can be noted, and second, this ruler is the expectation of the nations, unambiguously pointing to an eschatological perspective.28 The second text relates to the oracles of the foreign prophet Balaam in Numbers 24. The expectation concerning Jacob/Israel in v. 7 simply reads: “Water shall flow from his buckets, and his seed shall have abundant water, his king shall be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted.” The Greek text again reveals a surprising difference: “There shall come a man out of his seed, and he shall rule over many nations; and the kingdom of Gog shall be exalted, and his kingdom shall be increased.” It appears that once again, while the Hebrew Vorlage is confined to a rebirth of Israel, the LXX articulates an eschatological and universal expectation. As a consequence, readers of the Greek Bible must have experienced a more intense longing for the Messiah. It should be added that a similar understanding of the passages just reviewed is only shortly later attested in texts found at Qumran; therefore, the LXX fits perfectly into the picture of emerging ideas of eschatology and messianism (Rösel 2006).

Anthropology A few remarks are necessary on the problem of the translation of anthropological ideas in the LXX. In several passages, the Greek idea of a mind-body dichotomy was inserted, while the Hebrew Bible has a more integrated view on mankind. Thus, the Hebrew ‫לֵב‬ (“heart”) can refer to the human organ, to emotions, to wishes, or to a man’s thinking in general (Fabry 1984). This wide spectrum of meanings could not be expressed by the Greek καρδία, and therefore other equivalents had to be chosen, like διάνοια (“thought”; Gen 8:21), and νοῦς (“mind”; Exod 7:23). In this process, the connection between body and emotion or thinking is lost. This has led to a very interesting rendering of the Schema Israel (Deut 6:4–5), because now God shall be loved not with all the heart (‫)ּבְ כָל־לְ בָ בְ ָך‬, but with the mind (ἐξ ὅλης τῆς διανοίας σου29). Moreover, in the subsequent verse (Deut 6:6) the Greek text shows an interesting addition over the Hebrew: the words of the Lord shall be not only in the hearts (in the MT), but in the soul of the people as well (addition in the LXX) (Wevers 1995: 114–16). These texts and similar ones clearly aimed to strengthen the intellectual aspects of Israel’s religion. They may have supported the willingness of Hellenistic Judaism to accept philosophical ideas, a tendency well attested from the 2nd century on (Rösel 2009). The final topic I would like to address is the translation of ‫ּתֹורה‬ ָ and other legal terms by νόμος. In the Pentateuch νόμος is used only in the singular, even where the Hebrew Vorlage has the plural and refers to several laws. In contrast, other terms—such as νόμιμος, ἐντολή and πρόσταγμα—were used in the plural. The use of the singular emphasized that God’s nomos was to be viewed as a single unit—that is, His complete law, which consisted of several regulations and commandments. Moreover, the antonym ἀνομία and its cognates are quite frequently used for words like ‫“( זִּמָ ה‬wickedness”; Lev 20:14), ‫“( עָֹון‬sin”; Gen 19:15), ‫“( ּבְ לִ ַּיעַל‬wickedness”; Deut 15:9), or the verb ‫“( ׁשחת‬spoil”; Deut 4:16). Thus, in the Greek Bible all failures and offences of men are seen as transgression of the Torah/nomos, and this concept is enhanced, as being God’s beneficial order for a successful life. This translation was shaped by the Torah theology as we know it from Psalms 1 and 119.30

the septuagint: translating and adapting the torah to the 3rd century bce  259

Conclusion When we compare the Greek Pentateuch with the targumim and roughly contemporary literature such as the Jewish Hellenistic works and the texts from Qumran, the approach of the Greek translators appears to be different. Their aim was not to rewrite the Bible or to comment on it, but to preserve it.31 At the same time they aimed to produce a coherent, comprehensible and authoritative Greek version suited to the needs of Jewish groups in the Hellenistic world. They must have been aware that they were translating and producing not an ordinary text but Scripture, and they would therefore have felt that their handling of this text was subject to restrictions. While harmonizations and minor adjustments were permitted (on these phenomena, see Tov 2014a; Dorival 1995), extensive redaction was not. It is noteworthy, however, that the translations from the 3rd century are in general less literal than the ones that were carried out later. We may assume that the circulation of

the Greek Pentateuch prompted discussions about the question to what extent deviations from the original were acceptable—and perhaps these discussions also initiated the development of a standard proto-masoretic text (thus Lange 2009). To conclude, in the 3rd century there was a second edition of the Torah. This edition was more coherent, thanks to the intertextual references and harmonizations introduced by the translators in order to iron out contradictions. With its Hebraic-sounding syntax and its specific vocabulary, this new edition sounded like an authoritative archaic document—but nevertheless, it was comprehensible (Rajak 2011: 125–136). Some anthropo-morphic features in the depiction of God were removed, and connections with the cultural traditions of Alexandria were made. Thus, the Nomos of the Jews showed that their religion was not alien to the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Alexandria; this was one important step in the development of Judaism to become a world religion.

NOTES 1. Aejmelaeus (2013: 7) estimates a period of about two generations prior to the founding of προσευχή-houses and the beginning of the translation of the Pentateuch in the mid-3rd century—according to her, both are aspects of the same strategy to strengthen the identity of the Jewish community. 2. On the Zenon papyri, see also L. Grabbe, this volume. 3. Collins (2000) accepts the data from the Letter of Aristeas without criticism, concluding that the Pentateuch was translated in 281 BCE. 4. Exod 35–40 were translated by a different individual, perhaps a pupil of the first translator. See Wade 2003: 242–244. 5. It has also been suggested that Deuteronomy was translated prior to Leviticus and Numbers, but this requires further investigation. See den Hertog 2004; Tov 2010: 21. 6. Bickerman (1959: 7 and n. 13) hints at Num 19:1–10 and Lev 23:23–25. 7. Similar considerations can be found in the recent article by Aejmelaeus 2013: 7–12. 8. This is one of the reasons why J. Barr (2003) assumes that Isaiah was translated prior to the Greek Pentateuch—because the translation of Isaiah is less consistent. 9. See Honigman 2003: 72–73, with nn. 33 and 36 on lists used by teachers throughout Egypt. Cf. the important remarks by van der Kooij (2011), who came to the conclusion “that LA [the Letter of Aristeas] does not provide sufficient evidence for the thesis of the Homeric paradigm” (pp. 502–503); he himself proposes a “philosophical paradigm” (p. 506). 10. Cf. Verbrugghe and Wickersham 2001 for basic introductions to both authors and translations of the fragments.

11. Some observations can be found in Joosten 2012a: 187, leading to the conclusion that “the Aegyptiaca reflects a distinctly higher level of style than the Septuagint.” 12. Joosten 2012b; see also Rösel 1991: 373–374 on the translation of el shadday. 13. Further hints are the fact that details of the temple and sites quoted in the Book of Genesis are obviously unknown: Rösel 1994: 240–243; see also Tov 2010: 15. 14. See Gen 5:3, where the Hebrew ‫ ְּדמּות‬is uniquely rendered by the Greek ἰδέα. 15. For an exhaustive treatment of this topic, see Rösel 1994: 72–87. The theory of the Platonic influence on the Greek Genesis has been accepted by several scholars; see, for instance, Tov 2014b: 53, n. 20; Hendel 2013: 88–95. Unfortunately, Hendel gives no bibliographical references, giving the impression that this theory is his. 16. Adams’ claim (2014) that Aristoboulos did not know the exact wording of the text of Gen 1+2 seems quite improbable to me. 17. See Rösel 1994: 169–170 for a fuller discussion of this topic. 18. For Gen 11, see Rösel 1994: 216. For the translation as “giants,” see Prestel and Schorch 2009: 167. 19. For this complex issue, see Rösel 1994: 129–144 (see Rösel 2018: 89–107 for an English translation), and recently Hendel 2012, although Hendel is less concerned with the LXX. See also Tov 2015. 20. These examples are taken from Rösel and Schlund 2009. See also the results of the study by Ziegert 2015: 302–310, English summary on pp. 336–340. 21. In Num 24:8 the same expression was translated literally as “it will eat the people of its enemies.”

260  martin rösel 22. On this matter, see the groundbreaking article by the Egyptologist Morenz (1964), see also Schmitt 1974; and, more recently, Görg 2001. 23. Deut 14:7 is also included in the rabbinical list of changes that were supposedly made for King Ptolemy; cf. Tov 1984. 24. The Hebrew text uses the tetragrammaton YHWH to refer to God’s actions throughout Gen 4. The Septuagint distinguishes between two designations for God: It is ὁ θεός (“God”) who is not looking upon Abel and his offering, but ὁ κύριος (“Lord”) for the tetragrammaton is used in two instances—in Gen 4:3 and 4:13, where it is about Cain’s offering (v. 3) and Cain’s prayer to the Lord (v. 13). 25. Wevers 1995: 373; see also the commentary in LXX Num 22–24 by Rösel and Schlund 2009: 481–494.

26. In a comparable way the translator of Deuteronomy differentiates between the kings of the surrounding nations and the ideal king of Israel; see Ausloos 2013. 27. It is highly disputed whether or not messianic ideas can be traced in the early translations of the Greek Bible. The full range of positions on this topic may be found in the collection of papers from the Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense in Knibb 2006. 28. For an in-depth exegesis of LXX Gen 49, see Rösel 1995. 29. This is the original reading, taken from the Göttinger LXX; the Rahlfs text (and BibleWorks) reads ἐξ ὅλης τῆς καρδίας. 30. For a more extensive discussion, see Rösel 2007a. On the problem of an evolved notion of the nomos, see also Schwemer 1996. 31. Hanhart 1992: 343: “The LXX is essentially conservation”.

REFERENCES Adams, S.A. 2014. Did Aristobulus Use the LXX for His Citations? Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 45: 185–198. Aejmelaeus, A. 2013. The Septuagint and Oral Tradition. In: Peters, M.K.H., ed. XIV Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Helsinki, 2010 (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 59). Atlanta, GA: 5–13. Ausloos, H. 2013. The “Law of the King” (Deut 17,14–20) in the Septuagint. Between Ideal and Reality. Semitica 55: 157–172. Barr, J. 2003. Did the Greek Pentateuch Really Serve as a Dictionary for the Translation of the Later Books? In: Baasten, M.F.J. and van Peursen, W.T., eds. Hamlet on a Hill. Semitic and Greek Studies Presented to Professor T. Muraoka on the Occasion of His Sixty-fifth Birthday (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 118). Leuven: 523–543. Bickerman, E.J. 1959. The Septuagint as a Translation. Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 28: 1–39. Collins, N.L. 2000. The Library in Alexandria and the Bible in Greek (Vetus Testamentum Supplement 82). Leiden. Cook, J. 2001. The Septuagint of Genesis. Text and/or Interpretation? In: Wénin, A., ed. Studies in the Book of Genesis. Literature, Redaction and History (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 155). Leuven: 315–329. Dogniez, C. and Harl, M. 1992. La Bible d’Alexandrie, 5: Le Deutéronome. Paris. Dorival, G. 1994. La Bible d’Alexandrie, 4. Les Nombres. Paris. Dorival, G. 1995. Les phénomènes d´intertextualité dans le livre grec des Nombres. In: Dorival, G. and Munnich, O., eds. Selon les Septante: Trente études sur la Bible grecque des Septante, en hommage à Marguerite Harl. Paris: 261–285. Fabry, H.J. 1984. ‫לֵב‬. Theologisches Woerterbuch zum Alten Testament 4: 413–451. Foerster, W. and Quell, G. 1938. κύριος κτλ. Theologisches Woerterbuch zum Neuen Testament 3: 1038–1100. Frenschkowski, M. 2008. “Kyrios.” Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 22: 754–794.

Gardiner, A.H. 2005. Egyptian Grammar: Being an Introduction to the Study of Hieroglyphs. Oxford. Görg, M. 2001. In der Septuaginta sichtbare ägyptische Einflüsse auf das Judentum. In: Fabry, H.J. and Offerhaus, U., eds. Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta. Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 153). Stuttgart: 115–130. Hanhart, R. 1992. The Translation of the Septuagint in the Light of Earlier Tradition and Subsequent Influences. In: Brooke, G.J. and Lindars, B., eds. Septuagint, Scrolls, and Cognate Writings: Papers Presented to the International Symposium on the Septuagint and Its Relations to the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Writings, Manchester, 1990 (Septuagint and Cognate Studies Series 33). Atlanta, GA: 339–379. Harl, M. 1986. La Bible d’Alexandrie, 1: La Genèse. Paris. Hendel, R.S. 2012. A Hasmonean Edition of MT Genesis? The Implications of the Editions of the Chronology in Genesis 5. Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 1: 1–17. Hendel, R.S. 2013. The Book of Genesis: A Biography (Lives of Great Religious Books). Princeton, NJ. den Hertog, C.G. 2004. Erwägungen zur relativen Chronologie der Bücher Levitikus und Deuteronomium innerhalb der Pentateuchübersetzung. In: Kreuzer, S. and Lesch, J.P., eds. Im Brennpunkt: die Septuaginta: Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel, 2 (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 161). Stuttgart: 216–228. Honigman, S. 2003. The Septuagint and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria: A Study in the Narrative of the Letter of Aristeas. London and New York. Joosten, J. 2012a. Language as Symptom: Linguistic Clues to the Social Background of the Seventy. In: Joosten, J., ed. Collected Studies on the Septuagint: From Language to Interpretation and Beyond (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 83). Tübingen: 185–194.

the septuagint: translating and adapting the torah to the 3rd century bce  261 Joosten, J. 2012b. On Aramaizing Renderings in the Septuagint. In: Joosten, J., ed. Collected Studies on the Septuagint: From Language to Interpretation and Beyond (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 83). Tübingen: 53–66. Knibb, M., ed. 2006. The Septuagint and Messianism (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 195). Leuven. van der Kooij, A. 2011. The Septuagint and Alexandrian Scholarship. Bibliotheca Orientalis 68: 492–509. van der Kooij, A. 2013. The Septuagint and Scribal Culture. In: Peters, M.K.H., ed. XIV Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Helsinki, 2010 (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 59). Atlanta GA: 33–39. Kreuzer, S. 2004. Entstehung und Publikation der Septuaginta im Horizont frühptolemäischer Bildungs- und Kulturpolitik. In: Kreuzer, S. and Lesch, J.P., eds. Im Brennpunkt: die Septuaginta: Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel, 2 (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 161). Stuttgart: 61–75. Lange, A. 2009. They Confirmed the Reading (y. Taʿan. 4.68a). The Textual Standardization of Jewish Scriptures in the Second Temple Period. In: Lange, A., Weigold, M. and Zsengellér, J., eds. From Qumran to Aleppo (Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testament 230). Göttingen: 29–80. Lee, J.A.L. 1983. A Lexical Study of the Septuagint Version of the Pentateuch (Septuagint and Cognate Studies Series 14). Chico, CA. McCarthy, C. 2007. Deuteronomy (Biblia Hebraica Quinta 5). Stuttgart. Mélèze-Modrzejewski, I. 1995. Law and Justice in Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Geller, M.J., ed. Legal Documents of the Hellenistic World. London: 1–19. Morenz, S. 1964. Ägyptische Spuren in den Septuaginta. In: Stuiber, A. and Hermann, A., eds. Mullus, Festschrift Theodor Klauser (Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum Supplement 1). Münster: 250–258. Pfeiffer, S. 2008. Joseph in Ägypten. Althistorische Beobachtungen zur griechischen Übersetzung und Rezeption von Gen 39–50. In: Karrer, M., Kraus, W. and Meiser, M., eds. Die Septuaginta—Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 219). Tübingen: 313–322. Prestel, S. and Schorch, S. 2009. Genesis, Das erste Buch Mose. In: Karrer, M. and Kraus, W., eds. Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament, 1. Stuttgart: 145–257. Rajak, T. 2011. Translation and Survival: The Greek Bible and the Jewish Diaspora. Oxford. Rösel, M. 1991. Die Übersetzung der Gottesnamen in der GenesisSeptuaginta. In: Daniels, D.R., Gleßmer, U. and Rösel, M.,

eds. Ernten, was man sät: Festschrift für Klaus Koch zu seinem 65. Geburtstag. Neukirchen-Vluyn: 357–377. Rösel, M. 1994. Übersetzung als Vollendung der Auslegung. Studien zur Genesis-Septuaginta (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 223). Berlin. Rösel, M. 1995. Die Interpretation von Genesis 49 in der Septuaginta. Biblische Notizen 79: 54–70. Rösel, M. 2006. Jakob, Bileam und der Messias. Messianische Erwartungen in Gen 49 und Num 22–24. In: Knibb, M., ed. The Septuagint and Messianism (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 195). Leuven: 151–175 (= Rösel, M. 2018. Tradition and Innovation: English and German Studies on the Septuagint [Septuagint and Cognate Studies 70]. Atlanta, GA: 109–138). Rösel, M. 2007a. Nomothesie. Zum Gesetzesverständnis der Septuaginta. In: Fabry, H.-J. and Böhler, D., eds. Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta, 3. Studien zur Theologie, Anthropologie, Ekklesiologie, Eschatologie und Liturgie der Griechischen Bibel (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 174). Stuttgart: 132–150 (English translation in Rösel, M. 2018. Tradition and Innovation: English and German Studies on the Septuagint [Septuagint and Cognate Studies 70]. Atlanta, GA: 343–363). Rösel, M. 2007b. The Reading and Translation of the Divine Name in the Masoretic Tradition and the Greek Pentateuch. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 31: 411–428 (= Rösel, M. 2018. Tradition and Innovation: English and German Studies on the Septuagint [Septuagint and Cognate Studies 70]. Atlanta, GA: 291–315). Rösel, M. 2009. Der hebräische Mensch im griechischen Gewand. Anthropologische Akzentsetzungen in der Septuaginta. In: Janowski, B. and Liess, K., eds. Der Mensch im alten Israel: Neue Forschungen zur alttestamentlichen Anthropologie (Herder’s Biblical Studies 59). Freiburg: 69–92 (= Rösel, M. 2018. Tradition and Innovation: English and German Studies on the Septuagint [Septuagint and Cognate Studies 70]. Atlanta, GA: 317–342). Rösel, M. 2018. Tradition and Innovation: English and German Studies on the Septuagint (Septuagint and Cognate Studies 70). Atlanta, GA. Rösel, M. and Schlund, C. 2009. Arithmoi. Numeri, Das vierte Buch Mose. In: Karrer, M. and Kraus, W., eds. Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament. Stuttgart: 431–522. Schmitt, A. 1974. Interpretation der Genesis aus hellenistischem Geist. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 86: 137–163. Schmitz, B. 2014. κύριος συντρίβων πολέμους “The Lord who crushes wars” (Exod 15:3LXX). The Formative Importance of the Song of the Sea (Exod 15:1–18LXX) for the Book of Judith. The Journal for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 47: 5–16.

262  martin rösel Schwemer, A. 1996. Zum Verhältnis von Diatheke und Nomos in den Schriften der jüdischen Diaspora Ägyptens in hellenistisch-römischer Zeit. In: Avemarie, F. and Lichtenberger, H., eds. Bund und Tora: Zur theologischen Begriffsgeschichte in altestamentlicher, frühjüdischer und urchristlicher Tradition (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 92). Tübingen: 67–109. Tov, E. 1984. The Rabbinic Tradition Concerning the “Alterations” Inserted into the Greek Pentateuch and Their Relation to the Original Text of the LXX. Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 15: 65–89. Tov, E. 2010. Reflections on the Septuagint with Special Attention Paid to the Post-Pentateuchal Translations. In: Kraus, W., Karrer, M. and Meiser, M., eds. Die Septuaginta—Texte, Theologien, Einflüsse (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 252). Tübingen: 3–22. Tov, E. 2014a. The Harmonizing Character of the Septuagint of Genesis 1–11. In: Kraus, W. et al., eds. Die Septuaginta— Text, Wirkung, Rezeption (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 325). Tübingen: 315–332. Tov, E. 2014b. The Septuagint Translation of Genesis as the First Scripture Translation. In: de Troyer, K., Law, T.M. and Liljeström, M. (eds.), In the Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes: Studies in the Biblical Text in Honour of Anneli Aejmelaeus

(Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 72). Leuven, Paris and Walpole: 47–64. Tov, E. 2015. The Genealogical Lists in Genesis 5 and 11 in Three Different Versions. In: Werman, C., ed. From Author to Copyist: Essays on the Composition, Redaction and Transmission of the Hebrew Bible in Honor of Zipi Talshir. Winona Lake: 37–52. Verbrugghe, G.P. and Wickersham, J.M. 2001. Berossos and Manetho, Introduced and Translated: Native Traditions in Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt. Ann Arbor. Wade, M.L. 2003. Consistency of Translation Techniques in the Tabernacle Accounts of Exodus in the Old Greek (Septuagint and Cognate Studies Series 49). Atlanta, GA. Wevers, J.W. 1995. Notes on the Greek Text of Deuteronomy (Septuagint and Cognate Studies Series 39). Atlanta, GA. Wevers, J.W. 1999. The Balaam Narrative According to the Septuagint. In: Auwers, J.-M., Wénin, A. and Bogaert, P., eds. Lectures et relectures de la Bible, FS P.-M. Bogaert (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 144). Leuven: 133–144. Ziegert, C. 2015. Diaspora als Wüstenzeit: Übersetzungswissenschaftliche und theologische Aspekte des griechischen Numeribuches (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 480). Berlin.

18 Greek Historians on Jews and Judaism in the 3rd Century BCE Reinhard G. Kratz

If we disregard the archaeological and epigraphic sources, the 3rd century BCE is not well documented in the literary sources of ancient Judaism. The biblical texts span the period from Moses to Artaxerxes, and there are hardly any explicit mentions of Hellenistic times, with only a few exceptions in the Book of Daniel and possibly in the Books of Isaiah and Zechariah. The parabiblical texts, on the other hand—the Jewish writings from Hellenistic–Roman times, including the Dead Sea Scrolls—do not start before the 2nd century BCE. These writings—1 and 2 Maccabees, the Letter of Aristeas, Jewish Hellenistic historians and Josephus—make only a few references to Ptolemaic times, sometimes by referring to older sources. With regard to direct attestations, however, there is a significant lacuna in our sources.

The situation is different with pagan literature. Hellenistic historians sprang up like mushrooms in the aftermath of the conquest of Alexander the Great, and they displayed an increasing ethnographic interest in the Eastern civilizations in general, and in Judaism in particular. This literature is the subject of my contribution. After a brief overview of the material I will focus on the references to biblical history in the works of three pagan historians writing in Greek: Berossus, Manetho and Hecataeus of Abdera.

Greek Historians on Jews and Judaism Among the Fragments of Greek Historians collected by F. Jacoby, several well-known authors explicitly refer to

This article was translated from the German by Ruth Ludewig-Welch and revised by Sylvie Honigman. I am grateful to both of them. I would also like to thank Dr. Bernhard Neuschäfer (Frankfurt/Göttingen) for intensive and fruitful discussions of the relevant texts within a joint seminar on Graeco-Roman testimonies on Jews and Judaism held in the academic year of 2016–17.

264  reinhard g. kratz

Jews and Judaism. The relevant material is readily available in the collections of T. Reinach (1895) and M. Stern (1974–84) and is discussed in detail in both the old and new editions of Schürer (1973–86).1 Taking the authorship and dating of the texts for granted, the chronological distribution of this material is significant or, to be more precise, strange. While Herodotus and Aristotle are the only authors of Classical times to mention Jews, quite a number of references to Jews appear in texts under the name of historians of the late 4th and early 3rd centuries BCE (Theophrastus, Hecataeus, Berossus, Manetho and some others). The number of references to Jews in the 3rd century remains, however, limited, and only in the 2nd and especially the 1st century BCE did the discourse about Jews and Judaism in both pagan and Judeo-Hellenistic historiography gain real momentum, continuing into the first two centuries CE. This chronological distribution of the witnesses on Judaism and Jews in the literature of Hellenistic historians means that—at least if the dating of the early sources is correct—an initial discourse on Jews and Judaism was followed by a gap of about one hundred years until it was resumed. We will come back to this point below. The distribution and development of the topics treated in this literature are also significant. Ethnographic interest dominates from the outset. Herodotus, speculating about the relationship between the Egyptians and Colchians, points both to the colonization of the Colchians by the Egyptians and to circumcision, which, according to him, was a custom shared by both peoples, as well as by the Phoenicians and Syrians in Palestine (Stern 1974–84: No. 1). Aristotle describes the high concentration of salt in the Dead Sea, which he calls the “Palestinian Lake” (Stern 1974–84: No. 3). Following these authors, the topics of Egypt colonizing the continent, including Palestine, of the Egyptian custom of circumcision, of the high salinity of the Dead Sea and of the asphalt, balsam and date palm resources became stereotypes in Hellenistic historiography.2 These topics, however, do not evince any particular interest in Jews and Judaism, but instead, focus on the natural conditions of foreign countries and the peoples who inhabit them. The ethnographic information found in Hellenistic authors also includes the stereotype of “philosophers” being found among Eastern peoples. These philosophers

include not only the Brahmins in India, but also the Jews in Syria. The earliest extant occurrences of this stereotype in Theophrastus and Megasthenes depict a priestly caste with a tendency to natural philosophy (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 4, 14). Clearchus of Soli goes one step further when he quotes his teacher Aristotle’s alleged statement that the Jews in Coele Syria are descended from the Indian philosophers Kalanoi, named after a sage (Brahmin) called Kalanos, who lived in the time of Alexander the Great (Stern 1974–84: No. 15). It is unclear on what the Jews’ reputation of being “philosophers” was based or how this motif came to be adopted by the Hellenistic historians (Gabba 1989: 618–624; Bar-Kochva 2010: 34–39, 40–89, 136–163). Given that it is only attested by authors dated to the early 3rd century BCE, it could well belong to the repertoire of early ethnography and result from a free combination of information relating to priestly classes in India and Syria-Palestine. However, we cannot rule out the possibility that the motif came up only later, at a time when both philosophy and the notion of the antiquity of teachings played an important role in the way that the Jewish literature of the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE— Aristobulus and the Letter of Aristeas—negotiated Hellenism. The argument of antiquity is attested for the first time in the pagan literature in Hermippus of Smyrna, an author of the 2nd century BCE, according to whom the Jewish law, alongside the beliefs of the Thracians, found its way into the philosophy of Pythagoras (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 25, 26). Alongside the ethnographic topoi that from the outset recur throughout the sources, specific Jewish topics, such as detailed descriptions of the landscape and themes of contemporary Jewish history, are found, albeit only sporadically, in texts ascribed to Hellenistic historians of the early 3rd century. They began to increase in the 2nd century, eventually becoming common from the 1st century BCE onward. Samaria, Judea and Jerusalem come to the fore for the first time in Hecataeus of Abdera, in the context of his account of Alexander the Great (Stern 1974–84: No. 13). Clearchus of Soli correctly explains that the name of the Jews evolved from the name of the country of Judea, and he wonders about the strange name of their city (πάνυ σκολιόν), which he spells Ἱερουσαλήμην (instead of the usual Ἱεροσόλυμα) (Stern

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  265

1974–84: No. 15). According to the extant excerpts from Manetho, the “shepherds” of the Hyksos, who were expelled from Egypt, built the city of Jerusalem in the country now known as Judea (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 19, 20). Jewish prisoners under Nebuchadnezzar are mentioned in excerpts from Berossus (Stern 1974–84: No. 18). In the 2nd century BCE, Agatharchides of Cnidus mentions the capture of Jerusalem by Ptolemy I (Lagos) (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 30a, 30b). Polybius writes extensively on the Syrian war in Palestine and briefly mentions Judea and Jerusalem (and its temple) in the context of the dispute between Scopas and Antiochus IV (Epiphanes) (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 31–33). From then on, there is a growing number of accounts on the countries and peoples of Samaria, Judea and Jerusalem, usually in the context of historical events—the times of Ptolemy I and of Antiochus IV, respectively, and the transitional time of Pompey (see, in particular, Diodorus and Strabo) being the periods most often referred to.3 The increased interest of Hellenistic historians in Judea and Jerusalem, on the one hand, and in the Jews, on the other, went hand in hand with a growing number of ethnographic accounts describing Jewish customs. In the 3rd century, only excerpts from Theophrastus offer a description of practices such as sacrifices and oath swearing (Stern 1974–84: No. 4; Bar-Kochva 2010: 15–34). We hear about the Sabbath for the first time in 2nd-century author Agatharchides of Cnidus’ account of the capture of Jerusalem by Ptolemy I (Lagos) and then more frequently from the 1st century BCE onward.4 Mentions of the Jews’ worship of a single God, their ban on cult images, their dietary laws—in particular the prohibition of pork—and various customs and festivals in addition to the circumcision and Sabbath are only documented from the 1st century BCE on.5 The first documented attack against Jewish cultic practices appears in Mnaseas of Patera, a 2nd-century BCE author who, according to Josephus, was Apion’s source. Mnaseas is the first to claim that the Jews worship a donkey (τὴν χρυσῆν ἀποσῦραι τοῦ κάνθωνος κεφαλήν). This topos appears again in Diodorus in the 1st century BCE, and frequently afterwards—a similar allegation was to be made about the Christians.6 Finally, in addition to the ethnographic themes and references to recent history, the excerpts of the Hellenistic

historians also contain allusions to biblical history. Again, the earliest evidence appears to date from the late 4th or the early 3rd century BCE, as Hecataeus and Manetho in particular mention Moses as founder and law-giver and Berossus refers to the flood and the Babylonian exile.7 After a gap of over one hundred years—parallel to the Jewish exegetes of the Bible and Jewish historians such as Demetrius, Eupolemus and Artapanus— additional pagan authors from the 2nd century onward—for instance, Menander of Ephesus—refer to the royal history of the Jews and, from the 1st century onward, to Moses and the Exodus as well as to the patriarchs;8 the name of “Israel” also appears, for example, in Varro and Pompeius Trogus.9 As demonstrated by this overview, the bulk of the evidence about Jews and Judaism in the Hellenistic period in general, and in the 3rd century BCE in particular, appears in ethnographic passages describing the land, the peoples and the colonization of Palestine. These descriptions remain general, especially in the early period. Even the frequent mention of circumcision and the more specific description of the daily burnt offering in Theophrastus never go beyond commonplaces. This state of the matter only begins to change from the 2nd century, and increasingly so from the 1st century BCE onward, when Jewish monotheism, the Sabbath and dietary laws are mentioned as distinctive features and potential factors of tensions. The information about recent history is more specific, but very little of it has survived for the 3rd century BCE. What we do have includes the comment attributed to Hecataeus of Abdera in Josephus (C. Ap. 2.43) that Samaria was given to Judea by Alexander the Great as a token of gratitude for its loyal conduct—data that, albeit the most important, is also the least credible (Stern 1974– 84: No. 13). Similarly, the account of Jerusalem being conquered by Ptolemy Lagos on a Sabbath day, ascribed by Josephus to Agatharchides of Cnidus, is of great interest, but at the same time highly doubtful. Josephus quotes the passage literally twice—in Contra Apionem and Antiquitates Judaicae, respectively—but each time his wording is different (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 30a, 30b). Finally, the allusions to biblical sources offer valuable, albeit indirect, evidence for the circulation of the biblical tradition among Jews and its reception in their pagan

266  reinhard g. kratz

environment in the Hellenistic era. This issue is addressed in the following section.

References to Biblical History In Chapter 31 of the pseudepigraphical Letter of Aristeas, dating from the late 2nd century BCE, we read the following noteworthy justification for the translation of the Torah into Greek and its inclusion in the Library of Alexandria under Ptolemy II Philadelphus: These (books) also must be in your library in an accurate version, because this legislation, as could be expected from its divine nature, is very philosophical and genuine. Writers therefore and poets and the whole army of historians have been reluctant to refer to the aforementioned books, and to the men past (and present) who featured largely in them, because the consideration of them is sacred and hallowed, as Hecataeus of Abdera says.10

In this passage, Pseudo-Aristeas makes two points: first, the books of the Torah, the Pentateuch, would have received little attention in pagan (Greek) literature until a relatively recent date; and second, he names Hecataeus of Abdera as the first author to discuss the scriptures of the Jews. According to Pseudo-Aristeas, the reason why pagan authors refrained from quoting these writings was their holiness and divine origin. Accordingly, the Letter of Aristeas (312–316) cites two examples of authors, one historian (Theopompus) and one poet (Theodectes) of the 4th century BCE, who suffered serious illnesses when they tried to quote the Jewish scriptures and, as a consequence, they refrained from doing so. The notion that the Jewish law was sacrosanct and came from God is, indeed, echoed in an excerpt of Diodorus in Photius. According to Photius, Diodorus is quoting Hecataeus of Miletus (ca. 500 BCE), but in modern scholarship the quote is unanimously attributed to Hecataeus of Abdera, a contemporary of Alexander the Great and of Ptolemy I. According to this modern view, following the testimony of Pseudo-Aristeas from the 2nd century BCE and the emendation of the text of Photius, Hecataeus of Abdera was the first pagan author at the end of the 4th century BCE to have access to and

knowledge of Jewish law and biblical history and who made use of this knowledge in various works dealing with Egypt, the Jews and Abraham, respectively. Like Hecataeus of Abdera, Berossus, a Babylonian priest of Bel, lived in the days of Alexander the Great, the early Diadochi and Antiochus I (Soter), and he briefly mentions the Jews in connection with Nebuchadnezzar in his Babylonian history (Babyloniaca); according to Josephus, the Babyloniaca even significantly intersect with biblical history. Finally, in the same way as Berossus glorifies the Chaldeans in his Babyloniaca, Manetho, an Egyptian priest who lived in the earlier half of the 3rd century BCE, glorifies the Egyptians in his Aegyptiaca—as Syncellus so nicely puts it in his Ecloga Chronographica 30 (Mosshammer 1984: 17). According to Josephus, Manetho too is referring to biblical history—namely, Moses and the Exodus (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 11–12, 17, 20, 21). As already noted, the excerpts from Hecateus of Abdera, Berossus and Manetho fill an exceptional position in the corpus of fragments dealing with Jews and Judaism since they might be an indirect witness for the circulation of the biblical tradition among the Jews and their pagan contemporaries. If the attribution and dating of the material is correct, these three pagan historians, either shortly after Alexander the Great or under the founders of the Ptolemaic and Seleucid dynasties, introduced biblical themes that would only recur in both Jewish and pagan writings after a hiatus of one hundred years. At first glance, it appears as if these three historians provide external evidence of the existence and circulation of the Jewish Torah in Greek, decades before the Hebrew Bible was translated into Greek and the earliest Jewish exegetes and historians who wrote in Greek are documented. If this really were the case, the different versions of the Moses narrative in Hecataeus and Manetho, and likewise Berossus’ interrelation with biblical history in Josephus, would not only have an impact on our dating of the Pentateuch, but would, moreover, provide evidence on the early circulation and status of the Torah in Judaism and finally, on the beginnings of tension between Judaism and Hellenism already at the Persian–Hellenistic transition period.11 It is, however, a question whether the attribution and dating of these sources are indeed correct. The literary and historical evaluation of their testimony depends upon

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  267

applying critical-source analysis to their reading, and, as is commonplace with the fragments of Hellenistic historians, this analysis is extremely difficult. The excerpts have only been transmitted to us second- or even third-hand, and we must assume the existence of numerous intermediate stages. Consequently, in each case the question arises of distinguishing between the elements that may be traced back to the early Hellenistic author and those belonging to the process of transmission. In fact, the situation is very similar to the one faced by scholars engaging in the analysis of the Pentateuch and in biblical criticism in general: in most cases the history of textual transmission can only be reconstructed by means of internal criticism, in which linguistic evidence, literary or thematic dependence, and the identification of certain ideological intentions or purposes (Tendenzkritik) are important tools. Just as in biblical criticism, a key question in the critical evaluation of our sources is whether we set out to seek positive evidence for the authenticity of a quote that is only extant in a second-, third-, or even fourthhand source, or conversely, whether we assume authenticity from the outset and go out of our way to confirm this presumption. As is well known, these alternatives have led to diametrically opposed hypotheses in scholarship since the 19th century. Indeed, scholars seeking to argue for the authenticity of a source and against the suspicion of inauthenticity are compelled to engage in quite astonishing convoluted speculations and risky historical combinations. In contrast, because the process of source transmission under study was multistaged, I tend to support the view here, as in bible criticism, that the burden of proof lies on the authenticity of the excerpts rather than the opposite, and this proof must be provided by the textual evidence (for a different view, see Gauger 1982: 9). In my investigation of Hecataeus, Berossus and Manetho below, I do not profess to offer an ultimate solution. Rather, my purpose is to explore the various options, to weigh probabilities, and to assess the limits of our knowledge. In conclusion, I will try to evaluate whether and to what extent the biblical quotes ascribed to these three authors may be used as sources of evidence when we study the literature and history of Judaism at the transition between the 4th and 3rd centuries BCE.

Berossus I begin with Berossus because this author seems to offer the easiest case. Excerpts from his Babyloniaca are known from Flavius Josephus, the historian Abydenus (in Eusebius), Eusebius’ Chronicon (in Armenian translation and excerpts in Georgius Syncellus) and several additional authors who do not quote directly from the now-lost original work, but mostly refer either to the epitome by Cornelius Alexander Polyhistor per se, to an excerpt from it, or to the epitome by Juba of Mauritania.12 According to the excerpts quoted in Josephus (C. Ap. 1.137 = AJ 10.222), Berossus mentioned Jewish, Phoenician, Syrian and Egyptian prisoners being deported to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar after the battle of Carchemish and the death of his father, Nabopolassar (Stern 1974–84: No. 17). This information is also handed down in an excerpt from Berossus quoted in the work of Alexander Polyhistor, preserved in Eusebius’ Chronicon.13 It is most likely that both Josephus and Eusebius go back to the same source, namely, an epitome of Polyhistor. The excerpt from Abydenus in Eusebius (Chronicon and Praeparatio Evangelica) is markedly different, since it also deals with Nebuchadnezzar, but does not mention Jewish prisoners.14 However, this divergence is not necessarily significant because Eusebius could have truncated his source material, borrowing from Polyhistor the story of Jews, Phoenicians and Syrians being taken prisoner and from Abydenus the story of Nebuchadnezzar’s building activity, which, in turn, does not appear in the excerpt of Polyhistor cited in Josephus and Eusebius. Scholars have employed all manner of historical speculation on how to make sense of this information concerning Jewish prisoners. M. Stern believes that they were mercenaries employed in the army of Pharaoh Necho, against whom Nebuchadnezzar waged war, or— with reference to Daniel 1—Jewish hostages possibly taken by Nebuchadnezzar from Jehoiakim after the battle of Carchemish (Stern 1974–84: I, p. 60; also Burstein 1978: 27, n. 104; Dillery 2013a). Other explanations, however, are also possible. It is well known that Josephus interfered with the textual content of his sources. In particular, when he used Berossus, he converted reported speech into direct speech. We should therefore also consider the possibility that the Jewish prisoners were

268  reinhard g. kratz

his own addition, from Josephus making their way into Eusebius’ excerpt of Polyhistor. A further quotation from the epitome made by Juba of Mauritania, which is cited by Tatian (Oratio ad Graecas 36), states that Nebuchadnezzar waged war against the Phoenicians and the Jews.15 Stern takes this quote to refer to the capture of Jerusalem in 587 BCE, and consequently assigns it to a different, later, passage in Berossus. At the same time, he considers the possibility that this information was an addition inserted either by the Judeo-Hellenistic tradition or by Tatian himself (Stern 1974–84: I, p. 61). On the basis of the available sources, it cannot be ascertained whether Berossus himself had ever reported the events of 597 and 587 BCE. Various explanations are possible: that the two comments (in Josephus and Tatian) refer to the same event but come from different sources; that they refer to different campaigns and were originally located in different places in the work of Berossus and the excerpts of Polyhistor and Juba; or that in one or other or both locations, we are dealing with a late addition from the Jewish tradition, aimed at establishing a link between these Jewish prisoners and the deportation of 597 or 587 BCE. The context of Berossus’ excerpt in Josephus suggests that this last explanation is not far-fetched. In AJ (10.219– 228) Josephus locates the excerpt—along with other comments on the Babylonian kings by pagan historians— after his account of the destruction of Jerusalem and the Babylonian exile and before he continues to follow his biblical source, here the book of Daniel, making a transition to the Medes and Persians. In his Contra Apionem Josephus first reproduces Berossus in his own words (C. Ap. 1.128–133), linking Berossus’ story of the flood to the version given in the books of Moses, and then describes the capture of Jerusalem and the exile following the biblical narrative and chronology (cf. 2 Chronicles 36/Ezra 1, and Daniel 1–6) as if all this were (also) found in Berossus. Only after this account does he quote Berossus in direct speech (C. Ap. 1.134–141). If we disregard further historical and traditionhistorical speculation, the evidence suggests that Berossus may have borrowed his information about Palestinian and Egyptian prisoners in the context of the battle of Carchemish from his Babylonian sources and included it in his work. While this information may indeed have

also mentioned the Jews, it has absolutely nothing to do with the biblical history. It is Josephus who—like in the narrative of the flood—expressly makes the connection, thus turning Berossus as a witness to the Mosaic account of history. The relationship between Berossus and biblical history is therefore secondary—the product of an author of the 1st century CE.

Manetho The textual situation concerning Manetho is more delicate. Excerpts from his Aegyptiaca are extant in Josephus, Julius Africanus, Eusebius, and Syncellus.16 However, all these excerpts were probably themselves based on older copies and editions, and—as is the case with Josephus’ Contra Apionem—are in part only preserved in secondary tradition through the Old Latin and Eusebius. In the excerpts from Manetho quoted in Josephus we find two versions of a story dealing with the expulsion of foreign rulers from Egypt, one featuring Hyksos shepherds and the other featuring lepers (Stern 1974–84: Nos. 19, 21). In both cases the story is associated with the Exodus and Moses. The first version (C. Ap. 1.73–92) informs us about the Hyksos, who are referred to as “shepherds,” their invasion of Egypt, their tyranny and the foundation of the city of Avaris, and finally, their emigration to Syria, in the territory of Judea, where they founded the city of Jerusalem. Josephus comments that Manetho, “in another volume” of his Egyptian history, also describes the Hyksos shepherds as “prisoners,” whom he relates to his ancestors, who once dwelt as shepherds in Egypt. The subsequent excerpt (C. Ap. 1.93–105) provides a list of the kings after the Hyksos shepherds and some information on Egyptian history. The excerpt ends with the etiology of the names Aegyptus and Danaus, explained as epithets of King Sethos and his brother Harmaïs. Josephus takes this as an opportunity to correlate the colonization of Palestine by his ancestors, the “shepherds,” with that of Argos by Danaus. The second version of the story (C. Ap. 1.228–236) begins with a brief recapitulation of the Hyksos-shepherds narrative, in which the foundation of Jerusalem is complemented by the construction of the temple. This is

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  269

followed by the subsequent royal history up to SethosAegyptus and Harmaïs-Danaus. A further excerpt from Manetho is then introduced (C. Ap. 1.237–250), concerning the desire of King Amenophis to see God, which would be possible if he cleansed Egypt in its entirety of lepers. The king gathers up the lepers and, at their own request, grants them the city of Avaris, the city of the Hyksos shepherds. Here the lepers elect a leader, Osarsephos, who gives them laws that were completely contrary to Egyptian customs and then sends for help to the descendants of the Hyksos shepherds from Jerusalem. Amenophis flees to Ethiopia, and the Hyksos shepherds from Jerusalem, together with the lepers, have dominion over Egypt, a dominion that lasts 13 years until they are driven back to Syria. Josephus himself introduces the story as a legend about the Jews and, at the end of the excerpt, reports a statement—either added to the source or by Josephus himself—that the leader of the lepers, Osarsiph, was a priest from Heliopolis and had taken on the name of Moses. All possible ways of explaining these accounts have been proposed in modern scholarship.17 According to some scholars they are genuine in their entirety, whereas others suggest that the references to biblical history are later additions. Still others consider the first version (the narrative of the shepherds) to include an authentic core, to which the biblical references and the story of the lepers that complements the second version were secondarily added. The secondary parts are usually dated to the 2nd or 1st century BCE. In this discussion, source-critical aspects and the identification of certain ideological claims (Tendenzkritik), in particular, are precious clues, alongside historical considerations. Source criticism is relevant with regard to the biblical references that can be found in all textual witnesses—Josephus, Africanus and Eusebius—albeit to varying degrees.18 Regarding Tendenzkritik, the main concern is the distinction between more or less pronounced anti-Jewish polemical overtones that modern scholars detect in the extracts.19 Finally, historical arguments (or speculations, respectively) are used in scholarship when it comes to dissolving the tension between history and fiction, intertwined in these narratives, and likewise to explaining how an EgyptianHellenistic author of the late 4th century BCE could

plausibly have had access to the biblical material (e.g., Pucci Ben Zeev 1993: 231–234, esp. 233). In fact, the same evidence has been exploited in both ways to no decisive result, and therefore, I will not pursue this line of investigation any further. Instead, I wish to draw attention to the simple fact that in Manetho as in Berossus, the references to biblical history appear not in the source quotations, but in the words of the epitomator—with the exception of two sections that obviously have secondary interpolations: first, the second etymology of the name Hyksos in Contra Apionem 1.83 (following τινὲς δὲ λέγουσιν), which is taken up again by Josephus in 1.91; and second, the identification of Osarsephos/Osarsiph, the leader of the lepers, with Moses in Contra Apionem 1.250, inserted as an on dit—λέγεται δὲ—(of Manetho’s or Josephus’ own time?) and from which Josephus expressly dissociates himself in Contra Apionem 1.252–253, 1.279–287. In my opinion, the neat separation between the epitomator and the source quotation in all textual witnesses (Josephus, Africanus and Eusebius) is a valid argument against the authenticity of the biblical references in Manetho. Instead, it speaks to a distinction between an older substrate and a later revision in both narratives. Now, when the epitomator’s comments (and the abovementioned additions) are set apart, nothing remains of the biblical references (Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 87–94 [notes]; Gabba 1989: 631). This conclusion is often countered by the arguments that at least the foundation of Jerusalem (and its temple) in the Hyksos shepherd story (C. Ap. 1.90, 1.228) is a veiled reference to Jewish history and that the name Osarsephos/Osarsiph in the narrative of the lepers brings Joseph (named with the theophoric element of Osiris instead of Jhwh) to mind.20 These arguments, however, may be easily refuted. Osarsephos/Osarsiph in the narrative is identified with Moses, and not Joseph, and on this occasion is also reintroduced with a different spelling of his name (C. Ap. 1.250). The mention of the emigrating Hyksos shepherds choosing Jerusalem as their capital could have been prompted by a tradition relating to the Amarna period or could simply bear witness to the importance of Jerusalem in the days of Manetho, who may have only been thinking of the residents of a prominent city in distant Palestine—Coele Syria.

270  reinhard g. kratz

Whatever the case, this mention of Jerusalem owes nothing to the biblical Exodus story. We may conclude, therefore, that the two Manetho excerpts in their original form were not acquainted with biblical history. The evidence suggesting that they were does not come from the excerpts but from the commentary of the epitomator (Josephus or his source). If we leave aside these editorial comments, we have two versions of a narrative that deals with the expulsion of foreign rulers from Egypt. The two narratives are interconnected by the references to Jerusalem and the Hyksos shepherds (C. Ap. 1.90, 1.228, 1.241, 1.248). The shepherds depart from Egypt and establish Jerusalem, returning from there to Egypt where they ally with the lepers prior to the expulsion of the two groups again from Egypt. It is possible that originally one narrative dealt only with the Hyksos shepherds and the other with the leprous Egyptians and that these initially distinct traditions reflected the traumatic memories of the Hyksos and Akhenaten, respectively, and were ultimately combined into a complex, albeit coherent, sequence. In its final form, the leper narrative presupposes the narrative of the Hyksos shepherds and exacerbates the polemic overtone in that the leprous Egyptians ally with foreign rulers. It is difficult to determine whether this combination of the two narratives harks back to Manetho himself or is a later tradition, but it certainly cannot be imputed to Josephus himself. This is because their intertwining creates a contradiction in his work: the people from Jerusalem, whose help is requested by the lepers, are none other than the Hyksos shepherds who founded Jerusalem and who are identified by Josephus as the ancestors of the Jews. In contrast, both the original narratives and their combination may be easily understood within the Egyptian cultural memory and do not make any reference to either the Jews or the biblical Exodus story.21 That said, the mention of Jerusalem as the home of the “shepherds” is likely to be the clue for the adaptation of the narrative and the identification of Moses with Osarsephos in Jewish tradition. This addition results in an identification of both the Hyksos shepherds and the leprous Egyptians with the people of Israel at the time of the Exodus––maybe with the verse in the Song of

Miriam in mind, which points to the Zion as the goal of the Exodus (Exod 15:17). While this identification may originally have been meant in a positive sense, Josephus vehemently rejects it, insisting—contra Manetho—that his ancestors are to be identified only with the Hyksos shepherds and not with the lepers and with Osarsephos, their leader (Gruen 1998: 63–64). To this purpose, he engages in a source-critical argument, pointing to the fact that according to Manetho himself, the narrative of the Hyksos shepherds is based upon reliable Egyptian sources, whereas the leper narrative comes from a popular anonymous tradition.22 In Josephus’ view, this popular tradition spread lies about the Jews.23 Thus, Josephus claims the Hyksos shepherds as his ancestors and makes two important points, using Manetho as his source. First, contrary to the claims of traditional ethnography and in contrast to Argos’ Danaids, the Jews did not originate in Egypt but came from outside; and second, their emigration occurred 393 years before Danaus migrated to Argos and nearly one thousand years before the Trojan War (C. Ap. 1.103–105). For these reasons, Josephus concludes, the Jews cannot be identified with the leprous Egyptians. In conclusion, it appears that in the case of Manetho, as that of Berossus, the references to biblical history do not belong to the original source but are, instead, additions of the epitomator.

Hecataeus With Hecataeus of Abdera, it seems that we are on safer ground. The ancient tradition attributes to him three works in which he referred to Jews and Judaism: the Aegyptiaca, a work titled κατ’ Ἄβραμον καὶ τοὺς Αἰγυπτίους and a further work called περὶ Ἰουδαίων. These attributions, however, are dubious (Willrich 1900: 86–95). Scholars agree that the writing titled On Abraham is not a work by Hecataeus.24 The patriarchs become a subject matter in pagan historiography only in the 1st century BCE, and as far as Clement of Alexandria allows us to know, the book appears to be a Jewish pamphlet advocating strict monotheism.25 Modern scholars usually assign the work titled On the Jews to a pseudo-Hecataeus too.26 According to Origen

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  271

(Contra Celsum 1.15), Herennius Philo (Philo of Babylon) already doubted the authenticity of this work—but the excerpt in Josephus is of no special interest for our present concern anyway. The text refers to a document that described the history of their settling of their land and of their constitution (C. Ap. 1.189).27 There are strong grounds for believing that we have here an allusion to the Torah of Moses, which was supposedly in the possession of the high priest Ezechias. The excerpt refers to the law of the Jews, praising their unconditional abidance with it and their uncompromising stand in cultic-religious matters. However, the passage does not contain any specific references to biblical history, but is used by Josephus as a source for events of the late 4th and early 3rd centuries BCE and for a certain image of Judaism that he projects in this period. Even though some scholars either hold this work as genuine or date it to the time of Hecataeus, it is far more likely to be a piece of Jewish propaganda of a later date—the late 2nd or 1st century BCE.28 Altogether, only the work Aegyptiaca remains. According to the majority of scholars, an excerpt preserved in Diodorus 40.3 (1st century BCE), and quoted by the Byzantine bishop Photius (9th century CE) originated in the Aegyptiaca.29 This fragment puts forward a legend on the origin of the people of Israel. It begins with foreigners being expelled from Egypt because of a plague sent by the gods. Among those forced to leave the country were Danaus and Cadmus, the ancestors of the Greeks, and Moses, the leader of the Jews. Moses leads his colony to the land later named Judea, founds the city of Jerusalem, builds a temple, issues laws and sets up political institutions. Moses divides the people into twelve tribes and introduces an aniconic monotheism and peculiar cult practices. In addition, he appoints priests and judges, as well as the high priest, who, as “God’s messenger,” governs the people on the basis of the law. Since the law comes directly from God, there is no need for a king alongside the high priest. Moreover, Moses sets up an army and wages war on his neighbors himself. The conquered land is distributed justly among the people and the priests. Finally, he regulates social relationships, ensures rapid population growth and introduces marriage and funeral rites that differ from those of other peoples. The excerpt ends with the comment that in later times,

under Persian and Macedonian rule, many of the traditional customs of the Jews were abandoned. This text is a loose summary of the biblical narrative of the Exodus and conquest of the land found in the Pentateuch—or rather, the Heptateuch, i.e., including Joshua and Judges—in which, as shown by numerous studies, Greek, Egyptian, biblical and Jewish-Hellenistic views are mixed.30 For instance, it is not difficult to identify the motif of Egyptian colonization familiar to Hellenistic ethnography, whereas the combination between the motif of expulsion from Egypt and the biblical Exodus under Moses recalls Manetho as quoted in Josephus. Finally, the constitution—at the head of which stands the high priest and not a king—seems to reflect a Persian and early Hellenistic context. Modern scholars have identified many biblical allusions, in particular to Deuteronomy and to the books of Ezra and Nehemiah (Mendels 1983; Heckl 2009b). In one case, Jewish law is even quoted literally, recalling various passages in Leviticus (26:46; 27:34) and Deuteronomy (1:1–5 or 28:69/29:1), even if the exact wording is found neither in the Hebrew nor in the Greek Pentateuch: “At the end of their laws there is even appended the statement: ‘These are the words that Moses heard from God and declares unto the Jews’” (Diodorus 40.3.6). In contrast to Berossus and Manetho, the references to biblical history in this case undoubtedly belong to the source excerpt and cannot be ascribed to the epitomator. Hence, the question that should concern us here is whether this excerpt genuinely belongs to the Aegyptiaca composed by Hecataeus of Abdera in the late 4th century BCE. Modern scholars answer almost unanimously in the affirmative, in a surprising, and ultimately dogmatic, manner.31 However, there are exceptions to the rule, and a closer look shows that, indeed, doubts are appropriate here.32 The scholarly consensus is based on four assumptions which build on one another, but which are all debatable when considered separately. The first issue is the delineation of the source excerpt and the question of whether or not the ascription to Hecataeus is found in Diodorus. Modern editions usually quote the text up to the comment that Jewish customs have been abandoned in the Persian and Hellenistic periods. For reasons of (alleged) historical plausibility, the possibility that this

272  reinhard g. kratz

final comment was written by Hecataeus is rejected, and it is instead attributed to Diodorus (Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 52; Bar-Kochva 1996: 20–21, 24; 2010: 102, n. 31). Most editions treat the sentence “Such is the account of Hecataeus of Abdera in regard to the Jews” (περὶ μὲν τῶν Ἰουδαίων Ἑκαταῖος ὁ Ἀβδηρίτης ταῦτα ἱστόρηκεν) as a concluding note by the epitomator Diodorus, not all of them marking a lacuna in between.33 However, this way of delineating the excerpt disregards the fact that Diodorus’ text is not handed down directly but through the excerpt of Photius (Henry 1971: 134–137). Both the edition of Photius and Jacoby’s edition of Diodorus start with Photius’ introduction or heading, saying: ἐκ τοῦ μʹ λόγου (“from the fortieth book [of Diodorus]”) περὶ τὸ μέσον—meaning either “about the middle,” “vers le milieu,” or “über/ungefähr das Mittlere”—and this heading is followed by the quote from Diodorus. This quote does not begin directly with the narrative on the origin (κτίσις) and customs (νόμιμα) of the Jewish nation (ἔθνος), but sets it within the broader historical context: Now that we are about to record the war against the Jews, we consider it appropriate to give first a summary account of the establishment of the nation, from its origins, and of the practices observed among them.34

It follows the story of the plague and the expulsion of the Jews from Egypt. The broader context within which the story is placed is Pompey’s war against the Jews in the 1st century (63 BCE), which is also dealt with in two further fragments from Book 40 of Diodorus, quoted in another Byzantine collection (Excerpta de sententiis). Following the quotation from Diodorus and the comment on the decline of Jewish customs through the Persian and Macedonian periods, Photius himself continues: “So he [i.e., Diodorus] says also here...” (οὕτως μὲν κἀνταῦθά φησι ...). In an afterword, Photius accuses Diodorus of spreading lies about Moses and Israel in Egypt, using the authority of Hecataeus of Miletus to this end: “For he [that is, Diodorus] adds: Such is the account of Hecataeus of Miletus in regard to the Jews” (ἐπάγει γάρ περὶ μὲν τῶν Ἰουδαίων Ἑκαταῖος ὁ Μιλήσιος ταῦτα ἱστόρηκεν). In sum, the statement that serves as the basis for the assumption that Diodorus draws on Hecataeus does not

belong in the excerpt from Diodorus, but in the comment of epitomator Photius, who puts the ascription to Hecataeus into the mouth of Diodorus. The excerpt of Diodorus itself does not mention its source at all. The second assumption underpinning the scholarly consensus that the excerpt paraphrasing biblical history was genuinely composed by Hecataeus of Abdera is a textual-critical emendation. As the passage cited above makes clear, Photius states that Diodorus drew from Hecataeus of Miletus, the 5th-century BCE historian, when writing his lies about the Jews. Since this can hardly be true for historical reasons—although some scholars have argued that Hecataeus of Miletus was knowledgeable of biblical history35—the majority of scholars concur with the conjecture in the Diodorus edition of P. Wesseling from 1746 and, without further ado, replace “the Milesian” (ὁ Μιλήσιος) with “the Abderite” (ὁ Ἀβδηρίτης).36 Whereas some scholars attribute this error to Diodorus, most ascribe it to Photius.37 However, in light of the polemical intention of Photius, this attribution was not necessarily a mistake. The choice to refer to Hecataeus’ older and more authoritative namesake may have been deliberate, aimed at stressing Diodorus’ hubris and lies. The third assumption underpinning the attribution of the fragment to Hecataeus of Abdera is a source-critical hypothesis that goes hand-in-hand with the text-critical emendation. Diodorus, in his first book dealing with Egypt (1.46.8), explicitly names as his source an historian named Hecataeus, who lived at the time of Ptolemy I— undoubtedly Hecataeus of Abdera. In a brilliant act of combination, starting from this passage and taking crossconnections of a philological, stylistic and thematic nature into account, E. Schwartz suggested that the Egyptian chapter in Diodorus’ first book (1.10–98) originated in Hecataeus’ Aegyptiaca, with only a few possible exceptions.38 This first book also has comments on the colonization of the Jews (1.28) and on Moses as law-giver (1.94), as well as some other points of agreement with the excerpt of Book 40. Therefore, Schwartz and others see these parallels as confirmation of their assumption that the fragment from Book 40 of Diodorus can also be ascribed to Hecataeus of Abdera. The same applies to a fragment from Diodorus’ Book 34, which is similarly transmitted by Photius and, like the fragment from Book 40, mentions the expulsion of the Jews from

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  273

Egypt because of a plague (Henry 1971: 132–134; Walton 1967: 52–55; Wirth 2008: 209–210, 476–480). Photius again comments on the excerpt from Diodorus and summarizes it once more in order to lead into the excerpt from Book 40, without, however, referring here to a source of Diodorus. This is not the place to comment on E. Schwartz’s source criticism in detail. Suffice it to note that the crossreferences to language and content pointed to by Schwartz may be explained in other ways than Hecataeus being Diodorus’ source. Furthermore, contrary to Schwartz’s assumption, Book 1 in Diodorus is far from being entirely based on Hecataeus.39 In Diodorus 1.28–29 (and in particular, 1.28.2–3), we find only topoi, such as the foundation story narrating the colonization of Judea by emigrants from Egypt, and the custom of circumcision.40 Neither Moses nor any other biblical figure are mentioned in this text. In contrast, Moses and the God Iao (Yahu), feature in the passage about law-givers in 1.94–95 (94.2), which, according to T. Nothers, comes not from Hecataeus, but from another, more recent, source.41 It follows that the attribution to Hecataeus of the fragment from Book 40 in the Diodorus-Photius excerpt rests on the combination of three cases of indirect evidence alone, but given the problems involved, this evidence is shaky. When it is claimed further that the chapter on the Jews in Diodorus 40 must have originally been placed somewhere in Hecataeus’ Aegyptiaca underpinning Diodorus’ first book, or was intended to be placed there and only later was put by Diodorus somewhere else, the source-critical combinations are carried to extremes (Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 47; Sterling 1992: 75–77; Bar-Kochva 2010: 109–115). The explanation overlooks the historical introduction to the fragment from Diodorus 40, which expressly situates the chapter on the Jews in the history of Pompey’s time—in the same way as the excerpt from Book 34 that refers to Jews appropriately falls in the time of “Antiochus” (that is, both VII Sidetes and his predecessor, Antiochus IV Epiphanes).42 The fourth assumption upon which the attribution of the fragment from Diodorus 40 to Hecataeus is based relates to Tendenzkritik. W. Jaeger’s interpretation of Diodorus’ chapter on the Jews in Book 40 should be mentioned in particular, since he not only uncovered the

philosophical background of the text, but also pointed out a more neutral or perhaps even positive attitude to Judaism within this text.43 In view of the polemic mood that prevailed in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE, it therefore seems plausible to date the chapter in Diodorus 40 to an earlier period, which would support the attribution to Hecataeus of Abdera. However, we should not overlook the clear polemic formulation in 40.3.4, according to which Jews had a “misanthropic and xenophobic way of life” (ἀπάνθρωπόν τινα καὶ μισόξενον βίον; cf. also 40.3.8) and is reminiscent of the formulations in Book 34.1.44 These clearly negative or at least distant comments, which refer to the separation of Jews from other peoples, fit well into the historical contexts of Antiochus (both VII and IV) and Pompey, the respective subjects of Books 34 and 40 of Diodorus. Whatever the source of Diodorus may be, the fragments from Books 34 and 40 are not in tune with the depiction of the Jews in Book 1.45 The fragments from Books 34 and 40 are, therefore, more likely to be attributed to Diodorus himself, writing in the 1st century, or some other sources of this age, rather than to Hecataeus in the late 4th century BCE. Their polemical overtones and location in the work of Diodorus (within the context of Seleucid and Roman history, respectively), and not least the similarity with the secondary biblical references in the work of Manetho, suggest that in Diodorus 34.1 and 40.3 we are dealing with a later (anti-biblical, Judean, or pagan) tradition. In both passages, the older ethnographical motif of the colonization of Palestine from Egypt is connected with the Hyksos motif and the expulsion from Egypt, as well as with a polemic slant against the Mosaic law, which reflects the ambivalent confrontation between Judaism and Hellenism in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE—a confrontation which was partly adaptation and partly isolation. We cannot state in precisely which literary context or work this tradition was handed down to Diodorus. D.R. Schwartz and R.E. Gmirkin suggest that Theophanes of Mytilene (himself dependent on various sources) was the source of Diodorus for the excursus on the Jews in Book 40.3.46 Their reasoning is attractive and should be considered seriously. At the very least, it is no less plausible than the attribution to Hecataeus of Abdera, which, in fact, rests on shaky grounds—except for its

274  reinhard g. kratz

being a broadly-shared scholarly consensus. It follows that it is “hard to believe” not only that the Milesian Hecataeus had “knowledge of the Torah” (thus Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 46), but that his namesake from Abdera also did.

Conclusion As shown in the above discussion, the references to biblical history in Berossus and Manetho appear only in the commentaries of the later epitomators, whereas in the case of the excerpt from Diodorus (40.3), the reference cannot be attributed with certainty to Hecataeus of Abdera. Consequently, we must abandon the view that these three historians are early witnesses for both the transmission and circulation of the Pentateuch among Jews and Greeks at the Persian–Hellenistic transition. The diffusion of the Pentateuch in the Greek world presumably began only with the translation of the Septuagint (probably) in the late 3rd century BCE (Rösel, this volume; Wright, this volume) and with the JewishHellenistic exegetes and historians who based themselves on this translation. The phenomenon reached its peak in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE. Whether the description of Judaism in the excerpt from pseudo-Hecataeus (On the Jews) or the brief

excursus on sacrifice in Theophrastus offer reliable information about Judaism in the 3rd century BCE needs to be tested in each case; this question must therefore remain open. It should be pointed out here that the information on Jewish history in the late 4th and the 3rd centuries BCE is not found in the historians of the 3rd century either, but only in the 2nd (Agatharchides of Cnidus on Ptolemy I and the fall of Jerusalem) and 1st centuries BCE (Letter of Aristeas on Ptolemy II; Polybius, Diodorus, Strabo, Pompeius Trogus, and others). Therefore, it comes as no real surprise that we cannot find with certainty any reference to biblical history in the historians of the late 4th and early 3rd centuries BCE— Berossus, Manetho, or Hecataeaus of Abdera. This conclusion bears far-reaching consequences, directing the study of Greek and Roman historians in a different direction. Instead of (solely) investigating whether the biblical references found in these authors are genuine and what their sources were, we should in the future (also) ask what literary strategies were pursued by authors like Diodorus, Josephus, Eusebius and Photius in designating this or that earlier author as their sources, and what significance should be attributed to these— actual or perceived—ascriptions. This issue, however, relates to the history of later times and will teach us nothing further about the 3rd century BCE.

NOTES 1. For an overview, see also Willrich 1895: 43–63; Gabba 1989; Bar-Kochva 2010. 2. Stern 1974–84: Nos. 10, 19–21, 22, 23, 29, 55, 57, 59, 62, 67, 73, 81, 100, 105, 112, 115, 119, 121, 123, 124, 125, 129, 137, 140, 146, 153, 155, 156, 176, 179–184, 185, 190, 192, 193–195, 203, 207, 214, 225, 227, 232, 233, 236, 237, 240, 243, 245, 567. 3. Stern 1974–84: Nos. 55–66 (Diodorus) and 98–124 (Strabo); see also Nos. 31–33, 34, 41, 42, 53, 68–71, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 83–97, 131–135, 136–139, 145, 147a and b, 149, 152, 197, 200, 202, 203–225, 226, 227–228, 232–237, 238–246, 249, 251, 255–272, 558, 562, 563, 567. See also Nos. 16, 24, 27, 38, 144, 198 and 199, as well as 54. 4. Stern 1974–84: No. 30a; for further references to the Sabbath, see Nos. 43, 88 (?), 126, 129, 141–143, 186, 188, 190, 195, 222, 229, 239, 247, 255, 256, 258, 260. 5. On circumcision and the Sabbath, see above, nn. 2 and 4, especially Stern 1974–84: Nos. 43, 81, 126, 129, 141–143, 186, 188, 190, 193–195, 238–246; on other religious customs and ideas, see Nos. 72–75, 86, 133–134, 173, 176, 188, 191, 193–195, 196, 252, 253, 254, 255–272 (esp. 258), 273–294 inter alia. On Nos. 11–12, see pp. 270–274.

6. Stern 1974–84: No. 28; for the role of the donkey, see Nos. 44, 48, 63, 170, 247, 258 (5:2), 259. For further polemics, see Nos. 44–45, 46–50, 147, 163–177 (Apion), Nos. 186–189 (Seneca), Nos. 193–195 (Petronius) and Nos. 273–294 (Tacitus). 7. Stern 1974–84: Nos. 11–12, 17, 20 and 21. 8. On Artapanus, see Walter 1975; 1976; Charlesworth 1985. On Menander of Ephesus, see Stern 1974–84: Nos. 35, 36, 37, 39, 51b, 84, 93. 9. Stern 1974–84: Nos. 40, 46, 47, 49, 51a, 52, 58, 63, 72d, 83, 85, 105, 115, 137, 148, 157a and b, 158–161, 163b, 163c, 164, 165, 178, 221, 230, 248, 251 (Sodom as in No. 115), 560a, 560b1 and 2, 560c, 565, 568, 569, 570a and b, 571. 10. Δέον δέ ἐστι καὶ ταῦθ’ ὑπάρχειν παρά σοι διηκριβωμένα, διὰ τὸ καὶ φιλοσοφωτέραν εἶναι καὶ ἀκέραιον τὴν νομοθεσίαν ταύτην, ὡς ἂν οὖσαν θείαν. Διὸ πόρρω γεγόνασιν οἵ τε συγγραφεῖς καὶ ποιηταὶ καὶ τὸ τῶν ἱστορικῶν πλῆθος τῆς ἐπιμνήσεως τῶν προειρημένων βιβλίων, καὶ τῶν κατ’ αὐτὰ πεπολιτευμένων [καὶ πολιτευομένων] ἀνδρῶν, διὰ τὸ ἁγνήν τινα καὶ σεμνὴν εἶναι τὴν ἐν αὐτοῖς θεωρίαν, ὥς φησιν Ἑκαταῖος ὁ Ἀβδηρίτης. The text used is that of Pelletier 1962; translation by R.J.H. Shutt in Charlesworth 1985: 15.

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  275 11. Albertz 2001; Grabbe 2001; Heckl 2009a; 2009b; for discussion, see Gmirkin 2006; 2014. 12. Reinach 1895: 34–38; Stern 1974–84: I, pp. 55–61; Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 364–395 (No. 680); Schnabel 1923; Burstein 1978. On Berossus, see Sterling 1992: 104–117; Haubold 2013; Haubold et al. 2013. 13. Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 387–388; Schnabel 1923: 270 (No. 47). 14. Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 405–406 (No. 685 F6); Schnabel 1923: 270–271 (No. 48); Burstein 1978: 27, No. 2b. 15. Stern 1974–84: No. 18; Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 391 (No. 680 F8b); Schnabel 1923: 273 (No. 51). 16. Reinach 1895: 20–34; Stern 1974–84: I, pp. 62–86; Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 5–112 (No. 609). On Manetho, see Sterling 1992: 117–135; Dillery 2013b. 17. For discussion, see Jacoby 1940–58: IIIC, 87–94; Gager 1972: 113–118; Stern 1974–84: I, pp. 63–64; Schürer 1973–86: III.1, 595–597; Sterling 1992: 119–123, 134–135; Pucci Ben Zeev 1993: 224–234; Gruen 1998: 55–65, esp. 56–57, n. 53; Gmirkin 2006: 170–91, 192–214. 18. For the use of different versions and sources, see Josephus, C. Ap. 1.83 (ἐν δ’ ἄλλῳ ἀντιγράφῳ, “in another copy”), and 1.91 (ἐν ἄλλῃ δέ τινι βίβλῳ τῶν Αἰγυπτιακῶν, “in another book of his Aigyptiaca”); Pucci Ben Zeev 1993: 226–229. 19. For this distinction, see already Josephus, C. Ap. 1.73, 1.105, and 1.228–229; see, further, Gruen 1998: 55–65; Davies 2001: 114–117. As noted above, the term Tendenzkritik means the identification of certain ideological intentions or purposes, and it is a methodological tool that has been used in (both biblical and classical) critical scholarship since the 19th century. 20. Stern 1974–84: I, pp. 73–74, 84; and Pucci Ben Zeev 1993: 232–233, referring to Hecataeus. Contra this view, see Gruen 1998: 56, 59. 21. Gabba 1989: 631–633; Gruen 1998: 60–61. For the Egyptian background of the traditions, see Dillery 2013b. 22. On the Hyksos narrative, see C. Ap. 1.104: “from Egyptian sources” (ἐκ τῶν παρ’ Αἰγυπτίοις γραμμάτων); see also 1.73 and 1.228–229. On the leper narrative, see C. Ap. 1.229: “the legends and current talk about the Jews” (τὰ μυθευόμενα καὶ λεγόμενα περὶ τῶν Ἰουδαίων); see also 1.105: “from anonymous legendary tales” (ἐκ τῶν ἀδεσπότως μυθολογουμένων). 23. C. Ap. 1.229: λόγους ἀπιθάνους, “improbable tales”; see also 1.105. 24. AJ 1.159; Clemens Alexandrinus, Stromata 5.14.113 (= Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 12.13: 40); see Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 22 (No. 264 F24) and 75; Walter 1976: 149–151, 158–160; Charlesworth 1985: 909, 912–913. For discussion, see Schürer 1973–86: III.1, 674–675; Siker 1987: 190, n. 5; Bar-Kochva 2010: 93–94. 25. See above, n. 9. For a different view, see Siker 1987: 189–190, 193–194. In my view, the witness of Berossus in Josephus’ AJ 1.158 is “doubtful” (thus Stern 1974–84: I, p. 55) and by no means constitutes evidence for an early mention of Abraham in Greek pagan literature. 26. C. Ap. 1.183–204, 1.214, 2.43; see Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 19–22 (No. 264 F21–23) and 61–75; Stern 1974–84: Nos. 12, 13; Walter 1976: 144–148, 154–157; Charlesworth 1985: 913–916. For discussion, see Lewy 1932; Schaller 1963; Gager 1969; 1972: 26–37; Gauger 1982; Schürer 1973–86: III.1, 674–675; Sterling 1992: 80–91; Pucci Ben Zeev 1993: 217–224; Bar-Kochva 1996; 2010: 91–93. 27. The text seems to be corrupt, as it reads: τήν τε διαφορὰν (conj. διφθέραν) ἀνέγνω πᾶσαν αὐτοῖς· εἶχεν γὰρ τὴν κατοίκησιν αὐτῶν καὶ τὴν πολιτείαν γεγραμμένην. For this conjecture, see Lewy 1932: 13, who also suggested a gap; for a proposal about how to fill this gap, see Bar-Kochva 1996: 46–47.

