Failed Methods and Ideology in Canonical Interpretation of Biblical Texts (Copenhagen International Seminar) [1 ed.] 9781032576411, 9781032576404, 9781003440321, 1032576413

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Failed Methods and Ideology in Canonical Interpretations of Biblical Texts

This volume by the late Bernd J. Diebner presents an anthology of studies previously published only in German from 1971 to 2020 on a wide range of topics in biblical studies. The 18 essays in this collection offer profound insight into the works of German scholarship which have strongly influenced biblical studies and related research in the 20th century. Being an important, but lesser recognized ‘member’ of the Copenhagen school, Diebner voiced serious criticism of contemporary biblical scholarship which is discussed in the first seven chapters. The remaining chapters offer challenging new perspectives on well-known themes, narratives, and compositions related to history, ideology, and archaeology, on the one hand, and text and canon, on the other, as alternatives to traditional historical–critical approaches. Now published in English for the first time, this volume makes these essays available to Anglophone students and scholars of biblical and ancient Near Eastern studies. Bernd J. Diebner (died 2023) was Hon.-Prof. of the Ruprecht-Karls University, Heidelberg, Germany; and a theologian (pastor, biblical studies, and church history), archaeologist (early Byzantine Studies), and orientalist (Coptic Studies). As founder and editor of DBAT, he has since 1972 authored and promoted an ongoing discussion and criticism of methods and ideology in the fields of ancient history, biblical interpretation, and theology. He is the author of Heilsgeschichte und Schriftprinzip (1989), Zephanjas Apokalypsen (2003), and Seit wann gibt es “jenes Israel” (2011), and co-editor of Vom Iteru-Mass bis zu Miriam bei March Chagal (2020). Ingrid Hjelm is Associate Professor Emerita, University of Copenhagen, Denmark; former Director of the Palestine History and Heritage Project (2014–17); and general editor of CIS since 2011. She is the author of The Samaritans and Early Judaism (2000) and Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty (2004); co-author of The Ever Elusive Past (2019); and co-editor of Myths of Exile (2015), Changing Perspectives 6 and 7 (2016), and A New Critical Approach to the History of Palestine (2019). Thomas L. Thompson is Professor Emeritus, University of Copenhagen, Denmark, 1993–2009; Research Fellow for the Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients, 1969–1976; and founder and general editor of CIS, 1996–2016. He has produced more than 20 books as author, co-author, and co-editor, six of which have been translated into Arabic. He is the author of The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives (1974), The Settlement of Palestine in the Bronze Age (1979), The Early History of the Israelite People (1992), The Bible in History (1999), The Messiah Myth (2005), and Biblical Narrative and Palestine’s History (2013).

Copenhagen International Seminar

General Editors: Ingrid Hjelm, University of Copenhagen, Denmark and Emanuel Pfoh, National Research Council, Argentina Editors: Niels Peter Lemche and Mogens Müller, both at the University of Copenhagen, Denmark Language Revision Editor: Jim West, Ming Hua Theological College, Hong Kong

Changing Perspectives Subseries Biblical Studies and the Failure of History Changing Perspectives 3 Niels Peter Lemche Rethinking Biblical Scholarship Changing Perspectives 4 Philip R. Davies Historiography, Ideology and Politics in the Ancient Near East and Israel Changing Perspectives 5 Mario Liverani, edited by Niels Peter Lemche and Emanuel Pfoh History, Archaeology, and the Bible Forty Years after “Historicity” Changing Perspectives 6 Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson (eds.) Biblical Interpretation Beyond Historicity Changing Perspectives 7 Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson (eds.) Revealing the History of Ancient Palestine Changing Perspectives 8 Keith W. Whitelam, edited by Emanuel Pfoh Failed Methods and Ideology in Canonical Interpretations of Biblical Texts Changing Perspectives 9 Bernd J. Diebner, edited by Ingrid Hjelm

For more information about this series, please visit www.routledge.com/Copenhagen-InternationalSeminar/book-series/COPSEM

Failed Methods and Ideology in Canonical Interpretations of Biblical Texts Changing Perspectives 9 Bernd J. Diebner Edited by Ingrid Hjelm Translators: Niels Peter Lemche, Ingrid Hjelm and Jim West

First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 Bernd J. Diebner and Ingrid Hjelm The right of Bernd J. Diebner and Ingrid Hjelm to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lemche, Niels Peter, translator. | West, Jim, 1960– translator. Title: Failed methods and ideology in canonical interpretations of biblical  texts : / Bernd J. Diebner ; edited by Ingrid Hjelm ; translators: Niels  Peter Lemche, Ingrid Hjelm and Jim West. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2024. | Series:  Copenhagen international seminar | Includes bibliographical references  and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2023019536 (print) | LCCN 2023019537 (ebook) |  ISBN 9781032576411 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032576404 (paperback) |  ISBN 9781003440321 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Bible—Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Diebner, Bernd  Jørg—Translations into English. Classification: LCC BS514.2 .D54 2024 (print) | LCC BS514.2 (ebook) |  DDC 220.6—dc23/eng/20230818 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023019536 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023019537 ISBN: 978-1-032-57641-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-57640-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-44032-1 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321 Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

Prefaceviii Acknowledgementsix Editorial Note xi List of Abbreviations xii Introduction1 THOMAS L. THOMPSON

PART 1

Status Quaestionis5 1 Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament): A Continuously Self Falsifying Discipline

7

PART 2

Methods27 2 The Gods of the Fathers: Criticism of Albrecht Alt’s ‘Vätergott’-Hypothesis29 3 A Methodological Alternative to the Present Study of the Old Testament. Otto Plöger’s 65th Birthday 

56

4 “You Cannot Prove It, but It Is a Fact that . . .” Figure of Speech Instead of Method in Critical Studies of the Old Testament

67

5 Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch: ‘The Yahwist as Historian, Part I and II’

75

vi  Contents

6 Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? Comments on ‘Israel’ as an Ecclesiological Body in the TNK (Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica)

93

PART 3

History and Ideology111 7 The Orientation of Jerusalem’s Temple and the ‘Sacred Orientation’ of Early Christian Churches

113

8 The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ in the Ancient Synagogue of Dura Europos Reconsidered

128

9 Cultural-political Globalization Efforts in Antiquity and Their Significance for the Texts of the Bible

141

PART 4

Texts and Canon149 10 The Function of the Canonical Corpus of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times. Considerations of Canon-criticism

151

11 The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût) and Its Theological Imprint on the Jewish Bible

165

12 A Rough Outline of a Torah-hypothesis

182

PART 5

Torah189 13 Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah

191

14 Wayyashav ’Avraham (‫)וישב אברהם‬: Why Is Abraham Returning to His Servants from One of the Mountains in the Land of Moriah Without Isaac?

210

PART 6

Nevi’im219 15 The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22: The Structure, Intention, and Function of Legends of Discovery

221

Contents vii

16 The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 and the Prophetic Surpassing of the Torah: Yad wa-Shem240 PART 7

Ketuvim251 17 “At the Rise of Dawn”: Hotheaded Jonah’s Annoyance with the Crimson Worm

253

18 Ecclesiological Aspects of a Canonical Hermeneutics of the Hebrew Bible (TNK)

262

Index276 Index of Sources 279 Copenhagen International Seminar Series 284

Preface

This volume contains a selection of 18 of my essays written and published in various periodicals and anthologies (mostly ‘Festschriften’) between 1971 and 2020. Because of several serious diseases, I could not be very productive and helpful in the making of this volume. Instead, I am grateful to several people – mostly Danish friends and colleagues – first of all, Ingrid Hjelm who inaugurated the project some years ago and prepared the book for publication. As well, she translated ten of my essays from the German originals into English. Niels Peter Lemche translated seven of them, and Jim West one essay. My former student and assistant Benedikt Hensel took care of the final revision. Responsible for the book’s production are Ingrid Hjelm and Emanuel Pfoh. Amy Davis-Poynter accepted the volume for Routledge Publishing House. I want to thank all of them sincerely! I also thank Thomas L. Thompson for his sensitive introduction to this volume. My intention since the seventies of the last century had been, and still is, to question what was, and still is, called “indisputable results of Old Testament research” (“gesicherte Ergebnisse der Erforschung des Alten Testamentes”). I have been motivated by a discouraging opinion uttered by Rudolf Smend in 1962 when he was Martin Noth’s assistant at Bonn University and Hermann Schult and I were Noth’s helping assistants. Addressing both of us, Smend said, “Werden Sie nur nicht Alttestamentler! Da ist bereits alles erforscht!” (“Just don’t become Old Testament scholars. Everything is researched already”). Nevertheless, I acted according to the philosophical dictum that “each answer produces, and leads to, new questions”. I hope that my essays collected in this volume are not obsolete and totally outof-date – even if some were written 50 years ago. April 4, 2023 Bernd Jørg Diebner

Acknowledgements

The chapters in this volume appeared originally in the following journals and collections of scholarly papers and are republished here by the kind permission of the respective publishers and editors. Some articles have been published also in later publications, but we have chosen to use the original publications when available in order to show the chronological development of the author’s arguments. The articles are listed below in the order of their appearance in the volume:  1 “Fehlentwicklungen in der Bibelwissenschaft (Altes Testament): Eine sich kontinuierlich selbst falsifizierende Disziplin”. Heidelberger Jahrbücher 5 (2020): 5–28.  2 “Die Götter des Vaters: Eine Kritik der ‘Vätergott’-Hypothese Albrecht Alts”. DBAT 9 (1975): 21–51.  3 “Eine methodische Alternative zur gegenwärtigen Erforschung des Alten Testamentes: Otto Plöger zum 65. Geburtstag”. DBAT 10 (1975): 48–62.  4 “‘Es lässt sich nicht beweisen, Tatsache aber ist . . .’: Sprachfigur statt Methode in der kritischen Erforschung des AT”. DBAT 18 (1984): 138–146.  5 “Einige Anmerkungen zur John Van Seters methodischer Skizze: ‘The Yahwist as Historian, part I, part II’”. DBAT 22/1985 (1986): 36–57.  6 “‘Seit wann gibt es jenes Israel’ (Martin Noth)?: Anmerkungen zu ‘Israel’ als ekklesiologische Größe im TNK”. Inauguration Lecture 2002. In Seit wan gibt es “jenes Israel”? Gesammelte Studien zum TNK und zum antiken Judentum. Bernd J. Diebner zum 70. Geburtstag. V. Dinkelaker, B. Hensel, and F. Ziedler (eds.). BVB 17. Berlin: LIT. 2011: 67–84.  7 “Die Orientierung des Jerusalemer Tempels und die ‘Sacred Direction’ der Frühchristlichen Kirchen”. ZDPV 87 (1971): 153–166.  8 (with Claudia Nauerth) “Überlegungen zur Funktion der sog. ‘Thoranische’ der antiken Synagoge von Dura Europos”. DBAT 25 (1988): 149–171.  9 “Kulturpolitische Globalisierungs-Bestrebungen in der Antike und ihre Bedeutung für die Texte der Bibel”. HBO 43 (2007): 9–19. 10 “Zur Funktion der kanonischen Textsamlung im Judentum der vor-christelichen Zeit: Gedanken zu einer Kanon-Hermeneutik”. DBAT 22/1985 (1986): 58–73. 11 “Die Bedeutung der Mesopotamischen ‘Exilsgemeinde’ (gālût) für die theologische Prägung der jüdischen Bibel”. Transeuphratène 7 (1994): 123–142.

x  Acknowledgements 12 “Grobskizze einer Thorah-Hypothese”. In Vom Iteru-Maß bis zu Miriam bei Marc Chagall: Festschrift für Claudia Nauerth zum 75. Geburtstag. Bibelstudien 20. B. J. Diebner et al. (eds.). Berlin: LIT. 2020: 37–48. 13 “Gen 17 als Mitte eines Pessach-Zyklus der Tora”. DBAT 29 (1998): 35–55. 14 “Wayyåshåv ‘Avråhåm (Gen 22,19a): Warum kehrte Avraham allein zu seinen Knechten zurück?” (unpublished). 15 (with Claudia Nauerth) “Die Inventio des sefär ha(th)thorah in 2. Kön 22: Struktur, Intention und Funktion von Auffindungslegenden”. DBAT 18 (1984): 95–118. 16 “Jes 56,1–8 entsprechend Jes 66,18–24 und die eschatologische Überbietung der Torah: Yad wa Shem”. In: Religionsgeschichte des Neuen Testamentes: Festschrift für Klaus Berger zum 60. Geburtstag. Tübingen and Basel: A Francke (now Narr Francke attempto) 2000: 31–42. 17 “Beim Aufgang der Morgenröte”. Jona Purpurwurm-stichig. DBAT 29 (1998): 157–167. 18 “Ekklesiologische Aspekte einer Kanon-Hermeneutik der hebräischen Bibel”. DBAT 29 (1998): 15–32.

Editorial Note

The chapters previously written and published in German, 1971–2020, have been translated by Niels Peter Lemche (Chapters 3, 4, 10, 13, 15, 17, and 18), Ingrid Hjelm (Chapters 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, and 16) and Jim West (Chapter 1). A final revision and acceptance of all the chapters have been made by Bernd J. Diebner with the kind help of Benedikt Hensel. As the manuscript was ready for submission, Bernd Jørg Diebner passed away on April 9, 2023. His last contribution to the volume was the Preface of April 4.

Abbreviations

AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch BA Biblical Archaologist BHTh Beiträge zur historischen Theologie BibOr  Biblica et Orientalia BKAT Biblische Kommentar Altes Testament BL  Bibel Lexikon. H. Haag (ed.). Einsiedeln, Zürich, Cologne: Benziger 1951–1956 BN  Biblische Notitzen BVB Beiträge zum Verstehen der Bibel BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ConcC Concordia Commentary DBAT  Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament DBAT.B Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament. Beihefte. EdF Erträge der Forschung EvTh  Evangelische Theologie FAT Forschungen zum alten Testament FF  Forschungen und Fortschritte FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments FVK Forschungen zur Volkskunde Ges.-Buhl  Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament. 17th ed. Gesenius, W. and F. Buhl. Berlin, Göttingen, Heidelberg: Springer-Verlag: 1962. HALAT  Hebraisches und Aramaisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament. Köhler. L. and W. Baumgartner. Leiden: Brill: 1974 HBO  Hallensche Beiträge zur Orientwissenschaft Hennecke  New Testament Apocrypha. Hennecke, E. London: Lutterworth: 1963. HThR  Harvard Theological Review HUCA  Hebrew Union College Annual IEJ  Israel Exploration Journal JbAC  Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum

Abbreviations xiii JBL  Journal of Biblical Literature JEOL  Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) ex Oriente Lux JSHRZ  Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-Römischer Zeit JTS  Journal of Theological Studies KAT Kommentar zum Alten Testament KHCAT Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament KP  Der Kleine Pauly. Lexikon der Antike. 2 vols. W. Sontheimer and K. Ziegler. Stuttgart: Druckenmüller 1964. LCL Loeb Classical Library Liddell-Scott  A Greek-English Lexicon. H.G. Lidell, R. Scott, H.S. Jones. Oxford: Clarendon. LQF Liturgie- geschichtliche Quellen und Forschungen MEL  Meyer’s Enzyklopädisches Lexikon. Mannheim 1971–1979 NBL  Neues Bibel Lexicon. I.M. Görg und B. Lang (eds.). Zürich 1991 NStKAT Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar Altes Testament OTS Oudtestamentische Studien PG  Patrologiae Graecae (ed. P. Migne) PW  Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumwissenschaft. New edition by G. Wissowa and W. Kroll. Stuttgart: Metzler and Druckenmüller, 1894–1980 QD Quaestiones Disputatae RB  Revue Biblique RGG  Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. H.D. Betz (ed.). Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 1998–2007. SAK Studien zur altägyptische Kultur SJ Studia Judaica SJOT  Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament StPB Studia Post-biblica Strack-Billerbeck  Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch. 6 vols. Strack, H.L. and P. Billerbeck. Munich, 1926–1956. TNK TaNaK = Torah, Nevi’im and Ketuvim (Hebrew Bible) ThBl  Thologische Blätter ThLZ  Theologischer Literaturzeitung ThQ  Theologische Quartalschrift ThW Theologischer Wissenschaft ThWAT  Theologischer Wörterbuch zum alten Testament. G.J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer 1970–2000. TRE  Theologische Realenzyklopädie. G. Krause and G. Müller (eds.). Berlin: de Gruyter 1977–. TRu  Theologischer Rundschau TU  Texte und Untersuchungen TWNT  Theologische Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament. G. Kittel and G. Friedrich (eds.). Stuttgart: Kohlhammer 1932–1979. VC  Vigilia Christianae VF  Verkündigung und Forschung

xiv  Abbreviations Vetus Testamentum VT  WMANT Wissenschaftlichen Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WuW  Welt und Wort ZAW  Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZDMG  Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft ZDPV  Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins ZNW  Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche ZRGG  Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte

Introduction Thomas L. Thompson

This volume, presenting 18 essays of the Heidelberg scholar Bernd J. Diebner for the Changing Perspectives series of the Copenhagen International Seminar, opens with a brief discussion of three centuries of misuse of ‘historical critical methods’ in biblical studies. This discussion presents a decisive critique, which I have wholeheartedly shared in my own critique of historical–critical methods as reflecting neither historical nor critical thought (cf. Thompson 1992: 401–405). Diebner opens his critique with his first essay, originally published in the Heidelberger Jahrbücher in 2020, in which he briefly summarizes and bluntly, but correctly, describes such misuse as “undesirable developments” in biblical studies. Most notably, Diebner marks the poverty of uncritical reflection in biblical studies, deeply influenced as it has been by ecclesiastical dogma and an interpretation which blatantly flirts with fundamentalism. This simple but trenchant summary presented in his opening critique is followed by six essays offering specific, concrete, and convincing examples of historical criticism’s fundamentally most recognized failures in argumentation. This critique is most convincing in its simplicity and perhaps best understood in Diebner’s critique of Alt’s widely read and most accepted hypothesis: that of his so-called “God of the Fathers” (essay 2). Diebner then avoids any misunderstanding of his critique of Alt by presenting, in essay 3, several examples of more appropriate forms of argumentation, illustrated in articles which have appeared in the Dielheimer Blätter zum alten Testaments, which had been founded in 1972 with Herman Schult and Bernd J. Diebner as general editors. In essay 4, Diebner also criticizes a considerable number of questionable arguments which, supporting simplistic assertions of ‘facts’ and ‘events’, use what he calls ‘securitas’ language as safeguarding formulae in order to disguise the lack of evidence in historical research. The examples from S. Herrmann, A. Alt, and W.H. Schmidt demonstrate that it is a widely used habit among biblical scholars to cover up this lack, rather than admit that the events in biblical literature cannot be proven and presented as historical facts. In essay 5, although Diebner praises Van Seters’ understanding of the Yahwist as an historian, he criticizes Van Seters for his one-dimensional approach, which ignores the historical context implicit in more than a century of research. Diebner rather argues that the Yahwist tradition is the product of a postexilic Judean tradition, defined by its conflict with the historical Israel over its identity as the ‘true Israel’. These DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-1

2  Thomas L. Thompson considerations lead directly (essay 6) to Diebner’s discussion of Martin Noth’s non-reflected use of the name “Israel” and his assertion that the Jewish ‘adoption’ of the name Israel for a common religious tradition must have its roots in a historical reality, however mythological it may seem. Diebner, accordingly, challenges Noth’s lack of clear definition of this ‘Israel’ and offers another interpretation of the Bible’s use of the term as ecclesiastical rather than as political and historical. This opening series of polemical essays, centered on the considerable number of typically non-argued assertions of many of the best known and respected scholars, as well as other, widespread weaknesses in biblical scholarship of the 20th century, is then followed by two fascinating essays (7 and 8), which integrate the use of both the bible and archaeology to interpret and support an understanding of biblical texts as well as aspects of the cult and religious practices implicit to the texts of biblical tradition. These examples consider such elements as the geographic orientation of Jerusalem’s temple and its potential continuity in the comparable “sacred direction” of early Christian churches (essay 7) and the possible function of the Torah shrine from Dura Europos (essay 8 with Claudia Nauerth). In essay 9, Diebner discusses ideologies with a global claim to domination. Based on excerpts of texts from the TaNaK and the New Testament expressing themes of aggressive occupation, vassalage and tribute of all nations, military world domination, exploitation of the world’s resources, ideologically exclusive claim, and ideological claim to world domination, Diebner concludes that Hellenism is the womb of ideologies with global aspirations. With these articles in place, the reader is prepared for an enlightening discussion of the actual and potential contexts of biblical texts: not in the courts of early “United” and “Divided” monarchies but, rather, in realistically proposed, actual historical contexts of early Judaism and Christianity as we know them, since the earliest biblical texts from Qumran. In essay 10, Diebner presents an analysis which he refers to as “canon-criticism”. Here, Diebner traces the primary function of canonical traditions such as those we encounter, for example, in the definition of a “new Israel” in Paul’s letters — such a “new Israel” as is decisive in the creation and definition of the “true” or “all Israel” of the Jewish canon. It is also in the context of such arguments that I believe we must understand Diebner’s efforts to trace, in essay 11, the actual origin and formation of the specifically Jewish form and content of the Hebrew TaNaK with its considerable reference to a Mesopotamian “exile community”, rather than seeing such a community as a product of the preexilic, pre-state, or royal periods of historical criticism. The task presented by the title of the 12th essay, published in 2020 as a “Torah Hypothesis”, addresses the common and mistaken understanding of the patriarchal narratives as among the earliest texts of the Hebrew Bible, which largely ignores implicit references to the origin stories of the patriarchs’ wives, each with their echoes of the Judean–Mesopotamian diaspora communities. Indeed, as a whole, the patriarchal narratives of Genesis function for Diebner as a Jewish–Samaritan compromise and are convincingly understood, not as the earliest, but as the latest part of the Pentateuch!

Introduction 3 Essays 13 and 14 join together to take up the very interesting argument that the Torah is structured according to the Jewish festival calendar. This issue of implicit references to canonical functions in addressing Genesis, above all, as supporting the argument that the composition of the Torah must be understood as creating narrative cycles that are generally oriented to the Jewish festival calendar, Diebner argues, are found, respectively, in Genesis, Exodus, and Numbers. This bold and original theory of Diebner offers an alternative to traditional source criticism and is based on the use of these narratives in the theological structuring of biblical narratives in early Judaism. Stressing the use of the biblical narratives themselves, rather than their origins, essay 14 accepts the actual text of Genesis 22 as it is given, while offering a stunning exegesis, which defines Genesis 22 as a key text of the Pentateuch by arguing, implicitly, that one is best served if one indeed does not unnecessarily correct a text as it has been presented. This even applies when such an inappropriate and theologically difficult reading requires a considerable adjustment of our modern theological understanding of the narratives (cf. T.L. Thompson forthcoming). The following section, comprising essays 15 and 16, is entitled “the Nevi’im”, that is, “the Book of the Prophets”, and refers to the second part of the TaNaK. The first essay refers to the fictive character of the “book of the Torah” in 2 Kings 22’s story of the finding of the law book in the Temple of Jerusalem and its consequent role in the narrative of Josiah’s reform. Diebner’s analysis of the story marks the well-known stereotypical character of Josiah’s discovery and clearly argues its similarities with other “discovery legends”, such as we find in the similar story of establishing the Hasmonean temple cult in 2 Maccabees 1:18–23. The method and argument of Diebner and Nauerth’s essay from 1984 have been solidly confirmed in subsequent scholarship, especially in Ingrid Hjelm’s defining discussion of such reiterative narratives in Chapter 6 of her dissertation (Hjelm 2004: 254–293) as well as in the comprehensive analysis of such narratives in the dissertation of Katherine Stott 2005. In the essay presented in Chapter 16, Diebner also calls into question historical–critical scholarship’s traditional understanding of the function of biblical narrative and their historical contexts in an essay dealing with whether or not the end of prophecy was to be dated in ca. 400 bce as generally claimed by historical criticism. Pointing out that not only is evidence for such prophecy during the Hellenistic and Roman periods commonplace, but it is, for example, first in Qumran’s Isaiah scroll that we have evidence for dating the three divisions of the book of Isaiah! One must indeed ask whether we have evidence for a dating of such texts as Isaiah 56:1–8 and 66: 18–24 before the Qumran texts. The final essays 17 and 18 are dedicated to issues related to the understanding of the Ketuvim, with Chapter 17 taking up the question of whether the book of Jonah plays with Nineveh as a reiterative allegorical parallel of Esau’s Edom and the Edomites in their forced conversion to Judaism under the hegemony of John Hyrcanus. Chapter 18 closes the collection of essays with a discussion of the book of Ruth in the Ketuvim as a religiously oriented allegory of early Judaism.

4  Thomas L. Thompson As a whole, this book of 18 independent lectures by Bernd J. Diebner presents the reader with a comprehensive view of Diebner’s scholarship over more than half a century. As one reads through the essays, one encounters a recurrent protest at the center of each. With this protest, a devastating question is once again proposed to the reader: a question which was first proposed by F.V. Winnett in his presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature in 1964 (Winnett 1965). It has since been reiterated by the late Fred Cryer and by Niels Peter Lemche in 1993 and again in 2022 (pp. 124, 128–129). Independently, it has been a protest which is echoed throughout Diebner’s career: “As biblical scholars, do we really believe – in our daily function of developing a critical understanding of the Bible – in an early date for something, which we only know from a later period: a Hellenistic date?” Can we really date texts to an early period without evidence or argument? Is there any compelling reason for such early dates? For example, can one date Trito Isaiah centuries earlier than the text we know from Qumran? Unfortunately, I must close this introduction with an announcement that, as this collection goes to press, we have received the sad news of Bernd Jørg Diebner’s death on Easter day, April 9, 2023. My introduction to this volume of deeply original essays must, therefore, also mark the limits of such scholarship with their ever great fragility. Blessed be his memory. April 10, 2023.

References Hjelm, I. 2004. Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition. London and New York: T&T Clark. Lemche, N.P. 1993. ‘The old Testament – A Hellenistic Book?’. SJOT 7: 163–193. Reprinted in Lemche. 2013. Biblical Studies and the Failure of History. Changing Perspectives 3. CIS. London: Routledge. ———. 2022. Back to Reason. Minimalism in Biblical Studies. Sheffield: Equinox. Stott, K. 2005. Rereading the Books of the Hebrew Bible: A Comparative Study of References to Written Documents in the Hebrew Bible and Classical Literature. Dissertation. University of Queensland, Australia. Thompson, T.L. 1992. Early History of the Israelite People. Leiden: Brill. ———. forthcoming. Hong Kong Lectures. Winnett, F.V. 1965. ‘Re-examining the Foundations’. JBL 84: 1–19.

Part 1

Status Quaestionis

1

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) A Continuously Self Falsifying Discipline

Introduction The history of the ‘historical–critical study of the Old Testament’, since its methodologically relevant beginnings in the early 18th century, has been the history of a continuous process of self-falsification, supposedly offering ‘secure’ and ‘undoubtedly’1 incontrovertible results.2 It is in the history of research, even to the present day, a fundamental hermeneutical–methodological approach that results in the questioning of the state of ‘up to date research’ and resistance against a permanent paradigm shift. The process can of course also be observed in other, and not just cultural–scientific, disciplines. This means that there is at least a question mark after any scientific claim made by the representatives of the discipline.3 In my opinion, there are disciplines that are particularly burdened by their connection to certain pre-scientific traditions.4 This has had a particularly retarding effect for some university disciplines, especially in those institutions connected to the church(es), with their quasi-dogmatized opinions about how the divine rule of the world works on the basis of laws, principles and truths found in the ‘Holy Scriptures’. The disciplines particularly affected by this include astronomy,5 but understandably especially theology and its historical sub-disciplines: ‘church history’ and ‘exegesis’, especially in their methodical–critical interpretation of the biblical scriptures of the Old and New Testament. The potential conflict between the church and its dogmas and historical–critical research is very high,6 but there is little scope of about a hundred years for serious proposals with regard to dating the individual writings of the New Testament.7 It is quite different with exegetes’ opinions on the production of the Old Testament.8 A period of up to 1000 years between the earliest and the latest writings of the biblical texts is hypothetically assumed for these writings – and that even in more recent research. The reason for this is, on the one hand, a gradual process of abstraction from the ecclesiastical, quasi-dogmatic ‘truths’ brought about by the initial attachment to the ecclesiastical tradition, within the framework of an arbitrary opinion that cannot be substantiated argumentatively today. Anyone who believes in the pre-critical opinion of ecclesiastical tradition9 can do so, to this day (with whatever arguments) and against all critical hypotheses which have attempted to falsify this opinion for almost 300 years now. This applies to the so-called ‘fundamentalists’, today mainly represented by the ‘Evangelical Free Churches’.10 This DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-3

8  Status Quaestionis ‘fundamentalism’ is well represented at the ecclesiastical universities of the free churches.11 But academically respected researchers are still also allowed to express similar opinions, clothed in critical language.12 There is, today, a general, uncontrolled and uncontrollable species of academic ‘free speech’. This has, in contrast to some other disciplines, had the advantage of not being generally dangerous. You could even call this certain arbitrariness beneficial for the established ‘specialists’.13 As already indicated, verification (finding reasons for something) is often easy. Falsification (finding valid reasons against something) is commonly very difficult. And, as already mentioned, no one in the academic discipline of ‘research in the Old Testament’ has to offer a falsification, even if it seems plausible to others. Early on this has caused a ‘deltaic’ formation of the research stream in the practice of historical–critical research of the Old Testament. After the river parted, several branches flowed separately into the ‘Sea of truth’. In order not to make what follows too complicated for non-specialist readers, I limit myself to three significant streams in the interpretation of the Old Testament since the 18th century, each demonstrating a fundamental paradigm shift and thus a means of (conditional) falsification of previous views of the Old Testament. Critical hypotheses on the origin and form of the writings of the Old Testament traditionally, and to this day, mostly start with research on the five books of Moses, referred to in research as the ‘Pentateuch’.14 The books of Moses are understood to be the ‘basis’ of the Old Testament.15 Here are, in my opinion, the main periods: (1) Critical approaches in the 18th century: Questioning (and thus falsifying) traditional ecclesiastical opinions and beliefs about the origin of the Pentateuch.16 (2) Keyword: ‘Source criticism’: The permanent paradigm shift of the 19th century, mainly with regard to the age, the composition (literary composition) and the authorship of the Pentateuch (but also concerning other writings of the Biblia hebraica et aramaica [BH]). (3) The hermeneutically fundamental questioning of traditional methodological approaches to understanding the Old Testament, especially the dating of Old Testament traditions and writings, making several attempts to do such since the 1960s. In view of a hardly manageable field of research, I am striving for clarity here. Of course, this also leads to summarizing. This article cannot replace a compendium on the history of research. That is why I refer here to some more recent compendia and compendia-like dependent overviews of the entire research field and individual important aspects.17 I rely tacitly on some publications of which precise quotations are noted in the footnotes. Otherwise I restrict my references to ‘cf.’ 1  Critical Approaches It would be inappropriate to say that there was no ‘critical’ study of the texts of the Bible before the Enlightenment. It was rather that the biblical texts were not

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 9 examined from a historical–critical point of view. No hypotheses were made about the possible history of the origins of the writings. The headlines of the texts were not questioned. No one asked: “Do the books of Moses actually come from a Moses assumed to be historical?” “Does the book of Isaiah really or essentially come from the historical Judean prophet believed to have lived in the eighth century BCE?” Rogerson rightly calls the persons who do ask these questions the “pioneers of modern biblical scholarship 1577–1770” (Rogerson 1980: 350). ‘Textual criticism’, i.e., questions about the ‘original’ readings, was minimal. Manuscripts themselves (abbreviated: MSS) dating back to antiquity were minimally known.18 Protestant orthodoxy (late 16th to the 18th century) prevented, with its rigid doctrine of divine inspiration (verbal inspiration) any critical questioning of texts. Indeed, things went so far that verbal inspiration (one was taught) even extended to the Masoretic punctuation19 of the Hebrew text. These markings were the invention of Jewish scholars from the fourth to the ninth century CE, and were used to preserve the traditional pronunciation of the Hebrew text at a time when it had long since become a purely literary language. Ironically, or better, understandably, a Catholic priest, Richard Simon (1638–1712), set the standard for textual criticism in his work Histoire critique du Vieux Testament (1678) as a rejoinder to the Protestant notion of sola scriptura based on the variants and spelling errors in the traditional biblical MSS in question (cf. Kraus 1988: 65–70). Simon also discussed schools of scribes, by means of which he denied the original authorship of Moses, Joshua, etc. For the historical books, he reckoned they were written long after the events described took place. So, you can consider Simon, for good reasons, as a ‘(co-)founder20 of the historical–critical method’.21 However, many of Simon’s critical writings were ecclesiastically forbidden. One may justly say that with the modern Enlightenment began the first wave of falsification in the exploration of the Old Testament; namely, with the challenge of the dogma of verbal inspiration and the denial of the ‘authenticity’22 of the authors’ names provided in the biblical writings. This questioning was reinforced in the 18th century by the suggestion of the first major hypotheses concerning the origins of the Pentateuch. Some historians of Old Testament research reckon that it is only with the description of the source hypotheses that the historical–critical exploration of the Old Testament began. Basically, however, as I have said, the first attempts at critical consideration of the Biblical text mean a first step of falsification, even if this was probably never formulated expressis verbis with regard to the powerful ecclesiastical dogmatic tradition as such: namely, the factual abandonment of the dogma of verbal inspiration of the biblical texts. Through Simon’s observation of the manuscript variants it was already made possible to ask which concrete variant, in contrast to the others, should be divinely inspired.23 2  Keyword: ‘Source Criticism’ From the beginning of the 18th century and well into the 20th century, the basic questions in Pentateuch research – which, as has already been mentioned, was always ground zero for upheavals in research into the Old Testament – were and are

10  Status Quaestionis the hypotheses of its ‘sources’ or ‘documents’, the so-called ‘documentary hypotheses’. It should be mentioned that (historically) the founder of a Pentateuchal source hypothesis, namely the (Protestant) pastor Henning Bernhard Witter (1682– 1715) from Hildesheim was re-discovered in 1924 (see A. Lods 1925: 134f.). Witter was influenced by the early Enlightenment’s biblical criticism, including that of Ioannes Clericus. He published, in 1711, an opus with an eight-line baroque Latin title which I only partly quote.24 Witter did not attribute Moses with authorship of the Pentateuch, but opined that Moses had woven together two sources by different authors which called God by different names. He only did this for Gen 1–3, the creation and paradise story (stories). Here he distinguished Gen 1:1–2:3 from Gen 2:4–3:24.25 Witter also believed that an oral tradition – traditio oralis – had existed before the earliest documents were written. He was about 200 years ahead of his time.26 Witter, however, did not give up the quasi-dogmatized theory of verbal inspiration, for he wrote that inspiration of the text belonged to the source collector, Moses. This got him into trouble with (Lutheran) orthodoxy in Wittenberg. Witter’s work was much discussed in the 18th century, but then it fell under the shadow of the work of Louis XIV’s personal physician, Jean Astruc (1684–1766), and disappeared into oblivion. Astruc, for his part, developed a source hypothesis very similar to Witter’s. One could say that he developed Witter’s hypothesis, without knowing it or his work. Besides many medical publications, Astruc also published his major biblical work in 1753 (Astruc 1753). Astruc’s hypothesis can only be roughly outlined here. He basically wanted to retain Moses’ authorship of the Pentateuch. Notably, as with Witter, Astruc noticed the different names for God in Genesis 1–3, i.e., ‘Elohim’ (Genesis 1) and ‘Jehovah’ (Genesis 2–3), at that time the common and wrong27 reading of the tetragram YHWH. Astruc described these sources as two mémoires (‘commemorative writings’), which he called mémoire A and mémoire B respectively. However, he could not categorize all of the sources in Genesis under these two sigla. Therefore, he gathered the heterogeneous remainder as a mémoire C and proffered it in eight columns.28 With that, Astruc meant that he had delineated the entire pre-Mosaic recorded tradition of the book of Genesis. Later unknown editors would have combined the ‘columns’, which made the whole chronology of the text confused. Astruc wanted to assert Mosaic authorship of the Book of Genesis only, and to defend his notion that if Moses was not the author, then he was at least the editor of the material, against prominent opponents like Hobbes and Spinoza. Astruc’s work was met with hesitation at first, but was later received with interest. Astruc had a particular influence on theologians29 like Johann David Michaelis (1717–1791), Johann Salomo Semler (1725–1791) and especially Johann Gottfried Eichhorn (1752–1827). Eichhorn applied the so-called ‘older documentary hypothesis’ to the entire Pentateuch. Thus he is seen by some of today’s authors to be the ‘founder of modern biblical introductory science’ (cf. Frevel 1999). This concept is also often referred to as the ‘Older Fragment Hypothesis’ because it took account of those parts of the Pentateuch which were not considered major sources. The authors who deal with the history of research and its historical representatives have the most diverse opinions about when each aspect of critical biblical

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 11 scholarship began. One finds the entire development described as having begun as early as at the beginning of historical–critical biblical research. For instance, the Heidelberg professor of systematic theology and ecumenism, Friederike Nussel, suggests that “modern historical–critical exegesis” begins with the theological scholar Semler. In his Abhandlung von freier Untersuchung des Kanon (1771– 1775) “he criticizes the equation of writing and revelation or Scripture and the Word of God and concentrates the exegetical work on the textual criticism and the intention of the author”. With this, says Nussel, “has he laid the foundation for the modern hist[orical]–critic[al] exegesis”.30 Nussel agrees, that insofar as the (rationalistic) neologist Semler subjects the biblical canon to consistent criticism, “the basic rules of the critica profana was [sic] introduced into the Bible without regard to the orthodox dogma of inspiration”.31 With Semler a shift occurred – not in the sense of a methodical philosophical falsification, but – with a ruthless32 break from the ecclesiastical tradition, which, astonishingly, has hardly been reflected more explicitly in later research, but had become more of a ‘silent message’ carried on from the past. The 19th and 20th centuries are characterized by a whole series of competing and thus mutually falsifying hypotheses about the Pentateuch.33 The exegesis of the Old Testament is characterized, in the 19th century, by development of various theories about the ‘documentary hypothesis’, which eventually resulted in the quasi-dogmatic shape formed by the Göttingen biblical scholar Julius Wellhausen (1844–1918), that has lasted for about a 100 years.34 Before then, however, an important step towards the development of the ‘newer’ and also the ‘newest documentary hypothesis’35 was a resoundingly successful hypothesis proffered by Wilhelm Martin Leberecht de Wette (1780–1849).36 De Wette asserted in his Dissertation from 1805 that the book of Deuteronomy (the Fifth Book of Moses) is an independent ‘Document’, which is distinct from the other sources of Genesis–Numbers. This ‘Book of Moses’ was a separate source, now known in research as Document D, which he dated to be more recent than the sources held to be older, namely in the time assumed for Joshua (12th century BCE). De Wette’s hypothesis had implications for research up to the 20th century.37 It particularly became consequential that he observed that the style of Document D is also apparent in other Old Testament documents.38 According to some historians of research, de Wette had thereby prepared the road for the criticism of the Pentateuch in the 19th century. Main Types of Pentateuch-hypotheses

I mention here only the main types of Pentateuchal hypotheses now developed, and briefly characterize them. Their diversity and differences are often also confusing to professionals. The conceptually defined hypotheses are usually mixed in practice, so the ‘pure’ types are quite fictitious. The ‘pure’ source hypothesis divides the entire text of the Pentateuch into defined ‘source documents’. The ‘pure’ fragment hypothesis39 postulates that an ‘editor’ has composed a coherent text from a plethora of fragmentary pieces of texts. The ‘pure’ supplementary hypothesis40 supposes

12  Status Quaestionis that the literary base layer of the Pentateuch comes from a single source, which, supplied by material from another originally independent and parallel writing, makes up the final composition. Ewald later gave up his supplementary hypothesis in favor of his one Document hypothesis in which two sources were worked together by an editor. The ‘pure’ document hypothesis41 distinguished between an old and a more recent source, evaluated42 by their use of the name ‘Elohim’ or ‘YHWH’ for God respectively.43 Later on, the older Elohim source was called the ‘Elohist’ (E), while the latter was referred to as the ‘Priestly writing’ (P). This model, along with later ones developed along similar lines, was dubbed a ‘recent document hypothesis’. Towards the end of the 19th century, Wellhausen’s source hypothesis was widely accepted as the communis opinio, at least by German-language researchers. This basically made other models obsolete. Wellhausen counted four main sources (i.e.: authors) for the literary design of the Pentateuch: J = ‘Jahwist’/‘Yahwist’, which vocalizes the name of God YHWH (usually vocalized: ‘Yahweh’), and is assumed to have originated in the 10th century BCE; E = ‘Elohist’, which uses the divine designation ‘Elohim’, assumed to have originated in the nineth/eighth century BCE; P = ‘Priestly Text’ (not defined by designations of God, but by style and tendency), assumed to have been written in the sixth century BCE; and, finally, de Wette’s D source, incorporated in P as fragmented literary passages. The fragmentary ‘literary’ sources J, E and P can (analogously to the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, cum grano salis) be regarded as ‘synoptic’ material, which may explain the numerous duplications and editorial combinations. Under the influence of folklore studies of the 19th century, which is native to German studies, scholars now asked about the possible pre-literary sources of the defined ‘source texts’ (as the folk sagas and legends were defined). With Hermann Gunkel the history of ‘form’ and ‘genre’ as a sub-discipline that investigates types of oral, pre-written traditions occurred. The transmission of the Edda played here an important methodological role. Works by Gunkel (1862–1932)44 are of fundamental importance for research in the Old Testament. Gunkel described the Book of Genesis as a ‘Collection of Legends’. These ‘legends’ must have been available to authors from the 10th century BCE. This assumption was later on methodologically furthered by Albrecht Alt’s (1883–1956) habilitation thesis (Alt 1929),45 which can be characterized as one of the most important religious–historical hypotheses of the 20th century in relation to the origins of the religion of ‘Israel’. I can only summarize the main features of the hypothesis anecdotally. The ‘fathers’ (also called ‘patriarchs’) in the Genesis sagas (Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, genealogically arranged in Genesis) were the founding fathers, the tribal leaders, of ‘preIsraelite’ nomadic clans who occasionally met on their fixed grazing routes and told each other about the deities which were protecting them. Those were the Gods of the respective clans’ founding ancestors, the tribal fathers, namely the God of Abraham, of Isaac or of Jacob. And while they were sharing their respective experiences with their gods (by the campfire) it occurred to them that their gods were quite identical in their functions for their respective nomadic clans: they accompanied the clans on their nomadic journeys, were always with them protecting them

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 13 from all evil, and provided for them everything needed. So, they determined that it must be one and the same God, and identified each accordingly. Alt’s ‘God of the Fathers/Patriarchs’ was born, and consequently they also united their clans into a cultic community. The ‘fathers’ were arranged genealogically, from grandfather to grandson. That happened around the 13th century BCE. This cultic community later became the people called ‘Israel’, in the period of the Judges (the 12th/11th century BCE) and the period of the state(s) (from the 10th century BCE). It was only after the Second World War, under the influence of Alt’s important former students Martin Noth (1902–1968) and Gerhard von Rad (1901–1971), that Alt’s ‘God of the Fathers’ hypothesis became an undoubted and indubitable dogma of research.46 A cautious, respectful, and initially only modifying critique of Alt’s hypothesis began in the 1970s.47 In 1975 was published a detailed systematic criticism which concluded that: on the basis of the methodological state of research at the time of Alt, and the material (archaeological) knowledge available in the mid-1920s, Alt should not have put forward his hypothesis at all.48 Today, Alt’s hypothesis is considered falsified and is now defended mostly by Matthias Köckert 1988. The assumed age of the pre-literary and orally transmitted legends about the three ‘founding fathers’ (Ertzväter), edited and written down by the authors of the sources, was criticized selectively but with lasting effect by the Canadian-American scholar John Van Seters 1969. He discovered that the marriage laws of the patriarchs fit well into the period around 500 BCE. While serious Old Testament scholars were still wondering whether ‘Israel’ fled through the Bitter Lake from Pharaoh’s pursuing army, or at low tide on a beach of the Mediterranean, where the Egyptians were then surprised by the incoming tide,49 the Danish (then still) student in 1967/68 Heike Friis (1943–2018), in a Gold Medal-winning study (Friis 1968) from the University of Copenhagen, proposed the theory that the ‘People of Israel’ were not – as claimed by the biblical myth – constituted by immigration across the East Bank of the Jordan, and originally brought out from Egypt (from slavery) by Moses, but rather had arisen from 11th century BCE social tensions between urban and rural people within the Palestinian population. Friis based her thesis on archaeological finds. Her thesis was later taken up by her then competitor and silver medalist Niels Peter Lemche (*1945) taking into account the literature on the origin of Israel since George Mendenhall (1916–2016) in 1962,50 however without considering the study by Friis, who is only briefly mentioned once in the foreword as a discussion partner.51 In the meantime, the commonly held ‘settlement hypothesis’ is considered falsified.52 Before (and after), however, Pentateuchal hypotheses were repeatedly put forward that reckon with ‘pre-Israelite’ legends. As the most recent example of a documentary hypothesis many point to the Old Testament scholar from Halle, Otto Eissfeldt’s (1887–1973) source criticism. Eissfeldt believes in a compositional continuation of the Pentateuchal sources up to Judg 2:9.53 He essentially breaks apart the conventional Yahwist source (J) and extracts a ‘lay source’ (L) from it. Georg Fohrer (1915–2002) agrees with him in principle, except that he renamed the source N (‘nomadic source’).54 L/N are said to be older than J. As far as texts

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Status Quaestionis

are concerned from presumed oral sources, people relied, around the middle of the 20th century, on more recent folklore studies.55 The latest Pentateuchal hypotheses are no longer based on the titles of the traditional sources,56 but rather on the names of the working places of their producers. So, for example, most recently the socalled ‘Münster Model’, which was formulated by the Catholic researcher Erich Zenger (1939–2010).57 This section must not close without a reference to the seeds of de Wette. Martin Noth was lucky not to have been drafted during World War II, and so, in Königsberg, he was free to develop his hypothesis of the ‘Deuteronomistic History’ (DtrG).58 This historical work included the texts of Joshua through 2 Kings59 and is characterized by the language and style of the Fifth Book of Moses (D). Noth’s thesis generally prevailed. Indeed, researchers have discovered that other Old Testament writings are stylistically shaped in the same way, such as, for instance, the Heidelberg Old Testament scholar Hans-Walter Wolff (1911–1993) for Amos and another Heidelberg Old Testament scholar, Rolf Rendtorff (1925–2014) for the Book of Genesis. One can hardly say that Noth’s thesis has been falsified, because the language and writing peculiarities can be described philologically. One might rather say that it has dissolved into the generality of the Old Testament texts.60 3

Fundamental Questioning of Common Hypotheses61

In the 1970s the criteria for any early dating of Old Testament texts (around the end of the second millennium BCE or in the period between 1000 BCE and the fifth century BCE) became questioned and challenged by hypotheses of whether such texts could not instead be dated to the post-exilic period (from around the end of the sixth century BCE) with better reasons (Diebner 1975b). The methodological sketch drawn up here corresponds to a package of theses on the ‘history of Israel’ (Diebner and Schult 1975). Here, among other things, the historicity of the ‘Davidic–Solomonic Empire’ was called into question. Doubt about the primal myth of modern Israel’s understanding of the state is even shared today by some Israeli researchers and archaeologists. The Swiss Old Testament scholar Hans Heinrich Schmid (1937–2014) also questioned the foundations of the generally accepted ‘New Documentary Hypothesis’.62 He basically applies the idea of a ‘Deuteronomist’ consistently to the Pentateuchal texts and dates his differently defined ‘Yahwist’ to the sixth century BCE, i.e. neither in the Davidic–Solomonic, nor in the pre-exilic period at all. Before that, however, the Heidelberg Old Testament specialist Rolf Rendtorff came to a similar conclusion in a methodological study from 1967.63 The so-called ‘exilic period’64 now becomes a literary kitchen for the future production of Old Testament literature, as more and more publications take a, now mainstream, stand on the emergence of Old Testament literature ‘in exile’.65 However, some researchers are trying to rescue the ‘evangelical’ tradition of the Old Testament scriptures having arisen during the ‘pre-exilic’ era.66 For the majority of current Old Testament scholars, the new and most recent documentary hypothesis is considered falsified, which – to point out once again – does not rule out the fact

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 15 that some Old Testament scholars still adhere to it today, such as, for example, the Bielefeld scholar Horst Seebass (1934–2015). For seriously changing the perception of the ‘history of Israel’ in research, one must mention the Italian Waldensian professor Jan Alberto Soggin (1926–2010), of Rome. In his publications, in several languages since the early 1980s on the ‘History of Israel (and Judah)’, Soggin rejects the assumption of a historical ‘Davidic– Solomonic Empire’ (Soggin 1984, 1991, 1999). He rather counts two related, but originally independent small states: Israel in the north (‘The Northern Kingdom’) and Judah (Grecianized in Hellenistic times: Ioudaia/Judea; ‘The Southern Kingdom’) to the south.67 The process of what traditionalists call the ‘late dating’ of the Old Testament writings, however, continued. Researchers still meant that the literary development of the Hebrew Pentateuchal text had been finalized in the period around 400 BCE68 or around 350 BCE.69 A revolutionary questioning of common hypotheses was provided by the Jerusalem Dominican priest Étienne Nodet’s (*1944) dating to 250 BCE. A new mainstream view considers the post-exilic Persian period (from the middle of the fifth century BCE) as the most likely.70 Few scholars had already, prior to the establishment of this mainstream view, ‘broken away’ [from the traditional viewpoint], such as for example Lemche 1993. He places the end of the Pentateuch’s composition in the Hellenistic period (third century BCE); making only one basic methodological error: even if it was completed in the Hellenistic era, the Pentateuch is not a ‘Hellenistic book’ but, judged from a cultural–political point of view, a decidedly anti-Hellenistic book, despite its apparent incorporation of Greek-Hellenistic ideas. That Greek influence on the most important parts of the Pentateuch can be assumed, I also have tried to show (Diebner 2011). It can be assumed that the natural philosophical writings of Aristotle (384–322 BCE) can contribute much to the understanding of the Pentateuch, not only to the ‘Priestly’ story of creation (cf. Gen 1:1–2:3), but also to the biblical dietary regulations (cf. Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14). One only has to read71 these Greek writings.72 In view of the innumerable, partly fundamentally different and mutually contradictory analytical Pentateuchal models,73 other approaches appeared that did away with such analyses and instead offered literary studies of the Bible’s ancient manuscripts in the Pentateuch and beyond. This includes the ‘Uppsala School’ with its representatives I. Engnell and H. Ringgren. The most internationally well-known text of the school is probably the English publication New Literary Criticism. It also includes the ‘Amsterdam School’, with its exegetical and biblical theological head Karel A. Deurloo (1936–2019). It has been working closely with Prague theologians around the Old Testament scholar Jan Heller (1925–2007) since 1988, and has its historical roots in the recent Reformed theology of the Netherlands, of which one of its current representatives is Klaas Spronk (*1957).74 Here, a complex history of the origin of the Old Testament texts is not denied, but the traditional text is assumed to be meaningful and an attempt is made to interpret it in its probable historical context. As such, pre-Christian Judaism is accepted with good reasons. Correspondingly, there is an attempt at a synchronous (not diachronic) reading of the TNK from a confessional–political point of view, with the question of how the

16  Status Quaestionis term ‘Israel’ is to be understood and ecclesiologically defined in various parts of Biblia Hebraica, in light of the tensions between Samarians (the historically ancient Israel) and Judeans (who possibly got the designation ‘Israel’ in the second century BCE75 from the Samarians). In the Torah,76 the term is ecumenical, meaning that Samaria and Judea are both ecclesiologically speaking ‘Israel’; the religious community. In the Prophets, the Samarians are not excommunicated, but the (prophetic) call to repentance applies to them more intensely than to the Judeans.77 And in the, relevant to religion and politics, books of the Writings, 1–2 Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah, the Samarians are excommunicated,78 and the cultic community ‘Israel’ is exclusively the Judeans. Here – as is also true for the Book of Isaiah (Diebner 2000) – traditional textual units are defined according to their theological concepts. Efforts at falsifying traditional and established research opinions on Old Testament texts are not yet complete. One could, instead of ‘falsifications’ also use the milder term, ‘paradigm shift’. Old Testament research has for 300 years been a permanent paradigm shift. There is unbroken freedom of opinion in the discipline. No one has to be convinced by whatever arguments and be dissuaded from their own opinion. 4  Final Remarks It is clear that an attempt like the one presented here can only be eclectic. Relevant topics (e.g. the discussions of monotheism since about 1970; cf. Bernhard Lang and Manfred Weippert) and the many authors debating them cannot be considered in a limited space.79 That includes other writers who have arrived at different conclusions. The selection of what one considers relevant in the context of a question can only be subjective. Indeed, a key shortcoming of most cultural studies disciplines is that nothing can be conclusively ‘proven’, although some Old Testament researchers keep claiming to have ‘proven’ something, or that an opinion is ‘beyond a doubt’ or ‘undoubtedly’ correct.80 I constantly think of Rudolf Smend’s 1961 exclamation mentioned above: “Don’t become Old Testament scholars! Everything has already been explored there!” In the same decade, ‘the upheaval’ (‘nybruddet’) of Old Testament research began, and it is still ongoing today. A typical shortcoming of exegetes is that they often feel they know more about the biblical texts than the ancient authors themselves. This begins with the textual criticism in the scholarly commentaries, where exegetes reconstruct ‘original’ readings. It continues in literary criticism, which dissects texts and assigns them to different periods of time instead of asking about the possible meaningfulness of the transmitted texts, and simply reading them as literature. A hermeneutical principle should apply here: “Do not adapt the texts to our reading habits, but adapt our reading habits to the texts”. Because nothing can be conclusively proven in the field of Old Testament research – unlike in some scientific disciplines – nothing can actually be clearly falsified either; it would have to be total nonsense. But there are research positions for which there are no longer any good reasons or supporting arguments, although these arguments may have been convincing in their own time. A deficit among Old Testament students and researchers is that

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 17 hardly anyone reflects on the premises that support their methods and hypotheses, let alone subjects them to evaluation in a controlled environment. Basically, the cobbler’s principle applies to the discipline of Old Testament studies:81 You watch what the master does and how the master does it, and imitate him. A few personal flourishes are original. Notes   1 A use of language that is still common today in a discipline that lives on hypotheses.   2 As late as 1961, Rudolf Smend (*1932) advised the research assistants of his boss in Bonn, Martin Noth (1902–1968): “Don’t become Old Testament scholars! Everything has already been researched there!”   3 I don’t want to go as far as the ideas of Karl Raimund Popper (1902–1994), the founder of ‘critical rationalism’, which actually only applies to the scientific disciplines claimed to be ‘scientific’. With these, the falsification principle can be used methodologically and is therefore easier to implement. ‘Falsification’ is the opposite in Popper where the much more convenient term ‘verification’ for the ‘higher’ research principle can be used; because only what is not falsified may claim to be ‘scientific’. Methodologically this has to do with the critical interpretation of the biblical writings in the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments.   4 The attachment to pre-scientific traditions and to tradition with respect to scientific research and beliefs is a stumbling block for any research discipline.  5 For this complex discipline, I only refer to Nikolaus Copernicus (1473–1543): Indexkongregation 1616 with the prohibition of his teaching, and to Galileo Galilei (1574– 1641/2), who first in 1616 clashed with the Roman Curia and was urged by Cardinal Bellarmino to give up his ‘errors’ (typical clerical category), which Galileo responded to after further pressure from the church in 1632 against his will. On November 2, 1992 (!) Galileo was formally and legally rehabilitated by the Roman Church (cf. Wikipedia: “Galileo Galilei: Galileo and the Church”).   6 So for example, the physical (bodily) resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead is a church dogma that is firmly anchored in the symbols (confessions) of the churches, but cannot be substantiated with arguments. Scientifically judged, the resurrection is a religious (theological) myth that is frequently documented in terms of religious phenomena.   7 Theoretically, the earliest New Testament writings postulate the death of Jesus (around 30 CE); and the process of the composition of the texts was completed no later than the mid-second century CE. The earliest manuscript is from about 125 CE: a fragment from around 100 CE of the Gospel of John (P 52), which, according to the communis opinio of New Testament scholars, is the last of the four canonical gospels. The Heidelberg New Testament specialist Klaus Berger (*1940) has a different opinion.   8 Which is defined differently in the Reformation Churches than in the Roman Church and in the Orthodox Churches. Martin Luther separated texts and textual elements whose Hebrew text he did not know and collected them under the ambiguous term ‘Apocrypha’. Discoveries of ancient manuscripts of Hebrew texts since the 19th century have shown this to be a historical misjudgment.   9 For example, that Moses personally wrote down the five Books associated with his name in the 13th century BCE. 10 More recently, these churches and Christian communities received a boost from the well-known American Baptist minister Billy Graham (1918–2018). I got to know him, indirectly, beginning in 1953, when I regularly spent my school summer holidays with an English Baptist family, and directly in 1970 as a Hamburg pastor, when Graham preached in Hamburg. The editors of the then Hamburger Kirchenzeitung asked a pastor to write ‘pro’ or ‘contra’. As a ‘left’ pastor, I was asked to write ‘contra’.

18  Status Quaestionis 11 The Bristol Critical Baptist Bible School was demonized in English fundamentalist Baptist circles, because it was open to critical exegetical opinions and, as early as the 1950s, included the writings of Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976). 12 Such as, for example. the famous French Dominican Father and Professor Roland Guérin de Vaux (1903–1971), Qumran scholar and biblical scholar. 13 The situation is different with students. In my many years of work as a study advisor at the Heidelberg Faculty of Theology, my standard question to exam candidates seeking advice was: “Who will examine you in the Old Testament (or other subjects)?” I specifically then recommended names to the candidates that they had to read in order to pass. Knowing that some professors honored only their own opinion, my maxim was: “Trials are not a time for heroism! Exams are there to be passed!” 14 Greek το πεντατευχος = ‘the book of five’. 15 This may have influenced a Jewish legacy: the five books of Moses (Hebr. Torah = ‘teaching’ or ‘instruction’) are for the Jews (and Samaritans) with their alleged 613 commandments (probably no one has yet counted and checked via criteria to determine what a ‘commandment’ is): the first ‘Bible’ in the chronologically and canonically proper sense. The ‘Prophets’ are only sermons for lay readers in the congregation (cf. Luke 4:16–20), the third part of the Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica are only (further religious) ‘Writings’ (Hebr. ketuvím), of which only the Psalter played a role in the synagogue liturgy in antiquity (cf. Luke 24:44). 16 The ‘Pentateuch’ was originally also known as the ‘Septuagint’ (Book of 70), because according to legend, 72 Jewish scholars were supposed to have been asked by the Hellenistic Diadochi Pharaoh, the Ptolemaic Pharaoh Ptolemy II, around the middle of the third century BCE to translate the Hebrew Torah into Greek. So it has been claimed because of the earlier date of the so-called Letter of Aristeas/Ps.-Arist. This dating was first falsified in 1900 by Paul Wendland (1864–1915) and later (1929) by Elias Bickermann (1897–1981). Wendland has good reason to claim that Ps.-Arist was written between 96 and 67 BCE. Bickermann is somewhat more generous and assumes the time to be around 130 BCE. Today, most scholars follow Bickermann. Although his opinion is valid, some researchers still assume the middle of the 3rd century BCE as the period for the translation of the Torah into Greek. This has – among other things – consequences for the dating of the final literary form of the Pentateuch: the foundation is gone, but the castle remains hanging in the air. A German translation of Ps.-Arist is readily available (see N. Meisner 1973: 35–87). In the copious scholarly narrative, the translation of the Jewish laws from Hebrew into Greek is briefly mentioned only towards the end. There is much debate about the merits of this Jewish law. It is praised before the Ptolemaic Pharaoh Ptolemy II. Only nomistic traditions in quotations or allusions from Books of Moses 2–3–5 (Exodus [‘the Covenant Book’], Leviticus and Deuteronomy) – are discussed. There is no allusion to any of the Patriarchal narratives that are so important for Protestant exegetes because they are so ‘evangelical’, nor is the all-important founding myth of Israel’s ‘Exodus from Egypt’ mentioned. Neither are the all-important Patriarchal names of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph mentioned. Only ‘Moses’ is explicitly mentioned in § 144 as the guarantor of the Jewish law. There is also no mention in Ps.-Arist of the 72 Jewish scholars translating the ‘five books’ (of Moses). The word πεντατευχος is not mentioned. The author of PsArist seems – no matter how we date it (whether uncritically in the third century or with Bickermann and Wendland in the second and first centuries respectively) – to have only known a purely nomistic Torah, a pure legal corpus. The Jewish translators could have praised the grace of God granted to the ‘fathers’ of Israel before the Pharaoh. Ps.-Arist makes all previous Pentateuchal hypotheses appear at least as problematic, including the popular opinion that the legal parts of the Torah were only ‘secondarily’ inserted into an older narrative (and evangelicallyedifying) literary context. 17 Some of these publications: H.-J. Kraus 1988 (a ‘supplement’ [103–105] expanded, otherwise unchanged version of the 3rd ed. 1982); in the supplement Kraus takes into

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 19 account some non-fundamental new approaches since the second Half of the 20th century; H. Graf Reventlow 1990, 1994, 1997, 2001; W. H. Schmidt, W. Thiel and R. Hanhart 1989; R. Smend 1958, 1989, 1991a, 1991b. Some related publications: E. Ruprecht 1976; E. Otto 1977; B. J. Diebner 1978, 1979, 1980, 1998; K. Spronk 2009 (most easily accessible in Wikipedia sub voce: ‘Klaas Spronk’) presents the ‘Amsterdam School’ with its main protagonist Karel A. Deurloo (1936–2019); see Section 3; J.W. Rogerson 1980: 346–361; E. Otto 1998. For a brief overview of the state of research in the mainstream of Old Testament research towards the end of the 20th century see B. Lang 1990; Christian Levin 2010. 18 Origen (ca. 185–253/4 CE) compiled six-column and four-column editions from the different MSS versions (translations) available to him: the ‘Hexapla’ and ‘Tetrapla’ (which can only be reconstructed fragmentarily through quotations from early Christian authors). 19 A secondary auxiliary vocalization; also accent marks and sentence separators supraand infralinear were left untouched, because one did not want to interfere with the ‘sacred’ consonantal text. 20 Among others, Johann le Clerc (1657–1712; various spellings) should also be mentioned here. There is no consensus among historians of research as to when, where and with whom the history of research begins; see Smend 1991: 253; and also his discussions of other ‘fathers’ of historical–critical methods. 21 Der Grosse Brockhaus, Vol. 10, Wiesbaden 1956: 722; see also Meyer’s Enzyklopädisches Lexikon, Vol. 22, Mannheim et al. 1977: 742l. 22 A ‘primeval mythical’ term in historical critical research to this day. 23 The arch-conservative Hamburg Theologian and Pastor Dr. Helmut Echternach (1907– 1988) presented in 1936 a peculiar variant of the dogma of verbal inspiration, proffered by the teaching of the verbal inspiration from the last of Martin Luther’s translations (1545). 24 See H. B. Witter 1711: Iura Israelitarum in Palestinem terram Chananaeam Commentatione in Genesin perpetua sic demonstrata . . . (laid out for the whole Pentateuch, but in fragmentary form: publishes only the Prolegomena and Commentary on Genesis 1–17); cf. J. Chr. Gertz 2005. 25 This demarcation has basically been retained by Old Testament scholars to this day, except that current researchers separate Gen 1:1–2:4a from Gen 2:4b–3:24. The half paragraph 2:4a is added to the preceding text, because like Gen 1:1–23 it belongs to the ‘Priestly’ source (P). It is added erroneously, as was first shown by K.A. Deurloo (1936–2019; Amsterdam). Verse 2:4a is – as shown by analogies – the title of the following text. Although Witter did not know P he seemed to have anticipated it. 26 It was not until the 20th century that the so-called tradition history became an exegetical sub discipline, which deals with hypothetical pre-scriptural traditions of supposedly later written biblical texts. 27 Retained to this day by the Christian fringe group the Jehovah’s Witnesses, but erased from Evangelical hymnals some time ago. 28 So Kraus 1988: 96; four columns; cf. Gertz 1998. 29 In the 18th and 19th centuries, theology professors always represented several disciplines such as philosophy, oriental studies and biblical studies. In the 19th century, the entire Bible was studied as a whole. A distinction between Old and New Testament scholars was made only in the 20th century demanded by the growing diversification of areas of research. 30 F. Nussel 2004: col. 1204: “die moderne hist[orisch]-krit[ische] Exegese” . . . “kritisiert er die Gleichsetzung von Schrift und Offenbarung bzw. von Schrift und Wort Gottes und konzentriert die exegetische Arbeit auf die Textkritik und die Aussageintention des Autors” . . . “legt er den Grundstein für die moderne hist[orisch]-krit[ische] Exegese”. 31 “Ohne Rücksicht auf das orthodoxe Inspirationsdogma werden die Grundregeln der critica profana in die Bibel eingeführt” (cf. Kraus 1988: 107).

20  Status Quaestionis 32 That is, without regard to traditional ecclesiastical dogmatic ties. 33 A concise but informative overview of the history of Pentateuchal research is provided by E. Otto 2003. Otto is unaware of new international developments that have been published since the second half of the 20th century. This is not an isolated case. It also applies to those who are basically well informed, for ex. The anonymous article ‘Pentateuch’ in Wikipedia; cf. also: J. L. Ska 2006. 34 On Wellhausen see especially R. Smend 1989: 99–113, 1991. 35 Cf. Otto Eissfeldt and Georg Fohrer below. 36 See Smend 1989: 38–52. 37 I will come back to this below (in connection with mentions of M. Noth and H.-W. Wolf). 38 See below for Noth and Jepsen. 39 The main representative is the English theologian Alexander Geddes (1737–1802). 40 The main representative among numerous others is Heinrich Ewald (1803–1875). 41 The main representative is Hermann Hupfeld (1796–1866). 42 First of all only for Genesis (1st Book of Moses). 43 For a long time in scholarship since the 19th century and still mostly in the media today vocalized ‘Jahwe(h)/Yahweh’. Presumably, however, the name of God was pronounced ‘Yahu(h)’ like it is still today in the theophoric name element of the Israeli prime minister Nethanyahu. Researchers today mostly limit themselves to the consonantal name Y/ JHWH. 44 See H. Gunkel 1901; on Gunkel see Smend 1989: 160–172. 45 Cf. on Alt, see Smend 1989: 182–207; the scope (26 pages) of this biographical research-historical study’s 285 pages (without annotation pages) discussion of 18 Old Testament scholars of the 18th–20th century, testifies to the importance that was attached to Alt in the 20th century. 46 No wonder that Martin Noth’s dating of the prehistory and the early history of ‘Israel’ (Noth 1960, which is a standard work in the state of research to date) got along well with US–American fundamentalism, represented here by works of William Foxwell Albright (1891–1971): a distinguished archaeologist who searched mainly for traces of the ‘Davidic–Solomonic Kingdom’, followed by works of Albright’s historian John Bright (1908–1995), A History of Israel (1960), and his theological systematist George Ernest Wright (1909–1974). 47 See J. Hoftijzer 1956; K. T. Andersen 1963. For more cautious approaches, see H. Vorländer 1975; also J. Van Seters 1975, 1983. 48 Cf. Diebner 1975a offering a detailed methodological and material critique. W. H. Schmidt (*1935) approves of Alt’s presentation as being “methodologically exemplary” (cf. Schmidt, Thiel and Hanhart 1989: 13). 49 Why didn’t the Israelites flee around the smaller lake? Apparently the researchers had no idea about the height differences between low and high tide on the Mediterranean Sea and how long it takes for the water to flow out and rise again. 50 See N.P. Lemche 1985. In a later study, Lemche 1991 argues that the returnees from exile from the fifth century BCE call the non-exiled populations of Samaria and Judah ‘Canaanites’ in the Old Testament. 51 Later, the opus by H. Friis appeared in German translation (Friis 1986). 52 Which does not mean that many do not still believe in them. 53 See O. Eissfeldt 1922. There are also Octateuch and Enneateuch hypotheses which, in addition to the five books of Moses include Joshua, Judges, the Books of Samuel and Kings. But that view had no future in the history of research. 54 What ‘laypeople’ and ‘nomads’ in the ancient Near East and in antiquity are supposed to have to do with literature remains the secret of these researchers. They rely primarily on narrative style. 55 See Edward R. Haymes 1977.

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 21 56 The differentiations in the assumed development or creation process of the Pentateuch had become too complex. 57 So far, the historical–critical researchers were almost all Protestants, which also has to do with the general conditions set by the Roman Church. The best-known exceptions include Norbert Lohfink SJ (*1928), Frankfurt, and Bernhard Lang (*1946), Paderborn and Aberdeen. A graphical display of the complicated Zenger model can be found in: TRE Vol. 6. Tübingen 2003, col. 1099f. 58 Cf. M. Noth 1943. A similar hypothesis was described in 1956 by the Greifswald Old Testament scholar Alfred Jepsen (1900–1979). 59 Not 1 and 2 Chronicles. These writings are regarded as corpus sui generis and appear under the abbreviation ChrG = Chronistic history. 60 Some ironically referred to this style of literature as ‘the language of Canaan’. 61 This is the complete upheaval in Old Testament research. Niels Peter Lemche is a key player, and he chose the Danish term: ‘nybruddet’ (new departure). 62 See H.H. Schmid 1976. Here Schmid takes up suggestions from Diebner and Schult. 63 See Rendtorff 1967; later Rendtorff 1975 questioned the existence of the main pillar of the documentary hypothesis, the Yahwist; cf. Rendtorff 1977: ‘Foreword’. 64 Adopted for the period 587/86 to 539/38 BCE. 65 As if the unfortunate Israelites and Judeans kidnapped from their Israelite (721 BCE) or Judean (587 BCE) homeland had nothing else to do than reflect on their past and write great literature about it. 66 So, to name just one example, Frank Crüsemann 1983, (*1939), regarding the Ten Commandments, which he dates to the end of the seventh century BCE. The classic antiJudaism of Old Testament scholars still resonates here: what is dear and valuable to us Protestants in the Old Testament goes back to ancient (pre-nomistic and pre-exilic) Israel – or even to a pre-Israelite nomadic culture. Thus, theologically, Albrecht Alt with his ‘God of the Fathers’ basically outlines the pleasant or positive contours of the Protestant image of God. Its dark side is Martin Luther’s Deus absconditus, the ‘hidden, secret, unknown God’ who could be held responsible for all the evils we cannot understand. 67 Here Soggin took up suggestions from the so-called ‘Dielheimer School’. 68 So the Tübingen Old Testament researcher Erhard Blum (*1950) 1990. Here Blum works out the fundamental ideas of his teacher Rolf Rendtorff. 69 So Fr. Crüsemann 2005. There is in Old Testament research an interaction between the hypothetical literary conclusion of the Torah and the equally hypothetical so-called ‘Samaritan schism’ (which historically was probably a Judean schism) between 400 and 350 BCE. The argument: the Samaritans have in their synagogues only the Torah; they did not accept any later writings. But also the Jews had in their Torah ark (hence the name) only the Torah. The Torah ark is no bookcase for religious literature. The denominational separation of Samaritans and Judeans was probably a gradual process that developed from the second century BCE to the second/third century CE. On this, see B. Hensel 2016 (here also all relevant literature). By the way, it is not true that the Samaritans ‘only have the Torah’. They also have the writings of Joshua, Judges 1–2 Samuel, 1–2 Kings – albeit in their own polemical (anti-Jerusalem) editions. A manuscript was prominently published by J. Macdonald 1969. I have yet to find any Old Testament scholar who has ever quoted from this. Only the Prophets, whether in narrative texts or in the scriptures associated with their names (that is the Latter Prophets of the TNK), were rejected by the Samaritans because of their predominantly anti-Samaritan tendencies, understandably as ‘false prophets’. When we think of the Samaritans, then, we think of today’s tiny subgroup; for us a heretical and heterogeneous ‘by-product’ of Ancient Israel. The Samaritans, however, formed a larger community in ancient Palestine than the Jews who had returned to Jerusalem. They had missions in the Mediterranean similar to those of the Judeans. The famous synagogue of Delos is probably a

22  Status Quaestionis Samaritan one. In the early Byzantine period, Samaritans were more rebellious than the Jews against the occupying power of the Eastern Roman empire. Only Justinian I decimated them (literally) on the occasion of an uprising in the sixth century. For a critical appraisal of the role of the Samaritans in antiquity, our one-sided (theological) focus on Jerusalem and the Jerusalem traditions is a hindrance. For over 2000 years we have been accustomed to see the Judean edition of TNK from the Jerusalem point of view with the consequence of expressing a derogatory view of the Samaritans. These include the historically completely implausible negative and biased theological evaluations of the kings of Israel/Samaria since Saul. The stories of Judah and Samaria need to be rewritten from a critical and impartial-neutral point of view. 70 A main supporter of this tendency is the Lausanne Old Testament scholar Thomas Römer (1955*). 71 Which OT scholars do not, because the OT sources are said to be much older. 72 Especially: De anima; De motu animalium; De partibus animalium. 73 From a purely statistical point of view, only one hypothesis can be (reasonably) correct. 74 See note 17 above; there one can find further literature on the Amsterdam School, among others by Uwe Bauer (*1956), a German student of this persuasion. It should be noted that the numerous publications by the representatives of the Amsterdam School, unfortunately, have not entered into mainstream discussions and been taken into account. You might say they were not even ignored as ‘ignoring’ would imply they were known. 75 After the conquest of Samaria by the Judean Maccabean prince John Hyrcanus I (134– 104 BC). 76 Torah (T) = Books of Moses; Nevi’im (N) = ‘Former Prophets’ (Josh, Judg, 1/2 Sam, 1/2 Kings) and ‘Latter Prophets’ (Is, Jer, Ez, Book of the Twelve Prophets), as well as Ketuvim (K) = other ‘writings’ of the Hebrew canon. 77 See, among others, Diebner 2011. 78 Several studies by Bernd J. Diebner (since 1990). 79 Hence the reference in note 17 to the Compendia of research history and dependent overviews. 80 Cf. the title of Diebner 1984: ‘Es lässt sich nicht beweisen, Tatsache aber ist . . .: Sprachfigur statt Methode in der kritischen Erforschung des AT’ (“You Cannot Prove It, but It Is a Fact that . . .” “Figure of Speech instead of Method in Critical Studies of the Old Testament”); See now Chapter 4 in this volume. The famous Albrecht Alt offers a succinct formulation: It “remains largely in the dark, and yet no understanding person will want to deny that [the historical result]” (Alt 1959: 2: “bleibt weithin im Dunkel, und doch wird kein Verständiger leugnen wollen, daß”). 81 As certainly as in some other disciplines, especially cultural studies.

References Alt, A. 1929. Der Gott der Väter. BWANT 3.F.J.2. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer; republ. in idem. 1959. Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel I. München: C.H. Beck: 1–78. Andersen, K.T. 1963. ‘Der Gott meines Vaters’. Studia Theologica (Aarhus) 16: 170–188. Astruc, J. 1753. Conjectures sur les memoires originaux dont il paroit que Moyse s’est servi pour composer le Livre de Gènèse (German translation in 1783). Blum, E. 1990. Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch. BZAW 189. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Bright, J. 1960. A History of Israel. London: Thomas Nelson. Crüsemann, F. 1983. Der Dekalog: Bewahrung der Freiheit. München: Kaiser Verlag.

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 23 ———. 1992/2005. Die Tora. 1st ed. Munich: Kaiser Verlag. 3rd ed. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag. Diebner, B.J. 1975a. ‘Die Götter des Vaters: Eine Kritik der Vätergott-Hypothese Albrecht Alts’. DBAT 10: 21–51. ———. 1975b. ‘Eine methodische Alternative zur gegenwärtigen Erforschung des Alten Testaments: Otto Plöger zum 65. Geburtstag ’. DBAT 10: 48–62. ———. 1978. ‘Neue Ansätze in der Pentateuchforschung’. DBAT 13: 2–13. ———. 1979. ‘Neu erforschter Pentateuch’. LM 18: 372–373. ———. 1980. ‘Entwicklungen und Tendenzen in der jüngsten Vergangenheit’. In TRE 6: 361–374. ———. 1984. ‘Es lässt sich nicht beweisen, Tatsache aber ist . . .: Sprachfigur statt Methode in der kritischen Erforschung des AT’. DBAT 18: 128–146. ———. 1998. ‘Bibelwissenschaft’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. I. ———. 2000. ‘Jes 56,1–8 entsprechend Jes 66,18–24 und die prophetische Überbietung der Torah: Yad wa Shem’. In Religionsgeschichte des Neuen Testaments: Festschrift für Klaus Berger zum 60. Geburtstag. Tübingen, Basel: Francke: 31–42. ———. 2011. ‘Platonisch-Aristotelisches und frührabbinische Denkstruktur in Gen 1–3: Zur kulturgeschichtlichen Einordnung von Schöpfungs- und Paradies-Erzählung’. In Seit wann gibt es „jenes Israel“?: Gesammelte Studien zum TNK und zum antiken Judentum. Bernd J. Diebner zum 70. Geburtstag. BVB 17. V. Dinkelaker, B. Hensel and F. Zeidler (eds.). Berlin: LIT Verlag: 87–96. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975. ‘Thesen zu nachexilischen Entwürfen zur frühen Geschichte Israels im Alten Testament’. DBAT 10: 41–47. Eissfeldt, O. 1922. Die Erzählung der fünf Bücher Mose und des Buches Josua mit dem Anfange des Richterbuches. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Reprint: Darmstadt 1962. Frevel, C. 1999. ‘Eichhorn’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. 2: col. 1119. Friis, H. 1968. Forudsætninger i og Uden for Israel for Oprettelsen af Davids Imperium. MA Thesis. University of Copenhagen. ———. 1986. Die Bedingungen für die Errichtung des Davidischen Reiches in Israel und seiner Umwelt. DBAT. B 6. Heidelberg: B.J. Diebner & Nauerth. Gertz, J.C. 1998. ‘Astruc’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. 1: col. 863. ———. 2005. ‘Witter’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. 8: col. 1668. Gunkel, H. 1901. Genesis: ubersetzt und erklärt. 1st ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Haymes, E.R. 1977. Das mündliche Epos: Eine Einführung in die “oral-poetry”-Forschung. Stuttgart: Metzler. Hensel, B. 2016. Juda und Samaria: Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen. FAT 1. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Hoftijzers, J. 1956. Die Verheissung an die drei Erzväter. Dissertation. Leiden. Jepsen, A. 1956. Die Quellen des Königsbuches. Halle: Max Niemeyer. Köckert, M. 1988. Vätergötter und Väterverheißungen. Eine Auseinandersetzung mit A. Alt und seinen Erben. FRLANT 142. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Kraus, H.-J. 1956/1988. Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments. 1st ed. 1956; 4th ed. 1988. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag. Lang, B. 1990. Die Bibel. UTB 1594. Paderborn: Schöningh. Lemche, N.P. 1985. Early Israel. Leiden: Brill. ———. 1991. The Canaanites and Their Land: The Traditions of the Canaanites. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. ———. 1993. ‘The Pentateuch – A Hellenistic Book?’. SJOT 7/2: 163–193. Levin, C. 2010. Das Alte Testament. 4th ed. Munich: C.H. Beck.

24  Status Quaestionis Lods, A. 1925. ‘Un précurseur allemand de Jean Astruc: Henning Bernhard Witter’. ZAW 43: 134–135. Macdonald, J. 1969. The Samaritan Chronicle no. II. BZAW 107. Berlin: de Gruyter. Meisner, N. (ed.). 1973. Aristeasbrief. JSHRZ II/I. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag. Mendenhall, G.E. 1962. ‘The Hebrew Conquest’. BA 25/3: 66–87. Noth, M. 1943. Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament. Königsberg: M. Niemeyer; Reprint Darmstadt 1957. ———. 1948. Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer; Reprint Darmstadt: 1960. Nussel, F. 2004. ‘Semler’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. 7: col. 1204. Otto, E. 1977. ‘Stehen wir in einem Umbruch in der Pentateuchkritik?’. VF 22: 82–97. ———. 1998. ‘Altes Testament’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. 1: col. 1517–1527. ———. 2003. ‘Pentateuch’. In RGG. 4th ed., vol. 6: col. 1089–1102. Rendtorff, R. 1967. ‘Literarkritik und Traditionsgeschichte’. EvTh 27/3: 138–153. ———. 1975. ‘Der “Jahwist” als Theologe?: Zum Dilemma der Pentateuchkritik’. VTS 28: 158–166. ———. 1977. Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch. BZAW 147. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Reventlow, H. Graf. 1968. Opfere deinen Sohn: Eine Auslegung von Genesis 22. Biblische Studien 53. Neukirchener Verlag: Neukirchen-Vluyn. ———. 1990–2001. Episoden der Bibelauslegung, vol. 1–5. Munich: C.H. Beck. Rogerson, J.W. 1980. ‘Bibelwissenschaft I/2’. TRE 6: 346–361. Ruprecht, E. 1976. ‘Die Religion der Väter: Hauptlinien der Forschungsgeschichte’. DBAT 11: 2–29. Schmid, H.H. 1976. Der sogenannte Jahwist. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Schmidt, W.H., W. Thiel and R. Hanhart. 1989. Das Alte Testament. UTB 421. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Seters, J. Van. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven, London: Yale University Press. ———. 1983. In Search of History. Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History. New Haven, London: Yale University Press. Ska, J.L. 2006. Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Smend, R. 1958. Wilhelm Martin Leberecht de Wettes Arbeit am Alten und am Neuen Testament. Basel: Helbing & Lictenhahn. ———. 1989. Deutsche Alttestamentler in drei Jahrhunderten. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ———. 1991a. Epochen der Bibelkritik. Ges. Studien. III. Munich: Kaiser. ———. 1991b. ‘Julius Wellhausen und seine Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels’. In Smend. In Epochen der Bibelkritik III: 168–185. Soggin, J.A. 1984. A History of Israel: From the Beginning to the Bar Kochba Revolt, AD 135. London: SCM Press. ———. 1991. Einführung in die Geschichte Israels und Judas: von den Ursprüngen bis zum Aufstand Bar Kochbas. Darmstadt: Wiss. Buchgesellschaft. ———. 1999. An Introduction to the History of Israel and Judah. 3rd ed. London: SCM Press. Spronk, K. 2009. ‘Biblische Theologie in den Niederlanden’. Accessed on Wikipedia sub voce: ‘Klaas Spronk’. Van Seters. 1969. ‘Jacob’s Marriages and Ancient Near Eastern Customs: A Reexamination’. HThR 62: 377–395.

Undesirable Developments in Biblical Studies (Old Testament) 25 Vorländer, H. 1975. Mein Gott. Die Vorstellungen vom persönlichen Gott im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament. AOAT 23. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Wette, W.M.L. de. 1805. Dissertatio critico-exegetica qua Deuteronomy (diverse) a prioribus Pentateuch libris diversum, alius cuiusdam recentionis (recentioris) auctoris esse (de)monstratur. Jena. Wikipedia: ‘Galileo Galilei: Galileo and the Church’. Wikipedia: ‘Pentateuch’. Witter, H.B. 1711. Iura Israelitarum in Palaestinem terram Chananaeam Commentatione in Genesin perpetua sic demonstrata. . . . Hildesheim.

