What Was Authoritative for Chronicles? 9781575066561

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What Was Authoritative for Chronicles?

What Was Authoritative for Chronicles?

Edited by

Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2011

© 2011 by Eisenbrauns Inc. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data What was authoritative for Chronicles? / edited by Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman.     p. cm. “The essays published here were delivered in preliminary form in 2008 and 2009 in the section devoted to Israel and the Production and Reception of Authoritative Books in the Persian and Hellenistic Period at the annual meeting of the European Association of Biblical Studies”—Preface. Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN 978-1-57506-218-1 (hardback : alk. paper) 1.  Bible. O.T. Chronicles—Evidences, authority, etc.  2.  Bible. O.T. Chronicles—Criticism, interpretation, etc.  I.  Ben Zvi, Ehud, 1951–  ​ II.  Edelman, Diana Vikander, 1954– BS1345.55.W43 2011 222′.601—dc23 2011030416

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. †Ê

Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   vii Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   1 Ehud Ben Zvi One Size Does Not Fit All: Observations on the Different Ways That Chronicles Dealt with the Authoritative Literature of Its Time . . . . . . . . . .   13 Ehud Ben Zvi Judging a Book by Its Citations: Sources and Authority in Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   37 Steven J. Schweitzer Chronicles as Consensus Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   67 David A. Glatt-Gilad Chronicles and the Definition of “Israel” . . . . . . . . . . .   77 Philip R. Davies Ideology and Utopia in 1–2 Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . .   89 Joseph Blenkinsopp Cracks in the Male Mirror: References to Women as Challenges to Patrilinear Authority in the Genealogies of Judah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Ingeborg Löwisch Araunah’s Threshing Floor: A Lesson in Shaping Historical Memory . . . . . . . . 133 Yairah Amit The Chronicler and the Prophets: Who Were His Authoritative Sources? . . . . . . . . . 145 Louis Jonker The Chronicler’s Use of the Prophets . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Amber K. Warhurst v

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Rethinking the “Jeremiah” Doublet in Ezra–Nehemiah and Chronicles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Mark Leuchter Sociology and the Book of Chronicles: Risk, Ontological Security, Moral Panics, and Types of Narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 David J. Chalcraft Chronicles and Local Greek Histories . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 Diana Edelman and Lynette Mitchell Indexes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 Index of Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 Index of Scripture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258

Preface The essays published here were delivered in preliminary form in 2008 and 2009 in the section devoted to Israel and the Production and Reception of Authoritative Books in the Persian and Hellenistic Period at the annual meeting of the European Association of Biblical Studies. The announced themes to be addressed were what was authoritative for Chronicles and what “authoritative” might have meant for the Chronicler. One of the best ways of advancing a research agenda is to bring together a number of scholars with different perspectives to share their insights and to further their knowledge through conversation. This volume represents a written “conversation” with multiple threads, viewpoints, and as usual, ever-shifting sets of converging and diverging lines. Its main goal is to further discussion on the topic by presenting a panorama of ways in which these questions are being approached. The volume is not meant to provide a single or “definitive” answer to the question but is a conversation meant to evoke further discussion of the research question. Although the editors have consistently maintained the formal independence of the chapters so that each may be read on its own, the volume as a whole is greater than the sum of its parts. To be sure, readers will sympathize more with certain approaches than others and be more interested in some test cases/examples discussed in some chapters than in others. However, they will easily recognize that the contributions of the participants link to each other, if implicitly rather than explicitly, and create an intricate web. Each single essay, along with its underlying arguments and explicit conclusions, relates to many others in this volume. This is a conversation. We would like to thank all the presenters and participants in the sessions from which this volume has emerged, particularly the contributors who have refocused their contributions during revising and created a stronger final volume; as well as the European Association of Biblical Studies for providing a wonderful venue for these conversations. We express our thanks also to Jim Eisenbraun for accepting this volume for publication and for the contribution that his publishing company, Eisenbrauns, makes to our field. We are particularly grateful to Beverly McCoy, who edited the manuscript and dealt with all the authors’ comments and requests. Finally, we could not conclude this preface without a word of thanks to our students and colleagues who have encouraged and challenged us for vii

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years during this journey into the world of Chronicles and of Yehud. Our gratitude to our respective families for their encouragement and support goes without saying. —Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana V. Edelman

Note to the Reader For technical matters, we have followed the documentation style and abbreviations in The SBL Handbook of Style for Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Early Christian Studies (ed. Patrick H. Alexander et al.; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1999) and allowed contributors to choose between social-science style and humanities style of documentation.

Introduction Ehud Ben Zvi University of Alberta

All but two of the essays in this volume are revised versions of papers presented and discussed in sessions of the research program on “Israel and the Production and Reception of Authoritative Books in the Persian and Hellenistic Period.” 1 The sessions were held as part of the annual meetings of the European Association of Biblical Studies in the years 2008 and 2009. These sessions were structured around a seemingly simple question, “What was authoritative for Chronicles?” 2 The question was meant to be open enough to allow for an exploration and collaborative discussion of the “authority” of “real” or “imagined” texts within or external to Chronicles or particular readings thereof, traditions, central social concepts, world views, social order, utopian visions, and even Chronicles’ claims about its own authoritative character. 3 1.  This research program is chaired by the two editors of this volume. The editors invited Steven Schweitzer and Ingeborg Löwisch to add their perspectives to the written conversation that this volume represents. We are very pleased that both of them have accepted the invitation and have brought to the center of the conversation salient matters that were not addressed in the other contributions. 2.  To be sure, the question was directly relevant to the general agenda this research group set for itself. Moreover, it was thought that one of the possible ways of exploring this research agenda was to focus on a particular book. This research program has already published two volumes: D. Edelman and E. Ben Zvi, eds., The Production of Prophecy: Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (London: Equinox, 2009); and E. Ben Zvi, D. Edelman, and F. Polak, eds., A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics and Language Relating to Persian Israel (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2009). A fourth and fifth volume are being planned at this moment. In addition, this research program has advanced its agenda by collaborating with a “sibling” program devoted to Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis, chaired by Pernille Carstens and Kåre Berge. This collaboration has already resulted in a forthcoming volume edited by Pernille Carstens. 3. Of course, the editors cannot take credit for raising any of these questions. There is a long history of research on these matters. See, for instance, H. G. M. Williamson, Studies in Persian Period History and Historiography (FAT 38; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) 232–43 and bibliography there. See also I. L. Seeligmann,

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It was also open enough to take into account the ambiguity of the concept of authoritative in ancient Israel at the time in which Chronicles emerged. Certainly what we may call authoritative was open to discursive negotiation, involved matters of power, and was used and continuously reshaped for clear rhetorical purposes. This being so, Diana Edelman and I, as chairs of this research program, added a second but very important question, “What might ‘authoritative’ have meant for the Chronicler?” Mindful of different approaches to historical research in Chronicles, we once more left open the meaning of the term the Chronicler. Some contributors have assumed it signifies the historical author of the book while others have construed it as the implied author of the book as construed by its primary or intended readership. This diversity is meant to enhance the exchange of knowledge that emerges from reading the contributions to this volume as a collection; each reader will experience this exchange differently, based on his or her knowledge of issues surrounding the Chronicler or Chronicles and his or her careful attention to the implications of each paper and the way that other papers would respond to the same implications. The “philosophy” behind this volume (and our discussions) is that one of the best ways of advancing a research agenda is to bring together a number of scholars with different perspectives to share their insights and to further their knowledge through conversation. This volume represents, indeed, a “written” conversation with multiple threads, viewpoints, and as usual, ever-shifting sets of converging and diverging lines. The main goal of this volume is to further discussion on the topic by presenting a wide picture of the ways in which these questions are being approached. This volume is not meant to provide a single or “definitive” answer to the question but is a conversation meant to evoke further discussion of the research question. No volume can deal with all possible aspects of this question, and no attempt has been made to convey a sense of “completeness.” Instead, Diana and I have tried to bring together a spectrum of perspectives and texts that relate to each other and might inform each other in multiple ways. At the same time, we decided to bring to the “table” issues and approaches that have rarely been at the center in this type of discussions (e.g., sociological “‫ניצני מדרשׁ בספר דברי הימים‬,” Tarbiz 49 (1979–80) 14–32; Z. Talshir, “Several Canon-Related Concepts Originating in Chronicles,” ZAW 111 (2001) 386–403; and cf. M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985); and W. M. Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). The editors thought, however, that the time has come to revisit these questions from multiple perspectives. They wish to thank H. G. M. Williamson for actively participating in the 2009 session and responding to the papers read at the time.

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approaches, gender matters, models differentiating between authoritative and authoritarian approaches, comparative historiography, perspectives informed by social memory and utopian studies). Being historians ourselves, we editors worked actively to include discussions on the historical circumstances 4 within which both Chronicles and its position about what is authoritative emerged. The editors did not ask the contributors to focus on a particular set of texts within Chronicles. It is interesting to note, however, that patterns emerged. As one would anticipate, there are multiple references to pentateuchal material, but it is worth stressing that genealogical lists were also the focus of much attention. A substantial number of chapters addressed matters of prophecy and prophetic texts. It is easy to note an emphasis on Jeremiah in Chronicles, which raises the question why this is the case—it is answered from more than one perspective in this volume; see, for instance, the chapters by M. Leuchter, L. Jonker, and A. Warhust. As one would expect, comparative studies of Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah and references to the possible way in which these two works relate to each other are well represented. The development of significantly new approaches to these matters is particularly worth noting. A few pericopes within Chronicles (e.g., 2 Chr 36:21; the account of Hezekiah) are taken up in several contributions. This distribution of scholarly responses to the questions that the editors raised is interesting in itself and bears some hint at future potential paths in research about the book of Chronicles. Although the editors have consistently maintained the formal independence of the chapters so that each may be read on its own, the volume as a whole is greater than the sum of its parts. To be sure, readers will sympathize more with certain approaches than others and be more interested in some test cases/examples discussed in some chapters than others. However, they will easily recognize that the contributions of the participants link to each other, even if implicitly, and create an intricate web. Each single essay, along with its underlying arguments and explicit conclusions, relates to many others in this volume. This is a conversation. Following this introduction, readers will find my own contribution. It is meant to open the volume by focusing on modes of reading “authoritative” literature exemplified in Chronicles as a path to a better understanding of what “authoritativeness” may have meant to the community. To achieve this goal, the essay explores Chronicles’ tendency to prefer (or avoid) particular modes of reading through “authoritative” narratives, laws, prophetic literature, and psalms and explores the ways in which these 4.  Historical is used here in its widest possible sense, including the interlinked web of social, political, economic, cultural (including religious, cultic and ideological and discursive) aspects that characterized them.

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modes served to characterize the Chronicler as a reliable, “godly” personage and Chronicles as a book worthy of being read and reread, time and again, by the text-centered community within which it emerged. One of the main conclusions reached by this analysis is that “one size does not fit all.” For instance, at times, the mode of reading will emphasize temporal contingency but at other times multi-temporality (or a-temporality); sometimes “facts” to be abstracted from a narrative but, in other instances, the narrative plot. Cultural memory, the ancient reception of texts, and the concept of segmented national history figure prominently in this essay. The essay uses as examples central cases in the ongoing debate about “what is authoritative in Chronicles.” Most of these examples are later analyzed from various perspectives in this collection. Both in terms of methodology and examples, this essay serves well as the opening round for the ongoing conversation. The next essay by Steven Schweitzer contains a substantial survey of both the explicit references to external sources in Chronicles and the “unacknowledged” external sources from which texts were incorporated into Chronicles or to which Chronicles alludes. Schweitzer notes that the Chronicler was “highly selective in which material [he] used and how”—a master, not a servant of his sources. One of his conclusions is that Typically, he [the Chronicler] does not indicate when he is using or glossing another text, especially when that text seems to be one that already has authoritative status (the Torah, Samuel–Kings, Psalms). When he does name a source, it is often when his source has named one . . . or to indicate the preservation of ancient records in writing . . . or to enhance the persuasive power of the source whether by emphasizing the information was written down . . . or by associating the writings with authoritative figures.

Chronicles seeks authoritative status and builds it with references to traditional sources of authority (including figures, core concepts, texts) because “[t]he ability of the Chronicler to convince his audience that the utopia presented in the text is indeed a better alternative reality (a utopia) rests heavily on the authoritative status of Chronicles itself ” (emphasis original). Chronicles retrojects this utopia into the past in order to implement it in the Chronicler’s present. Due to its intention and message, Steven Schweitzer argues, Chronicles must employ but also subvert or even reject its sources. David Glatt-Gilad raises the matter of the historical setting of Chron­ icles. He maintains that, at a time in which the written Torah in its entirety had extended beyond the private purview of kings and priests to function as an authoritative text for everyone, surpassing even prophetic oracle. . . . [T]he famous Chronistic passage describing King

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Jehoshaphat’s Torah education campaign (2  Chr 17:7–9) .  .  . constitutes a crucial chain in the Chronicler’s depiction of the Torah book’s history, inasmuch as it gives expression to the conception of the Torah as a widely disseminated document.

It is in this context that Glatt-Gilad approaches Chronicles as “consensus literature.” It was a document “designed to promote consensus around the institutions, principles, and holy writ.” The most “innovative basis for the Chronicler’s consensus-building approach is the ubiquitous appeal to the Torah of Moses as an authoritative source.” It is this Torah that the Chronicler considers “a paradigm for communal consensus.” Glatt-Gilad stresses that there were three pillars of the community: the temple; the Davidic monarchy, to “the extent that it facilitated and paved the way for active community involvement in promoting and maintaining the cultic order”; and the “Mosaic Torah.” He argues, “The latter carried special significance for the Chronicler, not only as a unifying factor in its own right but also as a recent precedent for the Chronicler’s own quest for wide acceptance and authoritative status.” Glatt-Gilad also raises the issue of the relation of Chronicles to the Nehemiah material—a matter discussed in several other places in this volume (see, for instance, Leuchter’s essay). Philip Davies is also interested in the historical setting of Chronicles, the ways in which it contributed to the shaping of the text, and its use of authoritative sources, but his discussion is different and raises other issues. Davies approaches the question of the web of relations between Chronicles and authoritative texts in the late Persian/early Hellenistic period by first challenging some reconstructions of Jerusalem at the time that have been advanced by I. Finkelstein. Davies maintains that there was a scribal community and an archive in Jerusalem (which was “a small but vigorous temple-city” in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods) and that both explain the preservation of most of the biblical literature. Chronicles is a product of the period. He then explores the typological relation among the various concepts of Israel in different biblical corpora. He concludes that Chronicles’ concept of Israel is typologically later than the concept of Israel in the Pentateuch but earlier than the concept in the Deuteronomistic History. He cautions, however, that typology is not chronology and stresses that “the various definitions of ‘Israel’ may well have existed together over a considerable period.” Davies concludes with the suggestion that “Chronicles be taken neither as a work of midrash (of Samuel–Kings) nor as a utopian, theologically-inspired, unrealistic account of the past but as a creative work with a more complex relationship to Samuel–Kings and with its own positive political agenda.” This political agenda is to be explored in terms of the “political context in which Chronicles seems to have been written.”

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Joseph Blenkinsopp’s essay devotes much space to the historical setting of Chronicles and the ways in which it contributed to the shaping of the text and of what was authoritative for the Chronicler. Its starting point to address these issues is an approach to Chronicles as a utopia (cf. Schweitzer) in the sense of “an ideal counterreality in reaction to” the (perceived) “incongruent reality” within which it emerged. In his view, to understand the Chronicler’s utopia requires exploring the Chronicler’s incongruent reality. Blenkinsopp draws attention to the “ruinous situation” in which the entire area must have existed as a result of extensive warfare and war-related activities from the last years of the Persian Empire to the final conquest of Ptolemy I in 301 b.c.e. and the associated helplessness (though not necessarily hopelessness) felt by local populations. He also discusses inner-Judean elements of the incongruent reality experienced by the Chronicler—in particular, the people associated with the temple cult and priesthood. Numerous utopian portrayals in Chronicles are then understood as reactions to or, better, as (construed) counter­reality responses to particular aspects of this incongruent reality. Blenkinsopp then asks “on what authority the author legitimated this utopian image of the past, including his views about the role of Levites vis-à-vis priests and about the temple cult in general.” He begins by noting “the importance attributed throughout the work to authoritative written texts,” including among others, written genealogies and “inspired . . . texts attributed to prophetic individuals.” Among these individuals is David, who is now not only a prophet but the mediator of new revelations with regard to worship, revelations dictated to him by Yahweh. . . . These new prescriptions, preserved in writing, serve as an extension, updating completion of the part of the Torah that deals with worship.

At the same time, Blenkinsopp stresses Chronicles’ “emancipation from tradition” and the Chronicler’s “remarkable freedom from traditional ways of thought and expression.” Blenkinsopp relates both to the Chronicler’s understanding of prophecy, which involves a “a greatly expanded semantic range for the standard terminology for prophetic mediation.” The latter includes “the redefinition of the composition and rendition of liturgical music as a prophetic activity.” Blenkinsopp argues that the latter development suggests a social location: “it was among the Levitical guilds of liturgical musicians during the period of the Second Temple that this idea of a prophetic ministry of liturgical song originated and matured.” Blenkinsopp’s essay concludes with a note about the importance of Chronicles’ claims concerning authoritativeness “in the longue durée context of Second Temple history.” Texts can embed authority in various ways. Ingeborg Löwisch deals with authoritative gender constructions and with Chronicles as a historically-

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contingent performance of memory that supports them, but she also points to their fragility. Her work is informed by cultural-memory studies (cf. Ben Zvi, Amit), Arendt’s differentiation between authoritative and authoritarian, and a historically informed synchronic reception-oriented analysis of texts and is particularly attuned to types of cultural “acts of transfer.” Her focus is on the genealogies in 1 Chronicles 1–9. She writes, “Genealogies are . . . an apt means of constituting a normative past, legitimating hereditary authority claims, and conceptualizing collective identities with a focus on defining the self and the other,” and elsewhere in the essay, the regular recurrence to the ancestral period is often analyzed as a means of establishing the ancestral period as authoritative for the memory of Israel. . . . [T]he genealogies propose the ancestral period as decisive or even normative for Israel’s present . . . [and seem] to have embodied the essence of Israel and may consequently have been employed to legitimate sociopolitical structures and offices in the present. . . . It is crucial to the discussion of authority that the text propose and approve the ancestral period as a decisive period. Thus, the authority of the ancestral period is constructed as being based on general acceptance and group identity. The counterpart of this approach would be authority based on violence rather than acceptance. The latter would mark an authoritarian rather than authoritative approach.

Löwisch explicitly discusses crucial components of Judah’s genealogy (which leads to David/Solomon and the temple) for constructions of gender and identity and their authoritative dimensions. She analyzes the portrayal of the patriarchal succession at risk in 1 Chr 1:3–4 (the case of Tamar) and 2:24–35 (the case of Sheshan’s daughter) and two instances of gender fluidity in key roles (the cases of Ephrathah and Zeruiah)— that is, instances of fissure in the patriarchal succession. Her study shows that “the authority of patriarchal succession appears to have been based on ability to maintain symbolic order by correlating Israel’s past with its present in a coherent and relevant way to different groups and interests within the community.” She notes the exclusive but ambiguous character of patriarchal succession. Her work explores, in particular, “fissures in the patriarchal succession by referring to women,” for they “highlight the complexity and inclusiveness of the notion of patriarchal succession.” She studies the multiple social and ideological, interrelated dynamics at work in the shaping of authoritative genealogies, including one that repeatedly deconstructs the “attempt to preserve the authority of the patriarchal succession through restriction and exclusion” while, at the same time, paying attention to “references to women, which are framed as exceptions,” and the risk of a “loss of control that was associated with such exceptions within this type of ancient discourse, the responses that this risk engendered, and its implications.”

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Yairah Amit’s essay turns to the story about Ornan’s threshing floor in 1 Chronicles 21 to learn about Chronicles’ attempt to shape social memory and the historical circumstances of the endeavor. She examines allusions in the Chronicles story to leading figures of Israel (e.g., Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Hezekiah) and to texts or stories present in the books of, for instance, Genesis; Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers; Deuteronomy; Joshua; Judges; 1–2 Kings; Ezekiel, and Zechariah. She examines the roles of such allusions in the text and the ways in which they contributed to the success of Chronicles’ version of the account in terms of (authoritative) social memory. Amit brings the focus back to the figure of David and to the temple and their central roles as “sites of memory.” 5 Like Blenkinsopp, she concludes with consideration of the longue durée: the Chronicler’s version of the story about David’s purchase of Araunah’s threshing floor that established the view that the Temple Mount was the site of the binding of Isaac and of the divine manifestation and salvation at Araunah’s threshing floor. By turning the story of this acquisition from an almost marginal addendum into a key element in the status of Jerusalem visà-vis its rivals, and by loading the story with many allusions to the leading figures of the nation’s epic, the Chronicler made a major contribution to the position of Jerusalem in Jewish monotheistic civilization and its inheritors.

Amit’s reference to other temples brings her essay into direct conversation with Davies; her emphasis on social memory places her work in direct conversation with Ben Zvi and Löwisch. 6 The next three essays focus on prophets and prophetic texts, though from different perspectives. Louis Jonker’s essay begins with a survey of reports of prophetic activity in Chronicles and of contemporary research on the portrayal of prophecy and prophets in Chronicles, including its potential impact on questions about the existence and character of prophets and prophecy in the Persian period. Then he focuses on Jeremiah in Chronicles, especially in the Chronicler’s account of the fall of Jerusalem—a text that is also discussed by Warhust. Jonker emphasizes the extent to which we must be cautious and refuse to ascertain matters categorically. He maintains, however, that “[t]he book of Jeremiah provided the Chronicler with a useful way of merging the Priestly and Deuteronomistic traditions,” and that, no matter what else is uncertain, we can be quite sure that “the Chronicler was one of the early readers of the book of Jeremiah (most likely in a fairly 5.  Amit does not use this term. 6.  See also Ben Zvi, “The Memory of Abraham in Late Persian/Early Hellenistic Period Yehud” (forthcoming in a volume of collected essays edited by Edelman and me that is tentatively entitled Bringing the Past to the Present in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Period: Images of Central Figures), in which social memories associated with the site of the temple, Abraham, and David are discussed.

Introduction

9

advanced Deuteronomistic form).” Some aspects of Jonker’s contribution stand in direct dialogue with comments and approaches advanced in the essays by Warhust, Leuchter, and Ben Zvi. Amber Warhust considers the question of what was authoritative for the Chronicler through the lens of a detailed study of two accounts that appear in Chronicles and in two other corpora: the Hezekiah narrative (Kings, Isaiah, and Chronicles) and the account of the fall of Jerusalem (Kings, Jeremiah, and Chronicles). She finds that, although in Chronicles the role played by Isaiah is minimized, and although his “oracles, signs, and prayers which feature prominently in 2 Kings 18–20 and Isaiah 36–39 are left entirely unrecorded,” the narrative in Chronicles “is saturated with literary overtones from material attributed to Isaiah and that “Isaiah’s descriptions of a future restoration after exile are read back into the account of Hezekiah’s reign.” The result is not only that Hezekiah is portrayed as an ideal king but also that a prophetic vision of restoration assumes “timeless significance with relevance, not only for the future, but also for the past and the present.” Her study of Chronicles’ account of the fall of Jerusalem leads to the conclusion that Jeremiah’s authoritative influence on the Chronicler is evident in the explicit mention of him four times, the coordination of the account of the fall of Jerusalem with Jeremiah’s depiction, and the assertion that Judah’s history unfolded “according to the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah.” As with the Hezekiah narrative, the Chronicler integrates not only the prophet’s portrayal of the past but also his vision of the future.

Warhust raises the important question of a recontextualization of prophetic texts that implies and communicates a timeless (or as I would put it, “multitemporal”) application. By doing so, she shows not only that these texts were “authoritative” but also what attributing “authoritativeness” to a text may have meant, practically speaking, in terms of the Chronicler’s (and the community’s) use of that text in some very important cases. Mark Leuchter’s starting point is that Chronicles is “profoundly intertextual, taking up language from antecedent traditions that had obtained authoritative status by the latter half of the Persian period.” Leuchter sheds light on the way in which Chronicles directs its readers to grasp and “take control” of other authoritative texts and create links among them that serve as interpretative keys. The result is often a metatradition that brings together multiple preceding traditions. To explore this point further, Leuchter advances a comparative study with another work that is also “profoundly intertextual, taking up language from antecedent traditions that had obtained authoritative status by the latter half of the Persian period”—namely, Ezra–Nehemiah. He stresses the clear differences between the two works not only in terms of ideology—a position that is

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widely accepted now—but also in the way that the authors of these works “inherit and interpret their shared authoritative antecedent traditions.” He deals in particular with the concept of prophetic authority in both compositions and with the different ways in which the Jeremianic doublet works in them. Among his conclusions, the centrality of the temple [in Chronicles] is factored into a larger paradigm through the emphasis on Levites over Aaronide priests and prophecy over sacrifice. . . . [T]he Jeremiah doublet (and the leaving out of Ezra 1:3b– 4) . . . expands the prophet’s authority beyond the confines of its function within Ezra 1–6 (and, consequently, [Ezra–Nehemiah] en masse). . . . [From the Chronicler’s viewpoint, it is not simply] the reestablishment of the sacrificial cult that realizes and sustains the divine ‫ ָּדבָר‬bequeathed by the prophet to successive generations. Rather, the ‫ ָּדבָר‬in question empowers history to unfold, directs empires to rise and fall, unifies embattled social factions, and equalizes law with liturgy.

Leuchter also maintains that, whereas the methodological and thematic genotype of [Ezra–Nehemiah] appears to derive from a time when the biblical writers identified their authority with the bastions of the Persian imperial administrative superstructure . . . , Chronicles offers a response to this, turning inward and suggesting that external empires rise and fall according to principles fostered within Israel’s religious and intellectual tradition.

The final two essays develop further the frame of methodological approaches to the question of what was authoritative for Chronicles and what authoritative may have meant in this regard by reaching into sociological and comparative historiographical studies. David Chalcraft enriches the discussion by bringing into the mix a sociological approach that is beginning to influence studies in ancient history but still is rarely heard in studies of ancient Israel. Chalcraft’s approach to Chronicles is informed, among other things, by studies of “risk societies” (Sociology of Risk), theoretical work on “ontological security,” sociology of health and illness and its studies of coping narratives, and the sociological concepts of “folk devils” and “moral panics.” For Chalcraft, What is authoritative to the Chronicler is the bureaucratic procedure, and the bureaucratic procedure includes acknowledgment of the importance of the document/archive/texts. This extends also to an appreciation that any new understanding of the past and the present and any positioning regarding the nature of the future (colonizing the future) will also need to be embodied in written form and textualized if it is to have any authority for colleagues, external rulers, or other members of society that accord the temple and/or the priestly groups legitimacy.

Introduction

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He maintains that [the Chronicler’s] “commitment to the authority of texts as a basis for claiming legitimacy in interpretation and/or application comes from organizational life,” and [o]verall, the bureaucratic search for ontological security is found through creating order. This order involves ensuring that many actions are encoded in texts, that social relationships are defined in terms of role and function, that a record is kept of the occupiers of positions, that no project is not subject to assessment and accountability, that there are clear hierarchies, and that monitoring and control of populations (bio-power in Foucault’s sense) can be achieved through the creating, recording, and monitoring of genealogy.

Diana Edelman and Lynette Mitchell highlight what comparative historiographical studies may contribute to the research agenda envisaged in this book. They focus on the book of Chronicles as a possible Jewish example of the Greek local history that became popular in the Hellenistic period, particularly in the fourth and third centuries b.c.e., but with roots tracing back to the seventh century b.c.e. Mitchell, a classicist, provides a very helpful survey of current understandings of the production, contents, and dissemination of local Greek histories, all of which are only preserved fragmentarily. Like genealogies and their archaic antecedents, the local city histories in the fourth and third centuries b.c.e. were essentially expressions of communal identity. Competing versions, offering variations in the accounts and different emphases, were encouraged, and competitions were known to have been used to elicit multiple compositions. The authority of local and more general histories was based “both in their location within the Homeric tradition, to which they often made deliberate allusion, and in their claims regarding empiricism and critical analysis of sources.” Edelman then picks up on five points from her presentation and discusses them in relation to Chronicles: (1) the simultaneous existence of many alternate histories and the apparent tendency to draw on existing versions to create new ones; (2) the prominent use of genealogy to link the mythic past with the present, tracing the descent of a group to a heroic figure, including the “first man”; (3) the tendency to use speeches to explore political ideas and problems and moral lessons; (4) the function of local Greek histories as vehicles for cementing and expressing group identity through a shared, common past; and (5) the critical attitude found in the Greek historians and in related genres that could question the gods as purveyors of truth and knowledge but could still declare a man to be god and “living law.” The relationship between Kings and Chronicles differs from both the tendency to allude to canonical Homeric poetry, on the one hand, and the direct, accredited citation system in the Greek historiographic tradition, on the other. Based on Greek analogy, however, the

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author of Chronicles, well versed in contemporary Greek literary trends in the late Persian or Hellenistic period, could have decided “to write a local history of Jerusalem to glorify his own group’s past but did so in a style closer to other Jewish literature, adopting anonymity and specifically Jewish ideology, and used Kings as his primary source, which he felt comfortable enough to adapt to his own purposes.” The editors hope that this volume will contribute to the debate on the twin questions “What was authoritative for Chronicles?” and “What might ‘authoritative’ have meant for the Chronicler?” and stimulate further discussion on them.

One Size Does Not Fit All Observations on the Different Ways That Chronicles Dealt with the Authoritative Literature of Its Time Ehud Ben Zvi University of Alberta

Introduction The present volume evolved out of an EABS research program on Israel and the Production and Reception of Authoritative Books in Judah/Yehud in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods. 1 We keep using the term authoritative (hereafter, for the sake of simplicitly, authoritative), but what do we mean by authoritative in this context? Which essential attributes did the relevant historical communities (or at least, their literati) associate with the books in their repertoire 2 that they considered authoritative? Or to phrase it better perhaps, what functional meaning did the word authoritative have in their thinking? Of course, these questions would be meaningless if the early communities did not have such a concept. To be sure, their discourse did not include a term that can be easily translated as or is closely related to authoritative in English. However, historians, particularly historians of intellectual discourse can correctly—and at times should—ascribe concepts to people who may not have a clear, univocal word to express the concepts, even if only for heuristic purposes. 3 1. Diana Edelman and I cochair this research program. 2.  It should be stressed that “books” per se were not the only authoritative “item” in society. Ideological constructions about, among others, Yhwh, Israel, gender roles, social hierarchies, and spatial differentiation (for instance, dealing with cultic installations) were all authoritative in society. In addition, an array of social memories and sites of memory, including authoritative figures of the past were clearly in existence. The focus here on “books” is due to the fact that these ideological constructions and interrelated memories found their way, as expected in a text-centered society, into books. In fact, much of what we intellectual historians can learn about that society is based on the traces of these ideological constructions/memories that were left in books. 3.  On the general issues associated with this statement, see G. Prudovsky, “Can We Ascribe to Past Thinkers Concepts They Had No Linguistic Means to Express?” History and Theory 36 (1997) 15–31 and bibliography.

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There can be no doubt that the literati mentioned above (and to a substantial extent, most likely, the community in which they lived as well) considered some texts to be foundational. These were viewed as “godly” texts or as texts that convey “godly” instructions, which is another way of stating that they were “godly” texts. Their teachings were considered central to what (their ideological concept of) “Israel” was. Some of these texts led to substantial legal exegesis, which is proof positive that they functioned as what we may call Scripture. 4 Most of these books, as a whole, shaped a “national” history, 5 which was essential for the construction of a shared social memory of the community and its literati. Without this particular shared memory, the concept of Israel as they knew it could not have existed. This memory also provided mental places to visit and remember. Those who read and reread (or were read) the relevant books visited these mental places. Their shared readings, imagination, and mental worlds bound them together and to the ancestors and future descendants with whom they identified and whose experiences, sites, and events they vicariously experienced through the reading of these books. All in all, this repertoire of authoritative books provided the “text” for a community that saw itself as “text-centered.” 6 Needless to say, no community can construe itself as “text-centered” if it does not possess a “text” around which to be centered. Some of the basic traits of the authoritative repertoire of late Yehud are clear. For instance, these were Yhwh-centered and Jerusalem-centered 4.  E.g., M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985); for a particular case, see my “Revisiting ‘Boiling in Fire’ in 2 Chr 35.13 and Related Passover Questions Text, Exegetical Needs, Concerns, and General Implications,” in Biblical Interpretation in Judaism and Christianity (ed. Isaac Kalimi and Peter J. Haas; LHBOTS 439; London: T. & T. Clark, 2006) 238–50. 5.  The term national is used in this essay for the sake of simplicity. Obviously it points at an ethno-cultural social group (as imagined by their members) in antiquity. There is no doubt that there were collective sociocultural(/ethnic) identities in antiquity. Those who “belonged” to them identified with them and imagined and re­ imagined them; and as they did, they kept setting boundaries around the group and undermining them. This said, these colective social identities are not the “nations” that began to develop in relatively recent history. 6.  These texts included not only the pentateuchal books but also the so-called Deuteronomistic History, the prophetic books, Psalms, and wisdom literature, though not necessarily or in all cases identical to their (proto-)MT versions or the present versions. It is worth stressing that these texts were authoritative not by themselves but as part of a repertoire of authoritative texts informing each other. For instance, the so-called Deuteronomistic History informed the pentateuchal texts and turned them into Jerusalem/ Jerusalem temple–centered texts. I have written elsewhere about the interrelatedness of this repertoire: “Towards an Integrative Study of the Production of Authoritative Books in Ancient Israel,” in The Production of Prophecy: Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (ed. D. V. Edelman and E. Ben Zvi; London: Equinox, 2008) 15–28.

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books, written in Hebrew, particularly SBH. 7 These and similar traits contribute to our knowledge of which qualities were preferred and which were not within the set of authoritative books but do not reveal much about what being authoritative may have actually meant within the discourse of late Persian or early Hellenistic Yehud/Judah. In which ways, for instance, were books that were considered authoritative read, studied, interpreted, redacted, emulated, and to be sure, appropriated? For periods later than the period addressed here, the evidence that may be gathered from Josephus 8 and Qumranic texts provides a solid starting point for this type of study. But what about earlier times? One of the most promising research avenues for answering these questions is to look at the ways in which books composed in and for late Persian or early Hellenistic communities read and used the books that were considered authoritative. Several “late” books in the HB used and evoked books that were authoritative for their intended and primary readerships (e.g., Ezra–Nehemiah, Jonah). 9 However, the book of Chronicles is the most prominent candidate for this type of research since one can trace the way in which it worked with and reworked its sources, which clearly included many texts that were considered authoritative by the community. 10 The Chronicler was certainly imagined by the implied and primary readerships of the book of Chronicles 11 as one who was aware of the existence and authority that the source texts carried in the community, just 7. I have written elsewhere about Standard Biblical Hebrew (SBH) as a marker of “authoritativeness”: “The Communicative Message of Some Linguistic Choices,” in A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics and Language Relating to Persian Israel (ed. E. Ben Zvi, D. V. Edelman, and F. Polak; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2009) 269–90. 8.  On the way in which Josephus dealt with “the twenty-two books, containing the record of all time, which are rightly trusted” (i.e., his authoritative texts; citation from Ag. Ap. 1.38 [trans. J. Barclay; Leiden: Brill, 2007]), see, for instance, L. H. Feldman and G. Hata, eds., Josephus, the Bible and History (Leiden: Brill, 1989); L. H. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998); idem, Studies in Josephus’ Rewritten Bible (JSJS; Leiden: Brill, 1998); C. Begg, Josephus’ Account of the Early Divided Monarchy (AJ 8,212–420): Rewriting the Bible (BETL 108; Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1993); idem, Josephus’ Story of the Later Monarchy: (AJ 9,1–10,185) (BETL 145; Leuven: Leuven University Press/ Peeters, 2000). 9.  To which, one may add Joel and perhaps Ezekiel. 10.  Cf. Z.  Talshir, “Several Canon-Related Concepts Originating in Chronicles,” ZAW 111 (2001) 386–403. 11.  By “the Chronicler,” I refer to the implied author of Chronicles that was construed by the intended and primary readerships of this book. All implied authors are constructed by a community of readers. The latter see them as the “communicators” whose voice they hear as they read the book. To reconstruct the community’s or at least the literati’s viewpoint on “authoritativeness,” one must focus on their Chronicler— that is, the implied author of the book that they construed as they read Chronicles.

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as the primary readers of Chronicles were. To imagine otherwise, would have been tantamount to setting themselves and the Chronicler outside “Israel” as they understood it. It is in this context that the constant use and reshaping of the existing authoritative texts by the Chronicler becomes so important for research endeavors envisaged in this essay. It is in this context that Chronicles serves as a prominent resource (and likely, the most prominent resource) for reconstructing the “operative” meaning/s that the concept authoritative held within the relevant community and its text-centered literati. Three potential objections must be addressed before we embark on this enterprise. The first is that, although Chronicles often refers overtly to written works as a rhetorical device to strengthen the case for the validity of its claims, these works not only do not seem to be the authoritative books in the repertoire of the community but also may not have existed at all (e.g., “the records of the prophet Shemaiah and of the seer Iddo,” 2 Chr 12:15). This objection does not hold water. To be sure, and unsurprisingly, Chronicles followed the well-attested practice of rhetorical references to written sources in historiographical works. 12 It does not follow this, however, that the Chronicler or the target readership of Chronicles would have failed to consider authoritative the books at the core of the repertoire of the text-centered community in Yehud (e.g., pentateuchal books). Not only would such a position have placed both the Chronicler and the readership outside the community, but Chronicles continually assumes, alludes to, cites, paraphrases, rephrases, (and above all) evokes, informs, and is informed by these authoritative books. 13 The second potential objection is that Chronicles may reflect the positions of only a (minor?) segment of the literati. Even if this were the case, at least one could say that Chronicles demonstrates how one particular voice (the Chronicler) dealt with authoritative texts. This voice was accepted by at least some significant group in the relevant society. Moreover, since Chronicles was read and reread and eventually transmitted from generation to generation, one can reasonably assume that its voice was within the spectrum of what was accepted by the relevant community/ies. One can reasonably assume that it was included within the works they considered worthy of being read and reread and that reading it was deemed 12. On these systems of citing written works in ancient historiography, see K. M. Stott, Why Did They Write This Way? Reflections on References to Written Documents in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Literature (LHBOTS 492; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2008); see M. Leuchter’s review of this book in JR 89 (2009) 401–2. 13.  One may add also that Chronicles engages in exegetical (including legal exegetical) activities that presuppose a concept of Scripture to be interpreted. For examples, see pp. 26–31 below.

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to contribute to “proper” socialization and inner social cohesion, either directly or indirectly. Moreover, it is doubtful that Chronicles reflects only a segment or a minor segment of the late Persian or early Hellenistic group of literati centered around Jerusalem and its own unique discourse. In fact, it is even difficult to imagine multiple separate intellectual discourses at that time, given the small number of literati in Jerusalem. 14 The third potential objection is methodological. Clearly no analysis of a book can provide direct access to modes of reading—either the methods of the readers of Chronicles or the methods that these readers associated with the Chronicler as a reader of their authoritative books. 15 This is true; however, this objection does not address the question of indirect (and reconstructed) access to these modes of reading. Given that the implied and primary readers of Chronicles considered the Chronicler a reliable (and “godly”) communicator, 16 our analysis of the use and mode of reading authoritative books by the Chronicler can provide us with a good approximation of the community’s (or a large segment of the community’s) approach to these matters. 17 In sum, the approach advanced here is heuristically sound for the purpose of exploring these questions: What did authoritative mean to the Chronicler? How did the Chronicler read, use, reflect on, and appropriate the authoritative repertoire that existed among the literati? What did the concept of authoritative book actually mean within a community of ancient readers in late Persian/early Hellenistic Judah/Yehud, and why did they accept the Chronicler as a reliable, “godly” character? 14.  I discussed these matters in “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,” in The Production of Prophecy (ed. D. V. Edelman and E. Ben Zvi; London: Equinox, 2009) 73–95; idem, “Towards an Integrative Study.” 15.  The implied author that the intended and primary readerships construed when reading the book; that is, the Chronicler was more likely imagined as male than female, given the predominant distribution of gender roles and occupations in Yehud. 16.  If this were not the case, they would have failed to accept Chronicles as book worthy of reading and rereading and as an important source of theological/ideological messages. 17.  Given the definition of the Chronicler used here, it is worth noting that one cannot have direct access to the construed implied author of the primary readerships of Chronicles or of any book in ancient Israel, but one may approximate the world of the primary readership and its construction of the implied author by focusing on the intended readership of the book. After all, had there been a large gap separating the intended and primary readerships, the book would not have been accepted initially. For a discussion of the methodological issues at stake, see my “Is the Twelve Hypothesis Likely from an Ancient Reader’s Perspective?” in Two Sides of a Coin: Juxtaposing Views on Interpreting the Book of the Twelve/the Twelve Prophetic Books, by E.  Ben Zvi and J. D. Nogalski (with an introduction by T. C. Römer; Analecta Gorgiana 201; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2009) 47–96, esp. pp. 54–63.

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Given that a comprehensive analysis of the myriad of relevant examples within Chronicles that one may bring up is well beyond the scope of this or any chapter, the more practical and heuristically helpful approach is to focus on general trends as they apply to three, at least potentially, different types of authoritative texts: (a) narratives, (b) laws, and (c) prophetic texts and psalms literature. 18 In the discussion below, examples will be used only to help us discern and shed light on these trends.

Chronicles and Authoritative Narratives: Observing Some Central Trends Chronicles deals with, cites, and appropriates numerous texts from Samuel and Kings. These matters have been studied in detail in numerous works. For the present purposes, it suffices to say that Chronicles recognized Kings and Samuel as classical sources that set the pattern for historical writing in the monarchic period and sources that it could not fully compete with or imitate. 19 Chronicles explicitly presents itself as less authoritative than Samuel and Kings (see the use of LBH), 20 takes for granted the basic structure of Samuel–Kings as regnal accounts, and presents itself on many occasions as clearly derivative because it actually “copies” much of their material. But how did the Chronicler actually deal with the historical narratives in Samuel and Kings, and what can we infer from his dealings with the material from the authoritative books regarding his preferred modes of reading? Very often the Chronicler presents the original text either verba18.  It goes without saying that this essay is part of a larger conversation about these matters that has a long history of interpretation and that is partially continued in this volume; and any one volume can only partially continue this conversation. For an important example of another take on these matters, see H. G. M. Williamson, Studies in Persian Period History and Historiography (FAT 38; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) 232–43; see also the important bibliography on these matters mentioned there. In addition, see, I. L. Seeligmann, “‫ניצני מדרשׁ בספר דברי הימים‬,” Tarbiz 49 (1979–80) 14–32; and Talshir, “Several Canon-Related Concepts.” Compare with M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985); and W. M. Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). 19. See J.  Van Seters, “Creative Imitation in the Hebrew Bible,” SR 29 (2000) 395–409. 20.  LBH stands for Late Biblical Hebrew, and SBH is the acronym for Standard Biblical Hebrew. I discussed their communicative messages in the late Persian / early Hellenistic period in “The Communicative Message of Some Linguistic Choices,” in A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics and Language Relating to Persian Israel (ed. E. Ben Zvi, D. V. Edelman, and F. Polak; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2009) 269–90.

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tim or after shifting its linguistic profile to LBH. This shift conveys both a sense of distancing from the authoritative source using SBH and a sense that what is really authoritative is actually not dependent on its precise wording. This general attitude toward texts is consistent with the development of multiple versions of biblical texts and the eventual development of manuscripts that completely shift the linguistic character of their original (e.g., 1QIsaa). The Chronicler did not address every text and piece of information in Samuel–Kings in the same manner. At times, the Chronicler closely followed the information in the authoritative books. The Chronicler seemed to be keenly aware of the existence of certain core historical facts about the past agreed upon within the community and reflected on in these books. There is no room for malleability regarding these facts (e.g., Solomon not David built the temple; the list of the kings of Judah and how long they reigned). 21 At times, however, the Chronicler’s story clearly diverges from its authoritative sources and the information they provide. Some of these cases may be explained as examples of a malleability of the past that was not perceived as such. In these cases, the Chronicler thought that he was communicating the very meaning of the source text. These instances are particularly helpful to explore some core matters associated with the functional concept of authoritativeness that existed in the community. An illuminating example is the difference between 1 Kgs 8:25 and 2 Chr 6:16. The Kings text reads as follows: ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ִׁש ְמרּו ָבנֶיךָ אֶת־ּדַ ְרּכָם ָל ֶלכֶת ְל ָפנַי ַּכא‬ ְ ‫רַ ק ִאם־י‬ ‫ ָהל ְַכ ָּת ְל ָפנָי‬, whereas the text in Chronicles has: ‫ִׁש ְמרּו ָבנֶיךָ אֶת־ּדַ ְרּכָם‬ ְ ‫רַ ק ִאם־י‬ ‫ֲׁשר ָהל ְַכ ָּת ְל ָפנָי‬ ֶ ‫ָתי ַּכא‬ ִ ‫ ָל ֶלכֶת ְּבתֹור‬. From the Chronicler’s perspective—and from that of the readers of the book who identified with him—to walk before Yhwh equals to walk in Yhwh’s instruction. To be sure, this understanding is part and parcel of the discourse of the Persian period and is not an innovation of the Chronicler, as already demonstrated by 1 Kgs 9:6, which reads ‫ֲׁשר נָתַ ִּתי ִל ְפנֵיכֶם‬ ֶ ‫ׁש ְמרּו ִמ ְצֹותַ י חֻּק ֹתַ י א‬ ְ ‫ּובנֵיכֶם ֵמ ַאחֲרַ י ְולֹא ִת‬ ְ ‫ַּתם‬ ֶ ‫אם־ׁשֹוב ְּתׁשֻבּון א‬. ִ  22 The placement of ‘Yhwh’s Torah’ in the expected structural and ideologically laden slot of ‘Yhwh’ appears, of course, in Psalm 119 and may be 21. See my History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles (London: Equinox, 2006) 78–99; and “Malleability and Its Limits: Sennacherib’s Campaign against Judah as a Case Study,” in ‘Bird in a Cage’: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 b.c.e. (ed. L. L. Grabbe; JSOTSup 363; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003) 73–105. 22. Compare with my “Are There Any Bridges Out There? How Wide Was the Conceptual Gap between the Deuteronomistic History and Chronicles?” in Community Identity in Judean Historiography: Biblical and Comparative Perspectives (ed. G. N. Knoppers and K. A. Ristau; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009) 59–86.

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indicative of a kind of Torah-religiosity that existed in the late Persian/ early Hellenistic Period. 23 Thus, it is no surprise that, for instance, the Chronicler assumed that Solomon’s wisdom was for the sake of keeping Yhwh’s Torah. 24 In all these cases, the Chronicler follows the authoritative historical narratives as read by his community, that is, from a Torah-centered perspective. Texts functioned as authoritative only as they were understood through the prism used by the community. Thus the actual content of the authoritative tradition for the community consists not of sets of (written) texts but of readings. 25 In other words, what was really authoritative for the literati and their Chronicler was the outcome or outcomes of an interaction between an authoritative source text they possessed and the world of knowledge they used to decode it. 26 The written scroll functioned, then, not necessarily as “the text” but as a means to develop and shape “the text,” as a means of evoking and recreating its meaning, and as the material, symbolic presence of the community rereadings. Of course not all cases of divergence between Chronicles and its narrative sources involved a malleability of the past that was not perceived as malleable. It is impossible to assume that the famous omissions in Chronicles that served to lionize David and Solomon represented a “reading” of the relevant texts in Samuel or Kings. Likewise, additions such as the repentance and reform of Manasseh could not have emerged as the “real” meaning of the characterization of Manasseh in Kings, and the same holds true for cases of flat contradictions (compare the characterization of King Abijah in Kings and Chronicles). As the Chronicler involved himself in these substantial alterations of some aspects of “historical” knowledge that existed in his community, he along with the primary and intended readers of the book began to explore and redefine the boundaries of and the boundaries between the sets of (construed) facts about the past that were 23. See M.  Greenberg, “Three Conceptions of the Torah in the Hebrew Scriptures,” in Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. E.  Blum, C.  Macholz, and E.  W.  Stegemann; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990) 365–78, esp. pp. 76–78. 24.  Compare 1 Chr 22:12 with 2 Chr 2:11 (cf. 1 Kgs 8:21; cf. 1 Kgs 3:9, 2 Chr 1:10 and the implicit comparison between Moses and Solomon). 25.  See B. Shuter, “Tradition as Rereading,” in Second Thoughts. A Focus on Rereading (ed. D. Galef; Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1998) 74–112. Compare and partially contrast with the now classic M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985) passim. See also D. A. Knight, Rediscovering the Traditions of Israel (SBLDS 9; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1975). 26.  For this reason, I prefer to use rereadings rather the more passive term reception, which implies that something is received. Of course, the previous examples raise the issue of what Yhwh’s Torah was for the Chronicler.

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considered malleable and the sets that were considered to be part of a core social memory that was deemed to be “fixed” and, therefore, included nonmalleable “facts” agreed upon by the community. As the Chronicler and his community of readers explored, they could not but reflect and communicate a kind of implied taxonomy used to sort “facts”/memory items. 27 Of course, even when the Chronicler kept the same “facts,” they were (and had to be) emplotted in a new narrative. Narratives provide significance for “facts,” both in ancient and in contemporary historiography. By means of sophisticated combinations of additions, omissions, transformations, and implicit or explicit new causal explanations, the Chronicler resignified many of these seemingly nonmalleable “facts.” 28 One may conclude therefore that, at least on some level, construed “facts” (i.e., pieces of information) were understood as more authoritative than their very significance, since the facts were not malleable, but their significance was. This ideological attitude led to a mode of reading that focused on “fact” gathering and led to a relatively atomistic approach to the authoritative books. This mode of reading placed special value in these texts as source books rather than as fully developed, didactic, and ideological narratives in their own right. 29 But this could not have been the only mode of reading in town. Narratives could not be avoided or relegated to being mere holders of “facts.” All the implied authors of these narratives and of the books in which they were embedded were imagined as personages that communicated carefully crafted stories. They all used plenty of literary and rhetorical devices and each developed multiple levels of textual coherence within their respective books and narrative literary units. Each of the books that served as sources for Chronicles conveyed a powerful narrative, and so did Chronicles. The community of readers of Chronicles could not have constituted people who did not care about narrative meaning or the ideological significance of “facts.” Had this been the case, the book of Chronicles would have been rejected by the community. The very presence of the Chronicler’s “new” narrative brought to the forefront the importance of historical narratives. At the same time, a community that accepts a historical narrative that saliently emplots socially agreed upon, nonmalleable “facts” differently from preexisting narratives must imagine and accept an author/historian who has the right (and need) 27. Compare Josephus’s reworking of biblical texts. 28.  See I. Kalimi, The Reshaping Of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004) for multiple examples. 29.  One may say that this is the other side of the same coin that carries nonmalleable (construed) facts. The ancient literati could not have one without the other.

22

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to do this. Of course, by doing so, the community reinforces the value of “facts” per se. Taking this observation along with the one advanced in the preceding paragraph, we see clearly that the community’s approach to the respective importance of “facts” and “narrative meanings” was necessarily characterized by a balanced and balancing system of “both-and” rather than by any “either-or” (social and ideological) attitude. Similarly, the new narrative deemphasized the authority of preexisting historical narratives; however, it constantly evoked these narratives for its intended and primary readers, who were well aware not only of Chronicles but also of Kings, Samuel, and the other books. As the readers read historical narratives, they mentally shaped and revisited sites of memory that were marked in space and time and were shaped around personages and events. The Chronicler advanced a representation of a known past, aimed not at replacing it—this would have been impos­sible—but at informing and being informed by the older and more authoritative version. 30 Chronicles created new events and places of remembrance and invited its readers to keep visiting them through their readings. The ancient community of readers, of course, kept visiting the more traditional sites of memory. But Chronicles provided additional sites, reshaped traditional sites, and provided new paths linking sites (see discussion below). 31 Readers could now visit and revisit them, along with the sites they visited as they read the other historical narratives. The intertwining of all these imaginary visits that balanced and interacted (directly or indirectly) with each other served to reconfigure the social memory of the community. This social memory is neither the Chronistic nor the 30. See Jubilees, for instance. 31. In some ways, one may compare some aspects of its relationship to its sources with the relationship of the Palestinian targums to the Pentateuch (for instance, explaining, adding information and characters, certainly resignifying, and doing all this while accepting the authority of the source text). There are, however, important differences. It is not only a matter of a heightened sense of linguistic difference (the distance between the Palestinian targums’ Aramaic and SBH is far larger than the difference between SBH and LBH) or even of genre (translation versus another writing). The pentateuchal targums reflect readings of the Pentateuch, even if informed by a sea of other literature; Chronicles does not attempt to reflect a reading of the book of Samuel or of Kings—or of the Deuteronomistic historical collection (that is, the so-called Deuteronomistic History) for that matter. To be sure, Chronicles includes numerous direct or indirect references to the Chronicler’s reading of particular sections of Kings and Samuel, but it does not represent or attempt to be a particular reading of either one of these books. As opposed to the implied authors of Samuel and Kings, the Chronicler seems to place more attention on particular narratives, reported facts, and the like than on meanings conveyed by the books of Kings or Samuel, respectively, and (each) as a whole, or even meanings of large sections of these books.

One Size Does Not Fit All

23

Deuteronomistic narrative but what was in the mind of the members of the community that read both of them. 32 Given some Second Temple understandings of the Pentateuch as Torah, it is worth exploring whether the Chronicler dealt with historical narratives in the Pentateuch in a different, perhaps more-authoritative way than with historical narratives in other books. 33 In other words, did the notion of a Pentateuch affect the Chronicler’s approach? And what about the plausible notion of a complementary collection, the Hexateuch? The answer to these questions is no. 34 To illustrate, both Genesis and 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 serve as an introduction to the “primary history” and to the “chronistic history,” respectively, and both move relatively quickly from the universal to the particular, without dissociating the latter from the former. Moreover, the source of this section of Chronicles is Genesis or some book very close to it. In fact, there is no information in this pericope that does not go back to Genesis, directly or indirectly (that is, by means of exegetical information-gathering). 35 Despite all the reliance on information taken from Genesis, no one would claim that 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 is a rewritten Genesis. More importantly, it is difficult to see 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 as a “condensed” Genesis or as a representation of the book of Genesis as a whole. There are substantial differences in genre and in the topics that they cover or evoke. 32.  Social or cultural memory is never coterminus with what is written in a book or a set of books. Books as understood by a community may evoke and shape cultural memory but are not identical to it. Social/cultural memory exists in the minds of people, not in scrolls. 33. See Seeligmann, “‫ניצני מדרשׁ בספר דברי הימים‬,” but also the position advanced by Talshir, “Several Canon-Related Concepts,” esp. pp. 390–94. Compare, though from a very different perspective, S. B. Chapman, The Law and the Prophets: A Study in Old Testament Formation (FAT 27; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009). 34.  This is a very important conclusion in terms of the ideological discourse of the late Persian / early Hellenistic Periods. 35.  1 Chr 2:1–2 serves both as a heightened conclusion to 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 and an introduction to the next unit, which deals with the genealogies of Israel. On 1 Chr 1:1– 1:2 see, for instance, G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9 (AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 285–89; W. Johnstone, 1 and 2 Chronicles, vol. 1: 1 Chronicles 1–2 Chronicles 9: Israel’s Place among the Nations (JSOTSup 253; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997) 24–40. See also M.  Kartveit, “Names and Narratives: The Meaning of Their Combination in 1 Chronicles 1–9,” in Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language (ed. M.  Bar-Asher et al.; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007) 59*–80*. It is worth stressing that the source of 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 is Genesis, not J or P. Moreover, studies of the laws assumed in Chronicles suggest that Chronicles’ source text was a Pentateuch including the proposed layers/sources labeled J, D, H, and P. For a relevant example of exegetical information-gathering at work, see Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, 280.

24

Ehud Ben Zvi

To illustrate the differences, 1 Chr 1:2–2:2 contains no explicit reference to cosmogony, the Garden of Eden story, or the flood story. Given the importance of the Enochic tradition in later periods, it is worth stressing that in 1 Chronicles Enoch neither walks about with the deity nor disappears. 36 Most significantly, 1  Chr 1:2–2:2 contains no explicit reference to Yhwh’s interaction with any character. This absence does not mean that the Chronicler did not think that Yhwh created Adam or the like, nor does it mean that Chronicles was simply the result of an attempt to condense the material in Genesis. Instead, it served to advance an important ideological point and shape cultural memory. It is not by chance that the first explicit report of an interaction between human beings and Yhwh in Chronicles appears in the opening verse of the story of Judah/Israel. 37 Moreover, it deals with Yhwh’s killing of the sinner Er and the precariousness of the line of Judah and David that ensued—it had to be saved by Tamar’s actions and, within ancient Israelite discourses, ultimately by Yhwh’s will. It is worth noting that, from the perspective of the readership, the patriarch Judah evoked the image of and (partially) stood for Judah—the people and country; the latter evoked the image of and (partially) stood for the Yehudite community of Chronicles-readers who identified with monarchic Judah. Moreover, both Judah and Yehud were identified with transtemporal “Israel.” The precariousness of the line and its near disappearance due to sin prefigured and embodied the history of Israel that ensues in the book and that in its large strokes stood at the center of the social memory and identity of Israel/Yehud. Returning to the literary unit mentioned above, 1 Chr 1:2–2:2, any ancient reader of this text noted that—unlike the situation in Genesis— in Chronicles, the genealogical line moved directly from Adam to Seth; that is, there was no reference to Cain or Abel. There was also no reference to the matriarchs. None of these omissions can be explained simply in terms of genre constraints or condensing the material since, despite its terse language, 1 Chronicles 1 includes a few interpretive expansions. The reference to “Abram, who is Abraham” in 1 Chr 1:17, for instance, pointed to the obvious from the perspective of the readership; however, it was also clearly evocative of the covenant. In other cases, the Chronicler diverged from the Genesis text in order to present what he believed to be its meaning, even if he did not state the matter explicitly. This seems to be 36.  This is consistent with the position that the very limited reference to Enoch in Genesis reflects a discursive/ideological tendency to dis-prefer or downplay references to him in Genesis rather than merely a (true) reflection of the absence of traditions about him within the social memory of the community. 37.  The first occurrence of Yhwh in Chronicles is in 1 Chr 2:3, ‫ְהּודה‬ ָ ‫ְהי עֵר ְּבכֹור י‬ ִ ‫ַוי‬ ‫ְמיתֵ הּו‬ ִ ‫רַ ע ְּבעֵינֵי יְהוָה ַוי‬.

One Size Does Not Fit All

25

the case in the added reference to Keturah as a concubine of Abraham (in contrast to Gen 25:1) and to the removal of their children from the list of ְ ‫ְו ֵאּלֶה‬ Abraham’s sons. 38 The same holds true for the replacement of ‫ׁשמֹות‬ ‫ׁשמ ָֹתם אַּלּוף‬ ְ ‫ׁש ְּפח ָֹתם ִל ְמקֹמ ָֹתם ִּב‬ ְ ‫ֵׂשו ְל ִמ‬ ָ ‫ אַּלּופֵי ע‬in Gen 36:40 with ‫ִהיּו‬ ְ ‫ֲדד ַוּי‬ ָ ‫ַוּיָמָת ה‬ ‫ אַּלּופֵי אֱדֹום אַּלּוף‬in 1 Chr 1:51. 39 Thus 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 suggests a Chronicler who used Genesis as a source for discrete fact-gathering rather than as a source in which the focus of socially accepted authority is on the plot. To be sure, at times the Chronicler clearly understood the information contextually, and by communicating this understanding to the readers implicitly emphasized the importance of contextual reading. At the same time, the Chronicler largely placed the Genesis narrative and its meanings in perspective by replacing them with his own narrative in the book of Chronicles. Although some facts gathered from or represented in Genesis were authoritative, their emplotment and Genesis’ implicit or explicit causality were not necessarily authoritative for the Chronicler. The Chronicler’s approach seemed to be the same whether his narrative sources were included in the Pentateuch (or Hexateuch) or were (only) part and parcel of the so-called Deuteronomistic History. A final but crucial observation for this section: given the preceding considerations about “facts” and especially the omissions in 1 Chr 1:2–2:2, it is not surprising that Chronicles presents itself as an explicit, segmented “national” historical narrative. 40 It omits central historical, formative narratives that were well-known by the intended readers of the book, such as the cosmogony, the patriarchal stories, the narratives about the exodus and the stay in the wilderness, the communication of the Torah to Moses, the conquest of land in Joshua, and stories of judges and pre-Davidic leaders. All these omissions were not meant to deny that these events were part 38.  See Gen 25:5–6, 9 and the long tradition focusing on the two sons, Isaac and Ishmael. The Chronicler seems to have used this information to reinterpret Gen 25:1. The Chronicler seems to understand Keturah’s sons as her (rather than Abraham’s) sons; also notice ‫ָל ָדה‬ ְ ‫ י‬in 1 Chr 1:32 and contrast this with ‫ָל ָדה לֹו‬ ְ ‫ י‬in 2 Chr 2:4, where the sons belong to Judah’s line. 39.  On the surface, the addition of ‫ֲדד‬ ָ ‫ ַוּיָמָת ה‬only completes the pattern . . . ‫ִמל ְֹך‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ ַוּיָמָת‬that characterizes the list of Edomite kings in Gen 36:31–40. After all, the Chronicler knew that Hadar/Hadad died, even if Genesis leaves his death unmentioned, perhaps because he is the last member of the list and no successor is mentioned and thus the pattern ‫ ַוּיָמָת‬. . . ‫ִמל ְֹך‬ ְ ‫ ַוּי‬could not be continued. But 1 Chr 1:51 also explicitly conveys the sense that, following the death of Hadad, Edom had only chieftains, not kings. Since Hadad is more or less contemporaneous with David (see Johnstone, 1 Chronicles 1–2 Chronicles 9, 34–35), this represents the Chronicler’s understanding of the meaning of Gen 36:31. 40.  Compare Ezra, which is a clear example of a segmented historical narrative with very large gaps. Compare the cultural memory about the old prophets that jumps from people working in Hezekiah’s era to people in the Josianic and destruction period.

26

Ehud Ben Zvi

of Israel’s past or to suggest that they were unimportant (for example, the Torah given to Moses); instead, they point to an attempt to effect a partial reconfiguration of social memory by reconfiguring the paths that connected virtual sites of memory for ideological purposes. One may easily note, for instance, the obvious teleology of these memory paths: they lead quickly and directly to David and the temple and then, slowly, through a meandering monarchic history, to Cyrus and the temple. Yhwh’s Torah and the question of its observance or lack thereof, stand large and make sense of the entire path. Within this strong teleology, there is no room for detours concerning the leadership of Moses, Joshua, any of the judges (including Samuel), northern kings (unless they directly engaged with Judah), or any other non-Davidic leader (for example, Gedaliah) for that matter. As mentioned above, Chronicles not only provided additional sites of memory or reshaped existing sites but also and most importantly provided new paths that connected and bound together sites of memory. As it did this, it contributed to a reconfiguration of the social memory of the community that imbued sites with a new or special significance as stops in a long path. 41

Chronicles and Laws in Authoritative Books: Observing Some Central Trends The book of Chronicles is not a law book but a historical narrative, and as such, it tends to refer to particular occasions on which this or that law was followed. The result is that at times it is difficult to decide categorically whether the Chronicler constructed and communicated an image of the past in which the reported procedures were to be understood as at least partially contingent on the particular conditions at the time of the event portrayed in the book rather than as reflecting a categorical law. Notwithstanding this caveat, some general trends concerning the Chronicler’s approach to authoritative law texts can be explored. Chronicles is a Torah-centered text, but it also concentrates a great deal of text on kings and the temple. In fact, for the most part, it is structured around the periods of each king. The temple, which plays a central role in Chronicles, is presented as being established and maintained by the king. Proper worship in the temple is his responsibility. Given that Chronicles is to a large extent a monarchy-oriented book, it cannot avoid the crucial differences between its narratives about laws and temple and the pentateuchal laws. The office of the Israelite (never mind, Davidic) king is not mentioned in the Pentateuch, except for a brief note permitting the in41.  Of course, this was balanced and informed by—but also actively informing— other constructions evoked and developed in and by other historiographical narratives.

One Size Does Not Fit All

27

stitution. The relevant note (Deut 17:14–20) fails to construe the king as an essential office and strongly restricts it. 42 Similarly, Jerusalem plays a central role in Chronicles. However, there is no pentateuchal law that refers to it. One of the purposes of the historical narratives both in Chronicles and in the so-called Deuteronomistic History is to bridge this gap by creating a context that informs the reading of the pentateuchal laws so that they become consistent with core tenets of the community such as the centrality of Jerusalem, its temple, Judah, and the associated Davidic Dynasty, and conversely so that the concepts of Jerusalem, Judah, and the temple held by the community become supported and intertwined with Moses/ Yhwh’s Torah. To a large extent, the Chronicler resignified the Pentateuch as a Jerusalemite-centered Torah, which was the only way in which it could have been authoritative in Yehud. 43 Thus, the historical narrative of Chronicles becomes, as it were, Torah while at the same time clearly claiming that it is not. Chronicles communicates and embodies Torah, without claiming to be Torah, in another complementary manner. Often it referred to laws written in the book of the Torah. One of the most obvious examples is 2 Chr 25:4, which reflects on Deut 24:16 and, significantly, slightly reformulates it (compare with the Kethiv of 2 Kgs 14:6 but not its Qere). 44 It is worth stressing that it is the law as understood by the Chronicler that has priority over the exact wording of Deuteronomy. Another well-known case appears in 2 Chr 35:25. 45 Here the Chronicler presents what for him is the real meaning of Exod 12:9 and Deut 16:7. His approach to X-‫ ב‬in ‫ַּׁשלּו‬ ְ ‫ַו ְיב‬ ‫ ַה ֶּפסַח ָּבאֵׁש‬, is that X stood for the single and only acceptable agent involved in cooking the Passover meat. To arrive at this meaning, the Chronicler 42.  See G.N. Knoppers, “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings,” CBQ 63 (2001) 393–415. 43.  For example, the Chronicler identifies the place of Isaac’s sacrifice with the location of the temple in Jerusalem, something that is not stated in Genesis. Also, where does the Pentateuch state that the Passover must be sacrificed in Jerusalem? Of course, nowhere, but any reading of the Pentateuch that would not have assumed this to be the case would not have been included in the Jerusalemite-centered Torah of Yehud. The Chronicler represents the literati for whom following the Torah was essential but who could have imagined themselves as Torah followers without a drastic resignification of the authoritative, pentateuchal texts and laws they shared with Yhwh’s worshipers in Samaria. Conversely, they could have accepted the authoritativeness of these texts or their being Torah without their Jerusalem-centered resignification. 44.  2 Chr 25:4: ‫ לֹא־יָמּותּו אָבֹות עַל־ ָּבנִים ּו ָבנִים‬. . . ‫ר־צּוָה יְהוָה‬ ִ ‫ֲׁש‬ ֶ ‫ׁשה א‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ַּתֹורה ְּב ֵספֶר מ‬ ָ ‫ַכּכָתּוב ּב‬ ֹ ‫א־יּומתּו אָבֹות עַל־ ָּבנִים ּו ָבנִים ל‬ ֹ‫ל‬ ‫ֶטאֹו יָמּותּו‬ ְ ‫לֹא־יָמּותּו עַל־אָבֹות ִּכי ִאיׁש ְּבח‬. Deut 24:16: ‫א־יּומתּו‬ ְ ְ ‫ֶטאֹו יּומָתּו‬ ְ ‫עַל־אָבֹות ִאיׁש ְּבח‬. See S. Japhet, I and II Chronicles (OTL; Louisville; Westminster/John Knox, 1993) 861. 45. See my “Revisiting ‘Boiling in Fire’” and bibliography.

28

Ehud Ben Zvi

uses exegetical techniques comparable to techniques used in later times, 46 which involve a close reading leading to restrictions in the applicability of certain rules 47 and expanding conceptual meanings through abstraction and comparison. 48 One may infer from this case that the Chronicler regarded the texts in Exod 12:9 and Deut 16:7 to be authoritative but also thought that their true meaning could not emerge by examining the meaning in a way informed only and separately by the books of Exodus and Deuteronomy, respectively. Instead, the truly authoritative meaning was to be recovered through an exegetical process informed by both texts and by particular exegetical techniques. 49 This approach to sources involved rejecting readings of books as literary units that bear their respective meanings in and by themselves. The main content and meaning of the transmitted and operative tradition is thus dissociated from the text itself as presented to the originally intended readership of each of these authoritative books. 50

46.  A point made in relation to this and other texts by Seeligmann (see “‫ניצני מדר‬ ‫)”שׁ בספר דברי הימים‬. 47. Compare ‫ׂשה ַל ָּביִת‬ ֶ ‫ׂשה ְלבֵית אָבֹת‬ ֶ ‫איׁש‬, ִ a lamb for each ancestral house, a lamb for each household in Exod 12:3; and see Mekilta, Pisha [‫]בא‬, chap. 3.50–51 (J. Z. Lau­ terbach edition, 26). 48.  Compare with the the development of the ‫‘ אהל‬tent’ as pointing to any human dwelling, particularly a house, as attested for instance in the LXX and the Temple Scroll (cf. Num 19:14–15, LXX Num 19:14, and the legislation in 11QTa xlix 5–l 3). In both instances, the process of logical abstraction includes the selection of a particular attribute (in these cases, a closed space for human abode; cooking by engulfing the meat with a hot “substance”) of the original concept (such as a tent, boiling) and the development of this concept so as to include other instances of that attribute (for example, houses, boiling in fire). On this matter and the later abstract conceptualization of ‫ אהל‬in the Mishnah, see J. L. Rubbenstein, “On Some Abstract Concepts in Rabbinic Literature,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 4 (1997) 33–73 (esp. pp. 34–40). One may also compare the case here with the development of the concept “pit” to encompass any “obstacle”; and even with R. Aqiba’s statement in m. Pesaḥ. 7:1. 49.  The examples can easily be multiplied. For instance, the Chronicler exegetically expands the grounds for celebrating Passover in the second month and compare Num 9:10–11 with 2 Chr 30:3 (away from home becomes away from Jerusalem; uncleanness of the officiating priests is probably seen as a qal-wahomer of the uncleanness of a prospective Israelite; of course, there is no pentateuchal way of explaining the role of the king in 30:2 and see below). There is no clear pentateuchal equivalent to the sin offering portrayed in 2 Chr 29:21 (‫ַּטאת עַל־ ַהּמ ְַמ ָלכָה‬ ָ ‫ׁש ְבעָה ְלח‬ ִ ‫ּוצ ִפירֵי ִעּזִים‬ ְ ‫ׁש ְבעָה‬ ִ ‫ָׂשים‬ ִ ‫ּוכב‬ ְ ‫ׁש ְבעָה‬ ִ ‫ֵילים‬ ִ ‫ים־ׁש ְבעָה ְוא‬ ִ ‫ָר‬ ִ‫ָביאּו פ‬ ִ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ְהּודה‬ ָ ‫)ועַל־ה ִַּמ ְקָּדׁש ְועַל־י‬ ְ or for Passover sacrifice in 2 Chr 35:11–12, despite the reference to ‫ׁשה‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ ַּכּכָתּוב ְּב ֵספֶר מ‬. But the latter actually meant ‘as written in Scripture’—that is, as understood by the community to be written (even if only implicitly) in Scripture. 50.  However, one must note that this position is balanced by the Chronicler’s own insistence in his own narrative, and within the general discourse of the community by the explicit markers of textual coherence in all these books. Again, this is a position

One Size Does Not Fit All

29

When it comes to the Pentateuch’s authoritative laws about kings and Levites, two central groups in Chronicles, the book must face the substantial hurdles of omission and “seemingly” implied contradictions in the case of kings, and “seemingly” explicit contradictions 51 and occasional omissions in the case of the Levites. Issues that arose concerning the roles of kings were resolved through the examples of David and Solomon, a process that created a kind of template that then applied, even though with much flexibility, to the construction of the pious attitudes of kings. 52 At times, this process involved conceptual reformulation, such as in the case of the king’s obligation to provide for the burnt offerings (see 2 Chr 31:3; and compare 1 Chr 29:1–5), 53 or the reference to “the tax levied by Moses, the servant of the Lord, on the congregation of Israel for the tent of the covenant,” the enforcement of which was now under the jurisdiction of the king in 2 Chr 24:6. 54 In the case of the Levites, the basis for the exegetical approach involved a very expansive understanding of Num 16:9, which states the Levites’ duty to serve the community (in worship/sacrifice) and a reconceptualization of the key term ‫עבודה‬. 55 To be sure, from our perspective, the Chronicler’s construction of the Levites’ role would stand for what we of “both–and”—which at times emphasizes one side of the equation and at times the other. See above. 51.  For instance, compare 1 Chr 23:32, which assigns ‫‘( משמרת הקדש‬keeping watch over the sanctuary’) to the Levites, with Num 18:5, which assigns it to the priests. 52.  For instance, the portrayal of Hezekiah’s Passover is influenced by the portrayal of Solomon’s dedication of the temple. On Hezekiah and Solomon, see, for instance, H. G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977) 119–25; J. R. Shaver, Torah and the Chronicler’s History Work (BJS 196; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989) 112–13; M. A. Throntveit, “The Relationship of Hezekiah to David and Solomon in the Books of Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein (ed. M. P. Graham, S. L. McKenzie, and G. N. Knoppers; JSOTSup 371; London: T. & T. Clark, 2003) 105–121. 53.  The Pentateuch nowhere states anything that can directly lead to “the contribution of the king from his own possessions was for the burnt offerings: the burnt offerings of morning and evening, and the burnt offerings for the sabbaths, the new moons, and the appointed festivals, as it is written in the law of the Lord” (2 Chr 31:3). The actions of Hezekiah are understandable in light of David’s and Solomon’s, which can only be understood through an exegetical process by which the king is identified with the ‫ נשיא‬in Ezek 45:17 and then uses this ‫ נשיא‬as an interpretive key for Numbers 7. 54.  On this tax and the process of biblical interpretation reflected in Chronicles, see W. M. Schniedewind, “The Chronicler as an Interpreter of Scripture,” in The Chronicles as a Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein (ed. M. P. Graham, S. L. McKenzie, and G. N. Knoppers; JSOTSup 371; London: T. & T. Clark, 2003) 158–80 (esp. p. 168) and bibliography. 55.  The basic meaning of the term shifts from “physical labor relating to the sanctuary” in P to “temple service” in Chronicles, except in direct quotations from P. See J.  Milgrom, Studies in Cultic Theology and Terminology (Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 36; Leiden: Brill, 1983) 18–46.

30

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would call innovation or perhaps innovative utopian thinking, depending on one’s approach to Chronicles and the historical role of the Levites in Yehud; but most significantly, in Chronicles, the Levites are construed in such a way that they “personify both the (transtemporal) Torah and the (transtemporal) sanctuary.” 56 At times, probably when faced with contradictions between some of the authoritative text and the practice of the day (just as in later exegetical literature), the Chronicler resorted to and implied a principle of temporally related validity. 57 To illustrate: pentateuchal prescriptions such as a minimum age of 30 for a Levite to be counted in a census (Num 4:3), which was at odds with actual practice (see Ezra 3:8), could remain authoritative but have no operational relevance to the book’s community of readers. The principle here is that a law of this sort was understood to be contingent on certain chores of the Levites—carrying the sanctuary and all its vessels. Once there was no need for these chores, David appropriately reduced the age to 20 (1 Chr 23:24–27), which seems to be the implied standard age for assuming full adult responsibilities in Chronicles. 58 In other words, David is characterized as the person who could, should, and did decide which authoritative laws are operative in the present (and future) and which are not. This construction of David is consistent with another main theme in Chronicles that directly relates to the questions of how to deal with authoritative texts and which texts they are: according to Chronicles, the temple is to be governed by both Yhwh’s laws as given to Moses and the instructions given to David. 59 The symbiosis of the two sources and, in practical terms, the position that both sources complement and cohere with each other are central issues for Chronicles. The most obvious ex-

56.  See T. Willi, “Israel’s Holiness: Some Observations on the ‘Clerical Nature’ of 1 Chronicles 6,” in Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language (ed. M.  Bar-Asher et al.; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007) 165*–76* (citation from p. 175*). 57.  This principle is clearly attested in later literature. See, for instance, Mekilta, Pisha [‫]בא‬, chap. 1.43–57 (J. Z. Lauterbach edition, 4–5). 58.  It is worth stressing that in Chronicles Josiah begins his cultic reform/purge just as he reaches age 20 and therefore fully responsible for his actions. In other words, as soon as he became an adult, he took action. If as a pious king he had done so, he would have immediately borne responsibility for continuation of the practices described in 2 Chr 34:3–7 (contrast the description in 2 Kings 22–23, which was not accepted by the Chronicler; compare the characterization of Hezekiah in 2 Chr 29:3 [“in the first . . . in the first . . .”]). On 1 Chr 23:24–27 see, among others, Schniedewind, “The Chronicler as an Interpreter of Scripture,” 175. 59.  See S. J. De Vries, “Moses and David as Cult Founders in Chronicles,” JBL 107 (1988) 619–39.

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amples of this position are 1 Chr 28:11–19, with its explicit conclusion in v. 19; and 2 Chr 23:18; 60 but see also 2 Chr 8:14. 61 The above-mentioned characterization of David is expanded to include the prophets in 2 Chr 29:25, which explains to the readers that the (authoritative) “commandment of David and of Gad the king’s seer and of the prophet Nathan” was from Yhwh through his prophets. The text associates David and prophecy, and both with lawgiving, and indirectly with Moses. But it does not give the same authority to Hezekiah. The time for the revelation of the authoritative laws is over after David and the establishment of the temple. Hezekiah, who reestablishes it (a situation that prefigures Yehud), must follow the existing laws, not create new ones. In all these accounts, the Chronicler’s approach is clearly a precursor to the concept of written and oral Torah and the idea that the meaning of the former is to be found in terms of the latter. His approach involves valorization but also appropriation, through interpretation, of texts. It often involves an atemporal and noncontextual mode of reading, but at times also a clearly contextual approach to particular texts within a book. 62 As in many cases in the later oral Torah, one can safely assume that the Chronicler’s understanding and reconfiguration of the authoritative laws often did not originate in a careful study of these laws but in his ideological positions and in the operative laws of his time. Of course, to be legitimate, they needed to be included in or be coherent with the authoritative law. New regulations had to be found in the written authoritative texts. In numerous cultures that present themselves as text-centered, this role falls on the exegetes of “Scripture.” The Chronicler’s community surely saw itself as a “text-centered” community, and the Chronicler certainly was such an “exegete of Scripture,” which is essentially—and not accidentally—the way in which the highly educated literati who comprised the actual authorship and primary and intended readerships of the book saw themselves as well. In fact, the Chronicler presented himself as an ideal image/projection of the literati: knowledgable about history, tradition, and law, he provides his community with vital information about Torah and the ways in which it should implemented, according to Yhwh’s will. Living within their time of discourse—long after the time of Moses and David and after the completion of at least most of the Pentateuch—the literati could only present themselves as interpreters of preexisting laws. However, their interpreta60.  ‫ֲׁשר ָחלַק ָּדִויד עַל־ּבֵית יְהוָה ְל ַהעֲלֹות עֹלֹות‬ ֶ ‫הנִים ה ְַלִוּיִם א‬ ֲֹ ‫ָדע ְּפֻקּדֹת ּבֵית יְהוָה ְּבי ַד הַּכ‬ ָ ‫ָׂשם יְהֹוי‬ ֶ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ׁשיר עַל יְדֵ י ָדִויד‬ ִ ‫ּוב‬ ְ ‫ׁשה ְּב ִׂש ְמחָה‬ ֶ ֹ ‫יְהוָה ַּכּכָתּוב ְּבתֹורַ ת מ‬. 61. Hezekiah, when restoring the temple, is also construed as a conduit for the commandments of Yhwh in 2 Chr 29:25, though in a relatively minor way. 62.  Cf. G. N. Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors? The Levites in Chron­ icles and the History of the Israelite Priesthood,” JBL 118 (1999) 49–72.