28. For the different views, see above, n. 26, esp. the table in Sterling 1992: 81–83. For the arguments in favor of its inauthenticity and of a late dating, see Bar-Kochva 1996. 29. Reinach 1895: 14–20; Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 13–15 (No. 264 F6) and 46–52; Stern 1974–84: No. 11; Walton 1967: 278–287; Wirth 2008: 294–296, 545–548. For the literature on this passage, see Bar-Kochva 2010: 91, n. 2. 30. Jaeger 1960; 1963: 134–153; Gager 1972: 31–37; Diamond 1980; Gruen 1998: 52–53; Bar-Kochva 1996: 29–35; 2010: 115–125; see also the notes of Stern 1974–84: I, pp. 29–35; Wirth 2008: 545–548. 31. See, for instance, Schürer 1973–86: III.1, 671; Sterling 1992: 75–78; Bar-Kochva 1996: 18–43; 2010: 90–135, esp. 105–109; Gruen 1998: 49–55; Grabbe 2008a; 2008b: 113, 120. 32. D.R. Schwartz (2003) as well as Gmirkin (2006: 34–71; 2014) ascribe the text in question—taking the context of Pompey’s war in Judaea in 63 BCE into consideration—to Theophanes of Mytilene, who is assumed to be the source of Diodorus in Book 40. Whereas Schwartz thinks that pseudo-Hecataeus is the source for the excursus on the Jews in Theophanes, Gmirkin suggests a genuine Hecataean foundation story and two other sources (Manetho, Posidonius) supplemented by Theophanes himself. However, both Schwartz and Gmirkin take the ascription of the fragment to Hecataeus (of Miletus or Abdera respectively) by Photius in his excerpt of Diodorus for granted. See also Lebram 1974, who suggests a Jewish forgery of Hasmonean times. 33. For the editions, see above, n. 29. See, for instance, Stern (1974–84: I, p. 29), who follows Walton (1967: 284–287), but omits the aforementioned lacuna: “But later, when they [sc. the Jews] became subject to foreign rule, as a result of their mingling with men of other nations (both under Persian rule and under that of the Macedonians, who overthrew the Persians), many of their traditional practices were disturbed. Such is the account of Hecataeus of Abdera in regard to the Jews.” The correct text edition is given by Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 15; English translation in Bar-Kochva 1996: 21; 2010: 99–105, here 102–103. 34. Ἡμεῖς δὲ μέλλοντες ἀναγράφειν τὸν πρὸς Ἰουδαίους πόλεμον, οἰκεῖον εἶναι διαλαμβάνομεν προδιελθεῖν ἐν κεφαλαίοις τήν τε τοῦ ἔθνους τούτου ἐξ ἀρχῆς κτίσιν καὶ τὰ παρ’ αὐτοῖς νόμιμα; translation from Walton 1967: 279, 281. 35. Dornseiff 1939. For a refutation of this view, see Bar-Kochva 2010: 105, n. 42. Bar-Kochva’s arguments are exclusively historical, and he does not take the possibility of a purposeful literary strategy (of Photius or his source) into account. 36. On this emendation, see Wesseling 1800–01: 378–379 followed by Dindorf 1828: 444, and the editions listed in n. 29 above: Reinach 1895: 20; Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 15, 46; Stern 1974–84: I, pp. 34–35; Walton 1967: 286–287; Wirth 2008: 547; also Henry 1971: 137. For the discussion, see Bar-Kochva 2010: 105–109. 37. Thus Wesseling and Dindorf (see above, n. 36). Bar-Kochva 2010: 105–106 suggests an error of the copyist, maybe Photius. Gmirkin (2014: 64) believes it was the error of Theopanes of Mytilene, the supposed source of Diodorus. 38. E. Schwartz 1885; 1903: esp. 670–671, 691. In addition, Bar-Kochva (2010: 108) sees connections in the genre (a narrative of origo and nomima; see Bar-Kochva 2010: 96, 103–104, etc.) and the way of argumentation (“causal explanations”); for further literature, see Bar-Kochva 2010: 95, n. 12. 39. See Evers 1882: 251; for discussion, see Gager 1972: 28–29; Sterling 1992: 61–64. 40. See also Diodorus 1.55.5 and references in n. 2 above.

276  reinhard g. kratz 41. E. Schwartz 1903: 670, 20–21: “der mit der Königsgeschichte nicht übereinstimmende Excursus über die ägyptischen Gesetzgeber (I 94. 95) hat sich bis jetzt auf keinen bestimmten Gewährsmann mit Sicherheit zurückführen lassen”; and Wirth, Veh and Nothers 1992: 305: “Nicht Hekataios, sondern eine spätere ägyptisch-nationalistische Quelle liegt zugrunde, wie die Differenzen zur vorangegangenen Königsgeschichte und die antimakedonische Tendenz zeigen.” For a different view, see Gager 1992: 30–31, who votes for a Hecatean origin of Diodorus 1.94 but argues exclusively with the fragment in question from Book 40.3.2; the argumentation is thus circular. The mentioning of the divine name Iao is, indeed, no argument for or against Hecateus. For the discussion, see also Stern 1974–84: I, p. 172. 42. Both D.R. Schwartz (2003) and Gmirkin (2006: 2014) rightly refer to the historical context of the fragment in question; see also Diodorus 40.2. For Diodorus’ historiographical concept, see Wirth 2007: 87–93. 43. Jaeger 1960; 1963. For discussion, see Willrich 1895: 48–51; 1900: 89; Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 49–52; Gager 1972; Wacholder 1974: 85–96; Diamond 1980; Gabba 1989; Sterling 1992; Gruen 1998; Bar-Kochva 1996; 2010; Davies 2001: 117–121; Gmirkin 2006; 2014. 44. The relevant formulations are: “since they alone of all nations avoided dealings with other people and looked upon all men as their enemies” (μόνους γὰρ ἁπάντων ἐθνῶν ἀκοινωνήτους εἶναι τῆς πρὸς ἄλλο ἔθνος ἐπιμιξίας καὶ πολεμίους ὑπολαμβάνειν πάντας); “hatred of mankind” (τὸ μῖσος τὸ πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους); “misanthropic and lawless customs” (τὰ μισάνθρωπα καὶ παράνομα ἔθη); “hatred directed against all mankind” (τὴν μισανθρωπίαν πάντων ἐθνῶν); “xenophobic laws” (τὰ μισόξενα νόμιμα). For Diodorus 34.1 scholarship usually suggests Posidonius as the source; see Stern 1974–84: I, p. 184; Wirth

2008: 476–477; Bar-Kochva 2010: 440–457. Against the tendency to play down such statements (see, for instance, Gabba 1989: 629) and to find an idealized depiction of Judaism in Diodorus 40.3 (Jaeger 1960; 1963), see the refutation of Jacoby 1940–58: IIA, 48–49; for a balanced interpretation between Jaeger and Jacoby, see Bar-Kochva 2010: 129–135, and 104 on the (slight) difference between misanthrôpos in Diodorus 34.1 and apanthrôpos in 40.3; also Diamond 1980: 85–87. 45. There are crucial differences between 40.3 (and 34.1) and the relevant passages in 1.28–29 (28.2–3) and 1.94–95 (94.2), which do not belong together and do not necessarily come from the same source (see above, n. 41). See Jacoby 1940–58: IIIA, 49–52; Gager 1972: 28–29: “The problem is to explain the differences.” The statement that the two narratives (i.e., 1.28 and 40.3) “fit nicely together” (Sterling 1992: 76–77) is puzzling. Evers (1882: 252–253) already noticed the differences and therefore—on the basis of the usual consensus concerning the Hecatean origin of 40.3—declared 1.28 and 1.55.4 secondary. Even the supposed “Hecatean” version of 40.3 reconstructed by Gmirkin (2014: 67–69) does not match with 1.28 and—contra Gmirkin 2006; 2014—of course knows and presupposes the biblical account. Rather, both the fragments in Books 34 and 40 look like a combination, expansion and exaggeration of the older foundation legend of 1.28 (ktisis) and the notion of Moses as lawgiver in 1.95 (nomima) in light of later polemics based on the Hyksos motif (Manetho) and the role of the Mosaic law in the struggles of the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE. 46. D.R. Schwartz 2003; Gmirkin 2006; 2014. Scholarship usually tends to identify the source of fragment 40.2 with Theophanes; see Stern 1974–84: I, p. 186.

REFERENCES Albertz, R. 2001. An End to the Confusion? Why the Old Testament Cannot Be a Hellenistic Book! In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 30–46. Bar-Kochva, B. 1996. Pseudo-Hecataeus on the Jews: Legitimizing the Jewish Diaspora. Berkeley. Bar-Kochva, B. 2010. The Image of the Jews in Greek Literature: The Hellenistic Period (Hellenistic Culture and Society 51). Berkeley. Burstein, S.M. 1978. The Babyloniaca of Berossus (Sources from the Ancient Near East 1, Fasc. 5). Malibu. Charlesworth, J.H. 1985. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2: Expansions of the “Old Testament” and Legends, Wisdom and Philosophical Literature, Prayers, Psalms, and Odes, Fragments of Lost Judeo-Hellenistic Works. Garden City, NY. Davies, P.R. 2001. Judaeans in Egypt: Hebrew and Greek Stories. In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 108–128.

Diamond, F.H. 1980. Hecataeus of Abdera and the Mosaic Constitution. In: Burstein, S.M. and Okin, L.A., eds. Panhellenica: Essays in Ancient History and Historiography in Honor of Truesdell S. Brown. Lawrence, KS: 77–95. Dillery, J. 2013a. Berossos’ Narrative of Nabopolassar and Nebuchadnezzar II from Josephus. In: Haubold, J., Lanfranchi, G.B., Rolinger, R. and Steele, J., eds. The World of Berossos: Proceedings of the 4th International Colloquium on “The Ancient Near East between Classical and Ancient Oriental Traditions,” Hatfield College, Durham 7th–9th July 2010. Wiesbaden: 76–96. Dillery, J. 2013b. Manetho. In: Whitmarsh, T. and Thomson, S., eds. The Romance between Greece and the East. Cambridge, U.K.: 38–58. Dindorf, L. 1828. Diodori Bibliotheca Historica, 5. Annotationes Interpretum ad L. XV–XX. et Fragmenta L. VI–X. et XXI– XL. Leipzig. Dornseiff, F. 1939. Echtheitsfragen Antik-Griechischer Literatur: Rettungen des Theognis, Phokylides, Hekataios, Choirilos. Berlin. Evers, E. 1882. Ein Beitrag zur Untersuchung der Quellenbenutzung bei Diodor. In: Festschrift zu dem Fünfzigjährigen Jubiläum der Königstädtischen Realschule zu Berlin. Berlin: 241–92.

greek historians on jews and judaism in the 3rd century bce  277 Gabba, E. 1989. The Growth of Anti-Judaism or the Greek Attitude towards the Jews. In: Davies, W.D. and Finkelstein, L., eds. The Cambridge History of Judaism, 2: The Hellenistic Age. Cambridge, U.K.: 614–656. Gager, J.G. 1969. Pseudo-Hecataeus Again. Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 60: 130–139. Gager, J.G. 1972. Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism (Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series 16). Nashville. Gauger, J.-D. 1982. Zitate in der jüdischen Apologetik und die Authentizität der Hekataios—Passagen bei Flavios Josephus und im Ps. Aristeas-Brief. Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 13: 6–46. Gmirkin, R.E. 2006. Berossus and Genesis, Manetho and Exodus: Hellenistic Histories and the Date of the Pentateuch (Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 433). New York and London. Gmirkin, R.E. 2014. Greek Evidence for the Hebrew Bible. In: Thompson, T.L. and Wajdenbaum, P., eds. The Bible and Hellenism: Greek Influence on Jewish and Early Christian Literature (Copenhagen International Seminar). Durham: 56–88. Grabbe, L.L. 2001. Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period. In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 129–155. Grabbe, L.L. 2008a. Hecataeus of Abdera and the Jewish Law: The Question of Authenticity. In: Kottsieper, I., Schmitt, R. and Wöhrle, J., eds. Berührungspunkte: Studien zur Sozialund Religionsgeschichte Israels und seiner Umwelt: Festschrift für Rainer Albertz zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 350). Münster: 613–626. Grabbe, L.L. 2008b. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 BCE) (The Library of Second Temple Studies 68). New York. Gruen, E.S. 1998. Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition. Berkeley. Haubold, J. 2013. Berossus. In: Whitmarsh, T. and Thomson, S., eds. The Romance between Greece and the East. Cambridge, U.K.: 105–116. Haubold, J., Lanfranchi, G.B., Rolinger, R. and Steele, J., eds. 2013. The World of Berossos: Proceedings of the 4th International Colloquium on “The Ancient Near East between Classical and Ancient Oriental Traditions,” Hatfield College, Durham 7th–9th July 2010. Wiesbaden. Heckl, R. 2009a. Esra als Hohepriester und die Verkündigung der Tora im Lichte einer Notiz bei Hekataios von Abdera. Leqach 9: 71–78. Heckl, R. 2009b. Wann ist mit dem Abschluss des Pentateuchs zu rechnen? Zur Bedeutung von Hekataios von Abdera für die Literargeschichte Israels. Die Welt des Orients 39: 184–204.

Henry, R. 1971. Photius Bibliothèque Tome VI (“Codices” 242–245). Paris. Jacoby, F. 1940–58. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Fragments of Greek Historians), Part III. Leiden. Jaeger, W. 1960. Greeks and Jews. In: Scripta Monora II. Rome: 169–183. Jaeger, W. 1963. Diokles von Karystos: Die griechische Medizin und die Schule des Aristoteles (2nd ed.). Berlin. Lebram, J.C. 1974. Der Idealstaat der Juden. In: Betz, O., Haacker, K. and Hengel, M., eds. Josephus-Studien: Untersuchungen zu Josephus, dem antiken Judentum und dem Neuen Testament. Otto Michel zum 70. Geburtstag gewidmet. Göttingen: 233–253. Lewy, H. 1932. Hekataios von Abdera περὶ Ἰουδαίων. Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 31: 117–132. Mendels, D. 1983. Hecataeus of Abdera and a Jewish “patrios politeia” of the Persian Period (Diodorus Siculus XL, 3). Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 95: 96–110. Mosshammer, A.A. 1984. Georgii Syncelli Ecloga chronographica. Leipzig. Niese, B. 1887–89. Flavii Iosephii Opera (7 vols.; reprint of first edition, 1955). Berlin. Oldfather, C.H. et al. 1960. Diodorus of Sicily, I (Books I and II, 1–34; The Loeb Classical Library). London and Cambridge, MA. Pelletier, A. 1962. Lettre d’Aristée à Philocrate: Introduction, Texte critique, traduction et notes, index complet des mots grecs. Paris. Pucci Ben Zeev, M. 1993. The Reliability of Josephus Flavius: The Case of Hecataeus’ and Manetho’s Accounts of Jews and Judaism: Fifteen Years of Contemporary Research (1974– 1990). Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Period 24: 215–234. Reinach, T. 1895. Textes d’Auteurs Grecs et Romains Relatifs au Judaïsme. Paris (reprinted Hildesheim, 1963). Schaller, B. 1963. Hekataios von Abdera über die Juden: Zur Frage der Echtheit und der Datierung. Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 54: 15–31. Schnabel, P. 1923. Berossos und die Babylonisch-Hellenistische Literatur. Leipzig (reprinted Hildesheim, 1968). Schürer, E. 1973–86. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135) (rev. ed. by Vermes G. et al.). Edinburgh. Schwartz, D.R. 2003. Diodorus Siculus 40.3: Hecataeus or PseudoHectaeus? In: Mor, M., Oppenheimer, A., Pastor, J. and Schwartz, D.R., eds. Jews and Gentiles in the Holy Land in the Days of the Second Temple, the Mishnah and the Talmud. A Collection of Articles. Jerusalem: 181–197. Schwartz, E. 1885. Hekataios von Teos. Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 40: 223–262.

278  reinhard g. kratz Schwartz, E. 1903. Diodorus [38] von Agyrion. In: Wissowa, G., ed. Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, V.1 (Neunter Halbband). Stuttgart: Cols. 663–704. Siker, J.S. 1987. Abraham in Greco-Roman Paganism. Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Period 18: 188–208. Sterling, G.E. 1992. Historiography and Self-Definition: Josephos, Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography (Novum Testamentum Supplement Series 64). Leiden. Stern, M. 1974–84. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism. 1: From Herodotus to Plutarch (1974); 2: From Tacitus to Simplicius (1980); 3: Appendixes and Indexes (1984). Jerusalem. Thackeray, H. St. John 1926–65. Josephus (10 vols., The Loeb Classical Library). Cambridge, MA. Wacholder, B.Z. 1974. Eupolemus: A Study of Judaeo-Greek Literature (Monographs of the Hebrew Union College 3). Cincinnati. Walter, N. 1975. Fragmente jüdisch-hellenistischer Exegeten: Aristobulos, Demetrios, Aristeas. In: Kümmel, W.G. et al., eds. Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit III: Unterweisung in lehrhafter Form. Gütersloh: 257–296. Walter, N. 1976. Fragmente jüdisch-hellenistischer Historiker. In: Lichtenberger, H., Kümmel, W.G., Habicht, C., Kaiser, O.,

Plöger, O, Schreiner, J., eds. Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit I: Historische und legendarische Erzählungen. Gütersloh: 89–163. Walton, F.R. 1967. Diodorus of Sicily. Vol. XII (Fragments of Books XXIII–XL; The Loeb Classical Library). London and Cambridge, MA. Wesseling, P. 1800–01. Diodori Siculi Bibliothecae historicae libri qui supersunt, nova editio, 10: Biponti: Ex typographica Societatis. Willrich, H. 1895. Juden und Griechen vor der makkabäischen Erhebung. Göttingen. Willrich, H. 1900. Judaica: Forschungen zur hellenistischjüdischen Geschichte und Litteratur. Göttingen. Wirth, G. 2007. Katastrophe und Zukunftskoffnung: Mutmaßungen zur zweiten Hälfte von Diodors Bibliothek und ihren verlorenen Büchern (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Philosophisch-Historische Klasse Sitzungsberichte 750). Vienna. Wirth, G. 2008. Diodoros Griechische Weltgeschichte Fragmente (Buch XXI–XL) (Bibliothek der Griechischen Literatur 67–68). Stuttgart. Wirth, G., Veh, O. and Nothers, T. 1992. Diodoros Griechische Weltgeschichte Buch I–X (Bibliothek der Griechischen Literatur 34). Stuttgart.

19 How to Identify a Ptolemaic Period Text in the Hebrew Bible Konrad Schmid

The Hebrew Bible: A Hellenistic Book? For some scholars, the answer to the title question of this contribution would not be difficult: the Hebrew Bible is to be dated, to a large extent, to the Hellenistic period, that is, the 3rd or 2nd century BCE, as argued by N.P. Lemche from Copenhagen some 20 years ago (Lemche 1993). Lemche, however, seemed to think of his approach as quite an innocent idea at that time. In 2011, he wrote: “My idea behind the original lecture from 1992 was simply to see what happened if I proposed a Hellenistic date of the Old Testament” (Lemche 2011: 76). The answer to this question is that it was a bold proposal that generated some discussion, but Lemche hastened to clarify: [B]y proposing the Old Testament as a Hellenistic book I did certainly not exclude the inclusion of themes and traditions which had nothing to do with hellenization but had their origins in the ancient oriental world, being it Palestine, Mesopotamia and Syria, or Egypt. We must distinguish between the final form of a piece of ancient literature and the elements, motives, themes, and narratives included in this literature. (Lemche 2011: 84)

Nevertheless, his sympathy is certainly with the Hellenistic period as the main era of the production of biblical literature. As he states: There are two important pillars in support of the argument: 1. We have no physical external evidence of any part of the Old Testament in existence from before the second century BCE. 2. We have from a historical and sociological point of view no evidence of a society in Palestine before the Hellenistic period able to produce a literature like the one found in the Old Testament. (Lemche 2011: 76)1

As pointed out by R. Albertz, however, these two pillars constitute a very shaky basis for the argument: … having read the article [Lemche 1993], the reader is confused and disappointed. He has not heard any single positive argument for the thesis that the bulk of Old Testament literature actually originated in the Hellenistic period. What is pointed out is only the assumption that the Hellenistic period provides the

282  konrad schmid better chance for literary activity than the Persian, because of its general cultural uprise. (Albertz 2001: 30)

Nor did various arguments proposed by others along the lines of Lemche’s argument convince the scholarly community. Two examples are T. Bolin’s conclusion that late biblical texts like Nehemiah 9 presuppose little in the way of a written Bible and that the findings of Elephantine do not include any biblical texts at all. Therefore, Bolin argues, the bulk of the Bible is later than these texts: Very little of the HB, either in content or composition, is to be found in any historical era earlier than the Persian Period. What I have attempted to demonstrate is that the Persian Period is not the place to look for the writing of the biblical texts. Rather, the bible [sic] itself points us to the beginning of the Hellenistic period for that process. (Bolin 1996: 14–15)

Bolin’s proposal has not won the day either. The literature of the Hebrew Bible is just too complex and the evaluation of the scribal culture of ancient Israel by Lemche and others just too simple to devote more criticism to it than it has already received from Albertz, Barstad and others who pointed out these and further weaknesses. Nevertheless, there is, of course, some truth to Lemche’s and Bolin’s approach. As noted by Barstad: It remains a fact, however, that not a few other biblical texts have also been dated, with varying success, to “the Hellenistic era”. Texts in question are: Isaiah 24–27, Isaiah 65–66, Joel, Jonah, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah 9–14, Malachi, Psalms, Job, Proverbs 1–9, Ruth, Song of Songs, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, Esther, Ezra and Nehemiah, and Chronicles. (Barstad 2008: 46)

Of course, most of these dates are contested. Some, however, are quite well accepted. A balanced approach to the literature of the period—biblical and parabiblical (these are, of course, anachronistic categories for the Hellenistic era)—is provided by E. Haag’s monograph on that era (2003).2 He distinguishes three categories of texts that he assigns to the Hellenistic period, a time-span he conceives of as running from the 4th to the 1st century BCE, covering the time of the Diadochi and the Ptolemaic,

Seleucid and Roman Republican periods. His categories are as follows: 1.

“Proto-canonical” (“protokanonisch”): Qoheleth, Esther, Daniel (Haag 2003: 112–142);

2. “Deuterocanonical” (“deuterokanonisch”): 1 and 2 Maccabees, Judith, Tobit, Baruch, Letter of Jeremiah, Ben Sira, Wisdom of Solomon, Additions to Esther and Daniel, Prayer of Azariah, Song of the Three Young Men, Susanna, and Bel and the Dragon (Haag 2003: 142–221); 3. “The completing of earlier biblical literature” (“Der Abschluss älterer biblischer Literatur”) (Haag 2003: 221–226): Genesis 14, 22, Zechariah 14, Malachi 2–3, Jeremiah 33; Isaiah 23, Ezekiel 10, Psalms 1–2, 146–150, and others. The most problematic category is, of course, the third one, since different methodologies and presuppositions about the formation of biblical literature come into play here. It is probably a consequence of these difficulties that this section of Haag’s book is the shortest one: it consists of only five pages. Nevertheless, he points in the right direction with his suggestions. Regarding the possible identification of biblical texts from the Hellenistic period, the following points may be maintained. First, there are hardly any texts in the Torah that should be dated to this period. Haag mentions Genesis 14 and 22, following his colleague R. Brandtscheidt (University of Trier) who proposed Hellenistic dates for these two chapters (Brandscheidt 2009). While it is true that Genesis 14 and 22 are not generally counted among the earliest texts in Genesis (Ziemer 2005; Schmid 2004; Veijola 2007), Brandtscheidt’s late date is poorly supported and has not found many followers so far. The best candidate for a Hellenistic date in the Pentateuch seems to be the small “apocalypse” in Numbers 24:14–24, which mentions the victory of the ships of the kttym over Ashur and Eber in v. 24. This seems to allude to the battles between Alexander and the Persians, as suggested by various scholars (e.g., Rouillard 1985: 467; Crüsemann 1992: 403; Schmitt 1994: 185). Another set of post-Persian text elements might be the specific numbers in the genealogies of Genesis 5 and 11. These numbers build the overall

how to identify a ptolemaic period text in the hebrew bible  283

chronology of the Pentateuch and differ significantly in the various versions (Hendel 2012). But these are just minor elements. The substance of the Pentateuch seems to be pre-Hellenistic, as we shall see later on. Second, Haag mentions several proposals for dating prophetic texts to the Hellenistic period, e.g., Zechariah 14, Malachi 2–3, Jeremiah 33, Isaiah 23 and Ezekiel 10.3 This is indeed possible. A contribution by L.-S. Tiemeyer on the same subject comes to the opposite conclusion, arguing that none of the allegedly Hellenistic texts from the prophetic corpus can be dated to that period (2011: 279): “In conclusion, this article has demonstrated that there are few persuasive reasons for dating any of the above discussed prophetic material to the Hellenistic period. … We thus lack conclusive evidence for dating any of the discussed prophetic texts to the Hellenistic period.” As will become sufficiently clear from the subsequent section of this paper, I disagree strongly with this position. There are some very prominent texts in the prophetic literature that can be dated to the 3rd century BCE, although it is not possible to claim a hard notion of “conclusive evidence” for such a proposal.4 This, however, is also true for any earlier dating of the texts in question. Finally, there are a certain number of Hellenistic texts, even books, within the later corpus of the Ketuvim: especially the book of Qoheleth, some portions of Job (Mende 1990), and various texts in the book of Psalms (cf., e.g., Psalms 1–2, 146–150; see Zenger 2012: 447). Qoheleth is not very disputed, although scholars like C.-L. Seow would place the book in the Persian period (Seow 1996). The book of Psalms is of course more difficult, and this is the case with Chronicles too.5 In terms of methodology, some colleagues in the field of biblical studies deny altogether the possibility of dating texts on the basis of their ideological profile: In this article I make a very simple point concerning the dating of texts. It is odd that one needs to make this point; yet it does need to be made, because it pertains to a practice that is as common within biblical studies as it is specious. Scholars in our field frequently support a speculative dating of a text by asserting that, since the text’s ideas match a particular time period especially well, the text was most likely composed then. ... According to this approach, a scholar ascertains the

themes of a passage, then thinks about when that theme would be relevant, crucial, or meaningful to ancient Israelites, then dates the text to that time-period. It should be immediately clear that this method of dating holds no validity whatsoever. … (Sommer 2011: 85)

It is important to point out that Sommer’s article includes several rhetorical flourishes: “no validity whatsoever” is a harsh statement. Of course there are abuses of the argument described by Sommer. But this does not preclude the overall possibility of dating texts based on their congruency with developments in the intellectual history of ancient Israel, which nowadays are not only based on reconstructions from the Bible itself (see, in this respect, Lemche 2001). In what follows, three ways to identify Ptolemaic texts in the Hebrew Bible are presented. None of them are conclusive in the sense that no arguments whatsoever to the contrary would be possible, but all are, in my opinion, probable to the extent that any other date seems to be less likely for the texts. First, a Ptolemaic date may be proposed for Hebrew texts that are missing from the earliest Greek translations (especially in Jeremiah). An example of such a text is Jeremiah 33:14–26. Second, texts alluding to Alexander the Great or transferring tales about Alexander to biblical heroes may be named here. Examples for this approach include Zechariah 9:9–10 and 2 Samuel 23:13–17. Third, texts that presuppose the fall of the Persian empire and interpret it as a cosmic judgment may be discussed here as well. This category will be illustrated by Isaiah 34:2–4 and Jeremiah 45:4–5.

Hebrew Texts Missing from the Earliest Greek Translations The first category of arguably Ptolemaic biblical texts are Hebrew texts that are missing from the earliest Greek translations (Stipp 1994). The best example may be Jeremiah 33:14–26 (Karrer-Grube 2009; Goldman 1992). These verses form the longest addition—consisting of no fewer than 185 words—in the Hebrew version of the book of Jeremiah. The Masoretic text of Jeremiah is altogether some 3,000 words shorter than its Greek version (which otherwise is quite literal). The fact that

284  konrad schmid

this passage is missing from the Greek makes it very likely that Jeremiah 33:14–26 entered the Hebrew text only after the Greek translation had been completed. This means that the section cannot be older than the 3rd century BCE (Schmid 2011). Additional support for such a date is adduced from the scribal nature of this text. Jeremiah 33:14–16 reinterprets Jeremiah 23:5–6, and the subsequent verses contain extensive textual borrowings (translations are adapted from the NRSV): Jeremiah 23:5–6:

Jeremiah 33:14–16:

(5) The days are surely coming, says YHWH,

(14) The days are surely coming, says YHWH, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah.

when I will raise up for David a righteous branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.

(15) In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.

(6) In his days Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety. And this is the name by which he will be called: “YHWH is our righteousness.”

(16) In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which she will be called: “YHWH is our righteousness.”

At first glance, Jeremiah 33:14–16 appears to be a repetition of Jeremiah 23:5–6, and in fact the two texts overlap over long stretches. However, despite its affinity to Jeremiah 23:5–6, Jeremiah 33:14–16 has a very specific theological intention that becomes clear from the addition “when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah” (v. 14). In Jeremiah 23:5 the days that are surely coming pertain to the raising of a righteous branch for David. In Jeremiah 33:14 they concern the fulfilment of God’s promise to Israel and Judah. Only once this promise is fulfilled will the righteous branch for David arise. What is the promise mentioned in Jeremiah 33:14? The wording haddābār haṭṭôb clearly points back to

Jeremiah 29:10, where this “promise” (dĕbārî haṭṭôb) is made explicit: “For thus says YHWH: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise [LXX: my words] and bring you back to this place.” Thus Jeremiah 33:14–16 reinterprets Jeremiah 23:5–6 in order to highlight the point that the coming of the messiah presupposes the return from the diaspora. The promised branch for David will only come later on, at a time when Israel lives united in its land. Another interpretive element in Jeremiah 33:14–16 appears in the fact that the messiah is not conceived as a person. Instead—apparently adopting motifs from Isaiah 60–61—Zion itself is assigned messianic dignity. The future title “YHWH is our righteousness” is clearly assigned in Jeremiah 33:16 to a feminine entity. The reference is clearly to the city of Jerusalem, which is named immediately before this and conceptualized as a woman. Jeremiah 33:14–26 can best be explained as a revision of Jeremiah 23:5–6, which was probably an exilic prophecy that apparently went unfulfilled for centuries. In the 3rd century, the editors of the Jeremiah tradition added Jeremiah 33:14–26 in order to provide an explanation for this delay. Their answer was that the promise of a branch for David is still valid, but first, the diaspora needs to return to the land. Given the specific situation of textual evidence, we can quite confidently date this redactional perspective to the Ptolemaic period.

Texts Alluding to Alexander the Great or Transferring Tales about Alexander to Biblical Heroes Of course, Alexander is never named in the Hebrew Bible. Nevertheless, there are some texts that either allude to him or rework traditions originally linked to him. In this section, I discuss some examples that have been identified by some scholars as presupposing Alexander’s rise and campaigns to the East, although there is no overall consensus about these interpretations. The David narratives contain a short passage in 2 Samuel 23:13–17 that apparently retells an event

how to identify a ptolemaic period text in the hebrew bible  285

ascribed by Arrian (6.26.1–3) to Alexander the Great. Both R. Gnuse and H.-P. Mathys analyzed the parallels between these texts in great detail, and despite the fact that Arrian composed his Anabasis in the 2nd century CE, it is very likely that the tradition about Alexander he reworks was already known to the biblical authors of 2 Samuel 23:13–17 (Gnuse 1998; Mathys 2002). Gnuse and Mathys convincingly show that the story of 2 Samuel 23:13–17 reapplies to David an account that was related to Alexander: Three of the thirty chiefs6 marched down at harvest time and joined David in the stronghold7 of Adullam, a clan of Philistines having encamped in the valley of Rephaim. David was then in the stronghold; and there was a Philistines outpost in Bethlehem. David felt a yearning and said, “O, for a drink of water from the well in the gate of Bethlehem!” So the three warriors infiltrated the camp of the Philistines, drew water from the well of Bethlehem which was in the gate, and brought it to David. But he refused to drink of it; pouring it out to YHWH, he said, “I’ll be damned, YHWH, if I’ll do this. Shall I drink the blood of the men who went?8 For they brought it at the risk of their lives.” Therefore he refused to drink it. The three warriors did these things.

The insertion of this episode into 2 Samuel shows that the Hebrew Bible intends to depict David as no less magnanimous than Alexander. The underlying motivation—the competition between Greek and Judean culture—probably influenced the shape of the tragic tradition about Jephthah’s daughter (Judg 11:29–40) somewhat earlier as well. Both texts show that Israel had its tragedies, just as Greece did (Römer 1998; Bauks 2010). Probably best known among the texts in the Hebrew Bible associated with Alexander is Zechariah 9:1–8 and 9:9–10 (cf. Willi-Plein 2012; Ego 2014: 19–24). It apparently reflects on Alexander’s campaign, which progressed as far as Gaza after the fall of Tyre in 332 BCE, as K. Elliger in particular argued in a seminal article almost 70 years ago (Elliger 1950). Zechariah 9:13 even explicitly names the “sons of Yawan” (the “Ionians,” i.e., the Greeks). The historical-theological perspective of Zechariah 9 is striking. It appears that this chapter welcomes the actions of Alexander the Great—to the

extent that he puts an end to the foreign rule of the Persians. However, Alexander is not celebrated as a new ruler. Instead, Zechariah 9:9–10—clearly adapting Isaiah 40:1–2, 11:1–5 and Psalms 72:8—proposes the idea of a Davidic messiah ruling over a wide-ranging dominion (corresponding to Israel’s diaspora existence). Nevertheless, through his modest appearance he is basically depicted as an anti-Alexander: Exult greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Behold, your9 king is coming to you; righteous and saved is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. I10 will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the horse from Jerusalem; and the bow of war will be cut off. He will promise peace to the nations; his dominion will be from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth. (Zech 9:9–10)

This humble depiction of the messiah may be explained, on the one hand, by the use of traditional materials from older promises concerning rulers in the Hebrew Bible, which almost without exception emphasize the subordination of the expected saving king to the power of God. On the other hand, it is influenced by the overdrawn religious claims of Alexander’s kingship and those of his 3rd-century successors, especially the Ptolemies. There are other instances in the prophetic literature in which Alexander’s campaigns are presupposed, although not in any explicit way. First and foremost, the allusions to Alexander in the historical allegories in Daniel 8:1–8 and 11:2–4 should be mentioned (cf. Ego 2014: 24–28). In addition, M. Saur has convincingly argued that Ezekiel 26:7–14 was reworked in order to incorporate Alexander’s siege of Tyre in a pre-existing oracle against this city. The military details in particular cannot be reconciled with the Neo-Babylonian siege of Tyre. “Nebuchadnezzar” in 26:7 is apparently a cipher for Alexander (Saur 2008: 167–172; Ego 2014: 34). In addition, the book of Esther also seems to include an episode (Esther 3:1–5) that adapts the so-called Callisthenes episode (Arrian 4.10–12). Mordechai resists bowing (cf. krʿ and hštḥwh in 3:2) to Haman, which implies strong criticism of the ruler cult that became especially virulent in and after the time of Alexander (cf. Ego 2010a; 2010b; 2014: 34–36).

286  konrad schmid

Texts that Presuppose the Fall of the Persian Empire and Interpret It as Cosmic Judgment Several texts in the prophetic corpus refer to a universal cosmic judgment (Isa 34:2–4, 63:1–6, Jer 25:27–31, 45:4– 5, Joel 4:12–16, Mic 7:12–13, Obad 15–21, Zeph 3:8). It is broadly accepted among modern scholars that this notion does not belong to the original message of the historical prophets, but instead, is the result of later reinterpretation. For instance, in Isaiah, the concept of a cosmic judgment is found in several sections (Isa 34:2–4, 63:1–6), which contrast with announcements of a judgment against Israel and Aram (8:1–4) and against Judah (8:5–8). Nothing indicates that these specific judgments belong to something like an overall cosmic judgment. Rather, it seems that the message of the historical prophets was originally limited in scope and that their prophecy of doom broadened into the notion of a cosmic judgment only later. However, although this concept of a cosmic judgment is quite prominent in the prophetic literature, it is not very well researched.11 There is no scholarly consensus on how to date these passages. Collins, for instance, writes: “All of these passages were probably composed with specific crises in mind. Since we no longer know the historical circumstances, however, the oracles take on the character of general eschatological predictions that evoke an expectation of the end of history, which may or may not be imminent” (Collins 2000: 131). To summarize his position: we do not know how to date these texts. At the other end of the spectrum, O.H. Steck argues for a specific, concrete, setting for these texts and interprets this concept as a response to the collapse of the 200-year world rule of the Persians (Steck 1991: 80–83). Obviously, it is impossible here to offer a simple solution to this problem. For some of the texts mentioned above, Steck indeed seems to be right, and it is best to date them in the early Ptolemaic period. Some passages, however, should probably be dated differently. For instance, two texts containing the notion of a worldwide judgment seem to antedate the downfall of the Persian empire. The first of these is Haggai 2:20–23, the famous prophecy about Zerubbabel:

The word of YHWH came a second time to Haggai on the twenty-fourth day of the month: Speak to Zerubbabel, governor of Judah, saying, I am about to shake the heavens and the earth, and to overthrow the throne [LXX: “thrones”] of kingdoms; I am about to destroy the strength of the kingdoms [LXX: “kings”] of the nations, and overthrow the chariots and their riders; and the horses and their riders shall fall, every one by the sword of a brother.12 On that day, word of YHWH Sabaoth, I will take you, Zerubbabel, son of Shealtiel, my servant, says YHWH, and make you like a signet ring; for I have chosen you, word of YHWH Sabaoth.

The most important evidence for dating this text to a time close to the historical figure of Zerubbabel himself is twofold. First, this prophecy is very specific, especially in its explicit mention of Zerubbabel, and given the latter’s probable failure, it is not very likely that he would have been ascribed such a prominent role in later times. Second, the book of Haggai itself attests to a delay or even non-fulfilment of that expectation. Haggai 2:6–7 states: For thus said YHWH Sabaoth: Once again, in a little while,13 I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all the nations, so that the treasure of all nations shall come, and I will fill this house with splendor, says YHWH Sabaoth.

“In a little while” seems to react to the non-fulfilment of the announcement of the imminent prophecy of Haggai 2:20–23 (“I am about to shake the heavens and the earth”). Therefore, Haggai 2:6–7 is another piece of evidence that Haggai 2:20–23 is not a late composition (Hallaschka 2011; see also Leuenberger 2012). The second example is Jeremiah 50:46 (cf. Fischer 2005: 592): At the sound of the capture of Babylon the earth shall tremble, and her cry shall be heard among the nations.

There is some cosmic activity involved here, but there are good reasons to believe that the oracle against Babylon in Jeremiah 50–51 predates the Persian conquest of Babylon. Jeremiah 50–51 expects the complete destruction of the city, which did not come true. Quite to the contrary, Babylon was chosen as one of the residencies of the Persian king, and therefore texts like Jeremiah 50–51— and also Isaiah 13—are most likely exilic compositions.

how to identify a ptolemaic period text in the hebrew bible  287

It seems that the topic of cosmic judgment had its origins in the prophetic literature of the exilic period. There are also some earlier hints at God’s universal dominion of the nations in the traditions of the First Temple attested in Psalms 48 and Isaiah 17—the historical background of these texts might be the siege and deliverance of Jerusalem in 701 BCE (Hartenstein 2011). That said, it remains that a post-Alexander dating seems to be the most appropriate for most of the texts speaking of a cosmic judgment against all nations in the prophetic books. There are several reasons for this conclusion. If one limits the perspective to Isaiah and Jeremiah, it may be observed that the idea of an all-encompassing cosmic judgment of the world was developed by means of the continuation (Fortschreibung) of existing texts on judgment (of the nations). A particularly clear hint at this process of continuation is offered in Isaiah 34:2–4, when the passage is considered in its context (34:1, 5–6) (see, esp., Steck 1985: 52–54; Beuken 2010: 300–327): Isa 34:1: Approach, you nations, to hear; you peoples, give heed! Let the earth hear, and all that fills it; the world, and all that comes from it. Isa 34:2–4: YHWH is enraged against all the nations, and his fury is directed against all their hosts; he has doomed them and destined them for slaughter. Their slain shall be cast out, and the stench of their corpses will rise; the mountains shall melt with their blood. All the host of heaven will rot,14 and the skies will be rolled up like a scroll. All its hosts will wither like the leaf withering on a vine, like the fruit withering on a fig tree. Isa 34:5–6: When my sword is sated in the heavens, behold, it will descend upon Edom, upon the people I have doomed to judgment. YHWH has a sword; it is covered with blood, it is gorged with fat, with the blood of lambs and goats, with the fat of the kidneys of rams. For YHWH has a sacrifice in Bozrah, a great slaughtering in the land of Edom.

Isa 34:1, 5–6 speaks of God’s judgment in Edom, to which all the peoples are summoned as witnesses. In vv. 2–4, the same nations have a very different role—of the ones being judged. In addition, in v. 5 the heavens seem still to be a stable entity, while in vv. 2–4 they are rolled up “like a scroll.”

The most plausible way to explain these differences is to recognize vv. 2–4 as a reinterpretation of an earlier stratum of Isaiah 34 in vv. 1, 5–6. The earlier portions of Isaiah 34 speak of God’s judgment against Edom in Bozrah, whereas the later portions reinterpret this judgment as a judgment against all nations. The location in Edom in the final text is somehow odd—why should all nations be judged in Edom? However, this feature of the text can be explained by its specific literary history: Isaiah 34 in its present shape developed out of an oracle against Edom. This concept of a judgment against all nations in Edom appears again in Isaiah 63:1–6, but this text too can only be understood with Isaiah 34 in mind. The book of Jeremiah also contains various statements about the judgment of the world that are clearly secondary expansions of existing texts. For instance, the notion of a judgment of “all flesh” is explicitly anchored in the two verses immediately preceding the complex of sayings on the foreign nations in Jeremiah 46–51, which is thereby reinterpreted as predicting a world judgment (cf. Schmid 1996: 319–323): Thus you [i.e., Jeremiah] shall say to him: Thus says YHWH: I am going to break down what I have built, and pluck up what I have planted—that is, the whole earth.15 And you, do you seek great things for yourself? Do not seek them; for I am going to bring disaster upon all flesh, says YHWH; but I will give you your life as a prize of war in every place to which you may go. (Jer 45:4–5)

The same process occurs in the addition to the cup oracle in Jeremiah 25, which also assumes a judgment of various nations. From v. 27 onward, however, it is interpreted as a “world judgment” (Schmid 1996: 305–307): Then you shall say to them: Thus says YHWH Zebaot, the God of Israel: Drink, and get drunk and vomit! Fall and rise no more, because of the sword that I am sending among you. And if they refuse to accept the cup from your hand to drink, then you shall say to them: Thus says YHWH Zebaot: You will drink! See, I am beginning to bring disaster on the city that is called by my name, and how can you possibly avoid punishment? You shall not go unpunished, for I am summoning a sword against all the inhabitants of the earth, says YHWH Zebaot. You, therefore, shall prophesy against

288  konrad schmid them all these words, and say to them: YHWH will roar from on high, and from his holy habitation utter his voice; he will roar mightily against his fold, and shout, like those who tread grapes, against all the inhabitants of the earth. The clamor will resound to the ends of the earth, for YHWH has an indictment against the nations; he is entering into judgment with all flesh, and the guilty he will put to the sword, says YHWH. (Jer 25:27–31)

These texts in Isaiah (34:2–4) and Jeremiah (45:4–5, 25:27–31) share two peculiarities. First, they presuppose earlier texts—whereas the expansions in Isaiah 34 only rely on the surrounding verses. In Jeremiah 45, the basis for an extension of the prophecy is provided by the whole complex of oracles against the nations. Second, they seem to universalize these earlier texts into a cosmic judgment. The proposal of dating the notion of a cosmic judgment to the early Ptolemaic period primarily hinges on their specifically congruent responses to the historical experience of the fall of the Persian empire. But there is another text complex in Isaiah—Isaiah 24–27—which, in conceptual terms, is very close to Isaiah 34:2–4 and whose relative date can be established with respect to the so-called Priestly texts in the Pentateuch (BosshardNepustil 2005). That Isaiah 24–27 is related to Isaiah 34:2–4 is particularly clear in Isaiah 24:4–6: The earth dries up and withers away, the world languishes and withers away; the high ones of the people on earth are languished.16 And the earth lies polluted under its inhabitants; for they have transgressed laws, violated the statutes, broken the eternal covenant. Therefore a curse devoured the earth, and its inhabitants had to suffer for their guilt; therefore the inhabitants of the earth dwindled, and few people are left.

The eternal covenant that has been broken by humanity according to Isaiah 24:5 can scarcely be any other than the one with Noah in Genesis 9,17 because the Hebrew Bible is unaware of any other covenant with humankind as a whole. The link with Genesis 9 is also supported by the theme of blood guilt, which plays an important role in the context of Isaiah 24–27. Thus, quite at odds with anything imaginable in the Priestly Document, Isaiah 24:4–6 states that the Noachic covenant can also be broken. Consequently, according to Isaiah 24–27, the

world order envisioned by the Priestly Document as irrevocable can also be overturned. Likewise, in reference to Genesis 6–9, Isaiah 26:20–21 assumes that Israel, like Noah before it, will be rescued from the approaching judgment of the world (Beuken 2007: 385–387): Go, my people, enter your chambers, and shut your doors behind you; hide yourselves for a little while until the wrath is past. For YHWH comes out from his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity; and the earth will disclose the blood shed on it, and will no longer cover its slain.

Thus, we can establish with certainty a post-Priestly date for Isaiah 24, which would be in accordance with placing this text in the Ptolemaic period. A final supporting argument may be found in the emergence of the apocalyptic movement, which can be safely dated to the 3rd century thanks to external evidence—texts from the Enochic literature were found in Cave 4 at Qumran, and their manuscripts can be dated around 200 BCE (Stegemann 1989: 495–509). The topic of cosmic judgment plays a major role in apocalyptic literature, and our dating of one of the most important attestations of this theme in the early Ptolemaic period— if it is accepted—could provide a very good explanation for the beginnings of that movement (cf. Koch 1982). Both the theme of cosmic judgment in the prophetic books and its further development in the apocalyptic literature should be interpreted within the broader framework of the crisis of theocratic concepts in the Hebrew Bible that responded to the fall of the Persian empire. Texts like the Priestly Document and the books of Chronicles apparently interpreted the political situation in the Persian period as something like the end of history: Israel could live its autonomous cultic life in a peaceful world under a stable rule. That was the way God meant the world to be (de Pury 2007). With the downfall of the Persian empire, this kind of orthodoxy was proven to be fundamentally wrong. The Persian world order was destroyed, and the ancient world was embroiled in the turmoil of Alexander’s wars and the wars of his successors. The Torah, as basically a pre-Hellenistic document (Römer 2014), maintains the image of a stable world within the context of an everlasting creation that includes

how to identify a ptolemaic period text in the hebrew bible  289

the present heaven and earth. This theocratic perspective on the world reflects the time of the Persian empire. In contrast, the prophetic texts reckon with the transience of the world and a cosmic judgment—including the destruction of heaven and earth. They obviously reflect historical experiences different from the ones underpinning the Torah—apparently also including the events of the 3rd century.

Conclusion One of the most important methodological elements in historical research on the Hebrew Bible is the differentiation between the world of the narrative and the world of its narrators. Although not a single book or text

of the Hebrew plays out in the Ptolemaic period, there are good reasons to assume that some of its texts originate from that time, although they display an earlier period. This paper suggests in a selective, not exhaustive, manner three ways to identify biblical texts from the Ptolemaic period by different means that include observations regarding their textual transmission (differences between MT and LXX), specific historical backgrounds (allusions to Alexander the Great) and specific intellectual historical developments (the notion of a cosmic judgment). This does not make the Hebrew Bible a Hellenistic book, but it shows that its literary growth at least extended into the Ptolemaic period. Some scholars also reckon with Hasmonean texts in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Steins 1995; Oeming 2000: 31–34; Finkelstein 2011; 2012; Knauf 2013: 564), but this is a subject for another article.

NOTES 1. See also Lemche 2011: 83: “There is no doubt that history writing became popular in the Middle East following the Greek conquest. Manetho, Berossus, and other authors testify to the importance of referring to the past because of the present situation, although it should not be forgotten that the purpose of such histories was to preserve the oriental past in such a way that it recommended itself to the new Greek and Macedonian masters.” 2. A translation of his book into English is being prepared and will be published by the Society of Biblical Literature. 3. He is referring to Steck 1991; Schmid 1996; Bosshard-Nepustil 1997; Pohlmann 1996; 2001. 4. See also Gonzalez, this volume. 5. Cf., e.g., the proposal for a Maccabean dating offered by Steins 1995; see also Finkelstein 2011; 2012. 6. For the translation “three of the thirty chiefs,” see the text-critical discussion in McCarter 1984: 490; Stoebe 1994: 500: rʾš is probably a gloss. 7. For mṣdt “stronghold” instead of mʿrt “cave,” see McCarter 1984: 491; for a different opinion, cf. Stoebe 1994: 500.

8. Cf. the text critical discussion of that verse in McCarter 1984: 491; and Stoebe 1994: 500–501. 9. I.e., Jerusalem (feminine-possessive suffix). 10. See the text-critical discussion regarding the 1st person in Meyers and Meyers 1993: 132. 11. Lutz 1968; Steck 1991; Müller 1994; van der Horst 1994; Collins 2000; Grabbe and Haak 2003; Gärtner 2006. See, in more detail, Schmid 2016. 12. See the discussion adding a verb (ywkkw) in Rudolph 1976: 52–53. 13. LXX even omits “in a little while”, cf. Rudolph 1976: 41. 14. For the variant in 1QIsaa, see Blenkinsopp 2000: 449. 15. ʾrṣ, “land”/“earth,” is, of course, ambiguous here. 16. For this translation, see discussion in Beuken 2007: 317–318; cf. Blenkinsopp 2000: 350. 17. Beuken 2007: 323 opines that a variety of “covenants” are alluded to here.

REFERENCES Albertz, R. 2001. An End to the Confusion? Why the Old Testament Cannot Be a Hellenistic Book! In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 30–46. Barstad, H.M. 2008. History and the Hebrew Bible. Studies in Ancient Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 61). Tübingen.

Bauks, M. 2010. Jephtas Tochter: Traditions-, religions- und rezeptionsgeschichtliche Studien zu Richter 11,29–40 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 71). Tübingen. Beuken, W.A.M. 2007. Jesaja 13–27 (Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament). Freiburg. Beuken, W.A.M. 2010. Jesaja 28–39 (Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament). Freiburg.

290  konrad schmid Blenkinsopp, J. 2000. Isaiah 1–39. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible 19). New York. Bolin, T.M. 1996. When the End Is the Beginning: The Persian Period and the Origins of the Biblical Tradition. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 10: 3–15. Bosshard-Nepustil, E. 1997. Rezeptionen von Jesaia 1–39 im Zwölfprophetenbuch: Untersuchungen zur literarischen Verbindung von Prophetenbüchern in babylonischer und persischer Zeit (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 154). Freiburg and Göttingen. Bosshard-Nepustil, E. 2005. Vor uns die Sintflut: Studien zu Text, Kontexten und Rezeption der Fluterzählung Genesis 6–9 (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 165). Stuttgart. Brandscheidt, R. 2009. Abraham: Glaubenswanderschaft und Opfergang des von Gott Erwählten. Würzburg. Collins, J.J. 2000. From Prophecy to Apocalypticism: The Expectation of the End. In: Collins, J.J., ed. The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, 1: The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity. New York: 129–161. Crüsemann, F. 1992. Die Tora: Theologie und Socialgeschichte des Alttestamentlichen Gesetzes. Munich. Ego, B. 2010a. The Book of Esther—A Hellenistic Book. Journal of Ancient Judaism, 1: 279–302. Ego, B. 2010b. Die Geschichtskonzeption des Esterbuches als Paradigma historischer Sinnkonstruktion in der Spätzeit des Alten Testaments. In: Mommer, P. and Scherer, A., eds. Geschichte Israels und deuteronomistisches Geschichtsdenken. Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Winfried Thiel (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 380). Münster: 85–105. Ego, B. 2014. Alexander der Groẞe in der alttestamentlichen Überlieferung—eine Spurensuche und ihre theologischen Implikationen. In: Maier, C.M., ed. Congress Volume Munich 2013 (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 163). Leiden: 18–39. Elliger, K. 1950. Ein Zeugnis aus der jüdischen Gemeinde im Alexanderjahr 332 v. Chr. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 62: 63–114. Finkelstein, I. 2011. Rehoboam’s Fortified Cities (II Chr 11,5–12): A Hasmonean Reality? Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 123: 92–107. Finkelstein, I. 2012. The Historical Reality behind the Genealogical Lists in 1 Chronicles. Journal of Biblical Literature 131: 65–83. Fischer, G. 2005. Jeremia 26–52 (Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament). Freiburg. Gärtner, J. 2006. Jesaja 66 und Sacharja 14 als Summe der Prophetie: Eine traditions- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum Abschluss des Jesaja- und

Zwölfprophetenbuchs (Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 114). Neukirchen-Vluyn. Gnuse, R. 1998. Spilt Water—Tales of David (2 Sam 23,13–17) and Alexander (Arrian, anabasis of Alexander 6.26.1–3). Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 12: 233–248. Goldman, Y. 1992. Prophétie et royauté au retour de l’exil: Les origines littéraires de la forme massorétique du livre de Jérémie (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 118). Fribourg and Göttingen. Grabbe, L.L. and Haak, R.D. 2003. Knowing the End from the Beginning: The Prophetic, the Apocalyptic and Their Relationships (Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series 46). London and New York. Haag, E. 2003. Das hellenistische Zeitalter: Israel und die Bibel im 4. bis 1. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Biblische Enzyklopädie 9). Stuttgart. Hallaschka, M. 2011. Haggai und Sacharja 1–8: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 411). Berlin. Hartenstein, F. 2011. “Wehe, ein Tosen vieler Völker...” (Jesaja 17,12): Beobachtungen zur Entstehung der Zionstradition vor dem Hintergrund des judäisch-assyrischen Kulturkontakts. In: Hartenstein, F., ed. Das Archiv des verborgenen Gottes. Studien zur Unheilsprophetie Jesajas und zur Zionstheologie der Psalmen in assyrischer Zeit (Biblisch-Theologische Studien 74). Neukirchen-Vluyn: 127–174. Hendel, R.S. 2012. A Hasmonean Edition of MT Genesis? The Implications of the Editions of the Chronology in Genesis 5. Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 1: 448–464. van der Horst, P.W. 1994. “The elements will be dissolved with fire”: The Idea of Cosmic Conflagration in Hellenism, Ancient Judaism, and Early Christianity. In: van der Horst, P.W., ed. Hellenism, Judaism, Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 8). Kampen: 227–251. Karrer-Grube, C. 2009. Von der Rezeption zur Redaktion. Eine intertextuelle Analyse von Jeremia 33,14–26. In: KarrerGrube, C., Krispenz, J., Krüger, T., Rose, C. and Schellenberg, A., eds. Sprachen—Bilder—Klänge: Dimensionen der Theologie im Alten Testament und in seinem Umfeld. Festschrift für Rüdiger Bartelmus zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 359). Münster: 105–121. Knauf, E.A. 2013. Psalm lx and Psalm cviii. In: Knauf, E.A. Data and Debates. Essays in the History and Culture of Israel and Its Neighbors in Antiquity (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 407). Münster: 557–565. Koch, K. 1982. Einleitung. In: Koch, K. and Schmidt, J.M., eds. Apokalyptik (Wege der Forschung 365). Darmstadt: 1–29 (reprinted in Koch, K. 1996. Vor der Wende der Zeiten:

how to identify a ptolemaic period text in the hebrew bible  291 Beiträge zur apokalyptischen Literatur [Gesammelte Aufsätze 3]. Neukirchen-Vluyn: 109–133). Lemche, N.P. 1993. The Old Testament—A Hellenistic Book? Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 7: 163–193 (revised in: Grabbe, L.L., ed. 2001. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period [Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317]. Sheffield: 287–318). Lemche, N.P. 2001. How Does One Date an Expression of Mental History? The Old Testament and Hellenism. In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 200–224. Lemche, N.P. 2011. Does the Idea of the Old Testament as a Hellenistic Book Prevent Source Criticism of the Pentateuch? Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 25: 75–92. Leuenberger, M. 2012. Time and Situational Reference in the Book of Haggai: On Religious- and Theological-Historical Contextualizations of Redactional Processes. In: Albertz, R., Nogalski, J.D. and Wöhrle, J., eds. Perspectives on the Formation of the Book of the Twelve: Methodological Foundations, Redactional Processes, Historical Insights (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 433). Berlin: 157–169. Lutz, H.-M. 1968. Jahwe, Jerusalem und die Völker: Zur Vorgeschichte von Sach 12, 1–8 und 14, 1–5 (Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 27). Neukirchen-Vluyn. Mathys, H.-P. 2002. Das Alte Testament—Ein hellenistisches Buch. In: Hübner, U. and Knauf, E.A., eds. Kein Land für sich allein: Studien zum Kulturkontakt in Kanaan, Israel/ Palästina und Ebirnâri für M. Weippert zum 65. Geburtstag (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 186). Göttingen: 278–293. McCarter, P.K. 1984. II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible 9). New York. Mende, T. 1990. Durch Leiden zur Vollendung: Die Elihureden im Buch Ijob (Ijob 32–37) (Trierer theologische Studien 49). Trier. Meyers, C.L. and Meyers, E.M. 1993. Zechariah 9–14: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible 25C). New York. Müller, K. 1994. Gott als Richter und die Erscheinungsweisen seiner Gerichte in den Schriften des Frühjudentums. In: Klauck, H.-J., ed. Weltgericht und Weltvollendung. Zukunftsbilder im Neuen Testament. Freiburg, Basel and Vienna: 23–53. Oeming, M. 2000. Das Buch der Psalmen. Psalm 1–41 (Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar. Altes Testament 13/1). Stuttgart.

Pohlmann, K.-F. 1996. Das Buch des Propheten Hesekiel (Ezechiel), 1. Kapitel 1–19 (Altes Testament Deutsch 22.1). Göttingen. Pohlmann, K.-F. 2001. Das Buch des Propheten Hesekiel (Ezechiel), 2. Kapitel 20–48 (Altes Testament Deutsch 22.2). Göttingen. de Pury, A. 2007. Pg as the Absolute Beginning. In: Römer, T. and Schmid, K., eds. Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 203). Leuven: 99–128 (reprinted in de Pury, A. 2010. Die Patriarchen und die Priesterschrift: Les Patriarches et le document sacerdotal. Gesammelte Studien zu seinem 70. Geburtstag: Recueil d’articles, à l’occasion de son 70e anniversaire [Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments 99]. Zurich: 13–42). Römer, T. 1998. Why Would the Deuteronomists Tell about the Sacrifice of Jephthah’s Daughter? Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 77: 27–38. Römer, T. 2014. Der Pentateuch. In: Dietrich, W., Mathys, H.-P., Römer, T. and Smend, R., eds. Die Entstehung des Alten Testaments (Theologische Wissenschaft 1). Stuttgart: 53–166. Rouillard, H. 1985. La péricope de Balaam (Nombres 22–24) (Études bibliques n.s. 4). Paris. Rudolph, W. 1976. Haggai—Sacharja 1–8—Sacharja 9–14— Maleachi (Kommentar zum Alten Testament XIII/4). Gütersloh. Saur, M. 2008. Tyros im Spiegel des Ezechielbuches. In: Witte, M. and Diehl, J., eds. Israeliten und Phönizier: Ihre Beziehungen im Spiegel der Archäologie und der Literatur des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 235). Fribourg and Göttingen: 165–189. Schmid, K. 1996. Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 72). Neukirchen-Vluyn. Schmid, K. 2004. Die Rückgabe der Verheißungsgabe. Der “heilsgeschichtliche” Sinn von Genesis 22 im Horizont innerbiblischer Exegese. In: Witte, M., ed. Gott und Mensch im Dialog, Festschrift Otto Kaiser (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 345.‌I). Berlin: 271–300. Schmid, K. 2011. Die Verheißung eines kommenden Davididen und die Heimkehr der Diaspora: Die innerbiblische Aktualisierung von Jer 23,5f in Jer 33,14–26. In: Schmid, K., ed. Schriftgelehrte Traditionsliteratur: Fallstudien zur innerbiblischen Schriftauslegung im Alten Testament (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 77). Tübingen: 207–221. Schmid, K. 2016. Das kosmische Weltgericht in den Prophetenbüchern und seine historischen Kontexte. In:

292  konrad schmid Jenni, H., ed. Nächstenliebe und Gottesfurcht: Beiträge aus alttestamentlicher, semitistischer und altorientalischer Wissenschaft für Hans-Peter Mathys zum 65. Geburtstag (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 439). Münster: 409–434. Schmitt, H.-C. 1994. Der heidnische Mantiker als eschatologischer Jahweprophet: Zum Verständnis Bileams in der Endgestalt von Num 22–24. In: Kottsieper, I. et al., eds. “Wer ist wie du, Herr, unter den Göttern?”: Studien zur Theologie und Religionsgeschichte Israels, für Otto Kaiser zum 70. Geburtstag. Göttingen: 180–198. Seow, C.-L. 1996. Linguistic Evidence and the Dating of Qohelet. Journal of Biblical Literature 115: 643–666. Sommer, B.D. 2011. Dating Pentateuchal Texts and the Perils of Pseudo-Historicism. In: Dozeman, T.B., Schmid, K. and Schwartz, B.J., eds. The Pentateuch. International Perspectives on Current Research (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 78). Tübingen: 85–108. Steck, O.H. 1985. Bereitete Heimkehr: Jesaja 35 als redaktionelle Brücke zwischen dem Ersten und dem Zweiten Jesaja (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 121). Stuttgart. Steck, O.H. 1991. Der Abschluss der Prophetie (BiblischTheologische Studien 17). Neukirchen-Vluyn. Stegemann, H. 1989. Die Bedeutung der Qumranfunde für die Erforschung der Apokalyptik. In: Hellholm, D., ed. Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East (2nd ed.). Tübingen: 495–530. Steins, G. 1995. Die Chronik als kanonisches Abschlußphänomen: Studien zur Entstehung und Theologie von 1/2 Chronik (Bonner biblische Beiträge 93). Weinheim.

Stipp, H.-J. 1994. Das masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches:Textgeschichtlicher Rang, Eigenarten, Triebkräfte (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 136). Freiburg and Göttingen. Stoebe, H.J. 1994. Das zweite Buch Samuelis (Kommentar zum Alten Testament 8/2). Gütersloh. Tiemeyer, L.-S. 2011. Will the Prophetic Texts from the Hellenistic Period Stand Up, Please! In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. Judah Between East and West (Library of Second Temple Studies 75). London: 255–279. Veijola, T. 2007. Das Opfer des Abraham: Paradigma des Glaubens aus dem nachexilischen Zeitalter. In: Dietrich, W. and Marttila, M., eds. Offenbarung und Anfechtung: Hermeneutisch-theologische Studien zum Alten Testament (Biblisch-Theologische Studien 89). Neukirchen-Vluyn: 88–133. Willi-Plein, I. 2012. Prophetie und Weltgeschichte. Zur Einbettung von Sach 9,1–8 in die Geschichte Israels. In: Willi-Plein, I., ed. Davidshaus und Prophetie: Studien zu den Nebiim (Biblisch-Theologische Studien 127). NeukirchenVluyn: 243–262. Zenger, E. 2012. Einleitung in das Alte Testament (8th ed.; Studienbücher Theologie 1.1). Stuttgart. Ziemer, B. 2005. Abram—Abraham: Kompositionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Genesis 14, 15 und 17 (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 350). Berlin.

20 No Prophetic Texts from the Hellenistic Period? Methodological, Philological and Historical Observations on the Writing of Prophecy in Early Hellenistic Judea Hervé Gonzalez

Introduction The extent of Judean literary activity in the early Hellenistic period and its impact on the formation of the Hebrew Bible is a much debated issue in biblical scholarship, especially with regard to the Latter Prophets. Biblical scholars continue to debate the dating of prophetic texts, in particular the possibility that certain passages are from the Hellenistic period. Units such as Isaiah 24–27 and Zechariah 9–14 have traditionally been dated to that period, and many scholars continue to advocate such a dating.1 A growing number of voices, however, object to the possibility that such late texts are to be found in the prophetic corpus (see Tiemeyer 2011 and several studies discussed below), with many scholars now believing that prophetic texts were composed only until the Persian period at the latest, with the prophetic corpus being closed at some point before the Hellenistic era.

Central to this debate is the observation that no prophet of the Hebrew Bible is presented as living in Hellenistic times. Some prophetic texts, especially Zech 13:2–6 and Mal 3:22–24, even seem to suggest that Yhwh stopped sending his prophets after Zechariah and Malachi, a notion well attested by later Jewish sources (e.g., 1 Macc 9:27; t. Soṭah 13.4; b. Soṭah 48b; b. Sanh. 11a; b. Yoma 9b; cf. somewhat differently, C. Ap. 1.38–42).2 Furthermore, contrary to some Persian kings (Cyrus in Isa 44:28, 45:1; Darius in Hag 1:1,15, 2:10 and in Zech 1:1,7, 7:1), no Hellenistic king is explicitly mentioned in oracles of the prophetic literature. This observation is especially pertinent given the strong interest of these books in international politics, as is evident in the numerous oracles that concern the fate—generally portrayed negatively—of other nations surrounding Judea, especially the most powerful ones, such as Egypt,

I am grateful to Christophe Nihan, Sylvie Honigman, and Jan Rückl for several helpful discussions that improved the ideas found here; Sylvie Honigman, Stephen Germany and Tsipi Kuper-Blau also helped improve the English. I am much indebted to Oded Lipschits for hosting me at the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University for a year, so that I could investigate the sociopolitical context of Ptolemaic Judea. Finally, I am very grateful to Julia Rhyder, whose many comments on previous versions significantly improved this paper. Responsibility for the ideas presented here, as well as for any remaining infelicities, is my own.

294  hervé gonzalez

Assyria and Babylon (e.g., Moore 2006: 30–32). Nevertheless, the absence of explicit references to the Hellenistic period does not necessarily indicate a pre-Hellenistic setting for all prophetic passages. We may observe, for instance, that books like Enoch or Daniel claim to have a pre-Hellenistic origin, but scholars generally recognize that they developed during the Hellenistic period. These books also carefully avoid naming any Hellenistic king, even in texts such as the Animal Apocalypse in Enoch and Daniel 11, which refer to specific events of Hellenistic times. Thus, the possibility that a similar tendency, albeit on a greater scale, was also at work when the latest texts of the prophetic corpus were composed cannot be ruled out. Building on the work of scholars in various fields, the present essay offers methodological, philological and historical observations on the dating of prophetic texts, with a view to questioning the notion that the prophetic corpus was closed in the Persian period. Paying close attention to manuscript evidence, the first section of the essay points to the well-attested evidence that the texts of prophetic books were still fluid in the Hellenistic period as being difficult to reconcile with this notion. A failure to take this period into account overlooks the overwhelmingly scribal nature of these texts visible in the ancient manuscripts and consequently, prevents us from fully appreciating the function of the prophetic collection. Indeed, scholars who advocate a pre-Hellenistic closure of the corpus usually also conceive of the prophetic books as being mainly composed by great individual figures and their disciples, figures whose words were recorded and transmitted with few revisions. However, once we recognize that these materials were reworked during the Persian and early Hellenistic periods, it becomes far more likely that the prophetic collection as it now stands is the product of thorough scribal rewriting of earlier traditions that served purposes other than simply to record the prophetic oracles associated with a particular figure. This is not to deny that the prophetic books contain very ancient oracles, but rather to emphasize that these oracles were heavily reworked in later times in the process of the creation of a prophetic collection. This literary enterprise constructed a specific memory of pre-Hellenistic Israel in which history was guided and accompanied by Yhwh through his prophets;

as such, Israel’s past could be narrated and interpreted theologically through the lens of a divine prophetic revelation (cf. C. Ap. 1.38–42). In order to appreciate these scribal rewritings, it is necessary to address two important features of late prophetic texts, to be discussed in the second and third sections of this essay, respectively: their marked tendency toward conservatism and their references to Hellenistic times through esoteric allusions rather than direct references. The second section will argue that in their attempt to maintain strong continuity with previous prophetic traditions and to avoid direct references to Hellenistic times, the scribes maintain the appearance of these materials as ancient pieces of literature. Although this concern for the apparent antiquity of prophetic texts has earlier roots, it fits well within the cultural environment of the Near East in the early Hellenistic period, when different ethnic groups sought to emphasize the antiquity of their history and traditions. The third section of the essay will argue that certain prophetic texts, despite their deeply conservative nature, nevertheless betray their concern to offer a theological interpretation of Hellenistic times in particular. One prominent case is Zechariah 9–14. As I will show, although Hellenistic rule is nowhere explicitly mentioned in this text, the picture of dystopian times it offers is best interpreted as a critical reflection on the Hellenistic period. My conclusion will stress that both the ancient manuscript evidence and the content of some prophetic texts, such as Zechariah 9–14, suggest that biblical scholarship would greatly benefit from a greater focus on the socio-historical processes taking place in Judea during the early Hellenistic period in order to improve our understanding of the formation and the ancient function of prophetic literature.