Part 2

Methods

2

The Gods of the Fathers Criticism of Albrecht Alt’s ‘Vätergott’-Hypothesis1

“When you know what you are looking for, it is easier to find”2

1 Ten fingers are enough when one counts the works that have formed the history of Old Testament Studies in the last fifty years. To these belongs, without doubt, Albrecht Alt’s Der Gott der Vater from 1929.3 In hindsight one wonders at how little resonance this work had in the first years after its publication.4 It was only after World War II that Alt’s hypothesis gained attention. Today it is considered ‘canonical’ in biblical studies. Three points speak to this: 1. The Vätergott- hypothesis determines the presentation of the Patriarchal period in textbooks; 2. The thesis is part of the curriculum of examination at theological institutions; 3. Any critique of the hypothesis is either categorically rejected or completely neglected.5 Because of its contemporary importance, Alt’s study is a work of our time. A discussion of it is therefore not untimely. It is not a good sign for the self-knowledge of a so-called critical scholarship that in the 45 years since the appearance of Alt’s Vätergott thesis, no discussion of it has been carried out. A few critical positions have been uttered in regard to important traits in Alt’s hypothesis. The treatment of these utterances has, through a questionable consensus, at least in German Old Testament studies, hindered serious debate. The longer these overdue discussions are put off, the more embarrassing it will be for those who have hitherto refrained from contributing to them. The present moment seems to me to be the right time for beginning such a discussion. In coming years, many things that we for decades have considered factual will be questioned. From the viewpoint of the object, my critique is not honorable. The critique is in itself ‘destructive’. I need not, however, make excuses for myself or justify my objections to Alt’s exposition in detail or clarify myself against his methodological concept, because my critique is neither directed against Alt’s shortcomings, nor against the blindness, which practically prevented Old Testament research for seeing these for almost 50 years. My criticism is not directed – these apologetic remarks are allowed for scholars, who in a true representation of Alt’s hypothesis see the best possibility of giving personal credit to this worthy scholar – primarily at Albrecht Alt, whose academic credentials are above dispute, but rather at the DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-5

30  Methods uncritical use of his Vätergott thesis in our time. What I mean by that I will demonstrate with examples from two textbooks in section 2 of this chapter. Only a criticism of the hypothesis can remove the foundation of continued uncritical use. Limited space only allows me to present part of my observations. In view of the required material, this is an unnecessary safeguard. I will make an effort to let Alt speak for himself whenever possible, although admitting that some passages may appear more as citation than parody (Zitate statt Parodie). Intermittently Alt’s lack of consistent thinking has led to several meaningless speculations, which appear as satire rather than serious argumentation. In order to avoid misunderstandings, I have decided to place obviously ironic passages in brackets . Existing critical assessments of Alt’s hypothesis can be arranged typologically in three groups: 1. A ‘supplementary’ criticism, which accepts all the essential elements of the hypothesis;6 2. A ‘modifying’ criticism; 3. A ‘fundamental’ criticism or a criticism from the outside (‘von aussen her’) based on other materials or a different method.7 The palette is rich, however it is not complete. A type of criticism is missing, namely a criticism from the inside (‘von innen her’), which tests the scientific value of a hypothesis through methodological and professional examination.8 A hypothesis that has stood the test of time is proven (schlüssig). It can only be rejected from the outside on the basis of hitherto unknown material. If the hypothesis does not stand the test, it is not really refuted, but it has become irrelevant; something like a contract which has been established under illegal stipulations. In my view, Alt’s hypothesis is still unproven (see below sections 3–8). Alt works with an arbitrary selection of material (4); he works on the basis of non-proven statements (5), and draws questionable conclusions (6). Alt lacks knowledge of factual circumstances, which should have been taken into account rather than being neglected (4). He interprets data in a way that, methodologically, is not up to date (see, esp. sec. 8). His ‘tradition–historical analysis’ is at times, literally speaking, unfounded speculation (8). His religio-phenomenological comparison is invalid in regard to the goal of his research, because of its lack of methodology (7 and 8). All this amounts to the fact that Alt, in several places, forbids methodological doubt about important points of his concept (3). 2 Alt occasionally emphasizes the weaknesses of his argumentation and he refers several times to the hypothetical character of his considerations.9 These remarks, however – which were otherwise repealed by the opposite (cf. 3) – could not save Alt’s thoughts from the fate of all ingenious hypotheses; namely that an assumption for which some things seem to speak, becomes an established fact of research by the mediation of active adepts. Without the addition of new viewpoints behind it, it fossilizes into a state in which not only nothing goes back, but nothing goes beyond it. In S. Herrmann’s words: It can be taken into account, that under consideration of later sources of evidence (!) the individual patriarchs have each been bearers of

The Gods of the Fathers 31 independent experiences of God, not to say revelations of God. The conclusion is compelling (!) that with the formula ‘the God of NN’ not only the belief in a deity is handed down, but, at the same time, the recipient of that revelation cannot have been fictive, but must be a historical person (!).10 The additional claim that this “evidence” and this “compelling conclusion” were explicated in a still unrefuted manner by Alt11 does not miss its imminent effect on the reader; for who would be so foolish as to doubt what is ‘proven’ (nachgewiesen) and ‘necessarily concluded’ (zwingend erschlossen)? And who knows, what does it mean, limited by the weakness of the thought one may be happy about such attempts by responsible authors who spare their readers – through sentences such as the one quoted below – any reference to the hypothetical character of scientific statements: “Recent research has shown that historically the Patriarchs were individual figures.”12 He only regrets that for him such assertive statements come too late. If, as can be shown not only on the basis of what has just been quoted, it surely is part of the practice of epigonal representation to transfer hypotheses into reliable evidence by means of suitable formulations, then one can also expect methodological transpositions from it. Alt, for example, believes that in the Nabatean inscriptions he uses he can recognize religious phenomenological analogies to the names of the ‘God of the Father’ traditions that support his hypothetical interpretation of such designations. The reversal of this methodical approach is likely to give us the following reproduction of Alt’s research results: “The religious–historical type of the Patriarchal deities is still verifiable in later times among the Nabataeans on the edge of the cultivated land”.13 As if in Genesis’s Patriarchal tradition an unquestionably known type of religion had been attested, which made it possible to classify the religious phenomenological names of God preserved in the Nabataean inscriptions. This reversal can only be excused by the fact that Alt himself, by his rhetorical uncertainties, has allowed for ambiguities about the methodological function of the entity ‘fathers’ (Väter), especially in Nabataean tradition, and thus promotes the erroneous assumption that he works – mathematically speaking – not with two, but only with one unknown, whereby the reader is left to decide which of the two quantities is the unknown.14 Thus, Herrmann’s reproduction of Alt’s thoughts suggests that he thinks that Alt has ‘proven’ a certain type of religion in the Patriarchal tradition with the help of the Nabataean inscriptions, while one must conclude from Metzger’s statements that the Patriarchal tradition offers the necessary analogy for understanding the Nabataean inscriptions (Herrmann 1973: 74f.; Metzger 1963: 23f.). 3 If, for example, in contemporary textbooks – so to speak ad usum delphini15 – the hypothetical character of Alt’s Vätergott-construction is obscured or even concealed, one should not only blame the usual epigonal thinking. Alt himself has, in

32  Methods several places, rhetorically prepared such a reception of his thoughts. I shall quote a sufficient number of exemplary sentences from Alt’s 1959 edition: 1 “Nevertheless, of the origin of this type of religion from desert nomads is no doubt possible”.16 2 “Who considers all these elements in light of the Israelite tradition of the God of the Fathers, could possibly not doubt the justification of the comparison”.17 3 “The used epigraphic monuments raise the fact beyond any doubt that the type of religion that seems to be presented to us in the Israelite tradition of the God of the Fathers has existed vigorously with other Semitic tribes in the desert and still in the cultivated land for centuries, and justify the conclusion that the analogous Israelite tradition can also be based on historical facts from the early days of this people”.18 4 “The course of events is thus more complicated to us than that of the prevailing opinion; however, this entanglement corresponds to the historical change that the tribes of Israel had to undergo in their transition from pre-Palestinian to Palestinian life and thought, and is therefore no proof against the probability of the assumption, whose consequences we are pursuing here”.19 5 . . . “it will have to be admitted that in this way the reconstruction of the historical course from our basic assumption also leads to an end result that is not lacking in inner probability”.20 6 “There is little doubt that this piece (Genesis 15) is based on an independent individual saga”.21 Ad 1. Doubt in science is not only always possible, but methodically required, especially in the fields of historical–critical research. As is well known, the historian can never achieve absolute certainty for the results of his research, but in the best case probability bordering on certainty. In this specific case doubts nevertheless seem particularly necessary, as my observation should show. Alt’s assertion that there is “no possible doubt” (kein Zweifel möglich) about his hypothetical construction would also be paternalism if his theses on the Patriarchal religion stood on firmer ground than is the case here. Ad 2. There are good reasons to doubt that Alt’s ‘comparison’ of the Nabataean inscriptions with the ‘Israelite tradition of the God of the fathers’ makes sense (cf. 7 and 8). One can raise doubts both about Alt’s interpretation of the biblical traditions of the Patriarchs as well as that of the Nabataean inscriptions. For serious methodological and factual reasons, it is doubtful with which right Alt describes a form of religion developed from inscriptions and therefore is hypothetical as evidence. Ad 3. Neither the hypothetical type of religion developed by Alt, nor the idea that he [the Nabataean] lived with other Semitic tribes (anderen semitischen Stämmen), nor that he had lived in the desert, nor that he had lived vigorously (kräftig), are – as Alt’s assertion would suggest – facts (Tatsache) that “elevate the epigraphic monuments used beyond any doubt”.22 The inscriptions reveal nothing about a presumably tribal structure of presumably nomadic ancestors of the Hellenized,

The Gods of the Fathers 33 probably predominantly Semitic population groups from Hauran, Leǧa, etc., as likely authors of the inscriptions. As hypothetical as the type of religion itself (and not the facts) is, the claim, which is testified to by inscriptions with banal content written by inhabitants of cultivated land, that the asserted religious form had been practiced in the desert (in der Wüste) is not proven. About the intensity of a nomadic type of religion, which may have been practiced in the desert, but is asserted on the basis of about 60 monumental farmland inscriptions from about 500 years – spread over a huge area – one should only make assumptions. There are no ‘facts beyond all doubt’ here; on the contrary: doubt about these incorrectly categorized assumptions is required. Ad 4. Apparently, Alt wants to force his readers to accept an entanglement (Verwicklung) caused by the inevitable, but objectively completely absurd traditiohistorical consequences of his considerations (cf. section 5 ad. 9). Certainly, the ‘entanglement’ itself is “no proof against the probability”23 of Alt’s assumption, but it is a legitimate reason to examine the need for considerations that led to such ‘entangled’ consequences. Ad 5. Especially the ‘inner probability’ of the result of Alt’s reconstruction does not have to be ‘admitted’ as my sketch is supposed to show. Ad 6. The example of Genesis 15 shows how fruitful it is not to let Alt take away the courage to doubt. L. Perlitt, for example, dared to doubt Alt’s claim, and thus came to (hypothetical, of course) judgments that are groundbreaking for the critical investigation of the Patriarchal tradition (Perlitt 1969: 68ff.). 4 It is understandable that Alt’s efforts are to design the material foundation of his investigation in such a way that it is conducive to his object of investigation. Who did not feel the beam in their own eye here. However, anyone who excludes material categorically or with a tenuous justification, or does not value any mention of it at all, challenges others to check the factual and methodological legitimacy of such exclusions. With the following remarks, Alt excludes different material from consideration: 1) “The fact that in Deuteronomy the name Yahweh is often accompanied by the apposition ‘the God of your (sg. and pl.) fathers’ has nothing to do with the old narrative tradition and therefore does not need to occupy us in the present context.”24 2) In the attempt “to gain an overview of the relevant statements of Genesis” . . . “the Yahwistic prehistory, because it leads back to the time before the fathers, is eliminated from the outset; its unique ‘Yahweh, the God of Shem’” . . . “stands completely isolated and can” . . . “for us be considered secondary in relation to the writer’s analogous expressions in the Patriarchal narratives”.25 3) Of the remaining mention of the typological ‘Gott der Väter’ und ‘Gott des NN’ as names of God in the Old Testament outside the Patriarchal tradition,

34  Methods “it can be . . . only ad hoc formed and therefore quickly disappearing special epithets for Yahweh”.26 4) Consideration of “the Patriarchal tradition in exilic and post-exilic literature is excluded” from Alt’s examination. “Its value must be viewed from the point of repristination”.27 With which arguments Alt excludes the following material cannot be determined. Alt does not mention them at all: 5) The ‫( אל אלהי ישראל‬Gen 33:20),28 the ‫ אלהי ישראל‬and also such in Alt’s context interesting figures as ‘Micah’s God’ in Judges 17f. 6) The numerous documentations of θεοι πατρῳοι and the cult of such deities in the Greek–Hellenistic world (cf. 7 and section 2 of this study; forthcoming in DBAT 10). 7) The names of God that are formed according to the type ‘God of the Fathers’ in ancient Near Eastern texts outside the Old Testament and the Nabataean inscriptions.29 My comments to these seven points are: Ad 1. Although the framework texts of Deuteronomy may have “nothing to do with the old narrative tradition”30 according to the prevailing view at the time, the type of denomination of God, attested there, nevertheless, requires a more thorough discussion. Here, the already established research positions have determined Alt’s selection of material. Ad 2. Sentence 2 of the statement above applies mutatis mutandis. Ad 3. Sentence 2 of the statement above applies mutatis mutandis. Ad 4. With this remark, the entire canonical and extra-canonical literature of postexilic ancient Judaism is excluded. As soon as it is deemed ‘repristination’ which the Patriarchal tradition has undergone from the exile in an unbroken line across the centuries, Alt should have moved to a critical rethinking of the then, and now, standard hypothesis, based on 18th century models of source separation’s31 dating of the literary fixing of the pre-exilic Patriarchal tradition. But instead of methodologically fruitful irritation, Alt only shows an uncritical attachment to conventional literary–historical judgments. His reflections, founded on this basis, became an early example of the historical–traditional method. The, for the research of the history of tradition (überlieferungsgeschichtlichen Fragestellung), so completely appropriate description as amateurish has so far been able to conceal the fact that this ‘method’ – especially in view of its relationship to other approaches32 – hardly reflects scientific theory and the methodological term only legitimizes the possibility of speculative combination. Ad 5. The phrase ‫ אל אלהי ישראל‬should at least have been considered in the context of Alt’s discussions (pp. 6f., 29). If Alt has meant that he could leave aside ‫אלהי‬ ‫ ישראל‬because ‫ ישראל‬is not to be understood as a personal name in this term, so

The Gods of the Fathers 35 he should not have concealed this methodological consideration and avoided criticism. But it is doubtful whether Alt has left out ‫ אלהי ישראל‬for the reason assumed here, since on the one hand he makes use of ‫( אביר ישראל‬p. 25 n. l) and on the other hand, also evidences this by ‫יאביר יעקב‬, in which ‫ יעקב‬is not considered a personal name (Hoftijzer 1956: 96). Ad 6. Without dealing with the fact that the designations θεοι πατρῳοι and ‘God of NN’ are familiar or known designations in the ancient Greek (–Hellenistic) religiosity, and the underlying (by no means nomadic) type of religion is well researched, Alt’s assertion that these designations in his source material from Hellenistic–Roman times and (mutatis mutandis) in the ‘God of the Fathers’ designation in Genesis are originally nomadic names of God, is methodologically flawed.33 Ad 7. What is said about 6 applies mutatis mutandis (cf. Vorländer 1975: 206–214). 5 As Alt’s source material is arbitrary and questionable, the principle of which speaks against the seriousness of his Vätergott-hypothesis, so are also some of his judgments and assertions. I offer the following examples from Alt 1959: 1) “there is indeed an element of special religion in the Israelite tradition”  .  .  .  “This is the memory of the God of Abraham, of the fear of Isaac, of the strength of Jacob, summarized: of the God of the Fathers”.34 2) “Once by the calling of Moses . . . when the attachment of the tribes to Yahweh is initiated in principle, there is naturally no room left for the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the traditions about the following period; Yahweh and his name (sic) dominate the whole picture from then on”.35 To this belongs the remark: “from the remembrance of the God of the fathers, if it is at all a real ancient tradition, we can only expect further traces in the legends of the Patriarchs themselves”.36 3) “By far the most ancient impressions make those designations of the God of the Fathers, which are also the rarest” [namely ‫ פחד יצחק‬and ‫]אביר יעקב‬ . . . “The former has not been witnessed to us anywhere else, so it probably became obsolete early on; the second confronts us at least occasionally still in the later religious poetry of Israel”.37 “‫ אביר‬for ‘God’ is too alien to the later use of the language that one is entitled to consider it an artificial reformulation of the literary era”.38 4) “It is normal here (i.e. in Genesis) that the individual names (i.e. for the father numina) are each used for themselves, the ‘God of Abraham’ by Isaac, the ‘God of Isaac’ by Jacob, the ‘God of Jacob’ by his sons”.39 “As a result, the latter becomes the least mentioned in the Patriarchal narratives and is not mentioned here at all under this designation, but is of course meant when Joseph is invoked by his brothers to the ‘God of your Father’”.40

36  Methods  5) “One does not need to stray too far from the realm of the oldest Israel, either locally or temporally . . . to find the sought for parallels . . . However, the ethnic group . . . to which Israel itself belonged . . . must be disregarded. . . . All the more can we learn about the next group [that is the Nabataeans and Palmyrenes], which barely a millennium later followed the same path as that of the people of Israel”.41  6) Alt’s verification of the inscribed evidence of Θεὸς Αὔμου (Nr. 33–45) is summarized: “the nowhere else attested Θεὸς Αὔμου has become here (that is in Leǧa and Hauran) the divine lord of an entire landscape” . . . “and there is no other god in this area who could be described as a serious competitor”.42 Nevertheless, “The end result of the development in this single case is . . . unusual and must therefore not determine our conception of the whole type of religion”.43  7) To the “late stages of the history of these gods [that is the former nomadic Numina] in cultivated land, belongs apparently also an apparition . . . that is noticeable in both the Semitic and Greek texts: the equation of the ancient humble Numina with other greater gods”.44  8) See the citation from Alt 1959: 45 earlier in section 3.  9) According to Alt “From the pre-Palestinian repertoire [i.e. the worship of the God of the Fathers] only the cults themselves and with them the names of the cult founders remained. However, the old cult legends, which had no relationship to the new homeland, lost their interest and fell into oblivion. But what had otherwise been preserved in traditions of the desert period was incorporated in the cycle of the Moses saga; that is, tradition-historically, in a completely different context”.45 10) The “isolated placement” of the cult place where the ‘Fear of Isaac’ was worshipped “on the southern border of Palestine’s cultivated area might have hindered further spreading of the cult”.46 11) “And if the promises are almost exclusively about the questions of progeny and land ownership, it almost seems as if there is again a pre-Palestinian and a Palestinian layer of ideas on top of each other: there the interest of the nomadic tribe in the preservation and increase of the number of its men, here the claim of those who have transferred themselves to the cultivated land to have their own soil”.47 12) “One should not think of a Palestinian numen [i.e. the allegedly underlying ‘independent saga’ in Genesis 15], otherwise the location of the act would probably not have been concealed” (sic!).48 Criticism of these 12 points: Ad 1. Without any methodological discussion, two formally very different types of designations of God are simply equated. However, the possibility that they could also be two genealogically and functionally different types must also be considered if one thinks that one can show their inherent identity. It should only be mentioned in passing that Alt equates in the same way – namely

The Gods of the Fathers 37 unreflectively – the terms ‘God of the Father’ (Gott des Vaters) and ‘God of the Fathers’ (Gott der Väter) and neither mentions nor discusses the different use of the latter term in the Old Testament (Alt 1959: 13 n. l cannot be regarded as a mention of this fact). Ad 2. Numerous biblical and extra-biblical mentions of the ‘God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’ in ancient Jewish literature provide evidence that there was enough space for this designation of God, even if the divine name YHWH undoubtedly plays a predominant role in certain sections of Israelite–Jewish literature. That the God YHWH “in the traditions about the following period”49 overtook the role of the God of Abraham etc. can only be asserted under the condition of Alt’s Vätergott-hypothesis. That “only in the legends of the Fathers/Patriarchs themselves can we expect further traces”50 of the God of the Fathers (Vätergott) is a methodological postulate whose arbitrariness and irrelevance Alt himself proves by discovering for him the very important “memory(ies) of the God of the fathers” . . . “outside the literary composition of the legends of the Patriarchs”51 in Gen 49:24; Isa 1:24; 49:26; 60:16; Ps 132:2, 5. Ad 3. According to Alt, the only allegedly preserved ‘ancient’ and ‘primitive’ designation of one of the asserted desert Numina within the “literary compositions of the Patriarchal narratives” “has probably become obsolete early on”.52 As its use “still in the later religious poetry of Israel” shows, it has obviously not become obsolete, but other ‘ancient’ designations were promoted “with conscious consideration” in a “schematization of the designations of God” and in service of a “unification of the tradition” completely “deleted from the history of the Patriarchs” which, however spared it from “becoming obsolete early on”.53 Alt could write this crude nonsense only because he considered himself entitled to use his ingenious intuition around the cliffs. Therefore it was, according to Alt, only in the “later use of the language”,54 evidence of the term ‫ אביר‬for God, which had become “so foreign” (zu fremd) “that one would be justified”55 in seeking its homeland. How often does a word (with a certain meaning) – N.B. according to Alt’s opinion – have to be witnessed in a certain language in order to be considered ‘native’ to this language – especially a word that is not attested in other languages! That a methodological discussion is needed when a concept is attested only in poetic texts, but is claimed for prose texts even if only in the sense that it is “totally repressed” (total verdrängt) from them, is apparently unknown to Alt.56 At this point we should gratefully remember the fact that Alt has hidden his ‫ מגן אברהם‬in a note (see Alt 1959: 67 n. 4). That is where it belongs. Already the fact that the – primarily in poetic texts – undoubtedly as an appellation of God, the expression ‫ מגן‬never appears formally as an appellative ‘App. of NN’ (Appellativ [App] des NN) and (apart from Gen 15:1, which gave Alt the idea) is not found in a combination with Abraham, was it necessary for Alt to construe a ‫( מגן אברהם‬Abraham’s shield) in order to reject it.57 Ad 4. It is not always easy to follow Alt’s line of thought. The term “Jacob’s God” (Gott Jakobs) is “the normal” one (das normale), but in comparison with the

38  Methods other ‘normal’ designations “at least to the effect” (am wenigsten zur Geltung), namely – strictly speaking – “not at all here” (überhaupt hier nicht) “but is of course meant” (ist aber natürlich gemeint) when a designation of a completely different type is used.58 Ad 5. That a round millennium is not “such a long temporal distance”59 seems to me a bold assertion, if we do not allow earlier times to be as equally capable of change as we do our own. In addition, a thousand years are alarmingly many if the time factor for Alt’s phenomenological comparison is methodologically important. Alt‘s remark is then, methodologically understood, a questionable trivialization of this circumstance. If the ‘temporal distance’ does not play a role, then Alt’s remark is dispensable. It is only mentioned in passing that Alt could have drawn methodological consequence from the ‘local’ proximity of the Nabataean inscriptions to Israel at the time of their origin. Ad 6. Alt argues that the Θεὸς Αὔμου, and probably also other Numina of the type of religion under discussion “will have conquered the landscape only gradually”.60 It also seems to him that it might be possible “to determine the stages of spread . . . of the mentioned inscriptions from their placement and chronology”.61 “However, it must, of course, be considered that the cult might be older in these places than the inscriptional evidence”.62 “In a word . . . ” (Mit einem Wort; p. 37): an important criterium for Alt’s asserted desert deity type – the local detachment – cannot be established for the Θεὸς Αὔμου throughout. Therefore the inscriptional material for these gods are especially important for Alt, because they “inform us on the spreading of the worshippers of an individual deity”,63 and are usable for Alt’s examination of the process of “equalization of the modest ancient Numina with other great deities”.64 As this case is disclosed with his 14 inscriptions (incl. the one included in PJB 36 [1940]: 102f.), that are more than 20 percent of Alt’s laboriously collected material (p. 32), he should have defined “our understanding of the type of religion”65 to some extent. Ad 7. The “equalization” (Gleichsetzung) observed by Alt is a religious phenomenon that is particularly widespread in antiquity. As unfortunate as it may be for small local gods that they often lose their individuality in favor of ‘greater gods’, the observation of such processes does little to identify former desert Numina. On the contrary, the explanation, also shared by Alt (see 1959: 61), that as a rule only deities that have a shared nature merge with each other or merge into each other, should warn us against the wish to observe processual traits that are characteristic of the fate of former desert gods. These must have lost their restless nature very much if they were later suitable for being equated (Gleichsetzung) with the asserted domestic temple gods. Now Alt does not deny that the Nabataean Numina were already “locally situated” (landfest) when they became identified with the greater gods. However, he needs this ‘equalization’ process in order to be able to prove the alleged identification of YHWH with formerly independent ‘Väter’-Numina as typical of his nomadic type of religion in the history of the cultivated land. But the process is too general (and the nomadic prehistory of the Nabataean Numina too unlikely; cf. the methodological concerns in section 4 ad. 6). The ‘final’ “full

The Gods of the Fathers 39 absorption” (volle Absorption; p. 40) of the former “tribal” (stammes) [deities] by ancient “chief” (haupt) or “national gods” (Landesgötter) makes the fate of the deities66 in Leǧa, Hauran etc. completely incomparable with that of the ‘God of the Fathers’ (Vätergottes) mentioned in the Old Testament. He not only stands isolated or next to YHWH/‫ אלהים‬in the Patriarchal tradition up to Exodus 3, but also remains very much alive in that of Alt’s so-called ‘Repristinationen’, without being connected to the “all-encompassing” (all-umfassenden; p. 39) name of YHWH. Alt reads Exodus 3 as a testimony of two originally separate divine beings “whose identity cannot simply be assumed”.67 However, the reading is recommended as a document of the need to link heterogeneous elements of tradition with each other. The continuation of his name probably shows that the biblical ‘Vätergott’ is of a different order than a Nabataean θεος πατρωος (especially in Alt’s interpretation of this Numina from the Hellenistic and Roman periods).68 Ad 8. The claims of this sentence have already been discussed above in section 3 ad 3. Ad 9. This partial and sweeping sketch belongs to the “series of conclusions” (Reihe von Folgerungen) resulting from Alt’s “distinction of a pre-Palestinian and Palestinian context in the cultural history of the Israelite θεοι πατρῳοι and in the history of the origin and transmission of the Patriarchal narratives”.69 Provided that in Genesis remnants of original, pre-Israelite ἱεροι λογοι (and not only the names of actual or alleged Canaanite places of worship)70 one will agree with the assumption that the “father figures” (Vätergestalten) are secondarily “combined” (verwachsen) with these cult legends (cf. p. 51).71 But not because this followed from Alt’s hypothetical construction, which lacks any inner probability and leads to absurd consequences. That itinerant tribes and ethnic groups abandon their old cultic–religious traditions (apart from some structures and terms that have been abstracted from what has been handed down) when entering a new country and adopt the local traditions, such as stripping off hiking boots outside the door to slip into slippers that have been provided, is such an unusual idea that Alt had to prove the methodological legitimacy of his assertion beforehand through the phenomenological proof of the possibility: “we know of them [the former nomadic Nabataeans] that when they entered the cultivated land, they were not at all willing to give up their ancestral nature so quickly”.72 In addition, Alt should have shown by a tradition–historical analysis of the relevant traditions of ‘Israel’ that such a phenomenological and perhaps possible process is also to be assumed for specific cases. Too generous, also, is the way Alt changes traditions – according to the motto: If traditions – which must be there when the processes asserted are an accurate reconstitution of historical reality – are not where they should be, then they must be found elsewhere. Before welcoming speculations such as Alt’s, one should test a hypothesis that leads to such twists and refractions. Ad 10. The cultic expansion of Abraham’s cult after Beersheba did not fail because of the remoteness of these places. When one speculatively moves the Fathers and the Gods of the Fathers, the ‘Fear of Isaac’ would surely have made its way to neighboring Mamre!

40  Methods Ad 11. The interest in the preservation and increase of the number of men is really not a specifically nomadic one, as can be shown by observing all cultures and social groupings of humanity through millennia. Nor is the pursuit of land ownership typical of transmigrating and transhumancing nomads, who once smelled the soil. One need only think of the difficulties that ensue in connection to attempts of sedentarizing nomads in our time. Promises of owning the land make us think more of the speeches at assemblies of displaced persons after the Second World War (and of exiles in Mesopotamia) than of small-cattle nomads. Ad 12. . 6 I have already presented examples of the logic of many of Alt’s conclusions in section 5. A few more must be presented here in a separate section. 1) “The essence of the God of the Fathers is quite different [than that of the ‘Elim’]; the relationship with a particular sanctuary does not matter to him, and he is remembered with particular preference precisely when the setting of the stories is far from the normal residential area of the ancestors of Israel, be it in the land of the Aramaeans on the Euphrates or with the Egyptians on the Nile”.73 2) “Even the regular naming of the θεοι πατρῳοι after human individuals and never according to place can be regarded as a sure sign of the special nature of this type of religion. But if this is true, then the preference of the God of the Fathers by the Yahwist and the Elohist is completely understandable, in that his form was given already in the pre-literary tradition”.74 3) Alt recommends that in the expression ‫“ פחד יצחק‬one recognizes the last remnant of an older, otherwise lost use of language, which perhaps could not have used‫ פחד‬for God in prose, but in poetry only, and thus to understand ‫פחד יצחק‬ as an archaic designation of the numen, whose appearance set Isaac in terror and thus bound him forever. Understood in this way, the expression runs parallel to the ‫ אביר יעקב‬discussed above, and this analogy may well be used as a secondary argument for the proposed interpretation. But then we are also forced to state a second old name of God here”.75

The Gods of the Fathers 41 4) “We therefore note an almost complete schematization of the designations of God and may well assume that it was carried out with conscious consideration . . . One can make the counter-test by using the old differentiated expressions in the revelation discourse in Exod 3:6 for the monotonous ‘God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob’: ‘I am the . . . Abraham, the fear of Isaac, the strength of Jacob’. How much less then is it expressed that with all this only a single deity is meant and even so the same as with the name Yahweh”.76 5) Due to his baseless speculations presented above at section 5, 9, Alt understands better “that the later writers, in their efforts to bring out the memory of the God of Abraham etc. anew within the framework of the Patriarchal narratives, had only a few points of reference in their inventory of individual legends available to them, and that most of it had to be created, such as the Yahwist in particular did in his revelation scenes with Isaac and Jacob”.77 “Neither this division [the designations of the ‘Father’-Numina] nor this summary belongs to the original inventory of the tradition. The division was only possible after the main figures of the legend had been brought into a fixed genealogical series from father to son to grandson and great-grandchildren; only then could a family tree of the father religion be derived from the family tree of the fathers, so to speak, by distributing the three names of God analogously to the individual generations. The summary, however, is apparently already determined by the belief that none of these designations of God can mean any other than Yahweh himself; . . . Therefore, both the division and the summary is [sic] in service of one and the same tendency to standardize the elements that had been handed down, and we must therefore exclude both if we want to determine the original stock”.78 Ad 1. Unfortunately, Alt does not mention any texts that “with particular preference” (mit besonderer Vorliebe) speak about the God of the Fathers far from the homeland (the desert or the cultivated land?). He probably thinks of Genesis 24 and Exodus 3f. When Israelites inhabiting cultivated land visited or were exiled into neighboring cultivated countries, the writers J and E employed [terms of] the locally unbound former desert god “with a special preference” (mit besondere Vorliebe) because the essential detachment of this Numen corresponds so much to the mental state of people far from home. His nature has, from nomadic days, predestined the God of the Father as a literary stylistic device, as a god of travel. Ad 2. The essence of the God of the Fathers is fully determined by the tradition– historical function, for which the scribes to whom he owes his literary existence, use it (cf. cit. no. 5 above and also Alt 1959: 12, 23, 48) in order to combine heterogenous elements of the tradition. Its “priority” (Bevorzugung; whose? J?, E?, Vätergott?) against other designations of YHWH, for example ‫אלהים‬, can be understood, according to Alt, because it was already available to the scribe, that it was likely to be used as medium of composition. “Because in his essence lay . . . from the outset the possibility of free movement in space, more precisely:

42  Methods the adaptation to every change of location of the appropriate group of people, i.e. exactly what the writers had to do if they wanted to give the colorful series of Patriarchal stories a uniform meaning sub Specie Dei)”.79 Thus, Alt wants to suggest that the origin of such a distinct divine figure (or is it three?) can be explained by a serious assumption (cf. also ad. 5 below). Ad 3. The evidence of the term ‫פחד יצחק‬, “Fear of Isaac”, in a prose text (and only there), makes it hard to understand Alt’s claim that the term belongs to archaic use of a language, in which ‫ פחד‬for God is not used in prose, but may appear in poetry. Given Alt’s usually spontaneous nonchalance, why does he deal with a, for him, completely unnecessary and forgotten poem? Is he forced by the asserted analogy with that in poetic texts’ evidenced term‫< ?אביר יעקב‬The safety with which we may consider the terms ‫ פחד יצחק‬and ‫ אביר יעקב‬as designations of the God of the Fathers can no longer be superseded because of Alt’s methods of arriving at logical conclusions. That ‫ פחד יצחק‬and ‫ אביר יעקב‬are such designations, we know from Alt (p. 24) onwards. When one forgets what is known about ‫ פחד יצחק‬then it is possible to develop a controversial discussion of ‫ פחד יצחק‬as designation of god (cf. p. 25). Now we remember the non-forgotten meaning of ‫( אביר יעקב‬whose meaning cannot be determined by disagreement, because all agree that ‫ אביר יעקב‬is a designation of god). We recognize that both terms are analogous in regard to structure and meaning. This analogy, however, can, in Alt’s words only be validated as a secondary argument for the proposed interpretation.80 Ad 4. The ‘counter-test’ proposed by Alt (towards which sample?) is only possible under the condition of Alt’s thesis and thus makes neither argumentative nor didactic sense as a test of the conclusiveness of the assumption of schematization. In view of the secondary nature of the formula in Exod 3:6 (see Alt 1959: 12), which is also recognised by Alt – irrespective of his hypothesis – the proposed ‘counter-test’ is a methodologically questionable gimmick. Ad 5. Through the Crux of his masterful traditio–historical analysis of the traditional element of the God of the Father (cf. Weidmann 1968: 167), Alt has been forced to consider all occurrences of ‘the God of NN’ and ‘God of the Father’ (Gott des NN und Gott der Väter) in Genesis as literary creations which “owe their existence to the free design of the literary editors of the transmitted material”.81 This critical view is to be agreed on in principle, even if one no longer regards J and E as the “editors of the transmitted material” (Bearbeiter der überlieferten Stoffe). Less approval is deserved for Alt’s assumption that the individual formulations of the ‘God of the Fathers’ – designations of the type ‘God of NN’ and ‘God of the Fathers’ in Genesis – Exodus 3f. can be ascribed to secondary differentiation (Aufteilung) and tertiary conclusion (Zusammenfassung). What does “differentiation” mean? In the case of the scribes’ available traditions of the Patriarchs, Alt argues that a “gradual rapprochement of the fatherly figures” with each other which in connection with supra-regional Father-cult communities led to “equalization or at least an exchange of the special status of religion and tradition”.82 “The unification of the three figures in a single genealogical tree was the final crowning of the whole process”.83 In this

The Gods of the Fathers 43 ‘process’, Alt suspects, lies the “root” (Wurzel) for the “eventual melding of the gods of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob into the single figure of the God of the Fathers”.84 This identification of the originally isolated Numina, “which, as we have seen, became so important for the scribes”85 might then also already have been available to the scribes. It is not quite understandable how the genealogical linking of the Patriarchs (Erzväter) should have happened before the identification of Numina, since, according to Alt, it is the postulated affinity of the nature of the aforementioned Numina, and not that of the Patriarchs, that promoted the rapprochement of the originally isolated cults with each other. Neither is it quite clear with which tradition of the God of the Fathers that YHWH should be identified: did he soak up three individual Numina for himself or a combined trinity? Perhaps J wanted to give us a hint towards an answer in Genesis 18: “from the trinity of the divine, Yahweh breaks free as the sole God”.86 Abraham as witness and guarantor of the traditio–historical identification process!). But that is paraphernalia in light of the doubtful procedure (which – I know it well – is precisely Alt’s ‘masterful traditional historical analysis’!): drawing conclusions about primary elements of tradition from freely written creations of secondary texts (albeit based on presumed traditions [cf. for example Alt 1959: 23]). Such texts can at most confirm which traces of original traditions other than ‘freely created’ division (Aufteilung) and conclusion (Zusammenfassung) have been found. There, Alt finds only ‫ פחד‬and ‫ אביר‬, and even those only on the basis of a methodologically inadmissible treatment of the textual evidence. 7 I would like to conclude my discussion of questionable individual statements and methodological errors on the basis of quotations of texts from Alt’s study. In this section, Alt’s methodological concept will be discussed in a more general way – a concept which, in its consequences, leads to Alt’s presenting the reader with the fulfilled longings of a Hellenistic small-town Philistine as “what appeared to us from the [individual] origins to be characteristic of all these gods”:87 whereby the reader does not know exactly whether Alt wants to scare him away, or whether Alt has only become the victim of the laws under which he conducts his research. The discovery of the designations of gods of the type ‘the God of NN’ – in connection with the occasional remark that this is a θεὸς πατρωος – in Semitic and Greek inscriptions, probably led Alt to the formulation of his God of the Fatherhypothesis. The analogy to the Old Testament designations of the kind of ‘God of Abraham’ is indeed eye-catching. In addition, there are certain socio-cultural similarities between the authors of the Nabataean inscriptions or their ancestors and ‘Israel’ or population groups that later merged into ancient ‘Israel’. It is a great temptation to reconstruct, with the help of the information available here and there, what type of religion the nomadic ancestors of both populations may have adopted.

44  Methods The endeavor faces many methodological difficulties that Alt only partially recognizes. He may not have fully recognized the following problem: the name of God used in the Nabataean inscriptions is ‘God of NN’. It can be attached as an apposition θεὸς πατρωος. In Alt’s tradition, especially in the Patriarchal tradition, to which Alt, for incomprehensible methodological reasons, limits himself (albeit inconsistently), the terms ‘God of NN’ and ‘God of the Father’ can be used in isolation or combined with each other. In stating that the term ‘God of NN’ is probably “original” (ursprünglich) in the Nabataean inscriptions, while in Genesis any designation of this type and of the typological ‘God of the Father’ goes back to the ‘writers’, Alt can assume that, for example, “the Yahwist must have had a tradition about the God of the Fathers, to which he felt bound and which was so important to him that he brought it into his work while preserving its designation of god”.88 In “primordial” (urtümlichen) designations of this type of religion, E has retained ‫ פחד‬as an appellation of God. Since the type ‘apposition of NN’ (App. des NN) is not easily identified with the type ‘God of NN’ (Gott des NN), it requires a theory as to why, instead of the ‘original’ designation ‘app of NN’, apart from the exception in Gen 31:42.54, only the ‘secondary’ designations of the type ‘God of NN’ are preserved. Here, Alt assumes that the “weaker formulations” in the “with conscious consideration schematized designations of God go back to the unification of the tradition”.89 Fortunately, in this secondary way, the name of God has now been restored, which was present in the ‘Tradition about the God of the Fathers’, to which, for example, J felt so committed!> Tradition–historical jokes aside: if the formerly nomadic father numina were similar to the primordial designations of the type ‘app. of NN’, such as ‫פחד יצחק‬ or this, for Alt’s Father tradition methodologically illegitimate evidence in poetry ‫( אביר יעקב‬not to mention ‫)מגן אברהם‬, before their secondary emendation in the schematization of the names of God, then we should expect to find one or another such designation in the Nabataean inscriptions, which can be inferred from the disparity of the material which had not undergone any “schematization of the designations of God for the purpose of unification of tradition”. Unfortunately, Alt’s material does not contain a designation of the type ‘app. of NN’. Furthermore, one cannot reckon with the Greek names Τυχη (no. 17–29)90 and Ζευς (no. 47; cf. also Alt 1940: 101). They are of a different type: ‘NN of NN’. Alt’s Nabataean and Greek analogies only offer ‫ אלה‬and θεος. The ‫ פחד יצחק‬is a form without analogy.91 The ‫ אביר יעקב‬should be relegated to a poetic expression alone. The schematization theory is untenable. For the answer to the question of the remnants of the tradition of the nomadic ‘God of the Father’, everything depends on the “traditionality” (Traditionsgebundenheit) of the J source, from which Alt freely collected the texts in which the God of the Fathers is mentioned. Nowhere does Alt mention that the expression θεὸς πατρωος is found only in Greek inscriptions (nos. 25,32,48,50,54). A Semitic equivalent is even missing at no. 25, where an Aramaic parallel is offered.92 In view of this problem, which Alt should have seen, because it strikes the eye, one can no longer ask why Alt does not discuss matters whose absence is conspicuous. The Greek inscriptions hardly witness a θεὸς πατρωος, not even a linguistically conceivable

The Gods of the Fathers 45 θεος του πατρος/των πατρων or θεοι. In view of the fact that there is no adjectival form of ‘paternal’ in Semitic, one should nevertheless expect that this creative form of the ‘God of the Father’-designation goes back to a type of religion among Semitic nomads. But we only find the completely non-semitic term θεὸς πατρωος, which is also documented in Greek-influenced religiosity.93 So other analogies will probably have to be used, which cannot part with Alt’s ‘God of the Father’ theses. However, Alt’s collected material will be welcome to those who are interested in the Hellenistic syncretism of predominantly ethnically Semitic population groups in the Syrian region in the late Hellenistic and Roman periods. So much for methodological considerations, which anyone who wants to understand the Nabataean ‘God of the Father’ inscriptions as testimonies of a Semitic type of religion cannot neglect. However, Alt can in no way make it even remotely apparent that the cult-founding “primordial revelations” (Ur-Offenbarungen) of his Nabataean cults took place in the nomadic stage of the respective group, clan or tribe gathered around a ‘God of the Father’ (cf. Hoftijzer 1956: 91f.). With regard to the Θεος Ἀρκεσιλαου, which for Alt “appeared [so] characteristic of all these gods”, Alt himself has to admit that because of the Greek name of the cult founder, “his worship could probably only have arisen in the cultivated land”.94 For no other Numen can Alt show that its worship did not arise where it took place: in the cultivated land. The ‘God of Arkesilaos’ as an analogy also becomes questionable because of a quality, which Alt cannot reconstruct for the ‘God of the Fathers’ in Genesis in this way, but which Alt undoubtedly cites even more as confirmation of his theory: this Numen appeared not only to the cult founder, but also to later worshippers. For Abraham, Isaac and Jacob their respective Numens probably appeared only to them (which often is doubtful). However, if the ‘God of Abraham’ appears to Isaac, then it must be seen as having happened tradition–historically. Actually, Isaac had his own Numen. According to Alt, we know its type-like name by the fact that it appeared to Jacob “in the history of tradition” (Überliferungsgeschichtlich).95 Thus, Isaac was not dependent on the ‘God of Abraham’. Or has, for example J, “constrained by his tradition” (Tradition-gebundenheit), cleverly combined the expedient with the faithfulness to tradition so that the tradition–historical appearance of the ‘God of Abraham’ to Isaac, the ‘God of Isaac’ or ‘Abraham and Isaac’ to Jacob, etc. keeps alive the memory in a way that even makes the isolated “primordial Numina” (Ur-Numina) appear to their worshippers over generations?> Due to his comparison, Alt believes that he is able to establish the following characteristics of both his Israelite and his Nabataean type of religion: Here and there, a type of gods stands before us, pronounced in a plurality of figures, which live on from their conditions in nomadic tribes into the time after their occupation of cultivated land.96 Its most striking feature is the absence of proper names and, as a substitute, the naming after the names of the people to whom these deities first appeared and who subsequently became their first devotees.97 The relationship between God and man, in the further development between God and the group of people, understood as special care for the fate

46  Methods of the latter in their earthly affairs, dominates the whole picture of this kind of religion.98 However, in principle, the attachment to places does not play a role here and occurs only secondarily with necessity, because the cult, especially in the living conditions of the sedentary culture, also requires a fixed regulation in regard to locality.99 To conclude: The type of designations of the deity alone hardly admits of a determination of a specific type of religion. Drawing a conclusion from an originally nomadic religion (which is only available in mediated form) is completely unnecessary, and, in Alt’s chosen form, methodologically illegitimate. The special care of the numen attested in the documents of this kind of religion can be explained either without the assumption of a special type of nomadic desert religion, that is, in a more legitimate way from a scientific theoretical point of view especially in the so-called Patriarchal tradition (Väter-Überlieferung), or it is so banal and, moreover, characterized by culture in terms of content, that it does not offer anything in regard to a nomadic religion.100 Nothing supports the assertion of “local non-attachment” (lokale Ungebundenheit) of the Nabataean gods; on the contrary, they appear to have had a local or regional bond. The mobility of the biblical ‘Gods of the Fathers’ (Vätergötter) is more easily explained on traditio–historical grounds than by Alt’s assumption of analogous behavior. Against Alt stands the fact that he unceremoniously declares the apparently original local bond of a ‘father’ Numen, which he is unable to explain away, to be ‘insignificant’ (cf. Alt 1959: 21 n. 1). 8 I would like to refrain from criticizing the way Alt uses his speculative abilities here and there. I do not want to be accused of being a method-conscious researcher, such as happened to Hoftijzer, or of being accused of “not having correctly appreciated” Alt’s “masterful tradition–historical analysis”101 because I have dedicated myself to a ‘reactionary’ methodology. For example, I refer only to the longer section (Alt 1959: 41–44), in which Alt shows how ‘masterfully’ he ‘seeks’ (and of course finds) things ‘purely from the material remains’ (rein aus der Sache heraus), about which the later worshippers of the gods of the fathers “do not betray a word in their inscriptions”.102 Instead, a word about Alt’s application of phenomenological comparisons. Such comparisons have a hermeneutically important function. They allow, for example, proof of a hypothetical quantity as ‘possible’ with the help of a real, that is a measurable and verifiable, quantity of analogous structure. Alt proceeds differently. He tries to demonstrate the historical possibility of a hypothetical quantity by comparing it with another hypothetical quantity. I consider this process to be only partially legitimate. If you are bothered by your problems, he may be helpful. No one will be

The Gods of the Fathers 47 able to say what Alt means when he passes off the methodological difficulties of his approach as methodologically particularly advantageous (Alt 1959: 31). However, there are many indications that Alt works methodologically in a quite unreflective way in his ‘God of the Father’ study, the extent of which can be illuminated by an important example: According to Alt’s acceptance of the conventional understanding of Genesis’s Patriarchal tradition, it was handed down in a form that bears characteristics of both a population that lived in the cultivated land for hundreds of years, and of an intensive literary theological design. The Semitic and Greek Nabataean inscriptions also come from a population that has lived in the cultivated land for many centuries (cf. p. 31). The realization that both bodies of texts originate from longsedentarized inhabitants of cultivated land must also have methodological consequences, if (which no one disputes) the ancestors of both population groups were partly or predominantly of nomadic origin. Only those data may be regarded as the heritage of a nomadic origin, which cannot be explained more easily and better by conditions in local cultural land or by the manifold socio-cultural, ethnic and religious influences and connections, to which the population of the respective areas have been demonstrably or presumably exposed within the appropriately measured period from which the textual evidence demonstrably or presumably originated. Alt does not justify in any way this previously known and self-evident methodological postulate. Rather, he seems to have been so obsessed with his basic idea that, in regard to the inscriptional monuments of the Nabataeans and Palmyrenes, he also mentions the “Hellenism that has penetrated from another side”, but does not come up with the idea that this Hellenism might be reflected in his material, because he only senses the supposed ‘rest’, “to which one” allegedly “still clearly notes the origin from the nomadic prehistory of the tribes”.103 “By the way, quite analogous was the line of research in the interpretation of the equally construed names of God in Greek inscriptions from Mäonien (Μὴν Τιάμου)”, says Alt in note 6 on p. 33 (NB with a view to published results from 1911!), and that “a similar conclusion has been made in regard to the divinities in Asia Minor”, and his final conclusion: “the man, whose name has remained with the designation of the god appears as having instituted the respective cult”.104 Alt can refer to Roscher’s lexicon (cf. p. 40 no. 6), but he probably did not read the article ‘Patrooi theoi’105 printed there – and if so, then not in view of his question. Apart from that, Alt’s comparison had been reasonable if he had had important, flawlessly nomadic documents [46].106 It may be difficult to obtain them for all sorts of reasons. But this is the problem for those who want to discover nomadic ‘gods of the fathers’ in the biblical tradition of the Patriarchs. Alt’s concept of phenomenological comparison is not only methodologically questionable and worthless in practice because of the described methodological shortcomings. His method of comparing two hypothetical variables with each other is also didactically unfavorable, as can be shown from examples of the reception of his considerations (cf. section 2I earlier).

48  Methods 9 Alt’s hypothesis is devoid of relevance. If one wants to retain the ‘God of the Father’ hypothesis, it needs a completely new foundation. But it is unfortunate to try to maintain the content of surviving hypotheses, the foundation of which has crumbled, by imposing a new foundation on it. A house, from which the foundation is removed, collapses. You can only build a completely new one. But “as carefree” (so sorglos) as Albrecht Alt is, “will one no longer be allowed to proceed in the future”.107 Nor will one be allowed to strive so ruthlessly for a hoped-for result. Alt’s whole “masterful tradition–historical analysis” (meisterhafte traditionsgeschictliche Analyse) only serves to achieve the goal with the help of unnecessary, burdensome assumptions and by bypassing the closest conclusions. The purpose of this criticism is not to accuse Alt of having developed a bad hypothesis. Something like this can happen to anyone. But I find it regrettable that a so demonstrably (!) bad hypothesis could gain such influence in Old Testament studies for decades. One can only guess upon what broad approval of Alt’s hypothesis is based. It may be the ingenious momentum with which Alt sketches his thoughts (and the carelessness with which he conceals the weaknesses of his argumentation). Another reason may lie in the effectiveness of his theses. A few sentences give you the feeling of having understood an important and extensive part of the Old Testament tradition. I can only guess at a third reason: Alt’s hypothesis makes it possible to judge trustworthy, to a certain extent, a piece of the picture of the history of Israel, namely that which the Old Testament itself designs. Alt reverses to a large extent the critical dismantling of the biblical traditions by the previous generation of researchers108 with the help of a new methodological approach that supposedly goes beyond the previous questions.109 It has been welcomed because it enables a restoration and conservation under critical auspices. Notes   1 This critique, I regard as section 2 of my treatment of the ‘Abraham-cycle’, of which part I has appeared in DBAT 8 (Diebner 1975). Alt’s hypothesis is so basic to the presently (at least in German Old Testament research) dominating interpretation of the patriarchal narratives, that it cannot be neglected.   2 Wenn man weiss, wonach man sucht, findet man es leichter”; Sjöwall and Wahlöö 1972: 169.   3 Alt 1929. Now in Alt 1959: 1–78. In the following, all citations and page references are from this edition.   4 Apart from H. Weidmann 1968: 161 n. 224, I have only come across the three works mentioned by Weidmann: Hempel 1930; Galling 1930: 107f., 1931; and Elliger 1930.   5 It may suffice as an example to refer to Noth’s 1957: 431 and Weidmann’s 1968 treatment of Hoftijzer’s completely justified criticism of Alt’s thesis (Hoftijzer 1956: 84–96). Neglect can unfortunately not be proven by reference to the scholarly literature.   6 For example M. Noth and V. Maag. A sketch of its history of research until 1962 is offered by K.T. Andersen 1963.   7 For example H. Vorländer 1975.   8 Hoftijzer’s criticism at least belongs to this type.

The Gods of the Fathers 49   9 Cf. Alt 1959: 22, 29, 34, 39, 45f., 47, 60, 61, 67 etc. 10 “[Es] lässt sich unter Besichtigung späteren Vergleichsmaterials der Nachweis (!) führen, dass die einzelnen Patriarchen Träger jeweils an sie ergangener selbständiger Gotteserfahrungen, um nicht zu sagen, Gottesoffenbarungen gewesen sind . . . Der Schluss ist zwingend (!) dass mit der Formel ‘der Gott des NN’ nicht allein der Glaube an eine Gottheit tradiert ist, sondern zugleich der betreffende Offenbarungsempfänger keine Fiktion, sondern eine historische Persönlichkeit gewesen sein muss (!)” (Herrmann 1973: 75). Emphasis added. 11 “In einer noch immer unwiderlegten Weise von A. Alt expliziert worden” (Herrmann 1973: 74). 12 “[Es] hat die neuere Forschung gezeigt [!], dass die Erzväter historische Einzelgestalten waren [!]” (Metzger 1963: 24). 13 “Der religionsgeschichtliche Typ der Vätergottheiten ist noch in späterer Zeit bei den Nabatäern am Rande des Kulturlandes nachweisbar” (Metzger 1963: 17). For an example of scholarly exposition, see A.H.J. Gunneweg 1972: 17. 14 See below, section 8, last paragraph. 15 This is actually cited as an excuse. 16 “An der Herkunft dieses Religionstypus aus dem Nomadentum der Wüste ist daher kein Zweifel möglich” (p. 34). 17 “Wer diesen ganzen Tatbestand im Gedanken an die israelitische Überlieferung von dem Gott der Väter überblickt, dem kann das Recht einer Vergleichung wohl nicht zweifelhaft sein” (p. 44). 18 “Die herangezogenen epigraphischen Denkmäler erheben . . . die Tatsache über jeden Zweifel, dass der Religionstypus, der uns in der israelitischen Überlieferung von dem Gott der Väter vorzuliegen scheint, bei anderen semitischen Stämmen in der Wüste und noch im Kulturland jahrhundertelang kräftig gelebt hat, und berechtigen zu der Folgerung, dass die analoge israelitische Überlieferung ebenfalls auf einem historischen Tatbestand aus der Frühzeit dieses Volkes beruhen kann” (p. 45). 19 “Der Gang der Dinge stellt sich uns somit verwickelter dar als der herrschenden Meinung; diese Verwickelung entspricht aber durchaus dem historischen Wandel, den die Stämme Israels bei ihrem Übergang aus dem vorpalästinischen in das palästinische Leben und Denken zu vollziehen hatten, und ist daher kein Beweis gegen die Wahrscheinlichkeit der Annahme, die wir hier in ihren Konsequenzen verfolgen” (p. 51). 20 “Man wird zugeben müssen, dass auf diese Weise die Rekonstruktiondes geschichtlichen Verlaufs von unserer Grundannahme aus auch an ihrem Schlusspunkt zu einem Resultat führt, dem es an innerer Wahrscheinlichkeit nicht fehlt” (p. 62). 21 “Dass dem Stück (so Genesis 15) eine selbständige Einzelsage zugrunde liegt, ist kaum zu bezweifeln” (p. 67). 22 “Herangezogenen epigraphischen Denkmäler über jeden Zweifel erheben”. 23 “Kein Beweis gegen die Warscheinlichkeit”. 24 “Dass im Deuteronomium dem Namen Jahwe oft die Apposition ‘der Gott deiner (euerer) Väter’ beigefügt ist, hat mit der alten erzählenden Überlieferung nichts zu tun und braucht uns im hiesigen Zusammenhang infolgedessen nicht zu beschäftigen” (p. 13 n. 1). 25 “Einen Uberblick über die einschlägigen Aussagen der Genesis zu gewinnen” . . . “scheidet die jahwistische Urgeschichte, weil über die Zeit der Väter zurückführend, von vornherein aus; ihr einmaliges ‘Jahwe, der Gott Sems’” . . . “steht ganz isoliert und kann” . . . “für uns höchstens im Zusammenhang mit den analogen Ausdrücken dieses Schriftstellers in den Vätersagen bedeutsam werden” (p. 14). 26 “Kann es sich . . . nur um ad hoc gebildete und darum auch schnell wieder verschwindende Sonderepitheta für Jahwe handeln” (p. 30). 27 “Der Vätertradition in der exilischen und nachexilischen Literatur”. “Sie ist unter dem Gesichtspunkt der Repristination zu würdigen” (p. 64 n. 1).

50  Methods 28 I have leafed through the text and annotations several times and am still firmly convinced that I have overlooked something and that I have wronged Alt. 29 See for example the material presented by Vorländer 1975. 30 “Hat mit der alten erzählenden Überlieferung nichts zu tun”. 31 I avoid the term ‘hypothesis’, for since the early 18th century, as is well known, quite different hypotheses have been discussed within the framework of source separation. 32 In Germany, there is only ‘amalgamation’, but not the methodologically consistent development of a tradition–historical proposition – for example in contrast to the hypothesis of source separation. 33 Liddell & Scott, 1940: A Greek-English Lexicon, provide a first insight, p.  1349: πατρωος; a deeper insight into the evidence and essence of the Greek and Hellenistic ‘Vätergott’ worship is provided by J. Ilberg in W.H. Rescher 1902–1909: Sp. 1713– 1717. The rich material from the Greek-influenced world seems to support a conjecture of Herman Schult and me (which we also represent in DBAT): the ‘Patriarchal’ tradition is theologically conceived heterogeneous materials, different in age and origin, but in an already Hellenistic-influenced period after the exile it was edited as ‘reconstruction’ of the ‘prehistory’ of ‘Israel’ for dogmatic and parenetic purposes – Alt should not only have looked under Θεάνδριος in Roscher’s lexicon (cf. Alt 1959: 40 n. 6). 34 “[E]s gibt in der israelitischen Überlieferung tatsächlich noch ein Element besonderer Religion . . . Das ist die Erinnerung an den Gott Abrahams, an den Schreck Isaaks, an den Starken Jakobs, zusammengefasst: an den Gott der Väter” (p. 9). 35 “Nachdem einmal durch Moses Berufung . . . die Bindung der Stämme an Jahwe grundsätzlich eingeleitet ist, bleibt naturgemäss in den Überlieferungen über die Folgezeit für den Gott Abrahams, Isaaks und Jakobs kein Raum mehr frei; Jahwe und sein Name beherrscht [sic] von da an das ganze Bild” (p. 13). 36 “Von der “Erinnerung an den Gott der Väter dürfen wir, wenn es sich da überhaupt um eine echte alte Tradition Handelt, nur in den Sagen von den Vätern selbst weitere Spuren erwarten” (p. 13). 37 “Weitaus den altertümlichsten Eindruck machen diejenigen Bezeichnungen des Gottes der Väter, die zugleich die seltensten sind” [namely ‫ קחצי דחפ‬and ‫]בקעי ריבא‬ . . . “Der erstere ist uns sonst nirgends bezeugt, also wohl früh obsolet geworden; der zweite tritt uns wenigstens gelegentlich/noch in der späteren religiösen Dichtung Israels entgegen” (p. 24f). 38 “‫ ריבא‬für ‘Gott’ ist dem späteren Sprachgebrauch zu fremd als dass man berechtigt wäre an eine künstliche Neubildung der literarischen Zeit zu denken” (p. 25). 39 “[D]as Normale ist hier (sc. in der Genesis), dass die Einzelbezeichnungen (sc. für die ‘Väter’-Numina) je für sich verwendet werden, der ‘Gott Abrahams’ bei Isaak, der ‘Gott Isaaks’ bei Jakob, der ‘Gott Jakobs’ bei/dessen Söhnen” (p. 26f). 40 “Der letzt genannte kommt infolgedessen in den Vätersagen am wenigsten zur Geltung und wird unter dieser Bezeichnung überhaupt hier nicht erwähnt, ist aber natürlich gemeint, wenn Joseph von seinen Brüdern bei dem ‘Gott deines Vaters’ beschworen wird” (p. 27 n. 1). 41 “Man braucht sich weder örtlich noch zeitlich allzu weit vom Bereich des ältesten Israel zu entfernen . . . , um die gesuchten Parallelen zu finden . . . Die . . . Völkergruppe, der Israel selbst angehörte . . . , muss dabei allerdings ausser Betracht bleiben; . . . Umso mehr können wir von der nächsten Gruppe lernen, die kaum ein Jahrtausend später den gleichen Weg [that is, the group of people to which Israel belonged] ging” (p. 31). 42 “Der sonst nirgends bezeugte Θεὸς Αὔμου ist hier (sc. in Leǧa und Hauran) zum göttlichen Herrn einer ganzen Landschaft geworden” . . . “und es gibt in diesem Gebiet keinen anderen Gott, der als ernstliche Konkurrenz bezeichnet werden könnte” (p. 37). 43 “Das Endergebnis der Entwicklung in diesem einzelnen Falle ist . . . ungewöhnlich und darf daher unsere Auffassung des ganzen Religionstypus nicht bestimmen” (p. 38). 44 To the “letzten Stadien der Geschichte dieser Götter” [that is the former nomadic Numina] in cultivated land, “gehört offenbar auch eine Erscheinung . . . , die sich sowohl

The Gods of the Fathers 51 in den semitischen wie in den griechischen Texten bemerkbar macht: die Gleichsetzung der alten bescheidenen Numina mit anderen grösseren Göttern” (p. 39). 45 “Blieben aus dem vorpalästinischen Bestand (i.e. the worship of the God of the Fathers] eigentlich nur die Kulte selbst und mit ihnen die Namen der Kultstifter erhalten. Dagegen verloren die alten Kultsagen, die zu der neuen Heimat keine Beziehung hatten, ihr Interesse und fielen der Vergessenheit anheim. Was aber sonst von Traditionen aus der Wüstenzeit erhalten blieb, sammelte sich zumeist im Kreise der Mosesagen, überlieferungsgeschichtlich also an einer ganz anderen Stelle” (p. 51). 46 “Die Abgelegenheit” . . . “am Südrand des palästinischen Kulturgebietes mochte die weitere Verbreitung des Kultus verhindern” (p. 53). 47 “Und wenn sich die Verheissungen so gut wie ausschliesslich um die Fragen der Nachkommenschaft und des Landbesitzes bewegen, so scheint es fast, als lägen auch da wieder eine vorpalästinische und eine palästinische Ideenschicht übereinander: dort das Interesse. des nomadischen Stammes an der Erhaltung und Mehrung der Zahl seiner Männer, hier der Anspruch der ins Kulturland Übergetretenen auf die eigene Scholle” (p. 66). 48 “An ein palästinisches Numen wird man nicht denken dürfen, da sonst die Örtlichkeit des Vorganges wohl nicht verschwiegen wäre” (p. 67). 49 “In den Überlieferungen über die Folgezeit”. 50 “Nur in den Sagen von den Vätern selbst weitere Spuren erwarten”. 51 “Erinnerung(en) an den Gott der Väter” . . . “ausserhalb der literarischen Fassungen der Vätersagen” (p. 28). 52 “Literarischen Fassungen der Vätersagen” . . . “wohl früh obsolet geworden” (p. 28). 53 “Noch in der späteren religiösen Dichtung Israels”  .  .  .  “mit bewusster Überlegung” . . . “Schematisierung der Gottesbezeichnungen” . . . “Vereinheitlichung der Tradition” . . . “aus der Vätergeschichte total” . . . “früh obsolet”; p. 28). 54 “Späteren Sprachgebrauch”, which for Alt means later than J and E. The problem of Genesis 49 will have to be discussed anew in the context of the critique of conventional source theory. 55 “Als dass man berechtigt wäre”. 56 Cf. Hoftijzer 1956: 87 n. 12; 96 n. 55, who offers even more names of God containing the name of Jacob, which Alt could have claimed with the same methodological (un) right as ‘Vätergott’ designations. 57 ‘Shield’ would probably be an unusual term for a Numen of peaceful mall cattle nomads (a suggestion from H. Schult). 58 “Gott Jakobs . . . “das normale”, . . . “am wenigsten zur Geltung” . . . “überhaupt hier nicht” . . . “ist aber natürlich gemeint” (pp. 26–27). 59 “Allzu weite zeitliche Entfernung”. 60 “Erst allmählich die Landschaft erobert haben” [wird] (p. 38). 61 “Scheint fast, als könne man aus Ort und Zeit der ihn nennenden Inschriften die einzelnen Stadien seines Vorrückens . . . noch ablesen” (p. 38). 62 “Doch ist natürlich zu berücksichtigen, dass der Kultus an jedem dieser Orte älter sein wird als seine inschriftliche Bezeugung” (p. 38 n. 2). 63 “Den Umfang des Verehrerkreises eines einzelnen Gottes deutlicher erkennen” (p. 37). 64 “Gleichsetzung der alten bescheidenen Numina mit anderen grösseren Göttern” (p. 39). 65 “Unsere Auffassung des Religionstypus” (p. 32). 66 Possible historical relations between the Greek–Hellenistic use of the ‘God of the Father’ designation and its application in Jewish literature are unaffected. 67 “Der nicht einfach vorausgesetzten Identität” (cf. p. 10). 68 YHWH and the God of the Father are very similar to each other (so Alt 1959: 62): “alles [vom Wüstengott] kehrt . . . in dem Wesen Jahwes als des Gottes Israels wieder” (everything [from the desert god] returns . . . n the essence of Yahweh as the God of Israel). In the enumeration of the characteristica only the place reference is missing. This makes it possible to counter mockers, who may say: “How come it that YHWH and ‘the God

52  Methods of the Father’ are so similar?”, by arguing that originally, they were not identical. This is already shown by YHWH’s original ‘adherence’ to Sinai (where YHWH as a locally fixable numen is known to have been revered by all kinds of nomads). 69 “Unterscheidung eines vorpalästinischen und eines palästinischen Stadiums in der Kultusgeschichte der israelitischen θεοι πατρῳοι und in der Entstehungs- und Überlieferungsgeschichte der Vätersagen ergibt” (p. 50). 70 Remains of a structurally preserved Canaanite cult legend, Alt can only find in the E material of Genesis 28. 71 Of course, the figures of the Fathers could have been secondarily fused with the emerging legends of the sanctuaries. 72 “Wissen wir von ihnen doch” . . . “dass sie bei ihrem Eintritt in das Kulturland durchaus nicht gewillt waren, ihr angestammtes Wesen so schnell aufzugeben” (p. 32). It is a more likely assumption that in such a case the religious traditions mixed. 73 “Das Wesen des Gottes der Väter ist ganz anders [than that of the ‘Elim’]; die Beziehung zu einem bestimmten Heiligtum spielt bei ihm keine Rolle, und mit besonderer Vorliebe wird seiner gerade dann gedacht, wenn der Schauplatz der Erzählungen von dem normalen Wohngebiet der Ahnen Israels weit entfernt liegt, sei es im Lande der Aramäer am Euphrat oder bei den Ägyptern am Nil” (Alt 1959: 21). 74 “Schon die regelmässige Benennung des θεὸς πατρωος nach menschlichen Individuen und nie nach Orten darf als ein sicheres Anzeichen für die besonder Art dieses Religionstypus gelten. Trifft das aber zu, dann ist die Bevorzugung des Gottes der Väter durch den Jahwisten und den Elohisten auch unter der Voraussetzung völlig verständlich, dass ihnen seine Gestalt schon in der vorliterarischen Überlieferung . . . gegeben war” (p. 22). 75 “Den letzten Rest eines älteren, sonst verschollenen Sprachgebrauchs anzuerkennen, der zwar vielleicht nicht in der Prosa, wohl aber in der Dichtung ‫ דחפ‬für Gott verwenden konnte, und demnach ‫ קחצי דחפ‬als archaische Bezeichnung des Numens aufzufassen, dessen Erscheinen Isaak in Schrecken gesetzt und eben dadurch für immer an sich gebunden hat. So verstanden tritt der Ausdruck in Parallele zu dem oben besprochenen ‫בקעי ריבא‬, und diese Analogie darf wohl als sekundäres Argument für die vorgeschlagene Deutung geltend gemacht werden. Dann sind wir aber auch gezwungen, hier eine zweite alte Gottesbezeichnung zu konstatieren” (pp. 25–26). 76 “Wir konstatieren also eine fast vollständig durchgeführte Schematisierung der Gottesbezeichnungen und dürfen doch wohl annehmen dass sie mit bewusster Überlegung vorgenommen worden ist, . . . Man kann die Gegenprobe machen, indem man in der Offenbarungsrede Exod 3:6 für das monotone ‘Gott Abrahams, Gott Isaaks, Gott Jakobs’ die alten differenzierten Ausdrücke einsetzt: ‘Ich bin der  .  .  . Abrahams, der Schreck Isaaks, der Starke Jakobs’; wieviel weniger fällt dann ins Ohr, dass mit alledem nur eine einzige Gottheit gemeint sein soll und noch dazu dieselbe wie mit dem Namen Jahwe!” (p. 28). 77 “Dass die späteren Schriftsteller bei ihrem Bestreben, die Erinnerung an den Gott Abrahams usw. im Rahmen der Vätersagen von neuem zur Geltung zu bringen, nur wenige Anknüpfungspunkte in dem ihnen vorliegenden Bestand an. Einzelsagen zur Verfügung hatten und das meiste von sich aus frei gestalten mussten, wie es besonders der Jahwist in seinen Offenbarungsszenen bei Isaak und Jakob getan hat” (p. 51). 78 “Weder diese Aufteilung [the designtions of the ‘Väter’-Numina] noch jene Zusammenfassung gehört zum ursprünglichen Bestand der Überlieferung. Die Aufteilung war erst möglich, nachdem man die Hauptgestalten der Sage in eine feste genealogische Reihe vom Vater über den Sohn zum Enkel und zu den Urenkeln gebracht hatte; erst dann konnte aus dem Stammbaum der Väter sozusagen ein Stammbaum der Väterreligion abgeleitet werden, indem man die drei Gottesbezeichnungen sinngemäss auf die einzelnen Generationen verteilte. Die Zusammenfassung aber ist offenbar schon durch den Glauben bestimmt, dass mit keiner dieser Gottesbezeichnungen ein anderer gemeint sein kann als Jahwe selbst; . . . Beides also, die Aufteilung und die Zusammenfassung

The Gods of the Fathers 53 steht im Dienste ein und derselben Tendenz zur Vereinheitlichung der überlieferten Elemente, und beides müssen wir demgemäss ausscheiden, wenn wir den ursprünglichen Bestand ermitteln wollen” (p. 27). 79 “Denn in seine Wesen lag . . . von vornherein die Möglichkeit der freien Bewegung im Raum, genauer gesagt: der Anpassung an jede Ortsveränderung der zugerhörigen Menschengruppe, also eben das, worauf es den Schriftstellern ankommen musste, wenn sie der bunten Reihe der Vätergeschichten einen einheitlichen Sinn sub Specie Dei verleihen wollten” (Alt 1959: 22). 80 “Als sekundäres Argument für die [in the discussion of ‫ ]קחצי דחפ‬vorgeslagene Deutung gelten gemacht warden” (Alt 1959: 26). 81 “Ihr Dasein der freien Gestaltung durch die literarischen Bearbeiter der überlieferten Stoffe verdanken” (p. 20). 82 “Annäherung der Vätergestalten aneinander” . . . “einene Ausgleich oder mindestens Austausch der Sonderbesitzstande in religion und Tradition” (p. 56). 83 “Die Vereinigung der drei Gestalten in einem einzigen Stammbaum . . . war dann nur die letzte Krönung des ganzen Prozesses; p. 56). 84 “Schliessliche Verschmelzung der Götter Abrahams, Isaaks und Jakobs zu der einen Figur des Gottes der Väter” (pp. 56f.). 85 “Die dann, wie wir sahen, den Schriftstellern so wichtig wurde” (p. 57). 86 “Aus der dreiheit der Göttlichen ringt sich Jahwe als alleiniger Gott los” (p. 61)! 87 “Was uns von den Ursprüngen her als charakteristisch für alle diese Götter erschien” (p. 44). 88 “Dem Jahwisten eine Tradition über den Gott der Väter vorgelegen haben muss, an die er sich gebunden fühlte und die ihm so wichtig war dass er sie mit Beibehaltung ihrer Gottesbezeichnung in sein Werk aufnahm” (p. 23). 89 “Blasseren Formulierungen gingen auf die mit bewusster Überlegung vorgenommen Schematisierung der Gottesbezeichnungen zur Vereinheitlichung der tradition zurück” (p. 28). 90 ‘Gad’ as translation of Τυχη. 91 Basically, ‫ קחצי דחפ‬remains the last pillar of Alt’s hypothesis, because nothing can be demonstrated with it.‫ דחפ‬and‫ ריבא‬certainly are “primitive” (urwüchsige) expressions. But socially, culturally, religiously, etc., phenomenological “urwüchsiges” may not be ‘old’ in a chronological sense. In sense of the Enlightenment, one cannot always consider deviations from the ‘archaic’ to the reflected abstractions as straightforward. In reality we have Strauss next to Stoltenberg, primitive can always emerge next to or synchronous with reflected abstraction; it can be caused by the latter and also be formed by reflection. 92 In the Aramaic parallel to the Greek inscript from Palmyra (Alt 1959: 72, n. 25), the θεὸς πατρωος of the Greek text is represented as [‫‘ ;]א[הל ]אי[ בט]אי‬the good gods’. 93 Cf. the Mesopotamian ‘God of the Father’ designations dealt with by Vorländer. 94 “Charakteristisch für alle diese Götter erschien” . . . “seine Verehrung wohl erst im Kulturland aufgekommen sein” [kann] (p. 44). 95 That means, it did not happen in reality, but as a result of a tradition–historical process. 96 “Hier wie dort steht ein Typus von Göttern vor uns, in einer Mehrzahl von Gestalten ausgeprägt, der aus den Verhältnissen nomadisch lebender Stämme in die Zeit nach ihrer Landnahme auf Kulturboden fortlebt” (p. 44). 97 “Sein auffallendstes Merkmal ist das Fehlen von Eigennamen und zum Ersatz dafür die Bezeichnung nach den Namen der Menschen, denen diese Gottheiten zuerst erschienen und die daraufhin ihre ersten Verehrer wurden” (p. 44). 98 “Das Verhältnis zwischen Gott und Mensch, in der weiteren Entwicklung zwischen Gott und Menschengruppe, als spezielle Fürsorge für das Ergehen der letzteren in ihren irdischen Angelegenheiten aufgefasst, beherrscht das ganze Bild dieser Art von Religion” (p. 44).

54  Methods  99 “Hingegen spielt die Bindung an Orte hier grundsätzlich keine Rolle und tritt nur sekundär mit Notwendigkeit ein, weil der Kultus, zumal in den Lebensverhältnissen der sesshaften Kultur zu einer festen Regelung auch in örtlicher Hinsicht nötigt” (p. 44). 100 It is recommended to evaluate the votive tablets of Catholic pilgrimage sites. 101 “Meisterhafte traditionsgeschictliche Analyse . . . nicht recht würdigen”; cf. Weidmann 1968: 167. 102 “In ihren Inschriften verraten sie auch nicht ein Wort davon” (p. 41). 103 “Von anderer Seite her eingedrungenen Hellenismus” . . . “dem man die Herkunft aus der nomadischen Vorgeschichte der Stämme . . . noch deutlich anmerkt” (p. 31). 104 “Ganz analog war übrigens der Gang der Forschung bei der Interpretation der ebenso gebauten Gottesbezeichnungen in griechischen Inschriften aus Mäonien)” . . . “Zu dem gleichen Schluss ist man bei den analog bezeichneten Gottheiten in Kleinasien gelangt” . . . “der Mensch, dessen Name dauernd mit der Gottesbezeichnung verbunden blieb, erscheint . . . als Stifter des betreffenden Kultus” (p. 41). 105 Cf. apart from that in note 26 mentioned works, also the articles by W. Aly 1949a, 1949b. Without prejudice to the probably Semitic (but hardly nomadic) imprint of the Syrian θεοι πατρωοι, their relationship to the Greek ‘god of the father’ cult must be clarified in the history of religion, as well as in the relationship of the biblical ‘God of NN’ to gods with analogously formed designations in the environment of the Old Testament. 106 The reference to the Bachtiaren in V. Maag 1958: 14, n. 28 is methodologically better than Alt’s precious comparison. 107 “Wird man künftig nicht mehr verfahren dürfen” (p. 46). 108 That generation, on average, produced no more nonsensical hypotheses than any other. 109 The uncritical reception of this tradition–historical approach could be described as a methodological step backwards: vis-à-vis Wellhausen, among others.

References Alt, A. 1929. Der Gott der Väter. BWANT 3.F.J.2. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer; republ. in idem. 1959. Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel I. München: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung: 1–78. ———. 1940. ‘Zum Gott der Väter’. In PJ: 93–104. Aly, W. 1949a. ‘Patrii di’. In PW: XVIII: 2 col., 2242–2244 ———. 1949b. ‘Patroioi theoi’. In PW: XVIII: 2 col. 2254–2262. Andersen, K.T. 1963. ‘Der Gott meines Vaters’. Studia Theologica (Aarhus) 16: 170–188. Diebner, B.J. 1975. ‘Schaut Abraham an, euren Vater’. DBAT 8: 18–35. Elliger, K. 1930. ‘Zur Frage nach dem Alter des Jahweglaubens bei den Israeliten’. ThBl 9: 97–103. Galling, K. 1930. ‘Geschichte Israels’. TRu N.F. 2: 94–128. ———. 1931. ‘Rezension A. Alt, Der Gott der Väter’. DLZ 2: 433–440. Gunneweg, A.H.J. 1972. Geschichte Israels bis Bar Kochba. Theologische Wissenschaft 2. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer. Hempel, J. 1930. ‘Rezension zu: A. Alt, Der Gott der Väter’. ThLZ 55: 266–273. Herrmann, S. 1973. Geschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit. München: Kaiser Verlag. Hoftijzers, J. 1956. Die Verheissung an die drei Erzväter. Dissertation. University of Leiden. Ilberg, J. 1902–1909. ‘Patrooi theoi’. In Ausführliches Lexikon der Griechischen und Römischen Mythologie. W.H. Rescher (ed.). Leipzig: Teubner: III. col., 1713–1717. Liddell, H.R. and R. Scott (eds.). 1940. A Greek-English Lexikon. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

The Gods of the Fathers 55 Maag, V. 1958. ‘Der Hirte Israels’. Schweizerische theologische Umschau 28: 2–28. Metzger, M. 1963. Grundriss der Geschichte Israels. Neukirchen Studienbücher 2. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Noth, M. 1957.‘Recension of J. Hoftijzer’s Die Verheissungen an die drei Erzväter. (Leiden 1956)’. VT 7: 430–433. Perlitt, L. 1969. Bundestheologie im Alten Testament. WMANT 36. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Sjöwall, M. and P. Wahlöö. 1972. Alarm in Sköldgatan. Hamburg: Reinbek. Vorländer, H. 1975. Mein Gott. Die Vorstellungen vom persönlichen Gott im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament. AOAT 23. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Weidmann, H. 1968. Die Patriarchen und ihre Religion im Licht der Forschung seit Julius Wellhausen. FRLANT 94. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

3

A Methodological Alternative to the Present Study of the Old Testament.1 Otto Plöger’s 65th Birthday

1 Now and then it is claimed that in the study of the Pentateuch “everything is open again”.2 Yet few publications are available which demonstrate such changes. If we don’t take J. Hoftijzer 1956 into consideration – the lonely voice in the wilderness who, in his time, was decades ahead and therefore was not understood3 – we have the publications of John Van Seters4 and those found in DBAT. From others we hear that Hans Heinrich Schmid in Bethel prefers to place the ‘Yahwist’ in the post-exilic period.5 H. Vorländer stands in competition with him. He reckons the ‘Elohist’ to be an exilic or post-exilic author.6 We from Heidelberg know from personal experience that Rolff Rendtorff has reconsidered his Das Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch (the Tradition–historical Problem of the Pentateuch) up to its final step before publication,7 and in contrast to those who represent the governing concept of the Pentateuch, he does not reckon with ‘sources’ which run from one end of the Pentateuch to the other (Rendtorff 1975). 2 If, despite the small number of available publications, word gets around that “everything is open again” in the study of the Pentateuch, this is a good sign. It testifies to the latent uneasiness about the ‘results’ of conventional research into the Pentateuch up to Gerhard von Rad and Martin Noth.8 If ‘appointed’ representatives of Old Testament scholarship currently point out this regained ‘openness’ in Pentateuchal research in presentations and discussions, then they describe the following methodological alternative: While one direction of research attempts to solve the Pentateuchal problem by assuming various, originally independent, continuous ‘written sources’, another direction tries to explain the complexity of the Pentateuch by linking it to a relatively late (i.e. post-exilic) connection of the large blocks of tradition in the Pentateuch, each of which had previously grown independently over a long period of time in oral and written tradition.9 This alternative alludes to the point of view of conventional research in the Pentateuch and to a position such as that represented by Rendtorff in his new study. DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-6

Methodological Alternative to Present Study of Old Testament 57 On one hand they reckon with a literary fixation of the essential themes of the Pentateuch for the most part already combined in the oral tradition belonging to a relative early period (J who as the first settled the Pentateuch in nuce in writing). On the other hand, they assume the relatively late linking of blocks of tradition (in oral and/or written traditions) which have arisen independently of one another and probably include the old and the oldest traditions of ‘Israel’. This alternative seems unreal to me. Admittedly, as the future will show, it will be easy to start a fight about these principal ideas. But this will probably be a quarrel about nothing. Because it could only result in a debate about the way in which traditions are passed on, but not in a discussion about what has been handed down itself, about its age and its function in ‘Israelite’-Jewish profane and intellectual history. Of course, this prognosis for the near future of our discipline – like any all-embracing judgment – will only apply cum grano salis. Here and there an ‘object’ will be re-dated, shifted from the very hypothetical ‘time of the Patriarchs’ to the more tangible royal period,10 from the pre-exilic to the post-exilic time. Not every changed ‘object’ will be theologically irrelevant and not every ‘change’ without consequences for the image of the (theological) history of ‘Israel’. But the difference to the previous custom of moving ‘objects’ from E to J or even attributing them to a post-exilic ‘hand’ is not likely to be fundamental. The critical potential of a new approach, such as Rendtorff’s undoubtedly includes, will presumably be weakened in the course of future discussion. This is probably partly due to the fact that ‘innovators’ in a conservative science (i.e. determined by scholastic ideas, and concerned with the preservation of their own tradition) tend to be pushed onto the defensive and therefore usually argue defensively from the outset or after a short time. To a greater extent, in the end, it will appear that the alternative between the two positions described above is not as significant as it may seem at first glance As I see it, it is not a matter of fundamentally different positions, but of two varieties of the traditional view of the age and nature of the main themes or traditions of the Pentateuch, which – again said cum grano salis – differ only in one aspect; namely in their view of the organization and transmission of the elements of tradition. In the future, the conventional view of Pentateuchal traditions will thus probably be represented by an ‘orthodox’ and a ‘reform’ school, respectively. When H.W. Wolff – a representative of the ‘orthodox’ direction – describes today’s alternative in the study of the Pentateuch in the paper quoted here (note 2), then in my opinion he has astutely recognized the weakness of Rendtorff’s position, namely the point at which you can ‘defuse’ Rendtorff’s design in its openness to, or (in other words) disinterest in ‘dating’ the Pentateuchal traditions. This lack of interest leaves open the possibility that Rendtorff’s astute considerations of historical tradition, which offer at least one alternative to the current source theory, but presumably mean the ‘end’ of it, can be smoothly reconciled with the conventional view of the age and function of the traditions of the Pentateuch and in this way make a contemporary adaptation of conventional ideas possible.

58  Methods 3 A fundamental methodological alternative to conventional Pentateuchal research must not reduce the interest in the traditions of the Pentateuch to a problem of transmission that one could present in a more course way as ‘literary criticism’ (i.e. source hypothesis in the current form modified by the ‘tradition–historical’ question) or simply a ‘history of transmission’ (as defined by Rendtorff 1967). It has to strive for a ‘methodological lever’ that enables an alternative interpretation of what has been handed down itself, its age and its function. Rendtorff does not provide such a ‘methodological lever’. He offers a new model of the tradition–history that is open from the outset for content-related interpretations and dating of the Pentateuchal tradition (i.e. for results from the research) that were obtained with the help of a completely different conceptual model – provided that they are not fundamentally a legacy of pre-critical exegesis. Efforts that produce new research results with an old (and, in my opinion, overtaken by Rendtorff) model of thought, namely the source hypothesis, will probably not provide this ‘methodical lever’. Both approaches – the new, open to old results, as well as the old model of thought open to new results – prove that historical hypotheses can be used at will and are ‘unhistorical’ in the literal sense, because every hypothesis is open to any historical result. The results can probably only appear indirectly from the use of a certain model of thought in the history of tradition. If the ‘methodological lever’ for an alternative interpretation of the Pentateuch is not to be expected from the largely result-neutral tradition historical hypothesis, then it can do so only from a ‘date’ that is largely independent of these ‘arbitrary’ hypotheses. In our opinion, such a ‘date’ offers itself as a starting point for an alternative concept to traditional Pentateuchal research. It is given to us independently of the ‘amalgamated’11 model of tradition history that is consistently used today, and it is a ‘date’ that enjoys the widest approval. It regards the justified assumption that the ‘final editing’ of the Pentateuch must have taken place in the post-exilic period.12 Irrespective of the probable age of various traditions contained in it, the Pentateuch, as we have it in the Old Testament, is first and foremost a piece of post-exilic literature. One can certainly argue about the exact chronological determination of this ‘date’. It is only of interest here insofar as its exact ‘fixing’ is dependent on historical–critical research, but not actually on hypotheses relating to the tradition history of the Pentateuch. 4 Not just the Pentateuchal traditions have been preserved for us in post-exilic ‘editing’. No oral or written ‘tradition’ of pre-exilic ‘Israel’ survives outside of an editorial context that is not ultimately post-exilic.13 What applies specifically to the Pentateuch applies generally to every writing of ancient Judaism. In our opinion, this result of historical–critical research must be the subject of

Methodological Alternative to Present Study of Old Testament 59 methodological reflection and should suggest two ‘axiomatic’ methodological consequences, one general and one concrete: The final editing of an Old Testament piece of writing should be the starting point for dating and determining the function of Old Testament traditions and texts.14 As the time of origin for the traditions and texts contained in a piece of literature is the immediate original situation – albeit always hypothetical – preceding its final redaction, it has methodological priority over any conceivable older one. Anyone who disputes this for a specific tradition or for a specific individual text (e.g. as a result of tradition–historical considerations) has the ‘burden of proof’. Since no Scripture in the Old Testament received its final editing in pre-exilic times, it follows from the general methodological formulation for the dating of traditions and texts in the Old Testament specifically that: Only those traditions or texts of the OT can be regarded as pre-exilic whose emergence or literary fixing cannot be explained more easily and better from the exilic- or post-exilic conditions of Judaism. In contrast, the guiding principle of traditional Old Testament research, which we counter with our ‘methodological overarching premise’, can be described as follows: A tradition or Text in the Old Testament must be held primarily to be what it claims to be. Anyone who generally or partially doubts the information contained in the texts about the age and authorship of a tradition or a text has the burden of proof.15 To illustrate the two methodological tenets, I will give two examples from different areas of the Old Testament: 1 Genesis 18: As we see it, those who claim that the story of the visit of the three “men” to Abraham is (or: contains) an ‘old tradition’ from the pre-state period of ‘Israel’ and probably fixed in writing already in the 10th century BCE (J) have the burden of proof; they have to provide positive arguments for this opinion. The burden of proof does not rest with those who, from a methodical point of view, doubt the accepted view that this text contains a ‘pre-state tradition’ and is part of a ‘written source’ for the Pentateuch from the early royal period; namely: because it has come down to us in a literary complex that reached its final form sometime between 500 BCE and ca. 100 CE. 2 The Book of Amos: The key methodological question of the interpretation of this scripture cannot be: which parts may or must one ‘remove’ from the prophet Amos? but: which traditions and parts of texts can be ascribed to the pre-exilic period or even to an individual ‘Amos’ who allegedly (according to a secondary literary superscription [Am 1:1] and on the basis of a form-critically determined singular text with a topical character [Am 7: 10–17]16) lived in the eighth century BCE?

60  Methods The alternative to traditional Old Testament scholarship presented here is anything but original. ‘Our’ approach only wants to make one research alternative legitimate for the area of the Old Testament, which – in an analogous equation – is selfevident for New Testament scholars and is represented, for example, in view of the study of the ipsissima vox Iesu by J. Jeremias and R. Bultmann. 5 In our opinion, our critical approach to the interpretation of Old Testament texts is appropriate, i.e. it is objectively required by the nature of the object of investigation. Its ‘purpose’ is not to call the traditions and texts of the Old Testament ‘young’, i.e. to consistently assume their origin or (first) literary fixing in the postexilic period.17 On the contrary, we are very interested in obtaining methodologically reliable data on the spiritual–religious traditions and literature from pre-exilic ‘Israel’. This interest can be formulated as a question as follows: Which pre-exilic traditions and texts of ‘Israel’ were taken up by Judaism in (exilic) and post-exilic times; how and for what purpose did this happen? The ‘methodological lever’ for answering this question should be as appropriate to the subject as possible and as critical as necessary. On two levels these conditions are, in our opinion, not met by the approach of conventional, conservative Old Testament scholarship (i.e. a study that wants to preserve as much as possible of traditional views): 1 Because it is important for it to preserve as much as possible of the pre-critical image of Old Testament literature – that is what is sketched out in the writings themselves. Consequently, the reconstruction of the ‘Israelite’–Jewish literary, theological, intellectual, cultural, social, and profane history, established by this scholarship (in our opinion in a questionable way), is oriented towards the image found in ancient Jewish literature for the respective area. 2 Because it is also important for this scholarship to preserve as much of the history of its own discipline as possible. Auxiliary scholarly constructions such as conceptual models for the formation of hypotheses18 and the results obtained with them, which were ‘current’ at the time they were drafted, are only hesitantly (if at all) critically questioned in later stages of scholarship with regard to their intellectual and historical conditions, and, in the event that the conditions at this time should now be outdated, replaced by more contemporary models and results. Instead, one prefers to ‘amalgamate’ conceptual models from different periods.19 The historical reconstructions obtained in this way are determined more by the history of scholarship than by the studied object.20 6 The primary interest in the study of the literature of the Old Testament should be aimed at answering the question of the historical function of traditions and of the

Methodological Alternative to Present Study of Old Testament 61 concrete, historically determined social interest that the transmitted texts testify to, and which led to the formation and transformation (reception) of traditions. In other words, it is about determining their Sitz im Leben.21 Unfortunately, the vagueness of these edifyingly formulated traditional methodological concepts often leads to vague conclusions. One is rather satisfied with general sociological classification of the traditions. A text, for example, comes from a ‘nomadic milieu’ and may also show ‘delight in storytelling’. A Psalm or a prophetic sentence is ‘influenced by wisdom’. As a rule,22 a real determination of function is only made for texts that relate to a concrete historical situation, or for texts that are essentially functional in themselves, such as legal discourse. The question of the concrete Sitz im Leben can only be answered if one endeavors to date the traditions concretely, namely for each ascertainable level of reception of a specific tradition. Of course you have to risk something with this undertaking and certainly modify or withdraw an assumption more often than is usual in a discipline that, regardless of its programmatic awareness of methods,23 in fact very much cares about ‘reliable results’ and the broadest possible ‘consensus of scholarship’ – which in practice often leads to a reluctance to formulate results that are unambiguous and concrete. In my opinion, however, historical– critical awareness of methods is not reflected in the vagueness of the formulation of results, but in the self-evident willingness to revise results that can only have a probability character, when more recent results with plausible justification demand so. With our work, we would like to encourage such, in our opinion, a methodologically determined and therefore quite ‘serious’ and more playful approach to the formulation of tradition–historical models and courage in regard to research results. We use the term ‘speculation’ to describe ‘tradition–historical thinking and its results’ (Diebner 1974: 49) in order to signal their methodologically legitimate heuristic value. We are interested in the critical questioning of traditional paradigms in Old Testament scholarship, and therefore primarily in the concrete historical and social situation in which the formation and transformation of a tradition or a text are conceivable, and only secondarily (i.e. subordinate to this question and as a methodological aid to answering it) the problem of a reconstruction of the history of transmission and organization of Old Testament traditions (i.e. the tradition history; German: Überlieferungsgeschichte). In view of the at any time governing interest of Old Testament scholarship, the following alternative appears for the interpretation of Old Testament texts: Either one basically sticks to the conventional approach of Old Testament scholarship and, consequently, to the traditional dating and functional determination of the traditions gathered in the Old Testament – unharmed by corrections of events and the discussion and application of new (essentially result-neutral models of tradition history. Or one tries, starting from the methodological principle formulated above, to give a fundamentally new answer to questions of dating and function of the traditions gathered in ancient Jewish literature.

62  Methods Within the scope of the effort just described, a large number of critically reflected methodological assumptions about the organization, transmission and linking of traditions and texts are of course conceivable in principle. Here, for example, Rendtorff’s methodologically consistent attempt to rethink the problem of the tradition–history of the Pentateuch is to be welcomed.24 7 When we have to assume that all ‘canonical’ Old Testament writings, just like the ‘extra-canonical’ religious writings of pre-rabbinic ancient Judaism (notwithstanding the reception of pre-exilic traditions), were only produced or received their final editorial version in the post-exilic period – i.e. originated in a continuous phase of literary production25 – this has an obvious consequence for the subject of Old Testament scholarship that has enjoyed increasing acceptance for some time: The pre-critical26 distinction between ‘canonical’ and ‘extra-canonical’ literature of ancient Judaism is irrelevant for the historical–critical interpretation of this literature as a whole, as well as of individual sections of it. This distinction is due to ‘historical’ theological and religious–political decisions, i.e. dogmatic, and in this respect is of course itself a possible object of historical research. What are, for example, “the selection criteria used by the rabbinate in purging the LXX?”27 However, this decision, which is interesting from the point of view of the history of the canon and theology, must not mislead the Old Testament scholar into a given evaluation of ancient Jewish writings. Despite the positive tendencies observed today to overcome the caesura in ancient Jewish literature caused by the history of dogma, the influence of the historical definition of the canon still has a noticeable effect on the limitation of the object of investigation in many specialist scholarly publications of our day.28 The ‘extra-canonical’ writings are either not considered at all or only as evidence for the ‘history of the impact’ of Old Testament traditions.29 In principle, for critical Old Testament scholarship, there can only be one literature of ancient (pre- or non-rabbinic) Judaism. However, as a result of this methodological insight, we will have to ask and answer the question of the definition of this literature more precisely. How is the relationship between the ‘productive’ and the ‘receptive’ (commenting on the tradition; rabbinic writings) phase of ancient Jewish literature to be determined? To what extent does the literature of the first Christians – like that of other Jewish factions – belong to ancient ‘Jewish’ literature? The traditional, dogmatically determined definitions, from which one is distancing oneself more and more, also terminologically, are inappropriate from our point of view. We must abandon them and in the future speak of ‘canonical’ and ‘non-canonical’ literature, of ‘apocrypha’, ‘pseudepigrapha’ and so on, where it seems necessary for the sake of communication or for historical reasons.

Methodological Alternative to Present Study of Old Testament 63 8 While we consider our methodological approach to be appropriate, self-evident, and unoriginal, we recognize that it is unusual (at least in this general formulation) in the history of Old Testament studies. We believe we offer an alternative to the methodological approach of traditional Old Testament studies. If criteria of scholarly work can be rationally identified, one will also be able to discuss on the basis of different methodological approaches. It should be superfluous to point this out explicitly, but our experience shows that it is not superfluous. Different approaches should significantly motivate a discussion, because it concerns the ‘fundamental’ principles of a discipline. Anyone who, confronted with an approach he does not represent, states that “then we can no longer talk to one another”,30 may not be seeing things quite correctly. We do not have a ‘new method’, but we work from the recognized methodological basis of ‘historical–critical’ research and try to be as consistent within its principles as it seems appropriate to us in view of the subject of our discipline.31 Afterword: In the foreseeable future, Schult and I will compile a report of the literature with publications of recent years, which, in our opinion, more or less explicitly correspond to our intentions. Notes   1 This sketch aims at describing and explaining the methodological approach to the interpretation of ancient Jewish literature advocated by Hermann Schult and Bernd J. Diebner.   2 So H.W. Wolff in a presentation at the opening seminar to newly immatriculated students 18.10.1975 in the Theologisches Studienhaus, Heidelberg.   3 Cf. Diebner 1975: 49 n. 5.   4 Van Seters 1972, 1975. It must be stated that occasionally one finds approaches that witness ‘the new openness’, for example In der Smitten 1973; see also ‘Afterword’ p. xx (9).   5 Cf. also F. Stolz 1975: 7; and H.H. Schmid, ‘Der sogenannte Jahwist. Beobachtungen und Fragen zum derzeitigen Stand der Pentateuchforschung’, a basis of discussion for the meeting of Old Testament scholars at the Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie, Mai 2–3, 1975 in Marburg. R. Rendtorff kindly gave me access to Schmid’s paper. See now Schmid 1976.   6 This information, I have obtained from a letter from Vorländer to Schult, Nov. 11. 1975.   7 At this point I would like to thank Mr. Rendtorff very much for giving me a copy of his print manuscript and for allowing me to discuss in this sketch the concept of the history of transmission unfolded there before the publication of his study. As early as 1973, Rendtorff presented a written basis for discussion on the written ‘sources’ of the Pentateuch in the department of Old Testament at the Theological Faculty of Heidelberg: ‘Gibt es den Jahwisten noch? Kritische Bemerkungen zu einem angeblichen Konsens’ (Does the Yahwist still exist? Critical remarks on an alleged consensus).   8 I simply assume that the conceptions of the history of tradition by G. von Rad and M. Noth still today roughly contradict the framework represented by the communis opinio for at least German-speaking Old Testament scholars. Cf. for example, the description of the task of present (1967) Old Testament research in M. Weippert 1967: 7.   9 So analogously, albeit less detailed and cumbersome Wolff at the above-mentioned conference, n. 2.

64  Methods 10 Cf. H. Vorländer 1975: 214f., 302–304; T.L. Thompson 1974: 315–326. I am informed orally about ongoing work on other comparable projects. 11 See below note 19. 12 This assumption is based on ‘external evidence’, i.e. essentially on indications in nonPentateuchal traditions; cf. O. Plöger 1961: 216f.; G. Fohrer 1969: 208f. 13 This is even true of the Book of Hosea; cf. Fohrer 1969: 465. 14 As the ‘date of final editing’ (unless the Old Testament scriptures themselves contain information and references about the time or period of the texts or are witnessed by ‘external evidence’), the time between the exile and the ‘canonization’ of the writings of the Jewish biblical canon (keyword: ‘Jamnia’) should be respected here. 15 Cf. below n. 20. 16 Cf. Schult 1971. 17 We are, in other words, not ‘young Maccabees’. 18 For distinction between a conceptual or thought models and hypothesis, see Diebner 1975: 49, n. 23. 19 The, in my opinion, not sufficiently methodologically reflected, since Gunkel, usual combination of the literary critical and the tradition–historical approach in hypotheses to explain the literary complexity of the Pentateuch I call ‘alloy’ or ‘amalgamation’. This ‘tradition–historical’ use of the ‘amalgamation’ to describe the combination of two elements that are heterogeneous in terms of tradition history can already be found in A. Alt 1959: 23. I applied it sensibly and appropriately to the current Pentateuchal hypothesis in an annual report at Deutsche Forschungsgesellschaft 4.11.1974. For this, see also Rendtorff’s manuscript to Das überlieferungsgeschichtliehe Problem des Pentateuch, p. 2 (1975), in which he refers to a critical note to Alt in Westermann 1974: 763. I would like to distinguish the usual type of ‘amalgamation’ from the problem of the importance of the, in my opinion, justified literary critical question in an alternative tradition–historical concept of the Pentateuch. It also belongs to the conservative foundation of our discipline that scholars love to preserve traditional research results whose original contexts of justification must be regarded as outdated, with the help of new explanatory contexts. Cf. on this Rendtorff, 1975: 112; Diebner and Schult 1975c:10, and above n. 3. Here one does not completely get rid of the suspicion, as if the historical–critical method, imitating dogmatic methods, has taken over the function of legitimizing binding theological statements – for example on the subject of ‘salvation history’. Results of historical work can be revised. The method itself forces criticism of its own results. ‘Salvation history’, of course, cannot be revised. Almost classical for the use of historical–critical working methods for the definition of theologically binding statements (i.e., to put it cautiously – for their improper use) is the discussion about the question of the ‘canon in the (New Testament) canon’. In his own way, G. Maier 1974: esp. Part II has sensed correctly that here is a mixture of things incompatible. His conclusion that the historical–critical method has come to its end, testifies to the confusion. However, why should he see more clearly than the university theologians, whose actions he rightly criticizes? 20 Of course, revolutionary innovations are constantly being introduced into Old Testament research – often under a conservative guise. A possibility of scientific progress is always that a large number of individual observations will ultimately lead to a new overall picture (change from quantity to quality). 21 The term Sitz im Leben suffers from a research-historical mortgage (cf. Bargheer et al. 1973: 46). With it, one may be able to roughly ‘locate’ the general typical situation of small, closed pre- and extra-literary traditions. But these situations are ‘ahistorical’. It is about different conditioned sociologically describable Sitze. In addition, however, the concrete, historical Sitz im Leben of a tradition and/or a text is also of interest in regard to the situation for which certain receptions of even ‘unhistorical’ structural patterns took place or in view of which other texts were formulated and received. In order to be able to consider this circumstance(s) of a

Methodological Alternative to Present Study of Old Testament 65

22 23 24

25

26 27 28 29 30 31

text, we prefer to use the broader term: ‘function’ of texts. On this, see also Fohrer et al. 1973: 85, 90–97. The formulation ‘as a rule’ has a safeguarding function. Recently, fewer works than in the past have been content with such a general classification. Cf. E. Troeltsch 1922: 729–753. Troeltsch’s critical remarks can, in view of n. 19, not be applied. There are many points of contact between the questions that Rolff Rendtorff has thoroughly considered and those Herman Schult and I have dealt with for a long time, such as I have demonstrated in my lecture about Rendtorff’s manuscript. This is no ‘coincidence’. With a critical remark to the source hypothesis of the Pentateuch, expressed in 1967, Rendtorff led us not to look exclusively for the reasons for some of the things we did not understand about this theory. Only in passing should the banality be noted that there can actually only be a ‘time between the testaments’ for those who share the rabbinic judgment on the age of the writings of the Jewish canon and also dogmatically evaluate the non-canonical Jewish literature. Since every distinction is in essence ‘critical’, ‘pre-critical’ is used here in relation to the introduction of the historical–critical method. O. Plöger in a letter to the author Oct. 24, 1975. This is also true of Schult and my contributions to DBAT. We basically want to overcome the ‘canon threshold’ in, for instance, our investigation of etiologies. For example in the reception of J’s creation narrative in Diebner and Schult 1975a: 26. I quote here an exact utterance from a colleague from Heidelberg. We are interested in approaching the ‘case’ from a historian’s viewpoint – nb. also the viewpoint of the biblical historian. Cf. our ‘theses’ in Diebner and Schult 1975b and also A.G. Auld 1975: 285.

References Alt, A. 1959. ’Der Gott der Väter’. In idem Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel I. München: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung: 1–78. Auld, A.G. 1975. ‘Judges I and History: A Reconsideration’. VT 25: 261–285. Bargheer, F.W., J. Becker, M. Frenzel and H.Schultze. 1973. ‘Umgang mit der Bibel – Neues Testament’. Deutsches Institut für Fernstudien an der Universität Tübingen/DIFF 6 (no page numbers). Diebner, B.J. 1974. ‘Isaak und Abraham in der alttestamentlichen Literatur ausserhalb Gen 12–50. Eine Sammlung literaturgeschichtlicher Beobachtungen nebst einigen überlieferungsgeschichtlichen Spekulationen’. DBAT 7: 38–50. ———. 1975. ‘Die Götter des Vaters. Eine Kritik der Vätergott-Hypothese Albrecht Alts’. DBAT 9: 21–51. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975a. ‘Argumenta e silentio: Das grosse Schweigen as Folge der Frühdatierung der “alten Pentateuchquellen”’. In Sefer Rendtorff. Fs. R. Rendtorff. K. Ruprecht (ed.). DBAT.B 1. Dielheim: no publ.: 23–34. ———. 1975b. ‘Thesen zu nachexilischen Entwürfen zur frühen Geschichte Israel sim Alten Testament’. DBAT 10: 41–47. ———. 1975c. ‘Alter und geschischtlicher Hintergrund von Gen 24’. DBAT 10: 10–17. Fohrer, G. 1969. Einleitung in das Alte Testament. 11th ed. Heidelberg: Quelle and Meyer. Fohrer, G., H.W. Hoffmann, F. Huber, L. Markert and G. Wanke. 1973. Exegese des Alten Testaments. Einführung in die Methodik. Heidelberg: UniTaschenbücher. Hoftijzer, J. 1956. Die Verheissungen an die drei Erzväter. Dissertation. University of Leiden.

66  Methods In der Smitten, W.T. 1973. ‘Genesis 34 – Ausdruck der Volksmeinung?’. BibOr 30: 7–9. Maier, G. 1974. Das Ende der historisch-kritischen Methode. Wuppertal: R. Brockhaus. Plöger, O. 1961. ‘Pentateuch’. In RGG. 3rd ed.: 211–217. Rendtorff, R. 1967. ‘Literarkritik und Traditionsgeschichte’. EvTh 27: 138–153. ———. 1975. Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch (Manuscript). Schmid, H.H. 1976. Der sogenannte Jahwist. Beobachtungen und Fragen zur Pentateuchforschung. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Schult, H. 1971. ‘Amos 7,15a und die Legitimation des Aussenseiters’. In Probleme biblische Theologie. Fs G.v. Rad z. 70 Geb. H.W. Wolff (ed.). Munich: Chr. Kaiser: 462–478. Seters, J. van. 1972. ‘Confessional Reformulation in the Exilic Period’. Vetus Testamentum 22: 448–459. ———. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven, London: Yale University Press. Stolz, F. 1975. Jahwes und Israels Kriege. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Thompson, T.L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives. BZAW 133. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Troeltsch, E. 1898/1922. ‘Über historische und dogmatische Methode in der Theologie’. In Troeltsch (ed.), Zur religiösen Lage, Religionsphilosophie und Ethik. Gesammelte Schriften. II. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck: 729–753. Vorländer, H. 1975. Mein Gott. Die Vorstellungen vom persönlichen Gott im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament. AOAT 23. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Weippert, M. 1967. Die Landnahme der israelitischen Stämme in der neueren wissenschaftlichen Diskussion. Ein kritischer Bericht. FRLANT 92. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck anf Ruprecht. Westermann, C. 1974. Genesis. BKAT I/1. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukircherner Verlag.