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tion was crucial for the legitimacy of the centrality of Jerusalem, its temple, and the services carried out there and for the perceived ability to avoid the increase of uncleanness, with all its implications. 63

Chronicles and Prophetic Literature and Psalms: Observing Central Trends I discussed elsewhere some aspects of the ways in which the Chronicler deals with these texts. 64 It suffices for the present purposes to note that Chronicles includes citations from and allusions to prophetic literature and the Psalms. In no case does Chronicles turn to the formula ‫ככתוב‬, so widely used for laws, in reference to these texts. Williamson learns from this observation that “the writings of the prophets were not to be put on a level with the law so far as religious practice was concerned; but as a resource for broader theological awareness, it appears that the prophets had already attained preeminence.” 65 In a somewhat similar vein, A. Berlin, following Japhet, notes that “the Chronicler cites known psalms only when they are recited in connection with the Ark or the Temple, in connection with the levitical hymnology.” She explains this situation not only as a reflection of a current use of psalms in the cult, but also in ideological terms: “in the Chronicler’s view the levitical hymnology was divinely ordained, whereas the personal prayers of kings and other individuals are not.” 66 It is sometimes in prayers or speeches of the kings and prophets that one finds references or allusions to the prophetic books (e.g., in Azariah’s speech: 2 Chr 15:3 [cf. Hos 3:4], 5 [cf. Zech 8:10, Amos 3:9], 6 (cf. Zech 11:6), 7 [cf. Jer 31:16, Zeph 3:16]; in Hanani’s speech; in King Jeoshaphat’s prayer: 2  Chr 16:9 (cf. Zech 4:10); 20:20 (cf. Isa 7:9). 67 63.  Notice that, after the restoration of the temple, Hezekiah performs an atonement ritual for all Israel (2 Chr 29:23–24); cf. Milgrom, “Hezekiah’s Sacrifices.” 64. See my “Who Knew What? The Construction of the Monarchic Past in Chronicles and Implications for the Intellectual Setting of Chronicles,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e. (ed. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers, and R. Albertz; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007) 349–60. 65.  Williamson, Studies in Persian Period History and Historiography, 242–43; citation from p. 243. 66. A. Berlin, “Psalms in the Book of Chronicles,” in Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language (ed. M.  Bar-Asher et al.; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007) 21*–36* (citation from p. 29*) 67. S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (2nd rev. ed.; BEATAJ 9; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997) 183; and in particular P. Beentjes, “Prophets in the Book of Chronicles,” in The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (ed. J. C. de Moor; OtSt 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 45–53.

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Berlin notes that “almost all the psalmic quotations and the psalmic refrains in Chronicles come from Books 4 and 5 of Psalms . . . (the exception being Psalm 39),” and one may note that the range of allusions to prophetic texts does not cover all of these books. However, it is difficult to learn anything from these data about the status of the texts that are not alluded to, especially since there is no reason to assume that the Chronicler was under any obligation to allude to every single text or book that was considered authoritative. Instead, much about the mode of reading these texts (both psalmic and prophetic) can be learned from these allusions. The prophetic texts mentioned above are all taken out of their original context and placed in times that precede the putative time of the prophetic character with whom the prophetic book is associated. The words have life in themselves, as it were, and may apply to future and past events, even if in a way that was unknown to the speakers. Prophetic foreknowledge of the future is also associated with David and the Levites (see 1  Chr 16:35, “Save us, O God of our salvation, and gather and rescue us from among the nations,” which is incongruent with the conditions at the time of the celebration of the placement of the Ark in the tent that David had pitched for it). David leaves, as it were, his own time and thinks about and shares his words with those who will live centuries later. The words themselves become atemporal and as such they become a binding force linking David and the community at the time of the Chronicler. 68 This atemporal and acontextual mode of reading texts included—and to a large extent led to—the position that past authoritative speakers could not know the full spectrum of meaning carried by the words that they spoke, and only later readers of books written by late Persian–period literati (and potentially in other periods, as well) would have access to the other portions of this spectrum of meaning that were unavailable to the speakers. This mode of reading already present in Chronicles allowed and encouraged the development of a sense of multi-temporality for prophetic words and, by doing so, opened the door for developments that would become central to the interpretation of prophetic literature in the late Second Temple period and thereafter. We must keep in mind that this mode of reading involved rejecting the particular historical circumstances in There is also a reference to the book that “the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz wrote” (2 Chr 26:22) and another to the “vision of the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz in the Book of the Kings of Judah and Israel” (2 Chr 32:32). In both cases, the Chronicler refers to these texts as sources from which to learn about things that he does not relate to the readers. Setting aside the problem of these citations in Chronicles, one finds it difficult to see them as direct references to the present book of Isaiah. 68. See my “Who Knew What?”

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which words were uttered as being the main interpretive keys to the meaning of texts. This is exactly what is implied when, for instance, Chronicles communicates that certain laws are temporally bound. 69 There is one reference in Chronicles to a prophetic text that is not an allusion, nor does it fit the pattern of those now-anonymized prophetic texts. This reference is important to our present discussion for other reasons and again places some previous observations in perspective. There is an explicit reference to Jeremiah in 2 Chr 36:21–22 that illustrates another, though related side of the Chronicler’s approach to authoritative prophetic literature. The Chronicler characterized the time between the destruction of the Jerusalem temple and Yhwh’s action to stir up the spirit of Cyrus to bring about the rebuilding of the temple by (a) using language that is reminiscent of Lev 26:34–35, 43 (cf. 2 Chr 36:21) and (b) referring explicitly to Jeremiah (compare 2 Chr 36:21–22 with Jer 25:11–12, 29:10). Thus the Chronicler legitimized the prophetic text by pointing out its fulfillment and, conversely, legitimized the rebuilt temple and Cyrus by associating them with an authoritative book. He closely linked the Jeremiah text to the Leviticus text, and by doing so created a sense of harmony and coherence between sources that were authoritative for the Chronicler and for the community within which and for whom he wrote. As he did this, he resignified the relevant texts in Leviticus and Jeremiah and created a text and meaning that was clearly different from the source texts. 70 Similar processes led to the reformulation of legal pentateuchal traditions, but here only one text is pentateuchal. This example suggests that hierarchical boundaries separating prophetic and pentateuchal literature, if they existed, were porous, at least outside explicitly legal texts, and see the previous discussion on the pentateuchal narratives.

In Sum The preceding observations indicate that Chronicles is an excellent source for reconstructing modes of reading authoritative texts and reconstructing the range of operative meanings that this authority may have signified for the late Persian or early Hellenistic literati centered around Jerusalem. Chronicles dealt in many different ways with the literature held to be authoritative by its implied author and its intended and primary rereaderships. The intended readers and the literati who were the primary readers of Chronicles construed the implied author of this book—that 69.  Similarly, the Chronicler could underscore co-textual meanings as well as readings in which the surroundings of a particular passage in a book carry no weight at all. 70. See Knoppers, “Hierodules, Priests, or Janitors?” esp. pp.  68–72. Knoppers discusses possible Ezekielian influences.

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is, the Chronicler—as a person who presented himself as an authoritative “exegete of Scripture” and, as such, a kind of ideal member of the literati group. The Chronicler as the actual literati of the period thought themselves bound by authoritative pentateuchal laws and by other authoritative texts that reflected and shaped their memories and religious outlook. This understanding led them to deal in various ways with their authoritative literature. Certainly, one size (and one approach) did not fit all. In most cases, the Chronicler’s approach involved in some way or another a substantial act of resignifying the authoritative corpus so it would fit his own ideological setting. At times, this resignifying contradicted either the plain language of a text or its basic ideological assumptions (for example, the role of kings in Deuteronomy). At the same time, and precisely because of this approach to such texts as “Scripture,” the Chronicler strongly communicated a sense that these texts were and would remain “eternally” authoritative for his group and for Israel—whether they involved laws or not. 71 To maintain the same sense of “eternal” authority for the received texts, the Chronicler might emphasize the temporal contingency of some claims advanced in certain texts (especially some pentateuchal laws) but might also stress atemporal and acontextual modes of reading. Similarly, the Chronicler might underscore co-textual meanings but also readings for which the surroundings of a particular text carried no weight at all. The Chronicler was neither confused nor confusing but consistently conveyed a sense of “both–and” rather than “either–or” in approaching matters of historical contingency, historical sources, modes of reading, accepted memories, and the like. It was a balanced approach that negated the absolute validity of single approaches, either methodological or ideological. 72 This balanced approach was characteristic of the discourse of Persian Yehud (including the prophetic books) and allowed the Chronicler to voice a narrative that served well to inform and be informed by all the other historical narratives, known laws, and prophetic texts. In the process, it contributed a great deal to the reconfiguration of the inclusive social memory of the community and what it understood to be Torah. 71.  Cf. B. M.  Levinson, “The Human Voice in Divine Revelation: The Problem of Authority in Biblical Law,” in Innovation in Religious Traditions: Essays in the Interpretation of Religious Change (ed. M. A. Williams, C. Cox, and M. S. Jaffee; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1992) 35–71. 72.  Of course, within the limits imposed by the ideological discourse shared by the community.

Judging a Book by Its Citations: Sources and Authority in Chronicles Steven J. Schweitzer Bethany Theological Seminary

What were the sources used by the Chronicler? 1 How did the Chronicler incorporate these sources into his own work? What does this say about the authoritative status of these sources? How does this affect the authoritative status of Chronicles itself? How do we judge the purpose or function of the book based on its explicit and implicit use of sources? This essay contributes to the continuing attempt by scholars to answer questions that demand detailed data and thinking through the implications of the complex information. The use of sources suggests that the Chronicler is writing a narrative about the past. However, Chronicles is not simply about the past but about the present and future. 2 While the Chronicler writes a lengthy work the setting of which is largely the preexililc period, 3 the primary concern Author’s note: I wish to thank Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman for their kind invitation to submit an essay on this topic, one that has provided me the opportunity to clarify further my views on a variety of highly debated and interpretive issues in the study of Chronicles. Parts of this essay draw on sections of my book, Reading Utopia in Chronicles (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 442; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2007) esp. pp. 43–46. 1.  In referring to the “Chronicler,” I intend the single author of Chronicles, almost certainly male, who is responsible for nearly all of the book’s content, while allowing for minor late additions, following the general arguments presented by S. Japhet, “The Supposed Common Authorship of Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah Investigated Anew,” VT 18 (1968) 332–72; H. G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977) 5–70; idem, “The Composition of Ezra i–vi,” JTS 34 (1983) 1–30; and I. Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005) 407. 2.  This “future orientation” of Chronicles has been noted by a growing number of scholars (see the brief list in Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 30 n. 88). My analysis of Chronicles from the perspective of utopian literary theory affirms this insight and suggests that this sort of perspective is primary rather than secondary in assessing the function of the book (ibid., 1–30). 3.  The book moves from Adam to Cyrus, with some moments that seem to extend the timeline beyond the end of the Babylonian Exile of the 6th century; for example,

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is not in an accurate description of Israel’s history but, instead, in communicating something relevant to its present audience about contemporary issues and their implications for the future of the people gathered around the Jerusalem temple in postexilic Yehud. The Chronicler has used a variety of sources in constructing the book. While scholars have most often distinguished these as “biblical” and “nonbiblical,” I want to offer two different categories: explicit citations of independent writings, and unacknowledged texts or allusions that can be identified with other known writings apart from Chronicles. I have three main reasons for doing so: (1) this reflects the actual practice in Chronicles; (2) I agree with the growing number of scholars who want to move away from the anachronistic label of “biblical,” especially in light of evidence from the Dead Sea Scrolls, 4 and the reality that during the time of the Chronicler 5 such a demarcation is still in a state of flux; and (3) privileging one group of sources with the term “biblical” may also unintentionally affect the way the issue of the authority of the Chronicler’s sources is assessed.

Sources Used in Chronicles: Explicit Citations Rarely does the Chronicler indicate that a source has been employed in his version of Israel’s history. Instead, the Chronicler tends to allude to external sources that provide additional information or contain the substance of the brief references found in the narrative. I will provide six examples. Example 1: While most scholars would agree that the genealogical section of 1 Chronicles 1–9 includes independent genealogical material that has been used by the Chronicler, the book itself does not explicitly say this. Rather, Chronicles notes that genealogies were written or that records were made or lists for military or administrative purposes were created in the past (1 Chr 4:22, 33, 41; 5:7, 17; 7:5, 7, 8–9, 40; 9:1; 2 Chr 12:15). Sometimes these records deal explicitly with the temple personnel rather than other groups (1 Chr 9:22, 24:6, 26:31; 2 Chr 31:15–19). The imthe Solomonic genealogy in 1 Chr 3:10–24, the “resettlement list” of 1 Chr 9:2–34, and the reference in 1 Chr 29:7 to darics—Persian coins first minted in honor of King Darius of Persia in 515 b.c.e. 4.  For example, J. C. VanderKam, “Questions of Canon Viewed through the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Canon Debate (ed. L. M. Martin and J. A. Sanders; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002) 91–109. 5.  The precise date of Chronicles is a matter of dispute, while there is broad agreement on the general window of the late fourth or early third century b.c.e. Apart from the complexity of the postexilic segment of the Solomonic genealogy in 1 Chr 3:17–24, there is nothing that requires dating the book past the transitional period from the Persian to Hellenistic eras (G. N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9 [AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2004] 116).

Judging a Book by Its Citations

39

plication is that these types of genealogical sources are now part of the Chronicler’s work, but this is never stated. They do, however, give the impression of the antiquity of the information being conveyed, an important part of the Chronicler’s rhetorical strategy. 6 Example 2: The Chronicler refers to other writings that contain additional information beyond what he has included in his work. These writings are identified by various titles, and scholars debate whether the variations all refer to a single text or to multiple works. There are essentially three categories of external documents: (1) royal records, (2) prophetic writings (that is, something written by a prophet), and (3) prophetic writings contained within royal records (see table 1, pp. 63–65). Having presented the data for this second example, which conclusions can we draw? First, the consistent phrase used in Kings for all of the monarchs except David and Solomon appears in various constructions in Chronicles. 7 It seems likely that these multiple titles refer to the same source. In his commentary, Klein further notes that, with the exception of Josiah, “all the source citations in Chronicles appear at the same place within the narrative as in Kings.” 8 In addition, five rulers are lacking citations in both Kings and Chronicles (Ahaziah, Athaliah, Jehoahaz, Jehoiachin, and Zedekiah), and there are two kings with source citations in Kings who have no source citation in Chronicles: Jehoram and Amon. 9 This inconsistency could be the result of the Chronicler’s following his source or could be due to a textual problem (haplography). However, I have argued elsewhere that it is precisely Jehoram and Amon who draw additional direct condemnation beyond what is found in their already negative accounts in Kings for rhetorical purposes in the Chronicler’s narrative. 10 Could the failure to provide them with source citations be a further indication that they have been used in such a negative way? Perhaps. A second conclusion: there is no discernible pattern between the type of title used and the evaluation of a particular monarch by the Chronicler. That is, the exact titles or the source of information for each ruler (whether from the court or from prophetic origins) do not correspond to the verdict handed down—many of which differ from the verdicts passed 6. R.  K.  Duke, “A Rhetorical Approach to Appreciating the Books of Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (ed. M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie; JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 100–135, esp. pp. 128–32. 7.  Chronicles includes citations for David (absent in Kings) and claims that the prophetic origins for the Davidic accounts apply as well to the Solomonic records. 8. R. W. Klein, 1 Chronicles (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006) 40–41. 9.  2 Kgs 8:23, 21:25, respectively. 10.  Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 99–101, 113–14. Of course, the other five rulers lacking citations are also viewed negatively in Chronicles.

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in Kings—and thus, “good kings have prophetic affirmation” and “bad kings lack prophetic activity” or some other reductionistic statement does not hold. Instead, as I have argued elsewhere for both the burial notices and the periodizations of the reigns for these kings, which also differ from their parallels in Kings, 11 the source citations do not reflect a dichotomy between righteous and unrighteous or morally upright and morally deficient. A third conclusion and perhaps the one receiving the most attention among scholars is the repeated claim in the Chronicler’s citations that prophets are active writers. The book of Kings, of course, lacks any reference to prophetic contribution to written records, while Chronicles names at least eight different prophetic figures who are associated with writing, in recording and interpreting contemporary events. The function of prophets as interpreters of contemporary events and even of the tradition is well attested in the prophetic literature. What is largely new (and emphatic) is the association of writing with these prophetic figures. Thus, as is well known, prophets have become historians in Chronicles. A fourth conclusion, the proliferation of sources mentioned by Chronicles—especially in comparison with the uniformity of the citation formula in Kings—may suggest an attempt by the Chronicler to expand the scope of the supposed sources on which he is drawing to create his own history (whether these sources are actual or imaginary is irrelevant) and thus to “bolster rhetorically the authority of [his own] account.” 12 Example 3: Independent written texts are named, but their contents are not provided, and no text outside Chronicles seems to be the source for the reference. Into this category can be placed the following examples: the written plan for the temple from God through David given to Solomon (1 Chr 28:19); the commands of David, the seer Gad, and the prophet Nathan from Yhwh regarding the role of the Levites in musical performance (2 Chr 29:25–26); the instructions from David and Solomon to the priests and Levites (2 Chr 35:4); Jeremiah’s lament for Josiah recorded in the Laments (2 Chr 35:25). 13 11.  Ibid., 91 n. 44, 119–25. Contrast the remarks by Klein regarding the prophetic sources associated with some of the kings (1 Chronicles, 41). 12. K. M. Stott, Why Did They Write This Way? Reflections on References to Written Documents in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Literature (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 492; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2008) 66. 13.  The Hebrew ‫ ה ִַּקינֹות‬is not the same as the name for Lamentations (‫ )איכה‬but does match the title used in the LXX (θρῆνοι). While it is possible to identify the Laments with Lamentations (so Sara Japhet, I and II Chronicles: A Commentary [OTL; Louis­ ville: Westminster John Knox, 1993] 1043, citing the tradition found in b. B. Batra 14b), it is better to conclude that they are not the same given the lack of clear evidence to the contrary (Josiah is neither mentioned in nor is the subject of Lamentations).

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41

Example 4: Three times a reference is made to a text or tradition apart from Chronicles that can be identified as the source of the remark: (1) the “tax levied by Moses” in 2 Chr 24:6, 9 is not found in 2 Kings 12 and likely reflects the shekel tax for the tabernacle in Exod 30:11–16; (2) the command to “boil the Passover lamb with fire according to the ordinance” in 2 Chr 35:25 conflates the actions and methods prescribed in Exod 12:8–9 and Deut 16:7; and (3) the “word of Yhwh by the mouth of Jeremiah” concerning the 70 years of exile fulfilled by Cyrus (2 Chr 36:21–22) logically connects to the prophecies found in Jer 25:11–14, 27:7, and 29:10– 14. 14 In each case, the Chronicler seems to be interpreting a text (not just a tradition) in the light of new historical situations (namely, permission to return to the land and the rebuilding of the temple). Example 5: There are repeated references to the Torah/law, the “law of Yhwh” or the “book/law of Moses” or the “word of Yhwh by Moses.” These conjure up passages from the Pentateuch, typically Exodus– Deuteronomy, and almost always concerned about ritual behavior, but specific texts are not cited (2 Chr 12:1; 14:4; 17:9; 23:18; 30:16; 31:3, 21; 33:8; 34:14, 30; 35:6). 15 In each instance, Chronicles either contains a mention of the law not found in the parallel text of Kings or has an expanded or clarified version of a shorter reference in the parallel passage. 16 Example 6: The content of four texts cited in the Chronicler’s account are included in detail: the writing or letter from the prophet Elijah declaring punishment on King Jehoram (2 Chr 21:12–15), the writings by Sennacherib defaming the God of Israel (2 Chr 32:17), the writing of King Cyrus allowing the return from exile and the rebuilding of the temple (2  Chr 36:22–23), 17 and the citation of the law in Deut 24:16 as the reason that Amaziah did not kill the children of those who murdered his father (2 Chr 25:3–4). In the first and third instances, the written documents are details found in Chronicles that are lacking in the parallel text of Kings. The fact that Sennacherib has written a letter is known later in the narrative in the parallel of 2  Kgs 19:14; the Chronicler has moved the detail earlier and emphasized the importance of these letters. In the last example, 2  Kgs 14:5–6 repeats the citation of Deut 24:16, but the 14.  In these instances, the Chronicler draws attention to the external source, which distinguishes these three references from the allusions or developments itemized under my second main category of unacknowledged citations, in which the Chronicler does not indicate that there is an external source being employed or glossed. 15.  Japhet agrees that apart from the genealogical lists in Genesis “very little [from the Pentateuch] is included in Chronicles in literal citations” (I and II Chronicles, 15). 16.  The citation of Deut 24:16 in 2 Chr 25:3–4 is an exception. 17. Ezra 1:1–3a also contains this text. The relationship between the two passages has been highly debated; it is unclear who has borrowed from whom (Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, 75–80).

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Chronicler’s version states rather unequivocally: the Torah is the “book of Moses” (rather than the “the book of the Torah of Moses”). 18

Sources Used in Chronicles: Unacknowledged Texts and Allusions The types of sources surveyed in this category of references include two variations on the same theme: incorporation of significant amounts of material and incorporation of smaller units or even phrases and words that can be found in sources external to Chronicles, neither of which is indicated in Chronicles as coming from another writing. 19 Rather than listing the source for each detail or passage in the entire book of Chronicles, 20 this analysis will identify illustrative examples of the unacknowledged texts and allusions found in each of the two main divisions of the book (1 Chronicles 1–9, and 1 Chronicles 10–2 Chronicles 36) and then offer some brief conclusions about the Chronicler’s use of sources. 21 In 1 Chronicles 1–9, the major genre is the genealogy with brief narratives interspersed. The materials in 1 Chr 1:1–2:2 begin with Adam and conclude with the 12 sons of Israel and derive almost completely from the genealogies found in Genesis (5:1–32; 10:1–29; 11:10–26; 25:1–4, 12– 16, 19; 35:22b–26a; 36:4–5, 11–13, 20–43), though often in abbreviated form. However, the Chronicler has not included all of the genealogies in Genesis. Absent are those of Cain, Seth (4:17–26), Terah (11:27–32), Lot (19:30–38), Nahor (22:20–24), Dedan, and Midian (25:3–4). The reference to Abram, “that is, Abraham” in 1 Chr 1:27 glosses the version of the Abrahamic covenant in the narrative of Genesis 17. The focus then shifts to the internal organization of the people of Israel (1 Chr 2:3–9:44). This lengthy section contains a wide spectrum of details, some of which are unique to Chronicles and some that can be identified in other texts, mostly Genesis, Exodus, Numbers, Joshua, Ruth, 18.  The LXX versions of Chronicles and Kings also reflect the differences in wording found in the Hebrew texts. See my further reflections on the way this citation is used to serve the Chronicler’s interests in unexpected ways (Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 102–6). 19.  Obviously, determining when a length is “great” or “small” is subjective, but there is a difference between the use of single words or a short paragraph or a selfcontained list and the use of entire chapters in either identical or rewritten forms. 20.  Space does not allow for this detailed analysis; however, see the wealth of information provided in the commentaries, especially those by Japhet, Klein, and Knoppers. 21.  Given the complexity of the lists and use of sources in 1 Chronicles 1–9, more attention will be paid to the details of these chapters than to the remainder of the book, where the Chronicler has clearly used some form of Samuel–Kings as his main source and has incorporated other sources or allusions to a lesser extent.

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Samuel, Kings, and Ezra–Nehemiah. A few times, larger segments of the parallel text are used, but they are always adapted in some way—whether by expansion, contraction, or rearrangement. Two examples include: the Levitical cities and settlement list for the three Levitical clans from Josh 21:1–39 (1 Chr 6:39–66[54–81]); and the resettlement list for the Israelites following the Babylonian Exile, found in Neh 11:3–19 (1 Chr 9:2– 33). However, in both cases, the version in Chronicles exhibits significant differences in the names, numbers, and order. The precise nature of the relationship between Chronicles and these texts in Joshua and Nehemiah has been debated a great deal (Chronicles is the source for them, they are the sources for Chronicles, or there is a common source). The weight of the evidence favors either the second or third option; it is highly unlikely that the versions in Joshua and Nehemiah were constructed on the basis of Chronicles. 22 Much more common in these chapters are the incorporation of and allusions to individuals, details, or narratives in the books mentioned above. In presenting some of the genealogical descent, the Chronicler seems to have gleaned information from various places in the source and then constructed a list based on a careful reading and selection of the relevant data. Some illustrative examples are: • The narrative concerning Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38 begins the genealogy of Judah (1 Chr 2:3–4). • Perez’s two sons are named in Gen 46:12 and Num 26:20 (1 Chr 2:5). • Zerah’s five sons are a combination of what is probably a misreading of Josh 7:1 and four names found in 1 Kgs 4:31 that are probably connected by the Chronicler because of the similarity between Zerah and Ezrahite (1 Chr 2:6). 23 • “Achar, the troubler of Israel, who transgressed in the matter of the devoted thing” clearly refers to the extended narrative about Achan’s actions in Joshua 7 (1 Chr 2:7). 24 • The names in the genealogical connection from Judah to David are attested only in Ruth 4:17b–22 (1 Chr 2:3–5, 9–14). While 22.  Regarding 1 Chronicles 9 and Nehemiah 11, Knoppers has argued that the best explanation for the relationship is that both books existed in distinct literary editions and used a common source (1  Chronicles 1–9, 511). Regarding 1  Chronicles 6 and Joshua 21, Auld has argued for the use of Chronicles by Joshua (“The ‘Levitical Cities’: Texts and History,” ZAW 91 [1979] 194–206). Compare the conclusions by Klein (1 Chronicles, 183–93, 262–65). 23.  See the arguments and details presented by Klein (ibid., 92). 24.  Klein notes that the LXX of Joshua rendered the name as Axar in all five occurrences in the chapter (ibid., 93).

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debated, the arguments for the Chronicler’s use of Ruth in this instance are more compelling. 25 The famous three sons of Zeruiah (Abishai, Joab, and Asahel) from 2 Sam 2:18 and the relationship between Zeruiah and Abigal as sisters from 2 Sam 17:25 have been connected by the Chronicler, who uniquely reports that these sisters are in fact also the sisters of David (1 Chr 2:15–16). 26 Many of the names listed in the Judahite genealogy of 1 Chr 2:42– 55 are geographical locations, known from the list of settlements by the tribe of Judah in Josh 15:20–63. The names of David’s wives and sons and the years of his reigns in Hebron and Jerusalem (2 Sam 3:2–5; 5:5, 13–16; 13:1) have been stitched together to form one listing with some narrative comments (1 Chr 3:1–9a). David’s daughter Tamar, named only in the infamous account of 2 Samuel 13, has been included at the end of the list of David’s sons without any concern for the troubling narrative in Samuel (1 Chr 3:9b). The list of kings who reigned after Solomon is found in the form of a list only in Chronicles (1 Chr 3:10–17a). The names in this “Solomonic genealogy” 27 can easily be gleaned from the narrative in Kings, but the Chronicler has either constructed this genealogy or lifted it from another unknown source. 28 Information regarding Jeconiah’s descendants in other texts yields only two clear names (Shealtiel and Zerubbabel) with two others

25.  It is uncertain whether this Davidic genealogy clearly appended to the book of Ruth is a source for Chronicles, is derived from Chronicles, or reflects a common source for both texts; see, T. Hieke, Die Genealogien der Genesis (Herders biblische Studien 39; Freiburg: Herder, 2003) 233–40; Klein, 1 Chronicles, 94 n. 46; Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, 68; and K. D. Sakenfeld, “Why Perez? Reflections on David’s Genealogy in Biblical Tradition,” in David and Zion: Biblical Studies in Honor of J.  J. M.  Roberts (ed. B. F. Batto and K. L. Roberts; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004) 405–16. 26.  Klein suggests that the reference by David to Amasa son of Abigail (2  Sam 17:25) as “my bone and flesh” without explanation for such strong language in 2 Sam 19:14[13] may have been the textual basis for the Chronicler’s explicit statement about their familial relationship (1 Chronicles, 96). 27. See my arguments for referring to this part of the genealogy as Solomonic rather than Davidic (as is typically the case) in Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 60–63. 28.  Klein favors the latter option (1  Chronicles, 112), while I see no reason to deny this to the Chronicler himself, just as he is probably the person responsible for constructing the genealogy of the so-called high priest by gleaning information from the genealogies and narratives of Exodus, Samuel, Kings, Ezra, Haggai, and Zechariah now found in 1  Chr 5:27–41[6:1–15]. See my fuller treatment of the sources and implications of this genealogy of the leading priest in Chronicles (“The High Priest in Chronicles: An Anomaly in a Detailed Description of the Temple Cult,” Bib 84 [2003] 388–402).

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that are questionable (Shecaniah and Hattush). 29 The source for the rest of the extensive list in 1 Chr 3:17b–24, with significant variations in length between the MT and the LXX, remains unknown. The immediate descendants of Simeon named in Num 26:12–14 and related in some ways to the names given in Gen 46:10// Exod 6:15 are reflected in 1 Chr 4:24. The rest of the Simeonite genealogy (1 Chr 4:25–43) contains, with some variations, names drawn from the Simeonite allotment in Josh 19:1–9 and the Judahite allotment in Josh 15:20–63. 30 The genealogy of Reuben in 1 Chr 5:1–10 begins with a narrative comment, before the listing of any descendants, which explains why Reuben is not listed first among the sons of Israel, connecting the remark in Gen 49:4 (linked to the brief narrative in Gen 35:22) with the blessing of Joseph’s two sons in Genesis 48. The Chronicler’s unique understanding that Reuben’s birthright was transferred to Joseph’s sons is further expanded to a comment about the kingship’s belonging to Judah, but not the “birthright.” 31 The names of Reuben’s sons from Gen 46:9//Exod 6:14//Num 26:5–7 are reflected in 1 Chr 5:3. Some of the place-names in the allotment to Reuben in Josh 13:15–23 are reflected in 1 Chr 5:8. Some of the place-names in the allotment to Gad in Josh 13:24–28 appear in 1 Chr 5:11–17.

29. Shealtiel and Zerubbabel are father and son, respectively, according to Ezra (3:2, 8; 5:2), Nehemiah (12:1), and Haggai (1:1, 12, 14; 2:2, 23). This relationship is also the one reflected in Matt 1:12 and Luke 3:27. The claim that Pedaiah is the father of Zerubbabel (1 Chr 3:19) has been explained through various suggestions, but leaving “no certain to way to resolve this conflict” (Klein, 1 Chronicles, 120). Shecaniah and Hattush are names associated with the Davidic line in Ezra 8:2, but no further clarification is possible. 30.  Klein notes this repeated association between Simeon and Judah in Chronicles and other texts, including the resettlement list in Neh 11:25–30 (1 Chronicles, 144–45). The Chronicler’s unique lines “but his brothers did not have many children, nor did all their family multiple like the Judeans. . . . These were their towns until David became king” (1 Chr 4:27b, 31) may reflect part of this same tradition of a small Simeon and a tradition associated with tribe of Judah, echoed in Josh 19:9 and possibly in Gen 49:7. 31.  Klein claims that this reflects the Chronicler’s openness to the northern tribes and mitigates against the former scholarly view of a Samaritan polemic in the book (1 Chronicles, 160). I agree; I have also argued that this not only promotes “Joseph” (that is, the northern tribes) but also limits the authority of “Judah” (that is, the southern tribes and, by extension, people around postexilic Jerusalem) as part of the Chronicler’s larger concern throughout the book to limit or regulate the power of individuals in various leadership positions (see my Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 62–63).

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Steven J. Schweitzer • The description of Manasseh in 1 Chr 5:13–26 is not a genealogy in form but, rather, a statement regarding Manasseh’s extensive lands and the names of clan leaders, who are not well connected to Manasseh here and who are otherwise unknown. The reference to Pul, that is, Tiglath-Pileser the King of Assyria in v. 26, as the one responsible for the exile of the Transjordanian tribes as well as the some of the Reubenites (1 Chr 5:6) suggests a connection with the information found in 2 Kgs 15:29, which refers only to the Cisjordanian tribes deported by this Assyrian ruler. The locations of the deportees in 1 Chr 5:26 are associated with the final destruction, detailed in 2 Kgs 17:1–6, performed by Shalmaneser, who is not named in Chronicles. • The genealogy of the leading priests in 1 Chr 5:27–41[6:1–15] contains names of leading priests found in a variety of sources (Exod 6:16–25//Num 26:57–62; Ezra 7:1–5; 2 Sam 8:17; chaps. 15, 17, 18; 1 Kgs 4:2; Hag 1:1, 12, 14; 2:2, 4; Zech 6:11). Only a leading priest named Johanan is unknown from other sources. 32 In addition, several leading priests named in other texts are not incorporated into this list: Eli (1 Samuel 1–4; 14:3; 1 Kgs 2:27), Jehoiada during the reign of Joash (2 Kings 11–12), and Uriah during the reign of Ahaz (2 Kgs 16:10–16). 33 • The immediate descendants of Levi named in Exod 6:16–19// Num 3:17–20 appear in 1 Chr 6:1–4[16–19]. The remainder of the Levitical names in 1 Chr 6:5–15[15–30] are otherwise unknown. In 1 Samuel, there is no hint that the seer Samuel, son of Elkanah, hails from the tribe of Levi, but instead he is an Ephraimite. 34 In 1 Chr 6:13[28], Samuel and his two sons—with the same names in 1 Sam 8:2—are listed as Levites, and according to the genealogy found only in 1 Chr 6:18–23[33–38], his

32.  I have suggested that this name could be a “tip of the hat” to the leading priest contemporary with the Chronicler (“The High Priest in Chronicles,” 392), which would date Chronicles, of course, to the transitional fourth century b.c.e. 33.  The failure to include Eli is easy to understand: his line culminates in Abiathar rather than Zadok, he is the subject of a curse by God, and he is mentioned in narratives that are absent in the Chronicler’s version. The negative actions taken by Uriah may account for his name’s not appearing on the list or in the Chronicler’s version of Ahaz’s reign (2 Chr 28:16–27). The logic behind Jehoiada’s absence in this list but prestige in 2  Kgs 11–12//2  Chronicles 22–23 is not as clear. Klein suggests a scribal error, likely homoioteleuton (1 Chronicles, 181), which is possible. I have provided another suggestion: the non-Zadokite Jehoiada serves as the model for high priesthood in the Chronicler’s day, which is part of a larger anti-Zadokite tendency in the book (see my “High Priest in Chronicles”; idem, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 145–49). 34.  He is declared to be from Ephraim and an ‫אפרתי‬, which is clearly understood as being from Ephraim in Judg 12:5, 1 Kgs 11:26.

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grandson is the singer Heman, one of the Levitical leaders of the temple cult who serves alongside the famous Asaph. 35 The priestly duties summarized in 1 Chr 6:34[49] derive from the stipulations in Exod 29:38–30:10. While exceedingly common in Leviticus and Numbers, the statement that priests make atonement (v. 34[49]) is in fact found once in Exod 30:10 and six times in the surrounding legislation (Exod 29:33–37, 30:15–16). The list of towns associated with the priests and Levites found in Josh 21:1–39 had been incorporated into a new context in 1 Chr 6:39–66[54–81], which is now connected with cultic adaptations made by David and Solomon via the statements in vv. 16–17[31– 32]. The claim that David put the Levites in charge of the singing is unique to Chronicles and often repeated (1 Chr 15:16–28, 16:4–7, 23:2–6, 25:1–31; 2 Chr 5:12–13, 7:6, 8:14, 23:18, 29:25–30, 35:15). Of course, David is associated with music in several texts (1 Sam 16:14–23; 2 Sam 22:1, 23:1; Neh 12:36; Amos 6:5; and numerous psalms). The building of the temple by Solomon—a key point in Samuel–Kings (2 Samuel 7; 1 Kings 5–8; 9:25) and even more of a centerpiece in Chronicles—is alluded to first in 1 Chr 5:35[6:10] and repeated in 6:17[32]. The four sons of Issachar named in Gen 46:13//Num 26:23–24 appear, with one variant spelling, in 1 Chr 7:1. The source for the remainder of the tribe’s information is unknown, while many scholars appropriately take this as coming from a military census list. 36 The genealogy of Benjamin in 1 Chr 7:6–12 is related to the names found in Gen 46:21 and Num 26:38–40 but agrees with neither. The appearance of another, fuller Benjaminite genealogy in 1 Chr 8:1–40, the absence of a genealogy for Zebulun (a tribe often named in the narratives of the book), and the frequency of Zebulun following Issachar in other lists have contributed to the idea that a Zebulunite genealogy was at one time in the text but was lost through some type of textual corruption. In addition, a genealogy for the tribe of Dan is missing in 1 Chronicles 1–9; it has

35. Heman is known only in Chronicles and in the title of Psalm 88, which is also associated with the Korahites. Asaph is known only in Chronicles, Ezra (2:41, 3:10), Nehemiah (7:44, 11:17, 11:22, 12:35), and the Psalms (50, 73–83). In Ezra– Nehemiah, the descendants of Asaph are clearly musicians, singers, and Levites. The psalms associated with Asaph do not name a connection to the Levites. The Chronicler clearly knows the tradition in Ezra–Nehemiah. Other evidence (see the comments on 1 Chronicles 16 below) suggests that the Chronicler borrows from Psalms and not vice versa, although the date of the titles for individual psalms is debatable. 36.  Klein, 1 Chronicles, 219.

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been suggested that v. 12 may be a corruption of a genealogy based on the similarity of the name to Dan’s one son, Husham, in Gen 46:23. However, these are not the only plausible options. 37 The descendants of Naphtali from Gen 46:24–25a//Num 26:48– 49 appear as the only information concerning Naphtali. Typically understood as either missing information from a scribal error or as a conservative scribe’s approach to his sources in this instance, the brevity of the notice is nonetheless striking. The genealogy for Manasseh in Josh 17:1–3 and the genealogy in Num 26:29–34 agree on the names but disagree on whether some of the sons of Manasseh (Joshua 17) are sons of Gilead, his grandson (Numbers 26). How these lists precisely relate to 1 Chr 7:14–19 is contested, especially given the textual difficulties in Chronicles. 38 One connection that is clear is the appearance of Zelophehad and his daughters, who are named in Josh 17:3–6 and Num 26:33 but unnamed in 1 Chr 7:15. The narrative concerning their inheritance is found in Num 27:1–11 and recounted in Josh 17:3–6 but missing in Chronicles. The descendants of Ephraim mentioned in Num 26:35–36 appear in 1 Chr 7:20. Sources for the rest of the information in 1 Chr 7:21–26a are unknown. Elishama is named as a leader of the Ephraimites in Numbers (1:10; 2:18; 7:48, 53; 10:22), who is now the father of Nun and grandfather of Joshua according to 1 Chr 7:26b–27. 39 Joshua, son of Nun, is referred to repeatedly in the books of Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, the first two chapters of Judges, and once in 1 Kings (16:34). This verse is his only mention in Chronicles. 40 The towns named in 1 Chr 7:28–29 are related to the geography described in Joshua 16–17. The genealogies of Asher in Gen 46:17//Num 26:44–46 are replicated in 1 Chr 7:30–31a, while the origin of the rest of the names in vv. 31b–39 is unknown.

37. While scholars have moved away from reconstructing a hypothetical original genealogy of Zebulun from this genealogy of Benjamin toward a scribal error resulting in a lost list but are still open to the possibility for Dan (Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 169, 174; Klein, 1  Chronicles, 217–23; and Knoppers, 1  Chronicles 1–9, 459–61), I have argued that the missing genealogies of Zebulun and Dan and the brief information for Naphtali could serve the purpose of defining Israel in open rather than closed terms and contributing to the Chronicler’s utopianism (Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 46–52). 38.  Klein offers a helpful and detailed summary of the complex issues (1 Chronicles, 223–31). 39.  Ibid., 235. 40. The Chronicler’s tendency to diminish but not suppress (contra Japhet) the period of the conquest can be seen in this single reference to Joshua in the book.

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• The second Benjaminite genealogy in 1 Chr 8:1–40 overlaps with the material in 1 Chr 7:6–12 and draws on Gen 46:21//Num 26:38–40 as well. As in previous instances, the sources for most of this material are unknown. One exception is the reference to Ehud, son of Gera, in 8:3, 6, who is likely the Benjaminite Ehud, son of Gera, who delivers the Israelites from the Moabites under Eglon (Judg 3:12–30). Another is the lineage and descendants of King Saul found in 1 Chr 8:33–34, drawn from several texts: 1 Sam 9:1–2, 31:2 (compare 14:49–51); 2 Sam 2:8, 4:4, 9:12. The Saulide line’s continuing after Saul’s great-grandson Micah is otherwise unknown. 41 • As noted previously, the resettlement list of Neh 11:3–19, or a source that lies behind it, is incorporated into 1 Chr 9:3–34. • The Chronicler’s additional material in 1 Chr 9:20–32 represents a summary of priestly and Levitical duties specific to the distinct clans, as outlined in the books of Exodus (30:22–38) and Numbers (3:5–4:49). Of particular interest are new claims: the transfer of responsibilities declared to be Eleazar’s to his son Phinehas (Num 3:32//1 Chr 9:20), 42 the creation of rules for the gatekeepers, who are now a distinct subset within the Levitical clans; and the charge over key objects and elements for the sacrificial system that are assigned to Moses or the “descendants of Aaron” in the Pentateuch (Exod 30:22–38, Lev 24:5–9) are transferred to the gatekeepers, the Korahites, and the Kohathites (vv. 28–32) rather than the priests. The distinction between “flat cakes” and “rows of bread” (vv. 31–32) suggests that the latter refers to the “bread of the Presence” placed on the golden table (Exod 25:23–30, Lev 24:5–9) while the former may refer to the baked grain offering (Lev 6:14[21]), 43 both of which are now assigned to the Levites. The one duty assigned to the priests is the actual mixing of the spices (v. 30), something not specified in the Torah. 44 41.  Klein addresses the problems between the genealogy of Saul in Samuel and the genealogy in Chronicles (ibid., 255–57). 42.  The transfer of position as leading priest from Eleazar to Phinehas is not explicit in the Torah, although Phinehas is an active priest named in the book of Joshua (chaps. 22, 24) and Judges (20:28). His violent actions against Zimri and Cozbi in Num 25:12 gain him a ‫ׁשלֹום‬ ָ ‫יתי‬ ִ ‫‘ ְּבִר‬covenant of peace’ and a ‫‘ ְּבִרית ְּכ ֻהּנַת עֹולָם‬covenant of perpetual priesthood’ (which is also celebrated in Ps 106:28–31); he is one of the leaders involved in the devastating assault against Midian in Num 31:5–54. 43.  Following the suggestions by Japhet (I and II Chronicles, 217), Klein (1 Chronicles, 279), and Knoppers (1 Chronicles 1–9, 508–9). 44.  In my research, I have found only limited references in Chronicles to texts that must come from Leviticus (potentially the references in 1 Chr 9:31–32 and the possible implicit violation of Lev 21:10–15 by Jehoiada in 2 Chr 22:11 [“The High Priest in Chronicles,” 397]), in contrast to the numerous citations and allusions to Exodus and

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With 1 Chr 10:1, the book moves away from lists interspersed with narrative comments to continuous narratives incorporating other genres on a limited basis. With this shift in genre, there is also a shift in the primary source being used (Samuel–Kings), although it is not acknowledged by the Chronicler. The Chronicler copies the final episode and death of Saul from 1 Sam 31:1–13 in “an almost literal parallel,” 45 adding his own theological explication following the narrative (1 Chr 10:13–14). Two of the Chronicler’s recurring motifs appear: ‫‘ מעל‬unfaithfulness’ and ‫דרש ביהוה‬ ‘seeking (guidance from) Yhwh’. He also references the visit of Saul to the medium (known from 1 Samuel 28) but without detail, apparently assuming knowledge on the part of the readers. Beginning with 1 Chr 11:1, the Chronicler turns the focus of the narrative on David, and it will remain on him until 1 Chr 29:30. In retelling his version of David’s reign, the Chronicler has been selective regarding which materials from Samuel–Kings are being employed and the methods by which they have been incorporated. The opening accounts in 1 Chronicles 11 illustrate this well: First, the Chronicler skips all of the material found in 2 Samuel 1–4, which relates the complicated power struggles following the death of Saul. Instead, the Chronicler asserts the smooth transition from Saul to David by beginning with the coronation of David by “all Israel” and David’s capture of Jerusalem from 2 Sam 5:1–10. Second, in his version, the Chronicler adds the reference to the fulfillment of “the word of Yhwh through Samuel” (v.  3), which is not detailed in Chronicles but is contained in 1  Sam 15:28, 16:1–13. This is consistent with the Chronicler’s emphasis on the prophetic word. Third, the references to the “blind and the lame” in 2 Sam 5:6, 8 are missing, either because the Chronicler was trying to smooth out a confusing text or because the harshness of this sort of language from David works against the Chronicler’s elevated view of the monarch. 46 Fourth, the narrative continues with the list of David’s warriors (1 Chr 11:10–47), relocated to the beginning of David’s reign instead of its conclusion as found in 2  Sam 23:8–39 with variants, and concluding with names otherwise unknown (1  Chr  11:41b–47). Fifth, details are provided about David’s growing army (1  Chr 12:1–37) that chronologically preceded his anointing as king, which is then repeated in Numbers. Leviticus is a book concerned mostly with the priests (and not the Levites!), and the Chronicler has a clear agenda to restrict priestly power and influence while expanding the power of the Levites (see my Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 132–75). The “marginalization of Leviticus in Chronicles” is worth further exploration. 45.  Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 221. 46.  Japhet (ibid., 239) and Klein (1 Chronicles, 300) both seem to favor the former explanation while hinting at the latter.

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12:38. These details are largely “without a canonical Vorlage” 47 although the reference to Ziklag (v. 1) glosses the idea that David resided in Ziklag before conquering Jerusalem (1  Sam 27:6, 30:1–31; 2  Sam 1:1, 4:10), and the reference to “the wilderness stronghold” (1 Chr 12:8) agrees with 1  Sam 22:1–5, 23:14. David’s concern over the intentions of the Benjaminites and Judahites (vv. 16–17) may reflect stories of plots to betray David to Saul (1 Sam 23:6–20). The spirit-inspired proclamation by Amasi (1 Chr 12:18) is the product of the Chronicler, who likely constructed it by reversing traditionally negative sayings about David and his dynasty (e.g., 1 Sam 25:10, 2 Sam 20:1, 1 Kgs 12:16//2 Chr 10:16). 48 Thus, in the section 1 Chronicles 11–12, the methods employed by the Chronicler include material “taken from 2 Samuel but with significant omissions, rearrangements, and additions.” 49 This same approach to the material in the rest of 2 Samuel and in Kings is evidenced in the remainder of the book of Chronicles. 50 Having given this illustrative example that could be applied throughout the book, I will address the instances in Chronicles that reveal material added or glossed from sources other than Samuel–Kings. First, material from the Psalter has been included in Chronicles: Ps 105:1–15; Psalm 96; 106:1, 47–48 (1  Chr 16:8–36, 41); 51 136:1 (2  Chr 5:14, 7:3, 20:21); 132:8–10 (2 Chr 6:41–42); and an echo of Ps 39:13[12] (1 Chr 29:15). 52 In each case, the psalm is associated with an authoritative figure: David and Asaph (1 Chronicles 16); David’s final prayer (1 Chronicles 29); Levitical singers at the dedication of Solomon’s temple (2 Chronicles 5); Solomon in his prayer at the temple dedication (2  Chronicles 6); all the people of Israel in response to the fire from heaven at the temple dedication 47.  Klein, ibid., 313. 48.  Ibid., 320. 49.  Ibid., 296. 50.  These three simplistic categories have been further refined and explicated by Kalimi (The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles), but they are still helpful to summarize the Chronicler’s methodology: the Chronicler omits, adds, and re­ arranges material from his sources to serve his own concerns. 51.  The presence of the coda at the end of Book IV from the Psalter (Ps 106:48) included and rewritten into the narrative of 1 Chr 16:36 suggests that the Chronicler was operating, sometime in the fourth century b.c.e., with a forming book of Psalms rather than independent pieces of poetry, if, as seems almost certain, these doxologies at the end of each “book” in Psalms are latter additions to the Psalms themselves (J. Goldingay, Psalms, vol. 1: Psalms 1–41 [Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms; Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2006] 590). 52.  Compare the treatment by H. N. Wallace, “What Chronicles Has to Say about Psalms,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (ed. M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie; JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 207–91.

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(2 Chronicles 7); and Levitical singers leading the army of Jehoshaphat (2 Chronicles 20). Second, the equating of Ornan’s threshing floor purchased by David with the location of the future temple (1 Chr 22:1) is clarified further as Mount Moriah (2 Chr 3:1). Neither connection is made in Samuel–Kings, both appearing for the first known time in Chronicles. The first association is logical, given the erection of an altar on the site by David (2 Sam 24:18– 25). The second is unexpected but fits the Chronicler’s repeated efforts to anchor practices in the past; in this case, the Solomonic temple is not only firmly grounded in David’s decisions and plans, but the reference to Mount Moriah almost certainly is meant to evoke the “land of Moriah . . . on one of the mountains,” on which Abraham offered Isaac (Gen 22:2). 53 Thus, the authority of the Solomonic temple reaches back before even the giving of the Torah through Moses; it stands in continuity with Abraham. Third, the names of the three annual festivals celebrated by Solomon in 2  Chr 8:13 are not stated in the parallel of 1  Kgs 9:25. Thus, the Chronicler supplies the information but in perhaps an unexpected way given the clear preference observed earlier for the material in Exodus and Numbers: the names of the festivals do not match those common in the Priestly source of the Pentateuch (Exod 23:14–17, Leviticus 23, Numbers 28–29) but instead agree with the titles from the D source (Deut 16:16). This type of subtle resistance to the priority of the Priestly version of the cultic calendar and rituals can also be seen in the Chronicler’s omission of uniquely priestly celebrations (the Festival of Trumpets and the Day of Atonement in Num 29:1–11//Lev 23:23–32; chap. 16) 54 and the harmonization of the conflicting procedures for preparing the Pesach in Exod 12:8–9 and Deut 16:7, which creates a new prescription conforming to neither source (2 Chr 35:13). Fourth, written legislation concerning proper procedures during Passover are mentioned in 2 Chr 30:3, 18, 19. They are directly connected to the regulations of Exod 12:1–28, 43–13:1; Lev 23:4–8; Num 28:16–25; Deut 16:1–8, but the actions taken in 2 Chronicles 30 repeatedly violate the written commands, as the Chronicler points out multiple times, almost

53. I.  Kalimi, “The Land of Moriah, Mount Moriah, and the Site of Solomon’s Temple in Biblical Historiography,” HTR 83 (1990) 345–62; and Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 551–52. 54.  These absences are particularly worth noting, since the Chronicler repeatedly associates trumpets with priests and seems to advocate an active but controlled role by the leading priest in the temple cult (see my “High Priest in Chronicles”; Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 136–49).

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seeming to revel in this moment in which the condition of the heart takes precedence over following ritual or even authoritative texts. 55 Fifth, two prophetic texts may have echoes in important speeches in Chronicles: Isa 7:9 in 2 Chr 20:20 and possibly Zech 4:10 in 2 Chr 16:9. 56 Finally, at several points, the Chronicler includes information in his narrative that presupposes knowledge of other texts or traditions on the part of this audience. For example, 2 Chr 10:15 follows the source text in 1  Kgs 12:15, but that text assumes the story of Ahijah the Shilonite and Jeroboam ben Nebat from 1 Kgs 11:29–40, which is not included in Chronicles. The brief allusion to Hezekiah’s sickness and recovery in 2 Chr 32:24–26 likely assumes familiarity with the longer account in 2 Kgs 20:1– 11, but more certain is the oblique reference to “the matter of the envoys of the officials of Babylon” in 2 Chr 32:31, which glosses over the difficulties of Hezekiah’s actions and comments in 2 Kgs 20:12–19. The Chronicler diminishes the importance of the periods of the exodus, conquest, and judges, but he does occasionally refer to them, often in passages that have parallels in Kings (1 Chr 17:6, 9–10, 21//2 Sam 7:7, 10–11, 23; 2 Chr 5:10//1 Kgs 8:9; 2 Chr 6:5//1 Kgs 8:16; 2 Chr 7:22//1 Kgs 9:9). 57 In summary, the unacknowledged texts and allusions contained in Chronicles that can be identified with other writings come from a variety of sources: • Genesis (esp. the genealogies in chaps. 5, 10, 11, 25, 36, 46; the Abrahamic covenant in 17; the binding of Isaac in 22; the reference to Reuben’s sin and the names of the 12 sons of Israel in 35; the narrative concerning Judah and Tamar in 38; the blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh in 48; and possibly the blessing of Jacob in 49) 55. See my treatment of this provocative text, which functions as an interpretive lens for the Chronicler’s purposes (Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 105–6; idem, “Exploring the Utopian Space of Chronicles: Some Spatial Anomalies,” in Constructions of Space I: Theory, Geography, and Narrative [ed. J. L. Berquist and C. V. Camp; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 481; London: T. & T. Clark, 2007) 141–56, esp. pp. 154–55. 56.  Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 797, 735, respectively. Chronicles and Isaiah share similar perspectives on a wide range of topics, despite the lack of overt connections (see the detailed list with references in my Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 94 n. 51). 57.  The Chronicler also lacks references to the exodus contained in parallel texts in Samuel–Kings (see S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (trans. A. Barber; BEATAJ 9; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1989; repr., Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009) 296–301. Her conclusion that this indicates “an uninterrupted continuum” of settlement in the land is overstated (p. 301); contrast my understanding (Reading Utopia in Chronicles, 58–60).

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Steven J. Schweitzer • Exodus and Numbers (large portions of both books) • Deuteronomy (esp. chap. 16) 58 • Joshua (esp. the settlement lists in chaps. 13, 15–17, 19, 21, and the narrative about Achan in 7) • Judges (esp. the narrative about Ehud in chap. 3; and possibly the references to Joshua in chaps. 1–2) • Ruth (probably the Davidic genealogy in 4:17b–22) • Samuel (1 Samuel 31; 2 Samuel 5–10, 13, 23–24; knowledge of other details throughout the entire book) • Kings (1 Kings 3–10; 11:26–43; 12:10–24; 14:21–15:24; chap. 22; 2 Kgs 8:16–29; 9:27–29; chaps. 11–12; 14:1–22; 15:1–7, 32–38; chap. 16; 18:1–8, 13–37; 20:20–21; 21:1–23:3; 23:21–23; 23:28– 24:20; 25:1–21; and a familiarity with many other details in the book such as 20:1–11, 12–19) • Ezra–Nehemiah (Nehemiah 11; Ezra 2//Nehemiah 7; other traditions about the Levites; perhaps Ezra 1:1–3a?) • Psalms (esp. 105, 96, 106; 136:1, 132:8–10; and possibly 39:13[12]) • Isaiah (7:9; perhaps some of the Hezekiah narratives in chaps. 36– 39) • Haggai (perhaps the references to Joshua the priest) • Zechariah (4:10; perhaps the references to Joshua the priest)

Conclusion The Chronicler has used both methods throughout his book: explicit citations and unacknowledged texts or allusions; he is highly selective in which material is used and how. Typically, he does not indicate when he is using or glossing another text, especially when that text seems to be one that already has authoritative status (the Torah, Samuel–Kings, Psalms). 59 When he does name a source, it is often when his source has named one (the royal records) or to indicate the preservation of ancient records in writing (as with the genealogies) or to enhance the persuasive power of the source whether by emphasizing that the information was written down (as in Elijah’s letter) or by associating the writings with authoritative figures (the royal records now have prophetic origins). 60 58.  The citation of Deut 24:16 in 2 Chr 25:3–4 is mediated through the citation of that same text in 2 Kgs 14:6, which has been used by the Chronicler. 59.  Knoppers discusses this point under the label of imitatio, a common literary practice in Hellenistic literature, intended to mask innovation in the language of continuity (1 Chronicles 1–9, 123), just as can be seen in the Chronicler’s use of sources and authoritative figures. 60.  Stott correctly points out the importance of the written word for the Chronicler and his intended audience (Why Did They Write This Way? 66). This may also mean that

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Williamson’s famous dictum seems still to hold true: “But overall the Chronicler shows himself as the master, not the servant, of his sources.” 61 However, what does such complexity in the methodological use of sources, the variety of sources employed, and the repeated attempts by the Chronicler to enhance his work (or his unique view) by recourse to “authorityconferring strategies” indicate? 62 This naturally leads to questions about the authority of the sources and the authority of Chronicles itself. Thus far, this analysis has been from a literary approach. However, the issue of authority also involves historicity, at least in part. First, the issue of the historical reliability of the sources used in Chronicles and the related issue of the historicity of Chronicles as a whole have been the subject of much debate in determining how the information in Chronicles should and/or can be used for historical reconstruction of the histories of Israel and Israelite religion, and for which historical periods; that is, if Chronicles is historically reliable (and for many scholars this is a big “if ” to be established first), then does it present historical information for the preexilic, exilic, postexilic, or all three periods of Israelite history? Again, the opinions on this issue are extremely diverse among scholars, with many holding nuanced views of the relevancy of Chronicles for historical data. If one accepts that Chronicles contains at least some accurate historical information about the Second Temple period—which most scholars would allow—and that it contains in some form accurate historical information concerning the preexilic period about which it purports to speak, then the issues become sorting “the wheat from the chaff” 63 and choosing the criteria by the Chronicler is an elite member of the postexilic society (T. D. Goltz, “The Chronicler as Elite: Establishing an Atmosphere of Perpetuity in Jerusalemite Yehud,” in The Function of Ancient Historiography in Biblical and Cognate Studies [ed. P. G. Kirkpatrick and T. D. Goltz; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 489; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2008] 91–110). However, I disagree with his conclusion that Chronicles articulates “a self-contained, self-perpetuating hermeneutical religious system . . . [most concerned with] the control and maintenance of the institution that allowed the Chr[onicler] and his intellectual kin to exist” (p. 106); contrast my understanding of Chronicles as a subversive text written to criticize the status quo and offer something better in its place (Reading Utopia in Chronicles). 61.  H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (New Century Bible Commentary; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1982) 23. 62.  The phrase and concept is taken from H. Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999) 379–410 (esp. p. 381). The scope of the Chronicler’s knowledge of the content of his tradition, as indicated by the details he identifies and the connections he makes, is truly impressive. He is not only the “master of his sources” but the “master of the tradition” that he is trying to reformulate in his own work. 63.  Compare the use of this metaphor, the difficulty associated with this process, and the arbitrary decisions often made by scholars, as articulated by R.  L.  Braun, “1 Chronicles 1–9 and the Reconstruction of the History of Israel: Thoughts on the

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which this process should be undertaken. Needless to say, no consensus among scholars can be reached on this necessary principle of demarcation. Thus, determining which information in Chronicles is historical and which information existed only in the Chronicler’s imagination shows no sign of being accomplished in the near future. That being said, it is ironic that the vast majority of scholars will assert rather confidently that a particular description of preexilic practice or detail must reflect postexilic concerns or conditions either without providing any evidence to support the claim or by noting that there is no other evidence of the practice in preexilic texts, excluding the description in postexilic Chronicles, so that the practice must be postexilic in origin. This sort of circular reasoning has plagued the study of Chronicles since Wellhausen first argued that Chronicles cannot be trusted for historical information since it follows the postexilic Priestly source temporally. 64 This impasse cannot be overcome without a new methodological approach to the question. Second, the Chronicler’s methodology in employing source material, if there were actual sources and not merely pure fabrications, has been a topic of particular interest among scholars. This has been especially the case for the narrative sections that Chronicles shares with Samuel–Kings. It is here, so the logic holds, that the Chronicler’s Tendenz can be identified. However, this sort of redaction criticism is flawed on a number of levels 65 and by no means implies that all of the items in the nonsynoptic sections (the Chronicler’s so-called Sondergut) that correspond to the Chronicler’s Tendenz should be classified as the invention of the Chronicler without any possibility of deriving from a nonextant and noncanonical source, whether oral or written in nature. At this point, redaction criticism will not help in determining how the Chronicler has used his sources, and Use of Genealogical Data in Chronicles in the Reconstruction of the History of Israel,” in The Chronicler as Historian (ed. M. P. Graham, K. G. Hoglund, and S. L. McKenzie; JSOTSup 238; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997) 92–105, esp. pp. 102–3, 105. 64. J.  Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (New York: Meridian, 1957) 189–90, 222–27. Compare the axiomatic assertion that the “author of Chronicles has carried back to the period of David regulations about the temple worship and the personnel there which clearly reflect a much later time” without any evidence being marshaled to defend such a claim, as made by A. C. Welch, Post-Exilic Judaism: The Baird Lecture for 1934 (Edinburgh: William Blackwood, 1935) 12–13. 65.  See the early warning against this redactional strategy by W. E. Barnes, “The Midrashic Element in Chronicles,” The Expositor 5th ser. 4 (1896) 426–39, esp. p. 437; idem, “The Religious Standpoint of the Chronicler,” AJSL 13 (1896–97) 14–20, esp. pp. 19–20; contrast the affirmation of this reading strategy by Werner E. Lemke, “The Synoptic Problem in the Chronicler’s History,” HTR 58 (1965) 349–63, esp. p. 363 n. 44.

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the historical veracity of much of the genealogical data cannot and probably never will be confirmed. 66 The explicit and implied citation of sources by the Chronicler and his references to other available ancient records constitute significant methods by which the message of the book is communicated to its audience. Scholars have also recognized that the treatment of prophecy and the numerous speeches reported throughout the narrative perform this same function. 67 The ability of the Chronicler to convince his audience that the utopia presented in the text is indeed a better alternative reality (a utopia) rests heavily on the authoritative status of Chronicles itself. 68 66.  However, many scholars will disagree with this portrayal of the quest for sources as difficult at best and hopelessly irresolvable at worst. See, for example, the “prime importance” placed on this enterprise by K.  Peltonen, “Function, Explanation and Literary Phenomena: Aspects of Source Criticism as Theory and Method in the History of Chronicles Research,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (ed. M. P. Graham and S. L. McKenzie; JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 18–69 (esp. p. 66); and its “essential” role in understanding Chronicles by N. Naʾaman, “Sources and Redaction in the Chronicler’s Genealogies of Asher and Ephraim,” JSOT 49 (1991) 99–111 (esp. p. 100). Two types of data should be mentioned here. First, while most scholars have accepted, at least to some degree, that the Chronicler’s Vorlage was closer to that found in the Samuel manuscripts from Qumran than to the MT of Samuel, so that every change is not automatically to be ascribed to the Chronicler’s Tendenz, it is the unfortunate case that only one fragment of Chronicles was found at Qumran (4Q118), thus preventing a thorough textual-critical reevaluation of Chronicles; see Julio Trebolle Barrera, “Édition préliminaire de 4QChroniques,” RevQ 15 (1992) 523–39; and Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 52–55. Second, it is difficult to hypothesize about the Chronicler’s use of sources when the only substantial source available for comparison is Samuel–Kings; did the Chronicler use the same methodology for all of his sources, or were different sources treated in different ways? That the latter is most likely the case can be deduced from the methods employed for the hymnic compositions included in 1 Chr 16:7–36 and the apparent source texts of several psalms in opposition to those used in conversation with Samuel–Kings. Thus, given the probability that the Chronicler used different sources, or even the same source, in a variety of ways, any general statements about the Chronicler’s methodology in using sources are open to serious debate and ultimately inconclusive. 67.  See, for example, S. J. De Vries, “The Forms of Prophetic Address in Chron­ icles,” HAR 10 (1986) 15–36; M. A. Throntveit, When Kings Speak: Royal Speech and Royal Prayer in Chronicles (SBLDS 93; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987); and C.  Westermann, “Excursus: Prophetic Speeches in the Books of Chronicles,” in Basic Forms of Prophetic Speech (trans. H. C. White; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1967) 163–68. On speeches revealing the author’s purpose and themes in Hellenistic historiographical works, see C. W. Fornara, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983) 142–68. 68.  This discussion assumes the methodological arguments in my Reading Utopia in Chronicles. In short, the Chronicler constructs a better alternative reality for his present audience by projecting his preferred society (a better alternative reality, a utopia)

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The unique roles of prophecy and prophets in Chronicles indicate a transition in the understanding of these phenomena during the Second Temple period. Schniedewind lists several observations about the prophets in Chronicles: (1) when Kings is unclear about why certain events happened, prophets may be invoked to provide the answer in Chronicles; (2) they most typically function as interpreters of past and present events, rather than predictors of the future; and (3) perhaps most importantly, prophets have become historians, the writers of the historical sources mentioned in Chronicles. 69 If prophets have now become writers, this suggests a perceived relationship between scribalism and prophecy during this period. Thus, scribal activity may be considered prophetic in nature. By association, this link established between scribalism, prophets, and historical writing functions as a means of asserting the authority of the Chronicler’s own composition—an account of the past most likely written by a scribe who would claim the same prophetic inspiration for his own work as he assigned to the “prophetic” scribes of the past. This association between prophecy and scribalism has been extended in scholarship recently to a direct relationship between apocalypticism and scribalism in antiquity. 70 However, Chronicles is not an apocalyptic text, but it does exhibit scribal features, especially features associated with the wisdom tradition. 71 While Chronicles certainly exhibits characteristics of a text produced by scribes, not many scholars would argue that it is a prophetic text, at least on the basis of form. However, the lack or scarcity of prophetic oracles does not determine the “prophetic” nature of any given text. Chronicles into Israel’s past. Thus, Chronicles does not necessarily reflect the present reality of the Second Temple period; instead, it is being critiqued, and something else (another option) is being conveyed. 69. W. M. Schniedewind, “The Chronicler as an Interpreter of Scripture,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (ed. M.  P.  Graham and S.  L.  Mc­ Kenzie; JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 158–80. The position of Schniedewind is supported by the analysis and conclusion regarding prophecy and exegesis by B. D. Sommer, “Did Prophecy Cease? Evaluating a Reevaluation,” JBL 115 (1996) 31–47. 70. J. Z. Smith, “Wisdom and Apocalyptic,” in Religious Syncretism in Antiquity: Essays in Conversation with Geo Widengren (ed. B. A. Pearson; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1975), 131–56; compare J. C. VanderKam, “The Prophetic-Sapiential Origins of Apocalyptic Thought,” in A Word in Season: Essays in Honour of William McKane (ed. J. D. Martin and P. R. Davies; JSOTSup 42; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1986) 163–76. 71.  See J. Blenkinsopp, “The Sage, the Scribe, and Scribalism in the Chronicler’s Work,” in The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East (ed. J. G. Gammie and L. G. Perdue; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990) 307–15; idem, “Wisdom in the Chronicler’s Work,” in In Search of Wisdom: Essays in Memory of John G. Gammie (ed. L. G. Perdue, B. B. Scott, and W. J. Wiseman; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993) 19–30; and Christine Schams, “1 and 2 Chronicles,” in Jewish Scribes in the Second-Temple Period (JSOTSup 291; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998) 60–71.

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itself claims that historical writings as well as oracular material were composed by prophets in the past. 72 As part of the Chronicler’s utopian construct, prophecy functions to connect the past with the present by the interpretation of events, whether in the form of historical narrative or oracular material or in a genealogy. Prophecy and prophets function in a very specific way in Chronicles: they are one of the means for promoting innovation in the tradition while at the same time affirming continuity with it. These dual and seemingly contradictory functions convey the essence of the Chronicler’s vision for a utopian future without expressing it in the form of predictive prophecy. 73 Instead, the past and present are recorded and interpreted by prophets for the benefit of the community centered around Jerusalem—whether in the preexilic period as in the narrative or in the postexilic period during the time of the Chronicler. The prophecies and speeches related by prophets share similar concerns with the speeches by nonprophetic figures, especially by kings. These “royal speeches” mirror the content of the prophetic words. Thus, these speeches demonstrate how two sources of authority—the prophet and the monarch—are employed as mouthpieces for the Chronicler’s message. However, the Chronicler’s concern for authoritative entities is not restricted to prophetic and royal speeches. Indeed, the issue of authority in Chronicles should not be underestimated. Repeated references to sources of authority for praxis are vital to the Chronicler’s presentation of the proper functioning of the cult and for society in general. 74 The Chronicler invokes the following as possessing some level of authority for determining proper action: Moses (1 Chr 72.  See, for example, 1 Chr 29:29–30; 2 Chr 9:29; 12:15; 13:22; 20:34; 21:12–15; 24:27?; 26:22; 32:32; 33:18?, 19?; 35:25. The division between history and prophecy on the basis of form should be rejected. Compare the labels the “Former Prophets” assigned to the historical narrative of the Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings and the “Latter Prophets” used to refer collectively to the books of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Book of the Twelve. The so-called “historical psalms” are another example of the blurring of formal genre distinctions, in this case, between history and poetry (or liturgy). 73.  That is, the Chronicler does not have his prophets proclaim in precise detail what the utopian future will look like as part of the content of their pronouncements. Rather, the prophets both affirm and criticize the traditions of the past and the present situation in line with a particular telos advocated by the Chronicler throughout his composition. 74.  Note that the concern of these authoritative citations clearly involves action, practice, or ritual observance. These sources of authority are not typically employed to provide a basis for a particular belief or article of faith independent of its practical manifestation in the reality of the community. The Chronicler is not engaging in abstract philosophy, theology, or ideology. Rather, the implications of particular theological and

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6:34[49]; 15:15; 22:13; 2 Chr 1:3; 5:10; 8:13; 24:6, 9; 33:8; 35:6), David (1 Chr 6:16[31]; 9:22; 15:2–14, 16; 16:2, 7; 18:14; 21:26; 22:1, 2; 23:1–6, 27; 24:3; 25:1; 28:11; 2 Chr 3:1; 6:4–11; 7:6, 17; 8:14; 11:17; 23:18; 28:1; 29:2, 25–30; 34:2; 35:4, 15), Solomon (1  Chr 28:5, 11; 29:25; 2 Chr 3:1; 7:1; 8:14; 9:2; 30:26; 35:3, 4), Aaron (1 Chr 24:19), “all Israel” (1 Chr 11:1–3; 15:28; 2 Chr 30:23; 31:1), the book of the kings (1 Chr 9:1), 75 the Mosaic Torah (2 Chr 23:18; 25:4; 30:16; 34:14; 35:12; the Law of God (1 Chr 16:40; 2 Chr 35:26), the Word of God (1 Chr 11:10; 12:23; 17:3; 22:8; 2 Chr 10:15; 11:2–4; 12:7; 18:18; 30:12; 34:21), the prophets, 76 the messengers sent by God (2 Chr 36:15–16), the Levites (1 Chr 9:2, 26, 31, 33–34; 15:2–15, 16–17; 16:4; 24:6; 26:20; 2 Chr 7:6; 8:15; 13:10; 17:7–9; 19:8; 20:14, 19; 23:6; 24:5, 11; 29:5, 12–17, 25–26, 30, 34; 30:13–22, 27; 31:2–4, 12, 14; 34:9, 12–13; 35:3, 8–15, 18), and several (if not nearly all) of the Judean kings. The Chronicler is obsessed with grounding his composition in recognized authorities that can support his interpretation of the past, present, and future. In his own authoritative composition, the Chronicler has retrojected his utopian vision into the past in order to actualize it in his present and into the future. This utopian vision does not replicate the past nor continue the status quo of the present. In these appeals to authority, the Chronicler critiques the present and offers his understanding of a better alternative reality anchored in the words and inherent authority of these personages and concepts. It is significant that the Chronicler does not offer an apology for their authoritative status. Recognition of their prestige or esteem by his audience does not seem to have been a concern for the Chronicler, who does not defend his selection of supporting authorities. In fact, the Chronicler has not created new sources of authority, 77 but draws on those already prominent in the tradition. While the Chronicler may not have invented the terminology for these authorities, he may have created their content. In other words, the Chronicler chose categories from his own day ideological positions for the construction of reality are of primary importance for the Chronicler. 75.  Compare the other citations of nonprophetic historical records in: 2 Chr 16:11; 20:34; 24:27?; 25:26; 27:7; 28:26; 33:18?; 33:19?; 35:26–27; 36:8. 76.  Samuel: 1 Chr 9:22; 11:3; 29:29; 2 Chr 35:18. Gad and Nathan: 1 Chr 29:29; 2 Chr 29:25. Gad only: 1 Chr 21:18. Jeremiah: 2 Chr 35:25; 36:12, 36:21–23. Isaiah: 2 Chr 26:22; 32:20, 32. Huldah: 2 Chr 34:22–28. Prophets, not specific: 1 Chr 29:29; 2 Chr 9:29; 12:5, 15; 13:22; 15:8; 18:21–22; 20:37; 21:12; 24:19; 25:15–16; 28:9; 29:25; 36:16. 77.  This is true despite the “creation” or presentation of specific prophets known only in Chronicles. That is, the Chronicler may “invent” particular individuals, but their authority is based on their identity and function as prophets just as with those personages known from other sources who are also prophets.

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that were already invested with authority and supplied the content to allow for these sources to support his own presentation of Israel’s past. In the creation of the content of these sources, the Chronicler anticipates a trend in later Jewish literature to appeal to sources of authority for supporting particular practices. 78 With these various strategies for conferring authority, the Chronicler attempts to solidify the status of his own composition. While most scholars would agree that the Chronicler asserts some claim for trustworthiness and thus acceptance of his unique presentation of history, the precise nature of the relationship between Chronicles and its apparent source material, especially the Torah and Samuel–Kings, has been the subject of much intense debate, as well as what these documents may have contained textually. 79 According to some scholars, the Chronicler’s diverse approaches to his source material indicate that the Torah was regarded as canonical but that Samuel–Kings had not achieved such esteemed status yet. However, the recognition of a canonical Torah at this time during the postexilic period is anachronistic. It is true that the Chronicler wrote a new text instead of editing an existing document, but this does not help to clarify the authoritative status of the source material in the perspective of the Chronicler. The relationship of Chronicles to both the Torah and to Samuel–Kings (in whatever textual forms the Chronicler may have encountered them) cannot be reduced to the simple dichotomy of a new work designed either to “supplant” or “supplement” other texts, using the terminology often employed in scholarship. 80 Chronicles cannot dismiss Samuel–Kings, but neither does it 78.  Compare, as only one example among many, the appeal to the Heavenly Tablets and other sources of authority in Jubilees. See, for example, Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing;” and the similar remarks made concerning Chronicles by Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 133. 79. Chronicles is also important for addressing the status of the Torah and the prophets in relation to each other; see, for example, H.  Najman, “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. C. A. Evans; JSPSup 33; SSEJC 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 202–16; idem, “The Symbolic Significance of Writing in Ancient Judaism,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. H. Najman and J. H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 139–73, esp. pp. 146, 154, 173; S. B. Chapman, The Law and the Prophets: A Study in Old Testament Canon Formation (FAT 27; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000) esp. pp. 218–31; idem, “‘The Law and the Words’ as a Canonical Formula within the Old Testament,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. C. A. Evans; JSPSup33; SSEJC 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 26–74; and Z.  Talshir, “Several Canon-Related Concepts Originating in Chronicles,” ZAW 113 (2001) 386–403. 80. Does the fact that the Chronicler produced another text that contradicts Samuel–Kings indicate that this source was “authoritative” or not, and if so, to what degree? Many different positions have been taken by scholars, but the debate often

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require Samuel–Kings to be read synoptically to elucidate meaning. 81 The Chronicler constructs a different history, a better alternative reality that sometimes affirms and often contradicts both the Pentateuch and Samuel– Kings as well as the society of his own time. 82 The same tension between continuity and innovation that is characteristic of prophecy, speeches, and authority in Chronicles is manifested in the Chronicler’s vision of the future, which is presented as a utopian history. The probability of acceptance of this utopian vision by the Chronicler’s audience is bolstered by the repeated and variegated claims to authority made throughout the work, including source citations, references to other ancient records, prophecies, and royal speeches, among others. Thus, as with many of the Chronicler’s prominent ideological motifs, these issues are not the primary concern of his composition. Rather, just as with other important concepts, these concerns about the citation of sources also contribute to the effectiveness of the utopian ideology that dominates the Chronicler’s history. In conclusion, this analysis of the sources and the authority of these sources in Chronicles reveals the uniqueness of the composition of Chronicles: a composition that creates something new while conveying the notion of consistency with the past. The Chronicler communicates a message of continuity and innovation that is necessary for his contemporary audience. Continuity without innovation leads to demise. The message is one of adaptation and hope for a different future based on a different past. In this respect, the Chronicler must critically employ and even reject or subvert his sources, as can be seen by the examples in this essay. Thus, judging a book by its citations means identifying Chronicles as a creative and innovative text, pushing the tradition forward in the hope of something better, at least from the perspective of the Chronicler. includes the language of supplant or supplement. See the comments on Chronicles (and the underlying presuppositions) of B. M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997); M. Z. Brettler, “From the Deuteronomist(s) to the Chronicler: Continuities and Innovations,” in Proceedings of the Eleventh World Congress of Jewish Studies (1993), Division A: The Bible and Its World (ed. D. Assaf; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1994) 83–90; Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 133; C. K. Mitchell, “Transformations in Meaning: Solomon’s Accession in Chronicles,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 4 (2002–3), http://www.jhsonline.org [cited 29 December 2003]; and John Van Seters, “Creative Imitation in the Hebrew Bible,” SR 29 (2000) 395–409. 81.  As such, Chronicles is an independent narrative and not a commentary (Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 133–34; and Duke, “Rhetorical Approach,” 109). Nevertheless, certain information contained in Chronicles makes sense only if the traditions reflected in Samuel–Kings are assumed to be known by the Chronicler’s audience; see the examples cited above. 82.  Cf. the conclusion by Stott that the rhetoric of Chronicles contributes to “the creation of an alternative world to that of Kings” (Why Did They Write This Way? 66).

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Table 1

Reference

Content

Title

Parallel in Kings

Evaluation of King by Chr (+/–)

Category 1: Royal Records 1 Chr 9:1

Genealogies of all Israel

Book of the Kings of Israel

None

n/a

1 Chr 27:24

Unknowna

Account of the Matters of the Days of King Davidb

None

+

2 Chr 16:11

Matters of Asa

Book of the Kings of Judah and Israel

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+ then –

2 Chr 25:26

Rest of the Matters of Amaziah

Book of the Kings of Judah and Israel

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+ then –

2 Chr 27:7

Rest of the Matters of Jotham, and all his wars and his ways

Book of the Kings of Israel and Judah

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+

2 Chr 28:26

Rest of his Matters and all his ways [Ahaz]

Book of the Kings of Judah and Israel

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

–

2 Chr 35:26–27 Rest of the Matters of Josiah and his faithful deeds in accordance with what is written in the law of Yhwh, and his actions

Book of the Kings of Israel and Judah

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+

2 Chr 36:8

Book of the Kings of Israel and Judah

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

–

Matters of the seer Samuel, and in the Matters of the prophet Nathan, and in the Matters of the seer Gad

None

+

Rest of the Matters of Jehoiakim, and the abominations that he did, and what was found against him

Category 2: Prophetic Writings 1 Chr 29:30

Matters of King David . . . with all his rule and his might and of the events that befell him and Israel and all the kingdoms of the earth

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Steven J. Schweitzer Table 1 (cont.)