Ancient Manuscript Evidence and the Textual Fluidity of Prophetic Books in the Hellenistic Period A major flaw in the model positing the closure of the prophetic corpus in the Persian period is the clear-cut distinction it assumes between the composition and the transmission of the prophetic books. According to this model, the prophetic books were completed in the Persian

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  295

period and were subsequently transmitted faithfully (or so) throughout the Second Temple period. Such an assumption is highly problematic in light of the ancient textual witnesses, which document a much more complex picture. This evidence is crucial when we discuss textual history during the Hellenistic period, especially as some of these witnesses date from that period (Ulrich 2012). Its significance, however, is often overlooked by scholars who argue that the prophetic books were completed in Persian times. This is clear in a recent essay by L.-S. Tiemeyer (2011), who defends a dating of the corpus to no later than the Persian period. Based on a survey of several prophetic texts traditionally assigned to the Hellenistic period (Isa 18–23, 24–27, 56–66; Ezek 7, 28; Zech 9–14), Tiemeyer evaluates three main criteria used to support a Hellenistic dating: 1) linguistic features, such as the presence of late elements in the text’s language and/or Greek loanwords; 2) the affinity between eschatological elements found in these texts and in the apocalyptic literature of Hellenistic times; and 3) historical allusions to events, individuals and places from the Hellenistic period. Tiemeyer argues that none of these criteria is sufficiently reliable to substantiate a Hellenistic dating of these texts, and consequently, that there is no reason to assume that prophetic literature was composed later than the Persian period. Although Tiemeyer raises pertinent methodological issues, her general argument is weakened by the fact that it rests exclusively on negative conclusions. Despite accepting the notion that the prophetic books were progressively expanded through successive additions or Fortschreibungen, Tiemeyer does not provide any positive evidence to suggest that this diachronic process stopped before the beginning of the Hellenistic period.3 As expressly stated in her introduction, Tiemeyer assumes a general model according to which all prophetic texts were composed no later than the Persian period4 and then seeks to demonstrate that arguments for a later dating are not compelling. Contrary to Tiemeyer’s position, while there is no clear evidence for the completion of the prophetic corpus in Persian times, ancient manuscripts do provide positive evidence that the text of the prophetic books remained substantially unstable until the 2nd century BCE at the earliest. Indeed, the DSS, the Septuagint (henceforth LXX) and other

ancient translations such as the Old Latin attest to the general fluidity of the traditions associated with prophetic figures. This textual fluidity not only comes to the fore in the high number of specific variants in each prophetic book, but in some cases—particularly in Jeremiah and Ezekiel—it also points to stages in the formation and transmission of these books.5 As is well known, LXX Jeremiah presents a different structure than the MT. Most notably, the section that closes the Masoretic book with oracles against the nations is placed at the middle of the book (Jer 25:14–31:44 in the LXX) rather than toward the end (Jer 46–51 in the MT), and its text also completely differs in sequence (see comparative table in Römer 2009: 428–429). In addition, the LXX also reflects a shorter text than the MT, the latter being about one eighth longer. Important passages are lacking in the LXX, especially Jer 33:14–26, as well as Jer 10:6–8,10, 39:4–13, 51:44b–49a and 52:27b–30. It is now well established that these significant differences cannot be ascribed to the translator of the Greek version, since a Hebrew text very close to the LXX is attested by the manuscript 4QJerb and to a lesser extent 4QJerd.6 Similarly, the Old Greek of Ezekiel points to an ancient Hebrew text about 4–5% shorter than the MT (e.g., Lust 1981; 2012; Tov 1986; 2012: 299–301; Crane 2008: esp. 7–32). It is represented by papyrus 967 as well as the Wirceburgensis manuscript preserving the Old Latin of Ezekiel (Bogaert 1978: 387–94), which are witness to an ancient version in which passages such as Ezek 12:26– 28, 32:25–26 and, most notably, Ezek 36:23c–38 were absent. The early LXX of Ezekiel also presents structural differences, especially since the text of Ezek 38–39 is placed before Chapter 37, so that in the Greek the text corresponding to the Masoretic Chapter 37 is followed directly by the vision of the sanctuary (Ezek 40–48). In light of several studies—especially by J.G. Janzen, E. Tov and P.-M. Bogaert on Jeremiah and by J. Lust and more recently S. Crane on Ezekiel—most scholars agree today that these differences between the Old Greek and MT reflect different stages in the composition of these two books and that the proto-Masoretic text corresponds to a later revision that took place in the course of their scribal transmission during the Second Temple period.7 These findings mean that the approach that separates between the composition and the transmission of

296  hervé gonzalez

prophetic texts, assigning them to distinct periods, as per Tiemeyer’s model, is problematic, to say the least (e.g., Tov 1972; 2012: 283–326; Lust 1986: 16–17; Lilly 2012: esp. 7–10; Mackie 2015: 49). Instead, we need to adopt a more fluid model, whereby the prophetic books developed gradually during their transmission, with some of the latest stages of this evolution reflected in the ancient textual witnesses (cf. Ulrich 1999: esp. 1–12). This suggestion is also supported by the numerous studies on the redactional history of the prophetic books, which highlight their complex process of growth spanning over centuries and involving various stages of continuous rewriting.8 Similarly, in his seminal study on biblical interpretation, M. Fishbane stressed the close interplay between composition and transmission, emphasizing the dynamic character of the process of transmission (traditio), whereby the content of tradition (traditum) is constantly reshaped.9 If we take seriously the fact that different textual forms of the prophetic books were circulated simultaneously until the end of the Second Temple period, there is no reason whatsoever to assume that this process of scribal expansion and revision of the prophetic traditions suddenly stopped in the Persian period, as implied by Tiemeyer’s model (cf. Kratz 2015: 31–32; Nogalski 2016). Especially in the case of Jeremiah, some scholars, such as Y. Goldman and more recently A.D. Hornkohl, have argued that the LXX Vorlage and the protoMasoretic text represent two editions of the book that were completed by the early Persian period (at the latest) (Goldman 1992; Hornkohl 2014). This theory implies that the two editions were subsequently transmitted quite faithfully throughout the Persian and Hellenistic periods. However, the notion that two editions of the same text were transmitted in parallel over centuries is unlikely, especially as the evidence from Qumran attests to the two editions of Jeremiah in the same geographical and institutional setting. Furthermore, this view retrojects onto the Persian period a faithful transmission of prophetic texts for which we only have evidence from the Roman period onwards. In truth, up to the end of the Second Temple period, the textual history of the prophetic books appears to be more complex than only two stable editions for Jeremiah and Ezekiel and one for Isaiah and the Twelve.10 For instance, A. Lange argues that despite

displaying shorter readings close to the LXX Vorlage of Jeremiah, 4QJerd also includes some expansions that point to another version of the book; and the differences with the Masoretic text do not even support envisaging 4QJerd as its parent.11 Moreover, Bogaert (1991a; 2003) has shown that the Old Latin version of Jeremiah is based on an Old Greek version that was apparently even shorter than the text attested by the ancient Greek manuscripts now extant. For each prophetic tradition, the DSS attest numerous variants that do not stem from either the MT or the precursors to the LXX, to the point that several prophetic manuscripts can hardly be classified as belonging to the text-group of the MT or of the LXX.12 While 1QIsaa, 4QIsac, 4QXIIa and 4QXIIc offer the most notable cases, the classification of other manuscripts, such as 4QIsak, 2QJer, 4QXIId, or 4QXIIg, remains uncertain.13 The fragmentary state of these manuscripts makes it impossible to know to what extent they differed from the LXX Vorlage and the proto-Masoretic text; nonetheless, they reveal that the texts of the prophetic books were transmitted in a fluid way until the end of the Second Temple period. Although quotations of prophetic books found in other ancient manuscripts are a more complex type of evidence, they further strengthen this picture of textual fluidity.14 That is to say, the double editions of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, respectively, are the most conspicuous variations to be preserved until today, but are hardly the only ones.15 Given this textual fluidity, we may assume that various editions of the prophetic books were circulating in the Hellenistic and Early Roman periods. In light of these observations, the historical scenario claiming a faithful transmission of two editions of Jeremiah for more than two centuries during the Persian and Hellenistic periods is less than convincing. On the contrary, the texts of the prophetic books were probably more fluid during these earlier periods and progressively gained some stability only in later times.16 In addition, scholars who date the prophetic texts to no later than the Persian period often overlook the significance of the well-accepted conclusion that, in the case of both Jeremiah and Ezekiel, the proto-Masoretic edition on the whole reflects a later compositional stage than the LXX Vorlage. For these two books, the fact that the LXX Vorlage is not the proto-Masoretic edition does

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  297

not necessarily mean that the latter edition had not yet been produced at the time of their Greek translation in the 2nd century BCE17—although this is not impossible in the case of Ezekiel.18 It does indicate, however, that a more ancient edition than the proto-Masoretic one was considered—at least by the circles that carried out the Greek translation—to be the most authoritative text of these prophets, since it was chosen as the basis of the translation. As such, for both Jeremiah and Ezekiel, an earlier edition presenting a more ancient compositional stage was still influential and considered complete enough in the 2nd century BCE, despite its more concise form. By the same token, the fact that this earlier edition was selected for translation is also evidence that the authority of the proto-Masoretic edition of both Jeremiah and Ezekiel was not yet fully established at that time (cf. Tov 2003: 137–143). The Qumran evidence also suggests the limited authority of the proto-Masoretic text of the prophetic books during the 2nd century BCE: it appears to emerge as the most important text type only in the 1st century BCE.19 The limited reception of the protoMasoretic edition of both Jeremiah and Ezekiel in the 2nd century BCE is difficult to explain for scholars who contend that this edition had been transmitted faithfully for over two or three centuries at the time when these books were translated in Greek. Altogether, these observations suggest that for the books of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, the proto-Masoretic edition was not an “old” edition by the 2nd century BCE, but rather a recent one that most probably originated in the Hellenistic period, as argued by scholars such as Bogaert, Lust and others.20 More precisely, passages such as Jer 33:14–26 or Ezek 36:23c–38—the main additions in the proto-Masoretic editions—are likely to stem from the Hellenistic period. Although these additions may belong to overall revisions of the books in which they are inserted, their process of composition can be described as Fortschreibung. That is to say, as we shall see below, they aim at continuing, completing and improving existing prophetic texts by reusing themes, motifs and expressions present in their respective books and reinterpreting them in a new way. In sum, while the manuscript evidence suggests that the prophetic books had already been composed by the 2nd century BCE,21 it also indicates that their text was still fluid during the Hellenistic period and even somewhat

later. Changes could still happen, not only topically, but also at the compositional level, involving the overall restructuring of the text, as well as the addition of new units (Fortschreibungen). As the Second Temple period reached its end, the text of the prophetic books gained some stability. Since the earliest textual evidence we have for the prophetic books does not go further back than the 2nd century BCE—and perhaps exceptionally in the case of 4QJera the end of the 3rd century BCE—we can only speculate about the state of the prophetic books during the early Hellenistic period. Given that the manuscript evidence of the late Hellenistic period attests to the latest compositional stages of the prophetic books, we cannot rule out the possibility that more ancient compositional stages, no longer preserved, were circulating in the early Hellenistic period.22 Nor can we rule out the possibility that large compositional sections were written and added during the late 4th and 3rd centuries BCE. In other words, when we discuss the date of a “late” prophetic section, both the (late) Persian and the early Hellenistic periods should be considered. This conclusion, however, raises an important question: if the manuscript evidence suggests that the composition of certain prophetic books extended into the Hellenistic period, why are there so few allusions to this period in the content of the books? In the next section, I address this question, with a particular focus on the very conservative character of late prophetic texts. This conservatism, as we shall see, complicates the positive identification of those texts that could have been composed in Hellenistic times, precisely because they were intentionally written in such a way as to appear more ancient than they actually were. As I shall argue, this conservative attitude must be read against the sociocultural environment of early Hellenistic times.

Second Temple Prophecy as a Conservative Literary Genre Fortschreibung and Extensive Reuse of Earlier Traditions as Indicators of Conservative Writing Two aspects of late prophetic texts most clearly reflect the concern for continuity with previous traditions that

298  hervé gonzalez

characterized the writing of prophecy during the Second Temple period: the process of Fortschreibung, through which the prophetic books were revised and expanded, and the extensive reuse of earlier traditions in late prophetic compositions. Although the process of Fortschreibung introduced changes within the text, it was itself a conservative process. It involved the amplification of an ancient literary tradition and aimed at improving, completing and adapting that tradition in the light of new circumstances (cf. Kratz 1997: 14–16). This process helped to preserve the relevance, vitality and authority of the ancient literary tradition that was being amplified. As emphasized by Fishbane (1985: e.g., 6), the preservation of a traditum is a dynamic process that necessarily involves transformation. As such, Fortschreibungen generally reuses themes, motifs, expressions and terms already found in the book in which they are inserted. These passages thus retain and reinforce the specific literary profile of the book and connect to previous passages in order to support and/or reinterpret them. While Fortschreibungen may introduce new ideas, the innovation is given a similar form as the literary context into which it is embedded, ensuring that the antique guise of the tradition is maintained. This compositional technique is clearly illustrated, for instance, in the supplements of the Masoretic text in Jeremiah and Ezekiel as compared to the LXX. Overall, despite the changes they introduce, we observe that these passages display strong continuity with the rest of the book into which they have been inserted, often emphasizing or expanding motifs and themes already present in other passages. This concern for continuity is so important in Jeremiah that several additions made to the proto-Masoretic text have generated doublets and repetitions (see, esp., Jer 8:10b– 12//6:13–15, 17:3–4//15:13–14, 30:10–11//46:27–28, 48:40b, 41b//49:22). 23 Interestingly, insertions are introduced in all the main sections of the book—the poetic and biographical parts as well as the prophetic discourses—each time in a manner consistent with the literary genre and style of the immediate context. Moreover, even the longest additions, in which new ideas are introduced, tend to hinge upon themes, motifs and vocabulary found elsewhere in the book.

This device can be seen in Jer 33:14–26—the longest Masoretic addition to the Book of Jeremiah—which announces the continuation of the lines of David and Levi on the throne of Israel and in the temple of Jerusalem. Some of the ideas displayed in this passage are clearly new—especially the role assigned to Levite priests in the sacrificial cult. The legitimization of Levitical priests— whoever they may have been—is surprising in Jeremiah, since Levites are not mentioned elsewhere in the book. Nonetheless, the way this motif is introduced manifests a concern for continuity, as Jer 33:14–26 borrows themes, motifs and even entire sentences from other passages in the book, especially from Jer 23:5–6 and Jer 31:35–37.24 The first verses, Jer 33:14–16, appear to be a revised and expanded version of the Davidic promise in Jer 23:5–6, several phrases being identical or quasi-identical. At the same time, slight differences generate new meanings, such as the transference of the royal name “Yhwh our justice” (‫)צדקנו יהוה‬, found in Jer 23:6, to the city of Jerusalem, in Jer 33:16; this change is consistent with the replacement of “Israel” in Jer 23:6a by “Jerusalem” in the parallel phrase of Jer 33:16a, which emphasizes territorial security. The promise is then extended to Levitical priests and confirmed in Jer 33:20–25 by the use of motifs and phrases taken from Jer 31:35–37, a passage that emphasizes Yhwh as the creator of heaven and earth in order to assure his faithfulness to Israel. As argued by several commentators, Jer 33:14–26 should be understood as a reinterpretation of earlier texts in Jeremiah, especially the Davidic promise of 23:5–6, adding a new focus on the city of Jerusalem and the Levitical priesthood.25 In this way, the innovation introduced in the text of Jeremiah through the MT plus in 33:14–26 is camouflaged, so to speak, by the sheer wealth of linguistic and thematic borrowings from other parts of the book. A similar demonstration could be made with regard to the supplements of the Masoretic text in Ezekiel as compared to the LXX. As pointed out by many scholars, although the long addition found in Ezek 36:23c–38 has specific features, the phrasing of this passage is derived from a combination of sections borrowed from elsewhere in the Book of Ezekiel and from the Book of Jeremiah (e.g., Lust 1981: 521–525). In particular, the gift of the new heart and spirit in vv. 26–27 draws from a motif and

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  299

from nomenclature found in Ezek 11:19–20, 18:31 and Jer 31:31–34.26 Although this example is somewhat more complex than the previous one in that the sources combined in the composition of this supplement are not restricted to the Book of Ezekiel, the conclusion remains the same. That is to say, despite certain specific features and ideas, a large number of the supplements in the Masoretic text of Jeremiah and Ezekiel are couched in a language suggesting concern for continuity with earlier prophetic traditions, preserved in these books especially. Of course, the extent of engagement with earlier prophetic material varies in each passage. Some instances manifestly aim to rewrite and update older oracles, while in others the reuse of earlier prophetic material may simply correspond to a literary strategy of introducing new materials in a way that remains consistent with the literary and theological profile of the book into which they are inserted. In any case, the supplements of the Masoretic text in Jeremiah and Ezekiel as compared to the LXX attest that the latest additions to the prophetic books were introduced with a concern to mirror earlier traditions, both thematically and linguistically. This strong concern for continuity with earlier traditions is evident not only in the relatively short Fortschreibungen, but also in longer prophetic compositions that are commonly recognized as being relatively late. Many studies on late prophetic literature have pointed out various intertextual connections within these works to older prophetic traditions, such as quotations, allusions, echoes, thematic continuities and linguistic borrowings. In these compositional sections, the scope of the traditions reused is usually broader than in the Fortschreibungen, which generally re-adapt oracles found in their surrounding literary context. The traditions employed belong not only to the Prophets but to other corpora as well, especially the Pentateuch and the Psalms. This is particularly true in Zechariah 9–14, which draws heavily upon several prophetic traditions, especially Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Isaiah, Hosea and Amos, as well as the Pentateuch and Psalms.27 The Book of Joel is another good example, relying especially on Isaiah, Amos, Micah and Obadiah, as well as Exodus and Psalms.28 Similar observations have been made concerning other prophetic sections often deemed to be late, such as Isaiah 24–27, Isaiah 56–66, and Ezekiel 38–39, which draw upon older

traditions found both within and outside their respective books.29 Thus, late prophetic compositions make extensive use of older traditions, and this distinctive feature not only confirms their scribal and relatively late origin—that is, they were late enough to know these earlier traditions—but also demonstrates the conservative nature of their literary genre. Whereas the reuse of earlier traditions can be innovative—since those traditions are reinterpreted and adapted to new literary contexts and in new historical circumstances—the fact that the themes, motifs and formulations of late prophetic compositions are based on previous traditions attests to the paramount importance of continuity in the writing of prophecy during the Second Temple period. This conservative aspect of writing helped to preserve formal and thematic coherence within prophetic literature in that late prophetic compositions appear similar to, and thus as ancient as, the earlier traditions that they continue. In light of these observations, it is not surprising that not only similar literary genres, formulas and expressions are present in different prophetic books, but also quasiidentical passages, such as Isa 2:2–4//Mic 4:1–3 and Jer 49:14–16//Obad 1–4; nor it is surprising that some prophetic passages explicitly refer to a more ancient prophet and his words, as is the case for Micah in Jer 26:18 (see Mic 3:12). Some postexilic prophetic texts even explicitly claim to continue ancient prophetic traditions. In Zech 1:1–6 and 7:7–14, the postexilic prophet Zechariah is presented as restating the message of the “former prophets” (‫הנביאים הראשנים‬, Zech 1:4, 7:7,12), i.e., the prophets of monarchic times, with language derived from Jeremiah in particular.30 Arguably, the notion that the last prophets lived in Persian times, which is implied in such passages as Zech 13:2–6 and Mal 3:22–24, was another device whereby late scribes emphasized the antiquity of the prophetic traditions and the continuity among them.31 This notion puts a time limit to the prophetic revelation, underlining that the core of the prophetic tradition stems from the monarchic period, with its latest manifestation in the (early) Persian period (Nihan 2013: 71–76). Altogether, these various scribal attempts to tighten the links within and between the different prophetic traditions are best understood as a key aspect in the process of creating a literary collection that, later in the Second Temple

300  hervé gonzalez

period, was to be referred to as “the prophets” (see especially the prologue of Sirach) and was thought to contain only ancient, pre-Hellenistic, traditions.32

Linguistic Implications of the Conservative Writing in Prophetic Books The very conservative nature of late prophetic texts has several methodological implications, especially regarding the issue of dating. First, this concern for continuity makes the identification of the historical context of a given text significantly more difficult, since not only themes but also the language were intentionally modeled on more ancient traditions. 33 This observation is particularly important in light of the claims advanced by certain scholars that there is in fact positive linguistic evidence that the prophetic corpus was closed during the Persian period. A. Hurvitz, followed by other scholars such as A.D. Hornkohl and S.E. Fassberg, is an influential supporter of this view (Hurvitz 1973: esp. 76; 1997; 2000; 2006; 2012; 2013; Hornkohl 2013; 2014: esp. 1–27, 356–73; Fassberg 2016). He argues that late prophetic texts display more linguistic affinities to earlier traditions written in Classical Biblical Hebrew (CBH) than the books that clearly display Late Biblical Hebrew (LBH— Esther, Daniel, Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles) and thus, that they were completed earlier than the books displaying LBH, i.e., before the second half of the Persian period. Dating the core of the CBH texts to the monarchic period, the model defended by Hurvitz interprets the affinities of late prophetic texts to CBH—which are clearly stronger than in the undisputed LBH texts—as an indication that they were produced at a time relatively close to the monarchic period, i.e., in the early Persian period at the latest. Thus, the last prophetic texts would have been composed not much later than the 6th century BCE, a transitional time in the development of the Hebrew language from CBH to LBH. This linguistic criterion for dating, however, has not gone unchallenged. Arguing that CBH does not completely match the Hebrew of the inscriptions from the monarchic period and that texts from (the late exilic and) the Second Temple period (e.g., Isa 40–66, Joel, Zech 1–8) are written in CBH, scholars such as I. Young, R. Rezetko and M. Ehrensvärd emphasize that CBH was a literary style that was

employed throughout the Persian and Hellenistic periods concurrently with the use of LBH.34 Since neither the dates of the texts nor of the linguistic features they display are known for certain, we cannot rely solely on linguistic analysis for dating.35 In addition, the fluid transmission of the biblical texts during the Second Temple period complicates their dating on the basis of specific linguistic features.36 The data resulting from a linguistic analysis should instead be cross-checked with data deriving from other methods, such as textual, redactional, literary and historical criticism, each casting light on a different aspect of the text.37 Given the strong concern for continuity in the writing of prophecy during the Second Temple period, it is no surprise that there are strong linguistic similarities between early and late prophetic texts. In addition, we should be cautious when comparing the language of prophetic texts with books such as Esther, Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah and Chronicles (the LBH corpus), which do not display the same level of conservatism. A different, less conservative, attitude toward language is obvious in the case of Ezra and Daniel, which contain Aramaic, and not only Hebrew, and in Chronicles, whose authors and editors did not align to the Classical Hebrew found in the parallel (and more authoritative) work of Samuel– Kings.38 These different attitudes to language remind us that in order to draw reliable historical conclusions based upon the linguistic profile of a text, we cannot assume that all contemporary texts display a similar form of the language (cf. Naudé 2004: 98). Instead, we need to pay attention to the literary genre of the texts that we use for comparison—and the diversity of literary genres in the Hebrew Bible is greater than the divide between prose and poetry.39 More specifically, it is methodologically flawed to assume that the language of fundamentally conservative compositions, such as late prophetic texts, would be similar to texts that display a more progressive use of the language, such as the “clear-cut” LBH books— even if these two groups of texts were contemporaneous. The tendency to overlook the determining influence of genre on the linguistic features of a given text when it comes to dating biblical texts is strikingly illustrated in the recent linguistic analysis of the Masoretic edition of Jeremiah by Hornkohl. In his methodological introduction, Hornkohl lists several non-diachronic

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  301

factors that have an impact on the language of ancient texts: personal or corporate style, regional dialects, register, genre (mainly the distinction between prose and poetry), literary strategy, and literary and textual development (Hornkohl 2014: 16–27). Following Hurvitz, he cautiously argues that the accumulation of late linguistic features in texts is the result of a complex multifaceted process, which he concludes is difficult to quantify statistically (Hornkohl 2014: 37–41, 360; Hurvitz 1973: 76). Notwithstanding these methodological caveats, accumulation remains the basis for his dating. According to him, the relatively low quantity of late linguistic features in both the short and the long editions of Jeremiah compared to the LBH corpus points to “Transitional Biblical Hebrew,” a form of the language that he dates to the 6th century BCE (Hornkohl 2013: 322; 2014: 14–16, 46, 366–369). Thus, he assumes a more or less direct correlation between the number of late linguistic features and the chronology of the texts. To evaluate the accumulation of late linguistic features in a text is important for the linguistic analysis, but this quantitative approach must be completed by a qualitative one, which assesses the historical significance of the linguistic features. Indeed, the term “accumulation” gives the impression of a mathematically verifiable approach,40 but the results must still be interpreted historically, taking into account the results of other analytical approaches to the text.41 Hornkohl does take into consideration non-diachronic factors, but mainly in the evaluation of the late linguistic features that can be observed in the text, the absence of late linguistic features being understood almost exclusively in diachronic terms (Hornkohl 2014: 59–71). However, whereas in some cases a relatively low number of late linguistic features may reflect the natural evolution of the language during the 6th century BCE, in other cases a similar proportion could be the result of a later scribe imitating Classical Hebrew— the concern for the antique guise of the text resulting in limited use of late linguistic features compared to other contemporary texts.42 Both the presence and the absence of late linguistic features can result from several factors. Furthermore, the category of “Transitional Biblical Hebrew” is problematic because it lumps together all the texts that do not neatly fall into the category of either CBH or LBH, based on the arbitrary assumption that

their mixed linguistic profiles mainly result from a single factor—their period of composition.43 A different, more relevant, assessment of the Hebrew used in the Masoretic additions to Jeremiah is offered by Joosten, who suggests that these passages are written in a conservative manner, deliberately employing the classical style, in order to remain in continuity with the rest of the book. At the same time, the late linguistic features they display betray their late origin—possibly as late as Hellenistic times.44 Similar problems can be seen in the way the language of compositions such as Zechariah 9–14 has been treated. Comparing the accumulation of late linguistic features in these corpora, A. Hill has argued that the postexilic prophets (Haggai, Zechariah 1–8, Zechariah 9–14 and Malachi) were written chronologically, after the base text of the Priestly Document (P g) but before its supplementation (Ps). Despite the limited size of these corpora, Hill interprets the accumulation of late linguistic features almost mathematically by applying the different ratios calculated on a diachronic continuum, as if the historical development of the language could only be a linear process that would be almost directly reflected in each text. Here also, the low ratio of late linguistic features noted in the texts is almost exclusively understood in diachronic terms. More recently, in a dissertation written under the supervision of A. Hurvitz, S.-Y. Shin (2007) offered an analysis of the language of Haggai– Zechariah–Malachi, identifying different types of late lexical features in this corpus, many of which—about one third—are found in Zechariah 9–14.45 To assess the historical significance of the late features that he points out, Shin emphasizes that four linguistic features are found less often in Haggai–Zechariah–Malachi than in the undisputedly LBH texts (for instance, the shorter form of the pronoun ‫ אני‬vs. ‫)אנכי‬, and that four other late linguistic features are not used in these prophetic books even if they could have been employed (for instance, Zech 10:6 uses the form qal of the verb ‫זנה‬, attested in Hos 8:3, rather than the hipʿil form of the same verb as attested in Chronicles, cf. 1 Chron 28:9; 2 Chron 11:14, 29:19). Since the language of Haggai–Zechariah–Malachi evinces some late linguistic features but not in the same proportion as the LBH corpus, Shin concludes that the three prophetic books are written in a form of LBH that is chronologically anterior to the LBH found in the

302  hervé gonzalez

Esther–Chronicles and that corresponds to the early Persian period.46 Thus, Shin not only assumes that Haggai–Zechariah–Malachi forms a linguistic unity—in itself a problematic presupposition—but also that all texts contemporary to the LBH texts should necessarily display more or less the same proportion of late linguistic features. This assumption is highly questionable, since it neglects the possibility that language can be used in various ways in a given period. In particular, it could be argued that Shin disregards the clearly conservative nature of Zechariah 9–14. Given the concern for continuity with earlier traditions in this prophetic section, a better diachronic explanation would be that the various types of late linguistic features pointed out by Shin reflect quite a late origin, rather than being the result of the natural evolution of the language in the early Persian period.47 Admittedly, diachronic changes unquestionably influenced the language of the biblical texts, and historical reconstructions of the formation of the Bible must pay attention to these linguistic changes. However, dating texts as if diachronic linguistic changes were the sole determining factor in shaping the language of the texts is questionable. Linguistic analysis must lay greater emphasis on other factors, particularly the literary genre of the texts (beyond the basic division between prose and poetry), which influenced both content and form of the texts.48 It is indeed striking that beyond the quite conservative prophetic literature, the books that explicitly refer to the Persian period are precisely those that display the most innovative use of the Hebrew language. Rather than signifying that no other biblical texts could be contemporary with the LBH texts, this observation suggests that Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Daniel and Chronicles (cf. 2 Chron 36:22–23) contain more progressive forms of the language precisely because they do not claim a pre-exilic origin.49 As such, scribes did not feel compelled to write in a classical way when composing and transmitting these openly post-monarchic texts. In contrast, prophetic traditions do claim a pre-exilic classical origin; this also holds true in the case of postexilic prophecy, which emphasizes its deep continuity with earlier traditions, as shown above. Therefore, the fact that the undisputed LBH books are securely dated well into the postexilic period on non-linguistic grounds is no reason per se to assume that all biblical texts

displaying different, more classical linguistic profiles are necessarily earlier (pace Hornkohl 2014: 369).

Active Conservation and the Use of Ancient Traditions in the Near East in Early Hellenistic Times In contrast to the view criticized above that the linguistic profile of the late prophetic texts necessarily reflects pre-Hellenistic times, I argue that the conservative writing noted in these texts fits well within the cultural environment of the early Hellenistic period. Although writing in a conservative style was certainly not an invention of the Hellenistic period, there are reasons to believe that such writing gained a specific meaning and function at that time. While the early Hellenistic period saw the birth of new literary genres such as apocalyptic literature, it was also a time when ancient literary traditions were actively preserved, consolidated, developed and reused. It is indeed striking that concerns to preserve and assert ancient traditions were particularly widespread in the Near East precisely at this time. They come to the fore primarily in the creation of institutions aiming to enhance knowledge in various fields, including ancient literature and history. The Museum of Alexandria and its great library, founded in the 3rd century BCE, was a major cultural landmark in the ancient Near East, as it constituted a further step in the institutionalization of knowledge (Barnes 2000).50 Among disciplines such as geography, medicine and mathematics, ancient literature was given a prominent place, as attested by the intense activity of cataloguing, evaluating and studying the ancient texts from the archaic and the classical periods, primarily the Homeric epics.51 This literary activity has been described as the beginning of classical scholarship (Pfeiffer 1968: esp. 3, 87–279). Clearly, scholars in Alexandria felt that they were living in a new, postclassical, period requiring greater preservation and study of ancient literature than before. Even though it was innovative, the literature they produced manifests a marked concern for continuing the ancient Greek literary traditions. Alexandrian poetry in particular was characterized by the reuse of ancient poetic forms, combined and adapted to form works that could respond to their new socio-political context. Not unlike the late prophetic texts, works such as

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  303

those of the leading poet Kallimachos are full of literary references to earlier traditions.52 Concern for the preservation and emphasis of ancient traditions was not restricted to the Museum of Alexandria. It was also endorsed by the dominated groups, albeit in a different manner. Priests like Manetho in Egypt and Berossus in Babylonia wrote the pre-Hellenistic history of their nations in an effort to demonstrate the antiquity and merit of their own traditions. Conservatism in writing can be observed in the Egyptian temples: despite the popular use of Demotic and changes in the royal ideology and cult generated by the Ptolemaic dynasty (cf. Pfeiffer 2008a; 2008b), traditional hieroglyphic writing was still employed for the main temple inscriptions, with a clear concern for demonstrating continuity with previous literary traditions (e.g., Quack 2008). In addition, oracular texts composed or reworked in Hellenistic Egypt, such as the Oracle of the Lamb and the Oracle of the Potter, are given a pre-Hellenistic setting even if they allude to later political events of the Persian and Hellenistic periods. While these texts present new ideological accents, they are written with the structure and motives of much older texts, such as the Prophecy of Neferti (some two thousand years older).53 A similar phenomenon can be observed in Mesopotamia, where cuneiform literary activity remained important during the Hellenistic period despite the popular use of Aramaic.54 The cylinder of Borsippa, for instance, describes the reconstruction of the Ezida temple of Nabû by Antiochus I in a way that is in keeping with the Seleucid ideology while using very traditional language.55 These examples show that despite societal changes, ancient literary traditions and history were actively preserved, reused and given great importance by elites in the ancient Near East by the 3rd century BCE. In Judea, paleographic evidence from the late 4th and the 3rd centuries attests to the use of ancient local traditions in the regional administration. On 3rd-century BCE Judean coins, Hebrew (yhdh) replaces the earlier use of Aramaic (yhd/yhwd).56 In addition, stamp impressions from this period demonstrate that the paleoHebrew script was still influential in the local administration.57 Furthermore, although evidence is obviously elusive, it is unlikely that scholarly activity in Alexandria—especially the active conservation and study

of ancient literary traditions and history—had no impact on the Judean elites and on their literary activity. On the contrary, the need for the local elites to be acquainted with Greek language and traditions in order to interact with the Ptolemaic administration,58 coupled with the growing size and role of the diaspora community in Alexandria, suggest that Judean elites were aware of the significant scholarly enterprise at Alexandria. Although the Letter of Aristeas is somewhat later (2nd century BCE), it attests to the cultural impact of Alexandrian literary activity on the Judean imagination. Its presentation of the LXX translation as resulting from King Ptolemy’s demand for completion of his library (Ar. 9–11) shows that Judeans sought to associate their own literary traditions with the scholarly activities of the royal library at Alexandria.59 The overall concern for preserving the ancient historical and literary traditions during the early Hellenistic period can be well appreciated when we recall that contrary to the political structure of the previous empires, the main centers of power in the Hellenistic Near East were located within the colonized lands themselves, and not within the Macedonian or Greek homeland. This new geopolitical situation provoked greater cultural confrontation, intensified by the significant migration taking place at that time, which included Greco-Macedonian settlers and mercenaries of various origins, as well as populations migrating for socio-economic reasons or displaced by force, especially in the context of conquest or the foundation of new cities.60 While these socio-political changes ultimately resulted in the progressive integration of new cultural patterns into the local cultures of the ancient Near East, as well as in the development of new literary genres such as apocalyptic literature, they also prompted a higher concern for the preservation of ancient traditions and history, noted throughout the Hellenistic world among both the new ruling groups and the dominated peoples. In this new socio-cultural environment, literary elites from Greece, Egypt, Babylonia, Judea and other regions apparently felt the need to define and defend their distinct cultural heritages by actively preserving and emphasizing their own history and literary traditions.61 In this context, it is likely that Judean prophetic literature was adapted, consolidated and completed in

304  hervé gonzalez

order to respond to the new socio-political situation, but in a manner marked by deep conservatism. The antique aspect of prophetic books was presumably preserved as much as possible in order to affirm the authority and prestige of this literature. As such, the prophetic books could be read as part of a literary collection that preserved ancient traditions and helped narrate the pre-Hellenistic history of Israel (cf. Nihan 2013: 77). The ancient historiographical role of the prophetic books is clearly indicated by their association with the historiographical books of the Former Prophets, especially through the help of chronological superscriptions referring to the reigns of Judahite or Persian kings (see, esp., Isa 1:1, Jer 1:2–3, Ezek 1:1, Hos 1:1, Amos 1:1, Mic 1:1, Zeph 1:1, Hag 1:1 and Zech 1:1), as well as very similar sections, such as Isaiah 36–39 and 2 Kings 18:13–20:19 or Jeremiah 52 and 2 Kings 24:18–25:30.62 Together, the Former and Latter Prophets narrate the continuous pre-Hellenistic history of Israel from pre-monarchic to Persian times.63 Josephus also attests to this role of the prophetic books, especially when he counts them among the historiographical holy works and presents the prophets as historians of their times (C. Ap. 1.38–41, BJ 1.17–18). The literary collection apparently served both educational and apologetic purposes, at a time when the surrounding groups were emphasizing their own pre-Hellenistic history and the antiquity of their local traditions. In this context, there are good grounds to presume that the prophetic books were reworked in early Hellenistic times, presumably for greater historiographical purposes. Nonetheless, the concern for continuity with previous traditions in the prophetic writing of this time complicates the task of distinguishing between prophetic texts from the Persian and Hellenistic periods, especially when we do not have ancient manuscripts that attest to the late origin of some passages: these texts do not disclose their Hellenistic origin precisely because they aim to be received as ancient traditions. In the final part of this paper, I will further highlight the methodological complexity of the task of identifying Hellenistic texts in the prophetic corpus in the face of such conservative tendencies and in the absence of particularly decisive manuscript evidence. By analyzing a specific example, namely Zecariah h 9–14, I hope to show that some of these texts can nonetheless be

identified, especially because they allude to Hellenistic times in order to interpret these times from a critical theological perspective. These allusions attest to another important scribal concern in the writing of late prophecy: maintaining the relevance of the ancient prophetic tradition as a divine revelation of Israel’s future.

Allusions to the Hellenistic Period in Prophetic Literature Methodological Questions in Identifying Historical Allusions and Themes from the Hellenistic Period In most cases, scholars agree that a given prophetic passage is relatively late in comparison to the core of the prophetic traditions especially if it refers to other prophetic passages that are themselves held to be relatively late and/or if the passage serves to frame a large collection of texts, such as the Isaianic corpus (e.g., Isa [65–]66), the Twelve (e.g., the Book of Joel), or the entire prophetic collection (e.g., Mal 3:22–24).64 However, while this method is helpful for working out a relative chronology, scholars struggle to connect this relative chronology to an actual timeline. Several scholars rely upon the interpretation of specific historical allusions for dating prophetic texts to Hellenistic times, but other scholars, such as Tiemeyer, argue that the interpretation of such allusions is far from certain and that there is therefore no reason to assume that some prophetic texts were composed at that time. While it is true that no explicit reference to the Hellenistic period can be found in prophetic literature, this does not mean that such allusions do not exist. As stressed above, in light of the concern for lending an antique guise to this literature, we should not expect to find in it straightforward references to the Hellenistic period. Furthermore, there is no doubt that prophetic literature manifests a strong interest in political history, given the many events to which it refers, with mention of kings, cities, territories, wars, destructions and empires, involving not only Judah and Israel but also many other nations of the ancient Levant, the Near East and the Mediterranean. The historiographical role of prophetic literature emphasized

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  305

above highlights this interest in political history. These considerations suggest that we should remain open to the possibility that prophetic literature in fact contains allusions to Hellenistic times. The identification of such allusions, however, appears to be a delicate matter and thus merits several further methodological remarks. First, it should be stressed that the way prophetic literature narrates and construes history is driven by a theological and “nationalistic” agenda. The prophetic books do not, in fact, seek to depict historical reality accurately but instead, to make sense of it within a Judean theological framework, often with a utopian or dystopian perspective.65 As such, biblical prophecy reflects a theological interpretation of history rather than history per se. Second, as shown above, the writing of late prophetic texts is also deeply influenced by earlier traditions, with historical events depicted in a way that is similar to previous historical descriptions. As a result, both the ideological/theological bias and the influence of tradition make it difficult to conclude with certainty whether or not a text alludes to a Hellenistic event. A further difficulty is our lack of knowledge about Hellenistic events. I will illustrate these problems by way of two examples. The chronology of the latest prophetic texts in Isaiah and the Twelve, as advanced by O.H. Steck, makes much of the capture of Jerusalem by Ptolemy I, an event reported by Appian (Syriaca 50.252) and by Josephus and some of his sources (AJ 12.1–10, cf. C. Ap. 1.205– 211). Steck dates the prayer of Isa 63:7–64:11 to the early 3rd century BCE on the basis of what he considers to be historical allusions to this event in Isa 63:18 and 64:9–10.66 While this interpretation aims to cast light on the dramas affecting Jerusalem in those passages, we do not really know what actually happened in Jerusalem at that time. Josephus describes a deceitful (but not destructive) capture of Jerusalem during the Sabbath, whereas Appian seems to be referring to the city’s destruction. Although there are good reasons to think that Ptolemy intervened rather violently at some point in Jerusalem and Judea, the precise form and consequences of this intervention remain a matter of speculation, and its date is discussed.67 In addition, both Isa 63:18 and 64:9–10 appear to refer to the destruction of the temple itself, for which we have no evidence in

ancient sources dealing with the capture of Jerusalem by Ptolemy I.68 It is possible that these passages allude to Ptolemy I’s capture of Jerusalem with a dystopian perspective, but our lack of knowledge about the event makes it difficult to base a chronology of the late stages of composition of Isaiah upon this interpretation. A historical event for which we have more information is Alexander’s siege of Tyre, a military success that was a landmark in the history of warfare.69 M. Saur is therefore on safer ground when he argues that the technical description of Nebuchadnezzar’s siege of Tyre in Ezek 26:7–14*—a passage that could be secondary—fits Alexander’s exploits quite well.70 Saur points in particular to the sequence created by vv. 8–9, which first refers to constructions, especially of a siege wall (‫ )דיק‬and a ramp (‫)סללה‬, and then to the use of a battering ram (‫ )קבל‬and axes (‫ )חרבות‬to destroy the walls of the city in v. 9. As argued by Saur, this sequence corresponds well with the two phases of Alexander’s siege of Tyre, which, according to the ancient historians, began with poliorcetic works on land to reach the city and ended with an assault supported by the fleet. Saur also contends that Nebuchadnezzar’s siege of the city in the 6th century BCE does not match the description of Ezek 26:7–14 because it was not a real success (cf. Ezek 29:17–20) (Saur 2008: 153–161, 182–183). Hence, the text seems to reinterpret an ancient, neo-Babylonian, historical event in light of a later, Hellenistic event. To counter Saur’s argument it could be argued that we lack external information about Nebuchadnezzar’s siege of Tyre to which the text refers explicitly. In addition, not every detail matches the historical event of 332 BCE; for instance, the announcement in v. 14 that Tyre would be a bare rock and would not be rebuilt is obviously overstated.71 In addition, to some extent, the description of the siege corresponds to typical war imagery in the book: the pair of terms ‫ דיק‬and ‫ סללה‬appear together in several other passages of Ezekiel and are introduced by the same verbs, ‫ בנה‬and ‫שפך‬, respectively (cf. Ezek 4:2, 17:17, 21:27). Hence, the text could also be read as an imagined destruction inspired by Nebuchadnezzar’s military actions. Still, while several aspects of the passage can be explained in light of the book’s ideology and typical language, Saur’s interpretation has the merit of providing a valuable explanation for the distinctive

306  hervé gonzalez

elements of the text, such as the particular sequence describing the destruction of Tyre or the unparalleled terminology to describe special poliorcetic constructions (especially ‫קבל‬, a hapax legomenon in the Hebrew Bible and the unique use of ‫ חרב‬in the sense of “axe”). His analysis suggests that the passage could well be of Hellenistic date, but a firmer conclusion would require further observations that could substantiate this hypothesis. The identification of one possible historical allusion may hint towards a Hellenistic origin of a given prophetic text, but can hardly establish it beyond doubt.72 Another means of dating prophetic texts to Hellenistic times is the identification of distinctive themes that are believed to have emerged in the early Hellenistic period, particularly “eschatological” ideas.73 K. Schmid, following Steck, has recently argued that the notion of a divine act of judgment of the entire world—rather than of a specific nation—appeared in prophetic texts in Hellenistic times; he identifies this conception in texts such as Isaiah 24–27 (esp. 24:4–6 and 26:20–21), 32:2–4, Jer 25:27–31, 45:4–5, Joel 4:12–16, Mic 7:12–13 and Zeph 3:8 (Schmid 2008: 192–194; and this volume; cf. Steck 1991: 25–60). This hypothesis is attractive, since the fall of the Persian empire and the great level of political instability that followed in the entire Near East and Mediterranean could well explain the emergence of the notion of global judgment. Nonetheless, although such a notion makes good sense following the collapse of the Persian empire, it is not specific enough to be exclusively connected to Hellenistic times. Thus, on this basis, we cannot rule out the possibility that some or all of the texts identified by Schmid emerged somewhat earlier, for instance in the complex geopolitical situation that prepared the decline of the Achaemenid empire in the 4th century BCE (with troubles especially in Egypt, Phoenician cities and the Aegean). While a tendency to conceptualize a global judgment is conspicuous in late prophetic passages, we cannot safely assign all of these texts to the Hellenistic period on the basis of this criterion alone.74 As we can see, distinguishing Hellenistic layers from earlier material in the Latter Prophets remains a delicate matter. Tiemeyer appears to be right in stating that there is no definitive criterion to date certain prophetic texts to the Hellenistic period. However, she overlooks the fact that this observation is also true with regard to a Persian

dating. In actual fact, an explicit reference to a Persian king in a prophetic text only provides a terminus a quo for its composition but not necessarily an absolute date. The best we can do, therefore, is to propose a reading demonstrating that a given text makes more sense in one context than in another. In the absence of definitive criteria or hard evidence, each text should be assessed according to its unique features, with particular attention paid to the original aspects that depart from its traditional context. Ideally, a historical conclusion should be based upon a variety of observations that all point in a similar direction. While numerous prophetic texts categorized as “late” undeniably remain difficult to date with precision, I would like to show that certain texts in fact necessitate a Hellenistic context in order to be properly understood. In order to do so, I will focus on Zechariah 9–14, which is one of the clearest cases of a prophetic section best read in an early Hellenistic context. I will argue that these chapters serve to construe a new time period within the Book of Zechariah that precedes the ideal restoration to be brought about by Yhwh and that is characterized by its dystopian outlook. Since this dystopian period comes after the events of the Persian period depicted in Zechariah 1–8 and includes sociopolitical disturbances that are characteristic of the Hellenistic period, it is best understood as alluding critically to the situation of the Judean community under Hellenistic domination.

The Need for a Hellenistic Context: Dystopian Times in Zechariah 9–14 Zechariah 9–14 is commonly regarded as forming a separate section within the Book of Zechariah, which was added after the composition of Zechariah 1–8, or at least of an early version of these chapters.75 While the bulk of Chapters 1–8 is generally dated to the Persian period, the date of Chapters 9–14 is debated. Since the end of the 19th century, it has been common to date this text to the Hellenistic period,76 but a Persian setting has gained growing support among scholars in recent decades, as can be seen in studies by B.G. Curtis, A.R. Petterson and H. Wenzel and in commentaries by M.A. Sweeney, P.L. Redditt, A. Wolters and M.J. Boda.77 Another disputed issue is whether it is possible to identify

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  307

discrete sources underpinning the composition of Zechariah 9–14. While there have been some recent proposals to that effect, in particular by Redditt and J. Wöhrle,78 the identification of these sources is very problematic. Given the extensive reuse of earlier traditions throughout the entire composition, interpretations that consider all of Zechariah 9–14 to be a scribal composition (presumably originating in several successive stages) are far more convincing.79 The important point, in any case, is that the supplementation of the first part of the book with Chapters 9–14 was intended to continue the earlier composition found in Zechariah 1–8 from a new and different perspective.80 This is corroborated by lines of continuity between the two sections, already emphasized by R.A. Mason and B.S. Childs, who have each pointed out that despite its specific profile and the rupture it introduces in the book, Zechariah 9–14 is not disconnected from Zechariah 1–8 (Mason 1976; Childs 1979: 482–485). Although the notion that Zechariah 9–14 is a continuation of Zechariah 1–8 from the outset is not a new one, its implications may be pursued further. Indeed, throughout the 20th century, scholars have focused mainly on the diachronic separation between the two parts of the book rather than on accounting for their relationship.81 Based on a synchronic approach to the Book of Zechariah as a whole, I will argue that both parts of the book focus on the restoration of Jerusalem, but that this restoration is envisaged in two distinctive contexts, with Zechariah 9–14 referring to times that are later than the historical context presented in Zechariah 1–8. I will then contend that the way these later times are presented is best understood as alluding to the Hellenistic period. The main line of continuity throughout the book hinges upon the theme of the restoration of Jerusalem and its cosmic implications. Both Chapters 1–8 and Chapters 9–14 deal with the future reestablishment of Jerusalem as a temple-city for the god-king Yhwh and the related restoration of cosmic order (cf. Mason 1976: 227–231; Childs 1979: 482–83). In Zechariah 9–14, this thematic continuity is constructed through parallels with Zechariah 1–8, which are placed at key positions at the beginning and the end of the composition and which show that Zechariah 9–14 reinterprets the restoration of Jerusalem in Zechariah 1–8 from a more dramatic

perspective. As has often been noted, the arrival of the new king in Jerusalem in Zech 9:9–10 echoes the arrival of Yhwh in Jerusalem described in Zech 2:14–16 (e.g., Steck 1991: 75; Cook 1995: 137; Nurmela 1996: 214–217; Tai 1996: 44–49). Both texts exhort the “daughter” Zion to rejoice because of a special arrival—Yhwh himself or his king—that inaugurates a new era in which Jerusalem would be the center of the divine rule over all nations. However, while Zech 2:14–16 proclaims the coming of Yhwh in the context of the rebuilding of Jerusalem and its temple, Zech 9:9–10 announces the arrival of Yhwh’s representative following a divine conquest of the Levant that includes dramatic destructions (vv. 1–8). Significantly, both parts of the Book of Zechariah end in a parallel way, with a utopian description of the coming of the nations to Jerusalem to worship Yhwh: Zech 8:20–23 and 14:16– 21 both close their respective sections by emphasizing Jerusalem as a restored city, functioning as a cultic center where all nations converge (cf. Mason 1976: 230–231; Childs 1979: 482; Nurmela 1996: 225–226). Nonetheless, the way this utopian situation occurs differs. Zechariah 8 has the nations’ adoration of Yhwh follow the reconstruction of the Jerusalem temple (see, esp., vv. 2 and 9), whereas Zechariah 14 announces the annual pilgrimage of the nations for Sukkot, which is to take place after the dramatic capture of Jerusalem by foreign nations, and the ensuing cosmic intervention of the divine warrior to deliver his city (vv. 1–15). These two parallels clearly show that while both sections announce the restoration of Jerusalem with its cosmic implications, Zechariah 9–14 envisages the latter in a much more dramatic fashion than Zechariah 1–8.82 Overall, Zechariah 1–8 associates the restoration of the city with the reconstruction of the Jerusalem temple under Persian domination (cf. Childs 1979: 483–484; Nogalski 2011: 807). The visions narrated in Zech 1:7–6:15, which foresee the reestablishment of the city and the cosmic order, are presented alongside oracles announcing the rebuilding of the temple and the ensuing prosperity (Zech 1:14–17, 2:10–17, 4:6b–10a, 6:9–15). Concluding the section, Zech 8 consists of a series of promises of welfare, fertility and honor, which are also explicitly related to the rebuilding of the sanctuary (Zech 8:3,9). The restoration of both the temple and the city is explicitly associated with the political context of

308  hervé gonzalez

Persian domination. As in the Book of Haggai (1:1,15, 2:1,10,20), chronological superscriptions shape the structure of Zechariah 1–8 by referring to the first regnal years of the Persian king Darius (Zech 1:1,7, 7:1). In Zechariah 9–14, however, Jerusalem’s restoration is announced in a very different context. The reconstruction of the temple is no longer an issue, but instead is presupposed (Zech 9:8, 11:13, 14:20–21). Nor is the Persian domination mentioned anymore: the section is no longer structured by chronological references to the reign of the Persian king but instead by the technical heading ‫משא‬, “oracle/proclamation,” in Zech 9:1 and 12:1.83 This change of heading concurs with a shift towards the description of dramatic events in the Levant, marking a major rupture within the book. Following the first occurrence of the heading ‫משא‬, Zech 9:1–8 describes the divine conquest of the Levant in a north–south direction, involving the judgment of Phoenician and Philistine cities, especially Tyre (vv. 3–4), Gaza and Ashkelon, as well as ensuing population changes in the region (vv. 5b–7). This dramatic depiction leads to a utopian oracle foreseeing the establishment in Jerusalem of a peaceful and pious king over the Levant in its entirety (Zech 9:9–10).84 Following this, the rest of Zechariah 9–14 depicts a series of upheavals that would affect the holy city and the Judean community before the decisive restoration of the city. Contrary to Zechariah 1–8, Zechariah 9–14 insists that the complete restoration of the city would not be a peaceful process following the temple’s reconstruction. Instead, the reestablishment of the city would occur after dramatic events, in which Jerusalem would be directly threatened and even captured at some point (Zech 14:1– 2). This picture of doom is crafted through a series of scenes that revolve around the same theme in various ways. Zech 9:11–17, 10:3b–12, 12:1–13:6 and 14 all depict the attack of Jerusalem by foreign nations, the divine protection of the city in the face of the threat, and the new order following the reestablishment of the holy city. In addition, the final restoration is preceded not only by a political and military crisis, but also by social and economic troubles within the community. Strategically placed at the center of Zechariah 9–14 and with no equivalent in Zechariah 1–8, Zechariah 11 uses the shepherd/flock imagery to depict abuses and exploitation

of the community by its leaders, interpreted by most commentators as being linked to a foreign power.85 Furthermore, the period of time preceding Jerusalem’s restoration in Zechariah 9–14 is also marked by cultic confusion. Zech 10:1–3a exhorts the community not to rely upon false means of divination. Albeit in a different manner, the issue of divination appears again in Zech 13:2–6, which criticizes the prophets who would still be active in the times preceding the restoration. In addition, through their announcement of the future purification of the temple from the “Canaanite” (‫)כנעני‬, the last verses of the section imply that the temple would be polluted by foreign influence prior to the reestablishment of the city (Zech 14:20–21). All these aspects make the future restoration of Jerusalem envisaged in Zechariah 9–14 look very different from its depiction in Zechariah 1–8.86 The notion promoted by Zechariah 9–14 whereby the restoration of the city would take place only after a period of distress and disturbance that would affect the city and the Judean community from within is a major conceptual change as compared to the earlier text. This time period is depicted in a dystopian manner: troubles will be general, with dramatic consequences for the political, socio-economic and cultic spheres.87 Several clues suggest that the dystopian period described in Zechariah 9–14 is situated after the days of the Persian domination and in fact refers to early Hellenistic times. First, the change of heading—from a precise dating formula to a generic introduction—within the book, in Zech 9:1 and Zech 12:1, is arguably meaningful rather than coincidental. Compared to the dating formulas that serve to frame the oracles in Zech 1:1,7 and 7:1, the headings in Zech 9:1 and 12:1 omit any chronological reference to a Persian ruler by using the technical term ‫ משא‬instead.88 This difference dissociates the events described in Zechariah 9–14 from those depicted in Zechariah 1–8, which occurred under Achaemenid rule (Floyd 2000: 306–309). This time distinction may be compared to the main division of the Book of Isaiah into two parts (Chapters 1–39 and Chapters 40–66), which are centered on two different periods—the monarchic and the exilic/postexilic periods, respectively. The shift between the two eras is accompanied by changes in the way the oracles are introduced. In contrast to Chapters 1–39 (cf. Isa 1:1, 6:1, 7:1, 14:28, 20:1–2, 36:1, 38:1, 39:1),

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  309

Chapters 40–66 do not contain dating formulas referring to the reigns of Judean kings.89 As we shall see, the content of Zechariah 9–14, which presents the conquest of the Levant by Yhwh and thereby implicitly the end of Persian domination over the land, further confirms this interpretation. Second, the upheavals depicted in Zechariah 9 involve a new main “player”: the Greeks. In a warlike depiction comparing Jerusalem to a sword, Yhwh explicitly announces, in Zech 9:13a, that he would pit the Jerusalemites against the Greeks: “I will wield your sons, O Zion, against your sons, O Greece” (‫ועוררתי בניך ציון‬ ‫)על בניך יון‬.90 Since the late 19th century, many scholars have interpreted v. 13 as an allusion to a historical event that must have occurred between the wars of Alexander and the Hasmonean era, but there has been no agreement as to its identification.91 Other scholars argue that the reference to the Greeks (‫ )על בניך יון‬is a later gloss, because it does not fit the meter of the surrounding context, and that this gloss was added in the Hellenistic period to refer either to the wars of the Diadochi or to the tension between the Judeans and the Seleucid power in the 2nd century BCE.92 This technical argument is, however, problematic, since the poetic form of Zechariah 9 is not metrically regular (cf. Floyd 2000: 456). Hanson, for instance, is compelled to treat several other clauses as glosses in order to reconstruct a more or less regular meter in Zechariah 9 (Hanson 1973: 41–47; 1979: 295–299). Furthermore, if the reference to the Greeks is removed from the text, it becomes impossible to know the identity of the assailants of Jerusalem—not only in Zech 9:11–17 but also in Chapter 10, which further describes the battle (see also Steck 1991: 73). Far from being ancillary to the interpretation of the text, the mention of the battle with the Greeks in Zech 9:13 is crucial to the understanding of the passage, and it merits special consideration because of its originality within prophetic literature. Despite the strong concern for continuity with previous prophetic oracles that is visible in Zechariah 9–14, this verse strikingly departs from the prophetic tradition in order to announce a military conflict with the Greeks.93 Several scholars, including Sweeney, Curtis and Redditt, have argued that Zech 9:13 does not refer to a time under Greek domination but should be interpreted

in a Persian context.94 They emphasize that Greece was already a major international power by the 6th century BCE and that the opposition to the Greeks in Zechariah 9 should be interpreted in light of the Greco-Persian wars in the early 5th century BCE. According to them, Zech 9:11–17 was written in support of the Persian forces during these events. This argument, however, is problematic, not least because Persia is nowhere mentioned in Zechariah 9–14 (Floyd 2000: 456; Nogalski 2011: 809). This absence is all the more striking when we consider that references to Persian domination are present in Zechariah 1–8, where they even serve a structuring function. Second, the idea that Zechariah 9 supports the Persian empire is in complete contradiction to a central theme in Zechariah 9–10—namely, the liberation of the land from foreign rule. This ideology of political independence can be seen in the depiction of the divine conquest of the Levant in Zech 9:1–8, in the announcement of a new local ruler in 9:9–10 and in the situation resulting from the military victory, which both Chapters 9 and 10 associate with the possession and enjoyment of land by Israelites.95 Third, the battle against the Greeks in Zech 9:11–17 takes place within the Judean territory itself, with Jerusalem under direct threat. This is suggested not only by the description of the fight, which specifically refers to the sons of Zion (v. 13), but also by its literary context, which emphasizes the role of Jerusalem in the liberation of the land from foreign rule. In fact, the divine conquest of the Levant in Zech 9:1–8 culminates with Yhwh being present at “his house” in Jerusalem96 and protecting his people from the “oppressor” (‫נגש‬, v. 8). This depiction is in keeping with the focus of Zech 9:9–10 on Jerusalem as the capital of a great kingdom that would encompass the whole Levant. The following verses, 11–12, continue to address the city itself—as is already the case in the call to rejoice in vv. 9–10 (Meyers and Meyers 1993: 138)— in order to call the exiles (designated as “prisoners,” ‫ )אסירים‬to return to the “stronghold” (‫)בצרון‬, a term interpreted by many commentators as a military presentation of Zion.97 Thus, similarly to the subsequent scenes in Zechariah 12 and 14, Zech 9:11–17 depicts how the city of Jerusalem itself is threatened by foreigners. This localization of the conflict does not fit the GrecoPersian wars at all.

310  hervé gonzalez

Overall, Zechariah 9(–10) presents a utopian future in which Israel will be politically independent after the land is freed from Greek military power; this situation will be achieved through a war that will gather the Israelites to Jerusalem to defend the city against the Greeks. Thus, in the final analysis, a historical reading of Zech 9:11–17 as opposing Greek domination in the Levant appears much more convincing than a pro-Persian interpretation in light of the Greco-Persian wars of the early Persian period. This reading makes sense if we recall that the cities of the Southern Levant were indeed threatened several times by Greco-Macedonian armies during the many wars of the early Hellenistic period and that destructions were frequent, especially during the decades following Alexander’s death.98 Not only did Jerusalem itself come under threat on several occasions, but it was actually conquered at least twice—by Ptolemy I and later by Antiochus III99—whereas nothing of the sort ever happened under Persian domination. While it would be too speculative to seek a specific historical event behind the composition of Zech 9:11–17, it makes far more sense to date the depiction of the war of Jerusalem against the Greeks to the aftermath of Alexander’s conquest, when the Greek armies regularly roamed the Levant, than to a pre-Hellenistic setting (cf. Stade 1882: 275–290; Steck 1991: 35–36). In this context, the utopia of political independence and stability promoted in Zechariah 9–10 can be read as a response to the great political instability that characterized the Levant during the first decades of the Hellenistic period.100 The ideal image of a peaceful and pious king ruling over the entire Levant in Zech 9:9–10 could serve as a counter-model of kingship contrasting with the rule of the Diadochi, who incessantly fought against each other for the possession of the Levant without being able to dominate it entirely.101 This historical interpretation is further strengthened when we consider that the singular battle of Jerusalem against the Greeks in vv. 11–17 occurs only after another original depiction, that of a divine conquest of the Levant in vv. 1–8, which is reminiscent of the conquest of Alexander. Although the notion of a divine intervention against various Levantine nations is fairly common in prophetic literature,102 Zech 9:1–8 is unique in depicting a brief succession of events that take place solely in the Levant, with a general north–south regional pattern and

leading to the integration of the Levantine nations with Israel. In vv. 1–2, the “word of Yhwh” (‫ )דבר יהוה‬penetrates and takes possession first of Syria—referred to as the “land of Hadrach” (‫)ארץ חדרך‬, Damascus and Hamath— and then of Phoenicia—represented by Tyre and Sidon.103 The divine appropriation of Syria and Phoenicia is marked by one major event, i.e., the destruction of Tyre, described in vv. 3–4. This episode is presented as causing fear in the Philistine district (Ashkelon, Gaza and Ekron; v. 5a)104 and leading, more specifically, to the collapse of the political power (the “king,” ‫ )מלך‬in Gaza and the destruction of Ashkelon, as well as the installation of the “bastard,” ‫ממזר‬, in Ashdod (vv. 5b–6a).105 Gaza and Ashkelon, which are mentioned not only first but twice and whose punishment is clearly indicated, appear to be particularly affected by these dramas.106 Despite these punishments, the future of the Philistines is ultimately positive, as vv. 6b–7 announce the purification of the rest of their population and its integration within the people of Israel. This is a quite original announcement, which confirms the goal of Yhwh’s actions, i.e., to unite the Levantine nations with Israel within a large, independent and secure territory. Ultimately, v. 8 concludes the unit by emphasizing Yhwh’s protection over his people from “his house” (the Jerusalem temple) against any invasion. The subsequent unit further clarifies the ultimate goal of Yhwh’s conquest. By announcing the installation of a king at Jerusalem who will rule peacefully over a large territory including the whole Levant, Zech 9:9–10 envisages in utopian fashion the restoration of the united monarchy of Israel in the Levant as the final phase of Yhwh’s plan. Hence, Zechariah 9–14 in general construes the following historiographical pattern. A divine conquest of the Levant from Northern Syria to Philistia, which includes in particular the judgment of Tyre, Gaza and Ashkelon (Zech 9:1–8) and which ultimately aims at restoring a great united kingdom of Israel (Zech 9:9–10), is followed by a major complication: the Greek military threat against Jerusalem itself. Nonetheless, the fight and the victory of Israel—with the help of Yhwh—will bring about the liberation of the land and its enjoyment by the Israelites (Zech 9:11–17, described anew in Chapter 10). Chapters 11–14 then add further complications to this scenario, with a series of politico-military, socio-economic

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  311

and cultic complications that will precede the cosmic restoration of the holy city (see, esp., Zech 14:8–11,16–21). Such a historiographical pattern is consistent with the absence of any superscription referring to the reign of a Persian monarch in Zechariah 9–14. Indeed, the divine conquest of the Levant evokes the end of Persian rule: it implies that Yhwh will take the satrapy of TransEuphrates from the Persian empire with the ultimate goal of uniting this territory politically and making it independent, under the rule of the future king of Jerusalem, instead of the Persian king (cf. Zech 7:1). In addition, such an allusion to the end of Persian domination well prepares the reader for the subsequent scene, in which Greek military power is present in the Levant and threatens Jerusalem. For these reasons, it is quite tempting to read the divine conquest of the Levant as alluding to the conquest of Alexander the Great, a major historical event that was preserved in the Judean cultural memory as the beginning of Greek domination in the Levant (cf. Dan 8:5–8,20, 11:2–4; 1 Macc 1:1–9; AJ 11.8) (see, esp., Ego 2014). This historical allusion has been defended by several scholars, such as K. Elliger, M. Delcor and I. Willi-Plein, who have pointed out that the north–south direction of the divine conquest (starting in Syria, continuing in Phoenicia and then reaching Philistia), as well as the emphasis on the destruction of Tyre and the judgment of Gaza, fit Alexander’s campaign quite well.107 The meaning of this possible historical allusion would be to give Yhwh the credit for the impressive and decisive conquest of Alexander and to implicitly present the Macedonian as an instrument used by Yhwh to reach a preliminary phase of his plan to restore Israel (cf. Ego 2014: 23–24). As such, the major event that marked the rise of Greek domination in the Levant is interpreted theologically as having been decided and controlled by Yhwh. At the same time, the text opposes Greek domination by not naming Alexander, by implying that his exploits are in fact Yhwh’s actions, by envisaging the rule of an ideal local king at Jerusalem (vv. 9–10) and by announcing that Greek military power would ultimately be defeated and removed from the land (vv. 11–17).108 Of course, since we are dealing with an allusion rather than an explicit reference, this reading cannot be confirmed definitively, and it remains a hypothesis. Up

to the mid-20th century, several scholars argued against a Hellenistic date by suggesting that Zech 9:1–8 reflects military events from the late 8th century BCE, at a time when Syria was a militarily strategic region and Philistine cities were destroyed by Neo-Assyrian rulers. This historical interpretation was deemed to provide an explanation for the emphasis on Northern Syria as well as the reference to events in Philistia. In particular, it could explain the mention of the land of Hadrach, a toponym the latest extra-biblical attestations of which are found in Neo-Assyrian inscriptions from the 8th century BCE.109 However, the identification of the events reflected in the text was far from obvious: C. Steuernagel (1912: 645) proposed the military operations of Tiglathpileser III, and E.G.H. Kraeling (1924) envisaged a combination of events associated with different Neo-Assyrian rulers, while A. Malamat (1950) argued for the military campaigns of Sargon II. To make matters more complicated, it is now widely accepted that the passage was composed in a later context, with several prophetic literary traditions in view. Thus, maintaining such a historical interpretation would require explaining why a postexilic scribal text would refer to earlier events in a quite new way and with details that are not found in the literary traditions to which the text alludes (e.g., the reference to the land of Hadrach; see below). More recently, scholars such as C.L. Meyers, E.M. Meyers, Curtis and Redditt have argued that Zech 9:1–8 does not describe an itinerary but rather the ideal territory of the future Israelite kingdom, inspired by Davidic traditions or by ideal depictions of Israel’s territory, such as Ezek 47:13–23.110 This territorial reading has the merit of highlighting the utopian character of the text, which prepares for the reestablishment of Israel’s kingdom with Jerusalem as the royal capital, as announced in Zech 9:9–10. It can explain the reference to various Levantine place-names, as well as the idea of the integration of the neighboring nations—particularly the Philistines (v. 7)— within Israel and the emphasis on the divine protection of Jerusalem (v. 8). However, this interpretation does not account well for the series of events presented by the text, such as the destruction of cities. Compared to the territorial descriptions in Ezek 47:13–23 and in Num 34:1– 12, Zech 9:1–8 differs in depicting the various divine actions that would ultimately lead to the independence

312  hervé gonzalez

and unity of the Levant. In addition, contrary to Ezek 47 and Numbers 34, Zech 9:1–8 only mentions places that are to the north, west and southwest of Israel, leaving aside the eastern and southern side of the territory. This emphasis on the western side of the territory obviously has a function other than depicting the western boundary of the land, since the latter is clearly set by the Mediterranean Sea.111 Furthermore, the explicit inclusion of Northern Syria within the territory of Israel has no parallel in the other territorial descriptions.112 The territorial interpretation fails to explain these particular aspects of Zech 9:1–8, as well as the general north–south regional pattern of the divine intervention. As several other scholars agree, Zech 9:1–8 is best read as depicting the general progression of a divine conquest from Northern Syria to the Southern Levantine coast, rather than as a mere territorial description.113 Another approach, developed by scholars such as Mason (2003a: 7–27), Larkin (1994: 54–67) and Lee (2015: 56–91), has been to explore the intertextual connections of Zech 9:1–8, considering that this unit essentially aims at reinterpreting earlier traditions, especially prophetic oracles against foreign nations. This approach helps to explain several features of the text, such as the reference to traditional neighbors often targeted in prophetic oracles (esp. Damascus, Tyre, Sidon and the Philistine cities) and more specifically the judgment of Tyre and the doom of the Philistine cities.114 The references to a “king” (‫ )מלך‬of Gaza who will perish (v. 5) and to the destruction of Ashkelon (v. 5) are also well explained from an intertextual perspective, because similar elements are also found in other prophetic oracles against the Philistines.115 In addition, the mention of Ekron (vv. 5, 7), despite its loss of importance following its destruction in the late 7th century BCE (e.g., Dothan and Gitin 2008), and the absence of Gath, the fifth city of the ancient Philistine Pentapolis, make sense in light of earlier oracles against the Philistine region, which deal with the future of Ekron together with that of Ashdod, Ashkelon and Gaza and which also omit reference to the city of Gath (Jer 25:20; Amos 1:6–8; Zeph 2:4).116 Still, while this approach helps to explain several elements in the text, it also highlights the idiosyncrasies of the passage without providing a full explanation of the unparalleled elements. In particular, the form of Zech

9:1–8, which briefly presents a series of events in the Levant with a north–south regional pattern, corresponds to an original use of the literary genre of the oracle against foreign nations, thus helping to present the progression of a divine conquest of the Levant.117 The reasons for this formal transformation and the original depiction it creates are not obvious and require further explanation. In addition, while it has been argued that the divine judgments against Tyre and the Philistines in vv. 3–7 allude to previous prophetic oracles such as Ezekiel 28 and Amos 1:6–10, the absence of destruction in Syria and Sidon can hardly be explained in light of the other prophetic oracles concerning these places, which instead announce their punishment.118 Moreover, the emphasis on Northern Syria is hardly explained in light of previous literary traditions: the reference to Hadrach is in fact a hapax legomenon in the Hebrew Bible, and even though Hamath is mentioned in several prophetic contexts, overall it does not play a significant role.119 Finally, the intertextual approach does not explain why neighboring groups that are often doomed in prophetic literature, such as Edom, Moab and Ammon, are completely omitted.120 These peculiarities suggest that additional factors influenced the composition of Zech 9:1–8.121 In order to explain the specificities of Zech 9:1–8, M. Sweeney suggests that the passage reinterprets events of the early Persian period, especially the pacification of the empire in the early years of Darius I, as the fulfillment of earlier Isaianic oracles (esp. Isa 8:1–4) originally dealing with various events of the 8th century BCE (Sweeney 2000: 657–662). This hypothesis aims at explaining why the text’s description, which according to Sweeney stems from the Persian period, does not match any event of that period: historical events of the early Persian period are construed in a completely new way so as to match earlier oracles. Indeed, as emphasized by Sweeney, Darius passed through Syria and Palestine to reach Egypt and subdue its revolt, but he probably did not face any real resistance in the Levant, contrary to the depiction of Zechariah 9. Sweeney’s reading is interesting because it tries to combine different approaches, particularly intertextual and historical ones. Indeed, given the text’s complexity and literary richness, focusing exclusively on one approach has little chance of leading to a satisfactory interpretation. However, since the text’s

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  313

depiction has little in common with the historical event identified by Sweeney, his interpretation is only convincing if we assume that the text was composed in the early Persian period. In addition, identifying an allusion to the pacification of the empire by Darius is even more problematic, since, contrary to Zechariah 1–8, Zechariah 9 does not mention any Persian king.122 More broadly, the notion that previous oracles could be fulfilled by imagined events very different from historical reality is in itself difficult to accept. Recent proposals have instead sought to explain aspects of Zech 9:1–8 in light of the Levantine geopolitical situation in the Persian period. The importance given to Damascus (as Yhwh’s “resting place,” ‫ ;מנחה‬v. 1), as well as to Tyre and Sidon, reflects their prominent administrative and/or economic role in the satrapy of Trans-Euphrates (Petersen 1995: 43–46; Wolters 2014: 262–265; Boda 2016a: 537–541, 546). The dependence of the Philistine region on Tyre fits well with the situation of the Philistine cities, particularly Ashkelon, which was under Tyrian influence and control during the (late) Persian period.123 In Zech 9:5, the Philistine cities are afraid following the destruction of Tyre, which is described as their “hope” (‫)מבט‬. Elliger has also suggested that the reference to a king in Gaza only—while previous oracles such as Jer 25:20 and Amos 1:6–8 refer to kings in several Philistine cities—could reflect the particular status of this city at about the same time, under relatively autonomous Arabian (rather than Phoenician) control.124 Petersen has argued that the reference to Northern Syria reflects a notion that this region is united with the Southern Levant, as was the case in the Persian satrapy of Trans-Euphrates (1995: 43–44). These latter aspects are certainly worth considering, but they also do not explain the special form of Zech 9:1–8, which emphasizes a dramatic succession of events in a north–south pattern.125 In addition, the geopolitical situation under Persian rule highlights, but does not explain, the striking absence in Zechariah 9 of neighboring regions such as Edom or Moab, whose contacts with the province of Yehud were quite significant at that time; the absence of Edom is all the more striking in light of the role it plays in postexilic literature (e.g., in prophetic literature, Joel 4:19; Mal 1:2–5). Finally, the correspondences in the text with the geopolitical situation of the Levant in the Persian period

do not rule out a Hellenistic date of composition. In fact, they are also invoked by those scholars who read an allusion to Alexander’s conquest in Zechariah 9. If the text indeed refers to the end of Persian rule in the Levant and implicitly also to the transition to Hellenistic domination, it seems logical to find similarities with the Levantine configuration in late Persian and early Hellenistic times. By contrast, interpreting the divine conquest of the Levant in Zech 9:1–8 as alluding to Alexander’s conquest—in addition to earlier prophetic oracles—not only fits well with the notion in Zechariah 9 of the end of Persian domination followed by the Greek military presence in Palestine, but it also explains the peculiarities of the passage, especially its unique form—depicting a quick series of dramatic events in the Levant with a north–south progression—the selection of the regions mentioned, and the differences in their treatment. The rapid conquest of Alexander, taking Syria, Phoenicia and Philistia successively, highlights the quick succession of events that Zech 9:1–8 originally depicts with a general north–south orientation. This historical event also explains why Northern Syria is originally emphasized, whereas other neighbors from the south and the east, especially Edom, Moab and Ammon, which are the target of various biblical oracles, are not mentioned at all. Zech 9:1–8 reinterprets previous prophetic traditions in light of the itinerary of Alexander, who arrived in the Levant via Northern Syria and then passed through the western side of the Levant. Furthermore, not only do the regions mentioned in Zech 9:1–8 and their general north–south presentation fit Alexander’s conquest, but so do the different treatments they receive. The text first presents Yhwh as taking possession of the Syrian region, but no city destruction is mentioned for Syria or Sidon. Tyre is the first city to be destroyed (vv. 3–4); this episode, to which about one fourth of Zech 9:1–8 is dedicated, is stressed as the main destruction of the divine conquest. The destruction of Tyre then leads to an intervention within the Philistine district, with Gaza and Ashkelon being the main cities affected. These structuring aspects in Zech 9:1–8 correspond well to the conquest of Alexander in the Levant: he faced little resistance in Syria and Phoenicia until he reached Tyre; the conquest of this city represented

314  hervé gonzalez

a military exploit, decisive for the rest of its campaign; he then faced resistance in Philistia, especially at Gaza. To be sure, not every detail of the text matches Alexander’s campaign. This, however, is far from surprising, given the utopian character of the text: Zechariah 9–14 is not a historical text (in the modern sense) but rather a scribal prophetic text, the main concern of which is the ideal restoration of Israel in the future. Still, this text—like most of prophetic literature—is not disconnected from historical reality: it participates in a theological interpretation of significant events in Israel’s history. Hence, the text can allude to a historical event for a specific purpose without describing it in detail or even without being entirely correct in its depiction, as long as the main elements in the description are sufficient to remind the ancient reader of that event. Sweeney and Curtis rightly emphasize that it was not Alexander himself but rather Parmenion who seized Damascus (Sweeney 2000: 661; 2003b: 346; Curtis 2006: 167).126 Conversely, Willi-Plein and Saur argue that Damascus is mentioned before Hamath despite its location in southern Syria precisely because Alexander ordered Parmenion to go to Damascus immediately after the victory at Issus (Willi-Plein 2007: 154; Saur 2011: 82; cf., e.g., Green 2013: 243–245). Be that as it may, all these details were probably not essential for Judean scribes, whose primary aim was apparently to emphasize that the main administrative center of the satrapy would no longer be under Persian control. Curtis also rightly points out that Tyre and Sidon are not mentioned in a north–south order, whereas Alexander took Sidon first (Curtis 2006: 167). This observation, however, hardly precludes reading an allusion to Alexander’s conquest in Zech 9:1–8. The mention of Tyre before Sidon may simply reflect the greater importance of the former city from a Judean point of view. Tyre, which is located closer to Jerusalem than Sidon, is given a more prominent place than Sidon in the Judean literary traditions, and when both cities are mentioned together, Tyre always appears first (Jer 25:22, 27:3, 47:4; Joel 4:4; cf. Meyers and Meyers 1993: 97; Petersen 1995: 44–49). Another methodological issue in identifying this historical allusion is that we are not aware of many aspects pertaining to the event in question. Despite the fact that fairly rich historical documentation is available

to us concerning the main phases of Alexander’s conquest, many gaps remain in our knowledge that are not filled by this documentation. For example, when dealing with Alexander’s passage through Philistia, ancient historians focus their accounts on the siege of Gaza. We do not know, however, how Alexander treated the other Philistine cities, especially the city of Ashkelon, which was under Tyrian control. We can only guess that the destruction of Tyre, followed by that of Gaza, had negative repercussions on the Philistine region, which was closely tied to these two important centers (cf. Wolters 2014: 270–271). This logical historical hypothesis fits well with the description in Zech 9:5 of the Philistine panic provoked by the destruction of Tyre and the emphasis on Gaza and Ashkelon as the two Philistine cities most affected after the destruction of Tyre. Given the limitations of our knowledge about the events of the early Hellenistic period, we also cannot rule out the possibility that the reference to the destruction of Ashkelon is not only inspired by previous oracles against the Philistines but also by a historical event unknown to us. While ancient historical accounts do not refer to a destruction of Ashkelon in the early Hellenistic period, it is noteworthy that archaeological findings reveal a level of destruction in the ancient city of Ashkelon dated by the excavators to the late 4th or early 3rd century BCE (Stager 1993: 107–108, 110). The historical interpretation of this destruction remains open to various hypotheses, involving one of the Diadochi’s military operation or, perhaps, Alexander’s conquest. Thus, despite some predictable discrepancies between the prophetic depiction and our (partial) historical knowledge, Alexander’s conquest of the Levant provides a meaningful explanation of the main features of Zech 9:1–8, especially when compared to its traditional background. In any case, regardless of whether one finds a historical allusion to Alexander’s conquest in Zech 9:1–8, it should also be observed that a territorial conquest involving successive destructions in the Levant, impacting major cities such as Tyre and Gaza and leading to demographic changes in the region (Zech 9:5b–6a), corresponds much better with the socio-historical context of the early Hellenistic period than of the Persian period. Levantine territorial conquests, threat and destruction of Levantine cities, followed by deportations and the

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  315

installation of settlers, was a recurring pattern during the early Hellenistic period, due to the succession of Alexander’s conquest, the intense wars of the Diadochi, and the Syrian wars that continued until the 2nd century BCE. Although the Persians did intervene periodically against some Levantine cities, particularly against Sidon in the mid-4th century BCE, this type of event was quite unusual in the Levant under Achaemenid rule, especially when compared to the early Hellenistic period. In addition, Tyre and Gaza were not destroyed in the Persian period, whereas in early Hellenistic times, both cities were apparently conquered twice within the short time span of less than 20 years, first by Alexander and later by Antigonos (315–314).127 As already mentioned, even a destruction of Ashkelon is attested archaeologically in the very early Hellenistic period, despite the silence of the ancient historians about this event. As such, it can at least be said that the events described in Zech 9:1–10 in preparing for the fight of Jerusalem against the Greeks are characteristic of the early Hellenistic period, echoing in particular Alexander’s campaign in the Levant. Moreover, the utopian emphasis on the divine protection of Jerusalem and the Judean community (v. 8) makes good sense at that time, when Levantine urban centers were often under siege and Jerusalem itself was threatened on several occasions. Yhwh’s ultimate plan of stability for the city and the land contrasts with the treatment of the region by the first Hellenistic rulers and implicitly criticizes it. Contrary to the successors of Alexander who fought to possess the whole Levant without succeeding in unifying it politically, the local king appointed by Yhwh will rule peacefully over the entire region (vv. 9–10). Note that even without reading an allusion to Alexander’s conquest in Zech 9:1–8, the emphasis on Northern Syria, with the unique mention of the land of Hadrach, also best makes sense in an early Hellenistic context when the strategic importance of Northern Syria increased greatly, to the point that it became the heartland of the Seleucid Empire, one of the main political forces in the Mediterranean and the Near East during Hellenistic times—see especially the foundation of the Syrian Tetrapolis (Antioch, Seleuceia in Pieria, Laodicea and Apamea) around the turn of the 3rd century BCE. For scribes of the early Hellenistic period, the new political prominence of Northern Syria

was probably a (further) meaningful reason to mention the land of Hadrach among the nations of the Levant, despite its absence from their main literary traditions.128 The use of an ancient traditional name of the region helped to give this innovation an antique guise. In sum, Zechariah 9–14 appears to paint dystopian times after the days of Persian domination, in which the Greek threat plays a prominent role and the events depicted bear the distinctive mark of Hellenistic times. Therefore, in my view, this section of prophetic literature can be properly understood only with the Hellenistic period in mind.129 It is best read as portraying Hellenistic times as a troubled period that was purportedly predicted already in Persian times by the prophet Zechariah.130 The dystopian perspective reflects a negative attitude toward Hellenistic domination.131 At the same time, Zechariah 9–14 announces that this troubled period will come to an end with a massive intervention by Yhwh, who will deliver his city from its enemies, cut off the wicked from the community, and purify and glorify Jerusalem as the cultic center for all the nations. By ruling out, from the outset, the possibility that some prophetic texts could date from Hellenistic times, many scholars are unable to explain the main point of Zechariah 9–14, namely, the announcement of disordered times that would come after Persian rule and would delay the restoration of Jerusalem announced in Zechariah 1–8.132 Although it is admittedly not easy to determine precisely which prophetic texts were composed in the early Hellenistic period, the analysis of Zechariah 9–14 proposed above exemplifies how much biblical research could gain by paying more attention to this period as a time when prophetic literature was still in the making. As a way to briefly mention some further implications of this shift in perspective, we may observe that Ezekiel 38–39, Joel 4 and Isaiah 24–27 offer descriptions of dystopian times preceding the restoration of the cosmic order and the reestablishment of Yhwh’s people that bear striking similarities with Zechariah 9–14—global military conflicts in Ezekiel 38–39 and Joel 4133 and various cosmic and social disasters in Isaiah 24–27. These texts share a comparable historiographic pattern, as well as various motifs, with Zechariah 9–14; thus, the possibility that they were also either composed or expanded in the early Hellenistic period should be seriously considered,

316  hervé gonzalez

even if a firm conclusion would necessitate other observations for corroboration.134 In any case, we can conclude that the absence of explicit references to Hellenistic times is not a sufficient reason to rule out the possibility that some prophetic texts were composed in this period.135 The example of Zechariah 9–14 shows that even when it announces the Hellenistic times, prophetic literature does not explicitly mention Hellenistic rule, figures, or events. It remains somewhat allusive, referring, for instance, to the Greek threat against Jerusalem in a very general manner. A similar tendency, albeit less accentuated, can be seen in apocalyptic texts such as Daniel and Enoch; as already stated, neither mentions the name of any Hellenistic king, even when they refer to Hellenistic rule. This is likely part of the literary strategy described above of presenting the texts as more ancient than they actually are. Possibly too, the critical view on Hellenistic rule was a further reason not to mention any Hellenistic king by his name (contrary, for instance, to the positive mention of Cyrus in Isa 44:28 and 45:1). Admittedly, Zechariah 9–14 is a somewhat clearer example than other prophetic texts that could have developed during the Hellenistic period, especially since it alone refers to the threat of Jerusalem by the Greeks.136 Nonetheless, this unique element in Zechariah 9–14 should not be taken to mean that this text is the only prophetic composition from the Hellenistic period. Rather, it points to the particular place and function of Zechariah 9–14 within the prophetic corpus. Zechariah 9–14 represents the final words of Zechariah, who is conceived as one of the last prophets of Yhwh—if not the very last one, since Malachi is depicted as a unique divine messenger rather than a typical prophetic figure.137 As such, the section serves to indicate that even though classical prophetic revelation allegedly came to an end shortly into Persian times, the troubles of the Hellenistic times were nonetheless revealed to the prophets, particularly to the last one(s). Thus, Zechariah 9–14 arguably fulfills the specific function of updating the prophetic literature to the Hellenistic period, and it thus legitimizes its status as divine revelation concerning the future of Israel. This is part of the reason why Zechariah 9–14 interacts with traditions found not only in Zechariah 1–8 but in the prophetic collection more broadly (cf.

