Jerusalem and the One God: A Religious History 1451478186, 9781451478181

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Jerusalem, with its turbulent history, is without doubt one of the best-known cities of the world. A long line of foreign powers has ruled over it, from as far back as biblical times. But the city owes its importance not to them but to the fact that it is the birthplace of monotheism. Othmar Keel sketches in broad brush strokes the development of Israelite-Jewish monotheism and its integration of polytheistic symbols and perceptions. Abundant maps and illustrations enhance the volume.

Keel

Jerusalem through the Ages

Praise for Jerusalem and the One God “Othmar Keel’s emphasis on the significance of iconography for understanding the Bible and its contexts has been one of the most important advances in modern scholarship. To have his ambitious, crowning book now condensed and translated is a great gift to students. The very helpful introduction by Brent A. Strawn, the most influential teacher of the method in North America, makes this volume indispensable even to those of us who have read the German edition.” Christopher B. Hays, Fuller Theological Seminary

“In this exciting book, Keel, the master of ancient Near Eastern iconography, reconstructs a theological history of Jerusalem. Well structured and well written, this is an original and unparalleled history of the city.” Amihai Mazar, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem “This portrayal of the city and its history is a welcome companion for all pilgrims and tourists who wish for further information about the early history of the Holy City beyond their tour guide. The book is also very readable and suitable as a textbook in an introductory course. This well-written book is a must.” Christian Frevel, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany “In this tour de force, ably edited and introduced by Brent A. Strawn, Othmar Keel boldly reconstructs the history of Jerusalem verbally and visually. Keel reconstructs not only the history of a city but also the rise of monotheism and, in so doing, blazes new pathways for ecumenical dialogue. Whether you agree with all of his conclusions or not, you will never look at ancient history in the same way.” William P. Brown, Columbia Theological Seminary “This fascinating book offers a first opportunity for the English-speaking general public to access the ideas of the founder of the Fribourg School. Othmar Keel provides a unique and important contribution to our comprehension regarding the formative stages of monotheism.” Tallay Ornan, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem Othmar Keel is professor emeritus of Old Testament and the biblical world on the Catholic theological faculty of the University of Fribourg. He is author of the two-volume Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus (2007), on which this volume is based, as well as Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God (Fortress Press, 1998). He was granted the title of honorary doctor by the universities of Bochum (Germany), Geneva (Switzerland), and Lund (Sweden). Brent A. Strawn is professor of Old Testament at Emory University, Candler School of Theology, the author of

What Is Stronger than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (2005), and the coeditor of Iconographic Exegesis of the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible (2015), among other studies. Old Testament

Jerusalem and the One God

“Keel beautifully weaves together Jerusalem’s religious history and the conceptualizations of divinity at home in this capital city. A visually stunning volume, at once accessible and masterful, this work is very highly recommended for interested students and lay persons alike.” Mark S. Smith, Princeton Theological Seminary and New York University

Jerusalem and the

One God

A Religious History

Othmar Keel

Edited and with an introduction by Brent A. Strawn

Jerusalem and the One God

Jerusalem and the One God A Religious History

Othmar Keel, edited by Brent A. Strawn

Fortress Press Minneapolis

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD A Religious History

Copyright © 2017 Fortress Press. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Email [email protected] or write to Permissions, Fortress Press, PO Box 1209, Minneapolis, MN 55440-1209.

Cover image: Oil painting by Aharon April “Davids Old City”, Wikimedia Commons; Jerusalem Israel city skyline silhouette, iStock 510964038. Cover design: Joe Reinke

Print ISBN: 978-1-4514-7818-1 eBook ISBN: 978-1-5064-2561-0

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences — Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z329.48-1984. Manufactured in the U.S.A.

For the grandchildren Elia, Simon, Estelle, and Yaël

Contents

Editor’s Foreword Preface

ix xiii

Abbreviations

xv

List of Illustrations

xix

Introduction: Othmar Keel, Iconography, and the Old Testament Brent A. Strawn

xxiii

Part I. Introductory Matters 1.

Three Preliminary Remarks

2.

Jerusalem’s Setting

13

3.

The Names of the City

27

3

Part II. The History of Jerusalem 4.

A Strong Canaanite City of the Middle Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1700–1500 BCE)

45

5.

A City under Egyptian Sovereignty (LBA, ca. 1500–1070 BCE)

51

6.

Jerusalem and the Israelite Tribes (IA I, ca. 1150–980 BCE)

57

7.

Jerusalem becomes the Residence of David . . . and YHWH (ca. 980 BCE)

61

8.

Solomon, Builder of the First Temple and Legendary Monarch (ca. 950 BCE)

71

9.

Competition and Cooperation with the Northern Kingdom (ca. 930–730 BCE)

83

10.

Assyrian Rule over Jerusalem and the Prophet Isaiah (ca. 730–625 BCE)

95

11.

The Fall of Assyria and the Reorganization of Jerusalem and Judah under Josiah (ca. 625–609 BCE)

107

12.

Cooperation or Confrontation with Babylon? The Problem after Josiah’s Death (609–587 BCE)

115

13.

The Exile: Lamentation, Reproach, Pleading, and Visions of Renewed Splendor (587/586–539 BCE)

127

14.

Jerusalem under Persian Rule: The Second Temple Period (539–333 BCE)

135

15.

Conflict with Hellenism: Jerusalem from Alexander the Great to Pompey (333–63 BCE)

143

Part III. Closing Thoughts Conclusion

161

Afterword: A Few Remarks on History Writing

169

The Iconographic Work of Othmar Keel: A Select Bibliography

175

Works Cited

219

Index of Authors

227

Index of Ancient Writings

233

Editor’s Foreword

I suspect I first came across the name of Othmar Keel as an undergraduate religion Bible major (who can read anything on the Psalms and not encounter some reference to his Symbolism of the Biblical World?),1 but I was not exposed to Keel’s work formally until my graduate school days at Princeton Theological Seminary under the tutelage of J. J. M. Roberts and Patrick D. Miller. There, especially while writing a dissertation under Miller, my engagement with Keel’s pioneering work in Symbolism led to further study of his larger oeuvre: his Song of Songs commentary, for example,2 and especially the breakthrough work coauthored with Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel,3 but also a number of Keel’s earlier but equally path-breaking monographs such as Die Weisheit spielt vor Gott (Wisdom Plays before God), Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament (Powerful Symbols of Victory in the Old Testament), Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst (Visions of Yahweh and Seal Art), Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob (Yahweh’s Answer to Job), and Deine Blicke sind Tauben (Your Eyes are Doves)4—to mention 1. Othmar Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms (trans. Timothy J. Hallett; repr. ed.; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997 [ET orig: 1978; German orig: 1972; 5th ed. = 1996]). 2. Othmar Keel, The Song of Songs: A Continental Commentary (trans. Frederick J. Gaiser; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994). 3. Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998 [German orig: 1992; 7th ed. = 2012]). 4. Othmar Keel, Die Weisheit spielt vor Gott: Ein ikonographischer Beitrag zur Deutung des meṣaḥäqät in Spr. 8,30f. (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974); idem, Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: Ikonographische Studien zu Jos 8, 18–26, Ex 17, 8–13, 2 Kön 13, 14–19 und 1 Kön 22, 11 (OBO 5; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 1974); idem, Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst: Eine neue Deutung der Majestätsschilderungen in Jes 6, Ez 1 und 10 und Sach 4 (SBS 84/85; Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1977); idem, Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob: Eine Deutung von Ijob 38-41 vor dem Hintergrund der zeitgenössischen Bildkunst (FRLANT 121; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1978); and idem, Deine Blicke sind Tauben: Zur Metaphorik des Hohen Liedes (SBS 114/115; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1984).

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JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

only a few.5 Given my own interests in art that ran back to my early childhood, it was perhaps inevitable that I would find in Keel’s work (and the work of the “Fribourg School” that he inspired and inaugurated) something that resonated deeply and profoundly with me. And so it was that, as a doctoral student, I pursued a Fulbright application to study with Keel in Switzerland. While that opportunity did not, in the end, come to pass, I was pleased that the correspondence and collegiality that Keel and I began at that time continued thereafter and blossomed still further. My wife, Holly, and I were delighted to welcome Othmar to our little student apartment in the late 1990s and I was thrilled that he served as a member of my dissertation committee. It is still a very fond memory that he was present at my defense in 2001. My history, then, with Keel goes back some twenty years now and working with him—and for him—in trying to get more of his work known among and disseminated across a larger English-speaking public has long been a part of our joint strategic plan. To be sure, a number of his important writings have been translated into English6 (among many others!),7 but there is much that has not been translated. Furthermore, what is arguably Keel’s magnum opus or, better, his Lebenswerk—his monumental Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel (five vols. to date)8—has not yet been mined by scholars for the amazing treasures it contains. And this is not yet to mention Keel’s longstanding interest in monotheism and, more particularly, Jerusalem, culminating in his Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus (The History of Jerusalem and the Rise of

5. Among more recent monographs, the most important is probably Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden: Drei Fallstudien zur Methode der Interpretation altorientalischer Bilder (OBO 122; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992). For further works, see the annotated bibliography of Keel’s publications in this volume. Note also the extensive treatment of Keel and the “Fribourg School” in Izaak J. de Hulster, Illuminating Images: An Iconographic Method of Old Testament Exegesis with Three Case Studies from Third Isaiah (Utrecht: n.p., 2007), 21–131. 6. Most recently, e.g., Othmar Keel and Silvia Schroer, Creation: Biblical Theologies in the Context of the Ancient Near East (trans. Peter T. Daniels; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015 [German orig: 2002]). 7. See, e.g., Othmar Keel, Dieu répond à Job: Une interprétation de Job 38–41 à la lumière de l’iconographie du Proche-Orient ancien (trans. Françoise Smyth; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993). 8. Othmar Keel, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit (5 vols. to date; OBO.SA; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995-): Einleitung (OBO.SA 10; 1995), Katalog Band I: Von Tell Abu Farağ bis ʿAtlit (OBO.SA 13; 1997); Katalog Band II: Von Bahan bis Tel Eton (OBO.SA 29; 2010); Katalog Band III: Von Tell el-Farʿa Nord bis Tell el-Fir (OBO.SA 31; 2010); and Katalog Band IV: Von Tel Gamma bis Chirbet Husche (OBO.SA 33; 2013). Note also Jürg Eggler and Othmar Keel, Corpus der Siegel-Amulette aus Jordanien: Von Neolithikum bis zur Perserzeit (OBO.SA 25; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006).

x

EDITOR’S FOREWORD

Monotheism)9—a massive two-volume work, coming in at over 1,300 pages with more than 700 illustrations. As some have noted, Keel’s history of Jerusalem is virtually three books in one:10 First, there are elements in the book that reflect the original design of the series in which it appears, which was to serve as a set of handbooks for educated pilgrims to the Holy Land. But, second, Keel writes an extensive history of Jerusalem itself, spanning from 1700 BCE to 63 CE. Third and finally, Keel mounts an extended argument about how that history can be used to trace the rise of monotheism. Given the density of Keel’s Geschichte, it was an excellent idea when Keel decided to epitomize that large work—and particularly the latter two of its three facets—into a smaller and more manageable “booklet” (as he likes to call it), which was published in 2011.11 It is this latter volume that is presented here in English translation. The translation is a result of the excellent work of Morven McLean, whom I thank heartily for her work, though its final presentation is the result of extensive editorial work by myself so as to make the prose as fluid and “native” as possible. The end product is, I hope, an improvement over the original German version, especially given certain updates, corrections, and additions—including an annotated bibliography of Keel’s iconographic endeavors based on a list initially compiled by Izaak J. de Hulster. Beyond my gratitude to McLean, I thank above all others Othmar himself, who trusted a young American graduate student many years ago with the mission to spread the gospel of iconographic studies in the fields of North America. I cannot claim to have been altogether successful in that calling, but Othmar’s support of me and my work and his friendship and collegiality have remained steadfast, and so I remain profoundly indebted to him in more ways than I can recount here. I remember an editor once marveling at how I had the good fortune of working with both Patrick D. Miller and Othmar Keel, “two of the greatest and nicest,” as he put it, “scholars in the field.” I could not agree more, and so thank Othmar (and his wife Hildi as well) for their countless kindnesses, including his great patience with me through the course of several unfortunate delays in finishing this project. I also wish to thank Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht for allowing this work 9. Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus (2 vols.; OLB IV/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). 10. Cf. Ernst Axel Knauf’s review in RBL 05/2008 (online at: https://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/ 6377_6859.pdf; accessed 8/1/2016). 11. Othmar Keel, Jerusalem und der eine Gott: Eine Religionsgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011; 2nd ed. = 2014).

xi

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

to be translated and for their gracious help with the images and permissions. Thanks also go to Fortress Press, and especially Neil Elliott, for taking this project on and for waiting patiently for its delivery. As always, I am indebted to my family for their love and support. I also acknowledge my deep gratitude to two gifted doctoral students, Aubrey Buster and T. Collin Cornell, who offered me important editorial assistance, and to my Dean, Dr. Jan Love, who has supported this, as so many of my other projects, in crucial and financial ways. Brent A. Strawn Atlanta, August 2016

xii

Preface

This short book is a translation of my small volume, Jerusalem und der eine Gott: Eine Religionsgeschichte, which was published by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht in 2011.1 That volume, in turn, is a severely abridged version of my two-volume, 1,384-page work, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus, which was published by the same press in 2007.2 Anyone wanting to know further details about excavation reports, epigraphic and iconographic sources, extrabiblical texts (which run from the Egyptian execration texts of the eighteenth century BCE to the works of Flavius Josephus in the first century CE), biblical texts, and other important pieces of the argument should consult the larger work, which is only epitomized here. The longer version also cites much of the secondary literature and discusses contrasting opinions. Biblical passages are only quoted occasionally in the present volume as it is assumed readers will have a Bible at hand that they can consult as they wish. The same cannot be assumed in the case of various extrabiblical texts, and so references are provided whenever necessary. Unfortunately, only a small selection of the 725 illustrations from the original two-volume work are represented here but happily a few new, previously unpublished finds are found in this volume that are not present in the earlier one. Most accounts of the history of Israel and Jerusalem tend to ignore iconographic sources. There are at least three reasons why this is a poor and unfortunate practice: First, it would be foolish in a contem1. Othmar Keel, Jerusalem und der eine Gott: Eine Religionsgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011; 2nd ed. = 2014). 2. Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus (2 vols.; OLB IV/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007).

xiii

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porary trial to exclude any witnesses out of hand (in the present scenario, the images and artifacts), since they may provide important information pertinent to the case (see further the afterword). Second, it is particularly inexcusable to make such an exclusion in those cases for which—and this is precisely the situation with the early history of Jerusalem—there are so few witnesses in the first place. Third, iconographic sources are particularly valuable forms of testimony that often bring new aspects to light. As John Berger has noted, “No other kind of relic or text from the past can offer such a direct testimony about the world which surrounded other people at other times. In this respect images are more precise and richer than literature.” 3 My thanks go to the translator, Morven McLean. Although she is not a biblical scholar, she did a magnificent job translating my not-alwayseasy text into English. I am also thankful to Brent Strawn, who ensured that the language was as natural and “native” as possible for a scholarly English-American audience; who edited the entire volume accordingly; and who wrote the introduction. Finally, I am again grateful to Fortress Press for adding this publication to my two earlier ones: my commentary on the Song of Songs, and the volume I co-authored with Christoph Uehlinger: Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel.4 Othmar Keel Fribourg, August 2016

3. John Berger, Ways of Seeing (repr. ed.; London: Penguin, 1990), 10. 4. Othmar Keel, The Song of Songs: A Continental Commentary (trans. Frederick J. Gaiser; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994); Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998).

xiv

Abbreviations

ABAT2 Altorientalische Bilder zum Alten Testament ADPV

Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins

ANEP

The Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Testament

ANET

Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (3rd ed.; ed. James B. Pritchard; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969)

AOAT

Alter Orient und Altes Testament

BAR

Biblical Archaeology Review

Bib

Biblica

BibB

Biblische Beiträge

BK

Bibel und Kirche

BN

Biblische Notizen

BO

Bibliotheca Orientalis

BZ

Biblische Zeitschrift

BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft CBC

Cambridge Bible Commentary

CBET

Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology

CC

Continental Commentaries

COS

The Context of Scripture (4 vols.; eds. William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger; Leiden: Brill, 1997–2017)

ErIsr

Eretz-Israel

ET

English Translation

FAT

Forschungen zum Alten Testament

xv

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

FRLANT

Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments

GGG

Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998)

GJM

Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus (2 vols.; OLB IV/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007)

IA

Iron Age

IEJ

Israel Exploration Journal

IPIAO

Silvia Schroer and Othmar Keel, Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern (3 vols. to date; Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005–)

JAEI

Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections

JAOS

Journal of the American Oriental Society

JBL

Journal of Biblical Literature

JES

Journal of Ecumenical Studies

JHS

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures

JNSL

Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages

JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series LBA

Late Bronze Age

MBA

Middle Bronze Age

MdB

Monde de la Bible

NEB

Neue Echter Bibel

NTOA

Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus

OBO

Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis

OBO.SA

Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Series Archaeologica

OLB

Orte und Landschaften der Bibel

OTS

Outtestamentische Studiën

RBL

Review of Biblical Literature

SBB

Stuttgarter biblische Beiträge

SBLRBS

Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study

SBM

Stuttgarter biblische Monographien

SBS

Stuttgarter Bibelstudien

xvi

ABBREVIATIONS

SBW

Othmar Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms (trans. Timothy J. Hallett; New York: Seabury, 1978; repr. ed. = Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns, 1997)

TA

Tel Aviv

TB

Theologische Bücherei

TD

Theology Digest

ThTo

Theology Today

TZ

Theologische Zeitschrift

VT

Vetus Testamentum

VTSup

Supplements to Vetus Testamentum

WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WO

Welt des Orients

WVDOG

Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der deutschen Orientgesellschaft

ZÄS

Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde

ZAW

Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft

ZBK

Zürcher Bibelkommentare

ZDMG

Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft

ZDPV

Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins

ZKT

Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie

xvii

List of Illustrations

Note: GJM + number (e.g., GJM 7) refers to the corresponding figure in Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus (2 vols.; OLB IV/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). See there for additional information. Fig. 0 = SBW, 60 Fig. 63 Fig. 1 = Othmar Keel, Max Küchler, and Christoph Uehlinger, Geographisch-geschichtliche Landeskunde (OLB 1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), Fig. 100 Fig. 2 = GJM 1 Fig. 3 = GJM 2 Fig. 4 = GJM 6 Fig. 5 = GJM 7 (with modifications by Stefan Münger) Fig. 6.1–8 = GJM 9 Fig. 7 = GJM 10 Fig. 8.1–3 = GJM 11, 1–3 Fig. 9 = GJM 13 Fig. 10–11 = GJM 17–18 Fig. 12 = GJM 22 Fig. 13.1–6 = GJM 24–29 Fig. 14.1–2, 5 = GJM 38–39 and 41a Fig. 14.3–4 = I. Milevki, Z. Greenhut, and N. Aga, “A Cemetery in the Holyland Compound,” in New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region: Collected Papers 2 (ed. Davis Amit; Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2008), 85 Figs. 1 and 3 (drawings by Ulrike Zurkinden-Kolberg) Fig. 15.1–2 = GJM 42 and 44 Fig. 16 = GJM 46 xix

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

Fig. 17.1–2 = GJM 62–63 Fig. 17.3 = E. Mazar, City of David Excavations, Registration Number 23184 Fig. 17.4–6 = GJM 65–67 Fig. 18 = Eilat Mazar, Wayne Horowitz, Takayoshi Oshima, Yuval Goren, “A Cuneiform Tablet from the Ophel in Jerusalem,” IEJ 60 (2010), 14 Fig. 2 Fig. 19 = GJM 72–73 (modified by Stefan Münger) Fig. 20 = GJM 75 Fig. 21 = GJM 83 Fig. 22 = GJM 111 Fig. 23 = GJM 98 Fig. 24 = GJM 102 Fig. 25 = GJM 122 Fig. 26 = GJM 126 Fig. 27 = E. Mazar, City of David Excavations, Registration Number 27316 Fig. 28 = GJM 132 Fig. 29.1–2 = Othmar Keel, “Seth-Baal und Seth-Baal-Jahwe—interkulturelle Ligaturen,” in Jerusalem und die Länder: Ikonographie-Topographie-Theologie: Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag (eds. Gerd Theissen et al.; NTOA 70; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 98 Figs. 22-23 Fig. 30.1–6 = Othmar Keel, “Seth-Baal und Seth-Baal-Jahwe—interkulturelle Ligaturen,” in Jerusalem und die Länder: Ikonographie-Topographie-Theologie: Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag (eds. Gerd Theissen et al.; NTOA 70; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 90 Figs. 2-3; 91 Figs. 4, 8, 12, and 14 Fig. 31 = GJM 140 Fig. 32 = GJM 189 Fig. 33 = GJM 184 Fig. 34.1–3 = GJM 154 and 158–159 Fig. 35 = GJM 233 Fig. 36.1–5 = Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron, Jerusalem, Gihon Excavations, Registration Numbers 27663 and 15748, Provisional Number 9, Registration Numbers 21535 and 22045 Fig. 37.1–3 = Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron, Jerusalem, Gihon Excavations, Registration Numbers 26095, 15744, and 20868 Fig. 38.1–4 = Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron, Jerusalem, Gihon Excavations, Registration Number 27494, Provisional Numbers 10, 5 and 8

xx

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 39.1–6 = Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron, Jerusalem, Gihon Excavations, Registration Numbers 19313, 18693, 20872, 16771, 20549, and 25367 Fig. 40.1–3 = GJM 256-257 and R. S. Lamon and G. M. Shipton, Megiddo 1: Seasons of 1925–1934 (Oriental Institute Publications 42; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939), Pl. 67, 45 (drawings by Ulrike Zurkinden-Kolberg) Fig. 41.1– 2 = GMJ 191a and Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron, Jerusalem, Gihon Excavations, Registration Number 22047 Fig. 42 = GMJ 191 Fig. 43 = Othmar Keel, Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel IV (OBO 135; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994), 126 Fig. 16 Fig. 44.1–7 = GJM 240-240a, 242, 238-239, 241 and Ronny Reich, Mamilla Excavation, Tomb 5 Fig. 45 = GJM 248 Fig. 46 = GJM 272 and 274 Fig. 47.1–2 = Nahman Avigad and Benjamin Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, Israel Exploration Society, and the Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997), no. 188 (drawing by Ulrike Zurkinden-Kolberg) and GJM 296 Fig. 48.1–8 = GJM 287–289, 292, 285-286, 294–295 Fig. 49 = GJM 283 Fig. 50.1–2 = GJM 302-–303 Fig. 51.1–2 = GJM 388–389 Fig. 52.1–6 = GJM 330–331 and 332–334 Fig. 53.1–2 = GJM 394–395 Fig. 54.1–4 = GJM 401–403 Fig. 55.1–2 = GJM 450 and 451 Fig. 56.1–2 = GJM 445–446 Fig. 57.1–6 = GJM 432–437 Fig. 58.1–2 = GJM 469–470 Fig. 59.1–2 = GJM 458 and 460 Fig. 60.1–4 = GJM 474–477 Fig. 61 = GJM 575 Fig. 62 = GJM 565 Fig. 63 = GJM 577 Fig. 64.1–6 = GJM 632–637 Fig. 65 = GJM 630–631

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JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

Fig. 66.1–2 = GJM 588–589 Fig. 67 = GJM 603 Fig. 68 = GJM 607 Fig. 69 = GJM 620 Fig. 70.1–3 = GJM 663–665 Fig. 71 = GJM 668 Fig. 72.1–5 = GJM 669–673 Fig. 73 = GJM 661 Fig. 74 = GJM 674 Fig. 75 = GJM 687 Fig. 76 = GJM 691 Fig. 77 = GJM 681

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Introduction: Othmar Keel, Iconography, and the Old Testament

Brent A. Strawn

In order to fully appreciate the contributions of Othmar Keel, one must set him and his work in context.1 Prior to Keel, there were, of course, archaeologists at work throughout the ancient Near East, as well as art historians who specialized in the most ancient periods, and also biblical scholars, a goodly number of whom paid attention to archaeology, at least on general matters if not also on specific artifactual and artistic remains. Indeed, no fewer than two collections were published in the twentieth century that attempted to integrate ancient Near Eastern images (iconography) and the Bible: Hugo Gressmann’s Altorientalische Bilder zum Alten Testament (ABAT2) and James B. Pritchard’s The Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Testament (ANEP).2 And yet, 1. Part of this introduction was given as a lecture at the University of Zürich in January 2017. I thank Konrad Schmid for inviting me to Zürich and for his gracious hospitality. I was helpfully instructed by the feedback I received there from Schmid as well as from Thomas Staubli and Florian Lippke. I thank Joel M. LeMon, Ryan P. Bonfiglio, Collin Cornell, and above all, Othmar Keel, for comments on an earlier draft. 2. Hugo Gressmann, ed., Altorientalische Bilder zum Alten Testament (2nd ed.; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1927); James B. Pritchard, ed., The Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Testament (2nd ed.; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969 [first ed. = 1954]). The marginalia in Pritchard’s own copy of ABAT2 (now in my personal library) reveals just how extensively he relied on it in designing his own. Apart from ABAT2 and ANEP, mention might be made of other, similar volumes that appeared in the same general timeframe: Clifford M. Jones, ed., Old Testament Illustrations (CBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971); and Benjamin Mazar et al., eds., Views of the Biblical

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despite their titles and their organization, both of these volumes did not go nearly as far as they might have in “relating” the visual data of the ancient world to the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. That all changed, and a new field was inaugurated single-handedly by Othmar Keel in 1972. The Symbolism of the Biblical World That was the date of the publication of Keel’s groundbreaking work, Die Welt der altorientalischen Bildsymbolik und das Alte Testament: Am Beispiel der Psalmen, translated into English six years later as The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Psalms.3 Keel’s dissertation, written under the great textual critic, Dominique Barthélemy, dealt with the psalms and the image of the enemies therein, but the image in question in that work was strictly a literary one.4 In SBW, however, Keel studied ancient Near Eastern visual imagery (iconography) and applied it to the Book of Psalms. This was a truly innovative approach that went beyond the more general, “cultural” connections drawn by Gressmann and Pritchard and that of necessity had Keel paying close attention to “symbols” found in the art and in the literature. In my judgment, the breakthrough nature of SBW was not due solely to the fact that it was the first of its kind,5 but also due to its breathtaking scope: Keel exhibited masterful control of both the biblical psalms and a vast range of iconographic sources. Images from far and wide, from the earliest periods to the latest, are included, categorized, and then discussed with reference to six large subjects within the Psalter: • conceptions of the cosmos, • destructive forces, • the temple, World (5 vols; Jerusalem: International Publishing Company, 1959–1961). The latter is quite useful but also quite large and unwieldy and so was never as popular as the one-volume works edited by Gressmann and Pritchard. The latter remains in print, after a fashion, in a combined form with ancient Near Eastern texts: James B. Pritchard, ed., The Ancient Near East: An Anthology of Texts and Pictures (foreword by Daniel E. Fleming; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011). 3. Othmar Keel, Die Welt der altorientalischen Bildsymbolik und das Alte Testament: Am Beispiel der Psalmen (Zürich: Benziger and Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1972). English translation: The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms (trans. Timothy J. Hallett; New York: Seabury, 1978). Hereafter, citations will be from the English version, abbreviated SBW. 4. Published as Othmar Keel, Feinde und Gottesleugner: Studien zum Image der Widersacher in den Individualpsalmen (SBM 7; Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1969). 5. Cf. SBW, 11 for Keel’s own claim to this effect.

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• conceptions of God, • the king, and • the human before God each with numerous subcategories. This twofold contribution, the collection of over five hundred and fifty illustrations (not to mention twenty-eight plates in the English edition) and their application to the Book of Psalms, has ensured an enduring place for SBW in subsequent scholarship on both the Psalter and on iconography. It bears repeating that nothing on ancient Near Eastern art and the Bible published prior to SBW had come close to Keel’s work in truly relating the visual record to the Old Testament.6 Furthermore, insofar as the six subjects Keel focused on were not limited to the Psalter, SBW proved itself to be widely applicable beyond the study of the psalms themselves. Indeed, many researchers to this day continue to use SBW as a collection like unto ANEP, even if they are not working on the Book of Psalms directly.7 It is not surprising, then, but a noteworthy achievement nevertheless, that SBW remains in print, with the English translation reprinted most recently in 1997 and the German version reaching a 5th edition in 1996.8 Further testimony to SBW’s enduring value is found in the fact that it has been translated into Dutch (1984), Spanish (2007), and, most recently, Japanese (2010), almost forty years after its initial publication! Methodology was not a primary concern of Keel’s in SBW, nor, indeed, in most of his work since—he has preferred to work more inductively, as it were.9 Even so, SBW obviously modelled a way of 6. See ibid., 11 for Keel’s assessment of prior works. 7. Keel notes that only about 130 of SBW’s 550 images are found in ANEP (SBW, 11). 8. Reprint edition: Othmar Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms (trans. Timothy J. Hallett; repr. ed.; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997); 5th German edition: Othmar Keel, Die Welt der Altorientalischen Bildsymbolik und das Alte Testament: Am Beispiel der Psalmen (5th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996). 9. But see Othmar Keel, Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden: Drei Fallstudien zur Methode der Interpretation altorientalischer Bilder (OBO 122; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), esp. 267–73 (Appendix: Methoden-schemata); Keel’s remarks on “a concentric circle model” in idem, The Song of Songs: A Continental Commentary (trans. Frederick J. Gaiser; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 27–28; and his essay, “Minima methodica und die Sonnengottheit von Jerusalem,” in Iconography and Biblical Studies: Proceeding of the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS/ SBL Conference, 22–26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria (eds. Izaak J. de Hulster and Rüdiger Schmitt; AOAT 361; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009), 213–24, for some forays into theoretical and methodological reflection. Despite his reluctance to write extensively about method and theory, Keel is well read in both. A personal vignette makes the point: when visiting Othmar in Fribourg, he showed me his home office where he worked daily on his publication of the stamp seals excavated from ancient Israel/Palestine (see further below). He also showed me adjacent rooms where he kept additional books. One such room was full of books devoted to art history and theory. As a gift he handed

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studying the Bible in light of ancient Near Eastern iconography—a way that can be analyzed and replicated—though it is also the case that SBW comes at the very beginning of a wave of iconographic studies from Keel, and, later, a whole host of students and admirers he inspired. What came after SBW, then, as a matter of course and necessity revised some of the practices of this pioneering work. Even so, SBW remains foundational for a number of reasons. One of the most important points made by Keel in that volume was simply this: that images have a right to be seen.10 Images deserve to be studied, therefore, and given their full weight as essential data in the interpretation of ancient Israel and, correlatively, ancient Israelite literature.11 As I will show below, Keel’s initial work was focused on the latter (iconography and biblical literature) but increasingly shifted to the former (iconography and the history/religion of ancient Israel). Beyond this fundamental observation about how images deserve to be taken seriously, which grounds Keel’s entire iconographic project, the following are some of the more salient contributions of SBW: • First, that ancient Near Eastern art is best understood and read as a “thought-image” (Denkbild) which is in some distinction, according to Keel, from later Western art—art produced for art’s sake— designed for viewing in galleries and the like (Sehbild).12 Already in SBW, then, one may trace the beginnings of what will come to fuller fruition in Keel’s later work in terms of the tradition history of images;13 the way images often function with me his own personal copy of David Freedberg’s The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1989), commenting on its importance as he did so (he cites it frequently in Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden). Keel’s copy is dated “Juni 1992” and is underlined and filled with copious marginalia throughout, with the end papers covered with page references and notes as to what he found especially important. On p. xix, the introduction to the book, Keel has written at the top, before Freedberg’s text, “visual culture.” 10. This is the title of his important 1992 monograph: Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden (see previous note). For the biblical text as an image that can also be gazed at and seen, see Françoise Smyth’s introduction to Othmar Keel, Dieu Répond à Job: Une interpretation de Job 38-41 à la lumière de l’iconographie du Proche-Orient ancien (trans. Françoise Smyth; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993), 8–10. 11. Note the epigraph to Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden from John Berger, Ways of Seeing (London: British Broadcasting Corporation, 1972), 10: “No other kind of relic or text from the past can offer such a direct testimony [as an image] about the world which surrounded other people at other times.” See also, more recently, Christoph Uehlinger, “Neither Eyewitnesses, Nor Windows to the Past, but Valuable Testimony in its Own Right: Remarks on Iconography, Source Criticism and Ancient Data-processing,” in Understanding the History of Ancient Israel (ed. H. G. M. Williamson; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 173–228. 12. Keel, SBW, 7. 13. This is on display throughout Keel’s work, but for a convenient example in English, see Othmar Keel, Goddesses and Trees, New Moon and Yahweh: Ancient Near Eastern Art and the Hebrew Bible (JSOTSup 261; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998).

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others in an iconographic “constellation” to make larger tableaus, even arguments via iconographic grammar and syntax; and how cultures operate with symbol-systems that are manifested in various ways, but especially in artistic forms. • Second, that the visual data can control erroneous preunderstandings of abstract words or texts, which is to say wrong (pre)conceptions of language and text that are derived solely from literary and linguistic realms. To quote Keel’s memorable formulation: “Iconography compels us to see through the eyes of the ancient Near East.”14 The seeing that takes place through iconography is, furthermore, distinct from the way ancient texts may perform similar functions. At this point, SBW anticipates more polemical statements Keel will later level against scholarship that is exclusively textual, even as it simultaneously opens up the problem of the image-text relationship. 15 • Third, that images function not primarily to explain what they portray but to “re-present it.”16 SBW makes this important point especially through recourse to Egyptian art, and indeed the importance of Egypt for Keel and the Fribourg School cannot be overstated.17 • Fourth, that the study of iconography should not be conducted exclusively “from a perspective of objective, historical knowledge” and, therefore, does not exist solely for historical purposes or historiographic pursuits.18 Researchers should not try “merely to present objective facts, but to make every effort to explore fundamental orders and religious propositions.” 19 14. Keel, SBW, 8. 15. See the important trilogy by W. J. T. Mitchell exploring the image-text nexus: Iconology: Image, Text, Ideology (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1986); Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1994); and What Do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2005). See also Ryan P. Bonfiglio, Reading Images, Seeing Texts: Towards a Visual Hermeneutics for Biblical Studies (OBO 280; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 95–103, for a treatment of Mitchell’s work with reference to biblical iconography. 16. Keel, SBW, 10 (his italics). Zainab Bahrani has offered similar arguments about the ontology of images in Mesopotamia in her sophisticated work: The Graven Image: Representation in Babylonia and Assyria (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 2003). 17. Cf., e.g., Izaak J. de Hulster, Illuminating Images: An Iconographic Method of Old Testament Exegesis with Three Case Studies from Third Isaiah (Utrecht: n.p., 2007), 43 for a similar judgment. See most recently Thomas Staubli, “Cultural and Religious Impacts of Long-Term Cross-Cultural Migration between Egypt and the Levant,” JAEI 12 (December 2016): 50–88, who argues for “an EgyptianLevantine koine.” 18. Keel, SBW, 11. 19. Ibid., 12.

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Other readers of SBW would add to this list of contributions, no doubt, or offer a revised set, but these are among the most important points in my judgment because they continue to operate in iconographic work up to the present day, thus underscoring once more the field-defining nature of SBW. Even so, the fourth item on the list, and SBW as a whole, definitely represents what might be called “the early Keel”: at this point Keel’s work is almost a phenomenological approach to the study of iconography and the Bible. To be sure, Keel was well aware of the problems of such an approach; he explicitly mentioned the issue of “double fragmentation,” in which only one part or theme of a psalm that is a larger whole with its own integrity is investigated piecemeal, and where just one bit of a larger artistic tableau is examined apart from its context.20 Keel criticized the problem of artistic fragmentation in an important article published later in The Anchor Bible Dictionary.21 In the much earlier SBW, however, Keel is willing to run the risks of the occasionally fragmentary approach that he employs there because, in his view, the advantages to such an approach are “obvious: in a thematic arrangement, one picture or one psalm verse can illustrate another, and a positive overall impression can be obtained.”22 The problem, of course, is if the “positive overall impression” is somehow false, historically inaccurate, or otherwise insecure. Keel and his students went on to address this problem (among others) in subsequent publications, which I take up in greater detail in the next section. And yet, despite later refinements and advances, SBW remains foundational forty-plus years after its initial publication. It inaugurated a field, or, rather, its author did. SBW was pioneering and remains a classic work, but its status is entirely the result of Keel himself, whose talents for image-text correlation—or what Panofsky would call “synthetic intuition”23—are repeatedly and everywhere on display throughout the book. A personal vignette underscores the point: a decade ago Joel M. LeMon and I coauthored a paper for a special volume in Keel’s honor. Our essay argued that the idea of animal praise 20. Ibid. 21. Othmar Keel, “Iconography and the Bible,” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary (6 vols.; ed. David Noel Freedman; New York: Doubleday, 1992), 3:358-74. For the problem of literary fragmentation in iconographic study, see Joel M. LeMon, Yahweh’s Winged Form in the Psalms: Exploring Congruent Iconography and Texts (OBO 242; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). 22. Keel, SBW, 12. 23. See Erwin Panofsky, Studies in Iconology: Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1972 [orig: 1939]), 3–17, esp. 14–15. De Hulster, Illuminating Images, 39, speaks of Keel’s approach to correlating psalm texts and iconography in SBW as “associative.”

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and music-making, especially as attested in iconography, might lie behind the phrase “everything with breath” (kōl hannĕšāmāh) in Psalm 150:6.24 Only at the very end of our research did we come (back) again to SBW to (re)discover that Keel had anticipated our entire argument with just one figure and one caption (Fig. 0)!

Fig. 0. Papyrus of Anhai, 1200–1085 BCE (after Keel, SBW, 60 Fig. 63). The caption in SBW reads: “‘Let everything that breathes praise the LORD!’ (Ps 150:6).”

The Later Keel: Post-SBW Developments While SBW has attained to the status of a classic in the field, it is equally true that Keel quickly abandoned the more phenomenological approach found there in subsequent studies. That was no doubt due to an attempt, conscious or not, to counter the problems that he himself had identified in SBW. Whatever the case, it was as if the publication of SBW opened the floodgates of Keel’s iconographic mind as a host of monograph-length publications flowed from his pen in immedi24. Brent A. Strawn and Joel M. LeMon, “‘Everything That Has Breath’: Animal Praise in Psalm 150:6 in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Iconography,” in Bilder als Quellen/Images as Sources: Studies on ancient Near Eastern artefacts and the Bible inspired by the work of Othmar Keel (eds. S. Bickel, S. Schroer, R. Schurte, and C. Uehlinger; OBO Sonderband; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 451–85 and Pls. XXXIII–XXXIV.

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ate succession. These include his treatments of the idea of personified Wisdom playing before God in Proverbs 8 (1974); symbols of victory in the Old Testament (1974); visions of YHWH and seal art (1977); YHWH’s answer to Job (1978); the boiling of a kid in its mother’s milk (1980); the metaphorical speech of the Song of Songs (1984); and a full-blown commentary on the Song of Songs (1986).25 These studies and still others that could be mentioned26 show Keel focusing on text units that are considerably smaller than the lengthy Book of Psalms—indeed, sometimes on just one single image in a small text unit—which effectively counters the problem of literary fragmentation he faced in the case of the Psalter. SBW’s more phenomenological approach, which connected artistic images and themes (“symbolism”) to comparable items within a large and diverse collection (the Psalter) can thus be seen as just the first “stage” in Keel’s iconographic thought.27 The succession of monographs that followed hard on the heels of SBW can then be considered together as a second stage. In this stage, Keel is moving away from the phenomenology of SBW to more fulsome and extended exegetical

25. Othmar Keel, Die Weisheit spielt vor Gott: Ein ikonographischer Beitrag zur Deutung des meṣaḥäqät in Spr. 8,30f. (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974); idem, Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: Ikonographische Studien zu Jos 8,18-26, Ex 17,8-13, 2 Kön 13,14-19 und 1 Kön 22,11 (OBO 5; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 1974); idem, Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst: Eine neue Deutung der Majestätsschilderungen in Jes 6, Ez 1 und 10 und Sach 4 (SBS 84/85; Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1977); idem, Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob: Eine Deutung von Ijob 38-41 vor dem Hintergrund der zeitgenössischen Bildkunst (FRLANT 121; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1978); idem, Das Böcklein in der Milch seiner Mutter und Verwandtes: im Lichte eines altorientalischen Bildmotiv (OBO 33; Freiburg Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 1980); idem, Deine Blicke sind Tauben: Zur Metaphorik des Hohen Liedes (SBS 114/115; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1984); and Das Hohelied (ZBK 18; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag Zürich, 1986 [2nd ed. = 1992]; ET = Keel, Song of Songs). 26. See the selected bibliography of Keel’s work in the present volume and note also the extensive review of Keel’s published works in de Hulster, Illuminating Images, 21–125. 27. My categorization of Keel’s work into four “stages” here might be compared to and contrasted with other treatments offered by Izaak J. de Hulster and Christoph Uehlinger. De Hulster, Illuminating Images, 21–125 follows Keel’s works in chronological order, grouping them as follows: (1) publications prior to SBW, (2) SBW, (3) works published between SBW and Keel’s Song of Songs commentary, (4) the Song of Songs commentary, (5) Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden, (6) other publications that appeared between SBW and Das Recht, (7) the appearance of Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole (see note 32 below) and publications after 1992. Christoph Uehlinger, “Das Buch und die Bilder: 25 Jahre ikonographischer Forschung am Biblischer Institute der Universität Freiburg Schweiz—Dank an Othmar Keel,” in Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium BCE) (ed. Christoph Uehlinger; OBO 175; Fribourg: University Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 399-408, also mentions four stages, but identifies them differently: (1) the starting point with SBW, (2) motif correlations, (3) documentation/publication, and (4) interdisciplinarity and networking. My use of “stage,” initially with scare quotation marks, is meant to signal that these are conceptual steps in Keel’s method/ practice. As will be seen below, Keel’s ability to work in more than one mode across his career shows that these “stages” should not be understood as linear, non-overlapping, or chronologically discrete moments.

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probes with the help of iconography. Not to be missed in this second stage is Keel’s increased attention to minor art, particularly seals. Joel M. LeMon has offered a typology for iconographic approaches to the study of the Hebrew Bible which may be profitably deployed in assessing Keel’s work. LeMon delineates three kinds of iconographic approaches: • The iconographic-artistic approach, which focuses on the meaning and significance of ancient Near Eastern art as such; • The iconographic-historical approach, which uses images in the reconstruction of ancient history and/or religion; and • The iconographic-biblical approach, which utilizes iconography to inform the reading of biblical texts.28 There can, of course, be overlap between these three, especially in the actual practice of any one particular scholar across the course of a career. Keel himself is just such an example, as will be seen below. Nevertheless, using LeMon’s typology, the “early, first-stage Keel” of SBW clearly belongs to the last type. The “second-stage Keel,” too, seems particularly concerned with the relationship between texts from the Hebrew Bible and ancient Near Eastern iconography and thus can safely be categorized as iconographic-biblical in nature. A third stage of Keel’s thought may be identified. Despite the criticism Keel leveled in SBW against the “one-sided,” overly-historicizing approaches found in collections like ANEP,29 Keel’s subsequent publications become ever more precise historically. This historicizing tendency in Keel’s post-SBW work makes SBW appear even more phenomenological, perhaps, than might otherwise be the case. Be that as it may, the move toward more detailed and accurate historical correlations between the art and text(s) in question becomes a major trend, not only in Keel’s work, but also among that of the students he inspired (not to mention admirers beyond Switzerland) that have been called, in the aggregate, “the Fribourg School.”30 So, alongside Keel’s writings, mention should be made of Thomas Staubli’s dissertation on nomads 28. See Joel M. LeMon, “Iconographical Approaches: The Iconic Structure of Psalm 17,” in Method Matters: Essays on the Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Honor of David L. Petersen (eds. Joel M. LeMon and Kent Harold Richards; SBLRBS 56; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009), 143–68; and idem, Yahweh’s Winged Form, 9–16. 29. Cf. Keel, SBW, 11, cited in part above (see at note 18 above). 30. For a discussion of the term and its history of use, see de Hulster, Illuminating Images, 21–25. Cf. also Uehlinger, “Das Buch und die Bilder,” 406.

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and Silvia Schroer’s dissertation on representational art in the Old Testament—both, perhaps, iconographic-biblical in LeMon’s typology, but with more attention to matters of history and chronology than SBW—alongside Urs Winter’s dissertation on goddesses, which devotes the majority of its pages to the female deities without extensive reference to the Bible proper.31 The move toward historical precision, perhaps what might even be called iconography for its own sake with less overt or extended concern with the Bible proper or primarily, can be traced in several works and in more than one way, but a milestone in “the later Keel,” and a resolute example of the iconographic-historical approach, is his book, coauthored with Christoph Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bislang unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen, first published in 1992, translated into English as Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel in 1998, into French as Dieux, Déesses et figures divines: Les sources iconographiques de l’histoire de la religion d’Israël in 2001, and which is now in a 7th German edition (2012).32 In this volume Keel and Uehlinger attempt a history of ancient Israelite religion with minimal recourse to texts. Since Keel and Uehlinger do refer to the Hebrew Bible a good bit and to epigraphic remains as well, their strongly anti-text rhetoric in the book is at least slightly overstated.33 Even so, they nevertheless make an important point against so much scholarship that has 31. Thomas Staubli, Das Image der Nomaden: im Alten Israel und in der Ikonographie seiner sesshaften Nachbarn (OBO 107; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991); Silvia Schroer, In Israel gab es Bilder: Nachrichten von darstellender Kunst im Alten Testament (OBO 74; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1987); Urs Winter, Frau und Göttin: Exegetische und ikonographische Studien zum weiblichen Gottesbild im Alten Israel und in dessen Umwelt (2nd ed.; OBO 53; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1987 [1st ed. = 1983]). A treatment of these works as well as other publications from various members of the Fribourg School may be found in de Hulster, Illuminating Images, 125–31. See further, ibid., 131–55, for iconographical work beyond Fribourg proper, some of which was conducted in close connection with Keel. 32. Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bislang unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen (QD 134; Freiburg: Herder, 1992), 7th ed. = Freiburg: BIBEL + ORIENT Museum and Fribourg: Academic Press, 2012; eidem, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998); eidem, Dieux, Déesses et figures divines: Les sources iconographiques de l’histoire de la religion d’Israël (trans: Jean Prignaud; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2001). Hereafter, citations will be from the English version, abbreviated GGG. For reception of GGG, see Florian Lippke, “GGG im forschungsgeschichtlichen Kontext: Ein Nachwort zum Wiederabdruck 2010,” in Keel and Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter, und Gottessymbole (7th ed.), 565-92. 33. One example: “Since the biblical texts remain the same, and the inscriptional source material is not growing at the same rate as the scholarly essays and books that evaluate such evidence, the discussion has at times been reduced to a repetition of long-held opinions that do not seem to rise about the level of the term paper or beyond a wholesale recopying of the theses of others” (GGG, xi).

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been myopically (!), overly, and exclusively preoccupied with textual remains. As they state: “Anyone who systematically ignores the pictorial evidence that a culture has produced can hardly expect to recreate even a minimally adequate description of the culture itself. Such a person will certainly not be able to describe the nature of the religious symbols by which such a culture oriented itself.”34 So, again, the iconographic data deserve to be seen, and the fascinating story these largely untapped sources tell must be assessed and taken into consideration in any treatment of the religious history of ancient Israel/Palestine. 35 Given the nature of the archaeological remains that have survived from ancient Israel/Palestine, GGG drew heavily on the minor arts, especially stamp seals, in making its arguments. Keel’s interest in seals was manifested in pre-GGG publications (see above), but pronounced attention to the minor arts, especially the seals recovered from Israel/ Palestine, represents a fourth stage in Keel’s thought. GGG is not yet reflective of that fourth stage, but a further word about this important book, as groundbreaking and pioneering as was SBW, is helpful to trace the stages in “the later Keel.” So, as was the case with SBW, GGG also needed revision and supplementation after its initial publication in 1992. That work is something that the authors have done in successive editions of the German original36 and that Uehlinger did in an important solo-authored essay on anthropomorphic cult statuary.37 In that essay, Uehlinger breaks with some of the earlier conclusions of GGG on the matter of divine images (which suggested a decline in anthropomorphic representation of the gods in later periods of Israelite religious history), and does so precisely at the point of media: according to him, a slightly distorted picture has been produced by paying too much attention to the seals only, at the expense of other types of artistic remains. In Uehlinger’s opinion, anthropomorphic cult statuary represents a crucial example of the latter—one that nuances the conclusions of GGG at this point and on this point. Keel published a formal response a few years later; among other 34. Ibid., xi. 35. Cf. ibid., ix: “This book is not a synthesis of the history of Syro-Palestinian religions, including the religion of Israel, but an attempt to give visual sources their due as a necessary element in any such undertaking.” 36. Especially the 4th German edition (1998), which included an extensive addendum. See “Nachtrag zur 4. Auflage,” in Keel and Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter, und Gottessymbole (7th ed.), 476–506. 37. Christoph Uehlinger, “Anthropomorphic Cult Statuary in Iron Age Palestine and the Search for Yahweh’s Cult Images,” in The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (ed. Karel van der Toorn; CBET 21; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 97–155.

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things, he remains convinced, contra Uehlinger, that there was likely no anthropomorphic cult statue of YHWH in the Jerusalem temple.38 While I am inclined to agree with Keel, Uehlinger’s essay remains important because, inter alia, it serves to underscore in its own way how important seals have been for “the later Keel” and the Fribourg School as a whole. The reasons for this focus on seals are several and include details about Fouad S. Matouk’s scarab and amulet collection that came into the possession of the Biblical Institute at the University of Fribourg, the establishment of a museum there, further acquisitions of antiquities for the collection, and so on and so forth.39 As some of that history goes back to the early 1980s, if not still earlier, one must emphasize that Keel’s interest in seals is not entirely novel, restricted only to the latest stages in his thought.40 Some seals are included already in SBW, after all, and I noted the increased attention to seals in the second stage that followed SBW. But seal art—especially seal art from ancient Israel/Palestine itself—takes on increased importance in the third stage of Keel’s work (exemplified above all in GGG), and this tendency comes to fullest fruition in the fourth stage described in greater detail below. It is not difficult to see why this should be the case. Quite apart from various details surrounding the collections at Fribourg and the museum there, the seals are an absolutely essential methodological key in the work of Keel and the Fribourg School, especially as these move into more historically-precise (iconographic-historical) modes. There is very little monumental art from ancient Israel/Palestine, after all, especially when compared with Egypt and Mesopotamia. A focus on minor art then is, first and foremost, pragmatic: it is mostly what has survived in this particular area of the Levant. But a focus on minor art is also useful because minor art is mobile. Minor art can function, 38. See Othmar Keel, “Warum im Jerusalemer Tempel kein anthropomorphes Kultbild gestanden haben dürfte,” in Homo Pictor (eds. Gottfried Boehm and Stephan E. Hauser; Colloquium Rauricum 7; München and Leipzig: K. G. Saur, 2001), 244–82. 39. See de Hulster, Illuminating Images, 27–30. See also Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Altorientalische Miniaturkunst: Die ältesten visuellen Massenkommunikationsmittel: Ein Blick in die Sammlungen des Biblischen Instituts der Universität Freiburg Schweiz (2d ed.; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996); Hildi Keel-Leu, Vorderasiatische Stempelsiegel: die Sammlung des Biblischen Instituts der Universität Freiburg Schweiz (OBO 110; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg, Schweiz and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991); Hildi Keel-Leu and Beatrice Teissier, Die vorderasiatischen Rollsiegel der Sammlungen “Bibel + Orient” der Universität Freiburg Schweiz / The ancient Near Eastern cylinder seals of the collections “Bible + Orient” of the University of Fribourg (OBO 200; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004). 40. Thanks to Thomas Staubli for discussions on this point. See also de Hulster, Illuminating Images, 27–30, who notes Keel began a private collection of archaeological study objects as a student already in the mid-1960s.