4

“You Cannot Prove It, but It Is a Fact that . . .” Figure of Speech Instead of Method in Critical Studies of the Old Testament

1 If we take the term “critical” in the term ‘historical–critical Method’ seriously, we know that every paradigm has its time. Even one that we may have worked with for decades or that we ultimately designed ourselves. This insight can rightly be considered the communis opinionis of all critical research in humanistic disciplines. If we really take this principle seriously, it should also be expressed in our language. Here it is – in my opinion – always important that we try to ‘catch’ ourselves: be it in the oral presentation, in the written scholarly discussion – and if possible, from the first work in a pro-seminar in a humanistic discipline. From time to time I ask the students to ‘monitor’ my language in my seminars. And it happens again and again that I resort to the defensive ‘securitas’ language, which has no place in historical–critical research. In the following I will present this kind of language and try to describe its function using three recent publications from the field of Old Testament studies.1 2 As early as 1975 I presented my criticism of the ‘securitas’ language in Old Testament research, using the example of Albrecht Alt’s Der Gott der Väter (Diebner 1975: 25–27). It is understandable that I did not make many friends with this (and, nota bene, with the whole way I criticized Alt’s hypothetical design). Here, as then, I have to take sentences out of context. But I think that from a methodological point of view not even the context increases the value of the statements. Regarding his assertion of “the religion of the Fathers or the Patriarchs”, Alt writes: “There can be no doubt about the origin of this type of religion from the nomadism of the desert”.2 I reacted to this postulate in 1975: “Doubt is not only always possible in scholarship, it is even methodologically necessary, especially in the area of historical–critical methods” (Diebner 1975: 26). I can only repeat this sentence here. The development within scholarship since 1975 has only confirmed what I said. The ‘nomadic religion of the Patriarchs’ has, meanwhile, largely been removed from the seminar rooms and reading halls at universities and has become established in the school curricula and classrooms. The reason for this is DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-7

68  Methods that today’s school curricula are designed by senior lecturers who, in their time, encountered Alt’s nomadic religion in the reading halls. Alt continues: “The epigraphic monuments referred to here raise . . . the fact beyond any doubt that the type of religion that seems to be available to us in the Israelite tradition of the God of the Fathers existed vigorously for centuries among other Semitic tribes in the desert and still in the cultivated land”.3 Before and after my critique of Alt’s Der Gott der Väter in 1975, not only I, but also others, have fundamentally and methodologically questioned the usefulness of the epigraphic monuments, Nabataean and other inscriptions, used by Alt. The situation has changed since 1975 insofar as this doubt is now widely shared. Otherwise I will just refer to my criticism from 1975, where I present other examples of Alt’s ‘securitas’ language. The place where this language is used in his line of arguments deserves a close examination. Perhaps a look at the second textual example will help to determine this more precisely. 3 Siegfried Herrmann’s study Israels Aufenthalt in Äqypten is an attempt to make this sojourn, Israel’s exodus from Egypt and the figure of Moses historically “as credible as possible”.4 Why Herrmann would like to do this is not up for debate here. Herrmann also often uses ‘securitas’-language – in addition to various sorts of fixed formulae and figures of speech of a ‘probability’ language. A specific figure of speech will be presented below. On p. 15, Herrmann writes: “It is evident that [in Exodus 1] a process of becoming a people is described”.5 On the narrative level, this is probably true. However, this description probably has a function within tradition–history and therefore hardly allows any conclusions about the emergence of the people ‘Israel’ in Egypt. On p. 25, we read: “It is indisputable [that the texts from Mari describe] attacks on individual territories of Mesopotamia”.6 At least this is very possible. On p. 35, Herrmann claims that: “There is no doubt that [Semitic groups penetrated] no further into Egypt than just as far as the eastern Delta”.7 The Egyptian sources make it reasonable that such groups penetrated into the eastern delta of the Nile. We can only speculate about how far they came. On p. 50 it is claimed that “There is no doubt that [the genealogical summaries in the Book of Genesis] is a well thought-out system”.8 We have to assume that such a system was in existence. But perhaps caution is required when drawing conclusions as to whether and “which connection is historically clearly defined in this way”.9 The claimed “special position” (Sonderstellung) of the tribes of ‘Joseph’ and ‘Benjamin’, which is “beyond doubt” (steht ausser Zweifel; p. 54), should, together with a re-evaluation of the ‘tribal system’ of ‘Israel’, as outlined in the Old Testament tradition, become the subject of methodological doubts. The historical reason for the ideological draft of ‘Israel’ as an ‘association of twelve tribes’ has never been fundamentally and critically examined (Diebner and Schult 1975). Regarding the composition of Exodus, Herrmann claims that “it has for a long time been known that”10 the sources of the Pentateuch in the Book of Exodus must be seen in analogy to the other books of

“You Cannot Prove It, but It Is a Fact that . . .” 69 the Pentateuch. However, in the form presupposed by Herrmann, at least the source hypothesis has for long ceased to be communis opinionis, and still more scholars doubt the validity of this paradigm. Rolf Rendtorff 1977 has developed and published a totally new paradigm with which we may well work. A few more examples of Herrmann’s figure of speech: on p. 50, he writes: “Without doubt [we see in Exodus 3] reflections over this God in quite a special way”.11 We may assume that those who transmitted the Old Testament are here reflecting over the God of ‘Israel’. Certainly it is in a very compact form and especially in v. 14. “Undoubtedly [the exegetes have since then] reflected over this text in a very special way”.12 These examples may suffice. Now we must look at the ‘facts’, which Herrmann, using ‘securitas’ language, thinks are ‘without doubt’. This list follows the order of the text examples: 1) ‘Israel’ becoming a people in Egypt in the second millennium BCE. 2) Analogous events showing Semitic infiltration into Egypt in the second millennium BCE. 3) ‘Israel’s’ sojourn in the land of Goshen, i.e. in the eastern delta of the Nile. 4) The incorporation of (proto-)‘Israel’ in the migrations of the Arameans in the second millennium BCE and the extension of the “southern relatives of Abraham” (südlichen Abraham-Verwandten; p. 51) into the scene of the narrative events of Genesis 37ff. and Exodus 1ff. 5) A distinction between “historically reliable” (historisch zuverlässige) memories of early tribal relationships “of the tribal associations that came from the south” (p. 54)13 from “a much younger novelistic form of representation that uses correctly observed Egyptian details” (p. 54),14 “which . . . fit into the time of the Egyptian New Kingdom”15 (p. 53) and “are key witnesses of an astonishing empathy of the Israelite picture of Egypt” (p. 55).16 6) The Reliability of the Pentateuch Source Paradigm of the Recent Documentary Hypothesis. Herrmann’s “without doubt” is exactly applied to those details in the Old Testament that should be critically questioned, as should also the usefulness of textual remains from the ancient Near East, for a verification of the image of the Old Testament tradition, and the hypothetical character of research paradigms that might have contributed to establish “the most trustworthy picture of the historical context”17 – at least in its main features – of the past that is narrated in the Old Testament. It is a paradox to observe how this ‘securitas’ language is flanked by ‘probability’ language. It is, however, a typical (not only in Herrmann’s case) figure of speech. Given the complexity of the Old Testament tradition, Herrmann deals with the problem of “how to balance those details that are contradictory to each other in the biblical presentation”18 as part of his programmatic introduction. His solution is: “It is only a matter of surveying and organizing the gap between tradition and historical probability to such a degree that a historical course and development can be reconstructed, which has every probability and allows for a seamless combination of the various sources”.19 The task for Herrmann thus regards to get a

70  Methods “perspective”, which enables “a plausible explanation of the partly heterogeneous pieces of tradition in the Pentateuch, in such a way that they can be joined together in a convincing overall picture”.20 “If things really happened in this way is difficult to prove, but neither can they be outright denied”.21 I can accept this methodological statement. Reasonably, it is almost impossible to present evidence for the historical reliability of events which are described by tradition, but only to speak about their probability and plausibility. In Herrmann’s opinion, “the literal historicity” (die buchstäbliche Historizität) of events related by tradition is hard “to put up for proof” (unter Beweis gestellt werden; p. 68). In spite of this we may, however, ask critically whether Herrmann’s following figure of thinking and speech is possible from a methodological point of view: “Since the solution to this question can only be hypothetical we may here add another hypothesis”.22 (What follows is merely a supposition). Or: “[it] should not be ruled out . . . that an individual could well have been involved in a migration movement between Egypt and Palestine – or is Moses, even against all reasonable objections to all themes of the Pentateuch, to be ignored on the basis of such consideration”.23 In such sentences an accepted paradigm – the ‘tradition–historical model’, as designed by von Rad and Noth – is declared a farce and at most a general methodological tool. The following methodological sentence of Herrmann is therefore only marginal: “We know nothing about all of this, but everything is within the realm of the possible . . . and easy to reconstruct”.24 Accordingly Herrmann can say “in continuation of the disposition presented here . . . That ultimately [Moses] himself cannot step into the Promised Land, is hardly an invention. He must really have died before”.25 Should this be a possible answer to Herrmann’s heuristic formulation: “to find a few starting points that are indistinguishable in their nature in order to get a foothold on the ground for a historical fixation of Moses”?26 Here, a methodological optimism is expressed, which belongs to the German school of the history of religion (Diebner 1962: 106), but is hardly possible to hold to today. The figure of speech which we see here – although everything is only likely and we may confidently add a guess to gain certainty – is logic in the service of Herrmann’s intention, which he formulates in the form of a question: “Who, then, was Moses and how is it possible, with the means of historical research, to make the existence and function of this man as credible as possible?”27 When one asks such a question, one is also confronted with the “difficulty of finding historical ‘reliability’ from these traditions. This is not a simple matter”.28 And perhaps at the end one only has the pious wish: “that the author of the Book of Exodus might be right”,29 and a methodological circulus vitiosus: “The events can be placed in a very specific and limited moment in the history of the ancient Near East and the biblical tradition confirms this fact in many details”.30 4 While Herrmann, with great liberty, ignores the methodological problems which hinder the programmatic goal of his investigations, W.H. Schmidt seems to suffer even more from this problem. Linguistically this becomes obvious since he, in

“You Cannot Prove It, but It Is a Fact that . . .” 71 the description of the historical background for the traditions in the Pentateuch, hardly makes any use of the ‘securitas’ language. Instead, another figure of speech can be observed in his work. It is presented in the title of this essay, and regarding Herrmann’s case, it can at least be observed as a figure of defensive speech: “You cannot prove it, but it is a fact . . .”: “There is really no clue how to answer this question. Probably are . . .”,31 and we may assume that behind narratives like Genesis 28, the mentioned “local deities can be understood as local appearances of the god El”.32 How frail the methodological basis of the old paradigms has become, in Schmidt’s case also, although he still subscribes to them, can be seen in these formulations: “all in all, it is not possible to find any precise information about the patriarchs” (p. 26); “Despite all the unevenness of the text, a satisfactory literary separation will no longer succeed” (p. 32); “It is uncertain where it happened and who was actually affected” (p. 35); “It is doubtful that any real memory has been preserved at all” (p. 43); “Nevertheless, the conclusion is not necessarily compelling, since an unequivocal decision can hardly be made” (p. 44).33 It becomes clear that Schmidt, in fact, intends to make: “unequivocal decisions” (zweifelsfreie Entscheidungen). Based on the paradigms used by him this, however, is no longer possible. Within the framework of historical methods, this is – horribile dictu for a certain type of dogmatically motivated Old Testament scholarship – not possible at all! Hence, what the scholar wants to bring to light as something that is “free of doubt” (zweifelsfrei) obviously remains buried under the inexplicable thicket of tradition: “Later developments have strongly influenced the narrative when the course of events was still tangible for historical review”.34 This is the reason “that the oldest part of the tradition is hardly possible to delimitate”35 and “it will really not succeed”.36 And the question is, do we have something that “can put aside the problems at the same time as it can answer all critical considerations?”37 I realize that such a collection of quotations out of context is questionable from a methodological point of view. I will try to balance that dubiousness a bit when I – what a look at the page numbers can easily detect – present the quotations in a continuous string demonstrating that this figure of speech appears passim. In this way Schmidt is able to work out passim an approximate picture based on the degree of possibility – because of his own scruples. “Then we know neither from . . . nor from . . . albeit closer”38 – such a presentation is characteristic of Schmidt’s own evaluation of his methodological possibilities of making historically plausible the ‘original facts’ of ‘Israel’s’ salvation history. How could Schmidt have solved this problem? One possibility is to say that, based on the traditional paradigms of our discipline, we cannot establish anything sustainable. Another possibility is to look for new paradigms. A third possibility would be to combine other questions and interests with the study of the biblical evidence. Schmidt has chosen none of them. Therefore, he resorts to the figure of speech, which I have chosen as the header of this article: “the . . . sequence of the events may be considered ‘certain’, even when we have no further knowledge of the details”.39 “Even though the earliest evidence . . . does not allow us to study the details of the events, they are nonetheless special”.40 “Accordingly, the ‘that’

72  Methods of what happened turns out to be probable, the ‘how’ must remain open”.41 “Also in this case, a closer description of the ‘how’ is impossible, only the ‘that’ can be taken for granted”.42 Thus regarding Moses this means, for example, that “Moses’ historicity is guaranteed, but everything else is questionable . . . Nobody doubts that he existed,43 but what he did, nobody knows”.44 The tenor that runs through Schmidt’s formulations of the alleged situations for the foundation of ‘Israel’s’ faith can be represented by his utterances on the ban on images: “Since the ban on images is without any analogy and its origin is unknown, it really withstands any explanation . . . ultimately we are unable to safely indicate what its original intentions were”.45 In the end, the only thing left for the historian is to contemplate in mystical immersion in the face of the incomprehensible. Here scientific questions and historical research end in worship. This is perhaps also what is unconsciously intended. And maybe this is the final consequence of a direction of scholarship, which I, in another place – and for polemical reasons only – have called “the archaeology of revelation” (Diebner 1984). Truly, this is a rather paradoxical consequence, but it is the only way, I can explain this kind of scholarship. I have to admit that I do not understand this type of scholarship. 5 Summing up, I think that the ‘securitas language’ (“undoubtedly”) as well as the ‘language of probabilities’ (probability rather than reasonable thought) described here serve dogmatic interests, which must be methodologically rejected for reasons of scientific sociology in historical research of origins of faith. It ultimately ends in the paradoxical statement: “It can not be proved, but the fact is . . .”. At the very least, the question must be asked (with great caution) whether this – despite obvious erudition – is still research. Notes   1 A. Alt 1959, S. Herrmann 1970, and W.H. Schmidt 1975.   2 “An der Herkunft dieses Religionstypus aus dem Nomadentum der Wüste ist . . . kein Zweifel möglich” (Alt 1959: 34).   3 “Die hier herangezogenen epigraphischen Denkmäler erheben . . . die Tatsache über jeden Zweifel, dass der Religionstypus, der uns in der israelitischen Überlieferung von dem Gott der Väter vorzuliegen scheint, bei anderen semitischen Stämmen in der Wüste und noch im Kulturland jahrhundertelang kräftig gelebt hat” (Alt 1959: 45).   4 “So glaubhaft wie möglich zu machen” (Herrmann 1970: 64); and on p. 10: “. . . one should attempt . . . to get the most trustworthy picture of the historical circumstances” (“darum gehen, . . . ein möglichst zuverlassiges Bild der historischen zusammenhänge zu gewinnen”).   5 “Es ist offenkundig, dass [in Exodus 1] ein Prozess der Volkwerdung beschrieben wird”.   6 “Unbestreitbar ist Übergriffen auf einzelne Territorien Mesopotamiens”.   7 “(D)arüber besteht kein Zweifel, dass [semitische Gruppen] nicht tiefer nach Ägypten vordrangen als nur bis in das Ostdelta”.   8 “Ganz zweifellos liegt [in den genealogischen Übersichten des Buches Gen] ein durchdachtes System vor”.

“You Cannot Prove It, but It Is a Fact that . . .” 73   9 “Welcher Zusammenhang auf diese Weise historisch einleuchtend definiert ist” (Herrmann 1970: 15). 10 “Es ist längst erkannt, dass” (Herrmann 1970: 63). 11 “Ganz zweifellos wird [in Exodus 3] über diesen Gott in besonderer Weise reflektiert”. 12 “Ganz zweifellos [haben die Exegeten seitdem aber] diesen Text in besonderer Weise reflektiert” (p. 50). 13 “Der aus dem Süden gekommen Stämmeverbande”. 14 “Einer weit jüngeren novellistischen Darstellungsform, die sich richtig beobachteter ägyptischer Details bedient”. 15 “Die . . . in die Zeit des ägyptischen Neuen Reiches passen”. 16 “Kronzeuge für ein israelitisches Ägyptenbild von erstaunlicher Einfühlungskraft”. 17 “Ein möglichst zuverlassiges Bild der historischen zusammenhänge zu gewinnen” (p. 10). 18 “Wie jene Einzelheiten auszugleichen sind, die sich in der biblischen Darstellung widersprüchlich zueinander verhalten” (p. 21). Cf. also p. 10. 19 “Es kommt nur darauf an, das Gefälle von Überlieferung und geschichtlicher Nahrscheinlichkeit in einem solchen Grade zu überschauen und zuordnen, dass sich daraus ein historischer Ablauf und Entwicklungsgang rekonstruieren lässt, der alle Nahrscheinlichkeit hat und dem sich auch die verschiedenen Quellenzeugnisse möglichst nahtlos einfügen lassen” (p. 33). 20 “Sicht der Dinge”  .  .  .  “eine plausible Erklärung für die teils heterogenen Überlieferungselemente des Pentateuch (ermöglicht), die sich nun doch zu einem übezeugenden Gesamtbild vereinigen lassen” (p. 49; cf. also p. 48). 21 “Ob dieser Verlauf der Dinge historisch ganz stichhaltig ist, ist schwer zu beweisen, aber auch nicht rundweg zu betreiten” (p. 52). 22 “Da die Lösung dieser Fragen ohnehin nur hypothetisch möglich ist, kann hier eine weitere Hypothese hinzugefügt werden” (p. 69). 23 “[Es] sollte nicht ausgeschlossen werden, . . . [oder ist] Mose gar, auch entgegen allen verständlichen Bedenken in allen Themen des Pentateuch, zu belassen auf Grund der Überlegung, dass ein einzelner durchaus an einer Wanderbewegung zwischen Ägypten und Palästina beteiligt gewesen sein kann” (pp. 65f.). 24 “All das wissen wir nicht, all das liegt aber im Bereich des Möglichen und lässt sich . . . leicht rekonstruieren” (p. 71). 25 “In Fortsetzung des hier gegebenen Ansatzes” . . . Dass (Mose) schliesslich das verheissene Land selbst nicht mehr betrat, kann schwerlich eine Erfindung sein. Er muss tatsächlich vorher gestorben sein (p. 71). 26 “Einige möglichst unerfindliche, ihrer ganzen Art nach singuläre Ansatzpunkte zu finden, um . . . Grund für eine historische Fixierung des Mose unter die Füsse zu bekommen” (p. 66)? As such a starting point, Herrmann considers the name ‘Moses’, that is the Egyptian ‘Hans’” (cf. Noth 1960: 190). 27 “Wer also war Mose und wie ist es möglich, die Existenz und Funktion dieses Mannes mit den Mitteln historischer Forschung so glaubhaft wie möglich zu machen?” (p. 64). 28 “Schwierigkeit geschichtlich Zuverlässiges aus diesen Traditionen herauszufinden. Das ist nicht einfach” (p. 86). 29 “Möge darum der Verfasser des Exodus-Buches rechtbehalten” (p. 84). 30 “Die Ereignisse sind in einem ganz bestimmten begrenzten Zeitraum altorientalischer Geschichte unterzubringen[,] und die biblische Überlieferung bestätigt in vielen Einzelheiten diesen Sachverhalt” (p. 93). 31 “Es lässt sich nicht beweisen, Tatsache aber ist . . .”; “Es gibt eigentlich keine Anhaltspunkte zur Beantwortung dieser Frage. Vermutlich sind aber . . .” (Schmidt 1975: 24). 32 “Ortsgottheiten als die lokalen Erscheinungsformen des einen Gottes El zu verstehen” (p. 24).

74  Methods 33 “Uberhaupt sind historisch genaue Angaben über die Erzväter kaum möglich” (p. 26); “eine befriedigende literarische Scheidung (will) – trotz aller Unebenheiten des Textes – nicht mehr gelingen” (p. 32); “Es bleibt ungewiss, wo es stattfand und wer die eigentlich Betroffenen waren” (p. 35); “Es ist die Frage, ob überhaupt noch echte Erinnerungen bewahrt sind” (p. 43); “Dennoch ist die Schlussfolgerung nicht unbedingt zwingend, da man kaum eine zweifelsfreie Entscheidung . . . treffen kan” (p. 44). 34 “Spätere Gegebenheiten haben die Darstellung zu stark geprägt, als dass der Hergang für den historischen Rückblick noch wirklich fassbar wäre” (p. 47). 35 “Dass sich der älteste Traditionsbestand kaum noch sicher abgrenzen lässt” (p. 48). 36 “(S)o will es nicht recht gelingen” (p. 49). 37 “Sowohl die Schwierigkeiten beseitigt wie allen kritischen Bedenken Rechnung trägt?” (p. 48). 38 “So wissen wir weder aus . . . noch aus . . . etwas Näheres” (p. 66). 39 “Die . . . Ereignisfolge wird man als historisch ‘sicher’ (Schmidt’s quotation marks) bezeichnen können, auch wenn sich alle näheren Umstände der Kenntnis entziehen” (p. 35). 40 “Lässt das früheste Zeugnis . . . auch keine näheren Einzelheiten des Vorgangs erkennen, so zeigt sich doch bereits eine Eigenart” (p. 38). 41 “Entsprechend erweist sich das ‘Dass’ des Geschehens als wahrscheinlich, das ‘Wie’ muss offen bleiben” (p. 36). 42 Auch hier ist die nähere Beschreibung des ‘Wie’ unmöglich, nur das ‘Dass’ ist sicher” (p. 44). 43 Well, I doubt that he did. 44 “Moses Historizität ist unumstösslich, aber alles Nähere ist fragwürdig . . . Dass es ihn gab, bezweifelt niemand, aber was er tat, weiss auch niemand” (p. 67). 45 “Da das Bilderverbot analogielos ist und seine Herkunft unbekannt bleibt, entzieht es sich im Grunde der Erklärung . . . (M)an kann letztlich nicht sicher angeben, welche Intention es ursprünglich hat” (p. 78).

References Alt, A. 1929. Der Gott der Väter. BWANT 3. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer; republ. in idem. 1959. Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel I. München: C.H. Beck: 1–78. Diebner, B.J. 1962. ’Rezension of Eissfeldt, Otto: Kleine Schriften I’. ZDPV 78: 103–107. ———. 1975. ‘Die Götter des Vaters: Eine Kritik der Vätergott- Hypothese Albrecht Alts’. DBAT 9: 21–51. ———. 1984. ‘Wider die “Offenbahrungs-Archäeologie” in der Wissenschaft vom Alten Testaments. Grundsätzlisches zum Sinn alttestamentlichen Forschung im Rahmen der Theologie’. DBAT 18: 30–53. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975. ‘Thesen zu nachexilischen Entwürfen zur frühen Geschichte Israels im Alten Testament’. DBAT 10: 41–47. Herrmann, S. 1970. Israels Aufenthalt in Aqypten. SBS 40. Stuttgart: Katolisches Bibelwerk. Noth, M. 1960, Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch. 2nd ed. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Rendtorff, R. 1977. Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch. BZAW 147. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Schmidt, W.H. 1975. Alttestamentlicher Glaube in seiner Geschichte. 2nd ed. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag.

5

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch ‘The Yahwist as Historian, Part I and II’1

1 In the first part of his methodological sketch ‘The Yahwist as Historian’, John Van Seters gives an outline of the history of research from Julius Wellhausen to Erhard Blum headlined in the German-language handout 1’s theses as a ‘Sketch of the historical problem: Is the Yahwist source a historiographical work?’. Van Seters’ own methodological design in the second part of the sketch bears the title ‘The Yahwist as a historiographical work’. In ‘Part I’ of his lecture, Van Seters compares researchers, from the period between Wellhausen and Blum, who have dealt with form-critical problems of the Penta- or Hexateuch: Hermann Gunkel, Gerhard von Rad, Martin Noth, Otto Eissfeldt, Sigmund Mowinckel, Claus Westermann, Rolf Rendtorff, Erhard Blum, Hans Heinrich Schmid and Martin Rose. Also other less notorious researchers are mentioned. With a description of the different approaches, Van Seters combines his doubt that the respective models can offer further help beyond Wellhausen’s approach with addressing his basic question: “Is the Yahwist source a history?” Wellhausen’s position is summarized as follows by van Seters in German, citing Gunkel: For Wellhausen, the Jahwist (JE) is a pure work of history. It represents a piece of early Israelite historiography, even if much of it is folklore and not history in the true sense of the word. It is based on oral tradition and still forms a rather loose collection of traditions.2 Having evaluated the different models developed after Wellhausen,3 van Seters comes to the following conclusion: The only new possibility since Wellhausen (if one excludes Gunkel’s notion of a collector [Sammler]) is the suggestion that the Yahwist is much later in date and part of a larger development of Israelite historiography in the early exilic period. (Van Seters 1986: I: 13) With this ‘conclusion’ van Seters alludes to his own position as well as to the works of H. H. Schmid and M. Rose. DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-8

76  Methods 2 In the second part, the actually ‘constructive’ part of the methodological sketch, Van Seters describes the “three large blocks of very different traditions in the Yahwist’s historical work”4 (Van Seters 1986: II: 2). From ancient oriental parallels, Van Seters proves that “an intellectual activity has produced complex connections of creationand flood myths . . . and combinations of prehistoric traditions with historiography”5 (Thesis no. 2). He also points to “many examples of antiquarian historiography” in Greek–Hellenistic culture, “which include prehistoric myths, heroic legends, genealogies, founding of cities and nations and their early history”6 (Thesis no. 3). He emphasizes here in particular the works of Hecataeus, Hellanicus and Herodotus. Compared to these historiographies, the Yahwist shows “similarity in terms of content”, in the way he uses “genealogies as a means of structuring the tradition”, in the “interest in ethnography and geography”, in the use of “legend and etiology”, and especially in regard to the “literary unity in a work of historiography”, and the “incorporation of oral and written traditions in historiographical works”7 (Thesis no. 4). In conclusion, Van Seters states that this is: “what I think it means to describe the Yahwist as the author of a historical work – a historian” (Van Seters 1986: II: 19). He had tried to take the term ‘historian’ seriously for the Yahwist “as a formcritical description and to spell out the relevant implications” (ibid.). Interesting in regard to the chronological order of the historical works of the Yahwist and the Deuteronomist is Van Seters’ statement: “The . . . three blocks of the tradition [that is, those of J] form the prologue for the following history of Israel from the occupation of the country to the end of the kingdoms, and at the same time they presuppose them”.8 3 Without presenting comprehensively John van Seters’ sketch of methods here, I would like to address some problems in Van Seters’ concepts both in regard to his outline of the history of research in Part I and his methodological design of the Yahwist as a historian in Part II. I do not really want to use the form of questions, but rather discuss the case by formulating and discussing five theses relevant to Van Seters’ methodology (sections 4–8). This seems more honest to me in view of the fact that I perceive Van Seters’ design from a completely different perspective – from a very different approach. In the sense of being a ‘contribution to the discussion’, however, these theses and their explanations are intended to be ‘questions’. I shall confine myself to discussing a few and for me fundamentally important topics. First of all, I would like to express a fundamental agreement with Van Seters. I also think it makes sense and is necessary that today, in the situation of upheaval in Old Testament research – so to speak, in the ‘post-Alt-von Rad-and-Noth epoch’ – we redress form-critical questions in regard to the Pentateuch, but also in regard to other text corpora and writings belonging to the ancient canons of the Hebrew Bible. In answering such questions, there should not only be formed a new or varied (old) explanatory model of this literature, but – related to this – expressed an idea of the intention and function of these texts in the context of ancient Jewish

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 77 life, which can be helpful for us when we seek to ‘enter into conversation’ with our religious tradition. I might here differ from Van Seters in that I think we should basically ask these questions anew. That does not seem to me to be the case with Van Seters. On the contrary, I have the impression that John Van Seters is asking a necessary question in a way that is already outdated by the history of research. I would like to explain this impression in my ‘notes to John Van Seters’ below. 4 Thesis no. 1 (to J. Van Seters, The Yahwist as Historian, Part I): • The methods of interpreting Old Testament texts include a methodically reflected approach to the research history of one’s own discipline with evaluation of the respective exegete in regard to the topic of investigation. In such an endeavor, the context of a research position (question, method and formulation of result) must be taken into account along with the research interest of the individual researcher as determined by contemporary-, intellectual- and social history. A ‘comparison’ of research opinions only seems meaningful if their conditions, intention and function have been sufficiently described in relation to their historical context. • In other words, ‘historical research’ is only ‘historical’ if it understands its own history as a conditional methodological factor in efforts at researching ‘the past’. This does not only mean working with a fundamental relativism in regard to our possibility of achieving knowledge. It also creates conditions for a ‘contemporary’ approach to the tradition and can be helpful in preventing us from preserving outdated questions, methods and solution models because of institutional inertia. In view of my statements above, Van Seters’ dealing with the history of research in Part I of his methodological sketch appears to be ‘unhistorical’. Van Seters does not reflect on contemporary-, intellectual- and sociohistorical conditions of research (the network of which, especially in the case of theological and exegetical science, includes not only its integration into the institution but also its function in the context of the church, which is likely to exert some influence on formulation of research questions, methods and formulation of results), and he does not take into account the individual research interests of the Old Testament scholars he discusses. His supposedly “problem-historical overview” (problemgeschichtlicher Überblick), in fact, turns out to be a one-dimensional discussion of research positions, as were the Old Testament scholars from Wellhausen to Blum’s contemporaries, and, as were it only a matter of evaluating who had best recognized, described and tried to solve a particular problem. Two examples will demonstrate this: 1. As an ingenious systematist of questions and methods since W.M.L. de Wette, Wellhausen designed the form of the modern Documentary or Source Hypothesis. Because of its tradition–historical preamble it has, especially through von

78  Methods Rad and Noth, been formulated as the explanatory model for the history of the Pentateuch for many Old Testament scholars to this day. Yes, it must be said that now for the first time this hypothesis celebrates its true triumphs. Being a quasidogmatic explanatory model, it has not only conquered the academic textbooks on methods in Old Testament scholarship, but it has also been included in the school curricula for religious education,9 and thus – if anything at all – it shapes the image of the creation of the Pentateuch in high school-trained citizens. In terms of intellectual history, Wellhausen’s model is characterized by the historicist term ‘documents’ of the 19th century Enlightenment (H.-J. Kraus 1983: 152ff.). As organizer and editor of these documents, Wellhausen’s ‘Jehovist’ corresponds to the 19th century image of an (ancient) ‘historian’.10 Van Seters probably has a completely different image of the ‘historian’ towards the end of the 20th century. Certainly, the image of the ‘historian’ has undergone a critical change in the more than a hundred years since the publication of Wellhausen’s most important publications. This is not least due to the influences of Karl Marx, Max Weber and others on the methodological principles of historiography. Anyway, Van Seters ‘Yahwist’ as a ‘historian’ is something completely different from Wellhausen’s ‘Jehovist’, which was intended to satisfy an enlightened critical audience’s request for trustworthiness of the biblical texts. In Van Seters’ paper, he writes: “(I)n the very act of collecting traditions in order to create a larger unified national tradition” (1986: II: 18) . . . [he provides prehistoric myths, heroic legends, genealogies, etc., on the one hand] . . . “a rather loose collection of almost unaltered folk traditions close to the original source” (p. 14.) . . . [on the other hand, he delivers] . . . “stories . . . thoroughly reworked” (p. 14), [so that he] “through the medium of his history with its large amount of traditional material . . . reflect(s) his own times and their influence on him” (p. 15). 2. As such, Van Seters’ ‘Yahwist’ also needs “his own imagination in telling his stories” (Van Seters 1986: I: 9). So, he uses exactly that – and this brings me to another point where Van Seters does not sufficiently reflect on research conditions (here those of the individual interpreter of the Old Testament tradition). Provided that J is a ‘historian’ in a sense somehow shaped by our understanding of historiography over the last hundred years, he functions in a way that is fundamentally acceptable in terms of type and extent, but doubtful and incalculable as ‘author’ of a ‘historiography’ attributed to him. This possibly motivated Claus Westermann not to accept the Yahwist as a ‘historiographer’ of the Patriarchal narratives. From this perspective, I would like to consider a ‘contradiction’ with which Van Seters reproves Claus Westermann in his paper: Westermann wrote: “It is extremely unlikely, if not impossible, that all the [Patriarchal] stories would have been invented . . . Only what actually happened would have originally been told”.11 To this, Van Seters remarks: “One might reasonably conclude from this . . . that the Patriarchal stories were a kind of history, but Westermann insists that they are

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 79 not history or historiography because they are not the work of authors . . . Thus Westermann would appear to be saying that the Yahwist is not a historian because he did not write fiction but faithfully handed down traditions about things that actually happened. Stated in this way, such a conclusion appears absurd” (Van Seters 1986: I: 9). Westermann probably knows exactly why “[h]e is eager to assert that J is not an author and therefore not one who could use his own imagination in telling his stories”,12 because Westermann apparently has a more critical and recent, but above all more consistent view of the work of the (ancient) historian and his handling of the ‘sources’. On the other hand, he is probably interested in the possibility of the trustworthy transmission of the Patriarchal narratives as channels of information concerning ‘Israel’s’ original experiences of revelation. This information, however, is endangered by the acceptance of Van Seters’ ‘Yahwist as Historian’. What appears, for Van Seters, to be a logical contradiction is perhaps simply not so. At least, Westermann’s rejection of a Yahwistic ‘authorship’ of the Patriarchal narratives might be logical from a theological and pastoral theological perspective. Nevertheless, the assumption formulated before Westermann of a pre-literary formulation and tradition of the Patriarchal narratives does not make the Yahwist the author of these traditions in the full sense of the word. 5 Thesis no. 2 (to Van Seters 1986: Part II): • Form-critical considerations of the conceptual and literary formation of a historiography of ‘Israel’ in the ancient Jewish Bible are not reasonable without a methodological pre-consideration of how ‘Israel’ as object, but above all as a subject of this possible historiography, should be defined. • The necessity of such a pre-consideration imposes itself when the so-called Deuteronomistic History (with all its later additions) is considered to have been written in the exilic-post-exilic period. So is that in research usually considered pre-exilic Primordial- and Primary History (that is from the Creation to the Occupation), which might be even more recent than DtrG (Deuteronomistic Grundschrifft; the hypothetical basic document of the Deuteronomistic History = DtrH). Van Seters speaks completely indifferently about ‘Israel’, ‘the nation’ and ‘the people’ in his sketch of methods. That ‘Israel’, – as subject in the ancient Jewish biblically transmitted historiography, composed at the time Van Seters’ assumes13 (and by the hypothetical figure of the Yahwist) – is identical with the (exilic-) postexilic Judah, is not considered by Van Seters. Neither are the problems this creates for the composition of a ‘history of all Israel’, to whatever period its pre-, early-, or real existence may have belonged. What does it mean when the historiography of the ‘history of all Israel’, from the occupation through the pre-state and kingship periods to the decline of Israel and the cessation of the independent kingdom of Judah, is composed from Judah’s

80  Methods perspective? And what does it mean for the definition of what is still termed ‘Israel’ by contemporary historians; and that even in regard to the mythic pre- and early history? The problem is obvious, when I, however hesitatingly, refer to the analogous situation in regard to German historiography after World War 2. Should it be written from the perspective of the ‘Bundesrepublik’ (Federal State) or from the DDR as a ‘history of all Germany’? How does it affect the history of ‘all Germany’ or ‘the common state’ period, or even the period of the separation, which probably had to be told in separate stories (until recently that seemed to be an extreme case) as representation of the tradition of ‘the real Germany’? In an uncritical reception of the Judaic picture of the history, critical research still assumes the cessation of Israel in 722/21 BCE, but seemingly not that of Judah in 587/86 BCE. In an uncritical acceptance of this picture, we assume that what had remained of the society in the North became changed by the occupational forces’ change of the population and that they really did not continue the tradition of Israel. This picture, however, militates completely against the self-understanding of the society that has continued its life in the earlier independent kingdom of Israel and whose traditions we only have begun to make available in recent decades.14 This society, the ‘Israelites in Shomron’15 was, at least until the early Byzantine period, a powerful cultic community that competed with the Jewish ‘church’, and whose remnants live today in the Nablus area and in Haifa. What this Israel after 722/21 BCE has left us about itself and the Jerusalem cult community is, of course, also a questionable ‘tradition’ from a scientific–historical point of view. But it is no longer acceptable to deny the continuity of Israel beyond the catastrophe of 722/21 BCE in an uncritical identification with the dominant tradition that has ultimately made us equate ‘Israel’, exclusively and ‘in the true sense’, with Judah. An historical Israel continued to exist after the catastrophe, just as Judah did after its catastrophe. The traditions about significant changes in the ethnic composition of the population of the northern kingdom must be questioned, because they stem from an exclusively Judean tradition (cf. 2 Kgs 17:24ff.), and perhaps should be understood in the context of the ‘identity problems’ of the later post-exilic Judah (cf. Ezra and Nehemiah). If we have to reckon with the fact that Israel continued to exist – admittedly as an occupied country as well as later Judah also was, with which it was ‘united’ at times in a province, later separated again, and each again ‘united’ under different conditions (e.g. Judean supremacy as under the Hasmoneans beginning with John Hyrcanus) – then the form-critical question of ‘historiography’ in the ancient Jewish Bible must be researched from a completely different perspective. If Israel existed alongside Judah in all phases of its history in pre-Christian times, that is, in the period in which Van Seters dates ‘Israelite’ historiography, then the question of the intention and function of this Judean historiography will be different, considering the tensions that existed between Judah and Israel, than has been commonly formulated in research (and also in the varied formulations of Van Seters’ question). Under the impression of the historical fact that Israel lived on, which is hardly reasonably questionable,16 the methodological significance of yet another ‘fact’ cannot be

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 81 avoided; namely that we have in the Old Testament no tradition of Israel that has not been ‘edited’ by Judah. Nor can we overlook the methodological significance of the fact that definitions of ‘Israel’, which include Judah or even identify this designation exclusively with the historical entity Judah or even only with groups in Judah (resp. ‫ )ארץ ישראל‬and beyond its borders (i.e. the ‘golah’) – encounter us in the Old Testament only in a Judean-edited tradition. It should be noted that the term ‘Israel’ is consistently not used by the non-Judean ancient environment to designate the Judean community or the Jerusalem cult community and its tradition. These references are not intended to deny the Judean cult community or the Ḥasidic-Pharisaic-rabbinic tradition the right to understand and call itself ‘Israel’. It should only be emphasized that the historical Israel still existed at every period of post-exilic and late antiquity, and that perhaps therefore the relative right of Judah to also understand himself as ‘Israel’ must be described. Therefore, every phase of Judean historiography must be critically examined, in which Judah is described as (essentially) belonging to ‘all of Israel’ and for which Israel’s right to be Israel is relativized or even denied. In Judean ‘historiography’, Judah’s relationship with Israel is presented as moving from tense to controversial for all phases of the ‘history of Israel’ – at least since the earliest occupation. Here, an accurate historical fact of this story should be reflected throughout. On the other hand, tension and conflict seem to culminate at certain times. Nevertheless, we can first expect a ‘final’ schism between the Israelite and the Judean ‘Israelite’ communities in the post-exile period; probably at the earliest in the second century BCE (at least according to G. Kippenberg 1971), but more plausibly in the first century BCE. This era, however, is also marked by further divisions of the Israelite–Judean religious community(ies). A common feature of all these schisms – up to the secession of the early Christian church – is that it is always about the definition of the ‘true Israel’ and that each group considers itself to be representative of this ‘true Israel’.17 This conflict structure, which seems to have been so formative and ‘traditionforming’ that Christianity reflects it as well (and passes it on, ‫עד היום הזה‬, to this day, with fatal consequences in regard to Judaism), now forms at least a continuous paradigm of interpretation of the traditions of the ancient Jewish Bible. It would therefore be surprising if it were not significant for the ‘form-critical problem’ of the Pentateuch as such and probably also in the usually defined excerpts from it. This conflict structure, however, would also be of form-critical importance for any possible ‘historiography’ in the Pentateuch, and thereby also for that of a constructed Yahwist. That matters are said to be ‘of form-critical significance’ here would mean that methodologically this conflict structure must be taken into account in questions of intention and function of this body of texts. In other words, it must be the intention of these traditions to express a ‘mandatory’ opinion of this conflict, and it is to be expected that these texts were integrated into an (institutional) functional context in which this conflict structure played a role. In any case, within the historical context hinted at here, in earlier Sitz im Leben the ‘Yahwist’s historiography’ should also be considered a Judean-edited tradition until the completion of the tradition.

82  Methods To summarize: The Sitz im Leben of both the Judean or Judean-edited formation of the tradition and the ‘historiography’ of the ancient Jewish Bible (and thus also the passages of the Pentateuch assigned to J by recent research) is the conflict between Israel and Judah over the definition of the ‘true Israel’. This conflict probably became intensified in the second – first century BCE at the latest to such an extent that it came to an irreparable schism between the Gerizim and Jerusalem cult communities (including their affiliates). It is to be expected that the so-called ‘historiography’ of this Jewish Bible (in its various stages) also reflects this conflict structure up to the final schism.18 The fact (or the condition) that ‘Judah–Israel’ is the subject of the ‘historiography of Israel’ in the ancient Jewish Bible has form-critical meaning for the object ‘Israel’/Israel/Judah in this ‘historiography’, and for Judah itself as a means of ‘Israel’s’ self-meditation. 6 Thesis no. 3 (to Part II): • Of form-critical significance for the ‘Yahwistic historiography’ as an intellectual activity of exilic-postexilic Judah, the subject of ‘historiography’ should not only be defined ‘politically’. Of form-critical relevance are also the criteria as regards the content with which the ‘subject’ of the tradition-formation defines its own identity within the polemical process described in sub-thesis 2. Judah–‘Israel’ as a subject of ‘historiography’ defines itself only conditionally in regard to an ethnic, geographic or ‘profane’ political community. Essentially it is rather religiously defined. Concretely speaking, the most essential criterion for ‘Israel’ in this ‘historiography’ (in the Pentateuch, in the DtrG/DtrH, and also in the representations of 1–2 Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah and for example 1–2 Maccabees) is the right worship and cult19 of the required exclusive worship of YHWH. • The whole ‘history of Israel’ – from the ‘Primeval’ to the ‘Patriarchal age’, ‘the life of Moses’ until ‘Israel’s history’ from the occupation until whatever ‘historiographically’ decided closure – is determined by this. The theme of the ‘worship of Israel’ is not encountered in Van Seters’ form-critical reflections, nor does he mention anywhere the more recent monotheism debate, and certainly not the possible form-critical significance of this central theme of ‘Israel’s’ religious tradition as it is available to us in the Judean reception in the Old Testament.20 From what point in time can we expect that ‘monotheism’ is officially demanded as ‘orthodox’ worship of God in ‘Israel’? Different opinions on this are expressed in the more recent discussions concerning monotheism. However, the representatives of an emphatically tradition-critical view agree that monotheism

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 83 was not, at the beginning of ‘Israel’s’ peculiar form of religion, but developed later. It seems debatable to me to expect the first beginnings of a development towards ‘monotheism’ in the second half of the eighth century BCE. I consider decisive the spiritual development of the Judean golah under Persian hegemony in Mesopotamia from the second half of the sixth – second half of the fourth century BCE. I reckon that ‘Israel’ was defined by these groups according to criteria developed on the basis of older traditions, and that ‘monotheism’ in ‫ ארץ ישראל‬probably in the period from the second half of the 5th century to the time of the consolidated Hasmonean rule in the second half of the second century BCE, successively prevailed or was officially enforced in Judah and later also in Israel (= Samaria). The tradition that ultimately prevailed here created its own ‘origin myth’ in the design of the complex tradition of Ezra and Nehemiah, which in some respects is in tension with other parts of the complex tradition of ancient Judaism in the Old Testament. It is to be expected that ‘monotheism’ as the decisive criterion for ‘Israel’ plays a form-critically relevant role in ‘Israel’s historiography’; that is, it is indispensable for understanding its intention and function. This points in the direction of a ‘religious institution’ as promoter of this ‘historiography’ and of a targeted and interested ‘application’ of this tradition in functional contexts administered by the supporting group. 7 Thesis 4 (to Part II): • The ‘Historiography of Israel’ is not an author’s literature (although, of course, it is created by concrete people). In this respect, it differs from the Greek αναλογια, which Van Seters refers to in order to solve the form-critical problem of ‘Yahwistic historiography’. In contrast to the ‘historical’ author personalities Hecataeus or Herodotus with their definable opera, the so-called ‘Yahwist’ is a hypothetical construction of recent research since the 19th century. Likewise, his ‘work’ is a hypothetical construct developed according to researchable criteria: the ‘Yahwist’ and his ‘work’ are theories. This sets certain limits to the comparability of ancient Greek (or Roman) historiography and ‘Yahwist’ literature. • The differences between ‘anonymous’ and ‘orthonymous’ literature must not be blurred,21 but must be perceived if, among other things, our form-critical judgments are to be based on ‘observations from the texts’. The difference between ‘anonymous’ and ‘orthonymous’ historiography is not taken into consideration by Van Seters, when he writes: “Herodotus is not just the name of a traditional–historical or redactional process”, and “[t]he Yahwist’s work falls entirely within the limits of those characteristics” (Van Seters 1986: II: 17). Despite all the ‘tradition–historical’ and ‘editorial’ procedures in his work, Herodotus is indeed not absorbed in it. And behind the tradition–historical and redactional work on the Pentateuch, and thus also on the texts attributed to J, there

84  Methods certainly are ancient people. But perhaps it is of importance from a form-critical perspective that a ‘historical person’ is responsible for one work, but that ‘Israelite historiography’ is basically ‘anonymous’ and only partly assigned to ‘authors’ very late (cf. Moses as ‘author’ of the Torah22). It is precisely in this ‘anonymity’ that something like intention could be expressed. It should be noted that the ‘Israelite historiography’ is not only anonymous, but that the ‘Yahwist’ is a postulate, which probably is not the intention of tradition, but directly contradicts it, if – and now we come back to my Thesis 1 – it corresponds to the intellectual–historical requirements of an age of ‘authorship’ and ‘orthonymity’, namely the 19th century. Van Seters carries out his parallelization between pieces of orthonymous and anonymous ancient literature without methodological reflection. 8 Thesis 5 (To Part II): • The ‘historiography’ of the so-called ‘Yahwist’ has been available to us for more than 2000 years in the context of the ‘Five Books of Moses’, the ‘Pentateuch’, or the by the Jews called (‫)חמשה חומשי תורה‬, the first part of their three-part Bible. Only in the last 200 years have we, especially in Pentateuchal Research in the West, which is essentially shaped by German theologians, become accustomed to isolating parts of the textual composition of the Pentateuch and read them with the enlightened eyes of the 19th century as the ‘historiography’ of the ancient Orient or ancient ‘Israel’. • If we are concerned with a new approach to form-critical analysis and the assessment of the narrative parts of the Pentateuch, which as is well known contains the ‘historiography’ of the ‘Yahwist’, the only meaningful alternative to the procedure of the last 200 years of Old Testament scholarship is to read once again in the context of the entire five-part Torah and look for form-critical methodological conditions under which this could be possible. In this, I see the only appropriate way to move beyond the approaches of form-critical consideration of the narrative texts of the Pentateuch committed to the spirit of previous centuries; that also means to go beyond Van Seters’ understanding of Wellhausen. At no point in his methodological sketch does Van Seters mention the Torah as a segment of ‘Yahwist’ historiography’. This shows that Van Seters not only calls for a return to Wellhausen’s methodological insights (in his view). With his conception of JE’s comprehensive ‘Yahwist’, he consistently stands in line with the research of the 19th century,23 despite his ‘revolutionary’ dating of J to a post-DtrG/DtrH position. However, it is not clear why the Torah, in whatever content- or textual definition, should not be of form-critical importance for the narrative texts that surround it and are, so to speak, wreath-shaped around them. On the contrary, nothing is more obvious than to perceive this ‘encircling’ form-critically.24 Of course, the possibility of this perception is conditioned by contemporary and intellectual history.

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 85 As far as I am concerned, I can already see today (of course, the distance to methodological approaches that are only just being defined is very small and thus does not allow a comprehensive overview!), are conditions useful for the possibility of tackling the form-critical problem of the Pentateuch from scratch. As I consciously formulate it, it is necessary for us Christian theologians and exegetes to read and interpret, without manifest or hidden anti-Judaism (after the largest massacre of Jews that the earth has ever seen, at the time of Nazi rule in Central Europe), the religious tradition adopted from the Jews, namely the Christian Old Testament. This is not about a methodological crypto-Judaism, as many suspect, but about the possibility of perceiving the Jewish peculiarity of an ancient Jewish body of literature in the context of Christian exegesis25 – and possibly under the truly ‘revolutionary’ admission that the ‘evangelical’ traditions of the Jewish Bible remain ‘evangelical’ if we do not significantly remove their creation from the period for which we gladly accept the ‘nomistic narrowing’ of Judaism.26 Here, Christian exegesis could face a rather painful learning process in the future, especially under the methodological criteria of historiography and critical literary history. The ancient Jewish Bible literature stands as ‘ancient’ literature in the intellectual–historical context of other (Near Eastern) ancient literature. As ‘Jewish’ literature, it stands in the narrower context of other Jewish literature of antiquity. It is to be expected that the form-critical problem of the Pentateuch can be (again) brought closer to a hypothetical solution if we perceive the Torah, on the one hand, in the broader horizon of ancient ecumenism and its literary productivity, and, on the other, in the narrower perspective of (national27) the Jewish literature of antiquity. That means that the model of both perspectives (in which the minor part is embedded in the major) can be useful for the suggestion of a new Pentateuchal-hypothesis. With this the formulation of a model is contingent on the tension between the ‘historically connectable’ and the ‘phenomenally comparable’. Both approaches are (obviously28) methodologically legitimate and thus also any connection between the two. Since the Pentateuch, and also the rest of the Old Testament, is first and foremost Jewish literature, we must look for generative patterns of the ‘production’ of this body of texts in ancient Jewish literature. But since it belongs to such Jewish literature, we will look for explanatory patterns that ancient literature in the broader sense offers us. Regarding the Hellenistic–Roman epoch, into which I date the final processes of the compilation of Old Testament literature, not only Greek historiography, on which Van Seters reflects (in addition to conditionally comparable ancient Near Eastern texts), but above all also Roman literature (since the thirdsecond century BCE) should be taken into consideration.29 Van Seters’ use of Greek parallels is (conditionally) to be agreed with. His comparisons of the ‘historiography of the ‘Yahwist’ with Herodotus, Hecataeus and Hellanicus are convincing. However, I think that Van Seters is taking the second methodological step here before he has become aware of the first. I think that one should perhaps have looked first for patterns in the field of ancient Jewish tradition formation that may help us understand the generative principle of the Pentateuch, i.e., the Torah itself. This does indeed exist, although one may well consider whether the generative principle of the design of the Torah was not continued

86  Methods outside the now ‘defined’ canon with its no longer expandable individual parts. I think here, of course, of the combination of halachic and haggadic material in the rabbinic tradition which has become literature in the Talmud in late antiquity. It is hard to see why a generative principle should have been ‘reinvented’ here, which would not already be a model in the tradition that it wants to interpret without being able to intervene in its textual form. In fact, it seems to me useful to understand the narrative parts of the Pentateuch – and thus also the texts claimed for the ‘Yahwist historian’ not only ‘among others’ but first and foremost – as ‘canonical’ haggadah, so to speak as ‘midrashic’ narratives to the ‘halachic’ Torah (in the narrower sense). This approach seems sensible,30 and I have already tried it several times.31 These attempts did not come about under the systematic aspects of this concept. But the results seem to support such an approach. After the effort to explain the ancient Jewish Biblical literature as far as possible from the possibilities of the field of Jewish literature, the striking similarities with other ancient non-Jewish works, especially Greco–Roman historiography, can and must be explained. Here, the differences, such as ‘orthonymity’ versus ‘anonymity’ – are not negligible. First of all, it will have to be borne in mind that language form is a means of communication. To understand the proximity of the arrangement of motif and material in the Pentateuch to the historiographical conceptions of Greco–Roman antiquity, it is sufficient to note that Jews, Greeks and Romans were inhabitants of ancient ecumenism and natural participants in the ‘ecumenical’ language – as the Jews still are today. In the wake of certain tendencies of the Old Testament tradition, we must not isolate ancient Judaism – also linguistically – from ancient ecumenism. The Jews may have participated in the ecumenical language and dialogue more naturally than we may be aware of in our uncritical acceptance of a biblically postulated ‘separation’ of ‘Israel’ from the ‘peoples’. We must also bear in mind that Judaism was probably actively missionary until the second uprising in the thirties of the second century CE, and certainly still in the first century CE (as the ‘Jewish’ Christianity of that time discloses). A Josephus and a Philo were in conversation with other opinions of their world (as Jews influenced by ‘Hellenism’). Through the ‘proof of age’ of Judaism, Josephus – following the ancient language form32 sought to demonstrate its ‘truth’. It does not seem surprising that the ancient tradents of the Pentateuchal narratives composed their ‘Midrashim’ around the Torah in the sense of ancient historiography, because the Torah (in the broader literary sense, as Pentateuch) was a means of mission with which the Jews (be it in Greek translation, or perhaps also in the Hebrew ‘original’ [Urtext]) sought to prove the ‘truth’ of their religion to the ‘world’ in a language form adequate to this world. It would be necessary to investigate to what extent the Ḥasidim (‫ )חסידים‬of the late post-exilic period really stood far from the ancient ecumenical attitude to life and its linguistic means of expression. The biblical ‘historiography’ (which was ‘originally’ written in Hebrew and whose decisive tradents were the post-exilic ‘pious’ of the spectrum Ḥasidim – Sadducees/Pharisees – Early Rabbis) proves precisely the participation in common ancient, Hellenistic-Roman language forms and literary topoi.

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 87 Conclusion to Section 8

In the search for a ‘form-critical model’ to solve the problem of the intention and function of the Pentateuch which could replace the question inherited from the 19th century, it makes sense to consider methodologically the possible form-critical meaning of the fact that ‘halachic’ and ‘haggadic’ texts of the Pentateuch are part of the Torah. Here it makes sense to expect, in orientation to generative patterns of ancient Jewish literature outside the Bible, that the narratives of the Pentateuch are the Midrash tradition for ‘catechetical instruction’ and explanation of Torah instructions. What this ‘model’ does not clarify – such as the ‘historical systematization’ of the arrangement of the Midrashic material in the sense of an ongoing ‘history’ from the beginnings of mankind in Genesis33 to ‘Israel’s land seizure’ in Numbers – Deuteronomy – would have to be explained on the basis of general ancient language forms and literary topoi, such as ancient historiography. The fact that ‘Israel’ was in (missionary) ‘conversation’ with the non-Jewish environment until the first – second century CE sufficiently explains its participation in literary genres of ancient historiography. These considerations do not preclude the possibility and meaningfulness of attempts to shed light on the literary history of the Pentateuch, the Torah. On the contrary, such an attempt seems sensible only because it could help to differentiate the image from the religio–theological currents in Judah–‘Israel’ (and possibly also in Israel) and disclose lines of tradition that cannot necessarily be equated with the later predominant post-exilic Golah tradition of Ḥasidim of the (fifth) – third century to Pharisaic and early Rabbinic movements. However, the theological meaningfulness of all such efforts is relativized by the fact that it is precisely this Ḥasidic–Pharisaic Torah-piety in the Bible that has ‘abolished’ those theological directions that we like to set apart from it. The ‘critical’ observations of the Patriarchs in the Pentateuchal text are not outdated. That is, however, the epistemological paradigm with which ‘outdated observations’ have been evaluated. 9 Summing up, my main points of criticism of Van Seters’ methodological sketch of ‘The Yahwist as Historian’ are: • The ‘one-dimensionality’ of his perception of the history of research, i.e. the renunciation of reflection on its methodological significance (Thesis 1). • The lack of reflection on which historical entity is to be understood by ‘Israel’ as the subject and object of J’s ‘historiography’ in the post-exilic period, and its form-critical relevance (Thesis 2). • The lack of reflection on the possible form-critical relevance of the definition, as regards the contents of ‘Israel’s’ ‘right’ worship for the intention and function of the tradition (Thesis 3).

88  Methods • The neglect of the form-critical importance of ‘anonymity’ of the assumed ‘historiography of Israel’ in comparison to that of, for example, Greek antiquity (Thesis 4). • The disregard of considering the literary contexts of the narrative parts of the Pentateuch in formulation of form-critical points of research (Thesis 5). It is to be welcomed that John Van Seters is prepared to classify consistently the texts, which he considers to be ‘Yahwist’,34 within the framework of the production of ancient literature. But if he now judges the narrative texts of the Pentateuch (with the exception of the P material) as ‘historiography’, then, on the one hand, he drags the mortgage of the 19th century over into a theory formation of the late 20th century. On the other hand, he allows himself to dictate the assessment criteria of a Jewish literature too one-sidedly by non-Jewish ‘analogues’. Historical research cannot be about ‘consistent relativization’. On the contrary, historical research strives to perceive and describe ‘individual’ or ‘collective’ ‘profiles’ in the context of their history in their possible peculiarity and diversity from other historical phenomena. Van Seters’ sketch of a model does not do justice to the peculiarity of Jewish tradition formation, because it is designed to combine it with a different identity (the Greek–Hellenistic). With regard to Van Seters’ model, I shy away from the assessment that Van Seters gives to the approaches he rejects in Part I: 3–10: • • • • •

“has not moved beyond Wellhausen at all” (to H. Gunkel) (p. 3) “it offers no further help” (to O. Eissfeldt) (p. 7) “it has not advanced the form-critical discussion at all” (to S. Mowinckel) (p. 7) “has completely aborted the form-critical discussion” (to C. Westermann) (p. 9) “has no system of verification” (to R. Rendtorff) (p. 10)

Van Seters has really recognized an excellent point of comparison between ‘Yahwistic’ and Greek historiography. However, he did not sufficiently reflect methodologically on whether the comparative texts of the Old Testament really are historiography in the sense of ancient Greek historiography. This is certainly only one aspect. What Van Seters generally refers to as ‘historiography’ are probably Midrashim that clarify the Torah couched in the ‘language’ of ancient historiography. This ‘garment’ seems to have been woven with this pattern not only for the self-assurance of the ‘pious’ Jews in ‫ ארץ ישראל‬of the third through first centuries BCE, but also for their instruction, and probably also aiming at making its apologetic-missionary tendency functional in the ‘ecumenical conversation’, similar to the equally ‘national-conscious’ and ‘cosmopolitan’ Judaism of the pre-Christian period, which had to assert itself in ‘ecumenism’ but above all against the competition with the ‘Israelite church’; that is, the Gerizim cult community. Especially with regard to this closely related religious community (and less so with regard to other groups that – like the Qumran community – which were rather ‘introverts’), which in antiquity was just as missionary-open and globally-minded as the Jerusalem cult community, Judaism had to claim to be the ‘true Israel’. It also had a good

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 89 trump card in its hands with the so-called ‘historiography’ in the ‫תורה‬, which is itself a piece of Torah, because the ‘Samaritans’35 themselves had once adopted the Judean edited Torah.36 In this structure of competition and conflict must be sought the Sitz im Leben of the formation of the final Judean canonical tradition. This final formation of the tradition had an internal and an external effect. John Van Seters has been able to demonstrate the similarities between Greek and Judean/Israelite historiography. He has, however been unable to describe (at least in the submitted draft) the differences: • the peculiarity of the so-called ‘historiography’ of ‘Israel’ in, for example, the Pentateuch; • the question of whether it is ‘historiography’ in the ancient Greek sense (Van Seters: yes); • the function of the narrative texts of the Pentateuch in the context of the entire composition, part of which is the so-called ‘Yahwistic historiography’; • the function of the Pentateuchal narratives in ancient (and pre-Christian) Judaism and its institutions in general; • the functions of a Hellenistic Jewish ‘conception of history’ (in the context of the Torah); that possibly is: • the function of ‘historiography’ in antiquity, insofar as this is or could have been designed for communication outside the narrower group. Τι ουν ερουμεν προς ταυτα: – John Van Seters has made clear to us the aporias of the ‘old model’: precisely in his effort to revise it ‘critically’ and adapt it for our and future times. Van Seters tries to give answers to questions that have not been asked – and to deprive us of these ‘answers’. As an exegete of the ancient world, I find Van Seters’ lack of historical– methodological reflection the most problematic. What is missing here, I have already tried to formulate in theses with epic explanation in 1984 (Diebner 1984). This deficit, however, stands in contrast to the fact that Van Seters has set the course much earlier (in the sixties)37 for the possibility of saving the traditional formation of the Old Testament – at least ‘the final hand’ – from the indefinable haze of the non-Jewish pre-exilic ‘Israel’ into the ‘realistic’ post-exilic period (and hardly in toto). In his efforts to continue on this path, John Van Seters deserves every support, despite all the criticism presented here! Notes   1 Reworked critical essay written as preparation for a discussion of John Van Seters’ paper at the seminar ‘Journée d’études sur le Yahwiste’, Freiburg, February 1, 1986. References to Van Seters’ draft paper in two parts will be listed: Van Seters 1986: I: II.   2 “Für Wellhausen ist der Jehovist (JE) ein reines Geschichtswerk. Es stellt ein Stück früher israelitischer Geschichtsschreibung dar, auch wenn vieles davon Folklore und nicht Geschichte im eigentlichen Sinne des Wortes ist. Es basiert auf mündlicher Überlieferung und bildet noch immer eine eher lockere Sammlung von Traditionen (Vorwegnahme Gunkels)” (Van Seters, handout: 1).

90  Methods   3 Apart from H.H. Schmid and M. Rose, it is, in fact, only G. von Rad, who is positively evaluated: “[He] actually returns to Wellhausen” and “even if his kleine credo did not solve the problem . . . raised the [relevant form-critical] question: ‘How did all this material come together in this particular form?’” (Van Seters 1986: I: 12).   4 “Drei grossen Blöcke sehr unterschiedlicher Traditionen”. The text in notes 5–7 stem from Van Seters’ theses in German, which is partly cited in the original.   5 “Eine geistige Tätigkeit, die komplexe Verbindungen von Schöpfungs- und Flutmythen” . . .  “und Kombinationen von Urzeittraditionen mit Geschichtsschreibung” . . . “hervorbringen”.   6 “Viele Beispiele einer antiquarischen Geschichtsschreibung” . . . “die Urzeitmythen, Heroensagen, Genealogien, Städte- und Nationengründungen und deren frühe Geschichte umfassen”.   7 “Ähnlichkeit in inhaltlicher Hinsicht” . . . . “Genealogien als Mittel, die Tradition zu strukturieren”, . . . “Interesse . . . an Ethnographie und Geographie”, . . . . “Sage und Ätiologie”, . . . “(l)iterarische(n) Einheit in einem Werk der Geschichtsschreibung”, . . . “Ort der Tradition, mündlicher und schriftlicher, in historischen Werken”.   8 “Die . . . drei Traditionsblöcke [that is those of J] bilden den Prolog für die folgende Geschichte Israels von der Landname bis zum Ende des Königtums und setzen diese gleichzeitig voraus” (Handout: Part II, Thesis 1).   9 This was once only subscribed for the curriculum of the Gymnasium (BR.Dt1). 10 Cf. also the paper by Martin Röse at the seminar ‘Journee d’etudes sur le Yahwiste’, Fribourg/Suisse, 1.2.1986. 11 Quoted from an English translation of Westermann, used by Van Seters. 12 Ibid. Here it is worth noting the difficulty I have in fundamentally distinguishing the historian’s use of “his own imagination” from his creative activity, with which he – as Van Seters’ assumes with W. Aly – has “thoroughly reworked” his . . . ”stories” (Van Seters 1986: II: 14). 13 Here it shall be noted that contemporary or even earlier scholars than those mentioned by Van Seters have dated ‘Israelite historiography’ to the exilic – post-exilic period. See for instance Heike Friis 1975, 1984, 1985, 1986 and also Diebner and Schult 1975. 14 I note here the textual traditions published by John Macdonald 1969 and Kippenberg’s seminal research (1971). 15 Such is the self-designation by the Israelites in the Samaritan Chronicle II (cf. Macdonald 1969). 16 The evidence of the tradition seems to me to be so clear here that I, too, am no doubt formulating harshly in the direction of what I have frowned upon for over a decade, when I say “hardly reasonably questionable”. 17 The historical interesting question seems to me to be with what reasons Judah wants and claims to be Israel, exclusively. Judah’s historical claim seems to be legitimationen post festum (cf. Diebner and Schult 1975). There must have been a reason. A halfway ‘plausible’ key figure in the discovery of this reason seems to me to be ‘David’, the mythical ‘God’- king (cf. Galling 1968: 52) as origin of the ‘real’ ‘Israel’; that means, in the traditions about this king. 18 It should be noted that the ‘conflict structure’ of the dispute over the ‘true Israel’ is probably a particularly important element in the different traditions of the Old Testament (not only in the historiography). There are, however, also other important conflict structures, probably adhering to the conflict structures of the ‘history of Israel’, that can be traced to some extent through different complexes of the tradition, such as the conflict between Judah–‘Israel’ and Edom/Idumea (see also Genesis). 19 Cf. Diebner, “Gottesdienst II. AT” in TRE xiv: 5–28. 20 CF. here recent works by F. Stolz, B. Lang, H. Vorländer and, especially, M. Smith; cf. also Bernd J. Diebner in: TRE XIV, esp. pp. 19ff; apart from these texts, see also Lang

Some Comments on John Van Seters’ Methodological Sketch 91 1984, 1985. In reaction to Lang, see E. Haag 1985 with contribution from the catholic scholars G. Braulik, G. Hentschel, H.-W. Jüngling, N. Lohfink, J. Scharbert and E. Zenger. Lang 1986 is a reaction to this work. 21 C. Hardmeier, for example, made such a blur in the discussion in Fribourg on 1.2. 1986 in a Van Seters accommodating contribution to the discussion against those who spoke for a methodological validation of the difference. The most important reason why the ‘orthonymous’ historiography of Greek antiquity and the ‘anonymous’ of the ancient Jewish Bible must not be equated is that the literature of the ancient Jewish Bible is ‘authorized by God’ – just like Muhammad’s Quran. Deus dixit or a mediator Deo sponte, this is not what Greek historiography claims. And this is the form-critically relevant difference that the quasi-historiographic ‘Yahwist’, which has originated from Western reasoning of modern times and is based on Greek historical thinking, threatens to blur. 22 However, ‘Moses’ as the ‘author’ of the Torah (cf. e.g. already Deut 31:9 etc.) is not a historical author–personality such as Herodotus but a ‘hero’ of the ‘historical’ work itself (in my opinion rightly formulated by E. Blum in a conversation on 6.2.1986 about Van Seters’ sketch of a model with the author). This means it is not a useful analogy. 23 Also in the 19th century CE ‘revolutionary’ dating of the asserted sources of the Bible has been suggested (cf. Kraus 1983: 242ff.). 24 Incidentally, this is also my most pertinent criticism of R. Rendtorff’’s 1977 otherwise quite sensible approach to sketching a new ‘Pentateuchal hypothesis’. 25 ‘Christian exegesis’ in the methodological sense does not exist as much as does ‘Christian art’. But there is exegesis of Christians. And this includes a sufficiently heavy methodological mortgage for scientific work. 26 I would like to explain here (once again) that I consider the enterprise of a ‘biblical theology’ of the new ‘Tübingen School’ (Gese, Stuhlmacher a.o.) to be Christian methodological nonsense in regard to tradition history. 27 Cf. here the work from B. Zuber 1977. 28 Otherwise, Alt’s ‘Vätergott’-Hypothesis would not have lasted so long. 29 For Roman models, see J.A. Soggin 1984, esp. pp. 20f. and p. 386 n. 2. I myself even take into account the biographical literature of the Romans from Ennius to Suetonius in seminars, for example to understand the generative principle of royal vitae in DtrG/H. 30 “Obvious”, I would say. 31 Since DBAT 17 (Diebner 1983): 81–98; and other contributions. 32 The linguistic and philosophical forms ‘old’ = ‘original’, ‘good’, and ‘true’ is of course a metaphor of the mythical world view that is still familiar to us today, in which we still fully participate, also in ‘critical science’ as Old Testament research has proven since World War I (and II). 33 I even agree with Van Seters’ comparison to the extent that I think that the ancient historiography of a group always has the origin of the group (as the ‘beginning of humanity’) in mind; so also in the historiography of ‘Israel’ Adam (‫ )םדא‬is Jewish. Genesis 2 (cf. the ‘kinship formula’ in v. 23a; only used in Golah tradition) interprets here Gen l:26f., where it is about the rhythm of life (‫ )תבש‬and not about ‘incarnation’ (Menschwerdung). ‘Wickedness’ of men is ante portas Paradisi apostasy from the ‘original creation’ of the golah-Adam (‫)םדא‬. This apostasy can only be corrected by the eschatological αποκαταστασις παωτων to the ‘true (= Jewish) humanity’, (cf. Isaiah 2 and others). 34 For Van Seters, the ‘Yahwist’ is ultimately an empty formula that encompasses all narrative Pentateuchal material except P; so what is left?! 35 When would this have been the case? I reckon only a period of Judaic supremacy, i.e. concretely, after the incorporation of Israel into the ‘full state’ under John Hyrcanus (last third of the second century BCE). 36 Or had been forced to adopt it. 37 Cf. Van Seters 1968, 1969.

92  Methods References Diebner, B.J. 1983. ‘Genesis als Buch der antik-jüdischen Bibel. Eine unhistorisch-kritische Spekulation’. DBAT 17: 81–98. ———. 1984. ‘Wider die “Offenbarungs-Archäologie” in der Wissenschaft vom Alten Testament. Grundsätzliches zum Sinn alttestamentlicher Forschung im Rahmen der Theologie’. DBAT 18: 30–53. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975. ‘Thesen zu nachexilischen Entwürfen zur frühen Geschichte Israels im Alten Testament’. DBAT 10: 41–47. Friis, H. 1975. ‘Eksilet og den israelitiske historieopfattelse’. DTT 38: 1–16. ———. 1984. ’Das Exil und die Geschichte’. DBAT 18: 63–84 ———. 1985. ‘Geschichteschreibung als Legitimationsform’. DBAT 21: 5–27. ———. 1986. Die Bedingungen für die Errichtung des Davidischen Reichs in Israel und seiner Umwelt. DBAT.B 6. Heidelberg: Dielheimer Blätter. Galling, K. 1968. Textbuch zur Geschichte Israels. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Haag, E. (ed.). 1985. Gott, der Einzige. Zur Entstehung des Monotheismus in Israel. QD 104. Freiburg/Breisgau, Basel, Vienna: Herder. Kippenberg, H.G. 1971. Garizim und Synagoge: Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramäischen Periode. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kraus, H.-J. 1983. Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments. 3rd ed. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Lang, B. 1984. ‘Brauchtum/Fest’. In Neues Handbuch theologischer Grundbegriffe. P. Eicher (ed.). Munich: Kösel: I: 131–139. ———. 1985. ‘Jahwe allein! Ursprung und Gestalt des biblischen Monotheismus’. Concilium 211: 30–35. ———. 1986. ‘Zur Entstehung des biblischen Monotheismus’. ThQ 166: 135–142. Macdonald, J. 1969. Samaritan Chronicle No. II (or: Sepher Ha-Yamim) From Joshua to Nebuchadnezzar. Berlin: de Gruyter. Rendtorff, R. 1977. Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch. BZAW 147. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Soggin, J.A. 1984. A History of Israel. London: SCM Press. Van Seters, J. 1968. ‘The Problem of Childnessness in Near Eastern Law’. JBL 87: 401–408. ———. 1969. ‘Jacob’s Marriages and Ancient Near Eastern Customs: A Reexamination’. HThR 62: 377–395. ———. 1986. ‘The Yahwist as Historian, Part I and Part II’. Paper Given at the Seminar ‘Journée d’études sur le Yahwiste’, Freiburg, February 1. Zuber, B. 1977. ‘Marginalien zur Quellentheorie’. DBAT 12: 14–29.

6

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? Comments on ‘Israel’ as an Ecclesiological Body in the TNK (Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica)1

1 Introduction “Just don’t become an Old Testament scholar!” Martin Noth’s assistant at the time, Rudolf Smend, warned us in 1961/62, when he entered the assistant’s room after the introduction seminar. And he added resignedly: “Everything has already been researched!” We were Noth’s assistants and sat behind the index boxes that were to become the register of the 50 volumes of the journal of the German Association for the Study of Palestine (ZDPV). I took Smend’s resignation to heart; because he – the already graduated young scholar from an old family of scholars – had to know. I abandoned the topic of my Old Testament dissertation, which I had already begun with Otto Plöger (who died in 1999), and switched to Christian archaeology. This discipline was on the way to freeing itself from ecclesiastical (here traditionally: Catholic) paternalism: a ‘liberation’ to which important Catholic Christian archaeologists such as Theodor Klauser (Bonn) or Johannes Kollwitz (Freiburg) also contributed significantly. A wide open field of research seemed to lie ahead of me. I found (my) place in this field and did my doctorate (under the umbrella of church history) under one of the most prominent Protestant Christian archaeologists at the time, Erich Dinkler. However, “old love does not rust”. I continued to keep an eye on the Old Testament and also stayed in contact with my old teachers in Bonn, Otto Plöger and Martin Noth (who died suddenly in May 1968). And finally, I adopted an Old Testament topic for my habilitation instead of working on Nubian ceramics. At this time, the entablature of the Old Testament research edifice which had been built over almost two centuries, with its ‘reliable results’ began to crackle quietly. As early as in 1969, John Van Seters contributed to this with his essay ‘Jacob’s Marriages and Ancient Near Eastern Customs. A Re-examination’ (Van Seters 1969). Here he tried to show that the marital relationships reflected in the Patriarchal narratives corresponded very well to the Near Eastern customs of the middle of the first millennium BCE and should not be sought in a hypothetical “time of the Fathers” in the last third of the second millennium BCE. However, aging buildings can be renovated, and they can remain habitable for a long time afterwards. The alternative is: You build a new house on the free space next to it, knowing that this can also crack and become damaged. Nevertheless, I opted for the latter. However, the work on the habilitation topic at the beginning of DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-9

94  Methods the 1970s, which was my old dissertation topic on Old Testament miracle stories, confirmed Smend’s resignation expressed ten years earlier and gave it an almost prophetic character in retrospect. I worked with the inherited premises and methods (i.e., I adhered to the ‘rules’ of the discipline) and discovered that I could at best only move the furniture in the (‘miracle’) room in which I worked (of course, this can be disturbing by itself to someone who prefers to see it in the traditional way: ‘as it has always been’!) But this ‘moving around’, I did not find worthy of the scholarly drafting of a habilitation thesis. 2  What Is ‘Israel’? “What [ . . . ] the very essence of this strange ‘Israel’ is”,2 which has been documented in Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica, was the moving question of Martin Noth in his Geschichte Israels. Hermeneutically and methodologically, he impressively presents Israel in ‘quotation marks’ (‘Israel’) in his “Introduction” (Einleitung) to his History (Noth 1956: 9–15), which is as dryly sober as it is captivating. Hardly any other secondary text of Old Testament research has shaped and moved me as much as these few pages, for which the rest of the work is actually only illustrative material. Noth writes: That ‘Israel’ was a unique phenomenon in the circle of historical peoples follows [ . . . ] from a general consideration. As surely as it would be thoroughly wrong to equate later Judaism with ‘Israel’ and to identify these two quite different historical phenomena, there is nevertheless a direct historical connection on the other side; and the historically unique nature of Judaism within the world of nations must have already been given in the beginning of that ‘Israel’ from which it has grown.3 What is “that ‘Israel’” for Martin Noth? Let me remind you briefly. According to Noth’s fundamental definition of ‘Israel’, it is “the [12] tribes that formed the greater whole of Israel” and “only came together fully with the seizure of land on the soil of the Palestinian cultural land”: “the actual ‘history of Israel’ for us only begins [then]”.4 In addition to the constitutives, there is also the worship of the one God YHWH, which is common to the tribes, around whose movable central sanctuary, the ‘ark’, the surrounding ‘Israelite’ tribes gather amphictyonically. In order to call that ‘Israel’ a ‘people’ with a clear conscience, which “(t)he Old Testament tradition tends to do wherever it needs an appellative designation at all”5 as Noth notes, it lacks a fourth criterion almost passim, in addition to a “common language”, “common dwelling”, and “an essentially identical historical situation”, namely, that “all of the Israelite tribes” . . . “for a longer period of time” [ . . . ] “were the subject of joint historical action”.6 Noth concludes: “One may therefore be better off [ . . . ] speaking of ‘Israel’ rather than the ‘people of Israel’”.7 The question here is not to what extent Noth’s definition of “that ‘Israel’” stands up to critical scrutiny or whether his reluctance to designate “that ‘Israel’” as a “people” is applauded today by ethnologists and sociologists. Two things are essential to

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 95 me. Martin Noth has a sense that “that ‘Israel’” is something ‘peculiar’ within the framework of the human forms of socialization of the ancient Near East and antiquity. He speaks of “this strange ‘Israel’” (diesem seltsamen ‘Israel’). And he would like to be able to use the term ‘Israel’ for a complex historical quantity, perhaps even as a connecting super-term possibly for different polities, such as the ‘northern kingdom’ of Israel and the ‘southern kingdom’ of Judah. For Noth, something is somehow left in both of them that “already existed in the beginning of that ‘Israel’”.8 But Martin Noth obviously cannot bring himself to do one thing, which is why his definition of ‘Israel’ and the relation of ‘Israel’ to what he understands by ‘people’ remain so strangely blurred despite all the criteria mentioned. And because he cannot bring himself to this, he also has difficulties, in my opinion, “to equate later Judaism with [that] ‘Israel’”.9 (I do not want to accuse Noth here of the subcutaneous anti-Judaism that has long dominated Old Testament research, nor the intention to reserve the term ‘Israel’ for the Christian church as a legitimate successor institution). In my opinion, Noth cannot bring himself to understand the term ‘Israel’ in Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica (in the TNK: Torah – Nevi’im – Ketuvim) singularly as an ecclesiological designation and to define it with the necessary criteria. But I do not think that any researcher of our generation of academic ‘fathers’, I know of, came ‘so close’ to doing so! Regarding my historical classification of the TNK traditions – the literature of the Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica – my one important academic teacher, Martin Noth, would certainly have had little pleasure in his student. And it may be a mild coincidence that he no longer had to and could perceive my work in this regard. My other important academic teacher, Otto Plöger, accompanied my path ‘benevolently critically’ until shortly before his death in 1999. His part in the ‘alternative course’ I took was essential. His field of research was the ‘late period’, the ‘last offshoots’ of the literary history of the ‘Old Testament’ according to traditional paradigms. With this focus of interest and work, Plöger was already a (sometimes ridiculed or regretted) outsider ‘in his time’, i.e. essentially in the 1950s to 1970s. 3  Martin Noth’s “That ‘Israel’” Martin Noth’s “that ‘Israel’” is, in my opinion, a mythical quantity. The ‘myth’ – the justifying fundamental word of the essential foundation – is not a ‘lie’. The myth is only presented as such if it is shredded historically-critically and described as (historically) ‘untrue’. But ‘myth’ is only a ‘different’ form of language, which is not ‘compatible’ with the analytically argumentative one, but does the same. ‘Israel’ is ‘self-evidently’ mythological in its ancient documents, which were collected in the TNK. Ancient ‘Israel’ retrojects its basic self-understanding – and this is an ecclesiological one – by thinking and speaking mythically into the ‘primeval’ and the ‘past’. If I wanted to criticize my highly esteemed teacher Martin Noth today, in a know-it-all manner, I would formulate this criticism as follows: Martin Noth could not decipher the myth as such. He questioned the myth (which he, hermeneutically, did not identify as such) about its (possible) ‘historical core’. In doing so, however, he hermeneutically and methodically mixed two different cultural forms

96  Methods of language. Noth began with an ecclesiological ‘Israel’ (which he defined in substance, but not methodologically consciously). This ‘Israel’ is (according to Noth) ‘strange’ and ‘unique’ in the cultural–historical context of its time and region. It is ‘incomparable’ with everything else in its cultural–historical context, even if there are certain points of comparison. If ‘other cultures’ encounter “that ‘Israel’” in the social context, then they prove ‘apostasy’ (according to the TNK traditions) or ‘syncretism’ (according to Western research), from ‘Israel’s’ ‘strange uniqueness’. The Old Testament scholar Otto Eissfeldt from Halle had already described ‘Israel’s’ uniqueness by its non-comparability. My ‘scientific debut’ was a review of the first volume of Otto Eissfeldt’s Kleine Schriften from 1962. Martin Noth slammed the volume on my table with the remark: “Discuss this for the ZDPV!” In my review, I quoted a remark by Konrad von Rabenau from his preface to the Festschrift for Otto Eissfeldt published in 1957 on his 70th birthday, namely that “an objective observation of the facts of religious history can show the peculiarity of the Israelite religion and thus leave room for belief in God’s valid revelation in Israel”.10 Seldom has such a contradiction within the text become clearer to me. I had been required to work historically and critically within the framework of the criteria defined by Ernst Troeltsch (1898/1922). Troeltsch’s basic principles are ‘critique’, ‘analogy’, and ‘correlation’. (The model can be [critically] enriched and differentiated; but it describes – still valid today – the basic possibilities). But here Eissfeldt – filtered by von Rabenau – wants to make the incompatible the criterion of faith, that is: define the incomprehensible with available methods?! My question: Is there such incompatibility? And – how can it be detected if the available methods are not sufficient? Of course, (I say deliberately: “of course”) we want to prove our uniqueness through our incomparability with something else! I am myself. But this is difficult to describe methodologically. Methodologically verifiable, I can only describe myself ‘in relation to . . . ’. Each description must have the ability to ‘classify’ me, compare me and methodologically provide criteria for comparability. ‘Israel’ must – in order for us to be able to say anything methodologically verifiable about ‘Israel’ at all – be methodologically verifiable according to our limited canon of methods. If we reject this, then we can immediately withdraw to “faith”. But then we (theologians, here specifically: we ‘Old Testament scholars’) have no claim to a place in the academic universitas. When I ‘translate’ the biblical myth, i.e. take it methodologically seriously as a myth, then as a historian I ask: “When might it have originated?” And that is the question I want to explore in this lecture. I formulate it in keeping with the lecture title, and levelled at Noth with the words: “Since when has there been ‘that [ecclesiological Israel’]?” My hypothetical answer here is: Hardly before the last third of the second century BCE! An ‘ecclesiological’, i.e. ideological, defined ‘Israel’ must fit into a historically plausible context. And this is – I think – hardly available before the fifth century BCE (cf. Diebner 1994c). Given the time constraints for my lecture, my argument will be limited to available sources in external evidence and the TNK’s internal evidence. And I formulate it again clearly and hypothetically: The ecclesiologically definable ‘Israel’ of our TNK traditions,

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 97 which presents itself from a Judean-dominance perspective, is unlikely to have existed before the last third of the second century BCE.11 4 Procedure In the following, I would like to try to make this argumentatively plausible in three steps: 4.1

I take into consideration the pre-Christian and para-Christian external evidence for ‘Israel’, i.e. in literary and material legacies outside of the TNK and its related Jewish literature, which for various historical contingencies has not been ‘canonized’. 4.2

I look at problematic traditions within the TNK, especially in the Torah (the Pentateuch); traditions that show a qualitative differentiation between the entities ‘Yehudāh’ and ‘Yisrā’el’. Here ‘Yisrā’el’ is identical with the so-called ‘Northern Kingdom’, that is the polity, which is often referred to in internal evidence and rarely (but at least) verifiable, is referred to as Israel in external evidence (which the polity of ‘Yehudāh’ is not). More often, however, it is referred to as Bīt Ḫumrī (‘House of Omri’) after its impressive rulers of the first half of the first millennium BCE, but consistently also as ‘Samaria’ (Šhomrôn). 4.3

Finally, I will try to relate both sorts of evidence to each other and draw some possible conclusions for a critical examination of the TNK literature, the ancient Jewish so-called Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica. 5  External Evidence of ‘Israel’ The first methodological section has two parts: First, I present external sources in which the term ‘Israel’ designates the so-called northern kingdom (Samaria; 5.1). Then I will discuss the oldest external evidence for Judaic self-designation as ‘Israel’ (5.2). 5.1  Samaria as ‘Israel’ in the External Evidence 5.1a

The earliest evidence for the term ‘Israel’ is the ‘Victory Song of Merneptah’ (1224–1204 BCE), from his fifth year of reign (1209) as pharaoh of the 19th dynasty. It was found on a stele in Thebes of Upper Egypt (cf. Galling 1968: 39f.): “Israel is laid waste, it has no seed”.12

98  Methods The determinative of this Egyptian inscription points to an ethnic group ‘Israel’, not to a polity: a reason many researchers recognize ‘Israel’ in its nomadic origins. After all, even Noth concludes: We no longer have the possibility of saying with any certainty what this ‘Israel’ was in Palestine around 1220 BCE. Whether it was the ‘Israel’ of the twelve tribes in the form known to the Old Testament tradition or an even older entity, which already bore the name ‘Israel’ and then, on the basis of some hidden historical connections has transmitted the name to the entity known by us as ‘Israel’.13 I ask you to keep in mind Noth’s formulation of the possibility of a ‘transfer’ of the ‘name’ from one historical ‘entity’ to another for the following reasons. 5.1b

Much discussed in the last decade was the inscription of Tel Dan found in 1993, which could date from the tenth/ninth century BCE and was secondarily walled up in a lintel of the ninth/eighth century BCE. Because it speaks about a .bytdwd. it was asked, and affirmed or denied, whether this was “the first external mention of (King) David (resp. his dynasty)?”. That issue is of no importance here. Line 8 of the fragmentary inscription mentions a mlk ysr ‘l in parallelism to a [ki]ng of an enigmatic .bytdwd. (separated from the context by the dots, meaning in one word14). This probably refers to the second son of Ahab, [Jo]ram (850–845 BCE; cf. 2 Kgs 1:17b; 3:1). What can be said is that here ‘Israel’ does not mean ‘Judah’.15 5.1c

Subsequently, the term ‘Israel’ can be externally documented several times; for example, in an inscription of the Assyrian king Shalmaneser III from his first campaign against Damascus (853 BCE). There the ruler ‘reports’ what he has ‘destroyed, devastated and burned’, namely: 10,000 soldiers of Ahab of Israel (Aḫabbu Sir’ilā’a; Galling 1968: 50). This probably refers to the mighty King Ahab (870–851 BCE) of the ‘Northern Kingdom’, whose defeat by Shalmaneser is concealed from us by the Former Prophets of the TNK. 5.1d

‘Israel’ is mentioned six times in the famous ‘Inscription of King Meša of Moab’ (around 840 BCE), whose ‘authenticity’ has been and is questioned on several occasions (Galling 1968: 51–53), but which I prefer to regard as ‘real’ because it supports my argument (and will not falsify it if it were false). The king mentioned in the text as ‘King of Israel’ must be Joram (cf. 2 Kings 3) or Jehu (845–817 BCE).16

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 99 Subsequently, until its Assyrian occupation in 722/21, the ‘Northern Kingdom’ is only mentioned in inscriptional external evidence (between 738 and 715 BC) under the names ‘Samaria’ and the ‘House of Omri’ (Galling 1968: 53–63). The counter-case to my examination is that the ‘Southern kingdom’ is referred to in all available inscriptions and epigraphical external evidence only as ‘Judah’, never as ‘Israel’, both before and after the so-called ‘Babylonian exile’ in the sixth century BCE. This can be stated generally for all available external material and it demands the question: “When do we encounter the earliest external evidence of a Judean self-designation as ‘Israel’?” 5.2  Judah as ‘Israel’ in the External Evidence 5.2a

A preliminary remark: The term Yehudāh with the final he is testified externally, i.e. outside the TNK, for the first time on coins of the Egyptian Diadochi king Ptolemy I Soter (325–285 BCE) from around 300 BCE, after the Ptolemies had conquered Palestine and ruled it for a whole century. Before that, all epigraphic material lacks this final he, both in Aramaic and Hebrew texts.17 Where we find this he in modern publications of epigraphic material, it has been supplemented by the editors because it was taken for granted (cf. Diebner 1989). However, the name Yhwdh is found four times on an invoice from Elephantine, which dates from the third century BCE (Porten and Yardeni 1993: 258–267 [TAD C 3.28]; Cowley 1909: 81). 5.2b

The Aramaic texts (mostly papyri) related to the Jewish colony in the southern Egyptian garrison Elephantine/Yeb, an island in the Nile at Aswan, contains, among other things, correspondence between Jewish settlers with the ‘secular’ and cultic authorities and their representatives in Jerusalem and Samaria from the late fifth century BCE. Particularly important are Pap. 1 (including the almost identical Pap. 2) and Pap. 3. These papyri regard the re-establishment of a Yahu/ Yhw temple and the response from the authorities in Jerusalem. Pap. 1 (2) contains a petition from the South Egyptian Jews in support of (in every way: ideationally and materially) the reconstruction of their Yahu/Yhw temple destroyed by Khnum priests. The petitioners want to restore the prescribed (Jewish) religious practices – as took place before the destruction of the Temple – and (among other things) also offer the ‘olāh’ (the ‘whole offering’ or the [h]olókawstron), the most valuable sacrifice of the Jewish temple cult. Various papyri suggest that up to five deities were worshipped by the southern Egyptian Jews in the late fifth century BCE (Sachau 1911: 3–30; Porten and Yardeni 1986: 68–77) From these facts I have derived an exam question for our theology students: “How would you respond to the request of the Elephantine Jews if you want to pass your first

100  Methods examination in the Old Testament according to prevailing research opinion?” The answer is obvious. And also I would have had to reward this answer (below) if I had to evaluate such an exam: 1) The request shall be rejected outright. The reasons: 2) “Do you Jews in southern Egypt not know that the religion of ‘Israel’ is monotheistic? Why do you still have a Pantheon?” 3) “Don’t you know that since the ‘Josianic cult reform’ in the late seventh century BCE there may be only one temple for YHWH, and that one is the temple in Jerusalem? Why do you want to restore a YHWH temple down there? Your now destroyed temple was already ‘heretical’!” 4) “And don’t you know that only at Jerusalem’s temple (keyword: ‘cult centralization’) may the whole sacrifice (the ‘olāh) be offered?” Hardly any of these reasons were mentioned in the memo (Pap. 3) made of the response from Jerusalem. The Elephantine Jews could rebuild their Yahu temple, bring offerings at the altar and proceed there as before. But they should no longer offer the whole offering there! This is to be reserved (ex silentio decided) for Jerusalem. We should read this demand first and foremost from the point of view of the ‘church tax’ and only secondarily from the aspect of religion or ‘faith’. The authorities of Jerusalem’s ‘church’ (cult) want – anachronistically speaking – to collect the notes. They generously donate the bell bag coins (minḥāh) to the priesthood in Elephantine. I have not yet said anything about the texts’ essence here. In the entire corpus of documents from ‘Jewish’ Elephantine, which the Israeli scholar Bezalel Porten has published meticulously and comprehensively since the mid-80s of the last century, the term ‘Israel’ is not attested a single time. ‘Jew’, ‘Jewish’, etc., on the other hand appear several times. Neither is there anything of the narrative traditions of the Pentateuch that is so important to us Christians, especially to the Protestants (because they are non-juridical), nor of any other narrative of the TNK traditions, which, according to mainstream research, should have been gathered towards the end of the fifth century BCE and be familiar to Jewish culture. On April 1 (!) 2000, I presented such considerations at the conference of the French research society “Transeuphratène” (Diebner 2001a), causing a lengthy discussion. The editor of the Elephantine material, Bezalel Porten was present. He rejected the main part of the discussion. To my remark that ‘Israel’ is not mentioned in the Elephantine papyri (Porten knows the texts best), Porten replied with a reference to ‫ אלהי ישראל‬in Ezra 4:1. He considers this text – like all researchers known to me – to be ‘documentary’ from the middle of the fifth century BCE, which is why he has included the texts of the Aramaic letters from the Book of Ezra in his Elephantine edition.18 I replied to Porten: “This is biblical tradition, which I methodologically refrain from here, not Elephantine literature!” Unfortunately, the Elephantine material does not prove that authoritative Judean circles or the Upper Egyptian Jews of the late fifth century BCE understood

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 101 themselves as ‘Israel’, although here – in our opinion – central matters of the religious community of ‘Israel’ were at stake. They nevertheless understood themselves as ‘Jews’ in both places.19 5.3

Matters become even more critical with the so-called ‘Letter of Aristeas’,20 which, generally, is now classified as a pseudepigraphic work. The events narratively related in the ‘letter’ takes place in the middle of the third century BCE at the time of the Ptolemaic ruler Ptolemy II Philadelphos (286–245 BCE). For a long time, the text was considered ‘contemporary’ with these events, but it is now dated later than 100 BCE (Kautzsch 1962: 3) or, at the earliest, after 130 BCE (Bickerman 1930) and abbreviated PsArist. The work describes, in letter form – at the end of long scholarly conversations of Jewish scholars with the Egyptian court about the merits of Jewish law in front of the Pharaoh – the translation of the Jewish νομος from Hebrew into Greek (§§ 301–311; cf. Meisner 1973: 83f). What was translated there is not defined. Legal passages from Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy of the Pentateuch can be identified. ‘Moses’ is mentioned in §144 of the scholarly edited text. Otherwise, none of the names that are important for the ‘faith of Israel’ (for example: ‘Abraham’, from whom we all descend: Jews, Christians, Muslims) are encountered. The text does not allude to any of the so edifying and – according to our Old Testament research – so ancient and fundamental pre-legalistic narratives of ‘that ancient Israel’. None of this seems to matter in PsArist. It is exclusively concerned with the νομος for the definition of an ethnicity, possibly since the Persian period and adopted by Hellenism. That the text relates about the ‘translation of the Torah, the Pentateuch’, in the form of the text handed down to us, is assumed without further discussion, since (still) the vast majority of researchers assume its final literary adaptation (the so-called ‘final form’) around 400 BCE. They, furthermore, claim as a fact that, in the text, Jewish culture presents itself to the representative of (Egyptian) Hellenism in its peculiarity. But the term ‘Israel’ is nowhere to be found in the entire PsArist! So this is also a false assumption. And it requires intellectual contortions (a serpentine dance) to explain why the term ‘Israel’ is not used by the Jews articulated here, especially since this is really about ‘Israel’s’ central cultural document. We are, with PsArist – according to critical research – in the period around 100 BCE. 5.4

After all these ‘false assumptions’, when does the term ‘Israel’ first appear in external evidence in relation to the Jews? In this context, it may be beneficial to learn what the ancient Oriental environment perceived of the Jews since the ‘invention of curiosity’ (around the sixth/fifth century BCE beginning with Hecataeus of Miletus [ca. 560–480 BCE]) which allowed people to be interested in other cultures and

102  Methods their representatives. I can only briefly sum up here what I unfolded in detail from relevant sources in a lecture in the last winter semester.21 1) Ηροδοτος Αλικαρνασσευ; (Herodotus of Halicarnassus; from before 480 – after 431 BCE) is probably the first to take notice of the Jews (?) in Syria: “ . . . οτι μουνοι παντων αντρωπων Κολχοι και Αιγυπτιοι και Αιθιοπες περιτεμνονται απ’ αρχης τα αιδοια. Φοινικες δε και Συριοι οι εν τη Παλαστινη και αυτοι ομολογεουσι παρ Αιγυπτιων μεμαθηκεναι” (Herodotus, Hist. II: 104; Stern 1974: 2). (“ . . . that the Colcians, the Egyptians and the Ethiopians are the only peoples who practiced circumcision from the beginning. The Phoenicians and the Syrians living in Palestine confirm, as far as they themselves are concerned, that they learned this custom from the Egyptians . . . ”). Josephus quotes this passage in Contra Apionem I: 169f. and says that by Herodotus’ mention of the ‘Palestinian Syrians’, the Jews are meant. (Josephus makes no distinction between Judeans and Samaritans here). This would be the earliest known external reflection of a Jewish peculiarity, which of course is also shared by other peoples, such as the Egyptians, from whom the Jews would have adopted it, according to Herodotus. 2) A sequence of perceptions of traditional Jewish features in the eyes of non-Jews between the third century BCE and the first/second century CE can be reconstructed in a verifiable manner. I ‘translate’ these features here summarily into the usual language of biblical research: • First the topic of the ‘Exodus’ is perceived (as early as the third century BCE). But that also means a close connection between Jews and Egypt. • During this time, it is also perceived that the Jews have and obey a ‘peculiar’ law. Hecataeus of Abdera (died before 285 BCE) quotes the final sentence of the Jewish νομος known to him: interestingly not from Deut 34:12 but (cum grano salis) from Num 36:13. • At the turn of the second to the first century BCE, narrative traditions of the Jews are perceived, of which the earliest verifiable are those of ‘Abraham’ and ‘Isaac’. • ‘Reports’ about Jerusalem’s temple and its installations have appeared since the second century BCE. The keyword ‘donkey’ is often encountered. This, in turn, is reminiscent of the earliest known depiction of the crucified, the so-called ‘mocking crucifix’ (second century CE), which depicts Jesus with a donkey’s head. • The Gallic historian Pompey Trogus (first century BCE – first century CE), who lived and wrote at the time of Augustus, uses, for the first time known to us, the term ‘Israel’ as a reference to Jews in his description of them: “[ . . . ] Israhelem felix decem filiorum proventus maioribus suis clariorem fecit” ( . . . a happy production of 10 sons made Israel more famous than his ancestors).22  I pass over here the fact that many of these perceptions are polemical and confuse traditions as we know them from the Torah. But the sequence of perceptions seems remarkable to me: (1) Moses/Exodus/Law; (2) Patriarchal tradition; (3) ‘Israel’ (in the context of ‘Jacob’).