Tiemeyer 2018). Other compositions, such as Isaiah 24–27, Ezekiel 38–39 and Joel 4, may also allude to Hellenistic times critically, but their different place and function within the prophetic collection does not allow them to be as specific as Zechariah 9–14.138 While making sense for the reader in Hellenistic times, these texts also maintain strong continuity with previous prophetic traditions, thereby preserving their guise as antique literature. Though in a cyphered way, allusions to Hellenistic times were probably included in some prophetic sections in order to maintain the relevance of prophetic literature and to defend its legitimacy as divine revelation. As such, the future announced in prophetic literature, which envisages troubled times to come before the decisive restoration, could serve as an esoteric revelation for the times to come after the Persian era. Precisely this sort of reading is found, for instance, in the pesharim of Qumran, which interpret their contemporary situation in light of Isaiah and the Twelve. It is in this way too that Sirach understands the role of Isaiah: “By his dauntless spirit he saw the future, and comforted the mourners in Zion. He revealed what was to occur to the end of time, and the hidden things before they happened” (48:24–25).139

Conclusion As shown by the above discussion, drawing a line after the Persian period as the point of closure of the prophetic corpus appears to be historically groundless. Such an approach, which (somewhat romantically) views the prophetic collection as a mere anthology of the oracles once pronounced by the ancient prophets or their disciples, does not enable us to fully appreciate the complexity and the wealth of this literature or to grasp its function in ancient Judaism. On the basis of manuscript evidence as well as a socio-historical analysis of some prophetic texts, especially Zechariah 9–14, I have argued in this essay that it is reasonable to assume that the prophetic books continued to develop during the Hellenistic period. Prophetic texts composed at that time include Fortschreibungen aimed at improving the quality of the book, as well as reinterpreting specific oracles in a new light. Larger units were also composed, and their

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  317

strong dystopian/utopian tendency typically provided critical comments on the troubled events that characterized Hellenistic times. The extent of the reworking of the prophetic books in early Hellenistic times is difficult to evaluate and requires further investigation; nevertheless, it seems that revisions could impact the overall structure of the books, as suggested by the different editions of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Passages or sections were introduced with a great concern for continuity with earlier traditions— borrowed from within or outside the book. Their very conservative style explains why it is difficult to distinguish them from earlier prophetic texts and why they do not contain clear indications of their Hellenistic setting. In a context of greater cultural interaction and competition, such a conservative approach arguably sought to position the prophetic books as “ancient literature,” which, together with the Former Prophets, helped narrate the pre-Hellenistic history of Israel. At the same time, critical allusions to Hellenistic times were introduced in prophetic sections depicting the future of Israel. As such, the collection could be read not only as retracing Israel’s past but also as esoteric revelatory literature about postPersian times. These observations hopefully make it clear that we need to seriously consider the work of Judean scribes from the Persian and the Hellenistic periods if we are to retrace the latest stages of the formation of the prophetic collection. This finding, in turn, fits well with broader observations in the field of archaeology that advise against postulating a rigid separation between late Persian and early Hellenistic Judea. Compared to the significant changes attested in the 2nd century BCE, the material culture does not point to a major rupture between the two periods (e.g., Lipschits and Tal 2007: 33–36). This, however, does not mean that no social or

cultural changes took place during the 3rd century BCE. In particular, the many wars of the early Hellenistic period certainly affected, either directly or indirectly, the socio-economic situation in Judea, for example through increased mercenary activity and the installation of cleruchies in or near Judea. Other socio-economic changes were introduced at that time, in particular with the administrative reforms of Ptolemy II and Ptolemy III. While it is difficult to evaluate their impact on the region, these reforms undoubtedly affected Judean elites and society.140 To give but one example, it is reasonable to assume that the closure of the Jerusalem mint in the second half of the 3rd century BCE, most probably due to a royal measure, resulted in a major economic loss for the Jerusalem temple.141 This essay has sought to demonstrate how a study of the socio-historical processes characteristic of early Hellenistic Judea may help us understand the meaning and social role of the prophetic collection as it now stands. While biblical scholars have produced numerous studies on the Persian-period Yehud in recent decades, early Hellenistic Judea has received comparatively little attention. As the present volume shows, however, a wealth of evidence is available, especially in the fields of ancient historiography, papyrology, epigraphy, numismatics and archaeology, and through it we may hope to delineate the main contours of the socio-political context of that period. Comparative evidence from Ptolemaic Egypt, as well as from Seleucid Syria and Mesopotamia, may also shed light upon the sociohistorical processes that occurred in Judea under Ptolemaic rule. More research is necessary in order to gain a better understanding both of these socio-historical processes and of the literary activity taking place in Judea in the early Hellenistic period and thereby to appreciate their significance for the formation of biblical literature.

NOTES 1.

On Isa 24–27, see, e.g., Cheyne 1895: 145–62 or Marti 1900: 182–883, showing that a Hellenistic date was quite influential in the late 19th century; see also, e.g., Gray 1912: 397–104; Duhm 1922: 172; Proksch 1930: 342–346; Rudolph 1933: 60–64; Pfeiffer 1952: 441–443; Plöger 1959: esp. 96–97 (distinguishing Chapter 27 as an earlier section); for more recent proposals, see Steck 1991: 27–28; Albertz 1994: 570–575; Schmid 2008: 194; see critical

2.

presentation of the hypothesis in Hays 2017: 121, 128–31. Other scholars, e.g., Kaiser (1976: 141–145) and Vermeylen (1974), have envisaged a gradual composition of Isa 24–27 during the Persian and Hellenistic periods. On Zech 9–14, see discussion below, esp. references in n. 76. See also Ps 74:9. On Zech 13:2–6, see, esp., Lange 2002: 291–307; Cook 2011: 58–63; Biberger 2010: 289–296; cf. Kartveit 1994. On

318  hervé gonzalez

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

the end of the prophets of Yhwh in Zechariah and the question of the future of the prophets in Zech 1:5, see Rudman 2003; Gonzalez 2013: 32–43. On Mal 3:22–24, see, e.g., Schmid 2012b: 132; Meinhold 2006: 399–429, esp. 417; van der Toorn 2007: 252–256; Cook 2011: 52. On the end of the prophets in ancient Jewish sources, see, esp., the comprehensive analysis of Cook 2011, or, e.g., Sommer 1996. For instance, this shortcoming mars her discussion of the redactional theories identifying several layers in the Book of Ezekiel, especially that of Garscha (1974), who argues that the book was composed in successive stages down to the Hellenistic period. Tiemeyer (2011: 276–277) does not argue against the idea of a complex composition of the Book of Ezekiel through successive reinterpretations. Instead, she only casts doubt on the historical allusions to Hellenistic events identified by Garscha, such as the destruction of Tyre by Alexander the Great, which, in his view, is reflected in Ezek 26–28. Regardless of the accuracy of this specific historical identification, the notion of a complex development through several stages of literary growth makes it difficult to postulate that this process necessarily stopped during the Persian period. On the possible allusion to Alexander’s destruction of Tyre in Ezek 26–28, see below, “Allusions to the Hellenistic Period in Prophetic Literature.” Tiemeyer (2011: 255–256) refers in particular to Albertz, who concludes a response to Lemche by stating: “the Old Testament, at its core, is not a Hellenistic book, definitely not” (Albertz 2001: 46). However, Albertz’s paper deals primarily with the Pentateuch, and his views on the prophetic books are much more nuanced, accepting that units such as Zech 9–14 and Isa 24–27 were composed in the Hellenistic period (1994: 566–575); see also Grabbe (2001: 335–336): “Most of us would accept that various other writings, especially in the Prophets, would not have been completed until the Hellenistic period (even if they already existed in some form earlier than this).” Surprisingly, while Tiemeyer discusses the Masoretic pluses of Ezekiel as compared with the LXX (2011: 277–279), she does not mention the problem of the two editions of Jeremiah. In general, the Masoretic pluses in Ezekiel as well as in Jeremiah should mainly be understood as additions made to the ancestor of the Masoretic text, rather than omissions in the LXX; see the subsequent discussion. See esp. Janzen 1973: 7–8, 173–184; Tov 1989; 1992; 2012: 286–294; Brooke 1997; and Lange’s descriptions in Lange and Tov 2017: 536–542, which adduces the evidence of the manuscript Schøyen 4612/9; however, the authenticity of the latter manuscript is contested, especially by Langlois (2019). Langlois also suggests that 4QJerb and 4QJerd could be fragments of the same manuscript, even though their scripts are of a slightly different size. On Jeremiah, see esp. Janzen 1973; Tov 1972; 1979; 1981; 1985; Bogaert 1981; 1991a; 1991b; 1994; see also, e.g., Goldman 1992: esp. 218–223; Lust 1994; Stipp 1994; 1997; Lange 2009: 304–314; Bons 2016: 124–125; Hornkohl 2014: 366–369. On Ezekiel, see esp. Lust 1981; 1986; 2003; Tov 1986; Pohlmann 1992: 77–87, 122; Scatolini Apóstolo 2005; Nihan 2010: 106–107, 119–124, 141–143; Mackie 2010; 2015: 16–49; Crane 2008: 207–264; Lilly 2012; see also the history of research by Tooman and the discussion by Lust in Lange and Tov 2017: 559–569, 581–585. Different interpretations have been less influential; in the case of Jeremiah, see esp. the studies of Fischer (1991; 1997) and van der Kooij (1994), defending the anteriority of the proto-Masoretic text vis-à-vis the Vorlage to the LXX. Other scholars have proposed that there were two separate textual traditions; see van Selms 1976; Becking 2004: 11–48; for more references on this debate, see Becking 2004: 11–15; Lange

2009: 304–314. For other views on the case of Ezekiel, see Greenberg 1997: 738–740; Flanagan 2009; Granados García 2010: 17–21. The anteriority of the Vorlage to the LXX should not be assumed too rigidly; we cannot exclude the possibility that in certain cases, textual differences are due to later changes in the LXX Vorlage whereas the MT might preserve an earlier reading; see, e.g., the cautious remarks of Goldman 1992: 222–223; Tov 2012: 288–289; or the argument of Sweeney 2014a. Indeed, in some isolated cases the LXX of Jeremiah displays additional expressions. According to Lange, the LXX Vorlage is already a reworked version of an earlier text that is also the ancestor of the proto-Masoretic text; in particular, if ms. Schøyen 4612/9 is authentic (but see Langlois 2019), it would attest that some secondary readings of LXX are based on an earlier Hebrew text; Lange and Tov 2017: 538–539. In any case, the diachronic relationship between the editions does not change the fact that the content of Jeremiah and Ezekiel was still fluid during the Hellenistic period. 8. See, e.g., Kratz 1997; Nihan 2012; Schmid 2012a; Nogalski 2016. For more specific studies, see, e.g., Steck 1991; Schmid 1996; Maier 2002; Klein 2008. 9. Fishbane 1985; see, e.g., p. 6: “At each stage in the traditio, the traditum was adapted, transformed or reinterpreted.” 10. Although the overall content of the Twelve does not evince the same level of variation as in the case of Ezekiel and Jeremiah, the LXX and apparently the DSS (4QXIIa) too attest to different arrangements of the collection; see, e.g., Jones 1995; Brooke 2006: 20–34; Lange and Tov 2017: 601, 611–612, 614–622. Note, however, that R.E. Fuller’s reconstruction of a Malachi–Jonah sequence in 4QXIIa (see Ulrich et al. 1997: 221–232) is not certain; see Fabry 2003; Guillaume 2007; García Martínez 2004: 107; in any case, Malachi does not appear to be the end of the manuscript 4QXIIa; see recently Pajunen and von Weissenberg 2015. In the case of Isaiah, C.B. Hays (2017: 130–131) rightly emphasizes that the ancient manuscripts attest to a quite stable text already in the 2nd century BCE. Hays interprets this observation as an indication that Isaiah was completed well before the 2nd century and even before the 3rd century BCE. While the fairly stable transmission of Isaiah in the late Hellenistic period suggests that Isaiah was completed before the 2nd century BCE, we cannot exclude the possibility that some additions were made in the late 4th or early 3rd century BCE, especially as the Isaiah manuscripts from the late Hellenistic and Early Roman periods still display some variability. In addition, the various degrees of textual stability among the prophetic books should not be explained only in light of their compositional history, but also in light of their function in the late Second Temple period. It is probably not by chance that the more stable prophetic collections, Isaiah and the Twelve, are precisely the ones used for divination purposes at Qumran, with pesharim interpreting their literal meaning for the present and the near future of the community. Compared to Jeremiah and Ezekiel, the content of Isaiah and the Twelve has a broader historical scope—from the 8th century BCE down to the Persian and probably also Hellenistic times—facilitating their reading as dealing with the history of Israel until the “end.” Such a mantic interpretation cannot be excluded for some passages of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, but it was apparently associated with Isaiah and the Twelve more particularly (cf. Sir 48:24–25; see, e.g., Brooke 2006: 36–42, for the eschatological use of the Twelve at Qumran); it probably helped the later books to reach a higher textual stability in the late Hellenistic and Roman periods. 11. Lange and Tov 2017: 539–542. Nor should the LXX Vorlage be seen as the ancestor of proto-Masoretic text; see above, n. 7.

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  319 12. Some variation can also be noted within the text groups of the MT and LXX respectively; see, e.g., Tov 2012: 107–110. 13. See the descriptions and classifications in Tov 2002: 154–57; García Martínez 2004: esp. 106–112; Fuller 2009: 4; Lange 2009: 257–369; 2010: 44–64; von Weissenberg 2012a: esp. 386–389; Lange and Tov 2017: 470–488, 514–542, 570–580, 601–613. 14. As F. García Martínez (2004: 112–117) has argued in the case of the Pesharim (no earlier than the 1st century BCE), textual variants in prophetic quotations could stem either from a different text that was available by the end of the Second Temple period or from exegetical changes by the interpreter, who took an active part in the unfolding of prophetic revelation. See, e.g., p. 117: “The pesharists acted usually as commentators of the biblical texts, applying it to their own reality, but sometimes, at a time when what we call ‘Biblical Text’ was still in the making, in a growing and not yet completely established and fixed form, they were also citing as biblical authors, crossing occasionally the border and changing the text in order to suit their interpretation.” See also, e.g., the use of Amos in the DSS presented by H. von Weissenberg (2012b); she concludes her essay by stating, “Authoritative status of composition does not mean these authoritative texts, their wording or even their meaning, were unchangeable or immutable” (p. 375). Another example is the quotation of Jer 10:12–13 in 11QPsa 26:13–15, which Lange interprets as a possible sign of another text of the Book of Jeremiah; Lange and Tov 2017: 541–542; for Isaiah, see Lange 2009: 288–92; for Ezekiel, see Lange and Tov 2017: 579–580; for the Twelve, see also Lange 2009: 364–365. 15. On textual fluidity in the Second Temple period, see, e.g., Ulrich 1999: 1–162; 1998; Lange 2010; Hendel 2010. 16. See, e.g., Lange and Tov 2016: 148–58, where A. Lange argues that the textual standardization of the biblical texts started only in the second half of the 1st century BCE. 17. Cf. Tov 2012: 168. On the date of the Old Greek of the prophetic books, see, esp., Dorival, Harl and Munnich 1988: 86–111. 18. In the case of Jeremiah, the manuscript 4QJera would attest to the existence of the proto-Masoretic edition already by the end of the 3rd or the beginning of the 2nd century BCE (225–175 BCE, according to E. Tov in Ulrich et al. 1997: 150). This makes it quite plausible that the proto-Masoretic edition of Jeremiah was already extant by the time of the Greek translation (some scholars are inclined to question this early date of 4QJera, e.g., Bogaert 2001: 74, but not on the basis of paleographic analysis). In the case of Ezekiel, the first manuscripts attesting to a text that could be close to the MT are from the 1st century BCE at the earliest (see esp. MasEzek; see also 11QEzek, 4QEzekb and 4QEzekc; cf., e.g., Crane 2008: 7–9; Fuller 2009: 4); therefore, we cannot rule out that the proto-Masoretic edition of this book was produced after the first translation of Ezekiel in Greek in the 2nd century BCE. 19. See, e.g., Fuller 2009: esp. Charts 6 and 8 on pp. 16 and 18 respectively, which point to a spike in the proportion of prophetic texts close to the MT within the DSS in the 1st century BCE. See also Lange 2010: 58–64. Cf., e.g., the verbatim use of a text very close to MT Jer by the War Scroll in the 1st century BCE; see Lange 2012b. 20. The precise historical context within the Hellenistic period is discussed. Some scholars have envisaged a Maccabean or Hasmonean context for the proto-Massoretic edition of Jeremiah (Schenker 1994; Piovanelli 1997; Sérandour 2002), but these views are contradicted by the earlier date of 4QJera by the turn of the 2nd century BCE; see, in general, Tov’s reservations towards a Maccabean dating of elements in the MT (2003: esp. 122, 137–144).

21.

22.

23. 24.

25.

26.

27.

The proto-Masoretic edition of Jeremiah most probably originated by the 3rd century BCE; see Bogaert 1981: 431–432; 1987; 1994: 398–400; Lust 1994: 44–45; Stipp 1994: 141–143; Lange 2009: 318; 2010: 77–80; 2012a; see esp. Lange’s recent comments in Lange and Tov 2017: 521–523; see also Joosten 2008: esp. 107–108; Bons 2016: 125. The proto-Masoretic edition of Ezekiel could be roughly contemporaneous, or perhaps somewhat later since its earliest attestations are from the 1st century BCE (see above, n. 18). Bogaert (1986: 41–47) and Lust (2003) read the main MT pluses in light of apocalyptic literature of the 2nd century BCE; see also Tov’s comments on an unpublished paper by Lust in Tov 2003: 142. Crane (2008: 250–264) emphasizes the edition’s warlike ideology and envisages a Hasmonean context prior to 50 BCE. Consequently, the manuscript evidence makes it difficult to accept the dating of large prophetic sections to the Maccabean and Hasmonean periods, as was common in the early 20th century; see, e.g., discussion below (n. 128) on A. Kunz’s dating of Zech 9–10 to the 2nd century BCE. See Tov 2012: 166, n. 24: “The textual diversity visible in the Qumran evidence from the 3rd century onwards is probably not representative of the textual situation in earlier periods, when the text must have been more fluid.” For various examples of repetitions, see Janzen 1973: 34–63. See, e.g., Goldman 1992: 38–44 (also pointing to the connection between Jer 33:14 and Jer 29:10); Lust 1994: 39–43; Erzberger 2013: 666–667; Sweeney 2014b: 178–179. See Fishbane 1985: 471–474; Goldman 1992: 11–12; Piovanelli 1997: 266–268; Sweeney 2014b: 169, 179–181. Note that the reinterpretation of the Davidic promise emphasizing the city and the Levites does not fit well with Goldman’s hypothesis, according to which the text was composed to support the authority of Zerubbabel during the early Persian period (Goldman 1992: 225–226). The connection between the legitimization of Levites and historical temple life in Jerusalem in the Second Temple period remains to be explored, especially as several literary traditions from the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods, such as Chronicles and the Aramaic Levi Document, emphasize the importance of both patriarch Levi and his descendants, the Levites; see, e.g., Piovanelli 1997: 268–273; and Lange 2012a. The importance of the Davidites alongside the Levites in Jer 33:14–26 also recalls the prominence of these two clans (‫ ;משפחה‬cf. Jer 33:24) in Zech 12:12–14—in another late, most probably Hellenistic, text, as we will see below; see Lust 1994: 43–44. We may further note that both texts emphasize the posterity of both the Davidites and the Levites. This aspect is stressed especially in Jer 33:22 and is also found in Zech 12:12–14, as the references to the “clan of the house of Nathan” (‫ )משפחת בית נתן‬and “the clan of the Shimeites” (‫)משפחת השמעי‬, as several commentators have argued, correspond to the subsidiary Davidic and Levitical lines through Nathan the son of David (2 Sam 5:14; 1 Chron 3:5; 14:4; cf. Luke 3:31) and Shimei the grandson of Levi (Exod 6:16– 17; Num 3:17–21; 1 Chron 6:1–2; 23:7–10); see Meyers and Meyers 1993: 346–348; and Boda 2016a: 719–720. See, e.g., Klein 2010: 579–581 (who also points to the relationship with Ezek 34:25–30 and 37:25–28); Joyce 1989: 107–124; and, in a somewhat different slant, Leene 2013: 190–196. On the connection between the passage and its immediate context (Chapters 35 and 37), see, e.g., Granados García 2010: 47–51. See Stade 1881; Delcor 1952; Willi-Plein 1974: 65–94; Person 1993: esp. 84–144; Meyers and Meyers 1993: 35–45; Schaefer 1995; Larkin 1994; Tai 1996; Nurmela 1996; Mason 2003a; 2003b; Schwesig 2006: 167–173; Kunz 1998: 61–74; Lee 2015; Boda 2016b.

320  hervé gonzalez 28. Bergler 1988: 131–347; Coggins 1996; Schart 1998: 261–274; Jeremias 2002; Schwesig 2006: 167–173; Strazicich 2007: 59–252. 29. On Isa 24–27, see Cheyne 1895: 147–148; Wildberger 1978: 910–911; Day 1980; 1997; Sweeney 1988; Blenkinsopp 2000: 347; Polaski 2001: esp. 66–70; Hibbard 2005; 2006; 2013; Stromberg 2011: 249–250; Berges 2012: 161–180; Cook 2013: 165–182. On Isa 56–66, see, e.g., Lau 1994; Sommer 1998; Stromberg 2011: 69–141. On Ezek 38–39, see esp. Klein 2008: 127–140; Tooman 2011. On the increase of textual references in the successive literary layers of Ezekiel, see also Klein 2008 and 2010. See more broadly Klein 2018 on “biblicist additions” to the Prophets. 30. For the oracle of Zech 1:1–6, close links have been identified with Jer 7:3,5, 11:8, 15:7, 25:5,7, 35:15 (see also Ezek 33:11); see Meyers and Meyers 1987: 94; Stead 2009: 75–86; Wenzel 2011: 59–85 (emphasizing relationship with Jer 25). For Zech 7:7–14, see esp. the contacts with Jer 7:5–6; 22:3 (cf. Ezek 22:7); Petersen 1985: 289–290; Wöhrle 2006: 364; Hallaschka 2011: 279–280; Stead 2009: 231–236 (emphasizing contacts with Jer 7). On both passages and their role in the Book of Zechariah, see also Gonzalez 2015a: 38–47. 31. On these two sections, see references above, n. 2. 32. While the content of this collection was seemingly fluid (Jassen 2016: 354–355; Nihan 2013: 67–74), the biblical prophetic books were in all likelihood part of its core; cf. esp. Sir 44–49, and see, e.g., Schmid 2012b: 116–124. Following Rudolph 1976: 290–293 and many others, Schmid (2012b: 127–139) considers the insertion of Mal 3:22–24 to be a decisive stage in the formation of the collection; cf. Steck 1991: 127–136; Meinhold 2006: 408–411; Schart 1998: 302–303. The various literary links between the twelve Minor Prophets, which have been emphasized in the last decades by several scholars—such as Nogalski (1993a; 1993b), Schart (1998) and Wöhrle (2006; 2008)—also attest to this process of developing a literary collection. It seems to me that the notion of “collection” (or sub-collection of the prophetic corpus), rather than the notion of “book,” which is used by these scholars, is more useful in conceptualizing the fluid and complex unity of the Twelve, which gathers not only a plurality of prophetic figures but also various theological stands. Scribes of the Second Temple period developed links between the Prophets while preserving or emphasizing their specific profiles; see Gonzalez 2017a. 33. To be sure, even if we did not have any manuscript evidence suggesting the late origin of the Masoretic pluses in the books of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, redactional and linguistic analyses would have helped us to determine the relatively late character of some of these additions, especially the most important ones, such as Jer 33:14–26. However, other additions, which are well integrated in their literary context, would, in all likelihood, have remained quite difficult, if not impossible, to identify in the absence of manuscript evidence. 34. They also argue that the Hebrew of some post-biblical texts, such as the Qumran Pesher Habakkuk, is much closer to CBH than to LBH. See, esp., Young and Rezetko 2008: esp. 45–142; Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd 2008: esp. 72–105; also Ehrensvärd 2003; 2006; Rezetko 2003; Young 2003b; 2008; Rezetko and Young 2014. Kim (2013) emphasizes the diachronic difference between CBH and LBH, but argues that these linguistic categories are not sufficient to date biblical texts (see esp. 151–161). For an overview of the current discussion on the diachronic changes in Biblical Hebrew, see Naudé and Miller-Naudé 2016: 833–842; Gesundheit 2016; as well as Young 2003a and Miller-Naudé and Zevit 2012. 35. Cf. Blum 2016: 305–313. In particular, the extra-biblical linguistic evidence is quite meager, especially for the Persian and early

Hellenistic periods, and consequently, any reconstruction of the changes in the Hebrew language during these periods is difficult to verify; cf. Holmstedt 2012: 119–120. With regard to the biblical books, the date of both the books written in CBH and in LBH is a matter of debate. In particular, many scholars hold the view that most of the Pentateuch is from the Persian and not the monarchic period (see, e.g., the state of the debate in Gertz et al. 2016). In addition, the references to the Persian period in the books that form the core of the LBH corpus do not provide absolute dates, but only termini a quo; for example, Daniel is a clear case of a book written in LBH during the Hellenistic period, with the narration set in a Babylonian and Persian context. 36. Although the MT preserves ancient linguistic features, as recently argued by Hornkohl (2016) and Samet (2016), this is clearly not systematic, and we cannot assume that these ancient features are always the “original” ones. See, in particular, Young 2013b; 2016; Rezetko and Young 2014: 59–210; Rezetko 2016a; Dean 2016. 37. See similar remarks in Rezetko 2009: 240; 2013. On the importance of the non-linguistic aspects in the dating of prophetic texts, see also Sweeney 2007. Consider, for instance, Hays’ argument that the language of Isa 24–27 suggests a late 7th-century BCE origin, in the time of Josiah (Hays 2013; 2017: 124–127). While his analysis is certainly interesting in that it reveals the quality of Classical Hebrew employed in this prophetic section, this conclusion is at odds with the many intertextual analyses previously undertaken on these chapters. Many scholars have emphasized the dependency of Isa 24–27 on late sections of the Book of Isaiah that are clearly post-monarchic, most notably Isa 40–55 and 56–66 (see references in n. 29 above). Of course, it is theoretically possible that Isa 40–66 relies upon Isa 24–27, rather than vice versa, as proposed by Hays (2011: 316–317). However, this should be demonstrated not only on the basis of the supposed date of the language—a disputed issue— but also by analyzing the various intertextual connections between these sections. While we cannot exclude that in some cases Isa 24–27 may have literary priority, I doubt that we should systematically reverse the order envisaged in the many intertextual studies previously undertaken. Hays himself agrees that the composition of Isa 24–27 was probably more complex than simply reflecting a 7th-century context (2017: 144: “There is no doubt that Isaiah 24–27, too, was a somewhat ‘fluid tradition,’ and continued to undergo scribal modification well beyond Josiah’s reign”). In particular, he accepts that Isa 27:8 refers to exile—most probably the Babylonian exile (Hays 2011: 335). In order to explain that 24–27 does not mention any specific king (Josiah in particular), Hays also envisages that the text underwent a process of de-historicization that ultimately, in the Hellenistic period, gave it the appearance of an eschatological and apocalyptic text (Hays 2017: 142–144); he interestingly underlines that this type of process is attested in the Hellenistic and Roman periods by the literary transformations of the Potter’s Oracle (cf. Koenen 1970: 252–254). I am not sure, however, that this is the best way to explain a determinative aspect of the text’s ideology, i.e., not only the absence of any royal name, but more broadly the complete absence of the royal (human) figure. While the changes made to the Potter’s Oracle in the course of its transmission manifest a de-historicizing tendency, this oracle was not transformed to the point of being stripped of its reference to a royal figure—no matter how this figure was interpreted. In any case, it appears that a pre-exilic date of Isa 24–27 hardly explains every aspect of the text. In addition, the argument that scribes could have changed the text, giving it the appearance of an eschatological and apocalyptic text of the Hellenistic period, suggests that the Book of Isaiah was not as stable

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  321

38.

39.

40.

41.

42.

43.

44.

45.

in the 3rd century BCE as argued by Hays on the basis of textual evidence (2017: 130–131; see above, n. 10). The relationship of Chronicles with Samuel–Kings is a disputed question, and the difference in language is not clear-cut; see esp. the cautious remarks of Rezetko 2003; 2007a; Young and Rezetko 2008: 353–358. Nonetheless, it is difficult to believe that scribes from the Second Temple would not have perceived linguistic differences between these compositions; cf., more broadly, Ehrensvärd 2003: esp. 172–175. The point here is that there was apparently no major attempt to harmonize the language of Chronicles with the more classical language employed in the parallel composition Samuel–Kings. Interestingly, Rezetko points to a difference of status between these compositions, which could have influenced their language; Rezetko 2003: 243–244; 2007b: 61. More broadly, an explanation for the different forms of Biblical Hebrew that is essentially diachronic does not account well for the widely accepted observation that the biblical books are the product of a long compositional and editorial process; cf. Römer 2016: 362–363; Young 2016. Pace Shin (2007: 20–21), who argues that the distinction between prose and poetry has no real impact on the diachronic study of LBH; cf. Hurvitz 1974: 18 (for further references, see Young and Rezetko 2008: 16). Despite his focus on the “accumulation” of late linguistic features for dating biblical texts, thereby insisting on a term that has clear quantitative connotations, Hornkohl (like Hurvitz) is reluctant to develop statistical analyses to measure this accumulation, arguing that the complexity of the material can hardly be represented statistically (Hornkohl nonetheless presents some results statistically; 2014: 361–362). Caution is of course commendable, but there is a methodological flaw in dating texts based on an “accumulation” that can hardly be measured (cf. Young and Rezetko 2008: 94). Even if statistical results cannot be applied directly, they can still be helpful, as long as the historical interpretation takes into consideration the limits of statistical analysis. For further critical comments on the accumulation of late linguistic features as the basis for dating biblical texts, see Young and Rezetko (2008: 92–94, 129–142, 271–276), who argue in particular that a low accumulation of LBH features is also visible in late texts such as 1QpHab or Ben Sira (see also Young 2008). As stated by Joosten (2013): “Artificial conservatism is hard to distinguish from the natural continuity of a language, as long as classical models are imitated correctly. Classicism can be unmasked only when the writer diverges from the classical norm.” On problems with this category, see also Naudé 2003; Rezetko and Young 2014: 49–56, 395–402. For further critical comments on Hornkohl’s methodology, see Rezetko 2016a. Joosten 2008; see also, e.g., Piovanelli 1997: 273–275. Joosten’s historical interpretation is supported by the textual observations presented above in the first section, but note that the identification of post-classical features in the MT pluses of Jeremiah is a matter of debate; see Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd (2008: 158), who argue that only one of the nine features pointed by Joosten has an LBH distribution; Rezetko and Young 2014: 94–95 (and 91–99 on Joosten’s approach more broadly). For Zech 9–14, Shin points in particular to the presence of the construction ‫( למען לא‬Zech 12:7), the terms ‫“( זוית‬corner”; Zech 9:15); ‫“( יקר‬price”; Zech 11:13); ‫“( אחוה‬brotherhood”; Zech 11:14); ‫“( תחנונים‬supplication”; Zech 12:10), the scriptio plena of ‫( דויד‬Zech 12:7,8 [twice], 10:12, 13:1); the spelling of Megiddo with a final nun

46.

47.

48.

49.

50.

‫( מגדון‬Zech 12:11); the piʿel form of the verb ‫( גבר‬Zech 10:6,12); and the expression ‫( לרב מאד‬Zech 14:14). Shin 2007: esp. 158–160. In a more recent article based on his dissertation, Shin (2016) only argues for the closeness of the language of Haggai–Zechariah–Malachi to LBH, as opposed to the view that CBH could still be written in the Persian period (for a similar argument on Haggai, cf. Rendsburg 2012). Shin’s methodology and results have been criticized, especially by Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd 2008: 47, 68; Rezetko and Young 2014: 323–324; Rezetko 2016c (for a criticism of Rendsburg 2012, see Blum 2016: 313, n. 36; Rezetko 2016b). The Hebrew of Haggai– Zechariah–Malachi has often been evaluated as being close to CBH, and Ehrensvärd even argues that it is in fact CBH (especially as the texts written in CBH also contain some late linguistic features); see Ehrensvärd 2003: 176–186, with further references; 2006 (see also Young and Rezetko 2008: 106–109, 132–138; Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd 2008: 46–47). In his Concise Lexicon of Late Biblical Hebrew, Hurvitz (2014: 88, 103, 153) mentions only three LBH forms found in Zech 9–14: the scriptio plena of ‫ דויד‬in Zech 12:7–13:1; ‫ זוית‬in Zech 9:15; ‫ לרב מאוד‬in Zech 14:14. For a similar view, see already Eckardt 1893; cf., despite his early dating of the text, Wolters 2014: 6–7 and 10–11, explaining the lack of Aramaisms in Zechariah in light of the concern for continuity with earlier traditions. However, as has already been emphasized, diachronic changes are not the only factor in language variation, and therefore, a diachronic interpretation remains hypothetical. In addition, not all of the late linguistic features identified by Shin can be taken for granted (see above, n. 46). Although it is clear that the language of Zech 9–14 manifests strong continuity with CBH, further evaluation of its profile remains to be undertaken, especially as it has often been analyzed as part of the language of the Book of Zechariah rather than as a discrete unit. There are, however, linguistic differences between the two parts of the book, as has been argued in the past (see, e.g., Portnoy and Petersen 1984) and as Shin’s analysis also suggests. For instance, Ehrensvärd observes that Zech 9–14 shows a tendency to prefer verbal suffixes instead of ‫ את‬+ suffix, a tendency well attested in LBH texts; Ehrensvärd 2003: 177–179. For a similar line of argumentation, see Ben Zvi 2009. Another significant factor is the geographical setting of the texts; see Young 2009: 263–268; Talshir 2003; Rendsburg 2013. On linguistic variation more broadly, see Rezetko and Young 2014: 45–49, 211–243. The Book of Qoheleth is quite original in this regard. Despite presenting itself as the words of Salomon, the book displays a particular language that bears important affinities with the LBH books (see, e.g., Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd 2008: 62–65). This mismatch between the supposed origin of the book and the language it uses is just one contradiction among others found in Qoheleth (see, e.g., Fox 1989). It is most probably intentional, serving the radical, at times subversive, discourse developed in the book (cf. Crenshaw 1988: 28–31; Buehlmann 2009: 635–636). Of course, important libraries already existed in the pre-Hellenistic Near East, as clearly shown by Ashurbanipal’s library (Potts 2000) and by the libraries of the Egyptian temples and palaces; on Egyptian temple libraries, see Zinn 2007; 2008; 2011. K. Ryholt (2013) has recently argued that the Egyptian libraries served as the model for the library of Alexandria, which should be seen as developing a more ancient tradition of collecting information. K. Zinn (2008: 90–91) emphasizes that what characterized the Alexandrian library was its ambition to gather all the world’s knowledge for scientific purposes; on the academic activities (esp.

322  hervé gonzalez

51. 52.

53.

54. 55.

56.

57.

58.

59.

60.

philology) and the “universalistic” ambitions of the library of Alexandria, see also Bagnall 2002: 360–362. Cf. Lallot 1992; Ballet 1999: 115–145; Rösler 2009; Skafte Jensen 2009: 80–89; Berti and Costa 2010: 101–159. On the Hellenistic poets’ interest in ancient literary genres, see, e.g., Fantuzzi and Hunter 2005: esp. 1–41; for a summary, see Honigman 2013: 223–229. On the Oracle of the Lamb, see Thissen 2002: 126–129, 136. On the Oracle of the Potter, see Koenen 1968: 180–182; 1970: 250–252; 2002: 164–183; cf. Hays 2017: 133–136. See more generally Blasius and Schipper 2002: 282–298. The Oracle of the Potter has survived in Greek, but the original may have been written in Egyptian; in any case, it is clearly influenced by Egyptian motifs and ideas (Koenen 2002: 180–182). As shown by these studies, the image of the ideal king in these two texts provides an example of subtle ideological change. While traditional ideology emphasizes the savior role of the king, who is victorious over the chaos and the enemies (as seen in the Prophecy of Neferti), the Oracle of the Lamb alludes to a future pharaoh who is depersonalized (col. II 20); rather than announcing an actual savior king, it emphasizes a renewed period of justice and prosperity. Furthermore, at the end of Oracle of the Potter, the rule of an ideal king is announced, but this king is not given the role of delivering Egypt from its enemies; he appears as a symbolic and ideal figure. Cf. Quack 2002: 272: “D.h. man kann als Arbeitshypothese formulieren, daß mit fortdauernder Fremdherrschaft die innerägyptische Hoffnung auf eine ‘messianische’ Eigenerlösung durch eine nationalen Herrscher geschwunden und demgegenüber nur die Aussicht auf eine Intervention der Gottheit selbst geblieben ist.” See, e.g., Clancier 2007, who emphasizes that Sumero-Akkadian culture was still dynamic until the 2nd century BCE. See esp. Sherwin-White 1991; Capdetrey 2007: 56; more recently, Kosmin (2014) emphasizes that the text displays an ancient form, while revising traditional ideology to correspond to Seleucid ideology. Especially in Group 8 according to the classification of Gitler and Lorber (2006: 12–16). On the ideological use of the Hebrew language as a means to emphasize ethnic distinctiveness after 300 BCE, see Schwartz 2005: 61–81. Paleo-Hebrew characters appear in Types 13b, 13c, 13d, 13e, 13f, 13j and 14b, according to the classification of Lipschits and Vanderhooft (2011: esp. 261–265, 378–379). In a slightly later context, the paleoHebrew script appears in some Dead Sea Scrolls, especially manuscripts of the Torah and of Job. Cf. the use of this script in the inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim (esp. Nos. 382–88) by the early 2nd century BCE (and see also the influence of this script on the later Samaritan scribal tradition); Dušek 2012: 5–63. The close relations between the Ptolemaic administration and the elites of the Southern Levant are well attested in the Zenon papyri, which point to correspondence in Greek; cf., e.g., Grabbe 2008: 52–53; on the Zenon papyri, see esp. Vincent 1920; Tcherikover 1957: 115–130; Durand 1997. On the attractiveness of Greek education for local elites, who perceived it as a marker of the ruling class, see Carr 2005: 91–109; Grabbe 2011: 72–73. Honigman 2003: esp. 93–144. The account of the LXX’s origins in the Letter of Aristeas is apologetic and mainly legendary. The precise reasons and circumstances for the translation remain a matter of debate; cf., e.g., Aitken 2015: 3–4. On migrations and new settlements in Hellenistic times, see Briant 1982; Bagnall 1984: 19–20; Arav 1989; Sartre 2001: 111–152; Mueller 2006; Cohen 2006; Oliver 2011; Archibald 2011; Gabrielsen 2001.

61. On the culture of the literary elites in the Hellenistic Near East and its impact on Judean literature, see Collins (1975: esp. 30–31), who emphasizes the revival of ancient myths (see also in this direction Gonzalez 2019, with the example of Zech 9:14); and Carr (2005: Part II), who stresses that local literary elites resisted Greek rule by asserting and redefining their cultural heritage. Cf., for instance, the archaizing tendencies of the Samarian names in the Mt. Gerizim inscriptions from the Hellenistic period, as pointed out by Knoppers 2019. 62. Cf. Davies 2000: 77; Nihan 2013: 74–75. The end of the Latter Prophets in Mal 3:22–24 has also been interpreted as an intentional device linking both the Latter and the Former Prophets to the Law of Moses, especially because it mentions Elijah and appears to refer to the very beginning of the Former Prophets in Josh 1:7; see, e.g., Steck 1991: 127–136; Schart 1998: 302–303; Weyde 2000: 388–393, 402; Schmid 2012b: 127–136. 63. The importance of prophetic figures for Judean historiography relies on the fact that contrary to kings and priests, whose roles depended on the monarchy and the Jerusalem temple, institutions that were ultimately destroyed in the 6th century, the charismatic activity of the prophets could continue even at a time marked by the collapse of the local institutions. As such, prophetic figures could serve as a reminder of this period of institutional vacuum, bridging the gap between the end of the monarchic period and the beginning of the Second Temple period. Indeed, it is no coincidence that the biblical prophetic books deal with the period from the end of the Israelite and Judean monarchies to the rebuilding of a local institution, the Second Temple of Jerusalem. This historiographical importance of prophetic figures helps to explain why Judean prophetic literature is so richly developed, in comparison to the prophetic oracles of other ancient Near Eastern cultures; Gonzalez forthcoming (a). 64. Cf. Schmid 2008: 198–200, 207; 2012b. On Mal 3:22–24, see references in n. 62 above. On Isa 65–66 in the context of Isaiah, see also, e.g., Steck 1991: 29–30; Stromberg 2011; Berges 2012: 484–501. On Joel within the Twelve, see, esp., Nogalski 1993b: 1–48, 275–278; 2000; Schart 1998: 261–82; Sweeney 2003a; Wöhrle 2006: 387–460; see also the overviews of research by Coggins 2003: 87–93; Troxel 2015: 152–159. 65. See, e.g., the various contributions in Ben Zvi 2006, especially the theoretical introduction to the volume by S.J. Schweitzer (2006a). 66. Steck 1989: 397–400; 1991: 29 (n. 45), 91–99 (cf. pp. 84 and 103–104); Steck’s chronology has been influential, especially in Europe, see, e.g., Gärtner 2006: 319. 67. Steck follows scholars such as Tcherikover (1959: 54–58), who favors the date of 302/1 for the capture of Jerusalem by Ptolemy I, but earlier dates have also been defended, especially 312–311 BCE (e.g., Winnicki 1989: 89–90 and 1991: 199–201, whose reconstruction is based on Diodorus and the Satrap Stele) and 320 BCE (e.g., Grabbe 2008: 281–282). For a detailed discussion of the sources on the event, see Gonzalez and Mendoza, forthcoming, arguing for the date of 311 BCE; Ptolemy’s intervention probably included deportations (especially of elites, such as the governor Hezekiah) and possible destructions. 68. Some Egyptologists, however, read in line 6 of the Satrap Stele an allusion to the deportation of Judean cultic object(s) by Ptolemy I (see esp. von Recklinghausen 2005: 149–153). Another possibility would be that this line refers to Samarian cultic object(s) (Gonzalez and Mendoza, forthcoming). 69. For a synthesis on the ancient historiographical sources about Alexander’s conquest, see, esp., Baynham 2003; Grabbe 2008:

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  323

70.

71. 72.

73.

74.

75.

76.

77.

78.

111–13, 268–271. On Alexander in the Levant, see Sartre 2001: 67–99. Saur 2008: 170–177, 183–185; 2011: 77–80; cf. Garscha (1974: 305–306), who dates the lamentations in Ezek 26:15–18, 27:1–35 and 28:11–19 to the aftermath of the destruction of Tyre by Alexander. See also the polemic against the cult of Melkart identified by Saur in v. 11; Saur 2008: 184–185. This method of dating is more helpful in the case of apocalyptic literature, where references to events of the Hellenistic period are clearer, although still not explicit; see, e.g., the case of Dan 11 in relation to the Syrian wars; cf. Collins 1993: 377–390. In regard to this methodology, Tiemeyer is correct that the so-called “proto-apocalyptic” texts are not by definition Hellenistic. However, not all of these texts necessarily stem from the same period, contrary to her claim (Tiemeyer 2011: 261–263, 279). It should not be forgotten that the category of “proto-apocalyptic eschatology” remains ill-defined (see Tiemeyer 2011: 262: “I use the term ‘protoapocalyptic eschatology’ for texts falling in between ‘prophetic eschatology’ and ‘apocalyptic eschatology’”). This category lumps together various kinds of features that are attested in apocalyptic literature but are inconsistently found in the so-called protoapocalyptic texts, such as the mediation of a divine agent, references to cosmic disruptions, a dualistic worldview or the periodization of history; see also the comments of Hays (2017: 132–141) on Isa 24–27. In addition, as Tiemeyer notes, it is too simplistic to postulate a linear development from prophetic to apocalyptic eschatology through “proto-apocalyptic” eschatology. Hence, each theme, motif, or feature should be analyzed on his own. In this regard, the approach of Schmid discussed here is more precise. A similar observation applies to the conception of a division within the community between the devout and the wicked, notably in Isa 65–66, which Schmid situates in the Hellenistic period. While such a notion might have assumed increased importance in the Hellenistic period, we cannot exclude the possibility that it already existed in the late Persian times; Schmid 2008: 195–196. See discussion and references in Gonzalez 2013: 1–12. Even scholars who maintain that the entire book could have been written by the prophet Zechariah himself date Zech 9–14 later than Zech 1–8 within the ministry of the prophet; see, e.g., Curtis 2006: esp. 277–280; Wenzel 2011: esp. 271–272; Petterson 2009: esp. 2–3; Wolters 2014: 16, 21. E.g., Stade 1882; Mitchell 1912: 244–259; Elliger 1950; 1951: 133–135; Pfeiffer 1952: 610–612; Chary 1955: 217–220; Willi-Plein 1974: 105–121; 2010; 2014: 27–52; Rudolph 1976: 162–164; Nogalski 1993b: 216; 2011: 808–810; Steck 1991: 73–106; Albertz 1994: 566–570; Bosshard-Nepustil 1997: 428–431; Floyd 2000: 452–457, 508–511; Schmid 2008: 198; Gonzalez 2013; 2017b. Curtis 2006: esp. 277–80; Petterson 2009: esp. 2–3; Wenzel 2011: esp. 271–272; Sweeney 2000: 656–658; Redditt 2012: esp. 26–30; 1994; Wolters 2014: 16–23; Boda 2016a: 33–37. See earlier studies such as Lamarche 1961: 148; Jones 1962; Hanson 1979: 280–401, whose dating of Zech 9–14 to the Persian period has been influential especially in English-language scholarship; Lacocque 1988: 133–144; Reventlow 1993: 88; Meyers and Meyers 1993: 15–29; Petersen 1995: 3–23. Redditt 1989: 632–636; 2012: 24–26; see the Hirtenworte collection identified by Wöhrle 2008: 128–131; see also, e.g., the earlier formal analysis of Sæbø 1969.

79. Jeremias 2002; Steck 1991: 30–60; Tai 1996: 279–290; Schart 1998: 275–277; Kunz 1998: 13–74; Gonzalez 2013: 12–15; 2015b: 124–126 (discussing Redditt’s model); Tiemeyer 2018. 80. See, in this direction, Steck 1991: 30–60; Floyd 2000: 313–316, 450–452; Gonzalez 2013; pace, e.g., Schart 1998: 275, 279. Even in the case that Zech 9–14 had been composed independently and added to Chapters 1–8 secondarily (e.g., Schart 1998: 275, 279), its addition to the book changes the overall meaning of the book and has the effect of reinterpreting the earlier section. Unless we think that this supplementation was the outcome of pure chance, it is necessary to consider the new meanings that scribes sought to create by enlarging the book, be it with preexisting material or with new sections composed directly for the book. Even Tiemeyer (2018: 78–76), who emphazises that Zech 9–14 has few connections with Zech 1–8, acknowledges that Zech 9–14 (as well as Ezek 38–39) serves “a need to reinterpret key texts” dealing with the 6th century BCE, “so that they would fit new scenarios.” 81. Cf. Wenzel 2011: 178–197; on commentaries of the late 20th century, see Floyd 1999: 261–262. 82. This change of perspective in the book should not lead us to overlook the continuity underlined here. For instance, Tiemeyer (2018) sees Zech 9–14 as a relatively late scribal composition that is loosely attached to its literary context, comparable to Ezek 38–39. She points out parallels between the two texts, such as the notion of a foreign attack. However, while the attack in Zech 9–14 is directed against the city of Jerusalem—in continuity with the focus on the city in Zech 1–8—the attack in Ezek 38–39 is against the land of Israel—in accordance with the absence of any explicit mention of Jerusalem in the restoration envisaged in Ezek 40–48 (cf. Gonzalez 2017b: 68–69, with references). Hence, even if Zech 9–14 and Ezek 38–39 are comparable, relatively late scribal compositions, which stand out from their literary contexts, they still follow important ideological accents of the different books in which they are inserted. 83. Pace, e.g., Frolov 2005: 28–29 or Sweeney 2000: 641–642, the term ‫ משא‬is best understood as distinguishing Zech 9–11 and 12–14 from the oracles of Zech 1–8, since it serves a structuring role in Isa 13–23 and even introduces the prophetic books of Nahum, Habakkuk and Malachi; cf. Gonzalez 2013: 8–10, see also below, n. 88. 84. Especially in the Masoretic text, the depiction of the king in Zech 9:9–10 stresses his peaceful character and his reliance on Yhwh: he rides a donkey instead of a horse, the latter serving in Zech 9–14 almost consistently as a vehicle for war (Zech 9:10, 10:3b,5, 12:4, 14:15; cf. Wöhrle 2008: 176–177, n. 15); his role is to maintain peace (‫ )שלום‬in the Levant after Yhwh cuts off the instruments of war from the land (chariot, horse and bow; v. 10); he is described as ‫צדיק‬, “just,” ‫נושע‬, “saved” (verb ‫ישע‬, nipʿal participle) and ‫עני‬, “humble/poor,” a depiction reminiscent of the ideology of the Psalms, where the individual—often personified by David—is regularly described as just (‫ )צדיק‬and humble (‫עני‬/‫ )ענו‬and relies on and expects the divine intervention of Yhwh to be delivered (verb ‫ )ישע‬from a critical situation (cf., e.g., Ps 12:6, 18:28, 33:16–19, 35:7, 37:29,39, 58:12, 112:4, 118:15,20, 140:14). The influence of the Psalms on Zech 9:9–10 is undeniable in light of the quotation of Ps 72:8 at the end of Zech 9:10. The peaceful character of the king in Zech 9:9–10 is consistent with his complete absence in the subsequent battle scenes of Zech 9–10; cf. Gonzalez 2019: 239–45; pace Petterson 2009: 139, 165–167. 85. The identity of the “shepherds” (‫ )רעה‬in Zech 11 is disputed, but their connection with foreign power is often emphasized; see, e.g.,

324  hervé gonzalez

86.

87. 88.

89. 90.

91.

92. 93.

94. 95.

96.

Foster 2007: 736–743; Redditt 2012: 83–84; Gonzalez 2017b: esp. 47–51. A significant difference between the two parts of the book is that divine judgment would not only strike the foreign nations but the postexilic community itself. Already in Zech 11, the critical socioeconomic situation of the community is presented as resulting from a divine decision (see esp. vv. 6 and 16; see also Zech 10:3a). Following this, Zech 13:7–9 goes as far as to announce that Yhwh would cut off two thirds of the community; Zech 14:1–2 then depicts the plundering and deportation of half of the city by nations brought together by Yhwh himself (see the divine first person ‫ ;)ואספתי‬cf. Steck 1991: 43–58; Gärtner 2006: 69–76. On utopia and dystopia in Zech 9–14, see also Schweitzer 2006b. Following R.D. Weis, M.H. Floyd even argues that ‫ משא‬is a generic heading, which serves to indicate that the new section is a reinterpretation of the prophetic material to which it has been appended; Floyd 2000: 306, 450–452, 505–508; 2002; cf. Weis 1992. For a different view, see Boda 2006. I. Willi-Plein (2006) argues that the term used as a heading indicates a scribal prophetic tradition. It seems to me that a fitting translation of ‫ משא‬as a heading could be “Prophetic Revelation,” implying especially dramatic changes. On historical references in Isa 1–39, see Schoors 1997. On kingship in Isaiah, see, esp., Berges 2014. V. 13 originally presents Judah and Ephraim as the war bow of Yhwh and Jerusalem as his sword; in this context, the polel form of the verb ‫( עור‬lit. “to arouse”) is best understood with the meaning “to wield” (a weapon), similarly to 2 Sam 23:18, 1 Chron 11:11,20, Isa 10:26. On this original depiction of the people as the weapons used by the divine warrior during the fight, see Gonzalez 2019: 233–246, underlining that the deity is given the role of a war leader in a context where the human king does not fight the war (vv. 9–10). For example, Steck (1991: 73–76) proposes the time during the rule of Alexander (based on Zech 9:1–8), while Treves (1963: 198) argues that Jerusalem did not fight against the Greeks before the Maccabean period; cf. Tiemeyer 2011: 274. Van Hoonacker 1908: 667; Sellin 1930: 552; Nowack 1922: 376; Horst 1964: 214, 248; Chary 1969: 174; Hanson 1979: 298; Reventlow 1993: 97–99; Redditt 2012: 46. This military use of the term ‫“( יון‬Javan/Greece”) is closer to its use in the Book of Daniel, where it serves to depict the rise of Hellenistic domination (Dan 8:21, 10:20, 11:2; see also the LXX readings of Jer 46:16, 50:16 and Isa 9:11); Gonzalez 2016. Sweeney 2000: 662–666; Curtis 2006: 174–81; Redditt 2012: 46; cf. Boda 2016a: 584–585. See already the commentaries of Meyers and Meyers 1993: 26–29, 147–149, 174; and Petersen 1995: 62–63. Cf. Gonzalez 2019: 219–220; forthcoming (b). Zech 9:16–17 emphasizes fertility in the land after the fight; in Zech 10:6–12, the victory leads to the return of the numerous sons of Ephraim in the land, taking possession of a large territory that includes Gilead and the Lebanon. Some scholars read the term ‫ בית‬in a broad sense, referring to Jerusalem and Judah or Israel in general (e.g., Elliger 1950: 84; Delcor 1951: 120; Rudolph 1976: 175; Kunz 1998: 118) rather than to the Jerusalem temple in particular (see, e.g., Meyers and Meyers 1993: 119; Wolters 2014: 275). The latter meaning makes good sense in the context of the Book of Zechariah, which emphasizes the importance of the Jerusalem temple. However, the two meanings are not mutually exclusive but instead complementary: Yhwh’s protection over his temple in Jerusalem extends to all his land; cf. Lacocque 1988: 150–151.

97. See, e.g., Lacocque 1988: 158; Petersen 1995: 55; for a different interpretation of this term with the meaning of “(sheep)fold,” see Wolters 2014: 284–287. The meaning “stronghold/fortress” is attested by all of the ancient versions. 98. For the political history of the Levant in the early Hellenistic period, see Sartre 2001: 67–84, 99–110, 187–201; Grabbe 2008: 267–291; 298–301, 316–326; Gonzalez and Mendoza, forthcoming; see also relevant pages in historical syntheses on the Ptolemaic empire by Hölbl 2001: 1–152 and Huß 2001: 55–536. 99. For the historical sources and their evaluation of these events, see esp. Grabbe 2008: 281–283, 322–324; see also discussion above on the capture of Jerusalem by Ptolemy I and references in n. 67. 100. During the wars of the Diadochi, control of the Southern Levant switched from one Diadoch to another no fewer than five times. After the death of Alexander, Syria was assigned to Laodemon of Mitylene, but Ptolemy, with the help of Nicanor, took control of the region (ca. 320 BCE). Some four years later (316 BCE), Antigonus was able to take the region and then gave it to his son Demetrius. With his victory in the battle of Gaza in 312 BCE, Ptolemy once again took the Southern Levant, but soon had to cede it back in 311 BCE to Antigonus and his son, following their pressure. Finally, in 302/1 BCE, Ptolemy managed to regain and maintain control over the Southern Levant despite the Ipsos agreement, which assigned the region to Seleucus. This unclear situation resulted in the Syrian wars of the 3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE. All of these political changes were accompanied by a series of battles and the destruction of cities in the Southern Levant, including important urban centers such as Tyre, Gaza or Samaria; see, e.g., the historical synthesis of Grabbe 2008: 278–281, 286–287, as well as Gonzalez and Mendoza, forthcoming. This political instability doubtless influenced the Judean elites’ conception of Hellenistic domination, as attested by passages such as 1 Macc 1:8–9, Dan 7:7, 8:5–8,21–23, 11 (cf. Collins 1993: 299, 331, 377–381), 1 Enoch 90:2–5 (cf. Nickelsburg 2001: 395–396), 1 Enoch 6–11, which, according to Nickelsburg (2001: 170), alludes to the violence of the Diadochi or, more explicit, AJ 12.1–3. 101. In Zech 9:9, the king’s ritual entry in Jerusalem can be compared to the royal practices of ceremonial entries in cities, which Hellenistic rulers performed on occasions such as festivals or after a military victory in order to be acclaimed by the local population. See esp. Strootman 2007: 289–325. This was the opportunity for the king to display his best attributes and impressive armies, so as to convey the message that he was the only one able to protect the city and to bring peace and prosperity, thanks to his military and economic powers; and the king could also demonstrate his piety by offering a sacrifice at the main sanctuary of the city. Zech 9:9 echoes such royal practices, but subverts them at the same time by stripping the ideal king of his military and economic powers. The image of the king riding a donkey contrasts well with the military ideology of Hellenistic kings, who used the horse as a symbol of their power, especially following the examples of Philip II of Macedon, who was represented on coins as a horseman, and of Alexander the Great, whose horse Bucephalus was famous in antiquity. See, e.g., Hyland 2003: 145–163, on the importance of horses in the armies of Alexander; Scheuble-Reiter 2014, on the Diadochi; Fisher-Bovet 2014: 123–133, on Ptolemaic armies; Iossif 2012: 78–82, on Seleucid royal ideology. The notion of the saved (‫ )נושע‬king implicitly criticizes the Hellenistic ideology of the king as “savior,” especially after Ptolemy I took the title of Soter. For similar arguments, see Kunz 1998: 229–239. Note that the announcement of an ideal king stripped of his liberating role is reminiscent of the way some prophetic texts from Ptolemaic Egypt,

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  325 especially the Potter’s Oracle, announce a future ideal ruler; see above, n. 53. The presentation of the king as ‫עני‬, “poor” or “humble,” may well also respond to the Hellenistic ideology of royal piety and euergetism. Note also that the territory ruled by the king in Zech 9:10 is centered on the Levant but also has cosmic connotations (Meyers and Meyers 1993: 136–138; Boda 2016a, 572–574), which may respond to the claims of universal dominion by Hellenistic rulers (see, e.g., Hauben 2014; Meeus 2014; Strootman 2014). Cf. Gonzalez 2019: 239–245; forthcoming (b). 102. See esp. Isa 15–17; Jer 47–49; Ezek 25–28; Amos 1–2; Zeph 2:4–11. Among these passages, Amos 1–2 is the only one that is not linked by its literary context to the judgment of non-Levantine nations such as Egypt, Assyria or Babylon—not unlike Zech 9:1–8, although Greeks are mentioned in Zech 9:13 and Zech 10:10–11 refers to Egypt and Assyria. Amos 1–2 is, however, a much longer depiction than Zech 9:1–8 and does not display a directional pattern. 103. Literally in v. 1, the word of Yhwh has “its resting place” (‫)מנחתו‬ in Damascus (and more broadly in Syria). This term can describe territorial installation and appropriation (cf. Deut 12:9, 1 Kgs 8:56, Ps 95:11). In several texts, the root ‫( נוח‬hiphʿil) emphasizes divine control over enemies, allowing Israel to possess and inhabit the land peacefully (Deut 3:20, 12:10, 25:19, Josh 1:13,15, 21:44, 22:4, 23:1, Judg 2:23, 2 Sam 7:1,11, 1 Kgs 5:4; cf. Est 9:16); cf. Lee 2015: 63–64, who reads the term ‫ מנוחה‬as referring to the capture of Damascus. In v. 2, the use of the verb ‫“( גבל‬to border”) together with ‫ בה‬apparently means that Hamath also “will have its territory inside of it [i.e., within the resting place of the word of Yhwh]” (cf. Lacocque 1988: 147–148); as such, territoriality is further emphasized in the text, stressing anew that Yhwh would take possession of the Syrian region. 104. The fear is provoked by the manifestation of the divine power against Tyre, which is “observed” (verb ‫ )ראה‬by the Philistines; it is formulated with the verbs ‫ירא‬, “to fear,” and ‫חיל‬, “to writhe” or, figuratively, “to tremble in fear” (Bauman 1980). This terminology is especially reminiscent of the Psalms, where it depicts individuals or nations fearing and venerating Yhwh. See the theological use of the verb ‫ ירא‬in Ps 9:21, 40:4, 64:10, 65:9, 67:8, 76:8,9,13; cf. Isa 25:3, 41:5, 23. Seeing (verb ‫ )ראה‬divine actions provokes fear (verb ‫ )ירא‬in Ps 40:4, 52:8, 66:5, 112:8; cf. Isa 41:5; see also the theological use of ‫ חיל‬in Ps 96:4; cf. Jer 5:22, or also in Ps 29:8,9, 77:17, 97:4, 114:17. Thus, the expression of the fear suggests that the Philistines will recognize the superiority of Yhwh, and as such, it prepares for the announcement of their purification and integration with Israel in v. 7. 105. Literally, Zech 9:5b–6a reads: “The king of Gaza will perish, Ashkelon will not be inhabited and the bastard will inhabit Ashdod” (‫)ואבד מלך מעזה ואשקלון לא תשב וישב ממזר באשדוד‬. Meyers and Meyers (1993: 87, 109–111), followed by Redditt (2012: 33, 35, 41) consider the text to refer to a ruler not only in the case of Gaza but also when dealing with Ashkelon and Ashdod. They read the verb ‫( ישב‬lit. “to sit, dwell”) as “to be ruled” in v. 5 (“Ashkelon will not be ruled”) and “to rule” in v. 6 (“a villain will rule in Ashdod”). While in other contexts the verb ‫ ישב‬may have the connotation of ruling, it is never expressed with a passive meaning, and never with a toponym as the grammatical subject; cf. Wolters 2014: 270. It is thus preferable to retain in v. 5 the usual meaning of ‫ ישב‬with a toponym as the grammatical subject, “to be inhabited,” here in the negated form, with a destructive connotation (cf., e.g., Isa 13:20, Jer 17:6, 50:13, Ezek 26:20, 29:11, 35:9; as against, e.g., the positive formulation in Zech 12:6 and 14:11). The meaning of the verb is probably similar in v. 6, even if the subject is no longer a place name. Rather than referring to a ruler, the term ‫ ממזר‬is best understood as referring

collectively to a group or a population with foreign origins, and thus the basic meaning of the verb (“to dwell, inhabit”) seems to be most appropriate. 106. The fate of Ekron and Ashdod is envisaged less dramatically. After the mention of Ekron’s fear in v. 5, the fate of this city is presented very positively in v. 7, as it is highlighted as an example of integration within Israel (compared with the Jebusite). The reference to the “bastard” (‫ )ממזר‬who will inhabit Ashdod (v. 6a) describes a sanction that also serves to prepare for the integration of this city within Israel, especially if the category “bastard” (cf. Deut 23:2) includes individuals born of a union between an Israelite and a non-Israelite; this reading is corroborated by Neh 13:23–24, which refers to people of both Judean and Ashdodite origins; cf. Elliger 1950: 104. 107. Elliger 1950; Delcor 1951; Willi-Plein 1974: 105–108; 2010; 2014: 15–52; see also Chary 1969: 155–158; Steck 1991: 73–76; Tai 1996: 286, 290; Mathys 2000: 52–54; Saur 2008: 295–299; 2011: 80–83; Ego 2014; for further references, see Wolters 2014: 257–260, who notes that this interpretation is attested in a Syriac tradition that could go back to the 4th century CE (Ephrem the Syrian). Despite dating Zech 9–14 to the early Persian period, Wolters argues (2014: 259): “Those who claim that this passage could just as well be describing any of a number of other military invasions of SyriaPalestine in antiquity seem not to have reckoned with the arguments adduced by Elliger (1949/50: 84–92). In any event, if Zech 9 was written in the late 6th or early 5th century BCE, as is now commonly agreed, it must have seemed very remarkable to the Jews in 332 BCE that vv. 1–8 found such a striking fulfillment in the dramatic historical events of their own day.” Pace Elliger (1950, i.e., the study to which Wolters refers), who dates the text precisely to 332 BCE, it is difficult to identify the exact date when the text was composed. Willi-Plein (2010: 311) also dates the text just before the fall of Tyre in 332 BCE, arguing that Zech 9:4 anticipates the complete destruction of Tyre, while Alexander did not ultimately annihilate the city. However, texts that display a utopian/dystopian perspective can use hyperbolic language even when they are inspired by historical events. It is thus methodologically more sound to consider Zech 9:1–8 to have been composed at some point after Alexander’s conquest, most probably during the very first decades of the Hellenistic period. 108. Cf. Saur 2011: 83, who emphasizes that the absence of Alexander’s name in Zech 9:1–8 significantly departs from Deutero-Isaiah’s ideology concerning foreign domination, especially as regards Cyrus, who is explicitly named (cf. Ego 2014: 24). 109. Hadrach corresponds to the Akkadian Hatarikka and the Aramean ‫ ;חזרך‬see, e.g., Schott 2016. See the discussions and interpretations of Hadrach in Zech 9:1 by Kraeling 1924: 25–26; Malamat 1950: 153; Otzen 1964: 62–70, 95–99. Toponyms, however, can be preserved for centuries, and, given the conservative profile of Zech 9–14, the use of an ancient and traditional name is not surprising; cf. Petersen 1995: 43; Wolters 2014: 262. 110. Meyers and Meyers 1993: 87–120, 162–169, who insist that Zech 9:1–8 is an eschatological text envisaging the restoration of the land despite the concrete details that “create a strong sense of the prophet’s moorings in historical times” (p. 162); Curtis 2006: 165–70; Redditt 2012: 38–43; see already Otzen 1964: 62–123 (esp. 69–78), who believes that Zech 9:1–8 represents the limits of the ideal Davidic kingdom as envisaged in the time of Josiah according to the extent of the Assyrian province in the Levant; see also Nurmela 1996: 196; Petterson 2009: 130–135. 111. Cf. Ezek 47:20; Num 34:6, which only refer to the Mediterranean without mention of any Phoenician or Philistine cities. A similar

326  hervé gonzalez criticism of the interpretation proposed by B. Otzen was already made by M. Sæbø (1969: 172–173); see also Lee 2015: 56–57. 112. Meyers and Meyers (1993: 91–96, 163–164) consider Syrian locations mentioned in Zech 9 to be neighboring territories of the future Israel without being part of it; they read the uncommon use of the verb ‫ גבל‬with the preposition ‫ ב‬in v. 2 in the sense of “to border on.” According to this interpretation, the installation of the word of Yhwh in the land of Hadrach as well as the presentation of Damascus as its resting place only mean the religious acceptance of Yhwh by the northern neighbors of Israel without any political implication, and the reason why no violent activity is mentioned in Syria would be because Yhwh does not take this territory. This reading is influenced by other texts, such as Num 34, Josh 13, or Ezek 47, which set the northern border of the ideal Israel south of Hamath (Lebo-Hamath), thus excluding Northern Syria. The notion presented in Zech 9, however, appears to be different, as suggested by the original mention of territories in Northern Syria, which has no parallel in the other territorial descriptions; these other descriptions set the limits of Israel’s territory without describing territories beyond these borders. In addition, the close association of Damascus, which is usually included within the ideal territory of Israel, with the land of Hadrach in v. 1a does not support this hypothesis. This is also the case for the association of Hamath, normally envisaged beyond the borders of the ideal Israel, with Phoenicia, which is often included within the utopian borders of Israel. In v. 1b, the connection between “humankind” (‫)אדם‬, especially the Syrian population, and the tribes of Israel reinforces the notion of their unity, an idea that is further emphasized in vv. 6b–7 with regard to the Philistine population. Thus, it seems more relevant to consider that all the locations mentioned in Zech 9:1–8 will be taken by Yhwh to be part of the future great kingdom of Israel that is depicted in Zech 9:9–10 in a large and inclusive way (as emphasized by Meyers and Meyers 1993: 137–138). The term ‫מנחה‬, “resting place,” associated with Damascus, most likely has political implications as well as cultic connotations, and the verb ‫ גבל‬with the preposition ‫ ב‬is best read as meaning “to be enclosed within the territory/boundaries of” (or “to set boundaries within”), a meaning supported by the LXX, the Targum and the Vulgate, as well as the single other occurrence of this expression, found in Deut 19:14; cf. Lacocque 1988: 147–149; Kunz 1998: 89–91, 372. Wolters (2014: 263–264) argues for an active meaning of the verb (“to enclose within boundaries”) but also chooses Damascus (instead of Hamath) as the subject and Hamath as the object, so that the general meaning of the passage remains basically the same: Hamath and Damascus will belong to the same territory, which will also include or correspond to the resting place of Yhwh’s word (with this meaning of the verb ‫גבל‬, the term ‫ מנחה‬could also be the subject of the verb). 113. On Zech 9:1–8 as a depiction of conquest, see, in addition to those who find an allusion to Alexander’s conquest (e.g., Willi-Plein 1974: 107; see also the references in n. 107 above), e.g., Hanson 1973: 48–51; Sweeney 2000: 659–662; 2003b: 346; Wolters 2014: 256–60; see also Lee 2015: 56–57, 63–68, who sees both a territorial claim and a military campaign by Yhwh. 114. This is especially the case for Damascus (cf. Isa 17; Jer 49:23–27; Amos 1:3–5), Tyre and Sidon (cf. Isa 23; Ezek 26–28; Amos 1:9–10) and the Philistine cities (cf. Isa 14:28–32; Jer 47; Ezek 25:15–17; Amos 1:6–8; Zeph 2:4–7); Mason 2003a: 7–27; Petersen 1995: 47–50; see also Larkin 1994: 57–67. On the judgment of Tyre more specifically, see, esp., Tai 1996: 23–26; Lee 2015: 69–74, who argue that Zech 9:2b–4 is influenced by Ezek 28.