Reference

Parallel in Kings

Evaluation of King by Chr (+/–)

Content

Title

2 Chr 9:29

Rest of the Matters of Solomon

Matters of the prophet Nathan, and in the prophecies of Ahijah the Shilonite, and in the visions of the seer Iddo

Book of the Matters of Solomon

+

2 Chr 12:15

Matters of Rehoboam

Matters of the prophet Shemaiah and of the seer Iddo, by genealogy

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+ then –

2 Chr 13:22

Rest of the Matters of Abijah, his ways and his actions

Midrash/ Commentary of the prophet Iddo

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+

2 Chr 24:27

His sons, and many oracles against him, and the rebuilding of the house of God [Joash]

Midrash/ Commentary of the Book of the Kingsc

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+ then –

2 Chr 26:22

Rest of the Matters of Uzziah

The prophet Isaiah son of Amoz wrote

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+ then –

Category 3: Prophetic Writings in Royal Records 2 Chr 20:34

Rest of the Matters of Jehoshaphat

Matters of Jehu son of Hanani, which are recorded in the Book of the Kings of Israel

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+ and –

2 Chr 32:32

Rest of the Matters of Hezekiah and his faithful deeds

Vision of the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz in the Book of the Kings of Judah and Israel

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

+

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65

Table 1 (cont.) Evaluation of King by Chr (+/–)

Content

Title

Parallel in Kings

2 Chr 33:18

Rest of the Matters of Manasseh, his prayer to his God, and the matters of the seers who spoke to him in the name of Yhwh God of Israel

Matters of the seers . . . in the Events of the Kings of Israel

Book of the Matters of the Days of the Kings of Judah

2 Chr 33:19

His prayer, and how it was received by God, all his sin and his unfaithfulness, the sites on which he built high places and set up the sacred poles and the images, before he humbled himself [Manasseh]

Matters of the seers/of Hozaid

None (only one – then + source named)

Reference

– then +

aThe only statement of content is what is not recorded: the number of the people as a result of the census. The implication is similar to the genealogical records mentioned but never said to be a source of information. bIt is possible that this writing is the same as the prophetic writings mentioned in 1 Chr 29:30 in reference to David’s reign, but there is no clear evidence for making this claim. In fact, given the Chronicler’s clarity in distinguishing the three categories throughout the book, we should not assume that this royal record is a prophetic writing. cI have included this title in the “prophetic writings” category because it is said to contain ‫‘ משא‬oracles’, typically a prophetic term, and because the other example of a ‫‘ מדרש‬midrash’ in Chronicles is connected explicitly to the prophet Iddo (2 Chr 13:22). It is possible that the reference could be to a prophetic text within a larger work (category 3), but since there would have been ways to indicate this clearly (as in the case of Jehoshaphat and Hezekiah below), I believe the evidence weighs in favor of a writing by a prophet (category 2). dThere is ambiguity regarding translating ‫ חוזי‬as either an otherwise‎ ‫־‬unknown proper name (Hozai), who may or may not have been a prophet, or a result of haplography from ‫‘( חוזים‬seers’), a reading attested in one version of the lxx. It is also uncertain whether this source is the same one mentioned in the previous verse, which refers to oracles, or should be understood as a separate document. the duplication of “his prayer” may suggest two different sources with different content apart from the famous prayer of repentance. this only adds to the problem whether the source in v. 19 should be considered prophetic on the grounds that the source mentioned in v. 18 clearly contains prophetic oracles. Thus, the reference in v. 19 could be placed in category 2 above, depending on how one interprets this single word/name.

Chronicles as Consensus Literature David A. Glatt-Gilad Ben-Gurion University of the Negev

The issues of the setting and purpose of the book of Chronicles remain as elusive now as they were one hundred years ago. Proposals that situate the composition and aim of Chronicles either at the outset of the Persian period as a call for the renewal of the Davidic monarchy or much later in the Hellenistic period as an anti-Samaritan treatise have not garnered wide acceptance. 1 The more mainstream position that Chronicles is a late Persian period product has little by way of external historical data that would help in zeroing in on a particular motivation for Chronicles’ composition. Thus, while general characterizations of the work as royalist, 2 theocratic, 3 aggadic, 4 and most recently, utopian 5 abound, none of these lends itself to identifying a particular time frame within the Persian period when such motivating factors would have been most paramount. This is not to say that the above characterizations are irrelevant or off the mark. Indeed, given our present state of knowledge, other proposals, just as the above characterizations, will derive mainly from the internal analysis of Chronicles—that is to say, its literary form and special emphases—rather than from ancient external parallels or historical benchmarks. 6 Even so, a number of considerations, which I shall mention presently in the form of 1.  See the useful survey in I. Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian: Studies in the Chronicler, His Time, Place and Writing (SSN 46; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2005) 41–52. 2.  See in particular D. N. Freedman, “The Chronicler’s Purpose,” CBQ 23 (1963) 436–42; J. Newsome, “Towards a New Understanding of the Chronicler and His Purpose,” JBL 95 (1975) 201–17. 3. J. E. Dyck, The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler (Biblical Interpretation Series 33; Leiden: Brill, 1998). 4.  This position is associated primarily with J. Wellhausen in his Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (New York: Meridian, 1957). 5. S. J. Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 442; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2007). 6.  See in a similar vein R. J. Coggins, “Theology and Hermeneutics in the Books of Chronicles,” in In Search of True Wisdom: Essays in Old Testament Interpretation in Honour of Ronald E. Clements (ed. E. Ball; JSOTSup 300; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 265–66.

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preliminary remarks to my thesis, cumulatively lend a further measure of support to the widespread supposition that the authorship of Chronicles can be narrowed down at least to the fourth century b.c.e. As will become clear, I am indebted to Peltonen’s incisive blending of the views of Albertz and Williamson—to wit, that Chronicles reflects a consensus-oriented historiography preceding the Judean-Samaritan split rather than reacting to it. 7 Following, then, are the several interrelated assumptions of this essay: 1. I maintain, with Japhet and Williamson, that Chronicles exhibits an inclusivist attitude toward the various elements of historical Israel and recognizes its heterogeneous origins. 8 Loyalty to the Lord and his cult is the determining factor for acceptance within the community, not geographic provenance or ethnic origin. 2. The Chronicler’s work is aimed at the widest possible audience rather than reflecting an elitist tract directed at other members of the elite. 9 3. Chronicles’ account of the monarchic period, from Saul’s death to the destruction of the first temple, builds on the parallel material found in the books of Samuel and Kings. 10 4. The Chronicler not only refers to Moses’ Torah as a source of authority but also looks to it as a recent model to emulate in his own quest for achieving authoritative status. 11

7. K.  Peltonen, “A Jigsaw Without A Model? The Date of Chronicles,” in Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (ed. L. L. Grabbe; JSOTSup 317; European Seminar in Historical Methodology 3; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001) 251–66. 8.  For this characterization of the positions of Japhet and Williamson, albeit from a critical standpoint, see Dyck, Theocratic Ideology, 39–43. 9.  Following Y. Levin, “Who Was the Chronicler’s Audience? A Hint from His Genealogies,” JBL 122 (2003) 243–45; contra J. P. Weinberg, “The Book of Chronicles: Its Author and Audience,” ErIsr 24 (Malamat volume; 1993) *216–*19; and T.  D.  Goltz, “The Chronicler as Elite: Establishing an Atmosphere of Perpetuity in Jerusalemite Yehud,” in The Function of Ancient Historiography in Biblical and Cognate Studies (ed. P. G. Kirkpatrick and T. D. Goltz; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 489; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2008) 91–110. 10. Contra A.  Auld, Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994). See the trenchant criticism of Auld’s position by Z.  Talshir, “Textual and Literary Criticism of the Bible in Post-Modern Times: The Untimely Demise of Classical Biblical Philology,” Henoch 21 (1999) 235–52; idem, “The Reign of Solomon in the Making: Pseudo-Connections between 3 Kingdoms and Chronicles,” VT 50 (2000) 233–49. 11. Compare W.  M.  Schniedewind’s remarks on the Chronicler’s constant references to inspired messengers that are perhaps designed to cast himself as one as well: “History or Homily: Toward Understanding the Chronicler’s Purpose,” Proceedings of

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This latter point is perhaps not as commonplace as the others and thus requires further elaboration, all the more so since it sets the stage for our theme of Chronicles as consensus literature. The Pentateuch appears to have crystallized in its canonical form sometime during the course of the fifth century b.c.e. by virtue of its representing a kind of collective anthology of Israel’s legal and narrative traditions. As Blenkinsopp sums up, “Our best estimate of the situation, therefore, is that the Pentateuchal law in its final form represents a compromise between different interest groups with their own legal traditions worked out in several stages during the two centuries of Persian rule.” 12 This particular description, which conjures up the somewhat anachronistic image of a series of constitutional conventions, is not the sole possible reconstruction. A more likely scenario argued for by Friedman and others is that the Priestly editors of the Pentateuch succeeded in leaving their imprint on the Pentateuch’s overall structure and design, even though they were constrained to a large degree by earlier legal and narrative traditions that had already entered the national consciousness. 13 In any event, the Pentateuch emerges, as van der Toorn puts it, as a document that fuses separate and at times conflicting legal and narrative traditions into one literary work defined as the Law of Moses. 14 This literary fusion and legal designation were intended to, and in fact succeeded in conferring upon the completed Pentateuch authoritative status. When one speaks of a consensus document, a number of theoretical models are possible for explaining its conception and emergence. One such model is represented by the Pentateuch, namely, a collective anthology that incorporates older diverse strands and integrates them into a more contemporary framework. 15 A second model is furnished by the American constitution, which attempted to bridge various conflicting interests and points of view current at the time of its composition. The overarching principle of compromise precluded any one side from attaining the Eleventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division A: The Bible and Its World (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1994) 91–97. 12. J.  Blenkinsopp, The Pentateuch: An Introduction to the First Five Books of the Bible (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1992) 241. 13. R. E. Friedman, “Sacred History and Theology: The Redaction of Torah,” in The Creation of Sacred Literature: Composition and Redaction of the Biblical Text (ed. R. E. Friedman; University of California Publications: Near Eastern Studies 22; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981) 25–34. 14.  K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007) 250–51. 15.  See J. H. Tigay, “Anthology in the Torah and the Question of Deuteronomy,” in The Anthology in Jewish Literature (ed. D. Stern; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004) 15–19.

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all of its aspirations. 16 Returning to our subject matter, the production of Chronicles appears to have been guided by yet a third model, in which the work was focused a priori on the linchpins that together had come to form the most basic common denominators of national identity: the Jerusalem temple, the Davidic monarchy, and the Mosaic Torah. The Chronicler’s emphasis on unity would account for his essentially selective use of older materials. By way of contrast to the first two models just mentioned, however, the Chronicler also aimed at inclusivism, though not by incorporating different views side by side or by negotiating between various ideologies but, rather, by highlighting and developing one particular outlook that had the greatest chance of resonating on the popular level. In so reconstructing Israel’s history, the Chronicler may very well have been aiming for a more expeditious acceptance of his own work than the written Torah itself had achieved only after an extended period of gestation. 17 Following is a fuller examination of the three main pillars of the Chronicler’s unity program as mentioned above—the Jerusalem temple, the Davidic monarchy, and the Mosaic Torah. The temple’s function as a unifying element is underscored by the many passages, highlighted by Endres, in which the community is depicted as gathering together in the temple to engage in joyous worship. 18 This phenomenon is first adumbrated in 1 Chronicles 29, in which the setting still precedes the actual construction of the temple. David’s successful public fundraising campaign for the temple yet to be built is followed by the remarkable description of communal joyous prayer and ample sacrifices that accompanied Solomon’s impressive coronation. Although the precise location of the festivities is left unstated, one must presume that they are centered around the altar that David had erected on the future temple site as per 1 Chr 21:26. Evidently, the limitations applied to Solomon (who, the Chronicler is at pains to emphasize, sacrificed only in Gibeon) still do not apply to David himself. In any event, the joyous temple-site worship of 1 Chronicles 29 serves as a forerunner to 16. See B.  F.  Wright, Consensus and Continuity, 1776–1790 (Boston: Boston University Press, 1958). For an abridged synopsis, see his “Government-Making by Consensus,” in The Formation of the Constitution (ed. R.  F.  Jones; New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971) 104–14. 17.  Put a different way, the Chronicler composed his history for the express purpose of its being canonized. This dovetails with M. Haran’s recent theory describing the canonization process as a whole as being inherent to and simultaneous with the redaction of biblical literature. See his three-volume work The Biblical Collection: Its Consolidation to the End of the Second Temple Times and Changes of Form to the End of the Middle Ages (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute and Magnes Press, 1996–2008) [Hebrew]. 18. J.  C.  Endres, “The Spiritual Vision of Chronicles: Wholehearted, Joy-Filled Worship of God,” CBQ 69 (2007) 12–16. A similar type-scene appears as well in Ezra 3:10–13, 6:16–22; and Neh 12:40–43.

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the similar gatherings to follow it in the reigns of Solomon (2 Chronicles 6–7), Asa (2 Chr 15:9–15), Jehoshaphat (2 Chr 20:27–28), and Hezekiah (2 Chronicles 30). Significantly, four of the above five contexts are unique to Chronicles—only Solomon’s temple dedication celebrations are paralleled in Kings. Of further significance is the fact that 1  Chronicles 29, while situated at a transitional juncture at the very end of David’s reign, points the way toward renewal and a secure future. This optimistic atmosphere contrasts starkly with the series of national assemblies in times of transition or crisis peppered throughout the books of Joshua, Judges, and 1 Samuel (which are all marked by their ominous tones pointing ultimately toward destruction; see for instance, Joshua 23; Judg 2:1–5; 1 Sam 10:17–27, 11:14–12:25). The Chronicler’s vision of a community united around the temple has no place for these sorts of dire gatherings; they are passed over in silence in his work. Much debated is the question who precisely constitutes this community. There are scholars such as Weinberg and Janzen who interpret the Chronicler as referring solely to the core community of Judah and Benjamin. 19 My own sympathies lie with scholars such as Japhet, Williamson, and Dyck, for whom the Chronicler’s community incorporates greater Israel in the widest sense. 20 Instructive in this regard are not only the examples of genealogical overlapping between the various tribes 21 but also the Chronicler’s complete disregard for the various tensions and schisms between tribes and tribal groupings so prevalent in the earlier literature, from the time of Joshua all the way through the united monarchy (e.g., Josh 17:14– 18; Judg 8:1, 12:1–6; 2 Sam 2:10, 19:42–44, 20:2; 1 Kgs 11:28). True enough, the Chronicler completely delegitimizes the Northern Kingdom (“For the Lord is not with Israel, all the sons of Ephraim”—2 Chr 25:7). 22 However, the northerners are always considered brothers whose return to the fold is welcome, as with Asa’s covenant-renewal ceremony that is attended by Josephite elements (2 Chr 15:9). This is particularly so in the context following the fall of Samaria (2 Chr 30:11, 31:1–6). 23 The twin 19.  See D. Janzen, Witch-Hunts, Purity and Social Boundaries: The Expulsion of the Foreign Women in Ezra 9–10 (JSOTSup 350; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002) 101–2, who cites Weinberg approvingly. 20. See Dyck (Theocratic Ideology, 39–43, 120–21), who, despite his reservations with Japhet and Williamson, arrives at a position similar to theirs. 21.  See Y. Levin, “From Lists to History: Chronological Aspects of the Chronicler’s Genealogies,” JBL 123 (2004) 116–19. 22. For a discussion of the context of 2  Chronicles 25 and similar episodes, see G. N. Knoppers, “Yhwh Is Not with Israel: Alliances as a Topos in Chronicles,” CBQ 58 (1996) 612–22. 23. The story in 2  Chr 28:8–15 relating the decision of the Ephraimite leaders to repatriate their Judean captives in accordance with the prophetic directive can be

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points of an integrated community united around the temple are aptly summed up by De Vries, who writes: (1) ChrH’s [the Chronistic Historian’s] Israel does not consist of sects and parties, for as Williamson has clearly shown, it is an “all Israel” that aims at nothing less than complete inclusiveness; (2) ChrH’s Israel is no conglomeration of pious individualists but a holy congregation joined in joyful worship. 24

The Davidic monarchy, the second anchor point of Chronicles’ consensus-building approach, is presented as the agency through which national unity in general and cultic unity in particular were achieved in the past. This undoubtedly explains the Chronicler’s extensive presentation of the united monarchy, with its emphasis on David’s and Solomon’s efforts in establishing the Jerusalem temple. The Chronicler’s decision to commence his continuous history only from the death of Saul obviated the necessity of acknowledging the existence of the numerous cultic centers prior to Jerusalem that are mentioned in the earlier literature, except for Gibeon. Indeed, the Chronicler appears to extend anachronistically the preparatory dedications of resources toward the Jerusalem temple as far back as Samuel, followed by Saul, Abner, Joab, and David (1 Chr 26:26– 28). David, however, was the first to make systematic preparations for the temple building and to include the people at large in his plans, as described initially in 1 Chr 13:2–4. There we read: David said to all the assembly of Israel, “If it seems good to you, and if it is the will of the Lord our God, let us send abroad to our remaining kindred in all the land of Israel, including the priests and Levites that are in cities that have open land around them, that they may come together to us. Let us bring back the ark of our God, for we did not turn to it in the days of Saul.” And all the assembly said that they would do so, for the thing pleased all the people.

This latter passage introduces an important balancing theme—namely, active community involvement in maintaining cultic worship. The king may initiate, but he does not act on his own. 25 For example, David sets the standard for temple donations, but the people also respond in kind, as noted briefly above with reference to 1 Chronicles 29 (vv. 5–9). 26 A similar dynamic is found in another passage referred to above, namely, 2 Chr viewed as a crucial watershed in the Chronicler’s portrayal of increasing reconciliation between north and south. 24. S. J. De Vries, 1 and 2 Chronicles (FOTL 11; Grand Rapids, MI:, Eerdmans, 1989) 18. 25.  As noted by S. Japhet, I and II Chronicles (OTL; London: SCM, 1993) 273–74. 26.  The Chronicler is evidently influenced here by the Priestly report of voluntary contributions to the tabernacle project (Exod 35:21–29).

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15:8–12. King Asa renews the temple altar service, but it is the people themselves, including many of northern origin, who bring the sacrifices and commit themselves to a binding covenant to seek God, the Chronicler’s preferred term for religious loyalty. Communal participation also brings with it a greater degree of responsibility—that is to say, accountability. Thus, the failings of various kings are not shouldered by them alone but are borne equally by the people. This idea is expressed succinctly with reference to Rehoboam in 2 Chr 12:1: “And it came to pass, when the kingdom of Rehoboam was established, and he was strong, that he forsook the law of the Lord, and all Israel with him.” It recurs in the description of the aftermath of the death of Jehoiada, the high priest during the reign of Joash (2 Chr 23:18–19) and climatically in the verses leading to the final destruction of Jerusalem in the days of Zedekiah (2 Chr 36:14–16). One may infer from these examples that, for the Chronicler, the Davidic monarchy, while highly significant, is not indispensable, since the community has within its own power the ability to achieve weal or woe. This message would presumably have been more satisfactory to a Persian period audience than the conclusion of the Deuteronomistic History, which leaves the future very much in the balance. The third and most innovative basis for the Chronicler’s consensusbuilding approach is the ubiquitous appeal to the Torah of Moses as an authoritative source. The references to the written Torah and the Chronicler’s various ways of citation have attracted ongoing scholarly attention. 27 Schniedewind, for example, identifies four formal citation formulas encompassing over a dozen references to Moses’ Torah in Chronicles. These citations may refer to actual pentateuchal passages, or alternatively, may represent the Chronicler’s interpretations of Mosaic Law derived from midrashic exegesis. 28 Obviously, the Chronicler’s heavy reliance on authoritative legal traditions is designed to boost his own authority. 29 But the matter goes further than this when one recognizes the following two 27.  The issue was taken up already by G. von Rad in his work Das Geschictsbild des Chronistischen Werkes (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1930) and was the subject of a fulllength monograph by J. R. Shaver, Torah and the Chronicler’s History Work (BJS 196; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989). 28. W. M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book: The Textualization of Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 189–90; idem, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995) 134, 194 n. 16. 29. This point is stressed with reference to the use of the term “Torah of Moses” in Ezra–Nehemiah by H. Najman, “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. C. A. Evans; JSPSup 33; SSEJC 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 212–13.

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points: (1) The overwhelming majority of citations relate to aspects of sacrificial worship and cultic maintenance and etiquette. 30 (2) The Chronicler regards the Mosaic Torah as a paradigm for communal consensus. These two points line up nicely with the situation described in Nehemiah 10. I refer to the signing of the ‫א ָמנָה‬ ֲ ‘pact’ by the leaders of the community, through which the people at large agreed to observe the Torah of God ֲ relate mostly to culgiven to Moses. 31 The specific provisions of the ‫א ָמנָה‬ tic obligations and the upkeep of the Jerusalem temple. They are derived either from specific pentateuchal passages or through midrashic exegesis, including cross-source harmonization, and they are accepted by a wide consensus. I do not mean to suggest that Nehemiah 10 or indeed any part of Ezra–Nehemiah necessarily comes from the same hand as Chron­icles. 32 My point is the momentous significance of what is being described in Nehemiah 10: community-wide acceptance of ‫ׁשה‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ ּתֹורַ ת מ‬as a binding text and community-wide commitment to supporting the temple are evidently still a living memory for the Chronicler’s audience, which is precisely why the Chronicler can harness Torah and temple as central consensus-building elements of his historiographic presentation. Chronologically speaking, if we accept a date of approximately 400 b.c.e. for the Nehemiah material, 33 it would follow from my argumentation that Chronicles belongs sometime during the fourth century, more likely in its first half. By this time, the written Torah in its entirety had extended beyond the private purview of kings and priests to function as an authoritative text for everyone, surpassing even prophetic oracle. Indeed, the written Torah serves as the great equalizer between kings, priest, and the people, as highlighted in literary form by the famous Chronistic passage describing King Jehoshaphat’s Torah education campaign (2 Chr 17:7–9). This passage constitutes a crucial chain in the Chronicler’s depiction of the Torah book’s history, inasmuch as it gives expression to the conception of the Torah as a widely disseminated document. 34 Contrariwise, in the Deuteronomistic History, between the times of Joshua and Josiah, the Torah book is virtually unknown

30.  See U. Kellermann, “Anmerkungen zum Verständis der Tora in den chronistischen Scriften,” BN 42 (1988) 49–92. 31. See my previous study, “Reflections on the Structure and Significance of the ʾămānâ,” ZAW 112 (2000) 386–95. 32.  See the review of research on this issue in G. N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9 (AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2004) 72–89. 33.  Following H. G. M. Williamson (Ezra, Nehemiah [WBC 16; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1985] xxxvi), who arrives at this date for the combination of the originally separate Ezra and Nehemiah materials, excluding Ezra 1–6. 34. See Shaver, Torah and the Chronicler’s History Work, 76.

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except to David, Solomon, and Amaziah. 35 In sum, then, the ongoing part that the Mosaic Torah plays throughout the Chronicler’s history from David and Solomon via Jehoshaphat, Joash, and Amaziah and through to Hezekiah and Josiah represents an essential element in the creation of consensus-based historiography centered around the cult. It has been too commonplace in scholarship to interpret Chronicles’ aim and historiographic tendencies with reference to a particular segment or interest group within society, such as diehard royalists, Levites, or a narrowly defined community of returnees. My understanding of Chronicles stems from the realization that, rather than demonstrating partiality toward any such group in particular, the Chronicler’s work is designed to promote consensus around the institutions, principles, and holy writ that formed the defining elements of overall group identity in his time. I have identified these as first, the Jerusalem temple; second, the Davidic monarchy, to the extent that it facilitated and paved the way for active community involvement in promoting and maintaining the cultic order; 36 and third, the Mosaic Torah. The latter carried special significance for the Chronicler, not only as a unifying factor in its own right but also as a recent precedent for the Chronicler’s own quest for wide acceptance and authoritative status. Viewed against the background and most likely time of composition of Nehemiah 10, in which the above defining elements coalesce for the first time, the Chronicler’s work appears to fit best in an early-fourth-century context. 35. See my “Revealed and Concealed: The Status of the (Law) Book of Moses within the Deuteronomistic History,” in Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay (ed. N. S. Fox, D. A. Glatt-Gilad and M. J. Williams; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009) 185–99. 36.  Many scholars have emphasized the particular role of the Davidic monarchy in Chronicles as supporters and maintainers of the temple and its cult. However, the historiographic inference for the Chronicler’s own time can be overstated, as per J. L. Berquist, who maintains that, by presenting the Davidic kings in this way, “Chronicles argues radically for a shift toward priestly power. Within this text’s ideology, the true goal of history is the temple, and politicians are relevant only when needed to support the temple and its worship” (Judaism in Persia’s Shadow: A Social and Historical Approach [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995] 156). I believe that the Chronicler evinces a richer appreciation of the role of the Davidic monarchs toward the cult as catalysts for national unity centered around the temple. Hence, one need not understand the Chronicler’s position as suggestive of a king-versus-priest dichotomy with preference given to the latter. To be sure, the Chronicler presents priests as stepping into the breach to challenge errant kings (most notably in 2 Chr 24:20, 26:16–20). At the same time, a righteous king such as David is quite capable of correcting his own cultic lapses (1 Chr 15:11–15).

Chronicles and the Definition of “Israel” Philip R. Davies University of Sheffield

Let me introduce my essay by commenting briefly on two related articles by Israel Finkelstein on early Persian period Jerusalem (Finkelstein 2008a; 2008b). Finkelstein reviews the evidence of settlement in Jerusalem during the fifth–second centuries and concludes that it was a “small unfortified village” (he denies the existence of a “Nehemiah’s wall”), confined to a small part of the central ridge of the Ophel hill, comprising about 20–25 dunams (20,000–25,000m2; ca. 5,000–6,000 acres), and a population that he estimates at about 400–500 people. He comments that this evidence “casts severe doubt on the notion that much of the biblical material was composed in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods” (2008a: 514). This time frame is terminated by the construction of the Hasmonean walls and thus includes the Ptolemaic and Seleucid eras. Finkelstein is of course attempting to challenge the entire basis of a hypothesis that places much of the production of biblical literature in the Persian period, seeking instead to support his own view of extensive preexilic (and mostly “Josianic”) literary composition. This challenge also facilitates the view that the biblical literature is largely not just Hellenistic but Hasmonean in date. However (and not just in light of the Qumran manuscripts), a late date such as this is highly problematic for all but a few writings (and perhaps only Daniel), and it is clear that Finkelstein does not accept the possibility of such a late dating either: in short, he remains convinced of an essentially monarchic-era Bible. An interpretation of archaeological data such as this undermines virtually all scholarly discussion of the books of Chronicles, leaving their composition without any plausible historical context. But the approach is, in my view, a bad use of archaeology in two respects. First, and fundamentally, it does not properly evaluate the nature of the archaeological evidence or its implications. Nadav Naʾaman (2010) has argued specifically against Finkelstein that there are several other cases of minimal archaeological 77

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indications at sites in Judah (he cites Amarna-age Jerusalem, Shechem, Gezer, and Lachish) that are known (and acknowledged by Finkelstein) to have been not only occupied but also serving administrative functions but where material remains from the period are sparse. It is therefore unwise, argues Naʾaman, to base conclusions purely on archaeological data when other evidence clearly contradicts it. But in the case of Persian-Hellenistic Jerusalem—where other clear evidence of major literary activity also exists—even the archaeological data, taken in isolation, do not deliver the conclusions drawn by Finkelstein. The center of the Persian and early Hellenistic city would almost certainly have been on the temple hill, where to the best of our knowledge the religious and political leadership had been housed during the monarchic period—namely, in the temple and the palace. The evidence of settlement on this hill is derived by Finkelstein not from any controlled survey or excavation (which is clearly impossible at present) but from results announced and reported in various public media by G. Barkay and Z. Zweig of their sifting of the debris removed by the Waqf from the Haram and dumped in the Kidron. 1 But this debris was apparently taken from a trench made by the Waqf that according to Ritmeyer’s reconstruction covered only a small part of the area and is hardly a reliable indication of the extent of occupation in the Persian era. 2 A largely administrative complex on the temple hill, with a relatively small additional settlement on the Ophel hill is a plausible enough scenario for the administrative center of a rather small province, and it is on the temple hill that a scribal school with an archive of literary and documentary texts is almost certainly to be placed. 3 As for the wall supposedly built by Nehemiah, it remains most likely that there was little or no new wall construction but that the Iron Age wall, which would not have been entirely flattened but only breached, was simply repaired, requiring no new foundations except possibly in a few places. To claim “repair” as “rebuilding” is a well-known device of ancient Near Eastern rhetoric and not necessarily to be understood as outright deceit. It does not follow therefore that the city was without a wall at this time. The second weakness of Finkelstein’s approach is the deliberate ignoring of other historical evidence, criticized by Naʾaman. To begin with, the high priest in Jerusalem was, in the eyes of the community at Elephantine at the end of the fifth century, the religious authority to whom they should appeal. It is unlikely that the cultic and political centers of Yehud would 1.  See, e.g., http://templemount.wordpress.com. 2.  See www.ritmeyer.com/2007/09/07/plan-of-the-temple-mount-destruction/. 3.  The possibility of more than one school at the temple and palace must be kept open, of course, but in practice it is hard to imagine that the scribal community itself was not socially quite homogeneous.

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have been assigned to separate cities in such a small province, especially if, as is commonly understood, the Achaemenids used temples, including the temple in Jerusalem, as agents of local tax collection (see, e.g., Schaper 1995). 4 Accounts of the Jews by both Hecataeus and Manetho in the early third century also feature Jerusalem and no other city in Judah (or in Samaria, for that matter). As for the biblical literature itself, while one can make a good case that either Ezra or Nehemiah (or both) was composed later than the fifth century, and—with some difficulty—even Haggai and proto-Zechariah, the pre-Hasmonean dating of Ben Sira is fairly certain, proving that at least one scribe lived and taught here. And of course, there are the books of Chronicles. 5 However, it is the evidence of preservation and editing of what became the biblical literature during this period, accepted by the vast majority of biblical scholars with good reason, that offers a more important indication of organized scribal activity. For, while authorship does not absolutely entail an institutional context, preservation, copying, and editing do. Only scribal communities perform these functions, and only the existence of a scribal community and an archive in Jerusalem in the Persian and early Hellenistic era explains the preservation of most of the biblical literature. How else and where else were earlier writings (assuming any of the biblical writings to have originated earlier) preserved? Finkelstein neither has nor seeks an answer to this, 6 and his approach represents a dangerous kind of archaeological fundamentalism in which one set of data is accepted exclusively and infallibly in disregard of other historical evidence. In fact, even allowing that the archaeological data reliably indicate population numbers and distribution (population density is another dubious calculation), a consistent interpretation of all the data surely suggests that Persian Jerusalem was a rather small temple and administrative city with a scribal community of (at least) the necessary size and quality for these purposes. The size of the overall population is largely irrelevant: what matters is the identity of the population and the function of the city.

4.  It seems the case, however, that in Israel/Samaria, the major religious site was not the capital itself. If so, this factor may have favored the dominance of Jerusalem in the late Persian and early Hellenistic periods. 5.  Qoheleth, Job, several psalms, and Malachi. Jonah and undoubtedly Isaiah 40– 66 and Malachi are very likely from this time; the Hebrew-language sections of Daniel certainly come from a pre-Hasmonean period. 6.  In a private communication, Finkelstein responded to my query on this issue that these sorts of questions were a problem for biblical scholars, not archaeologists. But we are both making historical judgments here: could a historian ever accept one set of data in defiance of another contradictory set, without considering how the contradiction might be explained?

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I can now turn with some relief to the books of Chronicles as a product of the Persian-Hellenistic era. The nature of its “Israel” is in general fairly well agreed, and the fundamental analysis of Williamson (Williamson 1977; see also Japhet 1989) needs little revision in its essentials. But in the light of the recent explosion of scholarship analyzing several aspects of ancient Judean history, we can perhaps attempt a more nuanced assessment of the political dimensions of Chronicles’ presentation of Judah and its relation to “Israel.” These aspects include the history of the Judean state (e.g.,, Herzog and Singer-Avitz 2004, 2006; Davies forthcoming), the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods (e.g., Lipschits 2005; Lipschits and Blenkinsopp 2005; Lipschits and Oeming 2006; Lipschits, Knoppers, and Albertz 2007; Edelman 2005), and studies of the relationship of the provinces of Judah and Samaria (e.g., Hjelm 2000, 2004). These studies have also been accompanied by a resurgence of interest in the Chronicler himself as a historian, theologian, midrashist, or whatever (e.g., Graham, Hoglund, and McKenzie 1997; Graham and McKenzie 1999; Graham, McKenzie, and Knoppers 2003; Japhet 1989), in general shedding a more positive light on his intentions and his ideology. The background to the presentation of “Israel” in Chronicles (and in Kings, which is also relevant to understanding Chronicles) is as follows. It looks highly probably (see Davies 2007 and literature cited there), from not just but also biblical evidence that the societies in the northern and southern Palestinian highlands developed from the beginning of their Iron Age settlement separately and independently. The same combination of archaeological, epigraphic, and biblical evidence also suggests, however, that, under the Omride dynasty, the population of Judah, under whatever kind of political leadership existed (whether or not the “House of David”), were clients of the king of Samaria, and at one point in the ninth century the biblical account may hint that both territories were ruled by a single monarch, Joram/Jehoram (Miller and Hayes 1986: 280–84). A unified kingdom embracing them both may thus have existed briefly, but if so, on the evidence it was short lived. Thereafter, relations between the two societies were probably never cordial, and in the middle of the eighth century, the political leadership in the southern highlands secured freedom from Israelite suzerainty by means of an alliance that in all probability first established a recognized “kingdom” called Judah. We have no record of this state in any ancient Near Eastern source before this time, and subsequently it is never given, or connected with, the name “Israel.” The kingdom may have taken its name from the geographical term for its territory rather than any preexisting “tribe” of Judah: the biblical texts provide names of various tribal elements of which the kingdom consisted (which the former vassal chiefdom may have controlled). The portrait of

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a previously existing “people” or “nation” of “Israel” in some of the biblical books—notably in the Pentateuch and Chronicles—therefore raises a query of fundamental importance. It is an invention but an invention that needs explaining. How did this portrait emerge? I have argued in detail elsewhere (Davies 2007) that the most plausible starting point for the idea of a “people of Israel” is in the Neo-Babylonian period, when the removal of Jerusalem’s political and religious dominance, especially the influence of the cult of the god of Jerusalem led to the resurgence of Mizpah and the Benjaminite sanctuaries. A change in cultic behavior within Judah itself necessarily occurred, but with it came a unification of the religious traditions of Samaria and Judah, to both of which the population of Benjamin in some way belonged. The book of Jeremiah in particular testifies to the syncretism of Yahweh Sebaoth, the royal god of Jerusalem (not the “god of Judah”: this term never occurs anywhere) with Yahweh the “god of Israel” or “god of Jacob,” the deity of both the former Israelite kingdom and the territory of Benjamin. Through affiliation to the lineage of Jacob, the eponymous Israelite ancestor and legendary founder of the cult at Bethel, worshipers of the god identified themselves as “children of Israel.” The identity could be adopted because of the absence of the royal and nationalistic associations of the Jerusalem cult and the demise of Israel as an independent monarchy. “Israel” emerged as a religious concept that was no longer synonymous with the population of Samaria. The genealogical elaboration of these “children of Israel” is prominently developed in the books of Chronicles, which regularly call Jacob “Israel” and emphasize the tribal nature of the “nation” while also delineating its essentially cultic character. Here, then, we find the most complete demonstration of this new “Israel” but with the one important difference that the center of this “nation” is now Jerusalem—not its palace but its temple, which has nevertheless been garbed in the Davidic dress. The proper center for Chronicles’ Israel would indeed have been Bethel, the home of the cult of the god of Jacob/Israel, and during the sixth and fifth centuries the symbol of unity of the two neighboring provinces. But, whereas in the books of Kings Bethel is characterized as a place of idolatry, it is noticeably not mentioned in Chronicles. Both writings imply that Jerusalem has taken over the function of Bethel as the home of the “god of Israel”—the most common designation of the deity in Chronicles, where the old Jerusalem royal title “Yhwh Sabaot” is reserved for David himself (1 Chr 11:9, 17:7), and especially in the key verse, 17:24, with its very precise formulation: Thus your name will be established and magnified forever in the saying, “Yhwh Sebaot, the god of Israel, is Israel’s god” [‫יהוה צבאות אלהי ישראל אלהים‬

82

Philip R. Davies ‫ ;]לישראל‬and the house of your servant David will be established in your presence. 7

The entire concept of Israel—and its god—in Chronicles is highlighted when contrasted with the conception in the books of Kings (which, while implying a kind of religious union of Judah and Israel, do not unify the two “houses” into one) and reserves the name “Israel” strictly for the kingdom ruled from Samaria. The “united monarchy” remains just that: a joining of two separate entities that does not imply an original unity. 8 This distinction has created some tension with the pentateuchal concept of a twelve-tribe unified nation, leaving the book of Judges a rather messy compromise between individual tribal units and a confederation, while in the books of Samuel it leaves us with a Kingdom of Israel that apparently excludes Judah and a “(house of) Judah” whose separation from “Israel” is left unexplained. By contrast, Chronicles sustains throughout the notion of a twelvetribe nation that is shared with the Pentateuch, enabling the Chronicler to share with or derive material from the so-called “Priestly” genealogies. It copes with the memory of separate statehood by maintaining the fiction of monarchic unity and ignoring the history of the Kingdom of Israel beyond the time of Jeroboam. Accordingly, the fall of Samaria does not leave the Chronicler with a rump consisting only of Judah but with a reunited nation in which the Israel of Samaria can again unite with Jerusalem. On the contrary, the authors of Kings, with a less generous attitude toward Samaria, dismiss it as no longer containing descendants of Jacob but foreigners feigning Yahwism (2 Kings 17, esp. v. 34), thus preserving the difference between the two societies that had pertained for most of its story. The historical context of these different portraits of Israel points to the Persian period, in which the Yahwistic societies of Palestine and perhaps even beyond had grown to see themselves not just as a single religious community but, with their imputed descent from Jacob, also a single nation with a common descent and history (in stories mostly borrowed from Samaria rather than Judah, whose own memories extended back no further than David): these are related in the Mosaic Scriptures that they shared. But while, unsurprisingly, these Scriptures feature no single central city or temple for this “Israel” (the places of worship commended by Deuteronomy do not suggest a single sanctuary but, at the least, one 7.  In Kings also, “god of Israel” is more common than “Yhwh Sabaot”; the latter occurs only five times, three of them in the Isaiah-Hezekiah episodes in chap. 19. 8.  The one exception is 1 Kings 8; to some degree the entire Solomonic reign is also exceptional in that he alone is crowned only once (though at Gibeon), while David and Rehoboam are crowned separately as kings of Judah and of Israel.

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for each province and, at the most, a number of places designated as a residence of the divine “name”), Chronicles grandly elaborates on every available occasion the majesty of the Davidic sanctuary in Jerusalem. Like the differences between Kings and Chronicles, this difference between the Pentateuch and Chronicles, asks for an explanation. The outlines of the development of the notion of “people of Israel” can be seen clearly enough: the participation of Judah among the “children of Jacob” led to the development of a historical memory in which the patriarch Jacob had a twelfth son, 9 then, presumably at a later stage in the Persian era, by introducing the hegemony of Jerusalem and Judah (as visible in Kings, Chronicles, and the Latter Prophets). The biblical writings that stem from Judah/Yehud/Judea (that is, non-pentateuchal) reflect its own distinct perspective on the continuing identity of the “people” of Israel. One perspective sees Judah alone (with or without the explicit inclusion of Benjamin and Levi, as in Ezra–Nehemiah) as its sole remnant, while Chronicles (like the Pentateuch, implicitly) sustains the vision of a single people to which the Samaritan and Judean communities belong. How does this development match the political and religious history of the Persian era? The Pentateuch may be seen as a body of writing that ignores or rejects cultic separation between Judah and Samaria; the “Deuteronomistic” writings dismiss Samarian worship entirely; Chronicles accepts Samaria but rejects Gerizim. Like the Deuteronomistic corpus, it maintains the legitimacy of the Jerusalem temple alone. The scholarly consensus has long been that cult centralization was inherited from the late monarchic period in Judah (though not in Israel). This late monarchic situation in fact remains very questionable: there is no plausible argument against cult centralization’s having been retrojected, like so much else, from the later state of affairs. Moreover, such an explanation hardly accounts for the century or more of rule from Mizpah and the later emergence of Gerizim as a similarly “exclusive” place of worship. A better historical explanation is that Bethel (as argued in Blenkinsopp 2003), formerly the most prestigious religious site in the Kingdom of Israel but later incorporated into Judah, served not as an exclusive sanctuary for both provinces but almost certainly as a central one. And as such, on its demise, it bequeathed its status as the preeminent sanctuary of all Israel to two offspring cults. The first was in Jerusalem, which on regaining its 9.  It seems more likely that any earlier enumeration of “tribes” (within Israel) numbered ten rather than eleven: hence the necessity of adding not just Judah but one other. The variations within the Bible of tribal names suggests several possibilities’ having been considered: Levi, Reuben, Simeon (perhaps, though less likely, the division of Joseph into two).

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preeminence appears to have taken steps to decommission Bethel. 10 The construction of a temple at Gerizim around 400 b.c.e. (Magen 2007; cf. Magen 2008; Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania 2004) closely coincides with Jerusalem’s reinstatement (on the dating of this, see Edelman 2005) and so may be understood as a consequence—not so much of Jerusalem’s reinstatement but of the loss of Bethel, which meant the loss of a common sanctuary for both parts of “Israel.” The Samaritans were no doubt unwilling to acknowledge Jerusalem as Bethel’s legitimate successor and so built their own replacement (today, they still refer to Gerizim as Bethel, while the site was also known as “Luz” from at least Hellenistic times). The reinstatement of the Jerusalem cult (albeit as a cult of the “god of Israel”), the (inferred) loss of Bethel, and the construction of Gerizim thus initiated the process by which the two provinces separated cultically. Although there is no evidence of overt antagonism between the two cults at this stage, the separation of worship paved the way for the redivision of “Israel” into two separate religious communities, “Samari(t)anism” and “Judaism.” However, each sanctuary remained the central sanctuary of its own “Israel,” as Bethel had done; and as far as we know, this centrality fossilized into exclusivity, in biblical theory and in historical reality. 11 If this sequence of events is correct, then typologically, the “Israel” of Chronicles should be assigned to a stage of Judean-Samarian relations when Judeans regarded Jerusalem as the legitimate center of all Israel in Judah, when Gerizim existed, but Samarians were still accepted in Judah as being Israelites. This—I emphasize “typologically”—is later than the perspective of the Pentateuch, where no such division of cultic practice or of the “Israelite” community is recognized; nor is priority of sanctuary. Typologically, the “Israel” of the books of Kings belongs to a later stage in the separation of the two communities, when Samarians are rejected as 10.  Finkelstein, with Singer-Avitz, has recently attempted (Finkelstein and SingerAvitz 2009) to argue that Bethel could not have fulfilled this function at the time on the strength of a reexamination of the archaeological data. But the site was never satisfactorily excavated, and such examination is precarious. His conclusion seems to be driven by his wider agenda (see earlier) of defending an (impossible) dating of the biblical literature to the periods either before or during the reign of Josiah and after the Hasmonean rebuilding of Jerusalem (see above). 11.  There is no evidence of other Yahwistic temples within Samaria or Judah in the late Persian/early Hellenistic periods, though there is some evidence outside, both in Transjordan and Egypt. It is also possible to argue that Jerusalem was regarded from its restoration as the exclusive legitimate Yahwistic Temple in Judah because of the need for a single site of imperial tax collection (see above and see also Wright 2008 on the possibility that Chronicles partly reflects such economic activity in the early Hellenistic period). But this explanation leaves the prior situation unclear: Bethel was neither the provincial capital of Judah nor, in all probability, an exclusive sanctuary.

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being “Israel,” and the relations between Judah and Israel are described in historiographical writings in largely antagonistic terms, in which Israel and Judah were always separate, but the ideal and short-lived political union of the two thrones was broken by the people in Samaria, along with their desertion of the proper worship of the “god of Israel” and eventual displacement by non-Israelites.” Typology, of course, is not chronology, and communities (including scribal communities) are not monolithic: the various definitions of “Israel” may well have existed together over a considerable period. A case can be made for the chronological priority of Chronicles over Kings (though on the basis of a common Grundlage: see Auld 1994). Moreover, the linguistic arguments for distinguishing chronologically between “Early” and “Late” Biblical Hebrew have crumbled (Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvärd 2008), while Rezetko has highlighted the evidence of extensive (later) redaction in mt Samuel of the text shared by Samuel–Kings and Chronicles (Rezetko 2007). The question of the relationship of (Samuel–)Kings and Chronicles is therefore by no means settled. A fourth-century date for Chronicles is, however, the generally agreed conclusion, though there is no more precise consensus. This is indeed a period into which Chronicles’ attitude toward Samaria fits fairly well. The problem lies, rather, with the attitude of the books of Samuel and Kings, which are, fortunately, not the topic of this paper. But the “Deuteronomistic History” thesis is currently undergoing its own extensive reconsideration. There remains the complication of the Ptolemaic period. We know very little about this truly dark age in the history of Palestine. The evidence, such as it is, points to a unification, even annexation of Palestine as a single administrative region, possibly centered on Acco-Ptolemais (to judge from references to the city in the Zenon papyri and in Polybius; this is also geographically a more plausible Egyptian center than in the highlands). Ioudaia, Idumaia, Samareia, and Galilaia are mentioned as “nomes,” which perhaps implies a degree of separation of the two “Israelite” communities. Jerusalem presumably remained the most important city in the nome of Ioudaia, with the high priest as the most powerful financial authority, but tax-farming became the favored means of revenue collection, prompting struggles between priestly (Oniad) and nonpriestly (Tobiad) families and ultimately under the Seleucids, provoking bids for the high-priesthood itself. But did Jerusalem thrive under the Ptolemies at the expense of Samaria and/or Gerizim? If so, the Ptolemaic era provides a plausible context for the historical and not merely ideological role of the temple as the religious and administrative center of the “Israelite” nation, and Chronicles’ depiction of the Jerusalem of the past is closer in these years than at any other time to the historical reality. My remarks above support recent work

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that suggests Chronicles be taken neither as a work of midrash (of Samuel–Kings) nor as a utopian, theologically-inspired, unrealistic account of the past but as a creative work with a more complex relationship to Samuel–Kings and with its own positive political agenda. I have tried to define a little more precisely the political context in which Chronicles seems to have been written in order to understand better the motives of its composition and to illuminate the ideological currents at play in the small but vigorous temple-city of later Persian and early Hellenistic Jerusalem.

Bibliography Auld, A. G. 1994 Kings without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Blenkinsopp, J. 2003 Bethel in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Pp. 93–107 in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Davies, P. R. 2007 The Origins of Biblical Israel. London: T. & T. Clark. Forthcoming  The Origins of Judah. In Focusing Biblical Studies: The Crucial Nature of the Persian and Hellenistic Periods—Essays in Honor of Douglas A. Knight. London: T. & T. Clark. Edelman, D. V. 2005 The Origins of the ‘Second Temple’: Persian Imperial Policy and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem. London: Equinox. Finkelstein, I. 2008a Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and the Wall of Nehemiah. JSOT 32: 501–20. 2008b Archaeology and the List of Returnees in the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah. PEQ 140: 1–10. Finkelstein, I., and Singer-Avitz, L. 2009 Reevaluating Bethel. ZDPG 125: 33–48. Graham, M. P.; Hoglund, K. G.; and McKenzie, S. L., eds. 1997 The Chronicler as Historian. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Graham, M. P., and McKenzie, S. L., eds. 1999 The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text And Texture. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Graham, M. P.; McKenzie, S. L.; and Knoppers, G. N., eds. 2003 The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein. London: T. & T. Clark. Herzog, Z., and Singer-Avitz, L. 2004 Redefining the Centre: The Emergence of State in Judah. Tel Aviv 31: 209–44. 2006 Sub-dividing the Iron Age IIA: A Suggested Solution to the Chronological Debate. Tel Aviv 33: 163–95.

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Hjelm, I. 2000 The Samaritans and Early Judaism: A Literary Analysis. London: Continuum. 2004 Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition. London: T. & T. Clark. Japhet, S. 1989 The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought. Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Lipschits, O. 2006 The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lipschits, O., and Blenkinsopp, J., eds. 2003 Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lipschits, O.; Knoppers, G.; and Albertz, R., eds. 2007 Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lipschits, O., and Oeming, M., eds. 2006 Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Magen, Y. 2007 The Dating of the First Phase of the Samaritan Temple on Mount Gerizim in Light of the Archaeological Evidence. Pp. 157–211 in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e., ed. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers, and R. Albertz. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2008 Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 2: A Temple City. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Magen, Y.; Misgav, H.; and Tsfania, L. 2004 Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol, 1: The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan Inscriptions. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Miller, J. M., and Hayes, J. H. 1986 A History of Ancient Israel and Judah. Philadelphia: Westminster / London: SCM. Naʾaman, N. 2010 Text and Archaeology in a Period of Great Decline: The Contribution of the Amarna Letters to the Debate on the Historicity of Nehemiah’s Wall. In The Historian and the Bible: Essay in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe, ed. P. R. Davies and D. V. Edelman. London: T. & T. Clark. Rezetko, R. 2007 Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language, and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16. New York: T. & T. Clark. Schaper, J. 1995 The Jerusalem Temple as an Instrument of the Achaemenid Fiscal Administration. VT 45: 528–39. Shanks, H. 2005 Sifting the Temple Mount Dump: Finds from First Temple Period to Modern Times. BAR 31/4: 14–15.

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Williamson, H. G. M. 1997 Israel in the Books of Chronicles. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wright, J. W. 2008 “Those Doing the Work for the Service in the House of the Lord”: 1  Chronicles 23:6–24:31 and the Socio-Historical Context of the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem in the Late Persian/Early Hellenistic Period. Pp.  157–211 in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e., ed. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers and R. Albertz. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Young, I.; Rezetko, R.; and Ehrensvärd, M. 2008 Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. 2 vols. London: Equinox.

Ideology and Utopia in 1–2 Chronicles Joseph Blenkinsopp University of Notre Dame

The Political Situation: A Troubled Time My title, borrowed from Karl Mannheim’s famous study Ideology and Utopia, 1 will be misleading if it conjures up images such as Plato’s Atlantis, Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis, or St. Thomas More’s utopian commonwealth. But if we understand utopia in Mannheim’s sense as the creation of an ideal counterreality in reaction to incongruent current reality, a creation that is located in the distant past or future, it might help us to understand the impulse leading to the composition of Chronicles, hence what was important and authoritative for the author. My point of departure is therefore the situation in the international sphere and in the cultic world that the author inhabited and against which he reacted by constructed his utopian vision of the past. This perspective necessarily raises the question of the date of composition. As is well known, the task of coming up with even an approximate date is complicated by theories of multiple redactions or substantial additions spread over a considerable period of time, as well as the disputed issue of the relation of 1–2 Chronicles with Ezra–Nehemiah. These are weighty issues, but I take the view that it is possible to advance a hypothesis about 1–2 Chronicles as we have it, or at least the main body of the work, the history of the Judean monarchy (1 Chronicles 10–2 Chronicles 36), which can then be evaluated by the proponents of the many accounts of its origins that have been put forward since the eighteenth century and perhaps earlier. Since the more serious difficulties have been raised against the hypotheses of either a very early or a very late date, 2 for the purpose of presenting the 1. K.  Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1936) translated by L. Worth and E. Shils from the German Ideologie und Utopie, first published in 1929. 2.  Among the proponents of an early date for the work as a whole or the first and most important redactional strand in it are A. C. Welch, The Work of the Chronicler: Its

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following hypothesis, I assume a date of composition in line with what I take to be the majority opinion today. I propose, therefore, to allow for a broad chronological span comprising the roughly three decades preceding and the three following the Macedonian conquest; beginning, let us say, with the accession of Artaxerxes III in 359 and ending shortly after the conquest of Palestine by Ptolemy I Soter in 301 b.c.e. This generous time span allows for a broad definition of authorship in terms of a “school” sharing the same ideology and Weltanschauung, active over more than one generation. What, then, was the situation in the eastern Mediterranean region at that time, and how might it have influenced the Chronicler’s work? It is unfortunately the case that, while we have a fairly clear picture of the sequence of events during those decades, we have practically no information bearing directly on their impact on Judah and its people. After his lengthy paraphrase of Esther, which he regarded as the last biblical book, Josephus ran out of biblical material (Ant. 11.302–5). None of the other historians of the period, principally Diodorus, Arrian, Curtius Rufus, and Plutarch, so much as mention Judah and its Jewish populaPurpose and Its Date (Schweich Lectures 1938; London: British Academy, 1939): early postexilic; D. N. Freedman, “The Chronicler’s Purpose,” CBQ 23 (1961) 436–42: ca. 515, with a later expansion; F.  M.  Cross, “A Reconstruction of the Judean Restoration,” JBL 94 (1975) 4–18: similar to Freedman; three stages: ca. 520 ending with Ezra 3:13; ca. 450, 1 Chronicles 10–2 Chronicles 34 + the Vorlage of 1 Esdras; ca. 400, 1 Chronicles 1–9 + 10:1–2 Chronicles 34 + Ezra–Nehemiah Hebrew; J. D. Newsome, “Towards a New Understanding of the Chronicler and His Purpose,” JBL 94 (1975) 201–17: 538–515, from the same milieu as Haggai–Zechariah 1–8; D.  L.  Petersen, Late Israelite Prophecy: Studies in Deutero-Prophetic Literature and in Chronicles (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977) 57–60: ca. 515; M. A. Throntveit, When Kings Speak: Royal Speech and Royal Prayer in Chronicles (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987) 97–101: 527–517. W. F. Albright (“The Date and Personality of the Chronicler,” JBL 40 [1921] 104–24) held that it was authored by Ezra; while J. Weinberg (Der Chronist in Seiner Mitwelt [Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996]) dates it during Nehemiah’s governorship. Several opt for the beginning of the fourth century, including K. Galling, Die Bücher der Chronik, Esra, Nehemia (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954) 14–17; W. Rudolph, Chronikbücher (Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck, 1955) viii; J. M. Myers, I Chronicles (AB 12; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1965) lxxxvii–lxxxix. Proponents of a date later in the Hellenistic period include C.  C. Torrey, Ezra Studies (New York: Ktav, 1970 [1910]) 35–36; idem, The Chronicler’s History of Israel: Chronicles-Ezra-Nehemiah Restored to Its Original Form (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1954) xiv–xv: 250 b.c.e. or later; E. L. Curtis and A. A. Madsen, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Chronicles (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1910) 5–6: ca. 300 or later; R. H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (London: Black, 1952) 811–12: ca. 250. See the surveys in T. Willi, “Zwei Jahrzehnte Forschung an Chronik und Esra–Nehemia,” in TRu 67 (2002) 61–104; I. Kalimi, “The Date of the Book of Chronicles,” in God’s Word for Our World. I: Theological and Cultural Studies in Honor of Simon John De Vries (ed. J. H. Ellens; London: T. & T. Clark, 2004) 347–72.

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tion. But the convulsive events accompanying a major redistribution of political and military power, the endless series of military campaigns, the movement of mercenary armies back and forth between Egypt, Syria, and the Phoenician cities, the prevailing sense of chaos and anomie must have affected the province; and it would be unusual if they had made no impact on a major historiographical work written about that time and in that place. The events in question begin with Artaxerxes III’s initially unsuccessful attempts to reconquer Egypt, which helped to instigate revolt in the Phoenician cities supported by Nectanebo and opposed by the satrap of the Transeuphratene satrapy. 3 Artaxerxes finally brought Egypt back into the Persian Empire, if only for little more than a decade (344/343). The Macedonian conquest involved further “disasters of war,” with Parmenides advancing through Syria and Alexander moving down the coast to Egypt. The trail of death and destruction that Alexander left in his wake was certainly not confined to Tyre and Gaza, which resisted him. Jerusalem must have yielded about this time, though its submission would not have involved the Macedonian conqueror’s visiting Jerusalem and consulting with the high priest, Jaddua. 4 Samaria revolted while Alexander was in Egypt, resulting in its destruction and resettlement as a Macedonian military colony, events that have been confirmed by the finds from the Wadi Daliyeh in the Jordan Valley. 5 Other items of information, about the deportation of Jews to Hyrcania near the Caspian Sea and the destruction of Jericho, derive from late ecclesiastical authors and, while not implausible, lack independent confirmation. 6 The situation would not have improved during the protracted power struggle among the Diadochoi following Alexander’s death in 323. Ptolemy Soter finally annexed Palestine to his Egyptian empire, but only 3.  On the account of the Tennes rebellion in Diod. 16.40–45, see P. Briant, L’Empire Perse (Paris: Fayard, 1996) 1:701–4 = From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002) 68–85; L.  L.  Grabbe, Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian, vol. 1: The Persian and Greek Periods (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992) 99–100; with a critical discussion of D. Barag, “The Effects of the Tennes Rebellion on Palestine,” BASOR 183 (1966) 6–12. 4.  The incident is thoroughly discussed in J. C. VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiphas: High Priests after the Exile (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004) 64–72. Older discussions in V. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (New York: Atheneum, 1975) 42–47; and R. Marcus, Josephus: Jewish Antiquities Books IX–XI (LCL 326; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937) 512–32. 5.  Documentation in H. Eshel, “The Governors of Samaria in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries b.c.e.,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e. (ed. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers, and R. Albertz; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007) 223–24. 6.  For references to Eusebius, Jerome, Syncellus, and Orosius, see E. Schürer, The History of Jewish Palestine in the Age of Jesus Christ: A New English Edition (ed. Geza Vermes et al.; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1986) 6 and n. 12.

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after three unsuccessful attempts spread over two decades (320–301), certainly not without a great deal of murder, mayhem, and wholesale destruction. Diodorus, for example, records how Ptolemy adopted a scorchedearth policy on retreating after his second invasion (Diod. 19.93.3–7). The author of 1 Maccabees tells us that Alexander’s successors “caused many evils on the earth” (1 Macc 1:9). Josephus adds that the cities of Syria, which included Palestine, lost much of their population during these prolonged wars and suffered the reverse of what was indicated by Ptolemy’s assumed title Σωτῆρος/σωτήρ (Ant. 12.3). He goes on to record how, when finally successful, Ptolemy captured Jerusalem by guile by launching his attack on the Sabbath. He then ruled his Jewish subjects harshly and deported many to Egypt (Ant. 12.3–7, 138). 7 As some commentators have suggested, aspects of the ruinous situation of those decades may be reflected in biblical texts datable to that time or shortly afterward. Some commentators have been tempted to identify the unnamed “city of chaos” in Isaiah 24–27 with Samaria, destroyed by Parmenides. 8 Others have connected the comminations against Tyre and Gaza in Zech 9:1–8 with the siege and capture of those cities by Alexander after the battle of Issus. Others again have viewed the denunciation of trade in Jewish slaves between the Phoenician cities and the Greeks in Joel 4:1–3, 6 as fitting that period better than any other. An anonymous prophetic saying, probably more or less contemporary with Chronicles, speaks more directly: I will arouse your sons, O Zion, against your sons, you Greeks, and make you into a warrior’s sword! (Zech 9:13) 9 7. Josephus took this information from the second-century b.c.e. historian Aga­ tharchides of Cnidus, but in Ag. Ap. 1.186–89 he transmits from Hecataeus a more benign version of Ptolemy, whose philanthrōpia led many Jews, including a leading priest named Ezechias, to accompany him to Egypt. On these traditions, see Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews, 55–57; and, for the text of Hecataeus, M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, vol. 1: From Herodotus to Plutarch (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences, 1976) 35–38. 8.  Isa 24:10, 25:2, 26:5, 27:10. The identification is admittedly speculative but no more so than Bernhard Duhm’s proposal to refer these allusions to the destruction of Samaria by Hyrcanus in 107 b.c.e., surely too late; see his Buch Jesaja (4th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1922) 179, and the account of the event in Josephus, Ant. 13.280. For the range of opinion on the date of this section and the identity of the “City of Chaos,” see my Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000) 347–48. 9. A nationalistic reaction to Ptolemy I’s seizure of power has been read into a recently discovered coin horde with what may be the head of Ptolemy I on one side and yhdh (Yehudah/Judah) in Paleo-Hebrew letters on the other. See M. Hengel, Jews, Greeks and Barbarians (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980) 18, 144 n. 28; and for the coin-

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Holy War, Holy Warriors To repeat, we have no information bearing directly on the impact of these events on life in the province of Judah. It may be worthwhile, however, to explore the possibility that the experience of being helpless witnesses and victims of the incessant warfare going on at the time influenced one of the most salient and curious features of the Chronicler’s presentation of the past, namely, the overwhelming military power at the disposal of Judean monarchs beginning with David. In Chronicles, the people constitute a community, both liturgical and military, organized in units of 1,000 and 100. David had at his disposal an army of 1,570,000 not counting Levi and Benjamin, who were exempt from the draft (1 Chr 21:5–6). There was a perhaps additional force of 24,000 on standby for each month of the year (1 Chr 27:1–15). The good King Jehoshaphat had an army of 1,160,000 not counting garrisons throughout the country (2 Chr 17:13– 19, 20:1–23). We note how numbers are calibrated to the moral standing of the ruler in question. Rehoboam, a religiously ambiguous figure, can assemble only 180,000 against an invasion from the north (2 Chr 11:1). By the time of Asa, one of the good kings, Judah and Benjamin can muster only 580,000 against an Ethiopian army of a million strong (2 Chr 14:8), which however turned out to be more than adequate. I suggest that these and other examples of the author’s numerological exuberance should not be understood as an egregious display of naïveté. In adopting the practice of exaggerating numbers common in ancient historiography (for example, Herodotus’s estimate of Xerxes’ army at 1,700,000; Hist. 7.60) and pushing it to the limits, the author is signaling his intention, not to write history as a simple record of the past, but to use the genre of historiography so as to exhibit a utopian situation existing in its pure state during the reigns of David and Solomon and residually thereafter. This is a durational rather than topographical or locative utopia, in the sense in which Karl Mannheim understood utopia as a reaction against incongruent reality that is then expressed in the creation of an ideal counterreality projected back into an idealized past. 10 In this instance, the incongruence is the brutal reality of violence, war, violation of rights, and being at the mercy of forces over which one has no control. The counterreality is a land secured by a powerful native ruler who governs as God’s viceroy and maintains the temple cult, the life and soul of the nation, in full vigor, free from violence and oppression from without and from corrupting influences from within. age in general L.  L.  Grabbe, Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian (2 vols.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) 1:70–72. 10.  Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, 192–263.

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Hence the special status of David in the book as both warrior and cult founder. It is not surprising, therefore, if commentators have found evidence in Chronicles of the revival of the idea of holy warfare or “Yahweh’s war” (see “The Book of Yahweh’s Wars,” Num 21:14). The pattern is familiar from von Rad’s well-known monograph. 11 The ruler, a priest or a prophet consults the deity before action is engaged; assurance of victory is given, with an injunction to have faith and not to fear the enemy; the troops, usually vastly outnumbered by the enemy, are consecrated for battle; the blast of trumpets and the war cry inspire panic, often ending with the enemy’s destroying itself; Yahweh himself, as a warrior—explicitly so described at Exod 15:3—has the decisive part in the action, which concludes with the utter destruction of the enemy and the dismissal of the victorious army. It would not be difficult to put together a composite picture from Chron­ icles corresponding to this pattern. Abijah defeats Jeroboam by virtue of Judah’s legitimate cult practice, and the coup de grace is delivered by the blast of the priests’ trumpets on the battlefield (2 Chr 13:4–15); Asa seeks divine guidance before engaging with an Ethiopian army that outnumbers him two-to-one (2 Chr 14:11); the Levite Jahaziel gives assurance of success and tells Jehoshaphat and his men not to fear the Edomite foe (2 Chr 20:13–17); Yahweh does the fighting for Asa (2 Chr 14:12) and Jehoshaphat (2 Chr 20:17); the enemy, dispirited, ends up destroying itself, and not one is left alive (2 Chr 20:23–24). These examples of holy war episodes are taken from the time of the two kingdoms, but they are all intelligible only as dependent on the author’s presentation of the “golden age,” the utopian epoch, of the DavidicSolomonic monarchy. Accounts of David’s victories over neighboring states are taken over with only minor modifications from his primary source, 12 and the booty goes to equip and embellish the future temple (1 Chr 18:8, 10–11). Military statistics for David’s reign, already high in the source (2 Sam 24:9), are even higher in Chronicles (1 Chr 21:5). The Israelite ‫ ָקהָל‬can assume the form of both the liturgical assembly and the military levy. The military is thoroughly “liturgized” from the outset; we might think of it as the military-liturgical complex. David consults with his military leaders even in liturgical matters (1 Chr 13:1–4), and together with them he appoints the temple musicians (1 Chr 25:1–8). One of the 11.  G. Von Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel (trans. Marva Dawn and John Howard Yoder; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1991); also Studies in Deuteronomy (London: SCM, 1953) 45–59. 12.  1 Chr 14:8–17 cf. 2 Sam 5:17–25; 1 Chr 18:1–13 cf. 2 Sam 8:1–14; 1 Chr 19:1–9 cf. 2 Sam 10:1–19.

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earliest examples of divinely inspired speech is attributed to Amasai, commander of an elite military unit (1 Chr 12:16–19). The boundaries of the land in Chronicles reflect the Davidic imperial ideal and, in fact, correspond rather closely to the boundaries of the Transeuphratene satrapy in the later Persian period (“From the Euphrates to the land of the Philistines and the border of Egypt,” 2 Chr 9:26; cf. 1 Chr 13:5). Allusions to military equipment of different kinds may also be examples of contemporizing by the author. 13 To repeat a point made earlier: Chronicles was not written, and was not intended to be read, as a historical record comparable to the author’s principle source, the so-called Deuteronomistic History. It was written to present, as counterreality to the contemporary experience of the author and his fellow-Judeans, the ideal image of a people living under a powerful ruler, who creates and maintains the conditions necessary for their life of worship centered on the temple. In this respect, there is a correspondence between David at the beginning of the Chronicler’s history of the nation and Cyrus at its close. Cyrus was inspired by Yahweh to prepare the way for rebuilding the temple as David had been inspired to prepare for its building in the first place (1 Chr 17:1–27, 2 Chr 36:22–23).

Priests and Levites The point about utopia as reaction to incongruent reality would also apply to the temple cult and priesthood. For the author of Chronicles, nothing was more important than the proper functioning of the temple cult. At the time of writing, the principal internal obstacle to achieving this ideal arose, paradoxically, from the temple priesthood. The problem is already apparent in Ezra–Nehemiah dealing, ostensibly, with the situation in Jerusalem in the mid-fifth century. Ezra’s mission is described as a mandate to restore the temple cult; hence the abundant subventions, the new set of sacred vessels, and the need for priests and Levites (Ezra 7–8). In this respect, it is significant that we hear of no high priest waiting to welcome Ezra on his arrival in Jerusalem and take delivery of the gifts and vessels (Ezra 8:33–34). As governor, Nehemiah had to struggle to maintain control of the temple, its operations, and its considerable assets (Neh 13:4–9, 28). In this struggle, he recruited Levites, whose interests had previously been neglected and who were therefore, not surprisingly, 13.  For example, Uzziah’s equipment for sustaining a siege (2 Chr 26:9, 26), on which, see E. Bianchi and G. Rossoni, “L’armée d’Ozias (2 Chr 26,11–15) entre fiction et réalité: Une esquise philologique et historique,” Transeu 13 (1997) 21–37. It has been suggested that the frequent allusion to shield and lance (‫צּנָה וָרֹמַח‬, ִ 1 Chr 12:9, 25; 2 Chr 11:12; 14:7; 25:5) may have been inspired by the Greek phalanx; see, for example, Hengel, Jews, Greeks and Barbarians, 19.

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in short supply. 14 Tension between priests and Levites, to which we shall return, suggests something approaching a class struggle going on among the temple personnel (Neh 12:44–47; 13:10–14, 22). Priests were among the leading transgressors in the intermarriage crisis (Ezra 9:18–22, 10:5) and in the social unrest during Nehemiah’s governorship (Neh 5:12). Nehemiah’s accusation that the priests were defiling their office (Neh 13:29) brings to mind the vitriolic attack on the priesthood by the roughly contemporary prophet known as Malachi (Mal 1:6–7, 2:8). In the period subsequent to Nehemiah’s administration, the Persian governor Bagohi (Βαγώσης in Josephus) offered to secure the high priesthood for his friend Jeshua, brother of Johanan, the incumbent, no doubt on terms favorable to himself. The offer led to an altercation in the temple precincts that concluded with the murder of Jeshua by Johanan (Ant. 11.297–301, 304–5). The outcome was that the governor imposed a punitive tax of 50 drachmas on each lamb offered for the daily sacrifice over the next 7 years (Ant. 11.297–301). This disedifying episode gives us some idea of the state of affairs in the operation of the temple at that time and looks like an early stage in the politicization and commercialization of the high priesthood that reached its climax, or nadir, under Antiochus Epiphanes IV. This incident is followed in Josephus by another dispute in the high-priestly family occasioned by the marriage of Manasseh, brother of the high priest Jaddua, to the daughter of Sanballat, governor of Samaria. This one ended with the defection of Manasseh to Samaria, lured by the promise of the high priesthood in a temple to be built for him on Mt. Gerizim (Ant. 11.302–12). Setting aside the long-standing debate about the historical character of Josephus’s account and its chronological context, I note simply his observation that Manasseh’s conduct was not untypical of the temple clergy at that time. He states that “many priests and Levites were involved in such marriages” (11.312) and adds that Manasseh’s decision was not an isolated event: Whenever anyone was accused by the people of Jerusalem of eating unclean food or violating the Sabbath or committing any other sin, he would flee to the Shechemites, saying that he had been unjustly expelled. This, then, is the way things were with the people of Jerusalem at that time. (Ant. 11.346–47)

The indications are that the way things were then did not improve under Ptolemaic control, the high priesthood of Onias II, described by Josephus as “small-minded and passionately fond of money” (Ant. 12.158), and the ascendancy of the Tobiad Joseph and his son Hyrcanus, who had 14.  Ezra 8:15; Neh 13:10–14. In the census list (Ezra 2:36–42 = Neh 7:39–45) priests outnumber Levites by about 12 to 1.

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close links of a pecuniary and commercial nature with the temple bureaucracy (Ant. 12.160–236). The question now arises whether this less than flattering picture of the temple priesthood, or at least its more socially and economically prominent members, is reflected in Chronicles. The author certainly venerates the institution of the priesthood established by Moses and Aaron. There is no overt and consistent polemic against priests. But it is equally clear that priests receive considerably less attention than Levites, especially Levitical musicians. After presenting the high-priestly line from Levi to the exiled Jehozadak (1 Chr 5:27–41 and 6:34–38), the author provides much more detail information about Levites (6:1–15). It was David who organized the Levites and assigned them their permanent functions in the temple liturgy (1 Chr 6:16–23, 23:6–24) so that they might “minister to Yahweh forever” (1 Chr 15:2). The Levitical function of ark-bearers was established by Moses for as long as it was necessary (1 Chr 15:15, 23:26), but it was David, not Moses, who assigned them a permanent place in the liturgical and civic life of the people (1 Chr 15:16–24, 16:4–36). This innovation was authorized by David, without reference to Moses, as a liturgical prophet in his own right (1 Chr 25:1–3) and recipient of direct revelation with regard to the temple and cultic matters. The ‫‘ ּתַ ְבנִית‬plan’ or ‘blueprint’ for the future temple that David wrote at Yahweh’s dictation, and that remained available as a sacred text for future generations (1 Chr 28:11–19; 2 Chr 35:4, 15) put him on the same level as Moses, recipient of instructions for the wilderness sanctuary and its cult at Sinai/Horeb (Exod 24:15–18; 25:9, 40) 15 There is therefore no doubt about David’s preferential option for Levites, especially Levitical liturgical singers and musicians. We see it in the account of the transfer of the ark to Jerusalem, in which both priests and Levites participate, but only Levites are listed and addressed (1 Chr 15:14–15). Since God helped the Levites, they were able, quite exceptionally, to offer sacrifices (15:25–29). In preparing to designate Solomon as his successor, David assembled lay leaders, priests and Levites, but addressed his words only to Levites, 38,000 of them (1 Chr 23:2–5). 16 Concern for Levitical legitimacy, together with a certain lack of enthusiasm 15. On this extraordinary claim, see the remarks of S.  J.  De Vries, “Moses and David as Cult Founders in Chronicles,” JBL 107 (1988) 619–39. De Vries argues convincingly that the legitimation of Levites vis-à-vis the priests and in opposition to the condemnation of Levites in Ezek 44:10–31 (also part of a visionary revelation) was one of the principal concerns of the Chronicler. 16.  Contrast with this very high number the disparity in numbers between priests and Levites in Ezra–Nehemiah: in the census list, 4,289 priests and 341 (in the Nehemiah version, 360) Levites, musicians, and gatekeepers (Ezra 2:36–42, Neh 7:39–45). Ezra managed to recruit 38 Levites from Casiphia after discovering there were none in

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for priests, comes to even clearer expression in the author’s account of Hezekiah’s reign (2 Chronicles 29–32). Hezekiah, presented as a second David, reopened the temple and restored the cult to its pristine (that is, Davidic) condition after the apostasy of Ahaz. The initial event of the reign was a plenary assembly of priests and Levites in front of the temple at which, however, like David, Hezekiah addressed only the Levites (2 Chr 29:4–11). After self-purification, they were to cleanse the temple of ‫ִּדה‬ ָ‫ּנ‬ ‘pollution’ following the desecration to which it had been subjected in the previous reign, certainly not without the acquiescence of the temple priesthood (2 Chr 29:3–11; cf. 28:22–25). The Levites carried out this assignment (29:12–19), the priests participating only to the extent of removing pollution from the inner sanctum, which only priests were permitted to enter (29:16). Since it was found that many priests were ritually unclean and therefore unfit to take part in sacrificial ritual, Levites were called on to make up for their absence, since they had been more conscientious in remaining in a state of ritual cleanness (29:34). The same substitution was called for in the great Passover that followed, following the rubrics for the delayed celebration set out in Num 9:9–13 (2 Chr 30:1–27); and for this, the Levites received a special commendation from Hezekiah (30:22). This cultic restoration was legitimated and carried out on the prophetic authority of David himself and of Gad, Nathan, and Asaph, his charismatic cabinet (2 Chr 29:25–30). The same point is made even more explicitly in the account of the reign of Josiah, during which Levites were to follow the written instructions of David and Solomon (2 Chr 35:4), and Asaphite Levites were to perform their duties according to the prescriptions of David and the inspired founders of the guilds of liturgical musicians (2 Chr 35:15). We may suppose that these instructions were also available in written form.

The Chronicler’s Emancipation from Tradition If we go on to ask on what authority the author legitimated this utopian image of the past, including his views about the role of Levites vis-à-vis priests and about the temple cult in general, we should begin by emphasizing the importance attributed throughout the work to authoritative written texts. This is obviously the case with the detailed genealogical lists that so exasperated Wellhausen. 17 In compiling his lists of names, the author his immigrant group (Ezra 8:15–20), and during Nehemiah’s administration, Levites had to abandon the temple due to lack of material support (Neh 13:10). 17. See, for example, his remarks on 1  Chronicles 22–29 in Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (New York: Meridian, 1957 [1883]) 181, and his rhetorical question on p. 361: “What sort of creative power is that which brings forth nothing but numbers and names?”

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takes the occasion to remind the reader that the kinship units kept writִ ‫ָרים ע ִַּת‬ ִ‫ה ְַּדב‬, ten genealogical records, 18 that these records are ancient (‫יקים‬ 1 Chr 4:22), and that they have been preserved for posterity in “The Book of the Kings of Israel” (1 Chr 9:1). From this point on, the history of Judah is covered by a text or texts variously described as “The Book of the Kings of Judah and Israel” (2 Chr 16:11, 25:26, 28:26), “The Book of the Kings of Israel and Judah” (2 Chr 27:7, 35:27, 36:8), “The Book of the Kings of Israel” (2 Chr 20:34, 33:18), and “The Commentary (‫)מ ְדרַ ׁש‬ ִ on the Book of Kings” (2 Chr 24:27). 19 More authoritative, since inspired, are texts attributed to prophetic individuals. David’s reign is covered by the ‫ָרים‬ ִ‫ְּדב‬ ‘records’ of Samuel the seer, Nathan the prophet, and Gad the visionary (1 Chr 29:29); the reign of Solomon by Ahijah the Shilonite prophet and Iddo the visionary, in addition to Nathan (2 Chr 9:29). Other prophetic writings serve to document the reigns of later Judean rulers, including the writings of Shemaiah (2 Chr 12:15), Iddo (12:15, 13:22), Jehu ben Hanani (20:34), and Isaiah ben Amoz (2 Chr 26:22, 32:32), but a very different Isaiah from the prophet of the canonical book. 20 In asking and trying to answer the question about the authoritative sources for the Chronicler’s work, what emerges as its most remarkable and perhaps least acknowledged feature is its emancipation from tradition. 21 The first and most obvious example is the author’s radical rewriting of his principal source, especially the long section dealing with the David story, the ideal, utopian period. Everything even remotely detrimental to David’s reputation is omitted, including his struggle for survival and ascendancy against Saul and his family (1  Samuel 16–30) and the entire history of the court intrigues eventuating in the accession of Solomon, the so-called Thronfolgegeschichte (2 Samuel 11–20 + 1 Kings 1–2). The rewriting does not neglect detail. David could not have had concubines, his sons could not have been priests, and Yahweh could not have incited him 18.  1 Chr 4:33, 41; 5:1, 7, 17; 7:5, 7, 9, 40. 19.  The identity of this “Midrash of/on the Book of Kings” is uncertain and rendered more so by the only other occurrence of the term with reference to a prophetic text, “The Midrash of the Prophet Iddo” (2 Chr 13:22). Whether ‫ ִמ ְדרַ ׁש‬as used in 2 Chr 24:27 is simply an alternative allusion to the author’s one and only source, as in H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1982) 18, 326, or to a source relating events in greater detail, as in S. Japhet, I and II Chronicles (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1993) 854, or “a reconstructed history of Israel embellished with marvellous tales of divine interposition and prophetic activity,” as in Curtis and Madsen, Chronicles, 23, may for the present purpose be left undecided. 20.  In MT 2 Chr 33:19, Manasseh’s reign is covered by the records of Hozai (‫)חֹוזָי‬, but it seems advisable to read ὁρώντων/‫ חֹוזִים‬with the LXX or ‫‘ חוֹז ַיו‬his seers’. 21.  See on this aspect of the work the illuminating remarks of E. Bickerman, From Ezra to the Last of the Maccabees (New York: Schocken, 1962 [1949]) 20–31.