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 103 5.5

Against the background of this external evidence, I once again raise the question: Since when did Judean (Jewish) circles (outside the TNK; i.e. in external evidence), call themselves ‘Israel’? The answer is both clear and unclear at the same time: • since the origin of the Qumran literature, which nowadays is usually dated to the last third of the second century BCE; coincidentally, also other manuscripts of biblical texts can only be dated from that time; • since the origin of the earliest Christian literature (the ‘real’ Pauline epistles [cf. e.g. Romans 9–11]), i.e. since the middle of the first century CE; • since the time of the First Jewish Revolt against the Romans (66–70 CE) as testified by coins.23 These findings are strikingly congruent with the evidence from ancient non-Jewish sources. Judeans seem to have understood themselves as ‘Israel’ no earlier than in the second/first century BCE, apart from the TNK and its dating by Old Testament research.24 6  ‘Israel’ in Internal Evidence So ‘externally’ sensitized, I turn to the TNK. What about the relationship between ‘Israel’ and ‘Judah’? Again, I must limit myself to a few observations. In the last two decades I have tried to work out in several works that the essential difference between the three parts of Biblia Hebraica et Aramaica lies not in the chronological sequence of their textual creation or quasi-‘canonical’ assemblage, but in the different definitions of what ‘Israel’ is in ecclesiological terms.25 I illustrate this roughly (and without necessary differentiation) in the passim attitude of the, by Judean circles, edited TNK tradition to the historical Israel, Samaria: 1) Samaria belongs in the Torah to the ‘ecumenical’ cult community of ‘Israel’. That is why the Torah can also be the ‘Bible’ of both ‘Israels’. 2) In the Former and Latter Prophets (the Nevi’im), the ‘prophetic call to repentance’ is also levelled at Samaria. The Samaritan cult community of YHWH is not yet ‘excommunicated’. 3) In the Writings (the Ketuvim) – insofar as they are interested in denominational politics (esp. Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah, Ruth) – the Samaritan cult community is excommunicated, it is ‘not Israel’. I regard the Torah as an ‘all-Israelite compromise document’. It is formulated in such a way that all the colors of the pre-Christian cultural spectrum of ‘Israel’ could feel represented by it. This is shown particularly clearly in ‘diplomatically’ formulated passages in which the editorial committees obviously had to pay attention to ‘balance’ (somewhat similar to proportional representation in ‘equal time’ in radio and television). Textual examples, such as the sayings of ‘Judah’ and ‘Joseph’

104  Methods in Genesis 49 or those of ‘Levi’ and ‘Joseph’ in Deuteronomy 33, I have treated in detail in my contribution to the Festschrift for Klaus Berger (New Testament scholar from Heidelberg; cf. Diebner 2000: 37f; and also 2004: 138). 6.1

Genesis: In the Torah the idea that Yehudāh is connected with the verb for ‘bless’ (‫ברך‬, usually piel) or the noun ‘blessing’ (‫ )ברכה‬is almost embarrassingly absent. As the Jacob-Esau story in Genesis 27 shows us painfully and beautifully, the legitimate line of tradition hangs on fatherly blessings. Joseph is terminologically blessed six times in Gen 49:22–26, while Judah is just as often granted sovereignty and political leadership in verses 49:8–12 – without promise of a blessing. And already in the chapter before (Gen 48:20) the old, nearly blind Jacob/Israel said to the ‘House of Joseph’ (Ephraim and Manasseh) words that need interpretation: ‫בך‬ ‫“ יברך ישראל‬through you Israel will bless”. And Ephraim and Manasseh – with ‘Ephraim’, the Samaritan homeland firstbecome the standard for effective blessings in Israel (Gen 48:20). The explosive nature of these statements is defused by moving these texts to the ‘pre’- or ‘early’ days of ‘Israel’; they thereby reflect any time past. But these texts were read in pre-Christian times in the synagogues of the Gerizim and Zion cultic communities – both economically dispersed.26 6.2

Gerizim is also the only locally fixable ‫( מקום‬locus sanctus) of the two possible ‘central sanctuaries’, which are mentioned by name and in the context of the ‘blessing (of ‘Israel’)’ in the Torah (Deut 11:29; 27:12; in MT Deut 27:4 – unlike the Samaritan Pentateuch- ‘Ebal’ is mentioned in order to avoid connecting the order to erect a whole-sacrifice altar with ‘Gerizim’). Jewish and non-Jewish external evidence and the internal evidence from the Torah indicate two things: • The term ‘Israel’ is probably traditionally ‘originally’ associated with Samaria (the ‘Northern Kingdom’), and this is not only ‘politically’, but probably also ‘religiously’ qualified. • This term seems to have been adopted by the Judeans quite late (for our traditional sensibilities) and primarily in the cultural (ecclesiological) sense. • The ‘cultural phenomenon’ of a ‘wandering concept’ is well documented by analogies. Let me remind you of the ‘migration’ of the term ‘Saxony’ from the northwest (the area of Hamburg) into the southeast of Germany (the area of Dresden), mainly in connection with the recognition of the court. Nevertheless, the term also stuck in the ‘old homeland’, as the term ‘sassisch’ for the so-called Middle Nieder-German language and also the present-day federal state ‘Lower Saxony’ show.

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 105 6.3

The question is: “When and in which cultural–political context, did religiously motivated Judean circles refer to themselves as ‘Israel’”? From the material discussed here, the period between the second half of the second century BCE and the first half of the first century CE seems close at hand and one should probably also think of the earlier period of these two centuries rather than the later one. Two events could have led to this development: First, the restitution or re-establishment of the cult on the traditional ‘holy mountain’ of Israel, Mt. Gerizim above ancient Shechem (near today’s Nablus), under the traditional name ‘Israel’. There are controversial theories about this (cf. Görg 1991). Josephus is responsible for the assumption of a division of Jerusalem’s priesthood in the late fourth century BCE (the sources for this have been compiled by Jürgen Zangenberg 1994). The separatist party could have adopted the obsolete traditional regional designation ‘Israel’ as the name of a ‘cultural association’ in Hellenistic times (the political and overarching provincial name was Σαμαρεια): Noth’s thesis – moved forward by a millennium. On the other hand, the Hasmonean conquest of Samaria and thus also of the cultic community of ‘Israel’ during the reign of John Hyrcanus I (134–104 BCE) could have been motivating factors. In the course of his imperial policy, the most profitable and fertile territories were taken away from the Samaritan ‘church’ treasury: Galilee and parts of the area ‘beyond’ the Jordan, i.e., Perea. The Samaritans were not converted to worship at Zion, but they were incorporated into the Empire. They brought with them a rich tradition, and a cultural–political ‘compromise’ was probably inevitable, however theoretically such a notion has to remain. It is left to our respective tastes to what extent we want to join the traditional polemics between Zion and Gerizim, which we traditionally perceive from Jerusalem’s viewpoint. About the so-called ‘schism’, new theories are currently put forward: was it a radical rupture or a gradual separation?!27 It can be proven from the sources that there were still exchanges of priests between Gerizim and Zion in the first century and that some rabbis (at least theoretically) still considered it possible in the second century that “three Israelites, one of whom being Samaritan, could say the table blessing together after dinner” (b.Ber 8.8), but others could not (cf. Schürer 1907: 23). 7 Possible Methodological Implications for a Critical Interpretation of TNK Traditions “Just don’t become an Old Testament scholar!” Rudolf Smend said to us forty years ago. If, however, I could do it again today, I know what I would do! Within the framework of the more or less traditional paradigms, so much research has been done that today many younger Old Testament scholars are constantly incapacitating themselves with partly purely formalistic (albeit methodologically highly elaborated) ‘redaction-critical’ research. If I were in my mid-thirties today and if this were a real ‘inaugural’ lecture and not a ‘retirement’ lecture, then I would have suggested: “Is it still ‘there’?: a ‘research program’”. I began – ‘archaeologically’ – with the traditional textual surface of the TNK, chronologically in the narrow pre-Christian period, in the time from which we have

106  Methods the oldest TNK manuscripts. And that is the late second century BCE at the earliest. And I asked (renouncing all pre-critical premises [and all comforting monopolies in the thereby constructed systems of argumentation]) about the cultural–historical conditions (presumably in the Hellenistic–Roman period), under which an emancipating (but quite influenced by it) culture created its very special and peculiar literary traditions (from its reception of older traditions), that were in contrast to the prevailing culture. In my opinion, this also includes the intention to transfer ‘ecclesiologically’ the term ‘Israel’ primarily to Jerusalem and identify the Judean traditions as ‘Israelite’. This may have been a literary activity that required royal protection, perhaps beginning under the Judean Hasmonean supremacy in the late second century BCE and possibly completed in early Herodian times. In my opinion, in the time available until these traditions were fixed as normative texts (around the turn of the second century CE), this was only possible in different ways: in the Torah with less interference (because this corpus had to be ‘juridical’ even for the Samaritans – the [self-proclaimed] heirs of ‘old Israel’) than in the Nevi’im or even in the Ketuvim. In a research culture that loves striking labels, I would speak of a ‘Hasmonean redaction’ of the (later) literature of the TNK. However, I consider it to be a reasonably ‘acceptable’ hypothesis (judging from the material briefly mentioned here and other material that has not been taken into account because of the shortness of time) that there was already a trained Torah Judaism (probably since the Persian period, i.e. since the late sixth or the middle fifth century BCE). Ecclesiologically, however, it did not yet understand itself as ‘Israel’, but only chose the ‘ecclesiological’ term ‘Israel’ when cultural–historical prerequisites made it possible. This Jerusalem-centered (i.e. the Judean competitive ecclesiological ‘Israel’ to the Samaritan ‘Israel’) had probably already ‘existed’ at the time of Jesus (the Galilean with a background in Samaritan tradition) for one to two hundred years and even at the time of the writing of the traditions testifying to him beginning in the middle of the first century CE.28 That Jerusalem’s ‘Israel’ rejected the Galilean– Samaritan ‘Messiah’ is culturally understandable. The Judean Simeon bar Kochba, however, could be recognized by the highest rabbinical authorities such as Rabbi Aqiba ben Yosef (c. 55–135 CE) as the Judean ‘Messiah’ according to Num 24’s “words of Bileam”: I may see him, but not now; I may perceive him, but not closely! A star shines from Jacob. A scepter will rise from Israel, and he will smite the sleeping Moabites and destroy all the sons of Set. (Num 24:17) While Simeon was recognized, the (perhaps) less ‘militarist’ Galilean (ex-)Samaritan Jesus became a victim of an inner-‘Israelite’ confessional conflict: he would not have had a ‘chance’ with the Judean ‘Israelites’! If he had had this chance, he probably would have disappeared into a chapter of the history of ancient Judaism (I say this as a historian) like the ‘son of a star’ Simeon bar Kochba/ben Koseba! But he survived that (I say this as a Christian theologian).

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 107 Notes   1 Inauguration lecture as Honorary Professor of Old Testament, Ruprecht-Karl University, Heidelberg, Jan. 16. 2002. Dedicated to Heinrich Kröger on his 70th birthday, Oct. 15. 2002.   2 “Was [ . . . ] das eigentliche Wesen dieses seltsamen ‘Israel’ ausmachte” (Noth 1956: 13).   3 “Dass ‘Israel’ eine einmalige Erscheinung im Kreise der geschichtlichen Völker war, das ergibt sich [ . . . ] schon aus einer allgemeinen Erwägung. So gewiß es gründlich falsch wäre, das spätere Judentum mit ‘Israel’ gleichzusetzen und diese beiden durchaus verschiedenen geschichtlichen Erscheinungen miteinander zu identifizieren, so besteht doch auf der anderen Seite ein unmittelbarer geschichtlicher Zusammenhang; und das bis heute geschichtlich Einmalige des Judentums innerhalb der Völkerwelt muß im Ansatz bereits in jenem ‘Israel’ gegeben gewesen sein, aus dem es hervorgewachsen ist“ (Noth 1956: 13; Emphasis added).   4 “[D]ie [12] Stämme, die das größere Ganze ‘Israel’ bildeten” . . . “erst mit der Landnahme auf dem Boden des palästinensischen Kulturlandes vollzählig zusammengefunden [haben]”): “damit kann für uns erst die eigentliche ‘Geschichte Israels’ beginnen” (Noth 1956: 13).   5 “[D]ie alttestamentliche Überlieferung [zu tun] pflegt, wo immer sie überhaupt eine appellative Bezeichnung braucht” (Noth 1956: 12).   6 “Gemeinsamer Sprache”, “gemeinsamem Wohnen”, “einer im wesentlichen gleichen geschichtlichen Lage”, . . . [d]as Ganze der israelitischen Stämme [ . . . ] [ . . . ] für längere Dauer [ . . . ] das Subjekt gemeinsamen geschichtlichen Handelns gewesen” (Noth 1956: 12–13).   7 “Man tut daher vielleicht[ . . . ] besser, von ‘Israel’ statt vom ‘Volke Israel’ zu sprechen” (Noth 1956: 13).   8 “Im Ansatz bereits in jenem ‘Israel’gegeben gewesen” (Noth 1956: 13).   9 “Das spätere Judentum mit [jenem] ‘Israel’gleichzusetzen” (Noth 1956: 13). 10 “Dass eine objektive Beobachtung der religionsgeschichtlichen Fakten die Sonderart der israelitischen Religion aufzuweisen vermag und so dem Glauben an Gottes gültige Offenbarung in Israel Raum läßt” (Diebner 1962: 106). 11 For this, see my earlier works, Diebner 1995, 2001a, 2001b. This, in this connection, preconditioned canonical-hermeneutics, I have treated in several publications since 1986; Diebner 1986, summarized in Diebner 1998. 12 “Israel liegt brach und hat kein Saatkorn” (Galling 1968: 40). 13 “Wir haben [ . . . ] keine Möglichkeit mehr, mit einiger Sicherheit zu sagen, was dieses ‘Israel’ in Palästina um 1220 v.Chr. gewesen sei, ob schon das ‘Israel’ der zwölf Stämme in der der alttestamentlichen Überlieferung bekannten Gestalt oder etwa eine noch ältere Größe, die bereits den Namen ‘Israel’ getragen und dann auf Grund irgendeines uns dunklen historischen Zusammenhangs an das uns bekannte ‘Israel’ weitergegeben hätte” (Noth 1956: 11). 14 ‘House of David’ should be written byt.dwd. It may refer to a divine name in the manner of byt’l. 15 For the secondary literature, since 1993, see Diebner 2001a: 125, n. 18. 16 Although the latter is not reported to have had a confrontation with Mesha of Moab in the Former Prophets. 17 Only yh(w)d is testified. One may speculate whether this word was pronounced yehûd or yahûd in a Hebrew context. 18 As well as citations from Jer 10:11 and Dan 3:31–33; 6:26–28; cf. Porten and Yardeni 1986: 130–143. 19 For this discussion, see Diebner 2001a, 2001b. 20 Editions of the Greek text have been published by Wendland 1900; Thackeray 1914; and more recently by Meisner 1973. 21 Cf. Diebner, Unpublished lecture: ‘Die Tora/Der Pentateuch’ (2000/2001). MS: 71–81.

108  Methods 22 Pompeius Trogus, Historiae Philippicae XXXVI, 2:4 (Epitome transmitted by Justinus; quoted by Stern 1974: 335). 23 sql ysr’l on silver coins since the rebellion in Jerusalem 66 CE; see Meshorer 2001: 241, fig. 193. 24 The deuterocanonical literature related to the TNK is usually not dated earlier than the second century BCE. 25 Cf. apart from the aforementioned works, see also Diebner 1994b, which is revised and accentuated a little differently from Diebner 1994a. 26 For the ‘Exchange of the blessing of the first born’, see Hensel 2011. 27 I consider it a ‘Judean’ rather than a ‘Samaritan’ schism. We still evaluate the traditions (only) from the Judean ‘Zion perspective’, i.e. one-sided or partisan. That the Samaritans could be an ‘original’ ‘Israel’ in the ecclesiological sense, while the Judean understanding of ‘Israel’ could be secondary or tertiary, does not come into view. Samarian Israel perished (722/21 BCE) as a polity (in 2 Kings) no differently than did the polity of Judah (587/86 BCE). The Judeans were only able to establish their view in the Nevi’im traditions after which the ‘downfall of Israel’, i.e., of the northern kingdom, is the ‘historical’ prerequisite of the ‘heretical’, ‘syncretic’, and ‘foreign’ Samaritan sect (cf. 2 Kings 17). 28 Cf. for example John 8:48: “The Judeans (Ιουδαιοι) said to him: ‘Are we not right in saying that you are a Samaritan (Σαμαριτες) and have something demonic (δαιμονιον) in you?’”

References Bickerman, E.J. 1930. ‘Zur Datierung Pseudo-Aristeas’. ZNW 29: 280–298. Cowley, A.E. 1909. Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century BC. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Diebner, B.J. 1962. ‘Rezension Otto Eissfeldt: Kleine Schriften I. Tübingen 1962’. ZDPV 78: 103–107. ———. 1986. ‘Zur Funktion der kanonischen Textsamlung im Judentum der vor-christelichen Zeit: Gedanken zu einer Kanon-Hermeneutik’. DBAT 22: 58–73. Summarized in Diebner 1998. ———. 1989. ‘Erwägungen zur Namensform “Juda”/yhwdh/yehudah’. DBAT 25: 49–73. ———. 1994a. ‘Die antisamaritanische Polemik im TNK als konfessionelles Problem’. In (Anti-) rassistische Irritationen. Biblische Texte und interkulturelle Zusammenarbeit. S. Wagner, G. Nützel and M. Kick (eds.). Berlin: Alektor Verlag: 69–92. ———. 1994b. ‘Die antisamaritanische Polemik des TNK als konfessionelles Problem’. In The Bible in Cultural Context. H. Pavlinková and D. Papousek (eds.). Brno: Czech Society for the Study of Religions: 95–110. ———. 1994c. ‘Die Bedeutung der Mesopotamischen Exilsgemeinde’ (galut) für die theologische Prägung der jüdischen Bibel’. Transeuphratène 7: 123–142. ———. 1995. ‘Juda und Israel. Zur hermeneutischen Bedeutning der Spannung swischen Judäa und Samarien für das Verständnis des TNK als Literature’. In Landgabe. Festschrift für Jan Heller zum 70. Geburtstag. M. Prudký (ed.). Kampen, Prague: Ise: 86–132. ———. 1998. ‘Ekklesiologische Aspekte einer Kanon-Hermeneutik der hebräischen Bibel’. DBAT 29: 15–32. ———. 2000. ‘Jes 56,1–8 entsprechend Jes 66,18–24 und die eschatologische Überbietung der Torah: Yad wa Shem’. In Religionsgeschichte des Neuen Testamentes: Festschrift für Klaus Berger zum 60. Geburtstag. A.V. Dobbeler, K. Erlemann and R. Heiligenthal (eds.). Tübingen and Basel: A Francke (now Narr Francke attempto): 31–42. ———. 2001a. ‘Annotations Concerning the Relation between Judaism since the Persian Period and Juda’s Belonging to Israel’. Transeuphratène 21: 119–131.

Since When Did “Jenes Israel” (Martin Noth) Exist? 109 ———. 2001b. ‘Die Konzeption der hebräisch-aramäischen Bibel (TNK) und die Definition der judäischen kulturellen Identität Israel gegenüber der samaritanischen Kultgemeinde Israel seit dem 2. jh.v. Chr’. HBO 31: 147–165. ———. 2004. ‘Das Buch Bere’shit/Genesis als gemeinsamer kulturelle Code für die grossen jüdischen Konfessionen, die Garizim- und die Zions-Gemeinde zur Zeit ihrer politisch erzwungenen Koexisteens (2 Jh. v.Chr.-1. Jh. n.Chr.)’. In Gemeinsame kulturelle Codes in koexistierenden Religionsgemeinschaften: Leucorea-Kolloquium 2003. U. Pietruschka (ed.). HBO 38: 127–143. Eissfeldt, O. 1962. Kleine Schriften I. Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck). Galling, K. 1968. Textbuch zur Geschichte Israels. 2nd ed. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Görg, M. 1991. ‘Garizim’. In NBL: I: 728f. Hensel, B. 2011. Die Vertauschung des Erstgeburtes in der Genesis. Eine Analyse der narrativ-theologischen Grundstruktur des ersten Buches der Tora. BZAW 423. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kautzsch, E. 1962. Die apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments II. 2nd ed. Hildesheim: Olms. Meisner, N. 1973. Aristeasbrief. JSHRZ II. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag: 35–87. Meshorer, Y. 2001. A Treasury of Jewish Coins. Jerusalem: Yad ben-Zvi. Noth, M. 1956. Geschichte Israels. 3rd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Porten, B. and A. Yardeni. 1986. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt I: Letters. Jerusalem: Hebrew University. ———. 1993. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt III. Jerusalem: Hebrew University. Sachau, E. 1911. Aramäische Papyri und Ostraka aus einer jüdischen Militär-Kolonie zu Elephantine: Altorientalischer Sprachdenkmäler des 5. Jahrhunderts vor Chr, 2 vols. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Schürer, E. 1907. Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi. II. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Seters, John van. 1969. ‘Jacob’s Marriages and Ancient Near Eastern Customs. A Re-Examination’. HTR 62: 377–395. Stern, M. 1974. Greek and Jewish Authors on Jews and Judaism I. Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Thackeray, H.S.J. 1914. ‘The Letter of Aristeas’. In Introduction to the Old Testament. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Troeltsch, E. 1898/1922. ‘Über historische und dogmatische Methode in der Theologie’. In idem Zur religiösen Lage, Religionsphilosophie und Ethik. Gesammelte Schriften. II. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck: 729–753. Wendland, P. 1900. Aristeae ad Philocalem epistula. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Zangenberg, J. 1994. ‘ΣΑΜΑΡΕΙΑ: Antike Quellen zur Geschichte und Kultur der Samaritaner in deutscher Ûbersetzung’. Texte und Arbeite zum Neutestamentlichen Zeitalter. Tübingen: Francke: 15.

Part 3

History and Ideology

7

The Orientation of Jerusalem’s Temple and the ‘Sacred Orientation’ of Early Christian Churches1

1 “It is striking,” writes Franz Landsberger in an essay,2 which was largely ignored in the literature, “that the position taken in prayer and in the layout of sacred structures has not been left to chance but has been determined by the prevailing religious outlook” (Landsberger 1957: 181; cf. also L.A. Snijders 1965: 232). A glance at the archaeological findings of early Christian sacred buildings3 and late antique synagogues as well as the respective literary tradition shows that Landsberger’s remark is useful as a working hypothesis for researching possible sacred orientations4 and their religious– or theological–historical foundation.5 In contrast to early Christian sacred architecture, we lack archaeological findings from the temple of Jerusalem as well as unambiguous literary sources from the time of the temple that deal with the justification of its orientation.6 The location of the temple in relation to its geographical orientation is probably not debatable (Snijders 1965). We have direct and indirect statements, especially about Solomon’s Temple7 and its transformations in the later royal period,8 with the help of which we can determine the location of the temple and which then allows a reconstruction of the building, which bears essentially the same features in its various reconstructions.9 The justification of the architectural orientation of the temple has been of interest to only a few researchers.10 In light of Landsberger’s hypothesis that the orientation of prayer and sacred architecture is “determined by the prevailing religious outlook”, which might also be significant for the Israelite or Jewish temple, this attitude seems surprising. One thus misses an approach from which certain stages of the history of the Israelite–Jewish faith could be illuminated. Nevertheless, for several decades, there have been two opposing attempts at justifying the orientation of Jerusalem’s Temple in Old Testament research. One attempt was made by K. Möhlenbrink 1932, and the other by researchers such as J. Morgenstern 1928: esp. 45ff, 1929, 1960: esp. 176ff. and F.J. Hollis 1933. 2 According to Möhlenbrink, “Solomon’s temple was oriented towards the west”.11 Following the works of E. Unger,12 Möhlenbrink believes that Jerusalem’s temple had adopted principles of orientation for Babylonian–Assyrian temples, while DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-11

114  History and Ideology at the same time adapting them to the, compared to Mesopotamia, different geographical conditions of Palestine. As a rule, in Mesopotamia in the old Babylonian–Assyrian period the cult was oriented towards the iltānu (or: ištānu), the ‘favorable’, i.e. the north wind. The orientation was not based solely on practical considerations (this probably prevailed only with the Assyrians; cf. Unger 1929), for example for the purpose of good ventilation of the main rooms of a palace or the urban streets;13 rather: “in the breeze, the gods of the land revealed themselves”.14 Thus, the temples were oriented according to the wind in which the respective god revealed himself (Unger 1929). Since the favourable ‘north’ wind in Mesopotamia is, in fact, a northwesterly wind, the residence built by Sargon II, which is said to have been built “according to the four winds,”15 is oriented at an angle. Deviations of a few degrees in the orientation of the buildings compared to the normal wind direction were explained “by the practice of laying the foundation stone, which took place in a favourable month and on a favourable day . . . As a result, the wind blowing on this predestined day was also taken as a guideline for the [structure’s] orientation”.16 Möhlenbrink is able to transfer Unger’s findings to Palestinian conditions, because the Israelites are not unaware of the numinous character of the wind (cf. l Sam 5:24; 22:11; l Kgs 19:12; Ps. 18:11 etc.). Thus, Möhlenbrink wanted to “orient the Solomonic temple towards the side of the ‘favorable wind’”.17 In Palestine, the ‘favorable’ was the west wind, blowing in from the sea: “it was therefore obvious that the debir, the actual dwelling place of God, had to be west of the other parts of the Temple”.18 Möhlenbrink knew that his attempt was nothing more than a hypothesis, the value of which could only be decided by excavations which would have to provide more extensive material of Palestinian temples than that available to him (Möhlenbrink 1932: 85). Möhlenbrink’s thesis subsequently met with more goodwill than rejection. That is amazing; because his thesis stands on a weak foundation. The west wind may have blown in Old Testament times as well as today in Palestine and was perceived as refreshing. However, it does not play a special role in the Old Testament tradition.19 Nor is it ever mentioned in connection with appearances of Yahweh. In addition, Möhlenbrink’s thesis of the ‘favorable’ westerly wind stands in contrast to the evaluation of the corners of the world in Old Testament literature (cf. H. Gese 1957: 127). It would also be strange that the sanctuary of the preferred corner of the world just turned to its most closed side.20 Contrary to Möhlenbrink’s assumption, Jerusalem’s temple was probably never theologically oriented to the west in any phase of construction.21 Neither can more recent excavation finds22 support Möhlenbrink’s westerly direction thesis in the way he had hoped. In my opinion, this is less due to the problem of the architectural derivation of the sanctuary in Jerusalem and the associated question of which temples discovered in the Syrian–Palestinian area should be compared with that in Jerusalem,23 but rather to the lack of evidence for this thesis in the Old Testament tradition. The consequence of the lack of evidence for a theologically based evidence of a western direction of Jerusalem’s temple is, if one expects an orientation at all, the assumption that it is theologically directed towards

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 115 the east. If Gese recognized negatively that Ezekiel’s draft of the temple “dispenses with a structurally designed western orientation”,24 he positively notes an “emphasized orientation” (“betonte Orientierung”; p. 109) and remarks (on Ezek 44:1) that the eastern gate is considered particularly sacred, “like the eastern direction according to which the temple is oriented”.25 Gese does not give a justification for the ‘easting’ of the temple. It would also lie outside his interests. Admittedly, he indicates that, in his opinion, the entry of the kbwd yhwh into the temple (cf. Ezek 43:1 ff.) is closely related to the holiness of the eastern temple gate (p. 51).26 A theological east–west orientation of Jerusalem’s temple is attempted by J. Morgenstern27 and F. J. Hollis28 within a certain religious–historical interpretation. Morgenstern developed the thesis that Jerusalem’s temple was oriented according to the first rays of sunshine, which shone over the Mount of Olives at sunrise on the day of the autumn equinoxes (the then Israelite New Year29) and fell through the eastern temple gates to the holy of holies of the temple, the debir (Morgenstern 1960: 183ff. see also n. 25 below). For Morgenstern, the prerequisite for this orientation is a “solar concept” or a “solar interpretation” (p. 188) of Yahweh, as it had been customary – especially since the time of Solomon – both among the religious-politically ruling class and among the Israelite people (p. 177). The cult of this “solar” interpretation of Yahweh had included a New Year’s ritual, in which the king (of the united kingdom or Judah respectively) had walked with the slowly moving westward sunbeam of New Year’s Day from the outer gate of the temple precinct to the innermost of the temple and then as “King–God” had placed himself on the empty throne of the debir (pp. 185, 197), as a visible sign to the people that God, as king, had taken possession of his throne: not to dwell thenceforth, but for “the act of pronouncing judgement and determining fates for the new year” (p. 189). As soon as the sunbeams have left the throne, the solar Yahweh leaves his sanctuary and moves to the place where sun gods used to live: he “has assumed His regular place in heavens, there to run his regular course as god of the solar year” (p. 189). Morgenstern bases his thesis on extensive biblical testimony (cf. the collected material in Morgenstern 1929), from which he believes he can infer the solar orientation of the official cult of Jerusalem during the monarchy of the pre-exilic period. Not unimportant for him are also traditions from the exilic30 and post-exilic31 periods, which reflect this sun cult, the aftermath of which Morgenstern believes he can trace in testimonies to Jerusalem’s “Golden Gate” in late Jewish and Talmudic Judaism, early Christian, medieval Christian and Arab traditions until the present day Morgenstern 1929: 1–31). Morgenstern was not the first to hold the view that Jerusalem’s temple was oriented towards the rising of the sun.32 No one before him, however, seems to have substantiated such a presumption to the level of a serious scientific thesis. Undoubtedly, the Old Testament tradition handed down to us, with its esteem for Jerusalem’s temple, does not bear direct witness to a solar orientation of this sanctuary. And where we encounter traces of a solar interpretation of Yahweh, they fall into the ostracism of later Old Testament historians.33 From these prerequisites, Morgenstern is methodologically dependent on a cautious interpretation of

116  History and Ideology (mostly) indirect testimonies. This includes the architectural relation or even origin of Jerusalem’s temple with Phoenician cult buildings, as suggested by tradition, whereby a merely formal adoption of building structures can probably be almost ruled out (cf. Morgenstern 1960: 176). This also includes a cult-historical investigation of explicit or implicit statements about Jerusalem’s cult practice in the Old Testament. Although Morgenstern’s path is methodologically worth considering, his results, especially in Germany, did not find many supporters. Some critical voices rather seem to have proceeded more according to the principle ‘that what should not be cannot be’.34 Nevertheless, their methodologically and objectively legitimate considerations question Morgenstern’s thesis. First, there is the problem of the derivation of the architectural form of Jerusalem’s temple from ancient traditions. According to the latest research,35 the relationship with Hiram of Tyre is not as clear as Morgenstern portrays it (Morgenstern 1960: 176f.). On this relationship, however, depends the justification to regard the solar interpretation of Yahweh as a transfer of traits from the Tyrian Melqart to the God of Israel. Also the concept of the Israelite exilic – the early post-exilic New Year festival, reconstructed by Morgenstern, has been questioned.36 3 The two types of justification for the orientation of Jerusalem’s temple outlined above shall not be answered here by suggesting a third type. Instead, I rather want to offer a few methodological considerations. If it is possible to elaborate two such fundamentally different designs for the temple’s orientation as those represented by Möhlenbrink and Morgenstern, it can only be due to uncertainty about the decisive criteria for the orientation of a sacred building. Or that the question of the criteria has never been asked and thoroughly considered. The question of the orientation of Jerusalem’s temple and its justification can only be answered if it is presented in a manner appropriate to the complexity of the architectural history of the temple and the literary traditions that deal with it; i.e. it has to be formulated in a differentiated way. The possible general criteria for the orientation of a cultic building are already complex, so how can they be determined? 1 By the location of the sanctuary in the building? A cult building, whose sanctuary is located in the western part of the building, would therefore be regarded as ‘western’. The same would apply to an eastern sanctuary. Möhlenbrink based his design on this very formalistic criterion. 2 By the direction of view of the image of the gods in the Holy of Holies of the temple? (Landsberger 1957: 181) If the sanctuary is located at the western end of the temple, but the image of the god looks to the east, the cult building would be ‘easting’. This criterion is likely to be the decisive factor for Morgenstern. 3 By the position of the sacrificial altar? If the altar stands in front of the eastern temple front or at least east of the Holy of Holies, the sanctuary would be understood as ‘easterned’.

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 117 4 By the direction in which the priest performs the sacrificial act at the altar? If he looks in the direction of the image of the god standing in a western sanctuary, the temple would be ‘westerned’; if he performs the sacrificial act with his back to the western temple front (and to the image of the gods), the sanctuary would be ‘easterned’. 5 By the posture in prayer of the faithful? Regardless of the sanctorum or altar, a cult building would be westwards or eastwards, depending on whether the faithful look west or east during prayer. This is Landsberger’s criterion for the orientation of the synagogue and the church. Some of these formally conceivable possibilities can be ruled out with some certainty; (at least consideration no. 1 in its purely formalistic view). Other criteria may well carry some weight when combined. Basically, two criteria will be decisive for the orientation of cult buildings: the orientation of the personified imagining of the deity in the sanctuary and the worshipping community.37 Perhaps, sometimes, even more important may be the direction of the cult performing priests rather than the orientation of the community. Under the aforementioned formal criteria for the sanctuary’s orientation, the Old Testament witnesses, insofar as it can be directly or indirectly connected with temple orientation, would have to be examined. Theologically justified, conscious orientation, if at all, of a cultic building can only be proven for the time of its first foundation; i.e. using the example of the Jerusalem Temple: for the Solomonic building. If a successor building at the same location assumes the orientation of its predecessor, this could possibly indicate a takeover of its orientation. But that would have to be proven. From thoughtless traditionalism, an orientation, that has, meanwhile, become completely religiously irrelevant, could have been adopted.38 Written traditions about the orientation of the successor building are perhaps only interpretaments of the given orientation of the cult building. Such a secondary interpretation of the orientation of the sanctuary, however, is no less important for its time than the religious–historical motivation of the orientation of the first building for its time. As a matter of principle, a cult building – even if it was deliberately oriented at the time of its construction – can no longer be regarded as oriented if its orientation no longer corresponds to a religious–theological interpretation.39 According to the preliminary methodological considerations outlined here, a building which, like the temple in Jerusalem, had a thousand-year, very eventful history, will have to be examined on several levels of transmission of its possible orientation and the justification of that orientation. On the one hand, one would have to ask what historically reasonably certain reminiscences from the founding period of Solomon’s temple can be used as evidence. In order to answer the question of the orientation of the original building, one might be able to make an archaeological comparison of the probable shape of Jerusalem’s temple with other Syrian–Palestinian temples known to us. Then, in chronological and historical differentiation, the not too numerous, but nevertheless quite revealing later Old Testament testimonies, which refer to the orientation of the temple or orientation practices in connection with the temple cult, would have to be examined. It can be

118  History and Ideology assumed that almost all of these direct or indirect interpretations of the orientation of the temple were significant only for a limited stage of Israelite–Jewish religious history. In the last section of these methodological considerations, it shall be considered whether one of these traditions does not bear significance beyond the history of the Jewish faith; namely that recorded in Ezekiel 43–48’s tradition.40 4 It has long been known that there is a connection between the cultic orientation in Judaism and Christianity.41 According to Landsberger, the church adopted from the synagogue “their idea of a sacred direction, relating the direction not to the Deity but to the worshipper” (Landsberger 1957: 188).42 After the destruction of Jerusalem’s temple, which was perceived by Christians as a judgment on Judaism, the orientation of prayer towards the temple was no longer possible for Christians. Instead of the Jewish orientation, a new one, binding for all Christians, should be chosen. The eastern one was chosen. It has been suggested that this eastern direction of prayer has its origin in paganism. However, gentile Christians, who wanted to maintain their usual direction of prayer in Christian worship, could have looked both east and west. The fact that they opted for the eastern direction also had its origin in Judaism, namely “in the sphere of Jewish thought as exemplified by the Bible” (Landsberger 1957: 195). For the ‘easting’ of the churches, the temple in Jerusalem may have been less the model than the orientation of the synagogue. As with the synagogue, the portal of the church initially indicated the direction of prayer.43 Similar to the synagogue, it was later abandoned to indicate the orientation of the church by the front entrance. The sanctorum, which normally faces the entrance, was turned to the east. The earliest example of this is the house church of Dura Europos (232/33 CE).44 In Christianity, however, both practices coexisted for a long time, with western Christianity more inclined to turn the entrance front to the east, while the eastern part of the Christian world tended to turn the sanctorum.45 Especially in Italy, the aversion of church officials to the still widespread pagan worship of the sun had contributed to the renunciation of portal orientation.46 When the Christians adhered to the eastern orientation, they were forced to re-justify this cultic orientation. People no longer referred so much to the rising sun (and – as argued by Landsberger – to the Messiah symbolized by the sun), but to Paradise, in the east. The Church had thus not only adopted from Judaism the “holy direction” “with the portals as indicators”, but in a second process, “the transfer of directionshowing to the opposite wall” (Landsberger 1957: 202), also served as a model for the Church. Towards the end of his reflection, Landsberger himself admits the weakness of his thesis. In the third century, when the “transfer” becomes tangible for the first time in the example of the church of Dura Europos, church and synagogue had already existed so far apart that a direct influence from one to the other in, for example, the question of cultic orientation, can no longer be taken for granted. It is possible that there are only comparable developments in terms of religious history. For the Jews, the cultic reverence before the initially portable “Torah-chest” demanded the later immovable “Torah-ark”, while for Christians the “transfer”

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 119 regarded the altar. In my opinion, it is indeed difficult to prove a mutual influence here in spite of the impressive religious–historical parallels presented by Landsberger. In his reference to the “sphere of Jewish thought as exemplified by the Bible”, it has only been insufficiently answered where late antique Christianity47 got the eastern orientation of its cult buildings. 5 The answer to this question could be sought in the general history of religion. It is not difficult to find evidence of pagan appreciation for the eastern direction in the vicinity of the Old Church. This general religious–historical appreciation of the East might in any case stand behind the Christian custom. It is, however, difficult, perhaps hardly possible, to extract therefrom a satisfactory historical explanation of the eastward development of cultic buildings in late antique Christianity.48 We will therefore try to find the answer to the question again in the narrower circle of Christianity: in the relationship between Judaism and Christianity. An examination of the archaeological findings of late antique churches show that throughout this period, the east–west direction was preferred, with various reasons causing certain deviations from the geographically exact east–west line. An exception is the urban Roman basilicas from about the middle of the fourth century.49 Despite uniform orientation, a chronological difference can be observed between these urban churches and the Syrian–Palestinian findings: in Rome, in the first half of the fourth century, the preferred entrance front of the basilicas was that pointing to the east, while in Syria and Palestine’s indigenous building tradition the preference of buildings whose sanctuaries face east can be observed from the earliest possible findings.50 While it is impossible on the basis of the available sources to prove a conscious intention of orientation in the founding of Roman churches of the Constantinian period and to work out their theological justification (undoubtedly there was one!), literary testimonies allow us to understand the Syria–Palestinian findings quite well. In the celebration of the Eucharist, priests and congregations oriented themselves to the altar standing in the east of the building, usually at the apex of the (middle) apse or just in front of it.51 Determining for the celebration was the intense expectation of the secundus adventus Christi from the east (anamnesis), as by whose offer the Holy Spirit descends upon the Eucharistic elements to transform them (epiclesis). The connection between cultic orientation and eschatological expectation can be traced quite safely for the Mediterranean area with the help of literary testimonies up to the second century CE;52 i.e. into a time that lies long before the earliest Christian cultic construction in this area, which is monumentally tangible to us. All literary documents of this association are testimonies of piously edifying popular unlearned literature. From them it can be concluded that the turn of the pious prayers to the east in private prayer as well as the turn of priests and congregation to the east in the public worship of the church (and the eastward orientation of the basilicas connected with the latter) at least in the area of Syria– Palestine, but also in other areas of the eastern Mediterranean, was rooted in pious, religious expectations rather than learned theological reflection.53

120  History and Ideology The combination of cultic orientation and eschatological expectation is certainly not an invention of the early Christians. Structurally, Christianity should, with reservations for a better explanation, have inherited a Jewish heritage here. The differences lie in the content. The place of end-time expectation for Judaism is Jerusalem, the Temple Mount. The ancient Christians of the Near East awaited eschatological salvation from the east. The reason for this expectation cannot be a mere scholarly theology, but only an idea kept alive in popular piety. Such an idea comes vividly before our eyes in the legends that are tied to the eastern gate of Jerusalem’s temple and which can at least be traced tradition-historically to the visions in Ezekiel 43f.54 End-time salvation consists in the theologically and historically difficult passage of Ezekiel 40–48 in a restitution of earlier abundance of salvation. This idea of restitution, a prophetic vision that was never fulfilled, lives on in the hope with which Judaism turns to Jerusalem for prayer, even if the images with which endtime salvation was formed changed over time. The Christian expectation of the secundus adventus Christi from the east is based on the same idea of restitution, except that the recurring savior is not Yahweh, but Jesus Christ. In the Christian expectation, rooted in the Jewish traditions, Christ will enter through the ‘Golden Gate’ and, after His entry, bring about the miraculous changes of the end times.55 If Jewish and Christian end-time expectations are ultimately based on ideas that we encounter first in Ezekiel 43f., and if these expectations became decisive for the ancient direction of prayer of both religious communities, be it for the prayer of the individual believer or for the orientation of the public cult, it is basically incomprehensible that both communities do not follow the same orientation, be it to Jerusalem, be it to the east. It is quite possible that the early Christians consciously broke with the Judaism’s cause of orientation.56 A later analogy to such a break would be the choice of qibla by Muhammad. It is also possible that later literary explanations of this difference between Jewish and Christian theology57 are only attempts at rationalization from a time that no longer knew anything about the true causes of the difference. Just as conceivable as the conscious break with Judaism is that elements of Christian tradition may have contributed to the choice of prayer that is not ideologically related to Judaism’s religious tradition and customs. Of great importance for the eschatological expectation of the early Christians was the idea handed down in the Apocalypse of Matthew, that “as a lightning will come forth from the east and shine to the west, so will the return of the Son of Man be” (Matt 24:27; cf. also 24:30, a verse that was closely connected with v. 27 in later tradition!). This verse was soon no longer understood in its original sense and has only become accessible to us again through recent research: namely, that the return of the Son of Man would be an event that could be seen throughout the world. In a geographically narrow form, a comprehension of the movement, described in the verse quoted, is suggested. The return of the Son of Man takes place as a celestial spectacle from east to west.58 It is possible that such a literal understanding of Matt 24:27 was furthered by the popular idea of the entry of Yahweh or Christ through the eastern gate of Jerusalem’s temple place. It would therefore be conceivable that different cultic

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 121 orientations developed from the same tradition. Yahweh’s entry into the temple also took place in Judaism from the east, because the temple opened to the east. But more importantly for Jewish eschatology was the fact that Yahweh would visit the temple rather than the direction from which His end-time possession of the temple would take place. The promises hang on the temple. The development in early Christianity could have been different. The Christian–Jewish polemics must have led to the fact that for the oldest Christians the temple could no longer have the same significance as it had for the Jews. The internal separation from the temple may have been facilitated by its destruction in 70 CE. It is easy to imagine, however, that for the multitude of the simple believers the separation from the temple was not as fundamental as it was for the theological leaders of ancient Christianity. For those, who lived more in the world of pious legends than of theological reflection, the Temple Mount remained a place of eschatological salvation. The legendary tradition of this religiosity also included apocalyptic images such as the cosmic return of the Son of Man from the east. In connection with the legends of the entry through the ‘Golden Gate’ and the practical separation from the temple cult even before its destruction, Christians may have shifted the focus of their endtime hopes: It was no longer the temple that was the central place of their expectation, but the direction from which the return of Christ to the Temple Mount would take place: the east. The choice of the east as the Christian direction of prayer, which then also became decisive for the orientation of the basilicas, must have taken place in the period after the separation of the Christians from the cult community of the Jews and before the first literary testimony, which at least indirectly testifies the ‘easting’ of prayer,59 i.e., probably sometime after the destruction of the Herodian Temple. Ancient Christianity did not adopt the orientation of Jerusalem’s temple, but indirectly it became decisive for the ‘easting’ of Christian prayer and the orientation of sacred buildings. The theological justification of the orientation of Solomon’s temple may remain undecided. Possibly, the return of the kbwd yhwh to the restored temple (Ezekiel 43 f.) reflects an original solar orientation of the temple. The presumed significance of the orientation of Jerusalem’s temple for the orientation of the church is unrelated to the (unknown) reason for the orientation of Solomon’s building. For the Christian orientation, perhaps the hope of restoration documented in Judaism since Ezekiel 40–48 (esp. 43 f.) is significant. Eventually, in the ‘sacred direction’ of the early Christian churches, Yahweh’s return to his sanctuary through the ‘Golden Gate’ of the temple precinct may have been supplanted. Notes   1 I already dealt with the subject of this draft in an excursus of my dissertation of 1965 (see note 5 below). I did not include the excursus in the 1966 typed version of the dissertation in order to be able to publish the material separately in another location if I had the opportunity. For professional reasons, this has not yet been possible. The question, however, should at least be outlined. According to the more methodological than substantial intention of these outlines (it is, to use a fashionable term, only ‘considerations’!), I would like to refrain as far as possible from a detailed presentation of both archaeological

122  History and Ideology and literary material. References to relevant literature, in which the material is partially collected, may justify the omission. I would also like to dedicate this small work to Erich Dinkler (60th birthday) in memory of our long-standing cooperation and in view of our common interest in the connections between ancient Judaism and early Christianity, not least in regard to the problem touched upon here: cf. Dinkler 1964.   2 Cf. F. Landsberger 1957; the following is essentially based on Landsberger’s work.   3 For methodological reasons, this work will only deal with early Christian sacred buildings intended for mass celebration.  4 Landsberger, draws from the etymological term ‘orientation’ the more neutral term ‘sacred direction’. This terminological caution seems good to me. However, I do not adopt them consistently, because our use of language abstracts very much from the original meaning of the word ‘orientation’.   5 All essential literary sources can be found in F.J. Dölger 1925. I have examined the Jewish and early Christian–medieval literary testimonies of the ‘sacred direction’ as well as the archaeological findings of early Christianity in my unpublished dissertation (Diebner 1965) with a discussion of the secondary literature, published up to and including 1964, and essential opinions and theses on the orientation of sacred buildings. In my opinion, only Landsberger’s essay (1957) escaped me as important works. Landsberger also examines the most important stages of development in the history of the orientation of synagogues.   6 It would be better not to speak of the temple in Jerusalem. However, since, with great probability, the later refurnishing and new constructions rested on the design of Solomon’s temple, I shall only differentiate between the phases if they are relevant for my theme.   7 The description of the temple in 1 Kings 6 does not say anything about the orientation of Solomon’s temple (cf. M. Noth 1965: 105, 107). It is more likely “that it was only in connection with the draft of the new construction in Ezekiel 40–48, that the eastern orientation of the temple would have been introduced” (“dass erst im Zusammenhang mit der gesamten in dem Entwurf von Ez. 40–48 vorgesehenen neuen Raumordnung die Ost-Orientierung des Tempels eingeführt worden wäre”; Noth 1965: 108), Ezekiel 40ff., nevertheless follows the orientation of the old Solomonic complex (cf. Noth, ibid.).   8 See for example 2 Kgs 23:11f. It will not be discussed here to which extent a solar interpretation of Yahweh, as it was common in the cult of the high place sanctuaries (as for example in 2 Kgs 23:5) and in the area of the Jerusalem’s temple, might reflect a legitimate view of Yahweh at that time, contrary to the judgment of the Deuteronomists.   9 That details of the reconstructions “differed considerably” (“erheblich differieren”; cf. K. Galling: RGG3 VI col. 685) shall not be obscured by this remark. For earlier and later literature (until 1964) on Solomon’s temple, see Noth 1965: 95. 10 For example, A. Kuschke 1967: 129 writes that the Solomonic Temple “most probably had, like its successor, its main entrance oriented towards the East (“war, wie seine Nachfolger, mit dem Haupteingang höchstwahrscheinlich nach Osten orientiert”). 11 “Der salomonische Tempel nach Westen orientiert” (Möhlenbrink 1932: 79). 12 Cf. E. Unger 1928a, 1928b, 1929, 1930a, 1930b, 1931a, 1931b. 13 Cf. here the direction of the Old Egyptian villas according to the favorable cooling wind from the north. 14 “Im Windhauch offenbarten sich die Götter des Landes” (Unger 1931a). 15 “Nach den vier Winden hin” (Unger 1928b: 343). 16 “Aus der Praxis der Grundsteinlegung. Diese erfolgte in einem günstigen Monat und an einem günstigen Tag . . . Infolgedessen wurde auch der an diesem prädestinierten Tage wehende Wind als Richtschnur für die Orientierung genommen” (Unger 1928b: 344). 17 “Auch für den salomonischen Tempel eine Orientierung nach der Seite des ‘günstigen Windes’ annehmen” (Möhlenbrink 1932: 84). 18 “Damit ergab sich ganz von selbst, dass der Debir, der eigentliche Gotteswohnraum, westlich von den übrigen Teilen des Tempels liegen musste” (Möhlenbrink 1932: 84).

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 123 19 According to Exod 10:19, the rwḥ ym threw the locust swarms into the “Sea of Reeds”. mym can be translated as “from the west” (cf. Köhler-Baumgartner on ym 4.), because “the Mediterranean formed the western border of Canaan” (Gesenius-Buhl, col. 302). It would be better to translate the “sea wind” in Exod 10:19 with west wind; especially since the story takes place in Egypt, where the west wind is a desert wind. rwḥ ym has become the terminus technicus, although it originally presupposes the conditions of Palestine, where the significance of the sea wind is ‘favorable’. It is also related to, but is not identical with Yahweh – not even in the sense of a vehicle of revelation. It blows simply because the narrator has the Sea of Reeds east of Egypt. 20 In the plan of Ezekiel’s draft, “the west side is only a back side” (“ist die Westseite nur eine Rückseite”; Gese 1957: 127). It is “therefore not surprising that outside the temple building there is no gate in the west leading outwards” (nicht verwunderlich, wenn auch ausserhalb des Tempelhauses kein Tor im Westen nach aussen führt”; ibid.). This seems to be contradicted by the Mishnah treatise Mid II 7 g (ed. Holtzmann p. 74): wšnym [sc. gate] bm‘rb l’ hyh lhm šm. However, one should follow the information given by Josephus, Jew. War 5. 200, who still knew the temple of Herod from his own experience: το δε προς δυσιν μερος ουκ ειχε πυλην αλλα διηνεκες εδεδομητο ταθτη το τειχος (See also Jew. War 5. 38). 21 It seems to me advantageous to distinguish between an ‘architectural’ and a ‘theological’ orientation. In any case, this somewhat clumsy differentiation terminology helps to avoid misunderstandings (e.g. when describing an archaeological finding) and does not imply judgments that can only be the results of investigations. The term ‘architectural orientation’ is intended to be purely formal and to designate the cardinal direction in which the sanctuary of a sacred building is located. The ‘theological orientation’ refers to the direction of the theologically decisive compass for the orientation of the sacred building. It indicates the ‘actual’ orientation. An architecturally westerly building, such as Constantine’s St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, could therefore be theologically ‘easterned’. 22 It suffices here to refer to the literature mentioned in notes 18 and 28. 23 Cf. Morgenstern 1960; Kuschke 1967: 124–132; A. Busink 1963, 1968; J. Ouellette 1969. 24 “Auf eine bauliche Ausgestaltung des Westens verzichtet” (Gese 1957: 109). 25 “Wie überhaupt die Ostrichtung, nach der der Tempel orientiert ist” (Gese 1957: 51). 26 J. Herrmann confuses cause and consequence when he states: “All speculations about why (the glory of Yahweh) comes from the east and not from the north (towards the country of exile or the mountain of the gods) or from the south (towards Sinai) is resolved . . . by the simple consideration that the front of the temple faces east”; (“Alle Spekulationen darüber, warum [die Herrlichkeit Jahwes] gerade von Osten kommt und nicht von Norden [Richtung des Exillandes oder des Götterberges] oder von Süden [Richtung des Sinai], erledigen sich . . . durch die einfache Erwägung, dass die Vorderseite des Tempels nach Osten gerichtet ist”; Hermann 1924: 274). 27 Cf. here those works mentioned in the bibliography. Followers of Morgenstern are G.R. Berry 1937: 115–117, and H.G. May 1937a, 1937b. 28 Hollis 1933. The study of F.J. Hollis differs in regard to my work’s essential results so slightly from the results of Morgenstern’s treatises that a separate presentation of Hollis’ position does not seem necessary. 29 For questions about the Israelite New Year festival in pre-exilic times, see BL col. 1226 ‘Neujahrsfest’ (O. Keel, 1951–1956). See also Morgenstern 1924, 1926, 1928: 46, 1929: 19, 1960: 177, 179. 30 For example, Ezek 8:16 (cf. Zimmerli 1969: 220); 11:23; 43f. (cf. Morgenstern 1928: 45). 31 For example 2 Chron 29:3 ff.; Morgenstern does not refer to Job 31:26–28, because it does not witness the cult in Jerusalem. 32 Long before Morgenstern’s works, C.V.L. Charlier 1904: 386–394 argued that, on an astronomical basis, the temple must have been built in such a way that the first rays of the rising sun fell through the eastern temple gate at the two equinoxes. A similar thesis was put forward by A.v. Gall. In his opinion, “the longitudinal axis of the temple was

124  History and Ideology constructed in such a way that on two specific days of the year, corresponding to May 22, 948, the rays of the sun rising over the Mount of Olives fell along this axis and penetrated into the holiest of all when the doors were open” (“wurde die Längsachse des Tempels so konstruiert, dass an zwei bestimmten Tagen des Jahres, entsprechend dem 22. Mai 948, die Strahlen der über dem ölberg aufgehenden Sonne längs dieser Achse fielen und bei geöffneten Türen in das Aller heiligste drangen”; v. Gall 1920: 59). V. Gall calculated one of the two solar eclipses during the reign of Solomon as the probable date of the temple dedication. Morgenstern counters this with “the manifold evidence which we have gathered, bearing upon the equinoctial rites within the Temple in connection with the eastern gate and the shining of the first rays of the rising sun through it on these two significant days of the year” (Morgenstern 1929: 18), and, furthermore, in a solar eclipse it is the moment when the first rays of the sun shone out from behind the moon that is significant, not the sunrise (ibid.). Also B. Stade and E. Benzinger, among others, had already suspected that the temple was oriented towards the sun. 33 It may suffice to refer to the Deuteronomist and the Chronicler. 34 Namely the also, for Christian belief possibly offensive insight (cf. Snijders: 226, 232) that a monument, which was valued also by critical streams in the Old Testament tradition and had an unequivocal importance for Israel’s piety, was a product of ancient Near Eastern history of religion and the temple of a solar god. 35 For contemporary hypotheses of the typological classification of Jerusalem’s temple, it is sufficient to refer to the following works and positions: A. Alt 1959: 303–325; H. Schult 1964; Noth 1965 102–129; Th. A. Busink 1963; Kuschke 1967; D. Ussishkin 1966; Ouellette 1969. The various theses of the typology of the Solomonic temple and its succession shall not be discussed or tested here. I restrict myself to following Alt 1953: 100–115 and Kuschke 1967: 129 ff., arguing for an ancient oriental Syrian temple construction tradition in which specific details may have been influenced by Phoenician temple construction (cf. the works of Busink). According to today’s state of research, the nearest ancient Near Eastern parallels that chronologically precede Jerusalem’s temple building may indeed be the temples of Tell Ta’yīnāt and Building IV of Hamat (cf. Kuschke 1967: 132; Ussishkin 1966: 110) as the buildings of Shechem and Megiddo cited by Schult 1964: 54 (for justification see Kuschke 1967: 131f.; Tell Ḫuēra is no longer usable for such a comparison: this was the result of a critical examination of the floor plans of Moortgat’s “Antentempel”, which G. Mansfeld presented in a Tübingen seminar on Syrian–Palestinian sacred buildings in the winter semester of 1969/70. (A. Kuschke kindly pointed out this new aspect to me.) This assumption extends the problem of the orientation of Solomon’s Temple to the question of the orientation of other sanctuaries mentioned. In the context of the present work, I do not think there is any need to answer this question here. 36 For a discussion of the (pre-exilic) New Year and Enthronement festivals, see O. Keel (1951–1956), ‘Thronbesteigungsfest Jahwes’, in BL col. 1226 f. and col. 1747, plus ref. 37 According to Landsberger 1957: 193, these are the “Deity” for the orientation of pagan temples and the “worshiper” for synagogue and church (and for completeness: the mosque). This view seems to me too simplistic. 38 If a successor building does not adopt the orientation of its previous architecture, this might be an indication of a reorientation. An example of this would be the basilica in the solar sanctuary of Baalbek. 39 This would apply, for example, to the orientation of the churches of the middle Ages, which nowadays serve the cult of the Protestant church. Such a loss of orientation of old church buildings corresponds to the complete renunciation of the orientation of new buildings in our time, testifying to an overcoming of the ‘mythical’ world view, which, however, is still consistent in dogmatic formulas. 40 For tradition–historical problems with Ezekiel 40–48, see Gese 1957: (esp.) 33ff., 50ff., 108ff.; Zimmerli 1969: 976ff.

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 125 41 Apart from the discussion, quoted here, by Landsberger, see E. Peterson 1959a, 1959b. 42 The relationship of the qibla to the Jewish direction of prayer should be noted here again. 43 By the synagogue towards Jerusalem and by the church towards the east. In the fourth century Constantine’s solar worship was the guideline for this, according to Landsberger 1957: 197. 44 Nevertheless, the entrance to the meeting hall was to the north. 45 A closer look at the monuments forces differentiations here. Some conventional and still refereed opinions are based on inadequate outdated studies of the last century (cf. also those of Landsberger [1957: 201, n. 42] cited authorities). 46 Cf. the familiar speech by Pope Leo I: ‘Sermo 27’. In nativitate Domini 7,4 (MPL 54, 218). 47 With the exception of the Christian cult complex of Dura Europos, only late antique Christian cult buildings can be determined archaeologically. The terminus a quo of late antiquity is usually reckoned from the construction of the Aurelian city wall of Rome and the introduction of the Sol Invictus cult. Prof. Bastian van Elderen (Calvin Seminary, Grand Rapids [Mich.]), as his pupil James Brashley informed me, has discovered a large church complex from pre-Constantinian times. It was found in the summer of 1970 during excavations near Amman, which he carried out on behalf of the American School of Oriental Research. The uppermost stratum was uncovered; two further strata were explored by excavations. Inscriptions of a mosaic floor contain the names of bishops who had already died before Constantine came to power. The youngest layer can be dated to around 300 CE and the two older strata may be as old as 250 CE. Of course, a new campaign of excavations, now interrupted by the Jordanian civil war, would have to methodically ensure that the mosaic floors of the two older layers also belong to church buildings and not to secular buildings. 48 Therefore, the following remarks can at best lead to a thesis. 49 On the building conditions of the densely populated cosmopolitan city, see Landsberger 1957: 196, and my investigation: Diebner 1965: 89ff. Presumably the building conditions of a large city only facilitate the structural consequences of a theological decision that had long since been made: the abandonment of any sacred building orientation in Rome. Constantinople, largely also a densely populated cosmopolitan city, never renounced the east–west direction of its churches. 50 The few exceptions, mostly attested only by literature, are almost all imperial, i.e. actually Western Roman foundations (cf. Diebner 1965: 139, 140 ff.). 51 So at all times; against Nussbaum 1965: 61. 52 The examples from the earliest period basically regard private prayer piety. The collected material can be found in Peterson; A. Grillmeyer 1956: 67ff.; Dinkler 1964: 77ff. 53 As Landsberger 1957: 201f. rightly notes, the methods of late Christian scholarship led to completely different paths. 54 See again Morgenstern 1929. It is quite significant that the eastern portal plays a completely different role in the early church and medieval Christian exegesis; cf. A. Kassing 1953; Diebner 1965: 384 f. The ancient schools of exegetes, with their justifications of Christian prayer, probably only rationalize a prevalent custom, the original foundation of which, however, is no longer familiar to them. They create their own learned traditions, which often have nothing to do with what is probably alive among the people. 55 Even if the eschatological and apocalyptic expectation flattens out to a more innerworldly-political feeling (cf. Morgenstern 1929: 5), a lively survival of the old tradition can be observed. 56 If the break with Jewish custom had been the primary motive for choosing the east as the Christian ‘sacred direction’, it would only be necessary to ask what the Christians would have gained from it. They exchanged the custom of one rejected heresy (the Jewish orientation towards Jerusalem) with the custom of another one (the widespread easting of pagan prayer).

126  History and Ideology 57 Cf. Pseudo-Athanasios, Quaest. ad Antiochum ducem 37 (PG 28: 617D-620C); Gregentius, Disputatio cum Herbano Judeo (PG 86: 1, 669). 58 Cf. the Etiopic Petrusapokalypse 1 (Hennecke II3: 472); the Etiopic Epistula Apostolorum 16 (Hennecke I3: 134); the Coptic Eliasapokalypse 31f. (Steindorf, TU 17, 3a); cf. also the Petrusevangelium 39 (Hennecke I3: 123). 59 From the middle to the second half of the second century; cf. Peterson 1959b: 22ff.

References Alt, A. 1953. ‘Verbreitung und Herkunft des Syrischen Tempeltypus’. In idem, Kleine Schriften: II: 100–115. ———. 1959. ‘Archäologische Fragen zur Baugeschichte von Jerusalem und Samaria in der israelitischen Königszeit’. In idem, Kleine Schriften: III: 303–325. Berry, G.R. 1937. ‘The Glory of Yahweh and the Temple’. JBL 56: 115–117. Busink, T.A. 1963. ‘Les origines du Temple de Salomon’. JEOL 17: 165–192. ———. 1968. Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes I. Leiden: Brill. Charlier, C.V.L. 1904. ‘Ein astronomischer Beitrag zur Exegese des Alten Testaments’. ZDMG 58: 386–394. Diebner, B.J. 1965. Die Orientierung des frühchristlichen Kirchenraumes und ihre theologische Begündung. Dargestellt an dem Beispiele Roms, Syriens und Konstantinopels. Dissertation. University of Heidelberg. Dinkler, E. 1964. ‘Das Apsismosaik von S. Apollinare in Classe’. Wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen der Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Forschung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen 29: 77–87. Dölger, F.J. 1925. Sol salutis. Gebet und Gesang im christlichen Altertum. Mit besonderer Rücksicht auf die Ostung in Gebet und Liturgie. LQF 16/17. Münster: Aschendorff. Gall, A.V. 1920. ‘Ein neues astronomisch zu erschschliessende Datum’. Karl Budde zum 70. Geburtstag. BZAW 34: 52–60. Galling, K. ‘Tempel II. In Israel’. In RGG3: VI: col. 685. Gese, H. 1957. Der Verfassungsentwurf des Ezechiel (Kap. 40–48) traditionsgeschichtlich untersucht. BHTh 25. Tübingen: Mohr. Grillmeyer, A. 1956. Der Logos am Kreuz. Munich: Max Hueber. Hermann, J. 1924. Ezechiel übersetzt und erklärt. KAT. Leipzig: Deichert. Hollis, F.J. 1933. ‘The Sun Cult and the Temple at Jerusalem’. In Myth and Ritual. Essays on the Myth and Ritual of the Hebrews in Relation to the Cultural Pattern of the Ancient East. S.H. Hooke (ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kassing, A. 1953. ‘Das verschlossene Tor Ez. 44,1–3. Heilsgeschichtliches Sinnverständnis als ekklesiologisch-mariologische Anregung’. WuW 16: 171–190. Keel, O. 1951–1956. ‘Neujahrsfest’. In BL: col. 1226–1227. ———. 1951–1956. ‘Thronbesteigungsfest Jahwes’. In BL: col. 1247ff. Kuschke, A. 1967. ‘Der Tempel Salomos und der “syrische Tempeltypus”’. Festschrift L. Rost. BZAW 105: 125–132. Landsberger, F. 1957. ‘The Sacred Direction in Synagogue and Church’. HUCA 28: 181–203. May, H.G. 1937a. ‘Some Aspects of Solar Worship at Jerusalem’. ZAW 55: 269–281. ———. 1937b. ‘The Departure of the Glory of Yahweh’. JBL 56: 309–321. Möhlenbrink, K. 1932. Der Tempel Salomos. Eine Untersuchung seiner Stellung in der Sakralarchitektur des alten Orients. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Morgenstern, J. 1924. ‘The Three Calendars of Ancient Israel’. HUCA 1: 22–58. ———. 1926. ‘Additional Notes on “The Three Calendars of Ancient Israel”’. HUCA 3: 87–100.

Jerusalem’s Temple and Early Christian Churches 127 ———. 1928. ‘The Book of the Covenant’. Part I. HUCA 5: 1–151 ———. 1929. ‘The Gates of Righteousness’. HUCA 6: 1–37. ———. 1960. ‘The King-God among the Western Semites and the Meaning of Epiphanes’. VT 10: 138–197. Noth, M. 1965. Könige. BKAT 9,2. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Nussbaum, O. 1965. Der standort des Liturgen am christlichen Altar vor dem Jahre 1000. Eine archäologische und liturgiegeschichtliche Untersuchung. 2 vols. Bonn: Peter Hanstein. Ouellette, J. 1969. ‘Le vestibule du Temple de Salomon etait-il un bit ḫilâni?’. RB 76: 365–378. Peterson, E. 1959a. ‘Die geschichtliche Bedeutung der jüdischen Gebetsrichtung’. In idem: Frühkirche, Judentum und Gnosis: Studien und Untersuchungen. Rom, Freiburg: Herder: 1–14. ———. 1959b. ‘Das Kreuz und das Gebet nach Osten’. In idem: Frühkirche, Judentum und Gnosis: 15–35. Schult, H. 1964. ‘Der Debir im salomonischen Tempel’. ZDPV 80: 46–54. Snijders, L.A. 1965. ‘L’orientation du Temple de Jerusalem’. OTS 14: 214–234. Unger, E. 1928a. ‘Der Stadtplan von Babel’. FF 4: col. 62–64. ———. 1928b. ‘Neue Erkenntnisse über die astronomische Orientierung in Babylonien’. FF 4: col. 343 f. ———. 1929. ‘Die Offenbarung der Gottheit durch den Windhauch’. FF 5: col. 270 f. ———. 1930a. ‘Das Stadt bild von Borsippa’. FF 6: col. 285–287. ———. 1930b. ‘Die Sonne des Tages und die Sonne der Nacht’. FF 6: col. 459. ———. 1931a. ‘Die astronomische Uhr von Babylonien’. FF 7: col. 82. ———. 1931b. Babylon. Die heilige Stadt nach der Beschreibung der Babylonier. Berlin: de Gruyter. Ussishkin, D. 1966. ‘Building IV in Hamath and the Temples of Solomon and Tell Tayanat’. IEJ 16: 104–110. Zimmerli, W. 1969. Ezechiel. BKAT 13. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.

8

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ in the Ancient Synagogue of Dura Europos Reconsidered1

1 In his article, ‘The Torah Shrine at Dura Europos: A Re-Evaluation’, Archer St. Clair limits himself to an examination of the decoration “on the face of the arch of the Torah shrine” (St. Clair 1986: 109). He offers this reason for his choice: “This article is an attempt to re-evaluate the decoration of the Torah shrine as a work of art complete in itself, which stood unaltered throughout the synagogue’s history as the focus of worship for its congregation” (p. 110). St. Clair makes the following remark about the Torah shrine itself: Set into the western wall of the Assembly Hall, the Torah shrine was the sole architectural embellishment of the synagogue, and provided the westward orientation, towards Jerusalem, for worship. As Kraeling pointed out, neither the design nor the non-figural decoration of the shrine are typically or specifically Jewish, finding analogies in the contemporary pagan and secular architecture. (St. Clair 1986: 110)2 Nevertheless, the architectural element in question in the Dura Synagogue has usually been referred to as the ‘Torah shrine’ in scientific literature since its discovery. It is a slightly stilted, semi-circular niche with shell conches in the ceiling. It extends slightly into the synagogue space and is flanked by two columns on square pedestals, between which a depression leads up from the level of the synagogue to the level of the niche as a third step, giving the impression of a seating niche (C.B. Roth 1963: 85, fig. 68). It is often forgotten that this designation is secondary. It was introduced by the scientific literature in the general description of the structural form of the buildings after the discovery of the synagogue. In addition, it is quite inaccurate because it is really not a ‘shrine’ but a wall niche. Therefore, the term “niche of the Torah shrine” or “Torah niche”3 is more appropriate. However, this also presupposes something that is by no means historically verified, namely that the niche in the Dura Europos synagogue should be a depository for the Torah. In the following it will be argued that the niche in the Dura Europos synagogue probably has nothing to do with the Torah or the Torah shrine. On the contrary, it is DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-12

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ Reconsidered 129 probably a building element in the Jewish worship room, whose tradition lives on in the Islamic miḥrāb, the prayer niche in the mosque. Its function was – and here we agree with the research tradition adapted by St. Clair – to indicate the qiblā, i.e. the direction of prayer (orientation of the divine service) to Jerusalem. However, here we assume an empty niche analogous to the miḥrāb of mosques, which with its architectural structure points to a certain function, which, however, is not apparently realized in the cult of the synagogue (and the mosque) – and not with full intention. The architectural form of the niche suggests that an awaited figure can be placed in it temporarily or permanently. Here, primarily a divine figure is to be expected. However, this is forbidden for both Jewish and Islamic cults. Consequently, the function of the niche can be assumed to symbolize the presence of the invisible and unfigured God (during the divine service). The orientation towards Jerusalem could thus indicate the symbolic presence of God in the temple. Other possibilities of interpretation than those proposed here, undoubtedly, are conceivable. These will be discussed below. Our suggested interpretation, however, is also problematic in itself, because it could be used to derive a competitive relationship between the representation of YHWH in synagogue worship through his Torah and his virtual presence in the niche. Harmonization models between the two concepts of presence would be conceivable and should therefore also be explicitly considered. However, the function of the synagogue niche is primarily understood here as an indication of the imagined, incomprehensible and unembodied presence of YHWH (at his place in Jerusalem and) in synagogue worship. 2 For St. Clair, the Dura Europos niche is easily explained: • First, by adopting the term “Torah shrine”, which is common in research and already implies an explanation. • Second, by the fact that he does not attach any further importance to the ‘design’ of the niche (which might be relevant for his examination and adequate understanding of the frescoes above the front of the niche and their architectural coherence with the continuous west wall of the synagogue). It is astonishing that he himself provides the keywords that should have motivated him to consider whether the niche is not important for the overall understanding of the west wall decoration and especially the decoration of the niche zone, when he correctly states that it resembles “analogies in the contemporary pagan and secular architecture” (St. Clair 1986: 110). It is certainly methodologically questionable to dispense with an important element in a building complex with the implicit argument that, essentially, it does not belong to the culture of the group whose material remains one wants to investigate. If we assume that the Jews of Dura Europos participated in the common ancient culture of their time and region – regardless of their group peculiarities (which other groups also had) – the architecture of the niche of the Dura Synagogue is an

130  History and Ideology integral element in the design of the cultic building and of integrating importance for the interpretation of the synagogue and its furnishings. The very fact that the Dura niche displays “analogies in the contemporary pagan and secular architecture” is an important and promising methodological starting point for understanding the niche and its function. It can be methodologically assumed that building forms, structures and ornamentation are ‘monumental language’. Within a certain framework, this is easily understandable for us: we ‘understand’ the ‘monumental language’ of our respective cultures in individually and sociologically describable definitions. The more foreign and distant monuments are from us – geographically, chronologically, culturally – the more necessary it is to translate their ‘architectural language’ into a language we understand. Provided that the Jews of Dura Europos participated in the culture of their time and space, they also participated in the comprehensive language forms of their cultural environment. Thus, it can be assumed that the function of the Dura Europos synagogue niche could also be communicated across group boundaries: those who saw it understood what it meant. It ‘spoke’ an intelligible language. Formulated from the point of view of the Dura Europos Jews, they knew what they were doing when they put the ‘statement’ (the empty) niche into the structure of the western wall of their synagogue: this ‘statement’ could be communicated within the group and also across group boundaries. The niche should probably also be interpreted as a ‘statement’. 3 We assume that we can understand the ‘statement’ of the Dura Europos niche if we interpret it in the context of and within the framework of possible intentions and functions of ancient niche architecture. Niches in ancient architecture (and not only there) fulfil a wide range of functions. Among them are also many functions that do not offer much information in our context. We therefore need to define in more detail which spectrum of ancient niche functions could be relevant to our questioning. These are niches in cultic buildings. The term ‘cultic building’ should be defined quite broadly for our modern viewpoint, which differentiates between the profane and the sacred.4 In antiquity generally and in the Ancient Orient specifically, the areas of imperium and sacerdocium belong together. They are corresponding poles of a bipolar understanding of reality. That is why the palace is also located next to the state sanctuary and is connected to it by a gate or a door.5 Before we interpret the niche of the Dura Europos synagogue within its ancient context, we want to look at what it might have meant in the narrow context of a Jewish cult room. We will restrict ourselves to give some hints rather than offering a thorough argumentation. The niche is part of the western wall of the synagogue. Its orientation towards Jerusalem is obvious. This regards the fresco on the wall above the arch of the niche with its framing columns. At the center of the image is a colonnaded architectural structure, presumably a view of the narrow front of a temple building. Between two framing outer columns, each supporting the architrave decorated with

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ Reconsidered 131 tiles, we see two lower (marbled) columns, which, like the larger ones, consist of a monolithic order of bases, pedestals, column shafts, and capitals. The columns support a lunette-like construction in which a conch is formed. Two doors are left open between the columns. Through the gap, we probably look into the interior and see seven circles, each having a middle point. What is this? We look either at the temple front (sc. of Jerusalem’s temple) and through the gap of the portal into the temple interior. Or we probably look at the stylized temple front. However, the construction placed between the larger columns is an object inside the temple. Here only the Ark of the Covenant would be relevant. Or the construction on the fresco above the niche represents an object that is designed as an image of the temple. In our opinion, we can leave out the second possibility. Even though the fresco probably does not stem from the same hand as frescoes A–C on the western wall, it lays near at hand, to assume a parallelism with the main frescoes of register B (north: return of the Ark from the land of Philistia; south: consecration of the tent of meeting in the desert with Aaron and his sons). These, however depict the interior of the temples and the temple model, the ‘tent’, in black colouring (so also the western wall, register B south side: the spring miracle in Israel’s desert camp). But that is not the case with the fresco above the niche. It would be possible to depict a temple-shaped object. This would have to be the Ark. A certain idea of such a temple image or temple-like shrine is given by the already mentioned Dura Europos frescoes on the western wall, reg. B, north side right (return of the Ark) and especially that on the south side centre (temple consecration6). The architecture described here is strongly reminiscent of the well-known sculpture made on a lintel in the synagogue of Capernaum.7 Here the temple-like shrine is placed on a ‘mobile base’, similar to what we see in Dura Europos’ fresco of the ‘Return of the Ark’ (Kanael 1961: fig. 43). Discussions about the Ark or even the ‘tent and the Ark’8 should not be reproduced or even continued here. It is based on completely inappropriate hermeneutical and basic methodological assumptions about the nature, intention and function of the biblical texts. But one can ask the following: • Does the image of the movable ark depicted on the lintel from Capernaum represent the move of the ark in the biblical ark narratives (l Samuel 4–7), as this is to be assumed (at least superficially) for the ark on the Dura Europos fresco? • Or is a cult object of the ancient synagogues depicted here: a movable Torah shrine from a period when the Torah and its housing (shrine) did not yet have a designated place in the synagogue? This would be assumed not only for the synagogues of post-Christian antiquity until the fifth-sixth century, i.e. well into the time of late antiquity, but probably also for all synagogues before the Christian era. (From this point of view, the mobile Ark of the biblical Ark narratives could well have its vivid model in pre-Christian–ancient synagogue practice9). With the assumption of a temple-shaped shrine for the fresco above the Torah niche, the view into the open door wings could be combined most easily: we look at

132  History and Ideology symbolic ‘abbreviations’ of scrolls. We do have depictions of open Torah cabinets, in which we look at the bottom of the scrolls deposited there.10 But it is also possible to assume that we see a stylized representation of the temple itself above the niche. Here, the view into the interior could well be focused on the most important thing, namely the scrolls kept there in the pre-Christian temple. Iconographically, the Dura Europos fresco also resembles images of the (eschatological) temple on coins from the time of the second Jewish revolt of Bar Kochba (132–135 CE).11 The small size of the object probably made it impossible to give a precise representation of the structure between the double columns. Thus, although we also find depicted on the coin – as on the Dura fresco – the portal knobs (?), we do not find a vertical line between the columns, which could indicate the distinction between two portals, let alone the hint of open door wings. But the parallels suggest that on the Dura Europos fresco we are probably dealing with the (eschatological) temple to which the western wall with its niche points; because the ‘historical’ temple had not existed since about 70 CE. This is also supported by the representations to the left and right of the architectural drawing. On the right we find Abraham’s sacrifice from Genesis 22. Isaac is already lying on a pedestal-shaped altar. Just below it to the right stands Abraham in back rear view.12 Under the altar and Abraham we see the ram caught by the tree, replacing the son as sacrifice. To the left, we find symbols of the Succoth (Festival of Booths): Menorah, Etrog (Citrus fruit) and Lulav (Palm branch).13 Succoth is the Festival of the consecration of the temple.14 Questions of whether the depictions of temple consecration symbolism and Abraham’s sacrifice refer to ‘events of the early days’ of ‘Israel’ or to future restoration are indeed inappropriate, because they are posed from the spirit of Western rationality. In mythical thinking, ‘primeval times equal end times’ – the former points to the (still pending) future. Thus, the temple symbolism of the Dura Europos fresco above the niche may, similarly to the Bar Kochba coin, point to the future ‘eschatological’ temple. The question of what it is that is depicted above the Dura Europos niche cannot be answered provisionally without reference to numerous comparable representations, of which we here only want to single out two from late antique synagogues. Both date to the sixth century CE. One is the symbolic Torah shrine (?) depicted on the south panel of the floor mosaic of the synagogue of Bet Alpha,15 and the other is a corresponding representation on the floor mosaic of the synagogue of Beit She’an.16 The surrounding symbolism of the communicating architecture is comparable to that of Dura Europos, especially since in Bet Alpha the Abraham Sacrifice can be found on the north panel of the floor. The question can only be hinted at and must be answered in the context of further parallels: do the representations show a stylized imitation of the temple or do they point to the Torah shrine? One might decide one thing here and another there. In our opinion, it will not be possible to provide a satisfactory general answer for all presentations or a specific answer for each. Probably our western rationalistic ‘either/or’ is not fitting for the material under examination, which might mean that a ‘both/and’ is preferable. The most important content of the temple were the Ark and the Torah (Scrolls).17 And the Ark or the

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ Reconsidered 133 shrine and the scrolls always signify the temple. Therefore so does also the image of the Ark – or better ‘the Holy Ark’, ‫ארון קודש‬. In this view, the picture of the alternative temple or shrine on the fresco above the Dura Europos niche does not allow a clear interpretation of its function. 4 The picture, however, does help to answer the question of the function of the niche. We may understand it as the ‘image’ of the temple, at least as a reference to the temple. This interpretation is reinforced by various other elements. On the one hand, there are the already mentioned frescoes of the western wall as a further context of the integrated niche. On the other hand, there are the, somewhat difficult to describe and therefore even more difficult to interpret, frescoes above the niche on the western wall (cf. the images in Levine 1981: 176). The lower zone is relatively easy to identify. Several squares can be distinguished. It is sufficient here to refer to the Orpheus (David?) typology and to the lion (of Judah?). Finally, there is the orientation of the synagogue. This is indicated by the fact that the western wall, highlighted by frescoes and niche, is to be understood as the front wall of the synagogue room. And this wall points to the south west which, enforced by the symbolism of the images, is towards Jerusalem. This orientation is not random and at most only receives some blurring due to the structural conditions of the city. All known synagogues of Judaism associated with the Jerusalem cult community in Eretz Yisrael and beyond are oriented towards Jerusalem. In the case of a group of Galilean synagogues, the portal side of the north–south buildings faces south. Otherwise, in the case of ancient and late antique synagogues (as well as later) of this cultic community, the wall, which is characterized by a niche or apse, points to Jerusalem. The situation is different in regard to the verifiable synagogues of the cultic community on Gerizim, the Samaritans. These were (are) oriented towards Gerizim. We can already consider the cultic orientation towards Jerusalem as a fact for pre-Christian Jews. Dan 6:11 proves that the prayer orientation to Jerusalem for individual prayer was established in the second (or rather early first) century BCE. Interesting in this context is also the ‘prayer of Solomon at the consecration of the temple’ in l Kgs 8:12–53. Solomon speaks here five times of prayer in the direction of Jerusalem’s temple. Each time he has a different situation or group in mind. All in all, he grasps all possibilities: • Prayer for ‘Israel’ in the case of sin (cf. vv. 35f.), provided that the prayers are outside Jerusalem (those situated in Jerusalem are covered in vv. 33f.: praying “in this temple”, ‫ ;בבית הזה‬v. 33); • Prayer of the individual or the people (the ‘community’) during natural disasters or enemy distress ‘within the country’, but outside of Jerusalem (vv. 37–40); • Prayer of the “stranger”, ‫הנכרי‬, converting to YHWH (vv. 41–43); • Prayer of ‘Israel’ at war (vv. 44f.); • Finally, the prayer of those living near or far outside of Eretz Yisrael in the Golah (vv. 46–51).

134  History and Ideology One might think that the author Solomon has reviewed the entire history that occurred after him. That is also how the fiction may be. But the prayer describes just as well in statements that can be understood synchronously, for example, the situation of the Maccabean period. The collective prayer of ‘Israel’ outside Jerusalem, whether within or outside (cases 3 and 5) of Eretz Yisrael can as well have been designed for Synagogue prayer or service. This situation seems the most plausible for the prayer at the consecration of the temple. Thus, a strict concentration on the temple is to be assumed of all Jewish piety exercises individually or collectively in worship. Everything is related to Jerusalem’s temple. Yes, one could say: the temple is the only legitimate place of prayer, that is, of worship; for the worship of the synagogue congregation(s) is the prayer service.18 ‘Virtually’ the praying, which is not geographically feasible at the Holy Place, in its orientation towards Jerusalem and its temple also takes place at the chosen and only place. Each prayer is thus an image of the temple prayer. The logical conclusion is that each prayer (room) established as such is an image of the only chosen temple. This ‘imagery’ is represented by the orientation and equipment of the synagogues. 5 After these steps of reflection, we can finally focus once again on the niche of the synagogue of Dura Europos. From what has been discussed so far, we can summarize that the niche is part of a monumental ‘statement’ with architectural and ornamental means of ancient Judaism. The group’s internal understanding of this ‘statement’ includes a traditional knowledge that we can tap into on the basis of our knowledge of important traditions of ancient Judaism (namely its Holy Scriptures). In this broader cultural–historical context, the western wall of the Dura Europos synagogue ‘tells’ us that the cultic building of the Jews of Dura Europos in northeastern Syria is an ‘image’ of the only legitimate temple and house (of God) of this religious and cultic community outside the holy city and, in this case, in the Golah, namely the Temple of Jerusalem. We can assume that the niche has ‘a little’19 to do with the main shrine in Jerusalem. But – in what way? To answer this, we have to take a look at the function of comparable niches in the fanum of ancient culture. Johannes Deckers has demonstrated in the anthology Late Antiquity and Early Christianity (Deckers 1983: 267–283) that in regard to pictorial decoration “no fundamentally new concept was developed for the oldest churches” (Deckers 1983: 268). Deckers explains this by examples of the Diocletian imperial cult room in the Amon Temple of Luxor from around 300 CE. In his contribution, Deckers traces the furnishing of imperial Roman cult rooms to the Christian basilicas that have adopted this concept. He does not deal with the Jewish analogy of the synagogue of Dura Europos, which dating to about 320 CE was built before the establishment of Christian basilicas. Its second construction phase from 244/45 CE, however, already seems reminiscent of the imperial cult rooms in Jewish adaptation.

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ Reconsidered 135 The spatial concepts of the cult rooms at Luxor (Deckers 1983: 267, fig. 97) and Dura20 are comparable. Equivalent is the surrounding fresco zones.21 The designs of the niche also show a very striking agreement (Deckers 1983: 270, fig. 103). Further explanations are superfluous. It should be remarked, however, that the heightened level of the niches is found in both places. It is also noteworthy that in both cases, the rooms are wide spaced with the cult niche on the ‘front’ (oriented) broadside, the front wall. An analogy to the cult room of Luxor is the imperial cult room in the grammar school of Vedius in Ephesus (Deckers 1983: 277, fig. 117). The frescoes on the walls of the Cult Hall of Luxor depict a train of armed soldiers, “which presumably continued on both side walls . . . to the main wall of the room. Although the emperor does not appear in this frieze, the depiction can be interpreted as part of an adventus, or rather an adlocutio scene”.22 This train of soldiers “is the prelude to the main event, the appearance of the ruler in the images of the front wall”.23 The apse rounding itself is reserved for the largerthan-life fresco figures of the tetrarchs (p. 273). The calotte of the apsis in Luxor is filled with the image of the highest god, Jupiter, in the form of “an out winged eagle. In his clutches he holds a golden, jewel-studded wreath, a sign of victory, which Jupiter . . . gives as a gift to the son and earthly deputy (sc.: Diocletian)”.24 The theme of the frieze paintings to the left and right of the apse or cult niche are courtly scenes of representation with the depictions of two rulers of the tetrarchy, to whom courtiers submissively approach with manus velatae, in which they offer the tetrarchs the insignia of their power (Deckers 1983: 269, 271).25 For further details, please consult Deckers’ investigation. It is important for us to draw attention to parallels in the synagogue decoration of Dura Europos. Here, too, the frescoes to the right and left of the niche serve the cult of the ‘supreme ruler’, namely God. This applies at least to the central register B with its representations of ‘tent’, temple and ‘ark’, each of which represents the presence of the divine omnikrator.26 How far the frescoes of register C and (as far as identifiable) A fit into this context remains to be seen. However, the identifiable remains of the band of frescos above the niche construction27 and, of course, of the field above columns and conches fit in with the context. We have already emphasized that the synagogue, with its architectural and pictorial symbolism, is oriented towards the ‘eschatological’ temple in Jerusalem, to which the adventus Domini (in the form of His Anointed One) belongs. This corresponds to the fact that the design of the Imperial cult room of Luxor also depicts an adventus or adlocutio scene, in the middle of which (the front wall with niche zone and wing images) stands the manifestation of the divine rulers and their ‘heavenly typos’ in the form of the eagle symbolizing Jupiter. It is probably no coincidence that the temple complex of Luxor in Roman reception is the main building (the principia) of two legionary camps (Deckers 1983: 268). Dura Europos was founded around 300 BCE as a Seleucid military base and was also a garrison town in Roman times until the Sassanid conquest in 256 CE (after which it was no longer inhabited). The Jews in the Roman Empire, however, were exempt from military service because it could not be reconciled with the Sabbath law and purity regulations. Neither were they required to participate in the imperial cult.28 But

136  History and Ideology they were loyal citizens. The design of the Dura Europos synagogue suggests that they shared the cult structure that was self-evident in contemporary Roman culture and perhaps also adhered to a group-specific variety based on their social context as a garrison city. However, the imperial cult room of Ephesus also testifies to such places of worship for civil congregations – and this before Aurelian officially introduced the formula dominus et deus into the cult of rulers around 270 CE. The interpretation of the synagogue room of Dura Europos proposed here could also explain the other, and well-known, late antique synagogues with a niche or small apse in the cultic orientation side, if this is one of the broadsides. These are the synagogues of Horvat Susiya29 and Eschtemoa30 (fourth and fourth/fifth centuries CE respectively). 6 At the niche (aedicula) of Dura Europos it is noteworthy that there are no traces that indicate that the conch framed the head of a statue31 or that the curve of the niche was decorated with figural frescoes, as is the case in Luxor, and known also from other ancient cult niches.32 This probably gave rise to the term ‘Torah niche’ (or even ‘shrine’). However, a shrine of the dimensions to be assumed does not fit into the narrow and flat niche (of about 0.65 m2 of floor space), nor would there be analogies for such an aesthetic mal-composition.33 It therefore lies close at hand to assume that the niche was and should be empty. The aforementioned analogies, however – not only from the Roman (imperial) cult but also from its Christian reception34 – suggest that the niche was designed for a ‘personal filling’ be it by figure(s) or insignia that represent them. The depiction of insignia (and thus implied representation) of the God of ‘Israel’ is not common. Insignia of his cult, however, can be found sufficiently in the vicinity of the aedicule. The Torah prohibits the (fully) plastic representation of YHWH (cf. Exod 20:4 and par.).35 This prohibition also regards two-dimensional images.36 Thus, only the assumption of a ‘virtual’ filling of the niche remains: YHWH – like the divine ruler and the heavenly God, whom he embodies earthly – becomes personaliter in the aedicule in the sense of his ‘eschatological’ adventus or his adlocutio through the words of his Torah. In the following, we suggest that, in view of the analogous aedicule of the ancient synagogue of Dura Europos and perhaps other synagogues of late antiquity, we cease to speak about a Torah niche or shrine. Instead, we find it more appropriate to speak about a cult niche (YHWH cult niche) such as we find in the similar niche in Luxor (Deckers 1983: 268, fig. 98). It should be noted that the distinct step construction, which leads up to the aedicule in construction phase II (cf. the image in Roth 1963: 85, fig. 68.), could speak against our interpretation and for a ‘demarcation’ (for example, for the extraction and deposition of the Torah scrolls). We do not want to refute this argument.37 However, the step construction did not exist in phase I of the Dura Europos synagogue (cf. the image in Levine 1981: 173). Our penultimate remark is about the further tradition of the cult niche in Judaism. From the fifth–sixth century CE, we find late antique synagogues, which,

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ Reconsidered 137 analogous to the Christian basilicas, are provided with apses. These are likely to be ‘walk-in cult niches’ with regard to the rite. In the Christian apse stands the altar on which the Lord of the Church is ‘eschatologically’ present in the Eucharistic elements. In the synagogues, we find from that period the presence of God in the form of the Torah scrolls, which have their place in the shrine of the apse. The scrolls are taken out from here and brought back after the reading. The construction of the apse as an ‘extended’ apsidal niche is illustrated by the triumphal arch in the church of Old St. Paolo fuori le mura (Deckers 1983: 272, fig. 106.). A final remark considers Islam as heir to both Jewish and Christian traditions. There we find, especially in its early days and in the Orient, mosques designated with the prayer niche, the qiblā on a broadside. The architecture of the miḥrāb is recognizable in the building tradition of the ancient (imperial and synagogue) cult niche. Early examples are counterparts of the Dura Europos niche.38 In its original architecture, Islam did not develop and adopt a demarcated apse. Neither the example from a ruling cult, nor, what may ultimately have been more decisive, the requirement of Islam’s own rite forced it to do so. While Christianity retained the apse or the partitioned sanctuary, the synagogue could again do away with the apse. The Torah shrine, now installed at the apex of the front, adequately marks the cultic orientation and presence of the divine ruler. 7 Summary: In the discussion presented here, the authors argue that the niche (aedicula) of the ancient synagogue of Dura Europos is not a ‘Torah niche’ (and certainly not, as is often read, a ‘Torah shrine’). With the help of analogous concepts of spatial and pictorial decoration from the pre-Christian Roman imperial cult, the thesis is put forward that the niche of Dura Europos symbolizes the cultic–eschatological adventus of the ruling God (YHWH) or his anointed, the divine ruler over ‘Israel’ and all the world and thus the ‘virtual’ cultic presence of the divinity. The conceptual design of the Roman imperial cult before the Christianization of the empire is continued in a comparable way by the (state) church as well as by the synagogue and has also left its traces in the conception of mosques through Judeo–Christian mediation. The result of the consideration is also an indication that the Judaism of the (late) antique period must be interpreted within the contemporary cultural context of the ancient Near East (despite Jewish communities’ peculiarities and self-segregation). Notes   1   2   3   4

Claudia Nauerth is the co-author on this article. For a thorough presentation of the Dura Europos Synagogue, see H. Kraeling 1956. C.B. Roth 1963: 85, fig. 68: “Nische des Torahschreins”; p. 85, “Torahnische”. To what extent this has happened may be questioned. We doubt that, for example, the sphere of domination in our ‘modern’ world – even in modern democracies – lies before the fanum, i.e. is ‘pro-fan’. Against the opinion that the sphere of dominion is interpreted ‘profanely’ in the modern, ‘secular’ world, it is easy to provide examples that at

138  History and Ideology least contradict the state ideology through a sacred practice. The most recent example of this is the swearing-in ceremony for the new President of the USA, George Bush (20.1.1989). – Cf. also coincidentally Der Spiegel 43/4 (23.1.1989): 118f.  5 Cf. 2 Kgs 11:13 par. 2 Chron 23:12; Ezek 43:8. In the ‘building report’ of the palace, no gate was mentioned (cf. 1 Kgs 7:1–12). For this, see, T.A. Busink 1970: 148–161. Busink has, despite all praise of his magnum opus, nevertheless, made some questionable interpretations of the biblical texts, for example 2 Kgs 11:6 (p. 149) which does not speak of the gate of ‫ צור‬but of ‫סור‬.   6 In our opinion, rather than tabernacle = consecration of the meeting or community tent (cf. the scene on the western wall, Reg.B, north side center ‘Jerusalem and the Temple of Solomon’). The symbolic references probably complicate a clear identification here and elsewhere, but probably also show that such an attempt at ‘unambiguous’ identification is not in the sense of the transmitters: neither in the sense of the authors of our Biblia Hebraica texts nor in that of the fresco painters or the commissioner.   7 Dura Europos fresco: Desert tent, resp. temple inauguration; Kanael 1961: fig. 42.   8 For this, see R. Schmitt 1972.   9 The early dating of the Samuel stories and in their context also of the Ark narratives, which is customary in Old Testament research, lacks any methodologically tenable basis. Nothing requires that these texts should be dated before the second century. Synagogues had probably existed for centuries at that time. 10 Cf. the golden glass image from Rome; Roth 1963: 104, fig. 95. 11 The coin carries the legend in paleo-Hebrew: ‘Jerusalem’, and a star above the stylized temple indicates ‘Bar Kochba son of the stars; cf. A. Negev 1972: 311. 12 Similarly to the figure in the tent at the top right, which shall not to be wondered about here. The rear view represents the respect for the holy place of Jerusalem, to which the figures turn their faces (cf. Ezek 8:16f.). 13 Cf. cum grano salis the ‘four Species’ of the Feast of Tabernacles in Lev 23:40 and bSuk 37b. 14 The later established temple consecration festival Hanukkah is only an outsourcing to the 25th Kislev of an important Succoth aspect and its symbolism and belongs to the Succoth cycle of the bipolar Jewish festival calendar. 15 ‘Torah shrine’?; image in Kanael 1961: fig. 62. 16 ‘Torah niche’; Israel Museum, Jerusalem; cf. Negev 1972: 226. 17 The problem of the Ark in the Jerusalem’s temple cannot be discussed here. We do not believe in a ‘disappearance’ of the Ark – for example in the conquest of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar and the abduction of the temple inventory (cf. 2 Kgs 25:8ff. and parr.). Something so important would have [been] mentioned in the tradition. The texts, however, are based on a completely different understanding of reality: the Torah and with it the housing Ark is always present in the legitimate temple. The temple itself represents this presence. Hence the ‘silence’ about the Ark after the temple dedication in l Kings 8. In the ‘report’ of the temple consecration, its introduction is described as very typical. An actualization of this event happens shortly before the narrated end of the Southern Kingdom in 2 Kings 22. And this is the starting point for an appropriate historical understanding. Through the ‘rediscovery’ of the Torah in the late pre-exilic temple, post-exilic orthodoxy legitimized itself with its Torah piety. Only then did the Torah become the central cult object that was placed in the temple instead of the divine image, the ‫פסל‬. 18 The traditional bloody temple sacrifices were performed as long as the temple existed. This may have a reason in traditional perseverance, but it is probably also based on the function of the temple as a tax office: the ‘temple tax’ was paid through the offering service. This must have been organized differently after the destruction of the temple and after the final impossibility of performing the bloody sacrificial ritual at the temple place (at the latest from 135 CE). 19 Cf. Ezek 11:16: ‫ואהי להם למקדש מעט בארצות אשר באו שם‬ 20 Sketch of the cult room, phase 2 in Dura Europos, in Levine 1981: 173.