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therefore, to borrow from the title of another volume by Keel and Uehlinger, as a tool of mass communication.41 Minor art, in the practice of Keel and the Fribourg School, is thus viewed as the primary means by which religious ideas were disseminated in antiquity across distant miles and long stretches of years. The kind of chronological and geographical transmission that is made possible by the mobility of the minor art, in turn, underscores yet once more the importance—indeed necessity—of studying iconography when researching ancient religion and history, not to mention ancient religious history. And so it is that the Fribourg monograph series, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis (OBO) saw the publication of an important trilogy on seals and this very point: Studies in the Iconography of Northwest Semitic Inscribed Seals (1993), Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium BCE) (2000), and Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean art of the first millennium BCE (2005).42 What one finds in this trilogy, and more generally at this point in Keel’s thought and the work of the Fribourg School, is not only increased historical precision, therefore, but increased historical precision specifically with reference to minor art. Keel’s earlier, more thematic use of minor art—not only in SBW, which includes much more than seals, but even in something like the book on visions of YHWH and seal art (Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst)—becomes, in this later stage, far more historical, far more precise, and far more focused on minor art above and beyond all other datasets. Whenever possible, the attempt is are made to identify workshops and “significant series” of seals. It is clear that GGG and the OBO seal trilogy represent significant methodological advances over SBW. But of course Keel himself was part of this progress. He coauthored GGG, after all, and the Images as media volume emerged from a symposium in his honor.43 In addition to a four-volume treatment on the stamp seals from Israel/Palestine that mostly predates the OBO trilogy just mentioned,44 Keel coauthored 41. Keel and Uehlinger, Altorientalische Miniaturkunst: Die ältesten visuellen Massenkommunikationsmittel. 42. Benjamin Sass and Christoph Uehlinger, eds., Studies in the Iconography of Northwest Semitic Inscribed Seals: Proceedings of a Symposium Held in Fribourg on April 17–20, 1991 (OBO 125; Fribourg: University Press Fribourg, Switzerland and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993); Christoph Uehlinger, ed., Images as media: Sources for the cultural history of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (1st millennium BCE) (OBO 175; Fribourg: University Press Fribourg, Switzerland and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000); Claudia E. Suter and Christoph Uehlinger, eds., Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean art of the first millennium BCE (OBO 210; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005). 43. See Uehlinger, ed., Images as media, vii. 44. Othmar Keel and Silvia Schroer, Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel (OBO 67; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1985); Othmar Keel, Hildi Keel-Leu, and Silvia Schroer, Stu-

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the first volume of Silvia Schroer’s Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient, which is subtitled “a religious history in images,”45 and which has been called a “summa iconographica.”46 But as the fullest example of the fourth stage in Keel’s thought, there can be no doubt that his crowning achievement is the massive Corpus der StempelsiegelAmulette aus Palästina/Israel. The first, introductory volume of the Corpus appeared in 1995. Including that volume, and a jointly-authored volume with Jürg Eggler on the seals from Jordan, the Corpus has published six, large, folio-sized volumes to date, which altogether catalogue 6,527 objects.47 The Corpus is Keel’s magnum opus, or, better, his Lebenswerk. With it, we have travelled a long path from SBW in 1972—through at least four identifiable “stages.” To be sure, there is overlap and interplay among these stages. Keel has continued to publish “big picture” synthetic work, some of which is attentive to biblical material, alongside his increased devotion to what might be seen as iconographic-historic, even iconographic-artistic study of the seal corpus itself. The present book on Jerusalem is proof of such synthetic study (see further below). Even so, the movement from “the early Keel” to “the later Keel” is worth pondering. As I have noted elsewhere: “The development from [SBW] to GGG to the Corpus could be seen as retrogressive in some way. Should dien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel II (OBO 88; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1989); Othmar Keel, Menakhem Shuval, and Christoph Uehlinger, Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel III: Die Frühe Eisenzeit: Ein Workshop (OBO 100; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1990); and Othmar Keel, Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/ Israel IV (OBO 135; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1994). 45. Silvia Schroer and Othmar Keel, Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern, Band 1: Vom ausgehenden Mesolithikum bis zur Frühbronzezeit (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005); Silvia Schroer, Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern, Band 2: Die Mittelbronzezeit (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2008); eadem, Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern, Band 3: Die Spätbronzezeit (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2011). The fourth volume, on the Iron Age, is expected in 2017. 46. Izak Cornelius, “Review of Schroer and Keel, IPIAO 1,” in JNSL 32/2 (2006): 129–31 (129). 47. Othmar Keel, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Einleitung (OBO.SA 10; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995); idem, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band I: Von Tell Abu Farağ bis ʿAtlit (OBO.SA 13; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997); idem, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band II: Von Bahan bis Tel Eton (OBO.SA 29; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010); idem, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/ Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band III: Von Tell el-Farʿa Nord bis Tell el-Fir (OBO.SA 31; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010); idem, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band IV: Von Tel Gamma bis Chirbet Husche (OBO.SA 33; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013); and Jürg Eggler and Othmar Keel, Corpus der Siegel-Amulette aus Jordanien: Von Neolithikum bis zur Perserzeit (OBO.SA 25; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006).

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not the foundations (i.e., the Corpus) be laid first before moving on to the big syntheses?”48 Or, to say it differently, scholars typically begin their careers with detailed, even minute analyses before they attempt grand visions of the whole. What one finds in Keel, though—echoed here and there elsewhere in the Fribourg School—is almost the reverse movement: from the large synthetic work of SBW (and GGG) to the foundational cataloguing work of the Corpus. And yet, in light of the stages that I’ve traced above, this movement is not retrogressive at all but entirely understandable and quite in line with the development of Keel’s thought and the practices of the Fribourg School writ large. Moreover, as Keel once remarked to me, the proper ordering of methodological steps is a perennial problem in the acquisition of knowledge: what should come first—the evidence itself or the questions, theories, and hypotheses about that evidence? In numerous ways the early Keel set the iconographic agenda for a generation, and for himself, and the publications that followed, from his own pen and from those he taught and inspired, have brought more data to bear so as to test and prove various theories, or to refine and revise them altogether, or to raise entirely new questions previously unimagined. Both parts—the data and ideas about the same—are necessary, of course, and what is perhaps most amazing about Keel’s mind and his published oeuvre is that he excels in both. The four stages I have identified in Keel’s work demonstrate that he recognized already at an early point in his career the massive importance of the minor arts and the kind of cataloging work that comes to full fruition only in his much later Corpus. It is also clear that Keel’s work in the last, fourth stage is even better than it might have otherwise been at some earlier time given his command of the whole field. Foundational presentations of important datasets, that is, are often written by scholars just beginning their careers, who are thus relatively new to their subjects, and/or by those with less wide-ranging, capacious, and synthetic minds. But Keel’s Corpus is decidedly otherwise: executed by the most mature of scholars, a true master of his craft in total command of the field. Indeed, in this specific case, the cataloguer in question is the very pioneer and leader of a field that he propagated himself!

48. Brent A. Strawn, “[Review of] Othmar Keel, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band IV: Von Tel Gamma bis Chirbet Husche,” RBL 08/2013 (online at https://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/9243_10197.pdf).

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The Present Volume Keel retired from the University of Fribourg in 2002. Since then he has continued a very active research and writing schedule, not only via the massive Corpus project, but in the completion of an equally monumental, two-volume history of Jerusalem: Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus, which appeared in 2007.49 Coming in at over 1,300 pages with more than 700 illustrations, Die Geschichte is a remarkably comprehensive history of the city from the Middle Bronze Age IIB period to Pompey.50 As noted in the editorial preface, the present volume is an English translation of a German epitomization of this larger, two-volume work.51 The two-volume work is still essential, especially in matters of documentation, engagement with previous scholarship, fuller argumentation, and so forth, but the present volume is a useful distillation of the larger original. In his review of Die Geschichte, Ernst Axel Knauf identified no less than three books within that work: (1) a handbook for educated pilgrims to the Holy Land, (2) a history of Jerusalem from 1700–63 BCE, and (3) an argument about the development of monotheism.52 It is the latter two items that are on display here, especially the last mentioned, though in a greatly condensed and streamlined form. This type of presentation is obviously user-friendly; readers who are interested in learning more or who wish to see Keel’s argument laid out in greater detail and in interaction with prior scholarship will want to refer to Die Geschichte. To be sure, even the lengthy arguments of Die Geschichte, let alone the abbreviated treatment found here, will not convince all readers. I myself do not agree with all of Keel’s positions on, for example, YHWH’s solarization; nor do I share his strong and long-standing distaste for premodern reading strategies like allegory and typology.53 But, to return to LeMon’s typology, and to the stages of Keel’s thought that I have outlined here, what should not be missed is that even in the latest, fourth stage of Keel’s work, in which the cataloging work of the Corpus looms so large, 49. Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung der Monotheismus (2 vols.; OLB IV/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). 50. See Max Küchler, Jerusalem: Ein Handbuch und Studienreiseführer zur heiligen Stadt (OLB IV/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007 [2nd ed. = 2013]) for a companion volume by Keel’s New Testament colleague at Fribourg. 51. Othmar Keel, Jerusalem und der eine Gott: Eine Religionsgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011; 2nd ed. = 2014). 52. See Ernst Axel Knauf, RBL 05/2008 (online at: https://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/6377_6859.pdf; accessed 8/1/2016) and the editor’s foreword above. 53. Beyond the comments found in the afterword to the present volume, see, for example, Keel, Song of Songs, esp. 5–11.

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Keel is still producing synthetic work that is as wide-ranging and dexterous as his early SBW. If his work on Jerusalem is iconographic-historical—which it most certainly is—it is also not without a good dose of the iconographic-biblical.54 This shows, once more, that the “stages” in question are not entirely discrete in Keel’s actual practice, even as it further underscores Keel’s remarkable capacity to work in more than one mode throughout a long and influential career. The Future of Keel and Iconography A happy serendipity associated with the publication of this brief volume on Jerusalem in English is the fact that Keel has just finished work on the Corpus volume that includes all the seals from Jerusalem. He is now working on a major museum exhibit that will be held in Fribourg and after that plans on publishing his own personal collection of over 700 scarabs. And of course the work on the Corpus will go on, especially as Keel has continued to enlist others to assist in that work. What Keel initiated in 1972, therefore, continues across the globe, with iconographers hard at work not only in the homeland of Switzerland, but also in Germany, France, North America, Israel, and elsewhere. Indeed, in the forty-five years since SBW’s appearance, enough has been published in the field of iconography that several dissertations have been produced in an attempt to clarify iconographic methodology.55 Several edited collections on iconography have appeared, not only within OBO series but even outside it; an introductory textbook of sorts has been published;56 and a forthcoming issue in the thematically-oriented journal, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel, will be devoted to iconography and the Hebrew Bible. Iconography is thus a robust (sub)field, with the essays contained in the last two mentioned works, 54. Note that Die Geschichte contains a seventeen-page long, triple-columned index of Scripture references. 55. I consider my own dissertation one such attempt, though it is mostly implicit in this regard. Keel was on my dissertation committee and, happily, present at the defense. That work was revised and published as Brent A. Strawn, What Is Stronger than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (OBO 212; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005). Joel M. LeMon’s dissertation turned monograph, Yahweh’s Winged Form, is more explicit about methodological matters. Izaak J. de Hulster’s Illuminating Images, revised and published without the extensive literature review as idem, Iconographic Exegesis and Third Isaiah (FAT II/36; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), is still more thorough and detailed. In my judgment, Ryan P. Bonfiglio’s 2014 Emory dissertation, which has appeared as idem, Reading Images, Seeing Texts (see note 15 above) represents the state of the art and is by far the most sophisticated and articulate attempt to set biblical iconography on a firm theoretical basis. 56. Izaak J. de Hulster, Brent A. Strawn, and Ryan P. Bonfiglio, eds., Iconographic Exegesis of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: An Introduction to Its Method and Practice (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015). For iconographic theory, see Bonfiglio, Reading Images, Seeing Texts.

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in particular, demonstrating a healthy diversity among iconographers and showcasing the various ways iconography can be correlated with standard exegetical approaches like tradition history, redaction history, comparative method, and the like. It is clear, then, that much of what has been practiced in the past and that is currently practiced in the present will continue into the future—all, again, thanks to Othmar Keel. I could add further to what I’ve said in this introduction, which has been as much a celebration of Keel’s work as it has been a review of it. But I have already said enough to establish the extraordinary contributions Keel has made to the study of ancient Near Eastern iconography, the archaeology of Israel/Palestine, ancient Israelite religion, and the exegesis of the Hebrew Bible.57 These achievements are widely known in scholarly circles but were recognized in a remarkable way when Keel was awarded the Marcel Benoist Prize in 2005, the most prestigious prize given by the Swiss government for outstanding scientific achievement. At the time, Keel was only the third or fourth scholar of the humanities to win that esteemed award, which is referred to in some circles as “the Swiss Nobel Prize.” In conclusion, then, I content myself with one final remark—this one quite personal, as it arises from my own encounters with Keel and his work, my deep admiration for him and his many writings, and my learning at his feet in contexts near and far. I simply wish to revisit and revise Keel’s famous statement in SBW, that iconography compels us to see through the eyes of the ancient Near East. That remains quite true—now, no less than in 1972—and we know that this is so in large part due to Othmar Keel. It is that latter fact that leads me to revise his earlier statement by observing that Othmar Keel has compelled us to see through the eyes of iconography. It is Keel’s own remarkable set of eyes that began that work years ago. Ever since, he has, quite literally, been opening the rest of our eyes to the worlds he has seen, and, as a result, we will never see things the same way again.

57. See further the list of selected works included at the end of this volume.

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Introductory Matters

1

Three Preliminary Remarks

Jerusalem: The Birthplace of Jewish-Christian Monotheism Even a cursory glance at present day Jerusalem reveals how diverse, multifaceted, and conflicted the (religious) perception of the city is. Tourists often experience the Old City in particular as an aestheticallyappealing open air museum of sorts—one that bears witness to a dramatic history, which has at times reverberated across the whole world. Pleasantly mixed in with this “museum” are elements of oriental hospitality and an eastern bazaar: Ashkenazi Jews, dressed in the coats and fur-trimmed hats of their eastern European heritage, pray at the Wailing Wall in the summer heat alongside emancipated Jewish women from the west. Then there are the Christians singing mournful songs as they carry a cross the length of the Via Dolorosa, and the Muslims prostrating themselves in long lines on the Temple Square facing the direction of Mecca. These groups constitute part of the religious or cultural attraction for those who visit the “museum” of Jerusalem. Yet for adherents of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Jerusalem is a holy city that has played and still continues to play a preeminent role—varying according to the specific religion, of course—both in the religious imagination and also, frequently, in religious practice of the faithful. For Judaism, Jerusalem is the site of the first and second temples; for Christianity, it is where Jesus Christ was crucified and res3

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

urrected; and, for Islam, it is the place of the prophet Mohammed’s ascension. Judaism as a whole has never underestimated the significance of Jerusalem, but some movements within it have interpreted the presence of God in the city as nothing less than a guarantee of its inviolability, despite the warning of certain prophets otherwise (Micah, Jeremiah, and Jesus). Despite this superstitious conviction—or perhaps better because of it—the city was repeatedly destroyed. At first, Christianity disdained the earthly Jerusalem and vaunted the heavenly Jerusalem. Yet soon after the rule of the emperor Constantine its estimation of the city began to rise steadily, culminating in the desire of the crusaders to win the earthly Jerusalem back for Christianity. For Islam, neither Mecca nor Medina were preeminent at first, with prayer being directed instead towards Jerusalem. This changed with Mohammed who, following his bitter dispute with the Jewish community of Medina, demanded that rather than praying towards Jerusalem his followers should pray in the direction of Mecca and the Kaaba. He defended this change in Sura 22:136–146. The construction of the “Dome of the Rock,” however, elevated Jerusalem to the third most holy site in Islam. Jerusalem remains to this day a kind of sacrament for Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, bringing believers into direct contact with the objects of their religious longing. A visit often elicits the elated feeling of a great longing fulfilled. Once the pilgrimage has been made, religious faith is now not just spirit and word but has “taken on flesh.” As with all things that are felt intensely, this experience too can sometimes turn unhealthy, as is seen in the emotional overreaction known as “Jerusalem Syndrome.” Those affected by this syndrome tell of visions and apparitions, and sometimes identify themselves with Jesus, Mohammed, or even God. How did the city come to exert such an intense and historic effect? Can this be explained by its geographical location? Did the city’s geography predestine it to its later status? Or was it the city’s visionaries, thinkers, poets, and politicians who, through their visions and language—not to mention the names and titles they lent the city and the institutions they created—gave the city its aura, insuring that it be seen as a very different, even holy, city? Or was it certain historical figures such as David, Solomon, Jeremiah, and Jesus? Or perhaps particular historical events such as the building of the temple, the city’s destruction by Nebuchadnezzar, and the crucifixion of Jesus, that gave Jerusalem

4

THREE PRELIMINARY REMARKS

its lasting character? Or was it the architecture, the grand and ornate buildings—in some cases still visited and seen by people today as monuments to decisive events—which are responsible for Jerusalem’s distinguished profile? This present study will first discuss the location of Jerusalem (chapter 2) before considering how its different names (chapter 3), not unlike its monuments, sum up what the city has meant to its inhabitants and worshipers down through the ages. The city’s history can be written from very different points of view and with very different emphases (cf. chapters 4-15). Observations can be made about the way the city has grown, shrunk, and grown again through the course of time (see Fig. 6); or about who built its walls and where. One can describe the changing economic relations and their connection with the various forms of political organization. So, for example, Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, in their book David and Solomon, portray the two founders of Jerusalem in political terms, focusing particularly on the type of rule they exercised over which territory, without even considering what effect they might have had on the founding of monotheism.1 Finkelstein and Silberman touch on questions of religious history only in relation to the afterlife of the figure of David and the messianic hope for a David redivivus—but even then only in passing. In contrast, the present study of the first 1,700 years of Jerusalem’s history focuses on the religious history of the city, which is generally neglected by contemporary secular Israeli historians who have little interest in religion. In terms of its physical extent, Jerusalem could never compete with the big cities of antiquity or the present. Alexandria and Antioch were much more significant in this respect. Unlike Tyre or Carthage, Jerusalem was never a major economic player, nor did it achieve world fame through science, philosophy, or art as Athens did. It didn’t transform itself into a major power through inspired politics and technical know-how, and somehow manage to hold this intact for centuries with relatively little military force, as Rome did. It was only through the religious practices it founded (for example, the seven-day week) and the theology it developed that Jerusalem achieved world-historical significance in pre-Christian antiquity and even more so thereafter. Jerusalem’s most important monuments, visited by hundreds of thousands of people, do not have the same aesthetic appeal as the great museums of the world; neither do they have the political 1. Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, David and Solomon: In Search of the Bible’s Sacred Kings and the Roots of the Western Tradition (New York: Free Press, 2006).

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significance of some government palaces. They are instead religious in nature.2 On the basis of the theological traditions that arose and were developed in this place, Jerusalem became the birthplace of monotheism, or to be more precise—of one particular type of monotheism. It was not the first monotheism, but it was by far the most important and consequential. A Crucial Distinction: Exclusive vs. Integrative-Cumulative Monotheism The first historically-documented belief in just one god is the monotheism of the Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten (1353–1336 BCE). In a short but masterly excursus on Akhenaten in his classic Conceptions of God in Ancient Egypt: The One and the Many, the noted Egyptologist Erik Hornung first lists traditional Egyptian solar-cult elements in Akhenaten’s system.3 What is new in Akhenaten’s initiative, according to Hornung, is that he looked “to derive all phenomena from a single cause,”4 believing to have found that one cause in light, which became the sole divine principle and therefore the basis of monotheism and the foundation of religion: Now, for the first time in history, the divine has become one, without a complementary multiplicity. . . . The mass of divine forms is reduced to the single manifestation of the Aten with rays . . . and out of the mass of names of gods all that is left is one double name: Re, who reveals himself (“has come”) as Aten. A god “without equal” has become, at an enormous remove, a god “without any other except for himself,” and the king too is now “sole king like Aten; there is no other great one except for him.” . . . Anything that does not fit with the nature of the Aten is no longer divine, and its existence is denied through its not being mentioned. The hymns of Akhenaten, which use familiar phraseology to praise the Aten, differ from older hymns principally in what they omit.5

The divine realm is reduced to the light of Aten. It is an exclusive type of monotheism. Everything is excluded save for Aten. Egyptian culture was not ready to renounce all other (and complementary) deities, how2. Max Küchler, Jerusalem: Ein Handbuch und Studienreiseführer zur Heiligen Stadt (OLB IV/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). 3. Erik Hornung, Conceptions of God in Ancient Egypt: the One and the Many (trans. John Baines; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1982 [German orig: 1971]). 4. Ibid, 253. 5. Ibid., 246, 248.

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ever, such as Osiris, the god of the afterlife, or the female deities like Hathor, Isis, Mut, Neith, and Sekhmet. As Jan Assmann has remarked, Akhenaten was a sort of pre-Socratic philosopher around 700 years before his time.6 What Akhenaten brings, therefore, is a philosophical insight rather than a new religion. Everything is reduced exclusively to one single (empirical) principle, sunlight, as with Thales of Miletus and his theory that water constituted the arche of all things. And Akhenaten’s innovation was short lived: All traces of his monotheism were obliterated after his death. His bold initiative was only rediscovered during the scientific exploration of Egypt in the nineteenth century. A late work by Sigmund Freud, Moses and Monotheism, which appeared shortly before his death in 1939, made popular the hypothesis that Moses passed on the religion of Akhenaten to the Israelites.7 This is not historically defensible, however. The religion of Akhenaten was no longer known in the twelfth century BCE. The historical Moses was, as far as we can make out, a polytheist. He is portrayed as such in the seminal story of his meeting in the burning bush with a divine being, who tasks him with leading the Hebrews out of Egypt. It is not the one God that appears to him, but a divine being that must have a name so as to be distinguished from all the other divine beings. The god who appears to Moses gives his name as YHWH. In Hebrew only the consonants are written. On the basis of Akkadian and Greek transliterations, which include the vowels, we can assume that the name was pronounced “Yahweh.” “This is my name forever, the name you shall call me from generation to generation,” YHWH states in Exod 3:15. That the Jews used the name less in the post-exilic period (see below) had nothing to do with the fact that it had become too holy to say aloud; that mistakes the issue at hand. The disuse was, rather, due to the fact that after monotheism had become established the specific name YHWH served as a reminder that YHWH was once (just) one god among many. In brief, the historical Moses did not found Israelite-Jewish monotheism. This, as will be seen, arose only in the 8th-6th centuries BCE. If a historical connection can be made between Egypt and the beginning of Israelite-Jewish monotheism, it is not to be found in the teaching of Akhenaten but in the “Memphite Theology.”8 Egyptologists increasingly date this text to the time of the twenty-fifth Dynasty 6. See, e.g., Jan Assmann, From Akhenaten to Moses (Cairo: American Univeirsity in Cairo Press, 2014); and idem, Of God and Gods: Egypt, Israel, and the Rise of Monotheism (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008). 7. Sigmund Freud, Moses and Monotheism (New York: Vintage, 1955 [German orig: 1939]). 8. For English translations, see ANET, 4–6 and COS 1.15:21–23.

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(728–656 BCE).9 This unique work attributes the creation of all other deities to Ptah, the main god of Memphis, through his thinking (heart) and his speaking (tongue). Strictly-speaking, Ptah is not hereby made a monotheistic deity, but a god whose thinking and speaking gave rise to the creation of all other deities and everything else. The slightly younger creation story found in Genesis 1 of the Bible, contains a similar idea, but in this case the text is purely monotheistic in thinking and formulation. There are no other gods in Genesis 1. The “Memphite Theology” on the other hand places all other gods below Ptah, but does not deny their separate existence: such a conception and formulation is clearly not monotheistic. So from the Egyptian side there remains just the monotheism of Akhenaten, of which nothing would have been known in the Jerusalem of the first millennium. Even more important than the missing historical connections is the fact that Israelite-Jewish monotheism was entirely different from that of Akhenaten. In contrast to Akhenaten’s reductive-exclusive monotheism, the Jerusalem variety disempowered the various gods and goddesses while simultaneously transferring many of their attributes and stories to YHWH. In this way Israelite-Jewish monotheism can be seen as an inclusive-cumulative or inclusive-integrative type. A few examples serve to prove this. Whereas in Egypt and in Mesopotamia as a rule a male and a female deity were involved in human creation, in Genesis 2, YHWH alone fulfils both male and female roles. This is even clearer in the story of the Flood, which in the older Mesopotamian versions at least four deities play a role—namely, the three male gods Enlil, Adad, and Enki-Ea, along with one female god, Nintu-Ishtar. In the biblical versions, YHWH takes on all four roles of these four deities, which is less coherent but somehow make the character of YHWH more complete or comprehensive. YHWH is made particularly sympathetic by assuming the role of the goddess who at the end of the story swears that never again shall a flood cover the earth. In Isaiah 54:9, the promise made by the goddess in the Mesopotamian flood story reappears, this time attributed to YHWH. Or one might consider how, in the story of Sodom, YHWH appears in the form of the judgmental sun god, or, in Psalm 29, how he is portrayed as the thundering weather god. This inclusive-integrative monotheism was interpreted in different ways by 9. C. Peust and H. Sternberg-el Hotabi, “Das ‘Denkmal memphitischer Theologie,’” in Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments (ed. O. Kaiser; Gütersloh: G. Mohn, 2001), 166–175; A. El Hawary, Wortschöpfung: Die Memphitische Theologie und die Siegesstele des Pije – zwei Zeugen kultureller Repräsentation in der 25. Dynastie (OBO 243; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010).

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early Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In a number of works, Assmann has revisited the allegation made repeatedly since Hume and Schopenhauer that the monotheistic religions are more aggressive and violent than the polytheistic varieties. I will return to this matter when describing the set of conditions giving rise to monotheism in the context of the history of Jerusalem; how it took shape and was expressed; its merits, strengths, and weaknesses; and how it finally became the basis of the three quite different monotheistic religions. The rise of monotheism is a central concern of this book. It remains possible, of course, to write about the history of Jerusalem without reference to religious history and theological questions of this type. Monotheism: An Urban Product Psalm 107 urges four groups of people in exceptional need to redeem the promise made to them. First there is the group who have become lost in the desert and who almost died of hunger and thirst (vv. 4–9). Then follow mentions of imprisonment, illness, and distress at sea. The wilderness (Hebrew midbār) and the desert (yĕšîmōn) are contrasted in this psalm with the inhabited dwelling place (ʿîr môšāb). The desert is generally portrayed in the biblical texts as the opposite of the city—as a no-man’s land, a non-land, the land of death. According to biblical tradition, Moses met YHWH as he led his small herd of cattle across the wilderness (midbār) to Mount Horeb (Exod 3:1). The prophet Elijah, persecuted by Jezebel, wanders from Beersheba in the Negev desert into the wilderness (midbār) where he spends forty days and nights before arriving at Horeb, the mountain of God (1 Kgs 19:1–18). It could be, as Ernst Axel Knauf believes, that the name Horeb, which means “desert place,” is simply a pseudonym for the older name Sinai, which during the reign of the Babylonian King Nabonidus (556–539 BCE), a worshiper of the moon god Sin, had become tainted.10 Sinai too is in the desert (Exod 16:1). Exodus 19:1 says that in the third month after leaving Egypt the people came into the Sinai desert. That is a good deal farther than the three-day journey into the desert that Moses requests from Pharaoh so that his people can worship their god (see Exod 3:18; 5:1; 7:16; 8:27–28). Regardless, on the basis of texts like these, it is possible that the worship of YHWH 10. See Ernst Axel Knauf, “Sinai,” in Neues Bibel-Lexikon 3 (eds. M. Görg and B. Lang; Zürich: Benziger, 1990), 607–8.

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may have been brought to Palestine from regions that today form the extreme south of Jordan and the extreme northwest of Saudi Arabia (see below). Now, as noted above, the original YHWH was no monotheistic god, even if some later strands of biblical heritage made one of him. Yet the tradition of the remote, unreachable desert mountain as his original residence lent him the aura of one who was alien, unapproachable, and incomprehensible, and made a kind of divine transcendence imaginable, indeed almost palpable. Romanticism, with its love for and sense of the uniqueness of the landscape, allowed monotheism to bloom in the desert as it were. Ernest Renan’s work, Histoire générale et système comparé des langues sémitiques, was particularly influential in spreading this view.11 It is also said of Islam—as, for example, in the writings of Willibald Gebel, who wrote of “Der Islam—die Religion der Wüste” (Islam: The Religion of the Desert).12 More than 100 years after Renan’s work, Friedrich Dürrenmatt described a flight over the Negev in his “Essay on Israel”: Staring down on this dead world it becomes clear to me that the god who created the desert, this invisible god, the god of Abraham who became the god of the Jews, Christians, and Muslims, is a desert experience not a philosophical deduction or conception, and that without this experience we do not have the language to speak about him. We can only be silent. 13

A similarly romantic view of the connection between monotheism and the desert is common to this day, thanks in part to the striking desert topography. Opponents of monotheism have made a polemic out of this: “A god who comes from the desert can only turn the world into a desert,” some have opined. This cliché seems to have become well established. In 2006, M. Schreiber wrote that “[t]he three main monotheistic religions are products of the desert. . . . The barren environment is the ideal backdrop for devotion to a distant, invisible god who demands asceticism–mental self destruction” in a popular article for Der Spiegel magazine.14 In point of fact, however, the historical record shows that the concept of monotheism developed and became established in cities, not in 11. Ernest Renan, Histoire générale et système comparé des langues sémitiques (4th ed. Paris: M. Levy, 1863). 12. Willibald Gebel, “Der Islam – die Religion der Wüste,” Beihefte zu den Jahresberichten der Schlesischen Gesellschaft für vaterländische Kultur 1 (1922): 104–33. 13. Friedrich Dürrenmatt, Zusammenhänge (Zürich: Diogenes, 1985), 127. 14. Mathias Schreiber, “Mose Superstar,” Der Spiegel (April 15, 2006): 164.

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the deserts. For the modern city-dweller looking down from the airplane, the desert is dead. For the desert-dweller, of course, it is a living thing. Monotheism first arose in Thebes and Amarna. It became a world-historical phenomenon in Jerusalem and Babylon as this book will show, and in Mecca and Medina, as is well known in Islam. To be sure, none of these cities is situated very far from the steppes and deserts or from city dwellers’s experiences of the same. Such desert experiences were important and explored, as is demonstrated by the biblical traditions about the wilderness wanderings and the mountain of God. As an element of theologia negativa (important for every monotheistic faith) that stresses the inconceivability and ineffability of God, the “desert motif” can serve as an antidote to an overly-simplified and overly-anthropomorphic image of God. One should recall how numerous mystics have discussed the concept of the “dark night” or “desert of God.” The ultimately subordinate and relative importance of the desert and desert experiences is demonstrated by the fact that none of the monotheistic religions made a mountain in the desert the holiest of cult sites. The holiest locations for the monotheistic religions are without exception cities: Rome, Constantinople, Mecca, Medina—but above all Jerusalem, which is the only city to be important to all three monotheistic world religions. The love of creation, the world, and culture, which are fundamental and intrinsic to the Canaanite-JewishChristian-Islamic tradition, are manifest here. . . . And the most meaningful symbol of the world, the holy place itself, is in the very center of the city.

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Jerusalem’s Setting

Jerusalem amidst International Trade Routes Historians of the French Annales School of Fernand Braudel distinguished between three types of historical phases. First are phases of long duration, histoire de longue durée, such as geographical locations, or institutions like the rule of the pharaohs or the papacy, that remain in force for thousands of years; second are cyclical phases of the histoire conjoncturelle, such as the roughly 70-year presence of the Assyrians in Jerusalem; and third are phases of event history, histoire événementielle, which play out over months, weeks, or even hours. Like all such distinctions, the division of history into phases like these is rather arbitrary, and the boundaries are deliberately left vague. Furthermore, occurrences that are categorized as event history can still have longterm effects—one thinks, for example, of the capture of Jerusalem by David or the construction of the Suez Canal. There is no question that a city’s geographical situation plays a key role in determining its history. Yet the discussion about the importance of Jerusalem’s location shows how even such an apparently objective reality is open to subjective-ideological interpretations. A phrase inspired by Ezekiel 5:5 can be used to describe the setting of Jerusalem: “in the center of the nations—on her own.” Like Palestine as a whole, Jerusalem lay between the two ancient Near Eastern centers 13

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of power: Mesopotamia (Sumer, Babylonia, Assyria, Persia) and Egypt. The main trade routes that joined these two powers and formed a type of land-bridge between them, did not, however, cross Jerusalem (Fig..1).

Fig. 1. The international transport routes that cross the southern Levant: in the west, the “way of the sea” (via maris) or “coastal road”; in the east, the “king’s highway.”

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The “Way of the Sea” runs along the Mediterranean coast, about 50 kilometers west of Jerusalem as the crow flies. Between the city and this road are the coastal plains; the 200–300 meter high foothills of the Shephelah, which stretch from north to south and form a type of wall; and finally the steep slopes of the Judean mountains. Going from the coastal plains to Jerusalem means ascending a height of 700–800 meters (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2. A topographical cross-cut of the land. Reaching Jerusalem from the coastal road in the west and the king’s highway in the east required considerable changes in altitude.

The distance to the international road in the east, the so-called “King’s Highway,” is even greater: 60–70 kilometers separates it from Jerusalem. Travellers on this road going to Jerusalem have to first descend from the Transjordan highlands—at around 1,000 meters above sea level—into the lower Jordan Valley, which is 300–350 meters below sea level, only to ascend again west of the Jordan to 750 meters above sea level so as to reach Jerusalem. That is a height difference of around 2,500 meters. It is probably because of these eastern and western routes to the city—and their accompanying topographies—that biblical Hebrew consistently speaks of “going up” to Jerusalem or Zion (see, e.g., Ps 122:4). Jerusalem sat between these two international roads like an observation post. It was less vulnerable to attack from foreign armies than coastal cities like Gaza and Ashkelon. Jerusalem was at a distance from the great powers, which by turns controlled the coastal road and plains, and its mountainous environs offered the city protection. Even so, Jerusalem was close enough to the sensitive buffer zone between Egypt and the Middle East. From the outposts of Jerusalem in the Shephelah, international events could be easily monitored and contact established with Egyptians or Assyrians, Babylonians or Persians, Ptolemies or Seleucids—whether traders, diplomats, priests, or military leaders—in order to obtain information. Moreover, from its hardto-capture position, Jerusalem frequently exerted a great influence on

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this highly sensitive region, which for Egypt represented the gateway to the Middle East, and for the Middle Eastern powers was the gateway to Egypt. Jerusalem within Palestine The biblical scholar Albrecht Alt laid dramatic emphasis on the unfavorable position of the city (from a transportational-geographical perspective) in an influential essay from 1925 on the rise of Jerusalem under David that depends, in turn, on earlier writings (especially Strabo and G. A. Smith; see further below).1 Alt’s reflections provided the main ideological basis for the “3,000 Years of Jerusalem” jubilee organized by the Israeli Jerusalem city administration in 1995–1996. In actual fact, Jerusalem was founded around more like 3,700 years ago as a mighty Canaanite city. Alt totally neglected this Canaanite Jerusalem and made David the founder of Jerusalem, a view that corresponds very closely with that of present-day Israelis. What led Alt to draw this conclusion? On December 9th, 1917, the British took Jerusalem without a struggle following four hundred years of Ottoman rule. In 1918, after winning control of the whole of Palestine, they made Jerusalem the capital. A glance at the map (Fig. 3) shows that in 1918, when Transjordan still belonged to Palestine (it wasn’t separated off until 1923), Jerusalem was an obvious choice thanks to its central location, quite apart from its obvious historic importance. Alt, who penned his essay just a few years after these events, underlined how it was, in fact, far from the obvious to choose Jerusalem as the capital city: rarely in its almost 4,000-year history had Jerusalem been the country’s capital. According to Alt, had it not been for David’s bold act in making one center for his two kingdoms of Judah and Israel, Jerusalem would never have gained any importance at all. “It is not nature that Jerusalem has to thank for its primacy,” he wrote, “history wrested it from nature.”2 Alt’s opinion has been taken up and repeated countless times ever since. Alt’s reflections are quite questionable, however. His statement that Jerusalem had rarely served as the capital of Palestine in the course of its 3,700 years is true, but, as impressive as that might sounds, it does not mean much. First and foremost, in the course of its history, Pales1. Albrecht Alt, “Jerusalems Aufstieg,” in idem, Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel (4 vols.; München: Beck, 1959), 3:243–57 (originally published in ZDMG 79 [1925]: 1–19). 2. Ibid., 247.

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tine rarely had a capital. It is astonishing that Alt, a brilliant expert on Palestine, failed to make mention of this fact. Furthermore, like Syria and Lebanon, Palestine is an extremely segmented area, and, unlike the broad river valleys of the Nile and Euphrates, it does not have any unifying feature. Such areas are not conducive to centralized political structures. Whereas in the third and second millennia BCE great kingdoms arose on the Nile, Euphrates, and Tigris, in the Levant there were only city-states. Second, Palestine—when it was politically unified—was mainly unified from outside forces, that is by Assyria, Babylon, Persepolis, Rome, Byzantine, Damascus, and Cairo. It is quite understandable that these entities would prefer places like Caesarea on the sea or Lydda and Ramla in the coastal plains, which were easier to reach, over Jerusalem. But such a situation does not imply anything inherently negative about Jerusalem within Palestine proper.

Fig. 3. Jerusalem’s location within the region is central. This map is from the time of the 1918 British Mandate.

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Alt seems to recognize this himself when he turns away from historical developments and, directing his attention to the geographical situation, elevates Shechem (see Fig. 1) as the uncrowned queen of Palestine. The city lay exactly in the middle between Beersheba, the southernmost, and Dan, the northernmost city of ancient Israel. The question is why Shechem did remain uncrowned? The answer is because she was no queen—except by Alt’s making! Alt overlooked the fact that Galilee—separated from the Palestinian hill country by the Jezreel plains—was in its northern areas more closely connected to the Lebanese-Syrian mountains, to Phoenicia, and to Aram, than it was to the central Palestinian hill country. The phrase “from Dan to Beersheba” describes a largely fictitious greater Israel. If we consider the actual Palestinian hill country from Beth Shean, or better Jenin (Ibleam) to Beersheba, Jerusalem is considerably more central than Shechem. If we further consider Palestine’s function as a bridge between the Syrian-Mesopotamian and Egyptian areas, Jerusalem does not lie directly on the way, but it is considerably closer than Shechem to Palestine’s most sensitive zone—namely, the southern coastal plain, the land of the Philistines. As noted earlier, this area represented for Egypt the gateway to the Middle East, whereas for the Middle Eastern kingdoms it was the gateway to Egypt. As a result it was often fiercely contested and frequently fought over. Jerusalem lay close to this district but was less exposed. In this strategic, highly sensitive area it represented a type of observation post that was both hard to attack and potentially neutral. How central Jerusalem was with regard to the city-states on the southeastern Mediterranean coast is seen, for example, in the leading role that Jerusalem sometimes played in the struggle against the Assyrian threat under Hezekiah or again against the Babylonian dominion under Zedekiah (see Jer 27:3; Ezek 5:5; 26:2; Ezra 4:19–22). This was not due to, or at least not solely due to, individual leaders during these respective times. Instead, it was due to Jerusalem’s central, inland location, and due to its proximity to this sensitive area of the southern Levant. Thus Jerusalem was significant for the whole region, even during the reign of the Persian kings and the Seleucids. Jerusalem’s location was excellent from a political and logistical viewpoint. It dominated what was probably the most important eastwest route between the two international trade routes of the coastal road and the King’s Highway. The best route for travelers to the Mediterranean from Moab or Ammon went directly through Jerusalem. To its south, the banks of the Dead Sea fall away very

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sharply in places, making a journey that way impossible. But Jerusalem lies roughly at the height of the north end of the Dead Sea. Only at that point was an east-west connection possible. Further, at 900 meters above sea level Jerusalem formed a type of saddle or valley since, to both the south and the north, the height of the land climbs to over 1,000 meters above sea level. But is not only as a link between the two international trade routes that Jerusalem occupied an optimal position within Palestine; it lies close to the watershed between the Mediterranean and the Jordan Rift Valley alongside which the most important and easiest north-south route passed. It connects the cities of Judah (Hebron, Bethlehem) with those of the central Palestinian hill country (Shiloh, Shechem, and Samaria). Neither its location amidst the international scene nor its specific setting within Palestine proper can explain the extreme religious importance that Jerusalem has acquired over the course of millennia, though its location does help to explain the importance of the city occupied during the rule of David and Solomon and at many times thereafter. Whereas George Adam Smith, in a reference to Strabo (XVI 2, 36), claimed in his major work on Jerusalem that “[t]he whole plateau stands aloof, waterless, and on the road to nowhere. There are none of the natural conditions of a great city,”3 Gustav Dalman, one of the greatest experts on Palestine of all time, was right to remark in his Jerusalem book that Smith’s assertion in no way corresponded to reality.4 To speak only in terms of water supply, Jerusalem’s Gihon Spring is one of the most important sources for miles around. The recently discovered massive fortifications around this spring show how important it was to the city’s founders. Still further, Alt’s dismissal of the Bronze Age pre-Davidic Jerusalem of the Amarna period as “one of hundreds of . . . Palestinian citystates” is inconceivable from such a leading scholar.5 Alt must have been thinking of the long list of Thutmose III, which contains 350 entries, though a number of those are topographical descriptions, not city names. According to numerous scholars, there were only twentyfive to fifty city-states in the southern Levant in the pre-Israelite

3. See George Adam Smith, The Historical Geography of the Holy Land (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1894), 319. 4. Gustav Dalman, Jerusalem und sein Gelände (Gütersloh: C. Bertlesmann, 1930), 263–64. 5. Alt, “Jerusalems Aufstieg,” 251.

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period. Of these, the only two undisputed city-states in the Palestinian hills are Shechem and Jerusalem. Alt’s description of Jerusalem in the second half of the second millennium BCE as a completely desolate place functions to create a negative image which subsequently makes David’s elevation of Jerusalem as his capital “the greatest miracle in the history of the city.”6 But this is inaccurate. The great miracle staged by Alt corresponds to a romantic interpretation of history in which a brilliant individual plays the main role. In Alt’s retelling, it is not geographical factors or political constellations spanning centuries (the character of the city-state itself, for example), but only the genius of David that made Jerusalem what it is. Such a one-sided, romantic “personalization” of history fits today’s growing demand for “infotainment.” Alt’s thesis also accommodates a Protestant, particularly Lutheran, sola gratia principle, according to which nature is corrupt and good for nothing, and nothing good or great happens except through grace—which in this case is the election of Jerusalem by YHWH. Lastly, it flatters Israeli jingoism, as it completely neglects the pre-Davidic history of Jerusalem. It is no surprise, given these factors that this belief in the “miracle” of Jerusalem has lasted so long and persists to this day. Alt’s view meets many emotional, religious, and political needs, but does not fit the realities. If, to return to the difference between Smith and Dalman, one might object that some sort of Catholic “grace presupposes nature” principle is being used here against the Protestant Smith (and Alt), it needs only be said that Dalman was not a Catholic. Jerusalem’s Immediate Environs and Topography The following rather detailed section describes the situation of Jerusalem in relation to its immediate surroundings. This is of less importance for understanding the main aspects of the city’s history than for its setting in the broader region. In certain instances, however, even these local features played a significant role. Ancient Jerusalem lay at the southeastern end of a plateau that sloped to the southeast and was surrounded by ranges of hills on all sides (Fig. 4). The highest point of Bronze and Iron Age Jerusalem—the place where the Dome of the Rock now stands—was at 743 meters above sea level. This point was surrounded on all sides, apart from the southeast, by hills that stand relatively close to it and that tower 6. Ibid., 253.

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60–90 meters over it. The pilgrim song found in Psalm 125 alludes to this topography in a brief but fitting way: “As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people, from this time and forevermore” (v. 2).

Fig. 4. Jerusalem’s location in relation to the water divide between the Mediterranean and the Jordan Rift Valley, and to the mountain ranges that surround it: (1) = Givʿat Shapira (French Hill, Mount Scopus, Har Haṣopim), (2) = Romema, (3) = YMCA, (4) = Givat Ḥanina, (5) = meeting point of the Gehinnom, Kidron, and city valleys.

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Fig. 5. The topography of the ancient city area.

The plateau on whose southeastern end the old Jerusalem lay (Fig. 4) forms a rough trapezoid some 3.5 kilometers wide in the northwest, narrowing to 1 kilometer in the southeast. On its southwestern and northeastern edges it is separated from the hill ranges on the horizon by valleys that drop quite sharply (Fig. 5). On the western and southern edge lies the Hinnom valley; on the northern and eastern edge, the Kidron valley. The city ravine (formerly the Tyropoeon), which today 22

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has been almost completely filled in, runs between the two valleys. It divides the city into two parts, the eastern and the western hills. The two main valleys, the Hinnom and the Kidron, formed a type of moat reinforcing the fortification created by the hill ranges that surround the city like a wall. This was only on the eastern, western, and southern sides, however. To the north—or more precisely the northwest—there was no valley. So at all times there were fortifications, particularly on that side, to protect the city. The part of Jerusalem lying west of the city valley is divided into two, the northwestern hill and the southwestern hill (nowadays the Christian Zion) by a shallow transverse valley (see Fig. 5) that begins at the Jaffa gate and runs along King David Street. The earliest Jerusalem lay east of the city valley on the eastern hill, bordered to the north by the Antonia (almost 780 meters) and the Bezeta (762 meters) hills. At this point, the Hellenistic Baris castle and later the Roman Antonia fortress made easy access from the plateau impossible. The hill range continues with the northeastern hill, the Temple Mount (Zion) with the Dome of the Rock (Arabic Qubbet elSakhra), the Ophel, and the southeastern hill with the city of David. The ridge stretches to the bottom of the valley at about 625 meters above sea level. The oldest settled part of Jerusalem, as far as that can be determined, lay to the south of the Haram and the Ophel on the southeastern hill. At that point the ridge is some 220 meters wide and stretches around 630 meters to the southern peak. It formed an acute triangle of approximately 20,000 square meters. Added to that was around 4,500 square meters on the eastern slope. That yields a total surface area of some 2.5 hectares. This almost doubles to 4.5 hectares if the northern part of the eastern hill, the “Temple Square” is added in. No doubt due to its proximity to the Gihon Spring, the eastern slope had a special part to play. In the first thousand years of the city’s history it was permanently settled. The main reason for inhabiting this steep slope was precisely the Gihon Spring, which lies at the foot of the eastern slope of the city of David. The Gihon is the only spring within the boundaries of Jerusalem. It has its source in a cave that lies around 10 meters under today’s ground level and at 635 meters above sea level. No close hydrological inspection has ever been carried out. It appears, however, that the Gihon is a siphon-type karst spring since the water flow is intermittent not constant. Even the Hebrew name seems to suggest this, deriving from the verb gî(a)ḥ, which means “to burst forth, to gush.” The spring’s water

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volume has never been systematically studied over an extended period of time. It is commonly assumed that it yields 200–1,100 cubic meters per day, depending on the season and annual precipitation level. Measurements taken between 1978 and 1985 produced a minimum of 700 cubic meters in September 1979 and a maximum of 4,750 cubic in February 1983. Aside from its expected and more practical uses, the Gihon Spring also played a role in various royal rituals (see 1 Kgs 1:38; Ps 110:7) and in mythical traditions relating to the origins of the world (see Gen 2:13) and to the end-times (Ezek 47:1–12; Zech 14:8; Joel 4:18; Rev 22:1). Ernst Axel Knauf took the view that the earliest Jerusalem did not lie above the Gihon Spring in the area of the so-called City of David but on the highest point of the ridge, on the Temple Mount, the site of the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque.7 Knauf felt compelled to make this surprising suggestion by the discovery that whereas Late Bronze Age Jerusalem is well documented in the Amarna letters (see below) and King David’s Iron Age Jerusalem on the eastern hill is testified to in old biblical texts, hardly any archaeological finds from these periods have been recovered from the southeastern hill. This argument carries weight only for archaeologists like Israel Finkelstein, a vocal proponent of the “low chronology.” In view of the literary evidence it would be absurd to simply conclude that Jerusalem did not exist during these periods.8 Knauf takes as his starting point, as proponents of the low chronology do, that since few traces of settlements from this period have been found on the southeastern hill, Jerusalem cannot have been situated there at that time, although it would not have been located far away. The most obvious area, according to Knauf, is thus the northeastern hill—the Temple Mount—on which no excavations can be carried out. Knauf believes that Jerusalem did not spread northwards from the area covered by the later City of David,9 as is normally assumed on the basis of 1 Kings 6–8, but that it instead spread southwards from the Temple Mount to the ridge of the southeastern hill at times of particular prosperity, such as during the Middle Bronze Age IIB and Iron Age IIB. The constructions on the eastern slope would in 7. Ernest Axel Knauf, “Jerusalem in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages: A Proposal,” TA 27 (2000): 75–90. 8. Nadav Na’aman, “Does Archaeology Really Deserve the Status of a ‘High Court’ in Biblical Historical Research?“ in Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel Read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap, Lincoln, July 2009 (eds. Bob Becking and Lester L. Grabbe; OTS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 165–83. 9. Knauf, “Jerusalem.”

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that case mark the southeastern limits of the city and not its northern boundary. Knauf uses strategy to back up his theory. Securing the city at the north end towards the plateau was always a problem. According to Knauf, had the boundary of earliest Jerusalem run where it is now usually believed to have run (see Fig. 6.1), it could not have been defended, because north of the assumed site the ground level rises by some 40 meters over the short distance of 150 meters from the Ophel northern wall to the Al-Aqsa Mosque. From this position a group of one hundred good archers could have easily wiped out any defenders of the wall. The fact that pre-Hellenistic Palestinian cities were generally situated on hilltops supports this argument. All kinds of water reservoirs were used to provide water in case of a siege. Important Middle Bronze Age cities like Hazor and Megiddo had no direct access to springs. Finkelstein initially rejected Knauf’s theory, but more recently has tacitly accepted it.10 An argument against Knauf’s (and Finkelstein’s) theory is that excavations directly to the south and west of the Temple Square have not as yet yielded any traces of the Late Bronze or Early Iron Age. The great distance to the only source of water also proves problematic, and the excavations of Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron from 1995 to the present show that it was heavily fortified at the city’s founding in the Middle Bronze Age. But more importantly, it is simply not true that no traces of the Late Bronze Age to Iron Age IIA settlements have been found on the southeastern hill (see below). During its first thousand years, from around 1700 to 750 BCE, the city was limited to the southeastern hill and/or the northeastern hill, the Temple Mount (Fig. 6.2). It was not until the end of the eighth century, that is, almost thousand years after its founding that the city began to expand to the western hill (Fig. 6.3). In the Persian Period, the city was again reduced to the Temple Mount and the southeastern hill (Fig. 6.4). It was not until the Hasmonean period that the city clearly shifted towards the southwest (Fig. 6.5). In the Herodian era the city stretched towards the north (Fig. 6.6). In the first century CE, the city reached its greatest extent, with the settled area being greatly expanded to the north (Fig. 6.7). In the Byzantine era, in addition to the area that is now the Old City, enclosed by the sixteenth-century walls of Suleiman

10. Israel Finkelstein, “A Great United Monarchy? Archaeological and Historical Perspectives,” in One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (eds. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann; BZAW 405; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 1–28 (14n53).

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the Magnificent (1494–1566 CE), the city also included the entire area to the south (Fig. 6.8).

Figs. 6.1–8. These figures show the expansion and contraction of the city through the course of history in relation to the 16th century CE city walls: (1) Canaanite period (ca. 1700–950 BCE); (2) kingdom of Judah (ca. 950–700 BCE); (3) kingdom of Judah (ca. 700–587 BCE); (4) Persian period (ca. 480–330 BCE); (5) Hasmonean period (ca. 160–50 BCE); (6) the time of Herod the Great (37–4 BCE); (7) the early Roman period until 70 CE; and (8) Byzantine period (ca. 330–650 CE).

From the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries the city was effectively limited to the area inside the sixteenth-century Ottoman walls. At the end of the nineteenth century, however, it began to spread towards the north and west once more. This “new town” is now much larger and more important than the Old City within the Ottoman walls. Since 1967, the Israeli administration has ringed the city with a broad belt of sprawling and still-growing suburbs, systematically cutting the Arab Old City off from its hinterland.

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3

The Names of the City

Throughout the ages, Jerusalem has been known by a number of names that have reflected its history and fate. This chapter’s focus on the city’s names will thus present something of an outline of the city’s history. Names do not reflect the substance of a thing, as is often claimed, but nevertheless reflect experiences that are considered important by certain groups. A review of Jerusalem’s changing names is therefore effectively a short history of the city as seen through the mirror of the experiences that took place there. Even more surprising than the large number of successive names for the city is the equally important sense of continuity: the earliest name that is attested—Jerusalem—remains the one most often used to this day, at least in the Jewish and Christian worlds. Three types of names can be distinguished: (1) topographical, historical, and political names; (2) poetic and symbolic names that typically occur in only one text; and (3) descriptions used of Jerusalem (i.e., appellative names), whereby a generic term like “holy place” becomes a proper name. Topographical, Historical, and Political Names Jerusalem The etymology of the name Jerusalem is not entirely clear, though it 27

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is undisputed that it is composed of two elements: yĕrû- (anglicized as Jeru-) and -sālēm or, better, –šālēm. The second element is easier to interpret than the first. The root √š-l-m is attested early in Semitic and is widely distributed. Its best known derivative in both biblical and Modern Hebrew is the substantive šālôm, “satisfaction, completeness, wellbeing, peace, etc.” This noun form cannot be associated with the element šālēm in Jerusalem, however, as the oldest vocalized evidence for the name (in Akkadian and Greek) derives from šalim or šalem, not šalom. The well-loved popular interpretation of Jerusalem as the “city of peace,” therefore, is not etymologically or philologically justified. Even so, a number of biblical texts seem to suggest exactly such an understanding. Jeremiah and Ezekiel, for example, argued against prophets who seem to have unquestioningly affirmed peace (šālôm) for the city due to the name Jerusalem (see Jer 4:10–11; Ezek 13:16). Jeremiah 29:10–11 announces to the exiles that after seventy years God would bring them back to Jerusalem and so realize God’s concept of šālôm. In the same way, many Psalms (e.g., Pss 122:6–8; 147:12–14) and eschatological texts connect Jerusalem with šālôm (see, e.g., Isa 32:17–18; Hag 2:9). In the New Testament, Hebrews 7:2 interprets “king of Salem” as “king of peace.” The adjective šālēm, however, does not mean “wellbeing, peace,” like šālôm, but rather “whole, becoming or being complete.” The name of the ancient deity known as Shalem (or Shalim) is probably connected to this adjectival form. This name is used in conjunction with the divine name Shaḥar to designate the twin gods who manifest themselves in the red of morning and evening, at dawn and dusk (see further below). It is quite probable, therefore, that the second element in the name Jerusalem alludes to the god Shalem. Interpreting the first element of the city’s name, yĕrû-, is harder than interpreting the second because the earliest transmission of the name is less clear and consistent at this point. Hebrew yrw is most likely derived from “to found, lay (a foundation)” (see Gen 31:51; Job 38:6), and therefore means “establishment.” Jerusalem would then mean “the establishment of (the god) Shalem.” It is a construction like the proper name Yĕrûʾēl, “the establishment of (the god) El” (2 Chr 20:16), and possibly also the proper name Yĕrîmôth, “the establishment of (the god) Mot” (1 Chr 7:7; 12:5; 24:30; 25:4; 27:19; 2 Chr 11:18; 31:13). The first mention of the name Jerusalem is probably still correctly identified as 3wš3mm (Fig. 7), which is found in Egyptian execration texts that probably date to the time of Amenemhet III (1818–1772 BCE).