115. Jer 25:20 refers to kings in Philistia, including in Gaza (cf. Gen 26:1,8; 1 Kings 5:4), and Amos 1:6–8, which mentions Gaza twice, also alludes to at least one Philistine ruler who will be cut off from Ashkelon. The latter passage also announces that Yhwh will cut off the “inhabitant” (‫ )יושב‬from Ashdod, and Zeph 2:4 predicts the desolation of Ashkelon, not unlike Zech 9, which announces the destruction of this city (‫)ואשקלון לא תשב‬. 116. Cf. Petersen 1995: 50; Meyers and Meyers 1993: 104–106; Wolters 2014: 267. Gath is mentioned three times in prophetic literature (Amos 6:2; Mic 1:10,14), but never together with the other cities of the Philistine Pentapolis (Gath underwent major destruction in the late 9th century BCE). 117. Oracles against foreign nations generally focus on the fate of distinct regions in a more expanded form than Zech 9:1–8 and in an order that does not correspond to any particular direction; cf. Floyd 2000: 462–463, who reads Zech 9:1–8 as an oracle against foreign nations which presents some particularities, esp. the reference to several nations together. In a similar vein, Mason (2003a: 7) observes the particular brevity of the oracle. 118. See the judgments of Syria in Isa 17, Jer 49:23–27 and Amos 1:3–5, and of Sidon (associated with that of Tyre) in Isa 23 (vv. 2, 4, 12), Jer 25 (v. 22), Ezek 28:20–23 and Joel 4:4–8. 119. Some scholars have attempted to explain the reference to the land of Hadrach based on the intertextuality of Zech 9. Larkin (1994: 57–61) views Zech 9:1 as a piece of mantological exegesis based on the oracle on Damascus in Isa 17:1, 7; Sweeney (2000: 661; 2003b: 346) considers the locations in Zech 9:1–8 to correspond to the itinerary of the Assyrian kings invading Israel, as mentioned esp. in Isa 10:5–34 and Isa 36:13–21; Curtis (2006: 167–169) considers Zech 9:1–2 to refer to David’s wars in the Aramean territories, as described in 2 Sam 8; Mason (2003a: 13–17) interprets the passage as reversing Amos 5:27, which announces an exile “beyond Damascus.” In actual fact, while all these passages refer to territories in Syria, none of them explicitly mentions the land of Hadrach and thus none can fully explain the presence of this toponym in Zech 9. In addition, these passages do not mention any territory in Phoenicia or in Philistia (except 2 Sam 8:12). On the references to Hamath in prophetic literature, see Isa 10:9; 11:11, 36:19, 37:13; Jer 39:5, 49:23, 52:9,27; Ezek 47:16,17,20, 48:1; Amos 6:2,14. 120. On Edom, see, esp., Jer 49:7–22; Ezek 25:12–14; Amos 1:11–12; Obad; Mal 1:1–5. On Moab, see Isa 15–16; Jer 48; Ezek 25:8–11; Amos 2:1–3; Zeph 2:8–11. On Ammon, see Jer 49:1–6; Ezek 25:1– 7; Amos 1:13–15; Zeph 2:8–11. 121. See, e.g., Larkin 1994: 63, who, despite focusing her interpretation on intertextuality, is compelled to invoke historical arguments to explain some peculiarities of the text, such as the emphasis on Northern Syria, which she relates to the situation of Yehud within the Persian satrapy. 122. Sweeney (2000: 664) considers that the ideal king in Zech 9:9–10 can be identified with Darius I, but this interpretation is not in keeping with the peaceful and pious character of the king or with his installation in Jerusalem, envisaged as the capital city of the future kingdom. 123. Meyers and Meyers 1993: 106; Petersen 1995: 49–51; Kunz 1998: 219–220; Willi-Plein 2007: 158; Wolters 2014: 268–269; Boda 2016a: 546–548; see already Elliger 1950: 109–111; cf. Leuze 1935: 207–208; Markoe 2000: 62; Sartre 2001: 47–48. 124. Elliger 1950: 110–113; cf. Leuze 1935: 106–107; see also Meyers and Meyers 1993: 109, and Boda 2016a: 550–551, who argues that the mention of a king in a Philistine city is still possible in the Persian

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  327 period. The title ‫ מלך‬can refer more broadly to a local holder of political power, subordinate to the Persian emperor, as was the case in Phoenician cities. Herodotus (3.4–9), for instance, refers to the “king of the Arabs” controlling the road between Gaza and Egypt; see also Diodorus 13.46.6, 15.2.4; cf. Briant 1996: 736–737. Batis, the head of the city who resisted Alexander’s siege, is presented by Arrian (Anabasis 2.25.4) as ruling over the city of Gaza (κρατῶν τῆς Γαζαίων πόλεως); similarly, Quintus Curtius (4.6.7) says that he was commanding the city (praeerat urbi Betis). The description of Josephus is slightly different, mentioning a garrison commander (φρούραρχος) named Babemeses who resisted Alexander at Gaza (AJ 11.320). Despite these differences, ancient historians concur in stressing the role of a particular individual ruling over Gaza, who strongly opposed Alexander and was eventually killed. A similar tradition could have influenced the depiction in Zech 9:5 of the king of Gaza that would perish, especially since according to Curtius (4.6.25–29), Alexander killed Batis in a notorious way, having him dragged by his ankles behind a chariot around the city, like the treatment of Hector’s corpse by Achilles in the Iliad. Dionysius of Halicarnassus (De compositione verborum 6.18.24– 29) also comments on the ignominious death of Batis, quoting an account of Hegesias of Magnesia (a historian around the turn of the 3rd century BCE; contrary to what has sometimes been suggested, it is not clear that the term “king,” βασιλεὺς, at the beginning of the quotation refers to Batis; instead, it probably refers to Alexander); cf. Delcor 1951: 118–119; Chary 1969: 157–158; Wolters 2014: 270. 125. Pace Petersen 1995: 42–43, who maintains that the interpretation of Zech 9:1–8 should be based on the place names rather than on the events described. Ideally, we should explain both aspects of the text. 126. Despite this criticism based on a historical detail, Sweeney offers much looser historical correspondences when justifying why Zech 9:1–8 should be read as reflecting the attempt by Darius I to pacify the empire. 127. As indicated by Diodorus 19.59.1–3, 19.61.5; cf. Sartre 2001: 104; Grabbe 2008: 286. 128. Cf. Marti 1910: 88; Kunz 1998: 218–219. A. Kunz attempts to read Zech 9:1–10 in a later Hellenistic context, namely, the transition from Ptolemaic to Seleucid rule at the turn of the 2nd century BCE (pp. 192–242). However, the conquest of the Southern Levant by Antiochus III does not fit well with the emphasis on the destruction of Tyre in Zech 9:1–8. In order to make this interpretation plausible, Kunz interprets vv. 3–4 as mainly referring to the economic weakening of all of Phoenicia rather than the destruction of Tyre more specifically (pp. 196–97); however, vv. 3–4 clearly focus on Tyre. Furthermore, nothing in Zech 9:1–8 can be connected to the battle of Panion, the decisive military event in the Seleucid conquest of the Southern Levant. In addition, while Kunz’s hypothesis is technically not impossible, such a late date for the earliest section of Zech 9–14 does not appear as the most plausible one, especially in light of 4QXIIa. This manuscript, which is dated to the middle or the second half of the 2nd century BCE, attests to a passage of Zech 14 (v. 18), a section that most scholars consider to be one of the latest in the book. Thus, Kunz’s dating of Zech 9–10 implies that the different sections of Zech 9–14 were composed within the span of about half a century and that 4QXIIa was produced almost immediately afterward. Kunz dates Zech 9:11–17 to the first half of the 2nd century BCE and most of Zech 10 to the Maccabean revolt (see, esp., p. 371) but does not deal with the date of Zech 11–14, which is often regarded as a section composed in several stages after Zech 9–10. More problematically, Kunz completely overlooks

the evidence of 4QXIIa. This evidence most likely indicates that Zech 9–14 as a whole was already composed at least several decades before the mid-2nd century BCE. 129. Overall, a Hellenistic context highlights the particular climate of political instability that is conveyed by the repetitive emphasis in Zech 9–14 on Jerusalem being under the military threat of the nations (Chapters 9–10, 12, 14). Political instability was clearly higher after the large empire ruling over most of the Near East collapsed and was replaced by competing belligerent kingdoms. To be sure, the Persian period was not without political troubles, and wars were fought not very far from Yehud, especially in Egypt, with consequences for the Southern Levant, such as a greater military presence in the territory. A major change during the Hellenistic period was that several important battles were waged within the territory of the Southern Levant itself. Not only was the region frequently a battlefield, but it was also the subject of contention among Hellenistic rulers, who regularly fought for its possession. During the wars of the Diadochi, control of the Southern Levant switched hands no fewer than five times (see above, n. 100). Judea and Jerusalem were themselves directly affected by these conflicts, especially during the wars of the Diadochi and the fourth and fifth Syrian wars; see Gonzalez 2013: 21–25. 130. In this sense, Zech 9–14 participates in creating a periodization of history that is quite close to what can be seen in apocalyptic literature from the Hellenistic period, especially in Daniel and 1 Enoch. 131. As argued by Willi-Plein (1977: 66–68), prophetic literature construes the Persian empire as the last divinely ordained empire, as opposed to Hellenistic rule; cf. Nihan 2013: 76. 132. Other aspects of Zech 9–14 are best explained in an early Hellenistic context, not only in Zech 9 but also in Chapters 10–14, which in all likelihood were progressively added to revise the war scene of Chapter 9. In Zech 10:3b–12, the strong utopian emphasis on the return of the northern diaspora to the land, in association with the reduced role of the northern tribes in the fight, makes sense after the destructions of Samaria during the first decades of the Hellenistic period, by Ptolemy I and then by Demetrius—destructions that, in all likelihood, provoked migrations and deportations; cf. Grabbe 2008: 276–78, 287; Gonzalez and Mendoza, forthcoming (arguing that the punishment of Samaria by Alexander was not as drastic as it is often assumed, especially compared to the Diadochi destructions). The Samarian inscriptions of Delos, or the village of Samareia in the Fayum, are good indications of the growth of the northern diaspora during the early Hellenistic period. Hence, it seems that Zech 10 rewrites the fight against the Greeks in Zech 9 after the northern region has been severely weakened, especially through destructions and deportations. Furthermore, several scholars already observed that the end of the dominion of Egypt and Assyria announced in Zech 10:11 corresponds well to the political context of the early Hellenistic period, when the Levant was ruled by the Ptolemies and Seleucids; cf. Elliger 1951: 146–147; Steck 1991: 76–80; Hagedorn 2012: 328–331. It is most likely that these two traditional enemies of Israel are specifically mentioned in order to allude to the new Hellenistic rules with traditional designations. In previous articles, I have argued that the very original use of the shepherd-flock imagery in Zech 11:4–14 is also best read in a Hellenistic context. This passage allegorically describes a complex economic system involving diverse roles that exploit Judean society—see especially, in vv. 4–5, the exploitation of sheep by buyers (‫)קנים‬, sellers (‫ )מכרים‬and shepherds (‫)רעים‬. This unique picture makes good sense in light of the administrative reforms of the Ptolemies, which tightened the control of resources

328  hervé gonzalez in the Southern Levant and intensified local taxation by applying it to various kinds of agricultural and farming products by means of various local personnel; Gonzalez 2013: 25–32; 2017b: 34–62. On the Ptolemaic administration of the Southern Levant, see references in n. 140 below. Also, in Chapters 11–14, the abandonment of the ideology of territorial and political independence—visible in Chapters 9–10—in favor of a more ritual and cultic ideology can be explained in light of the progressive stabilization of the Ptolemaic rule and the development of its administration in the Southern Levant during the 3rd century BCE. It was more difficult for Judean scribes to dream about political independence at that time than in the context of the political instability of the late 4th century BCE; Gonzalez forthcoming (b). 133. See, e.g., Childs 1979: 367, who emphasizes the relationship between Ezek 38–39, Joel 4 and Zech 14, and more recently the study on Ezek 38–39, Joel and Zech 12–14 by B. Biberger (2010); cf. Tiemeyer (2018: 74–76) on the relationship between Ezek 38–39 and Zech 9–14. 134. Biberger (2010) compares the scenarios of Ezek 38–39, Joel 1–4 and Zech 12–14 and argues that the composition of these three sections extended into the Hellenistic period; see also already, e.g., Cheyne 1895: 150–162. In the case of Ezek 38–39, the late character of this section is also supported by its unstable place in the ancient manuscripts of the Book of Ezekiel—after Chapter 37 in the Masoretic tradition as opposed to before it in the Old Greek version (see discussion above); see also Tooman 2011: esp. 271–272, who dates these chapters to between the 4th and the 2nd centuries BCE. 135. See also, e.g., the recent reading of Isa 19:1–25 in light of Egyptian oracles from the Ptolemaic period offered by Schipper 2014, which supports the view that at least part of this text comes from the Hellenistic period; cf. Schmid 2011: 149. 136. Still, note that apart from Zech 9:13 and Daniel 8:21, 10:20 and 11:2, Joel 4:6 is the only biblical passage that focuses on the Greeks alone—not in the context of a list of several nations. The passage refers to the deportation of Judeans who have been sold by Phoenicians to the Greeks, a depiction that makes good sense in Hellenistic times, when many populations were displaced to help colonize territories or to serve in the Hellenistic armies as mercenaries (see references in n. 60 above). There is good reason to believe that Judeans were part of these population movements, as is attested by the significant growth of the diaspora in Hellenistic times—the Alexandrian diaspora being the most obvious case— and as suggested by some ancient traditions (see quotation of [Pseudo-]Hecataeus in Josephus, C. Ap. 1.186–189 and the Letter of Aristeas 12–14; cf. Gonzalez and Mendoza, forthcoming). Several

scholars have also read Joel 4:6 in light of the slave trade that developed during the Hellenistic period; see Treves 1957: 152–153; Hengel 1991: 41–42; Kunz 1998: 229. In addition, the reference to the divine judgment not only against Sidon but also against Tyre and Philistia in Joel 4:4–8 makes best sense after these places underwent destructions; in postexilic times, this did not happen before the early Hellenistic period; cf. Beck 2005: 150–151, 194, 200; Saur 2008: 290–295. 137. As noted above, the Book of Zechariah appears to construe the notion of an end of the true prophets after Zechariah; this is especially the case when Zech 13:2–6 is read in the context of the whole book (cf. Zech 1:5); see references in n. 2 above. The name “Malachi” (‫ )מלאכי‬in Mal 1:1 is quite ambiguous, since it could also be read as the title “my messenger” (cf. Mal 3:1), especially as no patronymic or origin is given to specify the identity of this figure. The absence of the title “prophet” (‫ )נביא‬to describe Malachi, in contrast to Haggai and Zechariah (Hag 1:1,3,12, 2:1,10; Zech 1:1,7), strengthens this ambiguity. This interpretation is supported by the LXX, which reads “his messenger” (ἀγγέλου αὐτοῦ) and is followed, e.g., by Vuilleumier 1981: 223–24 and Petersen 1995: 165–66. For the traditional view that reads “Malachi” as the name of an actual prophet, see, e.g., Glazier-McDonald 1987: 27–29. On Zechariah as the last prophet, see also Gonzalez 2013: 32–53. 138. See, e.g., the comments of Albertz (1994: 570–571), who emphasizes that Isa 24–27 is less historical than Zech 9–14, but is still likely to have emerged in the Hellenistic period. 139. NRSV translation; see also Lev. Rab. 13.5: “R. Samuel b. Naḥman said: All the prophets foresaw the empires engaged in the [subsequent] activities” (trans. Israelstam and Slotki 1961: 168); cf. Nihan 2013: 78. 140. On the Ptolemaic administration of “Syria and Phoenicia,” see, esp., Rostovtseff 1989: 275–296; Hengel 1989; 1991: 18–29; Bagnall 1976: 11–24; Grabbe 1992: 189–220; 2008: 166–192; 2011; Albertz 1994: 536–540; Pastor 1997: 21–40; Marquaille 2008; GraslinThomé 2014: 71–74; Frevel 2016: 339–344. See also Gonzalez and Mendoza (forthcoming), pointing to a process of reorganization of the Samarian territory in early Hellensitic times, especially under Ptolemaic policies. 141. Barag (1999: 36–37) proposes the date of 269 BCE for the closure of the mint of Jerusalem, but more recent research situates it somewhat later; Gitler and Lorber (2006: 15–16), followed by Tal (2012: 259), do not rule out the possibility that coins were still minted in Jerusalem during the early reign of Ptolemy III, possibly until 241/240 BCE.

REFERENCES Aitken, J.K. 2015. T&T Clark Companion to the Septuagint. London. Albertz, R. 1994. A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, 2: From the Exile to the Maccabees. London. Albertz, R. 2001. The End to the Confusion? Why the Old Testament Cannot Be a Hellenistic Book! In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish History and Scriptures in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 30–46.

Arav, R. 1989. Hellenistic Palestine: Settlement Patterns and City Planning, 337–31 B.C.E. Oxford. Archibald, Z.H. 2011. Mobility and Innovation in Hellenistic Economies: Causes and Consequences of Human Traffic. In: Archibald, Z.H., Davies, J.K. and Gabrielsen, V., eds. The Economies of Hellenistic Societies, Third to First Centuries BC. Oxford: 42–65. Bagnall, R.S. 1976. The Administration of the Ptolemaic Possessions outside Egypt: With 3 Maps. Leiden.

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  329 Bagnall, R.S. 1984. The Origins of Ptolemaic Cleruchs. The Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 21: 7–20. Bagnall, R.S. 2002. Alexandria: Library of Dreams. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 146: 348–362. Ballet, P. 1999. La vie quotidienne à Alexandrie: 331–30 av. J.-C. Paris. Barag, D. 1999. The Coinage of Yehud and the Ptolemies. Israel Numismatic Journal 13: 27–38. Barnes, R. 2000. Cloistered Bookworms in the Chicken-Coop of the Muses: The Ancient Library of Alexandria. In: MacLeod, R., ed. The Library of Alexandria: Center of Learning in the Ancient World. London and New York: 61–77. Bauman, A. 1980. ‫חיל‬, ḥyl. In: Botterweck, G.J. and Ringgren, H., eds. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, IV. Grand Rapids, MI: 344–347. Baynham, E. 2003. The Ancient Evidence for Alexander. In: Roisman, J., ed. Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great. Leiden and Boston: 3–29. Beck, M. 2005. Der “Tag YHWHs” im Dodekapropheton. Studien im Spannungsfeld von Traditions- und Redaktionsgeschichte. Berlin and New York. Becking, B. 2004. Between Fear and Freedom: Essays on the Interpretation of Jeremiah 30–31. Leiden. Ben Zvi, E., ed. 2006. Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature. Helsinki. Ben Zvi, E. 2009. The Communicative Message of Some Linguistic Choices. In: Ben Zvi, E., Edelman, D. and Polak, F., eds. A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics, and Language Relating to Persian Israel. Piscataway: 269–290. Berges, U. 2012. The Book of Isaiah: Its Composition and Final Form. Sheffield. Berges, U. 2014. Kingship and Servanthood in the Book of Isaiah. In: Bautch, R.J. and Hibbard, J.T., eds. The Book of Isaiah. Enduring Questions Answered Anew. Essays Honoring Joseph Blenkinsopp and His Contribution to the Study of Isaiah. Grand Rapids, MI: 159–178. Bergler, S. 1988. Joel als Schriftinterpret. Frankfurt. Berti, M. and Costa, V. 2010. La biblioteca di Alessandria. Storia di un paradise perduto. Rome. Biberger, B. 2010. Endgültiges Heil innerhalb von Geschichte und Gegenwart. Zukunftskonzeptionen in Ez 38–39, Joel 1–4 und Sach 12–14. Göttingen. Blasius, A. and Schipper, B.U. 2002. Apokalyptik und Ägypten?— Erkenntnisse und Perspektiven. In: Blasius, A. and Schipper, B.U., eds. Apokalyptik und Ägypten. Eine kritische Analyse der relevanten Texte aus dem griechisch-römischen Ägypten. Leuven: 277–302. Blenkinsopp, J. 2000. Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. New York. Blum, E. 2016. The Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts: An Approach with Methodological Limitations. In: Gertz, J.C., Levinson, B.M., Rom-Shiloni, D. and Schmid, K., eds. The

Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel and North America. Tübingen: 303–325. Boda, M.J. 2006. Freeing the Burden of Prophecy: Maśśāʾ and the Legitimacy of Prophecy in Zech 9–14. Biblica 87: 338–357. Boda, M.J. 2016a. The Book of Zechariah. Grand Rapids MI. Boda, M.J. 2016b. Reading Zechariah 9–14 with the Law and the Prophets: Siblings Rivalry and Prophetic Crisis. In: Gertz, J.C., Levinson, B.M., Rom-Shiloni, D. and Schmid, K., eds. The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel and North America. Tübingen: 985–996. Boda, M.J. and Floyd, M., eds. 2003. Bringing Out the Treasure: Inner Biblical Allusion in Zechariah 9-14. London. Bogaert, P.-M. 1978. Le témoignage de la Vetus Latina dans l’étude de la tradition des Septante: Ézéchiel et Daniel dans le Papyrus 967. Biblica 59: 384–395. Bogaert, P.-M. 1981. De Baruch à Jérémie. Les deux rédactions conservées du livre de Jérémie. In: Bogaert, P.-M., ed. Le livre de Jérémie. Le prophète et son milieu. Les oracles et leur transmission. Leuven: 168–73, 430–432. Bogaert, P.-M. 1986. Les deux rédactions conservées (LXX et TM) d’Ezéchiel 7. In: Lust, J., ed. Ezekiel and His Book: Textual and Literary Criticism and Their Interrelation. Leuven: 21–47. Bogaert, P.-M. 1987. Relecture et déplacement de l’oracle contre les Philistins. Pour une datation de la rédaction longue (TM) du livre de Jérémie. In: Cazelles, H., ed. La vie de la Parole. De l’Ancien au Nouveau Testament: études d’exégèse et d’herméneutique bibliques offertes à Pierre Grelot. Paris: 139–150. Bogaert, P.-M. 1991a. Les trois formes de Jérémie 52 (TM, LXX et VL). In: Norton, G.J. and Pisano, S., eds. Tradition of the Text. Studies Offered to Dominique Barthélemy in Celebration of His 70th Birthday. Freiburg: 1–17. Bogaert, P.-M. 1991b. Urtext, texte court et relecture: Jérémie xxxiii 14–26 TM et ses preparations. In: Emerton, J.A., ed. Congress Volume. Leuven 1989. Leiden: 236–247. Bogaert, P.-M. 1994. Le livre de Jérémie en perspective: Les deux rédactions antiques selon les travaux en cours. Revue biblique 101: 363–406. Bogaert, P.-M. 2001. Jérémie 17,1–4 TM, oracle contre ou sur Juda propre au texte long, annoncé en 11,7–8.13 TM et en 15,12– 14 TM. In: Goldman, Y. and Uehlinger, C., eds. La double transmission du texte biblique. Etudes d’histoire du texte offertes en homage à Adrian Schenker. Fribourg and Göttingen: 59–74. Bogaert, P.-M. 2003. La Vetus Latina de Jérémie: texte très court, témoin de la plus ancienne Septante et d’une forme plus ancienne de l’hébreu (Jer 39 et 52). In: Schenker, A., ed. The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible. The Relationship

330  hervé gonzalez between the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuagint Reconsidered. Atlanta GA: 51–82. Bons, E. 2016. Textual Criticism of the Prophetic Corpus. In: Sharp, C.J., ed. The Oxford Handbook of the Prophets. New York: 123–131. Bosshard-Nepustil, E. 1997. Rezeptionen von Jesaia 1–39 im Zwölfprophetenbuch. Untersuchungen zur literarischen Verbindung von Prophetenbüchern in babylonischer und persischer Zeit. Freiburg and Göttingen. Briant, P. 1982. Colonisation hellénistique et populations indigènes: I. La phase d’installation; II. Renforts grecs dans les cités hellénistiques d’Orient. In: Briant, P. Rois, tributs et paysans. Études sur les formations tributaires du MoyenOrient ancient. Paris: 227–262, 263–279. Briant, P. 1996. Histoire de l’empire perse. De Cyrus à Alexandre. Paris. Brooke, G.J. 1997. The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception in the Qumran Scrolls. In: Curtis, A.H.W. and Römer, T., eds. The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception. Leuven: 183–205. Brooke, G.J. 2006. The Twelve Minor Prophets and the Dead Sea Scrolls. In: Lemaire, A., ed. Congress Volume. Leiden 2004. Leiden: 19–43. Buehlmann, A. 2009. Qohéleth. In: Römer, T., Macchi, J.-D. and Nihan, C., eds. Introduction à l’Ancien Testament. Geneva: 632–640. Capdetrey, L. 2007. Le pouvoir séleucide. Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique (312–129 av. J.-C.). Rennes. Carr, D.M. 2005. Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature. Oxford. Chary, T. 1955. Les prophètes et le culte à partir de l’exil. Tournai. Chary, T. 1969. Aggée–Zacharie–Malachie. Paris. Cheyne, T.K. 1895. Introduction to the Book of Isaiah: With an Appendix Containing the Undoubted Portions of the Two Chief Prophetic Writers in a Translation. London. Childs, B.S. 1979. Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture. Minneapolis. Clancier, P. 2007. La Babylonie à l’époque hellénistique. Aperçu d’histoire politique et culturelle. Topoi 15: 21–74. Coggins, R. 1996. Interbiblical Quotations in Joel. In: Barton, J. and Reimer, D.J., eds. After the Exile: Essays in Honor of Rex Mason. Macon, GA: 75–84. Coggins, R. 2003. Joel. Currents in Biblical Research 2: 85–103. Cohen, G.M. 2006. The Hellenistic Settlements in Syria, the Red Sea Basin, and North Africa. Berkeley. Collins, J.J. 1975. Jewish Apocalyptic against Its Hellenistic Near Eastern Environment. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 220: 27–36. Collins, J.J. 1993. Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel. Minneapolis. Cook, S.L. 1995. Prophecy & Apocalypticism: The Postexilic Social Setting. Minneapolis.

Cook, S.L. 2011. On the Question of the “Cessation of Prophecy” in Ancient Judaism. Tübingen. Cook, S.L. 2013. Deliverance as Fertility and Resurrection. Echoes of Second Isaiah in Isaiah 26. In: Hibbard, J.T. and Kim, H.C.P., eds. Formation and Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27. Atlanta, GA: 165–182. Crane, A.S. 2008. Israel’s Restoration: A Textual-Comparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36–39. Leiden. Crenshaw, J.L. 1988. Ecclesiastes: A Commentary. London. Curtis, B.G. 2006. Up the Steep and Stony Road: The Book of Zechariah in Social Location Trajectory Analysis. Atlanta, GA. Davies, P.R. 2000. “Pen of iron, point of diamond” (Jer 17:1): Prophecy as Writing. In: Ben Zvi, E. and Floyd, M.H., eds. Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy. Atlanta, GA: 65–81. Day, J. 1980. A Case of Inner Scriptural Interpretation: The Dependence of Isaiah XXVI. 13–XXVII. 11 on Hosea XIII. 4–XIV. 10 (Eng. 9) and Its Relevance to Some Theories of the Redaction of the “Isaiah Apocalypse.” The Journal of Theological Studies 31: 309–319. Day, J. 1997. The Dependence of Isaiah 26:13–27:11 on Hosea 13:4– 14:10 and Its Relevance to Some Theories of the Redaction of the “Isaiah Apocalypse.” In: Broyles, C.C. and Evans, C.A., eds. Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah, 1. Leiden and Boston: 357–368. Dean, R. 2016. Aramaisms: Not What They Used to Be. Journal for Semitics 25: 1080–1103. Delcor, M. 1951. Les allusions à Alexandre le Grand dans Zach IX 1–8. Vetus Testamentum 1: 110–124. Delcor, M. 1952. Les sources du deutéro-Zacharie et ses procédés d’emprunt. Revue biblique 59: 385–411. Dorival, G., Harl, M. and Munnich, O. 1988. La Bible grecque des Septante. Du judaïsme hellénistique au christianisme ancien. Paris. Dothan, T. and Gitin, S. 2008. Miqne, Tel (Ekron). In: Stern, E., ed. The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations of the Holy Land, 5. Jerusalem: 1952–1958. Duhm, B. 1922. Das Buch Jesaja (4th rev. ed.). Göttingen. Durand, X. 1997. Des Grecs en Palestine au IIIe siècle avant JésusChrist. Le dossier syrien des archives de Zénon de Caunos (261–252). Paris. Dušek, J. 2012. Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim and Samaria between Antiochus III and Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Leiden. Eckardt, R. 1893. Der Sprachgebrauch von Zach 9–14. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 13: 76–109. Ego, B. 2014. Alexander der Große in der alttestamentlichen Überlieferung—Eine Spurensuche und ihre theologischen Implikationen. In: Maier, C., ed. Congress Volume Munich 2013. Leiden: 18–39.

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  331 Ehrensvärd, M. 2003. Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. In: Young, I., ed. Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology: 164–188. Ehrensvärd, M. 2006. Why Biblical Texts Cannot Be Dated Linguistically. Hebrew Studies 47: 177–189. Elliger, K. 1950. Ein Zeugnis aus der jüdischen Gemeinde im Alexanderjahr 332 v. Chr. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 62: 63–115. Elliger, K. 1951. Das Buch der Zwölf kleinen Propheten. Die Propheten Nahum, Habakuk, Zephanja, Haggai, Sacharja, Maleachi. Göttingen. Erzberger, J. 2013. Jeremiah 33: 14–26: The Question of Text Stability and the Devaluation of Kingship. Old Testament Essays 26: 663–683. Fabry, H.J. 2003. The Reception of Nahum and Habakkuk in the Septuagint and Qumran. In: Paul, S.M., Kraft, R.A., Schiffman, L.H. and Fields, W.W., eds. Emanuel. Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov. Leiden and Boston: 241–256. Fantuzzi, M. and Hunter, R. 2005. Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry. Cambridge, U.K. Fassberg, S.E. 2016. What is Late Biblical Hebrew? Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 128: 1–15. Fischer, G. 1991. Jer 25 und die Fremdvölkersprüche: Unterschiede zwischen hebräischem und griechischem Text. Biblica 72: 474–499. Fischer, G. 1997. Zum Text des Jeremiabuches. Biblica 78: 305–328. Fischer-Bovet, C. 2014. Army and Society in Ptolemaic Egypt. Cambridge. Fishbane, M. 1985. Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford. Flanagan, J. 2009. Papyrus 967 and the Text of Ezekiel: Parablepsis or an Original Text. In: Evans, C.A. and Zacharias, H.D., eds. Jewish and Christian Scripture as Artifact and Canon. London and New York: 105–116. Floyd, M.H. 1999. Zechariah and Changing Views of Second Temple Judaism in Recent Commentaries. Religious Studies Review 25: 257–263. Floyd, M.H. 2000. Minor Prophets. Part 2. Grand Rapids, MI. Floyd, M.H. 2002. The ‫( מַ שָ ּׂא‬Maśśāʾ) as a Type of Prophetic Book. Journal of Biblical Literature 121: 401–422. Foster, R.L. 2007. Shepherds, Sticks, and Social Destabilization: A Fresh Look at Zechariah 11:4–17. Journal of Biblical Literature 126: 735–753. Fox, M.V. 1989. Qoheleth and His Contradictions. Sheffield. Frevel, C. 2016. Geschiche Israels. Stuttgart. Frolov, S. 2005. Is the Narrator Also Among the Prophets? Reading Zechariah without Presuppositions. Biblical Interpretation 13: 13–40. Fuller, R.E. 2009. The Biblical Prophetic Manuscripts from the Judaean Desert. In: De Troyer, K. and Lange, A., eds.

Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and ExtraBiblical Prophecy. Leuven: 3–23. Gabrielsen, V. 2001. The Rhodian Associations and Economic Activity. In: Archibald, Z.H., Davies, J.K., Gabrielsen, V. and Oliver, G.J., eds. Hellenistic Economies. London: 215–244. García Martínez, F. 2004. The Text of the XII Prophets at Qumran. Old Testament Essays 17: 103–119. Garscha, J. 1974. Studien zum Ezechielbuch. Bern. Gärtner, J. 2006. Jesaja 66 und Sacharja 14 als Summe der Prophetie. Eine traditions- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum Abschluss des Jesaja- und des Zwölfprophetenbuches. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Gertz, J.C., Levinson, B.M., Rom-Shiloni, D. and Schmid, K., eds. 2016. The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America. Tübingen. Gesundheit, S. 2016. Introduction: The Strength and Weaknesses of Linguistic Dating. In: Gertz, J.C., Levinson, B.M., Rom-Shiloni, D. and Schmid, K., eds. The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel and North America. Tübingen: 295–302. Gitler, H. and Lorber, C. 2006. A New Chronology for the Ptolemaic Coins of Judah. American Journal of Numismatics 18: 1–41. Glazier-McDonald, B. 1987. Malachi, the Divine Messenger. Atlanta, GA. Goldman, Y. 1992. Prophétie et royauté au retour de l’exil. Les origines littéraires de la forme massorétique du livre de Jérémie. Freiburg and Göttingen. Gonzalez, H. 2013. Zechariah 9–14 and the Continuation of Zechariah during the Ptolemaic Period. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 13 (article 9): 1–43. Gonzalez, H. 2015a. Colère et (non-)repentir de Yhwh en Zechariah 1–8. In: Durand, J.-M., Marti, L. and Römer, T., eds. Colères et repentirs divins. Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, les 24 et 25 avril 2013. Fribourg and Göttingen: 31–48. Gonzalez, H. 2015b. Review of Zechariah 9–14, International Exegetical Commentary on the Old Testament (IECOT). Die Welt des Orients 45: 122–128. Gonzalez, H. 2016. Javan. II Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. In: Helmer, C., Mckenzie S.L., Römer, T., Schröter, J., Dov Walfish, B., and Ziolkowski, E., eds. Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception 13. Berlin and Boston: Cols. 791–792. Gonzalez, H. 2017a. Quelle unite à la fin des Douze prophètes? Les jugements divins en Zacharie 14 et Malachie. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 129: 59–83.

332  hervé gonzalez Gonzalez, H. 2017b. Zacharie 9–14 et le temple de Jérusalem. Observations sur le milieu de production d’un texte prophétique tardif. Judaïsme Ancien 5: 23–77. Gonzalez, H. 2019. Le dieu de l’orage en chef de guerre: une représentation traditionnelle de Yhwh réinterprétée contre la domination hellénistique (Zacharie 9,14). In: Römer, T., Gonzalez, H. and Marti, L., eds. Représenter hommes et dieux dans le Proche-Orient ancien et dans la Bible. Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, les 5 et 6 mai 2015. Leuven: 212–254. Gonzalez, H. Forthcoming (a). Des oracles à la littérature prophétique. In: Römer, T., Gonzalez, H., Marti, L. and Rückl, J., eds. Oral et écrit dans l’antiquité orientale: les processus de redaction et d’édition. Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, les 26 et 27 mai 2016. Leuven. Gonzalez, H. Forthcoming (b). Zechariah 9–14 and the Transformations of Judean Royal Ideology during the Early Hellensitic Period. In: Pyschny, K. and Schulz, S., eds. Transforming Authority: Concepts of Authority in Prophetic and Chronistic Literature. Berlin. Gonzalez, H. and Mendoza, M. Forthcoming. “What Have the Macedonians Ever Done for Us?” A Reassessment of the Changes in Samaria by the Start of the Hellenistic Period. In: Hensel, B., Nocquet, D. and Adamczwesky, B., eds. Yahwistic Diversity and the Hebrew Bible: Tracing Perspectives of Group Identity from Judah, Samaria, and Diaspra in Biblical Traditions. Tübingen. Grabbe, L.L. 1992. Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian: The Persian and Greek Periods, 1. Minneapolis. Grabbe, L.L. 2001. Reflections on the Discussion. In: Grabbe, L.L., ed. Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish History and Scriptures in the Hellenistic Period (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 317). Sheffield: 320–340. Grabbe, L.L. 2008. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 BCE). London. Grabbe, L.L. 2011. Hyparchs, Oikonomoi and Mafiosi: The Governance of Judah in the Ptolemaic period. In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O., eds. Judah between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (400–200 BCE). London: 70–90. Granados García, C. 2010. La nueva alianza como recreación. Estudio exegético de Ez 36,16–38. Rome. Graslin-Thomé, L. 2014. De Jérusalem à Babylone. Les relations entre le temple de Jérusalem et les souverains achéménides et hellénistiques à la lumière des sources mésopotamiennes. Topoi 19: 57–100. Gray, G.B. 1912. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Isaiah, 1: I–XXVII. Edinburgh.

Green, P. 2013. Alexander of Macedon, 356–323 B.C.: A Historical Biography. Berkeley. Greenberg, M. 1995. Ezekiel 21–37: A New Translation. New York. Guillaume, P. 2007. The Unlikely Malachi-Jonah Sequence (4QXIIa). The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 7(15): 1–10. Hagedorn, A.C. 2012. Diaspora or No Diaspora? Some Remarks on the Role of Egypt and Babylon in the Book of the Twelve. In: Albertz, R., Nogalski, J.D. and Wöhrle, J., eds. Perspectives on the Formation of the Book of the Twelve, Methodological Foundations—Redactional Processes— Historical Insights. Berlin and Boston: 319–336. Hallaschka, M. 2011. Haggai und Sacharja 1–8. Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung. Berlin and New York. Hanson, P.D. 1973. Zechariah 9 and the Recapitulation of an Ancient Ritual Pattern. Journal of Biblical Literature 92: 37–59. Hanson, P.D. 1979. The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology. Minneapolis. Hauben, H. 2014. Ptolemy’s Grand Tour. In: Hauben, H. and Meeus, A., eds. The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.). Leuven: 235–261. Hays, C.B. 2011. Death in the Iron Age II and in First Isaiah. Tübingen. Hays, C.B. 2013. The Date and Message of Isaiah 24–27 in Light of Hebrew Diachrony. In: Hibbard, J.T. and Kim, H.C.P., eds. Formation and Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27. Atlanta, GA: 7–24. Hays, C.B. 2017. From Propaganda to Apocalypse. An Empirical Model for the Formation of Isaiah 24–27. Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 6: 120–144. Hendel, R.S. 2010. Assessing the Text-Critical Theories of the Hebrew Bible After Qumran. In: Lim, T.H. and Collins, J.J., eds. The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Oxford: 281–302. Hengel, M. 1989. The Political and Social History of Palestine from Alexander to Antiochus III (333–187 B.C.E.). In: Davies, W.D. and Finkelstein, L., eds. The Cambridge History of Judaism. Vol. 2: The Hellenistic Age. Cambridge, U.K.: 35–78. Hengel, M. 1991. Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period. London. Hibbard, J.T. 2005. Isaiah xxvii 7 and Intertextual Discourse about “Striking” in the Book of Isaiah. Vetus Testamentum 55: 461–476. Hibbard, J.T. 2006. Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27: The Reuse and Evocation of Earlier Texts and Traditions. Tübingen. Hibbard, J.T. 2013. Isaiah 24–27 and Trito-Isaiah: Exploring Some Connections. In: Hibbard, J.T. and Kim, H.C.P., eds.

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  333 Formation and Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27. Atlanta, GA: 183–199. Hölbl, G. 2001. A History of the Ptolemaic Empire. London and New York. Holmstedt, R.D. 2012. Historical Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew. In: Miller-Naudé, C. and Zevit, Z., eds. Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew, Linguistic Studies in Ancient West Semitic. Winona Lake: 97–124. Honigman, S. 2003. The Septuagint and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria: A Study in the Narrative of the “Letter of Aristeas.” London and New York. Honigman, S. 2013. “Jews as the Best of All Greeks”: Cultural Competition in the Literary Works of Alexandrian Judaeans in the Hellenistic Period. In: Stavrianopoulou, E., ed. Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period: Narrations, Practices, and Images. Leiden and Boston: 207–232. van Hoonacker, A. 1908. Les douze petits prophètes, traduits et commentés. Paris. Hornkohl, A. 2013. Biblical Hebrew: Periodization. In: Khan, G., Bolokzy, S., Fassberg, S., Rendsburg, G.A., Rubin, A.D., Schwarzwald, O.R. and Zewi, T., eds. Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics, I: A–F. Leiden and Boston: 315–325. Hornkohl, A. 2014. Ancient Hebrew Periodization and the Language of the Book of Jeremiah: The Case for a SixthCentury Date of Composition. Leiden. Hornkohl, A. 2016. Hebrew Diachrony and the Linguistic Periodisation of Biblical Texts: Observations from the Perspective of Reworked Pentateuchal Material. Journal for Semitics 25: 1004–1063. Horst, F. 1964. Die Zwölf kleinen Propheten. Nahum bis Maleachi (3rd ed.). Tübingen. Hurvitz, A. 1973. Linguistic Criteria for Dating Problematic Biblical Texts. Hebrew Abstracts 14: 74–79. Hurvitz, A. 1974. The Date of the Prose-Tale of Job Linguistically Reconsidered. Harvard Theological Review 61: 17–34. Hurvitz, A. 1997. The Historical Quest for “Ancient Israel” and the Linguistic Evidence of the Hebrew Bible: Some Methodological Observations. Vetus Testamentum 47: 301–315. Hurvitz, A. 2000. Can Biblical Texts Be Dated Linguistically? Chronological Perspectives in the Historical Study of Biblical Hebrew. In: Lemaire, A. and Sæbø, M., eds. Congress Volume Oslo 1998. Leiden: 143–160. Hurvitz, A. 2006. The Recent Debate on Late Biblical Hebrew: Solid Data, Experts’ Opinions, and Inconclusive Arguments. Hebrew Studies 47: 191–210. Hurvitz, A. 2012. The “Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts”: Comments on Methodological Guidelines and Philological Procedures. In: Miller-Naudé, C.L. and Zevit, Z., eds.

Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew, Linguistic Studies in Ancient West Semitic. Winona Lake: 265–279. Hurvitz, A. 2013. Biblical Hebrew, Late. In: Khan, G., Bolokzy, S., Fassberg, S., Rendsburg, G.A., Rubin, A.D., Schwarzwald, O.R. and Zewi, T., eds. Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics. Vol. I: A–F. Leiden and Boston: 329–338. Hurvitz, A. 2014. A Concise Lexicon of Late Biblical Hebrew: Linguistic Innovations in the Writings of the Second Temple Period. Leiden and Boston. Huß, W. 2001. Ägypten in Hellenistischer Zeit 332–30 v. Chr. Munich. Hyland, A. 2003. The Horse in the Ancient World. Stroud, Gloucestershire. Iossif, P.P. 2012. Les “cornes” des Séleucides: vers une divinisation “discrète.” Cahiers des études anciennes 49: 43–147. Israelstam, J. and Slotki, J.S. 1961. Midrash Rabbah: Leviticus. London. Janzen, J.G. 1973. Studies in the Text of Jeremiah. Cambridge MA. Jassen, A.P. 2016. The Prophets in the Dead Sea Scrolls. In: Sharp, C.J., ed. The Oxford Handbook of the Prophets. New York: 353–372. Jeremias, J. 2002. Gelehrte Prophetie. Beobachtungen zu Joel und Deuterosacharja. In: Bultmann, C., Dietrich, W. and Levin, C., eds. Vergegenwärtigung des Alten Testaments. Beriträge zur biblischen Hermeneutik. Festschrift für Rudolph Smend zum 70. Geburstag. Göttingen: 97–111. Jones, B.A. 1995. The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Study in Text and Canon. Atlanta, GA. Jones, D.R. 1962. A Fresh Interpretation of Zechariah IX–XI. Vetus Testamentum 12: 241–259. Joosten, J. 2008. L’exédent massorétique du livre de Jérémie et l’hébreu post-classique. In: Joosten, J. and Rey, J.-S., eds. Conservatism and Innovation in the Hebrew Language of the Hellenistic Period. Proceedings of a Fourth International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls & Ben Sira. Leiden and Boston: 93–108. Joosten, J. 2013. Classicism: Biblical Hebrew. In: Khan, G., Bolokzy, S., Fassberg, S., Rendsburg, G.A., Rubin, A.D., Schwarzwald, O.R. and Zewi, T., eds. Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics, 1: A–F. Leiden and Boston: 454. Joyce, P.M. 1989. Divine Initiative and Human Response in Ezekiel. London. Kaiser, O. 1976. Der Prophet Jesaja Kapitel 13–39 (2nd rev. ed.). Göttingen. Kartveit, M. 1994. Sach 13,2–6: Das Ende der Prophetie—Aber Welcher. In: Tångberg, A., ed. Text and Theology: Studies in Honour of Professor Dr. Theol. Magne Sæbø. Presented on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday. Oslo: 143–156.

334  hervé gonzalez Kim, D.H. 2013. Early Biblical Hebrew, Late Biblical Hebrew, and Linguistic Variability: A Sociolinguistic Evaluation of the Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. Leiden. Klein, A. 2008. Schriftauslegung im Ezechielbuch. Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Ez 34–39. Berlin and New York. Klein, A. 2010. Prophecy Continued: Reflections on Innerbiblical Exegesis in the Book of Ezekiel. Vetus Testamentum 60: 571–582. Klein, A. 2018. “Biblicist Additions” or the Emergence of Scripture in the Growth of the Prophets. In: Olyan, S. and Wright, J., eds. Supplementation and the Study of the Hebrew Bible. Providence, RI: 125–145. Knoppers, G.N. 2019. Archaizing Tendencies in Samaria’s Religious Culture during Hellenistic Times. In: Knoppers, G.N. Judah and Samaria in Postmonarchic Times. Essays on Their Histories and Literatures. Tübingen: 75–89. Koenen, L. 1968. Die Prophezeiungen des “Töpfers.” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 2: 178–209. Koenen, L. 1970. The Prophecies of a Potter: A Prophecy of World Renewal becomes an Apocalypse. In: Samuel, D.H., ed. Proceedings of the Twelfth International Congress of Papyrology. Toronto: 249–254. Koenen, L. 2002. Die Apologie des Töpfers an König Amenophis oder das Töpferorakel. In: Blasius, A. and Schipper, B.U., eds. Apokalyptik und Ägypten. Eine kritische Analyse der relevanten Texte aus dem griechisch-römischen Ägypten. Leuven: 139–187. van der Kooij, A. 1994. Jeremiah 27:5–15: How Do MT and LXX Relate to Each Other? Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 20(1): 59–78. Kosmin, P. 2014. Seeing Double in Seleucid Babylonia: Rereading the Borsippa Cylinder of Antiochus I. In: Moreno, A. and Thomas, R., eds. Patterns of the Past: Epitēdeumata in the Greek Tradition. Oxford: 173–198. Kraeling, E.G.H. 1924. The Historical Situation in Zech. 9:1–10. The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 41: 24–33. Kratz, R.G. 1997. Die Redaction der Prophetenbücher. In: Kratz, R.G. and Krüger, T., eds. Rezeption und Auslegung im Alten Testament und seinem Umfeld, Freiburg and Göttingen: 9–27. Kratz, R.G. 2015. The Prophets of Israel. Winona Lake. Kunz, A. 1998. Ablehnung des Krieges. Untersuchungen zu Sacharja 9 und 10. Freiburg. Lacocque, A. 1988. Zacharie 9–14 (2nd rev. ed.). Geneva. Lallot, J. 1992. Zénodote ou l’art d’accommoder Homère. In: Jacob, C. and de Polignac, F., eds. Alexandrie, IIIe siècle av. J.-C. Tous les savoirs du monde ou le rêve d’universalité des Ptolémées. Paris: 93–99. Lamarche, P. 1961. Zacharie IX–XIV. Structure littéraire et messianisme. Paris.

Lange, A. 2002. Vom prophetischen Wort zur prophetischen Tradition: Studien zur Traditions- und Redaktionsgeschichte innerprophetischer Konflikte in der Hebräischen Bibel. Tübingen. Lange, A. 2009. Handbuch der Textfunde vom Toten Meer. Band I: Die Handschriften biblischer Bücher von Qumran und den anderen Fundorten. Tübingen. Lange, A. 2010. The Textual Plurality of the Jewish Scriptures in the Second Temple Period in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. In: Dávid, N. and Lange, A., eds. Qumran and the Bible: Studying the Jewish and Christian Scriptures in Light of Dead Sea Scrolls. Leuven: 43–96. Lange, A. 2012a. The Covenant with the Levites (Jer 33:21) in the Proto-Masoretic Text of Jeremiah in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. In: Maeir, A.M., Magness, J. and Schiffman, L.H., eds. “Go Out and Study the Land” (Judges 18:2). Archaeological, Historical and Textual Studies in Honor of Hanan Eshel. Leiden and Boston: 95–116. Lange, A. 2012b. The Text of Jeremiah in the War Scroll from Qumran. In: Dávid, N., Lange, A., De Troyer, K. and Tzoref, S., eds. The Hebrew Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Göttingen: 95–116. Lange, A. and Tov, E., eds. 2016. Textual History of the Hebrew Bible, 1B. Leiden. Lange, A. and Tov, E., eds. 2017. Textual History of the Hebrew Bible, 1C. Leiden. Langlois, M. 2019. The Book of Jeremiah’s Redaction History in Light of Its Oldest Manuscripts. In: West, J. and Lemche, N.P., eds. Jeremiah in History and Tradition. New York. Larkin, K.J.A. 1994. The Eschatology of Second Zechariah: A Study of the Formation of a Mantological Wisdom Anthology. Kampen. Lau, W. 1994. Schriftgelehrte Prophetie in Jes 56–66. Eine Untersuchung zu den literarischen Bezügen in den letzten elf Kapiteln des Jesajabuches. Berlin and New York. Lee, S.Y. 2015. An Intertextual Analysis of Zechariah 9–10: The Earlier Restoration Expectations of Second Zechariah. London. Leene, H. 2013. Newness in Old Testament Prophecy: An Intertextual Study. Leiden and Boston. Leuze, O. 1935. Die Satrapieneinleitung in Syrien und im Zweistromlande von 520–320. Halle. Lilly, I.E. 2012. Two Books of Ezekiel: Papyrus 967 and the Masoretic Text as Variant Literary Editions. Leiden. Lipschits, O. and Tal, O. 2007. The Settlement Archaeology of the Province of Judah: A Case Study. In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz, R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 33–52. Lipschits, O. and Vanderhooft, D.S. 2011. The Yehud Stamp Impressions: A Corpus of Inscribed Impressions from the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Judah. Winona Lake.

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  335 Lust, J. 1981. Ezekiel 36–40 in the Oldest Greek Manuscript. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 43: 517–533. Lust, J. 1986. The Use of Textual Witnesses for the Establishment of the Text. The Shorter and Longer Texts of Ezekiel. An Example: Ez 7. In: Lust, J., ed. Ezekiel and His Book: Textual and Literary Criticism and Their Interrelation. Leuven: 7–20. Lust, J. 1994. The Diverse Text Forms of Jeremiah and History Writing with Jer 33 as a Test Case. Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 20(1): 31–48. Lust, J. 2003. Major Divergences between LXX and MT in Ezekiel. In: Schenker, A., ed. The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible. The Relationship between the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuagint Reconsidered. Atlanta, GA: 83–92. Lust, J. 2012. Ezéchiel dans la Septante. In: Macchi, J.-D., Nihan, C., Römer, T. and Rückl, J., eds. Les recueils prophétiques de la Bible. Origines, milieux, et contexte proche-oriental. Geneva: 337–358. Mackie, T.P. 2010. Transformation in Ezekiel’s Textual History. Ezekiel 7 in the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint. In: Tooman, W.A. and Lyons, M.A., eds. Transforming Visions, Transformations of Text, Tradition, and Theology in Ezekiel, Eugene, OR: 249–278. Mackie, T.P. 2015. Expanding Ezekiel: The Hermeneutics of Scribal Addition in the Ancient Text Witnesses of the Book of Ezekiel. Göttingen. Maier, C. 2002. Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora. Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches. Göttingen. Malamat, A. 1950. The Historical Setting of Two Biblical Prophecies on the Nations. Israel Exploration Journal 1: 149–159. Markoe, G. 2000. Phoenicians. Berkeley. Marquaille, C. 2008. The Foreign Policy of Ptolemy II. In: McKechnie, P. and Guillaume, P., eds. Ptolemy II Philadelphus and His World. Leiden and Boston: 39–64. Marti, K. 1900. Das Buch Jesaja. Tübingen. Marti, K. 1910. Der Prophet Sacharja. In: Kautzsch, E., ed. Die heilige Schrift des alten Testament, 2: Hosea bis Chronik. Tübingen: 77–97. Mason, R.A. 1976. The Relation of Zech 9–14 to Proto-Zechariah. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 88: 227–239. Mason, R.A. 2003a. The Use of Earlier Biblical Material in Zechariah 9–14. A Study in Inner Biblical Exegesis. In: Boda, M.J. and Floyd, M.H., eds. Bringing Out the Treasure: Inner Biblical Allusion in Zechariah 9–14. London and New York: 1–208. Mason, R.A. 2003b. Why Is Second Zechariah So Full of Quotations? In: Tuckett, C., ed. The Book of Zechariah and Its Influence. Burlington, VT: 21–28.

Mathys, H.-P. 2000. Chronikbücher und hellenistischer Zeitgeist. In: Mathys, H.-P., ed. Vom Anfang und vom Ende. Fünf alttestamentliche Studien. Frankfurt am Main: 41–155. Meeus, A. 2014. The Territorial Ambitions of Ptolemy I. In: Hauben, H. and Meeus, A., eds. The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.). Leuven: 263–306. Meinhold, A. 2006. Maleachi. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Meyers, C.L. and Meyers, E.M. 1987. Haggai, Zechariah 1–8. Garden City, NY. Meyers, C.L. and Meyers, E.M. 1993. Zechariah 9–14. New York. Miller-Naudé, C. and Zevit, Z., eds. 2012. Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew, Linguistic Studies in Ancient West Semitic. Winona Lake. Mitchell, H.G.T. 1912. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Haggai and Zechariah. Edinburgh. Moore, M.B. 2006. Writing Israel’s History Using the Prophetic Books. In: Kelle, B.E. and Moore, M.B., eds. Israel’s Prophets and Israel Past: Essays on the Relationship of Prophetic Texts and Israelite History in Honor of John H. Hayes. New York and London: 23–36. Mueller, K. 2006. Settlements of the Ptolemies: City Foundations and New Settlement in the Hellenistic World. Leuven. Naudé, J.A. 2003. The Transitions of Biblical Hebrew in the Perspective of Language Change and Diffusion. In: Young, I., ed. Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology: 189–214. Naudé, J.A. 2004. A Perspective on the Chronological Framework of Biblical Hebrew. Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 30(1): 87–102. Naudé, J. A. and Miller-Naudé, C.L. 2016. Historical Linguistics, Editorial Theory, and Biblical Hebrew. The Current State of the Debate. Journal for Semitics 25: 833–864. Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 2001. 1 Enoch, 1: A Commentary on the Book of Enoch, Chapters 1–36, 81–108. Minneapolis. Nihan, C. 2010. De la fin du jugement sur Jérusalem au jugement final des nations en Ezéchiel: Ezéchiel 33–39 et l’eschatologie du recueil. In: Vermeylen, J., ed. Les prophètes de la Bible et la fin des temps. XXIIIe congrès de l’Association catholique française pour l’étude de la Bible (Lille, 24–27 août 2009). Paris: 99–146. Nihan, C. 2012. Phénomènes de réécriture et autorité des recueils prophétiques. In: Clivaz, C., Combet-Galland, C., Macchi, J.-D. and Nihan, C., eds. Écritures et réécritures, La reprise interprétative des traditions fondatrices par la littérature biblique et extra-biblique. Cinquième colloque international du RRENAB, Universités de Genève et Lausanne, 10–12 juin 2010. Leuven: 105–122. Nihan, C. 2013. The “Prophets” as Scriptural Collection and Scriptural Prophecy during the Second Temple Period. In: Davies, P.R. and Römer, T., eds. Writing the Bible: Scribes, Scribalism and Script. Durham: 67–85.

336  hervé gonzalez Nogalski, J.D. 1993a. Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve. Berlin and New York. Nogalski, J.D. 1993b. Redactional Processes in the Book of the Twelve. Berlin and New York. Nogalski, J.D. 2000. Joel as “Literary Anchor” for the Book of the Twelve. In: Nogalski, J.D. and Sweeney, M.A., eds. Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve. Atlanta, GA: 91–109. Nogalski, J.D. 2011. The Book of the Twelve: Micah–Malachi. Macon, GA. Nogalski, J.D. 2016. Redaction Criticism and the Prophets. In: Sharp, C.J., ed. The Oxford Handbook of the Prophets. New York: 277–295. Nowack, W. 1922. Die kleinen Propheten (3rd ed.). Göttingen. Nurmela, R. 1996. Prophets in Dialogue: Inner-Biblical Allusions in Zechariah 1–8 and 9–14. Åbo. Oliver, G. 2011. Mobility, Society, and Economy in the Hellenistic Period. In: Archibald, Z.H., Davies, J.K. and Gabrielsen, V., eds. The Economies of Hellenistic Societies, Third to First Centuries BC. Oxford: 345–367. Otzen, B. 1964. Studien über Deuterosacharia. Copenhagen. Pajunen, M.S. and von Weissenberg, H. 2015. The Book of Malachi, Manuscript 4Q76 (4QXIIa), and the Formation of the “Book of the Twelve.” Journal of Biblical Literature 134: 731–751. Pastor, J. 1997. Land and Economy in Ancient Palestine. London and New York. Person, R.F. 1993. Second Zechariah and the Deuteronomic School. London. Petersen, D.L. 1985. Haggai and Zechariah 1–8: A Commentary. London. Petersen, D.L. 1995. Zechariah 9–14 and Malachi: A Commentary. London. Petterson, A.R. 2009. Behold Your King: The Hope for the House of David in the Book of Zechariah. London. Pfeiffer, R.H. 1952. Introduction to the Old Testament. London. Pfeiffer, R. 1968. History of Classical Scholarship from the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age. Oxford. Pfeiffer, S. 2008a. The God Serapis, His Cult and the Beginnings of the Ruler Cult in Ptolemaic Egypt. In: McKechnie, P. and Guillaume, P., eds. Ptolemy II Philadelphus and His World. Leiden and Boston: 387–408. Pfeiffer, S. 2008b. Herrscher- und Dynastiekulte im Ptolemäerreich. Systematik und Einordnung der Kultformen. Munich. Piovanelli, P. 1997. JrB 33,14–26 ou la continuité des institutions à l’époque maccabéenne. In: Curtis, A.H.W. and Römer, T., eds. The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception. Leuven: 255–276. Plöger, O. 1959. Theokratie und Eschatologie. NeukirchenVluyn. Pohlmann, K.-F. 1992. Ezechielstudien. Berlin and New York.

Polaski, D.C. 2001. Authorizing an End: The Isaiah Apocalypse and Intertextuality. Leiden. Portnoy, S.L. and Petersen, D.L. 1984. Biblical Texts and Statistical Analysis: Zechariah and Beyond. Journal of Biblical Literature 103: 11–21. Potts, D.T. 2000. Before Alexandria: Libraries in the Ancient Near East. In: MacLeod, R., ed. The Library of Alexandria: Center of Learning in the Ancient World. London and New York: 19–33. Proksch, O. 1930. Jesaja I. Leipzig. Quack, J.F. 2002. Ein neuer prophetischer Text aus Tebtynis (Papyrus Carlsberg 399 + Papyrus PSI inv. D. 17 + Papyrus Tebtynis Tait 13 vs.). In: Blasius, A. and Schipper, B.U., eds. Apokalyptik und Ägypten. Eine kritische Analyse der relevanten Texte aus dem griechisch-römischen Ägypten. Leuven: 253–274. Quack, J.F. 2008. Innovations in Ancient Garb? Hieroglyphic Texts from the Time of Ptolemy Philadelphus. In: McKechnie, P. and Guillaume, P., eds. Ptolemy II Philadelphus and His World. Leiden and Boston: 275–289. von Recklinghausen, D. 2005. “Ägyptische Quellen zum Judentum.” Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 132: 147–160. Redditt, P.L. 1989. Israel’s Shepherds: Hope and Pessimism in Zechariah 9–14. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 51: 631–642. Redditt, P.L. 1994. Nehemiah’s First Mission and the Date of Zechariah 9–14. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 56: 664–678. Redditt, P.L. 2012. Zechariah 9–14. Stuttgart. Rendsburg, G.A. 2012. Late Biblical Hebrew in the Book of Haggai. In: Hasselbach, R. and Pat-El, N., eds. Language and Nature: Papers Presented to John Huehnergard on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday. Chicago: 329–344. Rendsburg, G.A. 2013. Biblical Hebrew: Dialects and Linguistic Variation. In: Khan, G., Bolokzy, S., Fassberg, S., Rendsburg, G.A., Rubin, A.D., Schwarzwald, O.R. and Zewi, T., eds. Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics, 1: A–F. Leiden and Boston: 338–341. Reventlow, H. 1993. Die Propheten Haggai, Sacharja und Maleachi. Göttingen. Rezetko, R. 2003. Dating Biblical Hebrew: Evidence from SamuelKings and Chronicles. In: Young, I., ed. Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology. London and New York: 215–250. Rezetko, R. 2007a. “Late” Common Nouns in the Book of Chronicles. In: Rezetko, R., Lim, T.H. and Aucker, W.B., eds. Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld. Leiden and Boston: 379–417. Rezetko, R. 2007b. Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language, and Story in

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  337 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16. London and New York. Rezetko, R. 2009. What Happened to the Book of Samuel in the Persian Period and Beyond? In: Ben Zvi, E., Edelman, D. and Polak, F., eds. A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics, and Language Relating to Persian Israel. Piscataway: 237–252. Rezetko, R. 2013. The Qumran Scrolls of the Book of Judges: Literary Formation, Textual Criticism, and Historical Linguistics. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 13 (article 2): 1–68. Rezetko, R. 2016a. The (Dis)Connection between Textual and Linguistic Developments in the Book of Jeremiah: Hebrew Bible Textual Criticism Challenges Biblical Hebrew Historical Linguistics. In: Person, R.F., Jr. and Rezetko, R., eds. Empirical Models Challenging Biblical Criticism. Atlanta, GA: 239–269. Rezetko, R. 2016b. Response to Gary A. Rendsburg, “Late Biblical Hebrew in the Book of Haggai,” In: Hasselbach, R. and Pat-El, N., eds. Language and Nature: Papers Presented to John Huehnergard on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 67; Chicago: The Oriental Institute of Chicago, 2012), 329–344. Unpublished response paper, written in June 2016 and available at http:// independent.academia.edu/RobertRezetko. Rezetko, R. 2016c. Response to Seoung-Yun Shin, “A Diachronic Study of the Language of Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi,” JBL 135 (2016): 265–281. Unpublished response paper, written in June 2016 and available at http://independent. academia.edu/RobertRezetko. Rezetko, R. and Young, I. 2014. Historical Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew: Steps Toward an Integrated Approach. Atlanta, GA. Römer, T. 2009. Jérémie. In: Römer, T., Macchi, J.-D. and Nihan, C., eds. Introduction à l’Ancien Testament. Geneva: 426–438. Römer, T. 2016. How to Date Pentateuchal Texts: Some Case Studies. In: Gertz, J.C., Levinson, B.M., Rom-Shiloni, D. and Schmid, K., eds. The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel and North America. Tübingen: 357–370. Rösler, W. 2009. Books and Literacy. In: Boys-Stones, G., Graziosi, B. and Vasunia, P., eds. The Oxford Handbook of Hellenistic Studies. Oxford: 433–444. Rostovtseff, M.I. 1989. Histoire économique et sociale du monde hellénistique. Paris. Rudman, D. 2003. A Note on Zechariah 1:5. Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 29(2): 33–39. Rudolph, W. 1933. Jesaja 24–27. Stuttgart. Rudolph, W. 1976. Haggai, Sacharja 1–8, Sacharja 9–14, Maleachi. Gütersloh.