The Function of the So-called ‘Torah Niche’ Reconsidered 139 21 Images in Deckers 269, fig. 99 (Luxor); Roth 1963: 82, fig. 64 (Dura Europos). 22 “Der sich vermutlich auf beiden Seitenwänden . . . bis zur Hauptwand des Raumes fortsetzte. Obwohl der Kaiser in diesem Fries nicht auftritt, lässt sich die Darstellung als Teil einer adventus-, eher noch einer adlocutio-Szene deuten” (Deckers 1983: 268f.). 23 “Das Vorspiel zum Hauptgeschehen, dem Erscheinen des Herrschers in den Bildern der Stirnwand” (Deckers 1983: 269). 24 “Schwingenbreitenden Adlers. In seinen Fängen hält er einen goldenen, juwelenbesetzten Kranz, Zeichen für den Sieg, den Iupiter . . . dem Sohn und irdischen Stellvertreter (sc.: Diokletian) schenkt” (Deckers 1983: 273). 25 In our context it shall be noted that the basic intention of Deckers is to show that the concepts of early Christian pictorial programs for the basilica continue the tradition of the pre-Christian Roman imperial cult and its imperial representations in light of Christ as ‘ruler’. 26 Cf. frescoes no. 42 and 43 in Kanael 1961. 27 It is not only Orpheus and the Lion that refer to the royal traditions of ‘Judah’ and ‘Israel’. So do also the presentation of Jacob and his 12 sons and the blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh. 28 That is, in the ceremonial homage to the idea of empire. Cf. B. Otzen 1984: 48f. 29 Cf. Levine 1981: 123 (contribution by S. Gutman, Z. Yeivin and E. Netzer). 30 Cf. Levine 1981: 120 (contribution by Z. Yeivin); p. 73 (contribution by E. M. Meyers): Possibly also the synagogue in Horvat Schema’ (early synagogue = Stratum III: 284–306 CE; later Synagogue = Stratum IV: 306–419 CE). 31 As has been found on a Roman sarcophagus; cf. H. Kaiser-Minn 1983: 326, fig. 143. 32 For example a niche in Pompeii showing an offer scene; cf. Deckers 1983: 280, fig. 122. 33 The placement of the Torah scrolls in special cases was not usual before the Middle Ages. 34 For example, the empty throne of Christ (ca. 400 CE; a diptych with Christ and his mother (ca 546/556 CE), both at the Museum of Berlin; cf. W. von Wangenheim 1988: 91, fig. 1. 35 By an already mentioned ‫פסל‬. 36 Thus ‘appears bodily’ YHWH’s (revealed) hand (for example in Abraham’s offer on the fresco above the aedicule). 37 Several possibilities can be considered. One could think of an imaginary enthronement of YHWH or an enthronement of the Sabbath-bride or queen. It is uncertain that the ritual of Sabbath greeting existed in antiquity. bŠabb 119a: ‫באו ונצא לקראות שבת המלכה‬ was probably to be understood metaphorically and was first taken literally by the Kabbalists of Safed in the 16th century (cf. I. Elbogen 1931: 108). Nevertheless, in regard to the Sabbath ritual, it was always an introduction of an imaginary figure in a concrete ritual. As an analogy it may be methodologically useful for our case. 38 Miḥrāb from the al-Khasaki Mosque (eight cent. CE; Iraq Museum, Bagdad; cf. Renz 1977: 45, fig. 9); similar niches can also be found in Coptic churches, for example in the church in Dendera (late fifth cent.; Renz 1977: 45, image 8).

References Busink, T.A. 1970. Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes. I. Leiden: Brill. Deckers, J. 1983. ‘Constantin und Christus. Das Bildprogramm in Kaiserkulträumen und Kirchen’. In Spätantike und frühes Christentum. Ausstellung im Liebieghaus. Katalog. H. Beck (ed.). Frankfurt am M.: Liebighaus: 267–283. Elbogen, I. 1931. Der Jüdische Gottesdienst in seiner Geschichtlichen Entwicklung. Frankfurt am M.: Kaufmann. Kaiser-Minn, H. 1983. ‘Die Entwicklung der frühchristlichen Sarkophagplastik bis zum Ende des 4. Jahrhunderts’. In Spätantike und frühes Christentum. Ausstellung im Liebieghaus. D. Stutzinger (ed.). Frankfurt am M.: Liebighaus: 318–338.

140  History and Ideology Kanael, B. 1961. Die kunst der antiken Synagoge. Munich: Ner-Tamid Verlag. Kraeling, H. 1956. The Excavations at Dura Europos. Final Report VIII/1: The Synagogue. New Haven: Yale University Press. Levine, L.I. (eds.). 1981. Ancient Synagogues Revealed. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Negev, A. 1972. Encyclopaedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land I. Jerusalem: Sifriat Maariv. Otzen, B. 1984. Den antikke jødedom. Politisk udvikling og religiøse strømninger fra Aleksander den Store til Kejser Hadrian. Copenhagen: Gad. Renz, A. 1977. Geschichte und Stätten des Islam von Spanien bis Indien. Munich: Prestel. Roth, C.B. 1963: Die Kunst der Juden. I. Frankfurt am M.: Ner-TamidVerlag. Schmitt, R. 1972. Zelt und Lade als Thema alttestamentlicher Wissenschaft. Gütersloh: Gütersloh Verlaghaus. St. Clair, A. 1986. ‘The Torah Shrine at Dura Europos: A Re-Evaluation’. JbAC 29: 109–117. Wangenheim, W. von. 1988. ‘Wie nimmt Plastik Haltung an?’.

9

Cultural-political Globalization Efforts in Antiquity and Their Significance for the Texts of the Bible

How should one approach this theme? By giving a general definition of ‘globalization’? Or by presenting a scenario of ancient cultural politics as a model for efforts at ‘globalization’? And then make the claim that the same can also be found in biblical texts? I have, however, decided to address the question with a different procedure. In section 1, I will present excerpts of some texts from the TaNaK, the ancient Jewish collection of religious texts, and two texts that stem from an ancient Messianic Jewish sect, which are now in the New Testament of Christian religious communities.1 Following this, I ask in section 2: “How could such texts have come about?” which means that I ask about the possible condition or conditions of producing such texts. 1 1.1  Aggressive Occupation

“And I [YHWH] have descended [from my heavenly heights], that I deliver them [the ‫ ]בני ישראל‬out of this land [‫ ]מצרים‬into a good and wide land, in which milk and honey flows, into the territory of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites” (Exod 3:8). And Joshua said to the Israelites (‫)בני ישראל‬: “Come and hear the words of YHWH, your God!” And Joshua continued: “By this you shall know that the living God [as Supreme Commander of armies, YHWH ‫ ]צבאות‬is in your midst, . . . that He will totally drive out the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites and Jebusites” (Josh 3:9f.). 1.2  Vassalage and Tribute of All Nations

. . . “the fullness of the sea will turn to you [Zion = Jerusalem], the wealth of the nations [shall] come to you” (Isa 60:5). . . . “They shall all come from Sheba (‫)שבא‬. They carry gold and incense, and they will proclaim the praise of YHWH” (v. 6). “All the [flocks of] sheep from Qedar shall be gathered to you [Zion]” (v. 7). “And the sons of the stranger (‫ )בני נכר‬shall build your walls [Jerusalem; as slave workers] and their kings shall serve you [as vassal princes]” (v. 10). “And your gates shall be DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-13

142  History and Ideology open continually [because you no longer need to fear enemies” – like imperial Rome until the wall of Aurelius in 270 CE]. “Day and night they shall not be closed that men may bring the wealth of nations [as prey] and their [captured] deported kings to you.” (v. 11f.) “For the nation and kingdom that will not serve you shall perish. These nations shall be utterly destroyed” (v. 12). “You [Jerusalem,] shall suck the milk of the nations and suck the breast of the kings [i.e.: squeeze them materially]” (v. 16). “Then shall strangers (‫ )זרים‬stand there and graze your flocks of sheep, and foreigners (‫ )בני נכר‬shall be your farmers and your winedressers” (i.e. labour slaves) (Isa 61:5). . . . “You shall enjoy the wealth of the nations and in their riches you shall glory” [in victorious pose] (v. 6). 1.3  Military World Domination

“And it will happen at the end of days (‫ )באחרית הימים‬that the mountain of YHWH’s Temple shall stand as the head (‫ )בראש‬of the mountains and be raised above the hills. And all nations (‫ )כל הגוים‬shall flock to him, and many [= all] peoples (‫)אמים רבים‬ shall go near and say: ‘Come, let us go up [= pilgrimages] to YHWH’s mountain, to the temple of the God of Jacob, that He may teach us His ways and that we may walk in His paths’.2 For from Zion shall go forth instruction [‫ ]תורה‬and the word of YHWH from Jerusalem. And He shall judge between the nations and decide for many [= all] peoples [= rule them]. Then they [the nations and the peoples; not us] shall forge their swords into ploughshares and their spears into winegrowers’ knives [i.e., they will completely disarm]. No more shall nation raise sword against nation, and they shall no longer learn the craft of war. House of Jacob, come! Let us live in the light of YHWH!” (Isa 2:2–5).3 1.4  Exploitation of the World’s Resources

“And God said: ‘Let us make people in Our image, like Us! They shall rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky, and over the [four-legged] cattle and over the whole earth and over all the crawling [legless] animals that crawl upon the earth’. And God created man in His image, in the image of God he created him. As a man and a woman, He created them. And God blessed them and said to them: ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it, and rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of heaven, and over all the beasts that moves on the earth!’” (Gen 1:26–28). [God speaks:] “And fear and terror of you be upon all the animals of the earth and on all the birds of heaven! Upon all that creeps on the ground and all the fish of the sea; they are delivered into your hands!” (Gen 9:2). 1.5  Ideological Exclusive Claim

Words of YHWH, the God of Israel in Isaiah: “Am I not YHWH?! And there is no other (‫ )ואין עוד‬God besides Me! There is no righteous and saving God but me! Turn to Me and let yourselves be saved, all the ends of the earth (‫)כל אפסי ארץ‬.4 For I am God (‫ )אל‬and there is no one else!” (Isa 45:21b-22).5

Cultural-political Globalization Efforts in Antiquity 143 1.6  Ideological Claim to World Domination

“And Jesus came and talked to them [His eleven disciples6] and said: ‘All power (εξουσια) has been given to me in heaven and on earth. Now go and make disciples [proselytes] of all nations (εθνη), baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to preserve all that I have commanded you (ενετειλαμην)! And behold, I am with you every day until the completion of the age (του αιωνος)!’” (Matt 28:18–20). Words put in the mouth of the resurrected Christ: “ . . . You will receive strength when the Holy Spirit has come upon you. And you will be my witnesses (μαρτυρες); both in Jerusalem and throughout Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth7 (εος εσχατου της γης)!” (Acts 1:8). 1.7 Commentary

You may have sensed that I have constructed a climax. It begins with some texts that testify to an aggressive ancient Jewish policy of settlement, but nowhere implies ‘globalism’. It is claimed that the ‘God of Israel’, whom Old Testament scholars have called ‘Ja(c)hwe(h)’ since the 19th century, but with the greatest philological certainty was called ‘Yahu(h)’, has promised his followers to expel ancestral peoples from their homeland (Exodus) and realized this in the context of ‘Holy Wars’8 (i.e. military jihads; Joshua). Literarily, in the texts of Joshua and Judges of the Former Prophets of the TaNaK, this is realized with uncanny brutality. At least in regard to the epoch claimed for this in the priestly chronology of the TaNaK (in Western chronology, the 13th and 12th centuries BCE), such a thing most certainly did not take place according to the recent state of research.9 But that does not take the sting out of the texts at all; for some historical reality must have provided the background for the production of these texts. And the texts suggest that this presumed historical background must have been a time of Jewish aggression in Palestine; a time when ancient Jews sought to or even did expand their territory at the expense of surrounding polities or ethnicities. Actually, only the middle Hasmonean or Maccabean epoch comes into question; i.e. the time when the Hasmonean princes – after their victory over the Seleucids and their establishment of rule in Judea – had written imperial expansion on their banner. Specifically, this is the time from John Hyrcanus I (134–104 BCE) to Alexander Jannai (103–76 BCE). That is why the aggressive ‘land promise’ and ‘holy war narratives’ – basically beginning with Gen 12:1–3 and up to Judges – seem to me so important from a methodological perspective. I shall summarize the climax’s line of development again in order to make some assumptions about the cultural–historical ‘condition(s)’ for a possibility for the production of such aggressive–imperialist and exclusive–ideological texts. It consists of the following themes: 1.1 Aggressive occupation 1.2 Vassalage and tribute of all nations 1.3 Military world domination

144  History and Ideology 1.4 Exploitation of the world’s resources 1.5 Ideologically exclusive claim 1.6 Ideological claim to world domination I maintain that the ancient Jews did not come to all this on their own, but only ‘contextually’, i.e. in an interrelationship with ancient cultures. Even today, it is a widespread ideological premise in the study of the Old Testament that ‘ancient Israel’ was quite different from the cultures that surrounded ‘Israel’. My first – if I may say so – ‘scientific’ publication was the review of volume I of Otto Eissfeldt’s Kleine Schriften. When, in 1961, I worked as an assistant together with Hermann Schult on the register for 50 years of Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins (ZDPV), Martin Noth, my boss in Bonn, slammed the book on my table one day: “There – review this for ZDPV!”10 In the review, I criticized a claim of Eissfeldt, which Konrad von Rabenau had described in his preface to Otto Eissfeldt’s Festschrift (Rabenau 1957: 8) with the following words, namely that “an objective observation of the religious–historical facts can show the special nature of the Israelite religion and thus [!] the faith in God [also for us and at all times] as valid revelation in Israel”.11 Eissfeldt’s basic methodological error is, in my opinion, that he confuses describable cultural ‘peculiarity’ with the necessity of faith. For him, it is only the describable ‘peculiarity’ of Israel that is downright necessary as a justification for faith. Why not that of the Papua New Guineans? Research in the history of religion as an aid to faith, I hope, is an outdated model! 2 Aggressiveness – covered by the will of the deity – may be a universally widespread phenomenon. For now I am concerned with the question: “In which historical context of ancient Jewish history are texts like Exodus 3 and Joshua 3 (and so on) likely or plausible?” Here I have singled out the beginning in a certain epoch with Hasmonean imperialism in the second and first centuries BCE. The end, I would suggest, is expressed in Matthew at the latest. The Gospel of Matthew is dated today towards the end of the first century CE (Frankemölle 1995: col. 738). An earlier date is hardly conceivable due to the Trinitarian (baptismal) formula in Matt 28:19. With this I have established a huge period of about 250 years (from today back to about the weaning of Johann Wolfgang Goethe). I now assume that the cultural context, of all the TaNaK and NT texts cited under ‘global aspect’ in part I, is in this period. I have already discussed the theme of “aggressive occupation” (1.1). Now we will discuss the theme of “vassalage and tribute of all nations” (1.2). For this there must already have been the idea or notion of ‘world domination’. In ancient Near Eastern empires there is abundant testimony of this. But to dominate the entire known world is, in my opinion, claimed for the first time in the Persian Empire which sought to conquer all known cultural entities and countries, including Egypt, and ruled 127 empires according to the biblical tradition.12 This will

Cultural-political Globalization Efforts in Antiquity 145 move us a little longer back in time to the fifth–fourth century BCE. The theme of “military world domination” (1.3) belongs to a ‘global policy of conquest’. All defeated peoples must be disempowered. This aspect does not lead us much further. But so does perhaps the theme of 1.4: “exploitation of the world’s resources”. All resources in the world are released; a topic that is still relevant today (Amery 1972). Which ancient world power was the first to exploit the world’s resources indefinitely? Was it already the Greeks who drove the lions out of Hellas? Was it the Romans who cut down the forests in their domain for their shipbuilding? Or was it already Solomon who is said to have obtained his temple wood from the cedars of Lebanon? But the opinio communis of Old Testament scholars dates the creation account in Genesis 1 to the so-called exilic period (Priestly source) of the sixth century BCE. I myself have been trying for years in seminars, lectures and pastoral colloquiums to show that the so-called ‘Priestly creation account’ presupposes the natural doctrine of Aristotle (384–322 BCE), especially in his work Περι ψυχης/De anima (cf. H. Seidl 1995). The so-called ‘Priestly written creation report’ presupposes the reception of Aristotelian natural doctrine in ancient Judaism. And this can hardly have happened – if only because of the biographical data of Aristotle – before the fourth century BCE, and rather in the time of Hellenistic rule over Palestine since about 300 BCE. Thus, the third century BCE is likely to be the terminus ante quem non for the drafting of the so-called ‘Priestly creation account’. This creation account is based on Aristotle’s ‘doctrine of movement’ and reproduces Aristotle’s ‘hierarchy of creation’ down to the smallest detail – except that the stars get a different place. In Aristotle they rank below the ‘immovable mover’, the transcendent νους. Due to polemical Jewish-ideological disempowerment (of sun, moon and stars), they are placed in Genesis 1 where they also have a place within the framework of Aristotelian logic. They are no longer the visible aspect of the transcendent deity (the Aristotelian system is in principle atheistic). The plants have – according to Aristotle – ‘soul’ (ψυχη), because they can multiply. But they represent the lowest level of the animated because they cannot move. The stars are moving; not by their own power, but only because they are pushed by the deity. Self movement happens first with the swarming multitude in the water. The ‘Priestly creation account’ thus polemically takes away the potens of the stars and – congruent with the Books of Kings – ranks them the second lowest of animated life. Since when has there been a universal “ideological exclusive claim” (1.5) in the Ancient Near East or in antiquity? Some of today’s Old Testament scholars13 claim that such already existed with the Assyrians. But these Old Testament scholars still want to assert essential ideologies of the Old Testament for the late pre-exilic period (that is, for ‘the mythical ancient Israel’14), so that they have a special biased interest. I myself can only combine such an ideological ‘global’ claim with the cultural politics of the Hellenistic period, which tried to Hellenize all regionally dominated cultures, expressed in the renaming of all regional main deities to variants of Zeus (cf. Schwabl 1972, 1978). The Jewish–Israelite cult centers were also affected: YHWH of Gerizim was renamed ‘Zeus Xenios’ (‘Hospitable Zeus’15) and YHWH of Zion was renamed ‘Zeus Olympios’.16

146  History and Ideology The sectarian ancient Jewish “ideological claim to world domination” (1.6) is already hinted at in the preceding texts, but it is not formulated as ‘globally’ in TaNaK texts as it is in the quoted NT texts – although the former may be ideological ‘precursors’. That the early Christians were not ‘angels of peace’, but represented a polemical apocalyptic worldview, is the thesis of Gerhard Baudy.17 The political impotence of Christians in pre-Constantinian times made their spread (mission) seemingly ‘peaceful’. After Constantine relied on the new and (in addition to the Cult of Mithras) particularly attractive Christian culture in the first two decades of the fourth century, it showed its ‘true face’, enabled to develop its aggressive heritage unhindered at the expense of other ancient cultures. Here Theodosios I’s religious edict from 380 CE was of special importance. While previously Christianity had only been legally (albeit preferred in the rulers’ politics) religio licita (officially permitted religion), under Theodosios it became the only officially permitted religion; that is, all other cults were banned and prosecuted accordingly. The forms had been inverted from the pre-Constantinian period since Decius. (Christianity in the restituted Roman Empire only became the state religion in a legal sense under Justinian I, who made the clergy official in the middle of the sixth century) However, the possibility should be kept open that in the persecution of non-Christian cultures since Theodosios I, it was not (only) the legacy of early Christianity of a militant–eschatological–apocalyptic tradition that struck through, but simple power–political interests – as elsewhere in the world! The fact that powerful people want to fight and conquer is probably due to human behavior and may not have changed much since the Stone Age. Interesting in this context is the function of ideology: ‘Only what we mean is right and should prevail globally!’ Since when has there been such a thing as ideologies with a global claim to domination? That is my question. The answer may contribute to the understanding of ancient Jewish and early Christian traditions. In my opinion, Hellenism is the womb of ideologies with global aspirations. Notes   1 All translations and paraphrases of biblical texts are made by the author and the editors.   2 Cf. Matt 28:20.  3 Cf. the parallel in Mic 4:1–5 with few important deviations. For the imperialistic aspects of the text, see, Diebner 1987 (paper given in the semester seminar: Frieden, das unumgängliche Wagnis (“Peace, the Inevitable Risk”), Faculty of Theology, University of Heidelberg, 29.05.1984).   4 Cf. Acts 1:8.   5 Numerous similar statements can be found especially in the part of Isaiah, which is referred to by research as Deutero-Isaiah and essentially assigned to the late sixth century BCE (around 538 BCE); cf. D. Michel 1990. For ideological contexts to Isa 45:21f., see Isa 40:13f.,18,22,25,28; 41:27; 42:21; 43:10b,11,13; 44:6; 45:5f.,14b,15,18,21b,22; 46:4f.,9; 55:8–11.   6 The traitor Judas is no longer there; after returning the 30 pieces of silver and regretting his action, he hanged himself (cf. Matt 27:3–5). Judas is, in my opinion, a symbolic figure. He stands for Jud(ä)a, which betrayed Jesus. This fits well with the cultural–historical finding that the earliest Galilean followers of Jesus came from the Samaritan tradition and that Jesus was probably judged by Jerusalem circles as a Samaritan (cf. John 8:48). It was

Cultural-political Globalization Efforts in Antiquity 147 only under the Hasmonean king Aristobulus I (104/03 BCE) that the fertile and temple tax burdened Galilee (as well as the fertile, Transjordanian Perea) was denied access to the Gerizim community and added to Jerusalem‘s cultic community.   7 Cf. Isa 45:22.   8 This was a thesis argued by G. von Rad in 1951. It has been questioned and modified by several scholars, for example, R. Smend 1963; Fr. Stolz 1972.   9 For this, see H. Friis 1986 (Danish orig. 1968); N.P. Lemche 1985. 10 Diebner 1962. I was already somewhat trained in the profession. In the years before, I had to describe technological innovations as my father’s ghost writer, which he published under his own name in one of his two journals of nuclear physics and technics. 11 “Eine objektive Beobachtung der religionshistorischen Fakten die Sonderart der israelitischen Religion aufzuweisen vermag und so [!] dem Glauben an Gottes [auch für uns und alle Zeiten] gültige Offenbarung in Israel Raum läßt” (cf. Diebner 1962: 106). 12 Cf. Est 1:1; 8:9; 9:30. Sarah also became 127 years old (Gen 23:1). By the way, 127 is a prime number! The universal (global) section of the book of Isaiah, the so-called Trito-Isaiah (Isaiah 56–66), begins and ends with a section with 127 Hebrew words: Isa 56:1–8, corresponding with Isa 66:18–24; cf. Diebner 2000. 13 For example Eckart Otto 1989, 1996, which is a collection of essays on juridical history. 14 Cf. my unpublished inauguration paper for the Theological Faculty of Heidelberg 16.01.2002: “Seit wann gibt es ‘jenes Israel’ (Martin Noth)?: Anmerkungen zu ‘Israel’ als ekklesiologischer Grösse im TaNaK (Biblica Hebraica et Aramaica)”, now Diebner 2011. 15 Probably because the Samaritans leaned more strongly on the Hellenistic rulers to ward off Judean imperialism. 16 Probably because Jerusalem had supremacy in the Jewish administered areas. 17 I mention here only G. Baudy’s latest publications in HBO: Baudy 2002, 2005.

References Amery, C. 1972. Das Ende der Vorsehung. Die gnadenlosen Folgen des Christentums. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowolt. Baudy, G. 2002. ‘Die brennende Terebinthe von Sichem: Ein multikulturelles Epiphaniefest auf dem Garizim im Spiegel lokaler Landverheißungsmythen und apokalyptischer Heilserwartungen’. HBO 34: 5–97. ———. 2004/2005. ‘“Auferstehung”: Codierung nationaler Wiedergeburt im transkulturellen Dialog der Antike’. HBO 38: 33–74. Diebner, B.J. 1962. ‘Rez. “Eissfeldt, Otto: Kleine Schriften I. Tübingen 1962”’. ZDPV 78: 103–107. ———. 1987. ‘Zur Aufnahme alttestamentlicher Friedenstraditionen in die gegenwärtige Diskussion’. DBAT 24: 99–119. ———. 2000. ‘Jes 56:1–8 nach Jes 66:18–24 und die prophetische Überbietung der Torah: Yad wa-Schem’. In Religionsgeschichte des Neuen Testaments: Festschrift für Klaus Berger zum 60. A. von Dobbeler, K. Erlemann and R. Heiligenthal (eds.). Tübingen, Basel: Francke: 31–42. ———. now. 2011. ‘Seit wann gibt es „jenes Israel“ (Martin Noth)?: Anmerkungen zu “Israel” als ekklesiologische Grösse im TaNaK (Biblica Hebraica et Aramaica)’. In Seit wann gibt es “jenes Israel”? Gesammelte Studien zum TNK und zum antiken Judentum. BVB 17. V. Dinkelaker, B. Hensel and F. Zeidler (eds.). Berlin: LIT Verlag: 67–84. Frankemölle, H. 1995. ‘Matthäusevangelium’. In: NBL II: 737–744.

148  History and Ideology Friis, H. 1986. Die Bedingungen für die Errichtung des Davidischen Reichs in Israel und seiner Umwelt. DBAT.B 6. Heidelberg: Diebner & Nauerth. (Danish orig. University of Copenhagen 1968). Lemche, N.P. 1985. Early Israel. Leiden: Brill. Michel, D. 1990. ‘Deutero-Jesaja’. In NBL I: 410–413. Otto, E. 1989. Rechtsgeschichte der Redaktionen im Kode Ešunna und im “Bundebuch”. Freiburg: Universitetsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ———. 1996. Studien zur Sozial und Rechtsgeschichte des Alten Orients und des Alten Testaments. Orientalia Biblica et Christiania 8. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Rabenau, K. von. 1957. ‘Das Wissenschaftliche Werk von Prof. D. Dr. Eissfeldt’. In Gottes ist der Orient. Festschrift für Prof. Dr. Otto Eissfeldt zu seinem 70. Geburtstag am 1. September 1957. H. Ahrbeck (ed.). Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt: 7–8. Rad, G. von. 1951. Der Heilige Krieg im alten Israel. Zürich: Zwingli Verlag. 3rd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: 1985. Schwabl, H. 1972. ‘Zeus: I: Epiklesen’. PW 10 A: 253–376. ———. 1978. ‘Zeus: II: Nachtrage’. PW Supp. 15: 993–1411. Seidl, H. (ed.). 1995. Aristoteles. Über die Seele: Mit Einleitung, Übersetzung (nach W. Theiler) und Kommentar. Griechischer Text in der Edition von W. Biehl und O. Apelt. Hamburg: Meiner. Smend, R. 1963. Jahwekrieg und Stämmebund: Erwägungen zur ältesten Geschichte Israels. FRLANT 84. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Stolz, F. 1972. Jahwes und Israels Kriege: Kriegstheorien und Kriegserfahrungen im Glauben des alten Israel. AThANT 60. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag.

Part 4

Texts and Canon

10 The Function of the Canonical Corpus of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times. Considerations of Canon-criticism 1  Preliminary Notes on the Concept of a ‘Biblical-canon’ 1.1

It is, in this place, not necessary to define the concept of ‘canon’. Nor is it necessary first to present some details about the history of the concept of the canon. However, and for different reasons, I would like to quote some definitions found in recent encyclopedias and lexica. A recent German encyclopedia says: (sc.: ‘Canon’) In theology a designation for the collection of biblical books (. . .) which are considered inspired and authoritative for the faith.1 In the previous edition of Evangelisches Kirchenlexikon, we find this definition: Canon (Greek: scale, guideline, rule) . . . , also ‘holy scripture’ or simply ‘scripture’ (2 Tim 3:15; John 5:39), are books by which the community’s normative life and beliefs are regulated, because they have been instituted by God.2 The definition in RGG (3rd edition) is short: Canon is a list of scriptures which by the Church are acknowledged as sources of divine revelation.3 Finally we should also quote the Bibel-Lexikon (2nd edition): Because in essence the Bible is the word of God which commands belief, it presupposes God’s people who understands it as obligatory and submits to its demands.4 All these definitions are generally in agreement that the canon of the Christian Bible means: • Scriptures that are ‘holy’ or can be traced back to ‘divine revelation’; • Scriptures that are commonly accepted as ‘authoritative’ and demand obedience; • Scriptures that are normative for belief (mentioned three times) and for life (mentioned once). DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-15

152

Texts and Canon

These are definitions which were formulated long after the creation of the biblical canons of the Old and New Testaments, which means long after the historical events that led to these canon-definitions (in the meaning of corpora of literature). We have to imagine that scholars of the 20th century would make definitions based on a much different situation in comparison to the circles which we have to thank for the ‘definition’ of the biblical collections. We should expect that ‘holy Scripture’ has a quite different Sitz im Leben among modern theologians, than it would have had in the theological circles of the past, who created the κανων – as the primary definition – rather than as secondary reflection over the transmitted canon. It is also to be expected that the social contexts of scholars like Haag, Schott, and Stoebe have influenced the content of their respective definitions of canon. This means that their definitions only, cum grano salis, are able to describe and characterize the intentions behind the creation of canon and the intended function of a canon of Holy Scripture. This applies both to pre-Christian Judaism and to Christianity in the first centuries post Christus natum. It is not necessary to present an extensive analysis showing that the definitions quoted here self-evidently point in the direction of western systematic theology. Maybe they even display a certain confessional spectrum, a context of language, thinking and life, within which this terminology ‘works’ – or at least should ‘work’. 1.2  P   aul Uses the Concept of κανων only Once5 in Connection with the ‘Life(Style)’26 of the Christians

Και οσοι τω κανονι τουτω στοιχησουσιν ειρηνη επ’ αυτους και ελιος και επι του Ισραηλ του θεoυ (Gal 6:16).7 In this context, Paul did not think of the ‘rule’ in the form of the canon of the New Testament or of his just finished letter as ‘canonical’. It is, in this place, also doubtful that Paul was thinking of a corpus of ‘Holy Scripture’. The ‘rule’ or guideline in this place somehow summarizes the content of Galatians and the Pauline kerygma in the form it unfolds in discussion with the Judaizers (and Judaism).8 So far κανων is here “in a broader sense the normative rule” (ibid.). The ‘canonical’ Pauline expression sounds like this: ουτε γαρ περιτομη τι εστιν ουτε ακροβυστια αλλα καινη πτισις (Gal 6:15).9 Many manuscripts read instead of ουτε γαρ at the beginning of the sentence εν γαρ χριστω ιησου ουτε, which most likely represents a clarification of v. 14 – the “cross of our Lord Jesus Christ”. Paul’s canon is καυχασθαι . . . εν τω σταυρω του κυριου ημων ιησου χριστου (Gal 6:14),10 which stands against those οσοι θελουσιν ευπροσωτησαι εν σαρκι, ουτοι αναγκοζουσιν υμας περιτεμνεσθαι, μονον ινα τω σταυρω του χριστου μη διωκονται (v. 12).11 In the confrontation between two ‘ways’, the ‘way’ of circumcision and the way of the cross, for whom circumcision is ‘pointless’, Paul’s κανων represents a polemical demarcation, whether it is about ‘Christian Judaizers’ or Judaism in general. This demarcation is moreover

Function of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times 153 not individual. In Galatians as in other letters it is about the ‘congregation’. This is also clear from the ‘canon’-sentence quoted here. He who lives according to Paul’s ‘canon’ belongs to ‘God’s Israel’. Paul’s statement about the ‘canon’ must therefore be understood as ‘ecclesiological’: with the help of this ‘canon’ ‘Israel’ is defined; it is, namely, the (sc. new) ‘Israel of God’. 1.3

When it is the intention to reconstruct the definitions of the concept of ‘canon’ within the context of the historical study of the canon, which at that time might have led to the definition of the canon of the Bible – the Jewish as well as Christian Old and New Testaments – it seems to me reasonable to study the contextual connotations that may have contributed to how ‘canon’ has been used and understood. In this way, or so I believe, we may be able to trace the living context in which the formation of the canon developed and how the ‘canonical’ collections as such could have functioned within a ‘primary’ Sitz im Leben. Already the study of this word in Paul makes it clear that partially the ‘canon’ has, at least among us, a different function from what it had at the time of its formation. To be precise: a specific note on historical understanding and the historical function of the term ‘canon’ at the time of canon formation seems to have been lost among us, probably because they have no function anymore. The usual definitions of the concept of canon reflect this situation. This is in my view the ‘polemical note’, the ‘polemical accent’ of the exclusion and inclusion which must be associated with those who were engaged with ‘canon’ (concept and literature, and ‘matters’ also12) in the past. We may not miss this ‘polemical note’ – simply because it does not seem to have any function.13 The definitions of canon in the context in which we use the term ‘canon’, and probably correctly, are in my view unsuited to represent a methodological remedy if we pay attention to the historical conditions for the process of establishing our canonical collections. I will again quote Stoebe’s definition, including the part of the text which was previously left out: C(anon) . . . of the Old Testament . . . are those scriptures which regulates the normative life and belief of the community of the Old Testament. If I try to imagine how, according to this definition, the Holy Scripture of the Old Testament community came into the world, then I come first to think of the example of the Nieder-German reformer Johannes Bugenhagen, who was invited by the highly respected magistrate of the Hanseatic city of Hamburg, to which he traveled, and, receiving a house, staff and a sufficient amount of money over the months and years, proclaims a new ‘Christlike constitution’ to the magistrate who invited him: draft this Constitution (Leder 1985). So that society, life, and faith were regulated in the spirit of the Reformation. With regard to this example, it is important to me that the ‘Reformed churches’ in Braunschweig, Hamburg, and Lübeck, or in countries such as Denmark or Pomerania, were not created by Bugenhaven’s

154  Texts and Canon regulations. They already existed, but were not entirely ‘proper’ in the opinion of these states. Bugenhaven’s regulations did not constitute an ‘ecclesiological’ criterion, they were not definitions that should lead to a ‘crisis’, to exclusion and inclusion. They served stabilization. Paul’s κανων has a ‘critical’ function. It must call for a ‘crisis’ and lead to it; in Paul’s words it must define καινη πτισις and Ισραηλ του θεoυ. In order to better understand the processes of canon formation in antiquity and late antiquity, it seems to me important to take into account the ‘polemical note’ in the collection of religious writings for normative purposes, such as the use of Paul’s canon concept suggests, which, of course, does not refer to a collection of ‘Holy Scripture’. With regard to the formation of the canon of the Old Testament, that is the canon of ancient Judaism, the appropriate question in my opinion would be: Where is a historical situation (or: where are the historical situations) recognizable in ancient Judaism for which the collection of normative religious writings into the creation of the three-part Jewish canon of the early Rabbinic times14 was meaningful 2 The Definition of “Israel” as a (Decisive) Criterion for the Creation of the Ancient Jewish Biblical Canon 2.1

We should again take a look at Paul (Gal 6:16): It seems that οσοι τω κανονι τουτω στοιχησουσιν (cf. καινη πτισις) can be identified with the new Ισραηλ του θεoυ.15 The “canon” therefore serves the ‘definition’ of ‘Israel’.16 This, however, means that ‘Israel’ can be defined in a new way. Now everybody can join ‘Israel’ and give it a new definition. There is the possibility of presenting a community in opposition to ‘old Israel’ as a ‘new’, and, of course, ‘eschatologically unsurpassable’ ‘Israel’. If this is a meaningful ‘model’ then it is hard to see why this model should have been realized by the ‘new Israel’ of early Christianity for the first time. This is probably not the case either, as proved by, among other things (and this reference may suffice here) the Qumran community, which, however, tries to realize a particularly ‘exclusive’ understanding of ‘Israel’. 2.2

If canon- (formation) and the re-formation of Israel in the sense of the ‘hermeneutical guidance’ by Paul should have something to do with each other – and beyond the exemplary case of the Christian community and its reception and new formation of traditions – then there would have to be indications and references to this in the canonical literature of Judaism. In my opinion this is the case. I intend in the next paragraphs to present some points of view – sometimes sketchy and sometimes put together in a more systematic way – which I have mostly expressed before and in different places. The theses and the sentences have an apodictic character. It is obvious that they are in need of a more developed explanation. This will

Function of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times 155 not be the case here. Maybe it is also impossible now. However, it is my opinion that my remarks will be sufficient to at least formulate such theses as an offer for reflection and discussion. 2.3

The following assumptions are, in my eyes, reasonable in order to understand the ancient Jewish canon and the conditions in which it appeared. 2.3.1

The three-part Biblical canon of ancient Judaism is the result of a debate about the ‘true Israel’. 2.3.2

Each part of the three-part Jewish Biblical canon represents a particular stage in the debate about the definition of the ‘true Israel’. 2.3.3

The three ‘stages’ of the Jewish Biblical Canon • ‫הורת‬, ‫חומשי‬, ‫המשח‬ • ‫נביאים ראשונים ונביאים אחרונים‬ • ‫כתובים‬

(T = Torah) (N = Former and Latter Prophets) (K = Scriptures)

do not necessarily represent ‘stages’ in the sense of a chronological sequence. It is possible that it is rather about ‘stages’/‘elements’ of discussion within a synchronic debate. 2.3.4

Each part of the three-part canon has a certain intention. The respective ‘function’ depends on the respective intention. 2.3.5

It is fundamental for an appropriate understanding of the Jewish Biblical canon that it is a fact that all writings in the three parts (finally) are present in a Judaic received and edited form. Under this premise it makes sense to say that: 2.3.6

The intention of the ‫ תורה‬is to define ‘Israel’ as broadly as possible. Not only Judah but also Israel belong to ‘Israel’ and also (naturally) the Golah-communities,

156  Texts and Canon particularly in Mesopotamia but also in Egypt. Finally and not unproblematically, Edom/Idumea also belong to ‘Israel’. 2.3.7

This broad definition of ‘Israel’ made it possible for the historical Israel (= the Samaritans) to keep17 the ‫ תורה‬as its Bible. 2.3.8

It is the intention of the ‫ נביאים‬to show that it is fundamentally not self-evident who is a part of ‘Israel’. Both the ‫ נביאים ראשונים‬and the ‫ נביאים אחרונים‬share this intention. The difference between them lies in their different functions. 2.3.9

This intention is realized in different ways for Judah and Israel. Judah is closer to the ‘true Israel’ than Israel. Therefore, the call to repentance goes more decisively to Israel than to Judah. This is not a contradiction to the fact that Judah ‘essentially’ represents ‘Israel’, while Israel still is in danger of missing criteria for remaining ‘Israel’. The different closeness of Judah and Israel in regard to the tradition relates to the fact that it was ‘Judah’ which finally edited the ‫נביאים‬. 2.3.10

Israel knew the 18,‫ נביאים‬but did not make them ‘canonical’ as did Judah. The reason for this is that ‘prophecy’ is basically Judaic and basically (and predominantly) addresses Israel, which means that ‘Israel’ has been defined from the viewpoint of Judah. 2.3.11

The intention of the ‫( כתובים‬as far as they are not prayer-, song- and textbooks of ‘Israel’19) is different: • The Chronicler’s History identifies (the theologically relevant) ‘Israel’ with Judah. The historical Israel is no more the target of mission (which was the case in the ‫ )נביאים‬or called to penance. But ‘individuals’ or ‘groups’ belonging to Israel still have the possibility of joining the ‘true Israel’ – Judah. • Ezra and Nehemiah define ‘Israel’ exclusively through a relationship to the Mesopotamian Golah and its descendants. Israel (just as the ‫ עם הארץ‬in Judea) ‘definitely’ does not belong to ‘Israel’. After all, the Israelites are still viewed as enemies. • Daniel and Esther only regard the Mesopotamian Golah as ‘Israel’.

Function of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times 157 2.3.12

The inclusion of these different ‘levels’/‘bodies’ of definitions of ‘Israel’ in the Jewish biblical canon documents that in the period from the emergence of the canon until its final definition that question was also open and disagreements were discussed. 2.3.13

It would have been easy to edit all parts of the canon and the individual writings in such a way that finally only one opinion was disclosed. But that would contradict the Jewish principle of tradition, which is more concerned with the clarification of controversial opinions than with the dogmatic fixation of a single exclusive opinion. 2.3.14

Another question has to do with the opinion which finally won in the post-canonical period of Judaism. It is hardly possible to separate this question from the overall political development within Judaism in the first and second centuries CE. The reduction of a proselytizing religion, which resulted from these changes, may have proffered an increasing notion of the ‘exclusive’ traditions in the ‫תנך‬. 3  Commentaries and Conclusions 3.1

In this section there will be short commentaries to the individual ‘theses’, but only when it seems absolutely necessary. 3.1.1

The ‘major premise’ can only be explained by argumentative considerations on the following ‘minor premises’. Basically, the considerations about 1.1–2.1 should show this sentence to be meaningful. 3.1.2

The sentence (2.3.2) should be explained on the basis of the theses (2.3.6)–(2.3.11). 3.1.3

The Jewish principle of tradition within the Bible but also outside the canon combines the chronological principle (= certain ideas which are ‘earlier’ or ‘later’; fashionably also called ‘diachronic’) with the dialogical principle (= each chronological stage is not historically relativized but is perceived and taken seriously without regard to time; this is fashionably spoken of as the ‘synchronic’ level). This

158  Texts and Canon generative principle is probably important for the interpretation of individual biblical books, but possibly also for understanding the tripartite nature of the canon. I would, however, like to revoke my earlier, more directly expressed opinion with regard to earlier, later and even later within the canon.20 3.1.4

The ‘function’ of the Torah is shown, among other things, in the way this corpus of writings was taken over as the ‘Bible’ of the Samaritans. The judgement that they had only the Pentateuch as their Bible, evidenced by looking into a Samaritan synagogue, seems to me a hasty conclusion based on obsolete assumptions about the ‘Samaritan schism’; even in orthodox synagogues we find only the Torah in the Torah-shrines. This fact stresses the commonality between Samaritans and Jews rather than their differences. I think that only the Torah could be the ‘Bible’ of the Israelites, because only this part of the Jewish Bible was open to Israel in the Judaic concept of ‘Israel’ and thus acceptable to Israel without major reservations. The diachronic level will not be discussed: whether the rigid ‘prophetic’ concept of ‘Israel’ was not a reaction to political developments, as a result of which Israel no longer really fit into Judaic supremacy. Naturally we should consider something like this when we examine the understanding of ‘Israel’ in the Writings. 3.1.5

This claim is best substantiated from the end of canon development. It is generally accepted that the latest controversies about the canon took place in the early rabbinic period. And nobody contests that the ‘late’ books of the Old Testament such as the Chroniclers History and Ezra/Nehemiah are written from the point of view of Jerusalem. 3.1.6

The fact that the Torah reveals ‘deep dimensions’ when viewed ‘diachronically’ should not be disputed. I am myself of the opinion that a possibly earlier rigid understanding of ‘Israel’ (Genesis 1–35) was later ‘corrected’ by a later one (Genesis 37ff.) which unambiguously includes Israel.21 But even Genesis 1–35 (f.) displays in itself a ‘(hi)story’ with regard to the definition of ‘Israel’. 3.1.7

Cf. for this above 3.1.4. 3.1.8

The difference between the ‘Former’ and ‘Later’ Prophets consists after a more precise analysis hardly in the ‘subject’ but rather in the ‘form’. The language has

Function of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times 159 in both cases different functions. We will not speculate more about this in this place. 3.1.9

Interesting in this context are the formulaic evaluations of the life and conduct of the kings of Israel and the kings of Judah respectively and the ways they correspond to each other. Here it normally regards Israel or Judah’s interference in ‘Israel’. It is in this connection important to include a consideration of the appearance of prophets and their ‘mission’ in the Former Prophets. 3.1.10

Nevertheless, the Israelites have dealt with the ‘Former Prophets’ and rejected their attacks (probably for specific reasons). There was definitely (and contrary to the opinion of many) ‘prophecy’ in Israel.22 Prophecy as such was not rejected, but it is Judaic prophecy which was rejected. 3.1.11

In this respect, the ‘Writings’ are more rigid than the Torah and even the Prophets. It is therefore worth considering that they may represent a ‘later’ stage. In my opinion, it seems that at least parts of the ‘Writings’ not only represent different ideas about the concept of ‘Israel’, but also a ‘later’ one (or an earlier one – this is more and more my opinion – in the way they were able to present the ‫ נביאים‬in contrast to the Torah in its ‘final’ edited form [?]). As I see it, the books of Ezra and Nehemiah especially belong to this context (cf. Diebner 1985: 195ff.). 3.1.12

What has been said (2.3.11) does not contradict that the later canonists also preserved other levels of discussion. The discussion obviously continued, something many Rabbinic traditions testify to.23 The sentences (2.3.13–2.3.14) may be ignored here. 3.2

The previous considerations did not take into account the substantial criteria according to which the definition of ‘Israel’ might have been based. We should expect that ‘theological’ criteria may have been used. However, it must also be borne in mind that such ‘substantial’ criticisms are often only the ‘superstructure’ for tangible (power–political) interests. In my opinion this is the first thing to understand. The ‘substantial’ criteria are assigned to them. These criteria are easy to describe, but by doing so we probably still do not know the reason for the factual criteria for the definition of ‘Israel’. The factual criterion for the definition of Israel

160  Texts and Canon is, in my opinion, the worship of God, the ‘correct worship’. The criterion for the correct worship of God is monotheism.24 Now the worship of God is not something arbitrary. There are two models of reasoning concerning this: • We may be of the opinion that God determines for us (through his revelation) who he is. • Or we may create an image of our God according to our image, or more precisely: according to our interests. If we have the possibility to set forth an image of God that conforms to our interests, then our image of God will be the ‘prevailing’ one and therefore the symbolic representative and guarantee of our interests. It is easier to work with the second image of God. The first image belongs to the cultic service of God and to meditation, and not to the study. It is easy to see that the definition of the ‘true Israel’ in our Old Testament is closely related to the definition of the ‘correct worship of God’. Then the question arises: Which (collective) interest does the image of God that dominates biblical tradition represent? In my opinion the answer is: It represents the interest of the ‘Mesopotamian Golah’. The ‘God of Israel’25 is the God – at least from the beginning – of those who formed the theological and religious development of the Golah. These circles dominated in ‘Israel’/Judah since the fifth century BCE.26 These groups obviously made a difficult adjustment because of the ‘real events’ which (firstly) involved the remnants of Judah and (secondly) of the population of the Northern Kingdom (whether they met these in the Golah, or in ‫)ארץ ישראל‬.27 As to the content, we may say that according to the biblical tradition, what ‘Israel’ is – and who belongs to ‘Israel’ – is determined by the understanding of God: Those who connect with the monotheism of the Golah and its demands are part of ‘Israel’. From the beginning this ‘Israelite’ religion was expansive and missionary. Their struggle for establishing a definition of themselves does not contradict this. Every ‘missionary religion’ is characterized by the endeavor to define itself in order to create an ‘exclusive’ self-understanding. In the history of religion, tolerance and missionary attempts belong together rather than tolerance and missionary impetus.28 3.3

If the definition of ‘Israel’ is the most important (or an important) criterion for the formation of the canon, then – in case we do not base our decisions on dogmatic but on historic and religion–scientific considerations – this has importance for our historical understanding of Scripture. This is especially important when we methodically understand the Old Testament as historically scientifically verifiable ‘tradition’ (something demanded from a methodical point of view but seldom realized). Accordingly it will be difficult for us to accept the description of the ‘history of Israel’ in tradition. It is the subject of a critical disposal what historical Israel really was or what it was in its self-depiction. In this way the total image of history

Function of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times 161 in the biblical tradition is at issue, whether it concerns ‘profane’ or ‘religious’ history. When it comes to the differentiation between reality and religious demands, archaeology definitely has a say (as a possible corrective to the textual tradition): When do we have ‘external evidence’ (i.e. archaeological discoveries) for Judah’s claim to be ‘Israel’, or – even better – to designate the political entity Judah as ‘Israel’?29 I do not know of any self-identification or identification from other people of Judah as ‘Israel’ before the first or second century CE. When not even John Hyrcanus II (on coins), the ‘friend of the Jews’, calls himself a representative of ‘Israel’, who should then, before him, have termed himself in such a way?30 4 Canon as a “Polemical” Claim in Contrast to the Historical Realization of This Claim In connection with the definition of the Judaic canon of ‘Holy Scripture’ it is first and foremost about what “Israel” was historically and as a community, but it is not at all clear what that ‘Israel’ was in the period when the Old Testament canon found its form – or said otherwise: Did Judah have the right to call itself ‘Israel’? Behind all of this we find the natural fact that Judah originally was not ‘Israel’. So the question is: When did Judah call itself ‘Israel’31? I believe that this happened quite late. When not even Hyrcanus II titled himself ‘high priest’ and ‘(Bundes-)Genosse’ (= covenant) ally) of ‘Israel’ but instead, of Judea. When there, for this period, is no external evidence for Judea as ‘Israel’, neither by themselves nor by foreigners, this indicates that the identification of Judea with ‘Israel’ only happened much later than we assume or as depicted by the biblical tradition. This also has consequences for our idea of the biblical literary history. When Judea (possibly) beginning in the first century CE32 called itself ‘Israel’ – at least officially – then the biblical traditions in which the historical entity Judah is called ‘Israel’ belong to this period (or maybe a later one – and of course also an earlier one33). This of course means that the texts of the Old Testament in their final shape must be even more recent than I have already assumed. In the language of recent literary and redaction criticism, we should assume a Judaic ‘Israel’ redaction of biblical writings (Old Testament) from the second/first century BCE. What happened before? I can only think of the ‘division of the realm’; namely Israel’s rebellious separation from Judea after 63 BCE. Then Judea as the only ‘true Israel’ in polemic against the old Israel would seek to define itself as the ‘new Israel’. The Israelites (= the ‘Samaritans’) evidently never acknowledged this. History, however, has done them wrong – to such a degree that theologians and Old Testament scholars do not accept the presently existing ‘Israel’ as such, but only in the meaning of 2 Kings 17! Notes  1 Meyer’s Enzyklopädisches Lexikon. 1975. Vol. 13: 400: “(Sc.: ‘Kanon’) in der Theologie Bez(eichnung) für die Sammlung der bibl(ischen)Bücher ( . . . ), die als inspiriert gelten und für den Glauben massgebend sind”.

162  Texts and Canon  2 H.J. Stoebe 1956: col. 448: “1. Kanon (gr.: massstab, Richtschnur, Regel) . . . auch ‘Hl. Schrift ’ oder nur ‘Schrift’ (2 Tim 3:15; John 5:39), sind die Schriften, die normativ Leben und Glauben der . . . Gemeinde regeln, die sich von Gott gestiftet weiss”. It is interesting that my works have not been referenced. The author speaks about the Old Testament canon which regulated the life of the community.  3 E. Schott 1959: col. 1118: “K(anon) ist die Tabelle der von der Kirche als Urkunden göttlicher Offenbarung anerkannten Schriften”.  4 H. Haag 1968: col. 915: “Da die Bibel ihrem Wesen nach das den Glauben fordernde Gotteswort ist, setzt sie ein Gottesvolk voraus, das sie als verbindlich anerkennt und sich im Gehorsam unter ihren Anspruch beugt”.  5 Paul, in fact, uses the term twice. I find it reasonable to consider the three instances in 2 Cor 10: 15, 15f. as one instance. However, the use of the term in Corinthians designates a corpus (cf. K. Prüm against A. Sand in EWzNT II, col. 614).  6 Cf. ‫ הלך‬in the Old Testament.  7 “And all those who take this principle for their guide, peace and mercy be upon them, God’s Israel”. Emphasis added.  8 H. Schlier 1951: 209. Emphasis added.  9 “Circumcision is nothing; non-circumcision is nothing; the only thing that counts is new creation”. 10 “God forbid that I should boast of anything but the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world is crucified to me and I to the world”. 11 “Those who want to be in good standing in the flesh (outwardly), who are trying to force circumcision on you in order to escape persecution for the cross of Christ”. 12 It is a necessary differentiation, because the term was only applied to collections of literature in later times. 13 Of course, we cannot neglect the polemical function of the canon. We do, however, not arrive at it through canon reformation (at least not today; cf., however, the Mormons), but through hermeneutics – the present canon within the canon. 14 I presuppose the hypothetical results in Diebner 1985. 15 For concepts of ‘(new) creation’; ‘new creation’ = (salvation) of Israel in the Old Testament, see esp. Isaiah 40–55 (56–66). Which Israel is it that praises its‘re-creation’ in exile? 16 The definition of the ‘new Israel’ in opposition to the ‘old Israel’ is a painful (main) theme in Paul’s letters, cf. Romans 9–11. Without making it explicit, it is obvious that for the tradents of the New Testament, their message concerned a ‘new Israel’, for which they missioned intensely in Judea (but also in Israel). 17 This is something else than ‘had to accept’. 18 Cf. the parallels to Former Prophets and Chronicles, but not Ezra and Nehemiah, in the Samaritan Chronicle II published by J. Macdonald 1969. 19 Some of these Scriptures, such as Psalms, Proverbs and also Lamentations and Ruth seem to have been thoroughly edited or even composed by Judeans. 20 This also regards the explanations that I already gave to my ‘canon’ model in Diebner 1985: 199. 21 Cf. here my article: ‘Die Josephsnovelle – ein ‫ מדרש‬zur ‫ תורה‬des nachexilischen Judentums?’ MS: 61; now Diebner 1992. 22 Cf. here G. Kippenberg 1971: 306ff. When Moses and Joshua are the prophets of Israel it signifies in my opinion that the relevant tradition (the Torah) has been accepted at a late time. 23 3 cf. TRE XIV: 5–28. 24 A summary of the discussion can be found in B. Lang 1986: 135–142. Lang differentiates himself from the position of E. Haag 1985. 25 Notwithstanding his origins in tradition–historical perspective and the probability that an older god YHWH has become reinterpreted here. 26 Conditioned on the notion that the Ezra/Nehemiah tradition contains a historical kernel.

Function of Texts in Judaism in Pre-Christian Times 163 27 The problem is, in my opinion, that one cannot base oneself on any Israel from the tribal to the pre-state period or the Davidic kingdom: Why in the world would Judea want to be Israel? Is there a plausible (and attractive) reason for that? 28 Adaptation and acceptance of ‘pagan’ traditions on the part of a mission religion have nothing to do with tolerance, but first of all with the intention to achieve the goal of the mission. 29 At least, I know of no time for the origin of the Old Testament before its canonical form. 30 Cf. Inscriptions Reveal. Jerusalem 1972: 80/178. 31 On the different levels of meaning of the term ‘Israel’, which is methodologically important to distinguish, cf. TRE 14: 24 note l. When Judah calls itself ‘Israel’, it may be due to a political and/or religious commonality with the historical Israel. This is the tradition with the ‘Tribal confederation’ and the ‘United Davidic kingdom’ (cf. Diebner and Schult 1975), but if Judah was once a self-evident part of Israel in a political sense, then the separate sub-community Judah might not have stopped officially calling itself Israel, especially if this designation was ‘free’ after 722/21 BCE. This, however, is neither in pre-exilic nor in post-exilic time the case according to ‘external evidence’, but appears first with Bar Kochba’s attempts at realizing a messianic kingdom of ‘Israel’. Provided that both a ‘nationalized’ tribal constitution of ‘Israel’ and the ‘Davidic Empire’ are post-exilic creations of the early history of Israel, i.e. myths of origin, it is also not clear why Judean circles should have understood themselves as ‘Israel’ in the ‘spiritual’ sense at the earliest after 722/21. Well, problems are there to be solved. An important starting point for this lies for me in a rather emotional – moving – moment: It must have been tempting from some point on for certain circles in Judea, whose tradition later became decisive, to belong to ‘Israel’ and represent itself as an exclusive Israel in the ‘spiritual’ and ‘worldly’ sense. Viewing the historical possibility of this identification – apart from the ‘pre-state’ tribal league myth and the origin mythological projection of the Judean unity, centralization and imperial ideology – it has, in my opinion, never been considered whether a reception of Israelite traditions by Judaic circles and thus also their identification with Israel could have happened in the Golah, namely in the Mesopotamian Golah. Quite objectively, 2 Kgs 17:6 reports on the settlement of Israel in the area of Mesopotamia, for example in ‫ חלח‬and at ‫חבור‬, a tributary of the Euphrates in the province ‫ גוזן‬and rightly ‘place of exile’. The localities are quite easy to identify. But this only makes sense if it is somehow verifiable for contemporaries of the authors of 2 Kings 17. Nevertheless, 2 Kgs 17:24 gives the impression that the Assyrians had conducted a complete exchange of the population. The inherent polemic has in recent research been deemed as earlier (cf. Soggin 1984: 230, 280; Lemche 1984: 110, 166). It is generally also noted that it had no consequences for the remaining population in Samaria and testified also in external evidence that only a minor part of Israel’s population was exiled. It is probably also too much to postulate their complete dissolution so easily, following a silentium of our polemical Judaic Bible tradition: “This [2 Kgs 17:6] is the last report that we have of the sedentary Israelite population that once lived in and around Samaria. These peoples have never returned to their birth place” (“Das [sc.: 2Kön 17,6] sind die letzten Nachrichten die wir über diese einst in und um Samaria ansässig gewesene israelitische Bevölkerung haben. Diese Leute sind nie wieder in ihre Heimat zurückgekehrt” (S. Herrmann 1973: 311)). Well, the latter is only a fraction of the minority exiled in 597/96 and 587/86 BCE and probably also the upper class of Judea. Later ‘generations of returnees’ even left their Mesopotamian homeland to settle in a ‘foreign country’ that was to become their property for all time. In this context, it is striking that Abraham on his way from ‫ אור כשדים‬to ‫ ארץ כנען‬is led by his father Terah to ‫ חרן‬, that is, to the very area in which the ‫ חלח‬of 2 Kgs 17:6 is to be sought. See also, in this regard, the conspicuous, though not related, side-by-side mention of ‫ גוזן‬and ‫ חרן‬in 2 Kgs 19:12. Jacob must go to ‫ חרן‬in order to find a wife (cf. Gen 27:43; also 28:10; 29:4). Exegetes struggle to explain the arbitrariness of Abram’s route since factually Harran is not on the normal route from south Mesopotamia to Canaan (cf. C. Westermann 1977:

164  Texts and Canon 159: “Tatsache, dass Harran normalerweise nicht auf dem Weg von Ur in Südmesopotamien nach Kanaan liegt”). It may be rewarding to investigate the traces of the Israelites that have ‘disappeared’ from history after 722/21 BCE, which the Judean tradition might have been inclined to blur. Regardless of possible differences in population policy towards defeated nations among Assyrians, New Babylonians and Persians, one should expect that the expatriated Israelites were just as able to preserve identity in the distance as the not too much later historically evidenced expatriated Judeans. Why should not a related fate in foreign land have led to a perception of the similarities – just as ‘Prussians’ and ‘Bavarians’, living together in other countries and continents, recognize their ‘kinship’ rather than what separates them from each other in their homeland. – All this is merely indicated. 32 This is a positive interpretation of the fact John Hyrcanus II (63–40 BCE) still (?) termed himself as ‘member of the Jewish party’. How that relates to Qumran is worth an independent discussion. 33 Of course, a claim may well gain literary expression before its realization (and even without it).

References Diebner, B.J. 1985. ‘Erwägungen zum Prozess der Samlung des dritten Teils der anti-­ jüdischen (hebräischen) Bibel, der ‫’כתובים‬. DBAT 21: 139–199. ———. 1992. ‘Le roman de Joseph, ou Israël en Égypte. Un midras post-exilique de la Tora’. In Le Livre de traverse de l’exégèse biblique à l’antropologie. O. Abel and Fr. Smyth (eds.). Paris: Cerf: 55–71. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975. ‘Thesen zu nachexilischen Entwürfen zur frühen Geschichte Israels im Alten Testament’. DBAT 10: 41–47. Haag, E. (ed.). 1985. Gott, der einzige. Zur Entstehung des Monotheismus in Israel. QD 104. Freiburg im Breisgau, Basel, Vienna: Herder. Haag, H. (ed.). 1968. Bibel-Lexikon. Zurich: Benziger. Herrmann, S. 1973. Geschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit. Munich: Kaiser Verlag. Kippenberg, G. 1971. Garizim und Synagoge. Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramäischen Periode. Berlin: de Gruyter. Lang, B. 1986. ‘Zur Entstehung des biblischen Monotheismus’. ThQ 166: 135–142. Leder, H.-G. 1985. ‘Zum gegenwärtigen Stand der Bugenhagenforschung’. Zeitschrift für plattdeutsche Gemeindearbeit 8: 21–43. De Kennung (ed.). Lemche, N.P. 1984. Det gamle Israel. Det israelitiske samfund fra sammenbruddet af bronzealderkulturen til hellenistisk tid. Arhus: Anis. Macdonald, J. 1969. The Samaritan Chronicle No. II from Joshua to Nebuchadnezzar. BZAW 107. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schlier, H. 1951. Der Brief an die Galater. 11th ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Schott, E. 1959. RGG3 III: col. 1118. Soggin, J.A. 1984. A History of Israel. From the Beginning to the Bar Kochba Revolt, AD 135. London: SCM Press. Stoebe, H.J. 1956. ‘Kanon’. In Evangelischen Kirchenlexikons. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht: col. 448. Westermann, C. 1977. Genesis. BKAT I/12. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchner Verlag.

11 The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût) and Its Theological Imprint on the Jewish Bible1

0 Presumably, the (Christian) exegetes of the Old Testament have not yet consciously and reflectively considered how they perceive the polemics of the Old Testament scriptures. The assessment of the Samaritans (of the Northern Kingdom) in the biblical tradition should be addressed here as indicative of this and representative of other polemics. The effect of Christianity’s reception of ancient Jewish biblical writings – be it in the form of the Septuagint (LXX) or the Hebrew text (Biblia Hebraica/BH; Hebrew Bible/HB) – as part of the Christian canon’s ‘Holy Scripture(s)’ is probably the reason why not only the use of this corpus in ecclesiastical contexts, but also scholarly theological reflection, have adopted Biblia Hebraica’s judgmental arguments. Furthermore, in many respects, we read this tradition uncritically with the eyes of the tradition’s self-understanding, as far as this is possible considering a time interval of two thousand years and across differing cultural thresholds and changes. This is evident in the example of the Samaritans. On the basis of the tradition, we usually assume that the Samaritans (the Kings of the Northern Kingdom and their population, with a few exceptions2) were more apostatic in regard to YHWH religion than were the Judeans. We also assume that the ‘ten tribes’ of the Northern Kingdom disappeared at the cessation of the independent Samarian Kingdom and that its religious culture was replaced by a multicultural syncretistic religion through Assyrian policies of deportation. Furthermore, in our scholarly perception, Samaria only plays a role again in the Persian period and in the religious conflicts between Samaritans and Judeans under Ezra and Nehemiah, lasting until the polemical image of Samaria in the Gospels, especially that of Matthew and Mark.3 It is, however, very possible that the Samaritans disappeared in less numbers after 722/721 BCE than did the Judeans after 587/586. Or rather, the quantity that ‘disappeared’ here through resettlement remains in comparable dimensions to the quantity of the Judeans who ‘disappeared’ after the Chaldean conquest of Jerusalem. Some observations should, however, make us wonder: • The Northern kingdom is said to have lost its cultural identity after 722/21 (according to the BH; cf. 2 Kings 17); • In contrast, the Southern kingdom did not suffer that fate after 586; DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-16

166  Texts and Canon • The ‘ten Northern Tribes’ are said to have ‘disappeared’ after 722/21; • In contrast, the one ‘Southern Tribe’ did not ‘disappear’ after 586. Here, at the very least, the question should be allowed and asked whether this ‘information’ could not perhaps be related to the perspective of the tradition itself. The Hebrew Bible has, after all, been transmitted by Judaic tradition. Even the Torah has been received in the Judean, rather than the Samaritan, tradition. Since scientific work on the BH should be critical of the tradition, skepticism about the evaluative image offered by tradition itself is hermeneutically and methodologically appropriate. In reality, the Samaritans had not disappeared (cf. Diebner 1991a). Their own tradition of religious writings beyond the Torah exposes a polemical distance to Samaritan culture before 722/21.4 However, it must be borne in mind that the Samaritans adopted Judean literature, including the Former Prophets and Chronicles, and revised them in their sense. It has to be examined whether scholarly assumptions of the extent of even greater syncretistic influences, which the vast majority of remaining Samaritans after 722/21, are accused of in the Judean view, is resultative of the premises of the examiner. The assessment will be different, depending on whether the examiner reckons with: • an ‘Israelite primordial monotheism’ (i.e. with a monotheistic religion of ‘Israel’ since its cultural constitution); • or with the fact that monotheism only later became normative for ‘Israelite’ religion.5 If a researcher decides to assert that monotheistic religion first became normative from the exilic period onwards (for which a broad partial consensus seems to be emerging), it is improper to claim ‘apostasy’ from a religious feature for a time when this may not have existed. Anyway, even more self-evident, a critical evaluation of the other (cultural) historical data encountered in the context of the biblical condemnation of Samaria is required. 1 The anti-Samaritan polemic of the Hebrew Bible or TNK tradition is probably related to the confessional demarcation of both cult communities from one another. If a negative evaluation (polemic) may be taken as a sign of demarcation, then certainly a positive evaluation (irenics6) would mean connection and inclusion. It is striking that the Hebrew Bible is not only polemical towards the Samaritans, who compete with Judea to be the ‘true Israel’, but more or less sharply also towards the other nations (goyim) – with one exception: there is no massive polemic against Persia or the Persians in the Bible. Moderate exceptions are Ezek 27:10; 38:5 and Dan 10:13.20. On the contrary: about Persia, the Hebrew Bible speaks with uttermost irenics.

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  167 It is, however, due to the narrative framework of the TNK that the Persians can only be encountered expressis verbis in the Ketuvim (apart from the exilic edge of the Nevi’im, as the book of Ezra shows). The Torah weaves the narrative thread from the beginnings to the gates of the Promised Land. The Prophets continue the narrative plotline (in the Former Prophets) from the period of immigration (settlement) to the conquest of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar and Jehoiachin’s retirement at the table of King Evil-Merodach (Amel-Marduk, 562–560 BCE), which respectively in allocative parts7 (the Later Prophets) is from the days of Uzziah of Judah and Jeroboam II of Samaria to the early post-exilic period around 520 BCE (in Haggai and Zechariah). The less tightly ordered collection of hagiographers (Writings) covers – if you take it exactly – the period from the beginnings (cf. 1 Chron 1:1: “Adam”) to the Persian period (Esther, Ezra/Nehemiah).8 This is not about the hypothetical period in which the traditions could have originated and the scrolls been written, but about the period that is narratively covered in the biblical texts. This period extends from the ‘beginning’ (‫ ברשית‬in Genesis 1) to the time of the Persian kings Xerxes (’aḥašwērôš 485–465 BCE; cf. Book of Esther) and Artaxerxes (I. Longimanus?; ’artaḥšaśtā 464–424 BCE; cf. Ezra and Nehemiah). There are many considerations as to why the continued ‘history of Israel’ is not represented in the TNK beyond this time. This is not related to epochs of literary productivity, although this point of view still has an effect in my opinion, even if it is still widely expected in today’s research that the Pentateuch was completed cum grano salis in literary form by the pre-Alexandrian period of the fourth century at the latest. But even contemporary conservative research is ready to date a script like the Book of Daniel in the second century BCE (before 164/63). This limitation of the narrative period, however, may have something to do with a cultural–political decision of the main transmitters of the TNK. At this point, an important hermeneutical fact of ancient historiography must be introduced: what is described historiographically is ‘legitimate’, what is not presented (in the sense that it would be made the central object of the representation) is ‘illegitimate’. This can be shown particularly well by the example of the ‘parallel’ historical accounts of the ‘history of Israel’ in the Books of Kings and Chronicles. Their depictions are not so ‘parallel’ at all, because in Chronicles, Samaria is not the subject of the representation. What this means can be understood in the context of my hermeneutics of the biblical canon (Diebner 1992). And it explains the apparent ‘duplication’ of historical works. In the conception of the Former and Latter Prophets, apostate Samaria nevertheless still belongs to ‘Israel’. In the conception of the Writings, Samaria passim no longer belongs to ‘Israel’, which is represented only by Judea, which has absorbed all legitimate traditions of ‘Israel’ (including the Israelite tribe of Benjamin), and to which Samaritans can only ‘convert’ as individuals.9 In the conceptions of the Torah, Judah and Israel/Samaria are ‘Israel’,10 albeit under Judean supremacy and in the Prophets, both Judah and Israel must ‘repent’ (Israel, however, more urgently than Judah, because the intention of

168  Texts and Canon Judean circles sets the tone), but neither are abolished. Ultimately, however, the view of the Judean circles is decisive. This can be illustrated by an important exclusion. 2 If the ‘history of Israel’ had been continued in the conceptually canonical Biblia Hebraica, it would also have had to cover the Hellenistic period, possibly the Hasmonean period. Why not, if we have the last pen or stylus of an author of biblical literature written shortly before 164/63 even in a rather conservative critical view?11 The following may be noteworthy: ‘historiographically’ only periods of ‘Israel’ of (relative) political autonomy are covered in the TNK. Even periods of foreign domination over (parts of) ‘Israel’ only seem to be representable if (for example in legendary episodic presentation) the respective representative of ‘Israel’ can achieve a quasi-ruling position.12 Even the most extreme borderline case seems to indicate this: the ‘exile’ can apparently only be ‘touched upon’ in Kings by mentioning Jehoiachin’s promotion to the (almost) equal table partner of the King of Babel (cf. 2 Kgs 25:37ff.). And in Chronicles the historiographical ‘nothingness’ is bridged by the prospect of ‘restitution’ (cf. 2 Chron 36:22f.). Nevertheless, of course, the ‘exilic period’ could not be represented. Apparently, neither were the periods under Hellenistic and Maccabean rule representable. The latter is very surprising, for after the victory over Antiochus IV Epiphanes, Judea was de facto independent under the leadership of the Hasmonean clan and was able to extend this independence.13 This ‘non representable’ must be restricted and thus at the same time its significance is marked. These epochs were authored ‘later’ it is argued. But that is not a foregone conclusion, for the writings informing us about these periods were at least written within the same temporal continuum, if not in the same period, in which the TNK’s writings also received their valid, familiar form (in the second and first centuries). It is often said that First and Second Maccabees were not included in the canon because of their Greek language format. This may be possible.14 The Hasmoneans, despite their increasing popularity among the population, may have disappointed theologically conservative circles, either by accepting the title of king,15 or by increasingly stylizing themselves as Hellenistic autocrats and thus turning to the very culture that their fathers had set out to fight. The latter is more likely to me. The Hellenistic period thus ultimately fades out. Basically, the transmitters of the later ‘canonical’ literature could have waited for ‘better times’ to pick up the thread of the historiography of ‘Israel’ anew. But there seem to have been compelling circumstances to receive and fix a certain stock of tradition ‘canonically’. I recognize these circumstances in the increasing number of schisms and in the formation of specifically ‘Israelite’ communities with exclusive ecclesiological claims since the second century BCE. According to tradition–historical investigations of the Samaritan traditions by Kippenberg 1971, the Samaritan schism took place in the second century. The Qumran community also separated itself during

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  169 this period and Hellenistic communities flourished, especially in Alexandria. It was not only among the Samaritans that the Hellenistic culture had a great influence. The time was ripe for definitions. 3 It is, however, interesting how the cut was made. The ‘history of Israel’ does not go beyond Ezra and Nehemiah, although there may have been sufficient literature available for this. But the thread is cut with clerical and political restitution in the Persian period. The books of Ezra and Nehemiah end with polemical definitions, according to which one should obviously retain the impression that it remained that way. Of course, this is less the description of a factual situation than it is an idealistic projection. It is, however, a (retrojected) situation transferred to the time of Persian suzerainty. Here it should be conveyed that a state of restoration worth preserving was achieved. And it possibly signals that every deviation from it is evil. Of course, this is not the ‘eschatological messianic state’. The restoration under Ezra and Nehemiah means a kind of interregnum, a constitution of cult and political community (which is inseparable, as the correspondence of Ezra, the priest, with Nehemiah, the governor, shows), from which God’s future with ‘Israel’ can be expected. What comes next is ‘waste’; it is actually no longer part of it. That the descriptions of Ezra/Nehemiah really reflect the conditions at that time (in the third quarter of the fifth century) in a historically appropriate way is assumed too readily in my opinion. It is possible that both writings (only) created a literary myth that incorporates certain, historically verifiable data into a clerical–political system. This scepticism, however, is not meant to minimize the significance of the fact that the ‘ideal interregnum’ of theocracy is set in the Persian period. This only makes sense if traditions were established here in which the Persian period – primarily as a political epoch – has a fundamental significance. (To what extent this also applies to Persian cultural influence on the Mesopotamian golah in Persian times will have to be examined.) The representatives of these traditions made the cut before Hellenism. In connection with this, it is now striking that since the third century the ‘pious’ (‫ ;חסידים‬the Ḥasidim), from whose circles the Hasmoneans also originated and whose tradition lived on in the (early) Pharisaic and (early) rabbinic movements, were anti-Hellenistic traditionalists who oriented themselves towards the rigid piety represented by the writings of Ezra and Nehemiah. The keyword for this religiosity is ‘Torah piety’. And like the definitions of Jerusalem’s Torah congregation and walled political community in Ezra and Nehemiah, they represent the demarcation to the outside world against a cultural opening to the ecumenical culture of Hellenistic rule. Presumably, this piety is not so much a concentration on the oldest traditions of ‘Israel’ as it is a reaction to a perceived questioning of one’s own identity with a concentration on other characteristics promising cultural identity. Since the eighth century there may have been a Samaritan golah in Mesopotamia (even if we know next to nothing about it). In the early sixth century,

170  Texts and Canon the Judean golah was added. (Whether the two groups came together, if the former still existed in the sixth century, must remain the subject of speculation.) The Mesopotamian golah has been preserved – as well as the Egyptian one, which probably dates back to the sixth century. Subsequently, both the Mesopotamian and Egyptian golahs became important sites of the development of Jewish traditions. The influence of the exilic community on Palestinian Judaism and Judaism in general begins with the return of religiously highly motivated groups to Judea in the fifth century (according to Ezra and Nehemiah); less so than with the waves of return from 538 BCE onwards. In the presentations of the Prophets, their main task was to reinstitute the cult and rebuild the temple in its old place. An important tradition formation in late antiquity is the Babylonian Talmud. What distinguishes this Mesopotamian golah – apart from size, vitality and probably also relative prosperity? Mesopotamia always remained beyond the permanent influence of Hellenistic and later Roman rule and cultural imprint. Hellenism left its traces as far away as Bactria, but it could hardly reach into central Mesopotamia and blend with the native cultures to form a lasting syncretistic identity. However, this was only once a reliable, recreational cultural hinterland for the Jewish traditionalists. It is probably important that this ‘hinterland’ was their spiritual home and the geographical home of their ‘fathers’, namely those groups who, endowed with royal privileges, came to Judea in the fifth century BCE, bringing their traditions with them. Whether they immediately succeeded in asserting themselves as massively as Ezra and Nehemiah describe it remains to be seen. Here it suffices to state that they brought their cultural identity with them and brought it to the homeland of their forefathers. In the context of these considerations, it is not important when this (‘imported’) culture prevailed among the Jews in the country, but that it was an imported culture whose tense relationship to the autochthonous culture is explicated in Ezra and Nehemiah. It belongs to one of the myths’ of interpretation of our biblical exegetical research to assume that the later ‘returnees’ from Mesopotamia carried out a kind of ‘reformation’ in the land of Judea with the aims of repelling traditional uncontrolled growth and unbridled syncretism among the descendants of the remaining people in the land and to honour the first returnees from exile and restore the unadulterated patriarchal religion. Although all reformers compete with this myth, it nevertheless remains a myth. What the late ‘returnees’ (who of course were not ‘returnees’ in the literal sense – such were perhaps still among those who came to the country in 538 BCE – but descendants of exiles in the fourth or fifth generation) brought with them, was probably indeed an ‘Israelite reform religion’, in which essential characteristics and traditional elements of pre-exilic culture were probably incorporated, but which, under the cultural influence of the exilic situation may have transformed into something completely new. Attempts at implanting these reforms in the country must have led to painful conflicts and could certainly only have succeeded in the long term and under certain real-political conditions.16 I therefore do not want to speak of a ‘restoration’ under Ezra and Nehemiah, but of a ‘reformation’ in the sense of a ‘revolution’ carried out from above.

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  171 4 What was the imported culture or more specifically, what was the religion of the reformers of the fifth century BCE? This is perhaps evident when looking at the central concerns at stake in Ezra and Nehemiah. I shall concentrate on some focal points. 4.1

Already in the Prophets’ part of the canon we find reports of returnees from exile in the land (cf. Haggai and Zechariah), but it is only in Ezra and Nehemiah that we find the registers of the “sons of the province (sc.: Judah) who went up from captivity (in Babylon)” (Ezra 2:1–67; Neh 7:6–68). The prophetic books of Haggai and Zechariah certainly may have had a different (liturgical) function than that of Ezra and Nehemiah. Nevertheless, they do contain a lot of narrative material regarding the activities of the returnees in the country. The defining and thus legitimizing directories of returnees, however, we find in Ezra and Nehemiah. It is interesting to note that Ezra 2:1 par. Neh 7:6 ties in with 1 Chron 9:lb: “And Judah was brought up to (sc.: imprisoned) Babylon because of its infidelity” (cf. also Neh 7:5b and 1 Chron 9:1a). Similar to the listing of those who first returned (Neh 7:5b), so in Ezra 8:1–14 we also find those listed who came back with Ezra, that is, those who returned later. And listed in Nehemiah 10–12 are those committed to the Torah, the inhabitants of Jerusalem and the members of the clerical groups. In order to fully determine the function of these lists, a comparison with other registers in the TNK would be necessary. That will not be done here, where the focus is on the defining and legitimizing function of these lists. That is, who belongs where in regard to lists of individuals or of geographical names. It is also important to observe that this ‘definition’ of the returnees occurs here in Ezra and Nehemiah (i.e. in the Writings/Ketuvim), but not in the Prophets. 4.2

In the Prophets we do not really learn anything about the return as such. In Haggai and Zechariah the first returnees are simply ‘there’ again. Chronologically, in the Prophets, the ‘post-exilic period’ begins “in the second year of King Darius” (of Persia).17 As is well known, it is only in the Writings that we have a (probable) date of a possible return from “Babylon” to the “land”;18 namely, “the first year of Cyrus”.19 Noteworthy also is the function of the returnees in N(evi’im) and K(etuvim). In Haggai and Zechariah, the construction of the temple has begun, but has not been completed. Although it is said that it was by Zerubbabel’s hands that the construction of the post-exilic temple began and was to be completed, the completion is neither recorded in Haggai nor in Zechariah (which researchers consistently use as evidence for dating these scriptures).20 An important function of the first returnees seems to be their new beginning’s connection to the old, pre-exilic tradition and thus a legitimization of especially the

172  Texts and Canon post-exilic, cultic new beginning (cf. the question to Zerubbabel in Hag 2:3).21 The completion of the new temple is only described in the Ketuvim (cf. Ezra 6:6ff.). It is probably also important that the first big festival after the consecration of the temple (cf. vv. 25–27) is described as the Passover of the children of the golah (‫בני‬ ‫ ;הגולה‬v. 19f.). The parallel to Jos 5:2ff. is striking. The completion of the temple does not happen in the time of Ezra, but it is described in the Book of Ezra and thus belongs to the Ketuvim and not to the Nevi’im. Here is a pattern of thought and legitimation to which we can hardly get used with our historicist mode of thinking. The completion of the post-exilic temple thus becomes an exclusive claim of the confessional Judean circles that have shaped the Writings/Ketuvim of the Hebrew Bible. 4.3

The ‘restitution’ of the Torah, the Torah of Moses (‫ ;תורת משה‬Ezra 7:6) and book of the religion of the God of Heaven (‫ ;ספר דתא די אלה שמיא‬v. 12), is now transferred to the time of Ezra. The book of Moses’ Torah (‫ ;ספר תורת משה‬Neh 8,1) respectivley the book of God’s Torah (‫ ;ספר תורת האלהים‬v. 8) is brought to the attention of all the people (‫ ;כל העם‬v. l), read (on the first day of the seventh month [‫]ביום אחד לחדש השביעי‬, that is, the day of the creation of the world; v. 2) and interpreted (cf. v. 8). This is followed by the other great ‘festival’, Succoth (cf. vv. 13ff.). Thus, the new temple building and Torah restitution are the two focal points of the bipolar Jewish festival year. It seems that the Israelites (‫ ;בני ישראל‬Neh 7:72) have never heard of the Torah (cf. Neh 8:9). This is, however, a pattern that is often encountered in biblical tradition. Thus, the Judeans of the late pre-exilic period seem to have completely forgotten God’s Torah when the high priest Hilkiah ‘finds’ it during the restoration work in the temple (cf. 2 Kgs 22:8ff. and 2 Chron 34:8ff. esp. vv. 14 ff). To this day, Old Testament scholars regard this Torah discovery as an (important) historical date. It is certainly an important textual date. The historicity of the reported Torah discovery would probably be considered somewhat different if this narrative had not been preserved in the Bible. Then one would probably recognize the textual pattern that is also documented and common elsewhere, namely that of inventio, the so-called legend of discovery, whose intention is to legitimize (cultural or religious) novissima by linking it to the old, legitimate tradition. This paradigm is also quite common nowadays, up to such banal activities that an ambitious politician can be photographed together with the universally revered elder statesman. In early Christian times, such a pattern was not realized by chance in the course of the ‘Constantinian conversion’. The new (quasi-) state church had to be identified in opposition to the old church of the Martyrs. Thus Empress Helena, mother of the emperor, finds the cross of Jesus Christ.22 And Bishop Ambrose initiates the discovery of the martyrs’ bones, which are then magnificently transferred to the imperial new places of worship that arose everywhere in the empire after Constantine’s conversion – partly with imperial support. Thus, it became illustratively

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  173 visible to the people that the new state religion stands in line as the legitimate successor of the pre-Constantinian church of the Martyrs (Diebner and Nauerth 1984). On form critical grounds, I consider the discovery of the Torah during Josiah’s reign to be historically unlikely. What is important, however, is that something presumably completely new is anchored in the tradition. This is not to say that pre-exilic Samaria or Judah did not know a Torah. Many of the juridical texts preserved in the Torah are probably ‘ancient’ and belong to the cultural heritage of pre-exilic times. But these traditional ‘laws’ in their pre-exilic form may have been quite different from the Torah of the children of the golah from Mesopotamia. And it is not even certain that the Torah allegedly read by Ezra is identical with the Torah handed down to us in the Hebrew Bible. In one point, however, this post-exilic Torah is likely to coincide with that handed down in the TNK, namely in the teaching of the One (heavenly) God of monotheistic religion. And this Torah must have been something completely new for the Judeans of the fifth century. Just as the Torah fell into ‘oblivion’ during the pre-exilic period, so did the festivals, especially the Pesach festival. So it had to be restored during the reigns of Hezekiah (2 Chronicles 30) and Josiah (2 Chronicles 35). In Hezekiah’s time it was celebrated as it had not been since the time of Solomon, the son of David (2 Chron 30:26), and under Josiah as it had not been celebrated since the time of Samuel, the prophet, not even in the time of the kings (2 Chron 35:18). We find an increase in this oblivion of the festivals, in Neh 8:17, when the Succoth celebrated under Ezra had not been held since the time of Joshua (probably implying Joshua 24). This is probably – in view of the ‘festive content’ of Joshua 24, the commitment of the people to the book of god’s Torah (‫ ;ספר תורת האלהים‬v. 26) – a devastating verdict on the ‘history of Israel’ beyond the mythical prehistory to the days of Ezra, that is, to the time of the ‘late returnees’ from the Mesopotamian gālût in Persian times. In this tradition (i.e.: in the ideological view assumed here) there is probably a grain of historical truth: namely, that the religion of the ‘reformed’ late returnees had little to do with the traditions of pre-exilic Israel. Its legitimizing roots go back to the mythical past, be it to the (messianic) Davidic son Solomon, be it to the initiator of the legitimate royal traditions of ‘Israel’, Samuel, or to the institutor of the Moses–Torah in the land, Joshua. 4.4

Yet another feature belongs to the definitions of the ‘true Israel’ of the rigid Persian tradition as it is presented in Ezra and Nehemiah. This is the seed of Israel’s separation from all the foreigners (Neh 9:2). This event fills several chapters in Ezra and Nehemiah.23 Leafing through the (Former) Prophets (Nevi’im), we find many warnings against ‘intermingling’ with other nations24 and indications that this happened,25 but no indication that a separation was carried out. This is again a proprium of the Writings (Ketuvim): here the ‘pure’ cult community of Jerusalem is

174  Texts and Canon constituted, and here it distinguishes itself from everything foreign. Against whom did the Persian gālût distinguish itself so polemically?26 The distinction from the Samaritans is outright (cf. Ezra 4; Neh 3:33ff; ch. 4). In addition, different terms are used: • ‫ ;גוי הארץ‬the peoples of the land in contrast to the children of Israel/Israelites, ‫( בניישראל‬it here concerns their separation,‫ נבדל‬, from the impurity, ‫מטמאת‬, of the peoples of the land [Ezra 6:21]); • ‫ העמי הארצות‬, peoples of the lands in contrast to the people of Israel, ‫העם ישראל‬ (Ezra 9:lf.), or of the land, 10:2( ‫;)עמי הארץ‬ • it also regards the foreign women, ‫( נשים נכריות‬same texts, etc.), • and marriages with their sons and daughters, ‫( בנים ובנות‬f.ex. Ezra 9:12). Concrete names of nations are also mentioned.27 What these are should remain open here. In my opinion, they are mostly obsolete names of peoples. We all know them (with the exception of Ashdod) from the Torah, and especially from Genesis in a comparable context: namely concerning the legitimate marriages of the Patriarchs of ‘Israel’.28 Now one might think that Ezra and Nehemiah resume Genesis’ tradition of the Patriarchs. But one could also argue the other way around: that the norms of the Persian gālût had been anchored in the book (Genesis) from the beginnings (from the fundamentally legitimizing things according to mythical thinking). The more researchers are inclined to consider that the Patriarchal traditions in Genesis are not quite as old as A. Alt had taught29 and opted for an exilic dating of Genesis’ ‘father’ traditions, the easier it should be to consider that the exogamy prohibitions of Genesis (respectively the Torah as a whole) and of Ezra and Nehemiah belong to the same chronological context and that the relationship could be turned around.30 5 The interpretative possibility described here neither means that ‘Israel’ only emerged in the context of the supreme Persian culture during the sixth and fifth centuries, nor that the biblical traditions of ‘Israel’ only go back to this time. Nevertheless, it is worthwhile to ask what might have been the cultural identity of ‘Israel’ before this period; that is, in the royal period? Presumably, however, both the Northern Kingdom (Samaria, ‘House of Omri’; rarely ‘Israel’ in foreign designation) and the Southern Kingdom (Judah; never ‘Israel’) were culturally something completely different from the partisan-committed picture presented in the biblical tradition. The crucial point of the cultural definition of the pre-exilic states of Israel and Judah may be their form of religion: monotheism or polytheism (if this sweeping comparison does not have to be regarded as somewhat too undifferentiated from the point of view of religious studies). I am convinced by the more recent approaches, which largely converge with my own tradition critical observations, even if I am not yet in a position to decide on a particular design. I do, however, think that

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  175 Jewish monotheism may have developed in the Mesopotamian gālût under Persian political and cultural supremacy (i.e. since around 539/38 BCE). Here I do not want to exclude older approaches in the pre-exilic, especially the Judean tradition: for example, in the context of the well-known model of a monolatric cult concentrated around the national warrior god YHWH to the detriment of the other gods of a pantheon in times of national distress. Herein lies the historically accurate core of the memory of Josiah’s ‘cult reform’, a memory that has been so integrated into the myth that its ‘historical peculiarity’ may be irrelevant to the intention of the tradition. I can also imagine that this monotheistic culture could have come to Palestine in the fifth century. But I find it hard to imagine that this new religion could immediately prevail against the traditions in Judea, as the Ezra–Nehemiah myth would have you believe.31 The Ezra–Nehemiah tradition alone reveals too many tensions for that. If, however, Nehemiah, as Persian governor, was vested with appropriate power, this would certainly be an ‘administrative basis’ for the implantation of the new religion. In my opinion, however, it only became a kind of ‘state religion’ when the ‘pious’ actually obtained power in the country – after the Hasmonean uprisings.32 Even the Elephantine (Jeb) archive, which can be dated to the fifth century, similar to the events described in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, seems to me to exclude (with its methodological value as external evidence) for cultural conditions in Jerusalem that would allow for a prevalence of a religious form in Jerusalem and Judea, which we think we can derive from our pre-critical knowledge of ‘Israel’ or a pre-critical reading of the books of Ezra and Nehemiah.33 From the Elephantine texts I rather conclude that at Jerusalem’s temple of the fifth century the traditional cult was still practiced within the framework of a ‘polytheistic’ system and that even at that time there was not yet the demand for a centralization of the cult. A kind of ‘temple tax’ probably went to the main temple in Jerusalem, if the ‫עלה‬ (‘ola), the most expensive sacrifice, may only be offered there. In any case, the Josianic period (last third of the seventh century) is in my opinion too early for a centralization, which presupposes that from all areas of the cultic community the (main) temple tax of the Zion community is delivered to Jerusalem, and respectively the Gerizim community to Shechem. This probably presupposes an established, functioning monetary economy (cf. Deuteronomy 14:22–27), which is not to be expected before the Persian period. From these reflections I seek to describe the importance of the Persian gālût (i.e. the Mesopotamian exile of the ‘Israelites’, who did not return to Palestine at the beginning of the Persian period) for the profiling of the Judeo–biblical religion. I can only do this by way of example. But I have selected some central points on the basis of the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah, in which the cultural new beginning after the exile34 and in the Persian period is described. The following essential features of Jewish cultural identity seem to go back to the Persian gālût: 5.1 The Persian gālût defines the ‘true (post-exilic) Israel’ by a legitimizing lineal registration; those who cannot prove their ancestral origin are dismissed (cf. Ezra 2:59–62; par. Neh 7:61–65).