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In these texts the names of great individuals who were considered potentially dangerous by the pharaonic rulers were written on ceramic vessels or on terracotta figures of captives. These were then smashed in order to magically weaken the named individuals. The mention of Jerusalem at such an early period, however, is not without problems.

Fig. 7. The name 3wš3mm read as “Jerusalem” in the Egyptian execration texts (ca. 1820–1760 BCE) with the determinatives for “mountainous country” and “foreign land.” Top line: hieratic script as it appeared in the original texts; lower line: hieroglyphics (reading from left to right).

The next earliest mention of Jerusalem is found in the Amarna tablets (ca. 1360 BCE). These tablets are what remain of an archive of letters dating to the time of pharaohs, Amenophis III and IV (Akhenaten). In 1887 CE, a peasant woman in Amarna, Middle Egypt, discovered 397 cuneiform tablets, mainly letters from Canaanite chieftains to the pharaoh, which are now housed in museums in Berlin, London, and Cairo. Six or perhaps seven of these letters are from some named AbdiHeba, who is identified as the ruler of Jerusalem. These letters refer to “Jerusalem” twice, to the “land (of) Jerusalem” three times, to a “city of the land of Jerusalem” once, and once to the “lands (of) Jerusalem” (Fig. 8.1–3). The next evidence for the name of Jerusalem is found in the Bible, which mentions the pre-Israelite city (Josh 10:1, 3, 5; Judg 1:7, 21) and the city occupied by David (2 Sam 5:6; 8:7). These references are the “next” only with respect to the time period they purportedly relate to. There is actually considerable debate about which is the oldest biblical text to name Jerusalem. That text might be in 2 Samuel 15:8; 20:2–3; 1 Kings 2:36 (or another text from the “succession narrative”); or 1 Kings 14:21, 25 (notes from the royal records from the time of Rehoboam or a later king). 29

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

Fig. 8.1–3. Different ways in which the name Jerusalem is written in the Amarna letters (ca. 1360 BCE).

In non-biblical sources, Jerusalem does not appear again until the annals of the Assyrian king Sennacherib when it is mentioned in connection with the siege of 701 BCE. It occurs there, in Akkadian, as ursa-li-im-mu. Around the same time—certainly at some point in the first half of the seventh century BCE—there is written evidence for Jerusalem’s name attested in Palestine. A Hebrew graffito from Khirbet Beit Lei, 8 kilometers east of Lachish, mentions Jerusalem by name (Fig. 9).

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Fig. 9. The oldest (between 700 and 650 BCE) epigraphic evidence for the name Jerusalem in Palestine, from Khirbet Beit Lei. The inscription reads: “YHWH is the God of the whole earth (or: whole land); the mountains of Judah belong to the God of Jerusalem.” The two-line inscription reads from right to left. “Jerusalem” is the last word on the bottom left.

The city name is unevenly distributed throughout the various books of the Bible. On the one hand, it is not found in the Pentateuch except in the short form šālēm in Gen 14:18. On the other hand, it occurs frequently in 2 Samuel (30x) and 1–2 Kings (90x), and even more commonly in the parallel texts found in 1–2 Chronicles (151x). The frequent occurrence of the name in Ezra (48x) and Nehemiah (38x) is witness to the increasing importance of the city in the postexilic era, when Jerusalem was once again a type of city-state. Among the books of the prophets, Jeremiah has the highest number of references (102x) and Zechariah the greatest number relative to its length (39x). In Isaiah, references to Jerusalem (49x) compete with Zion (47x) in terms of frequency. In the book of Psalms, Zion (38x) is more common than Jerusalem (only 17x). The earliest evidence for the Greek version of the name Jerusalem dates from the end of the fourth century BCE. Clearchus of Soli in Cyprus (born 342 BCE) quotes Aristotle as having said of the Judeans that their (capital) city had a very peculiar name: Hierousalēmēn (Ἱερουσαλήμην). Apparently it sounded strange to Aristotle, though his version accurately brings the Hebrew original (particularly, šālēm) into the Greek with his use of –salēm. The Hebrew version, “Jerusalem (yĕrûšālēm),” is still recognizable behind this earliest Greek attestation—something that cannot be said for later attempts to completely adapt the name of Jerusalem to Greek tastes, which produced the form Hierosolyma (Ἱεροσολυμα). The first clear evidence of this form is found in two papyri from the Ptolemaic official Zenon that date back to 259 BCE. In those documents the element yĕrû-, which was strange to

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Greek ears, is replaced by the Greek word hieros: “holy.” Jerusalem was understood to be a city with a temple, and so its name was understood to have been constructed in the same fashion as the temple cities of Syria and Asia Minor that were called, among other things, Hierapolis, “holy city.” This replacement of yĕrû- is at any rate clearer and more understandable than the second transformation, where –solyma replaces –šālēm. Here, it is probable that –šālēm was adapted to the name of the famous mountain Solyma, situated in the southern range of the Taurus mountains. The Iliad even refers to a people called the Solymoi (IV, 184), whose name is clearly linked to Solyma mountain. Flavius Josephus applied the term “Solymite mountains” to the mountains of Judah, and so saw Judah and the Judeans honorably mentioned in the Odyssey (V 283) and in the Iliad (I, 184, 204). The short form of the name in Genesis 14:18, Shalem, likely alludes to Jerusalem without naming it since the Pentateuch avoids the name Jerusalem (see below). In any event, this chapter was likely written after the exile. The common form of the city’s name in post-biblical Judaism and today’s Israel is yĕrûšālayim, which contains an extra y—a form that found only five times in the Hebrew Bible (Jer 26:18; 1 Chr 3:5; 2 Chr 25:1; 32:9; Esth 2:6). How should this form be understood? Hebrew—ayim, of course, looks and sounds like the dual ending, as, for example, on the form ʾoznayim, “two ears.” At the end of the second and the beginning of the first century BCE, when this form of the name arose, Jerusalem did indeed consist of two sections completely surrounded by walls: the lower and the upper city. Much later, Bahya ben Asher (ca. 1320 CE) understood the name yĕrûšālayim as a dual form pointing—not to the physical realities of the city—but to two Jerusalems, the earthly and the heavenly. Zion: A City Quarter and a Religious-Spiritual Designation The etymology of “Zion” cannot be explained easily or definitively. The name probably derives from the root √ṣ-y-h, “withered, dried up.” If so, the meaning of the name would be “dry place” or something similar. There is nothing unusual about this designation, as Hebrew place names often describe particular features of the area being identified. So, for example, the place name Jabesh (yābēš) also means “dry place.” Unlike the name Jerusalem, there is no evidence for Zion in the Greco-Roman era outside the biblical writings. In the scriptures, Zion

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is mentioned far less frequently (154x) than Jerusalem (667x). Further, passages mentioning “Zion” are more limited than those mentioning “Jerusalem,” being restricted to certain books and types of text. Like “Jerusalem,” the name “Zion” is absent from the Pentateuch. The earliest reference to Zion is often thought to be found in 2 Samuel 5:7, which states that David captured the fortress of Zion. Otherwise Zion is extremely rare in the narrative literature. It is frequently found in hymns and prayers, however (Psalms: 37x; Lamentations: 15x)—indeed, one group of psalms are categorized as songs of Zion (šîr ṣiyyôn; see Ps 137:3). Zion occurs most commonly in the prophetic texts, but here, too, it is quite unevenly distributed. In Isaiah it is found 46x; in Jeremiah, by comparison, it is relatively infrequent (17x; compare Jerusalem at 102x). Ezekiel avoids it totally, probably because Ezekiel rejects the preexilic kingdom, and Zion is as closely connected to that era (see Ps 2:6) as it is to the temple. In sum, “Zion” occurs primarily in the poetic writings and in poetry used in hymns, lamentations, and some prophetic books, particularly Isaiah. The pattern of use demonstrates that Zion appears much more frequently than Jerusalem in contexts of praise and adoration. The majestic-sounding “Mount Zion” (har ṣiyyôn) is mentioned 18x and there is even a mention of the “mountains of Zion” (harĕrê ṣiyyôn; Ps 133:3). Zion is lovingly personified 24x as the “daughter of Zion” (bat ṣiyyôn). Second Kings 19:21 goes further, calling it the “virgin daughter of Zion” (bĕtûlat bat ṣiyyôn).

Fig. 10. Silver shekel (both sides) from the second year of the First Jewish war against Rome (66–70 CE) with a vine leaf and the inscription ḥrt ṣywn, “the freedom of Zion.”

The coins minted during the First Jewish War against Rome (66–70 CE) bear the legend “Jerusalem is holy” or “Jerusalem the holy (city)” in the first and second year. As the revolt escalated, “Jerusalem” was replaced

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by “Zion.” The coins from the second and third year of the uprising bear the inscription lḥrt ṣywn, “for the freedom of Zion” (Fig..10). At that time, the people still believed in liberation through armed conflict. In the fourth year of the revolt, when the rebels held only Jerusalem, all hope was placed in divine intervention, as suggested by inscriptions on the coins dating to that time: lgʾlt ṣywn, “for the redemption of Zion” (Fig. 11).

Fig. 11. Silver shekel from the fourth year of the revolt with the “cup of salvation” (Ps 116:13) and the inscription lgʾlt ṣywn, “for the redemption of Zion.”

Given these strong, emotional connotations of the name “Zion,” it is not totally surprising that Theodor Herzl’s secular, but also always highly emotional project for a Jewish state in Palestine was termed “Zionism.” The specific topographical relationship between “Zion” and “Jerusalem” is not obvious at first glance. Zion is often used alongside Jerusalem and therefore seems to be a synonym for it. In other places, however, Zion appears to stand for a district of the city, as when Zion is used in conjunction with a sanctuary (Ps 20:3). The question is whether the district “Zion” designated from the beginning the highest point of the northeastern hill, later the Temple Area, which was probably also an (open-air) sanctuary in the pre-Israelite period, or whether “Zion” initially referred to the fortification above the Gihon Spring. It is usually assumed that it was only with the relocation of the residence of King David or Solomon that the name “Zion” spread from the area above Gihon to today’s Temple Mount, where it has remained entrenched for a thousand years. Following the downfall of the Davidic monarchy, “Zion” came to stand increasingly in the postexilic period for “temple” and “the place of the name of the LORD of hosts” (Isa 18:7). “Zion” became, then, an expression of the spiritual and religious-polit-

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ical aspects of Jerusalem, particularly when it was associated with messianic understandings of the Davidic kingdom. At the same time, the sense that “Zion” referred to one district within the city was not lost entirely. This is, in fact, the only thing that can adequately explain the development that followed. In the first century CE, the City of David was no longer located on the southeastern hill but on the higher southwestern hill. This separation of the temple from King David’s palace and their different locations is surprising given that some biblical texts make a point of mentioning their close proximity (see, e.g., Ezek 43:8). Despite this, the name “Zion” remained firmly associated with the southwestern hill from the first century CE until researchers and archaeologists of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries rediscovered the significance of the southeastern hill. As recently as the middle of the nineteenth century (1841 and 1856), the well-known biblical scholar and geographer Edward Robinson placed Zion on the southwestern hill. It was not until the digs carried out by Charles Warren on the southeastern hill in 1867–1870, the discovery of the Siloam tunnel inscription in 1880, and the careful study of written sources that acceptance grew for the view that the biblical Zion had been situated in the northern area of the eastern hill. This is now widely accepted. The name “Zion” is thus no longer applied to the southwestern hill except in the form “Christian Zion.” As a geographical designation, “Zion” only applied to one district of the city of Jerusalem. So, when “Zion” is used as a synonym for Jerusalem, for Judah (Jer 14:19; Ps 78:68), or for Israel (Isa 46:13; Zeph 3:14-15; Ps 149:2), it a case of rhetorical substitution (synecdoche)—where one part stands for the whole—which functions to emphasize the religious character of the entire city: in the preexilic era, this character is largely royal ideology; in the postexilic period, it reflects the role of the temple as a religious-messianic center. The City of David: The Residence of the King on the Southeastern Hill “The City of David” (ʿîr dāwīd) is what David is said to have called the “stronghold of/at Zion” (mĕṣūdat ṣiyyôn) that he conquered (2 Sam 5:7, 9). This language appears to reflect an old tradition. The designation “the City of David” appears 44x in the Hebrew Bible. In 1–2 Kings and in Isaiah 22:9 it is used of the earliest, probably pre-Davidic bulwark high above the Gihon Spring, and was not transferred along with the temple 35

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to the new residence further north in the time of Solomon. Nehemiah 12:37 still situates the City of David in the vicinity of the spring gate, which is probably at Gihon. Jebus: A Clan and an Archaizing City-Name Jebus (yĕbûs) is the most obscure term used for Jerusalem in the Bible. The etymology seems to suggest that the name means “dry place.” According to this derivation, “Jebus” would have roughly the same meaning as “Zion” (see above). The term “Jebusite” (yĕbûsî) must originally have referred to an individual resident or the collective residents living in this locale. Whatever the precise origin and meaning of the terms Jebus and Jebusite, they are used in the Hebrew Bible to demarcate pre-Israelite Jerusalem and its residents from later Israelite Jerusalem, as is made clear in the deuteronomi(sti)c view of Israel’s past. Aelia Capitolina: Jerusalem as a Roman City The damage to the sanctity of Zion and the Holy City caused by the Roman occupation was probably the main reason for the First and then the Second Jewish Wars against Rome. When the Romans rebuilt the city after the revolt led by Bar Kokhba in 132–135 CE, they named it Colonia Aelia Capitolina—or Aelia for short—after Caesar Publius Aelius Hadrianus and the Roman state god, Jupiter Capitolinus. This remained the city’s official name in the following centuries and was also the common geographical designation even among Arab geographers. Poetic and Symbolic Names for Jerusalem As with many types of categorization, the distinction between topographical-political and poetic-symbolic names is not hard and fast. So, as already mentioned, “Zion” is in some cases more a poetic-hymnic designation than it is a political one. And yet the distinction is still a useful one to draw. Names used of Jerusalem that are more clearly or obviously poetic or symbolic are typically found in just one text. Space affords only brief mention of a few of many such names.

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Moriah: The Place Where Isaac Was Sacrificed Moriah is only mentioned twice in the Hebrew scriptures. The expression “land of Moriah” (ʾereṣ hammōriyyāh) is used in Genesis 22:2 to describe the district to which Abraham must journey to sacrifice his son. A second mention is found in 2 Chronicles 3:1. In accordance with ancient Near Eastern tradition, the earlier (and older) report in 1 Kings 5:15–9:25 says nothing about the place where the temple was built, but the postexilic book of Chronicles has Solomon build the temple at a place of utmost significance and describe the location exactly: “In Jerusalem, on Mount Moriah (bĕhar hammôriyyāh).” “Moriah” itself is not an old name for Jerusalem or the Temple of the Mount. It was only a later move that lifted the land of Moriah from an old story so as to identify it with the Temple Mount, marking it as the site, now so important in Judaism, where Isaac was offered as a sacrifice. The text of Genesis 22 itself makes no such suggestion or identification. Ariel: Jerusalem as the Altar Fire “Ariel” occurs five times in Isaiah 29. According to Hans Wildberger, the poetry of Isaiah 29:1–8 is an ambivalent prophetic pronouncement where it is not clear whether judgment or salvation is at the forefront.1 There is no question, however, that Ariel here stands for Jerusalem. That is clear from the first verses: “Ah, Ariel, Ariel, the city where David encamped!” Most probably the first syllable of the name comes from the verb √ʾwr “be light,” or the noun ʾôr, “light, brightness.” The interpretation of the entire name, which is constructed with ʾēl (“God”), as “light of God” or even “fire of God” could thus refer to the “altar fire” in Jerusalem, especially as the fire that burns on the altar is the most important element (see Lev 9:24). The threatening speech of Isaiah 29 would then address Jerusalem’s cultic-religious domain. Jerusalem is warned that it will become a place for such fire. Oholibah: Jerusalem as YHWH’s Tent Like Ariel, the name “Oholibah” is also limited to a single text: the allegorical chapter, Ezekiel 23, where the name appears six times. The text 1. See Hans Wildberger, Isaiah 28-39 (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 63–79, esp. 69.

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deals with two sisters: the elder named Oholah, the younger Oholibah. Already in verse 4, Oholah is explicitly identified with Samaria and Oholibah with Jerusalem. The obvious meaning of the name Oholibah (ʾohŏlîbāh) is: “My tent is within her.” The tent in question might refer to the “tent of YHWH” or the “tent of meeting.” Both were said to have been situated in Jerusalem (see 1 Kgs 2:28–30; 8:4). Conclusion Many other names with positive and negative connotations (up to 70 of them!) are found in rabbinic lists; many positive connotations are also contained in the Arabic literary genre known as Fadaʾil al-Quds (the virtues of the holy city). Descriptions Used of Jerusalem A third group of names is characterized by appellatives. These can be comprised of just one designation (e.g., “sanctuary”), a string of the same (e.g., “mountain of the holy place,” “city of God”), or an appellative linked with a proper name (“the mountain of YHWH”). To avoid what might otherwise appear ambiguous or non-descript, these names must depend on a high degree of familiarity with the specific referent. “The Place that YHWH Your God Will Choose” This phrase occurs in both short (e.g., Deut 12:14: “the place YHWH will choose in one of your tribes”) and long versions. The long version has two variant forms. The first is “the place that YHWH will choose to put his name there for his dwelling” (Deut 12:5). The second is “the place where YHWH will choose to put his name” (Deut 12:21). Both versions are typical of Deuteronomy and the biblical texts influenced by it. The phraseology does not stress the spiritualizing (i.e., hypostatic) presence of YHWH (or his name) as the bringing of the name in written form to a particular place, as expressed also in the Akkadian formulation šakkanu šuma. The “bringing” or “placing” of the name connotes ownership, sovereignty, and renown.2 Unlike Deuteronomy, 1–2 Kings identify the chosen city implicitly—for example, by mention of David or the temple—and explicitly 2. Cf. Sandra L. Richter, The Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology: lĕšakkēn šĕmô šām in the Bible (BZAW 318; Belin: De Gruyter, 2002), esp. 207–17.

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through the use of the name “Jerusalem” (see, e.g., 1 Kgs 11:13). The non-identification of the chosen city by means of a specific name encountered in Deuteronomy specifically, and in the Pentateuch more generally, has always been considered strange and is regularly debated. One explanation is that the name was not used in Deuteronomy in order to avoid anachronism as the speaker, Moses, would not have known of Jerusalem, especially by name. Another explanation is that the compilers of Deuteronomy were not sure whether Jerusalem would still be a holy place after its destruction in 587 BCE, and they attached more importance to the concentration of worship in one place—wherever that place may end up being—rather than focusing solely on Jerusalem proper. More plausible than the uncertainty over Jerusalem’s fate is the theory put forward by Yairah Amit, who sees the reason for the absence of the name Jerusalem as stemming, not from historiographical concerns over anachronism, but from the practice of vaticinia ex eventu, “predictions after the event.” In such “prophecies” after the events, future scenes, individuals, and occurrences are not as a rule explicitly named. They are instead discussed mysteriously in order to give them the impression of being events planned and prepared by God long before they took place. While Jerusalem is not explicitly named in the Pentateuch, it is clearly elevated through the enigmatic formulation of being a “chosen city,” particularly in Deuteronomy. It should also be noted that Deuteronomy knew that Mount Gerizim was a place of blessing (Deut 11:29; 27:12; see also Isa 8:33) long before David made Jerusalem his residence, and that Solomon’s worship on the heights of Gibeon was excused because at that time there was not yet a temple to YHWH in Jerusalem (1 Kgs 3:1–5). Historiographic considerations may therefore have played a role, in addition to those already mentioned in the open, non-specific formulation “the place that YHWH will choose.” Holy Mountain, Mountain of the Sanctuary, the Mountain of YHWH, Mountain of the House of YHWH The Hebrew designation har haqqōdeš can mean “the holy mountain” as well as “the mountain of the sanctuary”; har qodšî means both “my holy mountain” and “the mountain of my sanctuary.” All designations with the word “mountain” (har) refer to Mount Zion (har ṣiyyôn; see Pss 48:3; 74:2) as the temple mount and to Jerusalem only via synecdoche 39

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(a part standing for the whole). In Psalm 48:2, this mountain is compared with “Zaphon” (ṣāpôn, “north, northern mountain”), which was the holy mountain of Ugarit. Only a few of the verses in which God speaks of “my holy mountain” or “the mountain of my sanctuary” (Ps 2:6) and the supplicant speaks of “his [God’s] holy mountain” or “the mountain of his sanctuary” (Ps 3:5) can have been written before the exile. Most are postexilic. The phrase har ʾĕlōhîm, “the mountain of God,” can refer to various holy mountains, particularly Sinai (see, e.g., Exod 4:27), but never refers to Zion. YHWH was a god who moved from the periphery to the city center, but YHWH remained a god of the mountains and mountaintops (1 Kgs 20:23, 28). This characterization is maintained in the Psalms where the motif of “YHWH as refuge” is metaphorically described as YHWH being a “rock” or a “mountain fortress” or the like. In practice, people in Palestine frequently took shelter in caves and crevices (see Judg 6:2; 1 Sam 13:6), as the famous desert finds from Judah demonstrate. But, in the popular imagination, protection was to be found in the heights since YHWH was a god of the heavens and one was therefore closest to him on mountains and mountaintops. YHWH was not associated with the depths of the earth, as a kind of womb or place for the dead, although he was also not unable to see or reach these areas (see Psalm 139). It is only later, in Christianity, with its affinity to the mystery religions, that caves begin to play a positive role as sacred places. The City of YHWH, the City of God, the City of the Holy Place, the Holy City In the cities of the Mediterranean world, whose continuous history does not extend further back than the fourth millennium BCE (Uruk), a sacred place was normally located at the center. This did not change until the modern era. YHWH, who was intrinsically a mountain god from the periphery, was only at first rather hesitantly and only later quite firmly and indisputably linked to a city. In Psalm 101, which was likely written before the exile, Jerusalem is apparently referred to for the first time as the city of YHWH (v 8: ʿîr yhwh; cf. Isa 60:14). In another text probably also written before the exile—the Song of Zion known as Psalm 48, which is quoted in Lam 2:15—Jerusalem is called “city of our God.” In the Zion psalms that date mainly from the postexilic period, we find the term “city of God” (Pss 46:5; 87:3). While the city may belong to God, this does not mean that God belongs to the city as other 40

THE NAMES OF THE CITY

ancient Near Eastern deities belong to their cities. It is only in a piece of graffiti from Khibet Beit Lei (see Fig. 9 above) and in 2 Chronicles 32:19 that YHWH is identified as “the God of Jerusalem.” In the latter text, one reads that Sennacherib’s emissaries spoke of the “God of Jerusalem as though he were the work of human hands, like the gods of the other peoples of the earth” (CEB). In the enthusiastic speeches of Second Isaiah, which were uttered far from the actual city which was destroyed along with its sanctuary in 587/586 BCE, Jerusalem is for the first time referred to as ʿîr haqqōdeš, “the city of the holy place,” “the city of holiness,” or “the holy city” (Isa 48:2; 52:1). The Greek translation of the Old Testament, known as the Septuagint (LXX), renders this expression as hē polis hē hagia, “the holy city.” The notion of “holiness” or “holy place” subsequently entered into names for Jerusalem, particularly in Arabic. In the first era of Islam, the full name of Jerusalem was Iliyāʾ madīnat bayt al-maqdis, “Aelia, the city of the sanctuary.” The phrase bayt al-maqdis derives from the Aramaic bêt maqdĕšāʾ, “sanctuary.” In everyday usage the full name was shortened to Iliyāʾ or bayt al-maqdis. The latter was replaced by the Arabic al-ḥarām, “holy district”. It was only in the tenth century CE that the preferred name in Arabic and Islam emerged: al-Quds. It derives from the Aramaic qudšāʾ or the Hebrew qōdeš and refers not to “holiness,” but rather signifies “sanctuary.” So, whether Jerusalem was referred to as a holy mountain or a holy city, in both cases the holiness derived from the sanctuary that stood there.

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PART II

The History of Jerusalem

4

A Strong Canaanite City of the Middle Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1700–1500 BCE)

The history of Jerusalem as a city did not begin with David at approximately 1000 BCE, as the “Jerusalem 3000’’ celebrations staged by the Israeli city authorities in 1995–1996 would have us believe. Instead, the city’s history began at the latest in the Middle Bronze Age IIB period—around 1700 BCE, or some 3,700 years ago. At this point, under strong influence from northern Syria, an intense period of urbanization began in Palestine after centuries of existence without urban centers. Egyptian influence soon combined with that from northern Syria, leading to the founding of a string of cities, which like Hebron and Shechem/Nablus have since been permanently settled. These cities include Jerusalem.The remains of impressive fortifications from this period have been preserved and recovered through major, stratigraphically-secure excavations carried out first by Kathleen Kenyon (1961–1967), then by Yigal Shiloh (1978–1985), and most recently by Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron (since 1995). Completely unexpectedly, the latest excavation unearthed the remains of a huge fortress compound at the Gihon Spring. Just two years before, in 1993, G. J. Wightman had claimed in a book about the walls of Jerusalem that the Gihon Spring had never been fortified.1 Now it is apparent that when the city

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was first built, a fortress wall had safeguarded access to the water (Fig. 12). The stone blocks used to construct this wall were so big that, to our knowledge, their size was not surpassed for another 1,700 years—not until the building of the Herodian Temple with its gigantic ashlars.

Fig. 12. The water systems in the Middle Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1700–1500 BCE) and in the Iron Age IIB (ca. 840–700 BCE). Above: ground plan; below: cross section. Warren’s Tunnel: (1) Middle Bronze Age tunnel entrance to the Gihon Spring; (1a) and (2) = tunnel attempt or false corridor; (3) = nearly horizontal tunnel through limestone; 1. G. J. Wightman, The Walls of Jerusalem: From the Canaanites to the Mamluks (Mediterranean Archaeology Supplement 4; Sydney: Meditarch, 1993), 20.

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(4) = Iron Age attempt at lowering the level; (5) = the karst shaft = Warren’s shaft discovered during this attempt; (6) Middle Bronze Age tunnel exit in a former dugout; (7) = tunnel attempt or false corridor; (8) = exit from the Middle Bronze Age tunnel above the reservoir D; (b) = tunnel miners’ assembly point. Fortifications and water installations: (A) = spring tower above the Gihon Spring; (B) = pool tower (B1 = possible southern pool tower), (C) = part of an eastern end wall; (D) = large reservoir; (E) = Middle Bronze Age city wall (= Kenyon: NB); (F) = Iron Age city wall; (a) = Middle Bronze Age Gihon canal; (b) = tunnel to the reservoir; (c) = irrigation channel; (h) = karst blind shaft.

At this early point, the city would have had a population of around 1,800 people. This was not particularly large, but in an area where the average settlement was one-tenth the size, a well-run city was a significant power. A city ruler ensured its smooth organization (Fig. 13.1–6). A number of these rulers are mentioned by name in the Egyptian execration texts. During this period, Jerusalem was part of the impressive Canaanite civilization of Palestine. The very beautiful, fine ceramics and superior bronze weapons of the period attest to high standards of craftsmanship. There are even indications of written language. For the first time in their history, and thanks to their advanced culture, regional powers were even able to play a part in controlling large parts of Egypt from 1650–1550 BCE. In recent years it has become increasingly clear that the celebrated “rulers of foreign lands’’ or Hyksos, who made inroads into Egypt, were not from just anywhere in the far north nor from Byblos on the Lebanese coast, but from Canaan-Palestine itself.2 A great admiration for Egyptian culture (see the Egyptian elements on Fig. 13.1–6) was a factor in this movement, which was not motivated by hostility—at least at first. This admiration of Egypt is reflected in numerous—for the most part locally made—seal amulets, the so-called Hyksos Scarabs. These have also been found in Jerusalem and are frequently recovered from current excavations. (Fig. 14.1–5). These seal amulets indicate that the dominance of the sky- and sun god—typical for Egypt—was also a feature of Jerusalem at this time. The very shape of the scarab itself is a symbol of the morning sun (khepri). It represents the sun’s regenerating, life-giving force. Additional sun motifs are engraved on the underside of the beetle: the scarab often appears again, the winged sun disc, two udjat—the eyes of the sky god—twin 2. Daphna Ben-Tor, Scarabs, Chronology, and Interconnections: Egypt and Palestine in the Second Intermediate Period (OBO.SA 27; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007).

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Horus falcons and good luck charms like the ankh, which perdures to this day as a popular symbol for life. Jerusalem must have been fertile ground for the Egyptian symbol system, influenced by the sun cult. Indeed, the name of the city “(The City) Established by (the god) Shalem” (see chapter 3 and further below) refers to an element of the sun cult that was seems to have been associated with the city from the beginning: šālēm means “sunset” or “dusk.” Middle Bronze Age Jerusalem also shared in the Canaanite cult of the weather god and the branch goddess, as other seal amulets demonstrate (Fig. 15.1–2).

Fig. 13.1–6. Canaanite city kings from the Middle Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1700–1550 BCE) on scarabs from Palestine. They are wearing attire adopted from northern Syria (cf. Fig. 16) that consists of a high headdress (only 13.1) and a robe that leaves one shoulder free, which is embellished with broad hems. The kings are surrounded by Egyptian hieroglyphs as symbols of protection and good fortune; the one on 13.5 sits on his throne, and in 13.6 the king is standing with a servant/worshipper on a pedestal.

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Fig. 14:1–5. Typical, locally-produced scarabs from Jerusalem (except 14.4 which may be an Egyptian import) and its immediate vicinity (ca. 1700–1500 BCE) with a number of Egyptian sun symbols such as: the scarab beetle (14.2), the winged sun disc (14.1, 3, and 4), the two udjat eyes (14.1, 3) and two falcons (14.4–5).

The relationship between the weather god and the goddess is well illustrated on an ancient Syrian cylinder seal (Fig. 16). Haematite seals of this type and with a similar iconography have also been found in ancient Israel/Palestine. That the fall meeting of the two deities was seen as crucial for the fertility of the land is evidenced by the presence of the city ruler (cf. Fig. 13.1–6) on the far left and of the worshippers on the far right of the Syrian cylinder seal. Approximately one thousand years later, the prophet Hosea denounced the erotic aspects of this kind of meeting and the rites accompanying it, describing it as “harlotry.” In a region whose economy was based on agriculture, however, which depends heavily on rainfall, the cult of the weather god could not be ignored. Texts such as Hosea 2 and Psalms 29 and 65 transfer the weather god’s role to YHWH. It should be recalled that the most 49

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important feasts mentioned in the Hebrew Bible are harvest thanksgiving festivals, especially the major fall festival—the Feast of Tabernacles—but also Easter, the Feast of Unleavened Bread, and Pentecost, the Feast of Weeks (Shavuot). These were originally feasts that structured the agricultural year and their roots trace back to the early days of Jerusalem.

Fig. 15.1–2. (1) Oval piece from the “Jebusite Burial Place” at Dominus Flevit on the Mount of Olives depicting the triumphant weather god; (2) scarab with a naked goddess and branch from a late Iron Age grave on the Mamilla road in Jerusalem (both from ca. 1650–1550 BCE).

Fig. 16. A northern Syrian cylinder seal from around 1750 BCE, which shows the weather god striding across the mountains; the goddess of vegetation offers herself to him by pushing her dress to one side. The dove that flies from her to him signals her willingness. To the left the city prince assists in the divine wedding, and to the right worshippers celebrate.

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5

A City under Egyptian Sovereignty (LBA, ca. 1500–1070 BCE)

Around 1550 BCE, the founders of the eighteenth Dynasty of Egypt began to drive the Canaanite princes, the Hyksos, out of Upper Egypt. Once that had been achieved, the eighteenth Dynasty pharaohs began the successive conquest of Palestine. This conquest was sealed by the victory of Thutmosis III over a coalition of Canaanite rulers at Megiddo in 1457 BCE. Archaeologists refer to this period of Egyptian rule as the Late Bronze Age. In Jerusalem, the transition from the Middle Bronze to the Late Bronze Age period seems to have been relatively smooth, as shown by the continuing occupancy of the large tomb at Dominus Flevit on the Mount of Olives. Further, hundreds of scarabs bearing the throne names of the 18th Dynasty pharaohs, along with their Egyptian sun god-king theology, have been found in ancient Israel/Palestine. They also turn up in Jerusalem and the surrounding area (Fig. 17.1–6). In Jerusalem itself there are few archaeological traces of the Late Bronze Age (see chapter 2 above). Ceramic finds in graves indicate dealings with far-away places, including Cyprus and the Mycenean area. The six or seven cuneiform letters of the Jerusalem ruler AbdiHeba, found in Egyptian Amarna (see chapter 3), however, show that by circa 1360 BCE, Jerusalem was a city-kingdom with a court, an adminis-

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tration with a scribe, and military units. These letters found by chance in Egypt must be seen as representing a tiny fraction of the whole. The scribe who wrote these letters would probably have written hundreds upon hundreds of documents during his lifetime, all of which are now tragically lost. Nothing has yet come to light from the scribe’s dwelling or that of the city’s ruler. Neither has anything, including weapons, been found from the soldiers’ residences. Much is thus unknown. Still further, it may be safely assumed that Abdi-Heba was neither the first nor the last ruler of Jerusalem, even if, as it happens, no letters remain from any of his predecessors or successors. Indeed, given the dearth of evidence, it has sometimes been questioned whether these letters actually come from Jerusalem, since there is so little archaeological evidence dating to this period. It has been postulated that the letter may have come from another location, also called by the name Jerusalem, which would have been in the vicinity of Tyre, though there is still less evidence for this possibility. Indeed, a recently conducted mineralogical study, among other things, contradicts such a thesis, since it establishes that the clay used for at least six of the seven letters was typical of that found in Jerusalem and its surroundings, proving the letters come from there. Still further, a supplementary excavation in winter 2009/2010 on the Ophel ridge in Jerusalem (see Fig. 5 in chapter 2) uncovered a 2.8 x 2 cm piece of cuneiform tablet of the same type as the Amarna letters (Fig. 18). It seems important, then, to accept the fact that the lack (until now) of archaeological remains in a city that was so often destroyed and plundered does not mean that Jerusalem was not settled at this point.1 Jerusalem of the Amarna period would have controlled a territory of roughly 1,600 square kilometers (the average size of a Swiss canton). It stretched to Keilah in the southwest and as far as Ayalon in the northwest (Fig. 19). Like the Canaanite city rulers of the time, the ruler of Jerusalem would have been appointed, or at least confirmed in his role, by the pharaoh. As the pharaoh’s vassal he was expected to contribute to maintaining the Egyptian king’s supremacy. At times, he would have had to supply rations to the pharaoh’s troops. He was also expected to send the pharaoh regular presents, which amounted to a form of tax. He was in constant contact with the Egyptian overlords. 1. See Nadav Na’aman, “Does Archaeology Really Deserve the Status of a ‘High Court’ in Biblical Historical Research?” in Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel Read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap, Lincoln, July 2009 (eds. Bob Becking and Lester L. Grabbe; OTS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 167-69.

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Abdi-Heba of Jerusalem complained to the pharaoh, as did other city rulers, that nomadic elements known as the Hapiru were threatening the pharaoh’s authority in the area; that some of the other city rulers were making common cause with them; and that he, Abdi-Heba, was the only one genuinely representing the interests of the pharaoh.

Fig. 17.1–6. Two contemporary scarabs with the throne name of Thutmosis III (1479–1426 BC), one from the “Jebusite Burial Place” on the Mount of Olives, the other from Gibeon northwest of Jerusalem are depicted in 17.1–2. On the first, he bears the epithet “ruler of Thebes”; on the other, “perfect god, lord of the two lands” (17.2) with the sphinx exemplifying the ruler’s lion-like strength. 17.3 shows the first scarab of Amenophis III (1390–1353 BCE) found in the “City of David”; he bears the epithet “who (is) in Thebes.” 17.4–6 also shows contemporary scarabs of this pharaoh from Manahat (near Jerusalem), Ekron, and Lachish. On 17.4, from Manahat, the name is surrounded by four uraei and four sun discs. On 17.5, from Ekron, the pharaoh bears the epithet “perfect god, lord of the two lands” (right) and “he who rises (like the sun) in every foreign land” (left). On 17.6, from Lachish, the epithet “image of the sun” stands next to the name.

In addition to the close connections to Egypt, ties to northern Syria and southeast Anatolia can also be established: examples include the dialect used by the scribe of the Jerusalem Amarna tablets and the figure of the goddess Heba—the name of the city ruler, Abdi-Heba, means 53

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

“servant of Heba.” The Amarna letters also confirm that the area was a bridge between different cultures by dint of the fact that the letters contain elements not only of Egyptian but also of Hittite royal ideology.

Fig. 18. Fragment of a clay tablet with cuneiform characters (from around 1350 BCE) and of the same type as the Amarna letters that was found on the Ophel, just south of the City of David.

Like all Bronze Age Canaanite cities, Jerusalem must have had at least one sacred site. The name Jerusalem, “the establishment of (the god) Shalem,” suggests that the city contained a sanctuary for the worship of a sun deity. Names such as Beth-Shemesh, “house/temple of the sun (god)” and En-Shemesh, “spring of the sun (god),” point to Canaanite sun cults in the area of Jerusalem. The autochthonous sun cult was likely a convergence of the Egyptian and Hittite sun cults. Shaḥar, “dawn,” who forms a pair with Shalem, “dusk” (cf. Jeru-Shalem), is mentioned in the archaic form of Psalm 110:3. A fourteenth-thirteenth century BCE text from the northern Syrian coastal city of Ugarit dramatically depicts the conception and birth of the twin deities, Shaḥar and Shalem (KTU3 1.23). The womb (reḥem) that carries them belongs to the goddess Athiratu (Asherah), who appears 500 years later as the main female goddess in Jerusalem und Judah (see below). The goddess Heba, who is present in the name of Jerusalem’s ruler, Abdi-Heba, is herself a Hurrian-Hittite goddess of the same type as Athiratu/ Asherah. Her name lives on in the biblical Ḥava (Eve), who in Genesis 3:20 is called not only “mother of all people,” but “mother of all living 54

A CITY UNDER EGYPTIAN SOVEREIGNTY

creatures,” a title, which even for the first female is a touch exaggerated. It is more suited to a goddess than to a human ancestress. In this light, a type of terracotta figurine documented several times west of Jerusalem, and dating from the fourteenth–thirteenth century BCE, might well be a representation of Athiratu/Asherah or Heba as the mother of all living things (Fig. 20).

Fig. 19. The approximate territory that the Amarna age city-state of Jerusalem is thought to have controlled; it is unclear whether this territory included Hebron or not.

In addition to the worship of a sun god and a mother goddess, the cult of the weather god seems to have persisted during this time. Under Egyptian influence and after the many battles in this and the following period, however, the weather and fertility god probably transformed into a war and storm god. The Egyptians identified the Canaanite weather and fertility god Baal with their god Seth, a rather strange figure. The resulting god, Baal-Seth, was known in Jerusalem in the eleventh–tenth centuries BCE, as the latest finds and other recent discoveries make clear (see Figs. 26–27 in chapter 7 below).

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So it is that Jerusalem, thanks to its geographical situation, was involved in both of the cults frequently mentioned in the treaty documents made between the Egyptian pharaoh Ramses II and the Hittite king Hattusili III concluded in 1268 BCE. The cult of the Near Eastern weather god and that of the Egyptian sun god were, after all, the main cults of the region at this time. It is no surprise, then, that these documents consistently refer to the guarantors of the peace treaty as the Egyptian sun god, along with the thousand deities of Egypt, and the Hittite weather god, along with the thousand gods of Hatti. Both cults had the tendency in their respective territories to magnify their god not only as the highest, but even as the only deity.

Fig. 20. A terracotta figure produced from a model (from around 1300 BCE) of which fragmentary evidence was found in Aphek, Revadim and at Tel Harasim (in the Shephelah west of Jerusalem). It appears to show a goddess breastfeeding two children. The wide open pudenda and the trees with flanking caprids emphasize her fertility and childbearing ability.

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6

Jerusalem and the Israelite Tribes (IA I, ca. 1150–980 BCE)

The arrival of the maritime peoples, including the Philistines, from the north and west sped up the end of Egyptian supremacy and the Late Bronze Age city culture from 1250 until 1150 BCE. But, largely due to its distance from the most disputed region, Jerusalem appears to have come through this era largely unscathed. The impressive “stepped structure” on the eastern slope of the southeastern hill above the Gihon Spring probably dates back to the end of the Late Bronze Age or to early Iron Age I (1150–980 BCE). This structure consists of parallel, relatively low walls running west to east, over which a broad stone ramp now 27 meters high and around 40 meters broad was built, covering around 1000 square meters (Fig. 21). The structure probably served to secure the side of the hill and prevent a large building at its upper end from sliding downward. Eilat Mazar claims that the “large stone structure” she unearthed between 2005 and 2007 is this building.1 The connection between the “parallel, relatively low walls running west to east,” the “stepped structure,” and the “large stone structure” at its top end is, however, disputed. Furthermore, these structures have 1. Eilat Mazar, Preliminary Report on the City of David Excavations 2005 at the Visitors Center Area (Jerusalem: Shalem Press, 2007).

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completely different datings. New interpretations are constantly being made, and in 2010, two proponents of the opposing positions restated their cases. On one side, Amihai Mazar sees the “stepped structure” and the “large stone structure” as belonging to a building project dating from the eleventh or early tenth century BCE that might be the “fortress of Zion,” which was captured by David (see further below).2 On the other side, Israel Finkelstein does not think the two constructions as belonging together, and dates of the “stepped structure” to the late ninth or even the eighth century BCE and the “large stone structure” even later, both to a time long after David. Apparently, the archaeological facts are not so clear as to produce a simple answer. From whichever period the constructions date, the biblical sources suggest that Jerusalem in the eleventh and at the start of the tenth century BCE was not an insignificant settlement.3

Fig. 21. Reconstruction, looking west, of the retaining wall system and the stepped structure which it supported: (1) = substructures (13th/12th or 12th/11th centuries BCE); (2) = stepped structure (12th/11th or 11th/10th centuries BCE); (3) = houses from Iron Age II (10th–7/6th centuries BCE); (4) = Hellenistic-Hasmonean to early Roman remains. 2. Amihai. Mazar, “Archaeology and the Biblical Narrative: The Case of the United Monarchy,” in One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (eds. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann; BZAW 405; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 29–58. 3. Cf. Avraham Faust, “The Large Stone Structure in the City of David,” ZDPV 126 (2010): 116–30.

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JERUSALEM AND THE ISRAELITE TRIBES

It appears that, apart from occasional clashes, Jerusalem enjoyed harmonious relations with the tiny settlements that sprang up mainly to its north but to a lesser extent also to the south during Iron Age I. Judges 1:21 says these were primarily Benjaminite settlements—a statement that is backed up by the archaeological evidence. The Benjaminites’ concord with Jerusalem could be one of the reasons why their relationship with Jerusalem appears not to have been problematic during the rule of the Benjaminite Saul. It is not historically accurate to assume, then, that (for example) “the Canaanite city state of Jerusalem” blocked the trade route between the Benjaminites and the Judeans. Neither could the city enforce its rule on the newly emerged settlements nor could the settlements of the tribe of Benjamin conquer it. Accounts such as the one in Judges 1:1–9 that indicate Jerusalem was conquered by Judah and struck with the sword reflect later conditions created by David. These accounts attempt to make the increasingly improbable early history more plausible by adapting earlier conditions to later developments, namely the dominance of Judah. Evidence of a clash between Benjaminite clans and Jerusalem can possibly be found in Joshua 10:1–15, however. In verse 12 there is a quotation from the “Book of Jashar,” a collection of old sayings and songs, which crops up again the Bible later (2 Sam 1:18). The leader of the army of the tribes of Israel is said to have made this incantation: Sun (god), stand still over Gibeon, and you, moon (god), over the Valley of Ayalon.

What was originally meant by the verse was probably not a coming to rest, as it has been wrongly taken to mean from early times, but an injunction to stay out of the battle. The battle was being led for the Israelites by the storm and warrior-god YHWH. The verse thus implies that the sun god, or astral deities, was generally on the side of Adonizedek, the city king of Jerusalem. The conflict between King Adonizedek of Jerusalem and the Benjaminite villagers is reminiscent of Amarna-period conflicts between Abdi-Heba and Hapiru groups over the major route from the coast to Jerusalem known as the “Ascent of Beth Horon.” This type of conflict is also illustrated by a well-known ivory engraving from Megiddo (Fig. 22), which shows the victorious city ruler in his chariot on the right hand side. Before him walk two captives, Shasu nomads, recognizable by their distinctive headdresses. Above the horses stands the winged sun disc, under whose protection

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the city ruler has won victory. On the left of the ivory, the city ruler, seated on his cherubim throne, is celebrated as victor.

Fig. 22. An ivory carving from Megiddo shows on the right the victorious prince in his war chariot below the winged sun. Behind him, a servant bears the curved sword—the sword of victory. Two chained Shasu nomads walk in front of the horse. On the left, the prince sits on the cherubim throne and is celebrated by his court (ca. 1250–1150 BCE).

The significance of Jerusalem’s position in the central Palestinian hill country at the end of Iron Age I and the beginning of Iron Age IIA is best supported by the fact that David, after conquering Judah, makes it his residence. To stabilize the newly-won stronghold, he needed a functioning administrative centre. The power of Jerusalem and its inhabitants is also demonstrated by the fact that in the tough battle over David’s succession, the Jerusalem side prevailed with their leading candidate Solomon, whereas the Judeans were overruled, despite the fact that their candidate Adonijah was David’s first born. These points lead directly to the subject matter of chapters 7–8. Those chapters, coupled with chapters 4–6, show that the history of Jerusalem did not begin with David and Solomon but rather that, enriched by new elements, that history is a long development of a Canaanite-Judaic city.

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7

Jerusalem becomes the Residence of David . . . and YHWH (ca. 980 BCE)

It is clear from its archaeology that Jerusalem was inhabited in the tenth century BCE. The significant remains of buildings discussed in the previous section are believed by many specialists to date back to this time and some interesting (smaller) discoveries can be dated back with certainty to this period. These include the fragment of an incense or sacrificial stand (Fig. 23) of a type normally dated to the tenth century. It originates from the Shiloh excavations in the City of David and has been interpreted in different ways. What is clear, regardless, is that the figure’s hairstyle is characteristic of Shasu nomads. The Shasu nomads originally occupied northwestern Arabia and southwestern Jordan where the YHWH cult is thought to have originated.1 The Shashu seem to have been the original practitioners of YHWH worship and are probably related to or even identical with the people known in the Bible as the Midianites and/or Kenites. In fact, the cult of YHWH 1. See Thomas E. Levy, “Ethnic Identity in Biblical Edom, Israel, and Midian: Some Insights from Mortuary Contexts in the Lowlands of Edom,” in Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (ed. J. David Schloen; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 251–61; Martin Leuenberger, “Jhwhs Herkunft aus dem Süden: Archäologische Befunde—biblische Überlieferungen—historische Korrelationen,” ZAW 122 (2010): 1–19.

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is thought to have existed in two different forms in the Palestine of David’s time, each arriving by different routes. The earlier form is believed to have come from the south, with the Kenites, across the valley between the Red and the Dead Seas, before reaching the Negev and Judah (see Gen 4:26; Judg 1:16). A later form was brought from the same area by the Midianites over Transjordan from the east to central Palestine. In this latter version, however, YHWH faith was linked with Moses and the exodus from Egypt (see Exod 2:16–21; 18:1–27). Following the death of Solomon, the exodus tradition would play a significant role in the secession of the northern territories from the zone of influence of David and Solomon.

Fig. 23. Fragment of a cultic stand from the stepped structure (cf. Fig. 21.2) showing a man with a Shasu hairstyle (10th century BC).

Literary sources that speak from this time period, particularly the time of David, include accounts which essentially date from around the time period in question. This is probably the case for the so-called Succession Narrative contained in 1 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2, or at least some parts of it. In their literary form (including much direct speech) and their realism, and also given their candor which includes numerous mentions of negative occurrences, these accounts are not

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unlike the Egyptian Story of Wenamun from the tenth century BCE. The authenticity of the setting and the realism in both tales make it hard to know in whose interests they were actually written. Whatever the case, some of the events mentioned in the texts about David are so scurrilous that they could not have been invented after he became the founder of a dynasty and a famous, even canonical, figure. These accounts include, for example, one which tells of David as the leader of a group of mercenaries in the service of the hated Philistines. The legendary victory over the Philistine Goliath was originally ascribed to one otherwise unknown Elhanan from Bethlehem (see 2 Sam 21:19) and only later attributed to David (1 Samuel 17) to “correct” his Philistine leanings. Just as embarrassing in a later time was the fact that the great dynasty-founder David did not construct a temple to the dynastic deity, YHWH, in his residence of Jerusalem. To correct this second oversight, the fourth-century BCE book of Chronicles has King David personally plan the temple construction and compose psalms even if the final work remained for Solomon. Given these rather awkward facts from his biography, there can be no reasonable doubt as to the existence of David. The existence of a dynasty, the “House of David,” is testified to in a non-biblical reference on an Aramaic victory column from Dan, which dates to the second half of the 9th century BCE (Fig. 24).

Fig. 24. Fragments of an Aramaic stela from Dan (9th century BCE). It mentions the bytdwd, “House of David,” in line 9 (letters 2-7 from the right).

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As stated in chapter 2, ever since Albrecht Alt’s famous essay on the rise of Jerusalem, it has been normal practice to pay little, if any, attention to pre-Davidic Jerusalem. In point of fact, however, largely due to its geographical inaccessibility, Jerusalem must have continued on as a city-state, with all that that entailed, until the beginning of the tenth century. Compared with the tiny settlements surrounding it, Jerusalem remained important. It was not under the sphere of influence of Saul, the first king of Israel. Saul came from central Palestine and was a publicly acclaimed war leader before becoming king. David, on the other hand, started off as an outsider and the leader of a warring gang (1 Sam 22:1–2). As a warlord, he was surrounded by people who were bound and loyal to him only. Along with his band, he first tried serving southern Palestinian clans by breeding sheep and goats on the edge of the desert. When that failed, he hired himself out as a mercenary to Israel’s archenemy, the Philistines. By the time of Saul’s death, David had staged a coup with the clear intention of taking control of the territory of Judah, and was living in Hebron. Following the murder of Saul’s son Esh-Baal he employed similarly cunning and unscrupulous tactics to take control of the central and perhaps also the northern Palestinian tribes, and so became Saul’s successor. How David—in contrast to Saul—came to possess Jerusalem, remains unclear. The brief mention in 2 Samuel 5:6–8 is not easily understood, appears garbled, and has been interpreted in very different ways. What is clear, regardless, is that David spared the long-established residents of Jerusalem. There appear to be two primary reasons why David chose to live in Jerusalem. First, he wanted to stop the Philistines who apparently planned to drive a wedge between the southern and central Palestinian tribes over whom David ruled. The Philistines, who belonged to the so-called maritime or Sea Peoples, had arrived in the twelfth century from the west and north and had attempted to force their way into Egypt, at that time a dream destination for all “less developed” groups. After being driven back by Ramesses III (1187–1156 BCE), the Philistines settled in the southern coastal plain—particularly the cities of Gaza, Ashkelon, Ashdod, Gath, and Ekron. From there they attempted to gain control of the hill country to the east, an attempt which David managed to prevent. The second reason for David’s occupation of Jerusalem was probably due to the fact that Hebron—from where David had previously ruled over Judah—did not have the right infrastructure for him to effectively manage his new sphere of influence. In any case, as the subsequent

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history shows, David not only spared the established administration in Jerusalem but integrated this into his new administration. In addition to his old cohorts such as the army commander Joab and the high priest Abiathar, who had remained loyal to David since his time as a mercenary, Benaiah the head of the palace guard and the priest Zadok make an appearance in Jerusalem. The fact that the most important military and priestly offices were held by two people each was to develop into a major problem upon David’s death. The most important traditions which David brought to Jerusalem were the anointing of the king and the worship of YHWH. The practice of anointing the king led to the title, “the anointed”: mašî(a)ḥ in Hebrew and mĕšîḥāʾ in Aramaic, Hellenized as Messias and translated in Greek as Christos. This originally described every king anointed by YHWH but was later also applied to high priests, or to the two “anointed ones”—the king and the high priest—which gave rise to the notion of two messiahs. Of historical significance is the expectation that arose later that the anointed one would with his arrival herald a time of healing and would redeem the world from evil. The early Christians saw these expectations fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth; the majority of Jews did not. Even more momentous than the tradition of anointing leaders was the fact that David and his priest Abiathar, who had stood by him from the beginning (1 Kgs 2:26), brought the worship of the god YHWH to Jerusalem. In the course of the development that followed YHWH became the focus of an integrative-cumulative monotheism.

Fig. 25. The middle cartouche in a topographical list from the temple of Amenophis III (1390–1353 BCE) in Soleb in northern Sudan bears the text t3-š3sw-jhw3(w), “Land of the Shasu YHW/YHW3.”