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to take a census of his kingdom, so the requisite changes were made. 22 David is now not only a prophet but the mediator of new revelations with regard to worship, revelations dictated to him by Yahweh (1 Chr 28:11– 19). These new prescriptions, preserved in writing, serve as an extension, updating completion of the part of the Torah that deals with worship, and are accepted centuries later as authoritative and sacred texts (2 Chr 29:25; 35:4, 15). 23 To this extent, the David of the Chronicler is placed on a par with Moses and his prescriptions on a par with the Mosaic ritual law. The issue of authority and legitimation raises in an acute form the author’s understanding of prophecy. Here, too, we note a remarkable freedom from traditional ways of thought and expression. The author follows, in part, his principal source in overlooking the so-called classical prophets with the exception of Jeremiah and Isaiah, but a differently profiled Isaiah from the prophet whose God rejected contemporary worship. During the Assyrian crisis, Hezekiah and Isaiah pray together (2 Chr 32:20), the king recovers without the prophet’s miraculous intervention (32:24–26), and the Babylonian embassy is mentioned in passing without the prophet’s reproach and prediction of future disaster (32:31). Isaiah, finally, is transformed into the historian of the reigns of Uzziah and Hezekiah (26:22, 32:32). 24 Apart from a passing allusion to his warnings neglected by the last Judean ruler (36:12), Jeremiah is named only as the author of a lament over the dead Josiah (35:25) and the prophet who foretold a 70-year exile (36:21–22). 25 Chronicles also exhibits throughout a greatly expanded semantic range for the standard terminology for prophetic mediation (‫ ִאיׁש‬,‫ חֹזֶה‬,‫ רֹאֶה‬,‫ָביא‬ ִ‫נ‬ ‫)אֱל ִֹהים‬. Divine inspiration can come upon a priest (2 Chr 24:20–22), a Levite (2 Chr 20:14–17), a commander of an elite military unit (1 Chr 12:16–18), or even rank outsiders such as Pharaoh Neco (2 Chr 35:20– 24) and Cyrus (2 Chr 36:21–22). The range of prophetic activity can take 22.  Respectively, 2 Sam 5:13–16 cf. 1 Chr 14:3–7; 2 Sam 8:18 cf. 1 Chr 18:17; 2 Sam 14:1 cf. 1 Chr 21:1. ְ ‫ ִמ ְצוַת ַה ֶּמל‬concerning Levitical liturgi23.  Note also the allusion in Neh 11:23 to ‫ֶך‬ cal musicians, which very likely refers to David; compare other references to David’s dispositions for worship in Neh 12:24, 45 and 13:5. 24.  On the Isaiah of Chronicles, see P. Höffken, “Der Prophet Jesaja beim Chronisten,” BN 81 (1996) 82–90; J. Blenkinsopp, Opening the Sealed Book: Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006) 43–45. 25.  On reasons for the absence of the classical prophets from Chronicles, many of which would apply equally to the Deuteronomistic History (the so-called Prophetenschweigen problem), see C.  T.  Begg, “The Classical Prophets in the Chronistic History,” BN 32 (1988) 100–107. Also characteristic of the Chronicler’s attitude to his sources is his mention of Elijah’s letter to Jehoram predicting plague and disease (2 Chr 21:12–15).

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in the writing of historical records, an expansion of the prophetic function that helps to explain the designation of the canonical histories as “Former Prophets” and will prove to be useful to Josephus in promoting his own writings. 26 But the most interesting and, for the author, clearly the most significant of these transformations is the redefinition of the composition and rendition of liturgical music as a prophetic activity. We can only speculate about how the author arrived at this conclusion. It is in keeping with an ancient tradition that links poet and prophet under the rubric of inspiration of divine origin. More specifically, it must have drawn on traditions about David as inspired musician (1  Sam 16:18–23, 18:10–11, 19:8–10), 27 a tradition that would persevere into the Roman period and beyond and be reflected in the ‫ ְל ָדִוד‬of several psalm titles. 28 It was through their association with this David that the eponyms of the Levitical guilds of liturgical music, Asaph, Jeduthin, and Heman, and by implication their successors claimed, as ‫‘ ְמׁש ְֹרִרים‬liturgical poets’ and ‫י־ׁשיר‬ ִ ֵ‫ֻּמד‬ ְ ‫‘ ְמל‬trained singers’, to be engaged in inspired prophetic activity (1 Chr 25:1–8). 29 One of the guild leaders, Chenaniah, is referred to as ‫ַּׂשא‬ ָ ‫( ׂשַ ר־ה ְַלִוּיִם ְּבמ‬1 Chr 15:22) or more simply ‫ַּׂשא‬ ָ ‫( הַּׂשַ ר ַהּמ‬15:27), usually translated ‘leader of the music’ (nrsv), or ‘in charge of the song’ (jps), or ‘precentor’ (reb), or something similar. Sigmund Mowinckel, however, translated it ‘master of the oracle’, and indeed usage favors the meaning ‘oracle’ rather than ‘song’ or ‘music’ for ‫ַּׂשא‬ ָ ‫מ‬. 30 We can at any rate accept that it was among the Levitical guilds of

26.  “With us (Jews) it is not open to everybody to write the records . . . seeing that, on the contrary, the prophets alone had this privilege, obtaining their knowledge of the most remote and ancient history through the inspiration which they owed to God” (Josephus, Ag. Ap. 1.37). On Josephus as historian, see my “Prophecy and Priesthood in Josephus,” JJS 25 (1974) 239–62. 27.  The last words of David, in v. 1, are introduced as a ‫ ְנאֻם‬, as oracular therefore, and the poem begins with the statement that “Yahweh’s spirit speaks through me” (2 Sam 23:1–7). 28.  According to 11QPsa, David composed 4,050 hymns ‫‘ בנבואה‬by virtue’ of his ‘prophecy’; see J. A. Sanders, The Psalms Scroll of Qumrân Cave 11 (11QPs a) (DJD 4; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965) 137–39. As composer of psalms, David was considered a prophetic figure in early Christianity (Acts 1:16; 2:25, 31, 34). 29.  It is tempting to think of these inspired temple musicians as descendants in direct line of the cult prophets in Solomon’s temple. In his account of the Josian religious reform (2 Chr 34:30), the author has substituted “Levites” for “prophets,” presumed to refer to cult prophets, in his source (2 Kgs 23:2), which could point in that direction. This supposition would be stronger if we knew that these cult prophets were engaged in liturgical music, which is possible but unverifiable. 30. S. Mowinckel, The Psalms in Israel’s Worship (New York & Nashville: Abingdon, 1967) vol. 2:56. Leaving aside the meaning “burden,” “load,” ‫ַּׂשא‬ ָ ‫ מ‬occurs predominantly in prophetic contexts, not all by any means in verse.

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liturgical musicians during the period of the Second Temple that this idea of a prophetic ministry of liturgical song originated and matured. 31

The author and his circle A final note. Wars and rumors of wars come and go, and how the author and his circle reacted to the international situation at that time may seem at this distance something of a curiosity. For the future of the Jewish people, however, what Chronicles has to say about temple worship and temple personnel had lasting effects. The remarkable prominence given throughout the work to Levitical temple musicians makes it difficult to resist the conclusion that the author belonged to their ranks and wrote in order to further their interests. The service of song in the temple did not rule out the acquisition of other skills and the performance of other functions. Membership in one or other of the Levitical guilds, small-scale versions of the Babylonian bīt ṭuppi (literally, ‘tablet house’), involved intellectual formation and the acquisition of scribal skills. 32 We hear of a Levitical scribe compiling a list of priests (1 Chr 24:6), Levites were involved in intensive educational and judicial activities during the reign of Jehoshaphat (2 Chr 17:7–9, 19:4–11), Levitical scribes were active during Josiah’s reign when, we are told, “they taught all Israel” (2 Chr 34:13, 35:3), and 31.  On prophecy in Chronicles, see T. Willi, Die Chronik als Auslegung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972) 216–41; D. L. Petersen, Late Israelite Prophecy (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977) 55–96; R.  Micheel, Die Seher- und ProphetenÜberlieferungen in der Chronik (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1983); Y. Amit, “The Role of Prophecy and the Prophets in the Teaching of Chronicles,” Beth Mikra 28 (1982–83) 113–33; W.  H.  Bellinger Jr., Psalmody and Prophecy (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984); S.  J. De Vries, “The Forms of Prophetic Address in Chronicles,” HAR 10 (1986) 15–36; J.  Kegler, “Prophetengestalten im Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk und in den Chronikbüchern: Ein Beitrag zur Kompositions- und Redaktionsgeschichte der Chronikbücher,” ZAW 105 (1993) 481–97; W.  M.  Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995) 163–208; J. Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel (2nd ed.; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1996) 222–26; R. W. Klein, “Prophets and Prophecy in the Books of Chronicles,” TBT 36 (1998) 227–32. 32.  We are unfortunately not well informed on guild structure in Second Temple Judah. 1 Chr 2:55 refers to “the families of scribes dwelling at Jabez” where ‫ׁש ְּפחֹות‬ ְ ‫ִמ‬ (construct) refers to guilds; on which, see S. Klein, “Die Schreiberfamilien: 1 Chr 2:55,” Monatschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums 70 (1926) 410–16; I. Mendelsohn, “Guilds in Ancient Palestine,” BASOR 80 (1940) 17–21. In Babylonia, the scribal office was generally hereditary, and scribes took pride in preserving their family trees, and the indications are that in these respects Judean Levitical scribalism was no different. On Babylonian guilds, see I. Mendelsohn, “Guilds in Babylonia and Assyria,” JAOS 60 (1940) 68–72; A. Falkenstein, “Die babylonische Schule,” Saeculum 4 (1953) 125–37; D. E. Weisberg, Guild Structure and Political Allegiance in Early Achaemenid Mesopotamia (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967).

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we hear of Levitical musicians multitasking as overseers (2 Chr 34:12–13). Irrespective of specialization, all Levites were expected to demonstrate a high level of skill, both practical and intellectual; to be, in other words, ‫ מ ִֵבין‬and ‫ַׂש ִּכיל‬ ְ ‫מ‬, a description that we may suppose would fit the author of 1–2 Chronicles. 33 The importance of the authoritative claims made in 1–2 Chronicles on behalf of the Levitical guilds can be gauged by viewing them in the longue durée context of Second Temple history. The liturgical, educational, and scribal roles of these Levites, taken together with the decline in prestige of the temple priesthood, detectable already in Chronicles, led to what Elias Bickerman referred to as the democratization of instruction in the law, previously the exclusive province of the priesthood (Jer 18:18, Ezek 7:26, Mal 2:7, etc). 34 In this respect, Chronicles documents the beginning of a process that would confer on Judaism its character as a lay religion, which it has maintained to the present. 33. Chenaniah, a leader of Levitical musicians referred to earlier, is described as ‫( מ ִֵבין‬1 Chr 15:22), and the same epithet is used of this category in general in 1 Chr 25:7. Hezekiah spoke encouraging words to all Levites ‫ילים ׂשֵ כֶל־טֹוב לַיהוָה‬ ִ ‫ַׂש ִּכ‬ ְ ‫( ַהּמ‬2 Chr 30:22), referring to competence and skill in the temple service. 34.  “The democratization of the instruction in the law in the fourth century opened the way to the coming of the scribe, and imperceptibly compromised the supremacy of the priest” (Bickerman, From Ezra to the Last of the Maccabees, 17–18). See related comments in my “Sage, Scribe, and Scribalism in the Chronicler’s Work,” in The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East (ed. John G. Gammie and Leo G. Perdue; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990) 307–15.

Cracks in the Male Mirror References to Women as Challenges to Patrilinear Authority in the Genealogies of Judah Ingeborg Löwisch Utrecht University

Introduction Chronicles’ genealogies have traditionally been read as patriarchal texts. My aim is to contest this, in view of a more nuanced view of gender relations in 1 Chronicles 1–9. As an record of cultural memory, the nine-chapter composition gives an account of Israel’s past in view of its present conflicts and concerns. If we define cultural memory as acts of transfer 1—that is, knowledge, narratives, traditions, and identities are transferred from the past to the present and future—each of these acts is characterized by special linguistic structures and ideological concepts. In 1 Chronicles 1–9, one of the most basic concepts of transfer is the notion of patrilineage: names and affiliations, continuity and identity, offices and inheritance rights—in short, the line—are passed down from father to son(s). However, 1 Chronicles 1–9 also contains elements that run against this grain. For example, the genealogies of Judah feature a significant number of references to women that potentially interfere with the patrilineal succession. The text recalls a daughter who continues the line when no sons are available, a sister who functions as head of a lineage, and an eponymous ancestress. These references to women seem to indicate cracks in the smoothly running patrilineal succession and may challenge its priority. In this essay, I will pursue fissures in the patrilineal succession through references to women in the genealogies of Judah. I will analyze their 1. P.  Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) 36–40, especially p. 39.

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character and ask what impact they have on the conception of female agency in the text and on the authority of patrilineal succession as a key notion of transfer in the Judah genealogies.

Presuppositions about 1 Chronicles 1–9 Before I dive into actual text analysis, I will present the presuppositions that are central to my understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 in general and its female-gendered passages in particular. Moreover, these presuppositions locate the genealogical composition within the wider frame of 1–2 Chronicles. First, I understand 1  Chronicles 1–9 as the beginning of a rewritten history that presupposes familiarity with Samuel–Kings and other parts of biblical literature. Next, I understand 1 Chronicles 1–9 as a composition that arranges heterogeneous materials into a deliberately structured whole. Finally, I understand 1 Chronicles 1–9 as a performance of memory and identity in the context of the late Persian Period in the Persian province of Yehud. Genealogical Composition at the Beginning of a Retold Story The book of Chronicles tells the story of Israel’s monarchy, a wellknown story that had already been narrated in the books of Samuel and Kings. By doing so, Chronicles does not merely copy the earlier accounts but reworks and recontextualizes passages toward the goal of adding its own perspectives and determining distinct priorities. 2 In the process of telling anew, Chronicles appears as a text that is highly knowledgable in terms of reading, assessing, and relating to other authoritative books such as Samuel–Kings, Genesis, Leviticus, Deuteronomy, and Jeremiah. 3 It takes on the traditional authority of a book by means of “subtly co-opting it, working in parallel to it, and at the same time undermining the sole authority of its construction of the past among its readership.” 4 In line with this argument, I assume that the genealogical composition of 1 Chronicles 1–9 presupposes the readers’ familiarity with Samuel– 2.  See, for example, Y. Amit, “Araunah’s Threshing-floor: A Lesson in Shaping Historical Memory,” in this volume. 3. E. Ben Zvi, “The Book of Chronicles: Another Look,” SR 31 (2002) 261–81, esp. p. 269; the article has been republished in idem, History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles (London: Equinox, 2006) 20–41. 4.  Idem, “Book of Chronicles: Another Look,” 269. See also Brevard Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (London: SCM, 1979; repr., Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980) 646; and I. Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005) 405–7.

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Kings and beyond. It skillfully reworks, assesses, and contextualizes earlier texts in light of its own ideological agenda. 5 Understanding Heterogeneity as a Tool Rather Than an Accident 1 Chronicles 1–9 processes earlier biblical texts, supposed extrabiblical sources, and its own literary creations in what may at first seem to be an inconsistent, random entanglement of lineages. On closer examination, however, the text shows a structure that makes clear that diverse materials have been assembled within a deliberate and complex composition. 6 Research on 1  Chronicles 1–9 has often capitalized on the unit’s inconsistencies and, methodologically, has focused on literary criticism and redaction criticism. 7 These approaches may expose the composition’s heterogeneity in detail, but they fail to explain why the supposed composers/ redactors created and maintained the text instead of working toward more consistency. 8 An alternative method is to read 1 Chronicles 1–9 as a communicative composition and to approach heterogeneity as a central characteristic of the text of which one must make sense. 9 For the purpose of meeting the challenge of heterogeneity, I suggest a synchronic reception-oriented analysis of the texts. 10 This approach understands the genealogy composition as a site of knowledge production and a cross-section of contested power 5.  For example, the genealogies of the nations (1 Chr 1:1–2:2) rework large parts of Genesis into a condensed genealogy. The genealogy highlights the line from Adam to Israel and establishes the ancestral period as an authoritative starting point for the respective genealogies of the composition. 6.  See G. Knoppers, “‘Great among His Brothers,’ but Who Is He? Heterogeneity in the Composition of Judah?” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 3, Article 4 (2001) §6, http://www.jhsonline.org; republished in E. Ben Zvi, ed., Perspectives in Hebrew Scriptures: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, Volumes 1–4 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2006) 269–89 (esp. pp. 284–88); and P. C. Beentjes, I Kronieken (Kampen: Kok, 2002) 23–24. 7. See, for example, M.  Noth, “Eine siedlungsgeographische Liste in 1. Chr. 2 und 4,” ZDPV 55 (1932) 98–124; and Magnar Kartveit, Motive und Schichten der Landtheologie in I Chronik 1–9 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1989) 19–109. See also Knoppers’s survey of the research history of the unit in ‘‘Great among His Brothers,” §ˆˆ̂§2–5. 8.  Ibid., §6.8. 9.  This sort of approach is advocated by Knoppers (ibid., §7.1) and put into practice by Julie Kelso, O Mother, Where Art Thou? An Irigarayan Reading of the Book of Chronicles (London: Equinox 2007) 115–66. 10.  A recent thorough and innovative synchronic analysis of biblical genealogies is Thomas Hieke’s monograph on the Genesis genealogies: Die Genealogies der Genesis (Freiburg: Herder, 2003). Regarding methods and the synchronic approach, see especially pp. 13–17.

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rather than as a mere storage of poorly assembled lineages. 11 It proposes understanding 1 Chronicles 1–9 as an initial statement on the identity of Israel and highlights its impact on the entire book. The Late Persian Period as Actual Context for Chronicles’ Performance of Memory and Identities Following Knoppers and others, I situate Chronicles in the mid–Second Temple period in the Persian province of Yehud. 12 The period was still influenced by the end of Israel’s monarchy and the challenge to reconfigure self-conceptions in the context of sociopolitical and religious change under Persian and later Hellenistic rule. In this time of emerging Judaism, various groups with conflicting interests needed to negotiate their claims. Groups of returnees from Babylonia, who now constituted the Jerusalem elite, opposed those who had remained in the territory of Judah despite deportations and the destruction of Jerusalem. At the same time, emigrants and deportees who remained in Babylonia or Egypt developed great diasporic centers. 13 A central concern of these contests was the (re-)constitution of Israel and its religious, political, and territorial identities. Within the debate, notions of exile, return, and restoration were central. The character of these notions was highly ideological, especially inasmuch as they were linked to the construction of a normative preexilic Israel and the idea of legitimate inheritance as a basis for actual religious- and political-authority claims and related conceptions of identity. 1–2 Chronicles may have been an important agent in negotiating conceptions of identity as well as religious and political claims during the mid– Second Temple period. 14 1 Chronicles 1–9, especially, provided a qualified genre for these negotiations. Genealogies recall the roots of a community and map its continuity. They address intergenerational transfers of knowl11.  See Ann Laura Stoler, “Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance,” Archival Science 2 (2002) 87–109, esp. p. 87. 12.  Concerning the date of Chronicles, Knoppers sets a time frame from the late fifth to the mid-third centuries b.c.e. Within this frame, he argues for a rather late date: G. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9 (AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 101–17. 13.  For competing sociopolitical groups in the Persian period, see Lester L. Grabbe and Philip Davies (L. L. Grabbe, “Introduction,” in Leading Captivity Captive: ‘The Exile’ as History and Ideology [ed. L.  L.  Grabbe; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998] 11–19, esp. p. 14; Philip Davies, “Exile? What Exile? Whose Exile?” in Leading Captivity Captive: ‘The Exile’ as History and Ideology [ed. L. L. Grabbe; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998] 128–38, esp. p. 135). 14.  As Jonathan Dyck puts it, Chronicles was an important “window” to this time, thereby understanding the text “not as an opening on a reality laying beyond, but as an element which makes up that reality” (J. E. Dyck, The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler [Leiden: Brill, 1998] 3).

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edge, traditions, and subjectivities. They reflect on internal and external affiliations and differentiation. Finally, they aim at negotiating cultural, territorial, and religious claims in the present. Genealogies are thus an apt means of constituting a normative past, legitimating hereditary authority claims, and conceptualizing collective identities with a focus on defining the self and the other. It is more than consistent for Chronicles to open its history of the monarchy with an extensive genealogical composition.

Reading Strategy: Synchronic Reception-Oriented Analysis in the Framework of Interdisciplinary Memory Studies At the core of this analysis are three sets of female-gendered passages in the genealogies of Judah that potentially expose cracks in the patrilineal succession. Methodologically, I shall proceed from a close reading of the texts to a synthetic interpretation that will draw on interdisciplinary notions of cultural memory. Synchronic Close Reading of Case Studies The proposed close reading will analyze a selection of representative passages by means of synchronic reception-oriented literary analysis. This analysis is concerned with the existing text as a communicative composition rather than with its components, history, and provenance, without neglecting the latter. 15 It focuses on movements and power dynamics inherent in the existing text, in this case the Hebrew Masoretic Text. The case studies are taken from the genealogies of Judah and the House of David (1 Chr 2:3–4:24). The focus on Judah is consistent with the priority of the genealogies of Judah in the overall genealogical composition. Judah holds the prominent place at the beginning of the genealogies of the tribes and covers by far the most space. In addition, the genealogies of Judah and the House of David include more than half of all the references to women in 1  Chronicles 1–9. They thus provide an excellent starting point for analyzing interactions between female-gendered references and the structure of patrilinear succession. Theoretical Framework of Cultural Memory The close reading in this section is complemented by a synthetic interpretation from the perspective of interdisciplinary notions of cultural

15.  See C. Meyers, Exodus (New Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 2.

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memory. Given the breadth of the field of memory studies, I begin by positioning myself in reference to Mieke Bal. 16 Bal identifies four central characteristics of cultural memory. 17 First, the term cultural memory encompasses cultural, individual, and social types of recall that interact and are mutually dependent. 18 Second, cultural memory is situated in the present. It correlates the past with the present and future in view of the constitution of identities in the present. Third, cultural memory is active. It consists of links and transfers between past and present that result from collective agency rather than historical necessity or accident: “cultural recall is not merely something of which you happen to be a bearer but something that you actually perform, even if, in many instances, such acts are not consciously and wilfully contrived.” 19 Finally, cultural memory is a form of narrative memory. In contrast to traumatic recall, it provides accents, climax, and atmosphere; it features interplays of remembering and forgetting; and it requires a social situation in which narratives may be told and witnessed. Bal’s characteristics tie in with Paul Connerton’s suggestion to define (social) memory as acts of transfer. 20 In these acts of transfer, recollected knowledge and images of the past are transmitted to the present in characteristic cultural communicative systems, forms, and practices. 21 Processes of transfer involve negotiations of interests and resources. As Marianne Hirsch and Valerie Smith put it, cultural memory is “an act in the present by which individuals and groups constitute their identities by recalling a shared past on the basis of common, and therefore often contested, norms, conventions, and practices.” 22 Contest and negotiation at the base of cultural memory abet hegemonic cultural memory as well as counterpresent cultural memory. Authority and Negotiation in the Genealogies’ Act of Transfer Conceptualizing the genealogical composition in 1 Chronicles 1–9 as an act of cultural memory begins with the following observations. The 16. M. Bal, “Introduction,” in Acts of Memory: Cultural Recall in the Present (ed. M.  Bal, Jonathan Crewe, and Leo Spitzer; Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 1999) vii–xvii. 17.  Ibid., vii–viii. 18.  This argument takes up M. Halbwachs, who emphasizes that individual memory is always enabled and conditioned by the social frames in which it takes place. Connerton, How Societies Remember, 37. 19.  Bal, “Introduction,” vii. 20.  Connerton, How Societies Remember, 38. 21.  Ibid., 39. 22. M. Hirsch and V. Smith, “Feminism and Cultural Memory: An Introduction,” Sign (2002) 1–19, esp. p. 5.

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genealogies do not gather disconnected remnants of the past with little relevance to the text’s present. On the contrary, they recall the past in view of concerns in the present of the text. For example, the composition proposes a view of Israel as composed of its tribes and as closely related to the tribal territories. This is done in a situation in which Israel’s religious, political, and territorial identities are to be established and negotiated anew. Emphasis is put on groups that were able to claim ideological and territorial continuity with the ancient tribes—for example, groups located in Judah and Jerusalem. In return, possible claims of diasporic centers are weakened. Beyond this, the prominent location of the genealogies at the beginning of Chronicles in itself points to their performative status. The genealogies provide characteristic structures that shape and gender the act of transmitting traditions and identities from past to present. Parts of this structure are a strongly formalized language and a set of key concepts. Formalized language entails linear and segmented genealogies and uses repetitive, default formulas. 23 Examples of key concepts of the genealogies of Judah are the priority of the Davidic Dynasty and its complexity in terms of ethnicity, social stratification, and gender. 24 Beyond Judah, key concepts of the genealogies are the regular recurrence to the ancestral period and the notion of patrilineal succession—the latter being the target of my interest. What status do these key notions carry in relation to the genealogical act of transfer? Are they inclusive or exclusive, ambiguous or clear-cut, authoritative or negotiable? For example, the regular recurrence to the ancestral period is often analyzed as a means of establishing the ancestral period as authoritative for the memory of Israel. 25 The qualification as authoritative seems to resonate with the fact that the genealogies propose the ancestral period as decisive or even normative for Israel’s present. It seems to have embodied the essence of Israel and may consequently have been employed to legitimate sociopolitical structures and offices in the present. It is crucial to the discussion of authority that the text propose and approve the ancestral period as a decisive period. Thus, the authority 23.  For example, the opening formula “The sons of PN1: PN2, PN2, PN3” (e.g., 1 Chr 2:3a, 5, 6, 9, 16b) and the summary formula “All these were the sons of PN1” (e.g., 1 Chr 2:23b, 33b, 50a; 4:6b). 24. This complexity appears by means of individual agents such as the Egyptian slave Attai (1  Chr 2:34–35) or the Canaanite wife Bath-shua (1  Chr 2:3–4). It also becomes apparent through groups such as the Calebites, Jerahmeelites, and Qenizzites that are depicted as being non-Israelite or distant relations of the Israelites in other biblical contexts and that are here incorporated into or affiliated with Judah through genealogical links. See G. N. Knoppers, “Intermarriage, Social Complexity, and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah,” JBL 120 (2001) 15–30, esp. pp. 26–27. 25. Idem, I Chronicles 1–9, 261; see also p. 403.

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of the ancestral period is constructed as being based on general acceptance and group identity. The counterpart of this approach would be authority based on violence rather than acceptance. The latter would mark an authoritarian rather than authoritative approach. 26 In the genealogies, the concept of patrilineal succession has a status that is comparable to the status of the references to the ancestral period. It is proposed as a normative structure that may be used to legitimate structures and offices in the present. Qualifying patrilineal succession as an authoritative notion of transfer thus seems to be a reasonable working hypothesis. However, two factors potentially interfere. First, patrilinealism designates males as central agents in the continuation of the line. By doing so, it communicates the idea of a patriarchal society that reserves central sociopolitical and economic positions for adult male Israelites and maintains the power of male beneficiaries. Patrilineal succession thus equals patriarchal succession. A certain amount of suspicion about whether this might better be described as authoritarian is in order. Second, patrilineal succession goes hand in hand with features of the genealogies that potentially undermine it. Instances of gendered participation, ethnic diversity, and social complexity run through the text and seem to contest a strict patriarchal succession. Is the status of patrilineal succession, then, authoritative or authoritarian? Is authority here an inclusive or an exclusive concept, ambiguous or clear-cut? How may the passages that I am going to analyze inform, balance, or subvert authority? In order to address these questions, I will now switch from theory to practice and dive into an actual analysis of the text.

Fissures in the Patriarchal Succession through Female-Gendered References in the Genealogies of Judah The Patriarchal Succession at Risk: 1 Chronicles 2:3–4 and 2:34–35 The genealogies of Judah provide two embedded narratives that address a threat to the continuation of the line. The first narrative tells a 26.  The differentiation between authoritative and authoritarian goes back to Hannah Arendt’s notion of power as distinct from violence. In her view, power unfolds when individuals jointly act; it results of acceptance and consent. In contrast, violence refers to hegemonic power over individuals and is based on repression (H.  Arendt, Macht und Gewalt (Munich: Piper, 2003) 44–47). Arendt emphasizes that the authority of a person or office depends on the acceptance of the addressees of authority (p. 47).

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short version of the story of Tamar and Judah in Genesis 38. The second is peculiar to Chronicles and addresses the continuation of the lineage of the sonless Sheshan. Tamar The genealogies of Judah set out with a small embedded narrative (1 Chr 2:3–4). 27 The text reads as follows: The sons of Judah: Er, Onan, and Shelah; these three were born to him by Bath-shua the Canaanite. And Er, the firstborn of Judah, was displeasing to Yhwh, and he put him to death. And Tamar, his daughter-in-law, bore to him Perez and Zerah. All sons of Judah: five. 28

The narrative closely alludes to two Genesis passages: a piece of genealogy in Gen 46:12 and the narrative of Genesis 38. Even though the former has been emphasized as a frame for 1 Chr 2:3–4, 29 I must stress the importance of Genesis 38 to the analysis of the passage in Chronicles. 1 Chr 2:3–4 directly refers to Genesis 38 by means of the names and attributes of Bath-shua, the Canaanite, and Tamar, daughter-in-law of Judah. Moreover, 1 Chr 2:3b quotes Gen 38:7, thereby marking the transition from lineage to narrative. 30 Let us briefly review Genesis 38 from a viewpoint that is primarily interested in the genealogical aspect of the story. Judah and his wife, the Canaanite daughter of Shua, have three sons. Firstborn Er is married to Tamar (Gen 38:1–6). The lineage one would expect to spring from this couple is threatened. The subsequent plot reveals this threat in three steps. In the first step, Er, being ‫‘ רַ ע ְּבעֵינֵי יְהוָה‬displeasing to Yhwh’, is put to death, and Tamar remains as a sonless widow (Gen 38:7). In the second step, Tamar is given in levirate marriage to her brother-in-law Onan. The marriage aims at the continuation of the lineage of Er. Onan is told: ‫ְו ָהקֵם‬ ָ‫ָחיך‬ ִ ‫‘ זֶרַ ע ְלא‬bring about offspring for your brother’ (Gen 38:8). Onan refuses to fulfill his obligation. Hence, he is likewise put to death by Yhwh, and Tamar reenters the state of sonless widow (Gen 38:8–10). In the last step, Judah safeguards his third son from a proper levirate marriage with 27.  Embedded narratives as original elements of a larger genealogical composition are found in Mesopotamian, Israelite, and Greek genealogies. The traditions likewise feature a “basic pattern of interlacing lineages with stories and explanatory comments” (Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 256). 28.  All translations are mine if not stated otherwise. However, all personal names are rendered according to the nrsv. 29.  For example, S. Japhet, I and II Chronicles (London: SCM, 1993) 69. 30.  Verse 3b quotes Gen 38:7 word for word with the only difference being that it leaves out the second occurrence of the Tetragrammaton (“he put him to death” instead of “Yhwh put him to death”).

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Tamar and puts off the continuation of the lineage even further (Gen 38:11). Now Tamar, in an unexpected move of the narrative, contrives a situation in which she has sex with Judah but remains unrecognized. Tamar becomes pregnant. Only after Judah demands her death does she reveal to him his identity as father of the expected child. As a consequence, Judah recognizes his own failure: ‫ָד ָקה ִמ ֶּמּנִי‬ ְ ‫‘ צ‬she is more righteous than I am’ (Gen 38:26). The narrative ends with the birth and naming of Tamar’s twins, Perez and Zerah. Genesis 38 provides a complex narrative that, along with the theme of genealogical succession, addresses the issues of outsiders and social justice, of ethnic difference, of sexuality, female agency, and female tricksterism (see below). Its condensed version in 1 Chr 2:3–4 brings the genealogical aspect of the story into focus but also reveals the broader connotations of Genesis 38. Several shifts between the original narrative and its short version become apparent. First, the intention underlying Tamar’s efforts to produce a son changes. While Genesis 38 aims at producing offspring for Er in the context of the levirate institution, the Chronicles account advances the idea that the sons of Tamar are sons for Judah. In the context of setting out the lineage of Judah, the receiver of offspring through Tamar thus shifts from Er to Judah. 31 This shift implies a second change. Not the firstborn but the fourth-born of Judah is the son to continue the line. The primacy of the firstborn is thus suspended. The next shift concerns the agency of the protagonists of the narrative. Genesis 38 foregrounds the agency of Tamar and introduces numerous additional agents, for example, Judah’s friend Hirah, and the midwife who names Tamar’s sons. In contrast, 1 Chr 2:3–4 emphasizes the agency of Yhwh and Judah’s ownership of sons. Regardless of these shifts, 1 Chr 2:3–4 links itself with central themes in Genesis 38. These themes are mainly communicated through the references to Bath-shua and Tamar. 32 Bath-shua is characterized as a Canaanite and thus introduces the issue of ethnic difference. She appears at the beginning of the genealogies of Judah (and thereby the genealogies of the tribes), directly after the genealogies of the nations (1 Chr 1:1–2:2). In the latter, ethnic groups provided the context in which the central lineage emerged and eventually led to Israel. In contrast, the reference to Canaanite Bath-shua at the beginning of the Judah genealogies makes plain

31.  The same shift is made in Gen 46:12: “Judah’s sons: Er, Onan, Shelah, Perez, and Zerah—but Er and Onan had died in the land of Canaan; and Perez’s sons were Hezron and Hamul” (translation according to the jps). 32.  Compare Gen 46:12, which omits both women.

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that ethnic differences play a role within rather than before or alongside Judah/Israel. The reference to Tamar, probably also a Canaanite, adds to the same issue but reaches further. 33 Tamar is characterized as a daughter-in-law of Judah. Identifying her as a daughter-in-law of the father of her sons recalls the unusual circumstances of her becoming pregnant. Moreover, it engages the theme of tricksterism in connection with female sexuality and agency. The notion of tricksterism in biblical literature refers to “characters of low social status who improve their situation through use of their wit and cunning.” 34 Tamar may be read as a trickster inasmuch as she achieves offspring and thus a living for herself through cunning and unconventional acts: “As with Lot’s daughters, Tamar’s character has the traits of a trickster. She has little status, and so uses the means she has—her cleverness and her sexuality—to secure her future.” 35 Reading Tamar as a trickster meets the exceptional way in which Genesis 38 contextualizes female sexuality with female originality and agency. Rather than portraying Tamar as an immoral harlot or a helpless victim, she is sketched as a resourceful agent who counters her marginalization to the benefit of both herself and the Judah line. In 1 Chr 2:3–4, reading Tamar as a trickster brings additional factors into focus. Tamar belongs to a string of biblical tricksters male and female, among them Abraham, Jacob, Rebecca, and Ruth. 36 Her appearance in the genealogies hints at a line(age) of tricksters who engage in an alternative form of succession. This line(age) is based on identity rather than kinship. Along with this identity-based succession, Tamar calls up tricksterism 33.  For the identification of Tamar as a Canaanite, see Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 303; and A. Brenner, I Am . . . : Biblical Women Tell Their Own Stories (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005) 134. 34. M. Jackson, “Lot’s Daughters and Tamar as Tricksters and the Patriarchal Narratives as Feminist Theology,” JSOT 98 (2002) 29–46, esp. p. 29. See also S. Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore: Underdogs and Tricksters (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000); and A. W. Engar, “Old Testament Women as Tricksters,” in Mappings of the Biblical Terrain: The Bible as Text (ed. Vincent T. Tollers and John Maier; Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 1990) 143–57. 35.  Jackson, “Lot’s Daughters and Tamar as Tricksters,” 34. For the typical link between female biblical tricksters and the issues of sexuality and female agency, see p. 32. See also S. Niditch, “Genesis,” in Women’s Bible Commentary (ed. C. A. Newsom and S. H. Ringe; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998) 13–29, esp. pp. 24–26. 36. Typical trickster narratives are the three “wife-wister tales” (Gen 12:10–20, 20:1–18, 26:1–11) and many of the stories on Jacob, for example, Genesis 27 (Niditch, A Prelude to Biblical Folklore, 23–69, 93–125). See also Rachel (Gen 31:19–35) and Ruth (Ruth 3) (Engar, “Old Testament Women as Tricksters,” 147, 150–59).

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and humor 37 as possible vital elements of the memory and hence identities of Judah. Tamar as trickster is but one possibility that is offered by the text. However, Tamar and Bath-shua, together with Bilhah (1  Chr 7:13), are the only women of the ancestral period that are listed in the entire genealogical composition in 1 Chronicles 1–9. The impact of the presence of Tamar and her story with all its overtones should thus not be underestimated. What does 1 Chr 2:3–4 imply for the authority of patriarchal succession? Genesis 38 and its reflection in 1 Chr 2:3–4 provide ample indications of cracks in the patriarchal succession: the primacy of the firstborn is renounced. The levirate does not function. Instead, a widow achieves offspring through her father-in-law. A central lineage is blocked and only restored through female agency and tricksterism. There are hints of nonkinship-based forms of succession. Finally, Judah is essentially linked to the Canaanites. How are these fissures dealt with in the text? On the one hand, 1 Chr 2:3–4 overtly exposes them. Listing Bath-shua and Tamar as a Canaanite and a daughter-in-law of Judah keeps fissures open that already appeared in Genesis 38 and sharpens them in view of the genealogical succession. Here, 1 Chr 2:3–4 appears to be an exponent of ethnic, social, and gendered complexity. On the other hand, 1 Chr 2:3–4 closes with a statement that counters this sort of assessment. The summary formula states, “All sons of Judah: five” (1 Chr 2:4b), thereby unambiguously attributing to Judah all five sons, who are then not distinguished from each other anymore. 38 By doing so, the summary brings an end to all irregularities that became apparent in the embedded narrative. The offspring of a complex and ambiguous situation are clearly attributed to the paterfamilias. The text thus provides a dynamic to channel complexity and ambiguity in a way that seems to include its devitalization. Fissures are exposed but at the same time put into perspective or even closed down again. Sheshan’s Daughter The second story that addresses the patriarchal succession at risk takes its starting point from the absence of sons who might continue the lineage. It reads as follows: “Sheshan had no sons but daughters. And Sheshan had an Egyptian slave and his name was Jarha. And Sheshan gave his daughter 37.  Jackson shows convincingly that the trickster story of Tamar (and of Lot’s daughters) may be read as comic. Jackson, “Lot’s Daughters and Tamar as Tricksters,” 44–46. 38.  1 Chr 2:4b is the only part of 2:3–4 that is not worked out in close relation to Gen 46:12 or Genesis 38 (Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 70). The verse thus sets an original accent and ending to the story.

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as wife to his slave Jarha. And she bore him Attai” (1 Chr 2:34–35). The narrative on sonless Sheshan takes up a motive that has already been prepared in the preceding verses. Twice, a lineage ends with sonless males, a circumstance that is laconically expressed by a final “no sons” (1 Chr 2:30, 32). The theme comes to a climax in the narrative under consideration. In contrast to the preceding instances of sonlessness, where lineages stop, the sonlessness of Sheshan opens out into a small narrative. 39 Sheshan has no sons but daughters. Moreover, his household comprises the Egyptian slave Jarha. Sheshan draws on the persons at his disposal in order to solve his problem. He marries one of his nameless daughters to his slave Jarha. She bears Attai “to him.” Attai will be the first link in the subsequent, noteworthy, long linear genealogy (1 Chr 2:36–41). The text recalls Genesis narratives in which slave women are given to their mistresses’ husbands in order to procreate: for example, Genesis 16. There, Sarah gave her Egyptian slave Hagar to Abraham, so she could produce offspring through her. 40 However, the text under consideration features a reversed-gender constellation. An Egyptian male slave is given to a woman of the Judahite lineage. The Israelite insider is thus female, the Egyptian outsider male. While the son of Hagar clearly belongs to Sarah and Abraham, the attribution of Attai is less clear. 1 Chr 2:35a does not clearly specify whether Sheshan’s daughter bears Attai to her husband, Jarha, or to her father, Sheshan. 1 Chr 2:35 reads, ‫ֶת־ּבּתֹ֛ו ְלי ְַר ָח֥ע‬ ִ ‫ֵׁש֧ן א‬ ָ ‫ַוּיִּתֵ ֨ן ׁש‬ ‫ּׁש֑ה וַּתֵ ֥לֶד לֹ֖ו אֶת־ע ַָּת ֽי‬ ָ ‫‘ ע ְַבּדֹ֖ו ְל ִא‬And Sheshan gave his daughter as wife to his slave Jarha. And she bore him Attai’. The verse leaves open to whom Attai belongs in terms of genealogical ownership. 41 This ambiguity has provoked various interpretations of the identity of the genealogical owner of Attai. For example, Antje Labahn and Ehud Ben Zvi argue that the narrative provides Sheshan’s daughter with the structural role of the son who passes on the line. 42 This argument suggests that she bears Attai to her own generation and thus to Jarha. In contrast, Sara Japhet argues that Sheshan’s daughter bears Attai to her father, who remains the owner of 39.  The preceding list mentioned a certain Sheshan and his son Ahlai (1 Chr 2:31). This reference has given rise to various theories about the relation between the two Sheshans and the provenance of the passages. I follow Knoppers, who argues that it may be most useful to accept that we indeed have a contradiction, which, however, does not have to be resolved. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, 310. 40.  See also Bilhah and Zilpah, slaves/maids of Rachel and Leah, respectively, who are given to Jacob by their mistresses (Genesis 30). 41.  I use the term genealogical ownership, as suggested by Kelso. Kelso defines it as the belonging of a line to a name. See Kelso, Oh Mother, Where Art Thou? 135. 42. A.  Labahn and E.  Ben Zvi, “Observations on Women in the Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9,” Bib 84 (2003) 457–78, esp. p. 465; the article was republished in E. Ben Zvi, History, Literature and Theology, 174–94.

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the offspring of his slave Jarha. 43 In this reading, Sheshan’s daughter gives birth to the generation of her father; her own generation is skipped. In my view, Japhet’s argument is more convincing. First of all, identifying Attai as the son of Sheshan is strongly supported by the syntax of the passage. Throughout the passage, Sheshan is consequently kept in the position of the subject of the action. He is the dominant participant in the narrative. As major participant, Sheshan can be referred to by means of a pronoun or inflectional affix, even if individual instances of other potential referents stand closer to the pronoun under consideration. 44 Even though the minor participant Jarha is closest to the suffixed pronoun ‫לֹ֖ו‬ ‘to him’, the antecedent is most likely Sheshan, who has been established as the major participant. 45 Identifying Attai as the son of Sheshan also ties in with parallels in Genesis. The son of Hagar, the slave, remains the son of her masters. 46 Finally, it ties in with the namelessness of Sheshan’s daughter. The namelessness diminishes the subjectivity of the daughter throughout the narrative, especially given that all other protagonists bear personal names. The genealogical attribution of Attai to his grandfather Sheshan constitutes a parallel to the narrative of Tamar, whose sons are also attributed to their grandfather–father Judah. Both stories seem to suggest a similar way of dealing with fissures in the patrilineal succession. Twice a narrative addresses blockage in the ongoing genealogical stream. Twice it suggests a solution that involves unusual agents (women, foreigners, slaves) and unconventional actions (marriage between a Judahite and an Egyptian slave; female agency and tricksterism). Twice proposed solutions bring about sons who continue the line. And twice both sons are eventually attributed to their grandfather’s generation while the parents’ generation is skipped. 43.  Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 84. 44. L. J. de Regt, Participants in Old Testament Texts and the Translator: Reference Devices and Their Rhetorical Impact (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1999) 24. Minor participants would more likely be referred to by proper names that would then “be reserved for re-establishing antecedents into a central role” (pp. 23–24). I thank Arian Verhij for pointing out de Regt’s approach. 45.  For a parallel case, see Judg 15:19a. The sentence ‫‘ ַוּי ְֵׁש ְּת‬and he drank’ refers back to Samson, even though other potential referents are in nearer proximity. As de Regt puts it: “In such a global strategy, the pronoun or affix is assigned to one of the major participants early in the story and is retained throughout the discourse as referring to this entity, even if there are intervening local instances of other potential referents” (ibid., 44). 46.  Japhet proposes understanding Exod 21:4 as a legal basis for the attribution of Hagar’s son Ishmael to her mistress Sarah and the attribution of Attai to Sheshan. According to Exod 21:4, the children of a (Hebrew) slave belong to his master (Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 84).

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Reading the two narratives together reveals a pattern for dealing with fissures that contains a twofold dynamic. On the one hand, the texts openly admit that the patrilineal succession may be endangered because of inadequate male behavior and cases of sonlessness. As a solution, they suggest opening up patriarchal succession to additional members of the sociopolitical life of Israel, who can contribute by overcoming deadlock and breakups. In this respect, the texts create complex and inclusive identities for Judah. On the other hand, sons that spring from this genealogical fissure are eventually attributed to the male Israelite patriarch of their grandfather’s generation. The generation that comprises this multifaceted identity is dispossessed of offspring and collapses. Thus, new genealogical agents are deprived of the ability to create their own generation; their potency to effect ongoing change is substantially weakened. Admitting fissures, proposing unconventional solutions, and drawing on complex agents eventuates in increased potency for the paterfamilias. The texts thus portray ambiguity regarding their own proposed solution; developments are retracted. What impact does this inherently ambiguous pattern have on the construction of authority with regard to patriarchal succession in the text? On the one hand, patriarchal succession appears as an authoritative notion in that it is self-reliant enough to deal with shortcomings self-critically and effectively. Its authority is thus substantiated by the ability to acknowledge and flexibly respond to crisis. It is especially based on the ability to involve various participants of the community in light of complex and effective solutions. In addition, it is based on the ability to refer to the memory of the group and to activate it in view of an actual memory performance. On the other hand, the authority of patriarchal succession is constructed as a way to withhold power from new genealogical agents in favor of the paterfamilias. This also includes the ability to deactivate and repress potential for sociopolitical change that may evolve from the solutions that the texts themselves suggested. In other words, authority is constructed as power to regulate the impact and potency of admittedly complex genealogical agents who are brought into action by the texts themselves. In my view, the ambivalent take on fissures in the patriarchal succession abets a balancing act between the different qualities of its authority. In positive terms, patrilineal succession appears as an authoritative notion of transfer that secures a given structure’s ability to map its roots and community relationships over a longer time span. However, it is concurrently able to face crises and change through involving different members of the group. In negative terms, patrilineal succession appears as an authoritarian concept of transfer. It reduces the richness of transfer by repeatedly depriving involved agents of their genealogical agency, participation,

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and power as soon as some gain has been achieved. This conception only pretends to be flexible and innovative. But in effect, it limits the transfer’s relevancy to the groups whose privileges it secures. Gender Fluidity in Key Genealogical Roles and Formalized Genealogical Language The narratives just discussed are embedded in formalized genealogical language but, as narratives, they also transcend it. The intersection between genealogical formulas and narrative points to a connection between content and form. Complex strategies and agents tend to flash suddenly on the screen of the narrative sequences, while the “patriarchal backlash” appears in clear-cut genealogical forms. The genealogies of Judah not only refer to women in the narratives, they also refer to women in the genealogical formulas. The text also provides women with key genealogical roles that are usually reserved for males. In the next section, I will complement the previous analysis with examples and briefly discuss passages on Ephrathah, the eponymous ancestor of a major Davidic clan (1 Chr 2:19, 50; 4:3), and Zeruiah, a sister of David and head of a segment of the Davidic genealogy (1 Chr 2:16–17). Ephrathah Ephrathah stands out as the ancestress of the clan by the same name. It settled in and around Bethlehem and brought forth the Davidic Dy­ nasty. 47 As an eponymous ancestor, Ephrathah may be identified as a “real or created person for whom a place, clan, or tribal group is named.” 48 In the genealogical context, eponymous ancestors specifically function as founding ancestors of lineages. In the appearance of Ephrathah in the genealogies of Judah, traditions, narratives, and places are compiled that are linked to her name. Among them are the location-bound origins of the Davidic Dynasty and one of various traditions regarding Rachel’s tomb. 49 In addition, other biblical texts place Ephrathah so close to Bethlehem that Ephrathah appears to be an alternative name for Bethlehem (for example, Gen 35:16–20). 50 47.  For an introduction to the traditions related to Ephrathah as a person and as a place, see L. M. Luker, “Ephratha (Person),”ABD 2:557; idem, “Ephratha (Place),” ABD 2:557–58. 48. K. Bohmbach, “Names and Naming in the Biblical World,” in Women in Scripture: A Dictionary of Named and Unnamed Women in the Hebrew Bible, the Apocryphal/ Deuterocanonical Books, and the New Testament (ed. Carol Meyers; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000) 33–39, esp. p. 36. 49.  Luker, “Ephratha (Place).” 50.  See also Judges 19 for the strong connection between Ephrathah and Bethlehem (Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 82).

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The genealogies of Judah refer to Ephrathah three times. 51 The first reference to Ephrath(ah) introduces her as the wife of Caleb and mother of Hur (1 Chr 2:19b): “And Caleb took for him Ephrath. And she bore him Hur.” The second reference to Ephrathah is again in connection with Caleb and Hur (1 Chr 2:50–51): “These were the sons of Caleb. The sons of Hur, the firstborn of Ephrathah: Shobal, the father of Kiriath-jearim; Salma, the father of Bethlehem; Hareph, the father of Beth-gader.” In this second reference, the relations between the protagonists change slightly. Ephrathah and Caleb are linked through Hur but are no longer identified as wife and husband. Hur is listed after Caleb and thus possibly as his son. However, the transition from v. 50a to v. 50b barely makes sense. Instead, it appears to be allocating v. 50a to the previous section and reading it as a concluding summary to the lineage of Caleb (1 Chr 2:42–49). 52 If v. 50a is attributed to the previous section, the connection between Caleb and Hur and concurrently between Caleb and Ephrathah takes a back seat. In contrast, the passage closely relates Ephrathah and Hur. While Hur is listed as the son that Ephrathah bore to Caleb in 1 Chr 2:19b, the 2:50–51 passage introduces him as the firstborn of Ephrathah. This identification is repeated in the third reference to Ephrathah (1 Chr 4:4): “And Penuel, the father of Gedor, and Ezer, the father of Hushah. These were the sons of Hur, the firstborn of Ephrathah, the father of Bethlehem.” The passage confirms that Hur’s status as the firstborn of Ephrathah is the critical feature of his identity. Moreover, it engages the tradition to identify Ephrathah with Bethlehem by means of characterizing either Ephrathah herself or her firstborn, Hur, as “father” of Bethlehem. 53 The connections between Ephrathah and Hur and between Ephrathah and Caleb shed light on her position as eponymous ancestor in two respects. The text recognizes her as mother of Hur but, more importantly, identifies her as the one who provides Hur with the status of firstborn 51.  See also the appearance of the place-name Caleb-ephrathah in 1 Chr 2:24. It reads that Caleb’s father, Hezron, died in Caleb-ephrathah. An alternative text-critical interpretation suggests reading that Caleb went into Ephrathah after the death of Hez­ ron; see, e.g., Knoppers. I Chronicles 1–9, 299. 52. See ibid., 310–11; and the jps, against the Masoretic Text’s demarcation, which, by means of a setuma, suggests reading 1 Chr 2:50a as a—rather clumsy—opening phrase to the subsequent lineage of Hur. 53.  Strictly speaking, 1 Chr 4:4b lists Ephrathah as the father of Bethlehem; see ‫ְבנֵי־‬ ‫ֲבי ּבֵית ָלחֶם‬ ִ ‫ָתה א‬ ָ ‫ֶפר‬ ְ ‫חּור ְּבכֹור א‬. Considering Hur as one who is meant to be the father of Bethlehem would function by interpreting “the firstborn of Ephrathah” and “the father of Bethlehem” as two appositions to Hur. The BHS apparatus deals with the problem by introducing ‫ היא‬and deleting ‫ בי) בי‬would then be read as a dittography). This would result in the reading ‘that is Bethlehem’. See also 1 Chr 2:51, which characterizes Ephrathah’s grandson Salma as father of Bethlehem.

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and links his identity to Bethlehem. Hur is primarily qualified as the son of his mother and only secondarily as the son of his father. Furthermore, Ephrathah appears to be a mother with enough power to qualify her son as firstborn and connect him with a prominent place. As to Caleb, the text tries to introduce Ephrathah as the wife of Caleb and to link Hur to Caleb: Caleb takes Ephrath(ah) as wife, and she bears him Hur (1 Chr 2:19b). However, the arrangement appears clumsy in 1 Chr 2:50–51 and disappears altogether in 1 Chr 4:4. The strength of the genealogical formula in 1 Chr 2:19b (“she bore him Hur”) is countered by another formula in 2:50 and 4:4 (“Hur, firstborn of Ephrathah”). The characterization of Ephrathah as (a dependent) wife takes a back seat to her characterization as a powerful founding mother. In my view, 1 Chr 2:19b features an attempt to diminish and limit Ephrathah’s authority by depicting her in relation to her husband, Caleb, and by attributing her firstborn to him. However, this attempt is not successful. Instead, in their entirety, the references bring into focus the fact that Ephrathah occupies a central position in the genealogies of Judah. As Knoppers puts it: “One of Judah’s major clans is matriarchal in nature (1 Chr 2:50b–55, 4:4).” 54 Moreover, her repeated appearance in the genealogies recalls all of the traditions, narratives, and places evolving around her that are available as a resource for the formation and articulation of memory and identity. Ephrathah is a female figure who is provided with the critical genealogical position of eponymous ancestor, who is equipped with formalized genealogical language for her own benefit, and who is bound to central traditions in Judah. The references to her bring into focus a interruption in the patriarchal succession in the Judah genealogies that is inherent in the traditions and narratives of Judah itself. Zeruiah The second example of a woman referred to in formal genealogical language is Zeruiah. Zeruiah appears with her sister Abigail at the end of a lineage that reaches from Hezron to the generation of David (1 Chr 2:9–15). The lineage ends with a list of David and his brothers; the list terminates with a reference to their sisters, Zeruiah and Abigail (1  Chr 2:16a). 2:9 The sons of Hezron who were born to him: Jerahmeel, Ram, and Chelubai. 10 Ram begot Amminadab; Amminadab begot Nahshon, prince of the sons of Judah. 11 Nahshon begot Salmon; Salmon begot Boaz; 12 Boaz begot Obed; Obed begot Jesse; 13 Jesse begot Eliab his firstborn. And Abinadab the second; Shimea the third; 14 Nethanel the fourth; Raddai the 54.  Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 358.

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fifth; 15 Ozem the sixth; David the seventh. 16a Their sisters: Zeruiah and Abigail.

The reference to Zeruiah and Abigail appears in a set formula that recurs throughout 1  Chronicles 1–9. As a rule, this formula is located at the end of a lineage that branches out into a line of sons/brothers. The line of sons/brothers is followed by one or two female personal names and an apposition that identifies them as sister(s). 55 The actual reference to the sisters Zeruiah and Abigail thus has the shape and character of a set formula. The text continues with the sons of Zeruiah and Abigail (1 Chr 2:16b–17): “The sons of Zeruiah: Abishai, Joab, and Asahel, three. Abigail bore Amasa. And the father of Amasa was Jether the Ishmaelite.” The list of the sons of Zeruiah (1 Chr 2:16b) uses another formula: “The sons of PN1: PN2, PN3, PN4, three.” 56 This is followed by a note on the son of Abigail and his Ishmaelite father (1 Chr 2:17). At this point in the text, the sons of Zeruiah and Abigail are the only ones to carry the lineage from Hezron to David into the next generation. The list of the sons of Zeruiah is noteworthy. It employs the opening formula that is regularly used for listing male heads of a lineage and their sons (see, for example, 1 Chr 2:6, 3:23, 4:1). In 1 Chr 2:16b, Zeruiah occupies the formal slot of father and head of a lineage. This constellation is not unique. The opening formula is repeatedly used for female subjects (see, for example, 1 Chr 4:7 and 4:19). What makes the passage exceptional is the complete absence of the father(s) of Zeruiah’s sons. 57 Her status as a sister (of David), head of a lineage, and mother of three seems to constitute a status in its own right. 58 Moreover, the passage hints 55.  The basic form of the formula occurs in 1 Chr 3:19b, 3:9, and 7:30: a row of sons closes with the name of their sister, which is followed by the noun ‫ֲחֹותם‬ ָ ‫ א‬with the short pronominal suffix, third-person masculine plural. See, for example, 1 Chr 3:19b: ‫ֲחֹותם‬ ָ ‫ּוׁשל ִֹמית א‬ ְ ‫חנַ ְניָה‬ ֲ ‫ׁשּלָם ַו‬ ֻ ‫‘ ּובֶן־ ְזרֻ ָּבבֶל ְמ‬The son(s) of Zerubbabel: Meshullam and Hananiah; and Shelomith: their sister’. Variations of the formula are as follows: (1) In 1 Chr 7:18, the formula is followed by a list of sons to whom the sister gives birth. (2) 1 Chr 7:32 constructs the phrase with an accusative. This conforms to the general form of lists of sons, which may be set with or without an accusative. (3) 1 Chr 2:16 lists two sisters and uses the full third-masculine-plural pronoun. (4) 1 Chr 4:3 puts additional emphasis on the sister’s name (compare 1 Chr 2:49). (5) Finally, 1 Chr 1:39 lists the sister of a father (instead of a brother/son), whose name replaces the pronoun (compare 1 Chr 2:49). 56.  See 1 Chr 3:23, 7:6. 57.  The only parallel case is Hammolecheth, sister of Machir. Hammolecheth bears three children, probably two sons and one daughter. The name of their father is not mentioned (1 Chr 7:19). 58.  Additional references to the sons of Zeruiah in 2  Samuel (e.g., 2  Sam 2:18) likewise list them as sons of Zeruiah without indicating their father(s). For Zeruiah and

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at a possibly exposed position of the sister of the king in terms of political, administrative, economical, and/or territorial autonomy, competence, and possessions. 59 The reference to Zeruiah exceeds the patriarchal succession, inasmuch as Zeruiah occupies a key position in the succession—namely, the position of “father” and head of a lineage, which indicates a fissure. This fissure echoes in two directions. On the one hand, the passage links up with women figures who likewise occupy the syntactical position of head of a lineage. 60 On the other hand, the passage connects Zeruiah with a structure of sisters throughout the genealogies of Judah. 61 Both echoes are sustained by the use of genealogical formulas. The formulas are either “male” formulas that are actually occupied by woman (“the sons of PN1: PN2, PN3, PN4, three”), or they are “female” formulas in the first place (“their sisters: PN1 and PN2”). In both cases, formalized language integrates Zeruiah into a wider net of passages that confirm and elongate the fissure of the patriarchal succession that evolves around her. Formalized language and its echo thus provoke a fissure that is not immediately closed but becomes more permanent. Ephrathah and Zeruiah acquire genealogical positions that are at the center of the patriarchal succession. As sparkling places/ancestresses/ communities and solid literary characters, they are intriguing figures. However, the text seems to handle the presence of Ephrathah and Zeruiah in the Judah genealogies as a matter of course. For example, the women are listed without further characterization or comment. In addition, the text largely uses available male-centered formulas in order to position them in the lineages. As a result, one might easily understand the passages as exceptions that prove the rule. 62 In what follows, I will draw comparisons between the passages on Ephrathah and Zeruiah and the narher sons, see Brenner, “My Sons, the Generals: I Am Zeruiah, Sister of David,” I Am, 147–54. 59. For a careful assessment of the status of women in the Jerusalem court, especially of female kin and spouses of the king and of female administrative personnel, see Anna Kiesow, Löwinnen von Juda: Frauen als Subjekte politischer Macht in der judäischen Königszeit (Münster: LIT, 1998) 80–95. 60.  1 Chr 1:32 (Keturah), 4:6 (Naarah), 4:7 (Helah), and 4:18 (Bithiah). 61.  The sisters in the genealogies of Judah are Zeruiah and Abigail (1 Chr 2:16– 17); Tamar (3:9); Shelomith (3:19); Hazzelelponi (4:3); and the wife of Hodiah, the sister of Naham (4:19). The references to sisters build a structure that appears with a clear formula, entailing sisters with and without descendants, and locating them at critical intersections of linear and segmented genealogies. 62. In the secondary literature, scholars indeed often qualify the passages under consideration as exceptions or selected interruptions. See, for example, Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, 358; and Labahn and Ben Zvi, “Observations on Women,” 458, 473.

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ratives discussed above. The comparisons will serve as starting points for discussing the apparent status of the former passages as exceptions (only). In comparison with the positions of the female protagonists of the narratives, several facts stand out about the references to them in 1 Chr 2:3–4 and 2:34–35. First, Ephrathah and Zeruiah are referred to in formalized genealogical language and by use of set formulas rather than embedded narratives. Second, Ephrathah and Zeruiah appear in the context of functioning patriarchal successions rather than in the context of blocked or jeopardized lineages. These references are linked to different roles and positions. Ephrathah and Zeruiah occupy respectable patriarchal positions (eponymous ancestor and head of a lineage). Moreover, they are insiders who are located at the center of the self-conceptions and power of Judah and the House of David. In contrast, the protagonists of the narratives occupy genuine female roles (mother, wife, daughter, daughter-in-law) and hold insecure social positions (foreigner, widow, nameless daughter, slave). Accordingly, in the narratives, gender issues intersect with ethnic and social differences, whereas this is not the case in the passages on Zeruiah and Ephratha. Third, Ephrathah and Zeruiah inform the next generation in that their sons are identified as firstborn and as sons of Ephrathah and Zeruiah, respectively. However, Ephrathah and Zeruiah do not represent a generation at any point in the passages (the generation of Ephrathah is represented by Caleb; the generation of Zeruiah is represented by David). Both factors are in contrast to the presentation of the narratives. There, Tamar, the daughter of Sheshan, and Jarha temporarily represent their generation but are deprived of informing the next. The comparison highlights features in the passages under discussion that allow for the smooth integration of Ephrathah and Zeruiah into the text. The use of formalized genealogical language in the context of functioning patrilineal succession provides an excellent setting for slipping in women such as Ephrathah and Zeruiah in an inconspicuous way. Moreover, situating them at the center of Judah’s self-definitions and providing them with respectable patriarchal positions decreases the provocative potential inherent in the narratives. Summing Up The texts introduce Ephrathah and Zeruiah in a way that makes it easy to read them as exceptions and, by doing so, to downplay their impact. Beyond this mechanism, however, the passages have great impact. They demonstrate that power positions usually attributed to men are not exclusively reserved for them. They are “male-mostly” rather than “maleonly” positions. Maleness thus appears as a quality that is regularly but not

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necessarily required for adequately filling such power positions. Indeed, the text recalls that Israel’s past included women who adequately filled positions of eponymous ancestor, head of a lineage, and perhaps head of a house. The references to Ephrathah and Zeruiah also participate in wider nets of texts and, by doing so, reach beyond their given form and context. The reference to Zeruiah is part of an extensive structure of sisters in the genealogies of Judah and beyond. Especially within the genealogies of Judah, sisters are carefully located at intersections between linear and segmented genealogical forms and thus at nerve centers of genealogical power. Further analysis of this structure of sisters would engage sisters as a factor that might interfere with the patriarchal setup of the texts on yet another level. It would also provide an intriguing backdrop to the reference to Zeruiah. The references to Zeruiah and to Ephrathah link up with passages that deal with mothers who determine the identity of their sons. An example within the Chronicles genealogies is 1 Chr 1:32–33. This passage lists the sons of Keturah, the second wife of Abraham. The name Keturah derives from ‫‘ ְקטֹרֶת‬incense’ and probably reflects the region in Arabia from which incense originated. 63 Keturah’s descendants Medan, Midian, Dedan, and Sheba/Saba are toponyms of places that were situated along the incense trade route through western Arabia. Keturah as “personification of the incense trade” 64 provides a frame for the identity of her sons by virtue of her name as well as through the use of the opening and concluding formulas. The references to Zeruiah and Ephrathah, significantly, gain power through these echoes in intertextual cohesion. The echoes indicate leeway for female agency and challenge the status of exceptions. They expose permanent fissures in the patriarchal succession. The fissures that show up in the references to Ephrathah and Zeruiah and their echoes throughout the genealogical composition have a distinct impact on the way that the text constructs the authority of the patriarchal succession as a key notion of transfer. First, the passages under consideration expose patriarchal succession as being permeated with “exceptions.” Second, patriarchal succession is constructed as a concept capable of linking with central constituents of the genealogies in order to advance its own interests. For example, in the passages on Zeruiah and Ephrathah, patriarchal succession links up with formalized language to integrate and thereby devitalize references to women. However, the authority of patriarchal succession, which is based on “networking” with other constituents 63. N.  Steinberg, “Ketura,” in Women in Scripture. A Dictionary of Named and Unnamed Women in the Hebrew Bible, the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books, and the New Testament (ed. Carol Meyers; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000) 108. 64. E. A. Knauf, “Keturah,” ABD 4:31.

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of the transfer in order to incorporate exceptions, is fragile. Echoes of the references to Ephrathah and Zeruiah bring numerous comparable passages to the fore. Brought into focus, they may permeate patriarchal succession to the point that its authority risks losing control. Breakdowns of Syntactical Coherence and Meaning: Obscured Female Agency and Ownership in 1 Chronicles 2:18–19 and 4:17–18 For my last set of examples, I will discuss two passages that address loss of control on the level of language. 1 Chr 2:18–19 and 4:17–18 are passages that stand out because of the breakdown of syntactical coherence and meaning regarding a cluster of references to women. The last example of references to women that may indicate fissures in the patriarchal succession thus adheres to the centrality of form and formalized language. However, it does so by reflecting on instances of deconstructed formalized language in the text. I begin with 1 Chr 2:18–19: “And Caleb son of Hez­ ron begot (by) Azubah, a woman, and (by) Jerioth. These were her sons: Jesher and Shobab and Ardon. And Azubah died; and Caleb took for him Ephrath; and she bore him Hur.” Verse 18a begins with the set phrase PN1 begot PN3. As a rule, the phrase begins with a masculine subject followed by the verb ‫הֹוליד‬ ִ ‘to beget’. This is followed by one or several masculine direct objects, often marked by the object-marker ‫את‬. The phrase is frequent in 1 Chronicles 1–9 (for example, 1 Chr 2:10–13 and 2:36–41). In the passage under consideration, the phrase is modified in that as the object-marker ‫ את‬is followed by two feminine objects, Azubah and Jerioth. One of them, Azubah, is identified as ‫ּׁשה‬ ָ ‫‘ ִא‬woman/wife’. Verse 18b continues with an opening formula, “these were her sons,” followed by a list of sons. The subject of the opening formula is indicated by means of a third-person feminine suffixed pronoun (ָ‫) ָבנֶיה‬. The pronoun may refer to either Azubah or Jerioth. Next, v. 19a records Azubah’s death. It is the only instance in 1 Chronicles 1–9 that records the death of a listed woman. Verse 19b continues, indicating that Caleb married Ephrath and that she bore Hur to him. The passage raises plenty of questions. Does the text indeed record that Caleb begot Azubah, a woman, and Jerioth, and then recall that a string of sons was attributed to one of them? If yes, what is Azubah’s status as a character whom the text stresses is a female, whose death is recorded, and who is succeeded as wife of Caleb by Ephrathah, mother of Hur? As an alternative reading, the object marker ‫ את‬may be regarded as a preposition (literally, ‘with’, or more idiomatically in English, ‘by’). 65 This may be 65.  For example, J.  M.  Myers, I Chronicles: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 1965) 10; and Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 72.

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combined with a text-critical reconstruction of the apposition ‘a woman’ as ‘his woman/wife’. 66 In this alternative reading, either Caleb would beget by Azubah and by Jerioth, or Caleb would beget Jerioth by Azubah. The modification raises additional questions. If Azubah and Jerioth are indeed listed as wives of Caleb by whom he fathered sons, what impact does the fact that this information is given in a phrase that is usually reserved for fathers who beget sons have? How is the agency of reproduction divided between Caleb, Azubah, and Jerioth in this form of collaborative begetting of sons? The same questions must be raised if one assumes that Caleb and Azubah begot Jerioth, who would then appear as a daughter who continues the line and is head of the subsequent list of sons. From my perspective, the benefits of modifying and text-critically reconstructing the passage are limited. Alternative readings are not able to sort out entirely the relationships between Caleb, Azubah, Jerioth, and Ephrath. Nor do they entirely succeed in clarifying the role and agency of the women involved. Instead, the syntax of the passage remains odd. The genealogical associations of its protagonists remain ambiguous. The problems of interpretation are displaced. The ambiguity of the passage makes it difficult to analyze the position of the women to which it refers. One may advance assumptions about their position and reputation. However, the complicated state of the passage keeps them in reserve. Azubah may have been an important ancestress in the Calebite lineage—or just the wife of Caleb. Jerioth may have been a daughter who passed on the line—or just Caleb’s second wife. Ephrathah may have been Azubah’s successor in an exposed position—or just another wife of Caleb. The difficult condition of the text communicates to all its ambivalence toward the gendered position and agency of the protagonists in question. The poor condition of 1 Chr 2:18–19, which is linked to the ambiguous presentation of its female agents, seems to be mirrored in a second passage about the genealogies of Judah. 1 Chr 4:17–18 is even more difficult to understand and has a similarly elaborate history of text-critical reconstruction. The text reads as follows: The son of Ezrah: Jether, Mered, Epher, and Jalon. She conceived Miriam, Shammai, and Ishbah, the father of Eshtemoa. His wife, the Judahite, bore Jered, the father of Gedor, Heber, the father of Soco, and Jekuthiel, the father of Zanoah. These are the sons of Bithiah, the daughter of Pharaoh, whom Mered married.

Verse 17 begins with a list of sons, including Mered, who reappears at the end of the passage. Verse 17a announces only one son (‫ בן‬singular); how66. The BHS apparatus suggests reading ‫ אשתו את‬instead of ‫אשה ואת‬, with the Peshitta, targum, and Arabic translations.

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ever, a list of sons follows. Verse 17b states that a certain “she” conceived (‫ תהר‬Qal imperfect narrative third-feminine singular) and begins a second list of descendants. Among them are Miriam, probably a daughter, and Ishbah, the “father” of a place. The verb ‫‘( תהר‬to conceive’) disturbs the reading process and raises questions. First of all, it is not clear who the female subject of the verb is. Second, ‫ תהר‬Qal is a verb that does not require a direct object such as, for example, ‫‘( ילד‬to bear’) would. It is thus an odd replacement for the verb ‫‘( ילד‬to bear’), which predominates in the text. The subsequent verse is even more striking. It begins with a list of sons, all three also being “fathers” of a place. They are borne by “his” wife, the Judahite, whereas “his” identity again remains somewhat obscure. Even more striking is the fact that the list of the sons of “his” wife, the Judahite, is summed up by a formula that attributes these very sons to Bithiah, daughter of Pharaoh and wife of Mered. I am again not primarily interested in an attempt to reconstruct a more meaningful version of the text. 67 Rather, I am interested in parallels to 1  Chr 2:18–19. As in 2:18–19, difficulties in terms of coherence and meaning appear in a passage that provides a dense net of references to women. Difficulties converge around the gendered references. Like 1 Chr 2:18–19, 1 Chr 4:17–18 involves issues of ethnicity and place. Moreover, the passage hints at female agency in procreation and female genealogical ownership. And, as in 1 Chr 2:18–19, any assessment of this agency and ownership must remain provisional and ambiguous. Both passages hint at fissures in the patriarchal succession in that they allow for assumptions about female agency in procreation and femalegendered genealogical ownership. At the same time, they establish ambiguity and a lack of transparency. Fissures remain intangible and vague. The difficult condition of the passages produces a dynamic in which genderrelated interests and power dynamics are not openly negotiated. The passages do not take a clear stance regarding the identities and positions of Azubah, Jerioth, Ephrathah, Miriam, the Judahite wife, Bithiah daughter 67.  For a common reconstruction, see Japhet: The generally accepted reconstruction of these lines is that proposed by Curtis (111, following Berthau and others). The words “These are the sons of Bithiah, the daughter of Pharaoh, whom Mered married” are transposed from v.  18b to after v.  17a, “son” (17a) becomes “sons” (following some mss and the Versions), and in v. 17b ‫“ דלתו‬and she bore” is added, for the reading “and she conceived and bore Miriam, etc.” (Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 114)

The nrsv translates accordingly: 17The

sons of Ezrah: Jether, Mered, Epher, and Jalon. These are the sons of Bithiah, daughter of Pharaoh, whom Mered married; and she conceived and bore Miriam, Shammai, and Ishbah father of Eshtemoa. 18And his Judean wife bore Jered father of Gedor, Heber father of Soco, and Jekuthiel father of Zanoah.

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of Pharaoh, and several “shes.” Instead, intangibility obscures possible negotiations at the basis of the texts. In the same way, ambiguity represses potential negotiations on the level of the reception of the texts. The authority of patriarchal succession, as constructed here, does not necessarily imply taking clear stances. This contrasts with the narratives on Tamar and Sheshan’s daughter. There, the authority of patriarchal succession included a clear view on the shortcomings of patrilinealism. At the same time, however, it aimed at maintaining patriarchal structures and forms. In the passages at hand, the opposite happens. Both challenges to the maintenance of patriarchal succession lack a clear shape. The lack of clarity may reflect an interest in obscuring negotiations at the basis of the texts. This may also have been a means to prevent contesting the texts in the present and future. It would thus testify to the authoritarian dimension of patriarchal succession. However, the dynamic of the passages also points in another direction. In the passages, formalized language is in crisis. Set phrases and formulas are not adequately filled with their conventional elements and appear deposed from meaning. At the same time, the coherence of the passage’s content (names, genealogical attributions, places) falls apart. The logic of patriarchal succession seems to be in crisis as well. The moment when patriarchal succession loses formalized language as a partner in transfer is a moment of a crisis of authority. Choosing not to advance a distinct position on gendered power relations leads to uncertainty in judgment and weakness in position. The lack of position interplays with the crisis of form and logic. Thus the text hints at a crisis of authority in patriarchal succession as a key notion of transfer.

Conclusion The discussion of three references to women in the genealogies of Judah exposed fissures in the patriarchal succession and illuminated how they function and how are they dealt with in the text. The passages address the dysfunctionality and limits of patriarchal succession in distinct ways. However, there are parallels. All the passages discussed admit to fissures more or less overtly. All of them feature moves to counter, limit, downplay, or obscure patriarchal succession—more or less successfully. For the latter dynamic, formal resources of the genre of genealogy are carefully appropriated. In the first case (1 Chr 2:3–4, 34–35), the form of the embedded narrative is used to stimulate discussion and suggest solutions. In this context, narrative intertexts are employed to communicate viewpoints and connotations beyond the possibilities of genealogical structure. Conversely, genealogical formulas are used to restrict complexity and to reinstitute the patriarchal order overtly. In the second case (1 Chr 2:16–17, 19,

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50, and 4:3), formalized language is used to integrate outstanding women inconspicuously in the genealogical structure. Genealogical form is also used to restrict the impact of women by labeling them exceptions. In the third case (1  Chr 2:18–19, 4:17–18), formalized language is used as a base for varying and even shattering form. In this way, formal breakdowns obscure potential negotiations over women’s positions in genealogical memory performance. The fissures affect the notions of female subjectivity and agency advanced in the texts. The genealogies of Judah and the House of David include a sufficient number of references to women to allow them to appear as natural members of the process of passing on the line. The passages under consideration go one step further. They point out that women participated in the continuation of the line both within and beyond their reproduction capacities. Thus, various groups must have been able to identify with the genealogical memory performance. In fact, the genealogies of Judah may be read as an invitation to various groups to integrate. However, the invitation is problematic. The passages under consideration concurrently expose counterdynamics at work to silence and eliminate women. The inclusive memory performance entails the risk of being integrated and then silenced. Focusing on fissures in the patriarchal succession by referring to women informed the character of the authority of the notions constructed in the texts. The authority of patriarchal succession appears to have been based on ability actively to address crises in the ongoing lineage and to employ different community members to develop solutions. This goes hand in hand with the ability to recognize diversity in the community and to integrate diverse participants. Furthermore, the authority of patriarchal succession appears to have been based on ability to maintain symbolic order by correlating Israel’s past with its present in a coherent and relevant way to different groups and interests within the community. Thus, the fissures highlight the complexity and inclusiveness of the notion of patriarchal succession. They bring into focus its potential for an effective act of transfer relevant to a multilayered community. In fact, the fissures bring into focus a true potential for a complex and integrative act of transfer that is flexible enough to respond effectively to the characteristic context of 1–2 Chronicles. On the other hand, the passages reveal the fact that the authority of patriarchal succession as constructed in the texts tends to tilt toward authoritarianism, thus toward a form of authority that is based on violence rather than on acceptance. The backlash revokes the authority of patriarchal succession and diminishes its relevance as the key notion of transfer. This dynamic tends to reduce the genealogical transfer to an act of

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memory that is only relevant to those who were already privileged by the patriarchal structure. The focus on fissures in the patriarchal succession highlights the exclusive and ambiguous character of the notion, which is integrative on the one hand and exclusive on the other. Beyond this, the focus discloses a third dynamic in the texts. The attempt to preserve the authority of the patriarchal succession through restriction and exclusion is repeatedly deconstructed. References to women, which are framed as exceptions, echo throughout the genealogical composition and indicate a loss of control. Moreover, refusing to take clear stances on gender relations abets a loss of authority that cannot be regained without exposing positions that must then be accepted or not. Reading the genealogies of Judah from the perspective of its femalegendered references highlights fissures in the male mirror. At the same time, it points to the fragility of the mirror itself.

Araunah’s Threshing Floor: A Lesson in Shaping Historical Memory Yairah Amit Tel-Aviv University

Introduction In this essay, I propose to show the degree to which the authors of biblical literature were conscious of the importance of shaping the national historical memory and the tools that they developed to achieve this goal. I will examine two versions of the story about Araunah’s threshing floor in order to show that the later version, 1 Chronicles 21—which is a reworking of the earlier version, 2 Samuel 241—was designed to meet the needs of historical memory at the time of writing.2 Before proceeding, I wish to note that, although Araunah is called Ornan in Chronicles, I use the name as it appears in Samuel.

The Different Settings of the Two Versions The story of Araunah’s threshing floor is first mentioned in the addendum to the books of Samuel (2 Samuel 21–24). To be more precise, this story (2 Sam 24:16b–25), in its present context, is not an independent story but appears as the outcome of and ending to the story of David’s Author’s note: This essay was previously published in Performing Memory in Biblical Narrative and Beyond (Bible in the Modern World; Sheffield: Phoenix, 2009) 13–23 and is reprinted here with permission. 1. On the assumption that the Chronicler reworked the Samuel text, see Klein 2006: 417: “This is the last time that the Chronicler quotes from the books of Samuel, and we need to review what he has selected for inclusion and what he has omitted from the final chapters of these books, 2 Samuel 21–24.” 2. This goal is additional to other goals. On the suggestion that the same story might have different messages, see Amit 2001: 132–37. For other messages in this text, see Klein 2006: 417: “to indicate how the place for the temple and the altar of burnt offerings were obtained by David at divine direction. The David who sins in this chapter is also one who trusts in the manifold mercies of God (v. 13), which would also be available to the Chronicler’s audience through the temple.”