176  Texts and Canon 5.2 The (only legitimate) post-exilic temple is completed and consecrated by the Persian gālût in the tradition of Ezra and Nehemiah; thus, it is considered a sanctuary of this tradition. 5.3 The Torah is ‘restored’ by Ezra. Presumably, Torah piety, a central feature of Jewish piety ‫( עד היום הזה‬to this day), developed as a proprium of the Persian golah and has only been introduced to the land (Judea) since the fifth century. Possibly (although I am still rather skeptical about this dating) the two main festivals (of the three pilgrimage festivals) have been given their typical ‘historicizing’ accents since that time. (With regard to the Feast of Weeks, Shavuot, I also expect a ‘historicizing’ of the giving of the Torah at Sinai since the second century BCE). 5.4 It is also possible that the prohibition of exogamy applies to the Persian gālût and its struggle for cultural superiority in the country against the ‘peoples of the Land’35 and is thus a measure for identity protection. 5.5 A particular problem, which has been discussed here only marginally (in the footnotes), is the question of Jewish monotheism. It seems to me that this criterion may also be a (further) development of the tradition by the Persian gālût (cf. P. du Breuil 1978: 235–282). 6 For the importance of the Persian period gālût for the formation of the Jewishtheological (or better: ‘ortho-praxis’) identity of the TNK speaks, in my opinion the consistently positive role of the Persian kings Cyrus, Darius (I ?), Xerxes and Artaxerxes (I ?). Especially so, since it is assumed that Cyrus, Darius and Artaxerxes promoted essential events in the religious life and development of the religious identity of ‘Israel’: the return from the golah, the beginning and completion of the temple construction, as well as the political constitution of the post-exilic theocracy. Despite purely legendary interweavings, Xerxes is also important as a guarantor against anti-Semitism in the gālût tradition (the role of the Persian kings in the book of Daniel I leave out here). There are no comparable foreign potentates who play a similarly positive role in the Jewish tradition before the ‘messianic’ role of Cyrus in the traditional texts of Isa 44: 28; 45:1. In my opinion it is worth yet another critical inquiry to examine when the Jewish religion might have displayed the image that we see in the profiles of Ezra and Nehemiah, even if it would make sense to seek the genesis of the postexilic Jewish religion in the cultural context of the Persian gālût and its descendants and additional members (‘proselytes’). Here I do not want to and cannot (yet) commit myself more precisely to this. All in all, it is sufficient for me, for the time being, to seek the profile of the TNK traditions in the traditions of the Persian gālût. This assumption does not rule out the possibility that the TNK shows, in many cases, especially in the Torah, characteristics of ‘ecumenical openings’ (cf. Diebner 1992) in Judaism’s typical preservation of even inferior (and rejected) traditions already at the time of the collection and design of biblical traditions and writings.

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  177 7 The hypothetical sum of these considerations can be formulated in the thesis that: The essential features in the profile of biblical-Jewish religiosity goes back – without prejudice to abolition or inclusion of different, earlier or later traditions – to the Mesopotamian golah of the Persian period (of the late sixth and the first half of the fifth century). It is probably not the often (almost) embezzled, but ultimately (fortunately and God-guided) preserved heritage of a pre-exilic epoch (be it the royal period, be it the pre-state period or even a pre-pre-state ‘tribal period’). However, neither is it probably a product of the exilic period defined by the key dates 586–538 BCE (which many researchers today lean on for their dating of essential TNK traditions). But nor is it perhaps a profile that the transmitters had already given of their culture in the fifth century in the biblical form known to us. 8 Postscript Otto Plöger, Ordinarius emeritus of Old Testament of the Faculty of the University of Bonn, received the present contribution for his 81st birthday, 27.11.1991. Plöger responded surprisingly quickly in a letter of December 4, 1991, from which I shall quote:36 With regard to the content of your essay, I can assure you of my agreement in order to finally free myself from the inappropriate opinion: What is old is good!, a principle that M. Noth followed too thoroughly in the wake of his teacher [A.] Alt. I can only emphasize two aspects: The modified presentation of the same narrative material makes it worth considering the assumption of a correction of what has been reported, whereby correction can mean not only correction, but also expansion of traditional material. Furthermore, an observation cannot be overlooked and it is worth considering whether the sanctuaries have not only carried out preservation but also a further development of outdated traditions. An archive of the sanctuary would not only be conceivable in regard to its importance, but may have been an essential factor to a certain extent in keeping the tradition beyond destruction. You have by no means neglected this; however, it deserves some emphasis. This has become clear to me in a juxtaposition of Proverbs with the book of Sirach. Preservation of the received tradition and expansion and transformation of this are not opposites, but formative of a thoroughly critical further education. Preservation and further development of traditions belong more closely together for ancient than for present humans. Well, as far as my relationship with M. Noth is concerned: he certainly took me, but not my field of work on the late period seriously, and when I once told him that without the crazy late period he would never have received material to deal with regarding the early period, he said: ‘Your assertion! We need to talk about that!’ But he never did. . . .

178  Texts and Canon Notes  1 Revised article of “La valeur de la gālût mesopotamienne pour le caractère theologique de la Bible juive”, paper given at the International Colloquium: La Syrie Palestine a l’epoque perse. Paris 1991.  2 The population of the northern kingdom is called ‘Samarians’ up to 722/21 BCE in recent research in contrast to the religious community of the post-exile period, called the ‘Samaritans’. The ‘Samarians’ are cum grano salis credited with the syncretic religious characteristics of which a polemical tradition such as 2 Kings 17 speaks. This distinction has become established since the revolutionary research of the Samaritan schism by H.G. Kippenberg 1971. This makes it possible to maintain the traditional dating of historical research without undertaking a radical revision (for example for 2 Kings 17 in the context of the so-called ‘Deuteronomistic History’) despite Kippenberg’s research. I call the inhabitants ‘Samaritans’ regardless of cultural changes in the same way as Judah’s population are called Judeans in spite of cultural breaches in the first millennium BCE. The one-sided differentiation in regard to the population of the North is not acceptable.  3 This view was until recently the scholarly communis opinio. I shall not mention any specific persons.  4 Cf. the view of the preserved Samaritan chronicles, for example The Samaritan Chronicle II published by J. Macdonald in 1969.  5 I here refer to recent debates on monotheism in works by H. Friis, M. Smith, B. Lang, H. Vorländer, Niels Peter Lemche, M. Weippert, etc.  6 I have chosen this term as oppositional to ‘polemical’.  7 Cf. my TNK schedule in Diebner 1985: 199. But since the TNK texts are almost entirely ‘paranetic’ – whether in prosaic or poetic language – I now call the ‘appealing’ paranesis in analogy to ‘narrative’ ‘allocative’. For the composition of the TNK, see my article ‘Gottesdienst II. Altes Testament’ in TRE XIV: 5–28.  8 For the composition of the TNK, see my article ‘Gottesdienst II. Altes Testament’ in TRE XIV: 5–28.  9 Cf. the Samaritans who turn to Zion (probably at Pesach) in 2 Chron 11:13f.; 15:9; 30:11.25; 34:9; 35:17f.(?). 10 By Judah I mean the political entity (especially before 586 BCE; accordingly, and by Israel I denote the political entity Samaria before 721 BCE; ‘Israel’, on the other hand, is in my cipher an ecclesiological term (regardless of the sociologically and politically describable size, which claims to be ‘Israel’). 11 The observation presented here on the periods and criteria covered by the TNK’s literature corresponds in my opinion with the ‘criterion of prophecy’ (which probably represents a pattern of literary fiction and does not reflect real-historical circumstances); cf. E. Nodet 1985: 38–40. 12 Cf. Joseph in ‘Egypt’, Daniel in ‘Babylon’ during Nebuchadnezzar’s reign, and Darius or Esther and Mordechai in the court of the Persian king in ‘Susa’, etc. 13 What has been done since Hellenistic times was probably not representable, and in order for it to be ‘not representable’, it probably lay outside the ‘prophetic and inspired era’. When also the Maccabees fell under this verdict, anti-Hellenism and anti-Hasmoneism probably added up in the (early) Pharisaic selection for the canon. 14 However, 1 Maccabees might have been written in Hebrew. Its Greek text seems to have been translated from Hebrew, which at least indicate a Semitic speaking author. For this, see K.-D. Schunck 1980: 289. 15 In this, however, they were rather reserved and avoided going too close to ‘David’ in a titular manner. According to Josephus, Ant. XIII, 11,1 § 301, Aristobulus (104–103 BCE) was the first to claim the royal title. Coins prove it for Alexander Jannaeus (103– 76 BCE).

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  179 16 How difficult it is to implant a new, unsolicited culture we experienced in Europe at the collapse of the communist regime, in which the characteristics of the cultures fought and suppressed by communism reappeared everywhere. 17 The Darius (‫ )דריוש‬mentioned in Haggai and Zechariah is probably Darius I (521–484 BCE). 18 Cf. 2 Chron 36:22f.; Ezra 1:1–4; but also, Jer 25:11–14; 29:10; and in regard to the temple also Isa 44:28. 19 29. Cf. Cyrus (‫)כורש‬, Prince of Anschan 539 BCE; victory over the Chaldaen king Nabonidus 529. Elamitic kuras = ‘Shepherd’ (cf. Isa 44:28). 20 Cf. Zech 4:9: ‫ ;ידי זרבבל יסדו הבית הזה וידיו תבצענה‬cf. also the remarkable connection between the date of the rededication of the Maccabean temple (25th day of the ninth month; 1 Macc 4:52) justified by the dedication of the temple of YHWH in Hag 2:18: ‫היום אשר‬ ‫ יסד היכל יהוה‬a textual context in which researchers like to intervene with literary criticism; for example J.W. Rothstein 1908: 61; W. Rudolph 1976: 46; H.W. Wolff 1986: 40–44. But the text also seems so meaningful: if one understands it in the Jewish sense as a discussion and clarification text in which a demarcation is made. As Hag 1:14f. and 2:18 give two dates for the ‘beginning of the construction’, there are two definitions of ‘Israel’ in Gen 32:29 and 35:10 respectively (cf. my first discussion of this in Diebner 1983, esp. pp. 91f., my frequently presented considerations on the double renaming of ‘Jacob’ to ‘Israel’). And that in Ezra 3:8ff. beginning of the temple construction is continued in 5:lff. after the Samaritans have been rejected in ch. 4. There also seems to be a ‘critical definition’ in Hag 2:10–14, possibly as in Genesis (‘Shechem’) and Ezra concerning the Samaritans. NB: the striking date of the ‘temple foundation’ in Haggai is hardly taken into account in the discussion – probably not because one sees no relationship between an event and a text reporting on it, which dates back to the sixth century and an event which took place in the second century BCE. The ‫ יסד‬designated temple foundation in Hag 2:18 can hardly be reduced to the (historical) laying the foundation stone. When ‘heaven and earth’ are founded (‫)יסד‬, they are ‘there’. The temple is the image of the cosmos. See also the ‘cosmic’ context (with ‘heaven and earth’) in Hag 2:22; cf. Diebner 1991b. 21 To this, see also the discussion of the finding of the Torah in Jerusalem’s temple in 2 Kings 22f. below. 22 The full formation of the legend of the finding of the cross is attested by Ambrose, the propagandist of the Theodosian state church. This is a highly complex typological pattern. Helena is in ancient and late antique conception ‘Mother of God’ as mother of the Roman emperor, the God and the Son of God. Thus, Helena finds her son’s instrument of martyrs with the cross. Of course, this pattern is based on the idea that Helena is seen in an antitypical relation to Mary, the Mother of God (according to the later conciliar definition, which, however, only codifies what has long been claimed in the history of piety). 23 Cf. Ezra 9f.; Nehemiah 10; 13 and other passages in these scriptures. 24 Cf. other mentioned places in Jos 23:7.12. 25 Cf. Judg 3:5f.; cf. also violations of the commandment of mixing by the highest representatives of ‘Israel’ such as Solomon (1 Kgs 3:1; 11:lff.) or Ahab (1 Kgs 16:31); cf. also remarks that the separation was not completed (1 Kgs 9:20f.). 26 From here on, I would like to call the cultural identity of (oriental-oriented) Judaism known to us (as opposed to occidental oriented Hellenistic Judaism), which goes back to Ezra and Nehemiah in the narrative myth of their own tradition, the ‘Persian galut’, despite possible reservations. Possible returnees under Cyrus (key date 539/38) did not experience the ‘Persian golah’. ‘Persian’ does here not mean that the culture of the Mesopotamian ‘host regions’ is ‘Persian’ after the Persian conquest of Mesopotamia. By ‘Persian galut’, I refer first of all to a chronological context, namely that of Persian rule, under which Jews (‘Israelites’) lived in Mesopotamia. This point was raised in the discussion of my paper in the Colloque International in Paris. 27 “Canaanites, Hittites, Perizites, Jebusites, Ammonites, Moabites, Egyptians, Amorites” (Ezra 9:1); “Ammonites and Moabites” are referred to in Deut 23:4ff. and Neh 13:1; vv. 23 and 41: “Ashdodite, Ammonite and Moabite women”.

180  Texts and Canon 28 Cf. Gen 24:3.37 (Canaanites); 26:34; 27:46 (Hittites); 28:6.8 (daughters of Cana’an). Esau, the dummkopf wants to follow his parents’ marriage commandment, but he is completely wrong when he marries (Gen 28:9) a daughter of Ishmael instead of the daughters of Canaan. Although Ishmael is a member of the (covenant) cult community (cf. his circumcision in Gen 17:25f) his children (sons and daughters) no longer belong to it because their mother is an Egyptian woman (Gen 21:21). According to the matrilineal definition of who belongs to ‘Israel’ (= is a Jew), the descendants of Ishmael fall out. 29 Cf. A. Alt 1959 and my disrespectful hypothesis-immanent refutation in Diebner 1975. Also Th. Römer 1990 has interpreted Genesis’ Patriarchs in a new light; see here the refutatio from the pen of the witty Catholic Old Testament scholar N. Lohfink 1991. 30 For this, see the two basic older works by Diebner and Schult 1975a and 1975b. 31 First and Second Chronicles and Ezra and Nehemiah are probably among the latest scriptures of the TNK and reflect events from a historical distance. E. Nodet considers the Chronistic History to be later than Josephus; I myself have long been considering that Ezra could be ‘post-Christian’ (cf. Diebner 1985). 32 O. Plöger has opened my eyes to the importance of the Ḥasidim during my years of studies in Bonn 1959–63 and in his works from 1962 and 1971. 33 Cf. the publication of the Elephantine texts by E. Sachau 1911. 34 A highly questionable date given the fact that the ‘exilic period’ did not end in 538 BCE (apart from the question of what historical value this date has for the [descendants of] exiles in Mesopotamia [and Egypt?]). This is shown by the flourishing golah congregations in Mesopotamia, Egypt and in the Mediterranean ecumene. Finally, this timing is also questionable in view of the fact that the ‘orthodox’” Jewish ‘Israel’ has defined itself as a golah community ‫קהל הגולה‬, since biblical times and until today; cf. again my article in NBL (Diebner 1991a). 35 48 These may be, as I have occasionally suspected (since 1975), the various groups of the population, which the Persian gālût encountered in the country:

– descendants of the Judeans (and Samarians) who had remained in the country; – descendants of former returnees from Babel who had not yet experienced the cultural changes of the Persian period; – in border areas, possibly also real ‘foreigners’ or culturally seen neighboring peoples, who had settled in Judea.

36 German original: “Ich kann im Blick auf den Inhalt Ihres Aufsatzes Sie meiner Zustimmung versichern, um endlich einmal freizukommen von der unpassenden Meinung: Was alt ist, ist gut!, ein Prinzip, das M. Noth im Gefolge seines Lehrers [ A] Alt zu gründlich befolgt hat. Nur zwei Aspekte darf ich hervorheben: Die inhaltlich abgeänderte Darstellung der gleichen Erzählstoffe macht die Annahme einer Korrektur von Berichtetem erwägenswert, wobei Korrektur nicht allein Richtigstellung, sondern auch Erweiterung eines überlieferten Stoffes bedeuten kann. Ferner bleibt eine Beobachtung nicht zu übersehen und erwägenswert, ob die Heiligtümer nicht nur der Bewahrung, sondern auch der Weiterbildung überkommener Traditionen die Hand gereicht haben. Ein Heiligtumsarchiv wäre in seine Bedeutung nicht nur denkbar, sondern sogar wichtig und mag über Zerstörungen hinaus bis zu einem gewissen Grad ein wesentlicher Traditionsfaktor gewesen sein. Sie haben das keineswegs übersehen; es hätte aber eine gewisse Hervorhebung verdient. Mit ist es bei einem Nebeneinanderhalten der Proverbien mit den Sirachsprüchen deutlich geworden. Erhaltung der Überlieferung und Erweiterung und Umgestaltung des Überkommenen sind keine Gegensätze, sondern fortbildende und durchaus kritische Weiterbildungen. Erhalten und Weiterbilden von Traditionen gehören für den antiken Menschen stärker zusammen als für den Menschen der Gegenwart. Nun – was mein Verhältnis zu M. Noth anbelangt: er hat durchaus mich, aber nicht mein Arbeitsgebiet in der Spätzeit’ ernstgenommen, und als ich ihm einmal sagte, ohne die verrückte Spätzeit hätte er niemals Stoff bekommen zur Bearbeitung der Frühzeit, da sagte er: ‘Ihre Behauptung ! Darüber müssen wir einmal sprechen!’

The Role of the Mesopotamian ‘Exilic Community’ (gālût)  181 References Alt, A. 1959. ‘Der Gott der Väter’. In idem Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel I. München: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung: 1–78. Diebner, B.J. 1975. ‘Die Götter des Vaters. Eine Kritik der Vätergott-Hypothese Albrecht Alts’. DBAT 9: 21–51. ———. 1983. ‘Genesis als Buch der antik-jüdischen Bibel’. DBAT 17. ———. 1985. ‘Erwägungen zum Prozess der Samlung des dritten Teils der anti-jüdischen (hebräischen) Bibel, der ‫’כתובים‬. DBAT 21: 139–199. ———. 1991a. ‘Exil, babylonisches’. NBL: 625–631. ———. 1991b. ‘Gottes Welt, Moses Zelt und das salomonische Heiligtum’. In Lectio difficilior probabilior? Melanges offerts a Fr. Smyth-Florentin, A. de Pury et al. (eds.). DBAT.B 12. Heidelberg: Wissenschaftlischer Theologische Seminar: 127–154. ———. 1992. ‘Entre Israel et Israel, le Canon. Les fonctions des collections de textes canoniques dans le judaisme avant l’ere chrétienne’. In Le Livre de traverse. De l’exegese biblique a l’anthropologie. O. Abel and F. Smyth (eds.). Paris: Cerf: 55–71. Diebner, B.J. and C. Nauerth. 1984. ‘Die Inventio des sefär ha(th)thorah in 2. Kön 22: Struktur, Intention und Funktion von Auffindungslegenden’. DBAT 18: 95–118. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975a. ‘die Ehen der Erzväter’. DBAT 8: 2–10. ———. 1975b. ‘Alter und geschichtlicher hintergrund von Gen 24’. DBAT 10: 10–17. du Breuil, P. 1978. Zarathoustra et la transfiguration du monde. Paris: Payot. Kippenberg, G. 1971. Garizim und Synagoge. Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramäischen Periode. Berlin: de Gruyter. Lohfink, N. 1991. Die Väter Israels im Deuteronomium. OBO 111. Freiburg, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Macdonald, J. 1969. The Samaritan Chronicle No. II from Joshua to Nebuchadnezzar. BZAW 107. Berlin: de Gruyter. Nodet, E. 1985. ‘Le judaisme transmetteur de l “Ecriture”’. Lumière Vie 34/171: 33–46. Plöger, O. 1962. Theokratie und Eschatologie. WMANT 2. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag. ———. 1971. Aus der Spätzeit des Alten Testaments. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck. Römer, T. 1990. Israels Väter. Untersuchungen zur Väterthematik im Deuteronomium und in der deuteronomistischen Tradition. OBO 99. Freiburg, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Rothstein, J.W. 1908. Juden und Samaritaner. Die grundlegende Scheidung von Judentum und Heidentum. BWAT 3. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Rudolph, W. 1976. Haggai, Sacharja 1–8, Sacharja 9–14, Maleachi. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn. Sachau, E. 1911. Aramäischer Papyrus und Ostraka aus einer jüdischen MilitärKolonie zu Elephantine. Altorientalische Sprachdenkmäler des 5. Jahrhunderts vor Chr. Leipzig: Hinrichs Schunck, K.-D. 1980. 1. Makkabäerbuch. Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit. 1/4. Gütersloh: Mohn Wolff, H.W. 1986. Dodekapropheton 6: Haggai. BKAT 14/6. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.

12 A Rough Outline of a Torah-hypothesis

0 It is with conscious purpose that I am not talking about a ‘Pentateuch-hypothesis’, but a ‘Torah-hypothesis’, for I interpret the TNK, i.e. the Hebrew–Aramaic collection of religious scriptures (Torah, Nevi’im, Ketuvim) of pre-Christian ancient Judaism and not Christianity’s ‘Old Testament’, which in its Greek version is (incorrectly) referred to as the ‘Septuagint’; a term that originally referred to the translation of the Hebrew Torah into Greek.1 From a scientific–methodological, especially literary–historical point of view, I consider all ‘Pentateuch hypotheses’ since the 18th century (J. Astruc, B. Witter) to be misguided, not to say nonsensical. To this day, they are based on pre-critical, traditional assumptions, unreflected premises and anachronistic methods.2 By this I mean: methods that do not correspond to ancient, and here in a narrower sense, Jewish principles of the production of texts.3 Since the early 1970s, I have published and explained all this again and again, so a short reference will suffice here. 1 It is hardly discussed that ‘research ’ and ‘research results’ are not only based on a pure application of a subject-specific, more or less dogmatically canonized repertoire of methods, but their explication is also largely influenced by their ‘nonspecialist’ disciplines: such as sociology and psychology. On sociology: research in all disciplines is strongly influenced by the structures of the ‘institute’ and its hierarchies. What the ‘boss’ doesn’t like has little chance. Today, many (profitable) disciplines are also burdened with the problem of thirdparty funding. On psychology: I would like to limit myself to Old Testament studies and specifically to research in the Pentateuch, within the framework of which this sketch moves. We have a special relationship with matters that have been entrusted to us for a long time and, which, so to speak, is ‘the oldest’. In the context of traditional religious socialization (e.g. in Sunday school, worship, and in religious primers), we usually first learn about the Bible’s Genesis stories with their main protagonists. Well, maybe also about Moses, the Exodus from Egypt and perhaps something DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-17

A Rough Outline of a Torah-hypothesis 183 about David and Solomon, although the latter is rarer. Perhaps it should be examined what influence this socialization has on our Pentateuch hypotheses and on the traditional assumptions that, for example, the Patriarchal narratives belong to the oldest traditions of the Pentateuch. 2 In contrast, I assume (initially together with Hermann Schult) since the early and mid-1970s with good methodological (cf. Diebner 1975a) and historical (cf. Diebner and Schult 1975a, 1975b) reasons that the Patriarchal narratives probably belong to the youngest material of the Pentateuch; of the Torah. The ‘marriages of the Patriarchs’ are likely to presuppose the Judean–Mesopotamian Golah after the 6th century BCE, in which a ‘reformed’ Judaism had developed, with which the ‘returning’ generations were ideologically connected. Only ‘kosher’ marriage in the ingroup: In Genesis 25, Esau = Edom is born into the ‘family of circumcision’. This presupposes the conquest and forced conversion of the Idumeans under John Hyrcanus I (134–104 BCE). Genesis 1 presupposes the reception of the Aristotelian hierarchy of creation.4 The list could be extended arbitrarily. But in my opinion, these references are sufficient to show that in their traditional literary form the Patriarchal narratives are at least post-exilic, but probably much younger than the end of the 6th century BCE, and rather stem from the last two centuries BCE. There is no external evidence against this. I shall leave it at this point with a rough assertion: in my opinion, the Book of Genesis as a whole is the youngest part of the Torah. On the one hand it is more Judean than Exodus–Deuteronomy, but on the other hand, in the context of the Torah as an Israelite–Judean ‘compromise document’;5 its final section (the Joseph novella in Genesis 37–48; 50) clearly accentuates its Samaritan heritage.6 3 A Protestant anti-Jewish dogma, for about a century, has been that the narrative material of the Torah is older than the juridical texts. All the beautiful stories of the evangelical ‘God of the Fathers’ of the Patriarchs:7 Martin Luther’s antinomism shines through here. It is, however, more likely that the legal sections – unless they are overlaid with ‘Israelite’ ideology8 – belong to the older streams of the tradition, in relation to which the narrative parts have a largely Midrashic, that is, explanatory function. First it is said or written: ‘This is how it shall be!’, and then it is explained. Of course, it must be stated how matters should be in a cultural community, when more often, it is, in fact, not so: ‘you must not steal’, presupposes pickpocketing. 4 The books of Exodus–Deuteronomy are characterized by Moses throughout. Genesis is presupposed by the transfer passage in Exod 1: 1–8. This might also be interpreted as follows: the authors of Exodus–Deuteronomy knew nothing about

184  Texts and Canon Joseph. The connection was created during the process of redaction. In fact, something completely new is established with Exodus and Moses. For the following – let’s say, that until Deuteronomy (28-)30 – Genesis could be completely dispensable.9 Moses is reintroduced, as well as Aaron. Both are suddenly there from the non-existent Levitical genealogy (cf. Exod 2:1ff.; 4:14). 5 Gerhard von Rad understood the book of Deuteronomy as essentially a tradition of the ‘Northern Kingdom’ (von Rad 1964). This has recently been disputed (cf. for example U. Rüterswörden 2006). I would still like to agree with von Rad, however, slightly modified, by saying Samaritan (i.e. Israelite and non-Judean) tradition instead of Northern Kingdom tradition. Moses may have come from Samaritan tradition.10 For the Samaritans, Moses is still the only prophet. In my opinion, Deut 18:15 initiates the Judean schism,11 in which the ‘Samaritan’ Moses is superseded by Judean rivals from Elijah12 to Ezra (as legislators). It is striking that Jerusalem may be slightly hidden in Gen 14:18 as Shalem, which is hospitable to Abram, while Gerizim is positively mentioned several times in Deuteronomy.13 The peculiar discrepancies between utterances about the mountains Ebal and Gerizim in Deuteronomy 27 trigger discussions and editorial speculations, but can possibly be explained in terms of a politics of confession. In my opinion, however, it is worth noting that important closing rites of Deuteronomic legislation (mishnah) take place in the territory of Samaria and at its old cult center and not in the Judean area. This is continued in the Book of Joshua until the institution of the federal covenant at the summoning in Shechem in Joshua 24. 6 It is striking that Moses, apart from the promise motif in Deut 1:8–10,14 begins his sermon in Deuteronomy with a ‘historical retrospection’ (Deuteronomy 1–4) that only consists of passages from Exodus–Numbers. ‘YHWH’s history’ with the emerging ‘Israel’ in Genesis seems to be completely unknown to the authors, not to mention the primordial history. The Book of Exodus marks a completely new beginning. Striking are theological, partly purely monotheistic reflections, which are echoed from Exodus onwards, but are completely unknown in Genesis; presumably because they are no longer necessary.15 The single God has been firmly established since Genesis 1, in which there are neither ‘co-creators’ nor ‘assistantcreators’,16 even if some exegetes think they recognize a heavenly collective. 7 Attempts to Judaize Deuteronomy are always interesting. This can be shown particularly beautifully in Deuteronomy 12’s “the place (maqom) that YHWH, your God, will choose17 to let His NAME dwell there”.18 The name of the place (maqom) is not disclosed to us. Nevertheless, it is ‘undoubtedly’ clear to many commentators

A Rough Outline of a Torah-hypothesis 185 that it must be Jerusalem and Zion. Alfred Bertholet: “That the place that Yahweh will choose (this is the permanent expression for the central Shrine) is Jerusalem, is undoubtedly (cf. e.g. 1 Kings 8:44, 48)”.19 With similar argumentation Rüterswörden states, almost 110 years later, that Deuteronomy 12’s maqom is Jerusalem (Rüterswörden 2006: 76f., 2011: esp. p. 49). With such statements, the fact is neglected that 1 Kings belongs to the Former Prophets of the TNK, who have a Judean perspective, at least from 1 Samuel, and it also applies to the Latter Prophets. 1 Kings 8 belongs to a different part of the canon, which represents a different ecclesiology than the confessional compromise document of the Torah. Therefore, the authors of 1 Kings 8 naturally identify the maqom with their Judean ‘central sanctuary’ in Solomon’s prayer at the consecration of Jerusalem’s temple, while the Samaritans naturally interpret Deuteronomy 12 in regard to Gerizim. What commentators of Deuteronomy do not ask themselves is that, if Deuteronomy 12 ‘undoubtedly’ implies a reference to Jerusalem’s sanctuary, why isn’t it in the text? The fact that they do not ask this question shows their biased view, shaped by our religious tradition’s prejudiced Judean view.20 However, one must doubt that it is the supreme ethical commandment of hermeneutics. And, one must be able to read. A remarkable weakness of many Old Testament scholars. 8 Here I will make a preliminary conclusion. There is still much to discuss in this context: for example, the roles of Judah and Levi in Genesis and Exodus–Deuteronomy. Levi’s role ends with his disinheritance in Gen 49:5–7, but in Exodus 2 his career begins its course towards a climax in the Torah’s literarily formed brilliant contrast to Joseph in Deuteronomy 33. Judah is not blessed (root: brk) in the entire Torah, not even in Genesis, while Joseph (= Samaria) is blessed both directly and indirectly. For me, it has become increasingly clear that in the Torah we are dealing with two literary complexes: Exodus–Deuteronomy, probably the older and essentially Israelite tradition, and Genesis, the probably younger tradition, strongly influenced by the Judean Golah and secondarily added. The final chapters of Deuteronomy (28–30) have the function of rounding off and integrating Genesis: through the abstract reference to the choice between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ in Genesis 2f. With this, the paradisiacal variety of fruit may be classified: it is not an apple, pear or pomegranate, but a narrative symbol of God’s word that teaches to distinguish between ‘good’ and ‘evil’: according to the Torah, usually to the detriment of those so taught, because they make the wrong choice.21 In the Torah, Moses shows Israel the right way to YHWH. Notes  1 Cf. also the more comprehensive discussion in Diebner 2016.  2 For Horst Seebass (2015) worked pre-critically, for example, those who dealt with the generation of ancient texts and applied their principles to the TNK texts.

186  Texts and Canon  3 Right here, I must refer to C. Labuschagne’s methodological approach to the description of a meaningful critical new paradigm of TNK interpretation, as he recently realized it in his Enneateuch hypothesis (cf. Labuschagne 2016). I will have to deal in detail with Labuschagne’s hypothesis elsewhere. Here, just this much: my problem with a literary Enneateuch conception lies in my ecclesiological differentiation between Torah, Nevi’im and Ketuvim, as I have been describing them since 1986 (cf. especially: Diebner 1996) with the ‘sneaking ecclesiological disinheritance’ of the Samaritans by the Judeans, which can be nicely traced in the Nevi’im from Joshua to l Kings 12 (cf. also: Diebner 2015). However, I also reckon with a Judean final editing, which also concerns the Torah (see also this article).  4 Cf. Diebner 2011, 2020.  5 Cf. Diebner 1986, and especially 1996. However, the Torah is also considered by others as an ‘Israelite’ confessional compromise document (for more recent discussion, see B. Hensel 2016: 187–193).  6 From when the cultic/religious term ‘Samaritan’ makes sense compared to the counterpart ‘Judean’ or even ‘Jewish’ must be discussed on the basis of criteria. In my opinion, a ‘Samarian’ YHWH cult of Israel already existed before the conquest of Samaria by John Hyrcanus I (134–104 BCE). This is probably the earliest time when the Judeans adopted the term ‘Israel’ from the ‘North’, and until the first century CE only in its cultic sense; that is, in the sense of a theocratic polity, externally documented at the earliest by insurrection coins from the year 67 CE (cf. Diebner 2011: 67–84).  7 Cf. A. Alt 1929, and my discussion in Diebner 1975b.  8 As, for example, the first commandment in the Decalogue in Exod 20:2–12//Deut 5:6–16.  9 Apparent references are essentially made by formulas: ‘The God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’, but not by narrative references. Even the author of Ps.Aristeas only quotes legal passages from Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy, and he seems (around 130 BCE [E. Bickermann 1929]; or between 96–67 BCE [P. Wendland 1898]) to lack knowledge of the Torah’s narrative material and ‘great personalities’. Only Moses is mentioned (§144) as the guarantor of the Jewish nomos. 10 Cf. Deut 34:10–12 against the Judaic insertion in Deut 18:15 (in context); cf. Diebner 2016: 3–10. 11 Historically speaking, it is rather a Judean than a Samaritan schism. 12 It is a research myth to assume that Elijah is a prophet of the ‘northern kingdom’. Elijah is a product of anti-Samaritan polemics, ‘retrojected’ into the ‘royal era’, similar to Elisa, Hosea and Amos. 13 Cf. Deut 11:29; 27:12; also Josh 8:33. In Deut 27:4 should probably be read Gerizim instead of Ebal. 14 Which may suggest an editorial insertion. 15 Cf. Deut 4:35, 39; 32:19 (cf. Second Isaiah; and also Deut 33:26f) next to other theological reflections in Deut 29:28; 30:11–14; 32:47. 16 The ‘us’ in Gen 1:26 is pluralis majestatis and not a call to acting together. Similarly, the designation of God as Elohim in the story of creation, etc. 17 Cf. Biblia Hebraica: ‫( יבחר‬x-prefix [cf. B. Zuber 1986]); the Samaritan Torah reads ‫בחראי‬ (x-suffix [cf. B. Zuber 1986]). For the Samaritans, YHWH has (unequivocally) chosen Mount Gerizim. In my opinion, the ‘compromise document’ of the pre-schismatic Torah must leave this open: this is the place that YHWH wants to choose after taking the land. This is ambiguous: for both Samaritans and Judeans, each their own place. The Judean Nevi’im interpret it (polemically) clearly in their Zion–Jerusalem related sense. First of all, this is only a literary judgment and not a historical one. 18 Whether in the long or short formulation. 19 Bertholet 1899: 39: “Dass der Ort, den Jahwe erwählen wird (dies der ständige Ausdruck für das Centralheiligtum), Jerusalem ist, ist zweifellos (vgl. z.B. I Reg 8,44.48)”. 20 G. Vermes 1961: 193 offers Gen 22:2 as a comparable case to the false identification of the maqom in Deuteronomy 12. Abraham is to sacrifice his son Isaac on ‘one of the

A Rough Outline of a Torah-hypothesis 187 mountains’ in the ‘land of Moriah’. The Jewish researcher Vermes (whose critical gaze I otherwise greatly appreciate) unquestionably identifies Genesis 22’s ‘Mount Moriah’ with Jerusalem in 2 Chron 3:1. The Judeans understandably interpret Gen 22:2 in this way. However, the text leaves open which mountain is intended. 21 I would like to thank Benedikt Hensel (Oldenburg) for valuable references.

References Alt, A. 1929. Der Gott der Väter. BWANT 3.F.J.2. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer; republ. in idem. 1959. Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel I. München: C.H. Beck: 1–78. Bertholet, A. 1899. Deuteronomium. KHCAT, 5. Freiburg: J.B.C. Mohr. Bickerman, E. 1929. ‘Die römischen Kaiserapotheose’. Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 27: 1–29. Diebner, B.J. 1975a. ‘Eine methodische Alternative zur gegenwärtigen Erforschung des Alten Testaments: Otto Plöger zum 65. Geburtstag ’. DBAT 10: 48–62. ———. 1975b. ‘Die Götter des Vaters: Eine Kritik der Vätergott- Hypothese Albrecht Alts’. DBAT 10: 21–51. ———. 1986. ‘Zur Funktion der kanonischen Textsammlung im Judentum der vor-christlichen Zeit: Gedanken zu einer Kanon-Hermeneutik’. DBAT 22: 58–73. ———. 1996. ‘Ekklesiologische Aspekte einer Kanon-Hermeneutik der hebräischen Bibel (TNK)’. In The Power of Right Hermeneutics: Simply as Entertainment: Vorträge aus Anlass der Emeritierung von Rochus Zuurmond am 26. Januar 1996. B.J. Diebner (ed.). DBAT. B 14a. Heidelberg: Dielheimer Blätter: 37–54. ———. 2011. Seit wann gibt es “jenes Israel”?: Gesammelte Studien zum TNK und zum antiken Judentum: Bernd J. Diebner zum 70. Geburtstag. V. Dinkelaker, B. Hensel and F. Zeidler (eds.). BVB 17. Berlin: LIT Verlag. ———. 2015. ‘The Biblical Stories of Saul and David (1–2 Sam) between History and Hellenistic Novel’. In A King Like All the Nations?: Kingdoms of Israel and Judah in (the) Bible and History. M. Oeming and P. Slama (eds.). BVB 28. Berlin: LIT Verlag: 75–81. ———. 2016. Ein Testament zum Alten Testament: Unerwartete exegetische Durchblicke. BST 16. Berlin: LIT Verlag. ———. 2020. ‘Antike Wissenschaft im Alten Testament’. Badische Pfarrvereinsblätter 7–8: 371–377. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975a. ‘Die Ehen der Erzväter’. DBAT 8: 2–10. ———. 1975b. ‘Alter und geschichtlicher Hintergrund von Gen 24’. DBAT 10: 10–17. Hensel, B. 2016. Juda und Samaria: Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen. FAT 1. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Labuschagne, C. 2016. ‘The Rise and Demise of the So-called Deuteronomistic History: A Plea for the Compositional Unity of Genesis – Kings ’. In The Present State of Old Testament Studies in the Low Countries. K. Spronk (ed.). Leiden, Boston: Brill: 122–144. Rad, G. von. 1964. Das fünfte Buch Mose: Deuteronomium: übersetzt und Erklärt. ATD 8. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Rüterswörden, U. 2006. Das Buch Deuteronomium. NStKAT 4. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk. ———. 2011. Deuteronomium. BKAT V/3.1. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Vermes, G. 1961. ‘Redemption and Gen XXII’. In Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic Studies. G. Vermes (ed.). StPB 4. Leiden: Brill: 193–227. Wendland, P. 1900. Aristeae ad Philocalem epistula. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Zuber, B. 1986. Das Tempussystem des biblischen Hebräisch: Eine Untersuchung am Text. BZAW 164. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter.

Part 5

Torah

13 Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah1

0  Hermeneutical and Methodological Introduction 0.1

The title of this contribution follows the short abstract over what is to follow. It is about Genesis 17. I see this chapter as belonging to a Pesach-cycle (a Passovercycle). This Pesach-cycle belongs to the Torah. We do not talk about ‘the’ but about ‘a’ Pesach-cycle in the Torah, which indicates that I assume that there are more than one. It may be presupposed that everybody present here shares as a common opinion (communis opinion) the idea that Genesis 17 is part of the ‘five books’, της or του πεντατευχεως. It can, however, not be preconceived as common sense: • that Genesis 17 belongs to a Pesach-cycle, and • that there are, accordingly, more than one such complexes in the Torah. I am going to show that it is not without reason that I propose these two rather preposterous things for the Torah (the Pentateuch). With this I have expressed the thematic problem. 0.2

When we read critical commentaries and special studies of Genesis 17, we will hardly find any connection between this chapter and the Passover. Instead we will find a lot about ‘covenant’ and ‘covenant theology’, and a side remark about the rite of circumcision (a ceremony which we have abandoned), but even more about the theological impact of this text. We will also find a lot about the presumed primary literary context to which the chapter is said to belong: the ‘priestly source’ or the ‘priestly’ tradition. This context is considered to be ‘young’.2 We may, for that reason, ask what all of this has to do with the (original) tradition of the Patriarchs – in spite of the fact that it talks about Abraham. The location of the text within the framework of the hypothetical models for the emergence of the Pentateuch is of interest and – of course – so are also the DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-19

192  Torah ‘theology’ of the text and its ‘theological importance’. In my opinion, we demonstrate in this way how we govern the text with our questions and ideologies. 0.3

The text has evidently something to do with the ‘covenant’ between God and humans. However, probably not just between ‘god’ and ‘humans’. YHWH appears only at the beginning (17:1bα), but in the narrative course he appears ten times as ‘God’ (‫)אלהים‬. The ‘general’ human being of the text is singled out from humanity, at the end of the story, in that he becomes ‘circumcised’ (17:243) after he, for his part, already had circumcised ‘every male being’ in his home (it is not related who circumcised Abra[h]m). This concludes the ‘covenant’ between God and Abraham. By being circumcised Abraham has – ‘proleptically’ – so to speak placed himself under God’s direction, his Torah. It is here important that the letternumber ‫ ה‬is added to his name, and the letter ‫ י‬is exchanged by ‫ ה‬in Saray’s name. In this way, the established ‫ ברית‬is no more one in which ‘we all’ can so easily find ourselves – with our unconditional appropriation of the Jewish Bible. The ‘covenant with Noah’ concerns ‘all of us’. The covenant with Abraham is, however, not concluded between ‘God’ and ‘humanity’. From the perspective of God who acts here, the ‘human’ (‫ )אדם‬is narrowed down and has become more pointed. The mainstream of humanity flows away on the outside and is essentially gone. After Abraham the stream further divides. By including Jacob the grandchild, a small trickle, the narrow stream of the proven ones, will, in three generations, become ‘Israel’. This is already a ‘confession’, and a ‘decision to . . . ’. I do not want to formulate it like a left-wing Protestant. I, however, must say that, at least on the basis of Genesis 17, it is about ‘confession’, about the definition of a ‘fraction’ within part of humanity, about an εκκλησια. It is not about a ‘nation’ in the modern sense, it is about a ecclesiological fragmentation within an ethnic group bound together by kinship ties. We are, in Genesis 17, witnesses to a special ‘critical moment’ in the course of a longish and difficult birth. 0.4

Now Pesach is the festival celebrating the ‘birth of Israel’, i.e. the crowd which was ‘called out’. When, according to the myth of TNK, ‘Israel’ was ‘born’, it is still selected from others, from whom it differs in different ways. We may call it the ‘Exodus-pattern’. Wherever ‘Israel’ or that which is to become ‘Israel’ is called out, pulled out, withdrawn – often painfully and with renunciation or overcoming obstacles – we can predict the existence of such a ‘birth myth’. And when we can predict the existence of such a ‘birth myth’ of ‘Israel’ we can assume that it is about the ‘Pesach’ when it is celebrated. So why should Genesis 17 have nothing to do with the Passover? The text belongs to an ‘emigration myth’: Abraham is called out at the beginning of Genesis 12 and he moves and travels around and only stops his wanderings in Genesis 25.

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 193 Only then does he get a permanent residence in a piece of land which he, according to Genesis 23, buys as his ‘heritage’ (‫ )אחוזה‬and ‘possession’ (‫)מקנה‬. But there is more to be said. This text has – as an ancient Torah text – a role to play in a cultural society which celebrates public holidays and festivals and has nothing to do with protestant theology. Among these festivals we find the Passover. And circumcision is part of the Pesach as will be explained more exhaustively in what follows. It is, however, protestant scholars who have secondarily constructed ‘covenant theology’. Why should the Torah not primarily have something to do with what was celebrated in the religious service of ancient Judaism, of which it itself was part? It seems more likely that the service, with its rhythms, shaped the conception and composition of the Torah, in which it already, in antiquity, functioned (as reading) in a reasonably controllable manner, rather than having been construed in regard to a secondary ‘theological’ level and from completely hypothetical othercultic and non-cultic ‘origins’ adapted, retrospectively and non-authentically, to synagogue’s worship. I have, in this way, hinted at an important premise for my study. I have formulated it in a clear way: It is ‘controllable’. I believe that this allows for a meaningful methodological entry that may lead to a usable working hypothesis. 1  Exodus 12(f.) as Pesach Text 1.0

Following the guidelines of the methodological section, we do not have to haphazardly search for Pesach texts in the Torah. Everybody agrees that Exodus 12(f.) represents such a Pesach text. This text is the basis for me when I look for at least one more Pesach text in the Torah. I, however, have to admit that I am looking for at least two more such texts apart from Exodus 12(f.). In the following I will proceed as follows: • I will first mention (as far as is necessary or usable) the criteria which make it possible to describe Exodus 12(f.) as a Pesach tradition. • Then I will try to list analogous elements in Genesis 17 in order to pay attention – according to the title of this contribution – to the whole cycle, which, in my opinion, is Genesis 12–23, of which, I believe Genesis 17 forms the ‘centre’. • Finally as the last step, I will attempt to show that probably there is yet one more Pesach cycle in the Torah. I find the number three important, but I only intend here to present an indication of why I think it is so important. 1.1

(a) One should not make things unnecessarily exciting or search to illuminate what is obviously there. Exodus 12(f.) is, in my opinion, a Pesach text because it is what it announces: the keyword is clear. This is also – from a methodological

194  Torah point of view – so important because it makes it easier to collect the signs which characterize a text that is expressly understood as a Pesach text. There may be other texts with several similar signs, which perhaps (and in that case definitely for a reason) miss the keyword ‘Pesach’ as an etiquette that cannot be misunderstood. This may be as in an Arab museum I recently visited. Next to a ceramic bowl you find a sign with the inscription ‘pottery bowl’, but the following bowl is without a sign. It is evident that we have here two ceramic bowls of the same type. Or does the second not belong here because it has no sign? If I have not counted incorrectly we find the term ‘Pesach’, ‫פסח‬, five or six times in Exodus 12: 1) In Exod 12:11, the lamb for sacrifice is the ‫פסח הוא ליהוה‬. 2) In Exod 12:21, the sheep selected for the slaughter (‫ )שחט‬is for Pesach. 3) In Exod 12:27, the already described (service of God?) act (‫ )עבזדה‬is the Pesach sacrifice (‫)זבח פסח‬. 4) In Exod 12:43, the Pesach rule (‫ )הקת הפסח‬states that no non-Israelite (‫ )בן־נכר‬is allowed to eat from the Pesach meal. 5) In Exod 12:48 it is about making the Pesach (‫ )עשה פסח‬by the circumcised foreigner (‫ )גר‬who lives in the society (‫)עדת ישראל‬. 6) We, moreover, have the famous verb, most likely to be seen as etiological, ‫פסחתי‬, in a modal form (‫)ופסחתי‬: “. . . but I will pass over . . .”). 1.2

(b) It is perhaps not a coincidence that ‫ פסח‬is mentioned five times in the text. Because it is not about a Passover etiology that is randomly cloaked in some narrative way. It is simply about a Pesach etiology, about the Pesach as a family celebration. Nothing in this narrative is coincidental or superfluous. Neither is the circumcision coincidental as the condition for the celebration of the Pesach. The ‘children of Israel,’ who in Exodus 12 move out, would be considered circumcised. It is about the non-Israelites who, in various ways of arrangements, live together with ‘Israel’: • To some the Pesach celebration is forbidden: ‫בן־נכר‬, ‫( שכיר תושב‬Exod 12:43b, 45). • Some are allowed to participate after having been circumcised (that is, the ‘proselytes’): ‫איש מקנה־כסף‬, ‫( גר‬Exod 12:44, 48a). It is all about that no (ritually judged) non-circumcised man is allowed to participate in the celebration of Israel’s Pesach. The meaning of circumcision is here to enter the ‘covenant’ which is not mentioned, and to submit to the Torah, which in the larger narrative progression has ‘not yet’ been given. We usually draw historical conclusions too quickly from this, but is it really ‘history’ in our modern sense of the term? Probably not; and

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 195 most importantly, we are dealing with literature which is liturgical and didactic. In the liturgical understanding of time, the ‘later’ events are ‘always already there’ because they have been influenced by the cycle of regular reiteration. We always listen to the Christmas gospel with the story of the suffering Jesus and the Easter in mind and vice versa. For the community there is no ‘before’; it is always ‘already here’ as long as the community exists! Actually the community is established because ‘all the essential’ elements are there – and only then! Furthermore – as has already been said – we have the word ‘Pesach’ five times. And this is at least remarkable. Something may ring out here, cryptic or subcutaneous, and become suggestively conspicuous: “You know what ‘circumcision’ means! And you know that every preliminary circumcision is based on what will take place at ‘Sinai’, namely the gift and acceptance of the Torah!” Of course not a nucleus to be determined historically and critically; no: it regards the whole Torah in the way that there (always) was a whole Torah! The same applies to the ‘gospel’ proclaimed by Jesus, which does not consist of some sentences ascribed to him historical-critically, but it is about the coming of the βασιλεια του θεου or των ουρανων (the kingdom of God/Heaven) These historical fetishes of the Enlightenment and scholarship, which feels obliged by them, should today be relegated to an honorable place in a museum. It is always ‘the gospel proclaimed for the whole world’ (cf. Matt 24:14). 1.3

(c) What belongs to Pesach? That is the ‘Blitzkuchen’ (mazzot) from unleavened dough. Scholarship has neatly separated between ‫ פסח‬and ‫מצות‬: • ‫( פסח‬pesach) derives from the nomadic culture from semiarid zones. • ‫( מצות‬mazzot) belongs to the agricultural peasant society along the Mediterranean coast. This may or may not be true. People also breaded sheep in the wet meadows in Schleswig in northern Germany and slaughtered the delicate new lambs for Easter. But even if it is true, of what help is it? We find two elements belonging to the spring celebration including two spring presents from the fields and from the pastures: barley bread and roast lamb together. Mazzot is part of the Pesach celebration. And the biblical texts – for the first time in Exodus 12 – presuppose this. The deciding keyword (‫ )מצות‬also appears six times in Exodus 12 (vv. 8, 15, 17, 18, 20, 39). Maybe there are – as was the case with ‘Pesach’ – only five occurrences, because – like ‫ופסחתי‬ – the sixth example turns up in an etiological text. Anyway, the duration of the festival is connected with the eating of the ‫מצות‬. From the 14th to the 21st of the first month (= Nisan) by an exclusive count of “seven days” (Exod 12:15, 18; cf. 13:6f.). The unleavened bread belongs in such a fundamental way to the rite that the life (‫ )הנפש ההוא‬of the person who is found in possession of sourdough (‫)שאר‬ and eats it (sc: bread, ‫ )מחמצת‬shall be ‘eradicated’ (lit.: ‘cut away’; ‫ )נכרתה‬from ‘Israel’ (Exod 12:15b, 19b). It is interesting that the consonants of the niphal-form

196  Torah (‫ )נ־כ־ר־‬offer a word play which makes the culprit a foreigner. He stands – from an ecclesiological point of view – (again) outside of the religious community of ‘Israel’. To what extent the eradication was taken seriously in a legal sense remains questionable. (d) The unleavened bread forms the link to the ‘didactic’ paragraph in Exod 13:1– 16 (esp. v. 6f.). There is no mention of the ‘Pesach’ here. For that reason another criterion is introduced: the redemption of the first born of donkeys (possible) and humans (mandatory) (vv. 13–15). This redemption is not described as a rite that belongs to the Pesach, but stands in a particular connection with the Pesach and refers to the Pesach legend’s killing of the firstborn Egyptians as well as the apotropaic rite in Exod 12:7, 12–14, 27, 29f. The firstborn of the Egyptians is killed, while the firstborn of ‘Israel’ is spared. (e) The Pesach date is expressly fixed in the calendar and so also is the scope of the festival (Exod 12:2,[3], 6[-12], 15–18). (f) Finally, the Pesach Haggadah (narrative) belongs to the family’s Pesach celebration (Exod 12:26f; 13:14). Exodus 12f. presupposes the existence of an elaborated Pesach rite in the family, similar to what we find today. (g) The Pesach text of Exodus 12(f.) is incorporated in a larger narrative context (Exodus 1–14), which ends with the thanksgiving hymn in Exodus 15. After this a totally different part of the text begins in Exod 15:22. The ‘birth’ of the community of those ‘who were called out’ closes with a kind of ‘creation narrative’. The ‘primordial flood’ (‫ ;ים סוף‬cf. Exod 13:18; 15: 4, 22) recedes, by God’s order and the interference of Moses, and releases the ‘dry land’ (‫יבשה‬, ‫ ;חרבה‬Exod 14:21, 22 etc.). The allusions to Gen 1:9f. and 7:22; 8:7 are evident. The wall of water or the ford of wind – God separates as YHWH the primordial flood from the passable ground in a temporary salvation. In the morning the water rolls back and covers the tormentor of ‘Israel’, introduced at the beginning of the cycle in Exodus 1. 1.4

Let me summarize: • • • • •

The Pesach text Exodus 12f. forms part of a comprehensive tradition. The Pesach is explicitly celebrated. The rule of mazzot defines the duration of the Passover. The date of the Pesach is explicated. The circumcision of the proselytes is a precondition for their participation in the festival. • The ‘redemption’ of the firstborn human – here ‘Israel’ is essentially related to the Pesach. ‘Israel’ is the ‘spared firstborn’. The redemption is the conclusion and confirmation of the ‘birth’. • To the family’s celebration of Pesach belongs the Pesach Haggadah: it becomes the remembered tradition of the myth.

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 197 2  Is Genesis 17 Part of a Comprehensive ‘Pesach-cycle’? 2.0

When I understand Genesis 17 as a part of a ‘cycle’ (the teasing keyword Pesach should so far be left out) I have two possibilities for defining this: a. I might begin with literary criticism, with something like the ‘(recent) documentary hypothesis’ for the Pentateuch. In this case I would have to ascribe Genesis 17 to the narrative P-texts. b. I might begin with tradition and composition criticism and look for the generative processes which lead to the Abraham cycle as the largest ‘complex of narratives’. c. I might begin with a model of the formation of the Pentateuch, which accords with the ‘supplementary hypothesis’, and study the context in which an existent complex of ‘Yahwistic’ texts had been edited and enriched by a ‘Priestly’ redaction. d. I will do none of this, because I learned – as a German theologian ‘who broke off’ – to perceive texts as texts. Accordingly I will define the larger and more meaningful context of Genesis 17 on the basis of the present text of Genesis and read it literarily and thematically, without resorting to either literary criticism or tradition history. I will not object that our Torah is the product of a complex and long history of origins, of which I am not able to consider the end of the ‘productive phase’ as pre-Herodian. To put it more simply, and clearer: If you ask me as a historian, I am of the opinion that the Pentateuch/the Torah in its (most recent) transmitted MSS versions (Hebrew and Greek) did not exist before, at the earliest, the last two decades of the first century BCE. The Qumran community might have possessed a rather ‘deficient’ text of the Torah in comparison to the Pentateuch that ‘was handed down to us’: without the Jacob-Esau complex and without the Joseph-novella and so on. Accordingly, I will concentrate on the text as we have it. Here I observe – definitely not very originally – that something new begins at the end of Genesis 11. I am ready to discuss whether the ‘new’ begins in Gen 11:27, or first in Gen 11:31 or even in Gen 12:1. An important theme in the preceding complex of texts (Genesis 1–11) – which today is often called the ‘Primeval history’4 – is ‘creation’ (the creation of cosmos and of humanity) and ‘sanctuary’. Both – all three – belong, from a religious–phenomenological point of view, together: cosmos, first human, sanctuary. Something ‘new’ seems, however, to begin also in Genesis 24. The ‘atmosphere’ is different. It is no more ‘Spring’, it is ‘Summer’. ‘Love’ and ‘fertility’ have taken the first places. The texts are full of relevant keywords. ‘At the end’ we have the eleven sons and the only daughter of Jacob and Jacob’s wealth established by fertility. Also, this part ends with a changed ‘atmosphere’. ‘Balancing’ and ‘reconciliation’, ‘demarcation’ and ‘definition’, respectively, stand thematically in its middle as definitions of ‘Israel’. This ‘change’ begins in Genesis 31.

198  Torah The demarcation marks, cautiously suggested here, run across all kinds of divisions presented by historical–critical research. I would also like to clearly distance myself from their interests on this point. My premise is the, most likely difficultly achieved, reasonable final and present form of the text of the Torah. I am going to describe in a hypothetical way what this text ‘wants’ – what it was supposed to convey in this conception representing the intention of those who had compiled it. 2.1

a) According to the analyzed characteristics of Exodus 12(f.), various analogous questions can be asked with regard to Genesis 17: • Does Genesis 17 form part of a comprehensive textual composition as its context? • Where is Pesach celebrated/slaughtered? • Do we find the Blitzkuchen, the mazzot, and the typical ‘mazzot-rush’ or ‘mazzot-stress’? • Is the period for the Pesach mentioned? • Do we find the ‘Easter baptism’, i.e. the circumcision of the Proselytes? • Do we find the redemption of the (human) firstborn? • Is it possible to determine something like a Pesach Haggadah, which has ‘Exodus’ as its theme? b) I will try to answer these questions: b.1) I indicated above that at the end of Genesis 11 and the beginning of Genesis 12 we observe an incision. This seems to be a communis opinio. In Gen 12:1–3, 4, Abram leaves his home because of a promise. One might regard it as a conclusion, when the permanent fulfillment of the promise is confirmed. Here we might turn to philosophy and ask: “well, when did it really happen according to the ‘history of Israel’”? None among us hopes for the opposite – but who would dare to forecast that the immigration which in our time was cemented by the creation of the state of Israel shall last forever? Here I will make a stop at Genesis 23: the plot of land for the Abrahamic family burial is a deposit on ownership of the land. Jewish burials are established ‘forever’. When the body of Sarah was buried in the Cave of Machpelah the promise was proleptically fulfilled. This is a line of thought that should not pose any problems for us Christians in view of our Lord and Savior and any full-fledged anticipation of a significant theology of prepayment. In Him is the kingdom of God already (symbolically) present. Similarly is the possession of the land symbolically confirmed by the burial place. I hint at the following: it continues in Genesis 24. Here a ‘new’ chapter, a new section, begins, both as far as atmosphere and theme is concerned, with the search for a bride for Isaac. This is of no more interest in this place.

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 199 Genesis 17 is not exactly placed at the middle of the complex of Genesis 12–23, which includes the ‘story of Abraham’s life’, although Abraham does not die before Gen 25:8. It may be that the chapters Genesis 17–19 quantitatively and arithmetically represent the middle of the defined complex.5 And it is probably the part of the complex where most of the ‘Pesach criteria’ can be observed. b.2) I will here leave the already presented sequence of questions and try to proceed a little less problematically. The questions of ‘finding mazzot’ and the typical ‘mazzot-rush’ can be answered in two positive ways. b.2.α) In connection with the surprising visit of the trinity in Genesis 18, the keyword ‘rush’ appears twice: Abraham ‘rushes’ and he also forces Sarah to ‘rush’. She has to bake cakes (‫ )עגות‬for the guests (Gen 18:6). The keyword ‫ מצות‬is missing as are also the keywords ‘leavened’ (‫)חמץ‬ and ‘sourdough’ (‫)שאר‬. However, in the rush ordered here, it is probably not possible to make anything with sourdough. The ‫ עגות מצות‬have, in Exod 12:39, hastily been baked as Blitzkuchen with unleavened dough. b.2.β) The ‫ מצות‬appears in the following chapter (Genesis 19). Here somebody has to serve his ‘guest of surprise’. Lot feeds the messenger (from God) with ‫( מצות‬Gen 19:3). Here also it is just as in Exodus 12 concerning a rush to get out (Gen 19:15f.), and we find an atmosphere here that is strongly reminiscent of Exodus 12, or anticipates the mood there. b.3) Lot does not slaughter Pesach. But Abraham slaughters a young bull in Gen 18:7 that is “tender and good”, which means without blemishes, ready for sacrifice. This happens in front of YHWH. We need only to look at the ‘festival calendar’ in the Torah. Among other things we find in Num 28:19 two “young bulls” to be sacrificed in the sanctuary as a Pesach offering. Here (Num 28:20) as in Lev 23:17 it is about ‘fine flour’ (‫)סלת‬. This is not an exclusive ‘Pesach keyword’, but, in my opinion, nevertheless significant and indicative in this context. Here I can only – from a methodological point of view – work with a ‘network’ of keywords, each of which (also) belong to the Pesach festival complex which, in their abundance, make it probable that it could (also) concern such a theme here in Genesis. In the complex of Genesis 12–23, we find different forms of butchering. It is, however, always animals suitable for the Pesach (cf. Gen 15:9; 22:13; Num 28:19). These animals are always served in front of and for YHWH, climaxing in Genesis 22, where – also already ‘symbolic and proleptic’ – the place, the altar and the legitimate offer come together, but still in a certain ‘disguise’, which is particularly important for Genesis, but also significant for the Torah as a whole. It is, however, not a coincidence that the three essential criteria for the legitimate offering ceremony (the selected place, the altar here and a legitimate animal for sacrifice)

200  Torah are only brought together in Genesis 22; and this – possibly – in the context of the Pesach. b.4) In this context we also find the ‘circumcision of the proselytes’, since Abraham and his house are nothing but ‘proselytes’ after the circumcision where Abram is turned into ‘Abraham’. Before that Abram might have been a σεβο(υ)μενος. In this capacity he builds ‘altars’ where he prays to YHWH but does not sacrifice.6 For the first time now Abraham can celebrate the Pesach with his household and also make ‘sacrifices’. After this we find the number of keywords which point to the Pesach and the mazzot, which, before this, were not mentioned in an identifiable way, and could not possibly be mentioned. In this way Genesis 17 can only introduce the ‘middle’ of the complex of texts in Genesis 12–23, if the Pesach stands at its centre. The rules for circumcision in Genesis 17 also function as an anticipation of Exod 12:43–49. b.5) The time of the Pesach is not mentioned in Genesis 12–23. In the entire Book of Genesis, we only find a mention of calendar dates in a single narrative; namely in the story of the flood (Gen 7:11–8:14). Otherwise, only days are counted, respectively based on the age of the main characters. In this way Abraham is circumcised – when he, according to Gen 17:24, circumcised himself – in his hundredth year (Gen 17:1, 24), and Isaac when he is thirteen years old (Gen 17:24 and 16:16). The mention of the age of ‘thirteen years’ is probably important. Isaac is circumcised as a ‫ בר מצוה‬, which is not improper for someone who with his family enters the ‘covenant’ of YHWH and in this way becomes the ‘son of YHWH’s admonitions’. The ‘ninety nine’ years of Abram is more difficult to explain. It may have to do with the ‘hundredth’ or the ‘hundred years’ which makes Abra(ha)m an old man when the promised son of the circumcised family is borne (Gen 17:17; 21:5). Could it be that the number ‘100’ signifies God’s new creation? I am not (yet) able to adduce evidence.7 However, in biblical writings there are a number of remarkable contexts in which a ‘100 years’ appears – also in the context of a ‘new creation’: b.5.α) First we have Sir 18:9, which is a factual parallel to Ps 90:10. Here we read: Αριθμος ημερων ανθρωπου πολλα ετη εκаτον (The) number of the days of the human: Many years (are) a hundredth. What comes after this must be something new: a ‘new life’. b.5.β) I think that Isaiah 65:17b–19a points in the same direction. Here it is about the creation of a ‘new heaven and a new earth’:

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 201 And the former shall not be remembered, nor come into mind. But be ye glad and rejoice forever in that which I create: for, behold, I create Jerusalem a rejoicing, and her people a joy. And I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and joy in my people In this new people we will “no more hear the voice of weeping and the voice of crying” (Isa 65:19b.). In the Book of Exodus it is the cry from the Israelites which triggers the salvation act of the Pesach (Exod 3:7, 9) and thereby the ‘new creation’ of the people. “And he who does not reach the age of a hundred years will have to be considered banned”: “Then the youngest one will die at the age of a hundred years” (Isa 65:20b; sentences inverted). He who does not reach the age of a hundred years has really not lived. It is a sign of the ‘new (eschatological) life’ to be more than a hundred years old. The new only begins with a ‘hundred’. In his ‘hundredth’ year Abraham becomes the ‘foundation’ of the (new) people of God. When he not only reaches the ‘hundredth’ and surpasses it, but also at the pre-eschatological limit of life for the fathers of ‘Israel’ begets (that is, Isaac), this is likely to be understood as a clear sign of the new creation of ‘Israel’ which takes place at Pesach. Thus we are, in Genesis 17, not dealing with an ‘archaeological’ text where a somehow futile miracle is written in the horizon: “. . . also from her (sc: Sarah) will I give you a son” (Gen 17:16). Abraham’s answer: “Should a son be born to one a hundred years old, and should Sarah, ninety years old, give birth?” (Gen 17:17). (Should God not be able to do everything?!) It is hardly about potency or a menopausal fertility miracle. The ‘miraculous’ serves YHWH’s ‘new creation’. This ‘miraculous new creation’ is the Pesach – in contraposition (as counterpart) to the Succoth. Genesis 17 is not an ‘archaeological’ but an ‘eschatological’ text. The ‘Pesach’ without the date of the festival is not a wonder. The Book of Genesis plays with the basic conditions – in spite of the chronological framework coming from learned priests who we are so prone to misunderstand for historical reasons – for the ‘pre-historical’ time when so much was unclear and ambiguous. Everything is already there – primeval times as well as end times (only we distinguish ‘historically’) – and nothing is clearly defined. b.6) The complex of Genesis 12–23 is not Judaism’s Pesach Haggadah.8 There are, however, traditional reminders that important sections of this complex have something to do with ‘Pesach’. So, for example, Genesis 22, the narrative about the ‫עקדה‬, the ‘binding of Isaac’, as it is called in Judaism. In the early Christian tradition it is rather called the ‘sacrifice of Isaac’ (correctly because Isaac is ‘ritually’ sacrificed from a cultic perspective [cf. Diebner 1994]), while in the Protestant tradition it is called ‘Abraham’s sacrifice’, because the perspective has changed to a justification of sola fide.9

202  Torah Genesis 22 includes, however, even more important elements that belong to the Pesach tradition: • The theme of the sparing of the firstborn of ‘Israel’. Here the first father of ‘Israel’ is exemplified.10 • Especially important is the ‘hidden’ keyword ‘Pesach’ (as was to be expected in Genesis), so it has to fall! Physically the firstborn of the circumcision, Isaac, is ‘spared’, however not in a juridical sense. On the contrary: Two times11 an angel announces with the same sentence (Gen 22:12, 16): ‫ולא חסכת את־בנך את־יחידך ממני‬. We may compare “and you did not spare” in Gen 22 to “I will bypass you” (= ‘spare you’) – in connection with the killing of the firstborn in Exod 12:13. 2.2 2.2a

The Abraham complex in Gen 12–23 never became a Pesach Haggadah in the reception of later Judaism. However, today a growing number of scholars understand Genesis 12–23 as the myth of the Exodus as originating in the Babylonian Galut. About twelve years ago, I described it as a factual parallel to Exodus 1–14; 15:1–21 in a Festschrift for the Egyptologist Wolfgang Helck from Hamburg (Diebner 1984). This new way of seeing it may be the first step in the direction of (re-)discovering the Abraham cycle as a ‘Pesach cycle’. 2.2b

Such a step could be ‘difficult’, because the description of more than one Pesach cycle in the Torah might stir further seemingly objectionable questions: • When we find two Pesach cycles in Genesis and Exodus, should there not to be at least a third one? After Exodus 15 there are enough texts in the remaining parts of the Torah. • When there is more than one Pesach cycle, should there not be cycles for other major festivals belonging to the Jewish festival calendar – at least for the pilgrimage festivals (Succoth and Shavuot)? Because the Pesach has – as it is undoubtedly shown in Exodus 1–15, but also in Genesis 13–23 (even without the ‘Pesach interpretation’ offered here), something to do with a ‘movement’; namely the ‘movement’ of humans towards the promised land. • When it is possible to observe similar cycles where the ‘atmosphere’ seems to agree with the (two) other pilgrimage festivals, would it not be possible that the Torah, as a comprehensive composition of texts, is ‘oriented and structured around festivals’ (no matter what this ultimately means)? This seems logical, wherefore it is sensible to assume also, that from an interpretative perception, the intervals in the text between the complexes are oriented towards the Pesach and structured in a similar way.

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 203 I think one should examine thoroughly – and at least have good reasons to reject what I have indicated in this paper. Because it suggests a completely different Pentateuchal hypothesis, or better: Torah hypothesis, than those prevalent in the academic world. The perspective is an attempt to interpret the structure of the Torah hermeneutically according to the principles that are characteristic of the ‘Israel’ (with all its ‘spectral colors’) of the Hebrew Bible, according to its ‘self-understanding’ as ‫ גולה‬and ‫גלות‬. This ‘Israel’ constitutively strives towards the land with the intention of staying there forever. The pilgrimage festivals represent this self-understanding and are therefore constitutive: as a symbolic, liturgical execution of the return from exile. In my opinion, it would have been strange if this self-understanding had not appeared in Judaism’s fundamental ‘Sacred Scripture’, the Torah. With this I have described another essential premise of my enquiry. 3  Where Could There Be Another ‘Pesach Cycle’ in the Torah? 3.0a

There is only room for a short ‘satyric drama’, which in antiquity used to follow the tragedies. Where might we – according to the here indicated change of perspective – ‘discover’ (at least) one more ‘Pesach cycle’ in the Torah? It is obvious that it must be in the textual course of the Torah after Exodus 15. 3.0b

Because we did not find the explicit keyword ‘Pesach’ in Genesis 12–23, this is and will remain an important argument for everybody who does not like the considerations presented here. We should therefore only accept such textual proposals in which we expressly find ‘Pesach’ (like in Exodus 12f.). As I see it, it is logical that when ‘Pesach’ is already mentioned and determined, it should not be covered up, since it is the main concept. 3.1 3.1a

‘Pesach’ is also mentioned in the Torah after the Exodus narrative, although less frequently than we might think, but nevertheless in ‘appropriate’ places in the ‘festival calendar’ in Exodus 34 (v. 25) and Leviticus 23 (v. 5), and in Numbers 28 (v. 16) and Deuteronomy 16 (vv. 1f, 6). Otherwise we only find the term ‘Pesach’ in the itinerary in Num 33:3. 3.1b

However, the keyword also appears seven times in another large textual composition of the Torah where Pesach is celebrated (Num 9: 5, 6, 10, 12, 13, 14).

204  Torah Here also in the narrative context, preparation for departure for continued travel to the Promised Land is found. Most of the criteria for the Pesach are fulfilled: • The following text corpus runs from the departure from Sinai (Numbers 9) to the arrival in the Valley of Moab opposite Jericho (Num 33:48f.; cf. 25.1), at the ‘gates’ of the Promised Land. This situation is also (cum grano salis) presupposed in Deuteronomy (1:1; cf. 34:1; Josh 2:1). The people ‘moves away’ – from the ‘sanctuary in the desert’ – in the direction of the land. • In Numbers 9, Pesach is celebrated twice: on the ‘normal’ date (Num 9:1–5) and then again a month later (Num 9:6–10) for the belated participation of persons who are unclean or traveling. • This Pesach for the ‘unclean and the absentees’ certainly is celebrated, but it must be done quickly because ‘Israel’ breaks up on the 20th of the second month (Num 10:11f.). Mazzot, ‘the bread of hurry’, is specifically mentioned in connection with the commandment to make a second celebration of the Pesach (Num 9:11). • As it has already been mentioned: not only the normal date of the Pesach, the 14th of the first month, is mentioned (Num 9.1–3, 5), but also the date of the ‘Pesach for the unclean and travelling’ (Num 9:11). • The circumcision of proselytes is not mentioned here, because the provision in Exod 12:43–49 is valid according to the narrative plot, which states in Josh 5:2–9, 10–12 that “all of Israel” is uncircumcised. Presumably the ‘later-born Israel’ was not circumcised after the departure from the sanctuary at Sinai, i.e. after 38 years (Josh 5:4–6). Nevertheless, in Numbers 9, two Pesach ‘hindrances’ that have not been mentioned earlier are discussed and clarified. The topic is thus ‘productively’ continued in the narrative flow. • Numbers 9 has as little to do with a later Pesach Haggadah, as was the case in Genesis 12–23, but we do have an explicit reference to the ‘Pesach’. That Genesis 12–23 does not belong to a Jewish Pesach Haggadah can, in light of the unambiguous ‘Pesach text’ in Numbers, not be an argument against qualifying it as a ‘Pesach text’ or ‘Pesach cycle’. 3.2 3.2a

We have two complexes of texts in the Torah which are unambiguously influenced by ‘Pesach ideology’. They even contain more thematic aspects than those dealt with above: the moment of oppression and the (military) confrontation with the enemy or the tormentors. We find this – as everybody knows – in the Pesach cycle in Exodus, but also in Numbers and, naturally, I wish to add, in Genesis, which I would say are characteristic of ‘Pesach’ themes (cf. Genesis 14).

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 205 3.2b

It is, in my opinion, rather unreasonable not to integrate Genesis 12–23 in the topic of Pesach. A question that springs from this regards the possibility that other parts of the Torah are likewise influenced by ideologies that relate to the two other pilgrimage festivals, the Succoth and the Shavuot? We are talking about the following text corpora: α β γ δ

Gen 1–11:9 (?).26(?) Genesis 24–50 Exod 15:22–Numbers 8 Deuteronomy 1–34

A few remarks on these corpora: 3.2.B Α

There is hardly space in Genesis 1–11 for two festival ideas if one considers alone already the extent of Genesis 1–11; Exodus 1–15*; Numbers 9–36. If only one would remain, it must be the idea of Succoth, because it precedes Pesach. 3.2.B Β

Genesis 24–50 might have space for two festival ideologies. This could also be the case because the ‘idea of Pesach’ reappears in Exodus 1: Shavuot and (for the second time) Succoth. The question is about where to make the sensible cut. I plead for the end of the ‘idea of midsummer fertility’ which would be Genesis 31. The fact is that Genesis 32 seems (again) to refer to the Succoth. The narrative deals with reconciliation, which is factual, but we also have the keyword for it, the ‘day of reconciliation’, as preparation for Succoth (cf. Gen 32:21). Even the keyword Succoth appears in the narrative (Gen 33:17), although we may perceive its context and function as peripheral. 3.2.B Γ

The complex of Exodus 15–Numbers 8 seems to leave room for more than the ideology of one festival. It has to, because Shavuot and Succoth must follow before Numbers 9. For this speaks that, first of all, the ‘Shavuot ideology’ has to follow the Pesach from Exodus 15:22. This is also the case if we consider the fertility of the heavenly bread (= Torah) to be part of a Shavuot ideology. Since the second century BCE, the ‘festival of weeks’ has been determined by the memory of the gift of the Torah. Only the question of the date remains, but this is not my problem. At least the indication of the month of the Pentecost in Exod 19:1 is correct here. The gift of the Torah ends with the conclusion of the covenant in Exodus 24. Next follows the ideology of Succoth from Exodus 25. The planning of the

206  Torah ‘sanctuary’ and its establishment is followed by extensive regulations for its administration. With that, the Succoth topic gets a little out of hand in the middle of the Torah. No other ‘festival ideology’ receives so much space. This is perhaps not a coincidence.12 3.2.B Δ

Deuteronomy is – until chapter 27, but after this again in a few chapters – a sermon, when we do not include the final chapters, which form the end of the complete Torah. The topic is instruction which fits the festival of weeks (Shavuot). The festival of weeks also follows the Pesach: it fits altogether, as John Bright would probably express it. When we continue our reading, that is, start from the beginning of the Torah, we are, following the paradigm of the festivals, again in Genesis 1 and the Succoth: At the creation of Cosmos, the original human and the image of both, at the sanctuary.13 3.2c

With regard to all more far-reaching and probably possible conclusions, I am exercising restraint here. Was there once a continuous reading of the Torah in connection with the religious services that had a cycle of three years? That later times divided differently and read texts that, according to these considerations and cuts, belong to Pesach, to Rosh-ha-shanah, that is, at the beginning of the Succoth cycle, need not contradict such speculation, from which I wish to refrain here. We know from 2000 years of Christian arrangements of pericopes that (and the reasons are good enough) they are always sorted in different ways and manipulated. Thus the Jewish arrangement of the pericopes of the Torah, we know today and for good reasons reconstruct for rabbinical Judaism in the post-Christian era, need not reflect an original assignment to the festivals. The composers of the Torah worked some centuries earlier. 4 Conclusions 1) I consider Genesis 17 as a paragraph of the central part of a textual complex of the Torah, Gen 11:27–23:20, which has been formed by the ideology of Pesach. 2) Abraham celebrates Pesach after his circumcision as a proselyte, which is the most important precondition for it. In Genesis 18 it is before the form(s) of appearance(s) of God, and in Genesis 22 in front of the cryptically introduced sanctuary of later ‘Israel’. 3) In Genesis 18 God visits Abraham, while in Genesis 22 Abraham visits God (by God’s order) at the holy ‘place’, ‫מקום‬. 4) I have derived the characteristics of Passover from an undisputed Passover complex of the Torah: the target text of Exodus 12(f.). The features examined largely converge with similar features in Genesis 12–23.

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 207 5) Numbers 9(ff.) discloses yet another (‘implicit’) Pesach text in the Torah, which contains the principal features of the ‘ideology of the Pesach’. This confirms my assumption that Genesis 12–23 (in the middle of which we find Genesis 17) can be considered yet another Pesach complex: the third one in the Torah. 6) When we (hypothetically) have three complexes relating to the Pesach in the Torah, why should there not be three more cycles of text that have been formed by the ‘ideologies’ of the other two festivals, Shavuot and Succoth? I indicate briefly which texts that may be. A ‘new Pentateuchal hypothesis’14 is briefly indicated in rough outlines by these observations. Epilogue From a methodological point of view (which goes beyond the narrow scope of this contribution, but not beyond the horizon of my exegetical work on the Biblia Hebraica, particularly the Torah), we find a possible practical–theological aspect of the approach represented by me. This is about a methodically grounded, systematically analogous development of the biblical tradition for the liturgy of the Christian church year, its celebrations and its fixed times which leads beyond the eclectic practice based on tradition and exegetical individual judgments. Pure coincidence is already excluded here in principle. Basically, because – similar to the Jewish – the bipolar Christian holiday (Easter that ends with Pentecost) and Christmas correspond in chiastic complementarity to Succoth and Pesach – despite influences from other traditions – in the historical continuity of the annual Jewish festivals. Notes  1 Slightly revised paper given at the Colloquium Biblicum, April 15, 1996, at the Evang.Theol. Faculty, Karls-University, Prag.  2 Such is the general opinion, which needs no reference here, apart from a study by S.R. Külling 1985, from the evangelical camp, in which scientific language forms are maintained no less than in classical higher education: “Gen 17 ist literarisch in der Form überliefert, die charakteristisch ist für die 2. Hälfte des 2. Jahrtausends”. . . . “Mit recht zählt darum Bentzen Gen. 17 unter den ‘Dokumenten auf’” (“Gen 17 has been transmitted in a form that is characteristic of the second half of the second millennium”. . . . “Benzen does right in counting Gen 17 with the ‘documents’”.) (p. 280). “Die frühe Schriftlichkeit der Überlieferung kommt natürlich ihrem historischen Wert zugute” (“The early dating of the literary form of the tradition, supports its historical value”.) (p. 282). “Auf Grund unserer Frühdatierung von Gen. 17 und dessen Anerkennung als historische Überlieferung müssen wir aber ein solches geoffenbartes Bundesverhältnis bereits für die Väterzeit annehmen. . . . Wir halten darum . . . die in Gen. 17 enthaltenen Zusagen Gottes für wirkliche Verheissungen” (“On the basis of our early dating of Gen. 17 and its recognition as a historical tradition, we must, however, assume such a revealed covenant relationship already for the patriarchal period. . . . We therefore take for real those in Gen. 17 contained promises from God”.) (p. 283). An understanding of truth and reality, premises and methods of the 19th century were fully internalized here – and in the context of a (in my opinion

208  Torah

 3  4  5

 6  7  8

 9 10

11 12 13

14

extremely successful) biblical revenge campaign swept against two hundred years of unjust historical–criticism. One notes the Hebrew form ‫( בהמלו‬inf. cstr. nif.) ‘at his circumcision’. In the Westermann School, also called origin stories (Grundgeschehen). Gen 11:27–16:16 consists of circa six pages of text in my arbitrarily chosen Biblia Hebraica. Genesis 20–23 consists of another body of almost six pages of text. The centerpiece Genesis 17–19 has almost the same circumference, which means that we can divide the Abraham complex of Gen 11:27–23:20 into three sections of approximately the same size. Abram seems to offer in Gen 15:9–11, but without an altar! I only thought of it when I revised my article. Pesach was a Jewish family festival and not a temple festival after 70 CE. However, the, by me, claimed Pesach complex in the Book of Genesis refers, in my opinion, to the ‘sanctuary’ (that is, in concreto, to the temple). For this reason, Genesis 12–23 was probably out of the question as a Pesach–Haggadah. For the ancient Jewish memory that we have here a Pesach tradition, see H.-J. Geischer 1965: 55–57. Isaac is the ‘Father of Jacob/Israel’, because only Jacob as the ‘third member’ of a proselyte family – according to the inclusive count – can become ‘Israel’, i.e. can become the people/people of ‘Israel’ in the full sense. This is probably why Isaac does not get ‘twelve sons’ (= ‘tribes’), but only Jacob. That means: ‘it is very important’. It must be noted here that the large, disproportionate ‘sanctuary’ complex (Exodus 25– Numbers 8) constitutes the mathematical middle of the Torah: (Genesis 1–Exodus 24)– (Exodus 25–Numbers 8)–(Numbers 9–Deuteronomy 34). I first attempted to describe the movements or rhythm as structural principles of the Torah oriented towards the Jewish and Samaritan pilgrimages in a Festschrift for J.P. Beoendennaker (Diebner 1990). I, however, soon moved away from the somewhat hasty and short-sighted transfer of a literarily composed scheme to liturgical acts, which was already expressed in the title of the contribution. I have, however, continued to pursue the assumption of a literary design pattern on the basis of the essay in academic courses and represented it in publications, including this article. I tried to give a comprehensive presentation in a lecture given at the Theological Faculty, Nysa, the University of Poland, April 10, 1997, which will appear with the title ‘Die Komposition der Torah nach den drei Wallfartsfesten des jüdischen Festkalenders’ in their newly founded journal. Dirk Monshouwer has also expressed similar ideas independent of mine, which I find stimulating and enriching, especially from a methodological point of view. A ‘hypothesis’, by the way, which, despite its first appearance, is not necessarily at odds with literary–critical models, but could certainly be combined with diachronic considerations on the formation of the Pentateuch (if one considers such a thing to be useful and helpful).

References Diebner, B.J. 1984. ‘Erwägungen zum Thema “Exodus”’. In Festschrift Wolfgang Helck zu seinem 70. Geburtstag. SAK 11. H. Altenmüller and D. Wildung (eds.). Hamburg: H. Buske: 595–630. ———. 1990. ‘Die Torah als “Lektionar” der Wallfahrtsfeste von Zion- und Garizim Gemeinde?: Methodische Überlegungen am Beispiel der Komposition des Buches Genesis’. In Voor de achtste dag: het oude testament in de eredienst: een bundel opstellen voor prof dr. J.P. Boendennaker ter gelegenheid van zijn 65e verjaardag. K.V.D. Horst et al. (eds.). Kampen: Kok: 45–56.

Genesis 17 as the Centre of a Pesach Cycle of the Torah 209 ———. 1994. ‘Was sich auf dem Berg im Lande Moriyah abspielte: Gen 22 erklärt als Teil der “israelitischen’ Torah”’. DBAT 28: 47–57. Geischer, H.-J. 1965. Das Problem der Typologie in der ältesten christlichen Kunst: IsaakOpfer und Jonas-Wunder. Dissertation Theology. University of Heidelberg. Külling, S.R. 1985. Zur Datierung der ‘Genesis-P-Stücke’: namentlich des Kapitels Genesis XVII. 2nd ed. Basel: Immanuel Verlag. Monshouwer, D. 1997. Het hart van de Torah: in het Leerhuis Leviticus. Kampen: Kok.

14 Wayyashav ’Avraham (‫)וישב אברהם‬ Why Is Abraham Returning to His Servants from One of the Mountains in the Land of Moriah Without Isaac?1

0 A text is a text is a text: A variation of Gertrude Stein’s famous sentence: A rose is a rose is a rose, slightly revised and suited to biblical texts. Leave the texts as they have been handed down to us, do not cut them into pieces, distributed at various historical and merely hypothetical levels (by literary criticism), but try to understand them as they have been transmitted to us instead. That is difficult enough and demands a lot of training of our brains. It cannot be denied that many texts of the Old Testament have been created by a highly complicated process of development. But the results of this process are some very important Hebrew manuscripts of the texts that have been transmitted. Even these manuscripts disclose some differences which must be evaluated by textual criticism. Anyway, the basis of our textual interpretation has to be the final stage of our Hebrew and Aramaic TNK-texts. One of the most important premises or preconditions for my Old Testament studies is to respect the highly erudite authors of our TNK-texts. We have to assume that they have considered carefully and cautiously any word they have written down in their texts. The text’s final hand (‘letzter Hand’) has to be decisive for our interpretation. However, it is not appropriate but rather anachronistic to read the TNK-texts through the lens of our modern and ‘enlightened’ common sense. We have to consider the ancient and oriental ways of text production. 1 Based on tradition critical and literary considerations, many contemporary authors and commentators severely abridge the text of Gen 22:1–192; especially so, as a basis for church sermons. For such purposes, the text usually ends at verse 13, where Abraham sacrifices the “ram caught in a thicket by his horns . . . for a burnt offering instead of his son” (13a, b).3 Astonishingly, however, the text rendered in the Bible does not end here, and we do not find a new narrative beginning before Gen 22:20.4 According to most interpreters, Gen 22:14–19 appears as a conglomeration of literary supplements. The ancient authors of these so-called supplements cannot DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-20

Wayyashav ’Avraham (‫ )וישב אברהם‬211 have paid careful attention to the text, that had been passed down to them, when they allowed Abraham to return (wayyashav avraham; ‫ )וישב אברהם‬from the mountain to his servants (v. 19a) without mentioning Isaac or using a plural form of the verb.5 Our modern interpreters, nevertheless, seem to be wiser than the author of 19a: Isaac must have accompanied his father at his return to the servants. Their proof is that Isaac had not been offered, but a ram (‫ )איל‬instead of him, and that, in Genesis 24, we find him alive, marrying the most beautiful (and blood-related girl) Rebecca, at the end of the chapter! The otherwise highly commendable and critical scholar Géza Vermes mixes up Gen 22:2b, in which one reads: “and get into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains (pl.) which I will tell you of”, with 2 Chron 3:1. In Chronicles, however, one reads: “Solomon began to build the house of the Lord at Jerusalem on Mount Moriah where the Lord appeared to David, his father” (cf. Vermes 1961: 139). This is a typical example of careless reading: reading what one wants to find. 2 Chron 3:1 belongs exclusively to a Judaic tradition while the Torah represents literature that is ‘intercultural’, or rather ‘inter-confessional’, suited to be read by both Samaritans and Judaeans. Therefore “one of the mountains in the land of Moriah” can be either Gerizim or Zion. In Chronicles, Mount Zion is called ‘Moriah’. Vermes’ interpretation follows mainstream scholarship’s exclusive focus on Jerusalem and persistent neglect of the Samaritans. The intention of the authors of Genesis 22 is to let Abraham (and, of course, the readers) remain unaware of both his destination and the mountain chosen by God. The Apostle Paul, living with the Jewish/Palestinian tradition of his time, wrote in the Letter to the Romans: “ο θεος . . . ος γε του ιδιου υιος ουκ εφεισατο αλλα υπερ υμων παντων παρεδωκεν” (Rom 8:31–32a: God . . . he that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all). Westermann is right when he assumes that St. Paul has Genesis 22 in mind, without mentioning it (Westermann 1979: 447). Very important, as well, is a reference to Sarah’s reaction at being informed about the proceedings on the mountain in Jewish interpretations of Genesis 22: she reacts as if Isaac had indeed been offered and, after having received this frightening news, she dies.6 In Genesis 23 we do not read anything that corresponds to this post-canonical Jewish interpretation (cf. v. Rad 1953: 207). To most scholars, Abraham’s returning in the singular (‫ )וישב אברהם‬seems to be without problems. Nearly no one considers this. Gunkel writes: “The return [of Isaac] is obvious”.7 In his remarks concerning vv. 15–19, v. Rad 1953: 207 does not say anything in his commentary regarding v. 19a. Westermann writes: “All together, Abraham, Isaac, the servants and the donkey, break up and return to Beersheba”.8 Again, we find here a typical example of inaccurate reading, which is not unusual in Westermann’s commentary. We find the word yachdaw in v 19 after Abraham and his servants have been mentioned: “So Abraham returned unto his young men, and they rose up and went together to Beer-sheba”. There is no mention of Isaac here. Karel Deurloo has noticed the singular but argues similarly to Westermann: “Isaac isn’t even mentioned, but he’s implicitly present as they were traveling (literally: going) together; cf. 22:6 and 8”.9 The same opinion is repeated in the commentary on Genesis by Kessler and Deurloo: “The story concludes with Abraham’s return to

212 Torah his two servants. Isaac is not mentioned but he was present, for they went together” (Kessler and Deurloo 2004: 133). But in Gen 22:6b we read: “so they went, both of them together”, and both Abraham and Isaac have been mentioned by their names in the preceding v. 6a. In v. 19a only Abraham is mentioned by name. 2 Interpreters of Genesis 22 often combine the replacement (Auslösung) of Isaac, Abraham’s first born son,10 by a ram with a cultural and historical shift (Ablösung) from human sacrifices to offering animals instead, as a kind of humanization in the history of cultic behaviour. The supreme deity may claim every firstborn for itself, it doesn’t matter of which kind: from the first fruits of plants, from firstborn animals, and even from human beings’ firstborn sons. Old Testament scholars seem to be certain that Genesis 22 concerns the cultural and historical replacement (Ablösung) of a regular offering of firstborn sons. Scholars usually look to examples from the ancient Near East for ritual offerings of human beings; especially of children. That is not a problem: they will find evidence (cf. for example Holzinger 1898: 165). I will abstain from further examples, because they are easily found in scholarly literature; especially in commentaries on Genesis 22 and related studies. But scholars usually neglect to mention that none of the examples in cultural history deal with the offering of a firstborn son as a regular offering (Regelopfer). Even the widespread typological ‘Iphigene’-narrative (its biblical variant is the nameless daughter of Jephthah in Judg 11:30–40) relates a singular offering caused by a vow (Gelöbnisopfer). He who has sworn such a vow does not reckon that it is his most beloved child who will first meet him, when he returns from a victorious war, but rather a dog or another comparable animal. Scholars are unable to present an analogy for an offering of the kind God is demanding from Abraham.11 According to the usual dating of the Patriarchal narratives, the civilization of the cult making the offering must be placed in (Pre)-‘Israel’s early cultural history from approximately the last third of the 2nd millennium BCE or at least in the pre-history of ‘Israel’ before it has become a constitutional state.12 There seems to have existed – though controversially disputed by experts – a curious variation of ‘first offering’ praxis (Erstlingsopfer), namely the so called ius primae noctis practised by men of nobility in the middle ages. The patron seems to have had the right to abuse newly married women of their knights during [their] wedding night. This habit seems to have been replaced by other rites13 comparable to replacing the offering of first born sons by animals. 3 Old Testament scholars like to speculate when sitting at their ‘green tables’.14 It is somewhat unusual to consult other disciplines apart from near eastern archaeology and related disciplines. In particular, ethnology and religious phenomenology (in global understanding) are scarcely reconsidered.15

Wayyashav ’Avraham (‫ )וישב אברהם‬213 I have sought to gain information about the offering of the firstborn son as a regular obligation, but I did not find even one culture worldwide which postulates that the son and heir (Stammhalter) has been offered as a regular offering or at all. If the highest deity has claimed the offering of this most valuable ‘item’, actually, it has never and nowhere been granted. Everywhere and at all times it has been replaced by an animal substitute. In Gen 22:13, this is expressed by thachat (‫“ )תחת‬instead of”. Even the most greedy deity wants (biblically speaking) the most chosen lineage, and the germ cell of ‘God’s chosen people’ to continue forever. The second born son, not to mention a daughter, cannot replace the firstborn son. Even in our time and modern culture, people usually give a sigh of relief when after having got three daughters, a ‘son and heir’ is born to the family. Even today it is problematic and perhaps impossible for European ruling dynasties to accept a female line of succession. These rather meagre phenomenological considerations should be a warning signal and prevent us from making unrealistic conclusions too hastily, even if they seem to be intellectually stimulating. But there still remains a seemingly unsolvable mystery in the deviation of Abraham’s succession from Ishmael to Isaac. Why is Ishmael, Abraham’s lawfully firstborn son, disinherited in the plot of the narrative (cf. Gen 21)?16 The phenomenon is typical for the book of Genesis: the firstborn son becomes the second son, and the second son becomes the ‘firstborn’ (cf. Hensel 2011). In Islamic tradition, Ishmael is given the position of firstborn son of Ibrahim.17 The book of Genesis seemingly reveals some sort of bad conscience concerning the dismissal of Ishmael’s birth right. Together, both sons of Abraham bury their father (Gen 25:9). 4 Now I am returning to my initial premise: a text is a text is a text. The text of the offering of Isaac, on one of the mountains of Moriah,18 comprises, in Genesis 22 verses 1–19 in the transmitted textual version used by me, without consideration of Old Testament scholars’ literary critical suggestions of an abridged narrative. Within my textual margin we find an important and by the author surely intended inclusio, namely v. 5b to 19a: from wenashuvah (‫)ונשבה‬ – “and we may return” (to you) to wayyashav (‫)וישב‬ – “and he returned”. The first action is a modalis form, the latter a realis (Zuber 1986a, 1986b). If you want to translate both verbal forms communicatively, they must be rendered: maybe we will return to you but that is not sure (v. 5b); and Abraham (and he alone) returned to them (v. 19a). The kind of action called ‘modalis’ by Zuber (in translations expressed by modal verbs) always implies different possibilities.19 In English and German this is expressed by auxiliary verbs. Even the future (in our understanding) is in Hebrew rendered by modal verbs. A special kind of expected future is “may happen”, but it “must not happen”. Maybe, and God decides otherwise. But what is being expressed by a realis is a fact: is ‘real’ in the present or past.20 In the case of Abraham and Isaac, the other possibility of wenashuvah in v. 5b became reality in wayyashav in v. 19a. But how could this happen? The terms for ‘God’ change within our narrative. It is the common and unspecified deity Elohim21 who gives the order to Abraham to

214 Torah offer his son Isaac. He seems satisfied with Abraham’s obedience to his order and willingness to prepare the slaughter of Isaac. But then the national God of Israel, YHWH, interferes and stops Abraham in the very last moment by intervention of “the Angel of YHWH” (v. 11), satisfied by noticing Abraham’s obedience that “he stretched forth his hand and took the knife to slay his son” (v. 10). This is enough to show that Abraham “fears” God (Elohim) (v. 12bα). By his action, Abraham has offered his firstborn son Isaac, spiritually and theoretically. This is underscored by the double confirmation that Abraham has not spared his son: “you have not withheld” (wlo’ chasacta; ‫ ;ולא חשכת‬vv. 12b and 16b), which means: thou . . . hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, and thou hast obeyed my voice (v. 18b). From a ritual perspective, Abraham has offered his ‘only and firstborn son’, demonstrated in his willingness to carry out the slaughter of Isaac, which is judged as completely sufficient. In ancient understanding of mythos, Abraham has really offered his firstborn by offering the ram supplied by YHWH instead (thachat; ‫)תחת‬. Such an offering on behalf of the actual victim we also find in the German poem ‘Die Bürgschaft’ (‘The Granting of Security’). The cruel tyrant Dionys says to the victim who is sentenced to death that he will be granted three days off for bringing things into order: Drei Tage will ich dir schenken. Doch wisse, wenn sie verstrichen, die Frist, eh du zurück mir gegeben bist, so muss er [dein Freund] statt [thachat] deiner erblassen, doch dir ist die Strafe erlassen.22 5 The narrative of Gen 22:1–19 seems to be a well-considered unity as we find it in our Bible, even read within the context of the Patriarchal narratives (Vätergeschichten23). Very important and typical for this context is the type of blessings of the future of Abraham’s lineage in vv. 16–18. So it is problematic to consider them as secondary and remove them from a hypothetical original story, which may have consisted only of vv. 1–13/14. Ritually, Abraham returns alone (which means without his ‘most beloved and only son’) to his knights waiting for him. Ritually, Isaac had been offered, and thus remained on the peak of Mount Gerizim (for Samaritans) and Mount Zion (for Judeans and Jews) respectively. Just to repeat myself: Géza Vermes does not notice that ‘al ’achad heharim (‫ ;על ההים אחד‬v. 2b) in ‘the land of Moriah’ (v. 2a) is ambiguous. He has neglected noting that at least two mountains are mentioned and identifies his one and only mountain in Gen 22:2 with ‘Mount Moriah, where the Lord appeared unto David his father’ (2 Chron 3:1; cf. Vermes 1961: 139), which in Jewish tradition is identified with mount Zion in Jerusalem. 2 Chron 3:1, however, alludes to 1 Chron 21:16–18 (cf. 1 Kings 6), where we do not find any ‘Mount Moriah’. The author of 2 Chronicles seems to identify Mount Zion and the threshing floor of Ornan/

Wayyashav ’Avraham (‫ )וישב אברהם‬215 Arauna with the place of slaughter in Genesis 22. The only reasonable solution is that the author of Genesis 22 has chosen a neutral formulation that allows identifying the place of slaughter as Mount Gerizim (in the Samaritan reading) and Mount Zion (in the Jewish reading). As a document of compromise between Judeans and Samaritans one finds nothing in the Torah that one can read in an unambiguous confessional understanding.24 I do not ignore the fact that Genesis 22:1–19 may have had a literary pre-history and a very complicated tradition–history until it received the final form that we find in the Torah. But we have to interpret this final stage,25 and contextualize it to the best of our ability without reconstructing hypothesized preliminary stages26 that we pretend represent ‘pure’, ‘unspoiled’ and ‘original’ versions of the transmitted text. Texts are nothing than objects of any possible and yet totally different interpretations.27 To me it seems rather difficult to place the final form of Genesis 22 precisely in ‘Israel’s’ pre-Christian history of literature. The confessional separation of Samaritans and Jerusalem-oriented Jews must have been in process, as shown by the author’s knowledge of at least two holy mountains in the sentence “on one of the mountains which I will tell you of” in v. 2b). We may assume that the writers of the Qumran scrolls knew the complete text of Genesis 22.28 This allows us to assume a terminus ad quem for the final version sometime during the second century BCE. An earlier dating is much more speculative than this hypothesis based on controllable data. Genesis 22 suits29 best the Hellenistic cultural period of the Near East in the heritage of Alexander the Great from the 3rd century BCE onward.30 Nevertheless, my proposal is nothing else but just another hypothetical attempt at solving the problem given by wayyashav ’avraham in Gen 22:19a. A methodical epilogue: Similar narrative plots can be found all over the world. They reflect typical situations for human beings at any time. One of these plots is the fraternal feud, which can be found in many versions in the TNK. Another plot is the loss of a beloved child under tragic circumstances and with varied forms of replacement and compensation. Pre-Israelite people or ancient groups belonging to ‘Israel’ may have known such plots and told stories similar to that in Gen 22:1–13/14/19, as early as in the second millennium BCE. My concern is to encourage scholars to deal mainly with the interpretation of the available texts, and abstain from spending their enthusiasm on hypothetical texts that we arbitrarily construct for ourselves. Notes 1 Cf. Diebner 1994, 2012. 2 German scholars mostly call this passage that deals with the ‘offering of Isaac’ (as object) for ‘Abraham’s Offer’ (das Opfer Abrahams [genitivus subiectivus]): cf. G. von Rad 1971. But we also find other titles; cf. H. Graf Reventlow 1968. In Jewish tradition the story is called the ´aqedah ( ‫‘ = )עקדה‬binding’ (of Isaac on top of the altar for burnt sacrifices), following Gen 22:9b: ‘and [Abraham] bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood’ (translation according to The Holy Bible. King James Version). 3 Cf. for example the Lutherische Liturgische Konferenz 1978: 138: for the III Predigtreihe, 5. Sonntag der Passionszeit. (Sunday Judika). G. v. Rad 1953: 207: “It is clear that the narrative once ended with v. 14” (Es ist deutlich zu spüren, daß die Erzählung . . . mit V. 14 einmal geschlossen hat); Claus Westermann 1979: 445

216 Torah considers that vv. 14 and 19 belong to the narrative (noch zu der Erzählung) and he thinks that “there is almost a complete agreement that vv. 15–18 are additions and that recent opinions have not changed that” (So gut wie einstimmig ist V. 15–18 ein nachträglicher Zusatz zu der Erzählung 22,2–14.19 erkannt; daran ändern die [at his time: 1979] jüngsten Stimmen [J. van Seters, G.W. Coats] nichts). The majority of scholars as criterion for accuracy! See also Westermann, p. 445: “It does not demand a deeper insight to see the changing style . . . only a few texts in Genesis 12–50 can so clearly be considered additions.” (Es bedarf keiner tieferen Einsicht, um den Stilunterschied zu sehen . . . Es gibt nur wenige Texte in Gn [Genesis] 12–50, die sich so eindeutig als Nachtrag erkennen lassen). In other words: ‘he who does not see this must be blind’. According to H. Holzinger 1898: 164–165 the ‘original tale’ ends at v. 13, but v. 19 also belongs to the narrative (zum quellenhaften Text gehört noch v. 19), while vv. 14–18 are considered secondary. So also H. Gunkel 1966: 239, who reckons v. 19 as belonging to the ‘original’ Elohist version of the narrative and does not deal with vv. 15–18 in his interpretation.  4 In the Martin Luther Bible one finds here the heading: ‘Genealogy of Nahor’ (Die Nachkommen Nahors).  5 The following plural form of wayyaqumu wayyaleku (‫ )ויקמו וילכו‬may not include Isaac, but only Avraham and his two servants.  6 The interpretation can be found in Strack-Billerbeck IV/I: 181f; cf. v. Rad 1953: 207.  7 “Die Rückkehr [sc.: of Isaac] ist eigentlich selbstverständlich”; Gunkel 1966: 239.  8 “Alle miteinander [yachdaw; ‫]יחדו‬, Abraham, Isaak, die Knechte und der Esel, sie brechen dann auf und kehren zurück nach Beerseba”; Westermann 1979: 446.  9 “Isaak wordt niet eens vermeld, maar hij is impliciet aanwezig want, ze gingen tezamen; vgl. 22:6 en 8”; Deurloo 1998: 122. 10 Which he is not really, because the first born is Ishmael (cf. Gen 16f. and Gen 25:9). 11 Holzinger tries to free the ‘original Yahwism’ of having invented offerings of human beings and children: “the high appreciation and preference of the first born excludes this. It is a foreign element that has come into the old Yahwism” (die hohe Wertschätzung und Bevorzugung der Erstgeburt schliesst das aus. Es wird sich dabei um ein in den alten Jahwismus . . . eingedrungenes fremdes Element handeln”; Holzinger 1898: 165); (Gunkel considers Genesis 22 to be an aetiological legend (Gründungsätiologie) of his fictive cult place ‘Jeruel’, where the worshippers supposedly have substituted the child offering with the offering of a ram (cf. Gunkel 1910: 240ff., cited in von Reventlow 1968: 33, who adds: “since then has the opinion been repeated by several interpreters” (Seither ist diese Meinung von vielen Auslegern wiederholt worden); Kilian 1970: 55 seems to think differently: “ It regards a real substitution offering, which is more important in the general history of religions” (Es handelt sich um ein wirkliches Substitutionsopfer, das in der allgemeinen Religionsgeschichte von großer Bedeutung ist); Surprisingly, R. Rendtorff 1967 does not refer to the áqedah in Genesis 22 as an offering of replacement (Substitutionsopfer) or its religious and historical motivation. Otherwise, C. Eberhart 2002: 206 n. 3) deals in detail with the topic: “That in Christian theology so obvious interpretation that the Aqedah deals with substitution of man-offering is absolutely questionable” (Die in der christlichen Theologie traditionell übliche Deutung der Aqeda als Ablösung des Menschenopfers . . . [here he lists some literature] ist durchaus fraglich). From the very beginning we have to reckon with a substitution (Auslösung); cf. Ex 13:13b: “all the firstborn of man among thy children shalt thou redeem” (‫)תפדה‬. 12 Israel as ‘constitutional state’ is supposed to have been founded during the 10th century BCE (cf. Samuel and Saul, David, Solomon). The period of the Judges is usually called the ‘pre-state age’ of Israel by Old Testament scholars. But, in contrast to this assertion, the ‘judges’ seem to have been minor kings of an unimportant early kingdom of Israel. The reason for this literary arrangement is a subject in itself. 13 Cf. Wikipedia: ‘Ius primae noctis’.