Egyptian sources indicate that YHWH was originally at home in southwestern Jordan and northwestern Arabia, Midian, and the area of the Shasu nomads (see above; cf. Fig. 25). The name “YHWH” probably 65

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comes from the verbal root hāwāh, meaning “to waft” or “to be there,” so it apparently meant something like “he wafts” or “he is here” (for the latter, see Exod 3:14). Ernst Axel Knauf has noted that there is no evidence for this particular form of the divine name (a descriptive imperfect) in names of other deities outside Arabia after the Bronze Age.2 YHWH’s appearance was linked with the characteristics of a storm and warrior-god, as was the case with many ancient Near Eastern deities. YHWH also had the characteristics of a volcano, which are not found attributed to any other ancient Near Eastern deities. So it is that the mountain of YHWH smokes like a furnace (Exod 19:18; cf. also the imagery of the fire pot in Gen 15:17), and that a cloud of smoke by day and a column of fire by night show the Israelites the way to go as they journey out of Egypt (Exod 13:21–22; 14:24). Mountains melt in YHWH’s presence like wax (Ps 97:5; see also Ps 104:32). It should be noted that there were no active volcanoes in biblical times in Palestine, the Sinai, Egypt, or Mesopotamia that might have given rise to such divine attributes, but only in northwestern Arabia. Mount Etna and Vesuvius, in Italy, were known in the Middle East only in the Hellenistic period. YHWH’s origins in the south were recently, and convincingly, (re-)argued by Leuenberger.3 M. Köckert and H. Pfeiffer’s theory that YHWH was only linked to the Sinai wilderness after the destruction of the temple in 587/586 BCE4 fails to take account of the general view that when a temple is destroyed, which is a god’s second residence, so to speak, the gods withdraw to heaven, which was in fact always their first residence (see Genesis 28). Conjecture that it was only after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem that YHWH was removed to a godforsaken desert is absurd from the point of view of religious history. The commonly repeated assertion that YHWH was a weather god like Hadad or Baal ignores the original volcanic elements that were associated only with him. Secondly, it does not take account of the fact that during their 300-year rule over the southern Levant, the Egyptians 2. See Ernst Axel Knauf, Midian: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens am Ende des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr (ADPV 10; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1988), 43–48; cf. also idem, “Yahwe,” VT 34 (1984): 467–72. 3. Leuenberger, “Jhwhs Herkunft”; cf. Levy, “Ethnic Identity.” 4. Matthias Köckert, “Die Theophanie des Wettergottes Jahwe in Psalm 18,” in Kulturgeschichten: Altorientalische Studien für Volkert Haas zum 65. Geburstag (eds., Thomas Richter, Doris Prechel, and Jörg Klinger; Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag, 2001), 209–26, esp. 225–26; and Henrik Pfeiffer, Jahwes Kommen von Sü den: Jdc 5, Hab 3, Dtn 33, und Ps 68 in ihrem literatur- und theologiegeschichtlichen Umfeld (FRLANT 211; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005).

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made an intercultural connection between the Canaanite weather god and their own rather sinister, aggressive, and violent god of foreign lands, Seth.5 This Baal-Seth was a storm and war god but not simultaneously a fertility god. In Jerusalem two scarabs have recently been dug up which date from the eleventh or tenth century BCE and portray Baal-Seth. On one he is wearing the rather Egyptian head of the zoologically non-determinable Seth animal and is flanked by uraeus snakes (Fig. 26).

Fig. 26. This shows Baal-Seth in the Egyptian manner with the head of the Seth animal, flanked by uraei.

Fig. 27. This presents Baal-Seth in the Near Eastern fashion with a human face, a horned headdress, and standing on an animal.

On the other, he has a more Near Eastern human head with a headdress of horns and is standing on an animal—a lion—which is meant to represent the south wind and the desert (Fig. 27). 5. Othmar Keel, “Seth-Baal und Seth-Baal-Jahwe—interkulturelle Ligaturen,” in Jerusalem und die Länder: Ikonographie-Topographie-Theologie: Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag (eds. Gerd Theissen et al.; NTOA 70; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 87–107.

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The cult of the god YHWH was brought to Jerusalem in an ark with one or two aniconic steles. These were later said to be the tablets containing the Ten Commandments, but that is not what they were originally. Instead, they were likely supposed to have embodied YHWH and a second deity: probably a female partner. In the only temple to be archaeologically proven to belong to YHWH—the one at Arad—the god was represented by an aniconic stele. As for the ark itself, it was not the symbol of worship but rather what it contained which was, as a result, transportable. Worship symbols that were transported in a chest have been documented in other places too (Fig. 28). The chest, or ark, with one or two steles seems originally, as befitted its function, to have served mainly as a war palladium for the god who was celebrated as “YHWH Sabaoth”—that is, YHWH, the lord of hosts. Expressions such as “people of YHWH” make for a close connection between the deity and a specific group of people.

Fig. 28. A relief from Medinet Habu in western Thebes from the time of Ramesses III (1187–1156 BCE) showing a priest carrying a box shrine. The “ark of the LORD” that 1 Kings 2:26 says was carried by Abiathar, the first high priest of David, may have looked like this.

In Jerusalem, David was associated with the notion of an eternal kingdom whose symbol was the throne. Whoever sat on the throne entered into a filial relationship with the main deity of Jerusalem, probably a sun deity, to whose circle Zedek, the god of “justice,” was thought to have belonged. Note that Zadok was the high priest of Jerusalem. The pre-Davidic kings of Jerusalem mentioned in biblical texts are called

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Adonizedek, “My lord is Zedek,” and Malkizedek (Melchizedek), “My king is Zedek.” David’s rule was a patrimonial kingdom in the strictest sense. The kingship was almost synonymous with his person and completely depended on him. Through marriages, alliances, services, and military expeditions many strands came together under his control. How wide David’s, and, after him, Solomon’s, sphere of influence was is hotly debated, but it would be incorrect to speak of an “empire.” There is no evidence for either the bureaucratic administration that would be needed for and associated with such an empire, or for the military-police power to support a large, centralized administration. It is more accurate, then, to imagine a geographical area in which David’s personal authority exerted a wide influence. Occasional military campaigns and forays would have bolstered his standing. So, regarding the extent of this realm, Amihai Mazar argues that it spread over most of today’s Israel/Palestine, excluding the Philistine areas.6 This results in a sphere of influence of around 12,000 square kilometers. Finkelstein limits the sphere of influence to roughly the area of the Amarna period city-state of Jerusalem (see Fig. 19, above), that is around 1,600 square kilometers. In terms of using the archaeology to defend or refute these positions there is just as much uncertainty as there is over the extent of Davidic-Solomonic Jerusalem.7 The virtually identical city gates of Gezer, Megiddo and Hazor, which 1 Kgs 9:15 says were fortified by Solomon, indicate there was an efficient control of much of the land under Solomon at least, according to Mazar and his group.8 Finkelstein and his associates believe the constructions attributed to Solomon were not built until 80 years later under the Omride dynasty, which was responsible for an efficient administration in Samaria.9 If we consider the problematic and partially unsuccessful efforts of biblical texts to describe David’s integration of central and northern Palestine (see 2 Samuel 20), the most reasonable position is that his was not an empire but rather localized rule though over a fairly wide area, which in David’s time was not unchallenged. 6. Amihai Mazar, “Archaeology and the Biblical Narrative: The Case of the United Monarchy,” in in One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (eds. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann; BZAW 405; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 29–58. 7. Michael Huber, Gab es ein davidisch-salomonisches Großreich? Forschungsgeschichte und neuere Argumentationen aus der Sicht der Archäologie (SBB 64; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2010). 8. Mazar, “Archaeology and the Biblical Narrative.” 9. Israel Finkelstein, “A Great United Monarchy? Archaeological and Historical Perspectives,” in One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (eds. Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann; BZAW 405; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 3–28.

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In terms of religious history, the question of the existence or nonexistence of a Davidic-Solomonic “empire” is in any case of minor importance. Even if it existed, it was of short duration and did not make a huge impact. There is more historical evidence for the kingdoms of Israel in the north and Judah in the south that arose after Solomon’s death in around 930 BCE. In 720 BCE, the more significant of the two kingdoms—the northern—was destroyed by the Assyrians after existing for around 200 years. The idea of a unified “Israel,” comprising almost all of Palestine, only entered religious history around 100 years after the demise of the northern kingdom, when, following the collapse of the Assyrian empire, the Judean King Josiah and his religious advisors tried to assume such a “legacy,” including its religious aspects, by viewing the former northern kingdom of Israel and the southern kingdom of Judah as one whole.10 A real basis for the concept of “one Israel,” apart from the influence of David or Solomon, may be found in the fact that, as early as the beginning of the tenth century BCE, YHWH was apparently being worshipped as the main god—not only in the southern areas, but also in much of the north (see the archaic Song of Deborah in Judg 5). The tradition in the north of YHWH as the god of the exodus from Egypt seems to have played little or no role in the south for a long time. Apparently the identification of YHWH with the storm and war-god Baal-Seth was no problem in the south. That can be concluded from the name of Saul’s son, Esh-Baal, which means “man of Baal,” and from the name of Saul’s grandson, Meribbaal, which means “champion of Baal.” In the north, on the other hand, the Canaanite YHWH continued to be seen as a totally different god from Baal. It was only in the eighth century BCE that the prophet Hosea insisted that corn, wine, oil, and figs be seen not as gifts of Baal but as gifts of YHWH (Hos 2:4–17). This move, which might be seen as a decisive step on the road to an integrative-cumulative monotheism, anticipates what was to come.

10. Nadav Na’aman, “The Israelite-Judahite Struggle for the Patrimony of Ancient Israel,” Bib 91 (2010): 1–23.

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After David’s death, his firstborn surviving son, Adonijah, should have inherited the kingdom (1 Kgs 2:15). David’s closest associates—above all, the field commander Joab and the priest Abiathar—endeavored to have the son born in Hebron made king. But serious problems now arose which resulted from David’s appointing the Jerusalemite Benaiah alongside his nephew and long-serving general Joab, and from naming the Jerusalemite Zadok to serve alongside his leading priest, Abiathar. The two groups that had been held together by David’s persona alone—his old guard and the Jerusalem aristocracy—which must have regarded each other as rivals, were now plunged into a life and death struggle initiated by David’s demise. In a palace coup, the established Jerusalemites aided by David’s favorite wife Bathsheba, who was also from Jerusalem, succeeded in putting her son Solomon on the throne. Solomon brutally removed David’s key associates either by having them killed (Adonijah and Joab) or by exiling them (Abiathar). Astonishingly, the important elements of the religious traditions brought to Jerusalem by David—the anointing of the king and above all the worship of YHWH—were retained. The Jerusalemite Solomon—who had emerged as victor in the deathly conflict—did not dare to replace

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YHWH, the tutelary god of his father and also the founder of the dynasty, as the dynastic god. Solomon appears to have attempted to bring greater structure to his kingdom and to establish a basic administration for the same. This might be the reason why he came to be seen as the patron of wisdom literature, which was closely linked to the work of the scribes. Solomon’s personality, unlike that of David, is not easy to make out. In contrast to his father, he probably grew up in the palace, cut off from the people. The account of his life that was handed down in the Bible replaced anecdotes about his person with attributes of a legendary ruler: a huge fleet of chariots; extensive trade relations; great wealth, particularly in terms of gold and spices; the historically improbable visit of a queen from distant Sheba; a huge harem of noblewomen (including the daughter of an Egyptian king!); and even internationally recognized wisdom. All these things were probably true only to a limited extent, if at all. Solomon as a Jerusalemite seems to have initiated a more centralized structure like that of the Late Bronze Age city-states, a type of provincial copy of the Egyptian state, which produced a surplus that benefitted the center of power, particularly the capital. Solomon didn’t wage war, as wars generally did not advance this purpose. Taxes, land tenure, and trade seem to have been his favored means. The representatives of the village and tribal communities, probably primarily the tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh but also those of the old Canaanite cities of Megiddo, Taanach, and the ancient city of Shechem mainly bore the brunt of this new concept. Judah seems to have been largely spared (cf. 1 Kgs 4:7–19; 5:27). This policy proved to have been shortsighted after Solomon’s death: The central and northern Palestinian tribes perceived the policy as oppressive Egyptianization and as a result they turned their backs on Solomon’s Jerusalem, justifying their stance with reference to the Exodus from Egypt (see below). Solomon’s politics of power failed but his religious-political measures were highly effective from an historical perspective, especially his construction of a temple for YHWH. In pre-Davidic Jerusalem, there appears to have been a sun sanctuary but no actual temple building, though that was not unusual in the case of a sun sanctuary. That Solomon constructed the temple on land that was already holy is suggested by the fact that the prescribed procedure for building on holy sites had to be followed (cf. 1 Kgs 6:7). A temple consecration text, which could date back to a building inscription and which is now quoted in the early collection of songs and sayings (see the citation

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of Josh 10:12 in chapter 6 above), also supports this assumption. The older and more complete version of this saying is not included in the Hebrew text we have today which was edited in the Hasmonean era in the second century BCE.1 But it originally stems from the Hebrew text used as the basis of the oldest translation of the books of Samuel and Kings into Greek. The temple consecration text, retroverted back into Hebrew from the Greek, would have read something like this: Then Solomon said about the house that he had built: The sun (god) declared in heaven: YHWH said he would dwell in thick darkness. Build my house, an exalted house for you, To dwell in forever. (1 Kgs 8:12–13 [MT] 3 Kgs 8:53a [LXX]).

According to this reconstruction, the sun god—the original owner of the sanctuary—gives Solomon the command to build a house for YHWH, his guest and co-resident, who unlike him wants to live in darkness. This understanding of the temple consecration text has often been accepted, but is sometimes hesitantly queried, and at other times hotly debated. Juliane Kutter wonders if the sun god is not issuing this instruction on behalf of YHWH.2 But, while the function of the sun deity as a messenger is well documented in Ugarit, it is not found in the southern Levant. Friedhelm Hartenstein has challenged the reconstruction, arguing that a link between a sun deity and a storm god like YHWH was quite improbable.3 But this link is already well attested in tenth century BCE Jerusalem and in the southern Levant more generally.4 On one of the two Baal-Seth scarabs from eleventh/tenth-century BCE Jerusalem two sun discs appear alongside the god (Fig. 26). 1. Adrian Schenker, “Salomo, Gibeon und Jerusalem: Das gegenseitige Verhältnis der vier Berichte von Salomo in Gibeon (1 Königreiche 3; 3 Königreiche 3; 2 Chronik 1; 2 Paralipomena 2),” Annali di Scienze Religiose 1 (2008): 19-43. 2. Juliane Kutter, nūr ilī: Die Sonnengottheiten in den nordwestsemitischen Religionen von der Spätbronzezeit bis zur vorrömischen Zeit (AOAT 346; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2008), 362. 3. Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Sonnengott und Wettergott in Jerusalem? Religionsgeschichtliche Beobachtungen zum Tempelweihspruch Salomos im masoretischen Text und in der LXX (1 Kön 8,12f // 3 Reg 8, 53),” in Mein Haus wird ein Bethaus für alle Völker genannt werden (Jes 56, 7): Judentum seit der Zeit des Zweiten Tempels in Geschichte, Literatur und Kult: Festschrift fü r Thomas Willi zum 65. Geburtstag (eds. Julia Männchen and Torsten Reiprich; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2007), 53–69. 4. Othmar Keel, “Seth-Baal und Seth-Baal-Jahwe—interkulturelle Ligaturen,” in Jerusalem und die Länder: Ikonographie-Topographie-Theologie: Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag (eds. Gerd Theissen et al.; NTOA 70; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 87–107. For the other points queried by Hartenstein, see Othmar Keel, “Minima methodica und die Sonnengottheit von Jerusalem,” in Iconography and Biblical Studies: Proceedings of the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS/ SBL Conference, 22-26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria (eds. Izaak J. de Hulster and Rüdiger Schmitt; AOAT 361; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009), 213–23.

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Fig. 29.1–2. A scarab from Akko (Acre) and one from Tell es-Sa’idiyeh in the Jordan valley show Baal-Seth (on the left) and the falcon-headed sun god (on the right) as a pair of brothers hand-in-hand (1200–1000 BCE).

A scarab from Akko and one from Tell es-Saidiya in the Jordan valley portray Baal-Seth and the sun god peaceably holding hands (Fig. 29.1–2). Other scarabs from the end of the Late Bronze Age and the early Iron Age show the basis for this friendship. Baal-Seth is “loved by the sun god,” inscriptions occasionally assert, because he uses his aggressive strength to subdue the power of chaos, which for Egyptians was darkness (Apophis), and for Canaanites, the threatening sea (Leviathan) (Fig. 30.1–6). Solomon built an east-facing house for YHWH and the sun god in the old holy area of the sun god on the northeastern hill, which evidently up until then had been the site of an open-air sanctuary. The original sun sanctuary explains the long-observed and surprising east-west orientation of the Jerusalem temple, which lies transverse to the northsouth orientation of the city. Despite its impressive 30 meter length (1 Kgs 6:2–3), the temple was rather modest in comparison with the palace buildings (Fig. 31). Whereas the temple extended over 300 square meters, a single palace building—the so-called “House of the Forest of Lebanon”—covered 1,250 square meters (1 Kgs 7:2). The difference between the figures shows that the palace had much greater importance than the temple, which was originally a kind of palace chapel. The same could have been said of the Jerusalem temple, therefore, as was said of the Bethel temple by its high priest, Amaziah: “This is the king’s sanctuary and the temple of the kingdom” (Amos 7:13).

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Fig. 30.1–6. These scarabs dating to 1250–1000 BCE show why Baal-Seth is “loved by the sun god,” which is explicitly stated on 30.4–5—namely, because Baal-Seth stabs the horned apophis snake, as the Egyptians called it, or the Canaanite Leviathan snake, which threatened the order maintained by the sun god. Baal-Seth is portrayed as Baal with a human head, as on the scarabs from Tell el-Far’ah South (30.1) and Lachish (30.2); as Seth with the head of the Seth animal (30.4–5); and once with a human head with the head of the Seth animal appearing on the human’s forehead (30.6).

The king was thus responsible for the furnishing and upkeep of the temple, as well as for the priests serving there. As the old temple consecration text indicates, it was also a house for the king who reigned with the blessing of the deity. It was only after the destruction of Jerusalem in 587/586 BCE when the temple (unlike the palace) was rebuilt that the temple as God’s dwelling place became the center of Jerusalem. Prior to that, and until Josiah’s reforms, the high places (bāmôt) also played an important role in and around Jerusalem. 5 5. Othmar Keel, “Paraphernalia of Jerusalem Sanctuaries and Their Relation to Deities Worshipped therein During the Iron Age IIA–C,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Para-

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Fig. 31. Reconstruction of the Jerusalem acropolis on the basis of 1 Kings 6-7 by T. A. Busink (Der Tempel von Jerusalem, von Salomo bis Herodes: Eine archäologisch-historische Studie unter Berü cksichtigung des westsemitischen Tempelbaus [2 vols.; Studia Francisci Scholten Memoriae Dicata 3; Leiden: Brill, 1970–1980]): (1) = temple; (2) = palace; (3) = palace of the queen; (4) = throne room; (5) = stalls; (6) = the House of the Forest of Lebanon; (7) = holy rock; (I) = temple court; (II) = large court; (III) = “other” court; (IV) = new court. The largest possible dimensions for the temple were used, but, according to the data at hand, it was modest in comparison with the palace buildings of (2)–(6). Note that the east-facing temple stands transverse to the city axis. phernalia of Temples in the Levant (2. –1. Mill. B.C.E.): Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen (28th –30th May 2010) (eds. Jens Kamlah and Henrike Michelau; ADPV 41; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 323–28.

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The temple built by Solomon was probably built with an empty throne as a symbol of the presence of the sun god. There is plenty of evidence of this practice in northern Syria in the tenth century BCE (Fig. 32; cf. also Fig. 42, p. 88).

Fig. 32. Two bull-men (cf. Ezek 1:5-7 and Fig. 58.1–2) bear the chair with the winged sun (cf. Fig. 42). To the left is enthroned the ruler of Gozan/Guzana (Tell Halaf, northern Syria). Here, as also in Ps 72:5, 17, the sun cult seems to have been closely associated with the prosperity of the dynasty (10th/9th century BCE).

Whether this empty throne was a cherubim throne is questionable. Although there is evidence of cherubim thrones in the twelfth and eleventh centuries BCE (Fig. 22, above), these were, as far as we can tell, made for earthly kings alone and not deities. Empty cherubim thrones, or those for deities, are only known to exist from the seventh century BCE (Fig. 33).6 The Jerusalem temple apparently originally had two symbols of worship, one for the sun god—the empty throne—and one for YHWH, the arc with the stone steles. From the outset or at a later point the arc was

6. Cf. also Jens Kamlah, “Die Bedeutung der phönizischen Tempel von Umm el-Amed für die Religionsgeschichte der Levante in vorhellenistischer Zeit,” in Israeliten und Phönizier: Ihre Beziehungen im Spiegel der Archäologie und der Literatur des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt (eds. Markus Witte and Johannes F. Diehl; OBO 235; Fribourg: Academic Press; and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 125–64, esp. 135–64.

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placed under the empty throne as a type of footstool, and the two symbols of worship became one.7

Fig. 33. Stone cherubim throne from the southern coast of Lebanon. Whether empty or with a seated figure (now missing), it would have represented a deity. The cherubim both support the throne and guard the “tree of life” in the form of a palmette (7th century BCE).

In an integrative, monotheizing move, YHWH is thus identified with the sun god (Shamash). This is seen in the story of the destruction of Sodom (Genesis 19). The Jerusalemite prophet Isaiah alludes to this story at the end of the eighth century BCE without relating all the details—apparently because it was well known. Isaiah says that Jerusalem was once full of justice (mišpāṭ), and that righteousness (ṣedek) used to dwell in it (Isa 1:21, cf. also 1:27). In Isaiah 1:7, 9–10, the prophet laments that Jerusalem would have become like Sodom without YHWH’s intervention. The way the prophet speaks indicates that in his day YHWH was the main actor in the story. However, the story of Sodom was originally one in which the sun god played the main role.

7. For more on the multifarious ways in which deities merged, see Julia M. Asher-Greve and Joan Goodnick Westenholz, Goddesses in Context: On Divine Powers, Roles, Relationships and Gender in Mesopotamian Textual and Visual Sources (OBO 259; Fribourg: Academic Press; and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprech, 2013), 29–39.

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The two messengers who come to Sodom are probably “justice and righteousness,” the constant companions of the sun god (Fig. 34.1–3).

Fig. 34.1–3. The cylinder seal in 34.1 shows the sun god sitting in judgment at the heavenly gates in the morning, flanked by his servants “justice and righteousness.” This Akkadian piece from 2300–2200 BCE was found in a grave from the 7th century BCE on the Mamilla road in Jerusalem. The Neo-Assyrian cylinder seal in 34.2 (8th/7th century BCE) combines the typical Egyptian winged sun disc with the busts of the Near Eastern anthropomorphic sun god and his ministers “justice and righteousness.” The same motif is displayed on the northwestern Semitic name seal in 34.3 below (7th century BCE). Cf. Fig. 58.1.

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They cannot stay overnight in Sodom (see Gen 19:2 and Isa 1:21), as the men of the city want to rape them. Whether justice and righteousness characterize a city and its people is particularly evident at night when the sun god is absent. Only the host of the two messengers, Lot—who has offered them a safe place to spend the night—and his family are spared the subsequent destruction of the city. They are led out of Sodom and as the dawn breaks over Moab they have to hurry. The dawn announces the coming of the sun god as judge. When he appears, he destroys the city with fire and brimstone: the sun god’s forms of punishment. The additional reference to YHWH in Genesis 19:24, which I deem secondary, is further indication that the story was originally about the sun god. Several features of the temple indicate that the sun god was its principal occupant (Fig. 35)—for instance, the two columns with their lotus capitals at the entrance and the lotus form of the “sea of bronze.”

Fig. 35. Leen Ritmeyer’s attempt to graphically illustrate the temple and its furnishings from the description found in 1 Kings 6 and 7:13-51.

Already in the eighth century BCE allusions to the battle and storm-god including the calves that bore the “sea of bronze” had been removed.

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By the end of the eighth century BCE it is sun symbols that dominate in the iconography of the kings of Judah (see further below). Solomon left behind a temple that combined the two most important experiences of divinity and correlate theologies of the ancient Near East at the end of the second millennium BCE: first, the sun god theology, which itself had assumed Egyptian and Near Eastern elements in Jerusalem;8 and, second, the storm god theology, which in Jerusalem also combined elements of at least two divine beings—namely, the storm, volcano, and war-god YHWH from northwestern Arabia, and the Egyptian god, Seth.9 Upon Solomon’s death, these very different aspects were united in the Jerusalem temple, if not yet in the form of one divine referent. Such a combination is found in Psalm 104, however, which presents YHWH with characteristics of a battle and stormgod as well as those of a sun god. This is one of the most beautiful psalms in the Bible, and would later inspire Saint Francis of Assisi to compose his famous Canticle of the Sun.10 In any event, the amalgamation of YHWH with the sun god had two results that were critical for the rise of monotheism. First, a god who could be experienced in both dramatic (and occasional) events, like volcanoes and warfare, and in the orderly and life-giving regular course of the sun, could not manifest himself adequately in any one of these phenomena alone. He had to be represented as being above these different and contradictory phenomena, and so go from being a largely immanent to a transcendent god. Second, these very different “ingredients” led to an image of a god with many aspects, in contrast to Akhenaten’s reductionistic Aten cult. Although the neighboring peoples to the east also had a type of main, national god (the Ammonite god Milkom and the Moabite god Chemosh), these appear not to have integrated and unified components of different and distinct deities to the same extent that YHWH did. Following Solomon’s death the tribes of the north turned away from Jerusalem. This happened under the leadership of a certain Jeroboam. In 1 Kings 11:26-40 older material is used to explain who Jeroboam was, and how, called by the prophet Ahijah, he became the adversary of Solomon and Jerusalem. Jeroboam was initially in charge of the labor 8. See Othmar Keel, “Elemente von Sonnengottvorstellungen im biblischen Gottesbild: Interkulturalität und ‘Intermedialität,’” in Interkulturalität: Begegnung und Wandel in den Religionen (eds. Mariano Delgado and Guido Vergauwen; Religionsforum 5; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2010), 57–70. 9. Cf. Keel, “Seth-Baal und Seth-Baal-Jahwe.” 10. Giovanni Pozzi, Sul Cantico di Frate Sole: Di Grammatica in Preghiera (Biorgio: Convento di Santa Maria, 1985).

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force from the central Palestinian tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh. He himself was from the tribe of Ephraim. Even in the time of David the central Palestinian tribes had a much looser connection to David’s kingdom than the region of Judah, from which David came and over which region (alone) he was originally king. It should not be forgotten that David had replaced and destroyed a kingdom from the central Palestinian area, namely that of Saul and his descendants, and that the primacy that the central Palestinian tribes once enjoyed had passed to Judah. It is hardly a coincidence that the prophet who legitimized Jeroboam’s secession from the House of David was a prophet from Shiloh (1 Kgs 11:29). It was, after all, Shiloh that had to relinquish its status as preeminent holy place to Jerusalem (see 1 Sam 1:3, 24; Jer 7:12, 14; 26:6, 9). Jeroboam had apparently tried during Solomon’s lifetime to bring about the secession of the central Palestinian and northern tribes. That attempt failed, and so he fled to Egypt where he received asylum from a pharaoh called Shishak in the Bible (1 Kgs 11:40). This Shishak must, for chronological reasons, be Sheshonk I, the founder of the twenty-second dynasty that originated in Libya. Sheshonk reigned from around 945–924 BCE. The asylum granted to Jeroboam by Sheshonk must be considered as a factor explaining Sheshonk’s expedition into Palestine. We do not know exactly when Solomon died. But the weaknesses in his politics became apparent after his death when Jeroboam, following his return from Egyptian exile, succeeded in taking control over the central Palestinian and northern tribes. In contrast to this newly formed geo-political entity, Jerusalem henceforth governed a modestly-sized territory, but it had an established dynasty and above all a sanctuary. These factors proved to have great power and potential in subsequent history.

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Competition and Cooperation with the Northern Kingdom (ca. 930–730 BCE)

Following Solomon’s death, Rehoboam, the son of Solomon and an Ammonite wife, assumed power in Jerusalem (ca. 930–917 BCE). From the time of Rehoboam (and Jeroboam) forward, the compilers of the Deuteronomistic History had written sources for the story of the kings of Judah (and Israel) from which to draw (see further below). The “Deuteronomistic History” is the name given to parts of the books of Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, 1–2 Samuel, and 1–2 Kings, which in language and spirit are constructed like Deuteronomy in their theological speeches and interpretations. There is debate over the exact extent of this history, the type of sources that may be traced (or on which it depends), the way in which such sources are used, and whether there was more than one compiler and more than one version. What is certain is that the Deuteronomistic History used its sources very selectively. That is made clear by frequent refrains such as the following: “As for the other events of Jehoram’s reign, and all he did, are they not written in the book of the annals of the kings of Judah?” (2 Kgs 8:23). Beyond “the book of the annals of the kings of Judah,” the “chronicles of the kings of Israel” is also repeatedly quoted.

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Fig. 36.1–5. The scarab fragment and scarab impression in 36.1–2 (1292–1070 BCE and 945–ca. 830 BCE) display the throne name of Thutmosis III (cf. Fig. 17.1–2). In one he is guarded by the tail of a uraeus snake and in the other by a stylized falcon. The cowroid seal in 36.3 shows a pharaoh protected by the wings of the vulture goddess and two falcons while holding the hieroglyphs for “blessed, praised” and “Maat,” a sign of blessing by the goddess of right order (1292–1190 BCE). The scarab fragments in 36.4–5 bore the name of the god Amun-Re, the “hidden one,” who manifested himself in the sun (ca. 945–830 BCE).

As was also the case in the Amarna period, we must assume that most sources have been lost and what we now have is all that survived. But, evidence that comprehensive written documentation existed in the ninth century BCE Jerusalem is provided not only by the references to contemporary sources in the Deuteronomistic History, but also by surprising seal and bulla finds from the excavations begun near the Gihon Spring by Reich and Shukron in 1995.1 In the fill of a rock-cut pool, created as the base for a house built around 730 BCE, the excavators found around 20 seals—mainly scarabs and bone seals—and around 180 bullae and bulla fragments. This material, along with innumerable shards of pottery, indisputably dates from the ninth and early eighth centuries BCE. What was found in the house and the vicinity of the house is somewhat more recent. With only one minor exception (see Fig. 41.2), the seals from the fill contain no ancient Hebrew letters. This is probably not coincidental, and would mean that the material is earlier 1. Ronny Reich, Eli Shukron, and Omri Lernau, “Recent Discoveries in the City of David, Jerusalem,” IEJ 57 (2007): 153–69.

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than 730 BCE. The finds from the house and its vicinity, however, do include a number of name seals2 and numerous fragments of name seal impressions.3 Many of the bullae from beneath the house have on their reverse traces of papyrus fibers, and that is very interesting because it means they were used to seal written documents. This indicates that in the ninth and early eighth centuries BCE there must have been far more literate people in Jerusalem than hitherto assumed.4 This point stands, even if Finkelstein and others date the finds somewhat later, toward the end of the ninth and eighth centuries BCE.5

Fig. 37.1-3. Rays with circles that may represent the course of the sun, rudimentary humans and animals, and ritual dancers are some of the motifs that were typical for the whole of Palestine in the early Iron Age II (ca. 1000-850 BCE). Eilat Mazar in her City of David excavation also found a scaraboid with the popular motif of two human beings flanking a tree (cf. Othmar Keel, “Paraphernalia of Jerusalem Sanctuaries and Their Relation to Deities Worshipped therein During the Iron Age IIA–C,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant [2.-1. Mill. B.C.E.]. Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen [28th – 30th May 2010] [eds. Jens Kamlah and Henrike Michelau; ADPV 41; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012], 326 Figs. 55-66). In her Ophel excavation of 2013, Mazar found a conoid with the mother goat suckling an animal.

2. Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron, “Two Hebrew Seals and Two Hebrew Bullae from the City of David in Jerusalem,” ErIsr 29 (2009): 358–62. 3. Ronny Reich, “A Fiscal Bulla from the City of David, Jerusalem,” IEJ 62 (2012): 200–205. 4. Nadav Na’aman, “Does Archaeology Really Deserve the Status of a ‘High Court’ in Biblical Historical Research?“ in Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel Read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap, Lincoln, July 2009 (eds. Bob Becking and Lester L. Grabbe; OTS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 169–70. 5. Israel Finkelstein, “Archaeology as a ‘High Court’ in Ancient Israelite History: A Reply to Nadav Na’aman,” JHS 10 (2011): 1–8 (3); Lily Singer-Avitz, “The Date of the Pottery from the Rock-Cut Pool Near the Gihon Spring in the City of David, Jerusalem,” ZDPV 128 (2012): 10–14.

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Fig. 38.1–4. Especially typical for Jerusalem and Judah at the end of the 10th and in the 9th centuries BCE were roughly notched bone seals showing ritual dancers and Egyptianizing motifs such as worshipers before a cartouche with the king’s name (missing here), a palmette flanked by uraei, and the Horus falcon with outspread wings and claws.

There are many examples of northern Phoenician-Israelite glyptics (Fig. 39.1–6). Particularly impressive are the architectural elements (Fig. 40.1–3) that so far have only been documented in Jerusalem and which perhaps come from the king’s administration as tokens of rule.6 Also of interest are two-winged sun discs, one with the paleo-Hebrew character shin (Fig. 41.1–2). The most surprising motif is that of an empty throne and a standard with winged sun discs over or in front of it (Fig. 42).

6. See Keel, “Paraphernalia,” 334-36; Reich, “A Fiscal Bulla,” 200–205.

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Fig. 39.1–6. The seals that were mainly found in the Israelite-Phoenician north (ca. 900–800 BCE) mostly display sun symbols such as the winged scarab flanked by falcons and uraei (39.1), squatting apes or humans worshiping falcons (39.2), sun symbols and falcons with outstretched wings (39.3), pseudo-hieroglyphs—mainly the symbol of the rising sun (39.4–5)—and a griffin protecting the symbol of life.

Fig. 40.1–3. Seals that up till now are found only in Jerusalem (40.1–2) containing architectural elements like Proto-Aeolic capitals and the “crown” of a stylized tree, which does appear flanked by griffins on a seal from Megiddo (40.3; cf. Fig. 39.1), may have been used by the palace administration (ca. 900–800 BCE).

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Fig. 41.1–2. Seals containing winged sun discs with tails (900–800 BCE) as the main or only motif anticipate the iconography of the lmlk seal impressions (cf. 48.1–3).

Fig. 42. Empty throne with sun disc standard (cf. Fig. 32), perhaps the object of worship in the Solomonic temple (ca. 900–800 BCE).

This unusual motif could represent the worship symbol of the sun god in the temple of Solomon (cf. Fig. 32, above). If so (and as such) it would explain why at the end of the 8th century BCE the winged disc was a central motif of the Judaic administration (see further below). The ship-like form in which the throne from figure 42 stands is found on Egyptianizing scarabs from the same period where the pharaoh represents the sun god (Fig. 43). So we see once more the confluence of Egyptian and Near Eastern (empty throne) elements in Jerusalem. 7

7. On the finds, see Keel, “Paraphernalia,” 317–23; Singer-Avitz, “The Date of the Pottery.”

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Fig. 43. The empty throne of Fig. 42 sits in a kind of vessel. The same element is found on contemporaneous scarabs that portray the pharaoh as the sun god in his sun boat (ca. 900–800 BCE).

There are brief and vague references in the Bible to David and Solomon ruling for forty years each (a stereotypical term designating one generation). But beginning with Solomon’s successor (or rather, successors, Rehoboam and Jeroboam I), more precise chronological information is provided and usually includes the age at which the Judean heir became king and the length of his rule (see 1 Kgs 14:21). Referring to Rehoboam’s successor, Abijah, a synchronism with the northern kingdom is mentioned for the first time in 1 Kings 15:1: “In the eighteenth year of the reign of Jeroboam. . . .” Such chronological details cannot be part of an oral account but must instead come from written sources. Yet trying to fit them into a coherent chronology has proven to be problematic. Various attempts at finding a solution have produced quite different results, though admittedly with only a few years’ difference between them. The relief commemorating the Palestinian campaign of the pharaoh Sheshonq I (c. 945–924 BCE) on the wall of a temple in Karnak in Upper Egypt is the first extrabiblical synchronism we have—a synchronism with Egyptian chronology which at that time was not accurate as to the specific year in question. The campaign must have begun around 925 BCE. Jerusalem seems to have submitted to Sheshonq and to have paid dues to Egypt, even if the comment in 1 Kings 14:25–26 presents the situation differently, as Egyptian robbery. Jerusalem, however, does not appear on Sheshonq’s list of conquered cities. Jerusalem regularly purchased its own freedom or bought allies (see, e.g., 1 Kgs 15:18; 2 Kgs 16:8; Isa 30:6–7). The Judean bone seals–some of which show motifs typical for the start of the twenty-second dynasty, and many examples of which have been found in Jerusalem (see Fig. 38.1–4)—point to a pos-

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itive relationship between Jerusalem and Egypt at the end of the tenth and into the ninth century BCE (Fig. 44.1–7).

Fig. 44.1–7. Roughly notched bone seals are typical for Judeh and Jerusalem in the 9th century BCE (cf. Fig. 38.1–4). Occasionally, similar pieces are also found well outside this area, for instance, at Dan (44.1). Many pseudo-cartouches are engraved with symbols that are reminiscent of Sheshonk (44.1, 6–7), who undertook a Palestinian campaign in 925 BCE. Given the dominance of royal metaphors on bone seals (cf. 44.3–5 from Tell el Farʿah South, Lachish, and Gezer), the “goat” on the seal of Gihon (44.2) should be interpreted here in the sense of ʿattûd “he-goat,” as representing a “person of power.” Two further bone seals from Jerusalem proper (44.6–7) show two cartouches next to each other, as was often the case with scarabs of Sheshonk I.

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Unlike Jerusalem, the newly created northern kingdom seems to have set out on a confrontation course with Sheshonq. Sheshonq may have seen its founder, Jeroboam I, who was granted exile in Egypt, as a vassal. Jeroboam, for his part, appears to have been unwilling to bow to Sheshonq, especially after successfully rebelling against Jerusalem’s hegemony. The worship of YHWH represented by the image of a young bull, which Jeroboam instituted in Bethel (see 1 Kgs 12:26–33), had its origins in the tradition of the exodus and liberation from Egypt. This move may have been directed as much against Solomon’s efforts to build up an administration as it was against Sheshonq’s Egypt. The account seems to style Jeroboam as a new Moses, who liberated the people from Egypt. The successors of the sons of Solomon—Rehoboam, Abijah (916–914 BCE), and Asa (914–874 BCE)—prevailed against the successors of Jeroboam I, Nadab and Basha, in pushing the boundary of Judah further north, thereby providing a northern antechamber for Jerusalem some 12 kilometers deep. A note from the time of Asa tells of a shocking image (cf. Fig. 45) that the queen mother had displayed for the goddess Asherah and that her son had removed on the grounds that it was forbidden (1 Kgs 15:13). The episode proves the existence of a cult of Asherah in Jerusalem around 900 BCE. It may be that the two stone steles in the ark represent YHWH and Asherah (see above). The worship of the two deities is evidenced at a somewhat later period by inscriptions from Khirbet elQom and Kuntillet Ajrud in southern Judah where the wording appears to have the gods YHWH and Asherah bestowing blessings (Fig. 45). The rule of the house of Omri (c. 886–842 BCE) ushered in a time of flourishing for the northern kingdom after its initial insecurity. Omri created a lasting residence with the founding of Samaria. Instead of confrontation, the new dynasty pursued a policy of cooperation with its neighbors—the Arameans in the northeast and the Phoenician cities to the west and northwest. In the latter case this led to the marriage between Omri’s son, Ahab, and the Phoenician princess, Jezebel. The newly initiated cooperation with Judah culminated in the marriage between Joram, the heir to the Judean throne (849–842 BCE), and Omri’s daughter, Athaliah.8 Traditionalist circles unleashed all their frustration and anger at these developments and focused it on the two “foreign women,” Jezebel and Athaliah. 8. See Omer Sergi, “Judah’s Expansion in Historical Context,” TA 40 (2013): 226–46.

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Fig. 45. Next to one of the two inscriptions from Kuntillet Ajrud (ca. 800 BCE), which name YHWH and Asherah, are two ithyphallic figures of Bes. The “repulsive image” that the queen mother Maacah put up for Asherah in the temple (1 Kgs 15:13) could have been an ithyphallic Bes figure. Bes was a god who specialized in the protection of pregnant and breastfeeding women.

The cooperation with the northern kingdom fostered under Athaliah appears to have influenced the architecture in Jerusalem. The protoAeolic voluted capitals known from Hazor, Megiddo, and Samaria, and which were widespread in the northern kingdom, have also been found in Jerusalem (and close to Jerusalem in Ramat Raḥel) where they influenced the local glyptics (cf. Fig. 40.1–3). It is also possible that most of the Phoenician-Israelite glyptics in the Gihon seal and bulla find (cf. Fig. 39.1–6) can be attributed to the close contacts with the northern kingdom at the time of Athaliah. However, some elements of the Gihon finds are older than Athaliah’s time (cf. Figs. 37–38) and cannot be explained as resulting from the influence of the northern kingdom. From the late ninth century BCE public buildings in Arad, Beersheba,

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and above all Lachish also point to the increased strength of the Judean capital and its administration. The cooperation with the northern kingdom ended with the destruction of the house of Omri by Jehu (c. 842–815 BCE). Athaliah’s son, Ahaziah, and the other Judean princes down to the minor Joash also fell victim to Jehu (2 Kgs 9:27; 10:12–14). Later, the xenophobic Deuteronomistic History nonsensically attributed this slaughter of children to their mother and grandmother, Athaliah (see 2 Kgs 11:1). Athaliah then herself reigned for around six years. Traditionalist circles like those that destroyed the Omri dynasty in the northern kingdom then also murdered Athaliah (2 Kgs 11:13–16). Her successor Joash (836–797 BCE)—who was just seven years old—or his guardian, the priest Jehoiada, organized a complete renovation of the temple (2 Kgs 12:5–17). Solomon’s temple was by now around hundred years old. This episode once again shows the close ties between the royal house and the temple of YHWH, a connection that was not restricted only to Jerusalem. The end of the cooperation between Samaria and Jerusalem gave rise to new wars in which the Arameans were also involved. The long rule of Jeroboam II (784–744 BCE) in the northern kingdom and that of Azariah/Uzziah in the southern kingdom (779–738 BCE) meant there was a break before the Assyrian incursion that changed the face of the Levant.

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Assyrian Rule over Jerusalem and the Prophet Isaiah (ca. 730–625 BCE)

A new development arose in the second half of the eighth century BCE, the phenomenon of the “writing prophets.” Prophets who communicated a message in the name of a god are found in the ancient Near East at different times and in different places (e.g., Mari, Byblos, Assyria) as well as in Israel (e.g., Samuel, Nathan, Elijah, Elisha). The new feature of the prophets who became active in Israel and Judah from the second half of the eighth century BCE forward was their written legacy, made possible by the formation of groups of disciples and pupils. These pupils not only wrote down the words of the master and handed them on; they also applied them to new situations over a long period of time and occasionally supplemented them. In Jerusalem this phenomenon was first manifest in the person of Isaiah towards the end of the eighth century BCE. Pointed and masterful poetic commentaries on contemporary events that are attributed to this prophet have been passed down to us, interpreted anew over the centuries and supplemented in many and various ways. As the master’s successors frequently imitated Isaiah’s style, it is often difficult to separate the original words of the prophet from those added later. The debate between those scholars who attribute large sections of text to the prophet and

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those who see Isaiah’s followers as primarily responsible for the written prophecies attributed to him is often heated.In a vision the prophet Isaiah receives in the year King Azariah/Uzziah died (c. 738 BCE), he sees YHWH exalted and seated on a throne in the temple or in heaven (Isaiah 6). In this vision YHWH is not depicted as seated between two cherubim, as might have been expected on the basis of 1 Kings 6:23–28. Instead a different type of hybrid creature—the seraph—symbolizes his awesome power. Hebrew śārāp (singular) and śĕrāpîm (plural), means “burning one(s),” and refers to a type of serpent, probably a spitting cobra, that spits its burning poison into the eyes of its victim. It is probably identical to the Egyptian uraeus, generally depicted without wings but sometimes given wings to symbolize its protective power. When the Hebrew scriptures were translated into Greek in the third century BCE in Alexandria, Egypt (see further below), śārāp was typically rendered as ophis, “snake.” Whether it was winged (Isa 14:29; 30:6) or not (Deut 8:15; Num 21:6.8), it is only in the vision reported in Isaiah 6 that the Hebrew śĕrāpîm is simply transliterated: σεραφιν. This form was therefore untranslated and probably incomprehensible to the Greekspeaking Jews and the Gentiles in Alexandria. In Isaiah 6, the seraphim were imagined as a type of angel in human form with six wings. But the translators didn’t want their readers to imagine YHWH as a type of Egyptian god or pharaoh protected by winged uraei. Since the third millennium BCE the uraeus had appeared countless times on the forehead of deities or pharaohs. It signified sanctity and otherness, and the holiness of the person distinguished in this way. At the time of Isaiah, it was usual for Judeans and Jerusalemites to have a protective two or even four-winged uraei/seraphs engraved on their own name seals (Fig. 46.1–2). Isaiah sees YHWH surrounded by six-winged seraphim, who with their thrice-hissed qādôš, “holy,” proclaim the unapproachability and sanctity of YHWH, the “holy one of Israel,” as he is frequently called in the book of Isaiah (e.g., Isa 1:4; 5:19, 24; 10:20; 12:6; etc.). But the prophet modifies the symbol so beloved by his contemporaries. Instead of the seraphim protecting YHWH with their wings, they use their wings to shield themselves from YHWH! Isaiah’s name is given to a wide-ranging book of 66 chapters. Since prophets were thought capable of seeing with clarity far into the future, there was no problem in allowing him to speak about events and people who would come much later, up to and including the Persian King Cyrus in the sixth century BCE (see Isa 44:28; 45:1, 13). Since

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the nineteenth century AD, scholars have held different views of things prophetic and have been less inclined to believe in miracles, so since that time only a small part of the whole book has been attributed to the eighth century prophet: Isaiah of Jerusalem. It is primarily the texts dealing with events during his lifetime at the end of the eighth century that are considered to be authentic.

Fig. 46.1–2. (1) Stamp seal amulet from Lachish that belonged to one šptyhw (Shephatiah), the son of ʿšyhw (Asaiah). A uraeus (seraph) above the inscription spreads its wings in front of it in a gesture of protection towards the seal owner. (2) The stamp seal that belonged to smk (Samak), the son of Ṣpnyhw (Zephaniah) shows the four-winged uraeus (seraph), a motif unknown in Egypt but typical of Jerusalem and Judah in the time of Isaiah (end of the 8th century BCE). Two impressions of it were found, one in Lachish and one in Jerusalem (depicted here).

Isaiah was the younger contemporary of the writing prophets Amos and Hosea who were at work in the northern kingdom. Amos is thought to have encouraged Isaiah in his early pronouncements criticizing social and worship practices (compare, e.g., Amos 5:21–27 with Isa 1:10–17). Whether Isaiah knew of Hosea or not, he shared with him the practice of giving his own children symbolic, even kerygmatic, names (see, e.g., Hos 1:4, 6, 9; Isa 7:3, 14; 8:1, 3). The sun god tradition was also important for the young Isaiah (see chapter 9 for the story of Sodom). The danger posed by the Neo-Assyrian empire provided the prophet with a subject matter of his own. Attempts to attribute to the prophet

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just one particular type of utterance, such as words of judgment1 or salvation oracles2 are too ideological. Rapidly changing events during the time the prophet was active are mirrored in his oracles. A feature of these is a realistic assessment of the given situation. What is new is the consistently articulated belief that YHWH steers world events, including Assyria’s moves against Israel. In Isaiah 7:20 Assyria is referred to as YHWH’s “razor,” in 10:15, as his “ax,” his “saw,” and his “rod”—in short, as YHWH’s tool. In the book of Jeremiah, the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar is called YHWH’s “servant” (Jer 27:6; 43:10). Following Isaiah’s example, the so-called Second (or Deutero-) Isaiah, a prophet from the exilic period, goes as far as to call the Persian king Cyrus YHWH’s “anointed” (māšî[a]ḥ), and so celebrates him as Messiah (Isa 45:1). In First Isaiah, the “Holy one of Israel” demands exclusive trust through a clever word-play, ʾim lōʾ taʾămînû kî lōʾ tēʾāmēnû: “If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all” (Isa 7:9). This faith does not refer to a private, inner trust, but to one with political consequences that, among other things, rules out military alliances with Egypt: “In repentance [to YHWH] and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isa 30:15). Isaiah is not advocating here an irrational quietism, but in the face of the geo-political realities, the balance of power, and so forth, sees restraint as the position that will cause least harm to Judah and Jerusalem. It is not quietism, then, but a form of faithful neutrality. Isaiah represents an implicit monotheism, or a type of latent monotheism, insofar as YHWH is for him the only lord of history, the only one on whom not only the fate of Israel, but the fate of all peoples depends. No other deities, whether Canaanite or Egyptian, are mentioned by Isaiah even in polemical statements. This use (or the lack of it) conforms to the inscriptional evidence that appears for the first time in Jerusalem and Judah in the last quarter of the eighth century BCE when numerous seals engraved with personal names suddenly appear in Jerusalem. The names on these seals show the almost complete dominance of YHWH. Most of the names are formed using short forms of YHWH’s name, such as yô, yĕhô, yaw, yahû and yah as the theophoric element (see Figs. 47.1–2).

1. Hans Walter Wolff, Studien zur Prophetie: Probleme und Erträge (TB 76; München: Kaiser, 1987), 39–49; Rudolf Kilian, Jesaja 1–12 (NEB 17; Würzburg: Echter, 1986), 7–10; idem, Jesaja 13–39 (NEB 32; Würzburg: Echter, 1994), 130. 2. Uwe Becker, Jesaja: von der Botschaft zum Buch (FRLANT 178; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997).

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Fig. 47.1–2. (1) The seal of ywʾr (“YHWH is light”), and (2) the seal impression of yhwzrḥ (“YHWH dawns [like the sun]”) the son of Hilkiah (bn ḥlqyhw), the servant of Hezekiah (ʿbd ḥzqyhw). These two seals (ca. 700 BCE) exclusively feature names containing Y HWH and both connect YHWH with solar imagery: a sun symbol (scarab), the sun proper (the verb zāraḥ), and light.

At this time, as already demonstrated by the early proclamations of Isaiah and by the iconography on private and royal glyptic (see Fig. 48.1–8), YHWH is strongly associated with sun symbols.3 The direct confrontation between Israel and the superpower Assyria began under the Assyrian king Tiglath-Pileser III (ca. 745–727). Jerusalem’s approach towards Assyria became the paramount political theme in the city at the time of Isaiah. The states of Damascus and Samaria, which were directly threatened by the Assyrian advance, attempted in 734 BCE (the so-called Syro-Ephraimite War) to force Judah to enter an anti-Assyrian coalition against the will of its king, Ahaz (see 2 Kgs 16:5; Isa 6:1–7; 7:3–7, 14b, 16; 8:1–4, 16, 18). Going against the warnings and encouragements of Isaiah, as symbolized in the names of the prophet’s children, the fearful Ahaz threw himself on the enemy’s mercy and offered himself as Tiglath-Pileser III’s vassal (2 Kgs 16:7–18). Isaiah condemned this move as a sign of a lack of confidence in YHWH. Isaiah viewed Damascus and Samaria as “two smoldering stubs of firewood,” which in the prophet’s eyes represented no real 3. See Tallay Ornan, “A Complex System of Religious Symbols: The Case of the Winged Disc in Near Eastern Imagery of the First Millennium BCE,” in Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean Art of the First Millennium BCE (eds. Claudia E. Suter and Christoph Uehlinger; OBO 210; Fribourg: Academic Press; and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 207–41.

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danger to Judah. King Ahaz’s action in going against them and buying Tiglath-Pileser’s protection was unnecessary in Isaiah’s eyes and damaging for Judah.

Fig. 48.1–8. Three stamp impressions (48.1–3) of the royal administration of Hezekiah bear the inscription lmlk (“for the king”) and feature the winged sun disc with the name of a production or administrative center below (ḥbrn, swkh, mmšt or zp). Along with the winged disc, Judean glyptics from around 700 BCE displayed the two-winged (cf. Fig. 47.1) or four-winged scarab beetle (48.4). The latter is also found on the lmlk stamp (48.5–6). Surprisingly, the two-winged beetle also appears on two bullae with the inscription lḥzqyhw ʾḥz mlk yhdh, “belonging to Hezekiah, (the son) of Ahaz, the king of Judah” (721–693 BCE).

Tiglath-Pileser III did in fact move in on Damascus and the northern kingdom as part of his politics of expansion but not because Ahaz, his willing vassal, had requested it of him. Isaiah’s assessment of the Assyr-

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ian threat is to a large extent consistent with the image conveyed by Assyrian propaganda (Fig. 49).

Fig. 49. The Assyrian army attacks a city protected by external walls and an acropolis. Siege ramps, battering rams, and infantry are deployed and advance relentlessly forward. The scale of the figures that is used (note the size of the Assyrian infantrymen) makes their superiority clear. A relief from the time of Sargon II (721/720–705 BCE).

Isaiah used the prophetic symbolic action of stripping naked (like a prisoner of war) to warn Ahaz’s successor, Hezekiah, that Judah should not take part in the anti-Assyrian Ashdod rebellion in 713–711 BCE (see Isaiah 20), and apparently his sign-act met with success. The leader of the rebellion, the king of Ashdod, soon had no option but to flee to Egypt. Unfortunately for him, the twenty-fifth Nubian dynasty had just come to power there, and it delivered him over to Assyria. The Nubian dynasty did not want any quarrel with mighty Assyria since they were not yet well established in their own land. But the situation would soon change. Isaiah’s criticism of Assyrian pretension shows that his “pro-Assyrian” positions had nothing to do with those of a “fifth column” but

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stemmed from a realistic assessment of the situation at hand. He was also right in his warning that the death of Tiglath-Pileser III (727 BCE) was no grounds for rejoicing (Isa 14:29). Tiglath-Pileser’s successors, Shalmaneser V and Sargon II, in 722/721 turned the northern kingdom into an Assyrian province and destroyed Samaria. Refugees from Samaria and parts north who fled southward probably led to the sudden and uncontrolled growth of Jerusalem at this time.