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census and the plague (2 Sam 24:1–16a).3 Because both stories are part of an addendum rather than an integral part of the narrative of the books of Samuel, the reader is unable to place them in the chronological sequence of the main narrative.4 The circumstances in which the threshing floor was purchased are said to have followed the counting of the people, as commanded by David, and the resultant plague. However, we are not told at what stage in his reign David wished to hold a census in order to ascertain the number of his subjects, and we can only speculate about it.5 Moreover, the Araunah story gives no hint that the location of the altar would eventually become the site of the temple.6 According to Samuel, David built the altar on the threshing floor of Araunah, the Jebusite, because, when the angel was about to destroy Jerusalem (after 70,000 people between Dan and Beersheba had already perished), God desisted just at the time that the angel reached Araunah’s threshing floor (2 Sam 24:15–16).7 That day, the prophet Gad told David to erect an altar at the site and make burnt offerings to God. David then decided to purchase the cattle and the threshing floor from Araunah in order not to offer sacrifices he had not paid for. Then the plague stopped (2 Sam 24:18–25). Nothing in the 2 Samuel story suggests that this would be the site of the temple in Jerusalem. On the one hand, the absence of any reference to the location of the temple (which was, perhaps, connected to the place where David had erected the tent for the ark of the Lord, as described in 2 Sam 6:12–17) and, on the other hand, the explicit connection of the story with Jerusalem leave room for doubt whether the story was meant to announce the future site of the temple or to sanctify the choice of Jerusalem. Any position on this question is inevitably interpretational and is usually based on the story in Chronicles.8 3. On the possibility that 2  Samuel 24 is a combination of several independent stories, see McCarter 1984: 517–18; Anderson 1989: 283. 4. See Smith 1899: xxvi–xxvii; Bar-Efrat 1996: 225. 5.  For some speculations, see McCarter 1984: 516–17. 6.  Williamson 1982: 142; Bar-Efrat 1996: 269. However, this did not prevent Hertzberg (1964: 408) from entitling the chapter “The Census and the Temple Site.” 7.  I refer to the Hebrew ‫ מ ְַלא ְַך‬malʾak consistently as ‘angel’. 8.  Anderson (1989: 283) suggests the two possibilities: according to von Rad it is “a Jerusalemite hieros logos,” and according to Rudolph it is “the hieros logos of the Jerusalem temple.” He concludes: “It seems that at an earlier stage the site of this altar was not, as yet, identified with the temple hill, unless this equation is implicit in the narrative and was obvious to any reader.” At the end of his explanation, he adds: “At least at a later time, this narrative was understood also as an etiology for the choice of the temple site (1 Chr 22:1; 2 Chr 3:1).” However, many commentators read this story in light of Chronicles; see, for example, n. 6 above and the next paragraph.

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The latter version (1 Chr 21:15b–22:1) clearly dispels the doubt. “For the Chronicler, however, this is the whole point of the account,” says Williamson.9 The Chronicler depicts David as stating clearly and directly that the site of the altar on Araunah’s threshing floor “will be the house of the Lord” (1 Chr 22:1). This interpretation has been accepted from ancient times—and I name only the book of Jubilees (18:13), Josephus (Ant. 1.224, 227; 7.333) and the rabbis10—to the present, with the result that most commentators who discuss the story in Samuel automatically assume that the site was that of the future temple. A recent example is the commentary of Shimon Bar-Efrat, who emphasizes: “The book of Samuel concludes with a pious deed of David: the acquisition and sanctification of the site of the Temple.”11 In my opinion, the Chronicler’s version of the story is a model of editorial revision designed to establish once and for all the indisputable status of Jerusalem with its temple and the role of David in the process. No one, I think, would argue that the Chronicler failed to attain his purpose, so I will focus on the means and tools that he used to achieve it.

The Means Used by the Chronicler By what means did the Chronicler achieve his purpose and thus determine the historical and cultural status of the city, in Judaism and in the monotheistic world? Sequence Considerations The first step was to integrate the story into the sequence. According to the Chronicler, the story of the census and the subsequent purchase of Araunah’s threshing floor took place after David’s wars, as recounted in 1  Chronicles 18–19: the wars with the Philistines, the Moabites, the Aramaeans, and the Ammonites. The implication is that with the end of the fighting it became necessary to count the people, and this led to divine punishment in the form of a plague, followed by David’s repentance and the purchase of the threshing floor. The sequel (1 Chr 22:2ff.) goes on to describe the preparation of working teams and materials for building the temple and the bequest of the project to Solomon, as part of David’s testament.

9.  Williamson (1982: 142) emphasizes that what makes it clear is the Chronicler’s own addition of 21:28–22:1 (and compare with 2 Chr 3:1). 10.  The rabbis took it for granted that one of the peaks in the land of Moriah is Mount Moriah, which is mentioned in 2 Chr 3:1; see, for example, m. Taʿanit 2:4; Sipre Deuteronomy 62; and many more. 11.  Bar-Efrat 2004: 667.

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Thus, in the Chronicler’s narrative, the purchase of Araunah’s threshing floor, destined to be the site of the temple, is not an addendum but an indispensable link in the chain leading up to David’s testament. In other words, it constitutes the stage of preparing the site and materials prior to David’s instructions to his son Solomon concerning the temple’s construction and operation. Genre Considerations Another device is the enhancement of the story’s genre and its conversion from an unfocused etiological story in Samuel to a focused hieros logos in Chronicles.12 As is well known, the story in Samuel lacks the formulaic features and the etiological focus that would tell the reader whether the place was to be, specifically, a temple location or would only indicate the choice of Jerusalem in general. In Chronicles, however, it is an etiological story about the dedication of a cult site—specifically, a plain link between the plot and the temple of Jerusalem. Readers of the books of Samuel are in a different situation. Because they know that Jerusalem was chosen to be not only David’s capital (2 Sam 5:5–15) but also the place of the ark (2  Samuel 6) and the intended site of the future temple (2 Samuel 7), they may feel the gap and assume that the addendum story, which is associated with the deliverance of Jerusalem, is the missing etiology of the temple location. Thus, on the one hand, they may even assume that this is why the story of the census was included in the addendum; and, on the other hand, they will wonder why this important story was not incorporated in the sequence of the books of Samuel. It is worth noting that, unlike other sacred places such as Bethel (Gen 12:8, 28:10–22, 35:1–15), Shechem (Gen 12:6–7, 33:18–20; Deuteronomy 27; Josh 8:30–35; 24:1–28, 32), and Hebron (Gen 13:18; 18:1; chap. 23), Jerusalem lacked an etiological story to account for its status. Moreover, Jerusalem is not mentioned explicitly in the Pentateuch, and its association with the tradition of the patriarchs is indirect and given to interpretation. The allusions found in pentateuchal literature, as in the case of the stories of Melchizedek and the binding of Isaac, are purely a matter of interpretation, and not all the commentators accept them as valid.13 12. On hieros logos in biblical historiography, see Seeligmann 1992: 35–37. For an objection to the interpretation of the story in 2 Samuel 24 as a hieros logos, see Knoppers 2004: 760. 13.  The question why Jerusalem is not mentioned in all of the Torah literature is discussed widely in Amit 2000: 130–68, with more bibliographical references. I suggest there that Jerusalem is behind the short insertion on Melchizedek (Gen 14:18–20) but not behind the story of the Aqedah.

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Furthermore, before the description of its conquest by David, Jerusalem is mentioned only as an alien city, on the border between the territories of Judah or Benjamin (Josh 10; 12:10; 15:8, 63; Judg 1:8, 21; 19:11– 12). The story of its conquest by David (2 Sam 5:6–9) accounted for the custom of banning the blind and the lame from entering the temple, and for its name as the City of David—but not for why it was chosen, or the reason for locating the temple in it. The appendix in 2 Samuel 24 fills the lack with a story of a divine manifestation and favour, which accounts for the city’s choice over any other. It mentions the altar built by David to stop the pestilence from decimating the people, but as noted above, it says nothing that explicitly links the altar with the site of the future temple. By contrast, the story in Chronicles is a classic hieros logos, accounting unambiguously for the establishment of the temple in Jerusalem, where the angel of the Lord appeared to David. The Chronicler decided to change the picture and to complete what was missing. He emphasized that, when David performed the cultic ritual, he was granted a divine response in the form of fire from heaven, and later the angel’s sword barred him from reaching Gibeon, all of which led him to conclude that the site of the altar on Araunah’s threshing floor was indeed the house of the Lord, as he said: “Here will be the House of the Lord and here the altar of burnt offerings for Israel” (1 Chr 22:1). Although in the Deuteronomistic History the Jerusalem temple is a project of Solomon, in the Chronistic History Solomon is only the contractor, because the place, the plans, the materials, the management, and even the contents were prepared by David and passed on to Solomon in David’s will. Intertextuality Considerations The third device is the implementation of intertextual tools, such as the repetition of words, expressions, and semantic fields with close or identical meanings, as well as the highlighting of a character’s similar qualities and actions.14 The use of these tools in the relatively short story in Chronicles 14.  It is rare in biblical scholarship that most commentators agree about the date of a text, but this is the case with Chronicles, which all agree is late. Therefore, when it comes to intertextuality, it is clear that the Chronicler drew on his sources, such as the Torah, the former prophets, and some of the later prophets. Williamson (1982: 143) emphasizes that “this process of allowing other texts to colour the detail of narration had already begun prior to the Chronicler’s own composition, but, since textual evidence to the contrary is lacking, we must suppose that he continued this process, whether for theological or more generally typological reasons.” Knoppers (2004: 758) adds: “The similarities . . . seem to result from deliberate authorial (and not scribal) activity.”

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is unusually intense, giving it the appearance of a storehouse of intertextual references. Examination of the story as it progresses reveals that many of its verses allude to other texts, serving as a source of influence and creating associations—in effect, adding David to a parade of the nation’s heroes. The following are the allusions (1 Chr 21:16–22:1):15 • Verse 21:16a α.  David’s seeing “the angel of the Lord standing between heaven and earth” is influenced by Ezek 8:3 and Zech 5:9. This description does not appear in Samuel.16 Its presence highlights the scene of divine manifestation and places David in line with the nation’s prophets. • Verse 16aβ.  The description of the angel with “a drawn sword in his hand,” which is absent in Samuel, is taken from Joshua’s encounter with the angel on the eve of the Jericho conquest (Josh 5:13). Thus, David the conqueror gets to share in the glory of Joshua, the first conqueror of Canaan.17 • Verse 16b.  The description of David and the elders, covered in sackcloth and falling on their faces, recalls the description of Hezekiah and his senior officials, likewise in sackcloth, appealing to Isaiah during the siege of Sennacherib (2 Kgs 19:1–2). This description, which is also absent in Samuel, alludes to Hezekiah, the Deuteronomist’s favorite king (2 Kgs 18:5), in whose reign Jerusalem was saved from destruction (2 Kgs 19:32–35) and to whom the Chronicler attributes an extensive cult reform (2 Chronicles 29–31). In our story, too, David’s repentance contributed to God’s decision not to destroy Jerusalem.18 This association hints at the future salvation of Jerusalem and places David alongside Hezekiah’s positive image.19 • Verses 18–20.  On the basis of this passage, the story has been linked to Gideon’s encounter with the angel of the Lord (Judg 6:11–24), when 15.  I must emphasize that my purpose here is not a close reading of the whole text or a presentation of the various details of lower criticism. I discuss these issues only when it comes to the verses or parts of verses that are important to the question of intertextuality. 16. The fragment from 4QSama shows that the scroll’s text here is much fuller than the MT text of Samuel, which means that some of the Chronicler’s allusions were already in his Vorlage. Regarding the material from Qumran, see Cross 1964: 294; Rofé 1990. According to Knoppers (2004: 762), “The parallels between 4QSama and Chronicles indicate that the Chronicler was remarkably conservative in quoting his Vorlage.” 17.  An angel with a drawn sword in his hand appears in Balaam’s story as well: Num 22:23, 31. However, there his function is different. 18.  We msut keep in mind that David’s prayer comes after God’s decision. Therefore, God’s decision is not the result of David’s prayer, which is mentioned in order to demonstrate David’s behavior. 19.  In her interpretation of v. 16, Japhet (1993: 384) adds: “The threshing-floor scene is a new creation, forged from previously isolated elements.”

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Gideon was threshing wheat in a secret place.20 This encounter also concluded with a fire that consumed the offering presented to the angel and the building of an altar at the site (vv. 21–24). Here the association lies in the motif rather than in the wording. • Verses 22–26a.  This passage is loaded with allusions to the story of Abraham’s purchase of the Machpelah cave in Hebron (Genesis 23). While the story’s essence (the seller offers the object as a gift, and the buyer insists on paying its full price) does appear in Samuel, where it looks like a recurrent motif, the Chronicler’s version indicates that it was borrowed from the story in Genesis: • The root ‫ נתן‬recurs five times in Chronicles, seven times in Genesis, but only once in the relevant Samuel passage. There is no doubt that the Chronicler was influenced by the function of the verb in the negotiations over the burial cave, where the verb denotes either giving or selling, but the evolving negotiations reveal it to mean payment in full. In Chronicles, too, the term is ambivalent—David means obtaining it for a price, whereas Araunah understands that he is giving it as a gift. • The expression ‫‘ ְּב ֶכסֶף ָמלֵא‬at full price’ appears first in Genesis but nowhere else—except in Chronicles, where it is repeated (vv. 22, 24). • The inclusive purchase motif appears in both stories. In the Machpelah story, it consists of the burial ground, which includes the field and the cave, while in Chronicles it includes everything that was on the threshing floor at that moment—the oxen, the threshing boards, and the wheat—which enabled David to make a burnt offering as required in the priestly tradition (Exod 29:38–41, Num 15:1–11). • In Samuel, the price of the threshing floor is relatively low, whereas the Machpelah cave is costlier. In Chronicles, following Genesis, the price of the threshing floor is very high, especially because the sum of 600 shekels was paid in gold. •Verse 23b.  “. . . and offerings of well-being.” This part is missing in Samuel. Chronicles follows Exod 29:1–2, 38–41 and Num 15:1–21, which demand that burnt offerings should be accompanied by a grain offering.21 • Verses 22, 25.  The word ‫‘ מקום‬place’ or ‘site’ is repeated. This term, which often has an association with a “religious site” (Gen 12:6, 13:4; 20.  Williamson (1982: 148), following Willi, speaks of “a deliberate comparison,” because the one who threshes the wheat is Ornan, though he thinks that “the basic analogy is attractive.” For the details of the comparison, see Klein 2006: 427. 21.  See also 1 Chr 16:29, 23:29; 2 Chr 7:7.

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Deut 12:5, 14:23–25; Josh 9:27, and many more), is also repeated in the story of Jacob’s dream (Gen 28:11 [3 times], 16, 17, 19), which refers to the dedication of the temple in Bethel.22 • Verse 26b.  When the transaction was completed, David “invoked the Lord” with “burnt offerings and offerings of well-being,” and God responded by sending “fire from heaven onto the altar.” This description is influenced by the story of the divine fire on the altar built following Moses’ command in the desert (Lev 9:24)—a motif used again by the Chronicler in the description of the dedication of Solomon’s temple (2 Chr 7:1), and by the story of Elijah on Mount Carmel (1 Kgs 18:37–38). The use of this motif emphasizes the importance and legitimacy of the temple in Jerusalem and includes David in the glory of Moses and Elijah. • Verses 28–30.  The reference to the “tabernacle of the Lord, which Moses had made in the wilderness, and the altar of burnt offerings, [which] were at that time in the shrine at Gibeon,” indicates the importance of the shrine that was already there. The text also states that David was unable to go to Gibeon “to worship the Lord” at that time. Whether these verses are an interpolation or not,23 they are clearly intended to indicate to David as well as to the story’s readers that Jerusalem was the superior cult site. • Verse 22:1.  David states that the place of the altar in Araunah’s threshing floor is Israel’s legitimate temple, repeating the deictic expression ‫‘ זֶה‬this’ twice: “This is the house of the Lord, and this is the altar for burnt offerings for Israel.”24 This phrasing takes us back to the story of Jacob’s dream, in which Jacob reiterates the sanctity of the place by repeating the deictic expression “this” four times (Gen 28:16–17). It is difficult to ignore the resemblance between Jacob’s words, “This is none other than the house of God,” and those of David, “This is the house of the Lord God,” although Jacob was sanctifying Bethel while the Chronicler is discussing Jerusalem.25 We find that the various allusions serve to place David alongside the nation’s greatest figures, from the patriarchs (Abraham and Jacob), through a 22.  The association with Bethel does not seem coincidental to me; see the section below on 22:1. 23. See Japhet’s detailed discussion (1993: 388–90). But Knoppers (2004: 760) argues that “not the Chronicler, but a later scribe is bothered by the story’s evidence for divinely approved worship away from the Gibeon altar.” 24.  Although the quotations are from the Jewish Bible = jps, here I am presenting my own translation, which reflects the Hebrew exactly, and my discussion relates to the Hebrew version. 25. See Rudolph (1955: 148), who connects it to an anti-Samaritan polemic, but according to Klein (2006: 429), “he errs in attributing this to an anti-Samaritan polemic.”

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number of leaders (Moses, Joshua, Gideon, and Hezekiah), to the prophets (Ezekiel and Zechariah). Thus David, whose failings were highlighted in the book of Samuel, is elevated in Chronicles to a higher status, engraving him in the historical memory as a supreme king who combined the qualities of the nation’s great men, from primordial times to the author’s present—a king who represented God’s kingdom on earth.26

Jerusalem and Its Rivals This story is also significant with regard to the status of the temple, by adopting a firm position on the preeminence of Jerusalem as opposed to alternative temple sites. We know that, during the Second Temple period, despite the law centralizing the cult, there were a few other active temples to Yhwh, several of which will be listed. Aside from the temple on Mount Gerizim, which some archaeologists today are convinced was already active in the 5th century b.c.e.,27 there was a temple at Yeb (Elephantine),28 which was destroyed in 410 and rebuilt in 402 b.c.e. It is also thought that there may have been a temple, likewise called “the place,” in Casiphia in Babylonia (Ezra 8:17), from which Ezra brought the Levites to serve in the Jerusalem temple.29 In addition, Blenkinsopp maintains that Hag 2:14, Zech 7:1–3, and Jer 41:4–9 indicate that there was a temple in Bethel during the Persian period,30 and Vink is convinced that there was a temple in Deir ʿAlla in Transjordan, hinted at in Josh 22:9–34.31 I would confine myself to adding the temple at Leontopolis, possibly hinted at in Isa 19:19,32 and mentioned by Josephus (Ant. 12.387–88; 13.62– 73, 285; J.W. 1.31–33; 7.421–37), where Onias IV was the high priest and which was destroyed by the Romans in 74 c.e. Though this temple was built in 168 b.c.e.—that is, long after the book of Chronicles had 26. On the perception of God’s kingdom in the book of Chronicles, see Japhet 1989: 395–411. 27.  Magen 1990; Stern and Magen 2002; see also Naʾaman 1993. 28.  Cowley 1923: nos. 13, 30. 29. See Brockington (1969: 100), who asks: “Does this mean a sanctuary of some sort?” However, Blenkinsopp (1988: 165–66) is convinced that “It must have been the site of a cultic establishment of some kind, and the peculiar construction ‘Casiphia the place’, repeated twice in the same verse, recalls the Deuteronomic use of ‘place’ for temple. . . . This in its turn has raised the question whether the Babylonian exiles, like their co-religionists in Elephantine, worshipped in their own temple.” There is also speculation that Zech 5:5–11 refers to a temple in Babylon, because of the wording, “a shrine for it in the land of Shinar.” 30.  Blenkinsopp 1998; 2003; and see also Schwartz 1985. 31.  Vink 1969: 74–75; on Josh 22:9–34 as a polemic against temples that are located outside God’s territory, see Dinnur 2006. 32. See Skinner 1915: 158–61.

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been written—it does demonstrate the multiplicity of temples and their persistence.33 The existence of temples rival to the temple in Jerusalem, not only in the Chronicler’s time (early 4th century b.c.e.), but before and after him, explains the need to depict Jerusalem as the sole legitimate temple of the one God Yhwh, especially vis-à-vis Gibeon, with its tradition of sacred cult objects (1 Chr 21:29) and, even more, Bethel, with its tradition of primordial sanctity.

Shaping the Memory This dispute over temples explains why the Chronicler felt it necessary to establish conclusively that the Jerusalem temple was also Mount Moriah, thereby dismissing any interpretation linking the binding of Isaac with the temple on Mount Gerizim,34 and chose to open the story of the building of the temple in Solomon’s reign (2 Chr 3:1) by emphasizing the triple link of the Temple Mount with Mount Moriah and Araunah’s threshing floor. This interpretation of the Chronicler shaped the historical memory. The author of the book of Jubilees had already written, in reference to the binding of Isaac, that the name Abraham gave the place was Mount Zion (18:13). Josephus, who recounted the story based on the sequence in Samuel added, “It so happened that it was the very place to which Abraham brought his son to be sacrificed” (Ant. 7.333). And most commentators follow suit to this day.

Conclusion In the absence of other testimonies, we must conclude that it was the Chronicler’s version of the story about David’s purchase of Araunah’s threshing floor that established the view that the Temple Mount was the site of the binding of Isaac and of the divine manifestation and salvation at Araunah’s threshing floor. By turning the story of this acquisition from an almost marginal addendum into a key element in the status of Jerusalem vis-à-vis its rivals, and by loading the story with many allusions to the leading figures of the nation’s epic, the Chronicler made a major contribution to the position of Jerusalem in Jewish monotheistic civilization and its

33.  This list could be continued, but because this essay deals only with the Jerusalem  temple, the above will suffice. 34.  This kind of interpretation began in the days of the Second Temple; see also the Samaritans’ version of Genesis 22.

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inheritors.35 This tells us much about the power of an ideologically shaped story, the expectations it raises, and its capacity for designing history. 35.  Knoppers (2004: 760) declares: “Hence, the Chronicler construes the mandate to construct an altar at this particular location, not as an ad hominem emergency maneuver to avert divine wrath, but as a decisive turning-point in the history of Israelite religion.”

Bibliography Amit, Y. 2000 Hidden Polemics in Biblical Narrative. Leiden: Brill. 2001 Reading Biblical Narratives: Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible. Minneapolis: Fortress. Anderson, A. A. 1989 2 Samuel. WBC 11. Dallas: Word. Bar-Efrat, S. 1996 1 Samuel: Introduction and Commentary. Mikra Leyisraʾel. Tel Aviv: Am Oved / Jerusalem: Magnes. [Hebrew] 2004 Second Samuel: Introduction and Annotations. The Jewish Study Bible, ed. A. Berlin and M. Z. Brettler. New York: Oxford University Press. Blenkinsopp, J. 1988 Ezra–Nehemiah: A Commentary. OTL. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1998 The Judaean Priesthood during the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction. CBQ 60: 25–43. 2003 Bethel in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Pp.  93–107 in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Brockington, L. H. 1969 Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther. Century Bible. London: Nelson. Cross, F. M. 1964 The History of the Biblical Text in the Light of Discoveries in the Judean Desert. HTR 57: 281–99. Cowley, A. E. 1923 Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century b.c. Oxford: Clarendon. Dinnur, G. 2006 The Case of the Altar of the Two-and-a-Half Tribes (Josh 22:9–34): A Linguistic, Literary and Ideological Analysis. PhD dissertation, Tel-Aviv University. Hertzberg, H. W. 1964 1 and 2 Samuel. OTL. London: SCM. Japhet, S. 1989 The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought, trans. A. Barber. Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Repr. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009. 1993 1 and 2 Chronicles: A Commentary.OTL. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox.

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Klein, Ralph W. 2006 1 Chronicles: A Commentary. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress. Knoppers, G. 2004 I Chronicles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AB 12–12A. 2 vols. New York: Doubleday. Magen, Y. 1990 Mount Gerizim: A Temple City. Qadmoniot 23: 76–96. [Hebrew] McCarter, P. Kyle 1984 2 Samuel. AB 9. New York: Doubleday. Naʾaman, N. 1993 Shechem and Jerusalem in the Exilic and Restoration Period. Zion 58: 7–32. [Hebrew] Rofé, A. 1990 4QSama in the Light of Historic-Literary Criticism: The Case of 2 Sam 24 and 1 Chr 21. Pp. 109–20 in Biblische und judaistische Studien: Festschrift für Paolo Sacchi, ed. Angelo Vivian. Judentum und Umwelt 29. Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Rudolph, W. 1955 Chronikbücher. HAT. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Seeligmann, I. L. 1992 Etiological Elements in Biblical Historiography. Pp.  11–45 Studies in Biblical Literature, ed. A. Hurvitz, S.  Japhet, and E. Tov.  Jerusalem: Magnes, 1992. [Hebrew] Schwartz, J. 1985 Jubilees, Bethel and the Temple of Jacob. HUCA 56: 63–85. Skinner, J. 1915 The Book of the Prophet Isaiah, Chapters I–XXXIX. 2nd ed. Cambridge Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, H. P. 1899 The Books of Samuel. ICC. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Stern, E., and Magen, Y. 2002 Archaeological Evidence for the First Stage of the Samaritan Temple on Mt. Gerizim. IEJ 52: 49–57. Vink, J. G. 1969 The Date and Origin of the Priestly Code in the Old Testament. OtSt 15. Leiden: Brill. Williamson, H. G. M. 1982 1 and 2 Chronicles. NCB. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1982.

The Chronicler and the Prophets: Who Were His Authoritative Sources? Louis Jonker Stellenbosch University

Introduction It is common to find remarks in commentaries and other studies 1 on Chronicles about the very peculiar fact that so many new prophetic faces appear in these books. Although a handful of known prophets also appear, the majority of the prophetic figures are not known from any other sources—inside or outside the Hebrew Bible! It is an ambiguous picture of prophecy that we get from Chronicles: on the one hand, it seems that the phenomenon of prophecy was held in high esteem by the Chronicler, who draws on prophetic voices every now and then in his reconstructions of the past. But on the other hand, our Author’s note: This revised version of the paper delivered at the European Association of Biblical Studies Meeting, Lisbon, Portugal, in August 2008 was already published in SJOT 22 (2008) 271–92. My gratitude goes to the editor of this journal, Prof. N.‑P.  Lemche, for giving permission to republish the article in the present volume. Prof. H.-J.  Stipp (Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, Munich) provided valuable comments on a draft version of this article, particularly on the Jeremiah scholarship included here. I hereby acknowledge his input with gratitude but also confirm that all misappropriations are my own responsibility. 1.  To mention but a few individual studies: J. Kegler, “Prophetengestalten im Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk und in den Chronikbüchern: Ein Beitrag zur Kompositions- und Redaktionsgeschichte der Chronikbücher,” ZAW 105 (1993) 481–97; W.  M.  Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995); idem, “Prophets and Prophecy in the Books of Chronicles,” in The Chronicler as Historian (JSOTSup 238; ed. M.  P.  Graham et al.; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997) 204–24; A. Hanspach, Inspirierte Interpreten: Das Prophetenverständnis der Chronik­ bücher und sein Ort in der Religion und Literatur zur Zeit des zweiten Tempels (Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im Alten Testament 64; St. Ottilien: EOS, 2000); E. S. Gerstenberger, “Prophetie in den Chronikbüchern: Jahwes Wort in zweierlei Gestalt?” in Schriftprophetie: FS für Jörg Jeremias zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. F. Hartenstein et al.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2004) 351–67.

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expectations of numerous allusions to and quotations from the known prophetic writings are not met by Chronicles. This particular portrayal of prophets in the books of Chronicles has prompted many scholarly theories about the end of prophecy, or at least about the changed role of prophets in the Second Temple period. 2 This leads me to ask the following questions: What were the authoritative sources of the Chronicler in terms of prophetic voices? What does the incidence of prophetic voices in Chronicles tell us about the process of biblical writings’ gaining authoritative status? And what does this tell us about the Chronicler’s own claim to authority? In what follows, I will provide a very short overview of the references to prophetic activity in Chronicles, showing what issues these references have raised in scholarship. After this, I will look more closely at one particular prophetic presence in Chronicles: the prophet Jeremiah. Refraining from drawing overly bold conclusions from the available textual data, I will try to show that the references at the end of Chronicles, in 2 Chr 36:15–22, are particulary significant in terms of the authoritative sources used by the Chronicler. In the last part, I will offer certain preliminary conclusions.

References to Prophetic Activity in Chronicles A few good classifications of prophetic references in Chronicles have been published in the past decade or two, 3 and it is unnecessary to repeat a full analysis here. However, in order to facilitate our further discussion, I will provide a brief categorization of prophets mentioned in Chronicles. Known Prophets Only two of the prophets whose literary works are included in the Hebrew Bible feature in Chronicles, namely, Isaiah and Jeremiah. In another contribution, 4 I have shown that Isaiah is significantly “downscaled” by the Chronicler. Whereas the prophet plays an active role in the Deuteronomistic version of Hezekiah’s reign (in 2 Kings 19–20), the Chronicler mentions Isaiah only three times in passing in his version. In one case, 2  Chr 32:20, the Chronicler indicates that Hezekiah and Isaiah prayed to Yahweh in the face of the Assyrian threat of Sennacherib 2.  See particularly J.  Blenkinsopp, “‘We Pay No Heed to Heavenly Voices’: The ‘End of Prophecy’ and the Formation of the Canon,” in Treasures Old and New: Essays in the Theology of the Pentateuch (ed. J.  Blenkinsopp; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004) 192–207; and Gerstenberger, “Prophetie in den Chronikbüchern.” 3.  See again Kegler, “Prophetengestalten”; Schniedewind, The Word of God; idem, “Prophets and Prophecy”; Hanspach, Inspirierte Interpreten. 4. See my “Who Constitutes Society? Yehud’s Self-Understanding in the Late Persian Era as reflected in the Books of Chronicles,” JBL 127 (2008) 707–28.

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(while 2 Kings 19 and Isaiah 32 both mention only the prayer of Hezekiah). In the other two cases, 2 Chr 26:22 and 32:32, Isaiah is mentioned as an additional source of information on the reigns of Uzziah and Hezekiah, respectively—again differing from the Vorlage in 2  Kgs 15:6 and 20:20. Whether these notices in Chronicles refer to the written book of Isaiah or a pre-stage thereof will remain open to scholarly speculation. Jeremiah appears four times. The first occurrence is in the Chronicler’s death notice of King Josiah. Jeremiah does not feature as a prophetic figure there but, rather, is mentioned as the composer of a lament for the death of the king (2 Chr 35:25). This reference is absent in the Deuteronomistic Vorlage (2 Kgs 23:28–30). The next instance is in 2 Chr 36:12, where Zedekiah is portrayed as an evil king who did not humble himself before the prophet Jeremiah, who spoke the word of Yahweh. Peculiarly enough, this reference is not present in the Deuteronomistic Vorlage (2 Kgs 24:18–20) nor in the parallel account in the prophetic book of Jeremiah (Jer 52:1–3). The third reference to Jeremiah appears in connection with the exile in 2 Chr 36:21. No specific prophetic designation is used there with reference to Jeremiah, but the Babylonian Exile is indicated by the Chronicler as a fulfillment of the word of Yahweh spoken by Jeremiah. The last reference appears in the next verse (2 Chr 36:22), where the Chronicler indicates that the stirring up of Cyrus’s spirit by Yahweh and the resultant promulgation of the edict that allowed the exiles to return to their land was also in fulfillment of the word of Yahweh spoken through Jeremiah. These references will be examined in more detail below. Prophets Mentioned in the Deuteronomistic Vorlage Quite a number of prophetic traditions were taken over from the Deuteronomistic Vorlage, although the majority of these have been significantly modified. The following prophetic traditions 5 were used more or less without changes: Nathan (1  Chronicles 17 || 2  Samuel 7), Gad (1  Chronicles 21 || 2  Samuel 24), Ahijah the Shilonite (2  Chronicles 10 || 1 Kings 15), 6 Shemaiah (2 Chronicles 11 || 1 Kings 12), Micaiah ben Imla (2 Chronicles 18 || 1 Kings 22), Anonymous prophets of Israel (2 Chronicles 18 || 1 Kings 22) and Hulda (2 Chronicles 34 || 2 Kings 22). The following prophetic figures are also known from the Deuteronomistic Vorlage, but the Chronicler’s references to these figures bear little or no relation to the Vorlage, and significantly different portrayals of 5. I am making use of Kegler’s classification here (Kegler, “Prophetengestalten,” 484–87). 6.  Kegler (“Prophetengestalten,” 486) categorizes Ahijah from Shilo differently. However, the Chronicler has used in a fairly unchanged way (2 Chr 10:15) the reference to Ahijah in 1 Kgs 15:29.

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the prophets are offered: 7 Samuel (1 Chr 6:12, 9:22, 11:3, 26:28, 29:29; 2  Chr 35:18), Nathan (1  Chr 29:29; 2  Chr 9:29, 29:25), Gad (1  Chr 29:29, 2 Chr 29:25), Ahijah the Shilonite (2 Chr 9:29), Shemaiah (2 Chr 12:5), and Elijah (2 Chr 21:12). Prophets Introduced by the Chronicler The following prophetic figures mentioned by the Chronicler are not known from other sources, inside or outside the Hebrew Bible: Iddo (2 Chr 9:29, 12:15, 13:22), Azariah, the son of Oded (2 Chr 15:8, 28:9), Hanani (2 Chr 16:7, 10), Jehu, the son of Hanani (2 Chr 19:2), the Levite Jahaziel, the son of Zechariah (2 Chr 20:14), Eliezer (2 Chr 20:37), Zechariah, the son of Jehoiada (2  Chr 24:20), as well as a number of anonymous prophets (2  Chr 20:20, 25; 29:25; 33:18–19). In another contribution, 8 I have shown that the majority of these prophetic figures are closely linked in the narratives either to battle accounts or to cultic reform measures. Levites as Prophets There are quite a few references associating Levites with prophetic functions: Asaph (1 Chronicles 25; 2 Chr 29:30), Heman (1 Chronicles 25), Jeduthun (1 Chronicles 25), and Jahaziel (2 Chr 20:14). Figures Mentioned in the Vorlage but Not as Prophets This interesting category consists of a few different figures: Moses, called “the man of God,” is mentioned twice (in 1 Chr 23:14, 2 Chr 30:16), although not with explicit reference to a prophetic function. These instances were probably picked up from the deuteronomic tradition of portraying Moses as the proto-prophet. David is once (in 2 Chr 8:14) called a “man of God,” although there is again no explicit prophetic function involved. Two instances are often added by scholars to this category: Neco of Egypt (in 2 Chr 35:20) and Cyrus of Persia (in 2 Chr 36:22). In Neco’s case, the text does not call him any of the terms associated with prophetic figures, 7. Ibid., “Prophetengestalten” 486: “Einige Prophetengestalten aus dem Deute­ ronomistischen Geschichtswerk werden in den Chronikbüchern mit ihren Namen erwähnt, aber so eigenständig akzentuiert, dass ein anderes Prophetenbild gezeichnet bzw. eine andere Darstellung ihrer Funktion gegeben wird . . .” (ET: Some prophetic figures from the Deuteronomistic History are mentioned by name in Chronicles, but they are portrayed in such an independent way that another image of the prophet arises or the figure is given another function . . .). 8. See my “Refocusing the Battle Accounts of the Kings: Identity Formation in the Books of Chronicles,” in Behutsames Lese: Alttestamentliche Exegese im Gespräch mit Literaturwissenschaft und Kulturwissenschaften (ed. A. Ruwe et al.; Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 28; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlag, 2007) 245–74.

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but the Chronicler indicates that Neco spoke on behalf of God to Josiah. In the case of Cyrus, however, there is explicit mention of Yahweh’s stirring the spirit of Cyrus, and the Persian emperor’s then speaking on behalf of Yahweh. 9

Issues Raised in Scholarship The picture presented above raises many difficult issues in Chronicles scholarship in particular but also in scholarship on Israelite prophecy in general. 10 A short summary of two of these issues that have an impact on my argument and conclusions will be provided here. Do We Witness Here the End of Prophecy? Some scholars have argued that the phenomenon of prophecy that was so vibrant in monarchical Israel and Judah ended with the exile and almost completely faded away during the Second Temple period. 11 This view would then provide an explanation for the fact that classical prophets do not really feature in Chronicles (apart from the few passing references to Isaiah and Jeremiah). It would also account for the problem that prophetic terminology is used almost haphazardly in Chronicles. However, the view that prophecy ended with the exile or early in the Second Temple period would not explain why the Chronicler, probably writing in the late Persian or early Hellenistic period, was so fond of introducing prophetic figures into his Vorlage—some of these figures are even completely new, as we have seen above.

9.  For a discussion of the instances in which “foreign monarchs speak” in Chron­ icles, see E. Ben Zvi, “When the Foreign Monarch Speaks,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (ed. M.  P.  Graham and S.  L.  McKenzie; JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 209–28; reprinted in E. Ben Zvi, History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles (Bible World; London: Equinox, 2006) 270–88. 10.  See, for instance, J. Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995); idem, A History of Prophecy in Israel (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983); Gerstenberger, “Prophetie in den Chronikbüchern”; L.  L.  Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of the Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1995); idem, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period (Library of Second Temple Studies 47; London: T. & T. Clark, 2004). 11.  For a discussion of the different views on this issue, see, for instance, D. L. Petersen, “The Temple in Persian Period Prophetic Texts,” in Second Temple Studies, vol. 1: Persian Period (ed. P. R. Davies; JSOTSup 117; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991) 125–44; Schniedewind, “Prophets and Prophecy.”

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It seems, however, that a consensus is slowly growing among scholars 12 that prophecy probably did not end with the exile or the early Second Temple period. It seems, rather, that prophecy was probably transformed and that it had another function in society than what it had before. However, the phenomenon continued throughout the Second Temple period into the Christian era. A recent view on this issue that could be significant for my argument here is the one expressed by Erhard Gerstenberger. 13 He attempts to answer the following burning question: “(N)ach allem, was wir über die Verkündigung des Gotteswortes wissen (vgl. bes. Nehemiah 8) war im nachexilischen Juda schon längst die ‘Lesung’ der Tora üblich. Wie kann dazu der mündliche Vortrag prophetischer Mittler stimmen? Oder hat es bereits Verlesungen prophetischer Texte gegeben?” 14 After his analysis of the prophetic occurrences in Chronicles, he comes to the conclusion that, according to the Chronicler’s view, the Mosaic Torah and prophetic utterances were qualitatively the same. Gerstenberger argues: Das Prophetische sollte weder formal noch inhaltlich, noch qualitativ von den Tora-Vorschriften Jahwes abgesetzt werden. Oder: Die Tora, die ja Mitteilung des Gotteswillens durch Mose, den Gottesmann, war, unterschied sich höchstens situativ von der aktuellen Prophetenrede. Qualitativ waren Mose-Tora und aktuelle Prophetenrede einander gleich: Sie waren autoritatives Jahwe-Wort. 15 12. See Blenkinsopp, “We Pay No Heed,” 199: As a matter of historical fact as opposed to theory, prophetic activity did in fact continue after the time when, according to the thesis, it should have passed from the scene. Some of the older biblical commentators spoke of prophecy drying up after the Babylonian exile, but they omitted to explain why it dried up then rather than at some other time. In Judaism charismatic and prophetic phenomena continued throughout the rabbinic period down into the Middle Ages and beyond in counterpoint to the repeated assertion of the demise of prophecy. . . . The “end of prophecy” thesis cannot therefore be explained as an account of what actually happened to prophecy, but it is itself a historical datum calling for an explanation in the context of wide-ranging political and social changes in the late biblical period. To grasp these changes and their effects may bring us closer to understanding how the idea of canonical texts emerged within the biblical period.”

13. See Gerstenberger, “Prophetie in den Chronikbüchern.” 14. Ibid., 357. (ET: According to what we know about the proclamation of the word of God [see in particular Nehemiah 8], the “reading” of the Torah was customary in postexilic Judah. How should we relate the oral proclamation by prophetic voices to this? Or should we assume that prophetic texts were already read?) 15.  Ibid., 364. (ET: Prophecy should not be distinguished—either in terms of content or qualitatively—from Yahweh’s Torah stipulations. Or: The Torah, which was the communication of God’s will to Moses, the man of God, can only be distinguished from the prophetic utterances on a situational basis. Qualitatively, the Moses Torah and prophetic utterances were on a par. They were an authoritative word of Yahweh.)

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The implication of this view is therefore that, during the time of the Chronicler, prophetic utterances were already seen as a second revelatory medium for Yahweh’s word. Gerstenberger takes his argument still further by arguing that this is an indication that different written-down traditions could be assumed during the Chronicler’s period: Eine oder mehrere Sammlung(en) von ‘Büchern’ mit Traditionsstoffen (Erzählungen; Normsammlungen; Gebeten; Hymnen; Prophetenworten; Spruchmaterial usw.) ist/sind in jedem Fall für die judäische Gemeinde anzunehmen. Die Verschriftlichung von Traditionen zur Identitätssicherung lag in der Luft. 16

Gerstenberger admits that one should not have too rigid a view on the canonical fixing of Holy Scriptures in this period: “In der frühen Geschichte der canones hat es durchaus verschiedene Stadien und Grade von redak­ tioneller und theologischer Abgeschlossenheit und lokalen Sonderentwicklungen gegeben.” 17 He therefore considers two possible scenarios for the Chronicler’s time:   (a) Eine lebendige Prophetie hätte sich in der Perserzeit im Rahmen von Tora-Ordnung, Gemeindestruktur, gottesdienstlicher Versammlung in den homilie-artigen Reden geäussert. 18   (b) Die Prophetenrede lag auch den Chronisten schon in schriftlichen Sammlungen von Prophetenerzählungen und Prophetsprüchen vor. Dann wäre in der über die dtr. Schichten hinausgehende Geltung der Prophetenrede als Gotteswort ein Zeichen für einen vorhandenen, entstehenden, schon gottesdienstlich benutzten Prophetenkanon gesetzt. . . . Wir hätten dann in der chronistischen Wertschätzung prophetischer Rede einen indirekten Hinweis auf die Anfänge der verschrifteten Prophetentraditionen vor uns, der in der dtr. Literatur noch vollkommen fehlt. 19

16.  Ibid., 366. (ET: One or more collection[s] of ‘books’ with traditional materials [narratives; collections of norms; prayers; hymns; prophetic words; proverbial material, etc.] may in any case be assumed for the Judaic congregation. The writing down of traditions for the purpose of identity formation was in vogue.) 17. Ibid., 366. (ET: In the early history of the canonical collections, there were always different stages and grades of redactional and theological closure, as well as local developments.) 18.  Ibid., 366. (ET: A dynamic tradition of prophecy probably made use of utterances in homily style during the Persian era within the framework of the Torah order, congregational structure, and worship meetings.) 19.  Ibid., 366–67. (ET: Prophetic utterances were also available to the Chron­icler in written collections of prophetic narratives and proverbs. In that case, the prophetic utterances that are regarded as word of God in sections beyond the Deuteronomistic layers in the text, an indication of a prophetic canon that was available, emerging, and used in religious practice. .  .  . In the Chronicler’s valuation of prophetic utterances,

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I will engage with this view again below when I will formulate my own conclusions at the end of this study. At this stage, however, it should be said that the lack of any textual evidence to prove such a written tradition of prophetic utterances and proverbs as an explanation for the many new prophetic voices in Chronicles speaks against Gerstenberger’s view. Although my argument will not be much different from his, I would rather solicit support from available textual evidence. Prophecy and Cult A second issue often debated on account of the prophetic picture in Chronicles is whether prophecy had become integrated into the cult during the Second Temple period. 20 The main argument advanced by scholars supporting this position is the fact that the Levitical priests (or at least, the Levitical priests represented by Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun) are indicated in 1 Chronicles 25 to have prophesied with their musical instruments. Grabbe, after evaluating this and other arguments on the issue, comes to the following conclusion: Some of these arguments carry more weight than others. . . . Still, the existence of cult prophets is now accepted throughout scholarship, and the real debate revolves around whether any of the written prophets arose from cult prophets. . . . One cannot deny the close association that figures like Isaiah and Jeremiah had with the temple. 21

Whether Grabbe’s observation will be valuable for our view of the prophets in Chronicles remains to be seen below.

Jeremiah in Chronicles This brings us then to the detailed analysis of one particular prophetic presence in Chronicles: Jeremiah. The argument that I would like to advance in this section is that—apart from the prophetic images taken over from the Deuteronomistic Vorlage—there is only one instance where textual evidence is available for consideration, which is the case of Jeremiah. I would therefore like to concentrate on 2 Chr 36:15–23, since the presence of Jeremiah in these closing sections of the book seems to be quite significant.

we encounter an indirect indication of the initial stages of written prophetic traditions, something that is still absent in the Deuteronomistic literature.) 20. See discussions in Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, 112–13; Blenkinsopp, Geschichte der Prophetie, 226–29; E. S. Gerstenberger, “Ausblick,” in Geschichte der Prophetie in Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zum hellenistischen Zeitalter (ed. J. Blenkinsopp; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1998) 266–90. 21.  Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, 113.

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153

2 Chr 36:15–21 is the Chronicler’s account of the fall of Jerusalem and the exile: ‫לֹוח ִכּי־ ָחמַל עַל־עַּמֹו‬ ַ ‫ׁש‬ ָ ‫ַש ֵכּם ְו‬ ְׁ ‫בי ַד מ ְַל ָאכָיו ה‬ ּ ְ ‫ִׁשלַח יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵי אֲבֹותֵ יהֶם עֲלֵיהֶם‬ ְ ‫ ַוּי‬15 16 ‫ְבאָיו‬ ִ ‫בנ‬ ּ ִ ‫ּומּתַ ְע ְּת ִעים‬ ִ ‫דבָרָיו‬ ּ ְ ‫אכֵי ָהאֱל ִֹהים ּובֹוזִים‬ ֲ ‫במ ְַל‬ ּ ְ ‫ִהיּו מ ְַל ִע ִבים‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ַל־מעֹונֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ְוע‬ ְ ‫ ַוּיַעַל עֲלֵיהֶם אֶת־ ֶמל‬17 ‫ַד־לאֵין מ ְַרּפֵא׃‬ ‫ּש ִׂדּים ַוּיַהֲרֹג‬ ְ ‫ֶך ַכ‬ ְ ‫חמַת־יְהוָה ְּבעַּמֹו ע‬ ֲ ‫עַד עֲלֹות‬ ‫ָשׁש הַכֹּל נָתַ ן‬ ֵ ׁ ‫ּובתּולָה זָקֵן ְוי‬ ְ ‫ּשם ְולֹא ָחמַל עַל־ ָבּחּור‬ ָׁ ‫ַבּחּורֵיהֶם ַּב ֶחרֶב ְבּבֵית ִמ ְק ָד‬ ְ‫ ְוכֹל ְ ּכלֵי ֵבּית ָהאֱל ִֹהים ַהּגְד ִֹלים ְוה ְַּק ַטּנִים ְוא ֹ ְצרֹות ֵבּית יְהוָה ְוא ֹ ְצרֹות ַה ֶּמלֶך‬18 ‫ְּביָדֹו׃‬ ָׂ ‫ְו‬ ‫ָם‬ ִ ‫ְרּוׁשל‬ ָ ‫ִׂש ְרפּו אֶת־ ֵבּית ָהאֱל ִֹהים ַו ְינ ְַּתצּו אֵת חֹומַת י‬ ְ ‫ ַוּי‬19 ‫שרָיו הַכֹּל ה ִֵביא ָבבֶל׃‬ 20 ׁ ‫ַּׁשאִֵרית ִמן־‬ ְ ‫ַש ִחית׃ ס   ַוּיֶגֶל ה‬ ְ ‫חמֶַּדי ָה ְלה‬ ֲ ‫ָל־כלֵי ַמ‬ ּ ְ ‫ש ְׂרפּו ָבאֵׁש ְוכ‬ ָ ‫נֹותי ָה‬ ֶ ‫ְוכָל־א ְַר ְמ‬ ‫דבַר־‬ ּ ְ ‫ למַלֹּאות‬ ְ 21 ‫ַד־מל ְֹך מ ְַלכּות ָפּרָס׃‬ ְ ‫ָדים ע‬ ִ ‫ּול ָבנָיו ַלעֲב‬ ְ ‫ִהיּו־לֹו‬ ְ ‫בבֶל ַוּי‬ ּ ָ ‫ַה ֶחרֶב אֶל־‬ ‫ָתה ְלמַלֹּאות‬ ָ ‫שב‬ ָׁ ‫תֹותי ָה ָכּל־ ְימֵי הָּׁשַ ּמָה‬ ֶ ‫ָצ ָתה ָה ָארֶץ אֶת־ׁשַ ְּב‬ ְ ‫יְהוָה ְב ִּפי י ְִר ְמיָהּו עַד־ר‬ ‫שנָה׃‬ ָׁ ‫ִׁש ְב ִעים‬ 15

The Lord, the God of their ancestors, sent persistently to them by his messengers, because he had compassion on his people and on his dwelling place; 16 but they kept mocking the messengers of God, despising his words, and scoffing at his prophets, until the wrath of the Lord against his people became so great that there was no remedy. 17 Therefore he brought up against them the king of the Chaldeans, who killed their youths with the sword in the house of their sanctuary, and had no compassion on young man or young woman, the aged or the feeble; he gave them all into his hand. 18 All the vessels of the house of God, large and small, and the treasures of the house of the Lord, and the treasures of the king and of his officials, all these he brought to Babylon. 19 They burned the house of God, broke down the wall of Jerusalem, burned all its palaces with fire, and destroyed all its precious vessels. 20 He took into exile in Babylon those who had escaped from the sword, and they became servants to him and to his sons until the establishment of the kingdom of Persia, 21 to fulfill the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah, until the land had made up for its sabbaths. All the days that it lay desolate it kept sabbath, to fulfill seventy years. (nrsv)

The reason for the exile is indicated in vv. 15–16: the people of Yahweh, the God of their ancestors, ignored the persistent outreach of Yahweh to them through ‫‘ מ ְַל ָאכָיו‬his messengers’ and “kept mocking the messengers of God” and “scoffing” ‫ְבאָיו‬ ִ ‫‘ ִּבנ‬at his prophets’. Therefore, the wrath of Yahweh came upon his people. Verses 17–21 then continue to narrate the killing of the youths, the aged, and the feeble as well as the plundering and destruction of the temple and Jerusalem by the Chaldeans. These verses tell that the people were taken into exile to Babylon, where they served until the emergence of the Persian power. This happened, 22 according 22.  I have argued elsewhere (L. C. Jonker, “The Exile as Sabbath Rest: The Chronicler’s Interpretation of the Exile,” OTE 20 [2007] 708) that the emergence of the Persian power is seen as the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy, not so much the destruction

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to the Chronicler, in fulfillment of Yahweh’s prophecy through Jeremiah, until 70 years were fulfilled. The next two verses then link the restoration under the Persian Empire to Jeremiah’s prophecy: ְ ‫ּוב ְׁשנַת ַאחַת ְלכֹורֶׁש ֶמל‬ ‫דבַר־יְהוָה ְב ִּפי י ְִר ְמיָהּו ה ִֵעיר יְהוָה אֶת־רּו ַח‬ ּ ְ ‫ֶך ּפָרַ ס ִל ְכלֹות‬ ִ 22 ְ 23 ְ ‫ּכֹורֶׁש ֶמלֶך־ּפָרַ ס ַוּיַעֲבֶר־קֹול ְּבכָל־מ ְַלכּותֹו ְוג‬ ‫ַם־ּב ִמ ְכ ָּתב לֵאמֹר׃ ס כֹּה־ ָאמַר ּכֹורֶׁש‬ ְ ‫ֶמל‬ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְוהּוא־פָקַ ד ָעלַי ִל ְבנֹות־לֹו‬ ָ ‫ֶך ָפּרַ ס ּכָל־מ ְַמ ְלכֹות ָה ָארֶץ נָתַ ן ִלי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵי ה‬ ‫ּיהּודה ִמי־ ָבכֶם ִמּכָל־עַּמֹו יְהוָה אֱלֹהָיו ִעּמֹו ְויָעַל׃‬ ָ ‫ֲשר ִב‬ ֶׁ ‫ירּוׁשל ִַם א‬ ָ ‫ַביִת ִּב‬ 22

In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, in fulfillment of the word of the Lord spoken by Jeremiah, the Lord stirred up the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia so that he sent a herald throughout all his kingdom and also declared in a written edict: 23 “Thus says King Cyrus of Persia: 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. Whoever is among you of all his people, may the Lord his God be with him! Let him go up.” (nrsv)

The fact that Yahweh “stirred up the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia” to make the proclamation that began the return of the exiles and the rebuilding of their temple in Jerusalem is indicated by the Chronicler to be a fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy. In another contribution, in which I showed how v. 21 especially is without doubt an allusion to (or even a quotation from) Lev 26:34–35, 43, I have engaged with scholars who see in this section the instigation of the so-called “myth of the empty land.” 23 The focus, however, is not on that particular aspect here. Only one aspect of that study must be observed here, which is the fact that the concept of ‫‘ הָּׁשַ ּמָה‬desolation’ links v. 21 not only to the Leviticus texts but also to Jeremiah. Not only does this concept occur in Jer 25:11, more than half of all occurrences of the noun in the Hebrew Bible are in the book of Jeremiah (spread over all the layers that make up the book)! 24

and exile. See also the discussion of the parallel passage in Ezra 1:1 in S. Frolov, “The Prophecy of Jeremiah in Esr 1,1,” ZAW 116 (2004) 595–601. 23.  Jonker, “The Exile as Sabbath Rest.” 24.  Twenty-three out of 41 occurrences of the concept are in Jeremiah, according to a Stuttgart Electronic Study Bible search. The noun ‫ הָּׁשַ ּמָה‬can also be taken as a Hophal infinitive of √  ‫ׁשמם‬. The vocalization would be right, although one would not expect a dagesh in the ‫ ׁש‬then. In the case of a noun form, the dagesh in the ‫ ׁש‬would be right, but one would then expect a qameṣ under the ‫ה‬. I am, however, of the opinion that the vocalization should be corrected in this case, and that it should be taken as a noun. The distribution in Jeremiah of verbs with the root √‫ ׁשמם‬shows a similar pattern to the noun distribution. There are 11 occurrences (out of 90 in the Hebrew Bible) distributed over all layers of the book of Jeremiah.

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155

Another significant similarity in terms of language in the closing verses of Chronicles compared with Jeremiah is the use of the so-called Unermüdlichkeitsformel (that is, ‘indefatigability formula’) recognizable in the expression ‫לֹוח‬ ַ ‫ׁש‬ ָ ‫ַׁשּכֵם ְו‬ ְ ‫ ה‬in 2 Chr 36:15. This combination occurs 13 times in the Hebrew Bible: in 1 Sam 17:16, 11 times in Jeremiah, and here in our passage. 25 Again, the distribution of this formula in Jeremiah is visible in all textual layers. However, there is even stronger evidence in favor of a textual link between this section in Chronicles and Jeremiah. The expression ‘to fulfill seventy years’ (‫ׁש ְב ִעים‬ ִ ‫)ׁשנָה ְלמַּלֹאות‬ ָ is a very rare expression in the Hebrew Bible. The combination of ‫ מלא‬with ‫ׁש ְב ִעים‬ ִ ‫ׁשנָה‬ ָ occurs only four times in the entire Hebrew Bible: here in 2 Chr 36:21, but also in Jer 25:12, 29:10; and Dan 9:2. 26 Jeremiah 25:12 ְ ‫ֶפק ֹד עַל־ ֶמל‬ ‫ֶך־ ָּבבֶל ְועַל־הַּגֹוי הַהּוא ְנאֻם־יְהוָה אֶת־‬ ְ ‫ׁשנָה א‬ ָ ‫ׁש ְב ִעים‬ ִ ‫ִ‍מלֹאות‬ ְ ‫ ְו ָהיָה כ‬12 ‫ׁש ְממֹות עֹולָם‬ ִ ‫ַׂש ִּדים ְוׂשַ ְמ ִּתי אֹתֹו ְל‬ ְ ‫עֲֹונָם ְועַל־ ֶארֶץ ּכ‬ 12

Then after seventy years are completed, I will punish the king of Babylon and that nation, the land of the Chaldeans, for their iniquity, says the Lord, making the land an everlasting waste. (nrsv)

Jeremiah 29:10 ‫ֲקמ ִֹתי עֲלֵיכֶם‬ ִ ‫ֶתכֶם ַוה‬ ְ ‫ֶפק ֹד א‬ ְ ‫ׁשנָה א‬ ָ ‫ׁש ְב ִעים‬ ִ ‫ ִּכי־כֹה ָאמַר יְהוָה ִּכי ְל ִפי ְמלֹאת ְל ָבבֶל‬10 ‫ֶתכֶם אֶל־ ַהּמָקֹום ַהּזֶה׃‬ ְ ‫ָׁשיב א‬ ִ ‫ָרי הַּטֹוב ְלה‬ ִ‫ֶת־ּדב‬ ְ ‫א‬ 10 For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. (nrsv)

Daniel 9:2 ‫ַׂש ִּדים׃‬ ְ ‫ָמל ְַך עַל מ ְַלכּות ּכ‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר ה‬ ֶ ‫ָדי א‬ ָ ‫ַׁשוֵרֹוׁש ִמּזֶרַ ע מ‬ ְ ‫אח‬ ֲ ‫ׁשנַת ַאחַת ְל ָד ְריָוֶׁש ּבֶן־‬ ְ ‫ ִּב‬1 ‫ֲׁשר ָהיָה ְדבַר־ יְהוָה‬ ֶ ‫ַּׁשנִים א‬ ָ ‫ָרים ִמ ְסּפַר ה‬ ִ‫אנִי ָּד ִנּיֵאל ִּבינ ִֹתי ּב ְַּספ‬ ֲ ‫ָלכֹו‬ ְ ‫ׁשנַת ַאחַת ְלמ‬ ְ ‫ ּב‬ ִ 2 (BHS) ‫ׁשנָה׃‬ ָ ‫ׁש ְב ִעים‬ ִ ‫ְרּוׁשל ִַם‬ ָ ‫ָרבֹות י‬ ְ ‫ָביא ְלמַּלאֹות ְלח‬ ִ ‫אֶל־י ְִר ִמיָה ַהּנ‬ 1 In the first year of Darius son of Ahasuerus, by birth a Mede, who became king over the realm of the Chaldeans—2 in the first year of his reign, I, Daniel, perceived in the books the number of years that, according to the word of the Lord to the prophet Jeremiah, must be fulfilled for the devastation of Jerusalem, namely, seventy years. (nrsv)

25. See H.-J. Stipp, Deutero-Jeremianische Konkordanz (Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im Alten Testament 63; St. Ottilien: EOS, 1998) 131–32. 26.  Ibid., 126.

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This peculiarity is meaningful for our discussion on the authoritative sources of Chronicles in the late Persian period. Scholars would certainly not disagree that the Jeremiah references have chronological primacy, and that the Chronicles and Daniel references deliberately allude to the Jeremianic usage. However, the matter is complicated by the very complex textual history of the book of Jeremiah. 27 The LXX version of Jer 25:11– 12 makes evident the difficulty here: 11 καὶ ἔσται πᾶσα ἡ γῆ εἰς ἀφανισμόν, καὶ δουλεύσουσιν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἑβ­ δομή­κοντα ἔτη. 12 καὶ ἐν τῷ πληρωθῆναι τὰ ἑβδομήκοντα ἔτη ἐκδικήσω τὸ ἔθνος ἐκεῖνο, φησὶν κύριος, καὶ θήσομαι αὐτοὺς εἰς ἀφανισμὸν αἰώνιον (LXX) 11 And all the land shall be a desolation, and they shall serve among the nations for seventy years. 12 And when seventy years are completed I will take revenge on that nation and put them to eternal desolation. (trans. Aejmelaeus) 28

The LXX version (which is associated with the Alexandrian tradition) still has the equivalent of our unique expression “to fulfill seventy years.” However, scholars have called attention to the fact that the shorter LXX text (not only here but also in other instances) omitted explicit reference to the Babylonians. This does not mean that the presence of the Babylonians can no longer be detected in the texts. We will return to this point below. An analysis of the different relations within which the expression “to fulfill seventy years” stands in these different texts could be helpful at this point (see table, top of p. 157). In MT Jer 25:11–12, the “fulfillment of seventy years” expression introduces the aftermath of the nations’ servitude to Babylon’s king. 29 Jeremiah scholars indicate that Jer 25:1–10* is most likely a Deuteronomistic construction (which was not very long 27.  For an overview of different trends in the description of the composition history of Jeremiah, see B. D. Sommer, “New Light on the Composition of Jeremiah,” CBQ 61 (1999) 659–63. 28.  See A. Aejmelaeus, “Jeremiah at the Turning-Point of History: The Function of Jer. XXV 1–14 in the Book of Jeremiah,” VT 52 (2002) 474. 29. M. Leuchter (“Jeremiah’s 70-Year Prophecy and the lb qmy /ssk Atbash Codes,” Bib 85 [2004] 503–22) relates the reference to 70 years, together with the Atbash codes in Jeremiah 51, to an important Akkadian inscription from the reign of Esarhaddon (681–669 b.c.e.). He argues that [t]he invocation of the Esarhaddon text . . . [in] Jer 29:10 legitimizes th[e] adaptation of the Deuteronomic law, suggesting that like Esarhaddon, the deportees should recognize the divine favor bestowed upon Babylon and build in accordance with divine will. The Esarhaddon reference comprises part of the argument formed by Jeremiah against contemporaneous prophets who proclaimed that Yhwh would soon end the captivity and that Judah would be restored to its glory. It was against this delusional perspective that Jeremiah contended, and he was apparently castigated for his views. (Leuchter, “Jeremiah’s 70-Year Prophecy,” 517)

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157

Jer 25:11–12 (MT)

The nations will serve the king of Babylon for 70 years

After fulfillment of 70 years: Yahweh will punish Babylonians

Jer 25:11–12 (LXX)

They will subdue the nations for 70 years

After fulfillment of 70 years: Yahweh will take revenge on that nation

Jer 29:10 (MT & (. . . . . . . . . .) LXX 36:10)

After fulfillment of Babylon’s 70 years: Yahweh will visit, fulfill, and bring back his people

2 Chr 36:15–23

The land must fulfill 70 years after the Babylonian devastation and exile by keeping sabbath

Afterward: Yahweh stirs the spirit of Cyrus of Persia to liberate the exiles to their land

Dan 9:2

70 years must be fulfilled for the (Chaldean/Babylonian) devastation of Jerusalem

(. . . . . . . . . . . . .)

afterward appended in vv. 9, 11–13 by an unknown redactor—probably also of Deuteronomistic inclination). The section contains an accusation against Judah, which had the function of forming a bridge to the collection of oracles against the nations in the latter half of the chapter. 30 One could therefore assume that “the nations” referred to in v. 11 should be seen as Judah and its neighbors. They will serve Babylon for 70 years. The LXX version, however, has a different picture: an unidentified subject “they” is indicated to subdue the nations for 70 years. Although it is not stated explicitly, one can still contend that this unidentified “they” is the Babylonians. One should therefore suggest another possible translation than the one offered by Aejmelaeus (who has “and they shall serve among the nations”). A back-translation of the LXX phrase καὶ δουλεύσουσιν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν produces the phrase ‫ָבדּו ּבַּגֹויִם‬ ְ ‫—וע‬an ְ idiom referring to “work with an animal.” 31 It should probably be translated more figuratively, namely, ‘and they subdued the nations’. This expression was most likely misunderstood by the LXX translators. “They” would then still refer to the Babylonians—a fact that can be deduced from the reference in v. 9 to the “clans from the north.” However, the point is still that the explicit reference to Babylon in the MT was omitted by the LXX at this point. 30. See Aejmelaeus (“Jeremiah at the Turning-Point,” 473), who indicates that this pericope was formulated as “an introduction for a collection of oracles against the nations.” She, however, takes vv. 1–14 as a unit—a unity that is not accepted by the majority of Jeremiah scholars. 31. See HALOT (electronic edition).

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This so-called Babelschweigen (that is, ‘silence about Babylon’) in major parts of the Alexandrian version of the Jeremiah texts is a prominent feature of these texts. Stipp indicates that this phenomenon occurred in chaps. 1–25, although certain later changes to the texts in chaps. 20–25 have introduced Babylon explicitly in these parts. On the Deuteronomistic level, however, the Babelschweigen continues until chap. 25. 32 It is also significant that the Babelschweigen was kept intact in 25:11–12 (which formed part of the extension to the Deuteronomistic construction in 25:1–10*). Another peculiar factor in both versions of Jer 25:11–12 is the revenge or punishment that is mentioned in the second part of these utterances. The LXX version says that Yahweh will take revenge on “that [unidentified] nation” (probably referring to Babylon again) after the 70 years have been fulfilled. The MT also fills this period with a negative assertion, namely, that Yahweh will punish the Babylonians. Both these versions differ from the other text where the “fulfill seventy years” expression occurs, that is, Jer 29:10, where the period after the fulfillment is given a positive content. According to this text, Yahweh will visit, fulfill, and bring back his people. The fulfillment of the 70 years therefore introduces a period of salvation for Judah. Aejmelaeus discusses this phenomenon as follows: Surprisingly, our text [Jer 25:11–12] then proceeds by taking up the theme of revenge on the oppressor. The foreign nation that carries out Yahweh’s 32.  See H.-J. Stipp, “Das judäische und das babylonische Jeremiabuch,” Congress Volume: Ljubljana 2007 (ed. A. Lemaire; VTSup 133; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 253–54: Obwohl die Babylonier durch die vielfältigen Unheilsansagen dort [in the earlier sections of Jeremiah] nahezu omnipräsent sind, treten in den Kap. 1–19 ausschliesslich Andeutungen und Umschreibungen für sie ein. Erst ab Kap. 20 begegnen Begriffe wie ‘Babel,’ ‘Nebukadnezzar,’ ‘Chaldäer,’ akkadische Titel und Atbasch-Kryptogramme für die Babylonier. Wo dies in den Kap. 20–25 geschieht, kann man, wie ich meine, das erst nach-dtr Eindringen wahrscheinlich machen. Dies gilt ohnehin von den masoretischen Überschüssen; darüber hinaus sind mehrere Einheiten betroffen, die das Babelschweigen schon vormasoretisch durchbrechen. . . . Dass jedenfalls auf dtr Ebene das Babelschweigen bis Kap. 25 andauern sollte, belegen das Drohwort im Königspalast 22:1–9 . . . , sowie insbesondere Kap. 25. Dort nennt allein der masoretische Text die Babylonier beim Namen, während die alexandrinische Ausgabe dies weiterhin vermeidet. (ET: Although the Babylonians are there [in the earlier sections of Jeremiah] almost omnipresent through the numerous doom oracles, we find in chaps. 1–19 only indirect allusions to them. Only from chap. 20 do we encounter terms such as “Babel,” “Nebuchadnezzar,” “Chaldean,” Akkadian titles, and Atbash cryptograms as references to the Babylonians. Where one of these occurs in chaps. 20–25, one can explain it, in my opinion, only by seeing it as a post-Deuteronomistic insertion. This applies in any case of the Masoretic additions; additionally, there are several sections where the silence about Babel is already suspended in the pre-Masoretic stages. . . . That the silence about Babel continues on the Deuteronomistic level until chap. 25 is indicated by the word of doom in the royal palace in 22:1–9 . . . , but particularly also in chap. 25. There, it is only the Masoretic Text that mentions the Babylonians by name, while the Alexandrian version still avoids it.)

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doom shall not stay in power for ever. The period of seventy years is mentioned in Jer. xxix (xxxvi) 10, on which our text is obviously dependent and accordingly later. Jer. xxix 10 . . . may be taken to mean that the seventy years are the time of Babylon in power and after that period Yahweh will take care (pqd!) of his people and let them return from exile. The time was no doubt meant to have started as the letter was being written to the first deportees. . . . Jer. xxix 10 seems to refer to the time Babylon is in power, i.e., from the year of Carchemish till the 530s b.c. Focusing on the servitude, Jer. xxv 11 perhaps starts counting from the year 587 and takes into account a slightly longer time of servitude and devastation before the building of the new temple. This difference no doubt reflects the relationship between the two texts, perhaps even their respective origins before and after the completion of the new temple. 33

Aejmelaeus therefore regards Jer 29:10 as the primary text, and Jer 25:11– 12 represents a reinterpretation of this text. There should be no doubt that both our text, 2 Chr 35:20–21, and the other occurrence of the “fulfill seventy years” expression, Dan 9:2, pick up these Jeremianic traditions. Although it seems that these two traditions go their own way with their Vorlage, there are also remarkable similarities. In 2 Chr 35:20–21, the 70 years are clearly associated with the period of servitude under the Babylonians. The devastation of Jerusalem and the servitude under the Babylonian yoke are indicated in vv. 15–16 (as we have seen above) as the result of the people’s mocking of God’s messengers and their scoffing at his prophets. Furthermore, Dan 9:2 suggests that Jeremiah’s prophecy entailed Jerusalem’s remaining devastated under the Chaldeans for 70 years. Although it is not mentioned in this introduction to Daniel’s prayer, the prayer itself (vv. 4–19) remarkably indicates again that the reason for the devastation is the people’s not listening to Yahweh’s servants, the prophets (see vv. 6 and 10)! Daniel’s prayer furthermore makes clear that the messages of Yahweh’s prophets are understood to be synonymous with the Torah of Moses. Prophecy and Torah belong together—an emphasis vaguely present in Chronicles as a whole (as Gerstenberger has indicated) but completely absent in this penultimate section of Chronicles. I have shown elsewhere that the Chronicler sees the advent of the Persian Empire as the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy more than the devastation of Jerusalem and the servitude under the Babylonian exilic yoke. 34 This view is confirmed in vv. 22–23, where the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy is explicitly linked with the stirring of Cyrus’s spirit by Yahweh. 35 33. See Aejmelaeus, “Jeremiah at the Turning-Point,” 475–76. 34. See my “Exile as Sabbath Rest,” 707–8. 35.  Hanspach (Inspirierte Interpreten, 160) remarks about this text: “2  Chr 36:21.22 stellen einen der wenigen Belege für ‘Erfüllungszitate’ innerhalb der Chronik dar. Chr nimmt hier bezug auf das Jeremiabuch, das er bei seinen Lesern als bekannt

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Thus, according to the Chronicler, the fulfillment of 70 years is followed by a time of liberation and restoration. This is not suggested in Daniel 9. Here, it seems from the content of the prayer that the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy of 70 years has been observed by Daniel, and he consequently prays for the liberation and restoration of God’s people.

Conclusions Let me close now by venturing a few conclusions on the basis of my argumentation above. I will begin with three conclusions from our general observation of prophetic presence in Chronicles, but after this I will present four more conclusions arising from the detailed study above of Jeremiah’s presence in Chronicles. (1) We should admit that, for the majority of prophetic voices in Chronicles, we do not have any idea from where they originate. Apart from the few known prophets borrowed from the Deuteronomistic Vorlage (and with the exception of Jeremiah, to whom I will return in a moment), we have no idea what the Chronicler’s authoritative sources were for those new prophetic voices. Until we obtain access to extrabiblical textual sources that can prove us wrong (remember the Balaam case!), Chronicles scholars may speculate in two directions: either these prophetic voices are literary creations, or they reflect the presence of some cultic prophets during the Chronicler’s time (see below). (2) To settle the matter whether there were still active prophets around by the end of the Persian era when the Chronicler wrote is very difficult. 36 The two scenarios considered by Gerstenberger—that active prophets uttered homily-like prophecies during this era within the context of a Torah constitution and religious gathering, or that there were no longer active prophets around, but the Chronicler had written records of prophet stories and sayings available—could both be right. However, apart from the presence of Jeremiah in Chronicles, we do not have any documentary evidence to support the second point. The best we can say is that the books of Chronicles show that the phenomenon of prophecy was still held in high regard in this late Persian era. The Chronicler’s references to prophets (again, apart from Jeremiah) are never focused on the exact prophetic utterances that have been or will be fulfilled. Rather, the prophets feature (mainly) as interpreters of historical events in the light of the Torah. For voraussetzt.” (ET: In 2 Chr 36:21–22, we find one of the few “fulfillment citations” in Chronicles. The Chronicler refers to the book of Jeremiah, which he assumes to be known among his readership.) 36.  Schniedewind (The Word of God, 14) rightly remarks: “The decline of prophecy depends on a particular definition of ‘prophecy.’”

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the Chronicler, the overwhelming presence of prophecy as a phenomenon, so it seems, serves the purpose of gaining legitimacy for his reinterpretation of the Deuteronomistic History. 37 (3) The views that prophecy has become integrated into the cult and that we should also consider the possibility of cultic prophecy in the Chronicler’s era seem to be plausible conclusions from the available textual data. Chronicles scholars are in agreement that the primary intended audience of this work was the cultic elite in Jerusalem. One can well assume that reference to prophetic figures functioning as interpreters of Yahweh’s Torah could work convincingly within this communicative context—particularly when we observe that some Levite ancestors prophesied through their musical instruments. And now the more specific conclusions with reference to Jeremiah’s presence in Chronicles: (4) On account of the very peculiar distribution of the phrase “to fulfill seventy years” in the Hebrew Bible, one may argue with confidence that the Chronicler had a written version of the book of Jeremiah available. 38 But the difficult questions are: Which text in Jeremiah is the Chronicler using in his own reference to Jeremiah’s prophecy? And from which version of the book of Jeremiah? On account of the so-called Babelschweigen in the LXX (Alexandrian) version, one could argue that this tradition was not the Vorlage used by the Chronicler in this case. The Babylonian presence in the Chronicler’s allusion would then convince us that he worked with some version of the MT (Palestinian) edition of Jeremiah. However, this cannot be determined with certainty. It is clear from Jeremiah (see chap. 26 and following) that any hesitation in referring to the Babylonians had already been abandoned shortly afterward. One could therefore also argue that the Chronicler, even if he did not find explicit reference to the Babylonians in his Vorlage, courageously made this element explicit in his reinterpretation. The so-called Babelschweigen, therefore, is not a criterion in determining which form of Jeremiah the Chronicler used as his Vorlage. 39 37.  Schniedewind (“Prophets and Prophecy,” 210) sees the prophetic narratives in Chronicles as a sign that “there is both an end to and a continuation of prophecy.” These narratives are “on the one hand, an interpretation of classical prophecy and, on the other hand, a reflection of postexilic prophecy itself.” 38. G. N. Knoppers argues: “The author’s control over a wide variety of earlier biblical writings is impressive and was recognized already in antiquity” (1 Chronicles 1–9 [AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2003] 68). 39.  The very negative portrayal of Zedekiah in 2  Chr 36:12–13 could be an argument to confirm the Chronicler’s use of an Alexandrian Vorlage. Stipp has identified a so-called anti-Zedekiah reworking in the Alexandrian version of Jeremiah. See H.-J. Stipp, Masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches (OBO 136;

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Another factor, however, might lead us to conclude that the Chronicler was not alluding primarily to Jer 25:11–12. In these verses, the phrase “seventy years” is followed by an announcement of doom for the Babylonians. I have shown, however, that the Chronicler’s version, announcing a time of liberation and restoration under Persian dominion after the fulfillment of the 70 years, reveals more affinity with Jer 29:10 (which also shows no discrepancy between the LXX and MT). One could argue that the Chronicler’s positive interpretation of the period after the 70 years may be an indication that he was alluding to Jer 29:10 rather than 25:11– 12; furthermore, 29:10 is probably a Deuteronomistic reformulation of one of the oldest sections in Jeremiah. 40 (5) Why would the Chronicler emphasize Jeremiah so much in the climax of his version of Judah’s history? 41 And why would there be textual allusions to the book of Jeremiah but not to any other prophetic writing? I think the answer lies in the Chronicler’s strong tendency to merge different traditions in his version of the past. 42 The book of Jeremiah provided Fribourg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994) 157–60; idem, “Zedekiah in the Book of Jeremiah: On the Formation of a Biblical Character,” CBQ 58 (1996) 638–41. However, since both this version of Jeremiah and Chronicles could have been influenced by the same tradition, this argument does not offer final proof that Chronicles definitely made use of the Alexandrian version of Jeremiah. 40.  In the case of Daniel’s use of Jeremiah’s prophecy, it might be argued differently, however. 41.  The link between Chronicles and Jeremiah should not come as a surprise. Mc­ Kenzie remarks about the Chronicler: “His intimate acquaintance with the operational systems of the temple and its personnel, especially the Levites, suggests that he came from those circles. He probably lived in Jerusalem, the cultic and political center of postexilic Judah, now known as the Persian province of Yehud.” See S. L. McKenzie, 1–2 Chronicles. (Abingdon Old Testament Commentary; Nashville: John Knox, 2004) 28–29. Klein agrees with this view. See R. W. Klein, 1 Chronicles. (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006) 17. Rehm mentions that Jeremiah should most likely also be associated with the Levitical priesthood: Jeremiah foresees a time when the priests will again be good (33:17–22). The priests are called Levitical priests (‫)הכהנים הלוים‬, which is Deuteronomic terminology. His hope is that these Levitical priests might occupy the priesthood forever. If Abiathar was a Mushite, he would have kept Mushite traditions alive in Anathoth, the place of his exile. Accordingly, Jeremiah, coming from Anathoth, would have had northern theological training. Hence, when Jeremiah states that the priests of the future will be “Levitical priests,” he may be using the term as it was understood in the north, and his words may in effect be a polemic against the Zadokite priesthood of Jerusalem.

See M. D. Rehm, “Levites and Priests,” ABD 4:308. This may explain why the Chronicler was fond of referring explicitly to Jeremiah’s prophecies. 42.  This view is confirmed by Knoppers in his commentary (1 Chronicles 1–9). He describes the Chronicler’s compositional technique as follows: his adroitness in drawing upon originally disparate lemmata, his ability to acknowledge and negotiate different ideological perspectives, and his capacity for pursuing his

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the Chronicler with a useful way of merging the Priestly and Deuteronomistic traditions on this point. The prominent occurrence of ‫‘ ׁשַ ּמָה‬desolation’ in Jeremiah gave the Chronicler the bridge to get to the P-tradition in Leviticus 26 in order to render the exile as a sabbath. 43 But Jeremiah, with its prominent Deuteronomistic content, provided the possibility of appending his other prominent Vorlage, the Deuteronomistic History. 44 (6) Could we, on the basis of the final sections of Chronicles, confirm Gerstenberger’s point 45 that prophecy and Torah were seen as two complementary (authoritative) sources of revelation during the Chronicler’s era? 46 The prestages of this sort of development can probably be seen in own agenda as he engages a variety of earlier biblical traditions. There is no question that one encounters both pro-Priestly and pro-Levitical passages in Chronicles. Nor is there any doubt that the work draws from Priestly tradition in certain contexts, but from Deuteronomic tradition in others. Rather than an indelible mark of literary disunity, these passages evince the author’s concern to mediate different perspectives within the context of the late Persian period or early Hellenistic age. (See ibid., 92)

Knoppers indicates that the Chronicler probably cited older traditions in order to authorize later innovations: Given that the texts in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy ostensibly deal with the earliest periods of Israel’s national history, the author is able to justify departures from those texts by recourse to the inevitable changes involved in transforming ancient Israel to a Jerusalem-based, Temple-centered society during the monarchy. Positing such practices in the course of First Temple history allows the Chronicler (by implication) to authorize such practices in Second Temple times.” (See ibid., 93)

43.  The combination of the concepts of Leviticus 26 with the Jeremiah prophecy is called by Japhet “a perfect example of midrashic exegesis.” See S.  Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993) 1075. She argues that “(t)he Chronicler combines these two different concepts, stemming from such different theological schools, to express one view.” See ibid., 1076. 44.  See, for instance, the Chronicler’s use of the Unermüdlichkeitsformel in 2 Chr 36:15. 45. See Gerstenberger, “Prophetie in den Chronikbüchern.” 46.  The relative dating of the Torah and prophetic canon is also discussed in the work of Chapman, a former student of Brevard Childs and Christopher R. Seitz. According to Chapman, it is a fallacy to give primacy to the Torah in the initial canon formation over against the prophetic canon. He argues that, from the beginning of canonization, the Law and the Prophets had equal status and authority. He detects a so-called “theological grammar” in the Old Testament canon that indicates to him that the Law and Prophets were understood as God’s twofold or dual revelation to humankind. It is only through the later rabbinical reinterpretations of the Scriptures in terms of Torah that the Prophets were relegated to a secondary status. See S. B. Chapman, ‘‘‘The Law and the Words’ as a Canonical Formula within the Old Testament,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. C. A. Evans; JSPSup 33; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 26–74; idem, The Law and the Prophets: A Study in Old Testament Canon Formation. (FAT 27; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); I thank Terje Størdalen of Oslo for calling

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other parts of Chronicles, but this notion is absent in the final sections 2  Chr 36:15–21 and 22–23. We become aware of this fact when comparing Chronicles with the other reference to “fulfilling seventy years” besides Jeremiah—that is, Daniel 9. Here, it seems from Daniel’s prayer that this development has taken its full course. Would this mean that the second part of the Hebrew canon was more clearly established during the time of the origin of Daniel (which is normally considered to date well into the Hellenistic era) than in the late Persian era when the Chronicler wrote? This could probably be asserted on the basis of the comparison of the Chronicles and Daniel texts. (7) Another of Gerstenberger’s theories could be tested here: is it possible to confirm his point that the distinction between “prophets” and “messengers” in 2  Chr 35:15–16 is probably an allusion to the Persian communication system through messengers? 47 One cannot know for certain. However, this might explain the fact that the Chronicler also involves figures in prophetic roles who are not portrayed in this role in the Deuteronomistic Vorlage. The suggestion would then be that figures such as David, Neco, and Cyrus were conveying messages from Yahweh. The mention of Cyrus would certainly have had a polemical function. Monarchs (Judahite or foreign) are conveying messages from Yahweh, the God of Israel! The fact that this tendency to portray prophets as messengers is continued in the later Daniel tradition could probably be seen as further confirmation of this view. Thus, much remains uncertain and open to discussion about the Chronicler’s authoritative prophetic sources. However, one thing may be said with more confidence: it is clear that the Chronicler was one of the early readers of the book of Jeremiah (most likely in a fairly advanced Deuteronomistic form). my attention to Chapman’s work. Although many scholars would not agree with Chapman’s text-immanent reading of the Old Testament canon, his view should certainly be considered in the discussion opened by Gerstenberger on the Chronicler’s portrayal of prophets. 47. See Gerstenberger, “Prophetie in den Chronikbüchern.”