Wayyashav ’Avraham (‫ )וישב אברהם‬217 14 ‘Am grünen Tisch’ is an idiomatic German expression for concluding things by simply creating a hypothesis without sound reasoning. 15 Just to be on the safe side, I do not want to exclude individual cases considering these disciplines. 16 A possible solution proposed by me in earlier publications is that the legitimate firstborn son must have a legitimate mother (in this case: from the Mesopotamian lineage), but the mother of Ishmael is an Egyptian stranger (hgr); cf. Gen 16:1.15 (nomen est omen). In the story itself there is no mention of this important circumstance. 17 We find the Qur’an version of Genesis 22 in Sura 37:100–111. The son who should be offered but becomes substituted by a “tremendous slaughtered offering” (Aya 107) remains nameless. Present Islamic tradition identifies him with Ishmael. But in early Islamic tradition – still closer connected with Biblical tradition – he is identified with Isaac as well. 18 Possible translation: ‘my teacher [sc.: of the Torah] is Yah(u)’; cf. Diebner 2002. 19 In German (Yiddish): ‘Mecht sejn, mecht aber auch nicht sejn’. 20 In Islamic (Arabic) sense of time, the medieval crusades are present in mind for ever, for ever real, and even nowadays a present humiliation. 21 Formally seen, it may originally have designated a plural form of el; elah. 22 Cited from B. von Wiese 1958: 294. 23 This term has been used by German Old Testament scholars for generations. 24 Cf. Diebner 2020. Confessional characteristics of the Samaritan Torah are post-schism. The ‘Samaritan Schism’ seems rather to be a Judaic one (cf. on this, see B. Hensel 2016). 25 ‘Endgestalt’ as the late Rolf Rendtorff (he died in 2014) used to call it. 26 R. Kilian 1970 takes this kind of moving around and splitting up a text to the extreme. He distinguishes between nearly innumerable different layers which can hardly be put together. The study of v. Rad 1971 is not so much an exegetical interpretation of the text. It is a poetical and culturally designed work of this prominent theologian, rather than a scholarly essay. It is to be lamented that Claus Westermann’s Genesis Commentary is the only recent comprehensive academic commentary in the German language on this important part of the Torah. Further parts of Martin Prudký’s commentary in English or German translation are awaited. Until now it only covers Genesis 1 to 6. 27 Which seems to be the fate of many texts worldwide. 28 We have fragments of the text in 1Q1 (Gen 22:13–15) and 4Q1 (v. 14), according to Beat Zuber’s private listing of Biblical fragments found in the caverns of Qumran. 29 Actually, I do not like to use this affirmative and matter-of-fact way of speaking in academic texts, frequently used by John Bright in his History of Israel, in which his stereotypical idiomatic expression is: ‘it fits’. 30 Cf. Judges 11:30–40: the biblical variant of the myth of Iphigene.

References Deurloo, K. 1998. Genesis. Kampen: Kok. Diebner, B.J. 1994. ‘Was sich auf dem Berg in Lande Moriyah abspielte: Gen 22 erklärt als Teil der “israelitischen Torah”’. DBAT 28: 47–57; also published in Platdeutsch in Diebner. 2012. ‘Keum mit sien’ Söhn wedder dool – man liekers heel alleen: Wat sick op den Barg in dat Land Moria safspeelt hett: 1. Mose 22 verkloort as Deel vun de jöödsche Torah’. In Dat Oole Testament verkloort op Platt: Plattdüütsch Opsätz in Utwohl. KE.B 20/Bibelstudien 10. Berlin 2012: 44–49. ———. 2002. ‘Moria’. In RGG. 4th ed. Tübingen: vol. 5: 1502f. ———. 2020. ‘Grobskizze einer Thorah-Hypothese’. In Vom Iteru-Maß bis zu Miriam bei Marc Chagall: Festschrift für Claudia Nauerth zum 75. Geburtstag. Bibelstudien 20. B.J. Diebner, B. Huber, R. Rosenthal-Heginbottom and S. Westphalen (eds.). Berlin: LIT: 37–47.

218 Torah Eberhart, C. 2002. Studien zur Bedeutung des Opfers im Alten Testament. Die Signifikanz von blut- und Verbrennungsriten im kultischen Rahmen. WMANT 94. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukircherner Verlag. Gunkel, H. 1966. Genesis. 7th unrevised reprint from 3rd ed. 1910. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hensel, B. 2011. Die Vertauschung des Erstgeburtssegens in der Genesis. BZAW 423. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. ———. 2016. Juda und Samaria: Das Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen. FAT 110. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Holzinger, H. 1898. Genesis. KHCAT 1. Freiburg: Mohr Siebeck. Kessler, M. and K. Deurloo. 2004. A Commentary on Genesis: The Book of Beginnings. New York, Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press. Kilian, R. 1970. Isaaks Opferung. Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte von Gen 22. Stuttgarter Bibelstudien, 44. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk. Lutherische Liturgische Konferenz. 1978. Perikopenbuch zur Ordnung der Predigttexte. Hamburg: Lutherische Liturgische Konferenz. Rad, G. von. 1953. Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis. ATD 2/4. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ———. 1971. Das Opfer des Abraham. München: Kaiser. Rendtorff, R. 1967. Studien zur Geschichte des Opfers im alten Israel. WMANT 24. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Reventlow, H. Graf. 1968. Opfere deinen Sohn: Eine Auslegung von Genesis 22. Bibl. Stud. 53. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Vermes, G. 1961. Scripture and Tradition in Judaism. Haggadic Studies. StPB 4. Leiden: Brill. Westermann, C. 1979. Genesis. BKAT I/6. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Wiese, B. von (ed.). 1958. Echtermeyer: Deutsche Gedichte: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart. Düsseldorf: August Bagel Verlag. Wikipedia: ‘Ius primae noctis’. Zuber, B. 1986a. Das Tempussystem des biblischen Hebräisch: Eine Untersuchung am Text. BZAW 164. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. ———. 1986b. Die Psalmen: Eine Studienübersetzung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des hebräischen Tempus. DBAT.B 7. Heidelberg: B.J. Diebner.

Part 6

Nevi’im

15 The Inventio of the ‫ספר התורה‬ in 2 Kings 22 The Structure, Intention, and Function of Legends of Discovery1

1 Among the less contentious facts of the history of ‘Israel’ we find an event which, according to 2 Kings 22:3–13, happened in King Josiah’s 18th regnal year (i.e. 620 BCE). For example, M. Metzger writes that in connection with his endeavors: to regain the independence of Judah . . . King Josiah also removed the cult of some astral deities which had found a place in the temple. Much indicates Josiah’s reform of the cult was well under way when in connection with the restoration work in the temple of Jerusalem a law book was discovered which had been stored there. In the Orient it was quite frequent that collections of laws were stored in sanctuaries. All indications are that the law book found in the time of Josiah was the so-called ‘Deuteronomistic Law’ which occupies the main content of the fifth Book of Moses.2 J. Bright argues that “The law book found in the Temple which so profoundly influenced Josiah was, as it is generally agreed today, some form of the book of Deuteronomy” (Bright 1960: 297). This had already been argued by M. Noth: “Everything supports the suggestion that this ‘law book,’ which has been preserved in the Old Testament, may be identified with the original edition of the deuteronomistic laws”.3 Other scholars are more cautious when they address questions of the identity4 of the book which was supposedly found (cf. A.H.J. Gunneweg 1979: 120). 2 “It has long been stated that the discovered book was Deuteronomy, or more precisely, it was the kernel of this book which contained the basic Deuteronomic rules”.5 In the recent history of scholarship we see this thesis attributed to W.M.L. de Wette 1805. However, “before de Wette, Jerome, Chrysostemus, Procopius of Gaza, Hobbes and Lessing had assumed that Deuteronomy was the lawbook which was found in Josiah’s days; all of them were convinced that Moses was the author. In contrast, de Wette considered that Deuteronomy was a product of a later period. That was important to him”.6 DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-22

222 Nevi’im Some scholars now questions7 the asserted “congruence between the reform (sc: Josiah’s) and the law”.8 The similarities between the description of the reform of Josiah in 2 Kings 22 and the provisions of the deuteronomistic laws (probably in an older form) do not forcibly lead to the conclusion: that Josiah obeyed the rules and regulations of the deuteronomistic law . . . the similarities may find another explanation in that afterwards the deuteronomistic description of Josiah’s arrangements was and should be understood in the light of Deuteronomy. Then there would be . . . just a (congruence) between the deuteronomistic description and the law. As a matter of fact there are important reasons for a later date of Deuteronomy . . . This does not suggest that Josiah’s reform was invented by Deuteronomy.9 Gunneweg writes carefully about the process of finding the law book itself: “According to this description (sc. 2 Kings 22f) was the law book found in the temple the basis of the reform and especially of the cult centralization”.10 Gunneweg only addresses the possible identity of the allegedly discovered book in the negative form quoted here. S. Herrmann is also reluctant when stating that it may be that, according to 2 Kings 22, the reform activities of Josiah: was so close to the spirit and thinking of Deuteronomy and so close to the text that these ideas could inevitably be presented as the actual center of the Josianic reform policy. It is, however, not at all proven what was really written in the ‘book’, where it came from or why it was ‘found’ and secretly brought into light, and, finally, why it was so quickly accepted as valid. Especially the ‘discovery’ in the temple has naturally provoked many questions and found just as many answers.11 Herrmann immediately rejects one of these answers: “It is definitely not about a priestly fraud”.12 This possibility turns up regularly and has most recently been advocated by G. Lüling: “The assumption of a dogmatic–political pia fraus, which had remarkable success, is, after all, the only intellectually fair assessment of this ‘discovery of the law’ in the days of King Josiah”.13 The assumption of pious deceit is just as critical an assessment of the tradition as it is, on the other hand, and apparently in contradiction to what has been said here, uncritically opposed to it. The ‘pious fraud hypothesis’ also presupposes that something was found. It thus ascribes historicity to the Old Testament’s story of the event and seeks to create a paradigm for this critical doubt. The result is a thoroughly rationalistically structured argument – a reversal of Matt 28:13. 3 I do think that the correspondences between the scholarly established Deuteronomistic Law – possibly in some postulated textual form that preceded the text now

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 223 available in the book of Deuteronomy (chapters 12–26) – and the reported intention and realization of the Josianic reform are so convincing that, against Gunneweg, we should expect some form of ‘congruence’. This has consequences. If we think that a ‘historical’ ‘discovery’ really took place or might have taken place, then we accept a historical nucleus in the description of the event, which can only mean that in the term ‘law book’, we have to consider some form of Deuteronomy. This would also be valid if the ‘historical nucleus’ should turn out to be a pia fraus as has often been assumed. It is my opinion that the ‘congruence’ between reform and law is so great that we would have to identify the ‘law book’ of the narrative with a differently described Deuteronomy, even if the described plot is to be regarded as fictitious. Also in that case, the ‫ ספר התורה‬would still be the Deuteronomistic Law. I will take another step and presume that the ‫ ספר התורה‬is simply the ‫ תורה‬which – as we have learned more and more14 – was truly influenced and formed by the spirit and the theology of ‘Deuteronomism’. In my opinion, this spirit is the same pre-Christian Jewish orthodoxy which had its spiritual centers in Jerusalem and Mesopotamia.15 This means that in Jerusalem’s temple was found the central religious source of Jewish orthodoxy, the Torah, during the renovations in the time of King Josiah, just a few years before the demise of the last independent ‘Israelite’ polity. In the following, we will discuss details of the ideology that may lie behind the ‘discovery’ of the ‘law book’ and which intention and function the ‘narrative of discovery’ might have had for the Torah piety of ancient Jewish orthodoxy. 4 These considerations will be introduced by a thesis. For reasons of clarity, the various sentences of the thesis will be presented numerically. 1) It is not very meaningful to consider the event described in 2 Kgs 22:8ff. of an alleged ‘discovery of the Torah’ in the temple of Jerusalem – presumably in connection with a rebuilding – to be ‘historical’. 2) Contrary to this, we should consider the story as an example of a text type called a ‘legend of discovery’, which we know of from several examples and is testified to by comparable narratives from the religious literature of ancient Judaism. 3) The intention and function of the ‘legends of discovery’ are to legitimate. Religious ‘legends of discovery’ are normally used to legitimate new forms of religiosity. It can also concern changed framework conditions which will give an already known religion a different character. 4) The ‘legend of discovery’ in 2 Kgs 22:8ff. concerns the legitimation of the new (post-exilic and probably for a large part impressed by the Mesopotamian Golah) Jewish Torah piety. 5) The ‘new’ in modern natural science can be ‘legitimated’ on the basis of successful and controllable experiments. By contrast, the ‘new’ in pre-scientific thinking (not in the chronological sense but as a way of thinking) has to legitimize itself in opposition to criteria which are generally considered normative

224 Nevi’im in the group. This usually means that it has to be demonstrated that the ‘new’ is (basically) ‘very old’ and aligns with what has been seen as ‘normative’ for a long time. 6) Here, a general way of pre-scientific thinking appears (which, however, can also be found in so-called ‘critical’ scholarship): the ‘original’ is at the same time the ‘truth’. Or, put differently: The older something is, the more truthful it is and – in a religious context – so much the closer it is, at the same time, to God. Where abstract (scientific) thinking is able to present the ‘truth’, the pre-scientific idea of ‘primordial (time)’ functions as the definition of ‘truth’. 7) The ‘legend of the discovery’ in 2 Kgs 22:8ff. presents, within the frame of the religious (obligatory) tradition of ancient Judaism, the legitimation for the (relatively) ‘new’ Torah piety in the form of the discovery of the normative document of the religion in the pre-exilic temple, which means that it stands within the normatively accepted tradition. 5 We find another ‘legend of discovery’ in 2 Macc 1:18–23 (cf. Habicht 1979: 203f.). After the return from exile, Nehemiah sends descendants of the priest who – according to this tradition – has hidden the fire from the first temple (before they went into exile) to the place where it was hidden “in order to find it” (v. 20). Here they only found “thick water” (v. 20). Nehemiah orders them to bring it. He pours it over the wood and the offering in the temple and on the altar which had been rebuilt by him (v. 21).16 The rising sun kindles a fire on it (v. 22). This fire burned up – while the priests and the people were praying – the first offer delivered in the newly built post-exilic temple (v. 23f.).17 The text immediately reminds the reader of 2 Kgs 18:34ff. The parallel has been noted in the margin by the editors of the new edition of the Apocrypha in the Luther-Bibel (rev. 1970; Stuttgart 1971: 297). The importance of the narrative in 2 Maccabees is obvious. The legitimate preexilic priesthood has preserved the fire from the legitimate pre-exilic sanctuary in such a way “that nobody knew about its place” (v. 19). Only those (exilic) descendants of the legitimate priesthood to whom the secret had been confided, and who had – nota bene – returned together with Nehemiah “according to the will of God” (v. 20), were able to find it and retrieve it because they knew the place. Even when the condition of the find was annoying (v. 20), Nehemiah, who had been sent “home according to the will of God by the king of Persia”, knew what to do with the discovery (v. 21). He distributes the necessary instructions and establishes thereby the (legitimate) continuity between the post- and pre-exilic temples. Those who do not recognize what this story is about may have some questions (cf. n. 13 above). It is only consistent with the fact that, to the orthodox zealots, the Hasmonean rebellion and their tradition about the legitimate post-exilic temple cult did not begin in 515 BCE with an earlier stream of returnees and Zerubbabel. It is likely that the pre-exilic (and very possibly ancient oriental and polytheistic) cult continued according to an obviously apparent tradition. The Hasmonean zealots for the law, however, followed the tradition of the religious–political cadre who

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 225 returned from Mesopotamia together with Ezra and especially Nehemiah. What became the obligatory correct faith, administratively supported by the occupational Persian authorities, is described by tradition as belonging to the later ‫חסידים‬, the Hasmoneans and their adherents, who were bound by it, and, finally, also the orthodoxy of the Pharisees. It is therefore not a wonder that these groups nursed a tradition according to which Nehemiah had rebuilt the post-exilic temple. This tradition belongs to the legitimate series of traditions, which were also written into the ancient Jewish Bible. Nehemiah’s rebuilding of the temple is not related in the Old Testament books of Ezra and Nehemiah. It seems to be clear that it was at this time first – and not in connection with the first returnees at the end of the sixth century BCE – that the true faith was introduced and installed in Eretz Yisrael. The legend of the discovery in 2 Macc 1:18ff. only represents a consequent development of this tradition. This is especially understandable, when we take into consideration that the ‘purity’ of the cult in Jerusalem is a central issue in the Books of Maccabees. For the circles around the Hasmoneans who were committed to their tradition, this ‘purity’ could, of course, only have been realized by (Ezra and) Nehemiah in the post-exilic period. Based on paradigms of mythical origins, under the religious– political premises of Hasmonean Torah piety, the restoration of the temple in the post-exilic period is traced to the founder of this piety in Eretz Yisrael; namely Nehemiah. 6 Since some striking examples of discovery legends and their respective intention and function will be selected in the following without offering a ‘history of invention- and discovery legends’, we allow ourselves here to make a long leap through time and space with the next example of the genre. Fifteen-year-old American Joseph Smith wrestled with the question of “which of the many religious communities is the true one to join”?18 God himself in the company of his son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith in a wood near Manchester (New York) where Smith lived. He advises “him not to join any of the existing churches because all their confessions are an ‘abomination in his eyes’. The true gospel will be revealed to him in the right moment” (p. 381). On the 21st of September 1823, the angel Moroni shows “golden plates with inscriptions: narratives from America’s primeval time and witnesses to the acts of God on the American continent to Joseph Smith”.19 Happily, the plates were hidden in the hill of Cumorah, not far from the place where Smith lived. Four years later Smith translated the “ancient Egyptian characters” on the golden plates, instructed by Moroni, who presented him with “prophetic glasses”20 for the task (p. 381). After Smith had finished his work, Moroni took back the reading and translation devices, and the plates. This was primarily done to protect Smith. Because “in the moment it was known that the plates were in my possession people made the greatest effort to wrestle the plates from me. Every imaginable ruse was devised for this purpose” (Buch Mormon p. 8). Furthermore the plates were no longer needed when first three

226 Nevi’im and then eight witnesses had attested that they existed.21 Smith published, in 1830, the result of the work with the translation which contained the narratives brought together in the Book of Mormon about the Jaredites and Nephites, both immigrants from Babel, respectively Israel, who lived in America. They had brought partly Old Testament and messianic traditions from Israel to America, but also independent and valid revelations parallel to those of the Old and New Testaments. “The Book of Mormon is a holy and historical story about two ancient cultures of America” (Salyards 1968: 1), and covers the period from about 2800 or rather from 600 BCE to 421 CE.22 “About the latter time, Moroni, the last of the Nephite historians, sealed the sacred record and hid it for the Lord that it might be brought forth in the last days” . . . “in the year of 1827 CE, the same Moroni, now after his resurrection, gave the plates to the prophet Joseph Smith” (Buch Mormon, p. 4). The Jaredites “brought stories of creation and the fall of man and the flood with them, and were thus informed of the early days of their ancestors” (Salyards 1968: 4). The Nephites “brought” . . . “the five books of Moses and the books of the Prophets including the Book of Isaiah” (p. 5) with them to America and escaped from the destruction of Jerusalem and the exile shortly before 587 BCE. Around the time of the crucifixion, “the Messiah, Jesus Christ, appeared to the remaining, upright, portion of the Nephites. He taught them the same rules which he had given to the Jews in Palestine . . . and introduced the Gospel with the same basic rules as in the New Testament . . . He called and ordained twelve disciples . . . and founded his church” (p. 13). Already the old American writers of the Book of Mormon “advocated a democratic form of government in which the consent of the people is necessary, because it is regarded as the ruler of itself. It teaches what is often considered to be the best, even today, that growth and development of administrative science have emerged from experience” (p. 10f.). “The book” . . . “teaches that all human beings are equal” (p. 11) and that America is the land of freedom: the land is “dedicated to those whom he will bring here. And when they serve him according to the commandments which he gave to them, then it will be a land of freedom for them” (2 Nephi 1,7), especially the freedom of belief. “He also proclaimed for them that they should be free to worship the Lord their God as they wanted, and where it might be” (Alma 21,22). Moroni is outraged “because of the government’s indifference to the liberty of the land” (Alma 59,13). Overall, the Book of Mormon teaches an optimistic belief in progress, in which “the rest of the early inhabitants of ancient America should also have a part to play because the story about their fathers came into light . . . It indicates that they should rise from primitive conditions and become an enlightened people. It declares that the pagan nations23 who should own the lands of the former inhabitants would further their liberation from degenerate conditions”.24 Dark-skinned people, on the other hand, have it less favorably; for the seer Nephi saw, “that (the Lamaites), after having sunk into disbelief, became a dark, slothful, and filthy people, full of sloth, and every kind of depravity” (1. Nephi 12,23). God let, for this reason, a curse come over them, and “because they were very white, beautiful and pleasant God had their skin turn dark, so that, no more, they would be able to seduce my

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 227 people” (2. Nephi 5,21; cf. Salyards 1968: 9). “The Book of Mormon also reveals clearly – in that it reports how dearly it costs man when he is sinful, disobedient, and neglectful of God and His obligations – that it cannot lead to success or happiness, but only to decay and suffering” (p. 12). The old Americans, about whom the Book of Mormon speaks, were not only more advanced in the political and social areas than those of the same religion in the old continent. They also partially surpassed them when it came to theological concepts. The term ‘fall’ already occurs between 90 and 77 BCE in the book of Alma 22,13, and the term ‘crucify’ is already known according to 2 Nephi 6,9 from around 560 BCE. In the ancient world, the punishment by crucifixion appeared at the earliest in the Persian period,25 and the term σταυροω is first known from Polybius Historicus (second century BCE).26 The Book of Mormon represents “an additional revelation of God”27 for America. It supplements the Bible of the Old and New Testaments with typical features of the ‘American gospel’ with everything that demands respect from us, but also with the dubious features of white American supremacy. Black people have been among the first members of the Mormon Church, but could not be ordained as priests before 1978. It is clear that a Christian reform movement based on biblical piety is unsatisfied with the lack of essential parts of the ‘American confession’ in the ancient European Bibles. Then came Lehi and his fellows “after we had sailed for many days” . . . “in the Promised Land” (1. Nephi 18,23, around 589 BCE). It is the land of the ‘Pilgrim Fathers’ from the old world (here the historical paradigm): The land of political and religious freedom, of democracy and the equality of all (white) men. It is the land in which the fear of God and righteousness is rewarded with ‘successes’ and ‘happiness’, and where ‘indifference’, ‘dirt’, and ‘inertia’ are punished. It is the land of a continuing and enlightened progress in which God himself has a part (Reller 1978: 383), or put differently: Which constitutes man’s likeness to God. The Book of Mormon legitimizes – eschatologically speaking – ‘American belief’, the American dream. Finally, the newly discovered book does not only legitimize typical American religiosity: Jesus Christ himself, the Telos of the Book of Mormon and who has really planted American Christianity in the Promised Land, makes this new-world-religiosity legitimate. What is ‘new’ about this religiosity is not the – from the point of view of the major Churches – sectarian traits of Mormon theology. These traits only serve the purpose for and the legitimation of an American religiosity which the Mormons share with most of their compatriots. In my opinion, this religiosity is not simply ‘better’ than that conveyed by other church communities, which Joseph Smith did not want to join; it is essentially different, because what is typically American is at the center of it. It is probably not a coincidence that the Book of Mormon – when we look at the kind of text it is – is mostly oriented towards the narrative (‘Dtr’) books of the Old Testament. Of course the cross and the crucifixion of Jesus are mentioned about ten times in the 500 pages long Book of Mormon, mostly in stereotypical, ‘prophetic’ presentations of the future. Jesus’ role as legislator, however, is more important: “See, I am the one who has given the law” (3. Nephi 15,5, cf. v. 9);

228 Nevi’im “See, I have given you commandments; keep them” (v. 10). The mercy of God (cf. Mosiah 15,9) and his forgiveness (mentioned about five times) is placed at the edge of the Mormon gospel (about six times). Humans will, “if they were good, resurrect to endless life and eternal bless” (Mosiah 16,11). This is the consolation of the American gospel (and to be fair not only of the American), but here it becomes, in a coarser version of biblical citations – cf. Dan 12:2f. – again, in a very central way, ‘Holy Scripture’. By discovering an ancient (law) book, the American form of Christianity is legitimized as such, on the one hand, and, on the other, by anchoring the tradition of this Christianity in the (Christianly received) tradition of the Old Testament and in Jesus Christ himself, that is, consistently traced back to the generally accepted norma normans of all religious speech. We have here the same pre-scientific way of thinking as in 2 Kings 22. That which is of central importance to the faith, the ‘dogma’, is formulated in terms of origin-mythology.28 The truism of the attributes of American identity is established as being ‘primeval’ – traceable to Christ and those who in ancient times have handed down the biblical faith – and a true Christian identity for America. This new American Christianity, the new religiosity, with its political and social beliefs, is proved by the invention of the Book of Mormon. It would of course be madness to argue that the Book of Mormon was a ‘fraud’. This would represent an inappropriate category. The Book of Mormon is rather a dogmatic sermon within the framework of origin-mythological thinking and thus as far as its context is concerned, thoroughly ‘serious’; although from a theological point of view it represents an absolutely contestable interpretation of the Bible. 7 From this example of a modern ‘discovery legend’, we move back in time to some of the early Christian authors. Ambrose, bishop of Milan (d. 397) is the first to relate that it was Helena who rediscovered the cross of Christ at Golgotha. Although splinters from the Lignum Crucis had been spread to many places from, at least, the time of Cyril of Jerusalem (d. 386), there was no real Inventio; that only came with Helena’s ‘discovery’. After Ambrose, the story of Helena’s discovery of the cross was amplified and details were changed and embroidered. Our discussion of the Inventio crucis will focus on two subjects: First the early witnesses to the Lignum crucis, and, second, Ambrose’s eulogy for the emperor Theodosius where Helena for the first time appears as Inventrix Crucis. We have to ask why it was that the Helena legend developed in this shape and exactly in the time of Ambrose? The subsequent development of the legendary details can largely be ignored. Eusebius of Caesarea (d. ca. 340) has, in his Vita Constantini, presented an extensive description of the preparations for the construction of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. He does not mention any Inventio Crucis (III 26–40).29 The “material of tree and stone” which first had to be removed from the destroyed temple of Aphrodite has nothing in common with the later well-known Lignum Crucis.30

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 229 Eusebius does not mention the empress Helena in his detailed description of the Holy Sepulcher. He, on the other hand, mentions that Helena made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land (III 42)31 where she took part in the construction of the churches in Bethlehem and on the Mount of Olives (Eleona) (III 43).32 If Eusebius had known about Helena’s activity in regard to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher he surely would have related it.33 His silence may be an indication that in his time neither was there knowledge of an Inventio Crucis nor of a special Inventio Crucis related to Empress Helena. That is conspicuous, because Eusebius, as a contemporary of the emperor’s house, was well informed and has related other events related to the topic. The fact that Eusebius, in spite of the best of conditions, does not show any knowledge of an Inventio Crucis, cannot be neglected.34 Cyril the bishop of Jerusalem is our first witness (c. 350) to the existence of splinters of the cross. In his Catechesis he often alludes to the ξυλον το αγιον του σταυρου (IV 10; X 19; XIII 4) and presupposes that parts from it had been spread not only to Jerusalem but also to other places.35 That, at least from the middle of the fourth century, splinters from the cross were known and esteemed as phylacteries, are also testified by inscriptions36 and subsequently also by the authors Chrysostom and Gregory of Nyssa. In his commentary on John 19:17,37 Chrysostom resonates that the cross of Christ was placed between the cross of the thieves and carried the titulus, which has made possible its identification as the true cross. Gregory of Nyssa writes that his sister Macrina (d. 379) was in possession of “a hollow capsule with a piece of wood from the tree of life”.38 Paulinus of Nola writes in 403 an accompanying letter with those splinters of the cross which Melanie the Older originally had brought with her from Palestine.39 It is possible to add considerably to these examples. The witnesses from the fourth century agree so much that they know of splinters of the cross both in and outside Jerusalem and sometimes presuppose a discovery of the cross, which they do not, however connect with Helena. This fact is also obvious to the interpreters.40 The pilgrim Egeria mentions the Lignum Crucis several times in a section dealing with the liturgy in Jerusalem (Hunt 1972; Devos 1973, 1974). Appropriately guarded, it was shown to the public and worshipped on certain days. She reports on the ceremony on Good Friday:41 “They bring a little box of silver, which has been gilded, in which lays the wood from the cross. They open it, bring out the wood of the cross and lay it on the table with its inscription (titulus). When it has been placed on the table the bishop, who remains sitting, grasp the end of the holy wood (Lignum Sanctum Crucis) with his hands, while the deacons who stand in a circle watch over it. The reason it is guarded is that that it is the custom that everyone present, whether they belong to the group being instructed (catechumens) or are believers, will come and bow down in front of the table, kiss the holy cross and move on. Because it is said that someone once had bitten and stolen something from sacred wood, it is . . . guarded . . . First they touch the cross with their forehead, then with their eyes both the cross and the inscription, and kissing the cross they proceed. However, nobody stretch out the hand to touch it”. Egeria is thus a witness to the worship of the Lignum Crucis and mentions also the titulus, which was placed on the cross of Christ.42

230 Nevi’im Apart from the worship of the cross, Egeria also knows of a special feast of consecration for the churches on Golgotha: Anastasis and Martyrium. The date of the consecration of the church (Encenia)43 is the very same day as when the cross was found: “The consecration of these holy churches was celebrated with the greatest pomp because the cross of the Lord was found the same day (quoniam crux domini inventa est ipse die). And so it has been arranged that the day on which the above churches were consecrated was also the day on which the Cross of the Lord was found, that they might be celebrated with all the joy of the feast on the same day”. However, although Egeria is familiar with both the veneration of the wood of the cross and the celebration of the finding of the cross an Inventio does not appear in her detailed description. Neither is Helena mentioned in this context. This can only mean that Egeria did not know of any such activity of the empress.44 In other places (ch. 25,1; 25,6 and 25,9) she relates that Constantine had built the Martyrium and adds in 25,9 these words: “sub praesentia matris suae”. From this we may deduce that Helena was present on Golgotha when the construction took place – just as at other holy places! But that is all.45 Thus Egeria lines up with those who, in spite of intensive knowledge of local events, knew nothing of Helena’s Inventio.46 8 Although nothing was known in the east about Helena’s Inventio until the end of the fourth century, the fundamental documents appear in the west in Ambrose’s eulogy of the emperor Theodosius. This speech is dated to the 25th of February 39547 and contains the following arguments: (40f.) Empress Helena provided her son Constantine with relics (nails) from the cross as a special protection for his tasks as a Christian ruler. In this way the prophecy of Zech 14:20: “in that day shall stand on the horse’s bridle ‘holy’ to the Lord Almighty”, will be fulfilled. (42) Helena, who is a woman of modest origins, but who seeks Christ alone thus also fulfils the word in Psalm 113:7.48 (43) Driven by the Holy Spirit, she searches for the wood of the cross in Golgotha so that redemption can be made visible. The words which Ambrose puts in her mouth reflect the ideal of humility. (44) She compares her part in God’s plan for salvation with that of Mary’s, the mother of the Lord: Both are divine tools in the fight against the devil. Just as Mary proclaims the Incarnate one, so will Helena proclaim the Risen one.49 (45) Helena finds several splinters from crosses in this place, but thanks to the help of the Spirit, who tells her to read the Scriptures, she decides on the (formerly) middle one, which is marked by the titulus. In this, Ambrose sees the pre-planned help for Helena to find the right cross. (46) When Helena then found the true wood, “the remedy of immortality”, she does not worship this, but – as Ambrose emphasizes – the one who died on it as the redeemer of mankind, namely Christ himself. (47) The empress also searches after the nails and she finds them.50 She places them as a special phylactery51 for protection and ornament in the reins and crown of her son Constantine. Under the protection of these symbols, the line of Christian emperors begins, a special fulfillment of the ‘sacred’ according to Zech 14:20. (48) The nails of the cross in the emperor’s reins and crown ensures that “the cross is venerated by the kings”: Thus,

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 231 in God’s plan for salvation, the previous persecutors become those who preach the word. The crown is the symbol of faith, the reins of power, and this power is just.52 (48f.) Ambrose ends with the statement: “The emperor worships Christ”, i.e. the Roman Empire has become Christian. Other people, as once the Jews and now the heretics, do not accept this. (50f.) The ‘sacred’, means, according to Zech 14:20, ultimately that the emperors who are Christians are also different, in their Christian and virtuous way of life, from the emperors who were pagans.53 Ambrose places the news that Helena has found the Lignum Crucis in the context of salvation history. By her discovery Helena thus fulfills the prophecies of the Old Testament. Correspondingly, Helena is characterized as a pious, obedient and humble person, qualities that do not otherwise have this status in the legend. Ambrose does not mention any Inventio but answers the question: “Why do we Christians revere the Lignum Crucis”. He sees the origin of this pious practice as installed by God and provides thereby the theological legitimation of an existing religious practice, which in itself is a veneration of the redeemer (cf. ch. 46). The fact that the emperor, by the nails of the cross, receives a very special “means of protection” for his responsible office through Helena distinguishes him from other believers. The ‘historical’ connections, such as Helena’s travels and stay in the Holy Land play no role for Ambrose. Neither is he interested in narrative details of the event (cf. the later miracle!). Helena fulfills as Inventrix Crucis moreover, by her role in salvation history, the precondition that Christianity entered the Roman Empire with help from her and the following emperors. Thus the theological legitimation which Ambrose provides finds its place in the specific historical situation at the end of the fourth century, when the empire became Christian and needed legitimation for its power. We might call Ambrose’s eulogy a cult legend in regard to Helena, but hardly a discovery legend in the normal sense. The fact that Ambrose is the ultimate expert54 when it comes to Inventiones is a remarkable and significant difference in regard to other Inventiones and Translationes. It has to do with the fact that the relics of the cross are very special remains. It is impossible to show or find bones from the risen Jesus! It is therefore not a coincidence that no Inventio is known or created in the vicinity of the starting point of the relics, namely in Jerusalem. In its function, Ambrose’s speech does justice to this fact. Ambrose’s ‘Helena’ narrative does not belong to the tradition of normal legends of discoveries. It therefore also seems erroneous to look for individual links between information up to Ambrose’s time and his version of the Helena legend, or even assume an origin of the legend in the East.55 I can only briefly refer to further developments. The story of the discovery which Rufinus hands down in additions to Eusebius’s Church History is revealing.56 Helena finds the three crosses, but the titulus is not enough to legitimate the true cross, but a miracle settles the case! A deadly sick person is healed by touching the real Lignum Crucis. Rufinus also places the Inventio Crucis in a historic framework, so to speak, by making Bishop Makarius of Jerusalem present. Finally, it is Helena and not Constantine who builds the church. In this way Rufinus includes details of the legend which belong to characteristic traits of the Inventiones: The

232 Nevi’im introduction of a miracle enhances the narrative plot and embedding it in a historical situation creates problems with general historical records. This type of legend corresponds to the ‘theophany of renewal’ or ‘reconstruction’ in which an old and famous, but ultimately never forgotten site is rediscovered with God’s help.57 The subsequent development of the Helena legend is diverse and complex. Scholars differentiate between the actual Helena legend (H) and, as its derivations, the Cyriacus (C) and Protonike (P) legends based on the substance of the matter. This is not relevant to my question of the emergence of the Helena Inventio. In this place we may also leave out consideration of the various influences and special features which individual authors have added to the stream of tradition. Overall, it can be said that the legend continues to be enriched with legendary details and that Helena herself is increasingly brought into the foreground.58 9 What is made legitimate through the discovery of the most holy relic of the cross? It is important to remember here that when the Inventio of the relic of the cross is brought into connection with the empress Helena (‘when’ did she ‘find’ the cross), what kind of relic was found and who the person is who found it. The earliest witnesses known to us regarding the discovery of the cross by Helena, Ambrose and Rufinus, presuppose the introduction of the state church in the Roman Empire under Theodosius I in his edict on religion, February 28, 380 CE (cf. Lietzmann 1961: 26). Ambrose is regarded as the decisive “promoter” – to put it sensibly – of the Inventiones of martyrs’ bones and their transfer to dignified burial sites, i.e. to the cathedrals of the imperial state church (Kötting 1965: 19f.; Delehaye 1933: 68ff.). Here he made a name for himself by discovering the bones of St. Gervasius and St. Probasius in Milan in 386 CE – “the first known example of an ‘inventio’ of martyr bodies” (Wimmer 1966: 243; Kötting. 68ff.). The martyrs are, however, no less than the ‘heroes’ of the persecuted pre-Constantine Church. The Πρωτομαρτυς in this sense is not Stephan (cf. Acta 7:58f.) but Jesus Christ himself. His ‘relic’ is discovered by the mother of the emperor – the only possible artifact – because it was not possible to find the bones of Jesus Christ (cf. xxx [manus p. 113]). In the cross, Helena, so to speak, finds the ‘centre’ of Christian belief and the ‘historical foundation’ of the Church. We may ask, however, why the Inventio was not ascribed to the emperor Constantine. After all, he has the merit of having introduced Christianity, which had become an official state cult in 380 CE, as ‘religio licita’, but in fact already as the religion of the empire (because of the emperor’s belief). Helena the mother of the emperor is, however, not just anyone. In connection with the Roman cult of the emperor, which did not stop when the empire became Christian – we should rather say, on the contrary (cf. Prüm 1954: 83–91) – the mother of the emperor became the quasi ‘mother of God’ in the Christian reception. It is hardly a coincidence when tradition depicts Helena in a mariological interpretation (cf. above xxx [manus p. 111]). Therefore it is also hardly a coincidence that the ‘mother of God’ discovers the relic of her ‘son’, the instrument of his

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 233 martyrium and saves it for the Christian empire. As a central point, the new form of religiosity, the state church, which was binding for all citizens of the Roman Empire, could not prove its legitimacy. And this imperial Church was definitely in need of legitimation. The last major persecution of the Christians would most likely still be remembered. But now the state church walk in grand processions in the newly erected cathedrals, images of the ruler’s palace – at the end of the processions the ecclesiastical dignitaries, bishops, metropolitans, patriarchs, in the magnificent imperial robes what were theirs due to their position in the hierarchy of the realm . . . What has this church to do with the poor and persecuted church of the martyrs? The Inventiones of the bones of the martyrs, who were executed because of their faith, establish continuity. The very facts of the Inventiones perfectly prove that the imperial church stands within the legitimate tradition of the church of the martyrs. The final proof is established by the mother of the emperor’s discovery of the relics of the cross. The discovery of the bones of martyrs is linked to another important function of the state church: The private cult of non-Christianized parts of the population, which is mainly dedicated to heroes (Nilsson 1967), must be converted into a christianly acceptable form. As ‘Christian heroes’ the martyrs substitute the ‘pagan’ cult of the heroes. This new ‘cult of the heroes’ must, at the same time, be controllable, i.e. removed from the private sphere and become ‘nationalized’.59 The transfer of the bones of the martyrs into the sanctuaries of the national church makes this possible. The martyrs substitute for the heroes. At the same time, the martyr cult in the (bishop’s) churches serves to strengthen the position of the bishops, which is necessary for consolidation – a particular concern of Bishop Paulinus von Nola, for example.60 10 Through the Inventiones (and subsequent Translationes) of martyrs’ bones, but especially through the discovery of the relic of the cross by the emperor’s mother Helena, the imperial Roman state church, which is so different from the persecuted church of the martyrs, is supposed to be identified as standing in a legitimate tradition. It is hardly a coincidence that these distinctive traditions arose in circles and were promoted by persons who, like Ambrose of Milan, were close to the power of the state. By discovering the pre-exilic temple fire, the devotees, stemming from the Hasmonean circle, seemingly want to link their ‘kosher’ cult, whose guarantor is the ‘reformer’ Nehemiah, to the (obviously) legitimizing tradition of the preexilic temple. And by finding the ‘Torah of Moses’ in the pre-exilic temple, postexilic ‘orthodoxy’ intends to connect the Torah piety that is characteristic of it (and ultimately surpasses the temple cult in a suitably important form) to the legitimate tradition. This piety seems exactly to have originated from the pre-exilic temple – and therefore from ‘Israel’s’ ancient religion. It is perhaps telling that no “plans for the construction of the temple” (Tempelbauplane) were found in the temple of Jerusalem, such as happened in the temple of Dendera in the time of Thutmosis III, according to which the new building was constructed and “precisely because of this appears as a renewal of ancient tradition”.61

234 Nevi’im In the case of the Inventio of 2 Kings 22:8ff. the (according to historical probability quite certain) young Torah piety – objectified by the norma normans of this religiosity – is a “renewal of ancient tradition”. The fact that it would be historically completely inappropriate to want to recognize a ‘fraud’ in the legend should only be expressly added once again. When the report in 2 Kings 22 does not have any ‘literal’ historicity, then it is not a matter of ‘fraud’ – so only unhistorical rationalism may judge – but of “a stylistic form with a certain tendency”.62 We could also say that it is about ‘narrative argumentation’ with a dogmatic intention. In fact, we cannot really decide as regards the events described in 2 Kings 22 that they are ‘historical’ in the sense of real, past events. Methodological reasons speak against it. We could here only discuss a small selection of ‘discovery legends’ – albeit some we consider important. It is possible to add to their number, but it would not have changed the quality of the conclusion. The religiosity that seeks to legitimize itself with this narrative is probably “historical” – and this is moreover legitimized by the way in which it received the “history of Israel” that is peculiar to it, which bases its evaluations on the criteria of this piety and thus the norma normens of this religiosity. The persons and the conditions we meet in the narrative certainly are ‘historical’: King Josiah, the high priest Hilkiah, Josiah’s reform, maybe even the repair of the temple and the political situation towards the end of the seventh century BCE. Legends of discoveries must also be created in a ‘competent’ way. Otherwise they might not fulfill their function. The composition of the Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 demonstrates this competence. The legend of the discovery of the cross also displays such competence. The discovery of the Book of Mormon is different. This is not the place to discuss this matter.63 When it comes to 2 Kgs 22:8ff. we find it necessary to study this narrative in the context of the genre or type of Inventio legend, against the assumption of a ‘historical event’. The ‘discovery’ of Deuteronomy, whatever shape it might have had, in the temple of Jerusalem during King Josiah’s reign probably never happened. Notes  1 Claudia Nauerth was co-author of the German original.  2 “Die Selbständigkeit Judas zurückzugewinnen . . . beseitigte Josia auch Kulte astraler Gottheiten, die im Tempel einen Platz gefunden hatten. Es spricht vieles dafür, dass diese Kultreform Josias in vollem Gange war, als man bei Restaurationsarbeiten im Tempel von Jerusalem ein Gesetzbuch, das dort deponiert worden war, fand. Es war im Orient allgemein üblich, Gesetzescorpora in einem Heiligtum zu deponieren. Alle Anzeichen weisen darauf hin, dass es sich bei dem unter Josia gefundenen Gesetzbuch um das sog. ‘deuteronomische Gesetz’, das dan Grundbestand des 5. Buches Mose bildet, handelt” (Metzger 1972: 129f.).  3 “Alle Wahrscheinlichkeit spricht dafür, dass dieses ‘Gesetzbuch’ mit der Urgestalt des im A.T. erhaltenen deuteronomischen Gesetzes zu identifizieren ist” (Noth 1956: 249).  4 Cf. the cautious use of the subjunctive in S. Herrmann below.  5 “Die These ist längst ausgesprochen worden, dass es sich bei dem aufgefundenen Buch um das Deuteronomium gehandelt haben müsse, genauer gesagt, um einen Kern dieses Buches, der die deuteronomischen Grundthesen enthielt” (S. Herrmann 1973: 327f.).

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 235  6 “Dass das unter Josia aufgefundene Gesetzbuch des Deuteronomium gewesen sei, haben vor de Wette schon Hieronymus, Chrysostomus, Prokop von Gaza, Hobbes und Lessing angenommen, sie alle aber unter Festhalten an der mosaischen Autorschaft. Für de Wette dagegen ist des Deuteronomium Produkt des Geistes einer späteren Zeit: darauf kommt es ihm an” (Smend 1958: 36).  7 Cf. Preuss 1982.  8 “Kongruenz zwischen Reform (sc. des Josia) und Gesetz” (Gunneweg 1979: 120).  9 “Dass Josia das Deuteronomium beachtete und seinen Massnahmen zu Grunde legte . . . Die Entsprechungen liessen sich auch daraus erklären, dass die deuteronomistische Darstellung im nachhinein Josies Messnahmen dem Deuteronomium gemäss verstand und verstanden haben wollte. Es bestünde dennn . . . nur eine (Kongruenz) zwischen der deuteronomistischen Darstellung und dem Gesetz. Tatsächlich sprechen wichtige Gründe für eine spätere Ansetzung des Deuteronomiums . . . Damit soll freilich nicht behaptet werden, dass Josias Reform eine Erfindung des Deuteronomiums sei” (Gunneweg 1979: 120). 10 “Nach dieser Darstellung (sc. in 2Kön 22f.) war ein im Tempel gefundenes Gesetzbuch die Grundlage (d)er Reformen und insbesondere einer Kultzentralisation” (Gunneweg 1979: 120). 11 “Dem Wesen und Denken des Deuteronomiums so unverkennbar und bis in den Wortlaut hinein nahe, dass dieses Gedankengut unausweichlich als das eigentliche Zentrum josianischer Reformpolitik hingestellt werden konnte. Damit ist freilich noch längst nicht mit Sicherheit festgestellt, was eigentlich im ‘Buch’ stand, woher es kam und warum es ‘gefunden’, also auf recht geheimnisvolle Weise ans Licht gezogen und schliesslich so rasch zur Geltung gebracht wurde. Gerade die ‘Auffindung’ im Tempel hat naturgemäss viele Fragen ausgelöst und ebenso viele Antworten gefunden” (S. Herrmann 1973: 328). 12 “Um einen Priesterbetrug handelte es sich gewiss nicht” (p. 328, n. 7). 13 “Die Annehme einer dogmenpolitisch ausserordentlich folgenreichen pia fraus ist doch wohl die einzig mögliche intellektuell redliche Beurteilung dieser ‘Gesetzesauffindung’ zur Zeit des Königs Josia” (Lüling 1982: 133, n. 17). 14 I would like to refer once again to R. Rendtorff 1977. 15 On this, I am happy to refer the reader to several articles in DBAT. 16 Here, Habicht finds it “peculiar that Nehemiah is declared builder of the temple and the altar (instead of the wall)” (“Dass Nehemia als Erbauer des Tempels und des Opferaltars (statt der Mauer) bezeichnet wird, ist merkwürdig”; Habicht 1979: 203). 17 Cf. to this the ‘canonical’ tradition in the Book of Haggai. 18 H. Reller 1978: 381; 3.13: ‘Die Kirche Jesu Christi der Heiligen der Letzten Tage’ [Mormonen]. 19 Reller 1978: 381. Some of the plates were of brass. 20 The sources speak about “a fastened stone on a breast plate . . . the socalled Urim and Thummim” (“an einem Brustschild befestigten Steine(n,) . . . den sogenannten Urim und Thummim”) (Das Buch Mormon. 15th ed. 1964. Published by Kirche Jesu Christi. Munich.) Cf. Lev 8:8. 21 Cf. Buch Mormon, p. 9; J. Aagaard 1982: 125. 22 Salyards 1968: 1; Buch Mormon, pp. 4, 33. 23 These are essentially the (West-) Europaean immigrants to the USA. 24 Salyards 1968: 17; 21: “Moses said . . . presupposes that Joseph will take a land . . . should . . . rich in material goods, where God particularly favors him . . . (cf. Deut 33 [13ff.])” . . . “The book foretells that America would be discovered and possessed by pagan people; that the present great nation should be favored by the providence of God and delivered from the dominion of others if it served God; that this country would be a land of freedom . . . ” (“Mose sagte . . . voraus, dass Joseph ein Land einnehmen . . . sollte . . . reich an materiellen Gütern, wo ihn Gott besonders begünstigen . . . will (vgl. Dtn 33 [13ff.])” . . . “Das Buch sagt voraus, dass Amerika von heidnischen Völlkern entdeckt und in Besitz gekommen würde; dass die gegenwärtige

236 Nevi’im grosse Nation durch die Vorsehung Gottes begünstigt und vor der Herrschaft anderer befreit werden sollte, wenn sie Gott diente; dass dieses Land ein Land der Freiheit sein würde . . .”). 25 Cf. ThWNT VII: 573. 26 Liddell and Scott: 1635. 27 “Eine zusätzliche Offenbarung Gottes” (Salyards 1968: 15). 28 Cf., here my article in DBAT 18 (Diebner 1984). It is clear that such ideas are directed against “Unbelief and materialism [sic!, cf. n. 20 above] and modernism” and “theological schools of thought . . . which have adopted the ideas of modernism, humanism, etc.”, “which claim that irreconcilable contradictions exist between the four Gospels” (Salyards p. 22), and against “doubt and learned skepticism”, which “should be refuted in our time”. “The Book of Mormon . . . provides timely additional proof that the Bible is of divine origin . . . It is . . . significant because it appeared in time” (p. 24). (“Unglauben und Materialismus [sic!, cf. n. 20 above] und Modernismus” and “theologische Denkrichtungen . . . die sich die Ideen des Modernismus, Humanismus, usw. zu eigen gemacht haben”, “die behaupten, dass zwischen den vier Evangelien unvereinbare Widersprüche bestehen” (Salyards p. 22), and against “den Zweifel und die gelehrte Skeptik”, which “unserer Zeit widerlegen (soll)”. “Das Buch Mormon . . . erbringt zur rechten Zeit einen zusätzlichen Beweis dafur, dass die Bibel göttlichen Ursprungs ist . . . Es ist . . . bedeutungsvoll, weil es rechtzeitig erschien” (p. 24). 29 References from BKV Eusebius I, 1913. 30 III 27: “he again ordered that the wood and stones of the destroyed temple were cleared away” (“wiederum befahl er, das Material des zerstörten Tempels an Holz und Steinen wegzuräumen”). Whether the reliquien were obtained later, as has been suggested by E.D. Hunt 1982: 39 is uncertain. 31 III 42: “Since this (=Helena) had made the decision . . . to pay to God the tribute to her pious disposition, . . . despite her old age . . . to search the admirable country . . . in the footsteps of the Savior . . .” (“Da diese (=Helena) nämlich den Entschluß gefaßt hatte, Gott . . . den schuldigen Tribut ihrer frommen Gesinnung zu erstatten, . . . trotz ihres hohen Alters . . . um das bewundenswürdige Land zu durchforschen . . . in den Fußstapfen des Erlösers . . .”). Cf. Ps 132:7!; regarding her journey, see Hunt 1982: 29ff. 32 III 43: “So she consecrated to God . . . two temples, one at the cave of the birth (Nativity) and the other on the Mountain of the Assumption . . .” (“So weihte sie denn Gott . . . zwei Tempel, den einen bei der Grotte der Geburt, den anderen auf dem Berge der Himmelfahrt”). 33 Cf., especially, on the Tricennat (thirty years anniversary) speech in Hunt 1982: 38 with ref. to H. A. Drake 1976: 71ff. 34 J. Straubinger 1913: 78f. and 104; J. Jeremias 1926: 30, n. 3; Hunt 1982: 38: “ . . . the conclusion is inescapable that the Golgatha buildings were carried through . . . without the intervention of the Augusta . . . it is an impressively convincing silence”. 35 In the letter to Constantine II, the discovery is placed in the time of the emperor; cf. Hunt 1982: 19, 156; see also A. Frolow 1961: 155ff; J. Wilkinson 1971: 240f. 36 Frolow has collected the material (Frolow 1961: 158 ff); cf. Hunt 1982: 128ff., 134. 37 For a discussion of Chrysostom’s Hom. in Joh. 85, l (=PG 59,461) and “Quod Christus sit deus” 10 (=PG 48,826), see Hunt 1982: 40. 38 Vita Makrinae 30; Gregory von Nyssa, BKV 1927: 36l; cf. Hunt 1982: 134. 39 Letter 31, which also relates an expanded form of Helena’s discovery legend; cf. P. Devos 1973, 1974, esp. 323f. 40 Straubinger 1913: 78f; Jeremias 1926: 30, n. 3; Hunt 1982: 28. 41 Ch. 37,1–37,3; cf. already the introduction in ch. 36,5. The German translation is from H. Pétré and Karl Vrestka 1958. 42 Other witnesses can be found in B. Kötting 1980: 94, n. 43. 43 Ch. 48; cf. Frolow 1961: 163; Hunt 1982: 39. 44 So also Wilkinson 1971: 241.

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 237 45 The best translation of the sentence may be “by the recommendation of his mother”; cf. also Hunt 1982: 33; Pétré and Vrestka 1958: 229, n. 2 apparently see in it a hint that Helena was present at the discovery of the cross, of which there is no mention in this connection! 46 By Egeria’s time at the latest, perhaps even earlier, there was also a monumental memorial cross on Golgotha, which plays a role in the pilgrim reports; see, for example, in H. Donner 1979: Breviarius 1 A/B und 2 A/B (pp. 232ff.) and the Pilgrim from Piacenza, ch. 20 (p. 280); of the Pilgrims, only Theodosius, ch. 31 (p. 223) says that Helena had found the cross; cf. Hunt 1982: 48. Regarding the wonders, see Jeremias 1926: 29, n. 4. 47 For the interpretation, see W. Steidle 1978: 94–112; cf. Hunt 1982: 4lf.; Jeremias 1926: 30. C. Favez 1932: 423–449 argues that the Legend is secondarily brought into speech by Ambrose. The hypothesis is rejected by Steidle for good reasons (language, style, composition and tendency). 48 Ps. 113:7: “who lifts the weak out of the dust and raises the poor from the rubbish heap”. 49 Parallels with Mary can also be found in chs. 46 and 47. 50 For interpretation of the nails as such and by Hieronymus, see Hunt 1982: 42. 51 In ch. 49, protection against demons is explicitly mentioned. 52 Ps 21:4: “you place a golden crown on his head”; cf. Isa 60:3. 53 Ps 32:9: “Do not behave like a horse or a mule, unreasoning creatures whose mettle must be curbed with bit and bridle, so that they do not come near you”. 54 On this, see Steidle 1978: 99, and B. Kötting 1965: 19–21. 55 Which Hunt 1982 has attempted, pp. 33, 40ff. (to Rufinus, p. 44): “The insertion of Helena into the developing legend is most likely to have stemmed from Jerusalem, source both of the actual relics and of the tradition linking them with Constantine’ s building of the Holy Sepulchre” (p. 40). 56 Rufinus X 7f. (GCS Eusebius II 2, Leipzig 1908: 969ff.); cf. Wilkinson 1971: 240f.; Hunt 1982: 42ff. 57 Jeremias 1926: 29–33; H. Donner 1977: esp. p. 11. 58 For a general discussion, see Straubinger 1913; Jeremias 1926: 28–33; Frolow 1961: 155ff. Hunt 1982: 44ff. in regard to Paulinus of Nola, Sokrates, Sozomenos, Theodoret, Alexander of Salamis, Gregory of Tours, etc. 59 Cf. Th. Baumeister, “Hymnen in der Heiligenverehrung der Koptischen Kirche” (Paper in Kröffelbach/Ts., 19.2.1984); 1975: 406–412; 1972. 60 It is not Felix von Nola (as discussed in Kröffelbach and my Tagungsbericht, p. 6). 61 “Welches eben dadurch als Erneuerung uralter Überlieferung erscheint” (J. Herrmann 1908: 297). 62 “Eine Stilform mit gewisser Tendenz” (J. Herrmann 1908: 302). 63 This is supported by various factors, not least that the intention to legitimize ‘typical American religiosity’ with its political values leads to the Inventio of a document that cannot be agreed upon by other circles of members of the Christian tradition. Moreover, it is not a new hereditary religiosity that legitimizes itself here, but already, from this approach, a sectarian group.

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238 Nevi’im ———. 1974. ‘Silvie la Sainte Pelerine. II’. Analecta Bollandiana 92: 321–341. Diebner, B.J. 1984. ‘Wider die “Offenbarungs-Archäeologie” in der Wissenschaft vom Alten Testaments. Grundsätzliches zum Sinn alttestamentlicher Forschung im Rahmen der Theologie’. DBAT 18: 30–53. Donner, H. 1977. ‘Der Felsen und der Tempel’. ZDPV 93: 1–11. ———. 1979. Pilgerfahrt ins Heilige Land. Die ältesten Berichte christlicher Palästinapilger (4. – 7. Jahrhundert). Stuttgart: Katholischer Bibelwerk. Drake, H.A. 1976. In Praise of Constantine. University of California Publications, Classical Studies 15. Berkeley: University of California. Favez, C. 1932. ‘L’episode de l’invention de la croix dans l’oraison funebre de Theodose par Saint Ambroise’. Revue des Etudes Latines 10: 423–429. Frolow, A. 1961. La Relique de la Vraie Croix. Recherches sur le développement d’un culte. Paris: Institut français d’études byzantines. Gunneweg, A.H.J. 1979. Geschichte Israels bis Bar Kochba. ThW 2. 3rd ed. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Habicht, C. 1979. 2. Makkabäerbuch. JSBRZ I/3. Gütersloh: G. Mohn. Herrmann, J. 1908. ‘Agyptische Analogien zum Fund des Deuteronomiums’. ZAW 28: 291–302. Hermann, S. 1973. Geschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit. Munich: Kaiser. Hunt, E.D. 1972. ‘St. Silvia of Aquitaine. The Role of a Theodosian Pilgrim Society of East and West’. JTS 23: 351–373. ———. 1982. Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire A.D. 312–460. Oxford: Clarendon. Jeremias, J. 1926. Golgatha. Leipzig-Göttingen: E. Pfeiffer. Kötting, B. 1965. ‘Der frühchristliche Reliquienkult und die Bestattung im Kirchengebäüde’. Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Forschungen des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen 123: 19–21. ———. 1980. Peregrinatio religiosa. Wallfahrten in der Antike und das Pilgerwesen in der alten Kirche. Münster: Stenderhoff. Liddell, H.R. and R. Scott (eds.). 1940. A Greek-English Lexikon. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lietzmann, H. 1961. Geschichte der Alten Kirche 4. 3rd ed. Berlin: de Gruyter. Lüling, G. 1982. ‘Das Passahlamm und die altarabische “Mutter der Blutrache”, die Hyäne’. ZRGG 34: 130–147. Metzger, M. 1972. Grundriss der Geschichte Israels. NStB 2 (3.Aufl.). Neukirchen: Neukirchen-Vluyn. Nilsson, H.P. 1967. Geschichte der griechischen Religion I. 3rd ed. Munich: Beck. Noth, M. 1956. Geschichte Israels. 3rd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Pétré, H. and K. Vrestka. 1958. Die Pilgerreise der Aetheria (Peregrinatio Aetheriae). Eingeleitet und erklärt von Hélène Pétré, übersetzt von Karl Vretska. Klosterneuburg: Bernina. Preuss, H.D. 1982. Deuteronomium. EdF 164. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Prüm, K. 1954. Religionsgeschichtliches Handbuch für den Raum der altchristlichen Umwelt. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Reller, H. (ed.). 1978. Handbuch Religiöse Gemeinschaften. Gütersloh: G. Mohn. Rendtorff, R. 1977. Das Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch. BZAW 147. Berlin, NewYork: de Gruyter. Salyards, R. 1968. Das Buch Mormon. Ursprung – Wesen – Zweck. No publisher. Smend, R. 1958. Wilheim Martin Leberecht de Wettes Arbeit am Alten und am Neuen Testament. Basel: Helbing & Lichtenhahn. Steidle, W. 1978. ‘Die Leichenrede des Ambrosius für Kaiser Theodosius und die HelenaLegende’. VC 32: 94–112.

The Inventio of the ‫ ספר התורה‬in 2 Kings 22 239 Straubinger, J. 1913. ‘Die Kreuzauffindungslegende’. Forschungen zur christlichen Literatur- und Dogmengeschichte 11/3: 1–108. Wette, W.M.L. de. 1805. Dissertatio critico-exegetica qua Deuteronomium a prioribus Pentateuchi libris diversum, alius cuiusdam recentioris auctoris opus esse monstratur. Jena: Etzdorf. Wilkinson, J. 1971. Egeria’s Travels. London: Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge. Wimmer, O. 1966. Handbuch der Namen und Heiligen. Mit einer Geschichte des Christliche Kalenders. 3rd ed. Innsbruck, Wien, Munich: Tyrolia Verlag.

16 The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 and the Prophetic Surpassing of the Torah Yad wa-Shem 1 The peculiar thing about the prophecy of the so-called Old Testament is that, according to the biblical Old Testament tradition and the historical–critical research that follows it grano salis to this day, ‘real’ prophecy is said to have fallen silent about 400 years before the Common Era. However, according to verifiable external evidence, prophecy may have been an everyday phenomenon in the Oriental world of the Hellenistic–Roman period, especially in the area of Syria and Palestine around the ‘turn of the era’. The time around Jesus was full of prophets and prophecy, and the current world seemed to be counting on prophetic figures. Historically and soberly speaking, the period from the second–first century BCE to the second century CE was the time of ‘prophecy’ – at least in the eastern Mediterranean region. I have not counted it, but the voces for everything ‘prophetic’ are roughly balanced concordance-wise in the so-called Old Testament (OT) and in the New Testament (NT). And this is probably not only because the tradents of the NT tradition relied on a narrow tradition about (Moses), or something more (Moses and the/ all prophets), or even more, but somewhat looser and at that time perhaps not yet definitively defined (Moses, prophets, psalms [etc.(?)]), in collections of writings of pre-Christian Judaism, and refer to the prophecy found therein, which is aimed at Jesus Christ. In addition to the Prophecy referred to and quoted from current literature, there are, in the NT, incidents of prophecy that meet contemporary people (who are only gradually becoming aware of the turn of the era), which makes them ask diverse persons: “Are you a/the prophet?”, and which allows them to describe the most diverse persons as such, whether characterized as ‘real’ or ‘false prophets’. Muhammad, probably, – in contrast to the legendary Moses, and to the historical, but (as far as this is concerned) rather commonly supposed ‘founder of religion’ Jesus – is a historically verifiable founder of a new culture (although he, like all those committed to the mythical worldview, only wanted to reform and restore). He nevertheless proves that in the Orient of the seventh century CE, there could still be prophets whom many considered to be ‘real’. We do not have to go any further to show that it is probably an embarrassing ideologumenon for ‘critical’ Western (biblical) research to assume – following a DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-23

The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 241 traditional message, namely that of the TNK – that there was no longer any ‘prophecy in Israel’. However, after having surgically severed from their contexts any fragments of text distributed over the early post-exilic period that may suggest otherwise. 2 In view of the pre-critical premises with which this research works with impunity to this day, it should rather be asked whether this prophecy even existed in the claimed period of the so-called history of Israel; namely from about the tenth to the fifth century BCE. The fact that there was also a phenomenon of prophecy in the Ancient Near East at this time is proven by less substantial, but sufficient external evidence. But an analogy to this, namely the prophecy of the TNK, and more precisely to the ‘real’ or ‘false’ prophecy, claimed by the TNK tradition and continued in ‘critical’ research discourse, is difficult to find for that period. Difficult to prove externally is also an ecclesiologically (or even politically) defined Judah/Judea as a comprehensive ‘Israel’ for this period. This is a mild formulation. Such an Israel, as assumed by historical–critical research, is, if one distances oneself from the information in the TNK tradition, verifiable at the earliest in the second century BCE according to extra-biblical material, if one wants to date the literature of Qumran already then.1 And then even later by the ‘real’ writings of the Corpus Paulinum and by coins from the time of the First Jewish Uprising against the Romans (67/68 CE). Who speaks in Isaiah 56–66? Traditionally, it is a ‘Trito-Isaiah’ with an artificial identity, which research – without prejudice to later additions and glosses – moved to the early post-exilic period in terms of its coloring (“Kolorit-Datierung”) as argued by Hermann Schult. In biblical research, Rolf Rendtorff gave a direct signal as early as 1983: “The texts collected here consistently reflect the post-exile period”.2 More cautious, however, is Hans-Winfried Jüngling in his contribution “The Book of Isaiah”, published in Erich Zenger’s anthology from its first edition in 1995. Jüngling leaves Isaiah 56–66 untouched and, as far as any possible dating is concerned, he stretches the production and edition of Isaiah I–III over a period of half a millennium, keeping everything open until the third century BCE. Actually, only Qumran with the Great Isaiah scroll (second/first century BCE) would provide sure material evidence for any dating (Jüngling 1995: 313–315, 1998: 400f.). Also, the to date most ‘critical’ Einleitung in das Alte Testament series (Introduction to the Old Testament) is still part of the guild of defensive strategy of historical–critical research on the Old Testament since its beginnings in the 18th century. If this research sees itself as ‘critical’, it is concerned with questioning (or let’s call it a bit more loftily: falsification) of critical assumptions. It has not yet been widely realized that hermeneutically and fundamentally, apples and pears are mixed here. The Mythos of the traditions under investigation has its own right and indeed its own truth. “The word myth (τὸν μῦθον) they shall keep”.3 But the result of critical research cannot be “myth minus [historically–critically established] X”.4

242  Nevi’im 3 Since the beginning of the 70s of the 20th century, a few scholars have tried to establish a new approach. These include the Heidelberg Hebraist Hermann Schult, the Swiss Old Testament scholar Beate Zuber, and the author of this article. Our points of departure were – which should be self-evident when looking at literature – the TNK texts themselves and the most likely cultural–historical context for the availability of these TNK texts. This is – with a grain of salt – the ‘turning point’ already mentioned above as a Christian ideologumenon. In the first century CE (‘unser Zeit’; as one used to date it in the past German Democratic Republic), the writings collected in the “Karaite Bible” may have included the TNK. For those who are interested in history, the question is: “Since when before the first century CE?” Anyone who renounces pre-critical assumptions and coloring (‘Kolorit-Datierung’), and deliberately leaves the Faraday cage of conventional Old Testament research remains quite perplexed in the fog of this question. There are, however, quite useful clues. Externally, we can assume that, for example, the Prophets, the Nevi’im, were synagogue literature as shown in Luke 4:16–21, which makes an important starting point for re-examination. Any research that distributes the development of Torah and Nevi’im and also large parts of the Ketuvim on a literary stretch from (let’s say) the tenth to the second century BCE needs ‘drop-outs ’ – ‘prophets’ inspired from ‘above’ (YHWH) without being officially employed – in order to be able to imagine the prophetic criticism of the priestly cult and to classify or contextualize it historically.5 All prophetic offer cult criticism can be found in the Nevi’im (and Ketuvim) of the TNK. There is no comparable statement in the Torah: reason enough for hermeneutical–methodical reflection! According to traditional assumptions, the literature of the Torah is not earlier than that of, for example, Hosea and Amos! And Former as well as Later Prophets of the TNK are in agreement in their judgements of (animal) offerings.6 Could it not be that in the Nevi’im a different culture (a different segment of the cultural spectrum ‘Israel’) pronounces itself than that of the Torah? Could it not be that a culture is being articulated here that does not include (blood) offerings – however much this may have been carried out in the authorized or, in the opinion of some, the unauthorized places, until at least the time of the First Uprising (66–70 CE)? Could it not be that the texts are articulated from a cultural context that long ago has transposed the ‘blood sacrifice’ into the verbal Todah, the thank-offer of the lips? A cultural context that no longer misses the streams of blood at the altar of burnt offerings when it was no longer possible to slaughter there? And individuals who would not be interested in priestly income – because they were not involved in it? One can also read the Former and Later Prophets as synagogue literature, which the Torah probably also was, but covering a different and more comprehensive cultural spectrum of ‘Israel’, it needed to be corrected in the preaching of the worship in the synagogue. In my opinion, it would be worth examining whether the party of the Sadducees, the priests and their followers, also sat regularly in the synagogues

The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 243 at the time of Jesus and listened to the resurrection chatter of the Pharisees and the prophetic criticism of sacrifices; that is, the questioning of their own traditional and lucrative business, which until the ‘cleansing of the temple ’ or ‘temple purification’ by Jesus,7 had not been abandoned and replaced! How is ‘the correspondence of Isa 56:1–8 with Isa 66:18–24’ to be understood under the conditions described here as a ‘prophetic surpassing of the Torah’? A ‘prophetic surpassing of the Torah’ has already been mentioned. Namely the prophetic criticism of sacrifices that calls for the unconditional “listening (sh:ma’) to the voice of YHWH’s words” (1 Sam 15:1b), rather than attending the spatially situated sacrificial cult of the Torah: ‫ ועתה שמע לקול דברי יהוה‬8 What “words of YHWH” might these be? Superficially, certainly the killing order in 1 Sam 15:3. Saul is subsequently measured by his behavior in this. But this is not the only point at which the so-called ‘canon’ parts N and K of the TNK massively thwart the instructions of the Torah. In my opinion, this can only be understood if we hermeneutically differentiate between Torah, Nevi’im and Ketuvim (why else this distinction?). I have tried to make the necessity of this plausible in various contributions since 1985/86 (Diebner 1985, 1996/1998). In my opinion, the correspondence between Isa 56:1–8 and Isa 66:18–24 belongs to the context of a Torah-critical prophet.9 The title phrase “outbidding” for this article is a captatio benevolentiae with regard to the potential readers and their traditional perception of biblical texts. To put it more soberly: Trito-Isaiah is written within a tradition of which instructions such as those in Deut 23:2–9 regarding the criteria for belonging to the ‘community of YHWH’ have long been prescribed, but which (like the tradition disclosed in the Book of Ruth10) means that these instructions are obsolete. In case of doubt (‘obsolete’ assuming age and the interpretation model ‘sooner – later’ or ‘only – then’), only one other party is voiced – contemporary with the contradicted (i.e. rather ‘Hillel’ than ‘Shammai’). But what is the intention of the prophetic tradition in Trito-Isaiah, especially that of the relationship between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24? On the one hand, an ‘ecumenical’ understanding of the church (=‘Israel’) is expressed in Isa 56:1–8, which on the other hand emanates from an imagination of an ‘Israelite’ world domination in Isa 66:18–24. Piously and Christianly said – it demands ‘mission’: the cultural incapacitation and incorporation of other ethnic groups for the sake of an ostensibly God-willed cultural claim to the world of ‘Israel’. Structurally, the closure of Isaiah ends similar to the closure of Matthew: with the great vision of a completely new creation that culturally bears the stamp of ‘Israel’. 4 How is this intention articulated in the texts of Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24? First of all, it is statistically–numerically. Isa 56:1–8 + 9–11,11 on the one hand, and 66:15–17 + 18–24, on the other, create, like a double bracket, an inclusio, the hermeneutical

244  Nevi’im framework of the enclosed nine and a half chapters of Isa 57:1–66:14. This can almost be counted: the two chiastically constructed frame texts contain respectively 127 + 40 and 40 + 127 words in the Hebrew text.12 It seems that within the cultural spectrum of Israel (YSR’L) and Judah (YH[W]D), creators or copyists of the text – those authors and traders of the religious traditions of ‘Israel’ – who, functionalizing the traditional graphic habit of separating words from each other into a creative hermeneutic form, made the word number their interpretative tool. This and other methodological aspects are not about mystification, Kabbalah or other obscure practices, such as researchers who follow the traces of historical–critical truth-finding would like to think in light of Western Enlightenment.13 It is – as I like to formulate it and as far as ancient texts are concerned – about historical research as a reconstruction of methods of ancient oriental text formation. The description of such methods may prove to be, no matter how ‘playful’ it may seem, ‘scientific’ in its discovery and sober description of even the most playful elements.14 Therefore, research may well have emotional implications. It is exciting to discover that there could be an inherent structural principle in the TNK Scriptures, which could be described as follows: The more important a definable text unit is in the understanding of the traders who could (still) creatively intervene in the text design, the more likely it is that words are counted.15 I will illustrate this with numerous text examples below.16 This is particularly beautifully expressed where it is politically sensitive, as, for example, in the so-called “Moses’ blessing of the twelve tribes” in Deuteronomy 33. Here the “Levi proverb” (vv. 8–11) has 54 (5217) Hebrew words, the “Joseph proverb” (vv. 13–17) also has 54 (5218) words, and, moreover, both texts are also (almost) letter-equal: 224 (Levi) to 223 (Joseph) Hebrew letters. This is hardly a coincidence. Not quite as smoothly is it composed in Genesis’ parallel text, which is called “Jacob’s blessing of his sons”19 in secondary Bible text headings. My concern is about the main political tribes of Judah and Joseph and the proverbs in Gen 49:8–12 and 22–26 respectively. The comparative figures are here mentioned in 55 (212) and 61 (235) words and letters respectively. But at least the correspondence of the proverbs of Judah and Joseph is striking when compared to those of the other tribes. The analogy is supported in terms of content: in Gen 49:8–12, Judah’s power is emphasized six times, while in Gen 49:22–26, the literal sense of the word ‘blessing’ (from the stem ‫ )ברך‬is pronounced six times over the house of Joseph (no blessing for Judah!).20 The numbers may also mean something in themselves: the (word) number ‘40’ in the texts of the inner bracket around the Trito-Isaiah text and the (word) number ‘127’ of the outer bracket. Hutmacher says: “The number 40 is the number of long duration and plenty”.21 Cooper attributes multiplicity to 40: “wholeness and totality” (Ganzheit und Totalität). According to him, 40 in itself stands for “examination, test, initiation death”.22 The latter seems to make more sense in view of Isa 56:9–11’s correspondence with Isa 66:15–17. The number 127 is much more specific and its meaning is therefore not at all possible, or it may be easier to decipher.

The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 245 The Persian emperor (the Great King) Chshayarsha,23 whose name was emendated in the Hebrew literary language to ‫( אחשורוש‬Achashwerosh) and abbreviated by the articulation-weak Greeks to ( Α ̓ ρτα-) Ξέρξης, is said to have ruled 127 countries,24 which is supposed to denote universality and therefore fits well with Isa 56:1–8 (and 66:18–24). Whether this number is historically accurate does not matter here: it is the traditional and meaningful number well documented in the context of the (T)NK literature in question. Numerically, I suppose, the number of 2 x 127 words in Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18– 24, the outer brackets around Trito-Isaiah, announces ‘universality’. It is that universality that is also described in Isa 66:18–21. 5 An obstacle to cultural universality is already the definition of Yahweh’s community, ‫קהל יהוה‬, in the Torah; more precisely: in Deut 23:2–3, which excludes certain groups with captivating logic, namely those incapable of procreation of all kinds25 and “half-breeds”, i.e. probably (male) persons who are of a “forbidden mixture”.26 Those incapable of procreation have no future in gender succession and therefore cannot participate in the ‘salvific good of progeny’: his name cannot be in the chain of filiation. The half-breed (bastard) should not be able to bring in his name. But also the ethnic definitions of Deut 23:4–7 directed against Moabites and Ammonites hinder the universal spread of the culture of ‘Israel’, which translated into Christianity would mean the unam, sanctam, catholicam . . . ecclesiam. The groups mentioned in Deuteronomy 23:8–9 (Edomites and Egyptians) are at least allowed to join the YHWH community as proselytes and then belong ethnically to ‘Israel’ in the third generation (and probably be included in the census27). All these restrictions are lifted in a prophetic view in Isa 56:1–8 in. Also the “blended”28 and the “son of the stranger”29 may become members of the cult and people’s community of Israel in this prophetic perspective, provided that they keep the Shabbat, i.e.: they preserve the Torah,30 expressed here by the demand of YHWH: ‫( שמרו משפט ועשו צדקה‬Isa 56:1aß). In this verse three terms come together, which also connect the three passages of the book of Isaiah as guiding words:31 ‫”;משפט צדקה ישועה‬justice“ appears even twice, seen from man and YHWH. This also makes it noticeable that the book of Isaiah is wrapped up in the third part of the book. The fact that the overall composition comes to the goal is particularly clear from the keyword “Shabbat”, which characterizes the bracketed texts of Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24, but is also the goal of Isaiah 58. Trito-Isaiah is, so to speak, the Shabbat of the book of Isaiah. Its size also corresponds almost exactly to one-seventh of the total amount of text in the book of Isaiah. First Isaiah comprises almost exactly four-sevenths and Second Isaiah two-sevenths. The Prophet therefore probably has in mind the completion of creation, which can only be realized by the fact that no one stands aside anymore. All the world has become a universal community of YHWH ‫ קהל יהוה‬and the whole of humanity

246  Nevi’im has been united in the ‘Universal Church of Israel’. The whole world is turning to YHWH out of its own motivation (as in Isa 56:1–8) or called to the ‘Good News’ by messengers (as in Isa 66:18–21). However, this universality can only be achieved if the barriers of certain restrictive provisions of the Torah (in the sense of literature with concrete instructions) are lifted. Only in this way can the Torah (as God’s creative word) be realized. These restrictive provisions are not marginal, but concern the middle: they concern the central benefits of salvation, and they concern ecclesiology. And when it comes to that, then all ‘churches’, that is, the called and established guardians of exclusivity, become sensitive. 6 What we read in Isaiah 56 to 66 may seem edifying to us. But it is good if we try to alienate ourselves a bit from these texts and read them from and with a distance; only then does it become clear to us how outrageous what is expected of the ancient and oriental readers and primary recipients is. What we read here is nothing more than the questioning of the traditional viewpoint. Here traditional hope and the certainty of salvation are falsified, and here the Institution that manages and mediates this hope and this certainty of salvation is falsified.32 Of course, the ‘Institution’ has not actually been alarmed by this. That’s the way it is with institutions. Furthermore, it is legally defined who may and may not belong to it, who belongs to the ‘Church’ and who – for whatever reason – stands outside and therefore has no share in the institutional mediation of salvation. This is true of Judaism and it is true of the self-proclaimed Christian heirs of Jewish tradition. Of course, these texts did not irritate the institution in the long term. These texts of the book of Isaiah are not Torah either. The Torah was continued in the oral tradition, which was then (among other things, but especially) collected in the Babylonian Talmud. These texts are only (read) sermons of the synagogue. It is always good to bear in mind that the TNK collection of writings is not simply a ‘Bible’ for Judaism as the New Testament is for its Christian recipients, but a collection with very differently weighted parts. In Christian preaching practice, it is often said that Isaiah 56–66 preaches against the text. The text in this case is especially Deut 23:2–9. But it is a powerful and harrowing ‘counter-sermon’ – shocking in several senses: this counter-sermon shakes the foundations of the Salvation Institute. And it must shake us today, especially Germans of the 20th century, which is now coming to an end. In Isaiah 56:1–8, the nameless are given a name. The theme of ‘resurrection’ is here spelled out in a Jewish way. The ‘son of the Stranger’ is nameless and has no future because his name is abolished in the filiation of the bearers of the name. And the ‘blended’ is nameless because his name cannot be stored in the filiation. No one can remember him. There is no ‫זכרון‬. No man will remember him, but neither will YHWH one day; for the last representative of a filiation cannot be listed in his generational chain when he could not produce descendants. A man without male descendants is ‘dead’. But this traditional opinion is now prophetically surpassed by Isaiah 56.

The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 247 7 The Christian tradition and the theological research that works within it (especially in the field of interpretation of the biblical writings) are much concerned with the scheme of ‘promise – fulfillment’. In this article, I deal with an ancient Jewish text. And I will be careful not to ‘fulfill’ this text in a ‘Christian’ way! The prophecy of Isaiah 56 has been fulfilled in the Jewish tradition – very painfully. But the Jewish tradition itself has at least outbidded the Torah provisions of Deut 23:2f. The National Socialist regime tried to exterminate the Jews. Rarely has a genocide succeeded so perfectly in the areas to which a criminal regime had access. Perfect German organization murdered six million people, mostly Jews, through KZ-technology (the concentration camp) alone. All generations were shoveled to their deaths – the elderly, adolescents, youngsters, children and infants. A criminal system robbed millions of people of their future. Who is to remember them if they cannot ‘reproduce’? How are they supposed to contact Him if there is no one who has preserved them in their genealogical order? ‫ונתתי להם בביתי ובחומתי יד ושם טוב מבנים ומבנות‬ (“and I shall give them in my house and on my wall hand and name, better than sons and daughters”; Isa 56:5) Yad – this is the ‘hand’ waving to Him, the ‘memorial’: “Here I am! Don’t forget me! Remember me too!” And Shem – that’s the remembered name: “Here I am! Don’t forget me! Remember mine too!” In the Jewish cemetery of Prague’s old town, 22,000 ‘hands’, the tombstones, beckon with just as many names. There could have been about 400,000: the names of those layered on top of each other in about 800 years and in twelve layers. But there was not enough space for that. The 22,000 represent the remaining 378,000! Yad wa-Schem is also the Pinchas Synagogue adjacent to the Jewish Cemetery in Prague’s Old Town. It is a hall of names from whose walls thousands of names of murdered Czech Jews shout: “Here I am too! Don’t forget me!” And Yad waShem is the Jerusalem memorial, which basically cannot be ‘visited’. Especially not by Germans . . . In Yad wa-Shem has the narrowness of the commandments of the Torah been broken and the Torah been ‘eschatologically’ surpassed: even the nameless now have a name. And their names scream silently from the walls. And all of them are lifted up by Him! To Him – praise be his NAME – thank him! Notes  1 For the un-critical use of the radiocarbon-method, see now: Chr. Blöss and H.-U. Niemitz 1997.  2 “Die hier gesammelten Texte spiegeln durchweg die nachexilische Zeit wider” (Rendtorff 1983: 209).  3 “Das Wort mythos (τὸν μῦθον) sie sollen lassen stand” (no ref.).  4 “Mythos minus (historisch–kritisch erarbeitetes) X” (no. ref.).  5 Cf. 1 Sam 15:22f.; Isa 1:11–17; Jer 7:22f.; Hos 6:6; 8:13; Amos 5:22ff.; Prov 21:3; Eccl 4:17.

248  Nevi’im  6 There are a few general mentions of (animal) sacrificial slaughter in places where this could hardly have been avoided (such as for instance in 1 Kgs 3:15; 8:5b., 62), victim mentions that have a more confessional character (such as for instance in 2 Kgs 5:17), or a series of legendary stories with sacrificial executions (such as for instance in Judg 6:25ff.; 11:28ff.; 13:15ff.; 1 Sam 10:8 [in context] or 1Kgs 18:21ff.) without negative or positive evaluation, which confirm the findings as exceptions to the rule.  7 Cf. Mark 11:15–19; Matt 21:12–17; Luke 19:45–48; John 2:13–22.  8 For the Hebrew form ‫ דברי‬see the critical apparatus in BHS.  9 The sharpest criticism of the Torah can be found in the Ketuvim, among others in the most ‘edifying’ texts such as for example in the Book of Ruth; cf. on this my nonpublished study from 1991: “The Torah as ‘interpretatio iudaica’ in the Book of Ruth: Notes on a writing ‘on the edge of the canon’”. A summary of the content of this study has been kindly published in K.A. Deurloo and K. van Duin 1996: 156–158 (Diebner 1991/1996). In the Book of Ruth, the ‘last ’ person in the sense of the Torah (cf. Deut 23:2–9) ‘confesses’ of her own free will to the god YHWH (a Moabite woman: Moabitian and also woman; this is like the entertainer Sammy Davies Jr., who famously converted to Judaism and commented: “Negroes alone were not enough for him!”) – and this is accepted by the written (Ketuvim- [!]) tradition in the Book of Ruth. Cultural– historical backgrounds could explain this: the attempt to defeat the Idumean Moabiter Herod (according to his own claim [cf. the works of Josephus discussed in A.Schalit 1969]). Also Herod’s Temple (Newbuilding), his Jewish–Messianic claim as ‘Son of David’ (cf. Ruth 4:18–22 in the context of the entire Scriptures), son of the Nabataean princess Kypros (the Nabataeans as local successor and reception sponge of the Moabites) might have contributed to this. One should not consider the appearance of the book of Ruth as literature earlier than in the late first century BCE! I try to justify this in my Ruth study. 10 And like the tradition written in the Book of Jonah, cf. Diebner 1998; cf. also K.A.Deurloo 1995: passim. 11 Without v. 12, which follows the keyword-associatively eating with the drinking and has no equivalent in Isaiah 66. 12 The feeling for the unity of the single ‘word’ can be proven early on in the ancient oriental culture of YSR’L and YH(W)D. This is already shown by the inscription (hotly debated for completely different reasons) on a stelae (?) or orthostats(?) fragment of Tel Dan (tell el-qadi), dated to the ninth century BCE (secondary use: eigth century BCE), which came to light on July 21, 1993 and on which each word unity is distinguished by dots from the preceding and subsequent ones; cf. A. Biran and J. Naveh 1993. On the interpretation of line 9 (.BYTDWD.), see also E.A Knauf, A. de Pury and T. Römer 1994. So even in early documents do we not find scriptio continua (used in other cultures). The finds from Qumran confirm the ‘early’picture. Here, not only individual words are recognizably separated from each other. We also find what one might call ‘lacuna interpretation’ of the text: indentations at the beginning of the line, empty spaces at the end of the line and deliberate lacunae in the text line (cf. already O.H. Steck). 13 On this, see H. Seebaß 1996: 188. 14 One can even deal very scientifically with ancient oriental toys, as Ulrich Hübner has shown. But you don’t just have to play with wood carvings and lumps of clay – adults can also ‘play’ with materials corresponding to their age: for example, with words and word structures (texts). Poets and writers live from this, and literature lives from it worldwide and at all times. Although many Old Testament scholars already label their secondary products Literary Criticism or even New Literary Criticism, there is still a long way to go before word has gone around among all experts that the so-called Old Testament texts are literature and should therefore also be read as such – with all the methodological consequences. 15 Probably at the time when these texts were still creatively designed (in my opinion until the first century BCE/first century CE), no letters were counted and texts were not yet

The Correspondence Between Isa 56:1–8 and 66:18–24 249

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

32

constructed according to the number of letters used. What H.A. Hutmacher 1993 developed with thankful diligence, should be perceived with the greatest, but critical, interest. Hutmacher’s approach is not bad. Occasionally, for a long time, I myself point out the possibilities of perceiving Hebrew–Aramaic texts as ‘Vector images’ (Vexier-Bilder), which – due to the identity of two grapheme systems (word and number) – could sometimes appear as a game of numbers, sometimes as a word game, depending on how one adjusts one’s eye. This is probably the reason for tertiary patterns of interpretation. Working critically, however, means asking about the designer’s generating patterns. In the traditional language of recent OT research, that is: according to the design principles of the editorial work (Gestaltungs-Prinzipien der Redaktionen) Thanks to a stupid and persistent counting of all possible TNK texts. Without the introduction in Deut 33,8aα, resp. v13aα. Cf. the previous note and Gen 49:7 about Judah. Some are curses! To this, see Genesis 48 (esp. vv. 17–22 and v. 20). “Die Zahl 40 ist die Zahl der langen Dauer und des Vielen” (Hutmacher 1993: 15). “Prüfung, Bewährungsprobe, Initiation, Tod” (J.C. Cooper 1986: 226). The Book of Esther probably does not mean a special Persian ruler. Cf. Esth 1:1, 8f.; 9:30; StE 1:1(= LXX Esth 3:13a); 5:,1 (= LXX Esth 8:12b). In the LXX, it is᾿Αρταξέξης (I or II) that is mentioned. ‫דכא וכרות שפכה בכהל יהוה‬-‫לא יבא פצוע‬ So Ges.-Buhl (17. edition) for the Jewish–Aramaic ‫ ; ממזריא‬HALAT II: “Kind aus verbotener Mischehe ”, which the LXX reads as ἐκ πόρνης. Cf. here the change of name of the family of the proselyte Abra(ha)m in Israel (Gen 32:29, resp. 35:10). ‫סריסים‬ ‫ בן הנכר‬. Cf. for Isa 56:2aα, see Ps 1:1! Rolf Rendtorff 1983: 211 describes the different use of language in the three parts of the Book of Isaiah: in Part I the connection of ‫ משפט‬and ‫ה‬/‫צדק‬, in Part II that of ‫ה‬/‫ צדק‬and ‫ישועה‬/ ‫ישע‬, and in Part III the connection of all three terms, whereby it is only cum grano salis that the connection of law and justice in the so-called Deutero-Isaiah is missing: in Isa 41:1f. after all, it resounds throughout. It doesn’t really matter at what time these texts were formulated, although it might be exciting for those interested in history to think about that. I can only name a terminus ante quem non for texts of the universality described here and for the cultural–historical prerequisite, which in my opinion had to be present before such a text could be formulated. There had to be the ‘idea’ of a ‘unity’ or ‘universal culture’ encompassing ecumenism. In my opinion, however, this presupposes Hellenism. That is why I cannot date Trito-Isaiah in the sense of the present literature in the context of the book of Isaiah to the fifth century BCE. A time from the third century BCE is more likely to me. I think (more concretely) that Isaiah 56:1–8–66:18–24 presuppose Hasmonean imperialism. Thus I could best imagine the creation of these texts for the time between John Hyrcanus (I) and Alexander Jannaios; that is, between 125 and 75 BCE.