Fig. 50.1-2. Egyptian bronzes with a uraeus snake on a papyrus stem symbolize regeneration, freshness, and healing. One snake wears the crown typical of Osiris, the other one the crown typical of Amun. In Jerusalem, the “serpent of bronze” was associated with YHWH (9th/8th century BCE or somewhat later).

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For the first time in the history of the city, the west hill was now settled (cf. Fig. 6.3)—though some historians would date this growth only later—to the time of Manasseh (so the seventh century BCE, not the end of the eighth). Hezekiah’s Tunnel (cf. Fig. 12) and the lmlk seal-impressions (cf. Fig. 48.1–3, 5–6), however, demonstrate that Hezekiah made considerable efforts to prepare Jerusalem for an Assyrian attack. The fortification of the new city areas in the west of Jerusalem is also attributed to Hezekiah. These preparations for defense seem, particularly in the Shephelah, to have led to greater powers (and abuses) for the officials: a village elder of Moresheth Gath, Micah by name, indicted them in his prophecies. He threatened the downfall of Jerusalem, a threat that continued to be scandalous a century later when Jerusalem’s inviolability had become a kind of dogma (see Jer 26:18). The building up of the “spiritual defense of the country” probably also fits within the context of military preparedness, as evidenced in the collecting and revising of Jerusalem’s traditions (see Prov 25:1), and perhaps also the traditions brought to the city from the northern kingdom. Hezekiah’s destruction of the Egyptian-inspired “bronze snake” (Fig. 50.1–2), which the Deuteronomistic History locates (for its own purposes) in the beginning of Hezekiah’s rule (see 2 Kgs 18:4), probably didn’t occur until after 701 BCE as a result of disappointment over the ineffectiveness of Egyptian assistance to repel the Assyrians. The act was thus probably more political than some part of a comprehensive religious reform as the Deuteronomistic History makes it out to be. An extensive reform only happened eighty years later, following the collapse of the Assyrian empire, under King Josiah. When Sargon II fell in battle in Asia Minor in 705 BCE—the only Assyrian king to do so—the people of the extreme southeast (Babylon, Elam), and the southwest (southern Levant) felt the time had come to risk an uprising to shake off the Assyrian yoke. Thus began a series of events whose significance for the development of Judean theology can scarcely be overstated. In the southwest, Jerusalem’s central location led to its becoming a driving force in the anti-Assyrian uprising, along with Ashkelon. A close cooperation with the now firmly-established twenty-fifth dynasty in Egypt was expected to greatly strengthen the alliance. Egyptian support was considered likely and great importance was accorded to it. Egypt was still considered a great power, as the cultural influence (glyptics) in Jerusalem and Judah throughout the ninth and eighth centuries show. Isaiah represented a minority view when

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he poured scorn on the envoys going backwards and forwards between Jerusalem and Egypt, and on the gifts sent from Jerusalem to Egypt (see Isa 30:1–7; 31:1–3). In characterizing Egypt as “an unprofitable nation,” Isaiah again comes close to echoing Assyrian propaganda.4 But his position proved to be right in the end. When Sennacherib moved west with a large army in 701 BCE, Judah and Jerusalem were very soon alone in their resistance. The mismatched battle between this “David and Goliath” is one of the best documented events of ancient Near Eastern history. Archaeological finds particularly from Lachish, as well as the Assyrian reliefs from Nineveh now housed in the British Museum, Assyrian annals, and biblical references in the book of Isaiah provide evidence for these events and examine them from various angles. The elaborate cycle of reliefs that shows in detail the capture of Lachish was displayed in Sennacherib’s throne room in Nineveh. It is an impressive indication of the great importance the king attached to this victory in the extreme southwest of the empire, on the very border to Egypt, as it were. But it also reveals that he had not conquered the capital city of Judah, Jerusalem. The Assyrians laid waste the whole of Judah and destroyed all its cities, carrying away a large part of its population into exile in Assyria. But Judah’s fierce resistance and a diversionary attack by the Egyptians seem to have weakened the Assyrians to such an extent that they refrained from besieging Jerusalem, and going against their normal practice, they settled for Judah’s submission without capturing Jerusalem and subjecting Hezekiah to gruesome punishment. While Isaiah bewailed the devastation, a quite different view of things was emerging. Jerusalem’s narrow escape was celebrated in increasingly radical ways as a triumph for YHWH and as evidence of his uniqueness. A miracle story recounts that the angel of YHWH struck down 185,000 Assyrians outside Jerusalem in one night thereby forcing Sennacherib to withdraw (2 Kgs 19:35; Isa 37:36). This triumphalist exaggeration of the events that transpired in 701 BCE would influence the continuation of the story one hundred years later. The Deuteronomistic History gives the impression that, with the withdrawal of the Assyrians, the Assyrian threat was lifted for good. It ignores the fact that Judah and its king had become vassals of Assyria and had to pay particularly heavy taxes. Manasseh, Hezekiah’s successor, took this situation into account and resisted any thought of rebellion. Under his wise leadership, Judah, and especially Jerusalem, 4. Jan Kreuch, Unheil und Heil bei Jesaja: Studien zur Entstehung des Assur-Zyklus Jesaja 28–31 (WMANT 130; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Theologie, 2011).

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gradually recovered. Since it was the only city in Judah not to have been destroyed in 701 BCE and since its population—probably as a result of the influx of refugees—had multiplied within a short period, Jerusalem returned again to what it had been in the Amarna period and after the division of the kingdom: a strong city state, an important center with peripheral surroundings. The nationalistic-religious Deuteronomistic History represents the risk-taking Hezekiah, whom Isaiah sharply criticized, as a hero. Manasseh, who cooperated with Assyria, is portrayed by the Deuteronomistic History as a traitor and accused of all conceivable iniquity. He is styled as the anti-Hezekiah. A source close to the Deuteronomistic History even holds Manasseh responsible for the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple in 587/586 BCE, saying it was caused by his worship of foreign gods (see 2 Kgs 21:11; 23:26; 24:3). But, in political perspective, the opposite was true: if the later rulers of Judah had acted as prudently as Manasseh and accepted the geo-political realities operative at that time, Jerusalem would not have been destroyed as it was a century later. The Deuteronomistic History holds Manasseh responsible for everything it sees as foreign worship, including the cult of Asherah in Jerusalem (2 Kgs 21:3, 7). In reality, however the Asherah cult had been established there since the foundation of the temple of Solomon. The worship of the starry hosts that was abominable to the Deuteronomistic History is, like the enigmatic rites in the valley of Hinnom (Hebrew gê[ʾ]/ ḥinnōm), part of the Aramaic-Assyrian influence that was brought to Jerusalem under the pax assyriaca by Aramaic-Assyrian soldiers, officials, and traders. The fact that Judah and Jerusalem became familiar with the institution of vassal obligation under the Assyrian occupation was of key importance in the development of monotheism. The Assyrian kings used this political relationship to bind their vassals—probably also Manasseh of Judah—to themselves and their successors. Terrible threats were used to force vassals to pledge they would not contemplate any lord other than the great Assyrian king; that they would be loyal to him only, that they would “love him,” and mercilessly denounce and punish anyone, even their own wife or children, who might attempt to divert them from this exclusive relationship by showing devotion towards another lord—the pharaoh, for example. The transfer of this political institution to belief in YHWH, figuring YHWH as such an overload and Judah as such a vassal, would have a deep and

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sustained influence on subsequent theology and religion, which is the subject of the next chapter.

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The Fall of Assyria and the Reorganization of Jerusalem and Judah under Josiah (ca. 625–609 BCE)

Following the conquest of Judah by Assyria, which the Egyptian campaign at best delayed but could not prevent, there was a 30-year “ceasefire” between Assyria and Egypt. It lasted until 671 BCE when the Assyrian king Esarhaddon (680–669 BCE) launched his first Egyptian campaign and something unprecedented happened: Esarhaddon and his troops succeeded in crossing the Sinai desert and conquering the ancient Egyptian capital of Memphis. Pharaoh Taharqa (biblical Tirhakah) fled to the south and the Assyrians did not have the strength to pursue him. In 669 BCE Esarhaddon began a second Egyptian campaign to bolster Assyrian rule. In the late autumn of 669 he died. The powerful queen mother Naqia-Zakutu succeeded in putting her grandson Ashurbanipal (ca 668–630 BCE) on the throne to succeed her son, Esarhaddon. Ashurbanipal and his commanders achieved a sensational victory in 664 BCE, conquering Thebes of The Hundred Gates in Upper Egypt and winning vast riches. With this victory, Assyria reached the peak of its power. Not ten years later, in 655 BCE, Psamtik I—the founder of the twenty-sixth Egyptian dynasty—succeeded in freeing

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Egypt from the Assyrian yoke. But for the most part Ashurbanipal managed to defend Assyria’s might and the borders of its empire until his death sometime around 630 BCE. When Josiah, Manasseh’s grandson, became king at the age of eight in 638 BCE (2 Kgs 22:1), it was approximately ten years after secessionist Babylon had been retaken by Ashurbanipal’s troops (648 BCE) and seven years since the Assyrian suppression of the Elamite revolt and the destruction of Susa (645 BCE). In 643 BCE an Assyrian punitive expedition was launched against Tyre. Following the Arab battles, punitive action was also taken against Ushu, the mainland part of Tyre, and Akko. Constant efforts had to be made to ensure the continuation of Assyrian rule, but Assyria appeared to be as capable of holding onto power now as it was in the first half of the seventh century. The need for constant military campaigns bled Assyria dry, however. After Ashurbanipal died, his short-lived successors had great difficulty in maintaining rule. They concentrated above all on Babylon. As a result, in the Levant and in Judah, Assyrian rule was soon scarcely felt at all. In 612 BCE the Assyrian capital city of Nineveh fell to the Babylonian and Medean onslaught. Part of the Assyrian army held out under Ashuruballit II in Haran in the west, until in 609 BCE, this remnant of Assyrian rule too was stamped out. This situation did not, however, lead to a power vacuum in the southern Levant, as is often asserted. Josiah and his advisers failed to realize that the twenty-sixth Egyptian dynasty under Necho II (619–595 BCE), the successor of Psamtik I, was laying claim to the entire Assyrian legacy in the Levant. That is why Necho supported the remnant Assyrian force against the Babylonians to create a buffer between the newly created power of Babylon and Egypt’s own claims on the Levant. The failure of Josiah and his advisors to recognize this is probably what cost Josiah his life. Necho had him brought to Megiddo where he was killed (see 2 Kgs 23:28–30). For the present moment, however, this ignorance of the political climate gave Judah the motivation and energy to organize itself differently after the end of the Assyrian supremacy. It is clear that this reorganization led to the removal of a number of symbols and institutions linked to the rule from which Judah had just been freed (2 Kings 23). Those included the horses of the sun god (2 Kgs 23:11; Fig. 51.1–2; cf. Fig. 58.1).

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Fig. 51.1-2. (1) The rock relief from Maltai in northern Mesopotamia from the time of Sennacherib (705/704–681 BCE) and (2) a stamp seal from the same period represent the sun god standing on or suspended above a horse. For the horse as the sun god’s animal, see also Fig. 58.1.

This purification of worship also led to the removal of many key figures that had long been an integral part of Judean worship, including the goddess Asherah (2 Kgs 23:4-15; Fig. 52.1–6).

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Fig. 52.1-6. (1–3) Three seal amulets from Tell el Farʿah South, Samaria, and Lachish show a man worshiping at a tree trunk (whose branches have been hacked off and taken away as bearers of blessing), a man standing in front of a tree, and a man in front of both a tree and an anthropomorphic goddess who is holding her breasts (8th/7th century BCE). (4–6) Found in almost all Judean homes—and also in Jerusalem—at this time, the pillar figures of a female form presenting her breasts as a symbol of erotic passion (see Prov 5:19) and divine blessing (see Gen 49:25) has been viewed with justification as representing the only goddess mentioned frequently in the Hebrew Bible, Asherah. She could be depicted both as a human and as a tree (see Deut 16:21). The complicated curled hairstyle was perhaps that of a bride, who would have received such a figure as a gift to strengthen and protect her femininity.

This process of “restoring pure worship” was apparently intensified and systematized in 622 BCE, when Josiah was 24 years old, following

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the reemergence of a book of law in the temple. The discovery of this book is described in a very matter-of-fact way in 2 Kings 22. No miraculous phenomena accompany its recovery. The book appears to consist primarily of injunctions and dire warnings in the event of non-compliance. This could have been an old version of the Book of Deuteronomy compiled to conform to the Assyrian vassal obligations. In it Moses threatened Israel with terrible sanctions if Israel did not commit exclusively to YHWH. Whether the discovery of such a book in the temple is historical or not, in the time of Josiah the notion arose that Israel was bound to YHWH like Assyrian vassals were bound to the great king. The consequences of this development can be summarized in a few key points, two of which have been repeatedly noted for negative reasons. The first problematic point is that the exclusive obligation to YHWH is bound up with terrible curses that are partly dictated by the jealousy of love originating in northern prophecy (Hosea) and partly by the claim to power expressed in alarming language derived from vassal obligations (see Deut 13:7–12; 28:20–44). The claim to power in the vassal treaties is that of the great Assyrian king. In Deuteronomy, it is uncritically transposed to YHWH, who is thereby given the attributes of an ancient Near Eastern despot. Israel therefore took over from its opponents the (divine) image of and right to exclusive loyalty. This peculiar connection must be recognized in order to avoid erroneous interpretations and fruitless apologetics. The law is wisdom and orientation. The curses found therein are not “the curse of the law” itself, but the curse of a power that insists on pressing its claim at any price. Richard Jude Thompson has shown that the influence of the aggressive Assyrian rhetoric of sovereignty in the Old Testament is not confined solely to a few chapters of Deuteronomy.1 A second equally problematic aspect is that the rejection of the gods of other peoples is associated with a rejection of these peoples themselves. Unlike the older legal texts, the laws in the Book of Deuteronomy consistently distinguish between Israelites and foreigners. The customs peculiar to the people—including non-religious ones concerning nutrition, sexuality, and work—become, in Israel, the focus of utterances of the despotic will of YHWH. Religion is placed above the dignity due to every ethnic identity, and, instead, segregation is introduced, marked by hostility to other peoples, as already seen in Greek 1. Richard Jude Thompson, Terror of the Radiance: Ašsǔ r Covenant to YHWH Covenant (OBO 258; Fribourg: Academic Press; and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013).

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and Roman antiquity. So it is that an almost completely negative role is accorded to the non-Israelite peoples, even if such a judgment does not apply to all parts of the Deuteronomic-Deuteronomistic account. Alongside these two problematic consequences, Josiah’s reform and Deuteronomic-Deuteronomistic literature positively influenced the history of religion and theology of Judah as a whole, and Jerusalem in particular, in three important ways: First, prompted by northern prophecy and anti-Assyrian fervor, worship was cleansed from all elements expressing the numinous nature of sexuality and natural fecundity of the stars—particularly the night stars (the host of heaven, the queen of heaven)—and the numinous nature of death and the underworld (cf. tōpet). The elimination or cleansing of these “Canaanite” and Assyrian-Aramaic religious elements, which stressed the immanence of the deities, paved the way for the transcendence of YHWH whose presence in earthly phenomena was prohibited (see Deut 4:15–20). It also meant liberation from τὰ στοιχεῖα τοῦ κόσμου, “the elemental spiritual forces,” to which Paul would refer in the letter to the Galatians (see Gal 4:3, 9; cf. Col 2:8, 20). This notion of divine transcendence tied into the idea of exclusive loyalty to YHWH that was demanded by northern prophecy and that was prominent in the idea of vassal obligation. It is most powerfully expressed in the well-known lines: “Hear, O Israel: YHWH our God, YHWH is one. Love YHWH your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength” (Deut 6:4–5). For the moment, this meant exclusive concentration on YHWH without necessarily denying the existence of other deities and their significance for other peoples. The second positive result is the centralization of worship in Jerusalem, which was linked, first, to the streamlining of national forces and, later, to the unity and uniqueness of YHWH. This gave those who had been deported in 597 and 587/586 BCE a clear reference point, not unlike how Mecca would function later for Muslims (cf. 1 Kgs 8:38, 48; Dan 6:11). To this day prayer at synagogues is directed towards the Temple Square in Jerusalem. Following the destruction of the first temple, reflection on the construction of the second temple as the center of the new Israel is a major theme of the Ezekiel school (see Ezekiel 40–48). This temple was to be so free of liturgical objects that at the time of the reconstruction of the second temple at the end of the sixth century BCE apparently no agreement could be reached on reproducing even modified versions of the ark and cherubim—the orthodoxy of which had never been disputed. The temple building itself was the 112

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only symbol of the presence of YHWH that was still tolerated (see Lev 26:1–2). This process inaugurated a temple piety expressed, for example, in Psalm 42 (cf. Fig. 53.1–2) and in some songs of Zion.

Fig. 53.1-2. The bulla of the seal of the son of Gaddiah (bn gdyhw) and the seal of one yrmyhw (Jeremiah) depict a female deer grazing or looking for water. The imagery is akin to Ps 42:1, where the psalmist compares himself to a deer in his search for God (7th century BCE).

The third and perhaps most important result, however, was that the will of God as enshrined in law became the primary vehicle in the relationship to God, relegating the other means that had dominated until then—the kingdom and the temple—to second place and even making them ultimately expendable. The Deuteronomistic History did not yet appreciate this consequence, but, despite that fact, this development signals the embryonic stage of a Judaism based on faithfulness to the Torah (see Deut 4:5–8). In this development, which exalted the Torah, a break became visible with the ancient Near Eastern world in which the king and temple were the main intermediaries between God and humans—even if the break was at first just a small fissure. It point of fact, the unique position of Jerusalem and its temple was aided and secured by the written law on which it became dependent and to which it was subjugated. This written law, which was above the temple and to which Judah would be bound via the Moses of Deuteronomy, was what prevented the abandonment of Judaism when the first temple was destroyed in 587/586 BCE, and it played an even greater role after the second temple destruction in 70 CE. By way of contrast, one notes 113

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that Assyrian “faith” and the worship of other deities was definitively ended after the destruction of their temples. Deported to Babylon and dispersed in Egypt, the faith community continued to hold to the law—and probably also to a first version of the Deuteronomistic History from Josiah’s time—and so escaped the fate of the YHWH community in the northern kingdom in 722 BCE and of the rural Judeans deported by Sennacherib in 701 BCE. Without a “portable fatherland”2 these Judeans had been assimilated into their new surroundings and, by and large, disappeared from history, giving rise to the myth of the ten vanished tribes of Israel, which were believed to still exist somewhere in the world. This powerful and perduring law progressively took on the form of a book as the culture of writing became further established. So Jeremiah’s written word was discussed, challenged, and promoted in a very different way (see Jer 36) than what was the case in earlier prophets (see Isa 30:8). Even so, it is the words of YHWH that are placed on the lips of Jeremiah at the time of his calling at the end of the seventh century BCE (see Jer 1:9). At the beginning of the sixth century BCE, however, the prophet Ezekiel is called upon to swallow a scroll (Ezek 2:8). This development, once again, leads directly to the next chapter.

2. The phrase is Heinrich Heine’s, who said “the Jews carried it [the Bible] around with them in exile ..... like a portable fatherland” (Heinrich Heine, Confessions and Leo Tolstoy, A Confession [Malibu, CA: J. Simon, 1981], 57).

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Cooperation or Confrontation with Babylon? The Problem after Josiah’s Death (609–587 BCE)

The twenty-two years from the violent death of Josiah in 609 BCE until the conquest of the city by the Babylonians and the destruction of the temple in 587 or 586 BCE was a troubled time characterized by unexpected turns, particularly at the beginning of this period. Would the Babylonians under Nabopolassar and his son Nebuchadnezzar also inherit with the Medes the Assyrian legacy in the Levant and especially in Palestine? Or would Egypt, newly strengthened under the twentysixth dynasty, manage to reassert and realize its claim to Palestine as it did in the time of the New Kingdom during the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties? Was it at all possible for Jerusalem to determine its own policy, independent of the great powers? These were the questions the decision makers in Jerusalem had to ask themselves. Pharaoh Psamtik I (664–610 BCE)—and particularly his son and successor Necho II (619–595 BCE)—failed to maintain a buffer-zone, made up of what remained of the Assyrians, between their own interests and those of Babylon and the Persians in northern Syria (Jer 46:2). In Jerusalem, Egypt’s claim was felt in ways other than Josiah’s

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removal in 609 BCE. Jehoahaz, installed as Josiah’s successor by the Judean patricians, was removed from power by the Egyptians and abducted to Egypt. In his place, Necho II installed his older brother, the unpopular Jehoiakim, as king in Jerusalem (2 Kgs 23:31–35; Fig. 54.1–4).

Fig. 54.1–4. Three seals and a seal impression with Hebrew names: (1) ʾlyqm mkh, “Eliakim (the son of) Micah”; (2) ʾb, “Ab”; (3) ʾbryhw, “Abiriah”; and (4) [n]ḥm [š]bʿ, “[Na]hum (the son of) [She]ba.” All four show a Horus falcon, which is probably a sign of loyalty towards Egyptian overlords (7th century BCE).

When Nebuchadnezzar (605–562 BCE) succeeded his father on the throne and drove Egypt out of the Levant in 604 BCE, he had Jehoiakim swear the oath of vassal obligation, and subsequently allowed him to continue to reign as a Babylonian vassal (Ezek 17:13–15; cf. 21:28). After Nebuchadnezzar tried and failed to conquer Egypt in 601 BCE, however, Jehoiakim renounced his vassalage and seceded from Babylon. It was not until 597 BCE that a Babylonian army marched on Jerusalem. Jehoiakim died during the siege. His son and successor, the 18-year-old Jehoiachin, capitulated and was spared by the Babylonians who carried

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him off to Babylon with a large number of Judeans, among them the prophet Ezekiel and his wife. Heated debate preceded this uprising and capitulation. Jeremiah and probably also Ezekiel found the uprising misguided, and once it had begun, pressed for a speedy capitulation. An anti-Babylon group that sided with Egypt had staged the uprising, and found the capitulation premature. They believed that if there was determined resistance until the bitter end, YHWH would come to their rescue, as during Sennacherib’s siege in 701 BCE.

Fig. 55.1–2. The prophet Jeremiah’s comparisons, metaphors, and symbols are taken from everyday life in the land: (1) A blooming almond branch, as mentioned in Jer 1:11-12. The Hebrew here is šāqēd, “awake,” since this is the first plant to bloom in the spring. For Jeremiah, its sight gives rise to a promise: “I (Y HWH) am watching (šōqēd ʾănî) to see that my word is fulfilled.” (2) In Jer 1:13-14, a cooking pot whose contents are spilling over from the north serves as an occasion to predict calamity coming from the north.

Following the capitulation, Nebuchadnezzar left Judah as a vassal kingdom and installed an uncle of Jehoiachin as the (last) king of Judah, giving him the name Zedekiah. The debate that had taken place before the rebellion soon flared up again. Again the two voices that carried most weight were those of the prophet Jeremiah, who was still active

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in Jerusalem, and of the prophet Ezekiel, who became the voice of the deported people. Although there were several editions of the book of Jeremiah, a considerable number of its texts are said to convey the actual words or at least the thoughts of the prophet. The book as a whole is characterized by its consistent use of rural imagery (Fig. 55.1–2), appropriate for a man from the countryside (he was from Anathoth; see Jer 1:1). Jeremiah’s prophecy is critical of the temple, as could be expected of a prophet who, although a priest, apparently never belonged to the temple aristocracy in Jerusalem (note Jer 1:1 and cf. 1 Kgs 2:26). The book, which devotes much space to the scribe Baruch and scrolls, highlights the importance the written word had recently acquired (Fig. 56.1–2).

Fig. 56.1–2. (1) From the 26th dynasty (664–525 BCE) forward, bronze figures of the legendary sage and scribe Imhotep were popular in Egypt. They show him with a papyrus scroll in his lap. (2) A terracotta figure of a scribe from Cyprus dates from the same period. The figure of the scribe Baruch plays a major role in the book of Jeremiah.

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Whatever the case, many of the historical accounts in the book of Jeremiah reveal an accurate knowledge of places and people. A large number of the persons named in the book figure on contemporaneous seals and seal impressions (Fig. 57.1–6).

Fig. 57.1-6. A series of seals and seal impressions from the 7th and the beginning of the 6th centuries BCE have come to light with names known from Jeremiah’s circle: (1) a scaraboid with the inscription lʾṣlyhw bn mšlm, “Belonging to Azaliah, the son of Meshullam” (cf. 2 Kgs 22:3)—the authenticity of this seal is not completely certain; (2) a bulla of a type regularly found in excavations in the City of David bearing the inscription lgmryhw [b]n špn, “Belonging to Gemariah, the [so]n of Shaphan” (cf. Jer 36:10-11); (3) a bulla from the “Burnt Archive” of N. Avigad, with the inscription lyrḥmʾl bn hmlk, “Belonging to Jerahmeel, the son of the king” (cf. Jer 36:26); (4) a seal with the inscription, lšryhw nryhw, “Belonging to Seraiah, (the son of) Neriah” (cf. Jer 51:59); (5) a reconstruction of two bulla fragments with the inscription [lʾ]ḥ̊yqm̊ [b]n̊ špn, “[Belonging to A]hikam, the [so]n of Shaphan” (cf. Jer 26:24; 2 Kgs 22:12); (6) a bulla from Eilat Mazar’s dig in the City of David with the inscription, lyhkl bn šlmyhw bn šby, “Belonging to Jehukal, the son of Shelemiah, the son of Shabi” (cf. Jer 37:3).

The early pronouncements of Jeremiah, if that is what they were, attempt—partly influenced by Hosea—to win over the people of the former northern kingdom. Hosea’s metaphor of Israel as a woman is applied to Jerusalem. A series of impressive poems from the time of Jehoiakim and his desire to rebel against Babylon tells of impending calamity (note the image of the reaper in Jer 9:16–21). Jeremiah 119

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denounces a trust in YHWH that releases people from behaving in moral ways. He warns against the superstitious belief that YHWH’s presence in the temple will, as it had before, provide miraculous protection to Jerusalem (see Jer 7 and 26; also 21:2). Jeremiah anticipates the destruction of Jerusalem through the symbolism of breaking a water jar (Jer 19:1–15).

Fig. 58.1–2. Unlike the metaphors used by Jeremiah (cf. Fig. 55.1–2), those of Ezekiel are greatly influenced by ancient Near Eastern iconography. A notion of the heavens being supported by two (or, if three-dimensional, four) bull-men (cf. Fig. 32) underlies the great vision of Ezekiel 1. In the Neo-Assyrian seal dating to the 7th century BCE (1), the heavens are represented by a firmament (cf. Hebrew rāqî[a]ʿ in Gen 1:6) and the sun god accompanied by “justice and righteousness” (cf. Fig. 34.1–3), though one of the latter figures is broken in this image. In addition to its wings, the sun god is identified by the animal attributed to it, the horse (cf. Fig. 51.1–2). A priest of Ea in a fish costume and a worshiper stand on either side. The Persian version (2) of the Neo-Assyrian scene found in (1) represents the bull-men with four wings as in Ezek 1:6 (around 500 BCE).

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King Jehoiakim responds to Jeremiah’s prophecies by burning the scroll containing his warnings of disaster (Jer 36:1–32). It is probable that some of Ezekiel’s undated symbolic actions also occurred at this time, prior to the siege of 597 BCE. So, for example, Ezekiel’s mock siege of a model of Jerusalem (Ezek 4:1–8), his preparation of hunger rations (Ezek 4:9–17), his head shaving (Ezek 5:1–4), his symbolic departure into exile (Ezek 12:1–16), and his oracles that encourage Nebuchadnezzar to head to Jerusalem and not to Amman (Ezek 21:18–23), make more sense in pre-597 BCE Jerusalem than later when Ezekiel was already far from Jerusalem in Babylon. But then the question arises as to why Ezekiel was deported when he had publicly spoken out against the uprising—could it be because he was a member of the aristocracy? The question of authenticity has been repeatedly asked in connection with the book of Ezekiel, just as it has been with the book of Jeremiah. Ezekiel is more consistent than Jeremiah and is characterized by formulaic precision and surrealistic imagery. Yet the texts of Ezekiel were not simply copied and passed along; they, too, were updated. Once again the boundaries between the original and the secondary augmentation are not always clear. The “pupils” retained Ezekiel’s visual style (see Ezekiel 40–48). Ezekiel was highly educated. He knew and used—in contrast to Jeremiah—numerous motifs from ancient Near Eastern iconography. The great vision contained in Ezekiel 1 is an extremely complicated and learned construction, inspired by iconographic models, which it nevertheless modifies (Fig. 58.1–2). This inaugural vision by the river Chebar inspired and is central to the school of Jewish mysticism known as Kabbalah. While in Babylon, Ezekiel would have made contact with scholars there. The internal problems of Babylon and the machinations of pharaoh Apries/Hofra, who had come to the throne in 589 BCE, deceived Zedekiah into revolting against Babylon despite all the warnings of the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Jeremiah strongly opposed the revolt, not least through the symbolic wearing of a yoke (Jeremiah 27). He dismissed the message of his opponents—the prophets who had proclaimed a speedy end to Babylon’s rule—as “deception” (šeqer) and rejected their claim to have been sent by God (Jeremiah 28). He advised those who were deported to prepare for a long exile (Jeremiah 29). Jeremiah was not simply defending Babylonian interests, however. He knew and proclaimed that the days of Babylon’s dominance were also numbered. Those who supported the rebellion against Babylon viewed Jeremiah’s opposition to the same as seditious, undermining the war

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effort and military morale. Jeremiah was arrested (Jer 37:11–38:13) and it was only the protection of the aristocratic Shaphanites (cf. Fig. 57.2, 5) and a certain affection felt for him by Zedekiah that prevented Jeremiah from being executed. Facing animosity and oppression, Jeremiah uttered very personal complaints to God. His “confessions” (Jer 11:18–12:6; 15:10–21; 18:18–23; 20:7–18) are the prototype for a brutally honest communication with God that would later characterize certain Hasidic Jewish movements.

Fig. 59.1-2. The imagistic language of Ezekiel 17 with an eagle as a gardener is probably inspired by an Assyrian motif, as portrayed on the Middle Assyrian cylinder seal in (1) which shows a vulture or eagle-headed genius touching a palm tree (12th century BCE). The motif is also found on Neo-Assyrian cylinder seals (2) with raptor-headed geniuses touching the sacred tree or the king (8th/7th century BCE).

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For his part, Ezekiel in far-off exile employed the allegorical rhetoric of the eagle as gardener (Fig. 59.1–2) to declare Zedekiah’s uprising as the breaking of a vow to Babylon, which would not go without consequence (Ezek 17:1–21). In his lament for the aggressive lion-like Davidic dynasty, Ezekiel bewails that its (imminent) downfall has already begun (Ezekiel 19). The great vision of Ezekiel 1 (cf. Fig. 58.1–2) contrasts with the vision of Isaiah 6 in that the prophet sees YHWH not enthroned in Jerusalem but in heaven, where he can offer sanctuary to those who have been deported far from Jerusalem (see Ezek 11:16). In the series of visions in Ezekiel 8–11 the reason for the departure of YHWH from Jerusalem is attributed to the worship of all kinds of foreign deities in ways heavily influenced by Egypt (Fig. 60.1–4).

Fig. 60.1–4. Scarabs of the 26th dynasty (664–525 BCE) show individuals worshiping deities in animal form, as described in Ezek 8:10–11. In (1), from Ashkelon, the animal is a monkey; on (2), from Sheikh Zuweid in southern Palestine, it is a falcon; on the scarab from Naucratis in the western Nile delta (3), it is a hybrid creature with a falcon’s head and crocodile body; and on (4), from Cerveteri in Italy, which contains the throne name of Psamtik I (664–610 BCE), it is the hippopotamus form of Taweret.

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The types of worship described in Ezekiel have nothing to do with the Assyrian-Aramaic practices that Josiah’s reforms denounced and abolished. They cannot then be used as proof that Josiah’s reform has no historical basis. The last of the four horrors that Ezekiel sees in Jerusalem is, like Jeremiah, connected to the belief that ritual practices without corresponding moral behavior can earn blessing. Two texts, Ezekiel 16 and 23, which portray Jerusalem as a daughter and wife with YHWH as her adoptive father and husband, present the history of the city from its beginnings as one of blame and disaster. These texts have been rightly criticized from a feminist perspective since the man (YHWH) is a priori blameless and the (metaphorical) “woman” (Jerusalem) is harshly condemned and presented as inclined toward all sorts of infidelity. In the redaction of the two texts the metaphorical relationship was carried over from YHWH and Jerusalem to real men and women—in a misogynistic sense. Although they used very different metaphors, Jeremiah and Ezekiel represented similar political and theological positions. For both, YHWH was not just the god of Israel but of all peoples. They consistently took up the idea (first championed by Isaiah) that other peoples, too, were led and empowered by YHWH while also being subservient to him. Because of this, Judah-Jerusalem could not expect salvation from God without accommodating to his demands for law and justice. In this way Jeremiah and Ezekiel turned the Israelite-Judean religion into a “world religion.” In doing so they contributed to the “Axial Age”1—that is, to the transformation in thinking that took place from 650 to around 400 BCE—which intellectually reordered the Eurasian world, from Greece and the emergence of pre-Socratic philosophy, to India and Buddha, and on to China with the appearance of Confucius. What all these areas and movements had in common was a dissatisfaction with the polytheism that had existed until that time, and the development of a worldview that was more focused on fundamental principles. Jeremiah and Ezekiel’s opponents were those prophets and politicians who led the rebellion against Babylon. The theology of these opponents depended on the belief that YHWH would not abandon Jerusalem and that when necessary he would intervene with miracles. 1. The notion originated with Karl Jaspers, The Origin and Goal of History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965 [German orig: 1949]). See, in more recent years, S. N. Eisenstadt, ed., The Origins and Diversity of Axial Age Civilizations (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1986); Robert N. Bellah, Religion in Human Evolution: From the Paleolithic to the Axial Age (Cambridge: Belknap, 2011); and Robert N. Bellah and Hans Joas, eds., The Axial Age and Its Consequences (Cambridge: Belknap, 2012).

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This model was based on Sennacherib’s non-capture of Jerusalem, which, during the century that followed it, had been transformed and embellished into a triumphant victory for YHWH over the Assyrian kings. The song of Zion in Psalm 48 presents the fortification of Jerusalem as a type of sacrament of the divine protection of the city. In Exodus 15, YHWH’s dwelling on Zion is presented as the aim of the “salvation story.” In the legendary narrative of Isaiah 36–39 and 2 Kings 18:13–19:37, the Assyrian commander and even Sennacherib himself verbalize the positions of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, which are, in this way, dismissed as enemy propaganda by those who opposed these two prophets. Belief in YHWH’s uniqueness grew out of a belief in Jerusalem’s impregnability. On account of the preservation of Jerusalem at the time of Sennacherib, YHWH was for the first time recognized as the only god besides whom there were no others, and who could protect and had protected his city (Isa 37:20; 2 Kgs 19:19). None of the other peoples’ gods, not even the highest Egyptian god—the mighty Amun-Re—had been able to save Thebes of the Hundred Gates from the Assyrians. Only YHWH had protected Jerusalem from Assyria. Anyone who ridiculed Jerusalem or Israel thus ridiculed the one living God (Isa 37:17; 2 Kgs 19:16). This belief is also the theme of the David and Goliath story as it has come down to us. It is only in this story and in the legends of Sennacherib that we find the expression “the living God” and the phrase “defied the armies of the living God” (1 Sam 17:36). This story proved dangerous, repeatedly deceiving Israel into taking on a superior opponent—as the Zealots did in the Roman age (cf. Luke 14:31–32)—usually with catastrophic results. That is how it was during the period under consideration in this chapter as well. In 588 BCE the Babylonians appeared at the gates of Jerusalem. An Egyptian expedition corps was able to break the siege for a time but could not end it. In July 587 or 586 BCE Jerusalem was taken; a month later the city and the temple were systematically destroyed. At the hearing of the insurgents in Riblah, in the Syrian Orontes valley, where Nebuchadnezzar had erected his camp, it emerged that one main reason for the rebellion was the belief that YHWH would never relinquish his city or his temple. This prompted Nebuchadnezzar to take the unusual measure of destroying the temple. Zedekiah was subjected to gruesome punishment. His young children were executed before his eyes, and he himself was blinded and forced to work at the hand mill with the slave women (Jer 52:10–11; 2 Kgs 25:6–7). A large part of

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the population, particularly skilled workers, was deported to Babylon where they were allowed to live together in communities (Jer 52:28–30; 2 Kgs 25:11–21). This and the fact that they already had a “portable fatherland” in the form of authoritative (canonical) writings meant they could retain their identity, unlike earlier exiled groups. The importance the Babylonian exile community assumed thereafter is reflected in the fact that the “Babylonian Talmud” arose there in the fourth–fifth centuries CE. Until the founding of the state of Israel in 1948 CE, significant Jewish communities lived uninterrupted in central Mesopotamia.

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The Exile: Lamentation, Reproach, Pleading, and Visions of Renewed Splendor (587/586–539 BCE)

The destruction of Jerusalem and its temple and the subsequent deportations decimated the population of Judah. The view spread by the deported people that the inhabitants had been robbed of their land, however, is untenable. To be sure, Southern Judah and the Negev were lost to the Edomites, who pushed forward from southern Transjordan over the great valley between the Red and the Dead Seas towards the Mediterranean. So, some 800 years after the Amarna period citystate, Jerusalem and Judah again occupied roughly the same area (cf. Fig. 18). The western and eastern edges of the Shephelah and the Dead Sea coast as well as Jerusalem and its immediate surroundings were sparsely populated. The population of the hill country to the south and north of Jerusalem had been roughly cut in half. Mizpah to the north of Jerusalem was developed as a new center. It was there that the elite who remained gathered around Gedaliah, who had been appointed Governor by Babylon (Jeremiah 40). However, Mizpah could not replace the historical gravitas of Jerusalem in the long term. Installed by Nebuchadnezzar, Gedaliah was murdered shortly after

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his appointment (Jer 41:1–15). Out of fear of Babylonian reprisal, at least part of the remaining population fled to Egypt where it swelled the numbers of the existing diaspora (Jer 41:16–44:30). And yet, even after this migration, the land was not totally depopulated. Unfortunately, we are largely ignorant about how it was run during the remainder of the Exile period. It was probably a Babylonian province. Life gradually returned to normal. There was apparently even some literary activity during this time. Chapters 1, 2, and 4 of Lamentations scarcely mention the deported people. Given that these chapters are a lament for the dead, they paint a harrowing picture of the desolate circumstances during this time. In highly emotional terms, Jerusalem is depicted as a woman whose children suffer a dreadful fate. The reason for this suffering is the incomprehensible anger of God. Human failure in the form of a misguided policy of alliances or the calculated optimism of uninspired prophets is mentioned only in passing. Instead, the various acts of destruction and the people’s suffering are central to these chapters. Psalm 102 also shows how the public misery affected the populace. Totally different from Lamentations 1–2 and 4 is the so-called “communal lament” form, which Lamentations 5 resembles. This form is less a series of complaints than of demands. Contrary to the people’s repeated assertion that they would recognize the blame attached to Jerusalem by Jeremiah and Ezekiel, the communal laments, particularly Psalm 44, assert that Israel is blameless (cf. also Psalms 74, 77, 79, and 89; Isa 63:7–64:11). The catastrophe is blamed exclusively on YHWH and the enemies of Israel, who are demonized by means of the imagery of a fight with a dragon. God had betrayed his acts of salvation from of old (qedem)—the exodus from Egypt, the gift of the land, the selection of David, the pledges made to him and the building of the temple—and had abandoned the people to chaos. And so God is begged to recreate the cosmos of Jerusalem as soon as possible. As in the story of David and Goliath and the legend of the liberation of Jerusalem in Sennacherib’s time, these psalms equate the mocking and shaming of Israel with the mocking and shaming of God. This kind of “national religious” interpretation put the catastrophe behind it without in any way accepting the blame attributed by prophets like Jeremiah or Ezekiel. Apart from those circles that passed on the words of the prophets, relatively few voices spoke out against the people’s complaints, demands, and failure to recognize their own guilt. For its part, the tradition expressed by the Deuteronomistic History attributes

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the catastrophe to the worship of foreign gods and, in some places, places the blame exclusively on the “sins of Manasseh.” The relationship between those who remained in the land and those deported to Babylon was not as good as it might have been. Psalm 137 may be read as a defense by returnees against the charge that they forgot Jerusalem. If so, the tension between the two groups is more than evident. Further, those who remained behind had seen the deportation as permanent and so had tried to appropriate the property of the deported people (cf. Ezek 11:3, 15). On the other side, those who had been deported saw themselves as the true Israel (Jeremiah 24) and disregarded the future plans hatched by those who had remained—insofar as that group had made any plans. To an extent, the deported exiles appear also to have accepted that their deportation would be permanent. That idea was opposed by Ezekiel, who rejected the notion of a common fate linking the generations (Ezekiel 18), and by the Deuteronomistic History, which discreetly reckoned with the reestablishment of the Davidic dynasty and a return (beginning with directing prayer) to Zion. The destroyed temple and Jerusalem thus became a focal point for a widely dispersed community. Dramatic changes in the political climate brought an end to the lethargy that marked this period. Three short-lived Babylonian rulers were followed by Nabonidus (555–538 BCE), who was to be the last king of the Neo-Babylonian empire. He was an ardent worshipper of the moon god Sin of Haran and alienated the influential priests of Marduk in Babylon, not just by this fact but also by his absence from Babylon over a period of years. The important New Year festival in Babylon’s Marduk temple could not be observed while the king was absent. While he was represented in Babylon by his coregent, the crown prince Belshazzar, Nabonidus spent ten years living in Tema in northwestern Arabia. New finds reveal that his presence was also felt in Edom. This increased the Edomite pressure on southern Judah. The meteoric rise of the Persians under Cyrus the Great (559–529 BCE) was welcomed not just by the priests of Marduk, who hoped for a new ruler, but also by the author of chapters 40–55 of the book of Isaiah, the so-called Deutero-Isaiah. In a bold new interpretation he acclaimed Cyrus, who apparently enjoyed the favor of the one god and lord of world history, as “messiah,” the king chosen and anointed by YHWH (Isa 45:1). This daring concept, closely linked with this anonymous prophet’s consistent and universal monotheism, did not find many supporters, however.

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Deutero-Isaiah explicitly links creation and redemption and unambiguously affirms the uniqueness of YHWH. Yet the evidence that he gives to support this is somewhat vague. Both Jeremiah and Ezekiel’s view of history assumed the uniqueness of YHWH. This was probably articulated in the Isaiah legend, and certainly not some insight gained only during the Exile. Deutero-Isaiah sees Israel’s mission, particularly in relation to other peoples, in the context of a consistent monotheism. This mission was to proclaim the uniqueness of and the saving will of YHWH. This view is most profoundly expressed in the image of Israel as a suffering servant of God (e.g., Isaiah 53). The possibly secondary critique of idols found in Deutero-Isaiah trivializes them through an inaccurate identification of the gods with their divine images (see, e.g., Isa 45:15, 17; 46:6–7), which does not do justice to the how the “pagans” themselves would have understood these matters. The more acceptance gained by the conviction that YHWH was the only truly real God, the more inappropriate and obsolete his personal name—YHWH—became. A personal name implies that there is more than one of this particular entity. When that is so, personal names are needed. A woman may be called “Mom” at home, because there is only one mother per family. If that mother brings her child to school, however, she needs a personal name as there are many “Moms” there. As long as YHWH was one god among many he was known by his personal name, YHWH. YHWH was the (main) god of Israel, as Chemosh was the god of Moab, Milkom the god of Ammon, Qos that of Edom, Hadad that of Aram, and so forth (cf. Judg 11:24). After YHWH’s elevation to sole God, people began avoiding the use of his personal name. It was too closely linked with the time when he was just one god among many. So, in the books of Esther and Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), it is totally absent. In fact, Esther does not speak of “God” directly at all, but uses only the so-called passivum divinum: “relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place” (Esth 4:14). Ecclesiastes uses only the generic term “God” (Elohim). In the Persian period, “God of heaven” is often used instead of YHWH. In 1 and 2 Maccabees, “heaven” alone is used in place of God (1 Macc 3:18–19; 3:60; 2 Macc 7:11). After lengthy experimentation, the Greek translation of the Old Testament scriptures (the Septuagint/LXX) replaced the personal name YHWH, which appears around 6,800 times, with ho kyrios, “the Lord.” Countless other translations/versions did likewise. Today, inclusive language translations of the Bible attempt to correct the extremely confining and masculine

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terms used for God and to reflect the relatively new insight that men and women alike are likenesses and images of God (Gen 1:27; 5:1–2) and that God may be represented as both masculine and feminine. And yet anyone who insists on respecting the original version of the text must read YHWH instead of “the Lord.” In addition to the manifestation of the one God in history, DeuteroIsaiah proclaims the new foundation of Zion, and, in the strongly emotional personification of Zion as a woman, depicts the return of the exiles as the return of scattered children to their mother (Isa 49:18–23; 54:4–8, 10). This metaphor largely ignores those Judeans who remained behind in the land. One of the best-known prophecies announcing the future central role of Zion is found in Isaiah 51:4-5, but, significantly, this prophecy is also transmitted twice more in the Hebrew Bible, in Micah 4:1–3 and Isaiah 2:2–4. It promises that humanity, following the torah of Zion, will refashion all their weapons into agricultural tools. The book of Ezekiel paints a very different picture although its various visions of the future are quite disparate. The book indirectly criticizes the dominant role of Zion by proclaiming the regeneration of the whole land. It realizes that a new basis is needed to ensure a lasting relationship between YHWH and Israel. A form of baptism and a new heart are required to enable the Israelites to do the will of their God from now on. A particularly enduring image is the surrealistic vision of the valley filled with the dry bones of the people of Israel, which, through the breath of the spirit, come together again, are covered in flesh, and become living creatures. Even the hope that a new David will come creeps into the book (Ezek 37:15–28). That hope stands in contrast to what appears to be a minutely-elaborated draft constitution now found in Ezekiel 40–48 that foresees no king, but only a “prince”—one who is made to live far from the temple and who takes part in worship simply as the leading member of the laity—without any priestly prerogative. The leading of worship is exclusively reserved for the priests of Zadok who make do without any high priests. Lowlier tasks are assigned to the Levites who probably emerged from the body of priests who formerly served in the high sanctuaries spread across the land. The holy area is closed off from the secular area by mighty walls and gates to ensure the strict distinction between the pure and the impure. Like Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel, the Priestly Source (P) of the Pentateuch also contains the idea of the return to the land of Israel and its resettlement. P refers to a group of texts from Genesis to Numbers

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characterized by clear, understandable language and a distinctive theology. This material also assumes a largely unpopulated land. Instead of prophetic visions and promises it creates a paradigmatic history that can serve as a model for the future. It uses the old accounts from the creation to the occupation of the land and interprets these anew and in a very monotheistic sense. It eliminates the messengers of God (angels) found in earlier, older accounts. Instead of the three figures mentioned in Genesis 18, for example, God alone announces to Abraham the birth of a son (Genesis 17). According to P, the people of the diaspora who denounce the land of Israel (cf. Ezek 36:13) are like the unfaithful spies sent out at the time of Moses to scout out the land. These bad spies, unlike the good spies Joshua and Caleb, described the land as uninhabitable (see Num 13:32).

Fig. 61. Sketch based on the description of the so-called “tabernacle” in Exodus 26. The temple-like worship room of gold-covered acacia wood has an ornate ceiling on the inside with three rainproof tent covers stretched over it. The worship room is divided by curtains into the sanctum (H) and the holy of holies (HH). This room design and the interior decoration were conceived as a model for the temple in Jerusalem, the construction of which was thus traced back to Sinai. (K) = cherubim-embroidered ceiling; (F) = golden fibulae holding the structure together; (Z) = goat hair tent cover; (W) = tent cover of ram skin; (D) = outermost tent cover of “dolphin (?) skin” (the meaning of Hebrew taḥaš is uncertain); (P) = tent pegs; (B) = beamed walls; (Q) = cross bars, which by (R)= golden rings, hold the beamed walls together; (V1) = cherubim curtain in front of the holy of holies; (V2) = curtain in front of the sanctum.

In some of its statements P comes close to the “communal lament” form, urging God to restore what has been lost. However, unlike the lament, P shows an awareness of Israel’s guilt, like Ezekiel. P tries to

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assuage this guilt, however, through dissociation from the Deuteronomistic covenant that was conceived along the lines of the Neo-Assyrian vassal obligations. P, instead, contains a covenant of grace (with Noah and Abraham) made manifest in a form of worship guaranteeing blessing and atonement. It legislates future worship as akin to that already established by Moses at Sinai. That worship is to be housed in the form of a transportable sanctuary (Fig. 61) brought to Jerusalem where this covenant of grace will be continually present and where it will provide atonement. The means of atonement conceived of by P include the ark, which was newly interpreted as the ark of the evidence of salvation and augmented by an “atonement lid” (kappōret) invented by P (Fig. 62).

Fig. 62. Sketch by H. Gressmann based on the description of the ark with the cherubim in the Priestly text of Exod 25:10–22. The Priestly concept appears not to have been implemented in the second temple.

P adds a breastplate symbolizing Israel’s law (and justice) to the high priest’s clothing. The twelve tribes scattered across the earth are represented by precious stones engraved with their names and fixed to this breastplate (Fig. 63). This functioned to present them to YHWH as the ideal community. Through the inclusion of the Holiness Code (Lev 17:1–26:46) and other additions, the unilateral concept of grace contained in P was combined with the old covenant demanding strict loyalty and the corresponding blessings and curses. Grace (undeserved favor) and (self-earned) merit are both such fundamental experiences in interpersonal relations and relations with God that is impossible to do without either for long. By the time the exile came to an end due to the collapse of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, the community of YHWH possessed a wealth of 133

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partly contradictory but consistently monotheistic concepts for a new beginning. While none of these concepts was implemented fully, all of them provided elements for the new order.

Fig. 63. Sketch by J. Braunius (1701 CE) based on the description of the high priest’s costume in Exod 28:6-40. The breastpiece is too small and the turban—influenced by Turkish fashion of the 17th century—too large.

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Jerusalem under Persian Rule: The Second Temple Period (539–333 BCE)

Few periods of biblical history have attracted as much attention in recent years as the Persian era. Interest was sparked partly by the book by Peter Frei and Klaus Koch, Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich, which appeared in 1984,1 and by the circle that in 1989 founded the periodical Transeuphratène. An immense secondary literature has followed. As a result of this scholarly interest, many Old Testament texts and the most important processes in the development of the YHWH faith have been (re-)dated to this era. It is sometimes argued that it was the Persian period, not the time after Alexander the Great, that proved decisive for the establishment of the Jewish faith. In response it should be noted, first, that many of these processes (e.g. the emergence of the Torah in the Persian period) have merely been deduced and therefore remain hypothetical and speculative. Second, much of what characterized Jerusalem in the Persian period, including the Second Temple itself, was the direct result of processes and institutions from the preexilic era. Each period has its special characteristics, to be sure, but the strong tide of tradition, which draws together the distinc1. Peter Frei and Klaus Koch, Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich (OBO 55; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984 [2nd ed. = 1996]).

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tive colors and unique aspects of all the more or less artificially constructed periods in history, should not be underestimated. Primary and secondary sources for the approximately 200-year Persian supremacy in the ancient Near East are incredibly sparse, much more so than for the 100-years of Assyrian hegemony, for instance. Further, the historical validity of the two most important biblical texts for this period—the books of Ezra and Nehemiah—is hotly debated. Three short prophetic writings originate in this period: Haggai and Zechariah from the early part, and Malachi a little later. Complaints about the lack of sources and the inadequacy and unreliability of those that do exist, and which often leave the critical reader puzzled and frustrated are a constant refrain in many scholarly accounts of this era. The scarcer and more problematic the sources, the greater the conjecture and speculation. Consequently in recent years all kinds of things—some probable and some improbable—have been somehow attributed to the Persian period. Under the Persian rule Jerusalem was gradually rebuilt following its destruction by Nebuchadnezzar. But the city was again confined to the East Hill (cf. Fig. 6.4, above). This meant the eastern slope above the Gihon Spring, which had been permanently settled since the city’s foundation, was unpopulated for the first time. The rebuilding of the temple was of central importance for the ongoing development of the city. The deliberations and efforts associated with this rebuilding are a dominant feature of the accounts from the early postexilic phase (Haggai, Zechariah). Even the radical option of not rebuilding the temple seems to have been considered (see Isa 66:1). In the end, the more traditional stance of both Zechariah and (particularly) Haggai prevailed. These prophets argued that it was not appropriate for the people of Jerusalem to live in newly built homes while the house of YHWH lay in ruins. As long as that was the case God’s blessing would not rest with the community (Hag 1:4–11). The visions of Zechariah, notwithstanding its many links with prior tradition, also feature many contemporaneous motifs. His central vision, for instance, where he sees the new beginning of God’s involvement, which is symbolized in the lamp between two trees or two people (Zech 4:1–6a, 10b–14), features a configuration that assimilates the image of the moon god of Haran so revered by Nabonidus (Fig. 64.1–6).

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Fig. 64.1–6. Three stamp seals from Syria and Palestine (1–3; 7th century BCE) show the new moon emblem of Haran, flanked by two trees or two humans, which are interchangeable as in the vision of Zechariah 4. On the Neo-Assyrian cylinder seal (4), trees and humans flank the emblem simultaneously (8th century BCE). The schematic drawings of the moon emblem and the lampstand between the trees in (5–6) show their similarity of shape. The similar content is due to the understanding of the moon as a lampstand (cf. Gen 1:14–16).