The Chronicler’s Use of the Prophets Amber K. Warhurst University of St. Andrews, Scotland

Introduction The nature of the Chronicler’s source material has been perhaps the most debated issue in modern Chronicles scholarship. 1 Lack of firm conclusions about the scope and form of the biblical literature available to the Chronicler renders discussions about innerbiblical allusion in the book a matter of conjecture. My contribution to the issue can therefore only be suggestive with regard to the literary influences that functioned authoritatively for the Chronicler. However, I will demonstrate that strong verbal and thematic overtones to prophetic literature, especially Isaiah and Jeremiah, hint at the possibility of a collection of prophetic material used in the composition of Chronicles. Two passages will be examined as case studies: the Hezekiah narrative (2 Chronicles 29–32) and the account of the fall of Jerusalem (2 Chronicles 36). These passages have been selected because of their unique threefold repetition within biblical literature—in 2 Kings, the Latter Prophets, and 2 Chronicles—facilitating more extensive comparison. As will be shown, the differences in 2 Chronicles compared with 2 Kings contain allusions to Isaiah and Jeremiah, respectively, strengthening the thesis that the prophetic material in some form exerted influence on the Chronicler’s portrayal of Judah’s history. What is more, it will be demonstrated that sensitivity to the Chronicler’s incorporation of 1.  In the nineteenth century, the extent to which Samuel–Kings functioned as a source for Chronicles became the primary window through which the book was examined and set the tone for subsequent researchers who analyzed Chronicles as a sample of innerbiblical interpretation. See the overviews by M. P. Graham, The Utilization of 1 and 2 Chronicles in the Reconstruction of Israelite History in the Nineteenth Century (SBLDS 116; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990); S. Japhet, “The Historical Reliability of Chronicles: The History of the Problem and Its Place in Biblical Research,” From the Rivers of Babylon to the Highlands of Judah (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006) 117–36; K.  Peltonen, “Function, Explanation and Literary Phenomena: Aspects of Source Criticism as Theory and Method in the History of Chronicles Research,” in The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (ed. M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie; JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999) 18–69.

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material from the prophets illuminates the significance of his retrospective account of Judah’s history in which older written traditions are rendered enduringly relevant for subsequent generations.

The Hezekiah Narrative The account of Hezekiah’s reign, duplicated in 2 Kings 18–20, Isaiah 36–39, and 2 Chronicles 29–32, contains a distinct theological purpose in each literary context. A number of recent studies have established that the narrative assumed a typological function during the exilic era as a parable of the nation’s captivity and preservation. 2 In keeping with this typological function, Chronicles infuses the account of Hezekiah, which is presented almost identically in 2 Kings and Isaiah, with descriptions of an idealized society that contain remarkable overtones from the prophetic vision of Judah’s restoration depicted in the book of Isaiah. Several indications suggest the Chronicler’s literary dependence on the other biblical accounts of Hezekiah. Use of some form of the 2 Kings version of the narrative 3 is evident from the adoption of the Deuteronomistic regnal formula, which introduces and concludes both accounts: Hezekiah began to reign when he was twenty-five years old, and he reigned twenty-nine years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Abijah, the daughter of Zechariah. And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, according to all that David his father had done. (2 Kgs 18:2–3//2 Chr 29:1–2)

2.  With regard to the typological and theological functions of the Hezekiah narrative in 2 Kings and Isaiah, see P.  Ackroyd, “The Death of Hezekiah: A Pointer to the Future?” Studies in the Religious Tradition of the Old Testament (London: SCM, 1987) 172–80; idem, “An Interpretation of the Babylonian Exile: A Study of II Kings 20, Isaiah 38–39,” ibid., 152–71; idem, “Isaiah 36–39: Structure and Function,” ibid., 105–20; R. E. Clements, Isaiah and the Deliverance of Jerusalem: A Study of the Interpretation of Prophecy in the Old Testament (JSOTSup 13; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980); J. W. Groves, Actualization and Interpretation in the Old Testament (SBLDS 86; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987) 191–204; C. R. Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). 3. Manuscript discoveries at Qumran and textual-critical investigations have revealed the Chronicler’s frequent alignment with LXX Samuel and 4QSamª against MT Samuel, suggesting that an Old Palestinian text of Samuel was used by the Chronicler rather than a proto-Masoretic type. W. E. Lemke, “The Synoptic Problem in the Chronicler’s History,” HTR 58 (1965) 349–63; E. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978). Lemke asserts that similar instances of alignment between LXX Kings and Chronicles are observable in the Old Greek portions of Kings that are available (1 Kgs 2:12–21:43) and speculates therefore that an Old Palestinian version of Kings also underlies Chronicles. S.  L. McKenzie, however, contends that the Chronicler used a proto-MT version of Kings based on textual affiliations between MT Kings and MT Chronicles (The Chronicler’s Use of the Deuteronomistic History [HSM 33; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006] 119–58).

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Table 1 2 Kings

Isaiah

2 Chronicles

Introductory regnal report

18:1–3

—

29:1–2

Hezekiah’s restoration of the cult

18:4

—

29:3–31:19

Narrator’s assessment of Hezekiah

18:5–8

—

31:20–21

The fall of Samaria

18:9–12

—

—

Hezekiah’s interactions with the king of Assyria: rebelling and paying tribute

18:7, 14–16

—

—

Sennacherib’s invasion of Judah

18:13–19:37 36:1–37:38

Hezekiah’s fortification efforts

—

—

32:1–23 32:2–8

} 

First speech-response cycle

18:17–26

36:2–11

Second speech-response cycle

18:27–19:7

36:12–37:7

Third speech-response cycle

19:9–34

37:9–35

Hezekiah’s sickness and recovery

20:1–11

38:1–8, 21–22 32:24 

Hezekiah’s prayer Babylonian envoys visit Hezekiah Hezekiah’s prosperity Concluding regnal formula

— 20:12–19 — 20:20–21

38:9–20 39:1–8

32:10–20

— 32:25–26,a 31

—

32:27–30

—

32:32–33

a. It is not clear from the narrative in 2 Chronicles whether vv. 25–26, which speak of Hezekiah’s pride and repentance, refer to his illness and recovery or to the visit from the Babylonian envoys. Since the passage is located in a position relative to the account of the Babylonian envoys in 2 Kings 20 and Isaiah 39, it is reasonable to assume that it refers to this event. See H. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1982) 386–87.

Hezekiah slept with his fathers, 4 and Manasseh, his son, reigned in his place. (2 Kgs 20:21//2 Chr 32:33)

In addition to imitating the Deuteronomistic framing of the narrative, Chronicles also replicates the basic structure of the material that is found in both 2 Kings and Isaiah, as demonstrated in table 1. The only complete omissions in 2 Chronicles vis-à-vis 2 Kings are elements that are also omitted from the Isaiah account: details pertaining to the Northern Kingdom (the synchronization notice in 2  Kgs 18:1; the 4. Here the Chronicler adds information about Hezekiah’s burial: “[T]hey buried him in the upper part of the tombs of the sons of David, and all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem did him honor at his death.” It is a common tendency of the Chronicler to expand the details of the burial of the Judean kings. For a discussion of this addition by the Chronicler and its possible implications, see Ackroyd, “Death of Hezekiah,” 172–80.

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description of the fall of Samaria in 2  Kgs 18:9–12) and the depictions of Hezekiah rebelling (2 Kgs 18:7) and paying tribute to the king of Assyria (2 Kgs 18:14–16). Similarly, the Chronicler’s omission of Hezekiah’s prayer from Isa 38:9–20 is consistent with its exclusion in 2 Kings. These structural similarities and compositional overlaps between 2 Kings, Isaiah, and 2 Chronicles provide initial suggestions of literary dependence. 5 However, despite this general fidelity to 2 Kings and Isaiah in the framing and arranging of the material, numerous unparalleled features of the Chronistic account set it apart. First, aside from the introductory and concluding notices shared between 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles, there is almost no direct literary correspondence in Chronicles. Second, the Chronicler freely expands and deemphasizes aspects of the narrative in accordance with his own theological interests. For example, as with 2 Kgs 18:4, Hezekiah’s cultic reform is presented as his initial act upon assuming the throne, but, while 2 Kings describes it in one verse, the Chronicler expands the description to three chapters, indicating its thematic importance. 6 Conversely, the three scenes that constitute the bulk of the 2 Kings and Isaiah accounts of Hezekiah—his run-in with Sennacherib, his illness and recovery, and the visit from the Babylonian envoys—are condensed into a single chapter in Chronicles and presented as ancillary to the more significant reform activity. 7 The dramatic tension that characterizes the three stories in 2 Kings and Isaiah is reduced in 2 Chronicles: the three speech-andresponse cycles between Sennacherib and Hezekiah are combined into a single account; 8 the illness and recovery narrative is summarized in one 5.  According to Sara Japhet, the similar arrangement between the narratives “illustrates a faithful adherence by the Chronicler to the structure and composition of the original story; it may be sketched according to the same model which applied to [other] passages: one parallel continuum, broken along the line for omissions or additions” (I and II Chronicles: A Commentary [OTL; London: SCM, 1993] 913). 6.  The importance of this event in the Chronicler’s system is also evident from the emphatic description it is given as the first act of Hezekiah’s reign, a detail that is lacking in 2 Kings: “In the first year of his reign, in the first month, [Hezekiah] opened the doors of the house of the Lord” (2 Chr 29:3). 7.  The transitional statement joining the account of Hezekiah’s reform to the attack from Sennacherib also emphasizes the secondary importance of the latter: “After these things and these acts of faithfulness, Sennacherib, king of Assyria, came and invaded Judah” (2 Chr 32:1). Compare this view with I. Kalimi, “Literary-Chronological Proximity in the Chronicler’s Historiography” VT 43 (1993) 325. 8.  See the discussion by B. S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 2; London: SCM, 1967) 105–11. Examples of the Chronicler’s distillation of the threefold cycle include: (1) 2 Kgs 18:35//Isa 36:20, in which Sennacherib claims that nations have fallen by “my hand,” while in 2  Kgs 19:12//Isa 37:12, the nations have been destroyed by “my fathers.” The Chronicler combines both claims in Sennacherib’s assertion, “Do you not know what I and my fathers have done to all the people of other

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verse: “In those days, Hezekiah became sick and was at the point of death, and he prayed to the Lord, and he answered him and gave him a sign” (2 Chr 32:24); similarly, the visit from the Babylonians in Chronicles contains no description of Hezekiah’s reception of the envoys, Isaiah’s oracle, or Hezekiah’s response but is merely referred to as “the matter of the envoys of the princes of Babylon, who had been sent to [Hezekiah] to inquire about the sign that had been done in the land” (2 Chr 32:31). The most conspicuous omission in Chronicles regards the role played by Isaiah, who is mentioned only briefly in 2 Chr 32:20, 32. The prophet’s oracles, signs, and prayers which feature prominently in 2 Kings 18–20 and Isaiah 36–39 are left entirely unrecorded. However, it is the thesis of this essay that, in spite of the omission of the prophetic persona in the Chronicler’s account of Hezekiah, the narrative is saturated with literary overtones from material attributed to Isaiah. Specifically, Isaiah’s descriptions of a future restoration after exile are read back into the account of Hezekiah’s reign and constitute the substance of the nonsynoptic material in the Chronicler’s Hezekiah narrative. It is well established that the three nonsynoptic speeches delivered by Hezekiah in 2 Chr 29:5–11, 30:6–9, and 32:7–8 contain overtones of prophetic literature. 9 For example, “wrath,” “make desolate,” “be faithless,” lands?” (2 Chr 32:13). (2) In 2 Kgs 18:17//Isa 36:2, the first speech is addressed to Hezekiah, and in 2 Kgs 18:26//Isa 36:11, the second speech is addressed to all Judah; Chronicles merges the two by stating that the message was directed “to Hezekiah, king of Judah, and to all the people of Judah” (2 Chr 32:9). (3) In 2 Kings and Isaiah, the first two encounters between Hezekiah and Sennacherib are in the form of speeches delivered through his messengers, and the third is in the form of a letter. Chronicles merges the three with the concluding statement, “His servants said still more against the Lord God and against his servant Hezekiah. And he wrote letters to cast contempt on the Lord” (2 Chr 32:16–17). (4) Similarly, after the second speech, Hezekiah asks Isaiah to pray on Judah’s behalf (2 Kgs 19:3//Isa 37:3), and after the third speech, he offers a prayer himself (2 Kgs 19:14–19//Isa 37:14–20); these are consolidated in Chronicles with the summary statement, “Hezekiah the king and Isaiah the prophet . . . prayed” (2 Chr 32:20). Reduction in the dramatic tension of Sennacherib’s invasion is also achieved by the modification of 2 Kgs 18:13 and Isa 36:1, which state that Sennacherib “came up against all the fortified cities of Judah and took them.” 2 Chr 32:1 asserts that Sennacherib only “encamped against the fortified cities, thinking to win them for himself.” In place of the notice of Hezekiah’s tribute in response to Sennacherib’s advance (2 Kgs 18:14–16), 2 Chr 32:2–8 presents Hezekiah fortifying the city and encouraging the people. Instead of the distress that characterizes the people of Judah in 2 Kings and Isaiah (2 Kgs 18:26//Isa 36:11; 2 Kgs 18:36–19:5//Isa 36:21–37:5), Chronicles states that they “took confidence from the words of Hezekiah, king of Judah” (2 Chr 32:8b). 9. Von Rad popularized the view that a distinctive feature of the nonsynoptic speeches in Chronicles is the “quotation” of material found elsewhere in Israel’s written traditions, especially the Latter Prophets. G. von Rad, “The Levitical Sermon in I and

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and “be stiff-necked” are common expressions in the prophets. 10 Hezekiah’s assertion that the Lord has made Judah “an object of horror, of astonishment, and of hissing” (2 Chr 29:8; cf. 30:7) is an almost verbatim echo of terminology that occurs frequently in the Latter Prophets to predict Israel’s future exile (Jer 18:16; 19:8; 25:9, 18; 29:18; 51:37; Mic 6:16). 11 Hezekiah describes the ‘filth’ in the temple as ‫ִּדה‬ ָ‫( נ‬2 Chr 29:5), which corresponds to the usage of the word in prophetic literature (Zech 13:1, Ezek 7:19), in contrast to Priestly material, where it denotes personal ritual impurity (resulting, for example, from menstruation, adultery, or coming into contact with a corpse; see Lev 12:2, 5; 15:19, 24, 33; 18:19; 20:21; Num 19:9, 13, 20, 21). 12 The theme of ‫‘ ׁשּוב‬return’ is especially prominent in Hezekiah’s speeches (occurring eight times) and provides the means for several wordplays, such as 2 Chr 30:6: “Return to the Lord

II Chronicles,” in The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1966) 267–80. Von Rad’s thesis generated more-thorough analyses of the amalgamation of phrases, motifs, and images from Israel’s prophetic traditions within the Chronistic speeches. See Y. Amit, “The Role of Prophecy and Prophets in the Theology of the Book of Chronicles,” Beth Mikra 93 (1983) 113–33; P.  Beentjes, “Historical Persons or Literary Characters: Prophets in the Book of Chronicles,” in Tradition and Transformation in the Book of Chronicles (Leiden: Brill 2008) 129–39; S. J. De Vries, “The Forms of Prophetic Address in Chronicles,” HAR 10 (1986) 15–36; R. K. Duke, The Persuasive Appeal of the Chronicler: A Rhetorical Analysis (Sheffield: Almond, 1990); M.  Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985); R. A. Mason, Preaching the Tradition: Homily and Hermeneutics after the Exile (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); R. Micheel, Die Seher- und Prophetenüberlieferungen in der Chronik (Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie 18; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1983); J. D. Newsome, The Chronicler’s View of Prophecy (Ph.D. diss., Vanderbilt University, 1973); O. Plöger, “Reden und Gebete im Deuteronomistischen und Chronistischen Geschictswerk,” in Aus der Spätzeit des Alten Testaments (ed. Wilhelm Schneemleher; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1957); W. M. Schniedewind, “History or Homily: Toward an Understanding of the Chronicler’s Purpose,” in Proceedings of the Eleventh World Congress of Jewish Studies (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1993) 91–97; idem, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995); I. L. Seeligmann, “Die Auffassung von der Prophetie in der Deuteronomistischen und Chronistischen Geschichtsschreibung,” VT 29 (1978) 254–84; M. A. Throntveit, When Kings Speak: Royal Speech and Royal Prayer in Chronicles (SBLDS 93; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987); J. P. Weinberg, “Die ‘Ausser Kanonischen Prophetzeiungen,’” Acta Antiqua 26 (1978) 387–404. 10. Von Rad, “Levitical Sermon,” 275. 11.  Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 943. Use of this expression in Jeremiah may be attributable to Deuteronomistic influence (see Deut 28:25, 37). Its use in other prophetic books leads Mason to suggest that by the time of the Chronicler’s composition it had passed over into common prophetic idiom (Preaching, 101). 12.  Ibid., 98.

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. . . that he may turn again to the remnant of you who have escaped.” 13 It is likely that the use of this word in precisely the same way in prophetic literature has influenced the Chronicler’s composition. 14 These rhetorical similarities between Chronicles and the prophetic literature raise the important issue of properly identifying literary influence as opposed to common literary convention. Rex Mason’s investigation of the speeches in Chronicles is the most thorough to date. He compares the speeches with other postexilic “addresses” in Ezra, Nehemiah, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8, and Malachi and observes that they hold in common certain rhetorical devices, such as plays on words, appeal to past history, rhetorical questions, and calls for attention. However, he is hesitant to assert that Chronicles represents the use of preexisting literary traditions and concludes instead that the similarities in Chronicles to other biblical literature reflect widespread homiletical trends. He states that there is “strong evidence to support the hypothesis that the influence common to them all was a general pattern of preaching and teaching which was familiar from the practice of the second temple.” 15 However, it is not only the form of the Chronicler’s speeches that parallels the speeches in other biblical books but words, phrases, expressions, and subject matter as well. The precision and abundance of cross-citations in Chronicles suggest that it is not only rhetorical tendencies that are reflected in the book but the actual incorporation of ideas from Israel’s written prophetic traditions. While we may not call the Chronicler’s use of the prophets “quotation,” strictly speaking, 16 it is nevertheless the case that the resultant composition suggests close attention to the precise form and content of the prophetic texts. For the purpose of focusing attention on the book of Isaiah as a prophetic influence for the Chronicler, we may note additional elements of Hezekiah’s speeches. In Hezekiah’s second speech, the addressees are described as ‫‘ ְּפלֵיטָה‬the remnant’ (2 Chr 30:6), which calls to mind the prominence of the same theme in Isaiah, where it is promised that a remnant will return from exile (Isa 4:2, 10:20–22, 15:9, 37:31–32). Hezekiah’s third speech imitates the ‫ַל־ּתירָא‬ ִ ‫‘( א‬fear not’) formula so prevalent 13.  Other wordplays include the people returning to the land (2  Chr 30:9); the Lord’s anger turning away from them (2 Chr 29:10, 30:8); and the Lord’s face not turning away from them (2 Chr 30:9). 14.  The correspondence is especially strong with Zech 1:3–4, which not only contains this same play on the word “return” but also follows this assertion with the statement, “Do not be like your fathers,” as in 2 Chr 30:7. See also Mal 3:7. P. Ackroyd, I and II Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah (London: SCM, 1973) 184; Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 943; Mason, Preaching, 104–5; Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 367. 15.  Mason, Preaching, 258. 16. Contra von Rad, who repeatedly refers to prophetic allusion in the Chronistic speeches as “quotation” and “citation.”

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in Isaiah as an augur of God’s restorative intentions for Jerusalem (see Isa 7:4; 10:24; 35:4; 37:6; 40:9; 41:10, 14; 43:1, 5; 44:2, 8; 51:7; 54:4): Be strong (‫)חזְקּו‬ ִ and courageous. Do not be afraid (‫ַל־ּת ְראּו‬ ִ ‫ )א‬or dismayed before the king of Assyria and all the horde that is with him, for there are more with us than with him. With him is an arm of flesh, but with us is the Lord our God, to help us and to fight our battles. (2 Chr 32:7–8)

The phrase ‘with us’ (‫)עּמַנּו‬ ִ in this speech carries overtones of the Immanuel oracle of Isa 7:14, 17 while the imagery of God’s “arm” in contrast to the “arm of flesh” is analogous to several passages from Isaiah that use ‫ זְֹו ַע‬in a similar way to express God’s power (Isa 30:30; 33:2; 40:10–11; 48:14; 51:5, 9; 52:10; 53:1; 59:16: 62:8; 63:5, 12) in contrast to human frailty (Isa 9:20, 44:12). 18 What is most striking about these Isaianic overtones in Chronicles is their function in Isaiah as promises of the nation’s restoration after exile; elements that Isaiah anticipates for Judah’s future are read back into the Chronicler’s account of the nation’s past. For example, Isaiah’s oracle in 35:3–4 looks forward to the nation’s restoration with the exhortation “Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong (‫;)חזְקּו‬ ִ fear not (‫ַל־ּת ְראּו‬ ִ ‫ !)א‬Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you.’” The Chronicler portrays Hezekiah as articulating these very statements, presenting him as a prefigural embodiment of Isaiah’s prophetic hopes. Not only do Hezekiah’s speeches draw on Isaianic language of restoration but the passages in which they are contextualized in Chronicles correspond to Isaiah’s description of the nation’s return. The Chronicler’s description of Hezekiah’s purification of the cult mimics the prophetic vision of a utopian existence after the nation’s return from exile. Hezekiah reunifies all the tribes “from Beersheba to Dan” (2 Chr 30:5), 19 which is a distinct component of Isaiah’s restoration program: “[The Lord] will assemble the banished of Israel and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth. . . . Ephraim shall not be jealous of Judah, and Judah shall not harass Ephraim” (Isa 11:12–13). In response to Hezeki17.  Ackroyd, Chronicles, 192; Mason, Preaching, 112; J.  M. Myers, II Chronicles (AB 13; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1965) 187. 18.  See also the function of the “arm” motif in 2 Chr 32:8 and Jer 17:4–5. Mason, Preaching, 112–13; von Rad, “Levitical Sermon,” 274. 19. This familiar Deuteronomistic expression describes the unified tribes of Israel and Judah prior to the division of the monarchy (2 Sam 3:10; 17:11; 24:2, 15; 1 Kgs 4:25) and invokes a reunification of the tribes to worship together in Jerusalem. H. G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977) 123–24.

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ah’s speeches, the Levites, priests, and wider community purge the temple and land of foreign objects of worship (2 Chr 29:15–19, 30:14), a reaction that carries overtones of Isaiah’s prophecy of restoration: “Then you will defile your carved idols overlaid with silver and your gold-plated metal images. You will scatter them as unclean things. You will say to them, ‘Be gone!’” (Isa 30:22). In addition, the people who hear Hezekiah’s admonition consecrate themselves and are pardoned of their iniquity (2  Chr 29:20–24, 31; 30:18–20), correlating with the image of restoration described by Isaiah in which the remnant of Jerusalem is cleansed of its guilt and forgiven of sin (Isa 4:3–4, 12:1, 33:24, 40:2, 43:25, 44:22). The Chronicler’s description of this spiritual cleansing as “healing” in 2 Chr 30:20 recalls the Isaianic metaphor of sickness and healing (Isa 1:5–6, 33:24, 38:1–22), 20 particularly the promise in Isa 57:18–19: “I have seen his ways, but I will heal him; I will lead him and restore comfort to him and his mourners, creating the fruit of the lips. Peace, peace, to the far and to the near,” says the Lord, “and I will heal him.”

By far the strongest link between the restoration described in 2 Chronicles 29–31 and the Isaianic ideal is in the portrayal of Hezekiah. Kingship is a prominent feature of Isaiah’s restoration expectations (Isa 7:13–15, 9:6–7[5–6], 11:1–5, 16:5, 32:1–5). 21 The king functions as an agent of God who establishes and sustains an ideal society characterized by justice and righteousness. 22 The role of the king in maintaining this social paradigm is highlighted in the descriptions of him as one who “knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good” (Isa 7:15); who will “establish [his kingdom] and uphold it with justice and with righteousness” (Isa 9:7); whose “delight shall be in the fear of the Lord,” and “righteousness shall be the belt of his waist, and faithfulness the belt of his loins” (Isa 11:3, 5);

20.  Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny, 176–82. 21. The attribution of these oracles to the original core of prophecies from the eighth-century Isaiah is defended by H. G. M. Williamson, “The Messianic Texts in Isaiah 1–39,” in King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient near East (ed. John Day; JSOTSup 270; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998) 238–70. 22.  Williamson describes the word pair ‫‘ מׁשפט וצדקה‬justice and righteousness’ as “almost a catch-phrase for Isaiah’s understanding of the ideal society.” See Isa 1:27, 9:7[6], 28:17, 32:16, 33:5, 56:1 (ibid., 243 n. 11). See also H. G. Reventlow and Y. Hoffman, eds., Justice and Righteousness: Biblical Themes and Their Influence (JSOTSup 137; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992); D. Schibler, “Messianism and Messianic Prophecy in Isaiah 1–12 and 28–33,” in The Lord’s Anointed: Interpretation of Old Testament Messianic Texts (ed. Philip E. Satterthwaite, Richard S. Hess, and Gordon J. Wenham; Carlisle: Paternoster / Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1995) 87–104.

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who “judges and seeks justice and is swift to do righteousness” (Isa 16:5); and who will “reign in righteousness” (Isa 32:1). The Chronicler portrays Hezekiah in accordance with Isaiah’s description of the ideal king. His righteousness and fear of the Lord are illustrated in his reformation of the cult and reinstitution of proper worship “according to the word of the Lord” (2 Chr 29:15, 25; 30:12, 16; 31:3, 4, 21). He plays a vital role in the people’s obedience to God’s commands by urging them to return to God (2 Chr 30:6–9); consecrate themselves (2 Chr 29:5); renew the covenant (2 Chr 29:10); offer sacrifices (2 Chr 29:21, 24, 27, 31), observe Passover (2 Chr 30:1, 6), and tithe (2 Chr 31:4, 21). In addition, Hezekiah intercedes on behalf of the people (2 Chr 30:18–19) and speaks words of encouragement to them (2 Chr 30:22). This portrayal of Hezekiah as a king who speaks words of both justice and mercy recalls Isaiah’s depiction of the ideal king: “With righteousness he shall judge the poor and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; and he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked” (Isa 11:4). The Chronicler’s summarizing assessment of Hezekiah is that “he did what was good and right and faithful before the Lord his God” (2 Chr 31:20), which picks up on descriptors of Isaiah’s ideal king as doing that which is ‘good’ ‫( טוֺב‬Isa 7:15) and ‘faithful’ ‫אמֶת‬ ֱ (16:5; see also ‫‘ אֱמּונָה‬faithfulness’ in Isa 11:5). Finally, Isaiah’s ideal king is met with responsive people: “Then the eyes of those who see will not be closed, and the ears of those who hear will give attention” (Isa 32:3). The effectiveness of Hezekiah’s efforts to reorder society according to principles of righteousness is demonstrated in the swift willingness of the Levites, priests, and people to heed his commands by consecrating themselves (2 Chr 29:15), cleansing the temple (2 Chr 29:15–19), offering sacrifices (2 Chr 29:22:24), participating in worship (2 Chr 29:27–30; 30:21), removing the altars from Jerusalem (2 Chr 30:14), keeping the Feasts of Unleavened Bread and Passover (2 Chr 30:13–23), and tithing in abundance (2 Chr 31:5–12). The Chronistic portrayal of Hezekiah as an ideal king corresponding to Isaiah’s prefiguration also sheds light on the Chronistic additions in 2 Chr 32:22–23 and 27–30. The former passage summarizes Hezekiah’s run-in with Sennacherib, emphasizing God’s role in saving Jerusalem from destruction and the response of the nations who bring honor and tribute when they see God’s preservation of his people: So the Lord saved Hezekiah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem from the hand of Sennacherib, king of Assyria, and from the hand of all his enemies, and he provided for them on every side. And many brought gifts to the Lord to Jerusalem and precious things to Hezekiah, king of Judah, so that

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he was exalted in the sight of all nations from that time onward. (2  Chr 32:22–23)

This description corresponds with Isaiah’s anticipation that “in that day” all people will acknowledge God as the savior of Israel (Isa 12:2, 17:7–8, 33:22). In response, they will come to Zion to bring tribute to the Lord (Isa 2:1–4; 18:7; 49:7, 18, 23; 60:3–14; 61:6–11; 66:20) 23 and honor to the Davidic king in Zion (Isa 11:10). 24 The second passage is a nonsynoptic description of Hezekiah’s wealth and expansion of cities: Hezekiah had very great riches and honor, and he made for himself treasuries for silver, for gold, for precious stones, for spices, for shields, and for all kinds of costly vessels; storehouses also for the yield of grain, wine, and oil; and stalls for all kinds of cattle, and sheepfolds. He likewise provided cities for himself, and flocks and herds in abundance, for God had given him very great possessions. (2 Chr 32:27–30)

So too, Isaiah portrays the nation’s restoration with descriptions of prosperity, building projects, and expansion of cities in Judah (Isa 44:26; 45:13; 60:17; 61:4, 7; 65:21–22). 25 From this overview of the Hezekiah narrative in Chronicles, it is clear that, although the character of Isaiah the prophet is conspicuously absent in the Chronicler’s account, he has a ubiquitous presence in the narrative through the implication of Isaianic themes of restoration. 26 As will be demonstrated, a similar tendency of incorporating prophetic themes of restoration also characterizes the account of the fall of Jerusalem in 2 Chronicles 36.

The Fall of Jerusalem The near non-mention of Isaiah in Chronicles’ account of Hezekiah contrasts with the density of references to the figure of Jeremiah in the 23.  See also Jer 33:9. 24.  The verse describing the exaltation of the “root of Jesse” also states that “his resting place shall be glorious.” This may illuminate the Chronistic addition to Hezekiah’s burial notice in 2 Chr 32:33. See Ackroyd, “Death of Hezekiah,” 172–80. 25.  Mention of Hezekiah’s treasuries of gold and silver contrasts with the portrayal in 2 Kgs 18:15–16 of the depletion of all gold and silver from the city when Hezekiah paid tribute to Sennacherib. Instead, the Chronistic description corresponds to the restoration depicted in Isaiah, in which gold and silver will replace bronze and iron (Isa 60:17). 26.  Compare C. Begg’s exploration of the phenomenon of Prophetenschweigen in Chronicles. He suggests that the absence of the character of Isaiah in the narrative is in service of an idealized portrayal of Hezekiah. This thesis is compatible with the argument here that Hezekiah is depicted in terms of the prophetic ideal king. C. Begg, “The Classical Prophets in the Chronistic History” in BZ 32 (1988) 100–107.

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final chapters of 2  Chronicles (35:25; 36:12, 21, 22). The prominence of the prophet in Chronicles is all the more striking when one notes his absence in the final chapters of 2 Kings where, in fact, his presence would be expected in light of several strong correlations between the books of Kings and Jeremiah. 27 Despite the tendency in Kings for Israel’s history to be presented according to a prophecy-fulfillment framework, it is in Chronicles, not in Kings, where the exile is stated as occurring “to fulfill the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah” (2  Chr 36:21). To bolster this assertion, the Chronicler has adapted the account of the fall of Jerusalem so that it coordinates with the portrayal of Judah’s demise in the book of Jeremiah. In 2  Chr 36:12–13, Zedekiah’s rebellion against the king of Babylon is attached to his failure to heed the word of the Lord spoken through Jeremiah, thereby alluding to several instances in the book of Jeremiah wherein the prophet exhorts Zedekiah to submit to the king of Babylon (Jer 21:3–7, 27:12–15, 37:1–10, 38:14–28). 28 Additionally, in 2 Chr 36:14 the Chronicler includes in his description of the unfaithfulness of Zedekiah the collaboration of “all the officers of the priests and the people” (Jer 4:9, 8:1, 13:13, 29:1, 32:32) and attaches the guilt of the king and people to the pollution of the house of the Lord, corresponding to Jeremiah’s account of the exile (Jer 7:30, 23:11, 32:34). With the statement in 2 Chr 36:15, “the Lord, the God of their fathers, sent persistently to them by his messengers because he had compassion on his people and on his dwelling,” the Chronicler echoes similar statements in Jer 7:25, 25:4, 26:5, 29:19, 35:15, and 44:4, where it is said that God “persistently sent all his servants the prophets.” 29 The people’s rejection of the prophets resulted in there being “no remedy” (2 Chr 36:16) for their rebellion, a condition that is described in the same way in Jer 14:19, 30:13. 30 According to Jeremiah, the king of Babylon functions as God’s vehicle for divine judgment (Jer 25:9, 27:6), an assessment that is consistent with the portrayal in Chronicles where God is attributed with bringing the Babylonians to Jerusalem and giving the Judeans into their hands (2 Chr 36:17). 31

27. P.  Ackroyd, “Continuity: A Contribution to the Study of the Old Testament Religious Tradition,” in Studies in the Religious Tradition of the Old Testament (London: SCM, 1987) 5–6. 28.  This is in contrast to the terse notices in 2 Kgs 24:19–20, “he did evil in the sight of the Lord” and “he rebelled against the king of Babylon.” 29. S. L. McKenzie, 1–2 Chronicles (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004) 370. 30. Ibid. 31.  Apart from this final cross-reference depicting Babylon as the agent of God’s judgment, the Chronicler’s correspondences with Jeremiah are all plusses compared with the version of the fall of Jerusalem in 2 Kings.

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Despite the Chronicler’s emphasis on the fall of Jerusalem as a fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophetic message, it is not here that the prophetic element is primarily concentrated. The Chronicler looks beyond the exile to the restoration. 32 Therefore, unlike 2 Kings 25, where the fall of Jerusalem functions as the culmination of the narrative, the climactic achievement in the Chronistic account is the restoration ushered in by Cyrus, which is also presented as the fulfillment of “the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah” (2 Chr 36:22). Not only does the fall of Jerusalem correspond to Jeremiah’s prophecies, the Chronicler also indicates that the end of the exile is consistent with the restoration promises adumbrated by Jeremiah. This emphasis is achieved in several ways. First, the Chronicler portrays a limitation to Babylonian domination, which endures only until the rise of the Persian Kingdom. The statement that the people of Judah “became servants to [the king of Babylon] and his sons until the establishment of the kingdom of Persia” (2 Chr 36:20) is similar to Jer 27:7, which predicts that the nation will “serve [the Babylonian king] and his sons” but that the time of Babylon’s power will be limited, and they will likewise become servants to other nations. 33 Exile is described as a “sabbath” lasting 70 years (2 Chr 36:21). Assigning the exile a duration of 70 years undeniably alludes to the motif of a 70-year exile in the Jeremiah literature (Jer 25:11–12, 29:10), 34 which places temporal constraints on the period of

32.  The Chronicler downplays the acuteness of the Babylonian Exile as the consummation of Judah’s history by presenting it as one of several exilic experiences at the hands of Damascus (2 Chr 28:5), Samaria (2 Chr 28:8), Edom (2 Chr 28:17), and Assyria (2 Chr 30:6 and 33:11). Hezekiah’s allusion to “the remnants who escaped from the hands of the kings of Assyria” in 2 Chr 30:6 may refer to the northern exile (so Williamson, Israel, 117). However, according to 2 Kings, the fall of Israel occurred in the sixth year of Hezekiah’s reign (2 Kgs 18:9–10), whereas in the Chronistic presentation, Hezekiah’s reforms and this speech occurred very early in his reign (see 2 Chr 29:3). This Assyrian captivity is better understood as a reference to 2 Chr 28:20, which states that the king of Assyria “came against [Ahaz] and afflicted him.” Additional intimations of exilic deportations are portrayed during the reigns of Jehoahaz (2 Chr 36:3), Jehoiakim (2 Chr 36:6), and Jehoiachin (2 Chr 36:10). In contrast to 2 Kgs 24–25, the Chronicler presents these deportations as isolated events not connected to the Babylonian Exile (see Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 1066–67). Rather than being attached to the final downfall of Jerusalem, these instances of royal deportation find a parallel in the nonsynoptic account of Manasseh’s deportation in 2 Chr 33:11, which is followed by his repentance and restoration. Manasseh’s own salvation from exile implies that these kings too could have repented and reversed God’s judgment. This is the view argued by W. Johnstone (1 and 2 Chronicles, vol. 2: 2 Chronicles 10–36: Guilt and Atonement [JSOTSup 254; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997] 266). 33.  Japhet, I and II Chronicles, 1074. 34. See the subsequent references to Jeremiah’s 70-year prophecy in Zech 1:12; 7:5; Dan 9:2, 24–27. The 70-year motif with regard to Tyre in Isa 23:15–18 is probably

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the exile and adumbrates a future restoration. 35 Furthermore, a component of the Chronicler’s concept of the exile as a sabbath rest is that it purifies both people and land and ushers in a new beginning for the nation. 36 independent of the Jeremiah tradition. A. Orr, “The Seventy Years of Babylon,” VT 6 (1956) 304–6. 35. Most scholars agree that the figure of 70 years in Jeremiah is symbolic, not literal: W. Brueggemann, The Theology of the Book of Jeremiah (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 180; J. R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36 (AB 21B; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 2004) 249, 353. For an alternative view that the number refers to an Esarhaddon inscription, see M. Leuchter, “Jeremiah’s 70-Year Prophecy and the lb qmy/ssk Atbash Codes,” Bib 85 (2004) 503–22; idem, The Polemics of Exile in Jeremiah 26–45 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 47–48. As for the function of the 70-year motif in Chronicles, several proposals have been offered: (1) it symbolically expresses a limited duration of exile but does not demarcate a specific time period; (2) it refers generally to the typical lifespan of a person (see Ps 90:10) or to the emergence of 3 generations; (3) it is an approximate reference to the period from the Babylonian victory at Carchemish in 605/4 b.c.e. until the edict of Cyrus in 538 b.c.e.; (4) it is an exact reference to the period from Josiah’s death in 609/8 b.c.e. to the edict of Cyrus in 538 b.c.e.; or (5)  it is an exact reference to the period from the final collapse of Jerusalem in 586 b.c.e. to the dedication of the new temple in 516 b.c.e. For discussions, see P. Ackroyd, “Two Old Testament Historical Problems of the Early Persian Period,” JNES 17 (1958) 13–27, esp. pp. 24–27; R. Borger, “An Additional Remark on P. R. Ackroyd, JNES, XVII, 23–27,” JNES 18 (1959) 74; R. B. Dillard, 2 Chronicles (WBC 15; Waco, TX: Word, 1987) 301; Johnstone, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 260; G. McConville, I and II Chronicles (Daily Study Bible Series; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1984) 270; Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, 418. 36.  This theological presentation of the exile as a means of renewal sheds light on the Chronistic portrayal of an empty land for the entire 70-year exile, during which time all the inhabitants of Judah resided in Babylon. The Chronicler describes the death or deportation of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem in 2 Chr 36:17, 20 and omits from his account the indications provided in 2 Kgs 25:11 and Jer 52:15 that the poorest of the land were left to be plowmen and vinedressers. Instead of a cultivated land during the exile, Chronicles emphasizes that the land lay desolate (2 Chr 36:21). Moreover, in 1 Chr 9:2, the Chronicler describes the returned exiles as “the first to dwell again in their possessions in their cities” (contra Japhet, who states with regard to the portrayal of the exilic era in Chronicles that “the people’s settlement in the land is portrayed as an uninterrupted continuum” [Ideology of Chronicles, 386; see also idem, “Conquest and Settlement in Chronicles,” From the Rivers of Babylon to the Highlands of Judah, 50–52]). This portrayal of an empty land is undeniably motivated by theological rather than historical concerns. The existence of a remnant community in Judah during the exile is confirmed not only by archaeological findings and general historical considerations but also by the biblical material itself. Allusions in Lamentations to living in Judah under foreign rule suggest a Palestinian population during the exile (Lam 5:2, 4, 5, 11–13). Neh 1:2 speaks of an envoy from Judah consisting of “Jews who escaped, who had survived the exile.” See the discussions by P. Ackroyd, Exile and Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century b.c. (OTL; London: SCM, 1968) 20–31; H. M. Barstad, The Myth of the Empty Land: A Study in the History and Archaeology of Judah during the “Exilic” Period (Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1996);

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The necessity of a thorough purification corresponds to Jer 16:18, “I will double repay their iniquity and their sin, because they have polluted my land with the carcasses of their detestable idols and have filled my inheritance with their abominations” (see also Jer 17:18). This portrayal of the exile as limited, atoning, and in accordance with God’s prior decree paves the way for Cyrus’s declaration in 2 Chr 36:22 ushering in the anticipated restoration. Though Cyrus’s decree is explicitly linked by the Chronicler to the foretelling of Jeremiah, a precise oracle in Jeremiah prophesying this action by Cyrus is lacking. However, two passages in Jeremiah describe the downfall of the Babylonians at the hands of another kingdom using the same word, ‘stir up’ (‫)ה ִֵעיר‬, which describes God’s coercion of Cyrus in 2 Chr 36:22: For behold, I am stirring up (‫ )ה ִֵעיר‬and bringing against Babylon a gathering of great nations, from the north country. (Jer 50:9) The Lord has stirred up (‫ )ה ִֵעיר‬the spirit of the kings of the Medes, because his purpose concerning Babylon is to destroy it. (Jer 51:11) 37

Crucial to the interpretation of Cyrus’s pronouncement is the phrase ‫ָבנָה‬ ‫‘ ַביִת‬build a house’, which connects the building of the Second Temple directly with God’s promise to David. Nathan’s dynastic oracle to David in 1 Chr 17:10 changes one word of its source: where 2 Sam 7:11 states, “The Lord will make you a house,” 1 Chr 17:10 reads, “The Lord will build you a house.” This seemingly minor change is of crucial importance in that it creates a leitmotif in Chronicles. The recurrence of this phrase is clustered around the reigns of David and Solomon, both in the reiterations of the oracle 38 and in the descriptions of the actual construction of the First Temple (33 times). 39 After this, the phrase completely drops out E. Janssen, Juda in der Exilszeit: Ein Bei­trag zur Frage der Entstehung des Judenthums (FRLANT 69; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1956) 24–56; Japhet, “People and Land in the Restoration Period,” From the Rivers of Babylon to the Highlands of Judah, 96–116. 37.  Brueggemann’s comments shed light on the Chronicler’s presentation of Cyrus as a fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecies: “The ‘fulfillment’ of the prophetic word of Jeremiah in Cyrus is only fulfillment because the interpreting community has cited the relevant promise that is, by an act of the imagination, drawn into connection with the contemporary rise of Persia. By making this connection, Jeremiah—whose anticipations for restored Jerusalem are vague and elusive—becomes the one through whom Yhwh has designated Cyrus as an agent of divine restoration” (Brueggemann, Theology, 181). See also Isa 44:45. 38.  1 Chr 17:4, 6, 12; 22:2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 19; 28:2, 6, 10; 2 Chr 6:2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10. 39.  2 Chr 2:1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 12; 3:1, 3; 8:1. Also, in Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the temple, he repeatedly refers to “the house that I have built,” 1 Chr 6:18, 33, 34, 38.

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of the narrative 40 until the closing verse of the book, 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 (‫)ל ְבנֹות־לֹו ַביִת‬ ִ at Jerusalem, which is in Judah. Whoever is among you of all his people, may the Lord his God be with him. Let him go up. (2 Chr 36:23)

A possible correspondence exists between this leitmotif in Chronicles and Jeremiah’s notorious and distinctive instruction to the exiles to ‘build houses’ (‫ָתים‬ ִ ‫)ּבנּו ב‬ ְ in Babylon and live in them. In this case, however, the Chronicler reverses the import of Jeremiah’s oracle. Where “building houses” had functioned for the prophet as a symbol of the reality of exile, for the Chronicler it indicates the reality of return from exile. Jeremiah’s authoritative influence on the Chronicler is evident in the explicit mention of him four times, the coordination of the account of the fall of Jerusalem with Jeremiah’s depiction, and the assertion that Judah’s history unfolded “according to the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah.” As with the Hezekiah narrative, the Chronicler integrates not only the prophet’s portrayal of the past but also his vision of the future.

Summary and Conclusion The investigation advanced here has demonstrated that the accounts of Hezekiah and the fall of Jerusalem in Chronicles substantiate the Chronicler’s dependence on some form of literary traditions associated with Isaiah and Jeremiah. In closing, I suggest three possible implications about the nature and authority of the prophets within the historical context in which Chronicles was written. First, the recontextualization of prophetic material into a new literary context indicates the high regard that it was accorded by the Chronicler as well as the expectation of readerly familiarity with the written traditions. 41 Already in the Second Temple era the community shows signs of being a “people of the Book” which is devoted not only to the principles of Torah but to the world view of the Prophets as well.  42 Second, the Chronicler’s harmonization of material which later 40.  “Build” and “house” occur close together but not in the same construction as appears in the oracle: during Josiah’s reign, mention is made of the “house built by David and Solomon” (2 Chr 35:3); Jotham “built the upper gate of the house of the Lord” (2 Chr 27:3); Mannasseh “built altars in the house of the Lord” (2 Chr 33:4). 41. Von Rad is surely correct when he states, “We have to reckon with the fact that, when the congregation heard such pregnant phrases taken from the fund of religious tradition, they would recognise them at once; the almost incredible verbal memory for traditional literature, which is characteristic of later Judaism, was undoubtedly already a feature of this earlier period” (von Rad, “Levitical Sermon,” 280). 42.  See Stephen B. Chapman’s proposal that the conceptual and literary categories of Torah and Prophets functioned at an early stage in Israel’s religious life as a two-

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181

comprised the Former and Latter Prophets suggests that the two types of literature were already held in equally high regard by the time of the composition of Chronicles and were viewed as capable of correlation. Could this provide an early indication of the rationale behind the later rabbinic fusion of this material into a single canonical category, the Prophets? Finally, and most importantly, it must be asked what the Chronicler’s purpose was in integrating prophetic themes of restoration retrospectively into Judah’s history. The watershed of the exile demanded an interpretation of the past that could deal with both the disappointment of hopes associated with Jerusalem and the Davidic monarchy and present renewed hope for the future. In much prophetic and apocalyptic literature, this purpose is achieved through the envisioning of restoration expectations in eschatological terms of a future utopian ideal. 43 However, in order to mitigate the danger of completely relegating restoration hopes to a future era or of spiritualizing them so that they no longer have reference to real history, the Chronicler retrojects restoration prospects onto descriptions of past history. Rather than being assigned to a point in time after the return from exile, the Chronicler transforms the temporal specificity of the promises and depicts them as realities for Judah throughout their history. As a result, the prophetic vision of restoration assumes a timeless significance with relevance, not only for the future, but also for the past and the present. In this way, the literary traditions received by the postexilic community are shown to be enduringly relevant, whether their content is past history or future-oriented prophecy. fold “grammar” that guided the people’s theological formation and literary expression, in The Law and the Prophets: A Study in Old Testament Canon Formation, (FAT 27; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); idem, “‘The Law and the Words’ as a Canonical Formula within the Old Testament,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Traditions (ed. Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 33; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 25–74. 43.  On this issue, see the survey of scholars and bibliography provided by J. J. Collins, Jerusalem and the Temple in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature of the Second Temple Period (International Rennert Guest Lecture Series 1; Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1998) 4–8.

Rethinking the “Jeremiah” Doublet in Ezra–Nehemiah and Chronicles Mark Leuchter Temple University

Over forty years after the appearance of Sara Japhet’s monumental article on the separate authorship of Ezra–Nehemiah (EN) and Chronicles, 1 the relationship between the two corpora remains elusive. Though many scholars have accepted the view that EN and Chronicles come from different compositional circles, the questions of temporal priority and intertextual dependency remain somewhat unresolved. For some, the answer is relatively clear: EN surfaced first, and the Chronicler subsequently created a historiographical work that deliberately ends where EN begins. 2 For others, it is the very opposite, with the Chronicler establishing prototypes that the authors of EN take up and develop. 3 For still others, the problem is more complicated. As recent studies have argued, the formation of EN was the result of a lengthy process; 4 this opens the door to the possibility that there is a far more intricate network of mutual influence between these works. Let us first clarify the important things that EN and Chronicles have in common. Both have an awareness of complex administrative hierarchies associated with an imperial social context. Both works are profoundly intertextual, taking up language from antecedent traditions that had obtained authoritative status by the latter half of the Persian period. Finally, both derive from the hand of writers who demonstrate great literary 1. S.  Japhet, “The Supposed Common Authorship of Chronicles and Ezra– Nehemiah Investigated Anew,” VT 18 (1968) 330–71. 2.  For an overview of the major positions, see P. L. Redditt, “The Dependence of Ezra–Nehemiah on 1 and 2  Chronicles,” in Unity and Disunity in Ezra–Nehemiah: Redaction, Rhetoric and Reader (ed. Mark J. Boda and Paul L. Redditt; Hebrew Bible Monograph 17; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2008) 217–40. 3.  Ibid., 229–40. For a different view that still attributes EN to a “Chronicler,” see J. Blenkinsopp, Ezra–Nehemiah (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988) 47–54. 4.  See among others J. L. Wright, “A New Model for the Composition of Ezra– Nehemiah,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e. (ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008) 333–48.

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sophistication and are works that are manifestly textual in nature; 5 even the oral sources undergirding these works are “officialized” through their infusion into highly structured written forms. 6 Bearing the foregoing in mind, the methodological differences in compositional strategy deployed by the authors of these works are profound. As is generally recognized, EN advocates an Israelite ethnos based on an exclusive ideology limited to specific geographic and historical experiences (connection to the eastern Diaspora and having heritage among families who endured exile to Mesopotamia in the 6th century b.c.e.). Chronicles constructs a different ideology, expanding the parameters of the ethnos by focusing on populations throughout the hinterland who did not endure exile and instead weaving the lineages of the Chronicler’s day into a wider spectrum of ancestry. 7 The markedly different model of social boundaries defining the ethnos invariably demands a closer look at the way the authors of both works inherit and interpret their shared authoritative antecedent traditions.

Prophetic Authority in EN and Chronicles The manner in which prophetic authority is conveyed in these corpora is a case in point. Both the authors of EN and the Chronicler invoke the names of earlier prophets but not in uniform terms. Ezra 5–6 makes only the most fleeting mention of Haggai and Zechariah (Ezra 5:1, 6:14) and does not cite or quote their written oracles in its account of the temple’s construction and dedication. By contrast, the Chronicler regularly ascribes to numerous prophets written texts that he claims as sources for his own, most of which are fictitious and cited for rhetorical weight. 8 There is a tremendous gulf in the concept of prophetic authority from one work to the next, with Chronicles identifying prophetic phenomenology with a 5.  See J. L. Wright’s concluding thoughts in his essay “Seeking, Finding and Writing in Ezra–Nehemiah,” in Unity and Disunity in Ezra–Nehemiah (ed. Mark J. Boda and Paul L. Redditt; Hebrew Bible Monograph 17; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2008) 303–4. For similar textuality in Chronicles, see E. Ben Zvi, “Who Knew What? The Construction of the Monarchic Past in Chronicles and Implications for the Intellectual Setting of Chronicles,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e. (ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N.  Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008) 349–60. 6.  The oral origins of the genealogies in 1 Chroniclers 1–9 provide one example of this. See Y. Levin, “From Lists to History: Chronological Aspects of the Chronicler’s Genealogies,” JBL 123 (2004) 601–36. 7. Ibid., 636; G.  N. Knoppers, 1  Chronicles 1–9 (AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 83–85. 8.  This is a hallmark of the era in which the Chronicler was active. For a thorough discussion, see K. M. Stott, Why Did They Write This Way? Reflections on References to Written Documents in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Literature (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 492; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2008).

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literary curriculum and EN identifying it with religious personalities who facilitate political enterprises. The picture is complicated, however, by the doublet in Ezra 1//2 Chronicles 36 in relation to Jeremiah. Most scholars view this doublet as a reference to Jeremiah’s 70-year prophecy (Jer 25:11–12, 29:10), and for many, the virtual repetition of this passage is the key to establishing compositional or redactional connections between these corpora. 9 On first glance, the doublet appears to be a sure sign that, in fulfilling Jeremiah’s oracle regarding the duration of the exile, the rise of Persia brought about its end and signaled a new and hopeful phase in Israel’s history. There are reasons for hesitating, however, before accepting this view, not the least of which is the matter of the time span of the exile and the point at which the 70-year prophecy was issued. The original oracle was in fact not a prediction of a 70-year period of exile or a retrospective scribal addition to the book of Jeremiah concerning this time span. Rather, it constituted a comment on theopolitical dominance, invoking a trope from the Black Stone Inscription of Esarhaddon (678 b.c.e.) as a comment on Yhwh, not Marduk, as the sovereign of historical events. 10 But even if the number 70 was taken to be an actual prediction of time (as subsequent biblical writers thought it 9.  The issue of mutual redaction between the corpora in relation to the doublet is discussed thoroughly by Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 1–9, 75–80, 96–100. 10.  I have discussed this in detail in my article “Jeremiah’s 70-Year Prophecy and the lb qmy/ssk Atbash Codes,” Bib 85 (2004) 503–22. K. Schmid has recently and brilliantly demonstrated how the book of Jeremiah exegetically works the 70-year trope into a broader historical schemata governing a larger body of material in the book (“Nebuchadnezzar, the end of Davidic Rule, and the Exile in the Book of Jeremiah,” paper presented at the 2009 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, New Orleans; forthcoming in The Prophets Speak on Forced Migration [ed. John Ahn and Mark Leuchter; T. & T. Clark]). Schmid dates the inclusion of the oracle to this exegetical stratum that sees the “exile” beginning with the reign of Jehoiakim (and influencing the development of accretions such as Jer 36:30 and the usually problematic Jer 27:1). He concludes that the earliest reference to “70 years” is to be found in Zechariah, with a scribe borrowing from this corpus at a later time and using it to update the book of Jeremiah sometime in the 5th century b.c.e. Schmid’s overall discussion is convincing, though the 70-year oracle need not have originated during this subsequent shaping of the larger work. As per my discussion (“Atbash Codes”), a later scribe could have taken up an older reference to the Esarhaddon inscription that carried specific implications in a late-seventh-century context and reworked it into the historical framework, as Schmid elucidates, that now runs throughout the Jeremianic corpus. This is reinforced by M. J. Boda’s observation that Zechariah relies extensively on Jeremiah in the formation of his oracles (“Zechariah: Master Mason or Penitential Prophet?” in Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Period [ed. Rainer Albertz and Bob Becking; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003] 56–68), and thus the appearance of the “70-year” trope would most likely have derived from the Jeremianic material and been introduced into the Zechariah corpus along with the other Jeremianic passages incorporated by Zechariah in his oracles.

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to be), matters of historical correspondence prove problematic. The oracle first surfaced in the letter to the Jehoiachin group dated to ca. 594 b.c.e.; the full duration of the oracle would not have coincided with the alleged edict of Cyrus recounted in Ezra 1:1–4//2 Chr 36:22–23, and other attempts to coordinate dates are unsatisfactory. 11 The very nature of the oracle as temporally inaccurate, then, should give us pause in viewing it as the basis for the doublet in Chronicles and EN, so rooted are these verses in a discernible and definite historical event (the rise of Cyrus). Other considerations reinforce this concern. The doublet does not refer to a specific text, only to an ambiguous ‫‘ ָּדבָר‬word’ in the mouth of the prophet. 12 In its Chronistic manifestation, we must contrast this with the immediately preceding verse (2 Chr 36:21), where Jeremiah’s 70-year oracle is cited in an obvious and overt way (‫ׁשנָה‬ ָ ‫ׁש ְב ִעים‬ ִ ‫)למַּלֹאות‬, ְ and the earlier presentation of Jeremiah’s historical activity is characterized as fulfilling the words from Yhwh’s mouth (′‫ מפי ה‬in 2 Chr 36:12), not the words of the prophet, as per v. 22. Similarly, the Jeremiah doublet in Ezra 1:1 is at odds with the characterization of Haggai and Zechariah’s activity in Ezra 5:1, where they are depicted as engaging in observable prophetic behavior (‫)ו ִה ְתנ ִַּבי‬, ְ with nary a mention of the ‫ ָּדבָר‬phenomenology associated with prophecy. The doublet is neither a reference to Jeremiah’s personal involvement in the unfurling of events in EN (as is the case with the mention of Haggai and Zechariah) nor is it a reference to a body of text ascribed to the prophet, as is the case with other prophetic figures named in Chronicles. 13 Thus, while both EN and Chronicles take up the Jeremiah tradition in this doublet, it is done in a manner inconsistent with their respective invocations of other prophets. The appearance of the doublet in both works, therefore, may have more to do with a hermeneutical textual principle than with citing a specific oracle with a temporal focus. 14 The ambiguity may indicate that the ‫ָּדבָר‬ is a μῦθος rather than a λόγος, a hypostatic divine impulse that is invoked 11.  Leuchter, “Jeremiah’s 70-Year Prophecy and the lb qmy/ssk Atbash Codes,” 503–5. 12.  The language here is decidedly Deuteronomistic (compare with Deut 15:18). 13. As we will see (pp.  192–196 below), however, the presentation of Jeremiah more generally in the closing chapters of Chronicles departs from this standard of ascribing to the prophets the authorship of texts. 14. We should take heed of the very unsubtle shift in language in this regard: whereas 2 Chr 36:21–22 deploys ‫למַּלֹאות‬, ְ which follows the original Jeremianic language (in 25:11–12 and 29:10), 2 Chr 36:22 deploys the term ‫ל ְכלֹות‬, ִ which is not found in the Jeremianic source and which differs semantically from the language in the preceding verses. The terminology indicates a different purpose from the invocation of Jeremianic prophecy in general, and one with a hermeneutical focus related to external literary and theological discourses; see p. 196 below.

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in the doublet. This is especially likely when we consider the fact that the Jeremiah tradition goes to great lengths to show that the prophetic word is transmuted into text (Jer 36:17–18) and that scribes are the inheritors of prophetic authority (Jeremiah 45). 15 To this end, we must pay close attention to the fact that, while EN invokes Jeremiah’s name only once, the entirety of the work is highly influenced by the Jeremiah tradition and, specifically, the place of texts and scribes as the hermeneutical equivalent of prophecy. 16 Jacob Wright has recently offered a compelling glimpse into this socioreligious emphasis as a recurring literary motif within EN. According to Wright, seeking the divine word within the textual record replaces earlier forms of divination and follows the forms of Persian royaladministrative protocol in this regard. 17 But we may detect an additional dimension here, which is that administrative praxes do not simply provide the formal prototype for the literary discourse noted by Wright but are potentially quasi-sacerdotal in nature when they are guided by or are actualizing prophecy.

Imperial Administration and Prophetic Parallels in Jeremiah Jeremiah 40 presents Gedaliah’s tenure as Babylonian-sponsored governor at Mizpah as a post that actualizes earlier oracles articulated by Jeremiah and serves as a precedent for this perspective. Though this episode is built into an extended discourse on the place of Shaphanide scribes as surrogates for the prophet Jeremiah, it is important that, in this instance, Gedaliah’s own declaration in vv. 9–10—manifestly administrative in nature—resonates strongly with the prophet’s own language and ideas (see table 1). 18 With these parallels, we see that the author of Jeremiah 40 has constructed a literary tableau in which the structuring of society in administrative terms constitutes the enactment of theoretical prophetic 15.  As most commentators note, Jeremiah 45 sees Baruch as becoming a “second” Jeremiah. On this prophetic word/scribal word parallel in Jeremiah 36, see my monograph The Polemics of Exile in Jeremiah 26–45 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 105–7. 16.  As such, I must disagree with Redditt’s view that, beyond Ezra 1:1, Jeremiah is entirely absent from EN (“Dependence of Ezra–Nehemiah,” 230). Redditt is correct that the prophet otherwise is not referred to by name, but the addition of the Jeremiah reference in Ezra 1:1 is not inconsistent with extant allusions to Jeremiah in an extant version of EN. As I shall discuss below, Jeremianic ideas and language are powerfully present but in a thinly veiled form. 17.  Wright, “Seeking, Finding and Writing.” 18.  The correspondences below are found with additional discussion in my Polemics of Exile, 120–22, 242 n. 33.

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Mark Leuchter Table 1 Gedaliah’s Decree

Service to the king of Babylon

Jeremiah’s Oracles Service to the king of Babylon (Jer 27:12–17)

‘It will be good for you’ (‫ )יִיטַב ָלכֶם‬Exile to Chaldea ‘for good’ (‫ְלטֹובָה‬ in Jer 24:5) The ‘good word’ (‫ָרי הַּטֹוב‬ ִ‫ ְּדב‬in Jer 29:10) Summer fruit (‫)קַ יִץ‬

The vision of good figs (Jer 24:5–7)

Dwelling in the [new] cities (‫ָרים‬ ִ‫ )ע‬The peace of ‘this city’ (‫ָעיר‬ ִ ‫ ה‬in Jer 29:7) concepts. These concepts are literary expressions, and it is doubtlessly the case that the author of Jeremiah 40 has mined his sources in a manner similar to Wright’s observations regarding seeking and finding within a corpus of sacred texts as depicted in EN. 19 Nevertheless, it is not only this act of seeking, finding, and writing but also practical administration on behalf of the prevailing empire that the author presents as the cornerstone of the devotional engagement of these sources. Hand in hand with this construct is the fact that Gedaliah’s decree never once overtly states that it is inspired by Jeremiah’s oracles, and the author of Jeremiah 40 never refers the reader to his oracular sources in constructing the decree or the larger account. The allusions to Jeremiah’s oracles are hardly covert, but despite the strong connection on lexical, thematic, and even typological fronts, they remain implicit. This is part of the extensive strategy deployed throughout Jeremiah 26–45 that allows for scribes such as the Shaphanides (whose membership included Gedaliah) to take on the authority of prophets rather than operate in a hierarchically subordinate position. The modes of rhetoric between prophet and scribe are different, but each expressive mode is equally binding, and steadfast distinctions created by referencing sources are therefore avoided.

Implicit Allusions to Jeremianic Prophecy in EN We need only look to a few representative passages from EN to observe that the aforementioned rhetorical dynamic evident in Jeremiah 40 permeates the work on all levels, especially in relation to Jeremiah and 19.  Wright, “Seeking, Finding and Writing.”

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the Deuteronomic tradition of discourse associated with his prophetic activity. 20 Thus in Ezra 7–8, we encounter several references to the Deuteronomic law cast in the service of Ezra’s administrative mandate, effectively rendering his mission on behalf of Artaxerxes an actualization of traditional Israelite legal concepts. All of this ultimately comes to bear on the central interest in EN—namely, the separation of “legitimate” Israel from illegitimate social groups and the dissolution of marriages beyond the boundaries of the ethnos. The pivotal moment in the Ezra account in this regard is the prayer in Ezra 9, where the legal traditions equating Ezra’s administrative mission with the religious heritage of the nation are parlayed into a penitential confession that directly invokes the oracles of Jeremiah (compare Ezra 9:11–12 with Jer 2:7, 16:18, and 29:5–7). 21 Many commentators are correct to note the valences these verses share with deuteronomic law, 22 but the fact that these principles are identified as prophetic (Ezra 9:10–11a)—coupled with the fact that they appear nearly word for word in Jeremiah—makes it difficult to avoid the conclusion that the author has Jeremiah’s oracles in mind as his source material. However, Jeremiah is not named in this passage. Instead, the author makes only a broad allusion to the collective message of “the prophets” of Yhwh, even though within the prophetic corpus this language appears exclusively in Jeremiah. Similar implicit references to the Jeremiah tradition emerge in the Nehemiah material as well: the superscription to the Nehemiah Memoir draws note-for-note from the superscription to the book of Jeremiah; Nehemiah’s amnesty for servants follows closely on Jeremiah’s earlier discourse on the matter in Jeremiah 34; his stipulations regarding Sabbath 20.  The nature of the relationship between the Deuteronomistic tradition and the Jeremianic corpus is widely debated, and space does not permit a full treatment of the issue here (I define Deuteronomistic as the collection of texts that share similar expressions and concerns regarding covenant, authority, prophecy, priesthood, and law typically viewed by scholars as spanning Deuteronomy–Kings, though I do not make claims regarding the compositional unity of these materials). That there is a strong relationship between these works is beyond doubt, however, especially regarding the Deuteronomy/Kings/Jeremiah texts. For a brief discussion illustrating the linguistic and stylistic affinities, see R. E. Friedman, “The Deuteronomistic School,” in Fortunate The Eyes That See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. Astrid B. Beck et al.; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995) 70–80. 21.  I have discussed these parallels in greater detail in my essay “Ezra’s Mission and the Levites of Casiphia,” in Community and Identity in Judean Historiography: Biblical and Comparative Perspectives (ed. Gary N. Knoppers and Kenneth A. Ristau; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009) 187–88. 22. See, for example, Blenkinsopp, Ezra–Nehemiah, 184–85. Blenkinsopp also notes some resonances from P in this unit of text, though Deuteronomy is the dominant form of discourse embedded therein.

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observance do the same in relation to Jeremiah 17; and Neh 13:25 repeats the invocation of Jer 29:5–7 found in Ezra 9:12. Finally, the shift from the centrality of Ezra in Nehemiah 8 to the intercessory authority of the Levites in Nehemiah 9 echoes the relationship between Jeremiah and his scribal peers (especially Baruch and various members of the Shaphanide family), where the typology of the former bestows authority on the latter. 23 One might object that the place of the Levites in Nehemiah 9 is cultic/liturgical, but if Nehemiah 9 is read as part of a unit spanning Nehemiah 8–10 (a position advocated by many scholars), 24 then the Levites therein follow the place of Levitical figures in the previous chapter as agents under Ezra’s executive authority. In Nehemiah 8, their role is exegetical and didactic in relation to teaching the Torah read by Ezra, but this is part of the administrative responsibility of Ezra and his retinue as charged by no less than Artaxerxes (Ezra 7:25–26). The prayer in Nehemiah 9 would thus fall into the same category, and the Levites uttering this prayer are thereby qualified as administrators with sacral duties paralleling their civic responsibilities. Typological succession is a matter of not only the ongoing narrative but the literary structure of EN. The parallels between Jeremiah/the scribes and Ezra/the Levites are reinforced by the parallels between the Levites’ prayer in Nehemiah 9 and Ezra’s prayer in Ezra 9. We have seen that Ezra’s prayer invokes Jeremiah’s oracles; the Levites’ prayer is similarly prophetic in its concern, as suggested by its repeated invocation of Israel’s prophetic history (vv.  26, 30, 32) and the need for the people to recognize the merits of these prophetic agents that their ancestors had rejected. 25 The

23.  Leuchter, Polemics of Exile, 122–23. 24.  For a full analysis of this material as a cohesive unit, see M. W. Duggan, The Covenant Renewal Ceremony in Ezra–Nehemiah (Neh 7:72b–10:40): An Exegetical, Theological and Literary Study (SBLDS 164; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001). Wright (“A New Model,” 345–46) notes the contiguity of Nehemiah 8–10, though he places this expanse of text at the final stage of EN’s development. 25.  The function of these references to “prophets” in Nehemiah 9 changes depending on whether the prayer therein is viewed as an independent composition or as part of the larger EN corpus. If the latter view is adopted, the references function in parallel with the veiled Jeremianic allusion in Ezra 9:11–12 (see the ensuing discussion). If it is viewed independently, however, the reference falls into a category similar to that of the generic prophetic references in the book of Kings and in Chronicles; see E. Ben Zvi, “‘The Prophets’: References to Generic Prophets and Their Role in the Construction of the Image of the ‘Prophets of Old’ within the Postmonarchic Readership/s of the Book of Kings,” ZAW 116 (2004) 558–66. The working of Nehemiah 9 into its current locus, however, would thus signify a deliberate transformation of these generic references to carry Jeremianic implications.

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literary structure of EN balances Nehemiah 9 with Ezra 9, 26 and the rejection of the prophets constitutes yet another implicit allusion to the authority of Jeremiah, the archetypal “rejected” prophet (Jer 26:24; 36:21–25; chap. 44) vindicated only through the unfurling of history. But in none of these cases is the prophet invoked by name. The Jeremiah tradition may be powerfully present, but Ezra 1:1 notwithstanding, the prophet Jeremiah never appears by name in EN.

Explicit Allusions to Jeremianic Prophecy in Chronicles The very opposite situation obtains in Chronicles. Like the redactors of EN, the Chronicler also relies heavily on the topography of the Jeremiah tradition but approaches the issue from a rather different angle. EN employs Jeremianic rhetoric in the construction of a corporate ethnos bent on obtaining a state of collective holiness. By contrast, the Chronicler uses the Jeremianic doctrine of individual accountability as a recurring motif throughout the account of the deeds of Israel’s kings. 27 Similarly, the Chronicler’s characterization of Levites in 2 Chr 34:30 is influenced by the implications regarding prophets with a priestly heritage that surfaces in the Jeremiah tradition, and the frequency with which the prophet is named within the closing chapters of the Chronicler’s work makes very clear that the final episodes in the book of Kings should be read through the filter of Jeremiah’s literary legacy. 28 26.  Both are prayers of penitence and expiation, and both use Levitical rhetorical tropes (the invocation of Jeremiah and deuteronomic ordinances in Ezra 9; the attribution of authorship to Levites in Nehemiah 9). In addition, the phrase ‫( עַד הַּיֹום ַהזֶּה‬and the very similar ‫)ּכהַּיֹום ה ּז ַ ֶה‬ ְ in Ezra 9:7 recalls the identical exhortations in Deuteronomy, Kings, and other texts that J. C. Geoghegan has identified as concerned with and representing the interests of Levites. See his monograph The Time, Place, and Purpose of the Deuteronomistic History: The Evidence of “Until This Day” (BJS; Providence, RI: Brown University Press, 2006) especially pp. 141–51. Finally, both lead to the setting apart of the Golah community from surrounding collectives in the chapters that follow, respectively. This paralleling structuring strategy appears in Ezra 2//Nehemiah 7 as well; see T. C. Eskenazi, “The Structure of Ezra–Nehemiah and the Integrity of the Book,” JBL 107 (1988) 649–50. 27.  See the discourse on the sour grapes aphorism in Jer 31:27–30. Though scholars are divided on the provenance of these verses, most see them as antedating the Chronicler’s work. The ideology could thus empower the Chronicler’s rehabilitation of Manasseh due to his repentance and, simultaneously, his demotion of Josiah for neglecting the authority of prophetic agency. See C. Mitchell, “The Ironic Death of Josiah in 2 Chronicles,” CBQ 68 (2006) 431–35. 28.  I discuss this in greater detail in “The ‘Prophets’ and the ‘Levites’ in Josiah’s Covenant Ceremony,” ZAW 121 (2009) 33–47.

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What demands closer attention, however, is that, despite the parading of Jeremiah throughout the last two chapters of Chronicles, the Chronicler does not parade the text of Jeremiah as a source with similar frequency. Baruch Halpern notes lexical resonances that show profound influence, 29 but there is no extensive catalog of verses or distinct literary collection attributed to the prophet, despite his presence in the text. Furthermore, the lone overt allusion to a definite oracle (the 70-year prophecy) is not typical of the way that the Chronicler cites and credits other prophets at the close of historical episodes in the narrative. Let us consider the 70-year prophecy of Jeremiah in relation to the Chronicler’s citation of the Hezekiah episode from the Isaiah corpus: Now the rest of the acts of Hezekiah and his goodness, are they not written in the vision of Isaiah, the prophet, the son of Amoz [and] in the book of the kings of Judah and Israel? (2 Chr 32:32) He [Nebuchadnezzar] took into exile in Babylon those who had escaped from the sword, and they became servants to him and to his sons until the establishment of the kingdom of Persia, to fulfil the word of Yhwh by the mouth of Jeremiah, until the land had enjoyed its sabbaths. All the days that it lay desolate it kept sabbath, to fulfill seventy years. (2 Chr 36:20–21)

William Schniedewind has demonstrated that the Chronicler regularly ascribes literary sources to prophets—some imagined, some real. 30 In Chronicles, prophets are writers and commentators on history and its meaning, and it is this model that informs the reference to Isaiah cited above. The Chronicler typically uses a version of Kings in constructing his monarchic-era historiography, 31 and this source is mentioned in the same verse; as most commentators recognize (and as the text itself indicates), the Chronicler is citing the Isaiah-Hezekiah material found both in Kings and in Isaiah. It would have been sufficient and consistent with his other source citations to refer the reader to the book of Kings, but the fact that he draws attention to the Isaianic parallel conforms to his interest in connecting written materials with prophets. Isaiah engages in intercessory behavior typical of prophecy in other biblical contexts (2 Chr 32:20), but for

29. B. Halpern, “The New Names of Isaiah 62:4: Jeremiah’s Reception in the Restoration and the Politics of ‘Third Isaiah,’” JBL 117 (1998) 630–31; idem, “Why Manasseh is Blamed for the Babylonian Exile: The Evolution of a Biblical Tradition,” VT 48 (1998) 511–13. 30.  W. M. Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). 31.  The post-Josianic episodes evidence a different source, which H. G. M. Williamson suggests is an intermediate version of Kings (“The Death of Josiah and the Continuing Development of the Deuteronomistic History,” VT 32 [1982] 242–48).

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the Chronicler, it is the corpus of Isaianic literature that serves as Isaiah’s authoritative legacy. As with his characterization of the Isaianic literature, the Chronicler must have known a mature form of the Jeremiah corpus. And like the Isaiah material in the Chronicler’s possession, the Jeremianic material included both oracles and narratives. 32 Nevertheless, the citation of Jeremiah’s 70-year prophecy is cut from an entirely different cloth than the Isaiah reference. Unlike 2 Chr 32:32, which points the reader not only to the book of Isaiah but also to the chapters that it shares with Kings, there is no reference to an actual text that contains Jeremiah’s oracle as cited in 2 Chr 36:21. Moreover, the oracle does not stand on its own. The Chronicler has read sabbatical dimensions into the oracle—something the original 70-year prophecy lacks entirely. Rather than try to reconcile the prophecy with particular moments that bookend the exilic period, the Chronicler reckons the 70 years as a cosmic time span not restricted to historical/ political events. 33 In one fell exegetical swoop, the Chronicler brings the words of a Levite prophet together with the sacral world view of the priesthood, reconciling the two conceptual universes that they represent. Thus, unlike the reference placing Isaiah in parallel with Kings as a literary source sharing common material (2 Kings 18–20//Isaiah 36–39), the Chronicler does not refer the reader to a familiar Jeremianic source text because a similar type of conceptual commonality regarding the sabbath language would not be found there. This is not to suggest that Jeremiah is entirely divorced from literary concepts in Chronicles. Earlier in the account, the Chronicler ties the prophet to a written corpus of material associated with Josiah’s death: Jeremiah lamented for Josiah; and all the singing men and singing women (‫ַּׁשרֹות‬ ָ ‫ַּׁשִרים ְוה‬ ָ ‫ )ה‬spoke of Josiah in their lamentations, unto this day (‫;)עַד הַּיֹום‬ 32.  This is obvious not only from the citation of the 70-year prophecy in 2 Chr 36:20–21 but also from the characterization of Zedekiah in this chapter (2 Chr 36:12) which certainly refers to the narratives in Jeremiah 37–38. 33.  Steps in this direction with regard to Jeremiah’s oracles had already been taken during the exilic period with the formation of the Jubilee legislation in Leviticus 25, which relies on a particular hermeneutical reading of Jeremiah 34. See my article “The Manumission Laws of Leviticus and Deuteronomy: The Jeremiah Connection,” JBL 127 (2008) 646–51. More recently, R. R. Hutton has drawn attention to the Chronicler’s usage of Jeremiah and Leviticus in the formation of this passage as an attempt to periodize Israel’s history from the reign of David to the rise of Cyrus (“Clearing the Land and Fallowing the Land: Models of Agriculture as Symbols of Exile,” paper read at the 2009 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, New Orleans). Though this reading remains possible, an additional hermeneutical dimension may be sensed when we compare 2 Chr 36:20–21 with a similar literary flourish in the previous chapter; see the ensuing discussion.