Ryholt, K. 2013. Libraries in Ancient Egypt. In: König, J., Oikonomopoulou, K. and World, G., eds. Ancient Libraries. Cambridge, U.K.: 23–37. Sæbø, M. 1969. Sacharja 9–14: Untersuchungen von Text und Form. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Samet, N. 2016. The Validity of the Masoretic Text as a Basis for Diachronic Linguistic Analysis of Biblical Texts: Evidence from Masoretic Vocalisation. Journal for Semitics 25: 1064–1079. Sartre, M. 2001. D’Alexandre à Zénobie. Histoire du Levant antique. IVe siècle av. J.-C.—IIIe siècle ap. J.-C. Paris. Saur, M. 2008. Der Tyroszyklus des Ezechielbuches. Berlin and New York. Saur, M. 2011. Gedeutete Gegenwart. Ezechiel 26, Sacharja 9 und der Eroberungszug Alexanders des Grossen. In: Niemann, H.M. and Augustin, M., eds. “My Spirit at Rest in the North Country” (Zechariah 6.8). Collected Communications to the XXth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, Helsinki 2010. Frankfurt am Main: 77–84. Scatolini Apóstolo, S.S. 2005. Ezek 36,37,38 and 39 in Papyrus 967 as Pre-Text for Re-Reading Ezekiel. In: García Martínez, F., Vervenne, M. and Doyle, B., eds. Interpreting Translation, Studies on the LXX and Ezekiel in Honour of Johan Lust. Leuven: 331–357. Schaefer, K.R. 1995. Zechariah 14: A Study in Allusion. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 57: 66–91. Schart, A. 1998. Die Entstehung des Zwölfprophetenbuchs. Neubearbeitungen von Amos im Rahmen schriftenübergreifender Redaktionsprozesse. Berlin and New York. Schenker, A. 1994. La rédaction longue du livre de Jérémie doitelle être datéee au temps des premiers Hasmonéens? Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 70: 281–293. Scheuble-Reiter, S. 2014. Zur Organization und Rolle der Reiterei in den Diadochenheeren. Vom Heer Alexanders des Großen zum Heer Ptolemaios’ I. In: Hauben, H. and Meeus, A., eds. The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.). Leuven: 475–500. Schipper, B.U. 2014. “The City by the Sea Will Be a Drying Place”: Isaiah 19.1–25 in Light of Prophetic Texts from Ptolemaic Egypt. In: Macdonald, N. and Brown, K., eds. Monotheism in Late Prophetic and Early Apocalyptic Literature. Tübingen: 25–56. Schmid, K. 1996. Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches. Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Schmid, K. 2008. Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments. Eine Einführung. Darmstadt. Schmid, K. 2011. Jesaja. Band I: 1–23. Zurich. Schmid, K. 2012a. L’auto-compréhension des livres prophétiques comme littérature de réécriture. In: Clivaz, C., Combet-Galland,

338  hervé gonzalez C., Macchi, J.-D. and Nihan, C., eds. Écritures et réécritures, La reprise interprétative des traditions fondatrices par la littérature biblique et extra-biblique. Cinquième colloque international du RRENAB, Universités de Genève et Lausanne, 10–12 juin 2010. Leuven: 123–136. Schmid, K. 2012b. La formation des “Nebiim.” Quelques observations sur la genèse rédactionnelle et les profils théologiques de Josué-Malachie. In: Macchi, J.-D., Nihan, C., Römer, T. and Rückl, J., eds. Les recueils prophétiques de la Bible. Origines, milieux, et contexte proche-oriental. Geneva: 115–142. Schoors, A. 1997. Historical Information in Isaiah 1–39. In: van Ruiten, J. and Vervenne, M., eds. Studies in the Book of Isaiah. Festschrift Willem A.M. Beuken. Leuven: 75–93. Schott, M. 2016. Hadrach. In WiBiLex—Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon, online at http://www.bibelwissenschaft.de /stichwort/20257/ Schwartz, S. 2005. Hebrew and Imperialism in Jewish Palestine. In: Bakhos, C., ed. Ancient Judaism in Its Hellenistic Context. Leiden and Boston: 53–84. Schweitzer, S.J. 2006a. Utopia and Utopian Literary Theory: Some Preliminary Observations. In: Ben Zvi, E., ed. Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature. Helsinki: 13–26. Schweitzer, S.J. 2006b. Visions of the Future as Critique of the Present: Utopian and Dystopian Images of the Future in Second Zechariah. In: Ben Zvi, E., ed. Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature. Helsinki: 249–267. Schwesig, P.G. 2006. Die Rolle der Tag-JHWHs-Dichtungen im Dodekapropheton. Berlin and New York. Sellin, E. 1913. Das Zwölfprophetenbuch. Zweite Hälfte: Nahum– Maleachi. Leipzig. van Selms, A. 1976. Telescoped Discussion as a Literary Device in Jeremiah. Mélanges offerts au Père Paul Feghali. Beirut: 247–261. Sherwin-White, S. 1991. Aspects of Seleucid Royal Ideology: The Cylinder of Antiochus I from Borsippa. The Journal of Hellenic Studies 111: 71–86. Shin, S.Y. 2007. A Lexical Study on the Language of HaggaiZechariah-Malachi and Its Place in the History of Biblical Hebrew (Ph.D. dissertation, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem). Jerusalem. Shin, S.Y. 2016. A Diachronic Study of the Language of Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi. Journal of Biblical Literature 135: 265–281. Skafte Jensen, M. 2009. Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria. In: Hinge, G. and Krasilnikoff, J.A., eds. Alexandria: A Cultural and Religious Melting Pot. Aarhus: 80–93. Sommer, B.D. 1996. Did Prophecy Cease? Evaluating a Reevaluation. Journal of Biblical Literature 115: 31–47. Sommer, B.D. 1998. A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66. Stanford, CA.

Stade, B. 1881. Deuterozacharja. Eine kritische Studie. I. Theil. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 1: 1–96. Stade, B. 1882. Deuterozacharja. Eine kritische Studie. III. Theil. Die Za. 9 ff. enthaltenen Beziehungen auf die weltgeschichtliche Lage. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 2: 275–309. Stager, L.E. 1993. Ashkelon. In: Stern, E., ed. The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations of the Holy Land, 1. Jerusalem: 103–112. Stead, M.R. 2009. The Intertextuality of Zechariah 1–8. London. Steck, O.H. 1989. Tritojesaja im Jesajabuch. In: Vermeylen, J., ed. The Book of Isaiah. Le livre d’Isaïe. Les oracles et leurs relectures. Unité et complexité de l’ouvrage. Leuven: 361–406. Steck, O.H. 1991. Der Abschluss der Prophetie im Alten Testament. Ein Versuch zur Frage der Vorgeschichte des Kanons. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Steuernagel, C. 1912. Lehrbuch der Einleitung in das Alte Testament, mit einem Anhang über die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen. Tübingen. Stipp, H.-J. 1994. Das masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches. Textgeschichtlicher Rang, Eigenarten, Triebkräfte. Freiburg and Göttingen. Stipp, H.-J. 1997. Linguistic Peculiarities of the Masoretic Edition of the Book of Jeremiah: An Updated Index. Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 23(2): 181–202. Strazicich, J. 2007. Joel’s Use of Scripture and the Scripture’s Use of Joel: Appropriation and Resignification in Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity. Leiden. Stromberg, J. 2011. Isaiah after Exile: The Author of Third Isaiah as Reader and Redactor of the Book. Oxford. Strootman, R. 2007. The Hellenistic Royal Court. Court Culture, Ceremonial and Ideology in Greece, Egypt and Near East, 336–30 BCE. (Ph.D. dissertation, Utrecht University). Utrecht. Strootman, R. 2014. “Men to whose Rapacity neither Sea nor Mountain Sets a Limit.” The Aims of the Diadochs. In: Hauben, H. and Meeus, A., eds. The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.). Leuven: 308–322. Sweeney, M.A. 1988. Textual Citations in Isaiah 24–27: Toward an Understanding of the Redactional Function of Chapters 24–27 in the Book of Isaiah. Journal of Biblical Literature 107: 39–52. Sweeney, M.A. 2000. The Twelve Prophets. Collegeville MN. Sweeney, M.A. 2003a. The Place and Function of Joel in the Book of the Twelve. In: Redditt, P.L. and Schart, A., eds. Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve. Berlin and New York: 133–154. Sweeney, M.A. 2003b. Zechariah’s Debate with Isaiah. In: Sweeney, M.A and Ben Zvi, E., eds. The Changing Face

no prophetic texts from the hellenistic period?  339 of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century. Grand Rapids MI and Cambridge: 335–350. Sweeney, M.A. 2007. Dating Prophetic Texts. Hebrew Studies 48: 55–73. Sweeney, M.A. 2014a. Differing Perspectives in the LXX and MT Versions of Jeremiah 1–10. In: Sweeney, M. Reading Prophetic Books, Form, Intertextuality, and Reception in Prophetic and Post-Biblical Literature. Tübingen: 135–153. Sweeney, M.A. 2014b. The Reconceptualization of the Davidic Covenant in the Book of Jeremiah. In: Sweeney, M.A. Reading Prophetic Books, Form, Intertextuality, and Reception in Prophetic and Post-Biblical Literature. Tübingen: 167–181. Tai, N.H.F. 1996. Prophetie als Schriftauslegung in Sacharja 9–14. Traditions- und kompositionsgeschichtliche Studien. Stuttgart. Tal, O. 2012. Greek Coinages of Palestine. In: Metcalf, W.E., ed. The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage. Oxford: 252–274. Talshir, D. 2003. The Habitat and History of Hebrew during the Second Temple Period. In: Young, I., ed. Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology. London and New York: 251–275. Tcherikover, V. 1957. Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum. I (in collaboration with A. Fuks). Cambridge, MA. Tcherikover, V. 1959. Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews. Philadelphia. Thissen, H.-J. 2002. Das Lamm des Bokchoris. In: Blasius, A. and Schipper, B.U., eds. Apokalyptik und Ägypten. Eine kritische Analyse der relevanten Texte aus dem griechisch-römischen Ägypten. Leuven: 113–138. Tiemeyer, L.-S. 2011. Will the Prophetic Texts from the Hellenistic Period Stand Up, Please! In: Grabbe, L.L. and Lipschits, O. eds. Judah between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (400–200 BCE). London: 255–279. Tiemeyer, L.-S. 2018. Reading Zechariah’s Vision Report in the Book of the Twelve. In: Wenzel, H., ed. The Book of the Twelve: An Anthology of Prophetic Books or the Result of Complex Redactional Processes? Göttingen: 49–77. Tooman, W.A. 2011. Gog of Magog: Reuse of Scripture and Compositional Technique in Ezekiel 38–39. Tübingen. van der Toorn, K. 2007. Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible. Cambridge, MA. Tov, E. 1972. L’incidence de la critique textuelle sur la critique littéraire dans le livre de Jérémie. Revue biblique 79: 189–199. Tov, E. 1979. Exegetical Notes on the Hebrew Vorlage of the LXX of Jeremiah 27 (34). Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 91: 73–93. Tov, E. 1981. Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah. Les oracles et leur transmission. Leuven: 145–167.

Tov, E. 1985. The Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah in Light of Its Textual History. In: Tigay, J.H., ed. Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. Philadelphia: 211–237. Tov, E. 1986. Recensional Differences between the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint of Ezekiel. Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 62: 89–101. Tov, E. 1989. The Jeremiah Scrolls from Qumran. Revue de Qumrân 14: 189–206. Tov, E. 1992. Three Fragments of Jeremiah from Qumran Cave 4. Revue de Qumrân 15: 531–541. Tov, E. 2002. The Biblical Text from the Judean Desert—An Overview and Analysis of the Published Texts. In: Herbert, E.D. and Tov, E., eds. The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judean Desert Discoveries. London: 139–166. Tov, E. 2003. The Nature of the Large-Scale Differences between the LXX and MT S T V, Compared with Similar Evidence in Other Sources. In: Schenker, A., ed. The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible. The Relationship between the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuagint Reconsidered. Atlanta, GA: 121–144. Tov, E. 2012. Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (3rd rev. ed.). Minneapolis. Treves, M. 1957. The Date of Joel. Vetus Testamentum 7: 149–516. Treves, M. 1963. Conjectures concerning the Date and Authorship of Zechariah IX–XIV. Vetus Testamentum 13: 196–207. Troxel, R. 2015. The Fate of Joel in the Redaction of the Twelve. Currents in Biblical Research 13: 152–174. Ulrich, E. 1998. The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Biblical Text. In: Flint, P.W. and Vanderkam, J.C., eds. The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, 1. Leiden and Boston: 79–100. Ulrich, E. 1999. The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible. Grand Rapids, MI. Ulrich, E. 2012. The Fundamental Importance of the Biblical Qumran Scrolls. In: Dávid, N., Lange, A., De Troyer, K. and Tzoref, S., eds. The Hebrew Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Göttingen: 54–59. Ulrich, E., Cross, F.M., Fuller, R.E., Sanderson, J.E., Skehan, P.W and Tov, E. 1997. Qumran Cave 4, X: The Prophets. Oxford. Vermeylen, J. 1974. La composition littéraire de l’“apocalypse d’Isaïe.” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 50: 5–38. Vincent, L.H. 1920. La Palestine dans les papyrus ptolémaïques de Gerza. Revue biblique 29: 161–202. Vuilleumier, R. 1981. Malachie. Neuchâtel and Paris. Weis, R.D. 1992. Oracle. Old Testament. In: Freedman, D.N., ed. Anchor Bible Dictionary 5 O–Sh. New York: 28–29. von Weissenberg, H. 2012a. “Aligned” or “Non-Aligned”? The Textual Status of the Qumran Cave 4 Manuscripts of the Minor Prophets. In: Albertz, R., Nogalski, J.D. and Wöhrle, J., eds. Perspectives on the Formation of the Book of the Twelve, Methodological Foundations—Redactional Processes—Historical Insights. Berlin and Boston: 381–396.

340  hervé gonzalez von Weissenberg, H. 2012b. The Twelve Minor Prophets at Qumran and the Canonical Process: Amos as a “Case Study.” In: Dávid, N., Lange, A. De Troyer, K. and Tzoref, S., eds. The Hebrew Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Göttingen: 357–375. Wenzel, H. 2011. Reading Zechariah with Zechariah 1:1–6 as the Introduction to the Entire Book. Leuven. Weyde, K.W. 2000. Prophecy and Teaching: Prophetic Authority, Form Problems, and the Use of Traditions in the Book of Malachi. Berlin and New York. Wildberger, H. 1978. Jesaja 2. Teilband Jesaja 13–27. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Willi-Plein, I. 1974. Prophetie am Ende: Untersuchungen zu Sacharja 9–14. Cologne. Willi-Plein, I. 1977. Das Geheimnis der Apokalyptik. Vetus Testamentum 27: 62–81. Willi-Plein, I. 2006. Wort, Last oder Auftrag? Zur Bedeutung von ‫ מּׂשא‬in Überschriften prophetischer Texteinheiten. In: Lux, R. and Waschke, E.-J., eds. Die unwiderstehliche Wahrheit. Studien zur alttestamentlichen Prophetie. Festschrift für Arndt Meinhold. Leipzig: 431–438. Willi-Plein, I. 2007. Haggai, Sacharja, Maleachi. Zurich. Willi-Plein, I. 2010. Prophetie und Weltgeschichte. Zur Einbettung von Sach 9,1–8 in die Geschichte Israels. In: Mommer, P. and Scherer, A., eds. Geschichte Israels und deuteronomistisches Geschichtsdenken. Festschrift zum 70. Geburstag von Winfried Thiel. Münster: 301–315. Willi-Plein, I. 2014. Deuterosacharja. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Winnicki, J. 1989. Militäroperationen von Ptolemaios I. und Seleukos I. in Syrien in den Jahren 312–311 v.Chr. (I). Ancient Society 20: 55–92. Winnicki, J. 1991. Militäroperationen von Ptolemaios I. und Seleukos I. in Syrien in den Jahren 312–311 v.Chr. (II). Ancient Society 22: 147–202. Wöhrle, J. 2006. Die frühen Sammlungen des Zwölfprophetenbuches. Entstehung und Komposition. Berlin and New York. Wöhrle, J. 2008. Der Abschluss des Zwölfprophetenbuches. Buchübergreifende Redaktionsprozesse in den späten Sammlungen. Berlin and New York. Wolters, A. 2014. Zechariah. Leuven, Paris and Walpole, MA.

Young, I., ed. 2003a. Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology. London and New York. Young, I. 2003b. Late Biblical Hebrew and Hebrew Inscriptions. In: Young, I., ed. 2003a. Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology. London and New York: 276–311. Young, I. 2008. Late Biblical Hebrew and The Qumran Pesher Habakkuk. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 8 (article 25): 1–38. Young, I. 2009. What is “Late Biblical Hebrew”? In: Ben Zvi, E., Edelman, D. and Polak, F., eds. A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics, and Language Relating to Persian Israel. Piscataway, NJ: 253–268. Young, I. 2013. “Loose” Language in 1QIsaa. In: Tzoref, S. and Young, I., eds. Keter Shem Tov: Essays on the Dead Sea Scrolls in Memory of Alan Crown. Piscataway, NJ: 89–112. Young, I. 2016. Ancient Hebrew Without Authors. Journal for Semitics 25: 972–1003. Young, I. and Rezetko, R. 2008. Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. Vol. 1: An Introduction to Approaches and Problems. London and Oakville. Young, I., Rezetko, R. and Ehrensvärd, M. 2008. Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts, 2: A Survey of Scholarship, a New Synthesis and a Comprehensive Bibliography. London and Oakville. Zinn, K. 2007. Libraries and Archives: The Organisation of Collective Wisdom in Ancient Egypt. In: Cannata, M. and Adams, C., eds. Current Research in Egyptology 2006. Proceedings of the Seventh Annual Symposium Which Took Place at the University of Oxford, April 2006. Oxford: 169–176. Zinn, K. 2008. Tempelbibliotheken im Alten Ägypten. In: Froschauer, H. and Römer, C., eds. Spätantik Bibliotheken: Leben und Lesen in den frühen Klöstern Ägyptens. Vienna: 81–91. Zinn, K. 2011. Temples, Palaces and Libraries: A Search for an Alliance between Archaeological and Textual Evidence. In: Gundlach, R. and Spence, K., eds. 5. Symposium zur ägyptischen Königsideologie/5th Symposium on Egyptian Royal Ideology. Palace and Temple: Architecture— Decoration—Ritual, Cambridge, July, 16th–17th, 2007. Wiesbaden: 181–202.

21 The Social Setting and Purpose of Early Judean Apocalyptic Literature Between Resistance Literature and Literate Hermeneutics Sylvie Honigman

Until the mid-1970s, the Book of Daniel was thought to be the earliest Jewish (Judean) apocalypse.1 Given that it refers to Antiochos IV’s alleged religious persecution that prompted the Maccabean revolt in the 160s BCE and that its composition is thought to be contemporary with those events, scholars inferred that the apocalyptic genre emerged in this context as a type of resistance literature. J.T. Milik’s publication, in 1976, of Aramaic fragments of the Astronomical Book that had been found among the Dead Sea Scrolls and were paleographically dateable to the early 2nd century—that is, prior to the revolt—disproved this causal link between the persecution and the genre (Milik 1976: 7; see Nihan 2009: 669–670). However, while it is now indisputable that the genre’s emergence predated the Maccabean crisis, the definition of apocalypses as resistance literature composed in response to foreign—and more specifically Hellenistic and later Roman—domination is still upheld by some commentators.2

The corpus of texts classified as early Judean apocalypses includes five or six works—four of which are preserved in the Geʿez translation of the composite text known as 1 Enoch, which is canonical to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.3 These texts are the Astronomical Book, or Book of Luminaries (1 Enoch 72–82), which includes a section purporting to be a heavenly vision revealed to Enoch that explained the courses of the stars and their meaning, dating back to the 5th century BCE (72–79), and a series of predictions about the end of times and the fate of the righteous and wicked, which scholars hold to be a 3rd-century addition (80–81). The Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36) recounts the fall of the Watchers (angels) and the subsequent corruption on earth (6–11); Enoch’s mission as an intercessor between the Watchers, God and humans (12–16); and Enoch’s travel to the end of the world, where a divine messenger reveals to him the secrets of the universe (17–36). While Milik dated the earliest Qumran fragments of this work to 200–150 BCE,

I am grateful to Christophe Nihan for reading an earlier version of this paper and making valuable comments. Remaining errors are my responsibility alone.

342  sylvie honigman

it is nowadays widely accepted that the work was composed in the 3rd century at the latest, and possibly in the late 4th century. The Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch 85–90) and the Apocalypse of Weeks (1 Enoch 93:1–10 and 91:11–17) are two historical apocalypses offering an interpretation of the past and future history of Israel in light of recent events and envisioning the imminence of God’s Last Judgment. The Animal Apocalypse refers to the Maccabean revolt, and was therefore composed either during that event or in the middle to the later part of the 2nd century BCE—whereas the Apocalypse of Weeks may be either slightly earlier, or contemporary with the Animal Apocalypse. The Book of Daniel is the only text classed as an apocalypse by modern scholars that is included in the Hebrew Bible—as a prophetic book. It includes a section depicting Daniel’s exploits at the court of various Near Eastern kings (Dan 1–6) and another relating to Antiochos IV (Dan 7–12). Like the Animal Apocalypse, most scholars date its composition to the days of the revolt, but a later date in the 2nd century is also possible. Finally, the Book of Jubilees, which dates from the 2nd century BCE, includes an eschatological apocalypse in Chapter 23. Although debate persists over what constitute the defining features of apocalypses, for the present purpose I adhere to the prevailing definition, which characterizes that genre as a combination of revelation and eschatology, conveyed within a narrative framework. Revelation is mediated by an other-worldly being (a divine messenger) to a human recipient (an illustrious figure of the past, such as Enoch4 or Daniel), and the revealed knowledge may bear upon scientific matters (such as the calendar; cosmology; and angelology) and eschatological themes (such as the hidden meaning of history and the heavenly world; the end of history; God’s final judgment and recreation of the world; the fate of the righteous and wicked; and life after death).5 The claim that early “Jewish” apocalypses were essentially resistance literature written in times of religious persecution and social oppression to comfort the destitute was forcefully reasserted by G. Nickelsburg in his commentary of 1 Enoch (2001).6 It was further promoted in the early 2010s by R.A. Horsley and A. Portier-Young, respectively, who explicitly referred to J. Scott’s concept of “hidden transcripts.”7 In contrast, a

distinct school of commentators points to religious and cultural factors as explaining the emergence of the genre. In a book published in 2012, J. Silverman insisted that the apocalyptic genre was an innovative hermeneutic. The identification of the origins of the apocalyptic genre has a direct bearing upon our understanding of the history of Judea in early Hellenistic times. The basic question is which political, social, cultural and religious factors it witnesses. For instance, what I refer to as the “resistance and hermeneutic paradigms” understand the apocalypses’ response to empire or their religious intent in completely different ways.8 Moreover, it has long since been pointed out that there are affinities between the early Judean apocalypses and contemporary texts from Egypt, Mesopotamia and Persia—suggesting that the emergence of the genre cannot be explained through local factors alone.9 Whereas some proponents of the hermeneutic paradigm pay due attention to this transregional dimension in engaging with the issue of the origins of the apocalyptic genre, it is mostly overlooked by proponents of the resistance paradigm, who tend to focus on local factors—in particular, either implicitly or explicitly, on the specificities of the “Jewish faith.” With regard to Judean society, some proponents of the resistance paradigm assume that the authors of apocalypses were priests who were critical of the temple’s corrupt and Hellenized priestly establishment and of the oppressive foreign rule with which the temple establishment collaborated, to the point that these censors rejected the temple institution and cult. They formed marginal groups—“apocalyptic communities” or “eschatologically inclined conventicles”—or, according to the most extreme version, a separate form of religion dubbed “Enochic Judaism,” which allegedly emerged in the late 4th century BCE.10 In contrast, the view that revelatory literature was a matter of hermeneutics makes these speculations unnecessary. The question at stake here is whether we can automatically make the leaps from critique to secession and from texts to social groups.11 In this essay, I address two methodological problems concerning the identification of the origins of the apocalyptic genre that, in my view, mar the resistance paradigm. The first is related to the troubles that were allegedly at the root of the genre—most prominently, “religious persecution,” “social oppression” and

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  343

“Hellenism.” Although the earliest apocalypses have been redated to pre-Maccabean times, the events of the 160s—as described in 1 and 2 Maccabees—arguably remain a key reference in shaping the scholars’ understanding of the historical context that prompted the genre’s emergence. To a large extent, what the advocates of the resistance paradigm identify as the causes and nature of the Maccabean crisis—namely, the Hellenizing of the priestly aristocracy, which threatened the ancestral Jewish faith in God, and fiscal oppression due to foreign domination—are simply retrojected onto the 3rd century. But this understanding of the causes of the revolt is based on a literal, uncritical reading of 1 and 2 Maccabees.12 As I have shown elsewhere, what 1 and 2 Maccabees offer is a pro-Hasmonean account of the events, not an objective description of reality (Honigman 2014b). Their account cannot be accepted at face value with regard to the period of the Maccabean revolt—let alone retrojected onto earlier times. The second problem is related to the intellectual, cultural and religious dimension of the apocalypses. Proponents of the resistance paradigm tend to read an abstract theological discourse into these texts. Their purpose was to comfort the victims of the religious persecution and social and economic oppression and to strengthen their faith in God. This reading either downplays or altogether overlooks the fact that apocalypses exhibit scientific and intellectual speculations of a highly elaborate nature, which begs the question whether this was done purely in the interests of polemics and social activism or whether the intellectual pursuit of knowledge and understanding—of the cosmos or of historical events—was an end in itself. The latter would, of course, entirely refute the resistance paradigm. I start my discussion by addressing these methodological issues. In the first part of this paper, I substantiate my claim that 1 and 2 Maccabees offer a highly biased account of the causes of the Judean revolt against Antiochos IV, rather than an objective description. Their portrayal of the revolt period—of Hellenized high priests collaborating with the imperial oppressors against pious Judeans eager to defend their ancestral faith—was designed to justify the usurpation of power by the Hasmoneans (who were descendants of the Maccabees) by denigrating their political rivals. In the second part, I

review two contrasting ways of interpreting the origins of apocalyptic literature: as the development of a worldview to suit social and religious revolutionaries or as an intellectual and cultural development—namely, as an innovative hermeneutic. Finally, these preliminary discussions will be applied to rereading the earliest section in the Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 6–16), which dates from pre-Maccabean times, as a case study of how different methodological premises may lead to widely divergent understandings of individual apocalyptic texts. Supporters of the resistance paradigm draw their reading of the Book of Watchers from what I call the “theological school” of (modern) interpretation of the apocalypses. If we adopt a different approach to the text, its classification as an example of resistance literature fails.

Rereading 1 and 2 Maccabees As noted in the introduction, ever since the chronological link between the Maccabean crisis and the emergence of the apocalypses was disproved, scholars have been obliged to redefine the context in which the early Judean apocalypses first appeared. The most expedient way to do so has been to consider that the conditions that triggered the Maccabean revolt were generically related to Hellenism and therefore had existed in Judea since the time of Alexander’s conquest. As a consequence, the narrative of 2 Maccabees on the events preceding the rebellion against Antiochos IV had a tremendous impact not only on virtually all modern historical reconstructions of the social dynamics at play in Judea in the 170s and 160s, but also on the description of the alleged conditions that prompted the emergence of apocalypses in the late 4th or the 3rd century BCE.13 Therefore, a critical discussion of the resistance paradigm must start from a critical rereading of 2 Maccabees. According to this book, the pious high priest Onias III was overthrown in 175 BCE by Jason, who obtained the high priesthood from Antiochos IV. Jason established a polis and a gymnasion in Jerusalem and instituted a regime of Hellenismos that disrupted the temple cult. Three years later, Menelaos ousted Jason and was appointed high priest in his stead by the king. To pay the

344  sylvie honigman

increased tribute that he had pledged to Antiochos, Menelaos stole the temple’s holy vessels, and he further used this booty to have the high priest Onias assassinated. In 168 BCE, Antiochos, on his way back from Egypt, attacked Jerusalem, in the mistaken belief that it was in revolt, and “sometime later” he allegedly tried to force the Judeans to abandon God’s laws. Judas Maccabee led the struggle for Ioudaismos, and within two years he had recaptured Jerusalem and purified the temple altar, allowing the regular burnt-offering to be resumed. He then went on to win further victories against the Seleukids, with God’s support for him and his warriors manifest in epiphanies before decisive battles.14 Virtually all modern historical reconstructions are rationalized interpretations of this account.15 However, a literary analysis of 2 Maccabees reveals that the depictions of Jason establishing Hellenismos in Jerusalem and of Judas Maccabee championing Ioudaismos are shaped by a highly codified narrative pattern which, in the Judean literate tradition, was used to indicate whether or not a ruler was legitimate. According to the traditional political ideology encapsulated in this narrative pattern, a ruler was legitimate if he was chosen by the deity to build or rebuild his temple. Yhwh made his choice based on the ruler’s righteousness—namely, if he “walked in God’s path” (to use the biblical wording) or was faithful to ancestral traditions (to use the modern terminology). Victory was the manifestation of this divine election. Moreover, usurpers asserted their own legitimacy not only by advertising their rebuilding of temples, but by claiming that their deposed predecessors had lost their position because they had gone bad—that is, had neglected their duties toward the patron-deity, the temple and the people of the land. This ideology of kingship derived from divine election and the related narrative pattern of temple founding is reflected in numerous royal inscriptions in Mesopotamia, and in Judea it pervades all extant accounts of either the building of the temple by Solomon or its rebuilding in Persian times, as well as the two Books of Maccabees.16 It explains why the Hasmoneans made the story of the reconsecration of the temple altar by Judas Maccabee their founding myth and established a festival to commemorate it—the festival of Hanukkah, or “Inauguration.” It also explains why, in 2 Maccabees,

the author claims that the temple altar refounded by Judas had been desecrated not only by the wicked Antiochos IV, but by the wicked high priests Jason and Menelaos (and Alkimos) as well. These three men, who ruled between Onias III and Jonathan and Simon Maccabee—Judas’ younger brothers—are depicted as illegitimate usurpers, who actively destroyed the temple.17 Jason and his partisans were presumably the first to dub themselves “Greeks” when they founded a polis in Jerusalem. However, based on all known parallel cases of native elites transforming themselves into a Greekstyle polis, there is no particular reason to believe that the poliadizing of Jerusalem was associated with a religious reform—let alone that Jason and Menelaos, as high priests, had forsaken their ritual duties toward the temple.18 The author of 2 Maccabees, however, shrewdly detached the self-description of the new politai as “Greeks” from its original meaning. More precisely, he appropriated the noun Hellenismos and coined the neologism Ioudaismos to create a symmetry, investing both terms with an innovative meaning. In 2 Maccabees Ioudaismos and Hellenismos do not mean “Judaism” and “Hellenism,” respectively, but are two abstract words that capture the notions of political legitimacy and illegitimacy that had been traditionally expressed through the narrative pattern of temple founding, as described above. More precisely, Ioudaismos denoted the righteous social order established by Judas Maccabee when he refounded the Jerusalem temple that had been defiled both by Antiochos IV and by the high priests Jason and Menelaos and in which the Hasmoneans ruled. Conversely, Hellenismos signified the wicked social order established by Jason when he founded a gymnasion in Jerusalem— which, in the text, functions as an anti-temple. Moreover, in 2 Maccabees this wicked social order is associated not only with Jason, but with Menelaos and Alkimos as well—with the three high priests who succeeded Onias III before the Hasmoneans usurped power. Jason’s gymnasion allegedly caused the priests to neglect the temple service as they ran to the palaistra at the sound of the gong every day; Menelaos stole the temple’s holy vessels and served as Antiochos’ guide when the king looted the temple; and Alkimos was intent on demolishing the temple’s wall when God had him die

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  345

to foil his wicked plot.19 The relationship between the contenders to power and the late Onias III in 2 Maccabees follows the same line: the wicked Jason ousted him from the high priesthood unjustly—given that Onias III was an ideally pious high priest—and Menelaos assassinated him, whereas Onias III acknowledged Judas Maccabee as his worthy heir by appearing to him in a dream vision on the eve of his last decisive battle. As this list shows, Hellenismos in 2 Maccabees is equated with the semantic realm of “wickedness.” Admittedly, when compared with the traditional notions of “righteous” and “wicked” rulers associated with the old narrative pattern of temple founding, the terms Ioudaismos and Hellenismos unquestionably added an ethnic connotation. However, ethnicity is here manipulated in a polemical manner: with the term Ioudaismos, Judas and his heirs, the Hasmoneans, are presented as the true guardians of the ancestral traditions, while the term Hellenismos is used to “otherize” their political rivals from within and equate them with the enemies from without. Strikingly, neither the king nor the Seleukid generals or soldiers in 2 Maccabees are characterized as “Greeks”—that label is reserved for the wicked Judeans.20 The main element that scholars have extrapolated from 1 and 2 Maccabees to depict Judean society is the notion of a cultural and religious divide between Hellenized high priests, who collaborated with the foreign king and jeopardized the ancestral traditions, and various groups of the faithful (or “religiously conservative,” depending on the modern authors’ perspective), who took to arms to defend their faith. 1 Maccabees supplied the alleged notion that while the Maccabees had sacrificed God’s cause to political ambitions, other groups continued to fight for their faith. Some scholars point to the scribes (teachers of Torah) who, in the accounts put forward in 1 Maccabees and the Book of Daniel of Antiochos IV’s so-called religious persecution, are depicted as the early leaders of the revolt, while others focus on the Asidaioi (Hasidim, “pious ones”), who are mentioned elsewhere in 1 Maccabees.21 This questionable social mapping was also retrojected onto the 3rd century. Drawing upon the description of social groups found in the Wisdom of Ben Sira—a text

dating from the first decade of the 2nd century BCE—R.A. Horsley and P. Tiller portrayed a society dominated by priestly elite families, with a class of retainer scribes, who were economically dependent on those families, holding an intermediate social status between them and the peasants and artisans who comprised the lower class (Horsley and Tiller 2002). When the priestly aristocracy became Hellenized due to its associations with the imperial administration, the scribes—who were both familiar with the ancestral traditions and less exposed to contacts with empire than the elite priests—considered themselves to be the guardians of the ancestral traditions. When the priestly aristocrats finally betrayed their sacred trust under Antiochos IV, the scribes took the lead in their stead, and many of them fell as heroic victims in Antiochos’ religious persecution. Horsley further refined this picture in a series of subsequent studies, eventually linking it to the origins of apocalyptic.22 However, this reconstruction of the Judean social dynamics is possible only if Ben Sira is read in the light of 1 and 2 Maccabees. It is also worth noting that while there is no doubt that Jason and Menelaos, the wicked high priests of 2 Maccabees, were Hellenized, Onias III is depicted in 2 Maccabees as pious. Yet according to Horsley’s dichotomized mapping, as the last representative of the Zadokite dynasty, who had been holding that function possibly since the temple’s reconstruction in the 5th century BCE, Onias III should have been the most Hellenized priest of all.23 As we see, this neatly polarized picture of a corrupt temple aristocracy and of faithful scribes presented by advocates of the resistance paradigm may be easily undermined. Instead, it may be more accurate to extrapolate from 1 and 2 Maccabees that Judean society at the time was composed of elite families that jostled with one another for power. Each clan, or group of allied clans, had its own traditions, which its members presented as the only true way to be faithful to God, while denouncing the traditions of their rival clans. Moreover, it is one thing to point to controversies, but it is quite another to claim that the authors of these critiques had turned away from the temple, as though ancient Judean society could have had no place for internal dissensions.24

346  sylvie honigman

To conclude this discussion, attempts to retroject the (alleged) causes of the Maccabean crisis onto the late 4th and the 3rd centuries BCE as a way to maintain the traditional view that apocalypses were resistance literature are ensnared in circular reasoning. Other scholars have sought to make a fresh start and to apprehend the historical context in which apocalyptic literature emerged in totally different ways. Silverman has pointed to a new avenue that remains to be explored: The various regions which produced apocalypse-like literature shared not only the experience of Hellenistic rule but also shared Achaemenid rule and its end. … One may wonder, then, whether the Persian past or Hellenistic present was the more important aspect of the era’s common Zeitgeist. … The significantly pre-Maccabaean appearance of the oldest known Jewish apocalypse (the Book of Watchers) raises the question whether Hellenism’s role was in the origins or the evolution of the phenomena. (Silverman 2012: 26)25

The suggestion that apocalypses were about the fall of the Persian empire as much as about Hellenism would further shift the emphasis from the scribes’ alleged political activism—resistance—to the realm of intellectual speculation. Silverman has taken this logic further by underlining that the decisive factors in the emergence of apocalypses and apocalypse-like works in the ancient Near East were structural cultural, intellectual and religious changes, and has argued that apocalyptic literature must be understood primarily as a hermeneutic, or a method of interpretation (Silverman 2012). Let us review this claim and contrast it with the arguments of the resistance paradigm.

The Emergence of Apocalypses as a Hermeneutical Shift: Between Hermeneutic and Theology of Resistance The identification of the transregional factors explaining the appearance of the apocalyptic genre in Judea and similar genres in other parts of the ancient Near East largely remains a desideratum. Silverman pointed to the increased importance of literacy and a correlated shift from a primarily oral to a primarily written way of

interpreting ancient traditions. It might be objected, however, that this emphasis on literacy is to some extent an extrapolation from a specific Judean factor, namely, the creation of two corpora of texts (the Pentateuch and prophetic books) during Persian times. Moreover, while their completion in Judea was a major event, it is not in itself a token of the increased importance of literacy.26 Whatever their precise nature, changes—social and religious—prompted the need for a revised interpretation of ancient traditions, and scribes in Judea and elsewhere embarked on this task in a bid “to fit a new situation into… a traditional framework”—what Silverman, after J.Z. Smith, called a need for “rectification.”27 In Judea, as just noted, a decisive factor was the creation of two corpora of texts during Persian times. The final composition of the Pentateuch was achieved in the 5th century, and it acquired an authoritative status (as the Torah) presumably first among elite scribes, but increasingly among the entire Judean population as well—an evolution that scholars date to early Hellenistic times.28 Likewise, prophetic oracles that were attributed to venerable prophets of the past were also collated and eventually acquired an authoritative status as well. The texts of both the Torah and Prophets were difficult to understand and required interpretation—so scribes began taking on the task of elucidating, interpreting and rewriting the authoritative traditions. In their work of interpretation, these scribes could draw upon a range of traditions and influences. Within native traditions, prophecy and wisdom were major sources of influences— all the more so since, as noted, the prophetic corpus of texts was revisited and commented on, while wisdom underwent a major conceptual shift, as elsewhere in the ancient Near East.29 Eschatology was the product of Persian religious influence.30 Moreover, various interpretative techniques flourished in the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, and despite their generic differences, they bear numerous affinities, as pointed out by various scholars. What they all had in common was a demonstration of their authors’ high level of literacy and their reference to the Torah and Prophets. Apocalypses shared with contemporary works of wisdom—such as Qoheleth of the 3rd century and the Wisdom of Ben Sira of the early 2nd century—and with mantic (divinatory) wisdom the belief that there is a close

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  347

correspondence between the cosmic and social orders and that human beings can come to know divine will concerning this order. They differed on how this knowledge should be acquired: through experience in wisdom, technical skills of divination in mantic wisdom, or revelation in apocalypses.31 The author of the Wisdom of Ben Sira is representative of the scribes who rejected a revelatory epistemology, whereas the scribes who composed the early parts of 1 Enoch aimed at imparting a new revelation, and those who composed 4QInstruction offer an example of “scribes who have accepted a new revelation and continue in the scribal tradition of study and interpretation,” including of that revelation.32 Moreover, apocalypses shared their claim to revelatory status with several other contemporary literary genres— works of “Rewritten Bible” (such as the Qumran’s Temple Scroll), Testaments (the Aramaic Testament of Levi, Testament of Moses, and Testament of Abraham), and the technique of biblical interpretation known as the pešer (“commentary”), the difference lying in the nature of the knowledge disclosed—which in the apocalypses was esoteric.33 In addition, the so-called historical apocalypses may be compared with other genres of historiography: Daniel and Animal Apocalypse, in particular, are regularly compared with 1 and 2 Maccabees on the basis of content.34 This mapping of the scribal literary production of the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE attests to a lively intellectual life. According to this picture, apocalyptic literature reflected a hermeneutical ideology, which was generated in a context of interpretative disputes.35 The emergence of revelatory literature may further be seen as the consequence of a thorough religious change, whereby the divine world was increasingly perceived as remote and transcendent. This newly-perceived remoteness of God—which seems to be a transregional evolution—prompted the belief that human beings could have direct access to God’s designs, albeit through venerable mediators such as Enoch and Daniel.36 In this way, revelation was correlated with pseudepigraphy (namely, the use of venerable figures of the past as mediators)—which has been described as a literary strategy of vouchsafing the truth: the veracity of the knowledge revealed is guaranteed by the righteousness of the messenger who ascended to heaven (see Reed 2004).

Apocalypses as Resistance Literature To support the claim that apocalypses were resistance literature, one of two strategies is possible. One is to treat the apocalypses as a separate and homogeneous literary category—which means ignoring the halakhic controversies that other scholars read into them and narrowly focusing on the alleged intimations of religious persecution and social oppression. The second is to compare early apocalyptic texts with other works composed in Judea in the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE: those who do argue that all these texts were produced by priests who were alienated from the temple—thereby extending the notion of resistance literature to a wide range of texts. These two interpretative strategies are underpinned by the shared premise that the priestly authors of apocalypses (and other critical texts) went on to form distinct social groups and break away from what their proponents call “mainstream Judaism.” These secessionist groups—variously dubbed as “apocalyptic communities” or “eschatologically inclined conventicles”—allegedly developed a coherent apocalyptic worldview that drew upon the venerable prophetic tradition, but was an added set of innovative theological themes: revelation, eschatology, messianism and a purportedly distinct view about the origins of evil. The most extreme version of this line of interpretation has been proposed by Paolo Sacchi and his student, Gabriele Boccaccini, who equated corpora of texts— namely, the Pentateuch, wisdom literature and the apocalypses associated with Enoch—with social groups. Boccaccini associated Mosaic law with “Zadokite Judaism”—a label he derived from the name of the ruling dynasty of high priests, affiliated with the priestly line of the Zadokites. Zadokite Judaism is described as theocratic (cf. the priestly establishment), ritualistic (cf. the temple cult) and legalistic (cf. Mosaic law). “Sapiential Judaism” eventually merged with it through matrimonial alliances. In contrast, “Enochic Judaism” allegedly emerged in the late 4th century BCE. At first, the disaffected priests who founded it provided opposition to Zadokite Judaism from within (which would explain why pre-Maccabean apocalypses deal with halakhic matters)—but after the Maccabean revolt, Enochic Judaism transformed into Essenism. Enochians

348  sylvie honigman

considered Enoch, not Moses, to be their founding figure and rejected the Mosaic Torah—that is, the Pentateuch as the authoritative book—and, by extension, the ritualistic cult of the temple based on it.37 Although Boccaccini’s construction of Enochic Judaism has since been refuted by numerous authors, the basic notion that apocalyptic communities were separate from so-called mainstream (or “Common,” or “Mosaic”) Judaism remains influential.38 Horsley’s and Portier-Young’s respective promotions of the resistance paradigm are founded on this school of interpretation, which we might dub the “theological” school.39 Both read the apocalypses separately from other contemporary texts and trace how they responded to religious persecution, Hellenism and foreign oppression, while exhibiting a pointed lack of interest in halakhic controversies.40 Portier-Young also endorses the view that apocalypses are a distinct form of Judaism.41 In summary, the debate surrounding theological and hermeneutic readings of ancient Judean apocalypses bears upon fundamental questions. The first is whether the emphasis must lie on interpretation—and on comprehension of the divine will as reflected in cosmos and history—or on polemics. According to the former view, the emergence of the apocalyptic genre may be explained in terms of a hermeneutic shift: innovative interpretative techniques, founded on literacy, were developed in a bid to comprehend God’s will in cosmic matters and human history. Moreover, these intellectual pursuits were framed by the existence of authoritative texts. New knowledge and the interpretation of recent history were incorporated into the tradition in the form of commentary of the pronouncements of Moses and the prophets, whereas additional traditions were recorded and ascribed to different founding figures, like Enoch. However, Mosaic Torah was the common denominator of all Judeans from early Hellenistic times on, and this remained true long after the Maccabean crisis. According to the theological/polemical reading, the literary material produced by these intellectual pursuits was pressed into serving a particular purpose—namely, a coordinated denunciation of current oppression and assertion of the reward and punishment to come for the righteous and wicked, at the end of times.

A second question is whether controversies are a matter of interpretative disputes or of actual social critique and, more crucially, whether critique necessarily means rejection and split or whether what we witness are controversies evidencing a lively literate culture and the fact that the temple and the proper conduct of the priesthood were of concern to all members of the literate elite, both priestly and lay.42 To illustrate how these two (or three) contrasting ways of understanding the ancient texts impinge on the definition of apocalypses as resistance literature, I will examine the section of Book of Watchers that is thought to be the oldest, 1 Enoch 6–16, which may be dated either to the early 4th or the 3rd century BCE.

Pre-Maccabean Resistance Literature? Three Ways of Interpreting the Book of Watchers The interpretation of apocalypses is made considerably more difficult by the rhetorical and poetical features of these texts. Concepts are articulated through myths— such as the myth of the Watchers—and historical events are alluded to through elaborate metaphors, and thus the polemic intention of the texts, where applicable, is veiled.43 In addition, the texts of the Enochic corpus were composed from pre-existing sources, and the dating of the various stages is conjectural.44 As noted by M. Himmelfarb , if we change our assumption about the date of a given text, the entire chain of assumptions shifts and with it the interpretation of the text (Himmelfarb 2002: 131). 1 Enoch 6–16 is a case in point. Thought to be the oldest section in the Book of Watchers, it comprises two sources—1 Enoch 6–11 and 12–16—and modern commentary either addresses the two parts separately or reads them together. The text revisits the myth of the flood. While the version preserved in the Book of Genesis (6:1–4) is much abbreviated and, in particular, carefully omits causality from its narration, in the Book of Watchers the myth was combined with further mythical materials.45 The Watchers (the sons of heaven—i.e., angels) desired the daughters of men and sought to marry them and beget children with them. They bound themselves by an oath

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  349

to sin together, descended from heaven, took human wives and defiled themselves through them, begetting violent giants. The giants then devoured the labor of men (7:3), before killing and devouring men themselves (7:4). They taught forbidden knowledge, both to their wives and children (7:1 and 8:4), and to men (8:1–3) and began to eat unclean animals and to drink their blood (7:5).46 Because of the bloodshed, men cried up to heaven, where Michael and the other archangels accused Shemihazah and Asael, leaders of the fallen angels, before God, of instructing men in all iniquities (10:6–8). God then sent the archangels to warn Noah, imprisoned Asael, Shemihazah and the other wicked angels until the day of the Last Judgment (10:4–6, 11–12), destroyed their sons (10:9, 12, 15) and cleansed the earth of the sins and impurities that they taught (10:7, 22). The section ends (10:16–11:2) with a description of the new age emerging from “the plant of righteousness and truth” (10:16). Chapters 12–16 introduce the figure of Enoch, who was absent from chapters 6–11, and add further comments to the story. Enoch acts as a divine messenger to reveal righteous knowledge to humans, but is also asked by the fallen Watchers to intercede before God on their behalf. According to the theological reading, the myth offers an etiological account of evil as being imposed on humankind from without, by demonic beings. This dualistic explanation exonerates humans themselves of the origin of sin and therefore of the dire consequences of divine punishment. While in the Flood all humanity except Noah is wiped out, in the Last Judgment only the fallen angels, their giant sons and the wicked deeds themselves will be, and humanity will be spared (for this interpretation, see Stuckenbruck 2014). The issues of direct concern to us are the identity of the fallen Watchers and the forbidden knowledge that they teach the humans. G. Nickelsburg (1977) contended that chapters 6–11 in 1 Enoch denounced the effects of war in the days of the Diadochi. Horsley endorsed this reading and explored it further, pointing that the “listing of the ‘sons of heaven’ (in 6:7–8) as ‘chiefs/commanders (of tens)’ suggests their military character, in formation of tens” (Horsley 2010: 55). Violence is also the topic of chapter 9. The portrayal of the giants as devouring the produce of the toil of men and killing men in 7:3–4 is interpreted as a denunciation of Hellenistic domination.47

Finally, the list of iniquities that the angels taught men (8:1–3) starts with the making of weapons and every instrument of war (8:1) and allegedly includes items implicit of Greek influences. Horsley only modifies Nickelsburg’s chronology, adding (Horsley 2010: 47): the Book of Watchers is focused on the effects of Hellenistic imperial rule. The book brings a sharp prophetic condemnation of the imperial violence and oppression to which the Ptolemaic and Seleucid regimes subjected the Judean people in the third century.48

On closer examination, however, this reading of the Book of Watchers as resistance literature against oppressive foreign domination highlights items that are arbitrarily selected, while other items that do not fit easily into this interpretation are overlooked. Thus, the two verses 7:3–4 are followed in 7:5 by an explicit reference to Leviticus’ laws of purity. In addition to weapons and jewelry, the list of forbidden skills in 8:1–3 includes various methods of magic and astrology, and it is unclear why these fields of knowledge would have been identified as specifically Greek, rather than, say, Egyptian (magic) or Babylonian (astrology).49 Within the theological school, a different line of interpretation has also been explored. G. Nickelsburg and D. Suter argue that 1 Enoch 6–16 is primarily concerned with halakhic issues—in particular, purity rules relating to priests’ marriages.50 Laws concerning priestly marriage and the theme of illicit marriages is a recurrent topic in Judean texts of Hellenistic times. The foundational biblical passage is Lev 21:1–15, and the issue is also central to the biblical book of Ezra-Nehemiah. It resurfaces in various texts of the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, the most extreme of which (the Qumran sectarian text 4QMMT, ms. B.75–82) advocates strict priestly endogamy—an injunction that was far more rigorous than the requirements set out in Leviticus, which presumably defined the behavior of the priestly elite families that controlled the temple.51 According to Nickelsburg and Suter, the issue of priestly marriage laws were of interest exclusively to priestly families, and accordingly they conclude that the authors of 1 Enoch 6–16 were priests who were disaffected from the Jerusalem temple. Interestingly, for our purposes, Suter shows that key passages that have been cited in support

350  sylvie honigman

of the theory that the Book of Watchers condemns foreign oppression can actually be read in this way. Thus the portrayal of the violence perpetrated by the giants in 1 Enoch 7:3–4 may be an allusion to the wealth or misappropriation of temple offerings by the priests who controlled the temple. Himmelfarb, however, has criticized Nickelsburg’s and Suter’s interpretation on several counts (Himmelfarb 2002; 2007 [= 2013: 79–92]). She does not dispute the identification of the fallen Watchers with corrupt priests, because that is founded on a familiar religious concept (and literary trope) that posits an analogy between heaven as a heavenly temple and the earthly temple, and between angels and priests (Himmelfarb 2007: 222–223). Similarly, the centrality of the theme of the Watchers’ illicit marriages in 1 Enoch 6–16 is evident by the fact that it sets the narrative in motion—that is, it is the cause of the arrival of evil on earth: angels abandon their duties in the heavenly temple to marry unfit women, who give birth to illegitimate offspring—the giants who devour humanity (Suter 1979: 119–125; 2002: 138). That said, as noted by Himmelfarb, the intention of the author of 1 Enoch 6–11 regarding the issue of marriage is not entirely clear (Himmelfarb 2002: 132–135; 2007: 223–228).52 More crucially, the criticism in the Book of Watchers is not directed at all priests: while some Watchers are said to have descended on earth and defiled themselves, others are said to have remained in the heavenly temple and to have continued faithfully to serve God (14:23) (Himmelfarb 2002: 133; 2007: 228). Thus, the critique cannot be seen as a rejection of the temple priestly establishment per se, let alone of the temple itself.53 The fierce controversy over the issue of which women were fit for priests to marry, which indeed recurs in various texts of the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, was of concern to all Judeans—and not only to disaffected priests—because the purity of priests affected that of the temple and was therefore an issue of cosmic significance.54 Finally, Enoch himself is a priest. Although he is described as a scribe (12:3–4, 15:1), in mediating between humans and God, Enoch fulfils a priestly function—his delivery of a divine message to the Watchers (15:2–3) and of righteous knowledge to men (14:2–3) parallels the priestly sacrificial function.55

In proposing alternative interpretations of the myth of the fallen Watchers in 1 Enoch 6–16, Himmelfarb and Reed also cast quite a different light on the issue of the forbidden knowledge taught by the fallen Watchers as compared to its theological interpretation summarized above. To quote Himmelfarb, a central theme in the Book of Watchers is “the contrast between the fallen Watchers, who have abandoned the heavenly temple, and Enoch, the righteous human being who fulfills a priestly role in that very temple.” (Himmelfarb 2007: 222). Correlated to this theme is the contrast between the forbidden knowledge taught to humans by the fallen Watchers and the righteous revelation taught to them by Enoch after his heavenly ascent (14:2–3).56 Enoch’s righteous knowledge was received from God himself in the heavenly temple; it is presumably either equated with the Torah—irrespective of how the authors of the Book of Watchers defined the content of Torah—or seen as complementary to it. In contrast, the unrighteous knowledge taught by the fallen Watchers is primarily to be seen as an Anti-Torah, and the detailed list cited in 8:1–3—warfare, vanity, magic, and astrology—supports this reading. To conclude, the interpretation of the Book of Watchers as resistance literature—either against the temple priests, as contended by Suter and Nickelsburg (about 1 Enoch 12–16), or against foreign oppression, as argued by Nickelsburg (about 1 Enoch 6–11) and Horsley—is not compelling. 1 Enoch 6–16 can be read as intellectual speculation about “the relationship between secrets in heaven and knowledge on earth” (Reed 2004: 50). While thematic comparison reveals that the Book of Watchers also engaged in controversies about purity matters, it is perfectly possible to understand these debates as being internal.57

Conclusion We should not rule out the possibility that the emergence of the apocalyptic genre in either the late 4th or the early 3rd century BCE was, in some way, a response to empire, and more specifically, to the establishment of a GrecoMacedonian domination across the ancient Near East. We should, however, be wary of simply retrojecting the

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  351

tensions that characterized the Maccabean crisis— however we may wish to define its nature—onto earlier times. As recently suggested by several scholars, the fall of the Persian empire was a traumatic event itself, which triggered scribes across the ancient Near East to search for precedents and explanations. Moreover, whereas in the 1980s and 1990s scholars working on the Hellenistic world emphasized aspects of continuity between the Persian and Hellenistic imperial settings, in the last decade or two stress has increasingly been placed upon changes alongside continuities. It has been argued that Hellenistic kings emphasized their Greekness and that the Ptolemaic culture of government was characterized by an overblown administrative apparatus and an efficient system of levying taxes. Whereas claims that the pre-Maccabean apocalypses were resistance literature are overstated, scribes who lived in these times of changes

were naturally eager to address them, if only because they conceived of social reality as being organically related to the cosmic order of things. However, while the scribes’ literary production of the times thematized the social and cultural impact of empire in general, and of Greek domination in particular, awareness of an issue does not necessarily entail resistance against it.58 More crucially, the early apocalypses were far from monothematic. On the one hand, they dealt with halakhic and scientific questions, and on the other, they shared these concerns with other contemporary literary genres. Altogether, the primary event to which they responded was the composition of corpora of authoritative texts— the Torah and the prophetic books. It might be worth investigating whether and how concerns with the newlycodified traditions of old and concerns with empire in the literary production of the times were entangled.

NOTES 1. The concurrent translations “Judeans” and “Jews” (or “Jewish”) pertain to the same ancient term—albeit with very different connotations—and accordingly I use the two side by side. The term “Judeans” denotes a historical perspective that treats ancient Judean society as a region of the ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern world. While it had its own peculiarities, so have all societies, ancient and modern. This is the term that best suits my approach. However, some of the modern authors whom I quote in this chapter have a theological training, and it would be improper to impugn their presumed scholarly perspective and to summarize their views by using the historicizing term “Judeans”; in those instances, I use the terms “Jews” and “Jewish.” 2. See the historiographical surveys in DiTommaso 2007a: 251–263; Nihan 2009: 670. 3. This list includes the texts preserved until modern times through manuscript transmission. The Dead Sea Scrolls have brought further texts to our knowledge—albeit in fragmentary form. In particular, Milik 1976 published the fragments of the Book of Giants. Two historical apocalypses (Apocryphon of Jeremiah and Pseudo-Ezekiel) have been identified, and their respective compositions have been tentatively dated to the mid- and late 2nd century BCE. See Henze 2009. The Aramaic fragments of the Book of Enoch from Qumran attest that the custom of grouping together various works relating to the patriarch Enoch began in Hellenistic times. 4. According to Gen 5:19–21, Enoch was the seventh antediluvian patriarch. 5. The following definition of the genre of apocalypses, articulated by J.J. Collins (1979: 9) and revised by A.Y. Collins (1986: 7) has been widely influential: “‘Apocalypse’ is a literary genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and special insofar as it involves another, supernatural world, intended to interpret present, earthly circumstance

6.

7.

8. 9.

in light of the supernatural world and of the future, and to influence both the understanding and the behaviour of the audience by means of divine authority.” For a survey of the debated aspects of the genre’s definition, see, for instance, DiTommaso 2007a: 238–247; Nihan 2009: 662–669. Nickelsburg (2001: 5) comments: “Religious persecution and social oppression are the matrices for much of the apocalyptic speculation in 1 Enoch and its sister apocalypses. Though cosmic speculation derives from other sources and contexts, the dualisms in 1 Enoch that look to another world and hope for a better day are driven by the dismal state of affairs here and now. The hope that God and the angels will intervene derives from the frustration of impotent people unable to change their circumstances, and its corollary is the belief that one’s oppressors are personifications or operatives of demonic powers.” Horsley 2010; Portier-Young 2011; see also Horsley 2008; Collins 2016. The reference is to Scott 1990. Doran 2016 reflects on the distinction between “resistance” and “revolt,” but his reading of the sources and hence his conclusions are very different from those of Horsley and Portier-Young. These issues are tackled in the text. Egyptian texts include the Demotic Chronicle (3rd century BCE), the Oracle of the Lamb (2nd or 1st century BCE) and the Oracle of the Potter (2nd century BCE). In Mesopotamia, parallels are the so-called Akkadian prophecies, in particular the Dynastic Prophecy (early Seleukid times) and the Uruk Prophecy (3rd century BCE). In Iran, those are the Oracle of Hystaspes and core versions of several Zoroastrian texts that were preserved in the later Bahman Yasht. For a summary, see Nihan 2009: 671–672; see also DiTommaso 2007a: 265–269. This corpus of text was famously studied together by Eddy 1961. See now Hellholm 1983; Neujahr 2012. The classification of some of these non-Judean texts as anti-Hellenistic resistance literature has been questioned in various ways. Although the Demotic Chronicle appears to date from early Ptolemaic times, J. Johnson

352  sylvie honigman reads it as anti-Persian, not anti-Hellenistic. See Johnson 1974; 1983; 1984. Beaulieu (1993) interpreted the Uruk Prophecy as a text composed with the aim of instructing Antiochos I on how a righteous king should behave (for prophecies presented to Hellenistic kings, compare the Ḥor archive in Ray 1976, in relation to Antiochos IV’s invasion of Egypt in 168 BCE). 10. This extreme version is endorsed by Portier-Young 2011—although not by Horsley 2010. See pp. 347–348. 11. It might be noted, for instance, that strictly speaking the ancient texts in Judea and elsewhere speak of “wicked priests” (fallen angels) and “wicked foreign kings”—not of “the temple priesthood” or “exploitive foreign domination.” This is true not only of early Judean apocalypses (see on the Book of Watchers and the Animal Apocalypse pp. 349–350) but of the Demotic Chronicle in Egypt and the Uruk Prophecy in Babylonia. That is to say, the nomenclature is specific, not generic. This nuance is arguably significant: in particular, the notion of “wicked kings” belies the modern focus on “Hellenism.” 12. This methodological approach is particularly true of Horsley 2010. In contrast, Portier-Young (2011) readily admitted that the “binary construction of Judaism and Hellenism and the portrayal of the persecution and resistance to it as a battle between the two rest on false assumptions about culture and identity” (2011: 103–104). See her survey of the “constructed opposition” between Judaism and Hellenism (2011: 91–103). This concession, however, is only a prelude to her contention that “those who resisted Antiochus’ edict [i.e., of religious persecution] were not culture-warriors. Rather, they fought and died for the law of God” (2011: 104). See also n. 11 above. Nonetheless, her interpretation is predicated on a literal reading of the persecution accounts presented in 1 Macc 1:20–64, 2 Macc 5–6:11 and Dan 11:29–39, and on a literal (albeit rationalized) interpretation of the portrayals of the wicked high priests as apostates in 1 and 2 Macc. For a critical reading of the persecution accounts, see Weitzman 2004; Honigman 2014a; 2014b: 229–258. 13. As noted above, Horsley reads the social and political conditions of Judea in the 3rd century BCE in the light of 1 and 2 Macc; see Horsley and Tiller 2002; Horsley 2005; 2010. In her book, Portier-Young (2011) typically discusses the Maccabean crisis both before the Book of Daniel and the Enochic apocalypses (pp. 49–216 and 217–381, respectively). 14. This summary is the basis of my discussion of 2 Macc in Honigman 2014b. Details are provided there. 15. By “rationalized,” I mean literal readings, with minimal adjustments to reconcile contradictions with other sources—especially 1 Macc and Josephus’ Antiquitates Judaicae. For a critique, see Honigman 2014b: 11–30, 386, and passim. 16. On this narrative pattern in general, see Honigman 2014b: 95–118. In 1 and 2 Macc, see Honigman 2014b: 119–181. 17. On the portrayals of Jason, Menelaos and Alkimos in 1 and 2 Macc, see Honigman 2014b: 197–228. 18. For a positive historical reappraisal of Menelaos as a political and religious leader, see Honigman 2014b: 92–93, 287–288, 349–350, 376–379, 387–390; Ma 2019. See further Doran 2016. 19. For a detailed discussion, see Honigman 2014b: 197–228. On the modern reinterpretation of the ancient nomenclature of “wickedness” as “Hellenization,” see Honigman 2014b: 62–63. 20. The king’s men are defined as allophyloi. For detailed discussion, see Honigman 2014b: 141–146. 21. For this modern narrative, see, for instance, Schürer 1973: 1.137–63. On the alleged link between Hasidim and apocalyptic literature, see DiTommaso 2007a: 255.

22. See Horsley 2005; 2010: 9–17; cf. 2008. A laudable aspect of Horsley’s progressive revision is his increasing concern to exonerate the Judean (Jewish) priestly aristocracy of the implicit charge of treason, by emphasizing that their Hellenization was not out of personal choice, but was imposed on them because of their status as local heads of state. See Horsley 2010: 14–16. 23. On the Zadokite dynasty of high priests, see VanderKam 2004. Contrary to Horsley’s insistence that Enoch was a scribe, Himmelfarb (2002; 2007) has cogently argued that in 1 Enoch 11–16, Enoch is a scribe and a priest. See p. 350. 24. See Himmelfarb’s remarks (2002). 25. Waerzeggers (2015a; 2015b) pointed to a series of texts that were composed in early Hellenistic times by scribes linked to the Esagil temple of Marduk in Babylon, concerning two kings—Nabopolassar and Nabonidus—who were associated with the fall of the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires, respectively. In her view, the fall of the Persian empire to Alexander may have triggered a renewed interest in those two earlier events, which became exempla. 26. More interestingly, Silverman points to a social change: the oral way of interpreting ancient traditions was associated with prophets, whereas written exegesis was the purview of scribes. In Persian and Hellenistic times, the social status of living prophets, whose medium of communication was oral delivery, temporarily declined—at least among the highest echelons of society. See Silverman 2012: 16–19, with further bibliography. The relation between prophecy and apocalyptic literature is a fundamental, albeit vexed, issue. See DiTommaso 2007b; Nihan 2009. 27. Silverman 2012: 23–24, quotation on p. 23. Silverman’s discussion draws upon Smith 1971 and 1978. By “new situation,” Smith meant the scribes’ loss of royal patronage—an opinion seemingly endorsed by Silverman (2012: 23). However, given that since Smith wrote his articles, our knowledge about the place of native scribes in the Persian and the Hellenistic administrations has improved, it seems to me that this matter requires reexamination. 28. For a succinct and enlightening survey of the promulgation of the Pentateuch as a Torah, see Nihan 2010. For more detailed discussions, see, in particular, Carr 2005: 111–173, 201–214; and the collection of articles in Knoppers and Levinson 2007. On the role of literacy in the promulgation of the Pentateuch, see, for instance, Sonnet 1997; Carr 2005. 29. Research on the influence of prophecy and wisdom on apocalyptic literature is enormous in scope. For succinct introductions, see, for instance, Nihan 2009: 668–675; Silverman 2012: 15–23. A more detailed survey is found in DiTommaso 2007b: 368–384. 30. Silverman 2012: 2–13, 39–75, and his interpretation of the Book of Watchers on pp. 175–194. On Persian influences on Judean apocalypses, see also DiTommaso 2007a: 265. 31. The science of mantic wisdom had developed in Mesopotamia and Egypt since the second millennium BCE. Mantic science and eschatology refer to two very different kinds of future—mantic science aims at predicting the near, and very mundane, future, while apocalyptic literature is concerned with the end of both human history and human life. See Silverman 2012: 11, 20–22. 32. Silverman 2012: 22–23, quotation on p. 23. 33. Nihan 2009: 665. The genre of the pesher is known to us from sectarian texts in the Qumran library (like the Nahum pesher and Habakkuk pesher) and consisted of interpreting authoritative prophetic texts in the light of contemporary events. On its affinities with apocalypses, see Aune 2006: 298; Silverman 2012: 24. On texts

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  353 of the Dead Sea Scrolls claiming revelatory status, see, for instance, Brooke 1998; Nissinen 2009. 34. On apocalypses and historiography, see DiTommaso 2007b: 384–390; Kaestli 2007. For other examples of “historical” apocalypses among the Dead Sea Scrolls, see Henze 2009. 35. Silverman 2012: 24, referring to Aune 2006: 298. 36. Silverman (2012: 98–119) identifies this perceived remoteness of the divine as a cognitive effect of literacy. Demotic texts of wisdom display a similar shift in the conception of the divine, and Vernus (1993: 121–149) and Agut-Labordère (2013) have each argued that this change was linked to the emergence of a new economic mentality, which was prompted by the economic and social changes of the time. I thank Damien Agut-Labordère for pointing these references to me. In truth, it seems that this religious shift is too complex to have a single cause. 37. See, for instance, Boccaccini 1998; 2005. For a useful summary of Boccaccini’s view, see VanderKam 2007: 1–15. On Sacchi’s work, see DiTommaso 2007a: 253–254. Through its thematic emphasis on the origins of evil, revelation, eschatology and messianism and its focus on diachrony, this thesis traces a filiation from the biblical prophets, through the Enochians and the Dead Sea Scrolls sect, to early Christians—effectively redating the parting of the ways between Judaism and Christianity, as it were, from late antiquity to the Maccabean crisis of the mid-2nd century BCE. 38. For critiques of Boccaccini’s view, see, for example, Grabbe 2008: 238–243; Henze 2005; Himmelfarb 2002; 2007 (= 2013: 79–92); Najman 2002; 2003. The term “Common Judaism” was coined by Sanders: see Sanders 1992: 45–314, approvingly quoted in PortierYoung 2011: 282 and n. 7. 39. To be fair, Horsley in his introduction (2010: 1–2) criticizes theological interpretations that read “abstract concepts” such as “the problem of evil” in apocalyptic texts. 40. In the first part of his book devoted to “scribal resistance to Hellenistic imperial rule” (2010: 19–104), Horsley successively discusses MT Daniel 1–6, the Book of Watchers, the Animal Apocalypse and MT Daniel 7–12. Portier-Young (2011: 217–379) discusses MT Daniel, the Apocalypse of Weeks and the Book of Dreams, including the Animal Apocalypse. Portier-Young explicitly speaks of “apocalyptic theologies of resistance” (my emphasis). 41. See Portier-Young 2011: 280–312, who approvingly refers to Boccaccini’s Zadokite-like “Enochic Judaism” in Boccaccini 2005 and—even more so—to Sanders’ notion of “Common Judaism” in Sanders 1992: 45–314 (see Portier-Young 2011: 282 and n. 7). On Horsley, see above, n. 22. 42. See Himmelfarb’s (2002) concise but acute observations. 43. As Himmelfarb (2002: 132) remarked: “If all we had to go on was the Book of the Watchers and the Astronomical Book without Jubilees and the Scrolls, we would hardly be inclined to imagine a raging controversy between followers of the Astronomical Books; calendar on the one hand and the priestly establishment on the other—and this is even more true of the Book of the Watchers alone.” 44. The extant Ethiopian text of the Book of Watchers comprises no fewer than five documents—1 Enoch 1–5, 6–11, 12–16, 17–19 and 20–36. 45. The omission of causality may be due to a concern for compromise between conflicting views. Ska (2006: 217–229) views the creation of the Pentateuch as the outcome of an inner-Judean compromise between literate circles in Jerusalem. Mythical material in the Book of Watchers borrowed from Atra-Hasis, the Babylonian myth of creation (Kvanvig 2002); Phoenician traditions concerning

Baal-Shamin (Suter 2002: 141; 2003); and two Persian myths about the acquisition of knowledge (Silverman 2012: 175–194). 46. The animals cited are forbidden for consumption under the rules of purity set out in Leviticus. Blood is similarly prohibited. 47. “They [i.e., the giants begotten by the angels] were devouring the labor of all the sons of men, and men were not able to supply them. And the giants began to kill men and to devour them.” Translations from the Book of Watchers here and below are from Nickelsburg 2001. 48. Horsley 2010: 47. Horsley discusses the Book of Watchers on pp. 47–62. 49. 1 Enoch 8:1–3: “Asael taught men to make swords of iron and weapons and shields and breastplates and every instrument of war. He showed them metals of the earth and how they should work gold to fashion it suitably, and concerning silver, to fashion it for bracelets and ornaments for women. And he showed them concerning antimony and eye paint and all manner of precious stones and dyes. And the sons of men made them for themselves and for their daughters, and they transgressed and led the holy ones astray. And there was much godlessness on the earth, and they made their ways desolate. Shemihazah taught spells and the cutting of roots. Hermani taught sorcery for the loosing of spells and magic and skill. Baraqel taught the signs of the lightning flashes. Kokabel taught the signs of the stars. Ziqel taught the signs of the shooting stars. Arteqoph taught the signs of the earth. Shamsiel taught the signs of the sun. Sahriel taught the signs of the moon.” As pointed out by Silverman (2012: 25), the Hellenistic period was one when “the resurgence [of nationalistic interests in the Hellenistic world] happened in the context of a remarkable, pan-ancient Near East admixing and borrowing of myths, religions, and laws.” The Book of Watchers itself is evidence that Near Eastern myths were readily assimilated—at least among some literate Judean circles. Therefore, whereas the itemized list of forbidden knowledges in 1 Enoch 8:1–3 seems to thematize foreign influences, there is no certainty that it targeted Greek culture specifically, and therefore was intended to express a sweeping rejection of “Hellenism.” 50. See Suter 1979; 2002; Nickelsburg 1981. To be precise, Nickelsburg identifies this issue only in 1 Enoch 12–16, whereas—as we have just seen—he reads 1 Enoch 6–11 as alluding to warfare at the time of the Diadochi. Suter identifies the halakhic issues through 1 Enoch 6–16. 51. Suter 2002: 139. On the theme of priestly marriage laws in Hellenistic Judean texts, see also Himmelfarb 1999 (= 2013: 27–48). 52. Strictly speaking, the issue at stake is not the priestly rules of marriage, but marriage per se. As God himself points out to the fallen Watchers through Enoch (15:3–7), women are for men to marry in order to beget children by them, because humans are mortals, whereas the Watchers were “holy ones and spirits, living forever” (15:3). Himmelfarb (2002: 133) notes that the intentions of 1 Enoch 6–12 with regard to marriage are not entirely clear, because of the apparent discrepancy between the mythical material he used and his or their purpose: “The implicit comparison to the Jerusalem priesthood [...] in the account of the Watchers’ illicit marriages labors under a significant difficulty: priests may appropriately be limited in their choices of wives, but Watchers should not marry at all. This lack of fit is the result of the inherited material the author of 12–16 had decided to put to new use, and it doesn’t make it any easier to understand his point.” 53. With some humor, Himmelfarb (2007: 228) turns Nickelsburg’s and Suter’s argument on its head, by suggesting that “one might argue that the Book of the Watchers’ picture of the failings of the heavenly priests actually serves to defend the earthly temple against those who

354  sylvie honigman saw it as hopelessly compromised, by showing that even the heavenly temple, of which the sanctity could hardly be doubted, was experiencing problems with its priests.” 54. “Given the importance of temple and priesthood, all Jews, or rather, all members of the literate élite who have left us their thoughts, were likely to have ideas about how priests should behave” (Himmelfarb 2002: 135). Suter (2002: 140) readily accepts the cosmic significance of the proper or improper observance of purity laws, pointing to the explicit expression of this notion in the Aramaic Testament of Levi 9:10—but infers that the author of the Aramaic Testament was also a disaffected priest. 55. Himmelfarb 2007: 222. On Enoch as priest and scribe, see further Himmelfarb 1993: 23–25. 56. See Reed 2004: 50. The myth of forbidden knowledge taught to humans by other-worldly beings is an adaptation of a Persian myth. In the Persian version the acquisition of knowledge is seen in a

negative light, whereas in its Greek adaptation—the myth of Prometheus—it is entirely positive. The Judean myth of the Watchers is ambivalent. See Silverman 2012: 175–194. 57. It is further unclear, to my mind, where in the Mediterranean and Near Eastern world of the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, members of the literate elite, let alone priests, would have borrowed the idea that communication with the divine world could do without the support of shrines and offerings. The debate between scholars who read apocalypses as theological and hermeneutic documents, respectively, can be easily linked to the ongoing debate between two major trends in biblical studies—one theological-idealist and the other based on the methods of the history and anthropology of religions. On this debate, see, for instance, Sæbø 2013–15. 58. I owe this distinction between thematization and opposition to Christophe Nihan (personal communication, January 2017).