References Biran, A. and J. Naveh. 1993. ‘An Aramaic Stele Fragment from Tel Dan’. IEJ 43: 80–98. Blöss, C. and H.-U. Niemitz. 1997. C14-Crash: Das Ende der Illusion mit Radiokarbonmethode und Dendrochronologie datieren zu können. Gräfelfing: Boardman. Cooper, J.C. 1986. Illustriertes Lexikon der traditionellen Symbole. Leipzig: Seemann. Deurloo, K.A. 1995. Jona. Verklaring van de Hebreeuwse Bijbel: Commentaar voor bijbelstudie, onderwijs en prediking. Baarn: Callenbach.

250  Nevi’im Diebner, B.J. 1985. ‘Zur Funktion der kanonischen Textsammlung im Judentum der vorchristlichen Zeit: Gedanken zu einer Kanon-Hermeneutik’. DBAT 22: 58–73. ———. 1991. ‘The Torah as “Interpretatio Iudaica” in the Book of Ruth: Notes on a Writing “on the Edge of the Canon”’ (61 p., non-publ.). Summary in Deurloo, K.A. and K. van Duin (eds.). 1996. Beter dan zeven zonen: de feestrol Rut als messiaanse verwijzing. Baarn: Callenbach: 156–158. ———. 1996/1998. ‘Ekklesiologische Aspekte einer Kanon-Hermeneutik der hebräischen Bibel (TNK)’. In The Power of Right Hermeneutics: Simply as Entertainment: Vorträge aus Anlass der Emeritierung von Rochus Zuurmond am 26. Januar 1996. B.J. Diebner (ed.). DBAT.B 14a. Heidelberg: Dielheimer Blätter. 1996: 37–54. Republ. In DBAT 29 (1998): 15–32. ———. 1998. ‘“Beim Aufgang der Morgenröte”: Jona wurmstichig’. DBAT 29: 157–167. Hutmacher, H.A. 1993. Symbolism of Biblical Numbers and Times. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh. Jüngling, H.-W. 1995. ‘Das Buch Jesaja’. In Einleitung in das Alte Testament. Studienführer Theologie 1,1. 1st ed. Zenger, E. et al. (eds.). Stuttgart: Kohlhammer: 303–318. 3rd ed. 1998: 381–404. Knauf, E.A., A. de Pury and T. Römer. 1994. ‘BaytDawid ou BaytDod? Une relecture de la nouvelle inscription de Tel Dan’. BN 72: 60–69. Rendtorff, R. 1983. Das Alte Testament: Eine Einführung. 1st ed. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Schalit, A. 1969. König Herodes: Der Mann und sein Werk. SJ IV. Berlin: de Gruyter. Seebaß, H. 1996. ‘Pentateuch’. In TRE 26. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter: 185–209.

Part 7

Ketuvim

17 “At the Rise of Dawn” Hotheaded Jonah’s Annoyance with the Crimson Worm

Karel A. Deurloo has recently published two studies on the prophet Jonah: An article (Deurloo 1996) and a commentary (Deurloo 1995).1 Deuerloo describes how the Book of Jonah is structured in parallels (Deurloo 1995: 9): 1. Vocation, flight Jonah and the sailors The sailors cry out to YHWH 2. Jonah opposite YHWH

3. Second calling, execution Jonah and Nineveh Nineveh calls to God 4. Jonah opposite YHWH

Prayer, ‘psalm’ Prayer, with subsequent events and conversations.2 1 1a

This conspicuous dichotomy of the short story as described by Deuerloo3 may be described not only as a ‘synchronic parallelism’ but also as an ‘antithetic parallelism’ and an elegant chiasmus: [1] Jonah’s disobedience   and escape (to the west) [2] The conversion of the sailors [3] Jonah in the belly of the fish (‘three days’) [4] The conversion of Jonah

[4] Jonah’s road to Nineveh   and obedience [3] Jonah in Nineveh (‘three days’) [2] the atonement of the Ninevites [1] Jonah’s escape and departure (for the east)

1b

Based on the book’s two ‘central’ texts, it is obvious that it has been composed deliberately, meticulously and with great care. Deurloo indicates that the composition of Jonah’s prayer (‘psalm’) in Jonah 2 has been composed on the basis of a DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-25

254  Ketuvim very important symbolism of numbers. The prayer consists of 3 x 3 x 3 x 3 = 81 words. The three ‘central’ words of the psalm form the well-known sentence: ‫אׁשי חָ בוּׁש סוּף‬ ִ ‫“( לֽ ׄר‬seaweed twined around my head”; Jonah 2:6b) Although the psalm has been composed from a series of ‘mosaic-stones’, which one can find in other compositions, this ‘middle’ has no exact correspondence.4 It is probably a conscious poetical ‘original product’ used so that the ‘middle’ of Jonah’s prayer is emphasized (Deurloo 1996: 112).5 It is, at the same time, the decisive ‘death announcement’ for Jonah uttered at the deepest point of his ‘descent’. Commenting on this, a key word from the first part, the verb ‫ירד‬, is encountered for the last time in the subsequent v. 8a (see further in 1.3 below). 1c

In Jonah’s psalm-like prayer we also find the ‘centre’ of the whole Book of Jonah. If I have not miscalculated, the book’s Hebrew text contains a total of 710 words, which places the words no. 355/356 in the ‘centre’. These are the name of God: 2:7( ‫אלהים יהוה‬bβ2). Is this a coincidence? Perhaps. However, ‫ יהוה‬is the God of Jonah to whom also the sailors convert in the first part of the book (1:14), and ‫ אלהים‬is the god to whom the Ninevites repent in Jonah 3:5–9. From a biblical perspective, it is at least advantageous to note this ‘centre’ and its context. 1d

The conception and composition of the Book of Jonah also includes – as has often been observed and mentioned, especially by Deurloo – the ‘guiding words’ that run through the entire book (‫)גדול‬, which connect successive parts or characterize the individual sections. This is not to be repeated here.6 2 Within the context of the Prophets (Nevi’im/N), and especially the Dodekapropheton the Book of Jonah exposes several peculiarities. To reach the holy number, I have listed fourteen of them. If it helps you may remove two or three or add some more. 1) Jonah flees from YHWH (!), which no other prophet does: Elijah flees from Jezebel! 2) The parallel to Mark 4:35–41 (parr.) is striking! 3) There is no polemic against ‘other gods’, such as those to whom the sailors pray. 4) With Jonah a (voluntary) ‘human sacrifice’ is offered; other prophets are persecuted (and also murdered).

“At the Rise of Dawn” 255 5) Jonah sacrifices himself for the goyim. 6) These goyim call on YHWH using the ‘tetragrammaton’. 7) These goyim have the ‘fear of YHWH’ (‫ ;)יראת יהוה‬a “great fear” of YHWH is encountered in the TNK only here. 8) The YHWH-fearing sailors bring an offering (‫ )זבח‬to YHWH (where?). 9) Only here are miracle(s) related in the Dodekapropheton. 10) The ‘middle’ of the psalm has no real parallel in the TNK. 11) It is only here in the Nevi’im that a collective conversion (status: ‘God-fearing’, not ‘proselytes’) of an entire people (starting with the head of state) to the God of Israel (not to YHWH!), is reported. 12) God’s display of ‘mercy’ is without analogy. 13) At the end, the prophet falls back into his initial ‘stubbornness’. 14) As the only scripture of the Dodekapropheton which does so, the Book of Jonah is introduced with a narrative – ‘it happened’ (‫)ויהי‬. These features tell me that the Book of Jonah does not really belong to the Nevi’im (N) but represents a Ketuvim-text (K) which has been sneaked into the Nevi’im.7 Already the famous, and by comparison with all the other Prophets in the Dodekapropheton,8 deviating introductive narrative opening ‫ ויהי‬tells us this (cf. Wolff 1977: 73; Deurloo 1995: 20). That is why the book is not aimed at a pleasant theological general position, as Christian exegetes in modern times consistently formulate it.9 From the perspective of a religious policy the book is ‘dynamite’ which – just like the Book of Ruth10 – undermines the security of the Torah: 2a

Foreign nations (which nations we are speaking about remains open in Jonah 1 – and for good reasons) may convert to YHWH and use his NAME. 2b

The worst adversary – ‘sinful Nineveh’ (a marked cipher11) – repents and is ‘spared’. However, the author has placed Jonah in the story’s narrative colouring in the middle of the eighth century BCE. Nineveh is granted a ‘period of grace’ of 120 years (until 612 BCE). Yes, all the way up to the king, the Ninevites look like ‘worshipers of God’ (σεβούμενοι) of the Hellenistic–Roman period. 2c

This was especially something the prophet – as representing all ‘Prophets’ – had to ‘learn’, which may be a reason for the book’s placement in the middle of the Dodekapropheton. It is, however, finally the question (for discussion) whether he really learns it. When it comes to this ‘process of learning’, the Book of Jonah is

256  Ketuvim close to the Gospels. Jesus also had to ‘learn’ – for pedagogical reasons – that he is also ‘here’ for the sake of the ‘others’ (‘Greeks’ and ‘Canaanites’).12 It must at certain times have been a ‘hot issue’ within the different Jewish groups! By the way, Jesus is (consciously) presented as an ‘anti-Jonah’ in the story of the calming of the storm.13 No, for the sake of orthodox platitudes, which are for example described by Schwienhorst-Schönberger, a book so strange and oddly deviating from the rule of the prophets would hardly have been placed in the middle of the Dodekapropheton. What Schwienhorst-Schönberger outlines as the theological main focus of this booklet other texts of the TNK present in a much more casual way. In my opinion, the Book of Jonah breaks down the narrow boundaries of ‘prophetic ecclesiology’ (in a ‘canonical’ sense). And this especially makes Jonah an explosive text. 3 The ‘ecclesiological awakening’ that Jonah signals in the context of the (Former and Later) Prophets is now signaled, in my opinion, by a very decisive crosscanonical reference. The exegetical literature has not, as I see it, noted this.14 When I read in Jonah 4:7 and 8: “at sunrise” (‫ )השחר בעלות‬and “when the sun went up” (‫ )כזרח השמש‬I immediately hear Gen 32:25, 27, 32: “until sunrise” (‫עד‬ ‫)עלות השחר‬, “for it is dawning” (‫)כי עלה השחר‬, and “the sun rose” (‫)ויזרח־לו חשחר‬. ‘Dawn’ and ‘Sunrise’ are always exciting signals in the TNK. Though, I will not say much about this here. My interest rather concerns the special relationship between Jacob/‘Israel’ and Jonah which the key words ‘the coming of dawn’ and ‘the rising of the sun’ signal. The ‘Elohim’ of the text does more in this direction when he has the castor oil plant (‫ )קִ יקָ יוׄ ן‬bitten by the worm (‫ )תוׄ ַל ַעת‬and in this way reveals Jonah’s lack of ‘ecclesiological obedience’, his ‘shame’. Apart from the play on words and language 4:7( ‫תולעת בעלות‬a; cf. Deurloo 1995: 86), the ‘worm’ (exactly this ‘worm’15) just like the ‘coming of dawn’ and ‘the rise of the sun’ delivers another hint at the ‘origin’ or the ‘coming’ of ‘Israel’ in Genesis 32; because it is the ‘crimson worm’.16 Its female species ‘contains a strong, red, cochineal-like dye (kermes red, crimson red), which has been known since antiquity and was used commercially for the preparation of colours’.17 Through the kermes (carmine and purple) red from this tortoise shell another relation to Esau (= Edom) is created which refers to the rosy dawn and the rising sun in Gen 32:25.27.29. Normally this crimson worm is called the ‫ ִשׁני תוׄ ַל ַעת‬in the Torah.18 This may be seen as a hint to Edom/Idumea in the disguise of the name Zerach (‫ )ז ֶַרח‬alluding to ‫ שָׁ ני‬in Gen 38:28.30. In this way the two texts Gen 32:23–33 and 38:27–30 are connected and understood (sc.: as Edom/Idumea). We may thus also explain the ‘canonical placement’ of the Book of Jonah just after the extremely ‘anti-edomite’ Book of Obadiah: as an ‘ecclesiological’ corrective in the form of yet ‘another’ Ketuvimidea19 – in the same manner as the ending of Genesis 38 (27–30), which reflects the position of Idumea (in relation to ‘Judah’) in a different way, is a Ketuvimtext in the Torah.

“At the Rise of Dawn” 257 4 In the multi-layered relationship between Jacob and Jonah I recognize an antithetical relationship: a) Jacob/‘Israel’ probably understood something and changed; b) Jonah did not understand anything and insisted on a ‘outdated’ opinion of God. At dawn Jacob moves as ‘Israel’ towards Esau (which is Edom; Gen 25:30; 36:1; 38:30 etc.). It is about a (problematic) reconciliation which has its background in ‘real events’: Idumea already belongs to the religious community of ‘Israel’. Jacob/‘Israel’ is forced to ‘realize’ this and he does so nolens – volens. Jacob/‘Israel’ overcomes himself – from an ‘ecclesiological’ point of view. In the case of Jonah this does not happen. As far as the book goes, Jonah insists in his opposition. And this is in my opinion what the cross-‘canon’ reference from Jonah to Genesis 32 provides: it refers to how Jonah should have reacted, namely like Jacob/‘Israel’ in ‘his days’. Jonah should have acknowledged that YHWH/ ELOHIM repents and spares Nineveh in the case of repentance (even foreign sailors can be converted20). It is basically a Ketuvim-reference which corrects the Torah, and is moved into the Nevi’im. What it entails is not quite as drastic as the ‘Torah’ correction of Deut 23:4–7 in the Book of Ruth. Possibly this is why the ‘canonists’ have placed Jonah among the Nevi’im. It would, however, still be a ‘critical’ correction to the relatively narrow ecclesiology of the Nevi’im. When was such a correction possible? I believe that it is conditioned by the ‘missionary’ success of Judaism among the ‘Gentiles’. In the literature from Qumran we (‘already’[?]) find reflections about Jonah. However, what does this mean?21 As I see it, nothing speaks against placing the origin of the Book of Jonah as a literary text in the first century BCE. Foreigners, also very foreign and basically primordially hostile people, convert (‫ )שׁוב‬to ‘Israel’s’ Elohim, and accept as ‘justice’ what is ‘justice’ to Him – without getting circumcised. In this way we are – or so I believe – placed in the period and cultural situation wherein Paul was successful with his anti-nomistic ‘Israelization’ of the ‘gentiles’: Those who are not circumcised – while preserving their own national identity – may also belong to (the ‘new’) Israel. And in order not to be misunderstood: The Book of Jonah does not go quite so far. It is limited to the conversion of a certain group of goyim. On the basis of the signal words in Jonah 4 which reach across the different parts of the canon I will have to conclude that ‘Nineveh’ first of all represents Hellenistic Idumea which also governs ‘Israel’ during the rule of Herod the Great. We are not told that the Ninevites ‘converted’ in a ritually valid way as was the norm for proselytes.22 However, their ‘conversion’23 is expressly recognized by God in a way that criticizes Jonah’s attitude. It is probably that the religio–political reality24 is indicated in a cryptic way by choosing the designation ‘Nineveh’ (‫)נִ ינֽ וֵה‬. In connection with this place name that certainly represents everything which ‘Israel’

258  Ketuvim considered terrible (and in this way does exactly what it should when somebody is deciphering it) two terms would stand out to the ear that is familiar with Hebrew: ‫נִ ין‬, ‘progeny’, and ‫ ָנוֵה‬, ‘abode’ With this, however, the two promised goods are connected precisely to the Jews: posterity and a promised abode (i.e. in the land25). Also ‘Nineveh’ is entitled to enjoy these goods – because of its ‘conversion’. ‘Nineveh’ is not explicitly accepted and made ‘a member of the community’26 (and from then on recognized as belonging to the YHWH-community). This was probably too much for the ecclesiological mental capacity27 of the Prophets.28 However, ‘Nineveh’s’ worship of God, founded in its ‘conversion’ from its evil doings, nevertheless should be accepted (in a cryptic, hidden way). 5 Early Christian art from the third century CE shows little interest in all of this. Jonah is a beloved motif of paintings in the catacombs and on decorations on sarcophagi. Nothing explosive plays any role here from an ecclesiological point of views. The Christian reception begins at the ‘middle’ of the book. ‘Jonah’ becomes the symbol of death and the (blessed) rest in death as hoped for by every Christian. Still, early Christian iconography has usually preserved the narrative plot of the Jonah story and therefore often portrays ‘Jonah’ in several – sometimes interconnected – scenes: a) Jonah is thrown into the sea (‘sea thrown’); b) Jonah is spat out on the shore by the fish; c) Jonah rests in the (according to the LXX) gourd arbour (succa?) whose shading growth is not destroyed by the ‘sting of a worm’. The motif of Jonah in the gourd arbour was borrowed from the antique Endymioniconography. Endymion is the beautiful sleeping figure beloved by Selene ‘who forever sleeps on Latmos close to Heraclea (close to Milet) . . . He owes the eternal sleep to Zeus in accordance with his or Selene’s prayer . . . Behind this is the notion of the early death of youthful beauty caused by divine rupture’.29 This is the tertium because the traditional Endymion-iconography could be interpreted as a symbol of the ἀνάπαυσις in early Christian art.30 The perception of the text in the second century CE is totally different and far removed from everything that must have been seen as exciting by a pre-Christian Jewish mentality. The early Christian perception of a text in a changed cultural–historical situation may, however, also serve as a critical note to our traditional exegetical way of reading the Book of Jonah, determining ‘exegetically’ what ‘concerns us’, i.e.: what we consider to be the central statement(s). Early Christianity’s very ‘pragmatic’ text perception should encourage us to question our reading habits insofar as we want to read and understand the text historically–critically.

“At the Rise of Dawn” 259 6 Conclusion The author is of the opinion that the Book of Jonah has not been placed in a general position, no matter how theologically ‘correct’ it may be. Jonah’s ‘canonical’ arrangement within the Dodekapropheton after the Book of Obadiah is not random. Using the signal words running through different parts of the canon in Jonah 4:7f. (‘Dawn’, ‘Sunrise’, ‘Crimson’ or ‘purple Worm’) the author tries to show that the author of the Book of Jonah implicitly refers to Gen 32:23–33 and 38:27–30 and to the integration of Esau, respectively Zerach (= Edom/Idumea; Gen 36:33), into Israel, respectively Judah. Similar to the tense integration of Edom (in the time of Herod) in Genesis’s Esau–Jacob narrative, so also God’s forbearance towards the ‘repentant Nineveh’ (people and king; probably a subterfuge for Idumea and its ruler) should be accepted by the Prophets. Representing the Nevi’im, who generally are intolerant towards Edom, Jonah has to ‘learn’. It is an open question whether he finally understands it (like Jesus in Matt 15:21ff.). The different Jewish parties have most likely not stopped ‘discussing’ the problem, as the polemic against Herod in the New Testament Gospels show. As the author sees it, the Book of Jonah represents a ‘Ketuvim-correction’ to the exclusive ecclesiology of the (Former and Later) prophets of the TNK. Notes  1 See also the commentary on Jonah by R. Lux 1994.  2 1 2 3 4

Roeping, vlucht Jona en de zeelieden De zeelieden roepen tot JHWH Jona tegenover JHWH Gebed, ‘psalm’ Tweede roeping, uitvoering Jona en Ninive Ninive roept tot God Jona tegenover JHWH Gebeed, med daarop volgende gebeurtenissen en gesprek (Deurloo 1995: 9).

 3 This was also noted by H.W. Wolff 1977: 64.  4 One may also compare Lam 3:54(a) and Ps 69:8b.15f. on thematic grounds, but they are not textual parallels.  5 For the center of not only ancient biblical texts, see also Diebner 1995, 1998.  6 In more details I will publish observations on the Book of Jonah in agreement with Deurloo and with additions in Low German (Diebner 1996). It is a revised form incorporating suggestions from the discussion of the lecture which I gave on January 23 at the pastoral college of the Nordelbische Church in Ratzeburg (22–26.01.1996).  7 As for example, in my opinion, the K text of Genesis 38 has been sneaked into the first book of the Torah.  8 Exactly so also the Book of Ezekiel is not an N text (Cf. Ezek 1:1). Here a spiritual brother of the ‘Chronicler’ writes himself into the Later Prophets (N), or rather: the ‘canonists’ have put him there.  9 As, for example E. Zenger 1995: 405: “The theme of repentance, however, is not the main theme of the story” . . . “Nationalistic, particularistic and xenophobic tendencies in post-exilic Jewry: The relationship between Israel and the peoples (or Jews and Gentiles) is by no means the main theme of the book” . . . “A teacher’s narrative about the drama of the prophetic vocation and/or about the meaning of the prophecy of judgment and doom: Of course, this perspective no longer plays any role at all in the final scene of 4:6–11”. What is it then?! “The book is a theological prophetic narrative that . . . invites

260  Ketuvim you to . . . to be led to that truth of God . . .: that the God of Israel, as the Creator God, is a God of grace, who, as the God of law, moves to conversion and proves to be the God of forgiveness and the renunciation of punishment – because he is a God of boundless love for all living things” (“Das Thema Umkehr ist allerdings nicht das Hauptthema der Erzählung” . . . “Nationalistische, partikularistische und fremdenfeindliche Tendenzen im nachexilischen Judentum: Das Verhältnis Israel – Völker (bzw. Juden – Heiden) ist keinesfalls das Hauptthema des Buches” . . . “(E)ine Lehrerzählung über die Dramatik der prophetischen Berufung und/oder über die Bedeutung der Gerichts- und Unheilsprophetie: Freilich spielt diese Perspektive in der Schlußszene 4,6–11 überhaupt keine Rolle mehr”. What is it then?! “Das Buch ist eine theologische Prophetenerzählung, die . . . einlädt, sich . . . zu jener Gottes-Wahrheit hinführen zu lassen . . .: daß der Gott Israels als der Schöpfergott ein Gott der Gnade ist, der als Gott des Rechts zur Umkehr bewegt und sich darin als Gott der Vergebung und des Strafverzichts erweist – weil er ein Gott der grenzenlosen Liebe zu allem Lebendigen ist”). 10 Which, at least, has not been placed in the Former Prophets of the TNK. 11 Possibly for the reign of the Seleucids; cf. below 3. 12 Cf. Mark 7:24–30 par. Matt 15:21–28; for this, see Diebner 1990; cf. also Jesus in Mark 11:12–14. 13 Cf. Jonah 1:5b.6 with its parallel in Mark 4:38. Strangely enough, I find no reference to this striking parallel in the common secondary literature on Jonah that I have consulted! One should come across this alone in view of Matt 12:39 (etc.)! 14 Strangely enough, neither is it noted by Deurloo 1995: 86–90. 15 Why ‘this’? Nobody seems to have thought about it. 16 The Kermes shield louse (Eichennapfschildlaus, two sorts: Kermes ilicis and Kermes vermilio); cf. A. Remane et al. 1980: 335f.; also other Kermes and Purple colour producing sorts of shield lice. 17 Cf ‘Kermesschildläuse’, in MEL 13, 1975: 6121. 18 Cf. Gesenius-Buhl, Hebraisches und Aramaisches Handwörterbuch über das Alten Testament, and concordances. 19 Cf. cum grano salis, the Book of Ruth. 20 What Jonah, currently already in the sea or in the belly of the fish, of course no longer noticed, which is why the ‘Lex’ can only address the readers and listeners to the Book of Jonah. 21 Perhaps it is more revealing what is not attested in the Qumran literature in textual parts of quite verifiable TNK books, if there seems to have been a ‘system’. 22 This is the case with the seafarers although no circumcision is reported (the ‘situation’ may not have allowed it); YHWH as the name of God signals it. 23 Cf. the key word ‫ שוב‬in ch. 3. 24 Idumea has long belonged to the ‘Israelite’ Zion community because of John Hyrcanus’ forced conversion of its population. 25 Which can also be called ‫נוה צדק‬. 26 Nobody might have considered it plausible. 27 In the Torah this is possible; for it is also the ‘bible’ of the Idumeans who have been forcibly converted to the Zion community since John Hyrcanus I. It is also possible in parts of the Ketuvim, which of course ‘can afford’ it, because they are ‘on the edge of the canon’, but the Nevi’im cannot afford to be explicitly Edom-friendly. Their anti-Edom texts are unlikely to have been ‘preached’ in an Idumean synagogue. From this point of view, one could reopen the canon question – and the question of the transmitters of the Nevi’im. In my view, I would tend to the ‘(early) rabbinic circles’. 28 The Former and Latter Prophets are in the perspective of my canonical hermeneutics ‘confessional’ Jewish sermons. 29 “Endymion”, in: KP: Sp. 267. 30 Cf. E. Stommel 1957: 112–115; Th. Klauser 1961: 136f.; Fr.W. Deichmann and Th. Klauser 1966: 23, 49f.; cf. also the contribution by U. Steffen 1998.

“At the Rise of Dawn” 261 References Deichmann, F.W. and Th. Klauser. 1966. Frühchristliche Sarkophage in Wort und Bild. Antikke Kunst Beiheft 3. Olten: Urs Graf Verlag. Deurloo, K.A. 1995. Jona. Verklaring van de hebreeuwse bijbel. Baarn: Callenbach. ———. 1996. ‘YHWH in den Büchern Ruth und Jona’. In YHWH – KYRIOS-ANTITHEISM: Or the Power of the Word: Festschrift für Rochus Zuurmond anlässlich seiner Emeritierung am 26. Januar 1996. K.A. Deurloo and B.J. Diebner (eds.). DBAT.B 14. Amsterdam, Heidelberg: Dielheimer Blätter: 105–116. Diebner, B.J. 1990. ‘“Fru, dien Glooben is groot!”: Matthäus 15,21–28 – ohn Glooben op Platt verkloort’. In Heidel-Berger-Apokryphen: Eine vorzeitige Nikolausgabe zum 50. Geburtstag von Prof Dr. Klaus Berger. Heidelberg: Carl Winter: 30–43. ———. 1995. ‘Bemerkungen zur “Mitte” des Thomas-Evangeliums’. In Divitiae Aegypti: Koptologische und verwandte Studien zu Ehren von Martin Krause. C. Fluck et al. (eds.). Wiesbaden: Reichert: 77–84. ———. 1996. ‘Dat Book Jona: En Ketuvim-Tekst, de bi de Achteren Propheeten steiht’. Zeitschrift für plattdeutsche Gemeindearbeit 19(1). De Kennung (ed.). n.p. ———. 1998. ‘“ . . . und sie berührte . . . ”: Zur ‘Mitte’ von Ex 4, 24–26’. DBAT 29: 96–98. Klauser, Th. 1961. ‘Studien zur Entstehungsgeschichte der christlichen Kunst IV’. JbAC 4: 128–145. Lux, R. 1994. Jona: Prophet zwischen “Verweigerung” und “Gehorsam”. Eine erzählanalytische Studie. FRLANT 162. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Remane, A., et al. 1980. Systematische Zoologie. Stuttgart, New York: Fischer. Steffen, U. 1998. ‘Pflanzenkunde und – symbolik zur Jona-Geschichte’. DBAT 29: 179–186. Stommel, E. 1957. ‘Zum Problem der frühchristlichen Jonasdarstellungen’. JbAC 1: 112–115. Wolff, H.W. 1977. Obadja, Jona: Dodekapropheton 3. BKAT XIV 3. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Zenger, E., et al. 1995. Einleitung in das Alte Testament. KStTh 1,1. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer.

18 Ecclesiological Aspects of a Canonical Hermeneutics of the Hebrew Bible (TNK)1

0  Canonical Hermeneutics as a Theological Theme Biblical hermeneutics is an old theme of church and theology, and in this connection it is especially concerned with the question of the correct understanding of the ‘Old Testament’ in the context of the ‘New’. The expression ‘canonical-hermeneutics’ is relatively new in biblical scholarship. I only realized its existence about fifteen years ago when it was used in the works of Brevard S. Childs.2 Related to the Old Testament, the concept of ‘canonical-hermeneutics’ presupposes – I formulate this in a symbolic way – ‘Auschwitz’, which (German) exegetes, with an embarrassing delay of at least one generation of scholars only realized when they understood that it could have something to do with their way of studying the Old Testament, a book they mostly read and interpreted in the shape of the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. ‘Auschwitz’ created – rather late (and only among a few scholars) – an awareness that the pre-Christian Jewish Hebrew Bible could be ‘understood’ without relating it to the Christian New Testament and without the constant and often indigenous and foggy analogous premises between the two collections of texts, which always again and again allowed them to read the Old Testament – explicitly or implicitly – sub specie Jesu Christi (for which finally also the acceptance that it is the same God seemed to speak in a kind of circular fallacy). The older works by Childs as well as recent Introductions to the Old Testament such as Erich Zenger’s show how difficult it is for Christian theologians to renounce old premises, to refrain from programming these into the text, and in the end to extract them again as results (cf. Zenger 1995: 21–26, 34–46). The reason is that both of them are struggling with a canonical hermeneutics of the Hebrew Bible.3 To many scholars, it seems to be a terrible risk to entertain the possibility of thinking and working with a – from a hermeneutical perspective – non-Christian or pre-Christian Hebrew Bible. They even refrain from considering the possibility that the antique and oriental Jewish Bible tradition may not contain the dynamics that lead to the Christian Messiah or to the written testimonies of his status as Messiah (and ultimately to the communities which have based their existence on him); something the interpreter can write learned things about. DOI: 10.4324/9781003440321-26

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 263 In his Festschrift article, ‘The True Power of the Word’, Rochus Zuurmond presents a ‘canonical-hermeneutics’ that conforms to the text and is both uninhibited and systematic (Zuurmond 1996). This biblical hermeneutics4 will hopefully be read and elaborated on by so many biblical theologians that we may really speak about a critical change in biblical theology. The problem of our Christian-theological premises for an appropriate canonical hermeneutics of the Hebrew Bible, TNK, can, in my opinion, be explained by the example of a misplaced woman in the Hellenistic (Greek) and Christian canons of the ‘Old Testament’, but who functions in the Hebrew ‘canon’ where she belongs: Naomi, Ruth’s mother-in-law, a confessed ‘Israelite’ Judean (Ruth 1:2). 1  Naomi Between Judges and 1 Samuel The brave woman Naomi, struck by fate – is living in exile in Moab because of famine in Judah (in the famine angels eat the grain of Moab), her husband is dead, and her two sons (with their own names) are deceased without offspring (without ‫ זרע‬for her husband), a fate that only hit Job (worse, but still in the same part of the canon). This brave lady has to send her two Moabite daughters-in-law back (between the Book of Judges and the First Book of Samuel) (Ruth 1:8. 9a, 11–13, 15) “each to her mother’s house” (Ruth 1:8), in order that “each of them shall find peace in the house of their husbands” (v. 9). The brave woman Naomi returns, in my German standard Bible, between Judges and First Samuel to ‫ יהודה לחם בית‬from where she came, because YHWH has graciously cared for his people (‫ )פָקַ ד‬and again provided them with the bread of life (‫לֶחֶ ם‬, v. 6). However, not only does Naomi return between Judges and 1 Samuel in my linguistically real, fine German standard translation. This she has already done for almost 2000 years. The Greek Bible (Septuaginta [LXX]) also sees Naomi return from Moab to Bethlehem between Κριταί and ΒασιλειῶνΑ (Judges and 1 Samuel) according to the ‘canonical’ arrangement which is secured by ‘good’ manuscripts; Josephus does the same.5 And nobody has taken offence – in two thousand years! Neither was I disturbed by this for a long time, because I was also trained from early age in the conventional way of reading the Bible according to my own cultural tradition: the Book of Ruth ‘takes place’ in the ‘time of the Judges’. Therefore it also seemed unquestionably appropriate to me to find this scripture belonging to the narrative style of the ‘Old Testament’ placed here: between Judges and 1 Samuel. I had learned to read the ‘Old Testament’ from the perspective of ‘salvation history’. And when we read it in this way, the ‘historically correct’ location of a stage in history does not disturb: indeed, we are so minimally disturbed that we do not learn to recognize that it may be disturbing on a different level than that of historical progress. So what is it then that may disturb us when Naomi tries to send her daughters-in-law back between Judges and 1 Samuel – or better, what should disturb us? This should not remain a rhetorical question.

264  Ketuvim 2 . . . and Between Moab and Moab Naomi went to Moab from Judah and later began her journey back home with two Moabite daughters-in-law. Naomi’s advice to her daughters-in-law to return to their “mother’s house” is only accepted by one of then, Orpah, while the second girl, Ruth, rejects Naomi’s insistence that she should go back, and continues travelling with her mother-in-law to Bethlehem in Judah, where she stays with her. Later on, she becomes the ancestral mother of ‘Israel’, because in the third (exclusive counting) respectively, in the fourth generation, the Jewish messiah David came from her. And all of this happened in the ‘period of the Judges,’ which in the narrative coloring is especially tinted by the colors of enmity between ‘Israel’ and Moab. That narrative ranges from King Eglon in Judges 3, who is disrespectfully presented in the anti-Moabite propaganda as a joker (Diebner 1993: 98f.) to the point of recapitulating warlike clashes with Moab, sent by YHWH against ‘Israel’ because of its insubordination (cf. 1 Sam 12:9). Such was also the case before Eglon (Numbers 22–24) and it remained the same (1 Sam 14:47f.): a reliable ‘hereditary enmity’ between two closely related neighboring peoples, which is outlined here. In this context, the narrative of the Book of Ruth appears to be set during an armistice. It would be nice to have this period of peace narrowed down to within the two hundred years from c. 1200 to 1000 BCE. The indication of time in Ruth 1:1 is, however, far too general for that. As it is, the Book of Ruth does not even think of an ‘armistice’ and there is no reflection concerning the traditional enmity. Not even the mild excitement when Naomi returns to Bethlehem may be caused by her Moabite companion and daughter-in-law: The women of the town only shout ‘Naomi!’ (Ruth 1:19). The hateful slogan ‘Moab’ appears about twelve times in the Book of Ruth – however, no one shows any hatred! And at the point where it should have been most ‘hateful’ – when Boaz and Ruth meet for the first time, hate is avoided. Although we here find a term which is (from a religio–political perspective) able to stir up such sentiments, it is a very general one: ‫נכריה ואנכי‬, “when I am just a foreigner”, says Ruth (2:10). The Book of Ruth seems ‘erratically’ placed between Judges and 1 Samuel: something that just dropped in from an earlier context. But this cannot be true. The Book of Ruth stands surely intentionally and carefully placed here between Judges and 1 Samuel – at least since the canon of the LXX. But there might be a different perception of the text behind that, which might be bothered by it, namely the not only non-polemical but also most appreciative description of a Jewish mother who brings her Moabite daughter-in-law with her into her country, and of the Moabite woman herself.6 However, why should an edifying and salvation–historical reading cause offense? Already in antiquity anyone who could place Ruth between Judges and 1 Samuel read the Bible in a different way than those who found Ruth outside of the Torah (T) and the Nevi’im (N) and at some time in a certain context within the Ketuvim (K).7

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 265 3  Not ‘Salvation History’ or ‘Edification’ but ‘Ecclesiology’! The intention of ‘salvation history’ could hardly have designed the parts of the Hebrew Bible. Otherwise the Torah would not have ended with a moral sermon at the gates of the ‘Promised Land’. Neither would the Former Prophets have ended in the catastrophe which war hardly softened by the victor’s allotment of a pension to the king. And the ‘historical description’ of the ‘history of Israel’ would not have ended in the fifth century BCE, which is difficult to tease out anyway because of the ‘canonical’ arrangement of the books. Nor would it have ended with the (certainly late) composition of the Ketuvim’s unfulfilled promise in the narrative’s coloring of bygone days in the sixth century BCE. In religious literature ‘edification’ in the sense of sentimental delight is rarely an end in itself – and certainly not with a rigid ‘canonical’ (normative) selection of a few texts taken from a wealth of possible and available writings with the Law, the νομος, as its centre. And the ‘educational’ character of the Book of Ruth, with its dozens of non-polemical passages and even its friendly mentioning of Moab arousing suspicion: it is as if something should be moved, or promoted with this ‘education’, as if a sore spot should be put aside and superseded. How does it really work when an εκκλησια – a cultic and cultural community – has a νομος? I suppose that it will concentrate on criteria and definitions of this community: those who were ‘called out’ create borders for other groups. The history of 2000 years of Christian communities provides many analogies. I take this ‘arbitrarily’ as one (or the essential) premise of my understanding of the Hebrew Bible in its final canonical tripartite form. And I place this premise next to or under others: • the literary historical premise: the sequence of the books of the TNK reflects essentially the literary creation and collection process of the relevant groups of scriptures (cf, Diebner 1994: 95); • the functional premise: the reason for the tripartite division is mainly the different use of the respective groups of scriptures (cf. Zenger 1995: 23); • the ‘canonical’ premise attached to this is that each of the three parts of the canon has a different (theological and liturgical) importance (Zenger 1995: 23). All of these aspects may have a certain legitimation, although only within the framework of an overarching, ‘ecclesiological’ premise: in all three parts of the TNK ‘Israel’ is defined as an εκκλησια (that is, a community of those whom YHWH has called out [the ‘chosen’ ones],8 in Christian language ‘a church’) with various definitions, and in the Ketuvim, at the ‘edge of the canon’, three that are indeed most different.9 A certain logic speaks in favor of this overarching premise related to the circumstance that we, in the TNK, are dealing with a religiously-normative and liturgically-didactic literature belonging to a cultural spectrum. It is a literature in which it, passim, is about ‘Israel’: what ‘Israel’ represents in a positive and

266  Ketuvim negative sense, which god it obeys, which festivals it should celebrate, which gods it should not follow, how it should delineate itself against what is ‘not Israel’ or how those belonging to this ‘not-Israel’ may be integrated, how the life of the community should be organized and regulated, and who has or cannot have political and spiritual leadership in ‘Israel’ (etc.).10 4  When Did Ruth Become a Part of the (Former) Prophets? Naomi was never and is not among the Former Prophets of the Hebrew Bible. The canon of the LXX does not know of such a concept; it only knows ‘history’, and although in the ancient Jewish LXX, it is not about ‘salvation history’ that leads to Jesus Christ, it still is ancient history writing which legitimizes the authorial present in the form of a ‘description of the past’. It is of course possible to rewrite the Book of Ruth in a playful way, in the sense of the parodic business ‘with foreign feathers’: an attractive task for leisure time with the Bible. The task: “How is Naomi supposed to behave if the Book of Ruth was written as part of the ‘Period of the Judges’ in the Former Prophets?” The book would probably have had to end with Ruth 1:6, and it would have had two insertions beyond the transmitted text. Naomi would have had to say to her sons: “Don’t take a woman among the daughters of Moab!” (cf. Gen 24:3 and other texts). The second insertion would have followed between verses 4 and 5: Then Naomi would say: “I am tired of life because of the daughters of Moab!” (cf. Gen 27:46a), or: “And they were a heartache to Naomi” (cf. Gen 26:35). But it has nothing of what we expect it to have. The reason why Naomi had to send her daughters-in-law back to their families has nothing to do with a religio–political Torah (Law) about marriage, and there is no reference to “Chemosh the awful god of the Moabites” (1 Kgs 11:1 and other texts), but a neutral mention of “your god” in Ruth 1:15. Naomi has to say goodbye to her daughters-in-law with a blessing from YHWH, because she is too old to fulfill the regulations of the Levirate: late born sons as substitute husbands for the daughters-in-law.11 Under no circumstances would Ruth’s famous confession to Naomi’s Elohim have come about if the booklet of Ruth had been rectified in accordance with the ‘Torah’, for which Ruth, after the decisive statement of confession – like all ‘Israelites’ – no longer uses a generic designation (‘Elohim’12), but YHWH, the tetragrammaton, which in the TNK is only feasible in direct speech in the mouth of recognized members of the YHWH community, the εκκλησια.13 I believe that it is already obvious after just a few verses of this ‘attempt to rewrite’ it, that it is impossible to imagine that the Book of Ruth, as a text, should belong to the Former Prophets! Deurloo writes in his contribution to the Festschrift for Rochus Zuurmond: “As a Moabite woman she (sc.: Ruth) belongs to a people whose members until the tenth generation shall have no access to the community of Israel (cf. Deut 23:4), and in this capacity she is the most extreme representative of the goyim” (Deurloo 1996: 108). This is hardly fitting for a Prophetic text of conversion!14

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 267 This is where the ‘secondary’ premises mentioned above come into play: 1 Such a text can neither belong to the Torah nor be a liturgically ‘functioning’ interpretation of the Torah (that is, a Nevi’im text); 2 Such a text cannot have the same ‘canonical’ status as have texts of the Torah and the Nevi’im and it could therefore not have been created primarily for such a context; 3 And such a text could well be ‘later’ than ‘normative (and Torah-compliant) basic texts’. The Book of Ruth diametrically contradicts a uniform Torah. No text of the Torah or the Nevi’im does that, especially not concerning such a decisive ‘ecclesiologically’ relevant theme of becoming a member of the YHWH community.15 No, Naomi does not belong to the Prophets (N), neither the Former nor the Latter ones. Naomi belongs to the Ketuvim. 5  What Has Naomi to Do Among the Ketuvim? Looking at how ‘Israel’ is defined as a YHWH community in the three parts of the canon, Torah, Nevi’im, and Ketuvim, we find that the Ketuvim delivers three critical commentaries to the (prophetical commentary of) ‘ecclesiology’ in the Torah: a) The ‘ecclesiology’ of the Torah is not a simple one because it does not sweep the problems under the table but lets them shine through, not least the major ‘Israelite’ basis-conflict between the competing cultic communities at Gerizim and Zion/Jerusalem. This conflict was obvious and could not be concealed. But it had to lead to a certain solution if both cult communities should be able to exist in a common polity.16 In my opinion, the problem is only possible from Hellenistic times. ‘Hellenism’ (also) means cross-national and cross-ethnic domination through a dominating culture. This was imitated by the Hasmonean rulers, who soon became ‘structurally Hellenistic’: a dominating culture in their expanding domain. Abraham Schalit has described the settlement and administrative policy of the Hasmoneans in (Schalit 1969: 183–223). A consistent Judaization of the Hasmonean dominion of the toparchies failed because of the Samaritans. They were ‘circumcised’ – not like non-circumcised ethnic groups in the area of the Hasmonean regime, but regionally. And they received cum grano salis the same Torah as the Judeans, in which many of their own traditions are preserved.17 The Torah is, in my opinion, a ‘compromise document’ and could ultimately only be accepted by the Samaritans – despite all the polemics against them – because the Judeans had political power and because everything ‘decisive’ (i.e., critical between Judeans and Samaritans) was excluded: the maqom (the place for YHWH’s temple) is not clearly defined, the priesthood is defined with the greatest common denominator (the Aaronides), and attention is paid to create ‘balance’ in the construction of the ‘temple’ (in the Torah the ‫)מועד אהל‬: a Judean (well, as ‘foreman’) and a Samaritan are the artists (Diebner 1991a:

268  Ketuvim 143f.). The list can be continued for every crucial aspect. Especially since the book of Genesis presents itself as (cum grano salis) a ‘narrative dogmatics’ of ‘all of Israel’ (Diebner 1983b) from the most general and supreme (Shabbat)18 to the most specific political theme of clarification of the affiliation and position of the ‘House of Joseph’ to ‘Israel’ in Genesis 37–50.19 b) The understanding of the ‘ecclesiology’ in the Former and Latter Prophets includes their reception by the Samaritans: the Former Prophets (incl. parts of Chronicles) were – probably as ancient historiography – received in their own adaptation (cf. Macdonald 1969), no matter how problematic this reception may be judged in terms of tradition and literary history. But they never attained the position similar to that of the Former Prophets among the Judeans and later Jews (strictly speaking). These ‘canonical neologies’ beyond the Torah never reached the position of Torah interpretations among the Samaritans, such as they did among the Judeans. The Samaritans anyway completely rejected the Latter Prophets because of their ‘non-ecumenical’ tendency. Contrary to common scholarly opinion – passim (i.e.: also with regard to Hosea and even Amos) this corpus of scriptures was a formation within the Judean tradition. The reason for this critical attitude to the Nevi’im is obvious. The ‘ecclesiology’ of the Nevi’im is Judean: Jerusalem is explicated as the only chosen place, maqom, the lineage of the Aaronides are cut off from the Jerusalem branch of the Zadoqites, and a ‘narrow interpretation’ of the Torah, which could hardly have been communicated beyond the narrower ‘old-Judean’ circles. Here the old (probably long since anachronistic) enmity towards ‘Edom’ can let off steam, which was probably laboriously curbed in the Torah, because of the pax Hasmonaea;20 the reason for my dissent with Bert Dicou. I cannot skip over the ‘nasty (hermeneutical–ecclesiological) ditch’ between the Torah and the Nevi’im. (Fortunately, Bert doesn’t let that irritate him). In spite of everything: the ‘call to repentance’ of the Nevi’im is also; no, especially, aimed at ‘those in the north’! This would not be the case if they no longer existed or were considered to have lost their relationship to Judah. They are not ‘excommunicated’, they are still defined as ‘Israel’ (as we can see, among other things, in the interlinked vitae of the kings of Judah and Israel in 2 Kings) – albeit as an even more erroneous Israel compared to Judah, but nevertheless as a collective ‘Israel’.21 Here we will resume the course towards Naomi in a roundabout way: c) Above, I mentioned that the Ketuvim disclose three different ‘ecclesiologies’. Not every part of the Ketuvim seems to have an interest in ‘ecclesiology’: an argument for the ‘hodgepodge’ nature of this third – and certainly not very important – part of the canon, apart from the Torah-like Psalter. Much is already ‘beyond’ the theme and some are only inner-Judean traditions: Job, Lamentations, Esther, Daniel, just to mention a few of the writings. Nevertheless, books of ‘ecclesiological relevance’ were also included in the Ketuvim of the Hebrew Bible: Ezra and Nehemiah, 1–2 Chronicles and Ruth. Each of these books

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 269 represents a part of the ‘ecclesiological’ range of opinions within ‘exclusive’ Judaism (i.e. Samaria as a ‘church’ that has already been ‘excommunicated’). And here there seems – understandably so – to have been different opinions for a long time, even if the sheet was long since cut. c. α) Ezra and Nehemiah hold the most rigid opinion. Here not only those ‘foreign peoples’, which we also know as such from Genesis 24, are deemed taboo for marriage (Ezra 9:1f., 12; 10; Neh 10:29, 31; 13:1–3, 23–31), but even the Samaritans are completely excluded;22 they are downright the ‘enemies of Judah and Benjamin’.23 c. β) Chronicles are less narrow minded. For that reason they cannot – in spite of much similarity – be a part of a common literary work which consisted of 1 and 2 Chronicles and Ezra and Nehemiah. In Chronicles, the ‘faithful’ and ‘upright’ from Ephraim, Manasseh and Simeon (!) etc., who ‘humble’ themselves, are allowed to come to the restored pilgrimage festivals in Jerusalem,24 i.e. as individual ‘converts’ to the community of Zion and not the Samaritan community, εκκλησια, as such! Even Levites (i.e.: clerics) are welcome as converts.25 The cultural–historical background here is probably the situation – based on Hasmonean ‘tutoring’ – since the successful imperialist efforts of Hyrcanus I with their reduction of the territory of the cultic community on Gerizim. In Chronicles, Moab comes into view ‘ecclesiologically’ implicitly at best: for example in connection with the murder of Joash in 2 Chronicles 24: the guilt for the assassination of Joash in his bed falls on Sabad, the son of an Ammonite woman, and Jehozabad, the son of a Moabite woman. This is where Gen 19:30–38, Deut 23:4–7 and all the Ammon and Moab polemics come into play. Both names are very strange: the Ammonite ‫‘( זבד‬he has bestowed’), and the Moabite ‫יהוזבד‬ (‘YHWH has bestowed’)!26 And both were in high positions in the kingdom of Judah! That probably presupposes the situation of Ruth: a Moabite ‘non-Israelite’ sub specie of the Torah with a YHWH theophoric name belongs to the ‘great ones’ of the kingdom.27 The ‘division of the church’ between the communities of Gerizim and Zion seems accomplished. However, conversions are possible, even of clerics (cf. 2 Chron 11:13f.) moving from the north to the south.28 But the south seems to know about the ‘incorporation in the community’ of Moabites – contrary to the provision of Deut 23:4–7. The Moabites’ (at that time already the successors of the Nabataeans) possibility of converting to Judaism had become urgent since the settlement policy of the Hasmoneans after the conquest of Moab under Alexander Jannaeus (103–76 BCE). Moab was not raised to the status of a toparchy, probably because too few Judean settlers lived there. These were asked to ‘return’. c.γ) In what situation did Naomi live (at least ‘literally’)? The rigid anti-Samarian policy of Ezra and Nehemiah is not reflected in Ruth. That wouldn’t be necessary given the kind of plot in the book. But opening up to Moab is already ‘historically necessary’, because Jews living in Moab have married Moabite women.

270  Ketuvim Such behaviour is condemned in Neh 13:1–3, among others, which means that it is presupposed as a historical fact (cf. Ezra 9:1f.; Neh 13:23ff.). For the question: Which is oldest, Ruth or Nehemiah 13 (etc.)? I would choose Ruth, because the attempt to meet her presupposes the practice. In addition, the marriage ideology of Ezra and Nehemiah seems ‘reactionary’.29 But maybe it is inappropriate to think in the (literally misunderstood) categories of ‘older’ and ‘younger’. Perhaps ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ are better, because in principle this allows one to assume ‘simultaneity’ (and thus: different opinions within a given time). The message of the Ketuvim conveyed by the character of Naomi no longer had any chance, albeit camouflaged, of getting into the Torah.30 She expresses her unproblematic relationship as a Jewess to the Moabites ‘on the edge’ of the tripartite Jewish canon, where other only half-heartedly ‘orthodox’ counteracting inconsistencies such as Job and Qohelet find room. But then this seemingly unproblematic relationship remains ‘suspended’, as does also the possibility that a Moabite woman can be a ‘mother of Israel’ and of the Messiah: certainly to the great joy of Herod and his followers in view of his Moabite (Nabataean) mother, Cypros. Josephus seems to have no problem with the Moabite woman, Ruth. He tells us nothing about the religio–politically explosive parts in Ruth 1 or about Ruth’s conversion commitment. In his summary of the story of Ruth it is his intention “to show the power of God and how easy it is for Him to promote even ordinary folk to a rank so illustrious as that to which he raised David, sprung from such ancestors” (Jos. Ant. 5:337 in LCL 1966). 6  Conclusion and Assessment In contrast to other opinions in the Ketuvim,31 Naomi’s unproblematic friendliness towards the Moabites did not find its way into the ‘inner circles’ of the tripartite ‘canon’, the TNK. However, the ‘canonical marginality’ of this Torah-counteracting opinion seems to me to speak to the influence of ‘interested circles’ of Judaism in the first century BCE and to the ‘graciousness’ of Jewish tradition formation in general, which has few problems with expressing the ‘truth’ in the form of an ‘ideal denominator’ or ‘sentence’. Viewed ‘canonically’, ‘narrower’ interpretations prevail in the (liturgically and discursively) more important parts of Torah and Nevi’im. In my opinion, the Nevi’im already represents a ‘denominationally’ limiting interpretation of the ‘ecumenically’ comprehending Torah. It may represent a ‘Pharisaic-reading sermon’ for the Judean synagogue, but certainly not for the Samaritan. ‘Other opinions’ are not ‘banned’, they are ‘attached’, critically discussed and often rejected in rabbinic discourse, but preserved. I conclude with an anecdote from ‘real life’. In my (former) capacity as press officer for the SPD local association in Dielheim, I was of course present at all events of my party’s election campaigns. Three-quarters of these were attended by CDU supporters and members of the ‘black Kraichgau’ south of Heidelberg, who enthusiastically made provocative and polemical contributions to the discussion.

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 271 At an event in 1975, a CDU person allowed himself to be carried away in a sharp attack on the (SPD-affiliated) trade unions. A visitor, who was not a party member at the time (he later joined the SPD) stood up and hurled at the union enemy in his North Baden Kraichgau dialect: “Wos dii G’werkschafde fa uns klääni Arbeiter geduu hawwe – do d’voor lupf ich zäähnmool am Dag da Huut!” – “What the unions have done for us little workers: I take off my hat ten times a day!” In the presence of what the Jews have created with their tripartite biblical canon, the TNK – an exciting and often quite polemical range of opinions, which ultimately testifies to tolerance at least in the area of their own cultural spectrum, but also leaves room for tolerance beyond its limits (see the Jewess Naomi in the Book of Ruth) – I do (as a Westerner, Christian and theologian) “take off my hat ten times a day!” 7 Summary Fundamental to the author’s concept of a ‘canonical-hermeneutics’ with regard to the three-part division of the Hebrew Bible is the different ‘ecclesiologies’ of the various parts of the TNK, determined by their definitions of ‘Israel’ as a cultic community: • In view of the Torah (T) the (ecclesiologically relevant) definition of ‘Israel’ is ‘ecumenical’ and ‘interdenominational’: Both Judah (including Edom) and Samaria (Ephraim and Manasseh) belong to Israel (in both forms). As a result, the Torah was harmonized in order to function as a normative religious document of ‘both Israels’, which is why it does not address or name anything that is disputed between Samaritans and Judeans, and is acceptable to the congregations of both Gerizim and Jerusalem as Law, Νομος. • Ecclesiology in the Nevi’im (N) is ‘confessional’: the criteria of the ‘church’ are Judean. Neither Judah nor Samaria lived up to them. That is the reason why the prophetic call to repentance is necessary, which, however, goes out more strongly to the ‘apostate’ cultic community of Samaria without fundamentally denying that it belongs to ‘Israel’ (from an ecclesiological point of view). • The ecclesiology of the Ketuvim (K) is uneven. Many writings are irrelevant when it comes to polemics related to the confession or without interest in confessional politics. Apart from the Psalter (a unique case) only Ezra and Nehemiah, 1–2 Chronicles and Ruth are of interest here, each of them representing different ‘ecclesiologies’. All three groups of texts belong ‘confessionally’ to the Judean community: nulla salus extra ecclesiam Iudaicam! The differences among these texts regard the question of ‘who can belong to it?’ In Ezra and Nehemiah, Judea seals itself off (but cf. Neh 5:17b). Chronicles is open to Samaritan clerics and lay persons who convert. In the case of Ruth, the Judean cult community – contrary to Deut 23:4–7 and in contrast to Chronicles – is expressly open even to Moabite (female) converts. This is the most extreme possibility of belonging in the context of the usual cult(ural) polemics of the Hebrew Bible. Altogether T, N and K disclose the entire spectrum of possible definitions of ‘ecclesiologically’ belonging within the YHWH cult community of ‘Israel’.

272  Ketuvim Notes  1 Lecture at a symposium for Rochus Zuurmond on the occasion of his retirement on 26 January 1996 in the Amsterdam Agnietenkapel.  2 I can, however, not support Childs’ concept of the canonical process, because it seems too mythical.  3 Here has Zenger 1995: 24–26 presented observations similar to those I have already presented in 1983 und 1985, which Zenger, however, did not know in spite of its publication in TRE (Diebner 1985a) with reference to Diebner 1983a: 38–41.  4 In my opinion, it can easily be combined as a ‘systematic’ hermeneutics with the structurally- and confessional-politically ‘canon’ outlined here.  5 Cf. below the citation from Jos. Ant. 5.337; cf also Diebner 1985b: esp. 177–181.  6 “The marriages with the Moabite Women is [sic], contrary to Deut 23:4 and Neh 13:1, without critical remarks” (“Die Ehen mit den Moabiterinnen werden, anders als 5. Mose 23,4; Neh. 13,1, ohne kritische Nebenbemerkung mitgeteilt”), writes H.W. Hertzberg 1954: 260, and he continues: “what else should the young people [the sons of Elimelech and Naomi] have done?” (“Was hätten sie jungen Leute [sc. die Söhne Elimelechs und Noomis] auch anders tun sollen?”). This is a rationalistic explanation of the offence, which, of course, does not fit the thinking of the ancient traders.  7 Thus, the commentators are usually not offended by the ‘strange woman’ and Moabite Ruth, who here becomes the ‘sympathetic figure’ of a biblical narrative; cf. G. Gerleman 1965: esp. pp. 6–11, who at least describes the ‘Judaization’ of Moabite Ruth as the ‘theme’ of the book, but without precisely grasping the Torah problem; cf. also E. Würthwein 1969: 11, who describes Ruth’s conversion “to a foreign voile and foreign god” (“zu einem fremden Voile und fremden Gott”) more as an individual–psychological problem than as a Torah problem and canonically and hermeneutically relevant process. “Ruth chooses out of love; there are no other interests at play” (“Rut entscheidet sich aus Liebe; es sind keine anderen Interessen im Spiel”), writes C. Mesters 1988: 37, without consideration of the (cultural) political interests of the transmitters of the text (but Mesters writes for the starving people of Brazil).  8 Cf. the Hebrew concept ‫ קהל יהוה‬/ ‫קהל אדני‬  9 I have published on this theme since 1986: cf. Diebner 1986; 1992; and references to other works in these articles. 10 In view of the meaningfulness of an ‘ecclesiological’ interpretation of these writings, I believe that we have so far made far too little use of possible analogies: for example, of the early church or (anti-)Reformation symbols. This is always about polemical definitions vis-à-vis other cult(ural) communities: in the Reformation period, for example, the ‘Lutheran’ definition of church vis-à-vis the Roman Catholic church, on the one hand, and the Reformed church, on the other. The focus of the ‘critical’ (distinguishing) considerations is always who and what is the ‘true church’. In my opinion, the exegetical effort for biblical legitimation of the ‘right faith’ within the framework of the ‘right theology’ works already on a meta-level in a relation to the text-generative motivations of the ancient authors and transmitters, which show little sensitivity for the primary historical conflict situations. 11 Cf. Ruth 1:11b and to this Deut 25:5–10, and also the narrative illustration in Gen 38:7–11,14, 26. 12 In my opinion, the last has not been said about this designation! What is the earliest external evidence (outside the TNK and other ‘edited’ religious Jewish scriptures) for the form ‫ ?אלהים‬Neither do scholars of more recent representations deal with it: H. Vorländer writes in: NBL l: 526f.: “Seine [sc.: ‘Elohim’] Etymologie ist umstritten” (“its etymologie is uncertain”) . . . . “E[lohim] ist als Plur. von el aufzufassen” (“Elohim is to be understood as the plur. of el”). For this, however, we have the easily explained plur. ‫ !אלים‬The plural of ‫( אלוה‬Aram. ‫ )אלה‬is obvious; cf. Ges.-Buhl: ‫אלוה‬. 13 An exception – like Ruth – is the sailors in Jonah 1 – in the middle of the Latter Prophets! But the book of Jonah is, in my opinion, a ‘Ketuvim immigrant’ among the Nevi’im.

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 273 Nor is the ‘nationality’ of the seafarers defined. Such happens in ‘sensitive’ places: as in Genesis 38 (in my opinion also a ‘Ketuvim immigrant’ – this time in the Torah), where the origin of such an important ‘arch mother’ as Tamar remains open. Generously interpreted, the sailors in Jonah 1 could be ‘Egyptians’ or ‘Edomites’. The Torah of Deut 23:8f. would be enough! Cf. Diebner 1998. 14 Also here (in the Nevi’im) do we have a wealth of conversion narratives. I have once counted 21 such texts; cf. Diebner 1987a. The most spectacular is probably the conversion of the Syrian Field Marshal Naaman to the God of ‘Israel’ (cf. 2 Kgs 5:1–19a). He may have lived in the ninth century BCE (in regard to narrative coloring), but he was hardly ‘converted’ before the second century BCE; cf. H. Schult 1975. 15 The proselytes in Jonah 1 are with generous precision Torah ‘compatible’, in spite of it being an immigrated Ketuvim text. 16 Also the conflict between ‘Israel’/Judah und Edom/Idumäa is thematized and solved with suspense by the integration of Edom in the family of the circumcised. Jacob does only become Israel when he is on his way to reconciliation with his brother Esau (cf. Gen 32:23–33 in context of Genesis 32f.). 17 Especially prominent are the Joseph novella in Genesis 37–50 (in the Judaic edition) and Deuteronomy with the Deuteronomic Law at its center (chapters 12–26). 18 Cf. Gen 1:1–2:3 (2:4a belongs, in spite of other opinions to 2:4bff.). 19 It is therefore probably nonsensical to reconstruct a pre-state nomadic or para-state family religion from the general diplomatically lowered dating of the Book of Genesis, as has often happened in recent times (cf. especially the Westermann School). 20 Cf. the Jacob–Esau cycle, which in my opinion reflects the conquest of Idumea from John Hyrcanus I to Herod. 21 The ‘cessation’ of Israel (cf. 2 Kings 17) does not mean that the Samari(tan) people are no longer ‘there’. Also the royal polity of Judah ‘disappears’. The ‘History of Israel’ in the Books of Kings is told from a Judean perspective. Therefore, on the contrary: the highly polemical text of 2 Kings 17 justifies the existence of the Samaritan cult community – admittedly by anachronistic retrojection, since it probably only emerged as such in the second century BCE; cf. among others. H.G.Kippenberg 1971. If you still want to make 2 Kings 17 ‘older’ according to this research (certainly, Kippenberg still traditionally assumes a higher age of 2 Kings 17, but he published his work in 1971!), hermeneutically you will have to cut heels and toes with your exegesis! The claimed ‘cessation’ of Israel (the end of the independent royal polity in the late eighth century BCE is a fact) does not contradict the ‘prophetic call to repentance’. On the contrary: the description of the cessation in the past is supposed to encourage the conversion of the Samaritans. 22 A rare exception in regard to proselytism is Neh 5:17b, which reads like a subsequent correction and opening up to the reality of missionary Judaism 23 Cf. Ezra 4:l(f.). ‘Judah and Benjamin’ belong closely together here (as well as in Chronicles): the Israelite royal tribe (i.e.: the legitimate Israel’s royal tradition) was ‘defeated’ by the Judaean; for, in the sense of the ideological conception present here, the legitimate traditions of ‘Israel’ must be gathered in Judah – as well as the ‘Twelve Tribes’ (cf. also Chronicles), which are represented in the single tribe of Judah. This is a ‘claim of sole representation’, as we know it similarly, for example, from recent German history. See also Diebner and H. Schult 1975: esp. thesis 3. 24 A stereotype in the Chronicler’s report of the cultic reforms carried out by the ‘good kings’ of Judah. 25 The transfer of Levitical clerics from the shrine at Gerizim to Jerusalem’s temple is still reported for a time when we no longer want to consider this possible due to our inveterate ideas of the ‘Samaritan schism’. The traditional image of the Samaritans (‘pagan mixed people with a syncretic religion and separatist cult centre’), which is partly conveyed polemically by the Gospels, has been shaken by research over the last three decades and changed by researchers who are open to critical arguments. The study of

274  Ketuvim the Samaritans and their traditions has become a branch of research in its own right. Kippenberg 1971 made great contributions to the upheaval in this area; cf. also N. Schur 1989; A.D. Crown 1989. But E. Schürer 1907/1964: 1–26 (esp. 18–23) had already laid the ground with his critique of the traditional presentation of the Samaritans. 26 Also the variant ‫ זבדיה‬and the name ‫יהונתן‬. 27 Only the Ammonite and the Moabite are tainted here – unlike Ruth. 28 Presumably also vice versa; but a Judean tradition may report this only for special reasons. 29 However, this could also suggest a cultural–political situation different from that assumed here. 30 Unless a ‘Moabite’ is hidden behind the ‘unidentified’ Tamar. 31 Thus, for example Genesis 38 is not only narratively related to the Book of Ruth, but also displays a rather ‘free’ interpretation of Torah provisions (Diebner 1991b/1994). Also the Book of Jonah seems to represent Ketuvim opinions; cf. Deurloo 1996: 110– 115. The Judaic circles of textual transmission seem also to have edited other parts of the canon; cf. Diebner 1987b.

References Crown, A.D. (ed.). 1989. The Samaritans. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Deurloo, K.A. 1996. ‘YHWH in den Büchern Ruth und Jona’. In YHWH – KYRIOS – ANTITHEISM: Or the Power of the Word: Festschrift für Rochus Zuurmond anlässlich seiner Emeritierung am 26. Januar 1996. K.A. Deurloo and B.J. Diebner (eds.). DBAT.B 14. Amsterdam, Heidelberg: Dielheimer Blätter: 105–116. Diebner, B.J. 1983a. ‘Ich aber und mein Haus – wir wollen YHWH dienen’ (Jos 24,14b): Bemerkungen zum Alten Testament als Buch vom rechten Gottesdienst ‘Israels’. DBAT 17: 30–80. ———. 1983b. ‘Genesis als Buch der antik-jüdischen Bibel: Eine unhistorisch-kritische Spekulation’. DBAT 17: 81–98. ———. 1985a. ‘Gottesdienst II. Altes Testament’. TRE 14: 5–28. ———. 1985b. ‘Erwägungen zum Prozess der Sammlung des dritten Teils der antik-jüdischen (hebräischen) Bibel, der ‫’כתובים‬. DBAT 21: 139–199. ———. 1986. ‘Zur Funktion der kanonischen Textsammlung im Judentum der vor-christlichen Zeit: Gedanken zu einer Kanon-Hermeneutik’. DBAT 22: 58–73; French ed. 1992: ‘Entre Israel et Israel, le Canon: les fonctions des collections de textes canoniques dans le Judaisme avant l’ere chretienne’. In Le Livre de traverse de l’exegese biblique a l’anthropologie. O. Abel and Fr. Smyth-Florentin (eds.). Paris: Cerf: 101–112. ———. 1987a. ‘Texte eines missionarischen Judentums im Alten Testament’. In: Theologie – Kirche – Religionspädagogik: Festgabe für Hans Grothaus zum 60. Geburtstag. D. Sänger (ed.). Flensburg: Bibliothek d. Pädag. Hochsch: 57–61. ———. 1987b. ‘Überlegungen zum Brief des Elia (2Chr 21,12–15)’. DBAT 23: 66–97. Republ. in Henoch 9 (1987): 197–228. ———. 1991a. ‘Gottes Welt, Moses Zelt und das Salomonische Heiligtum’. In Lectio difficilior probabilior?: L’exégèse comme experience de décloisonnement: Mélanges offerts à Francoise Smyth-Florentin. T. Römer (ed.). DBAT.B 12. Heidelberg: Wiss.-theol. Seminar: 127–154. ———. 1991b. ‘Die Torah als Interpretatio iudaica im Buche Rut. Anmerkungen zum einer Schrift “am Rande des Kanons”’. (non-publ. MS; Summary in DBAT 28 (1994): 72.). ———. 1993. ‘Zur Frage von Fäkalien und Notdurft in der HI.Schrift. Ein bislang kaum beachtetes Problem’. In Schieten. A.I. Richter and J.P. Jensen (eds.). DBAT.B 13 (Sondernummer). Flensburg, Hamburg: Dielheimer Blätter.

Ecclesiological Aspects of Canonical Hermeneutics of Bible 275 ———. 1994. ‘Die antisamaritanische Polemik im TNK als konfessionelles Problem’. In The Bible in Cultural Context. H. Pavlinkova and D. Papoušek (eds.). Brno: University of Masaryk: 95–110. ———. 1998. ‘“Beim Aufgang der Morgenröte”: Jona wurmstichig’. DBAT 29: 157–167. Diebner, B.J. and H. Schult. 1975. ‘Thesen zu nachexilischen Entwürfen der frühen Geschichte Israels im Alten Testament’. DBAT 10: 41–47. Republ. DBAT 28 (1994): 41–46. Gerleman, G. 1965. Ruth Das Hohelied. BKAT XVIII. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Hertzberg, H.W. 1954. Die Bücher Josua, Richter, Ruth. ATD 9. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Kippenberg, H.G. 1971. Garizim und Synagoge: Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramäischen Periode. RGVV 30. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Macdonald, J. 1969. The Samaritan Chronicle No. II from Joshua to Nebuchadnezzar. BZAW, 107. Berlin: de Gruyter. Mesters, C. 1988. Der Fall Rut. Brot, Familie, Land. Biblische Gespräche aus Brasilien. Erlanger Taschenbücher 87. Erlangen: Verlag der Ev.-Luth. Mission. Schalit, A. 1969. König Herodes: Der Mann und sein Werk. StJ 4. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schult, H. 1975. ‘Naemans Übertritt zum Yahwismus (2 Kön 5,1–19a) und die biblischen Bekehrungsgeschichten’. DBAT 9: 2–20. Schur, N. 1989. History of the Samaritans. BEATAJ 18. Frankfurt/M.: Peter Lang. Schürer, E. 1964. Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi, II. Hildesheim: Verlagsbuchhandlung (orig. 1907). Würthwein, E. 1969. Die Fünf Megilloth. Ruth. Das Hohelied. Esther. Der Prediger. Die Klagelieder. HAT l,18. Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck. Zenger, E., et al. 1995. Einleitung in das Alte Testament. KStTh 1,1. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Zuurmond, R. 1996. ’The Power of the Word’. In YHWH – KYRIOS – ANTITHEISM: Or the Power of the Word: Festschrift für Rochus Zuurmond anlässlich seiner Emeritierung am 26. Januar 1996. K.A. Deurloo and B.J. Diebner (eds.). DBAT.B 14. Amsterdam, Heidelberg: Dielheimer Blätter: 11–27.

Index

Aagaard, J. 235, 237 Alt, A. 21–22, 29–54, 64–65, 67, 72, 74, 124, 126, 180–181, 186–187 Amery, C. 145, 147 Andersen, K.T. 20, 22, 48, 54 Astruc, J. 10, 21, 23, 182 Auld, A.G. 65 Bargheer, F.W. 64–65 Baudy, G. 146–147 Baumeister, T. 337 Becker, J. 64–65 Berry, G.R. 123, 126 Bertholet, A. 185–187 Bickerman, E.J. 18, 101, 108, 186–187 Biran, A. 248–249 Blöss, C. 247, 249 Blum, E. 21–22, 75, 91 Breuil, P. du. 176, 181 Bright, J. 20, 22, 206, 217, 219, 237 Busink, T.A. 123–124, 126, 138–139 Charlier, C.V.L. 123, 126 Cooper, J.C. 244, 249 Cowley, A.E. 99, 108 Crown, A.D. 247 Crüsemann, F. 21–22 Deckers, J. 134–136, 139 Deichmann, F.W. 260–261 Delehaye, H. 232, 237 de Pury, A. 248, 250 Deurloo, K. 15, 19, 211–212, 216–218, 248–249, 253–256, 259–261, 266, 274 Devos, P. 229, 236–237 Diebner, B.J. 14–16, 19–23, 48, 54, 61–67, 68, 70, 74, 89, 90, 92, 96, 99–108, 122–126, 146–147, 159, 162–167,

176–181, 183–187, 201–202, 208–209, 215–217, 236, 238, 243, 248–250, 259–261, 264–268, 272–275 Dinkler, E. 93, 122, 125–126 Dölger, F.J. 122, 126 Donner, H. 237–238 Drake, H.A. 236, 238 Eberhart, C. 216, 218 Eissfeldt, O. 13, 20, 23, 75, 88, 96, 109, 144 Elbogen, I. 139 Elliger, K. 48, 54 Favez, C. 237–238 Fohrer, G. 13, 20, 64, 65 Frankemölle, H. 144, 147 Frenzel, M. 64–65 Frevel, C. 10, 23 Friis, H. 13, 20, 23, 90, 92, 147–148, 178 Frolow, A. 236–238 Gall, A.V. 124, 126 Galling, K. 48, 54, 90, 92, 97–99, 107, 109, 122, 126 Geischer, H.-J. 208–209 Gerleman, G. 272, 275 Gertz, J.C. 19, 23 Gese, H. 114–115, 123–126 Görg, M. 105, 109 Grillmeyer, A. 125–126 Gunkel, H. 12, 20, 23, 64, 75, 88, 211, 216, 218 Gunneweg, A.H.J. 49, 54, 221–223, 235, 238 Haag, E. 91–92, 152, 162, 164 Haag, H. 162, 164 Habicht, C. 224, 235, 238

Index  277 Hanhart, R. 19–20, 24 Haymes, E.R. 20, 23 Hempel, J. 48, 54 Hensel, B. 21, 23, 108–109, 186–187, 213, 217–218 Hermann, J. 123, 126 Herrmann, S. 30–31, 49, 54, 68–74, 163–164, 222, 234–238 Hertzberg, H.W. 272, 275 Hjelm, I. 3–4 Hoffmann, H.W. 65 Hoftijzers, J. 20, 23, 35, 45–48, 51, 54, 57, 65 Hollis, F.J. 113, 115, 123, 126 Holzinger, H. 212, 216, 218 Huber, F. 65 Hunt, E.D. 229, 236–238 Hutmacher, H.A. 244, 249–250 Ilberg, J. 50, 54 Jepsen, A. 21, 23 Jeremias, J. 60, 236–238 Jüngling, H.-W. 91, 241, 250 Kaiser-Minn, H. 139 Kanael, B. 138–140 Kautzsch, E. 101, 109 Keel, O. 123–124, 126 Kessler, M. 211–212, 218 Kilian, R. 216–218 Kippenberg, H.G. 81, 90, 92, 162, 164, 168, 178, 181, 273–275 Klauser, Th. 93, 260–261 Knauf, E.A. 248, 250 Köckert, M. 13, 23 Kötting, B. 232, 236–238 Kraeling, H. 128, 137, 140 Kraus, H.-J. 9, 18–19, 23 Külling, S.R. 207, 209 Kuschke, A. 122–124, 126 Labuschagne, C. 186–187 Landsberger, F. 116–119, 122–126 Lang, B. 16, 19, 21, 23, 90–92, 162, 164, 178 Leder, H.-G. 153, 164 Lemche, N.P. 4, 13, 15, 20–21, 23, 147–148, 163–164, 178 Levin, C. 19, 23 Levine, L.I. 133, 136, 138–140 Lietzmann, H. 232, 238 Lods, A. 10, 24 Lohfink, N. 21, 91, 180–181 Lüling, G. 222, 235, 238 Lux, R. 259, 261

Maag, V. 48, 54–55 Macdonald, J. 21, 24, 90, 92, 162, 164, 178, 181, 268, 275 Maier, G. 64, 66 Markert, L. 65 May, H.G. 123, 126 Meisner, N. 18, 24, 101, 107, 109 Mendenhall, G. 13, 24 Meshorer, Y. 108–109 Mesters, C. 272, 275 Metzger, M. 31, 49, 55, 221, 234, 238 Michel, D. 146, 148 Möhlenbrink, K. 113–116, 122, 126 Monshouwer, D. 208–209 Morgenstern, J. 113–116, 123, 126 Naveh, J. 248–249 Negev, A. 138, 140 Niemitz, H.-U. 247, 249 Nilsson, H.P. 233, 238 Nodet, E. 15, 178, 180–181 Noth, M. 13–14, 17, 20–21, 24, 48, 55, 63, 70, 73–75, 78, 93–98, 109, 122–124, 127, 144, 177, 180, 197, 234, 238 Nussbaum, O. 125, 127 Nussel, F. 11, 24 Otto, E. 24, 147 Otzen, B. 139–140 Ouellette, J. 123–124, 127 Perlitt, L. 33, 55 Peterson, E. 125–127 Pétré, H. 236–238 Plöger, O. 64–66, 94–95, 180–181 Porten, B. 99, 107, 109 Preuss, H.D. 235, 238 Prüm, K. 162, 232, 238 Rabenau, K. von. 96, 144, 148 Rad, G. von. 13, 56, 63, 70, 78, 90, 147–148, 184, 187, 211, 218 Reller, H. 227, 235, 238 Remane, A., et al. 260–261 Rendtorff, R. 14, 21, 24, 56–58, 62, 64–66, 69, 74–75, 88, 91–92, 216–218, 235, 238, 241, 247, 249–250 Renz, A. 139–140 Reventlow, H. Graf. 19, 24, 215–216, 218 Rogerson, J.W. 9, 19, 24 Römer, T. 22, 248, 250 Roth, C.B. 128, 136–140 Rothstein, J.W. 179, 181

278 Index Rudolph, W. 179, 181 Ruprecht, E. 19, 24 Rüterswörden, U. 184–185, 187 Sachau, E. 99, 109, 180–181 St. Clair, A. 128–129, 140 Salyards, R. 226–227, 235–238 Schalit, A. 248–250, 267, 275 Schmid, H.H. 14, 21, 24, 56, 63–64, 75, 90 Schmidt, W.H. 1, 19–20, 24, 70–74 Schmitt, R. 138, 140 Schott, E. 152, 162, 164 Schult, H. 1, 14, 21, 23, 50–51, 63–66, 68, 74, 90, 92, 124, 127, 144, 163–164, 180–181, 183, 187, 241–242, 273, 275 Schultze, H. 64–65 Schunck, K.-D. 178, 181 Schürer, E. 105, 109, 274–275 Schur, N. 274–275 Schwabl, H. 145, 148 Seebaß, H. 15, 185, 248, 250 Seidl, H. 145, 148 Seters, J. Van. 1, 13, 20, 24, 56, 63, 66, 75–93, 109, 216 Sjöwall, M. 48, 55 Ska, J.L. 20, 24 Smend, R. 16–20, 24, 93–94, 105, 147–148, 235, 238 Smitten, W.T. In der 63, 66 Snijders, L.A. 113, 124, 127 Soggin, J.A. 15, 21, 24, 91–92, 163–164 Spronk, K. 15, 19, 24, 187 Steffen, U. 260–261 Steidle, W. 237–238 Stern, M. 102, 108–109 Stoebe, H.J. 152, 162 Stolz, F. 63, 66, 90, 147–148 Stommel, E. 260–261 Stott, K. 3–4 Straubinger, J. 236–239

Thackeray, H.S.J. 107, 109 Thiel W. 19–20, 24 Thompson, T.L. 1, 3–4, 64, 66 Troeltsch, E. 65–66, 96, 109 Unger, E. 113–114, 122, 127 Ussishkin, D. 124, 127 van Duin, K. 248, 250 Vermes, G. 186–187, 211, 214, 218 Vorländer, H. 20, 25, 35, 48, 50, 53, 55–56, 63–64, 66, 90, 178, 272 Vrestka, K. 236–238 Wahlöö, P. 48, 55 Wangenheim, W. von. 139–140 Wanke, G. 65 Weidmann, H. 42, 48, 54–55 Weippert, M. 16, 63, 66, 178 Wendland, P. 18, 107, 109, 186 Westermann, C. 64, 66, 75, 78–79, 88, 163–164, 208, 211, 215–218, 273 Wette, W.M.L. de. 11–12, 14, 25, 77, 221, 235, 239 Wiese, B. von 217–218 Wilkinson, J. 236–237, 239 Wimmer, O. 232, 239 Winnett, F.V. 4 Witter, H.B. 10, 19, 25 Wolff, H.W. 14, 57, 63, 179, 181, 255, 259, 261 Würthwein, E. 272, 275 Yardeni, A. 99, 107, 109 Zangenberg, J. 105, 109 Zenger, E. 14, 21, 91, 241, 259, 261 Zimmerli, W. 123–124, 127 Zuber, B. 91–92, 186–187, 213, 217–218, 242 Zuurmond, R. 263, 266, 272, 275

Index of Sources

Biblical Genesis 1:1-2:3 10, 15, 19, 273 1:1-23 19 1:9 196 1:26-28 142, 186 2:4-3:24 10, 19 7:11-8:14 200 9:2 142 11:27-23:20 206, 208 11:27 197 11:31 197 12:1-4 143 14:18 184 15:1 37 15:9-11 208 15:19 199 16:1 217 16:15 217 17:1 200 17: 16-17, 24 200, 201 17:25 180 18: 6, 7 199 19:30-38 269 21:21 180 22: 1-20 210, 214–215 22:2 186, 211, 214 22:6 212 22: 12, 16 202 22: 13-15 213, 217 23:1 147 24: 3, 37 180, 266 25:8 199 25:9 213, 216 25:30 257 26:35 266 27:43 163 27:46 266

28:9 180 31: 42, 54 44 32: 21 205 32:25-32 256–259, 273 32:29 179, 249 33:20 34 36:33 259 38:7-11, 14, 26 272 38:28, 30 256 48:20 104 49:5-7 185, 249 49:8-12, 22-26 104, 244 49: 24 37 Exodus 1:1-8 183 2:1 184 3:6 41-42, 52 3:7-9 201 3:8 141 10:19 123 12:1-49 194–204 13:1-18 196 14:21-22 196 15:22 196, 205 19:1 205 20:2-12 186 20:4 136 Leviticus 8:8 235 23:40 138 Numbers 9:1-5, 6-10, 11 204 9:5-14 203

280  Index of Sources 10:11 204 24.17 106 28:19-20 199 33:3 203 33:48 204 36:13 102 Deuteronomy 1:8-10 184 4:35, 39 186 5:6-16 186 11:29 104, 186 18:15 184, 186 23:2-9 243, 246–248 23:2-3 245 23:4 272, 179, 266 23:4-7 257, 269, 271 23:8 273 25:5-10 272 27:4 104, 186 29:28 186 31:9 91 33:26 186 34:10-12 186 34:12 102

2:10 264 4:18-22 248 1 Samuel 5:24 114 10:8 248 12:9 264 14:47 264 15:1, 3 243 15:22 247 22:11 114 1 Kings 3:1 179 3:15 248 7:1-12 138 8:5, 62 248 8:12-53 133 9:20 179 11:1 179, 266 16:3 179 18:21 248 19:12 114

Joshua

2 Kings

2:1 204 3:9 141 5:2-12 204 8:33 186 24 173, 184 24:26 173

1:17 98 3:1 98 5:1-19 273 11:6, 13 138 17:6 163 17:24 80, 163 19:12 163 22:8 172, 223–224, 234 23:5, 11 122 25:8 138 25:37 168

Judges 1 264 2:9 14 3 264 3:5 179 6:25 248 11:30-40 212, 217 11:28 248 13:15 248 17-21 34

1 Chronicles 1:1 167 9:1 171 21:16-18 214

Ruth

2 Chronicles

1:2, 8-13 263 1:6, 15 266 1:9, 19 264 1:11 272

3:1 187, 211 11:13 178, 269 15:9 178 23:12 138

Index of Sources  281 24 269 29:3 124 30: 11, 25 178 30:26 173 34:8 172 34:9 178 35:17 178 35:18 173 36:22 168, 179 Ezra 1:1-4 179 2:1-67 171 2:59-62 175 3:8 179 4 174 4:1 100, 273 6:6 172 6:21 174 7:6 172 8:1-14 171 9 179 9:1 174, 179, 269–270 9:12 174 12 269 Nehemiah 3:3 174 5:17 271, 273 7:6-68 171 7:61-65 175 7:72 172 8:1, 9 172 8:17 173 9:2 173 10-12 171 10:29, 31 269 13:1 179 13:1-3, 23-31 269–270, 272 Esther

21:4 237 32:9 237 69:8, 15 259 90:10 200 132:2, 5 37 132:7 236 Proverbs 21:3 247 Ecclesiastes 4:17 247 Isaiah 1:11-17 247 1:24 37 2:2-5 142 40:13-28 146 41:1 249 41:27 146 42:21 146 43:10-13 146 44:6 146 44:28, 176, 179 45:1 176 45:5-22 146 45:21-22, 142, 146–147 46:4-9 146 49:26 37 55:8-11 146 56:1-8 147, 241–249 56:9-11 243 57:1-66:14 244 60:3 237 60:5-16 141–142 60:16 37 61:5-6 142 65:19, 20 201 66:18-24 147, 241–249 66:15-17 243–244

1:1, 8 249

Jeremiah

Job 31:26-28 123

7:22 247 10:11 107 25:11-14 179 29:10 179

Psalms

Ezekiel

1:1 249

1:1 259

282  Index of Sources 8:16 123, 138 11:16 138 11:23, 43 123 27:10 166 38:5 166 43:1 115 43:8 138 44:1 115 Daniel 3:31-33 107 6:11 133 6:26-28 107 10:13, 20 166 12:2 228 Hosea

Matthew 12:39 260 15:21-28 260 15:21 259 21:12-17 248 24:14 195 24:27, 30 120 27:3-5 146 28:13 222 28:18-20 143–144, 146 Mark 4:35-41 254 4:38 260 7:24-30 260 11:12-14 260 11:15-19 248

6:6 247 8:13 247

Luke

Amos

4:16-20, 21 18, 242 19:45-48 248 24:44 18

5:22 247 Jonah 1-4 253–274 1:5 260 1:14 254 2:6 254 3:5-9 254 4:7-8 256

John 2:13-22 248 5:39 151, 162 8:48 108, 146 19:17 229 Acts 1:8 143, 146

Micah 4:1-5 146 Haggai 1:14 179 2:3 172 2:10-14, 18, 22 179 Zechariah 4:9 179 14:20 230–231

2 Corinthians 10:15 162 Galatians 6:12-16 152 6:16 154 2 Timothy 3:15 151, 162

Index of Sources  283 Classical and Other Sources

John Chrysostom

Sirach

Homiliae in Joannem

18:9 200

229, 236

1 Maccabees

Contra Judaeos et Gentiles: Quod Christus sit deus

4:52 179 2 Maccabees 1:18-23 224–225 Aristeas /Ps. Aristeas § 144 18, 101, 186

10 229, 236 Eusebius Vita Constantini III 26-40 228–229, 236–237 Egeria

Josephus

Itinerarium

Antiquities

25,1–9 229–230 36,5; 37, 1–3 229–230, 236

5:337 270, 272

Gregory of Nyssa

Ambrose

Vita Makrinae

Eulogy of Theodosius

30 236

40-50 228, 230–233

Paulinus of Nola

Cyril of Jerusalem

Letter 31 236

Catechesis

Rufinus

IV 10; 19; X 114 229

X 7 in Eusebius Hist. Eccl. 231–232, 237

Copenhagen International Seminar Series Founded by Thomas L. Thompson, 1996

1 Mogens Müller, The First Bible of the Church: A Plea for the Septuagint. CIS 1. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996. 2 Tilde Binger, Asherah: Goddesses in Ugarit, Israel and the Old Testament. CIS 2. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. 3 Thomas M. Bolin, Freedom Beyond Forgiveness: The Book of Jonah Re-Examined. CIS 3. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. 4 Flemming A. J. Nielsen, The Tragedy in History: Herodotus and the Deuteronomic History. CIS 4. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. 5 Alan Rosengren Petersen, The Royal God: Enthronement Festivals in Ancient Israel and Ugarit. CIS 5. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998. 6 Frederick H. Cryer and Thomas L. Thompson (eds.), Qumran Between the Old and New Testaments. CIS 6. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998. 7 Ingrid Hjelm, The Samaritans and Early Judaism: A Literary Analysis. CIS 7. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000. 8 Gregory L. Doudna, 4Q Pesher Nahum: A Critical Edition. CIS 8. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001. 9 Margreet Steiner, Excavations by Kathleen M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967. Volume III. CIS 9. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001. 10 Glenna Jackson, ‘Have Mercy on Me’: The Story of the Canaanite Woman in Matthew 15.21–28. CIS 10. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. 11 Mogens Müller and Henrik Tronier (eds.), The New Testament as Reception. CIS 11. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. 12 George Athas, The Tel Dan Inscription: A Reappraisal and a New Interpretation. CIS 12. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003. 13 Thomas L. Thompson (with Salma Jayyusi), Jerusalem in Ancient History and Tradition. CIS 13. London: T&T Clark, 2003; paperback, 2003. 14 Ingrid Hjelm, Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition. CIS 14. London: T&T Clark Intl., 2004. 15 Russel E. Gmirkin, Berossus and Genesis, Manetho and Exodus: Hellenistic Histories and the Date of the Pentateuch. CIS 15. London: T&T Clark Intl., 2006. 16 Mogens Müller, The Expression ‘Son of Man’ and the Development of Christology: A History of Interpretation. London: Equinox Press, 2008; paperback, Routledge, 2013. 17 Joshua A. Sabih, Japheth ben Ali’s Book of Jeremiah: A Critical Edition and Linguistic Analysis of the Judaeo-Arabic Translation. London: Equinox Press, 2009; paperback, 2016.

Copenhagen International Seminar Series  285 18 Emanuel Pfoh, The Emergence of Israel in Ancient Palestine: Historical and Anthropological Perspectives. London: Equinox, 2009; paperback, 2016. 19 Lukasz Niesiolowski-Spano, Origin Myths and Holy Places in the Old Testament: A Study of Aetiological Narratives. London: Equinox Press, 2011; paperback, Routledge, 2016. 20 John Van Seters (with Introduction by Thomas L. Thompson), Changing Perspectives 1: Studies in the History, Literature and Religion of Biblical Israel. London: Equinox Press, 2011. 21 Philippe Wajdenbaum, Argonauts of the Desert: Structural Analysis of the Hebrew Bible. Sheffield: Equinox Press, 2011. 22 Thomas L. Thompson and Thomas S. Verenna (eds.), ‘Is This Not the Carpenter?’: The Question of the Historicity of the Figure of Jesus. Sheffield: Equinox Press, 2012; paperback, 2014. 23 Thomas L. Thompson, Biblical Narratives and Palestine’s History. Changing Perspectives 2. Sheffield: Equinox/Acumen, 2013. 24 Niels Peter Lemche, Biblical Studies and the Failure of History. Changing Perspectives 3. Sheffield: Equinox/Acumen, 2013. 25 Thomas L. Thompson and Philippe Wajdenbaum (eds.), The Bible and Hellenism: Greek Influence on Jewish and Early Christian Culture. Durham: Acumen, 2014. 26 Philip R. Davies, Rethinking Biblical Scholarship. Changing Perspectives 4. Durham: Acumen, 2014. 27 Frederik Poulsen, Representing Zion. Judgement and Salvation in the Old Testament. London and New York: Routledge, 2015. 28 Anne Katrine De Hemmer Gudme and Ingrid Hjelm (eds.), Myths of Exile. History and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. London and New York: Routledge, 2015. 29 Finn Damgaard, Rewriting Peter as An Intertextual Character in the Canonical Gospels. London: Routledge and New York: Routledge, 2016. 30 Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson (eds.), History, Archaeology and the Bible Forty Years after “Historicity”. Changing Perspectives 6. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. 31 Ingrid Hjelm and Thomas L. Thompson (eds.), Biblical Interpretation beyond Historicity. Changing Perspectives 7. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. 32 Emanuel Pfoh, Syria – Palestine in the Late Bronze Age. An Anthropology of Politics and Power. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. 33 Russel E. Gmirkin, Plato and the Creation of the Hebrew Bible. London and New York: Routledge, 2017. 34 Keith W. Whitelam, Revealing the History of Ancient Palestine. Changing Perspectives 8. London and New York: Routledge, 2018. 35 Ingrid Hjelm, Hamdan Taha, Ilan Pappe, and Thomas L. Thompson (eds.), A New Critical Approach to the History of Palestine. Palestine History and Heritage Project 1. London and New York: Routledge, 2019. 36 Raz Kletter, Archaeology, Heritage and Ethics in the Western Wall Plaza, Jerusalem. Darkness at the End of the Tunnel. London and New York: Routledge, 2019. 37 Jim West and Niels Peter Lemche (eds.), Jeremiah in History and Tradition. London and New York: Routledge, 2019. 38 Robert Karl Gnuse, Hellenism and the Primary History: The Imprint of Greek Sources in Genesis – 2 Kings. London and New York: Routledge, 2021. 39 Christina Michelsen Chauchot, John the Baptist as a Rewritten Figure in Luke-Acts. London and New York: Routledge, 2021. 40 Mario Liverani, Historiography, Ideology and Politics in the Ancient Near East and Israel. Changing Perspectives 5. London and New York: Routledge, 2021.

286  Copenhagen International Seminar Series 41 Russel E. Gmirkin, Plato’s Timaeus and the Biblical Creation Accounts. Cosmic Monotheism and Terrestrial Polytheism in the Primordial History. London and New York: Routledge, 2022. 42 Broke Sherrard Knorr, American Biblical Archaeology and Zionism. The Politics of Objectivity from William F. Albright to William G. Dever. London and New York: Routledge, 2023. Copenhagen International Seminar – Book Series – Routledge & CRC Press