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and they made them an ordinance (‫ִּתנּום ְלחֹק‬ ְ ‫ ) ַוּי‬in Israel; and, behold, they are written in the lamentations. (2 Chr 35:25)

At first glance, this passage seems to suggest Jeremiah’s authorship of “the lamentations”; such a reading certainly contributed to the postbiblical tradition that Jeremiah himself composed the canonical book of Lamentations, and of course the book of Jeremiah contains many personal lamentations or “complaints” that are presented as the prophet’s own words. 34 However, the passage does not specify what, exactly, these lamentations are and does not in fact credit Jeremiah with writing them. Rather, we are told that Jeremiah lamented the death of Josiah, as did a large swath of men and women with some sort of liturgical responsibility (‫ַּׁשרֹות‬ ָ ‫ַּׁשִרים ְוה‬ ָ ‫)ה‬, and that these lamentations are observed ‘unto this day’ (‫)עַד הַּיֹום‬. Finally, the passage tells us that the observance of these lamentations was legally codified (‫ִּתנּום ְלחֹק‬ ְ ‫) ַוּי‬. This contrasts with the well-known tale of Josiah’s death from the book of Kings, where Jeremiah does not appear, and an official tradition of lamentations in Josiah’s memory is unattested elsewhere in biblical tradition. These conundrums may be decoded by viewing the passage—and indeed all the appearances involving Jeremiah—as a platform for hermeneutics. Louis C. Jonker has argued that the Chronicler uses his historiography to direct the reader to new ways of reading other authoritative texts and to forge new relationships between them. 35 This same strategy seems to undergird this aforementioned difficult passage. As I have discussed elsewhere, the ‫ עַד הַּיֹום‬notice in 2 Chr 35:24 is a hermeneutical allusion to the Chronicler’s source text in Kings, where this lexical formula regularly appears; 36 the notices regarding the ‫ׁשִרים‬/‫רֹות‬ ָ ‫ׁש‬ ָ and the legal codification ֹ (‫ִּתנּום ְלחק‬ ְ ‫ ) ַוּי‬of the lamentations may serve similar purposes. The mention of singers recalls the role of Asaphite Temple singers in Ezra 2//Nehemiah 7 (‫)מׁש ְֹרִרים‬ ְ and the place of similar Temple personnel frequently mentioned in Chronicles who carry Levitical heritage, though the ‫ׁשרֹות‬/ ָ ‫ׁשִרים‬ ָ may also allude to lament traditions about the end of the monarchy, traditions that originated in a popular context. 37 By contrast, the language 34.  The Talmud (b. B. Bat. 14b) identifies Jeremiah as the author of Lamentations. This position does not stand up to critical scrutiny, but there is a significant amount of thematic and even lexical commonality shared between Lamentations and Jeremiah; see E. Assis, “The Unity of the Book of Lamentations,” CBQ 71 (2009) 313, 318–20. 35. L. C. Jonker, “Reforming History: The Hermeneutical Significance of the Book of Chronicles,” VT 57 (2007) 21–44. 36.  Leuchter, “The ‘Prophets’ and the ‘Levites,’” 44 n. 61. 37.  The temple singers are granted “Levite” status officially in Chronicles and not in EN; the obtaining of this status was a gradual process. See J. Schaper (Priester und Leviten im achämenidischen Juda [FAT; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000] 290–301).

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characterizing the legalizing of the lamentations alludes to the Aaronide Priestly legal corpus. The book of Leviticus, in particular, identifies its ritual stipulations as ‫( חֻּקֹות‬Lev 3:17; 10:9; 16:29, 31, 34; 17:7; 23:14; 23:21, 31, 41; 24:3) demarcating the Temple cult as being constituted of inalienable laws that derived from Sinai (Lev 27:34). When we consider this legal rhetoric alongside the combination of Jeremiah’s 70-year prophecy with the Priestly Sabbath ideology, it becomes obvious that the Chronicler’s invocation of the Priestly ‫ חֹק‬terminology and the prophet Jeremiah is no coincidence. As is the case elsewhere in his work, the Chronicler is exegetically combining disparate traditions into a meta-tradition that had hitherto stood in opposition to each other. 38 In this case, Priestly and non-Priestly traditions are subsumed within each other, and the galvanizing figure is none other than the prophet Jeremiah. And yet, the absence of a reference to the Jeremianic literary corpus is actually in keeping with the Chronicler’s purpose in this instance; neither the liturgical (or popular) singers nor priestly ideology (writ large) are mere texts from the past to be consulted but, in the Chronicler’s day, living traditions and active socioreligious categories. Jeremiah is brought into this not on the textual level but on the conceptual level, as a prophetic symbol mediating between these categories. This echoes the earlier engagement of the Jeremiah tradition used for similar purposes both under the auspices of Persia and earlier. 39 Jeremiah becomes a symbol of prophetic mediation However, Schaper also notes a distinction between Levite status and Levitical heritage (pp. 294–95), and the singers’ fitness for inclusion in the temple faculty in Chronicles is based on the heritage. For the Levite lineage roots of Asaphites, see S. L. Cook, The Social Roots of Biblical Yahwism (Studies in Biblical Literature 8; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004) 237–41. On the place of Levites and liturgical singing in general in the Second Temple period, see M. S. Smith, “The Levitical Redaction of the Psalter,” ZAW 103 (1991) 258–63. It also remains possible that the ‫ׁשִרים‬/‫רֹות‬ ָ ‫ש‬ ָׁ notice concerns popular traditions of lamentation, related to events befalling the twilight of monarchic Judah that in the Chronicler’s memory began with the death of Josiah. The Chronicler’s interest in hinterland oral traditions may have moved him to associate regional/popular laments with “official” moments in history as preserved in his version of Kings just as the genealogies in 1 Chronicles 1–9 are merged with “official” ancestral traditions from the Pentateuch (as per Levin, “From Lists to History”). 38.  See the discussion by Jonker, “Reforming History,” 35–36. Jonker discusses the realignment and social formulations created by the Chronicler with respect to Levites on one hand and the Aaronide “Second Passover” legislation in Numbers 9 on the other. 39.  One need only look to MT Jer 33:14–26, which attempts to negotiate royal/ Aaronide relations in the early postexilic period. See K. E. Pomykala, The Davidic Dynasty Tradition in Early Judaism: Its History and Significance for Messianism (Early Judaism and Its Literature 7; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995) 42–45. See also my “Manumission Laws,” 646–51.

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within the text of Chronicles, 40 mirroring the function of Chronicles itself in relation to the Chronicler’s own diverse written and oral sources. 41 Jeremiah’s appearance in the Chronicles passages cited above provides the key to the purpose of the shared doublet in Ezra 1:1–4//2 Chr 36:22– 23. History had proved Jeremiah’s oracles to be authentic, and any socioreligious purview would be reified through a connection to those oracles. However, the Jeremiah tradition also became a factor in the polemical rift that had widened during the exile between Aaronides and Levites—a rift that many scholars recognize as continuing during the postexilic period among the Golah returnees as well. 42 The appropriation of the Jeremiah tradition by one group would detract from the potency of the group.

Jeremiah as a Hermeneutical Topos in Both EN and Chronicles The redactors of the Nehemiah material and Ezra 7–10 use the language, ideas, and traditions associated with the prophet’s name in order to assert a brand of authority that subordinated the Aaronide priesthood to a more complex power structure. 43 They delineated a sense of religious and political authority that emanated from beyond the Temple and was executed through the actions of Levites, scribes and administrators, not only Aaronide priests. The Aaronides codified their ideology into a form of the book of Leviticus that placed the cult at the top of the sacral order, with nary a mention of prophecy; the parties behind most of EN countered by taking up the language of Jeremiah and infusing it into their own work. The strategy deployed was to suggest genetic continuity between one work and the other: there is no explicit reference to a book of Jeremiah in Ezra 7–10 and much of Nehemiah because those redactors wished to suggest that their work was an inherent extension of that prophetic tradition rather than an external tradition looking back on it. It is at this point that the Jeremiah reference in Ezra 1:1–4 enters the picture for, as many scholars have noted, Ezra 1–6 (in part or in full) 40.  Leuchter, “The ‘Prophets’ and the ‘Levites,’” 35. 41. Following Jonker, “Reforming History,” 41. 42.  See, among others, S. S. Tuell, “The Priesthood of the ‘Foreigner’: Evidence of Competing Polities in Ezekiel 44:1–14 and Isaiah 56:1–8,” in Constituting the Community: Studies on the Polity of Ancient Israel in Honor of S. Dean McBride Jr. (ed. John T. Strong and Steven S. Tuell; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005) 183–204. 43.  I do not wish to suggest here that Ezra 7–10 and major units in Nehemiah were redacted by a single group or at a single moment in time but only that the redactors who successively contributed to this literary collection shared methods and interests regarding authoritative sources.

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constitutes a later, pro-Aaronide, Priestly addition to EN. 44 The addition of this material moves the entire EN corpus much closer to the Aaronide world view, making the construction of the temple the primary purpose of the restoration to Yehud and the ultimate symbol of the Golah community. On one hand, the addition of these materials creates the impression that Ezra’s (subsequent) mission and delegation in Ezra 7–10 are a pilgrimage to a site that outshines the Persian royal court as a locus of power. 45 On the other hand, it anticipates the turn of events in Nehemiah 13 and creates the impression that Nehemiah’s activity reaches a climax once he turns his attention to the temple, creating an inclusio within the totality of EN, where concern with the temple opens and closes the work. 46 The initiation of this literary enterprise with a reference to Jeremiah alongside a clear notice regarding the rebuilding of the Temple accomplishes a similar purpose: it conditions the way that the reader perceives the allusions to the Jeremiah tradition found elsewhere in EN. Every subsequent reference to the prophet, however implicit, becomes a testament to Aaronide dominance under the auspices of Persian imperial authority. The fact that the author of Ezra 1:1–4 uses the term ‫ ִל ְכלֹות‬to characterize the way Jeremiah’s prophetic authority should be seen in this regard is important. It suggests connections to the cosmos reminiscent of the conclusion of the Priestly creation account in Gen 2:1–4a, where Yhwh’s completion of creation with the Sabbath is characterized in precisely the same terms (‫ ַו ְיכֻּלּ֛ו‬, ‫) ַו ְיכַל‬. 47 Just as significantly, the term appears in the Priestly depiction of Moses’ completion of the tabernacle in Exod 40:33 44. H. G. M. Williamson, Studies in Persian Period History and Historiography (FAT; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) 244–70; Wright, “Seeking, Finding and Writing,” 296–98; R. G. Kratz, “The Second Temple of Jeb and of Jerusalem,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006) 263–64; P. R. Bedford, Temple Restoration in Early Achae­menid Judah (JSJSup 65; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 87–110. 45.  M. D. Knowles adopts this view of Jerusalem’s place in EN. See her article “Pilgrimage Imagery in the Returns in Ezra,” JBL 123 (2004) 57–74. 46.  H. G. M. Williamson notes, however, that Nehemiah’s attention to the temple is that of an administrator (with a renewed scope of duties) extending his influence over a cultic institution rather than an indication that Nehemiah suddenly realized the primacy of the cult (“More Unity than Diversity,” in Unity and Disunity in Ezra– Nehemiah [ed. Mark J. Boda and Paul L. Redditt; Hebrew Bible Monograph 17; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2008] 341–42). 47.  This calls into question the reading of S. Frolov, “The Prophecy of Jeremiah in Esr 1,1,” ZAW 116 (2004) 595–601. Frolov argues for the term to be read ‘to reverse’, but this does not consider the symbolic dimensions of the term as part of a pro-Priestly rhetorical strategy geared to bring non- or even anti-Aaronide views in line with a temple-centered hierarchy.

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(‫ׁשה אֶת־ה ְַּמלָאכָה‬ ֶ ֹ ‫) ַו ְיכַל מ‬. This lexical strategy further conditions the way the events in the subsequent chapters of EN are perceived: all administrative, scribal, social, and prophetic enterprises are subsumed within a Priestly cosmic purview, leading up to the completion of the construction of the Second Temple. Invoking Jeremiah in Ezra 1:1 ratifies the aims of the authors of Ezra 1–6 and reifies the priority of Priestly thought throughout EN. The aim of the Chronicler is not entirely at cross-purposes with the aim of the pro-Aaronide Priestly redactors of EN. The emphasis on the Temple and its cultic faculty throughout the Chronicler’s work makes clear that this institution is of central importance to the life of the people in a manner similar to Ezra 1–6. However, the centrality of the temple is factored into a larger paradigm through the emphasis on Levites over Aaronide priests and prophecy over sacrifice. 48 The conclusion of the Chronicler’s work with the Jeremiah doublet (and the leaving out of Ezra 1:3b–4) factors into this rhetorical strategy as it expands the prophet’s authority beyond the confines of its function within Ezra 1–6 (and, consequently, EN en masse). It is not, the Chronicler argues, simply the reestablishment of the sacrificial cult that realizes and sustains the divine ‫ ָּדבָר‬bequeathed by the prophet to successive generations. Rather, the ‫ ָּדבָר‬in question empowers history to unfold, directs empires to rise and fall, unifies embattled social factions, and equalizes law with liturgy. 49 It is for this reason that Jeremiah is so openly invoked in the closing chapters of Chronicles. By the time we encounter the doublet in 2 Chr 36:22–23, the Chronicler has already provided the context in which it is to be perceived and read. 50 This contributes to the view that EN obtained at

48.  J. W. Wright’s observation regarding socioreligious rank in Chronicles as following standards independent of lineage hierarchy is an important indication in this shift in ideology (“‘Those Doing the Work for the Service in the House of the Lord’: 1 Chronicles 23:6–24:31 and the Sociohistorical Context of the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem in the Late Persian/Early Hellenistic Period,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e. [ed. O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers, and R. Albertz; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007] 361–82). Sacerdotal rank is not eliminated, but it is no longer expressly a matter of Zadokite or Aaronide heritage in the Chronicler’s view. Administrative position displaces hereditary right in importance. 49. This ideological application helps to clarify why the Chronicler’s use of the doublet cuts off the details found in Ezra 1:3b–4. The Jeremianic word is applied to international politics more than Jerusalemite cultic interests. 50.  H. G. M. Williamson’s view that 2 Chr 36:22–23 derives from a later redaction (1 and 2 Chronicles [NCB; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1982] 412–19) is thus open to question, because the hermeneutical strategy in 2 Chr 36:22–23 is entirely consistent with the strategy deployed throughout the closing chapters of Chronicles, as the foregoing discussion has suggested. Both this closing passage and the passages enumerated

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a fairly mature form before the Chronicler completed his own work. 51 But it also carries important implications for the diversity of views regarding the role of prophecy and the role of text in the context of imperial existence. The authors of Ezra 1–6 saw prophecy as a supportive component of the temple service, which mediated the relationship between the Jewish people and the imperial world surrounding them. 52 In the Chronicler’s view, however, the place of the temple had changed; its cult was no longer the anchor maintaining the cosmic order. Rather, the divine ‫ ָּדבָר‬from the prophet’s mouth stood at the apex of the cosmic order, and the texts that demonstrated its potency provided a clear delineation of the way that Israel must understand this cosmos. Moreover, the Chronicler’s literary enterprise amplified this ‫ ָּדבָר‬by showing how it could galvanize diverse literary works and, by extension, the ideologies that they sustained and advanced.

Conclusion: Prophetic and Textual Authority and Political Perspective in Chronicles The foregoing distinctions between EN and Chronicles are suggestive of a significant change in the historical circumstances governing the formation of both works. The methodological and thematic genotype of EN appears to derive from a time when the biblical writers identified their authority with the bastions of the Persian imperial administrative superstructure; even if Hellenistic-era accretions may be detected in this work, 53 these accretions carry forward this sense that social and cultic institutions are empowered by the larger empire. 54 Chronicles offers a response to this, turning inward and suggesting that external empires rise and fall according to principles fostered within Israel’s religious and intellectual tradition. These same concerns had empowered the Jeremiah tradition into existence many times over; 55 it is therefore fitting that the Chronicler’s last above take up Priestly discourse and expand the ideological horizons against which it was to be seen. 51.  I hesitate, however, to assume that a complete version of one work preceded the other. Rather, I believe it more likely that a substantial redaction of EN (inclusive of major parts of Ezra 1–6) preceded the orchestration of Chronicles and that later accretions in both works developed during a common and extended period of literary growth. 52.  Wright notes this with regard to the temple’s taking precedence over Nehemiah’s wall (“Seeking, Finding and Writing,” 297). 53.  As per Wright, “A New Model.” 54. This is implied further by the repeated emphasis on the imperial satrapy of Transeuphrates throughout the work; see T. Dozeman, “Geography and History in Herodotus and Ezra–Nehemiah,” JBL 122 (2003) 457–66. 55.  The different units of text identified within the book of Jeremiah that are both discernible through redaction-critical study and presented within the literary rhetoric

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word revisits the Jeremiah tradition for inspiration, authority, and hope in the face of uncertainty. EN and Chronicles may have developed over time alongside each other on the textual level, but the ideology of Chronicles is subsequent to and conscious of the ideology of EN, and the repetition of Ezra 1:1–3a in 2 Chr 36:22–23 evidences a stage in the development of both in which the Chronicler revisits assumptions promoted by the authors of Ezra 1–6. He invites the reader to rethink not only the purpose of the Jeremiah doublet but EN as a whole and to place EN alongside the larger legacy of Israel’s literature that he embeds and transforms within his work. of the book itself suggest that the book developed as a result of shifting political circumstances over time, beginning with the presence of Assyrian-Egyptian threats in the prophet’s early oracles (dating from the late seventh century) and then progressing to the dominant theme of Babylonian threats in later strata, culminating in the Persian-era shaping of the book and its subsequent alloforms as attested text-critically between the MT and the LXX. On the Assyrian-Egyptian threat, see M. A. Sweeney, King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001) 208–33. For a brief but helpful discussion regarding the impact of Babylon on the growth of both the MT and the LXX of Jeremiah, see W. M. Schniedewind, How The Bible Became a Book: The Textualization of Ancient Israel (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 154–57. See also my discussion in The Polemics of Exile, 66–70. Regarding Persia, see Pomykala, The Davidic Dynasty Tradition, 42–45. For a more detailed proposal regarding the Persian-era growth of Jeremiah, see K. Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen der Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jeremia 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (WMANT; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996).

Sociology and the Book of Chronicles Risk, Ontological Security, Moral Panics, and Types of Narrative David J. Chalcraft University of Sheffield

Introduction: Toward a Comparative Sociology of Risk For the sociologist, the book of Chronicles can be approached experimentally as one documentary example of a response to a social disaster that had an impact on individual, group, and societal levels. Sociology is interested in the case study from the perspective of its commitment to understanding the rise, nature, and potential futures of modernity (Chalcraft 2007; 2008; 2010). 1 Within this wider project, many strands in contemporary sociology are currently concerned with the nature of risk and the extent to which contemporary society is “a risk society.” The work of Ulrich Beck is central to these approaches to the Risikogesellschaft (Beck 1992; Eliot 2002). 2 The extent to which modern society can be characterized as a risk society determines the extent to which social theory will consider contemporary social forms not to be “modern” but to reflect a new stage in modernity: late or high modernity. 3 The nature of disaster 1.  In this essay, I do not review the many valuable contributions (e.g., Smith 1989; Cataldo 2009) made by biblical scholars to the sociological study of the exile and of Chronicles and its social worlds. 2. This is not to deny the contributions of many others to “risk discourse,” especially the work of Mary Douglas. I concentrate on Beck as a point of departure, given his location within sociology/social theory (e.g., Douglas 1992; Douglas and Wildavsky 1982). 3.  In generalized terms, the nature of risk in premodern societies (which Beck does not theorize about at any great length) is that the degree of risk is not calculable but is ever present and is a threat to all; furthermore, hazard is presented by nature and by supernatural forces. In premodern societies, disasters are attributed to supernatural agents who can chastise populations through the manipulation of natural and historical events. In modernity, risk is felt to be calculable, even to the extent that one can

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and the social and cultural reaction to catastrophe, theoretically speaking, should vary in relation to the ways in which risk is conceived in particular sociohistorical epochs. Recent and current history has made us all too keenly aware of risk phenomena—for example, 9/11 and the so-called War on Terror (Urry 2002; Beck 2002; Denzin and Lincoln 2003; Engle 2007; Holloway 2008), the Boxing Day Tsunami (2004), Hurricane Katrina (Brunsma, Overfelt, and Picou 2007), pandemics such as bird flu and swine flu, and apparently increasing numbers of school/campus shootings in North America, Germany, and Finland (Burns and Crawford 1999; Agger and Luke 2008). All these occurrences feed into a concern with threats to everyday life and contemporary society (Berger 2007) and raise the issue of the existence of a “risk society,” especially where factors external to social actions and human decisions that in the past could be appealed to in order to explain the occurrence of disasters are no longer available. 4 The ongoing sociological analysis of these hazards, risks, and disasters provides a range of comparative data, concepts, and theories with which to approach other historical and contemporary cases, including events and reactions in the ancient world. 5 insure against disaster and plan to minimize the risks that hazard and its effects present. Finally, in late modernity, risk is incalculable and unbounded (Beck 2002). Solutions to previous problems, for example the need for energy or for medicines, have created further problems that are difficult to control or repel. To claim therefore that late modernity is a risk society is not to suggest that there were no risks in previous social forms but that the nature of risk in contemporary society is qualitatively, if not quantitatively different. It needs to be clear that from my perspective these generalizations are but crude, typical contrasts that need to be explored further at considerable depth, and each “period” needs further differentiation. On the other hand, the generalizations provide a motivation to look closely at a range of cases from the perspective of risk and should generate further research, including research into ancient Israel. In this essay, I refrain from a analysis of the “type of risk society” that ancient Israel may have been, focusing instead on an example of a response to a disaster as one instance of this possible wider type of risk society. 4.  In contrast to all earlier epochs (including industrial society), the risk society is characterized essentially by a lack: the impossibility of an external attribution of hazards. In other words, risks depend on decisions; they are industrially produced and in this sense politically reflexive. While all earlier cultures and phases of social development confronted threats in various ways, society today is confronted by itself through its dealings with risks. (Beck 1992: 183; italics original) 5.  To avoid a sociological method that merely and uncritically compares the “then” and the “now,” we must develop ideal typical depictions of attitudes and reactions to risk in a range of sociohistorical epochs, and comparative work of this sort allows for the isolation of contexts and variables that led responses to be of one type rather than another. For historical comparative work on societal reactions to hazards and risks, phe-

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At the same time, sociology warns that our fears about these sorts of phenomena are moral panics, more often than not spread by media sensationalism (Cohen 2002; Goode and Ben-Yehuda 2009; cf. Ungar 2001; Pratt 2005). Pointing to moral panics, however, does not always satisfy on an explanatory level: what it does is point to the fact that moral panics are phenomena of increasing frequency in societies experiencing high levels of incalculable and unmanageable risk (Young 1999; 2007). I will return to considering moral panics below. In order to assess the degree to which contemporary society is changing in terms of risk, sociology posits contrasts with previous social forms and previous ways of dealing with hazards and dangers and the manner in which risks can be calculated, controlled, and managed. A comparative sociology of risk therefore analyzes nonmodern and modern forms of society, including the ways in which these societies experience and respond to natural and human disasters. In this context, analysis of ancient Israelite society contributes to the comparative sociological enterprise; similarly, approaching ancient Israelite social and narrative worlds with concepts of risk uppermost is suggestive for adding depth to our understanding of the experiences of disaster, trauma, and social change in the past. 6 Thus, the historical work of biblical scholars also contributes to this comparative enterprise (e.g., Berquist 2007; Lee and Mandolfo 2008; Becking and Human 2009), as does work reflecting on ecological hermeneutics and biblical attitudes to nature (Habel and Trudinger 2008; Marlow 2009). A point of departure for a comparative historical sociology of risk is provided by Beck, though to be fair, his main concentration is on the differences between modern society and late modern society—for Beck, “the risk society” itself. Nevertheless, his contrasts do rest on certain assumptions about the premodern, and hence his approach, as is often the case in sociology, needs to be carefully investigated against evidence regarding the nature of danger and risk in premodern societies. That is, sociology needs to pay attention to the “premodern” in all of its diversity if any claims that it is making about the modern and the late modern are to hold any water at all. Ancient Israel therefore provides data for the investigation of the premodern both in terms of its disconnections with modern social forms and in terms of the interweaving of legacies from biblical Israel and the

nomena that occur in all epochs provide valuable case studies. The comparative analysis of societal responses to “plagues” across time and place would be one example of the type of work that can be carried out (e.g., see Nelkin and Gilman 1988; Foege 1988). 6. Esther Eidinow (2007), for example, has examined notions of risk in ancient Greek society in which she uses the work of Mary Douglas.

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Hebrew Bible in the history of contemporary societies and in their cultural, political, and social forms. 7 In looking at the book of Chronicles in this way, I am working experimentally with the assumption that the book bears something of a closer rather than a more distant relation to the “disasters” of 597 and 586 8— that is, the deportations, the period of exile, and the process of return and restoration. 9 The extent to which the Chronicler is close to these events is a highly complex matter, and it may be that an analysis of the Chronicler’s responses to disaster will favor placing editions of this work either nearer to the traumas of the exile or further away. That is, eventually the sociological findings may help with dating sizable portions of the work (cf. Williamson 1977: 83–86). Method: Using the Sociological Imagination for Creative Synthesis in Biblical Studies I intend to use various strands of contemporary theory in an encounter with the biblical case study, and in the process I intend to contribute both to the interpretation of the biblical text and its social worlds and to the contemporary development (advancement, improvement) of sociological ideas in the social sciences. In terms of conceptual procedure, I am placing the sociological analysis of disaster within a wider sociological concern with the nature of risk societies. One might visualize, therefore, that the overarching body of theory I am thinking within is the sociology of risk with, as we shall see further below, contributions from the sociological analysis of disasters, social theoretical work on “ontological security” (Giddens 1990; 1991) and its resonance within the sociology of health and illness, and finally, the sociology of deviance—sociological work on “folk devils and moral panics.” All of these areas represent significant dimen7.  Among the broad category of “disasters,” one needs to include earthquakes and floods, famines and plagues, war and genocide, and many forms of social conflict that lead to social displacement and forced migration. As such, a comparative historical sociology of risk is of relevance to many texts in the Hebrew Bible and their manner of responding to disasters in ancient worlds. 8. In this essay, I do not engage with the important sociological questions surrounding the social construction of these events as a disaster within ancient Israel through narrative and other performative means. Rather, I have taken this trauma, this “fact” as a given and concentrate on aspects of the “restoration” of community in the narratives. I hope to return to the former question (guided by the sociological work of Jeffrey Alexander 2003)—as a matter of some interpretive urgency. 9.  The aftereffects of a cultural trauma can rumble on for many decades and become present realities for social groups that never experienced the events, especially when cultures revive or memorialize the past in particular ways (see, e.g., Eyerman 2001; Edkins 2003; Alexander 2006).

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sions of the area to be investigated. I am bringing into a dialogue some diverse strands in sociology in an effort to address a comparative sociology of risk that will be of relevance to ancient Israel (cf. Ungar 2001; Lianos and Douglas 2000; Alexander 2003). In methodological terms, therefore, it is not a case of taking a sociological concept or one specific theory “off the peg” and seeing how well it dresses the data; rather, it is a matter of exercising our sociological imaginations (well versed in the discipline) with a range of sociological ideas and contributing to a body of theory—a body of theory, moreover, that can be “corrected” and adapted through engagement with the case study: in this instance, the book of Chronicles. Disasters and the Disruption of Communal and Biographical Flow One way that connections between the various forms of disaster (which can be distinguished in terms of human agency and in the variety of ways that they affect groups within society) are achieved in sociology is to consider disasters as causes of major social disruption. It is often stated in the sociology literature that, if you wish to understand how social order is achieved on a daily and ongoing basis, examine disasters, since they show society in “meltdown,” revealing the tensions that are bubbling under the surface (Fisher 2002; Stock 2007). 10 More recently, the sociological analysis of disasters suggests that the social disorder that is created quickly motivates individuals and agencies to correct the problems (but remember the U.S./FEMA response to Katrina! See Zegart 2007; Marable 2006); hence, disasters bring out the best in societies. These conclusions no doubt reveal in part a social ideology of hope to sustain the society. One dimension of an ideology of hope is the notion that “going through the fire” strengthens individuals and communities and increases their shared resilience (Ai 2005; Torabi and Seo 2004; Cyrulink 2009) as well as their sympathies for others (Pyles 2006). These interruptions and disruptions of the ongoing nature of social life have an impact on the narratives of the biographical flows of individuals in society and the flows of group and organizational life (Bury 1982). From this perspective, it is possible to make theoretical advances in comparative historical sociology through analyzing the way that both individuals and groups deal with biographical and organizational disruption.

10.  On a more micro level, Garfinkel’s “breaching experiments” attempted to reveal the assumptions that constitute everyday social order by having people perform as though factors that they took for granted did not exist (Garfinkel 1984).

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In sociology (and the social sciences more generally), 11 much of the research into the ways that individuals, groups, and institutions respond to personal and collective disaster concentrates on the narratives or stories that events and traumas appear to demand from victims (e.g., Becker 1997). I want to argue that this is a very significant development for advancing sociology in biblical studies, since the development of narratives or stories is part of the “sociology of texts and textual communities.” It seems sensible, given the textual nature of the majority of the data with which biblical studies deals, to look to the areas of sociology that pertain to the analysis of narratives, discourse, conversation, documents, and textual communities (e.g., Smith 1993; 1998; Titscher 2000). 12 Sociological Questions for the Book of Chronicles I argue that a comparative sociology of risk that concentrates on the nature and social effects of disaster understood as biographical and institutional disruption together with a sociologically informed analysis of the stories created by individuals and societies to deal with these disruptions and restore order is of particular use to biblical studies. The approach will especially be of use to the sociological analysis of texts and responses to defeat, destruction, deportation, and exile found in the Hebrew Bible and beyond in Jewish literature. With regard to the book of Chronicles, the sociological questions will include: How can the responses to disaster found in the book be interpreted in light of a typology of response that would then enable an understanding of the social realities that the Chronicler is trying to respond to and also create? Additionally, from the perspective of the sociology of disaster and narrative responses, can we now see things in the Chronicler’s textual strategies that can be linked with attempts to deal with cultural and social problems that were less obvious before? What is authoritative for the Chronicler and the way that the Chronicler’s text becomes authoritative for the textual community/ies in Yehud and beyond relate closely to these attempts to deal with risk. If we only succeed in discovering similar themes and issues in the texts that scholars have seen before without the use of social theory perhaps all is not thereby lost, since what we will have discovered are some sociological reasons that the text appears this way rather than another. 11. One would include theological-pastoral work in various religious traditions (e.g., Blumenthal 1993) alongside more psychiatric-oriented work (e.g., Herman 2001). 12.  Sociological analysis of the Qumran community, for example, surely now needs to move beyond the debate about sectarian typologies to a closer sociological study of the everyday textual life of sectarian community social movements (see Chalcraft 2010).

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Ontological Security, Biographical Disruption, and Illness Narratives Before looking in a little more depth at some typical responses to disaster, we must say a few words about an important concept in contemporary sociology that illustrates why personal and collective disasters are considered to be very disruptive and why individuals and groups wish to devote a great deal of energy to restoring the ordinary and the everyday. I speak here of the idea of “ontological security” as developed by Tony Giddens, perhaps the leading British sociological theorist today. 13 The two most significant books in which this concept is developed are: The Consequences of Modernity (1990) and Modernity and Self Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age (1991). Giddens defines ontological security thus: “The phrase refers to the confidence that most human beings have in the continuity of their self identity and in the constancy of the surrounding social and material environments of action” (Giddens 1990: 92). Basic to a feeling of ontological security is a sense of the reliability of persons and things (Dupuis and Thorns 1998). It is ontological security that is threatened by dangers and hazards, and the experience of ontological insecurity is a major psychological and social motivation for social action as it drives to restore ontological security, including story-making and the formation of textual communities. People actively strive for ontological security, and this striving is an everyday achievement, not just a concern that arises in moments of crisis. Certainly, feelings about ontological security may be unconscious most of the time, and sources of security may often be taken for granted. Hence, in times of crisis, the nature and importance of these feelings and resources may become a focus of attention. As with all sociological theory that seeks to contribute to the sociological project regarding modernity, Giddens’s approach to ontological security is built around typological contrasts between the modern and the premodern. These contrasts are too crude and generalized to be accepted uncritically, but they at least orient us to investigate more fully the nature of ontological security and its relation to risk in a variety of historical and contemporary societies. For example, for Giddens, late modern societies require people to trust and have confidence in abstract, symbolic systems and the rule of experts, whereas more traditional societies operate with face-to-face relationships that form the basis of trust. Giddens constantly 13.  Giddens develops his conception of ontological security as part of his understanding of the nature of modernity, which includes the experience of hazards and anxiety. For example, he writes: “To live in a universe of high modernity is to live in an environment of chance and risk” (1991: 109). That is to say, the link between ontological security and the sociology of risk is already found in Giddens.

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reiterates that “modernity is a post-traditional order” but does not engage in a full-blown, historically grounded analysis of the way that traditional orders operated in detail. The Wounded Storyteller Arthur Frank’s (1995) study from the field of the sociology of health and illness is very helpful in light of what I am trying to achieve here. 14 The book offers a sociological analysis of the stories that individuals suffering from a range of illnesses (especially the dehabilitating and chronic illnesses) are driven to produce. These stories are called into being by the illness, and the individual—“the body-self ”—engages in storytelling to make sense of his or her life in the face of the disruptions caused by these unforeseen events. Since, as Frank puts it, the present is not what the lived past was meant to bring about, individuals are faced not only with an uncertain future but also with a need to locate the current events in the development of the narrative that they thought they were living. The analysis that Frank provides is also relevant to the sociology of collective memory. Dealing with the trauma of disruption to the ongoing narrated life means that memories must be adjusted, rewritten, and even repressed and forgotten if a biographical flow is to be restored. Sometimes, as the sociological data illustrate, the person is not able to create a coherent narrative: the illness cannot be risen to, the chaos cannot be fathomed, and anger, depression, and more tragic results may follow. Arthur Frank creates ideal types of illness stories. These include: the restitution narrative, the chaotic narrative, and the quest narrative. Each of these types of narrative has an affinity with types of society broadly conceived. 15 Table 1 illustrates the story types and their affinity with sociohistorical periods. A restitution story in the context of personal illness has a basic plot: “I was healthy, today I am sick, but tomorrow I will be healthy again.” It is this type of plot that patients undergoing medical care are meant to believe in, attempt to live out, and tell once recovery has been achieved. In other words, the restitution story (in modernity) is a dominant narrative 14. Other studies of narratives in the context of the sociology of health include Bury 1982; Williams 1984; Clark and Mishler 1992; Becker 1997; Hyden 1997; Faircloth et al. 2004. 15.  By now it will be clear that a standard practice in sociology is to create typologies that map onto sociohistorical periods generally conceived. With the sociology of risk, with Giddens’s views on ontological security, and now also with Frank’s types of narrative, manifestations of the phenomena are considered to be different and in some cases impossible in various historical periods. Sociology rarely, therefore, works with a comparison of the “then” and the “now, but rather seeks to build into its thinking, however crudely, notions of historical difference.

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Table 1.  Types of Stories and Their Affinities Restitution — “I was healthy, today I am sick, but tomorrow I will be health again”

Modernist — based on notions of normality, progress, and the narrative of science and cure

Chaos Story

All periods, but less common in modernity

Quest — (paradigm case: Jacob wrestling with the angel, Genesis 32)

All periods, but essentially relevant in post-modernity

to which other stories are to conform: they derive from the expectations and obligations of the normative order of conventional medicine and the expertise of the medical profession. Frank clarifies the differences between the story types as follows: Restitution stories attempt to outdistance mortality by rendering illness transitory. Chaos stories are sucked into the undertow of illness and the disasters that attend it. Quest stories meet suffering head on; they accept illness and seek to use it. Illness is the occasion of a journey that becomes a quest. (1995: 115)

However, as we expect in the use of ideal types, not only can examples of all types of story be found mixed together in actual narratives, but the predominance of a type in one social form or another is only a matter of degree and concentration: the story types can be encountered in all types of society. It is also possible to see the story types as belonging in some kind of sequence. The sequences can relate to the types of story told in specific types of society over time. The sequencing can also relate to how an individual may tell a story, with some stories being more suited to early stages of talking about illness and recovery rather than later stages. That is, an individual illness narrative can be subject to revision and alteration as circumstances change, and different versions of stories can be told to different audiences in the same day. However, it is probably true that the restitution narratives, each of which will use the dominant authoritative form of its particular society, will also contain contents that differ. Indeed, as we shall see, the restitution narratives of the DtrH and the Chronicler are each of their own nature. What they have in common is that they predefine how stories are to be told, preempting certain content and interpretation. From a normative point of view, Frank wants all illness stories—and the body-self that is thereby formed in the process—to be of the quest variety. Here the notion is that the experience of illness, the biographical

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disruption, has provided the unwelcome demand to enter an unknown land and to return as a wounded storyteller who now has access to truths that are unavailable to individuals who have not undertaken the journey. The truth accessed during the illness quest, among other things, teaches the wounded storyteller that the body and life are contingent and limited and that individuals who have suffered are able to connect with others in their experiences of biographical disruption, illness, and suffering. It will come as no surprise to biblical scholars to learn that one of the main premodern paradigms of the wounded storyteller that Frank mentions is a biblical figure: Jacob wrestling with the angel (Genesis 32). For Frank, Jacob emerges injured but with hard-fought wisdom and insight. 16 He emerges from the quest successfully, and suffering is turned into blessing and benefit. Here, incidentally, we see an example of biblical literacy within social science and critical philosophy. It is also evidence of the interweaving of past and present and the connections between a modernist sociology and ancient wisdom. Although these stories are individually produced, we should not thinkthat they are, therefore, the province of psychology. Rather, the stories are produced and consumed in a social context. The stories are composed so that individuals can communicate with external others, and their sense of self is inextricably linked with the way that their stories (their “presentation of self ” in Goffman’s [1959] sense) are received by these others. Another reason that the narratives are socially embedded is that they are written in light of other stories, and these other stories both enable and constrain the telling. It is, therefore, not too much of a leap to extend the analysis of these illness narratives (themselves of interest for the analysis of various biblical texts such as the book of Job, the Suffering Servant in Second Isaiah, and so on) to the societal level. It should never be forgotten that, when we speak of groups and institutions, we do not exclude the fact that action and writing in an institution are actually carried out by individuals: institutions only act through social agents (Weber 1978: 13–14). The art of the sociological imagination is to be able to link public issues with private troubles and private troubles with public issues (Mills 1959). 16.  I think the point needs to be made that in looking for “quest narratives” in the HB/Chronicles in the sense that Frank has defined them is not to search for examples of a particular genre in terms of comparative folk-tale research (Gunkel [1987: 83] understood the Jacob-at-Penuel story to evidence the “after-effect of an ancient goblin tale”). Rather, a narrative can be a quest narrative because of its content and significance. For the moment, the biblical literary critic needs to suspend judgment. However, it is important to bring these literary and sociological concerns into closer alignment (see, e.g., Jobling 1997).

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Story Types, Social Agents, and Social Contexts in the Book of Chronicles The direction in which I will now proceed is quite straightforward. The sociological question to ask of the book of Chronicles is whether we can detect elements of Frank’s ideal typical restitution, chaos, and quest narratives within the corpus and to account for their possible presence or absence and their particular form by reference to social-group interests and institutional practices. In what follows, however, I am not engaged in a positivistic application of Frank’s ideal type; rather, I intend (1) to work with the narratives by creatively using my sociological imagination and (2) to work in light of the data to be interpreted. For example, in order to give the chaos narrative a closer connection to more-established sociological theory (that has been derived from the sociology of disorder and disaster), I want to explore whether we can think of the phenomena of “folk devils and moral panics” as an aspect of a chaos narrative. In other words, one societal response to disorder and disruption—to the experience of ontological insecurity—is to identify social groups as scapegoats; to identify and even create social groups as being the causes of the present troubles. In sociological parlance, these groups are called folk devils. Associated phenomena are moral panics. If any moral panic is to be sustained and dealt with, it is necessary to have at hand a social group about whom to panic. The absence of folk devils has the result that moral panic can escalate to such levels that social order is further undermined. This is perhaps an ironic fact since, often, moral panics are instigated by moral entrepreneurs who wish to address what they see as challenges to a revered social order. The identification of folk devils and the emergence of moral panic appear to have some affinities with a chaos story, 17 since it is born from anger directed outward. The “restoration” that is effected causes ontological insecurity for others. It can only be a narrative response that will lead to further problems of integration and collective memory in the future. 17.  I am adapting Frank’s ideal types because the narratives in Chronicles do not conform to a precise distinction between restitution, chaos, and quest narratives; borrowing insights from the sociology of folk devils and moral panics, I see the restitution narratives that make use of folk devils and moral panics as a form of chaos narrative—or, rather, as restitution narratives born of chaos (where the chaos has not been overcome but taken up and directed outward and causing further chaos for the community and those outside the community). In terms of theoretical/conceptual advance, I suggest that there needs to be another category based on the biblical case study. Alternatively, the restitution narrative that is born of chaos can be seen as a stage en route to a restitution narrative, which in Chronicles has not been achieved.

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In what follows, I view the book of Chronicles from the orienting perspective of Frank’s ideal types. To anticipate, let me here summarize the relations between narrative types in Chronicles and their possible affinities with social conditions that I postulate below. First, there are restitution narratives in Chronicles that are born of chaos and seek to restore ontological security but, in the process, create ontological insecurity (and worse) for others. Ontological security for the writers is secured through the creation of moral panics and the identification of folk devils. Included in this category are narratives that appear to make clear-cut and relatively swift judgments, creating a straightforward theodicy that connects cause and effect with good and evil. In my analysis, accounts of swift retribution, the moral assessment of whole reigns of individual kings, and the demand to “put away foreign wives” in Ezra are examples of restitution narratives born of chaos. These narratives are not “quest narratives” that deal with disruption and its restoration in a radically different way. Second, there are restitution narratives born, so to speak, from bureaucracy. In these cases, the narratives show how ontological security is obtained through order and records, using the social and cultural capital of the priestly “class.” In this category, I include all texts interested in genealogy; in recording and monitoring; in the roles and functions of officials and priests; and in records of public works and military campaigns. This includes texts that evidence the importance of records, sources, and documents to the authors and show a “will to classify” and “dehumanize.” 18 For sure, there is a possible overlap between the first category and the second, since “bureaucratic thinking” and “bureaucratic personalities” (Merton 1968) share a similar world view that enables the development of precise categories of people and ideas. Hence, these two types of narrative attempt to restore ontological security and might originate with the same social groups or with social groups who have a good deal in common. There are more examples of restitution narratives that take on a dominant and preempting role in Chronicles than of other types of narrative. However, my account concludes with a consideration of the Passover celebrated in Hezekiah’s reign. It is perhaps here that we have an example of an attempt to heal a community. The attempt to restore an inclusive community, one might argue, has emerged from an experience of chaos out of which the author or social group has learned the value of communal social life. In this sense, the account of Hezekiah’s Passover is a quest narrative, in Frank’s terms.

18.  Hence a warning to all sociologists who want to reduce social reality to quantifiable categories!

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Folk Devils and Moral Panics in the Book of Chronicles Stan Cohen’s Folk Devils and Moral Panics is a perennial favorite among students of sociology largely on account of its treatment of the youth subcultures of the mid-1960s in the UK and because teachers often are able to show clips from the movie Quadrophenia by way of illustration! Nevertheless, the work has been of immense influence in many areas of sociology since its first publication in 1972, and it is now in its 3rd edition. The twin concepts of folk devils 19 and moral panics and the analysis of the processes of deviance amplification that the moral panic can occasion in a society have proved remarkably resilient to criticism and highly useful in the analysis of a range of phenomena in both historical and contemporary societies (Goode and Ben-Yehuda 2009). Cohen’s sociology can be placed within the interpretive tradition of the sociology of deviance 20 and is often concerned with the manner in which social reality is constructed by social groups that are often in conflict with each other. Cohen writes: Societies appear to be subject, every now and then, to periods of moral panic. A condition, episode, person, or group of persons emerges to become defined as a threat to societal values and interests; its nature is presented in a stylised and stereotypical fashion by the mass media; the moral barricades are manned [sic] by editors, bishops, politicians, and other right thinking people; socially accredited experts pronounce their diagnoses and solutions; ways of coping are evolved or (more often) resorted to; the condition then disappears, submerges or deteriorates and becomes more visible. . . . Sometimes the object of the panic is quite novel and at other times it is something which has been in existence long enough, but suddenly appears in the limelight. Sometimes the panic passes over and then is forgotten, except in folklore and collective memory; at other times it has more serious and long-lasting repercussions and might produce such changes as those in legal and social policy or even in the way the society conceives itself. (Cohen 2002: 1) 21

19.  A “folk devil” can be defined in the following way: “An individual or group who, through stereotyping and scape-goating, comes to be represented as the embodiment of social problems” (Muncie 2004: 308). 20. See Chalcraft 1990. 21.  Another helpful statement about moral panics is found in the Oxford Dictionary of Sociology: “The process of arousing social concern over an issue—usually the work of moral entrepreneurs (through moral enterprise) and the mass media” (Scott and Marshall 2005: 426). Muncie has, “A concept that implies that the social reaction to certain phenomena is out of proportion to the scale of the problem, but performs a vital function for the state in distracting attention from more deep-seated problems and in acting as a means by which moral boundaries can be reactivated” (Muncie 2004: 310).

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I will use the concepts of folk devils and moral panics in relation to individual and societal reactions to social traumas. The occasions when a society might be more prone to moral panics or when it is more likely for social groups to generate moral panics and identify folk devils (a variable that Cohen hints at but does not wish to specify or limit) include situations of societal stress and group and individual biographical disruption (such as the experience of terror, defeat and exile), which involve dealing with memory and aiming toward restoration (Soledad Saux 2007). The identification of folk devils and the emergence of moral panics (and their duration) occur more frequently in times of uncertainty and crisis, especially in the wake of major individual and social disruption. Folk devils and moral panics are an aspect of seeking to restore ontological security in the face of threat and disaster. But they rely on an ability to exaggerate, to stereotype and to generalize, to rush into judgment without weighing the evidence or seeking for exceptions: moral panic identifies folk devils much like a gunfighter who shoots first and asks questions, if at all, later. In some ways, the process of judgment is similar to a bureaucratic dehumanizing of society’s members, and it is not surprising to find, as we shall see below, that there are bureaucratic elements of dealing with ontological security in Chronicles too. The bureaucratic machine cannot operate without having relatively simple ways of classifying the complexities of the social world. The book of Chronicles evidences what we might call moral panics in various places in the text. Indeed, moral panic spreads like a rumor through the text. I am presuming that, once a moral judgment of cause and effect and a moral judgment in which social agents are identified and treated as folk devils occur, it is relatively easy to apply the same logic to a whole range of historical occurrences or indeed to whole swaths of tradition. The advantage of the sociology of moral panics to biblical studies is (in line with what I have been trying to develop methodologically in a number of strands above) that moral panics are mediated in important ways through textual productions. Sure, texts are written and texts are consumed, and texts’ meanings need to be acted upon if they are to have an impact on social relations and activities; but even so, the relations and activities played out in light of moral panic will work themselves back into a text. There is a sense of moral panic in Chronicles in the search for explanations for punishment and disasters. Sometimes the folk devils are the kings themselves. At other times, the folk devils are the people of Judah, the people of Israel, the sins of the fathers, the foreign nations, the gods and religious rites of the foreign nations. One must also consider here, however, the degree of self-blame that characterizes the accounts and leads us to ask: what social circumstances—and dominance of previous narrative

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types—lead to accusations of guilt to the self (and how healthy and helpful is accusation in terms of the restoration of self and society)? Obviously, it is hardly dangerous to judge the history of particular monarchs in Judah once there is no king in Israel, but there needs to be a degree of security for the bureaucracy to criticize itself. Moral Panic: Swift Moral Retribution and Divine Judgment As we have seen, ontological security depends on a sense of consistency of experience and reliability over time. Security is also created through a sense of justice in the moral realms of cause and effect; it is concerned with providing straightforward answers to difficult questions to create a solid basis from which to approach the world and social relationships. The Chronicler creates a sense of ontological security through the reductive assessments of the reigns of each Judean monarch and in the attention paid to divine retribution as a direct and sometimes immediate response to wrongdoing. The Chronicler can create an ongoing sense of ontological security and a method for dealing with risk through a world view that very clearly links cause and effect in the realm of behavior and its consequences. The Chronicler would not be alone in this quest for a theodicy of relative simplicity. Indeed, proverbial knowledge in many societies seeks to capture precisely the relation between action and its consequences. While the sociologist may be interested in tracing the unintended consequences of social action and appreciate the impossibility of tracing effects to causes, the moralist of a certain stripe seeks more consistency. Moreover, certain social classes and certain types of personality—more likely to emerge in times of severe stress and trauma—seek reassurance in a predictable moral universe. We know from our own times that people still seek for straightforward connections between action and consequence, especially when seeking to explain natural calamities and even the causes of terrorist attacks (cf. Sontag 2007: 105–23). In this context, therefore, it is helpful to consider the passages in the Chronicler that present a close connection between action and consequence, especially in the realm of ethics or ritual, and where the judgment and the punishment are quickly and conveniently executed by the deity. There are a number of examples from which one could choose, but I will focus on the treatment of Shishak’s invasion, as told in 2 Chr 12:1–12. 22

22.  Other relevant texts include: 1 Chr 10:13, 14—moral evaluation of Saul’s reign and fate; 2 Chr 21:10, 16–19—Jehoram; 2 Chr 21:37—wreck of ships; 2 Chr 25:14– 16—Amaziah’s defeat; 2 Chr 26:16–21—Uzziah’s leprosy; 2 Chr 35:21–22—Josiah’s death.

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2 Chronicles 12:1–12: The Narrative of Shishak’s Invasion as Moral Panic This is a telling case. The narrator needs to account for the invasion of Shishak and for his successes in entering Jerusalem and taking away the treasure from the temple and from the king’s house. The reason for the invasion is attributed to Rehoboam’s “abandoning the law of the Lord.” The attack takes place in the fifth year of the reign; we are not told whether Rehoboam departed from the right way in this year or much earlier, but a clear connection of cause and effect is established by the Chronicler. However, we are not to presume, and indeed we are not led through any deliberations that might draw attention away from the central theological thrust of the report, that the Chronicler has arrived at this connection after a good deal of weighing up of alternative causal connections, whether in terms of other events that could be linked or of other culprits that could be found. The king and the cult appear to be easy targets for accountability in this cultural milieu. The text goes on to report that Rehoboam realized the errors of his ways but not before Shishak had already wreaked havoc in various Judahite towns. Nevertheless, the repentance to Yahweh helps save the day, but not immediately. In case the reader, or even Rehoboam for that matter, would be led to question the precise connection between cause and effect on the grounds that, while the punishment for crime was swift, the staying of the execution was partial, the Chronicler anticipates with the idea that Shishak is not stopped completely and immediately in order to teach a lesson to Rehoboam. The Chronicler presumes that the lesson of being attacked and having many towns destroyed for behaving falsely needed to be “driven home” even further in order for the lesson to stick. Rehoboam and Judah are meant to feel grateful that, comparatively speaking, especially in terms of what happens later, they have gotten off relatively lightly. I mentioned already that alternative explanations are not explored, given the Chronicler’s commitment to one way of reading events and because of “his” purpose in providing theological and ethnical instruction. Further, the disaster is attributed to the king and hence, a collective responsibility is placed on all Judah in light of the king’s action: he represents the people, and so his error is visited on all citizens. In this situation, the king is perhaps a folk devil. In terms of the impact of disaster on the development of social forms and cultural ideas, it could well be argued that the Chronicler has reached this manner of communicating causal accounts of events after careful reflection brought on by traumatic experiences. The Deuteronomic Historian likewise reached these conclusions but, in that “school,” the working out of punishment could take generations.

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From a sociological point of view, and from the point of view of a modern reader, these passages occasion difficulty and raise the need to account for the favoring of these types of explanation. Do they, in fact, grow out of traumatic events over which people generally have no control so that they have no choice but to attribute the operation of social laws to divine oversight? Surely, this question is too large for us to discuss at this point but must be one of the key issues to consider in any comparative sociology of risk societies. The approach of the Chronicler to national events, especially defeat in war, the occurrence of famine, or the onset of disease in the body of the king serves in many ways to reduce risks: if wrongdoing leads to these kinds of results, then ceasing from actions will reduce the likelihood of punishment/disaster. As our sources never cease to remind us, the people of Israel and of Judah were quite hopeless in minimizing the risk of divine punishment; even so, at least they had the assurance that there would be events capable of interpretation and no events that could not be avoided if correct ritual was followed and the Law of Moses, or the seeking of the Lord, was sincerely undertaken. Could we say, therefore, that these “retribution narratives” in the book of Chronicles are restitution narratives in terms of the typologies developed by Frank in The Wounded Story Teller ? I think that they are, and I think that they provide a metanarrative for the textual communities that came after the Chronicler but, like modernist restitution narratives of medical discourse, they do not serve to liberate the individual and the society to deal with complexity and difference. One reason that they do not effect a social restoration as such is that they are “born of chaos” and hence contain within them visions of “folk devils and moral panics” that cannot achieve ontological security for all. Marriages with Foreigners: The Second Disaster? For a second example of folk devils and moral panics, I turn to the book of Ezra. We are all familiar with Ezra 10:2–4. I appreciate the fact that, in using Ezra, I am stepping outside Chronicles proper, but I believe the text is relevant to illustrate my point. I quote from the neb translation: We have committed an offence against our God in marrying foreign wives, daughters of the foreign population. But in spite of this, there is still hope for Israel. Now, therefore, let us pledge ourselves to our God to dismiss all these women and their brood, according to your advice my lord, and the advice of those who go in fear of the command of our God; and let us act as the law prescribes. Up now, the task is yours, and we will support you. Take courage and act.

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The women and the children who are to be cast off are the victims in this account. The moral panic against foreign wives results in blaming the victims for the group’s plight rather than the weaknesses of their society or the males. One might argue that the men are punished since they lose their wives and have their names recorded as having acted immorally. However, a bitter taste remains in my sociological mouth. 23 The men, after all, remain in the community and benefit from the ontological security that it provides. The women and children are forgotten. We are not told how the men felt, or how the women felt, for that matter. For a sociologist, 24 it is difficult to overlook or excuse these actions. The actions are irresponsible; the duties and responsibilities of fathers to children and wives are ignored, as are any previous directives relating to care for widows (which they become) or for orphans or for the oppressed. No social policies for dealing with the consequences of this action are recorded and perhaps were never even imagined as being necessary. If the bureaucracy pursued a genealogical logic to preserve a community, it failed to apply an organized approach to its impacts. Even the impact of the directive on the husbands is not considered: if this was, indeed, a highly unstable society for whom ontological security was at a premium and the collective memory tended toward rawness when it remembered exile and relatively recent refugee status, then this demand is nothing but a second disaster (Gill 2007). The fact that Ezra is asked by a representative of the people to carry out the deed only seems to me to be a legitimating device serving to reinforce the power of those making these decisions. The decision also seems to me to be the result of moral panic, in which folk devils are required to restore the narrative of the ongoing community. Societal stories of folk devils and moral panics are narratives born from chaos when risks are incalculable, and they restore ontological security for some while destroying the ontological security (and claims to citizenship) of others. I am hoping this social practice was not carried out—that is, 23. Paul Hanson’s interesting and suggestive sociological analysis of interest groups and parties in this period seems to lose its nerve when it comes to calling a spade a spade in this context and evidences too close an ideological agreement with the view of the text, in my opinion (Hanson 1986). 24.  It is intriguing to draw attention to a “sociological view” here, and it is best represented as a minority view. I say this because many scholars are positioning themselves as “speaking from the margins” and from differing ethnic-cultural contexts (e.g., see Bailey 2009). For a sociologist, however, all these folk seem to share a faith perspective, have often trained in a seminary, and command full-time positions in the academy. These experiences render them a majority in these instances, together with biblical scholars from the mainstream, against whom a sociologist who is not from a faith community or seminary (either as a student or as a teacher) is surely a minority voice. On other grounds, let it be said, I am fully in support of “postcolonial” criticism.

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that the text is essentially unhistorical—and that the community in Yehud managed to sustain some earned self-preservation on other grounds and through other means.

Bureaucracy, Bureaucratic Narrative, and Ontological Security In what follows, I use some of Weber’s ideas about bureaucracy to highlight what might be a typical bureaucratic response to chaos and disaster —the shaking of ontological security for the society, the people, and also for the organization and its officials—to establish whether this is one way of interpreting certain features of the work of the Chronicler. Is there a bureaucratic narrative response that can be viewed from the perspective of Frank’s ideal types? At this point, I am thinking of the priestly officials of Yehud and of the temple as members of an organization that is largely bureaucratic in nature (cf. Weinberg 1992). What a bureaucratic organization is characterized by is often illustrated by Weber’s ideal type; remembering it is against the ideal type that all “real” instances are to be compared, one must be sure to consider the ancient Jewish case in this fashion. One feature of the bureaucracy often left out in secondary summaries of Weber’s work (commentators regularly construct a list of attributes apparently to be found in Weber’s work; for instance, Ray 1999: 182–83) that Weber considered to be a key attribute is the role of documents and files in organizational life. For example, Weber observes: The management of the modern office is based upon written documents (the files), which are preserved in their original or draft form, and upon a staff of subaltern officials and scribes of all sorts. The body of officials working in an agency along with the respective apparatus of material implements and the files makes up the bureau. (Weber 1978: 957)

I want to draw attention to these files, the functioning of the organization, and the role of the official in this functioning. Weber, in one passage, addresses precisely what I am considering: Increasingly, all order in public and private organizations is dependent on the system of files and the discipline of officialdom, that means its habit of painstaking obedience within its wonted sphere of action. The latter is the more decisive element, however important in practice the files are. The naïve idea of Bakuninism of destroying the basis of “acquired rights” together with “domination” by destroying the public documents overlooks the settled orientation of man (Mensch) for observing the accustomed rites and regulations will survive independently of the documents. Every reorganization of defeated or scattered army units, as well as every restoration of an administrative order destroyed by revolts, panics, or other catastrophes, is

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effected by an appeal to this conditioned orientation, bred both in the officials and in the subject, of obedient adjustment to such (social and political) orders. If the appeal is successful it brings, as it were, the disturbed mechanism to “snap into gear” again [. . . den gestoerten Mechanismus sozusagen wieder zum “Einschnappen” bringt]. (Weber 1978: 988 [English]; 1985: 570 [German])

The documents and the files, together with the procedures, are of utmost authority to a member of the priestly groups, as they might also be (but with less reference to ritual) to the scribes who carried corporate memories of past events and older traditions, given their role in the production and preservation of archives. What is authoritative to the Chronicler is the bureaucratic procedure, and the bureaucratic procedure includes acknowledgment of the importance of the document/archive/texts. This extends also to an appreciation that any new understanding of the past and the present and any positioning regarding the nature of the future (colonizing the future) will also need to be embodied in written form and textualized if it is to have any authority for colleagues, external rulers, or other members of society that accord the temple and/or the priestly groups legitimacy. There is a rationality to bureaucratic life that is based on the role of documents that stands in some contrast to and conflict with a restriction of the application of rules to particular groups (that is, a bureaucratic rule is to treat the client “without respect to persons”: hence a universal application). However, since there is also a commitment to rules and procedures and since this commitment can outweigh other considerations, it is possible, as we know only too well from the rationality of the bureaucratic machine that organized the Holocaust, for the bureaucracy to aid and abet an exclusive social policy. Was the Chronicler caught in this sort of drive of formal rationality that led to the racist policies of Ezra and Nehemiah? There is, indeed, a good deal of irony, even perverse irony in the sociological fate of the ancient Jewish bureaucracy. The dehumanizing bureaucratic processes of the Nazi state (Bauman 1989) echo the dehumanizing of the people of the land, the Samaritans and the foreign wives from many nations recorded in Ezra and Nehemiah. As I have already mentioned, the moral panic against foreign wives is not alien to a bureaucratic ordering of reality. If it is truly the case that the exile and deportation were cultural disasters that led to wide-ranging and long-lasting trauma, then the demand for casting aside the foreign wives and the children of the union with foreign wives (not the women’s children only but the men’s too) can be considered a second disaster with repeated and longer-lasting trauma for the individuals concerned than the first.

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As is well known, the Chronicler takes pains to record a number of sources in his account. For example, he directs the reader/hearer to the “books of the Kings of Judah and Israel,” the “Chronicles of King David,” the “Words of Samuel the Seer,” and so on. Commentators have wondered whether these references overlap and whether they are the invention of the Chronicler. From our point of view, the fact that the Chronicler believes it important to cite references either as direct sources or as repositories of further information is significant as an indication of the belief in the authority of texts. 25 This commitment to the authority of texts as a basis for claiming legitimacy in interpretation and/or application comes from organizational life. Organizations are not without the ability to destroy or fabricate documents, but they prefer to be able to appeal to documents that actually exist to back up their claims whenever possible. Plagiarism does not seem to be the issue. Overall, the bureaucratic search for ontological security is found through creating order. This order involves ensuring that many actions are encoded in texts, that social relationships are defined in terms of role and function, that a record is kept of the occupiers of positions, that no project is not subject to assessment and accountability, that there are clear hierarchies, and that monitoring and control of populations (bio-power in Foucault’s sense) can be achieved through the creating, recording, and monitoring of genealogy (cf. Sparks 2008; Beentjes 2008). In terms of the typologies of stories called forth by biographical disruption, it appears that the Chronicler was developing a restitution narrative but not so much in terms of conforming to a narrative trope available in the cultural context as actually taking on the authority of creating the metanarrative of restitution against which others would then need to assess their own stories. The authority to do this came from the bureaucratic position and also derived from the social and cultural capital that the officials had. Access to the texts of the tradition provided a cultural advantage over any other social group who had to create stories to achieve biographical flow and ontological security without these sorts of written traditions. Finally, the creation of the restitution narrative derived from the very outlook on the world that is fostered in institutional life: ontological security is found in order and procedure, and one of the most effective ways of controlling order and procedure is through the document.

25. Comparison with the narrative in Samuel–Kings shows that various notices about building projects and the conduct of wars and battles are unique to the Chronicler (for instance, 2 Chr 11:5–12; 14:9–5; chap. 20; 26:6–15; 28:5–15, 17, 18).

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A Narrative Born of a Successful Quest to Overcome Disruption? Hezekiah’s Passover There is something highly disagreeable about the demand to exclude foreign wives and the children from the community of Judah. It seems to stand in strong contrast to some attempts by the Chronicler to restore ontological security through the creation of a cohesive society. In my reading of these texts, Ezra 10 figures strongly in my memory, but the account of Hezekiah also has drawn my attention as a sociologist. I will say a little more about this account as narrated in 2 Chronicles before finishing. Although the text later states in relation to Josiah’s celebration of the Passover that never had there been a Passover like it since the days of Samuel, Solomon, and David, it is the Passover celebrations of Hezekiah that are the most splendid and, from a sociological point of view, most interesting. Part of the reason for the sociological interest they create is the level of detail given in the text: we are not given a summary headline treatment in which moral judgments are black and white but something that feels more alive. Overall, the description of the Passover celebrations in 2 Chronicles 30 represents an attempt to include all interested parties in a great social and religious event centred in the temple in Jerusalem and to incorporate all priests and Levites in its activities, finding a place for all. It seems to represent a great opportunity to heal the split community and create a new beginning for all after the exile and the return. The whole assembly of Judah, the priests and the Levites, and the whole assembly that came out of Israel, and the resident aliens who came out of the land of Israel, and the resident aliens who lived in Judah rejoiced. There was great joy in Jerusalem, for since the time of Solomon, son of King David of Israel, there had been nothing like this in Jerusalem. Then the priests and the Levites stood up and blessed the people, and their voice was heard; their prayer came to his holy dwelling in heaven. (2 Chr 30:25–27)

Clearly, the above episodes are placed in the time of Hezekiah as if they took place or should be thought of as already having taken place: these types of interactions and communal celebrations, the Chronicler appears to be saying, can happen. They have happened in the past, and they may well happen again in the present or in the immediate future. This text, from a sociological point of view, feels like a narrative of an entirely different stripe from the chaos/restitution narratives encountered thus far. One is almost tempted to say the sociological truth that they seek to convey has been learned by the wounded storyteller/s during the exile or some other period of intense suffering and, from this experience, the power of communal lament and healing through ritual celebration is confirmed. This quest narrative appears timeless: it is both nostalgic and prospective.

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The experience of chaos and the disruption to ongoing narrative has been overcome through the creation of a communal sacred space that cannot be placed before or after the disaster but on another plane.

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Burns, R., and Crawford, C. 1999 School Shootings, the Media, and Public Fear: Ingredients for a Moral Panic. Crime, Law and Social Change 32: 147–68. Bury, M. 1982 Chronic Illness as Biographical Disruption. Sociology of Health and Illness 4: 167–82. Cataldo, J. 2009 A Theocratic Yehud? Issues of Government in a Persian Province. London: Continuum. Chalcraft, D. J. 1990 Deviance and Legitimate Action in the Book of Judges. Pp. 177–201 in The Bible in Three Dimensions, ed. D. J. A. Clines, S. E. Fowl, and S. E. Porter. JSOTSup 87. Sheffield: JSOT Press. 2007 The Development of Weber’s Sociology of Sects: Encouraging a New Fascination. Pp. 26–51 in Sectarianism in Early Judaism: Sociological Advances, ed. D. J. Chalcraft. London: Equinox. 2011 Is a Historical Comparative Sociology of (Ancient Jewish) Sects Possible? Pp. 235–86 in Sects and Sectarianism in Jewish History, ed. Sacha Stern. Institute of Jewish Studies / Studies in Judaica 12. Leiden: Brill. Chalcraft, D. J., ed. 1997 Social Scientific Old Testament Criticism. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Chalcraft, D. J., et al., eds. 2008 Max Weber Matters: The Interweaving of Past and Present. Farnham: Ashgate. Clark, J. A., and Mishler, E. G. 1992 Attending to Patients’ Stories: Reframing the Clinical Task. Sociology of Health and Illness 14: 344–72. Cohen, S. 2002 Folk Devils and Moral Panics. 3rd ed. London: Routledge. Cyrulink, B. 2009 Resilience: How Your Inner Strength Can Set You Free from the Past. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Denzin, N. K., and Lincoln, Y. 2003 9/11 in American Culture. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira. Douglas, M. 1992 Risk and Blame. London: Taylor and Francis. Douglas, M., and Wildavsky, A. 1982 Risk and Culture. Berkeley: University Presses of California, Columbia and Princeton. Dupuis, A, and Thorns, S. 1998 Home, Home Ownership and the Search for Ontological Security. The Sociological Review 24–47. Edkins, J. 2003 Trauma and the Memory of Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Eidinow, E. 2007 Oracles, Curses, and Risk among the Ancient Greeks. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eliot, A. 2002 Beck’s Sociology of Risk: A Critical Assessment. Sociology 36: 293–315. Engle, K. J. 2007 Putting Mourning to Work: Making Sense of 9/11. Theory, Culture and Society 24: 61–88. Eyerman, R. 2001 Cultural Trauma: Slavery and the Formation of African American Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Faircloth, C., et al. 2004 Sudden Illness and Biographical Flow in Narratives of Stroke Recovery. Sociology of Health and Illness 26: 242–61. Fisher, H. 2002 Terrorism and 11 September, 2001: Does the Behavioural Model of Response to Disaster Model Fit? Disaster Prevention and Management 2: 123–27. Foege, W. H. 1988 Plagues: Perceptions of Risk and Social Responses. Social Research 55: 331–42. Frank, A. 1995 The Wounded Story-Teller: Body, Illness and Ethics. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Garfinkel, H. 1984 Studies in Ethnomethodology. Reprint, Oxford. Polity Press. Giddens, A. 1990 The Consequences of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. 1991 Modernity and Self Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gill, D. A. 2007 Secondary Trauma or Secondary Disaster: Insights from Hurricane Katrina. Sociological Spectrum 26: 613–32. Goffman, E. 1959 The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Goode, E., and Ben-Yehuda, N. 2009 Moral Panics. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Gunkel, H. 1987 The Folk Tale in the Old Testament. Historic Texts and Interpreters in Biblical Scholarship 5. Sheffield: Almond. Herman, J. L. 2001 Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. London: Pandora / New York: Basic Books. Habel, N. C., and Trudinger, P. 2008 Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. SBLSymS 46. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature.

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Hanson, P. D. 1986 The People Called: The Growth of Community in the Bible. London: Har­ per & Row. Holloway, D. 2008 9/11 and the War on Terror. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Hyden, L. 1997 Illness and Narrative. Sociology of Health and Illness 19: 48–69. Jobling, D. 1997 Sociological and Literary Approaches to the Bible: How Shall the Twain Meet? Pp. 34–42 in Social Scientific Old Testament Criticism, ed. D. J. Chalcraft. Biblical Seminar 47. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Lee, N. C., and Mandolfo, C. 2008 Lamentations in Ancient and Contemporary Cultural Contexts. SBLSymS 43. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Lianos, M., and Douglas, M. 2000 Dangerization and the End of Deviance: The Institutional Environment. British Journal of Criminology 40: 261–78. Marable, M. 2006 Katrina’s Unnatural Disaster: A Tragedy of Black Suffering and White Denial. Souls 8: 1–8. Marlow, H. 2009 Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Merton, R. K. 1968 Social Theory and Social Structure. Glencoe: Free Press. Mills, C. W. 1959 The Sociological Imagination. Oxford. Oxford University Press. Muncie, J. 2004 Youth and Crime. 2nd ed. London: Sage. Nelkin, D., and Gilman, S. 1988 Placing Blame for Devasting Disease. Social Research. 55: 361–78. Pratt, J. 2005 Child Sexual Abuse: Purity and Danger in an Age of Anxiety. Crime, Law and Social Change 43: 263–87. Pyles, L. 2006 Toward a Post-Katrina Framework: Social Work as Human Rights and Capabilities. Journal of Comparative Social Welfare 22: 79–88. Ray, L. 1999 Theorising Classical Sociology. Buckingham: Open University Press. Saux, M. S. 2007 Immigration and Terrorism: A Constructed Connection—The Spanish Case. European Journal on Criminal Policy and Research 13: 57–72. Scott, J., and Marshall, G. 2005 Oxford Dictionary of Sociology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, D. E. 1993 Texts, Facts and Femininity. London: Routledge. 1998 Writing the Social: Critique, Theory and Investigations. Toronto: Toronto University Press.

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Smith, D. L. 1989 The Religion of the Landless: The Social Context of the Babylonian Exile. Bloomington, IN: Meyer-Stone. Sontag, S., and Rieff, D. 2007 At the Same Time: Essays and Speeches. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Sparks, J. T. 2008 The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9. Academia Biblica 28. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Stock, P. V. 2007 Katrina and Anarchy: A Content Analysis of the New Disaster Myth. Sociological Spectrum 26: 705–26. Titscher, S., et al., eds. 2000 Methods of Text and Discourse Analysis. London: Sage. Torabi, M., and Seo, D. 2004 National Study of Behavioural and Life Changes since September 11th. Health, Education and Behaviour 31: 179–92. Ungar, S. 2001 Moral Panic versus the Risk Society: The Implications of the Changing Sites of Social Anxiety. British Journal of Sociology 52: 271–91. Urry, J. 2002 The Global Complexities of September 11th. Theory, Culture and Society 19/4: 57–64. Weber, M. 1978 Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich. Trans. Ephraim Fischoff et al. 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press. [translation of Weber 1985 (orig. 1922)] 1985 Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck. Weinberg, J. 1992 The Citizen-Temple Community. JSOTSup 151. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Williamson, H. G. M. 1977 Israel in the Book of Chronicles. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Williams, G. 1984 The Genesis of Chronic Illness: Narrative Re-construction. Sociology of Health and Illness 6: 175–200. Young, J. 1999 The Exclusive Society: Social Exclusion, Crime and Difference in Late Modernity. London: Sage. 2007 The Vertigo of Late Modernity. London. Sage. Zegart, A. 2007 9/11 and the FBI: The Roots of Organizational Failure. Intelligence and National Security 22: 165–84.

Chronicles and Local Greek Histories Diana Edelman and Lynette Mitchell University of Sheffield

University of Exeter

Introduction In the wake of the conquests of Alexander the Great, the influence of the Greek historiographical tradition on Near Eastern historiography is well attested. For example, Manetho, the late-fourth/early-third century author of the Aegyptika, engaged directly with the Greek tradition and criticized the fifth-century Greek historian Herodotus (FGH 606 F 13). Likewise, the Babylonian historian Berossus attacked the veracity of Hellanicus (FGH 680 F 8), another fifth-century historian (Dillery 2007). Jewish historians of the Hellenistic period were also interested in Greek historiography, although their position in relation to the Greek tradition was often ambivalent, and they placed themselves against it as much as they worked within it, as they tried to locate themselves within the new world of the Hellenistic kingdoms (Sterling 2007). In this essay, we will explore the insights and implications that might emerge from viewing Chronicles against the background of the Greek local history, a genre that became popular in the Hellenistic period, particularly in the fourth and third centuries b.c.e. but with roots tracing back to the seventh century b.c.e. As seen above, it is logical to explore the possible impact that genres at home in the Greek world might have had on the literary traditions of subject peoples within the Persian and/or Ptolemaic and Seleucid empires, including Jews in “the homeland” and in diaspora communities throughout the ancient Near East. Authors’ note: Note the following abbreviations: Bagnall and Derow = R. S. Bagnall and P. Derow 2003 (The Hellenistic Period: Historical Sources in Translation, 2nd ed.); DK = H. Diels and W. Kranz 1952 (Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 6th ed.); FGH = F. Jacoby et al. 1923–62 (Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker); IvM = O. Kern 1900 (Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander); Rigsby = K. J. Rigsby 1996 (Asylia: Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World); Syll.3 = W. Dittenberger et al. 1915–24 (Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum, 3rd ed., 4 vols.); West IE 2 = M. L. West 1992 (Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum Cantati, 2nd ed., vol. 2).

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The Greek Historiographical Tradition and Local Histories In this section we will trace the development of the Greek tradition of local histories, which began in the seventh century but flourished during the Hellenistic period. We will consider important features of Greek historiography, including its forms; relationship to genealogy; political, moralizing, and didactic nature; and role in the formation of identity, on both local and pan-Hellenic levels. This overview of the development of the Greek historiographical tradition, especially the local histories, will provide the background against which the relationship of Chronicles to the Greek local histories can then be assessed. The Greek historiographical tradition was a rich and diverse tradition that found its roots in poetry. Homeric epic provided the model for poets and historians to Roman times, but the genealogical and cosmological Theogony of Hesiod gave an account of the beginnings of the world, and in the Works and Days (109–201), he traced human history back through the five ages of man. 1 Furthermore, beginning in the seventh century b.c.e., poets were creating poems that told local histories of their cities, and the genre of poetic local histories from mythical foundations to contemporary events seems to have been well established (Bowie 1986; Marincola 2001: 11–14). The Spartan Tyrtaeus wrote an elegiac poem, Eunomia, about contemporary events, although the shape and extent of the poem is by no means clear, and it also may not have included mythical material (Bowie 1986: 30–31; 2001: 50–51; on the content of the poem, however, note van Wees 1999). Archilochus also seems to have written a narrative account of recent events, although in tetrameters rather than in elegiacs (Bowie 2001: 57, 59–60). Mimnermus (of Colophon or Smyrna in Asia Minor) wrote a Smyrneis in elegiac verse, which was an account of Smyrna’s wars with Lydia (cf. FGH 578 F 5), although it probably also included material on the foundation of Smyrna (Bowie 1986: 29–30) as well as an account of the (mythical) foundation of Colophon in Asia Minor by Andraemon of Pylos and the Colophonians’ war against the Cimmerians (frags. 9, 10 West IE 2). All three worked in the seventh century. Too long for sympotic performance and concerned with affairs of the city, these poems probably belonged to a range of poetic forms and were performed at public religious festivals. 2 In the Hellenistic period, public 1.  On the date of Hesiod, see esp. Janko 1982: 70–98 who, on stylistic grounds, dates Hesiod to the early seventh century. On the relationship between Hittite and Assyrian cosmologies and Hesiod’s Theogony, see esp. West 1997. 2.  On the breadth of poetic genres that employed historic content, see Sider 2006. Bowie argues that they were elegiac (Bowie 1986; 2001). It is almost certain that Si-

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performances of poetic accounts of local foundations by itinerant poets are securely attested. 3 Although Polybius seems to view them as different genres (9.1.4), genealogies also formed an important part of early Greek historical writings. Often composed in verse, they generally traced the descent of communities back to a heroic figure, either a “first man” like the Athenian Erechtheus/Erechthonius (Homer, Iliad 547–48) or an eponymous Über­ mensch, such as Lacedaemon, the son of Zeus and Taygete, who married the nymph Sparte, daughter of Eurotas ([Apollodorus], Bibliotheka 3.116). The genealogies provided a focus for community identity. In the sixth century b.c.e., the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, a genealogy of the Hellenes, the sons of Hellen, the son of Deucalion (the Greek Noah), was an important articulation of a nascent Greek ethnic identity (Fowler 1998; cf. J. Hall 1997: 42–44; Mitchell 2007: 1–38; on the Catalogue of Women, see West 1985). Genealogies became a prominent feature of local histories into the Hellenistic period (e.g., Ar(i)aethus of Tegea, FGH 316 F 5, second cent. b.c.e.; Clarke 2008: 201 n. 142) and, like foundation stories, became an important starting point for tracing local histories from the distant (mythic) past into the present. In this way, they awarded prestige to communities by connecting them in a continuous and unbroken sequence to heroes, demonstrating their longevity, and provided the substance for competing claims of dominance either through autochthony (by descent from an “earth-born” ancestor) or conquest (particularly through descent from the Children of Heracles). Genealogies could also serve as a tool for developing links between various parts of the Greek world, especially in regions where a community’s Hellenicity was less secure. For instance, although the Greek credentials of the tribes of northwest Greece were sometimes doubted during the fifth century, from the seventh century b.c.e. on, the Molossians developed stories of descent from Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, that were widely monides’ Plataea elegy in celebration of the Greek victory over the Persians was first sung at the festival, the Eleutheria, in honor of the victory: Boedeker 1995: 220–23; Rutherford 2001: 41; Aloni 1997; 2001. See also Étienne and Piérart (1975), who say that there is not enough evidence to confirm the existence of a festival at Plataea in the fifth century. 3.  See esp. Clarke 2008: 346–54. Dougherty (1994) argues that before the Hellenistic period a separate genre of foundation stories did not exist but claims that stories about foundations were embedded in other poems (such as historic elegy, epinician poetry, or even drama). On the other hand, it is possible that the “grand” fifth-century histories of Herodotus (and possibly also Thucydides) were first known as oral performances, which Marincola (2001: 23) thinks could have been either at private symposia or public festivals.

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accepted—and greatly elaborated—by the late fifth century (Mitchell 2007: 205–6). The transformation of simple stories about the past into critical histories (or Historiai ‘inquiries’) occurred as part of the Greek enlightenment of the sixth century b.c.e., when Greek intellectuals, especially those in Asia Minor, first began to criticize the old truths and attempted to understand their world as part of larger physical, temporal, geographical, and ethnographic systems (Marincola 2001: 14–18). The earliest writers, given the title of historigraphoi by later authorities, often combined geography, ethnography, and genealogy. Hecataeus of Miletus, for example, who was named by later sources as the first historian to write in prose (FGH 1 T 1a), wrote a Genealogioi or Historia (both names are used) as well as a Periegesis (a geographical/ethnographic description of the world and its peoples). 4 In his writings, Hecataeus adopted a deliberately critical stance. He opens his Historia/Genealogioi with the words: “Hecataeus of Miletus gives this account. I write what seems to me to be truth (alētheia). For the stories of the Greeks seem to me to be both abundant and ridiculous” (FGH 1 F 1). Hecataeus’s standard was “truth,” whatever that might mean. 5 Despite his ridicule of the “stories of the Greeks,” most of the material Hecataeus used was mythical. However, unlike a mere storyteller, Hecataeus had an attitude of skepticism and was trying to judge between different versions of myths and to make sense of his material. He provided an analysis of the material directed toward a specific purpose—the discovery of what actually happened. 6

4.  However, from the extant fragments of these works it is clear that both were a mixture of geography, ethnography, genealogy, and mythology, and there was very little discrimination between them or much sense that they might represent different genres. It is very difficult to know which fragments belonged to which work: see Clarke 1999: 60–61. 5.  The critical search for “truth” is often also linked with the move toward prose. Critical history was generally written in prose. Most (1999) has observed in relation to the movement toward prose philosophy that it is difficult to provide critical argument in poetic meter, and Goldhill (2002) has suggested that the new ideas needed a radical form in which to express them. Nevertheless, in philosophy as in history, poetry continued as an authoritative form of expression, and local histories continued to be written in verse as well as in prose (Clarke 2008: 341–43), although from the fifth century on, the “grand” histories adopted the new prose style. 6.  In this way, he was working within the same tradition as the early cosmologists, who were looking for tangible and physical explanations for the cosmos and who rejected Homer and Hesiod (as well as more-contemporary figures including Hecataeus: cf. Heracleitus DK 22 B 40) for not setting their accounts, especially of the gods, within a properly critical framework; see esp. Most 1999: 336–42.