REFERENCES Agut-Labordère, D. 2013. “L’argent est un sortilège.” Penser la richesse en Égypte ancienne à travers la sagesse du Papyrus Insinger (VIe siècle av. J.-C.–Ier siècle apr. J.-C.). In: Baroin, C. and Michel, C., eds. Richesse et Sociétés (Colloques de la Maison Archéologie & Ethnologie, René-Ginouvès 9). Paris: 53–65. Aune, D.E. 2006. Apocalypticism, Prophecy and Magic in Early Christianity. Tübingen. Beaulieu, P.-A. 1993. The Historical Background of the Uruk Prophecy. In: Cohen, M.E., Snell, D.C. and Weisberg, D.B., eds. The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo. Bethesda: 41–52. Boccaccini, G. 1998. Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways Between Qumran and Enochic Judaism. Grand Rapids. Boccaccini, G. 2005. Introduction: From the Enoch Literature to Enochic Judaism. In: Boccaccini, G., ed. Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection. Grand Rapids: 1–14. Brooke, G.J. 1998. Parabiblical Prophetic Narratives. In: Flint, P.W. and VanderKam, J.C., eds. The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (2 vols.). Leiden: 271–301. Carr, D. 2005. Writing on the Tablet of the Heart. Origins of Scripture and Literature. Oxford. Collins, A.Y. 1986. Introduction: Early Christian Apocalypticism. In: Collins, A.Y., ed. Early Christian Apocalypticism: Genre and Social Setting (Semeia 36). Decatur: 1–11. Collins, J.J. 1979. Introduction: Towards the Morphology of a Genre. In: Collins, J.J., ed. Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre (Semeia 14). Missoula: 1–20. Collins, J.J. 2016. Temple or Taxes? What Sparked the Maccabean Revolt? In: Collins, J.J. and Manning, J.G., eds. Revolt and Resistance in the Ancient Classical World and the Near

East: In the Crucible of Empire (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 85). Leiden and Boston: 189–201. DiTommaso, L. 2007a. Apocalypses and Apocalypticism in Antiquity (Part I). Currents in Biblical Research 5: 235–286. DiTommaso, L. 2007b. Apocalypses and Apocalypticism in Antiquity (Part II). Currents in Biblical Research 5: 367–432. Doran, R. 2016. Resistance and Revolt. The Case of the Maccabees. In: Collins, J.J. and Manning, J.G., eds. Revolt and Resistance in the Ancient Classical World and the Near East: In the Crucible of Empire (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 85). Leiden and Boston: 175–188. Eddy, S.K. 1961. The King is Dead: Studies in the Near Eastern Resistance to Hellenism, 334–31 B.C. Lincoln. Grabbe, L.L. 2008. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 B.C.E.) (The Library of Second Temple Studies 68). London and New York. Hellholm, D., ed. 1983. Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East: Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Apocalypticism, Uppsala August 12–17, 1979 (2nd ed. 1989). Tübingen. Henze, M. 2005. Enoch’s Dream Visions and the Visions of Daniel Reexamined. In: Boccaccini, G., ed. Enoch and Qumran Origins. New Light on a Forgotten Connection. Grand Rapids, MI and Cambridge, U.K.: 17–23. Henze, M. 2009. 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C and 4QPseudoEzekiel: Two “Historical” Apocalypses. In: De Troyer, K. and Lange, A., eds. Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and Extra-Biblical Prophecy. Leuven, Paris and Walpole: 25–41. Himmelfarb, M. 1993. Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses. Oxford and New York.

the social setting and purpose of early judean apocalyptic literature  355 Himmelfarb, M. 1999. Levi, Phinehas, and the Problem of Intermarriage at the Time of the Maccabean Revolt. Jewish Studies Quarterly 6: 1–24. Himmelfarb, M. 2002. The Book of the Watchers and the Priests of Jerusalem. Henoch 24: 131–135. Himmelfarb, M. 2007. Temple and Priests in the Book of the Watchers, the Animal Apocalypse and the Apocalypse of Weeks. In: Boccaccini, G. and Collins, J.J., eds. The Early Enoch Literature. Leiden and Boston: 219–236. Himmelfarb, M. 2013. Between Temple and Torah: Essays on Priests, Scribes, and Visionaries in the Second Temple Period and Beyond. Tübingen. Honigman, S. 2014a. The Religious Persecution as a Narrative Elaboration of a Military Suppression. In: Baslez, M.-F. and Munnich, O., eds. La mémoire des persécutions: autour des livres des Maccabées. Leuven: 59–76. Honigman, S. 2014b. Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochus IV. Berkeley. Horsley, R.A. 2005. The Politics of Cultural Production in Second Temple Judea: Historical Context and Political-Religious Relations of the Scribes who produced 1 Enoch, Sirach, and Daniel. In: Wright, B.G., III and Wills, L.M., eds. Conflicted Boundaries in Wisdom and Apocalypticism. Atlanta: 123–145. Horsley, R.A., ed. 2008. In the Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance. Louisville. Horsley, R.A. 2010. Revolt of the Scribes: Resistance and Apocalyptic Origins. Minneapolis. Horsley, R.A. and Tiller, P. 2002. Ben Sira and the Sociology of the Second Temple. In: Davies, P.R. and Halligan, J.M., eds. Second Temple Studies III: Studies in Politics, Class and Material Culture. Sheffield: 74–107. Johnson, J.H. 1974. The Demotic Chronicle as a Historical Source. Enchoria 4: 1–17. Johnson, J.H. 1983. The Demotic Chronicle as a Statement of a Theory of Kingship. Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities 13: 61–72. Johnson, J.H. 1984. Is the Demotic Chronicle an Anti-Greek Tract? In: Thissen, H.-J. and Zauzich, K.-T., eds. Grammata Demotika: Festschrift für Erich Lüddeckens zum 15. Juni 1983. Würzburg: 107–124. Kaestli, J.-D. 2007. Les rapports entre apocalyptique et historiographie: réflections à partir du livre de Daniel. In: Brooke, G.J. and Römer, T., eds. Ancient and Modern Scriptural Historiography. Leuven: 191–201. Knoppers, G. and Levinson, B.M., eds. 2007. The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance. Winona Lake. Kvanvig, H.S. 2002. The Watchers Story, Genesis and Atra-Ḫasīs, A Triangular Reading. Henoch 24: 17–22.

Ma, J. 2019. The Restauration of the Temple in Jerusalem by the Seleukid State: 2 Macc 11:16–38. In: Oetjen, R., ed. New Perspectives in Seleucid History, Archaeology and Numismatics: Studies in Honor of Getzel M. Cohen (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 355). Berlin: 38–80. Milik, J.T., ed. 1976. The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4. Oxford. Najman, H. 2002. Review of G. Boccaccini [1998] Beyond the Essene Hypothesis. Association for Jewish Studies Review 26.2: 352–354. Najman, H. 2003. Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism. Leiden. Neujahr, M. 2012. Predicting the Past in the Ancient Near East: Mantic Historiography in Ancient Mesopotamia, Judah, and the Mediterranean World. Providence. Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 1977. Apocalypse and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11. Journal of Biblical Literature 96: 383–405. Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 1981. Enoch, Levi, and Peter: Recipients of Revelation in Upper Galilee. Journal of Biblical Literature 100: 575–600. Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 2001. 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia, A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible). Minneapolis. Nihan, C. 2009. Apocalypses juives. In: Römer, T., Macchi, J.-D. and Nihan, C., eds. Introduction à l’Ancien Testament. Geneva: 661–693. Nihan, C. 2010. The Emergence of the Pentateuch as “Torah.” Religion Compass 4: 353–364. Nissinen, M. 2009. Pesharim as Divination, Qumran Exegesis, Omen Interpretation, and Literary Prophecy. In: De Troyer, K. and Lange, A., eds. Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and Extra-Biblical Prophecy. Leuven, Paris and Walpole: 43–60. Portier-Young, A.E. 2011. Apocalypse against Empire: Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism. Grand Rapids and Cambridge, U.K. Ray, J.D. 1976. The Archive of Ḥor. London. Reed, A.Y. 2004. Heavenly Ascent, Angelic Descent, and the Transmission of Knowledge in 1 Enoch 1–16. In: Boustan, R.S. and Reed, A.Y., eds. Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions. Cambridge, U.K.: 47–66. Sæbø, M. ed. 2013–15. Hebrew Bible / Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, III/1–2: From Modernism to PostModernism (The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries). Göttingen. Sanders, E.P. 1992. Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 B.C.E.–66 C.E. Philadelphia. Schürer, E. 1973. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135) (3 vols.; rev. ed.). Edinburgh.

356  sylvie honigman Scott, J.C. 1990. Domination and the Arts of Resistance. Hidden Transcripts. New Haven and London. Silverman, J.M. 2012. Persepolis and Jerusalem: Iranian Influence on the Apocalyptic Hermeneutic. New York and London. Ska, J.-L. 2006. Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch. Winona Lake. Smith, J.Z. 1971. Native Cults in the Hellenistic Period. History of Religions 11: 236–249. Smith, J.Z. 1978. Wisdom and Apocalyptic. In: Smith, J.Z. Map Is Not Territory. Studies in the History of Religions. Leiden: 67–87. Sonnet, J.-P. 1997. The Book within the Book: Writing in Deuteronomy. Leiden. Stuckenbruck, L.T. 2014. A Place for Socio-Political Oppressors at the End of History? Eschatological Perspectives from 1 Enoch. In: Dunne, J.A. and Batovici, D., eds. Reactions to Empire. Sacred Texts in Their Socio-Political Contexts. Tübingen: 1–21. Suter, D.W. 1979. Fallen Angel, Fallen Priest: The Problem of Family Purity in 1 Enoch 6–16. Hebrew Union College Annual 50: 115–135.

Suter, D.W. 2002. Revisiting “Fallen Angel, Fallen Priest”. Henoch 24: 137–142. Suter, D.W. 2003. Why Galilee? Galilean Regionalism in the Interpretation of 1 Enoch 6–16. Henoch 25: 167–211. VanderKam, J.C. 2004. From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile. Minneapolis and Assen. VanderKam, J.C. 2007. Mapping Second Temple Judaism. In: Boccaccini, G. and Collins, J.J., eds. The Early Enoch Literature. Leiden and Boston: 1–20. Vernus, P. 1993. Affaires et scandales sous les Ramsès. Paris. Waerzeggers, C. 2015a. Babylonian Kingship in the Persian Period: Performance and Reception. In: Stökl, J. and Waerzeggers, C., eds. Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context. Berlin and Boston: 181–222. Waerzeggers, C. 2015b. Facts, Propaganda or History? Shaping Political Memory in the Nabonidus Chronicle. In: Silverman, J.M. and Waerzeggers, C., eds. Political Memory in and after the Persian Empire. Atlanta: 95–124. Weitzman, S. 2004. Plotting Antiochus’s Persecution. Journal of Biblical Literature 123: 219–234.

22 “To be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated” (Esther 7:4) Historicity and Fictionality of Anti-Jewish Pogrom Stories before the Maccabean Crisis Manfred Oeming

In order to reconstruct the history of Judea and the Jews in the 3rd century BCE, it is necessary to deal with a dark and ugly topic. The literature attributed to this period, along with later literary descriptions, often contains the pronounced idea that Jews as Jews have been persecuted, humiliated and killed (or that they should be killed) by various enemies. This literary theme is especially clear in the Book of Esther, from which we gain the impression that total annihilation was imminent.1 Six other textual sources also present a similar idea, whereby cruel humiliation, torture and killing on religious grounds took place. Scholars cannot avoid this horrific element, as it appears to be central to the construction of the identity of Judaism in the Ptolemaic and Seleucid periods that followed Alexander. The traditional assumptions that persecutions and killings of numerous Jews occurred only during the Maccabean revolt of 168–164 BCE (see detailed analysis of the letter of Epiphanes in 1 Macc 1:41–64; Cuffari 2007: 218–308) and that they were driven primarily by Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175–164 BCE) and his fanatical fight for “pure reason” against non-rational Jewish traditions (cf., esp., 4 Macc) are problematic. It was not

only the conservative circle, particularly of farmers from the lowlands under the guidance of the Maccabees, that resisted Hellenization—which included eating pork, abandoning the Sabbath observance and stopping the circumcision of newborn boys. The powerful temple aristocracy in Jerusalem also had a vested interest in the preservation of these traditions.2 Thus, the question posed by the literary theme of persecution found in the sources dated to the 3rd century is whether episodes of pressure, humiliation, torture and even annihilation of some, many, or all Jews in fact occurred in the pre-Maccabean period. The following paper is divided into three parts. First, it presents a survey and analysis of the literary sources depicting anti-Jewish “pogroms” in the pre-Maccabean era. These are discussed according to the time of the events they narrate. Then the question of the historicity of wide-scale anti-Jewish massacres prior to 168 BCE is discussed, on the basis of archaeological, material and epigraphical evidence. Finally, various modern theories about the origins of ancient anti-Judaism are summarized and assessed, and a new theory for the widespread fictional depiction of an ancient “holocaust” in the pre-Maccabean literary sources is proposed.

358  manfred oeming

Mass Murders of Jews before 168 BCE in the World of Fiction: Eight Literary Sources The Neonaticide in the Exodus Story (Exodus 1) and Manetho According to the well-known story of the Book of Exodus, the unnamed pharaoh in pursuit of Joseph was fearful of the Israelites in Egypt, who had become too numerous. The pharaoh therefore tried to reduce their numbers through forced hard labor. As this method was not successful, he spoke to Shifrah and Puʿah, the two “Hebrew midwives,” and ordered them to kill all the newborn males of the Hebrew slaves (Exod 1:15). The two God-fearing women, however, refused to obey this command. This element of the story (Exod 1:15–21) is an old legend, but it is highly unusual as it is unlikely that a pharaoh had consulted with only two women in an effort to control the dangerous growing population of his foreign slaves. Undoubtedly, he could have had other ways to reduce their numbers. Not long after this passage it is stated that the king of Egypt “commanded all his people, ‘Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile’” (Exod 1:22). The story of the midwives is a later addition to the older one that builds a narrative bridge to the account in which Moses was placed in the waters of the Nile. This verse is traditionally attributed to the Jahwist, whereas Exod 1:15–21 is attributed to the Elohist (Graupner 2002: 55–61). In new, highly complex and meticulous analysis, they are attributed to a pre-P redactor or as part of the redaction REx and his “political Moses-story” (Berner 2010: 31–49; Albertz 2012: 48–52). However, there is no question that this neonaticide is the first attack on the nation of Israel mentioned in the Bible. The narration dates it back to the time of Moses, around 1350 BCE. However, according to the Book of Exodus, the cruel plan of the king of Egypt is foiled and YHWH ultimately turns it against the Egyptian first-borns, like a mirror punishment, through Moses’ ten plagues against Egypt. Therefore, in the end, the nameless brutal Pharaoh loses his own son (Exod 12:29), in addition to losing all his Hebrew slaves. The wicked scheme ultimately inflicts damage upon the perpetrator.

During the 3rd century BCE, these Jewish traditions were translated into Greek. The purpose of this translation was not only to give an official and authoritative text to Jews who no longer spoke Hebrew, but also to achieve social acceptance amongst higher Greco-Egyptian society, especially by making the wise laws (cf. Deut 4) known to them (Kreuzer 2004). The so-called Septuagint—the first Greek translation of the Jewish Bible that was carried out in Alexandria ca. 250 BCE— presented the Pentateuch to a broader Greco-Egyptian audience in Alexandria (see the Letter of Aristeas). This move, however, backfired. The problematic representation of the role of Egypt and its king in the Book of Exodus affected the Jews, who now appeared to be arrogant. We find an echo of this anti-Jewish resentment in the writings of Manetho, an Egyptian priest who wrote ca. 300/260 BCE and whose Aegyptiaca (History of Egypt)—his largest and certainly most important book—was probably commissioned by Ptolemy II Philadelphus (285–246 BCE). Only small fragments of his Aegyptiaca survived in Josephus’ Contra Apionem (esp. in 1.237–250 and in Book 2). This “anti-Jewish version of Exodus” roughly coincides with the translation of the Septuagint at the beginning of the 3rd century BCE, although, as noted by P.W. van der Horst, “we do not know whether the GraecoAlexandrians were incited to produce their anti-Jewish versions of the exodus story because they read the first Greek translation of the Jewish Bible and reacted to the anti-Egyptian version of the story it contained, or rather reacted to hearsay. Whatever the case, the bitter antagonism that these anti-Jewish versions bespeak from the very beginning lingers on from the start of the Hellenistic period till far into the Roman period (even a quick glance at GLAJJ makes that abundantly clear)” (van der Horst 2003: 32–33). Manetho mocks the weak Jews and their feeble leader Moses and accuses them of being leprous. Because of their sickness, the Jews cannot work constantly and therefore needed a day of recreation every week. “When the Jews had travelled a six days’ journey, they had swellings on their groins; and that on this account it was that they rested on the seventh day” (C. Ap. 2.21). It is disputed in research whether this antiJewish attitude pertains to Manetho himself, which would place it in the 3rd century (Stern 1974–84: I, Nos. 23–24), or to a later Pseudo-Manetho (Jacoby 1958: IIIC, 84).

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  359

This uncertainty notwithstanding, it can be assumed that there was an already established anti-Jewish mood in Alexandria in the pre-Maccabean period.3 Even the satirical polemic against Moses and his law should probably be seen as a hint that the Hellenistic society of Egyptian intellectuals was not pleased by the Exodus stories. The question remains, however, as to whether the words had aggressive consequences in reality.4

The Book of Tobit The Book of Tobit is a novel account of a pious Jew, who was deported from Israel to Ecbatana after the destruction of Samaria in 722 BCE and who lived in the eastern diaspora. He was strongly connected to YHWH and his temple in Jerusalem and went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem every year. Already in the days of Shalmaneser, life was challenging for the deported, but following Sennacherib’s failed attempt to conquer Jerusalem in 701 BCE, a difficult period of wide-scale massacres began. As the king of Assyria was enraged against all Jews, he killed many of them throughout his empire, and as a special punishment, prohibited the burial of their bodies. Tobit did not obey this command of the King of Assyria, burying the dead Jews as if they were his kin: I also buried any whom King Sennacherib put to death when he came fleeing from Judea in those days of judgment that the king of heaven executed upon him because of his blasphemies. For in his anger he put to death many Israelites; but I would secretly remove the bodies and bury them. So when Sennacherib looked for them he could not find them. Then one of the Ninevites went and informed the king about me, that I was burying them; so I hid myself. But when I realized that the king knew about me and that I was being searched for to be put to death, I was afraid and ran away. Then all my property was confiscated; nothing was left to me that was not taken into the royal treasury except my wife Anna and my son Tobias. (Tob 1:18–20)

Apparently, the situation of the eastern diaspora around 700 BCE is portrayed negatively. The real dating, however, is uncertain and “cannot be put more exactly than the time between about 500 and 200 BCE. The reason for this period of time is that it presupposes the

existence of the Second Temple (14.5), but seems not to know of the Maccabean revolt, and there are no certain historical allusions in the book. The third century is a reasonable estimate, but it is no more than a guess” (Grabbe 2008: 95). Three elements are noteworthy: first, the mass murder and persecution of Jews as an act of revenge for the military humiliation of Sennacherib before Jerusalem in 701 is not realistic (Kalimi and Richardson 2014). According to Sennacherib’s own report, he humiliated Jerusalem and exacted a very heavy tribute; therefore, he had no reason for revenge. Second, there is no obvious religious motivation for the pogrom, but only one short comment: The king of heaven had punished “his blasphemies.” The precise meaning of this is left unclear. Third, to bury the dead was to resist the king, and a conflict with the king is often dangerous, but the greatest people among the Jews are unwilling to submit to the unjust royal commandments. This resistance is presented as a duty for every pious person—also later in Christianity, where Tobit is a model of a true believer: “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29).

The Book of Psalms In the Book of Psalms, we find a great deal of material concerning threats, persecution and assaults against the people of Judah, but the threat of sharp reduction or complete annihilation of Israel is usually related to the notion that YHWH himself is fighting against his own people to punish them because of Israel’s supposedly manifold sins: the God of Israel is using the foreign superpowers as instruments of his own judgment upon Israel. Also present, however, is the notion of a worldwide anti-Jewish coalition of “the nations”—built at their own initiative—with the view to annihilating Judah (e.g., Ps 2, 46, 57, 59, 109) (Emmendörfer 1998). It seems that religious motivations are also at play in this coalition, as these people want to fight against the God of Israel as well. For our purpose, however, it is hard to determine whether these ideas belong to the period before or after the Maccabean revolt, because in nearly all cases no specific historical situation is mentioned and the theme appears to be somewhat mythical. Furthermore, it is highly problematic to date Psalms. According to my analysis, the process of

360  manfred oeming

production, redaction and editing continued in a very active way throughout most of the Hellenistic period and was completed only around 100 BCE, perhaps even in the Early Roman period (Oeming and Vette 2000–16: 1:16). Yet in the case of Psalms 83 I believe that it is possible to date the text to the 3rd century BCE: Even now your enemies are in tumult; those who hate you have raised their heads. They lay crafty plans against your people; they consult together against those you protect. They say, “Come, let us wipe them out as a nation; let the name of Israel be remembered no more.” They conspire with one accord; against you they make a covenant—the tents of Edom and the Ishmaelites, Moab and the Hagrites, Gebal and Ammon and Amalek, Philistia with the inhabitants of Tyre; Assyria also has joined them; they are the strong arm of the children of Lot. Selah (Ps 83:2–9)

The psalms express the general sentiment that the neighbors of Israel (especially Edom/Idumea) attempted to build a coalition against God’s chosen people.5 The fight of the enemies is two-pronged: against Israel and against its God YHWH. These ideas are merged with the late prophetic concept of a “Völkersturm” (Mic 4:11–13; Joel 4; Zech 12, 14) (Wanke 1966: 94–95; Lutz 1968; Schnocks 2010). While Psalms is not a historical source for anti-Jewish assaults, it does advance an eschatological (proto-)apocalyptic concept.

The Book of Judith The Book of Judith recounts, in its two parts (Chapters 1–7 and Chapters 8–16), the salvation of Israel from Nebuchadnezzar, who is referred to as “King of Assyria,” with Nineveh as his capital (whereas historically, he was king of Babylonia, with Babylon as his capital). Yet he demolished all their shrines and cut down their sacred groves; for he had been commissioned to destroy all the gods of the land (ἐξολεθρεῦσαι πάντας τοὺς θεοὺς τῆς γῆς), so that all nations should worship Nebuchadnezzar alone (ὅπως αὐτῷ μόνῳ τῷ Ναβουχοδονοσορ λατρεύσωσι πάντα τὰ ἔθνη), and that all their dialects and tribes should call upon him as a god (ἐπικαλέσωνται αὐτὸν εἰς θεόν). (Jth 3:8)

Nebuchadnezzar wanted to compel his subjects to venerate him alone as a god. When the Jews refused to fulfill the will of the self-proclaimed God, he sent his army, led by the commander Holofernes, to punish them by total annihilation. The beautiful and brave Judith, however, outwitted Holofernes. She pretended to sleep with him, but in the intimate atmosphere of his tent, she took advantage of his drunkenness and cut off his head. The Assyrian soldiers, shocked to see the head of their leader, fled in panic. Although the story is situated in the days of the Babylonian hegemony, the date of the Book of Judith is uncertain. It is generally dated around 150–100 BCE (Joosten 2007; Schmitz and Engel 2014: 42–43, 61–63). One main argument for this late, post-Maccabean, date are the borders described in the book (Jth 2:28). Nevertheless, the reason for the anti-Jewish campaign was the “Nebuchadnezzar-alone movement.” That the king wished to be worshipped as a god (here as the only god) is an allusion to one of the main problems for Jews during the 3rd century BCE (see below, p. 369).

The Book of Daniel The Book of Daniel tells the story of the young Jewish elite living in the days of Nebuchadnezzar (605–562 BCE). This mighty king had the megalomaniac idea of building a colossal golden statue—probably of a state god, and not of himself—30 m in height (Dan 3:1). He was pressuring the political representatives of all nations to participate in the inauguration ceremony and, upon threat of death, to worship the new statue as a sign of loyalty to him and his kingdom. This led to an open controversy between the Jews and the king of Babylon. Daniel and his friends were denounced in the following charge: There are certain Jews whom you have appointed over the affairs of the province of Babylon: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. These pay no heed to you, O king. They do not serve your gods and they do not worship the golden statue (‫ )צֶ לם ּדַ הֲבָ א‬that you have set up. (Dan 3:12)

The nature of the conflict is clearly religious. The core topics are monotheism and the aniconic veneration of God. The king brutally punished the three men who

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  361

refused to venerate his idol, placing them into a furnace. However, a miracle occurred and they survived the flames. This salvation of the three men in the furnace led to the Babylonian king’s conversion, and he praises the god of Sedrach, Misach and Abdenago: Any people, nation, or language that utters blasphemy against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego shall be torn limb from limb, and their houses laid in ruins; for there is no other god who is able to deliver in this way (ָ‫יִ ּכֻל לְ הַ ּצָ לָה ּכִ ְדנ‬-‫)לָא ִאיתַ י ֱאלָה אָ ח ֳָרן ִּדי‬. (Dan 3:29)

Thereupon the king promotes the three men and grants them the authority to rule in the province of Babylon. As there are allusions to the conflict with Antiochus IV in Daniel 7–12, the date of the final composition of the Book of Daniel is clearly around 164 BCE. Yet according to a scholarly consensus, the Aramaic stories in Daniel 1–6 include older material of unsecure date, probably between the 4th and the early 2nd centuries BCE (e.g., Kratz 1991; Santoso 2007). Again, we find a story imagining an episode of persecution and killing because of the Jews’ religious convictions, and the latter clearly have political implications.

The Book of Esther The most elaborate story about an ancient genocide strictu sensu is the Book of Esther. The date of composition for this book is uncertain, but the prevailing scholarly view is that the text dates from between the late 4th and the 2nd century BCE. The story is situated sometime in the Persian period and is set in the royal palace of Susa. Haman, an ambitious Persian official, sought to destroy not only Mordechai his rival, but all Jews (Esther 3:15), because he was envious of their success and feared that the king would convert to Judaism. Haman tried to convince the king that the Jews were dangerous: There is a certain people scattered and separated among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom; their laws are different from those of every other people, and they do not keep the king’s laws, so that it is not appropriate for the king to tolerate them. (Esther 3:8)

Haman, “the enemy of all the Jews, [who] had plotted against the Jews to destroy them” (9:24) was hanged (7:10) on the same tree that was planned to be the gallows for Mordechai. Along with him, 75,000 enemies of the Jews were killed (Esther 9:16). The alleged reasons for the planned genocide represent a strange mixture of political and religious elements, including the supposed disobedience to the king and his law, the “strange laws” of this people, the inacceptable separation of the Jews from all their neighbors, and Haman’s envy towards the social status of Mordechai, who became second to the king in the Persian empire (Esther 10:3). It is out of this combination of ideas that the (fictional) plan was born to kill all the Jews en masse. The functions of the fiction are easy to conjecture: its aim was to express the fear of a great disaster and to comfort and sooth its potential victims. The image of the Persian king Ahasuerus—who does not hesitate to grant his permission for a genocide of all Jews, only to change his mind in a moment—fits the image of the Achaemenids in the Greek war propaganda, for example that of Isocrates (Bringmann 1965; Diller 1962).

The Third Book of Maccabees According to modern estimates, in late Hellenistic times Alexandria had nearly half a million inhabitants, perhaps 250,000 in the 3rd century, a mixture of the native Egyptian population, the Greek elite and some 50,000 Jews. The exact numbers are uncertain; the Letter of Aristeas refers to 100,000 released prisoners of war— but the number is probably much too high.6 The Greek kings of Egypt usually treated the Jews kindly. For example, King Ptolemy II Philadelphus (282–246 BCE) paid for the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek (see above). Ptolemy’s grandson, however, was of a different mind, as narrated in 3 Maccabees—a book that is part of the Orthodox Bibles. 3 Maccabees tells the story of persecution of the Jews under Ptolemy IV Philopator (222–205 BCE), some decades before the Maccabean revolt. According to this account, Ptolemy, after defeating Antiochus III in 217 BCE at the battle of Raphia, visited Jerusalem and the Temple of YHWH and was so impressed by the beauty of the building that he sought to enter the sanctuary. The high priest invoked

362  manfred oeming

God’s help to prevent this sacrilege, and indeed, the king was punished by a sudden stroke before entering the holy place. Upon his return to Egypt, Ptolemy decided to take his revenge upon the Jews of Alexandria. The Jews were told that they could only save their lives by bringing sacrifices to the god Dionysus. When they refused, they were imprisoned in the hippodrome and sentenced to death. Since Egyptian law required a written record of the names of the people sentenced to death, the king’s officials made great efforts to create lengthy lists of the Jewish victims. After 40 days, Egypt ran out of the paper necessary for the lists (3 Macc 4:17–21). The exaggerated story, which paints the capricious killers as people who want to behave in accordance with their laws, makes it clear that this was a near invisible ruse by God, as it were, to help his people. Ultimately, the plan to kill the victims—who were eventually properly registered in long lists—failed. At the very last moment, when all the Jews of Alexandria had already been stripped of their clothes and tied down in the arena where 500 elephants—especially intoxicated to ensure that they would become infuriated and trample the Jews to death—a miracle occurred: Then the most glorious, almighty, and true God revealed his holy face and opened the heavenly gates, from which two glorious angels of fearful aspect descended, visible to all but the Jews. They opposed the forces of the enemy and filled them with confusion and terror, binding them with immovable shackles. Even the king began to shudder bodily, and he forgot his sullen insolence. The animals turned back upon the armed forces following them and began trampling and destroying them. Then the king’s anger was turned to pity and tears because of the things that he had devised beforehand. (3 Macc 6:18–22)

In view of this miracle—and thanks to the plea of his most beloved courtesan, a beautiful Jewish woman— the king repented, converted to YHWH and bestowed favor upon the Jews. A new Jewish festival, the “Festival of Deliverance,” on this date was instituted in Alexandria (Josephus, C. Ap. 2.54–56).

The First, Second and Fourth Books of Maccabees In three of the books of the Maccabees—1, 2 and 4 Maccabees—the story of the revolt against Antiochus IV Epiphanes (168–164 BCE) is told from different angles. 1 Maccabees covers the timespan from Alexander’s conquest (332 BCE) to John Hyrcanus (135 BCE), and 2 Maccabees deals with roughly the same period of time. However, 1 Maccabees, which was written in Jerusalem, is a very orthodox version of the war, while 2 Maccabees, which in all likelihood was written in Alexandria, places greater emphasis on the religious aspects. In particular, it develops the belief in resurrection and a post-mortem reward for the martyrs (see, esp., 2 Macc 7). 4 Maccabees represents a Hellenistic form of Judaism that is heavily influenced by stoicism. The text belongs to the period between the 1st century BCE and the 1st century CE, but recounts the spiritual life of the early 2nd century BCE while exposing a philosophical stance of governance of “rational law” over “emotions.” Although these books fall beyond the chronological scope of our discussion, they show very clearly the direction in which the theology engaged. A welldeveloped “theology of martyrdom” was the preparation and the rejoinder to the real, or at least anticipated, violent conflicts (Spieckermann 2004; van Henten 2008; 2012).

Wide-Scale Anti-Jewish Massacres in Archaeology Following this survey of the literary sources, we need to examine the archaeological evidence. Are there any identifiable clues of anti-Judaism in the material culture of the Persian–Hellenistic transition period? Do we find such gruesome things as mass graves in the ancient world? Are there indications of a kind of “ghetto”—the segregation of the Jewish population? The only material evidence for anti-Jewish activities is the destruction of YHWH’s temples—but the actual archaeological evidence is scarce. We know of the destruction of two Jewish sanctuaries in the pre-Maccabean period: 1) the YHWH temple of Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE—but the sheer number of pagan temples that were also destroyed by the Neo-Babylonians

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  363

raises the possibility that the destruction was politically motivated, and, moreover, nothing has been excavated yet; and 2) the YHWH-temple at Elephantine was destroyed by the priests of Khnum or the Persian army in 410 BCE, but here too the real reason is under debate (see below, p. 365). From later times, we also know of: 3) the destruction of the Samaritans’ temple on Mount Gerizim ca. 111/10 BCE by the Hasmonean king John Hyrcanus I (135–104 BCE); 4) the destruction of the YHWH temple of Jerusalem by the Romans (Titus) in 70 CE; and 5) the closing of the YHWH temple in Leontopolis (Tell el-Yahudiyye) in 71 CE.7

In the absence of excavations on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, all hypotheses regarding the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim and its archaeological excavations that began in 1982 and continued for more than 23 years revealed that two temples were constructed here (Magen 2007). The first was built in the 5th century BCE (Fig. 22.1; no remains of the earlier periods of the Israelite monarchy were found). The second, a larger edifice (Fig. 22.2), was dated by the excavators to the beginning of the 2nd century BCE. Mount Gerizim was a flourishing center not only because of the Samaritan YHWH religion, but also for national, political and economic reasons.

Fig. 22.1: Plan of the Persian period sacred precinct at Mount Gerizim (Magen 2007: 162: Fig. 5)

364  manfred oeming

Fig. 22.2: Hypothetical reconstruction of the Hellenistic sacred precinct, built in the early 2nd century BCE (Magen 2007: 164, Fig. 7)

The destruction of this large building complex by John Hyrcanus I was dated archaeologically to ca. 111/110 BCE; because of inner Jewish tensions it displays a very special form of anti-Judaism. The only YHWH temple demolished by pagans to be excavated is the one at Elephantine, a Nile island located close to the first Cataract, at the southern border of Upper Egypt and Lower Nubia—in essence, a marginal location. In the course of excavations at Elephantine in 1997, a German team discovered a tiled floor, suggesting that the building was of superior

quality (von Pilgrim 1999; 2002; 2003). Rosenberg’s reconstruction of the small temple of YHWH at Elephantine (Fig. 22.3) demonstrates its similarities to the Wilderness Tabernacle described in Exodus 25–27 (Rosenberg 2004). An altar probably stood in the courtyard, and there must have been a space to slaughter animals. Second, one must realize that the small YHWH temple was situated in the midst of residential areas and that there was therefore very little space through which access to the Khnum-temple was possible (Fig. 22.4).

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  365

Fig. 22.3: Reconstruction of the temple in Elephantine (according to Rosenberg 2004: 4; courtesy of Near Eastern Archaeology)

The first recorded event in Jewish history which may be understood as an outbreak of anti-Jewish feeling took place in the Egyptian military colony at Elephantine. The Jews of Elephantine were part of a culturally and ethnically mixed populace, dominated by native Egyptians, who lived, worked, and traded together relatively peacefully. This coexistence between Egyptians and Jews was forcibly interrupted (and probably brought to a complete end soon after) when the Egyptians, assisted by the local Persian authorities, destroyed the Jewish Temple at Elephantine. (Schäfer 1997: 121)

P. Schäfer suggests that there was reason for anti-Jewish sentiment because of the Pesach offering of the sheep as a symbol for the god Khnum and his priests. This, however, is not at all certain. It could be hypothesized that the destruction of the YHWH temple in Elephantine was due to the narrow space and that during the renovation and expansion of the Khnum temple there was no longer room for the Jewish sanctuary.

Conclusion In view of the corpus of evidence, we must conclude that in reality there were no wide-scale anti-Jewish assaults prior to the Maccabean revolt. The literary sources are highly theological in nature, even when reporting historical events. This means that the texts are primarily concerned with articulating a conception of God, rather than reporting historical events per se. In particular, the motif of the kings of the superpowers converting to the only true God (Dan 4:42, 3:28–29, 3:31–33, 4:34, 6:26– 29) was—as far as we can ascertain—fictional and wishful thinking. In addition, the conflicts reported are not historical. No historical Haman threatened the Jewish people with genocide, and Sennacherib did not take revenge for his defeat in Jerusalem in 701 BCE—if only for the reason that he was not, in fact, defeated. Even if historical events lay at the core of these texts, the information recorded would, at best, reflect local and individual events in Ptolemaic Egypt and in Jerusalem

366  manfred oeming

Fig. 22.4: Plan of the excavations showing the narrow nature of the “Streets of the King” (according to Rosenberg 2004: 10; courtesy of Near Eastern Archaeology)

under the Seleucid empire. Given the numerous positive voices towards Judaism among the Greek-speaking pagan authors of early Hellenistic times and given the lack of external and archaeological evidence for violent antiJudaism actions in the 3rd century, we must conclude that no such actions took place in reality. Why, then, do so many Jewish sources present images of mass persecution and of a total extinction of the Jewish community?

The Origins of Anti-Judaism and the Fear of Annihilation: A Proposal Anti-Judaism in antiquity (as in modern times) is an enigma, an irrational deviation of the mind. In order to understand the widespread feeling of aggressive hostility and the fear of extinction on the part of the potential victims, one should develop a minimal understanding of

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  367

this mindset. Scientific research into so-called “antiJudaism” has developed various explanatory models.

“Functional” Anti-Judaism One stream of theories, the main proponents of which are I. Heinemann and P. Schäfer, assumes that the important factors for the development of anti-Jewish sentiment are political and economic in nature (Heinemann 1929; 1931; Schäfer 1997). The centers of the ancient conflicts were Egypt, Babylon and Palestine/ Jerusalem itself (like later in Rome). The societies and theologies of these countries were liberal and tolerant. The primary reason for hostility against Jews was their success in state offices—for example, Tobit was high ranking in the Assyrian court, Daniel and his three friends had an influential position in the Babylonian administration, Esther was the queen of Persia, and Mordechai was number two in the Persian administration. In addition, the Jewish people displayed provocative independence vis-à-vis the ruling kings and their commands. They dared to resist—religion is the second explanation, at least a surface one. That is, it serves to gloss over the true causes that were purely materialistic.

Essential “Natural” Anti-Judaism A second theory, the primary advocate of which is J.N. Sevenster, claims that anti-Judaism was deeply connected to the essence of Judaism as a religion (Sevenster 1975: 235). In Sevenster’s view, no racism was involved, and nor were economic reasons important. Instead, the main reason for anti-Judaism in antiquity was the inner structure of the Jewish religion, which was not compatible with other ancient societies and theologies. Sevenster lists six aspects that distinguished between the Jewish religion and other contemporaneous religions: 1) monotheism; 2) the prohibition of depicting God; 3) the absence of a female deity; 4) the Jews’ refusal to participate in offerings and official sacrifices; 5) their refusal of the ruler cult; and 6) their endogamy. Additional materialistic factors distinguishing the Jews from others may also be involved, according to Sevenster: 7) privileges enjoyed by the Jews (beginning in the Persian period), especially the occasional freedom

from taxes; 8) and buying land in other countries (e.g., in Ephesus) that was interpreted by the natives as a kind “conquest” of the land. Z. Yavetz argues in a similar vein: “In this seldom disowned strangeness, emanating from the way of life and thought prescribed by the Torah, lies the most profound cause for the antiSemitism of the ancient world” (Yavetz 1997: 144). For him, the Jews were faithful to YHWH alone as the one true God and strictly obeyed his laws. This attitude forced them to move away from the many other possible forms of social life and faith in ancient times. Contemporary peoples viewed the uncompromising nonconformist attitude of the Jews in these matters as arrogance and as criticism of their own values. Their reaction was frequently one of hate and persecution. The abstract theology of monotheism and the proud concept of the chosen people “apart from the others” (Num 23:9) led to a dangerous counter-reaction.

“Internal Jewish” Anti-Judaism The conflicts between the various trends within Judaism were very sharp. The controversies gave the conservative Orthodox Jews the impression that they might be swept away by the Hellenized liberal Jews, and vice versa. For example, K. Bringmann and E. Haag (like E. Bickerman before them) have argued that the primary catalyst of the Maccabean conflict was not Antiochus IV, but internal fighting among the Jews themselves (Bringmann 1983; Haag 2003; Bickerman 1937). Social factors, such as the conflict between peasants and city dwellers, also played a role. Even though the enemies and persecutors always occur in the texts as “external” to the primary group, one should not underestimate this element of intra-Jewish conflicts in the broader understanding of the period’s dark image.

The Notion of Martyrdom The theological notion of faith in resurrection and the afterlife first appeared in the early Hellenistic period. Its emergence had several reasons: a renewed influence of Egyptian religion; the prophetic-apocalyptic expectation of an afterlife in a new world without death, such as that described in Isaiah 24–27 (Isa 25:8); the deep spiritual,

368  manfred oeming

nearly mystical, relation of the believer to his God, like in Psalms 49 and 73: and confrontation with the problem of theodicy in wisdom thinking (like in Job 19:25–27). It is likely that this theological concept had the greatest impact in the late 3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE through the notion of “martyrdom.” In a Hellenistic context, martyrdom is also a demonstration of high ethical standards (the best example is the death of Socrates). A nationalistic idealistic willingness to die for one’s religious faith goes hand in hand with the emergence of a belief in the afterlife in the 3rd century; death is not the end. Such a sentiment derives from the belief that there will be an afterlife existence and a rich reward for the individual’s resilient faithfulness. I suggest that in a second stage, this idea produced a kind of a wishful fantasy of persecution. While this theory may seem bold, it could at least partly account for the popular fictions of persecution and death.

Conversion of Kings as One Reason for Anti-Judaism One fantasy is found in the literature of the 3rd century BCE more than once: the conversion of a king to Judaism. This idea is particularly prominent in the Book of Daniel 2–6, in which Nebuchadnezzar acknowledges the true God and gives him and his followers honor (Dan 2:47, 3:28f., 3:31–33, 4:34, 6:26–29): For he is the living God! ‫( ִּדי־הּוא ֱאלָהָ א חַ ּיָא‬Dan 6:26)

In the later additions in Daniel 14 (Bel and the Dragon) the Babylonians accuse King Cyrus after the destruction of an idol: Ιουδαῖος γέγονεν ὁ βασιλεύς The king has become a Jew. (Bel and Dragon 1:28)

In 3 Maccabees Ptolemy IV confesses the God of the Jews. Similar ideas are present in Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 44:28, 45:1) and in Chronicles (in the closing verse of the Hebrew Bible), where Cyrus states: The Lord, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and he has charged me to build him a house at Jerusalem, which is in Judah. (2 Chron 36:23)

This fiction of official conversion, proclaimed “throughout all his kingdom and also declared in a written edict” (2 Chron 36:22) is, from the Jewish perspective, an expression of hope that ultimately, the superpowers will become a protective force. The reaction of all the nations (Babylon, Persia and Ptolemaic Egypt) would likely be one of shock and aggression when their kings are presented as converts.

The Pagan Divinization of the Emperor In the search for explanations for the increasing fear of annihilation through assault, it is important to consider that during the 3rd century a revival took place: the restoration of the notion that the king is divine in nature. Hellenistic royal propaganda increasingly emphasized the divine (or divine-like) nature of kings. This divinization is apparent in the epigraphical and archaeological evidence, such as the royal inscription from Jaffa which calls the king explicitly θεός “God” (Pfeiffer, this volume). Other examples are to be found in the mass media of the period—coins. In the case of Alexander (who saw himself as a semi-God), coins were employed as a propaganda tool, which subsequently triggered a wave of iconic divinization. Located in the British Museum’s Department of Coins and Medals are two silver tetradrachms. One was, in all likelihood, minted under Alexander the Great in 324 BCE as a gift medallion for the mass wedding of Susa, which intermarried Greek officers with Persian women. The obverse depicts Alexander with Greek and Persian armor, a helmet, the thunderbolt in his right hand, and crowned by flying Nike. The reverse commemorates Alexander’s victory over the Indian king Porus. The purpose of the depiction is clear: the young king, who in Ephesus presented himself with the thunderbolt of Zeus and who was welcomed in Egypt as the Son of Zeus Ammon, is the epiphany of Zeus. Alexander is also the homo universalis, equipped with the weapons of his new empire of all the nations that are to be merged in Susa, the Macedonians and Persians. The son of Zeus united East and West, in order to create a new humanity. Alexander marks the beginning of the long 3rd century, and Antiochus IV its end.

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  369

After Alexander the Great, in the long 3rd century, the idea that human rulers are gods already in their lifetime grows in importance. In 271 BCE, Ptolemy II carried out his own deification. Like Arsinoe II in 268 BCE, in 248 BCE the deceased princess Berenike was explicitly elevated to the rank of a goddess in the Egyptian pantheon. This deification of kings can also be seen quite clearly in the coinage. Ptolemy III (246–222/221 BCE) received an honorary coin minted by his son, which visibly identifies him as a deity with a crown of rays (Fig. 22.5). The Seleucids also adopted this theology and iconography; Antiochus IV also minted a corresponding type of coin (Figs. 22.6–22.7). It is reasonable to surmise that the notion and image of the divinized king became well known in Judea too, through the coinage of Alexander and of his successors, the Diadochi. This iconography on coins paved the way to a conflict with the monotheism of the Jews.

political power and as a source of cultural and ideological influence. In this somewhat chaotic period, six Syrian wars occurred between 274 and 168 BCE, and the Jews had to struggle for their identity. Jewish society was split between a modern, Hellenized, group and a more conservative, orthodox, current. Each perceived the other as a fundamental enemy. In this context, a kind of “selfdestruction” threatened and five literary motifs emerged in response to it: 1.

A revival of the old traditions and national heroes, such as Moses in the Exodus from Egypt (Book of Exodus), Sannacherib’s defeat before Jerusalem (Tobit), and Nebuchadnezzar’s end (Daniel);

2.

The literary “creation” of new enemies in order to give all Jewish groups a “shared enemy,” especially a hybrid king (Ahasuerus in Esther, Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel, or Ptolemy IV in 3 Macc);

Conclusion

3.

From a historical, and even more from a theological, point of view, a real revolution took place in the late 4th/3rd century: a deep transformation of Judea and Judaism. Persia collapsed under the Greco-Macedonian invasion and Egypt emerged anew as a prominent

The invention of new heroes ready to fight against Assyria (Tobit, Judith), Babylon (Daniel) and Persia (Esther);

4.

The creation of new allies supporting the afflicted ones in these conflicts: Cyrus (Deutero-Isaiah, Chronicles, Bel and the Dragon) and the queen of Persia Esther;

0

1cm

Fig. 22.5: Golden octodrachm minted in 221 BCE by Ptolemy IV (reigned 222–205 BCE) in honor of his father; on obverse a portrait of Ptolemy III Euergetes with a crown of rays (British Museum, Room 22; photo Jastrow, 2007)

0

1cm

Fig. 22.6: Antiochus IV, bronze, minted 169/8 BCE; on obverse: head of the king with radiant crown, to the right, outside stemma; on reverse: parts of the inscription [BAΣΙΛΕΩΣ /] ΑΝΤΙ[ΟΧΟΥ], female deity sitting on throne with high backrest, to the left, holding Nike on her right arm, a bird standing at her feet (private collection in Bonn)

370  manfred oeming

0

5.

1cm

The development of models for a theological interpretation of violent conflicts as a punishment by God for the sins of his people (Psalms); as a sign for the apocalyptic end of history (Psalms); or as a test whether Jews have true faith and a willingness to suffer martyrdom (1 Macc; 2 Macc; 4 Macc). If Judah is faithful, God will reward it with eternal life in the Last Judgment. Even though we know that many different factors contributed to the emergence of this belief, the influence from Egypt—in particular, from the Book of the Dead, chapter 125, was seemingly decisive (Schnocks 2009). We have here, so to speak, a late victory of Egypt.

We have demonstrated that many of these ideas are connected to the fear of annihilation. The first conclusion of this paper is, therefore, that the notion of complete annihilation is an element of the emotional imagination of an insecure community, reflecting the sense of doom that at the onset of cultural, political and religious conflict, Israel might decline or be swept away.8 A second, related, conclusion is that in actual fact, there were no wide-scale killings of Jews in the 3rd century BCE—at most, there were small and local events. The mass persecutions and killings of peoples only occurred in the world of Jewish texts that originated from, or dealt with, the events of the 3rd century BCE. Strikingly, stories of annihilations abound in the Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek literature associated with these centuries. According to the texts analyzed in this article, the reasons for anti-Jewish assaults are varied. On the one

Fig. 22.7: Silver tetradrachm of Antiochus IV, struck 167–165 BCE in Antioch; on obverse: head of the king with diadem, to the right, outside stemma; on reverse: God Zeus, with inscription ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ | ΑΝΤΙΟΧΟΥ – ΘΕΟΥ | ΕΠΙΦΑΝΟΥΣ (“King Antiochus – appearance of God”); in the center a representation of the god Zeus in a short coat, with naked torso, enthroned, to the left, holding scepter in his left hand, in his right hand holding the Nike crowned with victory wreath (private collection in Bonn)

hand, we find social and economic grounds, jealousy of the beauty and the success of the Jewish competitors, disobedience towards the king’s law (in Tobit, Daniel and Esther), and their military victories against the armies of the superpowers (in Tobit and Judith). On the other hand, one can also find strict religious motivation: The Jews’ monotheism and their continuous refusal to venerate a statue or a human being as a god (Daniel, Judith). Another possible reason is endogamy and the refusal to eat pork or to cease religious practices, such as circumcision or observance of the Sabbath. The resistance against polytheistic cultic activities (in Tobit) can be understood as religious in motivation—for example, the “otherness” of the Jewish law is a cause of hostility in Esther. The primary reason for a critique was the raison d’état, that is, the authority and honor of the king. But what are the functions of these fictions? These stories were not mere fantasy: we should understand them as being real struggles for death and life—albeit on the theological, and not historical, level. In the situation of deep crisis, these dark fictions had a positive function: to comfort people by affirming that ultimately, God governs history. Even if God’s decisions are tough and seem incomprehensible to us in the present, ultimately he will triumph and the foreign nations will cease to be foreign. Finally, the political desire of the new imperial kings to be worshipped as gods (reflected in the iconography of coins) paved the way for a full-fledged conflict to come (Judith, Psalms, Daniel, 2 Maccabees and 3 Maccabees).

“to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated”  371

NOTES 1. In the following considerations, the terminology is very sensitive. “Holocaust” signifies exclusively the murder of the Jews in the 20th century by the Third Reich and has no parallel in antiquity or modernity. “Pogrom” refers first and foremost to the massacres or persecutions of Jews in the 19th and 20th centuries in the Russian Empire. Similar attacks against Jews at other times and places became known, in hindsight, as “pogroms.” Thus, for example, P. Schäfer calls the anti-Jewish activities in ancient Egypt “pogroms” (Schäfer 1997: 145, 204–205). 2. It is important to note that in recent research (after Bickermann 1937, esp. Bringmann 1983; and Frevel 2015) this view is at least relativized, if not rejected. Contrary to the representation in the books of Maccabees, the armed conflict was caused by the heavy tax augmentation linked to Jason (174–171 BCE). After the deposition of Onias III (196–174 BCE), Jason bought the office of the High Priest and was therefore forced to collect much more money from the rural population, and this situation continued under Menelaos (171–162 BCE). The taxes increased dramatically as Jason promised the Syrian king 3,260 silver talents annually. This is the reason why many Jews resisted Hellenization. Neither Jason nor Menelaos did anything to change traditional Jewish practices or worship. These changes were the result of the military colony of native Syrians who took up residence in the Akra (newly recovered under the Givʿati Parking Lot) after the suppression of the revolt that had been started by Jason. These foreigners dedicated the Temple to Zeus, who was also identified with the Syrian god Baal Shamem. Religion—the sabbath, circumcision and kashrut—was a subsequent ideological exaggeration rather than the main motivation. The first superpower that may have persecuted Jews for religious reasons (although this motivation may not have been exclusive) was Rome. 3. Apart from Josephus, there are only a few references to Jews in the ancient Greek writings that survived (Jacoby 1958; Stern 1974–84; for a survey, Grabbe 2008: 11–126). On the contrary, in most cases

4. 5.

6. 7.

8.

we find positive appreciation of, if not admiration for, the Jews because of their monotheism, aniconism, wisdom, or ethical standards. For instance, the Greek historian Diodorus Siculus (ca. 90 BCE) quotes another ancient Greek historian, Hecataeus of Abdera (4th century), who expresses great admiration for Moses being an extraordinary, wise and brave person. Hecataeus assumes that only in a later stage of history the Jews themselves introduced laws that created a xenophobic mentality toward them. Similar positive remarks may be found in Theophrastus (371–283 BCE) and Clearchus (late 4th or early 3rd century BCE), who called the Jews “a nation of philosophers.” In Roman times, we also find groups of “God fearers” with connections with synagogues. According to the eyewitness reports of Philo (ca. 20 BCE–50 CE) the first anti-Jewish pogrom took place in 32 CE in Alexandria; cf. Philo, In Flaccum 191. See Knauf 1989: 11: “Wenn die ‘Zelte Edoms’ V. 6 kein Anachronismus sind, führen sie in die Zeit bis zur Errichtung der Provinz Idumäa oder kurz danach (Anfang des 4. Jh.). … Der Psalm stammt aus nachexilischer Zeit; mit den ‘Ismaelitern’ könnten bereits Araber überhaupt gemeint sein.” On Alexandria, see Delia 1988. On the number of prisoners in the Letter of Aristeas, see Kreuzer 2007: 38. According to Josephus (BJ 7.426–429), Onias IV (who escaped from Jerusalem because of the pro-Hellenistic policy there) built the temple of Leontopolis/Heliopolis in 170 BCE. The temple was tolerated by the Jews for two hundred years, until its activity was forbidden under Vespasian. No archaeological evidence of this temple has been found. Any analogy is risky. However, as shown by the prophets Micah and Jeremiah announcing the destruction of the temple (Mic 3:12; Jer 7:12–14) long before any real historical event occurred, the feeling of an existential crisis predated Maccabean crisis in the 2nd century BCE.

REFERENCES Albertz, R. 2012. Exodus, 1: Exodus 1–18 (Zürcher Bibelkommentare. Altes Testament). Zürich. Berner, C.2010. Die Exoduserzählung. Das literarische Werden einer Ursprungslegende Israels (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 73). Tübingen. Bickermann, E. 1937. Der Gott der Makkabäer. Berlin. Bringmann, K. 1965. Studien zu den politischen Ideen des Isokrates (Hypomnemata 14). Göttingen. Bringmann, K. 1983. Hellenistische Reform und Religionsverfolgung in Judäa: Eine Untersuchung zur jüdisch-hellenistischen Geschichte 175–163 v.Chr. Göttingen. Cuffari, A. 2007. Judenfeindschaft in Antike und Altem Testament: Terminologische, historische und theologische Untersuchungen (Bonner biblische Beiträge 153). Hamburg. Delia, D. 1988. The Population of Roman Alexandria. Transactions of the American Philological Association 118: 275–292. Diller, H. 1962. Die Hellenen-Barbaren-Antithese im Zeitalter der Perserkriege. In: Schwabl, H., ed. Grecs et Barbares (Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique 8). Geneva: 37–68.

Emmendörfer, M. 1998. Der ferne Gott: Eine Untersuchung der Volksklagelieder auf dem Hintergrund der mesopotamischen Literatur (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 21). Tübingen. Frevel, C. 2015. Geschichte Israels. Stuttgart. Gardner, P. 1878. Catalogue of Greek Coins: The Seleucid Kings of Syria (4 vols.). London (reprinted by Reginald Stuart Poole, Bologna, 1963). Grabbe, L.L. 2008. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, 2: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 B.C.E.). London. Graupner. A. 2002. Der Elohist: Gegenwart und Wirksamkeit des transzendenten Gottes in der Geschichte (Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 97). Neukirchen-Vluyn. Haag, E. 2003. Das hellenistische Zeitalter: Israel und die Bibel im 4. bis 1. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Biblische Enzyklopädie 9). Stuttgart. Heinemann, I. 1929. Ursprung und Wesen des Antisemitismus im Altertum. In: Festgabe zum zehnjährigen Bestehen der

372  manfred oeming Akademie für die Wissenschaft des Judentums 1919–1929. Berlin: 76–91. Heinemann, I. 1931. Artikel Antisemitismus. In: Pauly’s Realencylopdie der Classischen Alterthumswissenschaft Suppl. 5. Stuttgart: 3–43. van Henten, J.W. 2008. Jüdisches Märtyrertum und der Tod Jesu. In: Doering, L., Waubke, H.-G. and Wilk, F., eds. Judaistik und neutestamentliche Wissenschaft. Standorte—Grenzen— Beziehungen (Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments 226). Göttingen: 146–172. van Henten, J.W. 2012. Noble Death and Martyrdom in Antiquity. In: Fuhrmann, S. and Grundmann, R., eds. Martyriumsvorstellungen in Antike und Mittelalter: Leben oder sterben für Gott? (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 80). Leiden: 85–110. van der Horst, P.W. 2003. Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series 2). Leiden. Jacoby, F. 1958. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. Leiden. Joosten, J. 2007. The Original Language and Historical Milieu of the Book of Judith (Meghillot—Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls 5–6; A Festschrift for Devorah Dimant), Haifa: 159*–176*. Kalimi, I. and Richardson, S. eds. 2014. Sennacherib at the Gates of Jerusalem: Story, History and Historiography. Leiden. Knauf, A. 1989. Ismael. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens im 1. Jahrtausend v.Chr. (2nd ed.; Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palastinavereins). Wiesbaden. Kratz, R. 1991. Translatio imperii. Untersuchungen zu den aramäischen Danielerzählungen und ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Umfeld (Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 63). Neukirchen-Vluyn. Kreuzer, S. 2004. Entstehung und Publikation der Septuaginta im Horizont frühptolemäischer Bildungs- und Kulturpolitik. In: Kreuzer, S. and Lesch, J., eds. Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta: Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel, 2 (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 161). Stuttgart: 61–75. Kreuzer, S. 2007. Entstehung und Überlieferung der Septuaginta. In: Karrer, M., Kraus, W. and Kreuzer, S., eds. Handbuch zur Septuaguinta. Handbook of Septugint. LXX.H. Gütersloh: 30–88. Lutz, H.-M. 1968. Jahwe, Jerusalem und die Völker. Zur Vorgeschichte von Sach. 12,1–8 und 14,1–5 (Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 27). Neukirchen. Magen, Y. 2007. The Dating of the First Phase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in Light of the Archaeological Evidence. In: Lipschits, O., Knoppers, G.N. and Albertz,

R., eds. Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B.C.E. Winona Lake: 157–212. Oeming, M. and Vette, J. 2000–16. Das Buch der Psalmen 1–3. Stuttgart. von Pilgrim, C. 1999. Der Tempel des Jahwe. In: Kaiser, W. et al., eds. Stadt und Tempel von Elephantine (Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 55). Cairo: 142–145. von Pilgrim, C. 2002. Das Aramäische Quartier im Stadtgebiet der 27. Dynastie. In: von Dreyer et al., eds. Stadt und Tempel von Elephantine (Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 58). Cairo: 192–197. von Pilgrim, C. 2003 Tempel des Jahu und “Strasse des Koenigs” ein Konflikt in der späten Perserzeit auf Elephantine. In: Meyer, S., ed. Egypt, Temple of the Whole World: Studies in Honour of Jan Assmann. Leiden: 303–317. Rosenberg, S.G. 2004. The Jewish Temple at Elephantine. Near Eastern Archaeology 67: 4–13. Santoso, A. 2007. Die Apokalyptik als jüdische Denkbewegung. Eine literarkritische Untersuchung zum Buch Daniel. Marburg. Schäfer, P. 1997. Judeophobia: Attitudes towards the Jews in the Ancient World. Cambridge, MA. Schmitz, B. and Engel. H. 2014. Judit (Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament). Freiburg. Schnocks, J. 2009 Rettung und Neuschöpfung: Studien zur alttestamentlichen Grundlegung einer gesamtbiblischen Theologie der Auferstehung (Bonner biblische Beitrage 158). Göttingen. Schnocks, J. 2010. Gott, es kamen Völker in dein Erbe. Ps 79 und seine Rezeption in 1 Makk. In: Dahmen, U. and Schnocks, J., eds. Juda und Jerusalem in der Seleukidenzeit. Herrschaft—Widerstand—Identität. Festschrift für HeinzJosef Fabry (Bonner biblische Beiträge 159). Göttingen: 147–160. Sevenster, J. N. 1975. The Roots of Pagan Anti-Semitism in the Ancient World. Leiden. Spieckermann, H. 2004. Martyrium und die Vernunft des Glaubens: Theologie als Philosophie im vierten Makkabäerbuch. Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, 1. Philologisch-Historische Klasse 3: 67–86. Stern, M. 1974–84. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism. Jerusalem. Wanke, G. 1966. Die Zionstheologie der Korachiten in ihrem traditionsgeschichtlichem Zusammenhang (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 97). Berlin and New York. Yavetz, Z. 1997. Judenfeindschaft in der Antike. Die Münchener Vorträge (Beck’sche Reihe 1222). Munich.

Indexes

Index of Ancient Sources Hebrew Bible and Septuagint Genesis 1 1:2 2

1–15

247

Deuteronomy

255, 259

7:23

258

1:1–5

271

244

12:11

254

1:30

244

12:29

358

2:14

257 325

255, 259

2:14

256

15

244

3:20

4

260

15:3

257

4

358

4:4ff.

257

15:17

270

4:16

258

4:7

257

19:3

257

6:4–5

258

254, 256, 282

20:4

257

6:6

258

259

20:5

244

7:5

257

5:19–21

351

20:10

254

7:16

256

6–9

288

24:10

257

12:9

325

6:1–4

348

25–27

364

12:10

6:4

255

34:13

257

14:7

256, 260

7:6

255

35–40

254, 259

15:9

258

8:21

258

8:22

256

Leviticus

288

5 5:3

9

325

19:14

326

21:10

256

11:6

256

23:2

325

9:13

254, 268

11:17

256

25:19

325

10:6

256

19:7

257

28:69

271

10:8–9

255

20:14

258

29:1

271

23:23–25

260

32:2

244

34:6

257

11

254–256, 259, 282

14

282

24:16

257

14:5

255

26:46

271

15:6

254, 268

27:34

271

Joshua

19:15

258

22

282

Numbers

25:20

254

3:17–21

319

1:15

325

26:1

326

11:6

254

13

326

26:8

326

16:5

257

21:44

325

31:19

257

16:11

257

22:4

325

36:16

256

19:1–10

259

23:1

325

38:7

257

19:14

256

41:45

256

22–24

260

Judges

42:23

254

23:1

258

2:23

325

45:10

254

23:9

367

11:29–40

285

24

258

49 50:2

259–260 256

Exodus 1

358–359

1:7

322

1:13

325

24:8

259

2 Samuel

24:14–24

282

5:14

319

25:2

257

7:1

325

7:11

325

34

311–312, 325–326

For authors and works, see also Index of Subjects. For classical authors, only the Latinized spelling is given.

  375

376  index of ancient sources 8 23:13–17 23:18

27:8

320

25:7

283–285

326

32:2–4

306

25:14–31:44

324

34:1–6

287

25:20

312, 313, 326

34:2–4

283, 286–288

25:22

314

1 Kings 5:4 8:56

34:5–6 325–326 325

2 Kings

36:1 36:13–21

287 308–309

25:27–31 26:18

326

26–27

36:19

326

27:3

36–39

304

29:10

320 295

286, 287–288, 306 299 298–299 314 284, 319

18

234

37:13

326

30:10–11

298

18:13–20:19

304

38:1

308–309

31:31–34

299

242–243

39:1

308–309

31:35–37

298

18:17–21 (4 Reigns) 24:18–25:30

304

Isaiah

40:1–2

285

33

40–55

320

33:14

40–66

300, 308, 320

1:1

304, 308–309

41:5

325

1–39

308–309, 324

41:23

325

299

2:2–4

44:28

293, 368

6:1

308–309

45:1

293, 368

7:1

308–309

48:24–25

316

8:1–4

312

56–66

295, 299, 320­

9:11

324

60–61

284

10:5–34

326

63:1–6

287

10:9

326

63:7–64:11

305

10:26

324

63:18

305

11:1–5

285

64:9–10

305

11:11

326

65–66

13

286

13:20

325

Jeremiah

13–23

323

1:2–3

304

14:28

308–309

5:22

325

282, 304, 322–323

14:28–32

326

6:13–15

298

15–16

326

7

320

15–17

325

7:3

320

287, 326

7:5

320

326

7:5–6

320

17:7

326

7:12–14

371

18–23

295

8:10b–12

298

328

10:6–8

295

10:10

295

10:12–13

319

17 17:1

19:1–25 20:1–2

308–309

23

282–283, 326

24

288

11:8

320

24:4–6

306

15:7

320

24:5

288

15:13–14

298

17:3–4

298

24–27

282–283, 288, 293, 295, 299, 306, 315–318, 320, 323, 367

25:3

325

25:8

367

26:20–21

288, 306

17:6

325

22:3

320

23:5–6 25 25:5

284, 298 287, 320, 326 320

33:14–26

283–284 282–283, 319 283–285, 295, 297–298, 319–320

35:15

320

39:4–13

295

39:5

326

41b

298

45:4–5 46–51

283, 286–288, 306 287, 295

46:16

324

46:27–28

298

47

326

47:4

314

47–49

325

48

326

48:40b

298

48:41b

298

49:1–6

326

49:7–22

326

49:14–16

299

49:22

298

49:23

326

49:23–27

326

50–51

286

50:13

325

50:16

324

50:46

286

51:44b–49a

295

52

304

52:9

326

52:27

326

52:27b–30

295

Ezekiel 1:1

304

4:2

305

7

295

index of ancient sources  377 10

282–283

Amos

1:1–6

299, 320

11:19–20

299

1–2

325

1:5

318, 328

12:26–28

295

1:1

304

1:7

293, 328

17:17

305

1:3–5

326

2:14–16

18:31

299

1:6–8

312–313, 326

21:27

305

1:6–10

312

7:5–6

22:7

320

1:9–10

326

7:7–14

299, 320

25–28

325

1:11–12

326

9

285, 326

25:1–7

326

1:13–15

326

9–10

308, 319

25:8–11

326

2:1–3

326

9–14

25:12–14

326

5:27

326

25:15–17

326

6:2

326

6:14

326

211, 222, 282, 293–295, 299, 301–302, 306–318, 321–325, 327–328

26:7–14 26:15–18

285, 305 323

26:20

325

26–28

318, 326

27:1–35 28

323

Obadiah 1–4

299

15–21

286

295, 312, 326

28:11–19

323

Micah

28:20–23

326

1:1

304

29:11

325

1:10

326

29:17–20

305

1:14

326

32:25–26

295

3:12

299, 371

33:11

320

4:1–3

299

34:25–30

319

4:11–13

360

35:9

325

7:12–13

286, 306

36:23c–38

295, 297, 298

37

295

Zephaniah

37:25–28

319

1:1 2:4

304 312, 326

295, 299, 315, 320, 323, 328

40–48

295, 323

2:4–7

326

2:4–11

325

311–312

2:8–11

326

47:13–23 47:16

326

47:17

326

47:20

325–326

48:1

326

Hosea

3:8

326

286, 306

1:1

293, 304, 308, 328

1:3

328

1:12

328

1:1

304

1:15

293, 308

8:3

301

2:1

308, 328

Joel 1–4 4

328 315–316, 328, 360

4:4

314

4:6

328

4:4–8

326, 328

4:12–16

286, 306

4:19

313

286

2:10

293, 308, 328

2:20

308

2:20–23

286

Zechariah 1–8 1:1

300–301, 306–310, 313, 315–316, 323 293, 304, 328

293, 311 320

285, 308–313

9:9–10

283, 285, 307, 309

9:11–17

222, 309–310

9:13

222, 285

10:1–3a

308

10:6

301

10:6–12

324

10:10–11 11:4–14

325 209, 211, 213

11:5

222

11:7

222

11:11

222

12

360

12:12–14 13:7–9 14 14:21

319 293, 299, 308, 317 211 282–283, 307, 360 212

Malachi 1:1

328

1:1–5

326

1:2–5

Haggai

2:6–7

9:1–8

13:2–6

38–39 47

7:1

307

2–3 3:1 3:22–24

313 282–283 328 293, 299, 304, 318, 320, 322

Psalms 1 1–2

258 282–283

2

359

9:21

325

12:6

323

18:28

323

29:8

325

29:9

325

33:16–19

323

378  index of ancient sources 35:7

323

Daniel

37:29

323

1

37:39

323

1–6

40:4

325

2–6

46

359

46:10

257

48

3:14–19 267

202

4:8

201–202

268, 342, 361

4:13

201–202

368

4:17

201

3:1

360

5:7

220

3:12

360

5:10

201

287

3:28–29

365

5:13

220

49

368

3:29

361

5:14

201–202

52:8

325

3:31–33

365

5:17

201–202

57

359

4:34

365

7

58:12

323

4:42

365

7:2

59

359

6:26–29

365

8:13

202

64:10

325

7–12

9

282

65:9

325

7:7

324

10:32–39

223

66:5

325

8:1–8

285

11:1–2

220

67:8

325

8:5–8

11:1–24

223

72:8

285, 323

8:21

342, 361

311, 324 324, 328

11:25–36

223

324

12:27–43

220

13:4–31

220

13:23–24

325

73

368

8:21–23

74:9

317

8:20

76:8

325

10:20

76:9

325

11

76:13

325

11:2

324, 328

1 Chronicles

77:17

325

11:2–4

285, 311

3:5

83

360

11:15

95:11

323

11:29–39

96:4

325

14. See Bel and the Dragon in Subjects

97:4

325

109

359

Ezra

112:4

323

1

112:8

325

114:17

325

118:15

223 202, 220

311 324, 328 24, 294, 323–324

319

25

6:1–2

319

352

11:11

324

11:20

324

14:4

319

23:7–10

319

268

24:1–19

219

2

223

24:20–31

219

2:68

202

25–26

219

323

4:7

234

28:9

301

118:20

323

4:13

221

119

258

5:5

202

2 Chronicles

140:14

323

5:9

202

11:14

146–150

283

7:24

221

29:19

301

9:29

201–202

36

268

10:1

220

36:22

368

10:8

202

36:22–23

302

10:12

220

36:23

368

10:14

202

Job 19:25–27

368

Esther 3:1–5

285

3:8

361

Nehemiah

3:15

361

1:1–7:5

220

7:4

357

2:8

220

7:10

361

2:9

202

9:16

361

2:10

24

9:24

361

2:16

201–202

10:3

361

3:9

202

3:12

202

301

index of ancient sources  379

New Testament Matthew

Luke

21:12

211

Acts

3:31

319

20:45

211

5:29

359

Mark 11:15–16

211

Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Bel and the Dragon (Daniel 14) 1:28

368

342

Jubilees

Ben Sira 50

221

50:1–3

212

50:1–4

26, 27

50:1–21

204

50:5–11

221

1 Enoch 1–36 See also Book of Watchers in Index of Subjects

93:1–10. See also Apocalypse of Weeks in Index of Subjects

217, 341, 353

23

342

10:61

163–164

10:63

163

10:65

163

14:5

50

2 Maccabees

Judith 1–7

360

2.28

360

3.8

360

8–16

360

1 Maccabees

6–11

324,

1:1–9

311

6–16

343, 348–349

1:8–9

324

11–16

352

1:20–64

352

72–82. See also Book of Luminaries in Index of Subjects

341

1:41–64

357

85–90. See also Animal Apocalypse in Index of Subjects

342

90:2–5

324

91:11–17. See also Apocalypse of Weeks in Index of Subjects

342

5:1–68

24

9:27

293

10:2–10

163

10:18–20

163

10:18–21

163

10:56–66

163

3:4–5 3:11

211, 222 24, 212

4:7–12

165

5–6:11

352

7

362

3 Maccabees 3:16–18

51

4:17–21

362

6:18–22

362

Sirach Prologue

300

48:24–25

316

Tobit 1:18–20

359

Classical Sources A

3.16.4

Aelianus, Varia Historia Aeschylus, Persae 24

177 49

Ammianus Marcellinus, Historiae 22.16

238

Appian, Syriaca 50.252

305

Aristobulus frg. 3

255

Arrian, Anabasis 2.15–7.24

157

2.25.4

327

2.27.7

116

4.2–4

157

4.10–12

285

4.6.25–29

327

6.26.1–3

285

4.6.7

327

233

4.6.23–30

116

4.7.1

177

Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 1.3

51

C

5.1.20–21

51

Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 1

249

D

5.14.113. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 264 F24 in Fragments

275

Diodorus Siculus. See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 55–66 in Fragments

Curtius (Quintius Curtius Rufus)

1

273

380  index of ancient sources 1.10–98

272

1.28–29

273, 276

1.46.8

272

1.55

275–276

1.94

272, 276

1.94–95

273, 276

15.41

135

16.5

177

16.40–51

136

17.40–45

157

19.59

327

19.61

327

19.93

137

31.32A

162

34

272–273

34.1

273, 276

40

272–273, 275

40.2

276

40.3

271–274, 276

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De compositione verborum 6.18.24–29

327

E Euclid, Elements

233

Eusebius, Chronicon. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 685 F6 in Fragments

267

p. 6, l.8–p. 9, l.2 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 685 F6 in Fragments

238 267

9

249

12.13:40. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 264 F24 in Fragments

275

Ezekiel the Tragedian, Exagogē 241, 246–248 H Hecataeus of Abdera Aegyptiaca. See also Josephus, Contra Apionem 2.43; Origen, Contra Celsum 1.15; and Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 264 F6 in Fragments On Abraham On the Jews. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 264 F24 in Fragments

1.188

270 270, 274, 275

Herodotus 1.171

167

1.179

255

1.92–95

173

140

2.189–190

136, 140

3.4–9

327

2.487–488

238

7.98

151

2.495

238

8.98

249

7.426–429

371

Hesiod frg. 266, l. 11

249

Josephus, Contra Apionem

Hieronymus, In Danielem (Jerome, Comm. in Dan). See also Jacoby, FGrHist 260 F 46 11.13–14

31

11.14

26

11.15–16

25, 31–32

Iliad 10.6

249

Odyssey 4.56

249

J Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae 1.158

275

1.159

275

10.219–228

268

10.222

267

11

220

11.8

311

11.320

327

11.158

220

11.202–212

220

11.297

220

11.302

220

11.320

327

11.347

220

12.1–3

324

12.1–10

305

12.131

37

12.132–133

25

12.133

32

12.135

25, 36

12.136

31, 34

12.141 12.145–146

26 26 27, 209

12.156–236

209

12.158–159

210

12.180

209

13.229–235

173

13.376–379

173

Josephus, Bellum Judaicum 1.17–18

304

1.73

238, 275 268

1.83

269, 275

1.90

269–270

1.91

275

1.93–105

268

1.103–105

270

1.104

275

1.105

275

1.128–133

268

1.129

238

1.134–141

268

1.137

267

1.157–158

151

1.183–204

275

1.186–189

328

1.189

271

1.205–211

305

1.214

275

1.228

269–270

1.228–229

275

1.228–236

268

1.241

212, 223

12.154–155

293–294

1.237–250

26, 202, 221

12.148–153

304

1.38–42

1.229

31

12.135–136

1.38–41

1.73–92

Homer

12.138–144 270–273

49

3.4

275 269, 358 270

1.248

270

1.250

269

1.252–253

269

1.279–287

269

1.237–250

269

2

358

2.21

358

2.43

265, 275

2.54–56 Justinus, Epitome 30.2.8

362 24 25

L Letter of Aristeas 9 9–11 10

233, 237 303 231, 233, 237

index of ancient sources  381 12–14

328

29

237

31

248

1.4

236

22.6

51

38

237

2.2

235

28.1

155

114–116

138

2.12

235

36.17

249

115

137

2.25–44

235

121

248

2.27–29

235

S

139

241

2.29

236

177

248

2.30

235

Strabo. See also Stern 1974–84: No. 98–124 in Fragments

308–321

237

2.31

235

310

248

2.41

248

310–311

248

2.44

312–316

266

Plato, Timaios

317

248

Livy, History of Rome 31.9.1–5 31.43.5–7 32.8.9–16 33.19.8 Lycophron, Alexandra

36 36, 40

132

166 167, 173

14.5

162

22a–g

255

16.2

50, 136, 140

39d

255 233

Pliny, Naturalis Historia 30.4

157 51

Pausanias 1.9

194

1.10

166

Polybius. See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 31–33 in Fragments 139

5.67

46

5.71

25,

5.79–86

46

5.83

46

5.85

25, 46

5.86

47

5.87

45, 48

15.20

25, 31

15.25

37

Philo, De Cherubim 91

235

Philo, In Flaccum 191

371

Philo, Hypothetica 7.6

238

Philo, De Josepho 56

235

16.14–20

40

16.17–18

36, 40

235

16.18

Philo, Legatio ad Gaium 8

17.793–794

25, 36, 155

232

Syncellus

Plutarch Alexander 24–25

P

168

14.2

Demetrios 25.3–4

171

12.8

235

5.62

Origen, Contra Celsum 1.15

25

13.4

36

O

31, 36

16.39

32, 35–36 249

16.22a

238

Philo, De Vita Mosis

Chronographia 1.516

238

Ecloga Chronographica 30

266

T Tacitus, Annales 2.60. See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 273–294

194

Tatian, Oratio ad Graecas 36.