Unlike the great visions found in Isaiah and Ezekiel, Zechariah does not employ anthropomorphic images to represent God. Instead, in Zechariah 6:1–8 chariots carry the spirit of YHWH throughout the earth. The image is reminiscent of many Persian coins that show the great king traversing his realm in a chariot (Figs. 65.1–2). Malachi 4:2 once again takes up the sun image combining Mesopotamian (righteousness) as well as Egyptian (wings, healing) elements (cf. Figs. 34.2–3; 58.1) in the prophet’s proclamation: “But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings.” 137

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Fig. 65.1–2. These coins from Sidon and Samaria show the Persian king greeting and blessing his people as he crosses the land in his chariot (5th/4th century BCE).

The temple and temple worship took on central significance during the Persian era, as is most impressively shown in the mythologizing of 1–2 Chronicles. It is probable that it was only at this time that the different rituals that were performed in the temple were put down in detail in written form. These included the most important types of daily sacrifice and the feast days such as the new moon festival, Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Mazzot), the Feast of Weeks, and the important feasts of the fall, especially the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) and the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot). All of these feast days, even if like Passover they were closely linked to historical events, have clear origins in the cycle of the natural year. Indeed, in some instances, they lack any historical reference at all, as is the case, notably, with the festival of the new moon. The most senior temple official, the high priest, took on greater importance in the Persian era (cf. Fig. 69), but remained until the end of this period clearly subordinate to the governor. It is not clear to what extent the temple at this time became a center and place of pilgrimage for the widely dispersed Jewish diaspora, but it seems likely that this development had its roots in this period. The temple also became a point of spiritual orientation: it received inquiries from the Jewish community from Elephantine and determined the orientation of prayer for the Babylonian diaspora. The history of Jerusalem in the Hellenistic and Roman periods was increasingly characterized by the city’s position as the center of a “global” community. Unlike the temple, the second pillar of preexilic Judah, the Davidic dynasty, could not be reestablished in the postexilic period. Apparently there were moves in this direction, in the spirit of the “Communal 138

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Lament.” The books of Haggai and Zechariah, for example, both contain strong indications that there was an attempt to make a descendant of David, Zerubbabel, king. It was unsuccessful. Instead, the small province of Judah was ruled by a Persian governor. Many seal impressions testify to Judah’s Aramaic name “Yehud” (Fig. 66.1–2).

Fig. 66.1–2. Impressions of seals from Jerusalem and Ramat Rahel on which the name of the province Yehud is written plene, that is, with w: yhwd (end of the 6th–4th centuries BCE).

Fig. 67. A unique coin. On one side is the inscription “Yehud” (yhd) or “Yahu” (yhw) and the figure of a man on a winged wheel that might represent YHWH as Dionysus. The mask on the bottom right supports such an interpretation. On the other side of the coin is a bearded (possibly twice stamped) head of a man wearing a Corinthian helmet, probably the satrap of the Trans-Euphrates satrapy (around 380 BCE).

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Fig. 68. Instead of the head of Athena, as is seen on models for this coin, this example shows an ear. The owl is combined with the Aramaic inscription “Yehud” (yhd) and the Hebrew inscription “Yehuda” (yhwdh) (4th century BCE).

During Persian rule coins also began circulating in the province for the first time, albeit in small numbers (Figs. 67–68). It was only towards the end of the Persian era that coins minted at the order of a priest first appeared (Fig. 69).

Fig. 69. Judean coin with the owl of Athena and the inscription “Yohanan, the priest” (yḥnn hkwhn) on one side and a human face on the other (around 330 BCE).

Seen from the larger perspective, the emergence of a new form of religion had a far greater historical impact than the restoration of the temple. Alongside the temple there was a preoccupation with the written commands, the Torah: the five books of Moses. There is debate about when exactly these reached the form in which we now know them, but it was probably in the middle or towards the end of the Persian era. The elusive character of Ezra represents a new type of homo religiosus—one whose every effort and endeavor aimed at a deep knowledge of “the

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law”and its application to daily life. The Torah began to occupy the place previously filled by the idol or cultic symbol in ancient Near East religions, including, it should be noted, Israelite worship and its cult until 70 BCE when the second temple was finally destroyed. As 1 Maccabees 3:48 puts it: “And they opened the book of the law to inquire into those matters about which the Gentiles consulted the likenesses of their gods.” It would seem, then, that the lack of an idol was already felt in the second temple. The idea of an ark embellished with mercy seat and cherubim (cf. Fig. 62), as described in the Priestly Source (P), appears to have never been realized. The Holy of Holies remained empty, according to all available sources, and so the temple building itself was the sacrament of the presence of God. Nehemiah 8 describes the first liturgy of the word, a form of worship that replaced the sacrificial worship prevalent throughout the ancient Near East and the ancient world. This type of liturgy would later become the predominant form of divine worship in synagogues, churches, and mosques. The oldest archaeologically evidenced synagogue in Palestine, however, only dates to the era following the Persian period—the Hellenistic age. The figure of Nehemiah combines concern over traditional temple worship with efforts to enforce at least some aspects of the Torah—if necessary by force. Along with this came a tendency towards ghettoization, including the rejection of Samarian cooperation in the construction of the temple, the building of walls, and the importance of lineage and debates over mixed marriages. The particularistic positions of Nehemiah bear a relation to those in the book of Malachi. God is represented as the governor whose favor can be earned through expensive gifts and the regular payment of dues. Chronicles made a considerable contribution towards mythologizing the worship in Jerusalem by placing David as worship founder alongside Moses, thereby offsetting the missing legitimization by means of the Torah. The temple music with its instruments and singers is particularly important in these writings. As P gives no detailed information on this point, the books of Chronicles attribute such developments to David in all respects. Chronicles makes no mention of David’s dark side. All his energy is seen as directed, through divine inspiration, towards initiating worship in Jerusalem, particularly the music in the temple. Like the garments of the high priest, this worship constituted an important aesthetic element of the second temple. It was celebrated in a hymn to the high priest Simeon in Sirach 50:5–19. But unlike

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Nehemiah, Chronicles supported the idea of residents from the former northern kingdom participating in worship at Jerusalem. Nehemiah’s opponents who represented a more open, less exclusive form of the YHWH faith saw their views represented in texts such as Ruth, Proverbs 1–9, Job, and Jonah. The little book of Ruth shows that “the daughter of a foreign god” (cf. Mal 2:11) could indeed become a very good Jew, the ancestor of David, even the embodiment of a life confirming and enhancing wisdom. Proverbs 1–9 presents a wisdom not shaped by the Torah on Mount Zion (Sirach 24), but which is active worldwide as a principle of creativity and humane governance in spiritual and political life. The first speech by God in the book of Job (chaps 38–39) avoids the stark, black-and-white view favored by proponents of a national religion that would paint all opponents as a dragon facing only death and destruction (cf. Psalms 74 and 89). The book of Jonah ridicules a prophet who sees himself as the representative of the one universal creator God and yet believes he can flee from this God to a distant land, and who fails to understand that other human lives are as valuable and dear to that kind of universal God as is his own and his people’s. It is unfortunately the case that groups with a limited, clearly defined, and therefore strong and important sense of identity—in the worst case, one understood as legitimized by God—are frequently more resolute and willing to endure sacrifice than groups with a more humane approach. In times of trial, such as the persecution by Antiochus IV (see chap 15) or in Germany after the First World War, groups with an aggressive, exclusive faith who are prepared to endure sacrifice may succeed in gaining the upper hand, causing untold damage to the people and the nation.

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Conflict with Hellenism: Jerusalem from Alexander the Great to Pompey (333–63 BCE)

This period really began in the spring of 334 BCE, when Alexander the Great launched the campaign against the vast Persian empire that his father Philip II of Macedon had planned. Alexander had two official justifications for the offensive: On the one hand, revenge for the destruction of Greece and particularly the temple in Athens by the Persian king Xerxes in 480 BCE, and, on the other hand, liberation of the Greek cities of Asia Minor (Ephesus, Miletus, Halicarnassus, etc.) from Persian rule. But more important for Alexander was probably the renown he would enjoy and the incalculable wealth he would capture. At two great battles in Issus in northwestern Syria (333 BCE) and Gaugamela in northern Mesopotamia (331 BCE), Alexander inflicted a crushing defeat on the last Persian king, Darius III. In this way all of the Near and Middle East came under Greek-Macedonian rule. The Hellenistic age ended in 63 BCE with the campaign by the Roman military leader Pompey against the Seleucids. It precipitated the end of Alexander’s empire in the Middle East. With regard to Jerusalem proper, one can speak of an early and a

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late Hellenistic period. In the former, Jerusalem was largely controlled by Alexander’s successors in Egypt—the Ptolemies. During the latter, Jerusalem managed to shake off the Seleucid rule that followed the Ptolemaic in order to become the center of an independent Palestine. The increasing weakness of the Seleucids as they came under pressure from Rome allowed the indigenous Hasmonean dynasty to establish an independent Jewish state lasting around 70 years. It would be the last such state until 1948 CE, and it encompassed large swaths of Palestine. Once again the theory was proven that Jerusalem was excellently situated to exercise control over the whole land–in the absence of foreign rule. Long before Alexander, Greek traders and mercenaries had brought elements of Greek civilization to Palestine. However, it was not until the ascendancy of the Diadochi, Alexander’s successors, that Greek cultural influence began to spread widely and to have impact on all areas of life (technology, politics, society, religion). “Hellenism” did not mean the same thing in all levels of society, however. Different regions and groups showed different levels of willingness to accept change. Openness to change was naturally greater in a place like Alexandria, the city founded by Alexander with its mixed population from all parts of Egypt and the Middle East, than it was in a Judean village with a long-established Jewish population. Furthermore, the Hellenization of Egypt’s polytheistic pantheon produced a completely different result from what happened with Jewish monotheism. The collapse of the two-hundred-year-old Persian empire was so unexpected that many could not believe it at first. Those in disbelief included the city fathers of Tyre and the Persian governor of Gaza who had put up military resistance to Alexander. But with ingenuity (the building of a roadway to the island of Tyre) and atypical personal engagement (he was wounded at Gaza), Alexander managed to conquer both cities. At first nothing changed for Jerusalem during this time except for the address of where it paid taxes. Alexander’s visit to Jerusalem and his worship of its God is, at best, legendary. Its historical merit lies only in the testimony this account offers to the great self-confidence of certain circles in Jerusalem. Following the premature death of Alexander in Babylon in 323 BCE, Palestine—as so often in its history—became a bone of contention between the successors of Alexander in Egypt, the Ptolemies, and those in the Middle East, the Seleucids, who ruled from Antioch. For almost a

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century the Ptolemies were able to prevail in Palestine, although never without a struggle. At first, the administration of Jerusalem continued as before, as shown, for instance by Ptolemaic Yehud coins (Figs. 70.1–3). But Ptolemaic mercantilism soon asserted itself, stipulating the exclusive use of the Ptolemaic-Alexandrian currency across the whole territory of the state.

Fig. 70.1–3. Coins with the Ptolemaic eagle and the ancient Hebrew inscription “Yehuda” (yhdh, 1) and “Yehud” (yhd, 2) on one side and the head of Ptolemy II (282–246 BCE) on the other. A coin (3) from the same period shows the profile of Ptolemy II and his sister-wife Arsinoe II along with the inscription “Yehud” (yhd).

The translation into Greek of the five books of Moses—the Torah—at the instigation of Ptolemy II (282–246 BCE) was to have global historical consequences. It was followed some time later by the gradual translation of the other Hebrew scriptures into Greek. The Hebrew Bible was thus the only ancient Near Eastern literature known in the western world in Greek and, later, in Latin translations long before the modern era, and it exercised fundamental and broad influence for centuries to come. Europe only gained access to other original written sources 145

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from the ancient Near East 2,000 years later through the deciphering of hieroglyphics and cuneiform in the nineteenth century. Neither classical Mesopotamian texts, such as the Laws of Hammurabi and the Epic of Gilgamesh, nor important Egyptian wisdom teachings or the great sun hymns were translated into Greek in the Hellenistic era. It is only thanks to translations in English, French, German, and other modern languages in the nineteenth and especially the twentieth century that these treasures were opened up to a larger readership in the west. It caused great surprise when many of these texts that had been collecting dust for two or three thousand years turned out not to be so foreign at all. Some parts of the Laws of Hammurabi were familiar from the “Book of the Covenant” in Exodus 21:1–23:33. The flood story from the twelfth tablet of the Epic of Gilgamesh proved to be the polytheistic model for the two monotheistic versions that are interwoven in Genesis 6:1–9:29. The material found in Proverbs 22:17–24:22 turned out to be a reworking of part of the Egyptian “Instruction of Amenemope,” and Psalm 104 is in many ways reminiscent of the Egyptian sun hymns. It appears, then, that at least some ancient Near Eastern literary texts were known in Jerusalem and had been translated into Hebrew and adapted to fit Jewish tradition. The translation of Hebrew scriptures into Greek was most advantageous to the large Jewish community in Alexandria. It appears the Greek translation was also used in their worship. The Ptolemies had founded what was possibly the most important library of antiquity there in Alexandria. The so-called Letter of Aristeas (written around 150 BCE), the oldest version of the story of the translation of the Torah into Greek, claims this library was interested in these scriptures. Aristeas states that the translation was the result of close collaboration between Alexandria and the Jewish priesthood of Jerusalem made up of a group of seventy (LXX)—or, to be more exact, seventy-two (six from each of the twelve tribes)—translators. This translation by the “Seventy” (whence comes the term Septuagint) enabled the enculturation of the synagogues in the Mediterranean area. Without the Septuagint, the works of Paul and the rapid spread of Christianity would not have been possible. In the New Testament, not less than three hundred of the three hundred and sixty quotations from the Hebrew Bible can be shown to come from the Septuagint and not to have been translated directly from the Hebrew text. The close contact between Jerusalem and the very large and influential Jewish community in Alexandria was to serve as a model for the relationship between the mother city

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and the diaspora. Jerusalem increasingly became the center of the Jewish communities dispersed across the whole Mediterranean area and broad swaths of the Middle East. The internal organization of the Ptolemaic province of Yehud corresponded in large measure to that of Persian era Yehud. It appears there were two tax systems: a secular one for the dues paid to the Ptolemies and a sacred one for temple dues (Fig. 71).1

Fig. 71. Seal impression with five-pointed star. Between the points the five consonants of “Jerusalem” (yršlm) are engraved. Efrat Bocher and Oded Lipschits. “The yršlm Stamp Impressions on Jar Handles: Distribution, Chronology, Iconography and Function,” TA 40 (2013): 99–116, have shown that this type of seal impression does not appear before the Hasmoneans. The five-pointed star was taken over from the Greeks as a magical symbol warding off evil.

In the preexilic period, the king exercised financial responsibility for the worship at the Jerusalem temple as well as that of the state. In the postexilic period, neither the Persian nor the Ptolemaic rulers wanted 1. Efrat Bocher and Oded Lipschits recently dated seals like this one to the later Hasmonean period, with some justification. See Bocher and Lipschits, “The yršlm Stamp Impressions on Jar Handles: Distribution, Chronology, Iconography and Function,” TA 40 (2013): 99-116.

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to assume responsibility for temple worship. The tithe system that is frequently mentioned in postexilic literature (Gen 14:20; Neh 10:37–38; Mal 3:8–10) was aimed at closing the fiscal gap. An official appointed by the Ptolemies who resided with his staff in the Acra, a type of fortress construction south of the temple, supervised the high priest. His significance grew during this period thanks to the increasing international importance of the Jerusalem cult. Its growing religious importance coupled with state mercantilism brought great wealth to Jerusalem, as is evident in the story recounted by Flavius Josephus of the first Jewish banker, Tobiad Joseph.

Fig. 72.1-5. Wine amphora handles from the southeastern hill (City of David) with the seal impressions of the supplier. Alongside secular symbols like the rose of Rhodes are divine symbols: the head of the sun god, Poseidon’s trident, the staff of Hermes (caduceus), and the staff of Dionysus (Thyrsos) (ca. 260–150 BCE).

At this time there arose a largely secular culture of symposia. Archaeological evidence for this in Jerusalem is provided by masses of wine amphora handles from Rhodes (Figs. 72.1–5). This culture found literary expression in Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) with its minimalist theol-

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ogy of seeking God-given pleasure in this life. The work of Jesus Ben Sira was a far more formidable force in attempting to bind Jewish traditions and values to Hellenism. He believed cosmic wisdom resided in Jerusalem and was expressed in the Torah (Sirach 24). The working of God in history is presented in his “Praise of the Fathers” (Sirach 44–50) as the work of exemplary men who stand out on account of their virtue.

Fig. 73. Section from Alexander’s sarcophagus from Sidon. From atop his rearing horse, Alexander the Great tramples his opponents. He is wearing the lion’s helmet of Hercules and the ram’s horns of Amun (ca. 300 BCE).

At the turn of the third and second centuries BCE Antiochus III (223–187 BCE) succeeded in driving the Ptolemies out of Palestine. Jerusalem had been quick to spot the shift that was taking place and had changed sides in time, and so it received all manner of tax privileges and solemn permission to follow Jewish ancestral laws, which were apparently already understood to be different from the laws of other ethnic groups. In 190 BCE Antiochus III lost a decisive battle to the Romans near Magnesia in western Asia Minor, however. The vast tribute demanded by Rome over twelve years of 12,000 talents of silver—equal to 360,000 kilograms or perhaps more depending on the method of calculation—put a lasting drain on Seleucid finances. It also

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increasingly affected the relationship between Antioch and Jerusalem. This is well illustrated in 2 Maccabees 3 (cf. Dan 11:20) in the legendary account of the Heliodorus affair. Its basis in history is likely to have been the attempt by the Seleucids through one of their officials, Heliodorus, to appropriate the Jerusalem temple treasure for Seleucid state coffers. The image of the heavenly riders who prevent that from happening uses an element of the iconography of Alexander on horseback, trampling his enemies (Fig. 73). Of even more consequence was the practice, also the result of the Seleucids financial difficulties, of buying the office of high priest from the Seleucids. This was done first by the pro-Greek YeshuaJesus—“Jason” in Greek—and then by the even more pro-Greek Menelaus (2 Macc 4:7–10, 26). This was institutionally possible since, in Jerusalem as everywhere else in the ancient Near East, the highest priestly office was typically discharged or assigned by the highest power in the state. Both of the high priests appointed in this way (Jason and Menelaus) attempted to introduce Hellenistic institutions such as systematic mental and physical training (the gymnasium), particularly for young men (Greek: ephēboi), in Jerusalem. This was in no way to challenge the Jewish religion, although traditional circles often had this perception. There are unfortunately no texts surviving that reflect the pro-Greek position of the time. We only know about the pro-Greek movements from the disparaging accounts of the same given by their opponents.

Fig. 74. Tetradrachm of Antiochus IV. On one side is a portrait head with diadem, on the other an enthroned Zeus. In his extended hand he holds the figure of the goddess of victory, Nike. The inscription on the right reads “King Antiochus, with the inscription on the left reading “god made manifest.” Below the enthroned Zeus the inscription reads “the victory bringer” (ca. 167–164 BCE).

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Antiochus IV (175–164 BCE), a ruler of above average ability (Fig. 74), attempted to counterbalance Roman pressure by uniting the SyrianSeleucid and the Egyptian-Ptolemaic kingdoms. This went against Rome’s “divide and conquer” policy, and so Rome obstructed Antiochus’s plans. In this critical situation the high priest Jason, whom the Seleucids had replaced with Menelaus, sought to win back power. Antiochus IV interpreted this as a rebellion that needed to be put down and punished by various means. The most original punitive device was the carefully organized attempt to abolish the practices of the Jewish religion in Jerusalem that were considered aberrant in the Hellenistic world. Hellenistic philosophers who had come in contact with the Jewish faith had, since the third century BCE, distinguished between aspects of the Jewish faith that they admired and those that they scorned. To the first category belonged belief in one god alone (with god in the Hellenistic interpretation often meaning the same as “heaven”), the lack of images in Jewish worship, and the high ethical demands found in Jewish law. The characteristics of Judaism that the Hellenistic world despised, however, included all aspects of daily life that separated Jews from those around them, including the practices of prohibited food (dietary legislation), Sabbath keeping, and circumcision. Antiochus banned circumcision, both as a punishment of the Jews and as an attempt at reform. He is also said to have ordered the offering of pig sacrifices in the Jerusalem temple. The book of Daniel, the oldest testimony to Antiochus’s actions, highlights as worst of all changes in sacrificial practice, with the worst being “the transgression that causes desolation” (Dan 8:13; 11:31–33). Josephus and other Hellenistic writers make it clear that this phrase referred specifically to the introduction of pig sacrifices. Further measures taken by Antiochus included the abolition of Sabbath keeping and the prohibition of circumcision. The people who are said to have martyred themselves at this time did so because they did not want to see their longheld religious practices abandoned (see 1 Macc 1:60–64; 2:29–38; 2 Macc 7). The apostle Paul, too, would do away with these practices, but not through use of force but by theological argumentation. In Paul’s case, the line between the Jewish elements that were acceptable (belief in one god, lack of idols, and high ethical standards—as well as the rejection of child abandonment, gladiatorial games, and slavery in principle) and those that were to be rejected (food prohibition, Sabbath keeping, and circumcision) follows the same demarcation drawn by

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Hellenism more broadly and by Antiochus IV in his punitive “reform.” The rejection of numerous customs that created a separate (ethnic) identity is in part what allowed Christianity to become universal. With reference to those religious aspects that were widely seen as positive, only strict aniconic Jewish monotheism was not adopted “as is” but was modified through the notion of God’s incarnation in Jesus Christ, and later the theological conception of the three persons of God unified in love (the Trinity). For its part, Islam adopted not only strict aniconic monotheism but also circumcision and the practice of not eating pork. Unlike Judaism, Mohammed recognized Jesus as the greatest Jewish prophet but, in contrast to western Christianity, rejected Jesus’s divinity. But the Jewish faith is more than a religion; it is at the same time a cultural and ethnic community. From a theological perspective, then, Judaism represents both the highest value of the ethnic community and its badge of identity. Every ethnic group has taboos on certain foods, even if unlike in Judaism these are not always entrenched in their religion. Mohammed, with his attempt to create a thoroughly political community–the Ummah–from different peoples, stands between Judaism and its stress on ethnicity and the universalism aspired to by Christianity. With its claim to be universal, Christianity, at least initially, did not generally insist on political standardization. So each of the monotheistic religions that evolved from the old Israelite monotheism developed its own flavor, and its own strengths and weaknesses, particularly in the shape of its society. The strengths should not be seen as conflicting but as complementary phenomena, whereas the weaknesses, whenever these appear, should be pointed out. 1 Maccabees and in particular the Christian understanding of the Maccabean martyr stories viewed the punitive and reform measures of Antiochus IV as an attempt to force Israel into idolatry, even though this does not appear to correspond to the historical facts. But, regardless of how it was intended by Antiochus, military resistance quickly formed against his efforts, with the most successful resistance led by the Hasmonean-Maccabean family. They were soon no longer fighting just for the right to freely follow the traditional laws but also for total political independence from the Seleucids. According to 1 Maccabees, only the zealous Maccabeans could ensure this. On this basis, and following the model of the zealot Phineas (Num 25:6–13; 1 Macc 2:54), they were also accorded the honor of the high priest’s office, which was traditionally the exclusive privilege of the Aaronids and Zadokites,

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and to neither of which groups the Maccabeans belonged. After initial setbacks, the Maccabeans managed to press their claim to total independence as the ailing Seleucid empire continued to suffer under pressure from Rome and a series of poor rulers. The Hasmoneans were also helped by Roman goodwill. In 1 Maccabees 8, the Romans, who would later be so hated by the Jews, are praised in the highest of terms. Many Jewish groups, including the Qumran community and the Pharisees, objected to the fact that the Hasmonean-Maccabeans claimed the high priest’s office since they had no right to do so on genealogical grounds and did so in alliance with a warring kingdom. The Pharisees contented themselves with the possibility of living out the ancestral laws formulated in the Torah conscientiously and to the letter. 2 Maccabees, which unlike 1 Maccabees reflects the thinking of the Pharisees, considers the central Hasmonean concern with winning political independence unnecessary. For 2 Maccabees and the Pharisees, the Seleucid guarantee of liberty to practice the ancestral religion, honored prior to Antiochus IV and then again by Antiochus V, was sufficient. 2 Maccabees 7 resolves the problem of martyrdom with a belief in resurrection that was new to Judaism and based on the righteousness and creative power of God. For a long time many Jewish circles (e.g., the Maccabeans and the Sadducees) rejected this idea. Among other groups (e.g., Wisdom of Solomon, the Pharisees, Christianity) belief in resurrection quickly assumed central importance.

Fig. 75. Coin of John Hyrcanus I. On one side are two horns of plenty flanking a pomegranate; on the other is the inscription yhwḥnn hkhn hgdl wḥbr hyhwdym, “Yohanan, the high priest, and the community of the Jews” surrounded by a wreath with a bow (ca. 110–104 BCE).

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The Maccabeans used brutal force against efforts to acculturate Jewish religion to the Hellenistic world. Using Deuteronomy as their justification, they spread out and murdered the so-called “Hellenists” who were seen as a corrupting influence. In the areas the Maccabeans conquered, including Idumea, they forced non-Jews to circumcise or leave the country, in a precise reversal of the policies of Antiochus IV. And yet in many areas, including the army and architecture, the Hasmonean-Maccabeans adopted Hellenistic practices. Even so, the coins minted from the time of John Hyrcanus (135/134–104 BCE) show that in distinctly religious matters, including the ban on idols, they adhered to a strict interpretation of the law (Fig. 75).

Fig. 76. The most widespread coin of Alexander Jannaeus has on one side an eight-pointed star surrounded by a diadem. Around its points is carved “King Yehonatan.” On the other side is an anchor surrounded by the Greek inscription “(Minted) by King Alexander” (103–76 BCE).

Under Alexander Jannaeus (103–76 BCE) the Hasmonean dynasty reached the peak and the limits of its power. Alexander Jannaeus was the first to add the title “king” to his coins (Fig. 76) underlining his complete independence from the Seleucids. The eight-pointed star surrounded by a wreath would have been understood as a reference to Numbers 24:17: “A star will come out of Jacob, a scepter will rise out of Israel. He will crush the foreheads of Moab.” The image may have recalled the conquering of large parts of Moab by Alexander Jannaeus. The anchor on the Greek side of the coin likely commemorated (among other things) the conquest of a series of coastal towns. Both sides of the coin together supported Jannaeus’s claim to rule the land as king from the edge of the desert to the east (Moab) to the Mediterranean coast

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in the west. Jannaeus appears to have even used the mercenary armies that ensured these victories to strike against his own people in the face of opposition and criticism. The tensions became so great that one of the groups led by the Pharisees asked the Seleucid king Demetrius III (95–87 BCE) to challenge him. Towards the end of his rule, however, Alexander Jannaeus appears to have deliberately deescalated tensions with the Pharisees. Since he was aware of the resistance, even hatred, towards him and his dynasty, it is reported that, on his deathbed, Janneaus advised his anxious wife Salome Alexandra to take over as ruler and to be reconciled with the Pharisees since the people were completely under their influence. Whoever won over the Pharisees would also win over the people. Salome Alexandra followed her husband’s advice and became ruler (76–67 BCE), sharing power with the Pharisees. She made her elder son, the unambitious Hyrcanus, a high priest and kept her younger, forceful son Aristobulus out of power. Salome Alexandra ousted most of the pro-Hellenistic Sadducean temple aristocracy from the dominant position they had occupied since Hyrcanus I and Alexander Jannaeus, and gave their privileged position to the Pharisees, probably acting on her own insight and not following the (probably legendary) advice of the dying Jannaeus, since she was evidently a clever woman. Salome Alexandra let the Pharisees for the most part organize public life according to ancestral tradition, which made her popular with the people. At the same time, she was an efficient manager. She doubled the size of the army, thereby reducing the influence of the mercenary force without abolishing it altogether. This earned her respect not only at home but also among neighboring peoples, as she did not use her position to extend the country’s boundaries. After many years in which wars had taken a heavy toll, she gave the land the gift of peace. Under the Hasmoneans, Jerusalem and the temple were extended and adorned with many new monuments. These stood as a symbol of national independence and integrity and were a point of reference for Jewish communities worldwide. The political independence of this splendid city came to an end when Pompey finally defeated the Seleucid empire in 63 BCE and, at the same time, claimed for Rome the Hasmonean empire that had been weakened by feuds between Salome Alexandra’s sons Aristobulus II and Hyrcanus II. In a number of decrees, Caesar recognized the special status of the Jewish religion, and the Pax Romana opened up unique opportunities for Jerusalem to become a vibrant religious cen-

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ter. The coins minted by the Hasmonean ruler who was subject to Rome, Antigonus II Mattathias, no longer carried political symbols but did bear religious symbols (Fig. 77). In the description of the Jewish mission to the emperor Caligula in 39/40 CE, Philo of Alexandria gives a very impressive account of the importance of Jerusalem for the Jewish communities across the Roman empire (Legatio ad Gaium, 281–282). His list of lands, peoples, and all the places where Jews were orientated towards Jerusalem recalls the list in the Acts of the Apostles of all the nations who had gathered in Jerusalem at Pentecost. Pliny the Elder in his first-century CE Natural History (V, 70) calls Jerusalem the most important city in the east of the Roman empire—almost a counterpoint to Rome in the west.

Fig. 77. Coins of Antigonus Mattathias with the seven-armed candelabra and Greek inscription “of King Anti(gonus)” and the showbread table with Hebrew inscription “(of) Mattathias, the high priest” (40–37 BCE).

Christianity fully exploited the power of Jerusalem, for example, in Acts when Jerusalem is impressively depicted as the starting point for the Christians’ world mission. Other centers gradually took on importance for Christianity, such as Alexandria, Antioch, Constantinople, and even Rome itself. Jerusalem’s role in Judaism was subsequently and profoundly diminished for a long period of time as a result of the two failed pro-Hasmonean revolts against Rome: the destruction of the temple in 70 CE, and the temporary banning of Jews from Jerusalem in 135 CE. Jerusalem had not gained its supreme importance on account of its economic, political, scientific, or artistic achievements. On these fronts, Alexandria, Antioch, Athens, and Rome were far more impor-

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tant. Jerusalem’s preeminence was due purely to religious phenomena—above all, the fact that it was the cradle of monotheism. Even the otherwise consistently anti-Jewish Roman historian Tacitus showed some admiration of this fact, recognizing that: The Egyptians worship many animals and monstrous images; the Jews conceive of one god only. They regard as impious those who make from perishable materials representations of gods in man’s image: that supreme and eternal being is to them incapable of representation. (History V, 5)

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Closing Thoughts

Conclusion

There are several reasons—not one single reason—why the monotheism that took on fundamental and historical significance in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam should have arisen in Jerusalem in the seventh–sixth centuries BCE. The same holds true for other phenomena of the period first delineated by Karl Jaspers and called the Axial Age—a period that included the emergence of Greek philosophy in Ionia in the seventh–sixth centuries BCE and Buddhism in the fifth century BCE in northern India. The various Axial Age movements were no longer satisfied with a multiplicity of opposing powers (polytheism), and sought a deeper union than that represented by the model of a divine king over a number of lesser gods. A whole range of conditions and constellations, events and interpretations gave rise to an enduring monotheism in Jerusalem and later in the Jewish diaspora of Babylon. This was outlined in chapter 2, Jerusalem’s Setting, and the various chapters that made up part II: The History of Jerusalem. What the data show and allow us to reconstruct historically are the various elements that produced the monotheism which became rooted and established across an entire ethnic community. It was not, like the intuitive monotheism of Akhenaten (1353–1336 BCE), an act of royal imperative imposed by a ruler which did not survive his death, unless we accept the questionable and historically inconceivable notion of the “collective unconscious” being restored at some later point. Nor was Israel’s monotheism like that of Xenophanes’s time (ca. 570–475 BCE): a philosophical flight of fancy that was not consistently enforced. But a critical reading of the biblical texts combined with the archaeology of ancient Israel/Palestine enables us to identify the conditions and elements that allowed monotheism to develop and through which it was expressed. 161

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To be sure, the specific creative moments of inspiration or revelation remain elusive. Sensational press reports and popular writers claim with predictable regularity to have found monotheism’s deepest roots, discovered its decisive driving force, or opened its most secret chamber. But on closer examination these “discoveries” turn out to be unsupported if not bizarre psychological or sociological constructions. Probably the most famous example remains Sigmund Freud’s Moses and Monotheism (1939). Freud’s attempt drew little to nothing from the available historical sources. But the development of monotheism is primarily a historical issue and historical realities are always complex. Answers must be based on a critical analysis of the sources at hand. Without that we are left with nothing but speculation, assumption, and supposition, which hinders rather than aids the acquisition of scientific knowledge. What the available, critically-analyzed sources provide us with is a nuanced understanding of the exact nature of JerusalemJudean monotheism—the ingredients that gave it its character—and how as an integrative or cumulative monotheism it distinguished itself from other types of monotheism, particularly the older reductionistic and exclusive type of Akhenaten. Despite the currently popular “Abrahamic ecumenism,” it is clear that Jewish, Christian, and Islamic monotheism did not begin all at once with Abraham, despite the fact that all three claim him as their ancestor.1 Mohammed was right in saying: “Abraham was neither Jew nor Christian” (Sura 3:67; cf. 2:140). It should be added, however, that Abraham was even less a Muslim. The historical Abraham—assuming he was an historical figure—was a polytheist worshipping the deities he found at the different sites he visited. The biblical scriptures understand him to be the one with whom God began a dialogue that God continued with Abraham’s descendants who came to worship the God of Israel. The Jewish writings of the intertestamental period were the first to make Abraham a monotheist who aggressively rejected idolatry in all its forms and remained true to the Torah, even before the Torah itself had been revealed. Christians adopted the monotheistic view of Abraham from Judaism but understood him as the first Christian, who, unlike the Jewish Abraham, was not justified on the basis of the law but on the basis of his trusting faith in the God of all mercy. For his part, Mohammed adopted from both Judaism and Christianity unlike the 1. On this and the following, see Othmar Keel, Selbstverherrlichung: Die Gestalt Abrahams in Judentum, Christentum und Islam (Vorträge der Aeneas-Silvius-Stiftung an der Universität Basel 45; Basel: 2009).

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monotheistic Abraham who rejected all forms of idolatry. Mohammed gave Abraham the new task, together with his son Ishmael, of erecting the Kaaba in Mecca or of purifying it of idol worship (both versions are found in the Koran). At first Mohammed had taken over from Judaism the practice of directing prayer (qibla) towards Jerusalem. However, after the Jews in Medina failed to recognize him as a prophet and bloody clashes ensued, he changed the direction 180 degrees from the Temple Square in Jerusalem to the Kaaba in Mecca (Sura 2:142–145). The Kaaba and its worship were originally polytheistic, as the black stone that is still found there makes clear. As with Judaism and Christianity before it, Islam assigned to “Abraham” the role of separating the religion of revelation from its pagan roots. After hieroglyphics and cuneiform had been deciphered, theological scholarship in Europe and America turned its attention to the major achievements of ancient Near Eastern cultures, including their religious achievements. The “History of Religions School” (including, among others, Hermann Gunkel and Hugo Gressmann) tried to integrate these new findings into theology. But in the 1930s these attempts were sharply rebuffed by so-called “dialectical theology.” Karl Barth drew a stark contrast between religion and revelation. Religion, Barth asserted, was a doomed attempt by humankind to construct a path to God. Revelation, on the other hand, came down directly from above, posed fundamental questions about humankind, and revealed that human life was a gift of pure grace. This strict separation of religion and revelation reflected the authoritarian spirit of the times. But it now seems objectively questionable to apply “religion” exclusively to the pagan religions, and “revelation” exclusively to Judaism and Christianity. The pagan religions also experienced revelation, and Judaism and Christianity have had their fair share of religious endeavors. Theology must not be based on arbitrary claims, then—however confidently they are made—but must take into serious account the natural and historical facts so as to safeguard intellectual integrity as far as possible. In this regard, it can be taken as fact that human beings have regularly experienced an absolute that questioned all that was certain and historical. As Leibniz put it, what is miraculous is that there is something rather than nothing.2 A further miracle is that, faced with such unimaginable superior power, people are not destroyed by that but remain alive and subsequently experience existence as a pure gift. 2. See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, “The Principles of Nature and Grace, Based on Reason” (1714).

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The various formulations expressing this type of fundamental experience are, of course, interpretations as well as aids to interpretation that those receiving the “revelation” created or borrowed, adopted, and adapted from a traditional pool of images, often with significant modification. “Revelation,” after all, can only be understood and imparted if it is expressed in a specific, understandable language. Only then does the incomprehensible become, as far as possible, comprehensible, even while it remains, at the same time, tainted with human inadequacy if only due to the limitations of human language. These aspects mark every religious revelation. Every “revelation” consists of an experienced phenomenon and the interpretation and subsequent formulation of this phenomenon in human communication. This can be applied to the moon and the sun, for example, among other exemplary phenomena. The moon and the sun are always the same entities, but were interpreted as moon and sun deities in a great variety of ways by different cultures. Thus the Roman goddess Luna is a very different deity from the Akkadian god Sin, even though both are moon deities. An individual’s claim that God has spoken to him or her cannot, of course, be verified. Throughout history numerous people have maintained such claims that God has spoken directly to them. At the time of the prophet Jeremiah the crucial question arose as to whether it was God’s will to bow down to Babylon. Jeremiah advocated in the name of YHWH a “yes”; his opponent, the prophet Hananiah, advocated just as clearly a “no,” also in the name of YHWH (Jeremiah 27–28). From situations and experiences like this, Deuteronomy attempted to formulate criteria for true and false prophecy, concluding that a real prophet who rightly claims to have spoken in the name of YHWH is one whose prophecy is fulfilled (Deut 18:21–22). Unfortunately, that criterion can only be verified in retrospect, after the fact. The only criterion for distinguishing real prophecy from false is the approach shown by Jesus when he says: “By their fruits you will recognize them” (Matt 7:16). Monotheism was not revealed by God calling down in Hebrew from the Holy Mountain that he was the one and only. It came about slowly, through a long process in which the prophets of Israel, touched by the absolute, became increasingly convinced that all natural and historical phenomena were not the work of many distinct divine powers but of one single divine power. In ancient Israel/Palestine, the border area that repeatedly served as a meeting point for the two large ancient Near Eastern cultures—the cuneiform culture of the Middle East and

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the hieroglyphic culture of ancient Egypt–with the weather and sun god respectively as their main deities, YHWH was identified with both deities. As the force behind such diverse phenomena as thunderstorms and the course of the sun, YHWH gained transcendence over all visible phenomena. The major benefit of this “revelation” was that the world and humankind were no longer seen as a collection of diverse, unrelated factors. Instead, an attempt was made to comprehend them as a structure of interconnected, complementary parts. This does not alter the fact that nature can be brutal. Talk of “God’s creation” is, as Eugen Drewermann rightly points out, often simplistic or naïve, if not cynical.3 And yet, the “pagan” emotional attachment to the forces of this world cannot simply be brushed aside. As this short history of the origins of monotheism has repeatedly sought to show, it is not just Judaism that has made heavy use of pagan experiences and interpretations in formulating its vision and interpretation of the world. There are numerous examples of the same use in Christianity too. When, in third century Rome, December 25 came to be celebrated as “the birthday of the unconquered sun god” (since in December it looked like the sun would be overcome by darkness), Christianity transferred this birthday celebration to Jesus Christ as the true “sun of righteousness” based on the phrase in Malachi 4:2. But it might be posited that the originally pagan element of the winter solstice—yuletide as the feast of light overcoming darkness—is one reason why the Christmas festival has not disappeared even though Christianity’s influence in the modern world has weakened. The heathen basis, as it were, has proved resistant . . . and consistent. The continued existence of the “tower’s foundations” may mean that, sooner or later, the advantage that the “sun of righteousness” has over the physical sun might yet attract a following again. Islam, too, includes pagan elements to some extent. Where would Islam be without prayer directed towards the Kaaba in Mecca and the pilgrimage to that city? Mohammed adopted not just the Kaaba but also some cultic symbols and rites practiced there (e.g., shaʿaʾir; Sura 2:158; 5:2) and Islamicized them as being of Allah. These elements lend the otherwise very abstract religion a spatio-temporal and therefore human dimension. In many ways, then, thanks to the figure of “Abraham,” all three monotheistic religions have freed themselves from their pagan roots. 3. Beyond Drewermann’s various publications, cf. the recent work by Terence E. Fretheim, Creation Untamed: The Bible, God, and Natural Disasters (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010).

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But, as has so often been the case with Christianity’s view of Judaism, these monotheistic religions have often acted like an ungrateful “daughter” or overbearing “sibling” toward their pagan antecedents. Vertical transparency or “vertical ecumenism”—the dependence of Christianity on Judaism (e.g., “Jesus the Jew,” “Paul as a Jewish theologian”) and the dependence of Islam on both Judaism and Christianity—has been demonstrated with increasing clarity since 1945. But such transparency/ecumenism has been far less discussed in the case of the dependence of all three monotheistic religions on their pagan roots. Jon D. Levenson raised this problem in a groundbreaking article published in 1985.4 He noted that, in contrast to Christianity, Judaism did not need to reckon with the problem of an older brother and also had not adopted a book, an Old Testament that it now had to justify. But Judaism did know of a sibling who was cursed and whose inheritance (the land) it assumed. The story in question is that of Ham, the father of Canaan, who is supposed to have sexually abused his father Noah. In Genesis 9:25–27, Noah says that Canaan and all his descendants are accursed and will be the lowest of slaves to Ham’s brother Shem, whose greatest descendant, in turn, is Abraham (Gen 11:10–26). This curse on Canaan has been one of the reasons used to justify Israel’s poor treatment of the Canaanites. The accusations are found mainly in Deuteronomy and centre on the allegedly lax sexual morals of the Canaanites; their (supposed) child sacrifice; their worship of holy stones, trees, and idols; and their use of magic.5 Throughout history, Jews and Christians have repeatedly used these arguments to oppress indigenous peoples. So, for example, the Hasmonean Hyrcanus forced the Edomites to be circumcised or go into exile, and much later Christian monotheists oppressed the Native Americans in North America6 and the blacks in apartheid South Africa.7 In light of such atrocities, it is especially important that we break out of our monotheistic ghettos since a large part of modern and contemporary Western society sympathizes with the old polytheistic “pagan” 4. Jon D. Levenson, “Is There a Counterpart in the Hebrew Bible to the New Testament Antisemitism?” JES 22 (1985): 242–60. 5. Othmar Keel, “Die Heilung des Bruchs zwischen kanaanäischer und israelitischer Kultur und zwischen Judentum und Christentum,” in Vertikale Ökumene: Erinnerungsarbeit im Dienst des interreligiösen Dialogs (ed. Thomas Staubli; Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005), 11–26. 6. Thomas Staubli, “Antikanaanismus: Ein biblisches Reinheitskonzept mit globalen Folgen,” in Reinheit (ed. Peter Burschel and Christoph Marx; Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2011), 349–88. 7. See Ferdinand E. Deist, “The Dangers of Deuteronomy: A Page from the Reception History of the Book,” in Studies in Deuteronomy in Honour of C. J. Labuschagne on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday (VTSup 53; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 13–29.

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religions. Schiller’s “The Gods of Greece” and Goethe’s “The Bride of Corinth” are early signs of this new sympathy. Philosophers like Odo Marquard, cultural scientists like Jan Assmann, and writers like Philip Roth or Michel Houellebecq have eloquently expressed their sympathy for polytheism in their writings. When Jan Assmann debates Old Testament scholars defending monotheism, the intellectual public generally supports Assmann’s position that polytheism has certain advantages over monotheism. This is not because these people are polytheists themselves, but because polytheism, with its affinities to natural and cultural phenomena, is closer to today’s naturalism than a transcendental monotheism replete with its strongly conceptual aspects and its sometimes excessive ethical requirements. Even so, it is an illusion to want to “return to nature” since, throughout the course of history, humans have become increasingly cultured beings. We cannot do without the concepts devised by monotheism. We cannot avoid setting ambitious goals even when this frequently leads to frustration. For naturalism, nature is the ultimate good (following Baruch Spinoza’s [1632–1677] formula Deus sive natura)8 and there is no need to believe in a personal transcendent god as monotheistic religions do. A survey of 149 leading biologists found that 78% held to the naturalistic viewpoint, 3% gave no response, 14% said they were deists, and only 5% said they adhered to a monotheistic faith. Albert Einstein is often invoked as something of a churchman on the basis of his remark, “God does not play dice.” But by that he meant no more than that there are no coincidences in nature. The present treatment of the history of Jerusalem and the one God has tried to demonstrate how, in the sense of a vertical ecumenism, biblical monotheism grew out of polytheism and owes much to it in terms of its experiences, insights, images, and symbols—even if monotheism eventually transcended polytheism. What essentially links biblical monotheism and ancient Near Eastern polytheism is an openness to, and even a joy in, the world and a sense of responsibility towards it. Neither Judaism nor Islam have ever seen the world as a mere illusion but have instead seen the need to be involved with it and help shape it. Admittedly, in some instances, such as certain expectations of Christ’s imminent return, Christianity has shown a tendency to turn away from the world. But as a rule it has retained a strong sense of responsibility for the world. Even if the world, when seen in 8. Whether this is correctly understood or not is another matter; see Klaus Müller, Streit um Gott: Politik, Poetik und Philosophie im Ringen um das wahre Gottesbild (Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 2006).

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monotheistic perspective, is not a direct manifestation of the divine being but “merely” his creation, it still had its own particular dignity. It is neither mere illusion nor soulless material. As “a work of art” it bears the mark (Ps 8:4) of its creator. The Wisdom of Solomon and Paul’s Epistle to the Romans argue that the polytheists ignore the artist in focusing on the work of art, creation. The Wisdom of Solomon trivializes this mistake somewhat, finding that those who err in this way deserve only a mild reproach: “They have gone astray perhaps, though they seek God and wish to find him. For as they live among his works they keep searching . . . because the things that are seen are beautiful” (Wis 13:6–7). The purpose of the present volume has been to show that theists and naturalists are not so radically opposed as uncompromising positions would have us believe and have wanted us to believe. As the parable of the last judgment in Matthew 25:31–46 shows, what is ultimately decisive is whether people attend to the concerns and needs of others or not. In this perspective, the world is the only place where God is manifest and it is a place that we have direct responsibility to help shape.

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Afterword: A Few Remarks on History Writing

In the present account of the history of Jerusalem and the development of monotheism, decisions have been made and judgments have been drawn. For example, this account has sided with a more universal presentation of monotheism rather than with one that highlighted exclusive characteristics. But the present account has not overlooked the fact that even the credo challenged by Jeremiah—that YHWH would protect Jerusalem, his city, come what may (a belief that encouraged resistance to Nebuchadnezzar and ultimately led to the destruction of the city and the temple)—moved the story forward. The bland expression “there is good in everything” can, of course, quickly turn cynical given the suffering, misery, and resentment that bad judgments and decisions incur. “God writes straight with crooked lines” is somewhat less cynical-sounding. This expression acknowledges the invidiousness of human self-righteousness and hardness of heart, the “crooked,” but doesn’t let that have the last word. But it may be appropriate asked: Is it legitimate to make these types of decisions and judgments in presenting history? There is an often unconscious tension within historiography today. On the one hand, we have known at least since the Kantian Turn that there is always a degree of subjectivity in our work and that intellectual integrity requires that we reflect on this subjectivity, discuss it, and declare our own interests. History-writing serves not just to represent the past, but always contains a message from the author (historian) regarding the present, insofar as he or she adds—often surreptitiously—a positive or negative touch to the picture presented of the past. On the other hand, our postmodern society with its multicultural 169

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sensitivity presumes to withhold judgment completely in portraying past events and people’s lives, and feels compelled to understand and present these individuals purely from their own perspective. Many would share Bob Becking’s opinion when he says in his discussion of the mixed marriage issue in Ezra and Nehemiah: “the rigid measures of Ezra and Nehemiah are difficult to understand against all that is said in the Laws of Israel about the protection of the poor and the needy....... Many readers of Ezra (and Nehemiah) feel uncomfortable with these measures. . . . [I]t is my conviction that we should interpret these measures against their own historical and social background.”1 But is it possible to present testimony from the past, such as that found in the “Nehemiah Memoirs,” exclusively from its own historical and social perspective when we are using it as a source for reconstructing history? Or could and should we not, when using Nehemiah’s Memoirs as an historical source in describing the postexilic (or perhaps just the Hasmonean) period, also allow ourselves to be directed by our own ideas of human society and “all that is said in the Laws of Israel about the protection of the poor and the needy”? Should we not, for instance, challenge the position of Nehemiah (or the Hasmonean writer hiding behind him) from the perspective of the women whose hair he pulled out? Is that even possible, since, unlike “Nehemiah,” they have not left any memoirs, or at least none that have been passed down? Similarly, should we not and does it not make sense to question the motives of those who sought not confrontation, like Nehemiah with Samaria, but cooperation, strengthened by intermarriage among other things? Questions like the ones posed here to the “Nehemiah Memoirs” could also be asked of Deuteronomy’s hostility towards the Canaanites or the Maccabean’s aggressive attack on the “Hellenists” or any and every text that is clearly directed against one or more other groups. Since we do not have any written account of the positions of the “opponents” in these confrontations, we can only proceed on the basis of assumptions and our own sensibilities, even disquietude. But even if objectivity is not altogether possible, could we not at least create a type of critical intersubjectivity? Whose interests does it serve if we present Nehemiah, Deuteronomy, or the Maccabees exclusively from their own perspective? Is it even possible to countenance such a pre-Kantian position? Is it desirable to do so? Does it perhaps only serve as an apology for the Christian position, the uncritical abso1. Bob Becking, Ezra, Nehemiah and the Construction of Early Jewish Identity (FAT 80; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 61 and 55, respectively.

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lutizing of the Christian canon even as we urgently insist that Islam makes a critical reading of its own holy scripture, the Koran? What, then, is meant by the term “critical intersubjectivity”? By this term, I mean the historical attempt to address, first, the tension in the world that gave rise to a certain text (e.g., the tension between traditionalists and Hellenists)—the “critical” aspect—and, second, the tension between the subjectivity of the historiographer with the rules of humanity he/she knows and applies and the world of the text—the “intersubjective” aspect. A critical intersubjective writing of history is “critical” if what is presented is based as far as possible on all the available sources (archaeology, iconography, biblical and extra-biblical texts) and does not rely on simply one witness (e.g. “Nehemiah”), unquestioningly accepting the end result of the canonical process and endorsing it through apologetics. The metaphor of historiography as a type of courtroom can show how important it is to patiently hear the testimony of different witnesses. As such, “Nehemiah,” too, must be allowed to express his position. But testimony cannot end there, for at least three reasons: First, any court that excludes certain witnesses a priori or doesn’t let them speak is problematic and unfair. Unfortunately, biblical historiography has often excluded witnesses in just this way at certain times, as for instance, in the so-called biblical archaeology movement which showed partiality toward the biblical texts without a full reckoning of the evidence from the archaeological finds. So, for example, when the biblical texts present a different picture of the walls of Jericho from archaeology, neither of the two forms of testimony can a priori be treated preferentially.2 Second, the “court” must subject the various (and varying) accounts of the different witnesses to critical examination and take into account, for instance, the literary genre of the literary witness or the limitations of archaeological method in the 1930s. Both depositions must then be viewed critically in relation to each other. If both witnesses are allowed to fully defend themselves, there can be no objection to biblical texts being considered alongside archaeological findings. On the contrary, such an approach is quite necessary and benefits the under-

2. Nadav Na’aman, “Does Archaeology Really Deserve the Status of a ‘High Court’ in Biblical Historical Research?“ in Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel Read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap, Lincoln, July 2009 (eds. Bob Becking and Lester L. Grabbe; OTS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 165–83.

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standing of both text and archaeology. Many witnesses are always better than one. Third, the “court” must take due account of the position of the “victim” that cannot or can no longer speak on its own behalf. In the end, the historiographer—just like a judge—must interpret all the evidence, weigh it, and finally deliver a (necessarily subjective) verdict. A critical intersubjective writing of history is “intersubjective” if it declares and justifies its subjective view at key moments. This justification should not be purely subjective but can, for example, point out the consequences of different positions such as a systematic isolation from neighboring countries, strident nationalism, or belief in miracles. Reinhart Koselleck, an expert in the theory of historiography concludes that: “The moral judgment (in historiography) . . . is as essential as the elicitation of facts.”3 But moral judgments and judgments based on international law, for example, must be equally applied to all involved in an historical occurrence. In the end, then, the value and utility of any writing of history seems to me to depend generally on how and to what extent the available sources are used or not used. But it also depends on declaring one’s necessarily subjective (moral) standpoint, and succeeding in making that standpoint both transparent and reasonable. Hans-Peter Müller is justified in his criticism: “Since ‘facts’ in historiography can only be presented in terms of well-founded connections, which themselves are neither factual nor can be understood in the sense of a physical causal chain but always presuppose an arbitrary interpretation from the choice of correlated events, even scientific historiography has mythical elements mixed in to it.”4 Contemporary and acceptable forms of what Müller calls “mythical elements” would include the sociological and psychological models that are often very helpful but whose constructed nature should not be overlooked. Federico Fellini once described his only historical film, “Satyricon,” as science fiction. That may be an overstatement but it makes clear that our view of the past, like that of the future (and even the present), is strongly influenced by extrapolation and projection. 5 3. Reinhart Koselleck, “Der Mai 1945 zwischen Erinnerung und Geschichte: Differenzen aushalten und die Toten betrauern,” Neue Zürcher Zeitung (May 14/15, 2005): 67. 4. Hans-Peter Müller, “Religion als Teil der Natur des Menschen,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 5/ 1 (2003): 227–42 (233). 5. I have tried to apply the fundamental considerations that are merely sketched out here in my longer work, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung des Monotheismus (2 vols.; OLB IV/1; Göt-

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With regard to history writing and the subject matter of the present book, it should be underscored that scarcely any other city has been and still is the focus of as much political and religious strife as Jerusalem. The interconnection of historiography and current political positions is especially evident here, then. It is, therefore, a particular challenge to produce a critically- and intersubjectively-acceptable historical account that was and must be a desideratum of all who wish peace for the city of Jerusalem (Ps 122:7–8). Of course it is possible to avoid reading the biblical texts in an historical-critical way and thus sidestep the nasty pitfalls of history. The typological-allegorizing approach immunizes problematic aspects of the biblical texts against many critiques, for instance, by ignoring or spiritualizing the aggressively anti-Canaanite passages of Deuteronomy or the anti-Jewish passages in the New Testament with their appalling consequences in actual history. This type of approach promotes an integrated understanding of the Bible. Disregarding the literal meaning, it uses the texts to formulate timeless models by which to live. Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger and others have recently gone back to using this method, which had for several centuries been rarely used.6 But such an approach can rob the texts of their potential to teach us something of our origins and the origins of the monotheistic faith tradition, the ways that tradition developed in the face of ever new challenges, and the dangers it has incurred.7 Typological-allegorizing reading often ignores the past and its actors, or at least downplays their importance. It permits no real dialogue across the historical divide. The texts are used as material for timeless constructions, which does not take into account the characteristic worldview of Israel. That worldview experienced the manifestation of the absolute not in timeless patterns, but mainly, and in ever new ways, in concrete historical events and people—in “signs” (Luke 12:56) that could be read in the light of the past and with respect to expected future consequences. “You will tingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). Whether and to what extent I succeeded is a matter for (ever changing) “history” to decide. 6. See, e.g., Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger, “Die Hoheliedsauslegung Bernards von Clairvaux im Gespräch mit neueren Entwicklungen in der Bibelwissenschaft,” in Von der Freude, sich Gott zu nähern: Beiträge zur cisterciensischen Spiritualität (ed. Wolfgang Buchmülle; Heiligenkreuz: Be&Be-Verlag, 2010), 77–107; and, earlier, David C. Steinmetz, “The Superiority of Pre-Critical Exegesis,” ThTo 37 (1980): 27–38. 7. Cf. Ferdinand E. Deist, “The Dangers of Deuteronomy: A Page from the Reception History of the Book,” in Studies in Deuteronomy in Honour of C. J. Labuschagne on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday (VTSup 53; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 13–29.