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However, Herodotus, writing in the last quarter of the fifth century changed the relationship between history and myth in his Inquiries (often anachronistically translated Histories), 7 which he describes as an inquiry (historia) into the deeds of the Greeks and the barbarians and into the reasons that they fought with each other (1.praef.). He then begins with what he says is the Persian account of the origins of the war: the Phoenician theft of Io, the daughter of the king of Argos, led to the Greeks’ snatching Europa, the daughter of the king of Tyre, and then Medea, the daughter of the king of Colchis in the Black Sea, which in turn led to the abduction of Helen by Paris, which resulted in the Trojan Wars (Herodotus 1.1–4). However, by attributing these stories to the Persians, Herodotus also distances himself from these mythological origins, which he also rationalizes and demythologizes (Pelling 1999: 333–34). In the first place, he says that these are the stories of the Persians and that the Phoenicians tell different stories, especially about Io (Herodotus 1.1.1, 1.5.1–2). Furthermore, he then makes what appears to be a programmatic break with both epic and mythical history, indicating that he is unable to say whether these things happened or not; he will deal instead with what he “knows,” and from information that he can know he will give an account of who started the war (Herodotus 1.5.3). He then proceeds to tell the story of Croesus of Lydia, in what is effectively a second introduction to his Inquiries. With this emphasis on inquiry, knowledge, and analysis, Herodotus’s thought lies closely within the sphere of Ionian medical and scientific speculations (Thomas 2000). That is not to say, however, that the relationship between mythical time and historical time was uncomplicated for Herodotus. Not only is there an implicit comparison between his writing and Homeric epic throughout the work (see esp.  1.praef.; also Boedeker 1988); as Pelling has shown (1999), even as he seems to break with mythical time in the new introduction with Croesus, Herodotus undermines this apparent shift in methodology by taking his audience back in time to mythical (and epic) stories of Gyges and Candaules’ wife. Further, Herodotus still weaves mythical stories, or mythologizing stories, into his history, even though he critiques their plausibility. For instance, he analyzes the reliability of the competing traditions regarding the foundation of the oracular sanctuaries of Zeus at Dodona and Zeus Ammon in Libya, one of which said they were founded by two women who had been stolen from the sanctuary of Zeus in Egypt by the Phoenicians and sold in Libya and Greece, and the other of which claimed that two Egyptian doves were responsible (Herodotus b.c.e.,

7. On Inquiries as the appropriate translation of Historiai (rather than Histories), see Fowler 2006; Schepens 2007: 40.

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2.54–57). Rather than reject either of these accounts, Herodotus rationalizes the stories and argues that the story of the doves emerged because the women were foreigners and did not speak the local language. Nevertheless, Herodotus’s history is imbued with myth and, as Jasper Griffin (2006) notes, his work and thought is linked closely to other contemporary genres, especially tragedy, just as the great fifth-century tragedians were influenced by Herodotus. In fact, from an early date histories were not just aimed at finding a true account of the past but were also morally and politically didactic. Herodotus, for example, told the great, tragic story of Xerxes who, even though inadvertently, committed an act of hybris in bridging the Hellespont and thus connecting Europe to Asia, which brought his empire down (Romm 1998: 84–87). As Herodotus tells us at the end of his first introduction, from what he knows, great cities become small, and small great, and human prosperity never stays in the same place for long (1.5.3–4), but the Persian king personalized this punishment through his own outrageous behavior. 8 Nevertheless, for Herodotus, while the principle generally held true that divine punishment was meted out to those like Xerxes who grasped at too much, the workings of Fate stood in a complex relationship to the actions of an individual and the will of the gods. 9 However, although the gods were not attributed with responsibility for action, as they often are in epic (on the principle of “the god made me do it”), even in the fifth and fourth centuries b.c.e., the individual himself was not imagined to be “subject”-centered and autonomous (Gill 1996). Instead, the ethical reasoning and choices of the individual were driven by the idea of the good in communal terms, just as the consequences 8.  This is the great moral and historical lesson that drives the Inquiries, and some have seen in this a warning to the contemporary Athenians at the height of their prosperity and empire: e.g., Raaflaub 1987; Konstan 1987; Moles 1996; Cartledge 1990. Gould (1989: 116–19), however, does not see in Herodotus any allusion to contemporary circumstances. Romm (1998: 52–55) also thinks that Herodotus is more concerned with Athens in the early fifth century b.c.e. than with the Athens of his own time. Note also Asheri, Lloyd, and Corcella 2007: 47. 9.  On fate in Herodotus, see Gould 1989: 63–85 (arguing against a serious “philosophy of history” in Herodotus); Lateiner 1989: 196–99 (one of five explanations of causation); Harrison 2000: 223–42 (who argues that there is a lack of consistency in Herodotus in his discussions of fate: “In so far as we can talk at all of a single ‘belief in fate’ on Herodotus’s part, this was not a worked-through thesis but an unrationalized collection of attitudes and responses” (p. 228); Fowler and Marincola 2002: 39–44 (“But just as in the Iliad, so here in H. it would be too simplistic to say that since this is the case all the events and actions, all the human responses are imagined as predetermined. On the contrary, it is clear from H.’s work that human choice and intelligence play important roles,” p. 42); Asheri, Lloyd, and Corcella 2007: 37–39.

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of individual actions were shared by the community and shaped by the participation of the individual in the community. Herodotus’s Croesus desired to be thought the happiest of men (a happiness that he defined through wealth and power), but this desire also brought divine retribution, not only in the loss of the Lydian empire but also in the death of his son (Herodotus 1.30–56.1, 69–91). However, Herodotus concedes that even Croesus’s downfall came not only as the result of his own pride but also as expiation in the fifth generation for crimes committed by his ancestor (who murdered his master); even then, Apollo Loxias had planned to defer the suffering until the time of Croesus’s children but Fate (Moira) had intervened (Herodotus 1.91.1–2). In the fourth century, explicit discussions of morality and the moral attributes and activities of individuals became particularly significant and were a feature of the historical writings of the fourth-century polymath, Xenophon. For Xenophon, who was a student of Socrates, one could only be responsible for controlling the affairs of the city through learning self-control, and he gives the Spartan Teleutias a speech in which the commander explains happiness in terms of honor achieved through a show of strength, independence, self-sufficiency, and endurance (Hellenika 5.1.14–17). While Xenophon had no doubt that crimes committed incurred divine displeasure and that honoring the gods should mean that they provided support (e.g., Hellenika 3.4.11; Anabasis 3.2.10), the emphasis in Xenophon’s writings (as also in Plato) was that one should learn through education and dialectic argument to become the good and virtuous individual, although unlike Plato, Xenophon tended to see virtue demonstrated, if not even exemplified, in military strength. Xenophon had a dual heritage in both the historical and philosophical traditions and was interested as much in human nature as in historical causality. Although he could not be called rationalist in the sense that he denied the gods (though by the late fifth century the existence of the gods and their effect on the course of events was being seriously critiqued), by the beginning of the fourth century, political and philosophical thought had taken a rationalizing turn that placed the moral responsibility for action and for achieving the good life on the individual, and Xenophon’s historical writing reflects this change. The fourth and third centuries b.c.e., in particular, were a time of experimentation with different forms of historical writing, and the range and kinds of historical writings burgeoned, although all that we now have are scanty fragments of most. Universal histories, for example, sought to place local traditions in the wider context and the new horizons created by the Hellenistic kingdoms. Polybius says that the fourth-century Ephorus of Cyme, who seems to have used local histories as one of his sources

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(9.1.4), was the first and only person down to his own time to have written a general history (5.33.2). Similarly, Theopompus of Chios wrote, among other things, a Philippika based on the life of Philip II of Macedon, whom he considered the greatest man of the age, although his work also included other material, books on Sicily, Italy, Cyprus, Athens, Persia, and Asia Minor, and encompassed genealogy, ethnography, geography, and mythography. 10 In the fourth and third centuries b.c.e., local histories also flourished on their own account, though most exist only in small fragments. The best known of the local histories, though also fragmentary, are the Atthides or local histories of Athens, which were chronicles (cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 1.8.3) framed in the first instance around the lists of kings, and then around magistrates in the historical periods. They also made liberal use of myth and genealogies (Harding 1994: 3–8; 2007: 181). Yet not all local histories were chronicles, as Harding has suggested (2007: 181), since, as we have already seen, they could also take poetic form, and sacred histories could also form part of them. 11 Like genealogies and their archaic antecedents, these later local histories were essentially expressions of communal identity. There could also be competing versions, offering variations in the accounts and different emphases, as Giangiulio argues was the case for Cyrene. 12 In this sense, local histories were political. Jacoby (in the 1940s) made the case that a “political war” was being fought among the so-called Atthidographers at Athens in which historians were trying to influence political policy at Athens (Jacoby 1949: 76–79). Although the explicitly political nature of the Atthides has been doubted, 13 most commentators agree that each Atthis had a different emphasis: Cleidemus devoted most space to the early history of Athens; Phanodemus, who reached the sixth century by book 6, also had an interest in early history; while Androtion, who started the fifth 10.  Fowler 1994: 153–54. In fact, although there are differences in scope between Ephorus’s work and Theopompus, there are also a number of similarities that make it difficult to distinguish their purposes in terms of form or genre: see esp. Marincola 2007; cf. Schepens 1977; Marincola 1999; Pelling 1999. 11. Cf. Marincola 1999: 293–94. On sacred history and local history, see Dillery 2005; cf. Harding 2007: 184. 12.  Giangiulio 2001; compare Marincola 1997: 12–19 on emulation, imitation, and competition with predecessors in the historiographical tradition as a whole. 13.  Harding 1977; Harding 2008: 5; see also Rhodes 1990. McInerney (1994) has argued that Cleidemus was shaping local traditions in a way that emphasized Athens’ democratic essence from its earliest history. Pausanias says Cleidemus was the earliest of the Atthidographers (Pausanias 10.15.5), though most scholars agree that the first was actually Hellanicus of Lesbos at the end of the fifth century b.c.e. (Jacoby 1949: 68–69; Harding 2008: 3).

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century in book 3, was more interested in contemporary history (Harding 1977: 150–51; 1994: 47–51; Marincola 1999: 312–13). Like genealogies, local histories were not just directed at local audi­ ences. 14 As Gehrke (2001) has effectively argued, they could also play to a larger pan-Hellenic audience, especially in the context of the Hellenistic world. As he shows from the example of Magnesia on the Maeander in western Asia Minor, the restructuring and even fabrication of a local history of the city gave Magnesia a central role in the new geographical, political, and social structures of the Hellenistic empires. Through its focus on the cult of Artemis Leucophryene, Magnesia was trying to establish a new pan-Hellenic festival, based on the cult, in support of which a canonical version of the foundation story was published in stone, tracing Magnesia’s origins to Crete and the mythical hero, Leucippus, who on the basis of oracles from Delphi, led the Magnesians to Pamphylia (IvM 17 = FGH 482 F 3; see also Erskine 2007: 275–77). This reworking of history, which gave Magnesia a newly prominent position within the Hellenistic world as a sacred city and center for games on a level with the Pythian games at Delphi (Syll.3 557 = Rigsby 66 = Bagnall and Derow 153), was accepted not just by a large number of Greek cities but also by Antiochus III, Attalus I of Pergamum, Ptolemy IV, and Philip V of Macedon (Bagnall and Derow 154; see also Rigsby 68–71). The authority of these accounts, whether local histories or general histories, resided both in their location within the Homeric tradition, to which they often made deliberate allusion, and in their claims regarding empiricism and critical analysis of sources. To the Greek mind, cosmic order was created through reason: so for Heracleitus in the sixth century, human law was “nourished” by the one divine law (DK 22 B 114), which itself was an expression of Logos, the true ordering of the world, though Heracleitus did not necessarily share conventional views about divinity (Marincola 1997). However, there was a general sense of “order” that superseded the mortal. Anaxagoras, for example, writing in the fifth century, called it “reason” (DK 59 B 12); later, Aristotle said that reason was consonant with law, and the rule of law is the rule of god and reason (Politics 3, 1287a28–32). 15 In sum, the Greek historiographical tradition was rich and vibrant and preeminently political. It told the stories of communities on both the local and the universal level, drawing freely on myth and genealogy, as well as geography and ethnography. Its purposes and forms were many and various. As well as a search for empirical “truth,” in which autopsy played 14. On the close relationship between genealogy and local history, see Harding 1994: 48. 15.  Lindsay (1991) emphasizes the religious dimension in Aristotle’s thought.

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a fundamental part, by the fourth century historiography also saw the past as a didactic source for moral lessons. In the new world of the Hellenistic successor kingdoms, “truth” became an important weapon for cities’ selfpositioning for external audiences. This did not mean however, that there was necessarily one canonical version of a city’s history. In fact, competition within the community between different interest groups was part of the flexibility and richness that allowed cities to negotiate and renegotiate their part on the new political stage.

Chronicles in the Framework of Local Greek Histories A number of interesting points arise from the foregoing summary of trends within the Greek genre of local histories in relation to Chronicles. We will begin with the simultaneous existence of many alternate histories and the apparent tendency to draw on existing versions to create new histories. Such a trend in the Greek world can profitably caution biblical scholars against thinking that the two biblical accounts in Kings and Chronicles vied for authoritative status as though there could be only one winner and one dominant ideology. Each author would have had a different emphasis or interest, or there would have been little point in a fresh composition. It also means that audiences were probably not meant to hear one account in light of the other and to focus on the differences in the way that biblical scholars do in their current analyses; each was meant to be appreciated as an individual composition. Within the Greek historiographical tradition, Homer’s poems held canonical status, and reference to Homeric epic was generally allusive, so that even a reference to a hero could recall the Homeric text without explicitly referring to it. Thus, in the Plataea elegy of the fifth century in celebration of the Greek victory of the Persians, Simonides describes Homeric heroes marching with the Greek army to war against the Persians (frag. 11 West IE 2). Through this simple reference naming Homeric heroes, the poet not only heroizes the Greek army but also places the Greek campaign against Persia in the framework of the larger cycle of the Homeric war against the barbarian. 16 In contrast, when early genealogies, local histories, or critical inquires were used as sources by subsequent writers, material was often cited verbatim, with credit given to the earlier author. The relationship between Kings and Chronicles differs from both the tendency to allude to canonical Homeric poetry, on the one hand, and the direct, accredited citation system in the Greek historiographic tradition, 16. Heroizing allusions: Boedeker 1998; 2001. The Plataea elegy and the “war against the barbarian”: Mitchell 2007: 78.

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on the other. There are sections where sentences are shared verbatim and others where there are minor differences that point either to the author of Chronicles as having used Kings as a source or to both authors as having accessed a common source (for the latter view, see Auld 1994). The failure to cite the source by name or title before or after a citation cannot be explained away as the result of Kings’ having been written anonymously; the author regularly cites otherwise unknown works, particularly for his accounts of the reigns of David and Solomon, in summaries at the end of an individual king’s reign, leaving scholars to speculate if they are actual sources or fictitious sources created to give more credibility to the claims being advanced. 17 The author of Kings, on the other hand, cites two sources consistently for the reigns of Jeroboam onward in a closing summary found at the end of almost every king’s reign: the scroll of the deeds/chronicle of the kings of Israel (1 Kgs 14:19; 15:31; 16:5, 14, 20, 27; 22:39; 2 Kgs 1:18; 10:34; 13:8, 12; 14:18, 28; 15:11, 15, 21, 26, 31) and the scroll of the deeds/chronicle of the kings of Judah (1 Kgs 14:29; 15:7, 15:23, 22:45; 2 Kgs 8:23, 12:19, 15:6, 16:19, 20:20, 21:19, 23:28, 24:6). The author of Chronicles cites a similar but not identical source to the source named in Kings in two of his closing summaries of kings’ reigns: the scroll of the kings of Israel (2 Chr 20:34, 33:18) and, beginning with the reign of King Asa, cites two sources whose order of listing Israel and Judah varies, or perhaps a single source: the scroll of the kings of Judah and Israel (2 Chr 16:11, 28:26, 32:32) and the scroll of the kings of Israel and Judah (2 Chr 27:7, 35:27, 36:8). One or both of these could be some form of the book of Kings, which has interwoven information about the kings of Israel and Judah into a single account, which most scholars think is the case. Or it could be an independent account predating Kings, as the minority position holds. Thus, the relationship between Kings and Chronicles, both of which are arguably forms of ancient historiography, is unclear; they might have been roughly contemporaneous, parallel histories written with different emphases, or Kings may have been an earlier work that was taken up and used extensively by the author of Chronicles as a prior source and cited by a description, accounting for the variation in the order. 17.  The chronicles of Samuel the seer, Nathan the prophet, and Gad the seer in 1  Chr 29:1; chronicle of Nathan the prophet, the prophecy of Ahijah the Shilonite, and the visions of Iddo the seer concerning Jeroboam son of Nebat in 2 Chr 9:29; the chronicle(s) of Shemiah the prophet and Iddo the seer in 2 Chr 12:15; the midrash of the prophet Iddo in 2 Chr 13:22; the chronicle of Jehu the son of Hanani in 2 Chr 20:34; the midrash of the scroll of the kings in 2 Chr 24:27; Isaiah the son of Amoz in 2 Chr 26:22, 32:32; and the chronicle of Hozai/the seers in 2 Chr 33:19. For the debate over their existence, see discussions in commentaries on these verses.

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E.  Ben Zvi has suggested that the author of Chronicles deliberately wrote in so-called Late Biblical Hebrew rather than in Standard Biblical Hebrew to signal to his audience that his account of Israel’s past was not meant to be as authoritative as the version in Kings, which was written in Standard Biblical Hebrew. He suggests that the derivative Chronicles account constitutes a kind of early authoritative interpretation of the “canonical” book of Kings, with this intention partially signaled in the use of Late Biblical Hebrew (Ben Zvi 2009: 282–83). This is an intriguing idea, the ramifications of which need further exploration, particularly in terms of audience and purpose, since the creation of an authoritative “interpretation” of a canonical work that “corrects” many ideas in the “original source” effectively produces a rival account. Why would it have been needed, if the first was already authoritative? Does this suggest the existence of evolving schools of interpretation, each of which produced such an “authoritative” version for their members, with this version eventually becoming widely persuasive and included in an expanded canon? Or, are we to assume the original intended audience was the same, people who would have been familiar with the book(s) of Kings? An alternative understanding, based on Greek analogy, would be the creation of Chronicles by a Jewish author well versed in contemporary Greek literary trends in the late Persian or Hellenistic period. He decided to write a local history of Jerusalem to glorify his own group’s past but did so in a style closer to other Jewish literature, adopting anonymity and specifically Jewish ideology, and using Kings as his primary source, which he felt comfortable with enough to adapt to his own purposes. He used “Late Biblical Hebrew,” whatever its origin, 18 because in his day it was closer to spoken Hebrew and thus had wider audience appeal. 19 The audience could have been the larger Jewish community as well as educated non-Jews who had an interest in this sort of local history and who could understand Hebrew. It might even have been composed to be read on the occasion of some sort of important event in Jerusalem’s history. At some later point, it was considered edifying enough to be included in the expanded canon. The cogency of Ben Zvi’s proposed understanding of the motivation underlying the use of Standard Biblical Hebrew and Late Biblical Hebrew 18.  For various proposals about the origin of “Late Biblical Hebrew,” see, for example, Young 2003; 2009: 262–68. For its characteristics, see conveniently, Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvärd 2008. 19.  Ben Zvi’s understanding of “Standard Biblical Hebrew” as becoming a form of “sacred language” used in a set of authoritative books relating to “preexilic Israel” would fit with my alternative reconstruction, since the author of Chronicles would not have been writing a “sacred” history.

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can be tested by seeing if it is supported by the Qumran texts and also by the ostraca corpora from Lachish, Arad, Beersheba, and Idumea; is there consistently a form of written Standard Biblical Hebrew, and if so, was it used for administration as well as the canonical sacred books? Did it continue in use when literature meant to be authoritative for a community was written, or did it carry with it the additional perception suggested by Ben Zvi that it was also to be limited to descriptions of Israel’s “pre­exilic” past? 20 If Ben Zvi is correct, then Chronicles would have been produced under different circumstances from local Greek histories, which would not have had an authoritative, “canonical” version that their authors were “modifying.” When both Kings and Chronicles came to be included in a set of authoritative texts, should we conclude that the new circumstance changed the way the audience listened and that the ideological differences inherent in each were now to be of more central focus, so that the listener or reader would reflect over the existence of competing versions of the story? Or, does the inclusion of two such accounts signal a need for the audience to understand that “truth”—that is, what happened—is complex and can be viewed in different ways by different people? A second point that arises from viewing Chronicles in the framework of Greek local histories is the prominent use in the latter of genealogy to link the mythic past with the present, tracing the descent of a group to a heroic figure, including “first man,” which is particularly apparent in Chronicles. The book begins with eight chapters of genealogy that trace Israel back to the first man, Adam, on the one hand, and introduce the resettlement of Jerusalem in the Persian period, on the other. Its schematic nature is consistent with use in Greek tradition. The choice of Adam as the primal ancestor is interesting; it eliminated more heroic figures from the past, such as Joshua or Moses, and linked Israel’s origin to creation itself, to the earliest human fashioned by Yahweh Elohim. In opting for the “autochthonous” ancestor rather than an ancestor who takes things by conquest, the Chronicler was able to link Israel in Jerusalem directly to God, as though it was the planned outcome of his creation of humanity; he intended to single out a certain group within the human family to inhabit his chosen site, Jerusalem. This strategy goes beyond the two variant forms of origin story found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, the peaceful immigration of a divinely led ancestor who will settle in a new home and grow into a strong nation over time (Abraham in Genesis) and the group conquest led by Joshua (Van Seters 1983). In both instances, origins are not autochthonous. The 20. For some preliminary explorations of the relevant data, see Young 2009: 258–62.

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Chronicler’s decision to opt for native origins for Israel may have been influenced by the claims in local histories of Athens, first apparent in Homeric epic, that the Athenians were earthborn—an assertion that by the fifth century they were using to claim primacy (in terms of both descent and natural supremacy) over the rest of the Greeks (see esp. Euripides, Ion. 1571–94). 21 He may have decided to use the same strategy for presenting the history of his people, who like the Hellenes, comprised tribes of varying levels of recognized pedigree. Alternatively, he may have wanted to counter any claims made by the Athenians or other writers of regional histories that the Greeks had a monopoly on being the core, autoch­thonous civilization and assert instead that Israel served this function for the larger known world. Viewed in the framework of the genre of local history, however, there is not necessarily an ideological agenda in 1 Chronicles 1–8 to eliminate the view that Israel originated outside the promised land, as found in the primal history and the Deuteronomistic History. It could be argued, in fact, that the genealogy is meant to include or presume in a summary fashion the events narrated in Genesis–Judges. They clearly are not the focus of the current writer, but it is not self-evident that the genealogy is meant to replace them in order to offer a competing or alternate view. If one assumes that the biblical story of Adam is being referenced, the Chronicler has chosen to draw a link between Israel (God implicitly) and the garden of Eden, on the one hand, and Jerusalem, on the other hand, equating Jerusalem with the garden in some sense. As noted by R. Braun (1986: xxvi), the central position of the Jerusalem temple is emphasized by repeated divine decrees at each phase of its planning, construction, and dedication by David and Solomon, and it is to be the place where “all Israel” will pray (2 Chr 6:20) and offer sacrifice (2 Chr 2:3[4], 7:12) and joyful service to their god (2 Chr 5:12–13, 7:6, 8:14) for the name/reputation of God (1 Chr 22:7), and the place that will serve as a “house of rest for the ark of the covenant of Yahweh” (1 Chr 28:2; 2 Chr 6:41). Thus, by analogy, the building of the First Temple by David and Solomon becomes a means for all Israel to return to the close relationship that Adam enjoyed when Yahweh Elohim cared for him in Eden, where he was permanently “at rest” (2:15), “serving” and guarding it, but without having to invest physical labor or strife/war (3:17–20). By implication/syllogism, the rebuilding of the temple in the Persian period, after resettlement in Jerusalem (1  Chronicles 9; 2  Chr 36:22–23), will similarly signal a return to paradise. 21.  This was a claim that the Athenians also asserted against competing strategies for dominance through migration and conquest; see Mitchell 2007: 85–87.

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A third point is the tendency to use speeches to explore political ideas and problems and moral lessons, a trait shared by the Greek histories and 1 Chronicles, though in biblical texts, the emphasis on political structure is much more subdued and tends to assume kingship is correct as a form of leadership but emphasizes the need of the king to work within the law and will of the national god. 22 A particular detail that could suggest that the Chronicler was familiar with Herodotus’s Inquiries is his decision to end his narrative with Cyrus’s decree allowing the return and the rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem. Herodotus ends his inquiries with an idealized story about Cyrus, the paragon of the ideal ruler (9.122). The Chronicler also gives strong endorsement to the religious establishment and to the lay assembly. While speeches in the mouths of important figures is a technique found in the Deuteronomistic History and in many biblical books and therefore is in not new with the Chronicler, it also is widely acknowledged that the material that is unique to him tends to be moralizing “sermons,” edicts, and prayers put into the mouths of various royal characters (for example, David in 1 Chronicles 22, 28, and 29; Abijah in 2 Chronicles 13). It might also be significant that the moral lesson that Herodotus announces at the end of his first introduction—that great cities become small, and small great, and that human prosperity never stays in the same place for long (1.5.3–4)—could be seen to apply to the Chronicler’s account of Jerusalem as a way of anticipating its return to greatness after having once been great but also having been small during “the exile” and at the time of the return. An immediate difference can be seen, however, in the understanding of what defines the virtuous (aretē) within the community. For the Chronicler, a person’s obedience to divine command is paramount (e.g., 1 Chr 14:16), not self-control, bravery, education, hard work, endurance, looking to the interest of friends, or honoring the gods. While the general concept of virtue was widely endorsed, the ways in which it could or should be exemplified varied. In particular, military activity seems to be discouraged or rejected by the Chronicler in his repeated emphasis on “rest” as the divine reward for obedience. The only negative episodes associated with David involve military endeavor: his aborted census of the people (1 Chronicles 21), his having shed much innocent 22.  It is interesting to note that, in Greek tradition, Cyrus is viewed as the ideal king, in spite of his foreign origin and in contrast to the remaining Persian kings, all of whom are demonized. 2 Chronicles ends with this same Cyrus obeying the word of God and ordering the rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem for Yahweh’s people! While this view of Cyrus’s role draws on 2 Isaiah and Jeremiah, it is still worth considering if the Chronicler decided to name Cyrus explicitly because of his notoriety and respect in Hellenistic literary tradition.

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blood (1 Chr 22:8), and his status as a man of war (1 Chr 28:3). The latter two are to have caused Yahweh to preclude him as the temple-builder. In contrast, Asa is granted 10 years of rest for his reforms and obedience (2 Chr 13:23[14:1]; see the cluster of references in 14:4–7, 15:15). Jehoshaphat’s kingdom was given rest after the people petitioned God for help in united assembly when threatened by the Moabites, Ammonites, and some Meunites (2 Chr 20:30). Hezekiah and the people of Jerusalem were saved from the hand of Sennacherb and all enemies and “given rest” in 2 Chr 32:22 after demonstrating faith. Rest or peace is viewed as a desirable trait associated with the correct service of Yahweh, and war/ military endeavor is a negative trait to be avoided. This could be seen to be a rejection of a military definition of virtue, in addition, perhaps, to a rejection of the monarchic-era association of Yahweh with war, under the epithet ṣebaot. The Chronicler’s emphasis on “rest,” however, may link to another central aspect of fourth-century Greek thought: homonoia ‘concord’ (Dillery 1995: 54–58; Huffman 2005: 200–202). An emphasis developed on the need to stop the constant internal strife and wars among the Greeks by establishing homonoia and to unite to fight a “sacred,” pan-Hellenic war against barbarians instead (esp. Isocrates, Paneg. 181). This desired “peace” must be self-achieved, according to Greek thought, whereas in Chronicles, a reliance on Yahweh and avoidance of human alliances yields the divine reward of “rest,” regardless of the enemy. It is well recognized that the Chronicler situates his accounts of kings within a framework of individual, immediate divine retribution. He ties reward and punishment to individual details within a monarch’s reign, often assigning them different periods of success/obedience and failure/disobedience. Much of his unique material in the sweep of royal time serves to illustrate this doctrine, particularly in the cases of Asa (2 Chr 13:23[14:1]; 14:5–14[6–15]; 16:12), Uzziah (2  Chr 26:5–15), Manasseh (2  Chr 33:12–14), and Josiah (2 Chr 35:21–23). This is a simpler equation than the debate explored particularly in Greek thought, which included Fate, individual actions, and the will of the gods. There is no involvement of Fate or of hybris in the sense of grasping for too much; the struggle is between divine will and human freedom alone. Having said this, we need to say that Xenophon in the fourth century also sought to understand the relationship between ruler and willingly obedient subjects as a relationship that created freedom rather than slavery based on compulsion, which suggests an attempt to grapple with similar issues, though in different contexts. The emphasis on the people’s willingly and freely engaging in following the law, making cultic contributions, and participating in worship activity could be a reflex of the larger fourth-

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century debate over the correct attitude of the ruler and the ruled; in Jewish circles, Yahweh was the ruler and the qahal yisrael the ruled, accounting for the biblical emphasis on wiliness and the correct disposition of the heart in the religious sphere (e.g., 1 Chr 28:9; 29:9, 17) in the absence of a functioning native king or political system. The Chronicler’s particular exploration of the theme of ethical conduct more generally might well have been informed by an emphasis on this theme in contemporary literature within the Hellenistic world, with his providing what he considered to be a Jewish slant or “take” on the issue. Fourth, local Greek histories were vehicles for cementing and expressing group identity through a shared, common past, and there is little question that, on some level, the same was true of Chronicles. Much of the Chronicler’s description of the past appears to model an as-yet unrealized present ideal in which “all Israel,” including the provinces of Samerina, Yehud, Galilee, and the Transjordanian highlands, are to be centered around Jerusalem and its temple and staff. The Magnesians had also formulated a suitable heroic prehistory for themselves that created the basis of their new claims, and in other Greek genres it was common to appeal to the Trojan War and its world as an idealized past that could be surpassed in the near future with changes to the present (Mitchell 2007: 169–76). Just as Israel was united in the golden age of David and Solomon, so it can also be reunited in the future but without necessarily requiring an ongoing Davidic kingship, since the people now have their divine law and the temple in Jerusalem, which can be endorsed by the ruling empire king. Thus, there is a shared dimension here. The use of local Greek histories by communities to position themselves within the larger Hellenistic world, asserting strong legitimate pedigrees in cases where this was not the case historically, as with the Molossians and the oracle of Magnesia on the Meander, may inform the “all-Israel” perspective in Chronicles. The trend toward inclusion and membership within an “ethnos” may have been adopted by the Chronicler and applied to his own Jewish community. Here, the idealized, twelve-tribe Israel is recognized as well as a dual level of membership: descent/kinship and religious affiliation with the temple in Jerusalem. Again, the Chronicler may be countering Greek claims to be the core civilization by making Israel the core community; however, having done so, he allows the question of how various groups relate to the Jerusalemite core to be explored, or he may have explored this issue within his own community without feeling a need to assert superiority to Greek tradition. Finally, there is a notable difference between the critical attitude found in the Greek histories and related genres that could question the gods as purveyors of truth and knowledge but could still declare a man to be god

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and “living law,” 23 on the one hand, and the books of Chronicles, on the other. On the Jewish side, we still have an anonymous author who is not presenting conflicting versions of stories and evaluating them, who very much believes in the involvement of the divine in human affairs, via truth and knowledge gained from his revealed teaching, and in the doctrine of divine retribution. Any critique is done indirectly, not in direct dialogue with alternate views. There is a shared use of the past to moralize and instruct in the present, but to what extent Chronicles is intended to build a common group identity remains unclear. Did the intended audience include Jews from outside Yehud who chose to worship in Jerusalem rather than at Mt. Gerizim, for example, who might have heard the book read during one of the longer festivals? As noted, this was a common setting for the reading of Greek local histories and “inquiries.” Or, was it aimed at Judeans more narrowly, in the hope of persuading them, perhaps also while attending a religious festival at the Jerusalem temple, to remain open to accepting non-Judeans into the fold without comment or hostility if they voluntarily agreed to recognize the authority of the Jerusalem temple as paramount?

Conclusion There certainly would have been opportunity for the biblical writers and literate Jewish elite to gain familiarity with Greek writing trends in the Persian and Hellenistic periods—a time when there was direct interchange of ideas within the eastern Mediterranean basin, and access to Greek manuscripts by literate, educated Jews was almost certainly possible. In spite of the fragmentary nature of many of the Greek local histories, some of their techniques and contents are recoverable by classicists, and the books of Chronicles resonate with many of them, either following the current or potentially going against it to assert native Jewish values and world views. We will leave our audiences, contemporary and future, to decide whether a sufficient case can be made for classifying Chronicles as a deliberate move by a Jewish author to write a local history of Jerusalem modeled on Greek examples and also to employ traditional Jewish rhetoric and techniques, perhaps to celebrate or mark some sort of important event in the life of the city. If it can be classified thus, then its production may not have been intended to provide an authoritative interpretation of Kings, which had gained virtual “canonical” status at the time of the author. Instead, perhaps its intent was to provide a stimulating account of the city’s rise to initial glory and then its fall, ending by hinting at a new cycle of ascent to 23.  In the fourth century, Xenophon had certainly imagined a king as “seeing law” (Cyrop. 8.1.22).

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glory once again. In this case, Chronicles would only have become “authoritative” when it was included in the expanded section of Scriptures know as “The Writings.”

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Gehrke, H.-J. 2001 Myth, History and Collective Identity: Uses of the Past in Ancient Greece and Beyond. Pp. 286–313 in The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus, ed. N. Luraghi. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Giangiulio, M. 2001 Constructing the Past: Colonial Traditions and the Writing of History. The Case of Cyrene. Pp. 116–37 in The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus, ed. N. Luraghi. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gill, C. J. 1996 Personality in Greek Epic, Tragedy, and Philosophy: The Self in Dialogue. Oxford: Clarendon. Goldhill, S. 1989 The Invention of Prose. Greece and Rome. New Surveys in the Classics 32. Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Classical Association. Gould, J. 1989 Herodotus. New York: St. Martin’s. Hall, J. 1997 Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harding, P. 1977 Atthis and Politeia. Historia 26: 148–60. 1994 Androtion and the Atthis: The Fragments Translated with Introduction and Commentary. Oxford: Clarendon. 2007 Local History and Atthidography. Pp. 180–88 in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. J. Marincola. Malden, MA: Blackwell. 2008 The Story of Athens. The Fragments of the Local Chronicles of Attika. London: Routledge. Harrison, T. 2000 Divinity and History: The Religion of Herodotus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Huffman, C. A. 2005 Archytas of Tarentum: Pythagorean, Philosopher and Mathematician King. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jacoby, F. 1949 Atthis: The Local Chronicles of Ancient Athens. Oxford: Clarendon. Jacoby, F., et al., eds. 1923–62  Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. 2 vols. Berlin: Weid­mann/ Leiden: Brill. Janko, R. 1982 Homer, Hesiod and the Hymns. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kern, O. 1900 Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander. Berlin: Spemann. Kirk, G. S.; Raven, J. E.; and Schofield, M. 1983 The Presocratic Philosophers: A Critical History with a Selection of Texts. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Konstan, D. 1987 Persians, Greeks and Empire. Arethusa 20: 59–73.

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Kraus, C. S., ed. 1999 The Limits of Historiography, Genre, and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts. Leiden: Brill. Lateiner, D. 1989 The Historical Method of Herodotus. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Lindsay, T. H. 1991 The “God-Like Man” versus the “Best Laws”: Politics and Religion in Aristotle’s Politics. Review of Politics 53: 488–509. Luce, T. J. 1997 The Greek Historians. London: Routledge. Luraghi, N., ed. 2001 The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Marincola, J. 1997 Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1999 Genre, Convention and Innovation in Greco-Roman Historiography. Pp.  281–324 in The Limits of Historiography, Genre, and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts, ed. C. S. Kraus. Leiden: Brill. 2001 Greek Historians, Greece and Rome. New Surveys in the Classics 31. Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Classical Association. 2007 Universal History from Ephorus to Diodorus. Pp. 171–79 in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. J. Marincola. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Marincola, J., ed. 2007 A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography. Malden, MA: Blackwell. McInerney, J. 1994 Politicizing the Past: the Atthis of Kleidemos. Classical Antiquity 13: 17–37. Mitchell, L. 2007 Panhellenism and the Barbarian in Archaic and Classical Greece. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Moles, J. L. 1996 Herodotus Warns the Athenians. Papers of the Leeds International Latin Seminar 9: 259–84. Most, G. W. 1999 The Poetics of Early Greek Philosophy. Pp. 332–62 in The Cambridge Companion to Early Greek Philosophy, ed. A. A. Long. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pelling, C. 1999 Epilogue. Pp. 325–60 in The Limits of Historiography, Genre, and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts, ed. C. S. Kraus. Leiden: Brill. Raaflaub, K. A. 1987 Herodotus, Political Thought, and the Meaning of History. Arethusa 20: 221–46.

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Rhodes, P. J. 1990 The Atthidographers.” Pp. 73–82 in Purposes of History: Studies in Greek Historiography from the Fourth to the Second Centuries bc: Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Leuven, 24–26 May 1988, ed. H. Verdin, G. Schepens, and E. de Keyser. Studia Hellenistica 30. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Rigsby, K. J. 1996 Asylia: Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World. Berkeley: University of California Press. Romm, J. S. 1998 Herodotus. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Rutherford, I. 2001 The New Simonides: Towards a Commentary. Pp.  33–54 in The New Simonides: Contexts of Praise and Desire, ed. D. Boedeker and D. Sider. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schepens, G. 1977 Historiographical Problems in Ephorus. Pp. 95–118 in Historiographia Antiqua: Commentationes Lovanienses in Honorem W. Peremans Septuagenarii Editae. Leuven: Leuven University Press. 2007 History and Historia: Inquiry in the Greek Historians. Pp. 39–55 in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. J. Marincola. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Sider, D. 2006 The New Simonides and the Question of Historical Elegy. American Journal of Philology 127: 327–46. Smith, A. D. 1991 National Identity. London: Penguin / Reno: University of Nevada Press. Sterling, G. E. 2007 The Jewish Appropriation of Hellenistic Historiography. Pp.  231–43 in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. J. Marincola. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Thomas, R. 2000 Herodotus in Context: Ethnography, Science and the Art of Persuasion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Seters, J. 1983 In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Repr. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997. Wees, H. van 1999 Tyrtaeus’ Eunomia: Nothing to Do with the Great Rhetra. Pp.  1–41 in Sparta: New Perspectives, ed. S. Hodkinson and A. Powell. London: Duckworth. West, M. L. 1985 The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women: Its Nature, Structure, and Origins. Oxford: Clarendon. 1997 The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Clarendon / New York: Oxford University Press.

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West, M. L., ed. 1992 Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum Cantati. Vol. 2. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Young, I. 2009 What Is ‘Late Biblical Hebrew’? Pp. 253–68 in A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics and Language Relating to Persian Israel, ed. E.  Ben Zvi, D. Edelman, and F. Polak. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Young I., ed. 2003 Biblical Hebrew Studies in Chronology and Typology. JSOTSup 369. London: T. & T. Clark. Young, I.; Rezetko, R.; and Ehrensvärd, M. 2008 Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts. Volume 1: An Introduction to Approaches and Problems. Volume 2: A Survey of Scholarship, a New Synthesis and a Comprehensive Bibliography. Bible World. London: Equinox.

Index of Authors Ben Zvi, E.  1, 7, 8, 9, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18, 19, 27, 32, 33, 37, 106, 107, 117, 124, 149, 184, 190, 240, 241 Berge, K.  1 Berger, J.  202 Berlin, A.  32, 33 Berquist, J. L.  75, 203 Bianchi, E.  95 Bickerman, E.  99, 103 Blenkinsopp, J.  6, 8, 58, 69, 80, 83, 92, 100, 101, 102, 141, 146, 149, 150, 152, 183, 189 Blumenthal, D. R.  206 Boda, M.-J.  185 Boedeker, D.  231, 233, 238 Bohmbach, K.  120 Borger, R.  178 Bowie, E. L.  230 Braun, R. L.  55, 242 Brenner, A.  115, 124 Brettler, M. Z.  62 Briant, P.  91 Brockington, L. H.  141 Brueggemann, W.  178, 179 Brunsma, D. L.  202 Burns, R.  202 Bury, M.  205, 208

Ackroyd, P.  166, 167, 171, 172, 175, 176, 178 Aejmelaeus, A.  156, 157, 158, 159 Agger, B.  202 Ai, A. L.  205 Albertz, R.  68, 80 Albright, W. F.  90 Alexander, J.  204, 205 Aloni, A.  231 Amit, Y.  7, 8, 102, 106, 133, 136, 170 Anderson, A. A.  134 Aqiba, Rabbi  28 Archilochus 230 Arendt, H.  7, 112 Aristotle 237 Arrian 90 Asheri, D.  234 Assis, E.  194 Auld, A. G.  43, 68, 85, 239 Bacon, F.  89 Bagnall, R. S.  229, 237 Bailey, R. C.  218 Bal, M.  110 Barag, D.  91 Bar-Efrat, S.  134, 135 Barkay, G.  78 Barnes, W. E.  56 Barstad, H. M.  178 Bauman, Z.  220 Beck, U.  201, 202, 203 Becker, G.  206, 208 Becking, B.  203 Bedford, P. R.  197 Beentjes, P.  32, 107, 170, 221 Begg, C.  15, 100, 175 Bellinger, W. H., Jr.  102 Ben-Yehuda, N.  203, 213

Carstens, P.  1 Cartledge, P.  234 Cataldo, J.  201 Chalcraft, D.  10, 201, 206, 213 Chapman, S. B.  23, 61, 163, 164, 180 Childs, B.  106, 163, 168 Clark, J. A.  208 Clarke, K.  231, 232 Clements, R. E.  166

253

254

Index of Authors

Coggins, R. J.  67 Cohen, S.  203, 213, 214 Connerton, P.  105, 110 Cook, S. L.  195 Corcella, A.  234 Cowley, A. E.  141 Crawford, C.  202 Cross, F. M.  90, 138 Curtis, E. L.  90, 99, 129 Curtius Rufus  90 Cyrulink, B.  205 Davies, P. R.  5, 8, 80, 81, 108 Denzin, N. K.  202 Derow, P.  229, 237 De Vries, S. J.  30, 57, 72, 97, 102, 170 Diels, H.  229 Dillard, R. B.  178 Dillery, J.  229, 236, 244 Dinnur, G.  141 Diodorus  90, 92 Dionysius of Halicarnassus  236 Dittenberger, W.  229 Dougherty, C.  231 Douglas, M.  201, 203, 205 Dozeman, T.  199 Duggan, M. W.  190 Duhm, B.  92 Duke, R. K.  39, 62, 170 Dupuis, A.  207 Dyck, J. E.  67, 68, 71, 108 Edelman, D.  1, 2, 8, 11, 13, 37, 80, 84 Edkins, J.  204 Ehrensvärd, M.  85, 240 Eidinow, E.  203 Eliot, A.  201 Endres, J. C.  70 Engar, A. W.  115 Engle, K. J.  202 Erskine, A.  237 Eshel, H.  91 Eskenazi, T. C.  191 Étienne, R.  231 Euripides 242 Eusebius 91

Eyerman, R.  204 Faircloth, C.  208 Falkenstein, A.  102 Feldman, L. H.  15 Finkelstein, I.  5, 77, 78, 79, 84 Fishbane, M.  1, 14, 18, 20, 170 Fisher, H.  205 Foege, W. H.  203 Fornara, C. W.  57 Fowler, R.  231, 233, 234, 236 Frank, A.  208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 217, 219 Freedman, D. N.  67, 90 Friedman, R. E.  69, 189 Frolov, S.  154, 197 Galling, K.  90 Garfinkel, H.  205 Gehrke, H.-J.  237 Geoghegan, J. C.  191 Gerstenberger, E. S.  145, 146, 149, 150, 151, 152, 159, 160, 163, 164 Giangiulio, M.  236 Giddens, A.  204, 207, 208 Gill, C. J.  234 Gill, D. A.  218 Gilman, S.  203 Glatt-Gilad, D.  4, 5, 74, 75 Goffman, E.  210 Goldhill, S.  232 Goldingay, J.  51 Goltz, T. D.  55, 68 Goode, E.  203, 213 Gould, J.  234 Grabbe, L. L.  91, 93, 108, 149, 152 Graham, M. P.  80, 165 Greenberg, M.  20 Griffin, J.  234 Groves, J. W.  166 Gunkel, H.  210 Habel, N. C.  203 Halbwachs, M.  110 Hall, J.  231 Halpern, B.  192 Hanson, P. D.  218

Index of Authors Hanspach, A.  145, 146, 159 Haran, M.  70 Harding, P.  236, 237 Harrison, T.  234 Hata, G.  15 Hayes, J. H.  80 Hecataeus  79, 92, 232 Hengel, M.  92, 95 Herman, J. L.  206 Herodotus  93, 229, 231, 233, 234, 235, 243 Hertzberg, H. W.  134 Herzog, Z.  80 Hesiod  230, 231, 232 Hieke, T.  44, 107 Hirsch, M.  110 Hjelm, I.  80 Höffken, P.  100 Hoffman, Y.  173 Hoglund, K. G.  80 Holloway, D.  202 Homer  231, 232, 233, 237, 238 Huffman, C. A.  244 Human, D. J.  203 Hutton, R. R.  193 Hyden, L.  208 Isocrates 244 Jackson, M.  115, 116 Jacoby, F.  229, 236 Janko, R.  230 Janssen, E.  178 Janzen, D.  71 Japhet, S.  27, 32, 37, 40, 41, 42, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 68, 71, 72, 80, 99, 113, 116, 117, 118, 120, 127, 129, 138, 140, 141, 163, 165, 168, 170, 171, 177, 178, 179, 183 Jerome 91 Jobling, D.  210 Johnstone, W.  23, 25, 177, 178 Jonker, L.  3, 8, 9, 146, 148, 153, 154, 159, 194, 195, 196 Josephus  15, 21, 90, 92, 96, 101, 135, 141, 142

255

Kalimi, I.  21, 37, 51, 52, 67, 90, 106, 168 Kartveit, M.  23, 107 Kegler, J.  102, 145, 146, 147, 148 Kellermann, U.  74 Kelso, J.  107, 117 Kern, O.  229 Kiesow, A.  124 Klein, R. W.  39, 40, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 102, 133, 139, 140, 162 Klein, S.  102 Knauf, E. A.  126 Knight, D. A.  20 Knoppers, G. N.  23, 27, 31, 34, 38, 41, 42, 43, 44, 48, 49, 54, 57, 61, 62, 71, 74, 80, 107, 108, 111, 113, 115, 117, 121, 122, 124, 136, 137, 138, 140, 143, 161, 162, 163, 184, 185 Knowles, M. D.  197 Konstan, D.  234 Kranz, W.  229 Kratz, R. G.  197 Labahn, A.  117, 124 Lateiner, D.  234 Lauterbach, J. Z.  28, 30 Lee, N. C.  203 Lemche, N.-P.  145 Lemke, W. E.  56, 166 Leuchter, M.  3, 5, 9, 10, 16, 156, 178, 185, 186, 187, 189, 190, 191, 193, 194, 195, 196, 200 Levin, Y.  68, 71, 184, 195 Levinson, B. M.  35, 62 Lianos, M.  205 Lincoln, Y.  202 Lindsay, T. H.  237 Lipschits, O.  80 Lloyd, A. B.  234 Löwisch, I.  1, 6, 7, 8 Luke, T. W.  202 Luker, L. M.  120 Lundbom, J. R.  178 Madsen, A. A.  90, 99 Magen, Y.  84, 141

256

Index of Authors

Mandolfo, C.  203 Mannheim, K.  89, 93 Marable, M.  205 Marcus, R.  91 Marincola, J.  230, 231, 232, 234, 236, 237 Marlow, H.  203 Marshall, G.  213 Mason, R. A.  170, 171, 172 McCarter, P. K.  134 McInerney, J.  236 McKenzie, S. L.  80, 162, 166, 176 Mendelsohn, I.  102 Meyers, C.  109 Micheel, R.  102, 170 Milgrom, J.  29, 32 Miller, J. M.  80 Mimnermus 230 Misgav, H.  84 Mishler, E. G.  208 Mitchell, C.  62, 191 Mitchell, L.  11, 231, 232, 238, 242, 245 Moles, J. L.  234 More, T.  89 Most, G. W.  232 Mowinckel, S.  101 Muncie, J.  213 Myers, J. M.  90, 127, 172 Naʾaman, N.  57, 77, 78, 141 Najman, H.  55, 61, 73 Nelkin, D.  203 Newsome, J. D.  67, 90, 170 Niditch, S.  115 Nogalski, J. D.  17 Noth, M.  107 Oeming, M.  80 Orosius 91 Orr, A.  178 Overfelt, D.  202 Pausanias 236 Pelling, C.  233, 236 Peltonen, K.  57, 68, 165

Petersen, D. L.  90, 102, 149 Pfeiffer, R. H.  90 Picou, J. S.  202 Piérart, M.  231 Plato  89, 235 Plöger, O.  170 Plutarch 90 Polak, F.  1 Polybius  85, 231, 235 Pomykala, K. E.  195, 200 Pratt, J.  203 Prudovsky, G.  13 Ptolemy 92 Pyles, L.  205 Raaflaub, K. A.  234 Rad, G. von  73, 94, 134, 169, 170, 171, 172, 180 Ray, L.  219 Redditt, P. L.  183, 187 Regt, L. J. de  118 Rehm, M. D.  162 Reventlow, H. G.  173 Rezetko, R.  85, 240 Rhodes, P. J.  236 Rigsby, K. J.  229, 237 Rofé, A.  138 Römer, T. C.  17 Romm, J. S.  234 Rossoni, G.  95 Rubbenstein, J. L.  28 Rudolph, W.  90, 134, 140 Rutherford, I.  231 Sakenfeld, K. D.  44 Sanders, J. A.  101 Saux, M. S.  214 Schams, C.  58 Schaper, J.  79, 194, 195 Schepens, G.  233, 236 Schibler, D.  173 Schmid, K.  185, 200 Schniedewind, W. M.  2, 18, 29, 30, 58, 68, 73, 102, 145, 146, 149, 160, 161, 170, 192, 200 Schürer, E.  91 Schwartz, J.  141

Index of Authors Schweitzer, S.  1, 4, 6, 37, 39, 40, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 57, 67 Scott, J.  213 Seeligmann, I. L.  1, 18, 23, 28, 136, 170 Seitz, C. R.  163, 166, 173 Seo, D.  205 Shaver, J. R.  29, 73, 74 Shuter, B.  20 Sider, D.  230 Singer-Avitz, L.  80, 84 Skinner, J.  141 Smith, D. E.  206 Smith, D. L.  201 Smith, H. P.  134 Smith, J. Z.  58 Smith, M. S.  195 Smith, V.  110 Sommer, B. D.  58, 156 Sontag, S.  215 Sparks, J. T.  221 Steinberg, N.  126 Sterling, G. E.  229 Stern, E.  141 Stern, M.  92 Stipp, H.-J.  145, 155, 158, 161, 162 Stock, P. V.  205 Stoler, A. L.  108 Størdalen, T.  163 Stott, K. M.  16, 40, 54, 62, 184 Sweeney, M. A.  200 Syncellus 91 Talshir, Z.  1, 15, 18, 23, 61, 68 Tcherikover, V.  91, 92 Thomas, R.  233 Thorns, S.  207 Throntveit, M. A.  29, 57, 90, 170 Thucydides 231 Tigay, J. H.  69 Titscher, S.  206 Toorn, K. van der  69 Torabi, M.  205

257

Torrey, C. C.  90 Trebolle Barrera, J.  57 Trudinger, P.  203 Tsfania, L.  84 Tuell, S. S.  196 Tyrtaeus 230 Ulrich, E.  166 Ungar, S.  203, 205 Urry, J.  202 VanderKam, J. C.  38, 58, 91 Van Seters, J.  18, 62, 241 Vink, J. G.  141 Wallace, H. N.  51 Warhust, A.  3, 8, 9 Weber, M.  210, 219, 220 Weinberg, J. P.  68, 71, 90, 170, 219 Weisberg, D. E.  102 Welch, A. C.  56, 89 Wellhausen, J.  56, 67, 98 West, M. L.  229, 230, 231, 238 Westermann, C.  57 Wildavsky, A.  201 Willi, T.  30, 90, 102, 139 Williams, G.  208 Williamson, H. G. M.  1, 2, 18, 29, 32, 37, 55, 68, 71, 72, 74, 80, 99, 134, 135, 137, 139, 171, 172, 173, 177, 178, 179, 192, 197, 198, 204 Wright, B. F.  70 Wright, J. L.  183, 184, 187, 188, 190, 197, 199 Wright, J. W.  84, 198 Xenophon  235, 244, 246 Young, I.  85, 240, 241 Young, J.  203 Zegart, A.  205 Zweig, Z.  78

Index of Scripture Old Testament / Hebrew Bible Genesis 2:1–4 197 4:17–26 42 5 53 5:1–32 42 10–11 53 10:1–29 42 11:10–26 42 11:27–32 42 12:6 139 12:6–7 136 12:8 136 12:10–20 115 13:4 139 13:18 136 14:18–20 136 16 117 17  42, 53 18:1 136 19:30–38 42 20:1–18 115 22  53, 142 22:2 52 22:20–24 42 23  136, 139 25 53 25:1 25 25:1–4 42 25:3–4 42 25:5–6 25 25:9 25 25:12–16 42 25:19 42 26:1–11 115 27 115 28:10–22 136 28:11 140 28:16–17 140

Genesis (cont.) 28:19 140 30 117 31:19–35 115 32 210 33:18–20 136 35–36 53 35:1–15 136 35:16–20 120 35:22 45 35:22–26 42 36:4–5 42 36:11–13 42 36:20–43 42 36:31 25 36:31–40 25 36:40 25 38  43, 53, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116 38:1–6 113 38:7 113 38:8 113 38:8–10 113 38:11 114 38:26 114 46 53 46:9 45 46:10 45 46:12  43, 113, 114, 116 46:13 47 46:17 48 46:21  47, 49 46:23 48 46:24–25 48 48 45 48–49 53 49:4 45

258

Genesis (cont.) 49:7 45 Exodus 6:14 45 6:15 45 6:16–19 46 6:16–25 46 12:1–28 52 12:3 28 12:8–9  41, 52 12:9  27, 28 12:43–13:1 52 15:3 94 21:4 118 23:14–17 52 24:15–18 97 25:9 97 25:23–30 49 25:40 97 29:1–2 139 29:33–37 47 29:38–30:10 47 29:38–41 139 30:10 47 30:11–16 41 30:15–16 47 30:22–38 49 35:21–29 72 40:33 197 Leviticus 3:17 195 6:14 49 9:24 140 10:9 195 12:2 170 12:5 170

Index of Scripture Leviticus (cont.) 15:19 170 15:24 170 15:33 170 16:29 195 16:31 195 16:34 195 17:7 195 18:19 170 20:21 170 21:10–15 49 23 52 23:4–8 52 23:14 195 23:21 195 23:23–32 52 23:31 195 23:41 195 24:3 195 24:5–9 49 25 193 26 163 26:34–35  34, 154 26:43  34, 154 27:34 195 Numbers 1:10 48 2:18 48 3:5–4:49 49 3:17–20 46 3:32 49 4:3 30 7 29 7:48 48 7:53 48 9 195 9:9–13 98 9:10–11 28 10:22 48 15:1–11 139 15:1–21 139 16:9 29 18:5 29 19:9 170 19:13 170 19:14–15 28 19:20–21 170

Numbers (cont.) 21:14 94 22:23 138 22:31 138 25:12 49 26 48 26:5–7 45 26:12–14 45 26:20 43 26:23–24 47 26:29–34 48 26:33 48 26:35–36 48 26:38–40  47, 49 26:44–46 48 26:48–49 48 26:57–62 46 27:1–11 48 28:16–25 52 28–29 52 29:1–11 52 31:5–54 49 Deuteronomy 12:5 140 14:23–25 140 15:18 186 16 54 16:1–8 52 16:7  27, 28, 41, 52 16:16 52 17:14–20 27 24:16  27, 41, 54 27 136 28:25 170 28:37 170 Joshua 5:13 138 7  43, 54 7:1 43 8:30–35 136 9:27 140 10 137 12:10 137 13 54 13:15–23 45 13:24–28 45

259 Joshua (cont.) 15–17 54 15:8 137 15:20–63  44, 45 15:63 137 16–17 48 17 48 17:1–3 48 17:3–6 48 17:14–18 71 19 54 19:1–9 45 19:9 45 21  43, 54 21:1–39  43, 47 22 49 22:9–34 141 23 71 24 49 24:1–28 136 Judges 1–3 54 1:8 137 1:21 137 2:1–5 71 3:12–30 49 6:11–24 138 8:1 71 12:1–6 71 12:5 46 15:19 118 19 120 19:11–12 137 20:28 49 Ruth 3 115 4:17–22  43, 54 1 Samuel 1–4 46 8:2 46 9:1–2 49 10:17–27 71 11:14–12:25 71 14:3 46 14:49–51 49

260 1 Samuel (cont.) 15:28 50 16–30 99 16:1–13 50 16:14–23 47 16:18–23 101 17:11 155 17:16 155 18:10–11 101 19:8–10 101 22:1–5 51 23:6–20 51 23:14 51 25:10 51 27:6 51 28 50 30:1–31 51 31 54 31:1–13 50 31:2 49 2 Samuel 1–4 50 1:1 51 2:8 49 2:10 71 2:18  44, 123 3:2–5 44 3:10 172 4:4 49 4:10 51 5–10 54 5:1–10 50 5:5 44 5:5–15 136 5:6 50 5:6–9 137 5:8 50 5:13–16  44, 100 5:17–25 94 6 136 6:12–17 134 7  47, 136, 147 7:7 53 7:10–11 53 7:11 179 7:23 53 8:1–14 94

Index of Scripture 2 Samuel (cont.) 8:17 46 8:18 100 9:12 49 10:1–19 94 11–20 99 13  44, 54 13:1 44 14:1 100 15 46 17 46 17:11 172 17:25 44 18 46 19:14 44 19:42–44 71 20:1 51 20:2 71 21–24 133 22:1 47 23–24 54 23:1 47 23:1–7 101 23:8–39 50 24  133, 134, 136, 137, 147 24:1–16 134 24:2 172 24:9 94 24:15 172 24:15–16 134 24:16–25 133 24:18–25  52, 134 1 Kings 1–2 99 2:12–21:43 166 2:27 46 3–10 54 3:9 20 4:2 46 4:25 172 4:31 43 5–8 47 8 82 8:9 53 8:16 53 8:21 20

1 Kings (cont.) 8:25 19 9:6 19 9:9 53 9:25  47, 52 11:26 46 11:26–43 54 11:28 71 11:29–40 53 12 147 12:10–24 54 12:15 53 12:16 51 14:19 239 14:21–15:24 54 14:29 239 15 147 15:7 239 15:23 239 15:29 147 15:31 239 16:5 239 16:14 239 16:20 239 16:27 239 16:34 48 18:37–38 140 22  54, 147 22:39 239 22:45 239 2 Kings 1:18 239 8:16–29 54 8:23  39, 239 9:27–29 54 10:34 239 11–12  46, 54 12 41 12:19 239 13:8 239 13:12 239 14:1–22 54 14:5–6 41 14:6  27, 54 14:18 239 14:28 239 15:1–7 54

Index of Scripture 2 Kings (cont.) 15:6  147, 239 15:11 239 15:15 239 15:21 239 15:26 239 15:29 46 15:31 239 15:32–38 54 16 54 16:10–16 46 16:19 239 17 82 17:1–6 46 18–20  9, 166, 169, 193 18:1 167 18:1–8 54 18:2–3 166 18:4 168 18:5 138 18:7 168 18:9–10 177 18:9–12 168 18:13 169 18:13–37 54 18:14–16  168, 169 18:15–16 175 18:17 169 18:26 169 18:35 168 18:36–19:5 169 19 147 19–20 146 19:1–2 138 19:3 169 19:12 168 19:14 41 19:14–19 169 19:32–35 138 20:1–11 53 20:1–19 54 20:12–19 53 20:20  147, 239 20:20–21 54 20:21 167 21:1–23:3 54 21:19 239

2 Kings (cont.) 21:25 39 22 147 22–23 30 23:2 101 23:21–23 54 23:28 239 23:28–30 147 23:28–24:20 54 24–25 177 24:6 239 24:18–20 147 24:19–20 176 25 177 25:1–21 54 25:11 178 1 Chronicles 1 24 1–8 242 1–9  7, 38, 42, 47, 90, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 116, 123, 127, 195 1:1–2:2  23, 25, 42, 107, 114 1:2–2:2  24, 25 1:3–4 7 1:17 24 1:27 42 1:32  25, 124 1:32–33 126 1:39 123 1:51 25 2:1–2 23 2:3  24, 111, 113 2:3–4  43, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 125, 130 2:3–5 43 2:3–4:24 109 2:3–9:44 42 2:4 116 2:5 43 2:5–6 111 2:6  43, 123 2:7 43

261 1 Chronicles (cont.) 2:9  111, 122 2:9–14 43 2:9–15 122 2:10–13 127 2:15–16 44 2:16  111, 122, 123 2:16–17  120, 123, 124, 130 2:17 123 2:18–19  127, 128, 129, 131 2:19  120, 121, 122, 130 2:23 111 2:24 121 2:24–35 7 2:30 117 2:31 117 2:32 117 2:33 111 2:34–35  111, 112, 117, 125, 130 2:35 117 2:36–41  117, 127 2:42–49 121 2:42–55 44 2:49 123 2:50  111, 120, 121, 131 2:50–51  121, 122 2:50–55 122 2:51 121 2:55 102 3:1–9 44 3:9  44, 123, 124 3:10–17 44 3:10–24 38 3:17–24  38, 45 3:19  45, 123, 124 3:23 123 4:1 123 4:3  120, 123, 124, 131 4:4  121, 122 4:6  111, 124 4:7  123, 124

262 1 Chronicles (cont.) 4:17–18  127, 128, 129, 131 4:18 124 4:19  123, 124 4:22  38, 99 4:24 45 4:25–43 45 4:27 45 4:31 45 4:33  38, 99 4:41  38, 99 5:1 99 5:1–10 45 5:3 45 5:6 46 5:7  38, 99 5:8 45 5:11–17 45 5:13–26 46 5:17  38, 99 5:26 46 5:27–41  44, 46, 97 5:35 47 6 43 6:1–4 46 6:1–15 97 6:5–15 46 6:12 148 6:13 46 6:16 60 6:16–23 97 6:17 47 6:18 179 6:18–23 46 6:33–34 179 6:34  47, 60 6:34–38 97 6:38 179 6:39–66  43, 47 7:1 47 7:5  38, 99 7:6 123 7:6–12  47, 49 7:7  38, 99 7:8–9 38 7:9 99 7:13 116

Index of Scripture 1 Chronicles (cont.) 7:14–19 48 7:15 48 7:18 123 7:19 123 7:20 48 7:21–26 48 7:26–27 48 7:28–29 48 7:30 123 7:30–31 48 7:31–39 48 7:32 123 7:40  38, 99 8:1–40  47, 49 8:3 49 8:6 49 8:33–34 49 9  43, 242 9:1  38, 60, 63, 99 9:2  60, 178 9:2–33 43 9:2–34 38 9:3–34 49 9:20 49 9:20–32 49 9:22  38, 60, 148 9:26 60 9:31 60 9:31–32 49 9:33–34 60 10  42, 89, 90 10:1  50, 90 10:13–14  50, 215 11 50 11–12 51 11:1 50 11:1–3 60 11:3  60, 148 11:9 81 11:10 60 11:10–47 50 11:41–47 50 12:1–37 50 12:8 51 12:9 95 12:16–18 100 12:16–19 95

1 Chronicles (cont.) 12:18 51 12:23 60 12:38 51 13:1–4 94 13:2–4 72 13:5 95 14:3–7 100 14:8–17 94 14:16 243 15:2 97 15:2–14 60 15:2–17 60 15:11–15 75 15:14–15 97 15:15  60, 97 15:16 60 15:16–24 97 15:16–28 47 15:22  101, 103 15:25–29 97 15:27 101 15:28 60 16  47, 51 16:2 60 16:4 60 16:4–7 47 16:4–36 97 16:7 60 16:7–36 57 16:8–36 51 16:11 63 16:29 139 16:35 33 16:36 51 16:40 60 16:41 51 17 147 17:1–27 95 17:3 60 17:4 179 17:6  53, 179 17:7 81 17:9–10 53 17:10 179 17:12 179 17:21 53 17:24 81

Index of Scripture 1 Chronicles (cont.) 18–19 135 18:1–13 94 18:8 94 18:10–11 94 18:13 135 18:14 60 18:17 100 19:1–9 94 21  8, 133, 147, 243 21:1 100 21:5 94 21:5–6 93 21:15–22:1 135 21:16 138 21:16–22:1 138 21:18 60 21:18–20 138 21:22 139 21:22–26 139 21:23 139 21:25 139 21:26  60, 70, 140 21:28–30 140 21:28–22:1 135 21:29 142 22 243 22–29 98 22:1  52, 134, 135, 137, 140 22:1–2 60 22:2  135, 179 22:5–8 179 22:7 242 22:8  60, 244 22:10 179 22:12 20 22:13 60 22:19 179 23:1–6 60 23:2–5 97 23:2–6 47 23:6–24 97 23:14 148 23:24–27 30 23:26 97 23:27 60 23:29 139

1 Chronicles (cont.) 23:32 29 24:3 60 24:6  38, 60, 102 24:19 60 25  148, 152 25:1 60 25:1–3 97 25:1–8  94, 101 25:1–31 47 25:7 103 26:20 60 26:26–28 72 26:28 148 26:31 38 27:1–15 93 27:24 63 28–29 243 28:2  179, 242 28:3 244 28:5 60 28:6 179 28:9 245 28:10 179 28:11 60 28:11–19  31, 97, 100 28:19 40 29  51, 70, 71, 72, 243 29:1 239 29:1–5 29 29:7 38 29:9 245 29:15 51 29:17 245 29:25 60 29:29  60, 99, 148 29:29–30 59 29:30  50, 63, 65 2 Chronicles 1:3 60 1:10 20 2:1 179 2:3 242 2:3–6 179 2:4 25

263 2 Chronicles (cont.) 2:9 179 2:11 20 2:12 179 3:1  52, 60, 134, 135, 142, 179 3:3 179 5 51 5:10  53, 60 5:12–13  47, 242 5:14 51 6 51 6–7 71 6:2 179 6:4–11 60 6:5  53, 179 6:7–10 179 6:16 19 6:20 242 6:41 242 6:41–42 51 7 52 7:1  60, 140 7:3 51 7:6  47, 60, 242 7:7 139 7:12 242 7:17 60 7:22 53 8:1 179 8:13  52, 60 8:14  31, 47, 60, 148, 242 8:15 60 9:2 60 9:26 95 9:29  59, 60, 64, 99, 148, 239 10 147 10:15  53, 60, 147 10:16 51 11 147 11:1 93 11:2–4 60 11:5–12 221 11:12 95 11:17 60 12:1  41, 73

264 2 Chronicles (cont.) 12:1–12  215, 216 12:5  60, 148 12:7 60 12:15  16, 38, 59, 60, 64, 99, 148, 239 13 243 13:4–15 94 13:10 60 13:22  59, 60, 64, 65, 99, 148, 239 13:23 244 14:4 41 14:4–7 244 14:5–14 244 14:7 95 14:8 93 14:9–5 221 14:11 94 14:12 94 15:3 32 15:5–7 32 15:8  60, 148 15:8–12 73 15:9 71 15:9–15 71 15:15 244 16:7 148 16:9  32, 53 16:10 148 16:11  60, 99, 239 16:12 244 17:7–9  5, 60, 74, 102 17:9 41 17:13–19 93 18 147 18:18 60 18:21–22 60 19:2 148 19:4–11 102 19:8 60 20  52, 221 20:1–23 93 20:13–17 94 20:14  60, 148 20:14–17 100

Index of Scripture 2 Chronicles (cont.) 20:17 94 20:20  32, 53, 148 20:21 51 20:23–24 94 20:25 148 20:27–28 71 20:30 244 20:34  59, 60, 64, 99, 239 20:37  60, 148 21:10 215 21:12  60, 148 21:12–15  41, 59, 100 21:16–19 215 21:37 215 22–23 46 22:11 49 23:6 60 23:18  31, 41, 47, 60 23:18–19 73 24:5 60 24:6  29, 41, 60 24:9  41, 60 24:11 60 24:19 60 24:20  75, 148 24:20–22 100 24:27  59, 60, 64, 99, 239 25 71 25:3–4  41, 54 25:4  27, 60 25:5 95 25:7 71 25:14–16 215 25:15–16 60 25:26  60, 63, 99 26:5–15 244 26:6–15 221 26:9 95 26:16–20 75 26:16–21 215 26:22  33, 59, 60, 64, 99, 100, 147, 239 26:26 95

2 Chronicles (cont.) 27:3 180 27:7  60, 63, 99, 239 28:1 60 28:5 177 28:5–15 221 28:8 177 28:8–15 71 28:9  60, 148 28:16–27 46 28:17 177 28:17–18 221 28:20 177 28:22–25 98 28:26  60, 63, 99, 239 29–31  138, 173 29–32  98, 165, 166 29:1–2 166 29:2 60 29:3  30, 168, 177 29:3–11 98 29:4–11 98 29:5  60, 170, 174 29:5–11 169 29:8 170 29:10  171, 174 29:12–17 60 29:12–19 98 29:15 174 29:15–19  173, 174 29:16 98 29:20–24 173 29:21  28, 174 29:22–24 174 29:23–24 32 29:24 174 29:25  31, 60, 100, 148, 174 29:25–26  40, 60 29:25–30  47, 60, 98 29:27 174 29:27–30 174 29:30  60, 148 29:31  173, 174 29:34  60, 98 30  52, 71, 222 30:1 174

2 Chronicles (cont.) 30:1–27 98 30:2 28 30:3  28, 52 30:5 172 30:6  170, 171, 174, 177 30:6–9  169, 174 30:7  170, 171 30:8 171 30:9 171 30:11 71 30:12  60, 174 30:13–22 60 30:13–23 174 30:14  173, 174 30:16  41, 60, 148, 174 30:18 52 30:18–19 174 30:18–20 173 30:19 52 30:20 173 30:21 174 30:22  98, 103, 174 30:23 60 30:25–27 222 30:26 60 30:27 60 31:1 60 31:1–6 71 31:2–4 60 31:3  29, 41 31:3–4 174 31:5–12 174 31:12 60 31:14 60 31:15–19 38 31:20 174 31:21  41, 174 32:1  168, 169 32:2–8 169 32:7–8  169, 172 32:8  169, 172 32:9 169 32:13 169 32:16–17 169 32:17 41

Index of Scripture

265

2 Chronicles (cont.) 32:20  60, 100, 146, 169, 192 32:22 244 32:22–23  174, 175 32:24 169 32:24–26  53, 100 32:27–30  174, 175 32:31  53, 100, 169 32:32  33, 59, 60, 64, 99, 100, 147, 169, 192, 193, 239 32:33  167, 175 33:4 180 33:8  41, 60 33:11 177 33:12–14 244 33:18  65, 99, 239 33:18–19  59, 60, 148 33:19  60, 65, 99, 239 34  90, 147 34:2 60 34:3–7 30 34:9 60 34:12–13  60, 103 34:13 102 34:14  41, 60 34:21 60 34:22–28 60 34:30  41, 101, 191 35:3  60, 102, 180 35:3–4 60 35:4  40, 60, 97, 98, 100 35:6  41, 60 35:8–15 60 35:11–12 28 35:12 60 35:13 52 35:15  47, 60, 97, 98, 100 35:15–16 164 35:18  60, 148 35:20 148 35:20–21 159

2 Chronicles (cont.) 35:20–24 100 35:21–22 215 35:21–23 244 35:24 194 35:25  27, 40, 41, 59, 60, 100, 147, 176, 194 35:26 60 35:26–27  60, 63 35:27  99, 239 36  42, 89, 165, 175, 185 36:3 177 36:6 177 36:8  60, 63, 99, 239 36:10 177 36:12  60, 100, 147, 176, 186, 193 36:12–13  161, 176 36:14 176 36:14–16 73 36:15  155, 163, 176 36:15–16 60 36:15–21  153, 164 36:15–22 146 36:15–23  152, 157 36:16  60, 176 36:17  176, 178 36:20  177, 178 36:20–21  192, 193 36:21  3, 34, 147, 155, 176, 177, 178, 186, 193 36:21–22  34, 41, 100, 160, 176, 186 36:21–23 60 36:22  147, 148, 177, 179, 186 36:22–23  41, 95, 164, 186, 196, 198, 200, 242 36:23 180 Ezra 1–6  10, 74, 196, 198, 199, 200

266 Ezra (cont.) 1:1  154, 186, 187, 191, 198 1:1–3  41, 54, 200 1:1–4  186, 196, 197 1:3–4  10, 198 2  54, 194 2:36–42  96, 97 2:41 47 3:2 45 3:8  30, 45 3:10 47 3:10–13 70 3:13 90 5–6 184 5:1  184, 186 5:2 45 6:14 184 6:16–22 70 7 191 7–8  95, 189 7–10  196, 197 7:1–5 46 7:25–26 190 8:2 45 8:15 96 8:15–20 98 8:17 141 8:33–34 95 9  189, 190, 191 9:7 191 9:10–11 189 9:11–12  189, 190 9:12 190 9:18–22 96 10 222 10:2–4 217 10:5 96 Nehemiah 1:2 178 5:12 96 7  54, 191, 194 7:39–45  96, 97 7:44 47 8  150, 190 8–10 190 9  190, 191

Index of Scripture Nehemiah (cont.) 10  74, 75 11  43, 54 11:3–19  43, 49 11:17 47 11:22 47 11:23 100 11:25–30 45 12:1 45 12:24 100 12:35 47 12:36 47 12:40–43 70 12:44–47 96 12:45 100 13 197 13:4–9 95 13:5 100 13:10 98 13:10–14 96 13:22 96 13:25 190 13:28 95 13:29 96 Psalms 39 33 39:13  51, 54 50 47 73–83 47 88 47 90:10 178 96  51, 54 105–6 54 105:1–15 51 106:1 51 106:28–31 49 106:47–48 51 106:48 51 119 19 132:8–10  51, 54 136:1  51, 54 Isaiah 1–39 92 1:5–6 173 1:27 173 2:1–4 175

Isaiah (cont.) 4:2 171 4:3–4 173 7:4 172 7:9  32, 53, 54 7:13–15 173 7:14 172 7:15  173, 174 9:6–7 173 9:7 173 9:20 172 10:20–22 171 10:24 172 11:1–5 173 11:3 173 11:4 174 11:5  173, 174 11:10 175 11:12–13 172 12:1 173 12:2 175 15:9 171 16:5  173, 174 17:7–8 175 18:7 175 19:19 141 23:15–18 177 24–27 92 24:10 92 25:2 92 26:5 92 27:10 92 28:17 173 30:22 173 30:30 172 32 147 32:1 174 32:1–5 173 32:3 174 32:16 173 33:2 172 33:5 173 33:22 175 33:24 173 35:3–4 172 35:4 172 36–39  9, 54, 166, 169, 193

Index of Scripture Isaiah (cont.) 36:1 169 36:2 169 36:11 169 36:20 168 36:21–37:5 169 37:3 169 37:6 172 37:12 168 37:14–20 169 37:31–32 171 38:1–22 173 38:9–20 168 40–66 79 40:2 173 40:9 172 40:10–11 172 41:10 172 41:14 172 43:1 172 43:5 172 43:25 173 44:2 172 44:8 172 44:12 172 44:22 173 44:26 175 44:45 179 45:13 175 48:14 172 49:7 175 49:18 175 49:23 175 51:5 172 51:7 172 51:9 172 52:10 172 53:1 172 54:4 172 56:1 173 57:18–19 173 59:16 172 60:3–14 175 60:17 175 61:4 175 61:6–11 175 61:7 175 62:8 172

Isaiah (cont.) 63:5 172 63:12 172 65:21–22 175 66:20 175 Jeremiah 2:7 189 4:9 176 7:25 176 7:30 176 8:1 176 13:13 176 14:19 176 16:18  179, 189 17 190 17:4–5 172 17:18 179 18:16 170 18:18 103 19:8 170 21:3–7 176 23:11 176 24:5–7 188 25:1–10 156, 158 25:4 176 25:9  157, 170, 176 25:11 154 25:11–12  34, 156, 157, 158, 159, 162, 177, 185 25:11–13 157 25:11–14 41 25:12 155 25:18 170 26–45 188 26:5 176 26:24 191 27:1 185 27:6 176 27:7  41, 177 27:12–15 176 27:12–17 188 29:1 176 29:5–7  189, 190 29:7 188

267 Jeremiah (cont.) 29:10  34, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 162, 177, 185, 188 29:10–14 41 29:18 170 29:19 176 30:13 176 31:16 32 31:27–30 191 32:32 176 32:34 176 33:9 175 33:14–26 195 34  189, 193 35:15 176 36 187 36:17–18 187 36:21–25 191 36:30 185 37–38 193 37:1–10 176 38:14–28 176 40  187, 188 41:4–9 141 44 191 44:4 176 45 187 50:9 179 51 156 51:11 179 51:37 170 52:1–3 147 52:15 178 Lamentations 5:2 178 5:4–5 178 5:11–13 178 Ezekiel 7:19 170 7:26 103 8:3 138 44:10–31 97 45:17 29

268 Daniel 9  160, 164 9:2  155, 157, 159, 177 9:24–27 177 Hosea 3:4 32 Joel 4:1–3 92 4:6 92 Amos 3:9 32 6:5 47 Micah 6:16 170

Index of Scripture

Haggai 1:1  45, 46 1:12  45, 46 1:14  45, 46 2:2  45, 46 2:4 46 2:14 141 2:23 45

Zechariah (cont.) 5:5–11 141 5:9 138 6:11 46 7:1–3 141 7:5 177 8:10 32 9:1–8 92 9:13 92 11:6 32 13:1 170

Zechariah 1–8  90, 171 1:3–4 171 1:12 177 4:10  32, 53, 54

Malachi 1:6–7 96 2:7 103 2:8 96 3:7 171

Zephaniah 3:16 32

New Testament Matthew 1:12 45

Luke 3:27 45

Deuterocanonical Works 1 Maccabees 1:9 92

Acts 1:16 101 2:25 101 2:31 101 2:34 101