268

See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No.

680 F8b in Fragments

Theocritus, Idyll 17 (Encomium of Ptolemy Philadelphus)

236

Thucydides 6.66

140

7.12

136

8.11

140

X Xenophon, Anabasis 2.4

49

Fragments and Excerpts from Classical Authors Jacoby, FGrHist

No. 3

264

No. 4

264–265

No. 22

274, n. 2

275, nn. 14, 29

No. 10

274, n.2

No. 23

274, n. 2

No. 264 F21–23

275, n. 26

No. 11

274, n. 3

275, n. 24

265, 274, nn. 2, 5, 7, 29

No. 24

No. 264 F24 No. 609

275, n. 16

No. 12

No. 27

274, n. 3

No. 680

275, n. 12

274, nn. 5, 7, 275, n. 26, 264–265, 275, n. 26

274, n. 6

275, n. 15

No. 13

No. 28

No. 680 F8b No. 685 F6

275, n. 14

No. 14

264

No. 15

264–265

No. 16

274, n. 3

No. 17

265, 267, 274, n. 7

No. 18

265, 275, n. 15

No. 260 F 46 No. 264 F6

25

Stern 1974–84 No. 1

264

Nos. 19–21

Nos. 25–26

No. 29

265, 268, 274, nn. 2, 7

264

274, n. 2

No. 30a

265, 274, n. 4

No. 30b

265

Nos. 31–33 No. 34

265, 274, n. 3 274, n. 3

382  index of ancient sources Nos. 35–37

274, n. 8

No. 124

274, n. 2

No. 221

No. 38

274, n. 3

No. 125

274, n. 2

No. 222

274, n.4

No. 39

274, n. 8

No. 126

274, nn. 4, 5

No. 225

274, n. 2

No. 40

274, n. 9

No. 129

274, nn. 2, 4, 5

No. 226

274, n. 3

No. 41

274, n. 3

No. 131–135

274, n. 3

No. 227

274, n. 2

No. 42

274, n. 3

Nos. 133–134

274, n. 5

No. 227–228

274, n. 3

No. 43

274, nn. 4, 5

No. 136–139

274, n. 3

No. 229

274, n. 4

274, n. 9

Nos. 44–45

274, n. 6

No. 137

274, nn. 2, 9

No. 230

274, n. 9

Nos 46–50

274, nn. 6, 9

No. 140

274, n. 2

No. 232

274, n. 2

No. 48

274, n. 6

Nos. 141–143

No. 51a

274, n. 9

No. 144

No. 51b

274, n. 8

No. 145

No. 52

274, n. 9

No. 146

No. 53

274, n. 3

No. 147a,b

No. 54

274, n. 3

No. 148

274. n. 9

No. 239

274, n. 4

No. 55

274

No. 149

274, n. 3

No. 240

274, n. 2

265, 274, n. 3

No. 152

274, n. 3

No. 243

274, n. 2

No. 57

274, n. 2

No. 153

274, n. 2

No. 245

274, n. 2

No. 58

274, n. 9

No. 155

274, n. 2

No. 247

274, nn. 4, 6

No. 59

274, n. 2

No. 156

274, n. 2

No. 248

274, n. 9

No. 62

274, n. 2

No. 157a and b

274, n. 9

No. 249

274, n. 3

No. 63

274, nn. 6, 9

No. 158–161

274, n. 9

No. 251

274, nn. 3, 9

No. 67

274, n. 2

Nos. 163–177

274, n. 6

No. 252

274, n. 5

No. 68–71

274, n. 3

Nos. 163b and c

274, n. 9

No. 253

274, n. 5

265, 274, n. 9

No. 164

274, n. 9

No. 254

274, n. 5

Nos. 72­–75

274, n. 5

No. 165

274, n. 9

Non. 255

274, n. 4

No. 73

274, n. 2

No. 170

274, n. 6

Nos. 255–272

No. 76

274, n. 3

No. 173

274, n. 5

No. 256

274, n. 4

No. 77

274, n. 3

No. 176

274, nn. 2, 5

No. 258

274, nn. 4, 6

No. 78

274, n. 3

No. 178

274, n. 9

No. 259

274, n. 6

No. 79

274, n. 3

Nos. 179–184

274, n. 2

No. 260

No. 80

274, n. 3

No. 185

274, n. 2

Nos. 273–294

No. 81

274, nn. 2, 5

No. 186

274, nn. 4, 5

No. 82

274, n. 3

Nos. 186–189

No. 83

274, n. 9

No. 188

274, nn. 4, 5

Nos. 83–97

274, n. 3

No. 190

274, nn. 2, 4, 5

No. 84

274

No. 191

274, n. 5

No. 85

274, n. 9

No. 192

No. 86

274, n. 5

Nos. 193–195

No. 88

274, n. 4

No. 195

274, n. 4

No. 93

274, n. 8

No. 196

274, n. 5

No. 97

274

No. 197

274, n. 3

265, 274, n. 3

No. 198

274, n. 3

No. 100

274, n. 2

No. 199

274, n. 3

No. 105

274, nn. 2, 9

No. 200

274, n. 3

No. 112

274, n. 2

No. 202

274, n. 3

No. 115

274, nn. 2,9

No. 203

274, n. 2

No. 119

274, n. 2

No. 203–225

274, n. 3

No. 121

274, n. 2

No. 207

274, n. 2

No. 123

274, n. 2

No. 214

274, n. 2

No. 55–66

No. 72d

No. 98–124

274, nn. 4, 5

No. 232–237

274, n. 3

274, n. 3

No. 233

274, n. 2

274, n. 3

No. 236

274, n. 2

274, n. 2

No. 237

274, nn. 3, 6

274, n. 6

274, n. 2 274, nn. 2, 5, 6

No. 238–246

274, n. 2 274, nn. 3, 5

274, nn. 3, 5

274, n. 4 274, nn. 5, 6

No. 558

274, n. 3

Nos. 560a, 560b1 and 2, 560c

274, n. 9

No. 562

274, n. 3

No. 563

274, n. 3

No. 565

274, n. 9

No. 567

274, nn. 2, 3

No. 568

274, n. 9

No. 569

274, n. 9

No. 570a and b

274, n. 9

No. 571

274, n. 9

index of ancient sources  383

Dead Sea Scrolls 4QSamb

289, 296

4QIsak

296

1QpHab

321

a

4QJer

54, 297, 319

4QXIIa

2QJer

296

4QJerb

295, 318

4QXIIc

296

319

4QJer

295–296, 318

4QXIId

296

4QEzekc

319

4QMMT, ms. B.75–82

349

4QXIIg

296

4QInstruction

347

4QpIsae

57

11QEzek

319

4QIsa

296

4QpNah fr. 3–4 coll. 1.2–3

11QPs 26:13–15

319

P.Carlsberg 424

184

P.Carlsberg 499

184

P.Carlsberg 559

184

P.Carlsberg 562

184

P.Lond. 7.1930

143

1QIsaa

4QEzek

b

c

d

173

a

53–54 296, 318, 327

Documentary Papyri Aramaic Papyri TAD A4.7

220

TAD A4.9

221

Demotic Papyri P.dem.Berlin 13593. See P.Eheverträge 28 P.dem.BM.Andrews 29

40

P.dem.Louvre 2345. See P.dem.Schreibertrad. 26 P.dem.Recueil 8 P.dem.Schreibertrad. 26 P.Eheverträge 28

C.Ord.Ptol 21–22. See SB 8008; see also Rainer papyri in Index of Subjects 23

CPJ 1.1 (P.Cair.Zen. 59003) CPJ 1.2c (P.Cair.Zen. 59802)

223

CPJ 1.4 (P.Cair.Zen. 59079)

223

CPJ 1.5 (P.Cair.Zen. 59075)

223

CPJ 1.6 (P.Cair.Zen. 59018)

23, 223 184

P.Bud. E51.2172A P.Cair.Zen. 59003. See CPJ 1.1

34

P.Cair.Zen. 59802. See CPJ 1.2c

34, 40

P.Cair.Zen. 59079. See CPJ 1.4

40

P.Cair.Zen. 59075. See CPJ 1.5

BGU 3.1002:7

223

P.Cair.Zen. 59018. See CPJ 1.6 195

137

P.Oxy. 10.1241

238

P.Oxy. 46.3285

234

P.Polit.Iud. 4

245

P.Vindob.Gr 12565

P.Cair.Zen. 59015 Greek Papyri

P.Lond. 7.2141

SB 8008 (C.Ord.Ptol 21–22). See also Rainer papyri in Index of Subjects UPZ 1.81

195 24, 222–223, 209–210, 215 184

184

P.Carlsberg 409

Epigraphic Sources Greek

OlD 1

172

Raphia decree, l. 30

51, n. 15

43, 50

OlD 36

162

Raphia decree, ll. 32–33

51, n. 24

CIIP 4.3513

49

OlD 86

166

IG XII 6.1.348

50

OlD 100

166

I.Labraunda 1

167–168, 173

SEG 20.467. See CIIP 3.2172

I.Labraunda 3

167, 169, 173

SEG 28.1571

48, 50

I.Labraunda 4

167, 169, 173

SEG 29.1613

50, 173, 223

I.Labraunda 5

167, 169

CIIP 3.2172

SEG 38.1670

49

174

SEG 39.1596b

50

I.Labraunda 59:A3

173

SEG 50.1195

I.Magnesia 115

221

I.Mylasa 1–3

167

Demotic

I.Mylasa 102

167

Raphia decree, l. 9

I.Mylasa 326

173

Raphia decree, l. 12

51, n. 17

Raphia decree, l. 16

51, n. 20

I.Labraunda 43

ML 12. See I.Magnesia 115

166

51, n. 16

OGIS 54

51

Raphia decree, ll. 16–17

51, n. 27

OGIS 230

37

Raphia decree, l. 18

51, n. 22

Index of Geographical Names A

B

Abila

25, 31, 34, 37, 143

Abydos

Babylon

37, 184

Adullam

285

Aetolia

37

Aigai

207

Akko (Akko-Ptolemaïs, 20, 32, 34–35, Ptolemaïs) 38–39, 135–140, 144, 153, 163–164, 211

Babylonia

Akko-Ptolemaïs. petr Akko

Balatah. See Shechem

Akra Alexandria

Ammon Ammon, Rabbat

371 23, 31, 36–38, 45, 48, 137–138, 143–144, 188, 212, 215–216, 231–238, 242, 245–249, 253–256, 259, 266, 270, 302–303, 321–322, 358–359, 361–362, 371 24, 312–313, 326, 360, 368 21

Antioch

173, 315, 370

Apamea

315

Apollonia-Arsuf Arabia Arad Arados Aram

20 254 21, 57–58 151, 205 286

Armant

179–182

Ashdod

20, 104, 106, 108, 114, 310, 312, 325–326

Ashkelon (Askalon)

20, 45, 104, 106, 108, 114–115, 205, 209, 308, 310, 312–315, 325–326

Ashur. See Assyria Asia Minor

Assyria (Ashur) Athens Athribis Avaris Ayalon Valley Azekah, Tel

384  

38, 111, 136–137, 165–168, 170, 214, 222

112, 151, 164, 202–203, 207, 221, 223, 234, 303, 352, 360

Batanea

25, 31, 34, 37

Beni Suef

236, 238

Benjamin (district)

21, 64, 66–74, 76

Beqaa Valley

45

Berytus Beth Hakkerem Bethlehem

21, 65 64, 74–76, 103–107, 108–115, 123–124, 128

19

Daphnae

191, 196

Darb el-Gerza

21, 35, 56–57, 65–66, 263–264, 322, 341, 351, 353

Delta

177, 188, 191–192, 196, 238

Diospolis Kato Dor Dora

Ecbatana

21, 64–71, 72–76, 204

256, 287, 312–313, 326, 360

Egypt

19–21, 23, 25, 27, 31, 34, 37–38, 44–46, 48–49, 99, 114, 116, 135–138, 147, 157, 177–178, 180–184, 187–188, 190–191, 193–194, 200, 202, 206–211, 213–215, 218–223, 233–235, 237–238, 244–246, 249, 253–254, 256, 259, 264–266, 268–273, 281, 293, 303, 306, 312, 317, 322, 324–325, 327, 342, 344, 352, 358, 361–362, 364–365, 367–371

64, 74, 76

Beth-Zur

19, 21, 64–71, 73–74, 76, 110, 115, 122, 127

Botrys

32

Bouto

191, 196

Bozrah

287

Buto

184, 196

Byblos

32–33

C Carchemish

267–268

Carmel

20, 137, 153

Chiddekel Cilicia (Kilikia)

256 25, 161–162, 165–166, 168–172

Ekron (Tel Miqne)

Colchis

23–25, 27, 31–32, 35–36, 43–46, 48–50, 137, 165, 209, 212, 222, 264, 269 264

21, 65–66, 69, 73, 81–82, 103, 105, 115

Elephantine

40, 190, 200–201, 204, 220–221, 282, 363–365

Dâliyeh, Wâdī edDamascus

En-Gedi (Tel Goren) Ephesus

20, 54, 57, 122, 125, 128 32, 151, 310, 312–314, 325–326

20, 122, 125, 128, 212, 221 367–368

Ephraim (region)

20, 285, 324

ʿEres, Ḥurvat

120–123, 128

Esna ʿEton, Tel

D

69, 310, 312, 325

Elah Valley

City of David. See Jerusalem Coele Syria (Koile Syria)

359

Edom

66, 81

Beth Shemesh, Ramat

32–33

20–21, 64, 201

20

Beth Shemesh

191, 196 19–20, 139, 151, 157

E

21, 65–66, 285

Beth-Shean Valley

143

Dead Sea

188, 193–194, 220

191–192, 196 268–269

Dan, Tel

Edfu

32–33, 39

Bethel

282, 294, 325, 327, 359–360, 369 36, 38, 106, 139, 232–233

48, 51, 56, 66, 111–114, 151, 170, 173, 234, 255, 267, 271, 284, 286, 294, 325, 352, 360–361, 367–369

Ezida

188 20, 120–122, 125, 128 303

F Fayum

223, 327

index of geographical names  385 G

Jamnia

Gabal el-Nour

236

Gadara

21, 25, 31, 34, 37

Galilee

25, 111, 115, 145–147, 150–151, 215

Gannim, Rogem Gaza

Jerusalem

312, 326

20, 31–32, 36, 104, 106, 110, 114–116, 119, 137–138, 205, 210–211, 237, 285, 308, 310–315, 324–327

Gerasa-Jarash

21

Gerizim (Mount Gerizim)

Gezer

20, 54–58, 126, 128, 199, 220, 237, 322, 363 20, 65, 69, 122, 124, 128, 212, 221

Givʿati Parking Lot. See Jerusalem Gog, Kingdom of

Jerusalem, City of David

21, 23, 75–76, 115, 122, 126, 201, 204–205, 207, 212, 219, 221

20, 34, 157

Greece

157, 218, 285, 303, 309, 324

H Hadrach

310–312, 315, 325–326

Hamath

310, 312, 314, 325–326

Har Adar

121–123, 128

Hebron

21, 65

Heliopolis

Jerusalem, Givʿati Parking Lot

122, 128

Jerusalem, Jewish Quarter

122

Jordan Jordan River Jordan Valley Judah

25, 145, 155, 157

Hermopolis

182, 184, 188–193, 195, 206–208, 213, 219, 234

Ḥesi, Tell el-

20, 122, 128

Hittite kingdom

Judea

234

Holyland Hotel. See Jerusalem Hula Valley

20, 145–146, 150, 152–157, 215

I 19–21, 57, 65, 74–75, 81, 99, 103–104, 106, 110–111, 114, 216, 220, 223, 256, 360

India

264 Judean Hills

Ioppe. See Jaffa ʿIraq al-Amir Issus

314

20, 32, 38–39, 43–45, 49–51, 211, 223, 368

20, 66 21, 55–56, 58, 63–76, 81–82, 99, 120, 128, 201, 203–206, 218, 220–223, 258, 284, 286, 304, 324, 359, 368, 370 19–27, 37, 57–58, 61, 103–104, 106, 108, 110–111, 114–115, 120, 161, 163–166, 169–172, 193, 199–201, 204, 207, 209–211, 213–214, 216–220, 223, 235, 246, 264–265, 268, 271, 273, 293–294, 303, 305, 317, 327, 342–344, 346–347, 352, 357, 359, 369 21, 65–68, 70, 73–74

Kannatai

161, 168

Karnak

190–191

Keikh, Khirbat el-

Labraunda Lachish

167–169, 171, 173–174 64–65, 72, 76, 81, 122, 127, 148

Lahav

120–122, 128

Laodicea

315

Lebanon

26, 34, 48, 324

Leontopolis

220, 363, 371

Luxor

178, 195

Lycia (Lydia)

25, 221

Lysias

168, 174

M Macedon (Macedonia)

31, 207, 324

Madaba Maresha (Marisa)

34–35, 40 19–21, 49, 54, 57, 65, 72–75, 97, 173

Medinet Habu Memphis

194 177, 179, 181–182, 188, 193, 196, 220, 223

Mendes-Thmouis

191 207, 218, 281, 303, 317, 342, 344, 351–352

34 24–25, 34, 145, 155

K

Kedesh, Tel

L

Mesopotamia

21, 24

J Jaffa (Ioppe, Joppe)

20

Joppe. See Jaffa

256, 269, 371

Hermon, Mount

76, 371

Jerusalem, Holyland Hotel Jezreel Valley

Kilikia, Rough. See Cilicia Koile Syria. See Coele Syria

21, 64, 143, 212, 221 19, 21–22, 25–26, 32, 34–35, 37, 39–40, 47, 53, 63–76, 81, 100, 103, 106, 108–110, 114–115, 119, 126, 143–144, 162–173, 199–205, 207, 209–213, 219–222, 231, 237, 247, 255, 264–265, 268–271, 274, 284–285, 287, 289, 298, 305, 307–311, 314–317, 319, 322–324, 326–328, 343–344, 349, 353, 357, 359, 361–363, 365, 367–369, 371

258

Golan Heights

Idumea

20, 109–111, 114–115

Jericho

212, 221

Gath (Tell eṣ-Ṣafi)

21

Jemmeh, Tell

145–156, 215, 221 76, 126, 128

Michal, Tel

20

Mizpah (Tell en-Naṣbeh)

21, 64, 68, 201, 204, 220

Mizpah (district)

64, 68, 70, 73

Mizpe Yammim

145–147, 151, 155–156

Moab

312–313, 326, 360

Modiʿin

65, 74, 223

Mor, Tel (Ashdod)

20

Moẓa Mylasa

205 167–169, 171, 173–174

N Naṣbeh, Tell en-. See Mizpah Nebi Samwil Negev Nile Nimra, Jabel Nineveh

212, 221 21, 66, 110 182, 184, 256, 358, 364 20, 121–122, 125, 128 360

O Olba Ombos

161–162, 166, 168, 172 188

386  index of geographical names P Palestine

S 19, 23–25, 27, 32, 54, 137, 143–145, 157, 254–255, 264–265, 268–269, 273, 281, 312–313, 367

Paneas

25

Panium

25–27, 31–32, 34, 36–38

Pella Pelusium Pergamum Persia Philadelphia-Amman Philae Philistia

Phoenicia (Phoinike)

Samaria (Samareia)

37 136, 140, 309, 342, 367–369 21 188, 195 81, 99, 103–104, 106, 108, 110–111, 114, 310–311, 313–314, 326, 328, 360 27, 31–32, 36–39, 43–45, 47–48, 50, 104, 111, 114, 136–137, 143, 145, 151, 156, 208–210, 215, 222–223, 310–311, 313, 326–328

Pieria

315

Poleg River

20

Sanctuary of Zeus Olbios Scythopolis

Qeʿila (district)

21, 64–71, 73, 76

Qeiyafa, Khirbet

20, 64, 74–76, 81–83, 85, 97, 99, 103–104, 106–116, 119–125, 128 20 53, 55, 173, 258–259, 288, 296–297, 316, 318–320, 341, 347, 349, 351–352

R Ramat Raḥel

Raphia Rasm, Khirbet erRephaim Valley Rome Rosh ha-ʿAyin

315

Shechem (Balatah) Shephelah

76, 127–128

Sidon

25, 31–33, 37, 39, 111, 137, 151, 205, 210–211, 310, 312–315, 326, 328

Soreq Valley

21, 64–65

Strato’s Tower

32–33, 143

Sumer

234

Susa

361, 368

Syria

23–25, 27, 31–32, 34–39, 43–50, 136–137, 165, 208–210, 212, 215, 222–223, 264, 268–269, 281, 310–315, 317, 324–326, 328

Syro-Palestine

20, 23–24, 264, 325

T Tanis

196

Tekoa

21, 65

Thebes

37, 40, 182, 184, 188, 190–191, 194–195, 220

Tigris River

256

Tirat Yehuda

126

Transeuphratène

201

Transjordan 20, 22, 64, 67–68, 73–75, 125, 128, 204–205, 212, 221 25, 38, 44–49, 51, 361 64, 76 21, 65–66, 73, 285 32, 36, 40, 138, 367, 371 120–122, 128

20, 34, 122, 124, 128 20–21, 65–73, 75–76, 81, 110, 112, 120, 126, 128–129

Shumeila, Khirbat

Q 21

161, 168 37, 157

Seleuceia

Ptolemaïs. See Akko

Qumran

19–20, 25, 27, 31, 34–35, 37, 55–57, 65, 69, 74, 104, 106–108, 110, 114, 119–120, 125–126, 128, 157, 199, 204, 209–210, 221, 264–265, 324, 327, 359

20, 137

168

Qôm, Khirbet el-

195

21

Phrygia Paroeia

Qaṣr al-ʿAbd

U

Sais

21, 24, 34–36, 57, 216

Tripolis

32–33

Tukh el-Qaramous

196

Tuna el Gebel

189

Tyre

32–35, 38–39, 111, 119, 137, 139–140, 147, 150–154, 205, 210–211, 215–216, 285, 305–306, 308, 310–315, 318, 323–328, 360

Uruk

173, 207, 213, 219, 351–352

V Vergina

207

X

122

Xanthos

221

Y Yahudiyye, Tell elYarkon River Yehud (province)

363 20 108, 110, 200–201, 203–206, 220, 313, 317, 326–327

Index of Subjects A Aaron

199

Abydenus. See also Jacoby, FGrHist No. 685 F6 in Fragments

267

Agatharchides of Cnidus. See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 30a, 30b in Fragments

265, 274

Ahasuerus

361, 369

Akhenaten

270

Alcimus Alexander III the Great

163, 344, 352 45–46, 48, 76, 81, 104, 109, 111–113, 114, 151, 177–181, 183–184, 206, 222, 237, 265, 282–285, 287–289, 305, 311, 313–315, 318, 323–327, 368–369

Alexander IV Alexander Balas Alexander Polyhistor Ammianus Marcellinus Amon Anaxikles Andronicus

178

238 106, 220 45–45, 49–51, 223 237 294, 342, 347, 252–253

Antigonus (Monophthalmus)

324

Antiochus III the Great

Antiochus IV (Epiphanes)

Antiochus VII (Sidetes)

23, 137

Aristarchus

232

Aristeas the Exegete

242, 246, 247

Aristobulus

247, 255, 259, 264

Aristotle Arsinoe II Philadelphus Arsinoe III Philopator Artapanus Artaxerxes (in the Book of Ezra)

232, 264 22, 44, 49, 194, 208–209, 369 48–49 247, 265, 274

Artaxerxes I Artaxerxes II Artaxerxes III Ochos

136, 177–178, 180–181, 183–184 321

Astronomical Book

241, 353

Athenaeus

137, 233

Attalos

162 139, 194

B Bahman Yasht

351

Balaam

257–258

24–27, 31–32, 34–39, 46–50, 54, 139, 145, 155, 157, 165, 168

Baruch

282

Bel and the Dragon (Daniel 14)

282, 368–369

Ben Sira

204, 212–213, 219, 221, 223, 282, 321, 345–347

165, 265, 273, 241–245, 252, 257, 361–362, 367–369 164, 273 207

Anu-uballiṭ Nikarchos

207

Apion. See also Stern 1974– 84: Nos. 44–45, 46–50, 147, 163–177 in Fragments

265

342, 353

Berenice I

22

Berenice II Euergetes Berossus. See also Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae and Contra Apionem in Classical Sources; Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 680 in Fragments

341

Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36). See also Book of Giants

188 254, 266–268, 274, 303

303

C Callimachus

137, 233

Cambyses

135–136, 178, 180, 182–184

Chronicles

194, 216, 222–223, 282–283, 288, 300–302, 319, 321, 368–369

Clearchus of Soli. See also Stern 1974–84: No. 15 in Fragments

264, 371

Clement of Alexandria. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No.

270

264 F24 in Fragments Cleopatra II

27, 209, 234

Cornelius Alexander Polyhistor. See Alexander Polyhistor Cyrus (in biblical sources) Cyrus I

293, 316, 325, 368–369 151, 221

D Daniel

263, 268, 282, 294, 300, 302, 216, 320, 324, 327, ́341–342, 345, 347, 352, 360–361, 369–370

Darius (in biblical sources) Darius I

203, 293, 308 151, 180, 184, 221, 234, 312–313, 326–327

Darius III

178–180, 184

Book of the Dead

370

David (Davidic promise, Davidic traditions, Davidites)

Book of Giants

351

Dead Sea Scrolls

Book of Jubilees. See Jubilees

217, 223, 341, 343, 346, 348–350, 353

Borsippa cylinder

220 135–136, 181

Ashurbanipal

Augustus

Book of Luminaries (1 Enoch 72–82)

203, 263

233, 266, 303, 352

Anu-uballiṭ Kephalon

Apocalypse of Weeks (1 Enoch 91:11–17 and 93:1–10)

351

Apollonius (Ptolemy II’s diocetes)

163, 172 249, 267–268

Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch 85–90 ) Antiochus I (Soter)

Apocryphon of Jeremiah

284–285, 298, 311, 319 , 323, 325

56–57, 263, 295–296, 319, 322, 341, 351, 353,

For ancient authors and works, see also Index of Ancient Sources. For classical authors and historical figures, only the Latinized spelling is given.

  387

388  index of subjects Demetrius I

162–164

Demetrius III

Ezra-Nehemiah

164

Demetrius the Chronographer

247, 249, 265

Demetrius (librarian, in Letter of Aristeas)

231–232, 237, 247–278

Demetrius of Magnesia. See also Harpocration

137

56, 200–203, 207, 216, 220–223, 256, 271, 282, 300, 302, 349

G Galen

233

Demetrius of Phalerum (philosopher)

235, 237

Georgius Syncellus. See Syncellus

Demetrius (Poliorcetes, Diadoch)

324, 327

H

Demotic Chronicle

351–352

Deutero-Isaiah

325, 368–369

Diadochi (Successors). See also Demetrius, Ptolemy I Soter

9, 24, 104, 111–113, 200, 206–207, 210, 282, 288, 309–310, 314–315, 324, 327, 349, 353, 369

Diodorus Siculus See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 55–66 in Fragments

24, 135–136, 140, 162, 265–266, 271–274, 371

Dream of Nectanebo

184

Dynastic Prophecy

351

E Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) Elephantine Papyri

200

Enoch traditions

4

Epiphanius

233, 238

Eratosthenes

233

1 Esdras Esther

219, 282–283, 321, 346

Habakkuk Haggai

Hecataeus of Miletus Pseudo-Hecataeus Hefzibah inscription

Esther, additions to

282

Euclid

233

Eumenes I of Pergamum

162

Eupolemus

265

Hermippus of Smyrna.

See also Stern 1974–84: Nos.

Herodotus Homer

Hyksos Hyrcanus Tobiad

Ezekiel (LXX, Old Greek)

295, 297, 299, 317–320, 328

Isocrates

Ezekiel (MT)

295, 297, 299, 317–320, 328

J

Pseudo-Ezekiel

351

Ezekiel the Tragedian

241–242, 246–249

266, 270–274

266, 272, 274–275

165 245, 247

Joel

282, 299–300, 304, 322, 328

John Tzetzes

233, 238

Jonah

282, 318

Jonathan Maccabee

69, 163–165, 167, 169, 171–173, 223, 344

Joseph. See Osarsephus/Osarsiph Joseph (in Genesis)

254, 256, 358

Joseph Tobiad. See Romance of Joseph Tobiad Josephus

23–25, 27, 31, 36–37, 172, 209–210, 215, 233, 237–238, 263, 265–271, 274, 305, 352, 358

Josiah

320, 325

Juba of Mauritania

267–268 342, 353

Judas Maccabee

233, 264

167, 264

282, 360, 369–370

Julius Africanus

268–269

Justinus K

265, 268–270, 273, 275–276

L

21, 23–24

258

282

167–169, 171

Lamentations

282

Letoon Trilingual Inscription

361

165, 273, 343–345, 352, 371

24

Korris (priest of Labraunda)

Letter of Aristeas 216–217

172, 344–345

Judith

218, 232, 244–245, 248–249, 254, 259, 302

273, 276

Jeremiah (letter of)

56, 282–283, 322

Jubilees

Ieddous

Jason (high priest)

283–284, 287, 295–299, 317–321

Job

37, 217, 222

Iao

Jacob

Jeremiah (MT)

270, 274–275

I

267–269, 274

295

137

25, 26 in Fragments

Eusebius. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 685 F6 in Fragments

Ezekiel (Old Latin)

282, 286, 301–302, 308, 321, 328

Herennius Philo. See Philo of Babylon

202 234, 282, 285, 300, 302, 357, 361, 369–370

282, 320, 323, 352

Heliodorus Heracleopolis papyri. See also P.Polit.Iud in Documentary Papyri

283–284, 295–301, 317–318

John Hyrcanus I

Harpocration, Lexicon, s.v. “Ake” Hecataeus of Abdera. See also Diodorus Siculus 1; 40.3; and Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 264 F6 in Fragments

Jeremiah (LXX)

Letter of Jeremiah Levites Levi traditions Livy

221 27, 231–232, 238–239, 241–243, 246–250, 253–255, 259, 263–264, 266, 303, 322, 328, 358, 361, 371 282

194, 219, 298, 319 4 31, 36–37, 238

index of subjects  389 M

Nicanor of Cyrene

1 Maccabees

163–164, 169, 172–173, 263, 282, 343, 345, 347,362

2 Maccabees

163–165, 167, 169, 171–173, 263, 282, 343–345, 347, 362, 370

3 Maccabees

47, 237, 361, 368, 370

4 Maccabees

362

Malachi

282, 293, 301–302,316, 318, 321, 323

Manetho. See also Josephus, Contra Apionem; and Syncellus, Ecloga Chronigraphica; Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 609 in Fragments

254, 266, 268–270, 274, 303

Marsyas, son of Demetrios

45, 48

Megasthenes

264

Menander of Ephesus. See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 35, 36, 37, 39, 51b, 84, 93 in Fragments

265

Menelaus (high priest)

Milon’s archives Mnaseas of Patera. See also Stern 1974–84: Nos. 28, 44, 48, 63, 170, 247, 258, 259 in Fragments Mordechai

169, 172, 343–345, 352, 371 193, 196 265

285, 361, 367

Moses. See also Philo, De Vita Moses

257, 265–266, 268–273, 276, 348, 358–359, 369, 371

Moses, law of

249, 322, 359

N Nabonidus

352

Nabopolassar

267, 352

Nahum

323, 352

Nathan

319

Nebuchadnezzar (literary figure)

285, 265–268, 305, 360, 368–369

Nebuchadnezzar II (including in Berossos)

201, 265–268

Nectanebo II (Nakhthorheb)

136, 177–178, 183–184, 188,

Nehemiah. See Ezra-Nehemiah

137

Nicanor (Seleucid high priest)

168, 173

Prayer of Azariah

O Obadiah

299

Olympichos (dynast of Labraunda, Caria)

167–169, 173–174

Olympiodoros Oniad family (dynasty, Oniads)

165 23–24, 199–200, 219–220

Onias II. See also Romance of 23, 210, 215, 222 Joseph Tobiad. Onias III

Porphyry. See also Hieronymus, In Danielem; Jacoby,­FGrHist 260 F 46 in Fragments

165, 167, 171, 211, 343–345, 371

Onias IV

371

Oracle of Hystaspes

351

Oracle of the Lamb

303, 322, 351

Oracle of the Potter

303, 322, 351

Osarsephos (Osarsiph)

Prophecy of Neferti

282–283, 299, 323, 325, 359–360, 370

Ptolemaios (Ptolemy), son of Thraseas (governor)

25–26, 37, 44, 50

Ptolemy (in Letter of Aristeas and rabbinic literature)

231–234, 247–248, 253, 260, 266, 274, 303, 361

Ptolemy (in 3 Maccabees) Ptolemy I Soter

269–270

189–190, 193, 207–208

Pesher Habakkuk Petosiris

320, 352 189–190, 195, 206–207, 222,

Ptolemy II Philadelphus. See also Ptolemy (in Letter of Aristeas)

Petronius. See Stern 1974–84: Nos. 193–195 in Fragments Philetairos

166

Philip I (late Seleucid ruler)

161

Philip II (late Seleucid ruler)

161

Philip II (Macedonian king)

161

Philip III Arrhidaeus

111, 178, 181, 188

Philip V of Macedon

31, 36, 38, 168–169

282 303, 322

Psalms

P Padykam

24–26, 40

22, 34, 109, 111, 113, 115–116, 124, 137, 152, 154, 184, 189–190, 206, 210, 215, 220, 222, 232, 237, 256, 265–266, 272, 274, 305, 310, 322, 324, 327 22–24, 27, 44–45, 48, 50, 99, 109, 11, 113–116, 120, 124–125, 137, 143, 152, 184, 187, 192–194, 200, 205, 207–213, 215, 217, 222, 232–236, 238, 317, 358, 369

Philo of Babylon (Herennius Philo)

271

38–39, 46, 49–50, 188–189, 192, 195, 210, 213, 233, 237, 254, 317, 328, 369

Philo the Epic Poet

247

Ptolemy IV Philopator. see 25, 37–39, also Ptolemy in 3 Maccabees 43–50, 191, 196,

Philo of Alexandria

235–238, 247, 271

Photius Plato

266, 274 235, 255, 259

Plutarch Polybius. See also Stern 1974– 84: Nos. 31–33 in Fragments

Ptolemy III Euergetes

361–362, 368–369

210, 237, 249

Ptolemy V Epiphanes

238 24–25, 31, 36–37, 46–47, 51, 139–140, 155, 242, 265, 274

Ptolemy VI Philometor Pythagoras

Polyhistor. See Alexander Polyhistor Pompeius Trogus (Justinius, Epitome) Pompey

24, 265, 274 265, 273

Q Qoheleth. See Ecclesiastes

25–27, 31–34, 36–40, 155, 209–210, 222, 237 40, 163, 237 264

390  index of subjects R Rainer papyri. See also SB 8008 (C.Ord.Ptol. 21–22) in Documentary Papyri Raphia decree Romance of Joseph the Tobiad. See also Josephus, AJ 12.156–236 Ruth

24

Sargon II Scopas Seleucus I Nicator Seleucus II Seleucus IV Seneca. See also Stern 1974– 84: Nos. 186–189 in Fragments Sennacherib Sethos Shalmaneser

23–24, 27, 209–212, 216–217, 222 282

Teukrids (priests-dynasts of Zeus Olbios, Rough Cilicia)

347 162, 166, 168, 172, 174

Theocritus

236

Theophanes of Mytilene Theophrastus. See also Stern 1974–84: No. 4 in Fragments

273 264–265, 274

Tiglath-Pileser III 221

Timon of Phlius

311

Titus

25, 31–32, 36–38, 265 162, 166, 324 168 165, 210–211 238

137, 359, 365

Tobiad family (Tobiads). See also Hyrcanus Tobiad; Joseph Tobiad; Romance of Joseph the Tobiad; Tobiah; Tobias (Toubias) Tobiah Tobias (Toubias) Tobit

268–269 359

Simon Maccabee

164, 169, 173, 344

Simon son of Onias (high priest in Ben Sira)

26, 204, 212, 221

Socrates

217, 223, 319, 347

Testament of Moses 46–48, 51

S Sanballat

Testament of Levi (Aramaic). See also Levi traditions

368

311 232–233 363 21, 23–24, 27, 212

144, 202–203 23–24, 215–217, 237, 359 282, 359, 367, 369–370

U Uruk Prophecy

351–352

V Varro

265

Solomon

344

Song at the Sea. See also Exodus 15

244

W

Song of Miriam

270

Wisdom of Ben Sira. See Ben Sira

Song of Songs

282

Wisdom of Solomon

Song of the Three Young Men

282

Strabo. See also Stern 1974– 84: No. 98–124 in Fragments Susanna Syncellus

174, 238, 265, 274 282 238, 266–268

T Tacitus. See also Stern 1974– 84: Nos. 273–294 in Fragments

194

Tatian, Oratio ad Graecas 36. See also Jacoby, FGrHist, No. 680 F8b in Fragments

268

Temple papyrus. See also TAD A4.7 in Documentary Papyri

204

Temple Scroll

347

Testament of Abraham

347

War Scroll

319 282

Y Yahu (deity) Yeḥizqiyah (governor) Yehoḥanan (high priest)

273 205–206, 212, 220 220

Z Zenas, son of Zenophanes (priest-dynast of Zeus Olbios, Rough Cilicia)

161–162, 171

Zenon (son of Agreophon) (agent of Apollonius, Ptolemy II’s dioecetes)

23–24, 27, 137, 143, 145, 152–154, 214, 216–217

Zenon papyri (Zenon 23–24, 44, 140, archive). See also CPJ 1.1–1.6 144–145, 153, in Documentary Papyri 156, 216, 253, 322

Zephaniah Zerubbabel (son of Shealtiel)

282 286, 319

Index of Modern Authors A Adams, C.P. Adams, S.A. Agut-Labordère, D.

Barr, J.

259

Boraik, M.

182

Barstad, H.M.

282

Bosch-Puche, F.

259

Bauks, M.

285

Bosshard-Nepustil, E.

Bauman, A.

325

Boswinkel, E.

Baynham, E.

322

Boyd-Taylor, C.

249

Beaulieu, P.-A.

352

Brandl, B.

157

Becking, B.

318

Brett, A.B.

Beck, M.

328

Briant, P.

8, 12–13, 183–184 194, 196, 220–223, 353

Aharoni, Y.

127

Aimé-Giron, N.

195

Aitken, J.K. Albertz, R.

218, 223, 244–246, 249, 322

Bedford, P.R.

203–204, 220–221

1, 220, 275, 281–282, 317–318, 323, 328, 358

Ben-Arieh, S.

128

Bengtson, H.

50

Bennett, W.J.

128

Albrecht, F.

233

Ben Zvi, E.

Alcock, S.E.

14

Berges, U.

320, 322, 324

Alexandre, Y.

129

Bergler, S.

320

van Alfen, P. Alliot, M. Amitay, O. Ando, C.

106, 110, 115 40 27, 209 14

Andrews, C.A.

40, 180, 184

Aperghis, G.G.

27, 212

Arav, R.

19, 322

Archer, G.L. Jr. Archibald, Z.H. Ariel, D.T.

Berlin, A.M.

25–26 322 22–23, 75, 109, 115–116

Arnold, D.

178

Artzy, M.

140

Asheri, D.

140

Assmann, J.

223

Bernand, A. Bernand, É.

321–322

7, 12–13, 20–21, 126, 140, 145–148, 152, 154–155, 157, 190, 195, 215–216, 220–221 195 51

Berner, C.

358

Bernick-Greenberg, H.

126

Berti, M.

322

Bertrand, J.M. Beuken, W.A.M. Biberger, B. Bickerman, E.J.

37 287–289 317, 328 27, 161, 165, 167, 173–174, 233–234, 259, 367

Aune, D.E.

352–353

Bijovsky, G.

115

Ausloos, H.

260

Billows, R.A.

173

173, 223

Blackman, D.

139

Blakely, J.A.

128

Blasius, A.

322

Austin, M.M. Avigad, N.

56

B

Blenkinsopp, J.

Bagnall, R.S.

24, 51, 215, 222, 322, 328

Bailey, D.M.

195

Baker, H.D.

207

Ballet, P.

322

Balmuth, M.S.

116

Barag, D.

22, 124, 328

Baran, A.

173

Bar-Kochva, B. Barnes, R.

25, 32, 39, 264–265, 272–276 232, 238, 302

Blum, E. Boardman, J. Boccaccini, G.

1, 68, 140, 289, 320 320–321 150 222, 347–348, 353

Bricault, L. Bringmann, K.

318, 353

Brugsch, H.

179

Buehlmann, A.

321

Burgmann, H.

172

Burstein, S.M.

31, 267, 275

Buxton, B.

Cadell, H.

194

Cairns, F.

236

de Callataÿ, F.

222

Campbell, E.F. Capdetrey, L.

Bons, E.

124 14, 173, 322

Cardinali, G.

36–37

Carlen, E.A.

34–35, 39

Carr, D.M. Carter, C.E. Cary, M.

220, 223, 322, 352 120, 128 32, 39

Casson, L.

223

Chancey, M.A.

119

Chaniotis, A. Chankowski, V. Charlesworth, J.H.

14 184 274–275

Charloux, G.

195

Charvet, P.

192

Chary, T.

Childs, B.S.

147

140

C

44, 47, 49–51

Bonfil, R.

173, 222, 361, 367, 370

Brooke, G.J.

306, 313, 319, 323–326

282

48, 51

157

Boda, M.J.

Bolin, T.M.

39 184, 221–222, 322, 327

196

Chauveau, M.

295–297, 318–319

50

Broneer, O.

75, 126

Bogaert, P.-M.

288–289, 323

Brissaud, P.

Bocher, E.

Boffo, L.

190 179–181

Cheyne, T.K. Chrubasik, B. Clancier, P.

323–325, 327 184 317, 320, 328 307, 328 3, 7–8, 13–14, 37, 157, 164, 172–173, 214–215, 222–223 14, 170, 207, 322

318–319

  391

392  index of modern authors Clarysse, W. Clédat, J. Clermont-Ganneau, C. Coggins, R. Cohen, G.M. Cole, D.P. Collins, A.Y. Collins, J.J.

14, 184, 196, 222–223, 249 179 49, 157

De Rapper, G.

155

351

Derow, P.

255, 307, 317–318, 320 255, 307, 317–318, 320 223

Corcella, A.

140

Cowey, J.M.S Crampa, J. Crane, A.S.

322 50, 173 179 249 173–174 295, 318–319

Crenshaw, J.L.

321

Cribbiore, R.

249

Cross, F.M.

76, 97

120

Coqueugniot, G.

Couyat, J.

56

Erlich, A.

57

238

Cotton, H.M.

Epstein, I.

179

6, 22, 53–55, 57–58, 126

Crowfoot, G.M.

126

Crowfoot, J.W.

126

Crüsemann, F.

282

Cuffari, A.

357

Curtis, B.G.

306, 309, 311, 314, 323–326

Curtis, V.S.

173

D

Devauchelle, D. Dever, W.G. Diamond, F.H.

24, 51, 215, 222 179, 180 124 275–276

Dieleman, J.

195

Dietze, G.

195

Dignas, B.

173

Diller, H.

361

Dillery, J.

267, 275

Dindorf, L.

275

Diringer, D.

55

DiTommaso, L.

351–353

Dogniez, C

256

Donner, H.

45

Doran, R. Dorival, G. Dornseiff, F.

351–352 237, 256, 259, 319 275

Dothan, T.

135, 140, 312

Dreyer, B.

14, 174

Driver, G.R. Duhm, B. Dupont-Sommer, A. Durand, X. Dušek, J.

151, 157 317 57 223, 322 6, 54–55, 57–58, 322

Eckardt, R.

321

Ecker, A.

223 173, 212, 221, 223

Dąbrowa, E.

173

Eddy, S.K.

Dadon, M.

123

Edelman, D.V.

Dagron, G.

172

Ego, B.

Dandamaev, M.A.

140

Ehling, K.

Dar, S

157

Ehrensvärd, M.

300, 320–321

Daressy, G.

179

Eisenstadt, S.N.

220

Davies, J.K.

184

Elayi, A.G.

151, 156–157

Davies, P.R.

275–276, 322

Elliger, K.

285, 311, 313, 323–327

Davies, S.

180, 184

Davies, W.D.

140

Day, J.

320

Dean, R.

320

Debord, P. De Groot, A.

167, 173, 222 126, 157

351 220 285, 311, 325 172

El-Saghir, M.

195

Emery, W.B.

180

Emmanuilov, S.

Erskine, A. Erzberger, J.

76

Emmendörfer, M.

359

Engel, H.

360

58, 157

14, 238 319

Eshel, E.

54–55, 57, 112, 115

Eshel, H.

54–55, 57, 112, 115

Evans, T.

243

Evers, E.

275–276

Eyall, P.

120, 125

F Fabry, H.J

258, 318

Falconer, W.

140

Fantalkin, A.

50, 76, 127

Fantuzzi, M. Farhi, Y. Fassberg, S.E. Faucher, T. Faust, A.

322 6, 97–98, 106–111, 113–116, 124–125 300 33, 191 66, 76, 119–121, 125, 128

Feldmeier, R.

233

Ferrill, A.

140

Feyel, C. Finkelstein, I. Fischer-Bossert, W. Fischer-Bovet, C. Fischer, G. Fischer, T. Fishbane, M.

E

Eckhardt, B.

173

371

Depauw, M.

286, 289, 322–324, 351

Engels, D. Ephʿal, I.

Dempsey, D.

259

Costa, V.

Delia, D.

243, 249 311, 319, 324–325, 327

320, 322

Colson, F.H.

Cook, S.L.

Delcor, M.

2, 137, 173–174, 322

Collins, N.L. Cook, J.

Deissmann, G.A.

Frazer, K.J Fitzmyer, J.A. Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A.

14 20, 74, 76, 120, 128, 140, 289 115 189, 195–196 286, 318 37, 173 296, 298, 318–319 184 43 220–221

Flanagan, J.

318

Flechter-Louis, C.H.T.

221

Flensted-Jensen, P.

137

Floyd, M.H.

308–309, 323–324, 326

Foerster, W.

257

Förster, S.

174

Foster, R.L.

324

Fournet, G.

190

Fowden, G.

195

Fox, M.V.

321

Frankel, R.

145

Fraser, P.M. Freikman, M.

51, 232–233, 238 85, 87, 92, 124, 128

index of modern authors  393 Frenschkowski, M. Freud, L. Frevel, C. Fried, L.S. Frolov, S. Fuks, A. Fuller, R.E

257 328, 370 202, 220–221 323 247, 249

264, 269, 274–276

Gabra, S.

195

Gadot, Y.

Gager, J.G.

6, 63, 67–68, 75–76, 106, 115, 124, 126, 221 275–276 135

Galling, K.

157

Gandelman, P. Ganor, S. García Martínez, F. Gardiner, A.H. Garfinkel, Y.

7, 135, 138–139 74 76, 83, 85, 115, 119, 124 318–319 256 6, 76, 83, 85, 87, 92, 97, 103, 115, 119–120, 124, 128

Garscha, J.

318, 323

Gärtner, J.

289, 322, 324

Gascou, J.

195

Gauger, J.-D. Gauthier, P. Gehrke, H.-J. Georges, T. Gera, D. Gertz, J.C. Geva, H. Gilmour, G. Gitin, S. Gitler, H.

Glazier-McDonald, B. Gmirkin, R.E.

27, 267, 275 27 46, 173 233 25, 32, 37, 50, 173, 244, 249 320 76, 126 124 116, 124, 312 35, 56, 106–110, 115–116, 123, 205–206, 210–211, 221–222, 322, 328 328 273, 275–276

Gnuse, R.

285

Golani, A.

116

Goldman, Y. Goldstein, J.A. Gompertz, S.

Gorre, G.

8, 13–14, 184, 187, 191, 194–196, 199, 206–209, 213–214, 219–223, 249

Grabbe, L.L.

174, 322

Galili, E. Gambash, G.

260

Gotter, U.

Gabba, E.

283, 296, 318–319

4, 10–11, 13, 199, 211, 220, 222, 289, 318, 320, 322–325, 327–328

Görg, M.

259, 318–319

G

Gabrielsen, V.

Gonzalez, H.

68, 75, 126

Grainger, J.D.

172, 174 1, 5, 13, 20–21, 24, 27, 140, 215, 221–223, 259, 275, 289, 318, 322, 324, 327–328, 353, 359, 371 32, 39, 46, 152

Hartenstein, F.

Haubold, J.

140 317–318, 320–323

Hazzard, R.

38–39, 46, 50, 137

Heckl, R.

37, 173

Hellholm, D.

351

Hellström, P.

173

de Hemmer Gudme, A.K. Hendel, R.S.

Henze, M.

358

Herbert, S.C.

147, 318

Greenberg, R.

147, 318

Gruen, E.S.

157 98–99, 149, 314 39 234, 237–238, 270, 275–276

Guillaume, P.

318

Gunter, A.C.

173

Haak, R.D.

282–283, 367 289

Hadas, M.

232, 238

Haddad, E.

120–121

Hadjisavvas, S.

57

Hagedorn, A.C

327

Haggi, A.

140

Hallaschka, M. Hall, J.A.

286, 320 173–174, 188

Hamilton, G.J.

57

Hamilton, H.C.

140

Hanhart, R.

260

Hansen, M.H. Hanson, J. Hanson, P.D. Harl, M.

351, 353 7, 12–13, 140, 145, 148, 154, 215–216, 221

den Hertog, C.G.

51, 259

Hibbard, J.T.

320

Hill, A.

7, 12, 75, 81, 120, 126, 128, 155, 301

Himmelfarb, M.

220, 223, 348, 350, 352–354

Hizmi, H.

125

Hoffman, F.

184

Hölbl, G.

32, 39–40, 324

Holladay, C.R.

H Haag, E.

27, 222, 328 272–273, 275

177, 183, 317

Greenberg, M.

54 259, 283, 319

Hengel, M.

221

Griffith, G.T.

367

Heinrichs, J.

Grätz, S.

Green, P.

271, 275

Heinemann, I.

Henry, R.

Greenfield, J.C.

275

Hays, C.B.

328

Gray, G.B.

76, 83, 87, 115, 119, 125

Hayes, J.H.

Graslin-Thomé, L. Graupner, A.

287

Hasel, M.G.

247, 249

Holleaux, M.

5, 25, 31–32, 35–37, 40

Holmstedt, R.D. Honigman, S.

320 8–9, 11–13, 25, 27, 53, 157, 161, 165, 169–174, 207–209, 211, 219–223, 231–232, 241–242, 248–250, 259, 263, 293, 322, 343, 352

van Hoonacker, A. Hornkohl, A.D. Horrocks, G. Horsley, G.H.R.

324 296, 300–302, 318, 320–321 242–243, 249 50

Horsley, R.A.

222, 342, 345, 348–353

221, 249, 309, 323–324, 326

Horst, F.

289, 324, 358

221, 249, 309, 323–324, 326

Hunter, R.

236, 238, 322

Hurvitz, A.

300–301, 321

137

237, 254, 256, 319

76

Harrison, R.

21

192

Harrison, T.

140

van der Horst, P.W.

Husson, G. Huß, W.

289, 358

195 25, 31–32, 34, 39–40, 44–46, 49–51, 324

394  index of modern authors Hyland, A.

324

I Inlow, E.B. Iossif, P.P. Isaac, B. Israelstam, J.

140 38–40, 324 21, 138 328

J Jacobson, H. Jacoby, F.

249 40, 263, 269, 272–276, 358, 371

Janzen, J.G.

295, 318–319

Jassen, A.P.

320

Jellicoe, S.

237

Jenkins, G.K. Jeremias, J. Ji, C.-H.C.

40 320, 323 19, 24

Jigoulov, V.S.

151

Johnson, J.H.

351–352

Jones, A.H.M.

172

Jones, B.A.

318

Jones, C.P.

50, 173

Jones, D.R.

323

Jones, H.L.

140

Jones, J.R.M.

115

Joosten, J.

243–246, 249, 254, 259, 301, 319, 321, 360

Kim, D.H.

320

Klein, A.

318–320

Lapp, N.L.

24, 124–125, 128

Kletter, R.

116, 147

Lapp, P.W.

24, 125

Klinkott, H. Kloner, A. Klose, D.O.A.

221 65, 74, 97 173

140

289, 371

Lebram, J.C.

275

Knibb, M. Kobes, J. Kochavi, A.

260

Leclère, G.

194–196

173–174

Lee, J.A.L

243, 249, 253

89

Lee, J.K.

19, 24

Koch, I.

68

Lee, S.Y.

312, 319, 325–326

Koch, K.

288

Leene, H.

319

Lefebvre, G.

195

Koenen, L. Kogan-Zehavi, E. Konuk, K. van der Kooij, A.

320, 322 76, 126–127 222 246, 255, 259, 318

Kosmin, P.J.

2, 14, 173, 322

Kottsieper, I.

58

Kraay, C.M.

106

Kraeling, E.G.H.

311, 325

Kramer, N.

162, 174

Kratz, R.G.

10, 172, 221, 296, 298, 318, 361

Krebsbach, J. Kreimerman, I.

221 7, 12, 19–20, 83, 97, 100, 120–122, 124–125 254, 358, 371

Kroll, J.H.

115

Jursa, M.

221

Krüger, T.

223

Krzyżanowska, A.

192

Kugler, R.A.

249

Kaestli, J.-D

353

Kuhnen, H.-P.

19, 21

Kaiser, O.

317

Kuhrt, A.

2, 223

Kalimi, I.

359

Kunz, A.

319, 323–324, 326–328

Karlsson, L.

173

Kartveit, M.

317

Kasher, A.

76, 114, 116

Kashtan, N.

137

Katzenstein, H.J.

140

Katz, H.

74, 120, 125

Kaye, N

27, 209

Kehati, R.

98

Kennedy, G.A.

138, 249

Kennedy, P.M.

138, 249

Kenyon, K.M.

126

320

Knauf, E.A.

Kreuzer, S.

43

Lau, W.

24 312, 319, 326

Lawall, M.L.

173

Kaplan, J.

Larkin, K.J.A.

178, 194

319

83, 85, 92, 124–125

Larché, F.

318

Klotz, D.

Jully, J.J.

Kang, H.-G.

Langlois, M.

68–69, 221

3

Joyce, P.M.

K

Langgut, D.

King, D.

Kvanvig, H.S.

353

Legras, B. Lemaire, A. Lemche, N.P. Le Rider, G.

323–326

Ladynin, I.

178, 184

Łajtar, A.

50

Lallot, J.

322

Lamarche, P.

323

Lance, H.D.

124

Lanciers, E.

40

Landau, Y.H. Lange, A

37 259, 296, 317–319

10, 281–283, 289, 318 222, 369

Leuenberger, M.

286

Leuze, O.

326

Levinson, B.M.

352

Lewy, H.

275

Lietze, C. Lifshitz, B. Lilly, I.E. Lim, T.H. Lipiński, E. Lipschits, O.

Lloyd, D. London, G.A. Lorber, C.C.

L Lacocque, A.

196 58, 68, 111

196 50–51 296, 318 9 137 1, 6, 21–22, 55–57, 63, 65–69, 73–76, 82, 100, 103, 115, 119–120, 124–126, 128, 199, 201, 204, 212, 220–222, 293, 317, 322 140 76 5, 14, 27, 33, 38–40, 56, 103, 109, 115–116, 157, 173, 195, 205–206, 210–211, 221–222, 322, 328

Luft, U.

184

Lupu, E.

43–44, 46, 50–51

Lust, J.

295–298, 318–319

Luttwak, E.N. Lutz, H.-M.

138–140 289, 360

M Mackie, T.P.

296, 318

index of modern authors  395 MacMullen, R.

157

van Minnen, P.

223

Magen, I.

54, 126, 128, 363–364

Misgav, H.

Magen, Y.

54, 126, 128, 363–364

Mitchell, S.

168, 173–174

Mittag, P.F.

14, 174

Maier, C. Ma, J.

318 2, 44, 49–50, 157, 161, 163, 169, 171, 173–174, 352

Malaise, M.

196

Malamat, A.

311, 325

Manning, J.G. Maʿoz, Z. Marcus, R.

207, 222–223 157 27, 238

Maresch, K.

249

Markoe, G.

326

Marquaille, C.

328

Marti, K.

317, 327

Martinez, K.

51

Marzahn, J.

56

Mason, R.A. Masson, A. Mathys, H.-P.

307, 312, 319, 326 194 285, 325

Matskevich, S.

125

Mattern, S.P.

140

Matthey, P.

177

Maxfield, V.A

184

Mazar, A.

120–121, 123

Mazar, B.

24

McCarter, P.K.

289

McCarthy, C.

257

McKenzie, J.

236

Meadows, A.

34, 40

Meeks, D.

183

Meinhold, A.

318, 320

Mélèze-Modrzejewski, I.

234, 254

Mendels, D.

271

Mende, T.

283

Mendoza, M.

322, 324, 327–328

Mitchell, H.G.T.

323

Momigliano, A.

Payne, R.E.

3, 14

196

Paz, Y.

119

Montet, P.

179

Pedersén, O.

223

Moore, M.B.

294

Peilstöcker, M.

Moorey, P.R.S.

106

Pelletier, A.

250, 274

Morenz, S.

260

Perdrizet, P.

40

Morgan, C.

157, 249

Person, R.F.

Morgan, T.

157, 249

150, 216–217, 258, 284, 289, 319, 324, 359, 371

Mørkholm, O.

32, 34, 38–39

Mueller, K.

2, 14, 195, 322

Müller, K.

289

Munnich, O.

237, 319

Murray, O.

238

Müseler, W.

173

Myśliwiec, K.

192

N Naʾaman, N.

76, 136

Najman, H.

238, 250, 353

Naudé, J.A.

300, 320–321

Naveh, J.

54–56, 58

Nenner-Soriano, R. Neujahr, M.

97 351

Newsom, C.A.

15

Nickelsburg, G.W.E.

324, 342, 349–351, 353

Niese, B.

32, 36, 40

Nihan, C.

199, 220–221, 223, 293, 299, 304, 318, 320, 322, 327–328, 341, 351–352, 354

Nissen, H. Nissinen, M. Nogalski, J.D.

36–37 353 296, 307, 309, 318, 320, 322–323

Notley, R.S.

50

Nowack, W.

324

Nurmela, R.

307, 319, 325

140

Miller-Naudé, C.

320

Minas, M.

39–40

273, 276

Pestman, P.W.

40, 50

Petterson, A.R. Pfeiffer, S.

306, 323, 325 5, 50–51, 223, 256, 302–303, 317, 323, 368

Piejko, F.

1, 12, 68, 75–76, 100, 115, 124, 289, 360

Oliver, G.

322

Olivier, J.

38

O’Neil, J.

37

37

Pietersma, A.

249

von Pilgrim, C.

364

Pillet, M.

195 319, 321

Planer, D.

140

Plischke, S.

173

Plöger, O. Pohlmann, K.-F.

317 289, 318

Polaski, D.C.

320

Polokoff, A.

76

Ponting, M. Porten, B. Portier-Young, A. Portnoy, S.L.

115 56, 58, 220–221, 223 342, 348, 351–353 321

Potts, D.T.

321

Prestel, S.

259

Price, M. Pritchard, J.B.

106, 321 140

Proksch, O.

317

Pryor, J.H.

139

de Pury, A.

288

Q Qedar, S. Quack, J.F. Quaegebeur, J.

O Oeming, M.

56

Piovanelli, P.

119, 289, 309, 311, 314, 319–320, 323–326

Miller, J.M.

328

14, 170, 207

Meyers, E.M.

50, 138, 174

Pastor, J.

Monson, A.

Nothers, T.

Millar, F.

318

Monerie, J.

57, 107

183

Pajunen, M.S.

36, 51

289, 309, 311, 314, 319–320, 323–326

4, 341, 351

P

Paton, W.R.

Meyers, C.L.

Milik, J.T.

325–326

47

Meshorer, Y.

Meyrat, P.

Otzen, B.

54, 57

Quell, G

107 184, 303, 322 50, 187 257

R Raban, A. Rabinovich, A.

135, 140 98, 116

396  index of modern authors Radt, S.L.

140

Santoso, A.

361

Shadman, A.

74

Rahmani, L.Y.

114

Sapin, J.

156

Shalev, S.

114

32, 39–40, 209, 222, 322–324, 326–327

Shalev, Y.

Rajak, T.

246, 249, 253, 259

Ramsay, W.M.

174

Rankov, B.

139

Ray, J.D.

352

Rea, J. von Recklinghausen, D. Redditt, P.L.

234 43, 51, 322 306–307, 309, 311, 323–325

Redford, D.

196

Redon, B

196

Reed, A.Y. Reich, R. Reinach, T. Rendsburg, G.A. Reventlow, H. Rezetko, R. Richardson, S.

347, 350, 354 21, 76, 370 264, 275 321 323–324 300, 320–321 14, 359

Robert, J.

174

Robert, L.

174

Robertson, R.G.

249

Röllig, W.

45

Römer, T.

285, 288, 295, 321

Ronen, Y.

115, 205, 210, 222

Rooke, D.W. Rösel, M. Rosenberg, S.G.

220–222 9, 254, 257–260, 274 357, 364–366

Rösler, W.

322

Rostovtseff, M.I.

328

Rouillard, H.

282

Rudman, D.

318

Rudolph, W.

289, 317, 320, 323–324

Ruge, W.

174

Rumscheid, F.

173

Ruzicka, S.

140

Ryholt, K.

321

Sacchi, P.

347, 353

Sæbø, M.

323, 326, 354

Safrai, Z.

119

Samet, N. de Sanctis, G.

Sass, B.

56

Saur, M.

285, 305, 314, 323, 325, 328

Savalli-Lestrade, I.

172

Scatolini Apóstolo, S.S.

318

Schaefer, K.R.

319

Schäfer, D.

196

Schäfer, P.

365, 367, 370

Schaller, B.

48, 50 320 36, 40

Sanders, E.P.

353

Sandhaus, D.

7, 12, 19–20, 76, 97, 100, 120–122, 124–125

275

Schart, A.

320, 322–323

Scheid, J.

195

Schenker, A.

319

Scheuble-Reiter, S.

50, 324

Scheuble, S.

50

Shalom, N.

76 6, 19, 21, 75–76, 119, 128

Sharvit, J.

140

Shatil, N.

6, 63, 124

Shaw, I. Sherwin-White, S. Shiloh, Y. Shilstein, S.

182 2, 322 76, 126 114

Shin, S.-Y.

301–302, 321

Shipley, G.

137, 140

Shoham, Y.

22–23

Shukron, E. Siker, J.S. Silverman, J.

21 275 13, 342, 346, 352–354

Schipper, B.U.

322, 328

Simpson, R.S.

Schlund, C.

259–260

Skafte Jensen, M.

322

Schmid, K.

10, 282, 284, 287, 289, 306, 317–318, 320, 322–323, 328

Ska, J.-L.

353

Schmitt, A.

260

Schmitt, H.-C.

282

Schmitt, H.H.

39, 46

Schmitz, B.

257, 360

Schnabel, P.

275

Schniedewind, W.M. Schnocks, J.

58 360, 370

Schoors, A.

324

Schorch, S.

259

Schroer, S.

98

Schürer, E.

43–44, 114, 116, 264, 275, 352

Schwartz, D.R. Schwartz, E. Schwartz, J.J. Schwartz, S. Schweitzer, S.J. Schwemer, A.

S

Salamé-Sarkis, H.

Sartre, M.

Schwesig, P.G. Schwiderski, D. Scott, J. Sellers, O.R.

273, 275–276 272–273, 275–276 76 216, 223, 322 260 319–320 221

346, 352

Smith, M. Smith, R.H. Sommer, B.D.

283 201, 220, 319 43, 367 125

20 283, 318, 320 194

Sonnet, J.-P.

352

Spaer, A. Spencer, J. Spieckermann, H.

34, 40 188–189, 195 362

Spiegelberg, W.

179, 184, 238

Stade, B.

310, 319, 323

Stager, L.E.

314

Stead, M.R.

193, 209, 320, 343, 345

Steck, O.H.

286–287, 289, 305–307, 309–310, 317–318, 320, 322–325, 327

Stegemann, H, Steins, G. Sterling, G.E. Stern, I.

Seow, C.-L.

179

Sommerville, C.J.

Stern, E.

318

Sevenster, J.N.

Smith, J.Z.

342, 351

van Selms, A.

Shabtai, Z.

180, 184

34, 115, 127, 211, 222, 327 324

328

Smith, H.S.

322, 324

Sellin, E.

Sérandour, A.

Slotki, J.S.

51

Stern, M. Sterrett, J.R.S. Steuernagel, C. Stipp, H.-J. Stoebe, H.J. Stolper, M.

172–173, 288 289 273, 275–276 76, 120, 125, 128 65 116, 264–268, 274–276, 358, 371 174 311 283, 318–319 289 56, 151, 157

index of modern authors  397 Stone, P.J.

150, 152–154

Troxel, R.

322

Wesseling, P.

272, 275

320

Tsfania, L.

54

Wevers, J.W.

257–258, 260

Stromberg, J.

320, 322

Tufnell, O.

127, 148

Strootman, R.

14, 324–325

Strazicich, J.

Turge, H.

Weyde, K.W.

322

74

Whiston, W.

37

Stuckenbruck, L.T.

349

Twardecki, A.

50

Whittaker, C.R.

138, 140

Sukenik, E.L.

126

Tzaferis, V.

157

Wickersham, J.M.

256, 259

Suter, D.

349–350, 353–354

Svoronos, J.N.

38–40

Sweeney, M.A.

223, 306, 309, 312–314, 318–320, 322–324, 326–327

Syncellus, G.

10, 238, 266–268

Szymańska, H.

192

Will, É. U Ulrich, E. Ussishkin, D.

T Taeger, F.

51

Tai, N.H.F.

307, 319, 323, 325–326

Tallet, G. Tal, O.

45 21–22, 44, 50, 65–66, 73–76, 106–108, 110, 115, 120, 127–128, 220–221, 317, 328

Talshir, D.

321

Tarn, W.W.

39

Täubler, E.

25

Taufik, S.

184

Tcherikover, V.A.

Thiers, C. Thissen, H.-J. Thomas, R. Thompson, C.M.

23, 27, 32, 36, 39–40, 45, 50, 144–145, 156–157, 247, 249, 322

295–296, 318–319 120, 127, 148

VanderKam, J.C. Vandorpe, K.

6, 22, 55–57, 68, 74–75, 82, 100, 221–222, 322 172, 220, 222, 352–353 191, 196

Veh, O.

276

Veijola, T.

282

Veïsse, A.E. Verbrugghe, G.P. Vérilhac, A.-M. Vermeylen, J. Vernus, P.

40, 45, 191, 196 234, 238, 256, 259 172 317 192, 223, 353

Vette, J.

360

Vincent, L.H.

322

Vittmann, G.

184

Vuilleumier, R.

328

181, 184, 195 179, 322 37, 223

Wacholder, B.Z.

276

116

Wachtel, I.

120–121, 123

14, 218, 222–223, 245, 249

Wade, M.L

259

Thonemann, P.

173–174, 221–222

Tiemeyer, L.-S.

283, 293, 295–296, 304, 306, 316, 318, 323–324, 328

Waggoner, N.

106

Walbank, F.W.

39

Thompson, D.J.

Tiller, P.

345, 352

Tolini, G.

221

Tomlinson, R.A.

157

Tooman, W.A.

318, 320, 328

van der Toorn, K.

318

Toury, G.

249

Tov, E.

Trampedach, K. Trampier, J. Treves, M.

55–57, 255, 259–260, 295–297, 318–319

Waerzeggers, C.

Wallace, S. Wallinga, H.T. Walter, N. Walton, F.R.

13, 221, 352

14 140 43, 50, 274–275 273, 275

Wanke, G.

360

Wasserstein, A.

238

Wasserstein, D.J.

238

Watts, J.W. Weinberg, J. von Weissenberg, H.

199, 220–221 157 318–319

172, 174

Weisweile, J.

3, 14

196

Weitzman, S.

352

324, 328

Wenzel, H.

Willi-Plein, I.

306, 320, 323

173 285, 311, 314, 319, 323–327 270, 274, 276

Wilson, J.

157

Winnicki, J.

322

Wirth, G.

273, 275–276

Wise, M.O.

173, 219, 234, 358, 371

Wöhrle, J.

307, 320, 322–323

Wolters, A.

306, 313–314, 321, 323–327

Wörrle, M.

50, 173

Worthington, I. Wright, B.G.

249 9, 223, 238, 249–250, 254, 274

Wright, G.E.

124

Wright, J.W.

223

Y Yardeni, A. Yavetz, Z. Young, I.

W

173

Williamson, C.G.

Willrich, H.

V Vanderhooft, D.S.

24, 39–40

Williams, D.S.

Yoyotte, J.

54–55, 57–58, 97, 223 367 22, 38–39, 46, 218, 282, 300, 320–321, 360, 368 50, 192, 194

Z Zamagni, C. Zayadine, F. Zenger, E.

221 24 283

Zertal, A.

20

Zevit, Z.

320

Ziegert, C.

259

Ziemer, B.

282

Zinn, K.

218, 223, 321

Zissu, B.

112, 115

Zurbach, J.

14

Zwickel, W.

147