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know them by their fruits,” says Jesus in Matthew 7:16. In the Bible, “revelation” occurs primarily in nature and history, and only on a secondary level through the written word. To be sure, the written word should not be denigrated, but one must reckon with this reality. Hence, in my judgment, the typological-allegorical method protects the texts against historical actuality and era-specificity, but at significant cost. It attempts to preserve the texts’ exclusive truth in the face of contrary evidence. But it is disingenuous to try to preserve texts like 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 and John 8:43–45 as holy scripture by regarding them simply as an allegory for an internal Christian struggle between believers and unbelievers when for centuries such texts bore “bad fruit” and inspired deadly Anti-Judaism.8 Such interpretations also seem to fall short of the spirit of interreligious dialogue. True dialogue requires that, in the interests of peace among peoples, all who earnestly desire relationship must confess to the dark side of their “holy scriptures” and history, foregoing a claim to exclusive truth. This does not mean abandoning what remains of value. It is, however, not fair to ask Muslims to read the Koran in a critical way and not to do the very same with the “holy scriptures” of Judaism and Christianity. Respect for historical reality is ultimately also the reason why in the present study natural (e.g., Jerusalem’s setting, volcanic activity in northwestern Arabia, and so forth) as well as historical aspects (e.g., Sennacherib’s campaign against Jerusalem) have been given so much weight.

8. Cf. Othmar Keel, “Die Heilung des Bruchs zwischen kanaanäischer und israelitischer Kultur und zwischen Judentum und Christentum,” in Vertikale Ökumene: Erinnerungsarbeit im Dienst des interreligiösen Dialogs (ed. Thomas Staubli (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005), 27–39.

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The Iconographic Work of Othmar Keel: A Select Bibliography

This bibliography, organized by year of publication, is necessarily selective since Keel’s scholarly oeuvre is truly vast. The focus here, then, is on those publications that are iconographic in nature or have bearing on the study of iconography in some fashion, however (in) direct. The present list is based on an earlier bibliography compiled by Izaak de Hulster and others;1 de Hulster also authored a lengthy treatment of Keel’s published work and a good portion published by the “Fribourg School.”2 The present listing is updated over the earlier one and annotations have been added to many of the items. 1960 Biblischer Kreuzweg. Einsiedeln: Benziger Verlag, 1960. 2nd ed. = Freiburg: Kanisius Verlag, 1983; 3rd ed. = 1997; 5th ed. = 2013. A “collage” of biblical texts relating to the fourteen stations of the way of the cross.

1. Izaak de Hulster, Stefan Münger, Silvia Schroer, René Schurte, and Christoph Uehlinger with the assitance of Marcia Bodenmann, “Bibliographie Othmar Keel,” in Bilder als Quellen/Images as Sources: Studies on ancient Near Eastern artefacts and the Bible inspired by the work of Othmar Keel (eds. Susanne Bickel, Silvia Schroer, René Schurte, and Christoph Uehlinger; OBO Sonderband/Special volume; Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), XXIX–XLVI. 2. Izaak J. de Hulster, Illuminating Images: An Iconographic Method of Old Testament Exegesis with Three Case Studies from Third Isaiah (Utrecht: n.p., 2007), 21–131.

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1968 “Neujahr, Neujahrsfest,” “Teraphim,” “Thronbesteigungsfest Jahwes,” and “Urflut.” Pages 1225–1226, 1226–1227, 1731–1732, 1747– 1749, 1802–1803 in Bibel-Lexikon. Edited by H. Haag. Einsiedeln: Benziger Verlag, 1968. 1969 Feinde und Gottesleugner: Studien zum Image der Widersacher in den Individualpsalmen. SBM 7. Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1969. Keel’s published dissertation distinguishes between earlier psalms, which characterize the enemies as simply “opponents” (ʾōyĕbîm), and later psalms, whicht describe them as immoral (rĕšāʿîm). In the Hodayot from Qumran, the supplicant no longer speaks of the former, but only of the latter. 1970 “Nochmals Psalm 22,28-32.” Biblica 51 (1970): 405–3. A coherent interpretation of Psalm 22:28–32 without textual emendation. Cf. Keel 1973: “Ein alter Notschrei: Psalm 22 (21).” Reviews of “Biblisch-Historisches Handwörterbuch” and “BibelLexikon.” Freiburger Zeitschrift für Theologie und Philosophie 17 (1970): 206–21. “Saul und David nach den alttestamentlichen Quellen.” Pages 217–25 in Saul und David: Einundvierzig Lithographien von Oskar Kokoschka: Biblische Texte übersetzt von Martin Buber. Luzern und Frankfurt a. M.: Bucher, 1970. Zurück von den Sternen: Kritik und Situierung der These Erich von Dänikens. BibB 7. Freiburg/Schweiz: Verlag Schweizerisches Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1970. Erich von Däniken explains many archaeological finds as the work of extraterrestrials. He also sees evidence of alien inva176

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sion in some biblical texts: for example, he regards the story of Sodom as an account of nuclear explosion. In this short publication Keel explains the thoughtworld of the ancient Near East and the Bible with reference to ancient Near Eastern images. Cf. Keel 1979: “Wer zerstörte Sodom?” 1971 Synoptische Texte aus der Genesis, Erster Teil: die Texte und eine literarkritische Tabelle zur ganzen Genesis; Zweiter Teil: der Kommentar mit einer Einführung in die literarischen Schichten der Genesis. Coauthored with Max Küchler. BibB 8,1-2. Freiburg/Schweiz: Verlag Schweizerisches Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1971. Erster Teil, 2nd ed. = 1975; 3rd ed. =1983. A synoptic presentation of the creation and flood stories which complements the biblical texts with ancient Near Eastern and Egyptian parallels. The commentary also considers iconographic parallels. 1972 Die Welt der altorientalischen Bildsymbolik und das Alte Testament: am Beispiel der Psalmen. Zürich: Benziger, 1972; 2nd ed. = 1977; revised and augmented ed. = 1980; 4th ed. = 1984; 5th ed. = Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996. English translation: The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms. Trans. Timothy J. Hallett. New York: The Seabury Press, 1978; reprinted. = Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1997. Dutch translation: 1984. Spanish translation: 2007. Japanese translation: 2010. “Erwägungen zum Sitz im Leben des vormosaischen Pascha und zur Etymologie von ‫ֶפַסח‬.” ZAW 84 (1972): 414–34. The Sitz im Leben or context of the pre-Israelite passover is probably the sudden drought in spring, which was seen as the work of a demonic power (mašḥît). The noun pesaḥ is to be interpreted from the root psḥ‚ meaning “to walk with a limp, to hobble, skip” (cf. 1 Kgs 18:26). This root at first signified the leaps of the mašḥît with which he celebrates victory, and

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secondarily the bloodrite, through which the demon leaps over (psḥ ʿl) the tents that have been smeared with blood and so spares their occupants. 1973 “Das Vergraben der ‘fremden Götter’ in Genesis XXXV 4b.” VT 23 (1983): 305–36. This essay provides examples of the practice of burying damaged or discarded sculptures of gods in sacred places. “Ein alter Notschrei: Psalm 22 (21).” Pages 11–28 in O Herr, Wir Rufen Alle zu Dir. Edited by F. Oser, O. Keel and R. Merz. Olten und Freiburg im Breisgau: Walter Verlag, 1973. A short commentary on Psalm 22. 1974 “Biblische Schöpfungstheologie.” Zeitschrift für Religionsunterricht und Lebenskunde 3 (1974): 1–3, 10. This article is one of the first attempts to reconstruct the biblical worldview using both texts and parallels from ancient Near Eastern iconography. “Die Weisheit ‘spielt’ vor Gott: ein Ikonographischer Beitrag zur Deutung des meṣaḥäqät in Spr 8, 30 f.” FZPhTh 21 (1974): 1–66. Published as a monograph: Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 1974. This essay interprets měṣaḥeqet in Prov 8:30f as an erotic evocation of the god of creation or fertility. Egyptian origins are posited for the imagery. Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: ikonographische Studien zu Jos 8, 18-26; Ex 17, 8-13; 2 Kön 13, 14-19 und 1 Kön 22, 11. OBO 5. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974.

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An attempt to explain the victory rites described in four biblical texts using contemporaneous iconography. A short upto-date English version of the main themes of this book is found in Keel 1999 “Powerful Symbols of Victory.” 1975 “Kanaanäische Sühneriten auf ägyptischen Tempelreliefs.” VT 25 (1975): 413–69. A series of Ramesside reliefs show scenes that have been interpreted by some (e.g., P. Derchain) as representations of Canaanite child sacrifice. This study demonstrates meticulously that the children are not being sacrificed at all, but are rather delivered as hostages to the pharaoh. Derchain subsequently accepted this explanation. Some English-language authors such as A. J. Spalinger (1978), G. C. Heider (1985), L. E. Stager (1985) and F. J. Yurco (1986) have continued, however, to erroneously use the child-sacrifice theory to denigrate the Canaanites. “Die Stellung der Frau in der Erzählung von Schöpfung und Sündefall: Genesis 2 und 3 (Erzählung des Jahwisten).” Orientierung 39 (1975): 74–76. A gender-sensitive and inclusive interpretation of Genesis 2–3. 1976 “Kultische Brüderlichkeit – Psalm 133.” FZPhTh 23 (1976): 68–80. An interpretation of Psalm 133, without textual emendation, as a cultic hymn and not as a wisdom text. “Judäische Keramik aus der Zeit des Jesaja und Jeremia (Eisenzeit II).” Heiliges Land 4 (1976): 19–26. The symbolic meaning of everyday Israelite ceramics of Iron Age IIB.

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“Musikinstrumente, Figurinen und Siegel im judäischen Haus der Eisenzeit II (900-586 v. Chr).” Heiliges Land 4 (1976): 35–43. Cultural objects in the Iron Age IIB Israelite household. “Yohanan Aharoni 1919–1976: Leben und Werk eines führenden israelischen Biblikers und Archäologen.” Judaica 32 (1976): 70–75, 113–18. The unique approach of a leading biblical and archaeology scholar compared with that of Y. Yadin. “Exodus als Befreiung.” Missionsjahrbuch der Schweiz 43 (1976): 46–50. The problem of violence in the context of Exodus. “Altarabien und die Bibel.” Schweizerische Kirchenzeitung 26 (1976): 403–5. The contribution of the work of the Arabist Joseph Henninger to understanding biblical motifs. 1977 Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst: eine neue Deutung der Majestätsschilderungen in Jes 6, Ez 1 und 10 und Sach 4. SBS 84/85. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1977. This book demonstrates that the biblical texts use the iconography found on contemporaneous seals and adapt it to their own message. It also features an entry by Adolphe Gutbug on the four winds of Egypt. Cf. Figs. 46.1–2; 58.2–2 and 64.1–6 in the present volume. Vögel als Boten: Studien zu Psalm 68, 12-14, Genesis 8, 6-12, Koh 10, 20 und dem Aussenden von Botenvögeln in Ägypten. OBO 14. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977. This book shows the various ways in which types of bird were understood as messengers in the ancient Near East and

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Egypt. Keel’s insight first presented here that the dove was a messenger of love associated with goddesses like Ishtar/ Astarte would prove productive for later works on the Song of Songs. The volume includes a chapter by Urs Winter on Psalm 56:1 and the iconography of the goddess with the dove. “Der Bogen als Herrschaftssymbol: einige unveröffentlichte Skarabäen zum Thema Jagd und Krieg.” ZDPV 93 (1977): 141–77. Reprinted in Keel/Shuval/Uehlinger 1990, 27–65 and the additions in 263–79. The motif of the bow in Egyptian iconography and in the imagery of the Hebrew Bible. “Rechttun oder Annahme des drohenden Gerichts: Erwägungen zu Amos, dem frühen Jesaja und Micha.” BZ 21 (1977): 200–218. An argument against the notion that the original message of the prophets Amos, Isaiah of Jerusalem, and Micah was simply to announce judgment and not to try to bring about repentance. 1978 Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob: eine Deutung von Ijob 38-41 vor dem Hintergrund der zeitgenössischen Bildkunst. FRLANT 121. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978. French translation: 1993. A treatment of God’s answer to Job in iconographical perspective. A short English summary of the arguments contained in this book may be found in Keel/Schroer 2015 Creation, chap. 8. “Grundsätzliches und das Neumondemblem zwischen den Bäumen.” BN 6 (1978): 40–55. A defense of the use of minature art motifs to understand biblical symbols in light of the work of Helga Weippert. Compare also Keel 1977 Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst.

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“Wie böse ist Gewalt?” Orientierung 42 (1978): 43–46. This essay considers the plausibility or lack of plausibility of René Girard’s “scapegoat theory” for understanding biblical texts on the subject of violence. 1979 “Das ägyptische Totenbuch erstmals deutsch.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 3./4. (1979): 11. An appreciation of the work of the Egyptologist Erik Hornung in understanding the Book of the Dead. “Eine Diskussion um die Bedeutung polarer Begriffspaare in den Lebenslehren.” Pages 225–34 in Studien zu altägyptischen Lebenslehren. Edited by Erik Hornung and Othmar Keel. OBO 28. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979. Puts forward the view that pairs of terms such as “sinners–righteous” are more widely used in times of turmoil when traditional values are threatened. “Wer zerstörte Sodom?” TZ 35 (1979): 10–17. Interprets Genesis 19 as a story that originally related to the sun god whose two messengers “Justice” and “Righteousness” could not stay overnight (Hebrew √lyn) in Sodom without being molested, and who urge Lot’s family to hurry when the day dawns because they know that when the sun god appears he will send fire down on Sodom. Studien zu altägyptischen Lebenslehren. Edited by Erik Hornung and Othmar Keel. OBO 28. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979. 1980 Das Böcklein in der Milch seiner Mutter und Verwandtes im Lichte eines altorientalischen Bildmotivs. OBO 33. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1980. 182

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Interprets the prohibition of Exodus 23:19b “to cook a young goat in his mother’s milk” as well as its biblical and extrabiblical parallels (e.g., Philo of Alexandria’s De virtutibus §125–144) as indicating respectful treatment of the mother animal. Mother animals were a widely used iconographic motif that symbolized mother goddesses in Canaan and ancient Israel. “Gedanken zur Beschäftigung mit dem Monotheismus.” Pages 11–30 in Monotheismus im alten Israel und seiner Umwelt. Edited by Othmar Keel. BibB 14. Freiburg/Schweiz: Verlag Schweizerisches Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1980. A response to recent judgments of biblical monotheism by non-specialists (e.g. F. Dürrenmatt, G. Steiner), this contribution calls for a new discussion of the subject by Old Testament scholars. “La glyptique du Tell Keisan (1971–1976).” Pages 199–232 in Tell Keisan (1971–1976): une Cité phénicienne en Galilée. Edited by J. Briend and J. B. Humbert. OBO.SA 1. Fribourg: Editions Universitaires and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1980. Reprinted in Keel, Shuval, and Uehlinger, Studien zu den Stempeliegeln III (1990), 163–260 with additions (= pp. 298–330). This is the first in a series of Keel’s contributions to excavation reports and first publications of glyptic material from Palestine/Israel. Monotheismus im alten Israel und seiner Umwelt. Edited by Othmar Keel. BibB 14. Freiburg/Schweiz: Verlag Schweizerisches Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1980. 1981 “Zeichen der Verbundenheit: Zur Vorgeschichte und Bedeutung der Forderungen von Deuteronomium 6,8f. und Par.” Pages 159–240 in Melanges Dominique Barthélemy: Études bibliques offertes à l’occasion de son 60e anniversaire. Edited by P. Casetti, O. Keel and A. Schenker. OBO 38. Fribourg: Editions Universitaires; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981.

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An attempt to explain the command to write the word of God on doorposts (mězûzōt), on the forehead (ṭōṭāpōt), or on the hands (yadekā) on the basis of contemporary, partly nonIsraelite practices. “Zwei kleine Beiträge zum Verständnis der Gottesreden im Buche Ijob (38, 36f; 40, 25).” VT 31 (1981): 220–25. Iconographic parallels for the relationship between the rooster and heavenly water jugs of rain and the trapping of crocodiles using hooks. Melanges Dominique Barthélemy: Études bibliques offertes à l’occasion de son 60e anniversaire. Edited by P. Casetti, O. Keel and A. Schenker. OBO 38. Fribourg: Editions Universitaires; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 1982 Orte und Landschaften der Bibel: ein Handbuch und Studien-Reiseführer zum Heiligen Land: Band 2: Der Süden, co-authored with Max Küchler. Zürich: Benziger Verlag, 1982. This volume (ca. 1,000 pages) is a richly illustrated guide to the country between Jaffa and Jericho in the north and Eilat in the south. All places mentioned in the Bible are covered in detail in sections dealing with the situation, name, history, and sights to see by visitors or pilgrims. “Der Pharao als ‘Vollkommene Sonne’: ein neuer ägypto-palästinischer Skarabäentyp.” Pages 33–54 in Egyptological Studies. Edited by S. Israelit-Groll. Scripta Hierosolymitana 28. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1982. Reprinted in Keel, Studien zu den Stempelsiegln IV (1994), 53–134. Analysis of a group of seals that shows the continuation of Egyptian motifs such as the pharaoh as the sun god, even after the end of Egyptian domination in Palestine. “Symbolik des Fußes im Alten Testament und in seiner Umwelt.” Orthopädische Praxis 7 (1982): 530–38.

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“Placing a foot on something” signifies rule and possession. 1984 Orte und Landschaften der Bibel: ein Handbuch und Studien-Reiseführer zum Heiligen Land: Band 1: Geographisch-geschichtliche Landeskunde, Co-authored with M. Küchler and C. Uehlinger. Zürich: Benziger Verlag, 1984. Chapters on geology, climate, flora, fauna, the geopolitical situation, names and borders, toponymy, excavation history, and historical sources on the history of Palestine/Israel. Deine Blicke sind Tauben: zur Metaphorik des Hohen Liedes. SBS 114/ 115. Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1984. Presents nine principles that must be considered when interpreting the metaphors of the Song of Solomon. Eight examples demonstrate the significance of Levantine miniature art for an understanding of these metaphors. “The Ancient Near Eastern Seal Collection of the Biblical Institute of the University of Fribourg.” Recueil de travaux et communications de l’Association des Etudes du Proche-Orient Ancien 2 (1984): 37–39. Die Bibel mischt sich ein: Predigten und ‘Worte zum Sonntag. Zürich: Benziger Verlag, 1984. An introductory essay discusses the problem of handling political issues in sermons. It is followed by 27 five-minute messages—many on Old Testament texts—delivered by the author on Swiss Television, and which often relate to political topics. 1985 Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel: Band I, co-authored with S. Schroer. OBO 67. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985. The first essay by Keel presents the various types of image carriers in Palestine and the particular significance of minia185

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ture art. The second essay by Schroer presents the subject of the “toga-wearer” in Middle Bronze IIB iconography. “Bibel und Ikonographie: Kleine Geschichte des Themas mit ein paar Bemerkungen zur Methode.” BK 40 (1985): 143–47. A short history of how ancient iconography has been used in biblical exegesis. “Das sogenannte altorientalische Weltbild.” BK 40 (1985): 157–61. A study showing why modern reconstructions of the worldview of the ancient Near East bear little relation to it, and what the ancient Near Eastern worldview would look like if it were more closely related to contemporaneous images. “Warum kommt Politisches in der Predigt so selten vor?” Orientierung, 49 (1985): 251–56. Political themes are not common in sermons, not least because most sermons are based on New Testament texts, and because political issues are divisive. 1986 Das Hohelied. ZBKAT 18. Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1986; 2nd ed. = 1992. English translation: The Song of Songs: a Continental Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994. French translation: 1997. Polish translation: 1997. The first commentary on the Song of Songs that incorporates extensive discussion of the iconographical data. Strong emphasis is placed on the thoroughly erotic nature of the composition. “Ancient Seals and the Bible: a Review Article.” JAOS 106 (1986): 307–11. “A stamp seal research project and a group of scarabs with raised relief.” Akkadica 49 (1986): 1–16.

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“Die Toten preisen den Herrn nicht, keiner von allen, die zur Stille hinabgefahren: Psalm 115, 17.” Schritte ins Offene 16 (1986): 8–10. On the theological significance of the fact that life after death is a concept generally missing from the Hebrew Bible. 1987 “Anthropozentrik? Die Stellung des Menschen in der Bibel.” Orientierung 51 (1987): 221–22. Many biblical texts, such as the creation story in Genesis, are strongly anthropocentric. This does not apply, however, to the divine speeches in the book of Job and some other texts. “The Divided Kingdom – Israel: Cults and the Practice of Religion.” Pages 101–3 in The Times of the Bible. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. London: Times Books, 1987. German translation: Herders großer Bibelatlas. Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2002. “The peculiar headrests for the dead in first temple times.” BAR 12 (1987): 50–53. 1988 “‘Die höchsten Berge sind dem Steinbock’: über das Verständnis von Natur und Boden im Alten Testament.” Reformatio 37 (1988): 34–39. A study of anthropocentrism and land law in the Hebrew Bible. 1989 Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel: Band I, co-authored with H. Keel-Leu and S. Schroer. OBO 88. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989. A collection of six studies: Keel-Leu presents the oldest stamp-seals of Palestine until the end of the Early Bronze Age; Keel discusses the Omega seal group (see also Keel 1986, “A stamp seal research project and a group of scarabs with

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raised relief”); Schroer studies the goddess on the Bronze Age stamp-seals of Palestine; and Keel concludes with an analysis of the Green Jasper scarab group, the anthropomorphic falconheaded group, and seals showing the Egyptian god Ptah. “Jahwe in der Rolle der Muttergottheit.” Orientierung 53 (1989): 89–92. Translated into English as the next entry. “Yahweh as mother goddess.” TD 36/3 (1989): 233–36. “Die Theologische Fakultät.” Pages 89–92 inUniversität Freiburg 1889–1989. Edited by S. Marti. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 1989. One hundred years of history and current problems at the Catholic Theological Faculty of the University of Freiburg, Switzerland. 1990 Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel: Band III: Die Frühe Eisenzeit: ein Workshop, coedited with M. Shuval and C. Uehlinger. OBO 100. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990. A collection of six studies: Uehlinger discusses several late Ramesside scarabs; Shuval presents “A Catalogue of Early Iron Stamp Seals from Israel”; Keel contributes “Der Bogen als Herrschaftssymbol” (original version = Keel 1977), “La glyptique du Tell Keisan” (original version = Keel 1980), “Berichtigungen und Nachträge” on the three studies listed, and a lengthy chapter on different groups of early Iron Age seals from Palestine in the Egyptian, northern Syrian, and local styles. “Ptah auf Siegelamuletten aus Palästina/Israel: einige Gesetzmässigkeiten bei der Übernahme von Motiven der Grosskunst auf Miniaturbildträger.” Visible Religion Annual for Religious Iconography 7 (1990): 199–232. 188

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A study of the Egyptian god Ptah on monumental and in miniature art, and changes that occurred as picture motifs transferred from one category to another. Altorientalische Miniaturkunst: die ältesten visuellen Massenkommunikationsmittel: ein Blick in die Sammlungen des Biblischen Instituts der Universität Freiburg Schweiz, co-authored with C. Uehlinger et al. Mainz am Rhein: Von Zabern, 1990. Revised and updated ed. = Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996. An introduction to the different collections of the Biblical Institute of the University of Fribourg/Switzerland, which have been on display in the BIBLE ORIENT Museum since 2005. Individual chapters present the ancient Near Eastern stamp and cylinder-seals, Egyptian seals (mainly scarabs), Egyptian amulets and bronzes, and moulds for amulets. Other chapters highlight the importance of minature art for understanding the biblical texts. “Zum Bild einer Festung mit Vögeln.” Pages 625–31 in Studies in Egyptology presented to Miriam Lichtheim. Edited by S. Israelit-Groll. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1990. Further evidence for the theory presented in Keel 1977 Vögel als Boten, which demonstrates the use of birds (and bird iconography) as messengers. This study examines the eastern wall of Ramses II outer court in Luxor, which shows six birds carrying the news of the destruction of an enemy city throughout the world. 1991 “Psalm 127: Ein Lobpreis auf Den, der Schlaf und Kinder gibt.” Pages 155–63 in Ein Gott, eine Offenbarung: Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese,Theologie und Spiritualität: Festschrift für Notker Füglister OSB zum 60. Geburtstag. Edited by F. V. Reiterer. Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1991. Demonstrates, among other things, that the common reading of Psalm 127:2b (“For he provides for his beloved during

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sleep”) is wrong, and argues for the translation “for he gives sleep to his beloved.” Schöne, schwierige Welt-Leben mit Klagen und Loben: Ausgewählte Psalmen. Bibelwoche 54. Berlin: Evangelische Haupt-Bibelgesellschaft, 1991. Ausdrücklich leben: Psalmen: Auslegungen und Gestaltungsvorschläge, co-authored with D. Puttkammer. Bibelwoche 54. Texte zur Bibel 7. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Aussaat, 1991. 1992 Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bislang unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen, co-authored with Christoph Uehlinger. Quaestiones Disputatae 134. Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1992. 2nd ed. = 1993; 3rd ed. = 1995; 4th ed. with an addendum = 1998; 5th ed. = 2001; 6th ed. with additional overview by F. Lippke on the history of reception = 2010; 7th ed. = Freiburg: Bibel + Orient Museum and Academic Press, 2012. Since 2015 also available on the Internet: http://hdl.handle.net/10900/59373. English translation: Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in ancient Israel. Translated by T. H. Trapp. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998. French translation: 2001. A treatment of the religion of ancient Israel/Palestine via the iconographical record with minimal recourse to the biblical texts. Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu warden: Drei Fallstudien zur Methode der Interpretation altorientalischer Bilder. OBO 122. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992. Shows through an interpretation of animal scenes on Near Eastern cylinder seals that images are best interpreted from within artisitic traditions rather than textual ones. This insight is then further developed in studies of Egyptian tree goddesses and with visual examples from Israel of doves, snakes, and bulls. The volume is rounded off with a brief suggested method for iconographic interpretation.

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“Iconography and the Bible.” Pages 3:358–374 in Anchor Bible Dictionary. 6 vols. Edited by D. N. Freedman. New York: Doubleday, 1992. A lengthy treatment that includes a history of interpretation of the use of images in biblical exegesis. “‘Mit Cherubim und Serafim’: ein Exegetenstreit und seine theologischen Hintergründe.” Bibel heute 28 (1992): 171–74. Considers why some theologians have a problem seeing cherubim and seraphim depicted in animal form (see Keel 1977 Jahwevisionen und Siegelkunst). Review of The Old Testament World, by J. Rogerson and P. Davies. BO 49 (1992): 464–70. 1993 “Allgegenwärtige Tiere: einige Weisen ihrer Wahrnehmung in der hebräischen Bibel.” Pages 155–93 in Gefährten und Feinde des Menschen: das Tier in der Lebenswelt des alten Israel. Edited by B. Janowski, U. Neumann-Gorsolke, and U. Gleßmer. NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1993. On the omnipresence of animals in the Hebrew Bible and their varying roles. “Altägyptische und biblische Weltbilder, die Anfänge de vorsokratischen Philosophie und das ’Αρχη-Problem in späten biblischen Schriften.” Pages 127–56 in Weltbilder. Edited by M. Svilar and S. Kunze. Bern: Peter Lang, 1993. Early version of material that was later revised and published in Keel/Schroer 2006 Schöpfung. “Frühe Jerusalemer Kulttraditionen und ihre Träger und Trägerinnen.” Pages 439–502 in Zion, Ort der Begegnung: Festschrift für Laurentius Klein zur Vollendung des 65. Lebensjahres. Edited by F. Hahn et al. BBB 90. Bodenheim: Athenäum-Hain-Hanstein, 1993.

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Early version of theories that were later developed in Keel 2007 Die Geschichte Jerusalems. “Hyksos Horses or Hippopotamus Deities.” Levant 25 (1993): 208–12. “Königliche Nilpferdjagd: eine ungewöhnliche Darstellung auf einem Skarabäus des Mittleren Reiches.” Göttinger Miszellen 134 (1993): 63–68. Discussion of an unusual scarab of the Middle Kingdom that shows the pharaoh hunting a hippopotamus. “Der Wald als Menschenfresser, Baumgarten und Teil der Schöpfung in der Bibel und im Alten Orient.” Pages 47–71 in Der Wald: Beiträge zu einem interdisziplinären Gespräch. Edited by D. Daphinoff. Études et textes de philologie et littérature NS 13. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 1993. Different perceptions of the forest in the Bible and in the ancient Near East. “Wie männlich ist der Gott Israels?” Diakonia 24 (1993): 179–85. An early version of the theories put forward in Keel 2008 Gott weiblich. 1994 Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel: Band IV. OBO 135. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994. Contains the following: a presentation of a set of early Iron Age seals from Megiddo; a reprint of a revised version of Keel 1982 “Der Pharao als ‘Vollkommene Sonne”’; an early version of Keel 1998 Goddesses and Trees, New Moon and Yahweh; and a first version of Keel 1995 “Stamp seals – The problem of Palestinian Workshops.” The volume ends with extensive indices for all four volumes of Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel (1985, 1989, 1990 and 1994).

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“Antike Statuen als historische Monumente für biblische Gestalten.” Pages 155–66 in Peregrina curiositas: eine Reise durch den orbis antiquus zu Ehren von Dirk Van Damme. Edited by A. Kessler, T. Ricklin and G. Wurst. NTOA 27. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994. A study of the double statue of Moses and Aaron that Egeria/ Aetheria saw in the 4th century CE in the eastern Nile delta, and of the double statue of Jesus and the woman with constant bleeding, shown to Eusebius of Caesarea in Caesarea Philippi. “Der Assyrerkönig Salmanassar III. und Jehu von Israel auf dem schwarzen Obelisken aus Nimrud,” do-authored with Christoph Uehlinger. ZKT 116 (1994): 391–420. Iconographic interpretation and historical relevance of the only visual representation of an Israelite king. “Eine Kurzbiographie der Frühzeit des Gottes Israels im Ausgang von Ausgrabungsbefunden im syro-palästinischen Raum.” Europäische Gesellschaft für Katholische Theologie 5 (1994): 158–75. The most important phases and different conceptions of God in the Levant in the 2nd millennium BCE, and the progression of Yahweh from war and storm god to the one God. “Jahwe und die Sonnengottheit von Jerusalem,” co-authored with Christoph Uehlinger. Pages 269–306 in Ein Gott allein? JHWHVerehrung und biblischer Monotheismus in Kontext der israelitschen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte. Edited by W. Dietrich and M. A. Klopfenstein. OBO 139. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994. Argues that the identification of Yahweh with the sun deity of Jerusalem was an important step on the way to monotheism. “Philistine ‘Anchor’ Seals.” IEJ 44 (1994): 21–35.

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“Die Diffamierung des Ursprungs: von den schmerzlichen Beziehungen zwischen Christentum, Judentum und kanaanäischer Religion,” co-authored with Silvia Schroer. Neue Wege 88 (1994): 71–78. Demonstrates that the Old Testament shows as radical of a rejection of Canaanite religion as the New Testament does of Judaism. “Wiedergewonnenes kanaanäisches Erbe: die Dramatik der Auslegungsgeschichte des Hohen Liedes.” Bibel heute 30 (1994): 134–36. Numerous passages of the Song of Songs refer back to Canaanite traditions and motifs. “Vorwort.” Pages xvii-xix in Christoph Herrmann, Ägyptische Amulette aus Palästina/Israel. OBO 138. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994. A short history of this seminal work on the Egyptian amulettes found in Palestine/Israel. 1995 Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Einleitung. OBO.SA 10. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995. The introductory volume to this massive corpus presents and discusses the different shapes, materials, engraving motifs, find contexts, and functions of the stamp-seals found in Palestine/Israel. “Stamp Seals—The Problem of Palestinian Workshops in the Second Millenium and some Remarks on the Preceeding and Succeeding Periods.” Pages 93–142 in Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the Symposium held on September 2, 1993, Jerusalem, Israel. Edited by J. Goodnick Westenholz. Jerusalem: Bible Lands Museum, 1995. “Tausende von mittelbronzezeitlichen Skarabäen aus Palästina: Was tragen sie zum Verständnis der Beziehungen zwischen 194

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Ägypten und Palästina von der 12. bis zur 15. Dynastie (1. Hälfte des 2. Jahrtausends) wirklich bei?” Studies in Ancient Art and Civilization 7 (1995): 27–41. This essay discusses the contribution of the more than 3,000 scarabs of the Middle Bronze Age found in scientific excavations in Palestine to the historical relations between Palestine and Egypt. “The Saham Tomb: the Scarabs,” co-authored with P. M. Fischer. ZDPV 111 (1995): 135–50. “Conceptions religieuses dominantes en Palestine/Israel entre 1750 et 900.” Pages 119–44 in Congress Volume Paris 1992. Edited by J. A. Emerton. VTSup 61. Leiden: Brill, 1995. “Der zu hohe Preis der Identität oder von den schmerzlichen Beziehungen zwischen Christentum, Judentum und kanaanäischer Religion.” Pages 95–113 in Ugarit: ein ostmediterranes Kulturzentrum im Alten Orient: Ergebnisse und Perspektiven der Forschung. Edited by M. Dietrich and O. Loretz. ALASP 7. Münster: UgaritVerlag, 1995. Antipagan polemic as found in Deuteronomy 13 is often justified by arguing that it deals with the religious “identity” of Israel. Antisemitic Christian polemic has been defended the same way. In both instances, however, the price paid was often too high. “‘Aus der Mitte der Völker’: die Bibel als Schlüssel zu den Kulturen des alten Orients.” Concilium 31 (1995): 4–10; published also in English, French, Dutch, Spanish and Potuguese. For centuries up until the present day, the Old Testament has been one of the most important bodies of texts conveying elements of ancient Near Eastern cultures to the West. “Hoheslied.” Pages 183–91 in Neues Bibel-Lexikon: Band II. Edited by M. Görg and B. Lang. Zürich and Düsseldorf: Benziger, 1995. Argues among other things that the poems collected in the Song of Song are non-allegorical and pre-Hellenistic. 195

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“Bertolt Brecht und das Erste Testament: Politik, Welthaftigkeit und Ideologie.” BK 50 (1995): 12–19. Republished in: Dreigroschenheft Informationen zu Bert Brecht 3 (1995): 27–33. Documents a series of themes and motifs that Bertold Brecht drew from the Bible. 1996 “Ein weiterer Skarabäus mit einer Nilpferdjagd, die Ikonographie der sogenannten Beamtenskarabäen und der ägyptische König auf Skarabäen vor dem Neuen Reich.” AeL 6 (1996): 119–36. Figurative elements on Egyptian scarabs from the period before the New Kingdom. “Davids ‘Tanz’ vor der Lade.” BK 51 (1996): 11–14. Reveals the erotic character of the so-called dance. “Gewalttätigkeit in der Bibel.” Pages 117–32 in Die ganz alltägliche Gewalt: eine interdisziplinäre Annäherung. Edited by K. Hilpert. Opladen: Leske and Budrich, 1996. This essay explores violence in the Bible and the need to interpret these texts seriously and with nuance. 1997 Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band 1: von Tell Abu Faraǧ bis ʿAtlit. OBO.SA 13. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997. Available online at http:// www.bible-orient-museum.ch/bodo/. Detailed description of 2,139 stamp seals from 22 excavations mainly in Akzib, Tell el-ʿAǧul, Akko, and Ashkelon. “Die Rezeption ägyptischer Bilder als Dokumente der biblischen Ereignisgeschichte (Historie) im 19. Jahrhundert.” Pages 51–79 in Ägypten-Bilder: Akten des ‘Symposions zur Ägypten-Rezeption’, Augst bei Basel, vom 9. –11. September 1993. Edited by E. Staehelin and B.

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Jaeger. OBO 150. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997. This essay treats the 19th century interpretation of the wellknown image of the nomads from Beni Hasan, the brickmakers from the tomb of Rekhmire, and the relief of Pharaoh Sheshonq in Karnak. “Die ‘Feinde’ in den Psalmen.” Brennpunkt Gemeinde: Missionarische Impulse für Verkündigung und Gemeindeaufbau 50 (1997): 56–60. A short version of Keel 1969 Feinde und Gottesleugner. “Leben aus dem Wort Gottes: vom Anspruch und vom Umgang mit den Schriften des Alten und Neuen Testaments.” Pages 95–109 in Pfarrei in der Postmoderne? Gemeindebildung in nachchristlicher Zeit: Für Leo Karrer. Edited by A. Schifferle. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1997. This essay shows the terrible consequences of certain biblical precepts, highlighting the need to evaluate all biblical prohibitions and commands in the light of the fundamental biblical requirement to love one another. 1998 Goddesses and Trees, New Moon and Yahweh: Ancient Near Eastern Art and the Hebrew Bible. JSOTSup 261. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998. Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel, co-authored with Christoph Uehlinger. Translated by Thomas H. Trapp. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998. “Die kultischen Massnahmen Antiochus’ IV. in Jerusalem: Religionsverfolgung und/oder Reformversuch? Eine Skizze.” Pages 217–42 The Interpretation of the Bible: the International Symposium in Slovenia on the Occasion of the Publication of the New Slovenian Translation of the Bible. Edited by J. Krašovec. JSOTSup 289. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998.

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Endeavours to understand the measures taken by Antiochus IV against the prohibition on eating pork, circumcision, and the Sabbath as an attempt at forceful reform and not as persecution of the Jews as such. The same practices were later invalidated by Paul on theological grounds. “Darstellungen des Sonnenlaufs und Totenbuchvignetten auf Skarabäen,” co-authored with Silvia Schroer. ZÄS 125 (1998): 13–29. Studies motifs from the Egyptian Book of the Dead which are found on scarabs. Mond, Stier und Kult am Stadttor: die Stele von Betsaida (et-Tell), coauthored with M. Bernett. OBO 161. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998. Publication and interpretation of the Aramaic stele of Bethsaida as a moon worship monument at the city gates. 1999 “Powerful Symbols of Victory: The Parts Stay the Same, the Actors Change.” JNSL 25/2 (1999): 205–40. An abbreviation and presentation, in Englihs, of the salient aspects of Keel 1974 Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen. “L’héritage cananéen de Jérusalem.” MdB 122 (1999): 12–17. German translation: Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 5/2 (2000): 7–14. An attempt to correct the false scholarly impression that pre-Davidic Jerusalem was insignificant. “Ein neu entdecktes Torheiligtum.” Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 4/3 (1999): 58–59. A short version of Bernett/Keel 1998 Mond, Stier und Kult. “Was ist biblische Bildlichkeit?” Reformierte Presse 26/47 (1999): 11.

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Christian art as a locus theologicus between the prohibition on idols and the incarnation. 2000 Hellenismus und Judentum: Vier Studien zu Daniel 7 und zur Religionsnot unter Antiochus IV, co-authored with U. Staub. OBO 178. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000. Positive aspects of the Hellenistic influence on 2nd century BCE Judaism. “Göttinnenkopf und Seth-Baʿal, zwei Skarabäen mit vorderasiatischen Elementen.” Pages 113–18 in Les civilisations du bassin méditerranéen: Hommages à Joachim Śliwa. Edited by K. M. Ciałowicz and J. A. Ostrowiski. Cracovie: Université Jagellonne, Institut d’Archéologie, 2000. The presentation of two previously unpublished scarabs from the University of Leipzig. “Wie Gott vom Tempel in den Himmel umzog.” Wendekreis 105/9 (2000): 22–23. Heaven as the actual dwelling place of the gods. Temples are a type of second home. “Le Cantique des cantiques: Parallèles littéraires.” MdB 128 (2000): 39–43. Republished in: “Biblische Liebeslyrik zwischen Mesopotamien und Ägypten: Zwei Arten von Liebe.” Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 6/3 (2001): 26–33. The difference between Mesopotamian and Egyptian love poetry and the influence of both on the Song of Solomon. “Erotisches im Ersten Testament.” Meditation 26 (2000): 6–9. Against the tendency to obliterate the erotic aspects of biblical texts in the act of translation.

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2001 ‘Im Schatten deiner Flügel’: Tiere in der Bibel und im alten Orient, coauthored with Thomas Staubli. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 2001. French translation: Les animaux du 6ème jour. Freiburg/Schweiz: Universitätsverlag, 2003. A volume on the large significance—real and symbolic—of animals in the Bible and the ancient Near East, richly illustrated with images of objects from the BIBEL + ORIENT collections. “Altägyptische und biblische Weltbilder, die Anfänge de vorsokratischen Philosophie und das ’Αρχη-Problem in späten biblischen Schriften.” Pages 27–63 in Das biblische Weltbild und seine altorientalischen Kontexte. Edited by B. Janowski and B. Ego. FAT 32. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001. Revised version of Keel 1993 “Altägyptische und biblische Weltbilder.” “Der Titel dieses Buches, die ägyptischen Bronzen aus Palästina/ Israel und dieser Katalog – eine Einführung.” Pages ix–xvii in M. Gasser, Götter bewohnten Ägypten: Bronzefiguren der Sammlungen ‘Bibel + Orient’ der Universität Freiburg Schweiz. OBO. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001. Temples were the most important buildings in Egyptian cities and the only buildings made from stone. The chapter also includes a list of Egyptian bronze figures of gods from Palestine. “Drachenkämpfe noch und noch im alten Orient und in der Bibel.” Pages 14–26, 130–31 in Sanct Georg: der Ritter mit dem Drachen. Edited by S. Hahn, S. Metken and P. B. Steiner. Kataloge und Schriften: Diözesanmuseum für christliche Kunst des Erzbistums München und Freising 24. Lindenberg i. Allgäu: Kunstverlag Josef Fink, 2001.

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Ancient Near Eastern and Egyptian iconographical evidence for the motif of the dragon fight. “Das Land der Kanaanäer mit der Seele suchend.” TZ 57 (2001): 245–61. Against the tendency towards a one-sidedly Ugaritic understanding of the Late Bronze Age religious history of Palestine and Jerusalem to the neglect of the more dominant Egyptian influence. “Religionsgeschichte Israels oder Theologie des Alten Testaments?” Pages 88–109 in Wieviel Systematik erlaubt die Schrift? Auf der Suche nach einer gesamtbiblischen Theologie. Edited by F.-L. Hossfeld. Quastiones Disputatae 185. Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2001. Argues against too radical a separation of biblical theology from biblical religious history. “Siegelamulett.” Pages 587–601 in Neues Bibel-Lexikon: Band III. Edited by M. Görg and B. Lang. Zürich: Benziger, 2001. Documents the history of stamp-seal shapes in Palestine/ Israel. “Warum im Jerusalemer Tempel kein anthropomorphes Kultbild gestanden haben dürfte.” Pages 244–82 in Homo Pictor. Edited by G. Boehm and S.E. Hauser. Colloquium Rauricum 7. Bodenheim: Athenäum -Hain-Hanstein, 2001. A wide-ranging argument that the temple in Jerusalem contained symbols of worship (ark, empty throne) but never an anthropomorphic idol. 2002 Schöpfung: Biblische Theologien im Kontext altorientalischer Religionen, co-authored with Silvia Schroer. Freiburg/Schweiz and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002; 2nd ed. = 2008. English translation: Creation: Biblical Thought in the Context of the Ancient Near East. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2015.

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“Das biblische Kultbildverbot und seine Auslegung im rabbinischorthodoxen Judentum und im Christentum.” Pages 65–96 in Macht und Ohnmacht der Bilder: Reformatorischer Bildersturm im Kontext der europäischen Geschichte. Edited by P. Blickle et al. Historische Zeitschrift. Beiheft 33. München: Oldenburg, 2002. The prohibition on cultic images was not viewed by Orthodox Judaism in its formative period as a general prohibition of images but rather of idols. “Egyptian Deities in Middle Bronze Age Palestine.” Pages 197–224 in Aharon Kempinski Memorial Volume: Studies in Archaeology and Related Disciplines. Edited by E. D. Oren and S. Ahituv. Beer-Sheva 15. Beer-Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2002. Kanaan–Israel–Christentum: Plädoyer für eine ‘vertikale’ Ökumene: Franz-Delitzsch-Vorlesung 2001. Franz-Delitzsch-Vorlesung 11. Münster i.W.: Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum, 2002. A case for accepting the numerous ancient Near Eastern pagan influences on the Hebrew Bible, the independence of the New Testament scriptures from Judaism and the pagan surroundings, for placing more emphasis on what unites rather than what divides, and for renouncing claims to exclusivity. “Der salomonische Tempelweihspruch: Beobachtungen zum religionsgeschichtlichen Kontext des ersten Jerusalemer Tempels.” Pages 9–23 in Gottesstadt und Gottesgarten: zu Geschichte und Theologie des Jerusalemer Tempels. Edited by O. Keel and E. Zenger. Quaestiones Disputatae 191. Freiburg im Breisgau, 2002. Makes the case for the primal nature of the Septuagint version of Solomon’s dedication formula in 1 Kings 8:12 and draws the conclusion that the pre-Davidic main sanctuary of Jerusalem was a solar shrine. “Scarabs and Amuletic Seals from Akhziv.” Pages 174–76 in The Akhziv Cemeteries: the Ben-Dor Excavations 1941-1944. Edited by M. Dayagi-Mendels. Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 15. Jerusalem: The Israel Antiquities Authority, 2002.

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“Segen der Brüste: Ist die jüdisch-christliche Tradition radikal erosfeindlich?” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 30/31 (2002): 3. The Christian antipathy to the body and sexuality does not extend back to ancient Israel. “Der Wald als Menschenfresser, Baumgarten und Teil der Schöpfung in der Bibel und im Alten Orient.” Pages 65–96 in Das Kleid der Erde: Pflanzen in der Lebenswelt des alten Israel. Edited by U. Neumann-Gorsolke and P. Riede. Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag, 2002. Revised version of Keel 1993 “Der Wald.” “Animals in the Bible and the Ancient Near East.” Minerva 13/1 (2002): 23–25. Contains elements of Keel and Staubli 2001 ‘Im Schatten Deiner Flügel.’ Gottesstadt und Gottesgarten: zu Geschichte und Theologie des Jerusalemer Tempels. Edited by O. Keel and E. Zenger. Quaestiones Disputatae 191. Freiburg im Breisgau, 2002. 2003 “Schwache alttestamentliche Ansätze zur Konstruktion einer stark dualistisch getönten Welt.” Pages 211–36 in Die Dämonen: die Dämonologie der israelitisch-jüdischen und frühchristlichen Literatur im Kontext ihrer Umwelt. Edited by A. Lange, H. Lichtenberger and K.D. Römheld. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003. The Hebrew Bible generally does not recognise a dualistic world. Yahweh is accountable for both good and evil. Aggressive and dangerous powers, such as the cherubim, are in his service. “Die Tiere und der Mensch in Daniel 7.” Pages 37–65 in Europa: Tausendjähriges Reich und Neue Welt: Zwei Jahrtausende Geschichte und Utopie in der Rezeption des Danielbuches. Edited by M. Delgado, K. Koch and E. Marsch. Studien zur christlichen Religions-und Kulturgeschichte 1. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2003. 203

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Revised edition of the first contribution in Keel and Staub 2000 Hellenismus und Judentum. “Weibliche Idole aus Vorderasien vom Neolithikum bis in die Perserzeit.” Pages 88–92, 126–46 in Madonna: Das Bild der Muttergottes. Edited by S. Hahn, B. Feiler and P. B. Steiner. Kataloge und Schriften: Diözesanmuseum für christliche Kunst des Erzbistums München und Freising 32. Lindenberg i. Allgäu: Kunstverlag Josef Fink, 2003. Female idols of the Levant from the BIBEL + ORIENT collections. “Die-Lotos-Kopfschild-Gruppe: Neo-Hyksos Skarabäen der Eisenzeit IIB (ca. 900–700 v.u.Z.).” Pages 127–57 in Saxa Loquentur: Studien zur Archäologie Palästina/Israels. Festschrift für Volkmar Fritz zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by C. G. den Hertog, U. Hübner and S. Münger. AOAT 302. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2003. Description of a group of scarabs that at first glance look Middle Bronze Age, but on closer inspection prove to be from the Iron Age. “Vorwort.” Pages vii-ix in Christoph Herrmann, Die ägyptischen Amulette der Sammlungen Bibel + Orient der Universität Freiburg Schweiz: Anthropomorphe Gestalten und Tiere. OBO.SA 22. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003. The history and scientific significance of the collection. “Die allerheiligste Dreifaltigkeit als Randfigur.” Pages 253–75 in Randfiguren in der Mitte: Hermann-Josef Venetz zu Ehren. Edited by M. Küchler and P. Reinl. Freiburg/Schweiz: Paulus-Verlag, 2003. On the biblical antecedents to the trinity, the need for at least two persons if love is to be at the heart of the notion of God, and the reasons why the male-female image of God in Genesis 1 did not develop into a trinitarian model.

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2004 Eva–Mutter alles Lebendigen: Frauen-und Göttinnenidole aus dem Alten Orient, co-authored with Silvia Schroer. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press, 2004; 2nd ed. = 2006; 3rd ed. = 2010. A typology and presentation of 240 figurines and other small objects of women and goddesses from the ancient Near East and Egypt almost exclusively from the BIBLE ORIENT collection of the University of Fribourg/Switzerland. “Zu Geschichte und Zweck der Sammlung.” Pages xiii-xvii in Die vorderasiatischen Rollsiegel der Sammlungen “Bibel + Orient” der Universität Freiburg Schweiz / The Ancient Near Eastern Cylinder Seals of the Collections “Bible Orient” of the University of Fribourg. Edited by H. Keel-Leu and B. Teissier. OBO 200. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenheock & Ruprecht, 2004. The history and significance of the ancient Near Eastern cylinder seal collection at the University of Fribourg/ Switzerland. Salomons Tempel, co-authored with Ernst Axel Knauf and Thomas Staubli. Academic Press: Freiburg/Schweiz, 2004. History, appearance, features, life, and afterlife of the Solomonic temple in Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and in the Freemason movement. French translation: 2005. “Eine chalkolithische Harfenspieler-Figur.” Pages 481–92 in Schriftprophetie: Festschrift für Jörg Jeremias zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by F. Hartenstein, J. Krispenz and A. Schart. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2004. Description of a Chalcolithic bronze figure of a harp player. “Ägyptenbilder der Bibel – Eine Einführung.” Pages 8–11 in S. Bickel, In ägyptischer Gesellschaft: Aegyptiaca in der Sammlungen Bibel + Orient an der Universität Freiburg Schweiz. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press, 2004.

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The image of Egypt in the Bible is not consistent. Alongside the image of an exemplary, functioning state (story of Joseph) is that of a xenophobic society (Exodus). Egyptian deities play a rather minor role. “Die Brusttasche des Hohenpriesters als Element priesterschriftlicher Theologie.” Pages 379–91 in Das Manna fällt auch heute noch: Beiträge zur Geschichte und Theologie des Alten, Ersten Testaments. Edited by F.-L. Hossfeld and L. Schwienhorst-Schönberger. Herders Biblische Studien 44. Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2004. The breast-piece of the high priest as an element of a theology typical of the priestly code. “Die Herrlichkeitserscheinung des Königsgottes in der Prophetie.” Pages 134–83 in Mythisches in biblischer Bildsprache: Gestalt und Verwandlung in Prophetie und Psalmen. Edited by H. Irsigler. Quaestiones Disputatae 209. Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2004. Discussion of the ambivalent attitude of the Hebrew Bible toward the epithet “king” for Yahweh and its visual representation in cultic paraphernalia and visions. “Zeichensysteme der Nähe Gottes in den Büchern Jeremia und Ezechiel.” Pages 30–64 in Gottes Nähe im Alten Testament. Edited by G. Eberhardt and K. Liess. SBS 202. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004. The mainly agricultural, village metaphors of the book of Jeremiah and the learned iconographical metaphors of Ezekiel. “Monotheismus–ein göttlicher Makel? Über eine allzu bequeme Anklage.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 30./31 (2004): 10. Is monotheism a “divine stain”? This article comments on the positive aspects of systematic, “mature” monotheism. “Erotik als Amulett gegen den allgegenwärtigen Tod: die Lebensmetaphorik des Hohenlieds im Spiegel israelitischer Siegelkunst.” JBT 19 (2004): 49–62.

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The metaphors of renewal from the Song of Songs on ancient Israelite seals. “Recht und Gerechtigkeit, eine unbehagliche Geschwisterbeziehung.” Pages 131–40 in Gauchs Welt: Recht, Vertragsrecht und Baurecht: Festschrift für Peter Gauch zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by P. Tercier et al. Zürich: Schulthess, 2004. The uneasy relationship between positive, national systems of law such as the German, English, or Egyptian Law vis-à-vis the ideal of universal justice. “Some of the Earliest Groups of Locally Produced Scarabs from Palestine.” Pages 73–101 in Scarabs of the Second Millennium BC from Egypt: Nubia, Crete and the Levant. Chronological and Historical Implications: Papers of a Symposium, Vienna, 10th–13th of January 2002. Edited by M. Bietak and E. Czerny. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Denkschriften der Gesamtakademie 35. Wien: Verlag der Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004. “The Glyptic Fnds: Stamp-seal Amulets.” Pages 51–54 in Bronze and Iron Age Tombs at Tel Gezer, Israel: Finds from Raymond-Charles Weill’s Excavations in 1914 and 1921. Edited by A. M. Maeir. British Archaeological Reports. International Series 1206. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2004. “Pre-Bronze Age and Bronze Age Artefacts: Section C: Scarabs, Stamp Seal-Amulets and Impressions.” Pages 1537–1571 in The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973 -1994): Volume 3. Edited by D. Ussishkin. Tel Aviv University, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, Monograph Series 22. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Institute of Archaeology, 2004. “Appendix I: Stamp Seal Amulets,” “‘Askar,” “Hebron/Tell Rumeide,” and “Otniel,” co-authored with S. Münger. Pages 13, 50, 240–41, 255, and 276–77, 284 in Burial Caves and Sites in Judea and Samaria: from the Bronze and Iron Ages. Edited by H. Hizmi and A. De Groot. Judea and Samaria Publications 4. Jerusalem: The Israel Antiquities Authority, 2004.

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“The Scarab: Appendix to the article of M. Peilstöcker, ‘Khirbet Sha‘ira: Excavations of a Rural Settlement from the Middle Bronze Age II in the Vicinity of Tel Afeq (Aphek),” co-authored with S. Münger. ‘Atiqot 48 (2004): 74–76. 2005 Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern: Band 1: vom ausgehenden Mesolithikum bis zur Frühbronzezeit, co-authored with Silvia Schroer. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Academic Press Fribourg, 2005. The first volume of this series presents the use of images since the Renaissance to explain biblical texts, then comments in detail on 362 pictures from Israel and neighbouring countries. “Das je verschiedene theologische Profil der Klagelieder und der Volksklagen.” Pages 128–42 in L’écrit et l’esprit: Études d’histoire du texte et de théologie biblique en hommage à Adrian Schenker. Edited by D. Böhler, I. Himbaza and Ph. Hugo. OBO 214. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenheock & Ruprecht, 2005. Whereas in the Book of Lamentations there is an element of personal blame, in the communal laments in the Psalms it is mainly God who is blamed for not fulfilling his promises. “Merkwürdige Geschöpfe.” BK 60 (2005): 139–44. History of the motif of the hybrid creatures in the vision of Ezekiel 1. “Biblische Schauplätze: Babylon.” Leben und Glauben 4/8 (2005): 18–19. Outlines biblical impressions of Babylon. “Was ist unter vertikaler Ökumene zu verstehen?” “Die Heilung des Bruchs zwischen ‘kanaanäischer’ und israelitischer Kultur,” and “Die Heilung des Bruchs zwischen Judentum und Christentum.” Pages 7–10, 11–26, 27–39 in Vertikale Ökumene: Erin-

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nerungsarbeit im Dienst des interreligiösen Dialogs. Edited by Thomas Staubli. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press, 2005. Vertical ecumenism is a kind of history of traditions, which tries, among other things, to show that later religions profited a great deal from earlier ones and had a tendency to denigrate the “parent” religions. “Müssen die monotheistischen Religionen ihre ‘Biographien’ neu schreiben? / ‘Les religions monothéistes doivent-elles réécrire leurs biographies?” Pages 22-48 in Jahresbericht der Marcel-BenoistStiftung 2005: Rapport annuel de la Fondation Marcel Benoist 2005. Bern: Departement des Innern, 2005. The acknowledgement of offensive texts in our holy scriptures, and of sins against our “parents,—that is, Christians against Jews, Muslims against Jews and Christians, and all three against the pagans—negates these individual religions’ claims to exclusivity and enables a dialogue among equals. “An Interview with Othmar Keel: Defending the Study of Unprovenanced Artifacts.” BAR 31/4 (2005): 56–57. “The Stamp Seal Amulets,” coauthored with S. Münger. Pages 273–79 in Ashdod VI: The Excavations of Areas H and K (1968-1969). Edited by M. Dothan and D. Ben-Shlomo. Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 24. Jerusalem: The Israel Antiquities Authority, 2005. 2006 Corpus der Siegel-Amulette aus Jordanien: vom Neolithikum bis zur Perserzeit, co-authored with Jürg Eggler. OBO.SA 25. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006. Detailed description of 719 stamp and cylinder seals from 92 find locations, around 100 of them published here for the first time. “Cylinder and Stamp Seals in the Southern Levant between 1800 and 1500 BC.” Pages 62–81, 151–53, 203–6 in The Iconography of 209

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Cylinder Seals. Edited by P. Taylor. Warburg Institute Colloquia 9. London: The Warburg Institute, 2006. “Reflections on Ptah and Memphite Theology from the Soil of Palestine: Iconographic and Epigraphic Evidence.” Pages 239–72 in Text, Artifact, and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion. Edited by G. Beckman and T. J. Lewis. BJS 346. Providence, Rhodes Island: Brown Judaic Studies, 2006. “Der Kopf einer Kultstatue vom Typ Anat-Astarte: Sammlungen Bibel + Orient der Universität Freiburg/Schweiz, Inv. Nr. VFig 2004.8.” Pages 105–23 in ‘Gott bin ich, kein Mann’: Beiträge zur Hermeneutik der biblischen Gottesrede: Festschrift für Helen SchüngelStraumann zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by I. U. Riedel-Spangenberger and E. Zenger. Paderborn: Schöningh, 2006. Presentation of an almost life-size stone sculpture of the head of a goddess, probably from Jordan. “Ikonographie,” co-authored with Jürg Eggler, Silvia Schroer, and Christoph Uehlinger. Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet. Edited by M. Bauks, K. Koenen, and St. Alkier. Available online at: http://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/stichwort/21778/. 2007 Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus. 2 vols. Orte und Landschaften der Bibel IV,1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007. A full 1,384-page study with 725 illustrations, including extensive discussion of the pertinent issues and a bibliography. Keel 2011/2014 Jerusalem und der eine Gott and the present English translation of the latter are much abbreviated versions. “Das Hohelied – Schönheit der Form oder tiefer Bedeutung?” Pages 143–57 in Schönheit und Mass: Beiträge der Eranos Tagungen 2005 und 2006. Edited by E. Hornung and A. Schweizer. Basel: Schwabe, 2007.

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Argues that the metaphors of the Song of Songs praise not just the external beauty but the precious character of the beloved. L’Eternel féminin: une face cachée du Dieu biblique. Musée Bible Orient: Fribourg et Genève: Labor et Fides, 2007. German version: 2008. Dutch translation: 2013. The introduction reveals the hidden female aspects in the image of Yahweh, while the exhibition catalogue presents many objects mainly from the collections of the BIBLE ORIENT Museum. “Vom Thron der Weisheit zur Himmelskönigin.” Zeitschrift für Religionsunterricht und Lebenskunde 36/3 (2007): 4–9. The important developments in the history of the image of the Virgin Mary. “Wie männlich ist der Gott der Bibel? Überlegungen zu einer unerledigten Frage.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 30/6 (2007): 1–7. Reprinted as pages 87–92 in Der Teufel blieb männlich: Kritische Diskussion zur Bibel in gerechter Sprache: Feministische, historische und systematische Beiträge. Edited by E. Gössmann, E. Moltmann-Wendel and H. Schüngel-Straumann. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2007. Shows how the image of Yahweh integrated many characteristics of female deities and how Yahweh became a harsh male figure espeically by use of the term “Lord.” “Die Sammlungen Bibel + Orient der Universität Freiburg.” Pages 6–8 in Bibel + Orient im Original: 72 Einsichten in die Sammlungen der Universität Freiburg Schweiz. Edited by Thomas Staubli. Freiburg/ Schweiz: Academic Press, 2007. History of the BIBEL + ORIENT collections. “Vertikale Ökumene – Dialog durch die Zeit vom Kanaanismus, Judentum, Christentum, Islam bis hin zur Moderne.” Pages 47–81 in Impulse für die Zukunft des jüdisch-christlichen Dialogs: zum 60.

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Geburtstag der Seelisberger Thesen. Edited by Christoph Rutishauser. Edlibach: Lasalle-Haus Bad Schönbrunn, 2007. An extended version of Keel 2002 Kanaan–Israel–Christentum and Keel 2005 “Was ist unter vertikaler Ökumene zu verstehen?” 2008 “JHWH – der Gott aus dem Süden und sein Volk.” Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 13/3 (2008): 50–53. Arguments for seeking Yahweh’s origins in the volcanic regions of Ancient Midian, now northwestern Saudi Arabia. “Sitzt Gott in der Hölle der Einsamkeit? Über einige verschiedene Modelle die das Göttliche vorstellbar machen.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 13/14 (2008): 12. A discussion of different models of God (pantheistic, polytheistic, monotheistic) and some advantages of the trinitarian model. See further Keel 2003 “Die allerheiligste Dreifaltigkeit.” 2009 Selbstverherrlichung: die Gestalt Abrahams in Judentum, Christentum und Islam. Vorträge der Aeneas Silvius-Stiftung an der Universität Basel 45. Basel: Schwabe. 2009. In Jewish tradition, Abraham becomes the first orthodox Jew, in Christian tradition the first believer saved by his faith, and in Islamic tradition the first Muslim and builder of the Kaaba in Mecca. “Minima methodica und die Sonnengottheit von Jerusalem.” Pages 213–224 in Iconography and Biblical Studies: Proceedings of the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS/SBL Conference, 22-26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria. Edited by I. de Hulster and R. Schmitt. AOAT 361. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009.

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A discussion of the notion of “objectivity” in the history of religion and biblical exegesis. “Das göttliche Kind: ‘Äs richtigs Chrischtchindli.’” Leben und Glauben 17/12 (2009): 23–26. The divine child in Christianity and ancient Egypt. “Ist das ein Leben? Elemente eines gelungenen Lebens in der alttestamentlichen Literatur.” Pages 59-68 in Bilder des Unerkennbaren. Beiträge der Eranos Tagungen 2007 und 2008. Edited by E. Hornung and A. Schweizer. Basel: Schwabe, 2009. What is a successful life according to the Old Testament? “Iron Age Seals and Seal Impressions from Tel Rehov,” coauthored with A. Mazar. Pages 57*–69* in Eretz Israel 29 (Ephraim Stern Volume). Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2009. “Seth-Baʿal und Seth-Baʿal-Jahwe – interkulturelle Ligaturen.” Pages 87-107 in Jerusalem und die Länder. Ikonographie – Topographie – Theologie. Fest-Schrift Max Küchler. Edited by G. Theissen, H. U. Steymans, S. Ostermann, M. Schmidt, and A. Moresino-Zipper. NTOA 70. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009. Demonstrates that the characteristics of the Egypto-Canaanite deity Seth-Baʿal were very close to those of Yahweh in the oldest Israelite texts. 2010 Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit. Katalog Band II: von Bahan bis Tel Eton. OBO.SA 29. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010. Available online at: http://www.bibleorient-museum.ch/bodo/. Detailed description of 1,224 stamp seals from 45 excavations, most fromBeth Mirsim, Beth Shean, Beth Shemesh, Deir el-Balah, Dan, Dor, Dotan, and Ekron.

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Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band III: von Tell el-Farʿa-Nord bis Tell el-Fir. OBO.SA 31. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010. Available online at: http://www.bible-orient-museum.ch/bodo/. Detailed description of 1,009 stamp seals from four excavations, most from Tell el-Farʿa-South (954 objects). “Glyptik von Qubur al-Walaydah.” WO 40 (2010): 108–18. Three Egyptian seal-amulets from first millennium levels from the site close to Tell el-Farʿa-South. “Elemente von Sonnengottvorstellungen im biblischen Gottesbild: Interkulturalität und Intermedialität.” Pages 57–70 in Interkulturalität: Begegnung und Wandel in den Religionen. Edited by M. Delgado and G. Vergauwen. Studien zur christlichen Religionsund Kulturgeschichte 5. Freiburg: Academic Press and Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2010. The relationship between texts and images dealing with sun deities. “Methoden, den Tod zu überwinden: Zuversichtliche ägyptische und zaghafte biblische Versuche.” Pages 119–33 in Mitten im Leben umfangen vom Tod: Tod und Sterben als individuelle und gesellschaftliche Herausforderung. Edited by R. Göllner. Theologie im Kontakt 16. Münster i. W.: Lit-Verlag, 2010. A study of ancient ways to overcome death. Egyptian culture was quite confident concerning an afterlife. Israel was more skeptical and earthbound, and a real belief in the life of the individual after death originated only in the middle of the second century BCE. “Von den heidnischen Ahnen einiger jüdisch-christlicher Engelvorstellungen.” Pages 66–75 and 226–41 in Engel: Mittler zwischen Himmel und Erde. Edited by S. Hahn and C. Roll. Kataloge und Schriften: Diözesanmuseum für christliche Kunst des Erzbistums

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München und Freising 50. Berlin-München: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2010. Angels were originally simple messengers in the shape of male humans in need of a ladder to get from heaven to earth (Genesis 28). The notion developed to include hybrid animal creatures like cherubim and seraphim and winged deities through the influence of protecting winged deities such as Isis and Maat or Nike/Victoria and Eros/Amor. “Unheilabwendene Schlangen und geflügelte Löwen: über die fast vergesssene tierische Herkunft der Engel.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 31 (2010): 7. How hybrid animal creatures became anthropomorphic angels. 2011 Jerusalem und der eine Gott: eine Religionsgeschichte. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011. 2nd ed. = 2014. “Wie gross war das Reich Davids und Salomos: eine alte Kontroverse und neue archäologische Funde aus Jerusalem.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung 5 (2011): 2. The old question of the scope of the realm of influence of David and Solomon in the light of new archaeological finds. “New Glyptic Evidence in Relation to Some Biblical Concepts.” Pages 33*–39* in Eretz Israel 30 (Amnon Ben-Tor Volume). Edited by H. Geva and A. Paris et al. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2011. “Chapter 8: Glyptics.” Pages 345–48 in Dan Volume III: Avraham Biran Excavations 1966-1999. The Late Bronze Age. Edited by R. BenDov. Jerusalem: Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, 2011. “Chapter 11: Seals and Seal Impressions.” Pages 341–57 in The Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon: Ashkelon 3: The Seventh Century B.C.

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Edited by L. E. Stager, D. M. Master, and J. D. Schloen. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2011. “A Non-Epigraphic Seal and Seal Impressions.” Pages 252–54 in Tel ʿAroer: The Iron Age II Caravan Town and the Hellenistic-Early Roman Settlement: The Avraham Biran (1975–1982) and Rudolph Cohen (1975-1976) Excavations. Edited by Y. Thareani. Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology Hebrew Union College 8. Jerusalem: Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, 2011. “Chapter 18A: Excavated Stamp-Seal Amulets,” co-authored with S. Münger. Pages 455–62 in Tell es-Safi/Gath I: Report on the 1996–2005 Seasons. Edited by A. Maeir. ÄAT 69. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011. “Scarabs from a Burial Cave near Ḥorbat Zelef,” co-authored with S. Münger. ‘Atiqot 68 (2011): 47–57. 2012 “Paraphernalia of Jerusalem Sanctuaries and their Relation to Deities Worshipped therein During the Iron Age IIA – C.” Pages 317-338 in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2. –1. Mill. BCE): Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen 28th –30th of May 2010. Edited by J. Kamlah. ADPV 41. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012. “The Beth-Shean Level IX–Group: A Local Workshop of the Late Bronze Age I,” co-authored with D. Ben-Tor. Pages 87–104 in All the Wisdom of the East: Studies in Near Eastern Archaeology and History in Honor of Eliezer D. Oren. Edited by M. Gruber, Shmuel Aḥituv, G. Lehmann, and Z. Talshir. OBO 255. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012. “Chapter 7: Ten Additional Scarabs and Stamp Seals.” Pages 175–80 in D. Ben-Shlomo, The Azor Cemetery: Moshe Dothan’s Excavations, 1958-1960. Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 50. Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society, 2012. “Chapter 14: Glyptic Material.” Pages 568–77 in Hazor VI. The

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1990-2009 Excavations: The Iron Age. Edited by A. Ben-Tor, D. BenAmi, and D. Sandhaus. Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society and the Hebrew University, 2012. “A Scarab from the Western Wall Plaza Excavations, Jerusalem.” ‘Atiqot 72 (2012): 1–3. “Das Neulicht und der Herr von Harran: Mond und Mondgottheiten in altorientalischen Kulten,” co-authored with F. Lippke. Neue Zürcher Zeitung 22 (2012): 12. Presentation of a unique bronze figure in the BIBLE ORIENT Museum representing a worshipper with a huge crescent atop his head. 2013 Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit: Katalog Band IV: von Tel Gamma bis Chirbet Husche. OBO.SA 33. Freiburg/Schweiz: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013. Available online at: http://www.bible-orient-museum.ch/bodo/. Detailed description of 1,439 stamp seals from 30 excavations, most from Tel Gamma/Tell Jemmeh, Gath, Gezer, and Hazor. “Chapter 17: Stampseal-Amulets.” Pages 977–92 in Megiddo V: The 2004-2008 Seasons: Volume V/3. Edited by I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin, and E. H. Cline. Tel Aviv University, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, Monograph Series 31. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2013. “Chapter 5: Glyptic Finds.” Pages 30-35 in Excavations at Tsur Natan 2011. Edited by S. Alon and C. Herriott and O. Varoner. Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology. Archaeology 2/1. Jerusalem: The Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, 2013. “Biblische Anfänge der Reliquienfrömmigkeit: die Vergangenheit in die Gegenwart holen,” co-authored with F. Lippke. Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 18/1 (2013): 14–19. 217

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Discussion of some Old Testament texts, including Deutronomy 3:11 (the bed of king Og) mentioning relics of biblical persons and events. 2014 “Der Sinn des Unscheinbaren: über den Mistkäfer in der altägyptischen Mythologie,” co-authored with F. Lippke. Neue Zürcher Zeitung 21 (2014): 6. On the importance of scarabs in Egyptian mythology. “Wie mobil ist der Gott der Bibel? Aufbruch aus dem Himmel,” co-authored with F. Lippke. Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 19/3 (2014): 40–45. Contrary to the view that “the journey is the destination,” the wandering people of God in the Hebrew Bible had a definite goal, whether it was the Sinai, Zion, or Heaven. “Katalog der unpublizierten Skarabäen und Siegelamulette im Vorderasiatischen Museum Berlin.” Pages 23–36 and Nos. 106–50 in E. Klengel-Brandt, Die neuassyrische Glyptik aus Assur. WVDOG 140. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014. Detailed description of 44 stamp seals, mainly scarabs, of the Middle Bronze age, the 18th Egyptian Dynasty, and from the Levant of the first half of the first millennium found during the German excavations in Assur. “Chapter 20: Clay Sealings and Seal Impressions” and “Chapter 27: The Scarabs and Stamp Seals,” co-authored with D. Ben-Shlomo. Pages 857–75 and 1004–16 in The Smithsonian Institution Excavation at Tell Jemmeh, Israel 1970–1990. Edited by D. Ben-Shlomo and G. W. Van Beek. Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology 50. Washington DC: Smithsonian Institution Scholarly Press, 2014. “Chapter 8: Middle and Late Bronze Age Scarabs,” co-authored with D. Ben-Tor. Pages 187–210 in The Bronze Age Cemetery at ‘Ara. Edited by Y. Gadot. Salvage Excavation Reports 8. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Institute of Archaeology, 2014.

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dles: Distribution, Chronology, Iconography and Function.” TA 40 (2013): 99–116. Busink, T. A. Der Tempel von Jerusalem, von Salomo bis Herodes: Eine archäologischhistorische Studie unter Berü cksichtigung des westsemitischen Tempelbaus. 2 vols. Studia Francisci Scholten Memoriae Dicata 3. Leiden: Brill, 1970–1980. Dalman, Gustav. Jerusalem und sein Gelände. Gütersloh: C. Bertlesmann, 1930. de Hulster, Izaak J. Illuminating Images: An Iconographic Method of Old Testament Exegesis with Three Case Studies from Third Isaiah. Utrecht: n.p., 2007. Deist, Ferdinand E. “The Dangers of Deuteronomy: A Page from the Reception History of the Book.” Pages 13–29 in Studies in Deuteronomy in Honour of C. J. Labuschagne on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday. Edited by F. García Martínez, A. Hilhorst, J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten, and A.S. van der Woude. VTSup 53. Leiden: Brill, 1994. Dürrenmatt, Friedrich. Zusammenhänge. Zürich: Diogenes, 1985. Eggler, Jürg, and Othmar Keel. Corpus der Siegel-Amulette aus Jordanien: Von Neolithikum bis zur Perserzeit. OBO.SA 25. Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006. Eisenstadt, S. N., ed. The Origins and Diversity of Axial Age Civilizations. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1986. El Hawary, A. Wortschöpfung: die Memphitische Theologie und die Siegesstele des Pije – zwei Zeugen kultureller Repräsentation in der 25. Dynastie. OBO 243. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010. Faust, Avraham. “The Large Stone Structure in the City of David.” ZDPV 126 (2010): 116–30. Finkelstein, Israel. “A Great United Monarchy? Archaeological and Historical Perspectives.” Pages 1–28 in One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives. Edited by Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann. BZAW 405. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010. ______. “Archaeology as a ‘High Court’ in Ancient Israelite History: A Reply to Nadav Na’aman.” JHS 10 (2011): 1–8. ______, and Neil Asher Silberman. David and Solomon: In Search of the Bible’s Sacred Kings and the Roots of the Western Tradition. New York: Free Press, 2006. Frei, Peter, and Klaus Koch. Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich. OBO 55. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984. 2nd ed., 1996. Fretheim, Terence E. Creation Untamed: The Bible, God, and Natural Disasters. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010. Freud, Sigmund. Moses and Monotheism. New York: Vintage, 1955. Gebel, Willibald. “Der Islam – die Religion der Wüste.” Beihefte zu den Jahresberichten der Schlesischen Gesellschaft für vaterländische Kultur 1 (1922): 104–33.

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du Proche-Orient ancien. Translated by Françoise Smyth. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993. ______. “Elemente von Sonnengottvorstellungen im biblischen Gottesbild: Interkulturalität und ‘Intermedialität.’” Pages 57–70 in Interkulturalität: Begegnung und Wandel in den Religionen Edited by Mariano Delgado and Guido Vergauwen. Religionsforum 5. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2010. ______. Die Geschichte Jerusalems und der Entstehung des Monotheismus. 2 vols. OLB IV/1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007. ______. “Die Heilung des Bruchs zwischen kanaanäischer und israelitischer Kultur und zwischen Judentum und Christentum.” Pages 27–39 in Vertikale Ökumene: Erinnerungsarbeit im Dienst des interreligiösen Dialogs. Edited by Thomas Staubli. Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005. ______. Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst: Eine neue Deutung der Majestätsschilderungen in Jes 6, Ez 1 und 10 und Sach 4. SBS 84/85. Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1977. ______. Jahwes Entgegnung an Ijob: Eine Deutung von Ijob 38–41 vor dem Hintergrund der zeitgenössischen Bildkunst. FRLANT 121. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1978. ______. Jerusalem und der eine Gott: eine Religionsgeschichte. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011. 2nd ed., 2014. ______. “Minima methodica und die Sonnengottheit von Jerusalem.” Pages 213–23 in Iconography and Biblical Studies: Proceedings of the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS/SBL Conference, 22–26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria. Edited by Izaak J. de Hulster and Rüdiger Schmitt. AOAT 361. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009. ______. “Paraphernalia of Jerusalem Sanctuaries and Their Relation to Deities Worshipped therein During the Iron Age IIA–C.” Pages 323–28 in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2. –1. Mill. B.C.E.). Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen (28th – 30th May 2010). Edited by Jens Kamlah and Henrike Michelau. ADPV 41. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012. ______. Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden: Drei Fallstudien zur Methode der Interpretation altorientalischer Bilder. OBO 122. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992. ______. Selbstverherrlichung: Die Gestalt Abrahams in Judentum, Christentum und Islam. Vorträge der Aeneas-Silvius-Stiftung an der Universität Basel 45. Basel: 2009. ______. “Seth-Baal und Seth-Baal-Jahwe—interkulturelle Ligaturen.” Pages

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87–107 in Jerusalem und die Länder: Ikonographie-Topographie-Theologie: Festschrift für Max Küchler zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by Gerd Theissen, Hans Ulrich Steymans, Siegfried Ostermann, Andrea Moresino-Zipper, Karl Matthias Schmidt. NTOA 70. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009. ______. The Song of Songs: A Continental Commentary. Translated by Frederick J. Gaiser. CC. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994. ______. The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms. Translated by Timothy J. Hallett. Reprint edited by Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997. ______. Die Weisheit spielt vor Gott: Ein ikonographischer Beitrag zur Deutung des meṣaḥäqät in Spr. 8,30f. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974. ______. Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: Ikonographische Studien zu Jos 8,18–26, Ex 17,8–13, 2 Kön 13,14–19 und 1 Kön 22,11. OBO 5. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 1974. Keel, Othmar and Christoph Uehlinger. Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel. Translated by Thomas H. Trapp. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998. ______, and Silvia Schroer, Creation: Biblical Theologies in the Context of the Ancient Near East Translated by Peter T. Daniels. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015. Kilian, Rudolf. Jesaja 1–12. NEB 17. Würzburg: Echter, 1986. ______. Jesaja 13–39. NEB 32. Würzburg: Echter, 1994. Knauf, Ernst Axel. “Jerusalem in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages: A Proposal.” TA 27 (2000): 75–90. ______. Midian: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens am Ende des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. ADPV 10. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1988. ______. “Sinai.” Pages 607–8 in Neues Bibel-Lexikon 3. Edited by M. Görg and B. Lang. Zürich: Benziger, 1990. ______. “Yahwe.” VT 34 (1984): 467–72. Köckert, Matthias. “Die Theophanie des Wettergottes Jahwe in Psalm 18.” Pages 209–26 in Kulturgeschichten: Altorientalische Studien für Volkert Haas zum 65. Geburstag. Edited by Thomas Richter, Doris Prechel, and Jörg Klinger. Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag, 2001. Koselleck, Reinhart. “Der Mai 1945 zwischen Erinnerung und Geschichte: Differenzen aushalten und die Toten betrauern.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung (May 14/ 15, 2005): 67. Kreuch, Jan. Unheil und Heil bei Jesaja: Studien zur Entstehung des Assur-Zyklus Jesaja 28–31. WMANT 130. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Theologie, 2011. Küchler, Max. Jerusalem: Ein Handbuch und Studienreiseführer zur Heiligen Stadt. OLB IV/2. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007.

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Kutter, Juliane. nūr ilī: Die Sonnengottheiten in den nordwestsemitischen Religionen von der Spätbronzezeit bis zur vorrömischen Zeit. AOAT 346. Münster: UgaritVerlag, 2008. Leuenberger, Martin. “Jhwhs Herkunft aus dem Süden: Archäologische Befunde—biblische Überlieferungen—historische Korrelationen.” ZAW 122 (2010): 1–19. Levenson, Jon D. “Is There a Counterpart in the Hebrew Bible to the New Testament Antisemitism?” JES 22 (1985): 242–60. Levy, Thomas E. “Ethnic Identity in Biblical Edom, Israel, and Midian: Some Insights from Mortuary Contexts in the Lowlands of Edom.” Pages 251–61 in Exploring the Longue Durée. Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager. Edited by J. David Schloen. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009. Mazar, Amihai. “Archaeology and the Biblical Narrative: The Case of the United Monarchy.” Pages 29–58 in One God—One Cult—One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives. Edited by Reinhard G. Kratz and Hermann Spieckermann. BZAW 405. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010. Mazar, Eilat. Preliminary Report on the City of David Excavations 2005 at the Visitors Center Area. Jerusalem: Shalem Press, 2007. Müller, Hans-Peter. “Religion als Teil der Natur des Menschen.” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 5/1 (2003): 227–42. Müller, Klaus. Streit um Gott: Politik, Poetik und Philosophie im Ringen um das wahre Gottesbild. Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 2006. Na’aman, Nadav. “Does Archaeology Really Deserve the Status of a ‘High Court’ in Biblical Historical Research?” Pages 165–83 in Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel Read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap, Lincoln, July 2009. Edited by Bob Becking and Lester L. Grabbe. OTS 59. Leiden: Brill, 2010. ______. “The Israelite-Judahite Struggle for the Patrimony of Ancient Israel.” Bible 91 (2010): 1–23. Ornan, Tallay. “A Complex System of Religious Symbols: The Case of the Winged Disc in Near Eastern Imagery of the First Millennium BCE.” Pages 207–41 in Crafts and Images in Contact: Studies on Eastern Mediterranean Art of the First Millennium BCE. Edited by Claudia E. Suter and Christoph Uehlinger. OBO 210. Fribourg: Academic Press and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005. Peust, C., and H. Sternberg-el Hotabi. “Das ‘Denkmal memphitischer Theologie.’” Pages 166–175 in Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments. Edited by O. Kaiser. Gütersloh: G. Mohn, 2001. Pfeiffer, Henrik. Jahwes Kommen von Sü den: Jdc 5, Hab 3, Dtn 33, und Ps 68 in ihrem

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Wightman, G. J. The Walls of Jerusalem: From the Canaanites to the Mamluks. Mediterranean Archaeology Supplement 4. Sydney: Meditarch, 1993. Wildberger, Hans. Isaiah 28–39. Translated by Thomas H. Trapp. CC. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002. Wolff, Hans Walter. Studien zur Prophetie: Probleme und Erträge. TB 76. München: Kaiser, 1987.

226

Index of Authors

Aharoni, Yohanon, 180 Ahituv, S., 202, 216 Alkier, St., 210 Alon, S., 217 Alt, Albrecht, 16–20, 64, 219 Asher-Greve, Julia, 78n7, 219 Assmann, Jan, 7, 167, 219 Avigad, Nahman, 119 Bahrani, Zainab, xxviin16 Barth, Karl, 162 Bauks, M., 210 Becker, Uwe, 98n1, 219 Becking, Bob, 52n1, 85n4, 170, 219, 224 Beckman, G., 209 van Beek, G. W., 218 Bellah, Robert, 124n1, 219 Ben-Ami, D., 216 Ben-Dov, R., 215 Ben-Schlomo, D., 209, 216, 218 Ben-Tor, Daphna, 47n2, 216, 218, 219 Berger, John, xivn3 Bernett, M., 198 Bickel, Susanne, xxixn24, 175n1, 205 Bietak, M., 207

Blickle, P., 201 Bocher, Efrat, 147, 210 Bodenmann, Marcia, 175n1 Boehm, Gottfried, xxxivn38, 201 Böhler, D., 208 Bonfiglio, Ryan, xxviin15, xxxixnn55–56 Braudel, Fernand, 13 Braunius, J., 134 Brecht, Bertolt, 196 Briend, J., 183 Buchmülle, Wolfgang, 173n6, 225 Burschel, Peter, 166n6, 225 Busink, T. A., 76, 220 Casetti, P., 183–84 Ciałowicz, K. M., 199 Cline, E. H., 217 Cornelius, Izak, xxxvin46 Czerny, E., 207 Dalferth, Ingolf, 225 Dalman, Gustav, 19, 20, 220 von Däniken, Erich, 176 Daphinoff, D., 192 Davies, Philip, 191 Dayagi-Mendels, D., 202 Deist, Ferdinand, 166n7, 173n7, 220

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Delgado, Mariano, 81n8, 203, 214, 222 Derchain, P., 179 Diehl, Johannes F., 77n6, 221 Dietrich, M., 195 Dietrich, W., 193 Dothan, M., 209 Drewermann, Eugen, 165 Dürrenmatt, Friedrich, 10, 183, 220 Eberhardt, G., 206 Eggler, Jürg, xn8, xxxvi, 209–10, 220 Ego, B., 200 Einstein, Albert, 167 Eisenstadt, S. N., 124n1, 220 Emerton, J. A., 195 Faust, Avraham, 58n3, 220 Feiler, B., 204 Finkelstein, Israel, 5, 24–25, 58, 69, 85n5, 217, 220 Fischer, P. M., 195 Fleming, Daniel, xxivn2 Freedberg, David, xxvin9 Freedman, David, 191 Frei, Peter, 135, 220 Fretheim, Terence, 165n3, 220 Freud, Sigmund, 7, 162 Gadot, Y., 218 Gasser, M., 200 Gebel, Willibald, 10, 220 Geva, H., 215 Girard, René, 181 Gleβmer, U., 191 Goethe, Johann, 167 Göllner, R., 214 Görg, M., 195, 201, 223 Gössmann, E., 211

228

Grabbe, Lester, 52n1, 85n4, 171n2, 224 Gressmann, Hugo, xxiii, xxivn2, 162 de Groot, A., 207 Gruber, M., 216 Gunkel, Hermann, 163 Gutbug, Adolphe, 180 Haag, Herbert, 176 Hahn, F., 191 Hahn, S., 200, 204, 214 Hartenstein, Friedhelm, 73, 205, 221 Hauser, Stephan, xxxivn38, 201 El Hawary, Amr, 8n9, 220 Heider, G. C., 179 Heine, Heinrich, 114n2, 221 Henninger, Joseph, 180 Herriott, C., 217 Herrmann, Christoph, 194, 204 Den Hertog, C. G., 204 Hilpert, K., 196 Himbaza, I., 208 Hizmi, H., 207 Hornung, Erik, 6nn3–5, 182, 210, 212, 221 Hossfeld, F.-L., 201, 206 Houellebecq, Michel, 167 Huber, Michael, 69n7, 221 Hübner, Ulrich, 204 Hugo, Ph., 208 de Hulster, Izaak, xn5, xi, xxvn9, xxviin17, xxviiin23, xxxnn26–27, xxxin30, xxxiin31, xxxivnn39–40, xxxixnn55–56, 73n4, 175, 212, 220, 222 Humbert, J. B., 183 Irsigler, H., 206 Israelit-Groll, S., 184, 189

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Jaeger, B., 197 Janowski, Bernd, 191, 200 Jaspers, Karl, 124n1, 161, 221 Joas, Hans, 124n1 Jones, Clifford, xxiiin2 Kaiser, Otto, 8n9 Kamlah, Jens, 76n5, 77n6, 85, 216, 221–22 Keel, Othmar, ix–xi, xiii, xivn4, xxiii–xxxi, xxxiinn31–33, xxxiii–xl, 67n5, 73n4, 75n5, 81nn8–9, 85, 86n6, 88n7, 162n1, 166n5, 172n5, 174n8, 175–218, 220–23 Keel-Leu, Hildi, xxxivn39, xxxvn44, 187, 205 Kenyon, Kathleen, 45, 47 Kessler, A., 193 Kilian, Rudolf, 98n1, 223 Klengel-Brandt, E., 218 Klinger, Jörg, 66n4, 223 Klopfenstein, M. A., 193 Knauf, Ernst Axel, xin10, xxxviiin52, 9n10, 24–25, 66, 205, 223 Koch, Klaus, 135, 203, 220 Köckert, Matthias, 66, 223 Koenen, K., 210 Koselleck, Reinhard, 172, 223 Krašovec, J., 197 Kratz, Reinhard, 25n10, 58n2, 69n6,9, 220 Kreuch, Jan, 104n4, 223 Krispenz, J., 205 Küchler, Max, xxxviiin50, 6n2, 176, 184–85, 204, 223 Kunze, S., 191 Kutter, Juliane, 73, 224 Lang, B., 195, 201, 223

Lange, A., 203 Lehmann, G., 216 Leibniz, Gottfried, 163 LeMon, Joel, xxviii, xxixn24, xxxi, xxxii, xxxviii, xxxixn55 Lernau, Omri, 84n1, 225 Leuenberger, Martin, 61n1, 66, 224 Levenson, Jon, 166, 224 Levy, Thomas, 61n1, 66n3, 224 Lewis, T. J., 209 Lichtenberger, H., 203 Liess, K., 206 Lippke, Florian, xxxiin32, 190, 216–18 Lipschits, Oded, 147, 219 Loretz, O., 195 Maeir, A. M., 207, 215 Männchen, Julia, 73n3, 221 Marquard, Odo, 167 Marsch, E., 203 Marti, S., 188 Marx, Christoph, 166n6, 225 Master, D. M., 215 Mazar, Amihai, 58, 69, 213, 224 Mazar, Benjamin, xxiiin2 Mazar, Eilat, 57, 85, 224 Merz, René, 178 Metken, S., 200 Michelau, Henrike, 76n5, 85, 222 Mitchell, W. J. T., xxviin15 Moltmann-Wendel, E., 211 Moresino-Zipper, Andrea, 213, 223 Müller, Hans-Peter, 172, 224 Müller, Klaus, 167n8, 224 Münger, Stefan, 175n1, 204, 207, 209, 215–16 Na’aman, Nadav, 24n8, 52n1, 70n10, 85n4, 171n2, 224

229

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Neumann-Gorsolke, U., 203 Oren, E. D., 202 Ornan, Tallay, 99n3, 224 Oser, Fritz, 178 Ostermann, Siegfried, 213, 223 Ostrowiski, J. A., 199 Panofski, Erwin, xxviii Paris, A., 215 Peust, Carsten, 8n9, 224 Pfeiffer, Henrik, 66, 224 Pozzi, Giovanni, 81n10, 225 Prechel, Doris, 66n4, 223 Pritchard, James, xxiii, xxivn2, 187 Pury, Albert D., 225 Puttkammer, D., 190 Reich, Ronny, 84, 85nn2–3, 86n6, 225 Reinl, P., 204 Reiprich, Torsten, 73n3, 221 Reiterer, F. V., 189 Renan, Ernst, 10, 225 Richter, Sandra, 38n2, 225 Richter, Thomas, 66n4, 223 Richards, Kent, xxxin28 Ricklin, T., 193 Riede, P., 203 Riedel-Spangenberger, I. U., 210 Rogerson, John, 191 Roll, C., 214 Römheld, K. D., 203 Roth, Philip, 167 Rutishauser, Christoph, 211 Sandhaus, D., 216 Sass, Benjamin, xxxvn42 Schart, A., 205

230

Schenker, Adrian, 73n1, 183–84, 208, 225 Schifferle, A., 197 Schiller, Friedrich, 167 Schloen, J. David, 215, 224 Schmidt, Karl Matthias, 213, 223 Schmitt, Rüdiger, xxvn9, 73n4, 212, 222 Schreiber, Mathias, 10, 225 Schroer, Sylvia, xn6, xxixn24, xxxii, xxxvn44, xxxvi, 175n1, 181, 185, 187, 191, 194, 198, 201, 204, 208, 210, 223 Schüngel-Straumann, H., 211 Schurte, René, xxixn24, 175n1 Schweitzer, A., 210, 212 Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Ludger, 173, 206, 225 Sergi, Omer, 91n8, 225 Shiloh, Yigal, 45 Shukron, Eli, 84, 85n2, 225 Shuval, Menakhem, xxxvin44, 181, 183, 188 Silberman, Neil, 5, 220 Singer-Avitz, Lily, 85n5, 88n7, 225 Smith, George Adam, 19, 20, 225 Spalinger, A. J., 179 Spieckermann, Hermann, 25n10, 58n2, 69nn6,9, 220 Spinoza, Baruch, 167 Staehelin, Elisabeth, 196 Stager, L. E., 179, 215 Staub, U., 199, 203 Staubli, Thomas, xxviin17, xxxi, xxxiin31, 166nn5–6, 174n8, 199, 203, 205, 208, 211, 225 Steiner, George, 183 Steiner, P. B., 200, 204 Steinmetz, David, 173n6, 225

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Sternberg-el Hotabi, Heike, 8n9, 224 Steymans, Hans Ulrich, 213, 223 Stoellger, Phillipp, 225 Strawn, Brent, xxix, xxxviin48, xxxixnn55–56 Suter, Claudia, xxxvn42, 99n3, 224 Svilar, M., 191 Talshir, Z., 216 Taylor, P., 209 Teissier, Beatrice, xxxivn39, 205 Tercier, P., 206 Thareani, Y., 215 Theissen, Gerd, 67n5, 73n4, 213, 223 Thompson, Richard Jude, 111, 225 Tolstoy, Leo, 114n2 van der Toorn, Karel, xxxiiin37

xxxvin44, 99n3, 175n1, 181, 183, 185, 187–90, 193, 210, 223–24 Ussishkin, D., 207, 217 Varoner, O., 217 Vergauen, Guido, 81n8, 214, 222 Weippert, Helga, 181 Westenholz, Joan Goodnick, 78n7, 194, 219 Wightman, G. J., 45, 46n1, 226 Wildberger, Hans, 37, 226 Williamson, H. G. M., xxvin11 Winter, Urs, xxxii Witte, Markus, 77n6, 221 Wolff, Hans Walter, 98n1, 226 Wurst, G., 193 Yurco, F. J., 179

Uehlinger, Christoph, ixn3, xiii, xivn4, xxvin11, xxixn24, xxxn27, xxxin30, xxxii–xxxv,

Zenger, Erich, 202–3, 210

231

Index of Ancient Writings

OLD TESTAMENT Genesis 1:6……120 1:14–16……137 1:27……131 1……8 2……8, 179 2:13……24 2–3……179 3:20……54 3……179 4:26……62 5:1–2……131 6:1–9:29……146 8:6–12……180 9:25–27……166 11:10–26……166 14:18……31, 32 14:20……148 15:17……66 17……132 18……132 19:2……80 19:24……80 19……182 22:2……37 22……37

28……66, 214 31:51……28 35:4b……178 49:25……110 Exodus 2:16–21……62 3:1……9 3:14……66 3:15……7 3:18……9 4:27……40 5:1……9 7:16……9 8:27–28……9 13:21–22……66 14:24……66 16:1……9 17:8–13……ixn4, xxxn25, 178, 223 18:1–27……62 19:1……9 19:18……66 21:1–23:33……146 23:19b……182 25:10–22……133 26……132 28:6–40……134

233

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Leviticus 9:24……37 17:1–26:46……133 26:1–2……113 Numbers 13:32……132 21:6……96 21:8……96 24:17……154 25:6–13……152 Deuteronomy 3:11……217 4:5–8……113 4:15–20……112 6:4–5……112 6:8……183 8:15……96 11:29……39 12:5……38 12:14……38 12:21……38 13:7–12……111 16:21……110 18:21–22……164 27:12……39 28:20–44……111 33……66n4, 224 Joshua 8:18–26……ixn4, xxxn25, 178, 223 10:1……29 10:1–15……59 10:3……29 10:5……29 10:12……59, 73 Judges 1:1–9……59

234

1:7……29 1:16……62 1:21……29, 59 5……66n4, 70, 224 6:2……40 11:24……130 1 Samuel 1:3……82 1:24……82 9–20……62 13:6……40 17:36……125 17……63 22:1–2……64 1 Kingdoms (LXX) 3……73n1, 225 2 Samuel 1:18……59 5:6……29 5:6–8……64 5:7……33,……35 5:9……35 8:7……29 15:8……29 20……69 20:2–3……29 21:19……63 1 Kings 1:38……24 1–2……62 2:15……71 2:26……65, 68, 118 2:28–30……38 2:36……29 3:1–5……39 4:7–19……72

INDEX OF ANCIENT WRITINGS

5:15–9:25……37 5:27……72 6:2–3……74 6:7……72 6:23–28……96 6……80 6–7……76 6–8……24 7:2……74 7:13–51……80 8:4……38 8:12……73n3, 202, 221 8:12–13……73 8:38……112 8:48……112 9:15……69 11:13……39 11:26–40……81 11:29……82 11:40……82 12:26–33……91 14:21……29, 89 14:25……29 14:25–26……89 15:1……89 15:13……91, 92 15:18……89 18:26……177 19:1–18……9 20:23……40 20:28……40 22:11……ixn4, xxxn25, 178, 223

9:27……93 10:12–14……93 11:1……93 11:13–16……93 12:5–17……93 13:14–19……ixn4, xxxn25, 178, 223 16:5……99 16:7–18……99 16:8……89 18:4……103 18:13–19:37……125 19:16……125 19:19……125 19:21……33 19:35……104 21:3……105 21:7……105 21:11……105 22:1……108 22:3……119 22:12……119 22……111 23:4–15……109 23:11……108 23:26……105 23:28–30……108 23:31–35……116 23……108 24:3……105 25:6–7……125 25:11……126 25:21……126

3 Kingdoms (LXX) 3……73n1……225 8:53a……73 8:53……73n3, 221

1 Chronicles 3:5……32 7:7……28 12:5……28 24:30……28 25:4……28 27:19……28

2 Kings 8:23……83

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2 Chronicles 1……73n1, 225 3:1……37 11:18……28 20:16……28 25:1……32 31:13……28 32:9……32 32:19……41 2 Paripomena (LXX) 2……73n1, 225 Ezra 4:19–22……18 Nehemiah 8……141 10:37–38……148 12:37……36 Esther 2:6……32 4:14……130 Job 38:6……28 38:36……184 38–41……ixn4, xn7, xxvin10, xxxn25, 181, 222 40:25……184 Psalms 2:6……33, 40 8:4……168 17……xxxin28 18……66n4 20:3……34 22……176, 178 22:28–32……176

236

29……8, 49 42:1……113 42……113 44……128 46:5……40 48:2……40 48:3……39 48……40, 125 56:1……181 65……49 68:12–14……180 68……66n4, 224 72:5……77 72:17……77 74:2……39 74……128, 142 77……128 78:68……35 79……128 87:3……40 89……128, 142 97:5……66 101……40 101:8……40 102……128 104:32……66 104……81, 146 107……9 110:3……54 110:7……24 115:17……186 122:4……15 122:6……28 122:7–8……173 125……21 125:2……21 127:2b……189 127……189 133:3……33 133……179

INDEX OF ANCIENT WRITINGS

137:3……33 137……129 139……40 147:12–14……28 149:2……35 150:6……xxix, xxixn24 Proverbs 5:19……110 8……xxx 8:30……ixn4, xxxn25, 178 22:17–24:22……146 25:1……103 Qohelet 10:20……180 Isaiah 1:4……96 1:7……78 1:9–10……78 1:10–17……97 1:21……78, 80 1:27……78 2:2–4……131 5:19……96 5:24……96 6:1–7……99 6……ixn4, xxxn25, 96, 180, 222 7:3……97 7:3–7……99 7:9……89 7:14……97 7:14b……99 7:16……99 7:20……98 8:1……97 8:1–4……99 8:3……97 8:16……99

8:18……99 8:33……39 10:15……98 10:20……96 12:6……96 14:29……96, 102 18:7……34 20……101 22:9……35 28–31……104n4 29:1–8……37 29……37 30:1–7……104 30:6……96 30:6–7……89 30:8……114 30:15……98 31:1–3……104 32:17–18……28 36–39……125 37:17……125 37:20……125 37:36……104 44:28……96 45:1……96, 98, 129 45:13……96 45:15……130 45:17……130 46:6–7……130 46:13……35 48:2……41 49:18–23……131 51:4–5……131 52:1……41 53……130 54:4–8……131 54:9……8 54:10……131 56:7……73n3 60:14……40

237

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63:7–64:11……128 66:1……136 Jeremiah 1:1……118 1:9……114 1:11–12……117 1:13–14……117 4:10–11……28 7:12……82 7:14……82 7……120 9:16–21……119 11:18–12:6……122 14:19……35 15:10–21……122 18:18–23……122 19:1–15……120 20:7–18……122 21:2……120 24……129 26:6……82 26:9……82 26:18……32, 103 26:24……119 26……120 27:3……18 27:6……98 27……121 27–28……164 28……121 29:10–11……28 29……121 36:1–32……121 36:10–11……119 36:26……119 36……114 37:3……119 37:11–38:13……122 40……127

238

41:1–15……128 41:16–44:30……128 43:10……98 46:2……115 51:59……119 52:10–11……125 52:28–30……126 Lamentations 1……128 2……128 4……128 5……128 Ezekiel 1:5–7……77 1:6……120 1……ixn4, xxxn25, 120, 121, 123, 180, 208, 222 2:8……114 4:1–8……121 4:9–17……121 5:1–4……121 5:5……13, 18 8:10–11……123 8–11……123 10……ixn4, xxxn25, 180, 222 11:3……129 11:15……129 11:16……123 12:1–16……121 13:16……28 16……124 17:1–21……123 17:13–15……116 17……122 18……129 19……123 21:18–23……121 21:28……116

INDEX OF ANCIENT WRITINGS

23:4……38 23……37, 124 26:2……18 36:13……132 37:15–28……131 40–48……112, 121, 131 43:8……35 47:1–12……24 Daniel 6:11……112 7……203 8:13……151 11:20……150 11:31–33……151 Hosea 1:5……97 1:6……97 1:9……97 2:4–17……70 2……49 Joel 4:18……24 Amos 5:21–27……97 7:13……74 Micah 4:1–3……131 Habbakuk 3……66n4, 224 Zephaniah 3:14–15……35

Haggai 1:4–11……136 2:9……28 Zechariah 4:1–6a……136 4:10b–14……136 4……ixn4, xxxn25, 137, 180, 222 6:1–8……137 14:8……24 Malachi 2:11……142 3:8–10……148 4:2……137, 165 DEUTEROCANONICAL BOOKS Wisdom 13:6–7……168 Sirach 24……142, 149 44–50……149 50:5–19……141 1 Maccabees 1:60–64……151 2:29–38……151 2:54……152 3:18–19……130 3:48……141 3:60……130 8……153 2 Maccabees 3……150 4:7–10……150 4:26……150 7:11……130

239

JERUSALEM AND THE ONE GOD

7……151, 153

EXTRA-BIBLICAL WRITINGS

NEW TESTAMENT

Quran 2:140……162 2:142–145……163 2:158……165 3:67……162 5:2……165 22:136–146……4

Matthew 7:16……164, 174 25:31–46……168 Luke 12:56……173 14:31–32……125 John 8:43–45……174 Galatians 4:3……112 4:9……112 Colossians 2:8……112 2:20……112 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16……174 Hebrews 7:2……28 Revelation 22:1……24

Strabo XVI……2, 26 19 Homer Odyssey V, 238……32 Iliad I, 184……32 1, 204……32 Philo Legatio ad Gaium 281–82……156 De virtutibus 125–144……182 Pliny the Elüer Natural History V, 70……156 Tacitus History V, 5……157 Clearchus of Soli……31

240

Jerusalem, with its turbulent history, is without doubt one of the best-known cities of the world. A long line of foreign powers has ruled over it, from as far back as biblical times. But the city owes its importance not to them but to the fact that it is the birthplace of monotheism. Othmar Keel sketches in broad brush strokes the development of Israelite-Jewish monotheism and its integration of polytheistic symbols and perceptions. Abundant maps and illustrations enhance the volume.

Keel

Jerusalem through the Ages

Praise for Jerusalem and the One God “Othmar Keel’s emphasis on the significance of iconography for understanding the Bible and its contexts has been one of the most important advances in modern scholarship. To have his ambitious, crowning book now condensed and translated is a great gift to students. The very helpful introduction by Brent A. Strawn, the most influential teacher of the method in North America, makes this volume indispensable even to those of us who have read the German edition.” Christopher B. Hays, Fuller Theological Seminary

“In this exciting book, Keel, the master of ancient Near Eastern iconography, reconstructs a theological history of Jerusalem. Well structured and well written, this is an original and unparalleled history of the city.” Amihai Mazar, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem “This portrayal of the city and its history is a welcome companion for all pilgrims and tourists who wish for further information about the early history of the Holy City beyond their tour guide. The book is also very readable and suitable as a textbook in an introductory course. This well-written book is a must.” Christian Frevel, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany “In this tour de force, ably edited and introduced by Brent A. Strawn, Othmar Keel boldly reconstructs the history of Jerusalem verbally and visually. Keel reconstructs not only the history of a city but also the rise of monotheism and, in so doing, blazes new pathways for ecumenical dialogue. Whether you agree with all of his conclusions or not, you will never look at ancient history in the same way.” William P. Brown, Columbia Theological Seminary “This fascinating book offers a first opportunity for the English-speaking general public to access the ideas of the founder of the Fribourg School. Othmar Keel provides a unique and important contribution to our comprehension regarding the formative stages of monotheism.” Tallay Ornan, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem Othmar Keel is professor emeritus of Old Testament and the biblical world on the Catholic theological faculty of the University of Fribourg. He is author of the two-volume Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus (2007), on which this volume is based, as well as Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God (Fortress Press, 1998). He was granted the title of honorary doctor by the universities of Bochum (Germany), Geneva (Switzerland), and Lund (Sweden). Brent A. Strawn is professor of Old Testament at Emory University, Candler School of Theology, the author of

What Is Stronger than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (2005), and the coeditor of Iconographic Exegesis of the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible (2015), among other studies. Old Testament

Jerusalem and the One God

“Keel beautifully weaves together Jerusalem’s religious history and the conceptualizations of divinity at home in this capital city. A visually stunning volume, at once accessible and masterful, this work is very highly recommended for interested students and lay persons alike.” Mark S. Smith, Princeton Theological Seminary and New York University

Jerusalem and the

One God

A Religious History

Othmar Keel

Edited and with an introduction by Brent A. Strawn